11426	----	THE CALL OF THE NORTH Beyond the butternut, beyond the maple, beyond the white pine and the red, beyond the oak, the cedar, and the beech, beyond even the white and yellow birches lies a Land, and in that Land the shadows fall crimson across the snow. THE CALL OF THE NORTH Being a Dramatized Version of CONJURORS HOUSE A Romance of the Free Forest BY Stewart Edward White AUTHOR OF THE WESTERNERS, THE BLAZED TRAIL, ETC. THE CALL OF THE NORTH Chapter One The girl stood on a bank above a river flowing north. At her back crouched a dozen clean whitewashed buildings. Before her in interminable journey, day after day, league on league into remoteness, stretched the stern Northern wilderness, untrodden save by the trappers, the Indians, and the beasts. Close about the little settlement crept the balsams and spruce, the birch and poplar, behind which lurked vast dreary muskegs, a chaos of bowlder-splits, the forest. The girl had known nothing different for many years. Once a summer the sailing ship from England felt its frozen way through the Hudson Straits, down the Hudson Bay, to drop anchor in the mighty River of the Moose. Once a summer a six-fathom canoe manned by a dozen paddles struggled down the waters of the broken Abitibi. Once a year a little band of red-sashed _voyageurs_ forced their exhausted sledge-dogs across the ice from some unseen wilderness trail. That was all. Before her eyes the seasons changed, all grim, but one by the very pathos of brevity sad. In the brief luxuriant summer came the Indians to trade their pelts, came the keepers of the winter posts to rest, came the ship from England bringing the articles of use or ornament she had ordered a full year before. Within a short time all were gone, into the wilderness, into the great unknown world. The snow fell; the river and the bay froze. Strange men from the North glided silently to the Factor's door, bearing the meat and pelts of the seal. Bitter iron cold shackled the northland, the abode of desolation. Armies of caribou drifted by, ghostly under the aurora, moose, lordly and scornful, stalked majestically along the shore; wolves howled invisible, or trotted dog-like in organized packs along the river banks. Day and night the ice artillery thundered. Night and day the fireplaces roared defiance to a frost they could not subdue, while the people of desolation crouched beneath the tyranny of winter. Then the upheaval of spring with the ice-jams and terrors, the Moose roaring by untamable, the torrents rising, rising foot by foot to the very dooryard of her father's house. Strange spirits were abroad at night, howling, shrieking, cracking and groaning in voices of ice and flood. Her Indian nurse told her of them all--of Mannabosho, the good; of Nenaubosho the evil--in her lisping Ojibway dialect that sounded like the softer voices of the forest. At last the sudden subsidence of the waters; the splendid eager blossoming of the land into new leaves, lush grasses, an abandon of sweetbrier and hepatica. The air blew soft, a thousand singing birds sprang from the soil, the wild goose cried in triumph. Overhead shone the hot sun of the Northern summer. From the wilderness came the _brigades_ bearing their pelts, the hardy traders of the winter posts, striking hot the imagination through the mysterious and lonely allurement of their callings. For a brief season, transient as the flash of a loon's wing on the shadow of a lake, the post was bright with the thronging of many people. The Indians pitched their wigwams on the broad meadows below the bend; the half-breeds sauntered about, flashing bright teeth and wicked dark eyes at whom it might concern; the traders gazed stolidily over their little black pipes, and uttered brief sentences through their thick black beards. Everywhere was gay sound--the fiddle, the laugh, the song; everywhere was gay color--the red sashes of the _voyageurs_, the beaded moccasins and leggings of the _metis_, the capotes of the _brigade_, the variegated costumes of the Crees and Ojibways. Like the wild roses around the edge of the muskegs, this brief flowering of the year passed. Again the nights were long, again the frost crept down from the eternal snow, again the wolves howled across barren wastes. Just now the girl stood ankle-deep in green grasses, a bath of sunlight falling about her, a tingle of salt wind humming up the river from the bay's offing. She was clad in gray wool, and wore no hat. Her soft hair, the color of ripe wheat, blew about her temples, shadowing eyes of fathomless black. The wind had brought to the light and delicate brown of her complexion a trace of color to match her lips whose scarlet did not fade after the ordinary and imperceptible manner into the tinge of her skin, but continued vivid to the very edge; her eyes were wide and unseeing. One hand rested idly on the breech of an ornamented bronze field-gun. McDonald, the chief trader, passed from the house to the store where his bartering with the Indians was daily carried on; the other Scotchman in the Post, Galen Albret, her father, and the head Factor of all this region, paced back and forth across the veranda of the factory, caressing his white beard; up by the stockade, young Achille Picard tuned his whistle to the note of the curlew; across the meadow from the church wandered Crane, the little Church of England missionary, peering from short-sighted pale blue eyes; beyond the coulee, Sarnier and his Indians _chock-chock-chocked_ away at the seams of the long coast-trading bateau. The girl saw nothing, heard nothing. She was dreaming, she was trying to remember. In the lines of her slight figure, in its pose there by the old gun over the old, old river, was the grace of gentle blood, the pride of caste. Of all this region her father was the absolute lord, feared, loved, obeyed by all its human creatures. When he went abroad, he travelled in a state almost mediaeval in its magnificence; when he stopped at home, men came to him from the Albany, the Kenogami, the Missinaibe, the Mattagami, the Abitibi--from all the rivers of the North--to receive his commands. Way was made for him, his lightest word was attended. In his house dwelt ceremony, and of his house she was the princess. Unconsciously she bad taken the gracious habit of command. She had come to value her smile, her word; to value herself. The lady of a realm greater than the countries of Europe, she moved serene, pure, lofty amid dependants. And as the lady of this realm she did honor to her father's guests--sitting stately behind the beautiful silver service, below the portrait of the Company's greatest explorer, Sir George Simpson, dispensing crude fare in gracious manner, listening silently to the conversation, finally withdrawing at the last with a sweeping courtesy to play soft, melancholy, and world-forgotten airs on the old piano, brought over years before by the _Lady Head_, while the guests made merry with the mellow port and ripe Manila cigars which the Company supplied its servants. Then coffee, still with her natural Old World charm of the _grande dame_. Such guests were not many, nor came often. There was McTavish of Rupert's House, a three days' journey to the northeast; Rand of Fort Albany, a week's travel to the northwest; Mault of Fort George, ten days beyond either, all grizzled in the Company's service. With them came their clerks, mostly English and Scotch younger sons, with a vast respect for the Company, and a vaster for their Factors daughter. Once in two or three years appeared the inspectors from Winnipeg, true lords of the North, with their six-fathom canoes, their luxurious furs, their red banners trailing like gonfalons in the water. Then this post of Conjuror's House feasted and danced, undertook gay excursions, discussed in public or private conclave weighty matters, grave and reverend advices, cautions, and commands. They went. Desolation again crept in. The girl dreamed. She was trying to remember. Far-off, half-forgotten visions of brave, courtly men, of gracious, beautiful women, peopled the clouds of her imaginings. She heard them again, as voices beneath the roar of rapids, like far-away bells tinkling faintly through a wind, pitying her, exclaiming over her; she saw them dim and changing, as wraiths of a fog, as shadow pictures in a mist beneath the moon, leaning to her with bright, shining eyes full of compassion for the little girl who was to go so far away into an unknown land; she felt them, as the touch of a breeze when the night is still, fondling her, clasping her, tossing her aloft in farewell. One she felt plainly--a gallant youth who held her up for all to see. One she saw clearly--a dewy-eyed, lovely woman who murmured loving, broken words. One she heard distinctly--a gentle voice that said, "God's love be with you, little one, for you have far to go, and many days to pass before you see Quebec again." And the girl's eyes suddenly swam bright, for the northland was very dreary. She threw her palms out in a gesture of weariness. Then her arms dropped, her eyes widened, her head bent forward in the attitude of listening. "Achille!" she called. "Achille! Come here!" The young fellow approached respectfully. "Mademoiselle?" he asked. "Don't you hear?" she said. Faint, between intermittent silences, came the singing of men's voices from the south. "_Grace a Dieu_!" cried Achille. "Eet is so. Eet is dat _brigade_!" He ran shouting toward the factory. Chapter Two Men, women, dogs, children sprang into sight from nowhere, and ran pell-mell to the two cannon. Galen Albret, reappearing from the factory, began to issue orders. Two men set about hoisting on the tall flag-staff the blood-red banner of the Company. Speculation, excited and earnest, arose among the men as to which of the branches of the Moose this _brigade_ had hunted--the Abitibi, the Mattagami, or the Missinaibie. The half-breed women shaded their eyes. Mrs. Cockburn, the doctor's wife, and the only other white woman in the settlement, came and stood by Virginia Albret's side. Wishkobun, the Ojibway woman from the south country, and Virginia's devoted familiar, took her half-jealous stand on the other. "It is the same every year. We always like to see them come," said Mrs. Cockburn, in her monotonous low voice of resignation. "Yes," replied Virginia, moving a little impatiently, for she anticipated eagerly the picturesque coming of these men of the Silent Places, and wished to savor the pleasure undistracted. "Mi-di-mo-yay ka'-win-ni-shi-shin," said Wishkobun, quietly. "Ae," replied Virginia, with a little laugh, patting the woman's brown hand. A shout arose. Around the bend shot a canoe. At once every paddle in it was raised to a perpendicular salute, then all together dashed into the water with the full strength of the _voyageurs_ wielding them. The canoe fairly leaped through the cloud of spray. Another rounded the bend, another double row of paddles flashed in the sunlight, another crew broke into a tumult of rapid exertion as they raced the last quarter mile of the long journey. A third burst into view, a fourth, a fifth. The silent river was alive with motion, glittering with color. The canoes swept onward, like race-horses straining against the rider. Now the spectators could make out plainly the boatmen. It could be seen that they had decked themselves out for the occasion. Their heads were bound with bright-colored fillets, their necks with gay scarves. The paddles were adorned with gaudy woollen streamers. New leggings, of holiday pattern, were intermittently visible on the bowsmen and steersmen as they half rose to give added force to their efforts. At first the men sang their canoe songs, but as the swift rush of the birch-barks brought them almost to their journey's end, they burst into wild shrieks and whoops of delight. All at once they were close to hand. The steersman rose to throw his entire weight on the paddle. The canoe swung abruptly for the shore. Those in it did not relax their exertions, but continued their vigorous strokes until within a few yards of apparent destruction. "Hola! hola!" they cried, thrusting their paddles straight down into the water with a strong backward twist. The stout wood bent and cracked. The canoe stopped short and the _voyageurs_ leaped ashore to be swallowed up in the crowd that swarmed down upon them. The races were about equally divided, and each acted after its instincts--the Indian greeting his people quietly, and stalking away to the privacy of his wigwam; the more volatile white catching his wife or his sweetheart or his child to his arms. A swarm of Indian women and half-grown children set about unloading the canoes. Virginia's eyes ran over the crews of the various craft. She recognized them all, of course, to the last Indian packer, for in so small a community the personality and doings of even the humblest members are well known to everyone. Long since she had identified the _brigade_. It was of the Missinaibie, the great river whose head-waters rise a scant hundred feet from those that flow as many miles south into Lake Superior. It drains a wild and rugged country whose forests cling to bowlder hills, whose streams issue from deep-riven gorges, where for many years the big gray wolves had gathered in unusual abundance. She knew by heart the winter posts, although she had never seen them. She could imagine the isolation of such a place, and the intense loneliness of the solitary man condemned to live through the dark Northern winters, seeing no one but the rare Indians who might come in to trade with him for their pelts. She could appreciate the wild joy of a return for a brief season to the company of fellow-men. When her glance fell upon the last of the canoes, it rested with a flash of surprise. The craft was still floating idly, its bow barely caught against the bank. The crew had deserted, but amidships, among the packages of pelts and duffel, sat a stranger, The canoe was that of the post at Kettle Portage. She saw the stranger to be a young man with a clean-cut face, a trim athletic figure dressed in the complete costume of the _voyageurs_, and thin brown and muscular hands. When the canoe touched the bank he had taken no part in the scramble to shore, and so had sat forgotten and unnoticed save by the girl, his figure erect with something of the Indian's stoical indifference. Then when, for a moment, he imagined himself free from observation, his expression abruptly changed. His hands clenched tense between his buckskin knees, his eyes glanced here and there restlessly, and an indefinable shadow of something which Virginia felt herself obtuse in labelling desperation, and yet to which she discovered it impossible to fit a name, descended on his features, darkening them. Twice he glanced away to the south. Twice he ran his eye over the vociferating crowd on the narrow beach. Absorbed in the silent drama of a man's unguarded expression, Virginia leaned forward eagerly. In some vague manner it was borne in on her that once before she had experienced the same emotion, had come into contact with someone, something, that had affected her emotionally just as this man did now. But she could not place it. Over and over again she forced her mind to the very point of recollection, but always it slipped back again from the verge of attainment. Then a little movement, some thrust forward of the head, some nervous, rapid shifting of the hands or feet, some unconscious poise of the shoulders, brought the scene flashing before her--the white snow, the still forest, the little square pen trap, the wolverine, desperate but cool, thrusting its blunt nose quickly here and there in baffled hope of an orifice of escape. Somehow the man reminded her of the animal, the fierce little woods marauder, trapped and hopeless, but scorning to cower as would the gentler creatures of the forest. Abruptly his expression changed again. His figure stiffened, the muscles of his face turned iron. Virginia saw that someone on the beach had pointed toward him. His mask was on. The first burst of greeting was over. Here and there one or another of the _brigade_ members jerked their heads in the stranger's direction, explaining low-voiced to their companions. Soon all eyes turned curiously toward the canoe. A hum of low-voiced comment took the place of louder delight. The stranger, finding himself generally observed, rose slowly to his feet, picked his way with a certain exaggerated deliberation of movement over the duffel lying in the bottom of the canoe, until he reached the bow, where he paused, one foot lifted to the gunwale just above the emblem of the painted star. Immediately a dead silence fell. Groups shifted, drew apart, and together again, like the slow agglomeration of sawdust on the surface of water, until at last they formed in a semicircle of staring, whose centre was the bow of the canoe and the stranger from Kettle Portage. The men scowled, the women regarded him with a half-fearful curiosity. Virginia Albret shivered in the shock of this sudden electric polarity. The man seemed alone against a sullen, unexplained hostility. The desperation she had thought to read but a moment before had vanished utterly, leaving in its place a scornful indifference and perhaps more than a trace of recklessness. He was ripe for an outbreak. She did not in the least understand, but she knew it from the depths of her woman's instinct, and unconsciously her sympathies flowed out to this man, alone without a greeting where all others came to their own. For perhaps a full sixty seconds the newcomer stood uncertain what he should do, or perhaps waiting for some word or act to tip the balance of his decision. One after another those on shore felt the insolence of his stare, and shifted uneasily. Then his deliberate scrutiny rose to the group by the cannon. Virginia caught her breath sharply. In spite of herself she could not turn away. The stranger's eye crossed her own. She saw the hard look fade into pleased surprise. Instantly his hat swept the gunwale of the canoe. He stepped magnificently ashore. The crisis was over. Not a word had been spoken. Chapter Three Galen Albret sat in his rough-hewn armchair at the head of the table, receiving the reports of his captains. The long, narrow room opened before him, heavy raftered, massive, white, with a cavernous fireplace at either end. Above him frowned Sir George's portrait, at his right hand and his left stretched the row of home-made heavy chairs, finished smooth and dull by two centuries of use. His arms were laid along the arms of his seat; his shaggy head was sunk forward until his beard swept the curve of his big chest; the heavy tufts of hair above his eyes were drawn steadily together in a frown of attention. One after another the men arose and spoke. He made no movement, gave no sign, his short, powerful form blotted against the lighter silhouette of his chair, only his eyes and the white of his beard gleaming out of the dusk. Kern of Old Brunswick House, Achard of New; Ki-wa-nee, the Indian of Flying Post--these and others told briefly of many things, each in his own language. To all Galen Albret listened in silence. Finally Louis Placide from the post at Kettle Portage got to his feet. He too reported of the trade,--so many "beaver" of tobacco, of powder, of lead, of pork, of flour, of tea, given in exchange; so many mink, otter, beaver, ermine, marten, and fisher pelts taken in return. Then he paused and went on at greater length in regard to the stranger, speaking evenly but with emphasis. When he had finished. Galen Albret struck a bell at his elbow. Me-en-gan, the bowsman of the factor's canoe, entered, followed closely by the young man who had that afternoon arrived. He was dressed still in his costume of the _voyageur_--the loose blouse shirt, the buckskin leggings and moccasins, the long tasselled red sash. His head was as high and his glance as free, but now the steel blue of his eye had become steady and wary, and two faint lines had traced themselves between his brows. At his entrance a hush of expectation fell. Galen Albret did not stir, but the others hitched nearer the long, narrow table, and two or three leaned both elbows on it the better to catch what should ensue. Me-en-gan stopped by the door, but the stranger walked steadily the length of the room until he faced the Factor. Then he paused and waited collectedly for the other to speak. This the Factor did not at once begin to do, but sat impassive--apparently without thought--while the heavy breathing of the men in the room marked off the seconds of time. Finally abruptly Galen Albret's cavernous voice boomed forth. Something there was strangely mysterious, cryptic, in the virile tones issuing from a bulk so massive and inert. Galen Albret did not move, did not even raise the heavy-lidded, dull stare of his eyes to the young man who stood before him; hardly did his broad arched chest seem to rise and fall with the respiration of speech; and yet each separate word leaped forth alive, instinct with authority. "Once at Leftfoot Lake, two Indians caught you asleep," he pronounced. "They took your pelts and arms, and escorted you to Sudbury. They were my Indians. Once on the upper Abitibi you were stopped by a man named Herbert, who warned you from the country, after relieving you of your entire outfit. He told you on parting what you might expect if you should repeat the attempt--severe measures, the severest. Herbert was my man. Now Louis Placide surprises you in a rapids near Kettle Portage and brings you here." During the slow delivering of these accurately spaced words, the attitude of the men about the long, narrow table gradually changed. Their curiosity had been great before, but now their intellectual interest was awakened, for these were facts of which Louis Placide's statement had given no inkling. Before them, for the dealing, was a problem of the sort whose solution had earned for Galen Albret a reputation in the north country. They glanced at one another to obtain the sympathy of attention, then back toward their chief in anxious expectation of his next words. The stranger, however, remained unmoved. A faint smile had sketched the outline of his lips when first the Factor began to speak. This smile he maintained to the end. As the older man paused, he shrugged his shoulders. "All of that is quite true." he admitted. Even the unimaginative men of the Silent Places started at these simple words, and vouchsafed to their speaker a more sympathetic attention. For the tones in which they were delivered possessed that deep, rich throat timbre which so often means power--personal magnetism--deep, from the chest, with vibrant throat tones suggesting a volume of sound which may in fact be only hinted by the loudness the man at the moment sees fit to employ. Such a voice is a responsive instrument on which emotion and mood play wonderfully seductive strains. "All of that is quite true," he repeated after a second's pause; "but what has it to do with me? Why am I stopped and sent out from the free forest? I am really curious to know your excuse." "This," replied Galen Albret, weightily, "is my domain. I tolerate no rivalry here." "Your right?" demanded the young man, briefly. "I have made the trade, and I intend to keep it." "In other words, the strength of your good right arm," supplemented the stranger, with the faintest hint of a sneer. "That is neither here nor there," rejoined Galen Albret, "the point is that I intend to keep it. I've had you sent out, but you have been too stupid or too obstinate to take the hint. Now I have to warn you in person. I shall send you out once more, but this time you must promise me not to meddle with the trade again." He paused for a response. The young man's smile merely became accentuated, "I have means of making my wishes felt," warned the Factor. "Quite so," replied the young man, deliberately, "_La Longue Traverse_." At this unexpected pronouncement of that dread name two of the men swore violently; the others thrust back their chairs and sat, their arms rigidly braced against the table's edge, staring wide-eyed and open-mouthed at the speaker. Only Galen Albret remained unmoved. "What do you mean by that?" he asked, calmly. "It amuses you to be ignorant," replied the stranger, with some contempt. "Don't you think this farce is about played out? I do. If you think you're deceiving me any with this show of formality, you're mightily mistaken. Don't you suppose I knew what I was about when I came into this country? Don't you suppose I had weighed the risks and had made up my mind to take my medicine if I should be caught? Your methods are not quite so secret as you imagine. I know perfectly well what happens to Free Traders in Rupert's Land." "You seem very certain of your information." "Your men seem equally so," pointed out the stranger. Galen Albret, at the beginning of the young man's longer speech, had sunk almost immediately into his passive calm--the calm of great elemental bodies, the calm of a force so vast as to rest motionless by the very static power of its mass. When he spoke again, it was in the tentative manner of his earlier interrogatory, committing himself not at all, seeking to plumb his opponent's knowledge. "Why, if you have realized the gravity of your situation have you persisted after having been twice warned?" he inquired. "Because you're not the boss of creation," replied the young man, bluntly. Galen Albret merely raised his eyebrows. "I've got as much business in this country as you have," continued the young man, his tone becoming more incisive. "You don't seem to realize that your charter of monopoly has expired. If the government was worth a damn it would see to you fellows. You have no more right to order me out of here than I would have to order you out. Suppose some old Husky up on Whale River should send you word that you weren't to trap in the Whale River district next winter. I'll bet you'd be there. You Hudson Bay men tried the same game out west It didn't work. You ask your western men if they ever heard of Ned Trent." "Your success does not seem to have followed you here," suggested the Factor, ironically. The young man smiled. "This _Longue Traverse_," went on Albret, "what is your idea there? I have heard something of it. What is your information?" Ned Trent laughed outright. "You don't imagine there is any secret about that!" he marvelled. "Why, every child north of the Line knows that. You will send me away without arms, and with but a handful of provisions. If the wilderness and starvation fail, your runners will not. I shall never reach the Temiscamingues alive." "The same old legend," commented Galen Albret in apparent amusement, "I heard it when I first came to this country. You'll find a dozen such in every Indian camp." "Jo Bagneau, Morris Proctor, John May, William Jarvis," checked off the young man on his fingers. "Personal enmity," replied the Factor. He glanced up to meet the young man's steady, sceptical smile. "You do not believe me?" "Oh, if it amuses you." conceded the stranger. "The thing is not even worth discussion." "Remarkable sensation among our friends here for so idle a tale." Galen Albret considered. "You will remember that throughout you have forced this interview," he pointed out. "Now I must ask your definite promise to get out of this country and to stay out." "No," replied Ned Trent. "Then a means shall be found to make you!" threatened the Factor, his anger blazing at last. "Ah," said the stranger softly. Galen Albret raised his hand and let it fall. The bronzed and gaudily bedecked men filed out. Chapter Four In the open air the men separated in quest of their various families or friends. The stranger lingered undecided for a moment on the top step of the veranda, and then wandered down the little street, if street it could be called where horses there were none. On the left ranged the square white-washed houses with their dooryards, the old church, the workshop. To the right was a broad grass-plot, and then the Moose, slipping by to the distant offing. Over a little bridge the stranger idled, looking curiously about him. The great trading-house attracted his attention, with its narrow picket lane leading to the door; the storehouse surrounded by a protective log fence; the fort itself, a medley of heavy-timbered stockades and square block-houses. After a moment he resumed his strolling. Everywhere he went the people looked at him, ceasing their varied occupations. No one spoke to him, no one hindered him. To all intents and purposes he was as free as the air. But all about the island flowed the barrier of the Moose, and beyond frowned the wilderness--strong as iron bars to an unarmed man. Brooding on his imprisonment the Free Trader forgot his surroundings. The post, the river, the forest, the distant bay faded from his sight, and he fell into deep reflection. There remained nothing of physical consciousness but a sense of the grateful spring warmth from the declining sun. At length he became vaguely aware of something else. He glanced up. Right by him he saw a handsome French half-breed sprawled out in the sun against a building, looking him straight in the face and flashing up at him a friendly smile. "Hullo," said Achille Picard, "you mus' been 'sleep. I call you two t'ree tam." The prisoner seemed to find something grateful in the greeting even from the enemy's camp. Perhaps it merely happened upon the psychological moment for a response. "Hullo," he returned, and seated himself by the man's side, lazily stretching himself in enjoyment of the reflected heat. "You is come off Kettle Portage, eh," said Achille, "I t'ink so. You is come trade dose fur? Eet is bad beez-ness, dis Conjur' House. Ole' man he no lak' dat you trade dose fur. He's very hard, dat ole man." "Yes," replied the stranger, "he has got to be, I suppose. This is the country of _la Longue Traverse_." "I beleef you," responded Achille, cheerfully; "w'at you call heem your nam'?" "Ned Trent." "Me Achille--Achille Picard. I capitaine of dose dogs on dat winter _brigade_." "It is a hard post. The winter travel is pretty tough." "I beleef you." "Better to take _la Longue Traverse_ in summer, eh?" "_La Longue Traverse_--hees not mattaire w'en yo tak heem." "Right you are. Have there been men sent out since you came here?" "_Ba oui_. Wan, two, t'ree. I don' remember. I t'ink Jo Bagneau. Nobodee he don' know, but dat ole man an' hees _coureurs du bois_. He ees wan ver' great man. Nobodee is know w'at he will do." "I'm due to hit that trail myself, I suppose," said Ned Trent. "I have t'ink so," acknowledged Achille, still with a tone of most engaging cheerfulness. "Shall I be sent out at once, do you think?" "I don' know. Sometam' dat ole man ver' queek. Sometam' he ver' slow. One day Injun mak' heem ver' mad; he let heem go, and shot dat Injun right off. Noder tam he get mad on one _voyageur_, but he don' keel heem queek; he bring heem here, mak' heem stay in dose warm room, feed heem dose plaintee grub. Purty soon dose _voyageur_ is get fat, is go sof'; he no good for dose trail. Ole man he mak' heem go ver' far off, mos' to Whale Reever. Eet is plaintee cole. Dat _voyageur_, he freeze to hees inside. Dey tell me he feex heem like dat." "Achille, you haven't anything against me--do you want me to die?" The half-breed flashed his white teeth. "Ba non," he replied, carelessly. "For w'at I want dat you die? I t'ink you bus' up bad; _vous avez la mauvaise fortune." "Listen. I have nothing with me; but out at the front I am very rich. I will give you a hundred dollars, if you will help me to get away." "I can' do eet," smiled Picard. "Why not?" "Ole man he fin' dat out. He is wan devil, dat ole man. I lak firs'-rate help you; I lak' dat hundred dollar. On Ojibway countree dey make hees nam' _Wagosh_--dat mean fox. He know everything." "I'll make it two hundred--three hundred--five hundred." "Wat you wan' me do?" hesitated Achille Picard at the last figure. "Get me a rifle and some cartridges." The half-breed rolled a cigarette, lighted it, and inhaled a deep breath. "I can' do eet," he declared. "I can' do eet for t'ousand dollar--ten t'ousand. I don't t'ink you fin' anywan on dis settlement w'at can dare do eet. He is wan devil. He's count all de carabine on dis pos', an' w'en he is mees wan, he fin' out purty queek who is tak' heem." "Steal one from someone else," suggested Trent. "He fin' out jess sam'," objected the half-breed, obstinately. "You don' know heem. He mak' you geev yourself away, when he lak' do dat." The smile had left the man's face. This was evidently too serious a matter to be taken lightly. "Well, come with me, then," urged Ned Trent, with some impatience. "A thousand dollars I'll give you. With that you can be rich somewhere else." But the man was becoming more and more uneasy, glancing furtively from left to right and back again, in an evident panic lest the conversation be overheard, although the nearest dwelling-house was a score of yards distant. "Hush," he whispered. "You mustn't talk lak' dat. Dose ole man fin' you out. You can' hide away from heem. Ole tam long ago, Pierre Cadotte is stole feefteen skin of de otter--de sea-otter--and he is sol' dem on Winnipeg. He is get 'bout thousand beaver--five hunder' dollar. Den he is mak' dose longue voyage wes'--ver' far wes'--_on dit_ Peace Reever. He is mak' heem dose cabane, w'ere he is leev long tam wid wan man of Mackenzie. He is call it hees nam' Dick Henderson. I is meet Dick Henderson on Winnipeg las' year, w'en I mak' paddle on dem Factor Brigade, an' dose High Commissionaire. He is tol' me wan night pret' late he wake up all de queeck he can w'en he is hear wan noise in dose cabane, an' he is see wan Injun, lak' phantome 'gainst de moon to de door. Dick Henderson he is 'sleep, he don' know w'at he mus' do. Does Injun is step ver' sof' an' go on bunk of Pierre Cadotte. Pierre Cadotte is mak' de beeg cry. Dick Henderson say he no see dose Injun no more, an' he fin' de door shut' _Ba_ Pierre Cadotte, she's go dead. He is mak' wan beeg hole in hees ches'." "Some enemy, some robber frightened Away because the Henderson man woke up, probably," suggested Ned Trent. The half-breed laid his hand impressively on the other's arm and leaned forward until his bright black eyes were within a foot of the other's face. "Wen dose Injun is stan' heem in de moonlight, Dick Henderson is see hees face. Dick Henderson is know all dose Injun. He is tole me dat Injun is not Peace Reever Injun. Dick Henderson is say dose Injun is Ojibway Injun--Ojibway Injun two t'ousand mile wes'--on Peace Reever! Dat's curi's!" "I was tell you nodder story--" went on Achille, after a moment. "Never mind," interrupted the Trader. "I believe you." "Maybee," said Achille cheerfully, "you stan' some show--not moche--eef he sen' you out pret' queeck. Does small _perdrix_ is yonge, an' dose duck. Maybee you is catch dem, maybee you is keel dem wit' bow an' arrow. Dat's not beeg chance. You mus' geev dose _coureurs de bois_ de sleep w'en you arrive. _Voila_, I geev you my knife!" He glanced rapidly to right and left, then slipped a small object into the stranger's hand. "_Ba_, I t'ink does ole man is know dat. I t'ink he kip you here till tam w'en dose _perdrix_ and duck is all grow up beeg' nuff so he can fly." "I'm not watched," said the young man in eager tones: "I'll slip away to-night." "Dat no good," objected Picard. "Wat you do? S'pose you do dat, dose _coureurs_ keel you _toute suite_. Dey is have good excuse, an' you is have nothing to mak' de fight. You sleep away, and dose ole man is sen' out plaintee Injun. Dey is fine you sure. _Ba_, eef he sen' you out, den he sen' onlee two Injun. Maybee you fight dem; I don' know. _Non, mon ami_, eef you is wan' get away w'en dose ole man he don' know eet, you mus' have dose carabine. Den you is have wan leetle chance. _Ba, eef you is not have heem dose carabine, you mus' need dose leetle grub he geev you, and not plaintee Injun follow you, onlee two." "And I cannot get the rifle." "An' dose ole man is don' sen' you out till eet is too late for mak' de grub on de fores'. Dat's w'at I t'ink. Dat ees not fonny for you." Ned Trent's eyes were almost black with thought. Suddenly he threw his head up. "I'll make him send me out now," he asserted confidently. "How you mak' eet him?" "I'll talk turkey to him till he's so mad he can't see straight. Then maybe he'll send me out right away." "How you mak' eet him so mad? inquired Picard, with mild curiosity. "Never you mind--I'll do it" "_Ba oui_," ruminated Picard, "He is get mad pret' queeck. I t'ink p'raps dat plan he go all right. You was get heem mad plaintee easy. Den maybee he is sen' you out toute suite--maybee he is shoot you." "I'll take the chances--my friend." "_Ba oui_," shrugged Achille Picard, "eet is wan chance." He commenced to roll another cigarette. Chapter Five Having sat buried in thought for a full five minutes after the traders of the winter posts had left him, Galen Albret thrust back his chair and walked into a room, long, low, and heavily raftered, strikingly unlike the Council Room. Its floor was overlaid with dark rugs; a piano of ancient model filled one corner; pictures and books broke the wall; the lamps and the windows were shaded, a woman's work-basket and a tea-set occupied a large table. Only a certain barbaric profusion of furs, the huge fireplace, and the rough rafters of the ceiling differentiated the place from the drawing-room of a well-to-do family anywhere. Galen Albret sank heavily into a chair and struck a bell. A tall, slightly stooped English servant, with correct side whiskers and incompetent, watery blue eyes, answered. To him said the Factor: "I wish to see Miss Albret." A moment later Virginia entered the room. "Let us have some tea, O-mi-mi," requested her father. The girl moved gently about, preparing and lighting the lamp, measuring the tea, her fair head bowed gracefully over her task, her dark eyes pensive and but half following what she did. Finally with a certain air of decision she seated herself on the arm of a chair. "Father," said she. "Yes." "A stranger came to-day with Louis Placide of Kettle Portage." "Well?" "He was treated strangely by our people, and he treated them strangely in return. Why is that?" "Who can tell?" "What is his station? Is he a common trader? He does not look it." "He is a man of intelligence and daring." "Then why is he not our guest?" Galen Albret did not answer. After a moment's pause he asked again for his tea. The girl turned away impatiently. Here was a puzzle, neither the _voyageurs_, nor Wishkobun her nurse, nor her father would explain to her. The first had grinned stupidly; the second had drawn her shawl across her face, the third asked for tea! She handed her father the cup, hesitated, then ventured to inquire whether she was forbidden to greet the stranger should the occasion arise. "He is a gentleman," replied her father. She sipped her tea thoughtfully, her imagination stirring. Again her recollection lingered over the clear bronze lines of the stranger's face. Something vaguely familiar seemed to touch her consciousness with ghostly fingers. She closed her eyes and tried to clutch them. At once they were withdrawn. And then again, when her attention wandered, they stole back, plucking appealingly at the hem of her recollections. The room was heavy-curtained, deep embrasured, for the house, beneath its clap-boards, was of logs. Although out of doors the clear spring sunshine still flooded the valley of the Moose; within, the shadows had begun with velvet fingers to extinguish the brighter lights. Virginia threw herself back on a chair in the corner. "Virginia," said Galen Albret, suddenly, "Yes, father." "You are no longer a child, but a woman. Would you like to go to Quebec?" She did not answer him at once, but pondered beneath close-knit brows. "Do you wish me to go, father?" she asked at length. "You are eighteen. It is time you saw the world, time you learned the ways of other people. But the journey is hard. I may not see you again for some years. You go among strangers." He fell silent again. Motionless he had been, except for the mumbling of his lips beneath his beard. "It shall be just as you wish," he added a moment later. At once a conflict arose in the girl's mind between her restless dreams and her affections. But beneath all the glitter of the question there was really nothing to take her out. Here was her father, here were the things she loved; yonder was novelty--and loneliness. Her existence at Conjuror's House was perhaps a little complex, but it was familiar. She knew the people, and she took a daily and unwearying delight in the kindness and simplicity of their bearing toward herself. Each detail of life came to her in the round of habit, wearing the garment of accustomed use. But of the world she knew nothing except what she had been able to body forth from her reading, and that had merely given her imagination something tangible with which to feed her self-distrust. "Must I decide at once?" she asked. "If you go this year, it must be with the Abitibi _brigade_. You have until then." "Thank you, father." said the girl, sweetly. The shadows stole their surroundings one by one, until only the bright silver of the tea-service, and the glitter of polished wood, and the square of the open door remained. Galen Albret became an inert dark mass. Virginia's gray was lost in that of the twilight. Time passed. The clock ticked on. Faintly sounds penetrated from the kitchen, and still more faintly from out of doors. Then the rectangle of the door-way was darkened by a man peering uncertainly. The man wore his hat, from which slanted a slender heron's plume; his shoulders were square; his thighs slim and graceful. Against the light, one caught the outline of the sash's tassel and the fringe of his leggings. "Are you there, Galen Albret?" he challenged. The spell of twilight mystery broke. It seemed as if suddenly the air had become surcharged with the vitality of opposition. "What then?" countered the Factor's heavy, deliberate tones. "True, I see you now," rejoined the visitor carelessly, as he flung himself across the arm of a chair and swung one foot. "I do not doubt you are convinced by this time of my intention." "My recollection does not tell me what messenger I sent to ask this interview." "Correct," laughed the young man a little hardly. "You _didn't_ ask it. I attended to that myself. What you want doesn't concern me in the least. What do you suppose I care what, or what not, any of this crew wants? I'm master of my own ideas, anyway, thank God. If you don't like what I do, you can always stop me." In the tone of his voice was a distinct challenge. Galen Albret, it seemed, chose to pass it by. "True," he replied sombrely, after a barely perceptible pause to mark his tacit displeasure. "It is your hour. Say on." "I should like to know the date at which I take _la Longue Traverse_." "You persist in that nonsense?" "Call my departure whatever you want to--I have the name for it. When do I leave?" "I have not decided." "And in the meantime?" "Do as you please." "Ah, thanks for this generosity," cried the young man, in a tone of declamatory sarcasm so artificial as fairly to scent the elocutionary. "To do as I please--here--now there's a blessed privilege! I may walk around where I want to, talk to such as have a good word for me, punish those who have not! But do I err in concluding that the state of your game law is such that it would be useless to reclaim my rifle from the engaging Placide?" "You have a fine instinct," approved the Factor. "It is one of my valued possessions," rejoined the young man, insolently. He struck a match, and by its light selected a cigarette. "I do not myself use tobacco in this room," suggested the older speaker. "I am curious to learn the limits of your forbearance," replied the younger, proceeding to smoke. He threw back his head and regarded his opponent with an open challenge, daring him to become angry. The match went out. Virginia, who had listened in growing anger and astonishment, unable longer to refrain from defending the dignity of her usually autocratic father, although he seemed little disposed to defend himself, now intervened from her dark corner on the divan. "Is the journey then so long, sir," she asked composedly, "that it at once inspires such anticipations--and such bitterness?" In an instant the man was on his feet, hat in hand, and the cigarette had described a fiery curve into the empty hearth. "I beg your pardon, sincerely," he cried, "I did not know you were here!" "You might better apologize to my father," replied Virginia. The young man stepped forward and without asking permission, lighted one of the tall lamps. "The lady of the guns!" he marvelled softly to himself. He moved across the room, looking down on her inscrutably, while she looked up at him in composed expectation of an apology--and Galen Albret sat motionless, in the shadow of his great arm-chair. But after a moment her calm attention broke down. Something there was about this man that stirred her emotions--whether of curiosity, pity, indignation, or a slight defensive fear she was not introspective enough to care to inquire. And yet the sensation was not altogether unpleasant, and, as at the guns that afternoon, a certain portion of her consciousness remained in sympathy with whatever it was of mysterious attraction he represented to her. In him she felt the dominant, as a wild creature of the woods instinctively senses the master and drops its eyes. Resentment did not leave her, but over it spread a film of confusion that robbed it of its potency. In him, in his mood, in his words, in his manner, was something that called out in direct appeal the more primitive instincts hitherto dormant beneath her sense of maidenhood, so that even at this vexed moment of conscious opposition, her heart was ranging itself on his side. Overpoweringly the feeling swept her that she was not acting in accordance with her sense of fitness. She knew she should strike, but was unable to give due force to the blow. In the confusion of such a discovery, her eyelids fluttered and fell. And he saw, and, understanding his power, dropped swiftly beside her on the broad divan. "You must pardon me, mademoiselle," he begun, his voice sinking to a depth of rich music singularly caressing. "To you I may seem to have small excuses, but when a man is vouchsafed a glimpse of heaven only to be cast out the next instant into hell, he is not always particular in the choice of words." All the time his eyes sought hers, which avoided the challenge, and the strong masculine charm of magnetism which he possessed in such vital abundance overwhelmed her unaccustomed consciousness. Galen Albret shifted uneasily, and shot a glance in their direction. The stranger, perceiving this, lowered his voice in register and tone, and went on with almost exaggerated earnestness. "Surely you can forgive me, a desperate man, almost anything?" "I do not understand," said Virginia, with a palpable effort. Ned Trent leaned forward until his eager face was almost at her shoulder. "Perhaps not," he urged; "I cannot ask you to try. But suppose, mademoiselle, you were in my case. Suppose your eyes--like mine--have rested on nothing but a howling wilderness for dear heaven knows how long; you come at last in sight of real houses, real grass, real door-yard gardens just ready to blossom in the spring, real food, real beds, real books, real men with whom to exchange the sensible word, and something more, mademoiselle--a woman such as one dreams of in the long forest nights under the stars. And you know that while others, the lucky ones, may stay to enjoy it all, you, the unfortunate, are condemned to leave it at any moment for _la Longue Traverse_. Would not you, too, be bitter, mademoiselle? Would not you too mock and sneer? Think, mademoiselle, I have not even the little satisfaction of rousing men's anger. I can insult them as I will, but they turn aside in pity, saying one to another: 'Let us pleasure him in this, poor fellow, for he is about to take _la Longue Traverse_.' That is why your father accepts calmly from me what he would not from another." Virginia sat bolt upright on the divan, her hands clasped in her lap, her wonderful black eyes looking straight out before her, trying to avoid her companion's insistent gaze. His attention was fixed on her mobile and changing countenance, but he marked with evident satisfaction Galen Albret's growing uneasiness. This was evidenced only by a shifting of the feet, a tapping of the fingers, a turning of the shaggy head--in such a man slight tokens are significant. The silence deepened with the shadows drawing about the single lamp, while Virginia attempted to maintain a breathing advantage above the flood of strange emotions which the personality of this man had swept down upon her. "It does not seem--" objected the girl in bewilderment, "I do not know--men are often out in this country for years at a time. Long journeys are not unknown among us, We are used to undertaking them." "But not _la Longue Traverse_," insisted the young man, sombrely. "_La Longue Traverse_." she repeated in sweet perplexity. "Sometimes called the Journey of Death," he explained. She turned to look him in the eyes, a vague expression of puzzled fear on her face. "She has never heard of it," said Ned Trent to himself, and aloud: "Men who undertake it leave comfort behind. They embrace hunger and weariness, cold and disease. At the last they embrace death, and are glad of his coming." Something in his tone compelled belief; something in his face told her that he was a man by whom the inevitable hardships of winter and summer travel, fearful as they are, would be lightly endured. She shuddered. "This dreadful thing is necessary?" she asked. "Alas, yes." "I do not understand----" "In the North few of us understand," agreed the young man with a hint of bitterness seeping through his voice. "The mighty order, and so we obey. But that is beside the point. I have not told you these things to harrow you; I have tried to excuse myself for my actions. Does it touch you a little? Am I forgiven?" "I do not understand how such things can be," she objected in some confusion, "why such journeys must exist. My mind cannot comprehend your explanations." The stranger leaned forward abruptly, his eyes blazing with the magnetic personality of the man. "But your heart?" he breathed. It was the moment. "My heart--" she repeated, as though bewildered by the intensity of his eyes, "my heart--ah--yes!" Immediately the blood rushed over her face and throat in a torrent. She snatched her eyes away, and cowered back in the corner, going red and white by turns, now angry, now frightened, now bewildered, until his gaze, half masterful, half pleading, again conquered hers. Galen Albret had ceased tapping his chair. In the dim light he sat, staring straight before him, massive, inert, grim. "I believe you--" she murmured hurriedly at last. "I pity you!" She rose. Quick as light he barred her passage. "Don't! don't!" she pleaded. "I must go--you have shaken me--I--I do not understand myself----" "I must see you again," he whispered eagerly. "To-night--by the guns." "No, no!" "To-night," he insisted. She raised her eyes to his, this time naked of defence, so that the man saw down through their depths into her very soul. "Oh," she begged, quivering, "let me pass. Don't you see--I'm going to cry!" Chapter Six For a moment Ned Trent stared through the darkness into which Virginia had disappeared. Then he turned a troubled face to the task he had set himself, for the unexpectedly pathetic results of his fantastic attempt had shaken him. Twice he half turned as though to follow her. Then shaking his shoulders he bent his attention to the old man in the shadow of the chair. He was given no opportunity for further speech, however, for at the sound of the closing door Galen Albret's impassivity had fallen from him. He sprang to his feet. The whole aspect of the man suddenly became electric, terrible. His eyes blazed; his heavy brows drew spasmodically toward each other; his jaws worked, twisting his beard into strange contortions; his massive frame straightened formidably; and his voice rumbled from the arch of his deep chest in a torrent of passionate sound. "By God, young man!" he thundered, "you go too far! Take heed! I will not stand this! Do not you presume to make love to my daughter before my eyes!" And Ned Trent, just within the dusky circle of lamplight, where the bold, sneering lines of Ins face stood out in relief against the twilight of the room, threw back his head and laughed. It was a clear laugh, but low, and in it were all the devils of triumph, and of insolence. Where the studied insult of words had failed, this single cachinnation succeeded. The Trade saw his opponent's eyes narrow. For a moment he thought the Factor was about to spring on him. Then, with an effort that blackened his face with blood, Galen Albret controlled himself, and fell to striking the call-bell violently and repeatedly with the palm of his hand. After a moment Matthews, the English servant, came running in. To him the Factor was at first physically unable to utter a syllable. Then finally he managed to ejaculate the name of his bowsman with such violence of gesture that the frightened servant comprehended by sheer force of terror and ran out again in search of Me-en-gan. This supreme effort seemed to clear the way for speech. Galen Albret began to address his opponent hoarsely in quick, disjointed sentences, a gasp for breath between each. "You revived an old legend--_la Longue Traverse_--the myth. It shall be real--to--you--I will make it so. By God, you shall not defy me----" Ned Trent smiled. "You do not deceive me," he rejoined, coolly. "Silence!" cried the Factor. "Silence!--You shall speak no more!--You have said enough----" Me-en-gan glided into the room. Galen Albret at once addressed him in the Ojibway language, gaining control of himself as he went on. "Listen to me well," he commanded. "You shall make a count of all rifles in this place--at once. Let no one furnish this man with food or arms. You know the story of _la Longue Traverse_. This man shall take it. So inform my people, I, the Factor, decree it so. Prepare all things at once--understand, at once!" Ned Trent waited to hear no more, but sauntered from the room whistling gayly a boatman's song. His point was gained. Outside, the long Northern twilight with its beautiful shadows of crimson was descending from the upper regions of the east A light wind breathed up-river from the bay. The Free Trader drew his lungs full of the evening air. "Just the same, I think she will come," said he to himself. "_La Longue Traverse_, even at once, is a pretty slim chance. But this second string to my bow is better. I believe I'll get the rifle--if she comes!" Chapter Seven Virginia ran quickly up the narrow stairs to her own room, where she threw herself on the bed and buried her face in the pillows. As she had said, she was very much shaken. And, too, she way afraid. She could not understand. Heretofore she had moved among the men around her, pure, lofty, serene. Now at one blow all this crumbled. The stranger had outraged her finer feelings. He had insulted her father in her very presence;--for this she was angry. He had insulted herself;--for this she was afraid. He had demanded that she meet him again; but this--at least in the manner he had suggested--should not happen. And yet she confessed to herself a delicious wonder as to what he would do next, and a vague desire to see him again in order to find out. That she could not successfully combat this feeling made her angry at herself. And so in mingled fear, pride, anger, and longing she remained until Wishkobun, the Indian woman, glided in to dress her for the dinner whose formality she and her father consistently maintained. She fell to talking the soft Ojibway dialect, and in the conversation forgot some of her emotion and regained some of her calm. Her surface thoughts, at least, were compelled for the moment to occupy themselves with other things. The Indian woman had to tell her of the silver fox brought in by Mu-hi-ken, an Indian of her own tribe; of the retort Achille Picard had made when MacLane had taunted him; of the forest fire that had declared itself far to the east, and of the theories to account for it where no campers had been. Yet underneath the rambling chatter Virginia was aware of something new in her consciousness, something delicious but as yet vague. In the gayest moment of her half-jesting, half-affectionate gossip with the Indian woman, she felt its uplift catching her breath from beneath, so that for the tiniest instant she would pause as though in readiness for some message which nevertheless delayed. A fresh delight in the present moment held her, a fresh anticipation of the immediate future, though both delight and anticipation were based on something without her knowledge. That would come later. The sound of rapid footsteps echoed across the lower hall, a whistle ran into an air, sung gayly, with spirit; "J'ai perdu ma maitresse, Sans l'avoir merite, Pour un bouquet de roses Que je lui refusai. Li ya longtemps que je t'aime, Jamais je ne t'oublierai!" She fell abruptly silent, and spoke no more until she descended to the council-room where the table was now spread for dinner. Two silver candlesticks lit the place. The men were waiting for her when she entered, and at once took their seats in the worn, rude chairs. White linen and glittering silver adorned the service. Galen Albret occupied one end of the table, Virginia the other. On either side were Doctor and Mrs. Cockburn; McDonald, the Chief Trader; Richardson, the clerk, and Crane, the missionary of the Church of England. Matthews served with rigid precision in the order of importance, first the Factor, then Virginia, then the doctor, his wife, McDonald, the clerk, and Crane in due order. On entering a room the same precedence would have held good. Thus these people, six hundred miles as the crow flies from the nearest settlement, maintained their shadowy hold on civilization. The glass was fine, the silver massive, the linen dainty, Matthews waited faultlessly: but overhead hung the rough timbers of the wilderness post, across the river faintly could be heard the howling of wolves. The fare was rice, curry, salt pork, potatoes, and beans; for at this season the game was poor, and the fish hardly yet running with regularity. Throughout the meal Virginia sat in a singular abstraction. No conscious thoughts took shape in her mind, but nevertheless she seemed to herself to be occupied in considering weighty matters. When directly addressed, she answered sweetly. Much of the time she studied her father's face. She found it old. Those lines were already evident which, when first noted, bring a stab of surprised pain to the breast of a child--the droop of the mouth, the wrinkling of the temples, the patient weariness of the eyes. Virginia's own eyes filled with tears. The subjective passive state into which a newly born but not yet recognized love had cast her, inclined her to gentleness. She accepted facts as they came to her. For the moment she forgot the mere happenings of the day, and lived only in the resulting mood of them all. The new-comer inspired her no longer with anger nor sorrow, attraction nor fear. Her active emotions in abeyance, she floated dreamily on the clouds of a new estate. This very aloofness of spirit disinclined her for the company of the others after the meal was finished. The Factor closeted himself with Richardson. The doctor, lighting a cheroot, took his way across to his infirmary. McDonald, Crane, and Mrs. Cockburn entered the drawing-room and seated themselves near the piano. Virginia hesitated, then threw a shawl over her head and stepped out on the broad veranda. At once the vast, splendid beauty of the Northern night broke over her soul. Straight before her gleamed and flashed and ebbed and palpitated the aurora. One moment its long arms shot beyond the zenith; the next it had broken and rippled back like a brook of light to its arch over the Great Bear. Never for an instant was it still. Its restlessness stole away the quiet of the evening; but left it magnificent. In comparison with this coruscating dome of the infinite the earth had shrunken to a narrow black band of velvet, in which was nothing distinguishable until suddenly the sky-line broke in calm silhouettes of spruce and firs. And always the mighty River of the Moose, gleaming, jewelled, barbaric in its reflections, slipped by to the sea. So rapid and bewildering was the motion of these two great powers--the river and the sky--that the imagination could not believe in silence. It was as though the earth were full of shoutings and of tumults. And yet in reality the night was as still as a tropical evening. The wolves and the sledge-dogs answered each other undisturbed; the beautiful songs of the white-throats stole from the forest as divinely instinct as ever with the spirit of peace. Virginia leaned against the railing and looked upon it all. Her heart was big with emotions, many of which she could not name; her eyes were full of tears. Something had changed in her since yesterday, but she did not know what it was. The faint wise stars, the pale moon just sinking, the gentle south breeze could have told her, for they are old, old in the world's affairs. Occasionally a flash more than ordinarily brilliant would glint one of the bronze guns beneath the flag-staff. Then Virginia's heart would glint too. She imagined the reflection startled her. She stretched her arms out to the night, embracing its glories, sighing in sympathy with its meaning, which she did not know. She felt the desire of restlessness; yet she could not bear to go. But no thought of the stranger touched her, for you see as yet she did not understand. Then, quite naturally, she heard his voice in the darkness close to her knee. It seemed inevitable that he should be there; part of the restless, glorious night, part of her mood. She gave no start of surprise, but half closed her eyes and leaned her fair head against a pillar of the veranda. He sang in a sweet undertone an old chanson of voyage. "Par derrier ches man pere, Vole, mon coeur, vole! Par derrier' chez mon pere Li-ya-t-un, pommier doux." "Ah lady, lady mine," broke in the voice softly, "the night too is sweet, soft as thine eyes. Will you not greet me?" The girl made no sign. After a moment the song went on, "Trois filles d'un prince, Vole, mon coeur, vole! Trois filles d'un prince Sont endormies dessous." "Will not the princess leave her sisters of dreams?" whispered the voice, fantastically, "Will she not come?" Virginia shivered, and half-opened her eyes, but did not stir. It seemed that the darkness sighed, then became musical again. "La plus jeun' se reveille, Vole, mon coeur, vole! La plus jeun' se reveille --Ma Soeur, voila le jour! The song broke this time without a word of pleading. The girl opened her eyes wide and stared breathlessly straight before her at the singer. "--Non, ce n'est qu'une etoile, Vole, mon coeur, vole! Non, ce n'est qu'une etoile Qu' eclaire nos amours!" The last word rolled out through its passionate throat tones and died into silence. "Come!" repeated the man again, this time almost in the accents of command. She turned slowly and went to him, her eyes childlike and frightened, her lips wide, her face pale. When she stood face to face with him she swayed and almost fell. "What do you want with me?" she faltered, with a little sob. The man looked at her keenly, laughed, and exclaimed in an every-day, matter-of-fact voice: "Why, I really believe my song frightened you. It is only a boating song. Come, let us go and sit on the gun-carriages and talk." "Oh!" she gasped, a trifle hysterically. "Don't do that again! Please don't. I do not understand it! You must not!" He laughed again, but with a note of tenderness in his voice, and took her hand to lead her away, humming in an undertone the last couplet of his song: "Non, ce n'est qu'une etoile, Qu'eclaire nos amours!" Chapter Eight Virginia went with this man passively--to an appointment which, but an hour ago, she had promised herself she would not keep. Her inmost soul was stirred, just as before. Then it had been few words, now it was a little common song. But the strange power of the man held her close, so she realized that for the moment at least she would do as he desired. In the amazement and consternation of this thought she found time to offer up a little prayer, "Dear God, make him kind to me." They leaned against the old bronze guns, facing the river. He pulled her shawl about her, masterfully yet with gentleness, and then, as though it was the most natural thing in the world, he drew her to him until she rested against his shoulder. And she remained there, trembling, in suspense, glancing at him quickly, in birdlike, pleading glances, as though praying him to be kind. He took no notice after that, so the act seemed less like a caress than a matter of course. He began to talk, half-humorously, and little by little, as he went on, she forgot her fears, even her feeling of strangeness, and fell completely under the spell of his power. "My name is Ned Trent," he told her, "and I am from Quebec. I am a woods runner. I have journeyed far. I have been to the uttermost ends of the North even up beyond the Hills of Silence." And then, in his gay, half-mocking, yet musical voice he touched lightly on vast and distant things. He talked of the great Saskatchewan, of Peace River, and the delta of the Mackenzie, of the winter journeys beyond Great Bear Lake into the Land of the Little Sticks, and the half-mythical lake of Yamba Tooh. He spoke of life with the Dog Ribs and Yellow Knives, where the snow falls in midsummer. Before her eyes slowly spread, like a panorama, the whole extent of the great North, with its fierce, hardy men, its dreadful journeys by canoe and sledge, its frozen barrens, its mighty forests, its solemn charm. All at once this post of Conjurors House, a month in the wilderness as it was, seemed very small and tame and civilized for the simple reason that Death did not always compass it about. "It was very cold then," said Ned Trent "and very hard. _Le grand frete_ [froid--cold] of winter had come. At night we had no other shelter than our blankets, and we could not keep a fire because the spruce burned too fast and threw too many coals. For a long time we shivered, curled up on our snowshoes; then fell heavily asleep, so that even the dogs fighting over us did not awaken us. Two or three times in the night we boiled tea. We had to thaw our moccasins each morning by thrusting them inside our shirts. Even the Indians were shivering and saying, 'Ed-sa, yazzi ed-sa'--'it is cold, very cold.' And when we came to Rae it was not much better. A roaring fire in the fireplace could not prevent the ink from freezing on the pen. This went on for five months." Thus he spoke, as one who says common things. He said little of himself, but as he went on in short, curt sentences the picture grew more distinct, and to Virginia the man became more and more prominent in it. She saw the dying and exhausted dogs, the frost-rimed, weary men; she heard the quick _crunch, crunch, crunch_ of the snow-shoes hurrying ahead to break the trail; she felt the cruel torture of the _mal de raquette_, the shrivelling bite of the frost, the pain of snow blindness, the hunger that yet could not stomach the frozen fish nor the hairy, black caribou meat. One thing she could not conceive--the indomitable spirit of the men. She glanced timidly up at her companion's face. "The Company is a cruel master," she sighed at last, standing upright, then leaning against the carriage of the gun. He let her go without protest, almost without thought, it seemed. "But not mine," said he. She exclaimed, in astonishment, "Are you not of the Company?" "I am no man's man but my own," he answered, simply. "Then why do you stay in this dreadful North?" she asked. "Because I love it. It is my life. I want to go where no man has set foot before me; I want to stand alone under the sky; I want to show myself that nothing is too big for me--no difficulty, no hardship--nothing!" "Why did you come here, then? Here at least are forests so that you can keep warm. This is not so dreadful as the Coppermine, and the country of the Yellow Knives. Did you come here to try _la Longue Traverse_ of which you spoke to-day?" He fell suddenly sombre, biting in reflection at his lip. "No--yes--why not?" he said, at length. "I know you will come out of it safely," said she; "I feel it. You are brave and used to travel. Won't you tell me about it?" He did not reply. After a moment she looked up in surprise. His brows were knit in reflection. He turned to her again, his eyes glowing into hers. Once more the fascination of the man grew big, overwhelmed her. She felt her heart flutter, her consciousness swim, her old terror returning. "Listen," said he. "I may come to you to-morrow and ask you to choose between your divine pity and what you might think to be your duty. Then I will tell you all there is to know of _la Longue Traverse_. Now it is a secret of the Company. You are a Factor's daughter; you know what that means." He dropped his head. "Ah, I am tired--tired with it all!" he cried, in a voice strangely unhappy. "But yesterday I played the game with all my old spirit; to-day the zest is gone! I no longer care." He felt the pressure of her hand. "Are you just a little sorry for me?" he asked. "Sorry for a weakness you do not understand? You must think me a fool." "I know you are unhappy," replied Virginia, gently. "I am truly sorry for that." "Are you? Are you, indeed?" he cried. "Unhappiness is worth such pity as yours." He brooded for a moment, then threw his hands out with what might have been a gesture of desperate indifference. Suddenly his mood changed in the whimsical, bewildering fashion of the man. "Ah, a star shoots!" he exclaimed, gayly. "That means a kiss!" Still laughing, he attempted to draw her to him. Angry, mortified, outraged, she fought herself free and leaped to her feet. "Oh!" she cried, in insulted anger. "Oh!" she cried, in a red shame. "_Oh!_" she cried, in sorrow. Her calm broke. She burst into the violent sobbing of a child, and turned and ran hurriedly to the factory. Ned Trent stared after her a minute from beneath scowling brows. He stamped his moccasined foot impatiently. "Like a rat in a trap!" he jeered at himself. "Like a rat in a trap, Ned Trent! The fates are drawing around you close. You need just one little thing, and you cannot get it. Bribery is useless! Force is useless! Craft is useless! This afternoon I thought I saw another way. What I could get no other way I might get from this little girl. She is only a child. I believe I could touch her pity--ah, Ned Trent, Ned Trent, can you ever forget her frightened, white face begging you to be kind?" He paced back and forth between the two bronze guns with long, straight strides, like a panther in a cage. "Her aid is mine for the asking--but she makes it impossible to ask! I could not do it. Better try _la Longue Traverse_ than take advantage of her pity--she'd surely get into trouble. What wonderful eyes she has. She thinks I am a brute--how she sobbed, as though her little heart had broken. Well, it was the only way to destroy her interest in me. I had to do it. Now she will despise me and forget me. It is better that she should think me a brute than that I should be always haunted by those pleading eyes." The door of the distant church house opened and closed. He smiled bitterly. "To be sure, I haven't tried that." he acknowledged. "Their teachings are singularly apropos to my case--mercy, justice, humanity--yes, and love of man. I'll try it. I'll call for help on the love of man, since I cannot on the love of woman. The love of woman--ah----yes." He set his feet reflectively toward the chapel. Chapter Nine After a moment he pushed open the door without ceremony, and entered. He bent his brows, studying the Reverend Archibald Crane, while the latter, looking up startled, turned pink. He was a pink little man, anyway, the Reverend Archibald Crane, and why, in the inscrutability of its wisdom, the Church had sent him out to influence strong, grim men, the Church in its inscrutable wisdom only knows. He wore at the moment a cambric English boating-hat to protect his bald head from the draught, a full clerical costume as far as the trousers, which were of lavender, and a pair of beaded moccasins faced with red. His weak little face was pink, and two tufts of side-whiskers were nearly so. A heavy gold-headed cane stood at his hand. When he heard the door open he exclaimed, before raising his head, "My, these first flies of the season do bother me so!" and then looked startled. "Good-evening," greeted Ned Trent, stopping squarely in the centre of the room. The clergyman spread his arms along the desk's edge in embarrassment. "Good-evening," he returned, reluctantly. "Is there anything I can do for you?" The visitor puzzled him, but was dressed as a _voyageur_. The Reverend Archibald immediately resolved to treat him as such. "I wish to introduce myself as Ned Trent," went on the Free Trader with composure, "and I have broken in on your privacy this evening only because I need your ministrations cruelly." "I am rejoiced that in your difficulties you turn to the consolations of the Church," replied the other in the cordial tones of the man who is always ready. "Pray be seated. He whose soul thirsteth need offer no apology to the keeper of the spiritual fountains." "Quite so," replied the stranger dryly, seating himself as suggested, "only in this case my wants are temporal rather than spiritual. They, however, seem to me fully within the province of the Church.^ "The Church attempts within limits to aid those who are materially in want," assured Crane, with official dignity. "Our resources are small, but to the truly deserving we are always ready to give in the spirit of true giving." "I am rejoiced to hear it," returned the young man, grimly; "you will then have no difficulty in getting me so small a matter as a rifle and about forty or fifty rounds of ammunition." A pause of astonishment ensued. "Why, really," ejaculated Crane, "I fail to see how that falls within my jurisdiction in the slightest. You should see our Trader, Mr. McDonald, in regard to all such things. Your request addressed to me becomes extraordinary." "Not so much so when you know who I am. I told you my name is Ned Trent, but I neglected to inform you further that I am a captured Free Trader, condemned to _la Longue Traverse_, and that I have in vain tried to procure elsewhere the means of escape." Then the clergyman understood. The full significance of the intruder's presence flashed over his little pink face in a trouble of uneasiness. The probable consequences of such a bit of charity as his visitor proposed almost turned him sick with excitement. "You expect to have them of me!" he cried, getting his voice at last. "Certainly," assured his interlocutor, crossing his legs comfortably. "Don't you see the logic of events forces me to think so? What other course is open to you? I am in this country entirely within my legal rights as a citizen of the Canadian Commonwealth. Unjustly, I am seized by a stronger power and condemned unjustly to death. Surely you admit the injustice?" "Well, of course you know--the customs of the country--it is hardly an abstract question--" stammered Crane, still without grasp on the logic of his argument "But as an abstract question the injustice is plain," resumed the Free Trader, imperturbably. "And against plain injustice it strikes me there is but one course open to an acknowledged institution of abstract--and concrete--morality. The Church must set itself against immorality, and you, as the Church's representative, must get me a rifle." "You forget one thing," rejoined Crane. "What is that?" "Such an aid would be a direct act of rebellion against authority on my part, which would be severely punished. Of course," he asserted, with conscious righteousness, "I should not consider that for a moment as far ay my own personal safety is concerned. But my cause would suffer. You forget, sir, that we are doing here a great and good work. We have in our weekly congregational singing over forty regular attendants from the aborigines; next year I hope to build a church at Whale River, thus reaching the benighted inhabitants of that distant region. All of this is a vital matter in the service of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ. You suggest that I endanger all this in order to right a single instance of injustice. Of course we are told to love one another, but--" he paused. "You have to compromise," finished the stranger for him. "Exactly." said the Reverend Crane. "Thank you; it is exactly that. In order to accomplish what little good the Lord vouchsafes to our poor efforts, we are obliged to overlook many things. Otherwise we should not be allowed to stay here at all." "That is most interesting," agreed Ned Trent, with a rather biting calm. "But is it not a little calculating? My slight familiarity with religious history and literature has always led me to believe that you are taught to embrace the right at any cost whatsoever--that, if you give yourself unreservedly to justice, the Lord will sustain you through all trials. I think at a pinch I could even quote a text to that effect." "My dear fellow," objected the Reverend Archibald in gentle protest, "you evidently do not understand the situation at all. I feel I should be most untrue to my trust if I were to endanger in any way the life-long labor of my predecessor. You must be able to see that for yourself. It would destroy utterly my usefulness here. They'd send me away. I couldn't go on with the work, I have to think what is for the best." "There is some justice in what you say," admitted the stranger, "if you persist in looking on this thing as a business proposition. But it seems to my confessedly untrained mind that you missed the point. 'Trust in the Lord,' saith the prophet. In fact, certain rivals in your own field hold the doctrine you expound, and you consider them wrong. 'To do evil that good may come' I seem to recognize as a tenet of the Church of the Jesuits." "I protest. I really do protest," objected the clergyman, scandalized. "All right," agreed Ned Trent, with good-natured contempt. "That is not the point. Do you refuse?" "Can't you see?" begged the other. "I'm sure you are reasonable enough to take the case on its broader side." "You refuse?" insisted Ned Trent. "It is not always easy to walk straightly before the Lord, and my way is not always clear before me, but----" "You refuse!" cried Ned Trent, rising impatiently. The reverend Archibald Crane looked at his catechiser with a trace of alarm. "I'm sorry; I'm afraid I must," he apologized. The stranger advanced until he touched the desk on the other side of which the Reverend Archibald was sitting, where he stood for some moments looking down on his opponent with an almost amused expression of contempt. "You are an interesting little beast," he drawled, "and I've seen a lot of your kind in my time. Here you preach every Sunday, to whomever will listen to you, certain cut-and-dried doctrines you don't believe practically in the least. Here for the first time you have had a chance to apply them literally, and you hide behind a lot of words. And while you're about it you may as well hear what I have to say about your kind. I've had a pretty wide experience in the North, and I know what I'm talking about. Your work here among the Indians is rot, and every sensible man knows it. You coop them up in your log-built houses, you force on them clothes to which they are unaccustomed until they die of consumption. Under your little tin-steepled imitation of civilization, for which they are not fitted, they learn to beg, to steal, to lie. I have travelled far, but I have yet to discover what your kind are allowed on earth for. You are narrow-minded, bigoted, intolerant, and without a scrap of real humanity to ornament your mock religion. When you find you can't meddle with other people's affairs enough at home you get sent where you can get right in the business--and earn salvation for doing it. I don't know just why I should say this to you, but it sort of does me good to tell it. Once I heard one of your kind tell a sorrowing mother that her little child had gone to hell because it had died before he--the smug hypocrite--had sprinkled its little body with a handful of water. There's humanity for you! It may interest you to know that I thrashed that man then and there. You are all alike; I know the breed. When there is found a real man among you--and there are such--he is so different in everything, including his religion, as to be really of another race. I came here without the slightest expectation of getting what I asked for. As I said before, I know your breed, and I know just how well your two-thousand-year-old doctrines apply to practical cases. There is another way, but I hated to use it. You'd take it quick enough, I dare say. Here is where I should receive aid. I may have to get it where I should not. You a man of God! Why, you poor little insect, I can't even get angry at you!" He stood for a moment looking at the confused and troubled clergyman. Then he went out. Chapter Ten Almost immediately the door opened again, "You, Miss Albret!" cried Crane. "What does this mean?" demanded Virginia, imperiously. "Who is that man? In what danger does he stand? What does he want a rifle for? I insist on knowing." She stood straight and tall in the low room, her eyes flashing, her head thrown back in the assured power of command. The Reverend Crane tried to temporize, hesitating over his words. She cut him short. "That is nonsense. Everybody seems to know but myself. I am no child. I came to consult you--my spiritual adviser--in regard to this very case. Accidentally I overheard enough to justify me in knowing more." The clergyman murmured something about the Company's secrets. Again she cut him short. "Company's secrets! Since when has the Company confided in Andrew Laviolette, in Wishkobun, in _you_?" "Possibly you would better ask your father," said Crane, with some return of dignity. "It does not suit me to do so," replied she. "I insist that you answer my questions. Who is this man?" "Ned Trent, he says." "I will not be put off in this way. _Who_ is he? _What_ is he?" "He is a Free Trader," replied the Reverend Crane with the air of a man who throws down a bomb and is afraid of the consequences. To his astonishment the bomb did not explode. "What is that?" she asked, simply. The man's jaw dropped and his eyes opened in astonishment. Here was a density of ignorance in regard to the ordinary affairs of the Post which could by no stretch of the imagination be ascribed to chance. If Virginia Albret did not know the meaning of the term, and all the tragic consequences it entailed, there could be but one conclusion: Galen Albret had not intended that she should know. She had purposely been left in ignorance, and a politic man would hesitate long before daring to enlighten her. The Reverend Crane, in sheer terror, became sullen. "A Free Trader is a man who trades in opposition to the Company," said he, cautiously. "What great danger is he in?" the girl persisted with her catechism. "None that I am aware of," replied Crane, suavely. "He is a very ill-balanced and excitable young man." Virginia's quick instincts recognized again the same barrier which, with the people, with Wishkobun, with her father, had shut her so effectively from the truth. Her power of femininity and position had to give way before the man's fear for himself and of Galen Albret's unexpressed wish. She asked a few more questions, received a few more evasive replies, and left the little clergyman to recover as best he might from a very trying evening. Out in the night the girl hesitated in two minds as to what to do next. She was excited, and resolved to finish the affair, but she could not bring her courage to the point of questioning her father. That the stranger was in antagonism to the Company, that he believed himself to be in danger on that account, that he wanted succor, she saw clearly enough. But the whole affair was vague, disquieting. She wanted to see it plainly, know its reasons. And beneath her excitement she recognized, with a catch of the breath, that she was afraid for him. She had not time now to ask herself what it might mean; she only realized the presence of the fact. She turned instinctively in the direction of Doctor Cockburn's house. Mrs. Cockburn was a plain little middle-aged woman with parted gray hair and sweet, faded eyes. In the life of the place she was a nonentity, and her tastes were homely and commonplace, but Virginia liked her. She proved to be at home, the Doctor still at his dispensary, which was well. Virginia entered a small log room, passed through it immediately to a larger papered room, and sat down in a musty red armchair. The building was one of the old regime, which meant that its floor was of wide and rather uneven painted boards, its ceiling low, its windows small, and its general lines of an irregular and sagging rule-of-thumb tendency. The white wall-paper evidently concealed squared logs. The present inhabitants, being possessed at once of rather homely tastes and limited facilities, had over-furnished the place with an infinitude of little things--little rugs, little tables, little knit doilies, little racks of photographs, little china ornaments, little spidery what-nots, and shelves for books. Virginia seated herself, and went directly to the topic. "Mrs. Cockburn," she said, "you have always been very good to me, always, ever since I came here as a little girl. I have not always appreciated it, I am afraid, but I am in great trouble, and I want your help." "What is it, dearie," asked the older woman, softly. "Of course I will do anything I can." "I want you to tell me what all this mystery is--about the man who to-day arrived from Kettle Portage, I mean. I have asked everybody: I have tried by all means in my power to get somebody somewhere to tell me. It is maddening--and I have a special reason for wanting to know." The older woman was already gazing at her through troubled eyes. "It is a shame and a mistake to keep you so in ignorance!" she broke out, "and I have said so always. There are many things you have the right to know, although some of them would make you very unhappy--as they do all of us poor women who have to live in this land of dread. But in this I cannot, dearie." Virginia felt again the impalpable shadow of truth escaping her. Baffled, confused, she began to lose her self-control. A dozen times to-day she had reached after this thing, and always her fingers had closed on empty air. She felt that she could not stand the suspense of bewilderment a single instant longer. The tears overflowed and rolled down her cheeks unheeded. "Oh, Mrs. Cockburn!" she cried. "Please! You do not know how dreadful this thing has come to be to me just because it is made so mysterious. Why has it been kept from me alone? It must have something to do with me, and I can't stand this mystery, this double-dealing, another minute. If you won't tell me, nobody will, and I shall go on imagining--Oh, please have pity on me! I feel the shadow of a tragedy. It comes out in everything, in everybody to whom I turn. I see it in Wishkobun's avoidance of me, in my father's silence, in Mr. Crane's confusion, in your reluctance--yes, in the very reckless insolence of Mr. Trent himself!"--her voice broke slightly. "If you will not tell me, I shall go direct to my father," she ended, with more firmness. Mrs. Cockburn examined the girl's flushed face through kindly but shrewd and experienced eyes. Then, with a caressing little murmur of pity, she arose and seated herself on the arm of the red chair, taking the girl's hand in hers. "I believe you mean it," she said, "and I am going to tell you myself. There is much sorrow in it for you; but if you go to your father it will only make it worse. I am doing what I should not. It is shameful that such things happen in this nineteenth century, but happen they do. The long and short of it is that the Factors of this Post tolerate no competition in the country, and when a man enters it for the purpose of trading with the Indians, he is stopped and sent out." "There is nothing very bad about that." said Virginia, relieved. "No, my dear, not in that. But they say his arms and supplies are taken from him, and he is given a bare handful of provisions. He has to make a quick journey, and to starve at that. Once when I was visiting out at the front, not many years ago, I saw one of those men--they called him Jo Bagneau--and his condition was pitiable--pitiable!" "But hardships can be endured. A man can escape." "Yes," almost whispered Mrs. Cockburn, looking about her apprehensively, "but the story goes that there are some cases--when the man is an old offender, or especially determined, or so prominent as to be able to interest the law--no one breathes of these cases here--but--_he never gets out_!" "What do you mean?" cried Virginia, harshly. "One dares not mean such things; but they are so. The hardships of the wilderness are many, the dangers terrible--what more natural than that a man should die of them in the forest? It is no one's fault." "What do you mean?" repeated Virginia; "for God's sake speak plainly!" "I dare not speak plainer than I know; and no one ever really _knows_ anything about it--excepting the Indian who fires the shot, or who watches the man until he dies of starvation." whispered Mrs. Cockburn. "But--but!" cried the girl, grasping her companion's arm. "My father! Does _he_ give such orders? _He_?" "No orders are given. The thing is understood. Certain runners, whose turn it is, shadow the Free Trader. Your father is not responsible; no one is responsible. It is the policy." "And this man----" "It has gone about that he is to take _la Longue Traverse_. He knows it himself." "It is barbaric, horrible; it is murder." "My dear, it is all that; but this is the country of dread. You have known the soft, bright side always--the picturesque men, the laugh, the song. If you had seen as much of the harshness of wilderness life as a doctor's wife must you would know that when the storms of their great passions rage it is well to sit quiet at your prayers." The girl's eyes were wide-fixed, staring at this first reality of life. A thousand new thoughts jostled for recognition. Suddenly her world had been swept from beneath her. The ancient patriarchal, kindly rule had passed away, and in its place she was forced to see a grim iron bond of death laid over her domain. And her father--no longer the grave, kindly old man--had become the ruthless tyrant. All these bright, laughing _voyageurs_, playmates of her childhood, were in reality executioners of a savage blood-law. She could not adjust herself to it. She got to her feet with an effort. "Thank you, Mrs. Cockburn," she said, in a low voice. "I--I do not quite understand. But I must go now. I must--I must see that my father's room is ready for him." she finished, with the proud defensive instinct of the woman who has been deeply touched. "You know I always do that myself." "Good-night, dearie," replied the older woman, understanding well the girl's desire to shelter behind the commonplace. She leaned forward and kissed her. "God keep and guide you. I hope I have done right." "Yes," cried Virginia, with unexpected fire. "Yes, you did just right! I ought to have been told long ago! They've kept me a perfect child to whom everything has been bright and care-free and simple. I--I feel that until this moment I have lacked my real womanhood!" She bowed her head and passed through the log room into the outer air. Her father, _her_ father, had willed this man's death, and so he was to die! That explained many things--the young fellow's insolence, his care-free recklessness, his passionate denunciation of the Reverend Crane and the Reverend Crane's religion. He wanted one little thing--the gift of a rifle wherewith to assure his subsistence should he escape into the forest--and of all those at Conjuror's House to whom he might turn for help, some were too hard to give it to him, and some too afraid! He should have it! She, the daughter of her father, would see to it that in this one instance her father's sin should fail! Suddenly, in the white heat of her emotion, she realized why these matters stirred her so profoundly, and she stopped short and gasped with the shock of it. It did not matter that she thwarted her father's will; it would not matter if she should be discovered and punished as only these harsh characters could punish. For the brave bearing, the brave jest, the jaunty facing of death, the tender, low voice, the gay song, the aurora-lit moment of his summons--all these had at last their triumph. She knew that she loved him; and that if he were to die, she would surely die too. And, oh, it must be that he loved her! Had she not heard it in the music of his voice from the first?--the passion of his tones? the dreamy, lyrical swing of his talk by the old bronze guns? Then she staggered sharply, and choked back a cry. For out of her recollections leaped two sentences of his--the first careless, imprudent, unforgivable; the second pregnant with meaning. "_Ah, a star shoots_!" he had said. "_That means a kiss_!" and again, to the clergyman, "_I came here without the slightest expectation of getting what I asked for. There is another way, but I hate to use it_." She was the other way! She saw it plainly. He did not love her, but he saw that he could fascinate her, and he hoped to use her as an aid to his escape. She threw her head up proudly. Then a man swung into view across the Northern Lights. Virginia pressed back against the palings among the bushes until he should have passed. It was Ned Trent, returning from a walk to the end of the island. He was alone and unfollowed, and the girl realized with a sudden grip at the heart that the wilderness itself was sufficient safeguard against a man unarmed and unequipped. It was not considered worth while even to watch him. Should he escape, unarmed as he was, sure death by starvation awaited him in the land of dread. As he entered the settlement he struck up an air. "Le fils du roi s'en va chassant, En roulant ma boule, Avec son grand fusil d'argent, Rouli roulant, ma boule roulant." Almost immediately a window slid back, and an exasperated voice cried out: "_Hola_ dere, w'at one time dam fool you for mak' de sing so late!" The voice went on imperturbably: "Avec son grand fusil d'argent, En roulant ma boule, Visa le noir, tua le blanc, Rouli roulant, ma boule roulant." "_Sacre_!" shrieked the habitant. "Hello, Johnny Frenchman!" called Ned Trent, in his acid tones. "That you? Be more polite, or I'll stand here and sing you the whole of it." The window slammed shut. Ned Trent took up his walk again toward some designated sleeping-place of his own, his song dying into the distance. "Visa le noir, tua le blanc, En roulant ma boule, O fils du roi, tu es mechant! Rouli roulant, ma boule roulant." "And he can _sing_!" cried the girl bitterly to herself. "At such a time! Oh, my dear God, help me, help me! I am the unhappiest girl alive!" Chapter Eleven Virginia did not sleep at all that night. She was reaching toward her new self. Heretofore she had ruled those about her proudly, secure in her power and influence. Now she saw that all along her influence had in not one jot exceeded that of the winsome girl. She had no real power at all. They went mercilessly on in the grim way of their fathers, dealing justice even-handed according to their own crude conceptions of it, without thought of God or man. She turned hot all over as she saw herself in this new light--as she saw those about her indulgently smiling at her airs of the mistress of it. It angered her--though the smile might be good-humored, even affectionate. And she shrank into herself with utter loathing when she remembered Ned Trent. There indeed her woman's pride was hard stricken. She recalled with burning cheeks how his intense voice had stirred her; how his wishes had compelled her; she shivered pitifully as she remembered the warmth of his shoulder touching carelessly her own. If he had come to her honestly and asked her aid, she would have given it; but this underhand pretence at love! It was unworthy of him; and it was certainly most unworthy of her. What must he think of her? How he must be laughing at her--and hoping that his spell was working, so that he could get the coveted rifle and the forty cartridges. "I hate him!" she cried to herself, the backs of her long, slender hands pressed against her eyes. She meant that she loved him, but for the purposes in hand one would do as well as the other. At earliest daylight she was up. Bathing her face and throat in cold water, and hastily catching her beautiful light hair under a cap, she slipped down stairs and out past the stockade to the point. There she seated herself, a heavy shawl about her, and gave herself up to reflection. She had approached silently, her moccasins giving no sound. Presently she became aware that someone was there before her. Looking toward the river she saw on the next level below her a man, seated on a bowlder, and gazing to the south. His very soul was in his eyes. Virginia gasped at the change in him since last she had seen him. The gay, mocking demeanor which had seemed an essential part of his very flesh and blood had fallen away from him, leaving a sad and lofty dignity that ennobled his countenance. The lines of his face were stern, of his mouth pathetic; his eyes yearned. He stared toward the south with an almost mesmeric intensity, as though he hoped by sheer longing to materialize a vision. Tears sprang to the girl's eyes at the subtle pathos of his attitude. He stretched his arms wearily over his head, and sighed deeply and looked up. His eyes rested on the girl without surprise; the expression of his features did not change. "Pardon me," he said, simply. "To-day is my last of plenty. I am up enjoying it." Virginia had anticipated the usual instantaneous transformation of his manner when he should catch sight of her. Her resentment was dispelled. In face of the vaster tragedies little considerations gave way. "Do you leave--to-day?" she asked, in a low voice. "To-morrow morning, early," he corrected. "To-day I found my provisions packed and laid at my door. It is a hint I know how to take." "You have everything you need?" asked the girl, with an assumption of indifference. He looked her in the eyes for a moment. "Everything," he lied, calmly. Virginia perceived that he lied, and her heart stood still with a sudden hope that perhaps, at this eleventh hour, he might have repented of his unworthy intentions toward herself. She leaned to him over the edge of the little rise. "Have you a rifle--for _la Longue Traverse_?" she inquired, with meaning. He stared at her a little the harder. "Why--why, surely," he replied, in a tone less confident. "Nobody travels without a rifle in the North." She dropped swiftly down the slope and stood face to face with him. "Listen," she began, in her superb manner. "I know all there is to know. You are a Free Trader, and you are to be sent to your death. It is murder, and it is done by my father." She held her head proudly, but the notes of her voice were straining. "I knew nothing of this yesterday. I was a foolish girl who thought all men were good and just, and that all those whom I knew were noble. My eyes are open now. I see injustice being done by my own household, and "--tears were trembling near her lashes, but she blinked them back--"and I am no longer a foolish girl! You need not try to deceive me. You must tell me what I can do, for I cannot permit so great a wrong to be done by my father without attempting to set it right." This was not what she had intended to say, but suddenly the course was clear to her. The influence of the man had again swept over her, drowning her will, filling her with the old fear, which was now for the moment turned to pride by the character of the situation. But to her surprise the man was thinking of something else. "Who told you?" he demanded, harshly. Then, without waiting for a reply, "It was that little preacher; I'll have an interview with him!" "No, no!" protested the girl. "It was not he. It was a friend. I had the right to know." "You had no right!" he cried, vehemently. "You and life should have nothing to do with each other. There is a look in your eyes that was not in them yesterday, and the one who put it there is not your friend." He stood staring at her intently, as one who ponders what is best to do. Then very quietly he took her hands and drew her to a place beside him on the bowlder. "I am going to tell you something, little girl," said he, "and you must listen quietly to the end. Perhaps at the last you may see more clearly than you do now. "This old Company of yours has been established for a great many years. Back in old days, over two centuries ago, it pushed up into this wilderness to trade for its furs. That you know. And then it explored ever farther to the west and the north, until its servants stood on the shores of the Pacific and the stretches of the Arctic Ocean. And its servants loved it. Enduring immense hardships, cut off from their kind, outlining dimly with the eye of faith the structure of a mighty power, they loved it always. Thousands of men were in its employ, and so loyal were they that its secrets were safe and its prestige was defended, often to a lonely death. I have known the Company and its servants for a long time, and if I had leisure I could instance a hundred examples of devotion and sacrifice beside which mere patriotism, would seem a little thing. Men who had no country cleaved to her desolate posts, her lakes and rivers and forests; men who had no home ties felt the tug of her wild life at their hearts; men who had no God bowed in awe before her power and grandeur. The Company was a living thing. "Rivals attempted her supremacy, and were defeated by the steadfastness of the men who received her meagre wages and looked to her as their one ideal. Her explorers were the bravest, her traders the most enterprising and single-minded, her factors and partners the most capable and potent in all the world. No country, no leader, no State ever received half the worship her sons gave her. The fierce Nor'westers, the traders of Montreal, the Company of the X Y, Astor himself, had to give way. For, although they were bold or reckless or crafty or able, they had not the ideal which raises such qualities to invincibility. "And, little girl, nothing is wrong to men who have such an ideal before them. They see but one thing, and all means are good that help them to assure that one thing. They front the dangers, they overcome the hardships, they crush the rivals. Bloody wars have taken place in these forests, ruthless deeds have been done, but the men who accomplished them held the deeds good. So for two hundred years, aided by the charter from the king, they have made good their undisputed right. "Then the railroad entered the west. The charter of monopoly ran out. Through the Nipissing, the Athabasca, the Edmonton, came the Free Traders--men who traded independently. These the Company could not control, so it competed--and to its credit its competition has held its own. Even far into the Northwest, where the trails are long, the Free Traders have established their chains of supplies, entering into rivalry with the Company for a barter it has always considered its right. The medicine has been bitter, but the servants of the Company have adjusted themselves to the new conditions, and are holding their own. "But one region still remains cut off from the outside world by a broad band of unexplored waste. The life here at Hudson's Bay--although you may not know it--is exactly the same to-day that it was two hundred years ago. And here the Company makes its stand for a monopoly. "At first it worked openly. But in the case of Guillaume Sayer, a daring and pugnacious _metis_, it got into trouble with the law. Since that time it has wrapped itself in secrecy and mystery, carrying on its affairs behind the screen of five hundred miles of forest. Here it has still the power; no man can establish himself here, can even travel here, without its consent, for it controls the food and the Indians. The Free Trader enters, but he does not stay for long. The Company's servants are mindful of their old fanatical ideal. Nothing is ever known, no orders are ever given, but something happens, find the man never ventures again. "If he is an ordinary _metis_ or Canadian, he emerges from the forest starved, frightened, thankful. If his story is likely to be believed in high places, he never emerges at all. The dangers of wilderness travel are many: he succumbs to them. That is the whole story. Nothing definite is known; no instances can be proved; your father denies the legend and calls it a myth. The Company claims to be ignorant of it, perhaps its greater officers really are, but the legend holds so good that the journey has its name--_la Longue Traverse_. "But remember this, no man is to blame--unless it is he who of knowledge takes the chances. It is a policy, a growth of centuries, an idea unchangeable to which the long services of many fierce and loyal men have given substance. A Factor cannot change it. If he did, the thing would be outside of nature, something not to be understood. "I am here. I am to take _la Longue Traverse_. But no man is to blame. If the scheme of the thing is wrong, it has been so from the very beginning, from the time when King Charles set his signature to the charter of unlimited authority. The history of a thousand men gives the tradition power, gives it insistence. It is bigger than any one individual. It is as inevitable as that water should flow down hill." He had spoken quietly, but very earnestly, still holding her two hands, and she had sat looking at him unblinking from eyes behind which passed many thoughts. When he had finished, a short pause followed, at the end of which she asked unexpectedly, "Last evening you told me that you might come to me and ask me to choose between my pity and what I might think to be my duty. What are you going to ask of me?" "Nothing. I spoke idle words." "Last evening I overheard you demand something of Mr. Crane," she pursued, without commenting on his answer. "When he refused you I heard you say these words 'Here is where I should have received aid; I may have to get it where I should not.' What was the aid you asked of him? and where else did you expect to get it?" "The aid was something impossible to accord, and I did not expect to get it elsewhere. I said that in order to induce him to help me." A wonderful light sprang to the girl's eyes, but still she maintained her level voice. "You asked him for a rifle with which to escape. You expected to get it of me. Deny it if you can." Ned Trent looked at her keenly a moment, then dropped his eyes. "It is true," said he. "And the pity was to give you this weapon; and the duty was my duty to my father's house." "It is true," he repeated, dejectedly. "And you lied to me when you said you had a rifle with which to journey _la Longue Traverse_." "That too is true," he acknowledged. When next she spoke her voice was not quite so well controlled. "Why did you not ask me, as you intended? Why did you tell me these lies?" The young man hesitated, looked her in the face, turned away, and murmured, "I could not." "Why?" persisted the girl. "Why? You must tell me." "Because," said Ned Trent--"because it could not be done. Every rifle in the place is known. Because you would be found out in this, and I do not know what your punishment might not be." "You knew this before?" insisted Virginia, stonily. "Yes." "Then why did you change your mind?" "When first I saw you by the gun," began Ned Trent, in a low voice, "I was a desperate man, clutching at the slightest chance. The thought crossed my mind then that I might use you. Then later I saw that I had some influence over you, and I made my plan. But last night----" "Yes, last night?" urged Virginia, softly. "Last night I paced the island, and I found out many things. One of them was that I could not." "Even though this dreadful journey----" "I would rather take my chances." Again there was silence between them. "It was a good lie," then said Virginia, gently--"a noble lie. And what you have told me to comfort me about my father has been nobly said. And I believe you, for I have known the truth about your fate." He shut his lips grimly. "Why--why did you come?" she cried, passionately. "Is the trade so good, are your needs then so great, that you must run these perils?" "My needs," he replied. "No; I have enough." "Then why?" she insisted. "Because that old charter has long since expired, and now this country is as free for me as for the Company," he explained. "We are in a civilized century, and no man has a right to tell me where I shall or shall not go. Does the Company own the Indians and the creatures of the woods?" Something in the tone of his voice brought her eyes steadily to his for a moment. "Is that all?" she asked at length. He hesitated, looked away, looked back again. "No, it is not," he confessed, in a low voice. "It is a thing I do not speak of. My father was a servant of this Company, a good, true servant. No man was more honest, more zealous, more loyal." "I am sure of it," said Virginia, softly. "But in some way that he never knew himself he made enemies in high places. The cowards did not meet him man to man, and so he never knew who they were. If he had, he would have killed them. But they worked against him always. He was given hard posts, inadequate supplies, scant help, and then he was held to account for what he could not do. Finally he left the company in disgrace--undeserved disgrace. He became a Free Trader in the days when to become a Free Trader was worse than attacking a grizzly with cubs. In three years he was killed. But when I grew to be a man "--he clenched his teeth--"by God! how I have prayed to know who did it." He brooded for a moment, then went on. "Still, I have accomplished something. I have traded in spite of your factors in many districts. One summer I pushed to the Coppermine in the teeth of them, and traded with the Yellow Knives for the robes of the musk-ox. And they knew me and feared my rivalry, these traders of the Company. No district of the far North but has felt the influence of my bartering. The traders of all districts--Fort au Liard, Lapierre's House, Fort Rae, Ile a la Crosse, Portage la Loche, Lac la Biche, Jasper's House, the House of the Touchwood Hills--all these, and many more, have heard of Ned Trent." "Your father--you knew him well?" "No, but I remember him--a tall, dark man, with a smile always in his eyes and a laugh on his lips. I was brought up at a school in Winnipeg under a priest. Two or three times in the year my father used to appear for a few days. I remember well the last time I saw him. I was about thirteen years old. 'You are growing to be a man,' said he; 'next year we will go out on the trail.' I never saw him again." "What happened?" "Oh, he was just killed," replied Ned Trent, bitterly. The girl laid her hand on his arm with an appealing little gesture. "I am so sorry," said she. "I have no portrait of him," continued the Free Trader, after an instant. "No gift from his hands; nothing at all of his but this." He showed her an ordinary little silver match-safe such as men use in the North country. "They brought that to me at the last--the Indians who came to tell my priest the news, and the priest, who was a good man, gave it to me. I have carried it ever since." Virginia took it reverently. To her it had all the largeness that envelops the symbol of a great passion. After a moment she looked up in surprise. "Why!" she exclaimed, "this has a name carved on it!" "Yes," he replied. "But the name is Graehme Stewart." "Of course I could not bear my father's name in a country where it was well known," he explained. "Of course," she agreed. Impulsively she raised her face to his, her eyes shining. "To me all this is very fine," said she. He smiled a little sadly. "At least you know why I came." "Yes." she repeated, "I know why you came. But you are in trouble." "The chances of war." "And they have defeated you after all." "I shall start on _la Longue Traverse_ singing 'Rouli roulant.' It's a small defeat, that.' "Listen," said she, rapidly. "When I was quite a small girl Mr. McTavish, of Rupert's House, gave me a little rifle. I have never used it, because I do not care to shoot. That rifle has never been counted, and my father has long since forgotten all about it. You must take that, and escape to-night. I will let you have it on one condition--that you give me your solemn promise never to venture into this country again." "Yes," he agreed, without enthusiasm nor surprise. She smiled happily at his gloomy face and listless attitude. "But I do not want to give up the little rifle entirely," she went on, with dainty preciosity, watching him closely. "As I said, it was a present, given to me when I was quite a small girl. You must return it to me at Quebec, in August. Will you promise to do that?" He wheeled on her swift as light, the eagerness flashing back into his face. "You are going to Quebec?" he cried. "My father wishes me to. I have decided to do so. I shall start with the Abitibi _brigade_ in July." He leaped to his feet. "I promise!" he exulted, "I promise! To-night, then! Bring the rifle and the cartridges, and some matches, and a little salt. You must take me across the river in a canoe, for I want them to guess at where I strike the woods. I shall cover my trail. And with ten hours' start, let them catch Ned Trent who can!" She laughed happily. "To-night, then. At the south of the island there is a trail, and at the end of the trail a beach----" "I know!" he cried. "Meet me there as soon after dark as you can do so without danger." He threw his hat into the air and caught it, his face boyishly upturned. Again that something, so vaguely familiar, plucked at her with its ghostly, appealing fingers. She turned swiftly, and seized them, and so found herself in possession of a memory out of her far-off childhood. "I know you!" she cried. "I have seen you before this!" He bent his puzzled gaze upon her. "I was a very little girl," she explained, "and you but a lad. It was at a party, I think, a great and brilliant party, for I remember many beautiful women and fine men. You held me up in your arms for people to see, because I was going on a long journey." "I remember, of course I do!" he exclaimed. A bell clanged, turning over and over, calling the Company's men to their day. "Farewell." she said, hurriedly. "To-night." "To-night," he repeated. She glided rapidly through the grass, noiseless in her moccasined feet. And as she went she heard his voice humming soft and low, "Isabeau s'y promene Le long de son jardin, Le long de son jardin, Sur le bord de l'ile, Le long de son jardin." "How could he _help_ singing," murmured Virginia, fondly. "Ah, dear Heaven, but I am the happiest girl alive!" Such a difference can one night bring about. Chapter Twelve The day rose and flooded the land with its fuller life. All through the settlement the Post Indians and half-breeds set about their tasks. Some aided Sarnier with his calking of the bateaux; some worked in the fields; some mended or constructed in the different shops. At eight o'clock the bell rang again, and they ate breakfast. Then a group of seven, armed with muzzle-loading "trade-guns" bound in brass, set out for the marshes in hopes of geese. For the flight was arriving, and the Hudson Bay man knows very well the flavor of goose-flesh, smoked, salted, and barrelled. Now the _voyageurs_ began to stroll into the sun. They were men of leisure. Picturesque, handsome, careless, debonair, they wandered back and forth, smoking their cigarettes, exhibiting their finery. Indian women, wrinkled and careworn, plodded patiently about on various businesses. Indian girls, full of fun and mischief, drifted here and there in arm-locked groups of a dozen, smiling, whispering among themselves, ready to collapse toward a common centre of giggles if addressed by one of the numerous woods-dandies. Indian men stalked singly, indifferent, stolid. Indian children of all sizes and degrees of nakedness darted back and forth, playing strange games. The sound of many voices rose across the air. Once the voices moderated, when McDonald, the Chief Trader, walked rapidly from the barracks building to the trading store; once they died entirely into a hush of respect, when Galen Albret himself appeared on the broad veranda of the factory. He stood for a moment--bulked broad and black against the whitewash--his hands clasped behind him, gazing abstractedly toward the distant bay. Then he turned into the house to some mysterious and weighty business of his own. The hubbub at once broke out again. Now about the mouth of the long picketed lane leading to the massive trading store gathered a silent group, bearing packs. These were Indians from the more immediate vicinity, desirous of trading their skins. After a moment McDonald appeared in the doorway, a hundred feet away, and raised his hand. Two of the savages, and two only, trotted down the narrow picket lane, their packs on their shoulders. McDonald ushered them into a big square room, where the bales were undone and spread abroad. Deftly, silently the Trader sorted the furs, placing to one side or the other the "primes," "seconds," and "thirds" of each species. For a moment he calculated. Then he stepped to a post whereon hung long strings of pierced wooden counters, worn smooth by use. Swiftly he told the strings over. To one of the Indians he gave one with these words: "Mu-hi-kun, my brother, here be pelts to the value of two hundred 'beaver.' Behold a string, then, of two hundred 'castors,' and in addition I give my brother one fathom of tobacco." The Indian calculated rapidly, his eye abstracted. He had known exactly the value of his catch, and what he would receive for it in "castors," but had hoped for a larger "present," by which the premium on the standard price is measured. "Ah hah," he exclaimed, finally, and stepped to one side. "Sak-we-su, my brother," went on McDonald, "here be pelts to the value of three hundred 'beaver.' Behold a string, then, of three hundred 'castors,' and because you have brought so fine a skin of the otter, behold also a fathom of tobacco and a half sack of flour." "Good!" ejaculated the Indian. The Trader then led them to stairs, up which they clambered to where Davis, the Assistant Trader, kept store. There, barred by a heavy wooden grill from the airy loft filled with bright calicoes, sashes, pails, guns, blankets, clothes, and other ornamental and useful things, Sak-we-su and Mu-hi-kun made their choice, trading in the worn wooden "castors" on the string. So much flour, so much tea, so much sugar and powder and lead, so much in clothing. Thus were their simple needs supplied for the year to come. Then the remainder they squandered on all sorts of useless things--beads, silks, sashes, bright handkerchiefs, mirrors. And when the last wooden "castor" was in they went down stairs and out the picket lane, carrying their lighter purchases, but leaving the larger as "debt," to be called for when needed. Two of their companions mounted the stairs as they descended; and two more passed them in the narrow picket lane. So the trade went on. At once Sak-we-su and Mu-hi-kun were surrounded. In detail they told what they had done. Then in greater detail their friends told what _they_ would have done, until after five minutes of bewildering advice the disconsolate pair would have been only too glad to have exchanged everything--if that had been allowed. Now the bell rang again. It was "smoke time." Everyone quit work for a half-hour. The sun climbed higher in the heavens. The laughing crews of idlers sprawled in the warmth, gambling, telling stories, singing. Then one might have heard all the picturesque songs of the Far North--"A la claire Fontaine"; "Ma Boule Roulant"; "Par derrier' chez-mon Pere"; "Isabeau s'y promene"; "P'tite Jeanneton"; "Luron, Lurette"; "Chante, Rossignol, chante"; the ever-popular "Malbrouck"; "C'est la belle Francoise"; "Alouette"; or the beautiful and tender "La Violette Dandine." They had good voices, these _voyageurs_, with the French artistic instinct, and it was fine to hear them. At noon the squaws set out to gather canoe gum on the mainland. They sat huddled in the bottom of their old and leaky canoe, reaching far over the sides to dip their paddles, irregularly placed, silent, mysterious. They did not paddle with the unison of the men, but each jabbed a little short stroke as the time suited her, so that always some paddles were rising and some falling. Into the distance thus they flapped like wounded birds; then rounded a bend, and were gone. The sun swung over and down the slope, Dinner time had passed; "smoke time" had come again. Squaws brought the first white-fish of the season to the kitchen door of the factory, and Matthews raised the hand of horror at the price they asked. Finally he bought six of about three pounds each, giving in exchange tea to the approximate value of twelve cents. The Indian women went away, secretly pleased over their bargain. Down by the Indian camp suddenly broke the roar of a dog-fight. Two of the sledge _giddes_ had come to teeth, and the friends of both were assisting the cause. The idlers went to see, laughing, shouting, running impromptu races. They sat on their haunches and cheered ironically, and made small bets, and encouraged the frantic old squaw hags who, at imminent risk, were trying to disintegrate the snarling, rolling mass. Over in the high log stockade wherein the Company's sledge animals were confined, other wolf-dogs howled mournfully, desolated at missing the fun. And always the sun swung lower and lower toward the west, until finally the long northern twilight fell, and the girl in the little white bedroom at the factory bathed her face and whispered for the hundredth time to her beating heart: "Night has come!" Chapter Thirteen That evening at dinner Virginia studied her father's face again. She saw the square settled line of the jaw under the beard, the unwavering frown of the heavy eyebrows, the unblinking purpose of the cavernous, mysterious eyes. Never had she felt herself very close to this silent, inscrutable man, even in his moments of more affectionate expansion. Now a gulf divided them. And yet, strangely enough, she experienced no revulsion, no horror, no recoil even. He had merely become more aloof, more incomprehensible; his purposes vaster, less susceptible to the grasp of such as she. There may have been some basis for this feeling, or it may have been merely the reflex glow of a joy that made all other things seem insignificant. As soon as might be after the meal Virginia slipped away, carrying the rifle, the cartridges, the matches, and the salt. She was cruelly frightened. The night was providentially dark. No aurora threw its splendor across the dome, and only a few rare stars peeped between the light cirrus clouds. Virginia left behind her the buildings of the Post, she passed in safety the tin-steepled chapel and the church house; there remained only the Indian camp between her and the woods trail. At once the dogs began to bark and howl, the fierce _giddes_ lifting their pointed noses to the sky. The girl hurried on, twinging far to the right through the grass. To her relief the camp did not respond to the summons. An old crone or so appeared in the flap of a teepee, eyes dazzled, to throw uselessly a billet of wood or a volley of Cree abuse at the animals nearest. In a moment Virginia entered the trail. Here was no light at all. She had to proceed warily, feeling with her moccasins for the beaten pathway, to which she returned with infinite caution whenever she trod on grass or leaves. Though her sight was dulled, her hearing was not. A thousand scurrying noises swirled about her; a multitude of squeaks, whistles, snorts, and whines attested that she disturbed the forest creatures at their varied businesses; and underneath spoke an apparent dozen of terrifying voices which were in reality only the winds and the trees. Virginia knew that these things were not dangerous--that day light would show them to be only deer-mice, hares, weasels, bats, and owls--nevertheless, they had their effect. For about her was cloying velvet blackness--not the closed-in blackness of a room, where one feels the embrace of the four walls, but the blackness of infinite space through which sweep mysterious currents of air. After a long time she turned sharp to the left. After a long time more she perceived a faint, opalescent glimmer in the distance ahead. This she knew to be the river. She felt her way onward, still cautiously, then she choked back a scream and dropped her burden with a clatter to the ground. A dark figure seemed to have risen mysteriously at her side. "I didn't mean to frighten you," said Ned Trent, in guarded tones. "I heard you coming. I thought you could hear me." He picked up the fallen articles, running his hands over them rapidly. "Good," he whispered. "I got some moccasins to-day--traded a few things I had in my pockets for them. I'm fixed." "Have you a canoe?" she asked. "Yes--here on the beach." He preceded her down the few remaining yards of the trail. She followed, already desolated at the thought of parting, for the wilderness was very big. The bulk of the man partly blotted out the lucent spot where the river was--now his arm, now his head, now the breadth of his shoulders. This silhouette of him was dear to her, the sound of his movements, the faint stir of his breathing borne to her on the light breeze. Virginia's tender heart almost overflowed with longing and fear for him. They emerged on a little slope and at once pushed the canoe into the current. She accepted the aid of his hand for a moment, and sank to her place, facing him He spurned lightly the shore, and so they were adrift. In a moment they seemed to be floating on a vast vapor of night, infinitely remote from anywhere, surrounded by the silence that might have been before the world's beginning. A faint splash could have been a muskrat near at hand or a caribou far away. The paddle rose and dipped with a faint _swish_, _swish_, and the steersman's twist of it was taken up by the man's strong wrist so it did not click against the gunwale; the bow of the craft divided the waters with a murmuring so faint as to seem but the echo of a silence. Neither spoke. Virginia watched him, her heart too full for words; watched the full swing of his strong shoulders, the balance of his body at the hips, the poise of his head against the dull sky. In a moment more the parting would have to come. She dreaded it, and yet she looked forward to it with a hungry joy. Then he would say what she had seen in his eyes; then he would speak; then she would hear the words that should comfort her in the days of waiting. For a woman lives much for the present, and the moment's word is an important thing. The man swung his paddle steadily, throwing into the strokes a wanton exuberance that showed how high his spirits ran. After a time, when they were well out from the shore, he took a deep breath of delight. "Ah, you don't know how happy I am," he exulted, "you don't know! To be free, to play the game, to match my wits against their--ah, that is life!" "I am sorry to see you go," she murmured, "very sorry. The days will be full of terror until I know you are safe." "Oh, yes," he answered: "but I'll get there, and I shall tell it all to you at Quebec--at Quebec in August. It will he a brave tale! You will be there--surely?" "Yes," said the girl, softly; "I will be there--surely." "Good! Feel the wind on your cheek? It is from the Southland, where I am going. I have ventured--and I have not lost! It is something not to lose, when one has ventured against many. They have my goods--but I----" "You?" repeated Virginia, as he hesitated. "Ah, I don't go back empty-handed!" he tried. Her heart stood still, then leaped in anticipation of what he would say. Her soul hungered for the words, the words that should not only comfort her, but should be to her the excuse for many things. She saw him--shadowy, graceful against the dim gray of the river and sky--lean ever so slightly toward her. But then he straightened again to his paddle, and contented himself with repeating merely: "Quebec--in August, then." The canoe grated. Ned Trent with an exclamation drove his paddle into the clay. "Lucky the bottom is soft here," said he; "I did not realize we were so close ashore." He drew the canoe up on the shelving beach, helped Virginia out, took his rifle, and so stood ready to depart. "Leave the canoe just where we got in," he advised; "it is around the point, you see, and that may fool them a. little." "You are going." she said, dully. Then she came close to him and looked up at him with her wonderful eyes. "Good-by." "Good-by," said he. Was this to be all? Had he nothing more to tell her? Was the word to lack, the word she needed so much? She had given herself unreservedly into this man's hands, and at parting he had no more to say to her than "Good-by." Virginia's eyes were tearful, but she would not let him know that. She felt that her heart would break. "Well, good-by," he said again after a moment, which he had spent inspecting the heavens. "Ah, you don't know what it is to be free! By to-morrow morning I shall be half-way to the Mattagami. I can hardly wait to see it, for then I am safe! And then nex; day--why, next day they won't know which of a dozen ways I've gone!" He was full of the future, man fashion. He took her hands, leaned over, and lightly kissed her on the mouth. Instantly Virginia became wildly and unreasonably angry. She could not have told herself why, but it was the lack of the word she had wanted so much, the pain of feeling that he could go like that, the thwarted bitterness of a longing that had grown stronger than she had even yet realized. Instinctively she leaped into the canoe, sending it spinning from the bank. "Ah, you had no _right_ to do that!" she cried. "I gave you no _right_!" Then, heedless of what he was saying, she began to paddle straight from the shore, weeping bitterly, her face upraised, her hair in her eyes, and the tears coursing unheeded down her cheeks. Chapter Fourteen Slower and slower her paddle dipped, lower and lower hung her head, faster and faster flowed her tears. The instinctive recoil, the passionate resentment had gone. In the bitterness of her spirit she knew not what she thought except that she would give her soul to see him again, to feel the touch of his lips once more. For she could not make herself believe that this would ever come to pass. He had gone like a phantom, like a dream, and the mists of life had closed about him, showing no sign. He had vanished, and at once she seemed to know that the episode was finished. The canoe whispered against the soft clay bottom. She had arrived, though how the crossing had been made she could not have told. Slowly and sorrowfully she disembarked. Languidly she drew the light craft beyond the stream's eager fingers. Then, her forces at an end, she huddled down on the ground and gave herself up to sorrow. The life of the forest went on as though she were not there. A big owl far off said hurriedly his _whoo-whoo-whoo_, as though he had the message to deliver and wanted to finish the task. A smaller owl near at hand cried _ko-ko-ko-oh_ with the intonation of a tin horn. Across the river a lynx screamed, and was answered at once by the ululations of wolves. On the island the _giddes_ howled defiance. Then from above, clear, spiritual, floated the whistle of shore birds arriving from the south. Close by sounded a rustle of leaves, a sharp squeak; a tragedy had been consummated, and the fierce little mink stared malevolently across the body of his victim at the motionless figure on the beach. Virginia, drowned in grief, knew of none of these things. She was seeing again the clear brown face of the stranger, his curly brown hair, his steel eyes, and the swing of his graceful figure. Now he fronted the wondering _voyageurs_, one foot raised against the bow of the _brigade_ canoe; now he stood straight and tall against the light of the sitting-room door; now he emptied the vials of his wrath and contempt on Archibald Crane's reverend head; now he passed in the darkness, singing gayly the _chanson de canot_. But more fondly she saw him as he swept his hat to the ground on discovering her by the guns, as he bent his impassioned eyes on her in the dim lamplight of their first interview, as he tossed his hat aloft in the air when he had understood that she would be in Quebec. She hugged the visions to her, and wept over them softly, for she was now sure she would never see him again. And she heard his voice, now laughing, now scornful, now mocking, now indignant, now rich and solemn with feeling. He flouted the people, he turned the shafts of his irony on her father, he scathed the minister, he laughed at Louis Placide awakened from his sleep, he sang, he told her of the land of desolation, he pleaded. She could hear him calling her name--although he had never spoken it--in low, tender tones, "Virginia! Virginia!" over and over again softly, as though his soul were crying through his lips. Then somehow, in a manner not to be comprehended, it was borne in on her consciousness that he was indeed near her, and that he was indeed calling her name. And at once she made him out, standing dripping on the beach. A moment later she was in his arms. "Ah!" he cried, in gladness; "you are here!" He crushed her hungrily to him, unmindful of his wet clothes, kissing her eyes, her cheeks, her lips, her chin, even the fragrant corner of her throat exposed by the collar of her gown. She did not struggle. "Oh!" she murmured, "my dear, my dear! Why did you come back? Why did you come?" "Why did I come?" he repeated, passionately. "Why did I come? Can you ask that? How could I help but come? You must have known I would come. Surely you must have known! Didn't you hear me calling you when you paddled away? I came to get the right. I came to get your promise, your kisses, to hear you say the word, to get you! I thought you understood. It was all so clear to me. I thought you knew. That was why I was so glad to go, so eager to get away that I could not even realize I was parting from you--so I could the sooner reach Quebec--reach you! Don't you see how I felt? All this present was merely something to get over, to pass by, to put behind us until I got to Quebec in August--and you. I looked forward so eagerly to that, I was so anxious to get away, I was desirous of hastening on to the time when things could be _sure_! Don't you understand?" "Yes, I think I do," replied the girl, softly. "And I thought of course you knew, I should not have kissed you otherwise." "How could I know?" she sighed. "You said nothing, and, oh! I _wanted_ so to hear!" And singularly enough he said nothing now, but they stood facing each other hand in hand, while the great vibrant life they were now touching so closely filled their hearts and eyes, and left them faint. So they stood for hours or for seconds, they could not tell, spirit-hushed, ecstatic. The girl realized that they must part. "You must go," she whispered brokenly, at last. "I do not want you to, but you must." She smiled up at him with trembling lips that whispered to her soul that she must be brave. "Now go," she nerved herself to say, releasing her hands. "Tell me," he commanded. "What?" she asked. "What I most want to hear." "I can tell you many things," said she, soberly, "but I do not know which of them you want to hear. Ah, Ned. I can tell you that you have come into a girl's life to make her very happy and very much afraid. And that is a solemn thing; is it not?" "Yes," said he. "And I can tell you that this can never be undone. That is a solemn thing, too, is it not?" "Yes," said he. "And that, according as you treat her, this girl will believe or not believe in the goodness of all men or the badness of all men. Ah, Ned, a woman's heart is fragile, and mine is in your keeping." Her face was raised bravely and steadily to his. In the starlight it shone white and pathetic. And her eyes were two liquid wells of darkness in the shadow, and her half-parted lips were wistful and childlike. The man caught both her hands, again looking down on her. Then he answered her, solemnly and humbly. "Virginia," said he, "I am setting out on a perilous Journey. As I deal with you, may God deal with me." "Ah, that is as I like you," she breathed. "Good-by," said he. She raised her lips of her own accord, and he kissed them reverently. "Good-by," she murmured. He turned away with an effort and ran down the beach to the canoe. "Good-by, good-by," she murmured, under her breath. "Ah, good-by! I love you! Oh, I do love you!" Then suddenly from the bushes leaped dark figures. The still night was broken by the sound of a violent scuffle--blows--a fall. She heard Ned Trent's voice calling to her from the _melee_. "Go back at once!" he commanded, clearly and steadily. "You can do no good. I order you to go home before they search the woods." But she crouched in dazed terror, her pupils wide to the dim light. She saw them bind him, and stand waiting; she saw a canoe glide out of the darkness; she saw the occupants of the canoe disembark; she saw them exhibit her little rifle, and heard them explain in Cree, that they had followed the man swimming. Then she knew that the cause was lost, and fled as swiftly as she could through the forest. Chapter Fifteen Galen Albret had chosen to interrogate his recaptured prisoner alone. He sat again, in the arm-chair of the Council Room. The place was flooded with sun. It touched the high-lights of the time-darkened, rough furniture, it picked out the brasses, it glorified the whitewashed walls. In its uncompromising illumination Me-en-gan, the bows-man, standing straight and tall and silent by the door, studied his master's face and knew him to be deeply angered. For Galen Albret was at this moment called upon to deal with a problem more subtle than any with which his policy had been puzzled in thirty years. It was bad enough that, in repeated defiance of his authority, this stranger should persist in his attempt to break the Company's monopoly; it was bad enough that he had, when captured, borne himself with so impudent an air of assurance; it was bad enough that he should have made open love to the Factor's daughter, should have laughed scornfully in the Factor's very face. But now the case had become grave. In some mysterious manner he had succeeded in corrupting one of the Company's servants. Treachery was therefore to be dealt with. Some facts Galen Albret had well in hand. Others eluded him persistently. He had, of course, known promptly enough of the disappearance of a canoe, and had thereupon dispatched his Indians to the recapture. The Reverend Archibald Crane had reported that two figures had been seen in the act of leaving camp, one by the river, the other by the Woods Trail. But here the Factor's investigations encountered a check. The rifle brought in by his Indians, to his bewilderment, he recognized not at all. His repeated cross-questionings, when they touched on the question of Ned Trent's companion, got no farther than the Cree wooden stolidity. No, they had seen no one, neither presence, sign, nor trail. But Galen Albret, versed in the psychology of his savage allies, knew they lied. He suspected them of clan loyalty to one of their own number; and yet they had never failed him before. Now, his heavy revolver at his right hand, he interviewed Ned Trent, alone, except for the Indian by the portal. As with the Indians, his cross-examination had borne scant results. The best of his questions but involved him in a maze of baffling surmises. Gradually his anger had mounted, until now the Indian at the door knew by the wax-like appearance of the more prominent places on his deeply carved countenance that he had nearly reached the point of outbreak. Swiftly, like the play of rapiers, the questions and answers broke across the still room. "You had aid," the Factor asserted, positively. "You think so?" "My Indians say you were alone. But where did you get this rifle?" "I stole it." "You were alone?" Ned Trent paused for a barely appreciable instant. It was not possible that the Indians had failed to establish the girl's presence, and he feared a trap. Then he caught the expressive eye of Me-en-gan at the door. Evidently Virginia had friends. "I was alone," he repeated, confidently. "That is a lie. For though my Indians were deceived, two people were observed by my clergyman to leave the Post immediately before I sent out to your capture. One rounded the island in a canoe; the other took the Woods Trail." "Bully for the Church," replied Trent, imperturbably. "Better promote him to your scouts." "Who was that second person?" "Do you think I will tell you?" "I think I'll find means to make you tell me!" burst out the Factor. Ned Trent was silent. "If you'll tell me the name of that man I'll let you go free. I'll give you a permit to trade in the country. It touches my authority--my discipline. The affair becomes a precedent. It is vital." Ned Trent fixed his eyes on the bay and hummed a little air, half turning his shoulder to the older man. The latter's face blazed with suppressed fury. Twice his hand rested almost convulsively on the butt of his heavy revolver. "Ned Trent," he cried, harshly, at last, "pay attention to me. I've had enough of this. I swear if you do not tell me what I want to know within five minutes, I'll hang you to-day!" The young man spun on his heel. "Hanging!" he cried. "You cannot mean that?" The Free Trader measured him up and down, saw that his purpose was sincere, and turned slowly pale under the bronze of his out-of-door tan. Hanging is always a dreadful death, but in the Far North it carries an extra stigma of ignominy with it, inasmuch as it is resorted to only with the basest malefactors. Shooting is the usual form of execution for all but the most despicable crimes. He turned away with a little gesture. "Well!" cried Albret. Ned Trent locked his lips in a purposeful straight line of silence. To such an outrage there could be nothing to say. The Factor jerked his watch to the table. "I said five minutes," he repeated. "I mean it." The young man leaned against the side at the window, his arms folded, his back to the room. Outside, the varied life of the Post went forward under his eyes. He even noted with a surface interest the fact that out across the river a loon was floating, and remarked that never before had he seen one of those birds so far north. Galen Albret struck the table with the flat of his hand. "Done!" he cried. "This is the last chance I shall give you. Speak at this instant or accept the consequences!" Ned Trent turned sharply, as though breaking a thread that bound him to the distant prospect beyond the window. For an instant he stared enigmatically at his opponent. Then in the sweetest tones, "Oh, go to the devil!" said he, and began to walk deliberately toward the older man. There lay between the window and the head of the table perhaps a dozen ordinary Steps, for the room was large. The young man took them slowly, his eyes fixed with burning intensity on the seated figure, the muscles of his locomotion contracting and relaxing with the smooth, stealthy continuity of a cat. Galen Albret again laid hand on his revolver. "Come no nearer," he commanded. Me-en-gan left the door and glided along the wall. But the table intervened between him and the Free Trader. The latter paid no attention to the Factor's command. Galen Albret suddenly raised his weapon from the table. "Stop, or I'll fire!" he cried, sharply. "I mean just that." said Ned Trent between his clenched teeth. But ten feet separated the two men. Galen Albret levelled the revolver. Ned Trent, watchful, prepared to spring. Me-en-gan, near the foot of the table, gathered himself for attack. Then suddenly the Free Trader relaxed his muscles, straightened his back, and returned deliberately to the window. Facing about in astonishment to discover the reason for this sudden change of decision, the other two men looked into the face of Virginia Albret, standing in the doorway of the other room. "Father!" she cried. "You must go back," said Ned Trent speaking clearly and collectedly, in the hope of imposing his will on her obvious excitement. "This is not an affair in which you should interfere. Galen Albret, send her away." The Factor had turned squarely in his heavy arm-chair to regard the girl, a frown on his brows. "Virginia," he commanded, in deliberate, stern tones of authority, "leave the room. You have nothing to do with this case, and I do not desire your interference." Virginia stepped bravely beyond the portals, and stopped. Her fingers were nervously interlocked, her lip trembled, in her cheeks the color came and went, but her eyes met her father's, unfaltering. "I have more to do with it than you think." she replied. Instantly Ned Trent was at the table. "I really think this has gone far enough," he interposed. "We have had our interview and come to a decision. Miss Albret must not be permitted to exaggerate a slight sentiment of pity into an interest in my affairs. If she knew that such a demonstration only made it worse for me I am sure she would say no more." He looked at her appealingly across the Factor's shoulder. Me-en-gan was already holding open the door. "You come," he smiled, beseechingly. But the Factor's suspicions were aroused. "There is something in this," he decided. "I think you may stay, Virginia." "You are right," broke in the young man, desperately. "There is something in it. Miss Albret knows who gave me the rifle, and she was about to inform you of his identity. There is no need in subjecting her to that distasteful ordeal. I am now ready to confess to you. I beg you will ask her to leave the room." Galen Albret, in the midst of these warring intentions, had sunk into his customary impassive calm. The light had died from his eyes, the expression from his face, the energy from his body. He sat, an inert mass, void of initiative, his intelligence open to what might be brought to his notice. "Virginia, this is true?" his heavy, dead voice rumbled through his beard. "You know who aided this man?" Ned. Trent mutely appealed to her: her glance answered his. "Yes, father," she replied. "Who?" "I did." A dead silence fell on the room. Galen Albret's expression and attitude did not change. Through dull, lifeless eyes, from behind the heavy mask of his waxen face and white beard, he looked steadily out upon nothing. Along either arm of the chair stretched his own arms limp and heavy with inertia. In suspense the other three inmates of the place watched him, waiting for some change. It did not come. Finally his lips moved. "You?" he muttered, questioningly, "I," she repeated Another silence fell. "Why?" he asked at last. "Because it was an unjust thing. Because we could not think of taking a life in that way, without some reason for it." "Why?" he persisted, taking no account of her reply. Virginia let her gaze slowly rest on the Free Trader, and her eyes filled with a world of tenderness and trust. "Because I love him," said she, softly. Chapter Sixteen After an instant Galen Albret turned slowly his massive head and looked at her. He made no other movement, yet she staggered back as though she had received a violent blow on the chest. "Father!" she gasped. Still slowly, gropingly, he arose to his feet, holding tight to the edge of the table. Behind him unheeded the rough-built armchair crashed to the floor. He stood there upright and motionless, looking straight before him, his face formidable. At first his speech was disjointed. The words came in widely punctuated gasps. Then, as the wave of his emotion rolled back from the poise into which the first shock of anger had thrown it, it escaped through his lips in a constantly increasing stream of bitter words. "You--you love him," he cried. "You--my daughter! You have been--a traitor--to me! You have dared--dared--deny that which my whole life has affirmed! My own flesh and blood--when I thought the nearest _metis_ of them all more loyal! You love this man--this man who has insulted me, mocked me! You have taken his part against me! You have deliberately placed yourself in the class of those I would hang for such an offence! If you were not my daughter I would hang you. Hang my own child!" Suddenly his rage flared. "You little fool! Do you dare set your judgment against mine? Do you dare interfere where I think well? Do you dare deny my will? By the eternal, I'll show you, old as you are, that you have still a father! Get to your room! Out of my sight!" He took two steps forward, and so his eye fell on Ned Trent. He uttered a scream of rage, and reached for the pistol. Fortunately the abruptness of his movement when he arose had knocked it to the floor, so now in the blindness of a red anger he could not see it. He shrieked out an epithet and jumped forward, his arm drawn to strike. Ned Trent leaped back into an attitude of defence. All three of those present had many times seen Galen Albret possessed by his noted fits of anger, so striking in contrast to his ordinary contained passivity. But always, though evidently in a white heat of rage and given to violent action and decision, he had retained the clearest command of his faculties, issuing coherent and dreaded orders to those about him. Now he bad become a raging wild beast. And for the spectators the sight had all the horror of the unprecedented. But the younger man, too, had gradually heated to the point where his ordinary careless indifference could give off sparks. The interview had been baffling, the threats real and unjust, the turn of affairs when Virginia Albret entered the room most exasperating on the side of the undesirable and unforeseen. In foiled escape, in thwarted expedient, his emotions had been many times excited, and then eddied back on themselves. The potentialities of as blind an anger as that of Galen Albret were in him. It only needed a touch to loose the flood. The physical threat of a blow supplied that touch. As the two men faced each other both were ripe for the extreme of recklessness. But while Galen Albret looked to nothing less than murder, the Free-Trader's individual genius turned to dead defiance and resistance of will. While Galen Albret's countenance reflected the height of passion, Trent was as smiling and cool and debonair as though he had at that moment received from the older man an extraordinary and particular favor. Only his eyes shot a baleful blue flame, and his words, calmly enough delivered, showed the extent to which his passion had cast policy to the winds. "Don't go too far! I warn you!" said he. As though the words had projected him bodily forward, Galen Albret sprang to deliver his blow. The Free Trader ducked rapidly, threw his shoulder across the middle of the older man's body, and by the very superiority of his position forced his antagonist to give ground. That the struggle would have then continued body to body there can be no doubt, had it not been for the fact that the Factor's retrogressive movement brought his knees sharply against the edge of a chair standing near the side of the table. Albret lost his balance, wavered, and finally sat down violently. Ned Trent promptly pinned him by the shoulder into powerless immobility. Me-en-gan had possessed himself of the fallen pistol, but beyond keeping a generally wary eye out for dangerous developments, did not offer to interfere. Your Indian is in such a crisis a disciplinarian, and he had received no orders. "Now," said Ned Trent, acidly, "I think this will stop right here. You do not cut a very good figure, my dear sir," he laughed a little. "You haven't cut a very good figure from the beginning, you know. You forbade me to do various things, and I have done them all. I traded with your Indians. I came and went in your country. Do you think I have not been here often before I was caught? And you forbade me to see your daughter again. I saw her that very evening, and the next morning and the next evening." He stood, still holding Galen Albret immovably in the chair, looking steadily and angrily into the leader's eyes, driving each word home with the weight of his contained passion. The girl touched his arm. "Hush! oh, hush!" she cried in a panic. "Do not anger him further!" "When you forbade me to make love to her," he continued, unheeding, "I laughed at you." With a sudden, swift motion of his left arm he drew her to him and touched her forehead with his lips. "Look! Your commands have been rather ridiculous, sir. I seem to have had the upper hand of you from first to last. Incidentally you have my life. Oh, welcome! That is small pay and little satisfaction." He threw himself from the Factor and stepped back. Galen Albret sat still without attempting to renew the struggle. The enforced few moments of inaction had restored to him his self-control. He was still deeply angered, but the insanity of rage had left him. Outwardly he was himself again. Only a rapid heaving of his chest answered Ned Trent's quick breathing, as the two men glared defiantly at each other in the pause that followed. "Very well, sir," said the Factor, curtly, at last. "Your time is over. I find it unnecessary to hang you. You will start, on your _Longue Traverse_ to-day." "Oh!" cried Virginia, in a low voice of agony, and fluttered to her lover's side. "Hush! hush!" he soothed her. "There is a chance." "You think so?" broke in Galen Albret, harshly. And looking at his set face and blazing eyes, they saw that there was no chance. The Free Trader shrugged his shoulders. "You are going to do this thing, father," appealed Virginia, "after what I have told you?" "My mind is made up." "I shall not survive him, father!" she threatened, in a low voice. Then, as the Factor did not respond, "Do not misunderstand me. I do not intend to survive him." "Silence! silence! silence!" cried Galen Albret, in a crescendo outburst. "Silence! I will not be gainsaid! You have made your choice! You are no longer a daughter of mine!" "Father!" cried Virginia, faintly, her lips going pale. "Don't speak to me! Don't look at me! Get out of here! Get out of the place! I won't have you here another day--another hour! By----" The girl hesitated for a moment, then ran to him, sinking on her knees, and clasping his hand. "Father," she pleaded, "you are not yourself. This has been very trying to you. To-morrow you will be sorry. But then it will be too late. Think, while there is yet time. He has not committed a crime. You yourself told me he was a man of intelligence and daring--a gentleman; and surely, though he has been hasty, he has acted with a brave spirit through it all. See, he will promise you to go away quietly, to say nothing of all this, never to come into this country again without your permission. He will do this if I ask him, for he loves me. Look at me, father. Are you going to treat your little girl so--your Virginia? You have never refused me anything before. And this is the greatest thing in all my life." She held his hand to her cheek and stroked it, murmuring little feminine, caressing phrases, secure in her power of witchery, which had never failed her before. The sound of her own voice reassured her, the quietude of the man she pleaded with. A lifetime of petting, of indulgence, threw its soothing influence over her perturbation, convincing her that somehow all this storm and stress must be phantasmagoric--a dream from which she was even now awakening into a clearer day of happiness. "For you love me, father," she concluded, and looked up daintily, with a pathetic, coquettish tilt of her fair head, to peer into his face. Galen Albret snarled like a wild beast, throwing aside the girl, as he did the chair in which he had been sitting. Ned Trent caught her, reeling, in his arms. For as is often the case with passionate but strong temperaments, though the Factor had attained a certain calm of control, the turmoil of his deeper anger had not been in the least stilled. Over it a crust of determination had formed--the determination to make an end by the directest means in his autocratic power of this galling opposition. The girl's pleading, instead of appealing to him, had in reality but stirred his fury the more profoundly. It had added a new fuel element to the fire. Heretofore his consciousness had felt merely the thwarting of his pride, his authority, his right to loyalty. Now his daughter's entreaty brought home to him the bitter realization that he had been attained on another side--that of his family affection. This man had also killed for him his only child. For the child had renounced him, had thrust him outside herself into the lonely and ruined temple of his pride. At the first thought his face twisted with emotion, then hardened to cold malice. "Love you!" he cried. "Love you! An unnatural child! An ingrate! One who turns from me so lightly!" He laughed bitterly, eyeing her with chilling scrutiny. "You dare recall my love for you!" Suddenly he stood upright, levelling a heavy, trembling arm at her. "You think an appeal to my love will save him! Fool!" Virginia's breath caught in her throat. She straightened, clutched the neckband of her gown. Then her head fell slowly forward. She had fainted in her lover's arms. They stood exactly so for an appreciable interval, bewildered by the suddenness of this outcome; Galen Albret's hand outstretched in denunciation; the girl like a broken lily, supported in the young man's arms; he searching her face passionately for a sign of life; Me-en-gan, straight and sorrowful, again at the door. Then the old man's arm dropped slowly, His gaze wavered. The lines of his face relaxed. Twice he made an effort to turn away. All at once his stubborn spirit broke; he uttered a cry, and sprang forward to snatch the unconscious form hungrily into his bear clasp, searching the girl's face, muttering incoherent things. "Quick!" he cried, aloud, the guttural sounds jostling one another in his throat. "Get Wishkobun, quick!" Ned Trent looked at him with steady scorn, his arms folded. "Ah!" he dropped distinctly in deliberate monosyllables across the surcharged atmosphere of the scene. "So it seems you have found your heart, my friend!" Galen Albret glared wildly at him over the girl's fair head. "She is my daughter," he mumbled. Chapter Seventeen They carried the unconscious girl into the dim-lighted apartment of the curtained windows, and laid her on the divan. Wishkobun, hastily summoned, unfastened the girl's dress at the throat. "It is a faint," she announced in her own tongue. "She will recover in a few minutes; I will get some water." Ned Trent wiped the moisture from his forehead with his handkerchief. The danger he had undergone coolly, but this overcame his iron self-control. Galen Albret, like an anxious bear, weaved back and forth the length of the couch. In him the rumble of the storm was but just echoing into distance. "Go into the next room," he growled at the Free Trader, when finally he noticed the latter's presence. Ned Trent hesitated. "Go, I say!" snarled the Factor. "You can do nothing here." He followed the young man to the door, which he closed with his own hand, and then turned back to the couch on which his daughter lay. In the middle of the floor his foot clicked on some small object. Mechanically lie picked it up. It proved to be a little silver match-safe of the sort universally used in the Far North. Evidently the Free Trader had nipped it from his pocket with his handkerchief, The Factor was about to thrust it into his own pocket, when his eye caught lettering roughly carved across one side. Still mechanically, he examined it more closely, The lettering was that of a man's name. The man's name was Graehme Stewart. Without thinking of what he did, he dropped the object on the small table, and returned anxiously to the girl's side, cursing the tardiness of the Indian woman. But in a moment Wishkobun returned. "Will she recover?" asked the Factor, distracted at the woman's deliberate examination. The latter smiled her indulgent, slow smile. "But surely," she assured him in her own tongue, "it is no more than if she cut her finger. In a few breaths she will recover. Now I will go to the house of the Cockburn for a morsel of the sweet wood [camphor] which she must smell." She looked her inquiry for permission. "Sagaamig--go," assented Albret. Relieved in mind, he dropped into a chair. His eye caught the little silver match-safe, He picked it up and fell to staring at the rudely carved letters. He found that he was alone with his daughter--and the thoughts aroused by the dozen letters of a man's name. All his life long he had been a hard man. His commands had been autocratic; his anger formidable; his punishments severe, and sometimes cruel. The quality of mercy was with him tenuous and weak. He knew this, and if he did not exactly glory in it, he was at least indifferent to its effect on his reputation with others. But always he had been just. The victims of his displeasure might complain that his retributive measures were harsh, that his forgiveness could not be evoked by even the most extenuating of circumstances, but not that his anger had ever been baseless or the punishment undeserved. Thus he had held always his own self-respect, and from his self-respect had proceeded his iron and effective rule. So in the case of the young man with whom now his thoughts were occupied. Twice he had warned him from the country without the punishment which the third attempt rendered imperative. The events succeeding his arrival at Conjuror's House warmed the Factor's anger to the heat of almost preposterous retribution perhaps--for after all a man's life is worth something, even in the wilds--but it was actually retribution, and not merely a ruthless proof of power. It might be justice as only the Factor saw it, but it was still essentially justice--in the broader sense that to each act had followed a definite consequence. Although another might have condemned his conduct as unnecessarily harsh, Galen Albret's conscience was satisfied and at rest. Nor had his resolution been permanently affected by either the girl's threat to make away with herself or by his momentary softening when she had fainted. The affair was thereby complicated, but that was all. In the sincerity of the threat he recognized his own iron nature, and was perhaps a little pleased at its manifestation. He knew she intended to fulfil her promise not to survive her lover, but at the moment this did not reach his fears; it only aroused further his dogged opposition. The Free Trader's speech as he left the room, however, had touched the one flaw in Galen Albret's confidence of righteousness. Wearied with the struggles and the passions he had undergone, his brain numbed, his will for the moment in abeyance, he seated himself and contemplated the images those two words had called up. Graehme Stewart! That man he had first met at Fort Rae over twenty years ago. It was but just after he had married Virginia's mother. At once his imagination, with the keen pictorial power of those who have dwelt long in the Silent Places, brought forward the other scene--that of his wooing. He had driven his dogs into Fort la Cloche after a hard day's run in seventy-five degrees of frost. Weary, hungry, half-frozen, he had staggered into the fire-lit room. Against the blaze he had caught for a moment a young girl's profile, lost as she turned her face toward him in startled question of his entrance. Men had cared for his dogs. The girl had brought him hot tea. In the corner of the fire they two had whispered one to the other--the already grizzled traveller of the silent land, the fresh, brave north-maiden. At midnight, their parkas drawn close about their faces in the fearful cold, they had met outside the inclosure of the Post. An hour later they were away under the aurora for Qu'Apelle. Galen Albret's nostrils expanded as he heard the _crack, crack, crack_ of the remorseless dog-whip whose sting drew him away from the vain pursuit. After the marriage at Qu'Apelle they had gone a weary journey to Rae, and there he had first seen Graehme Stewart. Fort Rae is on the northwestward arm of the Great Slave Lake in the country of the Dog Ribs, only four degrees under the Arctic Circle. It is a dreary spot, for the Barren Grounds are near. Men see only the great lake, the great sky, the great gray country. They become moody, fanciful. In the face of the silence they have little to say. At Port Rae were old Jock Wilson, the Chief Trader; Father Bonat, the priest; Andrew Levoy, the _metis_ clerk; four Dog Rib teepees; Galen Albret and his bride; and Graehme Stewart. Jock Wilson was sixty-five; Father Bonat had no age; Andrew Levoy possessed the years of dour silence. Only Graehme Stewart and Elodie, bride of Albret, were young. In the great gray country their lives were like spots of color on a mist. Galen Albret finally became jealous. At first there was nothing to be done, but finally Levoy brought to the older man proof of the younger's guilt. The harsh traveller bowed his head and wept. But since he loved Elodie more than himself--which was perhaps the only redeeming feature of this sorry business--he said nothing, nor did more than to journey south to Edmonton, leaving the younger man alone in Fort Rae to the White Silence. But his soul was stirred. In the course of nature and of time Galen Albret had a daughter, but lost a wife. It was no longer necessary for him to leave his wrong unavenged. Then began a series of baffling hindrances which resulted finally in his stooping to means repugnant to his open sense of what was due himself. At the first he could not travel to his enemy because of the child in his care; when finally he had succeeded in placing the little girl where he would be satisfied to leave her, he himself was suddenly and peremptorily called east to take a post in Rupert's Land. He could not disobey and remain in the Company, and the Company was more to him than life or revenue. The little girl he left in Sacre Coeur of Quebec; he himself took up his residence in the Hudson Bay country. After a few years, becoming lonely for his own flesh and blood, he sent for his daughter. There, as Factor, he gained a vast power, and this power he turned into the channels of his hatred. Graehme Stewart felt always against him the hand of influence. His posts in the Company's service became intolerable. At length, in indignation against continued injustice, oppression, and insult, he resigned, broken in fortune and in prospects. He became one of the earliest Free Traders on the Saskatchewan, devoting his energies to enraged opposition of the Company which had wronged him. In the space of three short years he had met a violent and striking death; for the early days of the Free Trader were adventurous. Galen Albret's revenge had struck home. Then in after years the Factor had again met with Andrew Levoy. The man staggered into Conjuror's House late at night, He had started from Winnipeg to descend the Albany River, but had met with mishap and starvation. One by one his dogs had died. In some blind fashion he pushed on for days after his strength and sanity had left him. Mu-hi-kun had brought him in. His toes and fingers had frozen and dropped off; his face was a mask of black frost-bitten flesh, in which deep fissures opened to the raw. He had gone snow-blind. Scarcely was he recognizable as a human being. From such a man in extremity could come nothing but the truth, so Galen Albret believed him. Before Andrew Levoy died that night he told of his deceit. The Factor left the room with the weight of a crime on his conscience. For Graehme Stewart had been innocent of any wrong toward him or his bride. Such was the story Galen Albret saw in the little silver match-box. That was the one flaw in his consciousness of righteousness; the one instance in a long career when his ruthless acts of punishment or reprisal had not rested on rigid justice, and by the irony of fate the one instance had touched him very near. Now here before him was his enemy's son--he wondered that he had not discovered the resemblance before--and he was about to visit on him the severest punishment in his power. Was not this an opportunity vouchsafed him to repair his ancient fault, to cleanse his conscience of the one sin of the kind it would acknowledge? But then over him swept the same blur of jealousy that had resulted in Graehme Stewart's undoing. This youth wooed his daughter; he had won her affections away. Strangely enough Galen Albret confused the new and the old; again youth cleaved to youth, leaving age apart. Age felt fiercely the desire to maintain its own. The Factor crushed the silver match-box between his great palms and looked up. His daughter lay before him, still, lifeless. Deliberately he rested his chin on his hands and contemplated her. The room, as always, was full of contrast; shafts of light, dust-moted, bewildering, crossed from the embrasured windows, throwing high-lights into prominence and shadows into impenetrable darkness. They rendered the gray-clad figure of the girl vague and ethereal, like a mist above a stream; they darkened the dull-hued couch on which she rested into a liquid, impalpable black; they hazed the draped background of the corner into a far-reaching distance; so that finally to Galen Albret, staring with hypnotic intensity, it came to seem that he looked upon a pure and disembodied spirit sleeping sweetly--cradled on illimitable space. The ordinary and familiar surroundings all disappeared. His consciousness accepted nothing but the cameo profile of marble white, the nimbus of golden haze about the head, the mist-like suggestion of a body, and again the clear marble spot of the hands. All else was a background of modulated depths. So gradually the old man's spirit, wearied by the stress of the last hour, turned in on itself and began to create. The cameo profile, the mist-like body, the marble hands remained; but now Galen Albret saw other things as well. A dim, rare perfume was wafted from some unseen space; indistinct flashes of light spotted the darknesses; faint swells of music lifted the silence intermittently. These things were small and still, and under the external consciousness--like the voices one may hear beneath the roar of a tumbling rapid--but gradually they defined themselves. The perfume came to Galen Albret's nostrils on the wings of incensed smoke; the flashes of light steadied to the ovals of candle flames; the faint swells of music blended into grand-breathed organ chords. He felt about him the dim awe of the church, he saw the tapers burning at head and foot, the clear, calm face of the dead, smiling faintly that at last it should be no more disturbed. So had he looked all one night and all one day in the long time ago. The Factor stretched his arms out to the figure on the couch, but he called upon his wife, gone these twenty years. "Elodie! Elodie!" he murmured, softly. She had never known it, thank God, but he had wronged her too. In all sorrow and sweet heavenly pity he had believed that her youth had turned to the youth of the other man. It had not been so. Did be not owe her, too, some reparation? As though in answer to his appeal, or perhaps that merely the sound of a human voice had broken the last shreds of her swoon, the girl moved slightly. Galen Albret did not stir. Slowly Virginia turned her head, until finally her wandering eyes met his, fixed on her with passionate intensity. For a moment she stared at him, then comprehension came to her along with memory. She cried out, and sat upright in one violent motion. "He! He!" she cried. "Is he gone?" Instantly Galen Albret had her in his arms. "It is all right," he soothed, drawing her close to his great breast. "All right. You are my own little girl." Chapter Eighteen For perhaps ten minutes Ned Trent lingered near the door of the Council Room until he had assured himself that Virginia was in no serious danger. Then he began to pace the room examining minutely the various objects that ornamented it. He paused longest at the full length portrait of Sir George Simpson, the Company's great traveller, with his mild blue eyes, his kindly face, denying the potency of his official frown, his snowy hair and whiskers. The painted man and the real man looked at each, other inquiringly. The latter shook his head. "You travelled the wild country far," said he, thoughtfully. "You knew many men of many lands. And wherever you went they tell me you made friends. And yet, as you embodied this Company to all these people, and so made for the fanatical loyalty that is destroying me, I suppose you and I are enemies!" He shrugged his shoulders whimsically and turned away. Thence he cast a fleeting glance out the window at the long reach of the Moose and the blue bay gleaming in the distance. He tried the outside door. It was locked. Taken with a new idea he proceeded at once to the third door of the apartment. It opened. He found himself in a small and much-littered room containing a desk, two chairs, a vast quantity of papers, a stuffed bird or so, and a row of account-books. Evidently the Factor's private office, Ned Trent returned to the main room and listened intently for several minutes. After that he ran back to the office and began hastily to open and rummage, one after another, the drawers of the desk. He discovered and concealed several bits of string, a desk-knife, and a box of matches. Then he uttered a guarded exclamation of delight. He had found a small revolver, and with it part of a box of cartridges. "A chance!" he exulted: "a chance!" The game would be desperate. He would be forced first of all to seek out and kill the men detailed to shadow him--a toy revolver against rifles; white man against trained savages. And after that he would have, with the cartridges remaining, to assure his subsistence. Still it was a chance. He closed the drawers and the door, and resumed his seat in the arm-chair by the council table. For over an hour thereafter he awaited the next move in the game. He was already swinging up the pendulum arc. The case did not appear utterly hopeless. He resolved, through Me-en-gan, whom he divined as a friend of the girl's, to smuggle a message to Virginia bidding her hope. Already his imagination had conducted him to Quebec, when in August he would search her out and make her his own. Soon one of the Indian servants entered the room for the purpose of conducting him to a smaller apartment, where he was left alone for some time longer. Food was brought him. He ate heartily, for he considered that wise. Then at last the summons for which he had been so long in readiness. Me-en-gan himself entered the room, and motioned him to follow. Ned Trent had already prepared his message on the back of an envelope, writing ft with the lead of a cartridge. He now pressed the bit of paper into the Indian's palm. "For O-mi-mi," he explained. Me-en-gan, bored him through with his bead-like eyes of the surface lights. "Nin nissitotam," he agreed after a moment. He led the way. Ned Trent followed through the narrow, uncarpeted hall with the faded photograph of Westminster, down the crooked steep stairs with the creaking degrees, and finally into the Council Room once more, with its heavy rafters, its two fireplaces, its long table, and its narrow windows, "Beka--wait!" commanded Me-en-gan, and left him. Ned Trent had supposed he was being conducted to the canoe which should bear him on the first stage of his long journey, but now he seemed condemned again to take up the wearing uncertainty of inaction. The interval was not long, however. Almost immediately the other door opened and the Factor entered. His movements were abrupt and impatient, for with whatever grace such a man yields to his better instincts the actual carrying out of their conditions is a severe trial. For one thing it is a species of emotional nakedness, invariably repugnant to the self-contained. Ned Trent, observing this and misinterpreting its cause, hugged the little revolver to his side with grim satisfaction. The interview was likely to be stormy. If worst came to worst, he was at least assured of reprisal before his own end. The Factor walked directly to the head of the table and his customary arm-chair, in which he disposed himself. "Sit down," he commanded the younger man, indicating a chair at his elbow. The latter warily obeyed. Galen Albret hesitated appreciably. Then, as one would make a plunge into cold water, quickly, in one motion, he laid on the table something over which he held his hand. "You are wondering why I am interviewing you again," said he. "It is because I have become aware of certain things. When you left me a few hours ago you dropped this." He moved his hand to one side. The silver match-safe lay on the table. "Yes, it is mine," agreed Ned Trent, "On one side is carved a name." "Yes." "Whose?" The Free Trader hesitated. "My father's," he said, at last. "I thought that must be so. You will understand when I tell you that at one time I knew him very well." "You knew my father?" cried Ned Trent, excitedly. "Yes. At Fort Rae, and elsewhere. But I do not remember you." "I was brought up at Winnipeg," the other explained. "Once," pursued Galen Albret, "I did your father a wrong, unintentionally, but nevertheless a great wrong. For that reason and others I am going to give you your life." "What wrong?" demanded Ned Trent, with dawning excitement. "I forced him from the Company." "You!" "Yes, I. Proof was brought me that he had won from me my young wife. It could not be doubted. I could not kill him. Afterward the man who deceived me confessed. He is now dead." Ned Trent, gasping, rose slowly to his feet. One hand stole inside his jacket and clutched the butt of the little pistol. "You did that," he cried, hoarsely. "You tell me of it yourself? Do you wish to know the real reason for my coming into this country, why I have traded in defiance of the Company throughout the whole Far North? I have thought my father was persecuted by a body of men, and though I could not do much, still I have accomplished what I could to avenge him. Had I known that a single man had done this--and you are that man!" He came a step nearer. Galen Albret regarded him steadily. "If I had known this before, I should never have rested until I had hunted you down, until I had killed you, even in the midst of your own people!" cried the Free Trader at last. Galen Albret drew his heavy revolver and laid it on the table. "Do so now," he said, quietly. A pause fell on them, pregnant with possibility. The Free Trader dropped his head. "No," he groaned. "No, I cannot. She stands in the way!" "So that, after all," concluded the Factor, in a gentler tone than he had yet employed, "we two shall part peaceably. I have wronged you greatly, though without intention. Perhaps one balances the other. We will let it pass." "Yes," agreed Ned Trent with an effort, "we will let it pass." They mused in silence, while the Factor drummed on the table with the stubby fingers of his right hand. "I am dispatching to-day," he announced curtly at length, "the Abitibi _brigade_. Matters of importance brought by runner from Rupert's House force me to do so a month earlier than I had expected. I shall send you out with that _brigade_." "Very well." "You will find your packs and arms in the canoe, quite intact." "Thank you." The Factor examined the young man's face with some deliberation. "You love my daughter truly?" he asked, quietly. "Yes," replied Ned Trent, also quietly. "That is well, for she loves you. And," went on the old man, throwing his massive head back proudly, "my people love well! I won her mother in a day, and nothing could stay us. God be thanked, you are a man and brave and clean. Enough of that! I place the _brigade_ under your command! You must be responsible for it, for I am sending no other white--the crew are Indians and _metis_." "All right," agreed Ned Trent, indifferently. "My daughter you will take to Sacre Coeur at Quebec." "Virginia!" cried the young man. "I am sending her to Quebec. I had not intended doing so until July, but the matters from Rupert's House make it imperative now." "Virginia goes with me?" "Yes." "You consent? You----" "Young man," said Galen Albret, not unkindly, "I give my daughter in your charge; that is all. You must take her to Sacre Coeur. And you must be patient. Next year I shall resign, for I am getting old, and then we shall see. That is all I can tell you now." He arose abruptly. "Come," said he, "they are waiting." They threw wide the door and stepped out into the open. A breeze from the north brought a draught of air like cold water in its refreshment. The waters of the North sparkled and tossed in the silvery sun. Ned Trent threw his arms wide in the physical delight of a new freedom. But his companion was already descending the steps. He followed across the square grass plot to the two bronze guns. A noise of peoples came down the breeze. In a moment he saw them--the varied multitude of the Post--gathered to speed the _brigade_ on its distant journey. The little beach was crowded with the Company's people and with Indians, talking eagerly, moving hither and yon in a shifting kaleidoscope of brilliant color. Beyond the shore floated the long canoe, with its curving ends and its emblazonment of the five-pointed stars. Already its baggage was aboard, its crew in place, ten men in whose caps slanted long, graceful feathers, which proved them boatmen of a factor. The women sat amidships. When Galen Albret reached the edge of the plateau he stopped, and laid his hand on the young man's arm. As yet they were unperceived. Then a single man caught sight of them. He spoke to another; the two informed still others. In an instant the bright colors were dotted with upturned faces. "Listen," said Galen Albret, in his resonant chest-tones of authority. "This is my son, and he must be obeyed. I give to him the command of this _brigade_. See to it." Without troubling himself further as to the crowd below, Galen Albret turned to his companion. "I will say good-by," said he, formally. "Good-by," replied Ned Trent. "All is at peace between us?" The Free Trader looked long into the man's sad eyes. The hard, proud spirit, bowed in knightly expiation of its one fault, for the first time in a long life of command looked out in petition. "All is at peace," repeated Ned Trent. They clasped hands. And Virginia, perceiving them so, threw them a wonderful smile. Chapter Nineteen Instantly the spell of inaction broke. The crowd recommenced its babel of jests, advices, and farewells. Ned Trent swung down the bank to the shore. The boatmen fixed the canoe on the very edge of floating free. Two of them lifted the young man aboard to a place on the furs by Virginia Albret's side. At once the crowd pressed forward, filling up the empty spaces. Now Achille Picard bent his shoulders to lift into free water the stem of the canoe from its touch on the bank. It floated, caught gently by the back wash of the stronger off-shore current. "Good-by, dear," called Mrs. Cockburn. "Remember us!" She pressed the Doctor's arm closer to her side. The Doctor waved his hand, not trusting his masculine self-control to speak. McDonald, too, stood glum and dour, clasping his wrist behind his back. Richardson was openly affected. For in Virginia's person they saw sailing away from their bleak Northern lives the figure of youth, and they knew that henceforth life must be even drearier. "Som' tam' yo' com' back sing heem de res' of dat song!" shouted Louis Placide to his late captive. "I lak' hear heem!" But Galen Albret said nothing, made no sign. Silently and steadily, run up by some invisible hand, the blood-red banner of the Company fluttered to the mast-head. Before it, alone, bulked huge against the sky, dominating the people in the symbolism of his position there as he did in the realities of everyday life, the Factor stood, his hands behind his back. Virginia rose to her feet and stretched her arms out to the solitary figure. "Good-by! good-by!" she cried. A renewed tempest of cheers and shouts of adieu broke from those ashore. The paddles dipped once, twice, thrice, and paused. With one accord those on shore and those in the canoe raised their caps and said, "Que Dieu vous benisse." A moment's silence followed, during which the current of the mighty river bore the light craft a few yards down stream. Then from the ten _voyageurs_ arose a great shout. "Abitibi! Abitibi!" Their paddles struck in unison. The water swirled in white, circular eddies. Instantly the canoe caught its momentum and began to slip along against the sluggish current. Achille Picard raised a high tenor voice, fixing the air, "En roulant ma boule roulante, En roulant ma boule" And the _voyageurs_ swung into the quaint ballad of the fairy ducks and the naughty prince with his magic gun. "Derrier' ches-nous y-a-t-un 'elang, En roulant ma boule." The girl sank back, dabbing uncertainly at her eyes. "I shall never see them again," she explained, wistfully. The canoe had now caught its speed. Conjuror's House was dropping astern. The rhythm of the song quickened as the singers told of how the king's son had aimed at the black duck but killed the white. "Ah fils du roi, tu es mechant, En roulant ma boule, Toutes les plumes s'en vont au vent, Rouli roulant, ma boule roulant." "Way wik! way wik!" commanded Me-en-gan, sharply, from the bow. The men quickened their stroke and shot diagonally across the current of an eddy. "Ni-shi-shin," said Me-en-gan. They fell back to the old stroke, rolling out their full-throated measure. "Toutes les plumes s'en vont au vent, En roulant ma boule, Trois dames s'en vont les ramassant, Rouli roulant, ma boule roulant." The canoe was now in the smooth rush of the first stretch of swifter water. The men bent to their work with stiffened elbows. Achille Picard flashed his white teeth back at the passengers. "Ah, mademoiselle, eet is wan long way," he panted. "C'est une longue traverse!" The term was evidently descriptive, but the two smiled significantly at each other. "So you do take _la Longue Traverse_, after all!" marvelled Virginia. Ned Trent clasped her hand. "We take it together," he replied. Into the distance faded the Post. The canoe rounded a bend. It was gone. Ahead of them lay their long journey. THE END 
11328	----	THE HUNTED WOMAN BY JAMES OLIVER CURWOOD Author of KAZAN, Etc. Illustrated by FRANK B. HOFFMAN 1915 TO MY WIFE AND OUR COMRADES OF THE TRAIL LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS "'Look at MacDonald.... It's not the gold, but MacDonald, that's taking me North, Ladygray.... Up there, another grave is calling MacDonald.'" A tall, slim, exquisitely poised figure.... "'Another o' them Dotty Dimples come out to save the world. I thought I'd help eggicate her a little, an' so I sent her to Bill's place'" "A crowd was gathering.... A slim, exquisitely formed woman in shimmering silk was standing beside a huge brown bear" "'The tunnel is closed,' she whispered.... 'That means we have just forty-five minutes to live.... Let us not lie to one another.'" CHAPTER I It was all new--most of it singularly dramatic and even appalling to the woman who sat with the pearl-gray veil drawn closely about her face. For eighteen hours she had been a keenly attentive, wide-eyed, and partly frightened bit of humanity in this onrush of "the horde." She had heard a voice behind her speak of it as "the horde"--a deep, thick, gruff voice which she knew without looking had filtered its way through a beard. She agreed with the voice. It was the Horde--that horde which has always beaten the trails ahead for civilization and made of its own flesh and blood the foundation of nations. For months it had been pouring steadily into the mountains--always in and never out, a laughing, shouting, singing, blaspheming Horde, every ounce of it toughened sinew and red brawn, except the Straying Angels. One of these sat opposite her, a dark-eyed girl with over-red lips and hollowed cheeks, and she heard the bearded man say something to his companions about "dizzy dolls" and "the little angel in the other seat." This same voice, gruffened in its beard, had told her that ten thousand of the Horde had gone up ahead of them. Then it whispered something that made her hands suddenly tighten and a hot flush sweep through her. She lifted her veil and rose slowly from her seat, as if to rearrange her dress. Casually she looked straight into the faces of the bearded man and his companion in the seat behind. They stared. After that she heard nothing more of the Straying Angels, but only a wildly mysterious confabulation about "rock hogs," and "coyotes" that blew up whole mountains, and a hundred and one things about the "rail end." She learned that it was taking five hundred steers a week to feed the Horde that lay along the Grand Trunk Pacific between Hogan's Camp and the sea, and that there were two thousand souls at Tête Jaune Cache, which until a few months before had slumbered in a century-old quiet broken only by the Indian and his trade. Then the train stopped in its twisting trail, and the bearded man and his companion left the car. As they passed her they glanced down. Again the veil was drawn close. A shimmering tress of hair had escaped its bondage; that was all they saw. [Illustration: "Look at MacDonald.... It's not the gold, but MacDonald, that's taking me north, Ladygray.... Up there, another grave is calling MacDonald."] The veiled woman drew a deeper breath when they were gone. She saw that most of the others were getting off. In her end of the car the hollow-cheeked girl and she were alone. Even in their aloneness these two women had not dared to speak until now. The one raised her veil again, and their eyes met across the aisle. For a moment the big, dark, sick-looking eyes of the "angel" stared. Like the bearded man and his companion, she, too, understood, and an embarrassed flush added to the colour of the rouge on her cheeks. The eyes that looked across at her were blue--deep, quiet, beautiful. The lifted veil had disclosed to her a face that she could not associate with the Horde. The lips smiled at her--the wonderful eyes softened with a look of understanding, and then the veil was lowered again. The flush in the girl's cheek died out, and she smiled back. "You are going to Tête Jaune?" she asked. "Yes. May I sit with you for a few minutes? I want to ask questions--so many!" The hollow-cheeked girl made room for her at her side. "You are new?" "Quite new--to this." The words, and the manner in which they were spoken, made the other glance quickly at her companion. "It is a strange place to go--Tête Jaune," she said. "It is a terrible place for a woman." "And yet you are going?" "I have friends there. Have you?" "No." The girl stared at her in amazement. Her voice and her eyes were bolder now. "And without friends you are going--_there?_" she cried. "You have no husband--no brother----" "What place is this?" interrupted the other, raising her veil so that she could look steadily into the other's face. "Would you mind telling me?" "It is Miette," replied the girl, the flush reddening her cheeks again. "There's one of the big camps of the railroad builders down on the Flats. You can see it through the window. That river is the Athabasca." "Will the train stop here very long?" The Little Angel shrugged her thin shoulders despairingly. "Long enough to get me into The Cache mighty late to-night," she complained. "We won't move for two hours." "I'd be so glad if you could tell me where I can go for a bath and something to eat. I'm not very hungry--but I'm terribly dusty. I want to change some clothes, too. Is there a hotel here?" Her companion found the question very funny. She had a giggling fit before she answered. "You're sure new," she explained. "We don't have hotels up here. We have bed-houses, chuck-tents, and bunk-shacks. You ask for Bill's Shack down there on the Flats. It's pretty good. They'll give you a room, plenty of water, and a looking-glass--an' charge you a dollar. I'd go with you, but I'm expecting a friend a little later, and if I move I may lose him. Anybody will tell you where Bill's place is. It's a red an' white striped tent--and it's respectable." The stranger girl thanked her, and turned for her bag. As she left the car, the Little Angel's eyes followed her with a malicious gleam that gave them the strange glow of candles in a sepulchral cavern. The colours which she unfurled to all seeking eyes were not secret, and yet she was filled with an inward antagonism that this stranger with the wonderful blue eyes had dared to see them and recognize them. She stared after the retreating form--a tall, slim, exquisitely poised figure that filled her with envy and a dull sort of hatred. She did not hear a step behind her. A hand fell familiarly on her shoulder, and a coarse voice laughed something in her ear that made her jump up with an artificial little shriek of pleasure. The man nodded toward the end of the now empty car. "Who's your new friend?" he asked. "She's no friend of mine," snapped the girl. "She's another one of them Dolly Dimples come out to save the world. She's that innocent she wonders why Tête Jaune ain't a nice place for ladies without escort. I thought I'd help eggicate her a little an' so I sent her to Bill's place. Oh, my Lord, I told her it was respectable!" She doubled over the seat in a fit of merriment, and her companion seized the opportunity to look out of the window. The tall, blue-eyed stranger had paused for a moment on the last step of the car to pin up her veil, fully revealing her face. Then she stepped lightly to the ground, and found herself facing the sunlight and the mountains. She drew a slow, deep breath between her parted lips, and turned wonderingly, for a moment forgetful. It was the first time she had left the train since entering the mountains, and she understood now why some one in the coach had spoken of the Miette Plain as Sunshine Pool. Where-ever she looked the mountains fronted her, with their splendid green slopes reaching up to their bald caps of gray shale and reddish rock or gleaming summits of snow. Into this "pool"--this pocket in the mountains--the sun descended in a wonderful flood. It stirred her blood like a tonic. She breathed more quickly; a soft glow coloured her cheeks; her eyes grew more deeply violet as they caught the reflection of the blue sky. A gentle wind fretted the loose tendrils of brown hair about her face. And the bearded man, staring through the car window, saw her thus, and for an hour after that the hollow-cheeked girl wondered at the strange change in him. The train had stopped at the edge of the big fill overlooking the Flats. It was a heavy train, and a train that was helping to make history--a combination of freight, passenger, and "cattle." It had averaged eight miles an hour on its climb toward Yellowhead Pass and the end of steel. The "cattle" had already surged from their stifling and foul-smelling cars in a noisy inundation of curiously mixed humanity. They were of a dozen different nationalities, and as the girl looked at them it was not with revulsion or scorn but with a sudden quickening of heartbeat and a little laugh that had in it something both of wonder and of pride. This was the Horde, that crude, monstrous thing of primitive strength and passions that was overturning mountains in its fight to link the new Grand Trunk Pacific with the seaport on the Pacific. In that Horde, gathered in little groups, shifting, sweeping slowly toward her and past her, she saw something as omnipotent as the mountains themselves. They could not know defeat. She sensed it without ever having seen them before. For her the Horde now had a heart and a soul. These were the builders of empire--the man-beasts who made it possible for Civilization to creep warily and without peril into new places and new worlds. With a curious shock she thought of the half-dozen lonely little wooden crosses she had seen through the car window at odd places along the line of rail. And now she sought her way toward the Flats. To do this she had to climb over a track that was waiting for ballast. A car shunted past her, and on its side she saw the big, warning red placards--Dynamite. That one word seemed to breathe to her the spirit of the wonderful energy that was expending itself all about her. From farther on in the mountains came the deep, sullen detonations of the "little black giant" that had been rumbling past her in the car. It came again and again, like the thunderous voice of the mountains themselves calling out in protest and defiance. And each time she felt a curious thrill under her feet and the palpitant touch of something that was like a gentle breath in her ears. She found another track on her way, and other cars slipped past her crunchingly. Beyond this second track she came to a beaten road that led down into the Flats, and she began to descend. [Illustration: A tall, slim, exquisitely poised figure.... "Another o' them Dotty Dimples come out to save the world. I thought I'd help eggicate her a little, an' so I sent her to Bill's place. Oh, my Lord, I told her it was respectable!"] Tents shone through the trees on the bottom. The rattle of the cars grew more distant, and she heard the hum and laughter of voices and the jargon of a phonograph. At the bottom of the slope she stepped aside to allow a team and wagon to pass. The wagon was loaded with boxes that rattled and crashed about as the wheels bumped over stones and roots. The driver of the team did not look at her. He was holding back with his whole weight; his eyes bulged a little; he was sweating, in his face was a comedy of expression that made the girl smile in spite of herself. Then she saw one of the bobbing boxes and the smile froze into a look of horror. On it was painted that ominous word--DYNAMITE! Two men were coming behind her. "Six horses, a wagon an' old Fritz--blown to hell an' not a splinter left to tell the story," one of them was saying. "I was there three minutes after the explosion and there wasn't even a ravelling or a horsehair left. This dynamite's a dam' funny thing. I wouldn't be a rock-hog for a million!" "I'd rather be a rock-hog than Joe--drivin' down this hill a dozen times a day," replied the other. The girl had paused again, and the two men stared at her as they were about to pass. The explosion of Joe's dynamite could not have startled them more than the beauty of the face that was turned to them in a quietly appealing inquiry. "I am looking for a place called--Bill's Shack," she said, speaking the Little Sister's words hesitatingly. "Can you direct me to it, please?" The younger of the two men looked at his companion without speaking. The other, old enough to regard feminine beauty as a trap and an illusion, turned aside to empty his mouth of a quid of tobacco, bent over, and pointed under the trees. "Can't miss it--third tent-house on your right, with canvas striped like a barber-pole. That phonnygraff you hear is at Bill's." "Thank you." She went on. Behind her, the two men stood where she had left them. They did not move. The younger man seemed scarcely to breathe. "Bill's place!" he gasped then. "I've a notion to tell her. I can't believe----" "Shucks!" interjected the other. "But I don't. She isn't that sort. She looked like a Madonna--with the heart of her clean gone. I never saw anything so white an' so beautiful. You call me a fool if you want to--I'm goin' on to Bill's!" He strode ahead, chivalry in his young and palpitating heart. Quickly the older man was at his side, clutching his arm. "Come along, you cotton-head!" he cried. "You ain't old enough or big enough in this camp to mix in with Bill. Besides," he lied, seeing the wavering light in the youth's eyes, "I know her. She's going to the right place." At Bill's place men were holding their breath and staring. They were not unaccustomed to women. But such a one as this vision that walked calmly and undisturbed in among them they had never seen. There were half a dozen lounging there, smoking and listening to the phonograph, which some one now stopped that they might hear every word that was spoken. The girl's head was high. She was beginning to understand that it would have been less embarrassing to have gone hungry and dusty. But she had come this far, and she was determined to get what she wanted--if it was to be had. The colour shone a little more vividly through the pure whiteness of her skin as she faced Bill, leaning over his little counter. In him she recognized the Brute. It was blazoned in his face, in the hungry, seeking look of his eyes--in the heavy pouches and thick crinkles of his neck and cheeks. For once Bill Quade himself was at a loss. "I understand that you have rooms for rent," she said unemotionally. "May I hire one until the train leaves for Tête Jaune Cache?" The listeners behind her stiffened and leaned forward. One of them grinned at Quade. This gave him the confidence he needed to offset the fearless questioning in the blue eyes. None of them noticed a newcomer in the door. Quade stepped from behind his shelter and faced her. "This way," he said, and turned to the drawn curtains beyond them. She followed. As the curtains closed after them a chuckling laugh broke the silence of the on-looking group. The newcomer in the doorway emptied the bowl of his pipe, and thrust the pipe into the breast-pocket of his flannel shirt. He was bareheaded. His hair was blond, shot a little with gray. He was perhaps thirty-eight, no taller than the girl herself, slim-waisted, with trim, athletic shoulders. His eyes, as they rested on the still-fluttering curtains, were a cold and steady gray. His face was thin and bronzed, his nose a trifle prominent. He was a man far from handsome, and yet there was something of fascination and strength about him. He did not belong to the Horde. Yet he might have been the force behind it, contemptuous of the chuckling group of rough-visaged men, almost arrogant in his posture as he eyed the curtains and waited. What he expected soon came. It was not the usual giggling, the usual exchange of badinage and coarse jest beyond the closed curtains. Quade did not come out rubbing his huge hands, his face crinkling with a sort of exultant satisfaction. The girl preceded him. She flung the curtains aside and stood there for a moment, her face flaming like fire, her blue eyes filled with the flash of lightning. She came down the single step. Quade followed her. He put out a hand. "Don't take offence, girly," he expostulated. "Look here--ain't it reasonable to s'pose----" He got no farther. The man in the door had advanced, placing himself at the girl's side. His voice was low and unexcited. "You have made a mistake?" he said. She took him in at a glance--his clean-cut, strangely attractive face, his slim build, the clear and steady gray of his eyes. "Yes, I have made a mistake--a terrible mistake!" "I tell you it ain't fair to take offence," Quade went on. "Now, look here----" In his hand was a roll of bills. The girl did not know that a man could strike as quickly and with as terrific effect as the gray-eyed stranger struck then. There was one blow, and Quade went down limply. It was so sudden that he had her outside before she realized what had happened. "I chanced to see you go in," he explained, without a tremor in his voice. "I thought you were making a mistake. I heard you ask for shelter. If you will come with me I will take you to a friend's." "If it isn't too much trouble for you, I will go," she said. "And for that--in there--thank you!" CHAPTER II They passed down an aisle through the tall trees, on each side of which faced the vari-coloured and many-shaped architecture of the little town. It was chiefly of canvas. Now and then a structure of logs added an appearance of solidity to the whole. The girl did not look too closely. She knew that they passed places in which there were long rows of cots, and that others were devoted to trade. She noticed signs which advertised soft drinks and cigars--always "soft drinks," which sometimes came into camp marked as "dynamite," "salt pork," and "flour." She was conscious that every one stared at them as they passed. She heard clearly the expressions of wonder and curiosity of two women and a girl who were spreading out blankets in front of a rooming-tent. She looked at the man at her side. She appreciated his courtesy in not attempting to force an acquaintanceship. In her eyes was a ripple of amusement. "This is all strange and new to me--and not at all uninteresting," she said. "I came expecting--everything. And I am finding it. Why do they stare at me so? Am I a curiosity?" "You are," he answered bluntly. "You are the most beautiful woman they have ever seen." His eyes encountered hers as he spoke. He had answered her question fairly. There was nothing that was audacious in his manner or his look. She had asked for information, and he had given it. In spite of herself the girl's lips trembled. Her colour deepened. She smiled. "Pardon me," she entreated. "I seldom feel like laughing, but I almost do now. I have encountered so many curious people and have heard so many curious things during the past twenty-four hours. You don't believe in concealing your thoughts out here in the wilderness, do you?" "I haven't expressed _my_ thoughts," he corrected. "I was telling you what _they_ think." "Oh-h-h--I beg your pardon again!" "Not at all," he answered lightly, and now his eyes were laughing frankly into her own. "I don't mind informing you," he went on, "that I am the biggest curiosity you will meet between this side of the mountains and the sea. I am not accustomed to championing women. I allow them to pursue their own course without personal interference on my part. But--I suppose it will give you some satisfaction if I confess it--I followed you into Bill's place because you were more than ordinarily beautiful, and because I wanted to see fair play. I knew you were making a mistake. I knew what would happen." They had passed the end of the street, and entered a little green plain that was soft as velvet underfoot. On the farther side of this, sheltered among the trees, were two or three tents. The man led the way toward these. "Now, I suppose I've spoiled it all," he went on, a touch of irony in his voice. "It was really quite heroic of me to follow you into Bill's place, don't you think? You probably want to tell me so, but don't quite dare. And I should play up to my part, shouldn't I? But I cannot--not satisfactorily. I'm really a bit disgusted with myself for having taken as much interest in you as I have. I write books for a living. My name is John Aldous." With a little cry of amazement, his companion stopped. Without knowing it, her hand had gripped his arm. "You are John Aldous--who wrote 'Fair Play,' and 'Women!'" she gasped. "Yes," he said, amusement in his face. "I have read those books--and I have read your plays," she breathed, a mysterious tremble in her voice. "You despise women!" "Devoutly." She drew a deep breath. Her hand dropped from his arm. "This is very, very funny," she mused, gazing off to the sun-capped peaks of the mountains. "You have flayed women alive. You have made them want to mob you. And yet----" "Millions of them read my books," he chuckled. "Yes--all of them read your books," she replied, looking straight into his face. "And I guess--in many ways--you have pointed out things that are true." It was his turn to show surprise. "You believe that?" "I do. More than that--I have always thought that I knew your secret--the big, hidden thing under your work, the thing which you do not reveal because you know the world would laugh at you. And so--_you despise me!_" "Not you." "I am a woman." He laughed. The tan in his cheeks burned a deeper red. "We are wasting time," he warned her. "In Bill's place I heard you say you were going to leave on the Tête Jaune train. I am going to take you to a real dinner. And now--I should let those good people know your name." A moment--unflinching and steady--she looked into his face. "It is Joanne, the name you have made famous as the dreadfulest woman in fiction. Joanne Gray." "I am sorry," he said, and bowed low. "Come. If I am not mistaken I smell new-baked bread." As they moved on he suddenly touched her arm. She felt for a moment the firm clasp of his fingers. There was a new light in his eyes, a glow of enthusiasm. "I have it!" he cried. "You have brought it to me--the idea. I have been wanting a name for _her_--the woman in my new book. She is to be a tremendous surprise. I haven't found a name, until now--one that fits. I shall call her Ladygray!" He felt the girl flinch. He was surprised at the sudden startled look that shot into her eyes, the swift ebbing of the colour from her cheeks. He drew away his hand at the strange change in her. He noticed how quickly she was breathing--that the fingers of her white hands were clasped tensely. "You object," he said. "Not enough to keep you from using it," she replied in a low voice. "I owe you a great deal." He noted, too, how quickly she had recovered herself. Her head was a little higher. She looked toward the tents. "You were not mistaken," she added. "I smell new-made bread!" "And I shall emphasize the first half of it--_Lady_gray," said John Aldous, as if speaking to himself. "That diminutizes it, you might say--gives it the touch of sentiment I want. You can imagine a lover saying 'Dear little _Lady_gray, are you warm and comfy?' He wouldn't say Ladygray as if she wore a coronet, would he?" "Smell-o'-bread--fresh bread!" sniffed Joanne Gray, as if she had not heard him. "It's making me hungry. Will you please hurry me to it, John Aldous?" They were approaching the first of the three tent-houses, over which was a crudely painted sign which read "Otto Brothers, Guides and Outfitters." It was a large, square tent, with weather-faded red and blue stripes, and from it came the cheerful sound of a woman's laughter. Half a dozen trampish-looking Airedale terriers roused themselves languidly as they drew nearer. One of them stood up and snarled. "They won't hurt you," assured Aldous. "They belong to Jack Bruce and Clossen Otto--the finest bunch of grizzly dogs in the Rockies." Another moment, and a woman had appeared in the door. "And that is Mrs. Jack Otto," he added under his breath. "If all women were like her I wouldn't have written the things you have read!" He might have added that she was Scotch. But this was not necessary. The laughter was still in her good-humoured face. Aldous looked at his companion, and he found her smiling back. The eyes of the two women had already met. Briefly Aldous explained what had happened at Quade's, and that the young woman was leaving on the Tête Jaune train. The good-humoured smile left Mrs. Otto's face when he mentioned Quade. "I've told Jack I'd like to poison that man some day," she cried. "You poor dear, come in, I'll get you a cup of tea." "Which always means dinner in the Otto camp," added Aldous. "I'm not so hungry, but I'm tired--so tired," he heard the girl say as she went in with Mrs. Otto, and there was a new and strangely pathetic note in her voice. "I want to rest--until the train goes." He followed them in, and stood for a moment near the door. "There's a room in there, my dear," said the woman, drawing back a curtain. "Make yourself at home, and lie down on the bed until I have the tea ready." When the curtain had closed behind her, John Aldous spoke in a low voice to the woman. "Will you see her safely to the train, Mrs. Otto?" he asked. "It leaves at a quarter after two. I must be going." He felt that he had sufficiently performed his duty. He left the tent, and paused for a moment outside to touzle affectionately the trampish heads of the bear dogs. Then he turned away, whistling. He had gone a dozen steps when a low voice stopped him. He turned. Joanne had come from the door. For one moment he stared as if something more wonderful than anything he had ever seen had risen before him. The girl was bareheaded, and she stood in a sun mellowed by a film of cloud. Her head was piled with lustrous coils of gold-brown hair that her hat and veil had hidden. Never had he looked upon such wonderful hair, crushed and crumpled back from her smooth forehead; nor such marvellous whiteness of skin and pure blue depths of eyes! In her he saw now everything that was strong and splendid in woman. She was not girlishly sweet. She was not a girl. She was a woman--glorious to look at, a soul glowing out of her eyes, a strength that thrilled him in the quiet and beautiful mystery of her face. "You were going without saying good-bye," she said. "Won't you let me thank you--a last time?" Her voice brought him to himself again. A moment he bent over her hand. A moment he felt its warm, firm pressure in his own. The smile that flashed to his lips was hidden from her as he bowed his blond-gray head. "Pardon me for the omission," he apologized. "Good-bye--and may good luck go with you!" Their eyes met once more. With another bow he had turned, and was continuing his way. At the door Joanne Gray looked back. He was whistling again. His careless, easy stride was filled with a freedom that seemed to come to her in the breath of the mountains. And then she, too, smiled strangely as she reëntered the tent. CHAPTER III If John Aldous had betrayed no visible sign of inward vanquishment he at least was feeling its effect. For years his writings had made him the target for a world of women, and many men. The men he had regarded with indifferent toleration. The women were his life--the "frail and ineffective creatures" who gave spice to his great adventure, and made his days anything but monotonous. He was not unchivalrous. Deep down in his heart--and this was his own secret--he did not even despise women. But he had seen their weaknesses and their frailties as perhaps no other man had ever seen them, and he had written of them as no other man had ever written. This had brought him the condemnation of the host, the admiration of the few. His own personal veneer of antagonism against woman was purely artificial, and yet only a few had guessed it. He had built it up about him as a sort of protection. He called himself "an adventurer in the mysteries of feminism," and to be this successfully he had argued that he must destroy in himself the usual heart-emotions of the sex-man and the animal. How far he had succeeded in this he himself did not know--until these last moments when he had bid good-bye to Joanne Gray. He confessed that she had found a cleft in his armour, and there was an uneasy thrill in his blood. It was not her beauty alone that had affected him. He had trained himself to look at a beautiful woman as he might have looked at a beautiful flower, confident that if he went beyond the mere admiration of it he would find only burned-out ashes. But in her he had seen something that was more than beauty, something that for a flashing moment had set stirring every molecule in his being. He had felt the desire to rest his hand upon her shining hair! He turned off into a winding path that led into the thick poplars, restraining an inclination to look back in the direction of the Otto camp. He pulled out the pipe he had dropped into his shirt pocket, filled it with fresh tobacco, and began smoking. As he smoked, his lips wore a quizzical smile, for he was honest enough to give Joanne Gray credit for her triumph. She had awakened a new kind of interest in him--only a passing interest, to be sure--but a new kind for all that. The fact amused him. In a large way he was a humourist--few guessing it, and he fully appreciated the humour of the present situation--that he, John Aldous, touted the world over as a woman-hater, wanted to peer out through the poplar foliage and see that wonderful gold-brown head shining in the sun once more! He wandered more slowly on his way, wondering with fresh interest what his friends, the women, would say when they read his new book. His title for it was "Mothers." It was to be a tremendous surprise. Suddenly his face became serious. He faced the sound of a distant phonograph. It was not the phonograph in Quade's place, but that of a rival dealer in soft drinks at the end of the "street." For a moment Aldous hesitated. Then he turned in the direction of the camp. Quade was bolstered up on a stool, his back against the thin partition, when John Aldous sauntered in. There was still a groggy look in his mottled face. His thick bulk hung a bit limply. In his heavy-lidded eyes, under-hung by watery pouches of sin and dissipation, there was a vengeful and beastlike glare. He was surrounded by his friends. One of them was taking a wet cloth from his head. There were a dozen in the canvas-walled room, all with their backs to the door, their eyes upon their fallen and dishonoured chief. For a moment John Aldous paused in the door. The cool and insolent smile hovered about his lips again, and little crinkles had gathered at the corners of his eyes. "Did I hit you pretty hard, Bill?" he asked. Every head was turned toward him. Bill Quade stared, his mouth open. He staggered to his feet, and stood dizzily. "You--damn you!" he cried huskily. Three or four of the men had already begun to move toward the stranger. Their hands were knotted, their faces murderously dark. "Wait a minute, boys," warned Aldous coolly. "I've got something to say to you--and Bill. Then eat me alive if you want to. Do you want to be square enough to give me a word?" Quade had settled back sickly on his stool. The others had stopped, waiting. The quiet and insolently confident smile had not left Aldous' lips. "You'll feel better in a few minutes, Bill," he consoled. "A hard blow on the jaw always makes you sick at the pit of the stomach. That dizziness will pass away shortly. Meanwhile, I'm going to give you and your pals a little verbal and visual demonstration of what you're up against, and warn you to bait no traps for a certain young woman whom you've lately seen. She's going on to Tête Jaune. And I know how your partner plays his game up there. I'm not particularly anxious to butt into your affairs and the business of this pretty bunch that's gathered about you, but I've come to give you a friendly warning for all that. If this young woman is embarrassed up at Tête Jaune you're going to settle with me." Aldous had spoken without a tremor of excitement in his voice. Not one of the men noticed his speaking lips, his slim hands, or his careless posture as he leaned in the door. They were looking straight into his eyes, strangely scintillating and deadly earnest. In such a man mere bulk did not count. "That much--for words," he went on. "Now I'm going to give you the visual demonstration. I know your game, Bill. You're already planning what you're going to do. You won't fight fair--because you never have. You've already decided that some morning I'll turn up missing, or be dug out from under a fall of rock, or go peacefully floating down the Athabasca. See! There's nothing in that hand, is there?" He stretched out an empty hand toward them, palm up. "And now!" A twist of the wrist so swift their eyes could not follow, a metallic click, and the startled group were staring into the black muzzle of a menacing little automatic. "That's known as the sleeve trick, boys," explained Aldous with his imperturbable smile. "It's a relic of the old gun-fighting days when the best man was quickest. From now on, especially at night, I shall carry this little friend of mine just inside my wristband. There are eleven shots in it, and I shoot fairly straight. Good-day!" Before they had recovered from their astonishment he was gone. He did not follow the road along which Joanne had come a short time before, but turned again into the winding trail that led riverward through the poplars. Where before he had been a little amused at himself, he was now more seriously disgusted. He was not afraid of Quade, who was perhaps the most dangerous man along the line of rail. Neither was he afraid of the lawless men who worked his ends. But he knew that he had made powerful enemies, and all because of an unknown woman whom he had never seen until half an hour before. It was this that disturbed his equanimity--the _woman_ of it, and the knowledge that his interference had been unsolicited and probably unnecessary. And now that he had gone this far he found it not easy to recover his balance. Who was this Joanne Gray? he asked himself. She was not ordinary--like the hundred other women who had gone on ahead of her to Tête Jaune Cache. If she had been that, he would soon have been in his little shack on the shore of the river, hard at work. He had planned work for himself that afternoon, and he was nettled to discover that his enthusiasm for the grand finale of a certain situation in his novel was gone. Yet for this he did not blame her. He was the fool. Quade and his friends would make him feel that sooner or later. His trail led him to a partly dry muskeg bottom. Beyond this was a thicker growth of timber, mostly spruce and cedar, from behind which came the rushing sound of water. A few moments more and he stood with the wide tumult of the Athabasca at his feet. He had chosen this spot for his little cabin because the river ran wild here among the rocks, and because pack-outfits going into the southward mountains could not disturb him by fording at this point. Across the river rose the steep embankments that shut in Buffalo Prairie, and still beyond that the mountains, thick with timber rising billow on billow until trees looked like twigs, with gray rock and glistening snow shouldering the clouds above the last purple line. The cabin in which he had lived and worked for many weeks faced the river and the distant Saw Tooth Range, and was partly hidden in a clump of jack-pines. He opened the door and entered. Through the window to the south and west he could see the white face of Mount Geikie, and forty miles away in that wilderness of peaks, the sombre frown of Hardesty; through it the sun came now, flooding his work as he had left it. The last page of manuscript on which he had been working was in his typewriter. He sat down to begin where he had left off in that pivotal situation in his masterpiece. He read and re-read the last two or three pages of the manuscript, struggling to pick up the threads where he had dropped them. With each reading he became more convinced that his work for that afternoon was spoiled. And by whom? By _what?_ A little fiercely he packed his pipe with fresh tobacco. Then he leaned back, lighted it, and laughed. More and more as the minutes passed he permitted himself to think of the strange young woman whose beauty and personality had literally projected themselves into his workshop. He marvelled at the crudity of the questions which he asked himself, and yet he persisted in asking them. Who was she? What could be her mission at Tête Jaune Cache? She had repeated to him what she had said to the girl in the coach--that at Tête Jaune she had no friends. Beyond that, and her name, she had offered no enlightenment. In the brief space that he had been with her he had mentally tabulated her age as twenty-eight--no older. Her beauty alone, the purity of her eyes, the freshness of her lips, and the slender girlishness of her figure, might have made him say twenty, but with those things he had found the maturer poise of the woman. It had been a flashlight picture, but one that he was sure of. Several times during the next hour he turned to his work, and at last gave up his efforts entirely. From a peg in the wall he took down a little rifle. He had found it convenient to do much of his own cooking, and he had broken a few laws. The partridges were out of season, but temptingly fat and tender. With a brace of young broilers in mind for supper, he left the cabin and followed the narrow foot-trail up the river. He hunted for half an hour before he stirred a covey of birds. Two of these he shot. Concealing his meat and his gun near the trail he continued toward the ford half a mile farther up, wondering if Stevens, who was due to cross that day, had got his outfit over. Not until then did he look at his watch. He was surprised to find that the Tête Jaune train had been gone three quarters of an hour. For some unaccountable reason he felt easier. He went on, whistling. At the ford he found Stevens standing close to the river's edge, twisting one of his long red moustaches in doubt and vexation. "Damn this river," he growled, as Aldous came up. "You never can tell what it's going to do overnight. Look there! Would you try to cross?" "I wouldn't," replied Aldous. "It's a foot higher than yesterday. I wouldn't take the chance." "Not with two guides, a cook, and a horse-wrangler on your pay-roll--and a hospital bill as big as Geikie staring you in the face?" argued Stevens, who had been sick for three months. "I guess you'd pretty near take a chance. I've a notion to." "I wouldn't," repeated Aldous. "But I've lost two days already, and I'm taking that bunch of sightseers out for a lump sum, guaranteeing 'em so many days on the trail. This ain't what you might call _on the trail_. They don't expect to pay for this delay, and that outfit back in the bush is costing me thirty dollars a day. We can get the dunnage and ourselves over in the flat-boat. It'll make our arms crack--but we can do it. I've got twenty-seven horses. I've a notion to chase 'em in. The river won't be any lower to-morrow." "But you may be a few horses ahead." Stevens bit off a chunk of tobacco and sat down. For a few moments he looked at the muddy flood with an ugly eye. Then he chuckled, and grinned. "Came through the camp half an hour ago," he said. "Hear you cleaned up on Bill Quade." "A bit," said Aldous. Stevens rolled his quid and spat into the water slushing at his feet. "Guess I saw the woman when she got off the train," he went on. "She dropped something. I picked it up, but she was so darned pretty as she stood there looking about I didn't dare go up an' give it to her. If it had been worth anything I'd screwed up my courage. But it wasn't--so I just gawped like the others. It was a piece of paper. Mebby you'd like it as a souvenir, seein' as you laid out Quade for her." As he spoke, Stevens fished a crumpled bit of paper from his pocket and gave it to his companion. Aldous had sat down beside him. He smoothed the page out on his knee. There was no writing on it, but it was crowded thick with figures, as if the maker of the numerals had been doing some problem in mathematics. The chief thing that interested him was that wherever monetary symbols were used it was the "pound" and not the "dollar" sign. The totals of certain columns were rather startling. "Guess she's a millionaire if that's her own money she's been figgering," said Stevens. "Notice that figger there!" He pointed with a stubby forefinger. "Pretty near a billion, ain't it?" "Seven hundred and fifty thousand," said Aldous. He was thinking of the "pound" sign. She had not looked like the Englishwomen he had met. He folded the slip of paper and put it in his pocket. Stevens eyed him seriously. "I was coming over to give you a bit of advice before I left for the Maligne Lake country," he said. "You'd better move. Quade won't want you around after this. Besides----" "What?" "My kid heard something," continued the packer, edging nearer. "You was mighty good to the kid when I was down an' out, Aldous. I ought to tell you. It wasn't an hour ago the kid was behind the tent an' he heard Quade and Slim Barker talking. So far as I can find from the kid, Quade has gone nutty over her. He's ravin'. He told Slim that he'd give ten thousand dollars to get her in his hands. What sent the boy down to me was Quade tellin' Slim that he'd get _you_ first. He told Slim to go on to Tête Jaune--follow the girl!" "The deuce you say!" cried Aldous, clutching the other's arm suddenly. "He's done that?" "That's what the kid says." Aldous rose to his feet slowly. The careless smile was playing about his mouth again. A few men had learned that in those moments John Aldous was dangerous. "The kid is undoubtedly right," he said, looking down at Stevens. "But I am quite sure the young woman is capable of taking care of herself. Quade has a tremendous amount of nerve, setting Slim to follow her, hasn't he? Slim may run up against a husband or a brother." Stevens haunched his shoulders. "It's not the woman I'm thinking about. It's you. I'd sure change my location." "Why wouldn't it be just as well if I told the police of his threat?" asked Aldous, looking across the river with a glimmer of humour in his eyes. "Oh, hell!" was the packer's rejoinder. Slowly he unwound his long legs and rose to his feet. "Take my advice--move!" he said. "As for me, I'm going to cross that cussed river this afternoon or know the reason why." He stalked away in the direction of his outfit, chewing viciously at his quid. For a few moments Aldous stood undecided. He would liked to have joined the half-dozen men he saw lounging restfully a distance beyond the grazing ponies. But Stevens had made him acutely aware of a new danger. He was thinking of his cabin--and the priceless achievement of his last months of work, his manuscript. If Quade should destroy that---- He clenched his hands and walked swiftly toward his camp. To "burn out" an enemy was one of Quade's favourite methods of retaliation. He had heard this. He also knew that Quade's work was done so cleverly that the police had been unable to call him to account. Quade's status had interested Aldous from the beginning. He had discovered that Quade and Culver Rann, his partner at Tête Jaune, were forces to be reckoned with even by the "powers" along the line of rail. They were the two chiefs of the "underground," the men who controlled the most dangerous element from Miette to Fort George. He had once seen Culver Rann, a quiet, keen-eyed, immaculately groomed man of forty--the cleverest scoundrel that had ever drifted into the Canadian west. He had been told that Rann was really the brain of the combination, and that the two had picked up a quarter of a million in various ways. But it was Quade with whom he had to deal now, and he began to thank Stevens for his warning. He was filled with a sense of relief when he reached his cabin and found it as he had left it. He always made a carbon copy of his work. This copy he now put into a waterproof tin box, and the box he concealed under a log a short distance back in the bush. "Now go ahead, Quade," he laughed to himself, a curious, almost exultant ring in his voice. "I haven't had any real excitement for so long I can't remember, and if you start the fun there's going to _be_ fun!" He returned to his birds, perched himself behind a bush at the river's edge, and began skinning them. He had almost finished when he heard hoarse shouts from up the river. From his position he could see the stream a hundred yards below the ford. Stevens had driven in his horses. He could see them breasting the first sweep of the current, their heads held high, struggling for the opposite shore. He rose, dropped his birds, and stared. "Good God, what a fool!" he gasped. He saw the tragedy almost before it had begun. Still three hundred yards below the swimming horses was the gravelly bar which they must reach on the opposite side. He noted the grayish strip of smooth water that marked the end of the dead-line. Three or four of the stronger animals were forging steadily toward this. The others grouped close together, almost motionless in their last tremendous fight, were left farther and farther behind. Then came the break. A mare and her yearling colt had gone in with the bunch. Aldous saw the colt, with its small head and shoulders high out of the water, sweep down like a chip with the current. A cold chill ran through him as he heard the whinneying scream of the mother--a warning cry that held for him the pathos and the despair of a creature that was human. He knew what it meant. "Wait--I'm coming--I'm coming!" was in that cry. He saw the mare give up and follow resistlessly with the deadly current, her eyes upon her colt. The heads behind her wavered, then turned, and in another moment the herd was sweeping down to its destruction. Aldous felt like turning his head. But the spectacle fascinated him, and he looked. He did not think of Stevens and his loss as the first of the herd plunged in among the rocks. He stood with white face and clenched hands, leaning over the water boiling at his feet, cursing softly in his helplessness. To him came the last terrible cries of the perishing animals. He saw head after head go under. Out of the white spume of a great rock against which the flood split itself with the force of an avalanche he saw one horse pitched bodily, as if thrown from a huge catapault. The last animal had disappeared when chance turned his eyes upstream and close in to shore. Here flowed a steady current free of rock, and down this--head and shoulders still high out of the water--came the colt! What miracle had saved the little fellow thus far Aldous did not stop to ask. Fifty yards below it would meet the fate of the others. Half that distance in the direction of the maelstrom below was the dead trunk of a fallen spruce overhanging the water for fifteen or twenty feet. In a flash Aldous was racing toward it. He climbed out on it, leaned far over, and reached down. His hand touched the water. In the grim excitement of rescue he forgot his own peril. There was one chance in twenty that the colt would come within his reach, and it did. He made a single lunge and caught it by the ear. For a moment after that his heart turned sick. Under the added strain the dead spruce sagged down with a warning crack. But it held, and Aldous hung to his grip on the ear. Foot by foot he wormed his way back, until at last he had dragged the little animal ashore. And then a voice spoke behind him, a voice that he would have recognized among ten thousand, low, sweet, thrilling. "That was splendid, John Aldous!" it said. "If I were a man I would want to be a man like you!" He turned. A few steps from him stood Joanne Gray. Her face was as white as the bit of lace at her throat. Her lips were colourless, and her bosom rose and fell swiftly. He knew that she, too, had witnessed the tragedy. And the eyes that looked at him were glorious. CHAPTER IV To John Aldous Joanne's appearance at this moment was like an anti-climax. It plunged him headlong for a single moment into what he believed to be the absurdity of a situation. He had a quick mental picture of himself out on the dead spruce, performing a bit of mock-heroism by dragging in a half-drowned colt by one ear. In another instant this had passed, and he was wondering why Joanne Gray was not on her way to Tête Jaune. "It was splendid!" she was saying again, her eyes glowing at him. "I know men who would not have risked that for a human!" "Perhaps they would have been showing good judgment," replied Aldous. He noticed now that she was holding with one hand the end of a long slender sapling which a week or two before he had cut and trimmed for a fish-pole. He nodded toward it, a half-cynical smile on his lips. "Were you going to fish me out--or the colt?" he asked. "You," she replied. "I thought you were in danger." And then she added, "I suppose you are deeply grateful that fate did not compel you to be saved by a woman." "Not at all. If the spruce had snapped, I would have caught at the end of your sapling like any drowning rat--or man. Allow me to thank you." She had stepped down to the level strip of sand on which the colt was weakly struggling to rise to its feet. She was breathing quickly. Her face was still pale. She was without a hat, and as she bent for a moment over the colt Aldous felt his eyes drawn irresistibly to the soft thick coils of her hair, a glory of colour that made him think of the lustrous brown of a ripe wintelberry. She looked up suddenly and caught his eyes upon her. "I came quite by accident," she explained quickly. "I wanted to be alone, and Mrs. Otto said this path would lead to the river. When I saw you I was about to turn back. And then I saw the other--the horses coming down the stream. It was terrible. Are they all drowned?" "All that you saw. It wasn't a pretty sight, was it?" There was a suggestive inquiry in his voice as he added, "If you had gone to Tête Jaune you would have missed the unpleasantness of the spectacle." "I would have gone, but something happened. They say it was a cave-in, a slide--something like that. The train cannot go on until to-morrow." "And you are to stay with the Ottos?" She nodded. Quick as a flash she had seemed to read his thoughts. "I am sorry," she added, before he could speak. "I can see that I have annoyed you. I have literally projected myself into your work, and I am afraid that I have caused you trouble. Mrs. Otto has told me of this man they call Quade. She says he is dangerous. And I have made him your enemy." "I am, not afraid of Quade. The incident was nothing more than an agreeable interruption to what was becoming a rather monotonous existence up here. I have always believed, you know, that a certain amount of physical excitement is good oil for our mental machinery. That, perhaps, was why you caught me hauling at His Coltship's ear." He had spoken stiffly. There was a hard note in his voice, a suggestion of something that was displeasing in his forced laugh. He knew that in these moments he was fighting against his inner self--against his desire to tell her how glad he was that something had held back the Tête Jaune train, and how wonderful her hair looked in the afternoon sun. He was struggling to keep himself behind the barriers he had built up and so long maintained in his writings. And yet, as he looked, he felt something crumbling into ruins. He knew that he had hurt her. The hardness of his words, the coldness of his smile, his apparently utter indifference to her had sent something that was almost like a quick, physical pain into her eyes. He drew a step nearer, so that he caught the soft contour of her cheek. Joanne Gray heard him, and lowered her head slightly, so that he could not see. She was a moment too late. On her cheek Aldous saw a single creeping drop--a tear. In an instant he was at her side. With a quick movement she brushed the tear away before she faced him. "I've hurt you," he said, looking her straight in the eyes. "I've hurt you, and God knows I'm a brute for doing it. I've treated you as badly as Quade--only in a different way. I know how I've made you feel--that you've been a nuisance, and have got me into trouble, and that I don't want to have anything more to do with you. Have I made you feel that?" "I am afraid--you have." He reached out a hand, and almost involuntarily her own came to it. She saw the change in his face, regret, pain, and then that slow-coming, wonderful laughter in his eyes. "That's just how I set out to make you feel," he confessed, the warmth of her hand sending a thrill through him. "I might as well be frank, don't you think? Until you came I had but one desire, and that was to finish my book. I had planned great work for to-day. And you spoiled it. I couldn't get you out of my mind. And it made me--ugly." "And that was--all?" she whispered, a tense waiting in her eyes. "You didn't think----" "What Quade thought," he bit in sharply. The grip of his fingers hurt her hand. "No, not that. My God, I didn't make you think _that?_" "I'm a stranger--and they say women don't go to Tête Jaune alone," she answered doubtfully. "That's true, they don't--not as a general rule. Especially women like you. You're alone, a stranger, and too beautiful. I don't say that to flatter you. You are beautiful, and you undoubtedly know it. To let you go on alone and unprotected among three or four thousand men like most of those up there would be a crime. And the women, too--the Little Sisters. They'd blast you. If you had a husband, a brother or a father waiting for you it would be different. But you've told me you haven't. You have made me change my mind about my book. You are of more interest to me just now than that. Will you believe me? Will you let me be a friend, if you need a friend?" To Aldous it seemed that she drew herself up a little proudly. For a moment she seemed taller. A rose-flush of colour spread over her cheeks. She drew her hand from him. And yet, as she looked at him, he could see that she was glad. "Yes, I believe you," she said. "But I must not accept your offer of friendship. You have done more for me now than I can ever repay. Friendship means service, and to serve me would spoil your plans, for you are in great haste to complete your book." "If you mean that you need my assistance, the book can wait." "I shouldn't have said that," she cut in quickly, her lips tightening slightly. "It was utterly absurd of me to hint that I might require assistance--that I cannot take care of myself. But I shall be proud of the friendship of John Aldous." "Yes, you can take care of yourself, Ladygray," said Aldous softly, looking into her eyes and yet speaking as if to himself. "That is why you have broken so curiously into my life. It's _that_--and not your beauty. I have known beautiful women before. But they were--just women, frail things that might snap under stress. I have always thought there is only one woman in ten thousand who would not do that--under certain conditions. I believe you are that one in ten thousand. You can go on to Tête Jaune alone. You can go anywhere alone--and care for yourself." He was looking at her so strangely that she held her breath, her lips parted, the flush in her cheeks deepening. "And the strangest part of it all is that I have always known you away back in my imagination," he went on. "You have lived there, and have troubled me. I could not construct you perfectly. It is almost inconceivable that you should have borne the same name--Joanne. Joanne, of 'Fair Play.'" She gave a little gasp. "Joanne was--terrible," she cried. "She was bad--bad to the heart and soul of her!" "She was splendid," replied Aldous, without a change in his quiet voice. "She was splendid--but bad. I racked myself to find a soul for her, and I failed. And yet she was splendid. It was my crime--not hers--that she lacked a soul. She would have been my ideal, but I spoiled her. And by spoiling her I sold half a million copies of the book. I did not do it purposely. I would have given her a soul if I could have found one. She went her way." "And you compare me to--_her?_" "Yes," said Aldous deliberately. "You are that Joanne. But you possess what I could not give to her. Joanne of 'Fair Play' was splendid without a soul. You have what she lacked. You may not understand, but you have come to perfect what I only partly created." The colour had slowly ebbed from Joanne's face. There was a mysterious darkness in her eyes. "If you were not John Aldous I would--strike you," she said. "As it is--yes--I want you as a friend." She held out her hand. For a moment he felt its warmth again in his own. He bowed over it. Her eyes rested steadily on his blond head, and again she noted the sprinkle of premature gray in his hair. For a second time she felt almost overwhelmingly the mysterious strength of this man. Perhaps each took three breaths before John Aldous raised his head. In that time something wonderful and complete passed between them. Neither could have told the other what it was. When their eyes met again, it was in their faces. "I have planned to have supper in my cabin to-night," said Aldous, breaking the tension of that first moment. "Won't you be my guest, Ladygray?" "Mrs. Otto----" she began. "I will go to her at once and explain that you are going to eat partridges with me," he interrupted. "Come--let me show you into my workshop and home." He led her to the cabin and into its one big room. "You will make yourself at home while I am gone, won't you?" he invited. "If it will give you any pleasure you may peel a few potatoes. I won't be gone ten minutes." Not waiting for any protest she might have, Aldous slipped back through the door and took the path up to the Ottos'. CHAPTER V As soon as he had passed from the view of the cabin door Aldous shortened his pace. He knew that never in his life had he needed to readjust himself more than at the present moment. A quarter of an hour had seen a complete and miraculous revolution within him. It was a change so unusual and apparently so impossible that he could not grasp the situation and the fact all at once. But the truth of it swept over him more and more swiftly as he made his way along the dark, narrow trail that led up to the Miette Plain. It was something that not only amazed and thrilled him. First--as in all things--he saw the humour of it. He, John Aldous of all men, had utterly obliterated himself, and for a _woman_. He had even gone so far as to offer the sacrifice of his most important work. Frankly he had told Joanne that she interested him more just now than his book. Again he repeated to himself that it had not been a surrender--but an obliteration. With a pair of lovely eyes looking quietly into him, he had wiped the slate clean of the things he had preached for ten years and the laws he had made for himself. And as he came in sight of the big Otto tent, he found himself smiling, his breath coming quickly, strange voices singing within him. He stopped to load and light his pipe before he faced Mrs. Otto, and he clouded himself in as much smoke as possible while he explained to her that he had almost forced Joanne to stop at his cabin and eat partridges with him. He learned that the Tête Jaune train could not go on until the next day, and after Mrs. Otto had made him take a loaf of fresh bread and a can of home-made marmalade as a contribution to their feast, he turned back toward the cabin, trying to whistle in his old careless way. The questions he had first asked himself about Joanne forced themselves back upon him now with deeper import. Almost unconsciously he had revealed himself to her. He had spread open for her eyes and understanding the page which he had so long hidden. He had as much as confessed to her that she had come to change him--to complete what he had only half created. It had been an almost inconceivable and daring confession, and he believed that she understood him. More than that, she had read about him. She had read his books. She knew John Aldous--the man. But what did he know about her beyond the fact that her name was Joanne Gray, and that the on-sweeping Horde had brought her into his life as mysteriously as a storm might have flung him a bit of down from a swan's breast? Where had she come from? And why was she going to Tête Jaune? It must be some important motive was taking her to a place like Tête Jaune, the rail-end, a place of several thousand men, with its crude muscle and brawn and the seven passions of man. It was an impossible place for a young and beautiful woman unprotected. If Joanne had known any one among the engineers or contractors, or had she possessed a letter of introduction to them, the tense lines would not have gathered so deeply about the corners of Aldous' mouth. But these men whose brains were behind the Horde--the engineers and the contractors--knew what women alone and unprotected meant at Tête Jaune. Such women floated in with the Horde. And Joanne was going in with the Horde. There lay the peril--and the mystery of it. So engrossed was Aldous in his thoughts that he had come very quietly to the cabin door. It was Joanne's voice that roused him. Sweet and low she was singing a few lines from a song which he had never heard. She stopped when Aldous appeared at the door. It seemed to him that her eyes were a deeper, more wonderful blue as she looked up at him, and smiled. She had found a towel for an apron, and was peeling potatoes. "You will have some unusual excuses to make very soon," she greeted him. "We had a visitor while you were gone. I was washing the potatoes when I looked up to find a pair of the fiercest, reddest moustaches I have ever seen, ornamenting the doorway. The man had two eyes that seemed about to fall out when he saw me. He popped away like a rabbit--and--and--there's something he left behind in his haste!" Joanne's eyes were flooded with laughter as she nodded at the door. On the sill was a huge quid of tobacco. "Stevens!" Aldous chuckled. "God bless my soul, if you frightened him into giving up a quid of tobacco like that you sure _did_ startle him some!" He kicked Stevens' lost property out with the toe of his boot and turned to Joanne, showing her the fresh bread and marmalade. "Mrs. Otto sent these to you," he said. "And the train won't leave until to-morrow." In her silence he pulled a chair in front of her, sat down close, and thrust the point of his hunting knife into one of the two remaining potatoes. "And when it does go I'm going with you," he added. He expected this announcement would have some effect on her. As she jumped up with the pan of potatoes, leaving the one still speared on the end of his knife, he caught only the corner of a bewitching smile. "You still believe that I will be unable to take care of myself up at this terrible Tête Jaune?" she asked, bending for a moment over the table. "Do you?" "No. You can care for yourself anywhere, Ladygray," he repeated. "But I am quite sure that it will be less troublesome for me to see that no insults are offered you than for you to resent those insults when they come. Tête Jaune is full of Quades," he added. The smile was gone from her face when she turned to him. Her blue eyes were filled with a tense anxiety. "I had almost forgotten that man," she whispered. "And you mean that you would fight for me--again?" "A thousand times." The colour grew deeper in her cheeks. "I read something about you once that I have never forgotten, John Aldous," she said. "It was after you returned from Thibet. It said that you were largely made up of two emotions--your contempt for woman and your love of adventure; that it would be impossible for you not to see a flaw in one, and that for the other--physical excitement--you would go to the ends of the earth. Perhaps it is this--your desire for adventure--that makes you want to go with me to Tête Jaune?" "I am beginning to believe that it will be the greatest adventure of my life," he replied, and something in his quiet voice held her silent. He rose to his feet, and stood before her. "It is already the Great Adventure," he went on. "I feel it. And I am the one to judge. Until to-day I would have staked my life that no power could have wrung from me the confession I am going to make to you voluntarily. I have laughed at the opinion the world has held of me. To me it has all been a colossal joke. I have enjoyed the hundreds of columns aimed at me by excited women through the press. They have all asked the same question: Why do you not write of the good things in women instead of always the bad? I have never given them an answer. But I answer you now--here. I have not picked upon the weaknesses of women because I despise them. Those weaknesses--the destroying frailties of womankind--I have driven over rough-shod through the pages of my books because I have always believed that Woman was the one thing which God came nearest to creating _perfect_. I believe they should be perfect. And because they have not quite that perfection which should be theirs I have driven the cold facts home as hard as I could. I have been a fool and an iconoclast instead of a builder. This confession to you is proof that you have brought me face to face with the greatest adventure of all." The colour in her cheeks had centred in two bright spots. Her lips formed words which came slowly, strangely. "I guess--I understand," she said. "Perhaps I, too, would have been that kind of an iconoclast--if I could have put the things I have thought into written words." She drew a deep breath, and went on, her eyes full upon him, speaking as if out of a dream. "The Great Adventure--for you. Yes; and perhaps for both." Her hands were drawn tightly to her breast. Something about her as she stood there, her back to the table, drew John Aldous to her side, forced the question from his lips: "Tell me, Ladygray--why are you going to Tête Jaune?" In that same strange way, as if her lips were framing words beyond their power to control, she answered: "I am going--to find--my husband." CHAPTER VI Silent, his head bowed a little, John Aldous stood before her after those last words. A slight noise outside gave him the pretext to turn to the door. She was going to Tête Jaune--to find her husband! He had not expected that. For a breath, as he looked out toward the bush, his mind was in a strange daze. A dozen times she had given him to understand there was no husband, father, or brother waiting for her at the rail-end. She had told him that she was alone--without friends. And now, like a confession, those words had come strangely from her lips. What he had heard was one of Otto's pack-horses coming down to drink. He turned toward her again. Joanne stood with her back still to the table. She had slipped a hand into the front of her dress and had drawn forth a long thick envelope. As she opened it, Aldous saw that it contained banknotes. From among these she picked out a bit of paper and offered it to him. "That will explain--partly," she said. It was a newspaper clipping, worn and faded, with a date two years old. It had apparently been cut from an English paper, and told briefly of the tragic death of Mortimer FitzHugh, son of a prominent Devonshire family, who had lost his life while on a hunting trip in the British Columbia Wilds. "He was my husband," said Joanne, as Aldous finished. "Until six months ago I had no reason to believe that the statement in the paper was not true. Then--an acquaintance came out here hunting. He returned with a strange story. He declared that he had seen Mr. FitzHugh alive. Now you know why I am here. I had not meant to tell you. It places me in a light which I do not think that I can explain away--just now. I have come to prove or disprove his death. If he is alive----" For the first time she betrayed the struggle she was making against some powerful emotion which she was fighting to repress. Her face had paled. She stopped herself with a quick breath, as if knowing that she had already gone too far. "I guess I understand," said Aldous. "For some reason your anxiety is not that you will find him dead, Ladygray, but that you may find him alive." "Yes--yes, that is it. But you must not urge me farther. It is a terrible thing to say. You will think I am not a woman, but a fiend. And I am your guest. You have invited me to supper. And--the potatoes are ready, and there is no fire!" She had forced a smile back to her lips. John Aldous whirled toward the door. "I will have the partridges in two seconds!" he cried. "I dropped them when the horses went through the rapids." The oppressive and crushing effect of Joanne's first mention of a husband was gone. He made no effort to explain or analyze the two sudden changes that swept over him. He accepted them as facts, and that was all. Where a few moments before there had been the leaden grip of something that seemed to be physically choking him, there was now again the strange buoyancy with which he had gone to the Otto tent. He began to whistle as he went to the river's edge. He was whistling when he returned, the two birds in his hand. Joanne was waiting for him in the door. Again her face was a faintly tinted vision of tranquil loveliness; her eyes were again like the wonderful blue pools over the sunlit mountains. She smiled as he came up. He was amazed--not that she had recovered so completely from the emotional excitement that had racked her, but because she betrayed in no way a sign of grief--of suspense or of anxiety. A few minutes ago he had heard her singing. He could almost believe that her lips might break into song again as she stood there. From that moment until the sun sank behind the mountains and gray shadows began to creep in where the light had been, there was no other reference to the things that had happened or the things that had been said since Joanne's arrival. For the first time in years John Aldous completely forgot his work. He was lost in Joanne. With the tremendous reaction that was working out in him she became more and more wonderful to him with each breath that he drew. He made no effort to control the change that was sweeping through him. His one effort was to keep it from being too apparent to her. The way in which Joanne had taken his invitation was as delightful as it was new to him. She had become both guest and hostess. With her lovely arms bared halfway to the shoulders she rolled out a batch of biscuits. "Hot biscuits go so well with marmalade," she told him. He built a fire. Beyond that, and bringing in the water, she gave him to understand that his duties were at an end, and that he could smoke while she prepared the supper. With the beginning of dusk he closed the cabin door that he might have an excuse for lighting the big hanging lamp a little earlier. He had imagined how its warm glow would flood down upon the thick soft coils of her shining hair. Every fibre in him throbbed with a keen and exquisite satisfaction as he sat down opposite her. During the meal he looked into the quiet, velvety blue of her eyes a hundred times. He found it a delightful sensation to talk to her and look into those eyes at the same time. He told her more about himself than he had ever told another soul. It was she who spoke first of the manuscript upon which he was working. He had spoken of certain adventures that had led up to the writing of one of his books. "And this last book you are writing, which you call 'Mothers,'" she said. "Is it to be like 'Fair Play?'" "It was to have been the last of the trilogy. But it won't be now, Ladygray. I've changed my mind." "But it is so nearly finished, you say?" "I would have completed it this week. I was rushing it to an end at fever heat when--you came." He saw the troubled look in her eyes, and hastened to add: "Let us not talk about that manuscript, Ladygray. Some day I will let you read it, and then you will understand why your coming has not hurt it. At first I was unreasonably disturbed because I thought that I must finish it within a week from to-day. I start out on a new adventure then--a strange adventure, into the North." "That means--the wild country?" she asked. "Up there in the North--there are no people?" "An occasional Indian, perhaps a prospector now and then," he said. "Last year I travelled a hundred and twenty-seven days without seeing a human face except that of my Cree companion." She had leaned a little over the table, and was looking at him intently, her eyes shining. "That is why I have understood you, and read between the printed lines in your books," she said. "If I had been a man, I would have been a great deal like you. I love those things--loneliness, emptiness, the great spaces where you hear only the whisperings of the winds and the fall of no other feet but your own. Oh, I should have been a man! It was born in me. It was a part of me. And I loved it--loved it." A poignant grief had shot into her eyes. Her voice broke almost in a sob. Amazed, he looked at her in silence across the table. "You have lived that life, Ladygray?" he said after a moment. "You have seen it?" "Yes," she nodded, clasping and unclasping her slim white hands. "For years and years, perhaps even more than you, John Aldous! I was born in it. And it was my life for a long time--until my father died." She paused, and he saw her struggling to subdue the quivering throb in her throat. "We were inseparable," she went on, her voice becoming suddenly strange and quiet. "He was father, mother--everything to me. It was too wonderful. Together we hunted out the mysteries and the strange things in the out-of-the-way places of the earth. It was his passion. He had given birth to it in me. I was always with him, everywhere. And then he died, soon after his discovery of that wonderful buried city of Mindano, in the heart of Africa. Perhaps you have read----" "Good God," breathed Aldous, so low that his voice did not rise above a whisper. "Joanne--Ladygray--you are not speaking of Daniel Gray--Sir Daniel Gray, the Egyptologist, the antiquarian who uncovered the secrets of an ancient and wonderful civilization in the heart of darkest Africa?" "Yes." "And you--are his daughter?" She bowed her head. Like one in a dream John Aldous rose from his chair and went to her. He seized her hands and drew her up so that they stood face to face. Again that strange and beautiful calmness filled her eyes. "Our trails have strangely crossed, Lady Joanne," he said. "They have been crossing--for years. While Sir Daniel was at Murja, on the eve of his great discovery, I was at St. Louis on the Senegal coast. I slept in that little Cape Verde hotel, in the low whitewashed room overlooking the sea. The proprietor told me that Sir Daniel had occupied it before me, and I found a broken fountain pen in the drawer of that sickly black teakwood desk, with the carved serpent's head. And I was at Gampola at another time, headed for the interior of Ceylon, when I learned that I was travelling again one of Sir Daniel's trails. And you were with him!" "Always," said Joanne. For a few tense moments they had looked steadily into each other's eyes. Swiftly, strangely, the world was bridging itself for them. Their minds swept back swiftly as the fire in a thunder-sky. They were no longer strangers. They were no longer friends of a day. The grip of Aldous' hands tightened. A hundred things sprang to his lips. Before he could speak, he saw a sudden, startled change leap into Joanne's face. She had turned her face a little, so that she was looking toward the window. A frightened cry broke from her lips. Aldous whirled about. There was nothing there. He looked at Joanne again. She was white and trembling. Her hands were clutched at her breast. Her eyes, big and dark and staring, were still fixed on the window. "That man!" she panted. "His face was there--against the glass--like a devil's!" "Quade?" "Yes." She caught at his arm as he sprang toward the door. "Stop!" she cried. "You mustn't go out----" For a moment he turned at the door. He was as she had seen him in Quade's place, terribly cool, a strange, quiet smile on his lips. His eyes were gray, smiling steel. "Close the door after me and lock it until I return," he said. "You are the first woman guest I ever had, Ladygray. I cannot allow you to be insulted!" As he went out she saw him slip something from his pocket. She caught the glitter of it in the lamp-glow. CHAPTER VII It was in the blood of John Aldous to kill Quade. He ran with the quickness of a hare around the end of the cabin, past the window, and then stopped to listen, his automatic in his hand, his eye piercing the gloom for some moving shadow. He had not counted on an instant's hesitation. He would shoot Quade, for he knew why the mottled beast had been at the window. Stevens' boy had been right. Quade was after Joanne. His ugly soul was disrupted with a desire to possess her, and Aldous knew that when roused by passion he was more like a devil-fish than a man--a creeping, slimy, night-seeking creature who had not only the power of the underworld back of him, but wealth as well. He did not think of him as a man as he stood listening, but as a beast. He was ready to shoot. But he saw nothing. He heard no sound that could have been made by a stumbling foot or a moving body. An hour later, the moon would have been up, but it was dark now except for the stars. He heard the hoot of an owl a hundred yards away. Out in the river something splashed. From the timber beyond Buffalo Prairie came the yapping bark of a coyote. For five minutes he stood as silent as one of the rocks behind him. He realized that to go on--to seek blindly for Quade in the darkness, would be folly. He went back, tapped at the door, and reëntered the cabin when Joanne threw back the lock. She was still pale. Her eyes were bright. "I was coming--in a moment," she said, "I was beginning to fear that----" "--he had struck me down in the dark?" added Aldous, as she hesitated. "Well, he would like to do just that, Joanne." Unconsciously her name had slipped from him. It seemed the most natural thing in the world for him to call her Joanne now. "Is it necessary for me to tell you what this man Quade is--why he was looking through the window?" She shuddered. "No--no--I understand!" "Only partly," continued Aldous, his face white and set. "It is necessary that you should know more than you have guessed, for your own protection. If you were like most other women I would not tell you the truth, but would try to shield you from it. As it is you should know. There is only one other man in the Rocky Mountains more dangerous than Bill Quade. He is Culver Rann, up at Tête Jaune. They are partners--partners in crime, in sin, in everything that is bad and that brings them gold. Their influence among the rougher elements along the line of rail is complete. They are so strongly entrenched that they have put contractors out of business because they would not submit to blackmail. The few harmless police we have following the steel have been unable to touch them. They have cleaned up hundreds of thousands, chiefly in three things--blackmail, whisky, and women. Quade is the viler of the two. He is like a horrible beast. Culver Rann makes me think of a sleek and shining serpent. But it is this man Quade----" He found it almost impossible to go on with Joanne's blue eyes gazing so steadily into his. "--whom we have made our enemy," she finished for him. "Yes--and more than that," he said, partly turning his head away. "You cannot go on to Tête Jaune alone, Joanne. You must go nowhere alone. If you do----" "What will happen?" "I don't know. Perhaps nothing would happen. But you cannot go alone. I am going to take you back to Mrs. Otto now. And to-morrow I shall go on to Tête Jaune with you. It is fortunate that I have a place up there to which I can take you, and where you will be safe." As they were preparing to go, Joanne glanced ruefully at the table. "I am ashamed to leave the dishes in that mess," she said. He laughed, and tucked her hand under his arm as they went through the door. When they had passed through the little clearing, and the darkness of the spruce and balsam walls shut them in, he took her hand. "It is dark and you may stumble," he apologized. "This isn't much like the shell plaza in front of the Cape Verde, is it?" "No. Did you pick up any of the little red bloodshells? I did, and they made me shiver. There were strange stories associated with them." He knew that she was staring ahead into the blank wall of gloom as she spoke, and that it was not thought of the bloodshells, but of Quade, that made her fingers close more tightly about his own. His right hand was gripping the butt of his automatic. Every nerve in him was on the alert, yet she could detect nothing of caution or preparedness in his careless voice. "The bloodstones didn't trouble me," he answered. "I can't remember anything that upset me more than the snakes. I am a terrible coward when it comes to anything that crawls without feet. I will run from a snake no longer than your little finger--in fact, I'm just as scared of a little grass snake as I am of a python. It's the _thing_, and not its size, that horrifies me. Once I jumped out of a boat into ten feet of water because my companion caught an eel on his line, and persisted in the argument that it was a fish. Thank Heaven we don't have snakes up here. I've seen only three or four in all my experience in the Northland." She laughed softly in spite of the uneasy thrill the night held for her. "It is hard for me to imagine you being afraid," she said. "And yet if you were afraid I know it would be of just some little thing like that. My father was one of the bravest men in the world, and a hundred times I have seen him show horror at sight of a spider. If you were afraid of snakes, why did you go up the Gampola, in Ceylon?" "I didn't know the snakes were there," he chuckled. "I hadn't dreamed there were a half so many snakes in the whole world as there were along that confounded river. I slept sitting up, dressed in rubber wading boots that came to my waist, and wore thick leather gloves. I got out of the country at the earliest possible moment." When they entered the edge of the Miette clearing and saw the glow of lights ahead of them, Aldous caught the sudden upturn of his companion's face, laughing at him in the starlight. "Kind, thoughtful John Aldous!" she whispered, as if to herself. "How nice of you it was to talk of such pleasant things while we were coming through that black, dreadful swamp--with a Bill Quade waiting for us on the side!" A low ripple of laughter broke from her lips, and he stopped dead in his tracks, forgetting to put the automatic back in his pocket. At sight of it the amusement died in her face. She caught his arm, and one of her hands seized the cold steel of the pistol. "Would he--_dare?_" she demanded. "You can't tell," replied Aldous, putting the gun in his pocket. "And that was a creepy sort of conversation to load you down with, wasn't it, Ladygray? I imagine you'll catch me in all sorts of blunders like that." He pointed ahead. "There's Mrs. Otto now. She's looking this way and wondering with all her big heart if you ought not to be at home and in bed." The door of the Otto home was wide open, and silhouetted in the flood of light was the good-natured Scotchwoman. Aldous gave the whistling signal which she and her menfolk always recognized, and hurried on with Joanne. Before they had quite reached the tent-house, Joanne put a detaining hand on his arm. "I don't want you to go back to the cabin to-night," she said. "The face at the window--was terrible. I am afraid. I don't want you to be there alone." Her words sent a warm glow through him. "Nothing will happen," he assured her. "Quade will not come back." "I don't want you to return to the cabin," she persisted. "Is there no other place where you can stay?" "I might go down and console Stevens, and borrow a couple of his horse blankets for a bed if that will please you." "It will," she cried quickly. "If you don't return to the cabin you may go on to Tête Jaune with me to-morrow. Is it a bargain?" "It is!" he accepted eagerly. "I don't like to be chased out, but I'll promise not to sleep in the cabin to-night." Mrs. Otto was advancing to meet them. At the door he bade them good-night, and walked on in the direction of the lighted avenue of tents and shacks under the trees. He caught a last look in Joanne's eyes of anxiety and fear. Glancing back out of the darkness that swallowed him up, he saw her pause for a moment in the lighted doorway, and look in his direction. His heart beat faster. Joyously he laughed under his breath. It was strangely new and pleasing to have some one thinking of him in that way. He had not intended to go openly into the lighted avenue. From the moment he had plunged out into the night after Quade, his fighting blood was roused. He had subdued it while with Joanne, but his determination to find Quade and have a settlement with him had grown no less. He told himself that he was one of the few men along the line whom it would be difficult for Quade to harm in other than a physical way. He had no business that could be destroyed by the other's underground methods, and he had no job to lose. Until he had seen Joanne enter the scoundrel's red-and-white striped tent he had never hated a man as he now hated Quade. He had loathed him before, and had evaded him because the sight of him was unpleasant; now he wanted to grip his fingers around his thick red throat. He had meant to come up behind Quade's tent, but changed his mind and walked into the lighted trail between the two rows of tents and shacks, his hands thrust carelessly into his trousers pockets. The night carnival of the railroad builders was on. Coarse laughter, snatches of song, the click of pool balls and the chink of glasses mingled with the thrumming of three or four musical instruments along the lighted way. The phonograph in Quade's place was going incessantly. Half a dozen times Aldous paused to greet men whom he knew. He noted that there was nothing new or different in their manner toward him. If they had heard of his trouble with Quade, he was certain they would have spoken of it, or at least would have betrayed some sign. For several minutes he stopped to talk with MacVeigh, a young Scotch surveyor. MacVeigh hated Quade, but he made no mention of him. Purposely he passed Quade's tent and walked to the end of the street, nodding and looking closely at those whom he knew. It was becoming more and more evident to him that Quade and his pals were keeping the affair of the afternoon as quiet as possible. Stevens had heard of it. He wondered how. Aldous retraced his steps. As though nothing had happened, he entered Quade's place. There were a dozen men inside, and among them he recognized three who had been there that afternoon. He nodded to them. Slim Barker was in Quade's place behind the counter. Barker was Quade's right-hand man at Miette, and there was a glitter in his rat-like eyes as Aldous leaned over the glass case at one end of the counter and asked for cigars. He fumbled a bit as he picked out half a dollar's worth from the box. His eyes met Slim's. "Where is Quade?" he asked casually. Barker shrugged his shoulders. "Busy to-night," he answered shortly. "Want to see him?" "No, not particularly. Only--I don't want him to hold a grudge." Barker replaced the box in the case and turned away. After lighting a cigar Aldous went out. He was sure that Quade had not returned from the river. Was he lying in wait for him near the cabin? The thought sent a sudden thrill through him. In the same breath it was gone. With half a dozen men ready to do his work, Aldous knew that Quade would not redden his own hands or place himself in any conspicuous risk. During the next hour he visited the places where Quade was most frequently seen. He had made up his mind to walk over to the engineers' camp, when a small figure darted after him out of the gloom of the trees. It was Stevens' boy. "Dad wants to see you down at the camp," he whispered excitedly. "He says right away--an' for no one to see you. He said not to let any one see me. I've been waiting for you to come out in the dark." "Skip back and tell him I'll come," replied Aldous quickly. "Be sure you mind what he says--and don't let any one see you!" The boy disappeared like a rabbit. Aldous looked back, and ahead, and then dived into the darkness after him. A quarter of an hour later he came out on the river close to Stevens' camp. A little nearer he saw Stevens squatted close to a smouldering fire about which he was drying some clothes. The boy was huddled in a disconsolate heap near him. Aldous called softly, and Stevens slowly rose and stretched himself. The packer advanced to where he had screened himself behind a clump of bush. His first look at the other assured him that he was right in using caution. The moon had risen, and the light of it fell in the packer's face. It was a dead, stonelike gray. His cheeks seemed thinner than when Aldous had seen him a few hours before and there was despair in the droop of his shoulders. His eyes were what startled Aldous. They were like coals of fire, and shifted swiftly from point to point in the bush. For a moment they stood silent. "Sit down," Stevens said then. "Get out of the moonlight. I've got something to tell you." They crouched behind the bush. "You know what happened," Stevens said, in a low voice. "I lost my outfit." "Yes, I saw what happened, Stevens." The packer hesitated for a moment. One of his big hands reached out and gripped John Aldous by the arm. "Let me ask you something before I go on," he whispered. "You won't take offence--because it's necessary. She looked like an angel to me when I saw her up at the train. But you _know_. Is she good, or----You know what we think of women who come in here alone. That's why I ask." "She's what you thought she was, Stevens," replied Aldous. "As pure and as sweet as she looks. The kind we like to fight for." "I was sure of it, Aldous. That's why I sent the kid for you. I saw her in your cabin--after the outfit went to hell. When I come back to camp, Quade was here. I was pretty well broken up. Didn't talk to him much. But he seen I had lost everything. Then he went on down to your place. He told me that later. But I guessed it soon as he come back. I never see him look like he did then. I'll cut it short. He's mad--loon mad--over that girl. I played the sympathy act, thinkin' of you--an' _her_. He hinted at some easy money. I let him understand that at the present writin' I'd be willing to take money most any way, and that I didn't have any particular likin' for you. Then it come out. He made me a proposition." Stevens lowered his voice, and stopped to peer again about the bush. "Go on," urged Aldous. "We're alone." Stevens bent so near that his tobacco-laden breath swept his companion's cheek. "He said he'd replace my lost outfit if I'd put you out of the way some time day after to-morrow!" "Kill me?" "Yes." For a few moments there was a silence broken only by their tense breathing. Aldous had found the packer's hand. He was gripping it hard. "Thank you, old man," he said. "And he believes you will do it?" "I told him I would--day after to-morrow--an' throw your body in the Athabasca." "Splendid, Stevens! You've got Sherlock Holmes beat by a mile! And does he want you to do this pretty job because I gave him a crack on the jaw?" "Not a bit of it!" exclaimed Stevens quickly. "He knows the girl is a stranger and alone. You've taken an interest in her. With you out of the way, she won't be missed. Dammit, man, don't you know his system? And, if he ever wanted anything in his life he wants her. She's turned that poison-blood of his into fire. He raved about her here. He'll go the limit. He'll do anything to get her. He's so crazy I believe he'd give every dollar he's got. There's just one thing for you to do. Send the girl back where she come from. Then you get out. As for myself--I'm goin' to emigrate. Ain't got a dollar now, so I might as well hit for the prairies an' get a job on a ranch. Next winter I guess me 'n the kid will trap up on the Parsnip River." "You're wrong--clean wrong," said Aldous quietly. "When I saw your outfit going down among the rocks I had already made up my mind to help you. What you've told me to-night hasn't made any difference. I would have helped you anyway, Stevens. I've got more money than I know what to do with right now. Roper has a thirty-horse outfit for sale. Buy it to-morrow. I'll pay for it, and you needn't consider yourself a dollar in debt. Some day I'll have you take me on a long trip, and that will make up for it. As for the girl and myself--we're going on to Tête Jaune to-morrow." Aldous could see the amazed packer staring at him in the gloom. "You don't think I'm sellin' myself, do you, Aldous?" he asked huskily. "That ain't why you're doin' this--for me 'n the kid--is it?" "I had made up my mind to do it before I saw you to-night," repeated Aldous. "I've got lots of money, and I don't use but a little of it. It sometimes accumulates so fast that it bothers me. Besides, I've promised to accept payment for the outfit in trips. These mountains have got a hold on me, Stevens. I'm going to take a good many trips before I die." "Not if you go on to Tête Jaune, you ain't," replied Stevens, biting a huge quid from a black plug. Aldous had risen to his feet. Stevens stood up beside him. "If you go on to Tête Jaune you're a bigger fool than I was in tryin' to swim the outfit across the river to-day," he added. "Listen!" He leaned toward Aldous, his eyes gleaming. "In the last six months there's been forty dead men dragged out of the Frazer between Tête Jaune an' Fort George. You know that. The papers have called 'em accidents--the 'toll of railroad building.' Mebby a part of it is. Mebby a half of them forty died by accident. The other half didn't. They were sent down by Culver Rann and Bill Quade. Once you go floatin' down the Frazer there ain't no questions asked. Somebody sees you an' pulls you out--mebby a Breed or an Indian--an' puts you under a little sand a bit later. If it's a white man he does likewise. There ain't no time to investigate floaters over-particular in the wilderness. Besides, you git so beat up in the rocks you don't look like much of anything. I know, because I worked on the scows three months, an' helped bury four of 'em. An' there wasn't anything, not even a scrap of paper, in the pockets of two of 'em! Is that suspicious, or ain't it? It don't pay to talk too much along the Frazer. Men keep their mouths shut. But I'll tell you this: Culver Rann an' Bill Quade know a lot." "And you think I'll go in the Frazer?" "Egzactly. Quade would rather have you in there than in the Athabasca. And then----" "Well?" Stevens spat into the bush, and shrugged his shoulders. "This beautiful lady you've taken an interest in will turn up missing, Aldous. She'll disappear off the face of the map--just like Stimson's wife did. You remember Stimson?" "He was found in the Frazer," said Aldous, gripping the other's arm in the darkness. "Egzactly. An' that pretty wife of his disappeared a little later. Up there everybody's too busy to ask where other people go. Culver Rann an' Bill Quade know what happened to Stimson, an' they know what happened to Stimson's wife. You don't want to go to Tête Jaune. You don't want to let _her_ go. I know what I'm talking about. Because----" There fell a moment's silence. Aldous waited. Stevens spat again, and finished in a whisper: "Quade went to Tête Jaune to-night. He went on a hand-car. He's got something he wants to tell Culver Rann that he don't dare telephone or telegraph. An' he wants to get that something to him ahead of to-morrow's train. Understand?" CHAPTER VIII John Aldous confessed to himself that he did not quite understand, in spite of the effort Stevens had made to impress upon him, the importance of not going to Tête Jaune. He was bewildered over a number of things, and felt that he needed to be alone for a time to clear his mind. He left Stevens, promising to return later to share a couple of blankets and a part of his tepee, for he was determined to keep his promise to Joanne, and not return to his own cabin, even though Quade had left Miette. He followed a moonlit trail along the river to an abandoned surveyors' camp, knowing that he would meet no one, and that in this direction he would have plenty of unbroken quiet in which to get some sort of order out of the chaotic tangle of events through which he had passed that day. Aldous had employed a certain amount of caution, but until he had talked with Stevens he had not believed that Quade, in his twofold desire to avenge himself and possess Joanne, would go to the extraordinary ends predicted by the packer. His point of view was now entirely changed. He believed Stevens. He knew the man was not excitable. He was one of the coolest heads in the mountains. And he had abundant nerve. Thought of Stimson and Stimson's wife had sent the hot blood through Aldous like fire. Was Stevens right in that detail? And was Quade actually planning the same end for him and Joanne? Why had Quade stolen on ahead to Tête Jaune? Why had he not waited for to-morrow's train? He found himself walking swiftly along the road, where he had intended to walk slowly--a hundred questions pounding through his brain. Suddenly a thought came to him that stopped him in the trail, his unseeing eyes staring down into the dark chasm of the river. After all, was it so strange that Quade would do these things? Into his own life Joanne had come like a wonderful dream-creature transformed into flesh and blood. He no longer tried to evade the fact that he could not think without thinking of Joanne. She had become a part of him. She had made him forget everything but her, and in a few hours had sent into the dust of ruin his cynicism and aloneness of a lifetime. If Joanne had come to him like this, making him forget his work, filling him more and more with the thrilling desire to fight for her, was it so very strange that a beast like Quade would fight--in another way? He went on down the trail, his hands clenched tightly. After all, it was not fear of Quade or of what he might attempt that filled him with uneasiness. It was Joanne herself, her strange quest, its final outcome. With the thought that she was seeking for the man who was her husband, a leaden hand seemed gripping at his heart. He tried to shake it off, but it was like a sickness. To believe that she had been the wife of another man or that she could ever belong to any other man than himself seemed like shutting his eyes forever to the sun. And yet she had told him. She had belonged to another man; she might belong to him even now. She had come to find if he was alive--or dead. And if alive? Aldous stopped again, and looked down into the dark pit through which the river was rushing a hundred feet below him. It tore in frothing maelstroms through a thousand rocks, filling the night with a low thunder. To John Aldous the sound of it might have been a thousand miles away. He did not hear. His eye saw nothing in the blackness. For a few moments the question he had asked himself obliterated everything. If they found Joanne's husband alive at Tête Jaune--what then? He turned back, retracing his steps over the trail, a feeling of resentment--of hatred for the man he had never seen--slowly taking the place of the oppressive thing that had turned his heart sick within him. Then, in a flash, came the memory of Joanne's words--words in which, white-faced and trembling, she had confessed that her anxiety was not that she would find him dead, but that _she would find him alive_. A joyous thrill shot through him as he remembered that. Whoever this man was, whatever he might have been to her once, or was to her now, Joanne did not want to find him alive! He laughed softly to himself as he quickened his pace. The tense grip of his fingers loosened. The grim, almost ghastly part of it did not occur to him--the fact that deep in his soul he was wishing a man dead and in his grave. He did not return at once to the scenes about Quade's place, but went to the station, three quarters of a mile farther up the track. Here, in a casual way, he learned from the little pink-faced Cockney Englishman who watched the office at night that Stevens had been correct in his information. Quade had gone to Tête Jaune. Although it was eleven o'clock, Aldous proceeded in the direction of the engineers' camp, still another quarter of a mile deeper in the bush. He was restless. He did not feel that he could sleep that night. The engineers' camp he expected to find in darkness, and he was surprised when he saw a light burning brightly in Keller's cabin. Keller was the assistant divisional engineer, and they had become good friends. It was Keller who had set the first surveyor's line at Tête Jaune, and it was he who had reported it as the strategic point from which to push forward the fight against mountain and wilderness, both by river and rail. He was, in a way, accountable for the existence of Tête Jaune just where it did exist, and he knew more about it than any other man in the employ of the Grand Trunk Pacific. For this reason Aldous was glad that Keller had not gone to bed. He knocked at the door and entered without waiting for an invitation. The engineer stood in the middle of the floor, his coat off, his fat, stubby hands thrust into the pockets of his baggy trousers, his red face and bald cranium shining in the lamplight. A strange fury blazed in his eyes as he greeted his visitor. He began pacing back and forth across the room, puffing volumes of smoke from a huge bowled German pipe as he motioned Aldous to a chair. "What's the matter, Peter?" "Enough--an' be damned!" growled Peter. "If it wasn't enough do you think I'd be out of bed at this hour of the night?" "I'm sure it's enough," agreed Aldous. "If it wasn't you'd be in your little trundle over there, sleeping like a baby. I don't know of any one who can sleep quite as sweetly as you, Peter. But what the devil _is_ the trouble?" "Something that you can't make me feel funny over. You haven't heard--about the bear?" "Not a word, Peter." Keller took his hands from his pockets and the big, bowled pipe from his mouth. "You know what I did with that bear," he said. "More than a year ago I made friends with her up there on the hill instead of killing her. Last summer I got her so she'd eat out of my hands. I fed her a barrel of sugar between July and November. We used to chum it an hour at a time, and I'd pet her like a dog. Why, damn it, man, I thought more of that bear than I did of any human in these regions! And she got so fond of me she didn't leave to den up until January. This spring she came out with two cubs, an' as soon as they could waddle she brought 'em out there on the hillside an' waited for me. We were better chums than ever. I've got another half barrel of sugar--lump sugar--on the way from Edmonton. An' now what do you think that damned C.N.R. gang has done?" "They haven't shot her?" "No, they haven't shot her. I wish to God they had! They've _blown her up!_" The little engineer subsided into a chair. "Do you hear?" he demanded. "They've blown her up! Put a stick of dynamite under some sugar, attached a battery wire to it, an' when she was licking up the sugar touched it off. An' I can't do anything, damn 'em! Bears ain't protected. The government of this province calls 'em 'pests.' Murder 'em on sight, it says. An' those fiends over there think it's a good joke on me--an' the bear!" Keller was sweating. His fat hands were clenched, and his round, plump body fairly shook with excitement and anger. "When I went over to-night they laughed at me--the whole bunch," he went on thickly. "I offered to lick every man in the outfit from A to Z, an' I ain't had a fight in twenty years. Instead of fighting like men, a dozen of them grabbed hold of me, chucked me into a blanket, an' bounced me for fifteen minutes straight! What do you think of _that_, Aldous? Me--assistant divisional engineer of the G.T.P.--_bounced in a blanket_!" Peter Keller hopped from his chair and began pacing back and forth across the room again, sucking truculently on his pipe. "If they were on our road I'd--I'd chase every man of them out of the country. But they're not. They belong to the C.N.R. They're out of my reach." He stopped, suddenly, in front of Aldous. "What can I do?" he demanded. "Nothing," said Aldous. "You've had something like this coming to you, Peter. I've been expecting it. All the camps for twenty miles up and down the line know what you thought of that bear. You fired Tibbits because, as you said, he was too thick with Quade. You told him that right before Quade's face. Tibbits is now foreman of that grading gang over there. Two and two make four, you know. Tibbits--Quade--the blown-up bear. Quade doesn't miss an opportunity, no matter how small it is. Tibbits and Quade did this to get even with you. You might report the blanket affair to the contractors of the other road. I don't believe they would stand for it." Aldous had guessed correctly what the effect of associating Quade's name with the affair would be. Keller was one of Quade's deadliest enemies. He sat down close to Aldous again. His eyes burned deep back. It was not Keller's physique, but his brain, and the fearlessness of his spirit, that made him dangerous. "I guess you're right, Aldous," he said. "Some day--I'll even up on Quade." "And so shall I, Peter." The engineer stared into the other's eyes. "You----" Aldous nodded. "Quade left for Tête Jaune to-night, on a hand-car. I follow him to-morrow, on the train. I can't tell you what's up, Peter, but I don't think it will stop this side of death for Quade and Culver Rann--or me. I mean that quite literally. I don't see how more than one side can come out alive. I want to ask you a few questions before I go on to Tête Jaune. You know every mountain and trail about the place, don't you?" "I've tramped them all, afoot and horseback." "Then perhaps you can direct me to what I must find--a man's grave." Peter Keller paused in the act of relighting his pipe. For a moment he stared in amazement. "There are a great many graves up at Tête Jaune," he said, at last. "A great many graves--and many of them unmarked. If it's a _Quade_ grave you're looking for, Aldous, it will be unmarked." "I am quite sure that it is marked--or _was_ at one time," said Aldous. "It's the grave of a man who had quite an unusual name, Peter, and you might remember it--Mortimer FitzHugh." "FitzHugh--FitzHugh," repeated Keller, puffing out fresh volumes of smoke. "Mortimer FitzHugh----" "He died, I believe, before there was a Tête Jaune, or at least before the steel reached there," added Aldous. "He was on a hunting trip, and I have reason to think that his death was a violent one." Keller rose and fell into his old habit of pacing back and forth across the room, a habit that had worn a path in the bare pine boards of the floor. "There's graves an' graves up there, but not so many that were there before Tête Jaune came," he began, between puffs. "Up on the side of White Knob Mountain there's the grave of a man who was torn to bits by a grizzly. But his name was Humphrey. Old Yellowhead John--Tête Jaune, they called him--died years before that, and no one knows where his grave is. We had five men die before the steel came, but there wasn't a FitzHugh among 'em. Crabby--old Crabby Tompkins, a trapper, is buried in the sand on the Frazer. The last flood swept his slab away. There's two unmarked graves in Glacier Canyon, but I guess they're ten years old if a day. Burns was shot. I knew him. Plenty died after the steel came, but before that----" Suddenly he stopped. He faced Aldous. His breath came in quick jerks. "By Heaven, I do remember!" he cried. "There's a mountain in the Saw Tooth Range, twelve miles from Tête Jaune--a mountain with the prettiest basin you ever saw at the foot of it, with a lake no bigger than this camp, and an old cabin which Yellowhead himself must have built fifty years ago. There's a blind canyon runs out of it, short an' dark, on the right. We found a grave there. I don't remember the first name on the slab. Mebby it was washed out. But, so 'elp me God, _the last name was FitzHugh_!" With a sudden cry, Aldous jumped to his feet and caught Keller's arm. "You're sure of it, Peter?" "Positive!" It was impossible for Aldous to repress his excitement. The engineer stared at him even harder than before. "What can that grave have to do with Quade?" he asked. "The man died before Quade was known in these regions." "I can't tell you now, Peter," replied Aldous, pulling the engineer to the table. "But I think you'll know quite soon. For the present, I want you to sketch out a map that will take me to the grave. Will you?" On the table were pencil and paper. Keller seated himself and drew them toward him. "I'm damned if I can see what that grave can have to do with Quade," he said; "but I'll tell you how to find it!" For several minutes they bent low over the table, Peter Keller describing the trail to the Saw Tooth Mountain as he sketched it, step by step, on a sheet of office paper. When it was done, Aldous folded it carefully and placed it in his wallet. "I can't go wrong, and--thank you, Keller!" After Aldous had gone, Peter Keller sat for some time in deep thought. "Now I wonder what the devil there can be about a grave to make him so happy," he grumbled, listening to the whistle that was growing fainter down the trail. And Aldous, alone, with the moon straight above him as he went back to the Miette Plain, felt, in truth, this night had become brighter for him than any day he had ever known. For he knew that Peter Keller was not a man to make a statement of which he was not sure. Mortimer FitzHugh was dead. His bones lay under the slab up in that little blind canyon in the shadow of the Saw Tooth Mountain. To-morrow he would tell Joanne. And, blindly, he told himself that she would be glad. Still whistling, he passed the Chinese laundry shack on the creek, crossed the railroad tracks, and buried himself in the bush beyond. A quarter of an hour later he stole quietly into Stevens' camp and went to bed. CHAPTER IX Stevens, dreaming of twenty horses plunging to death among the rocks in the river, slept uneasily. He awoke before it was dawn, but when he dragged himself from his tepee, moving quietly not to awaken his boy, he found John Aldous on his knees before a small fire, slicing thin rashers of bacon into a frying-pan. The weight of his loss was in the tired packer's eyes and face and the listless droop of his shoulders. John Aldous, with three hours between the blankets to his credit, was as cheery as the crackling fire itself. He had wanted to whistle for the last half-hour. Seeing Stevens, he began now. "I wasn't going to rouse you until breakfast was ready," he interrupted himself to say. "I heard you groaning, Stevens. I know you had a bad night. And the kid, too. He couldn't sleep. But I made up my mind you'd have to get up early. I've got a lot of business on to-day, and we'll have to rouse Curly Roper out of bed to buy his pack outfit. Find the coffee, will you? I couldn't." For a moment Stevens stood over him. "See here, Aldous, you didn't mean what you said last night, did you? You didn't mean--that?" "Confound it, yes! Can't you understand plain English, Stevens? Don't you believe a man when he's a gentleman? Buy that outfit! Why, I'd buy twenty outfits to-day, I'm--I'm feeling so fine, Stevens!" For the first time in forty-eight hours Stevens smiled. "I was wondering if I hadn't been dreaming," he said. "Once, a long time ago, I guess I felt just like you do now." With which cryptic remark he went for the coffee. Aldous looked up in time to see the boy stagger sleepily out of the tepee. There was something pathetic about the motherlessness of the picture, and he understood a little of what Stevens had meant. An hour later, with breakfast over, they started for Curly's. Curly was pulling on his boots when they arrived, while his wife was frying the inevitable bacon in the kitchen. "I hear you have some horses for sale, Curly," said Aldous. "Hi 'ave." "How many?" "Twenty-nine, 'r twenty-eight--mebby twenty-seven." "How much?" Curly looked up from the task of pulling on his second boot. "H'are you buying 'orses or looking for hinformation?" he asked. "I'm buying, and I'm in a hurry. How much do you want a head?" "Sixty, 'r six----" "I'll give you sixty dollars apiece for twenty-eight head, and that's just ten dollars apiece more than they're worth," broke in Aldous, pulling a check-book and a fountain pen from his pocket. "Is it a go?" A little stupefied by the suddenness of it all, Curly opened his mouth and stared. "Is it a go?" repeated Aldous. "Including blankets, saddles, pack-saddles, ropes, and canvases?" Curly nodded, looking from Aldous to Stevens to see if he could detect anything that looked like a joke. "Hit's a go," he said. Aldous handed him a check for sixteen hundred and eighty dollars. "Make out the bill of sale to Stevens," he said. "I'm paying for them, but they're Stevens' horses. And, look here, Curly, I'm buying them only with your agreement that you'll say nothing about who paid for them. Will you agree to that?" Curly was joyously looking at the check. "Gyve me a Bible," he demanded. "Hi'll swear Stevens p'id for them! I give you the word of a Hinglish gentleman!" Without another word Aldous opened the cabin door and was gone, leaving Stevens quite as much amazed as the little Englishman whom everybody called Curly, because he had no hair. Aldous went at once to the station, and for the first time inquired into the condition that was holding back the Tête Jaune train. He found that a slide had given way, burying a section of track under gravel and rock. A hundred men were at work clearing it away, and it was probable they would finish by noon. A gang boss, who had come back with telegraphic reports, said that half a dozen men had carried Quade's hand-car over the obstruction about midnight. It was seven o'clock when Aldous left for the Miette bottom. He believed that Joanne would be up. At this season of the year the first glow of day usually found the Ottos at breakfast, and for half an hour the sun had been shining on the top of Pyramid Mountain. He was eager to tell her what had passed between him and Keller. He laughed softly when he confessed to himself how madly he wanted to see her. He always liked to come up to the Otto home very early of a morning, or in the dusk of evening. Very frequently he was filled with a desire to stand outside the red-and-white striped walls of the tent-house and listen unseen. Inside there was always cheer: at night the crackle of fire and the glow of light, the happy laughter of the gentle-hearted Scotchwoman, and the affectionate banter of her "big mountain man," who looked more like a brigand than the luckiest and most contented husband in the mountains--the luckiest, quite surely, with the one exception of his brother Clossen, who had, by some occult strategy or other, induced a sweet-faced and aristocratic little woman to look upon his own honest physiognomy as the handsomest and finest in the world. This morning Aldous followed a narrow path that brought him behind the tent-house. He heard no voices. A few steps more and he emerged upon a scene that stopped him and set his heart thumping. Less than a dozen paces away stood Mrs. Otto and Joanne, their backs toward him. They were gazing silently and anxiously in the direction of the thick, low bush across the clearing, through which led the trail to his cabin. He did not look toward the bush. His eyes were upon Joanne. Her slender figure was full in the golden radiance of the morning sun, and Aldous felt himself under the spell of a joyous wonder as he looked at her. For the first time he saw her hair as he had pictured it--as he had given it to that other _Joanne_ in the book he had called "Fair Play." She had been brushing it in the sun when he came, but now she stood poised in that tense and waiting attitude--silent--gazing in the direction of the bush, with that marvellous mantle sweeping about her in a shimmering silken flood. He would not have moved, nor would he have spoken, until Joanne herself broke the spell. She turned, and saw him. With a little cry of surprise she flung back her hair. He could not fail to see the swift look of relief and gladness that had come into her eyes. In another instant her face was flushing crimson. "I beg your pardon for coming up like an eavesdropper," he apologized. "I thought you would just about be at breakfast, Mrs. Otto." The Scotchwoman heaved a tremendous sigh of relief. "Goodness gracious, but I'm glad to see you!" she exclaimed thankfully. "Jack and Bruce have just gone out to see if they could find your dead body!" "We thought perhaps something might have happened," said Joanne, who had moved nearer the door. "You will excuse me, won't you, while I finish my hair?" Without waiting for him to answer, she ran into the tent. No sooner had she disappeared than the good-natured smile left Mrs. Otto's face. There was a note of alarm in her low voice as she whispered: "Jack and Bruce went to the barn last night, and she slept with me. She tried to be quiet, but I know she didn't sleep much. And she cried. I couldn't hear her, but the pillow was wet. Once my hand touched her cheek, and it was wet. I didn't ask any questions. This morning, at breakfast, she told us everything that happened, all about Quade--and your trouble. She told us about Quade looking in at the window, and she was so nervous thinking something might have happened to you last night that the poor dear couldn't even drink her coffee until Jack and Bruce went out to hunt for you. But I don't think that was why she cried!" "I wish it had been," said Aldous. "It makes me happy to think she was worried about--me." "Good Lord!" gasped Mrs. Otto. He looked for a moment into the slow-growing amazement and understanding in her kind eyes. "You will keep my little secret, won't you, Mrs. Otto?" he asked. "Probably you'll think it's queer. I've only known her a day. But I feel--like that. Somehow I feel that in telling this to you I am confiding in a mother, or a sister. I want you to understand why I'm going on to Tête Jaune with her. That is why she was crying--because of the dread of something up there. I'm going with her. She shouldn't go alone." Voices interrupted them, and they turned to find that Jack and Bruce Otto had come out of the bush and were quite near. Aldous was sorry that Joanne had spoken of his trouble with Quade. He did not want to discuss the situation, or waste time in listening to further advice. He was anxious to be alone again with Joanne, and tell her what he had learned from Peter Keller. For half an hour he repressed his uneasiness. The brothers then went on to their corral. A few minutes later Joanne was once more at his side, and they were walking slowly over the trail that led to the cabin on the river. He could see that the night had made a change in her. There were circles under her eyes which were not there yesterday. When she looked at him their velvety blue depths betrayed something which he knew she was struggling desperately to keep from him. It was not altogether fear. It was more a betrayal of pain--a torment of the soul and not of the body. He noticed that in spite of the vivid colouring of her lips her face was strangely pale. The beautiful flush that had come into it when she first saw him was gone. Then he began to tell her of his visit to Peter Keller. His own heart was beating violently when he came to speak of the grave and the slab over it that bore the name of FitzHugh. He had expected that what he had discovered from Keller would create some sort of a sensation. He had even come up to the final fact gradually, so that it would not appear bald and shocking. Joanne's attitude stunned him. She looked straight ahead. When she turned to him he did not see in her eyes what he had expected to see. They were quiet, emotionless, except for that shadow of inward torture which did not leave them. "Then to-morrow we can go to the grave?" she asked simply. Her voice, too, was quiet and without emotion. He nodded. "We can leave at sunrise," he said. "I have my own horses at Tête Jaune and there need be no delay. We were to start into the North from there." "You mean on the adventure you were telling me about?" She had looked at him quickly. "Yes. Old Donald, my partner, has been waiting for me a week. That's why I was so deuced anxious to rush the book to an end. I'm behind Donald's schedule, and he's growing nervous. It's rather an unusual enterprise that's taking us north this time, and Donald can't understand why I should hang back to write the tail end of a book. He has lived sixty years in the mountains. His full name is Donald MacDonald. Sometimes, back in my own mind, I've called him History. He seems like that--as though he'd lived for ages in these mountains instead of sixty years. If I could only write what he has lived--even what one might imagine that he has lived! But I cannot. I have tried three times, and have failed. I think of him as The Last Spirit--a strange wandering ghost of the mighty ranges. His kind passed away a hundred years ago. You will understand--when you see him." She put her hand on his arm and let it rest there lightly as they walked. Into her eyes had returned some of the old warm glow of yesterday. "I want you to tell me about this adventure," she entreated softly. "I understand--about the other. You have been good--oh! so good to me! And I should tell you things; you are expecting me to explain. It is only fair and honest that I should. I know what is in your mind, and I only want you to wait--until to-morrow. Will you? And I will tell you then, when we have found the grave." Involuntarily his hand sought Joanne's. For a single moment he felt the warm, sweet thrill of it in his own as he pressed it more closely to his arm. Then he freed it, looking straight ahead. A soft flush grew in Joanne's cheeks. "Do you care a great deal for riches?" he asked. "Does the golden pot at the end of the rainbow hold out a lure for you?" He did not realize the strangeness of his question until their eyes met. "Because if you don't," he added, smiling, "this adventure of ours isn't going to look very exciting to you." She laughed softly. "No, I don't care for riches," she replied. "I am quite sure that just as great education proves to one how little one knows, so great wealth brings one face to face with the truth of how little one can enjoy. My father used to say that the golden treasure at the end of the rainbow in every human life was happiness, and that is something which you cannot buy. So why crave riches, then? But please don't let my foolish ideas disappoint you. I'll promise to be properly excited." She saw his face suddenly aflame with enthusiasm. "By George, but you're a--a brick, Joanne!" he exclaimed. "You are! And I--I----" He was fumbling in his breast pocket. He brought out his wallet and extracted from it the bit of paper Stevens had given him. "You dropped that, and Stevens found it," he explained, giving it to her. "I thought those figures might represent your fortune--or your income. Don't mind telling you I went over 'em carefully. There's a mistake in the third column. Five and four don't make seven. They make nine. In the final, when you come to the multiplication part of it, that correction will make you just thirty-two thousand five hundred dollars richer." "Thanks," said Joanne, lowering her eyes, and beginning to tear the paper into small pieces. "And will it disappoint you, Mr. John Aldous, if I tell you that all these figures stand for riches which some one else possesses? And won't you let me remind you that we're getting a long way from what I want to know--about your trip into the North?" "That's just it: we're hot on the trail," chuckled Aldous, deliberately placing her hand on his arm again. "You don't care for riches. Neither do I. I'm delighted to know we're going tandem in that respect. I've never had any fun with money. It's the money that's had fun with me. I've no use for yachts and diamonds and I'd rather travel afoot with a gun over my shoulder than in a private car. Half the time I'm doing my own cooking, and I haven't worn a white shirt in a year. My publishers persist in shoving more money my way than I know what to do with. "You see, I pay only ten cents a plug for my smoking tobacco, and other things accordingly. Somebody has said something about the good Lord sitting up in Heaven and laughing at the jokes He plays on men. Well, I'm sitting back and laughing now and then at the tussle between men and money over all creation. There's a whole lot of humour in the way men and women fight and die for money, if you only take time to stand out on the side and look on. There's nothing big or dramatic about it. I may be a heathen, but to my mind the funniest of all things is to see the world wringing its neck for a dollar. And Donald--old History--needs even less money than I. So that puts the big element of humour in this expedition of ours. We don't want money, particularly. Donald wouldn't wear more than four pairs of boots a year if he was a billionaire. And yet----" He turned to Joanne. The pressure of her hand was warmer on his arm. Her beautiful eyes were glowing, and her red lips parted as she waited breathlessly for him to go on. "And yet, we're going to a place where you can scoop gold up with a shovel," he finished. "That's the funny part of it." "It isn't funny--it's tremendous!" gasped Joanne. "Think of what a man like you could do with unlimited wealth, the good you might achieve, the splendid endowments you might make----" "I have already made several endowments," interrupted Aldous. "I believe that I have made a great many people happy, Ladygray--a great many. I am gifted to make endowments, I think, above most people. Not one of the endowments I have made has failed of complete success." "And may I ask what some of them were?" "I can't remember them all. There have been a great, great many. Most conspicuous among them were three endowments which I made to some very worthy people at various times for seven salted mines. I suppose you know what a salted mine is, Ladygray? At other times I have endowed railroad stocks which were very much in need of my helping mite, two copper companies, a concern that was supposed to hoist up pure asbestos from the stomach of Popocatapetl, and a steamship company that never steamed. As I said before, they were all very successful endowments." "And how many of the other kind have you made?" she asked gently, looking down the trail. "Like--Stevens', for instance?" He turned to her sharply. "What the deuce----" "Did you succeed in getting the new outfit from Mr. Curly?" she asked. "Yes. How did you know?" She smiled at the amazement which had gathered in his face. A glad, soft light shone in her eyes. "I guess Mrs. Otto has been like a mother to that poor little boy," she explained. "When you and Mr. Stevens went up to buy the outfit this morning Jimmy ran over to tell her the news. We were all there--at breakfast. He was so excited he could scarcely breathe. But it all came out, and he ran back to camp before you came because he thought you wouldn't want me to know. Wasn't that funny? He told me so when I walked a little way up the path with him." "The little reprobate!" chuckled Aldous. "He's the best publicity man I ever had, Ladygray. I did want you to know about this, and I wanted it to come to you in just this way, so that I wouldn't be compelled to tell you myself of the big and noble act I have done. It was my hope and desire that you, through some one else, would learn of it, and come to understand more fully what a generous and splendid biped I am. I even plotted to give this child of Stevens' a silver dollar if he would get the news to you in some one of his innocent ways. He's done it. And he couldn't have done it better--even for a dollar. Ah, here we are at the cabin. Will you excuse me while I pick up a few things that I want to take on to Tête Jaune with me?" Between two trees close to the cabin he had built a seat, and here he left Joanne. He was gone scarcely five minutes when he reappeared with a small pack-sack over his shoulders, locked the door, and rejoined her. "You see it isn't much of a task for me to move," he said, as they turned back in the direction of the Ottos'. "I'll wash the dishes when I come back next October." "Five months!" gasped Joanne, counting on her fingers. "John Aldous, do you mean----" "I do," he nodded emphatically. "I frequently leave dishes unwashed for quite a spell at a time. That's the one unpleasant thing about this sort of life--washing dishes. It's not so bad in the rainy season, but it's fierce during a dry spell. When it rains I put the dishes out on a flat rock, dirty side up, and the good Lord does the scrubbing." He looked at Joanne, face and eyes aglow with the happiness that was sweeping in a mighty tumult within him. Half an hour had worked a transformation in Joanne. There was no longer a trace of anguish or of fear in her eyes. Their purity and limpid beauty made him think of the rock violets that grew high up on the mountains. Her lips and cheeks were flushed, and the soft pressure of her hand again resting on his arm filled him with the exquisite thrill of possession and joy. He did not speak of Tête Jaune again until they reached the Otto tent-house, and then only to assure her that he would call for her half an hour before the train was ready to leave. As soon as possible after that he went to the telegraph office and sent a long message to MacDonald. Among other things he told him to prepare their cabin for a lady guest. He knew this would shock the old mountain wanderer, but he also knew that Donald would follow his instructions in spite of whatever alarm he might have. There were other women at Tête Jaune, the wives of men he knew, to whom he might have taken Joanne. Under the conditions, however, he believed his own cabin would be her best refuge, at least for a day or so. In that time he could take some one into his confidence, probably Blackton and his wife. In fact, as he thought the circumstances over, he saw the necessity of confiding in the Blacktons that very night. He left the station, growing a bit nervous. Was it right for him to take Joanne to his cabin at all? He had a tremendous desire to do so, chiefly on account of Quade. The cabin was a quarter of a mile in the bush, and he was positive if Joanne was there that Quade, and perhaps Culver Rann, would come nosing about. This would give him the opportunity of putting into execution a plan which he had already arranged for himself and old MacDonald. On the other hand, was this arrangement fair to Joanne, even though it gave him the chance to square up accounts with Quade? He stopped abruptly, and faced the station. All at once there swept upon him a realization of how blind he had been, and what a fool he had almost made of himself. Blackton was one of the contractors who were working miracles in the mountains. He was a friend who would fight for him if necessary. Mrs. Blackton, who preferred to be on the firing line with her husband than in her luxurious city home, was the leader of all that was decent and womanly in Tête Jaune. Why not have these friends meet them at the train and take Joanne direct to their house? Such recognition and friendship would mean everything to Joanne. To take her to his cabin would mean---- Inwardly he swore at himself as he hurried back to the station, and his face burned hotly as he thought of the chance such a blunder on his part would have given Quade and Culver Rann to circulate the stories with which they largely played their scoundrelly game. He sent another and longer telegram. This time it was to Blackton. He ate dinner with Stevens, who had his new outfit ready for the mountains. It was two o'clock before he brought Joanne up to the station. She was dressed now as he had first seen her when she entered Quade's place. A veil covered her face. Through the gray film of it he caught the soft warm glow of her eyes and the shimmer of gold-brown tendrils of her hair. And he knew why she wore that veil. It set his heart beating swiftly--the fact that she was trying to hide from all eyes but his own a beauty so pure and wonderful that it made her uncomfortable when under the staring gaze of the Horde. The hand that rested on his arm he pressed closer to his side as they walked up the station platform, and under his breath he laughed softly and joyously as he felt the thrill of it. He spoke no word. Not until they were in their seat in the coach did Joanne look at him after that pressure of her hand, and then she did not speak. But in the veiled glow of her eyes there was something that told him she understood--a light that was wonderfully gentle and sweet. And yet, without words, she asked him to keep within his soul the things that were pounding madly there for speech. As the train rolled on and the babble of voices about them joined the crunching rumble of the wheels, he wanted to lean close to her and tell her how a few hours had changed the world for him. And then, for a moment, her eyes turned to him again, and he knew that it would be a sacrilege to give voice to the things he wanted to say. For many minutes he was silent, gazing with her upon the wild panorama of mountain beauty as it drifted past the car window. A loud voice two seats ahead of them proclaimed that they were about to make Templeton's Curve. The man was talking to his companion. "They shot up a hundred thousand pounds of black powder an' dynamite to make way for two hundred feet of steel on that curve," he explained in a voice heard all over the car. "They say you could hear the explosion fifty miles away. Jack Templeton was near-sighted, an' he didn't see a rock coming down on him that was half as big as a house. I helped scrape up what was left of 'im an' we planted him at this end of the curve. It's been Templeton's Curve ever since. You'll see his grave--with a slab over it!" It was there almost as he spoke, marked by a white-painted cross in a circle of whitewashed stones. John Aldous felt a sudden shiver pass through his companion. She turned from the window. Through her veil he saw her lips tighten. Until he left the car half an hour later the man in the second seat ahead talked of Templeton's grave and a dozen other graves along the right of way. He was a rock-hog, and a specialist on the subject of graves. Inwardly Aldous cursed him roundly. He cursed him all the way to Tête Jaune, for to him he attributed the change which had again come over Joanne. This change she could only partly conceal from him under her veil. She asked him many questions about Tête Jaune and the Blacktons, and tried to take an interest in the scenery they were passing. In spite of this he could see that she was becoming more and more nervous as they progressed toward the end of their journey. He felt the slow dampening of his own joy, the deadening clutch of yesterday at his heart. Twice she lifted her veil for a moment and he saw she was pale and the tense lines had gathered about her mouth again. There was something almost haggard in her look the second time. In the early dusk of evening they arrived at Tête Jaune. Aldous waited until the car had emptied itself before he rose from his seat. Joanne's hand clutched at his arm as they walked down the aisle. He felt the fierce pressure of her fingers in his flesh. On the car platform they paused for a moment, and he felt her throbbing beside him. She had taken her hand from his arm, and he turned suddenly. She had raised her veil. Her face was dead white. And she was staring out over the sea of faces under them in a strange questing way, and her breath came from between her slightly parted lips as if she had been running. Amazed for the moment, John Aldous did not move. Somewhere in that crowd _Joanne expected to find a face she knew!_ The truth struck him dumb--made him inert and lifeless. He, too, stared as if in a trance. And then, suddenly, every drop of blood in his body blazed into fierce life. In the glow of one of the station lamps stood a group of men. The faces of all were turned toward them. One he recognized--a bloated, leering face grinning devilishly at them. It was Quade! A low, frightened cry broke from Joanne's lips, and he knew that she, too, had seen him. But it was not Quade that she had looked for. It was not his face that she had expected to see nor because of him that she had lifted her veil for the mob! He stepped down from the car and gave her his hand. Her fingers clutched his convulsively. And they were cold as the fingers of the dead. CHAPTER X A moment later some one came surging through the crowd, and called Aldous by name. It was Blackton. His thin, genial face with its little spiked moustache rose above the sea of heads about him, and as he came he grinned a welcome. "A beastly mob!" he exclaimed, as he gripped his friend's hand. "I'm sorry I couldn't bring my wife nearer than the back platform." Aldous turned to Joanne. He was still half in a daze. His heart was choking him with its swift and excited beating. Even as he introduced her to Blackton the voice kept crying in his brain that she had expected to find some one in this crowd whom she knew. For a space it was as if the Joanne whom he had known had slipped away from him. She had told him about the grave, but this other she had kept from him. Something that was almost anger surged up in him. His face bore marks of the strain as he watched her greet Blackton. In an instant, it seemed to him, she had regained a part of her composure. Blackton saw nothing but the haggard lines about her eyes and the deep pallor in her face, which he ascribed to fatigue. "You're tired, Miss Gray," he said. "It's a killing ride up from Miette these days. If we can get through this mob we'll have supper within fifteen minutes!" With a word to Aldous he began worming his long, lean body ahead of them. An instant Joanne's face was very close to Aldous', so close that he felt her breath, and a tendril of her hair touched his lips. In that instant her eyes looked into his steadily, and he felt rush over him a sudden shame. If she was seeking and expecting, it was to him more than ever that she was now looking for protection. The haunting trouble in her eyes, their entreaty, their shining faith in him told him that, and he was glad that she had not seen his sudden fear and suspicion. She clung more closely to him as they followed Blackton. Her little fingers held his arm as if she were afraid some force might tear him from her. He saw that she was looking quickly at the faces about them with that same questing mystery in her search. At the thin outer edge of the crowd Blackton dropped back beside them. A few steps more and they came to the end of the platform, where a buckboard was waiting in the dim light of one of the station lamps. Blackton introduced Joanne, and assisted her into the seat beside his wife. "We'll leave you ladies to become acquainted while we rustle the baggage," he said. "Got the checks, Aldous?" Joanne had given Aldous two checks on the train, and he handed them to Blackton. Together they made their way to the baggage-room. "Thought Miss Gray would have some luggage, so I had one of my men come with another team," he explained. "We won't have to wait. I'll give him the checks." Before they returned to the buckboard, Aldous halted his friend. "I couldn't say much in that telegram," he said. "If Miss Gray wasn't a bit tired and unstrung I'd let her explain. I want you to tell Mrs. Blackton that she has come to Tête Jaune on a rather unpleasant mission, old man. Nothing less than to attend to the grave of a--a near relative." "I regret that--I regret it very much," replied Blackton, flinging away the match he had lighted without touching it to his cigar. "I guessed something was wrong. She's welcome at our place, Aldous--for as long as she remains in Tête Jaune. Perhaps I knew this relative. If I can assist you--or her----" "He died before the steel came," said Aldous. "FitzHugh was his name. Old Donald and I are going to take her to the grave. Miss Gray is an old friend of mine," he lied boldly. "We want to start at dawn. Will that be too much trouble for you and your wife?" "No trouble at all," declared Blackton. "We've got a Chinese cook who's more like an owl than a human. How will a four o'clock breakfast suit you?" "Splendidly!" As they went on, the contractor said: "I carried your word to MacDonald. Hunted him down out in the bush. He is very anxious to see you. He said he would not be at the depot, but that you must not fail him. He's kept strangely under cover of late. Curious old ghost, isn't he?" "The strangest man in the mountains," said Aldous "And, when you come to know him, the most lovable. We're going North together." This time it was Blackton who stopped, with a hand on his companion's arm. A short distance from them they could see the buckboard in the light of the station lamp. "Has old Donald written you lately?" he asked. "No. He says he hasn't written a letter in twenty years." Blackton hesitated. "Then you haven't heard of his--accident?" The strange look in the contractor's face as he lighted a cigar made John Aldous catch him sharply by the arm. "What do you mean?" "He was shot. I happened to be in Dr. Brady's office when he dragged himself in, late at night. Doc got the bullet out of his shoulder. It wasn't a bad wound. The old man swore it was an accident, and asked us to say nothing about it. We haven't. But I've been wondering. Old Donald said he was careless with his own pistol. But the fact is, Aldous--_he was shot from behind!_" "The deuce you say!" "There was no perforation except from _behind_. In some way the bullet had spent itself before it reached him. Otherwise it would have killed him." For a moment Aldous stared in speechless amazement into Blackton's face. "When did this happen?" he asked then. "Three days ago. Since then I have not seen old Donald until to-night. Almost by accident I met him out there in the timber. I delivered the telegram you sent him. After he had read it I showed him mine. He scribbled something on a bit of paper, folded it, and pinned it with a porcupine quill. I've been mighty curious, but I haven't pulled out that quill. Here it is." From his pocket he produced the note and gave it to Aldous. "I'll read it a little later," said Aldous. "The ladies may possibly become anxious about us." He dropped it in his pocket as he thanked Blackton for the trouble he had taken in finding MacDonald. As he climbed into the front seat of the buckboard his eyes met Joanne's. He was glad that in a large measure she had recovered her self-possession. She smiled at him as they drove off, and there was something in the sweet tremble of her lips that made him almost fancy she was asking his forgiveness for having forgotten herself. Her voice sounded more natural to him as she spoke to Mrs. Blackton. The latter, a plump little blue-eyed woman with dimples and golden hair, was already making her feel at home. She leaned over and placed a hand on her husband's shoulder. "Let's drive home by way of town, Paul," she suggested. "It's only a little farther, and I'm quite sure Miss Gray will be interested in our Great White Way of the mountains. And I'm crazy to see that bear you were telling me about," she added. Nothing could have suited Aldous more than this suggestion. He was sure that Quade, following his own and Culver Rann's old methods, had already prepared stories about Joanne, and he not only wanted Quade's friends--but all of Tête Jaune as well--to see Joanne in the company of Mrs. Paul Blackton and her husband. And this was a splendid opportunity, for the night carnival was already beginning. "The bear is worth seeing," said Blackton, turning his team in the direction of the blazing light of the half-mile street that was the Broadway of Tête Jaune. "And the woman who rides him is worth seeing, too," he chuckled. "He's a big fellow--and she plays the Godiva act. Rides him up and down the street with her hair down, collecting dimes and quarters and half dollars as she goes." A minute later the length of the street swept out ahead of them. It is probable that the world had never before seen a street just like this Broadway in Tête Jaune--the pleasure Mecca of five thousand workers along the line of steel. There had been great "camps" in the building of other railroads, but never a city in the wilderness like this--a place that had sprung up like magic and which, a few months later, was doomed to disappear as quickly. For half a mile it blazed out ahead of them, two garishly lighted rows of shacks, big tents, log buildings, and rough board structures, with a rough, wide street between. To-night Tête Jaune was like a blazing fire against the darkness of the forest and mountain beyond. A hundred sputtering "jacks" sent up columns of yellow flame in front of places already filled with the riot and tumult of the night. A thousand lamps and coloured lanterns flashed like fireflies along the way, and under them the crowd had gathered, and was flowing back and forth. It was a weird and fantastic sight--this one strange and almost uncanny street that was there largely for the play and the excitement of men. Aldous turned to Joanne. He knew what this town meant. It was the first and the last of its kind, and its history would never be written. The world outside the mountains knew nothing of it. Like the men who made up its transient life it would soon be a forgotten thing of the past. Even the mountains would forget it. But more than once, as he had stood a part of it, his blood had warmed at the thought of the things it held secret, the things that would die with it, the big human drama it stood for, its hidden tragedies, its savage romance, its passing comedy. He found something of his own thought in Joanne's eyes. "There isn't much to it," he said, "but to-night, if you made the hunt, you could find men of eighteen or twenty nationalities in that street." "And a little more besides," laughed Blackton. "If you could write the complete story of how Tête Jaune has broken the law, Aldous, it would fill a volume as big as Peggy's family Bible!" "And after all, it's funny," said Peggy Blackton. "There!" she cried suddenly. "Isn't _that_ funny?" The glare and noisy life were on both sides of them now. Half a dozen phonographs were going. From up the street came the softer strains of a piano, and from in between the shrieking notes of bagpipe. Peggy Blackton was pointing to a brilliantly lighted, black-tarpaulined shop. Huge white letters on its front announced that Lady Barbers were within. They could see two of them at work through the big window. And they were pretty. The place was crowded with men. Men were waiting outside. "Paul says they charge a dollar for a haircut and fifty cents for a shave," explained Peggy Blackton. "And the man over there across the street is going broke because he can't get business at fifteen cents a shave. _Isn't_ it funny?" As they went on Aldous searched the street for Quade. Several times he turned to the back seat, and always he found Joanne's eyes questing in that strange way for the some one whom she expected to see. Mrs. Blackton was pointing out lighted places, and explaining things as they passed, but he knew that in spite of her apparent attention Joanne heard only a part of what she was saying. In that crowd she hoped--or feared--to find a certain face. And again Aldous told himself that it was not Quade's face. Near the end of the street a crowd was gathering, and here, for a moment, Blackton stopped his team within fifty feet of the objects of attraction. A slim, exquisitely formed woman in shimmering silk was standing beside a huge brown bear. Her sleek black hair, shining as if it had been oiled, fell in curls about her shoulders. Her rouged lips were smiling. Even at that distance her black eyes sparkled like diamonds. She had evidently just finished taking up a collection, for she was fastening the cord of a silken purse about her neck. In another moment she bestrode the bear, the crowd fell apart, and as the onlookers broke into a roar of applause the big beast lumbered slowly up the street with its rider. "One of Culver Rann's friends," said Blackton _sotto voce_, as he drove on. "She takes in a hundred a night if she makes a cent!" [Illustration: A slim, exquisitely formed woman in shimmering silk was standing beside a huge brown bear. In another moment she bestrode the bear, and the big beast lumbered up the street with its rider.] Blackton's big log bungalow was close to the engineers' camp half a mile distant from the one lighted street and the hundreds of tents and shacks that made up the residential part of the town. Not until they were inside, and Peggy Blackton had disappeared with Joanne for a few moments, did Aldous take old Donald MacDonald's note from his pocket. He pulled out the quill, unfolded the bit of paper, and read the few crudely written words the mountain man had sent him. Blackton turned in time to catch the sudden amazement in his face. Crushing the note in his hand, Aldous looked at the other, his mouth tightening. "You must help me make excuses, old man," he said quietly. "It will seem strange to them if I do not stay for supper. But--it is impossible. I must see old Donald as quickly as I can get to him." His manner more than his words kept Blackton from urging him to remain. The contractor stared at him for a moment, his own eyes growing harder and more direct. "It's about the shooting," he said. "If you want me to go with you, Aldous----" "Thanks. That will be unnecessary." Peggy Blackton and Joanne were returning. Aldous turned toward them as they entered the room. With the note still in his hand he repeated to them what he had told Blackton--that he had received word which made it immediately urgent for him to go to MacDonald. He shook hands with the Blacktons, promising to be on hand for the four o'clock breakfast. Joanne followed him to the door and out upon the veranda. For a moment they were alone, and now her eyes were wide and filled with fear as he clasped her hands closely in his own. "I saw him," she whispered, her fingers tightening convulsively. "I saw that man--Quade--at the station. He followed us up the street. Twice I looked behind--and saw him. I am afraid--afraid to let you go back there. I believe he is somewhere out there now--waiting for you!" She was frightened, trembling; and her fear for him, the fear in her shining eyes, in her throbbing breath, in the clasp of her fingers, sent through John Aldous a joy that almost made him free her hands and crush her in his arms in the ecstasy of that wonderful moment. Then Peggy Blackton and her husband appeared in the door. He released her hands, and stepped out into the gloom. The cheery good-nights of the Blacktons followed him. And Joanne's good-night was in her eyes--following him until he was gone, filled with their entreaty and their fear. A hundred yards distant, where the trail split to lead to the camp of the engineers, there was a lantern on a pole. Here Aldous paused, out of sight of the Blackton bungalow, and in the dim light read again MacDonald's note. In a cramped and almost illegible hand the old wanderer of the mountains had written: Don't go to cabin. Culver Rann waiting to kill you. Don't show yorself in town. Cum to me as soon as you can on trail striking north to Loon Lake. Watch yorself. Be ready with yor gun. DONALD MacDONALD. Aldous shoved the note in his pocket and slipped back out of the lantern-glow into deep shadow. For several minutes he stood silent and listening. CHAPTER XI As John Aldous stood hidden in the darkness, listening for the sound of a footstep, Joanne's words still rang in his ears. "I believe he is out there--waiting for you," she had said; and, chuckling softly in the gloom, he told himself that nothing would give him more satisfaction than an immediate and material proof of her fear. In the present moment he felt a keen desire to confront Quade face to face out there in the lantern-glow, and settle with the mottled beast once for all. The fact that Quade had seen Joanne as the guest of the Blacktons hardened him in his determination. Quade could no longer be in possible error regarding her. He knew that she had friends, and that she was not of the kind who could be made or induced to play his game and Culver Rann's. If he followed her after this---- Aldous gritted his teeth and stared up and down the black trail. Five minutes passed and he heard nothing that sounded like a footstep, and he saw no moving shadow in the gloom. Slowly he continued along the road until he came to where a narrow pack-trail swung north and east through the thick spruce and balsam in the direction of Loon Lake. Remembering MacDonald's warning, he kept his pistol in his hand. The moon was just beginning to rise over the shoulder of a mountain, and after a little it lighted up the more open spaces ahead of him. Now and then he paused, and turned to listen. As he progressed with slowness and caution, his mind worked swiftly. He knew that Donald MacDonald was the last man in the world to write such a message as he had sent him through Blackton unless there had been a tremendous reason for it. But why, he asked himself again and again, should Culver Rann want to kill him? Rann knew nothing of Joanne. He had not seen her. And surely Quade had not had time to formulate a plot with his partner before MacDonald wrote his warning. Besides, an attempt had been made to assassinate the old mountaineer! MacDonald had not warned him against Quade. He had told him to guard himself against Rann. And what reason could this Culver Rann have for doing him injury? The more he thought of it the more puzzled he became. And then, in a flash, the possible solution of it all came to him. Had Culver Rann discovered the secret mission on which he and the old mountaineer were going into the North? Had he learned of the gold--where it was to be found? And was their assassination the first step in a plot to secure possession of the treasure? The blood in Aldous' veins ran faster. He gripped his pistol harder. More closely he looked into the moonlit gloom of the trail ahead of him. He believed that he had guessed the meaning of MacDonald's warning. It was the gold! More than once thought of the yellow treasure far up in the North had thrilled him, but never as it thrilled him now. Was the old tragedy of it to be lived over again? Was it again to play its part in a terrible drama of men's lives, as it had played it more than forty years ago? The gold! The gold that for nearly half a century had lain with the bones of its dead, alone with its terrible secret, alone until Donald MacDonald had found it again! He had not told Joanne the story of it, the appalling and almost unbelievable tragedy of it. He had meant to do so. But they had talked of other things. He had meant to tell her that it was not the gold itself that was luring him far to the north--that it was not the gold alone that was taking Donald MacDonald back to it. And now, as he stood for a moment listening to the low sweep of the wind in the spruce-tops, it seemed to him that the night was filled with whispering voices of that long-ago--and he shivered, and held his breath. A cloud had drifted under the moon. For a few moments it was pitch dark. The fingers of his hand dug into the rough bark of a spruce. He did not move. It was then that he heard something above the caressing rustle of the wind in the spruce-tops. It came to him faintly, from full half a mile deeper in the black forest that reached down to the bank of the Frazer. It was the night call of an owl--one of the big gray owls that turned white as the snow in winter. Mentally he counted the notes in the call. One, two, three, _four_--and a flood of relief swept over him. It was MacDonald. They had used that signal in their hunting, when they had wished to locate each other without frightening game. Always there were three notes in the big gray owl's quavering cry. The fourth was human. He put his hands to his mouth and sent back an answer, emphasizing the fourth note. The light breeze had died down for a moment, and Aldous heard the old mountaineer's reply as it floated faintly back to him through the forest. Continuing to hold his pistol, he went on, this time more swiftly. MacDonald did not signal again. The moon was climbing rapidly into the sky, and with each passing minute the night was becoming lighter. He had gone half a mile when he stopped again and signalled softly. MacDonald's voice answered, so near that for an instant the automatic flashed in the moonlight. Aldous stepped out where the trail had widened into a small open spot. Half a dozen paces from him, in the bright flood of the moon, stood Donald MacDonald. The night, the moon-glow, the tense attitude of his waiting added to the weirdness of the picture which the old wanderer of the mountains made as Aldous faced him. MacDonald was tall; some trick of the night made him appear almost unhumanly tall as he stood in the centre of that tiny moonlit amphitheatre. His head was bowed a little, and his shoulders drooped a little, for he was old. A thick, shaggy beard fell in a silvery sheen over his breast. His hair, gray as the underwing of the owl whose note he forged, straggled in uncut disarray from under the drooping rim of a battered and weatherworn hat. His coat was of buckskin, and it was short at the sleeves--four inches too short; and the legs of his trousers were cut off between the knees and the ankles, giving him a still greater appearance of height. In the crook of his arm MacDonald held a rifle, a strange-looking, long-barrelled rifle of a type a quarter of a century old. And Donald MacDonald, in the picture he made, was like his gun, old and gray and ghostly, as if he had risen out of some graveyard of the past to warm himself in the yellow splendour of the moon. But in the grayness and gauntness of him there was something that was mightier than the strength of youth. He was alert. In the crook of his arm there was caution. His eyes were as keen as the eyes of an animal. His shoulders spoke of a strength but little impaired by the years. Ghostly gray beard, ghostly gray hair, haunting eyes that gleamed, all added to the strange and weird impressiveness of the man as he stood before Aldous. And when he spoke, his voice had in it the deep, low, cavernous note of a partridge's drumming. "I'm glad you've come, Aldous," he said. "I've been waiting ever since the train come in. I was afraid you'd go to the cabin!" Aldous stepped forth and gripped the old mountaineer's outstretched hand. There was intense relief in Donald's eyes. "I got a little camp back here in the bush," he went on, nodding riverward. "It's safer 'n the shack these days. Yo're sure--there ain't no one following?" "Quite certain," assured Aldous. "Look here, MacDonald--what in thunder has happened? Don't continue my suspense! Who shot you? Why did you warn me?" Deep in his beard the old hunter laughed. "Same fellow as would have shot you, I guess," he answered. "They made a bad job of it, Johnny, an awful bad job, an' mebby there'd been a better man layin' for you!" He was pulling Aldous in the bush as he spoke. For ten minutes he dived on ahead through a jungle in which there was no trail. Suddenly he turned, led the way around the edge of a huge mass of rock, and paused a moment later before a small smouldering fire. Against the face of a gigantic boulder was a balsam shelter. A few cooking utensils were scattered about. It was evident that MacDonald had been living here for several days. "Looks as though I'd run away, don't it, Johnny?" he asked, laughing in his curious, chuckling way again. "An' so I did, boy. From the mountain up there I've been watching things through my telescope--been keepin' quiet since Doc pulled the bullet out. I've been layin' for the Breed. I wanted him to think I'd vamoosed. I'm goin' to kill him!" He had squatted down before the fire, his long rifle across his knees, and spoke as quietly as though he was talking of a partridge or a squirrel instead of a human being. He wormed a hand into one of his pockets and produced a small dark object which he handed to Aldous The other felt an uncanny chill as it touched his fingers. It was a mis-shapened bullet. "Doc gave me the lead," continued MacDonald coolly, beginning to slice a pipeful of tobacco from a tar-black plug. "It come from Joe's gun. I've hunted with him enough to know his bullet. He fired through the window of the cabin. If it hadn't been for the broom handle--just the end of it stickin' up"--he shrugged his gaunt shoulders as he stuffed the tobacco into the bowl of his pipe--"I'd been dead!" he finished tersely. "You mean that Joe----" "Has sold himself to Culver Rann!" exclaimed MacDonald. He sprang to his feet. For the first time he showed excitement. His eyes blazed with repressed rage. A hand gripped the barrel of his rifle as if to crush it. "He's sold himself to Culver Rann!" he repeated. "He's sold him our secret. He's told him where the gold is, Johnny! He's bargained to guide Rann an' his crowd to it! An' first--they're goin' to kill _us!_" With a low whistle Aldous took off his hat. He ran a hand through his blond-gray hair. Then he replaced his hat and drew two cigars from his pocket. MacDonald accepted one. Aldous' eyes were glittering; his lips were smiling. "They are, are they, Donald? They're going to kill us?" "They're goin' to try," amended the old hunter, with another curious chuckle in his ghostly beard. "They're goin' to try, Johnny. That's why I told you not to go to the cabin. I wasn't expecting you for a week. To-morrow I was goin' to start on a hike for Miette. I been watching through my telescope from the mountain up there. I see Quade come in this morning on a hand-car. Twice I see him and Rann together. Then I saw Blackton hike out into the bush. I was worrying about you an' wondered if he had any word. So I laid for him on the trail--an' I guess it was lucky. I ain't been able to set my eyes on Joe. I looked for hours through the telescope--an' I couldn't find him. He's gone, or Culver Rann is keeping him out of sight." For several moments Aldous looked at his companion in silence. Then he said: "You're sure of all this, are you, Donald? You have good proof--that Joe has turned traitor?" "I've been suspicious of him ever since we come down from the North," spoke MacDonald slowly. "I watched him--night an' day. I was afraid he'd get a grubstake an' start back alone. Then I saw him with Culver Rann. It was late. I heard 'im leave the shack, an' I followed. He went to Rann's house--an' Rann was expecting him. Three times I followed him to Culver Rann's house. I knew what was happening then, an' I planned to get him back in the mountains on a hunt, an' kill him. But I was too late. The shot came through the window. Then he disappeared. An'--Culver Rann is getting an outfit together! Twenty head of horses, with grub for three months!" "The deuce! And our outfit? Is it ready?" "To the last can o' beans!" "And your plan, Donald?" All at once the old mountaineer's eyes were aflame with eagerness as he came nearer to Aldous. "Get out of Tête Jaune to-night!" he cried in a low, hissing voice that quivered with excitement. "Hit the trail before dawn! Strike into the mountains with our outfit--far enough back--and then wait!" "Wait?" "Yes--wait. If they follow us--_fight!_" Slowly Aldous held out a hand. The old mountaineer's met it. Steadily they looked into each other's eyes. Then John Aldous spoke: "If this had been two days ago I would have said yes. But to-night--it is impossible." The fingers that had tightened about his own relaxed. Slowly a droop came into MacDonald's shoulders. Disappointment, a look that was almost despair settled in his eyes. Seeing the change, Aldous held the old hunter's hand more firmly. "That doesn't mean we're not going to fight," he said quickly. "Only we've got to plan differently. Sit down, Donald. Something has been happening to me. And I'm going to tell you about it." A little back from the fire they seated themselves, and Aldous told Donald MacDonald about Joanne. He began at the beginning, from the moment his eyes first saw her as she entered Quade's place. He left nothing out. He told how she had come into his life, and how he intended to fight to keep her from going out of it. He told of his fears, his hopes, the mystery of their coming to Tête Jaune, and how Quade had preceded them to plot the destruction of the woman he loved. He described her as she had stood that morning, like a radiant goddess in the sun; and when he came to that he leaned nearer, and said softly: "And when I saw her there, Donald, with her hair streaming about her like that, I thought of the time you told me of that other woman--the woman of years and years ago--and how you, Donald, used to look upon her in the sun, and rejoice in your possession. Her spirit has been with you always. You have told me how for nearly fifty years you have followed it over these mountains. And this woman means as much to me. If she should die to-night her spirit would live with me in that same way. You understand, Donald. I can't go into the mountains to-night. God knows when I can go--now. But you----" MacDonald had risen. He turned his face to the black wall of the forest. Aldous thought he saw a sudden quiver pass through the great, bent shoulders. "And I," said MacDonald slowly, "will have the horses ready for you at dawn. We will fight this other fight--later." CHAPTER XII For an hour after Donald MacDonald had pledged himself to accompany Joanne and Aldous on their pilgrimage to the grave in the Saw Tooth Range the two men continued to discuss the unusual complications in which they had suddenly become involved, and at the same time prepared themselves a supper of bacon and coffee over the fire. They agreed upon a plan of action with one exception. Aldous was determined to return to the town, arguing there was a good strategic reason for showing himself openly and without fear. MacDonald opposed this apprehensively. "Better lay quiet until morning," he expostulated. "You'd better listen to me, an' do that, Johnny. I've got something in my shoulder that tells me you'd better!" In the face of the old hunter's misgiving, Aldous prepared to leave. It was nearly ten o'clock when he set back in the direction of Tête Jaune, Donald accompanying him as far as the moonlit amphitheatre in the forest. There they separated, and Aldous went on alone. He believed that Joanne and the Blacktons would half expect him to return to the bungalow after he had seen MacDonald. He was sure that Blackton, at least, would look for him until quite late. The temptation to take advantage of their hospitality was great, especially as it would bring him in the company of Joanne again. On the other hand, he was certain that this first night in Tête Jaune held very large possibilities for him. The detective instinct in him was roused, and his adventurous spirit was alive for action. First of all, he wanted proof of what MacDonald had told him. That an attempt had been made to assassinate the old mountaineer he did not for an instant doubt. But had Joe DeBar, the half-breed, actually betrayed them? Had he sold himself to Culver Rann, and did Rann hold the key to the secret expedition they had planned into the North? He did not, at first, care to see Rann. He made up his mind that if he did meet him he would stop and chat casually with him, as though he had heard and seen nothing to rouse his suspicions. He particularly wanted to find DeBar; and, next to DeBar, Quade himself. The night carnival was at its height when Aldous re-entered the long, lighted street. From ten until eleven was the liveliest hour of the night. Even the restaurants and soup-kitchens were crowded then. He strolled slowly down the street until he came to a little crowd gathered about the bear equestrienne. The big canvas dance-hall a few doors away had lured from her most of her admirers by this time, and Aldous found no difficulty in reaching the inner circle. He looked first for the half-breed. Failing to find him, he looked at the woman, who stood only a few feet from him. Her glossy black curls were a bit dishevelled, and the excitement of the night had added to the vivid colouring of her rouged lips and cheeks. Her body was sleek and sinuous in its silken vesture; arms and shoulders were startlingly white; and when she turned, facing Aldous, her black eyes flashed fires of deviltry and allurement. For a moment he stared into her face. If he had not been looking closely he would not have caught the swift change that shot into the siren-like play of her orbs. It was almost instantaneous. Her slow-travelling glance stopped as she saw him. He saw the quick intake of her breath, a sudden compression of her lips, the startled, searching scrutiny of a pair of eyes from which, for a moment, all the languor and coquetry of her trade were gone. Then she passed him, smiling again, nodding, sweeping a hand and arm effectively through her handsome curls as she flung a shapely limb over the broad back of the bear. In a garish sort of way the woman was beautiful, and this night, as on all others, her beauty had nearly filled the silken coin-bag suspended from her neck. As she rode down the street Aldous recalled Blackton's words: She was a friend of Culver Rann's. He wondered if this fact accounted for the strangeness of the look she had given him. He passed on to the dance-hall. It was crowded, mostly with men. But here and there, like so many faces peering forth from living graves, he saw the Little Sisters of Tête Jaune Cache. Outnumbered ten to one, their voices rang out in shrill banter and delirious laughter above the rumble of men. At the far end, a fiddle, a piano, and a clarinet were squealing forth music. The place smelled strongly of whisky. It always smelled of that, for most of the men who sought amusement here got their whisky in spite of the law. There were rock-hogs from up the line, and rock-hogs from down the line, men of all nationalities and of almost all ages; teamsters, trail-cutters, packers, and rough-shod navvies; men whose daily task was to play with dynamite and giant powder; steel-men, tie-men, and men who drilled into the hearts of mountains. More than once John Aldous had looked upon this same scene, and had listened to the trample and roar and wild revelry of it, marvelling that to-morrow the men of this saturnalia would again be the builders of an empire. The thin, hollow-cheeked faces that passed and repassed him, rouged and smiling, could not destroy in his mind the strength of the picture. They were but moths, fluttering about in their own doom, contending with each other to see which should quickest achieve destruction. For several minutes Aldous scanned the faces in the big tent-hall, and nowhere did he see DeBar. He dropped out, and continued leisurely along the lighted way until he came to Lovak's huge black-and-white striped soup-tent. At ten o'clock, and until twelve, this was as crowded as the dance-hall. Aldous knew Lovak, the Hungarian. Through Lovak he had found the key that had unlocked for him many curious and interesting things associated with that powerful Left Arm of the Empire Builders--the Slav. Except for a sprinkling of Germans, a few Italians, and now and then a Greek or Swiss, only the Slavs filled Lovak's place!--Slavs from all the Russias and the nations south: the quick and chattering Polak; the thick-set, heavy-jowled Croatian; the silent and dangerous-eyed Lithuanian. All came in for Lovak's wonderful soup, which he sold in big yellow bowls at ten cents a bowl--soup of barley, rice, and cabbage, of beef and mutton, of everything procurable out of which soup could be made, and, whether of meat or vegetable, smelling to heaven of garlic. Fifty men were eating when Aldous went in, devouring their soup with the utter abandon and joy of the Galician, so that the noise they made was like the noise of fifty pigs at fifty troughs. Now and then DeBar, the half-breed, came here for soup, and Aldous searched quickly for him. He was turning to go when his friend, Lovak, came to him. No, Lovak had not seen DeBar. But he had news. That day the authorities--the police--had confiscated twenty dressed hogs, and in each porcine carcass they had found four-quart bottles of whisky, artistically imbedded in the leaf-lard fat. The day before those same authorities had confiscated a barrel of "kerosene." They were becoming altogether too officious, Lovak thought. Aldous went on. He looked in at a dozen restaurants, and twice as many soft-drink emporiums, where phonographs were worked until they were cracked and dizzy. He stopped at a small tobacco shop, and entered to buy himself some cigars. There was one other customer ahead of him. He was lighting a cigar, and the light of a big hanging lamp flashed on a diamond ring. Over his sputtering match his eyes met those of John Aldous. They were dark eyes, neither brown nor black, but dark, with the keenness and strange glitter of a serpent's. He wore a small, clipped moustache; his hands were white; he was a man whom one might expect to possess the _sang froid_ of a devil in any emergency. For barely an instant he hesitated in the operation of lighting his cigar as he saw Aldous. Then he nodded. "Hello, John Aldous," he said. "Good evening, Culver Rann," replied Aldous. For a moment his nerves had tingled--the next they were like steel. Culver Rann's teeth gleamed. Aldous smiled back. They were cold, hard, rapierlike glances. Each understood now that the other was a deadly enemy, for Quade's enemies were also Culver Rann's. Aldous moved carelessly to the glass case in which were the cigars. With the barest touch of one of his slim white hands Culver Rann stopped him. "Have one of mine, Aldous," he invited, opening a silver case filled with cigars. "We've never had the pleasure of smoking together, you know." "Never," said Aldous, accepting one of the cigars. "Thanks." As he lighted it, their eyes met again. Aldous turned to the case. "Half a dozen 'Noblemen,'" he said to the man behind the counter; then, to Rann: "Will you have one on me?" "With pleasure," said Rann. He added, smiling straight into the other's eyes, "What are you doing up here, Aldous? After local colour?" "Perhaps. The place interests me." "It's a lively town." "Decidedly. And I understand that you've played an important part in the making of it," replied Aldous carelessly. For a flash Rann's eyes darkened, and his mouth hardened, then his white teeth gleamed again. He had caught the insinuation, and he had scarcely been able to ward off the shot. "I've tried to do my small share," he admitted. "If you're after local colour for your books, Aldous, I possibly may be able to assist you--if you're in town long." "Undoubtedly you could," said Aldous. "I think you could tell me a great deal that I would like to know, Rann. But--will you?" There was a direct challenge in his coldly smiling eyes. "Yes, I think I shall be quite pleased to do so," said Rann. "Especially--if you are long in town." There was an odd emphasis on those last words. He moved toward the door. "And if you are here very long," he added, his eyes gleaming significantly, "it is possible you may have experiences of your own which would make very interesting reading if they ever got into print. Good-night, Aldous!" For two or three minutes after Rann had gone Aldous loitered in the tobacco shop. Then he went out. All at once it struck him that he should have kept his eyes on Quade's partner. He should have followed him. With the hope of seeing him again he walked up and down the street. It was eleven o'clock when he went into Big Ben's pool-room. Five minutes later he came out just as a woman hurried past him, carrying with her a strong scent of perfume. It was the Lady of the Bear. She was in a street dress now, her glossy curls still falling loose about her--probably homeward bound after her night's harvest. It struck Aldous that the hour was early for her retirement, and that she seemed somewhat in a hurry. The woman was going in the direction of Rann's big log bungalow, which was built well out of town toward the river. She had not seen him as he stood in the pool-room doorway, and before she had passed out of sight he was following her. There were a dozen branch trails and "streets" on the way to Rann's, and into the gloom of some one of these the woman disappeared, so that Aldous lost her entirely. He was not disappointed when he found she had left the main trail. Five minutes later he stood close to Rann's house. From the side on which he had approached it was dark. No gleam of light showed through the windows. Slowly he walked around the building, and stopped suddenly on the opposite side. Here a closely drawn curtain was illuminated by a glow from within. Cautiously Aldous made his way along the log wall of the house until he came to the window. At one side the curtain had caught against some object, leaving perhaps a quarter of an inch of space through which the light shone. Aldous brought his eyes on a level with this space. A half of the room came within his vision. Directly in front of him, lighted by a curiously shaped iron lamp suspended from the ceiling, was a dull red mahogany desk-table. At one side of this, partly facing him, was Culver Rann. Opposite him sat Quade. Rann was speaking, while Quade, with his bullish shoulders hunched forward and his fleshy red neck, rolling over the collar of his coat, leaned across the table in a tense and listening attitude. With his eyes glued to the aperture, Aldous strained his ears to catch what Rann was saying. He heard only the low and unintelligible monotone of his voice. A mocking smile was accompanying Rann's words. To-night, as at all times, this hawk who preyed upon human lives was immaculate. In all ways but one he was the antithesis of the beefy scoundrel who sat opposite him. On the hand that toyed carelessly with the fob of his watch flashed a diamond; another sparkled in his cravat. His dark hair was sleek and well brushed; his bristly little moustache was clipped in the latest fashion. He was not large. His hands, as he made a gesture toward Quade, were of womanish whiteness. Casually, on the street or in a Pullman, Aldous would have taken him for a gentleman. Now, as he stared through the narrow slit between the bottom of the curtain and the sill, he knew that he was looking upon one of the most dangerous men in all the West. Quade was a villain. Culver Rann, quiet and cool and suave, was a devil. Behind his depravity worked the brain which Quade lacked, and a nerve which, in spite of that almost effeminate immaculateness, had been described to Aldous as colossal. Suddenly Quade turned, and Aldous saw that he was flushed and excited. He struck the desk a blow with his fist. Culver Rann leaned back and smiled. And John Aldous slipped away from the window. His nerves were quivering; in the darkness he unbuttoned the pocket that held his automatic. Through the window he had seen an open door behind Rann, and his blood thrilled with the idea that had come to him. He was sure the two partners in crime were discussing himself and MacDonald--and Joanne. To hear what they were saying, to discover their plot, would be three quarters of the fight won, if it came to a fight. The open door was an inspiration. Swiftly and silently he went to the rear of the house. He tried the door and found it unlocked. Softly he opened it, swinging it inward an inch at a time, and scarcely breathing as he entered. It was dark, and there was a second closed door ahead of him. From beyond that he heard voices. He closed the outer door so that he would not be betrayed by a current of air or a sound from out of the night. Then, even more cautiously and slowly, he began to open the second door. An inch at first, then two inches, three inches--a foot--he worked the door inward. There was no light in this second room, and he lay close to the floor, head and shoulders thrust well in. Through the third and open door he saw Quade and Culver Rann. Rann was laughing softly as he lighted a fresh cigar. His voice was quiet and good humoured, but filled with a banter which it was evident Quade was not appreciating. "You amaze me," Rann was saying. "You amaze me utterly. You've gone mad--mad as a rock-rabbit, Quade! Do you mean to tell me you're on the square when you offer to turn over a half of your share in the gold if I help you to get this woman?" "I do," replied Quade thickly. "I mean just that! And we'll put it down in black an' white--here, now. You fix the papers, same as any other deal, and I'll sign!" For a moment Culver Rann did not reply. He leaned back in his chair, thrust the thumbs of his white hands in his vest, and sent a cloud of smoke above his head. Then he looked at Quade, a gleam of humour in his eyes. "Nothing like a woman for turning a man's head soft," he chuckled. "Nothing in the world like it, 'pon my word, Quade. First it was DeBar. I don't believe we'd got him if he hadn't seen Marie riding her bear. Marie and her curls and her silk tights, Quade--s'elp me, it wouldn't have surprised me so much if you'd fallen in love with _her!_ And over this other woman you're as mad as Joe is over Marie. At first sight he was ready to sell his soul for her. So--I gave Marie to him. And now, for some other woman, you're just as anxious to surrender a half of your share of what we've bought through Marie. Good heaven, man, if you were in love with Marie----" "Damn Marie!" growled Quade. "I know the time when you were bugs over her yourself, Rann. It wasn't so long ago. If I'd looked at her then----" "Of course, not then," interrupted Rann smilingly. "That would have been impolite, Quade, and not at all in agreement with the spirit of our brotherly partnership. And, you must admit, Marie is a devilish good-looking girl. I've surrendered her only for a brief spell to DeBar. After he has taken us to the gold--why, the poor idiot will probably have been sufficiently happy to----" He paused, with a suggestive shrug of his shoulders. "--go into cold storage," finished Quade. "Exactly." Again Quade leaned over the table, and for a moment there was silence, a silence in which Aldous thought the pounding of his heart must betray him. He lay motionless on the floor. The nails of his fingers dug into the bare wood. Under the palm of his right hand lay his automatic. Then Quade spoke. There must have been more in his face than was spoken in his words, for Culver Rann took the cigar from between his lips, and a light that was deadly serious slowly filled his eyes. "Rann, we'll talk business!" Quade's voice was harsh, deep, and quivering. "I want this woman. I may be a fool, but I'm going to have her. I might get her alone, but we've always done things together--an' so I made you that proposition. It ain't a hard job. It's one of the easiest jobs we ever had. Only that fool of a writer is in the way--an' he's got to go anyway. We've got to get rid of him on account of the gold, him an' MacDonald. We've got that planned. An' I've showed you how we can get the woman, an' no one ever know. Are you in on this with me?" Culver Rann's reply was as quick and sharp as a pistol shot. "I am." For another moment there was silence. Then Quade asked: "Any need of writin', Culver?" "No. There can't be a written agreement in this deal because--it's dangerous. There won't be much said about old MacDonald. But questions, a good many of them, will be asked about this man Aldous. As for the woman----" Rann shrugged his shoulders with a sinister smile. "She will disappear like the others," he finished. "No one will ever get on to that. If she doesn't make a pal like Marie--after a time, why----" Again Aldous saw that peculiar shrug of his shoulders. Quade's head nodded on his thick neck. "Of course, I agree to that," he said. "After a time. But most of 'em have come over, ain't they, Culver? Eh? Most of 'em have," he chuckled coarsely. "When you see her you won't call me a fool for going dippy over her, Culver. And she'll come round all right after she's gone through what we've got planned for her. I'll make a pal of her!" In that moment, as he listened to the gloating passion and triumph in Quade's brutal voice, something broke in the brain of John Aldous. It filled him with a fire that in an instant had devoured every thought or plan he had made, and in this madness he was consumed by a single desire--the desire to kill. And yet, as this conflagration surged through him, it did not blind or excite him. It did not make him leap forth in animal rage. It was something more terrible. He rose so quietly that the others did not see or hear him in the dark outer room. They did not hear the slight metallic click of the safety on his pistol. For the space of a breath he stood and looked at them. He no longer sensed the words Quade was uttering. He was going in coolly and calmly to kill them. There was something disagreeable in the flashing thought that he might kill them from where he stood. He would not fire from the dark. He wanted to experience the exquisite sensation of that one first moment when they would writhe back from him, and see in him the presence of death. He would give them that one moment of life--just that one. Then he would kill. With his pistol ready in his hand he stepped out into the lighted room. "Good evening, gentlemen!" he said. CHAPTER XIII For a space of perhaps twenty seconds after John Aldous announced himself there was no visible sign of life on the part of either Quade or Culver Rann. The latter sat stunned. Not the movement of a finger broke the stonelike immobility of his attitude. His eyes were like two dark coals gazing steadily as a serpent's over Quade's hunched shoulders and bowed head. Quade seemed as if frozen on the point of speaking to Rann. One hand was still poised a foot above the table. It was he who broke the tense and lifeless tableau. Slowly, almost as slowly as Aldous had opened the door, Quade turned his head, and stared into the coldly smiling face of the man whom he had plotted to kill, and saw the gleaming pistol in his hand. A curious look overcame his pouchy face, a look not altogether of terror--but of shock. He knew Aldous had heard. He accepted in an instant, and perceptibly, the significance of the pistol in his hand. But Culver Rann sat like a rock. His face expressed nothing. Not for the smallest part of a second had he betrayed any emotion that might be throbbing within him. In spite of himself Aldous admired the man's unflinching nerve. "Good evening, gentlemen!" he repeated. Then Rann leaned slowly forward over the table. One hand rose to his moustache. It was his right hand. The other was invisible. Quade pulled himself together and stepped to the end of the table, his two empty hands in front of him. Aldous, still smiling, faced Rann's glittering eyes and covered him with his automatic. Culver Rann twisted the end of his moustache, and smiled back. "Well?" he said. "Is it checkmate?" "It is," replied Aldous. "I've promised you scoundrels one minute of life. I guess that minute is about up." The last word was scarcely out of his mouth when the room was in darkness--a darkness so complete and sudden that for an instant his hand faltered, and in that instant he heard the overturning of a chair and the falling of a body. Twice his automatic sent a lightning-flash of fire where Culver Rann had sat; twice it spat threadlike ribbons of flame through the blackness where Quade had stood. He knew what had happened, and also what to expect if he lost out now. The curiously shaped iron lamp had concealed an electric bulb, and Rann had turned off the switch-key under the table. He had no further time to think. An object came hurtling through the thick gloom and fell with terrific force on his outstretched pistol arm. His automatic flew from his hand and struck against the wall. Unarmed, he sprang back toward the open door--full into the arms of Quade! Aldous knew that it was Quade and not Culver Rann, and he struck out with all the force he could gather in a short-arm blow. His fist landed against Quade's thick neck. Again and again he struck, and Quade's grip loosened. In another moment he would have reached the door if Rann had not caught him from behind. Never had Aldous felt the clutch of hands like those of the womanish hands of Culver Rann. It was as if sinuous fingers of steel were burying themselves in his flesh. Before they found his throat he flung himself backward with all his weight, and with a tremendous effort freed himself. Both Quade and Culver Rann now stood between him and the door. He could hear Quade's deep, panting breath. Rann, as before, was silent as death. Then he heard the door close. A key clicked in the lock. He was trapped. "Turn on the light, Billy," he heard Rann say in a quiet, unexcited voice. "We've got this house-breaker cornered, and he's lost his gun. Turn on the light--and I'll make one shot do the business!" Aldous heard Quade moving, but he was not coming toward the table. Somewhere in the room was another switch connected with the iron lamp, and Aldous felt a curious chill shoot up his spine. Without seeing through that pitch darkness of the room he sensed the fact that Culver Rann was standing with his back against the locked door, a revolver in his hand. And he knew that Quade, feeling his way along the wall, held a revolver in his hand. Men like these two did not go unarmed. The instant the light was turned on they would do their work. As he stood, silent as Culver Rann, he realized the tables were turned. In that moment's madness roused by Quade's gloating assurance of possessing Joanne he had revealed himself like a fool, and now he was about to reap the whirlwind of his folly. Deliberately he had given himself up to his enemies. They, too, would be fools if they allowed him to escape alive. He heard Quade stop. His thick hand was fumbling along the wall. Aldous guessed that he was feeling for the switch. He almost fancied he could see Rann's revolver levelled at him through the darkness. In that thrilling moment his mind worked with the swiftness of a powder flash. One of his hands touched the edge of the desk-table, and he knew that he was standing directly opposite the curtained window, perhaps six feet from it. If he flung himself through the window the curtain would save him from being cut to pieces. No sooner had the idea of escape come to him than he had acted. A flood of light filled the room as his body crashed through the glass. He heard a cry--a single shot--as he struck the ground. He gathered himself up and ran swiftly. Fifty yards away he stopped, and looked back. Quade and Rann were in the window. Then they disappeared, and a moment later the room was again in gloom. For a second time Aldous hurried in the direction of MacDonald's camp. He knew that, in spite of the protecting curtain, the glass had cut him. He felt the warm blood dripping over his face; both hands were wet with it, The arm on which he had received the blow from the unseen object in the room gave him considerable pain, and he had slightly sprained an ankle in his leap through the window, so that he limped a little. But his mind was clear--so clear that in the face of his physical discomfort he caught himself laughing once or twice as he made his way along the trail. Aldous was not of an ordinary type. To a curious and superlative degree he could appreciate a defeat as well as a triumph. His adventures had been a part of a life in which he had not always expected to win, and in to-night's game he admitted that he had been hopelessly and ridiculously beaten. Tragedy, to him, was a first cousin of comedy; to-night he had set out to kill, and, instead of killing, he had run like a jack-rabbit for cover. Also, in that same half-hour Rann and Quade had been sure of him, and he had given them the surprise of their lives by his catapultic disappearance through the window. There was something ludicrous about it all--something that, to him, at least, had turned a possible tragedy into a very good comedy-drama. Nor was Aldous blind to the fact that he had made an utter fool of himself, and that the consequences of his indiscretion might prove extremely serious. Had he listened to the conspirators without betraying himself he would have possessed an important advantage over them. The knowledge he had gained from overhearing their conversation would have made it comparatively easy for MacDonald and him to strike them a perhaps fatal blow through the half-breed DeBar. As the situation stood now, he figured that Quade and Culver Rann held the advantage. Whatever they had planned to do they would put into quick execution. They would not lose a minute. It was not for himself that Aldous feared. Neither did he fear for Joanne. Every drop of red fighting blood in him was ready for further action, and he was determined that Quade should find no opportunity of accomplishing any scheme he might have against Joanne's person. On the other hand, unless they could head off DeBar, he believed that Culver Rann's chances of reaching the gold ahead of them would grow better with the passing of each hour. To protect Joanne from Quade he must lose no time. MacDonald would be in the same predicament, while Rann, assisted by as many rascals of his own colour as he chose to take with him, would be free to carry out the other part of the conspirators' plans. The longer he thought of the mess he had stirred up the more roundly Aldous cursed his imprudence. And this mess, as he viewed it in these cooler moments, was even less disturbing than the thought of what might have happened had he succeeded in his intention of killing both Quade and Rann. Twenty times as he made his way through the darkness toward MacDonald's camp he told himself that he must have been mad. To have killed Rann or Quade in self-defence, or in open fight, would have been playing the game with a shadow of mountain law behind it. But he had invaded Rann's home. Had he killed them he would have had but little more excuse than a house-breaker or a suspicious husband might have had. Tête Jaune would not countenance cold-blooded shooting, even of criminals. He should have taken old Donald's advice and waited until they were in the mountains. An unpleasant chill ran through him as he thought of the narrowness of his double escape. To his surprise, John Aldous found MacDonald awake when he arrived at the camp in the thickly timbered coulee. He was preparing a midnight cup of coffee over a fire that was burning cheerfully between two big rocks. Purposely Aldous stepped out into the full illumination of it. The old hunter looked up. For a moment he stared into the blood-smeared face of his friend; then he sprang to his feet, and caught him by the arm. "Yes, I got it," nodded Aldous cheerfully. "I went out for it, Mac, and I got it! Get out your emergency kit, will you? I rather fancy I need a little patching up." MacDonald uttered not a word. From the balsam lean-to he brought out a small rubber bag and a towel. Into a canvas wash-basin he then turned a half pail of cold water, and Aldous got on his knees beside this. Not once did the old mountaineer speak while he was washing the blood from Aldous' face and hands. There was a shallow two-inch cut in his forehead, two deeper ones in his right cheek, and a gouge in his chin. There were a dozen cuts on his hands, none of them serious. Before he had finished MacDonald had used two thirds of a roll of court-plaster. Then he spoke. "You can soak them off in the morning," he said. "If you don't, the lady'll think yo're a red Indian on the warpath. Now, yo' fool, what have yo' gone an' done?" Aldous told him what had happened, and before MacDonald could utter an expression of his feelings he admitted that he was an inexcusable idiot and that nothing MacDonald might say could drive that fact deeper home. "If I'd come out after hearing what they had to say, we could have got DeBar at the end of a gun and settled the whole business," he finished. "As it is, we're in a mess." MacDonald stretched his gaunt gray frame before the fire. He picked up his long rifle, and fingered the lock. "You figger they'll get away with DeBar?" "Yes, to-night." MacDonald threw open the breech of his single-loader and drew out a cartridge as long as his finger. Replacing it, he snapped the breech shut. "Don't know as I'm pertic'lar sad over what's happened," he said, with a curious look at Aldous. "We might have got out of this without what you call strenu'us trouble. Now--it's _fight!_ It's goin' to be a matter of guns an' bullets, Johnny--back in the mountains. You figger Rann an' the snake of a half-breed'll get the start of us. Let 'em have a start! They've got two hundred miles to go, an' two hundred miles to come back. Only--they won't come back!" Under his shaggy brows the old hunter's eyes gleamed as he looked at Aldous. "To-morrow we'll go to the grave," he added. "Yo're cur'ous to know what's goin' to happen when we find that grave, Johnny. So am I. I hope----" "What do you hope?" MacDonald shook his great gray head in the dying firelight. "Let's go to bed, Johnny," he rumbled softly in his beard. "It's gettin' late." CHAPTER XIV To sleep after the excitement through which he had passed, and with to-morrow's uncertainties ahead of him, seemed to Aldous a physical impossibility. Yet he slept, and soundly. It was MacDonald who roused him three hours later. They prepared a quick breakfast over a small fire, and Aldous heated water in which he soaked his face until the strips of court-plaster peeled off. The scratches were lividly evident, but, inasmuch as he had a choice of but two evils, he preferred that Joanne should see these instead of the abominable disfigurement of court-plaster strips. Old Donald took one look at him through half-closed eyes. "You look as though you'd come out of a tussle with a grizzly," he grinned. "Want some fresh court-plaster?" "And look as though I'd come out of a circus--no!" retorted Aldous. "I'm invited to breakfast at the Blacktons', Mac. How the devil am I going to get out of it?" "Tell 'em you're sick," chuckled the old hunter, who saw something funny in the appearance of Aldous' face. "Good Lord, how I'd liked to have seen you come through that window--in daylight!" Aldous led off in the direction of the trail. MacDonald followed close behind him. It was dark--that almost ebon-black hour that precedes summer dawn in the northern mountains. The moon had long ago disappeared in the west. When a few minutes later they paused in the little opening on the trail Aldous could just make out the shadowy form of the old mountaineer. "I lost my gun when I jumped through the window, Mac," he explained. "There's another thirty-eight automatic in my kit at the corral. Bring that, and the .303 with the gold-bead sight--and plenty of ammunition. You'd better take that forty-four hip-cannon of yours along, as well as your rifle. Wish I could civilize you, Mac, so you'd carry one of the Savage automatics instead of that old brain-storm of fifty years ago!" MacDonald gave a grunt of disgust that was like the whoof of a bear. "It's done business all that time," he growled good humouredly. "An' it ain't ever made me jump through any window as I remember of, Johnny!" "Enough," said Aldous, and in the gloom he gripped the other's hand. "You'll be there, Mac--in front of the Blacktons'--just as it's growing light?" "That means in three quarters of an hour, Johnny. I'll be there. Three saddle-horses and a pack." Where the trail divided they separated. Aldous went directly to the Blacktons'. As he had expected, the bungalow was alight. In the kitchen he saw Tom, the Oriental cook, busy preparing breakfast. Blackton himself, comfortably dressed in duck trousers and a smoking-jacket, and puffing on a pipe, opened the front door for him. The pipe almost fell from his mouth when he saw his friend's excoriated face. "What in the name of Heaven!" he gasped. "An accident," explained Aldous, with a suggestive shrug of his shoulders. "Blackton, I want you to do me another good turn. Tell the ladies anything you can think of--something reasonable. The truth is, I went through a window--a window with plenty of glass in it. Now how the deuce can I explain going through a window like a gentleman?" With folded arms, Blackton inspected him thoughtfully for a moment. "You can't," he said. "But I don't think you went through a window. I believe you fell over a cliff and were caught in an armful of wait-a-bit bushes. They're devilish those wait-a-bits!" They shook hands. "I'm ready to blow up with curiosity again," said Blackton. "But I'll play your game, Aldous." A few minutes later Joanne and Peggy Blackton joined them. He saw again the quick flush of pleasure in Joanne's lovely face when she entered the room. It changed instantly when she saw the livid cuts in his skin. She came to him quickly, and gave him her hand. Her lips trembled, but she did not speak. Blackton accepted this as the psychological moment. "What do you think of a man who'll wander off a trail, tumble over a ledge, and get mixed up in a bunch of wait-a-bit like _that?_" he demanded, laughing as though he thought it a mighty good joke on Aldous. "Wait-a-bit thorns are worse than razors, Miss Gray," he elucidated further. "They're--they're perfectly devilish, you know!" "Indeed they _are_," emphasized Peggy Blackton, whom her husband had given a quick look and a quicker nudge, "They're dreadful!" Looking straight into Joanne's eyes, Aldous guessed that she did not believe, and scarcely heard, the Blacktons. "I had a presentiment something was going to happen," she said, smiling at him. "I'm glad it was no worse than that." She withdrew her hand, and turned to Peggy Blackton. To John's delight she had arranged her wonderful shining hair in a braid that rippled in a thick, sinuous rope of brown and gold below her hips. Peggy Blackton had in some way found a riding outfit for her slender figure, a typical mountain outfit, with short divided skirt, loose blouse, and leggings. She had never looked more beautiful to him. Her night's rest had restored the colour to her soft cheeks and curved lips; and in her eyes, when she looked at him again, there was a strange, glowing light that thrilled him. During the next half-hour he almost forgot his telltale disfigurements. At breakfast Paul and Peggy Blackton were beautifully oblivious of them. Once or twice he saw in Joanne's clear eyes a look which made him suspect that she had guessed very near to the truth. MacDonald was prompt to the minute. Gray day, with its bars of golden tint, was just creeping over the shoulders of the eastern mountains when he rode up to the Blacktons'. The old hunter was standing close to the horse which Joanne was to ride when Aldous brought her out. Joanne gave him her hand, and for a moment MacDonald bowed his shaggy head over it. Five minutes later they were trailing up the rough wagon-road, MacDonald in the lead, and Joanne and Aldous behind, with the single pack horse between. For several miles this wagon-trail reached back through the thick timber that filled the bottom between the two ranges of mountains. They had travelled but a short distance when Joanne drew her horse close in beside Aldous. "I want to know what happened last night," she said. "Will you tell me?" Aldous met her eyes frankly. He had made up his mind that she would believe only the truth, and he had decided to tell her at least a part of that. He would lay his whole misadventure to the gold. Leaning over the pommel of his saddle he recounted the occurrences of the night before, beginning with his search for Quade and the half-breed, and his experience with the woman who rode the bear. He left out nothing--except all mention of herself. He described the events lightly, not omitting those parts which appealed to him as being very near to comedy. In spite of his effort to rob the affair of its serious aspect his recital had a decided effect upon Joanne. For some time after he had finished one of her small gloved hands clutched tightly at the pommel of her saddle; her breath came more quickly; the colour had ebbed from her cheeks, and she looked straight ahead, keeping her eyes from meeting his. He began to believe that in some way she was convinced he had not told her the whole truth, and was possibly displeased, when she again turned her face to him. It was tense and white. In it was the fear which, for a few minutes, she had tried to keep from him. "They would have killed you?" she breathed. "Perhaps they would only have given me a good scare," said Aldous. "But I didn't have time to wait and find out. I was very anxious to see MacDonald again. So I went through the window!" "No, they would have killed you," said Joanne. "Perhaps I did wrong, Mr. Aldous, but I confided--a little--in Peggy Blackton last night. She seemed like a sister. I love her. And I wanted to confide in some one--a woman, like her. It wasn't much, but I told her what happened at Miette: about you, and Quade, and how I saw him at the station, and again--later, following us. And then--she told me! Perhaps she didn't know how it was frightening me, but she told me all about these men--Quade and Culver Rann. And now I'm more afraid of Culver Rann than Quade, and I've never seen him. They can't hurt me. But I'm afraid for you!" At her words a joy that was like the heat of a fire leaped into his brain. "For me?" he said. "Afraid--for me?" "Yes. Why shouldn't I be, if I know that you are in danger?" she asked quietly. "And now, since last night, and the discovery of your secret by these men, I am terrified. Quade has followed you here. Mrs. Blackton told me that Culver Rann was many times more dangerous than Quade. Only a little while ago you told me you did not care for riches. Then why do you go for this gold? Why do you run the risk? Why----" He waited. The colour was flooding back into her face in an excited, feverish flush. Her blue eyes were dark as thunder-clouds in their earnestness. "Don't you understand?" she went on. "It was because of me that you incurred this deadly enmity of Quade's. If anything happens to you, I shall hold myself responsible!" "No, you will not be responsible," replied Aldous, steadying the tremble in his voice. "Besides, nothing is going to happen. But you don't know how happy you have made me by taking this sort of an interest in me. It--it feels good," he laughed. For a few paces he dropped behind her, where the overhead spruce boughs left but the space for a single rider between. Then, again, he drew up close beside her. "I was going to tell you about this gold," he said. "It isn't the gold we're going after." He leaned over until his hand rested on her saddle-bow. "Look ahead," he went on, a curious softness in his voice. "Look at MacDonald!" The first shattered rays of the sun were breaking over the mountains and reflecting their glow in the valley. Donald MacDonald had lifted his face to the sunrise; out from under his battered hat the morning breeze sweeping through the valley of the Frazer tossed his shaggy hair; his great owl-gray beard swept his breast; his broad, gaunt shoulders were hunched a little forward as he looked into the east. Again Aldous looked into Joanne's eyes. "It's not the gold, but MacDonald, that's taking me north, Ladygray. And it's not the gold that is taking MacDonald. It is strange, almost unbelievedly strange--what I am going to tell you. To-day we are seeking a grave--for you. And up there, two hundred miles in the north, another grave is calling MacDonald. I am going with him. It just happens that the gold is there. You wouldn't guess that for more than forty years that blessed old wanderer ahead of us has loved a dead woman, would you? You wouldn't think that for nearly half a century, year in and year out, winter and summer alike, he has tramped the northern mountains--a lost spirit with but one desire in life--to find at last her resting-place? And yet it is so, Ladygray. I guess I am the only living creature to whom he has opened his heart in many a long year. A hundred times beside our campfire I have listened to him, until at last his story seems almost to be a part of my own. He may be a little mad, but it is a beautiful madness." He paused. "Yes," whispered Joanne. "Go on--John Aldous." "It's--hard to tell," he continued. "I can't put the feeling of it in words, the spirit of it, the wonder of it. I've tried to write it, and I couldn't. Her name was Jane. He has never spoken of her by any other name than that, and I've never asked for the rest of it. They were kids when their two families started West over the big prairies in Conestoga wagons. They grew up sweethearts. Both of her parents, and his mother, died before they were married. Then, a little later, his father died, and they were alone. I can imagine what their love must have been. I have seen it still living in his eyes, and I have seen it in his strange hour-long dreams after he has talked of her. They were always together. He has told me how they roamed the mountains hand in hand in their hunts; how she was comrade and chum when he went prospecting. He has opened his lonely old heart to me--a great deal. He's told me how they used to be alone for months at a time in the mountains, the things they used to do, and how she would sing for him beside their campfire at night. 'She had a voice sweet as an angel,' I remember he told me once. Then, more than forty years ago, came the gold-rush away up in the Stikine River country. They went. They joined a little party of twelve--ten men and two women. This party wandered far out of the beaten paths of the other gold-seekers. And at last they found gold." Ahead of them Donald MacDonald had turned in his saddle and was looking back. For a moment Aldous ceased speaking. "Please--go on!" said Joanne. "They found gold," repeated Aldous. "They found so much of it, Ladygray, that some of them went mad--mad as beasts. It was placer gold--loose gold, and MacDonald says that one day he and Jane filled their pockets with nuggets. Then something happened. A great storm came; a storm that filled the mountains with snow through which no living creature as heavy as a man or a horse could make its way. It came a month earlier than they had expected, and from the beginning they were doomed. Their supplies were almost gone. "I can't tell you the horrors of the weeks and months that followed, as old Donald has told them to me, Joanne. You must imagine. Only, when you are deep in the mountains, and the snow comes, you are like a rat in a trap. So they were caught--eleven men and three women. They who could make their beds in sheets of yellow gold, but who had no food. The horses were lost in the storm. Two of their frozen carcasses were found and used for food. Two of the men set out on snowshoes, leaving their gold behind, and probably died. "Then the first terrible thing happened. Two men quarrelled over a can of beans, and one was killed. He was the husband of one of the women. The next terrible thing happened to her--and there was a fight. On one side there were young Donald and the husband of the other woman; on the other side--the beasts. The husband was killed, and Donald and Jane sought refuge in the log cabin they had built. That night they fled, taking what little food they possessed, and what blankets they could carry. They knew they were facing death. But they went together, hand in hand. "At last Donald found a great cave in the side of a mountain. I have a picture of that cave in my brain--a deep, warm cave, with a floor of soft white sand, a cave into which the two exhausted fugitives stumbled, still hand in hand, and which was home. But they found it a little too late. Three days later Jane died. And there is another picture in my brain--a picture of young Donald sitting there in the cave, clasping in his arms the cold form of the one creature in the world that he loved; moaning and sobbing over her, calling upon her to come back to life, to open her eyes, to speak to him--until at last his brain cracked and he went mad. That is what happened. He went mad." Joanne's breath was coming brokenly through her lips. Unconsciously she had clasped her fingers about the hand Aldous rested on her pommel. "How long he remained in the cave with his dead, MacDonald has never been able to say," he resumed. "He doesn't know whether he buried his wife or left her lying on the sand floor of the cave. He doesn't know how he got out of the mountains. But he did, and his mind came back. And since then, Joanne--for a matter of forty years--his life has been spent in trying to find that cave. All those years his search was unavailing. He could find no trace of the little hidden valley in which the treasure-seekers found their bonanza of gold. No word of it ever came out of the mountains; no other prospector ever stumbled upon it. Year after year Donald went into the North; year after year he came out as the winter set in, but he never gave up hope. "Then he began spending winter as well as summer in that forgotten world--forgotten because the early gold-rush was over, and the old Telegraph trail was travelled more by wolves than men. And always, Donald has told me, his beloved Jane's spirit was with him in his wanderings over the mountains, her hand leading him, her voice whispering to him in the loneliness of the long nights. Think of it, Joanne! Forty years of that! Forty years of a strange, beautiful madness, forty years of undying love, of faith, of seeking and never finding! And this spring old Donald came almost to the end of his quest. He knows, now; he knows where that little treasure valley is hidden in the mountains, he knows where to find the cave!" "He found her--he found her?" she cried. "After all those years--he found her?" "Almost," said Aldous softly. "But the great finale in the tragedy of Donald MacDonald's life is yet to come, Ladygray. It will come when once more he stands in the soft white sand of that cavern floor, and sometimes I tremble when I think that when that moment comes I will be at his side. To me it will be terrible. To him it will be--what? That hour has not quite arrived. It happened this way: Old Donald was coming down from the North on the early slush snows this spring when he came to a shack in which a man was almost dead of the smallpox. It was DeBar, the half-breed. "Fearlessly MacDonald nursed him. He says it was God who sent him to that shack. For DeBar, in his feverish ravings, revealed the fact that he had stumbled upon that little Valley of Gold for which MacDonald had searched through forty years. Old Donald knew it was the same valley, for the half-breed raved of dead men, of rotting buckskin sacks of yellow nuggets, of crumbling log shacks, and of other things the memories of which stabbed like knives into Donald's heart. How he fought to save that man! And, at last, he succeeded. "They continued south, planning to outfit and go back for the gold. They would have gone back at once, but they had no food and no horses. Foot by foot, in the weeks that followed, DeBar described the way to the hidden valley, until at last MacDonald knew that he could go to it as straight as an eagle to its nest. When they reached Tête Jaune he came to me. And I promised to go with him, Ladygray--back to the Valley of Gold. He calls it that; but I--I think of it as The Valley of Silent Men. It is not the gold, but the cavern with the soft white floor that is calling us." In her saddle Joanne had straightened. Her head was thrown back, her lips were parted, and her eyes shone as the eyes of a Joan of Arc must have shone when she stood that day before the Hosts. "And this man, the half-breed, has sold himself--for a woman?" she said, looking straight ahead at the bent shoulders of old MacDonald. "Yes, for a woman. Do you ask me why I go now? Why I shall fight, if fighting there must be?" She turned to him. Her face was a blaze of glory. "No, no, no!" she cried. "Oh, John Aldous! if I were only a man, that I might go with you and stand with you two in that Holy Sepulchre--the Cavern----If I were a man, I'd go--and, yes, I would fight!" And Donald MacDonald, looking back, saw the two clasping hands across the trail. A moment later he turned his horse from the broad road into a narrow trail that led over the range. CHAPTER XV From the hour in which she had listened to the story of old MacDonald a change seemed to have come over Joanne. It was as if she had risen out of herself, out of whatever fear or grief she might have possessed in her own heart. John Aldous knew that there was some deep significance in her visit to the grave under the Saw Tooth Mountain, and that from the beginning she had been fighting under a tremendous mental and physical strain. He had expected this day would be a terrible day for her; he had seen her efforts to strengthen herself for the approaching crisis that morning. He believed that as they drew nearer to their journey's end her suspense and uneasiness, the fear which she was trying to keep from him, would, in spite of her, become more and more evident. For these reasons the change which he saw in her was not only delightfully unexpected but deeply puzzling. She seemed to be under the influence of some new and absorbing excitement. Her cheeks were flushed. There was a different poise to her head; in her voice, too, there was a note which he had not noticed before. It struck him, all at once, that this was a new Joanne--a Joanne who, at least for a brief spell, had broken the bondage of oppression and fear that had fettered her. In the narrow trail up the mountain he rode behind her, and in this he found a pleasure even greater than when he rode at her side. Only when her face was turned from him did he dare surrender himself at all to the emotions which had transformed his soul. From behind he could look at her, and worship without fear of discovery. Every movement of her slender, graceful body gave him a new and exquisite thrill; every dancing light and every darkening shadow in her shimmering hair added to the joy that no fear or apprehension could overwhelm within him now. Only in those wonderful moments, when her presence was so near, and yet her eyes did not see him, could he submerge himself completely in the thought of what she had become to him and of what she meant to him. During the first hour of their climb over the break that led into the valley beyond they had but little opportunity for conversation. The trail was an abandoned Indian path, narrow, and in places extremely steep. Twice Aldous helped Joanne from her horse that she might travel afoot over places which he considered dangerous. When he assisted her in the saddle again, after a stiff ascent of a hundred yards, she was panting from her exertion, and he felt the sweet thrill of her breath in his face. For a space his happiness obliterated all thoughts of other things. It was MacDonald who brought them back. They had reached the summit of the break, and through his long brass telescope the old mountaineer was scanning the valley out of which they had come. Under them lay Tête Jaune, gleaming in the morning sun, and it dawned suddenly upon Aldous that this was the spot from which MacDonald had spied upon his enemies. He looked at Joanne. She was breathing quickly as she looked upon the wonder of the scene below them. Suddenly she turned, and encountered his eyes. "They might--follow?" she asked. He shook his head. "No danger of that," he assured her. MacDonald had dismounted, and now he lay crouched behind a rock, with his telescope resting over the top of it. He had leaned his long rifle against the boulder; his huge forty-four, a relic of the old Indian days, hung at his hip. Joanne saw these omens of preparedness, and her eyes shifted again to Aldous. His .303 swung from his saddle. At his waist was the heavy automatic. She smiled. In her eyes was understanding, and something like a challenge. She did not question him again, but under her gaze Aldous flushed. A moment later MacDonald closed his telescope and without a word mounted his horse. Where the descent into the second valley began he paused again. To the north through the haze of the morning sun gleamed the snow-capped peaks of the Saw Tooth Range. Apparently not more than an hour's ride distant rose a huge red sandstone giant which seemed to shut in the end of the valley MacDonald stretched forth a long arm in its direction. "What we're seekin' is behind that mountain," he said. "It's ten miles from here." He turned to the girl. "Are you gettin' lame, Mis' Joanne?" Aldous saw her lips tighten. "No. Let us go on, please." She was staring fixedly at the sombre red mass of the mountain. Her eyes did not take in the magnificent sweep of the valley below. They saw nothing of the snow-capped peaks beyond. There was something wild and unnatural in their steady gaze. Aldous dropped behind her as they began the gradual descent from the crest of the break and his own heart began to beat more apprehensively; the old question flashed back upon him, and he felt again the oppression that once before had held him in its grip. His eyes did not leave Joanne. And always she was staring at the mountain behind which lay the thing they were seeking! It was not Joanne herself that set his blood throbbing. Her face had not paled. Its colour was like the hectic flush of a fever. Her eyes alone betrayed her; their strange intensity--the almost painful steadiness with which they hung to the distant mountain, and a dread of what was to come seized upon him. Again he found himself asking himself questions which he could not answer. Why had Joanne not confided more fully in him? What was the deeper significance of this visit to the grave, and of her mission in the mountains? Down the narrow Indian trail they passed into the thick spruce timber. Half an hour later they came out into the grassy creek bottom of the valley. During that time Joanne did not look behind her, and John Aldous did not speak. MacDonald turned north, and the sandstone mountain was straight ahead of them. It was not like the other mountains. There was something sinister and sullen about it. It was ugly and broken. No vegetation grew upon it, and through the haze of sunlight its barren sides and battlemented crags gleamed a dark and humid red after the morning mists, as if freshly stained with blood. Aldous guessed its effect upon Joanne, and he determined to put an end to it. Again he rode up close beside her. "I want you to get better acquainted with old Donald," he said. "We're sort of leaving him out in the cold, Ladygray. Do you mind if I tell him to come back and ride with you for a while?" "I've been wanting to talk with him," she replied. "If you don't mind----" "I don't," he broke in quickly. "You'll love old Donald, Ladygray. And, if you can, I'd like to have you tell him all that you know about--Jane. Let him know that I told you." She nodded. Her lips trembled in a smile. "I will," she said. A moment later Aldous was telling MacDonald that Joanne wanted him. The old mountaineer stared. He drew his pipe from his mouth, beat out its half-burned contents, and thrust it into its accustomed pocket. "She wants to see me?" he asked. "God bless her soul--what for?" "Because she thinks you're lonesome up here alone, Mac. And look here"--Aldous leaned over to MacDonald--"her nerves are ready to snap. I know it. There's a mighty good reason why I can't relieve the strain she is under. But you can. She's thinking every minute of that mountain up there and the grave behind it. You go back, and talk. Tell her about the first time you ever came up through these valleys--you and Jane. Will you, Mac? Will you tell her that?" MacDonald did not reply, but he dropped behind. Aldous took up the lead. A few minutes later he looked back, and laughed softly under his breath. Joanne and the old hunter were riding side by side in the creek bottom, and Joanne was talking. He looked at his watch. He did not look at it again until the first gaunt, red shoulder of the sandstone mountain began to loom over them. An hour had passed since he left Joanne. Ahead of him, perhaps a mile distant, was the cragged spur beyond which--according to the sketch Keller had drawn for him at the engineers' camp--was the rough canyon leading back to the basin on the far side of the mountain. He had almost reached this when MacDonald rode up. "You go back, Johnny," he said, a singular softness in his hollow voice. "We're a'most there." He cast his eyes over the western peaks, where dark clouds were shouldering their way up in the face of the sun, and added: "There's rain in that. I'll trot on ahead with Pinto and have a tent ready when you come. I reckon it can't be more'n a mile up the canyon." "And the grave, Mac?" "Is right close to where I'll pitch the tent," said MacDonald, swinging suddenly behind the pack-horse Pinto, and urging him into a trot. "Don't waste any time, Johnny." Aldous rode back to Joanne. "It looks like rain," he explained. "These Pacific showers come up quickly this side of the Divide, and they drench you in a jiffy. Donald is going on ahead to put up a tent." By the time they reached the mouth of the canyon MacDonald was out of sight. A little creek that was a swollen torrent in spring time trickled out of the gorge. Its channel was choked with a chaotic confusion of sandstone rock and broken slate, and up through this Aldous carefully picked his way, followed closely by Joanne. The sky continued to darken above them, until at last the sun died out, and a thick and almost palpable gloom began to envelop them. Low thunder rolled through the mountains in sullen, rumbling echoes. He looked back at Joanne, and was amazed to see her eyes shining, and a smile on her lips as she nodded at him. "It makes me think of Henrik Hudson and his ten-pin players," she called softly. "And ahead of us--is Rip Van Winkle!" The first big drops were beginning to fall when they came to an open place. The gorge swung to the right; on their left the rocks gave place to a rolling meadow of buffalo grass, and Aldous knew they had reached the basin. A hundred yards up the slope was a fringe of timber, and as he looked he saw smoke rising out of this. The sound of MacDonald's axe came to them. He turned to Joanne, and he saw that she understood. They were at their journey's end. Perhaps her fingers gripped her rein a little more tightly. Perhaps it was imagination that made him think there was a slight tremble in her voice when she said: "This--is the place?" "Yes. It should be just above the timber. I believe I can see the upper break of the little box canyon Keller told me about." She rode without speaking until they entered the timber. They were just in time. As he lifted her down from her horse the clouds opened, and the rain fell in a deluge. Her hair was wet when he got her in the tent. MacDonald had spread out a number of blankets, but he had disappeared. Joanne sank down upon them with a little shiver. She looked up at Aldous. It was almost dark in the tent, and her eyes were glowing strangely. Over them the thunder crashed deafeningly. For a few minutes it was a continual roar, shaking the mountains with mighty reverberations that were like the explosions of giant guns. Aldous stood holding the untied flap against the beat of the rain. Twice he saw Joanne's lips form words. At last he heard her say: "Where is Donald?" He tied the flap, and dropped down on the edge of the blankets before he answered her. "Probably out in the open watching the lightning, and letting the rain drench him," he said. "I've never known old Donald to come in out of a rain, unless it was cold. He was tying up the horses when I ran in here with you." He believed she was shivering, yet he knew she was not cold. In the half gloom of the tent he wanted to reach over and take her hand. For a few minutes longer there was no break in the steady downpour and the crashing of the thunder. Then, as suddenly as the storm had broken, it began to subside. Aldous rose and flung back the tent-flap. "It is almost over," he said. "You had better remain in the tent a little longer, Ladygray. I will go out and see if MacDonald has succeeded in drowning himself." Joanne did not answer, and Aldous stepped outside. He knew where to find the old hunter. He had gone up to the end of the timber, and probably this minute was in the little box canyon searching for the grave. It was a matter of less than a hundred yards to the upper fringe of timber, and when Aldous came out of this he stood on the summit of the grassy divide that separated the tiny lake Keller had described from the canyon. It was less than a rifle shot distant, and on the farther side of it MacDonald was already returning. Aldous hurried down to meet him. He did not speak when they met, but his companion answered the question in his eyes, while the water dripped in streams from his drenched hair and beard. "It's there," he said, pointing back. "Just behind that big black rock. There's a slab over it, an' you've got the name right. It's Mortimer FitzHugh." Above them the clouds were splitting asunder. A shaft of sunlight broke through, and as they stood looking over the little lake the shaft broadened, and the sun swept in golden triumph over the mountains. MacDonald beat his limp hat against his knee, and with his other hand drained the water from his beard. "What you goin' to do?" he asked. Aldous turned toward the timber. Joanne herself answered the question. She was coming up the slope. In a few moments she stood beside them. First she looked down upon the lake. Then her eyes turned to Aldous. There was no need for speech. He held out his hand, and without hesitation she gave him her own. MacDonald understood. He walked down ahead of them toward the black rock. When he came to the rock he paused. Aldous and Joanne passed him. Then they, too, stopped, and Aldous freed the girl's hand. With an unexpectedness that was startling they had come upon the grave. Yet not a sound escaped Joanne's lips. Aldous could not see that she was breathing. Less than ten paces from them was the mound, protected by its cairn of stones; and over the stones rose a weather-stained slab in the form of a cross. One glance at the grave and Aldous riveted his eyes upon Joanne. For a full minute she stood as motionless as though the last breath had left her body. Then, slowly, she advanced. He could not see her face. He followed, quietly, step by step as she moved. For another minute she leaned over the slab, making out the fine-seared letters of the name. Her body was bent forward; her two hands were clenched tightly at her side. Even more slowly than she had advanced she turned toward Aldous and MacDonald. Her face was dead white. She lifted her hands to her breast, and clenched them there. "It is his name," she said, and there was something repressed and terrible in her low voice. "It is his name!" She was looking straight into the eyes of John Aldous, and he saw that she was fighting to say something which she had not spoken. Suddenly she came to him, and her two hands caught his arm. "It is terrible--what I am going to ask of you," she struggled. "You will think I am a ghoul. But I must have proof! I must--I must!" She was staring wildly at him, and all at once there leapt fiercely through him a dawning of the truth. The name was there, seared by hot iron in that slab of wood. The name! But under the cairn of stones---- Behind them MacDonald had heard. He towered beside them now. His great mountain-twisted hands drew Joanne a step back, and strange gentleness was in his voice as he said: "You an' Johnny go back an' build a fire, Mis' Joanne. I'll find the proof!" "Come," said Aldous, and he held out his hand again. MacDonald hurried on ahead of them. When they reached the camp he was gone, so that Joanne did not see the pick and shovel which he carried back. She went into the tent and Aldous began building a fire where MacDonald's had been drowned out. There was little reason for a fire; but he built it, and for fifteen minutes added pitch-heavy fagots of storm-killed jack-pine and spruce to it, until the flames leapt a dozen feet into the air. Half a dozen times he was impelled to return to the grave and assist MacDonald in his gruesome task. But he knew that MacDonald had meant that he should stay with Joanne. If he returned, she might follow. He was surprised at the quickness with which MacDonald performed his work. Not more than half an hour had passed when a low whistle drew his eyes to a clump of dwarf spruce back in the timber. The mountaineer was standing there, holding something in his hand. With a backward glance to see that Joanne had not come from the tent, Aldous hastened to him. What he could see of MacDonald's face was the lifeless colour of gray ash. His eyes stared as if he had suffered a strange and unexpected shock. He went to speak, but no words came through his beard. In his hand he held his faded red neck-handkerchief. He gave it to Aldous. "It wasn't deep," he said. "It was shallow, turribly shallow, Johnny--just under the stone!" His voice was husky and unnatural. There was something heavy in the handkerchief, and a shudder passed through Aldous as he placed it on the palm of his hand and unveiled its contents. He could not repress an exclamation when he saw what MacDonald had brought. In his hand, with a single thickness of the wet handkerchief between the objects and his flesh, lay a watch and a ring. The watch was of gold. It was tarnished, but he could see there were initials, which he could not make out, engraved on the back of the case. The ring, too, was of gold. It was one of the most gruesome ornaments Aldous had ever seen. It was in the form of a coiled and writhing serpent, wide enough to cover half of one's middle finger between the joints. Again the eyes of the two men met, and again Aldous observed that strange, stunned look in the old hunter's face. He turned and walked back toward the tent, MacDonald following him slowly, still staring, his long gaunt arms and hands hanging limply at his side. Joanne heard them, and came out of the tent. A choking cry fell from her lips when she saw MacDonald. For a moment one of her hands clutched at the wet canvas of the tent, and then she swayed forward, knowing what John Aldous had in his hand. He stood voiceless while she looked. In that tense half-minute when she stared at the objects he held it seemed to him that her heart-strings must snap under the strain. Then she drew back from them, her eyes filled with horror, her hands raised as if to shut out the sight of them, and a panting, sobbing cry broke from between her pallid lips. "Oh, my God!" she breathed. "Take them away--take them away!" She staggered back to the tent, and stood there with her hands covering her face. Aldous turned to the old hunter and gave him the things he held. A moment later he stood alone where the three had been, staring now as Joanne had stared, his heart beating wildly. For Joanne, in entering the tent, had uncovered her face; it was not grief that he saw there, but the soul of a woman new-born. And as his own soul responded in a wild rejoicing, MacDonald, going over the summit and down into the hollow, mumbled in his beard: "God ha' mercy on me! I'm doin' it for her an' Johnny, an' because she's like my Jane!" CHAPTER XVI Plunged from one extreme of mental strain to another excitement that was as acute in its opposite effect, John Aldous stood and stared at the tent-flap that had dropped behind Joanne. Only a flash he had caught of her face; but in that flash he had seen the living, quivering joyousness of freedom blazing where a moment before there had been only horror and fear. As if ashamed of her own betrayal, Joanne had darted into the tent. She had answered his question a thousand times more effectively than if she had remained to tell him with her lips that MacDonald's proofs were sufficient--that the grave in the little box canyon had not disappointed her. She had recognized the ring and the watch; from them she had shrank in horror, as if fearing that the golden serpent might suddenly leap into life and strike. In spite of the mightiest efforts she might have made for self-control Aldous had seen in her tense and tortured face a look that was more than either dread or shock--it was abhorrence, hatred. And his last glimpse of her face had revealed those things gone, and in their place the strange joy she had run into the tent to hide. That she should rejoice over the dead, or that the grim relics from the grave should bring that new dawn into her face and eyes, did not strike him as shocking. In Joanne his sun had already begun to rise and set. He had come to understand that for her the grave must hold its dead; that the fact of death, death under the slab that bore Mortimer FitzHugh's name, meant life for her, just as it meant life and all things for him. He had prayed for it, even while he dreaded that it might not be. In him all things were now submerged in the wild thought that Joanne was free, and the grave had been the key to her freedom. A calmness began to possess him that was in singular contrast to the perturbed condition of his mind a few minutes before. From this hour Joanne was his to fight for, to win if he could; and, knowing this, his soul rose in triumph above his first physical exultation, and he fought back the almost irresistible impulse to follow her into the tent and tell her what this day had meant for him. Following this came swiftly a realization of what it had meant for her--the suspense, the terrific strain, the final shock and gruesome horror of it. He was sure, without seeing, that she was huddled down on the blankets in the tent. She had passed through an ordeal under which a strong man might have broken, and the picture he had of her struggle in there alone turned him from the tent filled with a determination to make her believe that the events of the morning, both with him and MacDonald, were easily forgotten. He began to whistle as he threw back the wet canvas from over the camp outfit that had been taken from Pinto's back. In one of the two cow-hide panniers he saw that thoughtful old Donald had packed materials for their dinner, as well as utensils necessary for its preparation. That dinner they would have in the valley, well beyond the red mountain. He began to repack, whistling cheerily. He was still whistling when MacDonald returned. He broke off sharply when he saw the other's face. "What's the matter, Mac?" he asked. "You sick?" "It weren't pleasant, Johnny." Aldous nodded toward the tent. "It was--beastly," he whispered. "But we can't let her feel that way about it, Mac. Cheer up--and let's get out of this place. We'll have dinner somewhere over in the valley." They continued packing until only the tent remained to be placed on Pinto's back. Aldous resumed his loud whistling as he tightened up the saddle-girths, and killed time in half a dozen other ways. A quarter of an hour passed. Still Joanne did not appear. Aldous scratched his head dubiously, and looked at the tent. "I don't want to disturb her, Mac," he said in a low voice. "Let's keep up the bluff of being busy. We can put out the fire." Ten minutes later, sweating and considerably smokegrimed, Aldous again looked toward the tent. "We might cut down a few trees," suggested MacDonald. "Or play leap-frog," added Aldous. "The trees'd sound more natcherel," said MacDonald. "We could tell her----" A stick snapped behind them. Both turned at the same instant. Joanne stood facing them not ten feet away. "Great Scott!" gasped Aldous. "Joanne, I thought you were in the tent!" The beautiful calmness in Joanne's face amazed him. He stared at her as he spoke, forgetting altogether the manner in which he had intended to greet her when she came from the tent. "I went out the back way--lifted the canvas and crawled under just like a boy," she explained. "And I've walked until my feet are wet." "And the fire is out!" "I don't mind wet feet," she hurried to assure him. Old Donald was already at work pulling the tent-pegs. Joanne came close to Aldous, and he saw again that deep and wonderful light in her eyes. This time he knew that she meant he should see it, and words which he had determined not to speak fell softly from his lips. "You are no longer afraid, Ladygray? That which you dreaded----" "Is dead," she said. "And you, John Aldous? Without knowing, seeing me only as you have seen me, do you think that I am terrible?" "No, could not think that." Her hand touched his arm. "Will you go out there with me, in the sunlight, where we can look down upon the little lake?" she asked. "Until to-day I had made up my mind that no one but myself would ever know the truth. But you have been good to me, and I must tell you--about myself--about him." He found no answer. He left no word with MacDonald. Until they stood on the grassy knoll, with the lakelet shimmering in the sunlight below them, Joanne herself did not speak again. Then, with a little gesture, she said: "Perhaps you think what is down there is dreadful to me. It isn't. I shall always remember that little lake, almost as Donald remembers the cavern--not because it watches over something I love, but because it guards a thing that in life would have destroyed me! I know how you must feel, John Aldous--that deep down in your heart you must wonder at a woman who can rejoice in the death of another human creature. Yet death, and death alone, has been the key from bondage of millions of souls that have lived before mine; and there are men--men, too--whose lives have been warped and destroyed because death did not come to save them. One was my father. If death had come for him, if it had taken my mother, that down there would never have happened--for me!" She spoke the terrible words so quietly, so calmly, that it was impossible for him entirely to conceal their effect upon him. There was a bit of pathos in her smile. "My mother drove my father mad," she went on, with a simple directness that was the most wonderful thing he had ever heard come from human lips. "The world did not know that he was mad. It called him eccentric. But he was mad--in just one way. I was nine years old when it happened, and I can remember our home most vividly. It was a beautiful home. And my father! Need I tell you that I worshipped him--that to me he was king of all men? And as deeply as I loved him, so, in another way, he worshipped my mother. She was beautiful. In a curious sort of way I used to wonder, as a child, how it was possible for a woman to be so beautiful. It was a dark beauty--a recurrence of French strain in her English blood. "One day I overheard my father tell her that, if she died, he would kill himself. He was not of the passionate, over-sentimental kind; he was a philosopher, a scientist, calm and self-contained--and I remembered those words later, when I had outgrown childhood, as one of a hundred proofs of how devoutly he had loved her. It was more than love, I believe. It was adoration. I was nine, I say, when things happened. Another man, a divorce, and on the day of the divorce this woman, my mother, married her lover. Somewhere in my father's brain a single thread snapped, and from that day he was mad--mad on but one subject; and so deep and intense was his madness that it became a part of me as the years passed, and to-day I, too, am possessed of that madness. And it is the one greatest thing in the world that I am proud of, John Aldous!" Not once had her voice betrayed excitement or emotion. Not once had it risen above its normal tone; and in her eyes, as they turned from the lake to him, there was the tranquillity of a child. "And that madness," she resumed, "was the madness of a man whose brain and soul were overwrought in one colossal hatred--a hatred of divorce and the laws that made it possible. It was born in him in a day, and it lived until his death. It turned him from the paths of men, and we became wanderers upon the face of the earth. Two years after the ruin of our home my mother and the man she had married died in a ship that was lost at sea. This had no effect upon my father. Possibly you will not understand what grew up between us in the years and years that followed. To the end he was a scientist, a man seeking after the unknown, and my education came to be a composite of teachings gathered in all parts of the world. We were never apart. We were more than father and daughter; we were friends, comrades--he was my world, and I was his. "I recall, as I became older, how his hatred of that thing that had broken our home developed more and more strongly in me. His mind was titanic. A thousand times I pleaded with him to employ it in the great fight I wanted him to make--a fight against the crime divorce. I know, now, why he did not. He was thinking of me. Only one thing he asked of me. It was more than a request. It was a command. And this command, and my promise, was that so long as I lived--no matter what might happen in my life--I would sacrifice myself body and soul sooner than allow that black monster of divorce to fasten its clutches on me. It is futile for me to tell you these things, John Aldous. It is impossible--you cannot understand!" "I can," he replied, scarcely above a whisper. "Joanne, I begin--to understand!" And still without emotion, her voice as calm as the unruffled lake at their feet, she continued: "It grew in me. It is a part of me now. I hate divorce as I hate the worst sin that bars one from Heaven. It is the one thing I hate. And it is because of this hatred that I suffered myself to remain the wife of the man whose name is over that grave down there--Mortimer FitzHugh. It came about strangely--what I am going to tell you now. You will wonder. You will think I was insane. But remember, John Aldous--the world had come to hold but one friend and comrade for me, and he was my father. It was after Mindano. He caught the fever, and he was dying." For the first time her breath choked her. It was only for an instant. She recovered herself, and went on: "Out of the world my father had left he had kept one friend--Richard FitzHugh; and this man, with his son, was with us during those terrible days of fever. I met Mortimer as I had met a thousand other men. His father, I thought, was the soul of honour, and I accepted the son as such. We were much together during those two weeks of my despair, and he seemed to be attentive and kind. Then came the end. My father was dying. And I--I was ready to die. In his last moments his one thought was of me. He knew I was alone, and the fear of it terrified him. I believe he did not realize then what he was asking of me. He pleaded with me to marry the son of his old friend before he died. And I--John Aldous, I could not fight his last wish as he lay dying before my eyes. We were married there at his bedside. He joined our hands. And the words he whispered to me last of all were: 'Remember--Joanne--thy promise and thine honour!'" For a moment Joanne stood facing the little lake, and when she spoke again there was a note of thankfulness, of subdued joy and triumph, in her voice. "Before that day had ended I had displeased Mortimer FitzHugh," she said, and Aldous saw the fingers of her hands close tightly. "I told him that until a month had passed I would not live with him as a wife lives with her husband. And he was displeased. And my father was not yet buried! I was shocked. My soul revolted. "We went to London and I was made welcome in the older FitzHugh's wifeless home, and the papers told of our wedding. And two days later there came from Devonshire a woman--a sweet-faced little woman with sick, haunted eyes; in her arms she brought a baby; and that baby _was Mortimer FitzHugh's!_ "We confronted him--the mother, the baby, and I; and then I knew that he was a fiend. And the father was a fiend. They offered to buy the woman off, to support her and the child. They told me that many English gentlemen had made mistakes like this, and that it was nothing--that it was quite common. Mortimer FitzHugh had never touched me with his lips, and now, when he came to touch me with his hands, I struck him. It was a serpent's house, and I left it. "My father had left me a comfortable fortune, and I went into a house of my own. Day after day they came to me, and I knew that they feared I was going to secure a divorce. During the six months that followed I learned other things about the man who was legally my husband. He was everything that was vile. Brazenly he went into public places with women of dishonour, and I hid my face in shame. "His father died, and for a time Mortimer FitzHugh became one of the talked-about spendthrifts of London. Swiftly he gambled and dissipated himself into comparative poverty. And now, learning that I would not get a divorce, he began to regard me as a slave in chains. I remember, one time, that he succeeded in laying his hands on me, and they were like the touch of things that were slimy and poisonous. He laughed at my revulsion. He demanded money of me, and to keep him away from me I gave it to him. Again and again he came for money; I suffered as I cannot tell you, but never once in my misery did I weaken in my promise to my father and to myself. But--at last--I ran away. "I went to Egypt, and then to India. A year later I learned that Mortimer FitzHugh had gone to America, and I returned to London. For two years I heard nothing of him; but day and night I lived in fear and dread. And then came the news that he had died, as you read in the newspaper clipping. I was free! For a year I believed that; and then, like a shock that had come to destroy me, I was told that he _was not dead_ but that he was alive, and in a place called Tête Jaune Cache, in British Columbia. I could not live in the terrible suspense that followed. I determined to find out for myself if he was alive or dead. And so I came, John Aldous. And he is dead. He is down there--dead. And I am glad that he is dead!" "And if he was not dead," said Aldous quietly, "I would kill him!" He could find nothing more to say than that. He dared trust himself no further, and in silence he held out his hands, and for a moment Joanne gave him her own. Then she withdrew them, and with a little gesture, and the smile which he loved to see trembling about her mouth, she said: "Donald will think this is scandalous. We must go back and apologize!" She led him down the slope, and her face was filled with the pink flush of a wild rose when she ran up to Donald, and asked him to help her into her saddle. John Aldous rode like one in a dream as they went back into the valley, for with each minute that passed Joanne seemed more and more to him like a beautiful bird that had escaped from its prison-cage, and in him mind and soul were absorbed in the wonder of it and in his own rejoicing. She was free, and in her freedom she was happy! Free! It was that thought that pounded steadily in his brain. He forgot Quade, and Culver Rann, and the gold; he forgot his own danger, his own work, almost his own existence. Of a sudden the world had become infinitesimally small for him, and all he could see was the soft shimmer of Joanne's hair in the sun, the wonder of her face, the marvellous blue of her eyes--and all he could hear was the sweet thrill of her voice when she spoke to him or old Donald, and when, now and then, soft laughter trembled on her lips in the sheer joy of the life that had dawned anew for her this day. They stopped for dinner, and then went on over the range and down into the valley where lay Tête Jaune. And all this time he fought to keep from flaming in his own face the desire that was like a hot fire within him--the desire to go to Joanne and tell her that he loved her as he had never dreamed it possible for love to exist in the whole wide world. He knew that to surrender to that desire in this hour would be something like sacrilege. He did not guess that Joanne saw his struggle, that even old MacDonald mumbled low words in his beard. When they came at last to Blackton's bungalow he thought that he had kept this thing from her, and he did not see--and would not have understood if he had seen--the wonderful and mysterious glow in Joanne's eyes when she kissed Peggy Blackton. Blackton had come in from the work-end, dust-covered and jubilant. "I'm glad you folks have returned," he cried, beaming with enthusiasm as he gripped Aldous by the hand. "The last rock is packed, and to-night we're going to shake the earth. We're going to blow up Coyote Number Twenty-seven, and you won't forget the sight as long as you live!" Not until Joanne had disappeared into the house with Peggy Blackton did Aldous feel that he had descended firmly upon his feet once more into a matter-of-fact world. MacDonald was waiting with the horses, and Blackton was pointing over toward the steel workers, and was saying something about ten thousand pounds of black powder and dynamite and a mountain that had stood a million years and was going to be blown up that night. "It's the best bit of work I've ever done, Aldous--that and Coyote Number Twenty-eight. Peggy was going to touch the electric button to Twenty-seven to-night, but we've decided to let Miss Gray do that, and Peggy'll fire Twenty-eight to-morrow night. Twenty-eight is almost ready. If you say so, the bunch of us will go over and see it in the morning. Mebby Miss Gray would like to see for herself that a coyote isn't only an animal with a bushy tail, but a cavern dug into rock an' filled with enough explosives to play high jinks with all the navies in the world if they happened to be on hand at the time. What do you say?" "Fine!" said Aldous. "And Peggy wants me to say that it's a matter of only common, every-day decency on your part to make yourself our guest while here," added the contractor, stuffing his pipe. "We've got plenty of room, enough to eat, and a comfortable bed for you. You're going to be polite enough to accept, aren't you?" "With all my heart," exclaimed Aldous, his blood tingling at the thought of being near Joanne. "I've got some business with MacDonald and as soon as that's over I'll domicile myself here. It's bully of you, Blackton! You know----" "Why, dammit, of course I know!" chuckled Blackton, lighting his pipe. "Can't I see, Aldous? D'ye think I'm blind? I was just as gone over Peggy before I married her. Fact is, I haven't got over it yet--and never will. I come up from the work four times a day regular to see her, and if I don't come I have to send up word I'm safe. Peggy saw it first. She said it was a shame to put you off in that cabin with Miss Gray away up here. I don't want to stick my nose in your business, old man, but--by George!--I congratulate you! I've only seen one lovelier woman in my life, and that's Peggy." He thrust out a hand and pumped his friend's limp arm, and Aldous felt himself growing suddenly warm under the other's chuckling gaze. "For goodness sake don't say anything, or act anything, old man," he pleaded. "I'm--just--hoping." Blackton nodded with prodigious understanding in his eyes. "Come along when you get through with MacDonald," he said. "I'm going in and clean up for to-night's fireworks." A question was in Aldous' mind, but he did not put it in words. He wanted to know about Quade and Culver Rann. "Blackton is such a ridiculously forgetful fellow at times that I don't want to rouse his alarm," he said to MacDonald as they were riding toward the corral a few minutes later. "He might let something out to Joanne and his wife, and I've got reasons--mighty good reasons, Mac--for keeping this affair as quiet as possible. We'll have to discover what Rann and Quade are doing ourselves." MacDonald edged his horse in nearer to Aldous. "See here, Johnny, boy--tell me what's in your mind?" Aldous looked into the grizzled face, and there was something in the glow of the old mountaineer's eyes that made him think of a father. "You know, Mac." Old Donald nodded. "Yes, I guess I do, Johnny," he said in a low voice. "You think of Mis' Joanne as I used to--to--think of _her_. I guess I know. But--what you goin' to do?" Aldous shook his head, and for the first time that afternoon a look of uneasiness and gloom overspread his face. "I don't know, Mac. I'm not ashamed to tell you. I love her. If she were to pass out of my life to-morrow I would ask for something that belonged to her, and the spirit of her would live in it for me until I died. That's how I care, Mac. But I've known her such a short time. I can't tell her yet. It wouldn't be the square thing. And yet she won't remain in Tête Jaune very long. Her mission is accomplished. And if--if she goes I can't very well follow her, can I, Mac?" For a space old Donald was silent. Then he said, "You're thinkin' of me, Johnny, an' what we was planning on?" "Partly." "Then don't any more. I'll stick to you, an' we'll stick to her. Only----" "What?" "If you could get Peggy Blackton to help you----" "You mean----" began Aldous eagerly. "That if Peggy Blackton got her to stay for a week--mebby ten days--visitin' her, you know, it wouldn't be so bad if you told her then, would it, Johnny?" "By George, it wouldn't!" "And I think----" "Yes----" "Bein' an old man, an' seein' mebby what you don't see----" "Yes----" "That she'd take you, Johnny." In his breast John's heart seemed suddenly to give a jump that choked him. And while he stared ahead old Donald went on. "I've seen it afore, in a pair of eyes just like her eyes, Johnny--so soft an' deeplike, like the sky up there when the sun's in it. I seen it when we was ridin' behind an' she looked ahead at you, Johnny. I did. An' I've seen it afore. An' I think----" Aldous waited, his heart-strings ready to snap. "An' I think--she likes you a great deal, Johnny." Aldous reached over and gripped MacDonald's hand. "The good Lord bless you, Donald! We'll stick! As for Quade and Culver Rann----" "I've been thinkin' of them," interrupted MacDonald. "You haven't got time to waste on them, Johnny. Leave 'em to me. If it's only a week you've got to be close an' near by Mis' Joanne. I'll find out what Quade an' Rann are doing, and what they're goin' to do. I've got a scheme. Will you leave 'em to me?" Aldous nodded, and in the same breath informed MacDonald of Peggy Blackton's invitation. The old hunter chuckled exultantly. He stopped his horse, and Aldous halted. "It's workin' out fine, Johnny!" he exclaimed. "There ain't no need of you goin' any further. We understand each other, and there ain't nothin' for you to do at the corral. Jump off your horse and go back. If I want you I'll come to the Blacktons' 'r send word, and if you want me I'll be at the corral or the camp in the coulee. Jump off, Johnny!" Without further urging Aldous dismounted. They shook hands again, and MacDonald drove on ahead of him the saddled horses and the pack. And as Aldous turned back toward the bungalow old Donald was mumbling low in his beard again, "God ha' mercy on me, but I'm doin' it for her an' Johnny--for her an' Johnny!" CHAPTER XVII Half an hour later Blackton had shown Aldous to his room and bath. It was four o'clock when he rejoined the contractor in the lower room, freshly bathed and shaven and in a change of clothes. He had not seen Joanne, but half a dozen times he had heard her and Peggy Blackton laughing and talking in Mrs. Blackton's big room at the head of the stairs, and he heard them now as they sat down to smoke their cigars. Blackton was filled with enthusiasm over the accomplishment of his latest work, and Aldous tried hard not to betray the fact that the minutes were passing with gruelling slowness while he waited for Joanne. He wanted to see her. His heart was beating like an excited boy's. He could hear her footsteps over his head, and he distinguished her soft laughter, and her sweet voice when she spoke. There was something tantalizing in her nearness and the fact that she did not once show herself at the top of the stair. Blackton was still talking about "coyotes" and dynamite when, an hour later, Aldous looked up, and his heart gave a big, glad jump. Peggy Blackton, a plump little golden-haired vision of happiness, was already half a dozen steps down the stairs. At the top Joanne, for an instant, had paused. Through that space, before the contractor had turned, her eyes met those of John Aldous. She was smiling. Her eyes were shining at him. Never had he seen her look at him in that way, he thought, and never had she seemed such a perfect vision of loveliness. She was dressed in a soft, clinging something with a flutter of white lace at her throat, and as she came down he saw that she had arranged her hair in a marvellous way. Soft little curls half hid themselves in the shimmer of rich coils she had wreathed upon her head, and adorable little tendrils caressed the lovely flush in her cheeks, and clung to the snow-whiteness of her neck. For a moment, as Peggy Blackton went to her husband, he stood very close to Joanne, and into his eyes she was smiling, half laughing, her beautiful mouth aquiver, her eyes glowing, the last trace of their old suspense and fear vanished in a new and wondrous beauty. He would not have said she was twenty-eight now. He would have sworn she was twenty. "Joanne," he whispered, "you are wonderful. Your hair is glorious!" "Always--my hair," she replied, so low that he alone heard. "Can you never see beyond my hair, John Aldous?" "I stop there," he said. "And I marvel. It is glorious!" "Again!" And up from her white throat there rose a richer, sweeter colour. "If you say that again now, John Aldous, I shall never make curls for you again as long as I live!" "For me----" His heart seemed near bursting with joy. But she had left him, and was laughing with Peggy Blackton, who was showing her husband where he had missed a stubbly patch of beard on his cheek. He caught her eyes, turned swiftly to him, and they were laughing at him, and there came a sudden pretty upturn to her chin as he continued to stare, and he saw again the colour deepening in her face. When Peggy Blackton led her husband to the stair, and drove him up to shave off the stubbly patch, Joanne found the opportunity to whisper to him: "You are rude, John Aldous! You must not stare at me like that!" And as she spoke the rebellious colour was still in her face, in spite of the tantalizing curve of her red lips and the sparkle in her eyes. "I can't help it," he pleaded. "You are--glorious!" During the next hour, and while they were at supper, he could see that she was purposely avoiding his eyes, and that she spoke oftener to Paul Blackton than she did to him, apparently taking the keenest interest in his friend's enthusiastic descriptions of the mighty work along the line of steel. And as pretty Peggy Blackton never seemed quite so happy as when listening to her husband, he was forced to content himself by looking at Joanne most of the time, without once receiving her smile. The sun was just falling behind the western mountains when Peggy and Joanne, hurried most incontinently by Blackton, who had looked at his watch, left the table to prepare themselves for the big event of the evening. "I want to get you there before dusk," he explained. "So please hurry!" They were back in five minutes. Joanne had slipped on a long gray coat, and with a veil that trailed a yard down her back she had covered her head. Not a curl or a tress of her hair had she left out of its filmy prison, and there was a mischievous gleam of triumph in her eyes when she looked at Aldous. A moment later, when they went ahead of Blackton and his wife to where the buckboard was waiting for them, he said: "You put on that veil to punish me, Ladygray?" "It is a pretty veil," said she. "But your hair is prettier," said he. "And you embarrassed me very much by staring as you did, John Aldous!" "Forgive me. It is--I mean you are--so beautiful." "And you are sometimes--most displeasing," said she. "Your ingenuousness, John Aldous, is shocking!" "Forgive me," he said again. "And you have known me but two days," she added. "Two days--is a long time," he argued. "One can be born, and live, and die in two days. Besides, our trails have crossed for years." "But--it displeases me." "What I have said?" "Yes." "And the way I have looked at you?" "Yes." Her voice was low and quiet now, her eyes were serious, and she was not smiling. "I know--I know," he groaned, and there was a deep thrill in his voice. "It's been only two days after all, Ladygray. It seems like--like a lifetime. I don't want you to think badly of me. God knows I don't!" "No, no. I don't," she said quickly and gently. "You are the finest gentleman I ever knew, John Aldous. Only--it embarrasses me." "I will cut out my tongue and put out my eyes----" "Nothing so terrible," she laughed softly. "Will you help me into the wagon? They are coming." She gave him her hand, warm and soft; and Blackton forced him into the seat between her and Peggy, and Joanne's hand rested in his arm all the way to the mountain that was to be blown up, and he told himself that he was a fool if he were not supremely happy. The wagon stopped, and he helped her out again, her warm little hand again close in his own, and when she looked at him he was the cool, smiling John Aldous of old, so cool, and strong, and unemotional that he saw surprise in her eyes first, and then that gentle, gathering glow that came when she was proud of him, and pleased with him. And as Blackton pointed out the mountain she unknotted the veil under her chin and let it drop back over her shoulders, so that the last light of the day fell richly in the trembling curls and thick coils of her hair. "And that is my reward," said John Aldous, but he whispered it to himself. They had stopped close to a huge flat rock, and on this rock men were at work fitting wires to a little boxlike thing that had a white button-lever. Paul Blackton pointed to this, and his face was flushed with excitement. "That's the little thing that's going to blow it up, Miss Gray--the touch of your finger on that little white button. Do you see that black base of the mountain yonder?--right there where you can see men moving about? It's half a mile from here, and the 'coyote' is there, dug into the wall of it." The tremble of enthusiasm was in his voice as he went on, pointing with his long arm: "Think of it! We're spending a hundred thousand dollars going through that rock that people who travel on the Grand Trunk Pacific in the future will be saved seven minutes in their journey from coast to coast! We're spending a hundred thousand there, and millions along the line, that we may have the smoothest roadbed in the world when we're done, and the quickest route from sea to sea. It looks like waste, but it isn't. It's science! It's the fight of competition! It's the determination behind the forces--the determination to make this road the greatest road in the world! Listen!" The gloom was thickening swiftly. The black mountain was fading slowly away, and up out of that gloom came now ghostly and far-reaching voices of men booming faintly through giant megaphones. "_Clear away! Clear away! Clear away!_" they said, and the valley and the mountain-sides caught up the echoes, until it seemed that a hundred voices were crying out the warning. Then fell a strange and weird silence, and the echoes faded away like the voices of dying men, and all was still save the far-away barking of a coyote that answered the mysterious challenges of the night. Joanne was close to the rock. Quietly the men who had been working on the battery drew back. "It is ready!" said one. "Wait!" said Blackton, as his wife went to speak, "Listen!" For five minutes there was silence. Then out of the night a single megaphone cried the word: "_Fire!_" "All is clear," said the engineer, with a deep breath. "All you have to do, Miss Gray, is to move that little lever from the side on which it now rests to the opposite side. Are you ready?" In the darkness Joanne's left hand had sought John's. It clung to his tightly. He could feel a little shiver run through her. "Yes," she whispered. "Then--if you please--press the button!" Slowly Joanne's right hand crept out, while the fingers of her left clung tighter to Aldous. She touched the button--thrust it over. A little cry that fell from between her tense lips told them she had done the work, and a silence like that of death fell on those who waited. A half a minute--perhaps three quarters--and a shiver ran under their feet, but there was no sound; and then a black pall, darker than the night, seemed to rise up out of the mountain, and with that, a second later, came the explosion. There was a rumbling and a jarring, as if the earth were convulsed under foot; volumes of dense black smoke shot upward, and in another instant these rolling, twisting volumes of black became lurid, and an explosion like that of a thousand great guns rent the air. As fast as the eye could follow sheets of flame shot up out of the sea of smoke, climbing higher and higher, in lightning flashes, until the lurid tongues licked the air a quarter of a mile above the startled wilderness. Explosion followed explosion, some of them coming in hollow, reverberating booms, others sounding as if in midair. Unseen by the watchers, the heavens were filled with hurtling rocks; solid masses of granite ten feet square were thrown a hundred feet away; rocks weighing a ton were hurled still farther, as if they were no more than stones flung by the hands of a giant; chunks that would have crashed from the roof to the basement of a skyscraper dropped a third of a mile away. For three minutes the frightful convulsions continued, and the tongues of flame leaped into the night. Then the lurid lights died out, shorter and shorter grew the sullen flashes, and then again fell--silence! During those appalling moments, unconscious of the act, Joanne had shrank close to Aldous, so that he felt the soft crush of her hair and the swift movement of her bosom. Blackton's voice brought them back to life. He laughed, and it was the laugh of a man who had looked upon work well done. "It has done the trick," he said. "To-morrow we will come and see. And I have changed my plans about Coyote Number Twenty-eight. Hutchins, the superintendent, is passing through in the afternoon, and I want him to see it." He spoke now to a man who had come up out of the darkness. "Gregg, have Twenty-eight ready at four o'clock to-morrow afternoon--four o'clock--sharp!" Then he said: "Dust and a bad smell will soon be settling about us. Come, let's go home!" And as they went back to the buckboard wagon through the gloom John Aldous still held Joanne's hand in his own, and she made no effort to take it from him. CHAPTER XVIII The next morning, when Aldous joined the engineer in the dining-room below, he was disappointed to find the breakfast table prepared for two instead of four. It was evident that Peggy Blackton and Joanne were not going to interrupt their beauty nap on their account. Blackton saw his friend's inquiring look, and chuckled. "Guess we'll have to get along without 'em this morning, old man. Lord bless me, did you hear them last night--after you went to bed?" "No." "You were too far away," chuckled Blackton again, "I was in the room across the hall from them. You see, old man, Peggy sometimes gets fairly starved for the right sort of company up here, and last night they didn't go to bed until after twelve o'clock. I looked at my watch. Mebby they were in bed, but I could hear 'em buzzing like two bees, and every little while they'd giggle, and then go on buzzing again. By George, there wasn't a break in it! When one let up the other'd begin, and sometimes I guess they were both going at once. Consequently, they're sleeping now." When breakfast was finished Blackton looked at his watch. "Seven o'clock," he said. "We'll leave word for the girls to be ready at nine. What are you going to do meantime, Aldous?" "Hunt up MacDonald, probably." "And I'll run down and take a look at the work." As they left the house the engineer nodded down the road. MacDonald was coming. "He has saved you the trouble," he said. "Remember, Aldous--nine o'clock sharp!" A moment later Aldous was advancing to meet the old mountaineer. "They've gone, Johnny," was Donald's first greeting. "Gone?" "Yes. The whole bunch--Quade, Culver Rann, DeBar, and the woman who rode the bear. They've gone, hide and hair, and nobody seems to know where." Aldous was staring. "Also," resumed old Donald slowly, "Culver Rann's outfit is gone--twenty horses, including six saddles. An' likewise others have gone, but I can't find out who." "Gone!" repeated Aldous again. MacDonald nodded. "And that means----" "That Culver Rann ain't lost any time in gettin' under way for the gold," said Donald. "DeBar is with him, an' probably the woman. Likewise three cut-throats to fill the other saddles. They've gone prepared to fight." "And Quade?" Old Donald hunched his shoulders, and suddenly John's face grew dark and hard. "I understand," he spoke, half under his breath. "Quade has disappeared--but he isn't with Culver Rann. He wants us to believe he has gone. He wants to throw us off our guard. But he's watching, and waiting--somewhere--like a hawk, to swoop down on Joanne! He----" "That's it!" broke in MacDonald hoarsely. "That's it, Johnny! It's his old trick--his old trick with women. There's a hunderd men who've got to do his bidding--do it 'r get out of the mountains--an' we've got to watch Joanne. We have, Johnny! If she should disappear----" Aldous waited. "You'd never find her again, so 'elp me God, you wouldn't, Johnny!" he finished. "We'll watch her," said Aldous quietly. "I'll be with her to-day, Mac, and to-night I'll come down to the camp in the coulee to compare notes with you. They can't very well steal her out of Blackton's house while I'm gone." For an hour after MacDonald left him he walked about in the neighbourhood of the Blackton bungalow smoking his pipe. Not until he saw the contractor drive up in the buckboard did he return. Joanne and Peggy were more than prompt. They were waiting. If such a thing were possible Joanne was more radiantly lovely than the night before. To Aldous she became more beautiful every time he looked at her. But this morning he did not speak what was in his heart when, for a moment, he held her hand, and looked into her eyes. Instead, he said: "Good morning, Ladygray. Have you used----" "I have," she smiled. "Only it's Potterdam's Tar Soap, and not the other. And you--have not shaved, John Aldous!" "Great Scott, so I haven't!" he exclaimed, rubbing his chin. "But I did yesterday afternoon, Ladygray!" "And you will again this afternoon, if you please," she commanded. "I don't like bristles." "But in the wilderness----" "One can shave as well as another can make curls," she reminded him, and there came an adorable little dimple at the corner of her mouth as she looked toward Paul Blackton. Aldous was glad that Paul and Peggy Blackton did most of the talking that morning. They spent half an hour where the explosion of the night before had blown out the side of the mountain, and then drove on to Coyote Number Twenty-eight. It was in the face of a sandstone cliff, and all they could see of it when they got out of the wagon was a dark hole in the wall of rock. Not a soul was about, and Blackton rubbed his hands with satisfaction. "Everything is completed," he said. "Gregg put in the last packing this morning, and all we are waiting for now is four o'clock this afternoon." The hole in the mountain was perhaps four feet square. Ten feet in front of it the engineer paused, and pointed to the ground. Up out of the earth came two wires, which led away from the mouth of the cavern. "Those wires go down to the explosives," he explained. "They're battery wires half a mile long. But we don't attach the battery until the final moment, as you saw last night. There might be an accident." He bent his tall body and entered the mouth of the cavern, leading his wife by the hand. Observing that Joanne had seen this attention on the contractor's part, Aldous held out his own hand, and Joanne accepted it. For perhaps twenty feet they followed the Blacktons with lowered heads. They seemed to have entered a black, cold pit, sloping slightly downward, and only faintly could they see Blackton when he straightened. His voice came strange and sepulchral: "You can stand up now. We're in the chamber. Don't move or you might stumble over something. There ought to be a lantern here." He struck a match, and as he moved slowly toward a wall of blackness, searching for the lantern, he called back encouragingly through the gloom: "You folks are now standing right over ten tons of dynamite, and there's another five tons of black powder----" A little shriek from Peggy Blackton stopped him, and his match went out. "What in heaven's name is the matter?" he asked anxiously. "Peggy----" "Why in heaven's name do you light a match then, with us standing over all those tons of dynamite?" demanded Peggy. "Paul Blackton, you're----" The engineer's laughter was like a giant's roar in the cavern, and Joanne gave a gasp, while Peggy shiveringly caught Aldous by the arm. "There--I've got the lantern!" exclaimed Blackton. "There isn't any danger, not a bit. Wait a minute and I'll tell you all about it." He lighted the lantern, and in the glow of it Joanne's and Peggy's faces were white and startled. "Why, bless my soul, I didn't mean to frighten you!" he cried. "I was just telling you facts. See, we're standing on a solid floor--four feet of packed rock and cement. The dynamite and black powder are under that. We're in a chamber--a cave--an artificial cavern. It's forty feet deep, twenty wide, and about seven high." He held the lantern even with his shoulders and walked deeper into the cavern as he spoke. The others followed. They passed a keg on which was a half-burned candle. Close to the keg was an empty box. Beyond these things the cavern was empty. "I thought it was full of powder and dynamite," apologized Peggy. "You see, it's like this," Blackton began. "We put the powder and dynamite down there, and pack it over solid with rock and cement. If we didn't leave this big air-chamber above it there would be only one explosion, and probably two thirds of the explosive would not fire, and would be lost. This chamber corrects that. You heard a dozen explosions last night, and you'll hear a dozen this afternoon, and the biggest explosion of all is usually the fourth or fifth. A 'coyote' isn't like an ordinary blast or shot. It's a mighty expensive thing, and you see it means a lot of work. Now, if some one were to touch off those explosives at this minute---- What's the matter, Peggy? Are you cold? You're shivering!" "Ye-e-e-e-s!" chattered Peggy. Aldous felt Joanne tugging at his hand. "Let's take Mrs. Blackton out," she whispered. "I'm--I'm--afraid she'll take cold!" In spite of himself Aldous could not restrain his laughter until they had got through the tunnel. Out in the sunlight he looked at Joanne, still holding her hand. She withdrew it, looking at him accusingly. "Lord bless me!" exclaimed Blackton, who seemed to understand at last. "There's no danger--not a bit!" "But I'd rather look at it from outside, Paul, dear," said Mrs. Blackton. "But--Peggy--if it went off now you'd be in just as bad shape out here!" "I don't think we'd be quite so messy, really I don't, dear," she persisted. "Lord bless me!" he gasped. "And they'd probably be able to find something of us," she added. "Not a button, Peggy!" "Then I'm going to move, if you please!" And suiting her action to the word Peggy led the way to the buckboard. There she paused and took one of her husband's big hands fondly in both her own. "It's perfectly wonderful, Paul--and I'm proud of you!" she said. "But, honestly, dear, I can enjoy it so much better at four o'clock this afternoon." Smiling, Blackton lifted her into the buckboard. "That's why I wish Paul had been a preacher or something like that," she confided to Joanne as they drove homeward. "I'm growing old just thinking of him working over that horrid dynamite and powder all the time. Every little while some one is blown into nothing." "I believe," said Joanne, "that I'd like to do something like that if I were a man. I'd want to be a man, not that preachers aren't men, Peggy, dear--but I'd want to do things, like blowing up mountains for instance, or finding buried cities, or"--she whispered, very, very softly under her breath--"writing books, John Aldous!" Only Aldous heard those last words, and Joanne gave a sharp little cry; and when Peggy asked her what the matter was Joanne did not tell her that John Aldous had almost broken her hand on the opposite side--for Joanne was riding between the two. "It's lame for life," she said to him half an hour later, when he was bidding her good-bye, preparatory to accompanying Blackton down to the working steel. "And I deserve it for trying to be kind to you. I think some writers of books are--are perfectly intolerable!" "Won't you take a little walk with me right after dinner?" he was asking for the twentieth time. "I doubt it very, very much." "Please, Ladygray!" "I may possibly think about it." With that she left him, and she did not look back as she and Peggy Blackton went into the house. But as they drove away they saw two faces at the window that overlooked the townward road, and two hands were waving good-bye. Both could not be Peggy Blackton's hands. "Joanne and I are going for a walk this afternoon, Blackton," said Aldous, "and I just want to tell you not to worry if we're not back by four o'clock. Don't wait for us. We may be watching the blow-up from the top of some mountain." Blackton chuckled. "Don't blame you," he said. "From an observer's point of view, John, it looks to me as though you were going to have something more than hope to live on pretty soon!" "I--I hope so." "And when I was going with Peggy I wouldn't have traded a quiet little walk with her--like this you're suggesting--for a front seat look at a blow-up of the whole Rocky Mountain system!" "And you won't forget to tell Mrs. Blackton that we may not return by four o'clock?" "I will not. And"--Blackton puffed hard at his pipe--"and, John--the Tête Jaune preacher is our nearest neighbour," he finished. From then until dinner time John Aldous lived in an atmosphere that was not quite real, but a little like a dream. His hopes and his happiness were at their highest. He knew that Joanne would go walking with him that afternoon, and in spite of his most serious efforts to argue to the contrary he could not keep down the feeling that the event would mean a great deal for him. Almost feverishly he interested himself in Paul Blackton's work. When they returned to the bungalow, a little before noon, he went to his room, shaved himself, and in other ways prepared for dinner. Joanne and the Blacktons were waiting when he came down. His first look at Joanne assured him. She was dressed in a soft gray walking-suit. Never had the preparation of a dinner seemed so slow to him, and a dozen times he found himself inwardly swearing at Tom, the Chinese cook. It was one o'clock before they sat down at the table and it was two o'clock when they arose. It was a quarter after two when Joanne and he left the bungalow. "Shall we wander up on the mountain?" he asked. "It would be fine to look down upon the explosion." "I have noticed that in some things you are very observant," said Joanne, ignoring his question. "In the matter of curls, for instance, you are unapproachable; in others you are--quite blind, John Aldous!" "What do you mean?" he asked, bewildered. "I lost my scarf this morning, and you did not notice it. It is quite an unusual scarf. I bought it in Cairo, and I don't want to have it blown up." "You mean----" "Yes. I must have dropped it in the cavern. I had it when we entered." "Then we'll return for it," he volunteered. "We'll still have plenty of time to climb up the mountain before the explosion." Twenty minutes later they came to the dark mouth of the tunnel. There was no one in sight, and for a moment Aldous searched for matches in his pocket. "Wait here," he said. "I won't be gone two minutes." He entered, and when he came to the chamber he struck a match. The lantern was on the empty box. He lighted it, and began looking for the scarf. Suddenly he heard a sound. He turned, and saw Joanne standing in the glow of the lantern. "Can you find it?" she asked. "I haven't--yet." They bent over the rock floor, and in a moment Joanne gave a little exclamation of pleasure as she caught up the scarf. In that same moment, as they straightened and faced each other, John Aldous felt his heart cease beating, and Joanne's face had gone as white as death. The rock-walled chamber was atremble; they heard a sullen, distant roaring, and as Aldous caught Joanne's hand and sprang toward the tunnel the roar grew into a deafening crash, and a gale of wind rushed into their faces, blowing out the lantern, and leaving them in darkness. The mountain seemed crumbling about them, and above the sound of it rang out a wild, despairing cry from Joanne's lips. For there was no longer the brightness of sunshine at the end of the tunnel, but darkness--utter darkness; and through that tunnel there came a deluge of dust and rock that flung them back into the blackness of the pit, and separated them. "John--John Aldous!" "I am here, Joanne! I will light the lantern!" His groping hands found the lantern. He relighted it, and Joanne crept to his side, her face as white as the face of the dead. He held the lantern above him, and together they stared at where the tunnel had been. A mass of rock met their eyes. The tunnel was choked. And then, slowly, each turned to the other; and each knew that the other understood--for it was Death that whispered about them now in the restless air of the rock-walled tomb, a terrible death, and their lips spoke no words as their eyes met in that fearful and silent understanding. CHAPTER XIX Joanne's white lips spoke first. "The tunnel is closed!" she whispered. Her voice was strange. It was not Joanne's voice. It was unreal, terrible, and her eyes were terrible as they looked steadily into his. Aldous could not answer; something had thickened in his throat, and his blood ran cold as he stared into Joanne's dead-white face and saw the understanding in her eyes. For a space he could not move, and then, as suddenly as it had fallen upon him, the effect of the shock passed away. [Illustration: "The tunnel is closed," she whispered.... "That means we have just forty-five minutes to live.... Let us not lie to one another."] He smiled, and put out a hand to her. "A slide of rock has fallen over the mouth of the tunnel," he said, forcing himself to speak as if it meant little or nothing. "Hold the lantern, Joanne, while I get busy." "A slide of rock," she repeated after him dumbly. She took the lantern, her eyes still looking at him in that stricken way, and with his naked hands John Aldous set to work. Five minutes and he knew that it was madness to continue. Hands alone could not clear the tunnel. And yet he worked, tearing into the rock and shale like an animal; rolling back small boulders, straining at larger ones until the tendons of his arms seemed ready to snap and his veins to burst. For a few minutes after that he went mad. His muscles cracked, he panted as he fought with the rock until his hands were torn and bleeding, and over and over again there ran through his head Blackton's last words--_Four o'clock this afternoon!--Four o'clock this afternoon!_ Then he came to what he knew he would reach very soon, a solid wall! Rock and shale and earth were packed as if by battering rams. For a few moments he fought to control himself before facing Joanne. Over him swept the grim realization that his last fight must be for her. He steadied himself, and wiped the dust and grime from his face with his handkerchief. For the last time he swallowed hard. His soul rose within him almost joyously now in the face of this last great fight, and he turned--John Aldous, the super-man. There was no trace of fear in his face as he went to her. He was even smiling in that ghostly glow of the lantern. "It is hard work, Joanne." She did not seem to hear what he had said. She was looking at his hands. She held the lantern nearer. "Your hands are bleeding, John!" It was the first time she had spoken his name like that, and he was thrilled by the calmness of her voice, the untrembling gentleness of her hand as it touched his hand. From his bruised and bleeding flesh she raised her eyes to him, and they were no longer the dumb, horrified eyes he had gazed into fifteen minutes before. In the wonder of it he stood silent, and the moment was weighted with an appalling silence. It came to them both in that instant--the _tick-tick-tick_ of the watch in his pocket! Without taking her eyes from his face she asked: "What time is it. John?" "Joanne----" "I am not afraid," she whispered. "I was afraid this afternoon, but I am not afraid now. What time is it, John?" "My God--they'll dig us out!" he cried wildly. "Joanne, you don't think they won't dig us out, do you? Why, that's impossible! The slide has covered the wires. They've got to dig us out! There is no danger--none at all. Only it's chilly, and uncomfortable, and I'm afraid you'll take cold!" "What time is it?" she repeated softly. For a moment he looked steadily at her, and his heart leaped when he saw that she must believe him, for though her face was as white as an ivory cross she was smiling at him--yes! she was smiling at him in that gray and ghastly death-gloom of the cavern! He brought out his watch, and in the lantern-glow they looked at it. "A quarter after three," he said. "By four o'clock they will be at work--Blackton and twenty men. They will have us out in time for supper." "A quarter after three," repeated Joanne, and the words came steadily from her lips. "That means----" He waited. "_We have forty-five minutes in which to live!_" she said. Before he could speak she had thrust the lantern into his hand, and had seized his other hand in both her own. "If there are only forty-five minutes let us not lie to one another," she said, and her voice was very close. "I know why you are doing it, John Aldous. It is for me. You have done a great deal for me in these two days in which one 'can be born, and live, and die.' But in these last minutes I do not want you to act what I know cannot be the truth. You know--and I know. The wires are laid to the battery rock. There is no hope. At four o'clock--we both know what will happen. And I--am not afraid." She heard him choking for speech. In a moment he said: "There are other lanterns--Joanne. I saw them when I was looking for the scarf. I will light them." He found two lanterns hanging against the rock wall. He lighted them, and the half-burned candle. "It is pleasanter," she said. She stood in the glow of them when he turned to her, tall, and straight, and as beautiful as an angel. Her lips were pale; the last drop of blood had ebbed from her face; but there was something glorious in the poise of her head, and in the wistful gentleness of her mouth and the light in her eyes. And then, slowly, as he stood looking with a face torn in its agony for her, she held out her arms. "John--John Aldous----" "Joanne! Oh, my God!--Joanne!" She swayed as he sprang to her, but she was smiling--smiling in that new and wonderful way as her arms reached out to him, and the words he heard her say came low and sobbing: "John--John, if you want to, now--you can tell me that my hair is beautiful!" And then she was in his arms, her warm, sweet body crushed close to him, her face lifted to him, her soft hands stroking his face, and over and over again she was speaking his name while from out of his soul there rushed forth the mighty flood of his great love; and he held her there, forgetful of time now, forgetful of death itself; and he kissed her tender lips, her hair, her eyes--conscious only that in the hour of death he had found life, that her hands were stroking his face, and caressing his hair, and that over and over again she was whispering sobbingly his name, and that she loved him. The pressure of her hands against his breast at last made him free her. And now, truly, she was glorious. For the triumph of love had overridden the despair of death, and her face was flooded with its colour and in her eyes was its glory. And then, as they stood there, a step between them, there came--almost like the benediction of a cathedral bell--the soft, low tinkling chime of the half-hour bell in Aldous' watch! It struck him like a blow. Every muscle in him became like rigid iron, and his torn hands clenched tightly at his sides. "Joanne--Joanne, it is impossible!" he cried huskily, and he had her close in his arms again, even as her face was whitening in the lantern-glow. "I have lived for you, I have waited for you--all these years you have been coming, coming, coming to me--and now that you are mine--_mine_--it is impossible! It cannot happen----" He freed her again, and caught up a lantern. Foot by foot he examined the packed tunnel. It was solid--not a crevice or a break through which might have travelled the sound of his voice or the explosion of a gun. He did not shout. He knew that it would be hopeless, and that his voice would be terrifying in that sepulchral tomb. Was it possible that there might be some other opening--a possible exit--in that mountain wall? With the lantern in his hand he searched. There was no break. He came back to Joanne. She was standing where he had left her. And suddenly, as he looked at her, all fear went out of him, and he put down the lantern and went to her. "Joanne," he whispered, holding her two hands against his breast, "you are not afraid?" "No, I am not afraid." "And you know----" "Yes, I know," and she leaned forward so that her head lay partly against their clasped hands and partly upon his breast. "And you love me, Joanne?" "As I never dreamed that I should love a man, John Aldous," she whispered. "And yet it has been but two days----" "And I have lived an eternity," he heard her lips speak softly. "You would be my wife?" "Yes." "To-morrow?" "If you wanted me then, John." "I thank God," he breathed in her hair. "And you would come to me without reservation, Joanne, trusting me, believing in me--you would come to me body, and heart, and soul?" "In all those ways--yes." "I thank God," he breathed again. He raised her face. He looked deep into her eyes, and the glory of her love grew in them, and her lips trembled as she lifted them ever so little for him to kiss. "Oh, I was happy--so happy," she whispered, putting her hands to his face. "John, I knew that you loved me, and oh! I was fighting so hard to keep myself from letting you know how happy it made me. And here, I was afraid you wouldn't tell me--before it happened. And John--John----" She leaned back from him, and her white hands moved like swift shadows in her hair, and then, suddenly, it billowed about her--her glorious hair--covering her from crown to hip; and with her hands she swept and piled the lustrous masses of it over him until his face, and head, and shoulders were buried in the flaming sheen and sweet perfume of it. He strained her closer. Through the warm richness of her tresses his lips pressed her lips, and they ceased to breathe. And up to their ears, pounding through that enveloping shroud of her hair came the _tick-tick-tick_ of the watch in his pocket. "Joanne," he whispered. "Yes, John." "You are not afraid of--death?" "No, not when you are holding me like this, John." He still clasped her hands, and a sweet smile crept over her lips. "Even now you are splendid," she said. "Oh, I would have you that way, my John!" Again they stood up in the unsteady glow of the lanterns. "What time is it?" she asked. He drew out his watch, and as they both looked his blood ran cold. "Twelve minutes," she murmured, and there was not a quiver in her voice. "Let us sit down, John--you on this box, and I on the floor, at your feet--like this." He seated himself on the box, and Joanne nestled herself at his knees, her hands clasped in his. "I think, John," she said softly, "that very, very often we would have visited like this--you and I--in the evening." A lump choked him, and he could not answer. "I would very often have come and perched myself at your feet like this." "Yes, yes, my beloved." "And you would always have told me how beautiful my hair was--always. You would not have forgotten that, John--or have grown tired?" "No, no--never!" His arms were about her. He was drawing her closer. "And we would have had beautiful times together, John--writing, and going adventuring, and--and----" He felt her trembling, throbbing, and her arms tightened about him. And now, again up through the smother of her hair, came the _tick-tick-tick_ of his watch. He felt her fumbling at his watch pocket, and in a moment she was holding the timepiece between them, so that the light of the lantern fell on the face of it. "It is three minutes of four, John." The watch slipped from her fingers, and now she drew herself up so that her arms were about his neck, and their faces touched. "Dear John, you love me?" "So much that even now, in the face of death, I am happy," he whispered. "Joanne, sweetheart, we are not going to be separated. We are going--together. Through all eternity it must be like this--you and I, together. Little girl, wind your hair about me--tight!" "There--and there--and there, John! I have tied you to me, and you are buried in it! Kiss me, John----" And then the wild and terrible fear of a great loneliness swept through him. For Joanne's voice had died away in a whispering breath, and the lips he kissed did not kiss him back, and her body lay heavy, heavy, heavy in his arms. Yet in his loneliness he thanked God for bringing her oblivion in these last moments, and with his face crushed to hers he waited. For he knew that it was no longer a matter of minutes, but of seconds, and in those seconds he prayed, until up through the warm smother of her hair--with the clearness of a tolling bell--came the sound of the little gong in his watch striking the Hour of Four! In space other worlds might have crumbled into ruin; on earth the stories of empires might have been written and the lives of men grown old in those first century-long seconds in which John Aldous held his breath and waited after the chiming of the hour-bell in the watch on the cavern floor. How long he waited he did not know; how closely he was crushing Joanne to his breast he did not realize. Seconds, minutes, and other minutes--and his brain ran red in dumb, silent madness. And the watch! It _ticked, ticked, ticked!_ It was like a hammer. He had heard the sound of it first coming up through her hair. But it was not in her hair now. It was over him, about him--it was no longer a ticking, but a throb, a steady, jarring, beating throb. It grew louder, and the air stirred with it. He lifted his head. With the eyes of a madman he stared--and listened. His arms relaxed from about Joanne, and she slipped crumpled and lifeless to the floor. He stared--and that steady _beat-beat-beat_--a hundred times louder than the ticking of a watch--pounded in his brain. Was he mad? He staggered to the choked mouth of the tunnel, and then there fell shout upon shout, and shriek upon shriek from his lips, and twice, like a madman now, he ran back to Joanne and caught her up in his arms, calling and sobbing her name, and then shouting--and calling her name again. She moved; her eyes opened, and like one gazing upon the spirit of the dead she looked into the face of John Aldous, a madman's face in the lantern-glow. "John--John----" She put up her hands, and with a cry he ran with her in his arms to the choked tunnel. "Listen! Listen!" he cried wildly. "Dear God in Heaven, Joanne--can you not hear them? It's Blackton--Blackton and his men! Hear--hear the rock-hammers smashing! Joanne--Joanne--we are saved!" She did not sense him. She swayed, half on her feet, half in his arms, as consciousness and reason returned to her. Dazedly her hands went to his face in their old, sweet way. Aldous saw her struggling to understand--to comprehend; and he kissed her soft upturned lips, fighting back the excitement that made him want to raise his voice again in wild and joyous shouting. "It is Blackton!" he said over and over again. "It is Blackton and his men! Listen!--you can hear their picks and the pounding of their rock-hammers!" CHAPTER XX At last Joanne realized that the explosion was not to come, that Blackton and his men were working to save them. And now, as she listened with him, her breath began to come in sobbing excitement between her lips--for there was no mistaking that sound, that steady _beat-beat-beat_ that came from beyond the cavern wall and seemed to set strange tremors stirring in the air about their ears. For a few moments they stood stunned and silent, as if not yet quite fully comprehending that they had come from out of the pit of death, and that men were fighting for their rescue. They asked themselves no questions--why the "coyote" had not been fired? how those outside knew they were in the cavern. And, as they listened, there came to them a voice. It was faint, so faint that it seemed to whisper to them through miles and miles of space--yet they knew that it was a voice! "Some one is shouting," spoke Aldous tensely. "Joanne, my darling, stand around the face of the wall so flying rock will not strike you and I will answer with my pistol!" When he had placed her in safety from split lead and rock chips, he drew his automatic and fired it close up against the choked tunnel. He fired five times, steadily, counting three between each shot, and then he placed his ear to the mass of stone and earth and listened. Joanne slipped to him like a shadow. Her hand sought his, and they held their breaths. They no longer heard sounds--nothing but the crumbling and falling of dust and pebbles where the bullets had struck, and their own heart-beats. The picks and rock-hammers had ceased. Tighter and tighter grew the clasp of Joanne's fingers, and a terrible thought flashed into John's brain. Perhaps a, rock from the slide had cut a wire, and they had found the wire--had repaired it! Was that thought in Joanne's mind, too? Her finger-nails pricked his flesh. He looked at her. Her eyes were closed, and her lips were tense and gray. And then her eyes shot open--wide and staring. They heard, faintly though it came to them--once, twice, three times, four, five--the firing of a gun! John Aldous straightened, and a great breath fell from his lips. "Five times!" he said. "It is an answer. There is no longer doubt." He was holding out his arms to her, and she came into them with a choking cry; and now she sobbed like a little child with her head against his breast, and for many minutes he held her close, kissing her wet face, and her damp hair, and her quivering lips, while the beat of the picks and the crash of the rock-hammers came steadily nearer. Where those picks and rock-hammers fell a score of men were working like fiends: Blackton, his arms stripped to the shoulders; Gregg, sweating and urging the men; and among them--lifting and tearing at the rock like a madman--old Donald MacDonald, his shirt open, his great hands bleeding, his hair and beard tossing about him in the wind. Behind them, her hands clasped to her breast--crying out to them to hurry, _hurry_--stood Peggy Blackton. The strength of five men was in every pair of arms. Huge boulders were rolled back. Men pawed earth and shale with their naked hands. Rock-hammers fell with blows that would have cracked the heart of a granite obelisk. Half an hour--three quarters--and Blackton came back to where Peggy was standing, his face black and grimed, his arms red-seared where the edges of the rocks had caught them, his eyes shining. "We're almost there, Peggy," he panted. "Another five minutes and----" A shout interrupted him. A cloud of dust rolled out of the mouth of the tunnel, and into that dust rushed half a dozen men led by old Donald. Before the dust had settled they began to reappear, and with a shrill scream Peggy Blackton darted forward and flung her arms about the gold-shrouded figure of Joanne, swaying and laughing and sobbing in the sunshine. And old Donald, clasping his great arms about Aldous, cried brokenly: "Oh, Johnny, Johnny--something told me to foller ye--an' I was just in time--just in time to see you go into the coyote!" "God bless you, Mac!" said Aldous, and then Paul Blackton was wringing his hands; and one after another the others shook his hand, but Peggy Blackton was crying like a baby as she hugged Joanne in her arms. "MacDonald came just in time," explained Blackton a moment later; and he tried to speak steadily, and tried to smile. "Ten minutes more, and----" He was white. "Now that it has turned out like this I thank God that it happened, Paul," said Aldous, for the engineer's ears alone. "We thought we were facing death, and so--I told her. And in there, on our knees, we pledged ourselves man and wife. I want the minister--as quick as you can get him, Blackton. Don't say anything to Joanne, but bring him to the house right away, will you?" "Within half an hour," replied Blackton. "There comes Tony with the buckboard. We'll hustle up to the house and I'll have the preacher there in a jiffy." As they went to the wagon, Aldous looked about for MacDonald. He had disappeared. Requesting Gregg to hunt him up and send him to the bungalow, he climbed into the back seat, with Joanne between him and Peggy. Her little hand lay in his. Her fingers clung to him. But her hair hid her face, and on the other side of her Peggy Blackton was laughing and talking and crying by turns. As they entered the bungalow, Aldous whispered to Joanne: "Will you please go right to your room, dear? I want to say something to you--alone." When she went up the stair, Peggy caught a signal from her husband. Aldous remained with them. In two minutes he told the bewildered and finally delighted Peggy what was going to happen, and as Blackton hustled out for the minister's house he followed Joanne. She had fastened her door behind her. He knocked. Slowly she opened it. "John----" "I have told them, dear," he whispered happily. "They understand. And, Joanne, Paul Blackton will be back in ten minutes--with the minister. Are you glad?" She had opened the door wide, and he was heading out his arms to her again. For a moment she did not move, but stood there trembling a little, and deeper and sweeter grew the colour in her face, and tenderer the look in her eyes. "I must brush my hair," she answered, as though she could think of no other words. "I--I must dress." Laughing joyously, he went to her and gathered the soft masses of her hair in his hands, and piled it up in a glorious disarray about her face and head, holding it there, and still laughing into her eyes. "Joanne, you are mine!" "Unless I have been dreaming--I am, John Aldous!" "Forever and forever." "Yes, forever--and ever." "And because I want the whole world to know, we are going to be married by a minister." She was silent. "And as my wife to be," he went on, his voice trembling with his happiness, "you must obey me!" "I think that I shall, John." "Then you will not brush your hair, and you will not change your dress, and you will not wash the dust from your face and that sweet little beauty-spot from the tip of your nose," he commanded, and now he drew her head close to him, so that he whispered, half in her hair: "Joanne, my darling, I want you _wholly_ as you came to me there, when we thought we were going to die. It was there you promised to become my wife, and I want you as you were then--when the minister comes." "John, I think I hear some one coming up the front steps!" They listened. The door opened. They heard voices--Blackton's voice, Peggy's voice, and another voice--a man's voice. Blackton's voice came up to them very distinctly. "Mighty lucky, Peggy," he said. "Caught Mr. Wollaver just as he was passing the house. Where's----" "Sh-h-hh!" came Peggy Blackton's sibilant whisper. Joanne's hands had crept to John's face. "I think," she said, "that it is the minister, John." Her warm lips were near, and he kissed them. "Come, Joanne. We will go down." Hand in hand they went down the stair; and when the minister saw Joanne, covered in the tangle and glory of her hair; and when he saw John Aldous, with half-naked arms and blackened face; and when, with these things, he saw the wonderful joy shining in their eyes, he stood like one struck dumb at sight of a miracle descending out of the skies. For never had Joanne looked more beautiful than in this hour, and never had man looked more like entering into paradise than John Aldous. Short and to the point was the little mountain minister's service, and when he had done he shook hands with them, and again he stared at them as they went back up the stair, still hand in hand. At her door they stopped. There were no words to speak now, as her heart lay against his heart, and her lips against his lips. And then, after those moments, she drew a little back, and there came suddenly that sweet, quivering, joyous play of her lips as she said: "And now, my husband, may I dress my hair?" "My hair," he corrected, and let her go from his arms. Her door closed behind her. A little dizzily he turned to his room. His hand was on the knob when he heard her speak his name. She had reopened her door, and stood with something in her hand, which she was holding toward him. He went back, and she gave him a photograph. "John, you will destroy this," she whispered. "It is his photograph--Mortimer FitzHugh's. I brought it to show to people, that it might help me in my search. Please--destroy it!" He returned to his room and placed the photograph on his table. It was wrapped in thin paper, and suddenly there came upon him a most compelling desire to see what Mortimer FitzHugh had looked like in life. Joanne would not care. Perhaps it would be best for him to know. He tore off the paper. And as he looked at the picture the hot blood in his veins ran cold. He stared--stared as if some wild and maddening joke was being played upon his faculties. A cry rose to his lips and broke in a gasping breath, and about him the floor, the world itself, seemed slipping away from under his feet. For the picture he held in his hand was the picture of Culver Rann! CHAPTER XXI For a minute, perhaps longer, John Aldous stood staring at the photograph which he held in his hand. It was the picture of Culver Rann--not once did he question that fact, and not once did the thought flash upon him that this might be only an unusual and startling resemblance. It was assuredly Culver Rann! The picture dropped from his hand to the table, and he went toward the door. His first impulse was to go to Joanne. But when he reached the door he locked it, and dropped into a chair, facing the mirror in his dresser. The reflection of his own face was a shock to him. If he was pale, the dust and grime of his fight in the cavern concealed his pallor. But the face that stared at him from out of the glass was haggard, wildly and almost grotesquely haggard, and he turned from it with a grim laugh, and set his jaws hard. He returned to the table, and bit by bit tore the photograph into thin shreds, and then piled the shreds on his ash-tray and burned them. He opened a window to let out the smoke and smell of charring paper, and the fresh, cool air of early evening struck his face. He could look off through the fading sunshine of the valley and see the mountain where Coyote Number Twenty-eight was to have done its work, and as he looked he gripped the window-sill so fiercely that the nails of his fingers were bent and broken against the wood. And in his brain the same words kept repeating themselves over and over again. Mortimer FitzHugh was not dead. He was alive. He was Culver Rann. And Joanne--Joanne was not _his_ wife; she was still the wife of Mortimer FitzHugh--of Culver Rann! He turned again to the mirror, and there was another look in his face. It was grim, terribly grim--and smiling. There was no excitement, nothing of the passion and half-madness with which he had faced Quade and Rann the night before. He laughed softly, and his nails dug as harshly into the palms of his hands as they had dug into the sills of the window. "You poor, drivelling, cowardly fool!" he said to his reflection. "And you dare to say--you dare to _think_ that she is not your wife?" As if in reply to his words there came a knock at the door, and from the hall Blackton called: "Here's MacDonald, Aldous. He wants to see you." Aldous opened the door and the old hunter entered. "If I ain't interruptin' you, Johnny----" "You're the one man in the world I want to see, Mac. No, I'll take that back; there's one other I want to see worse than you--Culver Rann." The strange look in his face made old Donald stare. "Sit down," he said, drawing two chairs close to the table. "There's something to talk about. It was a terribly close shave, wasn't it?" "An awful close shave, Johnny. As close a shave as ever was." Still, as if not quite understanding what he saw, old Donald was staring into John's face. "I'm glad it happened," said Aldous, and his voice became softer. "She loves me, Mac. It all came out when we were in there, and thought we were going to die. Not ten minutes ago the minister was here, and he made us man and wife." Words of gladness that sprang to the old man's lips were stopped by that strange, cold, tense look in the face of John Aldous. "And in the last five minutes," continued Aldous, as quietly as before, "I have learned that Mortimer FitzHugh, her husband, is not dead. Is it very remarkable that you do not find me happy, Mac? If you had come a few minutes ago----" "Oh, my God! Johnny! Johnny!" MacDonald had pitched forward over the table, and now he bowed his great shaggy head in his hands, and his gaunt shoulders shook as his voice came brokenly through his beard. "I did it, Johnny; I did it for you an' her! When I knew what it would mean for her--I _couldn't_, Johnny, I couldn't tell her the truth, 'cause I knew she loved you, an' you loved her, an' it would break her heart. I thought it would be best, an' you'd go away together, an' nobody would ever know, an' you'd be happy. I didn't lie. I didn't say anything. But Johnny--Johnny, _there weren't no bones in the grave!_" "My God!" breathed Aldous. "There were just some clothes," went on MacDonald huskily, "an' the watch an' the ring were on top. Johnny, there weren't nobody ever buried there, an' I'm to blame--I'm to blame." "And you did that for us," cried Aldous, and suddenly he reached over and gripped old Donald's hands. "It wasn't a mistake, Mac. I thank God you kept silent. If you had told her that the grave was empty, that it was a fraud, I don't know what would have happened. And now--she is _mine!_ If she had seen Culver Rann, if she had discovered that this scoundrel, this blackmailer and murderer, was Mortimer FitzHugh, her husband----" "Johnny! John Aldous!" Donald MacDonald's voice came now like the deep growling roar of a she-bear, and as he cried the other's name he sprang to his feet, and his eyes gleamed in their deep sockets like raging fires. "Johnny!" Aldous rose, and he was smiling. He nodded. "That's it," he said. "Mortimer FitzHugh is Culver Rann!" "An'--an' you know this?" "Absolutely. Joanne gave me Mortimer FitzHugh's photograph to destroy. I am sorry that I burned it before you saw it. But there is no doubt. Mortimer FitzHugh and Culver Rann are the same man." Slowly the old mountaineer turned to the door. Aldous was ahead of him, and stood with his hand on the knob. "I don't want you to go yet, Mac." "I--I'll see you a little later," said Donald clumsily. "Donald!" "Johnny!" For a full half minute they looked steadily into each other's eyes. "Only a week, Johnny," pleaded Donald. "I'll be back in a week." "You mean that you will kill him?" "He'll never come back. I swear it, Johnny!" As gently as he might have led Joanne, Aldous drew the mountaineer back to the chair. "That would be cold-blooded murder," he said, "and I would be the murderer. I can't send you out to do my killing, Mac, as I might send out a hired assassin. Don't you see that I can't? Good heaven, some day--very soon--I will tell you how this hound, Mortimer FitzHugh, poisoned Joanne's life, and did his worst to destroy her. It's to me he's got to answer, Donald. And to me he shall answer. I am going to kill him. But it will not be murder. Since you have come into this room I have made my final plan, and I shall follow it to the end coolly and deliberately. It will be a great game, Mac--and it will be a fair game; and I shall play it happily, because Joanne will not know, and I will be strengthened by her love. "Quade wants my life, and tried to hire Stevens, up at Miette, to kill me. Culver Rann wants my life; a little later it will come to be the greatest desire of his existence to have me dead and out of the way. I shall give him the chance to do the killing, Mac. I shall give him a splendid chance, and he will not fail to accept his opportunity. Perhaps he will have an advantage, but I am as absolutely certain of killing him as I am that the sun is going down behind the mountains out there. If others should step in, if I should have more than Culver Rann on my hands--why, then you may deal yourself a hand if you like, Donald. It may be a bigger game than One against One." "It will," rumbled MacDonald. "I learned other things early this afternoon, Johnny. Quade did not stay behind. He went with Rann. DeBar and the woman are with them, and two other men. They went over the Lone Cache Pass, and this minute are hurrying straight for the headwaters of the Parsnip. There are five of 'em--five men." "And we are two," smiled Aldous. "So there _is_ an advantage on their side, isn't there, Mac? And it makes the game most eminently fair, doesn't it?" "Johnny, we're good for the five!" cried old Donald in a low, eager voice. "If we start now----" "Can you have everything ready by morning?" "The outfit's waiting. It's ready now, Johnny." "Then we'll leave at dawn. I'll come to you to-night in the coulee, and we'll make our final plans. My brain is a little muddled now, and I've got to clear it, and make myself presentable before supper. We must not let Joanne know. She must suspect nothing--absolutely nothing." "Nothing," repeated MacDonald as he went to the door. There he paused and, hesitating for a moment, leaned close to Aldous, and said in a low voice: "Johnny, I've been wondering why the grave were empty. I've been wondering why there weren't somebody's bones there just t' give it the look it should 'a' had an' why the clothes were laid out so nicely with the watch an' the ring on top!" With that he was gone, and Aldous closed and relocked the door. He was amazed at his own composure as he washed himself and proceeded to dress for supper. What had happened had stunned him at first, had even terrified him for a few appalling moments. Now he was superbly self-possessed. He asked himself questions and answered them with a promptness which left no room for doubt in his mind as to what his actions should be. One fact he accepted as absolute: Joanne belonged to him. She was his wife. He regarded her as that, even though Mortimer FitzHugh was alive. In the eyes of both God and man FitzHugh no longer had a claim upon her. This man, who was known as Culver Rann, was worse than Quade, a scoundrel of the first water, a procurer, a blackmailer, even a murderer--though he had thus far succeeded in evading the rather loose and poorly working tentacles of mountain law. Not for an instant did he think of Joanne as Culver Rann's wife. She was _his_ wife. It was merely a technicality of the law--a technicality that Joanne might break with her little finger--that had risen now between them and happiness. And it was this that he knew was the mountain in his path, for he was certain that Joanne would not break that last link of bondage. She would know, with Mortimer FitzHugh alive, that the pledge between them in the "coyote," and the marriage ceremony in the room below, meant nothing. Legally, she was no more to him now than she was yesterday, or the day before. And she would leave him, even if it destroyed her, heart and soul. He was sure of that. For years she had suffered her heart to be ground out of her because of the "bit of madness" that was in her, because of that earlier tragedy in her life--and her promise, her pledge to her father, her God, and herself. Without arguing a possible change in her because of her love for him, John Aldous accepted these things. He believed that if he told Joanne the truth he would lose her. His determination not to tell her, to keep from her the secret of the grave and the fact that Mortimer FitzHugh was alive, grew stronger in him with each breath that he drew. He believed that it was the right thing to do, that it was the honourable and the only thing to do. Now that the first shock was over, he did not feel that he had lost Joanne, or that there was a very great danger of losing her. For a moment it occurred to him that he might turn the law upon Culver Rann, and in the same breath he laughed at this absurdity. The law could not help him. He alone could work out his own and Joanne's salvation. And what was to happen must happen very soon--up in the mountains. When it was all over, and he returned, he would tell Joanne. His heart beat more quickly as he finished dressing. In a few minutes more he would be with Joanne, and in spite of what had happened, and what might happen, he was happy. Yesterday he had dreamed. To-day was reality--and it was a glorious reality. Joanne belonged to him. She loved him. She was his wife, and when he went to her it was with the feeling that only a serpent lay in the path of their paradise--a serpent which he would crush with as little compunction as that serpent would have destroyed her. Utterly and remorselessly his mind was made up. The Blacktons' supper hour was five-thirty, and he was a quarter of an hour late when he tapped at Joanne's door. He felt the warmth of a strange and delightful embarrassment flushing his face as the door opened, and she stood before him. In her face, too, was a telltale riot of colour which the deep tan partly concealed in his own. "I--I am a little late, am I not, Joanne?" he asked. "You are, sir. If you have taken all this time dressing you are worse than a woman. I have been waiting fifteen minutes!" "Old Donald came to see me," he apologized. "Joanne----" "You mustn't, John!" she expostulated in a whisper. "My face is afire now! You mustn't kiss me again--until after supper----" "Only once," he pleaded. "If you will promise--just once----" A moment later she gasped: "Five times! John Aldous, I will never believe you again as long as I live!" They went down to the Blacktons, and Peggy and Paul, who were busy over some growing geraniums in the dining-room window, faced about with a forced and incongruous appearance of total oblivion to everything that had happened. It lasted less than ten seconds. Joanne's lips quivered. Aldous saw the two little dimples at the corners of her mouth fighting to keep themselves out of sight--and then he looked at Peggy. Blackton could stand it no longer, and grinned broadly. "For goodness sake go to it, Peggy!" he laughed. "If you don't you'll explode!" The next moment Peggy and Joanne were in each other's arms, and the two men were shaking hands. "We know just how you feel," Blackton tried to explain. "We felt just like you do, only we had to face twenty people instead of two. And you're not hungry. I'll wager that. I'll bet you don't feel like swallowing a mouthful. It had that peculiar effect on us, didn't it, Peggy?" "And I--I almost choked myself," gurgled Peggy as they took their places at the table. "There really did seem to be something thick in my throat, Joanne, dear. I coughed and coughed and coughed before all those people until I wanted to die right there! And I'm wondering----" "If I'm going to choke, too?" smiled Joanne. "Indeed not, Peggy. I'm as hungry as a bear!" And now she did look glorious and self-possessed to Aldous as she sat opposite him at that small round table, which was just fitted for four. He told her so when the meal was finished, and they were following the Blacktons into the front room. Blackton had evidently been carefully drilled along the line of a certain scheme which Peggy had formed, for in spite of a negative nod from her, which signified that he was to wait a while, he pulled out his watch, and said: "It isn't at all surprising if you people have forgotten that to-morrow is Sunday. Peggy and I always do some Saturday-night shopping, and if you don't mind, we'll leave you to care for the house while we go to town. We won't be gone more than an hour." A few minutes later, when the door had closed behind them, Aldous led Joanne to a divan, and sat down beside her. "I couldn't have arranged it better myself, dear," he exclaimed. "I have been wondering how I could have you alone for a few minutes, and tell you what is on my mind before I see MacDonald again to-night. I'm afraid you will be displeased with me, Joanne. I hardly know how to begin. But--I've got to." A moment's uneasiness came into her eyes as she saw how seriously he was speaking. "You don't mean, John--there's more about Quade--and Culver Rann?" "No, no--nothing like that," he laughed, as though amused at the absurdity of her question. "Old Donald tells me they have skipped the country, Joanne. It's not that. It's you I'm thinking of, and what you may think of me a minute from now. Joanne, I've given my word to old Donald. He has lived in my promise. I've got to keep that promise--I must go into the North with him." She had drawn one of his hands into her lap and was fondling it with her own soft palm and fingers. "Of course, you must, John. I love old Donald." "And I must go--soon," he added. "It is only fair to him that you should," she agreed. "He--he is determined we shall go in the morning," he finished, keeping his eyes from her. For a moment Joanne did not answer. Her fingers interweaved with his, her warm little palm stroked the rough back of his hand. Then she said, very softly: "And why do you think that will displease me, John, dear? I will be ready!" "You!" Her eyes were on him, full, and dark, and glowing, and in them were both love and laughter. "You dear silly John!" she laughed. "Why don't you come right out and tell me to stay at home, instead of--of--'beating 'round the bush'--as Peggy Blackton says? Only you don't know what a terrible little person you've got, John. You really don't. So you needn't say any more. We'll start in the morning--and I am going with you!" In a flash John Aldous saw his whole scheme shaking on its foundation. "It's impossible--utterly impossible!" he gasped. "And why utterly?" she asked, bending her head so that her soft hair touched his face and lips. "John, have you already forgotten what we said in that terrible cavern--what we told ourselves we would have done if we had lived? We were going adventuring, weren't we? And we are not dead--but alive. And this will be a glorious trip! Why, John, don't you see, don't you understand? It will be our honeymoon trip!" "It will be a long, rough journey," he argued. "It will be hard--hard for a woman." With a little laugh, Joanne sprang up and stood before him in a glow of light, tall, and slim, and splendid, and there was a sparkle of beautiful defiance and a little of triumph in her eyes as she looked down on him. "And it will be dangerous, too? You are going to tell me that?" "Yes, it will be dangerous." She came to him and rumpled up his hair, and turned his face up so that she could look into his eyes. "Is it worse than fever, and famine, and deep swamps, and crawling jungles?" she asked. "Are we going to encounter worse things than beasts, and poisonous serpents, and murderous savages--even hunger and thirst, John? For many years we dared those together--my father and I. Are these great, big, beautiful mountains more treacherous than those Ceylon jungles from which you ran away--even you, John? Are they more terrible to live in than the Great African Desert? Are your bears worse than tigers, your wolves more terrible than lions? And if, through years and years, I faced those things with my father, do you suppose that I want to be left behind now, and by my husband?" So sweet and wonderful was the sound of that name as it came softly from her lips, that in his joy he forgot the part he was playing, and drew her close down in his arms, and in that moment all that remained of the scheme he had built for keeping her behind crumbled in ruin about him. Yet in a last effort he persisted. "Old Donald wants to travel fast--very fast, Joanne. I owe a great deal to him. Even you I owe to him--for he saved us from the 'coyote.'" "I am going, John." "If we went alone we would be able to return very soon." "I am going." "And some of the mountains--it is impossible for a woman to climb them!" "Then I will let you carry me up them, John. You are so strong----" He groaned hopelessly. "Joanne, won't you stay with the Blacktons, to please me?" "No. I don't care to please you." Her fingers were stroking his cheek. "John?" "Yes." "Father taught me to shoot, and as we get better acquainted on our honeymoon trip I'll tell you about some of my hunting adventures. I don't like to shoot wild things, because I love them too well. But I can shoot. And I want a gun!" "Great Scott!" "Not a toy--but a real gun," she continued. "A gun like yours. And then, if by any chance we should have trouble--with Culver Rann----" She felt him start, and her hands pressed harder against his face. "Now I know," she whispered. "I guessed it all along. You told me that Culver Rann and the others were after the gold. They've gone--and their going isn't quite 'skipping the country' as you meant me to understand it, John Aldous! So please let's not argue any more. If we do we may quarrel, and that would be terrible. I'm going. And I will be ready in the morning. And I want a gun. And I want you to be nice to me, and I want it to be our honeymoon--even if it is going to be exciting!" And with that she put her lips to his, and his last argument was gone. Two hours later, when he went to the coulee, he was like one who had come out of a strange and disturbing and altogether glorious dream. He had told Joanne and the Blacktons that it was necessary for him to be with MacDonald that night. Joanne's good-night kiss was still warm on his lips, the loving touch of her hands still trembled on his face, and the sweet perfume of her hair was in his nostrils. He was drunk with the immeasurable happiness that had come to him, every fibre in him was aquiver with it--and yet, possessed of his great joy, he was conscious of a fear; a fear that was new and growing, and which made him glad when he came at last to the little fire in the coulee. He did not tell MacDonald the cause of this fear at first. He told the story of Mortimer FitzHugh and Joanne, leaving no part of it unbared, until he could see Donald MacDonald's great gaunt hands clenching in the firelight, and his cavernous eyes flaming darkly through the gloom. Then he told what had happened when the Blacktons went to town, and when he had finished, and rose despairingly beside the fire, Donald rose, too, and his voice boomed in a sort of ecstasy. "My Jane would ha' done likewise," he cried in triumph. "She would that, Johnny--she would!" "But this is different!" groaned Aldous. "What am I going to do, Mac? What can I do? Don't you see how impossible it is! Mac, Mac--she isn't my wife--not entirely, not absolutely, not in the last and vital sense of being a wife by law! If she knew the truth, she wouldn't consider herself my wife; she would leave me. For that reason I can't take her. I can't. Think what it would mean!" Old Donald had come close to his side, and at the look in the gray old mountaineer's face John Aldous paused. Slowly Donald laid his hands on his shoulders. "Johnny," he said gently, "Johnny, be you sure of yourself? Be you a man, Johnny?" "Good heaven, Donald. You mean----" Their eyes met steadily. "If you are, Johnny," went on MacDonald in a low voice, "I'd take her with me. An' if you ain't, I'd leave these mount'ins to-night an' never look in her sweet face again as long as I lived." "You'd take her along?" demanded Aldous eagerly. "I would. I've been thinkin' it over to-night. An' something seemed to tell me we mustn't dare leave her here alone. There's just two things to do, Johnny. You've got to stay with her an' let me go on alone or--you've got to take her." Slowly Aldous shook his head. He looked at his watch. It was a little after ten. "If I could make myself believe that she would not be safe here--I would take her," he said. "But I can't quite make up my mind to that, Mac. She will be in good hands with the Blacktons. I will warn Paul. Joanne is determined to go, and I know she will think it pretty indecent to be told emphatically that she can't go. But I've got to do it. I can't see----" A break in the stillness of the night stopped him with the suddenness of a bullet in his brain. It was a scream--a woman's scream, and there followed it shriek after shriek, until the black forest trembled with the fear and agony of the cries, and John Aldous stood as if suddenly stripped of the power to move or act. Donald MacDonald roused him to life. With a roar in his beard, he sprang forth into the darkness. And Aldous followed, a hot sweat of fear in his blood where a moment before had been only a chill of wonder and horror. For in Donald's savage beastlike cry he had caught Joanne's name, and an answering cry broke from his own lips as he followed the great gaunt form that was tearing with the madness of a wounded bear ahead of him through the night. CHAPTER XXII Not until they had rushed up out of the coulee and had reached the pathlike trail did the screaming cease. For barely an instant MacDonald paused, and then ran on with a speed that taxed Aldous to keep up. When they came to the little open amphitheatre in the forest MacDonald halted again. Their hearts were thumping like hammers, and the old mountaineer's voice came husky and choking when he spoke. "It wasn't far--from here!" he panted. Scarcely had he uttered the words when he sped on again. Three minutes later they came to where the trail crossed the edge of a small rock-cluttered meadow, and with a sudden spurt Aldous darted ahead of MacDonald into this opening, where he saw two figures in the moonlight. Half a dozen feet from them he stopped with a cry of horror. They were Paul and Peggy Blackton! Peggy was dishevelled and sobbing, and was frantically clutching at her husband. It was Paul Blackton who dragged the cry from his lips. The contractor was swaying. He was hatless; his face was covered with blood, and his eyes were only half open, as if he were fighting to pull himself back into consciousness after a terrible blow. Peggy's hair was down, her dress was torn at the throat, and she was panting so that for a moment she could not speak. "They've got--Joanne!" she cried then. "They went--there!" She pointed, and Aldous ran where she pointed--into the timber on the far side of the little meadow. MacDonald caught his arm as they ran. "You go straight in," he commanded. "I'll swing--to right--toward river----" For two minutes after that Aldous tore straight ahead. Then for barely a moment he stopped. He had not paused to question Peggy Blackton. His own fears told him who Joanne's abductors were. They were men working under instructions from Quade. And they could not be far away, for scarcely ten minutes had passed since the first scream. He listened, and held his breath so that the terrific beating of his heart would not drown the sound of crackling brush. All at once the blood in him was frozen by a fierce yell. It was MacDonald, a couple of hundred yards to his right, and after that yell came the bellowing shout of his name. "Johnny! Johnny! Oh, Johnny!" He dashed in MacDonald's direction, and a few moments later heard the crashing of bodies in the undergrowth. Fifty seconds more and he was in the arena. MacDonald was fighting three men in a space over which the spruce-tops grew thinly. The moon shone upon them as they swayed in a struggling mass, and as Aldous sprang to the combat one of the three reeled backward and fell as if struck by a battering-ram. In that same moment MacDonald went down, and Aldous struck a terrific blow with the butt of his heavy Savage. He missed, and the momentum of his blow carried him over MacDonald. He tripped and fell. By the time he had regained his, feet the two men had disappeared into the thick shadows of the spruce forest. Aldous whirled toward the third man, whom he had seen fall. He, too, had disappeared. A little lamely old Donald brought himself to his feet. He was smiling. "Now, what do 'ee think, Johnny?" "Where is she? Where is Joanne?" demanded Aldous. "Twenty feet behind you, Johnny, gagged an' trussed up nice as a whistle! If they hadn't stopped to do that work you wouldn't ha' seen her ag'in, Johnny--s'elp me, God, you wouldn't! They was hikin' for the river. Once they had reached the Frazer, and a boat----" He broke off to lead Aldous to a clump of dwarf spruce. Behind this, white and still in the moonlight, but with eyes wide open and filled with horror, lay Joanne. Hands and feet were bound, and a big handkerchief was tied over her mouth. Twenty seconds later Aldous held her shivering and sobbing and laughing hysterically by turns in his arms, while MacDonald's voice brought Paul and Peggy Blackton to them. Blackton had recovered from the blow that had dazed him. Over Joanne's head he stared at Aldous. And MacDonald was staring at Blackton. His eyes were burning a little darkly. "It's all come out right," he said, "but it ain't a special nice time o' night to be taking a' evening walk in this locality with a couple o' ladies!" Blackton was still staring at Aldous, with Peggy clutching his arm as if afraid of losing him. It was Peggy who answered MacDonald. "And it was a nice time of night for you to send a message asking us to bring Joanne down the trail!" she cried, her voice trembling. "We----" began Aldous, when he saw a sudden warning movement on MacDonald's part, and stopped. "Let us take the ladies home," he said. With Joanne clinging to him, he led the way. Behind them all MacDonald growled loudly: "There's got t' be something done with these damned beasts of furriners. It's gettin' so no woman ain't safe at night!" Twenty minutes later they reached the bungalow. Leaving Joanne and Peggy inside, now as busily excited as two phoebe birds, and after Joanne had insisted upon Aldous sleeping at the Blacktons' that night, the two men accompanied MacDonald a few steps on his way back to camp. As soon as they were out of earshot Blackton began cursing softly under his breath. "So you didn't send that damned note?" he asked. "You haven't said so, but I've guessed you didn't send it!" "No, we didn't send a note." "And you had a reason--you and MacDonald--for not wanting the girls to know the truth?" "A mighty good reason," said Aldous. "I've got to thank MacDonald for closing my mouth at the right moment. I was about to give it away. And now, Blackton, I've got to confide in you. But before I do that I want your word that you will repeat nothing of what I say to another person--even your wife." Blackton nodded. "Go on," he said. "I've suspected a thing or two, Aldous. I'll give you my word. Go on." As briefly as possible, and without going deeply into detail, Aldous told of Quade and his plot to secure possession of Joanne. "And this is his work," he finished. "I've told you this, Paul, so that you won't worry about Peggy. You can see from to-night's events that they were not after her, but wanted Joanne. Joanne must not learn the truth. And your wife must not know. I am going to settle with Quade. Just how and where and when I'm going to settle with him I don't care to say now. But he's going to answer to me. And he's going to answer soon." Blackton whistled softly. "A boy brought the note," he said. "He stood in the dark when he handed it to me. And I didn't recognize any one of the three men who jumped out on us. I didn't have much of a chance to fight, but if there's any one on the face of the earth who has got it over Peggy when it comes to screaming, I'd like to know her name! Joanne didn't have time to make a sound. But they didn't touch Peggy until she began screaming, and then one of the men began choking her. They had about laid me out with a club, so I was helpless. Good God----" He shuddered. "They were river men," said MacDonald. "Probably some of Tomman's scow-men. They were making for the river." A few minutes later, when Aldous was saying good-night to MacDonald, the old hunter said again, in a whisper: "Now what do 'ee think, Johnny?" "That you're right, Mac," replied Aldous in a low voice. "There is no longer a choice. Joanne must go with us. You will come early?" "At dawn, Johnny." He returned to the bungalow with Blackton, and until midnight the lights there burned brightly while the two men answered a thousand questions about the night's adventure, and Aldous told of his and Joanne's plans for the honeymoon trip into the North that was to begin the next day. It was half-past twelve when be locked the door of his and sat down to think. CHAPTER XXIII There was no doubt in the mind of John Aldous now. The attempt upon Joanne left him but one course to pursue: he must take her with him, in spite of the monumental objections which he had seen a few hours before. He realized what a fight this would mean for him, and with what cleverness and resource he must play his part. Joanne had not given herself to him as she had once given herself to Mortimer FitzHugh. In the "coyote," when they had faced death, she had told him that were there to be a to-morrow in life for them she would have given herself to him utterly and without reservation. And that to-morrow had dawned. It was present. She was his wife. And she had come to him as she had promised. In her eyes he had seen love and trust and faith--and a glorious happiness. She had made no effort to hide that happiness from him. Consciousness of it filled him with his own great happiness, and yet it made him realize even more deeply how hard his fight was to be. She was his wife. In a hundred little ways she had shown him that she was proud of her wifehood. And again he told himself that she had come to him as she had promised, that she had given into his keeping all that she had to give. And yet--_she was not his wife!_ He groaned aloud, and his fingers dug into the flesh of his knees as he thought of that. Could he keep that terrible truth from her? If she went with him into the North, would she not guess? And, even though he kept the truth from her until Mortimer FitzHugh was dead, would he be playing fair with her? Again he went over all that he had gone over before. He knew that Joanne would leave him to-morrow, and probably forever, if he told her that FitzHugh was alive. The law could not help him, for only death--and never divorce--would free her. Within himself he decided for the last time. He was about to do the one thing left for him to do. And it was the honourable thing, for it meant freedom for her and happiness for them both. To him, Donald MacDonald had become a man who lived very close to the heart and the right of things, and Donald had said that he should take her. This was the greatest proof that he was right. But could he keep Joanne from guessing? Could he keep her from discovering the truth until it was time for her to know that truth? In this necessity of keeping her from suspecting that something was wrong he saw his greatest fight. Compared with it, the final settlement with Quade and Mortimer FitzHugh sank into a second importance. He knew what would happen then. But Joanne--Joanne on the trail, as his wife---- He began pacing back and forth in his room, clouding himself in the smoke of his pipe. Frequently Joanne's mind had filled him with an exquisite delight by its quickness and at times almost magic perceptiveness, and he realized that in these things, and the fineness of her woman's intuition, now lay his greatest menace. He was sure that she understood the meaning of the assault upon her that night, though she had apparently believed what he and Blackton had told them--that it had been the attack of irresponsible and drunken hoodlums. Yet he was certain that she had already guessed that Quade had been responsible. He went to bed, dreading what questions and new developments the morning might bring forth. And when the morning came, he was both amazed and delighted. The near tragedy of the previous night might never have happened in so far as he could judge from Joanne's appearance. When she came out of her room to meet him, in the glow of a hall lamp, her eyes were like stars, and the colour in her cheeks was like that of a rose fresh from its slumber in dew. "I'm so happy, and what happened last night seems so like a bad dream," she whispered, as he held her close to him for a few moments before descending the stairs. "I shall worry about Peggy, John. I shall. I don't understand how her husband dares to bring her among savages like these. You wouldn't leave me among them, would you?" And as she asked the question, and his lips pressed hers, John Aldous still believed that in her heart she knew the truth of that night attack. If she did know, she kept her secret from him all that day. They left Tête Jaune before sunrise with an outfit which MacDonald had cut down to six horses. Its smallness roused Joanne's first question, for Aldous had described to her an outfit of twenty horses. He explained that a large outfit made travel much more difficult and slow, but he did not tell her that with six horses instead of twenty they could travel less conspicuously, more easily conceal themselves from enemies, and, if necessary, make quick flight or swift pursuit. They stopped to camp for the night in a little basin that drew from Joanne an exclamation of joy and wonder. They had reached the upper timber-line, and on three sides the basin was shut in by treeless and brush-naked walls of the mountains. In the centre of the dip was a lake fed by a tiny stream that fell in a series of ribbonlike cataracts a sheer thousand feet from the snow-peaks that towered above them. Small, parklike clumps of spruce dotted the miniature valley; over it hung a sky as blue as sapphire and under their feet was a carpet of soft grass sprayed with little blue forget-me-nots and wild asters. "I have never seen anything a half so beautiful as this!" cried Joanne, as Aldous helped her from her horse. As her feet touched the ground she gave a little cry and hung limply in his arms. "I'm lame--lame for life!" she laughed in mock humour. "John, I can't stand. I really can't!" Old Donald was chuckling in his beard as he came up. "You ain't nearly so lame as you'll be to-morrow," he comforted her. "An' you won't be nearly so lame to-morrow as you'll be next day. Then you'll begin to get used to it, Mis' Joanne." "_Mrs. Aldous_, Donald," she corrected sweetly. "Or--just Joanne." At that Aldous found himself holding her so closely that she gave a little gasp. "Please don't," she expostulated. "Your arms are terribly strong, John!" MacDonald had turned away, still chuckling, and began to unpack. Joanne looked behind her, then quickly held up her softly pouted lips. Aldous kissed her, and would have kissed her again but she slipped suddenly from his arms and going to Pinto began to untie a dishpan that was fastened to the top of his pack. "Get to work, John Aldous!" she commanded. MacDonald had camped before in the basin, and there were tepee poles ready cut, as light and dry as matchwood. Joanne watched them as they put up the tent, and when it was done, and she looked inside, she cried delightedly: "It's the snuggest little home I ever had, John!" After that she busied herself in a way that was a constantly growing pleasure to him. She took possession at once of pots and pans and kettles. She lost no time in impressing upon both Aldous and MacDonald the fact that while she was their docile follower on the trail she was to be at the head of affairs in camp. While they were straightening out the outfit, hobbling the horses, and building a fire, she rummaged through the panniers and took stock of their provisions. She bossed old Donald in a manner that made him fairly glow with pleasure. She bared her white arms to the elbows and made biscuits for the "reflector" instead of bannock, while Aldous brought water from the lake, and MacDonald cut wood. Her cheeks were aflame. Her eyes were laughing, joyous, happy. MacDonald seemed years younger. He obeyed her like a boy, and once Aldous caught him looking at her in a way that set him thinking again of those days of years and years ago, and of other camps, and of another woman--like Joanne. MacDonald had thought of this first camp--and there were porterhouse steaks for supper, which he had brought packed in a kettle of ice. When they sat down to the meal, Joanne was facing a distant snow-capped ridge that cut the skyline, and the last of the sun, reflected from the face of the mountain on the east, had set brown-and-gold fires aglow in her hair. They were partly through when her eyes rested on the distant snow-ridge. Aldous saw her looking steadily. Suddenly she pointed beyond him. "I see something moving over the snow on that mountain!" she cried a little excitedly. "It is hurrying toward the summit--just under the skyline! What is it?" Aldous and MacDonald looked toward the ridge. Fully a mile away, almost even with the skyline now, a small dark object was moving over the white surface of the snow. "It ain't a goat," said MacDonald, "because a goat is white, and we couldn't see it on the snow. It ain't a sheep, 'cause it's too dark, an' movin' too slow. It must be a bear, but why in the name o' sin a bear would be that high, I don't know!" He jumped up and ran for his telescope. "A grizzly," whispered Joanne tensely. "Would it be a grizzly, John?" "Possibly," he answered. "Indeed, it's very likely. This is a grizzly country. If we hurry you can get a look at him through the telescope." MacDonald was already studying the object through his long glass when they joined him. "It's a bear," he said. "Please--please let me look at him," begged Joanne. The dark object was now almost on the skyline. Half A minute more and it would pass over and out of sight. MacDonald still held his eye to the telescope, as though he had not heard Joanne. Not until the moving object had crossed the skyline, and had disappeared, did he reply to her. "The light's bad, an' you couldn't have made him out very well," he said. "We'll show you plenty o' grizzlies, an' so near you won't want a telescope. Eh, Johnny?" As he looked at Aldous there was a strange look in his eyes, and during the remainder of the supper he was restless, and ate hurriedly. When he had finished he rose and picked up his long rifle. "There's sheep somewhere near this basin, Johnny," he explained. "An' I reckon Joanne'll scold us if we don't keep her in fresh meat. I'm goin' to bring in some mutton if there's any to be got, an' I probably won't be back until after dark." Aldous knew that he had more to say, and he went with him a few steps beyond the camp. And MacDonald continued in a low, troubled voice: "Be careful, Johnny. Watch yo'rself. I'm going to take a look over into the next valley, an' I won't be back until late. It wasn't a goat, an' it wasn't a sheep, an' it wasn't a bear. It was two-legged! It was a man, Johnny, an' he was there to watch this trail, or my name ain't Donald MacDonald. Mebby he came ahead of us last night, an' mebby he was here before that happened. Anyway, be on your guard while I look over into the next range." With that he struck off in the direction of the snow-ridge, and for a few moments Aldous stood looking after the tall, picturesque figure until it disappeared behind a clump of spruce. Swiftly he was telling himself that it was not the hunting season, and that it was not a prospector whom they had seen on the snow-ridge. As a matter of caution, there could be but one conclusion to draw. The man had been stationed there either by Quade or FitzHugh, or both, and had unwittingly revealed himself. He turned toward Joanne, who had already begun to gather up the supper things. He could hear her singing happily, and as he looked she pressed a finger to her lips and threw a kiss to him. His heart smote him even as he smiled and waved a hand in response. Then he went to her. How slim and wonderful she looked in that glow of the setting sun, he thought. How white and soft were her hands, how tender and fragile her lovely neck! And how helpless--how utterly helpless she would be if anything happened to him and MacDonald! With an effort he flung the thought from him. On his knees he wiped the dishes and pots and pans for Joanne. When this was done, he seized an axe and showed her how to gather a bed. This was a new and delightful experience for Joanne. "You always want to cut balsam boughs when you can get them," he explained, pausing before two small trees. "Now, this is a cedar, and this is a balsam. Notice how prickly and needlelike on all sides these cedar branches are. And now look at the balsam. The needles lay flat and soft. Balsam makes the best bed you can get in the North, except moss, and you've got to dry the moss." For fifteen minutes he clipped off the soft ends of the balsam limbs and Joanne gathered them in her arms and carried them into the tepee. Then he went in with her, and showed her how to make the bed. He made it a narrow bed, and a deep bed, and he knew that Joanne was watching him, and he was glad the tan hid the uncomfortable glow in his face when he had finished tucking in the end of the last blanket. "You will be as cozy as can be in that," he said. "And you, John?" she asked, her face flushing rosily. "I haven't seen another tent for you and Donald." "We don't sleep in a tent during the summer," he said. "Just our blankets--out in the open." "But--if it should rain?" "We get under a balsam or a spruce or a thick cedar." A little later they stood beside the fire. It was growing dusk. The distant snow-ridge was swiftly fading into a pale and ghostly sheet in the gray gloom of the night. Up that ridge Aldous knew that MacDonald was toiling. Joanne put her hands to his shoulders. "Are you sorry--so very, very sorry that you let me come, John?" "I didn't let you come," he laughed softly, drawing her to him. "You came!" "And are you sorry?" "No." It was deliciously sweet to have her tilt up her head and put her soft lips to his, and it was still sweeter when her tender hands stroked his cheeks, and eyes and lips smiled their love and gladness. He stood stroking her hair, with her face laying warm and close against him, and over her head he stared into the thickening darkness of the spruce and cedar copses. Joanne herself had piled wood on the fire, and in its glow they were dangerously illuminated. With one of her hands she was still caressing his cheek. "When will Donald return?" she asked. "Probably not until late," he replied, wondering what it was that had set a stone rolling down the side of the mountain nearest to them. "He hunted until dark, and may wait for the moon to come up before he returns." "John----" "Yes, dear?----" And mentally he measured the distance to the nearest clump of timber between them and the mountain. "Let's build a big fire, and sit down on the pannier canvases." His eyes were still on the timber, and he was wondering what a man with a rifle, or even a pistol, might do at that space. He made a good target, and MacDonald was probably several miles away. "I've been thinking about the fire," he said. "We must put it out, Joanne. There are reasons why we should not let it burn. For one thing, the smoke will drive any game away that we may hope to see in the morning." Her hands lay still against his cheek. "I--understand, John," she replied quickly, and there was the smallest bit of a shudder in her voice. "I had forgotten. We must put it out!" Five minutes later only a few glowing embers remained where the fire had been. He had spread out the pannier canvases, and now he seated himself with his back to a tree. Joanne snuggled close to him. "It is much nicer in the dark," she whispered, and her arms reached up about him, and her lips pressed warm and soft against his hand. "Are you just a little ashamed of me, John?" "Ashamed? Good heaven----" "Because," she interrupted him, "we have known each other such a very short time, and I have allowed myself to become so very, very well acquainted with you. It has all been so delightfully sudden, and strange, and I am--just as happy as I can be. You don't think it is immodest for me to say these things to my husband, John--even if I have only known him three days?" He answered by crushing her so closely in his arms that for a few moments afterward she lay helplessly on his breast, gasping for breath. His brain was afire with the joyous madness of possession. Never had woman come to man more sweetly than Joanne had come to him, and as he felt her throbbing and trembling against him he was ready to rise up and shout forth a challenge to a hundred Quades and Culver Ranns hiding in the darkness of the mountains. For a long time he held her nestled close in his arms, and at intervals there were silences between them, in which they listened to the glad tumult of their own hearts, and the strange silence that came to them from out of the still night. It was their first hour alone--of utter oblivion to all else but themselves; to Joanne the first sacrament hour of her wifehood, to him the first hour of perfect possession and understanding. In that hour their souls became one, and when at last they rose to their feet, and the moon came up over a crag of the mountain and flooded them in its golden light, there was in Joanne's face a tenderness and a gentle glory that made John Aldous think of an angel. He led her to the tepee, and lighted a candle for her, and at the last, with the sweet demand of a child in the manner of her doing it, she pursed up her lips to be kissed good-night. And when he had tied the tent-flap behind her, he took his rifle and sat down with it across his knees in the deep black shadow of a spruce, and waited and listened for the coming of Donald MacDonald. CHAPTER XXIV For an hour after Joanne had gone into her tent Aldous sat silent and watchful. From where he had concealed himself he could see over a part of the moonlit basin, and guard the open space between the camp and the clump of timber that lay in the direction of the nearest mountain. After Joanne had blown out her candle the silence of the night seemed to grow deeper about him. The hobbled horses had wandered several hundred yards away, and only now and then could he hear the thud of a hoof, or the clank of a steel shoe on rock. He believed that it was impossible for any one to approach without ears and eyes giving him warning, and he felt a distinct shock when Donald MacDonald suddenly appeared in the moonlight not twenty paces from him. With an ejaculation of amazement he jumped to his feet and went to him. "How the deuce did you get here?" he demanded. "Were you asleep, Johnny?" "I was awake--and watching!" The old hunter chuckled. "It was so still when I come to those trees back there that I thought mebby something had 'appened," he said. "So, I sneaked up, Johnny." "Did you see anything over the range?" asked Aldous anxiously. "I found footprints in the snow, an' when I got to the top I smelled smoke, but couldn't see a fire. It was dark then." MacDonald nodded toward the tepee. "Is she asleep, Johnny?" "I think so. She must be very tired." They drew back into the shadow of the spruce. It was a simultaneous movement of caution, and both, without speaking their thoughts, realized the significance of it. Until now they had had no opportunity of being alone since last night. MacDonald spoke in a low, muffled voice: "Quade an' Culver Rann are goin' the limit, Johnny," he said. "They left men on the job at Tête Jaune, and they've got others watching us. Consequently, I've hit on a scheme--a sort of simple and unreasonable scheme, mebby, but an awful good scheme at times." "What is it?" "Whenever you see anything that ain't a bear, or a goat, or a sheep, don't wait to change the time o' day--but shoot!" said MacDonald. Aldous smiled grimly. "If I had any ideas of chivalry, or what I call fair play, they were taken out of me last night, Mac," he said. "I'm ready to shoot on sight!" MacDonald grunted his satisfaction. "They can't beat us if we do that, Johnny. They ain't even ordinary cut-throats--they're sneaks in the bargain; an' if they could walk in our camp, smilin' an' friendly, and brain us when our backs was turned, they'd do it. We don't know who's with them, and if a stranger heaves in sight meet him with a chunk o' lead. They're the only ones in these mountains, an' we won't make any mistake. See that bunch of spruce over there?" The old hunter pointed to a clump fifty yards beyond the tepee toward the little lake. Aldous nodded. "I'll take my blankets over there," continued MacDonald. "You roll yourself up here, and the tepee'll be between us. You see the system, Johnny? If they make us a visit during the night we've got 'em between us, and there'll be some real burying to do in the morning!" Back under the low-hanging boughs of the dwarf spruce Aldous spread out his blanket a few minutes later. He had made up his mind not to sleep, and for hours he lay watchful and waiting, smoking occasionally, with his face close to the ground so that the odour of tobacco would cling to the earth. The moon rose until it was straight overhead, flooding the valley in a golden splendour that he wished Joanne might have seen. Then it began sinking into the west; slowly at first, and then more swiftly, its radiance diminished. He looked at his watch before the yellow orb effaced itself behind the towering peak of a distant mountain. It was a quarter of two. With deepening darkness, his eyes grew heavier. He closed them for a few moments at a time; and each time the interval was longer, and it took greater effort to force himself into wakefulness. Finally he slept. But he was still subconsciously on guard, and an hour later that consciousness was beating and pounding within him, urging him to awake. He sat up with a start and gripped his rifle. An owl was hooting--softly, very softly. There were four notes. He answered, and a little later MacDonald came like a shadow out of the gloom. Aldous advanced to meet him, and he noticed that over the eastern mountains there was a break of gray. "It's after three, Johnny," MacDonald greeted him. "Build a fire and get breakfast. Tell Joanne I'm out after another sheep. Until it's good an' light I'm going to watch from that clump of timber up there. In half an hour it'll be dawn." He moved toward the timber, and Aldous set about building a fire. He was careful not to awaken Joanne. The fire was crackling cheerily when he went to the lake for water. Returning he saw the faint glow of candlelight in Joanne's tepee. Five minutes later she appeared, and all thought of danger, and the discomfort of his sleepless night, passed from him at sight of her. Her eyes were still a little misty with sleep when he took her in his arms and kissed her, but she was deliciously alive, and glad, and happy. In one hand she had brought a brush and in the other a comb. "You slept like a log," he cried happily. "It can't be that you had very bad dreams, little wife?" "I had a beautiful dream, John," she laughed softly, and the colour flooded up into her face. She unplaited the thick silken strands of her braid and began brushing her hair in the firelight, while Aldous sliced the bacon. Some of the slices were thick, and some were thin, for he could not keep his eyes from her as she stood there like a goddess, buried almost to her knees in that wondrous mantle. He found himself whistling with a very light heart as she braided her hair, and afterward plunged her face in a bath of cold water he had brought from the lake. From that bath she emerged like a glowing Naiad. Her eyes sparkled. Her cheeks were pink and her lips full and red. Damp little tendrils of hair clung adorably about her face and neck. For another full minute Aldous paused in his labours, and he wondered if MacDonald was watching them from the clump of timber. The bacon was sputtering when Joanne ran to it and rescued it from burning. Dawn followed quickly after that first break of day in the east, but not until one could see a full rifle-shot away did MacDonald return to the camp. Breakfast was waiting, and as soon as he had finished the old hunter went after the horses. It was five o'clock, and bars of the sun were shooting over the tops of the mountains when once more they were in the saddle and on their way. Most of this day Aldous headed the outfit up the valley. On the pretext of searching for game MacDonald rode so far in advance that only twice during the forenoon was he in sight. When they stopped to camp for the night his horse was almost exhausted, and MacDonald himself showed signs of tremendous physical effort. Aldous could not question him before Joanne. He waited. And MacDonald was strangely silent. The proof of MacDonald's prediction concerning Joanne was in evidence this second night. Every bone in her body ached, and she was so tired that she made no objection to going to her bed as soon as it was dark. "It always happens like this," consoled old Donald, as she bade him good-night. "To-morrow you'll begin gettin' broke in, an' the next day you won't have any lameness at all." She limped to the tepee with John's arm snugly about her slim waist. MacDonald waited patiently until he returned. He motioned Aldous to seat himself close at his side. Both men lighted their pipes before the mountaineer spoke. "We can't both sleep at once to-night, Johnny," he said. "We've got to take turns keeping watch." "You've discovered something to-day?" "No. It's what I haven't discovered that counts. There weren't no tracks in this valley, Johnny, from mount'in to mount'in. They haven't travelled through this range, an' that leaves just two things for us to figger on. They're behind us--or DeBar is hitting another trail into the north. There isn't no danger ahead right now, because we're gettin' into the biggest ranges between here an' the Yukon. If Quade and Rann are in the next valley they can't get over the mount'ins to get at us. Quade, with all his flesh, couldn't climb over that range to the west of us inside o' three days, if he could get over it at all. They're hikin' straight for the gold over another trail, or they're behind us, an' mebby both." "How--both?" asked Aldous. "Two parties," explained MacDonald, puffing hard at his pipe. "If there's an outfit behind us they were hid in the timber on the other side of the snow-ridge, and they're pretty close this minute. Culver Rann--or FitzHugh, as you call him--is hustling straight on with DeBar. Mebby Quade is with him, an' mebby he ain't. Anyway, there's a big chance of a bunch behind us with special instructions from Quade to cut our throats and keep Joanne." That day Aldous had been turning a question over in his own mind. He asked it now. "Mac, are you sure you can go to the valley of gold without DeBar?" For a long half minute MacDonald looked at him, and then his voice rumbled in a low, exultant laugh in his beard. "Johnny," he said, with a strange quiver in his voice, "I can go to it now straighter an' quicker than DeBar! I know why I never found it. DeBar helped me that much. The trail is mapped right out in my brain now, Johnny. Five years ago I was within ten miles of the cavern--an' didn't know it!" "And we can get there ahead of them?" "We could--if it wasn't for Joanne. We're makin' twenty miles a day. We could make thirty." "If we could beat them to it!" exclaimed Aldous, clenching his hands. "If we only could, Donald--the rest would be easy!" MacDonald laid a heavy hand on his knee. "You remember what you told me, Johnny, that you'd play the game fair, and give 'em a first chance? You ain't figgerin' on that now, be you?" "No, I'm with you now, Donald. It's----" "Shoot on sight!" "Yes." Aldous rose from his seat as he spoke. "You turn in, Mac," he said. "You're about bushed after the work you've done to-day. I'll keep first watch. I'll conceal myself fifty or sixty yards from camp, and if we have visitors before midnight the fun will all be mine." He knew that MacDonald was asleep within fifteen minutes after he had stationed himself at his post. In spite of the fact that he had had almost no sleep the preceding night, he was more than usually wakeful. He was filled with a curious feeling that events were impending. Yet the hours passed, the moon flooded the valley again, the horses grazed without alarm, and nothing happened. He had planned not to awaken old Donald at midnight, but MacDonald roused himself, and came to take his place a little before twelve. From that hour until four Aldous slept like the dead. He was tremendously refreshed when he arose, to find that the candle was alight in Joanne's tepee, and that MacDonald had built a fire. He waited for Joanne, and went with her to the tiny creek near the camp, where both bathed their faces in the snow-cold water from the mountain tops. Joanne had slept soundly for eight hours, and she was as fresh and as happy as a bird. Her lameness was almost gone, and she was eager for the day's journey. As they filed again up the valley that morning, with the early sun transfiguring the great snow-topped ranges about them into a paradise of colour and warmth, Aldous found himself mentally wondering if it were really possible that a serious danger menaced them. He did not tell MacDonald what was in his mind. He did not confess that he was about ready to believe that the man on the snow-ridge had been a hunter or a prospector returning to his camp in the other valley, and that the attack in Tête Jaune was the one and only effort Quade would make to secure possession of Joanne. While a few hours before he had almost expected an immediate attack, he was now becoming more and more convinced that Quade, to a large extent, had dropped out of the situation. He might be with Mortimer FitzHugh, and probably was--a dangerous and formidable enemy to be accounted for when the final settlement came. But as an immediate menace to Joanne, Aldous was beginning to fear him less as the hours passed. Joanne, and the day itself, were sufficient to disarm him of his former apprehension. In places they could see for miles ahead and behind them. And Joanne, each time that he looked at her, was a greater joy to him. Constantly she was pointing out the wonders of the mountains to him and MacDonald. Each new rise or fall in the valley held fresh and delightful surprises for her; in the craggy peaks she pointed out castlements, and towers, and battlemented strongholds of ancient princes and kings. Her mind was a wild and beautiful riot of imagination, of wonder, and of happiness, and in spite of the grimness of the mission they were on even MacDonald found himself rejoicing in her spirit, and he laughed and talked with them as they rode into the North. They were entering now into a hunter's paradise. For the first time Joanne saw white, moving dots far up on a mountain-side, which MacDonald told her were goats. In the afternoon they saw mountain sheep feeding on a slide half a mile away, and for ten breathless minutes Joanne watched them through the telescope. Twice caribou sped over the opens ahead of them. But it was not until the sun was settling toward the west again that Joanne saw what she had been vainly searching the sides of the mountains to find. MacDonald had stopped suddenly in the trail, motioning them to advance. When they rode up to him he pointed to a green slope two hundred yards ahead. "There's yo'r grizzly, Joanne," he said. A huge, tawny beast was ambling slowly along the crest of the slope, and at sight of him Joanne gave a little cry of excitement. "He's hunting for gophers," explained MacDonald. "That's why he don't seem in a hurry. He don't see us because a b'ar's eyes are near-sighted, but he could smell us half a mile away if the wind was right." He was unslinging his long rifle as he spoke. Joanne was near enough to catch his arm. "Don't shoot--please don't shoot!" she begged. "I've seen lions, and I've seen tigers--and they're treacherous and I don't like them. But there's something about bears that I love, like dogs. And the lion isn't a king among beasts compared with him. Please don't shoot!" "I ain't a-goin' to," chuckled old Donald. "I'm just getting ready to give 'im the proper sort of a handshake if he should happen to come this way, Joanne. You know a grizzly ain't pertic'lar afraid of anything on earth as I know of, an' they're worse 'n a dynamite explosion when they come head-on. There--he's goin' over the slope!" "Got our wind," said Aldous. They went on, a colour in Joanne's face like the vivid sunset. They camped two hours before dusk, and MacDonald figured they had made better than twenty miles that day. The same precautions were observed in guarding the camp as the night before, and the long hours of vigil were equally uneventful. The next day added still more to Aldous' peace of mind regarding possible attack from Quade, and on the night of this day, their fourth in the mountains, he spoke his mind to MacDonald. For a few moments afterward the old hunter smoked quietly at his pipe. Then he said: "I don't know but you're right, Johnny. If they were behind us they'd most likely have tried something before this. But it ain't in the law of the mount'ins to be careless. We've got to watch." "I agree with you there, Mac," replied Aldous. "We cannot afford to lose our caution for a minute. But I'm feeling a deuced sight better over the situation just the same. If we can only get there ahead of them!" "If Quade is in the bunch we've got a chance of beating them," said MacDonald thoughtfully. "He's heavy, Johnny--that sort of heaviness that don't stand up well in the mount'ins; whisky-flesh, I call it. Culver Rann don't weigh much more'n half as much, but he's like iron. Quade may be a drag. An' Joanne, Lord bless her!--she's facing the music like an' 'ero, Johnny!" "And the journey is almost half over." "This is the fourth day. I figger we can make it in ten at most, mebby nine," said old Donald. "You see we're in that part of the Rockies where there's real mount'ins, an' the ranges ain't broke up much. We've got fairly good travel to the end." On this night Aldous slept from eight until twelve. The next, their fifth, his watch was from midnight until morning. As the sixth and the seventh days and nights passed uneventfully the belief that there were no enemies behind them became a certainty. Yet neither Aldous nor MacDonald relaxed their vigilance. The eighth day dawned, and now a new excitement took possession of Donald MacDonald. Joanne and Aldous saw his efforts to suppress it, but it did not escape their eyes. They were nearing the tragic scenes of long ago, and old Donald was about to reap the reward of a search that had gone faithfully and untiringly through the winters and summers of forty years. He spoke seldom that day. There were strange lights in his eyes. And once his voice was husky and strained when he said to Aldous: "I guess we'll make it to-morrow, Johnny--jus' about as the sun's going down." They camped early, and Aldous rolled himself in his blanket when Joanne extinguished the candle in her tent. He found that he could not sleep, and he relieved MacDonald at eleven o'clock. "Get all the rest you can, Mac," he urged. "There may be doings to-morrow--at about sundown." There was but little moonlight now, but the stars were clear. He lighted his pipe, and with his rifle in the crook of his arm he walked slowly up and down over a hundred-yard stretch of the narrow plain in which they had camped. That night they had built their fire beside a fallen log, which was now a glowing mass without flame. Finally he sat down with his back to a rock fifty paces from Joanne's tepee. It was a splendid night. The air was cool and sweet. He leaned back until his head rested against the rock, and there fell upon him the fatal temptation to close his eyes and snatch a few minutes of the slumber which had not come to him during the early hours of the night. He was in a doze, oblivious to movement and the softer sounds of the night, when a cry pierced the struggling consciousness of his brain like the sting of a dart. In an instant he was on his feet. In the red glow of the log stood Joanne in her long white night robe. She seemed to be swaying when he first saw her. Her hands were clutched at her bosom, and she was staring--staring out into the night beyond the burning log, and in her face was a look of terror. He sprang toward her, and out of the gloom beyond her rushed Donald MacDonald. With a cry she turned to Aldous and flung herself shivering and half-sobbing into his arms. Gray-faced, his eyes burning like the smouldering coals in the fire, Donald MacDonald stood a step behind them, his long rifle in his hands. "What is it?" cried Aldous. "What has frightened you, Joanne?" She was shuddering against his breast. "It--it must have been a dream," she said. "It--it frightened me. But it was so terrible, and I'm--I'm sorry, John. I didn't know what I was doing." "What was it, dear?" insisted Aldous. MacDonald had drawn very close. Joanne raised her head. "Please let me go back to bed, John. It was only a dream, and I'll tell it to you in the morning, when there's sunshine--and day." Something in MacDonald's tense, listening attitude caught Aldous' eyes. "What was the dream?" he urged. She looked from him to old Donald, and shivered. "The flap of my tepee was open," she said slowly. "I thought I was awake. I thought I could see the glow of the fire. But it was a dream--a _dream_, only it was horrible! For as I looked I saw a face out there in the light, a white, searching face--and it was his face!" "Whose face?" "Mortimer FitzHugh's," she shuddered. Tenderly Aldous led her back to the tent. "Yes, it was surely an unpleasant dream, dear," he comforted her. "Try and sleep again. You must get all the rest you can." He closed the flap after her, and turned back toward MacDonald. The old hunter had disappeared. It was ten minutes before he came in from out of the darkness. He went straight to Aldous. "Johnny, you was asleep!" "I'm afraid I was, Mac--just for a minute." MacDonald's fingers gripped his arm. "Jus' for a minute, Johnny--an' in that minute you lost the chance of your life!" "What do you mean?" "I mean"--and old Donald's voice was filled with a low, choking tremble that Aldous had never heard in it before--"I mean that it weren't no dream, Johnny! Mortimer FitzHugh was in this camp to-night!" CHAPTER XXV Donald MacDonald's startling assertion that Mortimer FitzHugh had been in the camp, and that Joanne's dream was not a dream, but reality, brought a gasp of astonishment and disbelief from Aldous. Before he had recovered sufficiently from his amazement to speak, MacDonald was answering the question in his mind. "I woke quicker'n you, Johnny," he said. "She was just coming out of the tepee, an' I heard something running off through the brush. I thought mebby it was a wolverine, or a bear, an' I didn't move until she cried out your name an' you jumped up. If she had seen a bear in the fire-glow she wouldn't have thought it was Mortimer FitzHugh, would she? It's possible, but it ain't likely, though I do say it's mighty queer why he should be in this camp alone. It's up to us to watch pretty close until daylight." "He wouldn't be here alone," asserted Aldous. "Let's get out of the light, Mac. If you're right, the whole gang isn't far away!" "They ain't in rifle-shot," said MacDonald. "I heard him running a hundred yards out there. That's the queer thing about it! Why didn't they jump on us when they had the chance?" "We'll hope that it was a dream," replied Aldous. "If Joanne was dreaming of FitzHugh, and while still half asleep saw something in camp, she might easily imagine the rest. But we'll keep watch. Shall I move out there?" MacDonald nodded, and the two men separated. For two hours they patrolled the darkness, waiting and listening. With dawn Aldous returned to camp to arouse Joanne and begin breakfast. He was anxious to see what effect the incident of the night had on her. Her appearance reassured him. When he referred to the dream, and the manner in which she had come out into the night, a lovely confusion sent the blushes into her face. He kissed her until they grew deeper, and she hid her face on his neck. And then she whispered something, with her face still against his shoulder, that drove the hot blood into his own cheeks. "You are my husband, John, and I don't suppose I should be ashamed to let you see me in my bare feet. But, John--you have made me feel that way, and I am--your wife!" He held her head close against him so that she could not see his face. "I wanted to show you--that I loved you--'that much," he said, scarcely knowing what words he was speaking. "Joanne, my darling----" A soft hand closed his lips. "I know, John," she interrupted him softly. "And I love you so for it, and I'm so proud of you--oh, so proud, John!" He was glad that MacDonald came crashing through the bush then. Joanne slipped from his arms and ran into the tepee. In MacDonald's face was a grim and sullen look. "You missed your chance, all right, Johnny," he growled. "I found where a horse was tied out there. The tracks lead to a big slide of rock that opens a break in the west range. Whoever it was has beat it back into the other valley. I can't understand, s'elp me God, I can't, Johnny! Why should FitzHugh come over into this valley alone? And he _rode_ over! I'd say the devil couldn't do that!" He said nothing more, but went out to lead in the hobbled horses, leaving Aldous in half-stunned wonderment to finish the preparation of breakfast. Joanne reappeared a little later, and helped him. It was six o'clock before breakfast was over and they were ready to begin their day's journey. As they were throwing the hitch over the last pack, MacDonald said in a low voice to Aldous: "Everything may happen to-day, Johnny. I figger we'll reach the end by sundown. An' what don't happen there may happen along the trail. Keep a rifle-shot behind with Joanne. If there's unexpected shooting, we want what you might call a reserve force in the rear. I figger I can see danger, if there is any, an' I can do it best alone." Aldous knew that in these last hours Donald MacDonald's judgment must be final, and he made no objection to an arrangement which seemed to place the old hunter under a more hazardous risk than his own. And he realized fully that these were the last hours. For the first time he had seen MacDonald fill his pockets with the finger-long cartridges for his rifle, and he had noted how carefully he had looked at the breech of that rifle. Without questioning, he had followed the mountaineer's example. There were fifty spare cartridges in his own pockets. His .303 was freshly cleaned and oiled. He had tested the mechanism of his automatic. MacDonald had watched him, and both understood what such preparations meant as they set out on this last day's journey into the North. They had not kept from Joanne the fact that they would reach the end before night, and as they rode the prescribed distance behind the old hunter Aldous wondered how much she guessed, and what she knew. They had given her to understand that they were beating out the rival party, but he believed that in spite of all their efforts there was in Joanne's mind a comprehension which she did not reveal in voice or look. To-day she was no different than yesterday, or the day before, except that her cheeks were not so deeply flushed, and there was an uneasy questing in her eyes. He believed that she sensed the nearness of tragedy, that she was conscious of what they were now trying to hide from her, and that she did not speak because she knew that he and MacDonald did not want her to know. His heart throbbed with pride. Her courage inspired him. And he noticed that she rode closer to him--always at his side through that day. Early in the afternoon MacDonald stopped on the crest of a swell in the valley and waited for them. When they came up he was facing the north. He did not look at them. For a few moments he did not speak. His hat was pulled low, and his beard was twitching. They looked ahead. At their feet the valley broadened until it was a mile in width. Half a mile away a band of caribou were running for the cover of a parklike clump of timber. MacDonald did not seem to notice them. He was still looking steadily, and he was gazing at a mountain. It was a tremendous mountain, a terrible-looking, ugly mountain, perhaps three miles away. Aldous had never seen another like it. Its two huge shoulders were of almost ebon blackness, and glistened in the sunlight as if smeared with oil. Between those two shoulders rose a cathedral-like spire of rock and snow that seemed to tip the white fleece of the clouds. MacDonald did not turn when he spoke. His voice was deep and vibrant with an intense emotion. Yet he was not excited. "I've been hunting for that mount'in for forty years, Johnny!" "Mac!" Aldous leaned over and laid a hand on the old mountaineer's shoulder. Still MacDonald did not look at him. "Forty years," he repeated, as if speaking to himself. "I see how I missed it now, just as DeBar said. I hunted from the west, an' on that side the mount'in ain't black. We must have crossed this valley an' come in from the east forty years ago, Johnny----" He turned now, and what Joanne and Aldous saw in his face was not grief; it was not the sorrow of one drawing near to his beloved dead, but a joy that had transfigured him. The fire and strength of the youth in which he had first looked upon this valley with Jane at his side burned again in the sunken eyes of Donald MacDonald. After forty years he had come into his own. Somewhere very near was the cavern with the soft white floor of sand, and for a moment Aldous fancied that he could hear the beating of MacDonald's heart, while from Joanne's tender bosom there rose a deep, sobbing breath of understanding. And MacDonald, facing the mountain again, pointed with a long, gaunt arm, and said: "We're almost there, Johnny. God ha' mercy on them if they've beat us out!" CHAPTER XXVI They rode on into the Valley of Gold. Again MacDonald took the lead, and he rode straight into the face of the black mountain. Aldous no longer made an effort to keep Joanne in ignorance of what might be ahead of them. He put a sixth cartridge into the chamber of his rifle, and carried the weapon across the pommel of his saddle. He explained to her now why they were riding behind--that if their enemies were laying in wait for them, MacDonald, alone, could make a swift retreat. Joanne asked no questions. Her lips were set tight. She was pale. At the end of three quarters of an hour it seemed to them that MacDonald was riding directly into the face of a wall of rock. Then he swung sharply to the left, and disappeared. When they came to the point where he had turned they found that he had entered a concealed break in the mountain--a chasm with walls that rose almost perpendicular for a thousand feet above their heads. A dark and solemn gloom pervaded this chasm, and Aldous drew nearer to MacDonald, his rifle held in readiness, and his bridle-rein fastened to his saddle-horn. The chasm was short. Sunlight burst upon them suddenly, and a few minutes later MacDonald waited for them again. Even Aldous could not restrain an exclamation of surprise when he rode up with Joanne. Under them was another valley, a wide-sweeping valley between two rugged ranges that ran to the southwest. Up out of it there came to their ears a steady, rumbling roar; the air was filled with that roar; the earth seemed to tremble with it under their feet--and yet it was not loud. It came sullenly, as if from a great distance. And then they saw that MacDonald was not looking out over the sweep of the valley, but down. Half a mile under them there was a dip--a valley within a valley--and through it ran the silver sheen of a stream. MacDonald spoke no word now. He dismounted and levelled his long telescope at the little valley. Aldous helped Joanne from her horse, and they waited. A great breath came at last from the old hunter. Slowly he turned. He did not give the telescope to Aldous, but to Joanne. She looked. For a full minute she seemed scarcely to breathe. Her hands trembled when she turned to give the glass to Aldous. "I see--log cabins!" she whispered. MacDonald placed a detaining hand on her arm. "Look ag'in--Joanne," he said in a low voice that had in it a curious quiver. Again she raised the telescope to her eyes. "You see the little cabin--nearest the river?" whispered Donald. "Yes, I see it." "That was our cabin--Jane's an' mine--forty years ago," he said, and now his voice was husky. Joanne's breath broke sobbingly as she gave Aldous the glass. Something seemed to choke him as he looked down upon the scene of the grim tragedy in which Donald MacDonald and Jane had played their fatal part. He saw the cabins as they had stood for nearly half a century. There were four. Three of them were small, and the fourth was large. They might have been built yesterday, for all that he could see of ruin or decay. The doors and windows of the larger cabin and two of the smaller ones were closed. The roofs were unbroken. The walls appeared solid. Twice he looked at the fourth cabin, with its wide-open door and window, and twice he looked at the cabin nearest the stream, where had lived Donald MacDonald and Jane. Donald had moved, and Joanne was watching him tensely, when he took the glass from his eyes. Mutely the old mountaineer held out a hand, and Aldous gave him the telescope. Crouching behind a rock he slowly swept the valley. For half an hour he looked through the glass, and in that time scarce a word was spoken. During the last five minutes of that half-hour both Joanne and Aldous knew that MacDonald was looking at the little cabin nearest the stream, and with hands clasped tightly they waited in silence. At last old Donald rose, and his face and voice were filled with a wonderful calm. "There ain't been no change," he said softly. "I can see the log in front o' the door that I used to cut kindling on. It was too tough for them to split an' burn after we left. An' I can see the tub I made out o' spruce for Jane. It's leaning next the door, where I put it the day before we went away. Forty years ain't very long, Johnny! It ain't very long!" Joanne had turned from them, and Aldous knew that she was crying. "An' we've beat 'em to it, Johnny--we've beat 'em to it!" exulted MacDonald. "There ain't a sign of life in the valley, and we sure could make it out from here if there was!" He climbed into his saddle, and started down the slope of the mountain. Aldous went to Joanne. She was sobbing. Her eyes were blinded by tears. "It's terrible, terrible," she whispered brokenly. "And it--it's beautiful, John. I feel as though I'd like to give my life--to bring Jane back!" "You must not betray tears or grief to Donald," said Aldous, drawing her close in his arms for a moment. "Joanne--sweetheart--it is a wonderful thing that is happening with him! I dreaded this day--I have dreaded it for a long time. I thought that it would be terrible to witness the grief of a man with a heart like Donald's. But he is not filled with grief, Joanne. It is joy, a great happiness that perhaps neither you nor I can understand--that has come to him now. Don't you understand? He has found her. He has found their old home. To-day is the culmination of forty years of hope, and faith, and prayer. And it does not bring him sorrow, but gladness. We must rejoice with him. We must be happy with him. I love you, Joanne. I love you above all else on earth or in heaven. Without you I would not want to live. And yet, Joanne, I believe that I am no happier to-day than is Donald MacDonald!" With a sudden cry Joanne flung her arms about his neck. "John, is it _that?_" she cried, and joy shone through her tears. "Yes, yes, I understand now! His heart is not breaking. It is life returning into a heart that was empty. I understand--oh, I understand now! And we must be happy with him. We must be happy when we find the cavern--and Jane!" "And when we go down there to the little cabin that was their home." "Yes--yes!" They followed behind MacDonald. After a little a spur of the mountain-side shut out the little valley from them, and when they rounded this they found themselves very near to the cabins. They rode down a beautiful slope into the basin, and when he reached the log buildings old Donald stopped and dismounted. Again Aldous helped Joanne from her horse. Ahead of them MacDonald went to the cabin nearest the stream. At the door he paused and waited for them. "Forty years!" he said, facing them. "An' there ain't been so very much change as I can see!" Years had dropped from his shoulders in these last few minutes, and even Aldous could not keep quite out of his face his amazement and wonder. Very gently Donald put his hand to the latch, as though fearing to awaken some one within; and very gently he pressed down on it, and put a bit of his strength against the door. It moved inward, and when it had opened sufficiently he leaned forward so that his head and a half of his shoulders were inside; and he looked--a long time he looked, without a movement of his body or a breath that they could see. And then he turned to them again, and his eyes were shining as they had never seen them shine before. "I'll open the window," he said. "It's dark--dark inside." He went to the window, which was closed with a sapling barricade that had swung on hinges; and when he swung it back the rusted hinges gave way, and the thing crashed down at his feet. And now through the open window the sun poured in a warm radiance, and Donald entered the cabin, with Joanne and Aldous close behind him. There was not much in the cabin, but what it held was earth, and heaven, and all else to Donald MacDonald. A strange, glad cry surged from his chest as he looked about him, and now Joanne saw and understood what John Aldous had told her--for Donald MacDonald, after forty years, had come back to his home! "Oh, my Gawd, Johnny, they didn't touch anything! They didn't touch anything!" he breathed in ecstasy. "I thought after we ran away they'd come in----" He broke off, and his hat dropped from his hand, and he stood and stared; and what he was looking at, the sun fell upon in a great golden splash, and Joanne's hand gripped John's, and held to it tightly. Against the wall, hanging as they had hung for forty years, were a woman's garments: a hood, a shawl, a dress, and an apron that was half in tatters; and on the floor under these things were _a pair of shoes_. And as Donald MacDonald went to them, his arms reaching out, his lips moving, forgetful of all things but that he had come home, and Jane was here, Joanne drew Aldous softly to the door, and they went out into the day. Joanne did not speak, and Aldous did not urge her. He saw her white throat throbbing as if there were a little heart beating there, and her eyes were big and dark and velvety, like the eyes of a fawn that had been frightened. There was a thickness in his own throat, and he found that it was difficult for him to see far out over the plain. They waited near the horses. Fifty yards from them ran the stream; a clear, beautiful stream which flowed in the direction from which the mysterious ramble of thunder seemed to come. This, Aldous knew, was the stream of gold. In the sand he saw wreckage which he knew were the ancient rockers; a shovel, thrust shaft-deep, still remained where it had last been planted. Perhaps for ten minutes Donald MacDonald remained in the cabin. Then he came out. Very carefully he closed the door. His shoulders were thrown back. His head was held high. He looked like a monarch. And his voice was calm. "Everything is there, Johnny--everything but the gold," he said. "They took that." Now he spoke to Joanne. "You better not go with us into the other cabins," he said. "Why?" she asked softly. "Because--there's death in them all." "I am going," she said. From the window of the largest cabin MacDonald pulled the sapling shutter, and, like the other, it fell at his feet. Then they opened the door, and entered; and here the sunlight revealed the cabin's ghastly tragedy. The first thing that they saw, because it was most terrible, was a rough table, half over which lay the shrunken thing that had once been a man. A part of its clothes still remained, but the head had broken from its column, and the white and fleshless skull lay facing them. Out of tattered and dust-crumbling sleeves reached the naked bones of hands and arms. And on the floor lay another of these things, in a crumpled and huddled heap, only the back of the skull showing, like the polished pate of a bald man. These things they saw first, and then two others: on the table were a heap of age-blackened and dusty sacks, and out of the back of the crumbling thing that guarded them stuck the long buckhorn hilt of a knife. "They must ha' died fighting," said MacDonald. "An' there, Johnny, is their gold!" White as death Joanne stood in the door and watched them. MacDonald and Aldous went to the sacks. They were of buckskin. The years had not aged them. When Aldous took one in his hands he found that it was heavier than lead. With his knife MacDonald cut a slit in one of them, and the sun that came through the window flashed in a little golden stream that ran from the bag. "We'll take them out and put 'em in a pannier," said MacDonald. "The others won't be far behind us, Johnny." Between them they carried out the seven sacks of gold. It was a load for their arms. They put it in one of the panniers, and then MacDonald nodded toward the cabin next the one that had been his own. "I wouldn't go in there, Joanne," he said. "I'm going," she whispered again. "It was _their_ cabin--the man an' his wife," persisted old Donald. "An' the men was beasts, Joanne! I don't know what happened in there--but I guess." "I'm going," she said again. MacDonald pulled down the barricade from the window--a window that also faced the south and west, and this time he had to thrust against the door with his shoulder. They entered, and now a cry came from Joanne's lips--a cry that had in it horror, disbelief, a woman's wrath. Against the wall was a pile of something, and on that pile was the searching first light of day that had fallen upon it for nearly half a century. The pile was a man crumpled down; across it, her skeleton arms thrown about it protectingly, was a woman. This time Aldous did not go forward. MacDonald was alone, and Aldous took Joanne from the cabin, and held her while she swayed in his arms. Donald came out a little later, and there was a curious look of exultation and triumph in his face. "She killed herself," he said. "That was her husband. I know him. I gave him the rock-nails he put in the soles of his boots--and the nails are still there." He went alone into the remaining two cabins, while Aldous stood with Joanne. He did not stay long. From the fourth cabin he brought an armful of the little brown sacks. He returned, and brought a second armful. "There's three more in that last cabin," he explained. "Two men, an' a woman. She must ha' been the wife of the man they killed. They were the last to live, an' they starved to death. An' now, Johnny----" He paused, and he drew in a great breath. He was looking to the west, where the sun was beginning to sink behind the mountains. "An' now, Johnny, if you're ready, an' if Joanne is ready, we'll go," he said. CHAPTER XXVII As they went up out of the basin into the broad meadows of the larger valley, MacDonald rode between Aldous and Joanne, and the pack-horses, led by Pinto, trailed behind. Again old Donald said, as he searched the valley: "We've beat 'em, Johnny. Quade an' Rann are coming up on the other side of the range, and I figger they're just about a day behind--mebby only hours, or an hour. You can't tell. There's more gold back there. We got about a hunderd pounds in them fifteen sacks, an' there was twice that much. It's hid somewhere. Calkins used to keep his'n under the floor. So did Watts. We'll find it later. An' the river, an' the dry gulches on both sides of the valley--they're full of it! It's all gold, Johnny--gold everywhere!" He pointed ahead to where the valley rose in a green slope between two mountains half a mile away. "That's the break," he said. "It don't seem very far now, do it, Joanne?" His silence seemed to have dropped from him like a mantle, and there was joy in what he was telling. "But it was a distance that night--a tumble distance," he continued, before she could answer. "That was forty-one years ago, coming November. An' it was cold, an' the snow was deep. It was bitter cold--so cold it caught my Jane's lungs, an' that was what made her go a little later. The slope up there don't look steep now, but it was steep then--with two feet of snow to drag ourselves through. I don't think the cavern is more'n five or six miles away, Johnny, mebby less, an' it took us twenty hours to reach it. It snowed so heavy that night, an' the wind blowed so, that our trail was filled up or they might ha' followed." Many times Aldous had been on the point of asking old Donald a question. For the first time he asked it now, even as his eyes swept slowly and searchingly over the valley for signs of Mortimer FitzHugh and Quade. "I've often wondered why you ran away with Jane," he said. "I know what threatened her--a thing worse than death. But why did you run? Why didn't you stay and fight?" A low growl rumbled in MacDonald's beard. "Johnny, Johnny, if I only ha' could!" he groaned. "There was five of them left when I ran into the cabin an' barricaded myself there with Jane. I stuck my gun out of the window an' they was afraid to rush the cabin. They was _afraid_, Johnny, all that afternoon--_an' I didn't have a cartridge left to fire!_ That's why we went just as soon as we could crawl out in the dark. I knew they'd come that night. I might ha' killed one or two hand to hand, for I was big an' strong in them days, Johnny, but I knew I couldn't beat 'em all. So we went." "After all, death isn't so very terrible," said Joanne softly, and she was riding so close that for a moment she laid one of her warm hands on Donald MacDonald's. "No, it's sometimes--wunnerful--an' beautiful," replied Donald, a little brokenly, and with that he rode ahead, and Joanne and Aldous waited until the pack-horses had passed them. "He's going to see that all is clear at the summit," explained Aldous. They seemed to be riding now right into the face of that mysterious rumble and roar of the mountains. It was an hour before they all stood together at the top of the break, and here MacDonald swung sharply to the right, and came soon to the rock-strewn bed of a dried-up stream that in ages past had been a wide and rushing torrent. Steadily, as they progressed down this, the rumble and roar grew nearer. It seemed that it was almost under their feet, when again MacDonald turned, and a quarter of an hour later they found themselves at the edge of a small plain; and now all about them were cold and towering mountains that shut out the sun, and a hundred yards to their right was a great dark cleft in the floor of the plain, and up out of this came the rumble and roar that was like the sullen anger of monster beasts imprisoned deep down in the bowels of the earth. MacDonald got off his horse, and Aldous and Joanne rode up to him. In the old man's face was a look of joy and triumph. "It weren't so far as I thought it was, Johnny!" he cried. "Oh, it must ha' been a turrible night--a turrible night when Jane an' I come this way! It took us twenty hours, Johnny!" "We are near the cavern?" breathed Joanne. "It ain't more'n half a mile farther on, I guess. But we'll camp here. We're pretty well hid. They can't find us. An' from that summit up there we can keep watch in both valleys." Knowing the thoughts that were in MacDonald's mind, and how full his heart was with a great desire, Aldous went to him when they had dismounted. "You go on alone if there is time to-night, Mac," he said, knowing that the other would understand him. "I will make camp." "There ain't no one in the valley," mused the old man, a little doubtfully at first. "It would be safe--quite safe, Johnny." "Yes, it will be safe." "And I will stand guard while John is working," said Joanne, who had come to them. "No one can approach us without being seen." For another moment MacDonald hesitated. Then he said: "Do you see that break over there across the plain? It's the open to a gorge. Johnny, it do seem unreasonable--it do seem as though I must ha' been dreamin'--when I think that it took us twenty hours! But the snow was to my waist in this plain, an' it was slow work--turrible slow work! I think the cavern--ain't on'y a little way up that gorge." "You can make it before the sun is quite gone." "An' I could hear you shout, or your gun. I could ride back in five minutes--an' I wouldn't be gone an hour." "There is no danger," urged Aldous. A deep breath came from old Donald's breast. "I guess--I'll go, Johnny, if you an' Joanne don't mind." He looked about him, and then he pointed toward the face of a great rock. "Put the tepee up near that," he said. "Pile the saddles, an' the blankets, an' the panniers around it, so it'll look like a real camp, Johnny. But it won't be a real camp. It'll be a dummy. See them thick spruce an' cedar over there? Build Joanne a shelter of boughs in there, an' take in some grub, an' blankets, an' the gold. See the point, Johnny? If anything should happen----" "They'd tackle the bogus camp!" cried Aldous with elation. "It's a splendid idea!" He set at once about unpacking the horses, and Joanne followed close at his side to help him. MacDonald mounted his horse and rode at a trot in the direction of the break in the mountain. The sun had disappeared, but its reflection was still on the peaks; and after he had stripped and hobbled the horses Aldous took advantage of the last of day to scrutinize the plain and the mountain slopes through the telescope. After that he found enough dry poles with which to set up the tepee, and about this he scattered the saddles and panniers, as MacDonald had suggested. Then he cleared a space in the thick spruce, and brought to it what was required for their hidden camp. It was almost dark when he completed the spruce and cedar lean-to for Joanne. He knew that to-night they must build no fire, not even for tea; and when they had laid out the materials for their cold supper, which consisted of beans, canned beef and tongue, peach marmalade, bread bannock, and pickles and cheese, he went with Joanne for water to a small creek they had crossed a hundred yards away. In both his hands, ready for instant action, he carried his rifle. Joanne carried the pail. Her eyes were big and bright and searching in that thick-growing dusk of night. She walked very close to Aldous, and she said: "John, I know how careful you and Donald have been in this journey into the North. I know what you have feared. Culver Rann and Quade are after the gold, and they are near. But why does Donald talk as though we are _surely_ going to be attacked by them, or are _surely_ going to attack them? I don't understand it, John. If you don't care for the gold so much, as you told me once, and if we find Jane to-morrow, or to-night, why do we remain to have trouble with Quade and Culver Rann? Tell me, John." He could not see her face fully in the gloom, and he was glad that she could not see his. "If we can get away without fighting, we will, Joanne," he lied. And he knew that she would have known that he was lying if it had not been for the darkness. "You won't fight--over the gold?" she asked, pressing his arm. "Will you promise me that, John?" "Yes, I promise that. I swear it!" he cried, and so forcefully that she gave a glad little laugh. "Then if they don't find us to-morrow, we'll go back home?" She trembled, and he knew that her heart was filled with a sudden lightness. "And I don't believe they will find us. They won't come beyond that terrible place--and the gold! Why should they, John? Why should they follow us--if we leave them everything? Oh-h-h-h!" She shuddered, and whispered: "I wish we had not brought the gold, John. I wish we had left it behind!" "What we have is worth thirty or forty thousand dollars," he said reassuringly, as he filled his pail with water and they began to return. "We can do a great deal of good with that. Endowments, for instance," he laughed. As he spoke, they both stopped, and listened. Plainly they heard the approaching thud of hoofs. MacDonald had been gone nearer two hours than one, and believing that it was him, Aldous gave the owl signal. The signal floated back to them softly. Five minutes later MacDonald rode up and dismounted. Until he had taken the saddle off, and had hobbled his horse, he did not speak. Neither Joanne nor Aldous asked the question that was in their hearts. But even in the darkness they felt something. It was as if not only the torrent rushing through the chasm, but MacDonald's heart as well, was charging the air with a strange and subdued excitement. And when MacDonald spoke, that which they had felt was in his voice. "You ain't seen or heard anything, Johnny?" "Nothing. And you--Donald?" In the darkness, Joanne went to the old man, and her hand found one of his, and clasped it tightly; and she found that Donald MacDonald's big hand was trembling in a strange and curious way, and she could feel him quivering. "You found Jane?" she whispered. "Yes, I found her, little Joanne." She did not let go of his hand until they entered the open space which Aldous had made in the spruce. Then she remembered what Aldous had said to her earlier in the day, and cheerfully she lighted the two candles they had set out, and forced Aldous down first upon the ground, and then MacDonald, and began to help them to beans and meat and bannock, while all the time her heart was crying out to know about the cavern--and Jane. The candleglow told her a great deal, for in it Donald MacDonald's face was very calm, and filled with a great peace, despite the trembling she had felt. Her woman's sympathy told her that his heart was too full on this night for speech, and when he ate but little she did not urge him to eat more; and when he rose and went silently and alone out into the darkness she held Aldous back; and when, still a little later, she went into her nest for the night, she whispered softly to him: "I know that he found Jane as he wanted to find her, and he is happy. I think he has gone out there alone--to cry." And for a time after that, as he sat in the gloom, John Aldous knew that Joanne was sobbing like a little child in the spruce and cedar shelter he had built for her. CHAPTER XXVIII If MacDonald slept at all that night Aldous did not know it. The old mountaineer watched until a little after twelve in the deep shadow of a rock between the two camps. "I can't sleep," he protested, when Aldous urged him to take his rest. "I might take a little stroll up the plain, Johnny--but I can't sleep." The plain lay in a brilliant starlight at this hour; they could see the gleam of the snow-peaks--the light was almost like the glow of the moon. "There'll be plenty of sleep after to-morrow," added MacDonald, and there was a finality in his voice and words which set the other's blood stirring. "You think they will show up to-morrow?" "Yes. This is the same valley the cabins are in, Johnny. That big mountain runs out an' splits it, an' it curves like a horseshoe. From that mount'in we can see them, no matter which way they come. They'll go straight to the cabins. There's a deep little run under the slope. You didn't see it when we came out, but it'll take us within a hunderd yards of 'em. An' at a hunderd yards----" He shrugged his shoulders suggestively in the starlight, and there was a smile on his face. "It seems almost like murder," shuddered Aldous. "But it ain't,'" replied MacDonald quickly. "It's self-defence! If we don't do it, Johnny--if we don't draw on them first, what happened there forty years ago is goin' to happen again--with Joanne!" "A hundred yards," breathed Aldous, his jaws setting hard. "And there are five!" "They'll go into the cabins," said MacDonald. "At some time there will be two or three outside, an' we'll take them first. At the sound of the shots the others will run out, and it will be easy. Yo' can't very well miss a man at a hunderd yards, Johnny?" "No, I won't miss." MacDonald rose. "I'm goin' to take a little stroll, Johnny." For two hours after that Aldous was alone. He knew why old Donald could not sleep, and where he had gone, and he pictured him sitting before the little old cabin in the starlit valley communing with the spirit of Jane. And during those two hours he steeled himself for the last time to the thing that was going to happen when the day came. It was nearly three o'clock when MacDonald returned. It was four o'clock before he roused Joanne; and it was five o'clock when they had eaten their breakfast, and MacDonald prepared to leave for the mountain with his telescope. Aldous had observed Joanne talking to him for several minutes alone, and he had also observed that her eyes were very bright, and that there was an unusual eagerness in her manner of listening to what the old man was saying. The significance of this did not occur to him when she urged him to accompany MacDonald. "Two pairs of eyes are better than one, John," she said, "and I cannot possibly be in danger here. I can see you all the time, and you can see me--if I don't run away, or hide." And she laughed a little breathlessly. "There is no danger, is there, Donald?" The old hunter shook his head. "There's no danger, but--you might be lonesome," he said. Joanne put her pretty mouth close to Aldous' ear. "I want to be alone for a little while, dear," she whispered, and there was that mystery in her voice which kept him from questioning her, and made him go with MacDonald. In three quarters of an hour they had reached the spur of the mountain from which MacDonald had said they could see up the valley, and also the break through which they had come the preceding afternoon. The morning mists still hung low, but as these melted away under the sun mile after mile of a marvellous panorama spread out swiftly under them, and as the distance of their vision grew, the deeper became the disappointment in MacDonald's face. For half an hour after the mists had gone he neither spoke nor lowered the telescope from his eyes. A mile away Aldous saw three caribou crossing the valley. A little later, on a green slope, he discerned a moving hulk that he knew was a bear. He did not speak until old Donald lowered the glass. "I can see for eight miles up the valley, an' there ain't a soul in sight," said MacDonald in answer to his question. "I figgered they'd be along about now, Johnny." A dozen times Aldous had looked back at the camp. Twice he had seen Joanne. He looked now through the telescope. She was nowhere in sight. A bit nervously he returned the telescope to MacDonald. "And I can't see Joanne," he said. MacDonald looked. For five minutes he levelled the glass steadily at the camp. Then he shifted it slowly westward, and a low exclamation broke from his lips as he lowered the glass, and looked at Aldous. "Johnny, she's just goin' into the gorge! She was just disappearin' when I caught her!" "Going into--the gorge!" gasped Aldous, jumping to his feet. "Mac----" MacDonald rose and stood at his side. There was something reassuring in the rumbling laugh that came from deep in his chest. "She's beat us!" he chuckled. "Bless her, she's beat us! I didn't guess why she was askin' me all them questions. An' I told her, Johnny--told her just where the cavern was up there in the gorge, an' how you wouldn't hardly miss it if you tried. An' she asked me how long it would take to _walk_ there, an' I told her half an hour. An' she's going to the cavern, Johnny!" He was telescoping his long glass as he spoke, and while Aldous was still staring toward the gorge in wonderment and a little fear, he added: "We'd better follow. Quade an' Rann can't get here inside o' two or three hours, an' we'll be back before then." Again he rumbled with that curious chuckling laugh. "She beat us, Johnny, she beat us fair! An' she's got spirrit, a wunnerful spirrit, to go up there alone!" Aldous wanted to run, but he held himself down to MacDonald's stride. His heart trembled apprehensively as they hurriedly descended the mountain and cut across the plain. He could not quite bring himself to MacDonald's point of assurance regarding Quade and Mortimer FitzHugh. The old mountaineer was positive that the other party was behind them. Aldous asked himself if it were not possible that Quade and FitzHugh were _ahead_ of them, and already waiting and watching for their opportunity. He had suggested that they might have swung farther to the west, with the plan of descending upon the valley from the north, and MacDonald had pointed out how unlikely this was. In spite of this, Aldous was not in a comfortable frame of mind as they hurried after Joanne. She had half an hour's start of them when they reached the mouth of the gorge, and not until they had travelled another half-hour up the rough bed of the break between the two mountains, and MacDonald pointed ahead, and said: "There's the cavern!" did he breathe easier. They could see the mouth of the cavern when they were yet a couple of hundred yards from it. It was a wide, low cleft in the north face of the chasm wall, and in front of it, spreading out like the flow of a stream, was a great spatter of white sand, like a huge rug that had been spread out in a space cleared of its chaotic litter of rock and broken slate. At first glance Aldous guessed that the cavern had once been the exit of a subterranean stream. The sand deadened the sound of their footsteps as they approached. At the mouth of the cave they paused. It was perhaps forty or fifty feet deep, and as high as a nine-foot room. Inside it was quite light. Halfway to the back of it, upon her knees, and with her face turned from them, was Joanne. They were very close to her before she heard them. With a startled cry she sprang to her feet, and Aldous and MacDonald saw what she had been doing. Over a long mound in the white sand still rose the sapling stake which Donald had planted there forty years before; and about this, and scattered over the grave, were dozens of wild asters and purple hyacinths which Joanne had brought from the plain. Aldous did not speak, but he took her hand, and looked down with her on the grave. And then something caught his eyes among the flowers, and Joanne drew him a step nearer, her eyes shining like velvet stars, while his heart beat faster when he saw what the object was. It was a book, open in the middle, and it lay face downward on the grave. It was old, and looked as though it might have fallen into dust at the touch of his finger. Joanne's voice was low and filled with a whispering awe. "It was her Bible, John!" He turned a little, and noticed that Donald had gone to the mouth of the cavern, and was looking toward the mountain. "It was her Bible," he heard Joanne repeating; and then MacDonald turned toward them, and he saw in his face a look that seemed strange and out of place in this home of his dead. He went to him, and Joanne followed. MacDonald had turned again--was listening--and holding his breath. Then he said, still with his face toward the mountain and the valley: "I may be mistaken, Johnny, but I think I heard--a rifle-shot!" For a full minute they listened. "It seemed off there," said MacDonald, pointing to the south. "I guess we'd better get back to camp, Johnny." He started ahead of them, and Aldous followed as swiftly as he could with Joanne. She was panting with excitement, but she asked no questions. MacDonald began to spring more quickly from rock to rock; over the level spaces he began to run. He reached the edge of the plain four or five hundred yards in advance of them, and was scanning the valley through his telescope when they came up. "They're not on this side," he said. "They're comin' up the other leg of the valley, Johnny. We've got to get to the mount'in before we can see them." He closed the glass with a snap and swung it over his shoulder. Then he pointed toward the camp. "Take Joanne down there," he commanded. "Watch the break we came through, an' wait for me. I'm goin' up on the mount'in an' take a look!" The last words came back over his shoulder as he started on a trot down the slope. Only once before had Aldous seen MacDonald employ greater haste, and that was on the night of the attack on Joanne. He was convinced there was no doubt in Donald's mind about the rifle-shot, and that the shot could mean but one thing--the nearness of Mortimer FitzHugh and Quade. Why they should reveal their presence in that way he did not ask himself as he hurried down into the plain with Joanne. By the time they reached the camp old Donald had covered two thirds of the distance to the mountain. Aldous looked at his watch and a curious thrill shot through him. Only a little more than an hour had passed since they had left the mountain to follow Joanne, and in that time it would have been impossible for their enemies to have covered more than a third of the eight-mile stretch of valley which they had found empty of human life under the searching scrutiny of the telescope! He was right--and MacDonald was wrong! The sound of the shot, if there had been a shot, must have come from some other direction! He wanted to shout his warning to MacDonald, but already too great a distance separated them. Besides, if he was right, MacDonald would run into no danger in that direction. Their menace was to the north--beyond the chasm out of which came the rumble and roar of the stream. When Donald had disappeared up the slope he looked more closely at the rugged walls of rock that shut them in on that side. He could see no break in them. His eyes followed the dark streak in the floor of the plain, which was the chasm. It was two hundred yards below where they were standing; and a hundred yards beyond the tepee he saw where it came out of a great rent in the mountain. He looked at Joanne. She had been watching him, and was breathing quickly. "While Donald is taking his look from the mountain, I'm going to investigate the chasm," he said. She followed him, a few steps behind. The roar grew in their ears as they advanced. After a little solid rock replaced the earth under their feet, and twenty paces from the precipice Aldous took Joanne by the hand. They went to the edge and looked over. Fifty feet below them the stream was caught in the narrow space between the two chasm walls, and above the rush and roar of it Aldous heard the startled cry that came from Joanne. She clutched his hand fiercely. Fascinated she gazed down. The water, speeding like a millrace, was a lather of foam; and up through this foam there shot the crests of great rocks, as though huge monsters of some kind were at play, whipping the torrent into greater fury, and bellowing forth thunderous voices. Downstream Aldous could see that the tumult grew less; from the rent in the mountain came the deeper, more distant-rolling thunder that they had heard on the other side of the range. And then, as he looked, a sharper cry broke from Joanne, and she dragged him back from the ledge, and pointed toward the tepee. Out from among the rocks had appeared a human figure. It was a woman. Her hair was streaming wildly about her, and in the sun it was black as a crow's wing. She rushed to the tepee, opened the flap, and looked in. Then she turned, and a cry that was almost a scream rang from her lips. In another moment she had seen Aldous and Joanne, and was running toward them. They advanced to meet her. Suddenly Aldous stopped, and with a sharp warning to Joanne he threw his rifle half to his shoulder, and faced the rocks from which the speeding figure had come. In that same instant they both recognized her. It was Marie, the woman who had ridden the bear at Tête Jaune, and with whom Mortimer FitzHugh had bought Joe DeBar! She staggered up to them, panting, exhausted, her breath coming in gulping sobs. For a moment she could not speak. Her dress was torn; her waist was ripped so that it exposed her throat and shoulder; and the front of the waist and her face were stained with blood. Her black eyes shone like a madwoman's. Fiercely she fought to get her breath, and all the time she clung to Joanne, and looked at Aldous. She pointed toward the rocks--the chaotic upheaval that lay between the tepee and the chasm--and words broke gaspingly from her lips. "They're coming!--coming!" she cried. "They killed Joe--murdered him--and they're coming--to kill you!" She clutched a hand to her breast, and then pointed with it to the mountain where MacDonald had gone. "They saw him go--and they sent two men to kill him; and the rest are coming through the rocks!" She turned sobbingly to Joanne. "They killed Joe," she moaned. "They killed Joe, and they're coming--for _you!_" The emphasis on that final word struck like a blow in the ears of John Aldous. "Run for the spruce!" he commanded. "Joanne, run!" Marie had crumpled down in a moaning heap at Joanne's feet, and sat swaying with her face in her hands. "They killed him--they murdered my Joe!" she was sobbing. "And it was my fault--my fault! I trapped him! I sold him! And, oh, my God, I loved him--I loved him!" "Run, Joanne!" commanded Aldous a second time. "Run for the spruce!" Instead of obeying him, Joanne knelt down beside Marie. He went to speak again, but there came an interruption--a thing that was like the cold touch of lead in his own heart. From up on the mountain where the old mountaineer had walked into the face of death there came the sharp, splitting report of a rifle; and in that same instant it was followed by another and still a third--quick, stinging, whiplike reports--and he knew that not one of them had come from the gun of Donald MacDonald! And then he saw that the rocks behind the tepee had become suddenly alive with men! CHAPTER XXIX Sheer amazement made Aldous hold his fire in that first moment. Marie had said that two men were after MacDonald. He had heard three shots nearly a mile away, and she was still sobbing that DeBar was dead. That accounted for _three_. He had expected to see only Quade, and FitzHugh, and one other behind the tepee. And there were six! He counted them as they came swiftly out from the shelter of the rocks to the level of the plain. He was about to fire when he thought of Joanne and Marie. They were still behind him, crouching upon the ground. To fire from where he stood would draw a fusillade of bullets in their direction, and with another warning cry to Joanne, he sped twenty paces to one side so that they would not be within range. Not until then did the attacking party see him. At a hundred and fifty yards he had no time to pick out Quade or Mortimer FitzHugh. He fired first at a group of three, and one of the three crumpled down as though his skull had been crushed from above. A rifle spat back at him and the bullet sang like a ripping cloth close over his head. He dropped to his knees before he fired again, and a bullet clove the air where he had stood. The crack of rifles did not hurry him. He knew that he had six cartridges, and only six, and he aimed deliberately. At his second shot the man he had fired at ran forward three or four steps, and then pitched flat on his face. For a flash Aldous thought that it was Mortimer FitzHugh. Then, along his gun barrel, he saw FitzHugh--and pulled the trigger. It was a miss. Two men had dropped upon their knees and were aiming more carefully. He swung his sight to the foremost, and drove a bullet straight through his chest. The next moment something seemed to have fallen upon him with crushing weight. A red sea rose before his eyes. In it he was submerged; the roar of it filled his ears; it blinded him; and in the suffocating embrace of it he tried to cry out. He fought himself out of it, his eyes cleared, and he could see again. His rifle was no longer in his hands, and he was standing. Twenty feet away men were rushing upon him. His brain recovered itself with the swiftness of lightning. A bullet had stunned him, but he was not badly hurt. He jerked out his automatic, but before he could raise it, or even fire from his hip, the first of his assailants was upon him with a force that drove it from his hand. They went down together, and as they struggled on the bare rock Aldous caught for a fraction of a second a scene that burned itself like fire in his brain. He saw Mortimer FitzHugh with a revolver in his hand. He had stopped; he was staring like one looking upon the ghost of the dead, and as he stared there rose above the rumbling roar of the chasm a wild and terrible shriek from Joanne. Aldous saw no more then. He was not fighting for his life, but for her, and he fought with the mad ferocity of a tiger. As he struck, and choked, and beat the head of his assailant on the rock, he heard shriek after shriek come from Joanne's lips; and then for a flash he saw them again, and Joanne was struggling in the arms of Quade! He struggled to his knees, and the man he was fighting struggled to his knees; and then they came to their feet, locked in a death-grip on the edge of the chasm. From Quade's clutch he saw Joanne staring at Mortimer FitzHugh; then her eyes shot to him, and with another shriek she fought to free herself. For thirty seconds of that terrible drama Mortimer FitzHugh stood as if hewn out of rock. Then he sprang toward the fighters. In the arms of John Aldous was the strength of ten men. He twisted the head of his antagonist under his arm; he braced his feet--in another moment he would have flung him bodily into the roaring maelstrom below. Even as his muscles gathered themselves for the final effort he knew that all was lost. Mortimer FitzHugh's face leered over his shoulder, his demoniac intention was in his eyes before he acted. With a cry of hatred and of triumph he shoved them both over the edge, and as Aldous plunged to the depths below, still holding to his enemy, he heard a last piercing scream from Joanne. As the rock slid away from under his feet his first thought was that the end had come, and that no living creature could live in the roaring maelstrom of rock and, flood into which he was plunging. But quicker than he dashed through space his mind worked. Instinctively, without time for reasoning, he gripped at the fact that his one chance lay in the close embrace of his enemy. He hung to him. It seemed to him that they turned over and over a hundred times in that distance of fifty feet. Then a mass of twisting foam broke under him, and up out of it shot the head of one of the roaring monsters of rock that he and Joanne had looked upon. They struck it fairly, and Aldous was uppermost. He felt the terrific impact of the other's body. The foam boiled upward again, and they slipped off into the flood. Still Aldous held to his enemy. He could feel that he was limp now; he no longer felt the touch of the hands that had choked him, or the embrace of the arms that had struggled with him. He believed that his antagonist was dead. The fifty-foot fall, with the rock splitting his back, had killed him. For a moment Aldous still clung to him as they sank together under the surface, torn and twisted by the whirling eddies and whirlpools. It seemed to him that they would never cease going down, that they were sinking a vast distance. Dully he felt the beat of rocks. Then it flashed upon him that the dead man was sinking like a weighted thing. He freed himself. Fiercely he struggled to bring himself to the surface. It seemed an eternity before he rose to the top. He opened his mouth and drew a great gulp of air into his lungs. The next instant a great rock reared like a living thing in his face; he plunged against it, was beaten over it, and again he was going down--down--in that deadly clutch of maelstrom and undertow. Again he fought, and again he came to the surface. He saw a black, slippery wall gliding past him with the speed of an express train. And now it seemed as though a thousand clubs were beating him. Ahead of him were rocks--nothing but rocks. He shot through them like a piece of driftwood. The roaring in his ears grew less, and he felt the touch of something under his feet. Sunlight burst upon him. He caught at a rock, and hung to it. His eyes cleared a little. He was within ten feet of a shore covered with sand and gravel. The water was smooth and running with a musical ripple. Waist-deep he waded through it to the shore, and fell down upon his knees, with his face buried in his arms. He had been ten minutes in the death-grip of the chasm. It was another ten minutes before he staggered to his feet and looked about him. His face was beaten until he was almost blind. His shirt had been torn from his shoulders and his flesh was bleeding. He advanced a few steps. He raised one arm and then the other. He limped. One arm hurt him when he moved it, but the bone was sound. He was terribly mauled, but he knew that no bones were broken, and a gasp of thankfulness fell from his lips. All this time his mind had been suffering even more than his body. Not for an instant, even as he fought for life between the chasm walls, and as he lay half unconscious on the rock, had he forgotten Joanne. His one thought was of her now. He had no weapon, but as he stumbled in the direction of the camp in the little plain he picked up a club that lay in his path. That MacDonald was dead, Aldous was certain. There would be four against him--Quade and Mortimer FitzHugh and the two men who had gone to the mountain. His brain cleared swiftly as a part of his strength returned, and it occurred to him that if he lost no time he might come upon Joanne and her captors before the two men came from killing old Donald. He tried to run. Not until then did he fully realize the condition he was in. Twice in the first hundred yards his legs doubled under him and he fell down among the rocks. He grew steadily stronger, though each time he tried to run or spring a distance of a few feet his legs doubled under him like that. It took him twenty minutes to get back to the edge of the plain, and when he got there it was empty. There was no sign of Quade or FitzHugh, or of Joanne and Marie; and there was no one coming from the direction of the mountain. He tried to run again, and he found that over the level floor of the valley he could make faster time than among the rocks. He went to where he had dropped his rifle. It was gone. He searched for his automatic. That, too, was gone. There was one weapon left--a long skinning-knife in one of the panniers near the tepee. As he went for this, he passed two of the men whom he had shot. Quade and FitzHugh had taken their weapons, and had turned them over to see if they were alive or dead. They were dead. He secured the knife, and behind the tepee he passed the third body, its face as still and white as the others. He shuddered as he recognized it. It was Slim Barker. His rifle was gone. More swiftly now he made his way into the break out of which his assailants had come a short time before. The thought came to him again that he had been right, and that Donald MacDonald, in spite of all his years in the mountains, had been fatally wrong. Their enemies had come down from the north, and this break led to their hiding-place. Through it Joanne must have been taken by her captors. As he made his way over the rocks, gaining a little more of his strength with each step, his mind tried to picture the situation that had now arisen between Quade and Mortimer FitzHugh. How would Quade, who was mad for possession of Joanne, accept FitzHugh's claim of ownership? Would he believe his partner? Would he even believe Joanne if, to save herself from him, she told him FitzHugh was her husband? Even if he believed them, _would he give her up?_ Would Quade allow Mortimer FitzHugh to stand between him and the object for which he was willing to sacrifice everything? As Aldous asked himself these questions his blood ran hot and cold by turns. And the answer to them drew a deep breath of fear and of anguish from him as he tried again to run among the rocks. There could be but one answer: Quade would fight. He would fight like a madman, and if this fight had happened and FitzHugh had been killed Joanne had already gone utterly and helplessly into his power. He believed that FitzHugh had not revealed to Quade his relationship to Joanne while they were on the plain, and the thought still more terrible came to him that he might not reveal it at all, that he might repudiate Joanne even as she begged upon her knees for him to save her. What a revenge it would be to see her helpless and broken in the arms of Quade! And then, both being beasts---- He could think no farther. The sweat broke out on his face as he hobbled faster over a level space. The sound of the water between the chasm walls was now a thunder in his ears. He could not have heard a rifle-shot or a scream a hundred yards away. The trail he was following had continually grown narrower. It seemed to end a little ahead of him, and the fear that he had come the wrong way after all filled him with dread. He came to the face of the mountain wall, and then, to his left, he saw a crack that was no wider than a man's body. In it there was sand, and the, sand was beaten by footprints! He wormed his way through, and a moment later stood at the edge of the chasm. Fifty feet above him a natural bridge of rock spanned the huge cleft through which the stream was rushing. He crossed this, exposing himself openly to a shot if it was guarded. But it was not guarded. This fact convinced him that MacDonald had been killed, and that his enemies believed he was dead. If MacDonald had escaped, and they had feared a possible pursuit, some one would have watched the bridge. The trail was easy to follow now. Sand and grassy earth had replaced rock and shale; he could make out the imprints of feet--many of them--and they led in the direction of a piece of timber that apparently edged a valley running to the east and west. The rumble of the torrent in the chasm grew fainter as he advanced. A couple of hundred yards farther on the trail swung to the left again; it took him around the end of a huge rock, and as he appeared from behind this, his knife clutched in his hand, he dropped suddenly flat on his face, and his heart rose like a lump in his throat. Scarcely fifty yards above him was the camp of his enemies! There were two tepees and piles of saddles and panniers and blankets about them, but not a soul that he could see. And then, suddenly, there rose a voice bellowing with rage, and he recognized it as Quade's. It came from beyond the tepee, and he rose quickly from where he had thrown himself and ran forward, with the tepee between him and those on the other side. Close to the canvas he dropped on his knees and crawled out behind a pile of saddles and panniers. From here he could see. So near that he could almost have touched them were Joanne and Marie, seated on the ground, with their backs toward him. Their hands were tied behind them. Their feet were bound with pannier ropes. A dozen paces beyond them were Quade and Mortimer FitzHugh. The two men were facing each other, a yard apart. Mortimer FitzHugh's face was white, a deadly white, and he was smiling. His right hand rested carelessly in his hunting-coat pocket. There was a sneering challenge on his lips; in his eyes was a look that Aldous knew meant death if Quade moved. And Quade was like a great red beast ready to spring. His eyes seemed bulging out on his cheeks; his great hands were knotted; his shoulders were hunched forward, and his mottled face was ablaze with passion. In that moment's dramatic tableau Aldous glanced about swiftly. The men from the mountain had not returned. He was alone with Quade and Mortimer FitzHugh. Then FitzHugh spoke, very quietly, a little laughingly; but his voice trembled, and Aldous knew what the hand was doing in the hunting-coat pocket. "You're excited, Billy," he said. "I'm not a liar, as you've very impolitely told me. And I'm not playing you dirt, and I haven't fallen in love with the lady myself, as you seem to think. But she belongs to me, body and soul. If you don't believe me--why, ask the lady herself, Billy!" As he spoke, he turned his sneering eyes for the fraction of a second toward Joanne. The movement was fatal. Quade was upon him. The hand in the coat pocket flung itself upward, there followed a muffled report, but the bullet flew wide. In all his life Aldous had never heard a sound like the roar that came from Quade's throat then. He saw Mortimer FitzHugh's hand appear with a pistol in it, and then the pistol was gone. He did not see where it went to. He gripped his knife and waited, his heart beating with what seemed like smothered explosions as he watched for the opportunity which he knew would soon come. He expected to see FitzHugh go down under Quade's huge bulk. Instead of that, a small, iron fist shot upward and Quade's head went back as if broken from his neck. FitzHugh sprang a step backward, and in the movement his heel caught the edge of a pack-saddle. He stumbled, almost fell, and before he could recover himself Quade was at him again. This time there was something in the red brute's hand. It rose and fell once--and Mortimer FitzHugh reeled backward with a moaning cry, swayed for a second or two on his feet, and fell to the ground. Quade turned. In his hand was a bloody knife. Madness and passion and the triumphant joy of a demon were in his face as he glared at his helpless prey. As Aldous crouched lower his shoulder touched one of the saddles. It slipped from the pile, one of the panniers followed it, and Quade saw him. There was no longer reason for concealment, and as Quade stood paralyzed for a moment Aldous sprang forth into the space between him and Joanne. He heard the cry that broke strangely from her lips but he did not turn his head. He advanced upon Quade, his head lowered, the long skinning-knife gleaming in his hand. John Aldous knew that words would avail nothing in these last few minutes between him and Quade. The latter had already hunched himself forward, the red knife in his hand poised at his waistline. He was terrible. His huge bulk, his red face and bull neck, his eyes popping from behind their fleshy lids, and the dripping blade in the shapeless hulk of his hand gave him the appearance as he stood there of some monstrous gargoyle instead of a thing of flesh and blood. And Aldous was terrible to look at, but in a way that wrung a moaning cry from Joanne. His face was livid from the beat of the rocks; it was crusted with blood; his eyes were partly closed, and what remained of his shirt was drenched with blood that still ran from the deep cuts in his arms and shoulders. But it was he who advanced, and Quade who stood and waited. Aldous knew little or nothing of knife-fighting; and he realized, also, that there was a strange weakness in his arms and body caused by his battle with the maelstroms in the chasm. But he had wrestled a great deal with the Indians of the north, who fought as their half-wolf sledgedogs fought, and he employed their methods now. Slowly and deliberately he began to circle around Quade, so that Quade became the pivot of that circle, and as he circled he drew nearer and nearer to his enemy, but never in a frontal advance. He edged inward, with his knife-arm on the outside. His deadly deliberateness and the steady glare of his eyes discomfited Quade, who suddenly took a step backward. It was always when the Indian made this step that his opponent darted in; and Aldous, with this in mind, sprang to the attack. Their knives clashed in midair. As they met, hilt to hilt, Aldous threw his whole weight against Quade, darted sidewise, and with a terrific lunge brought the blade of his knife down between Quade's shoulders. A straight blade would have gone from back to chest through muscle and sinew, but the knife which Aldous held scarcely pierced the other's clothes. Not until then did he fully realize the tremendous odds against him. The curved blade of his skinning-knife would not penetrate! His one hope was to cut with it. He flung out his arm before Quade had fully recovered, and blind luck carried the keen edge of the knife across his enemy's pouchy cheek. The blood came in a spurt, and with a terrible cry Quade leaped back toward the pile of saddles and panniers. Before Aldous could follow his advantage the other had dropped his knife and had snatched up a four-foot length of a tepee pole. For a moment he hesitated while the blood ran in a hot flood down his thick neck. Then with a bellow of rage he rushed upon Aldous. It was no time for knife-work now. As the avalanche of brute strength descended upon him Aldous gathered himself for the shock. He had already measured his own weakness. Those ten minutes among the rocks of the chasm had broken and beaten him until his strength was gone. He was panting from his first onset with Quade, but his brain was working. And he knew that Quade was no longer a reasoning thing. He had ceased to think. He was blind with the passion of the brute, and his one thought was to crush his enemy down under the weight of the club in his huge hands. Aldous waited. He heard Joanne's terrified scream when Quade was almost upon him--when less than five feet separated them. The club was descending when he flung himself forward, straight for the other's feet. The club crashed over him, and with what strength he had he gripped Quade at the knees. With a tremendous thud Quade came to earth. The club broke from the grip of his hands. For a moment he was stunned, and in that moment Aldous was at his throat. He would have sold the best of his life for the skinning-knife. But he had lost it in gripping Quade. And now he choked--with every ounce of strength in him he choked at the thick red neck of his enemy. Quade's hands reached for his own throat. They found it. And both choked, lying there gasping and covered with blood! while Joanne struggled vainly to free herself, and scream after scream rang from her lips. And John Aldous knew that at last the end had come. For there was no longer strength in his arms, and there was something that was like a strange cramp in his fingers, while the clutch at his own throat was turning the world black. His grip relaxed. His hands fell limp. The last that he realized was that Quade was over him, and that he must be dying. Then it was, as he lay within a final second or two of death, no longer conscious of physical attack or of Joanne's terrible cries, that a strange and unforeseen thing occurred. Beyond the tepee a man had risen from the earth. He staggered toward them, and it was from Marie that the wildest and strangest cry of all came now. For the man was Joe DeBar! In his hand he held a knife. Swaying and stumbling he came to the fighters--from behind. Quade did not see him, and over Quade's huge back he poised himself. The knife rose; for the fraction of a second it trembled in midair. Then it descended, and eight inches of steel went to the heart of Quade. And as DeBar turned and staggered toward Joanne and Marie, John Aldous was sinking deeper and deeper into a black and abysmal night. CHAPTER XXX In that chaotic night in which he was drifting, light as a feather floating on the wind, John Aldous experienced neither pain nor very much of the sense of life. And yet, without seeing or feeling, he seemed to be living, All was dead in him but that last consciousness, which is almost the spirit; he might have been dreaming, and minutes, hours, or even years might have passed in that dream. For a long time he seemed to be sinking through the blackness; and then something stopped him, without jar or shock, and he was rising. He could hear nothing. There was a vast silence about him, a silence as deep and as unbroken as the abysmal pit in which he seemed to be softly floating. After a time Aldous felt himself swaying and rocking, as though tossed gently on the billows of a sea. This was the first thought that took shape in his struggling brain--he was at sea; he was on a ship in the heart of a black night, and he was alone. He tried to call out, but his tongue seemed gone. It seemed a very long time before day broke, and then it was a strange day. Little needles of light pricked his eyes; silver strings shot like flashes of weblike lightning through the darkness, and after that he saw for an instant a strange glare. It was gone in one big, powderlike flash, and he was in night again. These days and nights seemed to follow one another swiftly now, and the nights grew less dark, and the days brighter. He was conscious of sounds and buffetings, and it was very hot. Out of this heat there came a cool, soft breeze that was continually caressing his face, and eyes, and head. It was like the touch of a spirit hand. It became more and more real to him. It caressed him into a dark and comfortable oblivion. Out of this oblivion a still brighter day roused him. His brain seemed clear. He opened his eyes. A white cloud was hovering over them; it fell softly; it was cool and gentle. Then it rose again, and it was not a cloud, but a hand! The hand moved away, and he was looking into a pair of wide-open, staring, prayerful eyes, and a little cry came to him, and a voice. "John--John----" He was drifting again, but now he knew that he was alive. He heard movement. He heard voices. They were growing nearer and more distinct. He tried to cry out Joanne's name, and it came in a whispering breath between his lips. But Joanne heard; and he heard her calling to him; he felt her hands; she was imploring him to open his eyes, to speak to her. It seemed many minutes before he could do this, but at last he succeeded. And this time his vision was not so blurred. He could see plainly. Joanne was there, hovering over him, and just beyond her was the great bearded face of Donald MacDonald. And then, before words had formed on his lips, he did a wonderful thing. He smiled. "O my God, I thank Thee!" he heard Joanne cry out, and then she was on her knees, and her face was against his, and she was sobbing. He knew that it was MacDonald who drew her away. The great head bent over him. "Take this, will 'ee, Johnny boy?" Aldous stared. "Mac, you're--alive," he breathed. "Alive as ever was, Johnny. Take this." He swallowed. And then Joanne hovered over him again, and he put up his hands to her face, and her glorious eyes were swimming seas as she kissed him and choked back the sobs in her throat. He buried his fingers in her hair. He held her head close to him, and for many minutes no one spoke, while MacDonald stood and looked down on them. In those minutes everything returned to him. The fight was over. MacDonald had come in time to save him from Quade. But--and now his eyes stared upward through the sheen of Joanne's hair--he was in a cabin! He recognized it. It was Donald MacDonald's old home. When Joanne raised her head he looked about him without speaking. He was in the wide bunk built against the wall. Sunlight was filtering through a white curtain at the window, and in the open door he saw the anxious face of Marie. He tried to lift himself, and was amazed to find that he could not. Very gently Joanne urged him back on his pillow. Her face was a glory of life and of joy. He obeyed her as he would have obeyed the hand of the Madonna. She saw all his questioning. "You must be quiet, John," she said, and never had he heard in her voice the sweetness of love that was in it now. "We will tell you everything--Donald and I. But you must be quiet. You were terribly beaten among the rocks. We brought you here at noon, and the sun is setting--and until now you have not opened your eyes. Everything is well. But you must be quiet. You were terribly bruised by the rocks, dear." It was sweet to lie under the caresses of her hand. He drew her face down to him. "Joanne, my darling, you understand now--why I wanted to come alone into the North?" Her lips pressed warm and soft against his. "I know," she whispered, and he could feel her arras trembling, and her breath coming quickly. Gently she drew away from him. "I am going to make you some broth," she said then. He watched her as she went out of the cabin, one white hand lifted to her throat. Old Donald MacDonald seated himself on the edge of the bunk. He looked down at Aldous, chuckling in his beard; and Aldous, with his bruised and swollen face and half-open eyes, grinned like a happy fiend. "It was a wunerful, wunerful fight, Johnny!" said old Donald. "It was, Mac. And you came in fine on the home stretch!" "What d'ye mean--home stretch?" queried Donald leaning over. "You saved me from Quade." Donald fairly groaned. "I didn't, Johnny--I didn't! DeBar killed 'im. It was all over when I come. On'y--Johnny--I had a most cur'ous word with Culver Rann afore he died!" In his eagerness Aldous was again trying to sit up when Joanne appeared in the doorway. With a little cry she darted to him, forced him gently back, and brushed old Donald off the edge of the bunk. "Go out and watch the broth, Donald," she commanded firmly. Then she said to Aldous, stroking back his hair, "I forbade you to talk. John, dear, aren't you going to mind me?" "Did Quade get me with the knife?" he asked. "No, no." "Am I shot?" "No, dear." "Any bones broken?" "Donald says not." "Then please give me my pipe, Joanne--and let me get up. Why do you want me to lie here when I'm strong like an ox, as Donald says?" Joanne laughed happily. "You _are_ getting better every minute," she cried joyously. "But you were terribly beaten by the rocks, John. If you will wait until you have the broth I will let you sit up." A few minutes later, when he had swallowed his broth, Joanne kept her promise. Only then did he realize that there was not a bone or a muscle in his body that did not have its own particular ache. He grimaced when Joanne and Donald bolstered him up with blankets at his back. But he was happy. Twilight was coming swiftly, and as Joanne gave the final pats and turns to the blankets and pillows, MacDonald was lighting half a dozen candles placed around the room. "Any watch to-night, Donald?" asked Aldous. "No, Johnny, there ain't no watch to-night," replied the old mountaineer. He came and seated himself on a bench with Joanne. For half an hour after that Aldous listened to a recital of the strange things that had happened--how poor marksmanship had saved MacDonald on the mountain-side, and how at last the duel had ended with the old hunter killing those who had come to slay him. When they came to speak of DeBar, Joanne leaned nearer to Aldous. "It is wonderful what love will sometimes do," she spoke softly. "In the last few hours Marie has bared her soul to me, John. What she has been she has not tried to hide from me, nor even from the man she loves. She was one of Mortimer FitzHugh's tools. DeBar saw her and loved her, and she sold herself to him in exchange for the secret of the gold. When they came into the North the wonderful thing happened. She loved DeBar--not in the way of her kind, but as a woman in whom had been born a new heart and a new soul and a new joy. She defied FitzHugh; she told DeBar how she had tricked him. "This morning FitzHugh attempted his old familiarity with her, and DeBar struck him down. The act gave them excuse for what they had planned to do. Before her eyes Marie thought they had killed the man she loved. She flung herself on his breast, and she said she could not feel his heart beat, and his blood flowed warm against her hands and face. Both she and DeBar had determined to warn us if they could. Only a few minutes before DeBar was stabbed he had let off his rifle--an accident, he said. But it was not an accident. It was the shot Donald heard in the cavern. It saved us, John! And Marie, waiting her opportunity, fled to us in the plain. DeBar was not killed. He says my screams brought him back to life. He came out--and killed Quade with a knife. Then he fell at our feet. A few minutes later Donald came. DeBar is in another cabin. He is not fatally hurt, and Marie is happy." She was stroking his hand when she finished. The curious rumbling came softly in MacDonald's beard and his eyes were bright with a whimsical humour. "I pretty near bored a hole through poor Joe when I come up," he chuckled. "But you bet I hugged him when I found what he'd done, Johnny! Joe says their camp was just over the range from us that night FitzHugh looked us up, an' Joanne thought she'd been dreamin'. He didn't have any help, but his intention was to finish us alone--murder us asleep--when Joanne cried out. Joe says it was just a devil's freak that took 'im to the top of the mountain alone that night. He saw our fire an' came down to investigate." A low voice was calling outside the door. It was Marie. As Joanne went to her a quick gleam came into old Donald's eyes. He looked behind him cautiously to see that she had disappeared, then he bent over Aldous, and whispered hoarsely: "Johnny, I had a most cur'ous word with Rann--or FitzHugh--afore he died! He wasn't dead when I went to him. But he knew he was dyin'; an' Johnny, he was smilin' an' cool to the end. I wanted to ask 'im a question, Johnny. I was dead cur'ous to know _why the grave were empty!_ But he asked for Joanne, an' I couldn't break in on his last breath. I brought her. The first thing he asked her was how people had took it when they found out he'd poisoned his father! When Joanne told him no one had ever thought he'd killed his father, FitzHugh sat leanin' against the saddles for a minit so white an' still I thought he 'ad died with his eyes open. Then it came out, Johnny. He was smilin' as he told it. He killed his father with poison to get his money. Later he came to America. He didn't have time to tell us how he come to think they'd discovered his crime. He was dyin' as he talked. It came out sort o' slobberingly, Johnny. He thought they'd found 'im out. He changed his name, an' sent out the report that Mortimer FitzHugh had died in the mount'ins. But Johnny, he died afore I could ask him about the grave!" There was a final note of disappointment in old Donald's voice that was almost pathetic. "It was such a cur'ous grave," he said. "An' the clothes were laid out so prim an' nice." Aldous laid his hand on MacDonald's. "It's easy, Mac," he said, and he wanted to laugh at the disappointment that was still in the other's face. "Don't you see? He never expected any one to dig _into_ the grave. And he put the clothes and the watch and the ring in there to get rid of them. They might have revealed his identity. Why, Donald----" Joanne was coming to them again. She laid a cool hand on his forehead and held up a warning finger to MacDonald. "Hush!" she said gently, "Your head is very hot, dear, and there must be no more talking. You must lie down and sleep. Tell John good-night, Donald!" Like a boy MacDonald did as she told him, and disappeared through the cabin door. Joanne levelled the pillows and lowered John's head. "I can't sleep, Joanne," he protested. "I will sit here close at your side and stroke your face and hair," she said gently. "And you will talk to me?" "No, I must not talk. But, John----" "Yes, dear." "If you will promise to be very, very quiet, and let me be very quiet----" "Yes." "I will make you a pillow of my hair." "I--will be quiet," he whispered. She unbound her hair, and leaned over so that it fell in a flood on his pillow. With a sigh of contentment he buried his face in the rich, sweet masses of it. Gently, like the cooling breeze that had come to him in his hours of darkness, her hand caressed him. He closed his eyes; he drank in the intoxicating perfume of her tresses; and after a little he slept. For many hours Joanne sat at his bedside, sleepless, and rejoicing. When Aldous awoke it was dawn in the cabin. Joanne was gone. For a few minutes he continued to lie with his face toward the window. He knew that he had slept a long time, and that the day was breaking. Slowly he raised himself. The terrible ache in his body was gone; he was still lame, but no longer helpless. He drew himself cautiously to the edge of the bunk and sat there for a time, testing himself before he got up. He was delighted at the result of the experiments. He rose to his feet. His clothes were hanging against the wall, and he dressed himself. Then he opened the door and walked out into the morning, limping a little as he went. MacDonald was up. Joanne's tepee was close to the cabin. The two men greeted each other quietly, and they talked in low voices, but Joanne heard them, and a few moments later she ran out with her hair streaming about her and went straight into the arms of John Aldous. This was the beginning of the three wonderful days that yet remained for Joanne and John Aldous in Donald MacDonald's little valley of gold and sunshine and blue skies. They were strange and beautiful days, filled with a great peace and a great happiness, and in them wonderful changes were at work. On the second day Joanne and Marie rode alone to the cavern where Jane lay, and when they returned in the golden sun of the afternoon they were leading their horses, and walking hand in hand. And when they came down to where DeBar and Aldous and Donald MacDonald were testing the richness of the black sand along the stream there was a light in Marie's eyes and a radiance in Joanne's face which told again that world-old story of a Mary Magdalene and the dawn of another Day. And now, Aldous thought, Marie had become beautiful; and Joanne laughed softly and happily that night, and confided many things into the ears of Aldous, while Marie and DeBar talked for a long time alone out under the stars, and came back at last hand in hand, like two children. Before they went to bed Marie whispered something to Joanne, and a little later Joanne whispered it to Aldous. "They want to know if they can be married with us, John," she said. "That is, if you haven't grown tired of trying to marry me, dear," she added with a happy laugh. "Have you?" His answer satisfied her. And when she told a small part of it to Marie, the other woman's dark eyes grew as soft as the night, and she whispered the words to Joe. The third and last day was the most beautiful of all. Joe's knife wound was not bad. He had suffered most from a blow on the head. Both he and Aldous were in condition to travel, and plans were made to begin the homeward journey on the fourth morning. MacDonald had unearthed another dozen sacks of the hidden gold, and he explained to Aldous what must be done to secure legal possession of the little valley. His manner of doing this was unnatural and strained. His words came haltingly. There was unhappiness in his eyes. It was in his voice. It was in the odd droop of his shoulders. And finally, when they were alone, he said to Aldous, with almost a sob in his voice: "Johnny--Johnny, if on'y the gold were not here!" He turned his eyes to the mountain, and Aldous took one of his big gnarled hands in both his own. "Say it, Mac," he said gently. "I guess I know what it is." "It ain't fair to you, Johnny," said old Donald, still with his eyes on the mountains. "It ain't fair to you. But when you take out the claims down there it'll start a rush. You know what it means, Johnny. There'll be a thousand men up here; an' mebby you can't understand--but there's the cavern an' Jane an' the little cabin here; an' it seems like desecratin' _her_." His voice choked, and as Aldous gripped the big hand harder in his own he laughed. "It would, Mac," he said. "I've been watching you while we made the plans. These cabins and the gold have been here for more than forty years without discovery, Donald--and they won't be discovered again so long as Joe DeBar and John Aldous and Donald MacDonald have a word to say about it. We'll take out no claims, Mac. The valley isn't ours. It's Jane's valley and yours!" Joanne, coming up just then, wondered what the two men had been saying that they stood as they did, with hands clasped. Aldous told her. And then old Donald confessed to them what was in his mind, and what he had kept from them. At last he had found his home, and he was not going to leave it again. He was going to stay with Jane. He was going to bring her from the cavern and bury her near the cabin, and he pointed out the spot, covered with wild hyacinths and asters, where she used to sit on the edge of the stream and watch him while he worked for gold. And they could return each year and dig for gold, and he would dig for gold while they were away, and they could have it all. All that he wanted was enough to eat, and Jane, and the little valley. And Joanne turned from him as he talked, her face streaming with tears, and in John's throat was a great lump, and he looked away from MacDonald to the mountains. So it came to pass that on the fourth morning, when they went into the south, they stopped on the last knoll that shut out the little valley from the larger valley, and looked back. And Donald MacDonald stood alone in front of the cabin waving them good-bye. THE END 
15911	----	Proofreading Team. [Transcriber's Note: Because this is a personal narrative, inconsistencies in spelling, hyphenation, capitalization, and italicization have been preserved in cases where it is not clearly an error from the original printing.] [Illustration: ASTORIA, AS IT WAS IN 1813.] NARRATIVE OF A VOYAGE TO THE NORTHWEST COAST OF AMERICA IN THE YEARS 1811, 1812, 1813, AND 1814 OR THE FIRST AMERICAN SETTLEMENT ON THE PACIFIC BY GABRIEL FRANCHERE TRANSLATED AND EDITED BY J.V. HUNTINGTON REDFIELD 110 AND 112 NASSAU STREET, NEW YORK 1854. Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1854, BY J.S. REDFIELD, In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States, in and for the Southern District of New York. PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION. In 1846, when the boundary question (that of the Oregon Territory in particular) was at its height, the Hon. THOMAS H. BENTON delivered in the United States Senate a decisive speech, of which the following is an extract:-- "Now for the proof of all I have said. I happen to have in my possession the book of all others, which gives the fullest and most authentic details on all the points I have mentioned--a book written at a time, and under circumstances, when the author (himself a British subject and familiar on the Columbia) had no more idea that the British would lay claim to that river, than Mr. Harmon, the American writer whom I quoted, ever thought of our claiming New Caledonia. It is the work of Mr. FRANCHERE, a gentleman of Montreal, with whom I have the pleasure to be personally acquainted, and one of those employed by Mr. ASTOR in founding his colony. He was at the founding of ASTORIA, at its sale to the Northwest Company, saw the place seized as a British conquest, and continued there after its seizure. He wrote in French: his work has not been done into English, though it well deserves it; and I read from the French text. He gives a brief and true account of the discovery of the Columbia." I felt justly proud of this notice of my unpretending work, especially that the latter should have contributed, as it did, to the amicable settlement of the then pending difficulties. I have flattered myself ever since, that it belonged to the historical literature of the great country, which by adoption has become mine. The re-perusal of "Astoria" by WASHINGTON IRVING (1836) inspired me with an additional motive for giving my book in an English dress. Without disparagement to Mr. IRVING'S literary, fame, I may venture to say that I found in his work inaccuracies, misstatements (unintentional of course), and a want of chronological order, which struck forcibly one so familiar with the events themselves. I thought I could show--or rather that my simple narration, of itself, plainly discovered--that some of the young men embarked in that expedition (which founded our Pacific empire), did not merit the ridicule and contempt which Captain THORN attempted to throw upon them, and which perhaps, through the genius of Mr. IRVING, might otherwise remain as a lasting stigma on their characters. But the consideration which, before all others, prompts me to offer this narrative to the American reading public, is my desire to place before them, therein, a simple and connected account (which at this time ought to be interesting), of the early settlement of the Oregon Territory by one of our adopted citizens, the enterprising merchant JOHN JACOB ASTOR. The importance of a vast territory, which at no distant day may add two more bright stars to our national banner, is a guarantee that my humble effort will be appreciated. * * * * * NOTE BY THE EDITOR. It has been the editor's wish to let Mr. Franchere speak for himself. To preserve in the translation the Defoe-like simplicity of the original narrative of the young French Canadian, has been his chief care. Having read many narratives of travel and adventure in our northwestern wilderness, he may be permitted to say that he has met with none that gives a more vivid and picturesque description of it, or in which the personal adventures of the narrator, and the varying fortunes of a great enterprise, mingle more happily, and one may say, more dramatically, with the itinerary. The clerkly minuteness of the details is not without its charm either, and their fidelity speaks for itself. Take it altogether, it must be regarded as a fragment of our colonial history saved from oblivion; it fills up a vacuity which Mr. IRVING'S classic work does not quite supply; it is, in fact, the only account by an eye-witness and a participator in the enterprise, of the first attempt to form a settlement on the Pacific under the stars and stripes. The editor has thought it would be interesting to add Mr. Franchere's Preface to the original French edition, which will be found on the next page. BALTIMORE, _February 6, 1854_. PREFACE TO THE FRENCH EDITION. When I was writing my journal on the vessel which carried me to the northwest coast of North America, or in the wild regions of this continent, I was far from thinking that it would be placed one day before the public eye. I had no other end in writing, but to procure to my family and my friends a more exact and more connected detail of what I had seen or learned in the course of my travels, than it would have been possible for me to give them in a _viva voce_ narration. Since my return to my native city, my manuscript has passed into various hands and has been read by different persons: several of my friends immediately advised me to print it; but it is only quite lately that I have allowed myself to be persuaded, that without being a learned naturalist, a skilful geographer, or a profound moralist, a traveller may yet interest by the faithful and succinct account of the situations in which he has found himself, the adventures which have happened to him, and the incidents of which he has been a witness; that if a simple ingenuous narrative, stripped of the merit of science and the graces of diction, must needs be less enjoyed by the man of letters or by the _savant_, it would have, in compensation, the advantage of being at the level of a greater number of readers; in fine, that the desire of affording an entertainment to his countrymen, according to his capacity, and without any mixture of the author's vanity or of pecuniary interest, would be a well-founded title to their indulgence. Whether I have done well or ill in yielding to these suggestions, which I am bound to regard as those of friendship, or of good-will, it belongs to the impartial and disinterested reader, to decide. MONTREAL, 1819. CONTENTS. CHAPTER I. Departure from Montreal.--Arrival in New York.--Description of that City.--Names of the Persons engaged in the Expedition. CHAPTER II. Departure from New York.--Reflections of the Author.--Navigation, falling in with other Ships, and various Incidents, till the Vessel comes in Sight of the Falkland Isles. CHAPTER III. Arrival at the Falkland Isles.--Landing.--Perilous Situation of the Author and some of his Companions.--Portrait of Captain Thorn.--Cape Horn.--Navigation to the Sandwich Islands. CHAPTER IV. Accident.--View of the Coast.--Attempted Visit of the Natives.--Their Industry.--Bay of Karaka-koua.--Landing on the Island.--John Young, Governor of Owahee. CHAPTER V. Bay of Ohetity.--Tamehameha, King of the Island.--His Visit to the Ship.--His Capital.--His Naval Force.--His Authority.--Productions of the Country.--Manners and Customs.--Reflections. CHAPTER VI. Departure from Wahoo.--Storm.--Arrival at the Mouth of the Columbia.--Reckless Order of the Captain.--Difficulty of the Entrance.--Perilous Situation of the Ship.--Unhappy Fate of a Part of the Crew and People of the Expedition. CHAPTER VII. Regrets of the Author at the Loss of his Companions.--Obsequies of a Sandwich-Islander.--First Steps in the Formation of the intended Establishment.--New Alarm.--Encampment. CHAPTER VIII. Voyage up the River.--Description of the Country.--Meeting with strange Indians. CHAPTER IX. Departure of the Tonquin.--Indian Messengers.--Project of an Expedition to the Interior.--Arrival of Mr. Daniel Thompson.--Departure of the Expedition.--Designs upon us by the Natives.--Rumors of the Destruction of the Tonquin.--Scarcity of Provisions.--Narrative of a strange Indian.--Duplicity and Cunning of Comcomly. CHAPTER X. Occupation at Astoria.--Return of a Portion of the Men of the Expedition to the Interior.--New Expedition.--Excursion in Search of three Deserters. CHAPTER XI. Departure of Mr. R. Stuart for the Interior.--Occupations at Astoria.--Arrival of Messrs. Donald M'Kenzie and Robert M'Lellan.--Account of their Journey.--Arrival of Mr. Wilson P. Hunt. CHAPTER XII. Arrival of the Ship Beaver.--Unexpected Return of Messrs. D. Stuart, B. Stuart, M'Lelland, &c.--Cause of that Return.--Ship discharging.--New Expeditions.--Hostile Attitude of the Natives.--Departure of the Beaver.--Journeys of the Author.--His Occupations at the Establishment. CHAPTER XIII. Uneasiness respecting the "Beaver."--News of the Declaration of War between Great Britain and the United States.--Consequences of that Intelligence.--Different Occurrences.--Arrival of two Canoes of the Northwest Company.--Preparations for abandoning the Country.--Postponement of Departure.--Arrangement-with Mr. J.G. M'Tavish. CHAPTER XIV. Arrival of the Ship "Albatross."--Reasons for the Non-Appearance of the Beaver at Astoria.--Fruitless Attempt of Captain Smith on a Former Occasion.--Astonishment and Regret of Mr. Hunt at the Resolution of the Partners.--His Departure.--Narrative of the Destruction of the Tonquin.--Causes of that Disaster.--Reflections. CHAPTER XV. Arrival of a Number of Canoes of the Northwest Company.--Sale of the Establishment at Astoria to that Company.--Canadian News.--Arrival of the British Sloop-of-War "Raccoon."--Accident on Board that Vessel.--The Captain takes Formal Possession of Astoria.--Surprise and Discontent of the Officers And Crew.--Departure of the "Raccoon." CHAPTER XVI. Expeditions to the Interior.--Return of Messrs. John Stuart and D. M'Kenzie.--Theft committed by the Natives.--War Party against the Thieves. CHAPTER XVII. Description of Tongue Point.--A Trip to the _Willamet_.--Arrival of W. Hunt in the Brig Pedlar.--Narrative of the Loss of the Ship Lark.--Preparations for crossing the Continent. CHAPTER XVIII. Situation of the Columbia River.--Qualities of its Soil.--Climate, &c.--Vegetable and Animal Productions of the Country. CHAPTER XIX. Manners, Customs, Occupations, &c., of the Natives on the River Columbia. CHAPTER XX. Manners and Customs of the Natives continued.--Their Wars.--Their Marriages.--Medicine Men.--Funeral Ceremonies.--Religious Notions.--Language. CHAPTER XXI. Departure from Astoria Or Fort George.--Accident.--Passage of the Dalles or Narrows.--Great Columbian Desert.--Aspect of the Country.--Wallawalla and Sha-aptin Rivers.--Rattlesnakes.--Some Details regarding the Natives of the Upper Columbia. CHAPTER XXII. Meeting with the Widow of a Hunter.--Her Narrative.--Reflections of the Author.--Priest's Rapid.--River Okenakan.--Kettle Falls.--Pine Moss.--Scarcity of Food.--Rivers, Lakes, &c.--Accident.--A Rencontre.--First View of the Rocky Mountains. CHAPTER XXIII. Course of the Columbian River.--Canoe River.--Foot-march toward the Rocky Mountains.--Passage of the Mountains. CHAPTER XXIV. Arrival at the Fort of the Mountains.--Description of this Post.--Some Details in Regard to the Rocky Mountains.--Mountain Sheep, &c.--Continuation of the Journey.--Unhappy Accident.--Reflections.--News from Canada.--Hunter's Lodge.--Pembina and Red Deer Rivers. CHAPTER XXV. Red Deer Lake.--Antoine Déjarlais.--Beaver River.--N. Nadeau.--Moose River.--Bridge Lake.--Saskatchawine River.--Fort Vermilion.--Mr. Hallet.--Trading-Houses.--Beautiful Country.--Reflections. CHAPTER XXVI. Fort Montée.--Cumberland House.--Lake Bourbon.--Great Winipeg Rapids.--Lake Winipeg.--Trading-House.--Lake of the Woods.--Rainy Lake House, &c. CHAPTER XXVII. Arrival at Fort William.--Description of that Post--News from the River Columbia. CHAPTER XXVIII. Departure from Fort William.--Navigation on Lake Superior.--Michipicoton Bay.--Meeting a Canoe.--Batchawainon Bay.--Arrival at Saut Ste. Marie.--Occurrences there.--Departure.--Lake Huron.--French River.--Lake Nipissing.--Ottawa River.--Kettle Falls.--Rideau River.--Long-Saut.--Arrival in Montreal.--Conclusion. CHAPTER XXIX. Present State of the Countries visited by the Author.--Correction of Mr. Irving's Statements respecting St. Louis. APPENDIX. Mr. Seton's Adventures.--Survivors of the Expedition in 1851.--Author's Protest against some Expressions in Mr. Irving's "Astoria."--Editor's Note. INTRODUCTION. Since the independence of the United States of America, the merchants of that industrious and enterprising nation have carried on an extremely advantageous commerce on the northwest coast of this continent. In the course of their voyages they have made a great number of discoveries which they have not thought proper to make public; no doubt to avoid competition in a lucrative business. In 1792, Captain Gray, commanding the ship Columbia of Boston, discovered in latitude 46° 19" north, the entrance of a great bay on the Pacific coast. He sailed into it, and having perceived that it was the outlet or estuary of a large river, by the fresh water which he found at a little distance from the entrance, he continued his course upward some eighteen miles, and dropped anchor on the left bank, at the opening of a deep bay. There he made a map or rough sketch of what he had seen of this river (accompanied by a written description of the soundings, bearings, &c.); and having finished his traffic with the natives (the object of his voyage to these parts), he put out to sea, and soon after fell in with Captain Vancouver, who was cruising by order of the British government, to seek new discoveries. Mr. Gray acquainted him with the one he had just made, and even gave him a copy of the chart he had drawn up. Vancouver, who had just driven off a colony of Spaniards established on the coast, under the command of Señor Quadra (England and Spain being then at war), despatched his first-lieutenant Broughton, who ascended the river in boats some one hundred and twenty or one hundred and fifty miles, took possession of the country in the name of his Britannic majesty, giving the river the name of the _Columbia_, and to the bay where the American captain stopped, that of _Gray's bay_. Since that period the country had been seldom visited (till 1811), and chiefly by American ships. Sir Alexander McKenzie, in his second overland voyage, tried to reach the western ocean by the Columbia river, and thought he had succeeded when he came out six degrees farther north, at the bottom of Puget's sound, by another river.[A] In 1805, the American government sent Captains Lewis and Clark, with about thirty men, including some Kentucky hunters, on an overland journey to the mouth of the Columbia. They ascended the Missouri, crossed the mountains at the source of that river, and following the course of the Columbia, reached the shores of the Pacific, where they were forced to winter. The report which they made of their expedition to the United States government created a lively sensation.[B] [Footnote A: McKenzie's Travels.] [Footnote B: Lewis and Clark's Report.] Mr. John Jacob Astor, a New York merchant, who conducted almost alone the trade in furs south of the great lakes Huron and Superior, and who had acquired by that commerce a prodigious fortune, thought to augment it by forming on the banks of the Columbia an establishment of which the principal or supply factory should be at the mouth of that river. He communicated his views to the agents of the Northwest Company; he was even desirous of forming the proposed establishment in concert with them; but after some negotiations, the inland or wintering partners of that association of fur-traders having rejected the plan, Mr. Astor determined to make the attempt alone. He needed for the success of his enterprise, men long versed in the Indian trade, and he soon found them. Mr. Alexander M'Kay (the same who had accompanied Sir Alexander M'Kenzie in his travels overland), a bold and enterprising man, left the Northwest Company to join him; and soon after, Messrs Duncan M'Dougal and Donald M'Kenzie (also in the service of the company) and Messrs. David Stuart and Robert Stuart, all of Canada, did the same. At length, in the winter of 1810, a Mr. Wilson Price Hunt of St. Louis, on the Mississippi, having also joined them, they determined that the expedition should be set on foot in the following spring. It was in the course of that winter that one of my friends made me acquainted in confidence with the plan of these gentlemen, under the injunction of strictest secrecy. The desire of seeing strange countries, joined to that of acquiring a fortune, determined me to solicit employment of the new association; on the 20th of May I had an interview with Mr. A. M'Kay, with whom the preliminaries were arranged; and on the 24th of the same month I signed an agreement as an apprenticed clerk for the term of five years. When the associates had engaged a sufficient number of Canadian boatmen, they equipped a bark canoe under charge of Messrs. Hunt and M'Kenzie, with a Mr. Perrault as clerk, and a crew of fourteen men. These gentlemen were to proceed to Mackinaw, and thence to St. Louis, hiring on the way as many men as they could to man the canoes, in which, from the last-mentioned port, they were to ascend the Missouri to its source, and there diverging from the route followed by Lewis and Clark, reach the mouth of the Columbia to form a junction with another party, who were to go round by way of Cape Horn. In the course of my narrative I shall have occasion to speak of the success of both these expeditions. NARRATIVE OF A VOYAGE TO THE NORTHWEST COAST OF AMERICA CHAPTER I. Departure from Montreal.--Arrival in New York.--Description of that City.--Names of the Persons engaged in the Expedition. We remained in Montreal the rest of the spring and a part of the summer. At last, having completed our arrangements for the journey, we received orders to proceed, and on the 26th of July, accompanied by my father and brothers and a few friends, I repaired to the place of embarkation, where was prepared a birch bark canoe, manned by nine Canadians, having Mr. A. M'Kay as commander, and a Mr. A. Fisher as passenger. The sentiments which I experienced at that moment would be as difficult for me to describe as they were painful to support; for the first time in my life I quitted the place of my birth, and was separated from beloved parents and intimate friends, having for my whole consolation the faint hope of seeing them again. We embarked at about five, P.M., and arrived at La Prairie de la Madeleine (on the opposite side of the St. Lawrence), toward eight o'clock.[C] We slept at this village, and the next morning, very early, having secured the canoe on a wagon, we got in motion again, and reached St. John's on the river Richelieu, a little before noon. Here we relaunched our canoe (after having well calked the seams), crossed or rather traversed the length of Lake Champlain, and arrived at Whitehall on the 30th. There we were overtaken by Mr. Ovid de Montigny, and a Mr. P.D. Jeremie, who were to be of the expedition. [Footnote C: This place is famous in the history of Canada, and more particularly in the thrilling story of the Indian missions.--ED.] Having again placed our canoe on a wagon, we pursued our journey, and arrived on the 1st of August at Lansingburg, a little village situated on the bank of the river Hudson. Here we got our canoe once more afloat, passed by Troy, and by Albany, everywhere hospitably received, our Canadian boatmen, having their hats decorated with parti-colored ribands and feathers, being taken by the Americans for so many wild Indians, and arrived at New York on the 3d, at eleven o'clock in the evening. We had landed at the north end of the city, and the next day, being Sunday, we re-embarked, and were obliged to make a course round the city, in order to arrive at our lodgings on Long Island. We sang as we rowed; which, joined to the unusual sight of a birch bark canoe impelled by nine stout Canadians, dark as Indians, and as gayly adorned, attracted a crowd upon the wharves to gaze at us as we glided along. We found on Long Island (in the village of Brooklyn) those young gentlemen engaged in the service of the new company, who had left Canada in advance of our party. The vessel in which we were to sail not being ready, I should have found myself quite isolated and a stranger in the great city of New York, but for a letter of introduction to Mr. G----, given me on my setting out, by Madame his sister. I had formed the acquaintance of this gentleman during a stay which he had made at Montreal in 1801; but as I was then very young, he would probably have had some difficulty in recognising me without his sister's letter. He introduced me to several of his friends, and I passed in an agreeable manner the five weeks which elapsed between my arrival in New York and the departure of the ship. I shall not undertake to describe New York; I will only say, that the elegance of the buildings, public and private, the cleanliness of the streets, the shade of the poplars which border them, the public walks, the markets always abundantly provided with all sorts of commodities, the activity of its commerce, then in a flourishing condition, the vast number of ships of all nations which crowded the quays; all, in a word, conspired to make me feel the difference between this great maritime city and my native town, of whose steeples I had never lost sight before, and which was by no means at that time what it is now. New York was not then, and indeed is not at this time a fortified town; still there were several batteries and military works, the most considerable of which were seen on the _Narrows_, or channel which forms the principal mouth of the Hudson. The isles called _Governor's Island_, and _Bedloe_ or _Gibbet Island_, were also well fortified. On the first, situated to the west of the city and about a mile from it, there were barracks sufficiently capacious for several thousand soldiers, and a Moro, or castle, with three tiers of guns, all bomb-proof. These works have been strengthened during the last war. The market-places are eight in number; the most considerable is called _Fly-Market_. The _Park_, the _Battery_, and _Vauxhall Garden_, are the principal promenades. There were, in 1810, thirty-two churches, two of which were devoted to the catholic worship; and the population was estimated at ninety thousand souls, of whom ten thousand were French. It is thought that this population has since been augmented (1819) by some thirty thousand souls. During my sojourn at New York, I lodged in Brooklyn, on Long Island. This island is separated from the city by a sound, or narrow arm of the sea. There is here a pretty village, not far from which is a basin, where some gun-boats were hauled up, and a few war vessels were on the stocks. Some barracks had been constructed here, and a guard was maintained. Before leaving New York, it is well to observe that during our stay in that city, Mr. M'Kay thought it the part of prudence to have an interview with the minister plenipotentiary of his Britannic majesty, Mr. Jackson,[D] to inform him of the object of our voyage, and get his views in regard to the line of conduct we ought to follow in case of war breaking out between the two powers; intimating to him that we were all British subjects, and were about to trade under the American flag. After some moments of reflection Mr. Jackson told him, "that we were going on a very hazardous enterprise; that he saw our object was purely commercial, and that all he could promise us, was, that in case of a war we should be respected as British subjects and traders." [Footnote D: This gentleman was really _chargé d'affaires_.] This reply appeared satisfactory, and Mr. M'Kay thought we had nothing to apprehend on that side. The vessel in which we were to sail was called the _Tonquin_, of about 300 tons burden, commanded by Captain Thorn (a first-lieutenant of the American navy, on furlough for this purpose), with a crew of twenty-one men. The number of passengers was thirty-three. Here follow the names of both. PASSENGERS. { Messrs. Alexander M'Kay } { " Duncan M'Dougall, } PARTNERS { " David Stuart, } all of Canada. { " Robert Stuart, } { James Lewis of New York, { Russel Farnham of Massachusetts, { William W. Matthews of New York, { Alexander Boss, } { Donald M'Gillis, } CLERKS { Ovide de Montigny, } { Francis B. Pillet, } all from Canada. { Donald M'Lennan, } { William Wallace, } { Thomas McKay, } { Gabriel Franchere, } { Oliver Roy Lapensée, Joseph Lapierre, { Ignace Lapensée, Joseph Nadeau, BOATMEN, { Basile Lapensée, J. B'te. Belleau, ETC. { Jacques Lafantaisie, Antoine Belleau, { Benjamin Roussel, Louis Bruslé, { Michel Laframboise, P.D. Jeremie, { Giles Leclerc, all of Canada. Johann Koaster, ship-carpenter, a Russian, George Bell, cooper, New York, Job Aitken, rigger and calker, from Scotland, Augustus Roussil, blacksmith, Canada, Guilleaume Perreault, a boy. These last were all mechanics, &c., destined for the establishment. CREW. Jonathan Thorn, captain, New York State. Ebenezer D. Fox, 1st mate, of Boston. John M. Mumford, 2d mate, of Massachusetts. James Thorn, brother of the captain, New York. John Anderson, boatswain, foreigner. Egbert Vanderhuff, tailor, New York. John Weeks, carpenter, " Stephen Weeks, armorer, " John Coles, New York, } John Martin, a Frenchman, } sailmakers. { John White, New York. { Adam Fisher, " { Peter Verbel, " SAILORS. { Edward Aymes, " { Robert Hill, Albany, New York. { John Adams, " { Joseph Johnson, Englishman, { Charles Roberts, New York, A colored man as cook, A mulatto steward, And three or four others whose names I have forgotten. CHAPTER II. Departure from New York.--Reflections of the Author.--Navigation, falling in with other Ships, and various Incidents, till the Vessel comes in Sight of the Falkland Isles. All being ready for our departure, we went on board ship, and weighed anchor on the 6th of September, in the morning. The wind soon fell off, and the first day was spent in drifting down to Staten island, where we came to anchor for the night. The next day we weighed anchor again; but there came on another dead calm, and we were forced to cast anchor near the lighthouse at Sandy Hook. On the 8th we weighed anchor for the third time, and by the help of a fresh breeze from the southwest, we succeeded in passing the bar; the pilot quitted us at about eleven o'clock, and soon after we lost sight of the coast. One must have experienced it one's self, to be able to conceive the melancholy which takes possession of the soul of a man of sensibility, at the instant that he leaves his country and the civilized world, to go to inhabit with strangers in wild and unknown lands. I should in vain endeavor to give my readers an idea, even faintly correct, of the painful sinking of heart that I suddenly felt, and of the sad glance which I involuntarily cast toward a future so much the more frightful to me, as it offered nothing but what was perfectly confused and uncertain. A new scene of life was unfolded before me, but how monotonous, and ill suited to diminish the dejection with which my mind was overwhelmed! For the first time in my life, I found myself under way upon the main sea, with nothing to fix my regards and arrest my attention but the frail machine which bore me between the abyss of waters and the immensity of the skies. I remained for a long time with my eyes fixed in the direction of that land which I no longer saw, and almost despaired of ever seeing again; I made serious reflections on the nature and consequences of the enterprise in which I had so rashly embarked; and I confess that if at that moment the offer had been made to release me from my engagement, I should have accepted the proposal with all my heart. It is true that the hopeless confusion and incumberment of the vessel's deck, the great number of strangers among whom I found myself, the brutal style which the captain and his subalterns used toward our young Canadians; all, in a word, conspired to make me augur a vexatious and disagreeable voyage. The sequel will show that I did not deceive myself in that. We perceived very soon in the S.W., which was our weather-side, a vessel that bore directly toward us; she made a signal that was understood by our captain; we hove to, and stood on her bow. It turned out to be the American frigate _Constitution_. We sent our boat on board of her, and sailed in company till toward five o'clock, when, our papers having been sent back to us, we separated. The wind having increased, the motion of the vessel made us sea-sick, those of us, I mean, who were for the first time at sea. The weather was fine, however; the vessel, which at first sailing was lumbered in such a manner that we could hardly get in or out of our berths, and scarcely work ship, by little and little got into order, so that we soon found ourselves more at ease. On the 14th we commenced to take flying fish. The 24th, we saw a great quantity of dolphins. We prepared lines and took two of the latter, which we cooked. The flesh of this fish appeared to me excellent. After leaving New York, till the 4th of October, we headed southeast. On that day we struck the trade winds, and bore S.S.E.; being, according to our observations, in latitude 17° 43" and longitude 22° 39". On the 5th, in the morning, we came in sight of the Cape-Verd islands, bearing W.N.W., and distant about eight or nine miles, having the coast of Africa to the E.S.E. We should have been very glad to touch at these islands to take in water; but as our vessel was an American bottom, and had on board a number of British subjects, our captain did not think fit to expose himself to meet the English ships-of-war cruising on these coasts, who certainly would not have failed to make a strict search, and to take from us the best part of our crew; which would infallibly have proved disastrous to the object for which we had shipped them. Speaking of water, I may mention that the rule was to serve it out in rations of a quart a day; but that we were now reduced to a pint and a half. For the rest, our fare consisted of fourteen ounces of hard bread, a pound and a quarter of salt beef or one of pork, per day, and half a pint of souchong tea, with sugar, per man. The pork and beef were served alternately: rice and beans, each once a week; corn-meal pudding with molasses, ditto; on Sundays the steerage passengers were allowed a bottle of Teneriffe wine. All except the four partners, Mr. Lewis, acting as captain's clerk, and Mr. T. M'Kay, were in the steerage; the cabin containing but six berths, besides the captain's and first-mate's state-rooms. As long as we were near the coast of Africa, we had light and variable winds, and extremely hot weather; on the 8th, we had a dead calm, and saw several sharks round the vessel; we took one which we ate. I found the taste to resemble sturgeon. We experienced on that day an excessive heat, the mercury being at 94° of Fahrenheit. From the 8th to the 11th we had on board a canary bird, which we treated with the greatest care and kindness, but which nevertheless quitted us, probably for a certain death. The nearer we approached to the equator the more we perceived the heat to increase: on the 16th, in latitude 6°, longitude 22° west from Greenwich, the mercury stood at 108°. We discovered on that day a sail bearing down upon us. The next morning she reappeared, and approached within gun-shot. She was a large brig, carrying about twenty guns: we sailed in company all day by a good breeze, all sail spread; but toward evening she dropped astern and altered her course to the S.S.E. On the 18th, at daybreak, the watch alarmed us by announcing that the same brig which had followed us the day before, was under our lee, a cable's length off, and seemed desirous of knowing who we were, without showing her own colors. Our captain appeared to be in some alarm; and admitting that she was a better sailer than we, he called all the passengers and crew on deck, the drum beat to quarters, and we feigned to make preparations for combat. It is well to observe that our vessel mounted ten pieces of cannon, and was pierced for twenty; the forward port-holes were adorned with sham guns. Whether it was our formidable appearance or no, at about ten A.M. the stranger again changed her course, and we soon lost sight of her entirely. Nothing further remarkable occurred to us till the 22d, when we passed the line in longitude 25° 9". According to an ancient custom the crew baptized those of their number who had never before crossed the equator; it was a holyday for them on board. About two o'clock in the afternoon we perceived a sail in the S.S.W. We were not a little alarmed, believing that it was the same brig which we had seen some days before; for it was lying to, as if awaiting our approach. We soon drew near, and to our great joy discovered that she was a Portuguese; we hailed her, and learned that she came from some part of South America, and was bound to Pernambuco, on the coasts of Brazil. Very soon after we began to see what navigators call the _Clouds of Magellan_: they are three little white spots that one perceives in the sky almost as soon as one passes the equator: they were situated in the S.S.W. The 1st November, we began to see great numbers of aquatic birds. Toward three o'clock P.M., we discovered a sail on our larboard, but did not approach sufficiently near to speak her. The 3d, we saw two more sails, making to the S.E. We passed the tropic of Capricorn on the 4th, with a fine breeze, and in longitude 33° 27". We lost the trade-winds, and as we advanced south the weather became cold and rainy. The 11th, we had a calm, although the swell was heavy. We saw several turtles, and the captain having sent out the small boat, we captured two of them. During the night of the 11th and 12th, the wind changed to the N.E., and raised a terrible tempest, in which the gale, the rain, the lightning, and thunder, seemed to have sworn our destruction; the sea appeared all a-fire, while our little vessel was the sport of winds and waves. We kept the hatches closed, which did not prevent us from passing very uncomfortable nights while the storm lasted; for the great heats that we had experienced between the tropics, had so opened the seams of the deck that every time the waves passed over, the water rushed down in quantities upon our hammocks. The 14th, the wind shifted to the S.S.W., which compelled us to beat to windward. During the night we were struck by a tremendous sea; the helm was seized beyond control, and the man at the wheel was thrown from one side of the ship to the other, breaking two of his ribs, which confined him to his berth for a week. In latitude 35° 19", longitude 40°, the sea appeared to be covered with marine plants, and the change that we observed in the color of the water, as well as the immense number of gulls and other aquatic birds that we saw, proved to us that we were not far from the mouth of the _Rio de la Plata_. The wind continued to blow furiously till the 21st, when it subsided a little, and the weather cleared up. On the 25th, being in the 46th degree, and 30 minutes of latitude, we saw a penguin. We began to feel sensibly the want of water: since passing the tropic of Capricorn the daily allowance had been always diminishing, till we were reduced to three gills a day, a slender modicum considering that we had only salt provisions. We had indeed a still, which we used to render the sea-water drinkable; but we distilled merely what sufficed for the daily use of the kitchen, as to do more would have required a great quantity of wood or coal. As we were not more than one hundred and fifty leagues from the Falkland isles, we determined to put in there and endeavor to replenish our casks, and the captain caused the anchors to be got ready. We had contrary winds from the 27th of November to the 3d December. On the evening of that day, we heard one of the officers, who was at the mast head, cry "Land! Land!" Nevertheless, the night coming on, and the barren rocks which we had before us being little elevated above the ocean, we hove to. CHAPTER III. Arrival at the Falkland Isles.--Landing.--Perilous Situation of the Author and some of his Companions.--Portrait of Captain Thorn.--Cape Horn.--Navigation to the Sandwich Islands. On the 4th (Dec.) in the morning, I was not the last to mount on deck, to feast my eyes with the sight of land; for it is only those who have been three or four months at sea, who know how to appreciate the pleasure which one then feels even at sight of such barren and bristling rocks as form the Falkland Isles. We drew near these rocks very soon, and entered between two of the islands, where we anchored on a good ground. The first mate being sent ashore to look for water, several of our gentlemen accompanied him. They returned in the evening with the disappointing intelligence that they had not been able to find fresh water. They brought us, to compensate for this, a number of wild geese and two seals. The weather appearing to threaten, we weighed anchor and put out to sea. The night was tempestuous, and in the morning of the 5th we had lost sight of the first islands. The wind blowing off land, it was necessary to beat up all that day; in the evening we found ourselves sufficiently near the shore, and hove to for the night. The 6th brought us a clear sky, and with a fresh breeze we succeeded in gaining a good anchorage, which we took to be Port Egmont, and where we found good water. On the 7th, we sent ashore the water casks, as well as the cooper to superintend filling them, and the blacksmiths who were occupied in some repairs required by the ship. For our part, having erected a tent near the springs, we passed the time while they were taking in water, in coursing over the isles: we had a boat for our accommodation, and killed every day a great many wild geese and ducks. These birds differ in plumage from those which are seen in Canada. We also killed a great many seals. These animals ordinarily keep upon the rocks. We also saw several foxes of the species called _Virginia_ fox: they were shy and yet fierce, barking like dogs and then flying precipitately. Penguins are also numerous on the Falkland Isles. These birds have a fine plumage, and resemble the loon: but they do not fly, having only little stumps of wings which they use to help themselves in waddling along. The rocks were covered with them. It being their sitting season we found them on their nests, from which they would not stir. They are not wild or timid: far from flying at our approach, they attacked us with their bill, which is very sharp, and with their short wings. The flesh of the penguin is black and leathery, with a strong fishy taste, and one must be very hungry to make up one's mind to eat it. We got a great quantity of eggs by dislodging them from their nests. As the French and English had both attempted to form establishments on these rocks, we endeavored to find some vestige of them; the tracks which we met everywhere made us hope to find goats also: but all our researches were vain: all that we discovered was an old fishing cabin, constructed of whale bone, and some seal-skin moccasins; for these rocks offer not a single tree to the view, and are frequented solely by the vessels which pursue the whale fishery in the southern seas. We found, however, two head-boards with inscriptions in English, marking the spot where two men had been interred: as the letters were nearly obliterated, we carved new ones on fresh pieces of board procured from the ship. This pious attention to two dead men nearly proved fatal to a greater number of the living; for all the casks having been filled and sent on board, the captain gave orders to re-embark, and without troubling himself to inquire if this order had been executed or not, caused the anchor to be weighed on the morning of the 11th, while I and some of my companions were engaged in erecting the inscriptions of which I have spoken, others were cutting grass for the hogs, and Messrs M'Dougall and D. Stuart had gone to the south side of the isle to look for game. The roaring of the sea against the rock-bound shore prevented them from hearing the gun, and they did not rejoin us till the vessel was already at sea. We then lost no time, but pushed off, being eight in number, with our little boat, only twenty feet keel. We rowed with all our might, but gained nothing upon the vessel. We were losing sight of the islands at last, and our case seemed desperate. While we paused, and were debating what course to pursue, as we had no compass, we observed the ship tacking and standing toward us. In fine after rowing for three hours and a half, in an excited state of feeling not easily described, we succeeded in regaining the vessel, and were taken on board at about three o'clock P.M. Having related this trait of malice on the part of our captain, I shall be permitted to make some remarks on his character. Jonathan Thorn was brought up in the naval service of his country, and had distinguished himself in a battle fought between the Americans and the Turks at Tripoli, some years before: he held the rank of first lieutenant. He was a strict disciplinarian, of a quick and passionate temper, accustomed to exact obedience, considering nothing but duty, and giving himself no trouble about the murmurs of his crew, taking counsel of nobody, and following Mr. Astor's instructions to the letter. Such was the man who had been selected to command our ship. His haughty manners, his rough and overbearing disposition, had lost him the affection of most of the crew and of all the passengers: he knew it, and in consequence sought every opportunity to mortify us. It is true that the passengers had some reason to reproach themselves; they were not free from blame; but he had been the aggressor; and nothing could excuse the act of cruelty and barbarity of which he was guilty, in intending to leave us upon those barren rocks of the Falkland isles, where we must inevitably have perished. This lot was reserved for us, but for the bold interference of Mr. B. Stuart, whose uncle was of our party, and who, seeing that the captain, far from waiting for us, coolly continued his course, threatened to blow his brains out unless he hove to and took us on board. [Illustration: VIEW OF THE FALKLAND ISLANDS _Boat and five passengers pulling after Ship Tonquin._] We pursued our course, bearing S.S.W., and on the 14th, in latitude 54° 1', longitude 64° 18', we found bottom at sixty-five fathoms, and saw a sail to the south. On the 15th, in the morning, we discovered before us the high mountains of _Terra del fuego_, which we continued to see till evening: the weather then thickened, and we lost sight of them. We encountered a furious storm which drove us to the 56th degree and 18' of latitude. On the 18th, we were only fifteen leagues from Cape Horn. A dead calm followed, but the current carried us within sight of the cape, five or six leagues distant. This cape, which forms the southern extremity of the American continent, has always been an object of terror to the navigators who have to pass from one sea to the other; several of whom to avoid doubling it, have exposed themselves to the long and dangerous passage of the straits of Magellan, especially when about entering the Pacific ocean. When we saw ourselves under the stupendous rocks of the cape, we felt no other desire but to get away from them as soon as possible, so little agreeable were those rocks to the view, even in the case of people who had been some months at sea! And by the help of a land breeze we succeeded in gaining an offing. While becalmed here, we measured the velocity of the current setting east, which we found to be about three miles an hour. The wind soon changed again to the S.S.W., and blew a gale. We had to beat. We passed in sight of the islands of Diego Ramirez, and saw a large schooner under their lee. The distance that we had run from New York, was about 9,165 miles. We had frightful weather till the 24th, when we found ourselves in 58° 16' of south latitude. Although it was the height of summer in that hemisphere, and the days as long as they are at Quebec on the 21st of June (we could read on deck at midnight without artificial light), the cold was nevertheless very great and the air very humid: the mercury for several days was but fourteen degrees above freezing point, by Fahrenheit's thermometer. If such is the temperature in these latitudes at the end of December, corresponding to our June, what must it be in the shortest days of the year, and where can the Patagonians then take refuge, and the inhabitants of the islands so improperly named the Land of Fire! The wind, which till the 24th had been contrary, hauled round to the south, and we ran westward. The next day being Christmas, we had the satisfaction to learn by our noon-day observation that we had weathered the cape, and were, consequently, now in the Pacific ocean. Up to that date we had but one man attacked with scurvy, a malady to which those who make long voyages are subject, and which is occasioned by the constant use of salt provisions, by the humidity of the vessel, and the inaction. From the 25th of December till the 1st of January, we were favored with a fair wind and ran eighteen degrees to the north in that short space of time. Though cold yet, the weather was nevertheless very agreeable. On the 17th, in latitude 10° S., and longitude 110° 50' W., we took several _bonitas_, an excellent fish. We passed the equator on the 23d, in 128° 14' of west longitude. A great many porpoises came round the vessel. On the 25th arose a tempest which lasted till the 28th. The wind then shifted to the E.S.E. and carried us two hundred and twenty-four miles on our course in twenty-four hours. Then we had several days of contrary winds; on the 8th of February it hauled to the S.E., and on the 11th we saw the peak of a mountain covered with snow, which the first mate, who was familiar with these seas, told me was the summit of _Mona-Roah_, a high mountain on the island of _Ohehy_, one of those which the circumnavigator Cook named the Sandwich Isles, and where he met his death in 1779. We headed to the land all day, and although we made eight or nine knots an hour, it was not till evening that we were near enough to distinguish the huts of the islanders: which is sufficient to prove the prodigious elevation of _Mona Roah_ above the level of the sea. CHAPTER IV. Accident.--View of the Coast.--Attempted Visit of the Natives.--Their Industry.--Bay of Karaka-koua.--Landing on the Island.--John Young, Governor of Owahee. We were ranging along the coast with the aid of a fine breeze, when the boy Perrault, who had mounted the fore-rigging to enjoy the scenery, lost his hold, and being to windward where the shrouds were taut, rebounded from them like a ball some twenty feet from the ship's side into the ocean. We perceived his fall and threw over to him chairs, barrels, benches, hen-coops, in a word everything we could lay hands on; then the captain gave the orders to heave to; in the twinkling of an eye the lashings of one of the quarter-boats were cut apart, the boat lowered and manned: by this time the boy was considerably a-stern. He would have been lost undoubtedly but for a wide pair of canvass overalls full of tar and grease, which operated like a life-preserver. His head, however, was under when he was picked up, and he was brought on board lifeless, about a quarter of an hour after he fell into the sea. We succeeded, notwithstanding, in a short time, in bringing him to, and in a few hours he was able to run upon the deck. The coast of the island, viewed from the sea, offers the most picturesque _coup d'oeil_ and the loveliest prospect; from the beach to the mountains the land rises amphitheatrically, all along which is a border of lower country covered with cocoa-trees and bananas, through the thick foliage whereof you perceive the huts of the islanders; the valleys which divide the hills that lie beyond appear well cultivated, and the mountains themselves, though extremely high, are covered with wood to their summits, except those few peaks which glitter with perpetual snow. As we ran along the coast, some canoes left the beach and came alongside, with vegetables and cocoa-nuts; but as we wished to profit by the breeze to gain the anchorage, we did not think fit to stop. We coasted along during a part of the night; but a calm came on which lasted till the morrow. As we were opposite the bay of Karaka-koua, the natives came out again, in greater numbers, bringing us cabbages, yams, _taro_, bananas, bread-fruit, water-melons, poultry, &c., for which we traded in the way of exchange. Toward evening, by the aid of a sea breeze that rose as day declined, we got inside the harbor where we anchored on a coral bottom in fourteen fathoms water. The next day the islanders visited the vessel in great numbers all day long, bringing, as on the day before, fruits, vegetables, and some pigs, in exchange for which we gave them glass beads, iron rings, needles, cotton cloth, &c. Some of our gentlemen went ashore and were astonished to find a native occupied in building a small sloop of about thirty tons: the tools of which he made use consisted of a half worn-out axe, an adze, about two-inch blade, made out of a paring chisel, a saw, and an iron rod which he heated red hot and made it serve the purpose of an auger. It required no little patience and dexterity to achieve anything with such instruments: he was apparently not deficient in these qualities, for his work was tolerably well advanced. Our people took him on board with them, and we supplied him with suitable tools, for which he appeared extremely grateful. On the 14th, in the morning, while the ship's carpenter was engaged in replacing one of the cat-heads, two composition sheaves fell into the sea; as we had no others on board, the captain proposed to the islanders, who are excellent swimmers, to dive for them, promising a reward; and immediately two offered themselves. They plunged several times, and each time brought up shells as a proof that they had been to the bottom. We had the curiosity to hold our watches while they dove, and were astonished to find that they remained four minutes under the water. That exertion appeared to me, however, to fatigue them a great deal, to such a degree that the blood streamed from their nostrils and ears. At last one of them brought up the sheaves and received the promised recompense, which consisted of four yards of cotton. Karaka-koua bay where we lay, may be three quarters of a mile deep, and a mile and a half wide at the entrance: the latter is formed by two low points of rock which appear to have run down from the mountains in the form of lava, after a volcanic eruption. On each point is situated a village of moderate size; that is to say, a small group of the low huts of the islanders. The bottom of the bay terminates in a bold _escarpment_ of rock, some four hundred feet high, on the top of which is seen a solitary cocoa-tree. On the evening of the 14th, I went ashore with some other passengers, and we landed at the group of cabins on the western point, of those which I have described. The inhabitants entertained us with a dance executed by nineteen young women and one man, all singing together, and in pretty good time. An old man showed us the spot where Captain Cook was killed, on the 14th of February, 1779, with the cocoa-nut trees pierced by the balls from the boats which the unfortunate navigator commanded. This old man, whether it were feigned or real sensibility, seemed extremely affected and even shed tears, in showing us these objects. As for me, I could not help finding it a little singular to be thus, by mere chance, upon this spot, on the 14th of February, 1811; that is to say, thirty-two years after, on the anniversary of the catastrophe which has rendered it for ever celebrated. I drew no sinister augury from the coincidence, however, and returned to the ship with my companions as gay as I left it. When I say with my companions, I ought to except the boatswain, John Anderson, who, having had several altercations with the captain on the passage, now deserted the ship, preferring to live with the natives rather than obey any longer so uncourteous a superior. A sailor also deserted; but the islanders brought him back, at the request of the captain. They offered to bring back Anderson, but the captain preferred leaving him behind. We found no good water near Karaka-koua bay: what the natives brought us in gourds was brackish. We were also in great want of fresh meat, but could not obtain it: the king of these islands having expressly forbidden his subjects to supply any to the vessels which touched there. One of the chiefs sent a canoe to Tohehigh bay, to get from the governor of the island, who resided there, permission to sell us some pigs. The messengers returned the next day, and brought us a letter, in which the governor ordered us to proceed without delay to the isle of Wahoo, where the king lives; assuring us that we should there find good water and everything else we needed. We got under way on the 16th and with a light wind coasted the island as far as Tohehigh bay. The wind then dropping away entirely, the captain, accompanied by Messrs. M'Kay and M'Dougall, went ashore, to pay a visit to the governor aforesaid. He was not a native, but a Scotchman named John Young, who came hither some years after the death of Captain Cook. This man had married a native woman, and had so gained the friendship and confidence of the king, as to be raised to the rank of chief and after the conquest of Wahoo by King Tamehameha, was made governor of Owhyhee (Hawaii) the most considerable of the Sandwich Islands, both by its extent and population. His excellency explained to our gentlemen the reason why the king had interdicted the trade in hogs to the inhabitants of all the islands: this reason being that his majesty wished to reserve to himself the monopoly of that branch of commerce, for the augmentation of his royal revenue by its exclusive profits. The governor also informed them that no rain had fallen on the south part of Hawaii for three years; which explained why we found so little fresh water: he added that the north part of the island was more fertile than the south, where we were: but that there was no good anchorage: that part of the coast being defended by sunken rocks which form heavy breakers. In fine, the governor dismissed our gentlemen with a present of four fine fat hogs; and we, in return, sent him some tea, coffee, and chocolate, and a keg of Madeira wine. The night was nearly a perfect calm, and on the 17th we found ourselves abreast of _Mona-Wororayea_ a snow-capped mountain, like _Mona-Roah_, but which appeared to me less lofty than the latter. A number of islanders came to visit us as before, with some objects of curiosity, and some small fresh fish. The wind rising on the 18th, we soon passed the western extremity of Hawaii, and sailed by Mowhee and Tahooraha, two more islands of this group, and said to be, like the rest, thickly inhabited. The first presents a highly picturesque aspect, being composed of hills rising in the shape of a sugar loaf and completely covered with cocoa-nut and bread-fruit trees. At last, on the 21st, we approached Wahoo, and came to anchor opposite the bay of _Ohetity_, outside the bar, at a distance of some two miles from the land. CHAPTER V. Bay of Ohetity.--Tamehameha, King of the Islands.--His Visit to the Ship.--His Capital.--His Naval Force.--His Authority.--Productions of the Country.--Manners and Customs.--Reflections. There is no good anchorage in the bay of Ohetity, inside the bar or coral reef: the holding-ground is bad: so that, in case of a storm, the safety of the ship would have been endangered. Moreover, with a contrary wind, it would have been difficult to get out of the inner harbor; for which reasons, our captain preferred to remain in the road. For the rest, the country surrounding the bay is even more lovely in aspect than that of Karaka-koua; the mountains rise to a less elevation in the back-ground, and the soil has an appearance of greater fertility. _Tamehameha_, whom all the Sandwich Isles obeyed when we were there in 1811, was neither the son nor the relative of Tierroboo, who reigned in Owhyhee (Hawaii) in 1779, when Captain Cook and some of his people were massacred. He was, at that date, but a chief of moderate power; but, being skilful, intriguing, and full of ambition, he succeeded in gaining a numerous party, and finally possessed himself of the sovereignty. As soon as he saw himself master of Owhyhee, his native island, he meditated the conquest of the leeward islands, and in a few years he accomplished it. He even passed into _Atoudy_, the most remote of all, and vanquished the ruler of it, but contented himself with imposing on him an annual tribute. He had fixed his residence at Wahoo, because of all the Sandwich Isles it was the most fertile, the most picturesque--in a word, the most worthy of the residence of the sovereign. As soon as we arrived, we were visited by a canoe manned by three white men, Davis and Wadsworth, Americans, and Manini, a Spaniard. The last offered to be our interpreter during our stay; which was agreed to. Tamehameha presently sent to us his prime-minister, _Kraimoku_, to whom the Americans have given the name of _Pitt_, on account of his skill in the affairs of government. Our captain, accompanied by some of our gentlemen, went ashore immediately, to be presented to Tamehameha. About four o'clock, P.M., we saw them returning, accompanied by a double pirogue conveying the king and his suite. We ran up our colors, and received his majesty with a salute of four guns. Tamehameha was above the middle height, well made, robust and inclined to corpulency, and had a majestic carriage. He appeared to me from fifty to sixty years old. He was clothed in the European style, and wore a sword. He walked a long time on the deck, asking explanations in regard to those things which he had not seen on other vessels, and which were found on ours. A thing which appeared to surprise him, was to see that we could render the water of the sea fresh, by means of the still attached to our caboose; he could not imagine how that could be done. We invited him into the cabin, and, having regaled him with some glasses of wine, began to talk of business matters: we offered him merchandise in exchange for hogs, but were not able to conclude the bargain that day. His majesty re-embarked in his double pirogue, at about six o'clock in the evening. It was manned by twenty-four men. A great chest, containing firearms, was lashed over the centre of the two canoes forming the pirogue; and it was there that Tamehameha sat, with his prime-minister at his side. In the morning, on the 22d, we sent our water-casks ashore and filled them with excellent water. At about noon his sable majesty paid us another visit, accompanied by his three wives and his favorite minister. These females were of an extraordinary corpulence, and of unmeasured size. They were dressed in the fashion of the country, having nothing but a piece of _tapa_, or bark-cloth, about two yards long, passed round the hips and falling to the knees. We resumed the negotiations of the day before, and were more successful. I remarked that when the bargain was concluded, he insisted with great pertinacity that part of the payment should be in Spanish dollars. We asked the reason, and he made answer that he wished to buy a frigate of his brother, King George, meaning the king of England. The bargain concluded, we prayed his majesty and his suite to dine with us; they consented, and toward evening retired, apparently well satisfied with their visit and our reception of them. In the meantime, the natives surrounded the ship in great numbers, with hundreds of canoes, offering us their goods, in the shape of eatables and the rude manufactures of the island, in exchange for merchandise; but, as they had also brought intoxicating liquors in gourds, some of the crew got drunk; the captain was, consequently, obliged to suspend the trade, and forbade any one to traffic with the islanders, except through the first-mate, who was intrusted with that business. I landed on the 22d, with Messrs. Pillet and M'Gillis: we passed the night ashore, spending that day and the next morning in rambling over the environs of the bay, followed by a crowd of men, women, and children. Ohetity, where Tamehameha resides, and which, consequently, may be regarded as the capital of his kingdom, is--or at least was at that time--a moderate-sized city, or rather a large village. Besides the private houses, of which there were perhaps two hundred, constructed of poles planted in the ground and covered over with matting, there were the royal palace, which was not magnificent by any means: a public store, of two stories, one of stone and the other of wood; two _morais_, or idol temples, and a wharf. At the latter we found an old vessel, the _Lady Bird_, which some American navigators had given in exchange for a schooner; it was the only large vessel which King Tamehameha possessed; and, besides, was worth nothing. As for schooners he had forty of them, of from twenty to thirty tons burthen: these vessels served to transport the tributes in kind paid by his vassals in the other islands. Before the Europeans arrived among these savages, the latter had no means of communication between one isle and another, but their canoes, and as some of the islands are not in sight of each other, these voyages must have been dangerous. Near the palace I found an Indian from Bombay, occupied in making a twelve inch cable, for the use of the ship which I have described. Tamehameha kept constantly round his house a guard of twenty-four men. These soldiers wore, by way of uniform, a long blue coat with yellow; and each was armed with a musket. In front of the house, on an open square, were placed fourteen four-pounders, mounted on their carriages. The king was absolute, and judged in person the differences between his subjects. We had an opportunity of witnessing a proof of it, the day after our landing. A Portuguese having had a quarrel with a native, who was intoxicated, struck him: immediately the friends of the latter, who had been the aggressor after all, gathered in a crowd to beat down the poor foreigner with stones; he fled as fast as he could to the house of the king, followed by a mob of enraged natives, who nevertheless stopped at some distance from the guards, while the Portuguese, all breathless, crouched in a corner. We were on the esplanade in front of the palace royal, and curiosity to see the trial led us into the presence of his majesty, who having caused the quarrel to be explained to him, and heard the witnesses on both sides, condemned the native to work four days in the garden of the Portuguese and to give him a hog. A young Frenchman from Bordeaux, preceptor of the king's sons, whom he taught to read, and who understood the language, acted as interpreter to the Portuguese, and explained to us the sentence. I can not say whether our presence influenced the decision, or whether, under other circumstances, the Portuguese would have been less favorably treated. We were given to understand that Tamehameha was pleased to see whites establish themselves in his dominions, but that he esteemed only people with some useful trade, and despised idlers, and especially drunkards. We saw at Wahoo about thirty of these white inhabitants, for the most part, people of no character, and who had remained on the islands either from indolence, or from drunkenness and licentiousness. Some had taken wives in the country, in which case the king gave them a portion of land to cultivate for themselves. But two of the worst sort had found means to procure a small still, wherewith they manufactured rum and supplied it to the natives. The first navigators found only four sorts of quadrupeds on the Sandwich islands:--dogs, swine, lizards, and rats. Since then sheep have been carried there, goats, horned cattle, and even horses, and these animals have multiplied. The chief vegetable productions of these isles are the sugar cane, the bread-fruit tree, the banana, the water-melon, the musk-melon, the _taro_, the _ava_, the _pandanus_, the mulberry, &c. The bread-fruit tree is about the size of a large apple-tree; the fruit resembles an apple and is about twelve or fourteen inches in circumference; the rind is thick and rough like a melon: when cut transversely it is found to be full of sacs, like the inside of an orange; the pulp has the consistence of water-melon, and is cooked before it is eaten. We saw orchards of bread-fruit trees and bananas, and fields of sugar-cane, back of Ohetity. The _taro_ grows in low situations, and demands a great deal of care. It is not unlike a white turnip,[E] and as it constitutes the principal food of the natives, it is not to be wondered at that they bestow so much attention on its culture. Wherever a spring of pure water is found issuing out of the side of a hill, the gardener marks out on the declivity the size of the field he intends to plant. The ground is levelled and surrounded with a mud or stone wall, not exceeding eighteen inches in height, and having a flood gate above and below. Into this enclosure the water of the spring is conducted, or is suffered to escape from it, according to the dryness of the season. When the root has acquired a sufficient size it is pulled up for immediate use. This esculent is very bad to eat raw, but boiled it is better than the yam. Cut in slices, dried, pounded and reduced to a farina, it forms with bread fruit the principal food of the natives. Sometimes they boil it to the consistence of porridge, which they put into gourds and allow to ferment; it will then keep a long time. They also use to mix with it, fish, which they commonly eat raw with the addition of a little salt, obtained by evaporation. [Footnote E: Bougainville calls it "Calf-foot root."] The _ava_ is a plant more injurious than useful to the inhabitants of these isles; since they only make use of it to obtain a dangerous and intoxicating drink, which they also call _ava_. The mode of preparing this beverage is as follows: they chew the root, and spit out the result into a basin; the juice thus expressed is exposed to the sun to undergo fermentation; after which they decant it into a gourd; it is then fit for use, and they drink it on occasions to intoxication. The too frequent use of this disgusting liquor causes loss of sight, and a sort of leprosy, which can only be cured by abstaining from it, and by bathing frequently in the water of the sea. This leprosy turns their skin white: we saw several of the lepers, who were also blind, or nearly so. The natives are also fond of smoking: the tobacco grows in the islands, but I believe it has been introduced from abroad. The bark of the mulberry furnishes the cloth worn by both sexes; of the leaves of the _pandanus_ they make mats. They have also a kind of wax-nut, about the size of a dried plum of which they make candles by running a stick through several of them. Lighted at one end, they burn like a wax taper, and are the only light they use in their huts at night. The men are generally well made and tall: they wear for their entire clothing what they call a _maro_; it is a piece of figured or white tapa, two yards long and a foot wide, which they pass round the loins and between the legs, tying the ends in a knot over the left hip. At first sight I thought they were painted red, but soon perceived that it was the natural _color_ of their skin. The women wear a petticoat of the same stuff as the _maro_, but wider and longer, without, however, reaching below the knees. They have sufficiently regular features, and but for the color, may pass, generally speaking, for handsome women. Some to heighten their charms, dye their black hair (cut short for the purpose) with quick lime, forming round the head a strip of pure white, which disfigures them monstrously. Others among the young wear a more becoming garland of flowers. For other traits, they are very lascivious, and far from observing a modest reserve, especially toward strangers. In regard to articles of mere ornament, I was told that they were not the same in all the island. I did not see them, either, clothed in their war dresses, or habits of ceremony. But I had an opportunity to see them paint or print their _tapa_, or bark cloth, an occupation in which they employ a great deal of care and patience. The pigments they use are derived from vegetable juices, prepared with the oil of the cocoa-nut. Their pencils are little reeds or canes of bamboo, at the extremity of which they carve out divers sorts of flowers. First they tinge the cloth they mean to print, yellow, green, or some other color which forms the ground: then they draw upon it perfectly straight lines, without any other guide but the eye; lastly they dip the ends of the bamboo sticks in paint of a different tint from the ground, and apply them between the dark or bright bars thus formed. This cloth resembles a good deal our calicoes and printed cottons; the oils with which it is impregnated renders it impervious to water. It is said that the natives of _Atowy_ excel all the other islanders in the art of painting the tapa. The Sandwich-islanders live in villages of one or two hundred houses arranged without symmetry, or rather grouped together in complete defiance of it. These houses are constructed (as I have before said) of posts driven in the ground, covered with long dry grass, and walled with matting; the thatched roof gives them a sort of resemblance to our Canadian barns or granges. The length of each house varies according to the number of the family which occupies it: they are not smoky like the wigwams of our Indians, the fireplace being always outside in the open air, where all the cooking is performed. Hence their dwellings are very clean and neat inside. Their pirogues or canoes are extremely light and neat: those which are single have an outrigger, consisting of two curved pieces of timber lashed across the bows, and touching the water at the distance of five or six feet from the side; another piece, turned up at each extremity, is tied to the end and drags in the water, on which it acts like a skating iron on the ice, and by its weight keeps the canoe in equilibrium: without that contrivance they would infallibly upset. Their paddles are long, with a very broad blade. All these canoes carry a lateen, or sprit-sail, which is made of a mat of grass or leaves, extremely well woven. I did not remain long enough with these people to acquire very extensive and exact notions of their religion: I know that they recognise a Supreme Being, whom they call _Etoway_, and a number of inferior divinities. Each village has one or more _morais_. These morais are enclosures which served for cemeteries; in the middle is a temple, where the priests alone have a right to enter: they contain several idols of wood, rudely sculptured. At the feet of these images are deposited, and left to putrify, the offerings of the people, consisting of dogs, pigs, fowls, vegetables, &c. The respect of these savages for their priests extends almost to adoration; they regard their persons as sacred, and feel the greatest scruple in touching the objects, or going near the places, which they have declared _taboo_ or forbidden. The _taboo_ has often been useful to European navigators, by freeing them from the importunities of the crowd. In our rambles we met groups playing at different games. That of draughts appeared the most common. The checker-board is very simple, the squares being marked on the ground with a sharp stick: the men are merely shells or pebbles. The game was different from that played in civilized countries, so that we could not understand it. Although nature has done almost everything for the inhabitants of the Sandwich islands--though they enjoy a perpetual spring, a clear sky, a salubrious climate, and scarcely any labor is required to produce the necessaries of life--they can not be regarded as generally happy: the artisans and producers, whom they call _Tootoos_, are nearly in the same situation as the Helots among the Lacedemonians, condemned to labor almost incessantly for their lord or _Eris_, without hope of bettering their condition, and even restricted in the choice of their daily food.[F] How has it happened that among a people yet barbarous, where knowledge is nearly equally distributed, the class which is beyond comparison the most numerous has voluntarily submitted to such a humiliating and oppressive yoke? The Tartars, though infinitely less numerous than the Chinese, have subjected them, because the former were warlike and the latter were not. The same thing has happened, no doubt, at remote periods, in Poland, and other regions of Europe and Asia. If moral causes are joined to physical ones, the superiority of one caste and the inferiority of the other will be still more marked; it is known that the natives of Hispaniola, when they saw the Spaniards arrive on their coast, in vessels of an astonishing size to their apprehensions, and heard them imitate the thunder with their cannon, took them for beings of a superior nature to their own. Supposing that this island had been extremely remote from every other country, and that the Spaniards, after conquering it, had held no further communication with any civilized land, at the end of a century or two the language and the manners would have assimilated, but there would have been two castes, one of lords, enjoying all the advantages, the other of serfs, charged with all the burdens. This theory seems to have been realized anciently in Hindostan; but if we must credit the tradition of the Sandwich-islanders, their country was originally peopled by a man and woman, who came to Owyhee in a canoe. Unless, then, they mean that this man and woman came with their slaves, and that the _Eris_ are descended from the first, and the _Tootoos_ from the last, they ought to attribute to each other the same origin, and consequently regard each other as equals, and even as brothers, according to the manner of thinking that prevails among savages. The cause of the slavery of women among most barbarous tribes is more easily explained: the men have subjected them by the right of the strongest, if ignorance and superstition have not caused them to be previously regarded as beings of an inferior nature, made to be servants and not companions.[G] [Footnote F: The _Tootoos_ and all the women, the wives of the king and principal chiefs excepted, are eternally condemned to the use of fruits and vegetables; dogs and pigs being exclusively reserved for the table of the _Eris_.] [Footnote G: Some Indian tribes think that women have no souls, but die altogether like the brutes; others assign them a different paradise from that of men, which indeed they might have reason to prefer for themselves, unless their relative condition were to be ameliorated in the next world.] CHAPTER VI. Departure from Wahoo.--Storm.--Arrival at the Mouth of the Columbia.--Reckless Order of the Captain.--Difficulty of the Entrance.--Perilous Situation of the Ship.--Unhappy Fate of a part of the Crew and People of the Expedition. Having taken on board a hundred head of live hogs, some goats, two sheep, a quantity of poultry, two boat-loads of sugar-cane, to feed the hogs, as many more of yams, taro, and other vegetables, and all our water-casks being snugly stowed, we weighed anchor on the 28th of February, sixteen days after our arrival at Karaka-koua. We left another man (Edward Aymes) at Wahoo. He belonged to a boat's crew which was sent ashore for a load of sugar canes. By the time the boat was loaded by the natives the ebb of the tide had left her aground, and Aymes asked leave of the coxswain to take a stroll, engaging to be back for the flood. Leave was granted him, but during his absence, the tide haying come in sufficiently to float the boat, James Thorn, the coxswain, did not wait for the young sailor, who was thus left behind. The captain immediately missed the man, and, on being informed that he had strolled away from the boat on leave, flew into a violent passion. Aymes soon made his appearance alongside, having hired some natives to take him on board; on perceiving him, the captain ordered him to stay in the long-boat, then lashed to the side with its load of sugar-cane. The captain then himself got into the boat, and, taking one of the canes, beat the poor fellow most unmercifully with it; after which, not satisfied with this act of brutality, he seized his victim and threw him overboard! Aymes, however, being an excellent swimmer, made for the nearest native canoe, of which there were, as usual, a great number around the ship. The islanders, more humane than our captain, took in the poor fellow, who, in spite of his entreaties to be received on board, could only succeed in getting his clothes, which were thrown into the canoe. At parting, he told Captain Thorn that he knew enough of the laws of his country, to obtain redress, should they ever meet in the territory of the American Union. While we were getting under sail, Mr. M'Kay pointed out to the captain that there was one water-cask empty, and proposed sending it ashore to be filled, as the great number of live animals we had on board required a large quantity of fresh water. The captain, who feared that some of the men would desert if he sent them ashore, made an observation to that effect in answer to Mr. M'Kay, who then proposed sending me on a canoe which lay alongside, to fill the cask in question: this was agreed to by the captain, and I took the cask accordingly to the nearest spring. Having filled it, not without some difficulty, the islanders seeking to detain me, and I perceiving that they had given me some gourds full of salt water, I was forced also to demand a double pirogue (for the canoe which had brought the empty cask, was found inadequate to carry a full one), the ship being already under full sail and gaining an offing. As the natives would not lend a hand to procure what I wanted, I thought it necessary to have recourse to the king, and in fact did so. For seeing the vessel so far at sea, with what I knew of the captain's disposition, I began to fear that he had formed the plan of leaving me on the island. My fears, nevertheless were ill-founded; the vessel made a tack toward the shore, to my great joy; and a double pirogue was furnished me, through the good offices of our young friend the French schoolmaster, to return on board with my cask. Our deck was now as much encumbered as when left New York; for we had been obliged to place our live animals at the gangways, and to board over their pens, on which it was necessary to pass, to work ship. Our own numbers were also augmented; for we had taken a dozen islanders for the service of our intended commercial establishment. Their term of engagement was three years, during which we were to feed and clothe them, and at its expiration they were to receive a hundred dollars in merchandise. The captain had shipped another dozen as hands on the coasting voyage. These people, who make very good sailors, were eager to be taken into employment, and we might easily have carried off a much greater number. We had contrary winds till the 2d of March, when, having doubled the western extremity of the island, we made northing, and lost sight of these smiling and temperate countries, to enter very soon a colder region and less worthy of being inhabited. The winds were variable, and nothing extraordinary happened to us till the 16th, when, being arrived at the latitude of 35° 11' north, and in 138° 16' of west longitude, the wind shifted all of a sudden to the S.S.W., and blew with such violence, that we were forced to strike top-gallant masts and top-sails, and run before the gale with a double reef in our foresail. The rolling of the vessel was greater than in all the gales we had experienced previously. Nevertheless, as we made great headway, and were approaching the continent, the captain by way of precaution, lay to for two nights successively. At last, on the 22d, in the morning, we saw the land. Although we had not been able to take any observations for several days, nevertheless, by the appearance of the coast, we perceived that we were near the mouth of the river Columbia, and were not more than three miles from land. The breakers formed by the bar at the entrance of that river, and which we could distinguish from the ship, left us no room to doubt that we had arrived at last at the end of our voyage. The wind was blowing in heavy squalls, and the sea ran very high: in spite of that, the captain caused a boat to be lowered, and Mr. Fox (first mate), Basile Lapensee, Ignace Lapensee, Jos. Nadeau, and John Martin, got into her, taking some provisions and firearms, with orders to sound the channel and report themselves on board as soon as possible. The boat was not even supplied with a good sail, or a mast, but one of the partners gave Mr. Fox a pair of bed sheets to serve for the former. Messrs M'Kay and M'Dougall could not help remonstrating with the captain on the imprudence of sending the boat ashore in such weather; but they could not move his obstinacy. The boat's crew pulled away from the ship; alas! we were never to see her again; and we already had a foreboding of her fate. The next day the wind seemed to moderate, and we approached very near the coast. The entrance of the river, which we plainly distinguished with the naked eye, appeared but a confused and agitated sea: the waves, impelled by a wind from the offing, broke upon the bar, and left no perceptible passage. We got no sign of the boat; and toward evening, for our own safety, we hauled off to sea, with all countenances extremely sad, not excepting the captain's, who appeared to me as much afflicted as the rest, and who had reason to be so. During the night, the wind fell, the clouds dispersed, and the sky became serene. On the morning of the 24th, we found that the current had carried us near the coast again, and we dropped anchor in fourteen fathoms water, north of Cape Disappointment. The _coup d'oeil_ is not so smiling by a great deal at this anchorage, as at the Sandwich islands, the coast offering little to the eye but a continuous range of high mountains covered with snow. [Illustration: ENTRANCE OF THE COLUMBIA RIVER. _Ship Tonquin, crossing the bar, 25th March 1811._] Although it was calm, the sea continued to break over the reef with violence, between Cape Disappointment and Point Adams. We sent Mr. Mumford (the second mate) to sound a passage; but having found the breakers too heavy, he returned on board about mid-day. Messrs. M'Kay and D. Stuart offered their services to go ashore, to search for the boat's crew who left on the 22d; but they could not find a place to land. They saw Indians, who made signs to them to pull round the cape, but they deemed it more prudent to return to the vessel. Soon after their return, a gentle breeze sprang up from the westward, we raised anchor, and approached the entrance of the river. Mr. Aikin was then despatched in the pinnace, accompanied by John Coles (sail-maker), Stephen Weeks (armorer), and two Sandwich-islanders; and we followed under easy sail. Another boat had been sent out before this one, but the captain judging that she bore too far south, made her a signal to return. Mr. Aikin not finding less than four fathoms, we followed him and advanced between the breakers, with a favorable wind, so that we passed the boat on our starboard, within pistol-shot. We made signs to her to return on board, but she could not accomplish it; the ebb tide carried her with such rapidity that in a few minutes we had lost sight of her amidst the tremendous breakers that surrounded us. It was near nightfall, the wind began to give way, and the water was so low with the ebb, that we struck six or seven times with violence: the breakers broke over the ship and threatened to submerge her. At last we passed from two and three quarters fathoms of water to seven, where we were obliged to drop anchor, the wind having entirely failed us. We were far, however, from being out of danger, and the darkness came to add to the horror of our situation: our vessel, though at anchor, threatened to be carried away every moment by the tide; the best bower was let go, and it kept two men at the wheel to hold her head in the right direction. However, Providence came to our succor: the flood succeeded to the ebb, and the wind rising out of the offing, we weighed both anchors, in spite of the obscurity of the night, and succeeded in gaining a little bay or cove, formed at the entrance of the river by Cape Disappointment, and called _Baker's Bay_, where we found a good anchorage. It was about midnight, and all retired to take a little rest: the crew, above all, had great need of it. We were fortunate to be in a place of safety, for the wind rose higher and higher during the rest of the night, and on the morning of the 25th allowed us to see that this ocean is not always pacific. Some natives visited us this day, bringing with them beaver-skins; but the inquietude caused in our minds by the loss of two boats' crews, for whom we wished to make search, did not permit us to think of traffic. We tried to make the savages comprehend, by signs, that we had sent a boat ashore three days previous, and that we had no news of her; but they seemed not to understand us. The captain, accompanied by some of our gentlemen, landed, and they set themselves to search for our missing people, in the woods, and along the shore N.W. of the cape. After a few hours we saw the captain return with Weeks, one of the crew of the last boat sent out. He was stark naked, and after being clothed, and receiving some nourishment, gave us an account of his almost miraculous escape from the waves on the preceding night, in nearly the following terms:-- "After you had passed our boat;" said he, "the breakers caused by the meeting of the wind roll and ebb-tide, became a great deal heavier than when we entered the river with the flood. The boat, for want of a rudder, became very hard to manage, and we let her drift at the mercy of the tide, till, after having escaped several surges, one struck us midship and capsized us. I lost sight of Mr. Aiken and John Coles: but the two islanders were close by me; I saw them stripping off their clothes, and I followed their example; and seeing the pinnace within my reach, keel upward, I seized it; the two natives came to my assistance; we righted her, and by sudden jerks threw out so much of the water that she would hold a man: one of the natives jumped in, and, bailing with his two hands, succeeded in a short time in emptying her. The other native found the oars, and about dark we were all three embarked. The tide having now carried us outside the breakers, I endeavored to persuade my companions in misfortune to row, but they were so benumbed with cold that they absolutely refused. I well knew that without clothing, and exposed to the rigor of the air, I must keep in constant exercise. Seeing besides that the night was advancing, and having no resource but the little strength left me, I set to work sculling, and pushed off the bar, but so as not to be carried out too far to sea. About midnight, one of my companions died: the other threw himself upon the body of his comrade, and I could not persuade him to abandon it. Daylight appeared at last; and, being near the shore, I headed in for it, and arrived, thank God, safe and sound, through the breakers, on a sandy beach. I helped the islander, who yet gave some signs of life, to get out of the boat, and we both took to the woods; but, seeing that he was not able to follow me, I left him to his bad fortune, and, pursuing a beaten path that I perceived, I found myself, to my great astonishment, in the course of a few hours, near the vessel." The gentlemen who went ashore with the captain divided themselves into three parties, to search for the native whom Weeks had left at the entrance of the forest; but, after scouring the woods and the point of the cape all day, they came on board in the evening without having found him. CHAPTER VII. Regrets of the Author at the Loss of his Companions.--Obsequies of a Sandwich Islander.--First steps in the Formation of the intended Establishment.--New Alarm.--Encampment. The narrative of Weeks informed us of the death of three of our companions, and we could not doubt that the five others had met a similar fate. This loss of eight of our number, in two days, before we had set foot on shore, was a bad augury, and was sensibly felt by all of us. In the course of so long a passage, the habit of seeing each other every day, the participation of the same cares and dangers, and confinement to the same narrow limits, had formed between all the passengers a connection that could not be broken, above all in a manner so sad and so unlooked for, without making us feel a void like that which is experienced in a well-regulated and loving family, when it is suddenly deprived by death, of the presence of one of its cherished members. We had left New York, for the most part strangers to one another; but arrived at the river Columbia we were all friends, and regarded each other almost as brothers. We regretted especially the two brothers Lapensée and Joseph Nadeau: these young men had been in an especial manner recommended by their respectable parents in Canada to the care of Mr. M'Kay; and had acquired by their good conduct the esteem of the captain, of the crew, and of all the passengers. The brothers Lapensée were courageous and willing, never flinching in the hour of danger, and had become as good seamen as any on board. Messrs Fox and Aikin were both highly regarded by all; the loss of Mr. Fox, above all, who was endeared to every one by his gentlemanly behavior and affability, would have been severely regretted at any time, but it was doubly so in the present conjuncture: this gentleman, who had already made a voyage to the Northwest, could have rendered important services to the captain and to the company. The preceding days had been days of apprehension and of uneasiness; this was one of sorrow and mourning. The following day, the same gentlemen who had volunteered their services to seek for the missing islander, resumed their labors, and very soon after they left us, we perceived a great fire kindled at the verge of the woods, over against the ship. I was sent in a boat and arrived at the fire. It was our gentlemen who had kindled it, to restore animation to the poor islander, whom they had at last found under the rocks, half dead with cold and fatigue, his legs swollen and his feet bleeding. We clothed him, and brought him on board, where, by our care, we succeeded in restoring him to life. Toward evening, a number of the Sandwich-islanders, provided with the necessary utensils, and offerings consisting of biscuit, lard, and tobacco, went ashore, to pay the last duties to their compatriot, who died in Mr. Aikin's boat, on the night of the 24th. Mr. Pillet and I went with them, and witnessed the obsequies, which took place in the manner following. Arrived at the spot where the body had been hung upon a tree to preserve it from the wolves, the natives dug a grave in the sand; then taking down the body, and stretching it alongside the pit, they placed the biscuit under one of the arms, a piece of pork beneath the other, and the tobacco beneath the chin and the genital parts. Thus provided for the journey to the other world, the body was deposited in the grave and covered with sand and stones. All the countrymen of the dead man then knelt on either side of the grave, in a double row, with their faces to the east, except one of them who officiated as priest; the latter went to the margin of the sea, and having filled his hat with water, sprinkled the two rows of islanders, and recited a sort of prayer, to which the others responded, nearly as we do in the litanies. That prayer ended, they rose and returned to the vessel, looking neither to the right hand nor to the left. As every one of them appeared to me familiar with the part he performed, it is more than probable that they observed, as far as circumstances permitted, the ceremonies practised in their country on like occasions. We all returned on board about sundown. The next day, the 27th, desirous of clearing the gangways of the live stock; we sent some men on shore to construct a pen, and soon after landed about fifty hogs, committing them to the care of one of the hands. On the 30th, the long boat was manned, armed and provisioned, and the captain, with Messrs. M'Kay and D. Stuart, and some of the clerks, embarked on it, to ascend the river and choose an eligible spot for our trading establishment. Messrs. Boss and Pillet left at the same time, to run down south, and try to obtain intelligence of Mr. Fox and his crew. In the meantime, having reached some of the goods most at hand, we commenced, with the natives who came every day to the vessel, a trade for beaver-skins, and sea-otter stones. Messrs. Ross and Pillet returned on board on the 1st of April, without having learned anything respecting Mr. Fox and his party. They did not even perceive along the beach any vestiges of the boat. The natives who occupy Point _Adams_, and who are called _Clatsops_, received our young gentlemen very amicably and hospitably. The captain and his companions also returned on the 4th, without having decided on a position for the establishment, finding none which appeared to them eligible. It was consequently resolved to explore the south bank, and Messrs. M'Dougal and D. Stuart departed on that expedition the next day, promising to return by the 7th. The 7th came, and these gentlemen did not return. It rained almost all day. The day after, some natives came on board, and reported that Messrs. M'Dougal and Stuart had capsized the evening before in crossing the bay. This news at first alarmed us; and, if it had been verified, would have given the finishing blow to our discouragement. Still, as the weather was excessively bad, and we did not repose entire faith in the story of the natives--whom, moreover, we might not have perfectly understood--we remained in suspense till the 10th. On the morning of that day, we were preparing to send some of the people in search of our two gentlemen, when we perceived two large canoes, full of Indians, coming toward the vessel: they were of the _Chinook_ village, which was situated at the foot of a bluff on the north side of the river, and were bringing back Messrs. M'Dougal and Stuart. We made known to these gentlemen the report we had heard on the 8th from the natives, and they informed us that it had been in fact well founded; that on the 7th, desirous of reaching the ship agreeably to their promise, they had quitted _Chinook_ point, in spite of the remonstrances of the chief, _Comcomly_, who sought to detain them by pointing out the danger to which they would expose themselves in crossing the bay in such a heavy sea as it was; that they had scarcely made more than a mile and a half before a huge wave broke over their boat and capsized it; that the Indians, aware of the danger to which they were exposed, had followed them, and that, but for their assistance, Mr. M'Dougal, who could not swim, would inevitably have been drowned; that, after the Chinooks had kindled a large fire and dried their clothes, they had been conducted by them back to their village, where the principal chief had received them with all imaginable hospitality, regaling them with every delicacy his wigwam afforded; that, in fine, if they had got back safe and sound to the vessel, it was to the timely succor and humane cares of the Indians whom we saw before us that they owed it. We liberally rewarded these generous children of the forest, and they returned home well satisfied. This last survey was also fruitless, as Messrs. M'Dougal and Stuart did not find an advantageous site to build upon. But, as the captain wished to take advantage of the fine season to pursue his traffic with the natives along the N.W. coast, it was resolved to establish ourselves on Point _George_, situated on the south bank, about fourteen or fifteen miles from our present anchorage. Accordingly, we embarked on the 12th, in the long-boat, to the number of twelve, furnished with tools, and with provisions for a week. We landed at the bottom of a small bay, where we formed a sort of encampment. The spring, usually so tardy in this latitude, was already far advanced; the foliage was budding, and the earth was clothing itself with verdure; the weather was superb, and all nature smiled. We imagined ourselves in the garden of Eden; the wild forests seemed to us delightful groves, and the leaves transformed to brilliant flowers. No doubt, the pleasure of finding ourselves at the end of our voyage, and liberated from the ship, made things appear to us a great deal more beautiful than they really were. Be that as it may, we set ourselves to work with enthusiasm, and cleared, in a few days, a point of land of its under-brush, and of the huge trunks of pine-trees that covered it, which we rolled, half-burnt, down the bank. The vessel came to moor near our encampment, and the trade went on. The natives visited us constantly and in great numbers; some to trade, others to gratify their curiosity, or to purloin some little articles if they found an opportunity. We landed the frame timbers which we had brought, ready cut for the purpose, in the vessel; and by the end of April, with the aid of the ship-carpenters, John Weeks and Johann Koaster, we had laid the keel of a coasting-schooner of about thirty tons. CHAPTER VIII. Voyage up the River.--Description of the Country.--Meeting with strange Indians. The Indians having informed us that above certain rapids, there was an establishment of white men, we doubted not that it was a trading post of the Northwest Company; and to make sure of it, we procured a large canoe and a guide, and set out, on the 2d of May, Messrs M'Kay, R. Stuart, Montigny, and I, with a sufficient number of hands. We first passed a lofty head-land, that seemed at a distance to be detached from the main, and to which we gave the name of _Tongue Point_. Here the river gains a width of some nine or ten miles, and keeps it for about twelve miles up. The left bank, which we were coasting, being concealed by little low islands, we encamped for the night on one of them, at the village of _Wahkaykum_, to which our guide belonged. We continued our journey on the 3d: the river narrows considerably, at about thirty miles from its mouth, and is obstructed with islands, which are thickly covered with the willow, poplar, alder, and ash. These islands are, without exception, uninhabited and uninhabitable, being nothing but swamps, and entirely overflowed in the months of June and July; as we understood from _Coalpo_, our guide, who appeared to be an intelligent man. In proportion as we advanced, we saw the high mountains capped with snow, which form the chief and majestic feature, though a stern one, of the banks of the Columbia for some distance from its mouth, recede, and give place to a country of moderate elevation, and rising amphitheatrically from the margin of the stream. The river narrows to a mile or thereabouts; the forest is less dense, and patches of green prairie are seen. We passed a large village on the south bank, called _Kreluit_, above which is a fine forest of oaks; and encamped for the night, on a low point, at the foot of an isolated rock, about one hundred and fifty feet high. This rock appeared to me remarkable on account of its situation, reposing in the midst of a low and swampy ground, as if it had been dropped from the clouds, and seeming to have no connection with the neighboring mountains. On a cornice or shelving projection about thirty feet from its base, the natives of the adjacent villages deposite their dead, in canoes; and it is the same rock to which, for this reason, Lieutenant Broughton gave the name of _Mount Coffin_. On the 4th, in the morning, we arrived at a large village of the same name as that which we had passed the evening before, _Kreluit_, and we landed to obtain information respecting a considerable stream, which here discharges into the Columbia, and respecting its resources for the hunter and trader in furs. It comes from the north, and is called _Cowlitzk_ by the natives. Mr. M'Kay embarked with Mr. de Montigny and two Indians, in a small canoe, to examine the course of this river, a certain distance up. On entering the stream, they saw a great number of birds, which they took at first for turkeys, so much they resembled them, but which were only a kind of carrion eagles, vulgarly called _turkey-buzzards_. We were not a little astonished to see Mr. de Montigny return on foot and alone; he soon informed us of the reason: having ascended the _Kowlitzk_ about a mile and a half, on rounding a bend of the stream, they suddenly came in view of about twenty canoes, full of Indians, who had made a rush upon them with the most frightful yells; the two natives and the guide who conducted their little canoe, retreated with the utmost precipitancy, but seeing that they would be overtaken, they stopped short, and begged Mr. M'Kay to fire upon the approaching savages, which he, being well acquainted with the Indian character from the time he accompanied Sir Alexander M'Kenzie, and having met with similar occurrences before, would by no means do; but displayed a friendly sign to the astonished natives, and invited them to land for an amicable talk; to which they immediately assented. Mr. M'Kay had sent Mr. de Montigny to procure some tobacco and a pipe, in order to strike a peace with these barbarians. The latter then returned to Mr. M'Kay, with the necessary articles, and in the evening the party came back to our camp, which we had fixed between the villages. We were then informed that the Indians whom Mr. M'Kay had met, were at war with the _Kreluits_. It was impossible, consequently, to close our eyes all night; the natives passing and repassing continually from one village to the other, making fearful cries, and coming every minute to solicit us to discharge our firearms; all to frighten their enemies, and let them see that they were on their guard. On the 5th, in the morning, we paid a visit to the hostile camp; and those savages, who had never seen white men, regarded us with curiosity and astonishment, lifting the legs of our trowsers and opening our shirts, to see if the skin of our bodies resembled that of our faces and hands. We remained some time with them, to make proposals of peace; and having ascertained that this warlike demonstration originated in a trifling offence on the part of the _Kreluits_, we found them well disposed to arrange matters in an amicable fashion. After having given them, therefore, some looking-glasses, beads, knives, tobacco, and other trifles, we quitted them and pursued our way. Having passed a deserted village, and then several islands, we came in sight of a noble mountain on the north, about twenty miles distant, all covered with snow, contrasting remarkably with the dark foliage of the forests at its base, and probably the same which was seen by Broughton, and named by him _Mount St. Helen's_. We pulled against a strong current all this day, and at evening our guide made us enter a little river, on the bank of which we found a good camping place, under a grove of oaks, and in the midst of odoriferous wild flowers, where we passed a night more tranquil than that which had preceded it. On the morning of the 6th we ascended this small stream, and soon arrived at a large village called _Thlakalamah_, the chief whereof, who was a young and handsome man, was called _Keasseno_, and was a relative of our guide. The situation of this village is the most charming that can be, being built on the little river that we had ascended, and indeed at its navigable head, being here, but a torrent with numerous cascades leaping from rock to rock in their descent to the deep, limpid water, which then flows through a beautiful prairie, enamelled with odorous flowers of all colors, and studded with superb groves of oak. The freshness and beauty of this spot, which Nature seemed to have taken pleasure in adorning and enriching with her most precious gifts, contrasted, in a striking manner, with the indigence and uncleanliness of its inhabitants; and I regretted that it had not fallen to the lot of civilized men. I was wrong no doubt: it is just that those should be most favored by their common mother, who are least disposed to pervert her gifts, or to give the preference to advantages which are factitious, and often very frivolous. We quitted with regret this charming spot, and soon came to another large village, which our guide informed us was called _Kathlapootle_, and was situated at the confluence of a small stream, that seemed to flow down from the mountain covered with snow, which we had seen the day before: this river is called _Cowilkt_. We coasted a pretty island, well timbered, and high enough above the level of the Columbia to escape inundation in the freshets, and arrived at two villages called _Maltnabah_. We then passed the confluence of the river _Wallamat_, or _Willamet_, above which the tide ceases to be felt in the Columbia. Our guide informed us that ascending this river about a day's journey, there was a considerable fall, beyond which the country abounded in deer, elk, bear, beaver, and otter. But here, at the spot where we were, the oaks and poplar which line both banks of the river, the green and flowery prairies discerned through the trees, and the mountains discovered in the distance, offer to the eye of the observer who loves the beauties of simple nature, a prospect the most lovely and enchanting. We encamped for the night on the edge of one of these fine prairies. On the 7th we passed several low islands, and soon discovered _Mount Hood_, a high mountain, capped with snow, so named by Lieutenant Broughton; and _Mount Washington_, another snowy summit, so called by Lewis and Clarke. The prospect which the former had before his eyes at this place, appeared to him so charming, that landing upon a point, to take possession of the country in the name of King George, he named it _Pointe Belle Vue_. At two o'clock we passed _Point Vancouver_, the highest reached by Broughton. The width of the river diminishes considerably above this point, and we began very soon to encounter shoals of sand and gravel; a sure indication that we were nearing the rapids. We encamped that evening under a ledge of rocks, descending almost to the water's edge. The next day, the 8th, we did not proceed far before we encountered a very rapid current. Soon after, we saw a hut of Indians engaged in fishing, where we stopped to breakfast. We found here an old blind man, who gave us a cordial reception. Our guide said that he was a white man, and that his name was _Soto_. We learned from the mouth of the old man himself, that he was the son of a Spaniard who had been wrecked at the mouth of the river; that a part of the crew on this occasion got safe ashore, but were all massacred by the Clatsops, with the exception of four, who were spared and who married native women; that these four Spaniards, of whom his father was one, disgusted with the savage life, attempted to reach a settlement of their own nation toward the south, but had never been heard of since; and that when his father, with his companions, left the country, he himself was yet quite young.[H] These good people having regaled us with fresh salmon, we left them, and arrived very soon at a rapid, opposite an island, named _Strawberry Island_ by Captains Lewis and Clarke, in 1806. We left our men at a large village, to take care of the canoe and baggage; and following our guide, after walking about two hours, in a beaten path, we came to the foot of the fall, where we amused ourselves for some time with shooting the seals, which were here in abundance, and in watching the Indians taking salmon below the cataract, in their scoop-nets, from stages erected for that purpose over the eddies. A chief, a young man of fine person and a good mien, came to us, followed by some twenty others, and invited us to his wigwam: we accompanied him, had roasted salmon for supper, and some mats were spread for our night's repose. [Footnote H: These facts, if they were authenticated, would prove that the Spaniards were the first who discovered the mouth of the Columbia. It is certain that long before the voyages of Captains Gray and Vancouver, they knew at least a part of the course of that river, which was designated in their maps under the name of _Oregon_.] The next morning, having ascertained that there was no trading post near the Falls, and Coalpo absolutely refusing to proceed further, alleging that the natives of the villages beyond were his enemies, and would not fail to kill him if they had him in their power, we decided to return to the encampment. Having, therefore, distributed some presents to our host (I mean the young chief with whom we had supped and lodged) and to some of his followers, and procured a supply of fresh salmon for the return voyage, we re-embarked and reached the camp on the 14th, without accidents or incidents worth relating. CHAPTER IX. Departure of the Tonquin.--Indian Messengers.--Project of an Expedition to the Interior.--Arrival of Mr. Daniel Thompson.--Departure of the Expedition.--Designs upon us by the Natives.--Rumors of the Destruction of the Tonquin.--Scarcity of Provisions.--Narrative of a strange Indian.--Duplicity and Cunning of Comcomly. Having built a warehouse (62 feet by 20) to put under cover the articles we were to receive from the ship, we were busily occupied, from the 16th to the 30th, in stowing away the goods and other effects intended for the establishment. The ship, which had been detained by circumstances, much longer than had been anticipated, left her anchorage at last, on the 1st of June, and dropped down to Baker's bay, there to wait for a favorable wind to get out of the river. As she was to coast along the north, and enter all the harbors, in order to procure as many furs as possible, and to touch at the Columbia river before she finally left these seas for the United States, it was unanimously resolved among the partners, that Mr. M'Kay should join the cruise, as well to aid the captain, as to obtain correct information in regard to the commerce with the natives on that coast. Mr. M'Kay selected Messrs. J. Lewis and O. de Montigny to accompany him; but the latter having represented that the sea made him sick, was excused; and Mr. M'Kay shipped in his place a young man named Louis Bruslé, to serve him in the capacity of domestic, being one of the young Canadian sailors. I had the good fortune not to be chosen for this disastrous voyage, thanks to my having made myself useful at the establishment. Mr. Mumford (the second mate) owed the same happiness to the incompatibility of his disposition with that of the captain; he had permission to remain, and engaged with the company in place of Mr. Aikin as coaster, and in command of the schooner.[I] [Footnote I: This schooner was found too small for the purpose. Mr. Astor had no idea of the dangers to be met at the mouth of the Colombia, or he would have ordered the frame of a vessel of at least one hundred tons. The frames shipped in New York were used in the construction of this one only, which was employed solely in the river trade.] On the 5th of June, the ship got out to sea, with a good wind. We continued in the meantime to labor without intermission at the completion of the storehouse, and in the erection of a dwelling for ourselves, and a powder magazine. These buildings were constructed of hewn logs, and, in the absence of boards, tightly covered and roofed with cedar bark. The natives, of both sexes, visited us more frequently, and formed a pretty considerable camp near the establishment. On the 15th, some natives from up the river, brought us two strange Indians, a man and a woman. They were not attired like the savages on the river Columbia, but wore long robes of dressed deer-skin, with leggings and moccasins in the fashion of the tribes to the east of the Rocky Mountains. We put questions to them in various Indian dialects; but they did not understand us. They showed us a letter addressed to "_Mr. John Stuart, Fort Estekatadene, New Caledonia_." Mr. Pillet then addressing them in the _Knisteneaux_ language, they answered, although they appeared not to understand it perfectly. Notwithstanding, we learned from them that they had been sent by a Mr. Finnan M'Donald, a clerk in the service of the Northwest Company, and who had a post on a river which they called _Spokan_; that having lost their way, they had followed the course of the _Tacousah-Tesseh_ (the Indian name of the Columbia), that when they arrived at the Falls, the natives made them understand that there were white men at the mouth of the river; and not doubting that the person to whom the letter was addressed would be found there, they had come to deliver it. We kept these messengers for some days, and having drawn from them important information respecting the country in the interior, west of the Mountains, we decided to send an expedition thither, under the command of Mr. David Stuart; and the 15th July was fixed for its departure. All was in fact ready on the appointed day, and we were about to load the canoes, when toward midday, we saw a large canoe, with a flag displayed at her stern, rounding the point which we called _Tongue Point_. We knew not who it could be; for we did not so soon expect our own party, who (as the reader will remember) were to cross the continent, by the route which Captains Lewis and Clarke had followed, in 1805, and to winter for that purpose somewhere on the Missouri. We were soon relieved of our uncertainty by the arrival of the canoe, which touched shore at a little wharf that we had built to facilitate the landing of goods from the vessel. The flag she bore was the British, and her crew was composed of eight Canadian boatmen or _voyageurs_. A well-dressed man, who appeared to be the commander, was the first to leap ashore, and addressing us without ceremony, said that his name was David Thompson, and that he was one of the partners of the Northwest Company. We invited him to our quarters, which were at one end of the warehouse, the dwelling-house not being yet completed. After the usual civilities had been extended to our visitor, Mr. Thompson said that he had crossed the continent during the preceding season; but that the desertion of a portion of his men had compelled him to winter at the base of the Rocky mountains, at the head waters of the Columbia. In the spring he had built a canoe, the materials for which he had brought with him across the mountains, and had come down the river to our establishment. He added that the wintering partners had resolved to abandon all their trading posts west of the mountains, not to enter into competition with us, provided our company would engage not to encroach upon their commerce on the east side: and to support what he said, produced a letter to that effect, addressed by the wintering partners to the chief of their house in Canada, the Hon. William M'Gillivray. Mr. Thompson kept a regular journal, and travelled, I thought, more like a geographer than a fur-trader. He was provided with a sextant, chronometer and barometer, and during a week's sojourn which he made at our place, had an opportunity to make several astronomical observations. He recognised the two Indians who had brought the letter addressed to Mr. J. Stuart, and told us that they were two women, one of whom had dressed herself as a man, to travel with more security. The description which he gave us of the interior of the country was not calculated to give us a very favorable idea of it, and did not perfectly accord with that of our two Indian guests. We persevered, however, in the resolution we had taken, of sending an expedition thither; and, on the 23d Mr. D. Stuart set out, accompanied by Messrs. Pillet, Boss, M'Clellan and de Montigny, with four Canadian _voyageurs_, and the two Indian women, and in company with Mr. Thompson and his crew. The wind being favorable, the little flotilla hoisted sail, and was soon out of our sight.[J] [Footnote J: Mr. Thompson had no doubt been sent by the agents of the Northwest Company, to take possession of an eligible spot at the mouth of the Columbia, with a view of forestalling the plan of Mr. Astor. He would have been there before us, no doubt, but for the desertion of his men. The consequence of this step would have been his taking possession of the country, and displaying the British flag, as an emblem, of that possession and a guarantee of protection hereafter. He found himself too late, however, and the stars and stripes floating over _Astoria_. This note is not intended by the author as an after-thought: as the opinion it conveys was that which we all entertained at the time of that gentleman's visit.] The natives, who till then had surrounded us in great numbers, began to withdraw, and very soon we saw no more of them. At first we attributed their absence to the want of furs to trade with; but we soon learned that they acted in that manner from another motive. One of the secondary chiefs who had formed a friendship for Mr. R. Stuart, informed him, that seeing us reduced in number by the expedition lately sent off, they had formed the design of surprising us, to take our lives and plunder the post. We hastened, therefore, to put ourselves in the best possible state of defence. The dwelling house was raised, parallel to the warehouse; we cut a great quantity of pickets in the forest, and formed a square, with palisades in front and rear, of about 90 feet by 120; the warehouse, built on the edge of a ravine, formed one flank, the dwelling house and shops the other; with a little bastion at each angle north and south, on which were mounted four small cannon. The whole was finished in six days, and had a sufficiently formidable aspect to deter the Indians from attacking us; and for greater surety, we organized a guard for day and night. Toward the end of the month, a large assemblage of Indians from the neighborhood of the straits _Juan de Fuca_, and _Gray's Harbor_, formed a great camp on Baker's Bay, for the ostensible object of fishing for sturgeon. It was bruited among these Indians that the Tonquin had been destroyed on the coast, and Mr. M'Kay (or the chief trader, as they called him) and all the crew, massacred by the natives. We did not give credence to this rumor. Some days after, other Indians from Gray's Harbor, called _Tchikeylis_, confirmed what the first had narrated, and even gave us, as far as we could judge by the little we knew of their language, a very circumstantial detail of the affair, so that without wholly convincing us, it did not fail to make a painful impression on our minds, and keep us in an excited state of feeling as to the truth of the report. The Indians of the Bay looked fiercer and more warlike than those of our neighborhood; so we redoubled our vigilance, and performed a regular daily drill to accustom ourselves to the use of arms. To the necessity of securing ourselves against an attack on the part of the natives, was joined that of obtaining a stock of provisions for the winter: those which we had received from the vessel were very quickly exhausted, and from the commencement of the month of July we were forced to depend upon fish. Not having brought hunters with us, we had to rely for venison, on the precarious hunt of one of the natives who had not abandoned us when the rest of his countrymen retired. This man brought us from time to time, a very lean and very dry doe-elk, for which we had to pay, notwithstanding, very dear. The ordinary price of a stag was a blanket, a knife, some tobacco, powder and ball, besides supplying our hunter with a musket. This dry meat, and smoke-dried fish, constituted our daily food, and that in very insufficient quantity for hardworking men. "We had no bread, and vegetables, of course, were quite out of the question. In a word our fare was not sumptuous. Those who accommodated themselves best to our mode of living were the Sandwich-islanders: salmon and elk were to them exquisite viands. On the 11th of August a number of Chinooks visited us, bringing a strange Indian, who had, they said, something interesting to communicate. This savage told us, in fact, that he had been engaged with ten more of his countrymen, by a Captain _Ayres_, to hunt seals on the islands in _Sir Francis Drake's Bay_, where these animals are very numerous, with a promise of being taken home and paid for their services; the captain had left them on the islands, to go southwardly and purchase provisions, he said, of the Spaniards of Monterey in California; but he had never returned: and they, believing that he had been wrecked, had embarked in a skiff which he had left them, and had reached the main land, from which they were not far distant; but their skiff was shattered to pieces in the surf, and they had saved themselves by swimming. Believing that they were not far from the river Columbia, they had followed the shore, living, on the way, upon shell-fish and frogs; at last they arrived among strange Indians, who, far from receiving them kindly, had killed eight of them and made the rest prisoners; but the _Klemooks_, a neighboring tribe to the _Clatsops_, hearing that they were captives, had ransomed them. These facts must have occurred in March or April, 1811. The Indian who gave us an account of them, appeared to have a great deal of intelligence and knew some words of the English language. He added that he had been at the Russian trading post at _Chitka_, that he had visited the coast of California, the Sandwich islands, and even China. About this time, old Comcomly sent to _Astoria_ for Mr. Stuart and me, to come and cure him of a swelled throat, which, he said, afflicted him sorely. As it was late in the day, we postponed till to-morrow going to cure the chief of the Chinooks; and it was well we did; for, the same evening, the wife of the Indian who had accompanied us in our voyage to the Falls, sent us word that Comcomly was perfectly well, the pretended _tonsillitis_ being only a pretext to get us in his power. This timely advice kept us at home. CHAPTER X. Occupations at Astoria.--Return of a Portion of the Men of the Expedition to the Interior.--New Expedition.--Excursion in Search of three Deserters. On the 26th of September our house was finished, and we took possession of it. The mason work had at first caused us some difficulty; but at last, not being able to make lime for want of lime-stones, we employed blue clay as a substitute for mortar. This dwelling-house was sufficiently spacious to hold all our company, and we had distributed it in the most convenient manner that we could. It comprised a sitting, a dining room, some lodging or sleeping rooms, and an apartment for the men and artificers, all under the same roof. We also completed a shop for the blacksmith, who till that time had worked in the open air. The schooner, the construction of which had necessarily languished for want of an adequate force at the ship-yard, was finally launched on the 2d of October, and named the _Dolly_, with the formalities usual on such occasions. I was on that day at _Young's Bay_, where I saw the ruins of the quarters erected by Captains Lewis and Clarke, in 1805-'06: they were but piles of rough, unhewn logs, overgrown with parasite creepers. On the evening of the 5th, Messrs. Pillet and M'Lellan arrived, from the party of Mr. David Stuart, in a canoe manned by two of his men. They brought, as passengers, Mr. Régis Bruguier, whom I had known in Canada as a respectable country merchant, and an Iroquois family. Mr. Bruguier had been a trader among the Indians on the Saskatchawine river, where he had lost his outfit: he had since turned trapper, and had come into this region to hunt beaver, being provided with traps and other needful implements. The report which these gentlemen gave of the interior was highly satisfactory: they had found the climate salubrious, and had been well received by the natives. The latter possessed a great number of horses, and Mr. Stuart had purchased several of these animals at a low price. Ascending the river they had come to a pretty stream, which the natives called _Okenakan_. Mr. Stuart had resolved to establish his post on the bank of this river, and having erected a log-house, he thought best to send back the above named persons, retaining with him, for the winter, only Messrs. Ross and de Montigny, and two men.[K] [Footnote K: One of these men bad been left with him by Mr. Thompson, in exchange for a Sandwich-islander whom that gentleman proposed to take to Canada, and thence to England.] Meanwhile, the season being come when the Indians quit the seashore and the banks of the Columbia, to retire into the woods and establish their winter quarters along the small streams and rivers, we began to find ourselves short of provisions, having received no supplies from them for some time. It was therefore determined that Mr. R. Stuart should set out in the schooner with Mr. Mumford, for the threefold purpose, of obtaining all the provisions they could, cutting oaken staves for the use of the cooper, and trading with the Indians up the river. They left with this design on the 12th. At the end of five days Mr. Mumford returned in a canoe of Indians. This man having wished to assume the command, and to order (in the style of Captain Thorn) the person who had engaged him to obey, had been sent back in consequence to _Astoria_. On the 10th of November we discovered that three of our people had absconded, viz., P.D. Jeremie, and the two Belleaux. They had leave to go out shooting for two days, and carried off with them firearms and ammunition, and a handsome light Indian canoe. As soon as their flight was known, having procured a large canoe of the Chinooks, we embarked, Mr. Matthews and I, with five natives, to pursue them, with orders to proceed as far as the Falls, if necessary. On the 11th, having ascended the river to a place called _Oak Point_, we overtook the schooner lying at anchor, while Mr. Stuart was taking in a load of staves and hoop-poles. Mr. Farnham joined our party, as well as one of the hands, and thus reinforced, we pursued our way, journeying day and night, and stopping at every Indian village, to make inquiries and offer a reward for the apprehension of our runaways. Having reached the Falls without finding any trace of them, and our provisions giving out, we retraced our steps, and arrived on the 16th at Oak Point, which we found Mr. Stuart ready to quit. Meanwhile, the natives of the vicinity informed us that they had seen the marks of shoes imprinted on the sand, at the confluence of a small stream in the neighborhood. We got three small canoes, carrying two persons each, and having ascertained that the information was correct, after searching the environs during a part of the 17th, we ascended the small stream as far as some high lands which are seen from Oak Point, and which lie about eight or nine miles south of it. The space between these high lands and the ridge crowned with oaks on the bank of the Columbia, is a low and swampy land, cut up by an infinity of little channels. Toward evening we returned on our path, to regain the schooner; but instead of taking the circuitous way of the river, by which we had come, we made for Oak Point by the most direct route, through these channels; but night coming on, we lost ourselves. Our situation became the most disagreeable that can be imagined. Being unable to find a place where we could land, on account of the morass, we were obliged to continue rowing, or rather turning round, in this species of labyrinth, constantly kneeling in our little canoes, which any unlucky movement would infallibly have caused to upset. It rained in torrents and was dark as pitch. At last, after having wandered about during a considerable part of the night, we succeeded in gaining the edge of the mainland. Leaving there our canoes, because we could not drag them (as we attempted) through the forest, we crossed the woods in the darkness, tearing ourselves with the brush, and reached the schooner, at about two in the morning, benumbed with cold and exhausted with fatigue. The 18th was spent in getting in the remainder of the lading of the little vessel, and on the morning of the 19th we raised anchor, and dropped down abreast of the Kreluit village, where some of the Indians offering to aid us in the search after our deserters, Mr. Stuart put Mr. Farnham and me on shore to make another attempt. We passed that day in drying our clothes, and the next day embarked in a canoe, with one _Kreluit_ man and a squaw, and ascended the river before described as entering the Columbia at this place. We soon met a canoe of natives, who informed us that our runaways had been made prisoners by the chief of a tribe which dwells upon the banks of the Willamet river, and which they called _Cathlanaminim_. We kept on and encamped on a beach of sand opposite _Deer island_. There we passed a night almost as disagreeable as that of the 17th-18th. We had lighted a fire, and contrived a shelter of mats; but there came on presently a violent gust of wind, accompanied with a heavy rain: our fire was put out, our mats were carried away, and we could neither rekindle the one nor find the others: so that we had to remain all night exposed to the fury of the storm. As soon as it was day we re-embarked, and set ourselves to paddling with all our might to warm ourselves. In the evening we arrived near the village where our deserters were, and saw one of them on the skirts of it. We proceeded to the hut of the chief, where we found all three, more inclined to follow us than to remain as slaves among these barbarians. We passed the night in the chief's lodge, not without some fear and some precaution; this chief having the reputation of being a wicked man, and capable of violating the rights of parties. He was a man of high stature and a good mien, and proud in proportion, as we discovered by the chilling and haughty manner in which he received us. Farnham and I agreed to keep watch alternately, but this arrangement was superfluous, as neither of us could sleep a wink for the infernal thumping and singing made by the medicine men all night long, by a dying native. I had an opportunity of seeing the sick man make his last will and testament: having caused to be brought to him whatever he had that was most precious, his bracelets of copper, his bead necklace, his bow and arrows and quiver, his nets, his lines, his spear, his pipe, &c., he distributed the whole to his most intimate friends, with a promise on their part, to restore them, if he recovered. On the 22d, after a great deal of talk, and infinite quibbling on the part of the chief, we agreed with him for the ransom of our men. I had visited every lodge in the village and found but few of the young men, the greater part having gone on a fishing excursion; knowing, therefore, that the chief could not be supported by his warriors, I was resolved not be imposed upon, and as I knew where the firearms of the fugitives had been deposited, I would have them at all hazards; but we were obliged to give him all our blankets, amounting to eight, a brass kettle, a hatchet, a small pistol, much out of order, a powder-horn, and some rounds of ammunition: with these articles placed in a pile before him, we demanded the men's clothing, the three fowling-pieces, and their canoe, which he had caused to be hidden in the woods. Nothing but our firmness compelled him to accept the articles offered in exchange; but at last, with great reluctance, he closed the bargain, and suffered us to depart in the evening with the prisoners and the property. We all five (including the three deserters) embarked in the large canoe, leaving our Kreluit and his wife to follow in the other, and proceeded as far as the Cowlitzk, where we camped. The next day, we pursued our journey homeward, only stopping at the Kreluit village to get some provisions, and soon entered the group of islands which crowd the river above Gray's bay. On one of these we stopped to amuse ourselves with shooting some ducks, and meanwhile a smart breeze springing up, we split open a double-rush mat (which had served as a bag), to make a sail, and having cut a forked sapling for a mast, shipped a few boulders to stay the foot of it, and spread our canvass to the wind. We soon arrived in sight of Gray's bay, at a distance of fourteen or fifteen miles from our establishment. We had, notwithstanding, a long passage across, the river forming in this place, as I have before observed, a sort of lake, by the recession of its shores on either hand: but the wind was fair. We undertook, then, to cross, and quitted the island, to enter the broad, lake-like expanse, just as the sun was going down, hoping to reach Astoria in a couple of hours. We were not long before we repented of our temerity: for in a short time the sky became overcast, the wind increased till it blew with violence, and meeting with the tide, caused the waves to rise prodigiously, which broke over our wretched canoe, and filled it with water. We lightened it as much as we could, by throwing overboard the little baggage we had left, and I set the men to baling with our remaining brass kettle. At last, after having been, for three hours, the sport of the raging billows, and threatened every instant with being swallowed up, we had the unexpected happiness of landing in a cove on the north shore of the river. Our first care was to thank the Almighty for having delivered us from so imminent a danger. Then, when we had secured the canoe, and groped our way to the forest, where we made, with branches of trees, a shelter against the wind--still continuing to blow with violence, and kindled a great fire to warm us and dry our clothes. That did not prevent us from shivering the rest of the night, even in congratulating ourselves on the happiness of setting our foot on shore at the moment when we began quite to despair of saving ourselves at all. The morning of the 24th brought with it a clear sky, but no abatement in the violence of the wind, till toward evening, when we again embarked, and arrived with our deserters at the establishment, where they never expected to see us again. Some Indians who had followed us in a canoe, up to the moment when we undertook the passage across the evening before, had followed the southern shore, and making the portage of the isthmus of Tongue Point, had happily arrived at Astoria. These natives, not doubting that we were lost, so reported us to Mr. M'Dougal; accordingly that gentleman was equally overjoyed and astonished at beholding us safely landed, which procured, not only for us, but for the culprits, our companions, a cordial and hearty reception. CHAPTER XI. Departure of Mr. R. Stuart for the Interior.--Occupations at Astoria.--Arrival of Messrs. Donald M'Kenzie and Robert M'Lellan.--Account of their Journey.--Arrival of Mr. Wilson P. Hunt. The natives having given us to understand that beaver was very abundant in the country watered by the Willamet, Mr. R. Stuart procured a guide, and set out, on the 5th of December, accompanied by Messrs. Pillet and M'Gillis and a few of the men, to ascend that river and ascertain whether or no it would be advisable to establish a trading-post on its banks. Mr. R. Bruguier accompanied them to follow his pursuits as a trapper. The season at which we expected the return of the Tonquin was now past, and we began to regard as too probable the report of the Indians of Gray's Harbor. We still flattered ourselves, notwithstanding, with the hope that perhaps that vessel had sailed for the East Indies, without touching at Astoria; but this was at most a conjecture. The 25th, Christmas-day, passed very agreeably: we treated the men, on that day, with the best the establishment afforded. Although that was no great affair, they seemed well satisfied; for they had been restricted, during the last few months, to a very meagre diet, living, as one may say, on sun-dried fish. On the 27th, the schooner having returned from her second voyage up the river, we dismantled her, and laid her up for the winter at the entrance of a small creek. The weather, which had been raining, almost without interruption, from the beginning of October, cleared up on the evening of the 31st; and the 1st January, 1812, brought us a clear and serene sky. We proclaimed the new year with a discharge of artillery. A small allowance of spirits was served to the men, and the day passed in gayety, every one amusing himself as well as he could. The festival over, our people resumed their ordinary occupations: while some cut timber for building, and others made charcoal for the blacksmith, the carpenter constructed a barge, and the cooper made barrels for the use of the posts we proposed to establish in the interior. On the 18th, in the evening, two canoes full of white men arrived at the establishment. Mr. M'Dougal, the resident agent, being confined to his room by sickness, the duty of receiving the strangers devolved on me. My astonishment was not slight, when one of the party called me by name, as he extended his hand, and I recognised Mr. Donald M'Kenzie, the same who had quitted Montreal, with Mr. W.P. Hunt, in the month of July, 1810. He was accompanied by a Mr. Robert M'Lellan, a partner, Mr. John Reed, a clerk, and eight _voyageurs_, or boatmen. After having reposed themselves a little from their fatigues, these gentlemen recounted to us the history of their journey, of which the following is the substance. Messrs. Hunt and M'Kenzie, quitting Canada, proceeded by way of Mackinac and St. Louis, and ascended the Missouri, in the autumn of 1810, to a place on that river called _Nadoway_, where they wintered. Here they were joined by Mr. R. M'Lellan, by a Mr. Crooks, and a Mr. Müller, traders with the Indians of the South, and all having business relations with Mr. Astor. In the spring of 1811, having procured two large keel-boats, they ascended the Missouri to the country of the _Arikaras_, or Rice Indians, where they disposed of their boats and a great part of their luggage, to a Spanish trader, by name _Manuel Lisa_. Having purchased of him, and among the Indians, 130 horses, they resumed their route, in the beginning of August, to the number of some sixty-five persons, to proceed across the mountains to the river Columbia. Wishing to avoid the _Blackfeet_ Indians, a warlike and ferocious tribe, who put to death all the strangers that fall into their hands, they directed their course southwardly, until they arrived at the 40th degree of latitude. Thence they turned to the northwest, and arrived, by-and-by, at an old fort, or trading post, on the banks of a little river flowing west. This post, which was then deserted, had been established, as they afterward learned, by a trader named Henry. Our people, not doubting that this stream would conduct them to the Columbia, and finding it navigable, constructed some canoes to descend it. Having left some hunters (or trappers) near the old fort, with Mr. Miller, who, dissatisfied with the expedition, was resolved to return to the United States, the party embarked; but very soon finding the river obstructed with rapids and waterfalls, after having upset some of the canoes, lost one man by drowning, and also a part of their baggage, perceiving that the stream was impracticable, they resolved to abandon their canoes and proceed on foot. The enterprise was one of great difficulty, considering the small stock of provisions they had left. Nevertheless, as there was no time to lose in deliberation, after depositing in a _cache_ the superfluous part of their baggage, they divided themselves into four companies, under the command of Messrs. M'Kenzie, Hunt, M'Lellan and Crooks, and proceeded to follow the course of the stream, which they named _Mad river_, on account of the insurmountable difficulties it presented. Messrs. M'Kenzie and M'Lellan took the right bank, and Messrs. Hunt and Crook the left. They counted on arriving very quickly at the Columbia; but they followed this Mad river for twenty days, finding nothing at all to eat, and suffering horribly from thirst. The rocks between which the river flows being so steep and abrupt as to prevent their descending to quench their thirst (so that even their dogs died of it), they suffered the torments of Tantalus, with this difference, that he had the water which he could not reach above his head, while our travellers had it beneath their feet. Several, not to die of this raging thirst, drank their own urine: all, to appease the cravings of hunger, ate beaver skins roasted in the evening at the camp-fire. They even were at last constrained to eat their moccasins. Those on the or southeast bank, suffered, however, less than the others, because they occasionally fell in with Indians, utterly wild indeed, and who fled at their approach, carrying off their horses. According to all appearances these savages had never seen white men. Our travellers, when they arrived in sight of the camp of one of these wandering hordes, approached it with as much precaution, and with the same stratagem that they would have used with a troop of wild beasts. Having thus surprised them, they would fire upon the horses, some of which would fall; but they took care to leave some trinkets on the spot, to indemnify the owners for what they had taken from them by violence. This resource prevented the party from perishing of hunger. Mr. M'Kenzie having overtaken Mr. M'Lellan, their two companies pursued the journey together. Very soon after this junction, they had an opportunity of approaching sufficiently near to Mr. Hunt, who, as I have remarked, was on the other bank, to speak to him, and inform him of their distressed state. Mr. Hunt caused a canoe to be made of a horse-hide; it was not, as one may suppose, very large; but they succeeded, nevertheless, by that means, in conveying a little horse-flesh to the people on the north bank. It was attempted, even, to pass them across, one by one (for the skiff would not hold any more); several had actually crossed to the south side, when, unhappily, owing to the impetuosity of the current, the canoe capsized, a man was drowned, and the two parties lost all hope of being able to unite. They continued their route, therefore, each on their own side of the river. In a short time those upon the north bank came to a more considerable stream, which they followed down. They also met, very opportunely, some Indians, who sold them a number of horses. They also encountered, in these parts, a young American, who was deranged, but who sometimes recovered his reason. This young man told them, in one of his lucid intervals, that he was from Connecticut, and was named Archibald Pelton; that he had come up the Missouri with Mr. Henry; that all the people at the post established by that trader were massacred by the Blackfeet; that he alone had escaped, and had been wandering, for three years since, with the _Snake_ Indians.[L] Our people took this young man with them. Arriving at the confluence with the Columbia, of the river whose banks they were following, they perceived that it was the same which had been called _Lewis river_, by the American captain of that name, in 1805. Here, then, they exchanged their remaining horses for canoes, and so arrived at the establishment, safe and sound, it is true, but in a pitiable condition to see; their clothes being nothing but fluttering rags. [Footnote L: A thoroughly savage and lazy tribe, inhabiting the plains of the Columbia, between the 43d and 44th degrees of latitude.] The narrative of these gentlemen interested us very much. They added, that since their separation from Messrs. Hunt and Crooks, they had neither seen nor heard aught of them, and believed it impossible that they should arrive at the establishment before spring. They were mistaken, however, for Mr. Hunt arrived on the 15th February, with thirty men, one woman, and two children, having left Mr. Crooks, with five men, among the _Snakes_. They might have reached Astoria almost as soon as Mr. M'Kenzie, but they had passed from eight to ten days in the midst of a plain, among some friendly Indians, as well to recruit their strength, as to make search for two of the party, who had been lost in the woods. Not finding them, they had resumed their journey, and struck the banks of the Columbia a little lower down than the mouth of Lewis river, where Mr. M'Kenzie had come out. The arrival of so great a number of persons would have embarrassed us, had it taken place a month sooner. Happily, at this time, the natives were bringing in fresh fish in abundance. Until the 30th of March, we were occupied in preparing triplicates of letters and other necessary papers, in order to send Mr. Astor the news of our arrival, and of the reunion of the two expeditions. The letters were intrusted to Mr. John Reed, who quitted Astoria for St. Louis, in company with Mr. M'Lellan--another discontented partner, who wished to disconnect himself with the association,--and Mr. R. Stuart, who was conveying two canoe-loads of goods for his uncle's post on the _Okenakan_. Messrs. Farnham and M'Gillis set out at the same time, with a guide, and were instructed to proceed to the _cache_,[M] where the overland travellers had hidden their goods, near old Fort Henry, on the Mad river. I profited by this opportunity to write to my family in Canada. Two days after, Messrs. M'Kenzie and Matthews set out, with five or six men, as hunters, to make an excursion up the Willamet river. [Footnote M: These _caches_ are famous in all the narratives of overland travel, whether for trade or discovery. The manner of making them is described by Captains Lewis and Clarke, as follows: they choose a dry situation, then describing a circle of some twenty inches diameter, remove the sod as gently and carefully as possible. The hole is then sunk a foot deep or more, perpendicularly; it is then worked gradually wider as it descends, till it becomes six or seven feet deep, and shaped like a kettle, or the lower part of a large still. As the earth is dug out, it is handed up in a vessel, and carefully laid upon a skin or cloth, in which it is carried away, and usually thrown into the river, if there be one, or concealed so as to leave no trace of it. A floor of three or four inches thick is then made of dry sticks, on which is thrown hay or a hide perfectly dry. The goods, after being well aired and dried, are laid down, and preserved from contact with the wall by a layer of other dried sticks, till all is stowed away. When the hole is nearly full, a hide is laid on top, and the earth is thrown upon this, and beaten down, until, with the addition of the sod first removed, the whole is on a level with the ground, and there remains not the slightest appearance of an excavation. The first shower effaces every sign of what has been done, and such a cache is safe for years.--ED.] CHAPTER XII Arrival of the Ship Beaver.--Unexpected Return of Messrs. D. Stuart, R. Stuart, M'Lelland, &c.--Cause of that Return.--Ship discharging.--New Expeditions.--Hostile Attitude of the Natives.--Departure of the Beaver.--Journeys of the Author.--His Occupations at the Establishment. From the departure of the last outfit under Mr. M'Kenzie, nothing remarkable took place at Astoria, till the 9th of May. On that day we descried, to our great surprise and great joy, a sail in the offing, opposite the mouth of the river. Forthwith Mr. M'Dougal was despatched in a boat to the cape, to make the signals. On the morning of the 10th, the weather being fine and the sea smooth, the boat pushed out and arrived safely alongside. Soon after, the wind springing up, the vessel made sail and entered the river, where she dropped anchor, in Baker's Bay, at about 2 P.M. Toward evening the boat returned to the Fort, with the following passengers: Messrs. John Clarke of Canada (a wintering partner), Alfred Seton, George Ehnainger, a nephew of Mr. Astor (clerks), and two men. We learned from these gentlemen that the vessel was the _Beaver_, Captain _Cornelius Sowles_, and was consigned to us; that she left New York on the 10th of October, and had touched, in the passage, at _Massa Fuero_ and the Sandwich Isles. Mr. Clarke handed me letters from my father and from several of my friends: I thus learned that death had deprived me of a beloved sister. On the morning of the 11th, we were strangely surprised by the return of Messrs. D. Stuart, R. Stuart, R. M'Lelland, Crooks, Reed, and Farnham. This return, as sudden as unlooked for, was owing to an unfortunate adventure which befell the party, in ascending the river. When they reached the Falls, where the portage is very long, some natives came with their horses, to offer their aid in transporting the goods. Mr. R. Stuart, not distrusting them, confided to their care some bales of merchandise, which they packed on their horses: but, in making the transit, they darted up a narrow path among the rocks, and fled at full gallop toward the prairie, without its being possible to overtake them. Mr. Stuart had several shots fired over their heads, to frighten them, but it had no other effect than to increase their speed. Meanwhile our own people continued the transportation of the rest of the goods, and of the canoes; but as there was a great number of natives about, whom the success and impunity of those thieves had emboldened, Mr. Stuart thought it prudent to keep watch over the goods at the upper end of the portage, while Messrs. M'Lellan and Reed made the rear-guard. The last named gentleman, who carried, strapped to his shoulders, a tin box containing the letters and despatches for New York with which he was charged, happened to be at some distance from the former, and the Indians thought it a favorable opportunity to attack him and carry off his box, the brightness of which no doubt had tempted their cupidity. They threw themselves upon him so suddenly that he had no time to place himself on the defensive. After a short resistance, he received a blow on the head from a war club, which felled him to the ground, and the Indians seized upon their booty. Mr. M'Lellan perceiving what was done, fired his carabine at one of the robbers and made him bite the dust; the rest took to flight, but carried off the box notwithstanding. Mr. M'Lellan immediately ran up to Mr. Reed; but finding the latter motionless and bathed in blood, he hastened to rejoin Mr. Stuart, urging him to get away from these robbers and murderers. But Mr. Stuart, being a self-possessed and fearless man, would not proceed without ascertaining if Mr. Reed were really dead, or if he were, without carrying off his body; and notwithstanding the remonstrances of Mr. M'Lellan, taking his way back to the spot where the latter had left his companion, had not gone two hundred paces, when he met him coming toward them, holding his bleeding head with both hands.[N] [Footnote N: We were apprized of this unfortunate rencontre by natives from up the river, on the 15th of April, but disbelieved it. [It is curious to observe the want of military sagacity and precaution which characterized the operations of these traders, compared with the exact calculations of danger and the unfailing measures of defence, employed from the very outset by Captains Lewis and Clarke in the same country. There was one very audacious attempt at plunder made upon the latter; but besides that it cost the Indians a life or two, the latter lost property of their own far exceeding their booty. It is true that the American officers had a stronger force at their disposal than our merchants had, and that, too, consisting of experienced western hunters and veteran soldiers of the frontier; but it is not less interesting to note the difference, because it is easy to account for it.--J.V.H.]] The object of Mr. Reed's journey being defeated by the loss of his papers, he repaired, with the other gentlemen, to Mr. David Stuart's trading post, at Okenakan, whence they had all set out, in the beginning of May, to return to Astoria. Coming down the river, they fell in with Mr. R. Crooks, and a man named _John Day_. It was observed in the preceding chapter that Mr. Crooks remained with five men among some Indians who were there termed _friendly_: but this gentleman and his companion were the only members of that party who ever reached the establishment: and they too arrived in a most pitiable condition, the savages having stripped them of everything, leaving them but some bits of deerskin to cover their nakedness. On the 12th, the schooner, which had been sent down the river to the Beaver's anchorage, returned with a cargo (being the stores intended for Astoria), and the following passengers: to wit, Messrs. B. Clapp, J.C. Halsey, C.A. Nichols, and R. Cox, clerks; five Canadians, seven Americans (all mechanics), and a dozen Sandwich-islanders for the service of the establishment. The captain of the Beaver sounded the channel diligently for several days; but finding it scarcely deep enough for so large a vessel, he was unwilling to bring her up to Astoria. It was necessary, in consequence, to use the schooner as a lighter in discharging the ship, and this tedious operation occupied us during the balance of this month and a part of June. Captain Sowles and Mr. Clarke confirmed the report of the destruction of the Tonquin; they had learned it at Owhyhee, by means of a letter which a certain Captain Ebbetts, in the employ of Mr. Astor, had left there. It was nevertheless resolved that Mr. Hunt should embark upon the "Beaver," to carry out the plan of an exact commercial survey of the coast, which Mr. M'Kay had been sent to accomplish, and in particular to visit for that purpose the Russian establishments at Chitka sound. The necessary papers having been prepared anew, and being now ready to expedite, were confided to Mr. R. Stuart, who was to cross the continent in company with Messrs. Crooks and R. M'Lellan, partners dissatisfied with the enterprise, and who had made up their minds to return to the United States. Mr. Clark, accompanied by Messrs. Pillet, Donald, M'Lellan, Farnham and Cox, was fitted out at the same time, with a considerable assortment of merchandise, to form a new establishment on the _Spokan_ or Clarke's river. Mr. M'Kenzie, with Mr. Seton, was destined for the borders of _Lewis_ river: while Mr. David Stuart, reinforced by Messrs. Matthews and M'Gillis, was to explore the region lying north of his post at Okenakan. All these outfits being ready, with the canoes, boatmen, and hunters, the flotilla quitted Astoria on the 30th of June, in the afternoon, having on board sixty-two persons. The sequel will show the result of the several expeditions. During the whole month of July, the natives (seeing us weakened no doubt by these outfits), manifested their hostile intentions so openly that we were obliged to be constantly on our guard. We constructed covered ways inside our palisades, and raised our bastions or towers another story. The alarm became so serious toward the latter end of the month that we doubled our sentries day and night, and never allowed more than two or three Indians at a time within our gates. The Beaver was ready to depart on her coasting voyage at the end of June, and on the 1st of July Mr. Hunt went on board: but westerly winds prevailing all that month, it was not till the 4th of August that she was able to get out of the river; being due again by the end of October to leave her surplus goods and take in our furs for market. The months of August and September were employed in finishing a house forty-five feet by thirty, shingled and perfectly tight, as a hospital for the sick, and lodging house for the mechanics. Experience having taught us that from the beginning of October to the end of January, provisions were brought in by the natives in very small quantity, it was thought expedient that I should proceed in the schooner, accompanied by Mr. Clapp, on a trading voyage up the river to secure a cargo of dried fish. We left Astoria on the 1st of October, with a small assortment of merchandise. The trip was highly successful: we found the game very abundant, killed a great quantity of swans, ducks, foxes, &c., and returned to Astoria on the 20th, with a part of our venison, wild fowl, and bear meat, besides seven hundred, and fifty smoked salmon, a quantity of the _Wapto_ root (so called by the natives), which is found a good substitute for potatoes, and four hundred and fifty skins of beaver and other animals of the furry tribe. The encouragement derived from this excursion, induced us to try a second, and I set off this time alone, that is, with a crew of five men only, and an Indian boy, son of the old chief Comcomly. This second voyage proved anything but agreeable. We experienced continual rains, and the game was much less abundant, while the natives had mostly left the river for their wintering grounds. I succeeded, nevertheless, in exchanging my goods for furs and dried fish, and a small supply of dried venison: and returned, on the 15th of November, to Astoria, where the want of fresh provisions began to be severely felt, so that several of the men were attacked with scurvy. Messrs. Halsey and Wallace having been sent on the 23d, with fourteen men, to establish a trading post on the Willamet, and Mr. M'Dougal being confined to his room by sickness, Mr. Clapp and I were left with the entire charge of the post at Astoria, and were each other's only resource for society. Happily Mr. Clapp was a man of amiable character, of a gay, lively humor, and agreeable conversation. In the intervals of our daily duties, we amused ourselves with music and reading; having some instruments and a choice library. Otherwise we should have passed our time in a state of insufferable ennui, at this rainy season, in the midst of the deep mud which surrounded us, and which interdicted the pleasure of a promenade outside the buildings. CHAPTER XIII. Uneasiness respecting the "Beaver."--News of the Declaration of War between Great Britain and the United States.--Consequences of that Intelligence.--Different Occurrences.--Arrival of two Canoes of the Northwest Company.--Preparations for abandoning the Country.--Postponement of Departure.--Arrangement with Mr. J.G. M'Tavish. The months of October, November, and December passed away without any news of the "Beaver," and we began to fear that there had happened to her, as to the Tonquin, some disastrous accident. It will be seen, in the following chapter, why this vessel did not return to Astoria in the autumn of 1812. On the 15th of January, Mr. M'Kenzie arrived from the interior, having abandoned his trading establishment, after securing his stock of goods in a _cache_. Before his departure he had paid a visit to Mr. Clark on the Spokan, and while there had learned the news, which he came to announce to us, that hostilities had actually commenced between Great Britain and the United States. The news had been brought by some gentlemen of the Northwest Company, who handed to them a copy of the Proclamation of the President to that effect. When we learned this news, all of us at Astoria who were British subjects and Canadians, wished ourselves in Canada; but we could not entertain even the thought of transporting ourselves thither, at least immediately: we were separated from our country by an immense space; and the difficulties of the journey at this season were insuperable: besides, Mr. Astor's interests had to be consulted first. We held, therefore, a sort of council of war, to which the clerks of the factory were invited _pro formâ_, as they had no voice in the deliberations. Having maturely weighed our situation; after having seriously considered that being almost to a man British subjects, we were trading, notwithstanding, under the American flag: and foreseeing the improbability, or rather, to cut the matter short, the impossibility that Mr. Astor could send us further supplies or reinforcements while the war lasted, as most of the ports of the United States would inevitably be blockaded by the British; we concluded to abandon the establishment in the ensuing spring, or at latest, in the beginning of the summer. We did not communicate these resolutions to the men, lest they should in consequence abandon their labor: but we discontinued, from that moment, our trade with the natives, except for provisions; as well because we had no longer a large stock of goods on hand, as for the reason that we had already more furs than we could carry away overland. So long as we expected the return of the vessel, we had served out to the people a regular supply of bread: we found ourselves in consequence, very short of provisions, on the arrival of Mr. M'Kenzie and his men. This augmentation in the number of mouths to be fed compelled us to reduce the ration of each man to four ounces of flour and half a pound of dried fish _per diem_: and even to send a portion of the hands to pass the rest of the winter with Messrs. Wallace and Halsey on the Willamet, where game was plenty. Meanwhile, the sturgeon having begun to enter the river, I left, on the 13th of February, to fish for them; and on the 15th sent the first boat-load to the establishment; which proved a very timely succor to the men, who for several days had broken off work from want of sufficient food. I formed a camp near Oak Point, whence I continued to despatch canoe after canoe of fine fresh fish to Astoria, and Mr. M'Dougal sent to me thither all the men who were sick of scurvy, for the re-establishment of their health. On the 20th of March, Messrs. Reed and Seton, who had led a part of our men to the post on the Willamet, to subsist them, returned to Astoria, with a supply of dried venison. These gentlemen spoke to us in glowing terms of the country of the Willamet as charming, and abounding in beaver, elk, and deer; and informed us that Messrs. Wallace and Halsey had constructed a dwelling and trading house, on a great prairie, about one hundred and fifty miles from the confluence of that river with the Columbia. Mr. M'Kenzie and his party quitted us again on the 31st, to make known the resolutions recently adopted at Astoria, to the gentlemen who were wintering in the interior. On the 11th of April two birch-bark canoes, bearing the British flag, arrived at the factory. They were commanded by Messrs. J.G. M'Tavish and Joseph Laroque, and manned by nineteen Canadian _voyageurs_. They landed on a point of land under the guns of the fort, and formed their camp. We invited these gentlemen to our quarters and learned from them the object of their visit. They had come to await the arrival of the ship _Isaac Todd_, despatched from Canada by the Northwest Company, in October, 1811, with furs, and from England in March, 1812, with a cargo of suitable merchandise for the Indian trade. They had orders to wait at the mouth of the Columbia till the month of July, and then to return, if the vessel did not make her appearance by that time. They also informed us that the natives near Lewis river had shown them fowling-pieces, gun-flints, lead, and powder; and that they had communicated this news to Mr. M'Kenzie, presuming that the Indians had discovered and plundered his _cache_; which turned out afterward to be the case. The month of May was occupied in preparations for our departure from the Columbia. On the 25th, Messrs. Wallace and Halsey returned from their winter quarters with seventeen packs of furs, and thirty-two bales of dried venison. The last article was received with a great deal of pleasure, as it would infallibly be needed for the journey we were about to undertake. Messrs. Clarke, D. Stuart and M'Kenzie also arrived, in the beginning of June, with one hundred and forty packs of furs, the fruit of two years' trade at the post on the _Okenakan_, and one year on the _Spokan_.[O] [Footnote O: The profits of the last establishment were slender; because the people engaged at it were obliged to subsist on horse-flesh, and they ate ninety horses during the winter.] The wintering partners (that is to say, Messrs. Clarke and David Stuart) dissenting from the proposal to abandon the country as soon as we intended, the thing being (as they observed) impracticable, from the want of provisions for the journey and horses to transport the goods; the project was deferred, as to its execution, till the following April. So these gentlemen, having taken a new lot of merchandise, set out again for their trading posts on the 7th of July. But Mr. M'Kenzie, whose goods had been pillaged by the natives (it will be remembered), remained at Astoria, and was occupied with the care of collecting as great a quantity as possible of dried salmon from the Indians. He made seven or eight voyages up the river for that purpose, while we at the Fort were busy in baling the beaver-skins and other furs, in suitable packs for horses to carry. Mr. Reed, in the meantime, was sent on to the mountain-passes where Mr. Miller had been left with the trappers, to winter, there, and to procure as many horses as he could from the natives for our use in the contemplated journey. He was furnished for this expedition with three Canadians, and a half-breed hunter named _Daion_, the latter accompanied by his wife and two children. This man came from the lower Missouri with Mr. Hunt in 1811-'12. Our object being to provide ourselves, before quitting the country, with the food and horses necessary for the journey; in order to avoid all opposition on the part of the Northwest Company, we entered into an arrangement with Mr. M'Tavish. This gentleman having represented to us that he was destitute of the necessary goods to procure wherewith to subsist his party on their way homeward, we supplied him from our warehouse, payment to be made us in the ensuing spring, either in furs or in bills of exchange on their house in Canada. CHAPTER XIV. Arrival of the Ship "Albatross."--Reasons for the Non-Appearance of the Beaver at Astoria.--Fruitless Attempt of Captain Smith on a Former Occasion.--Astonishment and Regret of Mr. Hunt at the Resolution of the Partners.--His Departure.--Narrative of the Destruction of the Tonquin.--Causes of that Disaster.--Reflections. On the 4th of August, contrary to all expectation, we saw a sail at the mouth of the river. One of our gentlemen immediately got into the barge, to ascertain her nationality and object: but before he had fairly crossed the river, we saw her pass the bar and direct her course toward Astoria, as if she were commanded by a captain to whom the intricacies of the channel were familiar. I had stayed at the Fort with Mr. Clapp and four men. As soon as we had recognised the American flag, not doubting any longer that it was a ship destined for the factory, we saluted her with three guns. She came to anchor over against the fort, but on the opposite side of the river, and returned our salute. In a short time after, we saw, or rather we heard, the oars of a boat (for it was already night) that came toward us. We expected her approach with impatience, to know who the stranger was, and what news she brought us. Soon we were relieved from our uncertainty by the appearance of Mr. Hunt, who informed us that the ship was called the _Albatross_ and was commanded by Captain _Smith_. It will be remembered that Mr. Hunt had sailed from Astoria on board the "Beaver," on the 4th of August of the preceding year, and should have returned with that vessel, in the month of October of the same year. We testified to him our surprise that he had not returned at the time appointed, and expressed the fears which we had entertained in regard to his fate, as well as that of the Beaver itself: and in reply he explained to us the reasons why neither he nor Captain Sowles had been able to fulfil the promise which they had made us. After having got clear of the river Columbia, they had scudded to the north, and had repaired to the Russian post of Chitka, where they had exchanged a part of their goods for furs. They had made with the governor of that establishment, Barnoff by name, arrangements to supply him regularly with all the goods of which he had need, and to send him every year a vessel for that purpose, as well as for the transportation of his surplus furs to the East Indies. They had then advanced still further to the north, to the coast of _Kamskatka_; and being there informed that some Kodiak hunters had been left on some adjacent isles, called the islands of St. Peter and St. Paul, and that these hunters had not been visited for three years, they determined to go thither, and having reached those isles, they opened a brisk trade, and secured no less than eighty thousand skins of the South-sea seal. These operations had consumed a great deal of time; the season was already far advanced; ice was forming around them, and it was not without having incurred considerable dangers that they succeeded in making their way out of those latitudes. Having extricated themselves from the frozen seas of the north, but in a shattered condition, they deemed it more prudent to run for the Sandwich isles, where they arrived after enduring a succession of severe gales. Here Mr. Hunt disembarked, with the men who had accompanied him, and who did not form a part of the ship's crew; and the vessel, after undergoing the necessary repairs, set sail for Canton. Mr. Hunt had then passed nearly six months at the Sandwich islands, expecting the annual ship from New York, and never imagining that war had been declared. But at last, weary of waiting so long to no purpose, he had bought a small schooner of one of the chiefs of the isle of Wahoo, and was engaged in getting her ready to sail for the mouth of the Columbia, when four sails hove in sight, and presently came to anchor in _Ohetity bay_. He immediately, went on board of one of them, and learned that they came from the Indies, whence they had sailed precipitately, to avoid the English cruisers. He also learned from the captain of the vessel he boarded, that the Beaver had arrived in Canton some days before the news of the declaration of war. This Captain Smith, moreover, had on board some cases of nankeens and other goods shipped by Mr. Astor's agent at Canton for us. Mr. Hunt then chartered the Albatross to take him with his people and the goods to the Columbia. That gentleman had not been idle during the time that he sojourned at Wahoo: he brought us 35 barrels of salt pork or beef, nine tierces of rice, a great quantity of dried _Taro_, and a good supply of salt. As I knew the channel of the river, I went on board the Albatross, and piloted her to the old anchorage of the Tonquin, under the guns of the Fort, in order to facilitate the landing of the goods. Captain Smith informed us that in 1810, a year before the founding of our establishment, he had entered the river in the same vessel, and ascended it in boats as far as Oak Point; and that he had attempted to form an establishment there; but the spot which he chose for building, and on which he had even commenced fencing for a garden, being overflowed in the summer freshet, he had been forced to abandon his project and re-embark. We had seen, in fact, at Oak Point, some traces of this projected establishment. The bold manner in which this captain had entered the river was now accounted for. Captain Smith had chartered his vessel to a Frenchman named _Demestre_, who was then a passenger on board of her, to go and take a cargo of sandal wood at the _Marquesas_, where that gentleman had left some men to collect it, the year before. He could not, therefore, comply with the request we made him, to remain during the summer with us, in order to transport our goods and people, as soon as they could be got together, to the Sandwich islands. Mr. Hunt was surprised beyond measure, when we informed him of the resolution we had taken of abandoning the country: he blamed us severely for having acted with so much precipitation, pointing out that the success of the late coasting voyage, and the arrangements we had made with the Russians, promised a most advantageous trade, which it was a thousand pities to sacrifice, and lose the fruits of the hardships he had endured and the dangers he had braved, at one fell swoop, by this rash measure. Nevertheless, seeing the partners were determined to abide by their first resolution, and not being able, by himself alone, to fulfil his engagements to Governor Barnoff, he consented to embark once more, in order to seek a vessel to transport our heavy goods, and such of us as wished to return by sea. He sailed, in fact, on the Albatross, at the end of the month. My friend Clapp embarked with him: they were, in the first instance, to run down the coast of California, in the hope of meeting there some of the American vessels which frequently visit that coast to obtain provisions from the Spaniards. Some days after the departure of Mr. Hunt, the old one-eyed chief Comcomly came to tell us that an Indian of _Gray's Harbor_, who had sailed on the Tonquin in 1811, and who was the only soul that had escaped the massacre of the crew of that unfortunate vessel, had returned to his tribe. As the distance from the River Columbia to Gray's Harbor was not great, we sent for this native. At first he made considerable difficulty about following our people, but was finally persuaded. He arrived at Astoria, and related to us the circumstances of that sad catastrophe, nearly as follows:[P] "After I had embarked on the Tonquin," said he, "that vessel sailed for _Nootka_.[Q] Having arrived opposite a large village called _Newity_, we dropped anchor. The natives having invited Mr. M'Kay to land, he did so, and was received in the most cordial manner: they even kept him several days at their village, and made him lie, every night, on a couch of sea-otter skins. Meanwhile the captain was engaged in trading with such of the natives as resorted to his ship: but having had a difficulty with one of the principal chiefs in regard to the price of certain goods, he ended by putting the latter out of the ship, and in the act of so repelling him, struck him on the face with the roll of furs which he had brought to trade. This act was regarded by that chief and his followers as the most grievous insult, and they resolved to take vengeance for it. To arrive more surely at their purpose, they dissembled their resentment, and came, as usual, on board the ship. One day, very early in the morning, a large pirogue, containing about a score of natives, came alongside: every man had in his hand a packet of furs, and held it over his head as a sign that they came to trade. The watch let them come on deck. A little after, arrived a second pirogue, carrying about as many men as the other. The sailors believed that these also came to exchange their furs, and allowed them to mount the ship's side like the first. Very soon, the pirogues thus succeeding one another, the crew saw themselves surrounded by a multitude of savages, who came upon the deck from all sides. Becoming alarmed at the appearance of things, they went to apprize the captain and Mr. M'Kay, who hastened to the poop. I was with them," said the narrator, "and fearing, from the great multitude of Indians whom I saw already on the deck, and from the movements of those on shore, who were hurrying to embark in their canoes, to approach the vessel, and from the women being left in charge of the canoes of those who had arrived, that some evil design was on foot, I communicated my suspicions to Mr. M'Kay, who himself spoke to the captain. The latter affected an air of security, and said that with the firearms on board, there was no reason to fear even a greater number of Indians. Meanwhile these gentlemen had come on deck unarmed, without even their sidearms. The trade, nevertheless, did not advance; the Indians offered less than was asked, and pressing with their furs close to the captain, Mr. M'Kay, and Mr. Lewis, repeated the word _Makoke! Makoke!_ "Trade! Trade!" I urged the gentlemen to put to sea, and the captain, at last, seeing the number of Indians increase every moment, allowed himself to be persuaded: he ordered a part of the crew to raise the anchor, and the rest to go aloft and unfurl the sails. At the same time he warned the natives to withdraw, as the ship was going to sea. A fresh breeze was then springing up, and in a few moments more their prey would have escaped them; but immediately on receiving this notice, by a preconcerted signal, the Indians, with a terrific yell, drew forth the knives and war-bludgeons they had concealed in their bundles of furs, and rushed upon the crew of the ship. Mr. Lewis was struck, and fell over a bale of blankets. Mr. M'Kay, however, was the first victim whom they sacrificed to their fury. Two savages, whom, from the crown of the poop, where I was seated, I had seen follow this gentleman step by step, now cast themselves upon him, and having given him a blow on the head with a _potumagan_ (a kind of sabre which is described a little below), felled him to the deck, then took him up and flung him into the sea, where the women left in charge of the canoes, quickly finished him with their paddles. Another set flung themselves upon the captain, who defended himself for a long time with his pocket-knife, but, overpowered by numbers, perished also under the blows of these murderers. I next saw (and that was the last occurrence of which I was witness before quitting the ship) the sailors who were aloft, slip down by the rigging, and get below through the steerage hatchway. They were five, I think, in number, and one of them, in descending, received a knife-stab in the back. I then jumped overboard, to escape a similar fate to that of the captain and Mr. M'Kay: the women in the canoes, to whom I surrendered myself as a slave, took me in, and bade me hide myself under some mats which were in the pirogues; which I did. Soon after, I heard the discharge of firearms, immediately upon which the Indians fled from the vessel, and pulled for the shore as fast as possible, nor did they venture to go alongside the ship again the whole of that day. The next day, haying seen four men lower a boat, and pull away from the ship, they sent some pirogues in chase: but whether those men were overtaken and murdered, or gained the open sea and perished there, I never could learn. Nothing more was seen stirring on board the Tonquin; the natives pulled cautiously around her, and some of the more daring went on board; at last, the savages, finding themselves absolute masters of the ship, rushed on board in a crowd to pillage her. But very soon, when there were about four or five hundred either huddled together on deck, or clinging to the sides, all eager for plunder, the ship blew up with a horrible noise. "I was on the shore," said the Indian, "when the explosion took place, saw the great volume of smoke burst forth in the spot where the ship had been, and high in the air above, arms, legs, heads and bodies, flying in every direction. The tribe acknowledged a loss of over two hundred of their people on that occasion. As for me I remained their prisoner, and have been their slave for two years. It is but now that I have been ransomed by my friends. I have told you the truth, and hope you will acquit me of having in any way participated in that bloody affair." [Footnote P: It being understood, of course, that I render into civilized expressions the language of this barbarian, and represent by words and phrases what he could only convey by gestures or by signs. [The _naïveté_ of those notes, and of the narrative in these passages, is amusing.--ED.]] [Footnote Q: A great village or encampment of Indians, among whom the Spaniards had sent missionaries under the conduct of Signor Quadra; but whence the latter were chased by Captain Vancouver, in 1792, as mentioned in the Introduction.] Our Indian having finished his discourse, we made him presents proportioned to the melancholy satisfaction he had given us in communicating the true history of the sad fate of our former companions, and to the trouble he had taken in coming to us; so that he returned apparently well satisfied with our liberality. According to the narrative of this Indian, Captain Thorn, by his abrupt manner and passionate temper, was the primary cause of his own death and that of all on board his vessel. What appears certain at least, is, that he was guilty of unpardonable negligence and imprudence, in not causing the boarding netting to be rigged, as is the custom of all the navigators who frequent this coast, and in suffering (contrary to his instructions) too great a number of Indians to come on board at once.[R] [Footnote R: It is equally evident that even at the time when Captain Thorn was first notified of the dangerous crowd and threatening appearance of the natives, a display of firearms would have sufficed to prevent an outbreak. Had he come on deck with Mr. M'Kay and Mr. Lewis, each armed with a musket, and a couple of pistols at the belt, it is plain from the timidity the savages afterward displayed, that he might have cleared the ship, probably without shedding a drop of blood.--ED.] Captain Smith, of the Albatross, who had seen the wreck of the Tonquin, in mentioning to us its sad fate, attributed the cause of the disaster to the rash conduct of a Captain Ayres, of Boston. That navigator had taken off, as I have mentioned already, ten or a dozen natives of New-itty, as hunters, with a promise of bringing them back to their country, which promise he inhumanly broke by leaving them on some desert islands in Sir Francis Drake's Bay. The countrymen of these unfortunates, indignant at the conduct of the American captain, had sworn to avenge themselves on the first white men who appeared among them. Chance willed it that our vessel was the first to enter that bay, and the natives but too well executed on our people their project of vengeance. Whatever may, have been the first and principal cause of this misfortune (for doubtless it is necessary to suppose more than one), seventeen white men and twelve Sandwich-Islanders, were massacred: not one escaped from the butchery, to bring us the news of it, but the Indian of _Gray's Harbor_. The massacre of our people was avenged, it is true, by the destruction of ten times the number of their murderers; but this circumstance, which could perhaps gladden the heart of a savage, was a feeble consolation (if it was any) for civilized men. The death of Mr. Alexander M'Kay was an irreparable loss to the Company, which would probably have been dissolved by the remaining partners, but for the arrival of the energetic Mr. Hunt. Interesting as was the recital of the Indian of Gray's Harbor throughout, when he came to the unhappy end of that estimable man, marks of regret were visibly painted on the countenances of all who listened. At the beginning of September, Mr. M'Kenzie set off, with Messrs. Wallace and Seton, to carry a supply of goods to the gentlemen wintering in the interior, as well as to inform them of the arrangements concluded with Mr. Hunt, and to enjoin them to send down all their furs, and all the Sandwich-Islanders, that the former might be shipped for America, and the latter sent back to their country. NOTE. It will never be known how or by whom the _Tonquin_ was blown up. Some pretend to say that it was the work of James Lewis, but that is impossible, for it appears from the narrative of the Indian that he was one of the first persons murdered. It will be recollected that five men got between decks from aloft, during the affray, and four only were seen to quit the ship afterward in the boat. The presumption was that the missing man must have done it, and in further conversation with the Gray's Harbor Indian, he inclined to that opinion, and even affirmed that the individual was the ship's armorer, _Weeks_. It might also have been accidental. There was a large quantity of powder in the run immediately under the cabin, and it is not impossible that while the Indians were intent on plunder, in opening some of the kegs they may have set fire to the contents. Or again, the men, before quitting the ship, may have lighted a slow train, which is the most likely supposition of all. CHAPTER XV. Arrival of a Number of Canoes of the Northwest Company.--Sale of the Establishment at Astoria to that Company.--Canadian News.--Arrival of the British Sloop-of-War "Raccoon."--Accident on Board that Vessel.--The Captain takes Formal Possession of Astoria.--Surprise and Discontent of the Officers and Crew.--Departure of the "Raccoon." A few days after Mr. M'Kenzie left us, we were greatly surprised by the appearance of two canoes bearing the British flag, with a third between them, carrying the flag of the United States, all rounding Tongue Point. It was no other than Mr. M'Kenzie himself, returning with Messrs. J.G. M'Tavish and Angus Bethune, of the Northwest Company. He had met these gentlemen near the first rapids, and had determined to return with them to the establishment, in consequence of information which they gave him. Those gentlemen were in _light_ canoes (i.e., without any lading), and formed the vanguard to a flotilla of eight, loaded with furs, under the conduct of Messrs. John Stuart and M'Millan. Mr. M'Tavish came to our quarters at the factory, and showed Mr. M'Dougal a letter which had been addressed to the latter by Mr. Angus Shaw, his uncle, and one of the partners of the Northwest Company. Mr. Shaw informed his nephew that the ship _Isaac Todd_ had sailed from London, with letters of _marque_, in the month of March, in company with the frigate _Phoebe_, having orders from the government to seize our establishment, which had been represented to the lords of the admiralty as an important colony founded by the American government. The eight canoes left behind, came up meanwhile, and uniting themselves to the others, they formed a camp of about seventy-five men, at the bottom of a little bay or cove, near our factory. As they were destitute of provisions, we supplied them; but Messrs. M'Dougal and M'Kenzie affecting to dread a surprise from this British force under our guns, we kept strictly on our guard; for we were inferior in point of numbers, although our position was exceedingly advantageous. As the season advanced, and their ship did not arrive, our new neighbors found themselves in a very disagreeable situation, without food, or merchandise wherewith to procure it from the natives; viewed by the latter with a distrustful and hostile eye, as being our enemies and therefore exposed to attack and plunder on their part with impunity; supplied with good hunters, indeed, but wanting ammunition to render their skill available. Weary, at length, of applying to us incessantly for food (which we furnished them with a sparing hand), unable either to retrace their steps through the wilderness or to remain in their present position, they came to the conclusion of proposing to buy of us the whole establishment. Placed, as we were, in the situation of expecting, day by day, the arrival of an English ship-of-war to seize upon all we possessed, we listened to their propositions. Several meetings and discussions took place; the negotiations were protracted by the hope of one party that the long-expected armed force would arrive, to render the purchase unnecessary, and were urged forward by the other in order to conclude the affair before that occurrence should intervene; at length the price of the goods and furs in the factory was agreed upon, and the bargain was signed by both parties on the 23d of October. The gentlemen of the Northwest Company took possession of Astoria, agreeing to pay the servants of the Pacific Fur Company (the name which had been chosen by Mr. Astor), the arrears of their wages, to be deducted from the price of the goods which we delivered, to supply them with provisions, and give a free passage to those who wished to return to Canada over land. The American colors were hauled down from the factory, and the British run up, to the no small chagrin and mortification of those who were American citizens. It was thus, that after having passed the seas, and suffered all sorts of fatigues and privations, I lost in a moment all my hopes of fortune. I could not help remarking that we had no right to expect such treatment on the part of the British government, after the assurances we had received from Mr. Jackson, his majesty's _chargé d'affaires_ previously to our departure from New York. But as I have just intimated, the agents of the Northwest Company had exaggerated the importance of the factory in the eyes of the British ministry; for if the latter had known what it really was--a mere trading-post--and that nothing but the rivalry of the fur-traders of the Northwest Company was interested in its destruction, they would never have taken umbrage at it, or at least would never have sent a maritime expedition to destroy it. The sequel will show that I was not mistaken in this opinion. The greater part of the servants of the Pacific Fur Company entered the service of the Company of the Northwest: the rest preferred to return to their country, and I was of the number of these last. Nevertheless, Mr. M'Tavish, after many ineffectual attempts to persuade me to remain with them, having intimated that the establishment could not dispense with my services, as I was the only person who could assist them in their trade, especially for provisions, of which they would soon be in the greatest need, I agreed with them (without however relinquishing my previous engagement with Mr. Astor's agents) for five months, that is to say, till the departure of the expedition which was to ascend the Columbia in the spring, and reach Canada by way of the Rocky Mountains and the rivers of the interior. Messrs. John Stuart and M'Kenzie set off about the end of this month, for the interior, in order that the latter might make over to the former the posts established on the Spokan and Okenakan. On the 15th of November, Messrs. Alexander Stuart and Alexander Henry, both partners of the N.W. Company, arrived at the factory, in a couple of bark canoes manned by sixteen _voyageurs_. They had set out from _Fort William_, on Lake Superior, in the month of July. They brought us Canadian papers, by which we learned that the British arms so far had been in the ascendant. They confirmed also the news that an English frigate was coming to take possession of our quondam establishment; they were even surprised not to see the _Isaac Todd_ lying in the road. On the morning of the 30th, we saw a large vessel standing in under _Cape Disappointment_ (which proved in this instance to deserve its name); and soon after that vessel came to anchor in _Baker's bay_. Not knowing whether it was a friendly or a hostile sail, we thought it prudent to send on board Mr. M'Dougal in a canoe, manned by such of the men as had been previously in the service of the Pacific Fur Company, with injunctions to declare themselves Americans, if the vessel was American, and Englishmen in the contrary case. While this party was on its way, Mr. M'Tavish caused all the furs which were marked with the initials of the N.W. Company to be placed on board the two barges at the Fort, and sent them up the river above Tongue Point, where they were to wait for a concerted signal, that was to inform them whether the new-comers were friends or foes. Toward midnight, Mr. Halsey, who had accompanied Mr. M'Dougal to the vessel, returned to the Fort, and announced to us that she was the British sloop-of-war _Raccoon_, of 26 guns, commanded by Captain Black, with a complement of 120 men, fore and aft. Mr. John M'Donald, a partner of the N.W. Company, was a passenger on the Raccoon, with five _voyageurs_, destined for the Company's service. He had left England in the frigate _Phoebe_, which had sailed in company with the _Isaac Todd_ as far as Rio Janeiro; but there falling in with the British squadron, the admiral changed the destination of the frigate, despatching the sloops-of-war _Raccoon_ and _Cherub_ to convoy the Isaac Todd, and sent the Phoebe to search for the American commodore Porter, who was then on the Pacific, capturing all the British whalers and other trading vessels he met with. These four vessels then sailed in company as far as Cape Horn, they parted, after agreeing on the island of _Juan Fernandez_ as a _rendezvous_. The three ships-of-war met, in fact, at that island; but after having a long time waited in vain for the _Isaac Todd_, Commodore Hillier (Hillyer?) who commanded this little squadron, hearing of the injury inflicted by Commodore Porter, on the British commerce, and especially on the whalers who frequent these seas, resolved to go in quest of him in order to give him combat; and retaining the _Cherub_ to assist him, detailed the Raccoon to go and destroy the American establishment on the River Columbia, being assured by Mr. M'Donald that a single sloop-of-war would be sufficient for that service. Mr. M'Donald had consequently embarked, with his people, on board the Raccoon. This gentleman informed us that they had experienced frightful weather in doubling the Cape, and that he entertained serious apprehensions for the safety of the Isaac Todd, but that if she was safe, we might expect her to arrive in the river in two or three weeks. The signal gun agreed upon, having been fired, for the return of the barges, Mr. M'Tavish came back to the Port with the furs, and was overjoyed to learn the arrival of Mr. M'Donald. On the 1st of December the Raccoon's gig came up to the fort, bringing Mr. M'Donald (surnamed _Bras Croche_, or crooked arm), and the first lieutenant, Mr. Sheriff. Both these gentlemen were convalescent from the effects, of an accident which had happened to them in the passage between Juan Fernandez and the mouth of the Columbia. The captain wishing to clean the guns, ordered them to be scaled, that is, fired off: during this exercise one of the guns hung fire; the sparks fell into a cartridge tub, and setting fire to the combustibles, communicated also to some priming horns suspended above; an explosion followed, which reached some twenty persons; eight were killed on the spot, the rest were severely burnt; Messrs. M'Donald and Sheriff had suffered a great deal; it was with difficulty that their clothes had been removed; and when the lieutenant came ashore, he had not recovered the use of his hands. Among the killed was an American named _Flatt_, who was in the service of the Northwest Company and whose loss these gentlemen appeared exceedingly to regret. As there were goods destined for the Company on board the Raccoon, the schooner _Dolly_ was sent to Baker's bay to bring them up: but the weather was so bad, and the wind so violent that she did not return till the 12th, bringing up, together with the goods, Captain Black, a lieutenant of marines, four soldiers and as many sailors. We entertained our guests as splendidly as it lay in our power to do. After dinner, the captain caused firearms to be given to the servants of the Company, and we all marched under arms to the square or platform, where a flag-staff had been erected. There the captain took a British Union Jack, which he had brought on shore for the occasion, and caused it to be run up to the top of the staff; then, taking a bottle of Madeira wine, he broke it on the flag-staff, declaring in a loud voice, that he took possession of the establishment and of the country in the name of His Britannic Majesty; and changed the name of Astoria to _Fort George_. Some few Indian chiefs had been got together to witness this ceremony, and I explained to them in their own language what it signified. Three rounds of artillery and musketry were fired, and the health of the king was drunk by the parties interested, according to the usage on like occasions. The sloop being detained by contrary winds, the captain caused an exact survey to be made of the entrance of the river, as well as of the navigable channel between Baker's bay and Fort George. The officers visited the fort, turn about, and seemed to me in general very much dissatisfied with their fool's errand, as they called it: they had expected to find a number of American vessels loaded with rich furs, and had calculated in advance their share in the booty of Astoria. They had not met a vessel, and their astonishment was at its height when they saw that our establishment had been transferred to the Northwest Company, and was under the British flag. It will suffice to quote a single expression of Captain Black's, in order to show how much they were deceived in their expectations. The Captain landed after dark; when we showed him the next morning the palisades and log bastions of the factory, he inquired if there was not another fort; on being assured that there was no other, he cried out, with an air of the greatest astonishment:--"What! is this the fort which was represented to me as so formidable! Good God! I could batter it down in two hours with a four-pounder!" There were on board the Raccoon two young men from Canada, who had been impressed at Quebec, when that vessel was there some years before her voyage to the Columbia: one of them was named _Parent_, a blacksmith, and was of Quebec: the other was from Upper Canada, and was named M'Donald. These young persons signified to us that they would be glad to remain at Fort George: and as there was among our men some who would gladly have shipped, we proposed to the captain an exchange, but he would not consent to it. John Little, a boat-builder from New York, who had been on the sick list a long time, was sent on board and placed under the care of the sloop's surgeon, Mr. O'Brien; the captain engaging to land him at the Sandwich Islands. P.D. Jeremie also shipped himself as under clerk. The vessel hoisted sail, and got out of the river, on the 31st of December. From the account given in this chapter the reader will see with what facility the establishment of the Pacific Fur Company could have escaped capture by the British force. It was only necessary to get rid of the land party of the Northwest Company--who were completely in our power--then remove our effects up the river upon some small stream, and await the result. The sloop-of-war arrived, it is true; but as, in the case I suppose, she would have found nothing, she would have left, after setting fire to our deserted houses. None of their boats would have dared follow us, even if the Indians had betrayed to them our lurking-place. Those at the head of affairs had their own fortunes to seek, and thought it more for their interest, doubtless, to act as they did, but that will not clear them in the eyes of the world, and the charge of treason to Mr. Astor's interests will always be attached to their characters. CHAPTER XVI. Expeditions to the Interior.--Return of Messrs. John Stuart and D. M'Kenzie.--Theft committed by the Natives.--War Party against the Thieves. On the 3d of January, 1814, two canoes laden with merchandise for the interior, were despatched under the command of Mr. Alexander Stuart and Mr. James Keith, with fifteen men under them. Two of the latter were charged with letters for the posts (of the Northwest Company) east of the mountains, containing instructions to the persons in superintendence there, to have in readiness canoes and the requisite provisions for a large party intending to go east the ensuing spring. I took this opportunity of advising my friends in Canada of my intention to return home that season. It was the third attempt I had made to send news of my existence to my relatives and friends: the first two had miscarried and this was doomed to meet the same fate. Messrs. J. Stuart and M'Kenzie, who (as was seen in a previous chapter) had been sent to notify the gentlemen in the interior of what had taken place at Astoria, and to transfer the wintering posts to the Northwest Company, returned to Fort George on the morning of the 6th. They stated that they had left Messrs. Clarke and D. Stuart behind, with the loaded canoes, and also that the party had been attacked by the natives above the falls. As they were descending the river toward evening, between the first and second portages, they had espied a large number of Indians congregated at no great distance in the prairie; which gave them some uneasiness. In fact, some time after they had encamped, and when all the people (_tout le monde_) were asleep, except Mr. Stuart, who was on guard, these savages had stealthily approached the camp, and discharged some arrows, one of which had penetrated the coverlet of one of the men, who was lying near the baggage, and had pierced the cartilage of his ear; the pain made him utter a sharp cry, which alarmed the whole camp and threw it into an uproar. The natives perceiving it, fled to the woods, howling and yelling like so many demons. In the morning our people picked up eight arrows round the camp: they could yet hear the savages yell and whoop in the woods: but, notwithstanding, the party reached the lower end of the portage unmolested. The audacity which these barbarians had displayed in attacking a party of from forty to forty-five persons, made us suppose that they would, much more probably, attack the party of Mr. Stuart, which was composed of but seventeen men. Consequently, I received orders to get ready forthwith a canoe and firearms, in order to proceed to their relief. The whole was ready in the short space of two hours, and I embarked immediately with a guide and eight men. Our instructions were to use all possible diligence to overtake Messrs. Stewart and Keith, and to convey them to the upper end of the last portage; or to return with the goods, if we met too much resistance on the part of the natives. We travelled, then, all that day, and all the night of the 6th, and on the 7th, till evening. Finding ourselves then at a little distance from the rapids, I came to a halt, to put the firearms in order, and let the men take some repose. About midnight I caused them to re-embark, and ordered the men to sing as they rowed, that the party whom we wished to overtake might hear us as we passed, if perchance they were encamped on some one of the islands of which the river is full in this part. In fact, we had hardly proceeded five or six miles, when we were hailed by some one apparently in the middle of the stream. We stopped rowing, and answered, and were soon joined by our people of the expedition, who were all descending the river in a canoe. They informed us that they had been attacked the evening before, and that Mr. Stuart had been wounded. We turned about, and all proceeded in company toward the fort. In the morning, when we stopped to breakfast, Mr. Keith gave me the particulars of the affair of the day preceding. Having arrived at the foot of the rapids, they commenced the portage on the south bank of the river, which is obstructed with boulders, over which it was necessary to pass the effects. After they had hauled over the two canoes, and a part of the goods, the natives approached in great numbers, trying to carry off something unobserved. Mr. Stuart was at the upper end of the portage (the portage being about six hundred yards in length), and Mr. Keith accompanied the loaded men. An Indian seized a bag containing articles of little value, and fled: Mr. Stuart, who saw the act, pursued the thief, and after some resistance on the latter's part, succeeded in making him relinquish his booty. Immediately he saw a number of Indians armed with bows and arrows; approaching him: one of them bent his bow and took aim; Mr. Stuart, on his part, levelled his gun at the Indian, warning the latter not to shoot, and at the same instant received an arrow, which pierced his left shoulder. He then drew the trigger; but as it had rained all day, the gun missed fire, and before he could re-prime, another arrow, better aimed than the first, struck him in the left side and penetrated between two of his ribs, in the region of the heart, and would have proved fatal, no doubt, but for a stone-pipe he had fortunately in his side-pocket, and which was broken by the arrow; at the same moment his gun was discharged, and the Indian fell dead. Several others then rushed forward to avenge the death of their compatriot; but two of the men came up with their loads and their gun (for these portages were made arms in hand), and seeing what was going forward, one of them threw his pack on the ground, fired on one of the Indians and brought him down. He got up again, however, and picked up his weapons, but the other man ran upon him, wrested from him his war-club, and despatched him by repeated blows on the head with it. The other savages, seeing the bulk of our people approaching the scene of combat, retired and crossed the river. In the meantime, Mr. Stuart extracted the arrows from his body, by the aid of one of the men: the blood flowed in abundance from the wounds, and he saw that it would be impossible for him to pursue his journey; he therefore gave orders for the canoes and goods to be carried back to the lower end of the portage. Presently they saw a great number of pirogues full of warriors coming from the opposite side of the river. Our people then considered that they could do nothing better than to get away as fast as possible; they contrived to transport over one canoe, on which they all embarked, abandoning the other and the goods, to the natives. While the barbarians were plundering these effects, more precious in their estimation than the apples of gold in the garden of the Hesperides, our party retired and got out of sight. The retreat was, notwithstanding, so precipitate, that they left behind an Indian from the Lake of the Two Mountains, who was in the service of the Company as a hunter. This Indian had persisted in concealing himself behind the rocks, meaning, he said, to kill some of those thieves, and did not return in time for the embarkation. Mr. Keith regretted this brave man's obstinacy, fearing, with good reason, that he would be discovered and murdered by the natives. We rowed all that day and night, and reached the factory on the 9th, at sunrise. Our first care, after having announced the misfortune of our people, was to dress the wounds of Mr. Stuart, which had been merely bound with a wretched piece of cotton cloth. The goods which had been abandoned, were of consequence to the Company, inasmuch as they could not be replaced. It was dangerous, besides, to leave the natives in possession of some fifty guns and a considerable quantity of ammunition, which they might use against us.[S] The partners, therefore, decided to fit out an expedition immediately to chastise the robbers, or at least to endeavor to recover the goods. I went, by their order, to find the principal chiefs of the neighboring tribes, to explain to them what had taken place, and invite them to join us, to which they willingly consented. Then, having got ready six canoes, we re-embarked on the 10th, to the number of sixty-two men, all armed from head to foot, and provided with a small brass field-piece. [Footnote S: However, some cases of guns and kegs of powder were thrown into the falls, before the party retreated.] We soon reached the lower end of the first rapid: but the essential thing was wanting to our little force; it was without provisions; our first care then was to try to procure these. Having arrived opposite a village, we perceived on the bank about thirty armed savages, who seemed to await us firmly. As it was not our policy to seem bent on hostilities, we landed on the opposite bank, and I crossed the river with five or six men, to enter into parley with them, and try to obtain provisions. I immediately became aware that the village was abandoned, the women and children having fled to the woods, taking with them all the articles of food. The young men, however, offered us dogs, of which we purchased a score. Then we passed to a second village, where they were already informed of our coming. Here we bought forty-five dogs and a horse. With this stock we formed an encampment on an island called _Strawberry island_. Seeing ourselves now provided with food for several days, we informed the natives touching the motives which had brought us, and announced to them that we were determined to put them all to death and burn their villages, if they did not bring back in two days the effects stolen on the 7th. A party was detached to the rapids, where the attack on Mr. Stuart had taken place. We found the villages all deserted. Crossing to the north bank, we found a few natives, of whom we made inquiries respecting the Nipissingue Indian, who had been left behind, but they assured us that they had seen nothing of him.[T] [Footnote T: This Indian returned some time after to the factory, but in a pitiable condition. After the departure of the canoe, he had concealed himself behind a rock, and so passed the night. At daybreak, fearing to be discovered, he gained the woods and directed his steps toward the fort, across a mountainous region. He arrived at length at the bank of a little stream, which he was at first unable to cross. Hunger, in the meantime, began to urge him; he might have appeased it with game, of which he saw plenty, but unfortunately he had lost the flint of his gun. At last, with a raft of sticks, he crossed the river, and arrived at a village, the inhabitants of which disarmed him, and made him prisoner. Our people hearing where he was, sent to seek him, and gave some blankets for his ransom.] Not having succeeded in recovering, above the rapids, any part of the lost goods, the inhabitants all protesting that it was not they, but the villages below, which had perpetrated the robbery, we descended the river again, and re-encamped on _Strawberry island_. As the intention of the partners was to intimidate the natives, without (if possible) shedding blood, we made a display of our numbers, and from time to time fired off our little field-piece, to let them see that we could reach them from one side of the river to the other. The Indian _Coalpo_ and his wife, who had accompanied us, advised us to make prisoner one of the chiefs. We succeeded in this design, without incurring any danger. Having invited one of the natives to come and smoke with us, he came accordingly: a little after, came another; at last, one of the chiefs, and he one of the most considered among them, also came. Being notified secretly of his character by _Coalpo_, who was concealed in the tent, we seized him forthwith, tied him to a stake, and placed a guard over him with a naked sword, as if ready to cut his head off on the least attempt being made by his people for his liberation. The other Indians were then suffered to depart with the news for his tribe, that unless the goods were brought to us in twenty-four hours, their chief would be put to death. Our stratagem succeeded: soon after we heard wailing and lamentation in the village, and they presently brought us part of the guns, some brass kettles, and a variety of smaller articles, protesting that this was all their share of the plunder. Keeping our chief as a hostage, we passed to the other village, and succeeded in recovering the rest of the guns, and about a third of the other goods. Although they had been the aggressors, yet as they had had two men killed and we had not lost any on our side, we thought it our duty to conform to the usage of the country, and abandon to them the remainder of the stolen effects, to cover, according to their expression, the bodies of their two slain compatriots. Besides, we began to find ourselves short of provisions, and it would not have been easy to get at our enemies to punish them, if they had taken refuge in the woods, according to their custom when they feel themselves the weaker party. So we released our prisoner, and gave him a flag, telling him that when he presented it unfurled, we should regard it as a sign of peace and friendship: but if, when we were passing the portage, any one of the natives should have the misfortune to come near the baggage, we would kill him on the spot. We re-embarked on the 19th, and on the 22d reached the fort, where we made a report of our martial expedition. We found Mr. Stuart very ill of his wounds, especially of the one in the side, which was so much swelled that we had every reason to think the arrow had been poisoned. If we did not do the savages as much harm as we might have done, it was not from timidity but from humanity, and in order not to shed human blood uselessly. For after all, what good would it have done us to have slaughtered some of these barbarians, whose crime was not the effect of depravity and wickedness, but of an ardent and irresistible desire to ameliorate their condition? It must be allowed also that the interest, well-understood, of the partners of the Northwest Company, was opposed to too strongly marked acts of hostility on their part: it behooved them exceedingly not to make irreconciliable enemies of the populations neighboring on the portages of the Columbia, which they would so often be obliged to pass and repass in future. It is also probable that the other natives on the banks, as well as of the river as of the sea, would not have seen with indifference, their countrymen too signally or too rigorously punished by strangers; and that they would have made common cause with the former to resist the latter, and perhaps even to drive them from the country. I must not omit to state that all the firearms surrendered by the Indians on this occasion, were found loaded with ball, and primed, with a little piece of cotton laid over the priming to keep the powder dry. This shows how soon they would acquire the use of guns, and how careful traders should be in intercourse with strange Indians, not to teach them their use. CHAPTER XVII. Description of Tongue Point.--A Trip to the _Willamet_.--Arrival of W. Hunt in the Brig Pedlar.--Narrative of the Loss of the Ship Lark.--Preparations for crossing the Continent. The new proprietors of our establishment, being dissatisfied with the site we had chosen, came to the determination to change it; after surveying both sides of the river, they found no better place than the head-land which we had named Tongue point. This point, or to speak more accurately, perhaps, this cape, extends about a quarter of a mile into the river, being connected with the main-land by a low, narrow neck, over which the Indians, in stormy weather, haul their canoes in passing up and down the river; and terminating in an almost perpendicular rock, of about 250 or 300 feet elevation. This bold summit was covered with a dense forest of pine trees; the ascent from the lower neck was gradual and easy; it abounded in springs of the finest water; on either side it had a cove to shelter the boats necessary for a trading establishment. This peninsula had truly the appearance of a huge tongue. Astoria had been built nearer the ocean, but the advantages offered by Tongue point more than compensated for its greater distance. Its soil, in the rainy season, could be drained with little or no trouble; it was a better position to guard against attacks on the part of the natives, and less exposed to that of civilized enemies by sea or land in time of war. All the hands who had returned from the interior, added to those who were already at the Fort, consumed, in an incredibly short space of time the small stock of provisions which had been conveyed by the Pacific Fur Company to the Company of the Northwest. It became a matter of necessity, therefore, to seek some spot where a part, at least, could be sent to subsist. With these views I left the fort on the 7th February with a number of men, belonging to the old concern, and who had refused to enter the service of the new one, to proceed to the establishment on the _Willamet_ river, under the charge of Mr. Alexander Henry, who had with him a number of first-rate hunters. Leaving the Columbia to ascend the _Willamet_, I found the banks on either side of that stream well wooded, but low and swampy, until I reached the first falls; having passed which, by making a portage, I commenced ascending a clear but moderately deep channel, against a swift current. The banks on either side were bordered with forest-trees, but behind that narrow belt, diversified with prairie, the landscape was magnificent; the hills were of moderate elevation, and rising in an amphitheatre. Deer and elk are found here in great abundance; and the post in charge of Mr. Henry had been established with a view of keeping constantly there a number of hunters to prepare dried venison for the use of the factory. On our arrival at the Columbia, considering the latitude, we had expected severe winter weather, such as is experienced in the same latitudes east; but we were soon undeceived; the mildness of the climate never permitted us to transport fresh provisions from the Willamet to Astoria. We had not a particle of salt; and the attempts we made to smoke or dry the venison proved abortive. Having left the men under my charge with Mr. Henry, I took leave of that gentleman, and returned. At Oak point I found Messrs. Keith and Pillet encamped, to pass there the season of sturgeon-fishing. They informed me that I was to stay with them. Accordingly I remained at Oak point the rest of the winter, occupied in trading with the Indians spread all along the river for some 30 or 40 miles above, in order to supply the factory with provisions. I used to take a boat with four or five men, visit every fishing station, trade for as much fish as would load the boat, and send her down to the fort. The surplus fish traded in the interval between the departure and return of the boat, was cut up, salted and barrelled for future use. The salt had been recently obtained from a quarter to be presently mentioned. About the middle of March Messrs. Keith and Pillet both left me and returned to the fort. Being now alone, I began seriously to reflect on my position, and it was in this interval that I positively decided to return to Canada. I made inquiries of the men sent up with the boats for fish, concerning the preparations for departure, but whether they had been enjoined secrecy, or were unwilling to communicate, I could learn nothing of what was doing below. At last I heard that on the 28th February a sail had appeared at the mouth of the river. The gentlemen of the N.W. Company at first flattered themselves that it was the vessel they had so long expected. They were soon undeceived by a letter from Mr. Hunt, which was brought to the fort by the Indians of _Baker's bay_. That gentleman had purchased at the Marquesas islands a brig called _The Pedlar_: it was on that vessel that he arrived, having for pilot Captain Northrop, formerly commander of the ship _Lark_. The latter vessel had been outfitted by Mr. Astor, and despatched from New York, in spite of the blockading squadron, with supplies for the _ci-devant_ Pacific Fur Company; but unhappily she had been assailed by a furious tempest and capsized in lat. 16° N., and three or four hundred miles from the Sandwich Islands. The mate who was sick, was drowned in the cabin, and four of the crew perished at the same time. The captain had the masts and rigging cut away, which caused the vessel to right again, though full of water. One of the hands dived down to the sail-maker's locker, and got out a small sail, which they attached to the bowsprit. He dived a second time, and brought up a box containing a dozen bottles of wine. For thirteen days they had no other sustenance but the flesh of a small shark, which they had the good fortune to take, and which they ate raw, and for drink, a gill of the wine each man _per diem_. At last the trade winds carried them upon the island of _Tahouraka_, where the vessel went to pieces on the reef. The islanders saved the crew, and seized all the goods which floated on the water. Mr. Hunt was then at _Wahoo_, and learned through some islanders from _Morotoi_, that some Americans had been wrecked on the isle of _Tahouraka_. He went immediately to take them off, and gave the pilotage of his own vessel to Captain Northrop. It may be imagined what was the surprise of Mr. Hunt when he saw Astoria under the British flag, and passed into stranger hands. But the misfortune was beyond remedy, and he was obliged to content himself with taking on board all the Americans who were at the establishment, and who had not entered the service of the Company of the Northwest. Messrs. Halsey, Seton, and Farnham were among those who embarked. I shall have occasion to inform the reader of the part each of them played, and how they reached their homes. When I heard that Mr. Hunt was in the river, and knowing that the overland expedition was to set out early in April, I raised camp at Oak point, and reached the fort on the 2d of that month. But the brig _Pedlar_ had that very day got outside the river, after several fruitless attempts, in one of which she narrowly missed being lost on the bar. I would gladly have gone in her, had I but arrived a day sooner. I found, however, all things prepared for the departure of the canoes, which was to take place on the 4th. I got ready the few articles I possessed, and in spite of the very advantageous offers of the gentlemen of the N.W. Company, and their reiterated persuasions, aided by the crafty M'Dougal, to induce me to remain, at least one year more, I persisted in my resolution to leave the country. The journey I was about to undertake was a long one: it would be accompanied with great fatigues and many privations, and even by some dangers; but I was used to privations and fatigues; I had braved dangers of more than one sort; and even had it been otherwise, the ardent desire of revisiting my country, my relatives, and my friends, the hope of finding myself, in a few months, in their midst, would have made me overlook every other consideration. I am about, then, to quit the banks of the river Columbia, and conduct the reader through the mountain passes, over the plains, the forests, and the lakes of our continent: but I ought first to give him at least an idea of the manners and customs of the inhabitants, as well as of the principal productions of the country that I now quit, after a sojourn of three years. This is what I shall try to do in the following chapters.[U] [Footnote U: Some of my readers would, no doubt, desire some scientific details on the botany and natural history of this country. That is, in fact, what they ought to expect from a man who had travelled for his pleasure, or to make discoveries: but the object of my travels was not of this description; my occupations had no relation with science; and, as I have said in my preface, I was not, and am not now, either a naturalist or a botanist.] CHAPTER XVIII. Situation of the Columbia River.--Qualities of its Soil.--Climate, &c.--Vegetable and Animal Productions of the Country. The mouth of the Columbia river is situated in 46° 19' north latitude, and 125° or 126° of longitude west of the meridian of Greenwich. The highest tides are very little over nine or ten feet, at its entrance, and are felt up stream for a distance of twenty-five or thirty leagues. During the three years I spent there, the cold never was much below the freezing point; and I do not think the heat ever exceeded 76°. Westerly winds prevail from the early part of spring, and during a part of the summer; that wind generally springs up with the flood tide, and tempers the heat of the day. The northwest wind prevails during the latter part of summer and commencement of autumn. This last is succeeded by a southeast wind, which blows almost without intermission from the beginning of October to the end of December, or commencement of January. This interval is the rainy season, the most disagreeable of the year. Fogs (so thick that sometimes for days no object is discernible for five or six hundred yards from the beach), are also very prevalent. The surface of the soil consists (in the valleys) of a layer of black vegetable mould, about five or six inches thick at most; under this layer is found another of gray and loose, but extremely cold earth; below which is a bed of coarse sand and gravel, and next to that pebble or hard rock. On the more elevated parts, the same black vegetable mould is found, but much thinner, and under it is the trap rock. We found along the seashore, south of Point Adams, a bank of earth white as chalk, which we used for white-washing our walls. The natives also brought us several specimens of blue, red and yellow earth or clay, which they said was to be found at a great distance south; and also a sort of shining earth, resembling lead ore.[V] We found no limestone, although we burnt several kilns, but never could get one ounce of lime. [Footnote V: Plumbago.] We had brought with us from New York a variety of garden seeds, which were put in the ground in the month of May, 1811, on a rich piece of land laid out for the purpose on a sloping ground in front of our establishment. The garden had a fine appearance in the month of August; but although the plants were left in the ground until December, not one of them came to maturity, with the exception of the radishes, the turnips, and the potatoes. The turnips grew to a prodigious size; one of the largest we had the curiosity to weigh and measure; its circumference was thirty-three inches, its weight fifteen and a half pounds. The radishes were in full blossom in the month of December, and were left in the ground to perfect the seeds for the ensuing season, but they were all destroyed by the ground mice, who hid themselves under the stumps which we had not rooted out, and infested our garden. With all the care we could bestow on them during the passage from New York, only twelve potatoes were saved, and even these so shrivelled up, that we despaired of raising any from the few sprouts that still gave signs of life. Nevertheless we raised one hundred and ninety potatoes the first season, and after sparing a few plants for our inland traders, we planted about fifty or sixty hills, which produced five bushels the second year; about two of these were planted, and gave us a welcome crop of fifty bushels in the year 1813. It would result from these facts, that the soil on the banks of the river, as far as tide water, or for a distance of fifty or sixty miles, is very little adapted for agriculture; at all events, vegetation is very slow. It may be that the soil is not everywhere so cold as the spot we selected for our garden, and some other positions might have given a better reward for our labor: this supposition is rendered more than probable when we take into consideration the great difference in the indigenous vegetables of the country in different localities. The forest trees most common at the mouth of the river and near our establishment, were cedar, hemlock, white and red spruce, and alder. There were a few dwarf white and gray ashes; and here and there a soft maple. The alder grows also to a very large size; I measured some of twelve to fifteen inches diameter; the wood was used by us in preference, to make charcoal for the blacksmith's forge. But the largest of all the trees that I saw in the country, was a white spruce: this tree, which had lost its top branches, and bore evident marks of having been struck by lightning, was a mere, straight trunk of about eighty to one hundred feet in height; its bark whitened by age, made it very conspicuous among the other trees with their brown bark and dark foliage, like a huge column of white marble. It stood on the slope of a hill immediately in the rear of our palisades. Seven of us placed ourselves round its trunk, and we could not embrace it by extending our arms and touching merely the tips of our fingers; we measured it afterward in a more regular manner, and found it forty-two feet in circumference. It kept the same size, or nearly the same, to the very top. We had it in contemplation at one time to construct a circular staircase to its summit, and erect a platform thereon for an observatory, but more necessary and pressing demands on our time made us abandon the project. A short distance above Astoria, the oak and ash are plentiful, but neither of these is of much value or beauty. From the middle of June to the middle of October, we had abundance of wild fruit; first, strawberries, almost white, small but very sweet; then raspberries, both red and orange color. These grow on a bush sometimes twelve feet in height: they are not sweet, but of a large size. The months of July and August furnish a small berry of an agreeable, slightly acid flavor; this berry grows on a slender bush of some eight to nine feet high, with small round leaves; they are in size like a wild cherry: some are blue, while others are of a cherry red: the last being smaller; they have no pits, or stones in them, but seeds, such as are to be seen in currants. I noticed in the month of August another berry growing in bunches or grapes like the currant, on a bush very similar to the currant bush: the leaves of this shrub resemble those of the laurel: they are very thick and always green. The fruit is oblong, and disposed in two rows on the stem: the extremity of the berry is open, having a little speck or tuft like that of an apple. It is not of a particularly fine flavor, but it is wholesome, and one may eat a quantity of it, without inconvenience. The natives make great use of it; they prepare it for the winter by bruising and drying it; after which it is moulded into cakes according to fancy, and laid up for use. There is also a great abundance of cranberries, which proved very useful as an antiscorbutic. We found also the whortleberry, chokecherries, gooseberries, and black currants with wild crab-apples: these last grow in clusters, are of small size and very tart. On the upper part of the river are found blackberries, hazel-nuts, acorns, &c. The country also possesses a great variety of nutritive roots: the natives make great use of those which have the virtue of curing or preventing the scurvy. We ate freely of them with the same intention, and with the same success. One of these roots, which much resembles a small onion, serves them, in some sort, in place of cheese. Having gathered a sufficient quantity, they bake them with red-hot stones, until the steam ceases to ooze from the layer of grass and earth with which the roots are covered; then they pound them into a paste, and make the paste into loaves, of five or six pounds weight: the taste is not unlike liquorice, but not of so sickly a sweetness. When we made our first voyage up the river the natives gave us square biscuits, very well worked, and printed with different figures. These are made of a white root, pounded, reduced to paste, and dried in the sun. They call it _Chapaleel_: it is not very palatable; nor very nutritive. But the principal food of the natives of the Columbia is fish. The salmon-fishery begins in July: that fish is here of an exquisite flavor, but it is extremely fat and oily; which renders it unwholesome for those who are not accustomed to it, and who eat too great a quantity: thus several of our people were attacked with diarrhoea in a few days after we began to make this fish our ordinary sustenance; but they found a remedy in the raspberries of the country which have an astringent property. The months of August and September furnish excellent sturgeon. This fish varies exceedingly in size; I have seen some eleven feet long; and we took one that weighed, after the removal of the eggs and intestines, three hundred and ninety pounds. We took out nine gallons of roe. The sturgeon does not enter the river in so great quantities as the salmon. In October and November we had salmon too, but of a quite different species--lean, dry and insipid. It differs from the other sort in form also; having very long teeth, and a hooked nose like the beak of a parrot. Our men termed it in derision "seven bark salmon," because it had almost no nutritive substance. February brings a small fish about the size of a sardine. It has an exquisite flavor, and is taken in immense quantities, by means of a scoop net, which the Indians, seated in canoes, plunge into the schools: but the season is short, not even lasting two weeks. The principal quadrupeds of the country are the elk, the black and white tailed deer; four species of bear, distinguished chiefly by the color of the fur or _poil_, to wit, the black, brown, white and grisly bear; the grisly bear is extremely ferocious; the white is found on the seashore toward the north; the wolf, the panther, the catamount, the lynx, the raccoon, the ground hog, opossum, mink, fisher, beaver, and the land and sea otter.[W] The sea otter has the handsomest fur that is known; the skin surpasses that of the land variety in size and in the beauty of the _poil_; the most esteemed color is the silver gray, which is highly prized in the Indies, and commands a great price. [Footnote W: Horses are abundant up the river; but they are not indigenous to the country. They will be spoken of in a future chapter.] The most remarkable birds are the eagle, the turkey-buzzard, the hawk, pelican, heron, gull, cormorant, crane, swan, and a great variety of wild ducks and geese. The pigeon, woodcock, and pheasant, are found in the forests as with us. CHAPTER XIX. Manners, Customs, Occupations, &c., of the Natives on the River Columbia. The natives inhabiting on the Columbia, from the mouth of that river to the falls, that is to say, on a space extending about 250 miles from east to west, are, generally speaking, of low stature, few of them passing five feet six inches, and many not even five feet. They pluck out the beard, in the manner of the other Indians of North America; but a few of the old men only suffer a tuft to grow upon their chins. On arriving among them we were exceedingly surprised to see that they had almost all flattened heads. This configuration is not a natural deformity, but an effect of art, caused by compression of the skull in infancy. It shocks strangers extremely, especially at first sight; nevertheless, among these barbarians it is an indispensable ornament: and when we signified to them how much this mode of flattening the forehead appeared to us to violate nature and good taste, they answered that it was only slaves who had not their heads flattened. The slaves, in fact, have the usual rounded head, and they are not permitted to flatten the foreheads of their children, destined to bear the chains of their sires. The natives of the Columbia procure these slaves from the neighboring tribes, and from the interior, in exchange for beads and furs. They treat them with humanity while their services are useful, but as soon as they become incapable of labor, neglect them and suffer them to perish of want. When dead, they throw their bodies, without ceremony, under the stump of an old decayed tree, or drag them to the woods to be devoured by the wolves and vultures. The Indians of the Columbia are of a light copper color, active in body, and, above all, excellent swimmers. They are addicted to theft, or rather, they make no scruple of laying hands on whatever suits them in the property of strangers, whenever they can find an opportunity. The goods and effects of European manufacture are so precious in the eyes of these barbarians, that they rarely resist the temptation of stealing them. These savages are not addicted to intemperance, unlike, in that respect the other American Indians, if we must not also except the Patagonians, who, like the Flatheads, regard intoxicating drinks as poisons, and drunkenness as disgraceful. I will relate a fact in point: one of the sons of the chief Comcomly being at the establishment one day, some of the gentlemen amused themselves with making him drink wine, and he was very soon drunk. He was sick in consequence, and remained in a state of stupor for two days. The old chief came to reproach us, saying that we had degraded his son by exposing him to the ridicule of the slaves, and besought us not to induce him to take strong liquors in future. The men go entirely naked, not concealing any part of their bodies. Only in winter they throw over the shoulders a panther's skin, or else a sort of mantle made of the skins of wood-rats sewed together. In rainy weather I have seen them wear a mantle of rush mats, like a Roman toga, or the vestment which a priest wears in celebrating mass; thus equipped, and furnished with a conical hat made from fibrous roots and impermeable, they may call themselves rain-proof. The women, in addition to the mantle of skins, wear a petticoat made of the cedar bark, which they attach round the girdle, and which reaches to the middle of the thigh. It is a little longer behind than before, and is fabricated in the following manner: They strip off the fine bark of the cedar, soak it as one soaks hemp, and when it is drawn out into fibres, work it into a fringe; then with a strong cord they bind the fringes together. With so poor a vestment they contrive to satisfy the requirements of modesty; when they stand it drapes them fairly enough; and when they squat down in their manner, it falls between their legs, leaving nothing exposed but the bare knees and thighs. Some of the younger women twist the fibres of bark into small cords, knotted at the ends, and so form the petticoat, disposed in a fringe, like the first, but more easily kept clean and of better appearance. Cleanliness is not a virtue among these females, who, in that respect, resemble the other Indian women of the continent. They anoint the body and dress the hair with fish oil, which does not diffuse an agreeable perfume. Their hair (which both sexes wear long) is jet black; it is badly combed, but parted in the middle, as is the custom of the sex everywhere, and kept shining by the fish-oil before-mentioned. Sometimes, in imitation of the men, they paint the whole body with a red earth mixed with fish-oil. Their ornaments consist of bracelets of brass, which they wear indifferently on the wrists and ankles; of strings of beads of different colors (they give a preference to the blue), and displayed in great profusion around the neck, and on the arms and legs; and of white shells, called _Haiqua_, which are their ordinary circulating medium. These shells are found beyond the straits of _Juan de Fuca_, and are from one to four inches long, and about half an inch in diameter: they are a little curved and naturally perforated: the longest are most valued. The price of all commodities is reckoned in these shells; a fathom string of the largest of them is worth about ten beaver-skins. Although a little less slaves than the greater part of the Indian women elsewhere, the women on the Columbia are, nevertheless, charged with the most painful labors; they fetch water and wood, and carry the goods in their frequent changes of residence; they clean the fish and cut it up for drying; they prepare the food and cook the fruits in their season. Among their principal occupations is that of making rush mats, baskets for gathering roots, and hats very ingeniously wrought. As they want little clothing, they do not sew much, and the men have the needle in hand oftener than they. The men are not lazy, especially during the fishing season. Not being hunters, and eating, consequently, little flesh-meat (although they are fond of it), fish makes, as I have observed, their principal diet. They profit, therefore, by the season when it is to be had, by taking as much as they can; knowing that the intervals will be periods of famine and abstinence, unless they provide sufficiently beforehand. Their canoes are all made of cedar, and of a single trunk: we saw some which were five feet wide at midships, and thirty feet in length; these are the largest, and will carry from 25 to 30 men; the smallest will carry but two or three. The bows terminate in a very elongated point, running out four or five feet from the water line. It constitutes a separate piece, very ingeniously attached, and serves to break the surf in landing, or the wave on a rough sea. In landing they put the canoe round, so as to strike the beach stern on. Their oars or paddles are made of ash, and are about five feet long, with a broad blade, in the shape of an inverted crescent, and a cross at the top, like the handle of a crutch. The object of the crescent shape of the blade is to be able to draw it, edge-wise, through the water without making any noise, when they hunt the sea-otter, an animal which can only be caught when it is lying asleep on the rocks, and which has the sense of hearing very acute. All their canoes are painted red, and fancifully decorated. Their houses, constructed of cedar, are remarkable for their form and size: some of them are one hundred feet in length by thirty or forty feet in width. They are constructed as follows: An oblong square of the intended size of the building is dug out to the depth of two or three feet; a double row of cedar posts is driven into the earth about ten feet apart; between these the planks are laid, overlapping each other to the requisite height. The roof is formed by a ridge-pole laid on taller posts, notched to receive it, and is constructed with rafters and planks laid clapboard-wise, and secured by cords for want of nails. When the house is designed for several families, there is a door for each, and a separate fireplace; the smoke escapes through an aperture formed by removing one of the boards of the roof. The door is low, of an oval shape, and is provided with a ladder, cut out of a log, to descend into the lodge. The entrance is generally effected stern-foremost. The kitchen utensils consist of plates of ash-wood, bowls of fibrous roots, and a wooden kettle: with these they succeed in cooking their fish and meat in less time than we take with the help of pots and stewpans. See how they do it! Having heated a number of stones red-hot, they plunge them, one by one, in the vessel which is to contain the food to be prepared; as soon as the water boils, they put in the fish or meat, with some more heated stones on top, and cover up the whole with small rush mats, to retain the steam. In an incredibly short space of time the article is taken out and placed on a wooden platter, perfectly done and very palatable. The broth is taken out also, with a ladle of wood or horn. It will be asked, no doubt, what instruments these savages use in the construction of their canoes and their houses. To cause their patience and industry to be admired as much as they deserve, it will be sufficient for me to mention that we did not find among them a single hatchet: their only tools consisted of an inch or half-inch chisel, usually made of an old file, and of a mallet, which was nothing but an oblong stone. With these wretched implements, and wedges made of hemlock knots, steeped in oil and hardened by the fire, they would undertake to cut down the largest cedars of the forest, to dig them out and fashion them into canoes, to split them, and get out the boards wherewith to build their houses. Such achievements with such means, are a marvel of ingenuity and patience. CHAPTER XX. Manners and Customs of the Natives continued.--Their Wars.--Their Marriages.--Medicine Men.--Funeral Ceremonies.--Religious Notions.--Language. The politics of the natives of the Columbia are a simple affair: each village has its chief, but that chief does not seem to exercise a great authority over his fellow-citizens. Nevertheless, at his death, they pay him great honors: they use a kind of mourning, which consists in painting the face with black, in lieu of gay colors; they chant his funeral song or oration for a whole month. The chiefs are considered in proportion to their riches: such a chief has a great many wives, slaves, and strings of beads--he is accounted a great chief. These barbarians approach in that respect to certain civilized nations, among whom the worth of a man is estimated by the quantity of gold he possesses. As all the villages form so many independent sovereignties, differences sometimes arise, whether between the chiefs or the tribes. Ordinarily, these terminate by compensations equivalent to the injury. But when the latter is of a grave character, like a murder (which is rare), or the abduction of a woman (which is very common), the parties, having made sure of a number of young braves to aid them, prepare for war. Before commencing hostilities, however, they give notice of the day when they will proceed to attack the hostile village; not following in that respect the custom of almost all other American Indians, who are wont to burst upon their enemy unawares, and to massacre or carry off men, women, and children; these people, on the contrary, embark in their canoes, which on these occasions are paddled by the women, repair to the hostile village, enter into parley, and do all they can to terminate the affair amicably: sometimes a third party becomes mediator between the first two, and of course observes an exact neutrality. If those who seek justice do not obtain it to their satisfaction, they retire to some distance, and the combat begins, and is continued for some time with fury on both sides; but as soon as one or two men are killed, the party which has lost these, owns itself beaten and the battle ceases. If it is the people of the village attacked who are worsted, the others do not retire without receiving presents. When the conflict is postponed till the next day (for they never fight but in open daylight, as if to render nature witness of their exploits), they keep up frightful cries all night long, and, when they are sufficiently near to understand each other, defy one another by menaces, railleries, and sarcasms, like the heroes of Homer and Virgil. The women and children are always removed from the village before the action. Their combats are almost all maritime: for they fight ordinarily in their pirogues, which they take care to careen, so as to present the broadside to the enemy, and half lying down, avoid the greater part of the arrows let fly at them. But the chief reason of the bloodlessness of their combats is the inefficiency of their offensive weapons, and the excellence of their defensive armor. Their offensive arms are merely a bow and arrow, and a kind of double-edged sabre, about two and a half feet long, and six inches wide in the blade: they rarely come to sufficiently close quarters to make use of the last. For defensive armor they wear a cassock or tunic of elk-skin double, descending to the ankles, with holes for the arms. It is impenetrable by their arrows, which can not pierce two thicknesses of leather; and as their heads are also covered with a sort of helmet, the neck is almost the only part in which they can be wounded. They have another kind of corslet, made like the corsets of our ladies, of splinters of hard wood interlaced with nettle twine. The warrior who wears this cuirass does not use the tunic of elk-skin; he is consequently less protected, but a great deal more free; the said tunic being very heavy and very stiff. It is almost useless to observe that, in their military expeditions, they have their bodies and faces daubed with different paints, often of the most extravagant designs. I remember to have seen a war-chief, with one exact half of his face painted white and the other half black. Their marriages are conducted with a good deal of ceremony. When a young man seeks a girl in marriage, his parents make the proposals to those of the intended bride, and when it has been agreed upon what presents the future bridegroom is to offer to the parents of the bride, all parties assemble at the house of the latter, whither the neighbors are invited to witness the contract. The presents, which consist of slaves, strings of beads, copper bracelets, _haiqua_ shells, &c., are distributed by the young man, who, on his part receives as many, and sometimes more, according to the means or the munificence of the parents of his betrothed. The latter is then led forward by the old matrons and presented to the young man, who takes her as his wife, and all retire to their quarters. The men are not very scrupulous in their choice, and take small pains to inform themselves what conduct a young girl has observed before her nuptials; and it must be owned that few marriages would take place, if the youth would only espouse maidens without reproach on the score of chastity; for the unmarried girls are by no means scrupulous in that particular, and their parents give them, on that head, full liberty. But once the marriage is contracted, the spouses observe toward each other an inviolable fidelity; adultery is almost unknown among them, and the woman who should be guilty of it would be punished with death. At the same time, the husband may repudiate his wife, and the latter may then unite herself in marriage to another man. Polygamy is permitted, indeed is customary; there are some who have as many as four or five wives; and although it often happens that the husband loves one better than the rest, they never show any jealousy, but live, together in the most perfect concord.[X] [Footnote X: This appears improbable, and is, no doubt, overstated; but so far as it is true, only shows the degradation of these women, and the absence of moral love on both sides. The indifference to virgin chastity described by Mr. F., is a characteristic of barbarous nations in general, and is explained by the principle stated in the next note below; the savage state being essentially one in which the supernatural bond of human fellowship is snapped: it is (as it has been called) the state of _nature_, in which continence is practically impossible; and what men can not have, that they soon cease to prize. The same utter indifference to the past conduct of the girls they marry is mentioned by MAYHEW as existing among the costermongers and street population of London, whom he well likens to the barbarous tribes lying on the outskirts of more ancient nations.--ED.] There are charlatans everywhere, but they are more numerous among savages than anywhere else, because among these ignorant and superstitious people the trade is at once more profitable and less dangerous. As soon as a native of the Columbia is indisposed, no matter what the malady, they send for the medicine man, who treats the patient in the absurd manner usually adopted by these impostors, and with such violence of manipulation, that often a sick man, whom a timely bleeding or purgative would have saved, is carried off by a sudden death. They deposite their dead in canoes, on rocks sufficiently elevated not to be overflowed by the spring freshets. By the side of the dead are laid his bow, his arrows, and some of his fishing implements; if it is a woman, her beads and bracelets: the wives, the relatives and the slaves of the defunct cut their hair in sign of grief, and for several days, at the rising and setting of the sun, go to some distance from the village to chant a funeral song. These people have not, properly speaking, a public worship.[Y] I could never perceive, during my residence among them, that they worshipped any idol. They had, nevertheless, some small sculptured figures; but they appeared to hold them in light esteem, offering to barter them for trifles. [Footnote Y: It is Coleridge who observes that _every tribe is barbarous_ which has no recognised public worship or cult, and no regular priesthood as opposed to self-constituted conjurors. It is, in fact, by public worship alone that human society is organized and vivified; and it is impossible to maintain such worship without a sacerdotal order, however it be constituted. _No culture without a cult_, is the result of the study of the races of mankind. Hence those who would destroy religion are the enemies of civilization.--ED.] Having travelled with one of the sons of the chief of the Chinooks (Comcomly), an intelligent and communicative young man, I put to him several questions touching their religious belief, and the following is, in substance, what he told me respecting it: Men, according to their ideas, were created by a divinity whom they name _Etalapass_; but they were imperfect, having a mouth that was not opened, eyes that were fast closed, hands and feet that were not moveable; in a word, they were rather statues of flesh, than living men. A second divinity, whom they call _Ecannum_, less powerful, but more benign than the former, having seen men in their state of imperfection, took a sharp stone and laid open their mouths and eyes; he gave agility, also, to their feet, and motion to their hands. This compassionate divinity was not content with conferring these first benefits; he taught men to make canoes, paddles, nets, and, in a word, all the tools and instruments they use. He did still more: he threw great rocks into the river, to obstruct the ascent of the salmon, in order that they might take as many as they wanted. The natives of the Columbia further believe, that the men who have been good citizens, good fathers, good husbands, and good fishermen, who have not committed murder, &c., will be perfectly happy after their death, and will go to a country where they will find fish, fruit, &c., in abundance; and that, on the contrary, those who have lived wickedly, will inhabit a country of fasting and want, where they will eat nothing but bitter roots, and have nothing to drink but salt water. If these notions in regard to the origin and future destiny of man are not exactly conformed to sound reason or to divine revelation, it will be allowed that they do not offer the absurdities with which the mythologies of many ancient nations abound.[Z] The article which makes skill in fishing a virtue worthy of being compensated in the other world, does not disfigure the salutary and consoling dogma of the immortality of the soul, and that of future rewards and punishments, so much as one is at first tempted to think; for if we reflect a little, we shall discover that the skilful fisherman, in laboring for himself, labors also for society; he is a useful citizen, who contributes, as much as lies in his power, to avert from his fellow-men the scourge of famine; he is a religious man, who honors the divinity by making use of his benefits. Surely a great deal of the theology of a future life prevalent among civilized men, does not excel this in profundity. [Footnote Z: It seems clear that this Indian mythology is a form of the primitive tradition obscured by symbol. The creation of man by the Supreme Divinity, but in an imperfect state ("his eyes not yet opened"), his deliverance from that condition by an inferior but more beneficent deity (the Satan of the Bible), and the progress of the emancipated and enlightened being, in the arts of industry, are clearly set forth. Thus the devil has his cosmogony as well as the Almighty, and his tradition in opposition to the divine.--ED.] It is not to be expected that men perfectly ignorant, like these Indians, should be free from superstitions: one of the most ridiculous they have, regards the method of preparing and eating fish. In the month of July, 1811, the natives brought us at first a very scanty supply of the fresh salmon, from the fear that we would cut the fish crosswise instead of lengthwise; being persuaded that if we did so, the river would be obstructed, and the fishing ruined. Having reproached the chief on that account, they brought us a greater quantity, but all cooked, and which, not to displease them, it was necessary to eat before sunset. Re-assured at last by our solemn promises not to cut the fish crosswise, they supplied us abundantly during the remainder of the season. In spite of the vices that may be laid to the charge of the natives of the Columbia, I regard them as nearer to a state of civilization than any of the tribes who dwell east of the Rocky mountains. They did not appear to me so attached to their customs that they could not easily adopt those of civilized nations: they would dress themselves willingly in the European mode, if they had the means. To encourage this taste, we lent pantaloons to the chiefs who visited us, when they wished to enter our houses, never allowing them to do it in a state of nudity. They possess, in an eminent degree, the qualities opposed to indolence, improvidence, and stupidity: the chiefs, above all, are distinguished for their good sense and intelligence. Generally speaking, they have a ready intellect and a tenacious memory. Thus old Comcomly recognised the mate of the _Albatross_ as having visited the country sixteen years before, and recalled to the latter the name of the captain under whom he had sailed at that period. The _Chinook_ language is spoken by all the nations from the mouth of the Columbia to the falls. It is hard and difficult to pronounce, for strangers; being full of gutturals, like the Gaelic. The combinations _thl_, or _tl_, and _lt_, are as frequent in the Chinook as in the Mexican.[AA] [Footnote AA: There can not be a doubt that the existing tribes on the N.W. coast, have reached that country from the _South_, and not from the North. They are the _debris_ of the civilization of Central America, expelled by a defecating process that is going on in all human societies, and so have sunk into barbarism.--ED.] CHAPTER XXI. Departure from Astoria or Fort George.--Accident.--Passage of the Dalles or Narrows.--Great Columbian Desert.--Aspect of the Country.--Wallawalla and Shaptin Rivers.--Rattlesnakes.--Some Details regarding the Natives of the Upper Columbia. We quitted Fort George (or Astoria, if you please) on Monday morning, the 4th of April, 1814, in ten canoes, five of which were of bark and five of cedar wood, carrying each seven men as crew, and two passengers, in all ninety persons, and all well armed. Messrs. J.G. M'Tavish, D. Stuart, J. Clarke, B. Pillet, W. Wallace, D. M'Gillis, D. M'Kenzie, &c., were of the party. Nothing remarkable occurred to us as far as the first falls, which we reached on the 10th. The portage was effected immediately, and we encamped on an island for the night. Our numbers had caused the greater part of the natives to take to flight, and those who remained in the villages showed the most pacific dispositions. They sold us four horses and thirty dogs, which were immediately slaughtered for food. We resumed our route on the 11th, at an early hour. The wind was favorable, but blew with violence. Toward evening, the canoe in which Mr. M'Tavish was, in doubling a point of rock, was run under by its press of sail, and sunk. Happily the river was not deep at this place; no one was drowned; and we succeeded in saving all the goods. This accident compelled us to camp at an early hour. On the 12th, we arrived at a rapid called the _Dalles_: this is a channel cut by nature through the rocks, which are here almost perpendicular: the channel is from 150 to 300 feet wide, and about two miles long. The whole body of the river rushes through it, with great violence, and renders navigation impracticable. The portage occupied us till dusk. Although we had not seen a single Indian in the course of the day, we kept sentinels on duty all night: for it was here that Messrs. Stuart and Reed were attacked by the natives. On the 13th, we made two more portages, and met Indians, of whom we purchased horses and wood. We camped early on a sandy plain, where we passed a bad night; the wind, which blew violently, raised clouds of sand, which incommoded us greatly, and spoiled every mouthful of food we took. On the 14th and 15th, we passed what are called the Great Plains of the Columbia. From the top of the first rapid to this point, the aspect of the country becomes more and more _triste_ and disagreeable; one meets at first nothing but bare hills, which scarcely offer a few isolated pines, at a great distance from each other; after that, the earth, stripped of verdure, does not afford you the sight of a single shrub; the little grass which grows in that arid soil, appears burnt by the rigor of the climate. The natives who frequent the banks of the river, for the salmon fishery, have no other wood but that which they take floating down. We passed several rapids, and a small stream called Utalah, which flows from the southeast. On the 16th, we found the river narrowed; the banks rose on either side in elevations, without, however, offering a single tree. We reached the river _Wallawalla_, which empties into the Columbia on the southeast. It is narrow at its confluence, and is not navigable for any great distance. A range of mountains was visible to the S.E., about fifty or sixty miles off. Behind these mountains the country becomes again flat and sandy, and is inhabited by a tribe called the _Snakes_. We found on the left bank of the _Wallawalla_, an encampment of Indians, consisting of about twenty lodges. They sold us six dogs and eight horses, the greater part extremely lean. We killed two of the horses immediately: I mounted one of the six that remained; Mr. Ross took another; and we drove the other four before us. Toward the decline of day we passed the river _Lewis_, called, in the language of the country, the _Sha-ap-tin_. It comes from the S.E., and is the same that Lewis and Clarke descended in 1805. The _Sha-ap-tin_ appeared to me to have little depth, and to be about 300 yards wide, at its confluence. The country through which we were now passing, was a mingling of hills, steep rocks, and valleys covered with wormwood; the stems of which shrub are nearly six inches thick, and might serve for fuel. We killed six rattlesnakes on the 15th, and on the 16th saw a great many more among the rocks. These dangerous reptiles appeared to be very numerous in this part of the country. The plains are also inhabited by a little quadruped, only about eight or nine inches in length, and approaching the dog in form. These animals have the hair, or _poil_, of a reddish brown, and strong fore-paws, armed with long claws which serve them to dig out their holes under the earth. They have a great deal of curiosity: as soon as they hear a noise they come out of their holes and bark. They are not vicious, but, though easily tamed, can not be domesticated. The natives of the upper Columbia, beginning at the falls, differ essentially in language, manners, and habits, from those of whom I have spoken in the preceding chapters. They do not dwell in villages, like the latter, but are nomads, like the Tartars and the Arabs of the desert: their women are more industrious, and the young girls more reserved and chaste than those of the populations lower down. They do not go naked, but both sexes wear habits made of dressed deer-skin, which they take care to rub with chalk, to keep them clean and white. They are almost always seen on horseback, and are in general good riders; they pursue the deer and penetrate even to Missouri, to kill buffalo, the flesh of which they dry, and bring it back on their horses, to make their principal food during the winter. These expeditions are not free from danger; for they have a great deal to apprehend from the _Black-feet_, who are their enemies. As this last tribe is powerful and ferocious, the _Snakes_, the _Pierced-noses_ or _Sha-ap-tins_, the _Flatheads_, &c., make common cause against them, when the former go to hunt east of the mountains. They set out with their families, and the cavalcade often numbers two thousand horses. When they have the good fortune not to encounter the enemy, they return with the spoils of an abundant chase; they load a part of their horses with the hides and beef, and return home to pass the winter in peace. Sometimes, on the contrary, they are so harassed by the Blackfeet, who surprise them in the night and carry off their horses, that they are forced to return light-handed, and then they have nothing to eat but roots, all the winter. These Indians are passionately fond of horseraces: by the bets they make on these occasions they sometimes lose all that they possess. The women ride, as well as the men. For a bridle they use a cord of horse-hair, which they attach round the animal's mouth; with that he is easily checked, and by laying the hand on his neck, is made to wheel to this side or that. The saddle is a cushion of stuffed deer-skin, very suitable for the purpose to which it is destined, rarely hurting the horse, and not fatiguing the rider so much as our European saddles. The stirrups are pieces of hard wood, ingeniously wrought, and of the same shape as those which are used in civilized countries. They are covered with a piece of deer-skin, which is sewed on wet, and in drying stiffens and becomes hard and firm. The saddles for women differ in form, being furnished with the antlers of a deer, so as to resemble the high pommelled saddle of the Mexican ladies. They procure their horses from the herds of these animals which are found in a wild state in the country extending between the northern latitudes and the gulf of Mexico, and which sometimes count a thousand or fifteen hundred in a troop. These horses come from New Mexico, and are of Spanish race. We even saw some which had been marked with a hot iron by Spaniards. Some of our men, who had been at the south, told me that they had seen among the Indians, bridles, the bits of which were of silver. The form of the saddles used by the females, proves that they have taken their pattern from the Spanish ones destined for the same use. One of the partners of the N.W. Company (Mr. M'Tavish) assured us that he had seen among the _Spokans_, an old woman who told him that she had seen men ploughing the earth; she told him that she had also seen churches, which she made him understand by imitating the sound of a bell and the action of pulling a bell-rope; and further to confirm her account, made the sign of the cross. That gentleman concluded that she had been made prisoner and sold to the Spaniards on the _Del Norte_; but I think it more probable it was nearer, in North California, at the mission of _San Carlos_ or _San Francisco_. As the manner of taking wild horses should not be generally known to my readers, I will relate it here in few words. The Indian who wishes to capture some horses, mounts one of his fleetest coursers, being armed with a long cord of horsehair, one end of which is attached to his saddle, and the other is a running noose. Arrived at the herd, he dashes into the midst of it, and flinging his cord, or _lasso_, passes it dexterously over the head of the animal he selects; then wheeling his courser, draws the cord after him; the wild horse, finding itself strangling, makes little resistance; the Indian then approaches, ties his fore and hind legs together, and leaves him till he has taken in this manner as many as he can. He then drives them home before him, and breaks them in at leisure. CHAPTER XXII. Meeting with the Widow of a Hunter.--Her Narrative.--Reflections of the Author.--Priest's Rapid.--River Okenakan.--Kettle Falls.--Pine Moss.--Scarcity of Food.--Rivers, Lakes, &c.--Accident.--A Rencontre.--First View of the Rocky Mountains. On the 17th, the fatigue I had experienced the day before, on horseback, obliged me to re-embark in my canoe. About eight o'clock, we passed a little river flowing from the N.W. We perceived, soon after, three canoes, the persons in which were struggling with their paddles to overtake us. As we were still pursuing our way, we heard a child's voice cry out in French--"_arrêtez donc, arrêtez donc_"--(stop! stop!). We put ashore, and the canoes having joined us, we perceived in one of them the wife and children of a man named _Pierre Dorion_, a hunter, who had been sent on with a party of eight, under the command of Mr. J. Reed, among the _Snakes_, to join there the hunters left by Messrs. Hunt and Crooks, near Fort Henry, and to secure horses and provisions for our journey. This woman informed us, to our no small dismay, of the tragical fate of all those who composed that party. She told us that in the month of January, the hunters being dispersed here and there, setting their traps for the beaver, Jacob Regner, Gilles Leclerc, and Pierre Dorion, her husband, had been attacked by the natives. Leclerc, having been mortally wounded, reached her tent or hut, where he expired in a few minutes, after having announced to her that her husband had been killed. She immediately took two horses that were near the lodge, mounted her two boys upon them, and fled in all haste to the wintering house of Mr. Reed, which was about five days' march from the spot where her husband fell. Her horror and disappointment were extreme, when she found the house--a log cabin--deserted, and on drawing nearer, was soon convinced, by the traces of blood, that Mr. Reed also had been murdered. No time was to be lost in lamentations, and she had immediately fled toward the mountains south of the _Wallawalla_, where, being impeded by the depth of the snow, she was forced to winter, having killed both the horses to subsist herself and her children. But at last, finding herself out of provisions, and the snow beginning to melt, she had crossed the mountains with her boys, hoping to find some more humane Indians, who would let her live among them till the boats from the fort below should be ascending the river in the spring, and so reached the banks of the Columbia, by the Wallawalla. Here, indeed, the natives had received her with much hospitality, and it was the Indians of Wallawalla who brought her to us. We made them some presents to repay their care and pains, and they returned well satisfied. The persons who lost their lives in this unfortunate wintering party, were Mr. John Reed, (clerk), Jacob Regner, John Hubbough, Pierre Dorion (hunters), Gilles Leclerc, François Landry, J.B. Turcotte, André la Chapelle and Pierre De Launay, (_voyageurs_).[AB] We had no doubt that this massacre was an act of vengeance, on the part of the natives, in retaliation for the death of one of their people, whom Mr. John Clark had hanged for theft the spring before. This fact, the massacre on the Tonquin, the unhappy end of Captain Cook, and many other similar examples, prove how carefully the Europeans, who have relations with a barbarous people, should abstain from acting in regard to them on the footing of too marked an inequality, and especially from punishing their offences according to usages and codes, in which there is too often an enormous disproportion between the crime and the punishment. If these pretended exemplary punishments seem to have a good effect at first sight, they almost always produce terrible consequences in the sequel. [Footnote AB: Turcotte died of _King's Evil_. De Launay was a half-breed, of violent temper, who had taken an Indian woman to live with him; he left Mr. Reed in the autumn, and was never heard of again.] On the 18th, we passed _Priest's Rapid_, so named by Mr. Stuart and his people, who saw at this spot, in 1811, as they were ascending the river, a number of savages, one of whom was performing on the rest certain aspersions and other ceremonies, which had the air of being coarse imitations of the Catholic worship. For our part, we met here some Indians of whom we bought two horses. The banks of the river at this place are tolerably high, but the country back of them is flat and uninteresting. On the 20th, we arrived at a place where the bed of the river is extremely contracted, and where we were obliged to make a portage. Messrs. J. Stuart and Clarke left us here, to proceed on horseback to the Spokan trading house, to procure there the provisions which would be necessary for us, in order to push on to the mountains. On the 21st, we lightened of their cargoes, three canoes, in which those who were to cross the continent embarked, to get on with greater speed. We passed several rapids, and began to see mountains covered with snow. On the 22d, we began to see some pines on the ridge of the neighboring hills; and at evening we encamped under _trees_, a thing which had not happened to us since the 12th. On the 23d, toward 9, A.M., we reached the trading post established by D. Stuart, at the mouth of the river _Okenakan_. The spot appeared to us charming, in comparison with the country through which we had journeyed for twelve days past: the two rivers here meeting, and the immense prairies covered with a fine verdure, strike agreeably the eye of the observer; but there is not a tree or a shrub to diversify the scene, and render it a little less naked and less monotonous. We found here Messrs. J. M'Gillivray and Ross, and Mr. O. de Montigny, who had taken service with the N.W. Company, and who charged me with a letter for his brother. Toward midday we re-embarked, to continue our journey. After having passed several dangerous rapids without accident, always through a country broken by shelving rocks, diversified with hills and verdant prairies, we arrived, on the 29th, at the portage of the _Chaudieres_ or Kettle falls. This is a fall where the water precipitates itself over an immense rock of white marble, veined with red and green, that traverses the bed of the river from N.W. to S.E. We effected the portage immediately, and encamped on the edge of a charming prairie. We found at this place some Indians who had been fasting, they assured us, for several days. They appeared, in fact, reduced to the most pitiable state, having nothing left but skin and bones, and scarcely able to drag themselves along, so that not without difficulty could they even reach the margin of the river, to get a little water to wet their parched lips. It is a thing that often happens to these poor people, when their chase has not been productive; their principal nourishment consisting, in that case, of the pine moss, which they boil till it is reduced to a sort of glue or black paste, of a sufficient consistence to take the form of biscuit. I had the curiosity to taste this bread, and I thought I had got in my mouth a bit of soap. Yet some of our people, who had been reduced to eat this glue, assured me that when fresh made it had a very good taste, seasoned with meat.[AC] We partly relieved these wretched natives from our scanty store. [Footnote AC: The process of boiling employed by the Indians in this case, extracts from the moss its gelatine, which serves to supply the waste of those tissues into which that principle enters; but as the moss contains little or none of the proximates which constitute the bulk of the living solids and fluids, it will not, of course, by itself, support life or strength.--ED.] On the 30th, while we were yet encamped at Kettle falls, Messrs. J. Stuart and Clarke arrived from the post at Spokan. The last was mounted on the finest-proportioned gray charger, full seventeen hands high, that I had seen in these parts: Mr. Stuart had got a fall from his, in trying to urge him, and had hurt himself severely. These gentlemen not having brought us the provisions we expected, because the hunters who had been sent for that purpose among the _Flatheads_, had not been able to procure any, it was resolved to divide our party, and that Messrs. M'Donald, J. Stuart, and M'Kenzie should go forward to the post situated east of the mountains, in order to send us thence horses and supplies. These gentlemen quitted us on the 1st of May. After their departure we killed two horses and dried the meat; which occupied us the rest of that day and all the next. In the evening of the 2d, Mr. A. Stuart arrived at our camp. He had recovered from his wounds (received in the conflict with the natives, before related), and was on his way to his old wintering place on _Slave lake_, to fetch his family to the Columbia. We resumed our route on the morning of the 3d of May, and went to encamp that evening at the upper-end of a rapid, where we began to descry mountains covered with forests, and where the banks of the river themselves were low and thinly timbered. On the 4th, after having passed several considerable rapids, we reached the confluence of _Flathead_ river. This stream comes from the S.E., and falls into the Columbia in the form of a cascade: it may be one hundred and fifty yards wide at its junction. On the morning of the 5th, we arrived at the confluence of the _Coutonais_ river. This stream also flows from the south, and has nearly the same width as the _Flathead_. Shortly after passing it, we entered a lake or enlargement of the river, which we crossed to encamp at its upper extremity. This lake may be thirty or forty miles, and about four wide at its broadest part: it is surrounded by lofty hills, which for the most part have their base at the water's edge, and rise by gradual and finely-wooded terraces, offering a sufficiently pretty view. On the 6th, after we had run through a narrow strait or channel some fifteen miles long, we entered another lake, of less extent than the former but equally picturesque. When we were nearly in the middle of it, an accident occurred which, if not very disastrous, was sufficiently singular. One of the men, who had been on the sick-list for several days, requested to be landed for an instant. Not being more than a mile from the shore, we acceded to his request, and made accordingly for a projecting head-land; but when we were about three hundred or four hundred yards from the point, the canoe struck with force against the trunk of a tree which was planted in the bottom of the lake, and the extremity of which barely reached the surface of the water.[AD] It needed no more to break a hole in so frail a vessel; the canoe was pierced through the bottom and filled in a trice; and despite all our efforts we could not get off the tree, which had penetrated two or three feet within her; perhaps that was our good fortune, for the opening was at least a yard long. One of the men, who was an expert swimmer, stripped, and was about to go ashore with an axe lashed to his back, to make a raft for us, when the other canoe, which had been proceeding up the lake, and was a mile ahead, perceived our signals of distress, and came to our succor. They carried us to land, where it was necessary to encamp forthwith, as well to dry ourselves as to mend the canoe. [Footnote AD: A _snag_ of course, of the nature of which the young Canadian seems to have been ignorant.] On the 7th, Mr. A. Stuart, whom we had left behind at Kettle falls, came up with us, and we pursued our route in company. Toward evening we met natives, camped on the bank of the river: they gave us a letter from which we learned that Mr. M'Donald and his party had passed there on the 4th. The women at this camp were busy spinning the coarse wool of the mountain sheep: they had blankets or mantles, woven or platted of the same material, with a heavy fringe all round: I would gladly have purchased one of these, but as we were to carry all our baggage on our backs across the mountains, was forced to relinquish the idea. Having bought of these savages some pieces of dried venison, we pursued our journey. The country began to be ascending; the stream was very rapid; and we made that day little progress. On the 8th we began to see snow on the shoals or sand-banks of the river: the atmosphere grew very cold. The banks on either side presented only high hills covered to the top with impenetrable forests. While the canoes were working up a considerable rapid, I climbed the hills with Mr. M'Gillis, and we walked on, following the course of the river, some five or six miles. The snow was very deep in the ravines or narrow gorges which are found between the bases of the hills. The most common trees are the Norway pine and the cedar: the last is here, as on the borders of the sea, of a prodigious size. On the 9th and 10th, as we advanced but slowly, the country presented the same aspect as on the 8th. Toward evening of the 10th, we perceived a-head of us a chain of high mountains entirely covered with snow. The bed of the river was hardly more than sixty yards wide, and was filled with dry banks composed of coarse gravel and small pebble. CHAPTER XXIII. Course of the Columbia River.--Canoe River.--Foot-march toward the Rocky Mountains.--Passage of the Mountains. On the 11th, that is to say, one month, day for day, after our departure from the falls, we quitted the Columbia, to enter a little stream to which Mr. Thompson had given, in 1811, the name of _Canoe_ river, from the fact that it was on this fork that he constructed the canoes which carried him to the Pacific. The Columbia, which in the portion above the falls (not taking into consideration some local sinuosities) comes from the N.N.E., takes a bend here so that the stream appears to flow from the S.E.[AE] Some boatmen, and particularly Mr. Regis Bruguier, who had ascended that river to its source, informed me that it came out of two small lakes, not far from the chain of the Rocky Mountains, which, at that place, diverges considerably to the east. According to Arrowsmith's map, the course of the _Tacoutche Tessé_, from its mouth in the Pacific Ocean, to its source in the Rocky mountains, is about twelve hundred English miles, or four hundred French leagues of twenty-five to a degree; that is to say, from two hundred and forty to two hundred and eighty miles from west to east, from its mouth to the first falls: seven hundred and fifty miles nearly from S.S.W. to N.N.E., from the first rapids to the bend at the confluence of _Canoe_ river; and one hundred and fifty or one hundred and eighty miles from that confluence to its source. We were not provided with the necessary instruments to determine the latitude, and still less the longitude, of our different stations; but it took us four or five days to go up from the factory at Astoria to the falls, and we could not have made less than sixty miles a day: and, as I have just remarked, we occupied an entire month in getting from the falls to Canoe river: deducting four or five days, on which we did not travel, there remain twenty-five days march; and it is not possible that we made less than thirty miles a day, one day with another. [Footnote AE: Mr. Franchere uniformly mentions the direction from which a stream appears to flow, not that toward which it runs; a natural method on the part of one who was ascending the current.] We ascended Canoe river to the point where it ceases to be navigable, and encamped in the same place where Mr. Thompson wintered in 1810-'11. We proceeded immediately to secure our canoes, and to divide the baggage among the men, giving each fifty pounds to carry, including his provisions. A sack of _pemican_, or pounded meat, which we found in a _cache_, where it had been left for us, was a great acquisition, as our supplies were nearly exhausted. On the 12th we began our foot march to the mountains, being twenty-four in number, rank and file. Mr. A. Stuart remained at the portage to bestow in a place of safety the effects which we could not carry, such as boxes, kegs, camp-kettles, &c. We traversed first some swamps, next a dense bit of forest, and then we found ourselves marching up the gravelly banks of the little _Canoe_ river. Fatigue obliged us to camp early. On the 13th we pursued our journey, and entered into the valleys between the mountains, where there lay not less than four or five feet of snow. We were obliged to ford the river ten or a dozen times in the course of the day, sometimes with the water up to our necks. These frequent fordings were rendered necessary by abrupt and steep rocks or bluffs, which it was impossible to get over without plunging into the wood for a great distance. The stream being very swift, and rushing over a bed of stones, one of the men fell and lost a sack containing our last piece of salt pork, which we were preserving as a most precious treasure. The circumstances in which we found ourselves made us regard this as a most unfortunate accident. We encamped that night at the foot of a steep mountain, and sent on Mr. Pillet and the guide, M'Kay, to hasten a supply of provisions to meet us. On the morning of the 14th we began to climb the mountain which we had before us. We were obliged to stop every moment, to take breath, so stiff was the ascent. Happily it had frozen hard the night before, and the crust of the snow was sufficient to bear us. After two or three hours of incredible exertions and fatigues, we arrived at the _plateau_ or summit, and followed the footprints of those who had preceded us. This mountain is placed between two others a great deal more elevated, compared with which it is but a hill, and of which, indeed, it is only, as it were, the valley. Our march soon became fatiguing, on account of the depth of the snow, which, softened by the rays of the sun, could no longer bear us as in the morning. We were obliged to follow exactly the traces of those who had preceded us, and to plunge our legs up to the knees in the holes they had made, so that it was as if we had put on and taken off, at every step, a very large pair of boots. At last we arrived at a good hard bottom, and a clear space, which our guide said was a little lake frozen over, and here we stopped for the night. This lake, or rather these lakes (for there are two) are situated in the midst of the valley or _cup_ of the mountains. On either side were immense glaciers, or ice-bound rocks, on which the rays of the setting sun reflected the most beautiful prismatic colors. One of these icy peaks was like a fortress of rock; it rose perpendicularly some fifteen or eighteen hundred feet above the level of the lakes, and had the summit covered with ice. Mr. J. Henry, who first discovered the pass, gave this extraordinary rock the name of _M'Gillivray's Rock_, in honor of one of the partners of the N.W. Company. The lakes themselves are not much over three or four hundred yards in circuit, and not over two hundred yards apart. Canoe river, which, as we have already seen, flows to the west, and falls into the Columbia, takes its rise in one of them; while the other gives birth to one of the branches of the _Athabasca_, which runs first eastward, then northward, and which, after its junction with the _Unjighah_, north of the Lake of the Mountains, takes the name of _Slave_ river, as far the lake of that name, and afterward that of _M'Kenzie_ river, till it empties into, or is lost in, the Frozen ocean. Having cut a large pile of wood, and having, by tedious labor for nearly an hour, got through the ice to the clear water of the lake on which we were encamped, we supped frugally on pounded maize, arranged our bivouac, and passed a pretty good night, though it was bitterly cold. The most common wood of the locality was cedar and stunted pine. The heat of our fire made the snow melt, and by morning the embers had reached the solid ice: the depth from the snow surface was about five feet. On the 15th, we continued our route, and soon began to descend the mountain. At the end of three hours, we reached the banks of a stream--the outlet of the second lake above mentioned--here and there frozen over, and then again tumbling down over rock and pebbly bottom in a thousand fantastic gambols; and very soon we had to ford it. After a tiresome march, by an extremely difficult path in the midst of woods, we encamped in the evening under some cypresses. I had hit my right knee against the branch of a fallen tree on the first day of our march, and now began to suffer acutely with it. It was impossible, however, to flinch, as I must keep up with the party or be left to perish. On the 16th, our path lay through thick swamps and forest; we recrossed the small stream we had forded the day before, and our guide conducted us to the banks of the _Athabasca_, which we also forded. As this passage was the last to be made, we dried our clothes, and pursued our journey through a more agreeable country than on the preceding days. In the evening we camped on the margin of a verdant plain, which, the guide informed us, was called _Coro prairie_. We had met in the course of the day several buffalo tracks, and a number of the bones of that quadruped bleached by time. Our flesh-meat having given out entirely, our supper consisted in some handfuls of corn, which we parched in a pan. We resumed our route very early on the 17th, and after passing a forest of trembling poplar or aspen, we again came in sight of the river which we had left the day before. Arriving then at an elevated promontory or cape, our guide made us turn back in order to pass it at its most accessible point. After crossing it, not without difficulty, we soon came upon fresh horse-prints, a sure indication that there were some of those animals in our neighborhood. Emerging from the forest, each took the direction which he thought would lead soonest to an encampment. We all presently arrived at an old house which the traders of the N.W. Company had once constructed, but which had been abandoned for some four or five years. The site of this trading post is the most charming that can be imagined: suffice to say that it is built on the bank of the beautiful river _Athabasca_, and is surrounded by green, and smiling prairies and superb woodlands. Pity there is nobody there to enjoy these rural beauties and to praise, while admiring them, the Author of Nature. We found there Mr. Pillet, and one of Mr. J. M'Donald's party, who had his leg broken by the kick of a horse. After regaling ourselves with _pemican_ and some fresh venison, we set out again, leaving two of the party to take care of the lame man, and went on about eight or nine miles farther to encamp. On the 18th, we had rain. I took the lead, and after having walked about ten or twelve miles, on the slope of a mountain denuded of trees, I perceived some smoke issuing from a tuft of trees in the bottom of a valley, and near the river. I descended immediately, and reached a small camp, where I found two men who were coming to meet us with four horses. I made them fire off two guns as a signal to the rest of our people who were coming up in the rear, and presently we heard it repeated on the river, from which we were not far distant. We repaired thither, and found two of the men, who had been left at the last ford, and who, having constructed a bark canoe, were descending the river. I made one of them disembark, and took his place, my knee being so painful that I could walk no further. Meanwhile the whole party came up; they loaded the horses, and pursued their route. In the course of the day my companion (an Iroquois) and I, shot seven ducks. Coming, at last, to a high promontory called _Millet's rock_, we found some of our foot-travellers with Messrs. Stewart and Clarke, who were on horseback, all at a stand, doubting whether it would answer to wade round the base of the rock, which dipped in the water. We sounded the stream for them, and found it fordable. So they all passed round, thereby avoiding the inland path, which is excessively fatiguing by reason of the hills, which it is necessary perpetually to mount and descend. We encamped, to the number of seven, at the entrance of what at high water might be a lake, but was then but a flat of blackish sand, with a narrow channel in the centre. Here we made an excellent supper on the wild ducks, while those who were behind had nothing to eat. CHAPTER XXIV. Arrival at the Fort of the Mountains.--Description of this Post.--Some Details in Regard to the Rocky Mountains.--Mountain Sheep, &c.--Continuation of the Journey.--Unhappy Accident.--Reflections.--News from Canada.--Hunter's Lodge.--Pembina and Red Deer Rivers. On the 19th we raised our camp and followed the shore of the little dry lake, along a smooth sandy beach, having abandoned our little bark canoe, both because it had become nearly unserviceable, and because we knew ourselves to be very near the Rocky Mountains House. In fact, we had not gone above five or six miles when we discerned a column of smoke on the opposite side of the stream. We immediately forded across, and arrived at the post, where we found Messrs. M'Donald, Stuart, and M'Kenzie, who had preceded us only two days. The post of the Rocky Mountains, in English, _Rocky Mountains House_, is situated on the shore of the little lake I have mentioned, in the midst of a wood, and is surrounded, except on the water side, by steep rocks, inhabited only by the mountain sheep and goat. Here is seen in the west the chain of the Rocky Mountains, whose summits are covered with perpetual snow. On the lake side, _Millet's Rock_, of which I have spoken above, is in full view, of an immense height, and resembles the front of a huge church seen in perspective. The post was under the charge of a Mr. Decoigne. He does not procure many furs for the company, which has only established the house as a provision depôt, with the view of facilitating the passage of the mountains to those of its _employés_ who are repairing to, or returning from, the Columbia. People speak so often of the Rocky Mountains, and appear to know so little about them, that the reader will naturally desire me to say here a word on that subject. If we are to credit travellers, and the most recent maps, these mountains extend nearly in a straight line, from the 35th or 36th degree of north latitude, to the mouth of the _Unjighah_, or _M'Kenzie's river_, in the Arctic ocean, in latitude 65° or 66° N. This distance of thirty degrees of latitude, or seven hundred and fifty leagues, equivalent to two thousand two hundred and fifty English miles or thereabouts, is, however, only the mean side of a right-angled triangle, the base of which occupies twenty-six degrees of longitude, in latitude 35° or 36°, that is to say, is about sixteen hundred miles long, while the chain of mountains forms the _hypotenuse_; so that the real, and as it were diagonal, length of the chain, across the continent, must be very near three thousand miles from S.E. to N.W. In such a vast extent of mountains, the perpendicular height and width of base must necessarily be very unequal. We were about eight days in crossing them; whence I conclude, from our daily rate of travel, that they may have, at this point, i.e., about latitude 54°, a base of two hundred miles. The geographer Pinkerton is assuredly mistaken, when he gives these mountains an elevation of but three thousand feet above the level of the sea; from my own observations I would not hesitate to give them six thousand; we attained, in crossing them, an elevation probably of fifteen hundred feet above the valleys, and were not, perhaps, nearer than half way of their total height, while the valleys themselves must be considerably elevated above the level of the Pacific, considering the prodigious number of rapids and falls which are met in the Columbia, from the first falls to Canoe river. Be that as it may, if these mountains yield to the Andes in elevation and extent, they very much surpass in both respects the Apalachian chain, regarded until recently as the principal mountains of North America: they give rise, accordingly, to an infinity of streams, and to the greatest rivers of the continent.[AF] [Footnote AF: This is interesting, as the rough calculation of an unscientific traveller, unprovided with instruments, and at that date. The real height of the Rocky Mountains, as now ascertained, averages twelve thousand feet; the highest known peak is about sixteen thousand.--ED.] They offer a vast and unexplored field to natural history: no botanist, no mineralogist, has yet examined them. The first travellers called them the Glittering mountains, on account of the infinite number of immense rock crystals, which, they say, cover their surface, and which, when they are not covered with snow, or in the bare places, reflect to an immense distance the rays of the sun. The name of Rocky mountains was given them, probably, by later travellers, in consequence of the enormous isolated rocks which they offer here and there to the view. In fact, Millet's rock, and _M'Gillivray's_ above all, appeared to me wonders of nature. Some think that they contain metals, and precious stones. With the exception of the mountain sheep and goat, the animals of the Rocky mountains, if these rocky passes support any, are not better known than their vegetable and mineral productions. The mountain sheep resorts generally to steep rocks, where it is impossible for men or even for wolves to reach them: we saw several on the rocks which surround the Mountain House. This animal has great curved horns, like those of the domestic ram: its wool is long, but coarse; that on the belly is the finest and whitest. The Indians who dwell near the mountains, make blankets of it, similar to ours, which they exchange with the Indians of the Columbia for fish, and other commodities. The ibex, or mountain goat, frequents, like the sheep, the top and the declivities of the rocks: it differs from the sheep in having hair instead of wool, and straight horns projecting backward, instead of curved ones. The color is also different. The natives soften the horns of these animals by boiling, and make platters, spoons, &c., of them, in a very artistic manner. Mr. Decoigne had not sufficient food for us, not having expected so many people to arrive at once. His hunters were then absent on _Smoke_ river (so called by some travellers who saw in the neighborhood a volcanic mountain belching smoke), in quest of game. We were therefore compelled to kill one of the horses for food. We found no birch bark either to make canoes, and set the men to work in constructing some of wood. For want of better materials, we were obliged to use poplar. On the 22d, the three men whom we had left at the old-house, arrived in a little canoe made of two elk-skins sewed together, and stretched like a drum, on a frame of poles. On the 24th, four canoes being ready, we fastened them together two and two, and embarked, to descend the river to an old post called _Hunter's Lodge_, where Mr. Decoigne, who was to return with us to Canada, informed us that we should find some bark canoes _en cache_, placed there for the use of the persons who descend the river. The water was not deep, and the stream was rapid; we glided along, so to speak, for ten or a dozen leagues, and encamped, having lost sight of the mountains. In proportion as we advanced, the banks of the river grew less steep, and the country became more agreeable. On the 25th, having only a little _pemican_ left, which we wished to keep, we sent forward a hunter in the little elk-skin canoe, to kill some game. About ten o'clock, we found him waiting for us with two moose that he had killed. He had suspended the hearts from the branch of a tree as a signal. We landed some men to help him in cutting up and shipping the game. We continued to glide safely down. But toward two o'clock, P.M., after doubling a point, we got into a considerable rapid, where, by the maladroitness of those who managed the double pirogue in which I was, we met with a melancholy accident. I had proposed to go ashore, in order to lighten the canoes, which were loaded to the water's edge; but the steersman insisted that we could go down safe, while the bow-man was turning the head of the pirogue toward the beach; by this manoeuvre we were brought athwart the stream, which was carrying us fast toward the falls; just then our frail bark struck upon a sunken rock; the lower canoe broke amid-ships and filled instantly, and the upper one being lighted, rolled over, precipitating us all into the water. Two of our men, Olivier Roy Lapensée and André Bélanger, were drowned; and it was not without extreme difficulty that we succeeded in saving Messrs. Pillet and Wallace, as well as a man named _J. Hurteau_. The latter was so far gone that we were obliged to have recourse to the usual means for the resuscitation of drowned persons. The men lost all their effects; the others recovered but a part of theirs; and all our provisions went. Toward evening, in ascending the river (for I had gone about two miles below, to recover the effects floating down), we found the body of Lapensée. We interred it as decently as we could, and planted at his grave a cross, on which I inscribed with the point of my knife, his name and the manner and date of his death. Bélanger's body was not found. If anything could console the shades of the departed for a premature and unfortunate end, it would be, no doubt, that the funeral rites have been paid to their remains, and that they themselves have given their names to the places where they perished: it is thus that the shade of Palinurus rejoiced in the regions below, at learning from the mouth of the Sibyl, that the promontory near which he was drowned would henceforth be called by his name: _gaudet cognomine terra_. The rapid and the point of land where the accident I have described took place, will bear, and bears already, probably, the name of _Lapensée_.[AG] [Footnote AG: Mr. Franchere, not having the fear of the _Abbé Gaume_ before his eyes, so wrote in his Journal of 1814; finding consolation in a thought savoring, we confess, more of Virgil than of the catechism. It is a classic term that calls to our mind rough Captain _Thorn's_ sailor-like contempt for his literary passengers so comically described by Mr. _Irving_. Half of the humor as well as of the real interest of Mr. Franchere's charming narrative, is lost by one who has never read "Astoria."] On the 26th, a part of our people embarked in the three canoes which remained, and the others followed the banks of the river on foot. We saw in several places some veins of bituminous coal, on the banks between the surface of the water and that of the plain, say thirty feet below the latter; the veins had a dip of about 25°. We tried some and found it to burn well. We halted in the evening near a small stream, where we constructed some rafts, to carry all our people. On the 27th, I went forward in the little canoe of skins, with the two hunters. We soon killed an elk, which we skinned and suspended the hide, besmeared with blood, from the branch of a tree at the extremity of a point, in order that the people behind, as they came up, might perceive and take in the fruit of our chase. After fortifying ourselves with a little food, we continued to glide down, and encamped for the night near a thick wood where our hunters, from the tracks they observed, had hopes of encountering and capturing some bears. This hope was not realized. On the 28th, a little after quitting camp, we killed a swan. While I was busy cooking it, the hunters having plunged into the wood, I heard a rifle-shot, which seemed to me to proceed from a direction opposite to that which they had taken. They returned very soon running, and were extremely surprised to learn that it was not I who had fired it. Nevertheless, the canoes and rafts having overtaken us, we continued to descend the river. Very soon we met a bark canoe, containing two men and a woman, who were ascending the river and bringing letters and some goods for the _Rocky Mountains House_. We learned from these letters addressed to Mr. Decoigne, several circumstances of the war, and among others the defeat of Captain Barclay on Lake Erie. We arrived that evening at _Hunter's Lodge_, where we found four new birch-bark canoes. We got ready two of them, and resumed our journey down, on the 31st. Mr. Pillet set out before us with the hunters, at a very early hour. They killed an elk, which they left on a point, and which we took in. The country through which we passed that day is the most charming possible; the river is wide, handsome, and bordered with low outjutting points, covered with birch and poplar. On the 1st of June, in the evening, we encamped at the confluence of the river _Pembina_. This stream comes from the south, and takes its rise in one of the spurs of the great chain of the Rocky mountains; ascending it for two days, and crossing a neck of land about seventy-five miles, one reaches Fort Augustus, a trading post on the _Saskatchawine_ river. Messrs. M'Donald and M'Kenzie had taken this route, and had left for us half a sack of pemican in a _cache_, at the mouth of the river _Pembina_. After landing that evening, Mr. Stuart and I amused ourselves with angling, but took only five or six small fish. On the 2d, we passed the confluence of _Little Slave Lake_ river. At eight o'clock in the morning, we met a band or family of Indians, of the _Knisteneaux_ tribe. They had just killed a buffalo, which we bought of them for a small brass-kettle. We could not have had a more seasonable _rencontre_, for our provisions were all consumed. On the 3d, we reached _Little Red Elk_ river, which we began to ascend, quitting the _Athabasca_, or _Great Red Elk_. This stream was very narrow in its channel, and obstructed with boulders: we were obliged to take to the shore, while some of the men dragged along the canoes. Their method was to lash poles across, and wading themselves, lift the canoes over the rocks--a laborious and infinitely tedious operation. The march along the banks was not less disagreeable: for we had to traverse points of forest where the fire had passed, and which were filled with fallen trees. Wallace and I having stopped to quench our thirst at a rill, the rest got in advance of us; and we lost our way in a labyrinth of buffalo tracks which we mistook for the trail, so that we wandered about for three hours before we came up with the party, who began to fear for our safety, and were firing signal-guns to direct us. As the river now grew deeper, we all embarked in the canoes, and about evening overtook our hunters, who had killed a moose and her two calves. We continued our journey on the 4th, sometimes seated in our canoes, sometimes marching along the river on foot, and encamped in the evening, excessively fatigued. CHAPTER XXV. Red Deer Lake.--Antoine Déjarlais.--Beaver River.--N. Nadeau.--Moose River.--Bridge Lake.--Saskatchawine River.--Fort Vermilion.--Mr. Hallet.--Trading-Houses.--Beautiful Country.--Reflections. The 5th of June brought us to the beautiful sheet of water called _Red Deer lake_, irregular in shape, dotted with islands, and about forty miles in length by thirty in its greatest width. We met, about the middle of it, a small canoe conducted by two young women. They were searching for gulls' and ducks' eggs on the islands, this being the season of laying for those aquatics. They told us that their father was not far distant from the place where we met them. In fact, we presently saw him appear in a canoe with his two boys, rounding a little isle. We joined him, and learned that his name was Antoine Déjarlais; that he had been a guide in the service of the Northwest Company, but had left them since 1805. On being made acquainted with our need of provisions, he offered us a great quantity of eggs, and made one of our men embark with his two daughters in their little canoe, to seek some more substantial supplies at his cabin, on the other side of the lake. He himself accompanied us as far as a portage of about twenty-five yards formed at the outlet of the lake by a Beaver dam. Having performed the portage, and passed a small pond or marsh, we encamped to await the return of our man. He arrived the next morning, with Déjarlais, bringing us about fifty pounds of dried venison and from ten to twelve pounds of tallow. We invited our host to breakfast with us: it was the least we could do after the good offices he had rendered us. This man was married to an Indian woman, and lived with his family, on the produce of his chase; he appeared quite contented with his lot. Nobody at least disputed with him the sovereignty of Red Deer lake, of which he had; as it were, taken possession. He begged me to read for him two letters which he had had in his possession for two years, and of which he did not yet know the contents. They were from one of his sisters, and dated at _Verchères_, in Canada. I even thought that I recognised the handwriting of Mr. L.G. Labadie, teacher of that parish. At last, having testified to this good man, in suitable terms, our gratitude for the services he had rendered us, we quitted him and prosecuted our journey. After making two portages, we arrived on the banks of Beaver river, which was here but a rivulet. It is by this route that the canoes ordinarily pass to reach Little Slave lake and the Athabasca country, from the head of Lake Superior, via., _Cumberland House_, on _English river_. We were obliged by the shallowness of the stream, to drag along our canoes, walking on a bottom or beach of sand, where we began to feel the importunity of the mosquitoes. One of the hunters scoured the woods for game but without success. By-and-by we passed a small canoe turned bottom up and covered with a blanket. Soon after we came to a cabin or lodge, where we found an old Canadian hunter named _Nadeau_. He was reduced to the last stage of weakness, having had nothing to eat for two days. Nevertheless, a young man who was married to one of his daughters, came in shortly after, with the good news that he had just killed a buffalo; a circumstance which determined us to encamp there for the night. We sent some of our men to get in the meat. Nadeau gave us half of it, and told us that we should find, thirty miles lower down, at the foot of a pine tree, a _cache_, where he had deposited ten swan-skins, and some of martin, with a net, which he prayed us to take to the next trading-post. We quitted this good fellow the next morning, and pursued our way. Arriving at the place indicated, we found the _cache_, and took the net, leaving the other articles. A short distance further, we came to Moose river, which we had to ascend, in order to reach the lake of that name. The water in this river was so low that we were obliged entirely to unload the canoes, and to lash poles across them, as we had done before, that the men might carry them on their shoulders over the places where they could not be floated. Having distributed the baggage to the remainder of the hands, we pursued our way through the woods, under the guidance of Mr. Decoigne. This gentleman, who had not passed here for nineteen years, soon lost his way, and we got separated into small parties, in the course of the afternoon, some going one way, and some another, in search of Moose lake. But as we had outstripped the men who carried the baggage and the small stock of provision that old Nadeau had given us, Mr. Wallace and I thought it prudent to retrace our steps and keep with the rear-guard. We soon met Mr. Pillet and one of the hunters. The latter, ferreting the woods on both sides of a trail that he had discovered, soon gave a whoop, to signify that we should stop. Presently emerging from the underwood, he showed us a horsewhip which he had found, and from which and from other unmistakeable signs, he was confident the trail would lead either to the lake or a navigable part of the river. The men with the baggage then coming up, we entered the thicket single file, and were conducted by this path, in a very short time, to the river, on the banks of which were visible the traces of an old camping ground. The night was coming on; and soon after, the canoes arrived, to our great satisfaction; for we had begun to fear that they had already passed. The splashing of their paddles was a welcome sound, and we who had been wise enough to keep behind, all encamped together. Very early on the 8th, I set out accompanied by one of the hunters, in quest of Messrs. D. Stuart, Clarke and Decoigne, who had gone on ahead, the night previous. I soon found MM. Clarke and M'Gillis encamped on the shore of the lake. The canoes presently arrived and we embarked; MM. Stuart and Decoigne rejoined us shortly after, and informed us that they had bivouacked on the shore of Lac _Puant_, or Stinking lake, a pond situated about twelve miles E.N.E. from the lake we were now entering. Finding ourselves thus reunited, we traversed the latter, which is about eighteen miles in circuit, and has very pretty shores. We encamped, very early, on an island, in order to use old Nadeau's fishing net. I visited it that evening and brought back three carp and two water-hens. We left it set all night, and the next morning found in it twenty white-fish. Leaving camp at an early hour, we gained the entrance of a small stream that descends between some hills of moderate elevation, and there stopped to breakfast. I found the white-fish more delicious in flavor, even than the salmon. We had again to foot it, following the bank of this little stream. It was a painful task, as we were obliged to open a path through thick underbrush, in the midst of a rain that lasted all day and kept us drenched. Two men being left in each canoe, conveyed them up the river about thirty miles, as far as Long lake--a narrow pond, on the margin of which we spent the night. On the 10th, we got through this lakelet, and entered another small stream, which it was necessary to navigate in the same manner as the preceding, and which conducted us to Bridge lake. The latter received its name from a sort of bridge or causeway, formed at its southern extremity, and which is nothing more than a huge beaver dam. We found here a lodge, where were a young man and two women, who had charge of some horses appertaining to one of the Hudson's Bay trading houses. We borrowed of them half a dozen pack horses, and crossed the bridge with them. After surmounting a considerable hill, we reached an open, level, and dry prairie, which conducted us in about two hours to an ancient trading-post on the banks of the _Saskatchawine_. Knowing that we were near a factory, we made our toilets as well as we could, before arriving. Toward sundown, we reached Fort Vermilion, which is situated on the bank of a river, at the foot of a superb hill. We found at this post some ninety persons, men, women, and children; these people depend for subsistence on the chase, and fishing with hooks and lines, which is very precarious. Mr. Hallet, the clerk in charge was absent, and we were dismayed to hear that there were no provisions on the place: a very disagreeable piece of news for people famished as we were. We had been led to suppose that if we could only reach the plains of the Saskatchawine, we should be in the land of plenty. Mr. Hallet, however, was not long in arriving: he had two quarters of buffalo meat brought out, which had been laid in ice, and prepared us supper. Mr. Hallet was a polite sociable man, loving his ease passably well, and desirous of living in these wild countries, as people do in civilized lands. Having testified to him our surprise at seeing in one of the buildings a large _cariole_, like those of Canada, he informed us that having horses, he had had this carriage made in order to enjoy a sleigh-ride; but that the workmen having forgot to take the measure of the doors of the building before constructing it, it was found when finished, much too large for them, and could never be got out of the room where it was; and it was like to remain there a long time, as he was not disposed to demolish the house for the pleasure of using the cariole. By the side of the factory of the Northwest Company, is another belonging to the Company of Hudson's Bay. In general these trading-houses are constructed thus, one close to the other, and surrounded with a common palisade, with a door of communication in the interior for mutual succor, in case of attack on the part of the Indians. The latter, in this region, particularly the Black-feet, _Gros-ventres_, and those of the Yellow river, are very ferocious: they live by the chase, but bring few furs to the traders; and the latter maintain these posts principally to procure themselves provisions. On the. 11th, after breakfasting at Fort Vermilion, we resumed our journey, with six or seven pounds of tallow for our whole stock of food. This slender supply brought us through to the evening of the third day, when we had for supper two ounces of tallow each. On the 14th, in the morning, we killed a wild goose, and toward midday, collected some flag-root and _choux-gras_, a wild herb, which we boiled with the small game: we did not forget to throw into the pot the little tallow we had left, and made a delicious repast. Toward the decline of day, we had the good luck to kill a buffalo. On the 15th, MM. Clarke and Decoigne having landed during our course, to hunt, returned presently with the agreeable intelligence that they had killed three buffaloes. We immediately encamped, and sent the greater part of the men to cut up the meat and jerk it. This operation lasted till the next evening, and we set forward again in the canoes on the 17th, with about six hundred pounds of meat half cured. The same evening we perceived from our camp several herds of buffaloes, but did not give chase, thinking we had enough meat to take us to the next post. The river _Saskatchawine_ flows over a bed composed of sand and marl, which contributes not a little to diminish the purity and transparency of its waters, which, like those of the Missouri, are turbid and whitish. Except for that it is one of the prettiest rivers in the world. The banks are perfectly charming, and offer in many places a scene the fairest, the most smiling, and the best diversified that can be seen or imagined: hills in varied forms, crowned with superb groves; valleys agreeably embrowned, at evening and morning, by the prolonged shadow of the hills, and of the woods which adorn them; herds of light-limbed antelopes, and heavy colossal buffalo--the former bounding along the slopes of the hills, the latter trampling under their heavy feet the verdure of the plains; all these champaign beauties reflected and doubled as it were, by the waters of the river; the melodious and varied song of a thousand birds, perched on the tree-tops; the refreshing breath of the zephyrs; the serenity of the sky; the purity and salubrity of the air; all, in a word, pours contentment and joy into the soul of the enchanted spectator. It is above all in the morning, when the sun is rising, and in the evening when he is setting, that the spectacle is really ravishing. I could not detach my regards from that superb picture, till the nascent obscurity had obliterated its perfection. Then, to the sweet pleasure that I had tasted, succeeded a _triste_, not to say, a sombre, melancholy. How comes it to pass, I said to myself, that so beautiful a country is not inhabited by human creatures? The songs, the hymns, the prayers, of the laborer and the artisan, shall they never be heard in these fine plains? Wherefore, while in Europe, and above all in England, so many thousands of men do not possess as their own an inch of ground, and cultivate the soil of their country for proprietors who scarcely leave them whereon to support existence;--wherefore--do so many millions of acres of apparently fat and fertile land, remain uncultivated and absolutely useless? Or, at least, why do they support only herds of wild animals? Will men always love better to vegetate all their lives on an ungrateful soil, than to seek afar fertile regions, in order to pass in peace and plenty, at least the last portion of their days? But I deceive myself; it is not so easy as one thinks, for the poor man to better his condition: he has not the means of transporting himself to distant countries, or he has not those of acquiring a property there; for these untilled lands, deserted, abandoned, do not appertain to whoever wishes to establish himself upon them and reduce them to culture; they have owners, and from these must be purchased the right of rendering them productive! Besides one ought not to give way to illusions: these countries, at times so delightful, do not enjoy a perpetual spring; they have their winter, and a rigorous one; a piercing cold is then spread through the atmosphere; deep snows cover the surface; the frozen rivers flow only for the fish; the trees are stripped of their leaves and hung with icicles; the verdure of the plains has disappeared; the hills and valleys offer but a uniform whiteness; Nature has lost all her beauty; and man has enough to do, to shelter himself from the injuries of the inclement season. CHAPTER XXVI. Fort Montée--Cumberland House.--Lake Bourbon.--Great Winipeg Rapids.--Lake Winipeg.--Trading-House.--Lake of the Woods.--Rainy Lake House, &c. On the 18th of June (a day which its next anniversary was to render for ever celebrated in the annals of the world), we re-embarked at an early hour: and the wind rising, spread sail, a thing we had not done before, since we quitted the river Columbia. In the afternoon the clouds gathered thick and black, and we had a gust, accompanied with hail, but of short duration; the weather cleared up again, and about sundown we arrived at _Le Fort de la Montêe_, so called, on account of its being a depôt, where the traders going south, leave their canoes and take pack-horses to reach their several posts. We found here, as at Fort Vermilion, two trading-houses joined together, to make common cause against the Indians; one belonging to the Hudson's Bay Company, the other to the company of the Northwest: the Hudson's Bay house being then under the charge of a Mr. Prudent, and the N.W. Company's under a Mr. John M'Lean. Mr. de Roche Blave, one of the partners of the last company having the superintendence of this district, where he had wintered, had gone to Lake Superior to attend the annual meeting of the partners. There were cultivated fields around the house; the barley and peas appeared to promise an abundant harvest. Mr. M'Lean received us as well as circumstances permitted; but that gentleman having no food to give us, and our buffalo meat beginning to spoil, we set off the next morning, to reach Cumberland house as quick as possible. In the course of the day, we passed two old forts, one of which had been built by the French before the conquest of Canada. According to our guide, it was the most distant western post that the French traders ever had in the northwestern wilderness. Toward evening we shot a moose. The aspect of the country changes considerably since leaving _Montée_; the banks of the river rise more boldly, and the country is covered with forests. On the 20th, we saw some elms--a tree that I had not seen hitherto, since my departure from Canada. We reached Fort Cumberland a little before the setting of the sun. This post, called in English _Cumberland House_, is situated at the outlet of the _Saskatchawine_, where it empties into _English lake_, between the 53d and 54th degrees of north latitude. It is a depot for those traders who are going to Slave lake or the Athabasca, or are returning thence, as well as for those destined for the Rocky mountains. It was under the orders of Mr. J.D. Campbell, who having gone down to Fort William, however, had left it in charge of a Mr. Harrison. There are two factories, as at Vermilion and la Montée. At this place the traders who resort every year to Fort William, leave their half-breed or Indian wives and families, as they can live here at little expense, the lake abounding in fish. Messrs. Clarke and Stuart, who were behind, arrived on the 22d, and in the evening we had a dance. They gave us four sacs of pemican, and we set off again, on the 23d, at eight A.M. We crossed the lake, and entered a small river, and having made some eighty or ninety miles under sail, encamped on a low shore, where the mosquitoes tormented us horribly all night. On the 24th, we passed _Muddy_ lake, and entered Lake _Bourbon_, where we fell in with a canoe from _York_ factory, under the command of a Mr. Kennedy, clerk of the Hudson's Bay Company. We collected some dozens of gulls' eggs, on the rocky islands of the lake: and stopping on one of the last at night, having a little flour left, Mr. Decoigne and I amused ourselves in making fritters for the next day's breakfast: an occupation, which despite the small amount of materials, employed us till we were surprised by the daybreak; the night being but brief at this season in that high latitude. At sunrise on the 25th, we were again afloat, passed Lake _Travers_, or _Cross_ lake, which empties into Lake Winipeg by a succession of rapids; shot down these cascades without accident, and arrived, toward noon, at the great rapid _Ouénipic_ or Winipeg, which is about four miles long. We disembarked here, and the men worked down the canoes. At the foot of this rapid, which is the inlet of Winipeg, we found an old Canadian fisherman, who called himself _King of the lake_. He might fairly style himself king of the fish, which are abundant and which he alone enjoyed. Having made a boil, and regaled ourselves with excellent sturgeon, we left this old man, and entered the great lake Winipeg, which appeared to me like a sea of fresh water. This lake is now too well known to need a particular description: I will content myself with saying that it visibly yields in extent only to Lake Superior and Great Slave lake: it has for tributaries several large rivers, and among others the Saskatchawine, the Winipeg, in the east; and Red river in the south; and empties into Hudson's bay by the _Nelson_, N.N.E., and the _Severn_, E.N.E. The shores which it bathes are generally very low; it appears to have little depth, and is dotted with a vast number of islands, lying pretty close to land. We reached one called _Egg island_, whence it was necessary to cross to the south to reach the main; but the wind was so violent that it was only at decline of day that we could perform the passage. We profited by the calm, to coast along all day and a part of the night of the 26th; but to pay for it, remained in camp on the 27th, till evening: the wind not suffering us to proceed. The wind having appeared to abate somewhat after sunset, we embarked, but were soon forced to land again. On the 28th, we passed the openings of several deep bays, and the isles of _St. Martin_, and camped at the bottom of a little bay, where the mosquitoes did not suffer us to close our eyes all night. We were rejoiced when dawn appeared, and were eager to embark, to free ourselves from these inconvenient guests. A calm permitted us that day to make good progress with our oars, and we camped at _Buffalo Strait_. We saw that day two Indian wigwams. The 30th brought us to Winipeg river, which we began to ascend, and about noon reached Port _Bas de la Rivière_. This trading post had more the air of a large and well-cultivated farm, than of a fur traders' factory: a neat and elegant mansion, built on a slight eminence, and surrounded with barns, stables, storehouses, &c., and by fields of barley, peas, oats, and potatoes, reminded us of the civilized countries which we had left so long ago. Messrs. Crébassa and Kennedy, who had this post in charge, received us with all possible hospitality, and supplied us with all the political news which had been learned through the arrival of canoes from Canada. They also informed us that Messrs M'Donald and de Rocheblave had passed, a few days before our arrival, having been obliged to go up Red river to stop the effusion of blood, which would probably have taken place but for their intervention, in the colony founded on that river by the earl of Selkirk. Mr. Miles M'Donnell, the governor of that colony, or rather of the _Assiniboyne_ district, had issued a proclamation forbidding all persons whomsoever, to send provisions of any kind out of the district. The Hudson's Bay traders had conformed to this proclamation, but those of the Northwest Company paid no attention to it, thinking it illegal, and had sent their servants, as usual to get provisions up the river. Mr. M'Donnell having heard that several hundred sacks of pemican[AH] were laid up in a storehouse under the care of a Mr. Pritchard, sent to require their surrender: Pritchard refused to deliver them, whereupon Mr. M'Donnell had them carried off by force. The traders who winter on Little Slave lake, English river, the Athabasca country, &c., learning this, and being aware that they would not find their usual supply at _Bas de la Rivière_, resolved to go and recover the seized provisions by force, if they were not peaceably given up. Things were in this position when Messrs, de Rocheblave and M'Donald arrived. They found the Canadian _voyageurs_ in arms, and ready to give battle to the colonists, who persisted in their refusal to surrender the bags of pemican. The two peacemakers visited the governor, and having explained to him the situation in which the traders of the Northwest Company would find themselves, by the want of necessary provisions to enable them to transport their peltries to Fort William, and the exasperation of their men, who saw no other alternative for them, but to get possession of those provisions or to perish of hunger, requested him to surrender the same without delay. Mr. M'Donnell, on his part, pointed out the misery to which the colonists would be reduced by a failure in the supply of food. In consequence of these mutual representations, it was agreed that one half of the pemican should be restored, and the other half remain for the use of the colonists. Thus was arranged, without bloodshed, the first difficulty which occurred between the rival companies of the Northwest, and of Hudson's Bay. [Footnote AH: _Pemican_, of which I have already spoken several times, is the Indian name for the dried and pounded meat which the natives sell to the traders. About fifty pounds of this meat is placed in a trough (_un grand vaisseau fait d'un tronc d'arbre_), and about an equal quantity of tallow is melted and poured over it; it is thoroughly mixed into one mass, and when cold, is put up in bags made of undressed buffalo hide, with the hair outside, and sewed up as tightly as possible. The meat thus impregnated with tallow, hardens, and will keep for years. It is eaten without any other preparation; but sometimes wild pears or dried berries are added, which render the flavor more agreeable.] Having spent the 1st of July in repairing our canoes, we re-embarked on the 2d, and continued to ascend Winipeg river, called also _White river_, on account of the great number of its cascades, which being very near each other, offer to the sight an almost continuous foam. We made that day twenty-seven portages, all very short. On the 3d, and 4th, we made nine more, and arrived on the 5th, at the _Lake of the Woods_. This lake takes its name from the great number of woody islands with which it is dotted. Our guide pointed out to me one of these isles, telling me that a Jesuit father had said mass there, and that it was the most remote spot to which those missionaries had ever penetrated. We encamped on one of the islands. The next day the wind did not allow us to make much progress. On the 7th, we gained the entrance of _Rainy Lake river_. I do not remember ever to have seen elsewhere so many mosquitoes as on the banks of this river. Having landed near a little rapid to lighten the canoes, we had the misfortune, in getting through the brush, to dislodge these insects from under the leaves where they had taken refuge from the rain of the night before; they attached themselves to us, followed us into the canoes, and tormented us all the remainder of the day. On the 8th, at sunset, we reached _Rainy Lake House_. This fort is situated about a mile from a considerable rapid. We saw here cultivated fields and domestic animals, such as horses, oxen, cows, &c. The port is a depôt for the wintering parties of the Athabasca, and others still more remote, who bring to it their peltries and return from it with their outfits of merchandise. Mr. John Dease, to whose charge the place had been confided, received us in the most friendly manner possible; and after having made an excellent supper, we danced a part of the evening. We took leave of Mr. Dease on the 10th, well provided for the journey, and passing round Rainy Lake falls, and then traversing the lake itself, which I estimated to be forty miles long, we encamped at the entrance of a small river. On the next day we pursued our way, now thridding streams impeded with wild rice, which rendered our progress difficult, now traversing little lakes, now passing straits where we scarcely found water to float our canoes. On the 13th, we encamped near _Dog Portage (Portage des chiens_), where, from not having followed the advice of Mr. Dease, who had counselled us to take along a bag of pemican, we found ourselves absolutely without food. CHAPTER XXVII. Arrival at Fort William.--Description of the Fort.--News from the River Columbia. Starving men are early-risers. We set out on the 14th before day, and effected the portage, which is long and difficult. At the foot of the rapid we found a sort of _restaurant_ or _cabaret_, kept by a man named _Boucher_. We treated the men to a little _eau de vie_, and breakfasted on some detestable sausages, poisoned with salt. After this wretched repast, we set out again, and passed toward noon, the _Mountain Portage_. Here the river _Kaministiquia_ flings itself over a rock of immense height, and forms a fall scarcely less curious to see than that of Niagara. Below, the succession of falls and rapids is constant, so that we made no fewer than thirty-six portages in the course of the day. Nevertheless we pursued our laborious way with good cheer, and without a murmur from our Canadian boatmen, who kept their spirits up by singing their _voyageur_ songs. At last, at about nine o'clock in the evening, we arrived at Fort William. Fort William is situated on Lake Superior, at the mouth of the _Kaministiquia_ river, about forty-five miles north of old _Grand Portage_. It was built in 1805, when the two rival Canadian companies were united, and was named in honor of Mr. (now the Honorable) William M'Gillivray, principal agent of the Northwest Company. The proprietors, perceiving that the old fort of _Grand Portage_ was on the territory claimed by the American government, resolved to demolish it and build another on the British territory. No site appeared more advantageous than the present for the purposes intended; the river is deep, of easy access, and offers a safe harbor for shipping. It is true they had to contend with all the difficulties consequent on a low and swampy soil; but by incredible labor and perseverance they succeeded in draining the marshes and reducing the loose and yielding soil to solidity. Fort William has really the appearance of a fort, with its palisade fifteen feet high, and that of a pretty village, from the number of edifices it encloses. In the middle of a spacious square rises a large building elegantly constructed, though of wood, with a long piazza or portico, raised about five feet from the ground, and surmounted by a balcony, extending along the whole front. In the centre is a saloon or hall, sixty feet in length by thirty in width, decorated with several pieces of painting, and some portraits of the leading partners. It is in this hall that the agents, partners, clerks, interpreters, and guides, take their meals together, at different tables. At each extremity of the apartment are two rooms; two of these are destined for the two principal agents; the other two to the steward and his department. The kitchen and servants' rooms are in the basement. On either side of this edifice, is another of the same extent, but of less elevation; they are each divided by a corridor running through its length, and contain each, a dozen pretty bed-rooms. One is destined for the wintering partners, the other for the clerks. On the east of the square is another building similar to the last two, and intended for the same use, and a warehouse where the furs are inspected and repacked for shipment. In the rear of these, are the lodging-house of the guides, another fur-warehouse, and finally, a powder magazine. The last is of stone, and has a roof covered with tin. At the angle is a sort of bastion, or look-out place, commanding a view of the lake. On the west side is seen a range of buildings, some of which serve for stores, and others for workshops; there is one for the equipment of the men, another for the fitting out of the canoes, one for the retail of goods, another where they sell liquors, bread, pork, butter, &c., and where a treat is given to the travellers who arrive. This consists in a white loaf, half a pound of butter, and a gill of rum. The _voyageurs_ give this tavern the name of _Cantino salope_. Behind all this is another range, where we find the counting-house, a fine square building, and well-lighted; another storehouse of stone, tin-roofed; and a _jail_, not less necessary than the rest. The _voyageurs_ give it the name of _pot au beurre_--the butter-tub. Beyond these we discover the shops of the carpenter, the cooper, the tinsmith, the blacksmith, &c.; and spacious yards and sheds for the shelter, reparation, and construction of canoes. Near the gate of the fort, which is on the south, are the quarters of the physician, and those of the chief clerk. Over the gate is a guard-house. As the river is deep at its entrance, the company has had a wharf constructed, extending the whole length of the fort, for the discharge of the vessels which it keeps on Lake Superior, whether to transport its furs from Fort William to the _Saut Ste. Marie_, or merchandise and provisions from _Saut Ste. Marie_ to Fort William. The land behind the fort and on both sides of it, is cleared and under tillage. We saw barley, peas, and oats, which had a very fine appearance. At the end of the clearing is the burying-ground. There are also, on the opposite bank of the river, a certain number of log-houses, all inhabited by old Canadian _voyageurs_, worn out in the service of the company, without having enriched themselves. Married to women of the country, and incumbered with large families of half-breed children, these men prefer to cultivate a little Indian corn and potatoes, and to fish, for a subsistence, rather than return to their native districts, to give their relatives and former acquaintance certain proofs of their misconduct or their imprudence. Fort William is the grand depôt of the Northwest Company for their interior posts, and the general _rendezvous_ of the partners. The agents from Montreal and the wintering partners assemble here every summer, to receive the returns of the respective outfits, prepare for the operations of the ensuing season, and discuss the general interests of their association. The greater part of them were assembled at the time of our arrival. The wintering hands who are to return with their employers, pass also a great part of the summer here; they form a great encampment on the west side of the fort, outside the palisades. Those who engage at Montreal to go no further than Fort William or _Rainy lake_, and who do not _winter_, occupy yet another space, on the east side. The winterers, or _hivernants_, give to these last the name of _mangeurs de lard_, or pork-eaters. They are also called _comers-and-goers_. One perceives an astonishing difference between these two camps, which are composed sometimes of three or four hundred men each; that of the pork-eaters is always dirty and disorderly, while that of the winterers is clean and neat. To clear its land and improve its property, the company inserts a clause in the engagement of all who enter its service as canoe-men, that they shall work for a certain number of days during their stay at Fort William. It is thus that it has cleared and drained the environs of the fort, and has erected so many fine buildings. But when a hand has once worked the stipulated number of days, he is for ever after exempt, even if he remain in the service twenty or thirty years, and should come down to the fort every summer. They received us very courteously at Fort William, and I perceived by the reception given to myself in particular, that thanks to the Chinook dialect of which I was sufficiently master, they would not have asked better than to give me employment, on advantageous terms. But I felt a great deal more eagerness to arrive in Montreal, than desire to return to the River Columbia. A few days after we reached Fort William, Mr. Keith made his appearance there from Fort George, or Astoria, with the news of the arrival of the "Isaac Todd" in the Columbia river. This vessel, which was a dull sailer, had been kept back a long time by contrary winds in doubling Cape Horn, and had never been able to rejoin the vessels-of-war, her consorts, from which she was then separated. When she reached the _rendezvous_ at the island of Juan Fernandez, finding that the three ships-of-war had sailed, the captain and passengers, as they were short of provisions, determined to range the coast. Entering the harbor of _Monterey_,[AI] on the coast of California, in order to obtain provisions, they learned that there was an English vessel-of-war in distress, in the bay of _San Francisco_.[AJ] They repaired thither accordingly, and found, to their great surprise, that it was the sloop _Raccoon_. This vessel, in getting out of the River Columbia, had touched on the bar, with such violence, that a part of her false keel was carried away; and she had with difficulty made San Francisco, with seven feet of water in the hold, although her crew had been constantly at the pumps. Captain Black, finding it impossible to repair his ship, had decided to abandon her, and to cross the continent to the Gulf of Mexico, thence to reach some of the British West India islands. However, on the arrival of the Isaac Todd, means were found to careen the vessel and repair the damage. The Isaac Todd then pursued her voyage and entered the Columbia on the 17th of April, thirteen months after her departure from England. [Footnote AI: A Spanish mission or presidency, in about the 36th degree of latitude.] [Footnote AJ: Another Spanish presidency, in about the 38th degree of latitude, and the first European establishment to be met with south of the Columbia. [These now obsolete notes are interesting as indicative of the period when they were written.--ED.]] CHAPTER XXVIII. Departure from Fort William.--Navigation on Lake Superior.--Michipicoton Bay.--Meeting a Canoe.--Batchawainon Bay.--Arrival at Saut Ste Marie.--Occurrences there.--Departure.--Lake Huron.--French River.--Lake Nipissing.--Ottawa River.--Kettle Falls.--Rideau River.--Long-Saut.--Arrival in Montreal--Conclusion. On the 20th of July, in the evening, Mr. D. Stuart notified me that he should start the next morning for Montreal, in a light canoe. I immediately wrote to my relatives: but the next morning Mr. Stuart told me that I was to be myself the bearer of my letters, by embarking with him. I got ready my effects, and toward evening we quitted Fort William, with fourteen stout _voyageurs_ to man our large canoe, and were soon floating on the bosom of the largest body of fresh water on the surface of the globe. We counted six passengers, namely, Messrs. D. Stuart, D. M'Kenzie, J. M'Donald, J. Clarke, myself, and a little girl of eight or nine years, who came from Kildonan, on Red river. We passed the first night on one of the islands in _Thunder bay_, so named on account of the frequent storms, accompanied with lightning and thunder, which burst over it at certain seasons of the year. On the 22d and 23d, we continued to range the southern coast of Lake Superior. The navigation of this superb lake would be extremely agreeable but for the thick fogs which reign during a part of the day, and do not permit a rapid progress. On the 24th, we dined at a small trading establishment called _Le Pic_, where we had excellent fish. On the 26th, we crossed _Michipicoton bay_, which, at its entrance, may be nine miles wide, and twenty fathoms deep. As we were nearing the eastern point, we met a small canoe, having on board Captain M'Cargo, and the crew of one of the schooners owned by the company. Mr. M'Cargo informed us that he had just escaped from _Saut Ste. Marie_, whither the Americans had sent a detachment of one hundred and fifty men; and that having been obliged to abandon his schooner, he had set fire to her. In consequence of this news it was resolved that the canoe on which we were proceeding, should return to Fort William. I embarked, with Mr. Stuart and two men, in Captain M'Cargo's canoe, while he and his crew took our places. In the haste and confusion of this exchange, which was made on the lake, they gave us a ham, a little tea and sugar, and a bag containing about twenty-five pounds of flour, but forgot entirely a kettle, knives, forks, and so on, all articles which Mr. M'Cargo had not time to take when he left _Saut Ste. Marie_. We subsisted miserably in consequence for two days and a half that we continued to coast the lake before reaching any post. We moistened in the bag a little flour, and having kneaded it, made cakes, which we baked on flat stones by our camp fire. On the 29th, we reached Batchawainon, where we found some women, who prepared us food and received us well. It is a poor little post, situated at the bottom of a sandy cove, which offers nothing agreeable to the eye. Mr. Frederic Goedike, who resided here, was gone to see what had taken place at Saut Ste. Marie. He returned the next day, and told us that the Americans had come, with a force of one hundred and fifty men, under the command of Major Holmes; and that after having pillaged that they all considered worth taking, of the property of the N.W. Company and that of a Mr. Johnston, they had set fire to the houses, warehouses, &c., belonging to the company and to that gentleman, and retired, without molesting any other person.[AK] Our canoe arrived from Fort William in the evening, with that of Mr. M'Gillivray; and on the morrow we all repaired to Saut Ste. Marie, where we saw the ruins which the enemy had left. The houses, stores, and saw-mills of the company were still smoking. [Footnote AK: The N.W. Company having raised a regiment composed of their own servants, and known as the _voyageur corps_, and having also instigated to war, and armed, the Indian tribes, over which they had influence, had brought on themselves this act of retaliation. Mr. Johnston also had engaged actively in the war against the United States.] The schooner was at the foot of the rapids; the Americans had run her down, but she grounded on a ledge of rocks, whence they could not dislodge her, and so they had burnt her to the water's edge. _Le Saut de Ste. Marie_, or as it is shortly called, _Saut Ste. Marie_, is a rapid at the outlet of Lake Superior, and may be five hundred or six hundred yards wide; its length may be estimated at three quarters of a mile, and the descent of the water at about twenty feet. At the lower extremity the river widens to about a mile, and here there are a certain number of houses. The north bank belongs to Great Britain; the southern to the United States. It was on the American side that Mr. Johnston lived. Before the war he was collector of the port for the American government. On the same side resided a Mr. Nolin, with his family, consisting of three half-breed boys and as many girls, one of whom was passably pretty. He was an old Indian trader, and his house and furniture showed signs of his former prosperity. On the British side we found Mr. Charles Ermatinger, who had a pretty establishment: he dwelt temporarily in a house that belonged to Nolin, but he was building another of stone, very elegant, and had just finished a grist mill. He thought that the last would lead the inhabitants to sow more grain than they did. These inhabitants are principally old Canadian boatmen, married to half-breed or Indian women. The fish afford them subsistence during the greater part of the year, and provided they secure potatoes enough to carry them through the remainder, they are content. It is to be regretted that these people are not more industrious, for the land is very fertile. On the 1st of August, an express was sent to _Michilimackinac_ (Mackinaw) to inform the commandant thereof what had happened at _Saut Ste. Marie_. While expecting the return of the messenger, we put ourselves in a state of defence, in case that by chance the Americans should make another irruption. The thing was not improbable, for according to some expressions which fell from one of their number who spoke French, their objects was to capture the furs of the Northwest Company, which were expected to arrive shortly from the interior. We invited some Indians, who were camped on _Pine Point_, at some distance from the _Saut_, to help us in case of need; which they promised to do. Meanwhile we had no provisions, as everything had been carried off by the American forces, and were obliged to subsist on such brook trout as we could take with hook and line, and on wild raspberries. On the 4th, the express returned, without having been able to accomplish his mission: he had found the island of Mackinaw so completely blockaded by the enemy, that it was impossible to reach it, without running the greatest risk of being made prisoner. On the 12th, we heard distinctly the discharges of artillery which our people were firing off at Michilimackinac, although the distance was nearly sixty miles. We thought it was an attempt of the enemy to retake that post, but we afterward learned that it was only a royal salute in honor of the birthday of the prince regent. We learned, however, during our stay at Saut Ste. Marie, that the Americans had really made a descent upon the island, but were compelled to retire with a considerable loss. On the 19th, some of the partners arrived from Fort William, preceding the flotilla which was coming down richly laden with furs. They sent on Mr. Decoigne in a light canoe, with letters to Montreal, to order provisions to meet this brigade. On the 21st, the canoe on which I was a passenger, was sent to the mouth of _French_ river, to observe the motions of the enemy. The route lay between a range of low islands, and a shelvy beach, very monotonous and dreary. We remained at the entrance of the aforesaid river till the 25th, when the fleet of loaded canoes, forty-seven in number, arrived there. The value of the furs which they carried could not be estimated at less than a million of dollars: an important prize for the Americans, if they could have laid their hands upon it. We were three hundred and thirty-five men, all well armed; a large camp was formed, with a breast-work of fur-packs, and we kept watch all night. The next morning we began to ascend French river, and were soon out of reach of the dreaded foe. French river flows from the N.E. and empties into Lake Huron, about one hundred and twenty miles from Saut Ste. Marie. We reached Lake Nipissing, of which it is the outlet, the same evening, and encamped. We crossed that lake on the 27th, made a number of portages, and encamped again, not far from _Mattawan_. On the 28th we entered, at an early hour, the river _Ottawa_, and encamped, in the evening, at the _Portage des deux Joachims_. This is a grand river, but obstructed by many falls and rapids on its way to join the St. Lawrence; which caused us to make many portages, and so we arrived on the 31st at _Kettle falls_. The rock which here arrests the course of the _Ottawa_, extends from shore to shore, and so completely cuts off the waters, that at the time we passed none was seen falling over, but sinking by subterranean channels, or fissures in the rock, it boiled up below, from seven or eight different openings, not unlike water in a huge caldron, whence the first explorers of the country gave it the name of _Chaudière_ or Caldron falls. Mr. P. Wright resided in this place, where he had a fine establishment and a great number of men employed in cultivating the land, and getting out lumber. We left the _Chaudières_ a little before sunset, and passed very soon the confluence of the _Rideau_ or _Curtain river_. This river, which casts itself into the Ottawa over a rock twenty-five by thirty feet high, is divided in the middle of the fall by a little island, which parts the waters into two white sheets, resembling a double curtain open in the middle and spreading out below. The _coup d'oeil_ is really picturesque; the rays of the setting sun, which struck the waters obliquely as we passed, heightened exceedingly their beauty, and rendered it worthy of a pencil more skilful than mine. We voyaged till midnight, when we stopped to let our men take a little repose. This rest was only for two hours. At sunrise on the 1st September, we reached _Long-Saut_, where, having procured guides, we passed that dangerous rapid, and set foot on shore near the dwelling-house of a Mr. M'Donell, who sent us milk and fruits for our breakfast. Toward noon we passed the lake of the Two Mountains, where I began to see the mountain of my native isle. About two o'clock, we passed the rapids of St. Ann.[AL] Soon after we came opposite _Saut St. Louis_ and the village of _Caughnawago_, passed that last rapid of so many, and landed at Montreal, a little before sunset. [Footnote AL: "Far-famed and so well described," adds Mr. Franchere, in his own translation, but I prefer to leave the expression in its original striking simplicity, as he wrote it before he had heard of MOORE. Every reader remembers:-- "Soon as the woods on shore grow dim, We'll sing at St. Ann's our parting hymn." _Canadian Boatman's Song_.] I hastened to the paternal roof, where the family were not less surprised than overjoyed at beholding me. Not having heard of me, since I had sailed from New York, they had believed, in accordance with the common report, that I had been murdered by the savages, with Mr. M'Kay and the crew of the Tonquin: and certainly, it was by the goodness of Providence that I found myself thus safe and sound, in the midst of my relations and friends, at the end of a voyage accompanied by so many perils, and in which so many of my companions had met with an untimely death. CHAPTER XXIX. Present State of the Countries visited by the Author.--Correction of Mr. Irving's Statements respecting St. Louis. The last chapter closes the original French narrative of my travels around and across the continent, as published thirty-three years ago. The translation follows that narrative as exactly as possible, varying from it only in the correction of a few not very important errors of fact. It speaks of places and persons as I spoke of them then. I would not willingly lose the verisimilitude of this natural and unadorned description, in order to indulge in any new turns of style or more philosophical reflections. But since that period many changes have occurred in the scenes which I so long ago visited and described. Though they are well known, I may be pardoned for alluding to them. The natives of the Sandwich islands, who were in a state of paganism at that time, have since adopted a form of Christianity, have made considerable progress in imitating the civilization of Europe, and even, at this moment, begin to entertain the idea of annexation to the United States. It appears, however, that the real natives are rapidly dwindling away by the effects of their vices, which an exotic and ill-assimilated civilization has rather increased than diminished, and to which religion has not succeeded in applying a remedy. At the mouth of the Columbia, whole tribes, and among them, the _Clatsops_, have been swept away by disease. Here again, licentious habits universally diffused, spread a fatal disorder through the whole nation, and undermining the constitutions of all, left them an easy prey to the first contagion or epidemic sickness. But missionaries of various Christian sects have labored among the Indians of the Columbia also; not to speak of the missions of the Catholic Church, so well known by the narrative of Father De Smet and others; and numbers have been taught to cultivate the soil, and thus to provide against the famines to which they were formerly exposed from their dependence on the precarious resources of the chase; while others have received, in the faith of Christ, the true principle of national permanence, and a living germ of civilization, which may afterward be developed. Emigration has also carried to the Oregon the axe of the settler, as well as the canoe and pack of the fur-trader. The fertile valleys and prairies of the Willamet--once the resort of the deer, the elk, and the antelope, are now tilled by the industrious husbandman. Oregon City, so near old "Astoria," whose first log fort I saw and described, is now an Archiepiscopal see, and the capital of a territory, which must soon be a state of the Union. Of the regions east of the mountains described in my itinerary, little can be said in respect to improvement: they remain in the same wild state. The interest of the Hudson's Bay Company, as an association of fur-traders, is opposed to agricultural improvements, whose operation would be to drive off and extinguish the wild animals that furnish their commerce with its object. But on Lake Superior steamboats have supplanted the birch-bark canoe of the Indian and the fur-trader, and at Saut Ste. Marie, especially on the American side, there is now every sign of prosperity. How remote and wild was the region beyond, through which I passed, may be estimated by the fact that in thirty-eight years the onward-rolling wave of our population has but just reached its confines. Canada, although it has not kept pace with the United States, has yet wonderfully advanced in forty years. The valley of the Ottawa, that great artery of the St. Lawrence, where I thought it worth while to notice the residence of an enterprising farmer and lumber merchant, is now a populous district, well cultivated, and sprinkled with villages, towns, and cities. The reader, in perusing my first chapter, found a description of the city of New York in 1810, and of the neighboring village of Brooklyn. It would be superfluous to establish a comparison at this day. At that time, it will be observed, the mere breaking out of war between America and England was thought to involve the sacrifice of an American commercial establishment on the Pacific, on the ground of its supplies being necessarily cut off (it was supposed), and of the United States government being unable to protect it from hostile attack. At present it suffices to remark that while New York, then so inconsiderable a port, is now perhaps the third city in the world, the United States also, are, undoubtedly, a first-rate power, unassailable at home, and formidable abroad, to the greatest nations. As in my preface I alluded to Mr. Irving's "Astoria," as reflecting, in my opinion, unjustly, upon the young men engaged in the first expedition to the mouth of the Columbia, it may suffice here to observe, without entering into particulars, that my narrative, which I think answers for its own fidelity, clearly shows that some of them, at least did not want courage, activity, zeal for the interests of the company, while it existed, and patient endurance of hardship. And although it forms no part of the narrative or my voyage, yet as subsequent visits to the West and an intimate knowledge of St. Louis, enable me to correct Mr. Irving's poetical rather than accurate description of that place, I may well do it here. St. Louis now bids fair to rival ere long the "Queen of the West;" Mr. Irving describes her as a small trading place, where trappers, half-breeds, gay, frivolous Canadian boatmen, &c., &c., congregated and revelled, with that lightness and buoyancy of spirit inherited from their French forefathers; the indolent Creole of St. Louis caring for little more than the enjoyment of the present hour; a motley population, half-civilized, half-barbarous, thrown, on his canvas, into one general, confused (I allow highly _picturesque_) mass, without respect of persons: but it is fair to say, with due homage to the talent of the sketcher, who has verged slightly on caricature in the use of that humor-loving pencil admired by all the world, that St. Louis even then contained its noble, industrious, and I may say, princely merchants; it could boast its _Chouteaus_, _Soulands_, _Céré_, _Chéniers_, _Vallées_, and _La Croix_, with other kindred spirits, whose descendants prove the worth of their sires by their own, and are now among the leading business men, as their fathers were the pioneers, of the flourishing St. Louis. With these remarks, which I make simply as an act of justice in connection with the general subject of the founding of "Astoria," but in which I mean to convey no imputation on the intentional fairness of the accomplished author to whom I have alluded, I take a respectful leave of my readers. APPENDIX.[AM] In Chapter XVII. I promised the reader to give him an account of the fate of some of the persons who left Astoria before, and after its sale or transfer to the British. I will now redeem that pledge. [Footnote AM: We have thought it best to give this Appendix, excepting some abbreviations rendered necessary to avoid repetition of what has been stated before, in Mr. Franchere's own words, particularly as a specimen of his own English style may be justly interesting to the reader.] Messrs. Ramsay Crooks, R. M'Lelland, and Robert Stuart, after enduring all sorts of fatigue, dangers and hair-breadth escapes with their lives--all which have been so graphically described by Washington Irving in his "Astoria," finally reached St. Louis and New York. Mr. Clapp went to the Marquesas Islands, where he entered into the service of his country in the capacity of Midshipman under Commodore Porter--made his escape from there in company with Lieutenant Gamble of the Marine corps, by directions of the Commodore, was captured by the British, landed at Buenos Ayres, and finally reached New York. D. M'Dougall, as a reward for betraying the trust reposed in him by Mr. Astor, was made a Partner of the Northwest Company, crossed the mountains, and died a miserable death at _Bas de la Rivière_, Winipeg. Donald M'Kenzie, his coadjutor, went back to the Columbia River, where he amassed a considerable fortune, with which he retired, and lived in Chautauque County in this state, where he died a few years since unknown and neglected:--he was a very selfish man, who cared for no one but himself. It remains only to speak of Messrs. J.C. Halsey, Russell, Farnham, and Alfred Seton, who, it will be remembered, embarked with Mr. Hunt on the "Pedlar," in Feb. 1814. Leaving the River about the 1st of April, they proceeded to the Russian establishment at Sitka, Norfolk Sound, where they fell in with two or three more American vessels, which had come to trade with the natives or to avoid the British cruisers. While there, a sail under British colors appeared, and Mr. Hunt sent Mr. Seton to ascertain who she was. She turned out to be the "Forester," Captain Pigott, a repeating signal ship and letter-of-marque, sent from England in company of a fleet intended for the South Seas. On further acquaintance with the captain, Mr. Seton (from whom I derive these particulars) learned a fact which has never before been published, and which will show the solicitude and perseverance of Mr. ASTOR. After despatching the "Lark" from New York, fearing that she might be intercepted by the British, he sent orders to his correspondent in England to purchase and fit out a British bottom, and despatch her to the Columbia to relieve the establishment. When Mr. Hunt learned this fact, he determined to leave Mr. Halsey at Sitka, and proceeding himself northward, landed Mr. Farnham on the coast of _Kamskatka_, to go over land with despatches for Mr. Astor. Mr. Farnham accomplished the journey, reached Hamburg, whence he sailed for the West Indies, and finally arrived at New York, having made the entire circuit of the globe. The "Pedlar" then sailed to the southeast, and soon reached the coast of California, which she approached to get a supply of provisions. Nearing one of the harbors, they descried a vessel at anchor inside, showing American colors. Hauling their wind, they soon came close to the stranger, which, to their surprise, turned out to be the Spanish corvette "Santa Barbara," which sent boats alongside the "Pedlar," and captured her, and kept possession of the prize for some two months, during which they dropped down to _San Blas_. Here Mr. Hunt proposed to Mr. Seton to cross the continent and reach the United States the best way he could. Mr. Seton, accordingly, went to the Isthmus of Darien, where he was detained several months by sickness, but finally reached Carthagena, where a British fleet was lying in the roads, to take off the English merchants, who in consequence of the revolutionary movements going on, sought shelter under their own flag. Here Mr. Seton, reduced to the last stage of destitution and squalor, boldly applied to Captain Bentham, the commander of the squadron, who, finding him to be a gentleman, offered him every needful assistance, gave him a berth in his own cabin, and finally landed him safely on the Island of Jamaica, whence he, too, found his way to New York. Of all those engaged in the expedition there are now but four survivors--Ramsay Crooks, Esq. the late President of the American Fur Company; Alfred Seton, Esq., Vice-president of the Sun Mutual Insurance Company; both of New York city; Benjamin Pillet of Canada; and the author, living also in New York. All the rest have paid the debt of nature, but their names are recorded in the foregoing pages. Notwithstanding the illiberal remarks made by Captain Thorn on the persons who were on board the ill-fated Tonquin, and reproduced by Mr. Irving in his "Astoria"--these young men who were represented as "Bar keepers or Billiard markers, most of whom had fled from Justice, &c."--I feel it a duty to say that they were for the most part, of good parentage, liberal education and every way were qualified to discharge the duties of their respective stations. The remarks on the general character of the voyageurs employed as boat-men and Mechanics, and the attempt to cast ridicule on their "Braggart and swaggering manners" come with a bad grace from the author of "Astoria," when we consider that in that very work Mr. Irving is compelled to admit their indomitable energy, their fidelity to their employers, and their cheerfulness under the most trying circumstances in which men can be placed. With respect to Captain Thorn, I must confess that though a stern commander and an irritable man, he paid the strictest attention to the health of his crew. His complaints of the squalid appearance of the Canadians and mechanics who were on board, can be abated of their force by giving a description of the accommodation of these people. The Tonquin was a small ship; its forecastle was destined for the crew performing duty before the mast. The room allotted for the accommodation of the twenty men destined for the establishment, was abaft the forecastle; a bulk-head had been let across, and a door led from the forecastle into a dark, unventilated, unwholesome place, where they were all heaped together, without means of locomotion, and consequently deprived of that exercise of the body so necessary to health. Add to that, we had no physician on board. In view of these facts, can the complaints of the gallant Captain be sustained? Of course Mr. Irving was ignorant of these circumstances, as well as of many others which he might have known, had some one suggested to him to ask a few questions of persons who were within his reach at the time of his publication. I have (I need scarcely say) no personal animosity against the unfortunate Captain; he always treated me, individually, as well as I could expect; and if, in the course of my narrative, I have been severe on his actions, I was impelled by a sense of justice to my friends on board, as well as by the circumstance that such explanations of his general deportment were requisite to convey the historical truth to my readers. The idea of a conspiracy against him on board is so absurd that it really does not deserve notice. The threat, or rather the proposal made to him by Mr. M'Kay, in the following words--"if you say fight, fight it is"--originated in a case where one of the sailors had maltreated a Canadian lad, who came to complain to Mr. M'Kay. The captain would not interpose his authority, and said in my presence, "Let them fight out their own battles:"--it was upon that answer that Mr. M'Kay gave vent to the expression quoted above. I might go on with a long list of inaccuracies, more or less grave or trivial, in the beautifully written work of Mr. Irving, but it would be tedious to go through the whole of them. The few remarks to which I have given place above, will suffice to prove that the assertion made in the preface was not unwarranted. It is far from my intention to enter the lists with a man of the literary merit and reputation of Mr. Irving, but as a narrator of events of which I was an EYEWITNESS, I felt bound to tell the truth, although that truth might impugn the historical accuracy of a work which ranks as a classic in the language. At the same time I entirely exonerate Mr. Irving from any intention of prejudicing the minds of his readers, as he doubtless had only in view to support the character of his friend: that sentiment is worthy of a generous heart, but it should not be gratified, nor would he wish to gratify it, I am sure, at the expense of the character of others. NOTE BY THE EDITOR. Perhaps even contrary to the wish of Mr. Franchere, I have left the above almost word for word as he wrote it. It is a part of the history of the affairs related as well in Mr. Irving's ASTORIA as in the present volume, that the reclamations of one of the clerks on that famous and unfortunate voyage of the Tonquin, against the disparaging description of himself and his colleagues given in the former work, should be fairly recorded. At the same time, I can not help stating my own impression that a natural susceptibility, roused by those slighting remarks from Captain Thorn's correspondence, to which Mr. Irving as an historian gives currency, has somewhat blinded my excellent friend to the tone of banter, so characteristic of the chronicler of the Knickerbockers, in which all these particulars are given, more as traits of the character of the stern old sea-captain, with his hearty contempt for land-lubbers and literary clerks, than as a dependable account of the persons on board his ship, some of whom might have been, and as we see by the present work, were, in fact, very meritorious characters, for whose literary turn, and faithful journalizing (which seems to have especially provoked the captain's wrath), now at the end of more than forty years, we have so much reason to be thankful. Certainly Mr. Irving himself, who has drawn frequently on Mr. Franchere's narrative, could not, from his well-known taste in such matters, be insensible to the Defoe-like simplicity thereof, nor to the picturesque descriptions, worthy of a professional pen, with which it is sprinkled. THE END. 
16289	----	THE FUR BRINGERS A STORY OF THE CANADIAN NORTHWEST by HULBERT FOOTNER Author of "Jack Chanty," "Thieves Wit," "A Substitute Millionaire," etc. NEW YORK THE JAMES A. McCANN COMPANY 1920 Copyright, 1920, by THE JAMES A. McCANN COMPANY All Rights Reserved Printed in the U.S.A. CONTENTS CHAPTER I JUNE FEVER II FORT ENTERPRISE III COLINA IV THE MEETING V AN INVITATION TO DINE VI THE DINNER VII TWO INTERVIEWS VIII IN AMBROSE'S CAMP IX LOVERS X ANOTHER VISITOR XI ALEXANDER SELKIRK AND FAMILY XII GATHERING SHADOWS XIII THE QUARREL XIV SIMON GRAMPIERRE XV THE PLAN OF CAMPAIGN XVI COLINA COMMANDS XVII THE STAFF OF LIFE XVIII A BLOODLESS CAPTURE XIX WOMAN'S WEAPONS XX UNDERCURRENTS XXI THE SUBTLETY OF GORDON STRANGE XXII THE "TEA DANCE" XXIII FIRE AND RAPINE XXIV COLINA RELENTS XXV ACCUSED XXVI CONVICTED XXVII A CHANGE OF JAILERS XXVIII A GLEAM OF HOPE XXIX NESIS XXX FREE XXXI THE ALARM XXXII THE TRAP XXXIII THE TEST XXXIV ANOTHER CHANGE OF JAILERS XXXV THE JAIL VISITOR XXXVI COLINA'S ENTERPRISE XXXVII MARTA XXXVIII THE FINDING OF NESIS XXXIX THE TRIAL XL AM UNEXPECTED WITNESS XLI FROM DUMB LIPS XLII THE AVENGING OF NESIS XLIII NEWSPAPER CLIPPINGS THE FUR BRINGERS CHAPTER I. JUNE FEVER. The firm of Minot & Doane sat on the doorsill of its store on Lake Miwasa smoking its after-supper pipes. It was seven o'clock of a brilliant day in June. The westering sun shone comfortably on the world, and a soft breeze kept the mosquitoes at bay. Moreover, the tobacco was of the best the store afforded; yet there was no peace between the two. They bickered like schoolboys kept indoors. "How many link-skins in the bale you made up today?" asked Peter Minot. "Three-seventy-two," his young partner answered in a surly tone that was in itself a provocation. "I made it three-seventy-three," said Peter curtly. "What's the difference?" demanded Ambrose Doane. "Seven dollars," said Peter dryly. "Well, you can claim the extra one, can't you," snarled Ambrose, "and make an allowance if it's found short?" "That's not the way I like to do business!" "Too bad about you!" The older man frowned darkly, clamped his teeth upon his pipe, and held his tongue. His silence was an additional aggravation to the other. "What do you want me to do," he burst out with an amount of passion absurdly disproportionate to the matter at issue, "cut it open and count it over and bale it up again?" "To blazes with it!" said Peter. "I want you to keep your temper!" "I'm sick of this!" cried Ambrose with the wilful abandon of one hopelessly in the wrong. "You're at me from morning till night! Nothing I do is right. Why can't you leave me alone?" Peter took his pipe out of his mouth and looked at his young partner in astonishment. His face turned a dull brick color and his blue eyes snapped. He spoke in a voice of portentous softness: "Who the hell do you think you are? A little gorramighty? To make a mistake is natural; to fly into a temper when it is discovered is childish. What's the matter with you these past ten days, anyway? A man can't look at you but you begin to bark and froth. You'd best go off by yourself a while and eat grass to cool your blood!" Having delivered himself, Peter pulled deeply at his pipe and gazed across the lake with a scowl of honest resentment. It was a long speech to come from Peter, and it went unexpectedly to the point. Ambrose was silenced. For a long time neither spoke. Little by little the angry red faded out of Peter's cheeks and neck, and his forehead smoothed itself. Stealing a glance at young Ambrose, the blue eyes began to twinkle. "Say!" he said suddenly. Ambrose twisted petulantly and muttered in his throat. "Stick out your tongue!" commanded Peter. Ambrose stared at him in angry stupefaction. "What the deuce--" "No," said Peter, "you're not sick. Your eyeballs is as clean as new milk; your skin is as pink as a spanked baby. No, you're not sick, so to speak!" There was another silence, Ambrose squirming a little and blushing under Peter's calm, speculative gaze. "Have you anything against me?" Peter finally inquired. "If you have, out with it!" The young man shook his head unhappily. "Forget it then!" cried Peter with a scornful, kindly grin. "You ornery worthless Slavi, you! You Shushwap! You Siwash! Change your face or you'll give the dog distemper!" Ambrose laughed sheepishly and stole a glance at his partner. There was pain in his bold eyes, and the wish to bare it to his friend as to a surgeon; but he dreaded Peter's laughter. There was another long silence. The atmosphere was now much clearer. Peter, having come to a conclusion, removed his pipe and spoke again: "I know what's the matter with you." "What?" muttered Ambrose. "You've got the June fever." Ambrose made no comment. "I mind it when I was your age," Peter continued; "when the ice goes out of the lake and the poplar-trees hang out their little earrings, that's when a man catches it--when Molly Cottontail puts on her brown jacket and Skinny Weasel a yellow one. The south wind brings the microbe along with it, and it multiplies in the warm earth. Gee! It makes even an old feller like me poetical. After six months of winter it's hell!" Still Ambrose kept his eyes down and said nothing. Peter smoked on, and his eyes became reminiscent. "I mind it well," he continued, "the second spring I was in the country. The first year I didn't notice it so much, but the second year--when the warm weather come I was like a wild man. I saw red! I wanted to fight every man I laid eyes on. I felt like I would go clean off my head if I couldn't smash something!" Ambrose broke in on Peter's reminiscences. He seemed scarcely to have heard. "I don't know what's the matter with me!" he cried bitterly. "I can't seem to settle down to anything lately. I've got no use for myself at all. I get so cranky, anybody that speaks to me I want to punch them. God knows I need company, too. It is certainly square of you to put up with me the way you do. I appreciate it--" "Aw, bosh!" muttered Peter. "I've tried to work it off!" cried Ambrose. "You know I've worked, though I've generally made a mess of things because I can't keep my mind on anything. My head goes round like a top. Half the time I'm in a daze. I feel as if I was going crazy. I don't know what is the matter with me!" "Twenty-five years old," murmured Peter; "in the pink of condition! I'm telling you what's the matter with you. It's a plain case of June fever. Ask any of the fellows up here." "What am I going to do?" said Ambrose. "As it is, I work till I'm ready to drop." "I mind when I had it," said Peter, "I came to a camp of French half-breeds on Musquasepi, and I saw Eva Lajeunesse for the first time. It was like a blow between the eyes. You do not know what she looked like then. I didn't think about it this way or that; I just up and married her. I was glad to get her! "Man to man I'll not deny I ain't been sorry sometimes," he went on; "who ain't, sometimes? But, on the whole, after all these years, how could I have done any better? She's good enough for me. A man worries about his children sometimes; but I guess if they go straight there's a place for them, though they are dusky. Eva, she has her bad points, but she's been real good to me. How can I be but grateful!" This was a rare and unusual confidence for Peter to offer his young partner. Ambrose, flattered and embarrassed, did not know what to say, and said nothing. He was right, for if he had referred to it, Peter would have been obliged to turn it into a joke. As it was, they smoked on in understanding silence. Finally Peter went on: "You see, I gave right in. You're different; you want to fight the thing. Blest if I know what to tell you." "Eva and I don't get on very well," said Ambrose shamefacedly. "She doesn't like me around the house. But I respect her. You know that." "Sure," said Peter. "I couldn't do it, Peter," Ambrose went on after a while with seeming irrelevance--howsoever Peter understood. "God knows it's not because I think myself any better than anybody else, or because I think a man does for himself by marrying a--by marrying up here. But I just couldn't do it, that's all." "No offense," said Peter. "Every man must chop his own trail. I won't say but what you're right. But what are you going to do? A man can't live and die alone." "I don't know," said Ambrose. "Tell you what," said Peter; "you take the furs out on the steamboat." "I won't," said Ambrose quickly. "I went out last year. It's your turn." "But I'm contented here," said Peter. Ambrose shook his head. "It wouldn't do me any real good," he said. "It makes it worse after. It did last year. I couldn't bring a white wife up here." "Well, sir, it's a problem," said Peter with a weighty shake of the head. This serious, sentimental kind of talk was a strain on both partners. Ambrose made haste to drop the subject. "I believe I'll start the new warehouse to-morrow," he said. "I like to work with logs. First, I must measure the ground and make a working plan." Peter was not sorry to be diverted. "Hadn't we better get lumber from the 'Company' mill?" he suggested. "Looks like up to date somehow." "A board shack looks rotten in the woods?" said Ambrose. "You're so gol-durn artistic," said Peter quizzically. Minot & Doane's store was a long log shack with a sod roof sprouting a fine crop of weeds. The original shack had been added to on one side, then on the other. There was a pleasing diversity of outline in the main building and its wings. The whole crouched low on the ground as though for warmth. Three crooked little windows and three doors so low that a short man had to duck his head under the lintels, faced the lake. The middle door gave ingress to the store proper; the door on the right was the entrance to Peter Minot's household quarters; while that on the left opened to a large room used variously for stores and bunks. Farther to the left stood the little shack that housed Ambrose Doane in bachelor solitude, and a few steps beyond, the long, low, log stable for the use of the freighters in winter. Seen from the lake the low, spreading buildings in the rough clearing among gigantic pines were not unpleasing. Rough as they were, they fulfilled the first aim of all architecture; they were suitable to the site. The traveler by water landed on a stony beach, climbed a low bank and followed a crooked path to the door of the store. On either hand potato and onion patches flourished among the stumps. From the door-sill where the partners sat, the farther shore of the lake could be seen merely as a delicate line of tree tops poised in the air. Off to the right their own shore made out in a shallow, sweeping curve, ending half a mile away in a bold hill-point where the Company's post of Fort Moultrie had stood for two hundred years commanding the western end of the lake and its outlet, Great Buffalo River. To one who should compare the outward aspects of the two establishments, Minot & Doane's offered a ludicrous contrast to the imposing white buildings of Fort Moultrie, arranged military-wise on the grassy promontory; nevertheless, as is not infrequently the case elsewhere, the humbler store did the larger trade. The coming of Peter Minot ten years before had worked a kind of revolution in the country. He had brought war into the very stronghold of the arrogant fur monopoly, and had succeeded in establishing himself next door. The results were far-reaching. Formerly the Indian sat humbly on the step with his furs until the trader was pleased to open his door; whereas now when the Indian landed, the trader ran down the hill with outstretched hand. Far and wide Minot & Doane were known as the "free-traders"; and some of their customers journeyed for three hundred miles to trade in the little log store. The partners were roused by a shrill hail from up the shore. Grateful for the interruption, they hastened to the edge of the bank. Summer is the dull season in the fur trade. Most of the firm's customers were "pitching off" among the hills, and visitors were rare enough to be notable. "Poly Goussard," said Ambrose after an instant's examination of the dug-out nosing alongshore. Ambrose's keenness of vision was already known in a land of keen-eyed men. "Taking his woman to see her folks," added Peter. Soon the long, slender canoe grounded on the stones below them. It contained in addition to all the worldly goods of the family, a swarthy French half-breed, his Cree wife and three coppery infants in pink calico sunbonnets. The man climbing over his family indiscriminately, landed and came up the bank with outstretched hand. The woman and children remained sitting like statues in their narrow craft, staring unwinkingly at the white men. Mrs. Goussard as a full-blooded Cree was considerably below Peter's half-breed wife in the social scale, and she knew better than to make a call uninvited. Even in the north, woman, the conservator, maintains the distinctions. "Stay all night," urged Peter when formal greetings had been exchanged. "Bring your family ashore." Poly Goussard shook his head. Poly had a chest like a barrel, a face the color of Baldwin apples and a pair of rolling, gleaming, sloe-black eyes. His head of curly black hair was famous; some one had called him the "Newfoundland dog." "I promise my wife I sleep wit' her folks to-night," he said. "It is ten miles yet. I jus' come ashore for a little talk." "Fine!" said Peter, "we're spoiling for news. Come on up to the store and have a cigar." Seven hundred miles from the railway a cigar is something of a phenomenon. Poly Goussard displayed twenty dazzling teeth and made haste to follow. The three men entered the store and found seats on boxes and bales. CHAPTER II. FORT ENTERPRISE. "Me, I work all winter at Fort Enterprise," said Poly. "So I heard," said Peter. "You've had quite a trip." The rosy half-breed shrugged. "It is easy. Jus' floatin' down the Spirit River six days." "What kind of a job did they give you at Enterprise?" asked Peter. "I drove a team, me, haulin' logs to the saw-mill," said Poly. "There is plentee work at Fort Enterprise." "The Company's most profitable post," remarked Peter to Ambrose. "They have everything their own way there." The look which accompanied this suggested to Ambrose it would be a good place for Minot & Doane to start a branch. "What did you think of the place, Poly?" asked Ambrose. The half-breed flung up his hands and dramatically rolled his eyes. "_Wa_! _Wa_! _Towasasuak_! It is a gran' place! Jus' lak outside! Trader him live in great big house all make of smooth boards and paint' yellow and red lak the sun! Never I see before such a tall house, and so many rooms inside full of fine chairs and tables so smoot' and shiny. "He is so reech he put blankets on the floor to walk on, w'at you call carrpitt. Every day he has a white cloth on the table, and a little one to wipe his hands! I have seen it! And silver dishes!" "There is style for you!" said Peter, with a whimsical roll of his eye in Ambrose's direction. "There is moch farming by the river at Fort Enterprise," Poly went on; "and plaintee grain grow. There is a mill to grind flour. Steam mak' it go lak the steamboat. They eat eggs and butter at Fort Enterprise, and think not'ing of it. Christmas I have turkey and cranberry sauce. I am going back, me." "They say the trader John Gaviller is a hard man," suggested Peter. Poly shrugged elaborately. "Maybe. He owe me not'ing. Me, I would not farm for him nor trade my fur at his store. Those people are his slaves. But he pay a strong man good wages. I will tak' his wages and snap my fingers! "But wait!" cried Poly with a sparkling eye. "The 'mos' won'erful thing I see at Fort Enterprise--Wa!--the laktrek light! Her shine in little bottles lak pop, but not so big. John Gaviller, him clap his hands, so! and Wa! she shine! "Indians, him t'ink it is magic. But I am no fool. I know John Gaviller make the laktrek in an engine in the mill. Me, I have seen that engine. I see blue fire inside lak falling stars. "Gaviller send the laktrek to the store inside a wire. He send some to his house too. They said it cook the dinner, but I think that is a lie. If a man touch that wire they say he will jomp to the roof! Me? I did not try it." Peter chuckled. "Good man!" he said. The wonders of Fort Enterprise were not new to Ambrose. Other travelers the preceding summer had brought the same tale. With the air that politeness demanded he only half listened, and pursued his own thoughts. On the other hand Peter, who delighted in his humble friends, drew out Poly fully. The half-breed told about the bringing in of the winter's catch of fur; of the launching of the great steamboat for the summer season, and many other things. "Enterprise is sure a wonderful place!" said Peter encouragingly. "There is something else," said Poly proudly. "At Fort Enterprise there is a white girl!" The simple sentence had the effect of the ringing of an alarm going inside the dreamy Ambrose. He drew a careful mask over his face, and leaned farther into the shadow. "So!" said Peter with a glance in the direction of his young partner. "That is news! Who is she?" "Colina Gaviller, the trader's daughter," said Poly. "Is she real white?" asked Peter cautiously. "White as raspberry flowers!" asseverated Poly with extravagant gestures; "white as clouds in the summer! white as sugar! Her hair is lak golden-rod; her eyes blue lak the lake when the wind blows over it in the morning!" Peter glanced again at his partner, but Ambrose was farthest from the window, and there was nothing to be read in his face. "Sure," said Peter; "but was her mother a white woman ?" "They say so," said Poly. "Her long tam dead." "When did the girl come?" asked Peter. "Las' fall before the freeze-up," said Poly. "She come down the Spirit River from the Crossing on a raf'. Michel Trudeau and his wife, they bring her. Her fat'er he not know she comin'. Her fat'er want her live outside and be a lady. She say 'no!' She say ladies mak' her sick.' Michel tell me she say that. "She want always to ride and paddle a canoe and hunt. Michel say she is more brave as a man! John Gaviller say she got go out again this summer. She say 'no!' She is not afraid of him. Me, I t'ink she lak to be the only white girl in the country, lak a queen." "How old is she?" inquired Peter. "Twenty years, Michel say," answered Poly. "Ah! she is beautiful!" he went on. "She walk the groun' as sof' and proud and pretty as fine yong horse! She sit her horse like a flower on its stem. Me and her good frens too. She say she lak me for cause I am simple. Often in the winter she ride out wit' my team and hunt in the bush while I am load up." "What did Eelip say to that?" Peter inquired facetiously. Eelip was Poly's wife. "Eelip?" queried Poly, surprised. "Colina is the trader's daughter," he carefully explained. "She live in the big house. I would cut off my hand to serve her." "I suppose Miss Colina has plenty of suitors?" said Peter. Ambrose hung with suspended breath on the reply. Poly shook his curly pate. "Who is there for her?" he demanded. "Macfarlane the policeman is too fat; the doctor is too old, his hair is white; the parson is a little, scary man. All are afraid of her; her proud eye mak' a man feel weak inside. There are no ot'er white men there. She is a woman. She mus' have a master. There is no man in the country strong enough for that!" There was a brief silence in the cabin while Poly relighted his cigar. Ambrose had given no sign of being affected by Poly's tale beyond a slight quivering of the nostrils. But Peter watching him slyly, saw him raise his lids for a moment and saw his dark eyes glowing like coals in a pit. Peter chuckled inwardly, and said: "Tell us some more about her." Ambrose's heart warmed gratefully toward his partner. He thirsted for more like a desert traveler for water, but he dared not speak for fear of what he might betray. "I will tell you 'ow she save Michel Trudeau's life," said Poly, nothing loath, "I am the first to come down the river this summer or you would hear it before. Many times Michel is tell me this story. Never I heard such a story before. A woman to save a man! "Wa! Every Saturday night Michel tell it at the store. And John Gaviller give him two dollars of tobacco, the best. I guess Michel is glad the trader's daughter save him. Old man proud, lak he is save Michel himself!" Poly Goussard, having smoked the cigar to within half an inch of his lips, regretfully threw the half inch out the door. He paused, and coughed suggestively. A second cigar being forthcoming, he took the time to light it with tenderest care. Meanwhile, Ambrose kicked the bale on which he sat with an impatient heel. "It was the Tuesday after Easter," Poly finally began. "It was when the men went out to visit their traps again after big time at the fort. There was moch frash snow fall, and heavy going for the dogs. Colina Gaviller she moch friends with Michel Trudeau for because he was bring her in on his raf las' fall. "Often she go with him lak she go with me. Michel carry her up on his sledge, and she hunt aroun' while he visit his traps. Michel trap up on the bench three mile from the fort. He not get much fur so near, but live home in a warm house, and work for day's wages for John Gaviller." Poly paragraphed his story with luxurious puffs at the cigar and careful attention to keep it burning evenly. "So on Tuesday after Easter they go out toget'er. Colina Gaviller ride on the sledge and Michel he break trail ahead. Come to the bench, leave the dogs in a shelter Michel build in a poplar bluff. Michel go to see his traps, and Colina walk away on her snowshoes wit' her little gun. "Michel not ver' good lok that day. In his first trap find fool-hen catch herself. He is mad. Second trap is little cross-fox; third trap nothin' 'tall! "Come to fourth trap, wa! see somesing black on the snow! Wa! Wa! Him heart jomp up! Think him got black fox sure! But no! It is too big. Come close and look. What is he catch you think? It is a black bear! "Everybody know some tam a bear wake up too soon in winter and come out of his hole and roll aroun' lak he was drunk. He can't find somesing to eat nowhere, and don' know what to do! "This bear him catch his paw in Michel's little fox trap. It was chain to a little tree. Bear too weak to pull his paw out or break the chain. He lie down lak dead. "Michel him ver' mad. Him think got no lok at all after Easter. For 'cause that bear is poor as a bird out of the egg. Michel mak' a noise to wake him up. But always he lie still lak dead. Michel think all right. "Bam-by he lean over with his knife. Wa! Bear jomp up lak he was burn wit' fire! Little chain break and before Michel can tak a breath, bear fetch him a crack with the steel trap acrost his head! "Wa! Wa! Michel's forehead is bus' open from here to here lak that! Michel drop his knife in the snow. Him get ver' sick. Warm blood run all down his eyes, and he can't see not'ing no more. "Bear grab Michel round his body and squeeze him pretty near till his eyes jomp out. Michel say a little prayer then. Him say him awful sorry he ain't confessed this year. "But always he fight that bear and fight some more. Always he is try get his hands aroun' that hairy throat. Bear tear Michel's shoulder with his teeth. Michel feel the hot blood run down inside his shirt and get cold. "Michel, him always thinkin' Colina is not far, but he will not call to her. She is only a girl him say; she can't do not'ing to a crazy bear. Bear hurt her too, maybe, and John Gaviller is mad for that. "So Michel he jus' fight. He is ver' tire' now. And always they stamping and tumbling and rolling in the snow, and big red spots drop all aroun'. "Colina, she tell me the end of it. Colina say she is walkin' sof' in the poplar bush looking sharp and all tam listen for game. All is ver' quiet in the bush. "Bam-by she hear a fonny little noise way off. Twigs crackling, and somesing bumping and tromping in the snow. Colina think it is big game and go quick. Some tam she stop and listen. Bam-by she hear fonny snarling and grunting. She know there is a fight and she is a little scare. But she go more fas'. "Wa! Wa! What a sight she sec there! Poor Michel he pretty near done. She can't see his face no more for blood. She think he got no face now. Michel he see her come, and say to her loud as he can: 'Go way! Go way! You get hurt and John Gaviller give me hell!' "Colina say not know what to do. Them two turn around so fas' she 'fraid to shoot. She run aroun' and aroun' them always looking for a chance. Bam-by she see the handle of Michel's knife in a hole in the snow. She grab it up. She watch her chance. Woof! She stick that bear between the neck and the shoulder! "That is all!" said Poly. "Bear, him grunt and fall down. Stick his snoot in the snow. Michel crawl away. Colina is fall down too and cry lak a baby. For a little while all three are dead! "Then Colina wash his wounds with clean snow, and tear up her petticoat for to mak' bandage. She put him on his snowshoes and drag him back where the dogs is. She bring him quick to the fort. In one week Michel is go to his traps same as ever. That is the story!" "By God, there's a woman!" cried Peter. Ambrose said nothing. When Poly Goussard reembarked in his dug-out a heavy constraint fell upon the two partners. Ambrose dreaded to hear Peter call attention to the remarkable coincidence of Poly's story following so close upon their own talk together. He suspected that Peter would want to sit up and thrash the matter to conclusions. At the bare idea of talking about it Ambrose felt as helpless and sullen as a convicted felon. In this he underrated Peter's perceptions. Peter had lived in the woods for many years. He intuitively apprehended something of the confusion in the younger man's mind, and he was only anxious to let Ambrose understand that it was not necessary to say anything one way or the other. But he overdid it a little, and when Ambrose saw that Peter was "on to him," as he would have said, he became still more hang-dog and perverse. They parted at the door of the store. Peter went off to his family, while Ambrose closed the door of his own little shack behind him, with a long breath of relief. Feeling as he did, it was torture to be obliged to support the gaze of another's eye, however kindly. So urgent was his need to be alone that he even turned his back on his dog. For a long time the poor beast softly scratched and whined at the closed door unheeded. Ambrose was busy inside. As it began to grow dark he lit his lamp and carefully pinned a heavy shirt inside his window in lieu of a blind. Since Peter and his family went to bed with the sun it would be hard to say whom he feared might spy on him. One listening at the door might well have wondered what the activity inside portended. Later Ambrose opened the door and, putting the dog in, proceeded cautiously to the store. Satisfying himself from the sounds that issued through the connecting door that Peter and his family slept deeply, he lit a candle and quietly robbed the stock of what he required. Then he wrote a note and pinned it beside the store door. Carrying the bundles back to his cabin, he packed a grub-box and bore it down to the water. His preparations completed, he went to his shack to bid good-by to his four-footed pal. Job, instantly, comprehending that he was to be left behind, whimpered and nozzled so piteously that Ambrose's heart began to fail. "I can't take you, old fel'!" he explained. "You're such a common-looking mutt. Of course, I know you're white clear through--but a lady would laugh at you until she knew you!" Even as he said it his heart accused him of disloyalty. He suddenly changed his mind. "Come on!" he whispered gruffly. "We'll chance our luck together. If you open your head I'll brain you! Wait here a minute." Job understood perfectly. He crept down to the lake shore at his master's feet as quiet as a ghost. Seeing the loaded boat he hopped delightedly into his accustomed place in the bow. During June it never becomes wholly dark in the latitude of Lake Miwasa. An exquisite dim twilight brooded over the wide water and the pine-walled shore. The stars sparkled faintly in an oxidized silver sea. There was no wind now, but the pines breathed like warm-blooded creatures. Ambrose's breast hummed like a violin to the bow of night. The poetic feeling was there, though the expression was prosaic. "By George, this is fine!" he murmured. Job's curly tail thumped the gunwale in answer. "I'm glad I brought you, old fel'," said Ambrose. "I expect I'd go clean off my head if didn't have any one to talk to!" Job beat a tattoo on the side of the boat and wriggled and whined in his anxiety to reach his master. "Steady there!" said Ambrose. Presently he went on: "Three hundred miles! Six days for Poly to come with the current; nine days to go back! Fifteen days at the best! Anything might happen in that time. . . . Poly said no danger from any of the men there. But some one might come down the river! . . . If wishing could bring an aeroplane up north!" After a silence: "I wish I could get my best suit pressed! . . . It's two years old, anyway. And she's just come in; she knows the styles. . . . Lord, I'll look like a regular roughneck!" Next morning when Peter Minot threw open the door of the store he found the note pinned to the door-frame. It was brief and to the point: DEAR PETE: You said I ought to go by myself till I felt better. So I'm off. Don't expect me till you see me. Charge me with 50 lbs. flour, 18 lbs. bacon, 20 lbs. rice, 10 lbs. sugar, 5 lbs. prunes, 1/2 lb. tea, 1/2 lb. baking powder, and bag of salt. Please take care of my dog. So long! A. D. P. S.--I'm taking the dog. Peter, like all men slow to anger, lost his temper with startling effect. Tearing the note off the door and grinding it under foot, he cursed the runaway from a full heart. Eva, hearing, hastily called the children indoors, and thrusting them behind her peeped into the store. Peter, purple in the face, was wildly brandishing his arms. Eva closed the door very softly and gave the children bread and molasses to keep them quiet. Meanwhile the storm continued to rage. "The young fool! To run off without a word! I'd have let him go gladly if he'd said anything--and given him a good man! But to go alone! He'll break an arm and die in the bush! And to leave me like this with the year's outfit due next week! "I'll not see him again until cold weather--if I ever see him! Fifty pounds of flour--with his appetite! He'll starve to death if he doesn't drown himself first! He'll never get to Enterprise! Oh, the consummate young ass! Damn Poly Goussard and his romantic stories!" CHAPTER III. COLINA. John Gaviller and Colina were at breakfast in the big clap-boarded villa at Fort Enterprise. They were a good-looking pair, and at heart not dissimilar, though it must be taken into account that the same qualities manifest themselves differently in a man of affairs and a romantic, irresponsible young woman. They were secretly proud of each other--and quarreled continually. Colina, by virtue of her reckless honesty, frequently got the better of her canny father. "Well," he said, now with a gesture of surrender, "if you're determined to stay here, all right--but you must live differently." At the word "must" an ominous gleam shot from under Colina's lashes. "What's the matter with my way of living?" she asked with deceitful mildness. "This tearing around the country on horseback," he said. "Going off all day hunting with this man and that--and spending the night in native cabins. As long as I considered you were here on a visit I said nothing--" "Oh, didn't you!" murmured Colina sarcastically. "--But if you are going to make this country your home, you must consider your reputation in the community just the same as anywhere else--more, indeed; we live in a tiny little world here, where our smallest actions are scrutinized and discussed." He took a swallow of coffee. Colina played with her food sulkily. Her silence encouraged him to proceed: "Another thing," he said with a deprecating smile, "comparatively speaking, I occupy an exalted position now. I am the head of all things, such as they are. Great or small this entails certain obligations on a man. I have to study all my words and acts. "If you are going to stay here with me I shall expect you to assume your share; to consider my interests, to support me; to play the game as they say. What I object to is your impulsiveness, your outspokenness with the people. Remember, everybody here is your dependent. It is always a mistake to be open and frank with dependents. They don't understand it, and if they do, they presume upon it. "Be guided by my experience; no one could justly accuse me of any lack of affability or friendliness in dealing with the people here--but they never know what I am thinking of!" "Admirable!" murmured Colina, "but I'm not a directors' meeting!" "Colina!" said her father indignantly. "It's not fair for you to drag that in about my standing by you and supporting you!" she went on warmly. "You know I'll do that as long as I live! But I must be allowed to do it in my own way. I'm an adult and an individual. I differ from you. I've a right to differ from you. It is because these people are my inferiors that I can afford to be perfectly natural with them. As for their presuming on it, you needn't fear! I know how to take care of that!" "A little more reserve," murmured her father. Colina paused and looked at him levelly. "Dad, what a fool you are about me!" she said coolly. "Colina!" he cried again, and pounded the table. She met his indignant glance squarely. "I mean it," she said. "I'm your daughter, am I not?--and mother's? You must know yourself by this time; you must have known mother--you ought to understand me a little but you won't try--you're clever enough in everything else! You've made up an idea for yourself of what a daughter ought to be, and you're always trying to make me fit it!" Gaviller scarcely listened to this. "I'll have to bring in a chaperon for you!" he cried. "Oh, Lord!" groaned Colina. "Anything but that! What do you want me to do?" "Merely to live like other girls," said Gaviller; "to observe the proprieties." "That's why I couldn't get along at school," muttered Colina gloomily. "You might as well send me back." "You're simply headstrong!" said her father severely. "You won't try to be different." "Dad," said Colina suddenly, "what did you come north for in the first place, thirty years ago?" The question caught him a little off his guard. "A natural love of adventure, I suppose," he said carelessly. "Perfectly natural!" said Colina. "Was your father pleased?" Gaviller began to see her drift. "No!" he said testily. "And when you went back for her," Colina persisted, "didn't my mother run away north with you, against the wishes of her parents?" "Your mother was a saint!" cried Gaviller indignantly. "Certainly," said Colina coolly, "but not the psalm-singing kind. What do you expect of the child of such a couple?" "Not another word!" cried Gaviller, banging the table--last refuge of outraged fathers. Colina was unimpressed. "Now you're simply raising a dust to conceal the issue," she said relentlessly. Gaviller chewed his mustache in offended silence. Colina did not spare him. "Do you think you can make your child and hers into a prim miss, to sit at home and work embroidery?" she demanded. "Upon my word, if I were a boy I believe you'd suggest putting me in a bank!" John Gaviller helped himself to another egg with great dignity and removed the top. "Don't be absurd, Colina," he said with a weary air. It was a transparent assumption. Colina saw that she had reduced him utterly. She smiled winningly. "Dad, if you'd only let me be myself! We could be such pals if you wouldn't try to play the heavy father!" "Is it being yourself to act like a harum-scarum tomboy?" inquired Gaviller sarcastically. Colina laughed. "Yes!" she said boldly. "If that's what you want to call it? There's something in me," she went on seriously. "I don't know what it is--some wild strain; something that drives me headlong; makes me see red when I am balked! Maybe it is just too much physical energy. "Well, if you let me work it off it does no harm. If I can ride all day, or paddle or swim, or go hunting with Michel or one of the others; and be interested in what I'm doing, and come home tired and sleep without dreaming--why everything is all right. But if you insist on cooping me up!--well, I'm likely to turn out something worse than harum-scarum, that's all!" Gaviller flung up his arms. "Really, you'll have to go back to your aunt," he said grimly. "The responsibility of looking after you is too great!" Colina laughed out of sheer vexation. "The silly ideas fathers have!" she cried. "Nobody can look after _me_, not you, not my aunt, nobody but myself! Why won't you understand that! I don't know exactly what dangers you fancy are threatening me. If it is from men, be at ease! I can put the fear of God into them! It is the sweet and gentle girl you would like to have that is in danger there!" "I'm afraid you'll have to go back," said Gaviller. Colina drew her beautiful straight brows together. "You make me think you simply want to get me off your hands," she said sullenly. Gaviller shook his head. "You know I love to have you with me," he said simply. "Then consider me a fixture!" said Colina serenely. "This is my country!" she went on enthusiastically. "It suits me. I like its uglinesses and its hardships, too! I hated it in the city. Do you know what they called me?--the wild Highlander! "Up here everybody understands my wildness, and thinks none the worse of me. It was different in the city--you've always lived in the north, you old innocent--you don't know! Men, for instance, in society they have a curious logic. They seem to think if a girl is natural she must be bad! Sometimes they acted on that assumption--" "What did I tell you!" cried her father. "Men are the same everywhere!" "Well," said Colina, smiling to herself, "they didn't get very far. And no man ever tried it twice. Up here--how different. I don't have to think of such things." "I have to think of settling you in life," said Gaviller gloomily. "There is no one for you up here." "I'm not bothering my head about that," said Colina. She went on with a kind of splendid insolence: "Every man wants me. I'll choose one when I'm ready. I can't see anything in men except as comrades. The decent ones are timid with women, and the bold ones are--well--rather beastly. I'm looking for a man who's brave and decent, too. If there's no such thing--" She rose from the table. Colina's was a body designed to fill a riding-habit, and she wore one from morning till night. She was as tall as a man of middle height, and her tawny hair piled on top of her head made her seem taller. "Well?" said Gaviller. "Oh, I'll choose the handsomest beast I can find," she said, laughing over her shoulder and escaping from the room before he could answer. John Gaviller finished his egg with a frown. Colina had this trick of breaking things off in the middle, and it irritated him. He had an orderly mind. CHAPTER IV. THE MEETING. Colina groomed her own horse, whistling like a boy. Saddling him, she rode east along the trail by the river, with the fenced grain fields on her right hand. Beyond the fields she could gallop at will over the rolling, grassy bottoms, among the patches of scrub and willow. It was not an impressively beautiful scene--the river was half a mile wide, broken by flat wooded islands overflowed at high water; the banks were low, and at this season muddy. But the sky was as blue as Colina's eyes, and the prairie, quilted with wild flowers, basked in the delicate radiance that only the northern sun can bestow. On a horse Colina could not be actively unhappy, nevertheless she was conscious of a certain dissatisfaction with life. Not as a result of the discussion with her father--she felt she had come off rather well from that. But it was warm, and she felt a touch of languor. Fort Enterprise was a little dull in early summer. The fur season was over, and the flour mill was closed; the Indians had gone to their summer camps; and the steamboat had lately departed on her first trip up river, taking most of the company employees in her crew. There was nothing afoot just now but farming, and Colina was not much interested in that. In short, she was lonesome. She rode idly with long detours inland in search of nothing at all. Loping over the grass and threading her way among the poplar saplings, Colina proceeded farther than she had ever been in this direction since summer set in. She saw the painter's brush for the first time--that exquisite rose of the prairies--and instantly dismounted to gather a bunch to thrust in her belt. The delicate, ashy pink of the flower matched the color in her cheeks. On her rides Colina was accustomed to dismount when she chose, and Ginger, her sorrel gelding, would crop the grass contentedly until she was ready to mount again. To-day the spring must have been in his blood, too. When Colina went to him he tossed his head coquettishly, and trotting away a few steps, turned and looked at her with a droll air. Colina called him in dulcet tones, and held out an inviting hand. Ginger waywardly wagged his head and danced with his forefeet. This was repeated several times--Colina's voice ever growing more honeyed as the rose in her cheeks deepened. The inevitable happened--she lost her temper and stamped her foot; whereupon Ginger, with lifted tail, ran around her like a circus horse. Colina, alternately cajoling and commanding, pursued him bootlessly. Fond as she was of exercise, she preferred having the horse use his legs. She sat down in the grass and cried a little out of sheer impotence. Ginger resumed his interrupted meal on the grass with insulting unconcern. Colina was twelve miles from home--and hungry. Desperately casting her eyes around the horizon to discover some way out of her dilemma, Colina perceived a thin spiral of smoke rising above the edge of the river bank about a quarter of a mile away. She had no idea who could be camping on the river at this place, but she instantly set off with her own confident assurance of finding aid. Ginger displayed no inclination to leave the particular patch of prairie grass he had chosen for his luncheon. As Colina approached the edge of the bank she heard a voice. She herself made no sound in the grass. Looking over the edge she saw a man and a dog on the stony beach below, both with their backs to her and oblivious of her approach. Of the man, she had a glimpse only of a broad blue flannel back and a mop of black hair. She heard him say to the dog: "Our last meal alone, old fel'! To-night, if we're lucky, we'll dine with her!" This conveyed nothing to Colina--she was to remember it later. In speaking he turned his profile, and she received an agreeable shock; he was young; he was not common; he had a fair, pink skin that contrasted oddly with his swarthy locks; his bold profile accorded with her fancy. What caught her off her guard was his affectionate, quizzical glance at the dog. It was a seductive glimpse of a stern face softened. The dog scented her and barked; the man turning sprang to his feet. Colina experienced a sudden and extraordinary confusion of her faculties. He was taller than she expected--that was not it; in the glance of his eager dark eyes there was a quality that took her completely by surprise--that took her breath away. This in one of the sex she condescended to! The young man was completely dumfounded by the sight of her. He hung in suspended motion; his wide eyes leaped to hers--and clung there. They silently gazed at each other--each with much the same pained and breathless look. Colina struggled hard against the spell. She was badly flustered. "Please catch my horse for me," she said with, under the circumstances, intolerable hauteur. He did not move. She saw a dull, red tide creep up from his neck, over his face and into his hair. She had never seen such a painful blush. He kept his head up, and though his eyes became agonized with embarrassment, they clung doggedly to hers. She knew intuitively that he blushed because he fancied that she, from his rough clothes, had judged him to be a common tramp. She was glad of it--his blush gave her a little security. But she could not support his glance. She all but stamped her foot as she said: "Didn't you hear me?" With a visible effort the young man collected his wits, and with unsmiling face started to climb toward Colina. The dog, making to follow him, he spoke a word of command and it returned to the boat. Face to face with him Colina felt as if his glowing dark eyes were burning holes in her. "Where is he?" he asked soberly. Colina merely pointed across the bottoms where Ginger could be seen still busy with the grass. "I'll bring him to you," he said coolly, and started off. His assurance exasperated Colina. "It isn't as easy as you think," she said haughtily, "or I shouldn't have asked for help!" He turned his head, his face suddenly breaking into a beaming smile. "I know horses," he said. Colina was furious. He made her feel like a little girl. She bit her lips to keep in the undignified answer that sprang to them. Inside her she said it: "Smarty! I shall laugh when he leads you a chase!" She sat down in the grass under a poplar-tree, prepared to enjoy the circus from afar. There was none. Ginger having tired of his waywardness, perhaps, or having eaten his fill, quietly allowed himself to be taken. The young man came riding back on him. Colina could almost have wept with mortification. He slipped out of the saddle beside her and stood waiting for her to mount. There was no consciousness of triumph in his manner. His eyes flew back to hers with the same extraordinarily naïve glance. When Colina frowned under it he literally dragged them away, but in spite of him they soon returned. Many a man's eyes had been offered to Colina, but never a pair that glowed with a fire like this. They were at the same time bold and humble. They contained an imploring appeal without any sacrifice of self-respect. They disturbed Colina to such a degree she scarcely knew what she was doing. He offered her a hand to mount, and she drew back with an offended air. He instantly yielded, and she mounted unaided--mounted awkwardly, and bit her lip again. He did not immediately loose her rein. Out of the corner of her eye Colina saw that he was breathing fast. "It will he late before you get home," he said. His voice was very low--she could feel the effort he was making not to let it shake. "Will you--will you eat with me?" The modest tendering of this bold invitation disarmed Colina. She hesitated. He went on with a touch of boyish eagerness: "There's only a traveler's grub, of course. I got a fish on a night-line this morning. Also there's a prairie chicken roasted yesterday." A self-deceiving argument ran through Colina's brain like quick-silver: "If I go, I shall be tormented by the feeling that he got the best of me; if I stay a while I can put him in his place!" She dismounted. The young man turned abruptly to tie Ginger to the poplar-tree, but even in the boundary of his cheek Colina read his beaming happiness. With scarcely another glance at her he plunged down the bank and set to work over his fire. Colina sedately followed and seated herself on a boulder to wait until she should be served. Now that he no longer looked at her, Colina could not help watching him. A dangerous softness began to work in her breast; he was so boyish, so clumsy, so anxious to entertain her fittingly--his unconsciousness of her nearness was such a transparent assumption. Colina was alarmed by her own weakness. She looked resolutely at the dog. He was a mongrel black and tan, bigger than a terrier, and he had a ridiculous curly tail. He had received her with an insulting air of indifference. "What an ugly dog!" Colina said coolly. The young man swung around and affectionately rubbed the dog's ear. "The best sporting dog in Athabasca," he said promptly, but without any resentment. Colina bit her lip again. It seemed as if everything she did was mean. "Of course his looks haven't anything to do with his good qualities," she said. Here she was apologizing. "He's almost human," said the young man. "I talk to him like a person." "Come here, dog," said Colina. The animal was suddenly stricken with deafness. "What's his name?" she asked. "Job." "Come here, Job!" said Colina coaxingly. Job looked out across the river. "Job!" said his master sternly. The dog sprang to him as if they had been parted for years, and frantically licked his hand. This display of boundless affection was suspiciously self-conscious. The young man led him to Colina's feet. "Mind your manners!" he commanded. Job in utter abasement offered her a limp paw. She touched it, and he scampered back to his former place with an air of relief, and turning his back to her lay down again. It cannot be said that his enforced obedience made her feel any better. CHAPTER V. AN INVITATION TO DINE. Lunch was not long in preparing, for the rice had been on the fire when Colina first appeared. The young man set forth the meal as temptingly as he could on a flat rock, and at the risk of breaking his sinews carried another rock for Colina to sit upon. His apologies for the discrepancies in the service disarmed Colina again. "I am no fine lady," she said. "I know what it is to live out." Colina was hungry and the food good. A good understanding rapidly established itself between them. But the young man made no move to serve himself. Indeed he sat at the other side of the rock-table and produced his pipe. "Why don't you eat?" demanded Colina. "There is plenty of time," he said, blushing. "But why wait?" "Well--there's only one knife and fork." "Is that all?" said Colina coolly. "We can pass them back and forth--can't we?" Starting up and dropping the pipe in his pocket he flashed a look of extraordinary rapture on her that brought Colina's eyelids fluttering down like winged birds. He was a disconcerting young man. Resentment moved her, but she couldn't think of anything to say. They ate amicably, passing the utensils back and forth. After a while Colina asked: "Do you know who I am?" "Of course," he said. "Miss Colina Gaviller." "I don't know you," she said. "I am Ambrose Doane, of Moultrie." "Where is Moultrie?" "On Lake Miwasa--three hundred miles down the river." "Three hundred miles!" exclaimed Colina. "Have you come so far alone?" "I have Job," Ambrose said with a smile. "How much farther are you going?" she asked. "Only to Fort Enterprise." "Oh!" she said. The question in the air was: "What did you come for?" Both felt it. "Do you know my father?" Colina asked. "No," said Ambrose. "I suppose you have business with him?" "No," he said again. Colina glanced at him with a shade of annoyance. "We don't have many visitors in the summer," she said carelessly. "I suppose not," said Ambrose simply. Colina was a woman--and an impulsive one; it was bound to come sooner or later: "What did you come for?" His eyes pounced on hers with the same look of mixed boldness and apprehension that she had marked before; she saw that he caught his breath before answering. "To see you!" he said. Colina saw it coming, and would have given worlds to have recalled the question. She blushed all over--a horrible, unequivocal, burning blush. She hated herself for blushing--and hated him for making her. "Upon my word!" she stammered. It was all she could get out. He did not triumph over her discomfiture; his eyes were cast down, and his hand trembled. Colina could not tell whether he were more bold or simple. She had a sinking fear that here was a young man capable of setting all her maxims on men at naught. She didn't know what to do with him. "What do you know about me?" she demanded. It sounded feeble in her own ears. She felt that whatever she might say he was marching steadily over her defenses. Somehow, everything that he said made them more intimate. "There was a fellow from here came by our place," said Ambrose simply. "Poly Goussard. He told us about you--" "Talked about me!" cried Colina stormily. "You should have heard what he said," said Ambrose with his venturesome, diffident smile. "He thinks you are the most beautiful woman in the world!" Ambrose's eyes added that he agreed with Poly. It was impossible for Colina to be angry at this, though she wished to be. She maintained a haughty silence. Ambrose faltered a little. "I--I haven't talked to a white girl in a year," he said. "This is our slack season--so I--I came to see you." If Colina had been a man this was very like what she might have said---to meet with candor equal to her own in the other sex, however, took all the wind out of her sails. "How dare you!" she murmured, conscious of sounding ridiculous. Ambrose cast down his eyes. "I have not said anything insulting," he said doggedly. "After what Poly said it was natural for me to want to come and see you." "In the slack season," she murmured sarcastically. "I couldn't have come in the winter," he said naïvely. Colina despised herself for disputing with him. She knew she ought to have left at once--but she was unable to think of a sufficiently telling remark to cover a dignified retreat. "You are presumptuous!" she said haughtily. "Presumptuous?" he repeated with a puzzled air. She decided that he was more simple than bold. "I mean that men do not say such things to women," she began as one might rebuke a little boy--but the conclusion was lamentable, "to women to whom they have not even been introduced!" "Oh," he said, "I'm sorry! I can only stay a few days. I wanted to get acquainted as quickly as possible." A still small voice whispered to Colina that this was a young man after her own heart. Aloud she remarked languidly: "How about me? Perhaps I am not so anxious." He looked at her doubtfully, not quite knowing how to take this. "Really he is too simple!" thought Colina. "Of course I knew I would have to take my chance," he said. "I didn't expect you to be waiting on the bank with a brass band and a wreath of flowers!" He smiled so boyishly that Colina, in spite of herself, was obliged to smile back. Suddenly the absurd image caused them to burst out laughing simultaneously--and Colina felt herself lost. Laughter was as dangerous as a train of gunpowder. Even while he laughed Colina saw that look spring out of his eyes--the mysterious look that made her feel faint and helpless. He leaned toward her and a still more candid avowal trembled on his lips. Colina saw it coming. Her look of panic-terror restrained him. He closed his mouth firmly and turned away his head. Presently he offered her a breast of prairie chicken with a matter-of-fact air. She shook her head, and a silence fell between them--a terrible silence. "Oh, why don't I go!" thought Colina despairingly. It was Ambrose who eased the tension by saying comfortably: "It's a great experience to travel alone. Your senses seem to be more alert--you take in more." He went on to tell her about his trip, and Colina lulled to security almost before she knew it was recounting her own journey in the preceding autumn. It was astonishing when they stuck to ordinary matters--how like old friends they felt. Things did not need to be explained. It provided Colina with a good opportunity to retire. She rose. Ambrose's face fell absurdly. "Must you go?" he said. "I suppose I will meet you officially--later," she said. He raised a pair of perplexed eyes to her face. "I never thought about an introduction," he said quite humbly. "You see we never had any ladies up here." In the light of his uncertainty Colina felt more assured. "Oh, we're sufficiently introduced by this time," she said offhand. "But--what should I do at the fort?" he asked. "How can I see you again?" She smiled with a touch of scorn at his simplicity. "That is for you to contrive. You will naturally call on my father; if he likes you, he will bring you home to dinner." Ambrose smiled with obscure meaning. "He will never do that," he said. "Why not?" demanded Colina. "My partner and I are free-traders," he explained; "the only free-traders of any account in the Company's territory. Naturally they are bitter against us." "But business is one thing and hospitality another," said Colina. "You do not know what hard feeling there is in the fur trade," he suggested. "You do not know my father," she retorted. "Only by reputation," said Ambrose. The shade of meaning in his voice was not lost on her. Her cheeks became warm. "All white men who come to the post dine with us as a matter of course," she said. "We owe you the hospitality. I invite you now in his name and my own." "I would rather you asked him about me first," said Ambrose. This made Colina really angry. "I do not consult him about household matters," she said stiffly. "Of course not," said Ambrose; "but in this case I would be more comfortable if you spoke to him first." "Are you afraid of him?" she inquired with raised eyebrows. "No," said Ambrose coolly; "but I don't want to get you into trouble." Colina's eyes snapped. "Thank you," she said; "you needn't be anxious. You had better come--we dine at seven." "I will be there," he said. By this time she was mounted. As she gave Ginger his head Ambrose deftly caught her hand and kissed it. Colina was not displeased. If it had been self-consciously done she would have fumed. She rode home with an uncomfortable little thought nagging at her breast. Was he really so simple as she had decided? Had he not baited her into losing her temper--and insisting on his coming to dinner? Surely he could not know her so well as that! "Anyway, he _is_ coming!" she thought with a little gush of satisfaction she did not stop to examine. "I'll wear evening dress, the black taffeta, and my string of pearls. At my own table it will be easier--and with father there to support me! We will see!" CHAPTER VI. THE DINNER. Colina did not see her father until he came home from the store for dinner. She was already dressed and engaged in arranging the table. John Gaviller's eyes gleamed approvingly at the sight of her in her finery. Black silk became Colina's blond beauty admirably. Manlike, he arrogated the extra preparations to himself. He thought it was a kind of peace offering from Colina. "Well!" he began jocularly, only to check himself at the sight of three places set at the table. "Who's coming?" he demanded with natural surprise. Colina, busying herself attentively with the centerpiece of painter's brush, wondered if her father had met Ambrose Doane. She gave him a brief, offhand account of her adventure without mentioning their guest's name. "But who is it?" he asked. She answered a little breathlessly; "Ambrose Doane of Moultrie." Gaviller's face changed slightly. "H-m!" he said non-committally. "Doesn't the table look nice?" said Colina quickly. "Very nice," he said. "We must prove to ourselves once in a while that we are not savages!" "Naturally! Do you want me to dress?" Colina, who had not looked at her father, nevertheless felt the inimical atmosphere. She stooped to a touch of flattery. "You are always well dressed," she said, smiling at him. "Hm!" said Gaviller again. "Call me when you're ready." He marched off to his library. Colina breathed freely. So far so good! Ambrose Doane had not been to call on her father. He was hardly the simple youth she had decided. But she couldn't think the less of him for that. When she heard the door-bell ring--Gaviller's house boasted the only door-bell north of Caribou Lake--her heart astonished her with its thumping. She ran up to her own room. Ambrose according to instructions previously given was to be shown into the drawing-room. Another wonder of Gaviller's house was the full-length mirror imported for Colina. She ran to it now. It treated her kindly. The crisp, thin, dead-black draperies showed up her white skin in dazzling contrast. On second thought she left off the string of pearls. The effect was better without any ornament. Her face was her despair; her eyes were misty and unsure; the color came and went in her cheeks; she could not keep her lips closed. "You fool! You fool!" she stormed at herself. "A man you have seen once! He will despise you!" She could not keep the dinner waiting. Bracing herself, she started for the hall. A final glance in the mirror gave her better heart. After all she was beautiful and beautifully dressed. She descended the stairs slowly, whispering to herself at every step: "Be game!" Though the sun was still shining out-of-doors, according to Colina's fancy, every night at this hour the shutters were closed and the lamps lighted. The drawing-room was lighted by a single, tall lamp with a yellow shade. Ambrose was standing in the middle of the room. He had changed his clothes. His suit was somewhat wrinkled, and his boots unpolished, but he looked less badly than he thought. At sight of Colina he caught his breath and turned very pale. His eyes widened with something akin to awe. Colina was suddenly relieved. "So you dared to come!" she said with a careless smile. He did not answer. Plainly he could not. He stood as if rooted to the floor. Colina had meant to offer him her hand, but suddenly changed her mind. Instead, with reckless bravado considering her late state of mind, she went to the lamp and turned it up. She felt his honest, stricken glance following her, and thrilled under it. "You have not met my father?" Ambrose "took a brace" as he would have said. "No," he answered. "I thought very likely you would see him this afternoon," she said with a touch of smiling malice. His directness foiled it. "I waited down the river," he said. "I didn't want to have a row with him that might spoil to-night." "What a terrible opinion you have of poor father!" said Colina. "Does he know I'm coming?" asked Ambrose. "Certainly!" "What did he say?" "Nothing! What should he say?" "He has boasted that no free-trader ever dared set foot in his territory." "I don't believe it! It's not like him. Come along and you'll see." "Wait!" said Ambrose quickly. "Half a minute!" Colina looked at him curiously. "You don't know what this means to me!" he went on, his glowing, unsmiling eyes fixed on her. "A lady's drawing-room! A lamp with a soft, pretty shade!--and you--like that! I--I wasn't prepared for it!" Colina laughed softly. She was filled with a great tenderness for him, therefore she could jeer a little. Ambrose had not moved from the spot where she found him. "It's not fair," he went on. "You don't need that! It bowls a man over." This was the ordinary language of gallantry--yet it was different. Colina liked it. "Come on," she said lightly, "father is like a bear when he is kept waiting for dinner!" The two men shook hands in a natural, friendly way. With another man Ambrose was quite at ease. Colina approved the way her youth stood up to the famous old trader without flinching. They took places at the table, and the meal went swimmingly. Ambrose, whether he felt his affable host's secret animosity and was stimulated by it, or for another reason, suddenly blossomed into an entertainer. When her father was present he addressed Colina's ear, her chin or her golden top-knot, never her eyes. John Gaviller apparently never looked at her either, but Colina knew he was watching her closely. She was not alarmed. She had herself well in hand, and there was nothing in her politely smiling, slightly scornful air to give the most anxious parent concern. Under the jokes, the laughter, and the friendly talk throughout dinner, there were electric intimations that caused Colina's nostrils to quiver. She loved the smell of danger. It was no easy matter to keep the conversational bark on an even keel; the rocks were thick on every hand. Business, politics, and local affairs were all for obvious reasons tabooed. More than once they were near an upset, as when they began to talk of Indians. Ambrose had related the anecdote of Tom Beavertail who, upon seeing a steamboat for the first time, had made a paddle-wheel for his canoe, and forced his sons to turn him about the lake. "Exactly like them!" said John Gaviller with his air of amused scorn. "Ingenious in perfectly useless ways! Featherheaded as schoolboys!" "But I like schoolboys!" Ambrose protested. "It isn't so long since I was one myself." "Schoolboys is too good a word," said Gaviller. "Say, apes." "I have a kind of fellow-feeling for them," said Ambrose smiling. "How long have you been in the north?" "Two years." "I've been dealing with them thirty years," said Gaviller with an air of finality. Ambrose refused to be silenced. Looking around the luxurious room he felt inclined to remark, that Gaviller had made a pretty good thing out of the despised race, but he checked himself. "Sometimes I think we never give them a show," he said with a deprecating air, "We're always trying to cut them to our own pattern instead of taking them as they are. They are like schoolboys, as you say. "Most of the trouble with them comes from the fact that anybody can lead them into mischief, just like boys. If we think of what we were like ourselves before we put on long trousers it helps to understand them." Gaviller raised his eyebrows a little at hearing the law laid down by twenty-five years old. "Ah!" he said quizzically. "In my day the use of the rod was thought necessary to make boys into men!" Ambrose grew a little warm. "Certainly!" he said. "But it depends on the spirit with which it is applied. How can we do anything with them if we treat them like dirt?" "You are quite successful in handling them?" queried Gaviller dryly. "Peter Minot says so," said Ambrose simply. "That is why he took me into partnership." "He married a Cree, didn't he?" inquired Gaviller casually. Colina glanced at her father in surprise. This was hardly playing fair according to her notions. "A half-breed," corrected Ambrose. "Of course, Eva Lajeunesse, I remember now," said Gaviller. "She was quite famous around Caribou Lake some years ago." Ambrose with an effort kept his temper. "She has made him a good wife," he said loyally. "Ah, no doubt!" said Gaviller affably. "Do you live with them?" "I have my own house," said Ambrose stiffly. Here Colina made haste to create a diversion. "Aren't the Indian kids comical little souls?" she remarked. "I go to the mission school sometimes to sing and play for them. They don't think much of it. One of the girls asked me for a hair. One hair was all she wanted." The subject of Indian children proved to be innocuous. They took coffee in John Gaviller's library. "Colina brought these new-fangled notions in with her," said her father. "They're all right!" said Ambrose soberly. Colina saw the hand that held his spoon tremble slightly, and wondered why. The fact was the thought could not but occur to him: "How foolish for me to think she could ever bring her lovely, ladylike ways to my little shack!" He thrust the unnerving thought away. "I can build a bigger house, can't I?" he demanded of himself. "Anyway, I'll make the best play to get her that I can!" In the library they talked about furniture. It transpired that the trader had a passion for cabinet making, and most of the objects that surrounded them were examples of his skill. Ambrose admired them with due politeness, meanwhile his heart was sinking. He could not see the slightest chance of getting a word alone with Colina. In the middle of the evening a breed came to the door, hat in hand, to say that John Gaviller's Hereford bull was lying down in his stall and groaning. The trader bit his lip and glanced at Colina. "Would you like to come and see my beasts?" he asked affably. "Thanks," said Ambrose just as politely. "I'm no hand with cattle." He kept his eyes discreetly down. Gaviller could not very well turn him out of the house. There was no help for it. He went. CHAPTER VII. TWO INTERVIEWS. The instant the door closed behind Gaviller, Ambrose's eyes flamed up. "What a stroke of luck!" he cried. It had something the effect of an explosion there in the quiet room where they had been talking so prosily. Colina became panicky. "I don't understand you!" she said haughtily. "You do!" he cried. "You know I didn't paddle three hundred miles up-stream to talk to him! Never in my life had I anything so hard to go through with as the last two hours. I didn't dare look at you for fear of giving myself away." There was an extraordinary quality of passion in the simple words. Colina felt faint and terrified. What was one to do with a man like this! She mounted her queenliest manner. "Don't make me sorry I asked you here," she said. "Sorry?" he said. "Why should you be? You can do what you like! I can't pretend. I must say my say the best way I can. I may not get another chance!" Colina had to fight both herself and him. She made a gallant stand. "You are ridiculous!" she said. "I will leave the room until my father comes back if you can't contain yourself." He was plainly terrified by the threat, nevertheless he had the assurance to put himself between her and the door. "You have no cause to be angry with me," he said. "You know I do not disrespect you!" He was silent for a moment. His voice broke huskily. "You are wonderful to me! I have to keep telling myself you are only a woman--of flesh and blood like myself--else I would be groveling on the floor at your feet, and you would despise me!" Colina stared at him in haughty silence. "I love you!" he whispered with odd abruptness. "No woman need be insulted by hearing that. You came upon me to-day like a bolt of lightning. You have put your mark on me for life! I will never be myself again." His voice changed; he faltered, and searched for words. "I know I'm rough! I know women like to be courted regularly. It's right, too! But I have no time! I may never see you alone again. Your father will take care of that! I must tell you while I can. You can take your time to answer." Colina contrived to laugh. The sound maddened him. He took a step forward, and a vein in his forehead stood out. She held her ground disdainfully. "Don't do that!" he whispered. "It's not fair! I--I can't stand it!" "Why must you tell me?" asked Colina. "What do you expect?" "You!" he whispered hoarsely. "If God is good to me! For life." "You are mad!" she murmured. "Maybe," he said, eying her with the resentment which is so closely akin to love; "but I think you understand my madness. Talking gets us nowhere. A dozen times to-day your eyes answered mine. Either you feel it too or you are a coquette!" This brought a genuine anger to Colina's aid. Her weakness fled. "How dare you!" she cried with blazing eyes. "Coquette!" he repeated doggedly. "To dress yourself up like that to drive me mad!" Colina forgot the social amenities. "You fool!" she cried. "This is my ordinary way of dressing at night! It is not for you!" "It was for me!" he said sullenly. "You were happy when you saw its effect on me! If it's only a game I can't play it with you. It means too much to me!" "Coquette!" still made a clangor in Colina's brain that deafened her to everything else. "You are a savage!" she cried. "I'm sorry I asked you here. You needn't wait for my father to come back. Go!" "Not without a plain answer!" he said. Colina tried to laugh; she was too angry. "My answer is no!" she cried with outrageous scorn. "Now go!" He stood studying her from under lowering brows. The sight of her like that--head thrown back, eyes glittering, cheeks scarlet, and lips curled--was like a lash upon his manhood. The answer was plain enough, but an instinct from the great mother herself bade him disregard it. Suddenly his eyes flamed up. "You beauty!" he cried. Before she could move he had seized her in her finery. Colina was no weakling, but within those steely arms she was helpless. She strained away her head. He could only reach her neck, under the ear. She yielded shudderingly. "I hate you! I hate you!" she murmured. Their lips met. Colina swayed ominously on his arm. She sank down on the sofa, still straining away from him, but weakly. Suddenly she burst into passionate weeping. "What have you done to me!" she murmured. At sight of the tears he collapsed. "Ah, don't!" he whispered brokenly. "You break my heart! My darling love! What is the matter?" "I am a fool--a fool!--a fool!" she sobbed tempestuously. "To have given in to you! You will despise me!" He slipped to the floor at her feet. He strove desperately to comfort her. Tenderness lent eloquence to his clumsy, unaccustomed tongue. "Ah, don't say that! It's like sticking a knife in me! My lovely one! As if I could! You are everything to me! I have nothing in the world but you! Forgive me for being so rough! I couldn't help it! I couldn't go by anything you said. I had to find out for sure! It had to happen! What does it matter whether it was in a day or a year? The minute I saw you I knew how it was. I knew I had to have you or live like a priest till I died." Colina was not to be comforted. "You think so now!" she said. "Later, when you have tired of me a little, or if we quarreled, you would remember that I--I was too easily won!" "Ah, don't!" he cried exasperated. "If you say it again I'll have to swear. What more can I say? I love you like my life! I could not despise you without despising myself! I don't know how to put it. I sound like a fool! But--but this is what I mean. You make me seem worth while to myself." Colina's hands stole to her breast. "Ah! If I could believe you!" she breathed. "Give me time!" he begged. "What good does talking do! What I do will show you!" Little by little she allowed him to console her. Her arm stole around his shoulders, her head was lowered until her cheek lay in his hair. They came down to earth. Ambrose seated himself beside her, and looking in her shamed face laughed softly and deep. "You fraud," he said. Colina hid her face. "Don't!" she begged. He laughed more. "What are you laughing at?" she demanded. "To think how you scared me," he said. "With your grand clothes and high and mighty airs. I had to dig my toes into the floor to keep from cutting and running. And it was all bluff!" "Scared you!" said Colina. "I never in my life knew a man so utterly regardless and brutal!" "You like it," he said. Colina blushed. "I had no line to go on," said Ambrose with his engaging simplicity. "I never made love to any girls. I haven't read many books either. I guess that's all guff, anyway. I didn't know how the thing ought to be carried through. But something told me if I knuckled under to you the least bit it would be all day with Ambrose." They laughed together. John Gaviller's step sounded on the porch outside. They sprang up aghast. They had completely forgotten his existence. "Oh, Heavens!" whispered Colina. "He has eyes like a lynx!" Ambrose's eyes, darting around the room, fell upon an album of snapshots lying on the table. He flung it open. When Gaviller came in he found them standing at the table, their backs to him. He heard Ambrose ask: "Who is that comical little guy?" Colina replied: "Ahcunazie, one of the Kakisa Indians in his winter clothes." Colina turned, presenting a sufficiently composed face to her father. "Oh," she said. "You were gone a long while. What was the matter with the bull?" She strolled to the sofa and sat down. Ambrose idly closed the book and sat down across the room from her. Gaviller glanced from one to another--perhaps it was a little too well done. But his face instantly resumed its customary affability. "Nothing serious," he said. "He is quite all right again." Ambrose was tormented by the desire to laugh. He dared not meet Colina's eye. "It is terrible to lose a valuable animal up here," he said demurely. After a few desultory polite exchanges Ambrose got up to go. "I was waiting to say good night to you," he explained. "You are camping down the river, I believe." "Half a mile below the English mission. I paddled up." "I'll walk to the edge of the bank with you," said Gaviller politely. As in nearly all company posts there was a flag-pole in the most conspicuous spot on the river-bank. It was halfway between Gaviller's house and the store. At the foot of the pole was a lookout-bench worn smooth by generations of sitters. Leaving the house after a formal good night to Colina, Ambrose was escorted as far as the bench by John Gaviller. The trader held forth amiably upon the weather and crops. They paused. "Sit down for a moment," said Gaviller. "I have something particular to say to you." Ambrose suspected what was coming. But humming with happiness like a top as he was, he could not feel greatly concerned. Still in the same calm, polite voice Gaviller said: "I confess I was astonished at your assurance in coming to my house." This was a frank declaration of war. Ambrose, steeling himself, replied warily: "I did not come on business." "What did you come for?" Ambrose did not feel obliged to be as frank with father as with daughter. "I am merely looking at the country." "Well, now that you have seen Fort Enterprise," said Gaviller dryly, "you may go on or go back. I do not care so long as you do not linger." Ambrose frowned. "If you were a younger man--" he began. "You need not consider my age," said Gaviller. Ambrose measured his man. He had to confess he had good pluck. The idea of a set-to with Colina's father was unthinkable. There was nothing for him to do but swallow the affront. He bethought himself of using a little guile. "Why shouldn't I come here?" he demanded. "I don't like the way you and your partner do business," said Gaviller. There was nothing to be gained by a wordy dispute, but Ambrose was only human. "You are sore because we smashed the company's monopoly at Moultrie," he said. "Not at all," said Gaviller calmly. "The trade is free to all. What little you have taken from us is not noticeable in the whole volume. But you have deliberately set to work to destroy what it has taken two centuries to build up--the white man's supremacy. You breed trouble among the Indians. You make them insolent and dangerous." "Company talk," said Ambrose scornfully. "A man can make himself believe what he likes. We treat the Indians like human beings. Around us they're doing well for the first time. Here, where you have your monopoly, they're sick and starving!" "That is not true," said Gaviller coolly. "And, in any case, I do not mean to discuss my business with you. I deal openly. You had the opportunity to do my daughter a slight service. I have repaid it with my hospitality. We are quits. I now warn you not to show your face here again." "I shall do as I see fit," said Ambrose doggedly. "You compel me to speak still more plainly," said Gaviller. "If you are found on the Company's property again, you will be thrown off." "You cannot frighten me with threats," said Ambrose. "You are warned!" said Gaviller. He strode off to his house. CHAPTER VIII. IN AMBROSE'S CAMP. Ambrose was awakened in his mosquito-tent by an alarm from Job. The sun was just up, and it was therefore no more than three o'clock. A visitor was approaching in a canoe. In the North a caller is a caller. Ambrose crept out of his blankets and, swallowing his yawns, stuck his head in the river to clear his brain. The visitor was a handsome young breed of Ambrose's own age. Ambrose surveyed his broad shoulders, his thin, graceful waist and thighs approvingly. He rejoiced in an animal built for speed and endurance. Moreover, the young man's glance was direct and calm. This was a native who respected himself. "Tole Grampierre, me," he said, offering his hand. Ambrose grasped it. "I'm Ambrose Doane," he said. "I know," said the young breed. "Las' night I go to the store. The boys say Ambrose Doane, the free-trader, is camp' down the river. So I talk wit' my fat'er. I say I go and shake Ambrose Doane by the hand." "Will you eat?" said Ambrose. "It is early." "When you are ready," answered Tole politely. "I come early. I go back before they get up at the fort. If old man Gaviller know I come to you it mak' trouble. My fat'er he got trouble enough wit' Gaviller." Tole squatted on the beach. There is an established ritual of politeness in the North, and he was punctilious. "You are well?" he asked gravely. Ambrose set about making his fire. "I am well," he said. "Your partner, he is well?" "Peter Minot is well." "You do good trade at Lake Miwasa?" "Yes. Marten is plentiful." "Good fur here, too. Not much marten; plenty link." "Your father is well?" asked Ambrose in turn. "My fat'er is well," said Tole. "My four brot'ers well, too." "I am glad," said Ambrose. More polite conversation was exchanged while Ambrose waited for his guest to declare the object of his visit. It came at last. "Often I talk wit' my fat'er," said Tole. "I say there is not'ing for me here. Old man Gaviller all tam mad at us. We don't get along. I say I fink I go east to Lake Miwasa. There is free trade there. Maybe I get work in the summer. When they tell me Ambrose Doane is come, I say this is lucky. I will talk wit' him." "Good," said Ambrose. "Wat you t'ink?" asked Tole, masking anxiety under a careless air. "Is there work at Moultrie in the summer?" Ambrose instinctively liked and trusted his man. "Sure," he said. "There is room for good men." "Good," said Tole calmly. "I go back wit' you." Ambrose had a strong curiosity to learn of the situation at Fort Enterprise. "What do you mean by saying old man Gaviller is mad at you?" he asked. "I tell you," said Tole. He filled his pipe and got it going well before he launched on his tale. "My fat'er, Simon Grampierre, he is educate'," he began. "He read in books, he write, he spik Angleys, he spik French, he spik the Cree. We are Cree half-breed. My fat'er's fat'er, my mot'er's fat'er, they white men. We are proud people. We own plenty land. We live in a good house. We are workers. "All the people on ot'er side the river call my fat'er head man. When there is trouble all come to our house to talk to my fat'er because he is educate'. He got good sense. "Before, I tell you there is good fur here. It is the truth. But the people are poor. Every year they are more poor as last year. The people say: 'Bam-by old man Gaviller tak' our shirts! He got everyt'ing else.' They ask my fat'er w'at to do." Tole went on: "Always my fat'er say: 'Wait,' he say. 'We got get white man on our side. We got get white man who knows all outside ways. He bring an outfit in and trade wit' us.' The people don't want to wait. 'We starve!' they say. "My fat'er say: '_Non_! Gaviller not let you starve. For why, because you not bring him any fur if you dead. He will keep you goin' poor. Be patient,' my fat'er say. 'This is rich country. It is known outside. Bam-by some white man come wit' outfit and pay good prices.' "Always my fat'er try to have no trouble," continued Tole. "But old man Gaviller hear about the meetings at our house. He hear everyt'ing. He write a letter to my fat'er that the men mus' come no more. "My fat'er write back. My fat'er say: 'This my house. This people my relations, my friends. My door is open to all.' Then old man Gaviller is mad. He call my fat'er mal-content. He tak' away his discount." "Discount?" interrupted Ambrose. Tole frowned at the difficulty of explaining this in English. "All goods in the store marked by prices," he said slowly. "Too moch prices. Gaviller say for good men and good hunters he tak' part of price away. He tak' a quarter part of price away. He call that discount. If a man mak' him mad he put it back again." The working out of such a scheme was clear to Ambrose. "Hm!" he commented grimly. "This is how a monopoly gets in its innings." "Always my fat'er not want any trouble," Tole went on. "Pretty soon, I t'ink, the people not listen to him no more. They are mad. This year there will be trouble about the grain. Gaviller put the price down to dollar-fifty bushel. But he sell flour the same." "Do you mean to say he buys your grain at his own price, and sells you back the flour at his own price?" demanded Ambrose. Tole nodded. "My fat'er the first farmer here," he explained. "Long tam ago when I was little boy, Gaviller come to my fat'er. He say: 'You have plenty good land. You grow wheat and I grind it, and both mak' money.' "My fat'er say: 'I got no plow, no binder, no thresher.' Gaviller say: 'I bring them in for you.' Gaviller say: 'I pay you two-fifty bushel for wheat. I can do it up here. You pay me for the machines a little each year.' "My fat'er t'ink about it. He is not moch for farm. But he t'ink, well, some day there is no more fur. But always there is mouths for bread. If I be farmer and teach my boys, they not starve when fur is no more. "My fat'er say to Gaviller: 'All right.' Writings are made and signed. The ot'er men with good land on the river, they say they raise wheat, too. "After that the machines is brought in. Good crops is raised. Ev'rything is fine. Bam-by Gaviller put the price down to two-twenty-five. Bam-by he only pay two dollar. Tams is hard, he say. Las' year he pay one-seventy-five. Now he say one-fifty all he pay. "The farmers say they so poor now, might as well have nothing. They say they not cut the grain this year. Gaviller say it is his grain. He will go on their land and cut it. There will be trouble." "This is a kind of slavery!" cried Ambrose. "There is more to mak' trouble," Tole went on with his calm air. "Three years ago Gaviller build a fine big steamboat. He say: 'Now, boys, you can go outside when you want.' He says: 'This big boat will bring us ev'rything good and cheap from outside.' "But when she start it is thirty dollars for a man to go to the Crossing. And fifty cents for every meal. Nobody got so much money as that. "It is the same to bring t'ings in. Not'ing is cheaper. Jean Bateese Gagnon, he get a big book from outside. In that book there is all things to buy and pictures to show them. The people outside will send you the t'ings. You send money in a letter." "Mail order catalogue," suggested Ambrose. "That is the name of the book," said Tole. In describing its wonders he lost, for the first time, some of his imperturbable air. "Wa! Wa! All is so cheap inside that book. It is wonderful. Three suits of clothes cost no more as one at the Company store. "Everyt'ing is in that book. A man can get shirts of silk. A man can get a machine to milk a cow. All the people want to send money for t'ings. Gaviller say no. Gaviller say steamboat only carry Company freight. Gaviller say: 'Come to me for what you want and I get it--at regular prices.'" "And this is supposed to be a free country," said Ambrose. "The men are mad," continued Tole. "They do not'ing. Only Jean Bateese Gagnon. He is the mos' mad. He say he don' care. He send the money for a plow las' summer. All wait to see w'at Gaviller will do. "Gaviller let the steamboat bring it down. He say the freight is fifteen dollars. Jean Bateese say: 'Tak' it back again. I won't pay.' Gaviller say: 'You got to pay.' He put it on the book against Gagnon." Tole related other incidents of a like character, Ambrose listened with ever mounting indignation. There could be no mistaking the truthful ring of the simple details. Not only was Ambrose's sense of humanity up in arms, but the trader in him was angered that a competitor should profit by such unfair means. With a list of grievances on one side and unqualified sympathy on the other, the two progressed in friendship. They breakfasted together, Job making a third. Ambrose found himself more and more strongly drawn to the young fellow. He was reminded that he had no friend of his own age in the country. Tole, he said to himself, was whiter than many a white man he had known. Job, who as a rule drew the colorline sharply, was polite to Tole. Job was pleased because Tole ignored him. Uninvited overtures from strangers made Job self-conscious. Tole and Ambrose, being young, drifted away from serious business after a while. They discussed sport. Tole lost some of his gravity in talking about hunting the moose. Not until Tole was on the point of embarking did the real object of his visit transpire. "My father say he want you come to his house," he said diffidently. "Sure I will," said Ambrose. Tole lingered by his dugout, affecting to test the elasticity of his paddle on the stones. He glanced at Ambrose with a speculative eye. "Maybe you and Peter Minot open a store across the river and trade with us," he suggested with a casual air. Ambrose was staggered by the possibilities it opened up. He knew the idea was already in Peter's mind. What if he, Ambrose, should be chosen to carry it out? He sparred for wind. "I don't know," he said warily. "There is much to be considered. I will talk with your father." Tole nodded and pushed off. CHAPTER IX. LOVERS. Ambrose and Colina had had no opportunity the night before to arrange for another meeting. Ambrose stuck close to his camp, feeling somehow that the next move should come from her. It was not that he had been unduly alarmed by her father's threat, though he had a young man's healthy horror of being humiliated in the beloved one's presence. But the real reason that kept him inactive was an instinctive compunction against embroiling Colina with her father. She had only known him, Ambrose, a day; she should have a chance to make sure of her own mind, he felt. As to what he would do if Colina made no move, Ambrose could not make up his mind. He considered a night expedition to the fort; he considered sending a message by Tole. Either plan had serious disadvantages. It was a hard nut to crack. Then he heard hoofs on the prairie overhead. His heart leaped up and his problems were forgotten. He sprang to the bank. Job heard the hoofs, too, and recognized the horse. Job hopped into the empty dugout, and lay down in the bow out of sight, like a child in disgrace. At the sight of her racing toward him a dizzying joy swept over Ambrose; but something was wrong. She stopped short of him, and his heart seemed to stop, too. She was pale; her eyes had a dark look. An inward voice whispered to him that it was no more than to be expected; his happiness had been too swift, too bright to be real. He went toward her. "Colina!" he cried apprehensively. "Don't touch me!" she said sharply. He stopped. "What is the matter?" he faltered. She made no move to dismount. She did not look at him. "I--I have had a bad night," she murmured. "I came to throw myself on your generosity." "Generosity?" he echoed. "To--to ask you to forget what happened last night. I was mad!" Ambrose had become as pale as she. He had nothing to say. She stole a glance at his face. At the sight of his blank, sick dismay she quickly turned her head. A little color came back to her cheeks. There was a silence. At last he said huskily: "What has happened to change you?" "Nothing," she murmured. "I have come to my senses." His stony face and his silence terrified her. "Aren't you a little relieved?" she faltered. "It must have been a kind of madness in you, too." He raised a sudden, penetrating glance to her face. She could not meet it. It came to him that he was being put to a test. The revulsion of feeling made him brutal. Striding forward, he seized her horse by the rein. "Get off!" he harshly commanded. Colina had no thought but to obey. He tied the rein to a limb and, turning back, seized her roughly by the wrists. "What kind of a game is this?" he demanded. Colina, breathless, terrified, delighted, laughed shakily. He dropped her as suddenly as he had seized her, and walked away to the edge of the bank and sat down, staring sightlessly across the river and striving to still the tumult of his blood. He was frightened by his own passion. He had wished to hurt her. Colina went to him and humbly touched his arm. "I'm sorry," she whispered. He looked at her grimly. "You should not try such tricks," he said. "A man's endurance has its limits." There was something delicious to Colina in abasing herself before him. She caught up his hand and pressed it to her cheek. "How was I to know?" she murmured. "Other men are not like you." "I might have surprised you," he said grimly. "You did!" whispered Colina. The suspicion of a dimple showed in either cheek. He rose. "Let me alone for a minute," he said. "I'll be all right." He went to the horse and loosened the saddle girths. Colina could have crawled through the grass to his feet. She lay where he had left her until he came back. He sat down again, but not touching her. He was still pale, but he had got a grip on himself. "Tell me," he said quietly, "did you do it just for fun, or had you a reason?" "I had a reason." "What was it?" he asked in cold surprise. "I--I can't tell you while you are angry with me," she faltered. "I can't get over it right away," he said simply. "Give me time." Colina hid her face in her arm and her shoulders shook a little. It is doubtful if any real tears flowed, but the move was just as successful. He leaned over and laid a tender hand on her shoulder. "Ah, don't!" he said. "What need you care if I am angry. You know I love you. You know I--I am mad with loving you! Why--it would have been more merciful for you to shoot me down than come at me the way you did!" "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I never dreamed it would hurt so much! I had to do it--Ambrose!" It was the first time she had spoken his name. He paused for a moment to consider the wonder of it. "Why?" he asked dreamily. Colina sat up. "I worried all night about whether you would be sorry to-day," she said, averting her head from him. "I thought that nothing so swift could possibly be lasting. And then this morning father and I had a frightful row. "I was starting out to come to you, and he caught me. He all but disowned me. I came right on--I told him I was coming. And on the way here I thought--I knew I would have to tell you what had happened. "And I thought if you were secretly sorry--for last night--when you heard about father and I--you would feel that you had to stand by me anyway! And then I would never know if you really-- So I had to find out, first." This confused explanation was perfectly clear to Ambrose. "Will you always be doubting me?" he asked wistfully. "Can't you believe what you see?" She crept under his arm. "It was so sudden!" she murmured. "When I am not with you my heart fails me. How can I be sure?" He undertook to assure her with what eloquence his heart lent his tongue. The feeling was rarer than the words. "How wonderful," said Ambrose dreamily, "for two to feel the same toward each other! I always thought that women, well, just allowed men to love them." "You dear innocent!" she whispered. "If you knew! Women are not supposed to give anything away! It makes men draw back. It makes them insufferable." "It makes me humble," said Ambrose. "You boy!" she breathed. "I'm years older than you," he said. "Women's hearts are born old," said Colina; "men's never grow out of babyhood." Her head was lying back on the thick of his arm. "Your throat is as lovely--as lovely as pearl!" he whispered, brooding over her. The exquisite throat trembled with laughter. "You're coming out!" she said. "I don't care!" said Ambrose. "You're as beautiful as--what is the most beautiful thing I know?--as beautiful as a morning in June up North." "I don't know which I like better," she murmured. "Of what?" he asked. "To have you praise me or abuse me. Both are so sweet!" "Do you know," he said, "I am wondering this minute if I am dreaming! I'm afraid to breathe hard for fear of waking up." She smiled enchantingly. "Kiss me!" she whispered. "These are real lips." "Sit up," he said presently, with a sigh, "We must talk hard sense to each other. What the devil are we going to do?" She leaned against his shoulder. "Whatever you decide," she said mistily. "What did your father say to you?" asked Ambrose. She shuddered. "Hideous quarrelling!" she said. "I have the temper of a devil, Ambrose!" "I don't care," he said. "When I told him where I was going he took me back in the library and started in," she went on. "He was so angry he could scarcely speak. If he had let it go it wouldn't have been so bad. But to try to make believe he wasn't angry! His hypocrisy disgusted me. "To go on about my own good and all that, and all the time he was just plain mad! I taunted him until he was almost in a state of ungovernable fury. He would not mention you until I forced him to. "He said I must give him my word never to see you or speak to you again. I refused, of course. He threatened to lock me up. He said things about you that put me beside myself. We said ghastly things to each other. We are very much alike. You'd better think twice before you marry into such a family, Ambrose." "I take my chance," he said. "I'm sorry now," Colina went on. "I know he is, too. Poor old fellow! I have you." "You mustn't break with him yet," said Ambrose anxiously. "I know. But how can I go back and humble myself?" "He'll meet you half-way." "If--if we could only get in the dugout and go now!" she breathed. He did not answer. She saw him turn pale. "Wouldn't it be the best way," she murmured, "since it's got to be anyway?" He drew a long breath and shook his head. "I wouldn't take you now," he said doggedly. "Of course not!" she said quickly. "I was only joking. But why?" she added weakly. Her hand crept into his. "It wouldn't be fair," he said, frowning. "It would be taking too much from you." "Too much!" she murmured, with an obscure smile. Ambrose struggled with the difficulty of explaining what he meant. "I never do anything prudent myself. I hate it. But I can't let you chuck everything--without thinking what you are doing. You ought to stay home a while--and be sure." "It isn't going to be so easy," she said, "quarreling continually." "I sha'n't see you again until I come for you," said Ambrose. "And it's useless to write letters from Moultrie to Enterprise. I'm out of the way. Why can't the question of me be dropped between you and your father?" "Think of living on from month to month without a word! It will be ghastly!" she cried. "You've only known me two days," he said sagely. "I could not leave such a gap as that." "How coldly you can talk about it!" she cried rebelliously. Ambrose frowned again. "When you call me cold you shut me up," he said quietly. "But if you do not make a fuss about me every minute," she said naïvely, "it shames me because I am so foolish about you." Ambrose laughed suddenly. There followed another interlude of celestial silliness. This time it was Colina who withdrew herself from him. "Ah," she said with a catch of the breath, "every minute of this is making it harder. I shall want to die when you leave me." Ambrose attempted to take her in his arms again. "No," she insisted. "Let us try to be sensible. We haven't decided yet what we're going to do." "I'm going home," said Ambrose, "to work like a galley-slave." "It is so far," she murmured. "I'll find some way of letting you hear from me. Twice before the winter sets in I'll send a messenger. And you, you keep a little book and write in it whenever you think of me, and send it back by my messenger." "A little book won't hold it all," she said naïvely. "Meanwhile I'll be making a place for you. I couldn't take you to Moultrie." She asked why. "Eva, Peter's wife," he explained. "In a way Peter is my boss, you see. It would be a horrible situation." "I see," said Colina. "But if there was no help for it I could." "Ah, you're too good to me!" he cried. "But it won't be necessary. Peter and I have always intended to open other posts. I'll take the first one, and you and I will start on our own. Think of it! It makes me silly with happiness!" Upon this foundation they raised a shining castle in the air. "I must go," said Colina finally, "or father will be equipping an armed force to take me." "You must go," he agreed, but weakly. They repeated it at intervals without any move being made. At last she got up. "Is this--good-by?" she faltered. He nodded. They both turned pale. They were silent. They gazed at each other deeply and wistfully. "Ah! I can't! I can't!" murmured Colina brokenly. "Such a little time to be happy!" They flew to each other's arms. "No--not quite good-by!" said Ambrose shakily. "I'll write to you to-morrow morning--everything I think of to-night. I'll send it by Tole Grampierre. You can send an answer by him." "Ah, my dear love, if you forget me I shall die!" "You doubt me still! I tell you, you have changed everything for me. I cannot forget you unless I lose my mind!" CHAPTER X. ANOTHER VISITOR. Ambrose, having filled the day as best he could with small tasks, was smoking beside his fire and enviously watching his dog. Job had no cares to keep him wakeful. It was about eight o'clock, and still full day. It was Ambrose's promise to visit Simon Grampierre that had kept him inactive all day. He did not wish to complicate the already delicate situation between Grampierre and Gaviller by an open visit to the former. He meant to go with Tole at dawn. Suddenly Job raised his head and growled. In a moment Ambrose heard the sound of a horse approaching at a walk above. Thinking of Colina, his heart leaped--but she would never come at a walk! An instinct of wariness bade him sit where he was. A mounted man appeared on the bank above. It was a breed forty-five years old perhaps, but vigorous and youthful still; good looking, well kept, with an agreeable manner; thus Ambrose's first impressions. The stranger rode a good horse. "Well?" he said, looking down on Ambrose in surprise. "Tie your horse and come down," said Ambrose politely. He welcomed the diversion. This man must have come from the fort. Perhaps he had news. Face to face with the stranger, Ambrose was sensible that he had to deal with an uncommon character. There was something about him, he could not decide what, that distinguished him from every other man of Indian blood that Ambrose had ever met. He wore a well-fitting suit of blue serge and a show of starched linen, in itself a distinguishing mark up north. "Quite a swell!" was Ambrose's inward comment. "You are Ambrose Doane, I suppose?" he said in English as good as Ambrose's own. Ambrose nodded. "I knew you had dinner with Mr. Gaviller last night," the man went on, "but as you didn't drop in on us at the store to-day I supposed you had gone back. I didn't expect to find you here." He was fluent for one of his color--too fluent the other man felt. Ambrose was sizing him up with interest. It finally came to him what the man's distinguishing quality was. It was his open look, an expression almost of benignity, absolutely foreign to the Indian character. Indians may give their eyes freely to one another, but a white man never sees beneath the glassy surface. This Indian in look and manner resembled an English country gentleman, much sunburnt; or one of those university-bred East Indian potentates who affect motor-cars and polo ponies. Oddly enough his candid look affronted Ambrose. "It isn't natural," he told himself. "I am Gordon Strange, bookkeeper at Fort Enterprise," the stranger volunteered. The bookkeeper of a big trading-post is always second in command. Ambrose understood that he was in the presence of a person of consideration in the country. "Sit down," he said. "Fill up your pipe." Strange obeyed. "We're supposed to be red-hot rivals in business," he said with an agreeable laugh. "But that needn't prevent, eh? Funny I should stumble on you like this! I ride every night after supper--a man needs a bit of exercise after working all day in the store. I saw the light of your fire." He was too anxious to have it understood that the meeting was accidental. Ambrose began to suspect that he had ridden out on purpose to see him. The better men among the natives, such as Tole Grampierre, have a pride of their own; but they never presume to the same footing as the white men. Strange, however, talked as one gentleman to another. There was nothing blatant in it; he had a well-bred man's care for the prejudices of another. Nevertheless, as they talked on Ambrose began to feel a curious repugnance to his visitor, that made him wary of his own speech. "Too damn gentlemanly!" he said to himself. "Why didn't you come in to see us to-day?" inquired Strange. "We don't expect a traveler to give us the go-by." "Well," said Ambrose dryly, "I had an idea that my room would be preferred to my company." "Nonsense!" said Strange, laughing. "We don't carry our business war as far as that. Why, we want to show you free-traders what a fine place we have, so we can crow over you a little. Anyway, you dined with Mr. Gaviller, didn't you?" "John Gaviller would never let himself off any of the duties of hospitality," said Ambrose cautiously. He was wondering how far Strange might be admitted to Gaviller's confidence. That he was being drawn out, Ambrose had no doubt at all, but he did not know just to what end. Strange launched into extensive praises of John Gaviller. "I ought to know," he said in conclusion. "I've worked for him twenty-nine years. He taught me all I know. He's been a second father to me." Ambrose felt as an honest man hearing an unnecessary and fulsome panegyric must feel, slightly nauseated. He said nothing. Strange was quick to perceive the absence of enthusiasm. He laughed agreeably. "I suppose I can hardly expect you to chime in with me," he said. "The old man is death on free-traders!" "I have nothing against him," said Ambrose quickly. "Of course I don't always agree with him on matters of policy," Strange went on. "Curious, isn't it, how a man's ruling characteristic begins to get the better of him as he grows old. "Mr. Gaviller is always just--but, well, a leetle hard. He's pushing the people a little too far lately. I tell him so to his face--I oppose him all I can. But of course he's the boss." Ambrose began to feel an obscure and discomforting indignation at his visitor. He wished he would go. "You really must see our plant before you go back," said Strange; "the model farm, the dairy herd, the flourmill, the sawmill. Will you come up to-morrow and let me take you about?" His glibness had the effect of rendering Ambrose monosyllabic. "No," he said. "Oh, I say," said Strange, laughing, "what did you come to Fort Enterprise for if you feel that way about us?" Under his careless air Ambrose thought he distinguished a certain eagerness to hear the answer. So he said nothing. "I'm afraid you and the old gentleman must have had words," Strange went on, still smiling. "Take it from me, his bark is worse than his bite. If he broke out at you, he's sorry for it now. It takes half my time to fix up his little differences with the people here." He paused to give the other an opportunity to speak. Ambrose remained mum. "The old man certainly has a rough side to his tongue," murmured Strange insinuatingly. "You're jumping to conclusions," said Ambrose coolly. "John Gaviller gave me no cause for offense. I was well entertained at his house." "U-m!" said Strange. He seemed rather at a loss. Presently he went on to tell in a careless voice of the coyote hunts they had. Afterward he casually inquired how long Ambrose meant to stay in the neighborhood. "I don't know," was the blunt answer. "Well, really!" said Strange with his laugh--the sound of it was becoming highly exasperating to Ambrose. "I don't want to pry into your affairs, but you must admit it looks queer for you to be camping here on the edge of the company reservation without ever coming in." Ambrose was wroth with himself for not playing a better part, but the man affected him with such repugnance he could not bring himself to dissimulate, "Sorry," he said stiffly. "You'll have to make what you can of it." Strange got up. His candid air now had a touch of manly pride. "Oh, I can take a hint!" he said. "Hanged if I know what you've got against me!" "Nothing whatever," said Ambrose. "I come to you in all friendliness--" "Thought you said you stumbled on me," interrupted Ambrose. "I mean of course when I saw you here I came in friendliness," Strange explained with dignity. "Well, go in friendliness, and no harm done on either side," said Ambrose coolly. For a brief instant Strange lost his benignant air. "I've lived north all my life," he said. "And I never met with the like. We have different ideas about hospitality." "Very likely," said Ambrose coolly. "Good night!" When his visitor rode away Ambrose turned with relief to his dog. The sight of Job's honest ugliness was good to him. "He's a cur, Job!" he said strongly. "A snake in the grass! An oily scoundrel! I don't know how I know it, but I know it! A square man would have punched me the way I talked to him." Job wagged his tail in entire approval of his master's judgment. Ambrose turned in, feeling better for having spoken his mind. Nevertheless, as he lay waiting for sleep it occurred to him that he had been somewhat hasty. After all, he had nothing to go on. And, supposing Strange were what he thought him, how foolish he, Ambrose, had been to show his band. If he had been craftier he might have learned things of value for him to know. Following this unsatisfactory train of thought, he fell asleep. CHAPTER XI. ALEXANDER SELKIRK AND FAMILY. Again Ambrose was awakened by a furious barking from Job. It was even earlier than on the preceding morning. The sun was not up; the river was like a gray ghost. Ambrose, expecting Tole, looked for a dugout. There was none in sight. Job's agitated barks were addressed in the other direction. Issuing from his tent, Ambrose beheld a quaint little man squatting on top of the bank like an image. He had an air of strange patience, as if he had been waiting for hours, and expected to wait. His brown mask of a face changed not a line at the sight of Ambrose. "What do you want?" demanded the white man. "Please, I want spik wit' you," the little man softly replied. "Come down here then," said Ambrose. The early caller looked at Job apprehensively. Ambrose silenced the dog with a command, and the man came slowly down the bank, cringing a little. The quaintness of aspect was largely due to the fact that he wore a coat and trousers originally designed for a tall, stout man. Ambrose suspected he had a child to deal with until he saw the wrinkles and the sophisticated eyes. "Who are you?" he asked. "I Alexander Selkirk, me," was the answer. Ambrose could not but smile at the misapplication of the sonorous Scotch name to such a manikin. "You Ambrose Doane?" the other said solemnly. "Everybody seems to know me," said Ambrose. Alexander stared at him with a sullen, walled, speculative regard, exactly, Ambrose thought, like a schoolboy facing an irate master, and wondering where the blow will fall. To carry out this effect he was holding something inside his voluminous jacket, something that suggested contraband. "What have you got there?" demanded Ambrose. Without changing a muscle of his face, Alexander undid a button and produced a gleaming black pelt. Ambrose gasped. It was a beautiful black fox. Such a prize does not come a trader's way once in three seasons. The last black fox Minot & Doane had secured brought twelve hundred dollars in London--and it was not so fine a specimen as this. Lustrous, silky, black as anthracite; every hair in place, and not a white hair showing except the tuft at the end of the brush. "Where did you get it?" Ambrose asked, amazed. "I trap him, me, myself," said Alexander. "When?" "Las' Februar'." "Are you offering it to me?" asked Ambrose, eying it desirously. "'Ow much?" demanded Alexander, affecting a wall-eyed indifference. Ambrose made a more careful examination. There was no doubt of it; the skin was perfect. He thrilled at the idea of returning with such a prize to his partner. He made a rapid calculation. "Five hundred and fifty cash," he said. "Seven hundred fifty in trade." A spark showed in Alexander's eyes. "It is yours," he said. "How can we make a trade?" asked Ambrose, perplexed. "John Gaviller would never honor any order of mine. I have no goods here to give you in trade." "All right," said Alexander imperturbably. "I go to Moultrie to get goods." "You, too," said Ambrose. "I can't import you all." "I got go Moultrie, me," said Alexander. "I got trouble wit' Gaviller. He starve me and my children. They sick." "Starve you!" "Gaviller say give no more debt till I bring him my black fox," Alexander went on apathetically. "Give no flour, no sugar, no meat, no tea. My brot'er feed us some. Gaviller say to him better not. So now we have nothing. We ongry." This promised difficulties. Ambrose frowned. "Tell me the whole story," he said. The little man was eying the grub-box wolfishly. Throwing back the cover, Ambrose offered him a cold bannock. "Here," he said. "Eat and tell me." Alexander without a word turned and scrambled up the bank and disappeared, clutching the loaf to his breast. The white man shouted after him without effect. He left the precious pelt behind him. Ambrose shrugged philosophically. "You never can tell." Presently Alexander came back, his seamy brown face as blank as ever. He vouchsafed no explanation. Ambrose affected not to notice him. He had long since found it to be the best way of getting what he wanted. The breed squatted on the stones, prepared to wait for the judgment-day, it seemed. After a while he said with the wary, defiant look of a child beggar who expects to be refused, perhaps cuffed: "Give me 'not'er piece of bread." Ambrose without a word broke his remaining bannock in two and gave him half. Alexander bolted it with incredible rapidity and sat as before, waiting. Ambrose, wearying of this, dropped the pelt on his knees, saying: "Take your black fox. I cannot trade with you." It had the desired effect. Alexander arose and put the skin inside the tent. "It is yours," he said. "Give me tobacco." Ambrose tossed him his pouch. When the little man got his pipe going, squatting on his heels as before, he told his tale. "Me spik Angleys no good," he said, fingering his Adam's apple, as if the defect was there. "Las' winter I ver' poor. All tam moch sick in my stummick. I catch him fine black fox. Wa! I say. I rich now. "I tak' him John Gaviller. Gaviller say: 'Three hunder twenty dollar in trade.' Wa! That is not'in'. I am sick to hear it. Already I owe that debt on the book. Then I am mad. Gaviller t'ink for because I poor and sick I tak' little price. I t'ink no! "So I tak' her home. The men they look at her. Wa! they say, she is _miwasan_--what you say, beauty? They say, don' give Gaviller that black fox, Sandy. He got pay more. So I keep her. Gaviller laugh. He say: 'You got give me that black fox soon. I not pay so moch in summer.'" The apathetic way in which this was told affected Ambrose strongly. His face reddened with indignation. The story bore the hall-marks of truth. Certainly the man's hunger was not feigned; likewise his eagerness to accept the moderate price Ambrose had offered him was significant. Ambrose scowled in his perplexity. "Hanged if I know what to do for you!" he said. "I'll give you a receipt for the skin. I'll give you a little grub. Then you go home and stay until I can arrange something." Alexander received this as if he had not heard it. "You hear," said Ambrose. "Is that all right?" "I got go Moultrie," the little man said stolidly. "You can't!" cried Ambrose. Alexander merely sat like an image. This was highly exasperating to the white man. "You've got to go home, I tell you," he cried. "I not go home," the native said with strange apathy. "Gaviller kill me now." "Nonsense!" cried Ambrose. "He has got to respect the law." Alexander was unmoved. "He not give me no grub," he said. "I starve here." This was unanswerable. Ambrose, divided between annoyance and compassion, fumed in silence. He himself had only enough food for a few days. The breed wore him out with his stolidity. "Well, what do you want me to do?" he asked at last. "Give me little flour," said Alexander. "I go to Moultrie." "What will you do with your family?" "I tak' them." "How many?" "My woman, my boy, my two girl, my baby." "Good Lord!" cried Ambrose. "Have you a boat?" "_Non_! There is timber down the river. I mak' a raf, me." "It would take you two weeks to float down," cried Ambrose. "I have only thirty pounds of flour." Alexander shrugged. "We ongry, anyway," he said. "We lak be ongry on the way." Ambrose swore savagely under his breath. This was nearly hopeless. He strode up and down, thrashing his brains for a solution. Alexander, squatting on his heels, waited apathetically for the verdict. He had shifted his burden to the white man. "Where is your family?" demanded Ambrose. Alexander looked over his shoulder and spoke a word in Cree. Instantly four heads appeared over the edge of the bank. Job barked once in startled and indignant protest, and went to Ambrose's heels. Ambrose could not forbear a start of laughter at the suddenness of the apparition. It was like the genii in a pantomime bobbing up through the trapdoors. "Come down," he said. A distressful little procession faced him; they were gaunt, ragged, appallingly dirty, and terrified almost into a state of idiocy. First came the mother, a travesty of womanhood, dehumanized except for her tragic, terrified eyes. A boy of sixteen followed her, ugly and misshapen as a gargoyle; he carried the baby in a sling on his back. Two timorous little girls came last. They lugged their pitiful belongings with them--a few rags of bedding and clothes, some traps and snowshoes, and cooking utensils. The smaller girl bore a holy picture in a gaudy frame. Ambrose's heart was wrung by the sight of so much misery. He stormed at Alexander. "Good God! What a state to get into. What's the matter with you that you can't keep them better than that? You've no right to marry and have children!" Somehow they apprehended the compassion that animated his anger, and were not afraid of him. They lined up before him, mutely bespeaking his assistance. Their faith in his power to rescue them was implicit. That was what made it impossible for him to refuse. "Here," he said roughly. "You'll have to take my dugout. I'll get another from Grampierre. You can make Moultrie in six days in that if you work. That'll give you five pounds of flour a day--enough to keep you alive." The word "dugout" galvanized Alexander into action. Without a glance in Ambrose's direction, he ran to the craft, and running it a little way into the water rocked it from side to side to satisfy himself there were no leaks. Turning to his family he spoke a command in Cree, and forthwith they began to pitch their bundles in. Ambrose was accustomed to the thanklessness of the humbler natives. They are like children, who look to the white man for everything, and take what they can get as a matter of course. Still he was a little nonplused by the excessive precipitation of this family. It occurred to him there was something more in their desperate eagerness to get away than Alexander's tale explained. But having given his word, he could not take it back. From father down to babe their faces expressed such relief and hope he had not the heart to rebuke them. Alexander came to him for the food, and he handed over all he had. "Wait!" he said. "I will give you a letter for Peter Minot. Lord!" he inwardly added. "Peter won't thank me for dumping this on him!" On a leaf of his note-book he scribbled a few lines to his partner explaining the situation. "You understand," he said to Alexander, "out of your credit for the black fox, John Gaviller must be paid what you owe him." Alexander nodded indifferently, mad to get away. As Alexander's squaw was about to get in the dugout she paused on the stones and looked at Ambrose, her ugly, dark face working with emotion. Her eyes were as piteous as a wounded animal's. She flung up her hands in a gesture expressing her powerlessness to speak. It seemed there was some gratitude in the family. Moved by a sudden impulse she caught up Ambrose's hand and pressed it passionately to her lips. The white man fell back astonished and abashed. Alexander paid no attention at all. In less than ten minutes after Ambrose had given them the dugout the distressed family pushed off for a new land. Father and son paddled as if the devil were behind them. "I wonder if I done the right thing?" mused Ambrose. The Selkirks had not long disappeared down the river when Ambrose received another visitor. This was a surly native youth who, without greeting, handed him a note, and rode back to the fort. Ambrose's heart beat high as he examined the superscription. He did not need to be told who had written it. But he was not prepared for the contents: DEAR: Come to me at once. Come directly to the house. I am in great trouble. COLINA. CHAPTER XII. GATHERING SHADOWS. Ambrose, hastening back to Gaviller's house with a heart full of anxiety, came upon Gordon Strange as he rounded the corner of the company store. The breed was at the door. Evidently he harbored no resentment, for his face lighted up at the sight of an old friend. "Well!" he said. "So you came to see us." Ambrose felt the same unregenerate impulse to punch the smooth face. However, with more circumspection than upon the previous occasion, he returned a civil answer. "Have you heard?" asked Strange, with an expression of serious concern. Ambrose reflected that Strange probably knew a message had been sent. "Heard what?" he asked non-committally. "Mr. Gaviller was taken sick last night." "What's the matter with him?" asked Ambrose quickly. Strange shrugged. "I do not know exactly. The doctor has not come out of the house since he was sent for. A stroke, I fancy." "I will go to the house and inquire," said Ambrose. He proceeded, telling himself that Strange had not got any change out of him this time. He was relieved by the breed's news; he had feared worse. To be sure, it was terribly hard on Colina, but on his own account he could not feel much pain of mind over a sickness of Gaviller's. The half-breed girl who admitted him showed a scared yellow face. Evidently the case was a serious one. She ushered him into the library. The aspect, the very smell of the little room, brought back the scene of two days before and set Ambrose's heart to beating. Presently Colina came swiftly in, closing the door behind her. She was very pale, and there were dark circles under her eyes. She showed the unnatural self-possession that a brave woman forces on herself in the presence of a great emergency. Her eyes were tragic. She came straight to his arms. She lowered her head and partly broke down and wept a little. "Ah, it's so good to have some one to lean on!" she murmured. "Your father--what is the matter with him?" asked Ambrose. The look in her eyes and her piteous shaking warned him to expect something worse than the tale of an illness. She lifted her white face. "Father was shot last night," she said. "Good God!" said Ambrose. "By whom?" "We do not know." "He's not--he's not--" Ambrose's tongue balked at the dreadful word. She shook her head. "A dangerous wound, not necessarily fatal. We can't tell yet." "You have no idea who did it?" Colina schooled herself to give him a coherent account. The sight of her forced calmness, with those eyes, was inexpressibly painful to Ambrose. "No. He went out after dinner. He said he had to see a man. He did not mention his name. He came back at dusk. I was on the veranda. He was walking as usual--perfectly straight. But one hand was pressed to his side. "He passed me without speaking. I followed him in. In the passage he said: 'I am shot. Tell no one but Giddings. Then he collapsed in my arms. He has not spoken since." Ambrose heard this with mixed feelings. His heart bled for Colina. Yet the grim thought would not down that the tyrannous old trader had received no more than his deserts. He soothed her with clumsy tenderness. "Why do you want to keep it a secret?" he asked, after a while. "Father wished it," said Colina. "We think he must have had a good reason. The doctor thinks it is best. There has been a good deal of trouble with the natives; many of them are ugly and rebellious. And we whites are so few! "Father could keep them in hand. They are in such awe of him; they regard him as something almost more than mortal. If they learn that he is vulnerable--who knows what might happen!" "I understand," said Ambrose grimly. "So no one knows, not even the servants. I have hidden all the--things. Of course, the man who did it will never tell." The calm voice suddenly broke in a cry of agony. "Oh, Ambrose!" He comforted her mutely. "It is so dreadful to think that any one should hate him so!" said poor Colina. "So unjust! They are like his children. He is severe with them only for their good!" Ambrose concealed a grim smile at this partial view of John Gaviller. "He lies there so white and still," she went on. "It nearly breaks my heart to think how I have quarreled with him and gone against his wishes. If waiting on him day and night will ever make it up to him, I'll do it!" Ambrose's breast stirred a little with resentment, but he kept his mouth shut. He understood that it was good for Colina to unburden her breast. "Ah, thank God I have you!" she murmured. They heard the doctor coming, and Colina drew away. She introduced the two men. "Mr. Doane is my friend," she said. "He is one of us." The doctor favored Ambrose with a glance of astonishment before making his professional announcement. Ambrose saw the typical hanger-on of a trading-post, a white man of Gaviller's age, careless in dress, with a humorous, intelligent face, showing the ravages of a weak will. At present, with the sole responsibility of an important case on his shoulders, he looked something like the man he was meant to be. It was no time for commonplaces. "John is conscious," he said directly. "He is showing remarkable resistance. There is no need for any immediate alarm. He wants to make a statement. I made the excuse of getting pencil and paper to come down. In a matter of such importance I think there should be another witness." "I will go," said Colina. Giddings shook his head. "Your father expressly forbade it," he said. "He wishes to spare you." Colina made an impatient gesture, but seemed to acquiesce. "You go," she said to Ambrose. Giddings looked doubtful, but said nothing. "I'm afraid the sight of me--" Ambrose began. "I don't mean that you should go in," said Colina. "If you stand in the doorway he cannot see you the way he lies." Ambrose nodded and followed Giddings out. "What is the wound?" he asked. "Through the left lung. He will not die of the shot. I can't tell yet what may develop." Ambrose halted at the open door of Gaviller's room. The windows looked out over the river, and the cooling northwest wind was wafted through. The hospital-like bareness of the room evinced a simple taste in the owner. The gimcracks he loved to make were all for the public rooms below. The head of the bed was toward the door. On the pillow Ambrose could see the gray head, a little bald on the crown. Giddings, after feeling his patient's pulse, sat down beside the bed with pad and pencil. "I'm ready to take down what you say," he said. The wounded man said in a weak but surprisingly clear voice: "You understand this is not to be used unless the worst happens to me." Giddings nodded. "You must give me your word that no proceedings will be taken against the man I name--unless I die. I will not die. When I get up I will attend to him." "I promise," said Giddings. After a brief pause Gaviller said: "I was shot by the breed known as Sandy Selkirk." Ambrose sharply caught his breath. A great light broke upon him. Gaviller went on: "He caught a black fox last winter that he has persistently refused to give up to me. Out of sheer obstinacy he preferred to starve his family. Yesterday Strange told me he thought it likely Selkirk would try to dispose of the skin to Ambrose Doane, the free-trader who is hanging around the fort." Giddings sent a startled glance toward the door. "Strange said perhaps news of it had been carried down the river, and that was what Doane had come for. So I went to Selkirk's shack last night to get it. I consider it mine, because Selkirk already owes the company its value. Any attempt to dispose of it elsewhere would be the same as robbing me. "Selkirk refused to give it up, and I took it. He shot me from behind. There were no witnesses but his family. That is all I want to say." "I have it," murmured Giddings. The gray head rolled impatiently on the pillow. "Giddings, don't let that skin get away. I rely on you. Be firm. Be secret." "I'll do my best," said the doctor. He came to the door, ostensibly to close it, showing a scared face. "I didn't know what was coming," his lips shaped. Ambrose nodded to him reassuringly, meaning to convey that nothing he had heard would influence his actions. Giddings closed the door, and Ambrose returned down-stairs with a heart that sunk lower at each step. What he had at first regarded calmly enough as Gaviller's tragedy he now clearly saw was likely to prove tragic for himself. It was useless to try to put Colina off. "I must know!" she cried passionately. "I'm the head here now. I must know where we all stand." Ambrose told her. To save her feelings he instinctively softened the harsher features. It did not do his own cause any good later. "Oh, the wretch!" breathed Colina between set teeth. "I know him! A sneaking little scoundrel! Just the one to shoot from behind! To think we must let him go! That is the hardest." Ambrose was silent. "We must get the skin," she went on eagerly. "Giddings can't handle the natives. You do that for me." "It is too late," said Ambrose grimly. "He is gone with it." "Gone?" she exclaimed, with raised eyebrows. "How do you know?" "He came to my camp at dawn," said Ambrose. Honesty compelling him, he added with a touch of defiance; "I gave him my dugout." Colina shrank from him. "You helped him get away!" she cried. "I didn't know what had happened," he said indignantly. "Of course not!" said Colina, with quick penitence. But she did not return to him. Presently the frown came back; she began to breathe quickly. "You saw the skin; you must have talked with him. You took his part against father!" Ambrose had nothing to say. He could have groaned aloud in his helplessness to avert the catastrophe that he saw coming. It was as if a horrible, black-shrouded shape had stepped between him and Colina. She, too, was aware of it. For an age-long moment they stared at each other with a kind of chilled terror. Neither dared speak of what both were thinking. At last Colina tried to wave the hideous fantom away. "Ah, we mustn't quarrel now!" she said tremulously. "Couldn't the man be overtaken and the skin recovered?" "Possibly," admitted Ambrose. "I wouldn't advise it." Colina, freshly affronted, struggled with her anger. "Let me explain," said Ambrose. "I agreed to take the skin from him, but on the understanding that out of the price Mr. Gaviller must be paid every cent of what was owing him." His reasonable air suddenly failed him. "Colina," he burst out imploringly, "it was worth more than double what your father offered! That was the trouble! What is a skin to us? I pledge myself to transmit whatever price it brings to your father. Won't that do?" "Don't say anything more about it," said Colina painfully. "You're right; we mustn't quarrel about a thing like that." A wretched constraint fell upon them. For the moment the catastrophe had been averted, but both felt it was only for the moment. They had nothing to say to each other. Finally Colina moved toward the door. "I must see if anything is wanted up-stairs," she murmured. "Wait here for me." CHAPTER XIII. THE QUARREL. When Colina returned she said immediately: "Ambrose, can you stay at Fort Enterprise a little while longer?" His heart leaped up. "As long as I can help you!" he cried. They looked at each other wistfully. They wanted so much to be friends--but the black shape was still there in the room. "I'd be glad to have you stay here in the house," said Colina. Ambrose shook his head. "I'd much better stay in camp." She acquiesced. "There are three white men here," she went on, "Giddings, Macfarlane the policeman, and Mr. Pringle the missionary. Each is all right in his way, but--" "They're all in love with you," suggested Ambrose. She smiled faintly. "How did you know?" Ambrose shrugged. "Deduced it." "You see I cannot take any of them into my confidence." "Colina!" he said. "If you would only let me--" "Ah, I want to!" she returned. "If only, only you will not abuse him--wounded and helpless as he is!" Here was the black shape again. "I suppose Gordon Strange will run the business," said Ambrose. "Naturally," said Colina. "He knows everything about it." "If you want my advice," Ambrose said diffidently, "do not trust him too far." She looked at him in astonishment. "Mr. Strange is almost like one of the family. He's been father's right-hand man for years and years. Father says he's the best servant the company possesses." "That may be," said Ambrose doggedly, "but a good servant makes a bad master. After all, he is not one of us. If you value my advice at all you will never let him know he is running things." "How can I help it? I haven't told him yet what has happened; but Dr. Giddings and I agreed that he must be told. He never mixes with the natives." "Of course he must know your father was wounded, but he needn't be told how seriously. If I were you I would make him inform me of every detail of the business on the pretext of repeating it to your father. And I would issue orders to him as if they came from your father's bed." "How can I?" said Colina. "I know nothing of the business." "I can help you," said Ambrose--"if you want me to. I know it." "But, Ambrose," she objected, "what reason have you to feel so strongly against Mr. Strange?" "No reason," he said; "only an instinct. I believe he's a crook." "Father relies on him absolutely." "Maybe his influence with your father was sometimes unfortunate." Colina's eyebrows went up. "Influence! Father would hardly allow his judgment to be swayed by a breed." "You're a woman," said Ambrose earnestly. "You should not despise these feelings that we have sometimes and cannot give a reason for. I saw Strange on my way here. I exchanged only half a dozen words with him, yet I am as sure as I can be that he was glad of the accident to your father and hopes to profit by it somehow." Colina was still incredulous. "Look what he wrote me this morning!" she cried. "It sounds so genuine." She handed him a note from the desk. He read: DEAR MISS COLINA: They are saying that your father has been taken ill; that the doctor has been with him all night. I am more distressed than I can tell you. You know what he is to me! Do send me some word. He was so cheerful and well yesterday that I cannot believe it can be serious. Native gossip always magnifies everything. If it is all right to speak to him about business, will you remind him that a deputation from the farmers is due at the store this morning to receive his final answer as to the price of wheat this year. As far as I know his intention is to offer one-fifty a bushel, but something may have come up to cause him to change his mind. Unless he is very ill, I would rather not take this responsibility upon myself. Do let me have word from you. G.S. "Anybody can write letters," said Ambrose. "It sounds to me as if he was just trying to find out how bad your father is. He could easily put the farmers off." "I can't believe he's as bad as you say," said Colina gravely. "Why, he was here long before I was born. But I will be prudent. With your help I'll try to run things myself." Ambrose sent her a grateful glance--shot with apprehension. He dreaded what was still to come. "This question of the price of the wheat," Colina went on; "we have to give him an answer or confess father is very ill." Ambrose nodded gloomily. "Fortunately that is easy," she continued; "for he spoke about it at dinner last night. He means to pay one-fifty." She moved toward the desk. "I'll send a note over at once." The critical moment had arrived--even more swiftly than he feared. He could not think clearly, for the pain he felt. "Ah, Colina, I love you!" he cried involuntarily. She paused and smiled over her shoulder. "I know," she said, surprised and gentle. "That's why you're here." "I've got to advise you honestly," he cried, "no matter what trouble it makes." "Of course," she said. "What's the matter, Ambrose?" "You should offer them one-seventy-five for their wheat." The eyebrows went up again. "Why?" "It's only fair. Two dollars would be fairer." "But father said one-fifty." "Your father is wrong in this instance." Colina frowned ominously. "How do you know?" she demanded. "I know the price of flour at the different posts," he said deprecatingly. "I know the risks that must be allowed for and the fair profit one expects." "Do you mean to say that father is unfair?" she cried. He was silent. An unlucky word had betrayed him. He could have bitten his tongue. Still, he reflected sullenly, it was bound to come. You can't make black white, however tenderly you describe it. Colina sprang to her feet. "Unfair!" she cried. "That is to say a cheat! You can say it while he is lying up-stairs desperately wounded!" "Colina, be reasonable," he implored. "The fact that he is suffering can't make a wrong right." "There is no wrong!" she cried. "What do you know about conditions here?" "They come to my camp," he said simply, "one after another to beg me to help them." "And you were not above it," she flashed back, "murderers and others!" An honest anger fired Ambrose's eyes. "You're talking wildly," he said sternly. "I'm trying to help you." Colina laughed. With a great effort he commanded his temper, "What do you see yourself in your rides about the settlement?" he asked. "Poverty and wretchedness! How do you explain it when times are good--when this is known as the richest post in the north?" Colina would have none of his reasoning. "These are just the dangerous ideas my father warned me against!" she cried passionately. "This is how you make the natives discontented and unruly!" "You will not listen to me!" he cried in despair. "Listen to you! I see him lying there--helpless. I am sick with compassion for him and with hatred against the creatures who did it. And you dare to attack him, to excuse them! I will not endure it!" "I am not attacking him. Right or wrong, he has brought about a disastrous situation. He's the first to suffer. We're all standing on the edge of a volcano. We are five whites here, and three hundred miles from the nearest of our kind. If we want to save him and save ourselves we've got to face the facts." Of this Colina heard one sentence. "Do you mean, to say that father brought this on himself?" she demanded, breathlessly angry. Ambrose made a helpless gesture. "I am to understand that you justify the breed?" she persisted. "You have no right to put words into my mouth!" Colina repeated like an automaton. "Do you think the breed was justified in shooting my father?" "I will not answer." "You've got to answer--before you and I go any farther!" "Colina, think what you're doing!" he cried. "We must not quarrel." "I'm not quarreling," she said with an odd, flinty quietness. "I'm trying to find out something necessary for me to know. You might as well answer. Do you think the breed was justified in shooting my father?" Ambrose, baited beyond endurance, cried: "I do! He went into the man's house and laid hands on his property. Even a breed has rights." Colina bowed her head as if in polite acceptance. "You had better go," she said in soft tones more terrible than a cry. "I am sorry I ever saw you!" The bitterness of lovers' quarrels is in ratio with their passion for each other. These two loved with complete abandon, consequently each could wound the other maddeningly. But the plant of their love, vigorous as it was, was not rooted in old acquaintance. When the top withered under the blasts of anger there was no store of life below. Now each was secretly terrified by the strangeness of the being to whom he had yielded his soul. Ambrose, wild with pain, no longer recked what he said. "You make a man mad!" he cried. "You will not listen to reason. A thing must be so just because you want it that way. I rack my brains for words to save your feelings, and this is what I get! Very well, you shall have the bald truth." "Leave the house!" cried Colina. "Not until I have spoken out!" She clapped her hands over her ears. "That is childish!" he said scornfully. "You can hear me! Throughout the whole north your father is called the slave-driver!" Colina faced him still and white. This was the very incandescence of anger. "Go!" she said. "I'm done with you!" "One thing more," he said doggedly. "The price of wheat. I shouldn't have said anything about justice. Putting that aside, it will be good business for you to pay the farmers their price. Otherwise you'll have red rebellion on your hands!" As Ambrose made for the door he met Gordon Strange coming in. "Wait!" Colina commanded. "I want you to hear this." It was impossible to tell from her set face what she meant to do, Ambrose waited, hoping against hope. "You want to know about the wheat?" said Colina. "First, your father," said Strange, anxious and compassionate. "He is not dangerously ill," said Colina. "Ah!" said Strange. "Yes, the farmers are waiting." Colina said clearly: "The price is to be one-fifty per bushel." "That's what I thought," said Strange. "I will tell them." He went. "Ah, Colina!" cried Ambrose brokenly. She left the room slowly, as if he had not been there. Ambrose could not have told how he got out of the house. CHAPTER XIV. SIMON GRAMPIERRE. Ambrose lay in his tent with his head hidden in his arms, trying not to think. Job licked his hand unheeded. A hail from the river forced him to rouse himself. As he crawled out he instinctively cast a glance at the sun. It was mid-afternoon. Tole Grampierre landed on the stones. "You are seeck!" he exclaimed, seeing Ambrose's face. Though life loses all its savor, it must be carried on with a good air. "_Mal de tête_!" said Ambrose, making light of it. "It will soon pass." Tole accepted the explanation. He told Ambrose that he had come that morning and found him gone. He had come back to tell him what the white man already knew--that, though Gaviller had been laid low by a mysterious stroke, he had sent word from his sick-bed that he would pay no more than one-fifty for wheat. "The men are moch mad," Tole went on in his matter-of-fact way. "They not listen to my fat'er no more. Say he too old. All come to meet to our house to-night. There will be trouble. My fat'er send me for you. He say maybe you can stop the trouble." "I stop it?" said Ambrose, laughing harshly. "What the devil can I do?" Tole shrugged. "My fat'er say nobody but you can stop it." It was clear to Ambrose that "trouble" signified danger to Colina. "I'll come," he said apathetically. "Where is your dugout?" asked Tole. Ambrose explained. "Bring all your things," said Tole. "You stay at our house now till you go back. My mot'er got good medicine. She cure _mal de tête_." Ambrose reflected bitterly that Mrs. Grampierre's simples could hardly reach his complaint. Nevertheless, he was not anxious to be left alone--he was not one to nourish a sorrow. He packed up what remained of his outfit, and Tole stowed it in the dugout. The Grampierre house was a mile and a half above the Company's establishment on the other side of the river. The two young men had, therefore, a three-mile paddle against the current. Landing, Ambrose saw before him a low, wide-spreading house built of squared logs and whitewashed. Ample barns and outhouses spread around a rough square. The whole picture brought to mind a manor-house of earlier and simpler times. The patriarch himself waited at the door. He was a fine figure of manhood--lean, straight, rugged as a jack-pine. He had the noble aquiline features of the red side of the house, and his dark face was wonderfully set off by a luxuriant, snowy thatch. Ambrose, indifferent as he was, could not but be struck by the old man's beauty, and his dignity was equal to his good looks. Young Tole's naïve pride in his parent was explained. Ambrose was introduced to a wide interior of a dignified bareness. This was the main room of the house; the kitchen they called it, though the cooking was done outside. It was spotlessly clean; none too common a thing in the north. Clearly these people had their pride. Still Ambrose was reminded of the difference between white and red, for the women of the house were ignored, and when later he sat down to sup with Simon and his five strong sons the wives waited humbly on the table. Afterward the men sat before the door, smoking. Simon kept Ambrose at his right hand, and conversed with him as with an honored guest. He avoided all reference to what had brought him. When Ambrose, not understanding the reason for his delicacy, asked about the coming meeting, Simon said: "When all come you learn what every man thinks. I not want to shape your mind to my mind until all are here." They came by ones and twos, a little company of twenty-odd. Many anomalies of race were exhibited. Some showed a Scotch cast of feature, some French, some purely Indian. One or two might have been taken for white men had it not been for an odd cast of the eye. Yet it might happen the Indian and the white man were full brothers. The general character of the faces was stolid rather than passionate. There was little talk. The room having been cleared, they went inside. The women had disappeared. Simon Grampierre sat at an end of the room, with Ambrose at his right, and his sons ranged about him. The other men faced them from the body of the room. There were not chairs for all, but indeed chairs suggested church, the trader's house, and other places of ceremony; and those without, squatting on their heels around the walls, were the happier. Talk was slow to start. They kept their hats on and stolidly looked down their noses. When it began to grow dark a single little lamp was brought in and stood upon a dresser in the corner. The wide room with its one spot of light and all the still, shadowy figures conveyed an effect of grimness. Simon Grampierre opened the meeting. Out of courtesy to Ambrose all the talk was in English. "Men!" said the patriarch. "John Gaviller send word that he will pay only one-fifty a bushel for our grain. We meet to talk and decide what to do. All must agree. In agreement there is strength. "Already there has been much talk about our grain. I will waste no words now. For myself and my sons I pledge that we will not sell one bushel of grain less than dollar-seventy-five. What do the others say?" One by one the men arose and repeated the pledge, each raising his right hand. Ambrose began to be aware that the stolidity masked a high emotional tension. It was his own presence that restrained them. Simon rose again. "I have heard talk that you will spoil your grain," he said. "Some say let the cattle and horses in the field while it is green. Some say burn it when it gets ripe. That is foolish talk. "Grain is as good as money or as fur. A man does not feed money to cattle nor burn up fur. I say cut your grain and thrash it and store it. Some one will buy it. "Gaviller himself got to buy when he see we mean to stand together. He has made contracts to send flour to the far north. Who wants to speak?" A little man of marked French characteristics sprang to his feet. His eyes flashed. "I speak!" he cried. "This Jean Bateese Gagnon," explained Simon to Ambrose. "Simon Grampierre say wait!" cried the little man passionately. "Always he say, 'Wait, wait, wait!' All right for Simon Grampierre to wait. He got plenty beef and potatoes and goods in his house. He can wait. "What will a poor man do while he wait? What will I do--starve, and see my children starve? If we not sell grain we get no credit at the store. Where I get warm clothes for the winter and meat and sugar and powder for my gun? "What do we wait for, _un miracle_? Do we wait for Gaviller's heart to soften? We wait a long tam for that I fink, me! While we wait I think Gaviller get busy. He say he come and cut our grain. Will we wait and let him?" The old man interrupted here: "If Gaviller put his men on our land we fight," he said. "Aha!" cried Jean Bateese. "He will not wait then. You say let us cut our grain and store it and wait for one to buy," he went on. "What will Gaviller do? I tell you. He will go to law! It is not the first time. He mak' the law to serve him. "We all owe him for goods. He will send out and get law papers to say because we owe him money for goods our grain is his grain. If he got law-papers the police come and take our grain for him. Wat you say to t'at, hein?" Old Simon was plainly disconcerted. He turned to Ambrose. "Will you speak?" Ambrose's heart sank. How is a dead man to sway passionate, living men? However, he rose with the best assurance he could muster. "I have only one thing to say," he began, conscious of the feebleness of his words. "John Gaviller is a sick man. I have seen the doctor. You cannot fight a sick man. I say do not accept his price--do not refuse it. The grain is not ripe yet. Wait till he is well." A murmur of dissent went around the room. Ambrose being a stranger, there was a note of politeness in it. Jean Bateese sprang to his feet again. "Ambrose Doane say wait!" he said. "He is good man. We lak him. But me, I am sick of waiting! "To-day we hear John Gaviller is sick. All are sorry. All forget we have trouble wit' him. We wait to hear how he is. Wa! he say to us right out of his bed dollar-fifty or starve! Why should we wait till he get well? He does not wait!" Another man, a burly, purple-cheeked son of earth, took up the harangue at the point where Jean Bateese dropped it. This was Jack Mackenzie, Simon said. "Me, I am sick of waiting, too!" he cried. "Always we wait, and John Gaviller do what he like! Why he put down the price of grain? Why he do everything? It is to keep us in his debt. We can work till our backs break, but he fix it so we are still in debt. "Because we can do not'ing when we are in his debt. We are his slaves! We got to break our slave chains. It is time to act. Now I say out loud what all are whispering: let us burn the store!" Thirty men took a sharp breath between their teeth. There was a little silence; then quick cries of approval broke out. The meeting was with the speaker. Ambrose, thinking of Colina, turned a little sick with apprehension. Simon rose to still the noise, but Mackenzie held the floor. "I know w'at Simon Grampierre goin' to say!" he cried, pointing. "He goin' to say if you break the law you fix yourselves. They send many police and put you all in jail. Simon Grampierre got good property. He not want lose it. "Me, I say all right! I go to jail. There is a trial. Everything got come out. John Gaviller he cannot make slaves after that. I say let them send me to jail. My children will be free!" The meeting went wild at this. Simon had lost control. Even his own sons, as could be read in their faces, sympathized with the speakers. The old man betrayed nothing in his face. He stood like a rock until he could get a hearing. "Jack Mackenzie say I rich," he said proudly. "Say I think of my property first. I now say whatever we do, we do together. We will decide by vote. If you vote to burn the store I will put the fire to it myself!" They cheered him to the echo. Some cried: "Burn the store!" Some cried: "Vote!" By this move Simon captured their attention again. He held up a hand for silence. "Wait!" he said. "I have a little more to say. Jack Mackenzie say we got to break our chains. Those are true words! But how? If we burn the store we only rivet them tighter. "Gaviller will cry these are bad men and lawbreakers. These are _incendiaries_! It is a word the white men hate. They will say do what you like to the incendiaries. They deserve no better." The strange word intimidated them. But a voice cried defiantly: "Must we wait some more?" And their cries threatened to down the old man. "No!" he cried in a voice that silenced them. "Here is Ambrose Doane!" He paused for dramatic effect. "I ask Ambrose Doane to our meeting to talk with us. I now say to him"--he turned to Ambrose--"you have heard these men. They are so much wronged they cannot see the right. They are so mad they don't know what they do. "I ask, Ambrose Doane, will you save them from their madness? Will you help us break our chains? _Buy our grain_?" CHAPTER XV. THE PLAN OF CAMPAIGN. An absolute silence followed Simon Grampierre's unexpected words. The astute old man had withheld his proposal until the psychological moment. Ambrose was a little dazed by it. He rose, feeling every eager eye upon him, and said slowly: "I must have a little time to consider. I must talk with Simon Grampierre. I will give him my answer before morning." Simon said to the company: "Men, will you sell your wheat to Ambrose Doane at a dollar-seventy-five?" The question broke the spell of silence. There could be no mistake that the proposal was successful. A chorus of acclamations filled the room. "Very good!" said Simon. "I will talk with Ambrose Doane and try to make him trade with us." The meeting broke up. It was then a little after nine. Simon and Ambrose went apart to a bench on the river bank. There were innumerable questions to be asked and answered. Simon estimated that the grain in question, provided they had no frost, would amount to twenty thousand bushels of wheat, and half as much oats. It was a momentous decision for a youth like Ambrose to be called upon to make. The greatest difficulty was how to grind the wheat. "You have an engine here?" asked Ambrose. "Yes, for our thrashing-machine," said Simon. "I could order a small process mill from outside," said Ambrose, "but it's doubtful if we could get it in this year." "I have a hand mill," said Simon. "We call her the mankiller. Work all day, grind a couple bags of flour. It is very old." "Could it be rigged to the engine?" Ambrose asked. "Wa! I never think of that," said Simon. "Maybe grind four bags a day, then." Ambrose had no intention of giving an answer until he had communicated with Colina. Strongly against Simon's advice, he insisted that Gaviller, as he said, must be given one more chance to relent. Simon unwillingly yielded. At ten o'clock Ambrose and Tole started down the river in a dugout. Ambrose did not mean to seek the interview with Colina. Before starting he scribbled a hasty note. DEAR COLINA: The farmers have asked me to buy their grain. I've got to do it unless you will pay their price. It's not much good to say it now, but I'd sooner cut off my hand than seem to be fighting you. I can't help myself. You won't believe it, but it's a fact just the same, if you won't pay their price I must, in order to save you. If you will agree to pay them one-seventy-five, I'll go back to Moultrie to-morrow, and never trouble you again. AMBROSE. Landing below Gaviller's house Ambrose sent Tole up the bank with this. In a surprisingly short time he saw the half-breed returning. "Did you see her?" he demanded. "Yes," said Tole. "Did she send an answer back?" "Only this." Ambrose held out his hand, and Tole dropped the torn fragments of his own letter into it. Ambrose stared at them stupidly. He had steeled himself against a possible humiliation at her hands--but to be humiliated before the half-breed! He drew a long breath to steady himself, and opening his hand, let the fragments float away on the current. "Let us go back," he said quietly. During the whole of the way he did not speak. Grampierre was waiting for them in the big kitchen. "I will now give you my answer," said Ambrose. "Well?" said the old man eagerly. "It is only a partial answer. I agree to purchase enough of your grain at one-seventy-five to see you all through the winter; and I agree to bring a stock of goods here to supply your necessities." Simon warmly grasped his hand. "It is well!" he cried. "I expected no more." "I will return to Moultrie to-morrow," Ambrose went on in his dull, quiet way. "I will consult with my partner, and if we can finance it, we will buy all your grain." "Tole shall go with you," said Simon. "You can send him back to me with a letter." Ambrose went to bed, and slept without dreaming. Nature is merciful. After a certain point of suffering has been passed, she administers an anesthetic. Next morning Ambrose transacted his business with Simon, and prepared for the journey, to all appearances his usual matter-of-fact self. Only Job perceived the subtle change in his master. The faithful brown eyes continually sought Ambrose's face, and the ridiculous curly tail was agitated in vain to induce a smile. On the afternoon of the sixth day following, Ambrose and Tole landed at Moultrie. Nothing was changed there. The sight of Peter's honest red face was like balm to Ambrose's sore heart. Seeing Ambrose, the remnants of Peter's anger evaporated like mist in the sun. He clapped his young partner on the back until the other's lungs rang. Peter's blue eyes beamed with honest gladness, meanwhile he uttered loud abuse in his own style. "So you're back, damn you! You ornery little whipper-snapper! To sneak off from working like a breed after you feed him! I was hoping I'd never lay eyes on you again. But here you are to plague me!" Ambrose smiled sheepishly, and gripped his hand. Peter sent Tole off to Eva to be fed, while he went with Ambrose to the latter's little shack. Ambrose looked around his own place curiously. It was like another man's house now. He had lost the old self who used to live here. "What's happened to you?" asked Peter with an offhand air. "Why do you ask?" said Ambrose quickly. He hated to think it was all written in his face. "You look older," said Peter. "I don't see you grinning so much." Ambrose immediately grinned--after a fashion. "I've got a lot to tell you," he said. "We'll talk after supper." Half the night they talked. Ambrose laid his proposal before Peter in anxious trepidation. Peter earned the young man's lifelong gratitude by the promptness and heartiness of his response. "You did right!" he cried with another clap on the back. "It will be a fine adventure! We'll go into Fort Enterprise and make a killing! We'll buy all the grain in sight!" "It's a big weight to swing," murmured Ambrose. "Sure!" cried Peter. "But no man would refuse it. What if it does break us? We're young. And we'll have a grand run for our money." The excess of Ambrose's relief unnerved him a little. "Peter, you're a man!" he murmured brokenly. "I was near crazy, wondering if you'd stand by me!" "Hey, cut it out!" cried Peter. "Buck up! We got work to do to-night!" Throughout the hours of darkness they counted up their resources, decided as to the friends they could call on for assistance, and planned ways and means. There was not a day to be lost, and it was first of all decided that Ambrose must start for the outside world next morning. Once started he would be out of touch with his partner for good, therefore every question had to be discussed that night, and there were a hundred. Ambrose was astonished by Peter's pluck and dash in business affairs. Like many another junior partner he had been accustomed to patronize his elder a little. "I'll stand by you to the limit," Peter had said. "But this is your put. You must do everything yourself." Therefore, after the details had been arranged, it fell to Ambrose to compose the letter to Simon Grampierre. It was the longest letter he had ever written. Tole and I arrived yesterday after a quick trip. I have talked with my partner. We agree to purchase all the grain grown around Fort Enterprise this season at one-seventy-five per bushel. We will load up a york boat immediately with a small load of supplies for present use. Tole will steer it up the river. He will take this letter to you. It may take four or five days to get a crew. (Here followed an inventory of the goods they had decided to send.) We appoint you our agent to distribute these goods. I will send you a book in which to put down all the charges. Let the crew of the york boat have two dug-outs to return home in, and keep the york boat at your place to send down grain and flour later. I have missed the steamboat on her first trip out. I will start to-day by canoe with an Indian. It will take me ten days to cross the lake and go up the Miwasa to the landing and so to town. I will order a full outfit in town, and bring it in immediately by way of Caribou Lake, and down stream to you. I will bring a little process mill if I can get one. If I have no trouble you will see me about the first of September. Anyway I will be in before the ice begins to run. Coming back I will have no trouble going up the Miwasa or Musquasepi or across Caribou Lake, because Martin Sellers has steamboats there, and he is independent and friendly to us. They can't stop me on the Spirit River either, because I can build a raft and bring my stuff down. Where they will try to get me is on the portage between Caribou Lake and the Spirit. They will try to tie up the teams. On my way out I will see Martin Sellers about it. He has power. As soon as the grain is begun to be thrashed start the mankiller going to try and get a little ahead with the flour. Send Tole and another good man in a dugout up to the crossing to meet me. Let them start August 8. I am sending by Tole two bottles of Madeira wine. Send it to the sick man at the fort without letting him know it comes from me. For yourself Peter Minot sends a box of cigars with his compliments. If I think of anything else I'll write at the landing and send it in by the August mail. My regards to the boys. Yours truly, AMBROSE DOANE. CHAPTER XVI. COLINA COMMANDS. On August 25, well within his schedule, Ambrose arrived at Spirit River Crossing with ten loaded wagons. For six long days they had been floundering through the bottomless mudholes of the portage trail and men and horses were alike played out; but the rest of the way to come was easy, and Ambrose paid off his drivers with a light heart. The york boat and crew he had engaged at the crossing were non-existent, and no explanation forthcoming. He had met with similar small reverses all along the line. This one was not important; it meant three days delay to build a raft. There was a current of nearly four miles an hour to carry him to his destination, and no rapids in the three hundred miles to endanger his cargo. Tole Grampierre and his brother Germain were waiting for Ambrose. With two such aides he could afford to smile at the mysterious scarcity of labor which developed on his arrival. Tole's budget of news from down the river contained nothing startling. John Gaviller had been very sick all summer with pneumonia as a result of his wound. He was getting better: "pale and skinny as an old rabbit in the snow," in Tole's words. Gaviller had sent up the launch to get what grain had been grown at the crossing; but it was not enough to fill his contracts for flour up north. He had been obliged to pay two dollars a bushel for it. Ambrose smiled at this piece of information. Ambrose waited eagerly for some word of her who was seldom out of his thoughts, but to Tole the matter was not of such great importance. Ambrose could not bring himself to name her name. Not until Tole had covered everything else did he say casually: "Colina Gaviller rides all around on her yellow horse. She is proud now. Never speaks to the people." That was all. Ambrose's heart stirred with compassion for the one, who by her loyalty was forced to embrace the wrong cause. Another time Tole remarked: "Gordon Strange run the store all summer." "So!" said Ambrose. "What do the people say about him? What does your father say?" Tole shrugged. "He say not'ing," he said cautiously. He could not be induced to commit himself further in this direction. They built their raft, and loading up, started without untoward incident. Traveling day and night, allowing for stoppages and delays, they expected to be nearly five days on the way. On the third day, Ambrose chafing at their slow progress, put the dugout overboard, and set off ahead to warn the settlement of their coming. He had no hesitation leaving the raft with the Grampierre boys; they could handle it better than himself. He paddled all day, and at night cut down a tree so that it would fall in the water, and tied his canoe to it, that he might not be blown ashore while he slept. For hours he lay waiting for sleep, watching the stars circle round his head as his canoe was swung in the eddies, and considering his situation. He could not rest for his eagerness to be at the end of his journey, though he had no hope of what awaited there--that is to say not much hope; there is always a perhaps. But how could Colina relent when she beheld him arriving laden with ammunition to make war upon her? Ambrose wondered sadly if any lover before him ever found himself in such a plight. By ten o'clock next morning he was within a mile or two of Grampierre's place. The river was dazzling in the morning sunlight, the air like wine. The poplar trees had put on their gorgeous autumn dress of saffron and scarlet, which showed like names against the chocolate colored hills. Suddenly in a grassy ravine on his right, Ambrose saw the "yellow" horse feeding. His heart set up a furious beating. No power on earth could have prevented him from landing, though common sense told him clearly no good could come of it. That "perhaps" drew him ashore, that hope against hope. After a short search he found her sleeping under a poplar-tree in a hollow of the bank that was hidden from the river. She wore her khaki riding-habit, as usual; her head was couched in the crook of her arm, and in the other hand she held her Stetson hat by its strap. Ambrose brooded over her wistfully. Her face was paler and thinner; evidently she herself had not been having too easy a time these two months past. These blemishes on her beauty made her seem infinitely more beautiful and dearer to him. And all relaxed and disarmed in sleep as she was, it seemed so easy a thing to gather her up in his arms and make her forget what divided them. Ambrose's dim thought was: "If somehow I could only send her real self a message while her head-strong, unreasonable self is asleep, maybe she'd confess the truth when she woke." While he was hungrily gazing at her her eyelids fluttered. He moved back to a more respectful distance. She awoke without alarm. For an instant she lay looking at him as calmly as a babe in its crib. Then in a flash recollection returned, and she sprang to a sitting position, both hands, womanlike, flying to her hair. She eyed him with a certain discomposure. It was as if she felt that she ought to be furiously angry, and was somewhat dismayed because it did not come. "What do you want?" she asked coldly. In her cold eye Ambrose was conscious of a wall between them more impenetrable than granite. His heart gave up hope. "Nothing," he said sullenly. "It's not exactly agreeable," she said, frowning, "to find oneself spied upon." Ambrose started and frowned. This construction of his act had not occurred to him. "I saw Ginger from the river," he said indignantly. "I landed to find you." "What did you want?" she asked coolly. "I don't know," said Ambrose. There was a silence between them. Her cold look told him to go. Pride and common sense both urged him to obey--but he could not. He was like a bit of iron filing in the presence of a magnet. "I--I suppose I wanted to find out how you were," he said at last. "Was that so extraordinary?" She ignored the question. "I am well," she said. "How is your father?" he asked. She looked at him levelly and did not answer. A slow red crept up from Ambrose's neck. "I asked you a civil question," he muttered. "If you want a truthful answer," said Colina clearly, "I think you have a cheek to ask." "I didn't shoot him!" Ambrose burst out. "What is the use of our bandying words?" she asked with cold scorn. "Nothing you can say to me or I to you can help matters now." "Good Lord, but women can be stony!" Ambrose cried involuntarily. Colina took it as a compliment. Her eye brightened with a kind of pride. "I don't know what men are!" she cried. "Apparently you want to fight me with one hand and hold the other out in friendship. Only a man could think of such a thing." Ambrose gazed at her sullenly. "You are right!" he said abruptly. "I am a fool!" He left her with his head up, but inwardly beaten and sore. Somehow she had got the better of him, he could not have told how. He was conscious of having intended honestly. This cold parting was worse than the most violent of quarrels. Simon Grampierre was waiting on a point of his land that commanded a view up and down river. Here he had set up a lookout bench like that at the fort. At sight of Ambrose he shouted from a full breast and hastened down to the waterside. He received him with both hands extended. "You have come!" he cried. "It is well!" Ambrose was surprised and a little disconcerted to see the grim old patriarch so moved. "Where is your outfit?" Simon asked anxiously. "Half a day behind me," said Ambrose. "It is safe." "Have you flour?" asked Simon. "Flour? No!" said Ambrose staring. "With twenty thousand bushels of wheat here?'" "Have you got a little mill?" Ambrose shook his head. "There was none in Prince George," he said. "I had to telegraph to the East. It had not arrived when I was ready to start, and I couldn't wait. "I made arrangements for it to be forwarded; a friend of mine will bring it in. Martin Sellers promised to hold the last boat at the landing until October 1st for it." "Wa!" said Simon, raising his hands. "That is bad! We need flour. We cannot wait a month for flour." "What's the matter with the mankiller?" "Broke," was the laconic answer. "We fix it. Every day it break again. Now it is all broke." "Well, every family will have to grind for themselves," said Ambrose. Simon shrugged. "We have a new trouble here." "What is it?" Ambrose anxiously demanded. "The Kakisa Indians," Simon said. "They are the biggest tribe around this post, and the best fur bringers. They live beside the Kakisa River, hundred fifty miles northwest. "All summer they come in two or six or twenty and get a little flour, little sugar, tea, tobacco from me. They want to trade with you because Gaviller is hard to them like us. They are good hunters, but he keep them poor. "In the late summer they come all together to get a fall outfit. They are here now. They want a hundred bags of flour. They come to me. I say I have got no flour. They go to the fort. "Gaviller say; 'Ambrose Doane bought all the grain. You want to trade with him; all right. Make him sell you flour now.' "They are here a week now--sixty teepees. I feed them what I can. It is not much. They are ongry. They begin to talk ugly." Ambrose would not let Simon see that he was in any way dismayed by this situation. "Where are the Indians camped?" he asked coolly. "Mile and a half down river. Across from the fort." "Very well," said Ambrose. "Tell them at your house to keep watch here until Tole and Germain come with the raft. Six men should be ready to help them land and unload. You come with me in the dugout, and we will go down and talk to the Indians." A gleam of approval shot from under Simon's beetle brows. "Good!" he said. "You go straight to a thing. I like that, me!" Ambrose found the teepee village set up in the form of a square on a grassy flat beside the river. The quadrangle was filled with the usual confusion of loose horses, quarrelsome dogs, and screaming children. Simon called his attention to a teepee in the middle of the northerly side distinguished by its size and by gaudy paintings on the canvas. "Head man's lodge," he said. "Name Joey Providence Watusk." "A good mouthful," said Ambrose. "Joey for English, Providence for French, Watusk for Kakisa," explained Simon. He called a boy to him, and made him understand that they wished to see the head man. "I send a message that we are coming," he explained to Ambrose. "He lak to be treated lak big man. It is no harm when you are trading with them." Ambrose agreed. "So this what's-his-name fancies himself," he remarked while they waited. "It is so," said Simon, grimly. "Thinks he is a king! All puff up with wind lak a bull frog. He mak' me mad with his foolishness. What would you? You cannot deal with the Kakisas only what he say. Because only Watusk speaks English. He does what he wants." "And can nobody here speak Kakisa?" Ambrose asked. "Nobody but Gordon Strange. It is hard talk on the tongue." "What else about him?" "Wa! I have told you," said Simon. "You will know him when you see! All tam show off lak a cock-grouse in mating-time. He is not Kakisa. He is a Cree who went with them long tam ago. Some say his father was a black man." "So!" said Ambrose. "And they stand for that?" Simon shrugged. "The Kakisas a funny people. Not mix with the whites, not mix with other Indians lak Crees. They keep old ways. They not talk about their ways to other men. So nobody knows what they do at home." Simon lowered his voice. "Some say cannibals." "Pooh!" said Ambrose, "that yarn is told about every strange tribe!" "Maybe," said Simon, cautiously. "I do not know myself." The Indian boy returning, signified that Joey Providence Watusk awaited them. CHAPTER XVII. THE STAFF OF LIFE. Lifting the blind over the entrance, Ambrose dived inside the teepee, Simon Grampierre at his heels. In the center a small fire burned on the ground, and behind it sat five dark-skinned figures in a semicircle. Not one of the five faces changed a muscle at their entrance. The principal man with a grave inclination of the head, waved them a blanket which had been placed for them opposite him. It was like an old-time Indian council, but the picturesqueness was a good deal spoiled by the gingham shirts they wore, and the ill-fitting coats and trousers from the store. Moreover, the red men's pipes, instead of the graceful calumets were English briars with showy silver bands. The bowl of Watusk's pipe, of which he appeared to be inordinately proud, was roughly carved into the likeness of a death's head. Watusk was an extraordinary figure. Ambrose was reminded of a quack doctor in poor circumstances. He was middle-aged and flabby, and had long, straggling gray hair, bound round with a cotton fillet, none too clean. He wore a frock coat all buttoned up before, each button constricting his fat, with a bulge between. His trousers were made from a blanket once white, with a wide black band around the calf of each leg, and he wore fine doeskin moccasins, richly embroidered with silk. His dirty fingers displayed a quantity of brass rings from the store, set with gems of colored glass. His heavy, loose-featured face was unremarkable, except for the extraordinarily bright, quick, shallow eyes, suggesting at different moments the eyes of a child, an animal, and a madman. His skin showed a tinge of yellow as distinguished from the pure copper of his companions, and Ambrose was reminded of the black man. Watusk grandiloquently introduced his four companions. "My councilors," he said: "Toma, minister of state; Lookoovar, minister of war; Mahtsonza, minister of interior; Tatateecha, minister of medicine." Thus their uncouth names as Ambrose got them. He avoided Simon's eye, and bit his lip to keep from laughing. The four were all small men with the fine characteristic faces of pure bred savages. They understood not a word of what was said, but preserved an unshakable gravity throughout. Ambrose, as they were named, christened them anew, according to their several characteristics: Coyote, Moose, Bear and Weasel. The last was a little shriveled creature, hung with charms and amulets in tobacco bags until he looked like a scarecrow. He had an eye even wilder and shiftier than his master's. "Conjure-man," murmured Simon in Ambrose's ear. "Let Ambrose Doane speak," said Watusk. He used good English. Ambrose had adopted from Peter Minot the maxim: "Make the other man speak first, and get a line on him." He bowed politely. "Ambrose Doane will not speak until Watusk has spoken," he said. Watusk highly gratified, bowed again, and forthwith began. "I am glad to see Ambrose Doane. He is good to my eyes lak the green leaves in spring. He is come to Fort Enterprise and there is no more winter. "The name of Peter Minot and the name of Ambrose Doane make good words to my ear. They are the friends of the red men. They pay good price for fur. They sell outside goods cheap. I want a box of cigars me, same lak you send Simon Grampierre." Ambrose recognizing Watusk's type was not put out by the sudden drop from the sublime to the ridiculous. He now had a "line" on his man. Swallowing his laughter, he answered in a similar strain. "I am glad to see Watusk. I wish to be his friend. I come from the big lake six days' journey toward the place of the rising sun. So far as that men tell me of the Kakisa nation, and tell of Watusk who rules them. "Men say the Kakisa men are the best hunters of the north and honest as the sun in summer-time. Men say Watusk is a wise chief and a good friend of the white men. I have plenty cigars in my outfit." The chief swelled with gratification until his much-tried buttons threatened altogether to part company with his coat. A good deal more of this airy exchange was necessitated before Watusk could be induced to talk business. When he finally condescended to it, the story was as Simon had forecast: "When Ambrose Doane come here I say to my people: 'Trade with him. He will be your father. He will feed you.' Now when they come for flour Simon Grampierre say you got no flour. "When I go to John Gaviller for flour, he mock me. He say: 'You take Ambrose Doane for your father. All right. Let him feed you now.' So I am not know what to do. Every day my people more ongry, more mad. "Pretty soon the young men make trouble. There is no game here. We can't stay here without flour. We can't go back without flour. I am feel moch bad. But Ambrose Doane is come now. It is all right!" The last of this was delivered with something like a leer, warning Ambrose's subconsciousness that Watusk, notwithstanding the flowery compliments, wished him no good. "I have plenty of grain," he said warily. "Let each woman grind for her own family." Watusk shook his head. "Long tam ago we got stone bowls for grind wild rice in," he said. "So many years we buy flour all the bowls is broke and throw away now." Ambrose could not deny to himself the gravity of the situation. He was reminded afresh that he was dealing with a savage by the subtle, threatening note that presently crept into Watusk's smooth voice. "John Gaviller say to Gordon Strange for say to me: 'Ambrose Doane got all the grain. Let Ambrose Doane sell his grain to me, and I give you flour.'" Ambrose, perceiving the drift, swore inwardly. "Gordon Strange tell that in Kakisa language," Watusk went on slyly; "some hear it and tell the others. All know now. If my people get more hungry what can I do? Maybe my young men steal the grain and take it to Gaviller." "If they lay hands on my property they'll be shot," said Ambrose, curtly. Watusk spread out his hands deprecatingly. "Me, I tell them that," he said. "But they are so mad!" "John Gaviller is trying to use you to work his own ends," said Ambrose. Watusk shrugged indifferently. This was the real man, Ambrose thought. "Maybe so. You got trouble with Gaviller. That is not my trouble. All I want is flour." "You shall have it!" cried Ambrose boldly. "Enough to-morrow morning to feed every family. Enough in three days to fill your order." Watusk appeared to be a little taken aback, by the prompt granting of his demand. "Where will you get it?" he asked. "I will get it," Ambrose said. "That is enough." When Ambrose and Simon got outside the teepee Simon asked the same question: "Where _will_ you get it?" "I don't know," said Ambrose. "Give me time. I'll find a way!" "If Gaviller gets the Kakisa fur you'll make no profit this year," suggested Simon. "I have to consider other things as well as profit," Ambrose said. "There are more years to come." Reaching the dugout, Simon asked: "Where now?" "To the Fort," said Ambrose. "You don't have to come." "We are together," said Simon grimly. Ambrose, deeply moved by gratitude, growled inarticulately. He felt himself young to stand alone against such powerful forces. Crossing the river, they landed below the big yellow house and applied at the side door for Colina. She had returned from her ride, they were told. They were shown into the library. In this little room Ambrose had already touched the summit of happiness, and tasted despair. He hated it now. He kept his eyes on the carpet. Simon was visibly uneasy while they waited. "You think this any good?" he suggested. "No," said Ambrose bitterly. "I know well enough what I'll get. But I've got to go through with it before taking the next step." "John Gaviller live well," said Simon significantly, but without bitterness. Colina came in with her queenliest air. She had changed her riding habit for clinging white draperies that made her look like a lovely, arrogant saint. Ambrose, raising his sullen eyes to her, experienced a new shock of desire that put the idea of flour out of his head. To old Simon, Colina inclined her head as gracefully and indifferently as a swan. The grim patriarch became humble under the spell of her white beauty. He fingered his hat nervously. To Ambrose Colina said with subtle scorn meant for his ear alone: "What is it?" Ambrose screwed down the clamps of self-control. "I asked for you," he said stolidly, "because I did not know if your father was well enough to talk business. May I see him for five minutes?" "No," she said, without condescending to explain. "Then I will tell you," said Ambrose. "It is about the Indians across the river. I must have some flour for them." "Must?" she repeated, raising her eyebrows. "They are suffering from hunger," he said firmly. "You will have to see Mr. Strange," she said coolly. "He is in charge of the business." "This is a question for the head to decide," warned Ambrose. "You will have to see Mr. Strange," she repeated, unmoved. Ambrose's eyes flamed up. For a moment the two pairs contended--Ambrose's passionate, Colina's steely. The man was struggling with the atavic impulse to thrash the maddening, arrogant woman creature into a humbler frame of mind. It may be, too, that deep in her heart of hearts Colina desired something of the kind. Perhaps she could not master her worser self alone. Anyhow, it was impossible there in her own stronghold, with Simon looking on. They were too civilized or not civilized enough. Ambrose merely bowed to her and led the way out of the room and out of the house. "Thank God, that is over!" he murmured outside. Crossing the square, they entered the store. It was the first time Ambrose had been inside that famous show-place of the north, but he had no eyes for it now. Gordon Strange welcomed them with smiling heartiness. "Come in! Come in!" he cried, leading the way into the rear office. "Sit down! Have a cigar!" The scowling Ambrose stared as if he thought the man demented. He waved the cigar away and came directly to the point. "I want to find out what you're willing to do about the Kakisa Indians." "Sure!" cried Strange with apparently the best will in the world. "Sit down. What do you propose?" "How much will you charge me to grind me five hundred bushels of grain for them?" "I'm sorry," said Strange. "The old man won't hear of it." "Will you let them starve?" cried Ambrose. "What can I do?" said Strange distressfully. "I'm not the head." "Grind it in spite of him," said Ambrose. "Humanity and prudence would both be on your side. You'll get their fur by it." "I think Mr. Gaviller expects to get the fur anyway," said Strange with a seeming deprecatory air--but the suspicion of a smirk wreathed his full lips. "Then I am to understand that you refuse to grind my grain at any price," said Ambrose. "Orders are orders," murmured Strange. "Has Gaviller given you this order since he knew the people were hungry?" "He has told me his mind many times." "That is not a direct answer. Some one must take the full responsibility. If I write a short note to Gaviller will you deliver it and bring me back an answer?" Strange hesitated for the fraction of a second. "Yes," he said. Ambrose wrote a succinct statement of the situation, and Strange departed. "Gaviller will never do it," said Simon. "I don't expect him to," said Ambrose. "But he's got to commit himself." In due course Strange returned. He offered Ambrose a note, still with his deprecating air. It was in Colina's writing. Ambrose read: "John Gaviller begs to inform Mr. Ambrose Doane that the only proposal he is willing to discuss will be the sale to him of all the grain in Mr. Doane's possession at one dollar and a half per bushel. In such an event he will also be willing to purchase Mr. Doane's entire outfit of goods at cost. It will be useless for Mr. Doane to address him further in any other connection. "Enterprise House, September 3." Ambrose stood reflecting with the note in his hand. For a single moment his heart failed him. His inexperience was appalled by the weight of the decision he had to make. Oh, for Peter Minot's strong, humorous sense at this crisis! The thought of Peter nerved him. Peter had taken it for granted that he would make good. Ambrose remembered the sacrifices Peter had cheerfully made to finance this expedition. To accept John Gaviller's contemptuous offer would not only be to confess a humiliating failure, it would mean pocketing a loss that would cripple the young firm for the time being. Peter would say: "Lose it if you must, but lose it fighting." This thought was like an inspiration to Ambrose. His jaw stiffened, and a measure of serenity returned to his eyes. He passed the note to Simon. "Read it," he said coolly, "and save it. It may be useful as evidence, later." A subtle change passed over Gordon Strange's face. For the moment he was pure Indian. Quickly veiling his eyes, he asked with an innocent air: "What does Mr. Gaviller say?" This was too much for Ambrose to stomach. "You know damned well what he says!" he answered scornfully. Strange swallowed it. "Is there any answer?" he asked. "No!" said Ambrose. The half-breed's curiosity overcame his prudence. "What are you going to do?" he asked slyly. Ambrose strode out of the store without answering. The two men paddled back to Grampierre's place in silence. Simon with native tact, forbore to ask questions. Such is the potency of the white man's eye that the leader of the breeds had unhesitatingly yielded the direction of affairs to the youth who was little more than a third of his age. Upon landing, Ambrose pointed to the lookout bench. "Let us sit there and talk," he said. "Simon," he said immediately, "suppose it came to a fight, how many men do you think Gaviller could count on?" The old man took the question as a matter of course. "There is the policeman, the doctor and the parson," he said. "The parson is best for praying. There is the engineer and the captain of the steamboat; there is young Duncan Greer. "In summer he is purser on the steamboat; in winter he is the miller. That is six white men. John Gaviller is no good yet. There is the crew of the steamboat, and the men who work for wages, maybe fifteen natives, not more." "What sort of a man is Greer?" asked Ambrose. "A lad; full of fun and jokes; a good machinist." "Where does he sleep at the Fort?" "He has a room in the old quarters. Gaviller's old house." "Does he sleep alone?" "He does." "Simon," said Ambrose, finally, "can you get me twenty-five good men by dark; steady men with cool heads, who will do what I tell them?" "I can," said Simon. "Let them meet at your house," Ambrose went on. "Let every man carry his gun, but you must see that the magazines are emptied, and that no man has any shells in his pocket. I will have no shooting. Above all, do not let the Indians know that anything is going on to-night." "It is well!" said Simon laconically. The old dark eyes gleamed. CHAPTER XVIII. A BLOODLESS CAPTURE. In a more innocent state of society such as that which exists in the north, such a thing as a nightwatch is undreamed of. Insomnia is likewise unknown there. At eleven o'clock every soul in Fort Enterprise was drowned deep in slumber. There was no light in any window; the very buildings seemed to crouch on the earth as if they slept, too. At sundown a film of cloud had crept across the sky, and the moon was dark. It was the very night for deeds of adventure. Down on the current came a rakish york boat floating as idly as a piece of wreckage. Its hold was filled with bags of grain, on which squatted and lay many dark figures scarcely to be distinguished from the bags. No whisper marked its passage; not a pipe-bowl glowed. On the little steering platform stood Simon Grampierre wielding a long sweep run through a ring astern. The ring was muffled with strips of cloth. Simon kept the craft straight in the current, and as they approached the Company buildings, gradually edged her ashore. The dark steamboat lay with her nose drawn up on a point of stones below the flagstaff. Steamboat and point together caused a little backwater to form beyond, of which Simon was informed. All he had to do was to urge the nose of his boat into it, and she grounded of herself at the spot where they had chosen to land; that is immediately below the mills. A dozen moccasined men let themselves softly into the water, and putting their backs under the prow lifted her up a little on the stones. Instantly, as if by the starting of a piece of machinery a chain of bags was started ashore from hand to hand. Ambrose and Tole, who was to be engineer, climbed the bank to reconnoiter. So far no word had been spoken. Above, along the edge of the bank, were three small buildings in a line, close together. That in the middle was the engine house, with the sawmill on the left and the flour mill on the right. Ambrose and Tole made for the engine which was housed in a little structure of corrugated iron. The door faced the sawmill. It was an iron sliding door, fastened with hasp and padlock. Ambrose inserted the point of a crowbar under the hasp, and the whole thing came away with a single metallic report. If any sleeper was awakened by the sound, hearing no other sounds, he probably fell asleep again. Anyhow no alarm was raised as yet. Tole went back to get assistance in carrying slabs into the engine room. The sawmill was merely an open shed, and there was an abundance of fuel in sight. The water supply, being furnished by gravity from a tank overhead, was secure. With the aid of his electric torch, Ambrose found the belt to run the flour mill in a corner of the engine room. So far so good. His instructions to Tole were simple. "I'll let you have one man to help you. If they besiege us, I won't be able to communicate with you. Whatever happens, keep the engine going. Store enough slabs in here to keep her going all night, then close the door, and fasten it some way." The flour mill was likewise built of corrugated iron. It had two iron doors, one giving on the road, fastened with a padlock, the other on the river side, hooked from within. Ambrose broke open the first, and throwing back the second, allowed the grain bags to be hustled inside direct from the beach. He lit a lantern, and cloaking it within his coat, examined the machine. His heart sank at the thought of his difficulties, supposing the next step of his plan should fail. Ambrose was enough of a machinist to appreciate the difficulty of operating this complicated arrangement of wheels and rollers and frames by lantern light. Taking five velvet-footed men, he set off around the back of the store, and across the corner of the square to the "quarters." The building so designated was in the middle of the side of the square facing the river. It was a low, spreading affair, of several dates of construction. Once Gaviller's residence, it was now used to house the white employees of the company and chance travelers. Greer's room was in the end of the building nearest the store. The policeman slept at the other side, separated by several partitions. The room they were making for had a door opening directly on the yard. It was not locked. Ambrose merely lifted the latch and walked in with his five men at his heels. Inside, in the thick darkness they heard the sound of deep breathing. Ambrose flashed his light around. A typical boy's room was revealed, with college banners, colored prints, photographs and firearms. On a bed in the corner lay the owner, a good-looking blond boy sleeping on his back with an arm flung above his head. He was a hearty sleeper. Not until the command was twice repeated in no uncertain tones, did he waken. It was to find himself looking into the blazing white eye of the electric torch. "What time is it?" he murmured, blinking. One of the men chuckled. "Time to get up," said Ambrose grimly. "Hey, what's the matter?" cried the voice from the bed in accents of honest alarm. "Get up and dress," commanded Ambrose. "What for?" stammered the boy. "I have five armed men here," said Ambrose. "Do what you're told without asking questions. If you make a racket you'll be cracked over the head with the butt of a gun." As he spoke Ambrose flashed the light from one to another of his men. The sight of the quiet dark-skinned breeds, each with a Winchester on his arm was sufficiently intimidating. The boy swung his legs out of bed. "All right," he said, philosophically. "Throw your light on my clothes, will you?" He commenced to dress without more ado. Presently he asked coolly; "What do you want me for, and who are you anyway?" "I'm Ambrose Doane," said Ambrose. "I've seized the flour mill. You've got to run it." "There's no grain there," said Greer. "I brought my grain with me," said Ambrose. A sound like a chuckle escaped the boy. No doubt he was well-informed as to the situation. "You didn't lose much time," he said. They started back to the mill, a breed on either side of Greer with a hand upon his shoulder. "If you make a break, you'll be knocked down and carried in," warned Ambrose. Apparently Greer had no such intention. He was a matter-of-fact youth and prone to laughter. He laughed now. "Golly! the old man will be in a wax when he hears of it! How many men have you got?" "Twenty-five," said Ambrose. "Well, he can't blame me if I'm forced to work by overwhelming numbers! Oh, golly! but there'll be a time to-morrow!" Ambrose breathed more freely. This which had promised to be the most difficult part of his plan was proving easy. Entering the mill, Greer looked around the dim place with its little crowd of still, silent, armed men, and chuckled again. "Darned if it isn't as good as a melodrama!" he said. "Go to it!" said Ambrose, pointing to the machinery. He lit plenty of lanterns, careless now if the fort were aroused. They had to wake up sooner or later. "You can smoke," he said to his men. Matches were quickly struck, and coals pressed into pipe bowls with guttural grunts of satisfaction. Greer lit a cigarette, and picked up his oil can and wrench as a matter of course. He set to work, whistling softly between his teeth. Ambrose, watching him, could not make up his mind whether this was due to pluck or sheer light-headedness. Either way, he was inclined to like the boy. "I say, Ambrose," Greer said cheekily. "Give us a hand with these bolting frames, will you? Do you want fine flour or coarse?" "The most in the least time," said Ambrose. "We'll leave in the middlings then. It's wholesome." They worked amicably together. Greer in his simplicity explained everything as they went, and Ambrose cannily stored it away. Fortunately, the mill had lately been operated, grinding the grain from the Crossing, and all was practically in readiness to start. Within an hour after the landing of the party, Tole turned on his steam. The wheels began to revolve, Greer threw in the clutch, and presently a veritable stream of flour began to issue from the mouth of the machine. Ambrose repressed an inclination to cheer. CHAPTER XIX. WOMAN'S WEAPONS. The steady hum of machinery was more effective to awaken the inhabitants of the Fort than any scattered noises. The sounds of movement began to be heard among the houses. Lights were lit, and doors opened. No one who looked out of doors could mistake what was going on, for a stream of sparks was now issuing from the engine-house stack. The first notice of attack came in a single shot from across the road. A bullet sang through the doorway, flattening itself with a whang on the iron wall. Those around the opening fell back. Some one crashed the door to. Ambrose as quickly opened it, and stooping low, peered out. He was in time to see a crouching figure disappear around the corner of the store. Something in the bulk of it, the neat outline gave him a clue. "Strange, by gad!" he said to himself. Aloud, Ambrose said: "The door must be open. We've got to see and hear what they're up to. Let every man keep out of range. Make a wall of the bags of grain on this side of the machine, and put the lanterns behind it, so Greer will have light." While they worked to obey him, Ambrose, flinging himself down at full length, watched with an eye at the crack of the door. He saw a group of men gradually gather at the corner of the store. They advanced, hesitated, fell back. Finally, an authoritative figure showed itself. Ambrose guessed it to be Macfarlane, the policeman. He advanced boldly down the sidewalk, and took up a position across the road. The others straggled after him. "Who is there?" challenged the leader. Ambrose distinguished the tunic and forage cap. Ambrose rose, and opening the door wider, showed himself. "Ambrose Doane," he said. He warily watched the crowd, for any movement suggestive of raising a gun. "You're under arrest!" cried the policeman. "All right," said Ambrose coolly. "What charge?" "Unlawful entry." "You'll have to come and take me!" "If you resist the law the consequences will be on your own head!" "I accept the consequences." "Stop the machinery!" cried the policeman. "If you destroy the mill we'll all starve!" "The miller himself is running it," said Ambrose coolly. "With a gun to his head," he added, grinning over his shoulder. "I seized him in his bed and carried him here." "Good man!" Greer, behind him, gratefully murmured. "If you refuse to give yourself up I'll take you by force!" cried Macfarlane. "Come ahead!" sang Ambrose. "I've got twenty-five men here. They have orders not to shoot, but if you open fire on us, the consequences will be on your head!" "I'll do my duty!" shouted the policeman. "Get your crowd together!" taunted Ambrose. "Lay your guns down, and come on over and put us out if you're men enough. We'll stand by the result." The men behind Ambrose raised a cheer. The sound did not improve the morale of the other side. Even in the dark, the difference between the two crowds could be felt. Ambrose's men were fighting for what they felt to be their rights; the men behind the policeman had no incentive--except their jobs. Macfarlane paused to consult with another man--probably Gordon Strange. The others talked in excited whispers, and circled on one another without making any forward movement. Messengers were despatched up and down the road. Suddenly a petticoated figure came flying down the sidewalk from the store. Ambrose's heart leaped up, and then as suddenly calmed. He told himself grimly he was cured. It was Colina. "What are you standing here for?" she cried passionately. "Are you afraid? They are nothing but common robbers! Go and put them out!" No man moved. "Fire on them!" cried Colina. "I order it! I take the responsibility." They still hung back. Macfarlane could be seen attempting to expostulate with her. "Don't speak to me!" cried Colina. "When you find robbers in your house you shoot them down! You're afraid! I will go myself!" All in a breath she came flying across the road. Ambrose, surprised, fell back a step from the door. Before he could recover himself she stood in the middle of the shed facing them with blazing eyes. She had risen hastily; her glorious hair was twisted in a loose coil and pinned insecurely; the habit she had thrown on was still open at the throat. She had caught up a riding-crop; the knuckles that gripped it were white. Ambrose, admiring her in an odd, detached way, was reminded of Bellona, the goddess of anger. "What does this mean?" she cried. "What you see," said Ambrose coldly. "Get out!" she cried. "All of you! I order it!" The men cringed under her angry glances, and their eyes bolted. Only the sight of Ambrose standing firm, kept them in their places. Colina turned on Ambrose. "You thief!" she cried with ringing scorn. Ambrose coldly faced her out. Somehow he found it was his turn to smile. As a matter of fact he had suffered so much at her hands that he had become callous and strong enough to resist her. Indeed there was a kind of bitter sweetness in this moment. She, who had humiliated him so many times was now powerless before him, let her rage as she might. He was only human. Seeing the cold smile Colina felt as if the ground was suddenly cut from under her. Her cheeks paled, and the imperious blaze of her eyes was slowly dimmed. When the bolt of passion is launched without effect, a horrible blankness faces the passionate one. The men seeing Colina falter breathed more freely. They were frankly terrified of her. Colina fought on though her forces were in confusion. "Have you anything to say for yourself?" she demanded of Ambrose. "What are you doing on my father's property?" "I have nothing to say," said Ambrose. "You know the situation as well as I." Once more their eyes contended. Hers fell. She turned away from him. When she came back it was with an altered air. "May I speak to you alone?" she asked in low tones. "Please say it here," said Ambrose. "They cannot hear." "My father--" she murmured with a deprecating air, "I am afraid this will kill him. I have locked him in his room. I don't know what he will do. Can't you stop until to-morrow?" "If you will pledge yourself for him to finish grinding my grain to-morrow," said Ambrose. "How can I pledge him?" she said pettishly. "I am not his master." "Then we must grind on." She was silent for a moment, looking on the ground. When she raised her eyes the look in them sent all the blood flying from his heart. "Ambrose!" she murmured on the deep note he remembered so well. "Have you forgotten?" He stared at her in a kind of horror. "How can you be so hard to me?" she murmured. She overdid it. Behind the intoxicating, soft appeal of her eyes, he perceived a dangerous glitter, and steeled himself. "Come outside a moment," she whispered, turning up her face a little. The unregenerate man in him leaped to accept what she offered and still hold firm. If she chose to play that game let her take the consequences? His more generous self held back. Somehow he realized that the humiliation would almost kill her--later. "It is too late," he said coldly. This in itself was a humiliation the proud Colina could not have conceived herself living after. From between narrowed lids she shot him a glance of the purest hate, and quickly turned away. The riding crop switched the air like the tail of an angry cat. There was a silence. All watched to see what she would do next. Meanwhile the mill was grinding smoothly. The young miller was hidden from Colina by the barricade of grain bags. Finally she looked over the top and saw him attending the machine. "Greer!" she exclaimed in surprise. The boy started, and turned a pair of stricken eyes in her direction. His ruddy cheeks paled a little. Manifestly she wielded a power over him too. "Are you against me?" she murmured sadly. This was the same tone she had just used to Ambrose. His lip curled. "He has to do what I tell him or be knocked on the head," he said quickly. Colina ignored this. "You could fight for me if you would," she murmured to the boy. A hot little flame of jealousy scorched Ambrose's breast. He laughed jeeringly. "Who's next?" he cried. Colina, not looking at him, drew a baleful breath between her teeth. Suddenly she turned, and with hanging head slowly made her way toward the door. Ambrose thought she was beaten, and a swift wave of compassion almost unmanned him. He abruptly turned away. He could stand anything but to see Colina defeated and grieving. He clenched his teeth to keep from crying out to her. She had another card to play. She stopped at the door, and looked about through her lashes to see if the way out was clear. "Duncan!" she softly cried. The word was accompanied by a dazzling smile of invitation. The boy dropped his wrench as if he had been shot, and vaulting over the grain bags, was out through the door after her before any one could stop him. CHAPTER XX. UNDERCURRENTS. As Greer disappeared in the darkness several men started in pursuit. Ambrose was quicker. He flung himself into the opening, and thrust them back. Though he was on fire with jealousy, he would not go after Greer, nor let the others go. He could scarcely have explained why--perhaps because he dimly apprehended that it was Colina's game to drive him mad with jealousy. "Let him go," he said thickly. "I will run the mill myself!" So long as the wheels revolved smoothly and the stream of creamy flour issued from the mouth of the machine the miller had a sinecure. Ambrose scowling and grinding his teeth scarcely saw what his eyes were turned on. His mind was busy outside. He was sharply recalled to his job by a tearing sound from within the machinery. The flour came out mixed with bran. The wheels jammed and stopped. Ambrose threw out the clutch, and doggedly attacked the problem. It was cruelly hard to concentrate his mind on machinery while a damnable little voice in his brain persisted in asking over and over: "Where are they? What are they doing? How far will rage carry her?" He contrived to remove the torn frame without much difficulty, but how to clean out the mass of stuff that clogged every part of the mechanism defied his ingenuity. Apparently the thing must be taken apart. How could he hope to put it together by lantern light? There was a stir at the door, and Duncan Greer slouched in with a hang-dog scowl. Never in his life had Ambrose been so glad to see a man. He was careful to mask his joy. He glanced at the boy carelessly and went on with his work. Duncan came directly to him. "I'm your man," he muttered. "For keeps, if you want me." "Sure," said Ambrose, very offhand. "Help me get this thing going, will you?" As they worked side by side in the lantern light, Ambrose perceived a red welt across the boy's forehead and cheek that was momentarily growing darker. He smiled grimly. Duncan, finding his eyes fixed on it, flushed up painfully. "Women are the devil!" he muttered. A great unholy joy filled Ambrose's breast. In his relief he could have hugged the boy, and laughed. "Don't abuse the women, my son," he said grimly. "They have to fight with what weapons they can. You were warned. You only got what was coming to you!" When the machine was running smoothly again, Ambrose went to the door to reconnoiter. "They've gone," he said. "I don't think they'll trouble us again before morning. You can all sleep." Daybreak and the following hours found Ambrose and his party on the _qui vive_ for a renewed demonstration from the other side. None was made. Neither Macfarlane, Gordon Strange, nor Colina could have mustered a corporal's guard of the natives to their aid. The breeds in their own mysterious way had simply disappeared. Without them, the half dozen whites could do nothing against Ambrose's strong party. Colina herself had suffered a moral defeat, and required time to recoup her losses. In the back of the store the white men and Gordon Strange held lengthy consultations without agreeing on any course of action. Strange in his modest way deferred to Macfarlane and the others. But John Gaviller's absolute sway at the post had sapped the lesser men's initiative. He was not able to be present, and they were helpless. It was decided to send for help to police headquarters at Caribou Lake. They could not despatch the big steam-boat which had been dismantled for the winter, but the launch was available. Gaviller had it to use at the end of summer when the water ran low in the river. They managed to collect enough half-breeds for a crew; Masters ran the engine, and Captain Stinson piloted. Thus in order to send for help the little force had to rob itself of two of its best defenders. They got away in the middle of the afternoon. With luck they could be back with the red-coats in two weeks or three. Meanwhile the mill was grinding blithely. Ambrose, who desired at all costs to keep the Indians in ignorance of what was happening, for fear they might get out of hand, sent Germain Grampierre to his father's house to get what little flour they had, and carry it to Watusk to feed the Kakisas for that day. As far as he could see there was no other communication from one side of the river to the other. He observed the departure of the launch, with a calm brow. He guessed its errand, and was not at all averse to having the police brought down, and the whole matter thoroughly aired. All day the wheels revolved, and all during the following night, Ambrose and young Greer watching the machine by turn. At breakfast time on the second morning the hopper was empty, and the last bag of flour tied up. They had enough to satisfy the Kakisas demands, and something besides. In the center of the shed Ambrose left the miller's tithe in payment, with an ironical note affixed to one of the bags. The flour was loaded in the york boat, and the entire party set off in high feather. Their arrival with the flour at the Indian camp created something of a sensation. The children came running down to the water, capering and shrieking, accompanied by the barking dogs. Men followed, eager to toss the bags to their shoulders. They made a long procession back to the teepees, the women crowding around, laughing, gesticulating, and caressing the fat, dusty bags. By Ambrose's orders the bags were piled up in an imposing array in the middle of the square. He knew the value of a dramatic display. The half-breeds who had been on duty for thirty-six hours, scattered to their homes up and down the river. Simon Grampierre and Tole remained with Ambrose. The york boat was left drawn up on the beach below the camp. To this fact Ambrose traced all the subsequent disasters. But he could not have foreseen what would happen. The Indians at the sight of so much food were as candid and happy as children. When the last bag of flour topped the pile, Ambrose sought out Watusk. He found the head man as before, evidently awaiting an official communication, with his dummy councilors on either hand. Watusk's smooth, flabby face was as blank as a plaster wall. "I have brought your flour," said Ambrose with a note of exultation justifiable under the circumstances. Watusk was not impressed. "It is well," he said with a stolid nod. Ambrose was somewhat taken aback. An instant told him that Watusk alone of all the tribe was not glad to see the flour. Ambrose scented a mystery. "Where you get the flour?" asked Watusk politely. "I borrowed Gaviller's mill to grind it," Ambrose answered in kind. Watusk's eyes narrowed. He puffed out his cheeks a little, and Ambrose saw that an oration was impending. "I hope there will be no trouble," the Indian began self-importantly. "Always when there is trouble the red man get blame. When the fur is scarce, when summer frost turn the wheat black it is the same. They say the red man make bad medicine. "Two white men have a fight, red man come along, know nothing. Those two white men say it is his fault, and kick him hard. You break open Gaviller's mill. Gaviller is mad, send for police. When the police come I think they say it is Watusk's fault. Send him to jail!" It was evident from this that Watusk was pretty well informed of what had happened. "How do you know they have sent for the police?" Ambrose demanded. Watusk shrugged expressively. "I see the launch go up the river in a hurry," he said. In the light of his insolent demand two days before, the Indian's present attitude was more than exasperating. "This is foolishness," said Ambrose sharply. "I sell you the flour. How I got it is my affair. I take the responsibility. The police will deal with _me_!" "I hope so," said Watusk smugly. "I have made out a receipt," Ambrose went on. "You sign it, then distribute the flour among the people, and give me the men's names so I can charge them on my book. "To-morrow I give it out," said Watusk. "To-day I put the flour in Gaston Trudeau's empty house by the river. Maybe goin' to rain to-night." "Just as you like about that," said Ambrose. "When are you going to pull out for home?" "Soon," replied Watusk vaguely. "They tell me it is the best time now to hunt the moose," remarked Ambrose suggestively. "And the bear's fur is coming in thick and soft. You have been here two weeks without hunting." Again Watusk's eyes narrowed like a sulky child's. "Must the Kakisas got hunt every day?" he asked spreading out his hands. "The people are weak with hunger. We got eat before we travel." Ambrose left this interview in a highly dissatisfied state of mind. Later in the day Watusk must have thought better of his surliness for he sent a polite message to Ambrose at Simon Grampierre's house, requesting him and Simon to come to a tea dance that night. He had borrowed Jack Mackenzie's house for the affair since no teepee was big enough to contain it. Mackenzie's was the first house west of the Kakisa encampment. "Tea-dance! Bah! Indian foolishness!" said Simon. "Let us go anyway," said Ambrose. "I feel as if there was something crooked going on. This Indian will bear watching." CHAPTER XXI. THE SUBTLETY OF GORDON STRANGE. At the same moment Gordon Strange was sitting on the bench at the foot of the flag-staff, smoking, and gazing speculatively across the river at the teepee village. Colina issued out of the big house, and seeing him, joined him. It was her first public appearance since the scene at the mill, and it was something of an ordeal. Her face showed what she was going through. She was elaborately self-conscious; defiance struggled with a secret shame. In her heart she knew she was wrong, yet she thirsted for justification. "What is the situation?" she asked haughtily. Strange told her briefly. His air was admirable. He betrayed no consciousness of anything changed in her; he was deferential without being obsequious. He let her understand that she was still his peerless mistress who could do no wrong. This was exactly what Colina wanted. She warmed toward him, and sat down. "Ah! I can talk straight to you," she said. "The others act as if the truth was too strong for me!" "I know better than that," said Strange quietly. "You have the best head of any of us." "Except when I lose it!" Colina thought. She smiled at him more warmly than she knew. A little flame that leaped up behind the man's eyes warned her. "Would he ever dare!" she thought. "How is your father?" asked Strange quietly. She shrugged helplessly. "Still weak," she said, "but there has been no return of fever. I have managed to keep the truth from him, but he suspects if. I cannot keep him in his room much longer." "Ah! It makes me mad when I think of him!" Strange muttered. There was a silence between them. His sympathy was sweet to her. She allowed it to lull her instinct of danger. "What about the Kakisas?" she asked. "I gathered from Macfarlane's and Dr. Giddings's careful attempts to reassure me, that they feared danger from that source." Strange smiled enigmatically. "Surely the idea of an Indian attack is absurd," said Colina. "There hasn't been such a thing for thirty years." "I know the Indians better than any man here," said Strange. "One may expect danger without being afraid." "Danger!" cried Colina, elevating her eyebrows. "They would never dare!--" "Not of themselves--but with a leader!" "Ambrose Doane?" said Colina quickly. Her intelligence instantly rejected the suggestion, but self-love snatched at it in justification. Wounded vanity makes incongruous alliances. "That would be devilish!" she murmured. Strange shrugged. "I can't be sure of what is going on," he said. "I don't want to alarm you unnecessarily. But I have a reason to suspect danger." Colina turned pale. "Tell me exactly what you mean," she said. "The Indians have learned by now how easy it was to seize the mill," he said with admirable gravity. "It seems to me that to the Indian mind looting the store will next suggest itself. We know they are incensed against your father. His long weakness makes them bold." "But these are merely surmises!"' cried Colina. "There is something else. Their minds work obliquely. They never come out straight with anything. I have received a kind of warning. It was an invitation to spend the night with Marcel Charlbois down the river. But it came from the other side." "Why should they warn you?" asked Colina. "Some man among them probably has compunctions," said Strange. "Watusk, the head man is a decent sort. Perhaps this is his way of letting me know that he cannot keep his people in hand." "What do you expect will happen?" she asked. "I think there will be an attack to-night," he said quietly. "It is my duty to tell you. If it doesn't come, no harm done." Strange's quiet air was terribly impressive. Colina sat pale and silent, letting the horror sink in. She was no weakling, but this was a prospect to appal the strongest man. "We are so helpless!" she murmured at last. A spark, one would have said of satisfaction, shot from beneath Strange's demurely lowered eyelids. "We cannot depend on our breeds," he went on soberly, "and Greer has gone over to the other side." Colina winced. "That leaves us four men and yourself and your father. If we had a stone building we could snap our fingers at them but everything is of wood. And fire is their favorite weapon. There are two courses open to us. We can go before they come, or we can stay and defend ourselves." Colina stared before her, wide-eyed. "Father would never let us take him away without an explanation," she murmured. "And if we told him what we feared, he would flatly refuse to go--" Strange maintained a discreet silence. Colina suddenly flung up her head. "We stay here!" she cried. Strange's dark eyes burned--but with what kind of a feeling Colina was in no state to judge. "You're brave!" he cried. "That's what I wanted you to say!" "What must we do to prepare?" "There is little we can do. We must abandon the store. There is no way to defend it. Perhaps they will be satisfied with looting it. We will all take up our station in the house. At the worst, I do not fear any harm to any of us, except perhaps--" "Father?" murmured Colina. "They have been wrought up to a high pitch against him," Strange said deprecatingly. "Oh, why did that man have to come here!" murmured Colina. They were silent for a while, Colina looking on the ground, and Strange watching Colina with his peculiar limpid, candid eyes, which, when one looked deep enough, were not candid at all. He finally looked away from her. "There is something I want to say," he began an low tones. "Your father--he shall be my special care to-night. They can strike at him--only through me." "Ah, you're so good to me!" murmured Colina. "Do not thank me," he said quickly. "Remember I owe him everything. All I am. All I have I would gladly--gladly--I sound melodramatic, don't I. But I don't often inflict this on you. You know what I mean. If I could save him!" Colina impulsively seized his hand. Tears of gratitude sprang to her eyes. "I will thank you!" she cried. "You're the best friend I have in the world!" "And even if I owed him nothing," Strange went on, not looking at her, "he would still be your father!" An hour before Colina would have crushed him. But it came at an emotional moment. She was blind to his color then. "I will never, never forget this," she said. He respectfully lifted her hands to his lips. The under devil whose especial business it is to preside over fine acting must have rubbed his hands gleefully at the sight of his dark-skinned protégé's aptitude. CHAPTER XXII. THE "TEA DANCE." When Ambrose and Simon Grampierre arrived at the tea-dance they found present as many of the Kakisas of both sexes as could be wedged within Jack Mackenzie's shack. All around the room they were pressed in tiers, the first line squatting, the second kneeling, the third standing, and others behind, perched on chairs, beds and tables, that all might have a clear view of the floor. The cook-stove occupied the center of the room, and around it a narrow space had been left for the dancers. The air was suffocating to white lungs, what with human emanations combined with the thick fumes of kinnikinic. Watusk, still sporting the frock coat and the finger-rings, had improved his costume by the addition of a battered silk hat with a chaplet of red paper roses around the brim. He squatted on the floor in the center of the back wall, and places had been left at his right and left for Ambrose and Simon. He was disposed to be gracious and jocular to-night. For very slight cause, or for none at all he laughed until he shook all over. This was his way of appearing at his ease. As they took their places Ambrose was struck by the pretty, wistful face of a girl who knelt on the floor behind Watusk. It had a fine quality that distinguished it sharply from the stolid flat countenances of her sisters. It was more than pretty; it was tragically beautiful, though she was little more than a child. What made it especially significant to Ambrose was the fact that the girl's sad eyes instantaneously singled him out when he entered. As he sat in front of her he was aware that they were dwelling on him. When he caught her glance, the eyes naïvely suggested that she had a communication to make to him, if she dared! The fun had not yet commenced. The two drummers sat idle in a corner, and all the company sat in stolid silence. Only Watusk chatted and laughed. The women stared at Ambrose, and the men looked down their noses. All were somewhat embarrassed by the presence of a white man. Ambrose, looking around, was struck by the incongruity of the women's neat print dresses and the men's store clothes taken with their savage, walled faces. Such faces called for blankets, beads, war paint and eagles' feathers. Ambrose, seeing the entire tribe gathered here as it seemed, thought a little anxiously of the flour he had been at such pains to grind. Mackenzie's house was a good distance from the teepees, and the shack they were using for a store-house almost as far on the other side. "Is anybody watching your flour?" he asked Watusk. "I send four men to watch," was the reply. "Good men? Men who will not sneak up to the dance?" "Good men," said Watusk calmly. Watusk presently gave a signal to the stick-kettle men, and they commenced to drum with their knuckles. The drums were wide wooden hoops with a skin drawn over one side. The drummers had a lamp on the floor between them, and when the skin relaxed they dried it over the chimney. Like dances everywhere this one was slow to get under way. No one liked to be the first one to take the floor. Gradually the drummers warmed to their work. The stick-kettle had a voice of its own, a dull, throbbing complaint that caused even Ambrose's blood to stir vaguely. Finally a handsome young man arose and commenced to hitch around the stove with stiff joints, like a mechanical figure. The company broke into a wild chant in a minor key, commencing on a high note and descending the whole gamut, with strange pauses, lifts and falls. Half way down the women came in with a shrill second part. It died away into a rumble, ever to be renewed on the same high, long-drawn note. Ambrose was reminded of the baying of hounds. The dancer knotted his handkerchief as he circled the stove. Dancing up to another man, he offered him the end of it with some spoken words. It was accepted, and they danced together around the stove, joined by the handkerchief. The hunching, spasmodic step never varied. Ambrose asked Watusk about it. "This is the lame man's dance," his host explained. "What lame man?" asked Ambrose. "How did it begin?" Watusk shrugged. "It is very old," he said. The first man dropped out, and the second chose a new partner. Sometimes there were two or three couples dancing at once. Partners were chosen indiscriminately from either sex. In each case the knotted handkerchief was offered with the same spoken formula. Ambrose asked what it was they said. "This is give-away dance," Watusk explained. "He is say: 'This my knife, this my blanket, this my silk-worked moccasins.' What he want to give. After he got give it." Ambrose observed that each dancer laid two matches on the cold stove as he took his place, and when he retired from the dance picked them up again. He asked what that signified. Watusk shrugged again. "How do I know?" he said. "It is always done." Ambrose learned later that this was the invariable answer of the Kakisas to any question concerning their customs. Watusk was exerting himself to be hospitable, continually pressing cups of steaming bitter tea on Ambrose and Simon. Ambrose, watching him, made up his mind that the chief's unusual affability masked a deep disquiet. The sharp, shifty eyes were continually turning with an expectant look to the door. Ambrose found himself watching the door, too. To Ambrose the uncouth dance had neither head nor tail; nevertheless, it had a striking effect on the participators and spectators. Minute by minute the excitement mounted. The stick-kettles throbbed faster and ever more disquietingly. It seemed as if the skin of the drums were the very hearts of the hearers, with the drummers' knuckles searching out their secrets. Eyes burned like stars around the walls, and the chant was renewed with a passionate abandon. The figures hitched and sprang around the homely iron stove like lithe animals. Suddenly the noise of running feet was heard outside, and a man burst in through the door with livid face and starting eyes. The drumming, the song, and the dance stopped simultaneously. The man cried out a single sentence in the Kakisa tongue. Cried it over and over breathlessly, without any expression. The effect on the crowd was electrical. Cries of surprise and alarm, both hoarse and shrill, answered him. A wave of rage swept over them all, distorting their faces. They jammed in the doorway, fighting to get out. "What is it?" cried Ambrose of Watusk. Watusk's face was working oddly with excitement. But it was not rage like the others. The difference between him and all his people was marked. "The flour is burning!" the chief cried. "This was what he expected," thought Ambrose. As he struggled to get out, Ambrose's hand was seized and pressed by a small warm one. He had a momentary impression of the wistful girl beside him. Then she was swept away. CHAPTER XXIII. FIRE AND RAPINE. The Kakisas ran down the trail like a heap of dry leaves propelled by a squall of wind. To Ambrose it all seemed as senseless and unreal as a nightmare. The alarm had been given at a moment of extreme emotional excitement, and restraint was thrown to the winds. It was like a rout after battle. The men shouted; the women wailed and forgot their children. The throng was full of lost children; they fell by the road and lay shrieking. Ambrose never forgot the picture as he ran, of an old crone, crazed by excitement, whirling like a dervish, rocking her skinny arms and twisting her neck into attitudes as grotesque as gargoyles. The trail they covered was a rough wagon-road winding among patches of poplar scrub and willow. Issuing out upon the wide clearing which contained their village they saw afar the little storehouse burning like a torch, and redoubled their cries. They swept past the teepees without stopping, the biggest ones in the van, the little ones tailing off and falling down and getting up again with piteous cries. Reaching the spot, all could see there was nothing to be done. The shack was completely enveloped in names. There were not half a dozen practicable water-pails in the tribe, and anyhow the fire was a good furlong from the river. Ambrose, seeing what a start it had got, guessed that it was no accident. It had been set, and set in such a way as to insure the shack's total destruction. He considered the sight grimly. The mystery he had first scented that morning was assuming truly formidable proportions. He believed that Watusk was a party to it; but he could not conceive of any reason why Watusk should burn up his people's bread. There was nothing to be done, and the people ceased their cries. They stood gazing at the ruby and vermilion flames with wide, charmed eyes. Among the pictures that this terrible night etched with acid on Ambrose's subconsciousness, the sight of them standing motionless, all the dark faces lighted by the glare, was not the least impressive. With a sickening anxiety he perceived the signs of a rising savage rage. The men scowled and muttered. More than once he heard the words: "John Gaviller!" Men slipped away to the teepees and returned with their guns. Ambrose looked anxiously for Watusk. He could not reach the people except through the man he distrusted. He found him by himself in a kind of retreat among some poplars a little way off, where he could see without being seen. Ambrose dragged him back willy-nilly, adjuring him by the way. "The people are working themselves into a rage. They speak of Gaviller. You and I have got to prevent trouble. You must tell them Gaviller is a hard man, but he keeps the law. He did not do this thing. This is the act of another enemy." "What good tell them?" said Watusk sullenly. "They not believe." "You are their leader!" cried Ambrose. "It's up to you to keep them out of trouble. If you do not speak, whatever happens will be on your head! And I will testify against you. Tell the people to wait until to-morrow and I pledge myself to find out who did this." "You know who did it?" asked Watusk sharply. "I will not speak until I have proof," Ambrose said warily. "What happened to the men you left on guard?" "They say they play jack-pot with a lantern near the door," said Watusk. "See not'ing. Hear not'ing. Poof! she is all burn!" "H-m!" said Ambrose. They were now among the people. "Speak to them!" he cried. "Tell them if they keep quiet Ambrose Doane will pay for the flour that is burned up, and will grind them some more. Tell them to wait, and I promise to make things right. Tell them if they make trouble to-night the police will come and take them away, and their children will starve!" Watusk did, indeed, move among the men speaking to them, but with a half-hearted air. He cut a pitiful figure. It was not clear whether he was unwilling to oppose them or afraid. Ambrose did not even know what Watusk was saying to them. At any rate the men ignored their leader. Ambrose was wild at the necessity which made him dependent on such a poor creature. He followed Watusk, imploring them in English to keep their heads. Some of the sense of what he said must have reached them through his tones and gestures, but they only turned sullen, suspicious shoulders upon him. That Ambrose should take the part of his known enemy, John Gaviller, seemed to their simple minds to smack of double-dealing. The roof of the burning shack fell in, sending a lovely eruption of sparks to the black sky. At the same moment as if by a signal one of the savages brandished his gun aloft and broke into a passionate denunciation. Once more Ambrose heard the name of Gaviller. Instantly the crowd was in an uproar again. Cries of angry approval answered the speaker from every throat. The man was beside himself. He waved his gun in the direction of the river. Ambrose waited to hear no more. He saw what was coming. Black horror faced him. He ran to the river, straining every nerve. He heard them behind him. Then it was that he so bitterly reproached himself for having left the york boat within reach. Leaping down the bank, he put his back under the bow and struggled to push it off. He would gladly have sacrificed it. It was too heavy for him to budge. Tole Grampierre and Greer reached his side. "Quick!" cried Ambrose breathlessly. "Set her adrift!" But at that moment the whole tribe came pouring over the bank like a flood. Ambrose and the breed sprang into the bow of the boat in an endeavor to hold it against them. Old Simon presently joined them. "Back! Back!" cried Ambrose. "For God's sake listen to me, men! Go to your lodges and talk until morning. The truth will be clear in the daylight! The police are coming. They will give you justice. "Justice is on your side now. If you break the white man's law he will wipe you out! Where is your leader? He knows the truth of what I say. Watusk is not here! He won't risk his neck!" It had about as much effect as a trickle of water upon a conflagration. They made no attempt to dislodge Ambrose from in front, but swarmed into the water on either side, and putting their backs under the boat, lifted her off the stones. Scrambling over the sides, they shouldered Ambrose and the breed ashore from behind. Ambrose shouted to the breeds: "Go home and stay there all night. You must not be mixed up in this." "What will you do?" cried Simon. The york boat was already floating off, the crew running out the sweeps. Ambrose, without answering, ran into the water and clambered aboard. In the confusion and the dark the Indians could not tell if he were white or red. He made himself inconspicuous in the bow. His only conscious thought was how to get a gun. He had no idea of what to do upon landing. Upon pushing off, moved by a common instinct of caution, the Indians fell silent, and during the crossing there was no sound but the grumbling of the clumsy sweeps in the thole-pins, and the splash of the blades. Standing on the little platform astern, silhouetted against the sky, Ambrose recognized the man who had given the word to attack Gaviller. He marked him well. He was of middle size, a tall man among the little Kakisas, with a great shock of hair cut off like a Dutchman's at the neck. On the way over Ambrose was greatly astonished to feel his sleeve gently plucked. He studied the men beside him, and finally made out Tole under his flaring hatbrim. Into his ear he whispered: "I told you to go home." "I go with you," Tole whispered back. "I your friend." Ambrose's anxious heart was warmed. He needed a friend. He gripped Tole's shoulder. "Have you a gun?" he asked. The breed shook his head. "Get guns for us both if you can," said Ambrose. On the other side, the instant the york boat touched the shingle, the Indians set up a chorus of yelling frightful to hear, and scrambled ashore. Ambrose and Tole were among the first out. Together they drew aside a little way into the darkness to see what would happen. There was no need to warn the Company people; the yelling did that. The Indians set off across the beach and up the bank, working themselves up with their strident, brutish cries. The habits of thirty years of peace were shed like a garment. The young men of the tribe had never heard the war-cry until that moment. Ambrose followed at their heels. At the top of the bank, to his unbounded relief, they turned toward the store. He still had a little time. All he could do was to offer himself to the defenders. "I'm going to the side door of Gaviller's house," he said to Tole. "Get guns for us, somehow, and come to me there." He knew that Tole, who was as dark as the Kakisas, and in no way distinguished from them in dress, ran little risk of discovery in the confusion. There was no sign of life about the post; every window was dark. The Indians swarmed across the quadrangle without meeting any one. As Ambrose reached the fence around Gaviller's house he heard the store-door and the windows go in with a series of crashes. He crouched beside the gate to wait for Tole. It was useless for him to offer himself without a weapon. They started a fire outside the store. Fed with excelsior and empty boxes, the flames leaped up instantaneously, illuminating every corner of the quadrangle, and throwing gigantic, distorted shadows of men on the store front. On the nearer side of the fire the silhouettes darted back and forth with the malignant activity of demons in a pit. Men issued out of the store with armfuls of goods that they flung regardless to the flames. Already they were dressing themselves up in layer after layer of clothes until they no longer resembled human creatures. What they could not wear they hung about their necks. Some came out tearing at food like wolves. Others darted into dark corners of the square to hide their prizes. A man appeared dressed in a woman's wrapper and hat, and capered around the fire to the accompaniment of shrieks of obscene laughter. There was a continuous sound of rending and crashing from within the store. The trader in Ambrose groaned to witness the destruction of good weapons and cloth stuffs and food. Some one would suffer for the lack of it in the winter. Within the store, by the door, a furious altercation arose. This was where the case of cheap jewelry stood. Two men rolled out on the platform fighting. Ambrose saw a raised arm, and the gleam of steel. After a few moments one of the men got up and the other lay still. Thereafter, all who went in and came out stepped indifferently over his body. Ambrose gazed fascinated and oddly unmoved. It was like a horrible play in a theater. The insane yelling rose and fell intermittently. At last Ambrose saw a man detach himself from the group and run around the square, darting behind the houses for cover. The runner reappeared nearer to him, and he saw that it was Tole. He came to him, running low under shelter of the palings. He thrust a rifle into Ambrose's hands. "Loaded!" he gasped. "Plenty more shells in my pocket." "Did you hear any talk?" asked Ambrose. "Are they coming over here?" "Talk no sense," said Tole. "Only yell. It is moch bad. They got whisky." "Whisky!" echoed Ambrose, aghast. "A big jug. It was in the store." Ambrose's heart sank. "Come," he said grimly. CHAPTER XXIV. COLINA RELENTS. As Ambrose and Tole started in the gate they were hailed from the dark doorway under the porch. "Stand, or I fire!" It was the voice of Macfarlane. "It is Ambrose Doane and Tole Grampierre," cried Ambrose. They heard an exclamation of astonishment from the door. "What do you want?" demanded the voice. "To help you defend yourselves." From the sounds that reached him, Ambrose gathered that the door was open and that Macfarlane stood within the hall. From farther back Colina's voice rang out: "How dare you! Do you expect us to believe you? Go back to your friends!" "They are not my men," Ambrose answered doggedly. "Wait!" cried still another voice. Ambrose recognized the smooth accents of Gordon Strange. "We can't afford to turn away any defenders. I say let him come in." Ambrose was surprised, and none too well pleased to hear his part taken in this quarter. There was a silence. He apprehended that they were consulting in the hall. Finally Macfarlane called curtly: "You may come in." As he went up the path Ambrose saw that the windows of the lower floor had been roughly boarded up. The thought struck him oddly: "How could they have had warning of what was going to happen?" "There's barbed wire around the porch," said Macfarlane, "You'll have to get over it the best way you can." Ambrose and Tole helped each other through the obstruction. They found Macfarlane sitting on a chair in the doorway, with his rifle across his knees. "Go into the library," he said. The door was on the right hand as one entered the hall. Within a lamp had just been lighted; even as Ambrose entered Colina was turning up the wick. Heavy curtains had been bung over the windows to keep any rays of light from escaping, and the door was instantly closed behind Ambrose and Tole. Inside the little room that he already knew so well Ambrose found all the defenders gathered. The only one strange to him was little Pringle, the missionary, who sat primly on the sofa. It had much the look of an ordinary evening party, but the row of guns by the door told a tale. John Gaviller sat in his swivel chair behind his desk, leaning his head on his hand. Ambrose was shocked by the change that three months' illness had worked in him. The self-assured, the scornfully affable trader had become a mere pantaloon with sunken cheeks and trembling hands. Ambrose looked with quick compassion toward Colina. She went to her father and stood by his chair with a hand on his shoulder. She coldly ignored Ambrose's glance. "What have you to say for yourself?" Gaviller demanded in a weak, harsh voice. "Do you know the reason for this attack?" demanded Ambrose. Several voices answered "No!" "All the flour was stored in Michel Trudeau's shack. Some wretch set fire to it and destroyed it all. Naturally they thought it was done by John Gaviller's orders. This is their reprisal." "You dared to think we would stoop to such a thing!" cried Colina. The general animosity that he felt like a wall around him made Ambrose defiant. "I said they thought so," he retorted. "I harangued them until my throat was sore. I couldn't hold them, and I hid myself and came with them, thinking perhaps I could help you." "How did they come?" asked Strange smoothly. "In my boat that they seized," said Ambrose. "It all comes back to you whichever way you trace it," cried Gaviller. "If you had not attacked us yesterday, they would never have dared to-day! You have brought us to this! I hope you're satisfied. I warned you what would happen as a result of your tampering with the natives. If we're all murdered it will be on your head!" "On the contrary, if we're murdered it will be because they found whiskey in your store," retorted Ambrose. "Impossible!" cried Gaviller and Strange together. Ambrose laid a hand on Tole's shoulder. "This man saw it on the counter," he said. "I sent him to the store to get guns for us both. It had no business to be there, as you all know." "They must have brought it with them," said Strange. "I locked the store myself." "Of course they brought it," said Gaviller. "Not much use to discuss that point," said Ambrose curtly. "They have it, and it has robbed them of the last vestiges of manhood. They're nothing but brutes now." The old man rose. "Silence!" he cried quaveringly. "You are insolent! By your light-mindedness and vanity you have raised a storm that no man can see the end of! You have plunged us into the horrors of Indian warfare after thirty years' peace! How dare you come here and attempt to hector us! Silence, I say, and keep your place!" "Father," murmured Colina remonstratingly. "You must save your strength." He shook her off impatiently. "Must I submit to be bearded in my own house by this scamp, this fire-brand, this destroyer?" Ambrose could not bandy words with this wreck of a strong man. He signed to Tole, and they went outside and joined Macfarlane. The three of them waited in the doorway in a kind of armed truce, smoking and watching the Indians across the square. At any moment they expected to see the yelling demons turn against the house. By and by Ambrose heard the library door open. The light inside had been put out again for greater safety. He heard Colina come out, and go the other way in the passage. He knew her by the rustle of her skirts. She went up-stairs on some errand. His heart leaped up. He could no longer deceive himself with the fancy that he had ceased to love her. Not with death staring them both in the face. He quietly made his way back into the house to intercept her on her return. When he heard her coming he whispered her name. Here in the middle of the house it was totally dark. "You!" she gasped, stopping short. But the scorn had gone out of her voice, and somehow he knew that he was already in her thoughts when he spoke. He put out a hand toward her. "Don't touch me!" she whispered, shrinking sharply. There, in the compelling darkness, with danger waiting outside, they could not hide their souls from each other. "Colina," he whispered, "don't harden yourself against me to-night. I love you!" Her breath came quickly. She could not speak. Her anger against Ambrose was, at the best, a pumped-up affair. She felt obliged to hate him because she loved her father. And her overweening pride had supported it. All this fell away now. She longed to believe in him. Perceiving his advantage he followed it close. "It may be the last night," he whispered. "I'm not afraid to speak of death to you. You're no coward. Colina, it would be hard to die thinking that you hated me!" "Don't!" she murmured painfully. "Don't try to soften me. I need to be hard." "Not to me," he whispered. "I love you!'" She was silent. He heard her breathing on a shaken breast. "If I knew it was my last word I should say the same," he went on. "I came back to Enterprise because I thought I had to come to save you!" "It hasn't turned out that way, has it?" she said sadly and bitterly. "There is some evil influence working against us all," he said. "If I live I shall show you." "I don't know what to think," she murmured. They were standing close together. Suddenly the sense of her nearness in the dark, the delicate emanation of her hair, of her whole person, overwhelmed his senses like a wave. "Oh, my darling," he murmured brokenly. "Those devils outside can only kill me once. You make me die a thousand deaths!" "Ah, don't!" she whispered sharply. "Not now. First, I must believe in you!" He beat down the passion that dizzied him. He sought for her hand and gripped it firmly. She allowed it. "Listen," he said. "Take me into the light and look in my eyes." Her hand turned in his and took command of it, drawing him after her. Crossing the stair-hall they entered the dining-room. Colina closed the door and lighted the lamp. Ambrose gazed at her hungrily. She came to him straight and, offering him both her hands, looked deep into his eyes. "Now tell me," she murmured. This was the real Colina, simple as a child. Her eyes--the lamp being behind her--showed as deep and dark as the night sky. Her lovely face yearned up to his, and Ambrose's self-command tottered again--but this was no moment for passion. His voice shook, but his eyes were as steady as hers. "I love you," he said quietly. "When you hated me most I was doing the best for you that I could. I--I'm afraid I sound like a prig. But it is the truth. I stood out against you when I thought you were wrong because I loved you!" Her eyes fell. Her hands crept confidingly up his arms. "Ah! I want so to believe it," she faltered. He thought he had won her again. His arms swept around her, crushing her to him. "My love!" he murmured. She went slack in his arms and coldly averted her head. "Do not kiss me," she said. He instantly released her. "It's not the time," she murmured. "It seems horrible to-night. I--I am not ready. By what happens to-night I will know for always!" "But, Colina--" he began. She offered him her hand with a beseeching air. "I do not hate you any more," she said quickly. "You have a lot to forgive in me, too. Be merciful to me. Show me--to-night." He drew a steadying breath. "Very well," he said. "I am contented." CHAPTER XXV. ACCUSED. The long suspense wore terribly on the defenders of the house. To wait inactive, listening to the frightful yelling and watching the play of the fire, not knowing at what moment yelling, bullets, and fire might be directed at themselves, was disorganizing to the stoutest nerves. When the attack should come all knew that their refuge was more like a trap than a fortress. Ambrose wished to abandon the house for the Catholic church up the river. This little structure was stoutly built of squared logs; moreover, it was possible that some lingering religious feeling might restrain the Indians from firing it. The suggestion was received with suspicion. John Gaviller refused point-blank to leave his house. As the hours passed without any change in the situation they began to feel as if they could endure no more. They were almost ready to wish that the savages might attack them and have done with it. They endlessly and vainly discussed what might be passing in the red men's minds. Tole Grampierre, hearing this talk, offered to go and find out. There was no danger to him, he said. Even if they should discover that he was not one of themselves, they had no quarrel with his people. Ambrose let him go. He never returned. Ambrose and Macfarlane helped him through the barbed wire, and he set off, making a wide detour behind the houses that faced the river, meaning to join the Indians from the other side. Most of the Indians had for some time been engaged in rifling the warehouse, which adjoined the store behind. Ambrose and Macfarlane, anxiously watching from the porch, heard a sudden outcry raised in this quarter, and saw a man come running desperately around the corner of the store, pursued by a howling dozen. Ambrose knew the runner by his rakish, broad-brimmed hat and flying sash. His heart leaped into the race. Tole was gaining. "Go it! Go it!" Ambrose cried. Tole was not bringing his pursuers back to the big house, but led the way off to one side by the quarters. Only a few yards separated him from the all-concealing darkness. "He's safe!" murmured Ambrose. At the same moment half of Tole's pursuers stopped dead, and their rifles barked. The flying figure spun around with uptossed arms, and plunged to the ground. Ambrose groaned from the bottom of his breast. Nerved by a blind rage, his own gun instinctively went up. He could have picked off one or two from where he stood. Macfarlane flung a restraining arm around him. "Stop! You'll bring the whole mob down on us!" he cried. He looked at Ambrose not unkindly. The sacrifice of Tole obliged him to change his attitude. Ambrose turned in the door, silently grinding his teeth. At the end of the passage he found a chair, and dropped upon it, holding his head between his hands. The face of Tole as he had first beheld it--proud, comely, and full of health--rose before him vividly. He remembered that he had said to himself then: "Here is one young, like myself, that I can make a friend of." And almost the last thing Tole had said to him was: "I am your friend." It was his youth and good looks that made it seem most horrible. Ambrose pictured the bloody ruin lying in the square, and shuddered. Gordon Strange offered to go out in order to make sure that Tole was beyond aid. It seemed like a kindly impulse, but Ambrose suspected its genuineness. Even from where they were, a glance at the huddled figure was enough to tell the truth. None of the others would hear of Strange's going. Colina and Giddings pleaded with him. Gaviller forbade him. Strange with seeming reluctance finally gave in. Whenever he witnessed such evidences of their trust in the half-breed Ambrose's lip curled in the darkness. He was more than ever convinced that Strange was a blackguard. Evidence he had none, only his warning intuition, which, among the male sex at least, is not considered much to go on. It gave Ambrose a shrewd little twinge of jealousy to hear Colina begging this man not to risk his life by leaving the house. About three o'clock it began to seem as if they might allow themselves to relax a little. The madness of the Indians had burned itself out. There had not been enough whisky perhaps to maintain it for more than a few hours. In any case, since the whites had been spared at the height of their fury, it seemed reasonable to hope they might escape altogether. The yelling had ceased. Most of the men were now engaged in carrying flour and other goods down to the york boat. The watchers from the house wondered if they dared believe this signified an early departure. As the tension let down it could be seen that John Gaviller was on the verge of a collapse. Colina strove with him to go to his room and rest on his bed. He finally consented upon condition that she lay in her own room up-stairs. Colina and Gordon Strange half led, half carried the old man up-stairs. Strange, returning, relieved Macfarlane's watch at the side door. Macfarlane, Ambrose, Giddings, and Pringle lay down on the sofa and on the floor of the library. Three of them were almost instantly asleep. Not so Ambrose. As soon as he saw the half-breed left in sole charge his smoldering suspicions leaped into activity. "If he's meditating anything queer this is the time he'll start it!" he thought. He took care to choose his position on the floor nearest the door. He left the door open. From the outside only occasional sounds came now. The Indians were busy and silent. Within the house it was so still that Ambrose could hear Gordon Strange puffing at his pipe. The half-breed was sitting in the doorway outside, with his chair tipped back against the wall. By and by Ambrose heard the front legs of the chair drop to the floor, and an instinct of caution bade him close his eyes and breathe deeply like a man asleep. Sure enough Strange came into the library. He was taking no pains to be silent. Stepping over Ambrose he crossed to the mantel, where he fumbled for matches, and striking one made believe to relight his pipe. Now Ambrose knew that Strange had matches, for when they took John Gaviller up he had seen him light the lamp at the foot of the stairs and return the box to his pocket. This then must be a reconnoitering expedition. Ambrose had no doubt that when the match flared up the half-breed took a survey of the sleeping men. He left the room, and Ambrose heard the chair tipped back against the wall once more. A little later Ambrose became conscious that Strange was at the library door again, though this time he had not heard him come. He paused a second and passed away as silently as a ghost--but whether back to his chair or farther into the house Ambrose could not tell. Rising swiftly to his hands and knees he stuck his head out of the door. There was light enough from the outside to reveal the outlines of the chair--empty. Without a thought Ambrose turned in the other direction and crept swiftly and softly through the passage into the stair hall. He did not know what he expected to find. His heart beat thick and fast. He scarcely suspected danger to Colina, who was strong and brave. Was it her father? Reaching the foot of the stairs he heard a velvet footfall above. He hastened up on all fours. The stairs were thickly carpeted. Gaining the top his strained ears detected the whisper of a sound that suggested the closing of Gaviller's door. He knew the room. It was over the drawing-room, and cut off from the other rooms of the house. To reach the door one had to pass around the rail of the upper landing. Arriving at the door he did indeed find it closed. Under the circumstances he was sure Colina would have left it open. He did not stop to think of what he was doing. With infinite slow patience he turned the knob with one hand, holding his electric torch ready in the other. When the door parted he flashed the light on the spot where he knew the bed stood. The picture vividly revealed in the little circle of light realized his unacknowledged fears. He saw Strange kneeling on the bed, his face hideously distorted, his two hands at the old man's throat. Strange yelped once in mingled terror and rage like an animal surprised--and with the quickness of an animal sprang at Ambrose. The two men went down with a crash athwart the sill, and the door slammed back against the wall. There was a desperate struggle on the floor. Strange was nerved with the strength of a madman. He could not have seen who it was that surprised him, but in that frantic embrace he learned. "It's you, is it?" he snarled. "I've got you now!" Forthwith he began to shout lustily for help. "Macfarlane! Giddings!" Colina was already out of her room. She did not scream. The three men were on the stairs. "Bring a light!" gasped both the struggling men. It was Colina who lit a lamp and carried it out into the hall with a steady hand. Ambrose was seen to be uppermost. Recognizing the two men her face darkened with anger. "What does this mean?" she cried. "Get up instantly!" Ambrose wrenched himself free and stood up. "Don't let him escape!" cried Strange. Ambrose laughed a single note. "He tried to kill your father!" panted Strange. "I arrived in the nick of time!" Ambrose gasped and fell back in astonishment. Such stupendous effrontery was beyond the scope of his imagination. "It's a lie!" he cried. "It was I who discovered him in the act of strangling your father!" Then for the first Colina swayed. "Oh, God!" she murmured, "have we all gone mad!" Macfarlane seized the lamp from her failing hand. Colina ran unevenly into her father's room. They heard her cry out within. Giddings ran to her aid. He made a light in the room and closed the door. The little parson moaned and wrung his hands. Macfarlane had drawn his revolver. "If you make a move I'll shoot you down!" he said to Ambrose--thus making it clear whose story he believed. "You can put it up," said Ambrose coolly. "I'm going to see this thing through." Strange had got his grip again. His smoothness was largely restored. He actually laughed. "He's a cool hand!" he said. "You damned black villain!" said Ambrose softly. "I know you now. And you know that I know you!" It did not improve Ambrose's case to say it, but he felt better. The half-breed changed color and edged behind Macfarlane's gun. Colina presently reappeared, showing a white and stony face. "Mr. Pringle," she said, "go down and lock the side door and bring me the key. The rest of you go to the library and wait for me." Ambrose flushed darkly. That Colina should even for a moment hold the balance between him and the half-breed made him burn with anger. Passionate reproaches leaped to his lips, but pride forced them back. Turning stiffly he marched downstairs before Macfarlane without a word. She should suffer for this when he was exonerated, he vowed. That he might not be exonerated immediately did not occur to him. In the library Strange and Macfarlane whispered together. When Pringle rejoined them all were silent. For upward of ten minutes they waited, facing each other grimly. The strain was too great for the nerves of the little parson. He finally broke into a kind of terrified, dry sobbing. "For God's sake say something!" he faltered. "This is too horrible!" Macfarlane glanced at him with a contemptuous pity and stood a little aside from the door. "Better go into the front room," he said. "You can't do any good here." The little man shook his head, and going to the window turned his back on them and endeavored to master his shaking. Shortly afterward Colina came down-stairs. At her entrance all looked the question none dared put into words. Colina veiled her eyes. "My father only fainted," she said levelly. "Dr. Giddings says he is little worse than before." A long breath escaped from her hearers. Strange cunningly contrived to get his story out first. As he spoke all eyes were bent on the ground. They could not face the horror of the other eyes. Pringle was obliged to sit on the sofa to control the trembling of his limbs. The others stood--Macfarlane, Colina, and Strange near the door--Ambrose facing them from in front of the desk. "You will remember," Strange began collectedly, "it was I who advised that this man should be admitted to the house. I thought we could watch him better from the inside. I have never ceased to watch him from that moment. "When you all turned in and I was left at the side door I kept my eye on this room. The last time I looked in I saw that he had disappeared. He had slipped so softly down the hall I had not heard anything. "I instantly thought of danger to those up-stairs, and crept up as quickly as I could without making any sound. I found the door of Mr. Gaviller's room closed. I knew Miss Colina had left it open. I opened it softly, and saw Doane on the bed with his hands at Mr. Gaviller's throat." A shuddering breath escaped from Colina. The little parson moaned. "He sprang at me," Strange went on. "We rolled on the ground. I called for help, and you all came. That is all." Ambrose was staggered by the breed's satanic cleverness. After this his own story must sound like a pitiful imitation. He could never tell it now with the same assurance. "Surely, surely they must know that a true man couldn't take it so coolly," he thought. But they were convinced; he could see it in their faces. He felt as powerless as a dreamer in the grip of a nightmare. CHAPTER XXVI. CONVICTED. When Strange finished there was a significant silence. They were waiting for Ambrose to speak. Stiffening himself he told his story as manfully as he could. Conscious of its weakness he wore a hang-dog air which contrasted unfavorably with Strange's seeming candor. No comment was made upon it. Ambrose could feel their unexpressed sneers like goads in the raw flesh. Only Colina gave no sign. Macfarlane turned to her for instructions. She contrived to maintain her proud and stony air up to the moment she was obliged to speak. But her self-command went out with her shuddering voice. "I--I don't know what to say," she whispered tremblingly. "Surely there can be no question here!" cried Strange with a voice full of reproachful indignation. "I have served Mr. Gaviller faithfully for nearly thirty years. This man's whole aim has been to ruin him!" "This is the tone I should be taking instead of letting him run me out," Ambrose thought dispassionately, as if it were somebody else. But he remained dumb. "What earthly reason could I have for trying to injure my benefactor?" cried Strange. His voice broke artistically on the final word. "You all know what I think of him. Your suspicions hurt me!" Macfarlane crossed over and clapped him on the shoulder. Colina kept her eyes down. She was very pale; her lips were compressed and her hands clenched at her sides. Ambrose bestirred himself to his own defense. "Let me ask a question," he said quietly to Strange. "You say when you opened the door you saw me with my hands on Mr. Gaviller. How could you see me?" "With my electric flash-light," Strange instantly answered. "That's a lie," said Ambrose. "The flash-light was mine. I can prove it by a dozen witnesses." "Produce it," said Strange sneering. "You knocked it out of my hand," said Ambrose. "It will be found somewhere on the floor up-stairs." Strange drew his hand out of his pocket. "On the contrary, it is here," he said. "And it has never been out of my possession. As to your identifying it, there are dozens like it in the country. It is the style all the stores carry." Ambrose shrugged. "I've nothing more to say," he said. "The man is a liar. The truth is bound to come out in the end." The white men paid little attention to this, but it stung Strange to reply. "If Mr. Gaviller were able to speak he'd soon decide between us!" At that moment, as if Strange's speech had evoked, him, they heard Giddings in the hall. "Has he spoken?" they asked breathlessly. Colina kept her eyes hidden. Giddings nodded. "He sent me down-stairs to order Macfarlane to arrest Doane." Colina fell back against the door-frame with a hand to her breast. "Did he--did he _see_ him?" she whispered. "No," said Giddings reluctantly. "He did not see his assailant. But said to accuse Strange of the deed was the act of a desperate criminal." "You're under arrest!" Macfarlane said bruskly to Ambrose. Turning to Colina, he added deprecatingly: "You had better leave the room, Miss Gaviller." She shook her head. Clearly speech was beyond her. Not once during the scene had Ambrose been able to see her eyes, Macfarlane waited a moment for her to go, then shrugged deprecatingly. "Will you submit to handcuffs or must I force you?" he demanded of Ambrose. Ambrose did not hear him. His eyes were fastened on Colina. So long as he was tortured by a doubt of her he was oblivious to everything else. The heart knows no logic. It deals directly with the heart. Love looks for loyalty as its due. Ambrose was amazed and incredulous and sickened by his love's apparent faint-heartedness. "Colina!" he cried indignantly, "have you nothing to say? Do you believe this lie?" Her agonized eyes flew to his--full of passionate gratitude to hear him defend himself. His scorn both abased and overjoyed her. Her heart knew. None of the others recognized what was passing in those glances. Macfarlane took a step forward. "Here! Leave Miss Gaviller out of this!" he said harshly. Ambrose did not look at him, but his hand clenched ready to strike. His eyes were fixed on Colina, demanding an answer. Color came back to her cheeks and firmness to her voice. "Stop!" she cried to Macfarlane in her old imperious way. "I'm the mistress here. My father is incapable of giving orders. You've no right to judge this man. None of us can choose. There is no evidence. I will not have either one handcuffed!" Macfarlane fell back disconcerted. "I was thinking of your father's safety," he muttered. "I will watch over him myself," she said. She went swiftly up the stairs. Ambrose sat by himself on a chair at the junction of the side passage with the stair hall. Naturally, after what had passed, he avoided the other men--and they him. It was growing light. He saw the panes of the side door gray and whiten. Later he could make out the damaged front of the store across the square. Macfarlane was again upon watch by the door. Strange and Pringle were in the library. Giddings was with Colina and the sick man up-stairs. Ambrose watched the coming of day with grim eyes. He had had plenty of time to consider his situation. True, Colina had not failed him, but he did not minimize the dangers ahead. He knew something of the uncertainty of men's justice. Out of the tumult of rage that had at first shattered him had been born a resolve to guard himself warily. Daylight had an odd effect of novelty. It seemed to him as if years separated him from the previous day. Strange came out of the library to take an observation. At the sight of him Ambrose's eyes burned. If scorn could kill the half-breed would have fallen in his tracks. "They're still quiet," remarked Macfarlane. "Too quiet," said Strange. "If they made a noise we could guess what they were up to!" The two men held a low-voiced colloquy by the door. Ambrose supposed that Strange was again offering to go out to reconnoiter. The policeman was expostulating with him. He heard Strange say; "I'm afraid they may attempt to wreck the mill before they go. That would be fatal for all of us. I had no opportunity yesterday to put on new locks." Macfarlane begged Strange not to risk himself. "He's safe enough," thought Ambrose grimly. Strange finally had his way. Ambrose speculated on what his real object might be. "That bull-headed redcoat is likely to get a surprise!" he thought. In less than ten minutes the half-breed returned. Macfarlane warmly grasped his hand. "It's all right," said Strange. "I went straight up to them. I had no trouble. Even now the older heads are thinking of the consequences. I think they'll be gone directly." After some further talk in low tones Strange went back into the library, and Macfarlane sat down with his gun across his knees. Once more quiet ruled the house. Ambrose's head fell forward on his breast and he slept uneasily. He was roused by the cry they had waited all night in dread of hearing: "They're coming!" Strange and Pringle ran out into the hall. Low as the cry was it was heard above. Colina and Giddings came flying down-stairs. Ambrose had already joined the others. In the face of the deadly danger that threatened the men forgot their animosity for the moment. They were all crowded together in the narrow passage, far enough back from the closed door to see through the panes without being seen. The five whites were afraid, as they might well be--but without panic. The half-breed was suspiciously calm. They lacked an unquestioned leader. "That is Myengeen leading them," said Strange; "a bad Indian!" "Macfarlane--tell us what to do," said Giddings. "They're quiet now," said Colina. "I shall speak to them!" Macfarlane put out a restraining hand. "Leave this to me!" he said quickly. "We're in each other's way here," cried Ambrose. "Let us spread through some of the rooms." "Right!" said Macfarlane. "Doane, Giddings, and Miss Colina--go into the library and throw up the windows on this side. Shoot between the boards if I give the word. The guns are inside the door." A cry from Strange brought them out into the hall again. "They've raised a white flag! They want to parley not to fight." The others murmured their relief. "Open the door!" cried Strange. "I will speak to them." Ambrose fell back a little. The other men crowded around Strange, urging him to be careful of himself. Strange was doing the modest hero! It was a pretty little play. At the sight of it a harsh jangle of laughter rang inside Ambrose. Colina took no part in the scene. Strange stepped out on the porch. Ambrose heard him speaking the uncouth Kakisa tongue, and heard the murmur of replies. He would have given a bale of furs to understand what was being said. The exchange was brief. Strange presently stepped inside and said: "They say they want their leader--Ambrose Doane." A dead silence fell on the little group. They turned and stared at Ambrose. He, for the moment, was stunned with astonishment. He was aware only of Colina's stricken, white face. She looked as if she had been shot. "They say they are ready to go," Strange went on. "They promise to make no more trouble if we give Doane up. If we refuse, they say they will take him, anyway." "It's an infernal lie!" cried Ambrose desperately. "I am no leader of theirs!" She did not believe him. Her eyes lost all their luster and her lovely face looked ashen. She seemed about to fall. Giddings went to her aid, but she pushed him away. She seemed unconscious of the presence of the ethers. Her accusing eyes were fixed on Ambrose. "I believed in you," she murmured in a dead voice. "I believed in you! Oh, God!" Her hands were flung up in a despairing gesture. "Let him go!" she cried to Macfarlane over her shoulder, and ran down the hall and up the stairs. CHAPTER XXVII. A CHANGE OF JAILERS. There was a significant silence in the passage when Colina had gone. Finally Macfarlane said stubbornly, "He's my prisoner. It's my duty to hold him against any odds. It's the first rule of the service." Giddings and Pringle urgently remonstrated with him. Strange held apart as if he considered it none of his business. At last, with a deprecating air, he added his voice to the other men's. "Look here," he said smoothly; "you know best, of course; but aren't there times when a soldier must make his own rules? All of us men would stand by you gladly, but there's a sick man up-stairs that they have been taught to hate. And a woman." Macfarlane gave in with a shrug. "I suppose you'll stand by me if I'm hauled up for it," he grumbled. He drew his revolver and stood aside to let Ambrose pass. The others likewise drew back, as from one marked with the plague. Every face was hard with scorn. Ambrose kept his eyes straight ahead. When he appeared on the porch, cries, apparently of welcome, were raised by the Kakisas. Ambrose supposed that Strange had made a deal with the Kakisas to put him out of the way. He believed that he was going straight to his death. He accepted it sooner than make an appeal to those who scorned him. He wished to speak to them before he went; but it was to warn them, not to ask for aid for himself. He faced the little group in the doorway. "I tell you again," he said, "this is all a put-up job. You know nothing of what is going on but what this breed chooses to tell you. He's a liar and a murderer. If you put yourselves in his hands, so much the worse for you." The white men laughed in Ambrose's face. The breed smiled deprecatingly and forgivingly. "Hold your tongue, and be thankful you're getting off so easy," Macfarlane said, full of honest contempt. Ambrose became very pale. He turned his back, on them, and, climbing over the wire barrier, marched stiffly down to the gate. The consciousness of innocence is supposed to be sufficient to armor a man against any slanders, but this is only partially true. When one's accusers are honest, their scorn hurts, hurts more than any other wound we are capable of receiving. Ambrose was of the type that rages against a hurt. At present, for all he was outwardly so pale and still, he was deafened and blinded by rage. It was now full daylight. An extraordinary picture faced the watchers from the doorway--the ruined store in the background, the grotesque crew hanging to the fence palings. Their ordinary rags were covered with layers of misfit clothing out of the store, while many of them wore several hats, and others had extra pairs of shoes hanging around their necks. There was a great display of gaudy silk handkerchiefs. Pockets bulged with small articles of loot, and nearly every man lugged some particular treasure according to his fancy, whether it was an alarm clock or a glass pitcher or a bolt of red flannel. The younger men, still susceptible to gallantry, mostly were burdened with crushed articles of feminine finery, gaily trimmed hats, red or blue shawls, fancy satin bodices, corsets with the strings dangling. The faces, after a night of unbridled license, showed dull and slack in the daylight. Myengeen, whom Ambrose had marked earlier as a leader of the mob, gripped his hand at the gate and cried out with hypocritical joy. Others crowded around, those who could not obtain his hands, stroking his sleeves and fawning upon him. There was an ironical note in the demonstration. Ambrose observed that the majority of the Indians looked on indifferently. He smelted treachery in the air. The mob, facing about, started to move in open order toward the river. Ambrose, as they opened up, caught sight of the two dead bodies. It afflicted him with a dull at the pit of the stomach--these were the first deaths by violence he had witnessed. They still lay where they had fallen--the Indian sprawling in the middle of a black stain on the platform; Tole huddled on the bare earth of the quadrangle. Ambrose's heart sank at the thought of returning to Simon Grampierre with the gift of a dead son. The Indians gave no regard to the bodies--apparently they meant to leave them behind. Ambrose with no uncertain gestures commanded Myengeen to have them taken up and carried to the boat. It was done. When they got down the bank out of sight of the house Myengeen and the others gave over their hollow pretense of enthusiasm at Ambrose's release. Thereafter none paid the least attention to him. He saw that they had not only loaded the boat they came in, but on the principle of in for a penny, in for a pound, had also taken possession of one of the company york boats, and had loaded it to the gunwale. They immediately embarked and pushed off. Ambrose secured a place below Myengeen's steering platform. In the bottom of the boat, at his feet, lay the wizened Indian in his rags, and the straight, slim body of Tole--side by side like brothers in a bed. Tole's face was not disfigured; serene, boyish, and comely, it gave Ambrose's heart-strings a fresh wrench. He covered them both with a piece of sail-cloth. Across the river, as the Indians started to unload, Watusk came down to the beach, followed by several of his councilors. It was impossible to tell from his inscrutable, self-important air what he thought of all this. His flabby, yellow face changed neither at the sight of all the wealth they brought nor at the two dead men. Ambrose demanded four men of him to carry Tole's body to his father's house. Watusk kept him waiting while he listened to a communication from Myengeen. Ambrose guessed that it had to do with himself, for both men glanced furtively at him. Watusk finally turned away without having answered the white man. Ambrose, growing red, imperiously repeated his demand. Watusk, still without looking at him directly, spoke a word to some Indians within call, and Ambrose was immediately seized by a dozen hands. He was finally bound hand and foot with thongs of hide. This was no more than he expected, still he did not submit without a fierce but ineffectual struggle. When it was done his captors looked on him with respect--they did not laugh at him nor evince any anger. It was impossible for him to read any clue in their stolid faces what was going forward. Half a dozen of them carried him up the bank and laid him at the door of a teepee. Presently Watusk passed by. Ambrose so violently demanded an explanation that the Indian was forced to stop. He said, still without meeting Ambrose's eye: "Myengeen say you kill Tom Moosa. You got to take our law." "It's a lie!" cried Ambrose, suffocating with indignation. Watusk shrugged and disappeared. It was useless for Ambrose to shout at any of the others. He fumed in silence. The Indians gave his dangerous eyes a wide berth. Meanwhile the camp was plunged into a babel of confusion by the order to move. Boys ran here and there catching the horses, the teepees came down on the run, and the squaws frantically to pack their household gear. Infants and dogs infected with a common excitement outvied each other in screaming and barking. Ambrose saw only the beginning of the preparations. A horse was brought to where he lay, and the six men whom he was beginning to recognize as his particular guard unbound his ankles and lifted him into the saddle. They never dared lay hands on him except in concert--he took what comfort he could out of that tribute to his prowess. They tied his bound wrists to the saddle-horn, and also tied his ankles under the horse's belly, leaving just play enough for him to use the stirrups. The six then mounted their own horses, and they set off at a swift lope away from the river--one leading Ambrose's horse. They extended themselves in single file along a well-beaten trail. This, Ambrose knew, was the way to the Kakisa River--their own country. A chill struck to his breast. Any intelligible danger may be faced with a good heart, but to be cast among capricious and inscrutable savages, whom he could neither command nor comprehend, was enough to undermine the stoutest courage. Nevertheless he strove with himself as he rode. "They cannot put it over me unless I knuckle under," he thought. "They're afraid of me. No Indian that ever lived can face out a white man when the white man knows his power." Several dogs followed them out of camp. There was one that the others all snapped at and drove from among them. Ambrose suddenly recognized Job, and his heart leaped up. He had left him at Grampierre's the night before. The faithful little beast must have followed him down to the Kakisa camp and have been waiting for him ever since to return. During the events of the last half-hour Job had no doubt been regarding his master from afar. The other dogs would not let him run at the horses' heels, but he followed indomitably in the rear. Every time they went over a hill Ambrose saw him trotting patiently far behind in the trail. When they stopped to eat there was a joyful reunion. Ambrose no longer felt friendless. He divided his rations with his humble follower. The Indians smiled. In this respect they evidently considered the formidable white man a little soft-headed. CHAPTER XXVIII. A GLEAM OF HOPE. In the middle of the third day of hard riding over a flower-starred prairie, and through belts of poplar bush, they came to the Kakisa River. By this time Ambrose had become somewhat habituated to his captivity. At any rate, he was more philosophical. He had been treated well enough. There was a village at the end of the trail. Hearing the astonishing news of what had happened, the people stared at Ambrose with their hard, bright eyes as at a phenomenon. Ambrose figured that they had left Fort Enterprise a hundred and fifty miles behind. He looked at the river with interest. He had heard that no white man had ever descended it. He saw a smoothly flowing brown flood some two hundred yards wide winding away between verdant willows. A smaller stream joined it at this point, and the teepees stretched along either bank. Across the larger stream loomed a bold hill-point with a striking clump of pines upon it, and under the trees the gables of an Indian burying-ground like a village of toy houses. The flat where the rivers joined was hemmed all around by low hills. On the right, half-way up the rise, a log shack dominated the village--and to it Ambrose's captors led him. This was evidently intended to be his prison. Window and door were closely boarded up. The Indians tore the boards from the doorway and, casting off Ambrose's bonds, thrust him inside. They closed the door, leaving him in utter darkness. He heard them contriving a bar to keep him in. Ambrose, after waving his arms about to restore the circulation, set to exploring his quarters by sense of touch. First he collided with a counter running across from side to side. Behind, in the middle of the room, he found an iron cook-stove; against the right hand wall were tiers of empty shelves; at the back a bedstead filled with moldy hay; on the left side an empty chest, a table, and a chair. Thus it was a combination of store and dwelling; no doubt it had been built for Gordon Strange's use when he came to trade with the Kakisas. The window was over the table. Ambrose found it nailed down, besides being boarded up outside. He had no intention of submitting to the deprivation of light and air. He picked up the chair and swinging it delivered a series of blows that shattered the glass, cracked the frame, and finally drove out the boards. He found himself looking into the impassive faces of his jailers. They did not even seem surprised, and made no demonstration against him. Ambrose whistled. Job came running and scrambled over the window-sill into his master's arms. Later one of the Indians came with strips of moose hide which he pinned across outside the window. From each strip dangled a row of bells, such as are fastened to dog-harness. It was cunningly contrived--Ambrose could not touch one of the strips ever so gently without giving an alarm. Thereafter, as long as it was light, he could see them loafing and sleeping in the grass outside with their guns beside them. After dark their pipe-bowls glowed. Three days of inexpressible tedium followed. Had it not been for Job, Ambrose felt he would have gone out of his mind. His window overlooked the teepee village, and his sole distraction from his thoughts lay in watching the Indians at work and play. His jailers put up a teepee outside the shack. There were never less than three in sight, generally playing poker--and with their guns beside them. Ambrose knowing the inconsequentiality of the Indian mind guessed that they must have had strong orders to keep them on guard so faithfully. Any thought of escape was out of the question. He could not travel a hundred and fifty miles without a store of food. He sought to keep out a little from every meal that was served him, but he got barely enough for him and Job, too. On the fourth day the arrival of the main body of Indians from Fort Enterprise created a diversion. They came straggling slowly on foot down the hill to the flat, extreme weariness marked in their heavy gait and their sagging backs. Only Watusk rode a horse. Every other beast was requisitioned to carry the loot from the store. Some of the men--and all the women bore packs also. This was why they had been so long on the way. True to their savage nature they had taken more than they could carry. As Ambrose learned later, there were goods scattered wantonly all along the trail. Ambrose naturally anticipated some change in his own condition as a result of the arrival of Watusk. But nothing happened immediately. The patient squaws set to work to make camp, and by nightfall the village of teepees was increased fourfold. In the motionless twilight each cone gave a perpendicular thread of smoke to the thin cloud that hung low over the flat. As the darkness increased the teepees became faintly luminous from the fires within, and the streets gleamed like strings of pale Japanese lanterns. Ambrose, expecting visitors, watched at his window until late. None came. In the morning he made the man who brought his breakfast understand by signs that he wished to speak with Watusk. The chief did not, however, vouchsafe him a call. To-day it transpired that the Indians were only making a temporary halt below. After a few hours' rest they got in motion again, and all afternoon were engaged in ferrying their baggage across the river in dugouts and in swimming their horses over. On the following morning, with the exception of Watusk's lodge and half a dozen others, all the teepees were struck, and the whole body of the people crossed the river and disappeared behind the hill. All on that side was no man's land, still written down "unexplored" on the maps. Thereafter day succeeded day without any break in the monotony of Ambrose's imprisonment. He occasionally made out the portly figure of Watusk in his frock coat, but received no word from him. It was now the 20th of September, and the poplar boughs were bare. Every morning now the grass was covered with rime, and to-day a flurry of snow fell. Winter would increase the difficulties of escape tenfold. Ambrose speculated endlessly on what might be happening at Fort Enterprise. He thought, too, of Peter Minot who was relying on him to steer the hazarded fortunes of the firm into port--and groaned at his impotence. As with all solitary prisoners, throughout the long hours Ambrose's mind preyed upon itself. True, he had Job, who was friend and consoler in his dumb way, but Job was only a dog. To joke or to swear at his jailers was like trying to make a noise in a vacuum. Not to be able to make himself felt became a positive torture to Ambrose. On the night of this day, lying in bed, he found himself wide awake without being able to say what had awakened him. He lay listening, and presently heard the sound again--the fall of a little object on the floor. The chinks of the log walls were stopped with mud which had dried and loosened; nothing strange that bits of it should fall--still his heart beat fast. He heard a cautious scratching and another piece dropped and broke on the floor. Now he knew a living agency was at work. Job growled. Ambrose clutched his muzzle. Suddenly a whisper stole through the dark--in his amazement Ambrose could not have told from what quarter. "Angleysman! Angleysman!" Awe of the supernatural shook Ambrose's breast. He had come straight from deep slumber. A fine perspiration broke out upon him. It was a woman's whisper, with a tender lift and fall in the sound. Job struggled to release his head. Ambrose sternly bade him be quiet. The dog desisted, but crouched trembling. The whisper was repeated; "Angleysman!" A man must answer his summons. "What do you want?" asked Ambrose softly. "Come here." "Where are you?" "Here--at the corner. Come to the foot of your bed." Ambrose obeyed. Reaching the spot he said: "Speak again." "Here," the voice whispered. "I mak' a hole in the mud. Put your ear down and I spik sof'." Ambrose identified the spot whence the sound issued. He put his lips to it. "Who are you?" he whispered. "Nesis," came the softly breathed answer. "I your friend." Friend was always a word to warm Ambrose's breast, and surely at this moment of all his life he needed a friend. "Thank you," he said from a full heart. "I see you at the tea-dance," the voice went on. Ambrose had an intuition. "Were you the girl--" "Yes," she said. "I sit be'ind you. I think you pretty man. When we run out I squeeze your hand." Ambrose grinned into the darkness. "I thought you were pretty, too," he returned. "Oh, I wish I in there," she whispered. He was a little nonplused by her naïve warmth. "The men say you strong as one bear," she went on. "They say you got gold in your teeth. Is that true?" "Yes," said Ambrose laughing. "I lak' to see that." In spite of the best intent on both sides conversation languished. It is difficult to make acquaintance through a wall of logs. Finally Ambrose asked how it was she could speak English, and that unlocked her simple story. "My fat'er teach me," she said. "He is half a white man. He come here long tam ago and marry Kakisa. He spik ver' good Angleys. When Watusk is make head man he mad at my fat'er because my fat'er spik Angleys. "Watusk not want nobody spik Angleys but him around. Watusk fix it to mak' them kill my fat'er. It is the truth. Watusk not know I spik Angleys, too. My fat'er teach me quiet. If Watusk know that he cut out my tongue, I think. I lak spik Angleys--me. I spik by myself so not forget. I come spik Angleys with you." "Your father is dead?" said Ambrose. "Who do you live with?" "Watusk," came the surprising answer. "I Watusk's youngest wife. Got four wives." "Good Lord!" murmured Ambrose. "When my fat'er is kill, Watusk tak' me," she went on. "I hate him!" "What a shame!" cried Ambrose, remembering the wistful face. "I wish I in there!" she whispered again. "Will you help me to get out?" Ambrose asked eagerly. "I can make it if you can slip me some food." "I not want you go 'way," she said slowly. "I can't live locked up like this!" he cried. "Yes, I help you," she whispered. "Could you get me a horse, too?" he asked. "Yes," she said. "But many men is watch the trail for police. Tak' a canoe and go down the river." "Where does this river go?" "They say to the Big Buffalo lake." "Good! I can get back to Moultrie from there. Can you bring me a strong knife?" "I bring him to-morrow night, Angleysman." "I will cut a hole in the floor and dig out under the wall." Nesis was not anxious to talk over the details of his escape. "Have you got a wife?" she asked. "Why not?" There was no end to her questions. Finally she said with a sigh: "I got go now. I put my hand inside. You can touch it." Ambrose felt for the little fingers that crept through the slit, and gratefully pressed his lips to them. "Ah!" she breathed wonderingly. "Was that your mouth? It mak' me jomp! Put your hand outside, Angleysman." He did so, and felt his fingers brushed as with rose-petals. "Goo'-by!" she breathed. "Nesis," he asked, "do you know why Watusk is keeping me locked up here? What does he think he's going to do with me?" "Sure I know," she said. "Ev'rybody know. If the police catch him he say he not mak' all this trouble. He say you mak' him do it all. Gordon Strange tell him say that." A great light broke on Ambrose. "Of course!" he said. "Goo'-by, Angleysman!" breathed Nesis. "I come to-morrow night." CHAPTER XXIX. NESIS. After this, Ambrose's dreary imprisonment took on a new color. True, the hours next day threatened to drag more slowly than ever, but with the hope that it might be the last day he could bear it philosophically. Hour after hour he paced his floor on springs. "Tomorrow the free sky over my head!" he told himself. "I'll be doing something again!" He watched the teepees with an added interest, wondering if any of the women's figures he saw might be hers. The most he could distinguish at the distance was the difference between fat and slender. In the middle of the morning he saw Watusk ride forth, accompanied by four men that he guessed were the councilors. Watusk now had a military aspect. On his head he wore a pith helmet, and across the frock coat a broad red sash like a field marshal's. He and his henchmen climbed the trail leading back to Enterprise. Later, Ambrose saw a party of women leave camp, carrying birch-bark receptacles that looked like school-book satchels. They commenced to pick berries on the hillside. Ambrose wondered if his little friend were among them. They gradually circled the hill and approached his shack. As they drew near he finally recognized Nesis in one who occasionally straightened her back and glanced toward his window. She was slenderer than the others. The shack stood on a little terrace of clean grass. Above it and below stretched the rough hillside, covered with scrubby bushes and weeds. It was in this rough ground that the women were gathering wild cranberries. Coming to the edge of the grass, they paused with full satchels, talking idly, nibbling the fruit and casting inquisitive glances toward Ambrose's prison. There were eight of them, and Nesis stood out from the lot like a star. The four men playing poker in the grass at one side paid no attention to them. Nesis with a sly smile whispered in her neighbor's ear. The other girl grinned and nodded, the word was passed around, and they all came forward a little way in the grass with a timid air. Their inquisitive eyes sought to pierce the obscurity of the shack. Ambrose, not yet knowing what was expected of him, kept in the background. The fat girl, prompted and nudged by Nesis, suddenly squalled something in Kakisa, which convulsed them all. Ambrose had no difficulty in recognizing it as a derisive, flirtatious challenge. Not to be outdone, he came to the window and answered in kind. They could not contain their laughter at the sound of the comical English syllables. Badinage flew fast after that. Ambrose observed that Nesis herself never addressed him, but circulated slyly from one to another, making a cup of her hand at each ear. Becoming emboldened, they gradually drew closer to the window. They made outrageous faces. Still the poker-players affected not to be aware of them. As men and hunters they disdained to notice such foolishness. Suddenly Nesis, as if to prove her superior boldness, darted forward to the very window. Ambrose, startled by the unexpected move, fell back a step. Nesis put her hands on the sill and shrieked an unintelligible jibe into the room. The other girls hugged themselves with horrified delight. This was too much for the jailers. They sprang up and with threatening voice and gestures drove the girls away. They scampered down-hill, shrieking with affected terror. When Nesis placed her hands on the sill a thin package slipped out of her sleeve and thudded upon the floor. Ambrose's heart jumped. As the girls ran away, under cover of leaning out and calling after them, he pushed her gift under the table with his foot. One of the jailers, coming to the window and glancing about the room, found him unconcernedly lighting his pipe. When the poker game was resumed Ambrose retired with his prize to the farthest corner of the shack. It proved to be the knife he had asked for, a keen, strong blade. She had wrapped it in a piece of moose hide to keep it from clattering on the floor. Ambrose's heart warmed toward her anew. "She's as plucky and clever as she is friendly," he thought. He stuffed the knife in his bed and resigned himself as best he could to wait for darkness. Fortunately for his store of patience, the days were rapidly growing shorter. His supper was brought him at six, and when he had finished eating it was dark enough to begin work. Outside the moon's first quarter was filling the bowl of the hills with a delicate radiance, but moonlight outside only made the interior of the shack darker to one looking in. Ambrose squatted in the corner at the foot of his bed, and set to work as quietly as a mouse in the pantry. He had finished his hole in the flooring and was commencing to dig in the earth, when a soft scratching on the wall gave notice of Nesis's presence outside. "Angleysman, you there?" she whispered through the chink. "Here!" said Ambrose. "The boat is ready," she said. "I got grub and blanket and gun." "Ah, fine!" whispered Ambrose. "You almost out?" she asked. He explained his situation. "I dig this side, too," she said. "We dig together. Mak' no noise!" Since the shack was innocent of foundation it was no great matter to dig under the wall. With knife and hands Ambrose worked on his side until he had got deep enough to dig under. Occasional little sounds assured him that Nesis was not idle. Suddenly the thin barrier of earth between them caved in, and they clasped hands in the hole. Five minutes more of scooping out and the way was clear. Ambrose extended his long body on the floor and wriggled himself slowly under the log. Outside an urgent hand on his shoulder restrained him. Throwing herself on the ground, she put her lips to his ear. "Go back!" she whispered. "The moon is moch bright. You must wait little while." Ambrose, mad to taste the free air of heaven, resisted a little sullenly. "Please go back!" she whispered imploringly. "I come in. I got talk with you." He drew himself back into the shack with none too good a grace. Standing over the hole when she appeared, he put his hands under her arms and, drawing her through, stood her upon her feet. He could have tossed the little thing in the air with scarcely an effort. She turned about and came close to him. "I so glad to be by you!" she breathed. She emanated a delicate natural fragrance like pine-trees or wild roses--but Ambrose could only think of freedom. "You managed to get here without being seen," he grumbled. "You foolish!" she whispered tenderly. "I little. I can hide behind leaves sof' as a link. Your white face him show by the moon lak a little moon. Are you sorry you got stay with me little while?" "No!" he said. "But--I'm sick to be out of this!" She put her hands on his shoulders and drew him down. "Sit on the floor," she whispered. "Your ear too moch high for my mouth."' They sat, leaning against the footboard of the bed, Like a confiding child she snuggled her shoulder under his arm and drew the arm around her. What was he to do hut hold her close? "It is true, you ver' moch strong," she murmured. "Lak a bear. But a bear is ogly." "You didn't think I was pretty to-day, did you,", he said with a grin, "with a week's growth on my chin?" She softly stroked his cheek. "Wah!" she said, laughing. "Lak porcupine! Red man not have strong beard lak that. They say you scrape it off with a knife every day." "When I have the knife," said Ambrose. "Why you do that?" she asked. "I lak see it grow down long lak my hair. That would be wonderful!" Ambrose trembled with internal laughter. "I lak everything of you," she murmured. He was much troubled between his gratitude and his inability to reciprocate the naïve passion she had conceived for him. It is pleasant to be loved and flattered and exalted, but it entails obligations. "I never can thank you properly for what you've done," he said clumsily. "I do anything for you," she said quickly. "So soon my eyes see you to the dance I know that. Always before that I am think about white men. I not see no white men before, only the little parson, and the old men at the fort. They not lak you? My father is the same as me. He lak white men. We talk moch about white men. My fat'er say to me never forget the Angleys talk. Do I spik Angleys good, Angleysman?" "Fine!" whispered Ambrose. She pulled his head forward so that she could breathe her soft speech directly in his ear. "My father and me not the same lak other people here. We got white blood. Men not talk with their girls moch. My fat'er talk man talk with me. Because he is got no boys, only me. So I know many things. "I think, women's talk foolish. Many tam my fat'er say to me, Angleys talk mak' men strong. He say to me, some day Watusk kill me for cause I spik the Angleys. "So in the tam of falling leaves lak this, three years ago, my fat'er he is go down the river to the big falls to meet the people from Big Buffalo Lake. "My fat'er and ten men go. Bam-by them come back. My fat'er not in any dugout. Them say my fat'er is hunt with Ahcunza one day. My fat'er is fall in the river and go down the big falls. "They say that. But I know the truth. Ahcunza is a friend of Watusk. Watusk give him his vest with goldwork after. My fat'er is dead. I am lak wood then. My mot'er sell me to Watusk. I not care for not'ing." "Your mother, sell you!" murmured Ambrose. "My mot'er not lak me ver' moch," said Nesis simply. "She mad for cause I got white blood. She mad for cause my fat'er all tam talk with me." "Three years ago!" said Ambrose. "You must have been a little girl then!" "I fourteen year old then. My mot'er got 'not'er osban' now. Common man. They gone with Buffalo Lake people. I not care. All tam I think of my fat'er. He is one fine man. "Las' summer the priest come here. Mak' good talk, him. Say if we good, bam-by we see the dead again. What you think, is that true talk, Angleysman?" Ambrose's arm tightened around the wistful child. "Honest truth!" he whispered. She opened her simple heart fully to him. Her soft speech tumbled out as if it had been dammed all these years, and only now released by a touch of kindness. Ambrose was touched as deeply as a young man may be by a woman he does not love, yet he could not help glancing over her head at the square of sky obliquely revealed through the window. It gradually darkened. "The moon has gone down," he said at last. Nesis clung to him. "Ah, you so glad to leave me!" she whimpered. He gently released himself. "Think of me a little," he said. "I must get a long start before daylight." She buried her face on her knees. Her shoulders shook. "Nesis!" he whispered appealingly. She lifted her head and flung a hand across her eyes. "No good cry," she murmured. "Come on!" Nesis led the way out through the hole they had dug. Job followed Ambrose. Outside, for greater safety, he took the dog in his arms. The moon had sunk behind the hill across the river, but it was still dangerously bright. Nesis took hold of Ambrose's sleeve and pointed off to the right. She whispered in his ear: "Ev'ry tam feel what is under your foot before step hard." She did not make directly for the river, but led him step by step up the hill toward a growth of timber that promised safety. The first hundred yards was the most difficult. They rose above the shack into the line of vision of the guards in front, had they elevated their eyes. Nesis, crouching, moved like a cat after a bird. Ambrose followed, scarcely daring to breathe. Even the dog understood and lay as if dead in Ambrose's arms. The danger decreased with every step. When they gained the trees they could fairly count themselves safe. Even if an alarm were raised now it would take time to find them in the dark. Nesis, still leading Ambrose, pattered ahead as if every twig in the bush was familiar to her. She did not strike down to the river until they had gone a good way around the side of the hill. This brought them to the water's edge at a point a third of a mile or more below the teepees. Ambrose distinguished a bark canoe drawn up beneath the willows. In it lay the outfit she had provided. He put it in the water, and Job hopped into his accustomed place in the bow. "You love that dog ver' moch," Nesis murmured jealously. "He's all I've got," said Ambrose. Her hand swiftly sought his. "Tell me how I should go," said Ambrose hastily, fearing a demonstration. Nesis drew a long sigh. "I tell you," she said sadly. "They say it is four sleeps to the big falls. Two sleeps by quiet water. Many bad rapids after that. You mus' land by every rapid to look. They say the falls mak' no noise before they catch you. Ah! tak' care!" "I know rivers," said Ambrose. "They say under the water is a cave with white bones pile up!" she faltered. "They say my fat'er is there. I 'fraid for you to go!" "I'll be careful," he said lightly. "Don't you worry!" "At the falls," she went on sadly, "you mus' land on the side away from the sun, and carry your canoe on your back. There is pretty good trail. Three miles. After that one more sleep to the big lake. A Company fort is there." Like an honest man he dreaded the mere formulas of thanks at such a moment, but neither could an honest man forego them. "How can I ever repay you!" he mumbled. She clapped a warm hand over his mouth. As he was about to step in the canoe Ambrose saw a bundle lying on the ground to one side that he had not remarked before. "What is that?" he asked. "Nothing for you," she said quickly. The evasive note made him insist upon knowing. For a long time she would not tell, thus increasing his determination to find out. Finally she said very low: "I jus' foolish. I think maybe--maybe you want tak' me too!" Ambrose's heart was wrung. His arm went around her with a right good will. "You poor baby!" he murmured. "I can't!" She struggled to release herself. "All right," she said stiffly. "I not think you tak' me. Only maybe." "By God!" swore Ambrose. "If I live through my troubles I'll find a way of getting you out of yours!" "Ah, come back!" she murmured, clinging to his arm. "Good-by," he said. "Wait!" she said, clinging to him. She lifted her face. "Kiss me once, lak' white people kiss!" He kissed her fairly. "Goo'-by," she whispered. "I always be think of you. Goo'-by, Angleysman!" CHAPTER XXX. FREE! Ambrose put off with a heart big with compassion for the piteous little figure he was leaving behind him. His impotence to aid her poisoned the joy of his escape. The worst of it was that it was impossible for him to return the feeling she had for him--even though Colina were lost to him forever. Her unlucky passion almost forbade him to be the one to aid her. Yet he had profited by that passion to make his escape. He must find some way. As he drove his paddle into the breast of the dark river, and put one point of willows after another between him and danger, it must be confessed that his spirits rose steadily. Never had his nostrils tasted anything sweeter than the smell of warm river water on the chill air, nor his eyes beheld a friendlier sight than the cheery stars. The one who fares forth does not repine. After all he had only known Nesis for two days; she was fine and plucky--but he could not love her, and that was all there was to it. He had matters nearer his heart than the sad fate of an Indian maiden. Master of his actions once more it was time for him to consider what to do to get out of the coil he was in. Nesis passed into the back of his mind. No desire for sleep hampered him. He had had enough of sleeping the past two weeks. His arms had ached for this exercise. There was a fair current, and the willows moved by at a respectable rate. He estimated that he could put forty miles between him and the Kakisa village by morning. The pleasant taste of freedom was heightened by the spice of heading into the unknown, and by night. Night returns a rare sympathy to those who cultivate her. Ambrose, so far as he knew, was the first white man ever to travel this way. This river had no voice. The night was so still one could almost fancy one heard the stars. Sometimes the looming shapes of islands confused him as to his course, but if he held his paddle the canoe would of itself choose the main current. He had no apprehension as to what each bend in the stream would reveal, for with the experienced riverman's intuition he looked for a change in the character of the shores to warn him of any interruption of the current's smooth flow. "Like old times, old fel'!" he said to his dumb partner. Job's tail thumped on the gunwale. Ambrose contended that at night Job purposely turned stern formost to the most convenient hard object that his signals might be audible. "To-night is ours anyway, old fel'," said Ambrose. "Let's enjoy it while we can. The worst is yet to come!" It was many a day since Job had heard this jocular note in his master's voice. He wriggled a little and whined in his eagerness to reach him. Job knew better than to attempt to move much in the bark canoe. In due course the miracle of dawn was enacted on the river. The world stole out of the dark like a woman wan with watching. First the line of tree-tops on either bank became blackly silhouetted against the graying sky, then little by little the masses of trees and bushes resolved into individuals. Perspective came into being, afterward atmosphere, and finally color. The scene was as cool and delicate as that presented to a diver on the floor of the sea. As the light increased it was as if he mounted into shallower water toward the sun. The first distinctive note of color was the astonishing green of the goosegrass springing in the mud left by the falling water; then the current itself became a rich, brown with creamy flakes of foam sailing down like little vessels. While Ambrose looked, the world blossomed from a pale nun into a ruddy matron. With the rising of the sun the need of sleep began to afflict him. He had thought he never would need sleep again. His paddle became leaden in his hands, and Olympian yawns prostrated him. He did not wish to take the time to sleep as yet, but he resolved to stimulate his flagging energies with bread and hot tea. Landing on a point of stones, he built a fire, and hung his little copper pot over it. The sight of everything he had been provided with brought the thought of Nesis sharply home again, and sobered him. Here was everything a traveler might require, even including two extra pairs of moccasins, worked, he was sure, by herself. "How can I ever repay her?" he thought uncomfortably. Job was gyrating madly up and down the beach to express his joy at their deliverance. Ambrose was aroused from a drowsy contemplation of the fire by an urgent bark from the dog. Looking up, he was frozen with astonishment to behold another bark canoe sweeping around the bend above. When motion returned to him, his hand instinctively shot out toward the gun. But there was only one figure. It was a woman--it was Nesis! Ambrose dropped the gun and, jumping up, swore helplessly under his breath. He stared at the oncoming boat, fascinated with perplexity. During the few seconds between his first sight of it and its grounding at his feet, the complications bound to follow on her coming presented themselves with a horrible clearness. His face turned grim. Nesis, landing, could not face his look. She flung up an arm over her eyes. "Ah, don't look so mad to me!" she faltered. "God help us!" muttered Ambrose. "What will we do now?" She sank down in a heap at his feet. "Don't, don't hate me or I die!"' she wailed. It was impossible for him to remain angry with the forlorn little creature. He laid a hand on her shoulder. "Get up," he said with a sigh. "I'm not blaming you. The question is--what are we going to do?" She lifted her head. "I go with you," she whispered breathlessly. "I help you in the rapids. I bake bread for you. I watch at night." He shook his head. "You've got to go back," he said sternly. "No! No!" she cried, wringing her hands. "I can' go back no more! Las' night when you go I fall down. I think I goin' die. I sorry I not die. I want jump in river; but the priest say that is a bad thing. "I can' go back to Watusk's teepee no more. If he touch me I got kill him! That is bad, too! I don't know what to do! I want be good so I see my fat'er bam-by!" Ambrose groaned. She thought he was relenting, and came and wound her arms about him. "Tak' me wit' you," she pleaded like a little child. "I be good, Angleysman!" Ambrose firmly detached the imploring arms. "You mustn't do that," he said as to a child. "We've got to think hard what to do." "Ah, you hate me!" she wailed. "That's nonsense!" he said sharply. "I am your friend. I will never forget what you did for me!" He took an abrupt turn up and down the stones, trying to think what to do. "Look here," he said finally. "I've got to hurt you. I should have told you before, but I couldn't bring myself to hurt you. I can't love you the way you want. I'm in love with another woman." She flung away from him, shoulder up as if he had raised a whip. Her face turned ugly. "You love white woman!" she hissed with extraordinary passion. "Colina Gaviller! I know! I hate her! She proud and wicked woman. She hate my people!" Nesis's eyes flamed up with a kind of bitter triumph. Her voice rose shrilly. "She hate you, too! Always she is bad to you. I know that, too. What you want wit' Colina Gaviller? Are you a dog to lie down when she beat you?" Ambrose's eyes gleamed ominously. "Stop it!" he cried. "You don't know what you're talking about." His look intimidated her. The fury of jealousy subsided to a sullen muttering. "I hate her! She bad to the people. She want starve the people. She think her yellow horse better than an Indian!" Ambrose, seeing her lip begin to tremble and her eyes fill, relented. "Stop it," he said mildly. "No use for us to quarrel." She suddenly broke into a storm of weeping and cast herself down, hiding her face in her arms. Ambrose could think of nothing better to do than let her weep herself out. He sat down on a boulder. She came creeping to him at last, utterly humbled. "Angleysman, tak' me wit' you," she murmured, clasping her hands before him. Her breath was still caught with sobs. "I not expec' you marry me. I not bot'er you wit' much talk lak' a wife. I jus' be your little servant. You not want me, you say: Go 'way. I jus' wait till you want me again." Ambrose turned his head away. He had never imagined a man having to go through with anything like this. "Always, always I work for you," she whispered. "Let Colina Gaviller marry you. She not mind me. I guess she not mind that little dog you love. I jus' poor, common red girl. She think not'ing of me!" Ambrose laughed a bitter note at the picture she called up. "That would hardly work," he said. "But tak' me wit' you," she implored. She finally ventured to lay her cheek on his knee. He laid a hand on her hair. "Listen, you baby," he said, "and try to understand me. You know that they are going to try to put off all this trouble on me. They will say I made the Indians do bad. They will say I tried to kill John Gaviller. The police will arrest me, and there will be a trial. You know what that is." "Everybody see you not a bad man," she said. "It's not as simple as that," he said with a wry smile. "I have nobody to speak for me but myself. Now, if you go away with me everybody will say: 'Ambrose Doane stole Watusk's wife away from him. Ambrose Doane is a bad man.' And then they will not believe me when I say I did not lead the Indians into wrong; I did not try to kill John Gaviller." "I speak for you," cried Nesis. "I tell Gordon Strange and Watusk fix all trouble together." "If you go with me, they will not believe you either," said Ambrose patiently. "They will say: 'Nesis is crazy about Ambrose Doane. He makes her say whatever he wants.'" "It is the truth I am crazy 'bout you," said Nesis. Ambrose sighed. "Listen to me. I tell you straight, if you go with me it will ruin me. I am as good as a jailbird already." She gave her head an impatient shake. "I not understand," she said sadly. "You say it. I guess it is truth." There was a silence. Nesis's childlike brows were bent into a frown. She glanced into his face to see if there was any reprieve from the hard sentence. Finally she said very low: "Angleysman, you got go to jail if you tak' me?" "Sure as fate!" he said sadly. She got up very slowly. "I guess I ver' foolish," she murmured. She waited, obviously to give him a chance to speak. He was mum. "I go back now," she whispered heart-brokenly, and turned toward her canoe. With her hand on the prow she waited again, not looking at him, hoping against hope. There was something crushed and palpitating in her aspect like a wounded bird. Ambrose felt like a monster of cruelty. Suddenly a fresh fear attacked him. "Nesis," he asked, "how will you explain being away overnight? They will connect it with my escape. What will they do to you?" She turned her head, showing him a painful little smile. "You not think of that before," she murmured. "I not care what they do by me. You not love me." He strode to her and clapped a rough hand on her shoulder. "Here, I couldn't have them hurt you!" he cried harshly. "You baby! You come with me. I'm in as bad as I can be already. A little more or less won't make any difference. I'll chance it, anyway. You come with me!" "Oh, my Angleysman!" she breathed, and sank a little limp heap at his feet. Ambrose blew up the forgotten fire and made tea. Nesis quickly revived. Having made up his mind to take her, he put the best possible face on it. There were to be no more reproaches. Her pitiful anxiety not to anger him again made him wince. Her eyes never left his face. If he so much as frowned at an uncomfortable thought they became tragic. "Look here, I'm not a brute!" he cried, exasperated. Nesis looked foolish, and quickly turned her head away. Over their tea and bannock they became almost cheerful. Motion had made them both hungry. Ambrose glanced at their slender store. "We'll never hang out to the lake at this rate," he said laughing. "I set rabbit snare when we sleep," Nesis said quickly. "I catch fish. I shoot wild duck." "Shall we leave one of the canoes?" asked Ambrose. She shook her head vigorously. "Each tak' one. Maybe one bus' in rapids. You sleep in your canoe now. I pull you." Ambrose shook his head. "No sleep until to-night," he said. Ambrose was lighting his pipe and Nesis was gathering up the things when suddenly Job sprang up, barking furiously. At the same moment half a score of dark faces rose above the bank behind them, and gun-barrels stuck up. Among the ten was a distorted, snarling, yellow face. Ambrose snatched up his own gun. Nesis uttered a gasping cry; such a sound of terror Ambrose had never heard. "Shoot me!" she gasped, crawling toward him. "You shoot me! Angleysman, quick! Shoot me!" Her heartrending cries had so confused him, he was seized before he could raise his gun. CHAPTER XXXI. THE ALARM. Ambrose was pacing his log prison once more. The earth had been filled in, the hole in the floor roughly repaired, and now his jailers took turns in patrolling around the shack. Imprisonment was doubly hard now. Day and night Nesis's strange cries of terror rang in his ears. He knew something about the Indians' ideas of punishing women. His imagination never ceased to suggest terrible things that might have befallen her. "God! Every one that comes near me suffers!" he cried in his first despair. The explanation of their surprise proved simple. Watusk and his crew, pursuing them in two dugouts, had seen the smoke of their fire from up the river. They had landed above the point and, making a short detour inland, had fallen on Ambrose and Nesis from behind. Nesis had been carried back in one dugout, Ambrose in the other. During the trip no ill-usage had been offered her, as far as he could see, but upon reaching the village she had been spirited away, and he had not seen her since. His last glimpse had shown him her child's face almost dehumanized with terror. Ambrose now for the first time received a visit from Watusk. Watusk had also traveled in the other dugout ascending the river, and they had exchanged no words. He came to the shack attended by his four little familiars, and the door was closed behind them. These four were like supers in a theater. They had no lines to speak. Watusk's aspect was intended to be imposing. In addition to the red sash he now wore three belts, the first full of cartridges, the second supporting an old cavalry saber, the third carrying two gigantic .45 Colts in holsters. He carried the Winchester over his arm, and still wore the grimy pith helmet. Ambrose smiled with bitter amusement. It seemed like the very sport of fate that he should be placed in the power of such a poor creature as this. "How!" said Watusk, offering his hand with an affable smile. Ambrose, remembering the look of his face when it rose over the bank, was sharply taken aback. He lacked a clue to the course of reasoning pursued by Watusk's mongrel mind. However, he quickly reflected that it was only by exercising his wits that he could hope to help Nesis. He took the detestable hand and returned an offhand greeting. "You mak' beeg mistak' you try run away," said Watusk. "You mos' safe here." "How is that?" asked Ambrose warily. "I your friend," said Watusk. Ambrose suppressed the inclination to laugh. "I keep you here so people won't hurt you," Watusk went on. "My people lak children. Pretty soon forget what they after. Pretty soon forget they mad at you. Then I let you out." "Do you still mean to say that I killed one of your men?" demanded Ambrose hotly. Watusk shrugged. "Myengeen say so." "It's a lie!" cried Ambrose scornfully. An expectant look in Watusk's eye arrested him from saying more. "He's trying to find out how much Nesis told me," he thought. Aloud he said, with a shrug like Watusk himself: "Well, I'll be glad when it blows over." "Two three day I let you out," Watusk said soothingly. "You can have anything you want." "How is Nesis?" demanded Ambrose abruptly. There was a subtle change in Watusk's eyes; no muscle of his face altered. "She all right," he said coolly. "Where is she?" "I send her to my big camp 'cross the river." "You shouldn't blame Nesis for helping me out," Ambrose said earnestly--not that he expected to make any impression. "She's only a child. I made her do it." Watusk spread out his palms blandly. "I not blame her," he said. "I not care not'ing only maybe you get drown in the rapids." Ambrose studied the brown mask narrowly. Watusk gave nothing away. Suddenly the Indian smiled. "You t'ink I mad for cause she go wit' you?" he said. He laughed silently. "Wa! There are plenty women. When I let you out I give you Nesis." This sounded a little too philanthropic. "H-m!" said Ambrose. "You lak little Nesis, hey?" inquired Watusk, leering. Ambrose was warned by a crafty shadow in the other man's eye. "Sure!" he said lightly. "Didn't she help me out of here?" "You lak talk wit' her, I t'ink." Ambrose thought fast. The only English words Nesis had spoken in Watusk's hearing were her cries of fright at his appearance. In the confusion of that moment it was possible Watusk had not remarked them. "Talk to her?" said Ambrose, simulating surprise. "Only by signs." "How she get you out, then?" Watusk quickly asked. This was a poser. To hesitate was to confess all. Ambrose drew a quick breath and plunged ahead. "Why, she and a lot of girls were picking berries that day. They came around the shack here and began to jolly me through the window. I fixed Nesis with my eye and scared her. I made a sign for her to bring me a knife. She brought it at night. I put my magic on her and made her help me dig out and get me an outfit. I was afraid she'd raise an alarm as soon as I left, so I made her come, too." "Why you tak' two canoe?" asked Watusk. "In case we should break one in the rapids." "So!" said Watusk. Ambrose lighted his pipe with great carelessness. He was unable to tell from Watusk's face if his story had made any impression. Thinking of the conjure-man, he hoped the suggestion of magic might have an effect. "I let you out now," said Watusk suddenly. "You got promise me you not go way from here before I tell you go. Give me your hand and swear." Ambrose smelled treachery. He shook his head. "I'll escape if I can!" Watusk shrugged his shoulder and turned away. "You foolish," he said. "I your friend. Good-by." "Good-by," returned Ambrose ironically. Ambrose walked his floor, studying Watusk's words from every angle. The result of his cogitations was nil. Watusk's mind was at the same time too devious and too inconsequential for a mind like Ambrose's to track it. Ambrose decided that he was like one of the childish, unreasonable liars one meets in the mentally defective of our own race. Such a one is clever to no purpose: he will blandly attempt to lie away the presence of truth. In the middle of the afternoon Ambrose, making his endless tramp back and forth across the little shack, paused to take an observation from the window, and saw three horsemen come tearing down the trail into camp. They flung themselves off their horses with excited gestures, and the camp was instantly thrown into confusion. The natives darted among the teepees like ants when their hill is broken into. Watusk appeared, buckling on his belts. The women that were left in camp started to scuttle toward the river, dragging their children after them. Ambrose's heart bounded at the prospect of a diversion. Whatever happened, his lot could be no worse. At the first alarm three of his jailers had run down to the teepees. They came back in a hurry. The door of the shack was thrown open, and the whole six rushed in and seized him. Ambrose, seeking to delay them, struggled hard. They finally got his hands and feet tied, cursing him heartily in their own tongue. They hustled him down to the riverside. All the people left on this side were already gathered there. They continually looked over their shoulders with faces ashen with terror. The men who had horses drove them into the river and swam across with a hand upon the saddle. The women and children were ferried in the dugout. So great was their haste they came empty-handed. The teepees were left as they stood with fires burning and flaps up. Watusk passed near Ambrose, his yellow face livid with agitation. "What's the matter?" cried the white man. The chief was afflicted with a sudden deafness. Ambrose was cast in a dugout. The indefatigable Job hopped in after and made himself small at his master's feet. The mad excitement of the whole crowd inspired Ambrose with a strong desire to laugh. The water flew in cascades from the frantic paddles of the boat-men. Arriving on the other side, Ambrose was secured on a horse, as on his first journey, and instantly despatched inland with his usual guard. As he was carried away they were dragging up the dugouts and concealing them under the willows. Watusk was sending men to watch from the cemetery on top of the bold hill. Ambrose's guards led his horse at a smart lope around a spur of the hill and along beside a wasted stream almost lost in its stony bed. A dense forest bordered either bank. The trail was broken and spread by the recent passage of a large number of travelers; these would be the main body of the Kakisas a week before. Ambrose guessed that they were following the bed of a coulée. Through the tree-tops on either hand he had occasional glimpses of steep, high banks. After a dozen miles or so of this they suddenly debouched into a verdant little valley without a tree. The stream meandered through it with endless twists. Except for two narrow breaks where it entered and issued forth, the hills pressed all around, steep, grassy hills, fantastically knobbed and hollowed. The floor of the valley was about a third of a mile long and half as wide. It was flat and covered with a growth of blue-joint grass as high as a man's knee. The whole place was like a large clean, green bowl flecked here and there with patches of bright crimson where the wild rose scrub grew in the hollows. Ambrose, casting his eyes over the green panorama, was astonished to see at intervals around the sky-line little groups of men busily at work. They appeared to be digging; he could not be sure. One does not readily associate Indians with spades. His guards pointed out the workers to one another, jabbering excitedly in the uncouth Kakisa. They rode on through the upper entrance of the valley and plunged into forest again. Another mile, and they came abruptly on the Indian village hidden in a glade just big enough to contain it. It had grown; there were many more teepees in sight than Ambrose had counted before. They faced each other in two long double rows with a narrow green between. Down the middle of the green ran the stream, here no bigger than a man might step across. Ambrose was unceremoniously thrust into one of the first teepees and, bound hand and foot, left to his own devices. He managed to drag himself to the door, where he could at least see something of what was going on. He looked eagerly for a sight of Nesis, or, failing her, one of the girls who had accompanied her on the berry-picking expedition, and who might be induced to give him some honest information about her. He was not rewarded. All who entered the village from the east passed by him. Watusk and the rest of the people from the river arrived in an hour. Here among safe numbers of their own people they recovered from their alarm. Ambrose suspected their present confidence to be as little founded on reason as their previous terror. Watusk, strutting like a turkey-cock in his military finery, issued endless orders. At intervals the workers from the hills straggled into camp. Ambrose saw that they had been using their paddles as spades. A general and significant cleaning of rifles took place before the teepees. At dusk two more men rode in, probably outposts Watusk had left at the river. One held up his two bands, opening out and closing the fingers twice. Ambrose guessed from this that the coming police party numbered twenty. The last thing he saw as darkness infolded the camp was the boys driving in the horses from the hills. CHAPTER XXXII. THE TRAP. He shared the teepee with his six guards. Sleep was remote from his eyes. Nevertheless, he did fall off at last, only, it seemed to him, to be immediately awakened by his guards. His ankles were unbound, and he was made to understand that he must ride again. Ambrose, seeing no advantage to be gained by resistance, did what they ordered without objection. He got to his feet and went outside. A pitiful little yelp behind him caused him to whirl about and dart inside again. "Hands off my dog!" he cried in a voice that caused the Kakisas to fall back in affright. There was a little light from the fire. Their attitude was conciliatory. In their own language they sought to explain. One pointed to a kind of pannier of birch-bark hanging from a teepee pole, whence issued a violent scratching. "Let him out!" cried Ambrose. They expostulated with him. None made any move to obey. "Let him out!" commanded Ambrose, "or I'll smash something!" Watusk, attracted by the noise, stuck his head in. The matter was explained to him. Lifting the cover of the pannier, he exhibited the frightened but unharmed Job to his master. "Him all right," he said soothingly. "Let be. We got mak' new camp to-night. Can't tak' no dogs. Him come wit' women to-morrow." Ambrose did not believe him, of course; but if help were really so near, he felt it would be suicidal to provoke a conflict at this moment. Apparently they intended the dog no harm. He assumed to be contented with Watusk's explanation. "Good dog," he said to Job. "You're all right. Lie down." Ambrose mounted, and they tied him on as usual. On every hand he could see men mounting and riding out of the village. His heart slowly rose into his throat. Could it be meant that he was to take part in a night attack on the police? Surely the redcoats would never allow themselves to be surprised! Anyhow, if he was to be present, it would be strange if he could not help his own in some way. His horse was led up the hill, off at right angles to the village. Watusk remained near him. As they rose to higher ground the moon came into view, hanging above the tree-tops across the valley, preparatory to sinking out of sight. In its light the objects around him were more clearly revealed. Apparently the riders were straggling to a rendezvous. There was no haste. The terrible depression which had afflicted Ambrose since Nesis had disappeared was dissipated by the imminence of a great event. He lived in the moment. Out of the tail of his eye he observed Watusk's mount, a lustrous black stallion, the finest piece of horseflesh he had seen in the north. Ambrose heard a confused murmur ahead. Rising over the edge of the hill he saw its cause. A great body of horses was gathered close together on the prairie, each with its rider standing at its head. The animals jostled each other, bit and squealed, stamped their forefeet, and tossed their manes. The men were silent. It made a weird scene in the fading moonlight. Men and horses partook of a ghostly quality; the faces nearest him blank, oval patches, faintly phosphorescent, were like symbols of the tragedy of mankind. Watusk kept Ambrose at his side. Facing his men, he raised his hand theatrically. They sprang to their saddles and, wheeling, set out over the prairie. Gradually they lengthened out into single file. Presently the leader came loping back, and the whole body rode around Watusk and Ambrose in a vast circle. It was like an uncanny midnight circus. The riders maintained their silence. The only sounds were the thudding of hoofs on turf and the shaking of the horsemen in their clothes. Only one or two used saddles. The rifle-barrels caught dull gleams of moonlight. At another signal from Watusk they pulled up and, turning their horses' heads toward the center, made as small a circle as their numbers could squeeze into. Watusk addressed Ambrose with a magniloquent air. "See my children, white man! Brave as the white-face mountain bear! Swift as flying duck! This only a few my men. Toward the setting sun I got so many more wait my call. "By the big lake I got 'nother great army. Let white men tak' care how they treat us bad. To-morrow red man's day come. He got Watusk lead him now. Watusk see through white man's bluff!" It was impossible for Ambrose not to be impressed, ridiculous as Watusk's harangue was. There were the men, not less than two hundred--and twenty police to be attacked. Watusk now rode around the circle, addressing his men in their own tongue, singling out this man and that, and issuing instructions. It was all received in the same silence. Ambrose believed these quiet, ragged little warriors to be more dangerous than their inflated leader. At least in their ignorance they were honest; one could respect them. In more ways than one Ambrose had felt drawn to the Kakisas. They seemed to him a real people, largely unspoiled as yet by the impact of a stronger race. If he could only have talked to them, he thought. Surely in five minutes he could put them to rights and overthrow this general of straw! Watusk rode out of the circle, followed by Ambrose and Ambrose's guard. Several of the leading men, including one that Ambrose guessed from his size to be Myengeen, joined Watusk in front, and the main body made a soft thunder of hoofs in the rear. They were headed in a southeasterly direction--that is to say, back toward the Kakisa River. They rode at a walk. There was no conversation except among the leaders. The moon went down and the shadows pressed closer. In a little while there was a division. Myengeen, parted from Watusk and rode off to the right, followed, Ambrose judged from the sounds, by a great part of the horsemen. The remainder kept on in the same direction. Half a mile farther Watusk himself drew aside. Ambrose's guards and others joined him, while the balance of the Indians rode on and were swallowed in the darkness. Watusk turned to the right. Presently they were stopped by a bluff of poplar saplings growing in a hollow. Here all dismounted and tied their horses to trees. Ambrose's ankles were loosed and, with an Indian's hand on either shoulder, he was guided through the grass around the edge of the trees. He speculated vainly on what this move portended. No attack, certainly; they were striking matches and lighting their pipes. Suddenly the dim figures in front were swallowed up. Immediately afterward Ambrose was led down an incline into a kind of pit. The smell of turned earth was in his nostrils; he could still see the stars overhead. They gave him a corner, and his ankles were again tied. Soon it began to grow light. Little by little Ambrose made out the confines of the pit or trench. It was some twenty-five feet long and five feet wide. When the Indians stood erect, the shortest man could just look over the edge. Ambrose counted twenty-one men besides Watusk and himself. It was close quarters. When it became light enough to see clearly, they lined up in front of him, eagerly looking over. One was lighting a little fire and putting grass on it to make a smudge. Ambrose got his feet under him, and managed after several attempts to stand upright. He was tall enough to look over the heads of the Indians. Stretching before him he saw the valley he had remarked the evening before, with the streamlet winding like a silver ribbon in a green flounce. But what the Indians were looking at were little pillars of smoke which ascended at intervals all around the edge of the hills, hung for a moment or two in the motionless air, and disappeared. Ambrose counted eight besides their own. Watusk exclaimed in satisfaction, and ordered the fire put out. This, then, was the explanation of the digging--rifle-pits! Ambrose marveled at the cunning with which it had all been contrived. The excavated earth had been carried somewhere to the rear. Wild-rose scrub had been cut and replanted in the earth around three sides of the pit, leaving a clear space between the stems for the men to shoot through, with a screen of the crimson leaves above. So well had it been done that Ambrose could not distinguish the other pits from the patches of wild-rose scrub growing naturally on the hills. Ambrose's heart sank with the apprehension of serious danger. He began to wonder if he and all the other whites in the country had not under-rated these red men. Where could Watusk have learned his tactics? The thing was devilishly planned. With the cross-fire of two hundred rifles they could mow down an army if they could get them inside that valley. Each narrow entrance was covered by a pair of pits. Every part of the bowl was within range of every pit. Ambrose feared that the police, in their careless disdain of the natives, might ride straight into the trap and be lost. "Watusk, for God's sake, what do you mean to do?" he cried. Watusk was intensely gratified by the white man's alarm. He smiled insolently. "Ah!" he said. "You on'erstan' now!" "You fool!" cried Ambrose. "If you fire on the police you'll be wiped clean off the earth! The whole power of the government will descend on your head! There won't be a single Kakisa left to tell the story of what happened!" Watusk's face turned ugly. His eyes bolted. "Shut up!" he snarled, "or I gag you." Ambrose, bethinking himself that he might use his voice to good purpose later, clenched his teeth and said no more. At sunrise a fresh breeze sprang up from the south. Soon after a whisper of distant trotting horses was home upon it. Ambrose's heart leaped to his throat. An excited murmur ran among the Indians. They picked up their guns. Watusk's pit was one of the pair covering the upper entrance to the valley. It was thus farthest away from the approaching horsemen. It faced straight down the valley. Through the lower gap they caught the gleam of the red coats. Ambrose beheld them with a painfully contracted heart. He gaged in his mind how far his voice might carry. The wind was against him. Presumably he would only be allowed to cry out once, so it behooved him to make sure it was heard. However, the same thought was in the minds of the Indians. They scowled at him suspiciously. Suddenly, while it was yet useless for him to cry out, they fell upon him, bearing him to the ground! CHAPTER XXXIII. THE TEST. After a fierce struggle Ambrose was securely bound and gagged. He managed to get to his feet again. His soul sickened at the tragedy it forecast, yet he had to look. To his overwhelming relief he saw that the redcoats had halted in the lower entrance to the valley. Evidently the possibility of an ambush in so favored a spot had occurred to their leader. The baggage was sent back. His relief was short-lived. Presently the advance was resumed at a walk, and a pair of skirmishers sent out on either side to mount the hills. Ambrose counted sixteen redcoats in the main body, and a man in plain clothes, evidently a native guide. One skirmisher on the left was headed all unconscious straight for a rifle pit. Ambrose, suffocated by his impotence, tugged at his bonds and groaned under the gag. "Turn back! Turn back!" shouted his voiceless tongue. There was a shot. Ambrose closed his eyes expecting a fusillade to follow. It did not come. From his pit, Watusk hissed a negative order. Ambrose heard a shrill whistle from the bottom of the valley, and opening his eyes, he saw the skirmishers riding slowly back to the main body. Even at the distance their nonchalant air was evident. The main body had quietly halted in the middle of the valley. After a moment's pause, one of their number raised a rifle with a white flag tied to the barrel. The Indians surrounding Ambrose, lowered their guns, and murmured confusedly among themselves. Ambrose looked at Watusk. The chief betrayed symptoms of indecision, biting his lip, and pulling his fingers until the joints cracked. Ambrose took a little encouragement from the sight. To Ambrose's astonishment he saw the troopers dismounting. Flinging the lines over their horses' heads, they allowed the beasts to crop the rich grass of the bottoms. The men stood about in careless twos and threes, lighting their pipes. Only their leader remained in the saddle, lolling comfortably sidewise. The breeze brought the sound of their light talk and deep laughter. The effect on the Indians was marked. Their jaws dropped, they looked at each other incredulously, they jabbered excitedly. Plainly they were divided between admiration and mystification. Watusk was demoralized. His hand shook, an ashy tint crept under his yellow skin, an agony of impotent rage narrowed his eyes. Ambrose's heart swelled with the pride of race. "Splendid fellows!" he cried to himself. "It was exactly the right thing to do!" Presently a hail was raised in the valley below; a deep English voice whose tones gladdened Ambrose's ears. "Ho, Watusk!" Every eye turned toward the leader. Watusk had the air of a wilful child called by his parent. He pished and swaggered, and made some remark to his men with the obsequious smile with which child--or man--asks for the support of his mates in his wrong-doing. The men did not smile back; they merely watched soberly to see what Watusk was going to do about it. The hail was repeated. "Ho, Watusk! Inspector Egerton orders you to come and talk to him!" So it was Colonel Egerton, thought Ambrose, commander of B district of the police, and known affectionately from Caribou Lake to the Arctic as Patch-pants Egerton, or simply as "the old man." He was a veteran of two Indian uprisings. Ambrose felt still further reassured. Watusk, still swaggering, nevertheless visibly weakened. In the end he had to go, just as a child must in the end obey a calm, imperative summons. He issued a petulant order. All the men except Ambrose's guard of six took their guns and filed out through the back of the pit. Watusk went last. Glancing over his shoulder and seeing that those left behind were busily watching the troopers in the valley, he produced a flask from his pocket and took a pull at it. Ambrose caught the act out of the corner of his eye. A few minutes later, Watusk and his followers rode over the edge of the hill to the left of the rifle pit, and down into the valley. The policemen scarcely looked up to see them come. Inspector Egerton and Chief Watusk faced each other on horseback. The other Indians remained at a respectful distance. Ambrose mightily desired to hear what was being said on either side. He learned later. "Watusk!" cried the peppery little inspector. "What damn foolishness is this? Rifle pits! Do you think you're another Louis Riel?" Watusk, glowering sullenly, made no answer. "Have you got Ambrose Doane here?" the officer demanded. "Ambrose Doane here," said Watusk. "I want him," said Egerton crisply. "I also want you, Watusk, Myengeen, Tatateecha, and three others whose names I can't pronounce. I have a clerk belonging to the Company store who will pick them out. "I've got to send you all out for trial before the river closes, so there's no time to lose. We will start back to-day. I will leave half my men here under Sergeant Plaskett to look after your people. You will instruct your people to bring in all the goods stolen from the Company store. "Plaskett will have a list of everything that was taken and will credit what is returned. The balance, together with the amount of damage done the store will be charged in a lump against the tribe, and the sum deducted pro rata from the government annuities next year. They're lucky to get off so easy." "We get pay, too, for our flour burn up?" muttered Watusk. "That will be investigated with the rest," the inspector said. "Bring in your people at once. Look sharp! There's not an hour to lose!" Watusk made no move. The fiery spirit he had swallowed was lending a deceitful warmth to his veins. He began to feel like a hero. His eyes narrowed and glittered. "Suppose I don' do it?" he muttered. The inspectors white eyebrows went up. "Then I will go and take the men I want," he said coolly. "You dead before you gone far," said Watusk. He swept his arm dramatically around the hills. "I got five hundred Winchesters point at your red coats!" he cried. "When I give signal they speak together!" "That's a lie," said the inspector. "You've only a few over two hundred able men in your tribe." "Two hundred is plenty," said Watusk unabashed. "That is ten bullets for every man of yours. They are all around you. You cannot go forward or back. Ask Company man if Kakisas shoot straight!" Inspector Egerton's answer was a hearty laugh. "Capital!" he cried. "Laugh!" cried Watusk furiously. "You no harder than ot'er man. You got no medicine to stop those bullets you sell us! No? If bullets go t'rough your red coats you die lak ot'er men I guess!" "Certainly!" cried the old soldier with a flash of his blue eyes. "That's our business. But it won't do you any good. We're but the outposts of a mighty power that encircles the world. If you defy that power you'll be wiped out like the prairie grass in a fire." "Huh!" cried Watusk. "White man's bluff! White man always talk big about the power behind him. I lak see that power, me! I will show the red people you no better than them! "When it was known Watusk has beat the police, as far as the northern ocean they will take arms and drive the white men out of their country! I have sent out my messengers!" "What do you expect me to say to that?" inquired the officer quizzically. "Tell you men lay their guns on the ground," said Watusk. "They my prisoners. I treat them kind." Inspector Egerton laughed until his little paunch shook. "Come," he said good-naturedly, "I haven't got time to exchange heroics with you. Run along and bring in your people. I'll give you half an hour." The inspector drew out his watch, and took note of the time. He then turned to address his sergeant, leaving Watusk in mid air, so to speak. There was nothing for the Indian leader to do but wheel his horse and ride back up the hill with what dignity he could muster. His men fell in behind him. They had understood nothing of what was said, of course, but the byplay was sufficiently intelligible. The whole party was crestfallen. Observing this air on their return to the rifle pit, Ambrose's eye brightened. Watusk seeing the keen, questioning eye, announced with dignity. "We won. The red-coats surrendered." This was so palpably a falsehood Ambrose could well afford to smile broadly behind his gag. The half hour that then followed seemed like half a day to those who watched. Ambrose, ignorant of what had occurred, could only guess the reason of the armistice. The police had taken down their white flag. He could see the inspector glance at his watch from time to time. Wondering messengers came from the other pits presumably to find out the reason of the inaction, to whom Watusk returned evasive replies. Bound and gagged as he was, it was anything but an easy time for Ambrose. He had the poor satisfaction of seeing that Watusk was more uneasy than himself. To a discerning eye the Indian leader was suffering visible torments. Egerton, the wily old Indian fighter, knew his man. If he had made the slightest move to provoke a conflict, raged, threatened, fired a gun, the savage nature would instantly have reacted, and it would have all been over in a few moments. But to laugh and light a cigarette! Watusk was rendered impotent by a morale beyond his comprehension. The longest half hour has only thirty minutes. Inspector Egerton looked at his watch for the last time and spoke to his men. The policemen caught their horses, and without any appearance of haste, tightened girths and mounted. They commenced to move slowly through the grass in the track of Watusk's party, spreading out wide in open formation. The inspector was in the center of the line. He carried no arms. His men were still joking and laughing. They commenced to mount the hill, walking their horses, and sitting loosely in their saddles. Each trooper had his reins in one hand, his rifle barrel in the other, with the butt of the weapon resting on his thigh. They were coming straight for the rifle pit; no doubt they had marked the bushes masking it. Ambrose saw that they were young men, slim-waisted and graceful. The one on the right end had lost his hat through some accident. He had fair hair that caught the sun. This was the critical moment. The fate of the nineteen boys and their white-haired leader hung by a hair. Ambrose held his breath under the gag. A cry, an untoward movement would have caused an immediate slaughter. The Indians' eyes glittered, their teeth showed, they fingered their rifles. A single word from their leader would have sufficed. Watusk longed to speak it, and could not. The sweat was running down his yellow-gray face. One of the horses stumbled. The Indians with muttered exclamations flung up their guns. Ambrose thought it was all over. But at that moment by the grace of God, one of the troopers made a good joke, and a hearty laugh rang along the line. The Indians lowered their guns and stared with bulging eyes. They could not fight supermen like these. Watusk, with the groan of total collapse, dropped his gun on the ground, and turned to escape by the path out of the pit. Instantly there was pandemonium in the narrow place. Some tried to escape with their leader; others blocked the way. Ambrose saw Watusk seized and flung on the ground. One spat in his face. He lay where he had fallen. Thus ended the Kakisa rebellion. The Indians had no further thought of resistance. The butts of their guns dropped to the ground, and they stared at the oncoming troopers with characteristic apathy. CHAPTER XXXIV. ANOTHER CHANGE OF JAILERS. The police advanced to within twenty-five yards and, drawing closer together, halted. "Watusk, come out of that!" barked the inspector in his parade ground voice. Ambrose had his first look at him. He was a little man, trigly built, with a bullet head under a closely cropped thatch of white. A heavy white mustache bisected his florid face. No one could have mistaken him in any dress, for aught but a soldier. He did not look as if patience and fair-mindedness were included among his virtues, which was unfortunate for Ambrose as the event proved. As Watusk gave no sign of stirring, he was seized by many hands and boosted over the edge of the pit. He rolled over, knocking down some of the bushes and finally rose to his feet, standing with wretched, hang-dog mien. His appearance, with the frock coat all rubbed with earth and the military gear hanging askew, caused the troopers to shout with laughter. Here was a change from the fire-eater of half an hour before. "Ho!" cried Inspector Egerton. "The conqueror of the English!" Watusk drew closer and began to whine insinuatingly. "I sorry I mak' that talk, me. I can' help it at all. Ambrose Doane tell me that. He put his medicine on me. I sick." Ambrose attempted to cry out in his angry astonishment, but only a muffled groan issued through the handkerchief. He was not visible to the troopers where he stood in the corner, and he could not move. "Is Ambrose Doane there?" demanded the officer. Watusk quickly turned and spoke a sentence in Kakisa. Ambrose saw the look of craft in his yellow face. One of the men who guarded Ambrose drew his knife and cut his bonds and untied the handkerchief. Ambrose's heart beat high. It never occurred to him that they could believe the wretched liar! He drew himself over the edge of the pit, helped by those behind. "Hello!" he cried. There was no answering greeting. The faces before him were as grim as stone. For Watusk they had a kind of good-humored contempt--for him a cold and deadly scorn. Evidently their minds were made up in advance. The inspector twirled his mustache and regarded him with a hard, speculative eye. Ambrose's heart failed him terribly. These were men that he admired. "What's the matter?" he cried. "Do you believe this liar? I have been a prisoner up to this moment--bound hand and foot and gagged. The marks are still on my wrists!" Inspector Egerton did not look at his wrists. "H-m! Not bad!" he said grimly. "You're a cool hand, my man!" The blood rushed to Ambrose's face. "For God's sake, will you tell me what I could hope to gain by stirring up the Indians?" he demanded. "Don't ask me," said the inspector. "You were ready to grasp at any straw, I expect." In the face of injustice so determined, it was only humiliating for Ambrose to attempt to defend himself. His face hardened. He set his jaw and shrugged callously. "You're under arrest," said the inspector. "On what charge?" Ambrose sullenly demanded. "A mere trifle," said the inspector ironically. "Unlawful entry, conspiracy, burglary, and assault with intent to kill. To which we shall probably add treason." Ambrose made no answer. In his heart he had hoped that the empty charges at Fort Enterprise had fallen of their own weight before this. The inspector turned his attention back to Watusk. "Deliver over your arsenal!" he said. Watusk meekly unfastened his various belts and handed them to a trooper. Having observed Ambrose's rebuff, his face had become smooth and inscrutable again. By this time the Indians had issued out of the pit by the rear and were standing in an uncertain group a little way off. "Order them to pile their weapons on the ground," commanded the inspector. "Let each man make a mark upon the stock of his rifle so that he can identify it when it is returned. Send messengers to the other pits with orders for all the men to bring their guns here." Watusk was eager to obey him. "Where is your camp?" the inspector asked him. Watusk pointed. "One mile," he said. "After we get the guns you shall go there with me and we will examine the people." Ambrose, hearing this, turned to the trooper who was nearest. "If you go to the camp get me my dog, will you?" he asked sullenly. "What's that?" demanded the inspector. Ambrose explained where his dog was to be found. They looked at him curiously as if surprised that such a desperate criminal should be solicitous about a dog. The trooper promised to bring him. Inspector Egerton continued to issue his orders. "Bafford, ride back and bring up the baggage. Have my tent pitched in the middle of the valley below. Emslie"--this was the yellow-haired youth--"I shall hold you responsible for the white prisoner. You needn't handcuff him. He couldn't escape if he wished to." Ambrose had to undergo the humiliation of walking down hill at the stirrup of the young trooper's horse. Emslie showed a less hard face than some of the others. Ambrose sought to establish relations with him by asking for tobacco. He was hungry for speech with his own kind. But the look of cold contempt with which his request was granted precluded any further advances. Upon Inspector Egerton's return from the Kakisa village a meal was served. Afterward the inspector sat at his folding-table inside his tent and held his investigations. There was a deal of business to be transacted. In due course Ambrose was brought before him. Watusk, whose services were in continual demand as interpreter, was present, and several troopers. "It is customary to ask a prisoner upon arrest if he has anything to say for himself," said the inspector. "I must warn you that anything you say may be used against you." Ambrose felt their animosity like a wall around him. "What's the use?" he said sullenly. "You've already convicted me in your own mind." "What I think of your case has nothing to do with it," said the inspector coldly. "You will be brought before competent judges." "There is something I want to say," said Ambrose, looking at Watusk. "But not before that mongrel." The inspector spoke to a trooper, and Watusk was led outside. "Now, then!" he said to Ambrose. "Watusk means to turn king's evidence," said Ambrose. "He will make up what story he pleases, thinking that none of the Kakisas can testify except through him--or through Gordon Strange, who is his friend." "Are you accusing Strange now?" interrupted the inspector. "Let me tell you: Strange is pretty highly thought of back at the fort." "No doubt!" said Ambrose with a shrug. "There is one member of the tribe beside Watusk who can speak English," he went on. "In the interest of justice I ask you to find her." "Who is it?" "Her name is Nesis. She is the youngest of the four wives of Watusk." Ambrose told her story briefly and baldly. "So!" said the inspector with a peculiar smile. "According to your own story you eloped with Watusk's wife. Upon my word! Do you expect a jury to attach any weight to her evidence?" "I take my chance of that," said Ambrose. "If you want to get at the truth you must find her." "I'll have a search made at once." "Watch Watusk," warned Ambrose. "He'll stop at nothing to keep her evidence out of court--not even murder." The inspector smiled in an annoyed way. Ambrose's attitude did not agree with his preconceptions. However, he immediately rode back to the Kakisa village with three troopers. In an hour he sent one of the men back for Watusk. In two hours they all returned--without Nesis. Ambrose's heart sank like a stone. By instinct he strove to conceal his discouragement from his enemies under a nonchalant air. The inspector, feeling that some explanation was due to Ambrose, had him brought to his tent again. "I have searched," he said. "I can find no trace of any such person as you describe." "Naturally, not with Watusk's help," said Ambrose bitterly. The inspector bit his lip. According to his lights he was honestly trying to be fair to the prisoner. "First I searched the teepees myself," he condescended to explain. "It appears there are several girls by that name. When I called on Watusk I had him watched and checked." "The Indians were primed in advance," said Ambrose. "Watusk can pull wool over your eyes." "Silence!" cried the exasperated inspector. "Your story is preposterous anyway. Pure romance. Nevertheless I have instructed Sergeant Plaskett to continue the search. If any such girl should be found, which would surprise me, she will be sent out. You can go." Inspector Egerton with half his force started back for the Kakisa River _en route_ to Fort Enterprise that same afternoon. They convoyed seven prisoners, and five additional members of the Kakisa tribe, whom Watusk had indicated would be material witnesses. Ambrose watched Watusk ingratiating himself with bitterness at his heart. The Indian ex-leader's air of penitent eagerness to atone for past misdeeds was admirable. They rode hard, and crossed the river before making their first camp. The next day they covered sixty miles, reaching a station established by Inspector Egerton on the way over, where they found fresh horses. At the end of the third day they camped within thirty miles of Fort Enterprise. Ambrose could never afterward think of these days without an inward shudder. Pain angered him. Outwardly he looked the hard and reckless character they thought him, because his sensibilities were raw and quivering. The dog knew. He was free to move about; he was well-fed and freshly clothed, and the policemen acted toward him with a disinterestedness so scrupulous it was almost like kindness. Nevertheless Ambrose felt their belief in his guilt like a hunchback feels the difference in the world's glance. In his moments of blackest discouragement the suggestion flitted oddly through his brain that maybe he was guilty of all these preposterous crimes. If this was not enough, once he heard them discussing his case. He was lying in a tent, and there was a little group of troopers at the door, smoking. They thought he was asleep. He heard Emslie say: "Doane looks like a decent-enough head, doesn't he? Shows you never can tell." "The worst criminals are always a decent-looking sort," said another. "That's why they're dangerous." "By gad!" said a third, "when you think of all he's responsible for, even if he didn't do it with his own hands--arson, robbery, murder--think what that girl at Enterprise has been through! By gad! hanging's too good for him!" "Any man that would lower himself to rouse the passions of the Indians against his own kind--he isn't worth the name of white man!" "The worst of it is nothing you can do to Doane will repair the damage. He's put back the white man's work in this country twenty years!" Ambrose rolled over and covered his head with his arms. These were honest men who spoke, men he would have chosen for friends. Nest morning he showed no sign, except perhaps an added sullenness. Nevertheless he had received a hurt that would never altogether heal while he lived. No matter how swift rehabilitation might follow, after an experience like this a man could never have the same frank confidence in the power of truth. It was a point of pride with him to be a model prisoner. He gave as little trouble as possible, and during the whole journey made but one request. That was at the last spell before reaching the fort. He asked for a razor. Colina might scorn him like the others, but she should not see him looking like a tramp. Immediately upon their arrival at Fort Enterprise, John Gaviller in his capacity as Justice of the Peace held a hearing in the police room in the quarters. Gaviller's health was largely restored, but the old assurance was lacking, perhaps he would never be quite the same man again. He was prompted by Gordon Strange. Colina was not present. Ambrose had not seen her upon landing. The hearing was merely a perfunctory affair. All the prisoners were remanded to Prince George for trial. Ambrose gathered from the talk that reached his ears that it was intended to send everybody, prisoners, and witnesses, including Gordon Strange, Gaviller and Colina up the river next day in the launch and a scow. To travel seven days in her sight, a prisoner--he wondered if there were any dregs of bitterness remaining in the cup after this! They gave Ambrose the jail to himself. This was a little log-shack behind the quarters with iron-bound door and barred window. To him in the course of the afternoon came Inspector Egerton moved by his sense of duty. He officially informed Ambrose that he was to be taken up the river next morning. "Is there anything you want?" he asked stiffly. "I left a friend here," Ambrose said with a bitter smile. "I'd like to see him if he's willing to come." "Whom do you mean?" "Simon Grampierre." The inspector looked grave. "He's under arrest," he said. "I can't let you communicate." "Can I see his son then, Germain Grampierre?" "Sorry. He's on parole." Ambrose had been counting on this more than he knew, to talk with some man, even a breed, who believed in him. It is a necessity of our natures under trial. To deny it was like robbing him of his last hope. Some power of endurance suddenly snapped within him. "What do you come here for?" he cried in a breaking voice. "To torture me? Must I be surrounded day and night only by those who think me a murderer! For God's sake get the thing over with! Take me to town and hang me if that's what you want! A month of this and I'd be a gibbering idiot anyway!" The ring of honest pain in this aroused dim compunctions in the admirable little colonel. He twisted his big mustache uncomfortably. "I'm sure I've done what I could for you," he said. "Everything except let me alone," cried Ambrose. "For God's sake go away and let me be!" He flung himself face downward on his cot. Inspector Egerton withdrew stiffly. Ambrose lay with his head in his arms, and let his shaking nerves quiet down. A fit of the blackest despair succeeded. To his other troubles he now added hot shame--that he had broken down before his enemy. It seemed to him in the retrospect that he had raved like a guilty man. He foresaw weeks and weeks of this yet to come with fresh humiliations daily and added pain; if he gave way already what would become of him in the end? How could he hope to keep his manhood? A blank terror faced him. The sound of the key in the lock brought him springing to his feet. None of them should see him weaken again! With trembling hands he put his pipe in his mouth, and lighted it nonchalantly. It was Emslie with his supper. "Playing waiter, eh?" drawled Ambrose. "You fellows have to be everything from grooms to chambermaids, don't you?" Young Emslie stared, and grew red. "What's the matter with you?" he demanded. "A man must have a little entertainment," said Ambrose. "I'm forced to get it out of you. You don't know how funny you are, Emslie." "You'd best be civil!" growled the policeman. "Why?" drawled out Ambrose. "You've got to keep a hold on yourself whatever I say to you. It's regulations. Man to man I could lick you with ease!" "By gad!" began Emslie. Very red in the face, he turned on his heel, and went out slamming the door. Ambrose laughed, and felt a little better. Only by allowing his bitter pain some such outlet was he able to endure it. Disregarding the supper, he strode up and down his prison, planning in his despair how he would harden himself to steel. No longer would he suffer in silence. To the last hour he'd swagger and jeer. These red-coats were stiff-necked and dull-witted; he could have rare fun with them. He saw himself in the court-room keeping the crowd in a roar with his outrageous gibes. And if at the last he swung--he'd step off with a jest that would live in history! The key turned in the lock again. He swung around ready with an insult for his jailer. Colina stood in the doorway. CHAPTER XXXV. THE JAIL VISITOR. The light was behind Colina, and Ambrose could not at first read her expression. There was something changed in her aspect; her chin was not carried so high. She was wearing a plain blue linen dress, and her hair was done low over her ears. Colina was one of the women who unconsciously dress to suit their moods. She looked different now, but she was indisputably Colina. The sight of her dear shape caused him the same old shock of astonishment. All the blood seemed to forsake his heart; he put a hand against the wall behind him for support. He presently distinguished changes in her face also. It bore the marks of sleeplessness and suffering. Pride still made her eyes reticent and cold, but the old outrageous arrogance was gone. In the wave of tenderness for her that engulfed him he clean forgot the self-pleasing defiance he had imagined for himself, forgot his desperate situation, forgot everything but her. He was unable to speak, and Colina did not immediately offer to. She stood a step inside the door, with her hand on the back of the one chair the room contained. Her eyes were cast down. It was Emslie who broke the silence. "Do you wish me to stay?" he respectfully asked Colina. She raised grave eyes to Ambrose. "Is there anything I can do for you?" she asked evenly. "Yes," said Ambrose breathlessly. After a moment's hesitation she said to Emslie: "Please wait outside." Ambrose's heart leaped up. No sooner had the door closed behind Emslie than, forgetting everything, it burst its bonds. "Colina! How good of you to come! It makes me so happy to see you! If you knew how I had hungered and thirsted for a sight of you! How charming you look in that dress! Your hair is done differently, too. I swear it is like the sun shining in here. You look tired. Sit down. Have some tea. What a fool I am! You don't want to eat in a jail, do you?" Her eyes widened with amazement at his outburst. She shrank from him. "Don't be afraid," he said. "I'm not going to touch you--a jailbird! I'm not fooling myself. I know how you feel toward me. I can't help it. If you knew how I had been bottled up! I must speak to some one or go clean off my head. It makes me forget just to see you. Ah, it was good of you to come!" "I am visiting all the prisoners," Colina was careful to explain. "And getting them what they need for the journey to-morrow." It pulled him up short. He glanced at her with an odd smile, tender, bitter, and grim. "Charity!" he murmured. "Thanks, I have plenty of warm clothes, and so forth." Colina bit her lip. There was a silence. He gazed at her hungrily. She was so dear to him it was impossible for him to be otherwise than tender. "Just the same, it was mighty good of you to come," he said. "You said there was something I could do for you," she murmured. "Please sit down." She did so. "I don't want to beg any personal favors," he said. "There is something you might do for the sake of justice." "Never mind that," she said. "What is it?" "Let me have a little pride, too," he said. "It isn't easy to ask favors of your enemies. I am surrounded by those who hate me and believe me guilty. Naturally, I stand as much chance of a fair trial as a spy in wartime. I'm just beginning to understand that. At first I thought as long as one's conscience was clear nothing could happen." "What is it I can do?" she asked again. "I am taking for granted you would like to see me get off," Ambrose went on. "Admitting that--that the old feeling is dead and all that--still it can't be exactly pleasant for you to feel that you once felt that way toward a murderer and a traitor--" "Please, please--" murmured Colina. "You see you have a motive for helping me," Ambrose insisted. "I thought first of Simon Grampierre. He's under arrest. Then I asked to be allowed to see Germain, his son. The inspector wouldn't have it. I gave up hope after that. But the sight of you makes me want to defend myself still. I thought maybe you would have a note carried to Germain for me." "Certainly," she said. "You shall read it," he said eagerly, "so you can satisfy yourself there's nothing treasonable." She made a deprecating gesture. "I'll write it at once," he said. He carried the tray to the bed. Colina gave him the chair. "They let me have writing materials," Ambrose went on with a rueful smile. "I think they hope I may write out a confession some night." To Germain Grampierre he wrote a plain, brief account of Nesis, and made clear what a desperate need he had of finding her. "Will you read it?" he asked Colina. She shook her head. He handed it to her unsealed, and she thrust it in her dress. "I'm ever so much obliged to you," he said, trying to keep up the reasonable air. "How pretty your hair looks that way!" he added inconsequentially. The words were surprised out of him. She turned abruptly. It was beginning to be dark in the shack, and he could no longer see into her face. Her movement was too much for his self-control. "Ah, must you go?" he cried sharply. "Another minute or two! It will be dreadful here after you've gone!" "What's the use?" she whispered. "True," he said harshly. "What's the use?" He turned his back on her. "Good night, and thank you." She lingered, hand upon the doorlatch. "Isn't there--isn't there something else I can do?" she asked. "No, thank you." Still she stayed. "You haven't touched your supper," she said in a small voice. "Mayn't I--send you something from the house?" "No!" he cried swiftly. "Not your pity--nor your charity, neither!" Colina fumbled weakly with the latch--and her hand dropped from it. "Why don't you go?" he cried sharply. "I can't stand it. I know you hate me. I tell myself that every minute. Be honest and show you hate me, not act sorry!" "I do not hate you," she whispered. He faced her with a kind of terror in his eyes. "For God's sake, go!" he cried. "You're building up a hope in me--it will kill me if it comes to nothing! I can't stand any more. Go!" His amazed eyes beheld her come falteringly toward him, reaching out her hands. "Ambrose--I--I can't!" she whispered. He caught her in his arms. Colina broke into a little tempest of weeping, and clung to him like a child. He held her close, stroking her hair and murmuring clumsy, broken phrases of comfort. "Don't! My dear love, don't grieve so! It's all right now. I can't bear to have you hurt." "I love you!" she sobbed. "I have never stopped loving you! It was something outside of me that persuaded me to hate you. I've been living in a hell since that night! And to find you like this! Nothing to eat but bread and salt pork! Every word you said was like a knife in my breast. And not a single word of reproach!" "There!" he said, trying to laugh. "You didn't put me here." She finally lifted a tear-stained face. Clinging to his shoulders and searching his eyes, she said: "Swear to me that you are innocent, and I'll never have another doubt." He shook his head. "No more swearing!" he said. "If you let yourself be persuaded by the sound of the words, as soon as you left me and heard the others you'd doubt me again. It's got to come from the inside. Words don't signify." Colina hung her head. "You're right," she said in a humbled voice. "I guess I just wanted an excuse to save my pride. I do believe in you--with my whole heart. I never really doubted you--I was ashamed, afraid, I don't know what. I was a coward. But I suffered for it--every night. Do you despise me?" He laughed from a light breast. "Despise you? That's funny! It was natural. A damnable combination of circumstances. I never blamed you." They were silent for a few moments. She looked up to find him smiling oddly. "What is it?" she asked. "Nothing much," he said. "I was thinking--human beings are sort of elastic, aren't they? After all I've been through the last few days--you don't know!--and then this--you dear one! It's a wonder the shock didn't kill me--but I feel fine! Just peaceful. I don't care what happens now." It was Colina's turn to lavish her pent-up tenderness upon him then. After a while she disengaged herself from his arms. "They will wonder what makes me stay so long," she murmured. "And my eyes are red. Emslie will see when I go out." Ambrose poured out water in his basin. "Dabble your eyes in this," he said. "When you're ready to go I'll call Emslie in. Coming in from the light, he won't notice anything. You can slip out ahead of him." Colina bathed her face as he suggested. Catching each other's eyes, they blushed and laughed. "We must decide quickly what we're going to do," she said hastily. "First read that letter," said Ambrose. She read it, leaning back against his shoulder. "A woman!" she said in a changed voice and straightened up. She read further. "She helped you escape!" Colina turned and faced him. "She believed in you, eh?" she said, her lip curling. Ambrose's heart sank. "Now, Colina--" he began. "Why, she never thought anything about it!" Colina consulted the letter again. "She ran away with you!" she cried accusingly. "Followed me," corrected Ambrose. "She was in love with you!" Colina's voice rang bitterly. "Are you beginning to doubt me already?" he cried, aghast. "Be reasonable! You know how it is with these native girls. The sight of a white man hypnotizes them. You can't have lived here without seeing it. Do you blame me for that?" She paid no attention to the question. Struggling to command herself, she said: "Answer me one question. It is my right. Did you ever kiss her?" Ambrose groaned in spirit, and cast round in his mind how to answer. "You hesitate!" cried Colina, suddenly beside herself. "You did! Ah, horrible!" She violently scrubbed her own lips with the back of her hand. "A brown girl! A teepee-dweller! A savage! Ugh! That's what men are!" An honest anger nerved Ambrose. He roughly seized her wrists. "Listen!" he commanded in a tone that silenced her. "As I bade her good-by on the shore she asked me to. She had just risked death to get me out, remember--worse than death perhaps. What should I have done? Answer me that!" Colina refused to meet the question. Her assumption of indifference was very painful to see. She was not beautiful then. "Don't ask me," she said with a sneer. "I suppose men understand such women. I cannot." Ambrose turned away with a helpless gesture. Colina moved haughtily toward the door. Within ten minutes their wonderful happiness had been born and strangled again. "I don't suppose you will want to send my letter now," Ambrose said with a sinking heart. Colina blushed with shame, but she would not let him see it. "Certainly," she said coldly. "What has this to do with a question of justice?" Ambrose, sore and indignant, would not make any more overtures. "There's a postscript I must add," he said coldly, extending his hand for the letter. "I cannot wait for you to write it," she said. "Tell me. I will add it myself." "I think it likely," Ambrose said, "that Nesis"--Colina winced at the sound of the name--"has been spirited away from the Kakisa village. There are two other villages, one on Buffalo Lake and one on Kakisa Lake, about sixty miles up the Kakisa River. "They brought her up the river with me, so it is hardly likely she was sent down again to Buffalo Lake. I think she's at Kakisa Lake, if she's alive." Colina bowed. "I will tell Germain Grampierre," she said. Her hand rose to the door. Ambrose's heart failed him. "Ah, Colina!" he cried reproachfully and imploringly. She slipped out without answering. Ambrose flung himself on his bed and cursed fate again. He was not experienced enough to realize that this was not necessarily a fatal break. All night he tried to steel his heart against fate and against Colina. It was harder now. It was an utterly wretched Ambrose that faced the dawn. While it was still early Emslie passed him a note through the window. Ambrose knew the handwriting, and tore it open with trembling fingers. He read: MY DEAR LOVE: I was hateful. It was the meanest kind of jealousy. I was furious at her because she helped you at the time when I was on the side of your enemies. I have been suffering torments all night. Forgive me. I am going to find Nesis myself. That is the only way I can make up for everything. I love you. COLINA. CHAPTER XXXVI. COLINA'S ENTERPRISE. Upon leaving Ambrose, Colina despatched his letter across the river by Michel Trudeau. She then dressed for dinner. To-night was to be an occasion, for beside Inspector Egerton they had Duncan Seton, inspector of Company posts, and his wife. The Setons had come down with the police. Seton was to run the post at Fort Enterprise while John Gaviller and Gordon Strange were absent at the trials. Colina, buoyed up with anger, dressed with care. She saw herself self-possessed and queenly at the foot of her own table's favorite picture of herself. Nevertheless, the reaction was swiftly setting in. She couldn't help having a generous heart, nor could she put away the picture of Ambrose and his miserable, untasted supper. At the last moment her courage failed her. She knew the conversation would have to do solely with the coming trials. She knew Inspector Egerton's style in dealing with Ambrose. She could not face it. She sent down-stairs the time-honored excuse of young ladies and, tearing off her finery, flung herself, like Ambrose, on her bed. She passed a worse night than he, for while the man accused fate, she had to accuse herself. Colina was nothing if not whole-hearted; coward was the gentlest of the names she called herself. More than once she was on the point of rushing out of the house and, regardless of consequences, imploring Ambrose's forgiveness. However, after midnight a way out of her coil suggested itself like a star shining out. She slept for a peaceful hour. Long before dawn she arose and awakened her maid. This was Cora, a stolid Cree half-breed, doggedly devoted to her mistress and accustomed to receiving her impulsive orders like inscrutable commands from Heaven. Upon being notified, therefore, that they were about to set off on a long journey overland instead of by the launch, she set to work to get ready without surprise or question. Colina wrote the letter to Ambrose and another to her father. The latter was a little masterpiece of casualness, designed to prevent pursuit, if that were possible. She knew that they dared not wait another day, before starting up-stream in the launch. DEAR FATHER: I have heard a rumor of new evidence bearing on the trials. It's not worth while telling Inspector Egerton and delaying everything, because I'm not sure of anything. I'm off to investigate for myself. I'm taking Cora, and shall have a couple of reliable men with me, so there's no occasion to worry. You must not attempt to wait for me, of course. If I secure any information worth while Mr. Seton will find a way to send me out with it. If I do not, why I'm not an essential witness at the trials, and of course I'll be all right here with the Setons until you get back. Affectionately, COLINA. She left the letters with the cook, giving precise instructions for their delivery. That to her father was not to be handed over until her absence from the house should be discovered. Nothing was to be said about the other letter. The two girls saddled Ginger and the next best horse in the stable for Cora to ride, and took a third horse with a pack-saddle for their baggage. They rowed across the river, making the horses swim in the wake of the boat. On the other side they set off forthwith on the Kakisa trail. Colina had decided that it would be a waste of precious time to turn aside to the Grampierres. Whether Germain started before or after her, she could find him on the way. That he would start for the Kakisa River this morning she had no doubt. When they had ridden a couple of miles Cora pointed out to her where the tracks of four horses struck into the trail. They were just ahead, she said. They came upon Germain Grampierre and his brother Georges making their first spell by the trail. Great was their astonishment upon hearing Colina announce her intentions. Germain used all the obvious arguments to turn her back, and Colina smilingly overruled them. He was openly in awe of her, and, of course, in the end she had her way, and they rode together, Germain shaking his head with secret misgivings. They pushed their horses to the utmost, ever urged on by Colina, who could not know what might be behind them. But she knew they rode the best horses to be had at Enterprise. They reached the Kakisa River on the third day without any surprise from the rear. They found that the main body of the Kakisas had been brought back to their village here, where they were pursuing their usual avocations under the eye of the police encamped on the terrace around the shack. Colina immediately addressed herself to the police headquarters. She had remarked Sergeant Plaskett on his arrival at Fort Enterprise, a typical mounted policeman, and a fine figure of a man to boot--tall, lean, deep-chested, deep-eyed--a dependable man. She approached him with confidence. The sight of her astonished, confused, and charmed him, as she meant it should. He was only a man. But as she told her story he stiffened into the policeman. "Sorry," he said uncomfortably. "I have explicit orders from Inspector Egerton not to allow any communication between these people here and the other branches of the tribe." "Why not?" asked Colina. Plaskett shrugged deprecatingly. "Not for me to say. I can guess, perhaps. It's not possible to lock them all up, but these people are under arrest just the same. I must keep the disaffected from mingling with the loyal." "That's all right," said Colina, "but you can give me a policeman to go up the river with me and make a search." He shook his head regretfully but firmly. "Inspector Egerton ordered me to leave the up-river people alone," he said. "The coming of a policeman would throw them into excitement. No one can say what they might do. I can't take the responsibility." Colina shrugged. "Then the Grampierres and I must go by ourselves," she said. Plaskett became even stiffer and more uncomfortable. "Germain Grampierre and his brother had no business to leave home," he said. "By their own confessions they are implicated in the raid on the Company's flour-mill. They were told that if they remained at home they would not be molested. But if they attempted to escape they would immediately be arrested." "They're not trying to escape!" cried Colina. "I don't believe they are," said Plaskett. "But I've got to send them home. Orders are orders." But this was not the kind of argument to use with a young woman whose blood is up. "Don't you recognize anything but orders?" she cried. "Inspector Egerton is hundreds of miles away by this time. Are you going to wait for his orders before you act?" Plaskett's position was not an enviable one. "When anything new comes up I have to act for myself," he explained stiffly. "The story about this girl is not new. During the past week I have examined every principal man in the tribe and many of the women. "I have not found any clue to the existence of such a person. Moreover, every man has testified in unmistakable signs that Ambrose Doane was not only at large while he was with them, but that he directed all their movements." "They have been told that by saying this they can save themselves," said Colina. "Possibly," said Plaskett, "but I cannot believe that among so many there is not one who would betray himself." For half an hour they had it out, back and forth, without making any progress. Plaskett used all of a man's arguments to persuade her to return to Enterprise. Colina, seeing that she was getting nowhere, finally feigned to submit. She obtained his permission to go among the Indians by herself in the hope that they might tell her something they were afraid to tell the police. Accompanied by Cora she went from teepee to teepee. The Kakisas showed themselves awed by her condescension, but still they were uncommunicative. She was Gaviller's daughter. The place of honor by the fire was made for her, tea hastily warmed up, and doubtful Indian delicacies produced. But she learned nothing. At any mention of the names Ambrose Doane or Nesis a subtle, walled look crept into their eyes, and they became unaccountably stupid. She was about to give up this line of inquiry when, at a little distance from the nearest teepee, she came upon a girl engaged in dressing a moose-hide stretched upon a great frame. There were no other Indians near. Colina resolved upon a last attempt. CHAPTER XXXVII. MARYA. Colina drew near the girl, pausing as if casually interested in her work. She was a fat girl, with a peculiarly good-humored expression, and evinced no awe at Colina's approach, but unaffected delight. Colina obeyed an inward suggestion, sent Cora back to the Grampierres, and sat down beside Marya, determined to take plenty of time to establish friendly relations. This was not difficult. The plump, copper-skinned maiden was overjoyed by the opportunity to examine anything so wonderful as a white girl at close range. No part of Colina's person or attire escaped her scrutiny. Marya stroked her with a soft crooning. The fastidious Colina bore it, smiling. At the throat of her waist Colina was wearing a topaz-pin, to which the Indian girl's eyes ever returned, dazzled. Colina finally took it off, and pinned it in Marya's cotton dress. Marya gave way to an extravagant pantomime of joy. Bowing her head, she seized Colina's hand, and pressed it to her forehead. Meanwhile they exchanged such simple remarks as lent themselves to the medium of signs. Colina finally ventured to pronounce the name "Nesis" at the same time asking by a sign which included the teepees if she was there. Marya looked startled. She hesitated, but Colina's hold was now strong upon her. She shook her head. First glancing cautiously around to make sure they were not observed, she nodded in the direction of up river. By simple signs she told Colina that Nesis was in a village (crossed fingers for teepees) beside a lake (a wide sweep, and an agitated, flattened hand for shimmering water), and that it could be reached by a journey with one sleep upon the way. (Here she paddled an imaginary canoe, stopped, closed her eyes, inclined her head on her shoulder and held up one finger.) Colina, overjoyed, proceeded to further question. In the same graphic, simple way she learned the story of Ambrose's imprisonment and how Nesis got him out. "Come!" she cried, extending her hand. "We'll see what Sergeant Plaskett has to say to this!" But when Marya understood that she was expected to repeat her story to the policeman, a frantic, stubborn terror took possession of her. She gave Colina to understand in no uncertain signs that the Indians would kill her if she told the secret. Colina, taking into account the pains they had gone to to keep it, could not deny the danger. She finally asked Marya if she would take her, Colina, to the place where Nesis was. Marya, terrified, positively refused. Pulling off her gauntlet, Colina displayed to Marya a ring set with a gleaming opal. It was Marya's she let her understand, if she would serve her. Marya's eyes sickened with desire. She wavered--but finally refused with a little moan. Terror was stronger than cupidity. Colina debated with herself. She asked Marya if the way to go was by paddling. Marya shook her head. She gave Colina to understand that the canoes were all tied up together and watched by the police. She signed that the Kakisas had a few horses up the river a little way that the police did not know about. They stole out of camp at dawn, caught a horse and rode up the river. Evidently there was regular travel between the two villages. Colina, thinking of the policeman's confident belief that he had intercepted all communications, smiled. Colina finally asked if Marya would put her on the trail to the other village--in exchange for the ring. Marya, after a struggle with her fears, consented, stipulating that they must start before dark. Colina understood from her signs that the biggest opal ever mined would not tempt Marya to wander in the bush after dark. Colina did some rapid thinking. She doubted whether Germain Grampierre after having been warned by the police would go with her to the other village. She quickly decided that she didn't want him with her anyway, worthy, stupid fellow that he was. Yet he had constituted himself her protector, and he would hardly let her go without him. It did not promise to be easy to hoodwink both Plaskett and Grampierre. What she was going to do when she found Nesis, Colina did not stop to consider. The thing to do was to find the girl, and trust to pluck and mother wit for the rest. Colina finally thought she saw her way clear. She asked Marya if she would meet her in an hour on the Enterprise trail outside of camp. It was now three o'clock. Marya, with her eyes upon the opal, nodded. She gave Colina to understand that she would be waiting at a place where the trail crossed a stream, and climbed to a little prairie with thick bushes around it. Leaving Marya, Colina returned to the police tents. Climbing the hill, she had the satisfaction upon looking back to see that the Indian girl had foresaken her moose-hide. The edge of the bush was near her: it would not be hard for her to lose herself. Simulating an air of discouragement, Colina told Sergeant Plaskett she had learned nothing and signified her willingness to return to Enterprise. "I'd start at once," she said suggestively, "but my horses are tired." Plaskett was greatly relieved. "I'll furnish you with fresh horses," he said instantly. "Let your horses stay here and rest up. I'll send them in with the first patrol, and you can then return mine." This was what Colina desired. She smiled on the policeman dazzlingly. Plaskett sent a trooper for the horses, and himself escorted Colina back to the spot at the foot of the hill where she had ordered the Grampierres and Cora to wait for her. She told Germain the same story. The half-breed who had been interviewed by Plaskett in the meantime, was delighted by her resolve to return. He instantly set to work to pack up. In less than half an hour they started for home. As they mounted the hill, Plaskett gallantly waved his cap from below. The bush swallowed them. Colina was thinking: "What shall I do if she is afraid, and doesn't come?" However, less than a mile from the river, they forded a little brook, climbed a shallow hill, and there, true to her agreement, waited Marya, standing like a statue beside the trail. Colina, making believe to be greatly astonished, dismounted, and drew her apart. Marya, understanding from her glance of intelligence that the others were not in the secret, gesticulated vividly for their benefit. "She tells me she knows where Nesis is hidden," Colina said to Germain. "She says she will take me there." "We will go back," said Germain. Colina shook her head. "No need for you to come back," she said. "It will only anger the policeman. You and Georges go on home. I will get a policeman to go with me." Germain protested, but his secret desire was to obey the sergeant's orders, and Colina had no difficulty in persuading him. A division of the baggage was made on the spot, and they parted. The Grampierres continued toward Enterprise, and the three girls turned back. Colina breathed more freely. Plaskett now believed that she had gone home with Germain, and Germain believed she had gone back to Plaskett. Marya had mounted on their pack-horse. They had not gone far in the trail, when she signified that they were to strike off to the left. Colina pulled up. "Cora," she said, "it's not true that I am going to get help from the police. I mean to go myself to the other Indian village to get the girl I want. You don't have to come. You can ride after Germain, and tell him I decided I didn't need you." "I go wit' you," Cora said stolidly. Colina beamed on her handmaiden, and offered her her hand. She was willing to face the thing alone, but it was a comfort to have the stolid dependable Cora at her side. Moreover, Cora was an admirable cook and packer. Colina was not enamored of the drudgery of camp. Marya led the way slowly through the trackless bush in the general direction of the afternoon sun, or southwest. Colina guessed that they were making a wide detour around the Indian village. The going was not too difficult, for it was only second growth timber, poplar and birch, with spruce in the hollows. The original monarchs had been consumed by fire many years before. They had covered, Colina guessed, about five miles when the sky showed ahead through the tree trunks, and Marya signed that they were to dismount and tie the horses. Leading them to the edge of the trees, she made them lie down. They found themselves overlooking a grassy bottom similar to that upon which the Kakisa village stood. The outer edge of the meadow was skirted by the brown flood of the river, and trees hemmed it in on either side. A score of Indian ponies were feeding in the grass. Marya made Colina understand that the trail to Kakisa Lake traversed the little plain below alongside the river. She signified that some men were expected from the upper village that day, and that Colina must wait where she was until she saw them pass below. Finally Marya pointed avidly to the opal ring. Colina handed it over. The Indian girl slipped it on her own finger, gazing at the effect with a kind of incredulous delight. The stolid Cora looked on disapprovingly. Suddenly Marya, without so much as a look at her companions, scrambled to her feet, and hastened silently away through the trees. She was clutching the ring finger with the other hand as if she feared to lose it, finger and all. That was the last of Marya. Sure enough before the sun went down, they saw a party of four Indians issue out on the little plain from the direction of up river. Crossing the grass and dismounting, they turned their horses out and cached their saddles under the willows. Then they proceeded afoot. Colina waited until she was sure there were no more to follow; then mounting, she and Cora rode down to the trail. CHAPTER XXXVIII. THE FINDING OF NESIS. The afternoon was waning, and Colina, knowing she must have covered nearly sixty miles, began to keep a sharp lookout ahead. They had had no adventures by the way, except that of sleeping under the stars without male protectors near, in itself an adventure to Colina. Colina took it like everything else, as a matter of course. Cora had been raised on the trail. In her impatience to arrive Colina had somewhat scamped her horses' rest, and the grass-fed beasts were tired. Issuing from among the trees upon one of the now familiar grassy bottoms that bordered the river, they saw grazing horses and knew they were hard upon their destination. A spur of the hills cut off the view up river. Rounding it, the teepees spread before them. They were contained in a semicircular hollow of the hills like an amphitheater, with the river running close beside. Colina had decided that in boldness lay her best chance of success. Clapping heels to her horse's ribs, therefore, she rode smartly into the square, appearing in the very midst of the Indians before they were warned. This village differed in no important respect from the others. Some of the teepees were made of tanned hides in the old way. The people were of the same stock, but even less sophisticated. Few of these had even been to Fort Enterprise to trade. The sudden appearance of Colina's white face affected them something in the way of a miracle. Every man dropped what he was about and stared with hanging jaw. Others came running out of the teepees and stopped dead at the door. For a moment or two there was no movement whatever in the square. But they knew Gaviller's daughter by repute, of course, and the word was passed around that it was she. The tension relaxed. They slowly gathered around, looking at her with no friendly eye. Colina searched rapidly among them for one that might answer to the description of Nesis. There was no girl that by any stretch of the imagination could have been called beautiful. Not wishing to give them time to spirit her away, Colina suddenly raised her voice and cried: "Nesis!" There was no answer, but several heads in the crowd turned involuntarily toward a certain teepee. Colina, perceiving the movement, wheeled her horse and loped across the square in that direction. Cora followed, leading the pack-horse. The Indians sidled after. Approaching the teepee she had marked, Colina heard sounds of a muffled struggle inside. Flinging herself off her horse and throwing up the flap, she saw a figure on the ground, held down by several old crones. "Hands off!" cried Colina in a voice so sudden and peremptory that the old women, though the words meant nothing to them, obeyed. Nesis, lithe and swift as a lynx, wriggled out of their grasp, sprang to her feet, and darted outside, all in a single movement, it seemed. The two girls faced each other, Nesis panting and trembling. The same look of bitter curiosity was in each pair of eyes. Each acknowledged the other's beauty with a jealous twinge. But in the red girl's sad eyes there was no hope of rivalry. She soon cast down her lids. Colina thought her eyes the saddest she had ever seen in a human face. She saw that there was little resemblance between her and her Kakisa sisters. Nesis was as slender as a young aspen and her cheeks showed a clear olive pallor. Her lips were like the petals of a Jacqueminot rose. Colina, remembering that Ambrose had kissed them, turned a little hard. "You are Nesis?" she asked, though she knew it well. The girl nodded without looking up. "You know Ambrose Doane?" Again the mute nod. "Will you come with me to testify for him?" Nesis looked up blankly. "I mean," explained Colina, "will you come and tell his judges that he did not lead the Kakisas into trouble?" Nesis, by vivid signs, informed Colina that Ambrose had been a prisoner among the Indians. It occurred to Colina as strange, since she could understand English, that she should use signs. "I know he was a prisoner," she said. "Will you come with me and tell the police that?" Nesis turned and with a despairing gesture called Colina's attention to the gathering Indians who would prevent her. Not a sound issued from her lips. "Never mind them," said Colina scornfully. "Are you willing to come?" Nesis lifted her eyes to Colina's--eyes luminous with eagerness and emotion--and quickly nodded again. "Why doesn't she speak!" thought Colina. Aloud she said: "All right. Tell them I am going to take you. Tell them anybody that interferes does so at his peril." She pointed to her rifle. To Colina's astonishment, the girl lowered her head and flung an arm up over her face. "What's the matter?" she cried. "I'll take care of you." She drew the arm down. "Speak to them!" she said again. Nesis slowly raised her head. Her eyes crept to Colina's, humble and unspeakably mournful. She opened her mouth and pointed within. Colina looked--and sickened. A little cry of utter horror was forced from her, and she fell back a step, She saw why Nesis did not speak. The disclosure was too sudden and dreadful. For the first and last time during that hazardous enterprise her strong spirit failed. She became as pale as snow and her hands flew to her breast. Cora, watching her, slipped out of the saddle and glided to her aid. The weakness was momentary. Before Cora got to her the color came winging back into Colina's cheeks. She thrust the half-breed girl from her and, striding forward, faced the assembled Indians with blazing eyes. "You cowards!" she cried ringingly. "You pitiful, unmanly brutes! I don't know which one of you did it. It doesn't matter. You all permitted it. You shall all suffer for it. I promise you that!" Under the whips of her eyes and voice they cringed and scowled. Colina thrust her riding-crop into the hands of Nesis. "Get on that horse," she commanded, pointing to the pack-animal. "Mount!" she cried to Cora. Meanwhile, from her own saddle she was hastily unfastening her rifle. She resolutely threw the lever over and back. At the ominous sound the Indians edged behind each other or sought cover behind convenient teepees. Nesis and Cora were mounted. Colina, keeping her eyes on the Indians, said to them: "Go ahead. Walk your horses. I'll follow." She swung herself into her own saddle. Cora and Nesis started slowly out of the square. Colina followed, swinging sidewise in her saddle and watching the Indians behind. None offered to follow directly, but Colina observed that those who had disappeared around the teepees were catching horses beyond. Others running out of the square on the other side had disappeared around the spur of the hill. Plainly they did not mean to let her take Nesis unopposed. The girls finally issued from among the teepees and extended their horses into a trot. Cora rode first, her stolid face unchanged; from moment to moment she looked over her shoulder to make sure that Colina was safe. Nesis, blinded with tears, let her horse follow unguided, and Colina brought up the rear. Colina's face showed the fighting look, intent and resolute. Her brain was too busy to dwell on tragedy then. Rounding the hill, she saw that those who had gone ahead had disappeared. The horses that had been grazing here were likewise gone. It was not pleasant to consider the possibility of an ambush waiting in the woods ahead. Other Indians began to appear in pursuit around the hill. Seeing the girls, they pulled in their horses and came on more slowly. Colina, wishing to see what they would do, drew her horse to a walk, whereupon the Indians likewise walked their horses. Evidently they meant to stalk the girls at their leisure. Colina, like a brave and hard-pressed general, considered the situation from every angle without minimizing the danger. She had really nothing but a moral weapon to use against the Indians. If that failed her, then what? Night was drawing on, and it would be difficult to intimidate them with eyes and voice after dark. Moreover, her horses were fatigued to the point of exhaustion. How could she turn them loose to rest and graze with enemies both in the front and the rear? She knew that a favorite Indian stratagem is to stampede the adversaries' horses after dark. Colina carried the only gun in their little party. Striking into the woods out of sight of their pursuers, they urged their horses to the best that was in them. Colina bethought herself of profiting by Nesis's experience. "Nesis," she called, "you know these people! What should we do?" Nesis, rousing herself and turning her dreadfully eloquent eyes upon Colina, signified that they must ride on for the present. When the sun went down she would tell what to do. For an hour thereafter they rode without speaking. While it was still light they came out on another meadow. Nesis signed to Colina that they should halt at the edge of the trees on the other side, and, picketing the horses, let them graze for a little while. It was done. The horses had to feed and rest, and this looked like as good a place as any. Meanwhile Cora built a fire and cooked their supper as unconcerned as if it were a picnic party an hour's ride from home. They had no sooner dismounted than the Indians appeared out of the woods at the other side of the meadow. Seeing the girls, they likewise dismounted without coming any closer, and built a great fire. About a quarter of a mile separated the two fires. It grew dark. Colina sat out of range of the firelight, watching the other fire. Nesis took the gun and went on up the trail to guard against the surprise from that side. Cora kept an eye upon the dim shapes of the tethered horses, and watched her mistress with sullen, doglike devotion. After an hour and a half Nesis returned, and signing to Cora to saddle the horses, made a reconnaissance across the meadow. Coming back to the fire presently, she indicated to Colina that they were not watched from that side, and that they should now ride on. Evidently the Indians thinking they had them trapped in the trail were careless. Indians are not fond of scout duty in the dark in any case. They softly made ready, taking care not to let the firelight betray their activities. Nesis's last act was to heap fresh wood on the fire. Colina, approving all she did was glad to let her run things. She could not guess how she purposed evading the Indians in front. They mounted, and proceeded into the woods, walking their horses slowly. Colina could not make out the trail, but her horse could. Nesis led the way. They climbed a little hill and descended the other side. At the bottom the trail was bisected by a shallow stream making its way over a stony bed to the river. Halting her horse in the middle of it, Nesis allowed Colina to approach, and pointed out to her that they must turn to the right here, and let their horses walk in the water to avoid leaving tracks. For more than an hour they made a painfully slow journey among the stones. The intelligent horses picked their way with noses close to the ground. They were now between the steep high banks of a coulée. The trees gradually thinned out, and a wide swath of the starry sky showed overhead. Colina's heart rose steadily. The Indians could not possibly find the place where they had left the trail until daylight. They would instantly understand their own stratagem, of course, but they must lose still more time, searching the bed of the creek for tracks leaving it. If only the horses had been fresher! Finally Nesis left the bed of the creek, and urged her horse obliquely up the steep side of the coulée on the left. This was the side farther from the lower village, and the Enterprise trail, and Colina wondered if she had not made a mistake. Mounting over the rim of the coulée a superb night-view was open to them. Before them rolled the bald prairie wide as the sea, with all the stars of heaven piercing the black dome overhead. It was still and frosty; the horses breathed smoke. To Colina's nostrils rose the delicate smell of the rich buffalo grass, which cures itself as it grows. The tired horses, excited by it, pawed the earth, and pulled at the lines. They halted, and Nesis turned her face up, fixing their position by the stars. She finally pointed to the southeast. Colina knew it was southeast because when she faced in that direction the north star, friend of every traveler by night, was over her left shoulder. "But the Kakisa village, the trail back to Enterprise is there," she objected, pointing northeast. Nesis nodded. With her graceful and speaking gestures she informed Colina that all the country that way was covered with almost impenetrable woods through which they could not ride without a trail. Southeast, the prairie rolled smoothly all the way to the great river that came from the distant high mountains. "The spirit river?" asked Colina. Nesis nodded, adding in dumb-show that when they reached its banks they would make a raft and float down to Fort Enterprise. "Good!" said Colina. "Let's ride on. The moon will be up later. We'll camp by the first water that we come to." CHAPTER XXXIX. THE TRIAL. Mr. Wilfred Pascoe, K.C., arose and cleared his throat musically. He drew out his handkerchief, polished his glasses, returned the handkerchief, and paused suggestively. Mr. Pascoe was assured that he was the leading attraction at the trial of Ambrose Doane, and that the humming crowd which filled every corner of the court-room had come for the express purpose of hearing him, the famous advocate from the East, sum up for the crown. Indeed, in his opinion, there was no one else in the case. Denholm for the defense was a sharp and clever lad, but a mere lad! As for the judge--well one knows these judges in the outlying provinces! The people of Prince George did not often get a chance to listen to a man like him, therefore he wished to give them the worth of their money. He was a dignified, ruddy little gentleman, clad in a well turned cutaway that fell from his highly convex middle like the wings of a pouter pigeon. "My lord and gentlemen of the jury," he began in a voice of insinuating modesty and sweetness, "in this room during the past four days we have witnessed the unfolding of an extraordinary drama. "Through all the criminal annals of this country we may search in vain for a precedent to this case. In the past we have had to try Indians and half-breeds for rebelling against the government. "In such cases punishment was always tempered with mercy; we were in the position of a parent chastising his child. "Here we are faced by a different situation. Here we have a white man, one of our own race charged with inciting and leading the natives to rebel against authority. By tongue and deed he strove to unloosen the passions of hell to his own profit! "Every man of middle age in this Western country knows what Indian warfare means. The flesh crawls at the picture of shrieking, painted demons that is called up, the flames, the tortures, the dishonored homes--gentlemen, it--it is difficult for me to speak of this matter with a becoming restraint. "When we come to examine the evidence we are faced by a well-nigh inextricable confusion. But, gentlemen, the main issue is clear. "We see the prisoner having made his first false step drawn by inevitable succession deeper and deeper into the quicksands of passion and violence. Out of the mass of details I ask you to choose three facts which in themselves constitute a strong presumptive case. "First, the trouble at Fort Enterprise--that pleasant little Eden of the far north, invaded, alas! by the serpent--the beginning of the trouble I say was exactly coincident with the arrival of Ambrose Doane. "Second, in every scene of violence that followed we find him a leading figure. Third, all trouble ceased upon his arrest. "Let us glance in passing at the first act of lawlessness, the seizing of the Company's mill. The prisoner admits that he forcibly broke into the mill, hoping, no doubt, that by confessing the minor offense he may persuade you to believe him when he denies the greater. This is a very ancient expedient of accused persons. "He ground his grain and carried it back to the Indians, and they stored it in an empty shack across the river. This is conceded by both sides. "On the following night during the progress of a barbaric dance among the Kakisas, at which the prisoner was a guest--an honored guest, remember--an alarm of fire was given. "Upon running to the scene they found the shack in flames. It was completely destroyed, together with its contents. "Now, gentlemen, this is one of the mysteries of the case. No evidence has been adduced to show who set that fire. Its suddenness and violence precludes the possibility of its having caught by accident. It was set, but who set it? "We are reduced to mere speculation here. Was it any one connected with the Company? No! They had thousands of dollars' worth of unprotected goods across the river; they were a mere handful, and the Indians three hundred. It isn't reasonable. "Well, then, did any of the Indians set it? Why should they? It was their flour; they had receipted for it. Lastly, did Ambrose Doane do it, or have it done? Ah! Let us look for possible motives. "He was a trader, remember. It had been so easy for him to secure the first lot; perhaps he wanted to sell them another lot. The simple Indians, of course, would be persuaded that the incendiary came from across the river--" Mr. Denholm rose. "I object," he said. "My eminent friend has no right to suggest such ideas to the jury. There is no evidence--" Mr. Pascoe beamed upon his young opponent. "Counsel overlooks the fact," he said gently, "that I expressly stated this was mere speculation on my part." "Overruled," murmured the judge. Mr. Pascoe resumed: "As to what followed there are several versions. The prisoner says that he pleaded with the Indians, and tried to keep them from crossing the river. Simon Grampierre corroborates this; but Grampierre, you must remember, is the prisoner's self-confessed accomplice in the seizure of the flour-mill. "Still, he may be telling the truth. Grampierre was not with Doane all the time. It is highly probable that the prisoner, seeking to impress Grampierre, pleaded with the Indians in his hearing. The Indians couldn't understand English, anyway. "Watusk testified that he had a conversation with the prisoner during the fire, but the confusion was so great he cannot remember what was said. This is very natural. "Myengeen, Tatateecha, and the other Indians who testified said that the prisoner did harangue them, and that they understood from his gestures that he was urging them to cross the river and revenge themselves. "All say it was from him that they first heard Gaviller's name. I don't think we need look any further. "Anyhow, the prisoner led the mob down to the beach where his york-boat was lying, and they all embarked in his boat. He says he tried to keep them out, but he does not deny crossing with them. Hardly likely they would take him as a passenger, is it, if he had fought them so strenuously? "On what took place in John Gaviller's house that night I will touch very briefly. It was a ghastly night for the little company of defenders! We have no eye-witness to the prisoner's dastardly attack on Mr. Gaviller. Mr. Strange, through the most praiseworthy motives, has refused to testify against him. "Mr. Strange takes the ground that since he is obliged to act as interpreter in this case, no other being obtainable, it would be improper for him to give evidence. "In the light of the prisoner's impudent charge against Mr. Strange, the latter's conduct is truly magnanimous. The charge that Strange tried to murder his employer is simply laughable. Twenty-nine years of faithful service give it the lie. "A great point has been made by the defense that the prisoner had no motive in attempting to kill Mr. Gaviller. Gentlemen, he had the same motive that has inspired every murder in history--hate! "There is any amount of testimony to show with what hatred the prisoner always spoke of Mr. Gaviller. Gaviller was his business rival, his rich and successful rival. Gaviller was the head and front of the powers that opposed his headstrong will. I repeat, it is hate and opportunity that make a murder. "Mr. Gaviller was prostrated with weakness. How simple to creep up-stairs in the dark and finish what the other coward's bullet had almost accomplished! And how impossible to prove that it was a murder! Mr. Gaviller's vitality was so low that night, the doctor has testified, that he himself would not have suspected foul play if he had found him dead in the morning. "When they arrested Doane in the house the gun they took from him was one that had been stolen from the Company store earlier in the night. Remember that. "At daylight the Indians came and made a demand on the defenders of the house for their leader, Ambrose Doane. They threatened to burn the house down if he was not given up to them. They welcomed him with extravagant expressions of joy. "This is positive evidence, gentlemen. Those in the house saw the prisoner give an order to bear away the dead bodies, and the order was obeyed. Such little facts are highly significant. "Watusk's evidence makes the next link. I do not attempt to justify this unfortunate man, gentlemen. At least he is contrite, and throws himself on the mercy of the court. Watusk says when they came back across the river the Indians were sorry for what they had done and terrified of punishment. "Watusk urged them to return what they had stolen. He had taken no part in the looting of the store. But Ambrose Doane would have none of it. He persuaded Watusk to give the order to break camp and fly back to the Kakisa River. Doane promised the bewildered Indian that he would make good terms for the offenders with the police when they came. "Doane's contention that he was a prisoner among the Kakisas is unsupported. Watusk and five other Indians have sworn that not only was he free to come and go as he chose, but that he directed their movements. "As to the prisoner's story of the Indian girl, ah--a touching story, gentlemen!" Mr. Pascoe paused for a comfortable, silent little laugh. He wiped his eyes. "Almost worthy of one of our popular romancers! "Not very original perhaps, the beautiful Indian maid falling a victim to the charms of the pale-faced prisoner, whispering to him at night through a chink in his prison wall, and smuggling a knife to assist his escape! "Not very original, I say; is it possible he could have read it somewhere, adding a few little touches of his own? Unfortunately, our story-teller in his desire for artistic verisimilitude has overreached himself. "That touch about Nesis--if that is what he called her, being the fourth wife of Watusk. Why fourth? one wonders. You have heard Lona testify that she was Watusk's one and only wife. She ought to know. I fancy I need say no more about that. "Next comes Inspector Egerton. The inspector testifies that the trap set for his men in the hills north of the Kakisa River was of an ingenuity far beyond the compass of the Indian imagination. You have seen a plan of it. You have heard these simple, ignorant red men testify here. Could they have made such a plan? Impossible! "Gentlemen, I ask you to consider the situation on that fair morning in September when the gallant little band of redcoats rode into that hellishly planned trap. The heart quails at the imminence of their peril! "That a horrible tragedy was by a miracle averted is no credit to this prisoner. That, instead of being the most execrated murderer in the history of our land, he is only on trial for a felony he has not himself to thank. He has to thank the Merciful Providence on High who caused the red man's heart to relent at the critical moment! "Watusk could not give the order to shoot. You have heard the policemen testify that the prisoner was furious at the Indian's pusillanimity. I say it was a God-sent pusillanimity! "Our merciful law makes a distinction between successful and unsuccessful crimes, though there is no difference in the criminal. He is lucky! Gentlemen, all that justice demands of you is that you should find him guilty of treason-felony!" Mr. Pascoe sat down and blew his nose with loud, conscious modesty. The jury looked pleased and flattered. An excited murmur traveled about the courtroom, and the judge picked up his gavel to suppress threatened applause. There could be no doubt as to the way popular opinion tended in this trial. Though the applause was stopped before it began, one could feel the crowd's animus against the prisoner no less than if they had shouted "Hang him!" with one voice. They believed that he had plotted against the popular idols, the mounted police; that was enough. The prisoner sat at a table beside his counsel with his chin in his palm. He was well dressed and groomed--Denholm saw to that--and his face composed, though very pale; the eyes lusterless. Throughout Mr. Pascoe's arraignment he scarcely moved, nor appeared to pay more than cursory attention. It is the characteristic picture of a prisoner on trial; guilty or innocent makes little difference on the surface. Nature, when we have reached the limit of endurance, lends us apathy. Ambrose had suffered so much he was dulled to suffering. He had not a friend in the court-room except Arthur Denholm. Peter Minot, after making a deposition in his favor, had been obliged to hasten north to look after their endangered business. There were others who would have been glad to support him, but he would not call on them. Indeed what he most dreaded were the occasional testimonials of sympathy which reached him. Friendliness unmanned him. The other way in which his ordeal made itself felt was in his great longing to have it over with. He looked forward to the cell which he believed awaited him as to relief. There at least he would be safe from the hard, inquisitive eyes which empaled him. Meanwhile, as they argued back and forth and his fate hung in the balance, he found himself staring at the patch of pale winter sky which showed in the tall window. The air was clean up there. The sky was a noble, empty place unpolluted by foul breath and villainy and lies! When Denholm arose to speak for the prisoner, the jury regarded him with curiosity tempered by pity. They liked Denholm, liked his resourcefulness, his unassailable good-humor, his gallant struggle on behalf of a bad cause. Plainly they were wondering what he could say for his client now. If Denholm felt that his case was hopeless, he gave no sign of it. He was frank, unassuming, friendly with the jury. His style of delivery was conversational. "I will be brief," he said. "I do not mean to take you over the evidence again. Every detail must be more than familiar to you. "What my learned friend has just said to you, what I say to you now, and what his lordship will presently say to you from the bench all amounts to the same thing--choose for yourselves what you are to believe. Somewhere in this jungle of contradictions lurks the truth. It is for you to track it down. "The prisoner's case stands or falls by his own testimony. We have an instinct that warns us to disregard what a man says in his own defense. In this case we cannot disregard it. I ask you not to consider it as evidence against the prisoner that he has no witnesses. "If we go over the story in our minds, we will see that under the conditions of these happenings he could not have witnesses. Therefore, if we wish to do justice, we must weigh his own story. "Never mind the details now, but consider his attitude in telling it. For an entire session of the court he sat in the witness chair telling us with the most painstaking detail everything that happened from the time of his first arrival at Fort Enterprise up to his arrest. "During the whole of the following day he was on the stand under a perfect fusillade of questions from my learned friend, admittedly the most brilliant cross-examiner at the bar. He did not succeed in shaking the prisoner's story in any important particular. "How, I ask you, could the prisoner have foreseen and prepared for all those ingenious traps formulated in the resourceful brain of my learned friend, unless he was telling the simple truth? "Moreover, the gaps, the inconsistencies, the improbabilities in the story which my friend has pointed out, to my mind these are the strongest evidences of its truth. For if he had made it all up he would be logical. Man's brain works that way. "Suppose for the sake of argument that the prisoner did accomplish that miracle; that in his brain he formulated a story so complete in every ramification that nine hours' cross-examination could batter no holes in it. "If that is true, it is a wonderful brain, isn't it? The prisoner, in short, is an amazingly clever young man. Now, can you imagine a man with even the rudiments of good sense persuading himself that he could make a successful Indian uprising at this date? There is a serious--" Denholm was stopped by a commotion that arose outside the door of the court-room. There was a great throng in the corridor as well. He looked to the bench for aid. His lordship rapped smartly with his gavel. "Silence!" he cried, "or I will have the room cleared!" But the noise came nearer. "Officer, what is the trouble outside?" demanded the bench. The two doorkeepers with great hands were pressing back a threatened irruption from the corridor. One spoke over his shoulder. "If you please, sir, there's a young woman here says she has evidence to give in this case." CHAPTER XL. AN UNEXPECTED WITNESS. Those in the court-room jumped up and looked toward the door, and the confusion was redoubled. Several policemen hurried to the assistance of the doorkeepers. The judge rapped in vain. Finally one of the doorkeepers made his voice heard above the scuffling: "She says her name is Colina Gaviller." A profound sensation was created within the court. The confusion was stilled as by magic. All those inside turned back to look at the young prisoner. He had leaped to his feet, and stood gazing toward the door with a wild, white, awakened face. Denholm had a restraining hand on his shoulder. John Gaviller, Gordon Strange, Inspector Egerton; there was no man connected with the case but betrayed something of the same agitation. "Admit Miss Gaviller," commanded the judge. The two policemen, with herculean exertions, made an opening in the crowd for Colina and two companions to enter and kept every one else out. The doors were then closed. At Colina's appearance an odd murmur rippled over the crowd. Her beauty astonished them. She walked down the aisle of the court-room, pale, erect, and self-controlled. Captain Stinson and Cora followed her. The crowd observed her movements with breathless attention. All three were admitted within the rail. John Gaviller sat near the gate. He looked somewhat dazed. They saw her offer him her hand with a swift smile, charged with meaning. The gentlemanly half-breed, Gordon Strange, leaned forward, seeking to attract her attention with an eager smile. Him she ignored. She turned to the prisoner. This was what the crowd was waiting for. The pale youth and the pale girl had all the look of the principal actors in a drama. What was between them? They saw her smile at him, too--an extraordinary smile, sorrowful, solicitous, cheery. None could interpret it. Ambrose was engaged in a desperate struggle to command himself. At the announcement of her coming hope had sprung up, only to receive a deadlier wound at the first glimpse of her. She had not found Nesis; very well, it was all up with him. What matter how dearly Colina loved him if he had to go to jail? He saw the cheer she offered him in her smile, but he rejected it. "Nothing can help me now," he stubbornly insisted. "If I let myself hope, the disappointment will drive me insane." He fought to recover his apathy. Pascoe and Denholm each sprang up to greet the new witness as if by the warmth of his welcome she would be attracted to his side. "One moment, gentlemen," said the judge. He addressed Colina, "You have evidence to give in this case?" Colina gravely inclined her head. His lordship frowned. "This is very irregular. I must ask you why you have delayed until this moment?" "I have just arrived in town," said Colina. "Couldn't you have communicated with counsel?" "I have come from the north. There was no way of sending out a message ahead. I am the first one out since the freeze-up." The judge nodded to show himself satisfied. "Is the evidence you have to give favorable to the prisoner or unfavorable?" The court-room held its breath for her answer. "Favorable," she murmured. John Gaviller looked up astonished. The judge gave her over to Denholm. "Will you examine?" he asked. Denholm consulted with his client. Ambrose, up to this moment so indifferent to the lawyers, could be seen giving him positive instructions. Denholm expostulated with him. The bench showed symptoms of impatience. Finally Denholm rose. "My lord," he said. "I have never seen Miss Gaviller before this moment. I have no inkling of the nature of her evidence. Left to myself, I should ask for an adjournment; surely we are entitled to it. But my client insists on going ahead. My lord"--his voice shook a little--"none but an innocent man could be so rash!" "Never mind that," rebuked the judge. He was distinctly nettled by the upset of court decorum. "I will therefore respectfully ask the indulgence of the court," Denholm went on, "and move to reopen the taking of testimony." "Proceed," said the judge. A court attendant led Colina to the witness stand. She was sworn. Judge, lawyers, and spectators alike searched her grave, composed face for some suggestion of what she had to say. Nothing was to be read there. "Miss Gaviller," said Denholm, "I can only ask you to tell in your own words all that you know bearing on the offenses with which Ambrose Doane is charged." "My father, Mr. Macfarlane, Dr. Giddings have all testified, I suppose," said Colina. "They can tell you as much or more than I can. I have come to tell you of things that happened after his arrest, after all the others went out of the country." Every one connected with the case sat up. Denholm's eye brightened. "Please go on," he said and sat down. Colina, in a low, steady voice, commenced her story at the point where Ambrose had asked her to find some one to go in search of Nesis. While she spoke her grave eyes were brooding over the prisoner's bent, dark head below. He dared not look at her. The court-room was so still that when she paused for a word one could hear the clock on the wall tick. She told of her journey to the Kakisa River; her interview with Sergeant Plaskett (which provoked a smile); her search among the teepees; her encounter with Marya, and all that followed on that. Without a trace of self-consciousness she told how she and Cora had set off at night on the unknown trail, and how she had ridden into the middle of the hostile village next day and demanded Nesis. "Two girls to defy a whole tribe of redskins!"--the thought could be read in the jurymen's startled eyes. The twelve men hung out of the box, listening with parted lips. All that had gone before in this startling trial was nothing to Colina's story. When Colina came to her meeting with Nesis her brave port was shaken. Her voice began to tremble. She could not bring herself to name the dreadful thing. The judge, perceiving a stoppage in her story, interrupted her. "Miss Gaviller, if the girl could understand you, why did she answer by signs?" Colina lowered her head. Those near saw her struggling to control a shaken breast, saw two tears steal down her pale cheeks. "Do you wish to be excused?" asked the judge solicitously. She shook her head. "One moment," she was understood to whisper. An attendant handed up a glass of water. She finally managed to produce her voice again. "She could not speak," she said very low. "Why?" asked the judge. One would have said the whole room breathed the question. "They--had mutilated her," whispered Colina. "Her--her tongue--was cut off." A single low sound of horror was forced from the crowd. The prisoner half rose with a choking cry and collapsed with his head in his arms on the table. Denholm, as pale as a sheet, flung an arm around his shoulders. Every man connected with the case stared before him as if he beheld the horror with his physical eyes. Colina's self-control escaped her entirely. She covered her face with her hands and wept like any girl. CHAPTER XLI. FROM DUMB LIPS. The judge proposed an adjournment. The witness, the prisoner, the prisoner's counsel were all against it. It was decided to continue. A breath of relief escaped the spectators. Another day they might not be able to secure seats in the court-room. Colina described how they gave their pursuers the slip and gained the prairie. "We decided to make for the nearest point on the Spirit River," she went on, "and headed southeast. After we had ridden for two hours we came to a slough of fresh water, and camped for the rest of the night to let the horses feed and rest. Nesis and I could not sleep. We talked until morning. "I asked her questions, and she would answer yes or no, or let me know by signs when I was on the wrong track. She was wonderfully clever in making up signs. "As she made signs to me I interpreted them aloud, and she would nod or shake her head according to whether I was right or wrong. I had to try one question after another until I hit on the one she could answer. In this way little by little I built up her story. "The next day we continued on the prairie. The sky was heavily overclouded, and there were flurries of snow. We were lost for several hours, until the sun came out again. Our food was almost gone, but I managed to shoot a rabbit. "The horses were very tired. Whenever we stopped I talked to Nesis. We stayed up most of that night. It was too cold to sleep. By the end of the second day I knew everything she had to tell me." Colina drank some water and went on. "Nesis's story begins a year ago. In the middle of the winter my father was accustomed to send Gordon Strange with an outfit to the Kakisa River to trade with the tribe and bring back the fur. "While there he lived in a little log shack overlooking the Indian village. Nesis said it was Watusk's custom to go up to the shack every night and the two men would talk. She knew that they talked English together, and she used to steal up after Watusk and listen outside through a chink between the logs." Every eye in the court-room was turned on Gordon Strange. The half-breed made marks with a pencil on a pad and tried to call up the old modest, deprecating smile. But an extraordinary ashy tint crept under his swarthy skin. In spite of himself, his eyes darted furtively to measure the distance to the door. There were half a thousand people between; moreover, the doors were closed and guarded by six policemen. Colina carefully avoided glancing in Strange's direction. "At that time Nesis had no idea of using what she learned from their talk," she went on. "She merely wished to hear English spoken, so that she would not forget what her father had taught her. Nesis attached a mysterious virtue to the ability to speak English. It was a kind of fetish with her. "She believed that her father's ability to speak English had threatened Watusk's power in the tribe, and that Watusk, on that account, had had her father put out of the way. Therefore she kept it a secret that she could speak it, too. "Nesis said that all of Mr. Strange's and Watusk's talk was against the white people. She said they used to discuss how the whites could be driven out of the country. She said that Mr. Strange used to tell Watusk about how Louis Riel fought the whites. "He said that Louis Riel would be the king of this country to-day if he had not gone crazy. He used to ask Watusk how he would like to be a king. He used to flatter Watusk and tell him he was a great chief. "He explained to Watusk how he could kill a whole army of the whites if he could lead them into the little valley beyond the Kakisa." A gasp of astonishment escaped the court. In almost every sentence of Colina's there was the material of a fresh sensation. Ambrose lifted his head, and a little color came back to his cheeks. Whether or not it saved him in the end, it was sweet to hear himself justified. Colina continued: "Nesis said that Watusk often complained to Mr. Strange that my father was always making the goods dearer and the fur cheaper. Mr. Strange told him to wait a little while and he would see great changes. "Pretty soon things would get so bad, he explained, that the Company would take John Gaviller away and make him the trader. He told Watusk to wait until the grain was thrashed next year, meaning last summer, and there would be great trouble. "He said if Watusk did everything he told him he would make Watusk a great man. At different times he gave Watusk presents--silk handkerchiefs, finger rings, pistols, a sword. By and by he said he would make Watusk great presents. "Nesis's story then jumped to the time, last summer, when Watusk and many of the people rode into Fort Enterprise to get flour," Colina went on. "In the mean time Ambrose Doane had been to Enterprise, and had gone away again to get an outfit. "My father refused to give the Indians any flour because they had been trading with his competitor. The Indians were angry, Nesis said, and Watusk was scared. One night Gordon Strange came to see Watusk, and Nesis listened outside the teepee. "She said Strange said to Watusk to let the Indians get mad. Strange said he wanted to have trouble. There was talk of burning the store then. Strange said that would fix John Gaviller, all right. He told Watusk that the police would let the people off easily because, as he said, my father had treated them so badly." Colina drew a long breath to steady herself. "They talked about the chances of my father's dying," she went on. "He was very sick at that time. Mr. Strange suggested to Watusk that it wouldn't take much to finish him. They both laughed at that. "He told Watusk that if John Gaviller died he, Strange, would settle all the trouble, and then the Company would make him the trader for good. He told Watusk that when he got to be trader he would soon fix Ambrose Doane, too. "Mr. Strange was always telling Watusk to tell the Kakisas that my father hated them, but that he, Strange, was their friend. "Nesis said that a couple of days after this Ambrose Doane came down the river, and after him his outfit on a raft. When Ambrose Doane heard that the Indians were hungry he took men and crossed the river and broke into the flour-mill and ground flour for them. "This took two nights and a day. On the second night Gordon Strange came across to see Watusk again. Nesis said he was so angry that he started in talking without sending her out of the teepee. He had no idea, of course, that she could understand English. She made herself look stupid, she said. "Mr. Strange was angry because, if the Indians got their flour and went back to the Kakisa River satisfied, all his plans would be spoiled. His attempt to create a rebellion among the half-breed farmers had already failed. "Nesis said that Strange cursed Ambrose Doane for spoiling his plans. She said he told Watusk he must burn the flour, and then the Indians would surely make trouble. They talked about how to do it. "It was arranged that Strange was to bring Watusk a big can of coal-oil: Watusk was to hide it under the floor of Gaston Trudeau's empty shack, and afterward store the flour there. Then Watusk was to give a big tea-dance to get all the people out of the way. "Before going to the dance he was to pour oil over the bags, and leave the window open so Strange could fire it after he had gone." Colina paused to take a drink of water. The judge whispered to a court attendant, who in turn whispered to a policeman. Thereafter the blue-coat's eyes never left Gordon Strange. The half-breed had lost all pretense of smiling. He looked like a trapped animal. The court-room scarcely regarded him. They hung upon Colina's lips. Every time she paused her listeners' pent-up breath escaped. Colina went on: "At the tea-dance Nesis saw Ambrose Doane for the first time. She said she--" Colina lowered her eyes and sought for a word--"she liked him. After that she wanted to help him. When the alarm of fire was raised, and all ran to the burning building, Nesis kept near to Ambrose Doane and watched all that he did. "She said she saw him go after Watusk, and heard him make Watusk tell the Indians not to be foolish, but go back to the teepees until morning. But Watusk spoke to them half-heartedly and they did not listen. It was Myengeen, Nesis said, who urged them to go across the river, and break into the store. "Nesis did not see what happened at the boat. The crowd was too great for her to get near. But next morning when they came back she heard Myengeen say to Watusk that Gordon Strange had sent word that they must tie Ambrose Doane up and carry him away. "She said it was soon known throughout the tribe that if the police came everybody was to say that Ambrose Doane made all the trouble. She said he was tied up and carried away on a horse. "When they all got to the Kakisa River a week later she found that he was imprisoned in Gordon Strange's house, and watched day and night." So far the power of Colina's story had carried her hearers along breathlessly with her. Not until she reached this point did a very obvious question occur to the judge. "One moment, Miss Gaviller," he said. "I presume you understand that this story would have more weight as evidence if the girl Nesis was produced in court. Can she be brought here?" Once more Colina faltered--and steeled herself. Her eyes became misty, but she looked directly at the judge. "My Lord," she said simply, "she is dead." CHAPTER XLII. THE AVENGING OF NESIS. His lordship started back thoroughly discomposed. "Really! Really!" he murmured helplessly. The prisoner hid his face in his arms again. An audible wave of compassion traveled over the room. "Should I tell about that?" Colina asked quietly. The judge signified his assent. "On the third morning on the prairie," Colina continued, "the Indians found us again. They had tracked us all the way from the Kakisa. They did not attack us, but followed about a quarter of a mile behind. "There were about fifty of them. Whenever we stopped to rest or eat, they rode around us in a big circle yelling and firing their guns in the air--trying to break our nerve." A gasp escaped her hearers at the picture she evoked--three women on the wide prairie, and a horde of yelling savages! "I did not mind them so much," Colina went on simply, "for I was sure they were too cowardly to attack us. But our food was all gone by this time, and I could not leave the others to hunt for game. The horses were completely played out. "At night we suffered from the cold. We could not make a fire because the light of it blinded us and showed us to the Indians. On the fourth night as we were trying to push on in the hope of losing them in the dark, the horse that Nesis was riding fell down and died in his tracks. After that we took turns walking. "Next day they easily found us again. It was very cold, and we could scarcely keep going. In the afternoon we came to the edge of the bench of the Spirit River. It was a long way down to the bank. "When we got there we saw that heavy ice was running in the river. We had to travel another mile along the bank before we saw enough dead timber in one place to make a raft. I was afraid we wouldn't have strength enough to move it. We hadn't eaten for two days. "It was still daylight, and we made a fire there. The Indians came and watched us from a little knoll, less than a quarter of a mile back. "Cora took one of the remaining horses away and killed it, and brought back meat to the fire and we ate a little. I thought if we slept a little while we would be better able to start the raft. So Cora and I lay down while Nesis kept watch." Colina's voice was shaking. She paused to steady it. "I was careful to choose a place out in the open," she went on. "We were in a grassy bottom beside the river. "The nearest cover was a poplar bluff about three hundred yards back. He--he must have crawled down to that. I was awakened by a shot. They had got her!" Colina's clenched hands were pressed close together, her head was down. The quiet voice broke out a little wildly. "Ah! I have never, never ceased to blame myself! I should not have slept! I ought not to have let her watch! But I never thought they would dare shoot!" Colina went on in a schooled voice more affecting than an outcry. "Nesis was shot through the breast. I had nothing to give her. I stanched the wound the best way I could. "I saw at once that she could not live. Indeed, I prayed that she would not linger--in such pain. She lived throughout the night. She was conscious most of the time--and smiling. She died at daybreak. "I do not know what happened after that. I gave out. It was Cora who saw the launch coming down the river, and signaled it with her petticoat. They landed and carried us aboard. I remember that. "I wanted them to turn back and take us up to the crossing. But it was impossible to go against the current on account of the ice. They took us down to Fort Enterprise. We took Nesis. She is buried there. "At Fort Enterprise we had to wait until the ice packed in the river, and enough snow fell to make a winter trail. Then we started with dog teams. I brought Captain Stinson and my servant, Cora Thomas, for additional witnesses. It is seven hundred miles. That is why we were so long." Mr. Pascoe rose. His erstwhile ruddy cheeks showed an odd pallor under the purple veins, and he looked thoroughly disconcerted. "My Lord," he said, "this is a very affecting tale. It is, however, my painful duty to protest against its admission as evidence." Colina interrupted him. "I beg your pardon," she said quickly. She produced a little book from inside her dress. "May I explain further?" she asked the judge eagerly. "One moment, please, Mr. Pascoe," said his lordship. He signed to Colina to proceed. "I meant, of course, to bring Nesis here," Colina continued. "When I saw that--that I never would, while I didn't know anything about courts or evidence, I felt that it would be safer to have a written statement. "This book is my diary that I always carry with me. That night I wrote in the blank pages what Nesis had told me, and later when she was conscious I read it to her, and she affirmed it sentence by sentence. She understood how important it was. "You may know that she comprehended what she was doing because she made me make changes--you will find them here. At the end I wrote her name and she made a cross. Cora Thomas heard me read it to her, and saw her make her mark." The judge held out his hand for the book. Once more Mr. Pascoe rose. "My Lord," he said, "it must be clear to you that the ends of justice have been defeated by the dramatic power of this tale. It would be farcical to ask this jury to deliver an impartial verdict now. This new evidence must be weighed and sifted with calm minds. I request that you declare a mistrial, and that--" A still more dramatic surprise awaited Mr. Pascoe and the court. Toward the end of the telling of Colina's painful tale Gordon Strange had been forgotten by all in the room except the policeman detailed to watch him. This man suddenly made a spring toward the half-breed, where he sat huddled beside his table. He was too late. The court was electrified by the muffled sound of a shot. Strange fell forward on the table. A revolver clattered to the floor from under his coat. CHAPTER XLIII. NEWSPAPER CLIPPINGS. The following is taken from the Prince George _Star_, January 19, 19--. Extra. NOT GUILTY! At 7.53 P.M. the jury in the trial of Ambrose Doane for treason-felony returned a verdict of not guilty without leaving their seats. This was a foregone conclusion. Upon issuing from the courthouse the acquitted man received an immense ovation from the waiting crowd. From the Prince George _Star_, January 24, 19--: Editorial. THE REAL CRIMINAL! Now that the trial of Ambrose Doane is a thing of the past, a tragic miscarriage of justice happily averted, and the excitement abated, it is time for the thoughtful to examine into the underlying causes of the trouble at Fort Enterprise. That there was serious trouble no one denies; but the general disposition is, since the innocent man is free and the guilty one dead by his own hand, to forget the whole matter. Now is the time to take measures to make it impossible for anything of the kind to occur again. Granting that Gordon Strange, that extraordinary character, played for high stakes, lost and paid--was he the sole criminal? What sort of conditions were they up there that made it possible for him to engineer his unique schemes of villainy? For years the arrogant policy and the unscrupulous methods of the great corporation that holds the north of our province in thrall have been matters of common gossip in the streets. But no man has dared to raise his voice. "They say" that the mighty corporation rides over the helpless redskins roughshod. "They say" that the Indians are charged exorbitant prices for the necessities of life, while a mere pittance is given them for their valuable furs. Is it true? Who knows? No news comes out of that sealed country save by the pleasure of the great Company. Certain aspects of the testimony given in the Ambrose Doane trial leads us to suspect that these charges are not without foundation. Parliament should investigate. The question is, does the Province of Athabasca control the Northwest Fur Company, or does the Company run the province? From the Prince George _Star_, January 27, 19--. GAVILLER IS OUT! At the head offices of the Northwest Fur Company it was given out this morning that the resignation of John Gaviller, the Company's trader at Fort Enterprise, had been accepted to take effect immediately. Duncan MacDonald, general manager of the Company, said, when asked for a further statement: "Mr. Gaviller's resignation was requested for the good of the service. Owing to the conditions of our business the traders have to be given the widest latitude in the command of their posts, and we do not always know what is going on. "Mr. Gaviller was very successful at Enterprise, but the disclosures at the Doane trial showed that his acts have not always been in accord with the policy of this company in dealing with the Indians. To our mind the welfare of the Indians is more important than profits." Mr. Gaviller was later found at the Royal George Hotel. Upon being shown the foregoing he did not hesitate to express an opinion of it. "Put not your trust in corporations!" he said. "I have given them thirty years of my life, my best years, and here I am turned out over night! It is the threat of a parliamentary investigation that has led them to their present panic and attempt to make a scapegoat of me. "If they think I'll take it lying down they are much mistaken. The Indians' welfare more important than profits, eh? Excuse me if I laugh." Mr. Gaviller added somewhat stronger expression. "You can say from me," he went on, "that not only have I always followed instructions to the letter, but that twice a year I laid my books open to the Company inspector, who was informed of the minutest details of my transactions. "I accept my share in the blame for what happened. I have learned my lesson. But let me tell you this, that the policy pursued at Fort Enterprise was the Company's policy--letter and spirit. "Moreover, in my time Fort Enterprise has paid thousands and thousands of dollars to the shareholders of the Company, and I have not profited one cent beyond my salary." At this point Mr. Gaviller's daughter came downstairs and he would say no more. Miss Gaviller declined to speak for publication. From the Prince George _Star_, February 3, 19--. A BEAUTIFUL ADORNMENT. Our city has the honor of containing at the present moment the most beautiful set of furs ever exhibited in America. It is to be seen in the window of Messrs. Renfrew & Watkins's establishment on Oliver Avenue. It consists of three magnificent black fox skins smooth and lustrous as jet, except for the snowy tips of the brushes. Two of the pelts go to the neck-piece, while the third--the most beautiful skin that ever came out of the north in the opinion of these experienced furriers--makes the muff. Mr. Renfrew refused to set a value on the furs, but we learn on good authority that they are insured for five thousand dollars. There are romantic and tragic associations with these furs. Two of the pelts have been in the possession of Mr. Renfrew for some time. He held them on speculation until he could obtain a third to complete the set. This one, the finest of the three, was brought out last August by Ambrose Doane. This was the skin which almost cost John Gaviller his life, and indirectly induced a rebellion among the Kakisa Indians. All those who followed the course of the recent trial will remember it. Upon obtaining the third pelt, Mr. Renfrew sent the three to London to be dressed and made up. They have just been returned. A purchaser has already been found for the set. His name is kept secret, but we are assured that the beautiful furs will remain in this province. From the Prince George _Star_, February 3, 19--. GAVILLER GOES WITH MINOT & DOANE. An interesting fact leaked out yesterday when it became known that Ambrose Doane had made an offer to John Gaviller to take charge of the new trading-post that Minot & Doane purpose establishing on Great Buffalo Lake. Mr. Doane could not be found by the Star reporter. Since the trial he has spent a good deal of his time dodging reporters. He has a private room at the Athabasca Club which no representative of the press has yet succeeded in locating. John Gaviller was found at the Royal George Hotel. He admitted the truth of the report, and seemed very pleased by his new prospects. "It tells its own story, doesn't it?" he said. "I belong to the north. I have traded up there thirty years, and I will not be any worse trader for what has happened." In answer to further questions he only shook his head. "I talked too much to you fellows the other day," he said. "You caught me at a disadvantage. Nothing more to say. The arrangements between Ambrose Doane and me concern nobody but ourselves. I may say, however, that our relations are of the happiest nature." From the Prince George _Star_, February 21, 19--. THE CULMINATION OF A ROMANCE. In another column of this paper will be found a notice of the marriage of Ambrose Doane to Miss Colina Gaviller, which took place a week ago to-day at the Chapel of the Redeemer on Jarvis Street. The ceremony was performed by the rector, Rev. Algernon Mitford. The only witnesses were the bride's father, who gave her away, and Mr. and Mrs. Arthur Denholm. With the traveling costume the bride wore the wonderful set of black-fox furs which have been town talk during the past month. Ambrose Doane was the purchaser. The news was suppressed until to-day on account of the desire of all parties to avoid further publicity. We learn that Mr. and Mrs. Doane and Mr. Gaviller left for the north by stage on the same day. They part company at Miwasa landing; the bride and groom continue north to Moultrie on Lake Miwasa, while Mr. Gaviller goes northwest to Fort Enterprise to settle his affairs, thence to his new post on Great Buffalo Lake. We learn that Mr. Doane is to run the post at Moultrie, while his partner, Mr. Minot, will operate an opposition store to the Company at Fort Enterprise. A private letter from the landing tells of a wonderful van on runners that Ambrose Doane is building there to house his bride on their long journey north. It is to contain a stove, bookshelves, side-board, piano, and all the comforts of a city residence, and will be drawn by four horses. Their way lies over the regular winter road over the ice of the Miwasa River. Job, the little dog who was mentioned so often during the trial, will be a member of the party. THE END 
13003	----	Proofreading Team Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this file which includes the original illustrations. See 13003-h.htm or 13003-h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.net/1/3/0/0/13003/13003-h/13003-h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.net/1/3/0/0/13003/13003-h.zip) In this e-text "a" with a breve and "o", "u", and "a" with a macron are represented by [)a] [¯o] [¯u] [¯a]. PIONEERS IN CANADA By SIR HARRY JOHNSTON, G.C.M.G., K.C.B. With Eight Coloured Illustrations by E. Wallcousins 1912 [Illustration: TYPE OF SHIP SAILED IN BY THE ENGLISH OR FRENCH PIONEERS IN THE SIXTEENTH CENTURY] The Pioneer Library A standard series by Sir Harry Johnston. Tastefully bound. Pioneers in Australasia. Pioneers in Canada. Pioneers in South Africa. Pioneers in West Africa. Pioneers in Tropical America. Pioneers in India. PREFACE I have been asked to write a series of works which should deal with "real adventures", in parts of the world either wild and uncontrolled by any civilized government, or at any rate regions full of dangers, of wonderful discoveries; in which the daring and heroism of white men (and sometimes of white women) stood out clearly against backgrounds of unfamiliar landscapes, peopled with strange nations, savage tribes, dangerous beasts, or wonderful birds. These books would again and again illustrate the first coming of the white race into regions inhabited by people of a different type, with brown, black, or yellow skins; how the European was received, and how he treated these races of the soil which gradually came under his rule owing to his superior knowledge, weapons, wealth, or powers of persuasion. The books were to tell the plain truth, even if here and there they showed the white man to have behaved badly, or if they revealed the fact that the American Indian, the Negro, the Malay, the black Australian was sometimes cruel and treacherous. A request thus framed was almost equivalent to asking me to write stories of those pioneers who founded the British Empire; in any case, the first volumes of this series do relate the adventures of those who created the greater part of the British Dominions beyond the Seas, by their perilous explorations of unknown lands and waters. In many instances the travellers were all unconscious of their destinies, of the results which would arise from their actions. In some cases they would have bitterly railed at Fate had they known that the result of their splendid efforts was to be the enlargement of an empire under the British flag. Perhaps if they could know by now that we are striving under that flag to be just and generous to all types of men, and not to use our empire solely for the benefit of English-speaking men and women, the French who founded the Canadian nation, the Germans and Dutch who helped to create British Africa, Malaysia, and Australia, the Spaniards who preceded us in the West Indies, and the Portuguese in West, Central, and East Africa, in Newfoundland and Ceylon, might--if they have any consciousness or care for things in this world--be not so sorry after all that we are reaping where they sowed. It is (as you will see) impossible to tell the tale of these early days in the British Dominions beyond the Seas, without describing here and there the adventures of men of enterprise and daring who were not of our own nationality. The majority, nevertheless, were of British stock; that is to say, they were English, Welsh, Scots, Irish, perhaps here and there a Channel Islander and a Manxman; or Nova Scotians, Canadians, and New Englanders. The bulk of them were good fellows, a few were saints, a few were ruffians with redeeming features. Sometimes they were common men who blundered into great discoveries which will for ever preserve their names from perishing; occasionally they were men of Fate, predestined, one might say, to change the history of the world by their revelations of new peoples, new lands, new rivers, new lakes, snow mountains, and gold mines. Here and there is a martyr like Marquette, or Livingstone, or Gordon, dying for the cause of a race not his own. And others again are mere boys, whose adventures come to them because they are adventurous, and whose feats of arms, escapes, perils, and successes are quite as wonderful as those attributed to the juvenile heroes of Marryat, Stevenson, and the author of _The Swiss Family Robinson_. I have tried, in describing these adventures, to give my readers some idea of the scenery, animals, and vegetation of the new lands through which these pioneers passed on their great and small purposes; as well as of the people, native to the soil, with whom they came in contact. And in treating of these subjects I have thought it best to give the scientific names of the plant or animal which was of importance in my story, so that any of my readers who were really interested in natural history could at once ascertain for themselves the exact type alluded to, and, if they wished, look it up in a museum, a garden, or a natural history book. I hope this attempt at scientific accuracy will not frighten away readers young and old; and, if you can have patience with the author, you will, by reading this series of books on the great pioneers of British West Africa, Canada, Malaysia, West Indies, South Africa, and Australasia, get a clear idea of how the British Colonial Empire came to be founded. You will find that I have often tried to tell the story in the words of the pioneers, but in these quotations I have adopted the modern spelling, not only in my transcript of the English original or translation, but also in the place and tribal names, so as not to puzzle or delay the reader. Otherwise, if you were to look out some of the geographical names of the old writers, you might not be able to recognize them on the modern atlas. The pronunciation of this modern geographical spelling is very simple and clear: the vowels are pronounced _a_ = ah, _e_ = eh, _i_ = ee, _o_ = o, _ô_ = oh, _[¯o]_ = aw, _ö_ = u in 'hurt', and _u_ = oo, as in German, Italian, or most other European languages; and the consonants as in English. H. H. JOHNSTON. CONTENTS I. THE WHITE MAN'S DISCOVERY OF NORTH AMERICA............... 15 II. JACQUES CARTIER.......................................... 29 III. ELIZABETHAN PIONEERS IN NORTH AMERICA.................... 45 IV. CHAMPLAIN AND THE FOUNDATION OF CANADA................... 53 V. AFTER CHAMPLAIN: FROM MONTREAL TO THE MISSISSIPPI........ 88 VI. THE GEOGRAPHICAL CONDITIONS OF THE CANADIAN DOMINION.....120 VII. THE AMERINDIANS AND ESKIMO: THE ABORIGINES OF BRITISH NORTH AMERICA.......................................153 VIII. THE HUDSON BAY EXPLORERS AND THE BRITISH CONQUEST OF ALL CANADA..........................................202 IX. THE PIONEERS FROM MONTREAL: ALEXANDER HENRY THE ELDER....211 X. SAMUEL HEARNE............................................248 XI. ALEXANDER MACKENZIE'S JOURNEYS...........................277 XII. MACKENZIE'S SUCCESSORS...................................313 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS COLOURED PLATES Type of Ship sailed in by the English or French Pioneers in the Sixteenth Century _Frontispiece_ Icebergs and Polar Bears Indians hunting Bison Indians lying in wait for Moose Caribou swimming a River Great Auks, Gannets, Puffins, and Guillemots Scene on Canadian River: Wild Swans flying up, disturbed by Bear Big-horned Sheep of Rocky Mountains BLACK-AND-WHITE ILLUSTRATIONS Jacques Cartier Samuel de Champlain and Alexander Henry the Elder An Amerindian Type of British Columbia Lake Louise, the Rocky Mountains Samuel Hearne and Alexander Mackenzie The Upper Waters of the Fraser River The Kootenay or Head Stream of the Columbia River A Hunter's "Shack" in British Columbia: After a successful Shoot of Blue Grouse Map of Canada Map of Eastern Canada and Newfoundland Map of Part of the Coast Region of British Columbia List of the Chief Authorities FROM WHOM THE PRINCIPAL FACTS AND INCIDENTS OF THIS BOOK HAVE BEEN DERIVED, IN ADDITION TO THE AUTHOR'S OWN RESEARCHES AND EXPERIENCES, AND INFORMATION SUPPLIED BY PROFESSOR R. RAMSAY WRIGHT, OF TORONTO UNIVERSITY _The Saint Lawrence Basin_. By Dr. S.E. DAWSON. London. 1905. Lawrence & Bullen. _Relation Originale du Voyage de Jacques Cartier au Canada en 1534_; Documents inédits, &c. Publiés par H. MICHELANT et A. RAME. Paris. Librairie Tross. 1867. _Voyage de Jacques Cartier au Canada en 1534_, &c. Par H. MICHELANT. Paris. 1865. _Champlain's Voyages_: The Publications of the Prince Society. Boston. 1878. Three volumes. _Voyage of Verrazano_, &c. By HENRY C. MURPHY. New York. 1875. (Also the Essay on the Journeys of Verrazano, by Alessandro Bacchiani, in the Bollettino della Societá Geografica Italiana. Rome. November, 1909.) _Volume IX of the Proceedings and Transactions of the Royal Society of Canada_. (For the History of Cape Breton and of the Beothiks of Newfoundland.) _The Search for the Western Sea_. By Lawrence J. Burpee. London. Alston Rivers. 1908. _Travels and Explorations of the Jesuit Missionaries in New France_, &c. Edited by REUBEN GOLD THWAITES. Vol. LIX. Cleveland, U.S.A. Burrows Bros. 1900. _Travels and Explorations in Canada and the Indian Territories between the years 1760 and 1776_. By ALEXANDER HENRY, Esq. New York. 1809. _Voyages from Montreal on the River St. Lawrence through the Continent of North America to the Frozen and Pacific Oceans, in the years 1789 and 1793_, &c. &c. By ALEXANDER MACKENZIE, Esq. London. 1801. _A Journey from Prince of Wales's Fort in Hudson's Bay to the Northern Ocean_, &c. By SAMUEL HEARNE. London. 1795. _Les Bourgeois de la Compagnie du Nord-Ouest_. By L.R. MASSON. Quebec. 1890. Two volumes. _New Light on the Early History of the Greater North-West_: The Manuscript Journals of Alexander Henry, Jun., and of David Thompson. Edited by ELLIOTT COUES. Three Volumes. New York. Harper. 1897. _Sport and Travel in the Northland of Canada_. By DAVID T. HANBURY. London. Edward Arnold. 1904. _Henry Hudson the Navigator_, &c. By G.M. ASHER. London. Hakluyt Society, 1860. _The Three Voyages of Martin Frobisher_. By Rear-Admiral RICHARD COLLINSON. London. Hakluyt Society. 1867. _The Voyages and Works of John Davis the Navigator_. By Admiral Sir ALBERT HASTINGS MARKHAM. London. Hakluyt Society. 1880. _The Voyages of William Baffin, 1612-1622_. By Sir CLEMENTS R. MARKHAM. London. 1881. CHAPTER I The White Man's Discovery of North America So far as our knowledge goes, it is almost a matter of certainty that Man originated in the Old World--in Asia possibly. Long after this wonderful event in the Earth's history, when the human species was spread over a good deal of Asia, Europe, and Africa, migration to the American continents began in attempts to find new feeding grounds and unoccupied areas for hunting and fishing. How many thousands or hundreds of thousands of years ago it was since the first men entered America we do not yet know, any more than we can determine the route by which they travelled from Asia. Curiously enough, the oldest traces of man as yet discovered in the New World are not only in South America, but in the south-eastern parts of South America. Although the most obvious recent land connection between the Old and New Worlds is the Aleutian chain of islands connecting Kamschatka with Alaska, the ethnologist is occasionally led to think by certain evidence that there may, both earlier and later, have existed another way of reaching western America from south-eastern Asia through Pacific archipelagoes and islets now sunk below the sea. In any case it seems quite probable that men of Mongolian or Polynesian type reached America on its western coasts long before the European came from the north-east and east, and that they were helped on this long journey by touching at islands since submerged by earthquake shocks or tidal waves. The aboriginal natives of North and South America seem to be of entirely Asiatic origin; and such resemblances as there are between the North-American Indians and the peoples of northern Europe do not arise (we believe) from any ancient colonization of America from western or northern Europe, but mainly from the fact that the North-American Indians and the Eskimo (two distinct types of people) are descended from the same human stocks as the ancient populations of the northern part of Europe and Asia. It was--we think--from the far _north-west_ of Europe that America was first visited by the true White man, though there has been an ancient immigration of imperfect "White" men (Ainu) from Kamschatka. Three or four hundred years after the birth of Christ there were great race movements in northern and central Europe, due to an increase of population and insufficiency of food. Not only did these white barbarians (though they were not as barbarous as we were led to think by Greek and Roman literature) invade southern Europe, North Africa, and Asia Minor, but from the fourth century of the Christian era onwards they began to cross over to England and Scotland. At the same time they took more complete possession of Scandinavia, driving north before their advance the more primitive peoples like the Lapps and Finns, who were allied to the stock from which arose both the Eskimo and the Amerindian.[1] All this time the Goths and Scandinavians were either learning ideas of navigation from the Romans of the Mediterranean or the Greeks of the Black Sea, or they were inventing for themselves better ways of constructing ships; and although they propelled them mainly by oars, they used masts and sails as well.[2] Having got over the fear of the sea sufficiently to reach the coasts of England and Scotland, the Hebrides, Orkneys, and Shetlands, they became still more venturesome in their voyages from Norway, until they discovered the Faroe Archipelago (which tradition says they found inhabited by wild sheep), and then the large island of Iceland, which had, however, already been reached and settled by the northern Irish. [Footnote 1: This is a convenient name for the race formerly called "American Indian". They are not Indians (i.e. natives of India), and they are not the only Americans, since there are now about 110,000,000 white Americans of European origin and 24,000,000 negroes and negroids. The total approximate "Amerindian" or aboriginal population of the New World at the present day is 16,000,000, of whom about 111,000 live in the Canadian Dominion, and 300,000 in the United States, the remainder in Central and South America.] [Footnote 2: It is doubtful whether actual masts and sails were known in America till the coming of Europeans, though the ancient Peruvians are said to have used mat sails in their canoes. But the northern Amerindians had got as far as placing bushes or branches of fir trees upright in their canoes to catch the force of the wind.] Iceland, though it lies so far to the north that it is partly within the Arctic Circle, is, like Norway, Scotland, and Ireland, affected by the Gulf Stream, so that considerable portions of it are quite habitable. It is not almost entirely covered with ice, as Greenland is; in fact, Iceland should be called Greenland (from the large extent of its grassy pastures), and Greenland should be called Iceland. Instead of this, however, the early Norwegian explorers called these countries by the names they still bear. The Norse rovers from Norway and the Hebrides colonized Iceland from the year 850; and about a hundred and thirty-six years afterwards, in their venturesome journeys in search of new lands, they reached the south-east and south-west coasts of Greenland. Owing to the glacial conditions and elevated character of this vast continental island (more than 500,000 sq. miles in area)--for the whole interior of Greenland rises abruptly from the sea-coast to altitudes of from 5000 to 11,000 ft.--this discovery was of small use to the early Norwegians or their Iceland colony. After it was governed by the kingdom of Norway in the thirteenth century, the Norse colonization of south-west Greenland faded away under the attacks of the Eskimo, until it ceased completely in the fifteenth century. When Denmark united herself with the kingdom of Norway in 1397, the Danish king became also the ruler of Iceland. In the eighteenth century the Norwegian and Danish settlements were re-established along the south-east and south-west coasts of Greenland, mainly on account of the value of the whale, seal, and cod fisheries in the seas around this enormous frozen island; and all Greenland is now regarded as a Danish possession. But the adventurous Norsemen who first reached Greenland from Iceland attempted to push their investigations farther to the south-west, in the hope of discovering more habitable lands; and in this way it was supposed that their voyages extended as far as Massachusetts and Rhode Island, but in all probability they reached no farther than Newfoundland and Nova Scotia. This portion of North America they called "Vinland", more from the abundance of cranberries (_vinbær_) on the open spaces than the few vines to be found in the woods of Nova Scotia.[3] [Footnote 3: The grapes and vines so often alluded to by the early explorers of North America ripened, according to the species, between August and October. They belong to the same genus--_Vitis_--as that of the grape vines of the Old World, but they were quite distinct in species. Nowadays they are known as the Fox Grapes (_Vitis vulpina_), the Frost Grape (_V. cordifolia_), the _V. aestivalis_, the _V. labruska_, &c. The fruit of the Fox Grape is dark purple, with a very dusky skin and a musky flavour. The Frost Grape has a very small berry, which is black or leaden-blue when covered with bloom. It is very acid to the taste, but from all these grapes it is easy to make a delicious, refreshing drink. Champlain, however, says that the wild grapes were often quite large in size, and his men found them delicious to eat.] This brings us down to the year 1008. The Icelandic Norsemen then ceased their investigations of the North-American Continent, and were too ignorant to realize the value of their discoveries. Their colonies on the coasts of Nova Scotia ("Vinland") and Newfoundland ("Estotiland") were attacked probably by Eskimos, at any rate by a short, thick-set, yellow-skinned ugly people whom the Norsemen called "Skræling",[4] who overcame the unfortunate settlers, murdered some, and carried off others into the interior. [Footnote 4: Perhaps from the Eastern Eskimo national name _Karalit_.] But about this period, when Europe was going through that dismal era, the Dark Age which followed the downfall of the Roman Empire of the west, various impulses were already directing the attention of European adventurers to the Western Ocean, the Atlantic. One cause was the increased hold of Roman and Greek Christianity over the peoples of Europe. These Churches imposed fasts either for single days or for continuous periods. When people fasted it meant that they were chiefly denied any form of meat, and therefore must eat fish if they were not content with oil, bread, or vegetables. So that there was an enormous and increasing demand for fish, not only amongst those fortunate people who lived by the seashore, and could get it fresh whenever they liked, but among those who lived at a distance inland, and were still required to fast when the Church so directed. Of course in many parts of Europe they could get freshwater fish from the rivers or lakes. But the supply was not equal to the demand; and fish sent up from the seacoast soon went bad, so that the plan of salting and curing fish was adopted. The Norsemen found it a paying business to fish industriously in the seas round Iceland, Norway, Scotland, and Ireland, salt and cure the fish, and then carry it to more southern countries, where they exchanged it against wine, oil, clothing materials, and other goods. This led to the Venetians (who had absorbed so much of the carrying trade of the Mediterranean) sending their ships through the Straits of Gibraltar into the northern seas and trading with the Baltic for amber and salt fish. In the course of this trade some Venetians, such as Antonio Zeno, found their way to Norway and Iceland.[5] It is thought that by this means Venice became acquainted with the records of the Icelandic voyages to North America, and that her explorers thus grew to entertain the idea of a sea journey westward, or north-westward, of Britain, bringing mariners to a New World represented by the far-eastern extension of Asia. [Footnote 5: Antonio Zeno served as pilot to Earl Sinclair of the Faeroe Islands and of Roslyn, a Norman-Scottish nobleman who owed joint fealty to the kings of Norway and Scotland. Sinclair was so impressed with the stories of a "Newland" beyond Greenland that he sailed to find it about 1390, but only reached Greenland.] Christopher Columbus, the Genoese, conceived a similar idea, which also may have owed something to the tradition of the Norsemen's discovery of Vinland. But Columbus's theories were based on better evidence, such as the discovery on the coasts of the Azores archipelago, Madeira, and Portugal of strange seeds, tree trunks, objects of human workmanship, and even (it is said) the bodies of drowned savages--Amerindians--which had somehow drifted across, borne by the current of the Gulf Stream, and escaping the notice of the sharks. Whilst Columbus was bestirring himself to find Asia across the Atlantic, a sea pilot, JOHN CABOT (Zuan Cabota)--Genoese by birth, but a naturalized subject of Venice--came to England and offered himself to King Henry VII as a discoverer of new lands across the ocean. At first he was employed at Copenhagen to settle fishery quarrels about Iceland, and probably Cabota, or Cabot, visited Iceland in King Henry's service, and there heard of the Icelandic colonies on the other side of the Atlantic, only recently abandoned. In 1496 King Henry VII provided money to cover some of the expense of a voyage of discovery to search for the rumoured island across the ocean. The people of Bristol were ordered to assist John Cabot, and by them he was furnished with a small sailing ship, the _Matthew_, and a crew of fifteen mariners. Cabot, with his two sons, Luis and Sancio, sailed for Ireland and the unknown West in May, 1497, and, after a sea voyage quite as wonderful as that of Columbus, reached the coast of Cape Breton Island (or "the New Isle", as it was first named[6]) on June 24, 1497. They found "the land excellent, and the climate temperate". The sea was so full of fish along these coasts that the mariners opined (truly) that henceforth Bristol need not trouble about the Iceland trade. Here along this "new isle" were the predestined fisheries of Britain.[7] [Footnote 6: Cape Breton was not then, or for nearly two hundred years afterwards, known to be an island. It was thought to be part of the "island" (peninsula) of what we now call Nova Scotia, and the whole of this region which advances so prominently into the Atlantic was believed to be at first the great unknown "New Island" of Irish and English legends--legends based on the Norse discoveries of the eleventh century. Cape Breton was thus named by the Breton seaman who came thither soon after the Cabot expeditions to fish for cod. This large island is separated from Nova Scotia by the Gut of Canso, a strait no broader than a river.] [Footnote 7: Dr. S.E. DAWSON (_The St. Lawrence Basin_) says of this voyage: "When the forest wilderness of Cape Breton listened to the voices of Cabot's little company (of Bristol mariners) it was the first faint whisper of the mighty flood of English speech which was destined to overflow the continent to the shores of another ocean...."] They encountered no inhabitants, though they found numerous traces of their existence in the form of snares, notched trees, and bone netting needles. John Cabot hoisted the English flag of St. George and the Venetian standard of St. Mark; then--perhaps after coasting a little along Nova Scotia--fearful that a longer stay might cause them to run short of provisions, he turned the prow of the _Matthew_ eastward, and reached Bristol once more about August 6, and London on August 10, 1497, with his report to King Henry VII, who rewarded him with a donation of £10. He was further granted a pension of £20 a year (which he only drew for two years, probably because he died after returning from a second voyage to the North-American coast), and he received a renewal of his patent of discovery in February, 1498. In this patent it is evidently inferred that King Henry VII assumed a sovereignty over these distant regions because of John Cabot's hoisting of the English flag on "the new Isle" (Cape Breton Island) in the preceding year. The new expedition of 1498 was a relatively important affair. The king assisted to finance the ventures of the Bristol captains, and five of his ships formed part of the little fleet. It is probable that John Cabot was in command, and almost certain that his young son Sebastian was a passenger, possibly an assistant pilot. The course followed lay much farther to the north, and brought the little sailing vessels amongst the icebergs, ice floes, polar bears, and stormy seas of Greenland and Labrador. Commercially the voyage was a failure, almost a disaster. The ships returned singly, and after a considerable interval of time. Nevertheless, some of the king's loans were repaid to him; and in 1501 a regular chartered company was formed (perhaps at Bristol), with three Bristolians and three Portuguese as directors. Henry VII not only gave a royal patent to this association, but lent more money to enable it to explore and colonize these new lands across the western sea. There can be little doubt that between 1498 and 1505 these Bristol ships, directed by Italian, English, and Portuguese pilots, first revealed to the civilized world of western Europe the coasts of Newfoundland, Cape Breton Island, Nova Scotia, Massachusetts, and Delaware. They must have got as far south as the State of Delaware (according to Sebastian Cabot, their southern limit was lat. 38°), because in 1505 they were able to bring back parrots ("popyngays"), as well as hawks and lynxes ("catts of the mountaigne"), for the delectation of King Henry; and parrots even at that period could not have been obtained from farther north than the latitude of New York.[8] [Footnote 8: Almost certainly this was _Conurus carolinensis_, a green and orange parrakeet still found in the south-eastern States of North America, but formerly met with as far north as New York and Boston.] But after 1505 English interest in "the Newe founde launde" and the "Newe Isle" languished; the exploration of North America was taken up and carried farther by Portuguese, Bretons and Normans of France, Italians, and Spaniards.[9] It revived again under Henry VIII, owing to the irresistible attraction of the Newfoundland fisheries and the knowledge that the ships from France were returning every autumn with great supplies of fish cured and salted; for an adequate supply of salt fish was becoming a matter of great importance to the markets of western Europe. In 1527 Henry VIII sent two ships under the command of John Rut to explore the North-American coast, and Captain Rut seems to have reached the Straits of Belle Isle between Newfoundland and Labrador (then blocked with ice so that he took them for a bay), and afterwards to have passed along the east coast of Newfoundland--already much frequented by the Bretons, Normans, and Portuguese--and to have stopped at the harbour of St. John's, thence sailing as far south as Massachusetts. [Footnote 9: The name _America_ probably appears for the first time in English print in the old play or masque the _Four Elements_, which was published about 1518. In a review of the geography of the Earth, as known at that period, a description is given of this vast New World across the Ocean: "But these new landys found lately, been called America, because only Americus did find them first". Americus was a Florentine bank clerk--Amerigo Vespucci--at Seville who gave up the counting-house for adventure, sailed with a Spanish captain to the West Indies and the mainland of Venezuela (off which he notes that he met an English sailing vessel, and this as early as 1499!), and then joined the first exploring voyage of the Portuguese to Brazil. He returned to Europe, and in a letter to a fellow countryman at Paris, written in the late autumn of 1502, he claimed to have discovered a New World across the Ocean. His clear statement about what was really the South American Continent aroused so much enthusiasm in civilized Europe that five years afterwards the New World was called after him by a German printer (Walzmüller) at the little Alsatian University of St. Dié. By 1518 the English writers and mariners were probably aware that the discoveries of Cabot, Columbus, and the Portuguese indicated the extension of "America" from the Arctic to the Antarctic, but not till about 1553 did the scholars and adventurers of England show themselves fully alive to the gigantic importance of this New World. Between 1530 and 1553 their attention was distracted from geography and over-sea adventure by the religious troubles of the Reformation.] The Portuguese monarchy had begun to take possession of the Azores archipelago from the year 1432. These islands were probably known to the Phoenicians, and even to the Arabs of the Middle Ages; between the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries they had been rediscovered by Catalans, Genoese, Flemings, and Portuguese; and after 1444 the Azores began to prove very useful to the sea adventurers of this wonderful fifteenth century, as they became a shelter and a place of call for fresh water and provisions almost in the middle of the Atlantic, 800 to 1000 miles due west of Portugal. Portuguese vessels sailed northwards from the Azores in search of fishing grounds, and thus reached Iceland, which they called Terra do Bacalhao.[10] They may even before Cabot have visited in an unrecorded fashion the wonderful banks of Newfoundland--an immense area of shallow sea swarming with codfish. [Footnote 10: _Bacalhao_ in Portuguese (and a similar word in Spanish, old French, and Italian) means dried, salted fish. It comes from a Latin word meaning "a small stick", because the fish were split open and held up flat to dry by means of a cross or framework of small sticks, the Norse name "stokfiske" meant the same: stockfish or stickfish.] As soon as the news of the Cabot voyages reached the King of Portugal he arranged to send an expedition of discovery to the far north-west, perhaps to find a northern sea route to Eastern Asia. He gave the command to Gaspar Corte-Real, a Portuguese noble connected through family property with the Azores. Starting from the Azores in the summer of 1500, Corte-Real discovered Newfoundland, and called it "Terra Verde" from its dense woods of fir trees, which are now being churned into wood pulp to make paper for British books and newspapers. He then sailed along the coast of Labrador,[11] and thence crossed over to Greenland, the southern half of which he mapped with fair accuracy. His records of this voyage take particular note of the great icebergs off the coast of Greenland. His men were surprised to find that sea water frozen becomes perfectly fresh--all the salt is left out in the process. So that his two ships could supply themselves with fresh water of the purest, by hacking ice from the masses floating in these Greenland summer seas. The next year he started again, but on a more westerly course. His two ships reached the coasts of New Jersey and Massachusetts, and sailed north once more to Labrador. They captured a number of Amerindian aborigines, but only one of the two ships (with seven of these savages on board) reached Portugal; Gaspar Corte-Real was never heard of again. His brother Miguel went out in search of him, but he likewise disappeared without a trace. [Footnote 11: _Labrador_ (_Lavrador_ in Portuguese) means a labourer, a serf. The Portuguese are supposed to have brought some Red Indians from this coast to be sold as slaves.] Nevertheless these Portuguese expeditions to North America have left ineffaceable traces in the geography of the Newfoundland coast, of which (under the name of Terra Nova[12]) the governorship was made hereditary in the Corte-Real family. Cape Race for example--the most prominent point of the island--is really the Portuguese _Cabo Raso_--the bare or "shaved" cape--and this was by the Spaniards regarded as the westernmost limit of Portuguese sovereignty in that direction. For the Spaniards were by no means pleased at the intrusion of other nations into a New World which they desired to monopolize entirely for the Spanish Crown. They did not so much mind sharing it, along the line agreed upon in the Treaty of Tordesillas, with the Portuguese, but the ingress of the English and French infuriated them. The Basque people of the north-east corner of Spain were a hardy seafaring folk, especially bold in the pursuit of whales in the Bay of Biscay, and eager to take a share in the salt-fish trade. This desire took them in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries to Ireland and Iceland. They began to fish off the Newfoundland coasts perhaps as early as 1525. About this time also the Emperor Charles V, King of Spain, having through one great Portuguese sea captain--Magalhães (Magellan)--discovered the passage from Atlantic to Pacific across the extremity of South America, thought by employing another Portuguese--Estevão Gomez--to find a similar sea route through North America, which would prove a short cut from Europe to China. This was the famous "North-west Passage" the search for which drew so many great and brave adventurers into the Arctic sea of America between 1500 and 1853, to be revealed at last by our fellow countrymen, but to prove useless to navigation on account of the enormous accumulation of ice. [Footnote 12: Corte-Real's name of Terra Verde ("Greenland") was soon dropped in favour of the older English name "New Land" (Newfoundland, Terra Nova). This was at once adopted by the French seamen as "Terre Neuve".] Gomez left Corunna in the winter of 1524-5, and reached the North-American coast somewhere about Florida. He probably only began to investigate closely after he passed into the broad gulf of Maine, between Cape Cod and Nova Scotia. Here he sighted from the sea the lofty mountains of New Hampshire, and steered for the mouth of the Penobscot River (which he named the River of Deer), a title which sticks to the locality--in Deer Island--at the present day. But this being no opening of a broad strait, he passed on into the Bay of Fundy (from Portuguese word, _Fundo_, the bottom of a sack or passage), explored its two terminal gulfs, then returned along the coast of Nova Scotia,[13] past Cape Sable, and so to the "gut" or Canal of Canso. Gomez realized that Cape Breton was an island (we now know that it is two islands separated by a narrow watercourse), but thought that Cabot Strait was a great bay, and guessed nothing of the Gulf of St. Lawrence, and the chance of securing for Spain the possession of this mighty waterway into the heart of North America. [Footnote 13: The name Nova Scotia was not applied to this peninsula until 1621, by the British Government. It was at first included with New Brunswick under the Spanish name of Norumbega, and after 1603 was called by the French "Acadie".] From Cape North he crossed over to the south coast of Newfoundland, and followed this more or less till he came to Cape Race. Newfoundland was a "very cold and savage land", and Gomez decided it was no use prosecuting any farther his enquiry as to a water passage across North America, because, if it existed, it must lie in latitudes of frozen sea and be unnavigable. At different places along the east coast of North America he kidnapped natives, and eventually returned to Spain (via Florida and Cuba) with a cargo of Amerindian slaves. He had been preceded, by seven or eight months, in his explorations along the same coast by GIOVANNI DA VERRAZANO, a native of Florence, who as a navigator and explorer had visited the East, and had associated himself a good deal with the shipowners of Dieppe. Ever since the issue of Cabot's voyages was known--at any rate from 1504--ships from Brittany and Normandy had made their way to Cape Breton Island and Newfoundland for the cod fisheries. In 1508 a Norman named Aubert was sent out by Jean Ango--a great merchant of Dieppe of that day--to found a colony in Newfoundland. Aubert failed to do this, but he captured and brought away at least seven of the natives, no doubt of the Beothik tribe, from Newfoundland to Rouen, with their canoe, clothing, and weapons. A good many ships also went out from La Rochelle on the west coast of France, and took part in the fishing off the coast of Newfoundland: together with the ships of Brittany and Dieppe there may have been a French fishing fleet of seventy to eighty ships plying every summer season between France, Newfoundland, and Cape Breton. So that when "John from Verrazano" offered his services to Francis I to make discoveries across the ocean, which should become possessions of the French Crown, he was quickly provided with the requisite funds and ships. Verrazano started on the 17th of January, 1524, for the coast of North America, but I shall say little about his expedition here, because it resulted chiefly in the discovery and mapping of what is now the east coast of the United States. He reached as far as the south coast of Newfoundland, it is true; he also gave the names of Nova Gallia and Francesca to the coast regions of eastern North America, and distinctly intended to take possession of these on behalf of the French Crown. But his work in this direction did not lead directly to the creation of the French colony of Canada, because, when he returned from America, Francis I was at war with Spain, and could pay no attention to Verrazano's projects. His voyage is worth recording in the present volume only for these two reasons: he certainly put it into the minds of French people that they might found an empire in North America; and he inspired geographers for another hundred years with the false idea that the great North American Continent had a very narrow waist, like the Isthmus of Panama, and that the Pacific Ocean covered the greater part of what is now called the United States. This mistake arose from his looking across the narrow belts or peninsulas of sand in North Carolina and Virginia, and seeing vast stretches of open water to the west. These were found, a hundred years afterwards, to be merely large shallow lagoons of sea water, but Verrazano thought they were an extension of the Pacific Ocean. Nevertheless, Verrazano's voyage developed into the French colonization of Canada, just as Cabot drew the British to Newfoundland, Columbus the Spaniards to Central and South America, and Amerigo Vespucci showed the Portuguese the way to Brazil. The modern nations of western Europe owe the inception of their great colonies in America to four Italians. CHAPTER II Jacques Cartier Verrazano and Gomez, and probably the English captain, John Rut, had all sought for the opening of a strait of salt water--like Magellan's Straits in the far south--which should lead them through the great North-American continent to the regions of China and Japan. Yet in some incomprehensible way they overlooked the two broad passages to the north and south of Newfoundland--the Straits of Belle Isle and of Cabot--which would at any rate lead them into the vast Gulf of St. Lawrence, and thence to the St. Lawrence River and the Great Lakes; a natural system of waterways connected each with the other and all with the Mississippi and Missouri, the Arctic Ocean, and Hudson's Bay; nay, more, with the North Pacific also; so that with a few "portages", or carryings of canoes from one watershed to another, a traveller of any enterprise, accompanied by a sturdy crew, can cross the broad continent of North America at its broadest from sea to sea without much walking. Estevão Gomez noticed Cabot Straits between Cape Breton and Newfoundland, but thought them only a very deep bay. John Rut and others discerned the Straits of Belle Isle as a wide recess in the coast rather than the mouth of a channel leading far inland. And yet, after thirty years of Breton, English, and Portuguese fishing operations in these waters, there must have been glimmerings of the existence of the great Gulf of St. Lawrence behind Newfoundland: and JACQUES CARTIER (or Quartier), who had probably made already one voyage to Newfoundland (besides a visit to Brazil), suspected that between Newfoundland and Labrador there lay the opening of the great sea passage "leading to China". He proposed himself to Philippe de Chabot, the Admiral of France, as the leader of a new French adventure to find the North-west Passage, was accepted by King Francis, and at the age of forty-three years set out, with two ships, from St. Malo in Brittany, on April 20, 1534, ten years after Verrazano's voyage, and reached the coast of Newfoundland after a voyage of only twenty days. As he sailed northwards, past the deeply indented fiords and bays of eastern Newfoundland (the shores of which were still hugged by the winter ice), he and his men were much impressed with the incredible numbers of the sea fowl settled for nesting purposes on the rocky islands, especially on Funk Island.[1] These birds were guillemots, puffins, great auks,[2] gannets (called by Cartier _margaulx_), and probably gulls and eider duck. To his sailors--always hungry and partly fed on salted provisions, as seamen were down to a few years ago--this inexhaustible supply of fresh food was a source of great enjoyment. They were indifferent, no doubt, to the fishy flavour of the auks and the guillemots, and only noticed that they were splendidly fat. Moreover, the birds attracted Polar bears "as large as cows and as white as swans". The bears would swim off from the shore to the islands (unless they could reach them by crossing the ice), and the sailors occasionally killed the bears and ate their flesh, which they compared in excellence and taste to veal. [Footnote 1: Funk Island--called by Cartier "the Island of Birds"--is only about 3 miles round, and 46 feet above the sea level. It is 3 miles distant from the coast.] [Footnote 2: The Great Auk (_Alca impennis_), extinct since about 1844 in Europe and 1870 in Labrador, once had in ancient times a geographical range from Massachusetts and Newfoundland to Iceland, Ireland, Scotland, N.E. England, and Denmark. Perhaps nowhere was it found so abundantly as on the coasts of Eastern Newfoundland and on Funk Island hard by. The Great Auk was in such numbers on the north-east coast of Newfoundland that the Amerindians of that country and of southern Labrador used it as fuel in the winter time, its body being very full of oil and burning with a splendid flame. The French seamen called it _pingouin_ ("penguin") from its fatness, and this name was much later transferred to the real penguins of the southern seas which are quite unrelated to the auks.] Passing through the Straits of Belle Isle, Cartier's ships entered the Gulf of St. Lawrence. They had previously visited the adjoining coast of Labrador, and there had encountered their first "natives", members of some Algonkin tribe from Canada, who had come north for seal fishing (Cartier is clever enough to notice and describe their birch-bark canoes). After examining the west coast of Newfoundland, Cartier's ships sailed on past the Magdalen Islands (stopping every now and then off some islet to collect supplies of sea birds, for the rocky ground was covered with them as thickly as a meadow with grass).[3] He reached the north coast of Prince Edward Island, and this lovely country received from him an enthusiastic description. The pine trees, the junipers, yews, elms, poplars, ash, and willows, the beeches and the maples, made the forest not only full of delicious and stimulating odours, but lovely in its varied tints of green. In the natural meadows and forest clearings there were red and white currants, gooseberries, strawberries, raspberries, a vetch which produced edible peas, and a grass with a grain like rye. The forest abounded in pigeons, and the climate was pleasant and warm. [Footnote 3: On the shores of these islands they noticed "several great beasts like oxen, which have two tusks in the mouth similar to those of the elephant". These were walruses.] Later on he coasted New Brunswick, and paused for a time over Chaleur Bay, hoping it might be the opening to the strait across the continent of which he was in search; but finding it was not, he continued northwards till he had almost rounded the Gaspé Peninsula, a course which would have led him straight away into the wonderful discovery of the St. Lawrence River, but that, being forced by bad weather into Gaspé Bay, and perhaps hindered by fog, instead of entering the St. Lawrence he sailed right across to Anticosti Island. After that, being baffled by bad weather and doubtful as to his resources lasting out, he decided to return to France through the Strait of Belle Isle. So far he had failed to realize two of the most important things in the geography of this region: the broad southern entrance into the Gulf of St. Lawrence (subsequently called Cabot Strait), which separates Newfoundland on the north from Cape Breton Island on the south, and the broad entrance into the River St. Lawrence between Anticosti Island and the Gaspé Peninsula. Yet, whilst staying in Gaspé Bay, he had a very important meeting with Amerindian natives of the Huron-Iroquois stock, who had come down the River St. Lawrence from the neighbourhood of Quebec, fishing for mackerel. These bold, friendly people welcomed the French heartily, greeting them with songs and dances. But when they saw Cartier erect a great cross on the land at the entrance to Gaspé Bay (a cross bearing a shield with the arms of France and the letters "Vive le Roi de France"), they were ill at ease. It is certain that not one word could be understood in language between the two parties, for there were as yet no interpreters; but the Amerindians were probably shrewd enough to perceive that Cartier was making some claim on the land, and they explained by signs that they considered all this country belonged to themselves. Nevertheless, Cartier persuaded two youths, the sons of one of the chiefs, to go back with him to France on his ship, to learn the French language, to see what France looked like, and to return afterwards as interpreters. The boys, though they were practically kidnapped at first, were soon reconciled to going, especially when they were dressed in French clothes! [Illustration: JACQUES CARTIER] When Cartier was on his way home he sailed in a north-easterly direction in such a way as to overlook the broad channel between the Gaspé Peninsula and Anticosti Island, but having rounded the easternmost extremity of that large island, he coasted along its northern shores until he caught sight of the opening of the Canadian channel to the west. He believed then that he had discovered the long-looked-for opening of the trans-continental passage, and sailed for France with his wonderful news. On the 19th of May, 1535, Cartier started again from St. Malo with three ships, the biggest of which was only 120 tons, while the others were respectively 60 and 40 tons capacity. The crew consisted of about 112 persons, and in addition there were the two Indian youths who had been kidnapped on the previous voyage, and were now returning as interpreters. Instead, however, of reaching Newfoundland in twenty days, he spent five weeks crossing the Atlantic before he reached his rendezvous with the other ships at Blanc Sablon, on the south coast of Labrador; for the easy access to the Gulf of St. Lawrence through Cabot Strait (between Newfoundland and Cape Breton) was not yet realized. Once past Anticosti Island, the two Huron interpreters began to recognize the scenery.[4] They now explained to Cartier that he had entered the estuary of a vast river. This they said he had only to pursue in ships and boats and he would reach "Canada" (which was the name they gave to the district round about Quebec), and that beyond "Canada" no man had ever been known to reach the end of this great water; but, they added, it was fresh water, not salt, and this last piece of information much disheartened Cartier, who feared that he had not, after all, discovered the water route across North America to the Pacific Ocean. He therefore turned about and once more searched the opposite coast of Labrador most minutely, displaying, as he did so, a seamanship which was little else than marvellous, for it is a very dangerous coast, the seas are very stormy, and the look-out often hampered by a sudden rising of dense fog; there are islands and rocks (some of them almost hidden by the water) and sandbanks; but Cartier made this survey of southern Labrador without an accident. [Footnote 4: Anticosti Island received from Cartier the name of "the Island of the Assumption of the Blessed Virgin", in consequence of his having discovered it to be an island on the feast day of that name. It did not receive its present title until the late seventeenth century.] At this period, some three hundred and seventy-five years ago, the northern coasts of the Gulf of St. Lawrence and of Anticosti Island swarmed with huge walruses, which were described by Cartier as sea horses that spent the night on land and the day in the water. They have long since been exterminated by the English and French seamen and settlers. At last Cartier set sail for the south-west, intending to explore this wonderful river and to reach the kingdom of Canada. According to his understanding of the Amerindian interpreters, the waters of the St. Lawrence flowed through three great states: _Saguenay_, which was the mountainous Gaspé Peninsula and the opposite coast; _Canada_, Quebec and its neighbourhood; and _Hochelaga_, the region between Montreal and Lake Ontario. At the mouth of the Saguenay River, where Tadoussac is now situated, he encountered large numbers of white whales--the Beluga. These are really huge porpoises, allied to the narwhals, but without the narwhal's exaggerated tusk. When he reached the vicinity of the modern Quebec,[5] and his Amerindian interpreters found themselves at their actual home (for they were far away from home on a fishing expedition when he caught them in Gaspé Bay) there was great rejoicing; for they were able to tell their relations of the wonderful country to which they had been across the ocean. Cartier was delighted with the surroundings of "Canada" (Quebec), near which at that time was a large settlement (Stadacona) of Huron Indians under a chief named Donnacona. He decided to lay up his ships here for the winter, and to pursue the rest of his western explorations in his boats. [Footnote 5: Then called "Canada". The word Quebec (pronounced _Kebek_) means the narrow part of a river.] But the Amerindians for some reason were not willing that he should go any farther, and attempted to scare him from his projects by arranging for three of their number to come down river in a canoe, dressed in dogs' skins, with their faces blackened, and with bisons' horns fastened to their heads. These devils pretended to take no notice of the French, but to die suddenly as they reached the shore, while the rest of the natives gave vent to howlings of despair and consternation. The three devils were pretending to have brought a message from a god to these Hurons of "Canada" that the country up river (Hochelaga) was so full of ice and snow that it would be death for anyone to go there. However, this made little or no impression on Cartier; but he consented to leave a proportion of his party behind with the chief Donnacona as hostages, and then started up country in his boats with about seventy picked officers and men. On the 2nd of October, 1535, they reached the vicinity of the modern Montreal, the chief settlement of Hochelaga. The Huron town at the foot of the hills was circular in outline, surrounded by a stockade of three rows of upright tree trunks, which rose to its highest point in the middle, where the timbers of the inner and outward sides sloped to meet one another, the height of the central row being about 8 feet above the ground. All round the inside there was a platform or rampart on which were stored heavy stones to be hurled at any enemy who should attempt to scale the fence. The town was entered by only one doorway, and contained about fifty houses surrounding an open space whereon the towns-people made their bonfires. Each house was about 50 feet long by 12 to 15 feet wide. They were roofed with bark, and usually had attics which were storerooms for food. In the centre of each of these long houses there was a fireplace where the cooking for the whole of the house inhabitants was done. Each family had its own room, but each house probably contained five families. Almost the only furniture, except cooking pots, was mats on which the people sat and slept. The food of the people consisted, besides fish and the flesh of beavers and deer, of maize and beans. Cartier at once recognized the maize or Indian corn as the same grain ("a large millet") as that which he had seen in Brazil. He gives a description of how they made the maize into bread (or rather "dampers", "ashcakes"); but as this is not altogether clear, it is better to combine it with Champlain's description, written a good many years later, but still at a time when the Hurons were unaffected by the white man's civilization. According to both Cartier and Champlain, the women pounded the corn to meal in a wooden mortar, and removed the bran by means of fans made of the bark of trees. From this meal they made bread, sometimes mixing with the meal the beans (_Phaseolus vulgaris_), which had been boiled and mashed. Or they would boil both Indian corn and beans into a thick soup, adding to the soup blueberries,[6] dried raspberries, or pieces of deer's fat. The meal derived from the corn and beans they would make into bread, baking it in the ashes. [Footnote 6: The Canada Blueberry (_Vaccinium canadense_), called by the French _bluës_ or _bluëts_. These bluës were collected and dried by the Amerindians, and made a sweet nutriment for eating in the winter.] Or they would take the pounded Indian corn without removing the bran, and put two or three handfuls of it into an earthen pot full of water, stirring it from time to time, when it boiled, so that it might not adhere to the pot. To this was added a small quantity of fish, fresh or dry, according to the season, to give a flavour to the _migane_ or porridge. When the dried fish was used the porridge smelt very badly in the nostrils of Europeans, but worst of all when the porridge was mixed with dried venison, which was sometimes nearly putrid! If fish was put into this porridge it was boiled whole in the mealy water, then taken out without any attempt to remove the fins, scales, or entrails, and the whole of the boiled fish was pounded up and put back into the porridge. Sometimes a great birch-bark "kettle" would be filled with water, fish, and meat, and red-hot stones be dropped in till it boiled. Then with a spoon they would collect from the surface the fat and oil arising from the fish or meat. This they afterwards mixed with the meal of roasted Indian corn, stirring it with this fat till they had made a thick soup. Sometimes, however, they were content to eat the young corn-cobs freshly roasted, which as a matter of fact (with a little salt) is one of the most delicious things in the world. Or they would take ears of Indian corn and bury them in wet mud, leaving them thus for two or three months; then the cobs would be removed and the rotted grain eaten with meat and fish, though it was all muddy and smelt horribly. Cartier also noticed that these Huron Indians had melons and pumpkins, and described their wampum or shell money.[7] [Footnote 7: Cartier, in Hakluyt's translation, is made to say (I modernize the spelling): "They dig their grounds with certain pieces of wood as big as half a sword, on which ground groweth their corn, which they call 'offici'; it is as big as our small peason.... They have also great store of musk melons, pompions, gourds, cucumbers, peas, and beans of every colour, yet differing from ours." Wampum, or shell money (which recalls the shell money of the Pacific Islands), consisted either of beads made from the interior parts of sea shells or land shells, or of strings of perforated sea shells. The most elaborate kind of wampum was that of the Amerindians of Canada and the eastern United States, the shell beads of which were generally white. The commoner wampum beads were black and violet. Wampum belts were made which illustrated events, dates, treaties of peace, &c, by a rude symbolism (figures of men and animals, upright lines, &c), and these were worked neatly on string by employing different-coloured beads.] From the eminence on which the Huron city stood, Cartier obtained a splendid view of rivers and mountains and magnificent forests, and called the place then and there, in his Norman French, Mont Real, or Royal Eminence, a name which it will probably bear for all time, though the actual city of Montreal lies a few miles below. Montreal was the limit of Cartier's explorations on this journey. He returned thence to "Canada" or Stadacona, where his men built a fort armed with artillery, and where his ships were anchored. Here he had to stay from the middle of November, 1535, to the middle of April, 1536, his ships being shut in by the ice. The experiences of the French during these five months were mostly unhappy. At first Cartier gave himself up to the collecting of information. He noticed for the first time the smoking of tobacco,[8] and collected information about the products and features of "Canada". The Indians told him of great lakes in the far west, one of which was so vast that no man had seen the end of it. They told him that anyone travelling up the Richelieu River (as it was called sixty years later) would eventually reach a land in the south where in the winter there was no ice or snow, and where fruit and nut trees grew in abundance. Cartier thought that they were talking to him of Florida, but their geographical information can scarcely have stretched so far; they probably referred to the milder regions of New Jersey and Virginia, which would be reached by following southwards the valley of the Hudson and keeping to the lowlands of the eastern United States. [Footnote 8: "There groweth also a certain kind of herb whereof in summer they make a great provision for all the year, making great account of it, and only men use it; and first they cause it to be dried in the sun, then wear it about their necks wrapped in a little beast's skin made like a bag, together with a hollow piece of stone or wood like a pipe. Then when they please they make powder of it and put it in one of the ends of the said cornet or pipe, and laying a coal of fire upon it at the other end, suck so long that they fill their bodies full of smoke, till that it cometh out of their mouth and nostrils, even as out of the tunnel of a chimney. They say that this doth keep them warm and in health: they never go without some of it about them. We ourselves have tried the same smoke, and having put it in our mouths, it seemed almost as hot as pepper." The foregoing is one of the earliest descriptions of tobacco smoking in any European language, the original words being in Cartier's Norman French.] As the winter set in with its customary Canadian severity the real trouble of the French began. They did not suffer from the cold, but they were dying of scurvy. This disease, from which the natives also suffered to some extent, was due to their eating nothing but salt or smoked provisions--forms of meat or fish. They lived, of course, shut up in the fort, and Cartier's fixed idea was to keep the Hurons from the knowledge of his misfortune, fearing lest, if they realized how the garrison was reduced, they might treacherously attack and massacre the rest; for in spite of the extravagant joy with which their arrival had been greeted, the Amerindians--notably the two interpreters who had been to France and returned--showed at intervals signs of disquiet and a longing to be rid of these mysterious white men, whose coming might involve the country in unknown misfortunes. In January and February, also, Donnacona and these two interpreters and many of the Huron men had been absent hunting in the forests, so that there was no one among the Amerindians to whom the French could turn for information regarding this strange disease. At last 25 out of the 112 who had left France were dead, and of the remainder only 10 men, including Cartier, were not grievously ill. Those who were living found it sometimes beyond their strength to bury the dead in the frozen ground, and simply placed their bodies in deep snow. Once or twice, when Cartier left the fort to go out to the ships, he met Domagaya, one of the two interpreters, and found that he also was suffering from this mysterious disease, though not nearly so badly as the French people. On the body of one young man who died of scurvy Cartier and his officers, shuddering, made investigations, opening the corpse and examining the organs to try and find the cause of death. This was on the afternoon of a day on which they had held a solemn service before a statue erected to the Virgin Mary on the shore opposite to the ships. All who were fit to walk went in procession from the fort to the statue, singing penitential psalms and the Litany and celebrating Mass. Some days after this religious service Cartier met the interpreter, Domagaya, and to his surprise found him perfectly well and strong. He asked him for an explanation, and was told that the medicine which cured this disease was made from the leaves and bark of a tree called ameda.[9] Cartier then ventured to say that one of his servants was sick of this unknown disease, and Domagaya sent for two women, who taught the French people how to make an extract from the balsam fir for drinking, and how to apply the same liquid to the inflamed skin. The effect on the crews was miraculous. In six days all the sick were well and strong. [Footnote 9: This tree was the balsam fir, _Abies balsamea_.] Then came the sudden spring. Between April 15th and May 1st the ice on the river was all melted, and on the 6th May, 1536, Cartier started from the vicinity of Quebec to return to France. But before leaving he had managed to kidnap Donnacona, the chief of the Huron settlement, and six or seven other Amerindians, amongst them Tainyoanyi, one of the two interpreters who had already been to France. He seized these men, it appears, partly because he wanted hostages and had good reason to fear that the Indians meditated a treacherous attack on his ships before they could get away. He also wished for native witnesses at Court, when he reached France, to testify to the truth of his discoveries, and even more to convince the King of France that there was great profit to be obtained from giving effect to Cartier's explorations. The chief, Donnacona, was full of wonderful stories of the Saguenay region, and of the great lakes to the northwards of Quebec. Probably he was only alluding to the wealth of copper now known to exist in northern Canada, but to Cartier and the other Frenchmen it seemed as though he spoke of gold and silver, rubies, and other precious stones. Donnacona's people howled and wept when their chief was seized; but Cartier obliged the chief to reassure them, and to say that the French had promised to bring him back after he had paid a visit to their great king, who would return him to his country with great presents. As a matter of fact, not one of these Indians rapt away by Cartier ever saw Canada again. But this was not the fault of Cartier, but of the distractions of the times which turned away the thoughts of King Francis I from American adventures. The Indians were well and kindly treated in France, but all of them died there before Cartier left St. Malo to return to Canada in 1541. One advantage he derived from sailing away with these hostages was (no doubt) that they could give him geographical information of importance which materially shortened the return journey. For the first time he made use of the broad strait between Anticosti Island and Gaspé Peninsula, and, better still, entered the Atlantic, not by the dangerous northern route through the straits of Belle Isle, but by means of Cabot Strait, between Newfoundland and Cape Breton Island. Of these discoveries he availed himself on his third and last voyage in 1541. When in that year he once more anchored his ships near Quebec he found the attitude of the Hurons changed. They enquired about their friends and relations who had been carried off five years before, and although they pretended to be reconciled to their fate when they heard (not altogether truly) that one or two were dead, and the others had become great lords in France and had married French women, they really felt a disappointment so bitter and a hostility so great that Cartier guessed their expressions of welcome to be false. However, he sent back to France two of the ships under his command and beached the other three, landed his stores, built two forts at Cap Rouge, above and below, and then started off with a few of his men and two boats to revisit the country of Hochelaga. Here he intended to examine the three rapids or "saults"--interruptions to the navigation of the St. Lawrence--which he had observed on his previous journey, and which were later named the La Chine Rapids (in the belief that they were obstacles on the river route to China). But these falls proved insuperable obstacles to his boats, and he gave up any further idea of westward exploration, returned to his forts and ships near Quebec, and there laid the foundations of a fortified town, which he called Charlesbourg Royal. Here he spent a very difficult winter, the Hurons in the neighbourhood becoming increasingly hostile, and at last, when the spring came, as he had received no relief from France, he took to his three ships, abandoned Charlesbourg Royal (having probably to do some fighting before he could get safely away) and thence sailed for France. Off the Avalon Peninsula of Newfoundland he met the other ships of the expedition which was to have occupied Canada for France. These were under the command of the Sieur de Roberval, a French nobleman, who had really been made head of the whole enterprise, with Cartier as a subordinate officer, but who, the year before, had allowed Cartier to go off to Canada and prepare the way, promising to follow immediately. The interview between Cartier and Roberval, near where the capital of Newfoundland (St. John's) now stands, was a stormy one. Roberval ordered Cartier to return at once to Charlesbourg and await his arrival. However, in the middle of the night which followed this interview, Cartier took advantage of a favourable wind and set sail for France, arriving soon afterwards at St. Malo. But Roberval arrived at Charlesbourg (going the roundabout way through the straits of Belle Isle, for Cartier had told him nothing of the convenient passage through Cabot Strait), and there spent the winter of 1542-3, sending his ships back to France. This winter was one of horrors. Roberval was a headstrong, passionate man, perfectly reckless of human life. He maintained discipline by ferocious sentences, putting many of his men in irons, whipping others cruelly, women as well as men, and shooting those who seemed the most rebellious. Even the Indians were moved to pity, and wept at the sight of the woes of these unhappy French men and women under the control of a bloodthirsty tyrant, and many of them dying of scurvy, or miserably weak from that disease.[10] [Footnote 10: A story was subsequently told of Roberval's stern treatment which had a germ of truth in it, though it has since been the foundation of many a romance. On the journey out from France it is said that Roberval took with him his niece Marguerite, a high-born lady, who was accompanied by an old companion or nurse. Marguerite was travelling with her uncle because, unknown to him, she had a lover who had sailed with him on this expedition and whom she hoped to marry. As they crossed the Atlantic these facts leaked out, and Roberval resolved to bide his time and punish his niece for her deception. As they passed the coast of Southern Labrador Marguerite and her old nurse were seized and put into a boat, Roberval ordering his sailors to row them ashore to an island, and leave them to their fate. They were given four guns with ammunition and a small supply of provisions. But, as the boat was leaving the ship, Marguerite's lover threw himself into the sea and swam to the island. Here, according to the story which Marguerite is supposed to have told afterwards, they endeavoured to live by killing the wild animals and eating their flesh; but her lover-husband died, so also did her child soon after it was born, and then the old nurse, and the unhappy Marguerite was left alone with the wild beasts, especially the white Polar bears, who thronged round her hut. Nevertheless she kept them at bay with her arquebus, and managed somehow to support an existence, until after nineteen months' isolation the ascending smoke of her fire was seen by people on one of the many fishing vessels which, by this time, frequented the coasts of Newfoundland. She was taken off the island and restored to her home in France. The island to which this tradition more especially relates is now called Grand Meccatina.] However, when the weather was warm again, in June, 1543, Roberval started up the St. Lawrence River in boats to reach the wonderful country of Saguenay. Apparently he met with little success, and, being relieved by French ships in the late summer of 1543, he returned to France. Thus the splendid work achieved by Cartier seemed to have come to nothing, for neither he nor Roberval revisited America. The French settlement near Quebec was abandoned, so far as the officers of the French king were concerned, and between 1545 and about 1583, if any other Frenchman or European visited Canada it was some private adventurer who traded with the natives in furs, or Basques from France and Spain who frequented the waters of the Gulf of St. Lawrence on account of the abundance of whales, walruses, and seals. In fact, at the close of the sixteenth century, the Spanish Basques had established themselves on shore at Tadoussac and other places, and seemed likely to colonize the country. CHAPTER III Elizabethan Pioneers in North America Except that the ships of Bristol still no doubt continued to resort to the banks of Newfoundland for fishing, and that even the captains of these ships were occasionally elected admirals of the French, Basque, Portuguese, and English fishing fleets during the summer, the English, as a nation, took no part in claiming political dominion over North America after the voyage of Captain John Rut in 1527. This was the fault of Sebastian Cabot, the son of the man who founded British America, and who had returned to England long afterwards as the Grand Pilot appointed by Edward VI to further the discovery of a northern sea passage to China. Through him the attention of adventurers for a time was diverted from America to the "discovery" of Russia (as it has been called). The efforts of Sebastion Cabot were directed towards the revelation of a north-east passage by way of Arctic Russia to the Pacific, rather than past Newfoundland and Labrador and across Arctic America. But as soon as Elizabeth came to the throne the sea adventurers of Britain, freed from any subservience to Spanish wishes, developed maritime intercourse between England, Morocco, and West Africa on the one hand, and Tropical and North America on the other. Once more the discovery of the North-west Passage across America to China came into favour. MARTIN FROBISHER[1] offered himself as a discoverer, and the Earl of Warwick found the means which provided him with two small sailing vessels of 25 and 20 tons each, besides a pinnace of 10 tons.[2] Queen Elizabeth confined herself, in the way of encouragement, to waving her lily hand from her palace of Greenwich as these three little boats dropped down the Thames on the 8th of June, 1576. She also sent them "an honourable message", which no doubt reached them at Tilbury. [Footnote 1: The name was also spelt Furbusher, and in other ways. He became Sir Martin Frobisher over the wars of the Armada, and died Lord High Admiral of England in 1592.] [Footnote 2: It may be of interest to set forth the kind of rations shipped in those Elizabethan times for the food of the sailors. According to Frobisher's accounts these consisted of salted beef, salt pork, salt fish, biscuit, meal for making bread, dried peas, oatmeal, rice, cheese, butter, beer, and wine, with brandy for emergencies. As regards beer, the men were to have a ration of 1 gallon a day each. Altogether it may be said that these rations were superior in variety--and no doubt in quality--to the food given to seamen in the British merchant marine in the nineteenth century.] But the pinnace was soon swallowed up in the high seas; the seamen in the vessel of 20 tons lost heart and turned their ship homewards. Frobisher alone, in his 25-ton bark, sailed on and on across the stormy Atlantic, past the south end of Greenland, and over the great gulf that separates Greenland from Labrador. He missed the entrance to Hudson's Bay, but reached a great "island" which he named Meta Incognita[3]. Here he gathered up stones and, as he believed, minerals, besides capturing at least one Eskimo, and then returned. [Footnote 3: We now know Meta Incognita to be the southernmost peninsula of the vast Baffin Island.] One of his stones was declared by the refiners of London to contain gold. There was at once--as we should say in modern slang--a boom for these Arctic regions. Queen Elizabeth took part in it, and on the 27th of May, 1577, a considerable fleet, under the command of Frobisher, sailed past the Orkneys for the south end of Greenland. It did not reach as far as Meta Incognita, but it brought back large heaps of earth and pieces of rock, probably from northern Labrador, which almost certainly contained mica schist, and were therefore believed to be full of gold. The following year 1578, Frobisher started on his third American voyage with a fleet of fifteen vessels, mainly financed by Queen Elizabeth, and manned to a great extent by the sons of the aristocracy, besides a hundred persons who were going out as colonists. For this region of ice and snow which was believed to be a mass of gold-bearing rocks! But the result was one of bitter disappointment. The captains were bewildered by the immense icebergs, "so vast that, as they melted, torrents poured from them in sparkling waterfalls". One iceberg toppled over on to a ship and crushed it, though most of the sailors were picked up in the sea and saved. In the thick mists the greater part of the fleet blundered into Hudson's Straits, yet did not realize that they had found a passage into the heart of Canada. At last, disgusted with this land of bare rocks, ice, and snow, they filled up the ships with cargoes of stones supposed to contain gold, and straggled back to England. No gold was extracted, however, from these cargoes, and much discouragement ensued. SIR HUMPHREY GILBERT, one of the brilliant figures of Elizabeth's reign--scholar, poet, courageous adventurer, and man of chivalry--stimulated by the discoveries of Frobisher, obtained a patent or charter in 1578, and, after several unsuccessful attempts, led an expedition of small sailing ships to Newfoundland, where he entered St. John's Bay, and in the presence of the Basque, Portuguese, and Breton fishermen took formal possession of the country for Queen Elizabeth, raising a pillar on which the arms of England were engraved as a token. He then proceeded to grant lands to the fishermen to reassure them, and loaded his ships with rocks brought from the interior mountains and supposed to contain minerals. But in his further explorations of the southern coast of Newfoundland one of the ships was lost and nearly a hundred men intended as colonists were drowned. Gilbert then determined to return to England in his small frigate of 10 tons named the _Squirrel_. He was accompanied by a larger vessel, the _Golden Hinde_, but refused to leave the men on the _Squirrel_ to their fate. Consequently, between the Azores and the north coast of Spain, when the _Squirrel_ was overwhelmed by the heavy seas, Sir Humphrey Gilbert perished together with all on board. In spite, however, of the disappointing results of Gilbert's attempt to found a colony in Newfoundland, the importance of the cod fishery and the ivory tusks and oil of the walruses drew ever more and more ships from Bristol and Devonshire to the coasts of that great island and to the Gulf of St. Lawrence beyond. In 1592 the English adventurers got as far west as Anticosti Island (in a ship from Bristol), and in 1597 there is the first record of English ships (from London--the _Hopewell_ and the _Chancewell_) sailing up the St. Lawrence River, perhaps as far west as Quebec. In 1602, stimulated by Sir Walter Raleigh,[4] Bartholomew Gosnold sailed direct to the coast of North America south of the Newfoundland latitudes, and anchored his bark off the coast of Massachusetts on the 26th of March, 1602. Failing to find a good harbour here, he stood out for the south and definitely discovered and named Cape Cod, not far from the modern city of Boston. From Cape Cod he made his way to the Elizabeth Islands in Buzzard's Bay, and here he built a storehouse and fort, and may be said to have laid the foundations of the future colony of New England. He brought back with him a cargo of sassafras root, which was then much esteemed as a valuable medicine and a remedy for almost all diseases. [Footnote 4: In 1584, Sir Walter Raleigh, the half-brother of Sir Humphrey Gilbert, financed an expedition to sail to the coast of North America in a more southerly direction. In this way was founded the (afterwards abandoned) colony of Roanoke, in North Carolina. It was to this region that Queen Elizabeth applied the title of Virginia, which some years afterwards was transferred to the first English colony on the James River.] Subsequent expeditions of English ships explored and mapped the coast of Maine, and took on board Amerindians for exhibition in England. Their adventures, together with those of the colonists farther south, led to the creation of chartered companies, and to the great British colonies of New England, New York, Virginia, the Carolinas, and Georgia, which were to become in time the United States of America--a vast field of adventure which we cannot follow farther in this book. As regards Newfoundland, James I, in 1610, granted a patent to a Bristol merchant for the foundation there of a colony, and although this attempt, and another under Sir George Calvert (Lord Baltimore) in 1616, came almost to nothing through the attacks of the French and the dislike of the crews of the fishing vessels to permanent settlers who might interfere with the fishing industry, the English colonization of Newfoundland to some extent caught hold, so that in 1650 there were about two thousand colonists of English descent along the east and south-east coasts of the island. But settlement was prohibited within six miles of the shore, to please the fishermen, and this regulation checked for more than two hundred years the colonization of Newfoundland. Nova Scotia as a British colony also came into being as another result of these adventurous British expeditions to North America in the reign of James I. Under the name of Acadie this region had been declared to be a portion of New France by De Monts and Champlain in 1604-14. But the English colonists in 1614 drove the French out of the peninsula of Nova Scotia on the plea that it was a part of the discoveries made by the Cabots on behalf of the British Crown. In 1621 James I gave a grant of all this territory to Sir William Alexander under the name of Nova Scotia, and both Charles I and Cromwell encouraged settlement in this beautiful region. When Charles II ceded it to France in 1667 the English and Scottish colonists who were residing there, and the English settlers of New England, refused to recognize the effects of the Treaty of Bréda, and so harassed the French in the years which followed that in 1713 Nova Scotia was, together with Newfoundland, recognized as belonging to Great Britain. The French colonists were allowed to remain, but during the course of the eighteenth century they combined with the Amerindians (who liked the French and disliked the British) and made the position of the British colonists so precarious that they were finally expelled and obliged to transfer themselves to Louisiana and Canada. This was the departure of the Acadians so touchingly described by Longfellow. The British had become tenacious of their rights over the east coast of Newfoundland, because from the middle of the seventeenth century onwards they were becoming increasingly interested in the whale fisheries and the fur trade of the lands bordering on Hudson's Bay, and would not tolerate any blocking of the sea route thither by the French. In the explorations of Arctic America, Frobisher's expeditions had been succeeded by those of JOHN DAVIS, who in the course of three voyages, beginning in June, 1585, passed the entrance of Hudson's Straits and reached a point as far north as 72° 41', a lofty granite island, which he named Sanderson's Hope. He saw beyond him a great sea, free, large, very salt, and blue, unobstructed by ice and of an unsearchable depth, and believed that he had completely discovered the eastern entrance of the North-West Passage. [Illustration: ICEBERGS AND POLAR BEARS] HENRY HUDSON, the great English navigator, who had made two voyages (1607-8) for the English-Moscovy Company to discover a north-east passage to India, past Siberia, commanded a third experiment in 1609 at the expense of the Dutch East India Company. He was to discover the North-West Passage. For this purpose he entered the river now named the Hudson, but soon found it was only a river; though he returned to Holland with such an encouraging account of the surrounding country that the Dutch a little later on, founded on the banks of the Hudson River their colony of New Amsterdam (afterwards the State of New York). In 1610 Hudson accepted a British commission to sail beyond where Davis and Frobisher had passed, and once more seek for the north-west passage to China. Instead he found the way into Hudson's Bay. Here his men, alarmed at the idea of being lost in these regions of ice and snow, mutinied against him, placed him and those who were faithful to him in a boat, and cast them off, themselves returning to England with the news of his discovery. Hudson was never heard of again, and, strange to say, the mutineers apparently received no punishment. Between 1602 and 1668, English adventurers from London and Bristol, notable amongst whom were WILLIAM BAFFIN, LUKE FOX, and CAPTAIN JAMES, mapped the coasts of Hudson's Bay and Baffin's Bay and brought to the notice of merchants in England the abundance of whales in these Arctic waters, and of fur-bearing beasts and fur-trading Indians in the region of Hudson's Bay. This last point was most forcibly presented to Charles II and his Government by a disappointed French Canadian, Pierre Esprit Radisson, whose adventures will later on be described. Radisson, conceiving himself to be badly treated by the French Governor of Canada, crossed over to England with his brother-in-law, Chouart, and the two were warmly taken up by Prince Rupert of Bavaria, the cousin of Charles II. They were sent out by Prince Rupert in command of an expedition financed by him and a number of London merchants, and in 1669 the New England captain, Gillam, returned to England with Chouart and the first cargo of furs from Hudson's Bay. This cargo so completely met the expectations of those who had promoted the venture that it led in 1670 to the foundation of the Governor and Company of Adventurers of England trading into Hudson's Bay, a company chartered by Charles II and presided over by Prince Rupert, and an association which proved to be the germ of British North America, of the vast three-quarters of the present Dominion of Canada. CHAPTER IV Champlain and the Foundation of Canada From the first voyage of Cartier onwards, Canada was called intermittently New France, and its possibilities were not lost sight of by a few intelligent Frenchmen on account of the fur trade. Amongst these was Amyard de Chastes, at one time Governor of Dieppe, who got into correspondence with the adventurers who had settled as fur traders at Tadoussac, prominent amongst whom was Du Pont-Gravé. De Chastes dispatched with Pont-Gravé a young man whose acquaintance he had just made, SAMUEL CHAMPLAIN.[1] This was the man who, more than any other, created French Canada. [Footnote 1: Afterwards the Sieur de Champlain. The title of _Sieur_ (from the Latin _Senior_) is the origin of the English "sir", and is about equivalent to an English baronetcy.] Champlain had had already a most adventurous life. He was born about 1567, at Brouage, in the Saintonge, opposite to the Island of Héron, on the coast of western France. From his earliest years he had a passion for the sea, but he also served as a soldier for six years. His father had been a sea captain, and his uncle as an experienced navigator was commissioned by the King of Spain to transport by sea to that country the remainder of the Spanish soldiers who had been serving in Brittany. The uncle took his nephew with him. Young Champlain when in Spain managed to ingratiate himself so much with the Spanish authorities that he was actually commissioned as a captain to take a king's ship out to the West Indies. No sooner did he reach Spanish America than he availed himself of the first chance to explore it. For two years he travelled over Cuba, and above all Mexico. He visited the narrowest part of Central America and conceived the possibility of making a trans-oceanic canal across the Panama isthmus. When he got back to France he placed before Henry IV a report on Spanish Central America, together with a project for making a canal at Panama. Henry IV was so pleased with his work and enterprise that he gave him a pension and the title of Geographer to the King. Shortly afterwards he met Governor de Chastes at Dieppe, and was by him sent out to Canada. The ship which carried Champlain, PONT-GRAVÉ,[2] the SIEUR DE MONTS,[3] and other French adventurers (together with two Amerindian interpreters whom Pont-Gravé had brought from Canada to learn French) arrived at Tadoussac on May 24, 1603. [Footnote 2: Correctly written this was François Gravé, Sieur du Pont.] [Footnote 3: The full name was Pierre du Guast, Sieur de Monts. Including de Champlain and de Poutrincourt, who will be described later, we have here the four great heroes who founded French Canada.] Champlain lost no time in commencing his explorations. Tadoussac was at the mouth of an important river, called by the French the Saguenay, a name which they also applied to the mysterious and wonderful country through which it flowed in the far north; a country rich in copper and possibly other precious metals. Champlain ascended the Saguenay River for sixty miles as far as the rapids of Chicoutima. The Amerindians whom he met here told him of Lake St. John, lying at a short distance to the west, and that beyond this lake and the many streams which entered it there lay a region of uplands strewn with other lakes and pools; and farther away still began the sloping of the land to the north till the traveller sighted a great arm of the salt sea, and found himself amongst tribes (probably the Eskimo) who ate raw flesh, and to the Indians appeared absolute savages.[4] This was probably the first allusion, recorded by a European, to the existence of Hudson's Bay, that huge inlet of the sea, which is one of the leading features in the geography of British North America. [Footnote 4: The real name for this remarkable people, the Eskimo, is, in Alaska and Arctic North America, _Innuit_, and in Labrador and Greenland, _Karalit_. Eskimo (in French, _Esquimaux_) is said to be a corruption of the Montagnais-Indian word, Eskimantsik, meaning "eaters of raw flesh".] The Montagnais Indians round about Tadoussac received Champlain with great protestations of friendship, and at the headquarters of their principal chief or "Sagamore" celebrated this new friendship and alliance with a feast in a very large hut. The banquet, as usual, was preceded by a long address from the Sagamore in answer to the description of France, given by one of the Indian interpreters. The address was accompanied by the solemn smoking of tobacco, and at every pause in this grave oration the natives present shouted with one voice: "Ho! ho! ho!" The repast consisted of elk's meat (which struck the Frenchmen as being like beef), also the flesh of bear, seal, beaver, and wild fowl. There were eight or ten stone boilers or cauldrons full of meats in the middle of the great hut, separated each six feet from each other, and each one having its own fire. Every native used a porringer or vessel made of birch bark. When the meat was cooked a man in authority distributed it to each person. But Champlain thought the Indians ate in a very filthy manner. When their hands were covered with fat or grease they would rub them on their own heads or on the hair of their dogs. Before the meat was cooked each guest arose, took a dog, and hopped round the boilers from one end of the great hut to the other. Arriving in front of the chief, the Montagnais Indian feaster would throw his dog violently to the ground, exclaiming: "Ho! ho! ho!" after which he returned to his place. At the close of the banquet every one danced, with the skulls of their Iroquois enemies slung over their backs. As they danced they slapped their knees with their hands, and shouted: "Ho! ho! ho!" till they were out of breath. The huts of these Indians were low and made like tents, being covered with the bark of the birch tree. An opening about a foot of the top was left uncovered to admit light and to allow the smoke to escape. Though low, the huts were sometimes quite large, and would accommodate ten families. These slept higgledy-piggledy on skins, with their dogs amongst them. The dogs in appearance were something like what we know as Eskimo dogs, and also rather resembled the Chinese chow, with broad heads and rather short muzzles, prick ears, and a tail inclined to curl over the back. "All these people have a very cheerful disposition, laughing often, yet at the same time they are somewhat phlegmatic. They talk very deliberately, as if desiring to make themselves well understood, and, stopping suddenly, they reflect for a long time, when they resume their discourse." They were agile, well-proportioned people, who in the summertime went about nearly naked, but in the winter were covered with good furs of elk, otter, beaver, bear, seal, and deer. The colour of their skin was usually a pale olive, but the women for some reason made themselves much darker-skinned than the men by rubbing their bodies with pigments which turned them to a dark brown. At times they suffered very much from lack of food, being obliged then to frequent the shore of the river or gulf to obtain shellfish. When pressed very hard by famine they would eat their dogs (their only domestic animal) and even the leather of the skins with which they clothed themselves. In the autumn they were much given to fishing for eels, and they dried a good deal of eel flesh, to last them through the winter. During the height of the winter they hunted the beaver, and later on the elk. Though they ate wild roots and fruits whenever they could obtain them, they do not seem to have cultivated any grain or vegetables. In the early spring they were sometimes dying of hunger, and looked so thin and haggard that they were mere walking skeletons. They were then ready to eat carrion that was putrid, so that it is little wonder that they suffered much from scurvy. Yet the rivers and the gulf abounded in fish, and as soon as the waters were unlocked by the melting of the ice in April, the surviving Indians rapidly grew fat and well, and of course the late summer and the autumn brought them nuts (hickory and other kinds of walnut, and hazel nuts), wild cherries, wild plums, raspberries, strawberries, gooseberries, blackberries, currants,[5] cranberries, and grapes. [Footnote 5: The wild currants so often mentioned by the early explorers of Canada are often referred to as red, green, and blue. The blue currants are really the black currant, now so familiar to our kitchen gardens (_Ribes nigrum_). This, together with the red currant (_Ribes rubrum_), grows throughout North America, Siberia, and eastern Europe. The unripe fruit may have been the green currants alluded to by Champlain, or these may have been the white variety of our gardens. The two species of wild strawberry which figure so frequently in the stories of these early explorers are _Fragaria vesca_ and _F. virginiana_. From the last-named is derived the cultivated strawberry of Europe. The wild strawberries of North America were larger than those of Europe. Champlain does not himself allude to gooseberries (unless they are his _groseilles vertes_), but later travellers do. Three or more kinds of gooseberry grow wild in Canada, but they are different from the European species. The blueberry so often Mentioned by Champlain (bluëts or bluës) was _Vaccinium canadense_.] Champlain observed amongst them for the first time the far-famed Amerindian snowshoes, which he compares very aptly for shape to a racquet used in tennis. Champlain next visited the site of Stadacona, but there was no longer any settlement of Europeans at that place, nor were the native Amerindians the descendants of the Hurons that had received Jacques Cartier. For the first time the name Quebec (pronounced Kebek) is applied to this point where the great River St. Lawrence narrows before dividing to encircle the Isle of Orleans. In fact, Quebec meant in the Algonkin speech a place where a river narrows; for a tribe of the great Algonkin family, _the_ Algonkins, allied to the tribes of Maine and New Brunswick, had replaced the Hurons as the native inhabitants of this region. On the shore of Quebec he noticed "diamonds" in some slate rocks--no doubt quartz crystals. Proceeding on up the River St. Lawrence he observed the extensive woods of fir and cypress (some kind of _Thuja_ or _Juniper_), the undergrowth of vines, "wild pears", hazel nuts, cherries, red currants and green currants, and "certain little radishes of the size of a small nut, resembling truffles in taste, which are very good when roasted or boiled". As they advanced towards the interior the country became increasingly mountainous on the south (the green mountains of New Hampshire), and was more and more beautiful--"the pleasantest land yet seen". Landing on the south bank of the St. Lawrence, west of the entrance of the river of the Iroquois (the Richelieu), he found magnificent forests, which, besides the trees already mentioned, included oaks, chestnuts, maples, pines, walnut-like nut trees,[6] aspens, poplars, and beeches; with climbing hops and vines, strawberries trailing over the ground, and raspberry canes and currant bushes "growing in the thick grass". These splendid woods on the islands and banks of the broad river were full of game: elks,[7] wapiti deer, Virginian deer, bears, porcupines, hares, foxes, beavers, otters, and musk rats, besides many animals he could not recognize. [Footnote 6: Of the genera _Juglans_ and _Carya_.] [Footnote 7: The huge deer of the genus _Alces_. Elk is the old Scandinavian name. _Moose_, derived from the Kri language, is the Canadian term, "Elk" being misapplied to the wapiti (red) deer. Champlain calls the elk _orignac_, its name in Algonkin.] At last his little expedition in "a skiff and canoe" had to draw into the bank, warned by the noise that they were approaching a great fall of water--the La Chine or St. Louis Rapids. Champlain wrote: "I saw, to my astonishment, a torrent of water descending with an impetuosity such as I have never before witnessed.... It descends as if in steps, and at each descent there is a remarkable boiling, owing to the force and swiftness with which the water traverses the fall, which is about a league in length.... The territory on the side of the fall where we went overland consists, so far as we saw it, of very open wood, where one can go with his armour without much difficulty." From the Algonkin Indians in the neighbourhood of these St. Louis Rapids, and also from those living near Quebec, Champlain obtained a good deal of geographical information to add to his own observations. He was given an idea, more or less correct, of Lake Ontario, the Falls of Niagara, Lake Erie and Lake Huron, and perhaps also of Lake Superior, a sea so vast, said the Amerindians, that the sun set on its horizon. This sheet of water, Champlain calculated, must be 1200 miles distant to the west, and therefore identical with the "Mer du sud" (Pacific Ocean), which all North-American explorers for three centuries wished to reach. After collecting much information about possible copper mines in the regions north and south of the Lower St. Lawrence, and of silver[8] in New Brunswick or Nova Scotia, and a terrible story which he more than half believed about a monster of prodigious size, the _Gougou_,[9] Champlain set sail for France at the end of August, 1603. [Footnote 8: Or lead mixed with silver. The local natives used this ore, which was white when beaten, for their arrowheads.] [Footnote 9: The Gougou dwelt on the small island of Miscon, to the east of the Bay of Chaleurs. It had the form of a woman but was about a hundred feet high. Its habit was to catch and devour men and women, whom it first placed in a pocket capacious enough to hold a small ship. Its roarings and hissings could be heard at times coming from the island of Miscon, where the Gougou lay concealed. Even a Frenchman, the Sieur Prévert, had heard these noises. Probably this islet had a whirlpool communicating with a cavern into which fishermen were sucked by the current.] In April, 1604, Champlain accompanied the Sieur de Monts (who had succeeded the dead Amyard de Chastes as head of a chartered fur-trading association) in a fresh expedition to North America, together with a hundred and twenty artisans and several noblemen. They were to occupy the lands of "Cadie" (Acadia, Nova Scotia), Canada, and other places in New France. De Monts thought Tadoussac and Quebec too cold in wintertime, and preferred the sunnier east coast regions. He aimed indeed at colonizing what is now New England. On the way to Nova Scotia, the expedition was nearly wrecked on Sable Island, about one hundred and twenty miles south of Cape Breton Island, and noticed there the large red cattle run wild from the bulls and cows landed on Sable Island by the Portuguese some sixty years earlier. (The Portuguese of the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries deserved well of humanity for the generous way in which they left cattle, goats, pigs, and rabbits to run wild on desert islands and serve as provender for shipwrecked mariners like Robinson Crusoe.) Champlain also speaks of the "fine large black foxes" which he and other voyagers noticed on Sable Island. How they came there is a mystery, unless the island had once been part of the mainland. This same Sable Island had been the scene of an extraordinary experiment at the end of the previous century. In 1598 the Marquis de la Roche, given a commission to colonize New France, sailed in a small ship for North America with sixty convicts from French prisons as colonists. He landed them on Sable Island, and went away to look for some good site for his colony. But then a storm arose, and his little ship was literally blown back to France. The convicts, abandoned thus, built themselves shelters out of the driftwood of wrecks; killed and ate the cattle and caught fish. They made themselves warm clothes out of the skins of the seals which frequented the island coast in thousands. But these convicts quarrelled and fought among themselves so fiercely that when at last a ship from Normandy came to take them away, there were only twelve left--twelve shaggy men with long tangled hair and beards; and, a legend says, in addition a Franciscan monk who had been landed on the island with them as a kind of missionary or chaplain, and who had been so heartbroken at their bloody quarrels and horrible deeds that when the Norman ship arrived to take the castaways back to France, the Franciscan refused to go with them, believing himself to be dying and wishing to end his life undisturbed. So he was left behind. But after the ship had sailed away he slowly mended, grew well and strong, and cultivated eagerly his little garden. For food he ate the whelks, mussels, and oysters that were so abundant on the shore. Occasionally ships (then as now) were wrecked on Sable Island in stormy weather, and the good monk ministered to the mariners who reached the shore. Also he was visited, ever and again, by the Breton fishing boats, which brought him supplies of necessaries and the bread and wine for celebrating Mass. Long after his death his spirit was thought to haunt the desolate island. Champlain and his companions passed on from Sable Island to the south-east coast of Nova Scotia, noticing as they landed here and there the abundance of rabbits[10] and sea birds, especially the Great Auk, of which they killed numbers with sticks, cormorants (whose fishy eggs they ate with enjoyment), puffins, guillemots, gulls, terns, scissorbills, divers, ospreys, buzzards, and falcons; and no doubt the typical American white-tailed sea eagles, ravens, ducks, geese, curlews, herons, and cranes. Here and there they found the shore "completely covered with sea wolves"--seals, of course, probably the common seal and the grey seal. Of these they captured as many as they wanted, for the seals, like most of the birds, were quite unafraid of man. [Footnote 10: There are no real rabbits in America. This was probably the Polar Hare (_Lepus timidus glacialis_), or the common small varying hare (_L. americanus_).] They then explored the Bay of Fundy, and, after zig-zagging about, decided to fix on the harbour of St. John's (New Brunswick) as the site for their colony. The future capital of New France, therefore, was begun on La Sainte Croix (Dochet) Island, near the mouth of the wonderful tidal estuary of the Uigudi (Ouygoudy) River. Here they passed the winter, but suffered so badly from scurvy[11] that, when in the spring of 1605 Du Pont Gravé arrived from Brittany with supplies, the remnant of the colony was removed to the opposite coast of Nova Scotia to Port Royal (afterwards named by the English Annapolis[12]). The French seem to have fallen in love with this place from the very first. Nevertheless here they suffered from scurvy during the winter as elsewhere. Before moving over here, however, Champlain, together with De Monts, had explored the west of New England south of New Brunswick as far as Plymouth, just south of Boston. [Footnote 11: How awful was this "mal de terre" or scurvy amongst the French settlers may be seen from this description of Champlain: "There were produced in the mouths of those who had it great pieces of superfluous and drivelling flesh, which got the upper hand to such an extent that scarcely anything but liquid could be taken. Their teeth became very loose and could be pulled out with the fingers without its causing them pain.... Afterwards a violent pain seized their arms and legs, which remained swollen and very hard, all spotted as if with fleabites; and they could not walk on account of the contraction of the muscles.... They suffered intolerable pains in the loins, stomach, and bowels, and had a very bad cough and short breath.... Out of seventy-nine who composed our party, thirty-five died and twenty were on the point of death (when spring began in May)." Scurvy is said to be a disease of the blood caused by a damp, cold, and impure atmosphere combined with absence of vegetable food and a diet of salted or semi-putrid meat or fish, such as was so often the winter food of Amerindians and of the early French pioneers in Canada. We have already noted Cartier's discovery of the balsam remedy.] [Footnote 12: From Queen Anne.] Off the coast of Maine (Richmond's Island) they encountered agricultural Amerindians of a new tribe, the Penobskot probably, who cultivated a form of rank narcotic tobacco (_Nicotiana rustica_), which they called _Petun_. (A variety of this has produced the handsome garden flower _Petunia_, whose Latin name is derived from this native word Petun.) They also grew maize or Indian corn, planting very carefully three or four seeds in little mounds three feet apart one from the other, the soil in between being kept clear of weeds. The American farmers of to-day cannot adopt any better method. The islands round about Portland (Maine) were matted all over with wild red currants, so that the eye could scarcely discern anything else. Attracted by this fruit, clouds of wild pigeons had assembled[13]. They manifested hardly any fear of the French, who captured large numbers of them in snares, or killed them with guns. The natives of southern Maine fled with dismay on sighting the French ships, for they had never before seen sailing vessels, but later on they timidly approached the French ships in a canoe, then landed and went through a wild dance on the shore to typify friendliness. Champlain took with him some drawing paper and a pencil or crayon, together with a quantity of knives and ship's biscuit. Landing alone, he attracted the natives towards him by offering them biscuits, and having gathered them round him (being of course as much unable to understand their speech as they were French), he proceeded to ask questions by means of certain drawings, chiefly the outlines of the coast. The savages at once seized his idea, and taking up his pencil drew on the paper an accurate outline of Massachusetts Bay, adding also rivers and islands unknown to the French. They went on by further intelligent signs to supply information. For instance, they placed six pebbles at equal distances to intimate that Massachusetts Bay was occupied by six tribes and governed by as many chiefs. By drawings of growing maize and other plants they intimated that all these people lived by agriculture. [Footnote 13: The pigeons referred to by Champlain were probably the Passenger pigeon (_Ectopistes_) which at one time was extraordinarily abundant in parts of North America, though it has now been nearly killed out by man. It would arrive in flocks of millions on its migratory journeys in search of food.] Champlain thought Massachusetts (in his first voyage) a most attractive region in the summer, what with the blue water of the enclosed arms of the sea, the lofty forest trees, and the fields of Indian corn and other crops. When these French explorers reached the harbour of Boston, the islands and mainland were swarming with the native population. The Amerindians were intensely interested in the arrival of the first sailing vessel they had ever seen. Although it was only a small barque, its size was greater than any canoe known to them. As it seemed to spread huge white wings and to glide silently through the water without the use of paddles or oars, it filled them with surprise and admiration. They manned all their canoes[14] and came out in a flotilla to express their honour and reverence for the wonderful white men. But when the French took their leave, it was equally obvious that the natives experienced a sense of relief, for they were disquieted as well as filled with admiration at the arrival of these wonderful beings from an unknown world. [Footnote 14: It is interesting to learn from his accurate notes that in Massachusetts (and from thence southwards) there were no more bark canoes, but that the canoes were "dug-outs"--trunks of tall trees burnt and chipped till they were hollowed into a narrow vessel of considerable length.] Champlain describes the wigwams or native huts as being cone-shaped, heavily thatched with reeds, with an opening at the top of the roof for the smoke to escape. Inside the huts was a low bed raised a foot from the ground and made of short posts driven into the ground, with a surface made of boards split from trees. On these boards were laid either the dressed skins of deer or bear, or thick mattresses made of reeds or rushes. The beds were large enough for several people to lie on. Champlain describes the huts as being full of fleas, and likewise the persons of the nearly naked Indians, who carried these fleas out with them into the fields when they were working, so that the Frenchmen by stopping to talk to the natives became covered with fleas to such an extent that they were obliged to change their clothes. In the fields were cultivated not only maize, but beans similar to the beans grown by the natives of Brazil, vegetable marrows or pumpkins, Jerusalem artichokes[15], radishes, and tobacco. The woods were filled with oaks, walnut trees[16], and the red "cedar" of North America, really a very large juniper, the foliage of which in the summertime often assumes a reddish colour, together with the trunk. This Virginian juniper or "red cedar" is now quite a common tree in England. In warm weather it exhales a delicious aromatic scent. [Footnote 15: This tuber, which is a well-known and very useful vegetable in England, comes from the root of a species of sunflower (_Helianthus tuberosus_). It has nothing to do with the real artichoke, which is a huge and gorgeous thistle, and it has equally nothing to do with Jerusalem. The English people have always taken a special delight in mispronouncing and corrupting words in order to produce as much confusion as possible in their names for things. Jerusalem is a corruption of _Girasole_, which is the Italian name given to this sunflower with the edible roots, because its flower is supposed always to turn towards the sun. The Jerusalem artichoke was originally a native of North America.] [Footnote 16: These walnut trees were afterwards known in modern American speech as hickories, butter-nuts, and pig-nuts, all of which are allied to, but distinct from, the European walnut.] All these natives of the Massachusetts coast were described by Champlain as being almost naked in the summertime, wearing at most a small piece of leather round the waist, and a short robe of spun hemp which hung down over the shoulders. Their faces were painted red, black and yellow. The men pulled out any hairs which might come on the chin, and thus were beardless. They were armed with pikes, clubs, bows, and arrows. The pikes were probably made of wood with the ends hardened by being burnt to a point in the fire, and the arrow tips were made of the sharp termination of the tail of the great king-crab[17]. [Footnote 17: _Limulus polyphemus_. This extraordinary crustacean is one of the oldest of living animals in its history, as it is closely related to the Xiphosura and even the Trilobites of the Primary Epoch, which existed millions of years ago. In a rough way it is a kind of connecting link between the Crustacea, or crabs and lobsters, and the Scorpions and spiders.] These Massachusetts "Indians" described to Champlain a wonderful bird which at some seasons of the year they caught in snares and ate. This Champlain at once guessed was the wild turkey, now, of course, quite extinct in that region. This wild turkey of the eastern half of North America (including southern Canada) was quite a distinct form from the Mexican bird, which last is the origin of our domestic turkey. In July, 1606, as De Monts had not returned from France, and the little colony at Port Royal was without supplies, they decided to leave two Frenchmen in charge of the local chief of the Mikmak Indians, and find their way along the coast to Cape Breton, where they might get a fishing vessel to take them back to France. But after travelling in an open boat--a chaloupe--round the coast of Nova Scotia they met another small boat off Cape Sable, under the charge of the secretary of De Monts, and learnt that Lieutenant-General DE POUTRINCOURT[18] (one of the great names amongst the pioneers of Canada, and the man who had really chosen Port Royal for the French headquarters at Nova Scotia) had already returned from France with fresh supplies. Consequently, Champlain and his companions returned to Port Royal, and all set to work with eagerness to develop the settlement. Champlain relates in his book how he created vegetable gardens, trout streams and ponds, and a reservoir of salt water for sea fish; but he was soon off again on a fresh journey of exploration, because De Monts was not satisfied with Nova Scotia on account of the cold in winter. Accordingly Champlain examined the whole coast round the Bay of Fundy, and down to Cape Cod, and the islands of Martha's Vineyard and Nantucket. But in this region, already visited in past times by French, Spanish, and English ships, they found the natives treacherous and hostile. An unprovoked attack was made on the French after they landed, and several of the seamen were killed with arrows. [Footnote 18: Jean de Biencourt, the Sieur de Poutrincourt and Baron de Saint-Just, were his full titles.] On the 24th of May, 1607, a small barque of six or seven tons burden (fancy crossing the wide Atlantic from Brittany to Nova Scotia in a ship of that size at the present day!) arrived outside Port Royal from France, with an abrupt notification that De Monts' ten years' monopoly and charter were _cancelled_ by Henry IV, and that all the colony was to be withdrawn and brought back to France. Henry IV took this action simply because De Monts attempted to make his monopoly a real one,[19] and stop the ships of fur traders who were trading with the Amerindians of Cape Breton without his licence. These fur traders of Normandy then complained bitterly that because De Monts was a Protestant he was allowed not only to have this monopoly, but to endanger the spiritual welfare of the savages by spreading his false doctrines! So King Henry IV, volatile and capricious, like most of the French kings, cancelled a charter which had led to such heroic and remarkable results. [Footnote 19: You will observe that neither the French nor the English sovereigns of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries went to much personal expense over the creation of colonies. They simply gave a charter or a monopoly, which cost them nothing, but which made other people pay.] The greater part of the little colony had to leave Port Royal and make its way in small boats along the Nova Scotia coasts till they reached Cape Breton Island. Here fishing vessels conveyed them back to Brittany. It was in this boat journeying along the coast of Nova Scotia that Champlain discovered Halifax Harbour, then called by the Indian name of Shebuktu. As they passed along this coast with its many islands, they feasted on ripe raspberries, which grew everywhere "in the greatest possible quantity". Poutrincourt, however, had succeeded in taking back with him samples of the corn, wheat, rye, barley, and oats which had been so successfully grown on the island of Sainte Croix and at Port Royal, and also presented to that monarch five brent-geese[20] which he had reared up from eggs hatched under a hen. The king was so delighted at these presents that he once more veered about and gave to De Monts the monopoly of the fur trade for one more year, in order to enable him to renew his colonies in New France. [Footnote 20: _Branta canadensis_, a handsome black-and-brown goose with white markings, which the French pioneers in Canada styled "outarde" or "bustard", and whose eggs were considered very good eating.] The Sieur de Monts was again appointed by Henry IV Lieutenant-General in New France. The latter engaged Champlain as his lieutenant, and also sent out Du Pont Gravé in command of the second vessel, as head of the trading operations. This time, on the advice of Champlain, the expedition made its way directly to the St. Lawrence River, stopping first at Tadoussac, where Du Pont Gravé proceeded to take very strong measures with the Basque seamen, who were infringing his monopoly by trading with the natives in furs. Apparently they were still allowed to continue their whale fishery. Once more Champlain heard from the Montagnais Indians of the great Salt Sea to the north of Saguenay, in other words, the southern extension of Hudson's Bay; and in his book he notes that the English in these latter years "had gone thither to find their way to China". However, he kept his intent fixed on the establishment of a French colony along the St. Lawrence, and may be said to have founded the city of Quebec (the site of which was then covered with nut trees) on the 4th of July, 1608. Then his enterprise was near being wrecked by a base conspiracy got up between a surgeon and a number of French artisans, who believed that by seizing and killing Champlain, and then handing over the infant settlement to the Spanish Basques, they might enable these traders and fishermen with their good strong ships to overcome Du Pont Gravé, and seize the whole country. Naturally (they believed) the Basques would reward the conspirators, who would thus at a stroke become rich men. They none of them wished to go to France, but would live here independent of outside interference. A conspirator, however, revealed the plot to Champlain as he was planting one of the little gardens which he started as soon as he had been in a place a few days. He went about his business very discreetly, arrested all the leading conspirators, gave them a fair trial, had the ringleader executed by Pont Gravé, and sent three others back to France. After this he settled down at Quebec for the winter, taking care, however, in the month of October, to plant seeds and vines for coming up in the spring. In the summer of 1609 Champlain, apparently with the idea of thus exploring the country south of the St. Lawrence, decided to accompany a party of Algonkins and Hurons from Georgian Bay and the neighbourhood of Montreal, who were bent on attacking the Iroquois confederacy in the Mohawk country at the headwaters of the Hudson River. He was accompanied by two French soldiers--Des Marais and La Routte--and by a few Montagnais Indians from Tadoussac. The Hurons[21] were really of the same group (as regards language and descent) as the Iroquois (Irokwá), but in those days held aloof from the five other tribes who had formed a confederacy[22] and alliance under the name of _Ongwehonwe_--"Superior Men". The Iroquois (Mohawks, Oneidas, Onondagas, Kayugas, and Senekas) dominated much of what is now New York State, and from the mountain country of the Adirondaks and Catskills descended on the St. Lawrence valley and the shores of Lakes Ontario and Huron to rob and massacre. [Footnote 21: Huron was a French name given to the westernmost group of the Iroquois family (see p. 159). The Huron group included the Waiandots, the Eries or Erigas, the Arendáronons, and the Atiwándoronk or "neutral" nation. The French sometimes called all these Huron tribes "the good Iroquois". Iroquois was probably pronounced "Irokwá", and seems to have been derived from a word like Irokosia, the name of the Adirondack mountain country.] [Footnote 22: The confederacy was founded about 1450 by the great Hiawatha (of Longfellow's Poem), himself an Onondaga from south of Lake Ontario, but backed by the Mohawks only, in the beginning of his work.] The route into the enemy's country lay along the Richelieu River and across Lake Champlain to its southern end, in sight of the majestic snow-crowned Adirondak Mountains. On the way the allies stopped at an island, held a kind of review, and explained their tactics to Champlain. They set no sentries and kept no strict watch at night, being too tired; but during the daytime the army advanced as follows: The main body marched in the centre along the warpath; a portion of the troops diverged on either side to hunt up food for the expedition; and a third section was told off for "intelligence" work, namely, they ran on ahead and roundabout to locate the enemy, looking out especially along the rivers for marks or signals showing whether friends or enemies had passed that way. These marks were devised by the chiefs of the different tribes, and were duly communicated to the war leaders of tribes in friendship or alliance, like our cipher codes; and equally they were changed from time to time to baffle the enemy. Neither hunters nor main body ever got in front of the advance guard, lest they should give an alarm. Thus they travelled until they got within two days or so of the enemies' headquarters; thenceforward they only marched by night, and hid in the woods by day, making no fires or noise, and subsisting only on cooked maize meal. At intervals the soothsayers accompanying the army were consulted for signs and omens; and when the war-chiefs decided on their plan of campaign they summoned all the fighting men to a smooth place in a wood, cut sticks a foot long (as many as there were warriors), and each leader of a division "put the sticks in such order as seemed to him best, indicating to his followers the rank and order they were to observe in battle. The warriors watched carefully this proceeding, observing attentively the outline which their chief had made with the sticks. Then they would go away and set to placing themselves in such order as the sticks were in. This manoeuvre they repeated several times, and at all their encampments, without needing a sergeant to maintain them in the proper order they were able to keep accurately the positions assigned to them" (Champlain). The Hurons who were accompanying Champlain frequently questioned him as to his dreams, they themselves having a great belief in the value of dreams as omens and indications of future events. One day, when they were approaching the country of the Iroquois, Champlain actually did have a dream. In this he imagined that he saw the Iroquois enemies drowning in a lake near a mountain. Moved to pity in his dream he wished to help them, but his savage allies insisted that they must be allowed to die. When he awoke he told the Amerindians of his dream, and they were greatly impressed, as they regarded it as a good omen. Near the modern town of Ticonderoga the Hurons and Algonkins of Georgian Bay and Ottawa met a party of Iroquois, probably of the Mohawk tribe. The Iroquois had built rapidly a stockade in which to retreat if things should go badly with them, but the battle at first began in the old heroic style with as much ceremony as a French duel. First the allies from the St. Lawrence asked the Iroquois what time it would suit them to begin fighting the next day; then the latter replied: "When the sun is well up, if you don't mind? We can see better then to kill you all." Accordingly in the bright morning the Hurons and Algonkins advanced against the circular stockade of the Iroquois, and the Iroquois marched out to fight in great pomp, their leaders wearing plumed headdresses. With this exception both parties fought quite naked, and armed only with bows and arrows. "I marched twenty paces in advance of the rest" (wrote Champlain) "till I was within about thirty paces of the Iroquois.... I rested my musket against my cheek, and aimed directly at one of the three chiefs. With the same shot two fell to the ground, and one of their men was so wounded that he died some time afterwards. I had loaded my musket with four balls. When they saw I had shot so favourably for them, they (the Algonkins and Hurons) raised such loud cries that one could not have heard it thunder. "Meantime the arrows flew on both sides. The Iroquois were greatly astonished that two men had been so quickly killed, though they were equipped with armour woven from copper thread and with wood, which was proof against their arrows." Whilst Champlain was loading to fire again one of his two companions fired a shot from the woods, whereupon the Iroquois took to flight, abandoning their camp and fort. As they fled they threw off their armour of wooden boards and cotton cloth. As to the way in which the Hurons tortured their Iroquois prisoners, Champlain writes of one instance. "They commanded him (the prisoner) to sing, if he had courage, which he did, but it was a very sad song." The Hurons kindled a fire, and when it was well alight they each took a brand from the blaze, the end of which was red-hot, and with this burnt the bodies of their prisoners tied to stakes. Every now and then they stopped and threw water over them to restore them from fainting. Then they tore out their finger nails and applied fire to the extremities of the fingers. After that they tore the scalps off their heads, and poured over the raw and bleeding flesh a kind of hot gum. Then they pierced the arms of the prisoners near the wrists, and drew up their sinews with sticks inserted underneath, trying to tear them out by force, and, if failing, cutting them. One poor wretch "uttered such terrible cries that it excited my pity to see him treated in this manner, yet at other times he showed such firmness that one would have said he suffered scarcely any pain at all". In this case Champlain, seeing that the man could not recover from his injuries, drew apart and shot him dead, "thus putting an end to all the tortures he would have suffered". But the savage Hurons were not yet satisfied. They opened the corpse and threw its entrails into the lake. Then they cut off head, arms, and legs, and cut out the heart; this they minced up, and endeavoured to force the other prisoners to eat it. With those of his allies who were Montagnais Indians from Tadoussac, Champlain returned to that place. As they neared the shore the Montagnais women undressed themselves, jumped into the river, and swam to the prows of the canoes, from which they took the heads of the slain Iroquois. These they hung about their necks as if they had been some costly chain, singing and dancing meanwhile. However, in spite of these and other horrors, Champlain had "separated from his Upper Canadian allies with loud protestations of mutual friendship", promising to go again into their country and assist them with continued "fraternal" relations. From this expedition Champlain learned much regarding the geography of eastern North America, and he brought back with him to France, to present to King Henry IV, two scarlet tanagers--one of the commonest and most beautiful birds of the eastern United States--a girdle of porcupine quills made from the Canadian porcupine, and the head of a gar-pike caught in Lake Champlain.[23] [Footnote 23: Unconsciously, no doubt, he brought away with him to the King of France one of the most remarkable freshwater fish living on the North-American continent, for the gar-pike belongs, together with the sturgeon and its allies, to an ancient type of fish the representatives of which are found in rock formations as ancient as those of the Secondary and Early Tertiary periods. Champlain may be said to have discovered this remarkable gar-pike (_Lepidosteus osseus_), which is covered with bony scales "so strong that a poniard could not pierce them". The colour he describes as silver-grey. The head has a snout two feet and a half long, and the jaws possess double rows of sharp and dangerous teeth. These teeth were used by the natives as lancets with which to bleed themselves when they suffered from inflammation or headache. Champlain declares that the gar-pike often captures and eats water birds. It would swim in and among rushes or reeds and then raise its snout out of the water and keep perfectly still. Birds would mistake this snout for the stump of a tree and would attempt to alight on it; whereupon the fish would seize them by the legs and pull them down under the water.] On Champlain's return from France in 1610 (he and other Frenchmen and Englishmen of the time made surprisingly little fuss about crossing the North Atlantic in small sailing vessels, in spite of the storms of spring and autumn) he found the Iroquois question still agitating the minds of the Algonkins, Montagnais, and Hurons. Representatives of these tribes were ready to meet this great captain of the _Mistigosh_ or _Matigosh_[24] (as they called the French), and implored him to keep his promise to take part in another attack on the dreaded enemy of the Adirondak heights. Apparently the Iroquois (Mohawks) this time had advanced to meet the attack, and were ensconced in a round fortress of logs built near the Richelieu River.[25] The Algonkins and their allies on this expedition were armed with clubs, swords, and shields, as well as bows and arrows. The swords of copper(?) were really knife blades attached to long sticks like billhooks. Before the barricade, as usual, both parties commenced the fight by hurling insults at each other till they were out of breath, and shouting "till one could not have heard it thunder". The circular log barricade, however, would never have been taken by the Algonkins and their allies but for the assistance of Champlain and three or four Frenchmen, who with their musketry fire at short range paralysed the Iroquois. Champlain and one other Frenchman were wounded with arrows in the neck and arm, but not seriously. The victory of the allies was followed by the usual torture of prisoners, which Champlain made a slight--only slight--attempt to prevent. [Footnote 24: Spelt by Champlain with a "ch" instead of _sh_.] [Footnote 25: Then called the Rivière des Iroquois.] But results far more serious arose from these two skirmishes with the Iroquois in 1609 and 1610. The Confederacy of the Five Nations (afterwards six) realized that they had been attacked unprovoked by the dominant white men of the St. Lawrence, called by the Montagnais _Mistigosh_, and by the Iroquois _Adoreset[¯u]i_ ("men of iron", from their armour). They became the bitter enemies of the French, and tendered help first to the Dutch to establish themselves in the valley of the Hudson, and secondly to the English. In the great Colonial wars of the early eighteenth century the Iroquois were invaluable allies to the British forces, Colonial and Imperial, and counted for much in the struggle which eventually cost France Nova Scotia, New Brunswick, Maine, the two Canadas, and Louisiana. On the other hand, the French alliance with the Hurons, Algonkins, and Montagnais, begun by this brotherhood-in-arms with Champlain, secured for France and the French such widespread liking among the tribes of Algonkin speech, and their allies and friends, that the two Canadas and much of the Middle West, together with Michigan, Wisconsin, and Illinois, became French in sympathy without any war of conquest. When the French dominion over North America fell, in 1759, with the capture of Quebec by Wolfe's army, tribes of Amerindians went on fighting for five years afterwards to uphold the banner and the rule of the beloved French king. On Champlain's next visit to Canada, in 1610, he handed over to the Algonkin Indians a French youth named Étienne Brulé (see p. 88), to be taught the Algonkin language (the use of which was spread far and wide over north-east America), and, further, sent a Huron youth to France to be taught French. Between 1611 and 1616 he had explored much of the country between Montreal (the foundations of which city he may be said to have laid on May 29, 1611, for his stockaded camp is now in the centre of it) and Lakes Huron and Ontario, especially along the Ottawa River, that convenient short cut (as a water route) between the St. Lawrence at Sault St. Louis (Montreal) and Lakes Huron and Superior. With short portages you can get in canoes from Montreal to the waters of Hudson Bay, or to Lake Winnipeg and the base of the Rocky Mountains. In exploring this "River of the Algonkins" (as he called it), Champlain was nearly drowned between two rocks, and much hurt, from over bravery and want of knowledge of how to deal with a canoe on troubled water; but on June 4, 1613, he stood on the site of the modern city of Ottawa--the capital of the vast Canadian Dominion--and gazed at the marvellous Rideau or Curtain Fall, where the Rideau River enters the Ottawa. But the air was resonant with the sound of falling water. Three miles above the falls of the Gatineau and the Rideau, the main Ottawa River descended with a roar and a whirl of white foam and rainbow-tinted mist into the chasm called the Chaudière or Kettle. On a later occasion he describes the way in which the Algonkins propitiated the Spirit of the Chasm: "Continuing our way, we came to the Chaudière Falls, where the savages carried out their customary ceremony. After transporting their canoes to the foot of the fall they assemble in one spot, where one of them takes up a collection on a wooden platter, into which each person puts a bit of tobacco. The collection having been made, the plate is placed in the midst of the troop, and all dance about it, singing after their style. Then one of the captains makes an harangue, setting forth that for a long time they have been accustomed to make this offering, by which means they are ensured protection against their enemies, that otherwise misfortune would befall them from the evil spirit. This done, the maker of the harangue takes the plate and throws the tobacco into the midst of the cauldron (the chasm of foaming water), whereupon they all together raise a loud cry. These poor people are so superstitious, that they would not believe it possible for them to make a prosperous journey without observing this ceremony at this place; for sometimes their enemies (Iroquois) await them at this portage, not venturing to go any farther on account of the difficulty of the journey. Consequently they are occasionally surprised and killed by the Iroquois at this place (the south bank of the Ottawa)." Above the Chaudière Champlain met the Algonkin chief, Tessouat, and thus described the burial places of his tribe: "On visiting the island I observed their cemeteries, and was struck with wonder as I saw sepulchres of a shape like shrines, made of pieces of wood fixed in the ground at a distance of about three feet from each other, and intersecting at the upper end. On the intersections above they place a large piece of wood, and in front another upright piece on which is carved roughly, as would be expected, the figure of the male or female interred. If it is a man, they add a shield, a sword attached to a handle after their manner, a mace, and bow and arrows. If it is a chief, there is a plume on his head, and some other _matachia_ or embellishment. If it is a child, they give it a bow and arrow, if a woman or girl, a boiler, an earthen vessel, a wooden spoon, and an oar. The entire sepulchre is six or seven feet long at most, and four wide; others are smaller. They are painted yellow and red, with various ornaments as neatly done as the carving. The deceased is buried with his dress of beaver or other skins which he wore when living, and they lay by his side all his possessions, as hatchets, knives, boilers, and awls, so that these things may serve him in the land whither he goes; for they believe in the immortality of the soul, as I have elsewhere observed. These carved sepulchres are only made for the warriors, for in respect to others they add no more than in the case of women, who are considered a useless class, accordingly but little is added in their case." In the summer of 1615 Champlain, returning from France, made his way up the Ottawa River, and, by a short portage, to Lake Nipissing, thence down French River to the waters of Lake Huron. On the banks of the French River he met a detachment of the Ottawa tribe (of the Algonkin family). These people he styled the _Cheveux Relevés_, because the men's hair was gathered up and dressed more carefully and becomingly on the top of the head than (he says) could at that time be done by a hairdresser in France. This arrangement of the hair gave the men a very handsome appearance, but here their toilet ended, for they wore no clothes whatever (in the summertime), making up for this simplicity by painting their faces in different colours, piercing their ears and nostrils and decorating them with shell beads, and tattooing their bodies and limbs with elaborate patterns. These Ottawas carried a club, a long bow and arrows, and a round shield of dressed leather, made (wrote Champlain) "from the skin of an animal like the buffalo".[26] The chief of the party explained many things to the white man by drawing with a piece of charcoal on the white bark of the birch tree. He gave him to understand that the present occupation of his band of warriors was the gathering of blueberries, which would be dried in the sun, and could then be preserved for eating during the winter. [Footnote 26: This was the first intimation probably that any European sent home for publication regarding the existence of the bison in North America, though the Spanish explorers nearly a hundred years before Champlain must have met with it in travelling through Louisiana, Texas, and northern Mexico. The bison is not known ever to have existed near Hudson Bay, or in Canada proper (basin of the St. Lawrence). South of Canada it penetrated to Pennsylvania and the Susquehanna River, but not farther eastward.] From French River, Champlain passed southwards to the homeland of the Hurons, which lay to the east of what Champlain called "the Fresh Water Sea" (Lake Huron). This country he describes in enthusiastic terms. The Hurons, like the other Iroquois tribes (and unlike the hunting races to the north of them), were agriculturists, and cultivated pumpkins, sunflowers,[27] beans and Indian corn. [Footnote 27: The Amerindians of the Lake regions made much use of the sunflowers of the region (_Helianthus multiflorus_). Besides this species of sunflower already mentioned, which furnishes tubers from its roots (the "Jerusalem" artichoke) others were valued for their seeds, and some or all of these are probably the originals of the cultivated sunflower in European gardens. The largest of these was called _Soleille_ by the French Canadians. It grew in the cultivated fields of the Amerindians to seven or eight feet in height, with an enormous flower. The seeds were carefully collected and boiled. Their oil was collected then from the water and was used to grease the hair. This same Huron country (the Simcoe country of modern times) was remarkable for its wild fruits. There was the Canada plum (_Prunus americana_), the wild black cherry (_Prunus serotina_), the red cherries (_P. pennsylvanica_), the choke cherry (_P. virginiana_), wild apples (_Pyrus coronaria_), wild pears (a small berry-like pear called "poire" by the French: _Pyrus canadensis_), and the may-apple (_Podophyllum peltatum_). Champlain describes this may-apple as of the form and colour of a small lemon with a similar taste, but having an interior which is very good and almost like that of figs. The may-apples grow on a plant which is two and a half feet high, with not more than three or four leaves like those of the fig tree, and only two fruits on each plant.] The Hurons persuaded Champlain to go with them to attack the Iroquois tribe of the Senekas (Entuhónorons) on the south shores of Lake Ontario. On the way thither he noticed the abundance of stags and bears, and, near the lake, of cranes, white and purple-brown.[28] [Footnote 28: The cranes of Canada--so often alluded to by the French explorers as "Grues"--are of two species, _Grus canadensis_, with its plumage of a purple-grey, and _Grus americanus_, which is pure white (see p. 139).] On the southern shores of the lake[29] were large numbers of chestnut trees, "whose fruit was still in the burr. The chestnuts are small but of a good flavour." The southern country was covered with forests, with very few clearings. After crossing the Oneida River the Hurons captured eleven of the Senekas, four women, one girl, three boys, and three men. The people had left the stockade in which their relations were living to go and fish by the lake shore. One of the Huron chiefs--the celebrated Iroquet, who had been so much associated with Champlain from the time of his arrival--proceeded at once to cut off the finger of one of these women prisoners. Whereupon Champlain, firmer than in years gone by, interposed and reprimanded him, pointing out that it was not the act of a warrior such as he declared himself to be, to conduct himself with cruelty towards women "who had no defence but their tears, so that one should treat them with humanity on account of their helplessness and weakness". Champlain went on to say that this act was base and brutal, and that if he committed any more of such cruelties he, Champlain, "would have no heart to assist or favour them in the war". To this Iroquet replied that their enemies treated them in the same manner, but that since this was displeasing to the Frenchmen he would not do anything more to women, but he would not promise to refrain from torturing the men. [Footnote 29: Lakes Ontario and Huron were probably first actually reached by Father Le Caron, a Recollett missionary who came out with Champlain in 1615 (see p. 90), and by Étienne Brulé, Champlain's interpreter.] However, in the subsequent fighting which occurred when they reached the six-sided stockade of the Senekas (a strong fortification which faced a large pond on one side, and was surrounded by a moat everywhere else except at the entrance), the Hurons and Algonkins showed a great lack of discipline. Champlain and the few Frenchmen with him, by using their arquebuses, drove the enemy back into the fort, but not without having some of their Indian allies wounded or killed. Champlain proposed to the Hurons that they should erect what was styled in French a _cavalier_--a kind of box, with high, loopholed sides, which was erected on a tall scaffolding of stout timbers. This was to be carried by the Hurons to within a pike's length of the stockade. Four French arquebusiers then scrambled up into the _cavalier_ and fired through the loopholes into the huts of the Seneka town. Meantime the Hurons were to set fire, if possible, to the wooden stockade. They managed the whole business so stupidly that the fire produced no effect, the flames being blown in the opposite direction to that which was desired. The brave Senekas threw water on to the blazing sticks and put out the fire. Champlain was wounded by an arrow in the leg and knee. The reinforcement of the five hundred Hurons expected by the allies did not turn up. The Hurons with Champlain lost heart, and insisted on retreating. Only the dread of the French firearms prevented the retreat being converted into a complete disaster. Whenever the Senekas came near enough to get speech with the French they asked them "why they interfered with native quarrels". Champlain being unable to walk, the Hurons made a kind of basket, similar to that in which they carried their wounded. In this he was so crowded into a heap, and bound and pinioned, that it was as impossible for him to move "as it would be for an infant in his swaddling clothes". This treatment caused him considerable pain after he had been carried for some days; in fact he suffered agonies while fastened in this way on to the back of a savage. He was afterwards obliged to pass the winter of 1615-6 in the Huron country. At that time it swarmed with game. Amongst birds, there were swans, white cranes, brent-geese, ducks, teal, the redbreasted thrush (which the Americans call "robin"), brown larks (_Anthus_), snipe, and other birds too numerous to mention, which Champlain seems to have brought down with his fowling-piece in sufficient quantities to feed the whole party whilst waiting for the capture of deer on a large scale. Meanwhile, many of the Indians were catching fish, "trout and pike of prodigious size". When they desired to secure a large number of deer, they would make an enclosure in a fir forest in the form of the two converging sides of a triangle, with an open base. The two sides of these traps were made of great stakes of wood closely pressed together, from 8 to 9 feet high; and each of the sides was 1000 yards long. At the point of the triangle there was a little enclosure. The Hurons were so expeditious in this work that in less than ten days these long fences and the "pound" or enclosure at their convergence were finished. They then started before daybreak and scattered themselves in the woods at a considerable distance behind the commencement of these fences, each man separated from his fellow by about 80 yards. Every Huron carried two pieces of wood, one like a drumstick and the other like a flat, resonant board. They struck the flat piece of wood with the drumstick and it made a loud clanging sound. The deer who swarmed in the forest, hearing this noise, fled before the savages, who drove them steadily towards the converging fences. As they closed up, the Hurons imitated very cleverly the yapping of wolves. This frightened the deer still more, so that they huddled at last into the final enclosure, where they were so tightly packed that they were completely at the men's mercy. "I assure you," writes Champlain, "there is a singular pleasure in this chase, which takes place every two days, and has been so successful that in thirty-eight days one hundred and twenty deer were captured. These were made good use of, the fat being kept for the winter to be used as we do butter, and some of the flesh to be taken to their homes for their festivities." Champlain himself, in the winter of 1615, pursuing one day a remarkable bird "which was the size of a hen, had a beak like a parrot and was entirely yellow, except for a red head and blue wings, and which had the flight of the partridge"--a bird I cannot identify--lost his way in the woods. For two days he wandered in the wilderness, sustaining himself by shooting birds and roasting them. But at last he found his way back to a river which he recognized, and reached the camp of the Hurons, who were extremely delighted at his return. Had they not found him, or had he not come back of himself, they told him that they could never again have visited the French for fear of being held responsible for his death. By the month of December of this year (1615) the rivers, lakes, and ponds were all frozen. Hitherto, Champlain had had to walk when he could not travel in a canoe, and carry a load of twenty pounds, while the Indians carried a hundred pounds each. But now the water was frozen the Hurons set to work and made their sledges. These were constructed of two pieces of board, manufactured from the trunks of trees by the patient use of a stone axe and by the application of fire. These boards were about 6 inches wide, and 6 or 7 feet long, curved upwards at the forward end and bound together by cross pieces. The sides were bordered with strips of wood, which served as brackets to which was fastened the strap that bound the baggage upon the sledge. The load was dragged by a rope or strap of leather passing round the breast of the Indian, and attached to the end of the sledge. The sledge was so narrow that it could be drawn easily without impediment wherever an Indian could thread his way over the snow through the pathless forests. The rest of the winter and early spring Champlain spent alone, or in company with Father Joseph Le Caron (one of the Recollet missionaries), visiting the Algonkin and Huron tribes in the region east of Lake Huron. He has left this description of the modern country of Simcoe, the home, three hundred years ago, of the long-vanished Hurons[30]; and gives us the following particulars of their home life. The Huron country was a pleasant land, most of it cleared of forest. It contained eighteen villages, six of which were enclosed and fortified by palisades of wood in triple rows, bound together, on the top of which were galleries provided with stores of stones, and birch-bark buckets of water; the stones to throw at an enemy, and the water to extinguish any fire which might be put to the palisades. These eighteen villages contained about two thousand warriors, and about thirty thousand people in all. The houses were in the shape of tunnels, and were thatched with the bark of trees. Each lodge or house would be about 120 feet long, more or less, and 36 feet wide, with a 10-foot passage-way through the middle from one end to the other. On either side of the tunnel were placed benches 4 feet high, on which the people slept in summer in order to avoid the annoyance of the fleas which swarmed in these habitations. In winter time they slept on the ground on mats near the fire. In the summer the cabins were filled with stocks of wood to dry and be ready for burning in winter. At the end of each of these long houses was a space in which the Indian corn was preserved in great casks made of the bark of trees. Inside the long houses pieces of wood were suspended from the roof, on to which were fastened the clothes, provisions, and other things of the inmates, to keep them from the attacks of the mice which swarmed in these villages. Each hut might be inhabited by twenty-four families, who would maintain twelve fires. The smoke, having no proper means of egress except at either end of the long dwelling, and through the chinks of the roof, so injured their eyes during the winter season that many people lost their sight as they grew old. [Footnote 30: They were almost completely exterminated by the Iroquois confederacy between thirty and forty years after Champlain's visit.] "Their life", writes Champlain, "is a miserable one in comparison with our own, but they are happy amongst themselves, not having experienced anything better, nor imagining that anything more excellent could be found." These Amerindians ordinarily ate two meals a day, and although Champlain and his men fasted all through Lent, "in order to influence them by our example", that was one of the practices they did _not_ copy from the French. The Hurons of this period painted their faces black and red, mixing the colours with oil made from sunflower seed, or with bears' fat. The hair was carefully combed and oiled, and sometimes dyed a reddish colour; it might be worn long or short, or only on one side of the head. The women usually dressed theirs in one long plait. Sometimes it was done up into a knot at the back of the head, bound with eelskin. The men were usually dressed in deerskin breeches, with gaiters of soft leather. The shoes ("Moccasins") were made of the skin of deer, bears, or beavers. In addition to this the men in cold weather wore a great cloak. The edges of these cloaks would often be decorated with bands of brown and red colour alternating with strips of a whitish-blue, and ornamented with bands of porcupine quills. These, which were originally white or grey in colour, had been previously dyed a fine scarlet with colouring matter from the root of the bed-straw (_Galium tinctorum_). The women were loaded with necklaces of violet or white shell beads, bracelets, ear-rings, and great strings of beads falling below the waist. Sometimes they would have plates of leather studded with shell beads and hanging over the back. [Illustration: SAMUEL DE CHAMPLAIN; ALEXANDER HENRY THE ELDER] In 1616 Champlain returned to France, but visited Quebec in 1617 and 1618. During the years spent at Quebec, which followed his explorations of 1616, he was greatly impeded in his work of consolidating Canada as a French colony by the religious strife between the Catholics and Huguenots, and the narrow-minded greed of the Chartered company of fur-trading merchants for whom he worked. But in 1620 he came back to Canada as Lieutenant-Governor (bringing his wife with him), and after attending to the settlement of a violent commercial dispute between fur-trading companies he tried to compose the quarrel between the Iroquois and the Algonkins, and brought about a truce which lasted till 1627. In 1628 came the first English attack on Canada. A French fleet was defeated and captured in the Gulf of St. Lawrence, and in the following year Champlain, having been obliged to surrender Quebec (he had only sixteen soldiers as a garrison, owing to lack of food), voyaged to England more or less as a prisoner of state in the summer of 1629. He found, on arriving there, that the cession of Quebec was null and void, peace having been concluded between Britain and France two months before the cession. Charles I remained true to his compact with Louis XIII, and Quebec and Nova Scotia were restored to French keeping. In 1633 Champlain returned to Canada as Governor, bringing with him a considerable number of French colonists. _It is from 1633 that the real French colonization of Canada begins_: hitherto there had been only one family of settlers in the fixed sense of the word; the other Frenchmen were fur traders, soldiers, and missionaries. But Champlain only lived two years after his triumphant return, and died at Quebec on Christmas Day, 1635. His character has been so well summed up by Dr. S.E. Dawson, in his admirable book on the _Story of the St. Lawrence Basin_, that I cannot do better than quote his words: "Champlain was as much at home in the brilliant court of France as in a wigwam on a Canadian lake, as patient and politic with a wild band of savages on Lake Huron as with a crowd of grasping traders in St. Malo or Dieppe. Always calm, always unselfish, always depending on God, in whom he believed and trusted, and thinking of France, which he loved, this single-hearted man resolutely followed the path of his duty under all circumstances; never looking for ease or asking for profit, loved by the wild people of the forest, respected by the courtiers of the king, and trusted by the close-fisted merchants of the maritime cities of France." CHAPTER V After Champlain: from Montreal to the Mississippi A very remarkable series of further explorations were carried out as the indirect result of Champlain's work. In 1610 he had allowed a French boy of about eighteen years of age, named ÉTIENNE BRULÉ, to volunteer to go away with the Algonkins, in order to learn their language. Brulé was taken in hand by Iroquet,[1] a chief of the "Little Algonkins", whose people were then occupying the lands on either side of the Ottawa River, including the site of the now great city of Ottawa. After four years of roaming with the Indians, Brulé was dispatched by Champlain with an escort of twelve Algonkins to the headwaters of the Suskuehanna, far to the south of Lake Ontario, in order to warn the Andastes[2] tribe of military operations to be undertaken by the allied French, Hurons, and Algonkins against the Iroquois. This enabled Brulé to explore Lake Ontario and to descend the River Suskuehanna as far south as Chesapeake Bay, a truly extraordinary journey at the period. This region of northern Virginia had just been surveyed by the English, and was soon to be the site of the first English colony in North America.[3] [Footnote 1: Mentioned on p. 80.] [Footnote 2: The Andastes were akin to the Iroquois, but did not belong to their confederacy; they lived in Pennsylvania.] [Footnote 3: The inaccurate statement has frequently been written about Newfoundland being "the first British American colony". Newfoundland was reached by the ship in which John Cabot sailed on his 1497 voyage of discovery, and a few years afterwards its shores were sought by the English in common with the French and the Portuguese, and later on the Spaniards and Basques, for the cod fishery. But no definite British settlement, such as subsequently grew into an actual colony, was founded in Newfoundland until the year 1624; the island was not recognized as definitely British till 1713, and no governor was appointed till 1728. The first permanent English colonial settlement in America was founded at Jamestown, Virginia, in 1607; and in the Bermudas and Barbados (West Indies) soon afterwards.] In attempting to return to the valley of the St. Lawrence in 1616, with his Andaste guides, Brulé lost his way, and to avoid starvation surrendered himself to the Seneka Indians (the westernmost clan of the Iroquois) against whom the recent warlike operations of the French were being directed. Discovering his nationality, the Senekas decided to torture him before burning him to death at the stake. As they tore off his clothes they found that he was wearing an _Agnus Dei_ medal next his skin. Brulé told them to be careful, as it was a medicine of great power which would certainly kill them. By a coincidence, at that very moment a terrific thunderstorm burst from a sky which until recently had been all sunshine. The Senekas were so scared by the thunder and lightning that they believed Brulé to be a person of supernatural powers. They therefore released him, strove to heal such slight wounds as he had incurred, and carried him off to their principal town, where he became a great favourite. After a while they gave him guides to take him north into the country of the Hurons. His further adventures led him to discover Lake Superior and the way thither through the Sault Ste. Marie, and to reach a place probably not far from the south coast of Hudson Bay, in which there was a copper mine. Then he explored the Montagnais country north of Quebec, and even at one time (in 1629) entered the service of the English, who had captured Quebec and Tadoussac from the French. When the English left this region Brulé travelled again to the west and joined the Hurons once more. His licentious conduct amongst his Indian friends seems to have roused them to such a pitch of anger that in 1632 they murdered him, then boiled and ate his body. But immediately afterwards misfortune seemed to fall on the place. The Hurons were terrified at what they had done, and thought they heard or saw in the sky the spirits of the white relations of Brulé--some said the sister, some the uncle--threatening their town (Toanche), which they soon afterwards burnt and deserted. In 1615 Champlain, returning from France, had brought out with him friars of the Récollet order.[4] These were the pioneer missionaries of Canada, prominent amongst whom was FATHER LE CARON, and these Récollets traversed the countries in the basin of the St. Lawrence between Lake Huron and Cape Breton Island, preaching Christianity to the Amerindians as well as ministering to the French colonists and fur traders. One of these Récollet missionaries died of cold and hunger in attempting to cross New Brunswick from the St. Lawrence to the Bay of Fundy, and another--Nicholas Viel--was the first martyr in Canada in the spread of Christianity, for when travelling down the Ottawa River to Montreal he was thrown by the pagan Hurons (together with one of his converts) into the waters of a rapid since christened Sault le Récollet. Another Récollet, Father d'Aillon, prompted by Brulé, explored the richly fertile, beautiful country known then as the territory of the Neutral nation, that group of Huron-Iroquois Amerindians who strove to keep aloof from the fierce struggles between the Algonkins and Hurons on the one hand and the eastern Iroquois clans on the other. This region, which lies between the Lakes Ontario, Erie, and Huron, is the most attractive portion of western Canada. Lying in the southernmost parts of the Dominion, and nearly surrounded by sheets of open water, it has a far milder climate than the rest of eastern Canada. [Footnote 4: The Récollet (properly Recollect) friars were a strict branch of the Franciscan order that were sometimes called the Observantines. They were also known as "Recollects" (pronounced in French _récollet_) because they were required to be constantly keeping guard over their thoughts. This development of the Franciscan order of preaching missionary friars was originally a Spanish one, founded early in the sixteenth century, and becoming well established in the Spanish Netherlands. Many of them were Flemings or Walloons.] In 1626 the Jesuit order supplanted the Récollets, and commenced a campaign both of Christian propaganda and of geographical exploration which has scarcely finished in the Canada of to-day. In 1627 the war between the Iroquois Confederacy and the Huron and Algonkin tribes recommenced, and this, together with the British capture of Quebec and other portions of Canada, put a stop for several years to the work of exploration. This was not resumed on an advanced scale till 1634, when Champlain, unable himself, from failing health, to carry out his original commission of seeking a direct passage to China and India across the North-American continent, dispatched a Norman Frenchman named JEAN NICOLLET to find a way to the Western Sea. Nicollet, as a very young man, had lived for years amongst the Amerindian tribes, especially amongst the Nipissings near the lake of that name. Being charged, amongst other things, with the task of making peace between the Hurons and the tribes dwelling to the west of the great lakes, Nicollet discovered Lake Michigan. He was so convinced of the possibility of arriving at the Pacific Ocean, and thence making his way to China, that in the luggage which he carried in his birch-bark canoe was a dress of ceremony made of Chinese damask silk embroidered richly with birds and flowers. He was on his way to discover the Winnebago Indians, or "Men of the Sea", of whom Champlain had heard from the Hurons, with whom they were at war. But the great water from which they derived their name was not in this instance a sea, but the Mississippi River. The Winnebago Indians were totally distinct from the Algonkins or the Iroquois, and belonged to the Dakota stock, from which the great Siou confederation[5] was also derived. [Footnote 5: See p. 160.] Nicollet advanced to meet the Winnebagos clad in his Chinese robe and with a pistol in each hand. As he drew near he discharged his pistols, and the women and children fled in terror, for all believed him to be a supernatural being, a spirit wielding thunder and lightning. However, when they recovered from their terror the Winnebagos gave him a hearty welcome, and got up such lavish feasts in his honour, that one chief alone cooked 120 beavers at a single banquet. Nicollet certainly reached the water-parting between the systems of the St. Lawrence and the Mississippi, and under that name--Misi-sipi--"great water"--he heard through the Algonkin Indians of a mighty river lying three days' journey westward from his last camp. Winnebago (from which root is also derived the names of the Lakes Winnipeg and Winnipegosis much farther to the north-west) meant "salt" or "foul" water. Both terms might therefore be applied to the sea, and also to the lakes and rivers which, in the minds of the Amerindians, were equally vast in length or breadth. From 1648 to 1653 the whole of the Canada known to the French settlers and explorers was convulsed by the devastating warfare carried on by the Iroquois, who during that period destroyed the greater part of the Algonkin and Huron clans. The neutral nation of Lake Erie (the Erigas) was scattered, and between the shores of Lakes Michigan and Huron and Montreal the country was practically depopulated, except for the handfuls of French settlers and traders who trembled behind their fortifications. Then, to the relief and astonishment of the French, one of the Iroquois clans--the Onondaga--proposed terms of peace, probably because they had no more enemies to fight of their own colour, and wished to trade with the French. The fur trade of the Quebec province had attracted an increasing number of French people (men bringing their wives) to such settlements as Tadoussac and Three Rivers. Amongst these were the parents of PIERRE ESPRIT RADISSON. This young man went hunting near Three Rivers station and was captured in the woods by Mohawks (Iroquois) who carried him off to one of their towns and intended to burn him alive. Having bound him at a stake, they proceeded to tear out some of his finger nails and shoot arrows at the less vital parts of his body. But a Mohawk woman was looking on and was filled with pity at the sufferings of this handsome boy. She announced her intention of adopting him as a member of her family, and by sheer force of will she compelled the men to release him. After staying for some time amongst the Mohawks he escaped, but was again captured just as he was nearing Three Rivers. Once more he was spared from torture at the intercession of his adopted relations. He then made an even bolder bid for freedom, and fled to the south, up the valley of the Richelieu and the Hudson, and thus reached the most advanced inland post of Dutch America--then called Orange, now Albany--on the Hudson River. From this point he was conveyed to Holland, and from Holland he returned to Canada. Soon after his return he joined two Jesuit fathers who were to visit a mission station of the Jesuits amongst the Onondagas (Iroquois) on a lakelet about thirty miles south-east of the present city of Rochester. The Iroquois (whose language Radisson had learnt to speak) received them with apparent friendliness, and there they passed the winter. But in the spring Radisson found out that the Onondaga Iroquois were intending to massacre the whole of the mission. Instructed by him, the Jesuits pretended to have no suspicions of the coming attack, but all the while they were secretly building canoes at their fort. As soon as they were ready for flight, and the sun of April had completely melted the ice in the River Oswego, the French missionaries invited the Onondagas to a great feast, no doubt making out that it was part of the Easter festivities sanctioned by the Church. They pointed out to their guests that from religious motives as well as those of politeness it was essential that the _whole_ of the food provided should be eaten, "nothing was to be left on the plate". They set before their savage guests an enormous banquet of maize puddings, roast pigs, roast ducks, game birds, and fish of many kinds, even terrapins, or freshwater turtles. The Iroquois ate and ate until even _their_ appetites were satisfied. Then they began to cry off; but the missionaries politely insisted, and even told them that in failing to eat they were neglecting their religious duties. To help them in this respect they played hymn and psalm tunes on musical instruments. At last the Onondagas were gorged to repletion, and sank into a stertorous slumber at sunset. Whilst they slept, the Jesuits, their converts, and Radisson got into the already prepared canoes and paddled quickly down the Oswego River far beyond pursuit. Radisson next joined his brother-in-law, Medard Chouart, and after narrowly escaping massacre by the Iroquois (once more on the warpath along the Ottawa River) reached the northern part of Lake Huron, and Green Bay on the north-west of Lake Michigan. From Green Bay they travelled up the Fox River and across a portage to the Wisconsin, which flows into the Mississippi. Down this river they sped, meeting people of the great Siou confederation and Kri (Cree) Indians, these last an Algonkin nation roaming in the summertime as far north as Hudson's Bay, until at length they reached the actual waters of the Mississippi, first of all white men. Returning then to Lake Michigan, the shores of which seemed to them an earthly paradise with a climate finer than Italy, they journeyed northwards into Lake Huron, and thence north-westwards through the narrow passages of St. Mary's River into Lake Superior. The southern coast of Lake Superior was followed to its westernmost point, where they made a camp, and from which they explored during the winter (in snowshoes) the Wisconsin country and collected information regarding the Mississippi and its great western affluent the Missouri. The Mississippi, they declared, led to Mexico, while the other great forked river in the far west was a pathway, perhaps, to the Southern Sea (Pacific). The Jesuits, on the other hand, were convinced that Hudson's Bay (or the "Bay of the North") was at no great distance from Lake Superior (which was true) and that it must communicate to the north-west with the Pacific Ocean or the sea that led to China. In 1661, without the leave of the French Governor of Canada, who wanted them to take two servants of his own with them and to give him half the profits of the venture, Chouart and Radisson hurried away to the west, picked up large bodies of natives who were returning to the regions north of Lake Huron, with them fought their way through the ambushed Iroquois, and once more navigated the waters of Lake Superior. Once again they started for the Mississippi basin and explored the country of Minnesota, coming thus into contact with native tribes which lived on the flesh of the bison. In Minnesota they met a second time the Kri or Kinistino Indians of north-central Canada, and joined one of their camps in the spring of 1662, somewhere to the west of Lake Superior. With Kri guides they started away to the north and north-east, no doubt by way of the Lake of the Woods, the English River, Lake St. Joseph, and the Albany River, thus reaching the salt sea at James Bay, the southernmost extension of Hudson Bay. Or they may have proceeded by an even shorter route, though with longer portages for canoes, through Lake Nipigon to the Albany. The summer of 1662 they passed on the islands and shores of James Bay hunting "buffalo"[6] with the Indians. Then, in 1663, travelling back along the same route they had followed in the previous year, they regained Lake Superior, and so passed by the north of Lake Huron to the Ottawa River and the St. Lawrence. But on their return to Three Rivers they were arrested by the French Governor, D'Avaugour, who condemned them to imprisonment and severe fines. The courts of France gave them no redress, and in their furious anger Chouart and Radisson went over to the English, offered their services to England, and so brought about the creation of the Hudson Bay Company. [Footnote 6: More probably musk oxen.] Radisson's journey from England to Hudson Bay has been treated of in an earlier chapter: it is preferable to follow out to its finish the great, western impulse of the French, which led them to neglect for a time the doings of the British on the east coast of North America and in the sub-Arctic regions of Hudson Bay. From 1660 onwards the Jesuit missionaries again took up vigorously that work of Christianizing the Amerindians which had been so completely checked by the frightful ravages of the Iroquois between 1648 and 1654. By 1669 the Jesuits had three permanent stations in western Canada. The first was the mission station at Sault Ste. Marie, the second was the station of Ste. Esprit, on Lake Superior (not far from the modern town of Ashland), and the third was the station of St. François Xavier at the mouth of the Fox River, on Green Bay, Lake Michigan. As regards some of the sufferings which these missionaries had to go through when travelling across Canada in the winter, I quote the following from _The Relations of the Jesuits_ (p. 35):-- "I [Father de Crépieul] set out on the 16th of January, 1674, from the vicinity of Lake St. John, near the Saguenay River, with an Algonkin captain and two Frenchmen. We started after Mass, and walked five long leagues on snowshoes with much trouble, because the snow was soft and made our snowshoes very heavy. At the end of five leagues, we found ourselves on a lake four or five leagues long all frozen over, on which the wind caused great quantities of snow to drift, obscuring the air and preventing us from seeing where we are going. After walking another league and a half with great difficulty our strength began to fail. The wind, cold, and snow were so intolerable that they compelled us to retrace our steps a little, to cut some branches of fir which might in default of bark serve to build a cabin. After this we tried to light a fire, but were unable to do so. We were thus reduced to a most pitiful condition. The cold was beginning to seize us to an extraordinary degree, the darkness was great, and the wind blew fearfully. In order to keep ourselves from dying with cold, we resumed our march on the lake in spite of our fatigue, without knowing whither we were going, and all were greatly impeded with the wind and snow. After walking a league and a half we had to succumb in spite of ourselves and stop where we were. The danger we ran of dying from cold caused me to remember the charitable Father de Noue, who in a similar occasion was found dead in the snow, kneeling and with clasped hands.... We therefore remained awake during the rest of the night.... On the following morning two Frenchmen arrived from Father Albanel's cabin very opportunely, and kindled a great fire on the snow.... After this we resumed our journey on the same lake, and at last reached the spot where Father Albanel was.... A serious injury, caused by the fall of a heavy load upon his loins, prevented him from moving, and still more, from performing a missionary's duties." One of the Jesuit fathers, Allouez, in founding the station of St. François Xavier on Green Bay, Lake Michigan, had gained further information about the wonderful Mississippi, which he called "Messi Sipi". He also thoroughly explored Lake Nipigon, to the north of Lake Superior. In 1669 two missionaries, named Dollier de Casson and Galinée, started from the seminary of St. Sulpice (Montreal) to reach the great tribes of the far west, supposed to be eager to learn of Christianity and known to be much more tractable than the Iroquois. These two missionaries, in their expedition of seven canoes and twenty-one Amerindians, were accompanied by a remarkable young man commonly known as La Salle, but whose real name was Robert Cavalier.[7] [Footnote 7: La Salle was the name of his property in France.] Before leaving Lake Ontario, they actually passed the mouth of the Niagara River and heard the falls, but had not sufficient curiosity to leave their canoes and walk a short distance to see them. The wonderful cascades of Niagara, where the St. Lawrence leaving Lake Erie plunges 328 feet down into Lake Ontario (which is not much above sea level), remained nearly undiscovered and undescribed until the year 1678, when they were visited by Father Hennepin. Near the western end of Lake Ontario the two Sulpician missionaries met another Frenchman, Jolliet, who had come down to Lake Superior by way of the Detroit passage, which is really the portion of the St. Lawrence connecting Lake Huron with Lake Erie. Jolliet told the missionary de Casson of a great tribe in the far west, the Pottawatomies, who had asked for missionaries, and who were of Algonkin stock. La Salle, on the other hand, was determined to make for the rumoured Ohio River, which lay somewhere to the south-west of Lake Erie. The two Sulpicians wintered in "the earthly paradise" to the north of Lake Erie, passing a delightful six months there in the amazing abundance of game and fish. They then met with various disasters to their canoes, and consequently gave up their western journey, passing northwards through Detroit and Lake St. Clair into Lake Huron, and thence to the Jesuit mission station of the Sault Ste. Marie. Here they were received rather coldly, as being rivals in the mission field and in exploration. They in their turn accused the Jesuits of thinking mainly, if not entirely, of the foundation of French colonies, and very little of evangelizing the natives. JOLLIET, a Canadian by birth,[8] was dispatched by the Viceroy of Canada in 1672 to explore the far west. Two years--1670--previously the French Government had for the first time adopted a really definite policy about Canada, and had taken formal possession of the Lake region and of all the territories lying between the lakes and the Mississippi. A great assembly of Indians was held at Sault Ste. Marie, near the east end of Lake Superior; and here a representative of the French Government, accompanied by numerous missionaries and by Jolliet, read a proclamation of the sovereignty of King Louis XIV of France and Navarre. Below a tall cross was erected a great shield bearing the arms of France. Father Allouez addressed the Indians in the Algonkin language, and told them of the all-powerful Louis XIV, who "had ten thousand commanders and captains, each as great as the Governor of Quebec". He reminded them how the troops of this king had beaten the unconquerable Iroquois, of how he possessed innumerable soldiers and uncountable ships; that at times the ground of France shook with the discharge of cannon, while the blaze of musketry was like the lightning. He pictured the king covered with the blood of his enemies and riding in the middle of his cavalry, and ordering so many of his enemies to be slain that no account could be kept of the number of their scalps, whilst their blood flowed in rivers. The Amerindians being what they were, addicted to warfare, and only recognizing the right of the strongest, it may be that this gospel of force was not quite so shocking and unchristian as it reads to us nearly 250 years afterwards, though it jars very much as coming from the lips of a missionary of Christianity. However, it must be remembered that but for the valour of the French soldiers in the awful period between 1648 and 1666 (when the Mohawks received a thorough and well-deserved thrashing) many of the tribes addressed on this occasion by the Jesuit missionaries would have been completely exterminated; the Iroquois would have depopulated much of north-eastern America. It is obvious, indeed, from our study of the conditions of life amongst the Amerindians, that one reason why the New World was so poorly populated at the time of its discovery by Europeans was the wars of extermination between tribe and tribe; for America between the Arctic regions and Tierra del Fuego is marvellously well supplied with natural food products--game, fish, fruits, nuts, roots, and grain--much more so than any area of similar extent in the Old World. [Footnote 8: Born at Quebec in 1645.] Jolliet was to be accompanied on his westward expedition by Father JACQUES MARQUETTE,[9] a Jesuit missionary who had become well acquainted with the tribes visiting Lake Superior, and had learnt the Siou dialect of the Illinois people. On May 17, 1673, Jolliet and Marquette started from the Straits of Michili-Makinak with only two bark canoes and five Amerindians. They coasted along the north coast of Lake Michigan, passed into Green Bay, and thence up the River Fox. They were assisted by the Maskutins, or Fire Indians, and were given Miami guides. Thence the natives assisted them to transport their canoes and baggage over the very short distance that separates the upper waters of the Fox River from the Wisconsin River, and down the Wisconsin they glided till they reached the great Mississippi. The Governor of Quebec, who had sent Jolliet on this mission, believed that the Great River of the west would lead them to the Gulf of California, which was then called the Vermilion Sea by the Spaniards, because it resembled in shape and colour the Red Sea. [Footnote 9: Father Jacques Marquette was born in the province of Champagne, eastern France. He came to Canada when he was twenty-nine years old, having already been prepared by the Jesuits for priesthood and missionary work since his seventeenth year. He spent nine years in Canada, and died at the age of thirty-eight. He has left an enduring memory for goodness, courage, and purity of life.] "On the 17th of June (1673)", writes Father Marquette, "we safely entered the Mississippi with a joy that I cannot express. Its current is slow and gentle, the width very unequal. On its banks there are hardly any woods or mountains. The islands are most beautiful, and they are covered with fine trees. We saw deer and cattle (bison), geese, and swans. From time to time we came upon monstrous fish, one of which struck our canoe with such violence that I thought it was a great tree. On another occasion we saw on the water a monster with the head of a tiger, a sharp nose like that of a wild cat, with whiskers and straight erect ears. The head was grey, and the neck quite black (possibly a lynx).... We found that turkeys had taken the place of game, and the _pisikiou_, or wild cattle, that of the other animals." Father Marquette, of course, by his wild cattle means the bison, of which he proceeds to give an excellent description. He adds: "They are very fierce, and not a year passes without their killing some savages. When attacked, they catch a man on their horns if they can, toss him in the air, throw him on the ground, then trample him under foot and kill him. If a person fires at them from a distance with either a bow or a gun, he must immediately after the shot throw himself down and hide in the grass, for if they perceive him who has fired they run at him and attack him." Soon after entering the Mississippi, Marquette noticed some rocks which by their height and length inspired awe. "We saw upon one of them two painted monsters which at first made us afraid, and upon which the boldest savages dare not long rest their eyes. They are as large as a calf; they have horns on their heads like those of deer, a horrible look, red eyes, a beard like a tiger's, a face somewhat like a man's, a body covered with scales, and so long a tail that it winds all round the body and ends like that of a fish. Green, red, and black are the three colours composing the picture. Moreover, these two monsters are so well painted that we cannot believe that any savage is their author, for good painters in France would find it difficult to paint so well, and, besides, they are so high up on the rock that it is difficult to reach that place conveniently to paint them."[10] [Footnote 10: These remarkable rock pictures were situated immediately above the present city of Alton, Illinois. In 1812 they still remained in a good state of preservation, but the thoughtless Americans had gradually destroyed them by 1867 in quarrying the rock for building stone.] As the Jolliet expedition paddled down the Mississippi--ever so easily and swiftly--a marvellous panorama unfolded itself before the Frenchmen's fascinated gaze. Immense herds of bison occasionally appeared on the river banks, flocks of turkeys flew up from the glades and roosted in the trees and on the river bank. Everywhere the natives seemed friendly, and Father Marquette was usually able to communicate with them through his knowledge of the Illinois Algonkin dialect, which the Siou understood. [Illustration: INDIANS HUNTING BISON] On their first meeting with the Mississippi Indians, the French explorers were not only offered the natives' pipes to smoke in token of peace, but an old man amongst the latter uttered these words to Jolliet: "How beautiful the sun is, O Frenchman, when thou comest to visit us. Our village awaits thee, and thou shalt enter all our cabins in peace."... "There was a crowd of people," writes Marquette; "they devoured us with their eyes, but nevertheless preserved profound silence. We could, however, hear these words addressed to us from time to time in a low voice: 'How good it is, my brothers, that you should visit us'. "... The council was followed by a great feast, consisting of four dishes, which had to be partaken of in accordance with all their fashions. The first course was a great wooden platter full of sagamité, that is to say, meal of Indian corn boiled in water, and seasoned with fat. The Master of the Ceremonies filled a spoon with sagamité three or four times, and put it to my mouth as if I were a little child. He did the same to Monsieur Jollyet. As a second course he caused a second platter to be brought, on which were three fish. He took some pieces of them, removed the bones therefrom, and, after blowing upon them to cool them, he put them in our mouths as one would give food to a bird. For the third course, they brought a large dog that had just been killed, but, when they learned that we did not eat this meat, they removed it from before us. Finally, the fourth course was a piece of wild ox, the fattest morsels of which were placed in our mouths.... We thus pushed forward and no longer saw so many prairies, because both shores of the river are bordered with lofty trees. The cotton wood, elm and bass wood are admirable for their height and thickness. There are great numbers of wild cattle whom we hear bellowing. We killed a little parroquet, with a red and yellow head and green body.... We have got down to near the 33° of latitude.... We heard from afar savages who were inciting one another to attack us by their continual yelling. They were armed with bows and arrows, hatchets, clubs, and shields.... Part of them embarked in great wooden canoes, some to ascend, others to descend the river in order to surround us on all sides.... Some young men threw themselves into the water and seized my canoe, but the current compelled them to return to land. One of them hurled his club, which passed over without striking us. In vain I showed the calumet (pipe of peace), and made them signs that we were not coming to war against them. The alarm continued; they were already preparing to pierce us with arrows from all sides when God suddenly touched the hearts of the old men who were standing at the water's edge, who checked the ardour of their young men.... Whereon we landed, not without fear on our part. First we had to speak by signs, because none of them understood the six languages which I spoke. At last we found an old man who could speak a little Illinois. We informed them that we were going to the sea. "The next day was spent in feasting on Indian corn and dogs' flesh. The people here had an abundance of Indian corn, which they sowed at all seasons. They cook it in great earthen jars which are very well made, and also have plates of baked earth. The men go naked and wear their hair short; they pierce their noses, from which, as well as from their ears, hang beads.... Their cabins are made of bark, and are long and wide. They sleep at the two ends, which are raised two feet above the ground. They know nothing of the beaver, and their wealth consists in the skins of wild cattle. They never see snow in their country, and recognize the winter only through the rains." The expedition had passed the confluence of the Missouri and that of the Ohio, and had finally reached the place where the Arkansas River enters the Mississippi. Here the Frenchmen gathered from the natives that the sea was only ten days distant, and this sea they knew (for Jolliet was able to take astronomical observations and to make a rough survey) could only be the Gulf of Mexico. Jolliet feared if he prosecuted his journey any farther, he and his people would fall into the hands of the Spaniards and be imprisoned, if not killed. Therefore, at this point on the Lower Mississippi, the expedition turned back. Its return journey was a weary business, for the current was against the canoes as they were propelled northwards up the Great River. But Jolliet learnt from the natives of a better homeward route, that of following the Illinois River upstream until the expedition came within a very short distance of Lake Michigan, near where Chicago now stands. The canoes were carried over a low ridge of ground, launched again in the Chicago River, and so passed into Lake Michigan. (There is, in fact, at this point the remains of an ancient water connection between Lake Michigan and the Illinois River, and a canal now connects the two systems.) Jolliet, in describing this region, realized that by cutting a canal through two miles of prairie it would be possible to go "in a small ship" from Lake Erie or Lake Superior "to Florida". Father Marquette remained at his new mission on the Fox River (he died two years afterwards on the shores of the Straits of Michili-makinak). Jolliet, on returning by way of the Ottawa River to Quebec, was nearly drowned in the La Chine Rapids (Montreal), and all his papers and maps were lost. The natives with him also perished, but he struggled to shore with difficulty, and went on his way to Quebec to report his wonderful discoveries to the Governor, Frontenac. Fortunately Father Marquette had also kept a journal and had made maps, and these reaching the superior of his mission arrived in time to confirm Jolliet's statements. Jolliet married at Quebec, and proceeded to explore and develop the regions along the north coast of the Gulf of St. Lawrence, travelling in this work as far as Hudson's Bay. He was given by the French Government the Island of Anticosti as a reward for his achievements, but the work and capital which he put into the development of this long-neglected island came to nothing; for it was captured by the English, and Jolliet died a poor man whilst attempting to explore the coast of Labrador. As to ROBERT CAVALIER DE LA SALLE, he had, after all, discovered the Ohio, and had descended that river as far as the site of the present town of Louisville. Then he interested the Governor (Frontenac) of Canada in his enterprises. A fort, called Fort Frontenac, was built at what is now Kingston, at the point where the St. Lawrence leaves Lake Ontario. La Salle returned to France, and obtained the grant of the lordship of this fort and the surrounding country on conditions of maintaining the whole cost of the establishment, and making a settlement of colonists. Another visit to France in 1677-8 secured him further support and capital, and he returned from France with a companion, Henry de Tonty. La Salle, with de Tonty, started from Fort Frontenac in September, 1678, so intensely anxious to commence his discoveries that he disregarded the difficulties of the winter season. On his way to Niagara he paid a visit to the Iroquois to conciliate them, and cleverly got from them permission to build a vessel on Lake Erie and also to erect a blacksmith's forge, near where Niagara now stands. The blacksmith's forge grew rapidly into a fort before the Indians were aware of what was being done. By August, 1679, he had built and launched (in spite of extraordinary calamities and misfortunes) on the Upper Niagara River the first sailing boat which ever appeared on the four great upper lakes of the St. Lawrence basin. In this ship he sailed through Lake Erie and past Detroit into Lake Huron, and thence to Green Bay (Lake Michigan), stopping at intervals amongst the canoes of the amazed natives, who for the first time heard the sound of cannon, for he had armed his vessel with guns. At Green Bay he collected a large quantity of furs, which had been obtained in trade by the men he had sent on in advance. He loaded up his sailing boat, the _Griffon_, and sent her on a voyage back to the east to transport this splendid load of furs to the merchants with whom he had become deeply indebted. Unhappily the _Griffon_ foundered in a storm on Lake Michigan, and was never heard of again. Meantime La Salle, with de Tonty and Father HENNEPIN, the discoverer of Niagara, had travelled in canoes to the south-east end of Lake Michigan, had passed up the Joseph River, and thence by portage into the Kankaki, which flows into the Illinois. This river he descended till he stopped near the site of the modern Peoria. Below this place he built a fort--for it was winter time--and although the natives were not very friendly he collected enough information from them to satisfy himself that he could easily pass down the Illinois to the Mississippi. He sent one of the Frenchmen, Michel Accault, together with Father Hennepin, to explore the Illinois down to the Mississippi; de Tonty he placed in charge of the fort with a small garrison; and then himself, on the last day of February, 1680, started to walk overland from Lake Michigan to Detroit. Eventually, by means of a canoe, which he constructed himself, he regained Fort Frontenac and Montreal. When he returned to Fort Crèvecoeur, on the Illinois River,[11] it was to meet with the signs of a horrible disaster. The Iroquois in his absence had descended on the place with a great war party. They had massacred the Illinois people dwelling in a big settlement near the fort, and the remains of their mutilated bodies were scattered all over the place. Their town had been burnt; the fort was empty and abandoned. There were no traces of the Frenchmen, however, amongst the skulls and skeletons lying around him; for the skulls retained sufficient hair to show that they belonged to Amerindians. Nevertheless, he deposited his new stock of goods and most of his men in the ruins of the Fort Crèvecoeur, and descended the River Illinois to the Mississippi. But he was obliged to turn back. On the west bank of the river were the scared Illinois Indians, on the east the raging Iroquois. Whenever La Salle could safely visit a deserted camp he would examine the remains of the tortured men tied to stakes to see if amongst them there was a Frenchman. [Footnote 11: He had named this place "Heartbreak" because when building it he had learnt of the loss of his sailing ship _Griffon_, with the splendid supply of furs which was to have paid off his debts, with all his reserve supplies and his men. This was not the limit of his troubles; for, after the overland journey of appalling hardships through a country of melting ice, flood, swamp, and hostile Iroquois--the Iroquois being furious with La Salle for having outwitted them in the building of this fort, and seeking him everywhere to destroy him--when he got to Montreal it was only to learn that a ship, coming from France with further supplies for his great journey had been wrecked at the mouth of the St. Lawrence!] But de Tonty was not dead. After incredible adventures he had escaped the raids of the Iroquois and had reached the Straits of Michili-makinak, between Lakes Michigan and Huron, and there met La Salle, who was once more on his way to Montreal. Again de La Salle and de Tonty, in the winter of 1681, returned to the south end of Lake Michigan, and made their way over the snow to the Illinois River. On the 6th February, 1682, they left the junction of the Illinois and the Mississippi to trace that great river to its outlet in the sea. La Salle reached the delta on the 6th April, 1682, having on the way taken possession of the country in the name of the King of France. Accault and Father Hennepin had meantime paddled up the Northern Mississippi as far as its junction with the Wisconsin. At this place their party was surrounded and captured by a large band of Siou warriors. The Frenchmen were at first in danger of being killed, as the Sious refused to smoke with them the pipe of peace. But being much less bloodthirsty than the Iroquois, they soon calmed down and treated their captives with a certain rough friendliness. All their goods were taken from them, even the vestments worn by Father Hennepin. But they were well supplied with food such as the country produced--bison, beef, fish, wild turkeys, and the grain of the wild rice, which made such excellent flour. They were gradually conveyed by the Siou[12] to a large settlement of that tribe on the shore of Mille Lacs, a sheet of water not far distant from the westernmost extremity of Lake Superior. Whilst staying at this Siou town Hennepin conversed with Indians from the far north and north-west, and from what they told him came to the conclusion that there was no continuous waterway or "Strait of Anian" across the North-American continent, but that the land extended to the north-west till it finally joined the north-eastern part of Asia--a guess that was not very far wrong. But he also surmised that there were rivers in the far west which led to an ocean--the Pacific--across which ships might go to Japan and China without passing to the southward of the Equator. [Footnote 12: The real name of the Siou, as far as we can arrive at it through the records of the French pioneers, was Issati or Naduessiu.] Whilst moving up and down the northern Mississippi, bison-hunting with the Indians, the Frenchmen were met near the site of St. Paul by one of the great French pioneers of the seventeenth century, the Sieur DANIEL DE GREYSOLON DU L'HUT. This remarkable man, who was an officer of the French army, had already planted the French arms at the Amerindian settlement of Mille Lacs in 1679, and had established himself as a powerful authority at the west end of Lake Superior. He had also summoned a great council of Amerindian tribes--the Siou from the Upper Mississippi, the Assiniboins from the Lake of the Woods (between Lake Superior and Lake Winnipeg), and the Kri Indians from Lake Nipigon. He had further discovered, in 1679, the water route of the St. Croix River from near Lake Superior to the Mississippi. Du L'Hut soon persuaded the Siou to let his fellow countrymen return with him to Lake Superior. Accault remained behind with the Siou, delighted with their wild, roving life, and no doubt married an Indian wife and became the father of some of those bold half-breeds who played such a great part in the subsequent history of innermost Canada. But Father Hennepin returned to Montreal, and made his way eventually to France, where he fell into great disgrace and was unfrocked. He had richly merited this treatment, for after he heard of the death of La Salle he impudently claimed the discovery of the whole course of the Mississippi River for himself, and for a long time was believed. He will certainly go down in history as the man who discovered and described Niagara Falls (in 1678), and he also assisted greatly to clear up the geography of the time by the information he collected from the Amerindians as to the vast extent of the North-American continent; but he was a boastful, unscrupulous man. Du L'Hut, who came to the rescue of Accault and Hennepin, was of noble family, and a member of the king's bodyguard. He decided, however, to seek his fortune in Canada, and obtained a commission as captain. It was his cousin, Henri de Tonty, who had accompanied La Salle. After returning to France to fight in the wars then going on, he came back to Canada with a younger brother, Claude. He had in him the spirit of great adventurers, and longed to visit the unknown countries of the upper Mississippi. In the early part of these journeys he rescued his fellow countrymen from the keeping of the Sious in the manner described. After that he spent _thirty_ years travelling and trading about North America, from the northern Mississippi into what we should now call Manitoba, and from the vicinity of Lake Winnipeg to Hudson Bay. He brought the great Amerindian nation of the Dakotas into direct relations with the French. He was absolutely fearless, and in no period of Canadian history has France been more splendidly represented in the personality of any of her officers than she was by Daniel de Greysolon du L'Hut. His was a tiresome name for English scribes and speakers. It was therefore written by them "Duluth" and pronounced D[)a]l[)a]th (instead of "Dülüt"). It is the name given to the township near the southernmost extremity of Lake Superior. When the journeys of du L'Hut came to an end--he died at Montreal in 1710--and after the era of great French explorations in North America drew to a close, the French power was beginning to be eclipsed by that of the British, who were building up the foundations of a colony on the shores of Hudson's Bay, and were taking steps to acquire Newfoundland and to colonize New Brunswick and Nova Scotia. Nevertheless, in 1720, the King of France, or rather the regent acting for the king, decided that a serious attempt must be made to discover the Western Sea, or Pacific Ocean, from the French posts which had been established in what is now known as Manitoba. The French had already discovered the Missouri, and had heard from several Indian tribes that it was possible to cross the Rocky Mountains and descend by other rivers to the waters of a great ocean, the coasts of which were visited by Spaniards. Several expeditions were sent out, more or less under the control of Jesuits, but did not accomplish much. The really great discoveries which link the "Great North-West" for all time in history with France and French names were initiated by PIERRE GAULTIER DE LA VÉRENDRYE, who was born in 1685 at the town of Three Rivers, in Lower Canada, where his father was Governor. He entered the army at the age of twelve, and took part in the French campaigns in Flanders, winning the rank of lieutenant at the battle of Malplaquet, where he received nine wounds and was left for dead on the field. He then returned to Canada, not having the necessary means with which to support the position of a lieutenant; and then, as France seemed to have entered upon a period of protracted peace, he determined to become an explorer. In 1728, when he was commandant of the trading post of Nipigon, to the north of Lake Superior, he heard from an Indian that there was a great lake beyond Lake Superior, out of which flowed a river towards the west, which ultimately led to a great salt lake where the water ebbed and flowed. As a matter of fact, these stories simply referred to Lake Winnipeg, but the importance of them lay in the fact that they acted as a powerful incentive to La Vérendrye to push his explorations westwards, and perhaps discover a route to the Pacific Ocean.[13] [Footnote 13: The water of Lake Winnipeg--whatever it may be now--was frequently stated by Amerindians in earlier days to be "stinking water", or salt, brackish water, disagreeable to drink, and this lake exhibits a curious phenomenon of a regular rise and fall, reminding the observer of a tide, a phenomenon by no means confined to Lake Winnipeg, but occurring on sheets of water of much smaller extent.] La Vérendrye afterwards went to Quebec, where he discussed his plans for Western exploration with the Governor of New France, the Marquis de Beauharnais, who was a distant connection of the Beauharnais family from which sprang the first husband of the Empress Joséphine, the grandfather of Napoleon III. This Governor entered into his scheme with enthusiasm, though he could obtain little or no money from the ministers of Louis XVI. But a way out of the difficulty was found by the Governor giving La Vérendrye the monopoly of the fur trade in the far North-West.[14] This monopoly enabled La Vérendrye to obtain the funds for his expenditure from the merchants of Montreal, and in the summer of 1731 he started out on his explorations, accompanied by three of his sons, his nephew, fifty soldiers and French Canadian canoe men, and a Jesuit missionary. For a guide they had the Indian, Oshagash, who had first told La Vérendrye of the western river and the salt water. After many delays, necessitated by the need for trading in furs to satisfy the merchants of Montreal, La Vérendrye and his expedition skated on snowshoes down the ice of the Winnipeg River and reached the shores of Lake Winnipeg. They were probably the first white men to arrive there. La Vérendrye established forts and posts along his route from Lake Nipigon, but his expedition had not been a commercial success. There was a deficit of £1700 between the amount realized in furs and the cost of the equipment and wages of the French and French Canadians. De Beauharnais made a fresh appeal to the French Court; he urged that the expenditure to convey La Vérendrye's expedition to the Pacific Ocean would not be a large one--perhaps only £1500. [Footnote 14: What we should call to-day a "concession".] But the French Court was obdurate; it would not furnish a penny. Thus La Vérendrye, in all probability, was prevented from forestalling the British explorers of sixty and seventy years later, besides the expeditions of Captain Cook and Captain Vancouver, which secured for Great Britain a foothold on the Pacific seaboard of British Columbia. La Vérendrye in his fort on Lake Winnipeg was in a desperate position. He made a hasty journey back to Montreal and even Quebec, to beat up funds and to pacify the capitalists of his fur-trading monopoly. He painted in glowing colours the prospects of cutting off the trade of the Hudson's Bay Company and the building up of an immense commerce in valuable furs, and these men agreed once again to furnish the funds for the extension of the expedition. On his return he took back with him his youngest son, Louis, a boy of eighteen. Whilst he had been absent from Fort St. Charles (a post which he had built on the Lake of the Woods, in communication by water with the Winnipeg River), on Lake Winnipeg, that place was visited by a party of Siou Indians. They found the fort occupied in the absence of the French by a number of Kri or "Knistino" Indians in French service. These Kris were frightened at the arrival of the Sious and fired guns at them. "Who fired on us?" demanded these haughty Indians from Dakota, and the Kris replied, "The French". Then the Sious withdrew, but vowed to be completely revenged on the treacherous white man. When La Vérendrye reached Fort St. Charles its little garrison was almost at the point of starvation. He had travelled himself ahead of his party, and the immense stock of supplies and provisions he was bringing up country were a long way behind him when he reached the fort. He therefore sent back his son Jean, together with the most active of his Canadian voyageurs and the Jesuit missionary, in order that they might meet the heavily laden canoes and hurry them up country as fast as possible. But this party was met by the Sious on Rainy River, who massacred them to a man. They were afterwards found lying in a circle on the beach, decapitated and mutilated. The heads of most of them were wrapped ironically in beaver skins, and La Vérendrye's son, Jean, was horribly cut and slashed, and his mutilated, naked body decorated with garters and bracelets of porcupine quills. Meantime, during his absence in Lower Canada, two of his sons in charge of Fort Maurepas, on Lake Winnipeg, had been very active. They had discovered the great size of this lake, and also the entrance of the Red River on the south. They then proceeded to explore both the Red River and its western tributary the Assiniboin. On the Assiniboin was afterwards built the post of Fort La Reine, and from this place in 1738 La Vérendrye started with two of his sons, several other Frenchmen, a few Canadian voyageurs, and twenty-five Assiniboin Indians. Leaving the Assiniboin River, they crossed the North Dakota prairies on foot. Owing to the timidity of his Indian guides, La Vérendrye was not led direct to the Missouri River, the "Great River of the West", but along a zigzag route which permitted his guides to reinforce their numbers at Assiniboin villages, and every now and then join in a bison hunt. All the party were on foot, horses not then having reached the Assiniboin tribe. But on the 28th of November, 1738, they drew near to the Missouri and were met by a chief of the great Mandan tribe, who was accompanied by thirty of his warriors, and who presented La Vérendrye with young maize cobs and leaves of native tobacco, these being regarded as emblems of peace and friendship. The Mandan tribe differed materially in its habits and customs from the Indians to the north, who supported themselves mainly, if not entirely, by hunting, who cared very little for agriculture, and moved continually like nomads over great stretches of country, living chiefly in tents or temporary villages. The Mandans, on the other hand, were a people who practised agriculture, and had permanent and well-constructed towns. In fact, their civilization and demeanour made such an impression on the Assiniboin and other northern tribes that they had been considered a sort of "white people", somewhat akin to Europeans, and La Vérendrye was a little disappointed to find them only Amerindians in race and colour. The six hundred Assiniboins who had gathered about La Vérendrye's expedition proved to be a great trouble to him, as they were constantly picking quarrels with the Mandans, who were very dishonest. Accordingly, La Vérendrye arranged with the Mandans to frighten them away by pretending that the Siou Indians were on the warpath. The six hundred Assiniboins bolted, but took with them La Vérendrye's interpreter, so that he was henceforth obliged to communicate with the Mandans by means of signs and gestures. This and other reasons decided him to return--even though it was the depth of winter, to Fort La Reine, but not before he had given the head chief of the Mandans a flag and a leaden plate which (unknown to the Mandans) meant taking possession of their country in the name of the French king. The journey back to Fort La Reine, over the plains of the Assiniboin, was a terrible experience. The party had to travel in the teeth of an almost unceasing north-east wind which was freezingly cold. Night after night they were obliged to dig deep holes in the snow for their sleeping places. La Vérendrye nearly died of agonizing pain and fatigue during this journey, and was a long time recovering from its effects. As they continued to receive friendly messages from the Mandans, inviting them to make further discoveries, LA VÉRENDRYE'S sons, PIERRE and FRANCOIS, set out in the spring of 1742, and, after some checks and disappointments, managed with a single Mandan guide to reach Broad Lands on the Little Missouri River, where they noticed the earths of different colours, blue, green, red, black, white, and yellow, which are so characteristic of this region. They reached the village of the Crow Indians, passed through a portion of the friendly tribe, the Cheyennes (the name was probably pronounced Shian) and got into the country which was constantly being ravaged by the Snake Indians, or Shoshones. Here, on the 1st of January, 1743, when the mists of morning cleared away, they saw upon the horizon the outline of huge mountains. As they travelled westwards or south-westwards, day after day, the jagged blue wall resolved itself into towering snow-capped peaks, glittering in the sun and provoking the appellation of "the Mountains of Bright Stones", a name probably given to the Rocky Mountains by the Amerindians, but used in all the earlier French and English maps until the end of the eighteenth century.[15] [Footnote 15: The term Rocky Mountains was probably first officially applied by the American expedition, under Lewis and Clarke, sent out by the United States Government in 1804 to take possession of the coast of Oregon, but it was used twenty or thirty years earlier by British explorers of Western Canada.] On the 12th of January they reached the very foot of the mountains, the slopes of which they saw were thickly covered with magnificent forests of pine and fir--forests, that have since suffered to an appalling extent from annual bush fires, which so far the United States Government seems unable to check. Here they were to meet with a bitter disappointment. They were travelling with a very large war party of the Bow Indians for the purpose, if need be, of attacking and routing the Shoshones; but a Shoshone camp at the base of the mountains was found to be deserted, and the Bow Indians jumped to the conclusion that the Shoshones had turned back through the forest unseen, and were now making with all speed for the principal war camp of the Bow Indians, where they would massacre the women and children. They would listen to no remonstrances from the two Frenchmen, who perforce had also to travel back, either alone or with the Bow Indians, in the direction of their war camp, where the idea of a Shoshone attack was found to be baseless. Eventually, the two La Vérendrye brothers were obliged to make their way to the Missouri River, and abandon any idea of finding a way to the Western Ocean across the Rocky Mountains. The French pioneers had already heard of the Spaniards in California, and the possibility of getting into touch with them. They had now discovered, first of all Europeans, the Rocky Mountains--that great snowy range of North America which extends from Robson Peak on the eastern borders of British Columbia to Baldy Peak in New Mexico. Afterwards the La Vérendryes directed their attention more to the opportunities of reaching the Far West through the streams that flowed into the system of Lake Winnipeg, and in this way discovered, in or about 1743, the great River Saskatchewan. This river La Vérendrye's sons followed up till they reached the junction between the North and the South Rivers, and then they probably learnt a good deal more of the Southern Saskatchewan, on which they may have built one or two posts. La Vérendrye himself thought that this would prove to be the best route by which the French could reach the Western Sea. By this time the French Government was becoming alive to the importance of these discoveries, and it conferred a decoration on La Vérendrye, and allowed him to hope that he might be furnished with means for further exploration. But he died soon afterwards, at the close of 1749, and after his death his sons were treated with gross ingratitude and neglect. The self-seeking Governor of New France endeavoured to secure the fur trade for his own friends, and sent an officer with a terribly long name--Captain Jacques Répentigny Le Gardeur de Saint Pierre--to continue the exploration towards the Pacific. From 1750 to 1763 the French occupation of this region of the two Saskatchewan Rivers was extended till in all probability the French got within sight of the northern Rocky Mountains in the vicinity of Calgary. Then came the English conquest of Canada to stop all further enterprise in this direction, and the story was next to be taken up by English, Scottish, and Canadian explorers. It will be men with English and Scottish names, mainly, who will henceforth complete the work begun and established so magnificently by Cartier, Brulé, Nicollet, Jolliet, La Salle, du L'Hut, and La Vérendrye, though the French Canadians will also play a notable part, together with "Americans", from New England. CHAPTER VI The Geographical Conditions of the Canadian Dominion Before we continue to follow the adventures of the pioneers of British North America, I think--even if it seems wearisome and discursive--my readers would better understand this story if I placed before them a general description of what is now the Dominion of Canada, more particularly as it was seen and discovered by the earliest European explorers. The most prominent feature on the east, and that which was nearest to Europe, was the large island of NEWFOUNDLAND, 42,000 square miles in extent, that is to say, nearly as large as England without Wales. It seems to bar the way of the direct sea access by the Gulf of St. Lawrence to the very heart of North America; and, until the Straits of Belle Isle and of Cabot were discovered, did certainly arrest the voyages of the earliest pioneers. Newfoundland, as you can see on the map, has been cut into and carved by the forces of nature until it has a most fantastic outline. Long peninsulas of hills alternate with deep, narrow gulfs, and about the south-east and east coasts there are innumerable islets, most of which in the days of the early discoverers were the haunt of millions of sea birds who resorted there for breeding purposes. The heart of Newfoundland, so to speak, is an elevated country with hills and mountains rising to a little over 2000 feet. A great deal of the country is, or was, dense forests, chiefly consisting of fir trees. As numerous almost as the sea birds were the seals and walruses which frequented the Newfoundland coasts. Inland there were very large numbers of reindeer, generally styled nowadays by the French-Canadian name of _Caribou_[1]. Besides reindeer there were wolves, apparently of a smaller size than those of the mainland. There were also lynxes and foxes, besides polar bears, martens, squirrels, &c. The human inhabitants of Newfoundland, whom I shall describe in the next chapter, were known subsequently by the name of Beothuk, or Beothik, a nickname of no particular meaning. They had evidently been separated for many centuries from contact with the Amerindians of the mainland, though they may have been visited occasionally on the north by the Eskimo. They had in fact been so long separated from the other Amerindians of North America that they were strikingly different from them in their habits, customs, and language. [Footnote 1: The first Frenchmen visiting North America, and seeing the caribou without their horns, thought they were a kind of wild ass. The reindeer of Newfoundland is a sub-species peculiar to this island.] The climate of Newfoundland is not nearly so cold as that of the mainland, nor so hot in summer, but it is spoilt at times by fogs and sea mists which conceal the landscape for days together. In the wintertime, and quite late in the spring, quantities of ice hang about the shores of the islands, and when the warm weather comes, these accumulations of ice slip away into the Atlantic in the form of icebergs and are most dangerous to shipping. To the south-east of Newfoundland the sea is very shallow for hundreds of miles, the remains no doubt of a great extension of North America in the direction of Europe which had sunk below the surface ages ago. In this shallow water--the "Banks" of Newfoundland--fish, especially codfish, swarmed in millions, and still continue to swarm with little, if any, diminution from the constant toll of the fishing fleets. Another creature found in great abundance on these coasts is the true lobster,[2] which filled as important a part in the diet of the Beothuk natives, before the European occupation, as the salmon did in the dietary of the British Columbian tribes. [Footnote 2: _Homarus americanus_. The lobster of Newfoundland and the coasts of North-east America is closely related to the common lobster of British waters. These true lobsters resemble the freshwater crayfish in having their foremost pair of legs modified into large, unequal-sized claws. The European rock-lobster of the Mediterranean and French coasts (the _langouste_ of the French) has no large claws.] The next most striking feature in the geography of Eastern North America is NOVA SCOTIA. AS you look at it on the map this province seems to be a long peninsula connected with the mainland by the narrow isthmus of Chignecto; but its northernmost portion--Cape Breton--really consists of two big and two little islands, only separated from Nova Scotia by a very narrow strait--the Gut of Canso. On the north of Nova Scotia lies the large Prince Edward Island, and north of this again the small group of the Magdalen Islands, discovered by Cartier, the resort of herds of immense walruses at one time. Due west of Nova Scotia the country, first flat (like Nova Scotia itself) and at one time covered with magnificent forests, rises into a very hilly region which culminates on the north in the Shikshok Mountains of the Gaspé Peninsula (nearly 4000 feet in height) and the White Mountains (over 6000 feet) and the Adirondak Mountains (over 5000 feet). The White, the Green, and the Adirondak Mountains lie just within the limits of the United States. North of the Gaspé Peninsula, in the great Gulf of St. Lawrence, is Anticosti Island, which rises on the south in a series of terraces until it reaches an altitude of about 2000 feet. This island, which is well wooded, was said to have swarmed with reindeer at one time, and perhaps other forms of deer also, and to have possessed grizzly bears which fed on the deer, besides Polar bears visiting it in the winter. [Illustration: MAP OF CANADA] Newfoundland is separated from the mainland of LABRADOR on the north by the Strait of Belle Isle, and from Cape Breton Island on the south by Cabot Strait. Labrador is an immense region on the continent, where the coast (except for the deep inlet of Melville Lake) soon rises into an elevated plateau 2000 feet in height, which is strewn with almost uncountable lakes, out of which rivers flow north, south, east, and west. On the north-east corner of Labrador there are mountains from 3000 to 4000 feet, overlooking the sea. The whole of this vast Labrador or Ungava Peninsula, which is bounded on the south by the River and Gulf of St. Lawrence, and on the north by Hudson's Bay and Hudson's Straits, is an inhospitable land, at no time with much population. "The winter of Labrador is long and severe; one would need to have blood like brandy, a skin of brass, and an eye of glass not to suffer from the rigours of a Labrador winter. In the summer the frequent fogs render the air damp, and the constant breezes from the immense fields of ice floating in the gulf keep the land very cool, and make any alteration in the winter dress almost unnecessary" (James M'Kenzie). Labrador and the lands farther north on the continent of North America are separated from Greenland on the east by the broad straits--a great branch of the Atlantic--named after Davis and Baffin, who first explored them. Passing up Davis Strait, along the coast of Labrador to beyond 60° N. lat., the voyager comes to Hudson's Straits, which, if followed up first to the northwards and then to the south-west, would lead him into the great expanse of Hudson's Bay, one of the most important features in the geography of North America. HUDSON'S BAY, which is a great inland sea with an area of about 315,000 square miles, has a southern loop or extension called James Bay, the shores of which are not at a very great distance either from Lake Superior to the south-west, or from the source of the River Saguenay on the south. The Saguenay flows into the Lower St. Lawrence River. It is therefore not surprising that as soon as the French began to settle in Lower Canada they heard of a vast northern inland sea of salt water--Hudson's Bay. But the people who discovered and surveyed Hudson's Bay during the seventeenth, eighteenth, and nineteenth centuries were always on the search for a passage out of its waters into the Arctic Sea, which would enable them to get right round America into the Pacific Ocean. In Arctic North America Nature really seems to have been preparing during millions of years a grim joke with which to baffle exploring humanity! It is easy enough to pass from Davis Straits into Hudson's Bay, but to get out of Hudson's Bay in the direction of the Arctic Ocean is like getting out of a very cleverly arranged maze. There are innumerable false exits, which have disappointed one Arctic explorer after another. When they had discovered that Hudson's Bay to the south was only like a great bottle, and had no outlet, they explored its northern waters; and when they found Chesterfield Inlet on the north-west, which leads into Baker Lake, they thought perhaps here was the passage through into the Arctic Sea. But no; that was no good. To the north of Chesterfield Inlet was a broad channel called Roe's Welcome, which led into Wager Bay and through frozen straits into Fox's Channel, and this again into Ross Bay. Here only a very narrow isthmus separates Hudson's Bay from the Arctic Sea; but still it is an isthmus of solid land. Turning to the north-east and north there are the broad waters of Fox's Channel leading into Fox's Basin; but the north-west corner of this inland sea was so blocked with ice and islands that it was not until the year 1822 that the _real_ northern outlet of Hudson's Bay was discovered by Captain EDWARD PARRY to be the narrow Fury and Hecla Straits (the discovery was not completed until 1839 by the Hudson's Bay Company's explorers T. SIMPSON and W. DEASE). Here you have found the way out into the Gulf of Boothia, which communicates in the north with Barrow Strait and Baffin's Bay. But across the supposed peninsula of Boothia there were discovered, in 1847, by Dr. JOHN RAE (also an officer of the Hudson's Bay Company) the narrow Bellot Straits, which lead into Franklin Straits and so into M'Clintock Channel and the Arctic Ocean. After this you might theoretically (if the ice permitted it) sail or steam your ship through Victoria Straits and Coronation Gulf till you got into Beaufort Sea (part of the open Arctic Ocean), or, by turning round Prince Albert Land, pass through the Prince of Wales' Straits or M'Clure Straits into the same Beaufort Sea. The North-West Passage across the Arctic extremity of North America, therefore, _did_ exist after all, and the directest route would be up Davis Straits, through Hudson's Straits into Fox's Basin, then through the Fury and Hecla Straits into the Gulf of Boothia, then through the Bellot Straits and Franklin Straits (past Victorialand and Kemp Peninsula) and out through the Dolphin and Union Straits into the Arctic Ocean, and so on round the north coast of Alaska, past Bering's Straits into Bering Sea and the Pacific. But of course the accumulations of ice completely block continuous navigation. The huge jagged island of BAFFIN'S LAND differs from much of Arctic America in that it has high land rising into mountains. This is so completely covered with ice that it is of little interest under present circumstances to the world of civilization, though the large herds of musk oxen which it once supported were of much use to Arctic explorers as a food supply in winter. The coasts are inhabited by a few thousand Eskimo, and Davis Straits and Baffin's Bay possess a certain amount of commercial importance owing to the whale fisheries which are carried on there by the British, the Danes, the Americans, and the Eskimo. In fact the importance of these whale fisheries have of late made the Americans of the United States a little inclined to challenge the British possession of these great Arctic islands. North Devon, North Somerset, Prince of Wales' Land, Melville Island, Banks Land, Prince Albert Land, &c. &c, are names of other great Arctic islands completely within the grip of the ice. The nature of their interior is almost unknown. They are at present of use to no form of man unless it be to a few wandering Eskimo, who come to their coasts in the summer to kill seals. The great NORTH-WEST TERRITORIES of the Canadian Dominion extend from the American frontier of Alaska (which is the 141° of W. long.) to the Ungava Peninsula, which abuts on Labrador. Where this vast region slopes to the Arctic Ocean and Hudson's Bay it is rather low and flat, except between Alaska and the Mackenzie River, and between the Mackenzie and the watershed of Hudson's Bay. The principal river system in the far North-West is that of the great Mackenzie River, which flows into the Arctic Ocean (Beaufort Sea) through an immense delta, and is one of the longest rivers in the world. The southernmost sources of the Mackenzie (such as the Peace River and the Athabaska River) rise in the Rocky Mountains to the east of British Columbia. These waters are stored for a time in Lake Athabaska, and then under the name of Slave River flow northwards into the Great Slave Lake, and out of this, under the name of Mackenzie River, into Beaufort Sea, through an immense delta. The Great Bear Lake is also a feeder of the Mackenzie. Two other Arctic rivers at one time thought to be of great importance as means of communication with the Arctic Ocean, are the Great Fish River, which flows into Elliot Bay, and the Coppermine River, which enters Coronation Gulf. The other northward-flowing rivers (passing through innumerable lakes and lakelets) enter Hudson's Bay. West of the great Mackenzie River rises the northernmost extension of the Rocky Mountains. All this easternmost part of Alaska, which is under British control, is a region of great elevation, something like parts of Central Asia. The streams which rise here unite in the great Yukon River, and this has its outlet in Bering's Sea. Some points of the great mountains within the limits of British territory in this direction reach to nearly 20,000 feet (Mount Logan). But the climate of the northern parts of the Canadian Dominion differs very greatly in the west as compared to the east. For instance, the northern parts of Labrador are cruelly Arctic, hopelessly frozen, though they are in the same latitude as St. Petersburg (the capital of European Russia) and as the splendidly forested northern parts of British Columbia. Eastern Labrador is a region in which explorers have frequently perished from cold and starvation. Although in the lofty parts of the Yukon country (three hundred and fifty miles north of treeless Labrador) the winter is intensely cold, and the ground is frozen for a considerable depth downwards, all the year round, there are still great forests; and a white and Amerindian population find it possible to live there all the year round, while animal life is extremely abundant. On the other hand, a good deal of the territory between Mackenzie River and Hudson's Bay is almost uninhabitable, except during the summertime, owing to the depth of the snow and the bare rocky nature of the ground. The treeless area north of Lake Athabaska (the "barren lands" of the Canadian Dominion) seems to consist of nothing but slabs of rock and loose stones. Yet this region is far from being without vegetation. The rock is often covered with a thin or thick sod of lichen ("reindeer moss", in some districts three feet deep) intermixed with the roots of the wishakapakka herb (_Ledum palustre_, from which Labrador tea is made), of cranberries, gooseberries, heather (with white bell flowers), and a dwarf birch. This last, in sheltered places where a little vegetable soil has been formed, grows into a low scrubby bush. As to the gooseberries--here and farther south--Hearne describes them as "thriving best on the stony or rocky ground, open and much exposed to the sun". They spread along the ground like vines. The small red fruit is always most plentiful and fine on the under side of the branches, probably owing to the reflected heat of the stones. In the bleaker places a hard, black, crumply lichen--the "Tripe de roche" of the French Canadians (_Gyrophoreus_) grows on the rocks and stones, and is of great service to the Amerindians, as it furnishes them with a temporary subsistence when no animal food can be procured. This lichen, when boiled, turns to a gummy consistence something like sago. Hearne describes it as being remarkably good when used to thicken broth; but some other pioneers complained that it made them and their Indians seriously ill. Another lichen, "reindeer moss" (_Cladina_), is also eaten by men as well as deer. The _muskegs_, or bogs and marshes, produce in the summertime a very rapid growth of grass (as well as breeding swarms of mosquitoes!), and thus furnish food for the geese and swans which throng them between June and October. In the summertime all these northern territories of Canada--from the basin of Lake Winnipeg, with its white pelicans, to the Arctic circle--swarm with birds, wild swans, geese, ducks, plovers, grouse, cranes, eagles, owls of several kinds--especially the great snowy eagle-owl--red-breasted thrushes, black and white snow-buntings, scarlet grosbeaks (the female green and grey), crested jays, and ravens "of a beautiful glossy black, richly tinged with purple", but smaller in size than those of Europe. This is also the country for bears. Some grizzlies still linger here. Their range at one time extended to near the Arctic circle. In Alaska (British as well as United States) there is an enormous chocolate-coloured bear, the biggest in the world. The Polar bear, usually creamy white along the seacoast, is stated to range inland during the summer over the "barren grounds", and to develop either a permanent local variety or a seasonal change of coat, which is greyish-brown or blue-grey. The black bear in northern Canada is said to give birth at times to cubs which are cinnamon-brown in colour. "In the early summer the black bears swim up and down the northern rivers with their mouths open, swallowing the immense number of water insects which have come into being at that season." Hearne goes on to state that bears which have subsisted on this food for some days, when cut open emit a stench that is intolerable, and which taints their flesh to a sickening degree. The insects on which they feed are mostly of two kinds: one a sort of grasshopper with a hard black skin, and the other a soft, brown, sluggish fly. "This last is the most numerous. In some of the lakes such quantities are forced into the bays when the wind blows hard, that they are pressed together in dead multitudes and remain a great nuisance. I have several times, in my inland voyages from York Fort (Hudson's Bay), found it scarcely possible to land in some of those bays for the intolerable stench of those insects, which in some places were lying in putrid masses to the depth of two or three feet." It is more than probable that the bears occasionally feed on these dead insects. After the middle of July, when they take to a diet of berries, they are excellent eating, and continue to be so to the end of the winter. The Arctic foxes of this region when young are sooty black all over, and gradually change to a light ash-grey in colour, with a dark, almost blue, tint on the head, legs, and back. In winter they usually become white all over, with or without a black tip to the tail; but it is recorded by some travellers that not all the foxes of the _Canis lagopus_ species turn white; some keep their dark-grey colour all the year round. The common fox (_C. vulpes fulvus_) in Northern Canada is sometimes black, with white-tipped hairs. Wolves in these far northern regions do not seem to have been so abundant as farther south. The deer tribe are represented (north of the Athabaska region) by the reindeer and the elk (called by the Canadians "Moose"). The wapiti or red deer (for which the common Amerindian name in the north was _Waskesiu_) seldom ranged farther north than the vicinity of Lake Winnipeg. The reindeer of the "barren ground" sub-species extended to the Arctic seacoast, and were at one time especially abundant in Labrador. Here they were so tame, down to a hundred years ago, that fishermen were often known to shoot many of them from the windows of their huts near the seashore. This type (_Rangifer tarandus arcticus_) might possibly be domesticated; not so the larger and much wilder Caribou woodland reindeer of the more southern and western parts of the Dominion, which dislikes the neighbourhood of man. The elk or moose, east of the Rocky Mountains, was not found northward of about 50° to 55°; but west of that range extended over all British Columbia and Alaska, in which latter country it grows to a giant size and develops enormous antlers. Hearne says of the elk in northern Canada: "In summer, when they frequent the margins of rivers and lakes, they are often killed by the Indians in the water while they are crossing rivers or swimming from the mainland to islands, &c. When pursued in this manner, they are the most inoffensive of all animals, never making any resistance; and the young ones are so simple that I remember to have seen an Indian paddle his canoe up to one of them and take it by the poll without the least opposition; the poor, harmless animal seeming at the same time as contented alongside the canoe as if swimming by the side of its dam, and looking up in our faces with the same fearless innocence that a house lamb would; making use of its fore foot almost every instant to clear its eyes of mosquitoes, which at that time were remarkably numerous.... The moose are also the easiest to tame and domesticate of any of the deer kind. I have repeatedly seen them at Churchill as tame as sheep, and even more so; for they would follow their keeper any distance from home, and at his call return with him without the least trouble, or ever offering to deviate from the path." The most northern range of the elk would seem to be the region round Lake Athabaska. The musk ox (_Ovibos_) is perhaps the most remarkable beast of Arctic Canada.[3] Samuel Hearne is my principal source for the following notes as to its habits and appearance: The number of bulls is very few in proportion to the cows, for it is rare to see more than two or three full-grown bulls with the largest herd; and from the number of the males that are found dead, the Indians are of opinion that they kill each other in contending for the females. In the rutting season they are so jealous of the cows that they run at either man or beast who offers to approach them, and have been observed to run and bellow even at ravens and other large birds which chanced to alight near them. They delight in the most stony and mountainous parts of the "barren ground", but are seldom found at any great distance from the woods. Though they are a beast of great magnitude, and apparently of a very unwieldy inactive structure, yet they climb the rocks with ease and agility, and are nearly as surefooted as a goat. Like it, too, they will feed on anything; and though they seem fondest of grass, yet in winter, when grass cannot be had in sufficient quantity, they will eat moss or any other herbage they can find, as also the tops of willows and the tender branches of the pine tree. [Footnote 3: The musk ox, which is not an ox, but a creature about midway in structure and affinities between cattle on the one hand and sheep and goats on the other, is a large beast comparatively, being the size of a small ox, but appearing very much larger than it is on account of the extremely thick coat of hair and wool. Both sexes have horns, and the horns, after meeting in the middle and making more or less of a boss over the forehead, droop down at the sides of the cheeks and then turn up with sharp points. The musk ox once ranged right across the northern world, from England and Scandinavia, through Germany, Russia, and Siberia, to Alaska and North America. Many thousands of years ago, during one of the Glacial periods, it inhabited southern England. At the present day it is extinct everywhere, excepting in the eastern parts of Arctic America, not going west of the Mackenzie River nor south of Labrador. It is also found in Greenland.] "The musk ox, when full grown, is as large as the generality of English black cattle; but their legs, though thick, are not so long, nor is their tail longer than that of a bear; and, like the tail of that animal, it always bends downward and inward, so that it is entirely hid by the long hair of the rump and hind quarters. The hunch on their shoulders is not large, being little more in proportion than that of a deer. Their hair is in some parts very long, particularly on the belly, sides, and hind quarters; but the longest hair about them, particularly the bulls, is under the throat, extending from the chin to the lower part of the chest between the fore legs. It there hangs down like a horse's mane inverted, and is fully as long, which gives the animal a most formidable appearance. It is of the hair from this part that the Eskimo make their mosquito wigs (face screens or masks). In winter the musk oxen are provided with a thick fine wool or fur that grows at the root of the long hair, and shields them from the intense cold to which they are exposed during that season; but as the summer advances this fur loosens from the skin, and by frequently rolling themselves on the ground it works out to the end of the hair, and in time drops off, leaving little for their summer clothing except the long hair. This season is so short in these high latitudes, that the new fleece begins to appear almost as soon as the old one drops off, so that by the time the cold becomes severe they are again provided with a winter dress." According to Hearne, the flesh of the musk ox does not resemble that of the bison, but is more like the meat of the moose or wapiti. The fat is of a clear white, "slightly tinged with a light azure". The calves and young heifers are good eating, but the flesh of the bulls both smells and tastes so strongly of musk as to be very disagreeable; "even the knife that cuts the flesh of an old bull will smell so strongly of musk that nothing but scouring the blade quite bright can remove it, and the handle will retain the scent for a long time". Bisons of the "wood" variety are (or were) found far up the heights of the Rocky Mountains and in the regions south-west of the Great Slave Lake. These "wood buffaloes" delight in mountain valleys, and never resort to the plains. And higher than anything, of course, range the great white mountain goat-antelopes (_Oreamnus montanus_) from northern Alaska to the Columbia River. The north and the north-west were, of course, pre-eminently the great fur-trading regions, though all parts of the vast Dominion have at one time or another yielded furs for commerce with the white man. The principal fur-bearing smaller mammals of the north and north-west were wolves, foxes, lynxes, gluttons (wolverene), otters, martens (sables) and black fishing martens, mink (a kind of polecat), ermine-stoats, weasels, polar hares (_Lepus timidus_), beavers, musquash, lemming, gopher or pouched ground-squirrels, and the common red squirrel of North America. The grey squirrel and striped chipmunk are only found in southern Canada. The musquash (_Fiber zibethicus_) is such a characteristic animal of northern Canada that it is worth while to give Hearne's description of it (I would mention it is really a huge _vole_, and no relation of the beaver):-- "The musk rat or musquash builds a dwelling near the banks of ponds or swamps to shelter it from the bitter cold of the winter, but never on land, always on the ice, as soon as it is firm enough, taking care to keep a hole open to admit it to dive for its food, which chiefly consists of the roots of grass or arums. It sometimes happens in very cold winters that the holes communicating with their dwellings under the water are so blocked by ice that they cannot break through them. When this is the case, and they have no provisions left in the house, they begin to eat one another. At last there may be only one rat left out of a whole lodge. They occasionally eat fish, but in general feed very cleanly, and when fat are good eating. They are easily tamed and soon grow fond of their owner. They are very cleanly and playful, and 'smell exceedingly pleasant of musk', but their resemblance to the rat is so great that few are partial to them, though of course they are much larger in size, and have webbed hind feet and a flat scaly tail. In Canadian regions farther south the musquash no longer builds on the ice, but in swamps, where it raises heaps of mud like islands in the surrounding water. On the top of these mounds they build their nests, and on the top of the musquash nest, or 'lodge', wild geese frequently lay their eggs and bring forth their young brood without any fear of being molested by foxes." The YUKON territories of the Dominion, and above all the State of BRITISH COLUMBIA, constitute a very distinct region from the rest of British North America, not only in their tribes of Amerindians but in their fauna, flora, and climate. British Columbia is one of the most beautiful and richly endowed countries in the world. Here, in spite of northern latitudes, the warm airs coming up from the Pacific Ocean act somewhat in the same way as the Gulf Stream on north-west Europe, and favour the growth of magnificent forests. All this north-western part of British Columbia is very mountainous, and the rocks are rich in minerals, especially gold in the Fraser and Columbia Rivers, far north in the upper valley of the Yukon, and copper and coal in Vancouver Island. The rainfall in British Columbia is considerable, and the flora--trees, plants, ferns--richer than anywhere else in North America, with many resemblances to the trees and plants of Japan and northern China. In British Columbia more than in any other part of the world are found the noblest developments of the pines, firs, and junipers (_Coniferæ_). The coast rivers swarm with salmon, and perhaps because of the abundance of sea fish close in shore there have been developed in the course of ages those remarkable aquatic mammals, the sea lions or fur seals (_Otaria_), whose relationship to the true seals is a very distant one. On the Alaskan coasts and islands is _Otaria ursina_, the creature which provides the sealskin fur of commerce. There is also the much larger sea lion (_Otaria stelleri_), on the coasts of British Columbia and Vancouver Island. Alexander Henry, jun., gives some interesting facts about this remarkable beast. "The natives at Oak Point, during the time Mr. Keith was there, killed five very large sea lions by spearing them at night. Two canoes being lashed together, they approach very softly, and throw their spears, which are fastened by a long, strong cord, with a barb so fixed in a socket that, when it strikes the animal and pierces the flesh, it is detached from the shaft of the spear, but remains fastened to the cord. This is instantly made fast between the canoes; the animal dives and swims down river, dragging the canoes with such velocity that they may be in danger of filling, and require great skill in steering. In this manner they are carried down some miles before the animal becomes exhausted with loss of blood, makes for the shore, and lies on the beach, where they dispatch it and cut it up. The price of a sea lion among the natives is one slave and an assortment of other articles. Mr. Keith bought the flesh of one of these animals, and we had some roasted; it resembles bear's meat. The hair is like that of a horse, in summer of a chestnut colour. The natives, and also the Russians, are particularly fond of marine animals, such as whales, &c.; they drink the oil like milk." Another notable water beast of the British Columbia coast was the sea otter (_Enhydris_), described on p. 305. Such an immense value was set on its fur that it is now nearly extinct within British limits. The huge chocolate-coloured bear of the Yukon valley has already been mentioned; also the very large, blackish-brown wild dog (_Canis pambasileus_), which from one or two passages in the writings of Canadian pioneers may also be found as far south as the British Columbian Rocky Mountains. In the Yukon country the elk (which was formerly very common in British Columbia) grows to gigantic proportions with longer and larger antlers than elsewhere. In the forested mountains of British Columbia (as well as farther north) are the wood bison, the white mountain goat, grizzly bears, black bears, two kinds of lynx, the wapiti red deer, and the large bighorn sheep. These (_Ovis montana_) sheep are of a grey or leaden colour; the rump and the inner side of the legs are white; the hoofs black, about one inch long. "The hair is rather soft, and at the roots is mixed with exceedingly fine white wool, which seems to grow only in certain patches. The neck is relatively much thicker than that of other animals of the same size; the legs and hoofs are also strongly built, like the neck." The horns of the female are comparatively small, flat, and have only a small bend backward; they are of a dirty-yellowish white, marked with closely connected annulations to the very tip. The legs are brown, as are also the ends of the hairs about the neck; the hoofs are black. "A ewe will weigh about 100 lb. when in full flesh, with only the entrails taken out. The head bears every resemblance to that of our European sheep." The colour of the males is nearly the same as that of the females, only rather browner; they are much larger and more strongly built, with a pair of enormous horns, which incline backward. As they grow they bend downward, and in the course of time form a complete curve and project forward. At the root the horns are nearly three inches square, the flat sides opposite; they are marked with closely connected ridges and end in a tapering flat point. When the horns grow to a great length, forming a complete curve, the tips project on both sides of the head so as to prevent the ram from feeding. This, with their great weight, causes the sheep to dwindle to a mere skeleton and die. The bighorn sheep feed much in the caverns of the Rocky Mountains, eating a kind of moss and grass growing on the floors of these caves, and also a peculiar soft, sweet-tasting "clay", of which the natives also are fond. The southern part of British Columbia contains the mule deer of western North America (_Mazama macrotis_), and a very strange rodent, the sewellel or mountain beaver (_Haplodon_), a creature distantly allied to squirrels, marmots, and beavers, but restricted in its distribution to a few parts of California, Oregon, and British Columbia. Amongst the birds noteworthy in the landscape are the white-headed sea eagles and Californian condors (_Pseudogryphus californianus_). Humming-birds range through British Columbia and Vancouver Island between mid-April and October. In the regions about the upper Kootenay River (Eastern British Columbia), before the railway was constructed, there were wild horses, descended, no doubt, from those which had escaped from the Spaniards in New Mexico and California. They went in large herds, and in the winter when the snow was deep the natives would try to catch them by running them down with relays of fresh horses, or driving them up the mountains into the deepest snow or some narrow pass. A noose would then be thrown about the exhausted animal, which would be instantly mounted by an Indian and broken immediately to the saddle. Some of these wild horses were exceedingly swift, well-proportioned, and handsome in shape, but they seldom proved as docile as those born in captivity. When in a wild condition they would snort so loudly through the nostrils on descrying an enemy that they could be heard at a distance of five hundred yards. The provinces of Alberta, Saskatchewan and Manitoba--the MIDDLE WEST--represent mainly the great prairie region of the Canadian Dominion. Nearly all the streams here flow from the eastern side of the Rocky Mountains and direct their course to the basin of Lake Winnipeg and to Hudson's Bay. A few turn south-west to the Missouri and Mississippi. The landscapes here remind one more of the middle part of the United States. The climate is severe in winter but very warm and dry in summer. In the extreme south, within the basin of the upper Missouri, the "prickly pear" (_Opuntia_) cactus grows in sheltered places, and suggests affinities with distant Colorado and California. These great plains and river courses of the middle West were, until about fifty years ago, one of the world's great natural parks or zoological gardens. Large numbers of wapiti deer, of the smaller Virginian deer,[4] and of the prongbuck "antelope"[5] thronged the grassy flats, and elk browsed on the foliage of the thickets along the river banks. Grizzly bears and black bears,[6] large grey wolves, the small coyote wolf, the pretty little kit fox and large red fox preyed on these herbivores, as did also pumas and lynxes. Marmots and prairie hares (_Lepus campestris_)--often called rabbits by the pioneers, who also named the marmots "wood-chucks"--frolicked in the herbage, and formed the principal prey of the numerous rattlesnakes. By the shores of streams and lakes stood rows of stately cranes: the whooping crane, of large size, pure white, with black quill feathers, the crown of the head crimson scarlet and the long legs black; and the purple-brown crane, somewhat smaller in size. On hot, calm days in the region of Lake Winnipeg the cranes soar to an amazing height, flying in circles, till by degrees they are almost out of sight. Yet their loud note sounds so distinct and near that the spectator might fancy they were close to him. [Footnote 4: _Mazama americana_, similar to, but quite distinct from, the larger mule deer of British Columbia.] [Footnote 5: The prongbuck (_Antilocapra americana_) is not a true antelope, though in outward appearance it resembles a large gazelle. It was called "cabri" by the French Canadians.] [Footnote 6: "Bears make prodigious ravages in the brush and willows; the plum trees, and every tree that bears fruit share the same fate. The tops of the oaks are also very roughly handled, broken, and torn down, to get the acorns. The havoc they commit is astonishing...." --Alex. Henry, jun.] The air at this season is full of great birds--eagles, buzzards, hawks, and falcons--soaring in circles to look out for prey among the flocks of wild swans, white geese, bernicle geese and brent geese, duck and teal, which cover the backwaters and the marshes and shallow lagoons. Turkey buzzards, coming up from the south, act as scavengers during the summer months. Immense flocks of passenger pigeons, buntings, grosbeaks, attack the ripening fruits and the wild rice of the swamps. Grouse in uncountable numbers inhabit the drier tablelands and open moors.[7] [Footnote 7: Nowhere in the world are there so many kinds of grouse as in North America. In the more northern regions are several species of ptarmigan or snow partridges (_Lagopus_), which turn white in winter, and the spruce partridges (_Canachites_); in the more genial climate of the great plains of eastern Canada and in the Far West the ruffled grouse and hazel grouse (_Bonasa_), the sage cocks (_Centrocercus_), the prairie hens (_Tympanuchus_), and the blue or pine grouse (_Dendrapagus_). "To snare grouse requires no other process than making a few little hedges across a creek, or a few short hedges projecting at right angles from the side of an island of willows, which those birds are found to frequent. Several openings must be left in each hedge, to admit the birds to pass through, and in each of them a snare must be set; so that when the grouse are hopping along the edge of the willows to feed, which is their usual custom, some of them soon get into the snares, where they are confined till they are taken out. I have caught from three to ten grouse in a day by this simple contrivance, which requires no further attendance than going round them night and morning" (Hearne).] [Illustration: INDIANS LYING IN WAIT FOR MOOSE] But--a hundred years ago and more--the dominant features in the fauna of the Middle West was the bison. Between the Athabaska and Saskatchewan Rivers on the north, the Rocky Mountains on the west, and Lake Superior on the east the bison passed backwards and forwards over the great plains and prairies in millions, when white explorers first penetrated these lands. They moved in herds which concealed the ground from sight for miles. Here are some word pictures selected from the writings of the pioneers between 1770 and 1810: "The buffaloes chiefly delight in wide open plains, which in those parts produce very long coarse grass, or rather a kind of small flags and rushes, upon which they feed; but when pursued they always take to the woods. They are of such an amazing strength, that when they fly through the woods from a pursuer, they frequently brush down trees as thick as a man's arm; and be the snow ever so deep, such is their strength and agility, that they are enabled to plunge through it faster than the swiftest Indian can run in snowshoes. To this I have been an eyewitness many times, and once had the vanity to think that I could have kept pace with them; but though I was at that time celebrated for being particularly fleet of foot in snowshoes, I soon found that I was no match for the buffaloes, notwithstanding they were then plunging through such deep snow, that their bellies made a trench in it as large as if many sacks had been hauled through it. Of all the large beasts in those parts the buffalo is easiest to kill, and the moose are the most difficult; neither are the (red) deer very easy to come at, except in windy weather: indeed it requires much practice and a great deal of patience to slay any of them, as they will by no means suffer a direct approach, unless the hunter be entirely sheltered by woods or willows. "The flesh of the buffalo is exceedingly good eating, and so entirely free from any disagreeable smell or taste, that it resembles beef as nearly as possible." "The spots of wood along the Park River are ravaged by buffaloes (bison); none but the large trees are standing, the bark of which is rubbed perfectly smooth, and heaps of hair and wool lie at the bottom of the trees ... and even the grass is not permitted to grow.... The ground is trampled more by these cattle than about the gate of a farmyard." "The Kris informed me they had seen a calf as white as snow in a herd of buffalo. White buffalo are very scarce. They are of inestimable value among the nations of the Missouri.... There were also some of a dirty-grey colour, but these are very rare." "I brought home two buffalo calves alive; they no sooner lost sight of the herd than they followed my horse like dogs, directly into the fort. On chasing a herd at this season the calves follow it until they are fatigued, when they throw themselves down in high grass and lie still, hiding their heads if possible. But seeing only a man and his horse they remain quiet and allow themselves to be taken. Having been a little handled, they follow like dogs." In the spring, when the ice melted, innumerable buffaloes were killed through attempting to cross the rivers on the melting ice. They would drift by an observer (such as Alexander Henry, jun.) in entire herds of drowned corpses. Vast numbers perished. They formed one continuous line on the current for two days and two nights. "By this time the river was crowded with them, swimming across, bellowing and grunting terribly. The bulls really looked fierce; all had their tails up, and each appeared eager to land first. The scene would have struck terror to one unaccustomed to such innumerable herds. From out in the plains, as far as the eye could reach, to the middle of the river, they were rushing toward us, and soon began to land about ten yards off. I shot one dead on the spot, my ball having broken his neck; my hunter and guide only wounded theirs. This discharge suddenly halted those on the south side, and turned those that were still in the water." In the autumn:--"Plains burned in every direction and blind buffalo seen every moment wandering about. The poor beasts have all the hair singed off; even the skin in many places is shrivelled up and terribly burned, and their eyes are swollen and closed fast. It was really pitiful to see them staggering about, sometimes running afoul of a large stone, at other times tumbling down hill and falling into creeks not yet frozen over. In one spot we found a whole herd lying dead." Throughout British North America, from the Yukon to Newfoundland, and from Labrador to Vancouver's Island, the rivers and freshwater lakes swarm with fish, and fish that in most cases is exceedingly good to eat. Salmon are most strikingly abundant in the rivers of British Columbia and Newfoundland, but they also ascend most of the rivers flowing into the Atlantic and Hudson's Bay. In the great lakes of Canada and of the middle west there are trout and white fish (_Coregonus_), pike, bass, chub, barbel, and five species of sturgeon. In the rivers and lakes of the far north-west is found the blackfish (_Dallia_). Hearne writes of Lake Athabasca that it swarms with fish, such as pike, trout, perch, barbel, and other kinds not easily identified. Apparently there is also a form of gar-pike found here (see p. 74); this is described as having scales of a very large and stiff kind, and being a beautiful bright silver in colour. The size of these gar-pike range from two feet to four feet in length. Their flesh was delicately white and soft, but so foul and rank in taste that even the Indians would not eat it. The trout in Lake Athabaska seem to have been enormous, weighing from 35 to 40 pounds, while pike were of about the same weight. The Amerindian tribes and the early European explorers lived mainly on fish, which was a palatable and easily obtained food. Yet it must be admitted that they had a splendid array of large and small game from which to take their toll. Nor was the whole Dominion, from west to east and up to the Arctic zone, wanting in wild vegetable produce fit for man's consumption. The sugar maple (_Acer saccharinum_) and its ally the _Negundo_ maple provided a delicious syrup; the bark of certain poplars and the bast of the sugar pine were chewed for their well-flavoured sweetness; the wild rice of the marshes will be further described in the next chapter. The wild fruits included delicious strawberries, cherries, gooseberries, currants, black currants, grapes (in the south only), blackberries of many kinds, whortleberries, cranberries, pears of the service tree (_Pyrus canadensis_[8]), and raspberries of various types--red, yellow, and black. Southern Canada and Nova Scotia contained various nut trees of the walnut order (hickories, butter-nuts, &c.), and hazel nuts were found everywhere except in the north. [Footnote 8: Sometimes called _Amelanchier canadensis_.] We have left undescribed what is still politically the most important part of the whole of British North America--UPPER and LOWER CANADA. These regions lie within the basin of the great St. Lawrence River, beyond all doubt the most important waterway of North America, more important even than the Mississippi. The main origin of the St. Lawrence in the west is Lake Superior, the largest sea of fresh water in the world, which is connected with Lake Nipigon on the north. The waters of Lake Superior are carried over the Sault Ste. Marie rapids into Lake Huron and find a huge backwater in Lake Michigan.[9] Out of Lake Huron again they flow past Detroit into Lake Erie. From Duluth, at the westernmost extremity of Lake Superior, to Buffalo, on the easternmost point of Lake Erie, including all Lake Michigan and Lake Huron, with its bays and channels, a steamer can pass with just the one difficulty (easily surmounted) of the rapids at Sault Ste. Marie between Lake Superior and Lake Huron. But after you have left Lake Erie on the east you find yourself in the Niagara River, which at the Niagara Falls plunges several hundred feet downwards into Lake Ontario. From Lake Ontario to the sea along the St. Lawrence there is uninterrupted navigation, though there are rapids that require careful steering both with steamers and boats. Quebec marks the place where the St. Lawrence River suddenly broadens from a river into a tidal gulf of brackish or salt water. Ocean steamers from all over the world can come (except during the height of the winter, when the water freezes) to Quebec. But for the ice in wintertime Quebec would be _the_ great sea-port of eastern Canada. [Footnote 9: The south shore of Lake Superior, the whole of Lake Michigan, the west shore of Lake Huron, and the south coasts of Lake Erie and Lake Ontario are within the territories of the United States.] "If pitiless rock is commonly understood by an 'iron-bound shore', then the coasts of the River St. Lawrence along the northern side of the Gulf may truly be so styled, as nothing scarcely is to be seen for hundreds of leagues but bare rocky mountains, capes and cliffs in various shapes and figures, some of which are dotted with a few spruce firs, while others present their bald pates deprived of covering by the unmerciful hand of time." (James M'Kenzie). The winters of the Quebec province are extremely cold, but the summer and autumn are warm and sunny. The best winter climate, possibly, in all Canada (though not as good as that of Vancouver Island, British Columbia) is to be found in the small peninsula region, on the shores of Lakes Erie and Huron, between Toronto and Detroit. This is the district which the Jesuit missionaries described as "an earthly paradise" even during the winter-time. The following extracts, mostly from the journals of Alex. Henry, jun., give a good idea of the difference in climate and temperature between the western and the central parts of the Canadian Dominion. The late spring of northern Canada (Lake Nipigon, 50° N. lat.):--About May 15, the tops of the poplars begin to appear green, with fresh buds; the hills are changing their hue from a dry straw colour to a delightful verdure, and fragrant odours greet us. "Early in March, 1800, in the Assiniboin country (Manitoba, about 29° N. lat.) the snow was entirely gone, for this winter had been an abnormally mild one for central Canada. The birds soon realized the openness of the season, for, on the 7th of March, turkey-buzzards began to arrive from the south, and cormorants, ducks, swans, and other spring birds; indeed, by the 24th of March not only had the snow quite melted, but the meadows had grown so dry with the hot sun that some accidents set them on fire. By April the 11th the weather had become excessively hot, and immense flocks of the traveller-pigeon (_Ectopistes_) flew northwards over the country." In somewhat similar latitudes (50°) the spring bursts on the Pacific coast region of British Columbia towards the end of February. "The tall raspberry bushes were in blossom with a beautiful red flower, which appeared more forward than the leaf (_Rubus spectabilis_). The elder had sprouts an inch long, the alder was also beginning to sprout, and willows were budding." Although nowhere in Upper and Lower Canada (or in the maritime provinces of New Brunswick and Nova Scotia) are the forests so splendid as in parts of British Columbia, yet nevertheless when this region was first discovered the magnificence of its woodlands greatly impressed even the explorers of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, who were not as much given to praise of landscape beauty as are we of later times. These Canadian forests include oaks, elms, pines and firs, chestnuts and beeches, birch trees and sycamores, maples and poplars, willows, alders, and hazelnuts (these last sometimes growing into tall trees with thick trunks). The trees and low-growing plants are partly like those of the north-eastern United States, and partly resemble those of northern and central Europe. Nowadays, owing to two centuries of incessant killing, the beasts and birds of Upper and Lower Canada are not nearly so abundant as they were a hundred years ago. When Canada proper was first discovered, the wapiti red deer was still found in the basin of the St. Lawrence; it has long since been extinct. There are, however, still lingering, reindeer in the north, and elk in the forests of the east. There are also Virginian deer (_Mazama_), but there is no bison (and, so far as we know, never has been). There is no prongbuck, and many other creatures characteristic of the United States and British Columbia are not found in Upper and Lower Canada or in the maritime provinces. The tree porcupine (_Erethizon dorsatus_), which the Canadians call "Urson", or "Little Bear" is found still in the well-wooded regions of eastern and southern Canada, as well as in British Columbia and Alaska. In southern Canada there is the wood hare (_Lepus sylvaticus_), and in the east and north the varying hare (_L. americanus_) which turns white in winter. Perhaps the most characteristic animal of this region was and is still the beaver, though the beaver is found all over British North America as far north as the Saskatchewan province and westwards into British Columbia. It is curious that the Indians of central Canada had a belief (recorded by French and English pioneers) that occasionally in the dusk, or at night, they have seen an enormously large beaver in the water, so large that at first sight they have taken it for a moose. Travellers who have related this have surmised that the Indian perhaps saw a bear swimming, or a female moose, and in the dim light mistook it for a giant beaver. But as we know that there were once giant beavers (_Trogontherium_) as large as a bear, existing in England, it is just possible there may have been a gigantic type of beaver lingering in Canada before the opening up of the country by Europeans. The beaver of North America is a very similar animal to the beaver which used to exist wild in Wales, England, France, Germany, and central Europe, and which still lingers in some parts of the Rhine valley, Poland, Russia, and Siberia; but the American form is classified as a separate species--_Castor canadensis_. Beavers were sometimes exterminated or diminished in numbers by an epidemic disease, which, according to JAMES TANNER[10], destroyed vast quantities of them. [Footnote 10: A remarkable eighteenth-century pioneer who joined the Indians when a boy and lived as one of them.] "I found them dead or dying in the water, on the ice, and on the land; sometimes I found one that, having cut a tree half down, had died at its roots; sometimes one who had drawn a stick of timber halfway to his lodge was lying dead by his burthen. Many of them which I opened were red and bloody about the heart. Those in large rivers and running water suffered less; almost all of those that lived in ponds and stagnant water, died. Since that year the beaver have never been so plentiful in the country of Red River and Hudson's Bay as they used formerly to be." The great attraction which Canada offered to France and England as a field of adventure lay in its wonderful supply of furs. The beaver skins were perhaps the commonest article of export, and were generally regarded as a unit of value, such as a shilling might be. Other skins were valued at "so many beavers," or the smaller ones at half or a quarter of a beaver each. Besides beaver skins, which were used for making hats, as well as capes and coats, the following furs and skins were formerly, or are still, exported from Canada. "Buffalo" robes--the carefully rubbed-down hides of the bison, rendered, by shaving and rubbing, so thin and supple that they could be easily folded; reindeer and musk-ox skins treated in the same way; marten or sable skins; mink (a kind of polecat); ermine (the white winter dress of the stoat); the fishing marten, or pekan; otter skins; black bear and white polar bear skins; raccoon, muskwash, squirrel, suslik, and marmot skins, and the soft white fur of the polar hare; the white skins of the Arctic fox, the skins of the blue fox, black fox, and red fox;[11] wolf skins, and the furs of the wolverene or glutton, and of the skunk--a handsome black-and-white creature of the weasel family, which emits a most disgusting smell from a gland in its body. (The skunk only comes from the south-central parts of the Canadian Dominion). At one time a good many swans' skins were exported for the sake of the down between the feathers, also the skins of grebes. [Footnote 11: The blue fox is the Arctic fox (_Canis lagopus_) in its summer dress; the black fox is a beautiful variety or sub-species of the common fox (_C. vulpes_); so also is the red or "cross" fox. There is also common throughout the Canadian Dominion the pretty little kit fox (_Canis velox_).] * * * * * A general fact that must not be forgotten in studying the adventures of the pioneers of Canada was the means which Nature and savage man had provided or invented for quickly traversing in all directions this enormous area of nearly half North America. These means consisted (1) of the distribution of salt and fresh water in such a way that by means of ocean-sailing ships explorers coming from the east could enter through straits and bays of the sea into the heart of Canada; and (2) the facility, on quitting the seashore, of passing up navigable rivers in boats or canoes into big lakes, and from these lakes into other rivers leading to other lakes. Moreover, the different river systems approached so closely to one another that even the Amerindians and the Eskimo, long before the white man, had realized that they had only to pick up their light canoes and carry them a few miles, to launch them on fresh waters which might provide hundreds or even thousands of miles of continuous travel. These are the celebrated "portages" of Canadian history, from the French word _porter_, to carry, transport. Sometimes the portages were made still easier for loaded canoes by a road being cleared through the scrub and over the rocks, and wooden rollers placed across it. Strong men could then easily haul a loaded canoe over these wooden rollers until it could be launched again in the water. Often these portages were made to circumvent dangerous rapids or waterfalls. The Indians and the French Canadians soon learnt how to steer canoes down rushes of water--rapids--which we should think very dangerous on an English river; but of course many of the rivers were obstructed at intervals by descents of water which no canoe could traverse up or down, and in these cases a path was cut from one smooth part of the river to another, and the canoe carried or hauled overland. In this way the great French and British explorers found it possible to travel by water from the Atlantic to the Pacific Ocean across a width of land of something like 2500 miles. The only serious walking that had to be done was the crossing somewhere or other of the Rocky Mountains, where the streams, of course, were far too precipitate in descent to be navigable. In the hot, dusty plains of Assiniboia and the upper Missouri region the Amerindians had introduced horses, obtained indirectly from Spanish Mexico, and these were of great service to the white pioneers, especially in their pursuit of the bison. So much for the summer season, when the rivers were full and overflowing, and the ground consisted of bare rock, sand, or soil covered with vegetation; the abundance of navigable streams and the suitability of the country to horses rendered very little walking necessary for those who wished to traverse the Canadian Dominion from end to end. But the winter changed these conditions, the rivers became coated with thick ice, and the ground was covered, except in steep places, with an unvarying mantle of snow. Yet transport became just as easy as in the summertime, though perhaps a trifle more fatiguing. Men and women put on snowshoes shaped like tennis rackets, and flew over the hard snow quicker than a canoe could travel, dragging after them small sledges on which their luggage was packed; or, if they had not much luggage, carrying it slung round the shoulders and scurrying away on their snowshoes even swifter for the weight they carried; or they travelled over the smooth ice of the rivers and lakes. Winter travellers, however, were sometimes troubled with a disorder known as the snowshoe evil. This arose from the placing of an unusual strain on the tendons of the leg, occasioned by the weight of the snowshoe. It often resulted in severe inflammation of the lower leg. The local remedy was a drastic one: it was to place a piece of lighted touchwood on the most inflamed part, and to leave it there till the flesh was burnt to the nerve! In the north and the regions round Hudson's Bay, and also in the far west--British Columbia and Alaska--there were dogs, more or less of the Eskimo breed, trained by Eskimo or by Amerindians to drag the sledges. In the months of December and January it is true that the daylight in Arctic Canada (north of Lake Athapaska) became so short that the sun at its greatest altitude only appeared for two or three hours a short distance above the horizon. But there were compensations. The brilliancy of the Aurora Borealis, even without the assistance of the moon and the stars, made some amends for that deficiency, for it was frequently so light all night that travellers could see to read a very small print (Samuel Hearne). The importance of these "Northern lights" must not be overlooked in forming an opinion on the habitability of the far north in the "dark" winter months. The display was frequent and brilliant. The Athapaskan Indians called this phenomenon _Edthin_, that is to say, "reindeer". When the Aurora Borealis was particularly bright in the sky they would say that deer were plentiful in that part of the heavens. Their fancy in this respect was not quite so silly as one might think. They had learnt from experience that the Aurora Borealis was in some way connected with electricity, and experience had equally shown them that the skin of the reindeer, if briskly stroked by the hand on a dark night, would emit as many electric sparks as the back of a cat. On the other hand, the Amerindians in the southern and more temperate regions thought the Aurora Borealis was a vast concourse of "spirits of the happy day" dancing in the clouds. Thus there were no climatic reasons why, both in summer and in winter, immense distances should not be quickly covered in Canada between the Rocky Mountains and the Atlantic Ocean. This is how a mere hundred of white pioneers opened up Canada to the knowledge of the civilized world far quicker than the same area could have been discovered in Africa or Asia. Sometimes, for about a month, between the melting of the snow and ice and the steady flowing of the rivers in the late spring, or between the uncertain autumn of November and the confirmed winter of December, there might be an interval of a few weeks in which journeys had to be made on foot under conditions of great hardship, through mud, swamp, and over sharp stones or slippery rocks. "The plains are covered with water from the melting of the snow so suddenly, and our men suffer much, as they are continually on the march, looking after Indians in every creek and little river. The water is commonly knee deep, in some places up to the middle, and in the morning is usually covered with ice, which makes it tedious and even dangerous travelling. Some of our men lose the use of their legs while still in the prime of life", wrote one eighteenth-century pioneer, in the Canadian spring. Severe as were the winter conditions of climate, the explorers were just as willing to travel through the winter as the summer, because in the winter they were spared the awful plague of mosquitoes and midges which still renders summer and early-autumn travel throughout the whole of Canada, from the United States borders on the south to the Arctic Ocean on the north, a severe trial, and even an unbearable degree of physical suffering. CHAPTER VII The Amerindians and Eskimo: the Aborigines of British North America I have already attempted to describe in the first chapter the ancient peopling of America from north-eastern Asia, but it might be useful if I gave here some description of the Eskimo and Amerindian tribes of the Canadian Dominion at the time of its gradual discovery by Europeans, especially during the great explorations of the eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries. It is evident that the ESKIMO--who are quite distinct from the Amerindians in physical type, language, customs, and industries--have been for thousands of years the only inhabitants of Arctic America. When the Norsemen came to the New World they seem to have met with Eskimo as far south as New England, but in more recent times the Eskimo have only been found inhabiting the extreme north and north-east: in Greenland, on the Labrador coast, on Baffin's Land, and along the Arctic coast of the North-American continent, between the Coppermine River and the westernmost extremity of Alaska, as well as on the opposite islands and promontories of Asia. Their name for themselves as a people is usually "Innuit" (in Greenland, "Karalit"). Eskimo is a corruption of _Eskimantsik_, a northern Algonkin word meaning "eaters of raw flesh". Although their geographical range extends over a distance of about three thousand five hundred miles--from north-easternmost Asia to the east coast of Greenland--the difference in their dialects is little more than that between French and Italian; whereas the difference between the speech of one Amerindian tribe and another--even where they belong to the same language group--is very great--not less than that between German and Latin, or English and French, or even between Russian and Hindustani. This fact--of the widespread Eskimo language--makes some authorities suppose that the presence of the Eskimo in Arctic America cannot be such a very ancient event as, from other evidence, one might believe. Perhaps the bold travelling habits of the Eskimo--which makes them range over vast distances of ice and snow when hunting seals, walruses, whales, musk ox, or reindeer--enables them to keep in touch with their far-away relations. The canoes or _kayaks_ in which they travel (first described by the Norsemen in the tenth century) are made out of the hide of the seal or walrus. The leather is stretched over a framework constructed from driftwood or whales' bones. There is a hole in the middle for the man or woman to insert their legs. This hole they fill up with their bodies. If the canoe capsizes, the Eskimo cannot fall out, but bobs up immediately. He and the canoe are really "one-and-indivisible" when he is navigating the seas and lakes, plying deftly a large paddle. In regard to food they were certainly not particular or squeamish. They loved best of all whales' blubber, or to drink the fishy-tasting oil from bodies of whales, seals, or walruses. Besides the meat of Polar bears and of any fur animals they could catch, or the musky beef of the musk ox, they devoured eagerly sea birds' eggs, Iceland moss, and even the parasitic insects of their own heads and bodies! Hearne relates that they will eat with a relish whole handfuls of maggots that have been produced in meat by the eggs of the bluebottle fly! On the other hand, they held cannibalism in horror, whereas for two-two's their Amerindian neighbours on the west and south would eat human flesh without repugnance. The Eskimo, though occasionally tall, are as a rule stumpy and thickset, with very small hands and feet, broad faces, and projecting cheekbones, a narrow nose without the aquiline bridge of the Amerindian, slanting narrow eyes, and long heads containing large well-developed brains. In disposition the Eskimo are nearly always merry, affectionate to one another, honest, and modest. Modern travellers in the Arctic regions give them invariably a high character; but Frobisher, Davis, and the explorers of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries accused them of treachery and an inclination to steal. Iron in any shape or form they could hardly resist taking. Moreover, if they are the same people as the Skraellings of the Norse traditions they must have been of a fiercer disposition a thousand years ago. The Amerindians who inhabited (more or less) the rest of the Canadian Dominion, and the whole remainder of the New World, differed in physical appearance from the Eskimo mainly in being taller and better proportioned, with shorter and rounder heads, larger, fuller eyes, a bigger nose, and a handsomer personal appearance. The skin colour, as a rule, was darker and browner than the greyish- or pinkish-yellow of the Eskimo. The various human types that went to form the Amerindian race (beside the Eskimo element in them) seem to have entered north-west America from Asia, and first to have peopled the Pacific slopes of the Rocky Mountains, after which they wandered farther and farther south till they got into a warmer climate. Then they crossed the Rocky Mountains and peopled the centre and east of what is now the United States. As they pushed their way north up the valleys of the great rivers, they no doubt killed, mingled with, or pushed back the Eskimo. At last their northernmost extensions reached to the Mackenzie River, the vicinity of Hudson's Bay, Labrador, and Newfoundland. But in all the middle, west, and even east of Canada they seem to have been _relatively recent arrivals_,[1] not to have inhabited the country for a great many centuries before the white man came, and all their recorded and legendary movements in North America have been from the south-west towards the north-east (after they had got across the Rocky Mountains). The few cultivated plants they had, such as maize (Indian corn), tobacco, and pumpkins, they brought with them or received from the south. [Footnote 1: There may have been an earlier race inhabiting north-east America which was killed out or driven away by the last Glacial period.] The only domestic animal possessed by either Eskimo or Amerindian was the dog. We are most of us by now familiar with the type of the Eskimo dog--a large, wolf-like animal with prick ears and a bushy tail curled over its back. In this carriage of the tail the Eskimo and most other true dogs differ from wolves, with whom the tail droops between the hind quarters. But there is a small wild American wolf--the coyote--which carries its tail more upright, like that of the true dog; and the coyote seems indeed an intermediate form between the wolf and the original wild dog. Most of the domestic dogs of the Amerindians[2] (as distinguished from those of the Eskimo) seem to have been derived from the coyote or small wolf of central North America. [Footnote 2: "The dogs of the Northern Indians are of various sizes and colours, but all of them have a foxy or wolf-like appearance, sharp noses, bushy tails, and sharp ears standing erect." (Samuel Hearne). Hearne also remarks that the northern Indians had a superstitious reverence and liking for the wolf. They would frequently go to the mouth of the burrows where the female wolves lived with their young, take out the puppies and play with them, and even paint the faces of the young wolves with vermilion or red ochre. When first observed by Europeans the unhappy Beothiks (of Newfoundland) had apparently no domestic dogs, only "tame wolves", whom they distinguished from the wild wolves by marking their ears. They were made more angry by the European seamen attacking and killing the wolves than by anything else they did. Apparently some kind of alliance had been struck up between the Beothiks--a nation of hunters--and the wolf packs which followed in their tracks; and the Newfoundland wolves were on the way to becoming domesticated "dogs". Later on it was realized that the island _did_ produce a special breed--the celebrated Newfoundland dog--the original type of which was much smaller than the modern type, nearly or entirely black in colour, with a sharper muzzle and less pendulous ears. But its feet were as strongly webbed and its habits as aquatic as those of the "Newfoundland" of the modern breed. Some people have noticed the resemblance between the farmers' dogs in Norway and the Newfoundland type, and have thought that the latter may not be altogether of wolf extraction, but be descended from the dogs brought from Norway and Iceland by the Norse adventurers who visited Newfoundland in the tenth and eleventh centuries.] On the Pacific coast there were other types of domestic dog, resembling greatly breeds that are found in eastern Asia and the Pacific islands. Some of these were naked, and others grew silky hair, which was woven by the natives into cloth (see p. 323). The Eskimo dog almost certainly has been derived from northern Asia, and is closely related to the well-known Chinese breed--the chow dog--and the domestic breeds of ancient Europe. Even the commonest type of house dog in the Roman Empire was very much like an Eskimo or a chow in appearance. There is a true wild dog, however, in the Yukon province of the Canadian Dominion and in Alaska--_Canis pambasileus_--a dark, blackish-brown in colour. This may have been a parent of the Eskimo dog, but it is also doubtless closely allied to the original (extinct) wild dog of northern Asia, from which the chow and many other breeds are directly descended. The Eskimo never under ordinary circumstances ate their dogs; on the other hand, the Amerindians were fond of dog's flesh, and in some tribes simply bred dogs for the table. When Europeans first reached America all these Amerindian tribes, and also the Eskimo, were still, for all practical purposes, in the Stone Age. Those who lived in the north had discovered the use of copper and had shaped for themselves knives and spear blades out of copper, but not even this metal was in use to any great extent, and for the most part they relied, down to the end of the eighteenth century, for their implements and weapons, on polished and sharpened stones, on deer's antlers, buffalo horns, sticks, sharp shells, beavers' incisor teeth,[3] the claws or spines of crustaceans, flints, and suchlike substances--in short, they were leading the same life and using almost exactly the same tools as the long-since-vanished hunter races of Europe of five thousand to one hundred thousand years ago--the people who pursued the mammoth, the bison, the Irish "elk", and the other great beasts of prehistoric Europe. Indeed, North America represented to some extent, as late as a hundred years ago, what Europe must have looked like in the days of palæolithic Man. [Footnote 3: Of which they made very serviceable chisels.] * * * * * The AMERINDIANS of the Canadian Dominion (when the country first became known to Europeans) belonged to the following groups and tribes. The order of enumeration begins in the east and proceeds westwards. I have already mentioned the peculiar _Beothiks_ of Newfoundland.[4] In Nova Scotia, Prince Edward Island, New Brunswick, and the Gaspé Peninsula there were the _Mikmak_ Indians belonging to the widespread ALGONKIN family or stock. West and south of the Mikmaks, in New Brunswick and along the borders of New England, were other tribes of the Algonkin group: the Etchemins, Abenakis, Tarratines, Penobscots, _Mohikans_, and Adirondacks. North of these, in the eastern part of the Quebec province, on either side of the Gulf of St. Lawrence, were the _Montagnais_. This name, though it looks like a French word meaning "mountaineers", was also spellt Montagnet, and in various other ways, showing that it was originally a native name, pronounced Montanyé. The Montagnais in various clans extended northwards across Labrador until they touched the Eskimo, with whom they constantly fought. The interior of Labrador was inhabited by another Algonkin tribe, the _Naskwapi_, living in a state of rude savagery. The _Algonkins_ proper, whose tribe gave their name to the whole stock because the French first became acquainted with them as a type, dwelt in the vicinity of Montreal, Lake Ontario, and the valley of the St. Lawrence. In upper Canada, about the great lakes and the St. Lawrence valley, were the Chippeways, or _Ojibwés_, and the Ottawas. West and north of Lake Michigan were the Miamis, the Potawátomis, and the Fox Indians (the Saks or Sawkis). Between Lake Winnipeg and Lake Superior were the _Cheyennes_ (Shians); between North and South Saskatchewan, the _Blackfeet_ or Siksika Indians (sections of which were also called Bloods, Paigans, Piegans, &c). North of Lake Winnipeg, as far as Lake Athabaska, and almost from the Rocky Mountains to the shores of Hudson's Bay, were the widespread tribe of the _Kris_, or _Knistino_.[5] The Gros Ventres or Big Bellies--properly called _Atsina_--inhabited the southern part of the middle west, between the Saskatchewan and the Missouri basins; and the Monsoni or Maskegon were found in eastern Rupert Land. [Footnote 4: See also pp. 156, 164, 186, and 199. In this list I have put in italics the names of the tribes more important in history, and in capitals the principal group names.] [Footnote 5: Kinistino, Kiristineaux, Kilistino; called "Crees" or "Kris" for short.] All the above-enumerated tribes, except the Beothik indigenes of Newfoundland, belong to the great and widespread ALGONKIN group. (Algonkin is a word derived from the "Algommequin" of Champlain.) In the valley of the St. Lawrence the French first encountered those Indians whom they called _Huron_. This was a French word meaning "crested", because these people wore their hair in a great crest over the top and back of the head, which reminded the French of the appearance of a wild boar (_Hure_). The real name of the Hurons, who dwelt at a later date between Lakes Huron, Erie, Ontario, and the neighbourhood of Montreal, was _Waiandot_ (Wyandot); but they went under a variety of other names, according to the clans, such as the Eries and the Atiwándoran or Neutral Nation. They were also called the "Good" Iroquois, to distinguish them from the six other nations, the IROQUOIS proper of the French Canadians, who signalized themselves by fiendish and frightful warfare against the French and the various tribes of Algonkin Indians. The Hurons and the rest of the six tribes grouped under the name of IROQUOIS[6] were of the same stock originally, forming a separate group like that of the Algonkins, though they are supposed to be related distantly to the Dakota or Siou. Amongst the "Six Nations" or tribes banded together in warfare and policy were the celebrated "Mohawks" who dwelt on the southern borders of the St. Lawrence basin and near Lake Champlain. As the others of the six nations (including the Senekas and Onondagas) inhabited the eastern United States, well outside the limits of Canada, they need not be referred to here. [Footnote 6: "Iroquois" was a name invented by Champlain (see p. 69). Apparently this confederation called themselves _Hodenosauni_. The termination "ois" in all French-American names is pronounced "wa"--Irokwá.] Between the South Saskatchewan, the Rocky Mountains, and Lake Superior, nearly outside the limits of the Canadian Dominion, was the great DAKOTA, or Siou group,[7] divided into the distinct tribe of _Assiniboin_ or "Stone" Indians (because they used hot stones in cooking), the "Crows" or Absaroka, the Hidatsa or Minitari (also called Big Bellies, like the quite distinct Atsina of the Algonkin family), the Menómini (the most north-eastern amongst the Siouan tribes, and the first met with by the British and French Canadians south-west of Lake Superior), the Winnebagos on the southern borders of Manitoba, the Yanktons or Yanktonnais, the "_Santi Siou_" proper--generally calling themselves _Dakota_ or Mdewakanton--and the "Tétons" along the northern Dakota frontier and into the Rocky Mountains--also known as _Blackfeet_, Sans Arcs ("without bows"), "Two-kettles", "Brulés" or "Burnt" Indians, &c. [Footnote 7: The far-famed term _Siou_ is said to have been an abbreviation of one of the original French names for this type of Amerindian, _Nadouessiou_. In early books they are often called the Nadouessies.] Next must be mentioned the very important and widespread ATHAPASKAN or Déné (Tinné) group, named after Lake Athapaska (or Athabaska), because that sheet of water became a great rallying place for these northern tribes. The Athapaskan group of Indians indeed represents the "Northern Indians" of the Hudson's Bay Company's reports and explorers. They drew a great distinction between the Northern Indians (the Athapaskan tribes) and the Southern Indians, which included all the other Amerindian groups dwelling to the south of the Athapaskan domain. But although nowadays so much associated with the far north and north-west of America, the Athabaskan group evidently came from a region much farther south, and has been cut in half by other tribal movements, wars, and migrations; for the Athapaskan family also includes the Apaches and the Navaho of the south-western portions of the United States and the adjoining territories of Mexico. The northern and southern divisions of the Athapaskan group are separated by something like twelve hundred miles. The following are the principal tribes into which the Northern ATHAPASKAN group was divided at the time of the first explorations of the north-west. There were the _Chippewayan_ Indians[8] round about Lake Athapaska, and the Caribou Eaters or Ethen-eldeli between Lake Athapaska and Reindeer Lake. The "_Slaves_", or Slave Indians of the Great Slave Lake and the upper Mackenzie River; the Beaver and Sarsi Indians (known also as the Tsékehn), about the Peace River and the northern part of Alberta province; and the _Yellow Knives_, or Totsan-ottine (so called from their being found with light-coloured copper knives when first discovered by Europeans), north-east of the Great Slave Lake and along the Coppermine River: the _Dogribs_ between the Great Slave Lake and Great Bear Lake, perhaps (except in Alaska) the most northern extension of the Amerindian type towards the Arctic regions. West of the Dogribs dwelt--and still dwell--the interesting tribe of _Hare_ Indians, or Kawcho-Tinné. They extend northwards to the Anderson River, on the verge of the Arctic Ocean. West of the lower Mackenzie River, and stretching thence to the Porcupine or Yukon Rivers, are the Squinting Indians ("Loucheux", or Kuchin), who in former times were met with much farther to the south-east than at the present day. Finally, there are the Nahani Indians, who have penetrated through the Rocky Mountains to the Stikine River, reaching thus quite close to the Pacific Ocean. This penetration northwards of groups of Athapaskan Indians into districts inhabited for the most part by Amerindian tribes differing widely in language and customs from all those _east_ of the Rocky Mountains, explains the way in which stories of the great western sea--the Pacific--reached, by means of trading intercourse, those Amerindian tribes of the middle-west and upper Canada, and so stirred up the French and English explorers of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries to make the marvellous journeys which are recounted in this book. [Footnote 8: These northern Indians are described by Hearne as having very low foreheads, small eyes, high cheekbones, Roman noses, broad cheeks, and long, broad chins. Their skins were soft, smooth and polished, somewhat copper-coloured, and inclining towards a dingy brown. The hair of the head was black, strong, and straight. They were not in general above middle size, though well proportioned.] _West_ of the Rocky Mountains, in British Columbia and Vancouver Island (besides southern Alaska), the Amerindian tribes form the N[¯u]tka-Columbian group, which is markedly distinct from the Amerindians _east_ of the Rocky Mountains, from whom they differ _widely_ in language, type, and culture. They are divided into quite a large number of small separate groups--the Wakashan or _N[¯u]tkas_ of Vancouver Island and south-western British Columbia, the Shahaptian or "Nez percés" Indians of the Columbia basin, and the Chin[¯u]ks of the lower Columbia River, the _Salishan_ or "Flathead" group (including the Atn[¯a]s) of the Fraser and Thompson Rivers and central British Columbia; and the _Haida_ Indians of Queen Charlotte's Islands and the north-west coast of British Columbia. It must be remembered that these different groups are only based on the relationships of their component tribes in language or dialect, and do not always imply that the tribes belonging to them had the same customs and dispositions; but they were generally able to communicate with one another in speech, whereas if they met the Indians of another group the language might be so totally different that they could only communicate by means of signs. [Illustration: AN AMERINDIAN TYPE OF BRITISH COLUMBIA] Sign and gesture language[9] was extraordinarily developed amongst all the Amerindian races from the Arctic Ocean to the Antarctic. Not only that, but they were quick to understand the purpose of pictures. They could draw maps in the sand to explain the geography of their country, and Europeans could often make them understand what they required by rough drawings. They themselves related many events by means of a picture language--the beginning of hieroglyphics; and in the south-eastern parts of Canada, as in the United States, these signs or pictographs were recorded in bead-shell work--the celebrated "wampum". [Footnote 9: "It is surprising how dexterous all these natives of the plains are in communicating their ideas by signs. They hold conferences for several hours, upon different subjects, during the whole of which time not a single word is pronounced upon either side, and still they appear to comprehend each other perfectly well. This mode of communication is natural to them; their gestures are made with the greatest ease, and they never seem to be at a loss for a sign to express their meaning" (Alex. Henry the Younger, 1800). But it should also be noted that during the last hundred years the peoples belonging to the N[¯u]tka-Columbian group have developed a trade language which they use in common. This is a mixture of Chin[¯u]k, English, French, Chinese, and Hawaaian.] All these tribes, of course, varied very much in personal appearance, though not in disposition. The vanished Beothiks of Newfoundland are described as having been a good-looking tall people, with large black eyes and a skin so light, when washed free from dirt or paint, that the Portuguese compared them to gipsies; and the writer of Fabian's _Chronicle_, who saw two of them (brought back by Cabot) at Henry VII's Court, in 1499, took them for Englishmen when they were dressed in English clothes. It was these people--subsequently killed out by the British settlers on Newfoundland--who originated the term "Red Indians", or, in French, _Peaux Rouges_, because their skins, like those of so many other Amerindians, were painted with red ochre. Many of the British Columbian peoples made themselves artificially ugly by flattening the sides of the head. To press the skull whilst it was soft, they squeezed the heads of their children between boards; others, such as the warlike tribes of the upper Missouri, had a passion for submitting themselves to mutilation by the medicine man of the clan, in order to please the sun god. Such would submit to large strips being cut from the flesh of their shoulders, arms, or legs, or having their cheeks slashed. The result, of course, was to leave their limbs and features horribly scarred when they healed up. In some tribes, however, a young man could not obtain--or retain--a wife unless he had shown his bravery by submitting to this mutilation. Women often cut off one or more joints of their fingers to show their grief for the death of children. In some tribes, especially of the far north-west and of the Rocky Mountains, the personal habits of men and women, or of the women only, were so filthy, and their dislike to bathing so pronounced, that they became objects of loathing to white men; in other tribes personal cleanliness was highly esteemed, especially on the seacoast of British Columbia or along the banks of the great rivers. Usually the men were better looking and better developed than the women--for one reason, because they were better fed. Here is a description by PETER GRANT--a pioneer of the North-West Company--of the Ojibwé Indians dwelling near the east end of Lake Superior at the beginning of the nineteenth century:-- "Their complexion is a whitish cast of copper colour, their hair black, long, straight, and of a very strong texture. The young men allow several locks of the hair to fall down over the face, ornamented with ribbons, silver brooches, &c. They gather up another lock from behind the head into a small clump, and wrap it up with very thin plates of silver, in which they fix the tail feathers of the eagle or any other favourite bird with the wearing of which they have distinguished themselves in war. They are very careful with their hair, anointing it with bears' oil, which gives it a smooth and glossy appearance. The teeth are of a beautiful ivory white, the cheeks rather high and prominent, the eyes black and lively. Their countenances are generally pleasant, and they might often be called handsome. The ears are pierced in infancy, and the lobe is extended to an unnatural size by suspending lead or any other heavy metal from the outer rim, which in time brings them down near the shoulder. The nose ornaments hang down half an inch, and nearly touch the upper lip. "The men are bold, manly, and graceful in their gait, always carrying their bodies erect and easy. On the other hand, the women, by walking with the toes of their feet turned inwards, have a disagreeable and lame appearance. The men are specially fond of painting their faces and bodies with vermilion, white and blue clay, charcoal or soot mixed with a little grease or water. With this colour they daub the body, legs, and thighs in bars and patches, and take the greatest pains about painting the face, usually with red and black. Their skins are generally tattooed with figures representing the sun, stars, eagles, serpents, &c, especially objects which have appeared to them in their dreams. The women's faces are much less painted, usually a spot of red on each cheek and a circle of red round the roots of the hair or eyes." Here is a summary of what Alexander Henry, sen., wrote of the _Kri_ or _Knistino_ Indians of Lake Athabaska about 1770:-- "The men in general tattoo their bodies and arms very much. The women confine this ornamentation to the chin, having three perpendicular lines from the middle of the chin to the lip, and one or more running on each side, nearly parallel with the corner of the mouth. Their dress consists of leather; that of the men is a pair of leggings, reaching up to the hip and fastened to the girdle. Between the legs is passed a strip of woollen stuff, but when this cannot be procured they use a piece of dressed leather about nine inches broad and four feet long, whose ends are drawn through the girdle and hang down before and behind about a foot.... The shirt is of soft dressed leather, either from the prong-buck or young red deer, close about the neck and hanging to the middle of the thigh; the sleeves are of the same, loose and open under the arms to the elbows, but thence to the wrist sewed tight. The cap is commonly a piece of leather, or skin with the hair on, shaped to fit the head, and tied under the chin; the top is usually decorated with feathers or other ornament. Shoes are made of buffalo (bison) hide, dressed in the hair, and mittens of the same. Over the whole a buffalo robe is thrown, which serves as covering day and night. "Such is their common dress, but on particular occasions they appear to greater advantage, having their cap, shirt, leggings, and shoes perfectly clean and white, trimmed with porcupine quills and other ingenious work of their women, who are supposed to be the most skilful hands in the country at decorations of this kind. The women's dress consists of the same materials as the men's. Their leggings do not reach above the knee, and are gathered below that joint; their shoes always lack decoration. The shift or body garment reaches down to the calf, where it is generally fringed and trimmed with quillwork; the upper part is fastened over the shoulders by strips of leather; a flap or cape hangs down about a foot before and behind, and is ornamented with quillwork and fringe. This covering is quite loose, but tied around the waist with a belt of stiff parchment fastened on the side, where also some ornaments are suspended. The sleeves are detached from the body garment; from the wrist to the elbow they are sewed, but thence to the shoulder they are open underneath and drawn up to the neck, where they are fastened across the breast and back. "Their ornaments are two or three coils of brass wire twisted around the rim of each ear, in which incisions are made for that purpose; blue beads, brass rings, quillwork, and fringe occasionally answer. Vermilion (a red clay) is much used by the women to paint the face. "Their hair is generally parted on the crown and fastened behind each ear in large knots, from which are suspended bunches of blue beads or other ingenious work of their own. The men adjust their hair in various forms; some have it parted on top and tied in a tail on each side, while others make one long _queue_ which hangs down behind, and around which is twisted a strip of otter skin or dressed buffalo entrails. This tail is frequently increased in thickness and length by adding false hair, but others allow it to flow loose naturally. Combs are seldom used by the men, and they never smear the hair with grease, but red earth is sometimes put upon it. White earth daubed over the hair generally denotes mourning. The young men sometimes have a bunch of hair on the crown, about the size of a small teacup, and nearly in the shape of that vessel upside down, to which they fasten various ornaments of feathers, quillwork, ermine tails, &c. Red and white earth and charcoal are much used in their toilets; with the former they usually daub their robes and other garments, some red and others white. The women comb their hair and use grease on it." The Slave Indians (a tribe of the Athapaskan family) tattooed their cheeks with charcoal inserted under the skin, also daubed their bodies, robes, and garments profusely with red earth (generally called, in the text of travellers, vermilion), but they had another favourite pigment, procured from the regions on the west of the Rocky Mountains, some kind of graphite, like the lead of lead pencils. With this they marked their faces in black lead after red earth has been applied, and thus gave themselves a ghastly and savage appearance. Their dress consists of a leather shirt trimmed with human hair and porcupine-quill work, and leggings of leather. Their shoes and caps were made of bison leather, with the hair outside. Their necklaces were strings of grizzly-bear claws, and a "buffalo" robe was thrown over all occasionally. Some of them occasionally had quite light skins--when free of dirt or paint--and grey eyes, and their hair, instead of being black, was greyish-brown. These last features (grey eyes and brown hair) characterized many individuals among the northern British-Columbian tribes. The Naskwapis of inland Labrador--allied in speech to the Kris and the Montagnais, but in blood to the Eskimo--are described as above the middle size in height, slender, and long-legged, their cheeks being very prominent, eyes black, nose rather flat, mouth large, lips thick, teeth white, hair rough and black, and the complexion a yellowish "frog" colour. They were dressed in elaborate and warm garments made of reindeer skin. The ordinary covering for the head of the men was the skin of a bear's head. "Thus accoutred, with the addition of a bow and quiver, a stone axe, and a bone knife, a Naskwapi man possessed no small degree of pride and self-importance" (James M'Kenzie). The handsomest tribes of Amerindians encountered by the Canadian pioneers seem to have been the Ojibwés of Lake Superior, the Iroquois south of the St. Lawrence, and the Mandans of the upper Missouri. Until well on in the nineteenth century none of the Canadian Amerindians were particular about wearing clothes if the weather was hot. The men, especially, were either quite oblivious of what was seemly in clothing (except perhaps the Iroquois) or thought it necessary to go naked into battle, or to remove all clothing before taking part in religious ceremonies. It is commonly supposed that the Red Man was a rather glum person, seldom seen to smile and averse to showing any emotion. That is not the impression one derives from the many pen portraits of Amerindians in the journals of the great pioneers. Here, on the contrary, you see the natives laughing, smiling, kissing eagerly their wives and children after an absence, displaying exuberant and cordial friendship towards the white man who treated them well, having love quarrels and fits of raging jealousy, moods of deep remorse after a fight, touching devotion to their comrades or chiefs, and above all to their children. They are most emotional, indeed, and, apart from this chapter you will find frequent descriptions of how they wept at times over the remembrance of their dead relations and friends. Hearne remarked, in 1772, that when two parties of Athapaska Indians met, the ceremonies which passed between them were very formal. They would advance within twenty or thirty yards of each other, make a full halt, and then sit or lie down on the ground, not speaking for some minutes. At length one of them, generally an elderly man, broke silence by acquainting the other party with every misfortune that had befallen him and his companions from the last time they had seen or heard of each other, including all deaths and other calamities which had happened to any other Indians during the same period. When he finished, another orator, belonging to the other party, related in like manner all the bad news that had come to _his_ knowledge. If these orations contained any news that in the least affected either party, it would not be long before some of them began to sigh and sob, and soon after to break out into a loud cry, which was generally accompanied by most of the grown persons of both sexes; and sometimes it was common to hear them all--men, women, and children--joining in one universal howl. When the first transports of grief had subsided, they advanced by degrees, and both parties mixed with each other, the men with the men, the women with the women. They then passed round tobacco pipes very freely, and the conversation became general. They had now nothing but good news left to tell, and in less than half an hour probably nothing but smiles and cheerfulness would be seen on every face. One direction in which the Amerindians did not shine was in their treatment of women. This perhaps was worse than in other uncivilized races. Woman was very badly used, except perhaps for the first year of courtship and marriage. Courtship began by the young man throwing sticks at the girl[10] who pleased his fancy, and if she responded he asked her in marriage. But not long after she had become a mother she sank into the position of a household drudge and beast of burden. For example, amongst the Beaver Indians, an Athapaskan tribe of the far north-west, it is related by Alexander Mackenzie that the women are permanently crippled and injured in physique by the hardships they have to undergo. "Having few dogs for transport in that country, the women alone perform that labour which is allotted to beasts of burden in other countries. It is not uncommon whilst the men carry nothing but a gun, that their wives and daughters follow with such weighty burdens that if they lay them down they cannot replace them; nor will the men deign to perform the service of hoisting them on to their backs. So that during their journeys they are frequently obliged to lean against a tree for a small degree of temporary relief. When they arrive at the place which their tyrants have chosen for their encampment, they arrange the tent in a few minutes by forming a curve of poles meeting at the top and expanding into a circle of twelve or fifteen feet in diameter at the bottom, covered with dressed skins of the moose sewn together. During these preparations the men sit down quietly to the enjoyment of their pipes, if they happen to have any tobacco." [Footnote 10: The manner of courtship among the Ojibwés seemed to Peter Grant not only singular, but rude. "The lover begins his first addresses by gently pelting his mistress with bits of clay, snowballs, small sticks, or anything he may happen to have in his hand. If she returns the compliment, he is encouraged to continue the farce, and repeat it for a considerable time, after which more direct proposals of marriage are made by word of mouth."] Among the Ojibwé and Huron Indians of the Great Lakes the men sometimes obliged their wives to bring up and nourish young bears instead of their own children, so that the bears might eventually be fattened for eating. If food was scarce, the women went without before even the male slaves of the tribe were unprovided with food. Women might never eat in the society of males, not even if these males were slaves or prisoners of war. If food was very scarce, the husband as likely as not killed and ate a wife; perhaps did this before slaying and eating a valuable dog. (On the other hand, Mackenzie instances the case of a woman among the Slave Indians who, in a winter of great scarcity, managed to kill and devour her husband and several relations.) So terrible was the ill-treatment of the women in some tribes that these wretched beings sometimes committed suicide to end their tortures. Even in this, however, they were not let off lightly, for the Siou men invented as a tenet of their religion the saying that "Women who hang themselves are the most miserable of all wretches in the other world". On the other hand, the kind treatment of children by fathers as well as mothers is an "Indian" trait commented on by writer after writer. Here is a typical description by Alexander Henry the Elder, concerning the children of the Ojibwé tribe: "As soon as the boys begin to run about, they are provided with bows and arrows, and acquire, as it were 'by instinct', an astonishing dexterity in shooting birds, squirrels, butterflies, &c. Hunting in miniature may be justly said to comprise the whole of their education and childish diversion. Such as excel in this kind of exercise are sure of being particularly distinguished by their parents, and seldom punished for any misbehaviour, but, on the contrary, indulged in every degree of excess and caprice. I have often seen grown-up boys of this description, when punished for some serious fault, strike their father and spit in his face, calling him 'bad dog', or 'old woman', and, sometimes, carrying their insolence so far as to threaten to stab or shoot him, and, what is rather singular, these too-indulgent parents seem to encourage such unnatural liberties, and even glory in such conduct from their favourite children. I heard them boast of having sons who promised at an early age to inherit such bold and independent sentiments.... Children of nine or ten years of age not only enjoy the confidence of the men, but are generally considered as companions and very deliberately join in their conversations." When death overtook anybody the grief of the female relations was carried to great excess. They not only cut their hair, cried and howled, but they would sometimes, with the utmost deliberation, employ some sharp instrument to separate the nail from the finger and then force back the flesh beyond the first joint, which they immediately amputated. "Many of the old women have so often repeated this ceremony that they have not a complete finger remaining on either hand" (Mackenzie). [Illustration: CARIBOU SWIMMING A RIVER] The Amerindians of North America were religious and superstitious, and had a firm faith in a world of spiritual agencies within or outside the material world around us. Most of them believed in the existence of "fairies",--woodland, earth, mountain, or water spirits--whom they declared they could see from time to time in human semblance. Or such spirit or demi-god might assume for a time or permanently the form of an animal. To all such spirits of earth, air, and water, or to the sacred animals they inhabited, sacrifices would be offered and prayers made. Great importance was attributed to dreams and visions. They accustomed themselves to make long fasts, so that they might become light-headed and see visions, or hear spirit voices in a trance. To prepare their minds for this state they would go four or five days without food, and even abstain from drinking. Undoubtedly their "medicine men" developed great mesmeric powers, and this force, combined with rather clumsy juggling and ventriloquism, enabled them to perform a semblance of "miracles". The Iroquois offered much opposition to Christianity, thinking it would tame their warriors too quickly and affect their national independence; but by the greater part of the Amerindians the message of the Gospel brought by the French priests was eagerly received, and the converts became many and most sincere. Their reverence for the missionaries and belief in them was increased when they saw how effectually they were able to protect them from too-rapacious white adventurers, fierce soldiers, and unscrupulous traders. The Miamis of Lake Michigan held the symbol of the cross in great respect. A young Frenchman who was trading with them got into a passion and drew his sword to avenge himself for a theft committed on his goods. The Miama chieftain, to appease him, showed him the cross, which was planted in the ground at the end of his lodge, and said to him: "Behold the tree of the Black Gown; he teaches us to pray and not to lose our temper,"--of course, referring to the missionary in the black gown who had been amongst them. Before the cross was planted here these Miamis kept in their houses one or more bogies, to which they appealed in times of distress or sickness. One of these was the skull of the bison with its horns. Another was the skin of the bear raised on a pole in the middle of the hut and retaining the head, which was usually painted green. The women sometimes died of terror from the stories told them by the men about these idols, and the Jesuits did a great deal of good by getting them abolished in many places. The Supreme Being of the Eskimos was a goddess rather than a god: a mother of all things who lived under the sea. On the other hand, most of the Amerindian tribes believed in one great God of the Sky--Manito, as He was called by the peoples of Algonkin stock, Nainubushan by the Siou and their kindred. This Being was usually kindly disposed towards man; but they also (in most cases) believed in a _bad_ Manito, who was responsible for most of the harm in the world. But sometimes the Great Manito was capricious, or apparently made many mistakes which he had afterwards to rectify. Thus the Siou tribes of Assiniboia believed that the Supreme Being (whom they called Eth-tom-é) first created mankind and all living things, and then, through some oversight or mistake, caused a great flood to cover the earth's surface. So in a hurry he was obliged to make a very large canoe of twigs and branches, and into this he put a pair of every kind of bird and beast, besides a family of human beings, who were thus saved from drowning, and began the world afresh when the waters subsided. This legend was something like the story of Noah's ark, but seems in some form or another to have existed in the mind of all the North-American peoples before the arrival of Christian missionaries. Much the same story was told by the Ojibwés about the Great Hare-God, Nainiboju. The Siou and the Ojibwé (and other tribes also) believed that after death the soul lay for a time in a trance, and then found itself floating towards a River which must be crossed. Beyond the River lay the Happy Hunting Grounds, the Elysian fields; but to oppose the weary soul anxious to reach this paradise there ramped on the other side a huge, flaming-red bison bull, if it had been ordained by the Great Spirit that the soul's time was not yet come, this red bison pushed it back, and the soul was obliged to re-enter the body, which then awoke from its trance or swoon and resumed its worldly activities. Suicide was regarded as the most heinous of crimes. Any man killing himself deliberately, fell into the river of the ghost world and was never heard of again, while women who hanged themselves "were regarded as the most miserable of all wretches in the other world". Their belief in spirits--even ancestral spirits--taking up an abode in the bodies of beasts, birds, or reptiles, or even in plants or stones, caused them to view with respect of a superstitious kind many natural objects. Some one thing--a beast, bird, reptile, fish, plant, or strange stone had been fixed on as the abode of his tutelary spirit by some father of a family. The family grew into a clan, and the clan to a tribe, and the object sacred in the eyes of its father and founder became its "totem", crest, or symbol. As a rule, whatever thing was the _totem_ of the individual or the clan was held sacred in their eyes, and, if it was an animal, was not killed, or, if killed, not eaten. Many of the northern Indians would refrain from killing the wolf or the glutton, or if they did so, or did it by accident, they would refuse to skin the animal. The elder people amongst the Athapaskan Indians, in Hearne's day, would reprove the young folk for "speaking disrespectfully" of different beasts and birds. Their ideas of medicine and surgery were much mixed up with a belief in magic and in the mysterious powers of their "medicine men". This person, who might be of either sex, certainly knew a few simple medicines to be made from herbs or decoctions of bark, but for the most part he attempted to cure the sick or injured by blowing lustily on the part affected or, more wisely, by massage. A universal cure, however, for all fevers and mild ailments was sweating. Sweating huts were built in nearly every settlement. They were covered over in a way to exclude air as much as possible. The inside was heated with red-hot stones and glowing embers, on to which from time to time water was poured to fill the place with steam. The Amerindians not only went through these Turkish baths to cure small ailments but also with the idea of clearing the intelligence and as a fitting preliminary to negotiations--for peace, or alliance, or even for courtship. In many tribes if a young "brave" arrived with proposals of marriage for a man's daughter he was invited to enter the sweating house with her father, and discuss the bargain calmly over perspiration and the tobacco pipe. Tobacco smoking indeed was almost a religious ceremony, as well as a remedy for certain maladies or states of mind. The "pipe of peace" has become proverbial. Nevertheless tobacco was still unknown in the eighteenth century to many of the Pacific-coast and far-north-west tribes, as to the primitive Eskimo. It was not a very old practice in the Canadian Dominion when Europeans first arrived there, though it appeared to be one of the most characteristic actions of these red-skinned savages in the astonished eyes of the first pioneers. They used pipes for smoking, however, long before tobacco came among them, certain berries taking the place of tobacco. The Amerindians of the southern parts of Canada and British Columbia were more or less settled peoples of towns or villages, of fixed homes to which they returned at all seasons of the year, however far afield they might range for warfare, trade, or hunting. But the more northern tribes were nomads: people shifting their abode from place to place in pursuit of game or trade. Unlike the people of the south and west (though these only grew potatoes) they were not agriculturists: the only vegetable element in their food was the wild rice of the marshes, the sweet-tasting layer between the bark and the wood of certain trees, and the fruits or fungi of the forest or the lichen growing on the rocks. Though these people might in summertime build some hasty wigwam of boughs and moss, their ordinary dwelling place was a tent. The Wood Indians, or Opimitish Ininiwak, of the Athapaskan group (writes Alexander Henry, sen.) had no fixed villages; and their lodges or huts were so rudely fashioned as to afford them very inadequate protection against the weather. The greater part of their year was spent in travelling from place to place in search of food. The animal on which they chiefly depended was the _hare_--a most prominent animal in Amerindian economy and tradition. This they took in springes. From its skin they made coverings with much ingenuity, cutting it into narrow strips and weaving this into the shape of a blanket, which was of a very warm and agreeable quality. The Naskwapi Algonkins of inland Labrador were savages that led a wandering life through the bare, flat parts of that country, subsisting chiefly upon flesh, and clothing themselves with the skin of the caribou, which they caught in pitfalls or shot with the bow and arrow. "Very few sights, I believe, can be more distressing to the feelings of humanity than a Labrador savage, surrounded by his wife and five or six small children, half-famished with cold and hunger in a hole dug out of the snow and screened from the inclemency of the weather by the branches of the trees. Their whole furniture is a kettle hung over the fire, not for the purpose of cooking victuals, but for melting snow" (James M'Kenzie). A description of the tents of the Kris or Knistino (Algonkins of the Athabaska region), written by Alexander Henry, sen., applies with very little difference to all the other tribes dwelling to the east of the Rocky Mountains.[11] [Footnote 11: See also p. 249.] These tents were of dressed leather, erected with poles, generally seventeen in number, of which two were tied together about three feet from the top. The first two poles being erected and set apart at the base, the others were placed against them in a slanting position, meeting at the top, so that they all formed nearly a circle, which was then covered with the leather. This consisted of ten to fifteen dressed skins of the bison, moose, or red deer, well sewed together and nicely cut to fit the conical figure of the poles, with an opening above, to let out smoke and admit the light. From this opening down to the door the two edges of the tent were brought close together and well secured with wooden pegs about six inches long, leaving for the door an oval aperture about two feet wide and three feet high, below which the edges were secured with similar pegs. This small entrance did well enough for the natives, who would be brought up to it from infancy, but a European might be puzzled to get through, as a piece of hide stretched upon a frame of the same shape as the door, but somewhat larger, hung outside, and must be first raised by the hand of the incomer. Such tents were usually spacious, measuring twenty feet in diameter. The fire was always made in the centre, around which the occupants generally placed a range of stones to prevent the ashes from scattering and to keep the fire compact. New tents were perfectly white; some of them were painted with red and black figures. These devices were generally derived from the dreams of the Amerindians, being some mythical monster or other hideous animal, whose description had been handed down from their ancestors. A large camp of such tents, pitched regularly on a level plain, had a fine effect at a distance, especially when numerous bands of horses were seen feeding in all directions. The "lodges" or long houses made of poles, fir branches, moss, &c., wherein, among the Iroquois, Algonkin, and Siou peoples, several families made a common habitation, are described here and there in the course of the narrative. The houses of the coast tribes of British Columbia were bigger, more elaborate, and permanent, and in this region the natives had acquired some idea of carpentry, and had learnt to make planks of wood by splitting with wedges or hewing with adzes. One of these British Columbian houses was measured, and found to be seventy feet long by twenty-five feet wide; the entrance in the gable end was cut through a plank five and a half feet wide, and nearly oval. A board suspended on the outside answered for a door; on the other side of the broad plank was rudely carved a large painted figure of a man, between whose legs was the passage. But other houses on the Pacific coast, visited by Cook or Vancouver, are said to have been large enough to accommodate seven hundred people. These houses of the Pacific coast region were exceedingly filthy, sturgeon and salmon being strewn about in every direction. The men inhabiting them were often disgusting in their behaviour, while the women are declared to have been "devoid of shame or decency". According to Mackenzie, such habitations swarmed with fleas, and even the ground round about them "was alive with this vermin". The Alexander Henrys, both uncle and nephew, complain of the flea plague (partly due to the multitude of dogs) in every Indian village or encampment. The domestic implements of the Amerindians were few. Pottery seems to have been unknown amongst the northern tribes to the east and north of the Mississippi valley, but earthen jars and vessels were made by the Dakota-Siou group in the valley of the Mississippi. Amongst these agricultural Indians the hoe was made of a buffalo's blade bone fastened to a crooked wooden handle. The Ojibwés manufactured chisels out of beavers' teeth. The Eskimo and some of the neighbouring Amerindian tribes used oblong "kettles" of stone--simply great blocks of stone chipped, rubbed, and hollowed out into receptacles, with handles at both ends. (It is suggested that they borrowed the idea of these stone vessels for cooking from the early Norse settlers of Greenland; see p. 18.) The Amerindians of the regions west of the Rocky Mountains made kettles or cooking vessels out of blocks of "cedar" (_Juniper_) wood; east of the Rocky Mountains the birch-bark kettle was universal. Of course these vessels of wood or bark could not be placed on the fire or embers to heat or boil the contents, as was possible with the "kettles" of stone or the cooking pots of clay. So the people using them heated the water in which the food or the soup was boiled by making stones red-hot in the fire and then dropping them into the birch-bark or cedar-wood tubs. Many of the northern Indians got into the way of eating their food raw because of the difficulty of making a fire away from home. In regard to food, neither Amerindian nor Eskimo was squeamish. They were almost omnivorous, and specially delighted in putrid or noisome substances from which a European would turn in loathing, and from the eating of which he might conceivably die. It was only in the extreme south of Canada or in British Columbia (potatoes only) that any agriculture was carried on and that the natives had maize, pumpkins, and pease to add to their dietary; but (as compared to the temperate regions of Europe and Asia) Nature was generous in providing wild fruits and grain without trouble of husbandry. The fruits and nuts have been enumerated elsewhere, but a description might be given here of the "wild oats" (_Avena fatua_) and the "wild rice" of the regions of central Canada and the middle west. The wild oats made a rough kind of porridge, but were not so important and so nourishing as the wild rice which is so often mentioned in the stories of the pioneers, who liked this wild grain as much as the Indians did. This wild rice (_Zizania aquatica_) grew naturally in small rivers and swampy places. The stems were hollow, jointed at intervals, and the grain appeared at the extremity of the stalk. By the month of June they had grown two feet above the surface of the shallow water, and were ripe for harvesting in September. At this period the Amerindians passed in canoes through the water-fields of wild rice, shaking the ears into the canoes as they swept by. The grain fell out easily when ripe, but in order to clean it from the husk it was dried over a slow fire on a wooden grating. After being winnowed it was pounded to flour in a mortar, or else boiled like rice, and seasoned with fat. "It had a most delicate taste", wrote Alexander Henry the Elder. Fish was perhaps the staple of Amerindian diet, because in scarcely any part of the Canadian Dominion is a lake, river, or brook far away. In the region of the Great Lakes fish were caught in large quantities in October, and exposed to the weather to be frozen at nighttime. They were then stored away in this congealed state, and lasted good--more or less--till the following April. Pemmican--that early form of potted meat so familiar to the readers of Red-Indian romances--was made of the lean meat of the bison. The strips of meat were dried in the sun, and afterwards pounded in a mortar and mixed with an equal quantity of bison fat. Fish "pemmican" was sun-dried fish ground to powder. A favourite dish among the northern Indians was blood mixed with the half-digested food found in the stomach of a deer, boiled up with a sufficient quantity of water to make it of the consistency of pease porridge. Some scraps of fat or tender flesh were shredded small and boiled with it. To render this dish more palatable they had a method of mixing the blood with the contents of the stomach in the paunch itself, and hanging it up in the heat and smoke of the fire for several days--in other words, the Scotch haggis. The kidneys of both moose and buffalo were usually eaten _raw_ by the southern Indians, for no sooner was one of those beasts killed than the hunter ripped up its belly, snatched out the kidneys, and ate them warm, before the animal was quite dead. They also at times put their mouths to the wound the ball or the arrow had made, and sucked the blood; this, they said, quenched thirst, and was very nourishing. The favourite drink of the Ojibwé Indians in the wintertime was hot broth poured over a dishful of pure snow. The Amerindians of the Nipigon country (north of Lake Superior) and the Ojibwés and Kris often relapsed into cannibalism when hard up for food. Indeed some of them became so addicted to this practice that they simply went about stalking their fellow Indians with as much industry as if they were hunting animals. "These prowling ogres caused such terror that to sight the track of one of them was sufficient to make twenty families decamp in all the speed of their terror" (Alexander Henry). It was deemed useless to attempt any resistance when these monsters were coming to kill and eat. The people would even make them presents of clothes and provisions to allow them and their children to live. There were women cannibals as well as men (see p. 171). As the greater part of their food came from the chase, and their only articles of commerce likewise, they devoted themselves more entirely to hunting and fishing than to any other pursuit. The women did most of the fishing (and all the skin-curing for the fur market and for their own dress), while the men pursued with weapons the beasts of the chase, trapped them in pitfalls or snares, or drove them into "pounds" (excavated enclosures). Illustrating the wonderful sagacity of the Amerindians as game trackers, Alexander Henry the Elder tells the following story in the autumn of 1799:-- "We had not gone far from the house before we fell upon the fresh tracks of some red deer (wapiti), and soon after discovered the herd in a thicket of willows and poplars; we both fired, and the deer disappeared in different directions. We pursued them, but to no purpose, as the country was unfavourable. We then returned to the spot where we had fired, as the Indian suspected that we had wounded some of them. We searched to see if we could find any blood; on my part, I could find tracks, but no blood. The Indian soon called out, and I went to him, but could see no blood, nor any sign that an animal had been wounded. However, he pointed out the track of a large buck among the many others, and told me that from the manner in which this buck had started off he was certain the animal had been wounded. As the ground was beaten in every direction by animals, it was only after a tedious search that we found where the buck had struck off. But no blood was seen until, passing through a thicket of willows, he observed a drop upon a leaf, and next a little more. He then began to examine more strictly, to find out in what part of the body the animal had been wounded; and, judging by the height and other signs, he told me the wound must have been somewhere between the shoulder and neck. We advanced about a mile, but saw nothing of the deer, and no more blood. I was for giving up the chase; but he assured me the wound was mortal, and that if the animal should lie down he could not rise again. We proceeded two miles farther, when, coming out upon a small open space, he told me the animal was at no great distance, and very probably in this meadow. We accordingly advanced a few yards, and there we found the deer lying at the last gasp. The wound was exactly as I had been told. The sagacity of the Saulteurs [Ojibwés] in tracing big wood animals is astonishing. I have frequently witnessed occurrences of this nature; the bend of a leaf or blade of grass is enough to show the hunter the direction the game has taken. Their ability is of equally great service to war parties, when they discover the footsteps of their enemies." The Assiniboin Indians (a branch of the Sious) down to about fifty years ago captured the bison of the plains in hundreds at a time by driving them into large excavated areas below the level of the ground. Alexander Henry, jun., gives the following description of this procedure in 1810:-- "The pounds are of different dimensions, according to the number of tents in one camp. The common size is from sixty to one hundred paces or yards in circumference, and about five feet in height. Trees are cut down, laid upon one another, and interwoven with branches and green twigs; small openings are left to admit the dogs to feed upon the carcasses of the (old) bulls, which are generally left as useless. This enclosure is commonly made between two hummocks, on the declivity or at the foot of rising ground. The entrance is about ten paces wide, and always fronts the plains. On each side of this entrance commences a thick range of fascines, the two ranges spreading asunder as they extend to the distance of one hundred yards, beyond which openings are left at intervals; but the fascines soon become more thinly planted, and continue to spread apart to the right and left until each range has been extended about three hundred yards from the pound. The labour is then diminished by only placing at intervals three or four cross sticks, in imitation of a dog or other animal (sometimes called 'dead men'); these extend on the plain for about two miles, and double rows of them are planted in several other directions to a still greater distance. Young men are usually sent out to collect and bring in the buffalo--a tedious task, which requires great patience, for the herd must be started by slow degrees. This is done by setting fire to dung or grass. Three young men will bring in a herd of several hundred from a great distance. When the wind is aft it is most favourable, as they can then direct the buffalo with great ease. Having come in sight of the ranges, they generally drive the herd faster, until it begins to enter the ranges, where a swift-footed person has been stationed with a buffalo robe over his head, to imitate that animal; but sometimes a horse performs this business. When he sees buffaloes approaching he moves slowly toward the pound until they appear to follow him; then he sets off at full speed, imitating a buffalo as well as he can, with the herd after him. The young men in the rear now discover themselves, and drive the herd on with all possible speed. There is always a sentinel on some elevated spot to notify the camp when the buffalo appear; and this intelligence is no sooner given than every man, woman, and child runs to the ranges that lead to the pound to prevent the buffalo from taking a wrong direction. Then they lie down between the fascines and cross sticks, and, if the buffalo attempt to break through, the people wave their robes, which causes the herd to keep on, or turn to the opposite side, where other persons do the same. When the buffalo have been thus directed to the entrance of the pound, the Indian who leads them rushes into it and out at the other side, either by jumping over the enclosure or creeping through an opening left for that purpose. The buffalo tumble in pell-mell at his heels, almost exhausted, but keep moving around the enclosure from east to west, and never in a direction against the sun. What appeared extraordinary to me on those occasions was that, when word was given to the camp of the near approach of the buffalo, the dogs would skulk away from the pound and not approach until the herd entered. Many buffaloes break their legs and some their necks in jumping into the pound, as the descent is generally six or eight feet, and stumps are left standing there. The buffalo being caught, the men assembled at the enclosure, armed with bows and arrows; every arrow has a particular mark of the owner, and they are let fly until the whole herd is killed. Then the men enter the pound, and each claims his own; but commonly there is what they term the master of the pound, who divides the animals and gives each tent an equal share, reserving nothing for himself. But in the end he is always the best provided for; everyone is obliged to send him a certain portion, as it is in his tent that the numerous ceremonies relating to the pound are observed. There the young men are always welcome to feast and smoke, and no women are allowed to enter, as that tent is set apart for the affairs of the pound. Horses are sometimes used to collect and bring in buffalo, but this method is less effectual than the other; besides, it frightens the herds and soon causes them to withdraw to a great distance. When horses are used the buffalo are absolutely driven into the pound, but when the other method is pursued they are in a manner enticed to their destruction." A somewhat similar method was adopted by the northern Kris and Athapascans for the capture of reindeer. As regards means of transport, the use of dogs as draught animals was by no means confined to the Eskimo: they were used in wintertime to draw sledges over the snow or ice by nearly all the northern Indian tribes, and by the people of the Rocky Mountains and Pacific coast. After the Amerindians of the prairies and plains received horses (indirectly through the Spaniards of Mexico)[12] they sometimes employed the smaller and poorer kind of ponies as pack animals; but for the most part throughout the summer season of the Canadian Dominion--from May to October--transport and travel by canoe was the favourite method. [Footnote 12: See p. 150.] There were four very well marked types of canoe or boat in British North America. There was the already-described Eskimo _kayak_, made of leather stretched over a framework of wood or bone; the Amerindians of the Dominion, south of the Eskimo and east of the Rocky Mountains, used the familiar "birch-bark" canoe;[13] the peoples of the Pacific coast belt possessed something more like a boat, made out of a hollowed tree trunk and built up with planks; and the tribes of the Upper Mississippi used round coracles. Here are descriptions of all three kinds of Amerindian canoe from the pens of eighteenth-century pioneers: The birch-bark canoe used on the Great Lakes was about thirty-three feet long by four and a half feet broad, and formed of the smooth rind or bark of the birch tree fastened outside a wooden framework. It was lined with small splints of juniper cedar, and the vessel was further strengthened with ribs of the same wood, of which the two ends were fastened to the gunwales. Several bars rather than seats were laid across the canoe from gunwale to gunwale, the small roots of the spruce fir afforded the fibre with which the bark was sewn or stitched, and the gum of the pine tree supplied the place of tar and oakum. Bark, some spare fibre, and gum were always carried in each canoe for repairs, which were constantly necessary (one continually reads in the diaries of the pioneers of "stopping to gum the canoe"). The canoes were propelled with paddles, and occasionally a sail. [Footnote 13: In the far north-west, on the rivers of the Pacific slope, the natives used spruce-fir bark instead of birch.] The aborigines of Newfoundland--the Beothiks--are said to have known the birch-bark canoe, framework canoe, but to have employed "dug-outs"--hollowed tree trunks. The canoes of the Mandans of the upper Missouri basin were like coracles, of circular form, made of a framework of bent willow branches over which was stretched a raw bison-hide with the hair inside. This was sewn tightly round the willow rim. In lieu of a paddle they use a pole about five feet long, split at one end to admit a piece of board about two feet long and half a foot broad, which was lashed to the pole and so formed a kind of cross. There was but one for each canoe. The paddler of this coracle made directly for the opposite shore; every stroke he gave turned his "dish" almost entirely round; to recover his position and go on his intended route, he must give a stroke on the other side, which brought him up again; and so on till he got over, not without drifting down sometimes nearly a mile. Alexander Henry, jun., thus describes a canoe of the Clatsop people on the Lower Columbia (Pacific coast, opposite Vancouver Island): "This was a war canoe--the first of the kind I had seen. She was about thirty-six feet long and wide in proportion, the stem rising upright about six feet, on top of which was a figure of some imaginary monster of uncouth sculpture, having the head of a carnivorous animal with large erect ears but no body, clinging by arms and legs to the upper end of the canoe, and grinning horribly. The ears were painted green, the other parts red and black. The stern also rose about five feet in height, but had no figure carved on it. On each side of both stem and stern broad strips of wood rose about four feet, having holes cut in them to shoot arrows through. She had a high sprit-sail made of handkerchiefs and pieces of gunny-cloth or jute, forming irregular stripes, I am told these Indians commonly have pieces of squared timber, not unlike a three-inch plank, high and broad, perforated to shoot arrows through; this is fixed on the bow of the war canoe to serve as bulwarks in battle." Canoe voyages were mainly embarked on for trading; but in all probability before the coming of the European there was little trading done between one tribe and another, except in the region _west_ of the Rocky Mountains, in which--especially to the north--the Amerindians were so different in their habits and customs from those dwelling east of the mountains as to suggest that they must very occasionally have been in touch with some world outside America, such as Hawaii, Kamschatka, or Japan. In these Pacific coastlands they used a white seashell as a currency and a medium of exchange. So also did the Iroquois people and the southern Algonkin tribes, in the form of "wampum". The principal articles of barter were skins of fur animals, porcupine quills, dogs, slaves, and women. First Hunting (to supply food), then Trading in the products of the chase, and lastly War were the main subjects which occupied the Amerindian's thoughts before the middle of the nineteenth century. They usually went to war to turn other tribes out of profitable hunting grounds or productive fisheries; or because they wanted slaves or more wives; or because a chief or a medicine man had a dream; or because some other notability felt he had given way too much to tears over some personal or public sorrow, and must show his manliness by killing the people of another tribe. In their wars they knew no mercy when their blood was up, and frequently perpetrated frightful cruelties for the sheer pleasure of seeing human suffering. Yet these devilish moods would alternate with fits of sentimentality. A man or a woman would suddenly take a war prisoner, or a person who was wounded or half-tortured to death, under their protection, and a short time afterwards the whole war party would be greeting this rescued wretch (usually a man--they were far more pitiless towards women) as brother, son, or friend, and even become quite maudlin over a scratch or a bruise; whereas an hour or so before they were on the point of disembowelling, or of driving splinters up the nails and setting them on fire. In warfare they often gave way to cannibalism. Though extremely fond of singing--they sang when they were merry; when they thought they were going to die; when they were victorious in hunting, love, or war; when they were defeated; when they were paddling a canoe or sewing a moccasin--they had but a poor range of musical instruments. Most of the tribes used flutes made out of the wing bones of cranes or out of reeds, and some had small trumpets of wood, bark, or buffalo horn. The Pacific coast Indians made gongs or "xylophones" out of blocks or slabs of resonant wood. Here is a specimen of Amerindian singing. It is the song which accompanied the famous Calumet dance in celebration of the peacemaking qualities of tobacco-smoking. It was taken down by the Jesuit missionaries in the seventeenth century from the Ilinwa (Illinois) Algonkin Indians of the middle west, and its notation reminds one of Japanese music. [Musical notation and words: THE CALUMET OR TOBACCO-PIPE DANCE Ni-na-ha-ni, ni-na-ha-ni, ni-na-ha-ni na-ni on-go; Ni-na-ha-ni, ni-na-ha-ni, ni-na-ha-ni ho-ho; ni-na-ha-ni, ni-na-ha-ni, ni-na-ha-ni, Ka-wa ban-no-ge at-chi-cha Ko-ge a-ke a-w[¯a]; Ba-no-ge a-chi-cha sha-go-be hé, hé, hé! Min-tin-go mi-ta-de pi-ni, pi-ni hé! A-chi-cha lé ma-chi mi nam ba mik-tan-de, mik-tan-de pi-ni, pini hé!] Ninahani, &c, ongo; ninahani, &c, hoho; ninahani, &c. Kawa bannoge atchicha Koge ake aw[¯a]; Banoge atchicha shagobe hé hé hé! Mintingo mitade Pini pini hé! Atchicha lé machi mi nam ba miktande, Miktande pini pini hé! Dancing was little else than posturing and jumping in masks--usually made to look like the head of a wild beast. But the men were usually very athletic. Wrestling competitions were almost universal, especially as a means of winning a wife. The conqueror in a wrestling match took the wife or wives of the defeated man. Their running powers for endurance and speed became justly celebrated. "Their principal and most inveterate game is that of the hoop," writes Alexander Henry, sen., "which proves as ruinous to them as the platter does to the Saulteurs (Ojibwé)." This game was played in the following manner. A hoop was made about two feet in diameter, nearly covered with dressed leather, and trimmed with quillwork, feathers, bits of metal, and other trinkets, on which were certain particular marks. Two persons played at the same time, by rolling the hoop and accompanying it, one on each side; when it was about to fall, each gently threw one arrow in such a manner that the hoop might fall upon it, and according to that mark on the hoop which rested on the arrows they reckoned the game. They also played another game by holding some article in one hand, or putting it into one of two shoes, the other hand or shoe being empty. They had another game which required forty to fifty small sticks, as thick as a goose quill and about a foot long; these were all shuffled together and then divided into two bunches, and according to the even or odd numbers of sticks in the bunch chosen, the players lost or won. A favourite game amongst the Ojibwé is described as "the hurdle", which is another name for the Canadian national game of La Crosse. When about to play, the men, of all ages, would strip themselves almost naked, but dress their hair in great style, put ornaments on their arms, and belts round their waists, and paint their faces and bodies in the most elaborate style. Each man was provided with "a hurdle", an instrument made of a small stick of wood about three feet long, bent at the end to a small circle, in which a loose piece of network is fixed, forming a cavity big enough to receive a leather ball about the size of a man's fist. Everything being prepared, a level plain about half a mile long was chosen, with proper barriers or goals at each end. Having previously formed into two equal parts, they assembled in the very middle of the field, and the game began by throwing up the ball perpendicularly in the air, when instantly both parties (writes an eyewitness) "formed a singular group of naked men, painted in different colours and in the most comical attitudes imaginable, holding their rackets elevated in the air to catch the ball". Whoever was so fortunate as to catch it in his net ran with it to the barrier with all his might, supported by his party; whilst the opponents were pursuing and endeavouring to knock the ball out of the net. He who succeeded in doing so ran in the same manner towards the opposite barrier, and was, of course, pursued in his turn. If in danger of being overtaken, he might throw it with his hurdle towards any of his associates who happened to be nearer the barrier than himself. They had a particular knack of throwing it a great distance in this manner, so that the best runners had not always the advantage; and, by a peculiar way of working their hands and arms while running, the ball never dropped out of their "hurdle". "The best of three heats wins the game, and, besides the honour acquired on such occasions, a considerable prize is adjudged to the victors. The vanquished, however, generally challenge their adversaries to renew the game the next day, which is seldom refused. The game then becomes more important, as the honour of the whole village is at stake, and it is carried on with redoubled impetuosity, every object which might impede them in their career is knocked down and trodden under foot without mercy, and before the game is decided, it is a common thing to see numbers sprawling on the ground with wounded legs and broken heads, yet this never creates any disputes or ill-will after the play is decided" (Alexander Henry, sen.). It has been computed that in the middle of the eighteenth century the Amerindian population of the vast territories now known as the Dominion of Canada numbered about 300,000. It now stands at an approximate 110,000. The chief diminution has taken place in Newfoundland, Lower and Upper Canada, New Brunswick, Assiniboia, and British Columbia. There may even have been an increase in the north and north-west. The first great blow to the Amerindians of these regions was the smallpox epidemic of 1780. The next was the effect of the strong drink[14] introduced by the agents of the Hudson's Bay and, still more, the two North-west Companies. Phthisis or pulmonary consumption also seems to have been introduced from Europe (though Hearne thought that the Northern Indians had it before the white man came). In fact, before the European invaded America neither Eskimo nor Amerindian seem to have had many diseases. They suffered from ulcers, scurvy, digestive troubles, rheumatism, headache, bronchitis, and heart complaints, but from few, if any, "germ" diseases. [Footnote 14: Before the white man came to _North_ America the natives had no form of intoxicating drink.] Some of the agents of the North-west Company apologize in their writings for the amount of rum that was circulated among the Amerindians at the orders of that company to stimulate trade, by saying that it was seven parts water. Nevertheless it excited them to madness, as the following extracts show. These are mostly taken from the journals of Alexander Henry the Younger, but they are typical of what was recorded by many other writers who describe the far interior of British North America between 1775 and 1835. "To see a house full of drunken Indians, consisting of men, women, and children, is a most unpleasant sight; for, in that condition, they often wrangle, pull each other by the hair, and fight. At times, ten or twelve of both sexes may be seen fighting each other promiscuously, until at last they all fall on the floor, one upon another, some spilling rum out of a small kettle or dish which they hold in their hands, while others are throwing up what they have just drunk. To add to this uproar, a number of children, some on their mothers' shoulders, and others running about and taking hold of their clothes, are constantly bawling, the elder ones, through fear that their parents may be stabbed, or that some other misfortune may befal them in the fray. These shrieks of the children form a very unpleasant chorus to the brutal noise kept up by their drunken parents." * * * * * "In a drinking match at the Hills yesterday, Gros Bras (Thick Arms) in a fit of jealousy stabbed Aupusoi to death with a hand-dague (dagger); the first stroke opened his left side, the second his belly, and the third his breast; he never stirred, although he had a knife in his belt, and died instantly. Soon after this Aupusoi's brother, a boy about ten years of age, took the deceased's gun, loaded it with two balls, and approached Gros Bras's tent. Putting the muzzle of the gun through the door the boy fired the two balls into his breast and killed him dead, just as he was reproaching his wife for her affection for Aupusoi, and boasting of the revenge he had taken. The little fellow ran into the woods and hid. Little Shell (Petite Coquille) found the old woman, Aupusoi's mother, in her tent; he instantly stabbed her. Ondainoiache then came in, took the knife, and gave her a second stab. Little Shell, in his turn taking the knife, gave a third blow. In this manner did these two rascals continue to murder the old woman, as long as there was any life in her. The boy escaped into Langlois' house, and was kept hid until they were all sober. Next morning a hole was dug in the ground, and all three were buried together. This affair kept the Indians from hunting, as Gros Bras was nearly related to the principal hunters." * * * * * "Grand' Gueule stabbed Perdrix Blanche with a knife in six places. Perdrix Blanche fighting with his wife, fell in the fire and almost roasted, but had strength enough left notwithstanding his wounds to bite her nose off." * * * * * "In the first drinking match a murder was committed in an Assiniboine tent, but fortunately it was done by an Ojibwé. L'Hiver stabbed Mishewashence to the heart three times, and killed him instantly. The wife and children cried out, and some of my people ran to the tent just as L'Hiver came out with the bloody knife in his hand, expecting we would lay hold of him. The first person he met was William Henry, whom he attempted to stab in the breast; but Henry avoided the stroke, and returned the compliment with a blow of his cudgel on the fellow's head. This staggered him; but instantly recovering he made another attempt to stab Henry. Foiled in this design, and observing several coming out of the fort, he took to his heels and ran into the woods like a deer. I chased him with some of my people, but he was too fleet for us. We buried the murdered man, who left a widow and five helpless orphans, having no relations on this river. The behaviour of two of the youngest was really piteous while we were burying the body; they called upon their deceased father not to leave them, but to return to the tent, and tried to prevent the men from covering the corpse with earth, screaming in a terrible manner; the mother was obliged to take them away." * * * * * "Men and women have been drinking a match for three days and nights, during which it has been drink, fight--drink, fight--drink, and fight again--guns, axes, and knives being their weapons--very disagreeable." * * * * * "Mithanasconce was so troublesome (in drink) that we were obliged to tie him with ropes to prevent his doing mischief. He was stabbed in the back in three different places about a month ago. His wounds were still open, and had an ugly appearance; in his struggling to get loose they burst out afresh and bled a great deal. We had much trouble to stop the blood, as the fellow was insensible to pain or danger; his only aim was to bite us. We had some narrow escapes, until we secured his mouth, and then he fell asleep." * * * * * "Some Red Lake Indians having traded here for liquor which they took to their camp, quarrelled amongst themselves. One jumped on another and bit his nose off. It was some time before the piece could be found; but, at last, by tumbling and tossing the straw about, it was recovered, stuck on, and bandaged, as best the drunken people could, in hopes it would grow again" (Alexander Henry, jun.). * * * * * As regards drunkenness, several authors among the early explorers declared that the French Canadian voyageurs were more disagreeable when drunk even than the Amerindians, for their quarrels were noisier and more deadly. "Indeed I had rather have fifty drunken Indians in the fort than sixty-five drunken Canadians", writes Alexander Henry in 1810. And yet the extracts I have given from his journal show that it would be hard to beat the Amerindians for disagreeable ferocity when intoxicated. Henry, summing up his experiences before leaving for the Pacific coast in 1811, writes these remarks in his diary:-- "What a different set of people they would be, were there not a drop of liquor in the country! If a murder is committed among the Saulteurs (Ojibwés), it is always in a drinking match. We may truly say that liquor is the root of all evil in the north-west. Great bawling and lamentation went on, and I was troubled most of the night for liquor to wash away grief." As a rule, the treatment of the Amerindians by the British and French settlers was good, except the thrusting of alcohol on them. But in Newfoundland a great crime was perpetrated. Between the middle of the seventeenth and the beginning of the nineteenth centuries the British fishermen and settlers on the coasts of Newfoundland had _destroyed_ the native population of Beothik Indians. Before the English arrived on the coasts of Newfoundland the Beothiks lived an ideal life for savages. They were well clothed with beasts' skins, and in the winter these were supplemented by heavy fur robes. Countless herds of reindeer roamed through the interior, passing from north to south in the autumn and returning in the spring. Vast flocks of willow grouse (like ptarmigan) were everywhere to be met with; the many lakes were covered with geese, swans, and ducks. The woods were full of pigeons; the salmon swarmed up the rivers to breed; the sea round the coasts was--except in the wintertime--the richest fishery in the world. They caught lobsters in the rock pools, and speared or clubbed seals and great walruses for their flesh and oil. An occasional whale provided them with oil, blubber, and meat. The Great Auk--which could not fly--swarmed in millions on the cliffs and islets. So abundant was this bird, and so fat, that its body was sometimes used as fuel, or as a lamp. In the summertime their fish and flesh diet could be varied by the innumerable berries growing wild--strawberries, raspberries, currants, cranberries, and whortleberries. The _capillaire_ plant yielded a lusciously sweet, sugary substance.[15] [Footnote 15: This was the Moxie plum or creeping snowberry (_Chiogenes hispidula_).] [Illustration: GREAT AUKS, GANNETS, PUFFINS, AND GUILLEMOTS] The Beothiks were a tall, good-looking people, with large black eyes and a light-coloured skin. The early French and Biscayan seamen, who resorted to the coasts of Newfoundland for the whale fisheries, reported these "Red Indians" to be "an ingenious and tractable people, if well used, who were ready to help the white men with great labour and patience in the killing, cutting-up, and boiling of whales, and the making of train oil, without other expectation of reward than a little bread or some such small hire". Yet from the beginning of the seventeenth century the Beothiks--then about four thousand in number--were ill-treated by the European fishermen who frequented the Newfoundland coasts. They soon greatly decreased in numbers, and became very shy of white men. The French, when they occupied the south coast of Newfoundland, brought over Mikmak Indians to chase and kill the Beothiks or "Red" Indians. The Eskimo attacked them from Labrador. Finally, when Newfoundland became British in the eighteenth century, the English fishermen settlers and fur hunters attacked and slew the harmless Beothiks with a wanton ferocity (described by horror-struck officers of the British navy) which is as bad as anything attributed to the Spaniards in Cuba and Hispaniola. By about 1830 they were all extinct. As late as 1823 the following anecdote is recorded of two English settlers whose names are hidden behind the initials C and A. "When near Badger Bay they fell in with an Indian man and woman, who approached, apparently soliciting food. The man was first killed, and the woman, who was afterwards found to be his daughter, in despair remained calmly to be fired at, when she was also shot through the chest and immediately expired. This was told Mr. Cormack by the man who did the deed." Even English women in the late eighteenth century were celebrated for their skill "in shooting Red Indians and seals". "For a period of nearly two hundred years this barbarity had continued, and it was considered meritorious to shoot a Red Indian. 'To go to look for Indians' came to be as much a phrase as to look for partridges (ptarmigan). They were harassed from post to post, from island to island; their hunting and fishing stations were unscrupulously seized by the invading English. They were shot down without the least provocation, or captured to be exposed as curiosities to the rabble at the fairs of the western towns of Christian England at twopence a piece."[16] [Footnote 16: These are the remarks of an English chaplain in the island, quoted by the Rev. George Patterson, who contributed a most interesting article on the vanished Beothiks of Newfoundland to the Royal Society of Canada in 1891.] Too late--when the worry and anxiety of the Napoleonic wars were over--the British Government sent a commission of naval officers to enquire into the treatment of the Beothiks by the settlers. One woman alone remained, as a frightened semi-captive, to be consoled and soothed. There are Indians in the south of Newfoundland at the present day, but they are Mikmaks who come over from the adjoining regions of Cape Breton and Nova Scotia. So tender, indeed, is the modern government of the island towards these (out of compunction for the past) that they are allowed to kill the reindeer and other wild animals without the licence which is exacted from white people, and so are actually injuring Newfoundland's resources! Since the great Dominion of Canada was brought into existence in 1871 as a unified, responsible government, the treatment of the remaining Amerindian natives of British North America has been admirable; and splendid work has been done in reclaiming them to a wholesome civilization by the Moravian, Roman Catholic, and Church of England missionaries. CHAPTER VIII The Hudson Bay Explorers and the British Conquest of all Canada In a general way the discovery of the main features of the vast Canadian Dominion may be thus apportioned amongst the different European nations. First came the British, led by an Italian pilot. They discovered Cape Breton Island, Nova Scotia, and Newfoundland. Then came the Portuguese, who discovered the north-east of Newfoundland and the coast of Labrador, while a French expedition under an Italian captain reached to Nova Scotia and southern Newfoundland. A Spanish expedition under a Portuguese leader shortly afterwards reached the coast of New Brunswick. After that the French from Brittany, Normandy, and the west coast of France laid bare the _west_ coast of Newfoundland, the Gulf of St. Lawrence, the River St. Lawrence, and the Great Lakes. Sir Francis Drake led the way in the exploration of the north-west coast of North America. He reached, in 1579, as far north on that side as the country of Oregon, which he christened New Albion. This action stirred up the Spaniards, who explored the coast of California, and in 1591-2 sent an Ionian Island pilot, Apostolos Valeriano (commonly called Juan de Fuca), in charge of an expedition to discover the imagined Straits of Anian. He gave strength to this idea of a continuous water route across temperate North America by entering (in 1592) the straits, since called Juan de Fuca, between Vancouver Island and the modern State of Washington, and passing thence into the Straits of Georgia, which bear a striking resemblance in their features to the Straits of Magellan. French explorers and adventurers, as we have seen, penetrated from the basin of the St. Lawrence to the north and west until they touched the southern extension of Hudson Bay (James's Bay), discovered Lake Winnipeg and the Saskatchewan Rivers, the upper Missouri and the whole course of the Mississippi, and finally recorded the existence of the Rocky Mountains. Parallel with these movements the British discovered the broad belt of sea between Greenland and North America and the whole area of Hudson Bay. After the French had ceased to reign in North America, the British were to reveal the great rivers flowing into the Arctic Ocean, the coasts and islands of the Arctic Ocean, the Yukon River, and the coasts and islands of British Columbia and Alaska. The first Europeans, however, to reach Alaska were Russians led by Vitus Bering, a great Danish sea captain in the Russian service. Bering was born in 1680 at Horsens, in the province of Aarhuus, E. Denmark, and entered the service of Peter the Great, who was desirous of knowing where Asia terminated and America began. Bering discovered the straits which bear his name in 1728, and in 1741 was wrecked and died on Bering's Island. Captain James Cook, the British discoverer of Australia and of so many Pacific islands, completed the work of Bering in 1788 in charting the north-west American coast right into the Arctic Ocean. It has already been related in Chapter III how the Hudson's Bay Chartered Company came to be founded. Soon after their first pioneers were established, in 1670, at Fort Nelson, on the west coast of Hudson Bay, near where York Factory now stands, there was born--or brought out from England as an infant--a little boy named Henry Kellsey, who as a child took a great fancy to the Amerindians who came to trade at Fort Nelson. As he played with them, and they returned his affection, he learnt their language, and--for some inconceivable reason--this gave great offence to the stupid governor of the fort (indeed, when Kellsey as a grown man, some years afterwards, compiled a vocabulary of the Kri language for the use of traders, the Hudson's Bay Company ordered it to be suppressed). Stupid Governor Geyer not only objected to Kellsey picking up the Kri language, but punished him most severely for that and for his boyish tricks and jokes; so much so, that Kellsey, when he was about ten years old, ran away with the returning Indians, some of whom had grown very fond of him whilst they stayed at Fort Nelson. Six years afterwards an Indian brought to the governor of the fort a letter written by Kellsey in charcoal on a piece of white birch bark. In this he asked the governor's pardon for running away, and his permission to return to the fort. As a kind reply was sent, Kellsey appeared not long afterwards grown into a young man, accompanied by an Indian wife and attended by a party of Indians. He was dressed exactly like them, but differed from them in the respect which he showed to his native wife. She attempted to accompany her husband into the factory or place of business, and the governor stopped her; but Kellsey at once told him in English that he would not enter himself if his wife was not suffered to go with him, and so the governor relented. After this Kellsey (who must then have been about seventeen) seems to have regularly enrolled himself in 1688 in the service of the Company, and he was employed as a kind of commercial traveller who made long journeys to the north-west to beat up a fur trade for the Company and induce tribes of Indians to make long journeys every summer to the Company's factory with the skins they had secured between the autumn and the spring. In this way Kellsey penetrated into the country of the Assiniboines, and he finally reached a more distant tribe or nation called by the long name of Néwátamipoet.[1] Kellsey first of all made for Split Lake, up the Nelson River, and thence paddled westwards in his canoe for a distance of 71 miles. Here he abandoned the canoe, and, for what he estimated as 316 miles, he tramped through a wooded country, first covered with fir and pine trees, and farther on with poplar and birch. Apparently he then reached a river flowing into Reindeer Lake. In a general way his steps must have taken him in the direction of Lake Athapaska. [Footnote 1: Spelt in the documents of the Hudson's Bay Company, Naywatame-poet.] On the way he had much trouble with the Assiniboin Indians and Kris, with whom he had caught up, and with whom he was to travel in the direction of these mysterious Néwátamipoets. The last-named tribe, who were probably of the Athapaskan group, had killed, a few months previously, three of the Kri women, and the Kri Indians who belonged to Kellsey's party were bent, above all things, on attacking the Néwátamipoets and punishing them for this outrage. Kellsey only wished to open up peaceful relations with them and create a great trade in furs with the Hudson's Bay Company, so he kept pleading with the Indians not to go to war with the Néwátamipoets. On this journey, however, one of the Kri Indians fell ill and died. The next day the body was burnt with much ceremony--first the flesh, and then the bones--and after this funeral the companions of the dead man began to reason as to the cause of his death, and suddenly blamed Kellsey. Kellsey had obstructed them from their purpose of avenging their slain women, therefore the gods of the tribe were angry and claimed this victim in the man who had died. Kellsey was very near being sent to the other world to complete the sacrifice; but he arranged for "a feast of tobacco"--in other words, a calm deliberation and the smoking of the pipe of peace. He explained to the angry Indians that his Company had not supplied him with guns and ammunition with which to go to war, but to induce them to embark on the fur trade and to kill wild animals for their skins. If, instead of this, they went to war, or injured him, they need never again go down to Fort Nelson for any further trade or supplies. Four days afterwards, however, the attention of the whole party was concentrated on bison. Bison could now be seen in abundance. Kellsey was already acquainted with the musk ox, which he had seen in the colder regions near to Hudson Bay; but the bison seemed to him quite different, with horns growing like those of an English ox, black and short. In the middle of September he reached the country of the Néwátamipoets, and presented to their chief, on behalf of the Hudson's Bay Company, a present of clothes, knives, awls, tobacco, and a gun, gunpowder, and shot. On this journey Kellsey encountered the grizzly bear, a more common denizen of the western regions of North America. According to his own account, he and one of the Indians with him were attacked by two grizzly bears and obliged to climb into the branches of trees. The bears followed them; but Kellsey fired and killed one, and later on the other also. For this feat he was greatly reverenced by the Indians, and received the name of Mistopashish, or "little giant". Kellsey afterwards rose to be governor of York Fort, on the west coast of Hudson Bay. The next great explorer ranging westward from Hudson Bay was Anthony Hendry.[2] Anthony Hendry left York factory in 1754, with a company of Kri Indians, to make a great journey of exploration to the west, and with the deliberate intention of wintering with the natives and not returning for that purpose to Hudson Bay. By means of canoe travel and portages he reached Oxford Lake. From here he gained Moose Lake, and soon afterwards "the broad waters of the Saskatchewan--the first Englishman to see this great river of the western plains".[3] Twenty-two miles upstream from the point where it reached the Saskatchewan he came to a French fort which had only been standing for a year, and which represented probably the farthest advance northwards of the French Canadians. [Footnote 2: The young or old reader of this and other books dealing with the exploration of the Canadian Dominion will be indeed puzzled between the various Hendrys and Henrys. The last-named was a prolific stock, from which several notable explorers and servants of the fur-trading companies were drawn. In this book a careful distinction must be made between the _Anthony_ Hendrey or Hendey, who commenced his exploration of the west in 1754; the unrelated _Alexander_ Henry the Elder, who journeyed between 1761 and 1776; and the nephew of the last-named, Alexander Henry the Younger, whose pioneering explorations occurred between 1799 and 1814.] [Footnote 3: _The Search for the Western Sea_, by Lawrence J. Burpee.] [Illustration: Map of EASTERN CANADA and NEWFOUNDLAND] The situation was a rather delicate one, for the Hudson's Bay Company was a thorn in the side of French Canada. However, in this year--1754--the two nations were not actually at war, and the two Frenchmen in charge of the fort received him "in a very genteel manner", and invited him into their home, where he readily accepted their hospitality. At first they spoke of detaining him till the commandant of the fort returned, but abandoned this idea after reflection, and Hendry continued his journey up the Saskatchewan. He then left the river and marched on foot over the plains which separate the North and the South Saskatchewan Rivers. The South Saskatchewan was found to be a high stream covered with birch, poplar, elder, and fir. He and his Indian guides were searching for the horse-riding Blackfeet Indians.[4] All the Amerindians known to the Hudson's Bay Company hitherto travelled on foot, using snowshoes in the winter; but vague rumours had reached the Company that in the far south-west there were great nations of Indians which did all their hunting on horseback. [Footnote 4: See p. 159.] Hendry had now found them, and he also met a small tribe of Assiniboins--the Mekesue or Eagle Indians--who differed from the surrounding tribes by going about, at any rate in the summertime, absolutely naked. Here, too, between the two Saskatchewans, they saw herds of bison on the plains grazing like English cattle. But they also found elk (moose), wapiti or red deer, hares, grouse, geese, and ducks. He records in his journal: "I went with the young men a-buffalo-hunting, all armed with bows and arrows; killed several; fine sport. We beat them about, lodging twenty arrows in one beast. So expert were the natives that they will take the arrows out of the buffalo when they are foaming and raging with pain and tearing up the ground with their feet and horns until they fall down." The Amerindians killed far more of these splendid beasts than they could eat, and from these carcasses they merely took the tongues and a few choice pieces, leaving the remainder to the wolves and the grizzly bears. At last they arrived at the temporary village of the Blackfeet. Two hundred tents or _tipis_ were pitched in two parallel rows, and down this avenue marched Anthony Hendry, gazed at silently by many Blackfeet Indians until he reached the large house or lodge of their great chief, at the end of the avenue of tents. This lodge was large enough to contain fifty persons. The chief received him seated on the sacred skin of a white buffalo. The pipe of peace was then produced and passed round in silence, each person taking a ceremonial puff. Boiled bison beef was then brought to the guests in baskets made of willow branches. Hendry told the great chief of the Blackfeet that he had been sent by the great leader of the white men at Hudson Bay to invite the Blackfeet Indians to come to these eastern waters in the summertime, and bring with them beaver and wolf skins, for which they would get, in return, guns, ammunition, cloth, beads, and other trade goods. But this chief, though he listened patiently, pointed out that this fort on Hudson Bay was situated at a very great distance, that his men only knew how to ride horses, and not how to paddle canoes. Moreover, they could not live without bison beef, and disliked fish. After leaving the headquarters of the Blackfeet, Hendry rambled over the beautiful country of fir woods and pine woods until he must have got within sight of the Rocky Mountains, though these are not mentioned in his journal. Then, after passing the winter (which did not begin as regards cold weather till the 2nd of December, and was over at the end of March) he returned to the French fort on the Saskatchewan, where he was received by the Commandant, de La Corne, with great kindness and hospitality. These Frenchmen, he found, were able to speak in great perfection several Indian languages; they were well dressed, and courtly in manners, and led a civilized life in these distant wilds. They had excellent trade goods and were sincerely liked by the Indians, but for some reason or other they lacked Brazilian tobacco, which seems to have been a commodity much in favour amongst the Indians. With this the Hudson's Bay Company were kept well supplied, and that alone enabled them in any degree to compete with the French. But in ten years more this French fort would be abandoned owing to the cession of Canada to Britain. The British, in fact, all through the first half of the eighteenth century, by their superiority in sea power, were steadily strangling the French empire in North America. Acadia, or Nova Scotia, and New Brunswick had been, as we have seen, recognized as British in 1713, and Newfoundland, also, subject to certain conditions, giving France the exclusive right to fish on the _western_ and _northern_ coasts of Newfoundland. The result was that when "New France", or Canada and Louisiana combined, was at its greatest extent of conquered and administered territory, France held but a very limited seacoast from which to approach it--just the mouth of the Mississippi, and a little bit of Alabama on the south and Cape Breton Island on the east. Cape Breton Island was commanded by the immensely strong fortress of Louisburg, and the possession of this place gave the French some security in entering the Gulf of St. Lawrence through Cabot Straits. But Louisburg was captured by the British colonists of New England (United States) in 1745; and although it was given back to France again, it was reoccupied in 1758, and served as a basis for the armaments which were directed against Quebec in 1759, and which resulted at the close of that year in the surrender of that important city. In 1763 all Canada was ceded to the British, and Louisiana (which had become the western barrier of the about-to-be-born United States) was ceded to Spain; the French flag flew no more on the Continent of North America, save in the two little islands of St. Pierre and Miquelon adjoining Newfoundland, wherein it still remains as a reminder of the splendid achievements of Frenchmen in America. CHAPTER IX The Pioneers from Montreal: Alexander Henry the Elder After 1763, when the two provinces of Canada were definitely ceded to Great Britain, the exploring energies of the Hudson's Bay Fur-trading Company revived. But before this rather sluggish organization could take full advantage of the cessation of French opposition, independent British pioneers were on their way to explore the vast north-west and west, soon carrying their marvellous journeys beyond the utmost limits reached by La Vérendrye and his sons. Eventually these pioneers, who had Montreal for their base and who wisely associated themselves in business and exploration with French Canadians, founded in 1784 a great trading association known as the North-west Trading Company. A few years later certain Scottish pioneers brought a rival exploration and trading corporation into existence and called it the "X.Y. Company". In 1804 these rival Montreal fur-trading associations were fused into a new North-west Trading Company. Between this and the old Hudson's Bay Company an intensely bitter rivalry and enmity--almost at times a state of war--arose, and continued until 1821, when the North-west Company and that of Hudson's Bay amalgamated. It is necessary that these dry details should be understood in order that the reader may comprehend the motives and reasons which prompted the journeys which are about to be described. Jonathan Carver, of Boston, U.S.A., was perhaps the pioneer of all the British traders into the far west of Canada, beyond Lake Superior, after Canada had been handed over to the British.[1] In 1766-7 he reached the Mississippi at its junction with the St. Peter or Minnesota River, and journeyed up it to the land of the Dakota. Thomas Currie, of Montreal, in 1770 travelled as far as Cedar Lake,[2] where there had been established the French post of Fort Bourbon. He was succeeded the next year by James Finlay, who extended his explorations to the Saskatchewan, whither he was followed by Alexander Henry the Elder in 1775. [Footnote 1: Carver was not so remarkable for his actual journeys as for his confident predictions of a feasible transcontinental route being found to the Pacific coast.] [Footnote 2: The white-barked conifer, which gives its name to this lake, is _Thuja occidentalis_. There are no real "cedars" in America.] Alexander Henry (styled The Elder to distinguish him from his famous nephew of the same name) was a native of New Jersey (U.S.A.), where he was born in 1739. His parents were well-to-do people of the middle class who are believed to have emigrated at the beginning of the eighteenth century from the West of England, and to have been related to Matthew Henry, the Bible commentator. Their son, Alexander, received a good education, and after some commercial apprenticeship at Albany (New York) came to Quebec when Canada was occupied by the British in 1760; at which period he was about twenty-one years old. He was in such a hurry to try a trading adventure in the country of the great lakes that he ventured into central Canada before it was sufficiently calmed down and reconciled to British rule. The hostility, curiously enough, manifested itself much more among the Amerindians than the settlers of French blood. These white men had not been so well treated by the arrogant French officers and officials as much to mind the change to the greater freedom of British government. But the Indian chiefs and people loved the French, largely owing to the goodness and solicitude of the missionaries. "The hostility of the Indians", wrote Henry in his journal, travelling along the coast of Lake Huron, "was exclusively against the English. Between them and my Canadian attendants, there appeared the most cordial goodwill. This circumstance suggested one means of escape, of which, by the advice of my friend, Campion, I resolved to attempt availing myself; namely, that of putting on the dress usually worn by such of the Canadians as pursue the trade into which I had entered, and assimilating myself, as much as I was able, to their appearance and manners. To this end I laid aside my English clothes and covered myself only with a cloth passed about the middle; a shirt, hanging loose; a 'molton', or blanket coat, and a large, red worsted cap. The next thing was to smear my face and hands with dirt and grease; and, this done, I took the place of one of my men, and, when the Indians approached, used the paddle with as much skill as I possessed. I had the satisfaction to find, that my disguise enabled me to pass several canoes without attracting the smallest notice." When he reached Fort Michili-makinak[3] he wrote: "At two o'clock in the afternoon, the Chipeways came to my house, about sixty in number, and headed by Minaváváná, their chief. They walked in single file, each with his tomahawk in one hand and scalping knife in the other. Their bodies were naked from the waist upward, except in a few examples, where blankets were thrown loosely over the shoulders. Their faces were painted with charcoal, worked up with grease; their bodies, with white clay, in patterns of various fancies. Some had feathers thrust through their noses, and their heads decorated with the same.... It is unnecessary to dwell on the sensations with which I beheld the approach of this uncouth, if not frightful assemblage. "The chief entered first, and the rest followed without noise. On receiving a sign from the former, the latter seated themselves on the floor. "Minaváváná appeared to be about fifty years of age. He was six feet in height, and had, in his countenance, an indescribable mixture of good and evil.... Looking steadfastly at me, where I sat in ceremony, with an interpreter on either hand and several Canadians behind me, he entered at the same time into conversation with Campion, enquiring how long it was since I left Montreal, and observing that the English, as it would seem, were brave men, and not afraid of death, since they dared to come, as I had done, fearlessly among their enemies." [Footnote 3: The famous place of call (the name means "Turtle Island") in the narrow strait between Lakes Huron and Michigan, and near Lake Superior. (See p. 230.) But some authorities declare that Michili-makinak means "Island of the great wounded person".] The Indians now gravely smoked their pipes, whilst Henry inwardly endured tortures of suspense. At length, the pipes being finished, a long pause of silence followed. Then Minaváváná, taking a few strings of wampum in his hand, began a long speech, of which it is only necessary to give a few extracts:-- "Englishman, it is to you that I speak, and I demand your attention! "Englishman, although you have conquered the French, you have not yet conquered us! We are not your slaves. These lakes, these woods and mountains, were left to us by our ancestors. They are our inheritance, and we will part with them to none. Your nation supposes that we, like the white people, cannot live without bread--and pork--and beef! But, you ought to know, that He, the Great Spirit and Master of Life, has provided food for us in these spacious lakes, and on these woody mountains. "Englishman, our father, the King of France, employed our young men to make war upon your nation. In this warfare many of them have been killed, and it is our custom to retaliate, until such time as the spirits of the slain are satisfied. But the spirits of the slain are to be satisfied in either of two ways. The first is by the spilling of the blood of the nation by which they fell; the other by covering the bodies of the dead, and thus allaying the resentment of their relations. This is done by making presents. "Englishman, your king has never sent us any presents, nor entered into any treaty with us, wherefore he and we are still at war; and, until he does these things, we must consider that we have no other father, nor friend, among the white men, than the King of France; but, for you, we have taken into consideration, that you have ventured your life among us in the expectation that we should not molest you. You do not come armed with an intention to make war; you come in peace, to trade with us, and supply us with necessaries, of which we are in want. We shall regard you, therefore, as a brother, and you may sleep tranquilly, without fear of the Chipeways.... As a token of our friendship, we present you with this pipe to smoke." When Minaváváná had finished his harangue, an Indian presented Henry with a pipe, the which, after he had drawn smoke through it three times, was carried back to the chief, and after him to every person in the room. This ceremony ended, the chief arose, and gave the Englishman his hand, in which he was followed by all the rest. At the Sault Ste Marie, on the river connecting Lake Superior and Huron, Henry spent part of the spring of 1763-4, and engaged with a few French Canadians and Indians in making maple sugar, the season for which--April--was now at hand. A temporary house for eight persons was built in a convenient part of the maple woods, distant about three miles from the fort. The men then gathered the bark of white birch trees, and made out of it vessels to hold the sap which was to flow from the incisions they cut in the bark of the maple trees. Into these cuts they introduced wooden spouts or ducts, and under them were placed the birch-bark vessels. When these were filled, the sweet liquid was poured into larger buckets, and the buckets were emptied into bags of elkskin containing perhaps a hundred gallons. Boilers (probably of metal, introduced by the French) were next set up in the camp over fires kept burning day and night, and the maple sap thus boiled became, by concentration, maple sugar. The women attended to all the business of sugar manufacture, while the men cut wood and went out hunting and fishing to secure food for the community; though, as a matter of fact, sugar and syrup were their main sustenance during all this absence from home. "I have known Indians", wrote Henry, "to live for a time wholly on maple sugar and syrup and become fat." The sap of the maple had certain medicinal qualities which were exceedingly good for persons who had previously been eating little else than meat and fish, so that the three weeks of sugar-boiling in Canada was, no doubt, a splendid assistance to the health of the natives. On this particular occasion described by Henry, the party returned, after three weeks' absence, to the Sault Ste Marie with 1600 lb. of maple sugar, and 36 gallons of syrup.[4] [Footnote 4: There are at least two species of maple in Canada yielding sugar from their sap; but the best is _Acer saccharinum_. The maple leaf is the national emblem of Canada.] Henry returned in the summer of 1763 to Fort Michili-makinak. The place was then held by a British garrison under Major Etherington. Shortly after Henry's arrival, an Ojibwé chief named Wáwátam came often to his lodgings, and, taking a great fancy to the Englishman, asked leave to become his blood brother. He was about forty-five years of age, and of an excellent character amongst his nation. He warned Henry that he, Wáwátam, had had bad dreams during the winter, in which he had been disturbed "by the noises of evil birds", and gave him other roundabout warnings that the Indians of different tribes were going to attack the British garrison at Michili-Makinak, and endeavour to destroy all the English in Upper Canada. Henry did not pay over much attention to this warning, because "the Indian manner of speech is so extravagantly figurative". The King's birthday was celebrated with, no doubt, somewhat tipsy rejoicings in the summer of 1763. The Ojibwé Indians outside the fort pretended they were going to have a great game of La Crosse with the S[¯a]ki or "Fox" Indians. This game was got up to find a pretext for entering the fort and taking the British officers and garrison at a disadvantage. Some of the officers and soldiers, suspecting nothing in the way of danger, were outside the fort by the waterside. However, the sport commenced, and suddenly the ball was struck over the pickets of the fort. At once the Ojibwés, pretending great ardour in their game, came leaping, struggling and shouting over the defences into the fort as though "in the unrestrained pursuit of a rude, athletic exercise". Once inside the fortifications, they attacked the unsuspicious and unarmed soldiers and officers, of whom they killed seventy out of ninety. Henry had not gone with the others, but had stayed in his room writing letters. Suddenly he heard the Indian warcry and a noise of general confusion. Looking out of his window he saw a crowd of Indians inside the fort furiously cutting down and scalping every Englishman they could reach. Meantime, the French Canadian inhabitants of the fort looked on calmly, neither intervening to stop the Indians, nor suffering any injury from them. Realizing that all his fellow countrymen were practically destroyed, Henry endeavoured to hide himself. He entered the house of his next-door neighbour, a Frenchman, and found the whole family at the windows gazing at the scene of blood before them. He implored this Frenchman to put him into some place of safety until the massacre was over. The latter merely shrugged his shoulders and intimated that he could do nothing for him; but a Pani Indian woman, a slave of this Frenchman, beckoned to Henry to follow her, and hid him in a garret. Then the Indians burst into the house and asked the Frenchman if he had got any Englishmen concealed, the latter returned an evasive answer, telling them to search for themselves. Henry hid himself under a heap of birch-bark vessels, which were used in maple-sugar manufacture. The door was unlocked, the four Indians dashed in, their bodies covered with blood, and armed with tomahawks. The hidden man thought that the throbbing of his heart must make a noise loud enough to betray him. The Indians searched the garret, and one of them approached Henry so closely as almost to touch him; yet he remained undiscovered, possibly owing to the dark colour of his clothes and the dim light in the room. Then the Indians, after describing to the Frenchman how many they had killed and scalped, returned downstairs, and the door was locked behind them. But the next day the Indians insisted on a further search, and, regarding every attempt at concealment as vain, Henry, by a desperate resolve, rose from his bed and presented himself in full view to the Indians as they entered the room. They were all in a state of intoxication and entirely naked. One of them, upwards of six feet in height, had all his face and body covered with charcoal and grease, but with a large white ring encircling each of his eyes. This man, walking up to Henry, seized him with one hand by the collar of his coat, and in the other held up a large carving knife, making a feint as if to plunge it into his breast, his eyes meanwhile fixed steadfastly on those of the Englishman. At length, after some seconds of the most anxious suspense, he dropped Henry's arm, saying: "I won't kill you," adding that he had often fought in war with the English and brought away many scalps, but that on a certain occasion he had lost a brother whose name was Musinigon, and that he would adopt Henry in his place. One would like the story to have stopped here at this happy turn of events, but Wenniway (as this saviour of Henry was called) entertained a very fickle regard for his adopted brother, and, though he once or twice intervened, subsequently took no great pains to see that his life was spared. However, for the time being he was reprieved, and regarded Wenniway as his "master". Nevertheless, he was soon haled out of the house by another Indian, apparently coming with Wenniway's authority. This man ordered him to undress, and then took away all his clothes, giving him such dirty rags or strips of leather as he possessed himself. He frankly owned that his motive for stripping him was that, as he wished afterwards to kill him, Henry's clothes might not be stained with blood! With the intention of assassinating him, in fact, he dragged Henry along to a region of bushes and sandhills, and then produced a knife and attempted to execute his purpose. But with the rage and strength of absolute despair Henry wrenched himself free, pushed his would-be murderer on one side, and ran for his life towards the fort. Here Wenniway rather indifferently helped him to take refuge in the house of the Frenchman in which he had formerly hidden, but the same night he was roused from sleep and ordered to come below, where to his surprise he found himself in the presence of three of the British officers who had formerly commanded in this fort, and who were now prisoners of the Ojibwés. The Indian chiefs for the time being had handed these men over to the surveillance of the French Canadians, together with the seventeen surviving English soldiers and traders. Henry, like the others, was almost without clothes. The French Canadian in whose house he had taken refuge refused to give him as much as a blanket, but another Canadian, less indifferent to the sufferings of a fellow white man, did give him a blanket, but for which he would certainly have perished from cold. The next day he and the other English prisoners were embarked in canoes and taken away to Lake Michigan. On reaching the mouth of that lake, at the Beaver Islands, the Ojibwé canoes, on account of the fog, were obliged to approach the lands of the Ottawa Indians. These last suddenly seized the canoes as they entered shallow water, and professed great indignation at the capture of Fort Michili-Makinak and the slaughter of the Englishmen. They declared their intention of saving the survivors, and charged the Ojibwés with being about to kill and eat them. By the Ottawa Indians, therefore, the twenty Englishmen were carried back again and deposited in Fort Michili-Makinak, which was now taken possession of by the Ottawas. The English were still held as prisoners. After hearing all the Ojibwés had to say, and receiving from them large presents, the Ottawas finally decided to restore their English prisoners to the Ojibwés, who consequently took them away with ropes tied round their necks, and put them into an Indian habitation. Here, as they were starving, they were offered loaves of bread, but with the horrible accompaniment of seeing the slices cut with knives still covered with the blood of the murdered English. The Ojibwés moistened this blood on the knife blades with their spittle, and rubbed it on the slices of bread, offering this food then to their prisoners, so that they might force them to eat the blood of their countrymen. The next morning, however, there appeared before Ménéhewéhná, the great war chief of the Ojibwés, Henry's friend and adopted brother, Wáwátam. This man made an earnest speech to the council of Ojibwé chiefs and braves, in which he pleaded hard for the Englishman's life, at the same time tendering from out of his own goods a considerable ransom. After much pipe-smoking and an embarrassing silence, the war chief rose to his feet and accepted the ransom, giving Wáwátam permission to take away into safety his adopted brother. "Wáwátam led me to his lodge, which was at the distance of a few yards only from the prison lodge. My entrance appeared to give joy to the whole family; food was immediately prepared for me; and I now ate the first hearty meal which I had made since my capture. I found myself one of the family; and, but that I had still my fears as to the other Indians, I felt as happy as the situation could allow." The next day seven of the English prisoners were killed by the Ojibwés, and Henry actually saw their dead bodies being dragged out into the open. They had been killed in cold blood by an Indian chief who had just arrived from a hunting expedition, and who, not having been present at the attack on the fort, now desired to satisfy his warlike instincts and his agreement with the policy of the Ojibwés by going into the lodge where the English officers and men were tied up, and slaughtering seven of them in cold blood. Shortly afterwards two of the Ojibwés took the fattest amongst the dead men, cut off his head, and divided his body into five parts, one of which was put into each of five kettles hung over as many fires, which were kindled for this purpose at the door of the house in which the other prisoners were tied up. They then sent to insist on the attendance at their cannibal feast of Wáwátam, the adopted brother and protector of Henry. The invitation was delivered after the Amerindian fashion. A small cutting of cedar wood about four inches in length supplies the place of the written or printed invitation to dinner of European civilization, and the man who bore the slip of cedar wood gave particulars as to place and time by word of mouth. Guests on these occasions were expected to bring their own dish and spoon. In spite of repugnance, Wáwátam, to save his life and that of Henry, was obliged to go. He returned after an absence of half an hour, bringing back in his dish the portion given to him--a human hand and a large piece of flesh. His objection to eat this gruesome food was apparently not very deep or persistent. He excused the custom by saying that amongst all Amerindian nations there existed this practice of making a war feast from out of the bodies of the slain after a successful battle. Soon after this episode of horror the Ojibwés abandoned Fort Michili-Makinak, for fear the English should come to attack it. Henry was hidden by his adopted brother, Wáwátam, in a cave, where he found himself by the light of the next morning sleeping on a bed of human bones, which the night before he had taken to be twigs and boughs. The whole of the cave was, in fact, filled with these human remains. No one knew or remembered the reason. Henry thought that the cave had been an ancient receptacle for the bones of persons who had been sacrificed and devoured at war feasts; for, however contemptuous they may be of the flesh, the Amerindians paid particular attention to the bones of human beings--whether friends, relations, or enemies--preserving them unbroken, and depositing them in some place kept exclusively for that purpose. The great chief of the Ojibwés, however, advised that Henry, who had rejoined Wáwátam, should be dressed in disguise as an Indian to save him from any further harm, for the natives all round about were preparing for what they believed to be an inevitable war with the English. "I could not but consent to the proposal, and the chief was so kind as to assist my friend and his family in effecting that very day the desired metamorphosis. My hair was cut off, and my head shaved, with the exception of a spot on the crown, of about twice the diameter of a crown piece. My face was painted with three or four different colours; some parts of it red, and others black. A shirt was provided for me, painted with vermilion, mixed with grease. A large collar of wampum[5] was put round my neck, and another suspended on my breast. Both my arms were decorated with large bands of silver above the elbow, besides several smaller ones on the wrists; and my legs were covered with _mitasses_, a kind of hose, made, as is the favourite fashion, of scarlet cloth. Over all I was to wear a scarlet blanket or mantle, and on my head a large bunch of feathers. I parted, not without some regret, with the long hair which was natural to it, and which I fancied to be ornamental; but the ladies of the family, and of the village in general, appeared to think my person improved, and now condescended to call me handsome, even among Indians." [Footnote 5: Shell beads.] He then went away to live with his protectors, and with them passed a by no means unhappy autumn, winter, and spring, hunting and fishing. Here are some of his adventures at this period. "To kill beaver, we used to go several miles up the rivers, before the approach of night, and after the dusk came on, suffer the canoe to drift gently down the current, without noise. The beavers, in this part of the evening, come abroad to procure food, or materials for repairing their habitations, and as they are not alarmed by the canoe, they often pass it within gunshot. "On entering the River Aux Sables, Wáwátam took a dog, tied its feet together, and threw it into the stream, uttering, at the same time, a long prayer, which he addressed to the Great Spirit, supplicating his blessing on the chase, and his aid in the support of the family, through the dangers of a long winter. Our 'lodge' was fifteen miles above the mouth of the stream. The principal animals, which the country afforded, were red deer (wapiti), the common American deer, the bear, racoon, beaver, and marten. "The beaver feeds in preference on young wood of the birch, aspen, and poplar tree[6]; but, in defect of these, on any other tree, those of the pine and fir kinds excepted. These latter it employs only for building its dams and houses. In wide meadows, where no wood is to be found, it resorts, for all its purposes, to the roots of the rush and water lily. It consumes great quantities of food, whether of roots or wood; and hence often reduces itself to the necessity of removing into a new quarter. Its house has an arched dome-like roof, of an elliptical figure, and rises from three to four feet above the surface of the water. It is always entirely surrounded by water; but, in the banks adjacent, the animal provides holes or _washes_, of which the entrance is below the surface, and to which it retreats on the first alarm. "The female beaver usually produces two young at a time, but not unfrequently more. During the first year, the young remain with their parents. In the second, they occupy an adjoining apartment, and assist in building, and in procuring food. At two years old, they part, and build houses of their own; but often rove about for a considerable time before they fix upon a spot. There are beavers, called, by the Indians, _old bachelors_, who live by themselves, build no houses, and work at no dams, but shelter themselves in holes. The usual method of taking these is by traps, formed of iron, or logs, and baited with branches of poplar. "According to the Indians, the beaver is much given to jealousy. If a strange male approaches the cabin, a battle immediately ensues. Of this the female remains an unconcerned spectator, careless as to which party the law of conquest may assign her. The Indians add that the male is as constant as he is jealous, never attaching himself to more than one female. "The most common way of taking the beaver is that of breaking up its house, which is done with trenching tools, during the winter, when the ice is strong enough to allow of approaching them; and when, also, the fur is in its most valuable state. "Breaking up the house, however, is only a preparatory step. During this operation, the family make their escape to one or more of their _washes_. These are to be discovered by striking the ice along the bank, and where the holes are, a hollow sound is returned. After discovering and searching many of these in vain, we often heard the whole family together in the same wash. I was taught occasionally to distinguish a full wash from an empty one, by the motion of the water above its entrance, occasioned by the breathing of the animals concealed in it. From the washes, they must be taken out with the hands; and in doing this, the hunter sometimes receives severe wounds from their teeth. Whilst I was a hunter with the Indians, I thought beaver flesh was very good; but after that of the ox was again within my reach, I could not relish it. The tail is accounted a luxurious morsel. "One evening, on my return from hunting, I found the fire put out, and the opening in the top of the lodge covered over with skins--by this means excluding, as much as possible, external light. I further observed that the ashes were removed from the fireplace, and that dry sand was spread where they had been. Soon after, a fire was made withoutside the cabin, in the open air, and a kettle hung over it to boil. "I now supposed that a feast was in preparation. I supposed so only, for it would have been indecorous to enquire into the meaning of what I saw. No person, among the Indians themselves, would use this freedom. Good breeding requires that the spectator should patiently wait the result. "As soon as the darkness of night had arrived, the family, including myself, were invited into the lodge. I was now requested not to speak, as a feast was about to be given to the dead, whose spirits delight in uninterrupted silence. "As we entered, each was presented with his wooden dish and spoon, after receiving which we seated ourselves. The door was next shut, and we remained in perfect darkness. "The master of the family was the master of the feast. Still in the dark, he asked everyone, by turn, for his dish, and put into each two boiled ears of maize. The whole being served, he began to speak. In his discourse, which lasted half an hour, he called upon the manes of his deceased relations and friends, beseeching them to be present, to assist him in the chase, and to partake of the food which he had prepared for them. When he had ended, we proceeded to eat our maize, which we did without other noise than what was occasioned by our teeth. The maize was not half boiled, and it took me an hour to consume my share. I was requested not to break the spikes,[7] as this would be displeasing to the departed spirits of their friends. "When all was eaten, Wáwátam made another speech, with which the ceremony ended. A new fire was kindled, with fresh sparks, from flint and steel; and the pipes being smoked, the spikes were carefully buried, in a hole made in the ground for that purpose, within the lodge. This done, the whole family began a dance, Wáwátam singing, and beating a drum. The dance continued the greater part of the night, to the great pleasure of the lodge. The night of the feast was that of the first day of November." [Footnote 6: _Populus nigra_, called by the French Canadians _liard_.] [Footnote 7: The grains of maize (Indian corn) grow in compact cells, round a pithy core.] In the month of January, Henry happened to observe that the trunk of a very large pine tree was much torn by the claws of a bear, made both in going up and down. On further examination he saw there was a large opening, in the upper part, near which the smaller branches were broken. From these marks, and from the additional circumstances that there were no tracks on the snow, there was reason to believe that a bear lay concealed in the tree. He communicated his discovery to his Indian friends, and it was agreed that all the family should go together in the morning to cut down the tree, the girth of which was not less than eighteen feet! This task occupied them for one and a half days with their poor little axes, till about two o'clock in the second afternoon the tree fell to the ground. For a few minutes everything remained quiet, and Henry feared that all his expectations would be disappointed; but, as he advanced to the opening, there came out a female bear of extraordinary size, which he had shot and killed before she had proceeded many yards. "The bear being dead, all my assistants approached, and all, but more particularly my old mother, (as I was won't to call her), took the bear's head in their hands, stroking and kissing it several times; begging a thousand pardons for taking away her life; calling her their relation and grandmother; and requesting her not to lay the fault upon them, since it was truly an Englishman that had put her to death. "This ceremony was not of long duration; and if it was I that killed their grandmother, they were not themselves behindhand in what remained to be performed. The skin being taken off, we found the fat in several places six inches deep. This, being divided into two parts, loaded two persons; and the flesh parts were as much as four persons could carry. In all, the carcass must have exceeded five hundredweight. "As soon as we reached the lodge, the bear's head was adorned with all the trinkets in the possession of the family, such as silver armbands and wristbands, and belts of wampum; and then laid upon a scaffold, set up for its reception, within the lodge. Near the nose was placed a large quantity of tobacco. "The next morning no sooner appeared, than preparations were made for a feast to the manes. The lodge was cleaned and swept; and the head of the bear lifted up, and a new Stroud blanket, which had never been used before, spread under it. The pipes were now lit; and Wáwátam blew tobacco smoke into the nostrils of the bear, telling me to do the same, and thus appease the anger of the bear, on account of my having killed her. "At length, the feast being ready, Wáwátam commenced a speech, resembling, in many things, his address to the manes of his relations and departed companions; but, having this peculiarity, that he here deplored the necessity under which men laboured, thus to destroy their _friends_. He represented, however, that the misfortune was unavoidable, since without doing so, they could by no means subsist. The speech ended, we all ate heartily of the bear's flesh; and even the head itself, after remaining three days on the scaffold, was put into the kettle. The fat of our bear was melted down, and the oil filled six porcupine-skin bags. A part of the meat was cut into strips, and fire-dried, after which it was put into the vessels containing the oil, where it remained in perfect preservation, until the middle of summer." In the spring of 1762 Henry once more returned to Fort Michili-Makinak, and went sugar-making with his Indian companions. Whilst engaged in this agreeable task, a child belonging to one of the party fell into a kettle of boiling syrup. It was instantly snatched out, but with little hope of its recovery. So long, however, as it lived, a continual feast was observed; and this was made "to the Great Spirit and Master of Life", that he might be pleased to save and heal the child. At this feast Henry was a constant guest; and often found some difficulty in eating the large quantity of food which, on such occasions as these, was put upon his dish. Several sacrifices were also offered; among which were dogs, killed and hung upon the tops of poles, with the addition of blankets and other articles. These, also, were yielded to the Great Spirit, in the humble hope that he would give efficacy to the medicines employed. But the child died. To preserve the body from the wolves it was placed upon a scaffold, and then later carried to the borders of a lake, on the border of which was the burial ground of the family. "On our arrival there, which happened in the beginning of April, I did not fail to attend the funeral. The grave was made of a large size, and the whole of the inside lined with birch bark. On the bark was laid the body of the child, accompanied with an axe, a pair of snowshoes, a small kettle, several pairs of common shoes, its own strings of beads, and--because it was a girl--a carrying belt and a paddle. The kettle was filled with meat. All this was again covered with bark; and at about two feet nearer the surface logs were laid across, and these again covered with bark, so that the earth might by no means fall upon the corpse. "The last act before the burial, performed by the mother, crying over the dead body of her child, was that of taking from it a lock of hair for a memorial. While she did this, I endeavoured to console her by offering the usual arguments: that the child was happy in being released from the miseries of this present life, and that she should forbear to grieve, because it would be restored to her in another world, happy and everlasting. She answered that she knew it, and that by the lock of hair she should discover her daughter; for she would take it with her. In this she alluded to the day when some pious hand would place in her own grave, along with the carrying belt and paddle, this little relic, hallowed by maternal tears." After many ups and downs of hope and despair, and many narrow escapes of being killed and made into broth for warlike Ojibwés, Henry at length obtained permission to travel with a party of Ojibwé Indians who were invited to visited Sir William Johnson at Niagara. This British Governor of Canada was attempting to enter into friendly relations with the Amerindian tribes, and induce them to accept quietly the transference of Canada from French to English control. [Illustration: SCENE ON CANADIAN RIVER: WILD SWANS FLYING UP DISTURBED BY BEAR] Before starting, however, to interview this great White Governor, the Ojibwés decided to consult their oracle, the Great Turtle, after which Fort Michili-Makinak was named.[8] Behind Fort Michili-Makinak is an extraordinary mound or hill of stone supposed to resemble this reptile exactly, and in fact to be in some way the residence of a supernatural giant turtle. [Footnote 8: Michili, pronounced "Mishili", means "great", and Makinak, "turtle", in the translation of some Canadian writers. The turtle in question is, of course, not the turtle of sea waters, but the Snapping Turtle (_Chelydra serpentina_) found in most Canadian lakes and the big rivers of North America, east of the Rocky Mountains.] For invoking and consulting the Great Turtle, the first thing to be done was to build a large house, within which was placed a kind of tent, for the use of the priest and reception of the spirit. The tent was formed of moose skins, hung over a framework of wood made out of five pillars of five different species of timber, about ten feet in height and eight inches in diameter, set up in a circle of four feet in diameter, with their bases two feet deep in the soil. At the top the pillars were bound together by a circular hoop of withies. Over the whole of this edifice were spread the moose skins, covering it at top and round the sides, and made fast with thongs of the same, except that on one side a part was left unfastened, to admit of the entrance of the priest. The ceremonies did not commence till the approach of night. To give light inside the house several fires were kindled round the tent. Nearly the whole village assembled in the house, Alexander Henry among the rest. It was not long before the priest appeared, almost in a state of nakedness. As he approached the tent the skins were lifted up, as much as was necessary to allow of his creeping under them on his hands and knees. His head was scarcely within side when the edifice, massive as it has been described, began to shake; and the skins were no sooner let fall than the sounds of numerous voices were heard beneath them--some yelling, some barking as dogs, some howling like wolves; and in this horrible concert were mingled screams and sobs of despair, anguish, and the sharpest pain. Articulate speech was also uttered, as if from human lips, but in a tongue unknown to any of the audience. After some time these confused and frightful noises were succeeded by a perfect silence; and now a voice, not heard before, seemed to manifest the arrival of a new character in the tent. This was low and feeble, resembling the cry of a young puppy. The sound was no sooner distinguished than all the Indians clapped their hands for joy, exclaiming that this was the Chief Spirit, the Turtle, the Spirit that never lied! Other voices, which they had distinguished from time to time, they had previously hissed, as recognizing them to belong to evil and lying spirits, the deceivers of mankind. Then came from the tent a succession of songs, in which a diversity of voices met the ear. From his first entrance, till these songs were finished, we heard nothing in the proper voice of the priest. But now he addressed the multitude, declaring the presence of the Great Turtle, and the spirit's readiness to answer such questions as should be proposed. The questions were to come from the chief of the village, who was silent, however, till after he had put a large quantity of tobacco into the tent, introducing it at the aperture. This was a sacrifice offered to the spirit; for the spirits were supposed by the Indians to be as fond of tobacco as themselves. This done, the chief desired the priest to enquire: Whether or not the English were preparing to make war upon the Indians? and whether or not there were at Fort Niagara a large number of English troops? The priest was heard to put the questions, and then the tent shook and rocked so violently that Henry expected to see it levelled with the ground. But apparently answers were given, after which a terrific cry announced, with sufficient intelligibility, the departure of the Turtle. Subsequently the priest interpreted the Great Turtle's answers, which gave a great deal of information regarding the disposition and numbers of the English soldiers, and the presents which Sir William Johnson was preparing for the Ojibwés; and which finally approved the wisdom of the embassy proceeding on its way. Journeying along the shores of Lake Huron, they stopped to avoid a gale of wind and to rest. Henry, gathering firewood, disturbed a rattlesnake which manifested hostile intentions. He went back to the canoe to fetch his gun; but upon telling the Ojibwés that he was about to kill a rattlesnake they begged him to desist. They then seized their pipes and tobacco pouches and returned with him to the place where he had left the rattlesnake, which was still coiled up and angry. "The Indians, on their part, surrounded it, all addressing it by turns, and calling it their _grandfather_; but yet keeping at some distance. During this part of the ceremony they filled their pipes; and now each blew the smoke towards the snake, who, as it appeared to me, really received it with pleasure. In a word, after remaining coiled, and receiving incense for the space of half an hour, it stretched itself along the ground, in visible good humour. Its length was between four and five feet. Having remained outstretched for some time, at last it moved slowly away, the Indians following it, and still addressing it by the title of grandfather, beseeching it to take care of their families during their absence, and to be pleased to open the heart of Sir William Johnson, so that he might _show them charity_, and fill their canoe with rum. "One of the chiefs added a petition, that the snake would take no notice of the insult which had been offered him by the Englishman, who would even have put him to death, but for the interference of the Indians, to whom it was hoped he would impute no part of the offence." Early the next morning they proceeded on their way, with a serene sky and very little wind, so that to shorten the journey they determined to steer across the lake to an island which just appeared on the horizon. But after hoisting a sail the wind increased, and the Indians, beginning to be alarmed, frequently called on the rattlesnake to come to their assistance. By degrees the waves grew high, and at last it blew a hurricane, Henry and his companions expecting every moment to be swallowed up. From prayers the Indians now proceeded to sacrifices, both alike offered to the god-rattlesnake, or _manito-kinibik_. One of the chiefs took a dog, and, after tying its fore legs together, threw it overboard, at the same time calling on the snake to preserve the party from being drowned, and desiring him to satisfy his hunger with the carcass of the dog. The snake was unpropitious, and the wind increased. Another chief sacrificed another dog, with the addition of some tobacco. In the prayer which accompanied these gifts he besought the snake, as before, not to avenge upon the Indians the insult which he had received from the Englishman. "He assured the snake that I was _absolutely_ an Englishman, and of kin neither to him nor to them." "At the conclusion of this speech, an Indian, who sat near me, observed, that if we were drowned it would be for my fault alone, and that I ought myself to be sacrificed, to appease the angry manito; nor was I without apprehensions, that in case of extremity this would be my fate; but, happily for me, the storm at length abated, and we reached the island safely." The next day they arrived at the shore of Lake Ontario. Here they remained two days to make canoes out of the bark of the elm tree, in which they might travel to Niagara. For this purpose the Indians first cut down a tree, then stripped off the bark in one entire sheet of about eighteen feet in length, the incision being lengthwise. The canoe was now complete as to its bottom and sides. Its ends were next closed, by sewing the bark together; and a few ribs and bars being introduced, the architecture was finished. In this manner they made two canoes; of which one carried eight men, and the other nine. A few days later Henry was handed over safe and sound to Sir William Johnson at Niagara. He was then given the command of a corps of Indian allies which was to accompany the expedition under General Bradstreet to raise the siege of Detroit, which important place had been long invested by a great Indian chief, Pontiac, who still carried on the war on behalf of King Louis XV. This enterprise was successful, and British control was extended to many places in central Canada. Henry returned to Fort Michili-Makinak and regained much of the property which he had lost in the Indian attacks. As some compensation for his former sufferings he received from the British commandant of Michili-Makinak the exclusive fur trade of Lake Superior. The currency at that period, and long before, in Canadian history, was in beaver skins, which were approximately valued at the price of two shillings and sixpence a pound. Otter skins were valued at six shillings each, and marten skins at one shilling and sixpence, and others in proportion; but all these things were classed at being worth so many beaver skins or proportion of beaver skins. Thus, for example, the native canoemen and porters engaged by Henry for his winter hunts were paid each at the rate of a hundred pounds weight of beaver skins.[9] [Footnote 9: The smallest change, so to speak, was the skin of a marten, worth one shilling and sixpence. If you went to a canteen for a drink you paid your score with a marten skin, unless the value of your refreshment exceeded the sum of eighteen pence.] At various places on the River Ontonagan, which flows into Lake Superior, Henry was shown the extraordinary deposits of copper, which presented itself to the eye in masses of various weight. The natives smelted the copper and beat it into spoons and bracelets. It was so absolutely pure of any alloy that it required nothing but to be beaten into shape. In one place Henry saw a mass of copper weighing not less than five tons, pure and malleable, so that with an axe he was able to cut off a portion weighing a hundred pounds. He conjectured that this huge mass of copper had at some time been dislodged from the side of a lofty hill and thence rolled into the position where he found it. Farther to the north of Lake Superior he found pieces of virgin copper remarkable for their form, some resembling leaves of vegetables, and others the shapes of animals. In these journeys he collected some of the native traditions, amongst others that of the Great Hare, Naniboju, who was represented to him as the founder or creator of the Amerindian peoples. An island in Lake Superior was called Naniboju's burial place. Henry landed there, and "found on the projecting rocks a quantity of tobacco, rotting in the rain; together with kettles, broken guns, and a variety of other articles. His spirit is supposed to make this its constant residence; and here to preside over the lake, and over the Indians, in their navigation and fishing." In the spring of the following year (1768), whilst the snow still lay many feet thick on the ground, he and his men made sugar from the maple trees on a mountain, and for nearly three weeks none of them ate anything but maple sugar, consuming a pound a day, desiring no other food, and waxing fat and strong on this diet. Then they returned to the banks of the Ontonagan River, where the wild fowl appeared in such abundance that one man, with a muzzle-loading gun, could kill in a day sufficient birds for the sustenance of fifty men. As soon as the ice and snow had melted, parties of Indians came in from their winter's hunt, bringing to Henry furs to pay him for all the goods he had advanced. In this way the whole of his outstanding credit was satisfied, with the exception of thirty skins, which represented the contribution due from one Indian who had died. In this case even, the man's family had sent all the skins they could gather together, and gradually acquitted themselves of the amount due, in order that the spirit of the dead man might rest in peace, which it could not do if his debts were not acquitted. In the following autumn he had an experience which showed him how near famine was to great abundance, and how ready the Amerindians were in cases of even slight privation to turn cannibal, kill and eat the weaker members of the party. He was making an excursion to the Sault de Sainte Marie, and took with him three half-breed Canadians and a young Indian woman who was journeying in that direction to see her relations. As the distance was short, and they expected to obtain much fish by the way, they only took with them as provisions a quart of maize for each person. On the first night of their journey they encamped on the island of Naniboju and set their net to catch fish. But there arose a violent storm, which continued for three days, during which it was impossible for them to take up the net or to leave the island. In consequence of this they ate up all their maize. On the evening of the third day the storm abated, and they rushed to examine the net. It was gone! It was impossible to return to the point of their departure, where there would have been plenty of food, on account of the strong wind against them. They therefore steered for the Sault de Sainte Marie. But the wind veered round, and for nine days blew a strong gale against their progress in this direction, making the waves of the lake so high that they were obliged to take refuge on the shore. Henry went out perpetually to hunt, but all he got during those nine days were two small snow-buntings. The Canadian half-breeds with him then calmly proposed to kill and feed upon the young woman. One of these men, indeed, admitted that he had had recourse to this expedient for sustaining life when wintering in the north-west and running out of food. But Henry indignantly repudiated the suggestion. Though very weak, he searched everywhere desperately for food, and at last found on a very high rock a thick lichen, called by the French Canadians _tripe de roche_,[10] looking, in fact, very much like slices of tripe. Henry fetched the men and the Indian woman, and they set to work gathering quantities of this lichen. The woman was well acquainted with the mode of preparing it, which was done by boiling it into a thick mucilage, looking rather like the white of an egg. On this they made hearty meals, though it had a bitter and disagreeable taste. After the ninth day of their sufferings the wind fell, they continued their journey, and met with kindly Indians, who supplied them with as many fish as they wanted. Nevertheless, they all were so ill afterwards that they nearly died, from the effects of the lichen diet. [Footnote 10: See p. 128.] Some time after this Henry resolved to search for the marvellous island of Yellow Sands,[11] an island of Lake Superior which, it is true, the French had discovered, but about which they kept up a good deal of mystery. The Indian legend was that the sands of this small island consisted of gold dust, and the Ojibwé Indians, having discovered this, and attempting to bring some away, they were disturbed by a supernatural being of amazing size, sixty feet in height, which strode into the water and commanded them to deliver back what they had taken away. Terrified at his gigantic stature, they complied with his request, since which time no Indian has ever dared to approach the haunted coast. Henry, however, with his men, finally discovered this Island of Yellow Sands in 1771, in the north-east part of Lake Superior. It was much smaller than he had been led to expect, and very low and studded with small lakes, probably made by the action of beavers damming up the little streams. He found no supernatural monster to dispute the island with him, but a number of large reindeer, so unused to the sight of man that they scarcely got out of his way, so that he was able to shoot as many as he wanted. The ancestors of these reindeer may have reached the island either by floating ice or by swimming. They seem, with the birds, to have been the island's only inhabitants, and to have increased and multiplied to a remarkable extent, small portions of the island's surface being actually formed of immense accumulations of reindeer bones. [Footnote 11: The Isle of Yellow Sands, famed in legend for its terrible serpents and ogre sixty feet high, was subsequently identified with the Ile de Pont Chartrain, which is distant sixty miles from the north shore of Lake Superior.] Amongst the birds of the island, besides geese and pigeons, were hawks. No serpents whatever were seen by the party, but Henry remarks that the hawks nearly made up for them in abundance and ferocity. They appeared very angry at the intrusion of these strangers on the sacred island, and hovered round perpetually, swooping at their faces and even carrying off their caps. In 1775 Henry, having been greatly disappointed over an attempt to work the copper of Lake Superior, entered with vigour into a fur trade with the north-west. He penetrated from Lake Superior to the Lake of the Woods and reached the great Lake Winnipeg. Here he encountered the Kristino,[12] Knistino, or Kri Indians. He found these people very different in appearance from the other Amerindian tribes farther south. The men were almost entirely naked in spite of the much colder climate. Their bodies were painted with an ochre or clay so red that it was locally known by the French Canadians as vermilion. Every man and boy had his bow strung and in his hand, with the arrow, ready to attack in case of need. Their heads were shaved all over except for a large spot on the crown. Here the hair grew very long, and was rolled and gathered into a tuft; and this tuft, which was the object of the greatest care, was covered with a piece of skin. The lobes of their ears were pierced, and through the opening was inserted the bones of fish or small beasts. The women wore their hair in great length all over the head. It was divided by a parting, and on each side was collected into a roll fastened above the ear and covered with a piece of painted skin or ornamented with beads. The clothing of the women was of leather, the dressed skins of buffalo or deer. This cloak was fastened round the waist by a girdle, and the legs were covered with leather gaiters. The Kristino men were eager that their women should marry Europeans, because the half-breed children proved to be bolder warriors and better hunters than themselves. Henry found that although the Kris were much addicted to drunkenness they were peaceable when inebriated, and, moreover, detached two of their number, who refused ever to touch the liquor under such circumstances, in order that they might guard the white men, and not allow any drunken Indian to approach their camp. [Footnote 12: See p. 166.] Henry and his party, after crossing Lake Winnipeg, ascended the Saskatchewan (in the autumn of 1775). On their way up this river they came to a village of Paskwaya Indians, which consisted of thirty families, who were lodged in tents of a circular form, composed of dressed bison skins stretched upon poles twelve feet in length. On their arrival the chief of this village, named Chatik, which name meant Pelican,[13] called the party rather imperiously into his lodge or meeting house, and then told them very plainly that his armed men exceeded theirs in number, and that he would put the whole of the party to death unless they were very liberal in their presents. To avoid misunderstanding, he added that he would inform them exactly what it was that he required: Three casks of gunpowder, four bags of shot and ball, two bales of tobacco, three kegs of rum, and three guns, together with knives, flints, and other articles. He went on to say that he had already seen white men, and knew that they promised more than they performed. He, personally, was a peaceful man, who contented himself with moderate views in order to avoid quarrels; nevertheless, he desired that an immediate answer should be given before the strangers quitted his lodge. A hurried consultation took place, and Henry could do nothing but comply with the chief's demands, for he was powerless to resist. Having, therefore, intimated his acceptance of these demands, he was invited to smoke the pipe of peace, and then obtained permission to depart. After this the goods demanded were handed over, but Chatik managed to snatch more rum from them before they got safely away. [Footnote 13: Elsewhere Henry observes the great numbers of pelicans to be seen on Lake Winnipeg.] In the winter of 1776 Henry, who, together with his party, had received welcome hospitality from the Hudson's Bay Company's station at Cumberland House, resolved to reach the western region known as the Great Plains, or Prairies--that immense tract of country through which flow the Athabaska, the Saskatchewan, the Red River, and the Missouri. He and his party, of course, travelled on snowshoes, and their goods were packed on sledges made of thin boards, and drawn after them by the men. The cold was intense, so that, besides wearing very warm woollen clothes, they were obliged to wrap themselves in blankets of beaver skin and huge bison robes. On these plains there were occasional knolls covered with trees, which were usually called "islands". These provided the precious fuel which alone enabled the travellers to support the intense cold of the nights. After fifteen days of very difficult travel, during which it had been impossible to kill any game, as the beasts were mostly hidden in the dense woods on these rare hillocks, the situation of his party became alarming. They were now on the borders of the plains, and the trees were getting small and scanty. On the twentieth day of their journey they had finished the last remains of their provisions. But Henry had taken the precaution of concealing a large cake of chocolate[14] as a reserve in case of great need. His men had walked till they were exhausted, and had lost both strength and hope, when Henry informed them of the treasure which was still in store. They filled the big kettle with snow. It held two gallons of water, and into this was put one square of the chocolate. The quantity was scarcely sufficient to give colour to the water, but each man drank off a gallon of this hot liquor and felt much refreshed. The next day they marched vigorously for six hours on another two gallons of chocolate and water. For five days the chocolate kept them going, though more by faith than by any actual nourishment that it imparted. They now began to be surrounded by large herds of wolves, who seemed to be conscious of their dire extremity and the probability that they would soon fall an easy prey, yet were cunning enough to keep out of gunshot. At last, however, at sunset on the fifth day, they discovered on the ice the remains of an elk's carcass on which the wolves had left a little flesh. From these elk bones a meal of strong and excellent soup was soon prepared, and the men's bodies thrilled with new life. [Footnote 14: Chocolate from St. Domingue (Haiti) was a favourite form of portable nutriment among the French Canadians, who also provided a means of subsistence for long journeys called _praline_. This was made of roasted Indian corn on which sugar had been sprinkled. It was a most nourishing food, as well as being an agreeable sweet-meat.] "Want had lost his dominion over us. At noon we saw the horns of a red deer, standing in the snow, on the river. On examination we found that the whole carcass was with them, the animal having broken through the ice in the beginning of the winter, in attempting to cross the river, too early in the season; while his horns, fastening themselves in the ice, had prevented him from sinking. By cutting away the ice we were enabled to lay bare a part of the back and shoulders, and thus procure a stock of food amply sufficient for the rest of our journey. We accordingly encamped, and employed our kettle to good purpose, forgot all our misfortunes, and prepared to walk with cheerfulness the twenty leagues which, as we reckoned, still lay between ourselves and Fort des Prairies. Though the deer must have been in this situation ever since the month of November, yet its flesh was perfectly good. Its horns alone were five feet high or more, and it will therefore not appear extraordinary that they should be seen above the snow." The next day they reached the Fort des Prairies, established by the Hudson's Bay people, on the verge of the Assiniboin country. The journey was resumed in company with Messrs. Patterson and Holmes, and accompanied by a band of natives. They had entered the bison country, and were regaled by the Indians with bison tongue and beef. "Soon after sunrise we descried a herd of oxen (bison) extending a mile and a half in length, and too numerous to be counted. They travelled, not one after another, as, in the snow, other animals usually do, but, in a broad phalanx, slowly, and sometimes stopping to feed.... Their numbers were so great that we dreaded lest they should fairly trample down the camp; nor could it have happened otherwise, but for the dogs, almost as numerous as they, who were able to keep them in check. The Indians killed several when close upon their tents, but neither the fire of the Indians nor the noise of the dogs could soon drive them away." The poor animals were more frightened of the frightful snowstorm which was raging than of what man or dog might do to them in the shelter of the woods. At last the party reached the residence of the great chief of the Assiniboins, whose name was "Great Road". These Amerindians received Henry and his people with the greatest respect, giving them a bodyguard, armed with bows and spears, who escorted them to the lodge or tent prepared for their reception. This was of circular form, covered with leather, and not less than twenty feet in diameter. On the ground within, bison skins were spread for beds and seats. "One-half of the tent was appropriated to our use. Several women waited upon us, to make a fire and bring water, which latter they fetched from a neighbouring tent. Shortly after our arrival these women brought us water, unasked for, saying that it was for washing. The refreshment was exceedingly acceptable, for on our march we had become so dirty that our complexions were not very distinguishable from those of the Indians themselves." Invited to feast with the great chief, they proceeded to the tent of "Great Road", which they found neither more ornamented nor better furnished than the rest. At their entrance the chief arose from his seat, saluted them in the Indian manner by shaking hands, and addressed them in a few words, in which he offered his thanks for the confidence which they had reposed in him in trusting themselves so far from their own country. After all were seated, on bearskins spread on the ground, the pipe, as usual, was introduced, and presented in succession to each person present. Each took his whiff, and then let it pass to his neighbour. The stem, which was four feet in length, was held by an officer attendant on the chief. The bowl was of red marble or pipe stone. When the pipe had gone its round, the chief, without rising from his seat, delivered a speech of some length, after which several of the Indians began to weep, and they were soon joined by the whole party. "Had I not previously been witness" (writes Henry) "to a weeping scene of this description, I should certainly have been apprehensive of some disastrous catastrophe; but, as it was, I listened to it with tranquillity. It lasted for about ten minutes, after which all tears were dried away, and the honours of the feast were performed by the attending chiefs." This consisted in giving to every guest a dish containing a boiled bison's tongue. Henry having enquired why these people always wept at their feasts, and sometimes at their councils, he was answered that their tears flowed to the memory of their deceased relations, who were formerly present on these occasions, and whom they remembered as soon as they saw the feast or the conference being got ready.[15] [Footnote 15: The Assiniboins (whom Henry calls the Osinipoilles) are the Issati of older travellers, and have sometimes been called the Weeper Indians, from their tendency to tears.] The chief to whose kindly reception they were so much indebted was about five feet ten inches high, and of a complexion rather darker than that of the Indians in general. His appearance was greatly injured by the condition of his head of hair, and this was the result of an extraordinary superstition. "The Indians universally fix upon a particular object, as sacred to themselves; as the giver of their prosperity, and as their preserver from evil. The choice is determined either by a dream, or by some strong predilection of fancy; and usually falls upon an animal, or part of an animal, or something else which is to be met with, by land, or by water; but 'Great Road' had made choice of his _hair_--placing, like Samson, all his safety in this portion of his proper substance! His hair was the fountain of all his happiness; it was his strength and his weapon, his spear and his shield. It preserved him in battle, directed him in the chase, watched over him on the march, and gave length of days to his wife and children. Hair, of a quality like this, was not to be profaned by the touch of human hands. I was assured that it had never been cut nor combed from his childhood upward, and, that when any part of it fell from his head, he treasured up that part with care: meanwhile, it did not escape all care, even while growing on the head; but was in the special charge of a spirit, who dressed it while the owner slept. All this might be; but the spirit's style of hairdressing was at least peculiar; the hair being suffered to remain very much as if it received no dressing at all, and matted into ropes, which spread themselves in all directions." From this Assiniboin village Henry saw, for the first time, one of those herds of horses which the Assiniboins possessed in numbers. The herd was feeding on the skirts of the plain. The horses were provided with no fodder, but were left to find food for themselves, which they did in winter by removing the snow with their feet till they reach the grass. This was everywhere on the ground in plenty. Amongst these people they saw the paunch or stomach of a bison employed as a kettle. This was hung in the smoke of a fire and filled with snow. As the snow melted, more was added, till the paunch was full of water. The lower orifice of the organ was used for drawing off the water, and stopped with a plug and string. Henry also noticed amongst the Assiniboins the celebrated lariat. This is formed of a stone of about two pounds weight, which is sewed up in leather and made fast to a wooden handle two feet long. In using it the stone is whirled round the handle by a warrior sitting on horseback and riding at full speed. Every stroke which takes effect brings down a man, a horse, or a bison. To prevent the weapon from slipping out of the hand, a string, which is tied to the handle, is also passed round the wrist of the wearer. Alexander Henry extended his travels in the north-west within four hundred and fifty miles of Lake Athabaska. He met at this point some Chipewayan slaves in the possession of the Assiniboins, and heard from them (1) of the Peace River in the far west which led one through the Rocky Mountains (he uses that name) to a region descending towards a great sea (the Pacific Ocean); and (2) of the Slave River which, after passing through several lakes, also reached a great sea on the north. This, of course, was an allusion to the Mackenzie River. Here were given and recorded the chief hints at possible lines of exploration which afterwards sent Alexander Mackenzie and other explorers on the journeys that carried British-Canadian enterprise and administration to the shores of the Pacific and Arctic Oceans. After 1776 Alexander Henry ceased his notable explorations of the far west. In that year he paid a visit to England and France, returning to Canada in 1777. Whilst in France he was received at the French Court and had the privilege of relating to Queen Marie Antoinette some of his wonderful adventures and experiences. After two more visits to England he settled down at Montreal as a merchant (autumn of 1780), and in 1784 he joined with other great pioneers in founding, at Montreal, The North-west Trading Company. Eventually he handed over his share in this enterprise to his nephew, Alexander Henry the Younger, and established himself completely in a life of ease and quiet. He died at Montreal in 1824, aged eighty-five years. CHAPTER X Samuel Hearne The first noteworthy explorer of the far north was SAMUEL HEARNE,[1] who had been mate of a vessel in the employ of the whale fishery of Hudson Bay. He entered the service of the Hudson's Bay Company about 1765, and was selected four years afterwards by the Governor of Prince of Wales's Fort (a certain Moses Norton, a half-breed) to lead an expedition of discovery in search of a mighty river flowing northwards, which was rumoured to exist by the Eskimo. This "Coppermine" River was said to flow through a region rich in deposits of copper. From this district the northern tribes of Indians derived their copper ornaments and axeheads. [Footnote 1: Hearne was born in London in 1745. He entered the Royal Navy as a midshipman at the tender age of eleven, and remained in the Navy till about 1765, when he went out to Hudson Bay with the rank of quartermaster. He must have acquired a considerable education, even in botany and zoology. He not only wrote well, and was a good surveyor for rough map making, but he had a considerable talent as a draughtsman.] Samuel Hearne started on the 6th of November, 1769, from Prince of Wales's Fort at the mouth of the Churchill River, on the north-west coast of Hudson Bay. Presumably he and the two "common white men" who were with him travelled on snowshoes and hauled small sledges after them. Travelling westward they passed over bleak hills with very little vegetation--"the barren grounds, where, in general, we thought ourselves well off if we could scrape together as many shrubs as would make a fire; but it was scarcely ever in our power to make any other defence against the weather than by digging a hole in the snow down to the moss, wrapping ourselves up in our clothing, and lying down in it, with our sledges set up edgeways to windward". But the principal Indian guide that he engaged was so obviously determined to make the expedition a failure that Hearne returned to his base, Prince of Wales's Fort, and made a second start on the 23rd of February, 1770, this time taking care not to be accompanied by any other white men, and insisting that the Indians who accompanied him should be more carefully chosen. It must be remembered that in all these early expeditions, French and English, the explorers relied for their food almost entirely on what could be obtained as they went along, in the way of venison, grouse, geese, fish, and wild fruits. In the springtime they would probably get goose eggs and some form of maple sugar through the Indians. From the summer to the autumn there would be an abundance of wild fruits and nuts, but for the rest of the year it would be a diet almost entirely of flesh or fish. As a stand-by there was probably _pemmican_, made in times of plenty from fish, from bison meat and fat, or from the dried flesh of deer or musk oxen; but tea, coffee, bread, biscuits, and such like accessories were absolutely unknown to them, in fact they lived exactly as the Amerindians did. Their habitations, of course, were the tents or houses of the natives, or what they made for themselves. In order to pitch an Indian tent in winter it was first necessary to search for a level piece of dry ground, and this could only be ascertained by thrusting a stick through the snow, down to the ground, all over the proposed plot. When a suitable site had been found the snow was then cleared away down to the very moss, in the shape of a circle. When a prolonged stay was contemplated, even the moss was cut up and removed, as it was very liable when dry to catch fire. A quantity of poles were then procured, proportionate in number and length to the size of the tent cloth and the number of persons the tent was intended to contain. Two of the longest poles were tied together at the top and raised to an angle of about 45 degrees from the ground, so that the lower ends extended on either side as widely as the proposed diameter of the tent. The other poles were then arranged on either side of the first two, so that they formed a complete circle round the bottom, and their points were tied together at the top. The tent cloth was usually of thin moose leather, and in shape resembled the vane of a fan, so that the large outer curve enclosed the bottom of the poles, and the smaller one fitted round the apex of the poles at the top, leaving an open space which let out the smoke and let in air and light. The fire was made on the ground in the centre of the floor, which floor was covered all over with small branches of firs and pines serving as seats and beds. Pine foliage and branches were laid round the bottom of the poles on the outside, and a quantity of snow was packed all round the exterior of the tent, thus excluding a great part of the external air, and contributing much to the warmth within. For a month or more Hearne camped in this fashion by the side of a lake, waiting till the season was sufficiently open for him to continue his journey by water. He and his party of Indians lived mainly on fish, but when these became scarce they attempted to snare grouse or kill deer. In the intervals of rare meals all the party smoked or slept, unless they were obliged to go out to hunt and fish. They would delight, after killing deer, in securing as much as possible of the blood and turning it into broth by boiling it in a kettle with fat and scraps of meat. This was reckoned a dainty dish. Their spoons, dishes, and other necessary household furniture were cut out of birch bark. [Illustration: LAKE LOUISE, THE ROCKY MOUNTAINS] By the 19th of May, geese, swans, ducks, gulls, and other birds of passage were so plentiful, flying from south to north, and halting to rest at the lake, that Hearne felt the time had come to resume his journey, provisions being now very plentiful and the worst of the thaw over. The weather was remarkably fine and pleasant as the party travelled northwards. There must have been good patent medicines even in those days. Of these Hearne possessed "Turlington's Drops" and "Yellow Basilicon", and with these he not only healed the terrible wounds of a valuable Indian who had cut his leg most severely (when making birch-bark dishes, spoons, &c), but also the hand of another Indian, which was shattered with the bursting of a gun. These medicines soon restored the use of his hand, so that in a short time he was out of danger, while the carver of birch-bark spoons was able to walk. Nevertheless, although they were to the south of the 60th degree of latitude, the snow was not completely melted until the end of June. All at once the weather became exceedingly hot, the sledges had to be thrown away, and each man had to carry on his back a heavy load. For instance, Hearne was obliged to carry his quadrant for taking astronomical observations, and its stand; a trunk containing books and papers, &c.; a large compass; and a bag containing all his wearing apparel; also a hatchet, a number of knives, files, &c., and several small articles intended for presents to the natives--in short, a weight of _sixty pounds_. Moreover, the barren ground was quite unsuited to the pitching of the southern type of tent, the poles of which obviously could not be driven into the bare rock, so that Hearne was obliged to sleep in the open air in all weathers. Very often he was unable to make a fire, and was constantly reduced to eating his meat quite raw. "Notwithstanding these accumulated and complicated hardships, we continued in perfect health and good spirits." The average day's walk was twenty miles, sometimes without any other subsistence than a pipe of tobacco and a drink of water. At last they saw three musk oxen grazing by the side of a small lake. This seemed a splendid piece of fortune, but, to their mortification, before they could get one of them skinned, a tremendous downpour of rain ensued, so as to make it out of their power to have a fire, for their only form of fuel was moss. And the flesh of the musk ox eaten raw was disgusting; it was coarse and tough, and tasted so strongly of musk that Hearne could hardly swallow it. "None of our natural wants," he writes, "except thirst, are so distressing or hard to endure as hunger.... For want of action, the stomach so far loses its digestive powers that, after long fasting, it resumes its office with pain and reluctance." After these prolonged fasts, his stomach was scarcely able to contain two or three ounces of food without producing the most agonizing pain. "We fasted many times two whole days and nights, and twice for three days; once for nearly seven days, during which we tasted not a mouthful of anything, except a few cranberries, water, scraps of old leather, and burnt bones." At a place 63° north latitude he bought a canoe for a single knife "the full value of which did not exceed one penny", having been told that they would soon reach rivers through which they could not wade. And, moreover, they found an Indian who was willing to carry it. In July his guide persuaded him to join an encampment of natives--about six hundred persons living in seventy tents--asserting that, as it was no use proceeding much farther north in their search for the Coppermine River that season, it would be well to winter to the west, and resume their northern journey in the spring. The country, though quite devoid of trees, and mostly barren rock, was covered with a herb or shrub called by the Indian name of Wishakapakka,[2] from which the European servants of the Hudson's Bay Company had long been used to prepare a kind of tea by steeping it in boiling water. Here there were multitudes of reindeer feeding on the _Cladina_ lichen and the Indians with Hearne killed large numbers for the food of the party, and also for their skins and the marrow in their bones. [Footnote 2: This word is said to be a corruption or altered form of _Wishakagami[¯u]_, a liquid or broth (Kri language). The drink made from this shrub or herb (_Ledum palustre_) is now known as Labrador tea. It is a bitter aromatic infusion.] The Indian who had volunteered to carry the canoe proved unequal to his task. But Hearne found another of his carriers who was willing to take the burden. In order, therefore, to be readier with his gun to shoot deer, he transferred a portion of his own load to the ex-canoe carrier. This portion consisted of the invaluable quadrant and its stand, and a bag of gunpowder. The gunpowder was of such importance to Hearne and his party that one wonders he made this exchange; for if he lost this powder he had no means of killing game, and was entirely dependent for food on the troop of Indians with whom he was travelling, and whom he knew to be most niggardly and inhospitable. Judge, therefore, of his horror when, at the end of a day's march, this weakly Indian porter was missing with his load. All night Hearne was unable to sleep with anxiety, and the whole of the next day he spent searching the rocky ground for miles to discover some sign of the missing man. At that season of the year it was like looking for a needle in a pottle of hay, for there was no snow, and equally no herbage, on which a man's foot could leave traces. However, at last, by some miracle, they discovered the load by the banks of a little river where a party of Indians had crossed. Shortly afterwards, leaving his quadrant on its stand for a few minutes, whilst he went to eat his dinner, a violent wind arose and blew the whole thing on to the rocks, so that the quadrant was smashed and rendered useless. On this account he determined once more to return to Fort Prince of Wales. The Northern Indians[3] with whom Hearne travelled backwards towards the fort were most inhospitable, not to say dangerous. They robbed him of most of his goods, and refused to allow their women to assist his people to dress the reindeer skins out of which it would be necessary shortly to make coverings to protect them from the severe cold of the autumn. In fact Hearne was in rather a desperate condition by September, 1770, when he was joined by a party of Indians under a famous leader, whom he calls Matonabi. [Footnote 3: The Indians of the Athapaskan or Déné group were usually called the _Northern Indians_ by the Hudson Bay people, in comparison to all the other tribes of the more temperate regions farther south, who were known as the _Southern Indians_ (Algonkins, &c.).] Matonabi, though of Athapaskan stock, had, when a boy, resided several years at Prince of Wales's Fort, and learnt a little English, and, above all, was a master of several Algonkin dialects or languages, so that he could discourse with the Southern Indians. As soon as he heard of Hearne's distress he furnished him with a good, warm suit of skins, and had the reindeer skins dressed for the Indian carriers who accompanied Hearne. In journeying together, Matonabi invited him to return once more, with himself as guide, to discover the copper mines. "He attributed all our misfortunes to the misconduct of my guides, and the very plan we pursued, by the desire of the Governor, in not taking any women with us on this journey, was, he said, the principal thing that occasioned all our wants. 'For,' said he, 'when all the men are heavy laden, they can neither hunt nor travel to any considerable distance; and in case they meet with success in hunting, who is to carry the produce of their labour?' 'Women,' added he, 'were made for labour; one of them can carry, or haul, as much as two men can do. They also pitch our tents, make and mend our clothing, keep us warm at night; and, in fact, there is no such thing as travelling any considerable distance, or for any length of time, in this country, without their assistance.' 'Women,' said he again, 'though they do everything, are maintained at a trifling expense; for as they always stand cook, the very licking of their fingers in scarce times is sufficient for their subsistence.' "This," added Hearne, "however odd it may appear, is but too true a description of the situation of women in this country: it is at least so in appearance; for the women always carry the provisions, though it is more than probable they help themselves when the men are not present." On the 7th of December, 1770, Samuel Hearne started again from Prince of Wales's Fort, Hudsons Bay, but under very much happier circumstances, Matonabi being practically in charge of the expedition. Unfortunately, on reaching the Egg River, where Matonabi's people had made a _cache_ or hiding place in which they had stored a quantity of provisions and implements, they found that other Indians had discovered this hiding place and robbed it of nearly every article. This was a great disappointment to Matonabi's people; but Hearne remarks the fortitude with which they bore this, nor did one of them ever speak of revenge. But the expedition's scarcity of food obliged them to push on from morning till night, day after day; yet the road being very bad, and their sledges heavy, they were seldom able to do more than eighteen miles a day. Hearne himself writes that he never spent so dull a Christmas. For the last three days he had not tasted a morsel of anything, except a pipe of tobacco and a drink of snow water, yet he had to walk daily from morning till night heavily laden. However, at the end of December they reached Island Lake, where they entered a camp of Matonabi's people, and here they found a little food in the way of fish and dried venison. From Island Lake they made their way in a zigzag fashion, stopping often to drive reindeer into pounds to secure large supplies of venison and of skins, till, in the month of April, 1771, they reached a small lake with an almost unpronounceable name, which meant "Little Fish Hill", from a high hill which stood at the west end of this sheet of water. On an island in this lake they pitched their tents, as deer were very numerous. During this time also they were busily employed in preparing staves of birch wood, about seven or eight feet long, to serve as tent poles in the summer, and in the winter to be converted into snowshoe frames. Here also Chief Matonabi purchased another wife. He had now with him no less than seven, most of whom would for size have made good grenadiers. He prided himself much on the height and strength of his wives, and would frequently say few women could carry off heavier loads. In fact in this country wives were very seldom selected for their beauty, but rather for their strength. "Ask a Northern Indian," wrote Hearne, "'What is beauty?' He will answer: 'A broad, flat face, small eyes, high cheekbones, three or four broad black lines across each cheek, a low forehead, a broad chin, a clumsy hook nose, and a tawny hide.'" But the model woman amongst these Indians was one who was capable of dressing all kinds of skins and making them into clothing, and who was strong enough to carry a load of about a hundred pounds in weight in summer, and to haul perhaps double that weight on a sledge in winter. "As to their temper, it is of little consequence; for the men have a wonderful facility in making the most stubborn comply with as much alacrity as could possibly be expected." When the men kill any large beast the women are always sent to bring it to the tent. When it is brought there, every operation it undergoes, such as splitting, drying, pounding, is performed by the women. When anything is prepared for eating it is the women who cook it; and when it is done, not even the wives and daughters of the greatest chiefs in the country are served until all the males--even the male slaves--have eaten what they think proper. In times of scarcity it was frequently the lot of the women to be left without a single mouthful; though, no doubt, they took good care to help themselves in secret. [Illustration: SAMUEL HEARNE; ALEXANDER MACKENZIE] Hearne mentions that in this country among the Northern Indians the names of the boys were various and generally derived from some place, or season of the year, or animal; whilst the names of the girls were chiefly taken from some part or property of a marten,[4] such as the white marten, the black marten, the summer marten, the marten's head, foot, heart, or tail. [Footnote 4: A fur-bearing animal (_Mustela americana_), very like the British pine marten.] From the Lake of Little Fish Hill the party moved on to Lake Clowey, and here the Northern Indians set to work to build their canoes in the warm and dry weather, which was about to come in at the end of May. These canoes were very slight and simple in construction and wonderfully light, which was necessary, for some of the northern portages might be a hundred to one hundred and fifty miles in length, over which the canoes would have to be carried by the Indians. All the tools employed in those days, in building such canoes and making snowshoes and all the other furniture and utensils of Indian life, consisted of a _hatchet_, a _knife_, a _file_, and an _awl_ obtained from the stores of the Hudson's Bay Company. In the use of these tools they were so dexterous that everything they manufactured was done with a neatness which could not be excelled by the most expert mechanic. These northern canoes were flat-bottomed, with straight, upright sides, and sharp prow and peak. The stern part of the canoe was wider than the rest in order to receive the baggage. The average length of the canoe would be from twelve to thirteen feet, and the breadth in the widest part about two feet. Generally but a single paddle was used, and that rather attenuated. When transporting the canoes from one river to another, a strong band of bark or fibre would be fastened round the thwarts of the canoe, and then slung over the breast and shoulders of the Indian that was carrying it. From Lake Clowey the northern progress was made on foot, steady and fatiguing walking over the barren grounds. The wooded region had been left behind to the south; but for a distance of about twenty miles outside the living woods there was a belt of dry stumps more or less ancient. According to Hearne, these vestiges of trees to the north of the present forest limit were an indication that the climate had grown colder during the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, because, according to the traditions of the Indians and the remembrances of their old people, the forest had formerly extended much farther to the north. Whilst they were staying for the canoe building at Lake Clowey, Hearne was a great deal bothered by the domestic troubles of his Indian friend Matonabi. This man had been constantly trying to add to his stock of wives as he passed up country, and at Clowey he had met the former husband of one of these women whom he had carried off by force. The man ventured to reproach him, whereupon Matonabi went into his tent, opened one of his wives' bundles, and with the greatest composure took out a new, long, box-handled knife; then proceeded to the tent of the man who had complained, and without any parley whatever took him by the collar and attempted to stab him to death. The man had already received three bad knife wounds in the back before other people, rushing in to his assistance, prevented Matonabi from finishing him. After this, Matonabi returned to his tent as though nothing had happened, called for water, washed the blood off his hands and knife, and smoked his pipe as usual, asking Hearne if he did not think he had done quite right! "It has ever been the custom among those people for the men to wrestle for any woman to whom they are attached; and of course the strongest party always carries off the prize. A weak man, unless he be a good hunter and well beloved, is seldom permitted to keep a wife that a stronger man thinks worth his notice; for at any time when the wives of those strong wrestlers are heavy laden either with furs or provisions, they make no scruple of tearing any other man's wife from his bosom and making her bear a part of his luggage. This custom prevails throughout all their tribes, and causes a great spirit of emulation among their youth, who are upon all occasions, from their childhood, trying their strength and skill in wrestling. This enables them to protect their property, and particularly their wives, from the hands of those powerful ravishers, some of whom make almost a livelihood by taking what they please from the weaker parties without making them any return. Indeed it is represented as an act of great generosity if they condescend to make an unequal exchange, as, in general, abuse and insult are the only return for the loss which is sustained. "The way in which they tear the women and other property from one another, though it has the appearance of the greatest brutality, can scarcely be called fighting. I never knew any of them receive the least hurt in these _rencontres_; the whole business consists in hauling each other about by the hair of the head; they are seldom known either to strike or kick one another. It is not uncommon for one of them to cut off his hair and to grease his ears immediately before the contest begins. This, however, is done privately; and it is sometimes truly laughable to see one of the parties strutting about with an air of great importance, and calling out: 'Where is he? Why does he not come out?' when the other will bolt out with a clean-shorn head and greased ears, rush on his antagonist, seize him by the hair, and, though perhaps a much weaker man, soon drag him to the ground, while the stronger is not able to lay hold of him. It is very frequent on those occasions for each party to have spies, to watch the other's motions, which puts them more on a footing of equality. For want of hair to pull, they seize each other about the waist, with legs wide extended, and try their strength by endeavouring to vie who can first throw the other down." "Early in the morning of the twenty-ninth 'Captain' Keelshies (an Indian) joined us. He delivered to me a packet of letters and a two-quart keg of French brandy, but assured me that the powder, shot, tobacco, knives, &c, which he received at the fort for me, were all expended. He endeavoured to make some apology for this by saying that some of his relations died in the winter, and that he had, according to native custom, thrown all his own things away; after which he was obliged to have recourse to my ammunition and other goods to support himself and a numerous family. The very affecting manner in which he related this story, often crying like a child, was a great proof of his extreme sorrow, which he wished to persuade me arose from the recollection of his having embezzled so much of my property; but I was of a different opinion, and attributed his grief to arise from the remembrance of his deceased relations. However, as a small recompense for my loss, he presented me with four ready-dressed moose skins, which was, he said, the only retribution he could then make. The moose skins, though not the twentieth part of the value of the goods which he had embezzled, were in reality more acceptable to me than the ammunition and the other articles would have been, on account of their great use as shoe leather, which at that time was a very scarce article with us, whereas we had plenty of powder and shot." During Hearne's stay at Lake Clowey a great number of Indians entered into a combination with those of his party to travel together to the Coppermine River, with no other intent than to murder the Eskimo who frequented that river in considerable numbers. Before leaving Lake Clowey all the Northern Indians who had assembled there prepared their arms for the encounter, and did not forget to make shields before they left the woods of Clowey. These shields were composed of thin boards about three-quarters of an inch thick, two feet broad, and three feet long, and were intended to ward off the arrows of the Eskimo. When the now large expedition reached a river with the fearful name of Congecathawhachaga, they found a portion of the tribe known as Copper Indians,[5] and these had never before seen a white man. They gave a very friendly reception to Hearne on account of Matonabi. [Footnote 5: Or "Tantsawh[¯u]ts". Like the "Dog-rib" Indians, mentioned farther on, they belonged to the "Northern", Tinné, Athabaskan type.] "They expressed as much desire to examine me from top to toe as a European naturalist would a nondescript animal. They, however, found and pronounced me to be a perfect human being, except in the colour of my hair and eyes; the former, they said, was like the stained hair of a buffalo's tail, and the latter, being light, were like those of a gull. The whiteness of my skin also was, in their opinion, no ornament, as they said it resembled meat which had been sodden in water till all the blood was extracted. On the whole I was viewed as so great a curiosity in this part of the world that during my stay there, whenever I combed my head, some or other of them never failed to ask for the hairs that came off, which they carefully wrapped up, saying: 'When I see you again, you shall again see your hair'." The Copper Indians sent a detachment of their men in the double capacity of guides and warriors, and the whole party now turned towards the north-west, and after some days' walking reached the Stony Mountains. "Surely no part of the world better deserves that name", wrote, Hearne. They appeared to be a confused heap of stones quite inaccessible to the foot of man. Nevertheless, with the Copper Indians as guides, they got over this range, though not without being obliged frequently to crawl on hands and knees. This range, however, had been so often crossed by Indians coming to and fro that there was a very visible path the whole way, the rocks, even in the most difficult places, being worn quite smooth. By the side of the path there were several large, flat stones covered with thousands of small pebbles. These marks had been gradually built up by passengers going to and fro from the copper mines in the far north. The weather all this time, although the month was July, was very bad--constant snow, sleet, and rain. Hearne seldom had a dry garment of any kind, and in the caves where they lodged at night the water was constantly dropping from the roof. Their food all this time was raw venison. One snowstorm which fell on them was heavier than was customary even in the winter, but at last the weather cleared up and sunshine made the journey far more tolerable. As they descended the northern side of the Stony Mountains they crossed a large lake, passing over its unmelted ice, and called it Musk-ox Lake, from the number of these creatures which they found grazing on the margin of it. This was not the first time that Hearne had seen the musk ox. These animals were wont to come down as far south as the shores of Hudson Bay. On the northern side of the Stony Mountains Hearne was taken by the Indians to see a place which he called Grizzly-bear Hill, which took its name from the numbers of those animals (presumably what we call grizzly bears) which resorted here for the purpose of bringing forth their young in a cave in this hill. On the east side of the adjoining marsh Hearne was amazed at the sight of the many hills and dry ridges, which were turned over like ploughed land by the long claws of these bears in searching for the ground squirrels and mice which constitute a favourite part of their food. It was surprising to see the enormous stones rolled out of their beds by the bears on these occasions. As they neared the Coppermine River the weather became very warm, and the country had a good supply of firewood. Reindeer were abundant, and, the Indians having killed some of these, Hearne sat down to the most comfortable meal he had had for some months. It was a kind of haggis, called by the Amerindians "biati", made with the blood of the reindeer, a good quantity of fat shredded small, some of the tenderest of the flesh, together with the heart and lungs, cut, or more commonly torn, into small slivers--all which would be put into the stomach, and roasted by being suspended before the fire by a string. Care had to be taken that it did not get too much heat at first, as the bag would thereby be liable to be burnt and the contents be let out. When it was sufficiently done it emitted steam, "which", writes Hearne, "is as much as to say: 'Come, eat me now'; and if it be taken in time, before the blood and other contents are too much done, it is certainly a most delicious morsel, even without pepper, salt, or any other seasoning." It was now almost impossible to sleep at night for the mosquitoes, which swarmed in myriads as soon as the warmth of the sun melted the ice and snow. When Hearne actually reached the banks of the Coppermine River he was a little disappointed at its appearance, as it seemed to be only one hundred and eighty yards wide, shallow, and full of shoals. The Chipewayan Amerindians with him now sent out their spies to try and locate the Eskimo. Presently they found that there were five tents of them on the west side of the river. "When the Indians received this intelligence no further attendance or attention was paid to my survey, but their whole thoughts were immediately engaged in planning the best method of attack, and how they might steal on the poor Eskimo the ensuing night and kill them all when asleep. To accomplish this bloody design more effectually the Indians thought it necessary to cross the river as soon as possible; and, by the account of the spies, it appeared that no part was more convenient for the purpose than that where we had met them, it being there very smooth, and at a considerable distance from any fall. Accordingly, after the Indians had put all their guns, spears, shields, &c, in good order, we crossed the river.... "When we arrived on the west side of the river, each painted the front of his shield; some with the figure of the sun, others with that of the moon, several with different kinds of birds and beasts of prey, and many with the images of imaginary beings, which, according to their silly notions, are the inhabitants of the different elements, Earth, Sea, Air, &c. On enquiring the reason of their doing so, I learned that each man painted his shield with the image of that being on which he relied most for success in the intended engagement. Some were content with a single representation; while others, doubtful, as I suppose, of the quality and power of any single being, had their shields covered to the very margin with a group of hieroglyphics quite unintelligible to everyone except the painter. Indeed, from the hurry in which this business was necessarily done, the want of every colour but red and black, and the deficiency of skill in the artist, most of those paintings had more the appearance of a number of accidental blotches, than 'of anything that is on the earth, or in the water under the earth'.... "After this piece of superstition was completed, we began to advance towards the Eskimo tents; but were very careful to avoid crossing any hills, or talking loud, for fear of being seen or overheard by the inhabitants." When the attacking party was within two hundred yards of the Eskimo tents, they lay in ambush for some time, watching the motions of their intended victims; and here the Indians wanted Hearne (for whom they had a sincere affection) to stay till the fight was over; but to this he would not consent, lest, when the Eskimo came to be surprised, they should try every way to escape, and, finding him alone, kill him in their desperation. While they lay in ambush the Northern Indians performed the last ceremonies which were thought necessary before the engagement. These chiefly consisted in painting their faces: some all black, some all red, and others with a mixture of the two; and to prevent their hair from blowing into their eyes, it was either tied before or behind, and on both sides, or else cut short all round. The next thing they considered was to make themselves as light as possible for running, which they did by pulling off their stockings, and either cutting off the sleeves of their jackets, or rolling them up close to their armpits; and though the mosquitoes at that time "were so numerous as to surpass all credibility", yet some of the Indians actually pulled off their jackets and entered the lists nearly or quite naked. Hearne, fearing he might have occasion to run with the rest, thought it also advisable to pull off his stockings and cap, and to tie his hair as close up as possible. By the time the Indians had made themselves thus "completely frightful", it was nearly one in the morning. Then, finding all the Eskimo quiet in their tents, they rushed forth from their ambuscade, and fell on the poor, unsuspecting creatures, unperceived till they were close to the very eaves of the tents. A horrible massacre forthwith took place, while Hearne stood neutral in the rear. "The scene was shocking beyond description. The poor unhappy victims were surprised in the midst of their sleep, and had neither time nor power to make any resistance; men, women, and children, in all upward of twenty, ran out of their tents stark naked, and endeavoured to make their escape; but the Indians having possession of all the landside, to no place could they fly for shelter. One alternative only remained, that of jumping into the river; but, as none of them attempted it, they all fell a sacrifice to Indian barbarity! "The shrieks and groans of the poor expiring wretches were truly dreadful; and my horror was much increased at seeing a young girl, seemingly about eighteen years of age, killed so near me, that when the first spear was stuck into her side she fell down at my feet, and twisted round my legs, so that it was with difficulty that I could disengage myself from her dying grasp. As two Indian men pursued this unfortunate victim, I solicited very hard for her life; but the murderers made no reply till they had stuck both their spears through her body, and transfixed her to the ground. They then looked me sternly in the face, and began to ridicule me by asking if I wanted an Eskimo wife; and paid not the smallest regard to the shrieks and agony of the poor wretch, who was twining round their spears like an eel!" On his requesting that they would at least put the woman out of her misery, one of the Indians hastily drew his spear from the place where it was first lodged, and pierced it through her breast near the heart. The love of life, however, even in this most miserable state, was so predominant, that "though this might justly be called the most merciful act that could be done for the poor creature, it seemed to be unwelcome, for, though much exhausted by pain and loss of blood, she made several efforts to ward off the friendly blow."... "My own situation and the terror of my mind at beholding this butchery, cannot easily be conceived, much less described; though I summed up all the fortitude I was master of on the occasion, it was with difficulty that I could refrain from tears; and I am confident that my features must have feelingly expressed how sincerely I was affected at the barbarous scene I then witnessed; even at this hour I cannot reflect on the transactions of that horrid day without shedding tears." There were other Eskimo on the opposite shore of the river. Though they took up their arms to defend themselves, they did not attempt to abandon their tents, for they were utterly unacquainted with the nature of firearms; so much so that when the bullets struck the ground, they ran in crowds to see what was sent them, and seemed anxious to examine all the pieces of lead which they found flattened against the rocks. At length one of the Eskimo men was shot in the calf of his leg, which put them in great confusion. They all immediately embarked in their little canoes, and paddled to a shoal in the middle of the river, which being somewhat more than a gunshot from any part of the shore, put them out of the reach of our barbarians. "When the savages discovered that the surviving Eskimo had gained the shore above-mentioned, the Northern Indians began to plunder the tents of the deceased of all the copper utensils they could find; such as hatchets, bayonets, knives, &c, after which they assembled on the top of an adjacent hill, and, standing all in a cluster, so as to form a solid circle, with their spears erect in the air, gave many shouts of victory, constantly clashing their spears against each other, and frequently calling out _tima! tima!_[6] by way of derision to the poor surviving Eskimo, who were standing on the shoal almost knee deep in water." [Footnote 6: "_Tima_ in the Eskimo language is a friendly word similar to _what cheer_?"--Hearne.] "It ought to have been mentioned in its proper place," writes Hearne, after describing further atrocities, "that in making our retreat up the river, after killing the Eskimo on the west side, we saw an old woman sitting by the side of the water killing salmon, which lay at the foot of the fall as thick as a shoal of herrings. Whether from the noise of the fall, or a natural defect in the old woman's hearing, it is hard to determine, but certain it is, she had no knowledge of the tragical scene which had been so lately transacted at the tents, though she was not more than two hundred yards from the place. When we first perceived her she seemed perfectly at ease, and was entirely surrounded with the produce of her labour. From her manner of behaviour, and the appearance of her eyes, which were as red as blood, it is more than probable that her sight was not very good; for she scarcely discerned that the Indians were enemies, till they were within twice the length of their spears of her. It was in vain that she attempted to fly, for the wretches of my crew transfixed her to the ground in a few seconds, and butchered her in the most savage manner. There was scarcely a man among them who had not a thrust at her with his spear; and many in doing this aimed at torture rather than immediate death, as they not only poked out her eyes, but stabbed her in many parts very remote from those which are vital. "It may appear strange that a person supposed to be almost blind should be employed in the business of fishing, and particularly with any degree of success; but when the multitude of the fish is taken into the account, the wonder will cease. Indeed they were so numerous at the foot of the fall, that when a light pole, armed with a few spikes, which was the instrument the old woman used, was put under water, and hauled up with a jerk, it was scarcely possible to miss them. Some of my Indians tried the method, for curiosity, with the old woman's staff, and seldom got less than two at a jerk, sometimes three or four. Those fish, though very fine, and beautifully red, are but small, seldom weighing more (as near as I could judge) than six or seven pounds, and in general much less. Their numbers at this place were almost incredible, perhaps equal to anything that is related of the salmon in Kamschatka, or any other part of the world." Hearne seems to have been so intent on geographical discovery that he did not allow his feelings to influence him very long against the society of his Amerindian companions, who apparently sat down and ate a dish of salmon with him an hour or so after they had killed this last old woman! The Indians now told him that they were ready again to assist him in making an end of his survey, and apparently on foot, for the Coppermine River was not navigable here, even for a boat. Thus, first of all white men coming overland, he reached the sea coast of the Arctic Ocean. The tide was then out, and a good deal of the sea surface was covered with ice, on which he observed many seals lying about. Along the sea coast and river banks were many birds; gulls, divers or loons, golden plovers, green plovers, curlews, geese, and swans. The country a little way inland was obviously inhabited by numbers of musk oxen, reindeer, bears, wolves, gluttons, foxes, polar hares, snowy owls, ravens, ptarmigans, gopher ground-squirrels, stoats (ermines), and mice. In this region also he saw a bird which the Copper Indians called the Alarm Bird. He tells us that in size and colour it resembles a "Cobadekoock"; but as none of us know what that is, we can only go on to imagine that the Alarm Bird was a kind of owl, as Hearne says it was "of the owl genus". When it perceived people or beasts it directed its way towards them immediately, and, after hovering over them for some time, flew over them in circles or went away with them in the same direction as they walked. All this time the bird made a loud screaming noise like the cry of a child. These owls were sometimes accustomed to follow the Indians for a whole day, and the Copper Indians believed that they would in some way conduct them to herds of deer and musk oxen, which without the birds' assistance might never be found. They also warned Indians of the arrival of strangers. The Eskimo, according to Hearne, paid no heed to these birds, and it was thus that they allowed themselves to be surprised and massacred, for if they had looked out from the direction in which the Chipewayans were lying in ambush, they would have seen a large flock of these owls continually flying about and making sufficient noise to awaken any man out of the soundest sleep. The country on either side of the estuary of the Coppermine River was not without vegetation. There were stunted pines and tufts of dwarf willows, and the ground was covered with a lichen or herb, which the English of the Hudson's Bay Company knew by the name of Wishakapaka,[7] and which they dried and used instead of tea. There were also cranberry and heathberry bushes, but without fruit. The scrub grew gradually thinner and smaller as one approached the sea, and at the mouth of the river there was nothing but barren hills and marsh. [Footnote 7: _Ledum palustre_.] The unfortunate Eskimo of this region, judging by the examples seen by Hearne, were of low stature, with broad thickset bodies. Their complexion was a dirty copper colour, but some of the women were almost fair and ruddy. Their dress, their arms and fishing tackle were precisely similar to those of the Greenland Eskimo. Their tents were made of deerskins, and were pitched in a circular form. But these were only their summer habitations, those for the winter being partly underground, with a roof framework of poles, over which skins were stretched; and of course Nature did the rest, covering the roof with several feet of snow. Owing to being almost entirely surrounded by snow, these winter houses were very warm. Their household furniture consisted of stone kettles and wooden troughs of various sizes, also dishes, scoops, and spoons made of musk-ox horns. The stone kettles (which some people think they borrowed from the Norse discoverers of America in the eleventh century) were as large as to be capable of containing five or six gallons. They were, of course, carved out of solid blocks of stone, every one of them being ornamented with neat moulding round the rims, and some of the large ones with fluted work at each corner. In shape they were oblong, wider at the top than the bottom, and strong handles of solid stone were left at each end to lift them up. The Eskimo hatchets were made of a thick lump of copper about five or six inches long, and one and a half to two inches broad. They were bevelled away at one end like a chisel. This piece of copper was lashed into the end of a piece of wood about twelve or fourteen inches long. The men's daggers and the women's knives were also made of copper. The former were in shape like the ace of spades, and the handle was made of reindeer antler. With the Eskimo was a fine breed of dogs, with erect ears, sharp noses, bushy tails. They were all tethered to stones to prevent them from eating the flesh that was spread all over the rocks to dry. Apparently, these beautiful dogs were left behind still tethered by the wicked Amerindians, after the massacre of their owners. Hearne, however, noticed with these Coppermine River Eskimo that the men were entirely bald, having all their head hair pulled out by the roots. The women wore their hair at the usual length. Before leaving this region to return southwards, Hearne was led by the Indians to one of the copper mines about thirty miles south-east of the river mouth. It was no more than a jumble of rocks and gravel, which had been rent in many ways, apparently by an earthquake shock. This mine was at the time of Hearne's visit very poor in copper, much of the metal having already been removed. The Copper Indians set a great value on this native metal even at the present day, and prefer it to iron for almost every use except that of a hatchet, a knife, and an awl. "For these three necessary implements", writes Hearne, "copper makes but a very poor substitute." On the return journey, in the course of which the Great Slave Lake--which Hearne calls "Lake Athapuscow"--was discovered and crossed on the ice, the party travelled so hard and stayed so seldom to rest that Hearne suffered terribly with his legs and feet. "I had so little power to direct my feet when walking, that I frequently knocked them against the stones with such force, as not only to jar and disorder them, but my legs also; and the nails of my toes were bruised to such a degree, that several of them festered and dropped off. To add to this mishap, the skin was entirely chafed off from the tops of both my feet, and between every toe; so that the sand and gravel, which I could by no means exclude, irritated the raw parts so much, that for a whole day before we arrived at the women's tents, I left the print of my feet in blood almost at every step I took. Several of the Indians began to complain that their feet also were sore; but, on examination, not one of them was the twentieth part in so bad a state as mine. This being the first time I had been in such a situation, or seen anybody foot-foundered, I was much alarmed, and under great apprehensions for the consequences. Though I was but little fatigued in body, yet the excruciating pain I suffered when walking had such an effect on my spirits, that if the Indians had continued to travel two or three days longer at that unmerciful rate, I must unavoidably have been left behind; for my feet were in many places quite honeycombed by the dirt and gravel eating into the raw flesh." "Among the various superstitious customs of those people, it is worth remarking, and ought to have been mentioned in its proper place, that immediately after my companions had killed the Eskimo at the Copper River, they considered themselves in a state of uncleanness, which induced them to practise some very curious unusual ceremonies. In the first place, all who were absolutely concerned in the murder were prohibited from cooking any kind of victuals, either for themselves or others. As luckily there were two in company who had not shed blood, they were employed always as cooks till we joined the women. This circumstance was exceedingly favourable on my side; for had there been no persons of the above description in company, that task, I was told, would have fallen on me; which would have been no less fatiguing and troublesome, than humiliating and vexatious. "When the victuals were cooked, all the murderers took a kind of red earth, or ochre, and painted all the space between the nose and chin, as well as the greater part of their cheeks, almost to the ears, before they would taste a bit, and would not drink out of any other dish, or smoke out of any other pipe, but their own; and none of the others seemed willing to drink or smoke out of theirs." He goes on to relate that they practised the custom of painting the mouth and part of the cheeks before each meal, and drinking and smoking out of their own utensils, till the winter began to set in, and during the whole of that time they would never kiss any of their wives or children. They refrained also from eating many parts of the deer and other animals, particularly the head, entrails, and blood; and during their "uncleanness" their food was never cooked in water, but dried in the sun, eaten quite raw, or broiled. When the time arrived that was to put an end to these ceremonies, the men, without a female being present, made a fire at some distance from the tents, into which they threw all their ornaments, pipe stems, and dishes, which were soon consumed to ashes; after which a feast was prepared, consisting of such articles as they had long been prohibited from eating, and when all was over each man was at liberty to eat, drink, and smoke as he pleased, "and also to kiss his wives and children at discretion, which they seemed to do with more raptures than I had ever known them to do it either before or since". On the 11th of January, as some of Hearne's companions were hunting, they saw the track of a strange snowshoe, which they followed, and at a considerable distance came to a little hut, where they discovered a young woman sitting alone. As they found that she understood their language, they brought her with them to the tents. On examination she proved to be one of the Western Dog-rib Indians, who had been taken prisoner by the Athapaska Indians in the summer of 1770. From these, in the following summer, she had escaped, with the intention of returning to her own country, but the distance being so great, and the way being unknown to her, she forgot the track, so she built the hut in which they found her, to protect her from the weather during the winter, and here she had resided from the first setting in of the cold weather. For seven months she had seen no human face. During all this time she had supported herself in comparative comfort by snaring grouse, rabbits, and squirrels; she had also killed two or three beaver, and some porcupines. That she did not seem to have been in want was evident, as she had a small stock of provisions by her when she was discovered, and was in good health and condition; and Hearne thought her "one of the finest women", of the real Indian type, that he had seen in any part of North America. "The methods practised by this poor creature to procure a livelihood were truly admirable, and are great proofs that necessity is the real mother of invention. When the few deer sinews that she had an opportunity of taking with her were all expended in making snares and sewing her clothing, she had nothing to supply their place but the sinews of the rabbits' [he means hares'] legs and feet; these she twisted together for that purpose with great dexterity and success. The rabbits, &c, which she caught in those snares, not only furnished her with a comfortable subsistence, but of the skins she made a suit of neat and warm clothing for the winter. It is scarcely possible to conceive that a person in her forlorn situation could be so composed as to be capable of contriving or executing anything that was not absolutely necessary to her existence; but there were sufficient proofs that she had extended her care much farther, as all her clothing, beside being calculated for real service, showed great taste and exhibited no little variety of ornament. The materials, though rude, were very curiously wrought and so judiciously placed as to make the whole of her garb have a very pleasing, though rather romantic, appearance. "Her leisure hours from hunting had been employed in twisting the inner rind or bark of willows into small lines, like net twine, of which she had some hundred fathoms by her; with this she intended to make a fishing net as soon as the spring advanced. It is of the inner bark of willows, twisted in this manner, that the Dog-rib Indians make their fishing nets, and they are much preferable to those made by the Northern Indians. "Five or six inches of an iron hoop, made into a knife, and the shank of an arrowhead of iron, which served her as an awl, were all the metals this poor woman had with her when she eloped, and with these implements she had made herself complete snowshoes, and several other useful articles. "Her method of making a fire was equally singular and curious, having no other materials for that purpose than two hard sulphurous stones. These, by long friction and hard knocking, produced a few sparks, which at length communicated to some touchwood (a species of fungus which grew on decayed poplars); but as this method was attended with great trouble, and not always with success, she did not suffer her fire to go out all the winter...." Hearne regained Prince of Wales's Fort on Hudson Bay in June, 1772. Subsequently he was dispatched, in the year 1774, to found the first great inland trading station and fort of the Hudson's Bay Company which was established at any considerable distance westward of Hudson Bay--the first step, in fact, which led to this chartered company becoming in time the ruler and colonizing agent of Alberta and British Columbia. Hearne chose for his station of "Cumberland House" a site at the entrance to Pine Island Lake on the lower Saskatchewan River. In 1775 he became Governor of his old starting-point on Hudson Bay--Fort Prince of Wales. During the American war with France, the French admiral, La Pérouse, made a daring excursion into Hudson Bay (1782), and summoned Hearne to surrender his fort. This he felt obliged to do, not deeming his small garrison strong enough to resist the French force. Samuel Hearne returned to England in 1787, and died (probably in London) in 1792. CHAPTER XI Alexander Mackenzie's Journeys It has been already mentioned that the conquest of Canada by the British led to a great increase in travel for the development of the fur trade. Previously, under the French, permission was only granted to a few persons to penetrate into the interior to trade with the natives, commerce being regarded as a special privilege or monopoly to be sold or granted by the Crown. But after the British had completely assumed control, nothing was done to bar access to the interior. So long as the Catholic missionaries had been practically placed in charge of the Amerindians, and had served as buffers between them and unscrupulous traders, they--the Amerindians--had been saved from two scourges, smallpox and strong drink.[1] But now, unhappily, all restrictions about trade in alcohol were removed. In their eagerness to obtain ardent spirits and "high" wine, the Indians eagerly welcomed British traders and French Canadians in their midst. The fur trade developed fast. The Hudson's Bay Company had established its trading stations only in the vicinity or on the coasts of that inland sea, far away from the two Canadas, from the Middle West and the vast North West. After a little reluctance and suspicion, most of the northern Amerindian tribes were persuaded to deflect their caravans from the routes leading to Hudson Bay, and to meet the British, the New Englander ("Bostonian"), and the French Canadian traders at various rendezvous on Lake Winnipeg and its tributary lakes and rivers. The principal depot and starting-point for the north-west traders was _Grand Portage_, on the north-west coast of Lake Superior, whence canoes and goods were transferred by a nine-mile portage to the waters flowing to Rainy Lake, and so onwards to the Winnipeg River and the vast system of the Saskatchewan, the Red River, and the Assiniboine. [Footnote 1: See Sir Alexander Mackenzie's _Travels_, p. 5.] Amongst the pioneers in this new development of the fur trade, who became also the great explorers of northernmost America, was Alexander Henry (already described), THOMAS CURRIE, JAMES FINLAY, PETER POND,[2] JOSEPH and BENJAMIN FROBISHER, and SIMON M'TAVISH. These and some of their supporting merchants in Montreal resolved to form a great fur-trading association, the celebrated North-west Trading Company, and did so in 1784. [Footnote 2: Peter Pond was a native of Connecticut, and in the opinion of his trading associates rather a ruffian. He was strongly suspected of having murdered an amiable Swiss fur trader named Wadin, and at a later date he actually did kill his trading partner, Ross.] Two of the Montreal merchant firms participating in this confederation (Gregory and M'Leod) were inclined to play a somewhat independent part, and called themselves the New North-west Trading Company. They had the foresight to engage as their principal agents in the north-west (Sir) ALEXANDER MACKENZIE and his cousin RODERICK MACKENZIE. Both these young men were Highlanders, probably of Norse origin. Alexander Mackenzie was born at Stornoway, in the Island of Lewis (Hebrides), in 1763. He was only sixteen when he started for Canada to take up a position as clerk in the partnership concern of Gregory & M'Leod at Montreal. It may be said here briefly that this "New North-west Company" went at first by the nickname of "The Little Company" or "The Potties", this last being an Amerindian corruption of the French _Les Petits_. Later it developed into the "X.Y. Company", or "Sir Alexander Mackenzie & Co.". Although much in rivalry with the original "Nor'-westers", the rivalry never degenerated into the actual warfare, the indefensible deeds of violence and treachery, which later on were perpetrated by the Hudson's Bay Company on the agents of the North-west, and returned with interest by the latter. Often the New North-west agents and the original Nor'-westers would camp or build side by side, and share equably in the fur trade with the natives; their canoemen and French-Canadian _voyageurs_ would sing their boating songs in chorus as they paddled side by side across the lakes and down the rivers, or marched with their heavy loads over the portages and along the trails. Eventually, in 1804, the X.Y. Company and the North-west fused into the North-west Trading Company, which until 1821 fought a hard fight against the encroachments and jealousy of the Hudson's Bay Company. During the period, however, from 1785 to 1812 the men of the north-west, of Montreal, and Grand Portage (as contrasted with those of Hudson Bay) effected a revolution in Canadian geography. They played the rôle of imperial pioneers with a stubborn heroism, with little thought of personal gain, and in most cases with full foreknowledge and appreciation of what would accrue to the British Empire through their success. It is impossible to relate the adventures of all of them within the space of any one book, or even of several volumes. Moreover, this has been done already, not only in their own published journals and books, but in the admirable works of Elliot Coues, Dr. George Bryce, Dr. S.J. Dawson, Alexander Ross, and others. I must confine myself here to a description of the adventures of Sir Alexander Mackenzie, with a glance at incidents recorded by Simon Fraser and by Alexander Henry the Younger. Mackenzie, having been appointed at the age of twenty-two a partner in the New North-west Company, proceeded to Grand Portage in 1785, and by the year 1788 (after founding Fort Chipewayan on Lake Athabaska) conceived the idea of following the mysterious Slave River to its ultimate outlet into the Arctic or the Pacific Ocean. He left Fort Chipewayan on June 3, 1789, accompanied by four French-Canadian _voyageurs_, two French-Canadian women (wives of two _voyageurs_), a young German named John Steinbruck, and an Amerindian guide known as "English Chief". This last was a follower and pupil of the Matonabi who had guided Hearne to the Coppermine River and the eastern end of the Great Slave Lake. The party of eight whites packed themselves and their goods into one birch-bark canoe. English Chief and his two wives, together with an additional Amerindian guide and a hunter, travelled in a second and smaller canoe. The expedition, moreover, was accompanied as far as Slave River by LE ROUX, a celebrated French-Canadian exploring trader who worked for the X.Y. Company. The journey down the Slave River was rendered difficult and dangerous by the rapids. Several times the canoes and their loads had to be lugged past these falls by an overland portage. Mosquitoes tortured the whole party almost past bearance. The leaders of the expedition and their Indian hunter had to be busily engaged (the Indian women also) in hunting and fishing in order to get food for the support of the party, who seemed to have had little reserve provisions with them. Pemmican was made of fish dried in the sun and rubbed to powder. Swans, geese, cranes, and ducks fell to the guns; an occasional beaver was also added to the pot. When they reached the Great Slave Lake they found its islands--notwithstanding their barren appearance--covered with bushes producing a great variety of palatable fruits--cranberries, juniper berries, raspberries, partridge berries, gooseberries, and the "pathogomenan", a fruit like a raspberry. Slave Lake, however, was still, in mid-June, under the spell of winter, its surface obstructed with drifting ice. In attempting to cross the lake the frail birch-bark canoes ran a great risk of being crushed between the ice floes. However, at length, after halting at several islands and leaving Le Roux to go to the trading station he had founded on the shores of Slave Lake, Mackenzie and his two canoes found their way to the river outlet of Slave Lake, that river which was henceforth to be called by his name. Great mountains approached near to the west of their course. They appeared to be sprinkled with white stones, called by the natives "spirit stones"--indeed over a great part of North America the Rocky Mountains were called "the Mountains of Bright Stones"--yet these brilliant patches were nothing more wonderful than unmelted snow. A few days later the party encountered Amerindians of the Slave and Dog-rib tribes, who were so aloof from even "Indian" civilization that they did not know the use of tobacco, and were still in the Stone Age as regards their weapons and implements. These people, though they furnished a guide, foretold disaster and famine to the expedition, and greatly exaggerated the obstacles which would be met with--rapids near the entrance of the tributary from Great Bear Lake--before the salt water was reached. The canoes of these Slave and Dog-rib tribes of the Athapaskan (Tinné) group were covered, not with birch bark, but with the bark of the spruce fir. The lodges of the Slave Indians were of very simple structure: a few poles supported by a fork and forming a semicircle at the bottom, with some branches or a piece of bark as a covering. They built two of these huts facing each other, and made a fire between them. The furniture consisted of a few dishes of wood, bark, or horn. The vessels in which they cooked their victuals were in the shape of a gourd, narrow at the top and wide at the bottom, and made of _wátápé_. This was the name given to the divided roots of the spruce fir, which the natives wove into a degree of compactness that rendered it capable of containing a fluid. Wátápé fibre was also used to sew together different parts of the bark canoes. They also made fibre or thread from willow bark. Their cooking vessels made of this wátápé not only contained water, but water which was made to boil by putting a succession of hot stones into it. It would, of course, be impossible to place these vessels of fibre on a fire, and apparently none of the Amerindians of temperate North America knew anything about pottery. Those that were in some degree in touch with the Eskimo used kettles or cauldrons of stone. Elsewhere the vessels for boiling water and cooking were made of bark or fibre, and the water therein was made to boil by the dropping in of red-hot stones. The arrows of these Slave Indians were two and a half feet long, and the barb was made of bone, horn, flint, or copper. Iron had been quite lately introduced, indirectly obtained from the Russians in Alaska. Their spears were pointed with barbed bone, and their daggers were made of horn or bone. Their great club, the _pógamagán_, was made of a reindeer's antler. Axes were manufactured out of a piece of brown or grey stone, six to eight inches long and two inches thick. They kindled fire by striking together a piece of iron pyrites and touchwood, and never travelled without a small bag containing such materials. The Amerindians along the lower Mackenzie had heard vague and terrible legends about the Russians, far, far away on the coast of Alaska; they were represented as beings of gigantic stature, and adorned with wings; which, however, they never employed in flying (possibly the sails of their ships). They fed on large birds, and killed them with the greatest ease. They also possessed the extraordinary power of killing with their eyes (no doubt putting up a gun to aim), and they travelled in canoes of very large dimensions. [Illustration: BIG-HORNED SHEEP OF ROCKY MOUNTAINS] "I engaged one of these Indians," writes Mackenzie, "by a bribe of some beads, to describe the surrounding country upon the sand. This singular map he immediately undertook to delineate, and accordingly traced out a very long point of land between the rivers ... which he represented as running into the great lake, at the extremity of which he had been told by Indians of other nations there was a white man's fort." The same people described plainly the Yukon River westward of the mountains, and told Mackenzie it was a far greater stream than the one he was exploring. This was the first "hint" of the existence of the great Alaskan river which was ever recorded. They also spoke to Mackenzie of "small white buffaloes" (?the mountain goat), which they found in the mountains west of the Mackenzie. Whenever and wherever Mackenzie's party met these northernmost tribes of Athapascan Indians they were always ready to dance in between short spells of talking. This dancing and jumping was their only amusement, and in it old and young, male and female, went to such exertions that their strength was exhausted. As they jumped up and down they imitated the various noises produced by the reindeer, the bear, and the wolf. In descending the Mackenzie River, and again on the return journey upstream, Mackenzie notices the abundance of berries on the banks of the river, especially the kind which was called "pears" by the French Canadians. These were of a purple hue, rather bigger than a pea, and of a luscious taste. There were also gooseberries and a few strawberries. Quantities of berries were collected and dried, but while on the lower Mackenzie the expedition fed mainly on fat geese. On the beach of the great river they found an abundance of a sweet fragrant root which Mackenzie calls "liquorice". Mackenzie seemed to think that along the lower Mackenzie River, near the sea, there were not only reindeer, bears, wolverines, martens, foxes, and hares, but a species of white buffalo or white musk ox, which may have been the mountain goat above referred to. He noted, in the cliffs or banks of the lower Mackenzie, pieces of "petroleum" which bore a resemblance to yellow wax but was more friable. His Indian guide informed him that rocks of a similar kind were scattered about the country at the back of the Slave Lake, near where the Chipewayans collected copper. If so, there may be a great oilfield yet to be discovered in Arctic Canada. On the river coming out of the Bear Lake Mackenzie discovered coal; the whole beach was strewn with it. He was attracted towards it by seeing smoke and noticing a strong sulphurous smell. The whole bank of the river was on fire for a considerable distance, and he thought this was due to the natives having camped there and set fire to the coal in the bank from their hearths. But subsequent travellers have also found this lignite coal burning to waste, and imagine that, being full of gas, it catches fire spontaneously if any landslip or other accident exposes it to moist air. In 1906 it was still burning! According to Mackenzie, the ground in the regions about the lower reaches of the Mackenzie River is always frozen at least five inches down from the surface, yet he found small spruce trees growing in patches near the delta of this river, besides pale-yellow raspberries of an agreeable flavour, and a great variety of other plants and herbs. As the expedition drew near to the estuary of the great Mackenzie River a range of lofty snowy mountains rose into sight on the west. These mountains were said by the natives to swarm with large bears--probably of the huge chocolate-coloured Alaska type; and again a mention was made of "small white buffaloes", which were in all probability the large white mountain goat (_Oreamnus_). The Amerindians along the river greatly magnified the dangers, predicting impassable rapids between the confluence of the Great Bear River and the sea. But these stories were greatly exaggerated. Every now and then the river would narrow and flow between white precipitous limestone walls of rock, but there was no obstacle to navigation, though it was very deep and the current fast. The travellers now began to get within touch of the Eskimo and to hear of their occasional raids up the river from the sea. They were said to use slings, from which they flung stones with such dexterity as to prove formidable in their fights with the Amerindians, who regarded them with great respect, the more so because of their intercourse with the mysterious white people (Russians) from whom they obtained iron. Mackenzie just managed to reach within sight of the sea, beyond the delta of the river, his most northern point being about 69° 14" north latitude. Hence he gazed out northwards over a vast expanse of piled-up ice in which several small islands were embedded. In the spaces of open water whales were visible (the small white whale, _Beluga_). The water in between the islands was affected by the tide. The travellers had, in fact, reached the Arctic ocean. But, owing to the fickleness of their guides, and the danger of being detained by some obstacle in these northern latitudes without proper supplies for the winter, Mackenzie was afraid to stay for further investigations, and on July 16, 1789, turned his back on the sea and commenced his return journey up the stream of the great river which was henceforth to bear his name. The strength of the current made the homeward travel much more lengthy and tedious. The Indians of the party were troublesome, and the principal guide, English Chief, was sulky and disobedient. This man had insisted on being accompanied by two of his wives, of whom he was so morbidly jealous that he could scarcely bring himself to leave them for an hour in order to go hunting or to prospect the country; consequently he did little or nothing in the killing of game, and this kept the expedition on very small rations. Mackenzie got wroth with him, and so gave him a sound rating. This irritated English Chief to a high degree, and after a long and vehement harangue he burst into tears and loud and bitter lamentations. Thereat his friends and wives commenced crying and wailing vociferously, though they declared that their tears were shed, not for any trouble between the white man and English Chief, but because they suddenly recollected all the friends and relations they had lost within the last few years! "I did not interrupt their grief for two hours, but as I could not well do without them, I was at length obliged to sooth it and induce the chief to change his resolution (to leave me), which he did with great apparent reluctance." Later on English Chief told Mackenzie that he feared he might have to go to war, because it was a custom amongst the Athapaskan chiefs to make war after they had given way to the disgrace attached to such a feminine weakness as shedding tears. Therefore he would undertake a warlike expedition in the following spring, but in the meantime he would continue with Mackenzie as long as he wanted him. Mackenzie, rejoining Le Roux at the Slave Lake, safely reached his station at Fort Chipewayan on September 12, 1789, just as the approach of winter was making travel in these northern regions dangerous to those who relied on unfrozen water as a means of transit. Mackenzie seems to have been a little disappointed with the results of his northward journey; perhaps he had thought that the outlet of Slave Lake and the Mackenzie River would be into the Pacific, the _Mer de l'Ouest_ of his Canadian _voyageurs_. Yet he must have realized that he had discovered something very wonderful after all: the beginning of Alaska, the approach to a region which, though lying within the Arctic circle, has climatic conditions permitting the existence of trees, abundant vegetation, and large, strange beasts, and which, moreover, is highly mineralized. His work in this direction, however (and that of Hearne), was to be completed in the next century by SIR JOHN FRANKLIN, SIR GEORGE BACK, SIR JOHN RICHARDSON, and SIR JOHN ROSS--all knighthoods earned by magnificent services in geographical exploration--and by THOMAS SIMPSON, Dr. John Rae,[3] WARREN DEASE, JOHN M'LEOD, ROBERT CAMPBELL, and other servants of the Hudson's Bay Company. [Footnote 3: See p. 125.] In October, 1792, Mackenzie had determined to make a great attempt to reach the Pacific Ocean. By this time he and his colleagues had explored the Peace River (the main tributary of Slave Lake), and had realized that they could travel up it into the heart of the Rocky Mountains. He wintered and traded at a place which he called "New Establishment", on the banks of the Peace River, near the foothills of the Rocky Mountains. He left this station on May 9, 1793, accompanied by ALEXANDER MACKAY,[4] six French Canadians, and two Indian guides. They travelled up the Peace River in a twenty-five-foot canoe, and at first passed through scenery the most beautiful Mackenzie had ever beheld. He describes it as follows:-- "The ground rises at intervals to a considerable height, and stretching inwards to a considerable distance: at every interval or pause in the rise, there is a very gently ascending space or lawn, which is alternate with abrupt precipices to the summit of the whole, or at least as far as the eye could distinguish. This magnificent theatre of nature has all the decorations which the trees and animals of the country can afford it: groves of poplars in every shape vary the scene; and their intervals are enlivened with vast herds of elks and buffaloes: the former choosing the steeps and uplands and the latter preferring the plains. At this time the buffaloes were attended with their young ones, who were striking about them; and it appeared that the elks would soon exhibit the same enlivening circumstance. The whole country displayed an exuberant verdure; the trees that bear a blossom were advancing fast to that delightful appearance, and the velvet rind of their branches reflecting the oblique rays of a rising or setting sun, added a splendid gaiety to the scene which no expressions of mine are qualified to describe." [Footnote 4: Alexander Mackay long afterwards left the service of the North-west Company, and was killed by savages on the Alaska coast, near Nutka Sound.] Of course, as they neared the Rocky Mountains the navigation of the Peace River became more and more difficult. At last they left the river to find their way across the mountains till they should reach the headwaters of a stream flowing towards the Pacific Ocean. Sometimes they only accomplished three miles a day, having to carry all their goods and their canoe. The mountainous country was covered with splendid forests of spruce, pine, cypress, poplar, birch, willow, and many other kinds of trees, with an undergrowth of gooseberries, currants, and briar roses. The travellers generally followed paths made by the elk,[5] just as in the dense forests of Africa the way sometimes is cleared for human travellers by the elephant. Every now and again they resumed their journey on the river between the falls and cascades. The mountains seemed to be a solid mass of limestone, in some places without any covering of foliage. [Footnote 5: For the word "elk" Mackenzie uses "moose deer". "Elk" in the Canadian Dominion is misapplied to the great Wapiti red deer.] "In no part of the north-west", writes Mackenzie, "did I see so much beaver work" (along the eastern branch of the Peace River). In some places the beavers had cut down acres of large poplars, and were busily at work on their labours of dam-making during the night, between the setting and the rising sun. Gnats and mosquitoes came with the intense heat of June to make life almost unbearable. As they got close to the Rocky Mountains they encountered Amerindians who had never seen a white man before, and who at first received them with demonstrations of great hostility and fright. But owing to the diplomatic skill of Mackenzie they gradually yielded to a more friendly attitude, and here he decided to camp until the natives had become familiarized with him and his party, and could give them information as to his route. But they could only tell that, away to the west beyond the mountains, a month's travel, there was a vast "lake of stinking water", to which came, for purposes of trade, other white men with vessels as big as islands. These Rocky Mountain Indians made their canoes from spruce bark[6] in the following manner: The bark is taken off the spruce fir to the whole length of the intended canoe, only about eighteen feet, and is sewed with _wátápé_ at both ends. Two laths are then laid across the end of the gunwale. In these are fixed the bars, and against them the ribs or timbers, that are cut to the length to which the bark can be stretched; and to give additional strength, strips of wood are laid between them. To make the whole water-tight, gum is abundantly employed. [Footnote 6: See p. 281.] Obtaining a guide from these people, Mackenzie continued his journey along the Parsnip, or southern branch of the upper Peace River, partly by water, partly by land till he reached its source,[7] a lake, on the banks of which he saw innumerable swans, geese, and ducks. Wild parsnips grew here in abundance, and were a grateful addition to the diet of the travellers. As to birds, they not only saw blue jays and yellow birds, but the first humming bird which Mackenzie had ever beheld in the north-west.[8] [Footnote 7: Mr. Burpee points out that this was really the southernmost source of the mighty congeries of streams which flowed northwards to form the Mackenzie River system. Having traced the Mackenzie to the sea, its discoverer now stood four years afterwards at its most remote source, 2420 miles from its mouth at which he had seen the ice floes and the whales.] [Footnote 8: Humming birds arrive annually in British Columbia between April and May, and stay there till the autumn. They winter in the warmer parts of California.] From this tiny lake he made his way over lofty mountains to another lake at no great distance, and from this a small stream called the Bad River flowed southwards to join a still bigger stream, which Mackenzie thought might prove to be one of the branches of the mighty Columbia River that flows out into the Pacific through the State of Oregon. It really was the Fraser River, and of the upper waters of the Fraser Mackenzie was the discoverer.[9] [Footnote 9: The great surveyor and map maker, David Thompson, was the first white man to reach the upper waters of the _Columbia_ River. The Fraser River was afterwards followed to its outlet in the Straits of Georgia (opposite Vancouver Island) by Simon Fraser.] [Illustration: THE UPPER WATERS OF THE FRASER RIVER] Their experiences down the little mountain stream which was to take them into the Fraser nearly ended in complete disaster. "The violence of the current being so great as to drive the canoe sideways down the river, and break her by the first bar, I instantly jumped into the water and the men followed my example; but before we could set her straight, or stop her, we came to deeper water, so that we were obliged to re-embark with the utmost precipitation.... We had hardly regained our situations when we drove against a rock which shattered the stern of the canoe in such a manner, that it held only by the gunwales, so that the steersman could no longer keep his place. The violence of this stroke drove us to the opposite side of the river, which is but narrow, when the bow met with the same fate as the stern.... In a few moments, we came across a cascade which broke several large holes in the bottom of the canoe, and started all the bars.... The wreck becoming flat on the water, we all jumped out ... and held fast to the wreck; to which fortunate resolution we owed our safety, as we should otherwise have been dashed against the rocks by the force of the water, or driven over the cascades.... At length we most fortunately arrived in shallow water, and at a small eddy, where we were enabled to make a stand, from the weight of the canoe resting on the stones, rather than from any exertions of our exhausted strength.... The Indians, when they saw our deplorable situation, instead of making the least effort to help us, sat down and gave vent to their tears." Nobody, however, had been killed, though much of the luggage was lost, and what remained had to be spread out to dry. Many of Mackenzie's people, however, when they took stock of their misfortunes, were rather pleased than otherwise, as they thought the disaster would stop him from any further attempt to reach the Western Sea. He wisely listened to their observations without replying, till their panic was dispelled, and they had got themselves warm and comfortable with a hearty meal and a glass of rum; though a little later only by their indifferent carelessness they nearly exploded the whole of the expedition's stock of gunpowder. Fortunately the weather was fine. Mackenzie and his fellow countryman, Mackay, allowed nothing to dismay them or damp their spirits. Bark was obtained from the forest, the canoe was repaired, and they heard from their guide that this violent little stream would before long join a great and much smoother river. But they were tormented with sandflies and mosquitoes, and a day or two afterwards the guide bolted, while the expedition had to cross morasses in which they were nearly engulfed, and the water journey was constantly obstructed by driftwood. Nevertheless, at last they had "the inexpressible satisfaction of finding themselves on the bank of a navigable river on the western side of the first great range of mountains". Here they re-embarked, and were cheerful in spite of heavy rain. As they paddled down this great stream, more than two hundred yards wide, snow-capped mountains rose immediately above the river. The current was strong, but perfectly safe. Flocks of ducks, entirely white, except the bill and a part of the wing, rose before them. Smoke ascending in columns from many parts of the woods showed that the country was well inhabited, and the air was fragrant with the strong odour of the gum of cypress and spruce fir. Then came a series of cascades and falls and a most arduous portage of the heavy canoe. These labours were somewhat lightened by the discovery of quantities of wild onions growing on the banks; but these, when mixed with the pemmican, on which the party was subsisting, stimulated their appetites to an inconvenient degree, seeing that they were on short commons. Meeting with strange Indians they found no one to interpret, and had to use signs. But on the banks of the Fraser they were lucky enough to find the "real red deer", the great wapiti stag, which is absent from the far north-west, beyond the region of the Saskatchewan. The canoe was loaded with venison. The banks of the Fraser River sank to a moderate height and were covered with poplars and cypresses, birch trees, junipers, alders, and willows. The deserted house or lodge of some Amerindian tribe was visited on the banks. It was a finer structure than anything that Mackenzie had seen since he left Fort Michili-Makinak in upper Canada. It had been constructed for three families. There were three fireplaces and three beds and a kind of larder for the purpose of keeping fish. The whole "lodge" was twenty feet long by three wide, and had three doors. The walls were formed of straight spruce timbers with some skill of carpentry. The roof was covered with bark, and large rods were fixed across the upper part of the building, where fish might hang and dry. As they continued to descend the Fraser River, with here and there a rapid which nearly swamped the canoe, and lofty cliffs of red and white clay like the ruins of ancient castles (stopping on their way to bury supplies of pemmican against their return, and to light a fire on the top of the burial place so as to mislead bears or other animals that might dig it up), they were more or less compelled to seek intercourse with the new tribes of Amerindians, whose presence on the river banks was obvious. As usual, Mackenzie had to exercise great bravery, tact, and guile to get into peaceful conversation with these half-frightened, half-angry people. The peacemaking generally concluded with the distribution of trinkets amongst the men and women, and presents of sugar to the children. Talking with these folk, however, through such interpreters as there were amongst the Indians of his crew, he learnt that lower down on the Fraser River there was a peculiarly fierce, malignant race, living in vast caves or subterranean dwellings, who would certainly massacre the Europeans if they attempted to pass through their country on their way to the sea. He therefore stopped and set some of his men to work to make a new canoe. He noticed, by the by, that these Amerindians of the Fraser had small pointed canoes, "made after the fashion of the Eskimo". Renewing their voyage, they reached a house the roof of which just appeared above the ground. It was deserted by its inhabitants, who had been alarmed at the approach of the white men, but in the neighbourhood appeared gesticulating warriors with bows and arrows. Yet these people of underground houses turned out to be friendly and very ready to give information, partly because they were in communication with the Amerindian tribes to the east of the Rocky Mountains. From the elderly men of this tribe Mackenzie ascertained that the Fraser River flowed south by east, was often obstructed by rapids, and, though it would finally bring them to a salt lake or inlet, and then to the sea, it would cause them to travel for a great distance to the south. He noticed the complete difference in the language of these Atna or Carrier Indians[10] and that of the Nagailer or Chin Indians of the Athapaskan group on the eastern side of the Rocky Mountains. [Footnote 10: Apparently these were of the Sikanni tribe, and only another branch of the great Tinné (Athapaskan) stock.] He, however, learnt from these Atna Indians that although the Fraser was out of the question as a quick route to the sea, if he retraced his journey a little up this river he would find another stream entering it from the west, and along this they could travel upstream. And then the route to the water "which was unfit to drink", and the region to which came people with large ships, would be of no great length. Accordingly, after having had a tree engraved with Mackenzie's name and the date, by the bank of the Fraser River, the expedition returned to the subterranean house which they had seen the day before. "We were in our canoe by four this morning, and passed by the Indian hut, which appeared in a state of perfect tranquillity. We soon came in sight of the point where we first saw the natives, and at eight were much surprised and disappointed at seeing Mr. Mackay and our two Indians coming alone from the ruins of a house that had been partly carried away by the ice and water, at a short distance below the place where we had appointed to meet. Nor was our surprise and apprehension diminished by the alarm which was painted in their countenances.... They informed me they had taken refuge in that place, with the determination to sell their lives ... as dear as possible. In a very short time after we had separated, they met a party of the Indians, whom we had known at this place, and were probably those whom we had seen landing from their canoe. These Indians appeared to be in a state of extreme rage, and had their bows bent, with their arrows across them. The guide stopped to ask them some questions, which our people did not understand, and then set off with his utmost speed. Mr. Mackay, however, followed, and did not leave him till they were both exhausted with running.... The guide then said that some treacherous design was meditated against them, ... and conducted them through very bad ways as fast as they could run. When he was desired to slacken his pace, he answered that they might follow him in any manner they pleased, but that he was impatient to get to his family, in order to prepare shoes and other necessaries for his journey. They did not, however, think it prudent to quit him, and he would not stop till ten at night. On passing a track that was but lately made, they began to be seriously alarmed, and on enquiring of the guide where they were, he pretended not to understand. Then they all laid down, exhausted with fatigue, and without any kind of covering; they were cold, wet, and hungry, but dared not light a fire, from the apprehension of an enemy. This comfortless spot they left at the dawn of day, and, on their arrival at the lodges, found them deserted; the property of the Indians being scattered about, as if abandoned for ever. The guide then made two or three trips into the woods, calling aloud, and bellowing like a madman. At length he set off in the same direction as they had come, and had not since appeared. To heighten their misery, as they did not find us at the place appointed, they concluded that we were all destroyed, and had already formed their plan to take to the woods, and cross in as direct a line as they could proceed, to the waters of the Peace River, a scheme which could only be suggested by despair. They intended to have waited for us till noon, and if we did not appear by that time, to have entered without further delay on their desperate expedition." Making preparations for warfare, if necessary, yet neglecting no chance of re-entering into friendly relations with the natives, Mackenzie set to work to repair the wretched canoe, which was constantly having holes knocked through her. He dealt tactfully with the almost open mutiny of his French Canadians and Indians. At last everyone settled down to the making of a new canoe, on an island in the river where there were plenty of spruce firs to provide the necessary bark. Even here they were plagued with thunderstorms. Nevertheless, the men set to work, and as they worked Mackenzie addressed them with simple fervour, saying he knew of their plans to desert him, but, come what might, _he_ was resolved to travel on to the westwards until he reached the waters of the Pacific. This calmed down the mutineers, and, to the great relief of all concerned, that very afternoon the runaway guide of the Atna people returned and apologized for having deserted them. He then offered once again to conduct them to the seacoast. Nevertheless, again he fled, and Mackenzie was obliged to guide the expedition, according to the information he had gathered from the natives, up the small western affluent of the upper Fraser, which he called the West Road River (now known as the Blackwater). His perseverance was rewarded, for after proceeding up this river for some distance he saw two canoes coming towards them containing the runaway guide and six of his relations. The guide was dressed in a painted beaver robe, and looked so splendid that they scarcely knew him again. Once more he declared it really was his intention not to disappoint them. Soon afterwards they landed, buried their property and provisions, and placed their canoe on a stage, shaded by a covering of small trees and branches from the sun. Each man carried on his back four bags and a half of pemmican, of an average weight of eighty-five pounds, or other loads (instruments, goods for presents, ammunition, &c.) of ninety pounds in weight. Moreover, each of the Canadians carried a gun. The Amerindian servants of the expedition were only asked to carry loads of forty-five pounds in weight. Mackenzie's pack, and that of his companion, Mackay, amounted to about seventy pounds. Loaded like this they had to scramble up the wooded mountains, first soaked in perspiration from the heat and then drenched with heavy rain. Nevertheless they walked for about thirteen miles the first day. Now they began to meet natives who were closely in touch with the seacoast, which lay to the west at a distance of about six days' journey. "We had no sooner laid ourselves down to rest last night than the natives began to sing, in a manner very different from what I had been accustomed to hear among savages. It was not accompanied either with dancing, drum, or rattle; but consisted of soft, plaintive tones, and a modulation that was rather agreeable: it had somewhat the air of church music." The country through which they travelled abounded in beavers. It was the month of July, however, and they were harassed with thunderstorms, some of which were followed by hailstones as big as musket balls. After one such storm the ground was whitened for two miles with these balls of ice. In order not to be deserted by all of their new guides, Mackenzie was obliged to insist on one of them sharing his hut. This young Amerindian was dressed in beaver garments which were a nest of vermin. His hair was greased with fish oil, and his body smeared with red earth, so that at first Mackenzie thought he would never be able to sleep; but such was his fatigue that he passed a night of profound repose, and found the guide still there in the morning. In this region he notes that the balsam fir of Canada was abundant, the tree which provided the gum that cured Cartier's expedition of scurvy. Some of the natives with whom they now came into contact were remarkable for their grey eyes, a feature often observed amongst the Amerindians of the North Pacific coast. "On observing some people before us, our guides hastened to meet them, and, on their approach, one of them stepped forward with an axe in his hand. This party consisted only of a man, two women, and the same number of children. The eldest of the women, who probably was the man's mother, was engaged, when we joined them, in clearing a circular spot, of about five feet in diameter, of the weeds that infested it; nor did our arrival interrupt her employment, which was sacred to the memory of the dead. The spot to which her pious care was devoted contained the grave of a husband and a son, and whenever she passed this way she always stopped to pay this tribute of affection." By this time, exposure to wind and sun, the attacks of mosquitoes and flies, the difficulty of washing or of changing their clothes, had made all the Europeans of the party as dark in skin colour as the Amerindians, so that such natives as they met who had the courage to examine them, did so with the intention of discovering whether they had any white skin left. The natives whom they now encountered (belonging to the maritime tribes) were comely in appearance, and far more cleanly than the tribes of the north-west. As already mentioned, they had grey eyes, sometimes tinged with hazel. Their stature was noble, one man measuring at least six feet four inches. They were clothed in leather, and their hair was nicely combed and dressed with beads. One of a travelling band of these Indians, finding that Mackenzie's party was on short rations and very hungry, offered to boil them a kettle of fish roes. "He took the roes out of a bag, and having bruised them between two stones, put them in water to soak. His wife then took an handful of dry grass in her hand, with which she squeezed them through her fingers. In the meantime her husband was employed in gathering wood to make a fire, for the purpose of heating stones. When she had finished her operation, she filled a _wátápé_ kettle nearly full of water, and poured the roes into it. When the stones were sufficiently heated, some of them were put into the kettle, and others were thrown in from time to time, till the water was in a state of boiling. The woman also continued stirring the contents of the kettle, till they were brought to a thick consistency; the stones were then taken out, and the whole was seasoned with about a pint of strong rancid oil. The smell of this curious dish was sufficient to sicken me without tasting it, but the hunger of my people surmounted the nauseous meal. When unadulterated by the stinking oil these boiled roes are not unpalatable food." Farther on their journey their hunger was alleviated by wild parsnips, also roots which appeared, when pulled up, like a bunch of white peas, with the colour and taste of a potato. On their way they were obliged to cross snow mountains, where the snow was so compact that their feet hardly made any perceptible impression. "Before us appeared a stupendous mountain, whose snow-clad summit was lost in the clouds." These mountains, according to the Indians, abounded in white goats.[11] Emerging from the mountains on to the lower ground, sloping towards the sea, at nightfall they came upon a native village in the thickness of the woods. Desperate with his fatigue, and risking any danger to obtain rest, Mackenzie walked straight into one of the houses, where people were busily employed in cooking fish, threw down his burden, shook hands with the people, and sat down. [Footnote 1: _Oreamnus_.] "They received me without the least appearance of surprise, but soon made signs for me to go up to the large house, which was erected, on upright posts, at some distance from the ground. A broad piece of timber with steps cut in it led to the scaffolding even with the floor, and by this curious kind of ladder I entered the house at one end; and having passed three fires, at equal distances in the middle of the building, I was received by several people, sitting upon a very wide board, at the upper end of it. I shook hands with them, and seated myself beside a man, the dignity of whose countenance induced me to give him that preference...." Later on, this man, seeing Mackenzie's people arriving tired and hungry, rose and fetched from behind a plank, four feet wide, a quantity of roasted salmon. A whole salmon was offered to Mackenzie, and another to Mackay; half a salmon was given to each of the French Canadian _voyageurs_. Their host further invited them to sleep in the house, but, Mackenzie thinking it preferable to camp outside, a fire was lit to warm the weary travellers, and each was lent a thick board on which to sleep, so that he might not lie on the bare ground. "We had not long been seated round the fire when we received a dish of salmon roes, pounded fine and beat up with water so as to have the appearance of a cream. Nor was it without some kind of seasoning that gave it a bitter taste. Another dish soon followed, the principal article of which was also salmon roes, with a large proportion of gooseberries, and an herb that appeared to be sorrel. Its acidity rendered it more agreeable to my taste than the former preparation. Having been regaled with these delicacies, for such they were considered by that hospitable spirit which provided them, we laid ourselves down to rest with no other canopy than the sky. But I never enjoyed a more sound and refreshing rest, though I had a board for my bed and a billet for my pillow." The gooseberries, wortleberries, and raspberries which Mackenzie ate at this hospitable village were the finest he ever saw or tasted of their respective kinds. They were generally eaten together with the dry roes of salmon. Salmon was the staple food of the country, and very abundant in the river which Mackenzie was following down to the Pacific shore. The fish were usually caught in weirs, and also by dipping nets. The natives were so superstitious about the salmon, that they believed they would give offence to the spirits if they ate any other animal food, especially meat. They would scarcely allow Mackenzie to carry venison in his canoe, in case the salmon should smell it and abandon the river. After this welcome rest they embarked in two canoes on the stream which Mackenzie calls the Salmon River. The stream was rapid, and they proceeded at a great rate, stopping every now and then to get out and walk round salmon weirs. Nevertheless, although other Indians ran before them announcing their approach towards a village, the noise of which was apparent in the distance, they were received at this place in a very hostile way, the men rapidly arming themselves with bows and arrows, spears, and axes. But Mackenzie walked on alone to greet them, and shook hands with the nearest man. Thereupon an elderly man broke from the crowd and took Mackenzie in his arms. Another then came and paid him the same compliment. One man to whom he presented his hand broke the string of a handsome robe of sea-otter skin and threw it over Mackenzie. The chief made signs to the white men to follow him to his house, which Mackenzie found to be of larger dimensions and better materials than any he had yet seen. "Very clean mats" were spread in this house for the chief, his counsellors, and the two white men. A small roasted salmon was then placed before each person. "When we had satisfied ourselves with the fish, one of the people who came with us from the last village approached, with a kind of ladle in one hand, containing oil, and in the other something that resembled the inner rind of the cocoanut, but of a lighter colour. This he dipped in the oil, and, having eaten it, indicated by his gestures how palatable he thought it. He then presented me with a small piece of it, which I chose to taste in its dry state, though the oil was free from any unpleasant smell. A square cake of this was next produced, when a man took it to the water near the house, and having thoroughly soaked it, he returned, and, after he had pulled it to pieces like oakum, put it into a well-made trough, about three feet long, nine inches wide, and five deep. He then plentifully sprinkled it with salmon oil, and manifested by his own example that we were to eat of it. I just tasted it, and found the oil perfectly sweet, without which the other ingredient would have been very insipid. The chief partook of it with great avidity after it had received an additional quantity of oil. This dish is considered by these people as a great delicacy; and on examination, I discovered it to consist of the inner rind of the hemlock pine tree, taken off early in summer, and put into a frame, which shapes it into cakes of fifteen inches long, ten broad, and half an inch thick; and in this form I should suppose it may be preserved for a great length of time. This discovery satisfied me respecting the many hemlock trees which I had observed stripped of their bark." Mackenzie found some of the older men here with long beards, and to one of them he presented a pair of scissors for clipping his beard. After describing some remarkable oblong "tables" (as they might be called) of cedar wood--twenty feet long by eight feet broad--made of thick cedar boards joined together with the utmost neatness, and painted with hieroglyphics and the figures of animals; and his visit to a kind of temple in the village, into the architecture of which strangely carved and painted figures were interwoven; Mackenzie goes on to relate an episode giving one a very vivid idea of the helplessness of "native" medicine in many diseases. He was taken to see a son of the chief, who was suffering from a terrible ulcer in the small of his back, round which the flesh was gangrened, one of his knees being afflicted in the same way. The poor fellow was reduced to a skeleton, and apparently drawing very near to death. "I found the native physicians busy in practising their skill and art on the patient. They blew on him, and then whistled; at times they pressed their extended fingers with all their strength on his stomach; they also put their forefingers doubled into his mouth, and spouted water from their own with great violence into his face. To support these operations the wretched sufferer was held up in a sitting posture, and when they were concluded he was laid down and covered with a new robe made of the skin of a lynx. I had observed that his belly and breast were covered with scars, and I understood that they were caused by a custom prevalent among them of applying pieces of lighted touchwood to their flesh, in order to relieve pain or demonstrate their courage. He was now placed on a broad plank, and carried by six men into the woods, where I was invited to accompany them. I could not conjecture what would be the end of this ceremony, particularly as I saw one man carry fire, another an axe, and a third dry wood. I was, indeed, disposed to suspect that, as it was their custom to burn the dead, they intended to relieve the poor man from his pain, and perform the last sad duty of surviving affection. When they had advanced a short distance into the wood, they laid him upon a clear spot, and kindled a fire against his back, when the physician began to scarify the ulcer with a very blunt instrument, the cruel pain of which operation the patient bore with incredible resolution. The scene afflicted me, and I left it." The chief of this village had probably met Captain Cook about ten years before. He had been down in a large canoe[12] with forty of his people to the seacoast, where he saw two large vessels. [Footnote 12: Mackenzie thus describes one of the large sea-going canoes of the coast natives: "This canoe was built of cedar, forty-five feet long, four feet broad, and three and a half in depth. It was painted black and decorated with white figures of different kinds. The gunwale fore and aft was inlaid with the teeth of the sea otter." He adds that "these coast tribes (north of Vancouver Island and of Queen Charlotte Sound) had been in indirect contact with the Spaniards since the middle of the sixteenth century, and with the Russians from the middle of the eighteenth century. Therefore, from these two directions they had learnt the use of metal, and had obtained copper, brass, and iron. They may possibly have had copper earlier still from the Northern Indians on the other side of the Rocky Mountains; but brass and iron they could, of course, only have obtained from Europeans. They had already become very deft at dealing with these metals, and twisted the iron into collars which weighed upwards of twelve pounds, also beating it into plates for their daggers and knives."] Farther down the river the natives, instead of regaling them with fish, placed before them a long, clean, and well-made trough full of berries, most of them resembling blackberries, though white in colour, and others similar to huckleberries. In this region the women were employed in beating and preparing the inner rind of the juniper bark, to which they gave the appearance of flax, and others were spinning with a distaff; again, others were weaving robes of this fibrous thread, intermixed with strips of sea-otter skin. The men were fishing on the river with drag nets between two canoes, thus intercepting the salmon coming up the river. At last, on Saturday, the 20th of July, 1793, they emerged from the Salmon River into an arm of the sea (probably near King Island). The tide was out, and had left a large space covered with seaweed. The surrounding hills were involved in fog.... The bay appeared to be some three miles in breadth, and on the coast the travellers saw a great number of sea otters.[13] At two in the afternoon the swell was so high, and the wind, which was against them, so boisterous, that they could not proceed along the seacoast in their leaky canoe. A young chief who had come with them as one of their guides, and who had been allowed to leave when the seacoast was reached, returned bearing a large porcupine on his back. He first cut the animal open and threw its entrails into the sea, then singed the skin and boiled it in separate pieces; nor did he go to rest till, with the assistance of two others who happened to be awake, every morsel of it had been devoured. This was fortunate, because their stock of provisions was reduced to twenty pounds' weight of pemmican, sixteen pounds of rice, and six pounds of flour amongst ten men, "in a leaky vessel, and on a barbarous coast". [Footnote 13: These _may_ have been small seals, but the sea otter (_Enhydris lutris_), now nearly extinct, was at one time found in numbers along the north-west American coast, from the Aleutian Islands and Alaska to Oregon. Owing to persecution it now leads an almost entirely aquatic life, resting at times on the masses of floating seaweed.] The rise and fall of the tide here was noted at fifteen feet in height. Mr. Mackay collected a quantity of small mussels, which were boiled and eaten by the two Scotchmen, but not by the Canadians, who were quite unacquainted with sea shellfish. Near Point Menzies, which had already been reached and named by Captain VANCOUVER in the spring of 1793 on his great voyage of discovery up the North American coast,[14] Alexander Mackenzie met a party of Amerindians, amongst whom was a man of insolent aspect, who, by means of signs and exclamations, made him understand that he and his friends had been fired at by a white man named Makuba (Vancouver), and that another white man, called "Bensins", had struck him on the back with the flat of his sword. This man more or less compelled Mackenzie to accompany him in the direction of his village, and on the way explained that "Makuba" had come there with his "big boat". Indeed, Mackenzie's party perceived the remains of sheds or buildings on the shore where Europeans had probably made a camp, and here they established themselves, taking up a position of defence, because the attitude of the natives was rather threatening. [Footnote 14: GEORGE VANCOUVER (born about 1758, and probably descended from Dutch or Flemish ancestors) was one of the great pioneers of the British Empire. His name is commemorated in Vancouver's Island, an important portion of British Columbia. Vancouver entered the navy when only thirteen, sailed with Captain Cook, and eventually was appointed to command a naval expedition sent out in 1791 to survey and take over from the Spaniards the north-west American coast north of Oregon. It is remarkable that he should only have missed Mackenzie's arrival at Point Menzies by about two months. With what amazed rejoicing would these two heroic explorers have greeted one another had they met on this remote point of the Pacific coast, the one coming overland (so to speak) from Quebec and the Atlantic, and the other all the way by sea from Falmouth via the Cape of Good Hope, Australia, New Zealand, Tahiti, and Hawaii.] At this camp there was a rock, and on this Alexander Mackenzie, mixing up some vermilion or red clay in melted grease, inscribed in large characters the following words: "Alexander Mackenzie, from Canada, by land, the twenty-second of July, one thousand seven hundred and ninety-three". He then shifted his camp to a place three miles to the north-east, below a precipice from which issued streams of fine water as cold as ice. And here he took careful observations with his astronomical and surveying instruments, in order to fix his position. Fortunately the day was one of bright sunshine. Otherwise, had there been a long persistence of cloud, he might have been obliged to leave the Pacific coast without being able to fix precisely the place where he had reached the sea. Then he yielded to the passionate desire of his people to withdraw inland from the possibly dangerous inhabitants of the coast, and returned with them to the encampment where the porcupine had been eaten. Here the guide made off into the woods. Mackenzie followed him, and thus reached a village from which two men issued armed with daggers and intending to attack him. While stopping to defend himself, many other people assembled, and amongst them he recognized the irritating person who incessantly repeated the names "Makuba" and "Benzins". However, this threatened danger was narrowly averted, and eventually they left the village with a supply of food; but also in a state of considerable irritation with--fleas! For some of the houses of these Pacific coast villages swarmed with fleas to such an extent that Mackenzie and his men were obliged to take to the water to rid themselves of these vermin, which swarmed also on the ground that was bare of grass. The return journey up the Salmon River was a series of bewildering vicissitudes. Sometimes Mackenzie and his party were received in the most threatening way by persons who had been warm friends on their downward journey, then seemingly inevitable war was transformed into peace, but guides deserted, or the Amerindians from across the Rocky Mountains attempted to mutiny. However, they struggled through all their difficulties, till at last they reached the place known as the Friendly Village, and were here fortunately received with great kindness, being once more entertained "with the most respectful hospitality". "In short, the chief behaved to us with so much attention and kindness that I did not withhold anything in my power to give which might afford him satisfaction.... I presented him with two yards of blue cloth, an axe, knives, and various other articles. He gave me in return a large shell which resembled the under shell of a Guernsey oyster, but was somewhat larger. Where they procure them I could not discover, but they cut and polish them for bracelets, ear-rings, and other personal ornaments...." The women of this place were employed in boiling sorrel and different kinds of berries in large square kettles made of cedar wood. This pottage, when it had attained a certain consistency, they took out with ladles, and poured it into frames about twelve inches square. These were then exposed to the sun, until their contents became so many dried cakes. This was their principal article of food, and probably of traffic. These people had also made portable chests of cedar, in which they packed these cakes, as well as their salmon, both dried and roasted. The only flesh they ate in addition to the salmon was that of the sea otter and the seal; except that one instance already mentioned of the young Indian who feasted on the flesh of the porcupine. "Their faces are round, with high cheekbones, and their complexion between olive and copper. They have small grey eyes with a tinge of red,... their hair is of a dark-brown colour." The men wore their hair long, and either kept it well combed and hanging loose over the shoulders, or plaited it and bedaubed it with brown earth so as to make it quite impervious to the comb. Those who adopted this fashion had to carry a bone bodkin about with them to ease the frequent irritation which arose from the excessive abundance of vermin in their hair. The women, on the other hand, usually wore their hair short. Mackenzie noticed that the infants had their heads enclosed with boards covered with leather, to press the skull into the shape of a wedge. The women wore a fringed apron, and over that a long robe made of skins or leather, either loose or tied round the middle with a girdle. Over these in wet weather was worn a cap in the shape of an inverted bowl or dish. The men also wore this cap, and in cold weather used the robe, but in warm weather went about in no clothing at all, except that their feet were protected with shoes made of dressed elks' skins. In wet weather, over their robe they wore a circular mat with an opening in the middle sufficiently large to admit the head. This, spreading over the shoulders, threw off the wet. As compared with the Indians of the Rocky Mountains and the great plains, the men and boys were very cleanly, being constantly in the water. The women, however, were dirty. At the end of July, 1793, Mackenzie left what he calls the Friendly Village, and prepared to return to the east across the Rocky Mountains, having distributed to each man about twenty pounds weight of smoked salmon, flour, and pemmican. The fatigue of ascending the precipices of the mountains was past description. When they arrived at a spot where water could be obtained, and a camp made, they were in such an extremity of weariness they could hardly crawl about to gather wood for the purpose of making a fire; but two hours afterwards the Amerindians of their party arrived and came to their assistance. Then when they were sitting round a blazing fire, and some of their fatigue had lessened, they could sit and talk of past dangers, and indulge in the delightful reflection that they were thus far advanced on their homeward journey. "Nor was it possible to be in this situation without contemplating the wonders of it. Such was the depth of the precipices below, and the height of the mountains above, with the rude and wild magnificence of the scenery around, that I shall not attempt to describe such an astonishing and awful combination of objects.... Even at this place, which is only, as it were, the first step towards gaining the summit of the mountains, the climate was very sensibly changed. The air that fanned the village which we left at noon, was mild and cheering; the grass was verdant, and the wild fruits ripe around it. But here the snow was not yet dissolved, the ground was still bound by the frost, the herbage had scarce begun to spring, and the crowberry bushes were just beginning to blossom." Eventually they found their canoe, and the property which they had left behind, in perfect safety. At this camp, where the canoe had been left behind, many natives arrived both from the upper and lower parts of the river, all of them dressed in beaver robes, which they were ready enough to sell for large knives. It struck Alexander Mackenzie as being very extraordinary that these people, who had left absolutely untouched the property stored at this place--when anyone passing by could have stolen it and never have been detected--should now be so ready to pilfer articles and utensils from the camp. So many small things had been picked up and taken away by them, when coming to sell their beaver robes, that he was obliged to take some action. So, before all these beaver-clad Amerindians had departed on their westward journey, he told the rearguard that he had noticed the thefts, and scarcely thought their relations who were guilty of stealing realized the awful mischief that would result from this dishonesty; that they were on their way now to the sea to procure large quantities of salmon from the rivers, but the salmon, which was absolutely necessary to their existence, came from the sea which belonged to the white men, and it only needed a message from the white men to the powers of nature to prevent the fish coming up from the sea into the rivers; and if this word were spoken they and their children might starve. He consequently advised them to hurry after their friends, and see that all the stolen articles were sent back. This plan succeeded. The stolen articles were restored, and then Mackenzie purchased from these people several large salmon, and his party enjoyed a delicious meal. Mackenzie declared that there were no bison to be found on the west side of the Rocky Mountains[15] (British Columbia), and no wolves. [Footnote 15: He was not quite accurate: there were a few "wood" bison in the north and east of British Columbia.] Resuming their journey up the Fraser River, they passed through the narrow gut between mountainous rocks, which on the outward journey had been a passage of some risk. But now the state of the water was such that, they got up without difficulty, and had more time to examine these extraordinary rocks, which were as perpendicular as a wall, and gave the traveller the idea of a succession of enormous Gothic cathedrals. With little difficulty they transported their canoe across the water parting to the Peace River. As they began to glide down this stream, homeward bound, they noticed at the entrance of a small tributary an object which proved to be four beaver skins hung up to attract their attention. These were the skins which had been given to Mackenzie as a present by a native as he travelled westwards. Not wishing to add to his loads, he had left the skins behind, saying he would call for them on his return. Mackenzie imagined, therefore, that, being under the necessity of leaving the river, this Indian had hung up the skins in the hope that they would attract the attention of the travellers on their return. "To reward his honesty, I left three times the value of the skins in trade goods in their place." As the Peace River carried them away from the great mountains, and the plains extended before their sight, they stopped to repair the canoe and to get in supplies of food from the herds of game that were visible. They began with a hearty meal of bison beef. "Every fear of future want was removed." Soon afterwards they killed an elk, the carcass of which weighed over two hundred and fifty pounds. "As we had taken a very hearty meal at one o'clock, it might naturally be supposed that we should not be very voracious at supper; nevertheless, a kettleful of elk flesh was boiled and eaten, and that vessel replenished with more meat and put on the fire. All that remained of the bones, &c, were placed after the Indian fashion round the fire to roast, and at ten the next morning the whole was consumed by ten persons and a large dog, who was allowed his share of the banquet. Nor did any inconvenience result from what may be considered as an inordinate indulgence." On the 24th of August, 1793, Mackenzie was back again at Fort Chipewayan, after an absence of eleven months, having been the first white man to cross the broad continent of North America from the Atlantic to the Pacific, north of Mexico. CHAPTER XII Mackenzie's Successors The Spaniards of California had been aware in the middle of the eighteenth century that there was a big river entering the sea to the north of the savage country known as Oregon. The estuary of this river was reached in May, 1792, by an American sea captain of a whaling ship--ROBERT GRAY, of Boston. He crossed the bar, and named the great stream after his own ship, the _Columbia_. Five months afterwards (October, 1792) Lieutenant BROUGHTON, of the Vancouver expedition, entered the Columbia from the sea, explored it upstream for a hundred miles, and formally took possession of it for the King of Great Britain. The news of this discovery reached Alexander Mackenzie (no doubt after his return from his overland journey to the Pacific coast), and he at once jumped to the conclusion that the powerful stream he had discovered in the heart of the Rocky Mountains, and had partially followed on its way to the Pacific, must be the Columbia. As a matter of fact it was the river afterwards called Fraser. If you look at the map of British North America, and then at the map of Russian Asia--Siberia--you will notice a marked difference in the arrangement of the waterways. Those of the Canadian Dominion, on the whole, flow more eastwards and westwards, or at any rate radiate in all directions, so as to constitute the most wonderful system of natural canals possessed by any country or continent. On the contrary, the rivers of Siberia flow usually in somewhat parallel lines from south to north. Siberia also is far less well provided than British North America with an abundance of navigable rivers, streams, and great lakes. Therefore the traveller in pre-railway days wishing to cross Siberia from west to east or east to west was obliged to have recourse to wheeled traffic, to ride, or to walk. Consequently, until the beginning of the twentieth century, the "exploitation" (or turning to useful account) of Siberia was a far more difficult process than the development of North America, once the question of British _versus_ French or Spanish was settled. Siberia at one time was almost as rich in fur-bearing animals as British North America; yet so difficult was transport (and so severe were the rigours of the climate) that the Russians, once they reached the shores of the Pacific at the beginning of the eighteenth century, began to stretch out their influence to the opposite peninsula of Alaska mainly on account of the fur trade. For it was easier and less expensive to bring furs from Alaska round Cape Horn, or the Cape of Good Hope, to Europe than to convey them overland from eastern Siberia. Then, also, the Chinese market was becoming of importance to the fur trade. Already Mackenzie, at the end of the eighteenth century, is found considering whether a sea trade between China and a British port on the North Pacific coast could not be arranged so as to develop a profitable market among the mandarins and grandees of the Celestial Empire for a good proportion of the North-west Company's skins. [Illustration: Map of Part of the Coast Region of BRITISH COLUMBIA] Peter Pond, already referred to on p. 278, is said to have expressed his intention (in 1788) of going to treat with the Empress Catherine II for a Russian occupation of the Alaskan and Columbian coasts. For this reason, or the mere desire to have a proportion of this fur-producing country, the Emperor Paul, in 1799, created a Russian Chartered Company to occupy the Alaska and north Columbian coasts. Great Britain offered no objection--in spite of having acquired some rights here by an agreement with Spain--and that is why, when you look at the map of the vast Canadian Dominion, you find with surprise that it has been robbed (one might almost say) of at least half of its legitimate Pacific seaboard. The Russian Company was allowed to claim the north Columbian coast between Alaska proper and Queen Charlotte Islands. In 1867 the Russian Government sold all Alaska and the north Columbian coast to the United States, partly to annoy Great Britain, whom it had not forgiven for the Crimean War. You will have noticed that quite a number of United States citizens (mostly born British subjects in New England) had taken part in the north-west fur trade immediately after the British conquest of Canada disposed of French monopolies. There were Jonathan Carver and Peter Pond, for example; and a much more worthy person than the last named--Daniel W. Harmon, a New Englander, who entered the service of the North-west Company in 1800, and followed in Mackenzie's footsteps to the upper Fraser River and the vicinity of the Skeena. Simon Fraser also, whose tracing of the Fraser River from its upper waters to the Pacific coast we shall presently deal with, was a native of Vermont, though his father came from Scotland. The furs which began to penetrate into the United States by way of Detroit and Niagara, the rising scale of luxury in dress in the towns of the eastern seaboard of the United States, the voyages of American whalers up the west coast of North America (including the discovery of the Columbia River in 1792 by Captain Robert Gray), the purchase of Louisiana from the Emperor Napoleon in 1804--with the vague claim it gave to the coast line of Oregon on the Pacific: all these circumstances inspired far-sighted persons in the United States at the beginning of the nineteenth century with a wish to secure for their Government and commerce a share in the fur trade and in these wonderful new lands of the Pacific watershed. American ships (whaling ships) had already become accustomed to sail round Cape Horn and to visit the Oregon and Alaskan coasts. The American Government therefore, immediately after the Louisiana purchase, dispatched an American expedition under Captains Meriwether Lewis and Jonathan Clarke to travel up the Missouri River and so across the mountains to the coast of Oregon, a wonderful expedition, which they carried out with great success in two years (1804-6), reaching the lower Columbia River and following it down to the sea. Consequently, with all this in the air, it is not very surprising that the far-sighted John Jacob Astor, a wealthy German merchant of New York, should have conceived the idea of founding a great American fur-trading company and of establishing it at the mouth of the Columbia River. At the beginning of the nineteenth century he had entered into arrangements with an Anglo-Canadian Company (the Mackinaw), which worked the southernmost part of Canada, to fuse its enterprise with his, and thus founded the _South-west Company_, the name of which (at any rate in current speech) was afterwards changed into the Pacific Fur-trading Company. After attempting in vain to come to a working arrangement with the great North-west Company, he decided to act quite independently and to establish the headquarters of his new concern at the mouth of the Columbia River. Accordingly, the expedition was sent out in duplicate to the mouth of the Columbia River, one-half going a six-months' voyage round Cape Horn in a sailing ship, the _Tonquin_, and the other marching overland or canoeing on lakes and rivers in eighteen months from Montreal via the Mississippi and Missouri. These two parties together founded "Astoria", at the mouth of the Columbia. But most of Astor's employees were British subjects derived from men of the North-west and Mackinaw Companies; and when, in 1812, war broke out between the United States and Great Britain, a British war vessel came up the Pacific coast to Astoria and promptly turned it into "Fort George". Forthwith the North-west Company bought up the derelict property of Mr. Astor's Company from his not very honest British employees, and the few Americans in the concern retreated inland, and, after almost incredible sufferings from the attacks of unfriendly Indians, succeeded in reaching the Mississippi. [Illustration: THE KOOTENAY OR HEAD STREAM OF THE COLUMBIA RIVER] This Columbia River had in reality been discovered at its sources, and traced down to the sea, between 1807 and 1811 by DAVID THOMPSON (once a Blue-coat boy in London; from 1784 to 1792 in the service of the Hudson's Bay Company, and after that one of the most famous of the Nor'-westers). The upper course of this river and its northern affluents were annexed as British by David Thompson; the lower course did not at once become the political property of the United States, but was considered vaguely to be the joint property of both nations, till the Oregon settlement of 1846. By the treaty of 1792, the southern boundary of central Canada was agreed upon as being the 49th degree of north latitude, but only between the Lake of the Woods and the Rocky Mountains. The agreement of 1846 continued the 49th degree boundary to the shore of the Pacific opposite Vancouver Island. Prominent among the agents of the North-western Company who followed Sir Alexander Mackenzie as a pioneer towards the Pacific shores was ALEXANDER HENRY THE YOUNGER,[1] regarding whose journeys some extracts may be given. [Footnote 1: The nephew of the Alexander Henry already mentioned as an explorer between 1761 and 1775.] The first entry in his diary of 1799 is not particularly romantic, but shows some of the unexpected dangers attending the life of an adventurer in the far north-west. He had been riding through the Assiniboin country in the autumn of 1799, probably after one of the very indigestible meals which he describes here and there in his pages. Alone, and crossing an open plain swarming with wolves, he was seized suddenly with a violent colic, the pain of which was so terrible that he could not remain in the saddle. He dismounted, hobbled his horse, and threw himself on the grass, where he lay in agony for two hours, expecting every moment would be his last, till, quite exhausted, he fell asleep. He was awakened, however, by the howling of the wolves advancing to tear him to pieces; yet he was so weak that he was scarcely able to mount his horse, and then could only proceed at a slow walk, with the wolves snapping at his horse's heels. Near the site of the present city of Winnipeg, in the late summer of 1800, he and his expedition were much troubled by swarms of water snakes. They were harmless but not pleasant in their familiarity, for they entered the tents and took refuge in the explorers' beds; and as they apparently came from their breeding places in Amerindian graves which covered the remains of people who had died of smallpox in a recent epidemic, they were additionally loathsome. Smallpox indeed played a very important part in the historical development of western North America. Prior to 1780 the Amerindian tribes between the upper Mississippi and the Rocky Mountains, and between the Saskatchewans and the Missouri, were numerous and warlike. At first, about 1765, they received in very friendly fashion the pioneer British traders and French Canadians who attempted to resume the fur trade where it had been dropped by the French monopolists in 1760. But fifteen years afterwards, enraged at the violence and wrongdoing of the British and Canadian traders, and maddened by strong drink, they were planning a universal massacre of the whites, when suddenly smallpox (introduced by the Spaniards into New Mexico) came on them as a scourge, which destroyed whole tribes, and depopulated much of western North America. Alexander Henry had many adventures with the bison of the plains. Here is one of them. "Just as I came up to him at full speed and prepared to fire, my horse suddenly stopped. The bull had turned about to face my horse, which was naturally afraid of buffaloes, and startled at such a frightful object; he leaped to one side to avoid the bull. As I was not prepared for this I was pitched over his head, and fell within a few yards of the bull's nose; but fortunately for me he paid no more attention to my horse than to me. The grass was long, and I lay quiet until a favourable opportunity offered as he presented his placotte. I discharged both barrels of my double gun at him; he turned and made one plunge toward me, but had not time to repeat it before he fell, with his nose not more than three paces off.... I had to return on foot as my horse had bolted." At this place--near the Red River (the season September)--the country swarmed with big game such as North America will never see any more: enormous numbers of bison, of wapiti or Canadian red deer, moose or elk, prong-buck, and of grizzly bears and black bears who followed the herds to attack them. The rivers swarmed with otters and beavers. The ground along the banks of the river was worn into a smooth, hard pavement by the hoofs of the thousands of buffaloes. Racoons, red foxes, wolves, and pumas frequented the bush country and the chumps of forest. A large white wolf, prowling rather imprudently, came within a few yards of Henry, and was shot dead. "We observed on the opposite beach no fewer than seven bears drinking all at the same time. Red deer were whistling in every direction, but our minds were not sufficiently at ease to enjoy our situation." Large flocks of swans (_Cygnus columbianus_) rose out of the Red River apparently in a state of alarm and confusion, possibly caused by the many herds of buffaloes rushing down to the river to drink. At night everything was quiet except the bellowing of buffaloes and the whistling of red deer. "I climbed up a tall oak at the entrance of the plain, from the top of which I had an extensive view of the country. Buffalo and red deer were everywhere in sight passing to and fro." But the prairie had its nuisances as well as its wonders of animal life. From the end of April to the end of July the woods and grass swarmed with ticks (_Ixodes_), which covered the clothes of the Europeans and entered their ears and there caused serious inflammations. They would in time get such a firm hold by the insertion of their heads into the skin that they could not be removed without pulling the body from the head, which caused a terrible itching lasting for months. If left alone they adhered to the flesh until they swelled to the size of a musket ball, when they fell off of themselves. In the summertime gadflies were exasperating in their attacks on men and cattle. Mosquitoes were a veritable plague, and midges also, between June and the end of September. Not the least of the terrors of life in the far north-west in those days was the vermin that collected in the houses or huts built for a winter sojourn. It is frequently mentioned, in the records of the pioneers, how the lodges or tents of the Amerindians swarmed with fleas and lice. Henry notes on the 19th of April, 1803: "The men began to demolish our dwelling houses, which were built of bad wood, and to build new ones of oak. The nests of mice we found, and the swarms of fleas hopping in every direction, were astonishing." Henry reached the Pacific coast in 1814, by way of the Kootenay, Spokane, and Columbia River route, which had been discovered by David Thompson. He describes well the forests of remarkable trees on this portion of the Pacific coast, opposite the south end of Vancouver Island: the crooked oaks loaded with mistletoe, the tall wild cherry trees, the hazels with trunks thicker than a man's thigh, the evergreen arbutus, the bracken fern, blackberries, and black raspberries; and the game in these glades of trees and fern: small Columbian _Mazama_ deer, large lynxes, bears, gluttons, wolves, foxes, racoons, and squirrels. Overhead soared huge Californian condors (_Pseudogryphus_). Henry was drowned in 1812 in the estuary of the Columbia River, through the capsizing of a boat. The question of the identity of the great river flowing to the Pacific from near the headwaters of the Peace--the river which Mackenzie had discovered and been forced to leave--was finally decided by SIMON FRASER, one of the most celebrated among the North-west Company's pioneers. Like Mackenzie, he believed this stream to be the upper Columbia. Accompanied by John Stuart and Jules Quesnel, he left the Fraser River at its junction with the Nechaco on May 22, 1807, and, keeping as near as he could to the course of the river, found himself in the country of the Atna tribe, Amerindians of a diminutive size but active appearance, from whom he obtained an invaluable guide and faithful interpreter, Little Fellow, but for whose bravery, wise advice, and clever diplomacy the journey must have ended in disaster or disappointment--a remark which might be made about nearly all the Amerindian guides of the pioneers. The Atna Indians were dressed in skins with the hair outside, and were armed with bows and arrows. They besmeared their bodies with fish oil and red earth, and painted their faces in different colours. Bison were quite unknown to them, being very seldom found in those latitudes on the western side of the Rocky Mountains. The country of the Atna Indians on the upper Fraser abounded in elk, wapiti, reindeer, bighorn sheep, mountain goats,[2] and beaver. [Footnote 2: This remarkable beast (_Oreamnus_) they called "Aspai", and wove from its white wool an excellent cloth for their clothing.] Here is a description by Fraser of some of the rapids in the upper part of the river named after him. "The channel contracts to about forty yards, and is enclosed by two precipices of immense height, which bending towards each other make it narrower above than below. The water which rolls down this extraordinary passage in tumultuous waves and with great velocity has a frightful appearance. However, it being impossible to carry canoes by land, all hands without hesitation embarked, as it were, _à corps perdu_ upon the mercy of this awful tide. Once engaged, the die was cast. Our great difficulty consisted in keeping the canoes in the middle of the stream, that is, clear of the precipice on the one side, and of the gulfs formed by the waves on the other. Thus, skimming along as fast as lightning, the crews, cool and determined, followed each other in awful silence, and when we arrived at the end we stood gazing at each other in silent gratification at our narrow escape from total destruction.... I scarcely ever saw anything so dreary and dangerous in any country (such precipices, mountains, and rapids), and I still seem to see, whichever way I turn my eyes, mountains upon mountains whose summits are covered with eternal snow." [Illustration: A HUNTER'S "SHACK" IN BRITISH COLUMBIA: AFTER A SUCCESSFUL SHOOT OF BLUE GROUSE] They had to take to these same mountains, the river being unnavigable. The Asketti Indians brought them different kinds of roots, especially wild onions boiled into a syrup, excellent dried salmon, and some berries. These Indians had visited the seacoast, and had seen ships of war come there with white men, "very well dressed, and very proud, for," continued the chief, getting up and clapping his two hands upon his hips, and then striding about the place with an air of importance, "this is the way they go". In this country of the Hakamaw and Asketti Indians, dogs were much in use for carrying purposes, and could draw from one hundred to one hundred and fifty pounds. They were considered by the French Canadians very good eating, though only the smaller kinds were eaten, the large dogs being of another race and having a rank taste. They also shaved these dogs in the summer time, and wove rugs from their hair. These rugs were striped in different colours, crossing at right angles, and resembling at a distance a Highland plaid. The tombs of the Indian villages on this western side of the Rocky Mountains were superior to anything that Fraser had ever seen amongst savages. They were about fifteen feet long, and of the form of a chest of drawers. Upon the boards and posts, beasts and birds were carved in a curious but crude manner, and pretty well proportioned. Returning to the river, when the worst of the rapids were passed, they descended it rapidly, helped by a strong current, and at length entered a lake where they saw seals, which showed that they had got near to the Pacific Ocean. They also beheld a round mountain, the now celebrated Mount Baker, which is visible from so much of the surrounding country of British Columbia and Vancouver Island. The trees were splendid, junipers thirty feet in circumference in their trunks and two or three hundred feet high. Mosquitoes, however, were in clouds. Nearer to the coast the Indians often appeared in the distance like white men, for the very literal reason that they had covered their skins with white paint. Their houses were built of cedar planks, and were six hundred and forty feet long by sixty feet broad, all under one roof, but of course separated into a great number of partitions for different families. On the outside the boards (as Mackenzie had noticed) were carved with figures of men, beasts, and birds as large as life. Simon Fraser, however, when he reached sea water, near the site of New Westminster, was greatly disappointed that any view of the main ocean should be obstructed by distant lands. He had believed all along that he was tracing the far-famed Columbia River to its entrance into the Pacific Ocean; and now that, instead of this, he had discovered an entirely new river, henceforth to be called after him but without so long a course as the Columbia, his vanity was hurt. The Amerindians of the sea coast, opposite Vancouver Island, showed hostility to Fraser's party, as they had done farther north to Mackenzie. The Canadian _voyageurs_ got alarmed, and told Fraser's assistant, John Stuart, that they had made up their minds to return by land across the Rocky Mountains. Fraser and the other officers of the expedition joined in arguing with them and recalling them to their senses. Finally each member of the party swore a solemn oath before Almighty God that they would sooner perish than forsake in distress any of the crew in the present voyage. After this ceremony was over all hands dressed in their best apparel, and each took charge of his own bundle. They therefore returned as much as possible by the Fraser River, and only took to the mountains when obliged by the rapids. They had to pass many difficult rocks, defiles, precipices, in which there was a beaten path made by the natives, and made possible by means of scaffolds, bridges, and ladders, so peculiarly constructed that it required no small degree of necessity, dexterity, and courage in strangers to undertake them. For instance, they had to ascend precipices by means of ladders composed of two long poles placed upright, with sticks tied crosswise with twigs; upon the end of these others were placed, and so on to any height; add to this that the ladders were often so slack that the smallest breeze put them in motion, swinging them against the rocks, while the steps leading from scaffold to scaffold were so narrow and irregular that they could scarcely be traced by the feet without the greatest care and circumspection; but the most perilous part was when another rock projected over the one they were clearing. The Hakamaw Indians certainly deserved Fraser's grateful remembrance for their able assistance throughout these alarming situations. The descents were, if possible, still more difficult; in these places the white men were under the necessity of trusting their property to the Indians, even the precious guns were handed from one Indian to another; yet they thought nothing of it, they went up and down these wild places with the same agility as sailors do on a ship. After escaping innumerable perils in the course of the day, the party encamped about sunset, being supplied by the natives with plenty of dried fish. Thus the main lines of the exploration of the great Canadian Dominion were completed. Alexander Mackenzie went to England in 1799 and received a knighthood for his remarkable achievements. On his return he first definitely created the New North-west or "X.Y." Company, and then brought about its fusion (after several years of bitter rivalry) with the old North-west Company; and it was this united and strengthened organization which, between 1804 and 1819, sent out so many bold pioneers to fill in the details of the map between the Columbia and Missouri on the south, and the Great Slave Lake and Liard River on the north. But during these years the energies of the Hudson's Bay Company were reviving under a strange personality--THOMAS DOUGLAS, EARL OF SELKIRK. Lord Selkirk conceived the idea of putting new life into the Hudson's Bay Company, reviving the monopolies of trading granted in its old charter, and turning its vague rights to land into the absolute ownership of the enormous area of North America north and west of the Canadian provinces. No regard of course was paid to any rights of the natives, who as a matter of fact were dying out rapidly from the effects of bad alcohol and epidemic diseases. His motive was to establish large colonies of stalwart Highlanders as the tenants of a Chartered Company. Alexander Mackenzie had already called the north-west country "New Caledonia". Lord Selkirk wished to make it so in its population. Already he had been instrumental in establishing a Scottish colony on Prince Edward's Island,[3] which, after some difficulties at the beginning, had soon begun to prosper. Two or three years later he came to Montreal, and there collected all the information he could obtain from the partners in the North-west Company regarding the prospects of trade and colonization in the far west. In the year 1811 he had managed to acquire the greater part of the shares in the Hudson's Bay Company, and, placing himself at its head, he sent out his first hundred Highlanders and Irish to form a feudatory colony in the Red River district (the modern Manitoba). He also dispatched an official to govern what might be called the Middle West on behalf of the Hudson's Bay Company. This person, acting under instructions, claimed the whole region beyond the provinces of Upper and Lower Canada as the private property of the Hudson's Bay Company, on the strength of their antiquated charter issued by Charles II. The agents of the North-west Company were warned (as also the two or three thousand French Canadians and half-breeds in their pay) that henceforth they must not cut wood, fish or hunt, build or cultivate, save by the permission and as the tenants of the Hudson's Bay Company. [Footnote 3: Prince Edward's Island is off the north coast of New Brunswick. It was named after Queen Victoria's father, the Duke of Kent.] It is not surprising that such an outrageous demand, when it was followed up by the use of armed force, soon provoked bloodshed and a state of civil war throughout the North-west Territories. Lord Selkirk himself took command on the Red River, with a small army of disciplined soldiers. At length, in 1817, the British Government intervened through the Governor-General of Canada, and in 1818 Lord Selkirk left North America disgusted, and two years afterwards died at Pau, in France, from an illness brought on by grief at the failure of his projects. Sir Alexander Mackenzie also died suddenly in 1820, in Scotland. For twelve years he had been member of parliament for Huntingdon, and since 1812 had been the determined opponent in England of Lord Selkirk's plans of forcible colonization. After his death, however, in 1821, a sudden movement for reconciliation took place between the two Companies. Thenceforth the Hudson's Bay Company ruled over the vast regions of British North America, beyond Newfoundland, New Brunswick, Nova Scotia, and the two Canadian provinces. Under their government the work of geographical exploration went on apace. In 1834 one of their officers, J. M'Leod, discovered the Stikine River in northern British Columbia, and by 1848 J. Bell and Robert Campbell had revealed the Porcupine and Yukon Rivers. By the time Thomas Simpson, Warren Dease, and Dr. John Rae, on behalf of the Hudson's Bay Company; and Franklin, Back, Parry, Richardson, and M'Clintock, for the Imperial Government, had completed the explorations mentioned in Chapter VI, all the main features of Canadian geography were made known. The next series of pioneers were to be those of the mining industry--it was the discovery of gold in 1856 which created British Columbia; of agriculture--the wheat-growers of the Red River region made the province of Manitoba; of the steamboat; and above all the railway. Developments of science scarcely yet dreamt of will demand in further time their pioneers, and these will not come from abroad, but will assuredly be found in this splendid Canadian people, the descendants of the men or of the types of men I have attempted to describe. 
15342	----	NOTES OF A TWENTY-FIVE YEARS' SERVICE IN THE HUDSON'S BAY TERRITORY. BY JOHN M'LEAN. IN TWO VOLUMES. VOL. I. LONDON: RICHARD BENTLEY, NEW BURLINGTON STREET, Publisher in Ordinary to her Majesty. 1849. PREFACE. The writer's main object in first committing to writing the following Notes was to while away the many lonely and wearisome hours which are the lot of the Indian trader;--a wish to gratify his friends by the narrative of his adventures had also some share in inducing him to take up the pen. While he might justly plead the hacknied excuse of being urged by not a few of those friends to publish these Notes, in extenuation of the folly or presumption, or whatever else it may be termed, of obtruding them on the world, in these days of "making many books;" he feels that he can rest his vindication on higher grounds. Although several works of some merit have appeared in connexion with the subject, the Hudson's Bay territory is yet, comparatively speaking, but little known; no faithful representation has yet been given of the situation of the Company's servants--the Indian traders; the degradation and misery of the many Indian tribes, or rather remnants of tribes, scattered throughout this vast territory, is in a great measure unknown; erroneous statements have gone abroad in regard to the Company's treatment of these Indians; as also in regard to the government, policy, and management of the Company's affairs;--on these points, he conceives that his plain, unvarnished tale may throw some new light. Some of the details may seem trivial, and some of the incidents to be without much interest to the general reader; still as it was one chief design of the writer to draw a faithful picture of the Indian trader's life,--its toils, annoyances, privations, and perils, when on actual service, or on a trading or exploring expedition; its loneliness, cheerlessness, and ennui, when not on actual service; together with the shifts to which he is reduced in order to combat that ennui;--such incidents, trifling though they may appear to be, he conceives may yet convey to the reader a livelier idea of life in the Hudson's Bay Company's territories than a more ambitious or laboured description could have done. No one, indeed, who has passed his life amid the busy haunts of men, can form any just idea of the interest attached by the lonely trader to the most trifling events, such as the arrival of a stranger Indian,--the coming of a new clerk,--a scuffle among the Indians,--or a sudden change of weather. No one, unaccustomed to their "short commons," can conceive the intense, it may be said fearful, interest and excitement with which the issue of a fishing or hunting expedition is anticipated. Should his work contribute, in any degree, to awaken the sympathy of the Christian world in behalf of the wretched and degraded Aborigines of this vast territory; should it tend in any way to expose, or to reform the abuses in the management of the Hudson's Bay Company, or to render its monopoly less injurious to the natives than hitherto it has been; the writer's labour will have been amply compensated. Interested as he still is in that Company, with a considerable stake depending on its returns, it can scarcely be supposed that he has any intention, wantonly or unnecessarily, to injure its interests. GUELPH, CANADA WEST, _1st March, 1849._ CONTENTS OF THE FIRST VOLUME. CHAPTER I. The Hudson's Bay Company and Territories CHAPTER II. I enter the Hudson's Bay Company's Service--Padre Gibert CHAPTER III. On Service--Lake of Two Mountains--Opposition--Indians--Amusements at the Posts CHAPTER IV. Portage des Chats--Tactics of our Opponents--Treachery of an Iroquois--Fierce yet ludicrous nature of the Opposition CHAPTER V. Arrival at the Chats--Installed as Bourgeois--First Trading Excursion--Bivouac in the Woods--Indian Barbarity CHAPTER VI. Trip to Fort Coulonge--Mr. Godin--Natives CHAPTER VII. Superseded--Feelings on the Occasion--More Opposition--Æ. Macdonell--Tactics--Melancholy Death of an Indian CHAPTER VIII. Activity of our Opponents--Violent Conduct of an Indian--Narrow Escape--Artifice--Trip to Indian's Lodge--Stupidity of Interpreter CHAPTER IX. Expedition to the Bear's Den--Passage through the Swamp--Cunning of the Indians--A Scuffle--Its Results CHAPTER X. Père Duchamp--Mr. S.'s Instructions--Unsuccessful--Trading Excursion--Difficulties of the Journey--Lose our way--Provisions fail--Reach the Post--Visit to an Algonquin Chief--His abusive Treatment--Success CHAPTER XI. Success of the Iroquois Traders--Appointed to the Charge of the Chats--Canadian disputes Possession--Bivouac without a Fire--Ruse to baffle my Opponents--Roman Catholic Bigotry CHAPTER XII. Journey to Montreal--Appointment to Lac de Sable--Advantages of this Post--Its Difficulties--Governor's flattering Letter--Return from Montreal--Lost in the Woods--Sufferings--Escape CHAPTER XIII. Narrowly escape Drowning--Accident to Indian Guide--Am nearly Frozen to Death--Misunderstanding between Algonquins and Iroquois--Massacre at Hannah Bay CHAPTER XIV. Fall through the Ice--Dangerous Adventure at a Rapid--Opponents give in--Ordered to Lachine--Treatment on my Arrival--Manners, Habits, and Superstitions of the Indians--Ferocious Revenge of a supposed Injury--Different Methods of the Roman Catholic and Protestant Missionary--Indian Councils--Tradition of the Flood--Beaver Hunting--Language CHAPTER XV. Embark for the Interior--Mode of Travelling by Canoes--Little River--Lake Nipissing--French River--Old Station of Indian Robbers--Fort Mississaga--Indians--Light Canoe-Men--Sault Ste. Marie--Lake Superior--Canoe-men desert--Re-taken--Fort William--M. Thibaud--Lac la Pluie and River--Indians--White River--Narrow Escape--Conversation with an Indian about Baptism CHAPTER XVI. Continuation of the Voyage--Run short of Provisions--Dogs Flesh--Norway House--Indian Voyageurs--Ordered to New Caledonia--Lake Winnipeg--McIntosh's Island submerged--Cumberland House--Chippewayan and Cree Indians--Portage La Loche--Scenery--Athabasca--Healthiness of the Climate CHAPTER XVII. Arrival of Mr. F. from Caledonia--Scenery--Land-slip--Massacre at Fort St. John's--Rocky Mountain Portage--Rocky Mountains--Magnificent Scenery--McLeod's Lake--Reception of its Commander by the Indians CHAPTER XVIII. Arrival at New Caledonia--Beautiful Scenery--Indian Houses--Amusements at the Fort--Threatened Attack of Indians--Expedition against them--Beefsteaks--New Caledonian Fare--Mode of catching Salmon--Singular Death of native Interpreter--Indian Funeral Rites--Barbarous Treatment of Widows CHAPTER XIX. Indian Feast--Attempt at Dramatic Representation--Religion--Ordered to Fort Alexandria--Advantages of the Situation--Sent back to Fort St. James--Solitude--Punishment of Indian Murderer--Its Consequences--Heroic Adventure of Interpreter CHAPTER XX. Appointed to the Charge of Fort George--Murder of Mr. Yale's Men--Mysterious Loss of Mr. Linton and Family--Adventures of Leather Party--Failure of Crops--Influenza CHAPTER XXI. Climate of New Caledonia--Scenery--Natural Productions--Animals--Fishes--Natives--Their Manners and Customs--Duelling--Gambling--Licentiousness--Language NOTES OF A TWENTY-FIVE YEARS' SERVICE AT THE HUDSON'S BAY TERRITORY. CHAPTER I. THE HUDSON'S BAY COMPANY AND TERRITORIES. That part of British North America known by the name of the Hudson's Bay territory extends from the eastern coast in about 60° W. long. to the Russian boundary in 142° W.; and from the Gulf of St. Lawrence, along the Ottawa River and the northern shores of Lakes Huron and Superior, and thence to the boundary line of the United States; extending in latitude thence to the northern limit of America; being in length about 2,600 miles, and in breadth about 1,400 miles. This extensive space may be divided into three portions, each differing most materially in aspect and surface. The first and most extensive is that which is on the east, from the Labrador coast, round Hudson's Bay, northward to the Arctic region, and westward to the Rocky Mountains. This is entirely a wooded district, affording that plentiful supply of timber which forms so large a branch of the Canadian export trade. These interminable forests are principally composed of pines of large size, but which towards the northern boundary are of a very stinted growth. Another portion is the prairie country, reaching from Canada westward to the Rocky Mountains, and intersected by the boundary line of the United States. In general, the soil is rich alluvial, which being covered with luxuriant herbage, affords pasturage for the vast herds of wild buffaloes which roam over these extensive plains. The western part is that which lies between the Rocky Mountains and the Pacific Ocean, including the Oregon territory, which was likely to have led to a serious misunderstanding between Great Britain and the United States. These extensive portions are divided by the Hudson's Bay Company into four departments, and these departments are again subdivided into districts. At the head of each department and district a chief factor or chief trader generally presides, to whom all the officers within their respective jurisdictions are amenable. Those in charge of posts, whatever may be their rank, are subject to the authority of the person at the head of the district; and that person receives his instructions from the superintendent of the department. The whole affairs of the country at large are regulated by the Governor and Council, and their decisions again are referred, for final adjustment, to the Governor and Committee in London. The Montreal department comprehends all the districts and posts along the Gulf and River St. Lawrence; also the different posts along the banks of the Ottawa and the interior country. The depôt of the department is at Lachine, where all the returns are collected, and the outfits prepared. The southern department has its depôt at Moose Factory, in James's Bay; it includes the districts of Albany, Rupert's House, Temiscamingue, Lake Huron, and Lake Superior, together with several isolated posts along the shores of the Bay. The northern department is very extensive, having for its southern boundary the line which divides the British from the American territories, sweeping east and west from Lac La Pluie, in 95° W. long, and 49° N. lat. to the Rocky Mountains in 115° W. long.; then, with the Rocky Mountains for its western boundary, it extends northward to the Arctic Sea. The whole of this vast country is divided into the following districts: Norway House, Rainy Lake, Red River, Saskatchewan, English River, Athabasca, and McKenzie's River. The depôt of this department is York Factory, in Hudson's Bay, and is considered the grand emporium; here the grand Council is held, which is formed of the Governor and such chief factors and chief traders as may be present. The duty of the latter is to sit and listen to whatever measures the Governor may have determined on, and give their assent thereto, no debating or vetoing being ever thought of; the Governor being absolute, his measures therefore more require obedience than assent. Chief traders are also permitted to sit in council as auditors, but have not the privilege of being considered members. The Columbia department is bounded on the east by the Rocky Mountains, and on the west by the Pacific Ocean. An ideal line divides it on the south from the province of California, in lat. 41° 30'; and it joins the Russian boundary in lat. 55°. This, although a very extensive department, does not consist of many districts; New Caledonia is the principal, situated among the Rocky Mountains, and having several of its posts established along the banks of the Fraser River, which disembogues itself into the Gulf of Georgia in nearly 49° lat. and 122° W. long. The next is Colville, on the Columbia River, along with some isolated posts near the confluence of the same river. The _forts_, or trading posts, along the north-west coast, have each their respective commander. The shipping business is conducted by a person appointed for that purpose, who is styled, _par excellence_, the head of the "Naval department." The Company have a steamboat and several sailing vessels, for the purpose chiefly of trading with the natives along the coast. The primary object, however, is not so much the trade, as to keep brother Jonathan in check, (whose propensity for encroaching has of late been "pretty much" exhibited,) and to deter him from forming any establishments on the coasts; there being a just apprehension that if once a footing were obtained on the coast, an equal eagerness might be manifested for extending their locations into the interior. Strong parties of hunters are also constantly employed along the southern frontier for the purpose of destroying the fur-bearing animals in that quarter; the end in view being to secure the interior from the encroachments of foreign interlopers. The depôt of this department is at Fort Vancouver, on the Columbia River. The Hudson's Bay Company, as it at present exists, was incorporated in the winter of 1820-21, a coalition having been then formed with the North-West Company. Upon this taking place, an Act of Parliament was obtained which gave them not only the possession of the territory they had originally held by virtue of their royal charter, but also investing them with the same rights and privileges conferred by that charter in and over all the territories that had been settled by the North-West Company for a term of twenty-one years. The Governor, Deputy-Governor, and managing Committee, are, properly speaking, the only capitalists. The stock is divided into one hundred shares; sixty of which their Honours retain for themselves; and the remaining forty are divided among the chief traders and chief factors, who manage the affairs in the Indian country. A chief factor holds two of these shares, and a chief trader one; of which they retain the full interest for one year after they retire, and half interest for the six following years. These cannot be said to be stock-holders, for they are not admitted to any share in the executive management; but according to the present system they are termed Commissioned Officers, and receive merely the proceeds of the share allotted to them. They enjoy, however, one very superior advantage,--they are not subjected to bear their share in any losses which the Company may sustain. It is generally reckoned that the value of one share is on an average about 350l. sterling a-year. By the resignation of two chief traders, one share is at the Company's disposal the year after, which is then bestowed on a clerk. When two chief factors retire, a chief trader is promoted in like manner. Promotion also take place when the shares of the retired partners fall in. CHAPTER II. I ENTER THE HUDSON'S BAY COMPANY'S SERVICE--PADRE GIBERT. I entered the service of the Company in the winter of 1820-21, and after passing my contract at Montreal in the month of January, I took up my residence for the remainder of the season with a French priest, in the parish of Petit le Maska, for the purpose of studying the French language. The Padre was a most affable, liberal-minded man, a warm friend of England and Englishmen, and a staunch adherent to their government, which he considered as the most perfect under the sun. The fact is, that the old gentleman, along with many others of his countrymen who had escaped from the horrors of the French Revolution, had found an asylum in our land of freedom, which they could find nowhere else; and the personal advantages that had accrued to him from that circumstance, naturally induced a favourable disposition towards his benefactors, their laws, and their institutions. Though the Padre was extremely liberal in his political opinions, his management of his worldly affairs bore the stamp of the most sordid parsimony. He worshipped the golden calf, and his adoration of the image was manifest in everything around him. He wore a cassock of cloth which had in former times been of a black colour, but was now of a dusky grey, the woollen material being so completely incorporated with dust as to give it that colour. His table was furnished with such fare as his farm produced, with the addition, on particular occasions, of a bottle of _black strap_. A charming nymph, of some fifty years of age or so, had the management of the household, and discharged all her duties with strict decorum and care. I have the beauties of her person in my mind's eye to this day. She was hump-backed, short-necked, and one-eyed, and squinted bewitchingly with the remaining one: she had a short leg and a long one, a high shoulder and a low. In short, the dear creature seemed to be formed, or rather deformed, by the hand of nature on purpose to fill the situation of housekeeper for a priest,--so that whatever might be his age, no scandal could possibly attach itself to him from such a housekeeper. The man-servant was directly the counterpart of the charming Marguerite; he also was far advanced in the vale of years, and was of a most irascible temper. To stir up Joseph to the _grinning point_ was a very easy matter; and his frantic gesticulations, when thus goaded to wrath by our teasing pleasantries, (there were two other young gentlemen beside myself,) were of the most extraordinary description, and afforded infinite amusement. We never failed to amuse ourselves at Joseph's expense, when the Padre's absence permitted our doing so with impunity,--especially as a small present of tobacco, which was always kept at hand for such occasions, soon made us friends again. But it sometimes happened that such jokes were carried too far, so as to render the offering of _incense_ quite unacceptable, when the touch of _metal_ could alone produce the desired effect. I remained with Father Gibert until spring, and shall take leave of him by relating an anecdote or two illustrative of his loyalty and benevolence. Some time during Madison's unprovoked war with Great Britain, an alarm came from the upper part of the parish of which Father Gibert was _curé_, that a party of Americans had been seen marching down the country. The _Capitaine_ of militia, who was the _curé's_ next door neighbour, was immediately sent for, and by their joint influence and authority a considerable number of _habitans_ were soon assembled under arms, such as they were. The Father then shouldering his musket, and placing himself at the head of his parishioners, led them into his garden, which was enclosed by a picket fence, and bordered on the highway. Here the loyal band took their stand under cover of the fence, waiting to give Jonathan a warm reception the moment he came within reach. The supposed Americans proved to be a small detachment of British troops, and thus the affair ended. On another occasion during the same period the Padre's loyalty and good humour were manifested, though in a different manner. While amusing himself in the garden one day, he overheard two Irish soldiers engaged in conversation to this effect:-- "You know that the ould boy asks every body afore he gives any praties, if they belong to St. Patrick; well, is it a hard matter to tell him we do, agrah?" "Sure you'd be telling a lie, Paddy!" "Never mind that," said Paddy, "I'll spake." The old gentleman immediately returned to the house, and entering by a back door, was snugly seated in his arm-chair, book in hand, when the two Hibernians were admitted. "Well, my boys, what is your business with me?" "We would be wanting a few praties, if your Riverence could spare them." "Aha! you are from Ireland, I perceive. Irishmen very fond of potatoes! Well, my boys, I have a few remaining, and you shall have some if you belong to St. Patrick." "Faith, and it is all as your honour says; we are Irishmen, and we belong to St. Patrick." The old gentleman ordered Joseph to supply them with the "blessed root," without any further parley. Then addressing the speaker in a voice of assumed choler, exclaimed:-- "You are a great raskail! does your religion teach you to tell lies? You are Protestant both of you. However, if you do not belong to St. Patrick, you belong to the King of England, and I give my potatoes for his sake. But you must never try to impose upon an old priest again, or you may not come so well off." CHAPTER III. ON SERVICE--LAKE OF TWO MOUNTAINS--OPPOSITION--INDIANS--AMUSEMENTS AT THE POSTS. I arrived at Montreal about the beginning of May, and soon learnt that I was appointed to the post at Lake of Two Mountains. The Montreal department was headed at that time by Mr. Thane, a man of rather eccentric character, but possessed of a heart that glowed with the best feelings of humanity. I was allowed to amuse myself a few days in town, having directions however to call at the office every day, in case my services should be required. The period of departure at length arrived. I was one evening accosted by Mr. Thane in these terms:--"I say, youngster, you have been trifling away your time long enough here; you must hold yourself ready to embark for your destination to-morrow morning at five o'clock precisely. If you delay one moment, you shall have cause to remember it." Such positive injunctions were not disregarded by me. I was of course ready at the time appointed, and after all the hurry, had the honour of breakfasting with my commander before departing; but the woful and disheartening accounts of the hardships and privations I was to suffer in the country to which I was to proceed, fairly spoiled my appetite. I was told that my only lodging was to be a tent, my only food Indian corn, _when I could get it_; and many other _comforts_ were enumerated with the view of producing a certain effect, which my countenance no doubt betrayed, whilst he chuckled with the greatest delight at the success of his jokes. I took leave, and found myself that evening at the Lake of Two Mountains. On my arrival, a large building was pointed out to me as the Company's establishment, to which I soon found admittance, and was, to my great surprise, ushered into a large well furnished apartment. Tea had just been served, with a variety of substantial accompaniments, to which I felt heartily disposed to do ample justice, after my day's abstinence. This was very different entertainment from what I had been led to expect in the morning; would it had been my lot to be always so agreeably deceived! The village of the Lake of Two Mountains is inhabited by two distinct tribes of the aborigines--viz. the Iroquois and the Algonquins; the latter are a tribe of the Sauteux nation, or Ojibbeway, and live principally by the chase. The former cultivate the soil, and engage as voyageurs, or in any other capacity that may yield them the means of subsistence. They are a very hardy industrious race; but neither the habits of civilized life, nor the influence of the Christian religion, appear to have mitigated, in any material degree, the ferocity that characterized their pagan ancestors. Although they do not pay great deference to the laws of God, they are sufficiently aware of the consequences of violating the laws of man, and comport themselves accordingly. The Catholic seminary and church, along with the gardens of the establishment, almost divide the village into two equal parts; yet this close proximity does not appear to encourage any friendly intercourse between the two tribes. They in fact seldom pass their respective limits, and, with few exceptions, cannot converse together, the language of the one being unintelligible to the other. The Company established a post here in the spring of 1819, and when I arrived it was in charge of Mr. Fisher, then a senior clerk. He had two other clerks under him, besides myself, a like number of _attachés_, two interpreters, two servants, and a horse to ride upon. With such an establishment to rule over, need it be matter of surprise that our _bourgeois_ was in his own estimation a magnate of the first order? _N'importe_,--whatever might be his vanity, he possessed those qualities which constitute a first-rate Indian trader, and he required them to fill successfully his present situation. A number of petty traders were settled in the village, who, whenever the Company entered the lists against them, laid aside the feuds that subsisted among themselves, and joined to oppose their united efforts against the powerful rival that threatened to overwhelm them all. The spring fur campaign was about to open when I made my _début_ at the post. The natives being daily expected from the interior, all parties watched their arrival night and day. This was not a very harassing duty to us, as we relieved each other; but the situation of our superior was exceedingly irksome and annoying. The moment an Indian canoe appeared (the Indians always arrived at night), we were ordered to apprize him of it; having done so, he was immediately at the landing-place, our opponents being also there, attending to their own interests. Some of the natives were supplied by the Company, others by the petty traders; and according as it happened to be the customers of either that arrived, the servants assisted in unloading the canoes, conveying the baggage to their houses, and kindling a fire. Provisions were furnished in abundance by both parties. While these preliminary operations were being performed by the servants, the traders surrounded the principal object of their solicitude--the hunter; first one, then another, taking him aside to persuade him of the superior claims each had on his love and gratitude. After being pestered in this manner for some time, he, (the hunter,) eventually allowed himself to be led away to the residence of one of the parties, where he was treated to the best their establishment afforded; the natives, however, retaining their furs, and visiting from house to house, until satiated with the good cheer the traders had to give them, when they at length gave them up, but not always to the party to whom they were most indebted. They are generally great rogues; the sound of the dollars, which the Company possessed in abundance, often brought the furs that were due to the petty trader to the Company's stores; while some of our customers were induced by the same argument to carry their furs to our rivals. For a period of six weeks or so, the natives continued to arrive; sometimes in brigades, sometimes in single canoes; during the whole of this period we were occupied in the manner now described, day and night. So great was the pressure of business, that we had scarcely time to partake of the necessary refreshment. When they had at length all arrived, we enjoyed our night's rest, if indeed our continually disturbed slumbers could be called rest:--what with the howling of two or three hundred dogs, the tinkling of bells with which the horses the Indians rode were ornamented, the bawling of the squaws when beaten by their drunken husbands, and the yelling of the savages themselves when in that beastly state, sleep was impossible,--the infernal sounds that continually rent the air, produced such a _symphony_ as could be heard nowhere else out of Pandemonium. No liquors were sold to the natives at the village, but they procured as much as they required from the opposite side of the lake. Some wretches of Canadians were always ready, for a trifling consideration, to purchase it for them; thus the law prohibiting the sale of liquor to the Indians was evaded. After wallowing in intemperance for some time, they ultimately submitted to the authority of the priests, confessed their sins, received absolution, and became _good Christians_ for the remainder of the season. If any indulged in the favourite vice--a few always did--they were confined to their quarters by their families. After attending mass on Sundays, they amused themselves playing at ball, or running foot races; and it was only on such occasions they were seen to associate with their neighbours the Iroquois. They took opposite sides in the games; small stakes were allowed, merely to create an interest in the issue of the contest. The chiefs of both tribes sat smoking their pipes together, viewing the sports in silent gravity, and acting as umpires in all cases of doubt between the parties. They, in fact, led a glorious life during the three months they remained at the village; that period was to them a continued carnival. The best fare the country afforded--the best attire that money could procure--all that sensuality, all that vanity could desire--their means permitted them to enjoy. Their lands not having been hunted on during the war, the beaver multiplied at an extraordinary rate, and now swarmed in every direction. Every individual belonging to the tribe might then have acquired an independent fortune. They arrived at the village, their canoes laden with furs; but the characteristic improvidence of their race blinded them to future consequences. Such was their wasteful extravagance, that the money obtained by the sale of their furs was dissipated ere half the summer season was over. The traders supplied them afterwards with all requisites at a _moderate_ per centage; and when they embarked in autumn for their hunting grounds, they found themselves deeply involved in debt, a few only excepted. In the course of this summer, some of our opponents foreseeing the probable issue of the contest they were engaged in, proposed terms of capitulation, which were in most instances readily assented to by the Company; the inventories and outstanding debts were assumed at a certain valuation. They retired from the field, some with annuities for a stipulated period, while to others a round sum of money was granted; in either case the party bound himself, under certain penalties, not to interfere in the trade for a stated period of time. In this manner the Company got rid of all petty opponents, with the exception of two who continued the unequal contest. By the latter end of August the natives had all started for the interior, leaving behind only a few decrepit old men and women. The scene was now completely changed; a death-like stillness prevailed where but a few days before all was activity, bustle and animation. Two of my brother scribes were ordered to the interior; one[1] to the distant Lake Nipissingue, the other to the Chats. Mr. Fisher set off to enjoy himself in Montreal, Mr. Francher, the accountant, being appointed _locum-tenens_ during his absence. Another young Scot and myself, together with two or three non-descripts, formed the winter establishment. Having just quitted the scenes of civilized life, I found my present solitude sufficiently irksome; the natural buoyancy of youthful spirits, however, with the amusements we got up amongst us, conspired to banish all gloomy thoughts from my mind in a very short time. We--my friend Mac and myself--soon became very intimate with two or three French families who resided in the village, who were, though in an humble station, kind and courteous, and who, moreover, danced, fiddled and played whist. [1] This gentleman's name was Cockburn;--he met his end a few years afterwards in a very melancholy manner, while on his way to Montreal (having retired from the service). He rolled over the canoe on a dark night, and disappeared for ever! There was another family of a different status from the others, that of Capt. Ducharme, the king's interpreter, a kind-hearted, hospitable man, who frequently invited us to his house, where we enjoyed the charms of polished society and good cheer. The captain's residence was in the Iroquois division of the village; this circumstance led us to form another acquaintance that for some time afforded us some amusement, _en passant_. We discovered that a very ugly old widow, who resided in that quarter, had two very pretty young daughters, to whom we discoursed in Gaelic; they answered in Iroquois; and in a short time the best _understanding_ imaginable was established between us, (Mac and myself, be it always understood.) No harm came of it, though; I vow there did not; the priests, it seems, thought otherwise. Our acquaintance with the girls having come to their knowledge, we were one day honoured with a visit from the Iroquois padre; the severe gravity of whose countenance convinced us at a glance of the nature of his mission. I must do him the justice to say, however, that his address to us was mild and admonitory, rather than severe or reproachful. I resolved from that moment to speak no more Gaelic to the Iroquois maidens; Mac continued his visits. We always amused ourselves in the evenings with our French _confrères_, (whom I have mentioned as "nondescripts," from the circumstance of their being under no regular engagement with the Company,) playing cards or fiddling and dancing. We were on one occasion engaged in the latter amusement _en pleine midi_--our _Deputy_ Bourgeois being one of the party, and all of us in the highest possible glee, when lo! in the midst of our hilarity, the hall door flew open and the _great man_ stood sternly before us. The hand-writing on the wall could scarcely have produced a more startling effect on the convivial party of old, than did this unexpected apparition upon us. We listened to the reprimand which followed in all due humility, none more crest-fallen than our worthy Deputy. Mr. Fisher then opened his portmanteau and drew forth a letter, which he presented to my friend Mac, exclaiming in a voice of thunder, "Read that, gentlemen, and hear what Mr. Thane thinks of your conduct." We read and trembled; Mac's defiance of the authority of the priests offended them mortally; a formal complaint was consequently preferred against the innocent and the guilty, (although there was no guilt in fact, unless _speaking Gaelic_ to the wood-nymphs could be so construed,) and drew upon us the censures this dreadful missive conveyed. The magnate remained a few days, and on his departure for town, we resumed our usual pastimes, but selected a different _path_ to Captain Ducharme's. The Fathers had requested, when this establishment was first formed, that some of the Company's officers should attend church on Sundays for the purpose of showing a good example to the natives. I did so, on my part, very regularly until Christmas Eve, when having witnessed the ceremonies of the midnight mass, I determined on remaining at home in future. I shuddered with horror at the idolatrous rites, as they appeared to me, which were enacted on that occasion. The ceremonies commenced with the celebration of mass; then followed the introduction of the "Infant Jesus," borne by four of the choristers, attired in surplices of white linen. The image being placed by them on a sofa in front of the altar, the superior of the seminary made his début, retiring to the railing that surrounds the altar, when he knelt, and bending low his head apparently in devout adoration, he arose, then advanced two steps towards the altar and knelt again; he knelt the third time close to the side of the image, which he devoutly embraced, then withdrew: the younger priests performed the same ceremonies; and after them every one of their congregation: yet these people protest that their religion has no connexion with idolatry, and that the representations of Protestants regarding it are false and calumnious. If we credit them, however, we must belie the evidence of our own senses; but the fact is, there are not a few Roman Catholics who speak with very little _respect_ themselves of some of these mummeries. CHAPTER IV. PORTAGE DES CHATS--TACTICS OF OUR OPPONENTS--TREACHERY OF AN IROQUOIS--FIERCE, YET LUDICROUS NATURE OF THE OPPOSITION. MR. Fisher returned from town in the month of March; he had learnt that our opponents intended to shift the scene of operations to the Chats, (where the greater number of the Indians pass on their way going to or returning from their hunting grounds,) and were making preparations of a very extensive nature for the spring competition. The Company were not tardy in adopting such measures as were deemed the most efficient to meet them on their own terms. We understood that they had hired two _bullies_ for the purpose of deciding the matter _par voie de fait_. Mr. Fisher hired two of the same description, who were supposed to be more than a match for the opposition party. On the 28th of April, 1822, our opponents set off in two large canoes, manned by eight men in each; we followed in three canoes with twenty-four men, under the command of three leaders--namely, Captain Ducharme, who had volunteered on the occasion, Mr. Lyons, a retired trader, and myself. Nothing occurred worthy of description on our passage to the Chats. The Ottawa is at this point interrupted by a ledge of rock, which extends across its whole breadth. In forcing a passage for itself through this barrier, it is divided into several channels, which form as many beautiful cascades as they fall into the extensive basin that receives them below. On one of the islands thus formed, the natives make a portage. Here, then, we took our station close to a cascade: our opponents commenced building a hut on one side of the path, we on the other. While this operation was in progress, basilisk looks denoted the strength of feeling that pervaded the breasts of either party, but not a word was exchanged between us. Our hut was first completed, when our champion clambered aloft, and crowed defiance; three times he crowed (aloud), but no responding voice was heard from the opposite camp. This act was altogether voluntary on the part of our man, but it did not displease us, as the result convinced us that we stood on safe ground, should any violence be attempted. Our opponents were enraged at the want of spirit evinced by their men, and determined on being revenged upon _us_ in a manner that showed the virulence of their animosity. A number of lumber men were making up their rafts within a short distance of us at the time, who were for the most part natives of the Emerald Isle. Paddy's "knocking down for love" is proverbial. Our opponents immediately sent them word that the Hudson's Bay Company had brought up a _bully_ from Montreal who defied "the whole of the Grand River." "By my faith, does he thin," said Pat; "let us have a look at him, any how." On the succeeding evening (after the occurrence of the circumstance above related) we were surprised to see the number of canoes that arrived at the portage from all directions. The crew of each canoe as they landed went direct to our opponents, where they appeared to be liberally supplied with spirits. Their object was sufficiently evident, as the potent agent they had employed, in a short time, produced the desired effect. Oaths and execrations were heard amid crowing and yelling. Our Canadians all took to their heels, except our noble game-cock and two others; and now the drama opened. A respectable good looking fellow stept out from the crowd, accompanied by another man, a Canadian, and advancing to our champion, asked him "if he would not sell his feathers" (his hat being decorated with them). It is unnecessary to state the reply. An altercation ensued, and blows would undoubtedly have succeeded, had I not then interfered. I invited the stranger to my tent, and having opened my _garde de vin_, produced some of the good things it contained. A little conversation with my guest, proved him to be a shrewd sensible man; and when I explained the nature of our dispute with our rivals, he comprehended in an instant the object they had in view in circulating the reports which induced him and others to assemble at the portage. The consanguinity of the sons of Erin and Caledonia was next touched upon, and the point settled to our mutual satisfaction; in short, my brother Celt and I parted as good friends as half-an-hour's acquaintance and a bottle of wine could make us. At the conclusion of our interview he departed, and meeting our champion, cordially shook him by the hand; then addressing his companions, remarked, "This, my lads, is a quarrel between the traders, in which we have no right to interfere at all; for my own part, I am very much obliged to the jintlemin on both sides o' the road, for traiting me so jintaily; but Jack Hall shall not be made a tool of by anybody whatsumdever." Jack Hall embarked with his crew, and was soon afterwards followed by the others. Both parties were thus again in their previous positions, and a little tact saved us from the fatal consequences that might have ensued, had their villainous design proved successful. The daring insult was keenly felt by us all, and accordingly one of our trio despatched a message to the only individual of the opposite party who had any pretension to the title of gentleman, soliciting the pleasure of his company to take the air next morning. The invitation was accepted. Our party kept the appointment, and remained for two hours on the ground, awaiting the arrival of their _friends_; but the friends allowed them the sole enjoyment of the morning air. A few days afterwards the natives began to make their appearance, and scenes of a revolting nature were of frequent occurrence. Rum and brandy flowed in streams, and dollars were scattered about as if they had been of no greater value than pebbles on the beach. The expenses incurred by both parties were very great; but while this lavish expenditure seriously affected the resources of the petty traders, the coffers of the Company were too liberally filled to be sensibly diminished by such outlay. Nevertheless, the natives would not dispose of their furs until they reached the village. We remained at the portage until the 7th of June, when the natives having all passed, we embarked, and arrived at the lake on the 10th, where we were shocked to learn that our Bourgeois[1] had had a very narrow escape from the treachery of an Iroquois during our absence, the particulars of which were thus related to us. Mr. Fisher had advanced a sum to this scoundrel two years before, and seeing him pass his door the ensuing spring after the debt had been contracted, with his furs, which he carried to our opponents, he watched his return, and calling him in, demanded payment; an insolent reply was the return for his kindness, which so much exasperated him, that he kicked him out in presence of several other Indians. The insult was not forgotten. Soon after his arrival this spring, he sent for Mr. Fisher, who complied with the invitation, expecting payment of his debt. The moment he entered the house, however, he discovered that he had been inveigled. The Indian stood before him, his face painted, and a pistol in his hand, which he presented. In an instant Mr. Fisher bared his breast, and staring his enemy fiercely in the face, exclaimed, "Fire, you black dog! What! did you imagine you had sent for an old woman?" [1] The term Bourgeois is used for Master throughout the Indian country. Mr. Fisher's knowledge of the Indian character saved his life; had he betrayed the slightest symptom of fear, he was a dead man; but the undaunted attitude he assumed staggered the resolution of the savage; a new bias seemed to operate on his mind, probably through a feeling of respect for the determined courage displayed by his intended victim. He could not brace his nerves to a second effort; his hand dropped listlessly by his side; his gaze was fixed on Mr. Fisher for a moment; then dashing the pistol violently on the ground, he beckoned him to withdraw.[1] [1] At that period some of the Iroquois made good hunts, trapping beaver along the main rivers and outskirts of the Algonquin lands. Immediately after the close of the spring trade, the most formidable of our opponents _hinted_ that he might be induced to quit the field; a negotiation was accordingly opened with him, which soon terminated in a favourable issue, on very advantageous terms to the retiring party. The solitary being who remained behind was thus thrown upon his own resources, and his efforts to maintain the unequal contest unaided, were so feeble and ineffectual, that the Company might be said to hold a monopoly of the fur-trade at this period; but thereafter they paid dearly for their triumph, as further sacrifices had yet to be made ere they could enjoy it in quiet. A Canadian merchant, in easy circumstances, who dwelt opposite to the village, having learned the advantageous terms obtained by the petty traders from the Company, addressed a very polite note to Mr. Fisher, stating his intention to try his fortune as a trader, but that he would have no objection to postpone the attempt for five years, provided the Company would allow him 150l. per annum, during that period. The proposal was submitted to Mr. Thane, who laconically replied, "Let him do his worst, and be...." Accordingly, St. Julien immediately commenced operations. He hired one end of an Indian house, which he fitted up as a trader's shop: Fisher hired the other end. St. Julien then removed to another: Fisher occupied the other end of that house also. St. Julien next rented a _whole_ house: Fisher purchased a house, placed it upon rollers, and wheeled it directly in front of that of his rival, rearwards, scarcely leaving sufficient room for one person to pass between the premises. This caused great amusement to the Indians; not so to St. Julien, who had not anticipated so excessive a desire on the part of any of the Company's officers for so close an intimacy; and at the end of six weeks he took his departure without pay or pension from the Company. In the course of this summer our Algonquins received a visit from a party of Ottawas, (this tribe occupies the hunting grounds in the vicinity of Michimmakina or Makinaw, and speaks the Sauteaux language,) which created considerable alarm in the village, as they came for the purpose of demanding satisfaction for the murder of one of their tribe, which had been perpetrated two years before by an Algonquin. The details of the atrocious deed were communicated to me as follows. The Ottawas and Algonquins, with their families, were proceeding in company to the Lake, in the spring of 1819, when being encamped in the neighbourhood of the long Sault rapid, the Algonquin sprang upon his unsuspecting companion, and cleft his skull with his tomahawk, without the least apparent provocation; then dragging the body to the water's edge, he cut it up into small pieces, and threw them in. He next despatched the woman, and mutilated her body in the same savage manner, having first committed the most horrible barbarity on her person; (the recital of which curdled my blood; and yet our Christianized (?) Algonquins laughed heartily on hearing it!) The demon in human form, with the yet reeking tomahawk raised over the heads of his wife and children, made them swear that they would never divulge the horrid deed; but they did disclose it; and it was from the wife the tale of horror was elicited. The object of the Ottawas was not revenge. Compensation to the full estimated value of the lives of a man and woman was all they demanded; and that they received to an amount that far exceeded their expectations. Had the murderer been in the village the chiefs declared they would have given him up; but they had already delivered him over to the proper authorities, and he was then in prison waiting his sentence. It has been already mentioned, that the Company had assumed the outstanding debts of the petty traders. When the accounts were closed this autumn, the aggregate amount of liabilities due to the Company exhibited the enormous sum of seventy-two thousand dollars--not a shilling of that sum has ever been repaid. Soon after the departure of the natives for the interior, I was notified of my appointment to the charge of the Chats post. My friend Mac also received marching orders; and after parting with him I took leave of the Lake of Two Mountains on the 20th of August. CHAPTER V. ARRIVAL AT THE CHATS--INSTALLED AS BOURGEOIS--FIRST TRADING EXCURSION--BIVOUAC IN THE WOODS--INDIAN BARBARITY. I ARRIVED at the Chats on the 26th of August, 1822. As we approached the establishment, the crew struck up a song which soon attracted the notice of its only inmate; a tall gaunt figure, who was observed moving toward the landing-place, where it remained stationary. With the exception of this solitary being, no sign of animation was perceptible. We landed, and found the recluse to be the gentleman whom I was to succeed. The men belonging to the post were at the time employed elsewhere; fire-arms were therefore discharged, to summon them to return. An old interpreter and two men, constituting the force at this station, soon made their appearance. Such an uncommon event as an _arrival_ seemed to produce an exhilarating effect upon them. Immediately after my landing the charge was made over to me; and on the following day my predecessor, Mr. Macdonald, took his departure, leaving me to the fellowship of my own musings, which for a time assumed but sombre hues; but I was then young, and the hopes and aspirations of an ardent mind threw a halo around the gloomy path that lay before me, and resting upon the bright spots that glimmered in the distant background, concealed from my view the toils and miseries I had to experience in the intermediate passage. On assuming the responsibility of this post, I found myself in a position which gratified my vanity. I was Bourgeois of the Chats; had an interpreter and two men subject to my orders; and could make such arrangements as my own inclinations dictated, without the surveillance of a superior. I was, in fact, master of my own time and of my own actions; could fiddle when I pleased, and dance when I had a mind with my own shadow; no person here dared to question my actions. About the beginning of September the natives began to pass for the interior, and to my great surprise appeared to be in want of further supplies, although they had left the Lake amply provided with everything necessary. Some of them took advances here again to a considerable amount. I learned from them that a petty trader who had just then sprung into existence, intended to establish a couple of posts in the interior of the district--(this post being subject to the Lake of Two Mountains.) This was rather an unpleasant piece of intelligence, and quite unexpected by my superiors or myself. I despatched a messenger to head-quarters to give the alarm, and was soon joined by a reinforcement of men conducted by a junior clerk and an interpreter. Preparations were then made to follow up this new competitor the moment he appeared. He did not allow us to remain long in suspense. A few days afterwards his party was observed passing in two canoes; our people were immediately in their wake, and I remained with but one man and the old interpreter during the winter. I had only two Indian hunters to attend to; one in the immediate vicinity of the post, the other about three days' journey distant. Late in autumn I was gratified by a visit from the superintendent of the district, who expressed himself perfectly satisfied with my arrangements. As soon as the river _set fast_ with ice, I resolved on paying a visit to my more remote customer, and assumed the snow-shoes for the first time. I set out with my _only_ man, leaving the old interpreter sole occupier of the post. My man had visited the Indian on several occasions during the previous winter, and told me that he usually halted at a Chantier,[1] on the way to his lodge. We arrived late in the evening at the locality in question, and finding a quantity of timber collected on the ice, concluded that the _shanty_ must be close at hand. We accordingly followed the lumber-track until we reached the hut which had formerly afforded such comfortable accommodation to my companion. Great was our disappointment, however, to find it now tenantless, and almost buried in snow. I had made an extraordinary effort to reach the spot in the hope of procuring good quarters for the night, and was now so completely exhausted by fatigue that I could proceed no further. The night was dark, and to make our situation as cheerless as possible, it was discovered that my companion had left his "fire-works" behind--a proof of his inexperience. Under these circumstances our preparations were necessarily few. Having laid a few boughs of pine upon the snow, we wrapped ourselves up in our blankets, and lay down together. I passed the night without much rest; but my attendant--a hardy Canadian--kept the wild beasts at bay by his deep snoring, until dawn. I found myself completely benumbed with cold; a smart walk, however, soon put the blood in circulation, and ere long we entered a shanty where we experienced the usual hospitality of these generous folks. Here we borrowed a "smoking-bag," containing a steel, flint, and tinder. With the aid of these desiderata in the appointments of a voyageur, we had a comfortable encampment on the following night. [1] The hut used by the lumbermen, and the root of the well-known "shanty." The mode of constructing a winter encampment is simply this:--you measure with your eye the extent of ground you require for your purpose, then taking off your snow-shoes, use them as shovels to clear away the snow. This operation over, the finer branches of the balsam tree are laid upon the ground to a certain depth; then logs of dry wood are placed at right angles to the feet at a proper distance, and ignited by means of the "fire-works" alluded to. In such an encampment as this, after a plentiful supper of half-cooked peas and Indian corn--the inland travelling fare of the Montreal department--and a day's hard walking, one enjoys a repose to which the voluptuary reclining on his bed of down is a perfect stranger. We reached our destination on the following day about noon, where we found but little to recompense us for our journey. Both our own people from the outpost and our opponents had already traded all the furs the Indian had to dispose of, although his supplies at the Lake of Two Mountains and at my post amounted to a sum that would have required his utmost exertions to pay. We remained that night at his lodge, and very early on the succeeding morning, started on our return. With the exception of a couple of trips I made to the inland posts, nothing disturbed the monotony of my avocations during the remaining part of the winter. Petty traders swarmed all over the country; the posts which were established in the interior to cope with them traded freely with the natives, in order to secure their furs from competitors. Thus the immense sacrifices which the Company had made to obtain a monopoly, as they imagined, yielded them no advantage whatever; and repeated defalcations on the part of the natives, induced them to curtail their advances at their principal station. The natives, however, found no difficulty in procuring their requisites in exchange for their furs, either from the posts belonging to the Company in the interior, or from the opposition; for they were, with few exceptions, of the same character as the individual already alluded to. The Indian whom I mentioned as residing in the neighbourhood of the establishment arrived, late in autumn, from the Lake, where he could not obtain a charge of ammunition on credit. I supplied all his wants liberally, knowing him to be a good hunter, though a notorious rogue; and he set out for his hunting grounds, to all appearance well pleased. In the course of the winter a Yankee adventurer opened a "grog shop," within a short distance of the depôt, who appeared to have no objection to a beaver's skin in exchange for his commodities. My Indian debtor returned in the month of March, with a tolerable "hunt," and pitched his tent midway between the post and my Yankee neighbour. I called upon the Indian immediately for payment, which he told me I should receive on the morrow. I went accordingly at the time appointed, and was annoyed to find that he had already disposed of a part of his furs for the Yankee's whiskey; and I therefore demanded payment in a tone of voice which clearly indicated that I was in earnest. To-morrow was mentioned again; but having come with the determination of being satisfied on the spot, I seized, without further ceremony, what furs remained, and throwing them out of the wigwam to my man, who was placed there to receive them, I remained within, to bear the brunt of the Indian's resentment, should he show any, until my man had secured the prize. I was well prepared to defend myself, in case of any violence being offered. Nothing of the kind was attempted, however; and I took my leave, after sustaining a volley of abuse, which did me no harm. The Indian paid me a visit next morning, for the purpose of settling accounts, a small balance being due to him, which, at his own request, was paid in rum. I soon after received another visit, for nectar, on credit; this request I granted. The visits, however, were repeated so often for the same purpose, that I at length found it advisable to give a denial, by proxy, not wishing to part on bad terms with him, if possible, on account of the spring hunt. I absented myself from the house, having instructed my interpreter how to act. I took my station in a small grove of pines, close by, watching for the appointed signal to apprise me of the departure of the Indian. My attention was suddenly arrested by most doleful cries at the house; and presently the voice of my interpreter was heard, calling me loudly by name. I ran at the top of my speed, and arrived just in time to save the life of a poor old woman, who had been making sugar in my neighbourhood. I found the father and two sons, both approaching manhood, in a complete state of nudity, dancing round the body of their victim (to all appearance dead), their bodies besmeared with blood, and exulting in the barbarous deed they had committed. My interpreter informed me, that as soon as they observed the old woman approaching the house, the Christian father told his sons that now was the time to take revenge for the death of their brother, whose life had been destroyed by this woman's "bad medicine." We drove the wretches away, and carried the miserable woman into the house; and so dreadfully bruised and mangled were her head and face, that not the least trace of her features could be distinguished. At the end of a month she recovered sufficiently to crawl about. Her son passed in the spring, with an excellent hunt. When I related to him the manner his mother had been treated by the Indians, and the care I had taken of her, he coolly replied that he was sure they were bad Indians. "It was very charitable of you," said he, "to have taken so much care of the old woman. Come to my wigwam next winter, and I shall trade with you, and treat you well." In the meantime every skin he had went to our opponents, although he was deeply indebted to the Company. CHAPTER VI. TRIP TO FORT COULONGE--MR. GODIN--NATIVES. A large canoe arrived from Montreal about the latter end of June, by which I received orders to proceed to Fort Coulonge, situated about eighty miles higher up the Ottawa, to relieve the person then in charge of that post. I accordingly embarked in the same canoe, accompanied by my young friend Mr. MacDougal, who joined me last autumn, and who kindly volunteered to proceed along with me to my destination. This canoe was under the charge of people hired for the trip, and directed by the bowsman, or guide. I soon discovered that I was considered merely as a piece of live lumber on board. My companion and myself were reduced to the necessity of cooking our own victuals, or of going without them. We pitched our tent as best we could, and packed it up in the morning without the slightest offer of assistance from the crew. No incident worthy of notice occurred until we reached the Grand Calumet Portage, the longest on the Ottawa River. The crew slept at the further end of the portage, whither the canoe and part of the cargo had been carried during the day, and we pitched our tent there also in the usual awkward manner. The weather was very fine in the evening, but soon after night-fall a tremendous storm burst upon us: our tent was blown about our ears in an instant. We endeavoured to compose ourselves to rest underneath, but found it impracticable. We then attempted to pitch it anew, but our strength and ingenuity were not sufficient for the purpose. We tried afterwards to find shelter under the canoe (the rain pouring in torrents), but the crew were already in possession, and so closely packed, that not an inch was unoccupied. Thus baffled on every hand, we passed the night completely exposed to the "pelting of the pitiless storm," learning a lesson of practical philosophy which I have not yet forgotten. We arrived at Fort Coulonge early the next day, when a portly old gentleman, bearing a paunch that might have done credit to an Edinburgh baillie, came puffing down to the landing-place to receive us. We soon discovered that Mr. Godin was only "nominally" in charge of the establishment, for that his daughter, a stout, masculine-looking wench, full thirty summers blown, possessed what little authority was required for the management of affairs. We arrived on Wednesday. The father proposed setting out for Montreal on Friday; the daughter objected the ill luck of the day: it was finally determined that they should embark on Thursday, however late. The necessary preparations were immediately commenced under her ladyship's superintendence, and being completed late in the evening, they embarked, leaving me perfectly alone. The contracts with the men had just expired, which I proposed to renew, but the answer from one and all was, "I shall follow my bourgeois." This was the result of the old gentleman's arrangements (having been ordered off contrary to his wishes), and which might have been anticipated by those who appointed me to the situation; but it would have been derogatory to the exalted rank of their highnesses to bestow any consideration on such trivial matters as related to the comfort or convenience of a paltry apprentice! Their neglect, however, might have been attended on this occasion with serious consequences to the Company's interests, as I had never seen any of the Indians of that quarter before, and knew very little of their mode of trading. It was a fortunate circumstance for myself that I understood the language sufficiently well to converse with the natives, otherwise my situation would have been disagreeable in the extreme. I remained alone until the latter end of July, when I was joined by an English lad, whom I induced by the promise of high wages to leave his former employers (lumbermen) and share my solitude. The history of my predecessor being rather singular, a few words here regarding him may perhaps not be considered out of place. He commenced his career as a hired servant, or Voyageur, as they are termed in the country, and was thirty years of age before he knew a letter of the alphabet. Being a man possessed of strong natural parts, and great bodily strength withal, he soon distinguished himself as an under trader of uncommon tact,--his prowess as a pugilist also gave him a very decided advantage in the field of competition. Endowed with such qualifications, his services were duly appreciated by the traders, and he knew full well how to turn them to his own advantage. He served all parties alike; that is, he served each in turn, and cheated and deceived them all. After the organization of the North-West Company, he entered their service; and returning to the same quarter, Temiscamingue, where he had wintered for his last employer, he passed the post unperceived, and falling in with a band of Indians, whom he himself had supplied the preceding autumn, told them he still belonged to the same party, and traded all their furs on the spot. The North-West Company gave him charge of a post, when his subtle management soon cleared the country of opposition. The natives of Temiscamingue were in those times very treacherous, as they would be at this day, did they not dread the consequences; several men had been murdered by them, and they at length became exceedingly bold and daring in deeds of violence. One example is sufficient:--Godin happened, on one occasion, to remain at his post with only one man, who attended the nets,--fish being the staff of life in that quarter. Visiting them regularly every day to procure his own and his master's subsistence, his return was one morning delayed much beyond the usual time. Godin felt so anxious, that he determined on going to the fishery to learn the cause; and just as he had quitted the house with that intention, he met an Indian who had been for some time encamped in the vicinity, and asked him-- "What news?" "I have killed a white dog this morning," was the reply. "Indeed!" said Godin, feigning ignorance of the Indian's meaning: "Pray, to whom did he belong?" "He was a stray dog, I believe." Conversing with him in this strain, he threw the Indian completely off his guard, while he approached him until he was sufficiently near him for his purpose, when, raising his powerful arm, he struck the savage a blow under the ear that felled him to the ground,--he fell to rise no more. The next moment, a couple of well-disposed Indians came to inform Godin of the murder of his man, which it appeared they could not prevent. "My children," said he, with the utmost composure, "the Master of life has punished your kinsman on the spot for taking the life of a white man; he told me just now that he had killed a white dog, and had scarcely finished the sentence when he fell down dead at my feet. Feel his body, it must be still warm; examine it, and satisfy yourselves that he has suffered no violence from me, and you see that I have no weapons about me." Godin was soon afterwards removed to Fort Coulonge, and was allowed a high salary by the North-West Company. Here he learned to read and write, and married a fair countrywoman of his own, who resided the greater part of the time in Montreal, where, to make the gentleman's establishment complete, he had the good taste to introduce his mistress. A circumstance that presents his character in its true colours made his wife acquainted with his infidelity. Writing to both his ladies at the same time, he unwittingly addressed his mistress's letter to his wife, by which she learnt, with other matters, that a present of ten prime otters had been sent to her rival. The enraged wife carried the letter to Mr. Thane, from whom, however, she met with a very different reception to what she had anticipated. After perusing the letter, he ordered her immediately out of his presence. "Begone, vile woman!" he exclaimed: "What! would you really wish to see your husband hanged?" The Company were well aware of Godin's tricks, but winked at them on account of his valuable services. He was removed from Fort Coulonge in consequence of mismanagement, (occasioned by aberration of his mental faculties,) and was allowed by the Company to retire with a pension of 100l. per annum. The transcript of a public letter, addressed to Mr. Thane, will show his attainments in literature; and, with this I shall close my sketch of Mr. Godin:-- "Mon'r Tane, "Cher Mon'r, "Vot letre ma té livie par Guiaume dean aisi qui le butin tout a bon ord le Shauvages on ben travaié set anne et bon aparans de bon retour st. anne Dieu merci je ne jami vu tant de moustique et de maragoen com il en a st anne je pens desend st anne ver le meme tan com l'anné pasé. "Je sui, "Cher Mon'r, &c. "JOSEPH GODIN." The Indians attached to this post speak the Sauteux language, and are denominated "Tetes des Boules" by the French, and "Men of the Woods" by the other Indians. Although so near to priests and ministers, they are still Pagans, but are nevertheless a quiet harmless race, and excellent hunters. The greater part of them originally belonged to Temiscamingue, and were drawn to this quarter by Mr. Godin. A considerable number of Algonquins also trade here, where they pass the greater part of their lives without visiting the Lake. The people appear to me to differ in no respect from their heathen brethren, save in the very negligent observance of certain external forms of worship, and in being more enlightened in the arts of deceiving and lying. About the middle of August, I was gratified by the arrival of Mr. Godin's interpreter, and three men, by whom I received letters from head-quarters, informing me that my neighbours of last winter intended to establish posts in this quarter also, and that I should soon be joined by a strong reinforcement of men, to enable me to cope successfully with them. We complain of solitude in the Indian forests, yet the vicinity of such a neighbour is considered the greatest evil; and instead of cherishing the feelings enjoined in the Decalogue, one hates his neighbour as the d----l, and employs every means to get rid of him. The natives having been all supplied, had taken their departure for their hunting-grounds by the latter end of August; I then commenced making the arrangements requisite for the coming contest. CHAPTER VII. SUPERSEDED--FEELINGS ON THE OCCASION--MORE OPPOSITION--Æ. MACDONELL--TACTICS--MELANCHOLY DEATH OF AN INDIAN. About the middle of September, I observed a north canoe paddling in for the landing-place, having a gentleman passenger on board, who immediately on landing ordered his servant to carry his baggage up to the Fort. On his entering the house, the apparent mystery was soon unfolded. Mr. Siviright handed me a letter from Mr. Thane, conveying the agreeable Intelligence of my being superseded by the bearer,--commanding me to obey him as my bourgeois, and to conduct myself in such a manner as to give Mr. S. every satisfaction. The latter injunction I felt very little inclination to comply with at the time; in fact, the slight put upon me caused my northern blood to rise to fever heat; and in this excited frame of mind I sat down to reply to the "great man's" communication, in which I gave vent to my injured feelings in very plain language. What he may have thought of the epistle, I know not, as he never deigned to reply. It was inconsiderate in me, however, to have so acted; but prudence had not yet assumed her due influence over me. Mr. S. had been at that time twenty-four years in the service, I only three; he had therefore a superior claim to any I could advance: but why not inform me at once that my appointment to the charge was merely temporary? This double dealing manifested a distrust of me, for which no cause could possibly be assigned: that excited my resentment, and not the circumstance of being superseded. Towards the latter end of the month of September, our opponents made their appearance in three small canoes, while I embarked in pursuit with the same number. One of my north canoes was in charge of three men, the others contained two, counting myself as a man. Having become rather expert as an amateur voyageur, I considered myself capable of undertaking the real duty now, and accordingly volunteered my services as steersman, as no additional hand could be spared, without great inconvenience to my bourgeois. A little experience convinced me, however, that my zeal exceeded my ability. My opponent was in a light canoe, and moved, about with a celerity that my utmost exertions could not cope with; for as soon as an Indian canoe appeared, he paddled off for it; I of course attempted to compete, but generally arrived just in time to find that he had already concluded his transaction with the hunters. We reached Black River on the third day from Fort Coulonge, where it appeared my opponent's intention to remain for some time, to await the arrival of certain Indians who were expected down by that river. I determined therefore to despatch a canoe to Fort Coulonge, to acquaint Mr. S with the particulars above related; and sent back therewith such of the property as I thought could be dispensed with at the time, as it was quite evident we could not keep up with our opponent in the portages with such a quantity of baggage as we then had, and we could obtain no information that could be depended upon as to their ultimate destination--it might be at the distance of a hundred miles, or only ten. My messengers were but two days absent; and I was not a little mortified to learn from them, that Mr. S., instead of attending to my suggestions, not only returned all the property I had sent, but nearly an equal quantity in addition. He wrote me his reasons for doing so; but I felt assured that he had no other object in view than to show me that he was the superior, I the subordinate; and I resolved from that moment, to perform no more extra duty. After continuing a fortnight at our encampment, we again embarked, when I ordered the third man in the large canoe into my own, and tossing my paddle down stream, took my station in the middle of my canoe. A few hours' paddling brought us to an old shanty in the island of Allumette, where, to my great joy, I perceived my opponent intended to fix his winter quarters. We accordingly commenced erecting a couple of huts, a store, and dwelling-house, in close proximity to him. This being the best season of the year for the natives to hunt, it was the interest of all parties not to molest them; and we therefore employed our time in preparing suitable accommodation for the winter. On the completion of our arrangements, I set out, about the beginning of October, on a visit to Fort Coulonge; and on the day after my arrival there we observed a north canoe paddling slowly past, and distinguished the features of every individual on board through a telescope, but could recognise no one: however, to clear up the doubt, the interpreter was sent after them in a small canoe, with instructions to make a close scrutiny. They no sooner discovered that he was in pursuit, than they ceased paddling. After a long confabulation he learned that they were proceeding to Sault St. Marie, where they intended to settle. I passed two days with my bourgeois, and returned home, where we--our opponents and ourselves--watched each other's movements, being our only occupation until the end of November, when Mr. S. paid me a visit, which proved anything but gratifying. He (Mr. S.) had learned from some lumbermen, that the "Settlers for the Sault Ste. Marie" were an opposition party conducted by Mr. Æneas Macdonell, my predecessor at the Chats; and that he purposed to _settle_ for the winter near Lac des Allumettes. This gentleman's engagement had been cancelled at the earnest solicitation of his father, whom death had lately deprived of another son; and who now, to requite the favour granted to him by the Company, sent this son in opposition! We had barely a sufficient number of men to perform the necessary duties of the two posts already established; we were, therefore, completely at a loss to meet this emergency. Mr. S. could spare one man only from his own post, whom he brought up to me. I embarked early next morning with one of my own men, in search of the "settler." On reaching Lac des Allumettes on the same evening, our attention was arrested by the voices of Indians, singing on an island. We immediately pulled in for the spot, and found a large camp of Algonquins, men, women and children, all in a state of intoxication; from whom I learned, though with much difficulty, the whereabouts of Macdonell's retreat. Quitting this disgusting scene as speedily as possible, we resumed our paddles, and soon afterwards discovered the opposition post. When we landed, my quondam mess-mate advanced to receive me, and, after a cordial shake of the hand, kindly invited me to pass the night with him. I gladly accepted the offer; and was not a little concerned to perceive that his preparations for winter were already complete; a circumstance which gave him a decided advantage. Happening in the course of conversation to express my surprise at seeing him in the character of an opponent, he told me that nothing could be farther from his intention than to oppose the Company. He came to this quarter for the purpose of preparing timber for the Quebec market; in provincial phrase, "to make a shanty." But I knew well enough his designs. I started early next morning on my return, and immediately thereafter prepared a small outfit; and re-embarked next evening with five men in two canoes, leaving the interpreter in charge of the post, with one man to assist him. Having experienced very bad weather on our way, and consequently some delay, we did not reach our new station until late in the evening of the fourth day. I immediately sent back two of the men to the interpreter, and retained three with myself, which placed me on a par with my opponent in point of numbers. But he was now ready for active operations, while I had every thing to prepare. I resolved, however, to forego every personal comfort and convenience rather than allow him to enjoy any advantage over me. I accordingly assisted in erecting a small hut, which I intended should serve for dwelling-house for myself and men, trading-shop, store and all. A couple of days after our arrival, Macdonell was seen walking down to the water's edge with a very cautious step, accompanied by one of his men, bearing his canoe, basket fashion, on one arm, and a large bundle on the other, from which, notwithstanding his steady pace, the jumbling sound of liquor was distinctly heard. "Holla, Mac, where are you going with your basket?" "Why, I am going across to Herd's shanty, to get my axes ground." "My dear fellow, how can you think of risking yourself in such a gimcrack contrivance as that? I must absolutely send a couple of my men along with you to see no accident happens to you." Having a parcel of goods ready for emergencies of this kind, my men started in a moment, and embarked at the same time as my neighbour. I continued with my only man completing my castle; but the earth being already hard frozen, no clay could be obtained for the purpose of plastering; the interstices between the logs were therefore caulked with moss; a large aperture being left in the roof to serve the double purpose of chimney and window. I had formerly seen houses so constructed--somewhere--but let no one dare to imagine that I allude to "my own, my native land." Stones were piled up against the logs, to protect them from the fire. The timber required for floor, door, and beds, was all prepared with the axe; our building being thus rendered habitable without even going to the extent of Lycurgus' frugal laws, for the axe was our only implement. My opponent returned in four days, having been at an Indian camp, not far distant, where both he and our people traded a considerable quantity of furs. This was our only trip by open water. As soon as the river became ice-bound, we were again in motion. To enter into minute details of our various movements would but prove tedious; I shall therefore present a general sketch of our mode of life at this period, and such occurrences as I may consider worthy of note. Macdonell had chosen his situation with great judgment. The majority of the Algonquins take their start from the Grand River at this place for their hunting-grounds. Some of them not being more than a day's journey distant from us, the joyful intelligence soon spread amongst them that an opposition party had been established in their neighbourhood; they accordingly flocked about us as soon as travelling became practicable on the ice, and generally brought with them the means of ensuring a friendly reception. One party came in at this early season with all their fall hunts, which they bartered for liquors and provisions, and encamped close by, enjoying themselves, until an event occurred that alarmed them so much, (being with some reason considered by them as a punishment for the wicked life they had led,) that with the utmost precipitation they struck their camp. I was joined early in the month of January by a party of men and a clerk, whom Mr. S. had ordered, or rather "requested," from Montreal; and having, on the day of their arrival, received an invitation from one of our Algonquin chiefs to pay him a _trading_ visit, I started next day, leaving Mr. Lane in charge, accompanied by two men, and reached the chief's wigwam late in the evening. As soon as I was seated, he asked me if I had not met the Matawin Indians. On my replying in the negative, he informed me that they had passed his place early in the morning, loaded with furs, and that they expressed their intention of proceeding to the post before they halted. These Indians had all been supplied by myself in autumn to a large amount; so that the intelligence acted on my nerves like an electric shock. I felt much fatigued on entering the lodge, but I now sprung to my feet, as fresh for the journey as when I had commenced it; and ordering one of my men to return with me, left the other, an experienced hand, to manage affairs with the chief. I arrived at my post about two next morning, when I found the Indians, some at our hut, some at our opponent's, all of them approaching the climax of Indian happiness, and Mr. Lane in a state of mind bordering on distraction. Neither he nor any of the men had ever seen any of these Indians before, nor did they understand a word of the language. The Indians were honest enough, however, to give him their furs in charge till my return; reserving only a small quantity to dispose of at discretion. My arrival was soon announced at my neighbour's, and brought the whole bevy about me in an instant, only one individual remaining behind. On inquiring into the cause of his absence, his companions replied that he had fallen asleep immediately after he had supped, and that they did not wish to disturb him. A few hours afterwards I was not a little surprised to see my neighbour entering our hut hurriedly, who addressed me thus:-- "My dear Mac, it is true we are in opposition, but no enmity exists between us. A dreadful misfortune happened in my house last night.--Come and see!" I instantly complied with his request; proceeded to his hut, and saw the Indian who was said to be asleep, with his eyes closed--for ever; a sad spectacle, for it was evident that the death of the poor wretch had been caused by intemperance; he was found in the morning lying on his face, and his body already stiff. We were both alike involved in the same awful responsibility, for the Indians drank as much at one house as the other, though his death occurred at the establishment of the other party. The Company only permit the sale of liquors to the natives when the presence of opponents renders it an indispensable article of trade, as it is by this unhallowed traffic that the petty traders realize their greatest profit. Yet this plea of necessity, however satisfactory it may appear in a certain quarter, will not, I feel assured, be accepted in our vindication by the world, nor hereafter in our justification at that tribunal where worldly considerations have no influence. Information soon reached the camp of the calamity that had happened, which promptly silenced the clamorous mirth that prevailed; and the voice of mourning succeeded--the Indians being all in good crying trim, that is, intoxicated; for I have never seen an Indian shed a tear when sober. No more liquor was traded; the relatives of the deceased departed with the body to the Lake of Two Mountains, and the other Indians started for their hunting-grounds--thus granting us a short respite from the arduous duties in which we had been engaged. While the Indians remained about us we never enjoyed a moment's refreshing rest, our hut being crowded with them night and day. It was at times with difficulty we could prepare our victuals, or, when cooked, command sufficient time to partake of a hasty meal, in the midst of the "living mass" that environed us. All this was extremely annoying; but other comforts must be added ere this picture of the life we then led is complete. The motions of our opponents must needs be attended to, at dawn of day; each morning every path was carefully examined, to ascertain that no one had started during night: these precautions were also punctually taken by our opponents; and every stratagem that could be devised to elude each other's vigilance put in practice, it being the "interest" of each party to reach the Indians alone. CHAPTER VIII. ACTIVITY OF OUR OPPONENTS--VIOLENT CONDUCT OF AN INDIAN--NARROW ESCAPE--ARTIFICE--TRIP TO INDIAN'S LODGE--STUPIDITY OF INTERPRETER. When we discovered that our opponents had outwitted us, we would despatch messengers in pursuit; and I need scarcely add, the same means were resorted to by our neighbours, when inquisitive about our movements. We had now the advantage in point of numbers, being nearly two to one; yet it so happened that we seldom could perform a trip unattended; very frequently by a single man against two or three--still he got his share; for the system of trade in this quarter does not allow violent means being employed to obtain possession of the products of the hunt. The mode of procedure is this:--On entering the lodge of an Indian, you present him with a small keg of nectar, as a propitiatory offering; then, in suppliant tones, request payment of the debt he may owe you, which he probably defers to a future day--the day of judgment. If your opponent be present, you dare not open your lips in objection to the delay; for you may offend his dignity, and consequently lose all his furs. This you are aware of, and accordingly proceed to untie your pack, and exposing its contents to view, solicit him to give, at least, the preference in trade. Your opponent, on the other side of the fire-place, having also poured out his libation, imitates your example in every respect; and most probably he may secure the wife, while you engage the husband as customers. A few weeks elapsed without the arrival of any hunters, and we were beginning to recover from the effects of our late fatigues, when a numerous band arrived from a considerable distance, and encamped on the same spot that had been occupied by those lately noticed, and the same riotous scenes were again enacted, although these new comers were fully aware of the misfortune that had already occurred in consequence of similar disgusting intemperance. Among this band was a son of the principal sachem of the Algonquins, who was acknowledged heir apparent to his _dad's vermin_, and who assumed the airs of a man of great consequence, in virtue of his prospective dignity. The father bore a respectable character; the son was a sot. In consideration of his furs, however, I paid him some little attentions, though much against my inclination. He came one evening reeling into our hut, more than "half-seas over," having been thus far advanced on his voyage to Elysium through the insinuating influences of my opponent's "fire-water;" and seating himself on a three-legged stool, close to the fire-place, he soon began to nod; then, losing his equilibrium, ultimately fell at full length on the floor. I could not suppress a smile at sight of his copper highness's prostrate position, when springing up in a furious passion, he seized an axe, and proceeded to demolish the seat. I wrested the axe from his grasp, and reprimanded him sharply for his insolence. This exasperated him to the utmost: he swore I was in league with the stool to insult him; but that he should be revenged on us both before morning. Uttering these menaces, he set out for the camp. It so happened that a strong party of men arrived on that evening from Fort Coulonge with supplies, and were huddled together with myself and my men, all under the same roof. The greater part of them lay down to rest; but a few still continued the vigil, indulging in the favourite luxury of smoking, and chatting about the enjoyments of "Mont-rial,"--when, all of a sudden, the dread-inspiring war-whoop echoed through our little hut; the next instant the door flew off its wooden hinges, and fell with a crash on the floor, exhibiting to view the person of the Indian, standing on the threshold, holding a double-barrelled gun in his hand, with blackened face and his eyes flashing fire. The men had now all started to their feet, as well as myself. The moment the eyes of the savage fell upon me, in the midst of the crowd, he brought the piece to bear upon me, or at least attempted to do so; but I sprang upon him with a bound, and beat the muzzle down; instantly the discharge followed: we then struggled for the possession of the gun, which I quickly wrested from his grasp; and, applying the butt end of it "gently" to his ear, laid him sprawling at my feet. On the discharge of the gun, I heard a voice calling out, "Mon Dieu!" and another, in a plaintive tone, exclaiming, "Ah mon garçon!" This was all I heard distinctly, when every voice joined in one cry, "Tueons le crapaud;" and presently the wretched Indian was kicked and cuffed by as many as could press round him. I called on them to desist--as well have spoken to the wind!--not a soul heeded my orders. At length one of them observed, "What occasion is there for more beating of him--the black dog is dead enough." I looked about for the person whom I supposed to have been wounded, in vain--the whole mass was in motion. As soon as the tumult had subsided, however, I was glad to find that no one had received any serious injury; the ball had grazed the thigh of a youth (who had arrived from Montreal on a visit to his father), and lodged in a log of the building. The uproar occasioned by the men soon brought the Indians from the camp about the hut; and perceiving the apparently lifeless body stretched on the floor, they raised a yell that was reverberated by the surrounding hills. "Revenge! revenge!" shouted every savage present. We mustered too strong, however, to permit their threats being put into execution without great hazard to themselves; which fact pressed itself so powerfully on their minds, that for the present they discreetly vented their rage in abuse, and returned to their quarters. Satisfied by the feeble beating of the Indian's pulse that the vital spark was not extinct, I would not allow his kinsmen to remove him. Towards morning, recovering the use of speech, he inquired, in a voice scarcely audible, if he "had shed the blood of a white man?" I replied in the affirmative. "Then," said he, "it would have been better had you despatched me at once, for I shall certainly be hanged." With the view of pacifying the natives, I deemed it advisable to represent the young man's wound as very severe, and exercised my wits to give my representation the semblance of truth. I caused the young man's leg to be carefully bandaged; and, luckily, happening to have a fresh beaver in the house, the bandage was speedily besmeared with its blood, and the sound patient placed in bed, with instructions how to act his part. The Indians returned early on the following morning to inquire after their young chief, and being all perfectly sober, I descanted on the calamity of the previous night, describing _my_ young man's case to be of such a serious nature as to induce the apprehension that death, or at least amputation of the limb, would be the consequence. In confirmation of the veracity of this statement, the afflicted leg was exposed to view, while the patient's groans, which impressed on the minds of the bystanders the conviction of the pain he endured, prevented too close a scrutiny. "Alas!" they exclaimed, "it is all very true. Wagh! this is indeed a sad business; but the bad fire-water is to blame for it all." My stratagem had succeeded. Most of the natives acknowledged the justice of the punishment inflicted on their young chief, who had a brother present, however, whose sullen countenance betrayed the vindictive feelings in his breast, although he maintained a profound silence. The Fort Coulonge party started early next day, dragging their wounded companion on a sled, until they were out of sight. The relatives of the chief removed him to the camp, where he soon recovered. All the other Indians took their departure on the day following the affray. Shortly afterwards we were favoured with a visit from one whose hunting-grounds bordered on Rice Lake, a distance of 150 miles. I had advanced this Indian all the supplies he required previous to Mr. Siviright's arrival, which formed a pretty large amount. On examining the books, he animadverted upon the advance in terms of disapprobation, as being very imprudent to risk so much with an Indian. Most gratified and happy was I then to learn from the hunter that he had sufficient to liquidate the debt, and nearly as much more to trade. On making out his requisition for the latter purpose, it was found that four sleds at least would be required for the transport of all the property. To employ this number in one direction, however, would leave my neighbour at liberty to prosecute his views in another quarter without the necessary attendance. Still, I determined on risking a point, and securing at all hazards the valuable prize now offered. Obtaining a _piece_ at the sacrifice of a _pawn_ is considered good play. I proceeded accordingly with the Indian, accompanied by four men, all with heavily laden sleds, with a pack of goods strapped over my shoulders weighing eighty pounds. Macdonell did not follow, as the Indian gave him no encouragement. We reached the Indian's lodge on the eleventh day from the post, when the abundant display of furs I beheld gave assurance of being amply remunerated for my trip. There were eleven packs of beaver piled upon a scaffold, besides some others, amounting to at least 600l. sterling. My hospitable customer detained me two days with him to partake of his good cheer. After settling accounts with him, together with payment of the sum he owed, seven of the eleven packs were placed in my possession, with which I started on my return, as proud as if I had been advanced to a share in the Company. We arrived at the post after an absence of twenty-five days; and I was mortified to learn that my substitute had most stupidly bungled affairs. A number of Indians had come in during my absence who were considered our best friends, and entering our hut without noticing our opponent, threw down their bundles, thereby clearly indicating, according to the usual custom, their intention of trading with one party only. On the other hand, should they leave a bundle at the door, it shows that they intend to divide its contents between two parties. With these particulars the interpreter's experience rendered him perfectly well acquainted, but he "cau'd na be fasht." It is customary when the Indians arrive, to present each with a pipe, a plug of tobacco, and, though last, not least in their estimation, "a dram." The usual _politesse_ was expected as a matter of course on this occasion. Seeing it was not forthcoming, the Indians demanded it. They were answered that no instructions had been left to that effect. "Very well," said they, "we shall soon find it elsewhere." And away they went. Macdonell received them with open arms. His reception not only induced them to trade every skin they had brought with them, but they also invited him to their camp; and he consequently returned with his own and his men's sleds laden with furs. I learnt all these particulars from himself; for he and I were on as good terms as the nature of our occupation and our relative positions would admit. I was, moreover, made acquainted through him that the Indians had expressed regret at my absence, and that an immense quantity of "beaver" still remained at their camp. The spring was now fast approaching, the ice so bad as to render travelling dangerous, and but little snow on the ground. Still, I determined on paying a visit to these Indians, in order to retrieve the loss, if possible, sustained through the mismanagement of the interpreter. They might yet be in want of some supplies, poor fellows; and we were all so anxious they should want for nothing we could spare for their accommodation;--we, therefore, good, humane souls, supplied them even at the hazard of our lives. CHAPTER IX. EXPEDITION TO THE BEAR'S DEN--PASSAGE THROUGH THE SWAMP--CUNNING OF THE INDIANS--A SCUFFLE--ITS RESULTS. I set off on this trip accompanied by another interpreter recently sent from Montreal, and one of my men, all with heavy burdens on our backs, the season not allowing the use of sledges. The second day we arrived at an Indian lodge about half-way to the Bear's Camp, where I learned that our opponent at the lower outpost had given our people the slip, but had been induced to return from the supposition that the extensive swamp in his way was impassable, being so inundated as to present the appearance of a lake. Urged on, however, by youthful ardour and ambition, I determined to make at least one attempt ere I relinquished the enterprise; although I acknowledge that the idea of overcoming difficulties deemed insurmountable by an opponent, had as much to do with the resolution as the desire of doing my duty. Followed by my men, I accordingly plunged in, along the margin of the marsh; the water reached our middle, but we found it to decrease in depth as we proceeded, though never below the knee. The water being very cold, our legs soon became quite benumbed; nevertheless we moved onward. A certain passage in history occurred to my mind, which records the perseverance of a great man in a like situation. I too persevered, though with a different object in view. We all have our hobbies. I waded for furs, he for glory. We occasionally met with large trunks of trees as we proceeded, on which we mounted, and restored the circulation to our limbs by stamping upon them; and thus, after five or six hours' painful exertion we reached dry land, where a rousing fire and a hearty breakfast made us soon forget the miseries of the swamp. We reached the old _bear's den_ next evening, who, with his party, expressed much surprise to see me at such a season, and in recompense for my exertions, "traded"[1] every article of goods I had. [1] _Anglicè_,--bought. There were here seven Indians, who, notwithstanding the frequent visits that had been paid them, in the course of the winter, by the people of the lower posts, had still upwards of forty packs of beaver. I got one pack, with which I set off on my return, pleased enough. We found the water in the swamp so far subsided as to permit an easy passage; but the ice on the Grand River was so much worse that we were compelled to travel in the woods the greater part of the way. On arriving at the post, I found the opposition party in active preparation for their departure, Macdonell having received orders from his father to that effect. He embarked as soon as the navigation became practicable. Opponent as he was, I experienced some painful sensations at parting with him; but soon had the _consolation_ to see our opponent at the lower post occupy his place,--a measure which he ought to have adopted at a much earlier period, as even then it gave him a much better chance for a share of the spring trade than below, where he might be said to be placed between two fires. His removal, however, enabled us to concentrate our whole strength against him, so that he could not move a foot without a strong party at his heels. Thus circumstanced, he chose to await the arrival of the natives quietly at his post, and we were happy to follow his example. The spring passed in a happy state of quiescence, which was scarcely disturbed by the arrival of the Indians, who, this year, had all taken a fancy to visit their ghostly fathers at the Lake,[1] and had, consequently, no time to spend with us; some intending to get married, some having children to be baptized, and some carrying their dead, in order that the last sacred rites for the benefit of their departed spirits might be performed upon them. A few _têtes de boules_ remained for some time, but under so strict a surveillance that they could seldom communicate with our opponents without being observed, and the discovery subjected them to some chastisement. [1] Of the Two Mountains. I shall here relate a circumstance that occurred at this time, as an example of the cunning of the Indians in devising plans to evade us. Soon after their arrival, an old squaw brought to our house several casseaux[1] of sugar, and pointing out one, which she said was left open for immediate consumption, said she would return for it presently. She came next day and took the casseaux down to the tent of the Algonquin chief, who had passed the spring close by, and was now building a canoe, preparatory to his departure for the Lake. Soon after I went to have a chat with the chief, and found only his squaw at home. I observed the casseau, and asked for what purpose it was brought there. "Mine hostess" smiled, and answered, "You ought to know everything about it, when it has just quitted your house and passed the night with you. You whites pretend to be very cunning," she continued, "but when an Indian, or even an old squaw tries to cheat you, your 'white' knowledge is no match for her. Now look into that casseau, Anamatik,[2] and see what is in it." [1] Packages made of bark. [2] My Indian cognomen. I looked, and found, instead of sugar, a very valuable bundle of furs. "What do you think of the sugar?" "Oh, it is very fine indeed; so much finer than any that I have, that I must take it along with me." "Your white neighbour will be angry with you, for it is left here for him." "Let him come to my house if he wants any." I set off with my prize, and as soon as it was deposited in a place of safety, took up a favourable position to watch my opponent, whom I soon perceived making for the tent with long and rapid strides. I could not help laughing heartily at the idea of his disappointment, when told what had happened. The "fair deceiver," to whom the bone of contention had belonged, soon made her appearance with downcast looks, humbly entreating payment for her furs, and I paid her the full amount, after lecturing her severely on the treachery of her conduct _in doing "what she willed with her own._" My opponent embarked on the 10th June, and I immediately followed him to the lower post, which he left in charge of one man, and then set off for Montreal. I kept him company as far as Fort Coulonge, where I met with a very friendly reception from my bourgeois,--the collected trade of the different posts having far exceeded his most sanguine expectations. He set out for Montreal with returns of the value of 5,000l. sterling, and left me in charge for the summer at Fort Coulonge, and Mr. Lane at the outpost. Only one family of Algonquins passed the summer inland,--the same miscreants that had nearly murdered the old woman at the Chats; a deed which I had neither forgotten, nor could divest myself of the feelings of indignation it had awakened in my breast. In the course of the summer, the interpreter of the post being in want of some paddles, employed this exemplary father to make them, and paid for them in rum. The quantity was so small, however, that it only had the effect of exciting their thirst, and they returned early in the night for more, which was peremptorily refused. The doors were bolted, and we retired to rest; but rest they were determined we should not have that night; and they continued knocking at the doors and windows, and bawling out at the top of their lungs, "Rum,--more rum!" until daylight next morning. I rose very early, in not the best humour possible, and taking the key of the store in my hand--I know not for what purpose--went out, and was followed by the Indian, still demanding more rum. I told him he should have none from me. "But I must have some." "Then you shall go elsewhere for it;" and without more ado, I turned him out, pushing him with some violence from the door. He fell on his face on the platform that ran in front of the building, and leaving him there to recover his footing at leisure, I returned towards the dwelling-house; but had scarcely reached the end of the platform, when the yell of defiance, "Hee-eep, hoo-aw!" resounded in my ears. I instantly wheeled round, and found myself face to face with the Indian. The old villain attempted to collar me, but, enraged to madness, I now grappled with him, and with all my might hurled him from the platform to the ground. I stood for a moment hesitating whether I should strike him while down, but had little time to deliberate,--the savage was again on his legs. He rushed towards a gun that stood against a fur-press hard by; I instantly comprehended his intention, and finding a stick at hand, in the twinkling of an eye, I struck him a blow that laid him senseless on the ground. Being scarcely aware of what I was doing, I was about to repeat the blow, when I found the uplifted weapon seized from behind. It was Primeau, my interpreter, who addressed me in a soothing tone, telling me I had already "done for" the Indian. This startling announcement restored me to reason. Was I indeed guilty of the blood of a fellow-creature? The thought chilled me with horror. I dashed the stick to the ground. It was instantly picked up by one of his three sons, whom the noise of the scuffle had now brought all up; brandishing it aloft, he aimed a blow at my head, which I parried with my arm, the limb dropping senseless to my side. My men, however, were now on the spot to defend me, and a fierce scuffle took place between them and the Indian's sons. Had they been the stronger party on this occasion, my fur-trading career would have terminated that morning. They, however, got a sound drubbing; while their wretched father, who had been the cause of the disturbance, lay unheeded and unconscious on the spot where he had fallen, not exhibiting the least sign of life. A place of temporary accommodation being prepared by his family, he was borne thither on a blanket, and I retired to my quarters in a state of mind not easy to be described. Soon after, the interpreter came in with a message from the Indians, entreating me to come and advise with them touching the manner in which they should dispose of their father's body. I went, and just as I stepped within the camp, to the astonishment of all present, the dead man sprang upon his feet. Seeing me at his side, he exclaimed, "You shall have cause to repent this!" The words were scarcely out of his mouth, when he sank down again, and for a period of six weeks after he remained as helpless as an infant. He was subsequently carried down to the Lake of Two Mountains, where he recovered from the effects of this castigation, to die, two years after, in a fit of drunkenness. CHAPTER X. PÈRE DUCHAMP--MR. S.'s INSTRUCTIONS--UNSUCCESSFUL--TRADING EXCURSION--DIFFICULTIES OF THE JOURNEY--LOSE OUR WAY--PROVISIONS FAIL--REACH THE POST--VISIT TO AN ALGONQUIN CHIEF--HIS ABUSIVE TREATMENT--SUCCESS. Mr. Siviright arrived about the latter end of August, accompanied by another junior clerk, and a few days afterwards the opposition were seen passing. I embarked with my fellow-scribe, and arrived next day at the lower outpost, when I was much disappointed to find my old interpreter, whom I had with me at the Chats, in the service of our opponents. He was my Indian tutor, and took every pains, not only to teach me the language, but to initiate me in the mysteries of the trade, in which he was justly considered an adept. Our opponents offered him a high salary, which he would not accept until he had previously made a tender of his valuable services to the Company, whom he had faithfully served for a period of thirty years and upwards. He requested a small addition to his salary, which was refused. My regard for the worthy old man, however, was not in the least diminished by the circumstance of his being in opposition. Père Duchamp and I had still our friendly _tête-à-tête_ whenever we had an opportunity. The autumn passed without any incident having occurred worthy of note, I and my opponent being occupied in the usual way,--watching each other night and day, chasing each other, and circumventing each other when we could. Late in the month of October, I was surprised to observe a couple of middle-sized canoes, deeply laden, put ashore at our opponent's, where the crews, five in number, passed the night. Next morning, as soon as they were gone, I called on my old friend, who happened to be alone at the time, to inquire about his visitors. He demurred for a little, and at length said: "For your sake, and to you only, would I disclose the secret of these people's object and destination. They called at Fort Coulonge yesterday, and gave themselves out for a party of hunters, bound for the Temiscamingue quarter;--they are a party of Iroquois, supplied with a valuable assortment of goods for trade, and their destination is Lac de la Vieille, in the very centre of the Algonquin hunting-grounds." This was a most important piece of intelligence: some of these Indians had been supplied at Fort Coulonge, some at my post, and all of them were deeply indebted at the Lake of Two Mountains. I passed the day in the anxious expectation of seeing Mr. S., or at least receiving instructions from him with reference to these people. No one coming, I resolved to proceed to Fort Coulonge, and communicate _viva voce_ the information I had received. Late in the evening, I embarked in a small canoe, with two men, and reached the Fort at early dawn; and rousing Mr. S. from his slumbers, I at once announced the object of my visit. "Well," said he, "this requires consideration: retire to rest, and I shall think about it." I retired accordingly, and slept till breakfast-time, when the subject was discussed; and his decision was, that I should send one of the two young men who were at my post in pursuit of the Iroquois, with instructions to follow them up, until the season should be so far advanced as merely to admit of his return by open water, unless the Iroquois pitched their tent before then. I volunteered myself to go after them with an outfit; but no; it would be dividing our forces, thereby allowing an advantage to our more formidable opponents; besides, we had not much to apprehend from the Iroquois with their trifling means. "_Très bien_," I said to myself, and set off on my return forthwith. I of course lost no time in executing the orders I had received. My bourgeois had his opinion of the matter, and I had mine; I knew that the Iroquois, when left to themselves, would make their own prices for their goods, and thus, even with the small outfit they had, fleece the Indians of the principal part of their furs. Among the Indians whom I had supplied, was an individual whose advances amounted to a heavy sum. I felt extremely anxious about him, and resolved to pay him a visit as soon as travelling was practicable; meantime, Swanston, who had been in pursuit of the Iroquois, returned from his disagreeable voyage on the 28th November, having learned nothing more than we already knew. I set off the next day, ostensibly on a visit to Mr. S., but really with the intention of starting from his post on my intended "derouine,"[1] arrived at Fort Coulonge among the drift ice, and on the 1st December started, accompanied by the interpreter Primeau and another man, all of us with heavy burdens on our backs. This proved the most toilsome trip I had yet undertaken; the smaller lakes only were passable on the ice, and the rivers were nearly all open. The difficulties we thus encountered necessarily retarded our progress, and occupied so much more time than we had calculated upon, that our provisions were nearly consumed by the time we reached the first Indian camp, where we expected to procure a guide to conduct us to the party we were in search of. We succeeded in hiring a young man, but we only obtained a small supply of flour, the Indians having no other kind of provision to spare. [1] "Derouine,"--a trading visit to the Indians. Three days travelling brought us to the borders of the Indian's lands, where we soon discovered one of his early winter encampments; had we been a few days sooner we could have easily traced him from this spot, but the snow, which had recently fallen to a great depth, had nearly obliterated the marks he had left behind him.[1] My interpreter, accustomed to "tracking," followed the _scent_ for two days; our guide, discontented with the short allowance, gave no assistance, till coming to an extensive "brulé,"[2] he was completely _at fault_, as no marks of any kind could be discovered. [1] When Indians remove in winter, in passing on rivers and lakes, they stick, at intervals, in the snow, branches of balsam, inclining in the direction they may have gone. In the woods, small saplings are cut or broken down; if there is no underwood, an occasional "blaze" serves as a sign-post to the experienced woodsman. [2] "Brulé," a part of the forest consumed by fire. Our situation was now extremely critical; we were reduced to one solitary meal of flour and water per diem, and but a few handfuls of this poor fare remained; to return by the way we came was out of the question, to proceed to the post was in truth our only alternative, and none of us was sufficiently acquainted with that part of the country to be sure of finding it; while the Indian, positively refusing to keep us company any longer, turned back, and left us to get out of our difficulties as we best could. The interpreter proposed that another attempt should be made to find the Indian's encampment, and volunteered to go alone; this proved the poor fellow's zeal, but he returned to our encampment next morning unsuccessful; we therefore resolved to go back, and, finding our way without much difficulty for a couple of days, we reached the upper end of a long portage leading to the Ottawa River, where we encamped late in the evening, and supped on the _hope_ of getting to the post next forenoon. We started early in the morning, the Canadian leading, and about noon fell on fresh snow-shoe tracks--the tracks, we supposed, of some of our people who had come to seek us; and feeling assured that our sufferings would terminate with the day, we pursued our route with renovated vigour and speed; when lo! our encampment of the preceding night came in view, the excitement of our minds having prevented us from discerning our mistake, as we might have done, sooner. The sun was still high, but the circumstance of the encampment being already prepared, induced us to put up there again for the night. It was a sad disappointment, and I felt it as such, though I affected a gaiety that was far from my heart; while with downcast looks and heavy hearts my poor fellows betook themselves to rest at a very early hour. Next morning we set off determined to be more cautious; the mistake of the previous day was ascribed to the sound of a high cascade at the head of the rapid, which we had mistaken for another considerably farther down; our Canadian still acted as guide--the blind leading the blind--and after two hours' walk we fell upon our own tracks again;--the poor fellow had yielded so completely to despair, that he walked about mechanically, scarcely knowing or caring whither he went; he was therefore ordered to the rear, and Primeau succeeded as leader. We saw nothing more of our tracks, but encamped in the evening with much the same prospects as before. I felt extremely weak, having carried Primeau's pack along with my own, as the old man could scarcely move when beating the track in the deep snow. Having a few fresh beaver skins, we cut off the thicker parts about the head and legs, and made a _bouillon_ of them, which we drank, and then turned in. In the morning it became a subject of serious debate what direction we should proceed in; the sky, however, having been clear the preceding evening, I observed the sun setting, and determined in my own mind the proper course; both my companions differed from me, but readily agreed to follow me. I therefore took the lead, and was so fortunate as to discover an old track, soon after leaving our encampment, which we followed until it brought us in sight of the Grand River--the long looked-for object of our fast failing hopes. Tears of joy burst from my eyes, as I beheld before me the wide expanse of the noble stream: although covered with ice and divested of the beauties of summer, it never appeared more lovely to me. We reached the post after night-fall; opening the door cautiously, I threw in my snow-shoes, then bolting in myself, was gratified with the sight of a table garnished with the best things the country afforded, which my two friends had prepared for their Christmas dinner; the sight, however, was all that prudence allowed us for the present to enjoy, our long abstinence rendering it necessary to confine ourselves, for a time, to a very weak diet. Next day I despatched a messenger to Fort Coulonge with the narrative of my adventures; and as soon as my strength was sufficiently recruited I set off again, accompanied by a _tête de boule_ as my guide, who led us direct to the camp of the Indian I had so long been in search of; where I had the mortification to learn, that on my first attempt I had returned from within a day's journey of him, and that if I had then succeeded in finding him, I should have secured the whole of the valuable hunts of him and his people, which were now in possession of the Iroquois traders. On my return to the post I communicated my sentiments freely to Mr. S. in writing, regarding the oversight that had led to consequences so injurious to the Company, and went afterwards, at his own request, to talk over the matter with him. It was now decided that I should go with a party of men to establish a post against them, i.e. to shut the stable-door after the steed was stolen. To accomplish this object supplies of every kind must be hauled on sledges by the men, at an enormous expense, and after all we could not furnish the means of competing with the Iroquois with any prospect of advantage. I however lost no time in executing the orders of my superior, and set off with as many men as could be spared for the purpose. On arriving at our destination, we built a temporary hut for our own accommodation, and a small store for the goods; but I soon discovered that the Iroquois had not only already secured all the Indians' furs, but had so completely ingratiated themselves with them that we were scarcely noticed. I remained two months in this wretched situation, and, as Mr. S.'s instructions left me in some measure to the exercise of my own judgment, I resolved on transferring the _honourable_ charge to persons less sanguine than myself, and returned to my post, where I knew my services could be turned to better account. In returning I happened to fall in with a small band of Indians, who had not yet been visited by the Iroquois, one of whom was the brother of the Algonquin chief, who had been so severely chastised the preceding winter. At his lodge I passed the night, and was not only treated with the usual Indian hospitality, but received a very pressing invitation to return with a supply of goods, which he promised to trade. Such invitations are never neglected. The moment I arrived at my post I laid aside the articles required by the Indians, and after one day's rest, started, myself and two men, carrying everything on our backs. It being late in the season, we encountered every possible difficulty on our way: the small streams overflowed, and the ice was so bad on the rivers as to preclude travelling on them. We were therefore under the necessity of taking to the woods, through a horridly rugged country, now ascending hills so steep that we could only scramble up their sides by holding on by the branches and underwood, the descent on the opposite side being equally difficult and laborious; now forcing our way through deep ravines overgrown with underwood, all but impervious; sinking to the ground at every step, and raising on our snow-shoes a load of half-melted snow, which strained the tendons of the legs and caused acute pain. Early in the morning of the sixth day we arrived at the camp, but, to our astonishment, neither heard the voice nor saw the form of a human being, though there were infallible signs that the camp was inhabited. It was the sugar season. I entered the great man's hut with a cautious step, and found every soul in it fast asleep. I marked with surprise the confusion that prevailed around,--sugar kettles upset, pots, pans, wearing apparel, blankets, and other articles, scattered about in every direction;--what could it mean? I awoke the chief, and the mystery was solved. He appeared to be just recovering from the effects of the night's debauch,--the Iroquois were in the camp. Mine host "grinned horribly a ghastly smile" as he placed himself, rather unsteadily, in a sitting posture in his bed, and in a hoarse tremulous voice bade me welcome, at the same time rousing his better-half, who appeared to be in the same _happy_ state as himself. A clatter ensued that soon set the whole household in motion, and I hastened to make the customary offering of a small keg of rum to the chief, and another of shrub to the squaw, who immediately ordered a young woman (the family drudge) to prepare my breakfast. Meanwhile the chief, along with two of his relatives, amused himself quaffing his nectar, which evidently began to have its usual effects, and from the expressions I overheard, I could gather that he had neither forgotten his brother's treatment last winter, nor forgiven me the part I had acted on the occasion. I listened with affected indifference for a time to the taunts he began to throw out, and at last, to get rid of them, went to visit the other huts, where I found the Iroquois preparing for their departure; they had several parcels of beaver, which they took no pains to conceal from me, but there was still much more remaining. After seeing them depart I returned to my chief, who received me with a volley of abuse, in which he was joined by his associates. The women, who were sober, observing by my looks that I was getting excited, requested me to withdraw. I did so, but was followed by the chief to the next hut, which I quitted immediately; I found myself still pursued by the same insufferable insolence. My philosophy being unequal to so severe a trial, I turned upon my tormentor, and seizing him by the throat, dashed him to the ground, and left him there speechless. I then made for a hut a short distance apart from the others, belonging to a _tête de boule_, where I remained in quietness for about the space of fifteen minutes; when suddenly my Canadian came rushing into the hut, his countenance betraying the utmost alarm, and staring me wildly in the face, he stammered out, "Les sauvages! les sauvages, monsieur, prennent leurs armes! Sauvons-nous! Sauvons-nous!" The Iroquois, coming in the next instant, confirmed his report; but I had, in fact, been flying the whole morning, and thought it now high time to take my stand. My Iroquois appearing quite calm, I told him I was determined not to stir from the spot, and asked if he would remain with me. "I came here for that purpose," said he, "and shall stand by you to the last." Our _tête de boule_ had two guns, which he loaded; Sabourin had his, which he promised to use in his own defence: thus prepared, we awaited the expected attack. The remainder of the day, however, passed without molestation, and after night-fall, I sent out my trusty Iroquois to reconnoitre; he soon returned with the welcome intelligence that the Indians had all retired to rest. We did the same. Next morning I went to the chief's lodge, and found him perfectly sober; I saluted him according to custom, which he returned with a scowl, repeating my words in a contemptuous manner; this exasperated my yet excited feelings to the highest degree. I felt assured that the fellow had invited me on purpose to insult me, if not for a worse purpose; and, addressing him in language that plainly bespoke my feelings, I immediately ordered my men to prepare for our departure. He remained silent for a moment, and then whispered in his wife's ear; she turned round to me, smiling, and asked if I had not brought the goods, my men were packing up, to trade? "Yes," I replied. "Then," said she, "you must not be in such a hurry to go away." The husband now spoke to me in a conciliatory tone, begging me to place all that had happened to the account of the "fire-water," and for heaven's sake not to acquaint his father with his conduct. This I readily assented to; we entered upon business, and nearly all the goods I had were exchanged for their full value in beaver. We found the travelling much better on our return, the small streams having subsided, and the snow so much diminished, that we could walk without snow-shoes. CHAPTER XI. SUCCESS OF THE IROQUOIS TRADERS--APPOINTED TO THE CHARGE OF THE CHATS--CANADIAN DISPUTES POSSESSION--BIVOUAC WITHOUT A FIRE--RUSE TO BAFFLE MY OPPONENTS--ROMAN CATHOLIC BIGOTRY. The Iroquois passed early in spring with eighteen Indian packs in their canoes,--each pack might be estimated at 60l.,--our other opponent started for Montreal about the same time as last year, and I was ordered down to Fort Coulonge to take Mr. S.'s place for the summer. He returned from Montreal about the end of August, and I was much gratified to learn from him that I had been again appointed to the charge of the Chats, so that all the merit or demerit of good or bad management would now be entirely my own. A few days after, a middle-sized canoe arrived, manned by three Canadians, with whom I embarked for the scene of my first essay as an Indian trader. On arriving at the post, I was surprised to find an old Canadian and his _cara sposa_ in possession,--a circumstance of which I had had no previous intimation. This worthy pair seemed determined to maintain their position in defiance of me; and not wishing to employ violent means to dispossess them if it could possibly be done otherwise, I passed the night in the hall. Having, however, obtained possession of the outworks, I was determined to carry the citadel; and, summoning the contumacious occupants into my presence next morning, I demanded, in a peremptory tone, the immediate surrender of the keys. "Show me your authority," said he. "If I do not show it, you shall feel it presently!" Seeing that I ordered my men to put my threat into execution, Jean Baptiste assumed a more humble attitude, and requested me, as a favour, to permit him to remain in the kitchen until he could find a passage to Montreal;--with this request I willingly complied. My old opponent had still a post in this district, and I was directed to send a party in opposition to him; which being done, I remained quiet until the winter communication became practicable, when I determined on paying a visit to my friends in the Fort Coulonge district. The distance being short, and my object having no connexion with the Company's interests, I set off on my pleasure jaunt alone. I put up the first night at a sort of tavern just then opened by an American at the upper end of the Chats' Lake, the only habitation at that time in the quarter, whence I started at early dawn, expecting to reach Fort Coulonge before night. The lumbermen having commenced sledging their winter supplies, the road formed by these vehicles presented a hard, smooth surface, on which I made good speed, as I had nothing to encumber me, save my blanket and tomahawk. Arriving at a long bend of the river about 2 P.M., I put on my snow-shoes to cut across the point and meet the road again, flattering myself that I should thus shorten the distance some two or three miles. The weather being mild, and the sun overcast, I was as much at a loss to find my way in the woods as if I had been blindfolded; I nevertheless continued my onward course, and again came on the road. I proceeded in high spirits for a considerable time, when I perceived a man before me going in the same direction with myself; quickening my pace I soon came up with him, and asked him if he was bound for the Fort? "I guess I don't know of any fort in this part of the world," said he. "What! not know of Fort Coulonge, and you so near to it? are you not going there?" "I have heard of such a place," said Jonathan; "but I'd take a tarnation long time to get to it, I calculate, if I followed my nose as it points now." I told him who I was, whither bound, and where I slept last night. "I guess then you had better sleep there again, for it is not quite three miles off." This was the result of making a short cut, and I resolved to follow the long and sure road in future. A shanty that had been recently occupied, afforded me comfortable lodgings for the night, and I arrived at Fort Coulonge about noon next day, where I passed the night, and started for the outpost. Here I remained two days, and would have remained still longer, had it not been discovered one morning that our opponents were off in the direction of my outpost on the Bonne Chere. As the Indians in that quarter were excellent hunters, and owed me much, I deemed it advisable to follow them; my friends, too, sent an interpreter and three men along with me, for the purpose of trading what they could on account of their own post--_chacun pour soi_ being the order of the day. We soon overtook our opponents, and I resolved, if possible, to give them the slip by the way. Accordingly, when within a day's journey of the establishment, I pretended to have sprained my foot so badly, that I walked with the greatest seeming difficulty. My men, who were aware of the ruse, requested me to place my bundle on their sledges, to enable me to keep up with them. This farce commenced in the evening. Next morning my leg was worse than ever, until we came on the river at about ten miles' distance from the post. I was delighted to find but little snow upon the ice, so that I had a fair opportunity of putting the metal of my legs to the test, and the opposition party having sledges heavily laden, I walked hard, my foot on a sudden becoming perfectly sound, in order to tire them as much as possible before I bolted. Having apparently effected my purpose, I set off at the top of my speed, and never looked behind me until I had cleared the first long reach, when turning round, I saw a man in pursuit about half-way across; I started again, and saw no more of my pursuer. On arriving at the post I was gratified to learn that the Indians, whom I was so anxious about, had been in a few days previously, while our opponents were off in another direction; so that they had been seen by none save our own people. Finding two men at home, I proceeded with them to the Indian camp, and arrived at dawn of day. I met with a very friendly reception, and had the good fortune to prevail upon the Indians to deliver me their furs upon the spot, which formed a very heavy load for both myself and men. We met our opponents in returning; but though they had ocular proof of my success, they nevertheless went on to the camp. Having arrived at the post, I found some Indians there all intoxicated; I was also mortified to find the person in charge in the same state. I immediately displaced him, and made over the charge, _pro tempore_, to one of the men. The conduct of my worthless deputy hurt me so much that I could not remain another night under the same roof with him. I therefore set off on my return to the Chats, although already late in the afternoon, expecting to reach the first shanty in the early part of the night. The Bonne Chere river is very rapid in the upper part, and does not "set fast"[1] until late in the season, unless the cold be very intense. I arrived at this part soon after night-fall, and perceiving by the clear light of the moon the dangers in my way, I deemed it imprudent to proceed farther; and having nothing to strike fire with, I cut a few branches of balsam and strewed them under the spreading boughs of a large cedar, and wrapping myself up in my blanket, lay down. The weather being mild, I thought I could sleep comfortably without fire; but was mistaken. When I awoke from my first sleep, which must have been sound, I found my limbs stiff with cold, while my teeth chattered violently in my head. To remain in this condition till daylight was almost certain death; I resolved, therefore, at all hazards to find my way to the shanty, which might be about ten miles distant. The light of the moon being very bright, enabled me to avoid the openings in the ice, and by moving on cautiously, about three o'clock in the morning I reached the shanty; which belonged to a warm-hearted son of Erin, who received me with the characteristic hospitality of his countrymen, placing before me the best his cabin afforded, and with his own blankets and those of his men making up a comfortable bed, on which I slept till late in the day, and next night in my own bed. [1] Freeze. As the greater part of my customers wintered in the vicinity of the outpost, and I had no longer any confidence in the person in charge there, I resolved on passing the remainder of the winter at it myself; I therefore requested that a person should be sent up from the Lake of Two Mountains to take care of the establishment during my absence. On the arrival of this person, I proceeded to the outpost, but shall pass over the transactions that occurred there, being similar in all respects to those already narrated. One circumstance, however, occurred, which, though not in my vocation, I think worthy of notice. Two itinerant missionaries called at the Lake of Two Mountains and distributed a number of religious tracts among the natives, together with a few copies of the Gospel according to St. John, in the Indian language. My Algonquin interpreter happened to get one of the latter, and took much pleasure in reading it. Towards the latter end of the season I received a packet from my superior at the Lake, and, to my surprise, found in it a letter with the seal of the Church affixed, addressed to my interpreter, which I put into his hands, and observed him perusing very attentively. Soon after he called me aside, and told me that the letter in question conveyed a peremptory command from the priest to destroy the bad book he had in his possession, or else his child that died in autumn would be denied the rites of Christian sepulture. We are told that the age of bigotry is past: facts like this prove the contrary. I asked him if he intended to obey the commands of his ghostly father. "Not exactly," said he; "I shall send the book to him, and let him do with it what he pleases; for my part, I have read it over and over again, and find it all good, very good; why the 'black coat' should call it bad is a mystery to me." CHAPTER XII. JOURNEY TO MONTREAL--APPOINTMENT TO LAC DE SABLE--ADVANTAGES OF THIS POST--ITS DIFFICULTIES--GOVERNOR'S FLATTERING LETTER--RETURN FROM MONTREAL--LOST IN THE WOOD--SUFFERINGS--ESCAPE. Early in spring I returned to the Chats, and after the close of the trade took my departure for Montreal, having finished my apprenticeship. I renewed my contract for three years, and was appointed to the charge of Lac de Sable, a post situated on a tributary of the Ottawa, called _Rivière aux Lièvres_, two hundred miles distant from Montreal. I embarked on the 15th August, 1826, and arrived at the post on the 1st September; where I was gratified to find a comfortable dwelling-house, and a large farm with pigs, poultry, and cattle in abundance. All this was very well, but there was also a powerful opposition, and I had experience enough to know that the enjoyment of any kind of comfort is incompatible with the life we lead in opposition. The difficulties of my situation, moreover, were from various causes extremely perplexing. The old North-West agents, acting for the Hudson's Bay Company in Canada, had declared a bankruptcy the preceding winter; the principal manager having quitted the country rather precipitately, as was supposed, and forgotten to appoint a successor; the management devolved in consequence upon the head accountant, Mr. C----e, who, however well he might be qualified for the duties of the situation, felt the responsibility of acting without authority to be too great, and confined himself accordingly to such measures only as he was confident would subject him to no inconvenience when the day of reckoning arrived. Meantime the business of this department sustained a serious check; the old hands of the post, having been tampered with by the opposition in the course of last winter, quitted the service to a man, and I now found the establishment to consist of a clerk, interpreter, and one man only. I was given to understand that three men additional would join me as soon as they could, and that I must not expect any more; thus our number would be seven against twenty-two. A disparity so vast precluded all hopes of maintaining the contest with advantage to the Company or credit to myself. Fortune, however, declared in our favour; dissensions arose in the ranks of our opponents, clerks and men deserted, supplies for trade ran short, and from being the weaker party we were now the stronger. Governor Simpson having taken up his residence at La Chine in autumn, men and goods were furnished in abundance, and the petty traders were made to see, ere the winter passed, the futility of entering the lists in competition with a Company possessing so vast resources. Mr. MacD----l having wintered two years at this post, and being consequently well acquainted with the natives, I entrusted the direction of affairs against the opposition entirely to him, and remained quietly at home, having only the few Indians that wintered in the neighbourhood of the post to attend to; my situation, however, was often far from agreeable, being frequently reduced to the company of my pigs and poultry for weeks together, and obliged to act as trader, cook, hewer of wood, and drawer of water. In the course of the winter I was favoured with a visit from Mr. F----r, to whose district this post had just been annexed, and had the gratification to receive, through him, a letter from Governor Simpson, conveying, in very flattering terms, his approbation of my conduct. I was told that I was in the direct road to preferment--that my merits should be represented to the Council on his arrival in the interior--and that he should be happy to have an opportunity of recommending me to the Governor and Committee, when he returned to England. We shall see, in the sequel, how these promises were fulfilled. I embarked, on the 15th June, 1827, for Montreal, and found Mr. K----h, a chief factor in the service, at the head of affairs; and my outfit being prepared in a few days, I re-embarked, taking my passage, as formerly, on board of a large canoe, deeply laden. The last rapid and portage on the Rivière aux Lièvres is within eight miles of the establishment, and generally takes the men a day to pass it. Arriving at this place late in the evening, I resolved on going on a-foot; it being fine moonlight, I felt confident of finding my way without difficulty. The weather having been immoderately hot for some time past, I had sat in the canoe divested of my upper garments, and thought I might, without inconvenience, dispense with them now, as I expected to reach the house ere the night air could prove injurious to me. Setting off, therefore, in "light marching order," I immediately gained the high grounds, in order to keep clear of the underwood that covers the banks of the river; and just as the moon appeared above the surrounding hills, arrived on the banks of a small stream, where I observed a portage path sunk deep in the ground, a circumstance which proved it to be much frequented--by whom or for what purpose I could not say, for I had seldom passed the limits of my farm during last winter, and was nearly as ignorant of the topography of the environs as the first day I arrived. I had not heard of the existence of a river in the quarter, nor did I imagine there was any; the conclusion I arrived at therefore was, that I had lost my way, and that my most eligible course was, to endeavour to find the main stream, and by following it, retrace my course to the portage. I soon fell on the river, but my retrograde march proved exceedingly toilsome; at every step I was obliged to bend the branches of the underwood to one side and another, or pressing them down under my feet, force my way through by main strength: some short spaces indeed intervened, that admitted of an easier passage; still my progress was so slow that the sun appeared before I reached the upper end of the portage. Finding an old canoe here, belonging to the post, I resolved on crossing to the opposite side of the river, where I knew there was a path that led to the house, by which the Indians often passed when travelling in small canoes. I accordingly ran to the lower end of the portage for a paddle, where I found my men still asleep; and having heard that the lower end of this path came out exactly opposite to the upper end of the portage, I struck out into the woods the moment I landed, fancying that I could not fail to discover it. The sun got higher and higher as I proceeded, and I went faster and yet faster, to no purpose;--no path appeared; and I at length became convinced that I was lost--being equally in difficulty to find my way back to the river as forward to the post. The weather was very sultry; and such had been the drought of the season that all the small creeks were dried up, so that I could nowhere procure a drop of water to moisten my parched lips. The sensations occasioned by thirst are so much more painful than those we feel from hunger, that although I had eaten but little the preceding day, and nothing on that day, I never thought of food. While my inner man was thus tortured by thirst, my outer man scarcely suffered less from another cause. The country through which I passed being of a marshy nature, I was incessantly tormented by the venomous flies that abound in such situations,--my shirt, and only other habiliment, having sustained so much damage in my nocturnal expedition, that the insects had free access _partout_.[1] [1] There are three different kinds of these tormenting insects, viz. the mosquito, the black-fly, and the gnat--the latter the same as the midge in N. Britain--who relieve each other regularly in the work of torture. The mosquitoes continue at their post from dawn to eight or nine o'clock, A.M.; the black-flies succeed, and remain in the field till near sunset; the mosquitoes again mount guard till dark, and are finally succeeded by the gnats, who continue their watch and incessant attacks till near sunrise. I came to the foot of a high hill about two o'clock P.M., which I ascended, and got a very good view of the surrounding country from its summit; hills and lakes appeared in every direction; but the sight of these objects only served to impress my mind with the conviction, that, unless Providence should direct my steps to the establishment, the game was up with me. Having descended, I sauntered about the remainder of the day, my ideas becoming more and more bewildered, and my strength declining; and passed the night sometimes sitting, sometimes standing, sometimes moving about;--but sitting, standing, or moving about, subjected to the same tortures. I endeavoured during the night to compose my mind as much as possible; some happy thought might perchance suggest itself, which might lead to my deliverance. Nor were my efforts without some success: I called to mind the position of the post with respect to the rising and setting sun; another circumstance of importance also recurred to me. A Canadian hunter, who received his supplies at my post, had told me that such Indians as did not wish to pay their debts at the post, frequently passed unperceived by a chain of small lakes that ran parallel to the river, and extended from Lac de Sable to somewhere near the rapid, whence I had taken my departure. I recollected, too, his having mentioned that some Indian families occasionally made sugar on the borders of these lakes, and that a good path lay from their camp to the post. Having passed the night in a deep valley, the sun did not appear until late in the morning, when I shaped my course, to the best of my judgment, for the post. Two or three hours' walk brought me to the foot of a high hill, nearly destitute of wood on one side; and expecting that some discovery might be made from the top which might be of use to me, I resolved on attempting the ascent--an undertaking of no small difficulty in my enfeebled state. I succeeded in gaining the top, and to my unspeakable joy, perceived a chain of lakes within about two miles of me, exactly corresponding to the description given me by the Canadian hunter. I also heard the reports of guns, but so indistinctly that I could not determine the direction the report came from. Noting with the utmost care the course that would lead me to the lakes, I descended the steep declivity with a degree of speed that surprised myself,--such is the powerful influence the mind exercises over the body. I expected an hour's walk would bring me to the lakes, but the sun being in the zenith, and my way lying through a dense forest of pine, I could not keep a straight course. I proceeded onward, however, as well as _reason_ could direct me, and most willingly would I have exchanged a little of that _faculty_ for the _instinct_ that leads the brute creation with unerring certainty through the pathless depths of the forest. The sun was rapidly declining, and my hopes with it, when suddenly I fancied I heard the murmuring sound of running water. Could it be really so? What a delightful feast I should have! for I had passed the day, like the preceding, without a drop of water to allay my raging thirst. I listened; the sound became more distinct--it was no illusion. I quickened my pace, and soon came upon a charming rivulet, flowing rapidly over a bed of white pebbles, its water clear as crystal. I rushed into the midst of it, and fervently thanking the Giver of all good, threw myself on my knees, and drank draught after draught till my thirst was quenched. I felt refreshed to an extraordinary degree, and concluding that the stream would lead me to the river, or to some lake communicating with it, I followed its course, wading in the water that there might be "no mistake," and soon came out on the border of a small lake, where I had the additional satisfaction of hearing the report of guns so distinctly as to convince me that the party firing them could be at no great distance. I walked round the lake, and at its far end fell on a portage path that soon conducted me to another lake. This, then, must be the chain of lakes I was in search of! I was transported at the thought. But an incident soon occurred that served to damp at once my spirits and my person: a distant peal of thunder was heard; peal after peal succeeded; the heavens were obscured, and heavy drops of rain, the harbingers of an approaching storm, fell from the dark clouds. I strained every nerve to reach the firing party ere the storm should burst upon me. I reached the foot of the hill, but the firing had ceased. I nevertheless ascended as quickly as my wearied limbs would carry me, but on reaching the spot found no one there. The storm now burst upon me in all its fury. Flash followed flash in quick succession, and the rain fell in torrents, which, however, as the few clothes that still adhered to my person were already saturated by the previous rain, caused me but little additional inconvenience. I descended to the lake, and by the time I reached the far end of it the darkness had increased so much, that I could proceed no farther. Perceiving an old encampment--a few half-decayed branches of balsam, at the foot of a large hemlock--I took up my quarters there for the night. The tufted branches of this tree render it a much more secure retreat in a thunder-storm than the pine, whose pointed branches and spiral shaped top frequently attract the electric fluid. Towards morning the storm seemed to have expended its fury; and, strange to say, in the midst of it I enjoyed two or three hours' sleep. Nature had been so exhausted by protracted sufferings, that (though the flies were driven to their covert) I believe I could have slept upon a bed of thorns, covered with gnats and mosquitoes. As soon as it was sufficiently clear to enable me to find my way, I quitted my hemlock and fell on the portage path, which soon led me to another small lake, and which I proceeded to circumambulate as usual, keeping a sharp look-out for the path that led to the post; when suddenly the report of a gun burst from an adjoining hill. At the same instant, I observed a net pole standing in the water at the bottom of a small bay close by, and directed my steps towards it; when on approaching it I discovered a broad path ascending from the water's edge, and immediately after the buildings of a sugar camp. Allowing the party on the hill to blaze away, I followed the path, and in less than half-an-hour came out upon the Rivière aux Lièvres, immediately opposite the house. I perceived the men of the establishment, with some Indians, all in a bustle; some preparing to embark in a canoe, others firing. I sat down to gaze for a moment on the most interesting scene I had ever witnessed, and then gave a loud cry, which it was evident nobody heard, although the river is not more than a stone-cast across. I made a second effort with better success. The Indians raised a shout of triumph; the men hallooed, "Le voilà! le voilà! Je le vois! Je le vois à l'autre bord! Embarquez! embarquez!" A few minutes more, and I found myself restored to at best a prolonged life of misery and exile. Let it not be inferred from this expression that I felt ungrateful for my deliverance; on the contrary, my escape from a death so lingering and terrible made a deep impression upon my mind. I afterwards gave a holiday to my men in remembrance of it, and made them all happy for one day. CHAPTER XIII. NARROWLY ESCAPE DROWNING--ACCIDENT TO INDIAN GUIDE--AM NEARLY FROZEN TO DEATH--MISUNDERSTANDING BETWEEN ALGONQUINS AND IROQUOIS--MASSACRE AT HANNAH BAY. Nothing occurred this year out of the usual routine, save an accident that happened to myself, and had nearly proved fatal. A couple of hounds had been presented to me by a friend, for the purpose of hunting the deer that abounded in the neighbourhood. The dogs having one day broken loose from the leash, betook themselves to the hills; and the first intimation we had of their being at liberty, was the sound of their voices in full cry on an adjacent hill. I instantly seized my gun, and following a beaten track that led to a small lake at the base of the hill, I perceived a deer swimming towards an island in the middle of the lake, and only a little beyond the range of gun-shot. An old fishing-canoe happening to be at hand, I immediately launched it, and gave chase, without examining the condition it was in. I proceeded but a short distance, however, when I perceived that it leaked very much. I continued, nevertheless, to paddle, till I got nearly half-way across to the island; but by this time the quantity of water in the canoe had increased so much, that my ardour for the chase began to give way to anxiety for my own safety. I perceived a large hole in the stern of the canoe, now almost level with the surface of the lake, through which the water gushed with every stroke of the paddle. The fore-part appearing free from injury, I immediately inverted my position,--a movement necessarily effected with much difficulty in so small a craft; and having thus placed myself, the stern was consequently raised a little higher. I then paddled gently towards a long point projecting from the mainland, much nearer me than the island; and although I used the utmost caution in paddling, the canoe sunk under me some distance from the shore. The lake, however, was fortunately shallow at this place, so that I soon found bottom. Had there been the least ripple on the water, I could not have escaped; but the weather was perfectly calm, and the lake smooth as glass. In the early part of next winter, I went again in pursuit of the deer; and although I incurred no great risk of losing my life, I yet experienced such inconveniences as seldom fall to the lot of amateur hunters in other parts of the world. I left the house early in the morning, and, starting a deer close by, gave chase, following the track over hill and dale, until I reached a high ridge bordering on Lac de Sable. Here the deer slackened his pace, and appeared, by his track, to have descended slowly into a valley, where he remained until I started him a second time. I still continued the pursuit, without thinking of time or distance from the establishment. At length the night evidently began to close, and I felt faint and exhausted from want of food, and the exertions I had made during the day. I therefore gave up the chase; but to retrace my steps by the devious path by which I had pursued the deer, would have occupied the greater part of the night; I therefore resolved on returning by a more direct course; but the upshot was, that, after wandering about for some time, and repeatedly falling on my own tracks, I passed the night in the woods. Although nearly overcome with fatigue, I durst not think of lying down, well knowing what the consequence would be; I therefore walked backwards and forwards, on a beaten track, the whole night; and next morning adopted the sure course of finding my way by my tracks of the preceding day. Meeting an Indian by the way, who had been sent in search of me, he led me by a short cut, and we arrived at the house about two o'clock, P.M. In the autumn of 1829, another opponent entered the lists against us,--an enterprising Canadian, who had been for a long time in the Company's service. This adventurer proceeded some distance inland, and I need scarcely say that a party was sent to keep him company. Understanding that the new competitor gave our people more trouble than had been anticipated, I determined on taking an active part in the game; and as I had only two men with me at Lac de Sable, whose services were required there, I set off alone, intending to take with me an Indian who had an encampment by the way, as I was unacquainted with the route. I slept at the Indian's wigwam, who readily accompanied me next morning; but the weather being intolerably cold, the poor fellow got both his ears frozen, _et aliud quidquam præterea_, in crossing a large lake not far from his camp. The moment he perceived his mishap, he assailed me in the most abusive terms, and swore that he would accompany me no farther; which, being conscious that I was partly the cause of his misfortune, I bore with as much equanimity as I could; and arriving at the opposite side of the lake, we kindled a fire, and I proceeded to treat his case according to the usual practice; that is, rubbing the part affected with snow, or bathing it with cold water until it is thawed, and the circulation restored. Having happily succeeded, I forthwith dismissed him, and determined to find my way alone; and having a tolerable idea of the direction in which I should go, and the weather being clear, I entertained no doubt of falling somewhere on the river whereon the post is situated. I came upon it, as it seemed to me, a considerable distance below the establishment, just as the sun was setting. Having travelled in deep snow the whole day, I felt so much fatigued that I could scarcely exert myself sufficiently to keep my body warm, the cold being intense. I walked as briskly as my diminished strength would allow; but at length became so weak, that I was obliged to lay myself down at short intervals. In this wretched state,--my limbs benumbed with cold, and thinking I should never see daylight,--I suddenly came upon a hard beaten path: this inspired me with new vigour, as it indicated the close vicinity of a shanty. I soon discovered the desired haven, and crawling up the steep bank that led to it, I knocked at the door with my snow-shoes, and was immediately admitted. The noise I made roused the inmates, who had been sound asleep; and who, seeing my helpless condition, exerted themselves in every possible way to relieve me. I was nearly in the last stage of exhaustion, being unable to take off my snow-shoes, or even articulate a word. One of these noble woodsmen guided me next day to the post; when, as a small mark of gratitude for his generous kindness, I presented him and his companions with what is always acceptable to a shanty-man, a liberal allowance of the "crathur," to enjoy themselves withal. If it be asked why I did not make a fire, when I had the necessary apparatus; I answer, that I had but a very small axe, quite unfit for felling so large timber as grew on the banks of this river; and I was, besides, so benumbed and exhausted as to be unequal to the task even of lighting a fire. Sometime after my return from Montreal in the autumn of 1830, I went to pay a visit to one of my customers whose lands were at a considerable distance. I was accompanied by one man in a small canoe; and as it was necessary that one of us should carry the canoe over the portages, and the other the property, I chose the former, being the lightest though by far the most inconvenient load. I found it very oppressive at first, but use rendered it more easy. This was the first time I carried a canoe. On our return from the Indian's camp we met with rather a disagreeable accident, while ascending a small and very rapid river. In pushing forward the canoe against the stream, my pole happened to glance off a stone, and the canoe swinging round came in contact with the trunk of a tree projecting from the bank, and we, or at least I, was upset in an instant. Fortunately the current, though strong, was smooth and free from whirlpools; so that, after swimming down a short distance in search of a landing-place, I rejoined my companion, whom I found standing on the bank perfectly dry. On inquiring of him how he happened to avoid a ducking, he told me he sprang ashore while I was attempting to parry off the tree; doubtless his having done so was in a great measure the cause of the accident. He, however, acted a very prudent part after landing, having caught hold of the canoe in the act of upsetting, and thus preserved the goods from being lost or damaged. In the course of this year, the Iroquois and Algonquins were nearly coming to blows on account of the hunting-grounds. This quarrel originated from a speech which Colonel McKay, then at the head of the Indian department, had addressed to the Iroquois, in which, making use of the metaphorical language of the people, he observed that Indians of all tribes ought to live together in the utmost concord and amity, seeing they inhabited the same villages, "and ate out of the same dish." This the Iroquois interpreted in a way more suitable to their own wishes than consistent with its real meaning. "Our father," said they, "tells us we eat out of the same dish with the Algonquins;--he means that we have an equal right to the hunting-grounds." They proceeded, accordingly, to avail themselves of the supposed privilege. The consequence was a very violent quarrel, in which Government was ultimately obliged to interfere. The Indians informed us, this spring, of a dreadful murder that had been committed in the early part of the winter by some of the natives of Hudson's Bay. The particulars of this tale of blood I since learned from an individual that escaped from the massacre. The Indians attached to the posts established along the shores of Hudson's Bay are comparatively civilized; most of them speak English, and are employed as voyageurs by the Company. Few or no precautions are taken at these posts to guard against treachery; the gates are seldom shut, and some of the posts are destitute of palisades or defence of any kind. Of this description was the post where the catastrophe occurred which I am about to relate. The post of Hannah Bay is situated about sixty miles to the north of Moose Factory, and was at this time under the charge of a Mr. Corrigal. His establishment consisted of two or three half-breeds, and an Indian who had been brought up by the whites. He and some of the men had families. In the course of the winter five Indians came in with their "hunts," and agreeably to their usual practice encamped close by. Those Indians are designated "Home Guards,"--a term generally applied to the Indians attached to a trading post; they hunt in winter at a convenient distance from the post, and are employed in summer as voyageurs, or in performing any other necessary duty. Notwithstanding their thus being frequently in company with white men and Christians, they still retain many of the barbarous habits, and much of the superstitious belief of their forefathers, aggravated, I regret to say, by some of the vices of the whites. Among the number of those just mentioned was an individual who had acquired considerable influence among his tribe, from his pretending to be skilled in the art of divination. This man told his fellows that he had had a communication from the Great Spirit, who assured him that he would become the greatest man in Hudson's Bay if he only followed the course prescribed to him, which was, first, to cut off their own trading post, and then with the spoil got there to hire other Indians, who should assist in destroying all the other posts the Company possessed in the country. Accordingly, it was determined to carry their design into execution, whenever a favourable opportunity occurred. This was not long in presenting itself. They came one day to the establishment, and told the people that the "man of medicine" had come for the purpose of performing some extraordinary feat that would astonish them all. The silly creatures believed the story, and went to the borders of the lake, where they observed the sorcerer showing off a variety of antics very much to their amusement. The conspirators, seeing this part of the stratagem succeed, rushed into the house, and immediately despatched Mr. Corrigal and his family. The men, hearing the report of the guns, hastened back towards the house. The two that first arrived were saluted by a volley of balls; the one fell dead, the other fled. The third, seeing what had happened, seized his youngest child, and also fled. The murderers pursued. The poor fellow, encumbered by the weight of his child, necessarily fell behind. A ball from the pursuers killed the child, and wounded him in the hand. Dropping, then, the lifeless body, he soon came up with his fellow, and both escaped without further injury. It was about noon when they began their flight. One of them reached Moose Factory next day about noon, the other soon after. The distance--nearly sixty miles--travelled in so short a space of time, may appear incredible; but fear gave them wings, they fled for their lives and never halted. One of them, my informant, lost all the toes of one of his feet by the frost. Measures were immediately adopted to frustrate the further diabolical designs of the Indians, as well as to avenge the innocent blood that had been shed. Messengers were despatched with all possible haste to Rupert's house, the nearest post, to give the alarm, and a party of men, under an efficient leader, was sent to seize the murderers. This expedition, however, proved unsuccessful, as the Indians could not be found in that direction; but, in the meantime, two of them who had come to Rupert's house to "spy the land," were seized and sent bound to Moose Factory, and one of them was compelled to act as guide to another party. Led by him, they approached the camp without being perceived, and found the "man of medicine" sitting very composedly in his tent, surrounded by the spoils he had taken from the fort. He was secured, and the rest of his associates, who were absent hunting, were soon "tracked," and secured likewise. They then all underwent the punishment they deserved. The fort presented a horrible spectacle. Men, women, and children shared the same fate, and the mangled limbs of their victims were scattered among the articles of property which the wretches, not being able to carry off with them, had attempted to destroy. CHAPTER XIV. FALL THROUGH THE ICE--DANGEROUS ADVENTURE AT A RAPID--OPPONENTS GIVE IN--ORDERED TO LA CHINE--TREATMENT ON MY ARRIVAL--MANNERS, HABITS, AND SUPERSTITIONS OF THE INDIANS--FEROCIOUS REVENGE OF A SUPPOSED INJURY--DIFFERENT METHODS OF THE ROMAN CATHOLIC AND PROTESTANT MISSIONARY--INDIAN COUNCILS--TRADITION OF THE FLOOD--BEAVER-HUNTING-- LANGUAGE. Finding that my presence was more wanted at the outpost than elsewhere, I resolved on taking up my residence there for the winter 1831-32. Our active opponent gave us much annoyance, causing great expense to the Company, without any benefit to himself; on the contrary, it ultimately ruined him. While accompanying our party on a trading excursion in the beginning of winter, I had a very narrow escape. We were travelling on the Gatineau, a very rapid stream that joins the Ottawa, a little below Hull. A young lad, interpreter to the opposition, and I, had one morning gone considerably in advance of the others, walking smartly to keep ourselves warm, when I suddenly broke through the ice. The current here running strong, I should soon have been swept under the ice, had I not, by extending my arms upon it on either side of me, kept my head above water. At the hazard of his own life, my companion came to my assistance; but the ice was too weak to admit of his approaching sufficiently near to reach me his hand; he therefore cut a long pole, and tying his belt to it, threw it to me; and laying hold of it, I dragged myself on the sound ice. But the danger was not yet over; the weather was intensely cold, so that my clothes were soon frozen solid upon me, and having no means of lighting a fire, I ran into the woods; and in order to keep my body from being frozen into the same mass with my clothes, continued running up and down with all my might, till the rest of the party arrived. I had a still more narrow escape in the month of March ensuing. I had been on a visit to the post under my own immediate charge, termed head-quarters _par excellence_; returning to the post alone, I came to a place where our men, in order to avoid a long detour occasioned by a high and steep hill coming close to the river, were accustomed to draw their sledges upon the ice along the edge of a rapid. About the middle of the rapid, where the torrent is fiercest, the banks of the river are formed of rocks rising almost perpendicularly from the water's edge; and here they had to pass on a narrow ledge of ice, between the rock on the one side, and the foaming and boiling surge on the other. The ledge, at no time very broad, was now reduced, by the falling in of the water, to a strip of ice of about eighteen inches, or little more, adhering to the rock. The ice, however, seemed perfectly solid, and I made no doubt that, with caution, I should succeed in passing safely this formidable strait. The weather having been very mild in the fore-part of the day, my shoes and socks had been saturated with wet, but were now frozen hard by the cold of the approaching night. Overlooking this circumstance, I attempted the dangerous passage; and had proceeded about halfway, when my foot slipped, and I suddenly found myself resting with one hip on the border of ice, while the rest of my body overhung the rapid rushing fearfully underneath. I was now literally in a state of agonizing suspense: to regain my footing was impossible; even the attempt to move might precipitate me into the rapid. My first thought indeed was to throw myself in, and endeavour by swimming to reach the solid ice that bridged the river a short distance below; a glance at the torrent convinced me that this was a measure too desperate to be attempted;--I should have been dashed against the ice, or hurried beneath it by the current. But my time was not yet come. Within a few feet of the spot where I was thus suspended _in sublimis_, the rock projected a little outward, so as to break the force of the current. It struck me that a new border of ice might be formed at this place, under and parallel to that on which I was perched; exploring cautiously, therefore, with a stick which I fortunately had in my hand, all along and beneath me, I found my conjecture well founded; but whether the ice were strong enough to bear me, I could not ascertain. But it was my only hope of deliverance; letting myself down therefore gently, I planted my feet on the lower ledge, and clinging with the tenacity of a shell-fish to the upper, I crept slowly along till I reached land. This autumn, I had the satisfaction of seeing all my opponents quit the field, some of whom had maintained a long and obstinate struggle; yet, although I had reason to congratulate myself on their departure, as it promised me relief from the painfully toilsome life I had led, I must do one of the parties, at least, the justice to say, that, in different circumstances, I should have beheld their departure with regret. Dey and McGillivray carried on the contest longer than the others, and did so without showing any of that rancorous feeling which the other petty traders manifested towards the Company. MacGillivray and myself, when travelling together, often shared the same blanket, and the same kettle; and found, that while this friendly feeling was mutually advantageous to ourselves, it did not in any way compromise the interests of our employers. I parted from him, wishing him every success in _any other_ line of business he might engage in. After the removal of my competitors, I found the time to hang heavily on my hands; and the ease I had so often sighed for, I now could scarcely endure; but I was not allowed long time to sigh for a change. On the 5th of April an Iroquois came up from Montreal with a packet conveying orders to me to proceed forthwith to Lachine, whence I should embark by the opening of the navigation for the northern department. I was alone at the post when these unexpected orders came to hand, all the men being absent at the outpost; and as it behoved me to use the utmost diligence in order to get away ere winter travelling should break up, leaving an old squaw in charge, I set out for the outpost in quest of Mr. Cameron, who was appointed my successor; and on the 7th of April took my departure. On arriving at the Grand River, I found travelling on the ice to be attended with great danger, and several accidents had already happened; but I had the good fortune to reach Grenville at the head of the Long Sault in safety; here, however, my farther progress was arrested for a fortnight, the roads being impassable. I arrived at Lachine in the end of April, and after handing in the documents relative to my late charge, Mr. K---- toldme I was at liberty to spend the intervening time until the embarkation, where and how I pleased. Gratified by this indulgence, I was about to frame a speech expressive of my gratitude, when he continued,--"for, Sir, you are to understand we do not keep a boarding-house here." This stopped my mouth, and I reserved my thanks for a future occasion; for I could not but feel, that being an officer of the Company, it was robbing me of a part of my pay under the pretext of an indulgence. Availing myself, however, of this ungenerous grant of freedom, I spent some halcyon days in the company of relatives most dear to me, and expected no interruption to my enjoyment until the time appointed for the embarkation: but a few days after I had joined my relatives in the vicinity of Montreal, I received a letter, commanding me, in the most peremptory manner, to repair to Lachine,--"circumstances not foreseen at my arrival from the interior required my departure without further delay." I accompanied the bearer of Mr. K----'s letter, and found, on arriving at Lachine, that I had been appointed to conduct some of Captain Back's party, who proved rather troublesome to him at Montreal, to the Chats, and there to await my passage to the north by the Brigade. I had now served the Hudson's Bay Company faithfully and zealously for a period of twelve years, leading a life of hardship and toil, of which no idea can be formed except by those whose hard lot it may be to know it by experience. How enthusiastically I had laboured for them, may be better gathered from the foregoing narrative than from any statement I could here make. And what was my reward? I had no sooner succeeded in freeing my district from opposition, than I was ordered to resign my situation to another, who would enjoy the fruits of my labour:--when I arrived at the Company's head-quarters to take my departure for a remote district, I was ordered to provide for myself until I embarked; and when enjoying myself in the bosom of my family, to suit the convenience of one of their correspondents, I was torn away from them prematurely, and without warning,--treatment, which caused one of them so severe a shock as nearly to prove fatal! Before I take leave of the Montreal department, it may be well to allude more particularly to the manners and customs of the natives. The mode of life the Algonquins lead, while at their village, has been already touched upon; within these few years a great change has taken place, not in their morals, but in their circumstances. The southern and western parts of their hunting-grounds are now nearly all possessed by the white man, whose encroachments extend farther and farther every year. Beaver meadows are now to be found in place of beaver dams; and rivers are crossed on bridges formed by the hand of man, where the labours of the beaver afforded a passage for the roving Indian and hunter only a few years before. Happy change, it may be said; but so say not the Indians; the days of happiness are gone for them, at least for those of the present generation; though I have no doubt that their posterity may, in course of time, become reconciled to, and adopt those habits of life which their altered circumstances may require. A few have done so already, but many of them still remain on the most remote parts of their lauds, having no longer the means of enjoying themselves at their village, or of satisfying the avarice of priests and traders. Here they pursue, without restraint or interruption, the mode of life most congenial to their habits. I have already observed, that I could discover but little difference between the (so called) Christian Indians, and their unbaptized countrymen, when beyond the surveillance of their priests. They practise all the superstitious rites of their forefathers, and place implicit confidence in the power of magic, although they admit that the same results cannot be obtained now, as formerly, in consequence, as they say, "of the Cross having come in contact with the Medicine." They have their genii of lakes, rivers, mountains, and forests, to whom they offer sacrifice. I was present at the sacrifice of a beaver, made by an Algonquin to his familiar, or "totem," in order to propitiate him, because he had been unsuccessful in hunting. The beaver was roasted without being skinned, the fur only being appropriated to the spirit, whilst the flesh afforded a luxurious feast to the sacrificer; and in this part of the ceremony I willingly participated. When any of them is taken ill, the indisposition is ascribed to the effects of "bad medicine;" and the person is mentioned whom they suspect of having laid the disease upon them. Many violent deeds are committed to revenge these supposed injuries. An Algonquin, who had lost a child, blamed a _tête de boule_, who was domiciled at Lac de Sable, for his death. The ensuing spring the _tête de boule_ took a fancy to visit the Lake of Two Mountains, and set off in company with the Algonquins. On arrival of the party at the Grand River, he who had lost his child invited the _tête de boule_ to his tent, and entertained him in the most friendly manner for a time, then suddenly drawing his knife, he plunged it into the side of his unsuspecting guest. The poor wretch fled, and concealed himself in a pig-sty, where his groans soon discovered him to the Algonquin, who, again seizing him, thrust his knife into his throat, and did not withdraw it until he ceased to live. "Now," exclaimed his murderer, "I am avenged for the death of my child. You wanted to go to the Lake to be baptized, and here I have baptized you in your own blood." Many other instances might be adduced to prove that the savage disposition of these Indians has not been greatly ameliorated by their profession of Christianity; they have, in fact, all the vices with but few of the virtues of their heathen countrymen. They are immoderately fond of ardent spirits, men, women and--shocking to say--children. This hateful vice, which contributes more than any other to the debasement of human nature, seems to produce more baneful effects upon the Indian, both physically and morally, than upon the European. The worst propensities of his nature are excited by it. While under the influence of this demon he spares neither friend nor foe; and in many instances the members of his own family become the victims either of his fury or his lust. The crime of incest is by no means unknown among them; rum, the greatest scourge and curse of the Indian race, is undoubtedly the principal cause of this dreadful corruption: but is it not strange that religion should have so little effect in reforming their manners? The Mississagays, the neighbours of the Algonquins, who speak the same language, were only converted a few years ago by the Methodists, and from being the most dissipated and depraved of Indians, are now become sober, industrious and devout. It seems, therefore, impossible even for the most unprejudiced to avoid the conclusion that the difference in manners must in a great measure be ascribed to the different methods adopted by the Roman Catholic and Protestant missionaries in converting the natives. The Roman Catholic convert is first baptized, then instructed in the forms of worship, taught to repeat Pater nosters and Ave Marias, to make the sign of the cross, and to confess. He is now a member of the Church, and is dismissed to his woods--a Christian, can we say? The Methodists pursue a different course. Their converts must not only reform their lives, but give indubitable proofs that they are reformed; they are taught so as to understand thoroughly the sound principles of Christianity; and they must give an account of their faith, and a reason for the hope that is in them, before they are admitted as members of the Christian community. "The tree is known by its fruits." The Sachems, or chiefs of the Algonquins, possess little or no authority, but their advice is of some weight There are gradations of rank in the chieftainship; the Kitchi Okima, or great chief, takes precedence at the Council, and propounds the subject of discussion; the inferior chiefs (Okimas) speak in turn, according to seniority; every old man, however, whether chief or not, is allowed to give his opinion, and the general voice of the assembly decides the question at issue. It is seldom, however, that any question arises requiring much deliberation in the present times of peace. When a party of strange Indians arrives at the village, a council is called to ascertain the means the community may possess of discharging properly the rites of hospitality; each individual states the modicum he is willing to contribute, in cash or in kind, and the proceeds, which are always sufficient to entertain the guests sumptuously, according to Indian ideas, while they remain, are placed at the disposal of the Kitchi Okima. Councils are held and harangues delivered when they receive their annual presents from Government; these consist of blankets, cloth, ammunition, and a variety of small articles, all of which in their present impoverished state are highly valued by them. They profess an attachment to the British Government; but, like certain more civilized nations, they will fight for the cause that is likely to yield them most advantage. Their loyalty to Britain, therefore, is less to be depended on than their hatred to America. A general idea has gone abroad regarding their taciturnity which does not accord with my experience. Far from being averse to colloquial intercourse, they delight in it; none more welcome to an Indian wigwam than one who can talk freely. They pass the winter evenings in relating their adventures, hunting being their usual theme, or in telling stories; and often have I heard the woods resound with peals of laughter excited by their wit, for they too are witty in their own way. Their tradition of the flood (_kitchi a tesoka_, or "great tale,") is somewhat remarkable. The world having been overflowed by water, all mankind perished but one family, who embarked in a large canoe, taking a variety of animals along with them. The canoe floated about for some time, when a musk-rat, tired of its confinement, jumped overboard and dived; it soon reappeared, with a mouthful of mud, which it deposited on the surface of the water, and from this beginning the new world was formed. When the veracity of an Indian is doubted, he points to heaven with his forefinger, and exclaims:-- "He to whom we belong knows that what I say is true." No white man trusts more firmly in the validity of a solemn oath than the Indian in this asseveration. Still it must be confessed that they are prone to falsehood; but they seem to allow themselves a much greater licence in this respect in their intercourse with the whites than amongst themselves. When an Indian is about to enter a wigwam, he utters the word or sound "Quay" in a peculiar tone; the word repeated from within is considered as an invitation to enter. Should he neglect to announce himself in this way he is considered as ill-bred--an unmannerly boor. The left-hand side of the wigwam as you enter is considered the place of honour; here the father of the family and chief squaw take their station, the young men on the opposite side, and the women next to the door, or at the upper end of the fire-place, both ends being alike plebeian. When a person of respectability enters, the father, moving towards the door, resigns his place to his guest, places skins under him, and otherwise pays every attention to his comfort. They are extremely hospitable, and cheerfully share their last morsel with the stranger who may be in want. Hospitality, however, is a virtue which civilization rarely improves. A good hunter always leaves his lodge by dawn of day, and seldom tastes food till he returns late at night. Hunting beavers is a most laborious occupation, and becomes more so in proportion to the scarcity of these animals; for this reason, that when a great number of beavers occupy a lake, their places of retreat are in closer proximity to each other, and for the most part inhabited; if the number be reduced, it is likely they will have the same places of retreat, and the hunter must bore through the ice, before he can ascertain whether they are inhabited or not. The sagacity of their dogs is truly surprising. The beaver house being first destroyed by the hunter, the dogs are urged by a peculiar call to scent out their retreats, which they never fail to do, whatever may be the thickness of the ice. They keep running about the borders of the lake, their noses close to the ground, and the moment they discover a retreat, begin to bark and jump on the ice; the hunter then cuts a hole with his trench, and with a stick which he carries along with him feels for the beaver; should he find one, he introduces his bare arm into the hole, and seizing his prey by the tail, drags it out on the ice, where it is dispatched with a spear. There is less danger in this operation than one would imagine, for the beaver allows itself to be seized without a struggle, but sometimes inflicts severe wounds on his captor after he is taken out of the water. When the retreat is not inhabited, the entrance to it is barred by sticks, and the hunter proceeds to chisel again, and continues his operations until the beaver is either taken, or shut out from all his haunts, in which case he is compelled to return to the house to take breath, where he is either shot or caught in a trap. The language of these Indians is a dialect of the Sauteux or Bungee, intermixed with Cree, and a few words of French derivation. The greater part of them have a smattering of French or English; but the acquisition of a foreign language is extremely difficult to them, from the peculiar formation of their own, which wants the letter r. An Algonquin pronounces the word "marrow" "manno" or "mallo." Their dialect has all the softness of the Italian, but is extremely poor and defective. CHAPTER XV. EMBARK FOR THE INTERIOR--MODE OF TRAVELLING BY CANOES--LITTLE RIVER--LAKE NIPISSING--FRENCH RIVER--OLD STATION OF INDIAN ROBBERS--FORT MISSISSAGA--INDIANS--LIGHT CANOE-MEN--SAULT STE. MARIE--LAKE SUPERIOR--CANOE-MEN DESERT--RE-TAKEN--FORT WILLIAM--M. THIBAUD--LAC LA PLUIE AND RIVER--INDIANS--WHITE RIVER--NARROW ESCAPE--CONVERSATION WITH AN INDIAN ABOUT BAPTISM. On the 25th April, 1833, I embarked on board of a steamboat at Lachine, and reached Hull on the 27th. Here the regular conveyance by land carriages and steamboat ended, and the traveller in those days was obliged to wait his passage by the canoes of shanty men, or hire a boat or canoe for himself. I had recourse to the latter expedient, and reached the post of the Chats, then in charge of my esteemed friend Mr. McD----l, on the 30th. Captain Back arrived on the 1st of May, put ashore for a few supplies and my wards, and immediately re-embarked. The brigade arrived on the 2d, and the guide delivered me a letter from Mr. K----, informing me that I was to consider myself merely as a passenger, the command of the men being entrusted to the guide by Governor Simpson's orders. This arrangement relieved me of much anxiety and trouble; though I would rather have preferred undergoing any personal inconvenience to being placed under the command of an ignorant Canadian, who might use his "brief" authority in a way very offensive to my feelings, without being guilty of anything that I could complain of. My fears, however, were disappointed, as he showed every deference to my wishes, as well as the utmost courtesy to the other passengers, most of whom were of a rank not likely to find much consideration from a Canadian boatman; they consisted of a young priest not yet ordained, an apprentice clerk, three youths who had been at their education in Lower Canada, and myself. The brigade consisted of three Montreal canoes, laden with provisions for the trip, and some tobacco for the southern department; and manned by sixty Iroquois and Canadians, the latter engaged to winter, the former for the trip. The day was far spent when we left the portage of the Chats, and we encamped in the evening near the head of the rapids. The mode of travelling in canoes being now well known, I shall not detail the occurrences of each day, but confine myself to the narration of such incidents as may be most worthy of notice throughout the voyage. The moment we landed the tent was pitched by men employed for the purpose; the other men unloaded the canoes, and carried the goods beyond high-water mark, where it was piled and covered with oil-cloths. It is the particular duty of the bowsman to attend to the canoe, to repair and pitch it when necessary, and to place it in security when the cargo is discharged. In consideration of these services he is exempt from the duty of loading or unloading, his wages are higher than those of the steersman, and he ranks after the guide. The latter generally messes with the gentlemen, his canoe always takes the lead in the rapids, but in still water the post of honour is held by the best going canoe. The guide rouses the men in the morning; the moment the call is heard, "Lève, lève!" the passengers spring upon their feet, tie up their beds, and if they are not smart about it, the tents go down about their ears, and they must finish the operation in the open air. Several of our men having already deserted, we encamped upon islands, when they could be found, or kept watch on the mainland. Our hour of departure was three o'clock, A.M.; when the weather permitted we breakfasted at seven, dined at one or two o'clock, P.M., and encamped at sunset. In calm weather the canoes went abreast, singing in chorus and keeping time with the paddles. All was then gaiety, and, to appearance, happiness; but this is one of those bright spots in a voyageur's life which are few and far between. We reached Fort Coulonge on the 3d, and it being late, I took up my quarters with my worthy old bourgeois, Mr. S. Here we received some additional supplies of provisions for the crews and passengers. We arrived at Lac des Allumettes on the 5th, where I put ashore merely to say _bon jour_ to an old acquaintance. We encamped rather early this evening, to allow the men a little extra rest, on account of the laborious duty they had performed for some days before. Next day, when ascending the rapid of Roche Capitaine, the canoe in which I was passenger came in violent contact with another; but mine only sustained damage. The bow being stove in, the canoe began to fill; we however gained the shore, to which fortunately we were close, at a leap, and lost no time in discharging the cargo. Drying the goods and repairing the canoe occupied us a good part of the day. We reached the Forks of Mattawin on the 8th, where we found a small outpost belonging to the Fort Coulonge district, recently established for the purpose of securing the hunts of the Indians of this quarter, who were in the habit of trading with shanty men. Being no longer under any apprehensions of the men deserting, we now discontinued the watch and slept in comfort. The passage of the Little River was effected with much toil and difficulty, from the shallowness of the water. We entered Lake Nipissing on the 10th; descended French River, a rapid and dangerous stream, without accident, and entered Lake Huron on the morning of the 12th. The guide pointed out to me a place near the mouth of the river where the Indians used to waylay the canoes on their passage to and from the interior; a sort of rude breastwork still marks the spot. After much destruction of life and property by the savages, they were eventually caught in their own toil; the voyageurs, instead of descending the river at this place, passed by land, and coming unawares on the Indians killed them all. We reached the post of the Cloche early on the 13th, and spent two hours in the company of Mr. McB----u, who entertained us most kindly; and on the 14th looked in at Mississaga post, an establishment which appeared to possess but few attractions as a place of residence; consisting of a few miserable log buildings, surrounded by a number of pine-bark wigwams, the temporary residence of the natives; several of whom came reeling into the house after our arrival, there being an opposition party there. These Indians were, without comparison, the most uncouth, savage-looking beings I ever beheld; mouth from ear to ear, cheek-bones remarkably high, low projecting forehead, hair like a horse's mane, and eyes red and swollen by continual intoxication. American whisky had no doubt contributed to increase their natural deformity. After leaving this post we had a strong breeze of adverse wind for the remainder of the day, and encamped in consequence earlier than usual. On the following morning we were very early roused from our slumbers by the call of "Canot à lège," (light canoe). Our beds were tied up, tents packed, canoes launched and loaded in an instant; and we set off in pursuit of the mail, which we overtook at breakfast time, and found Mr. G. K----th in charge, who had just returned from England, and was now proceeding to assume the charge of Lake Superior district. Mr. K----th exchanged some of his men, who were found incapable of performing light canoe duty, for some of our best; an arrangement that did not appear to please our guide much. The duty which the crew of a light canoe have to perform is laborious in the extreme, and requires men of the greatest strength and vigour to stand it. They are never allowed to remain more than four hours ashore by night, often only two or three; during the day they are constantly urged on by the guide or person in command, and never cease paddling, unless during the few moments required to exchange seats, or while they take their hasty meals ashore. They are liberally plied with grog, well paid, and well fed, and seldom quit the service until it is hinted to them that the duty is become too hard for them. A light canoe-man considers it quite a degradation to be employed in loaded craft. We arrived early on the 16th at the Company's establishment at Sault Sainte Marie, where there is a large depôt of provisions for the purpose of supplying the canoes passing to and from the interior and the surrounding districts. The south side of the river is occupied by the Americans as a military post, and it was gratifying to see the friendly intercourse that subsisted between the American officers and the gentlemen in the Company's service. Would that the same good feeling were more universal between two nations of one blood and the same language! The rapid which unites the waters of Lakes Huron and Superior is avoided by making a portage. The carrying of the canoes and goods to the upper end of this portage occupied the men till about noon, when we embarked on the "Sea of Canada," having Messrs. Bethune and McKenzie on board as passengers. We proceeded about fifteen miles and encamped. We were ready to embark at the usual hour next morning, but being prevented by the high wind, to make the best of the time we turned in again, and after a most refreshing nap got up to breakfast. The weather moderating soon after, all hands were ordered to embark, but all hands were not there; four of them had deserted during the night, and were not missed until the crews mustered for embarkation. While we were holding a consultation regarding this unpleasant matter, an Indian canoe luckily cast up, and it was determined to despatch a party of Iroquois, conducted by a passenger in disguise, in pursuit of the fugitives. Another party was sent by land, and after an absence of about three hours returned with their prisoners. No criminals ever appeared more dejected than they; so humble did they seem, that they got off with a slight reprimand. We reached the post of Michipikoton early on the morning of the 19th, and passed the remainder of the day waiting for despatches which Mr. K---- was preparing for the interior. We left on the 20th, put ashore at the Pic on the 23d, where we dined with Mr. McMurray, and after experiencing much bad weather, adverse winds, together with showers of snow, we reached Fort William on the 28th, about noon. We found the grand depôt of the North-West Company falling rapidly to decay, presenting in its present ruinous state but a shadow of departed greatness. It is now occupied as a petty post, a few Indians and two or three old voyageurs being the sole representatives of the crowded throngs of former times. It must have been a beautiful establishment in its days of prosperity; but the buildings certainly do not appear to have been erected with a view to durability. We here exchanged our large Montreal canoes for those of the North, (the former carrying seventy packages of ninety pounds, the latter twenty-five, exclusive of provisions;) and each of the passengers had a canoe for his own accommodation--an arrangement that seemed to increase in no small degree the self-importance of some of our number. Our guide was now obliged to perform the duty of bowsman, still, however, retaining his authority over the whole brigade. We bade adieu to Fort William and its hospitable commander on the 29th. Mr. McI----h had supplied all our wants most liberally, but the men were now allowed only Indian corn and a small quantity of grease;--a sad and unpleasing change for poor Jean Baptiste; but he had no help but to submit, though not perhaps with the utmost "Christian resignation." Our men being now well disciplined, and our canoes comparatively light, we sped over our way at an excellent rate. We encamped on the 4th of June at one of the Thousand Lakes, and the canoes were drawn up before M. Thibaud (the priest) arrived. I was surprised to observe his frowning aspect on landing, and ascribed it to the circumstance of his being the "harse," or harrow, a term of derision applied to the slowest canoe. Calling me aside, however, he explained the cause of his discontent, which was very different from what I had surmised: his crew, whenever they found themselves sufficiently far in the rear to be out of hearing, invariably struck up an obscene song, alike unmindful of his presence and remonstrances; and this day had not only sung, but indulged in conversation the most indecent imaginable. This announcement appeared to me the more strange, that most of these young men had never before quitted home; and I had always understood the authority of the priest to be, at least, equal to that of the parent. Although, therefore, I never had any very great reverence for the (so-called) successors of St. Peter, I yet felt for my fellow-traveller, and addressed the miscreants who had insulted him in terms of grave reprehension, threatening them with severe punishment if such conduct should again be repeated. We arrived at the post of Lac de la Pluie, on the 8th of June; and, after a short halt, and carrying our _impedimenta_ across the portage on which the fort is situated, commenced the descent of Lac de la Pluie river,--a beautiful stream, running with a smooth, though strong current, and maintaining a medium breadth of about 200 yards. Its banks, which are clothed with verdure to the water's edge, recede by a gradual slope until they terminate in a high ridge, running parallel to the river on both sides. This ridge yields poplar, birch, and maple, with a few pines, proving the excellence of the soil. The interior, however, is said to be low and swampy. We passed the residence of an old retired servant of the Company, on the 9th, who, if I may judge from the appearance of his farm and the number of his cattle, must vegetate very much at his ease. Observing in the evening a large Indian camp, I requested the guide to put ashore for a little. We were received kindly, but in a manner quite different to what I had been accustomed. The young men were drawn up on the shore, and eyed us with a savage _fierté_ in their looks, returning our salutation in a way that convinced us that we were at length among the "wild men of the woods." The weather being extremely hot, we found them in almost a complete state of nudity, with only a narrow shred of cloth around their loins. They speak the Sauteux language; and I had much difficulty in making myself understood by them. In their physiognomy and personal appearance they exhibit all the characteristic features of the genuine aboriginal race; and this party certainly appeared, one and all, to be "without a cross;" but there had been long a trading post at Lac la Pluie, and I noticed, in a neighbouring camp, a lass with brown hair and pretty blue eyes. Where did she get them? After bartering some sturgeon with the Indians, and presenting them with a little tobacco, we parted good friends, and encamped so near them as to be annoyed the whole night by the sound of their drum. On the following morning we entered the Lake of the Woods, and next morning White River, a very violent stream, full of falls and dangerous rapids. The portages are innumerable, and often close together. After crossing one of these portages, we observed, with astonishment, a number of people on the next portage, La Cave, about pistol-shot distance from us. They proved to be Mr. Hughes, formerly partner of the North-West Company; Mr. Berens, a member of Committee, and suite: they were painfully situated, in consequence of the loss of their bowsman, who, by missing a stroke with his pole, fell into the rapid, and was drowned: the steersman was saved with great difficulty. We got safe through this dangerous river, on the 15th; but two of the men had a narrow escape in one of the last portages. Our guide here, as everywhere else, having a picked crew, pushed on, and left us considerably in the rear. Approaching a fall, Le Bonnet, where no traces of a portage could be discovered, the men unloaded the canoes, and commenced carrying the goods through the woods; but the _boutes_ (bowsmen and steersmen) determined on wading down with the canoes, the water being shallow, until they should come close to the fall; where, by lifting them across a narrow point, they could place them in the smooth water beneath. The attempt was made accordingly, by the leading canoe; but the rock over which the current flows being smooth, and covered with a slimy moss, the men slipped, and were in an instant precipitated over the fall. When we saw the canoe rushing over the brink, with the poor fellows clinging to it, we all concluded they had reached the end of their voyage. Running down to the foot of the fall, which was about eleven feet high, having previously ordered a canoe to be carried across the point, and some shots to be fired to recall the guide, who was now nearly out of sight, I was astonished to find the canoe had not upset, although the men had got into it, and it was half full of water, and so near the shore that I extended my arm to lay hold of the bow. The next moment, however, the stern having come within the influence of a whirlpool, it was hurried out into the middle of the stream, and dashed with such violence against a rock, that the crashing of the timbers was distinctly heard from the shore. This shock, which had nearly proved fatal to the men, threw the canoe into an eddy, or counter-current, which whirled it to the opposite shore, where it was about to sink when assistance came. In the evening, we arrived at the post of Bas de la Rivière, in charge of an Orkney-man, by name Clouston, who had risen from the ranks, and who, seeing what small fry he had to deal with, treated us somewhat superciliously. Our stock of provisions being exhausted, we applied to _Maister_ Clouston for a fresh supply: he granted us what I thought very inadequate to our wants; but he said it was all that was allowed by the Governor for the passage of the Lake. Here M. Thibaud found two men with a small canoe, who had been sent by the Bishop of Red River to convey him to his destination, waiting his arrival. We parted with feelings of mutual regret. We left this post late on the 16th, and had proceeded but a short distance on the Lake, when a strong head wind compelled us to put ashore. We now experienced constant bad weather, never completing a day's sailing without interruption from some cause or other; and in consequence of these delays, it was found necessary to curtail our allowance of provisions. On the 20th, we pitched our tents near a camp of Sauteux, from whom the men procured a small quantity of sturgeon, in exchange for some articles of clothing. I was surprised to find Indians, in a quarter so remote from those tribes with whom I had hitherto been conversant, speaking a dialect which I understood perfectly: their erratic habits, and intercourse with the Crees and Algonquins, may perhaps account for this similarity of dialect. I entered into conversation with a shrewd old fellow, who had been often at Red River settlement. Among other questions, I asked him whether he had not been baptized? "Baptized!" he exclaimed; "don't speak of it, my brother. Baptized--that I may go to the devil! Indians think a good Indian goes to the good place when he dies; but the priests send _all_ to the evil one." I asked him how he made that out? "Why, I learned it from the priests themselves. When I first went to Red River, I met a French priest, who earnestly besought me to be converted. I heard him attentively, and his words had a great effect upon me; but I had been told there was another priest there, who had different thoughts about religion, and I thought I would go to him too. He was very kind to me, and spoke nearly the same words as the French priest; so that I thought there was no difference in their religions. He asked me if I would be baptized? and I told him that I would; but I wanted to learn the French prayer. 'Ah! my son,' he said, 'that must not be: if you adopt that bad religion, you will be burned for certain.' And he spoke so strong, that I almost thought he was right. But before I would do anything, I went to the French priest again, and told him what the English priest said to me; and then said I would learn the English prayer. 'Ah! my son,' said he, 'if you do so, it will lead you to perdition: all that pray after the English manner go to the fire.' And he said much more, and his words were very strong too; so I saw that I could be no better by forsaking the belief of my fathers, and I have not gone to French or English priest since." This is by no means a solitary case; and it is one of the sore evils which arise from the corruption of Christianity, and the divisions of Christians. Nor, in the case of creeds so opposite as those of Protestants and Roman Catholics--creeds as opposite as light and darkness--is it easy to point out a remedy. After all, it is surely better for these poor Indians to adopt some form of Christianity, however corrupt, than to remain in the darkness and debasement of heathenism. And if our missionaries would act upon the noble maxim of the greatest of the Apostles--"never to enter upon the sphere of another man's labours,"--consequences so injurious would be avoided. If they have not so much Christianity and good sense as to do so of themselves, where there is the power, they should be compelled to do it. The Company have the power, but are too much occupied with matters which they deem more momentous, to waste a thought upon this. CHAPTER XVI. CONTINUATION OF THE VOYAGE--RUN SHORT OF PROVISIONS--DOGS' FLESH--NORWAY HOUSE--INDIAN VOYAGEURS--ORDERED TO NEW CALEDONIA--LAKE WINNIPEG--MACINTOSH'S ISLAND SUBMERGED--CUMBERLAND HOUSE--CHIPPEWEYAN AND CREE INDIANS--PORTAGE LA LOCHE--SCENERY--ATHABASCA--HEALTHINESS OF THE CLIMATE. High winds detained us in camp on the 21st. The crews of two canoes, having finished their last meal to-day, bartered some more of their clothes for dogs. We reached a small outpost called Berens House on the 23d, where we procured a couple of sturgeon, and a dog valued at ten shillings, for which I gave my note of hand. I had a _preein_ of this cynic mutton at breakfast; and could not help thinking it would have made a most appropriate and _philosophical_ addition to the larder of the wise man of the tub. The men, however, having been for some time on short commons, seemed to relish it. We supped lightly enough on the remainder of Mr. Clouston's bountiful supply, giving a share to the men. After a most tedious and miserable passage, we reached the outlet of Lake Winnipeg on the 24th, and arrived next morning at Norway House. Here the men were liberally supplied; and I found myself at breakfast with a number of chief factors and chief traders, just arrived from their respective districts, and on their way with their valuable returns to York Factory. Captain Back was also here, having sent on his men and baggage under the command of Dr. King, intending himself to follow in a light canoe, after having forwarded his despatches to Europe. The day after my arrival, I was notified by one of the officials, that it was arranged that I should pass the summer here, giving such assistance to the gentleman in charge as might be required of me; and that my future destination should be determined upon at York Factory. I now passed my time very agreeably, having just enough employment in the day-time to keep off _ennui_, and the company of several gentlemen, and, what I thought still better, that of a fair countrywoman,[1] in the evening. I was gratified to find that there existed here a far greater degree of intimacy between gentlemen of different ranks in the service, than in the Montreal department, where a clerk is considered as a mere hireling; here, on the contrary, commissioned officers look upon clerks as candidates for the same rank which themselves hold, and treat them accordingly. [1] Mistress of the establishment. The Governor, having taken up his residence for some years past in England, crosses the Atlantic once a year, and during his brief sojourn, Norway House forms his head-quarters. Here it is that the sham Council is held, and everything connected with the business of the interior arranged. Here also is the depôt for the districts of Athabasca and McKenzie's River, which supplies all the provisions required for inland transport. These provisions are furnished by the Saskatchewan district, or are purchased by the Company from the colonists of Red River, who have no other customers. The natives of this quarter speak a jargon of Cree and Sauteux, which sounds very harshly. They all understand English, and some of them speak it fluently. Many of them are constantly employed as voyageurs between Norway House and York Factory; and none perform the trip more expeditiously, or render their cargoes in better condition than they. Of Christianity, they have learned just as much as enables them to swear; in other respects, they are still Pagans. On the 20th of July, I received a letter from Mr. Chief Factor Cameron, who acted as President of the Council in the Governor's absence, conveying orders for me to proceed to New Caledonia; Mr. Charles being instructed to furnish me with a passage to Athabasca, and to forward me afterwards to Fort Dunvegan, on Peace River, where I was to wait the arrival of the party sent annually from New Caledonia for a supply of leather. The brigade having been despatched on the 27th, Mr. C. and I embarked on the 28th, and overtook it at the entrance of Lake Winnipeg. The crews being ashore, and enjoying themselves, we passed on; but did not proceed far, ere the wind blew so violently as to compel us to put ashore. After a delay of about four hours, we "put to sea" again; and the wind gradually abating as we proceeded, we encamped in the evening nearly opposite to McIntosh's Island. This island, some years ago, presented an extensive surface of land covered with wood: there is not now a vestige of land to be seen; the spot where it existed being only known to voyagers by a shoal which is visible at low water. But not only have the islands been swept away, but the mainland along the west end of the lake seems gradually being encroached upon and engulphed by the waves; an undeniable proof of which is, that the old post of Norway House, which formerly stood at a considerable distance from the water's edge, is now close to it, and the burial-ground is nearly all submerged. We arrived at the foot of Grand Rapid late on the 29th of July, and passed the portage on the 30th, assisted by the natives--Sauteux, Crees, and half-breeds. These live luxuriously on sturgeon, with little toil. Among them I observed two or three old Canadians, who could scarcely be distinguished from the natives by language, manners, or dress; such persons, when young, having formed an attachment to some of the Indian young women, betake themselves to their half-savage mode of life, and very soon cannot be persuaded to quit it. We arrived on the 5th of August at Rivière du Pas, where an old Canadian, M. Constant, had fixed his abode, who appeared to have an abundance of the necessaries of life, and a large family of half-Indians, who seemed to claim him as their sire. We breakfasted sumptuously on fish and fowl, and no charge was made; but a gratuity of tea, tobacco, or sugar is always given; so that M. Constant loses nothing by his considerate attentions to his visitors. We reached Cumberland House on the 8th. Here I was cheered by the sight of extensive corn-fields, horned cattle, pigs and poultry, which gave the place more the appearance of a farm in the civilized world, than of a trading post in the far North-West; and I could not help envying the happy lot of its tenant, and contrasting it with my own, which led me to the wilds of New Caledonia--to fare like a dog, without knowing how long my exile might be protracted. We arrived at the post of Isle à la Crosse, where we were detained a day in consequence of bad weather. This post is also surrounded by cultivated fields, and I observed a few cattle; but the voice of the grunter was not heard. The Indians who frequent this post are chiefly Chippeweyans, with a few families of Crees. The former differ in features, language, and manners from any I had yet seen. Their face is of a peculiar mould, broad; the cheekbone remarkably prominent, chin small, mouth wide, with thick lips, the upper covered with beard; the body strongly built and muscular. They appear destitute of the amiable qualities which characterise the Crees. Whenever we met any of them on our route, and asked for fish or meat, "Budt hoola,"[1] was the invariable answer; yet no Indians were ever more importunate than they in begging for tobacco. On the contrary, when we fell in with Crees, they allowed us to help ourselves freely, and were delighted to see us do so, receiving thankfully whatever we gave them in return. The features of the Crees are not so strongly marked as those of the Sauteux, although they are a kindred people; yet they are as easily distinguishable from each other, as an Englishman from a Frenchman. [1] There is none. We left Isle à la Crosse on the 12th, and without meeting with any adventure worthy of notice, reached the end of Portage la Loche about two o'clock P.M. of the following day, with canoe and baggage. In this, as in every other part of their territories, the Company use boats for the transport of property; but by a very judicious arrangement, much time and labour are saved at this portage, which is said to be twelve miles in length. Boats are placed at the upper and lower ends, so that the men have only to carry across the property, which, in truth, of itself is a sufficiently laborious operation for human beings. The people from the district of McKenzie's River come thus far with their returns, and receive their outfit in boats manned by half-breeds, who are hired at Red River for the trip. The prospect which the surrounding country presents from the upper end of the portage is very striking; and the more so from the sudden manner in which it bursts upon the view. You suddenly arrive at the summit of a remarkably steep hill, where, on looking around, the first object that attracts attention is a beautiful green hill standing on the opposite side of the deep glen, through which the clear Water River flows, forming the most prominent feature of an extensive range, cut up by deep ravines, whose sides are clothed with wood, presenting already all the beautiful variety of their autumnal hues; while, at intervals, a glimpse was caught of the river meandering through the valley. In former times these hills were covered with herds of buffaloes, but not one is to be seen now. We once more proceeded down the stream, and arrived at Athabasca on the 21st of August, where we found Dr. King, who had been delayed some days repairing his boats; Capt. Back having proceeded onwards in a light canoe to fix on a winter residence. Fort Chippeweyan was, in the time of the North-West Company, next in importance to Fort William. Besides having several detached posts depending immediately upon itself, and carrying on a very extensive trade with the Chippeweyans, (the best hunters in the Indian country,) it served as depôt for the districts of McKenzie's River, and Peace River. The trade of this district, although it bears no comparison to that of former times, is yet pretty extensive. It is still the depôt for Peace River, and commands the trade with the Chippeweyans. Trade is carried on in this quarter solely by barter, which secures the Company from loss, and is apparently attended with no inconvenience to the natives, who used formerly to take their supplies on credit. Beaver is the standard according to which all other furs are rated; so many martens, so many foxes, &c., equal to one beaver. The trader, on receiving the Indian's hunt, proceeds to reckon it up according to this rule, giving the Indian a quill for each beaver; these quills are again exchanged at the counter for whatever articles he wants. The people of this post subsist entirely on the produce of the country, fish, flesh, and fowl, of which there is the greatest abundance. Both soil and climate are said to be unfavourable to the cultivation of grain or vegetables; the attempt is made, however, and sometimes with success. I took my departure from Athabasca on the 24th of August, accompanied by Mr. Charles Ross, who had passed the summer there as _locum tenens_, and was now proceeding to assume the charge of his own post, Fort Vermillion, where we arrived on the 1st of September. This post is agreeably situated on the right bank of Peace River, having the river in front, and boundless prairies in the rear. The Indians attached to it are designated Beaver Indians, and their language is said to have some affinity to the Chippeweyan. This is, however, the only point of resemblance between them. The Beavers are a more diminutive race than the Chippeweyans, and their features bear a greater resemblance to those of the Crees. They are allowed to be generous, hospitable and brave; and are distinguished for their strict adherence to truth. Most Indians boast of the murder of white men as a glorious exploit; these, on the contrary, glory in never having shed the blood of one, although they often imbrue their hands in the blood of their kindred; being very apt to quarrel among themselves, chiefly on account of their gallantry. When an illicit amour is detected, the consequence is frequently fatal to one of the parties; but the unmarried youth, of both sexes, are generally under no restraint whatever. I bade adieu to Mr. Ross, a warm-hearted Gael, on the 3d, and arrived at Fort Dunvegan on the 10th of September, then under the charge of Mr. McIntosh, chief factor, where I met with a Highland welcome, and passed the time most agreeably in the company of a well educated gentleman. The Indians here are of the same tribe as those of Fort Vermillion, but are not guiltless of the blood of the whites. This post is also surrounded by prairies. A large farm is cultivated, yielding in favourable seasons a variety of vegetables and grain: but the crops are subject to injury from frost; sometimes are altogether destroyed. When the wind blows for some time from the west, it cools in its passage across the glaciers of the Rocky Mountains, to such a degree, that the change of temperature caused by it is not only severely felt in the vicinity of the mountains, but at a great distance from them, as far even as Red River. From the great age attained by many of the retired servants of the Company, who pass their lives in this country, the salubrity of the climate may fairly be inferred. Meeting a brigade of small canoes between Fort Vermillion and this place, and observing an old man with a white head and wrinkled face, sitting in the centre of one of them, I made up to him, and after saluting him _à la Française_, presented him with a piece of tobacco--the Indian letter of introduction. I inquired of him how long it was since he had left home. "Sixty-two years, Monsieur," was the reply; and as the canoes assembled around us, he pointed out to me his sons, and his sons' sons, to the third and fourth generation. I heard of no malady which the white inhabitants are liable to, except the goîtres; caused, it is presumed, in part by the use of snow-water, and in part by the use of the river-water, which is strongly impregnated with clay, so much so, as sometimes to resemble a solution of the earth itself. CHAPTER XVII. ARRIVAL OF MR. F. FROM CALEDONIA--SCENERY--LAND-SLIP--MASSACRE AT FORT ST. JOHN'S--ROCKY MOUNTAIN PORTAGE--ROCKY MOUNTAINS--MAGNIFICENT SCENERY--M'LEOD'S LAKE--RECEPTION OF ITS COMMANDER BY THE INDIANS. Mr. Paul Fraser, a senior clerk, arrived from Caledonia with three canoes, on the 26th of September, and on the 28th we took our departure. Above Fort Dunvegan the current becomes so strong that the canoes are propelled by long poles, in using which the men had acquired such dexterity that we made much better progress than I could have expected. As we ascended the river, the scenery became beautifully diversified with hill and dale and wooded valleys, through which there generally flowed streams of limpid water. I observed at one place a tremendous land-slip, caused by the water undermining the soil. Trees were seen in an inverted position, the branches sunk in the ground and the roots uppermost; others with only the branches appearing above ground; the earth rent and intersected by chasms extending in every direction; while piles of earth and stones intermixed with shattered limbs and trunks of trees, contributed to increase the dreadful confusion of the scene. The half of a huge hill had tumbled into the river, and dammed it across, so that no water escaped for some time. The people of Dunvegan, seeing the river suddenly dry up, were terrified by the phenomenon, but they had not much time to investigate the cause: the river as suddenly reappeared, presenting a front of nearly twenty feet in height, and foaming and rushing down with the noise of thunder. On the 3d of October we reached the tenantless Fort of St. John's, where a horrid tragedy was enacted some years ago--the commander of the post with all his men having been cut off by the Indians. The particulars of this atrocious deed, as related to me by the gentleman at the head of the district at the time, were as follows:-- It had been determined that the post of St. John's should be abandoned, and the establishment removed to the Rocky Mountain portage, for the convenience of the Tsekanies, who were excellent hunters, but who could not be well supplied from this post, on account of the greatness of the distance. Unfortunately a quarrel had arisen about this time between the Indians of St. John's and the Tsekanies. The former viewed the removal of the post from their lands as an insult, and a measure that gave their enemies a decided superiority over them, and they took a very effectual method of disappointing them. Mr. Hughes, having sent off his men with a load of property for the new post, remained alone. This was the opportunity the Indians sought for, and they did not fail to take advantage of it. The unfortunate man had been in the habit of walking daily by the river side, and was taking his usual promenade the day after the departure of his men, when he was shot down by two of the assassins. They then carried his body to his room and left it, and his blood still marks the floor. The men, altogether unconscious of the fate that awaited them, came paddling toward the landing-place, singing a voyageur's song, and just as the canoe touched the shore a volley of bullets was discharged at them, which silenced them for ever. They were all killed on the spot. The post has remained desolate ever since. Fort Dunvegan was also abandoned for some years, which reduced the natives to the greatest distress. As soon as intelligence was received of the catastrophe, a party of half-breeds and Crees, under the command of one of the clerks, was fitted out in order to inflict deserved punishment on the murderers; but just as the party had got on the trail, and within a short distance of the camp, they received orders from the superintendent to return. These orders were no doubt dictated by feelings of humanity, as Mr. McIntosh had learned that some Indians, who were not concerned in the murder, were in the same camp, and he was apprehensive the innocent might be involved in the same punishment with the guilty. The most of them, however, were afterwards starved to death; and the country having been abandoned by the Company, gave the natives occasion to remark, that the measure was dictated more by fear of them than by motives of humanity. The Rocky Mountains came in view on the 8th of October, and we reached the portage bearing their name on the 10th, the crossing of which took us eight days, being fully thirteen miles in length, and excessively bad road, leading sometimes through swamps and morasses, then ascending and descending steep: hills, and for at least one-third of the distance so obstructed by fallen trees as to render it all but impassable. I consider the passage of this portage the most laborious duty the Company's servants have to perform in any part of the territory; and, as the voyageurs say, "He that passes it with his share of a canoe's cargo may call himself a man." In the passage we came upon a large camp of Tsekanies, Mr. Eraser's customers. Their dialect is similar to that of the Beaver Indians, but they understand the Cree, which is the medium of communication between Mr. F. and them. It thus appears that this language is understood from the shores of Labrador to the foot of the Rocky Mountains. After passing the portage, the Rocky Mountains reared their snow-clad summits all around us, presenting a scene of gloomy grandeur, that had nothing cheering in it. One scene, however, struck me as truly sublime. As we proceeded onward the mountains pressed closer on the river, and at one place approached so near that the gap seemed to have been made by the river forcing a passage through them. We passed in our canoes at the base of precipices that rose almost perpendicularly above us on either side to the height of 3,000 or 4,000 feet! After passing through these magnificent portals, the mountains recede to a considerable distance, the space intervening between them and the river being a flat, yielding timber of a larger growth than I expected to find in such a situation. We arrived at McLeod's Lake--Mr. Fraser's post--on the 25th, where a number of Indians were waiting their supplies. They received us quite in a military style, with several discharges of fire-arms, and appeared delighted at the arrival of their chief. They seemed to be on the best possible terms together--the white chief and his _red "tail"_. They are Tsekanies, and are reputed honest, industrious, and faithful. The outfit for this post is conveyed on horse-back from Stuart's Lake. A more dreary situation can scarcely be imagined, surrounded by towering mountains that almost exclude the light of day, and snow storms not seldom occurring, so violent and long continued as to bury the establishment. I believe there are few situations in the country that present such local disadvantages; but there is the same miserable solitude everywhere; and yet we find natives of England, Scotland, and Ireland devoting their lives to a business that holds forth such prospects! I remained with my new friend one day, enjoying the comforts of his _eyry_, and then set off for the goal of my long course, where I arrived on the 28th of October. CHAPTER XVIII. ARRIVAL AT NEW CALEDONIA--BEAUTIFUL SCENERY--INDIAN HOUSES--AMUSEMENTS AT THE FORT--THREATENED ATTACK OF INDIANS--EXPEDITION AGAINST THEM--BEEF-STEAKS--NEW CALEDONIAN FARE--MODE OF CATCHING SALMON--SINGULAR DEATH OF NATIVE INTERPRETER--INDIAN FUNERAL RITES--BARBAROUS TREATMENT OF WIDOWS. Fort St. James, the depôt of New Caledonia district, stands near the outlet of Stuart's Lake, and commands a splendid view of the surrounding country. The lake is about fifty miles in length, and from three to four miles in breadth, stretching away to the north and north-east for about twenty miles; the view from the Fort embraces nearly the whole of this section of it, which is studded with beautiful islands. The western shore is low, and indented by a number of small bays formed by wooded points projecting into the lake, the back-ground rising abruptly into a ridge of hills of varied height and magnitude. On the east the view is limited to a range of two or three miles, by the intervention of a high promontory, from which the eye glances to the snowy summits of the Rocky Mountains in the distant back-ground. I do not know that I have seen anything to compare with this charming prospect in any other part of the country; its beauties struck me even at this season of the year, when nature having partly assumed her hybernal dress, everything appeared to so much greater disadvantage. The Indian village is situated in a lovely spot at the outlet of the lake, and consists of only five or six houses, but every house is occupied by several families. These buildings are of a very slight and simple construction, being merely formed of stakes driven into the ground; a square piece of timber runs horizontally along the top of this wall, to which the stakes are fastened by strips of willow bark. This inclosure, which is of a square form, is roofed in by placing two strong posts at each gable, which support the ridge pole, on which the roof sticks are placed, one end resting on the ridge pole, and the other on the wall, the whole being covered with pine bark: there is generally a door at each end, which is cut in the wall after the building is erected. These apertures are of a circular form, and about two and a half feet in diameter, so that a stranger finds it very awkward to pass through them. In effecting a passage you first introduce a leg, then bending low the body you press in head and shoulders; in this position you will have some difficulty in maintaining your equilibrium, for if you draw in the rest of the body too quickly, it is a chance but you will find yourself with your head undermost: the natives bolt through them with the agility of a weasel. For some time after my arrival here, I had very little employment, there being a scribe already in the establishment, whose experience and industry required no assistance from me. I thus found myself a supernumerary--a character that did not suit me, but I was obliged to content myself for the present. We were joined early in winter by some of the gentlemen in charge of posts, when we managed to pass the time very agreeably. Mr. D----, superintendent of the district, played remarkably well on the violin and flute, some of us "wee bodies" could also do something in that way, and our musical soirees, if not in melody, could at least compete in noise, numbers taken into account, with any association of the kind in the British dominions. Chess, backgammon, and whist, completed the variety of our evening pastimes. In the daytime each individual occupied himself as he pleased. When together, smoking, "spinning yarns" about _dog_ racing, canoe sailing, and _l'amour_; sometimes politics; now and then an animated discussion on theology, but without bitterness; these made our days fly away as agreeably as our nights. While thus pleasantly occupied, a piece of intelligence was received, which caused the breaking up of our little society, and created some alarm. A party of seven or eight Indians having been drowned on their way to Alexandria, in autumn, their relatives imputed the misfortune to the whites. "Had there been no whites at Alexandria," said they, "our friends would not have gone there to trade; and if they had not gone there, they would not have been drowned:" _ergo_--the white men are the cause of their death, and the Indians must be avenged. Nothing, however, was known of their hostile intentions until winter, when Mr. F. had occasion to send a man to Stuart's Lake with despatches, who, on arriving opposite to the Indian camp, found himself suddenly surrounded by the natives. They advanced rapidly upon him, brandishing their arms, and uttering horrid yells, and would have dispatched him on the spot but for the interference of one of themselves, who nobly threw himself between the Canadian and the muzzles of the guns that were levelled at him, and beckoned him to flee. He took to his heels accordingly, and never looked behind him till he reached the fort. A little before Mr. Fisher had learned from his home guards that an attack on the fort was intended, and that they had been solicited by their neighbours to join in it, but had refused. So far, indeed, from wishing to injure the whites, they consented to carry the despatches which conveyed the information I have just mentioned. As Mr. F. urgently requested that assistance should be afforded him with as little delay as possible, it was determined that I should forthwith proceed to Alexandria, accompanied by Waccan, the interpreter, and eight men well armed. Passing Fraser's Lake and Fort George posts, we arrived at the Indian winter camp, which we found abandoned; but a well beaten track led from it in the direction of Alexandria, a circumstance which made us apprehensive that our aid might come too late, and prompted us to redouble our speed. Our party consequently was soon very much scattered--a most unmilitary procedure--which might have proved fatal to ourselves, while we thought of relieving our friends. The interpreter, myself, and two Iroquois, forming the advanced guard of the _grand army_, which consisted of full six men, still considerably in the rear, on turning a point found ourselves immediately in front of the camp. We were thus as much taken by surprise as those whom we wished to surprise; but without hesitating a moment we rushed up the bank, and were instantly in the midst of the camp. The uproar was tremendous, the Indians seized their arms with the most threatening gestures and savage yells, and it would have been impossible for us to execute our orders--which were to seize the ringleader only--without a fierce struggle and bloodshed on both sides; and though more resolute, perhaps, than our enemies, we were by far the weaker party, their numbers being at least ten to one of ours. Happily, however, there was an Indian (one of our friends) from Alexandria, in the camp, who, as soon as he could make himself heard, informed us that the affair had been already arranged to the satisfaction of both parties. Thus terminated our expedition, without bloodshed and without laurels. A few days earlier it might have been otherwise; nor was Mr. F. without blame in neglecting to advise us of the arrangement. We continued our course towards Fort Alexandria, and reached it late in the evening. My unexpected appearance gave my old bourgeois of Two Mountains an agreeable surprise. Having eaten nothing since morning, we made sad havoc of his beefsteaks and potatoes. "Well, Mac," said he, "to judge from your appetite, the air of New Caledonia seems to agree wonderfully with you. Pray how do you like the beef-steaks?" "Never tasted anything better," said I. Next morning he requested me to accompany him to the store, as he said, to see a hind-leg of the steer which had furnished me with my steaks. I approached it, and lo! it was the hind-leg of a horse! The beef-steaks, or rather _horse_-steaks, were again presented at breakfast, and I confess I had not the same relish for them as at supper, but my repugnance--such is the effect of habit--was soon overcome. I remained a few days here for the sake of repose, and then returned. On the approach of spring, my fellow-subordinate, Mr. McKenzie, dissatisfied with the service, left for the east side of the mountains, and I took his place at the desk, the duties of which, although by no means harassing, left me but little leisure. The accounts of all the posts in the district, eight in number, were made up here; I had also to superintend the men of the establishment, accompany them on their winter trips, and attend to the Indian trade. But even if the duty had been more toilsome, I had every inducement to perform it cheerfully, as Mr. Dease was one of the kindest and most considerate of men. On the 5th of May Mr. Dease took his departure for Fort Vancouver, with the returns of his district, which might he valued at 11,000l. The outfit, together with servants' wages and incidental expenses, amounted to about 3,000l., leaving to the Company a clear profit of about 8,000l. I was appointed to the charge of Stuart's Lake during the summer, with four men to perform the ordinary duties of the establishment--making hay, attending to gardens, &c. A few cattle were introduced in 1830, and we now began to derive some benefit from the produce of the dairy. Our gardens (a term applied in this country to any piece of ground under cultivation) in former times yielded potatoes; nothing would now grow save turnips. A few carrots and cabbages were this year raised on a piece of new ground, which added to the luxuries of our table. Heaven knows, they were much wanted, for the other fare was scarcely fit for dogs! In the early part of the season it consisted entirely of salmon, which this year was of the worst quality, having been two years in the store. A few sturgeon, however, of enormous[1] size, were caught, whose flesh was the most tender and delicious I had ever eaten, and would have been considered a delicacy by Apicius himself; it need not be wondered at then that the capture of one caused universal joy. [1] Belluga? The salmon (the New Caledonian staff of life) ascend Frazer's River and its tributaries, from the Pacific in immense shoals, proceeding towards the sources of the streams until stopped by shallow water. Having deposited their spawn, their dead bodies are seen floating down the current in thousands; few of them ever return to the sea; and in consequence of the old fish perishing in this manner, they fail in this quarter every fourth year. The natives display a good deal of ingenuity in catching them. Where the current and depth of water permit, they bar it across by means of stakes driven into the bottom with much labour, and standing about six inches apart; these are strongly bound to a piece of timber, or "plate," running along the top; stays, or supporters, are placed at intervals of ten or twelve feet, the upper end bearing against the plate so as to form an angle with the stream. Gaps are left in the works of sufficient size to admit the _varveaux_, or baskets, in which the fish are taken. After the whole is finished, square frames of wicker-work, called keys, are let down against the upper side, to prevent the fish from ascending, and at the same time to allow the water a free passage. The keys must be kept entirely free from filth, such as branches, leaves, &c., otherwise the whole works would soon be swept away. The baskets are of a cylindrical form, about two and a half feet in diameter at the mouth, and terminate in a point of four or, five inches. When the fishing is over, all the materials are removed, and replaced the ensuing year with equal labour. To preserve the fish for future consumption the following process is adopted. The back being split up, and the back-bone extracted, it is hung by the tail for a few days; then it is taken down and distended on splinters of wood; these are attached to a sort of scaffold erected for the purpose, where the fish remains till sufficiently dry for preservation. Even in dry seasons, during this process, the ground all round the scaffold is thickly covered with large maggots; but in wet seasons the sight becomes much more loathsome. I have already observed that the salmon fail periodically, and the natives would consequently be reduced to the utmost distress, did not the goodness of Providence furnish them with a substitute. Rabbits are sent to supply the place of the salmon; and, singular as it may appear, these animals increase in number as the salmon decrease, until they swarm all over the country. When the salmon return, they gradually disappear, being destroyed or driven away by their greatest enemy, the lynx, which first appear in smaller, then in greater numbers;--both they and their prey disappearing together. As to the _cause_ that induces those animals to appear and disappear in this manner, I cannot take upon myself to explain. In the course of this summer one of our interpreters, a native, lost his life in rather a singular manner. He had made a bear-trap, and wishing to ascertain how it would work, tried his own weight on the spring, which yielded but too readily, and crushed him in so dreadful a manner that he only survived his experiment but a few hours. As he had withdrawn from the Company's service this year, his body was disposed of after the manner of his own people, except that it was buried instead of being burned; this, however, was the first instance of an interment, it being introduced through our influence in pity to the unfortunate widows, who are exposed to the cruellest tortures at the burning of the body. I never beheld a more affecting scene than the present. Immediately as the coffin was lowered into the grave, the widow threw herself upon it, shrieking and tearing her hair, and could only be removed by main force: several other females, relatives of the deceased, were also assembled in a group hard by, and evinced all the external symptoms of extreme grief, chanting the death-song in a most lugubrious tone, the tears streaming down their cheeks, and beating their breasts. The men, however, even the brothers of the deceased, showed no emotion whatever, and as soon as the rites were ended, moved off the ground, followed by the female mourners, who soon after were seen as gay and cheerful as if they had returned from a wedding. The widow, however, still remained by the grave, being obliged to do so in conformity with the customs of her nation, which required that she should mourn day and night, until the relatives of the deceased should collect a sufficiency of viands to make a feast in honour of his bones. As already observed, the bodies were formerly burned; the relatives of the deceased, as well as those of the widow, being present, all armed; a funeral pile was erected, and the body placed upon it. The widow then set fire to the pile, and was compelled to stand by it, anointing her breast with the fat that oozed from the body until the heat became insupportable: when the wretched creature, however, attempted to draw back, she was thrust forward by her husband's relatives at the point of their spears, and forced to endure the dreadful torture until either the body was reduced to ashes, or she herself almost scorched to death. Her relatives were present merely to preserve her life; when no longer able to stand they dragged her away; and this intervention often led to bloody quarrels! The body being burned, the ashes were collected in a box and given in charge to the widow, who carried them about with her until the feast was prepared, when they were taken from her, and deposited in a small hut or placed upon the top of a wooden pillar neatly carved, as their final resting-place. During this interval she was in a state of the most wretched slavery; every child in the village might command her and beat her unmercifully if they chose, no one interfered. After the feast, however, she regained her freedom, and along with that the privilege of incurring the risk of another scorching. Our interference relieved them from the most cruel part of the ceremony; the temporary state of slavery is still continued. CHAPTER XIX. INDIAN FEAST--ATTEMPT AT DRAMATIC REPRESENTATION--RELIGION--ORDERED TO PORT ALEXANDRIA--ADVANTAGES OF THE SITUATION--SENT BACK TO FORT ST. JAMES--SOLITUDE--PUNISHMENT OF INDIAN MURDERER--ITS CONSEQUENCES--HEROIC ADVENTURE OF INTERPRETER. Mr. Dease arrived from Fort Vancouver on the 5th of September, and expressed himself highly gratified with the appearance our "gardens" presented; an ample stock of salmon had also been laid in, so that we had nothing to fear from want, which sometimes had been severely felt. In the beginning of November, our despatches from the east side of the mountains came to hand, usually a joyful event, but saddened this year by the intelligence we received, that our excellent superintendent was about to leave us, having obtained permission to visit the civilized world for medical advice;--the doctor was only 5,000 miles off! In the beginning of the winter we were invited to a feast held in honour of a great chief, who died some years before. The person who delivered the invitation stalked into the room with an air of vast consequence, and strewing our heads with down, pronounced the name of the presiding chief, and withdrew without uttering another syllable. To me the invitation was most acceptable: although I had heard much of Indian feasts, I never was present at any. Late in the evening we directed our steps towards the "banqueting house," a large hut temporarily erected for the occasion. We found the numerous guests assembled and already seated around "the festive board;" our place had been left vacant for us, Mr. Dease taking his seat next to the great chief, Quaw, and we, his Meewidiyazees (little chiefs), in succession. The company were disposed in two rows: the chiefs and elders being seated next the wall, formed the outer, and the young men the inner row; an open space of about three feet in breadth intervening between them. Immense quantities of roasted meat, bear, beaver, siffleu or marmot, were piled up at intervals, the whole length of the building; berries mixed up with rancid salmon oil, fish roe that had been buried underground a twelve-month, in order to give it an _agreeable_ flavour, were the good things presented at this feast of gluttony and flow of oil. The berry mixture, and roes were served in wooden troughs, each having a large wooden spoon attached to it. The enjoyments of the festival were ushered in with a song, in which all joined:-- "I approach the village, Ya ha he ha, ya ha ha ha; And hear the voices of many people, Ya ha, &c. The barking of dogs, Ya ha, &c. Salmon is plentiful, Ya ha, &c. The berry season is good, Ya ha, &c. After the song commenced the demolition of the mountains of meat, which was but slowly effected, notwithstanding the unremitting and strenuous exertions of the guests. The greatest order, however, was maintained; the relatives of the deceased acted as stewards, each of them seizing a roasted beaver, or something else, squatted himself in front of one of the guests, and presenting the meat, which he held with both his hands (males and females officiating), desired him to help himself. If the guest appeared backward in the attack, he was pressed, in the politest terms, to eat. "Now, I pray you, tear away with a good will;"--"I am glad to see you eat so strongly;"--"Come now, stuff yourself with this fine piece of fat bear." And stuff himself he must, or pay a forfeit, to avoid a catastrophe. But having paid thus, and acknowledged himself fairly overcome by his host's politeness, he is spared any further exertions, and his viands are no longer presented to him in this way, but placed in a dish beside him. Well aware of our inability to maintain the honour of our country in a contest of this kind, we paid our forfeit at the commencement of the onslaught, reserving our portions to be disposed of at home. The gormandizing contest ended as it began, with songs and dances; in the latter amusement, however, few were now able to join; afterwards ensued a rude attempt at dramatic representation. Old Quaw, the chief of Nekaslay, first appeared on the stage, in the character of a bear--an animal he was well qualified to personate. Rushing from his den, and growling fiercely, he pursued the huntsman, the chief of Babine portage, who defended himself with a long pole; both parties maintained a running fight, until they reached the far end of the building, where they made their exit. Enter afterwards a jealous husband and his wife, wearing masks (both being men). The part these acted appeared rather dull; the husband merely sat down by the side of his "frail rib," watching her motions closely, and neither allowing her to speak to nor look at any of the young men. As to the other characters, one personated a deer, another a wolf, a third a strange Tsekany. The bear seemed to give the spectators most delight. The scene was interesting, as exhibiting the first rude attempts at dramatic representation of a savage people; and it served, in some measure, to efface the impression made by the somewhat disgusting spectacle previously witnessed. The affair concluded by an exchange of presents, and the party broke up. Two young men, natives of Oregon, who had received a little education at Red River, had, on their return to their own country, introduced a sort of religion, whose groundwork seemed to be Christianity, accompanied with some of the heathen ceremonies of the natives. This religion spread with amazing rapidity all over the country. It reached Fort Alexandria, the lower post of the district, in the autumn; and was now embraced by all the Nekaslayans. The ceremonial consisted chiefly in singing and dancing. As to the doctrines of our holy religion, their minds were too gross to comprehend, and their manners too corrupt to be influenced by them. They applied to us for instruction, and our worthy chief spared no pains to give it. But, alas! it is for the most part labour in vain. Yet, an impression seemed to have been made on a few; and had there been missionaries there at the time, their efforts might have proved successful. But the influence of the "men of medicine," who strenuously withstand a religion which exposes their delusive tricks, and consequently deprives them of their gains,--together with the dreadful depravity everywhere prevalent,--renders the conversion of the Tekallies an object most difficult to accomplish. It is a general opinion among Christians, that there exists no nation or people on earth who are entirely ignorant of a Supreme Being. I shall contrast the language of this tribe with that of the Sauteux or Ojibbeway, and let the reader judge for himself. I have heard a heathen Ojibbeway, when giving a feast, express himself thus: "The great Master of Life, he who sees us and whom we cannot see, having done me charity, I invite you, my brother, to partake of it." On a like occasion, a Takelly describes the manner in which he killed his game, but never alludes to a deity. When an Ojibbeway wishes to confirm the truth of what he says beyond a doubt, he points to heaven and exclaims, "He to whom we belong hears that what I say is true." The Takelly says, "The toad hears me." You ask a Takelly what becomes of him after death, he replies, "My life shall be _extinct_, and I shall be dead." Not an idea has he of the soul, or of a future state of rewards and punishments. The Ojibbeway answers, "After death my soul goes either to a happy land, abounding with game and every delight; or to a land of misery, where I shall suffer for ever from want. Whether it go to the good or bad place depends on my good or bad conduct here." In fact the Takelly language has not a term in it to express the name of Deity, spirit, or soul. When the Columbia religion was introduced among them, our interpreters had to invent a term for the Deity--Yagasita--the "Man of Heaven." The only expression I ever heard them use that conveyed any idea whatever of a superior Being is, that when the salmon fail, they say, "The Man who keeps the mouth of the river has shut it up with his red keys, so that the salmon cannot get up." One of our gentlemen, a member of the Roman Catholic Church, teaching the Takellies to make the sign of the cross, with the words used on the occasion, his interpreter translated them, "Au nom du Père, de son Frère, et puis de son petit Garçon!" (In the name of the Father, his Brother, and his little Boy!) The accompts and despatches for head-quarters being finished in the beginning of March, I was ordered to convey them to Fort Alexandria, to the charge of which post I was now appointed. This post is agreeably situated on the banks of Frazer's River, on the outskirts of the great prairies. The surrounding country is beautifully diversified by hill and dale, grove and plain; the soil is rich, yielding abundant successive crops of grain and vegetable, unmanured; but the crops are sometimes destroyed by frost. The charming locality, the friendly disposition of the Indians, and better fare, rendered this post one of the most agreeable situations in the Indian country. In spring, moreover, the country swarms with game--pheasants and a small species of curlieu in the immediate vicinity, and ducks and geese within a short distance. The sport was excellent, and, with the amusement the cultivation of my garden afforded me, enabled me to vegetate in great comfort--a comfort I was not destined long to enjoy. Mr. Ogden, chief factor, arrived from Fort Vancouver about the end of May, and Mr. Fisher from Stuart's Lake a few days afterwards; and having consulted together, determined that I should retrace my steps to Stuart's Lake without delay. When I arrived at Fort St. James its dreadful solitude almost drove me to despair. I found myself sitting alone in the hall where my late excellent bourgeois and friends had passed the time so happily, and I felt a depression of spirits such as I never experienced before. Fortunately for me, my old friend Mr. Fraser, a gentleman of a gay and lively disposition, arrived soon after, and continued with me for the remainder of the season, and his company soon drove melancholy away. The particulars of an affair which had occurred here some years before, and threatened the most serious consequences to the post, were about this time related to me by Waccan, the interpreter. A native of Frazer's Lake had murdered one of the Company's servants, and, strange to say, no steps were taken to punish him; he concealed himself some time, and finding he had nothing to apprehend, returned to his village. At length he was led by his evil genius to visit Stuart's Lake, then under the command of a Douglas. Douglas heard of his being in the village, and though he had but a weak garrison, determined that the blood of the white man should not be unavenged. The opportunity was favourable, the Indians of the village were out on a hunting excursion, the murderer was nearly alone. He proceeded to the camp accompanied by two of his men, and executed justice[1] on the murderer. On their return in the evening, the Indians learned what had happened, and enraged, determined to retaliate. Aware, however, that Douglas was on his guard, that the gates were shut and could not be forced, they resolved to employ Indian stratagem. [1] "Wild justice,"--Bacon. The old chief accordingly proceeded to the Fort alone, and knocking at the gate desired to be admitted, which was granted. He immediately stated the object of his visit, saying that a deed had been done in the village which subjected himself and his people to a heavy responsibility to the relatives of the dead; that he feared the consequences, and hoped that a present would be made to satisfy them; and continuing to converse thus calmly, Mr. Douglas was led to believe that the matter could easily be arranged. Another knock was now heard at the gate: "It is my brother," said the chief, "you may open the gate; he told me he intended to come and hear what you had to say on this business." The gate was opened, and in rushed the whole Nekasly tribe, the chief's brother at their head; and the men of the Fort were overpowered ere they had time to stand on their defence. Douglas, however, seized a wall-piece that was mounted in the hall, and was about to discharge it on the crowd that was pouring in upon him, when the chief seized him by the arms, and held him fast. For an instant his life was in the utmost peril. Surrounded by thirty or forty Indians, their knives drawn, and brandishing them over his head with frantic gestures, and calling out to the chief, "Shall we strike? shall we strike?" The chief hesitated; and at this critical moment the interpreter's wife[1] stepped forward, and by her presence of mind saved him and the establishment. [1] This woman is the daughter of Mr. James MacDougal, a gentleman who had a chief hand in the settlement of the district. He served the Company for a period of thirty-five years, enduring all the hardships that were in his time inseparable from an Indian trader's life; and was dismissed from their service, in old age, without a pension, to starve on such little savings as he had effected out of his salary. He is still alive (1841), struggling with adversity. Observing one of the inferior chiefs, who had always professed the greatest friendship for the whites, standing in the crowd, she addressed herself to him, exclaiming, "What! you a friend of the whites, and not say a word in their behalf at such a time as this! Speak! you know the murderer deserved to die; according to your own laws the deed was just; it is blood for blood. The white men are not dogs; they love their kindred as well as you; why should they not avenge their murder?" The moment the heroine's voice was heard the tumult subsided; her boldness struck the savages with awe; the chief she addressed, acting on her suggestion, interfered; and being seconded by the old chief, who had no serious intention of injuring the whites, was satisfied with showing them that they were fairly in his power. Mr. Douglas and his men were set at liberty; and an amicable conference having taken place, the Indians departed much elated with the issue of their enterprise. A personal adventure of Waccan's is worth recording. An interpreter, a Cree half-breed, had been murdered by the Indians of Babine post with circumstances of great barbarity; and the perpetrators of the deed were allowed to exult in the shedding of innocent blood with impunity, one feeble, ineffectual attempt only having been made to chastise them. Waccan, however, determined that the matter should not end thus, the victim being his adopted brother. Having been sent to Babine post with an Indian lad, he learned from him that the murderers were encamped in a certain bay on Stuart's Lake, and resolved to seize the long wished-for opportunity of revenge; but fearing for his companion's safety more than his own, he landed him at a considerable distance from the camp, directing him to make the best of his way home if he should hear many shots. He then paddled down as near the camp as he could without being discovered, and landing, threw off every article of clothing save a shred round his loins; and with his gun in the one hand, and dagger in the other, proceeded to the spot. Having approached sufficiently near to see all that passed in the encampment, he squatted among the bushes, and watching his opportunity, "picked off" the ringleader; then rushing from his covert, and giving the war whoop, he planted his dagger in his heart almost before the Indians had time to know what had happened. Seeing the infuriated "avenger of blood" in the midst of them, they fled precipitately to the woods. Waccan dared them to revenge the death of the "dead dog" who had murdered his brother. "Come," said he, "you that were so brave at Babine Lake, and danced round the body of him whom you did not face, but knocked down when his back was to you, now is your time to show yourselves _men_." No one answering the challenge, he shouldered his gun, walked along the beach to his canoe, and paddling leisurely off from the shore, sang the Cree song of triumph. CHAPTER XX. APPOINTED TO THE CHARGE OF FORT GEORGE--MURDER OF MR. YALE'S MEN--MYSTERIOUS LOSS OF MR. LINTON AND FAMILY--ADVENTURES OF LEATHER PARTY--FAILURE OF CROPS--INFLUENZA. In the beginning of September, Mr. Ogden arrived from Fort Vancouver, and I was appointed by him to the charge of Fort George, whither I proceeded forthwith. Mr. Linton, my predecessor, was directed to wait the arrival of the party sent to Jasper's house for a supply of leather, ere he took his departure for Chilcotin, an outpost of Fort Alexandria. Fort George was established a few years ago, and passed through the bloody ordeal ere yet the buildings were completed. The gentleman in charge, Mr. Yale, had left his men at work, and gone on a visit to Fort St. James, where he only remained a few days; on his return he found his men had been treacherously murdered by the Indians during his absence. Their mangled bodies were found in one of the houses, with one of their own axes by their side, which evidently had been the instrument of their destruction. The poor men were in the habit of retiring to rest during the heat of the day, and were despatched while they slept. A great change has come over this people since that time; they are now justly considered the best disposed and most industrious Indians in the district. The situation of the post is exceedingly dreary, standing on the right bank of Frazer's River, having in front a high hill that shades the sun until late in the morning, and in the midst of "woods and wilds, whose melancholy gloom" is saddening enough. Yet it has its _agrémens_, its good returns,--the _ne plus ultra_ of an Indian trader's happiness,--its good Indians, and its good fare; the produce of the soil and dairy. Poor Linton had remained with me till late in autumn; when the cold weather setting in with unusual rigour, the ice began to drift on the river, rendering the navigation already dangerous; and no accounts having been received of the leather party, he determined to embark for his destination without further loss of time. He, alas! had already waited too long. Having occasion in the beginning of winter to send down a messenger to Fort Alexandria, I was surprised to see him two days after enter the fort, accompanied by one of Mr. Fisher's men, who brought me the melancholy tidings of Mr. L.'s death, part of his baggage having been found by the natives among the ice. Eight souls had perished, no one knows how; Mr. L., his wife and three children, an interpreter, his wife and one child. Some suspicions attached to a disreputable family of Indians who were known to be encamped on the banks of the river at the time; but it is more probable that the catastrophe occurred in a rapid not far from this post, as a dog which the party had with them came back at an early hour the day after their departure. This misfortune threw a gloom over the whole district, where Linton was much beloved, and his death, so sudden and mysterious, made the blow be felt more severely. Before this sad intelligence reached us, the safety of the leather party had become a source of deep anxiety. They had been expected in October, and no accounts had been received of them in the month of December. Having forwarded Mr. Fisher's despatches to head-quarters, I received orders from Mr. Ogden to proceed to Jasper's house, in order, if possible, to obtain information regarding them; which I eagerly obeyed, setting off with five men, and sledges loaded with provisions, drawn by dogs. We had not proceeded far, however, when we met the truants all safe and sound. Their non-arrival in the fall was occasioned by the winter setting in unprecedentedly early. They experienced the utmost difficulty in crossing the Rocky Mountains, from the great depth of snow that had already fallen; and when they reached the heights of Frazer's River, they found the ice beginning to form along its shores. They persevered, however; sometimes forcing their way through the ice, sometimes carrying the canoes and property overland where the passage was blocked up by the ice. But all their efforts proved unavailing, for they were at length completely frozen in. Their prospects were now most disheartening. Their remaining provisions would only suffice for four days on short allowance, and they had a journey of fifteen days before them, whichever way they should direct their course. Some of the men yielded to despair, but the greater part cheerfully embraced Mr. Andersen's views. Those only who are unacquainted with the Canadian voyageurs will deny them the possession of qualities, of the highest value in this country--ready obedience to their superiors, patience of fatigue and hardship, and unyielding perseverance under the most trying difficulties, so long as their leaders show them the way. Mr. Anderson having secured the property _en cache_, determined to return to Jasper's house, in order to procure at least a part of the much wanted supply of leather. On their way back they had the good fortune to light upon a stray horse, which they converted into provender: they also shot a moose deer; and thus providentially supplied, they suffered little from want. On arriving at the post, they found to their sad disappointment that nothing could be got there, except some provisions; it was therefore necessary to proceed to Fort Edmonton, at least 400 miles distant, with but one intermediate post. They succeeded in reaching it, though in a most deplorable condition, half starved and half frozen, none of the party being provided with winter clothing; but they were most hospitably received by the kind-hearted bourgeois Mr. Rowand; and, after remaining a few days to recruit their strength in this land overflowing with fat and pemmican, and receiving their supplies, they set off on their return, and reached their destination without accident. Farming on a small scale had been attempted here by my predecessor, and the result was such as to induce more extensive operations. I received orders, therefore, to clear land, sow and plant, forthwith. These orders were in part carried into effect in the autumn. Four acres of land were put in a condition to receive seed, and about the same quantity at Fort Alexandria. Seed was ordered from the Columbia, and handmills to grind our grain. Pancakes and hot rolls were thenceforward to be the order of the day; Babine salmon and dog's flesh were to be sent--"to Coventry!" The spring, however, brought with it but poor prospects for pancakes; the season was late beyond all precedent; the fields were not sown until the 5th of May; they, nevertheless, promised well for some time, but cold weather ensued, and continued so long that the crops could not recover before the autumn frosts set in, and thus our hopes were blasted. The farm at Alexandria had not much better success, owing to the neglect of the good people themselves;--not having enclosed their fields, the cattle destroyed the greater part of the crops. Here, however, notwithstanding the failure of our grain crops, we had abundance of vegetables and a large stock of cattle, so that our fare was far superior to that of the other _exiles_ in the district. Mr. Ogden returned from Fort Vancouver about the usual time, and was mortified to find that our grand agricultural experiment had so completely failed. He, however, had brought a supply of flour sufficient to afford each commander of posts a couple of bags, and thus the inconvenience arising from our disappointment was, in some degree, obviated. From his first arrival amongst us, Mr. Ogden evinced the most earnest desire to ameliorate the condition of his subordinates in this wretched district, and all felt grateful to him for his benevolent intentions. To Mr. Dease, however, the praise is due of having introduced this new order of things: he it was who first introduced cattle from Fort Vancouver; it was he who first introduced farming, and recommended it to others. Late in autumn, the natives being all about the post, the dread influenza, that had made such fearful havoc among the Indians in other quarters, broke out here also. The poor creatures had a great deal of confidence in my medical skill, from the circumstance of my having saved the life of a boy who had eaten some poisonous root, when despaired of by their own mountebanks. On the present occasion I tried my skill on one of the subjects best able to bear my experiments, by administering a strong emetic and purge, and causing him afterwards to drink a decoction of mint. He was cured, and I afterwards prescribed the same medicine to many others with a like success; so that my reputation as a disciple of Æsculapius became firmly established. Having last year applied to the Governor for permission to visit head-quarters, for a purpose which will be noticed hereafter, I received a favourable answer, and, in the month of February, set off for the depôt of the district preparatory to my departure, where I remained for a month in company with Mr. Ogden and several fellow-scribes. CHAPTER XXI. CLIMATE OF NEW CALEDONIA--SCENERY--NATURAL PRODUCTIONS--ANIMALS--FISHES--NATIVES--THEIR MANNERS AND CUSTOMS--DUELLING--GAMBLING--LICENTIOUSNESS--LANGUAGE. Ere I proceed on my long journey, I must pause for a little to describe more particularly the country, which I am about to quit, perhaps for ever, and the manners of its savage inhabitants. The climate of New Caledonia is exceedingly variable at all seasons of the year. I have experienced at Stuart's Lake, in the month of July, every possible change of weather within twelve hours; frost in the morning, scorching heat at noon; then rain, hail, snow. The winter season is subject to the same vicissitudes, though not in so extreme a degree: some years it continues mild throughout. These vicissitudes may, I think, be ascribed to local causes--proximity to, or distance from the glaciers of the Rocky Mountains, the direction of the winds, the aspect of the place, &c. Fort St. James is so situated as to be completely exposed to the north-east wind, which wafts on its wings the freezing vapours of the glaciers. The instant the wind shifts to this quarter, a change of temperature is felt; and when it continues to blow for a few hours, it becomes so cold that, even in midsummer, small ponds are frozen over. The surrounding country is mountainous and rocky. Frazer's Lake is only about thirty miles distant from Fort St. James (on Stuart's Lake), yet there they raise abundance of vegetables, potatoes and turnips, and sometimes even wheat and barley. The post stands in a valley open to the south-west,--a fine champaign country, of a sandy soil; it is protected from the north-east winds by a high ridge of hills. The winter seldom sets in before December, and the navigation is generally open about the beginning of May. Few countries present a more beautiful variety of scenery than New Caledonia. Stuart's Lake and its environs I have already attempted to describe, but many such landscapes present themselves in different parts of the country, where towering mountains, hill and dale, forest and lake, and verdant plains, blended together in the happiest manner, are taken in by the eye at a glance. Some scenes there are that recall forcibly to the remembrance of a son of Scotia, the hills and glens and "bonnie braes" of his own poor, yet beloved native land. New Caledonia, however, has the advantage over the Old, of being generally well wooded, and possessed of lakes of far greater magnitude; unfortunately, however, the woods are decaying rapidly, particularly several varieties of fir, which are being destroyed by an insect that preys on the bark: when the country is denuded of this ornament, and its ridges have become bald, it will present a very desolate appearance. In some parts of the country, the poplar and aspen tree are to be found, together with a species of birch, of whose bark canoes are built; but there is neither hard wood nor cedar. Such parts of the district as are not in the immediate vicinity of the regions of eternal snow, yield a variety of wild fruit, grateful to the palate, wholesome, and nutritious. Of these, the Indian pear is the most abundant, and most sought after, both by natives and whites; when fully ripe, it is of a black colour, with somewhat of a reddish tinge, pear-shaped, and very sweet to the taste. The natives dry them in the sun, and afterwards bake them into cakes, which are said to be delicious; for my own part, having seen the process of manufacturing them, I could not overcome my prejudices so far as to partake of a delicacy in whose composition filth formed so considerable an ingredient. When dried, the cakes are placed in wooden vessels to receive the juice of green fruit, which is expressed by placing weights upon it, in wooden troughs, from which spouts of bark draw off the liquid into the vessels containing the dry fruit; this being thoroughly saturated, is again bruised with the unclean hand, then re-formed into cakes, and dried again; and these processes are repeated alternately, until the cakes suit the taste of the maker. Blue berries are plentiful in some parts of the district; there is a peculiar variety of them, which I preferred to any fruit I ever tasted; it is about the size of a musket-ball, of a purple colour, translucid, and in its taste sweet and acid are deliciously blended. The district is still rich in fur-bearing animals, especially beavers and martens, which are likely to continue numerous for many years to come, as they find a safe retreat among the fastnesses of the Rocky Mountains, where they multiply undisturbed. This is the great beaver nursery, which continues to replace the numbers destroyed in the more exposed situations; there is, nevertheless, a sensible decrease in the returns of the fur since the introduction of steel traps among the natives: there are also otters, musk-rats, minxes, and lynxes. Of the larger quadrupeds bears only are numerous, and in all their varieties, grizzled, black, brown, and chocolate: numbers of them are taken by the natives in wooden traps. A chance moose or reindeer is sometimes found. The mountain sheep generally keeps aloft in the most inaccessible parts of the mountains, and is seldom "bagged" by a Carrier, but often by the Tsekanies. I have before observed that rabbits sometimes abound. Another small animal, whose flesh is delicious in season, the marmot, is found in great numbers. In the neighbourhood of Fort Alexandria, the jumping deer, or chevreuil, is abundant. To these add dog and horse flesh, and you have all the varieties of animal food the country affords to its inhabitants, civilized or savage. A most destructive little animal, the wood-rat, infests the country, and generally nestles in the crevices of the rocks, but prefers still more human habitations; they domicile under the floors of out-buildings, and not content with this, force their way into the inside, where they destroy and carry off every thing they can; nor is there any way of securing the property in the stores from their depredations but by placing it in strong boxes. When fairly located, it is almost impossible to root them out. They are of a grey colour, and of nearly the size and form of the common rat, but the tail resembles that of the ground squirrel. The birds of this country are the same as in Canada. I observed no strange variety, except a species of curlieu that frequents the plains of Fort Alexandria in the summer. Immense flocks of cranes are seen in autumn and spring, flying high in the air; in autumn directing their flight towards the south, and in spring towards the north. Some of the Lakes abound in fish; the principal varieties are trout, carp, white fish, and pike. Stuart's Lake yields a small fish termed by the Canadians "poisson inconnu;" it seems as if it were partly white fish and partly carp, the head resembling the former; it is full of small bones, and the flesh soft and unsavoury. The sturgeon has been already mentioned, but they are unfortunately too rare; seldom more than five or six are captured in a season; they weigh from one hundred to five hundred pounds. A beautiful small fish of the size of the anchovy, and shaped like a salmon, is found in a river that falls into Stuart's Lake; it is said they pass the winter in the lake, and ascend their favourite stream in the month of June, where they deposit their spawn. They have the silvery scales of the larger salmon, and are exceedingly rich; but the natives preserve them almost exclusively for their own use. There are four varieties of salmon, distinguished from each other by the peculiar form of the head; the largest species seems to be the same we have in the rivers of Britain, and weighs from ten to twenty pounds; the others do not exceed half that weight. New Caledonia is inhabited by the Takelly or Carrier nation, and by a few families of Tsekanies on the north-eastern extremity of the district. The Takellies are divided into as many tribes as there are posts--viz. eight, who formerly were as hostile to each other as if they had been of different nations. The presence of the whites, however, has had the beneficial effect of checking their cut-throat propensities, although individual murders still occasionally occur among them. Before the introduction of fire-arms, the _honourable_ practice of duelling prevailed among them, though in a fashion peculiar to themselves. One arrow only was discharged, by the party demanding satisfaction, at his opponent, who, by dint of skipping about and dodging from side to side, generally contrived to escape it; fatal duels, therefore, seldom if ever occurred; and the parties, having thus given and received satisfaction, retired from the field reconciled.[1] They appear more prone to sudden bursts of passion than most Indians I have seen, and quarrel often and abuse each other in the most scurrilous terms. With the Sauteux, Crees, and other tribes on the east side of the mountains, few words are uttered before the blow, often a fatal one, is given; whereas, with the Takellies, it is often many words and few blows. In the quarrels which take place among them, the ladies are generally the _causa belli_--a cause which would soon lead to the depopulation of the country, were all husbands to avenge their wrongs by shedding the blood of the guilty. [1] I would recommend this mode of conducting "affairs of honour" to _honourable_ gentlemen using the hair-trigger, as an improvement. Though practised by savages, it must be allowed to be somewhat less barbarous than ten paces' distance, and standing still! If the exhibition should appear somewhat ludicrous, both parties would have the additional "satisfaction" that their morning _exercise_ had given a keener zest to their breakfast. It would be a sort of Pyrrhic dance. Their chiefs have still considerable authority; but much of the homage they claimed and received in former times is now transferred to the white chiefs, or traders, whom they all esteem the greatest men in the universe. "After the Man of heaven," said old Guaw to Mr. Dease, "you are next in dignity." Owing to the superstitious notions of the people, the chiefs are still feared on account of the magical powers ascribed to them; it is firmly believed they can, at will, inflict diseases, cause misfortunes of every kind, and even death itself; and so strong is this impression, that they will not even pass in a direction where the shadow of a chief, or "man of medicine," might fall on them, "lest," say they, "he should bear us some ill-will and afflict us with some disease." These conjurors, nevertheless, are the greatest bunglers at their trade of any in the Indian territory; they practise none of the clever tricks of the Sauteux sorcerers, and are perfectly ignorant of the medicinal virtues of herbs and plants, with which the Sauteux and other Indians often perform astonishing cures. The Takellies administer no medicine to the sick; a variety of ridiculous gesticulations, together with singing, blowing, and _beating_ on the _patient_, are the means they adopt to effect their end; and they, not seldom, effectually cure the patient of "all the ills of life." Whether they effect a cure or not, they are sure to be well recompensed for their expenditure of wind, an article of which they are not sparing: they, in fact, exert themselves so much that the perspiration pours from every pore. The only real remedy they use, in common with other Indians, is the vapour-bath, or sweating-house. The house, as it is termed, which is constructed by bending twigs of willow, and fixing both ends in the ground, when finished, presents the appearance of a bee-hive, and is carefully covered to prevent the escape of the vapour; red-hot stones are then placed inside, and water poured upon them, and the patient remains in the midst of the steam thus generated as long as he can bear it, then rushing out, plunges into the cold stream. This is said to be a sovereign remedy for rheumatism, and the natives have recourse to it in all cases of severe pain: I myself witnessed its efficacy in a case of paralysis. The salubrity of the climate, however, renders disease of every kind extremely rare, except such as are caused by the excesses of the natives themselves. The venereal is very common, and appears to have been indigenous. At their feasts they gorge themselves to such a degree as to endanger their lives; after a feast many of the guests continue ill for a considerable time, yet this does not prevent them from gormandizing again whenever an opportunity presents itself. Old and young, male and female, are subject to severe inflammation in the eyes, chiefly, I believe, from their passing the winter in hovels underground, which have no outlet for the smoke, and passing from them into the glare of sunshine upon the snow. What with the confined smoke and tainted atmosphere of these abominable burrows, I found it painful to remain even for a few minutes in them. It has been remarked by those who first settled in the district, that the Indians are rapidly decreasing in numbers since their arrival--a fact which does not admit of a doubt: I myself have seen many villages and encampments without an inhabitant. But what can be the cause of it? Here there has been neither rum nor small-pox--the scourges of this doomed race in other parts. Yet, on the banks of the Columbia, which, when first visited by the whites a few years ago, literally swarmed with Indians, a disease broke out which nearly exterminated them. Has the fiat, then, gone forth, that the aboriginal inhabitants of America shall make way for another race of men? To my mind, at least, the question presents not the shadow of a doubt. The existence of the present race of Indians at some future, and by no means distant period, will only be known through the historical records of their successors. The Takellies do not use canoes on their hunting excursions, so that they are necessitated to carry all their conveniences on their backs; and it is astonishing to see what heavy loads they can carry, especially the women, on whom the transport duty generally devolves. Among this tribe, however, the women are held in much higher consideration than among other Indians: they assist at the councils, and some ladies of distinction are even admitted to the feasts. This consideration they doubtless owe to the efficient aid they afford in procuring the means of subsistence. The one sex is as actively employed during the fishing season as the other. The men construct the weirs, repair them when necessary, and capture the fish; the women split them up--a most laborious operation when salmon is plentiful--suspend them on the scaffolds, attend to the drying, &c. They also collect berries, and dig up the edible roots that are found in the country, and which are of great service in years of scarcity. Thus the labour of the women contributes as much to the support of the community as that of the men. The men are passionately addicted to gambling, staking everything they possess, and continuing at it night and day, until compelled to desist by sheer hunger, or by the loss of all. I could not understand their game; we, in fact, used our best endeavours to abolish the pernicious custom, and, to avoid countenancing it, were as seldom present as possible. It is played with a few small sticks, neatly carved, with a certain number of marks upon them, tied up in a small bundle of hay, which the player draws out successively, throws up and catches between his hands; and when all are drawn, they are taken up one by one, and dashed against a piece of parchment, and rolled up again in the hay. The whole party appear merry enough at the commencement of the game, all joining chorus in a song, and straining their lungs to such a degree, that hoarseness soon ensues, when they continue their amusement in silence. When the game is ended, some of them present a sad spectacle; coming forth, their hair dishevelled, their eyes bloodshot, and faces ghastly pale, with probably nothing to cover their nakedness, save perhaps an old siffleux robe, which the winner may be generous enough to bestow. They never shoot or hang themselves, let their luck be ever so bad, but sometimes shoot the winning party. Dogs, if not held sacred, are at least as much esteemed by them as their own kindred. I have known an instance of a quadruped of the cynic sect being appointed successor to a biped chief, and discharging the duties of his office with the utmost gravity and decorum; appearing at the feast given in honour of his deceased predecessor, and furnishing his quota--(this of course by proxy)--of the provisions. This dog-chief was treated by his owner with as much regard as if he had been his child! All, indeed, treat their dogs with the greatest respect, calling them by the most endearing epithets:--"Embark, my son;" "Be quiet, my child;" "Don't bark at the white men, they will not harm you." The lewdness of the Carrier women cannot possibly be carried to a greater excess. They are addicted to the most abominable practices; abandoning themselves in early youth to the free indulgence of their passions, they soon become debilitated and infirm; and there can be no doubt that to this monstrous depravity the depopulation of the country may, in part, be ascribed. They never marry until satiated with indulgence; and if the woman then should be dissatisfied with the restraint of the conjugal yoke, the union, by mutual consent, is dissolved for a time; both then betake themselves to their former courses. The woman, nevertheless, dare not, according to law, take another husband during this temporary separation. Whoever infringes this law, forfeits his life to the aggrieved party, if he choose, or dare to take it. Polygamy is allowed; but only one of the women is considered as the wife. The most perfect harmony seems to subsist among them. When the favourite happens to be supplanted by a rival, she resigns her place without a murmur, well pleased if she can only enjoy the countenance of her lord in a subordinate situation. Yet a rupture does sometimes occur, when the repudiated party not unfrequently destroys herself. Suicides were frequent among the females in the neighbourhood of Fort Alexandria. The Takellies are a sedentary people, remaining shut up in their huts during the severer part of the winter. You may then approach a camp without perceiving any sign of its vicinity, until you come upon their well, or one of their salmon _caches_. They are very social, congregating at each other's huts, and passing their time talking or sleeping. When awake, their tongues are ever in motion,--all bawling out at the same time; and it has often surprised me how they could possibly make themselves understood in the midst of such an uproar. All Indians with whom I have come in contact, Christian as well as Pagan, are addicted to falsehood; but the Takellies excel; they are perfect adepts in the art, telling their stories with such an appearance of truth, that even those who know them well are often deceived. They were the greatest thieves in the world when the whites first settled among them. The utmost vigilance failed to detect them. Some of our people have been known to have their belts taken off them, without perceiving it till too late; and many a poor fellow, after passing a night in one of their encampments, has been obliged to pass the remainder of the winter with but half a blanket--the other half having been cut off while he slept. Theft, however, is not quite so prevalent as formerly; and, strange to say, no Indians can be more honest in paying their debts. It would indeed be desirable that this credit system, long since introduced, were abolished; but if this were done, the natives would carry the greater part of their hunts to another quarter. Some of the natives of the coast, having become regular traders of late years, penetrate a considerable distance into the interior; in this manner the goods obtained from the Company's posts along the coast, or from foreign trading ships, pass from hand to hand in barter, until they eventually reach the borders of New Caledonia, where the trade still affords a very handsome profit to the native speculator. These Indians are not given to hospitality in the proper sense of the word. A stranger arriving among them is provided with food for a day only; should he remain longer, he pays for it; for that day's entertainment, however, the best fare is liberally furnished. Strangers invited to their feasts are also provided for while they remain. There is much more variety and melody in the airs they sing, than I have heard in any other part of the Indian country. They have professed composers, who turn their talent to good account on the occasion of a feast, when new airs are in great request, and are purchased at a high rate. They dance in circles, men and women promiscuously, holding each other by the hand; and keeping both feet together, hop a little to a side all at once, giving at the same time a singular jerk to their persons behind. The movement seems to be difficult of execution, as it causes them to perspire profusely; they, however, keep excellent time, and the blending of the voices of the men and women in symphony has an agreeable effect. The Takelly, or Carrier language is a dialect of the Chippewayan; and it is rather a singular fact, that the two intervening dialects of the Beaver Indians and Tsekanies, kindred nations, should differ more from the Chippewayan than the Carrier; the two latter nations being perfectly intelligible to each other, while the former are but very imperfectly understood by their immediate neighbours, the Chippewayans. An erroneous opinion seems to have gone abroad regarding the variety of languages spoken by the Indians. There are, in reality, only four radically distinct languages from the shores of Labrador to the Pacific: Sauteux, Chippewayan, Atna and Chinook. The Cree language is evidently a dialect of the Sauteux, similar in construction, and differing only in the modification of a few words. The Nascopies, or mountaineers of Labrador, speak a mixture of Cree and Sauteux, the former predominating. Along the communication from Montreal to the foot of the Rocky Mountains, following the Peace River route, we first meet with the Sauteux tribes, who extend from the Lake of the Two Mountains to Lake Winnipeg; then the Crees to Isle à la Crosse; after them, Crees and Chippewayans to Athabasca; and along the banks of Peace River, the Beaver Indians occupy the lower, and the Tsekanies the upper part. The Chippewayan is evidently the root of the Beaver, Tsekany and Carrier dialects; it is also spoken by a numerous tribe in the McKenzie's River district--the Hare Indians. On the west side of the Rocky Mountains the Carrier language is succeeded by the Atna, which extends along the Columbia as far down, as the Chinooks, who inhabit the coast. The Atna language, in its variety of dialects, seems to have as wide a scope as either the Sauteux or Chippewayan. New Caledonia is one of the richest districts in the Company's vast domain; its returns average about 8,000 beavers, with a fair proportion of other valuable furs. When the district was first settled, the goods required for trade were brought in by the winterers from Lac la Pluie, which was their dépôt. The people left the district as early in spring as the navigation permitted, and returned so late that they were frequently overtaken by winter ere they reached their destination. Cold, hunger, and fatigue, were the unavoidable consequences; but the enterprising spirit of the men of those days--the intrepid, indefatigable adventurers of the North-West Company--overcame every difficulty. It was that spirit that opened a communication across the broad continent of America; that penetrated to the frostbound regions of the Arctic circle; and that established a trade with the natives in this remote land, when the merchandise required for it was in one season transported from Montreal to within a short distance of the Pacific. Such enterprise has never been exceeded, seldom or never equalled. The outfit is now sent out from England by Cape Horn, to Fort Vancouver, thence it is conveyed in boats to Okanagan, then transported on horses' backs to Alexandria, the lower post of the district, whence it is conveyed in boats to Fort St. James. There are generally two commissioned gentlemen in this district,--a chief-factor and chief-trader, with six or seven clerks in charge of posts; and about forty men, principally Iroquois and half-breeds. The fare at the different posts depends entirely on local circumstances. In some places it is tolerable, in others, scarcely fit for dogs. For the year's consumption, the Company allow a clerk two bags of flour, sixty pounds of sugar, twelve pounds of tea, and a small quantity of wine and brandy. Butter is now produced in abundance in the district. Where there are no gardens, the men have only dried salmon,--as poor fare as civilized man subsists on in any part of the world. It has at first the same effect on most people as if they fed on Glauber salts. Nevertheless, the men generally continue in this wretched condition for many years, apparently contented and happy; the indulgence they find among the females being, I grieve to say, the principal inducement. END OF VOL. I. R. CLAY, PRINTER, BREAD STREET HILL. 
15401	----	THE GREAT LONE LAND: A NARRATIVE OF TRAVEL AND ADVENTURE IN THE NORT-WEST OF AMERICA. BY COLONEL W. F. BUTLER, C.B., F.R.G.S. AUTHOR OF "HISTORICAL EVENTS CONNECTED WITH THE SIXTY-NINTH REGIMENT," ETC. "A full fed river winding slow, By herds-upon an endless plain." . . . . . . . . . . . . . "And some one pacing there alone Who paced for ever in a glimmering land, Lit with a low, large moon." TENNYSON. WITH ILLUSTRATIONS AND ROUTE MAP. [Not included in this ebook.] LONDON SAMPSON LOW, MARSTON & COMPANY Limited St. Dunstan's House FETTER LANE, FLEET STREET, First Published 1872 (All rights reserved) PRINTED BY GILBERT AND RIFINGTON, LD., ST. JOHN'S HOUSE, CLERKEMWELL ROAD, E.C. PREFACE. At York Factory on Hudson Bay there lived, not very long ago, a man who had stored away in his mind one fixed resolution it was to write a book. "When I put down," he used to say, "all that I have seen, and all that I havn't seen, I will be able to write a good book." It is probable that had this man carried his intention into effect the negative portion of his vision would have been more successfal than the positive. People are generally more ready to believe what a man hasn't seen'than what he has seen. So, at least, thought Karkakonias the Chippeway Chief at Pembina. Karkakonias was taken to Washington during the great Southern War, in order that his native mind might be astonished by the grandeur of the United States, and by the strength and power of the army of the Potomac. Upon his return to his tribe he remained silent and impassive; his days were spent in smoking, his evenings in quiet contemplation; he spoke not of his adventures in the land of the great white medicine-man. But at length the tribe grew discontented; they had expected to hear the recital of the wonders seen by their chief, and lo! he had come-back to them as silent as though his wanderings had ended on the Coteau of the Missouri, or by the borders of the Kitchi-Gami. Their discontent found vent in words. "Our father, Karkakonias, has come back to us," they said; "why does he not tell his children of the medicine of the white man? Is our father dumb that he does not speak to us of these things?" Then the old chief took his calumet from his lips, and replied, "'If Karkakonias told his children of the medicines of the white man--of his war-canoes moving by fire, and making thunder as they move, of his warriors more numerous than the buffalo in the days of our fathers, of all the wonderful things he has looked upon-his children would point and say, Behold! Karkakonias has become in his old age a maker of lies! No, my children, Karkakonias has seen many wonderful things, and his tongue is still able to speak; but, until your eyes have travelled as far as has his tongue, he will sit silent and smoke the calumet, thinking only of what he has looked upon." Perhaps I too should have followed the example of the old Chippeway chief, not because of any wonders I have looked upon; but rather because of that well-known prejudice against travellers tales, and of that terribly terse adjuration-".O that mine enemy might write a book!" Be that as it may, the book has been written; and it only remains to say a few words about its title and its theories. The "Great Lone Land" is no sensational name. The North-west fulfils, at the present time, every essential of that title. There is no other portion of the globe in which travel is possible where loneliness can be said to live so thoroughly. One may wander 500 miles in a direct line without seeing a human being, or an animal larger than a wolf. And if vastness of plain, and magnitude of lake, mountain, and river can mark a land as great, then no region possesses higher claims to that distinction. A word upon more personal matters. Some two months since I sent to the firm from whose hands this work has emanated a portion of the unfinished manuscript. I received in reply a communication to the effect that their Reader thought highly of my descriptions of real occurrences, but less of my theories. As it is possible that the general reader may fully endorse at least the latter portion of this opinion, I have only one observation to make. Almost every page of this book has been written amid the ever-present pressure of those feelings which spring from a sense of unrequited labour, of toil and service theoretically and officially recognized, but practically and professionally denied. However, a personal preface is not my object, nor should these things find allusion here, save to account in some manner, if account be necessary, for peculiarities of language or opinion which may hereafter make themselves apparent to the reader. Let it be. In the solitudes of the Great Lone Land, whither I am once more about to turn my steps, the trifles that spring from such disappointments will cease to trouble. April 14th 1872. CONTENTS. CHAPTER ONE. Peace--Rumours of War--Retrenchment--A Cloud in the far West--A Distant Settlement-Personal--The Purchase System--A Cable-gram--Away to the West CHAPTER TWO. The "Samaria"--Across the Atlantic-Shipmates--The Despot of the Deck--"Keep her Nor'-West"--Democrat versus Republican--A First Glimpse--Boston CHAPTER THREE. Bunker--New York--Niagara-Toronto-Spring--time in Quebec--A Summons--A Start--In good Company--Stripping a Peg--An Expedition--Poor Canada--An Old Glimpse at a New Land--Rival Routes--Change of Masters--The Red River Revolt--The Halfbreeds--Early Settlers-Bungling--"Eaters of Pemmican-"--M. Louis Riel--The Murder of Scott CHAPTER FOUR. Chicago--"Who is S. B. D.?"--Milwaukie--The Great Fusion-Wisconsin--The Sleeping-car--The Train Boy-Minnesota--St. Paul--I start for Lake Superior--The Future City--"Bust up" and "Gone on"--The End of the Track CHAPTER FIVE. Lake Superior--The Dalles of the St. Louis--The North Pacific Railroad--Fond-du-Lac-Duluth--Superior City--The Great Lake--A Plan to dry up Niagara--Stage Driving--Tom's Shanty again--St. Paul and its Neighbourhood. CHAPTER SIX. Our Cousins--Doing America--Two Lessons--St. Cloud-Sauk Rapids--"Steam Pudding or Pumpkin Pie?"--Trotting him out--Away for the Red River. CHAPTER SEVEN. North Minnesota--A beautiful Land--Rival Savages-Abercrombie--News from the North-Plans--A Lonely Shanty--The Red River-Prairies-Sunset-Mosquitoes--Going North--A Mosquito Night--A Thunder-storm--A Prussian-Dakota--I ride for it--The Steamer "International "--Pembina. CHAPTER EIGHT. Retrospective--The North-west Passage--The Bay of Hudson--Rival Claims--The Old French Fur Trade--The North-west Company--How the Half-breeds came--The Highlanders defeated-Progress--Old Feuds. CHAPTER NINE. Running the Gauntlet--Across the Line--Mischief ahead-Preparations--A Night March--The Steamer captured--The Pursuit-Daylight--The Lower Fort--The Red Indian at last--The Chief's Speech--A Big Feed--Making ready for the Winnipeg--A Delay--I visit Fort Garry--Mr. President Riel--The Final Start-Lake Winnipeg--The First Night out--My Crew. CHAPTER TEN. The Winnipeg River--The Ojibbeway's House--Rushing a Rapid--A Camp--No Tidings of the Coming Man--Hope in Danger--Rat Portage--A far-fetched Islington--"Like Pemmican". CHAPTER ELEVEN. The Expedition--The Lake of the Woods--A Night Alarm--A close Shave--Rainy River--A Night Paddle--Fort Francis--A Meeting--The Officer commanding the Expedition--The Rank and File--The 60th Rifles--A Windigo--Ojibbeway Bravery--Canadian Volunteers. CHAPTER TWELVE. To Fort Garry--Down the Winnipeg--Her Majesty's Royal Mail--Grilling a Mail-bag--Running a Rapid--Up the Red River-A dreary Bivouac--The President bolts--The Rebel Chiefs--Departure of the Regular Troops. CHAPTER THIRTEEN. Westward--News from the Outside World--I retrace my Steps--An Offer--The West--The Kissaskatchewan--The Inland Ocean--Preparations-Departure--A Terrible Plague--A lonely Grave-Digressive--The Assineboine River--Rossette. CHAPTER FOURTEEN. The Hudson Bay Company--Furs and Free Trade--Fort Ellice--Quick Travelling-Horses--Little Blackie--Touchwood Hills--A Snow-storm--The South Saskatchewan--Attempt to cross the River--Death of poor Blackie--Carlton. CHAPTER FIFTEEN. Saskatchewan--Start from Carlton--Wild Mares--Lose our Way--A long Ride--Battle River--Mistawassis the Cree--A Dance. CHAPTER SIXTEEN. The Red Man--Leave Battle River--The Red Deer Hills--A long Ride--Fort Pitt--The Plague--Hauling by the Tail--A pleasant Companion--An easy Method of Divorce--Reach Edmonton. CHAPTER SEVENTEEN. Edmonton--The Ruffian Tahakooch--French Missionaries--Westward still--A beautiful Land--The Blackfeet-Horses--A "Bellox" Soldier--A Blackfoot Speech--The Indian Land--First Sight of the Rocky Mountains--The Mountain House--The Mountain Assineboines--An Indian Trade--M. la Combe--Fire-water-A Night Assault. CHAPTER EIGHTEEN. Eastward--A beautiful Light. CHAPTER NINETEEN. I start from Edmonton with Dogs--Dog-travelling--The Cabri Sack--A cold Day-Victoria--"Sent to Rome"--Battle Fort Pitt--The blind Cree--A Feast or a Famine--Death of Pe-na-koam the Blackfoot. CHAPTER TWENTY. The Buffalo--His Limits and favourite Grounds--Modes of Hunting--A Fight--His inevitable End--I become a Medicine-man--Great Cold-Carlton--Family Responsibilities. CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE. The Great Sub-Arctic Forest--The "Forks" of the Saskatchewan--An Iroquois--Fort-à-la-Corne--News from the outside World--All haste for Home--The solitary Wigwam--Joe Miller's Death. CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO. Cumberland---We bury poor Joe--A good Train of Dogs--The great Marsh-Mutiny--Chicag the Sturgeon-fisher--A Night with a Medicine-man--Lakes Winnipegoosis and Manitoba--Muskeymote eats his Boots--We reach the Settlement--From the Saskatchewan to the Seine. APPENDIX LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. Map of the Great Lone Land. Working up the Winnipeg. I waved to the leading Canoe. Across the Plains in November. The Rocky Mountains at the Sources of the Saskatchewan. Leaving a cosy Camp at dawn. The "Forks" of the Saskatchewan. THE GREAT LONE LAND. CHAPTER ONE. Peace--Rumours of War-Retrenchment--A Cloud in the far West--A Distant Settlement-Personal--The Purchase System--A Cable-gram--Away to the West IT was a period of universal peace over the wide world. There was not a shadow of war in the North, the South, the East, or the West. There was not even a Bashote in South Africa, a Beloochee in Scinde, a Bhoottea, a Burmese, or any other of the many "eses" or "eas" forming the great colonial empire of Britain who seemed capable of kicking up the semblance of a row. Newspapers had never been so dull; illustrated journals had to content themselves with pictorial representations of prize pigs, foundation stones, and provincial civic magnates. Some of the great powers were bent upon disarming; several influential persons of both sexes had decided, at a meeting held for the suppression of vice, to abolish standing armies. But, to be more precise as to the date of this epoch, it will be necessary to state that the time was the close of the year 1869, just twenty-two months ago. Looking back at this most-piping period of peace from the stand-point of today, it is not at all improbable that even at that tranquil moment a great power, now, very much greater, had a firm hold of certain wires carefully concealed; the dexterous pulling of which would cause 100,000,000 of men to rush at each other's throats: nor is this supposition rendered the more unlikely because of the utterance of the most religious sentiments on the part of the great power in question, and because of the well-known Christianity and orthodoxy of its ruler. But this was not the only power that possessed a deeper insight into the future than did its neighbours. It is hardly to be gainsaid that there was, about that period, another great power popularly supposed to dwell amidst darkness-a power which is said also to possess the faculty of making Scriptural quotations to his own advantage. It is not at all unlikely that amidst this scene of universal quietude he too was watching certain little snow-wrapt hamlets, scenes of straw-yard and deep thatched byre in which cattle munched their winter provender-watching them with the perspective scent of death and destruction in his nostrils; gloating over them with the knowledge of what was to be their fate before another snow time had come round. It could not be supposed that amidst such an era of tranquillity the army of England should have been allowed to remain in a very formidable position. When other powers were talking of disarming, was it not necessary that Great Britain should actually disarm? of course there was a slight difference existing between the respective cases, inasmuch as Great Britain had never armed; but that distinction was not taken into account, or was not deemed of sufficient importance to be noticed, except by a few of the opposition journals; and is not every one aware that when a country is governed on the principle of parties, the party which iscalled the opposition must be in the wrong? So it was decreed about this time that the fighting force of the British nation should be reduced. It was useless to speak of the chances of war, said the British tax-payer, speak-ing through the mouths of innumerable members of the British Legislature. Had not the late Prince Consort and the late Mr. Cobden come to the same conclusion from the widely different points of great exhibitions and free trade, that war could never be? And if; in the face of great exhibitions and universal free trade-even if war did become possible, had we not ambassadors, and legations, and consulates all over the world; had we not military attaches at every great court of Europe; and would we not know all about it long before it commenced? No, no, said the tax-payer, speaking through the same medium as before, reduce the army, put the ships of war out of commission, take your largest and most powerful transport steamships, fill them full with your best and most experienced skilled military and naval artisans and labourers, send them across the Atlantic to forge guns, anchors, and material of war in the navy-yards of Norfolk and the arsenals of Springfield and Rock Island; and let us hear no more of war or its alarms. It is true, there were some persons who thought otherwise upon this subject, but many of them were men whose views had become warped and deranged in such out-of-the-way places as Southern Russia, Eastern China, Central Hindoostan, Southern Africa, and Northern America military men, who, in fact, could not be expected to understand questions of grave political economy, astute matters of place.-and party, upon which the very existence of the parliamentary system depended; and who, from the ignorance of these nice distinctions of liberal-conservative and conservative-liberal, had imagined that the strength and power of the empire was not of secondary importance to the strength and power of a party. But the year 1869 did not pass altogether into the bygone without giving a faint echo of disturbance in one far-away region of the earth. It is true, that not the smallest breathing of that strife which was to make: the succeeding year crimson through the centuries had yet sounded on the continent of Europe. No; all was as quiet there as befits the mighty hush which precedes colossal conflicts. But far away in the very farthest West, so far that not one man in fifty could tell its whereabouts, up somewhere between the Rocky Mountains, Hudson Bay, and Lake Superior, along a river called the Red River of the North, a people, of whom nobody could tell who or what they were, had risen in insurrection. Well-informed persons said these insurgents were only Indians; others, who had relations in America, averreed that they were Scotchmen, and one journal, well-known for its clearness upon all subjects connected with the American Continent, asserted that they were Frenchmen. Amongst so much conflicting testimony, it was only natural that the average Englishman should possess no very decided opinions upon the matter; in fact, it came to pass that the average Englishman, having heard that somebody was rebelling against him somewhere or other, looked to his atlas and his journal for information on the subject, and having failed in obtaining any from either source, naturally concluded that the whole thing was something which no fellow could be expected to understand. As, however, they who follow the writer of these pages through such vicissitudes as he may encounter will have to live awhile amongst these people of the Red River of the North, it will be necessary to examine this little cloud of insurrection which the last days of 1869 pushed above the political horizon. Bookmark About the time when Napoleon was carrying half a million of men through the snows of Russia, a Scotch nobleman of somewhat eccentric habits conceived the idea of planting a colony of his countrymen in the very heart of the vast continent of North America. It was by no means an original idea that entered into the brain of Lord Selkirk; other British lords had tried in earlier centuries the same experiment; and they, in turn, were only the imitators of those great Spanish nobles who, in the sixteenth century, had planted on the coast of the Carolinas and along the Gulf of Mexico the first germs of colonization in the New World. But in one respect Lord Selkirk's experiment was wholly different from those that had preceded it. The earlier adventurers had sought the coast-line of the Atlantic upon which to fix their infant colonies. He boldly penetrated into the very centre of the continent and reached a fertile spot which to this day is most difficult of access. But at that time what an oasis in the vast wilderness of America was this Red River of the North! For 1400 miles between it and the Atlantic lay the solitudes that now teem with the cities of Minnesota, Wisconsin, Illinois, Indiana, and Michigan. Indeed, so distant appeared the nearest outpost of civilization towards the Atlantic that all means of communication in that direction was utterly unthought of. The settlers had entered into the new land by the ice-locked bay of Hudson, and all communication with the outside world should be maintained through the same outlet. No easy task! 300 miles of lake and 400 miles of river, wildly foaming over rocky ledges in its descent of 700 feet, lay between them and the ocean, and then only to reach the stormy waters of the great Bay of Hudson, whose ice-bound outlet to the Atlantic is fast locked save during two short months of latest summer. No wonder that the infant colony had hard times in store for it-hard times, if left to fight its way against winter rigour and summer: inundation, but doubly hard when the hand of a powerful enemy was raised to crush it in the first year of its existence. Of this more before we part. Enough for us now to know: that the little colony, in spite of opposition, increased and multiplied; people lived in it, were married in it, and died in it, undisturbed by the busy rush of the outside world, until, in the last months of 1869, just fifty-seven years after its formation, it rose in insurrection. And now, my reader, gentle or cruel, whichsoever you may be, the positions we have hitherto occupied in these few preliminary pages must undergo some slight variation. You, if you be gentle, will I trust remain so until the end; if you be cruel, you will perhaps relent; but for me, it will be necessary to come forth in the full glory of the individual "I," and to retain it until we part. It was about the end of the year 1869 that I became conscious of having experienced a decided check in life. One day I received from a distinguished military functionary an intimation to the effect that a company in Her Majesty's service would be at my disposal, provided I could produce the sum of 1100 pounds. Some dozen years previous to the date of this letter I entered the British army, and by the slow process of existence had reached-a position among the subalterns of the regiment technically known as first for purchase; but now, when the moment arrived to turn that position to account, I found that neither the 1100 pounds of regulation amount nor the 400 pounds of over-regulation items (terms very familiar now, but soon, I trust, to be for ever obsolete) were forthcoming, and so it came about that younger hands began to pass me in the race of life. What was to be done? What course lay open? Serve on; let the dull routine of barrack-life grow duller; go from Canada to the Cape, from the Cape to the Mauritius, from Mauritius to Madras, from Madras goodness knows where, and trust to delirium tremens, yellow fever, or: cholera morbus for promotion and advancement; or, on the other hand, cut the service, become in the lapse of time governor of a penitentiary, secretary to a London club, or adjutant of militia. And yet-here came the rub-when every fibre of one's existence beat in unison with the true spirit of military adventure, when the old feeling which in boyhood had made the study of history a delightful pastime, in late years had grown into a fixed unalterable longing for active service, when the whole current of thought ran in the direction of adventure-no matter in what climate, or under what circumstances-it was hard beyond the measure of words to sever in an instant the link that bound one to a life where such aspirations were still possible of fulfilment; to separate one's destiny for ever from that noble profession of arms; to become an outsider, to admit that the twelve best years of life had been a useless dream, and to bury oneself far away in some Western wilderness out of the reach or sight of red coat or sound of bugle-sights and sounds which old associations would have made unbearable. Surely it could not be done; and so, looking abroad into the future, it was difficult to trace a path Which could turn the flank of this formidable barrier flung thus suddenly into the highway of life. Thus it was that one, at least, in Great Britain watched with anxious gaze this small speck of revolt rising so far away in the vast wilderness of the North-West; and when, about the beginning of the month of April, 1870, news came of the projected despatch of an armed force from Canada against the malcontents of Red River, there was one who beheld in the approaching expedition the chance of a solution to the difficulties which had beset him in his career. That one was myself. There was little time to be lost, for already; the cable said, the arrangements were in a forward state; the staff of the little force had been organized, the rough outline of the expedition had been sketched, and with the opening of navigation on the northern lakes the first move would be commenced. Going one morning to the nearest telegraph station, I sent the following message under the Atlantic to America:--"To: Winnipeg Expedition. Please remember me." When words cost at the rate of four shillings each, conversation and correspondence become of necessity limited. In the present instance I was only allowed the use of ten words to convey address, signature, and substance, and the five words of my message were framed both with a view to economy and politeness, as well as in a manner which by calling for no direct answer still left undecided the great question of success. Having despatched my message under the ocean, I determined to seek the Horse Guards in a final effort to procure unattached promotion in the army. It is almost unnecessary to remark that this attempt failed; and as I issued from the audience in which I had been informed of the utter hopelessness of my request, I had at least the satisfaction of having reduced my chances of fortune to the narrow limits of a single throw. Pausing at the gate of the Horse Guards I reviewed in a moment the whole situation; whatever was to be the result there was no time for delay and so, hailing a hansom, I told the cabby to drive to the office of the Cunard Steamship Company, Old Broad Street, City. "What steamer sails on Wednesday for America?" "The 'Samaria for Boston, the 'Marathon for New York." "The 'Samaria broke her shaft, didn't she, last voyage, and was a missing ship for a month?" I asked. "Yes, sir," answered the clerk. "Then book me a passage in her," I replied; "she's not likely to play that prank twice in two voyages." CHAPTER TWO. The "Samaria "--Across the Atlantic-Shipmates--The Despot of the Deck--"Keep her Nor'-West"--Democrat versus Republican--A First Glimpse--Boston POLITICAL economists and newspaper editors for years have dwelt upon the unfortunate fact that Ireland is not a manufacturing nation, and does not export largely the products of her soil. But persons who have lived in the island, or who have visited the ports of its northern or southern shores, or crossed the Atlantic by any of the ocean steamers which sail daily from the United Kingdom, must have arrived at a conclusion totally at variance with these writers; for assuredly there is no nation under the sun which manufactures the material called man so readily as does that grass-covered island. Ireland is not a manufacturing nation, says the political economist. Indeed, my good sir, you are wholly mistaken. She is not only a manufacturing nation, but she manufactures nations. You do not see her broad-cloth, or her soft fabrics, or her steam-engines, but you see the broad shoulder of her sons and the soft cheeks of her daughters in vast states whose names you are utterly ignorant of; and as for the exportation of her products to foreign lands, just come with me on board this ocean steamship "Samaria", and look at them. The good ship has run down the channel during the night and now lies at anchor in Queenstown harbour, waiting for mails and passengers. The latter came, quickly and thickly enough. No poor, ill-fed, miserably dressed crowd, but fresh, and fair, and strong, and well clad, the bone and muscle and rustic beauty of the land; the little steam-tender that plies from the shore to the ship is crowded at every trip, and you can scan them as they come on board in batches of seventy or eighty. Some eyes among the girls are red with crying, but tears dry quickly on young cheeks, and they will be laughing before an hour is over. "Let them go," says the economist; "we have too many mouths to feed in these little islands of ours; their going will give us more room, more cattle, more chance to keep our acres for the few'; let them go." My friend, that is just half the picture, and no more; we may get a peep at the other half before you and I part. It was about five o'clock in the afternoon of the 4th of May when the "Samaria" steamed slowly between the capes of Camden and Carlisle, and rounding out into Atlantic turned her head towards the western horizon. The ocean lay unruffled along the rocky headlands of Ireland's southmost shore. A long line of smoke hanging suspended between sky and sea marked the unseen course of another steamship farther away to the south. A hill-top, blue and lonely, rose above the rugged coast-line, the far-off summit of some inland mountain; and as evening came down over the still tranquil ocean and the vessel clove her outward way through phosphorescent water, the lights along the iron coast grew fainter in distance till there lay around only the unbroken circle of the sea. ON BOARD.-A trip across the Atlantic is now-a-days a very ordinary business; in fact, it is no longer a voyage-it is a run, you may almost count its duration to within four hours; and as for fine weather, blue skies, and calm seas, if they come, you may be thankful for them, but don't expect them, and you won't add a sense of disappointment to one of discomfort. Some experience of the Atlantic enables me to affirm that north or south of 35 degrees north and south latitude there exists no such thing as pleasant sailing. But the usual run of weather, time, and tide outside the ship is not more alike in its characteristics than the usual run of passenger one meets inside. There is the man who has never been sea-sick in his life, and there is the man who has never felt well upon board ship, but who, nevertheless, both manage to consume about fifty meals of solid food in ten days. There is the nautical landsman who tells you that he has been eighteen times across the Atlantic and four times round the Cape of Good Hope, and who is generally such a bore upon marine questions that it is a subject of infinite regret that he should not be performing a fifth voyage round that distant and interesting promontory. Early in the voyage, owing to his superior sailing qualities, he has been able to cultivate a close intimacy with the captain of the ship; but this intimacy has been on the decline for some days, and, as he has committed the unpardonable error of differing in opinion with the captain upon a subject connected with the general direction and termination of the Gulf Stream, he begins to fall quickly in the estimation of that potentate. Then there is the relict of the late Major Fusby, of the Fusiliers, going to or returning from England. Mrs. Fusby has a predilection for port negus and the first Burmese war, in which campaign her late husband received a wound of such a vital description (he died just twenty-two years later), that it has enabled her to provide, at the expense of a grateful nation, for three youthful Fusbies, who now serve their country in various parts of the world. She does not suffer from sea-sickness, but occasionally undergoes periods of nervous depression which require the administration of the stimulant already referred to. It is a singular fact that the present voyage is strangely illustrative of remarkable events in the life of the late Fusby; there has not been a sail or a porpoise in sight that has not called up some reminiscence of the early career of the major; indeed, even the somewhat unusual appearance of an iceberg, has been turned to account as suggestive of the intense suffering undergone by the major during the period of his wound, owing to the scarcity of the article ice in tropical countries. Then on deck we have the inevitable old sailor who is perpetually engaged in scraping the vestiges of paint from your favourite seat, and who, having arrived at the completion of his monotonous task after four days incessant labour, is found on the morning of the fifth engaged in smearing the paint-denuded place of rest with a vilely glutinous compound peculiar to ship-board. He never looks directly at you as you approach, with book and jug, the desired spot, but you can tell by the leer in his eye and the roll of the quid in his immense mouth that the old villain knows all about the discomfort he is causing you, and you fancy you can detect a chuckle, you turn away in a vain quest for a quiet cosy spot. Then there is the captain himself, that most mighty despot. What king ever wielded such power, what czar or kaiser had ever such obedience yielded to their decrees? This man, who on shore is nothing, is here on his deck a very pope; he is infallible. Canute could not stay the tide, but our sea-king regulates the sun. Charles the Fifth could not make half a dozen clocks go in unison, but Captain Smith can make it twelve o'clock any time he pleases; nay, more, when the sun has made it twelve o'clock no tongue of bell or sound of clock can proclaim time's decree until it has been ratified by the fiat of the captain; and even in his misfortunes what gran deur, what absence of excuse or crimination of others in the hour of his disaster! Who has not heard of that captain who sailed away from Liverpool one day bound for America? He had been hard worked on shore, and it was said that when he sought the seclusion of his own cabin he was not unmindful of that comfort which we are told the first navigator of the ocean did not disdain to use. For a little time things went well. The Isle of Man was passed; but unfortunately, on the second day out, the good ship struck the shore of the north-east coast of Ireland and became a total wreck. As the weather was extremely fine, and there appeared to be no reason for the disaster, the subject became matter for investigation by the authorities connected with the Board of Trade. During the inquiry it was deposed that the Calf of Man had been passed at such an hour on such a day, and the circumstance duly reported to the captain, who, it was said, was below. It was also stated that having received the report of the passage of the Calf of Man the captain had ordered the ship to be kept in a north-west course until further orders. About six hours later the vessel went ashore on the coast of Ireland. Such was the evidence of the first officer. The captain was shortly after called and examined. "It appears, sir," said the president of the court, "that the passing of the Calf of Man was duly reported to you by the first officer. May I ask, sir, what course you ordered to be steered upon receipt of that information?" "North-west, sir," answered the captain; "I said, 'Keep her north-west."' "North-west," repeated the president; "a very excellent general course for making the coast of America, but not until you had cleared the channel and were well into the Atlantic. Why, sir, the whole of Ireland lay between you and America on that course." "Can't help that, sir; can't help that, sir," replied the sea-king in a tone of half-contemptuous pity, that the whole of Ireland should have been so very unreasonable as to intrude itself in such a position. And yet, with all the despotism of the deck, what kindly spirits are these old sea-captains with the freckled hard knuckled hands and the grim storm-seamed faces! What honest genuine hearts are lying buttoned beneath those rough pea-jackets! If all despots had been of that kind perhaps we shouldn't have known quite as much about Parliamentary Institutions as we do. And now, while we have been talking thus, the "Samaria" has been getting far out into mid Atlantic, and yet we know not one among our fellow-passengers, although they do not number much above a dozen: a merchant from Maryland, a sea-captain-from Maine, a young doctor from Pennsylvania, a Massachusetts man, a Rhode Islander, a German geologist going to inspect seams in Colorado, a priest's sister from Ireland going to look after some little property left her by her brother, a poor fellow who was always ill, who never appeared at table, and who alluded to the demon sea-sickness that preyed upon him as "it". "It comes on very bad at night. It prevents me touching food. It never leaves me," he would say; and in truth this terrible "it" never did leave him until the harbour of Boston was reached, and even then, I fancy, dwelt in his thoughts during many a day on shore. The sea-captain from Maine was a violent democrat, the Massachusetts man a rabid republican; and many a fierce battle waged between them on the vexed questions of state rights, negro suffrage, and free trade in liquor. To many Englishmen the terms republican and democrat may seem synonymous; but not between radical and conservative, between outmost Whig and inmost Tory exist more opposite extremes than between these great rival political parties of the United States. As a drop of sea-water possesses the properties of the entire water of the ocean, so these units of American political controversy were microscopic representatives of their respective parties. It was curious to remark what a prominent part their religious convictions played in the war of words. The republican was a member of the Baptist congregation; the democrat held opinions not very easy of description, something of a universalist and semi-unitarian tendency; these opinions became frequently intermixed with their political jargon, forming that curious combination of ideas which to unaccustomed ears sounds slightly blasphemous. I recollect a very earnest American once saying that he considered all religious, political, social, and historical teaching should be reduced to three subjects: the Sermon on the Mount, the Declaration of American Independence, and the Chicago Republican Platform of 1860. On the present occasion the Massachusetts man was a person whose nerves were as weak as his political convictions were strong, and the democrat being equally gifted with strong opinions, strong nerves, and a tendency towards strong waters, was enabled, particularly after dinner, to obtain an easy victory over his less powerfully gifted antagonist. In fact it was to the weakness of the latter's nervous system that we were indebted for the pleasure of his society on board. Eight weeks before he had been ordered by his medical adviser to leave his wife and office in the little village of Hyde Park to seek change and relaxation on the continent of Europe. He was now returning to his native land filled, he informed us, with the gloomiest forebodings. He had a very powerful presentiment that we were never to see the shores of America. By what agency our destruction was to be accomplished he did not enlighten us, but the ship had not well commenced her voyage before he commenced his evil prognostications. That these were not founded upon any prophetic knowledge of future events will be sufficiently apparent from the fact of this book being written. Indeed, when the mid Atlantic had been passed our Massachusetts acquaintance began to entertain more hopeful expectations of once more pressing his wife to his bosom, although he repeatedly reiterated that if that domestic event was really destined to take place no persuasion on earth, medical or other wise, would ever induce him to place the treacherous billows of the Atlantic between him and the person of that bosom's partner. It was drawing near the end of the voyage when an event occurred which, though in itself of a most trivial nature, had for some time a disturbing effect upon our party. The priest's sister, an elderly maiden lady of placidly weak intellect, announced one morning at breakfast that the sea-captain from Maine had on the previous day addressed her in terms of endearment, and had, in fact, called her his "little duck." This announcement, which was made generally to the table, and which was received in dead silence by every member of the community, had by no means a pleasurable effect upon the countenance of the person most closely concerned. Indeed, amidst the silence which succeeded the revelation, a half-smothered sentence, more forcible than polite, was audible from the lips of the democrat, in which those accustomed to the vernacular of America could plainly distinguish "darned old fool." Meantime, in spite of political discussions, or amorous revelations, or prophetic disaster, in spite of mid-ocean storm and misty-fog-bank, our gigantic screw, unceasing as the whirl of life itself, had wound its way into the waters which wash the rugged shores of New England. To those whose lives are spent in ceaseless movement over the world, who wander from continent to continent, from island to island, who dwell in many cities but are the citizens of no city, who sail away and come back again, whose home is the broad earth itself, to such as these the coming in sight of land is no unusual occurrence, and yet the man has grown old at his trade of wandering who can look utterly uninterested upon the first glimpse of land rising out of the waste of ocean: small as that glimpse may be, only a rock, a cape, a mountain crest, it has the power of localizing an idea, the very vastness Of which prevents its realization on shore. From the deck of an outward-bound vessel one sees rising, faint and blue, a rocky headland or a mountain summit-one does not ask if the mountain be of Maine, or of Mexico, or the Cape be St. Ann's or Hatteras, one only sees America. Behind that strip of blue coast lies a world, and that world the new one. Far away inland lie scattered many landscapes glorious with mountain, lake, river, and forest, all unseen, all unknown to the wanderer who for the first time seeks the American shore; yet instinctively their presence is felt in that faint outline of sea-lapped coast which lifts itself above the ocean; and even if in after-time it becomes the lot of the wanderer, as it became my lot, to look again upon these mountain summits, these immense inland seas; these mighty rivers whose waters seek their mother ocean through 3000 miles of meadow, in none of these glorious parts, vast though they be, will the sense of the still vaster whole be realized as strongly as in that first glimpse of land showing dimly over the western horizon of the Atlantic. The sunset of a very beautiful evening in May was making bright the shores of Massachusetts as the "Samaria," under her fullest head of steam, ran up the entrance to Plymouth Sound. To save daylight into port was an object of moment to the Captain, for the approach to Boston harbour is as intricate as shoal, sunken rock, and fort-crowned island can make it. If ever that much talked-of conflict between the two great branches of the Anglo-Saxon race is destined to quit the realms of fancy for those of fact, Boston, at least, will rest as safe from the destructive engines of British iron-clads as the city of Omaha on the Missouri River. It was only natural that the Massachusetts man should have been in a fever of excitement at finding himself once more within sight of home; and for once human nature exhibited the unusual spectacle of rejoicing over the falsity of its own predictions. As every revolution of the screw brought out some new feature into prominence, he skipped gleefully about; and, recognizing in my person the stranger element in the assembly, he took particular pains to point out the lions of the landscape. "There, serais Fort Warren, where we kept our rebel prisoners during the war. In a few minutes more, sir, we will be in sight of Bunker's Hill;" and then, in a frenzy of excitement, he skipped away to some post of vantage upon the forecastle. Night had come down over the harbour, and Boston had lighted all her lamps, before the "Samaria," swinging round in the fast-running tide, lay, with quiet screw and smokeless funnel, alongside the wharf of New England's oldest city. "Real mean of that darned Baptist pointing you out Bunker's Hill," said the sea-captain from Maine; "just like the ill-mannered republican cuss!" It was useless to tell him that I had felt really obliged for the information given me by his political opponent. "Never mind," he said, "to-morrow I'll show you how these moral Bostonians break their darned liquor law in every hotel in their city." Boston has a clean, English look about it, peculiar to it alone of all the cities in the United States. Its streets, running in curious curves, as though they had not the least idea where they were going, are full of prettily dressed pretty girls, who look as though they had a very fair idea of where they were going to. Atlantic fogs and French fashions have combined to make Boston belles pink, pretty,-and piquante; while the western states, by drawing fully half their male population from New England, make the preponderance of the female element apparent at a glance. The ladies, thus left at home, have not been idle: their colleges, their clubs, their reading-classes are numerous; like the man in "Hudibras," "'Tis known they can speak Greek as naturally as pigs squeak;" and it is probable that no city in the world can boast so high a standard of female education as Boston: nevertheless, it must be regretted that this standard of mental excellence attributable to the ladies of Boston should not have been found capable of association with the duties of domestic life. Without going deeper into topics which are better understood in America than in England, and which have undergone most eloquent elucidation at the hands of Mr. Hepworth Dixon, but which are nevertheless dlightly nauseating, it may safely be observed, that the inculcation at ladies colleges of that somewhat rude but forcible home truth, enunciated by the first Napoleon in reply to the most illustrious Frenchwoman of her day, when questioned Upon the subject of female excellence, should not be forgotten. There exists a very generally received idea that strangers are more likely to notice and complain of the short-comings of a social habit or system than are residents who have grown old under that infliction; but I cannot help thinking that there exists a considerable amount of error in this opinion. A stranger will frequently submit to extortion, to insolence, or to inconvenience, because, being a stranger, he believes that extortion, insolence, and inconvenience are the habitual characteristics of the new place in which he finds himself: they do not strike him as things to be objected to, or even wondered at; they are simply to be submitted to and endured. If he were at home, he would die sooner than yield that extra half-dollar; he would leave the house at once in which he was told to get up at an unearthly hour in the morning; but, being in another country, he submits, without even a thought of resistance. In no other way can we account for the strange silence on the part of English writers upon the tyrannical disposition of American social life. A nation everlastingly boasting itself the freest on the earth submits unhesitatingly to more social tyranny than any people in the world. In the United States one is marshalled to every event of the day. Whether you like it or not, you must get up, breakfast, dine, sup, and go to bed at fixed hours. Attached upon the inside of your bedroom-door is a printed document which informs you of all the things you are not to do in the hotel-a list in which, like Mr. J. S. Mill's definition of Christian doctrine, the shall-nots predominate over the shalls. In the event of your disobeying any of the numerous mandates set forth in this document-such as not getting up very early-you will not be sent to the penitentiary or put in the pillory, for that process of punishment would imply a necessity for trouble and exertion on the part of the richly-apparelled gentleman who does you the honour of receiving your petitions and grossly overcharging you at the office-no, you have simply to go without food until dinner-time, or to go to bed by the light of a jet of gas for which you will be charged an exorbitant price in your bill. As in the days of Roman despotism we know that the slaves were occasionally permitted to indulge in the grossest excesses, so, under the rigorous system of the hotel-keeper, the guest is allowed to expectorate profusely over every thing; over the marble with which the hall is paved, over the Brussels carpet which covers the drawing-room, over the bed-room, and over the lobby. Expectoration is apparently the one saving clause which American liberty demands as the price of its submission to the prevailing tyranny of the hotel. Do not imagine-you, who have never yet tasted the sweets of a transatlantic transaction-that this tyranny is confined to the hotel: every person to whom you pay money in the ordinary travelling transactions of life-your omnibus-man, your railway-conductor, your steamboat-clerk-takes your money, it is true, but takes it in a manner which tells you plainly enough that he is conferring a very great favour by so doing. He is in all probability realizing a profit of from three to four hundred-per cent. on whatever the transaction may be; but, all the same, although you are fully aware of this fact, you are nevertheless almost overwhelmed with the sense of the very deep obligation which you owe to the man who thus deigns to receive your money. It was about ten o'clock at night when the steamer anchored at the wharf at Boston. Not until midday. On the following day were we (the passengers) allowed to leave the vessel. The cause of this delay arose from the fact that the collector of customs of the port of Boston was an individual of great social importance; and as it would have been inconvenient for him to attend at an earlier hour for the purpose of being present at the examination of our baggage, we were detained prisoners until the day was far enough advanced to suit his convenience. From a conversation which subsequently I had with this gentleman at our hotel, I discovered that he was more obliging in his general capacity of politician and prominent citizen than he was in his particular duties of customs collector. Like many other instances of the kind in the United States, his was a case of evident unfitness for the post he held. A. socially smaller man would have made a much better customs official. Unfortunately for the comfort of the public, the remuneration attached to appointments in the postal and customs departments is frequently very large, and these situations are eagerly sought as prizes in the lottery of political life-prizes, too, which can only be held for the short term of four years. As. A consequence, the official who holds his situation by right of political service rendered to the chief of the predominant clique or party in his state does not consider that he owes to the public the service of his office. In theory he is a public servant; in reality he becomes the master of the public. This is, however, the fault of the system and not of the individual. CHAPTER THREE Bunker--New York--Niagara-Toronto-Spring--time in Quebec--A Summons--A Start--In good Company--Stripping a Peg--An Expedition--Poor Canada--An Old Glimpse at a New Land--Rival Routes--Change of Masters--The Red River Revolt--The Halfbreeds--Early Settlers-Bungling--"Eaters of Pemmican-"-M. Louis Riel--The Murder of Scott When a city or a nation has but one military memory, it clings to it with all the affectionate tenacity of an old maid for her solitary poodle or parrot. Boston-supreme over any city in the Republic-can boast of possessing one military memento: she has the Hill of Bunker. Bunker has long passed into the bygone; but his hill remains, and is likely to remain for many a long day. It is not improbable that the life, character and habits, sayings, even the writings of Bunker-perhaps he couldn't write!-are familiar to many persons in the United States; but it is in Boston and Massachusetts that Bunker holds highest carnival. They keep in the Senate-chamber of the Capitol, nailed over the entrance doorway in full sight of the Speaker's chair, a drum, a musket, and a mitre-shaped soldier's hat-trophies of the fight fought in front of the low earthwork on Bunker's Hill. Thus the senators of Massachusetts have ever before them visible reminders of the glory of their fathers: and I am not sure that these former belongings of some long-waistcoated redcoat are not as valuable incentives to correct legislation as that historic "bauble" of our own constitution. Meantime we must away. Boston and New York have had their stories told frequently enough-and, in reality, there is not much to tell about them. The world does not contain a more uninteresting accumulation of men and houses than the great city of New York: it is a place wherein the stranger feels inexplicably lonely. The traveller has no mental property in this city whose enormous growth of life has struck scant roots into the great heart of the past. Our course, however, lies west. We will trace the onward stream of empire in many portions of its way; we will reach its limits, and pass beyond it into the lone spaces which yet silently await its coming; and farther still, where the solitude knows not of its approach and the Indian still reigns in savage supremacy. NIAGARA--They have all had their say about Niagara. From Hennipin to Dilke, travellers have written much about this famous cataract, and yet, put all together, they have not said much about it; description depends so much on comparison, and comparison necessitates a something like. If there existed another Niagara on the earth, travellers might compare this one to that one; but as there does not exist a second Niagara, they are generally hard up for a comparison. In the matter of roar, however, comparisons are still open. There is so much noise in the world that analysis of noise becomes easy. One man hears in it the sound of the Battle of the Nile-a statement not likely to be challenged, as the survivors of that celebrated naval action are not numerous, the only one we ever had the pleasure of meeting having been stone-deaf. Another writer compares the roar to the sound of a vast mill; and this similitude, more flowery than poetical, is perhaps as good as that of the one who was in Aboukir Bay. To leave out Niagara when you can possibly bring it in would be as much against the stock-book of travel as to omit the duel, the steeple-chase, or the escape from the mad bull in a thirty-one-and-sixpenny fashionable novel. What the pyramids are to Egypt--what Vesuvius is to Naples--what the field of Waterloo has been for fifty years to Brussels, so is Niagara to the entire continent of North America. It was early in the month of September, three years prior to the time I now write of, when I first visited this famous spot. The Niagara season was at its height: the monster hotels were ringing with song, music, and dance; tourists were doing the falls, and touts were doing the tourists. Newly-married couples were conducting themselves in that demonstrative manner characteristic of such as responded freely to the invitation contained in their favourite nigger melody. Venders of Indian bead-work; itinerant philosophers; camera-obscura men; imitation squaws; free and enlightened negroes; guides to go under the cataract, who should have been sent over it; spiritualists, phrenologists, and nigger minstrels had made the place their own. Shoddy and petroleum were having "a high old time of it," spending the dollar as though that "almighty article had become the thin end of nothing whittled fine:" altogether, Niagara was a place to be instinctively shunned. Just four months after this time the month of January was drawing to a close. King Frost, holding dominion over Niagara, had worked strange wonders with the scene. Folly and ruffianism had been frozen up, shoddy and petroleum had betaken themselves to other haunts, the bride strongly demonstrative or weakly reciprocal had vanished, the monster hotels were silent and deserted, the free and enlightened negro had gone back to Buffalo, and the girls of that thriving city no longer danced, as of yore, "under de light of de moon." Well, Niagara was worth seeing then-and the less we say about it, perhaps, the better. "Pat," said an American to a staring Irishman lately landed, "did you ever see such a fall as that in the old country?" "Begarra! I niver did; but look here now, why wouldn't it fall? what's to hinder it from falling?" When I reached the city of Toronto, capital of the province of Ontario, I found that the Red River Expeditionary Force had already been mustered, previous to its start for the North-West. Making my way to the quarters of the commander of the Expedition, I was greeted every now and again with a "You should have been here last week; every soul wants to get on the Expedition, and you hav'n't a chance. The whole thing is complete; we start to-morrow." Thus I encountered those few friends who on such occasions are as certain to offer their pithy condolences as your neighbour at the dinner-table when you are late is sure to tell you that the soup and fish were delicious. At last I met the commander himself. "My good fellow, there's not a vacant berth for you," he said; "I got your telegram, but the whole army in Canada wanted to get on the Expedition." "I think, sir, there is one berth still vacant," I answered. "What is it?" "You will want to know what they are doing in Minnesota and along the flank of your march, and you have no one to tell you," I said. "You are right; we do want a man out there. Look now, start for Montreal by first train to-morrow; by to night's mail I will write to the general, recommending your appointment. If you see him as soon as possible, it may yet be all right." I thanked him, said "Good-bye," and in little more than twenty-four hours later found myself in Montreal, the commercial capital of Canada. "Let me see," said the general next morning, when I presented myself before him, "you sent a cable message from the South of Ireland last month, didn't you? and you now want to get out to the West? Well, we will require a man there, but the thing doesn't rest with me; it will have to be referred to Ottawa; and meantime you can remain here, or with your regiment, pending the receipt of an answer." So I went back to my regiment to wait. Spring breaks late over the province of Quebec-that portion of America known to our fathers as Lower Canada, and of old to the subjects of the Grand Monarque as the kingdom of New France. But when the young trees begin to open their leafy lids after the long sleep of winter, they do it quickly. The snow is not all gone before the maple-trees are all green; the maple, that most beautiful of trees! Well has Canada made the symbol of her new nationality that tree whose green gives the spring its earliest freshness, whose autumn dying tints are richer than the clouds, sunset, whose life-stream is sweeter than honey, and whose branches are drowsy through the long summer with the scent and the hum of bee and flower! Still the long line of the Canadas admits of a varied spring. When the trees are green at Lake St. Clair, they are scarcely budding at Kingston, they are leafless at Montreal, and Quebec is white with snow. Even between Montreal and Quebec, a short night's steaming, there exists a difference of ten days in the opening of the summer. But late as comes the summer to Quebec, it comes in its loveliest and most enticing form, as though it wished to atone for its long delay in banishing from such a landscape the cold tyranny of winter. And with what loveliness does the whole face of plain, river, lake, and mountain turn from the iron clasp of icy winter to kiss the balmy lips of returning summer, and to welcome his bridal gifts of sun and shower! The trees open their leafy lids to look at the brooks and streamlets break forth into songs of gladness--"the birch-tree," as the old Saxon said, "becomes beautiful in its branches, and rustles sweetly in its leafy summit, moved to and fro by the breath of heaven "--the lakes uncover their sweet faces, and their mimic shores steal down in quiet evenings to bathe themselves in the transparent waters--far into the depths of the great forest speeds the glad message of returning glory, and graceful fern-and soft velvet moss, and-white wax-like lily peep forth to cover rock and fallen tree and wreck of last year's autumn in one great sea of foliage. There are many landscapes which can never be painted, photographed, or described, but which the mind carries away instinctively to look at again And again in after-time-these are the celebrated views of the world, and they are not easy to find. From the Queen's rampart, on the citadel of Quebec, the eye sweeps over a greater diversity of landscape than is probably to be found in any one spot in the universe. Blue mountain, far stretching river, foaming cascade, the white sails of ocean ships, the black trunks of many-sized guns, the pointed roofs, the white village nestling amidst its fields of green, the great isle in mid-channel, the many shades of colour from deep blue pine-wood to yellowing corn-field in what other spot on the earth's broad bosom lie grouped together in a single glance so many of these "things of beauty" which the eye loves to feast on and to place in memory as joys-for ever? I had been domiciled in Quebec for about a week, when there appeared one morning in General Orders a paragraph commanding my presence in Montreal to receive instructions from the military authorities relative to my further destination. It was the long-looked-for order, and fortune, after many frowns, seemed at length about to smile upon me. It was on the evening of the 8th June, exactly two months after the despatch of my cable message from the South of Ireland, that I turned my face to the West and commenced a long journey towards the setting sun. When the broad curves of the majestic river had shut out the rugged outline of the citadel, and the east was growing coldly dim while the west still glowed with the fires of sunset, I could not help feeling a thrill of exultant thought at the prospect before me. I little knew then the limits of my wanderings-I little thought that for many and many a day my track would lie with almost undeviating precision towards the setting sun, that summer would merge itself into autumn, and autumn darken into winter, and that still the nightly bivouac would be made a little nearer to that west whose golden gleam was suffusing sky and water. But though all this was of course unknown, enough was still visible in the foreground of the future to make even the swift-moving paddles seem laggards as they beat to foam the long reaches of the darkening Cataraqui. "We must leave matters to yourself, I think," said the General, when I saw him for the last time in Montreal, "you will be best judge of how to get on when you know and see the ground. I will not ask you to visit Fort Garry, but if you find it feasible, it would be well if you could drop down the Red River and join Wolseley before he gets to the place. You know what I want, but how to do it, I will leave altogether to yourself. For the rest, you can draw on us for any money you require. Take care of those northern fellows. Good-bye, and success." This was on the 12th June, and on the morning of the 13th I started by the Grand Trunk Railway of Canada for the West. On that morning the Grand Trunk Railway of Canada was in a high state of excitement. It was about to attempt, for the first time, the despatch of a Lightning Express for Toronto; and it was to carry from Montreal, on his way to Quebec, one of the Royal Princes of England, whose sojourn in the Canadian capital was drawing to a close. The Lightning Express was not attended with the glowing success predicted for it by its originators. At some thirty or forty miles from Montreal it came heavily to grief, owing to some misfortune having attended the progress of a preceding train over the rough uneven track. A delay of two hours having supervened, the Lightning Express got into motion again, and jolted along with tolerable celerity to Kingston. When darkness set in it worked itself up to a high pitch of fury, and rushed along the low shores of Lake Ontario with a velocity which promised disaster. The car in which I travelled was one belonging to the director of the Northern Railroad of Canada, Mr. Cumberland, and we had in it a minister of fisheries, one of education, a governor of a province, a speaker of a house of commons, and a colonel of a distinguished rifle regiment. Being the last car of the train, the vibration caused by the unusual rate of speed over the very rough rails was excessive; it was, however, consolatory to feel that any little unpleasantness which might occur through the fact of the car leaving the track would be attended with some sense of alleviation. The rook is said to have thought he was paying dear for good company when he was put into the pigeon pie, but it by no means follows that a leap from an embankment, or an upset into a river, would be as disastrous as is usually supposed, if taken in the society of such pillars of the state as those I have already mentioned. Whether a speaker of a house of commons and a governor of a large province, to say nothing of a minister of fisheries, would tend in reality to mitigate the unpleasantness of being "telescoped through colliding," I cannot decide, for we reached Toronto without accident, at midnight, and I saw no more of my distinguished fellow-travellers. I remained long enough in the city of Toronto to provide myself with a wardrobe suitable to the countries I was about to seek. In one of the principal commercial streets of the flourishing capital of Ontario I found a small tailoring establishment, at the door of which stood an excellent representation of a colonial. The garments be longing to this figure appeared to have been originally designed from the world-famous pattern of the American flag, presenting above a combination of stars, and below having a tendency to stripes. The general groundwork of the whole rig appeared to be shoddy of an inferior-description, and a small card attached to the figure intimated that the entire fit-out was procurable at the very reasonable sum of ten dollars. It was impossible to resist the fascination of this attire. While the bargain was being transacted the tailor looked askance at the garments worn by his customer, which, having only a few months before emanated from the establishment of a well-known London cutter, presented a considerable contrast to the new investment; he even ventured upon some remarks which evidently had for their object the elucidation of the enigma, but a word that such clothes as those worn by me were utterly un suited to the bush repelled all further questioning-indeed, so pleased did the noor fellow appear in a pecuniary point of view, that he insisted upon presenting me gratis with a neck-tie of green and yellow, fully in keeping with the other articles composing the costume. And now, while I am thus arranging these little preliminary matters so essential to the work I was about to engage in, let us examine for a moment the objects and scope of that work, and settle the limits and extent of the first portion of my journey, and sketch the route of the Expedition. It will be recollected that the Expedition destined for the Red River of the North had started some time before for its true base of operations, namely Fort William, on the north-west shore of Lake Superior. The distance intervening between Toronto and Thunder Bay is about 600 miles, 100 being by railroad conveyance and 500 by water. The island-studded expanse of Lake Huron, known as Georgian Bay, receives at the northern extremity the waters of the great Lake Superior, but a difference of level amounting to upwards of thirty feet between the broad bosoms of these two vast expanses of fresh water has rendered necessary the construction of a canal of considerable magnitude. This canal is situated upon American territory-a fact which gives our friendly cousins the exclusive possession of the great northern basin, and which enabled them at the very outset of the Red River affair to cause annoyance and delay to the Canadian Expedition. Poor Canada! when one looks at you along the immense length of your noble river boundary, how vividly become apparent the evils under which your youth has grown to manhood! Looked at from home by every succeeding colonial minister through the particular whig, or tory spectacles of his party, subject to violent and radical alterations of policy because of some party vote in a Legislative Assembly 3000 miles from your nearest coast-line, your own politicians, for years, too timid to grasp the limits of your possible future, parties every where in your provinces, and of every kind, except a national party; no breadth, no depth, no earnest striving to make you great amongst the nations, each one for himself and no-one for the country; men fighting for a sect, for a province, for a nationality, but no one for the nation; and all this while, close alongside, your great rival grew with giant's growth, looking far into the future before him, cutting his cloth with perspective ideas of what his limbs would attain to in after-time,' digging his canals and grading, his railroads, with one eye on the Atlantic and the other on the Pacific, spreading himself, monopolizing, annexing, outmanoeuvring and flanking those colonial bodies who sat in solemn state in Downing Street and wrote windy proclamations and despatches anent boundary-lines, of which they knew next to nothing. Macaulay laughs at poor Newcastle for his childish delight in finding out that Cape Breton was an island, but I strongly suspect there were other and later Newcastles whose geographical knowledge of matters American were not a whit superior. Poor Canada! they muddled you out of Maine, and the open harbour of Portland, out of Rouse's Point, and the command of Lake Champlain, out of many a fair mile far away by the Rocky Mountains. It little matters whether it was the treaty of 1783, or 1818, or '21, or '48, or '71, the worst of every bargain, at all times, fell to you. I have said that the possession of the canal at the Sault St. Marie enabled the Americans to delay the progress of the Red River Expedition. The embargo put upon the Canadian vessels originated, however, in the State, and not the Federal, authorities; that is to say, the State of Michigan issued the prohibition against the passage of the steam boat, and not the Cabinet of Washington. Finally, Washington overruled the decision of Michigan-a feat far more feasible now than it would have been prior to the Southern war-and the steamers were permitted to pass through into the waters of Lake Superior. From thence to Thunder Bay was only the steaming of four-and-twenty hours through a lake whose vast bosom is the favourite playmate of the wild storm-king of the North. But although full half the total distance from Toronto to the Red River had been traversed when the Expedition reached Thunder Bay, not a twentieth of the time nor one hundredth part of the labour and fatigue had been accomplished. For a distance of 600 miles there stretched away to the northwest a vast tract of rock-fringed lake, swamp, and forest; lying spread in primeval savagery, an untravelled wilderness; the home of the Ojibbeway, who here, entrenched amongst Nature's fastnesses, has long called this land his own. Long before Wolfe had scaled the heights of Abraham, before even Marlborough, and Eugene, and Villers, and V'endome, and Villeroy had commenced to fight their giants fights in divers portions of the low countries, some adventurous subjects of the Grand Monarque were forcing their way, for the first time, along the northern shores of Lake Superior, nor stopping there: away to the north-west there dwelt wild tribes to be sought out by two classes of men-by the black robe, who laboured for souls; by the trader, who sought for skins-and a hard race had these two widely different pioneers who sought at that early day these remote and friendless regions, so hard that it would almost seem as though the great powers of good and of evil had both despatched at this same moment, on rival errands, ambassadors to gain dominion over these distant savages. It was a curious contest: on the one hand, showy robes, shining beads, and maddening fire-water, on the other, the old, old story of peace and brotherhood, of Christ and Calvary--a contest so full of interest, so teeming with adventure, so pregnant with the discovery of mighty rivers and great inland seas, that one would fain ramble away into its depths; but it must not be, or else the journey I have to travel myself would never even begin. Vast as is the accumulation of fresh water in Lake Superior, the area of the country which it drains is limited enough. Fifty miles from its northern shores the rugged hills which form the backbone or "divide" of the continent raise their barren heads, and the streams carry from thence the vast rainfall of this region into the Bay of Hudson. Thus, when the voyageur has paddled, tracked, poled, and carried his canoe up any of the many rivers which rush like mountain torrents into Lake Superior from the north, he reaches the height of land between the Atlantic Ocean and Hudson Bay. Here, at an elevation of 1500 feet above the sea level, and of 900 above Lake Superior, he launches his canoe upon water flowing north and west; then he has before him hundreds of miles of quiet-lying lake, of wildly rushing river, of rock-broken rapid, of foaming cataract, but through it all runs ever towards the north the ocean-seeking current. As later on we shall see many and many a mile of this wilderness--living in it, eating in it, sleeping in it-although reaching it from a different direction altogether from the one spoken of now, I anticipate, by alluding to it here, only as illustrating the track of the Expedition between Lake Superior and Red River. For myself, my route was to be altogether a different one. I was to follow the lines of railroad which ran-out into the frontier territories of the United States, then, leaving the iron horse, I was to make my way to the settlements on the west shore of Lake Superior, and from thence to work Round to the American boundary-line at Pembina on the Red River; so far through American territory, and with distinct and definite instructions; after that, altogether to my own resources, but with this summary of the general's wishes: "I will not ask you to visit Fort Garry, but however you manage it, try and reach Wolseley-before he gets through from Lake Superior, and let him know what these Red River men are going to do." Thus the military Expedition under Colonel Wolseley was to work its way Across from Lake Superior to Red River, through British territory; I was to pass round by the United States, and, after ascertaining the likelihood of Fenian intervention from the side of Minnesota and Dakota, endeavour to reach Colonel Wolseley beyond Red River, with all tidings as to state of parties and chances of fight. But as the reader has heard only a very brief mention of the state of affairs in Red River, and as he may very naturally be inclined to ask, What is this Expedition going to do--why are these men sent through swamp and wilderness at all? A few explanatory words may not be out of place, serving to make matters now and at a later period much more intelligible. I have said in the opening chapter of this book, that the little community, or rather a portion of the little community, of Red River Settlement had risen in insurrection, protesting vehemently against certain arrangements made between the Governor of Canada and the Hon. Hudson's Bay Company relative to the cession of territorial rights and governing powers. After forcibly expelling the Governor of the country appointed by Canada, from the frontier station at Pembina, the French malcontents had proceeded to other and still more questionable proceedings. Assembling in large numbers, they had fortified portions of the road between Pembina and Fort Garry, and had taken armed possession of the latter place, in which large stores of provisions, clothing, and merchandise of all descriptions had been stored by the Hudson Bay Company. The occupation of this fort, which stands close to the confluence of the Red and Assineboine Rivers, nearly midway between the American boundary-line and the southern shore of Lake Winnipeg, gave the French party the virtual command of the entire settlement. The abundant stores of clothing and provisions were not so important as the arms and ammunition which also fell into their hands--a battery of nine-pound bronze guns, complete in every respect, besides several smaller pieces of ordnance, together with large store of Enfield rifles and old brown-bess smooth bores. The place was, in fact, abundantly supplied with war material of every description. It is almost refreshing to notice the ability, the energy, the determination which up to this point had characterized all the movements of the originator and mainspring of the movement, M. Louis Riel. One hates so much to see a thing bungled, that even resistance, although it borders upon rebellion, becomes respectable when it is carried out with courage, energy, and decision. And, in truth, up to this point in the little insurrection it is not easy to condemn the wild Metis of the North-west--wild as the bison which he hunted, unreclaimed as the prairies he loved so well, what knew he of State duty or of loyalty? He knew that this land was his, and that strong men were coming to square it into rectangular farms and to push him farther west by the mere pressure of civilization. He had heard of England and the English, but it was in a shadowy, vague, unsubstantial sort of way, unaccompanied by any fixed idea of government or law. The Company--not the Hudson Bay Company, but the Company-represented for him all law, all power, all government. Protection he did not need-his quick ear, his unerring eye, his untiring horse, his trading gun, gave him that; but a market for his taurreau, for his buffalo robe, for his lynx, fox, and wolf skins, for the produce of his summer hunt and winter trade, he did need, and in the forts of the Company he found it. His wants were few-a capôte of blue cloth, with shining brass buttons; a cap, with beads and tassel; a blanket; a gun, and ball and powder; a box: of matches, and a knife, these were all he wanted, and at every fort, from the mountain to the banks of his well-loved River Rouge, he found them, too. What were these new people coming to do with him? Who could tell? If they meant him fair, why did they not say so? why did they not come up and tell him what they wanted, and what they were going to do for him, and ask him what he wished for? But, no; they either meant to outwit him, or they held him of so small account that it mattered little what he thought about it; and, with all the pride of his mother's race, that idea of his being slighted hurt him even more than the idea of his being wronged. Did not every thing point to his disappearance under the new order of things? He had only to look round him to verify the fact; for years before this annexation to Canada had been carried into effect stragglers from the east had occasionally reached Red River. It is true that these new-comers found much to foster the worst passions of the Anglo-Saxon settler. They found a few thousand occupants, half-farmers, half-hunters, living under a vast commercial monopoly, which, though it practically rested upon a basis of the most paternal kindness towards its subjects, was theoretically hostile to all opposition. Had these men settled quietly to the usual avocations of farming, clearing the wooded ridges, fencing the rich expanses of prairie, covering the great swamps and plains with herds and flocks, it is probable that all would have gone well between the new-comers and the old proprietors. Over that great western thousand miles of prairie there was room for all. But, no; they came to trade and not to till, and trade on the Red River of the North was conducted upon the most peculiar principles. There was, in fact, but one trade, and that was the fur trade. Now, the fur trade is, for some reason or other, a very curious description of barter. Like some mysterious chemical agency, it pervades and permeates every thing it touches. If a man cuts off legs, cures diseases, draws teeth, sells whiskey, cotton, wool, or any other commodity of civilized or uncivilized life, he will be as sure to do it with a view to furs as any doctor, dentist, or general merchant will be sure to practise his particular calling with a view to the acquisition of gold and silver. Thus, then, in the first instance were the new-comers set in antagonism to the Company, and finally to the inhabitants themselves. Let us try and be just to all parties in this little oasis of the Western wilderness. The early settlers in a Western country are not by any means persons much given to the study of abstract justice, still less to its practice; and it is as well, perhaps, that they should not be. They have rough work to do, and they generally do it roughly. The very fact of their coming out so far into the wilderness implies the other fact of their not being able to dwell quietly and peaceably at home. They are, as it were, the advanced pioneers of civilization who make smooth the way of the coming race. Obstacles of any kind are their peculiar detestation-if it is a tree, cut it down; if it is a savage, shoot it down; if it is a half-breed, force it down. That is about their creed, and it must be said they act up to their convictions. 'Now, had the country bordering on Red River been an unpeopled wilderness, the plan carried out in effecting the transfer of land in the North-west from the Hudson's Bay Company to the Crown, and from the Crown to the Dominion of Canada, would have been an eminently wise one; but, unfortunately for its wisdom, there were some 15,000 persons living in peaceful possession of the soil thus transferred, and these 15,000 persons very naturally objected to have themselves and possessions signed away without one word of consent or one note of approval. Nay, more than that, these straggling pioneers had on many an occasion taunted the vain half-breed with what would happen when the irresistible march of events had thrown the country into the arms of Canada: then civilization would dawn upon the benighted country, the half-breed would seek some western region, the Company would dis appear, and all the institutions of New World progress would shed-prosperity over the land; prosperity, not to the old dwellers and of the old type, but to the new-comers and of the new order of things. Small wonder, then, if the little community, resenting all this threatened improvement off the face of the earth, got their powder-horns ready, took the covers off their trading flint-guns, and with much gesticulation summarily interfered with several anticipatory surveys of their farms, doubling up the sextants, bundling the surveying parties out of their freeholds, and very peremptorily informing Mr. Governor M'Dougall, just arrived from Canada, that his presence was by no means of the least desirability to Red River or its inhabitants. The man who, with remarkable energy and perseverance, had worked up his fellow-citizens to this pitch of resistance, organizing and directing the whole movement, was a young French half-breed named Louis Riel--a man possessing many of the attributes suited to the leadership of parties, and quite certain to rise to the surface in any time of political disturbances. It has doubtless occurred to any body who has followed me through this brief sketch of the causes which led to the assumption of this attitude on the part of the French half-breeds-it has occurred to them, I say, to ask who then was to blame for the mismanagement of the transfer: was it the Hudson Bay Company who surrendered for 300,000 pounds their territorial rights? was it the Imperial Government who accepted that surrender? or was it the Dominion Government to whom the country was in turn retransferred by the Imperial authorities? I answer that the blame of having bungled the whole business belongs collectively to all the great and puissant bodies. Any ordinary matter-of-fact, sensible man would have managed the whole affair in a few hours; but so many high and potent powers had to consult together, to pen despatches, to speechify, and to lay down the law about it, that the whole affair became hopelessly muddled. Of course, ignorance and carelessness were, as they always are, at the bottom of it all. Nothing would have been easier than to have sent a commissioner from England to Red River, while the negotiations for transfer were pending, who would have ascertained the feelings and wishes of the people of the country relative to` the transfer, and would have guaranteed them the exercise of their rights and liberties under any and every new arrangement that might be entered into. Now, it is no excuse for any Government to plead ignorance upon any matter pertaining to the people it governs, or expects to govern, for a Government has no right to be ignorant on any such matter, and its ignorance must be its condemnation; yet this is the plea put forward by the Dominion Government of Canada, and yet the Dominion Government and the Imperial Government had ample opportunity of arriving at a-correct knowledge of the state of affairs in Red River, if they had only taken the trouble to do so. Nay, more, it is an undoubted fact that warning had been given to the Dominion Government of the state of feeling amongst the half-breeds, and the phrase, "they are only eaters of pemmican," so cutting to the Metis, was then first originated by a distinguished Canadian politician. And now let us see what the "eaters of pemmican" proceeded to do after their forcible occupation of Fort Garry. Well, it must be admitted they behaved in a very indifferent manner, going steadily from bad to worse, and much befriended in their seditious proceedings by continued and oft repeated bungling on the part of their opponents. Early in the month of December, 1869, Mr. M'Dougall issued two proclamations from his post at Pembina, on the frontier: in one he declared himself Lieutenant-Governor of the territory which Her Majesty had transferred to Canada; and in the other he commissioned an officer of the Canadian militia, under the high-sounding title of "Conservator of the Peace," "to attack, arrest, -disarm, and disperse armed men disturbing the public peace, and to assault, fire upon, and break into houses in which these armed men were to be found." Now, of the first proclamation it will be only necessary to remark, that Her Majesty the Queen had not done any thing of the kind, imputed to her; and of the second it has probably already occurred to the reader that the title of "Conservator of the Peace" was singularly inappropriate to one vested with such sanguinary and destructive powers as was the holder of this commission, who was to "assault, fire upon, and break into houses, and to attack, arrest, disarm, and disperse people," and generally to conduct himself after the manner of Attila, Genshis Khan, the Emperor Theodore, or any other ferocious magnate of ancient or modern times. The officer holding this destructive commission thought he could do nothing better than imitate the tactics of his French adversary, accordingly we find him taking possession of the other rectangular building known as the Lower Fort Garry, situated some twenty miles north of the one in which the French had taken post, but unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, not finding within its walls the same store of warlike material which had existed in the Fort Garry senior. The Indians, ever ready to have a hand in any fighting which may be "knocking around," came forward in all the glory of paint, feathers, and pow-wow; and to the number of fifty were put as garrison into the place. Some hundreds of English and Scotch half-breeds were enlisted, told off to companies under captains improvised for the occasion, and every thing pointed to a very pretty quarrel before many days had run their course. But, in truth, the hearts of the English and Scotch settlers were not in this business. By nature peaceably disposed, inheriting from their Orkney and Shetland forefathers much of the frugal habits of the Scotchmen, these people only asked to be left in peace. So far the French party had been only fighting the battle of every half-breed, whether his father had hailed from the northern isles, the shires of England, or the snows of Lower Canada; so, after a little time, the Scotch and English volunteers began to melt away, and on the 9th of December the last warrior had disappeared. But the effects of their futile demonstration soon became apparent in the increasing violence and tyranny of Riel and his followers. The threatened attempt to upset his authority by arraying the Scotch and English half-breeds against him served only to add strength to his party. The number of armed malcontents in Fort Garry became very much increased, clergymen of both parties, neglecting their manifest functions, began to take sides in the conflict, and the worst form of religious animosity became apparent in the little community. Emboldened by the presence of some five or six hundred armed followers, Riel determined to strike a blow against the party most obnoxious to him. This was the English-Canadian party, the pioneers of the Western settlement already alluded to as having been previously in antagonism with the people of Red River. Some sixty or seventy of these men, believing in the certain advance of the English force upon Fort Garry, had taken up a position in the little village of Winnipeg, less than a mile distant from the fort, where they awaited the advance of their adherents previous to making a combined assault upon the French. But Riel proved himself more than a match for his antagonists; marching quickly out of his stronghold, he surrounded the buildings in which they were posted, and, planting a gun in a conspicuously commanding position, summoned them all to surrender in the shortest possible space of time. As is usual on such occasions, and in such circumstances, the whole party did as they were ordered, and marching out-with or without side-arms and military honours history does not relate-were forthwith conducted into close confinement within the walls of Fort Garry. Having by this bold coup got possession not only of the most energetic of his opponents, but also of many valuable American Remington Rifles, fourteen shooters and revolvers, Mr. Riel, with all the vanity of the Indian peeping out, began to imagine himself a very great personage, and as very great personages are sometimes supposed to be believers in the idea that to take a man's property is only to confiscate it, and to take his life is merely to execute him, he too commenced to violently sequestrate, annex, and requisition not only divers of his prisoners, but also a considerable share of the goods stored in warehouses of the Hudson Bay Company, having particular regard to some hogsheads of old port wine and very potent Jamaica rum. The proverb which has reference to a mendicant suddenly Placed in an equestrian position had notable exemplification in the case of the Provisional Government, and many of his colleagues; going steadily from bad to worse, from violence to pillage, from pillage to robbery of a very low type, much supplemented by rum-drunkenness and dictatorial debauchery, he and they finally, on the 4th of March, 1870, disregarding some touching appeals for mercy, and with many accessories of needless cruelty, shot to death a helpless Canadian prisoner named Thomas Scott. This act, committed in the coldest of cold blood, bears only one name: the red name of murder-a name which instantly and for ever drew between Riel and his followers, and the outside Canadian world, that impassable gulf which the murderer in all ages digs between himself and society, and which society attempts to bridge by the aid of the gallows. It is needless here to enter into details of this matter; of the second rising which preceded it; of the dead blank which followed it; of the heartless and disgusting cruelty which made the prisoners death a foregone conclusion at his mock trial; or of the deeds worse than butchery which characterized the last scene. Still, before quitting the revolting subject, there is one point that deserves remark, as it seems to illustrate the feeling entertained by the leaders themselves. On the night of the murder the body was interred in a very deep hole which had been dug within the walls of the fort. Two clergymen had asked permission to inter the remains in either of their churches, but this request had been denied. On the anniversary of the murder, namely, the 4th March, 1871, other powers being then predominant in Fort Garry, a large crowd gathered at the spot where the murdered man had been interred, for the purpose of exhuming the body. After digging for some time they came to an oblong box or coffin in which the remains had been placed, but it was empty, the interment within the walls had been a mock ceremony, and the final resting-place of the body lies hidden in mystery. Now there is one thing very evident from the fact, and that is that Riel and his immediate followers were themselves conscious of the enormity of the deed they had committed, for had they believed that the taking of this man's life was really an execution justified upon any grounds of military or political necessity, or a forfeit fairly paid as price for crimes committed, then the hole inside the gateway of Fort Garry would have held its skeleton, and the midnight interment would not have been a senseless lie. The murderer and the law both take life--it is only the murderer who hides under the midnight shadows the body of his victim. CHAPTER FOUR. Chicago--"Who is S. B. D.?"--Milwaukie--The Great Fusion-Wisconsin--The Sleeping-car--The Train Boy-Minnesota--St. Paul--I start for Lake Superior--The Future City--"Bust up" and "Gone on"--The End of the Track. ALAS! I have to go a long way back to the city of Toronto, where I had just completed the purchase of a full costume of a Western borderer. On the 10th of June I crossed the Detroit River from Western Canada to the State of Michigan, and travelling by the central railway of that state reached the great city of Chicago on the following day. All Americans, but particularly all Western Americans, are very proud of this big city, which is not yet as old as many of its inhabitants, and they are justly proud of it. It is by very much the largest and the richest of the new cities of the New World. Maps made fifty years ago will be searched in vain for Chicago. Chicago was then a swamp where the skunks, after whom it is called, held undisputed revels. To-day Chicago numbers about 300,000 souls, and it is about "the livest city in our great Republic; sir." Chicago lies almost 1000 miles due west of New York. A traveller leaving the latter city, let us say on Monday morning, finds himself on Tuesday at eight o'clock in the evening in Chicago-one thousand miles in thirty-four hours. In the meantime he will have eaten three meals and slept soundly "on board" his palace-car, if he is so minded. For many hundred miles during the latter portion of his journey he will have noticed great tracts of swamp and forest, with towns and cities and settlements interspersed between; and then, when these tracts of swamp and unreclaimed forest seem to be increasing instead of diminishing, he comes all of a sudden upon a vast, full-grown, bustling city, with tall chimneys sending out much smoke, with heavy horses dragging great: drays of bulky freight through thronged and busy streets, and with tall-masted ships and whole fleets of steamers lying packed against the crowded quays. He has begun to dream himself in the West, and lo! there rises up a great city. "But is not this the West?" will ask the new-comer from the Atlantic states. "Upon your own showing we are here 1000 miles from New York, by water 1500 miles to Quebec; surely this must be the West?" No; for in this New World the West is ever on the move. Twenty years ago Chicago was West; ten years ago it was Omaha; then it was Salt Lake City, and now it is San Francisco on the Pacific Ocean. This big city, with its monster hotels and teeming traffic, was no new scene to me, for I had spent pleasant days in it three years before. An American in America is a very pleasant fellow. It is true that on many social points and habits his views may differ from ours in a manner very shocking to our prejudices, insular or insolent, as these prejudices of ours too frequently are; but meet him with fair allowance for the fact that there may be two sides to a question, and that a man may not tub every morning and yet be a good fellow, and in nine cases of ten you will find him most agreeable, a little inquisitive perhaps to know your peculiar belongings, but equally ready to impart to you the details of every item connected with his business--altogether a very jolly every-day companion when met on even basis. If you happen to be a military man, he will call you Colonel or General, and expect similar recognition: of rank by virtue of his volunteer services in the 44th: Illinois, or 55th Missourian. At present, and for many years to come, it is and will be a safe method of beginning any observation to a Western American with "I say, General," and on no account ever to get below the rank of field officer when addressing anybody holding a socially smaller position than that of bar-keeper. Indeed major-generals were as plentiful in the United States at the termination of the great rebellion as brevet-majors were in the British service at the close of the Crimean campaign. It was at Plymouth, I think, that a grievance was established by a youngster on the score that he really could not spit out of his own window without hitting a brevet major outside; and it was in a Western city that the man threw his stick at a dog across the road, "missed that dawg, sir, but hit five major-generals on t'other side, and 'twasn't a good day for major-generals either, sir." Not less necessary than knowledge of social position is knowledge of the political institutions and characters of the West. Not to know Rufus P. W. Smidge, or Ossian W. Dodge of Minnesota, is simply to argue yourself utterly unknown. My first experience of Chicago fully impressed me with this fact. I had made the acquaintance of an American gentleman "on board" the train, and as we approached the city along the sandy margin of Lake Michigan he kindly pointed out the buildings and public institutions of the neighbourhood. "There, sir," he finally said, "there is our new monument to Stephen B. Douglas." I looked in the direction indicated, and beheld some blocks of granite in course of erection into a pedestal. I confess to having been entirely ignorant at the time as to what claim Stephen B. Douglas may have had to this public recognition of his worth, but the tone of my informant's voice was sufficient to warn me that everybody knew Stephen B. Douglas, and that ignorance of his career might prove hurtful to the feelings of my new acquaintance, so I carefully refrained from showing by word or look the drawback under which I laboured. There was with me, however, a travelling companion who, to an ignorance of Stephen B. D. fully equal to mine own, added a truly British indignation that monumental honours should be bestowed upon one whose fame was still faint across the Atlantic. Looking partly at the monument, partly at our American informant, and partly at me, he hastily ejaculated, "Who the devil was Stephen B. Douglas?" Alas! the murder was out, and out in its most aggravating form. I hastily attempted a rescue. "Not know who Stephen B. Douglas was?" I exclaimed, in a tone of mingled reproof and surprise. "Is it possible you don't know who Stephen B. Douglas was?" Nothing cowed by the assumption of knowledge implied by my question, my fellow-traveller was not to be done. "All deuced fine," he went on, "I'll bet you a fiver you don't know who he was either!" I kicked at him under the seat of the carriage, but it was of no use, he persisted in his reckless offers of "laying fivers," and our united ignorance stood fatally revealed. Round the city of Chicago stretches upon three sides a vast level prairie, a meadow larger than the area of England and Wales, and as fertile as the luxuriant vegetation of thousands of years decaying under a semi-tropic sun could make it. Illinois is in round numbers 400 miles from north to south, its greatest breadth being about 200 miles. The Mississippi, running in vast curves along the entire length of its western frontier for 700 miles, bears away to southern ports the rich burden of wheat and Indian corn. The inland sea of Michigan carries on its waters the wealth of the northern portion of the state to the Atlantic seaboard. The Ohio, flowing south and west, unwaters the south-eastern counties, while 5500 miles of completed railroad traverse the interior of the state. This 5500 miles of iron road is a significant fact--5500 miles of railway in the compass of a single western state! More than all Hindostan can boast of, and nearly half the railway mileage of the United Kingdom. Of this immense system of interior connexion Chicago is the centre and heart. Other great centres of commerce have striven to rival the City of the Skunk, but all have failed; and to-day, thanks to the dauntless energy of the men of Chicago, the garden state of the Union possesses this immense extent of railroad, ships its own produce, north, east, and south, and boasts a population scarcely inferior to that of many older states; and yet it is only fifty years ago since William Cobbett laboured long and earnestly to prove that English emigrants who pushed on into the "wilderness of the Illinois went straight to misery and ruin." Passing through Chicago, and going out by one of the lines running north along the shore of Lake Michigan, I reached the city of Milwaukie late in the evening. Now the city of Milwaukie stands above 100 miles north of Chicago and is to the State of Wisconsin what its southern neighbour (100 miles in the States is nothing) is to Illinois. Being, also some 100 miles nearer to the entrance to Lake Michigan, and consequently nearer by water to New York and the Atlantic, Milwaukie caries off no small share of the export wheat trade of the North-west. Behind it lie the rolling prairies of Wisconsin, Iowa, and Minnesota, the three wheat-growing states of the American Union. Scandinavia, Germany, and Ireland have made this portion of America their own, and in the streets of Milwaukie one hears the guttural sounds of the Teuton and the deep brogue of the Irish Celt mixed in curious combinations. This railway-station at Milwaukie is one of the great distributing points of the in-coming flood from Northern Europe. From here they scatter far and wide over the plains which lie between Lake Michigan and the head-waters of the Mississippi. No one stops to look at these people as they throng the wooden platform and fill the sheds at the depot, the sight is too common to cause interest now, and yet it is a curious sight this entry of the outcasts into the promised land. Tired, travel-stained, and worn come the fair-haired crowd of men and women and many children, eating all manner of strange food while they rest, and speaking all manner of strange tongues, carrying the most uncouth shapeless boxes that trunk-maker of Bergen or Upsal can devise--such queer oval red-and-green painted wooden cases, more like boxes to hold musical instruments than for the Sunday kit of Hans or Christian--clothing much soiled and worn by lower-deck lodgment and spray of mid-Atlantic roller, and dust of that 1100 miles of railroad since New York was left behind, but still with many traces, under dust and seediness, of Scandinavian rustic fashion; altogether a homely people, but destined ere long to lose every vestige of their old Norse habits under the grindstone of the great mill they are now entering. That vast human machine Which grinds Celt and Saxon, Teuton and Dane, Fin and Goth into the same image and likeness of the inevitable Yankee--grinds him too into that image in one short generation, and oftentimes in less; doing it without any apparent outward pressure or any tyrannical law of language or religion, but nevertheless beating out, welding, and amalgamating the various conflicting races of the Old World into the great American people. Assuredly the world has never witnessed any experiment of so gigantic a nature as this immense fusion of the Caucasian race now going on before our eyes in North America. One asks oneself, with feelings of dread, what is to be the result? Is it to eliminate from the human race the evil habits of each nationality, and to preserve in the new one the noble characteristics of all? I say one asks the question with a feeling of dread, for it is the question of the well-being, of the whole human family of the future, the question of the advance or retrogression of the human race. No man living can answer that question. Time alone can solve it; but one thing is certain-so far the experiment bodes ill for success. Too often the best and noblest attributes of the people wither and die out by the process of transplanting. The German preserves inviolate his love of lager, and leaves behind him his love of Fatherland. The Celt, Scotch or Irish, appears to eliminate from his nature many of those traits of humour of which their native lands are so pregnant. It may be that this is only the beginning, that a national decomposition of the old distinctions must occur before the new elements can arise, and that from it all will come in the fulness of time a regenerated society:-- "Sin itself be found, A cloudy porch oft opening on the sun." But at present, looking abroad over the great seething mass of American society, there seems little reason to hope for required alteration. The dollar must cease to be the only God, and that old, old proverb that "honesty is the best policy" must once more come into fashion. Four hundred and six miles intervene between Milwaukie, in the State of Wisconsin, and St. Paul, the capital and principal city of the State of Minnesota. About half that distance lies through the State of Wisconsin, and the remaining half is somewhat unequally divided between Iowa and Minnesota. Leaving Milwaukie at eleven o'clock a.m., one reaches the Mississippi at Prairie-du-Chien at ten o'clock same night; here a steamer ferries the broad swift-running stream, and at North Macgregor, on the Iowa shore, a train is in waiting to take on board the now sleepy passengers. The railway sleeping-car is essentially an American institution. Like every other institution, it has its critics, favourable and severe. On the one hand, it is said to be the acme of comfort; on the other, the essence of unrest. But it is just what might be expected under the circumstances, neither one thing nor the other. No one in his senses would prefer to sleep in a bed which was being bornc violently along over rough and uneven iron when he could select a stationary resting-place. On the other hand, it is a very great saving of time and expense to travel for some eighty or one hundred consecutive hours, and this can only be effected by means of the sleeping-car. Take this distance, from New York to St. Paul, as an instance. It is about 1450 miles, and it can be accomplished in sixty-four hours. Of course one cannot expect to find oneself as comfortably located as in an hotel; but, all things considered, the balance of advantage is very much on the side of the sleeping-car. After a night or two one becomes accustomed to the noise and oscillation; the little peculiarities incidental to turning-in in rather a promiscuous manner with ladies old and young, children in arms and out of arms, vanish before the force of habit; the necessity of making an early rush to the lavatory appliances in the morning, and there securing a plentiful supply of water and clean towels, becomes quickly apparent, and altogether the sleeping-car ceases to be a thing of nuisance and is accepted as an accomplished fact. The interior arrangements of the car are conducted as follows. A passage runs down the centre from one door to the other; on either side are placed the berths or "sections" for sleeping; during the day-time these form seats, and are occupied by such as care to take them in the ordinary manner of railroad cars. At night, however, the whole car undergoes a complete transformation. A negro attendant commences to make down the beds. This operation is performed by drawing out, after the manner of telescopes, portions of the car heretofore looked upon as immoveable; from various receptacles thus rendered visible he extracts large store of blankets, mattresses, bolsters, pillows, sheets, all which he arranges after the usual method of such articles. His work is done speedily and without noise or bustle, and in a very short time the interior of the car presents the spectacle of a long, dimly lighted passage, having on either side the striped damask curtains which partly shroud the berths behind them. Into these berths the passengers soon withdraw themselves, and all goes quietly till morning-unless, indeed, some stray turning bridge has been left turned over one of the numerous creeks that underlie the track, or the loud whistle of "brakes down" is the short prelude to one of the many disasters of American railroad travel. There are many varieties of the sleeping-car, but the principle and mode of procedure are identical in each. Some of those constructed by Messrs. Pullman and Wagner are as gorgeously decorated as gilding, plating, velvet, and damask can make them. The former gentleman is likely to live long after his death in the title of his cars. One takes a Pullman (of course, only a share of a Pullman) as one takes a Hansom. Pullman and sleeping-car have become synonymous terms likely to last the wear of time. Travelling from sunrise to sunset through a country which offers but few changes to the eye, and at a rate which in the remoter districts seldom exceeds twenty miles an hour, is doubtless a very tiresome occupation; still it has much to relieve the tedium of what under the English system of railroad travel would be almost insupportable. The fact of easy communication being maintained between the different cars renders the passage from one car to another during motion a most feasible undertaking. One can visit the various cars and inspect their occupants, and to a man travelling to obtain information this is no small boon. Americans are always ready to enter into conversation, and though many queer fish will doubtless be met with in such interviews, still as one is certain to fall in with persons from all parts of the Union--easters, Southerners, Western men, and Californians--the experiment of "knocking around the cars" is well worth the trial of any person who is not above taking human nature, as we take the weather, just as it comes. The individual known by the title of "train-boy" is also worth some study. He is oftentimes a grown-up man, but more frequently a most precocious boy; he is the agent for some enterprising house in Chicago, New York, or Philadelphia, or some other large town, and his aim is to dispose of a very miscellaneous collection of mental and bodily nourishment. He usually commences operations with the mental diet, which he serves round in several courses. The first course consists of works of a high moral character standard English novels in American reprints, and works of travel or biography. These he lays beside each passenger, stopping now and then to recommend one or the other for some particular excellence of morality or binding. Having distributed a portion through the car, he passes into the next car, and so through the train. After a few minutes delay he returns again to pick up the books and to settle with any one who may be disposed to retain possession of one. After the lapse of a very short time he reappears with the second course of literature. This usually consists of a much lower standard of excellence --Yankee fun, illustrated periodicals of a feeble nature, and cheap reprints of popular works. The third course, which soon follows, is, however, a very much lower one, and it is a subject for regret on the part of the moralist that the same powers of persuasion which but a little time ago were put forth to advocate the sale of some works of high moral excellence should now be exerted to push a vigorous circulation of the "Last Sensation," "The Dime Illustrated," "New York under Gas light," "The Bandits of the Rocky Mountains," and other similar productions. These pernicious periodicals having been shown around, the train-boy evidently becomes convinced that mental culture requires from him no further effort; he relinquishes that portion of his labour and devotes all his energies to the sale of the bodily nourishment, consisting of oranges and peaches, according to season, of a very sickly and uninviting description; these he follows with sugar in various preparations of stickiness, supplementing the whole with pea-nuts and crackers. In the end he becomes without any doubt a terrible nuisance; one conceives a mortal hatred for this precocious pedlar who with his vile compounds is ever bent upon forcing you to purchase his wares. He gets, he will tell you, a percentage on his sales of ten cents in the dollar; if you are going a long journey, he will calculate to sell you a dollar's worth of his stock. You are therefore worth to him ten cents. Now you cannot do better in his first round of high moral literature than present him at once with this ten cents, stipulating that on no account is he to invite your attention, press you to buy, or offer you any candy, condiment, or book during the remainder of the journey. If you do this you will get out of the train-boy at a reasonable rate. Going to sleep as the train works its way slowly up the grades which lead to the higher level of the State of Iowa from the waters of Mississippi one sinks into a state of dim consciousness of all that is going on in the long carriage. The whistle of the locomotive--which, by the way, is very much more melodious than the one in use in England, being softer, deeper, and reaching to a greater distance-the roll of the train into stations, the stop and the start, all become, as it were, blended into uneasy sleep, until daylight sets the darkey at his work of making up the sections. When the sun rose we were well into Minnesota, the-most northern of the Union States. Around on every side stretched the great wheat lands of the North-west, that region whose farthest limits lie far within the territories where yet the red man holds his own. Here, in the south of Minnesota, one is only on the verge of that great wheat region. Far beyond the northern limit of the state it stretches away into latitudes unknown, save to the fur trader and the red man, latitudes which, if you tire not on the road, good reader, you and I may journey into together. The City of St. Paul, capital and chief town of the State of Minnesota, gives promise of rising to a very high position among the great trade centres of America. It stands almost at the head of the navigation of the Mississippi River, about 2050 miles from New Orleans; not that the great river has its beginning here or in the vicinity, its cradle lies far to the north, 700 miles along the stream. But the Falls of St. Anthony, a few miles above St. Paul, interrupt all navigation, and the course of the river for a considerable distance above the fall is full of rapids and obstructions. Immediately above and below St. Paul the Mississippi River receives several large tributary streams from north-east and north west; the St. Peter's or Minnesota River coming from near the Coteau of the Missouri, and the St. Croix unwatering the great tract of pine land which lies West of Lake Superior; but it is not alone to water communication that St. Paul owes its commercial importance. With the same restless energy of the Northern American, its leading men have looked far into the future, and shaped their course for later times; railroads are stretching out in every direction to pierce the solitude of the yet uninhabited prairies and pine forests of the North. There is probably no part of the world in which the inhabitants are so unhealthy as in America; but the life is more trying than the climate, the constant use of spirit taken "straight," the incessant chewing of tobacco with its disgusting accompaniment, the want of healthier exercise, the habit of eating in a hurry, all tend to cut short the term of man's life in the New World.' Nowhere have I seen so many young wrecks. "Yes, sir, we live fast here," said a general officer to me one day on the Missouri; "And we die fast too," echoed a major from another part of the room. As a matter of course, places possessing salubrious climates are crowded with pallid seekers after health, and as St. Paul enjoys a dry and bracing atmosphere from its great elevation above the sea level, as well as from the purity of the surrounding prairies, its hotels--and they are many--are crowded with the broken wrecks of half the Eastern states; some find what they seek, but the majority come to Minnesota only to die. Business connected with the supply of the troops during the coming winter in Red River, detained me for some weeks in Minnesota, and as the letters which I had despatched upon my arrival giving the necessary particulars regarding the proposed arrangements, required at least a week to obtain replies to, I determined to visit in the interim the shores of Lake Superior. Here I would glean what tidings I could of the progress of the Expedition, from whose base at Fort William, I would be only 100 miles distant, as well as examine the% chances of Fenian intervention, so much talked of in the American newspapers, as likely to place in peril the flank of the expeditionary force as it followed the devious track of swamp and forest which has on one side Minnesota, and on the other the Canadian Dominion. Since my departure from Canada the weather had been intensely warm: pleasant in Detroit, warm in Chicago, hot in Milwaukie, and sweltering, blazing in St. Paul, would have aptly described the temperature, although the last named city is some hundred miles more to the north than the first. But latitude is no criterion of summer heat in America, and the short Arctic summer of the Mackenzie River knows often a fiercer heat than the swamp lands of the Carolinas. So, putting together a very light field-kit, I started early one morning from St. Paul for the new town of Duluth, on the extreme westerly end of Lake Superior. Duluth, I was told, was the very newest of new towns, in fact it only had an existence of eighteen months; as may be inferred, it had no past, but any want in that respect was compensated for in its marvellous future. It was to be the great grain emporium of the North-west; it was to kill St. Paul, Milwaukie, Chicago, and half-a-dozen other thriving towns; its murderous propensities seemed to have no bounds; lots were already selling at fabulous prices, and everybody seemed to have Duluth in some shape or other on the brain. To reach this paradise of the future I had to travel 100 miles by the Superior and Mississippi railroad, to a halting-place known as the End of the Track-a name which gave a very accurate idea of its whereabouts and general capabilities. The line was, in fact, in course of formation, and was being rapidly pushed forward from both ends with a view to its being opened through by the 1st day of August. About forty miles north-east of St. Paul we entered the region of pine forest. At intervals of ten or twelve miles the train stopped at places bearing high-sounding titles, such as Rush City, Pine City; but upon examination one looked in vain for any realization of these names, pines and rushes certainly were plentiful enough, but the city part of the arrangement was nowhere visible. Upon asking a fellow-passenger for some explanation of the phenomena, he answered, "Guess there was a city hereaway last year, but it busted up or gone on." Travellers unacquainted with the vernacular of America might have conjured up visions of a catastrophe not less terrible than that of Pompeii or Herculaneum, but an earlier acquaintance of Western cities had years before taught me to comprehend such phrases. In the autumn of 1867 I had visited the prairies of Nebraska, along the banks of the Platte River. Buffalo were numerous on the sandy plains which form the hunting-grounds of the Shienne and Arapahoe Indians, and amongst the vast herds the bright October days passed quickly enough. One day, in company with an American officer, we were following, as usual, a herd of buffalo, when we came upon a town standing silent and deserted in the middle the Trairie. "That," said the American, "is Kearney City; it did a good trade in the old wagon times, but it busted up when the railroad went on farther west; the people moved on to North Platte and Julesburg--guess there's only one man left in it now, and he's got snakes in his boots the hull season." Marvelling what manner of man this might be who dwelt alone in the silent city, we rode on. One house showed some traces of occupation, and in this house dwelt the man. We had passed through the deserted grass-grown street, and were again on the prairie, when a shot rang out behind us, the bullet cutting up the dust away to the left. "By G---- he's on the shoot," cried our friend; "ride, boys!" and so we rode. Much has been written and said of cities old and new, of Aztec and Peruvian monuments, but I venture to offer to the attention of the future historian of America this sample of the busted up city of Kearney and its solitary indweller, who had snakes in his boots and was on the shoot. After that explanation of a "busted-up" and "gone-on" city, I was of course sufficiently well "posted" not to require further explanation as to the fate of Pine and Rush Cities; but had I entertained any doubts upon the subject, the final stoppage of the train at Moose Lake, or City, would have effectually dispelled them. For there stood the portions of Rush and Pine Cities which had not "bust up," but had simply "gone on." Two shanties, with a few outlying sheds, stood on either side of the track, which here crossed a clear running forest stream. Passenger communication ended at this point; the rails were laid down for a distance of eight miles farther, but only the "construction train," with supplies, men, etc. proceeded to that point. Track-laying was going on at the rate of three miles a day, I was informed, and the line would soon be opened to the Dalles of the St. Louis River, near the hecad of Lake Superior. The heat all day had been very great, and it was refreshing to get out of the dusty car, even though the shanties, in which eating, drinking, and sleeping were supposed to be carried on, were of the very lowest description. I had made the acquaintance of the express agent, a gentleman connected with the baggage department of the train, and during the journey he had taken me somewhat into his confidence on the matter of the lodging and entertainment which were to be found in the shanties. "The food ain't bad," he said, "but that there shanty of Tom's licks creation for bugs." This terse and forcibly expressed opinion made me select the interior of a wagon, and some fresh hay, as a place of rest, where, in spite of vast numbers of mosquitoes, I slept the sleep of the weary. The construction train started from Moose City at six o'clock a.m., and as the stage, which was supposed to connect with the passenger train and carry forward its human freight to Superior City was filled to overflowing, I determined to take advantage of the construction train, and travel on it as far as it would take me. A very motley group of lumberers, navvies, and speculators assembled for breakfast at five o'clock a.m. at Tom's table, and although I cannot quite confirm the favourable opinion of my friend the express agent as to the quality of the viands which graced it, I can at least testify to the vigour with which the "guests" disposed of the pork and beans, the molasses and dried apples which Tom, with foul fingers, had set before them. Seated on the floor of a waggon in the construction train, in the midst of navvies of all countries and ages, I reached the end of the track while the morning sun was yet low in the east. I had struck up a kind of partnership for the journey with a pedlar Jew and an Ohio man, both going to Duluth, and as we had a march of eighteen miles to get through between the end of the track and the town of Fond-du-Lac, it became necessary to push on before the sun had reached his midday level; so, shouldering our baggage, we left the busy scene of track-laying and struck out along the graded line for the Dalles of the St. Louis. Up to this point the line had been fully levelled, and the walking was easy enough, but when the much-talked of Dalles were reached a complete change took place, and the toil became excessive. The St. Louis River, which in reality forms the headwater of the great St. Lawrence, has its source in the dividing ridge between Minnesota and the British territory. From these rugged Laurentian ridges it foams down in an impetuous torrent through wild pine-clad steeps of rock and towering precipice, apparently to force an outlet into the valley of the Mississippi, but at the Dalles it seems to have suddenly preferred to seek the cold waters of the Atlantic, and, bending its course abruptly to the east, it pours its foaming torrent into the great Lake Superior below the old French trading-post of Fond-du-Lac. The load which I carried was not of itself a heavy one, but its weight became intolerable under the rapidly increasing heat of the sun and from the toilsome nature of the road. The deep narrow gorges over which the railway was to be carried were yet unbridged, and we had to let ourselves down the steep yielding embankment to a depth of over 100 feet, and then clamber up the other side almost upon hands and knees-this under a sun that beat down between the hills with terrible intensity on the yellow sand of the railway cuttings! The Ohio man carried no baggage, but the Jew was heavily laden, and soon fell behind. For a time I kept pace with my light companion; but soon I too was obliged to lag, and about midday found myself alone in the solitudes of the Dalles. At last there came a gorge deeper and steeper than any thing that had preceded it, and I was forced to rest long before attempting its almost perpendicular ascent. When I did reach the top, it was to find myself thoroughly done up--the sun came down on the side of the embankment as though it would burn the sandy soil into ashes, not a breath of air moved through the silent hills, not a leaf stirred in the forest. My load was more than I could bear, and again I had to lie down to avoid falling down. Only once before had I experienced a similar sensation of choking, and that was in toiling through a Burmese swamp, snipe-shooting under a midday sun. How near that was to sun-stroke, I can't say; but I don't think it could be very far. After a little time, I saw, some distance down below, smoke rising from a shanty. I made my way with no small difficulty to the door, and found the place full of some twenty or more rough-bearded looking men sitting down to dinner. "About played out, I guess?" said one. "Wall, that sun is h--; any how, come in and have a bit. Have a drink of tea or some vinegar and water." They filled me out a literal dish of tea, black and boiling; and I drained the tin with a feeling of relief such as one seldom knows. The place was lined round with bunks like the forecastle of a ship. After a time I rose to depart and asked the man who acted as cook how much there was to pay. "Not a cent, stranger;" and so I left my rough hospitable friends, and, gaining the railroad, lay down to rest until the fiery sun had got lower in the west. The remainder of the road was thronged with gangs of men at work along it, bridging, blasting, building, and levelling--strong able-bodied fellows fit for any thing. Each gang was under the superintendence of a railroad "boss," and all seemed to be working well. But then two dollars a head per diem will make men work well even under such a sun. CHAPTER FIVE. Lake Superior--The Dalles of the St. Louis--The North Pacific Railroad--Fond-du-Lac-Duluth--Superior City--The Great Lake--A Plan to dry up Niagara--Stage Driving--Tom's Shanty again--St. Paul and its Neighbourhood. ALMOST in the centre of the Dalles I passed the spot where the Northern Pacific Railroad had on that day turned its first sod, commencing its long course across the continent. This North Pacific Railroad is destined to play a great part in the future history of the United States; it is the second great link which is to bind together the Atlantic and Pacific States (before twenty years there will be many others). From Puget Sound on the Pacific to Duluth on Lake Superior is about 2200 miles, and across this distance the North Pacific Railroad is to run. The immense plains of Dakota, the grassy uplands of Montana and Washington, and the centre of the State of Minnesota will behold ere long this iron road of the North Pacific Company piercing their lonely wilds. "Red Cloud" and "Black Eagle" and "Standing Buffalo" may gather their braves beyond the Coteau to battle against this steam-horse which scares their bison from his favourite breeding grounds on the scant pastures of the great Missouri plateau; but all their efforts will be in vain, the dollar will beat them out. Poor Red Cloud! in spite of thy towering form and mighty strength, the dollar is mightier still, and the fiat has gone forth before which thou and thy braves must pass away from the land! Very tired and covered deep with the dust of railroad cuttings, I reached the collection of scattered houses which bears the name of Fond-du Lac. Upon inquiring at the first house which I came to as to the whereabouts of the hotel, I was informed by a sour-visaged old female, that if I wanted to drink and get drunk, I must go farther on; but that if I wished to behave in a quiet and respectable manner, and could live %without liquor, I could stay in her house, which was at once post office, Temperance Hotel, and very respectable. Being weary and footsore, I. did not feel disposed to seek farther, for the place looked clean, the river was close at hand, and the whole aspect of the scene was suggestive of rest. In the evening hours myriads of mosquitoes and flying things of minutest size came forth from the wooded hills and did their best towards making life a misery; so bad were they that I welcomed a passing navvy who dropped in as a real godsend. "You're come up to look after work on this North Pacific Railroad, I guess?" he commenced-he was a Southern Irish man, but "guessed" all the same--"well, now, look here, the North Pacific Railroad will never be like the U.P. (Union Pacific) I worked there, and I know what it was; it was bully, I can tell you. A chap lay in his bunk all day and got two dollars and a half for doing it; ay, and bit the boss on the head with his shovel if the boss gave him any d---- chat. No, sirree, the North Pacific will never be like that." I could not help thinking that it was perhaps quite as well for the North Pacific Railroad Company and the boss if they never were destined to rival the Union Pacific Company as pictured by my companion; but I did not attempt to say so, as it might have come under the heading of "d---- chat," worthy only of being replied to by that convincing argument, the shovel. A good night's sleep and a swim in the St. Louis river banished all trace of toil. I left Fond-du-Lac early in the afternoon, and, descending by a small steamer the many-winding St. Louis River, soon came in sight of the town of Duluth. The heat had become excessive; the Bay of St. Louis, shut in on all sides by lofty hills, lay under a mingled mass of thunder-cloud and sunshine; far out in Lake Superior vivid lightnings flashed over the gloomy water and long rolls of thunder shook the hills around. On board our little steamboat the atmosphere was stifling, and could not have been short of 100 degrees in the coolest place (it was 93 at six o'clock same evening in the hotel at Duluth); there was nothing for it but to lie quietly on a wooden bench and listen to the loud talking of some fellow-passengers. Three of the hardest of hard cases were engaged in the mental recreation of "'swapping lies;" their respective exchanges consisting on this occasion of feats of stealing; the experiences of one I recollect in particular. He had stolen an axe from a man on the North Pacific Railroad and a few days later sold him the same article. This Piece of knavery was received as the acme of cuteness; and I well recollect the language in which the brute wound up his self-laudations: "If any chap can steal faster than me, let him." As we emerged from the last bend of the river and stood across the Bay of St. Louis, Duluth, in all its barrenness, stood before us. The future capital of the Lakes, the great central port of the continent, the town whose wharves were to be laden with the teas of China and the silks of Japan stood out on the rocky north shore of Lake Superior, the sorriest spectacle of city that eye of man could look upon-wooden houses scattered at intervals along a steep ridge from which the forest had been only partially cleared, houses of the smallest possible limits growing out of a reedy marsh, which lay between lake and ridge, tree-stumps and lumber standing in street and landing-place, the swamps croaking with bull-frogs and passable only by crazy looking planks of tilting proclivities--over all, a sun fit for a Carnatic coolie, and around, a forest vegetation in whose heart the memory of Arctic winter rigour seemed to live for ever. Still, in spite of rock and swamp and icy winter, Yankee energy will triumph here as it has triumphed else where over kindred difficulties. "There's got to be a Boss City hereaway on this end of the lake," said the captain of the little boat; and though he spoke with much labour of imprecation, both needless then and now, taking what might be termed a cursory view of the situation, he summed up the prospects of Duluth conclusively and clearly enough. I cannot say I enjoyed a stay of two days in Duluth. Several new saloons (name for dram-shops, gaming-houses, and generally questionable places) were being opened for the first time to the public, and free drinks were consequently the rule. Now "free drinks" have generally a demoralizing tendency upon a community, but taken in connexion with a temperature of 98 degrees in the shade, they quickly develop into free revolvers and freer bowie-knives. Besides, the spirit of speculation was rampant in the hotel, and so many men had corner lots, dock locations, pine forests, and pre-empted lands to sell me, that nothing but flight prevented my becoming a large holder of all manner of Duluth securities upon terms that, upon the clearest showing, would have been ridiculously favourable to me. The principal object of my visit to Duluth was to discover if any settlement existed at the Vermilion Lakes, eighty miles to the north and not far from the track of the Expedition, a place which had been named to the military authorities in Canada as likely to form a base of attack for any filibusters who would be adventurous enough to make a dash at the communication of the expeditionary force. A report of the discovery of gold and silver mines around the Vermilion Lakes had induced a rush of miners there during the previous year; but the mines had all "bust up," and the miners had been blown away to other regions, leaving the plant and fixtures of quartz-crushing machinery standing drearily in the wilderness. These facts I ascertained from the engineer, who had constructed a forest track from Duluth to the mines, and into whose office I penetrated in quest of information. He, too, looked upon me as a speculator. "Don't mind them mines," he said, after I had questioned him on all points of distance and road; "don't touch them mines; they're clean gone up. The gold in them mines don't amount to a row of pines, and there's not a man there now." That evening there came a violent thunder-storm, which cleared and cooled the atmosphere; between ten o'clock in the morning and three in the afternoon the thermometer fell 30 degrees. Lake Superior had asserted its icy influence over the sun. Glad to get away from Duluth, I crossed the bay to Superior City, situated on the opposite, or Wisconsin shore of the lake. A curious formation of sand and shingle runs out from the shore of Duluth, forming a long narrow spit of land projecting far into Lake Superior. It bears the name of Minnesota Point, and has evidently been formed by the opposing influence of the east wind over the great expanse of the lake, and the current of the St. Louis River from the West. It has a length of seven miles, and is only a few yards in width. Close to the Wisconsin shore a break occurs in this long narrow spit, and inside this opening lies the harbour and city of Superior incomparably a better situation for a city and lake-port, level, sheltered, capacious; but, nevertheless, Superior City is doomed to delay, while eight miles off its young rival is rapidly rushing to wealth. This anomaly is easily explained. Duluth is pushed forward by the capital of the State of Minnesota, while the legislature of Wisconsin looks with jealous eye upon the formation of a second lake-port city which might draw off to itself the trade of Milwaukie. In course of time, however, Superior City must rise, in spite of all hostility, to the very prominent position to which its natural advantages entitle it. I had not been many minutes in the hotel at Superior City before the trying and unsought character of land speculator was again thrust upon me. "Now, stranger," said a long-legged Yankee, who, with his boots on the stove---the day had got raw and cold--and his knees considerably higher than his head, was gazing intently at me, "'I guess I've fixed you." I was taken aback by the sudden identification of my business, when he continued, "Yes, I've just fixed you. You air a Kanady speculator, ain't ye?" Not deeming it altogether wise to deny the correct ness of his fixing, I replied I had lived in Kanady for some time, but that I was not going to begin speculation until I had knocked round a little. An invitation to liquor soon followed. The disagreeable consequence resulting from this admission soon became apparent. I was much pestered towards evening by offers of investment in things varying from a sand-hill to a city-square, or what would infallibly in course of time develop into a city-square. A gentleman rejoicing in the name of Vose Palmer insisted upon inter viewing me until a protracted hour of the night, with a view towards my investing in straight drinks for him at the bar and in an extensive pine forest for myself some where on the north shore of Lake Superior. I have no doubt the pine forest is still in the market; and should any enterprising capitalist in this country feel disposed to enter into partnership on a basis of bearing all expenses himself, giving only the profits to his partner, he will find "Vose Palmer, Superior City, Wisconsin, United States," ever ready to attend to him. Before turning our steps westward from this inland ocean of Superior, it will be well to pause a moment on its shore and look out over its bosom. It is worth looking at, for the world possesses not its equal. Four Hundred English miles in length, 50 miles across it, 600 feet above Atlantic level, 900 feet in depth-one vast spring of purest crystal water, so cold, that during summer months its waters are like ice itself, and so clear, that hundreds of feet below the surface the rocks stand out as distinctly as though seen through plate-glass. Follow in fancy the outpourings of this wonderful basin; seek its future course in Huron, Erie, and Ontario, in that wild leap from the rocky ledge which makes Niagara famous through the world. Seek it farther still, in the quiet loveliness of the Thousand Isles; in the whirl and sweep of the Cedar Rapids; in the silent rush of the great current under the rocks at the foot of Quebec. Ay, and even farther away still, down where the lone Laurentian Hills come forth to look again upon that water whose earliest beginnings they cradled along the shores of Lake Superior. There, close to the sounding billows of the Atlantic, 2000 miles from Superior, these hills--the only ones that ever last-guard the great gate by which the St. Lawrence seeks the sea. There are rivers whose current, running red with the silt and mud of their soft alluvial shores, carry far into the ocean the record of their muddy progress; but this glorious river system, through its many lakes and various names, is ever the same crystal current, flowing pure from the fountain-head of Lake Superior. Great cities stud its shores; but they are powerless to dim the transparency of its waters. Steamships cover the broad bosom of its lakes and estuaries; but they change not the beauty of the water-no more than the fleets of the world mark the waves of the ocean. Any person looking at the map's of the region bounding the great lakes of North America will be struck by the absence of rivers flowing into Lakes Superior, Michigan, or Huron from the south; in fact, the drainage of the states bordering these lakes on the south is altogether carried off by the valley of the Mississippi-it follows that this valley of Mississippi is at a much lower level than the surface of the lakes. These lakes, containing an area of some 73,000 square miles, are therefore an immense reservoir held high over the level of the great Mississippi valley, from which they are separated by a barrier of slight elevation and extent. It is not many years ago since an enterprising Yankee proposed to annihilate Canada, dry up Niagara, and "fix British creation" generally, by diverting the current of Lake Erie, through a deep canal, into the Ohio River; but should nature, in one of her freaks of earthquake, ever cause a disruption to this intervening barrier on the southern shores of the great northern lakes, the drying up of Niagara, the annihilation of Canada, and the divers disasters to British power, will in all probability be followed by the submersion of half of the Mississippi states under the waters of these inland seas. On the 26th June I quitted the shores of Lake Superior and made my way back to Moose Lake. Without any exception, the road thither was the very worst I had ever travelled over--four horses essayed to drag a stage-waggon over, or rather, I should say, through, a track of mud and ruts impossible to picture. The stage fare amounted to $6, or 4s. for 34 miles. An extra dollar reserved the box-seat and gave me the double advantage of knowing what was coming in the rut line and taking another lesson in the idiom of the American stage-driver. This idiom consists of the smallest possible amount of dictionary words, a few Scriptural names rather irreverently used, a very large intermixture of "git-ups" and ejaculatory "his," and a general tendency to blasphemy all round. We reached Tom's shanty at dusk. As before, it was crowded to excess, and the memory of the express man's warning was still sufficiently strong to make me prefer the forest to "bunking in" with the motley assemblage; a couple of Eastern Americans shared with me the little camp. We made a fire, laid some boards on the ground, spread a blanket upon them, pulled the "mosquito bars" over our heads, and lay down to attempt to sleep. It was a vain effort; mosquitoes came out in myriads, little atoms of gnats penetrated through the netting of the "bars," and rendered rest or sleep impossible. At last, when the gnats seemed disposed to retire, two Germans came along, and, seeing our fire, commenced stumbling about our boards. To be roused at two o'clock a.m., when one is just sinking into obliviousness after four hours of useless struggle with unseen enemies, is provoking enough, but to be roused under such circumstances by Germans is simply unbearable. At last daylight came. A bathe in the creek, despite the clouds of mosquitoes, freshened one up a little and made Tom's terrible table see less repulsive. Then came a long hot day in the dusty cars, until at length St. Paul was reached. I remained at St. Paul some twelve days, detained there from day to day awaiting the arrival of letters from Canada relative to the future supply of the Expedition. This delay was at the time most irksome, as I too frequently pictured the troops pushing on towards Fort Garry while I was detained inactive in Minnesota; but one morning the American papers came out with news that the expeditionary forces had met with much delay in their first move from Thunder Bay; the road over which it was necessary for them to transport their boats, munitions, and supplies for a distance of forty-four miles from Superior to Lake Shebandowan was utterly impracticable, portions of it, indeed, had still to be made, bridges to be built, swamps to be corduroyed, and thus at the very outset of the Expedition a long delay became necessary. Of course, the American press held high jubilee over this check, which was represented as only the beginning of the end of a series of disasters. The British Expedition was never destined to reach Red River--swamps would entrap it, rapids would engulf it; and if, in spite of these obstacles, some few men did succeed in piercing the rugged wilderness, the trusty rifle of the Metis would soon annihilate the presumptive intruders. Such was the news and such were the comments I had to read day after day, as I anxiously scanned the columns of the newspapers for intelligence. Nor were these comments on the Expedition confined to prophecy of its failure from the swamps and rapids of the route: Fenian aid was largely spoken of by one portion of the press. Arms and ammunition, and hands to use them, were being pushed towards St. Cloud and the Red River to aid the free sons of the North-west to follow out their manifest destiny, which, of course, was annexation to the United States. But although these items made reading a matter of no pleasant description, there were other things to be done in the good city of St. Paul not without their special interest. The Falls of the Mississippi at St. Anthony, and the lovely little Fall of Minnehaha, lay only some seven miles distant. Minnehaha is a perfect little beauty; its bright sparkling waters, forming innumerable fleecy threads! of silk-like wavelets, seem to laugh over the rocky edge; so light and so lace-like is the curtain, that the sunlight streaming through looks like a lovely bride through some rich bridal veil. The Falls of St. Anthony are neither grand nor beautiful, and are utterly disfigured by the various sawmills that surround them. The hotel in which I lodged at St. Paul was a very favourable specimen of the American hostelry; its proprietor was, of course, a colonel, so it may be presumed that he kept his company in excellent order. I had but few acquaintances in St. Paul, and had little to do besides study American character as displayed in dining-room, lounging-hall, and verandah, during the hot fine days; but when the hour of sunset came it was my wont to ascend to the roof of the building to look at the glorious panorama spread out before me-for sunset in America is of itself a sight of rare beauty, and the valley of the Mississippi never appeared to better advantage than when the rich hues of the western sun were gilding the steep ridges that over hang it. CHAPTER SIX. Our Cousins--Doing America--Two Lessons--St. Cloud--Sauk Rapids--"Steam Pudding or Pumpkin Pie?"--Trotting him out--Away for the Red River. ENGLISHMEN who visit America take away with them two widely different sets of opinions. In most instances they have rushed through the land, note-book in hand, recording impressions and eliciting information. The visit is too frequently a first and a last one; the thirty-seven states are run over in thirty-seven days; then out comes the book, and the great question of America, socially and politically considered, is sealed for evermore. Now, if these gentlemen would only recollect that impressions, which are thus hastily collected must of necessity share the imperfection of all things done in a hurry, they would not record these hurriedly gleaned facts with such an appearance of infallibility, or, rather, they might be induced to try a second rush across the Atlantic before attempting that first rush into print. Let them remember that even the genius of Dickens was not proof against such error, and that a subsequent visit to the States caused no small amount of alteration in his impressions of America. This second visit should be a rule with every man who wishes to read aright, for his own benefit, or for that of others, the great book which America holds open to the traveller. Above all, the English traveller who enters the United States with a portfolio filled with letters of introduction will generally prove the most untrustworthy guide to those who follow him for information. He will travel from city to city, finding everywhere lavish hospitality and boundless kindness; at every hotel he will be introduced to several of "our leading citizens;" newspapers will report his progress, general-superintendents of railroads will pester him with free passes over half the lines in the Union; and he will take his departure from New York after a dinner at Delmonico's, the cartes of which will cost a dollar each. The chances are extremely probable that his book will be about as fair a representation of American social and political institutions as his dinner at Delmonico's would justly represent the ordinary cuisine throughout the Western States. Having been fêted and free-passed through the Union, he of course comes away delighted with everything. If he is what is called a Liberal in politics, his political bias still further strengthens his favourable impressions of democracy and Delmonico; if he is a rigid Conservative, democracy loses half its terrors when it is seen across the Atlantic--just as widow-burning or Juggernaut are institutions much better suited to Bengal than they would be to Berkshire. Of course Canada and things Canadian are utterly beneath the notice of our traveller. He may, however, introduce them casually with reference to Niagara, which has a Canadian shore, or Quebec, which possesses a fine view; for the rest, America, past, present, and to come, is to be studied in New York, Boston, Cincinnati, St. Louis, and half a dozen other big places, and, with Niagara, Salt Lake City and San Francisco thrown in for scenic effect, the whole thing is complete. Salt Lake City is peculiarly valuable to the traveller, as it affords him much subject-matter for questionable writing. It might be well to recollect, however, that there really exists no necessity for crossing the Atlantic and travelling as far west as Utah in order to compose questionable books upon unquestionable subjects; similar materials in vast quantities exist much nearer home, and Pimlico and St. John's Wood will be found quite as prolific in "Spiritual Wives" and "Gothic" affinities as any creek or lake in the Western wilderness. Neither is it to be wondered at that so many travellers carry away with them a fixed idea that our cousins are cousins in heart as well as in relationship-the friendship is of the Delmonico type too. Those speeches made to the departing guest, those Pledges of brotherhood over the champagne glass, this "old lang syne" with hands held in Scotch fashion, all these are not worth much in the markets of brotherhood. You will be told that the hostility of the inhabitants of the United States towards England is confined to one class, and that class, though numerically large, is politically insignificant. Do not believe it for one instant: the hostility to England is universal; it is more deep rooted than any other feeling; it is an instinct and not a reason, and consequently possesses the dogged strength of unreasoning antipathy. I tell you, Mr. Bull, that were you pitted to-morrow against a race that had not one idea in kindred with your own, were you fighting a deadly struggle against a despotism the most galling on earth, were you engaged with an enemy whose grip was around your neck and whose foot was on your chest, that English-speaking cousin of yours over the Atlantic whose language is your language, whose literature is your literature, whose civil code is begotten from your digests of law would stir no hand, no foot, to save you, would gloat over your agony, would keep the ring while you were, being knocked out of all semblance of nation and power, and would not be very far distant when the moment came to hold a feast of eagles over your vast disjointed limbs. Make no mistake in this matter, and be not blinded by ties of kindred or belief. You imagine that because he is your cousin-sometimes even your very son-that he cannot hate you, and you nurse yourself in the belief that in a moment of peril the stars and stripes would fly alongside the old red cross. Listen one moment; we cannot go five miles through any State in the American Union without coming upon a square substantial building in which children are being taught one universal lesson-the history of how, through long years of blood and strife, their country came forth a nation from the bungling tyranny of Britain. Until five short years ago that was the one bit of history that went home to the heart of Young America, that Was the lesson your cousin learned, and still learns, in spite of later conflicts. Let us see what was the lesson your son had laid to heart. Well, your son learned his lesson, not from books, for too often he could not read, but he learned it in a manner which perhaps stamps it deeper into the mind than even letter-press or schoolmaster. He left you because you would not keep him, because you preferred grouse-moors and deer-forests in Scotland, or meadows and sheep-walks in Ireland to him or his. He did not leave you as one or two from a household--as one who would go away and establish a branch connexion across the ocean; he went away by families, by clans, by kith and kin, for ever and for aye and he went away with hate in his heart and dark thoughts towards you who should have been his mother. It matters little that he has bettered himself and grown rich in the new land; that is his affair; so far as you were concerned, it was about even betting whether he went to the bottom of the Atlantic or to the top of the social tree-so, I say, to close this subject, that son and cousin owe you and give you, scant and feeblest love. You will find themn the firm friend of the Russian, because that Russian is likely to become your enemy in Herat, in Cabool, in Kashgar, or in Constantinople; you will find him the ally of the Prussian whenever Kaiser William, after the fashion of his tribe, orders his legions to obliterate the line between Holland and Germany, taking hold of that metaphorical pistol which you spent so many millions-to turn from your throat in the days of the first Napoleon. Nay, even should any woman-killing Sepoy put you to sore strait by indiscriminate and ruthless slaughter, he will be your cousin's friend, for the simple reason that he is your enemy. But a study of American habits and opinions, however interesting in itself, was not calculated to facilitate in any way the solving of the problem which now beset me, namely, the further progress of my journey to the Northwest. The accounts which I daily received were not encouraging. Sometimes there came news that M. Riel had grown tired of his pre-eminence and was anxious to lay down his authority; at other times I heard of preparation made and making to oppose the Expedition by force, and of strict watch being maintained along the Pembina frontier to arrest and turn back all persons except such as were friendly to the Provisional Government. Nor was my own position in St. Paul at all a pleasant one. The inquiries I had to make on subjects connected with the supply of the troops in Red River had made so many persons acquainted with my identity, that it soon became known that there was a British officer in the place--a knowledge which did not tend in any manner to make the days pleasant in themselves nor hopeful in the anticipation of a successful prosecution of my journey in the time to come. About the first week in July I left St. Paul for St. Cloud, seventy miles higher up on the Mississippi, having decided to wait no longer'` for instructions, but to trust to chance for further progress towards the North-west. "You will meet with no obstacle at this side of the line," said an American gentleman who was acquainted with the object of my journey, "but I won't answer for the other side;" and so, not knowing exactly how I was to get through to join the Expedition, but' determined to try it some way or other, I set out for Sauk Rapids and St. Cloud. Sauk Rapids, on the Mississippi River, is a city which has neither burst up nor gone on. It has thought fit to remain, without monument of any kind, where it originally located itself-on the left bank of the Mississippi, opposite the confluence of the Sauk River with the "Father of Waters." It takes its name partly from the Sauk River and partly from the rapids of the Mississippi which lie abreast of the town. Like many other cities, it had nourished feelings of the most deadly enmity. against its neighbours, and was to "kill creation" on every side; but these ideas of animosity have decreased considerably in lapse of time: Of course it possessed a newspaper--I believe it also possessed a church, but I did not see that edifice; the paper, however, I did see, and was much struck by the fact that the greater portion of the first page--the paper had only two-was taken up with a pictorial delineation of what Sauk Rapids would attain to in the future, when it had sufficiently developed its immense water-power; In the mean time previous to the development of said water-power-Sauk Rapids was not a bad sort of place: a bath at an hotel in St. Paul was a more expensive luxury than a dinner; but the Mississippi flowing by the door of the hotel at Sauk Rapids permitted free bathing in its waters. Any traveller in the United States will fully appreciate this condescension on the part of the great river. If a man wishes to be clean, he has to pay highly for the luxury. The baths which exist in the hotels are evidently meant for very rare and important occasions. "I would like," said an American gentleman to a friend of mine travelling by railway, "I would like to show % you round our city, and I will call for you at the hotel." "Thank you," replied my friend; "I have only to take a bath, and will be ready in half an hour." "Take a bath!" answered the American; "why, you ain't sick, air you?" There are not many commandments strictly adhered to in the United States; but had there ever existed a "Thou shalt not tub," the implicit obedience rendered to it would have been delightful, but perhaps, in that case, every American would have been a Diogenes. The Russell House at Sauk Rapids was presided over by Dr. Chase. According to his card, Dr. Chase conferred more benefactions upon the human race for the very smallest remuneration than any man living. His hotel was situated in the loveliest portion of Minnesota, commanding the magnificent rapids of the Mississippi; his board and lodging were of the choicest description; horses and buggies were free, gratis, and medical attendance was also uncharged for. Finally, the card intimated that, upon turning over, still more astonishing revelations would meet the eye of the reader. Prepared for some terrible instance of humane abnegation on the part of Dr. Chase, I proceeded to do, as directed, and, turning over the card, read, "Present of a $500 greenback"!!! The gift of the green back was attended with some little drawback, inasmuch as it was conditional upon paying to Dr. Chase the sum of $20,000 for the goodwill, etc., of his hotel, farm, and appurtenances, or procuring a purchaser for them at that figure, which was, as a matter of course, a ridiculously low one. Two damsels who assisted Dr. Chase in ministering to the wants of his guests at dinner had a very appalling manner of presenting to the frightened feeder his choice of viands. The solemn silence which usually pervades the dinner-table of an American hotel was nowhere more observable than in this Doctor's establishment; whether it was from the fact that each guest suffered under a painful knowledge of the superhuman efforts which the Doctor was making for his or her benefit, I cannot say; but I never witnessed the proverbially frightened appearance of the American people at meals to such a degree as at the dinner-table of the Sauk Hotel. When the damsels before alluded to commenced their peregrinations round the table, giving in terribly terse language the choice of meats, the solemnity of the proceeding could not have been exceeded. "Pork or beef?" "Pork," would answer the trembling feeder; "Beef or pork?" "Beef," would again reply the guest, grasping eagerly at the first name which struck upon his ear. But when the second course came round the damsels presented us with a choice of a very mysterious nature indeed. I dimly heard two names being uttered into the ears of my fellow-eaters, and I just had time to notice the paralyzing effect which the communication appeared to have upon them, when presently over my own shoulder I heard the mystic sound-I regret to say that at first these sounds entirely failed to present to my mind any idea of food or sustenance of known description, I therefore begged for a repetition of the words; this time there was no mistake about it, "Steam-pudding or pumpkin-pie?" echoed the maiden, giving me the terrible alternative in her most cutting tones; "Both!" I ejaculated, with equal distinctness, but, I believe, audacity unparalleled since the times of Twist. The female Bumble seemed to reel beneath the shock, and I noticed that after communicating her experience to her fellow waiting-woman, I was not thought of much account for the remainder of the meal. Upon the day of my arrival at Sauk Rapids I had let it be known pretty widely that I was ready to become the purchaser of a saddle-horse, if any person had such an animal to dispose of. In the three following days the amount of saddle-horses produced in the neighbourhood was perfectly astonishing; indeed the fact of placing a saddle upon the back of any thing possessing four legs seemed to constitute the required animal; even a German--a "Dutchman'" came along with a miserable thing in horseflesh, sand-cracked and spavined, for which he only asked the trifling sum of $100. Two livery stables in St. Cloud sent up their superannuated stagers, and Dr. Chase had something to recommend of a very superior description. The end of it all was, that, declining to purchase any of the animals brought up for inspection, I found there was little chance of being able to get over the 400 miles which lay between St. Cloud and Fort Garry. It was now the 12th of July; I had reached the farthest limit of railroad communication, and before me lay 200 miles of partly settled country lying between the Mississippi and the Red River. It is true that a four-horse stage ran from St. Cloud to Fort Abercrombie on Red River, but that would only have conveyed me to about 300 miles distant from Fort Garry, and over that last 300 miles I could see no prospect of travelling. I had therefore determined upon procuring a horse and riding the entire way, and it was with this object that I had entered into these inspections of horseflesh already mentioned. Matters were in this unsatisfactory state on the 12th of July, when I was informed that the solitary steamboat which plied upon the waters of the Red River was about to make a descent to Fort Garry, and that a week would elapse before she would start from her moorings below Georgetown, a. station of the Hudson Bay Company situated 250 miles from St. Cloud. This was indeed the best of good news to me; I saw in it the long-looked-for chance of bridging this great stretch of 400 miles and reaching at last the Red River Settlement. I saw in it still more the prospect of joining at no very distant time the expeditionary force itself, after I had run the gauntlet of M. Riel and his associates, and although many obstacles yet remained to be overcome, and distances vast and wild had to be covered before that hope could be realized, still the prospect of immediate movement overcame every perspective difficulty; and glad indeed I was when from the top of a well-horsed stage I saw the wooden houses of St. Cloud disappear beneath the prairie behind me, and I bade good-bye for many a day to the valley of the Mississippi, CHAPTER SEVEN. North Minnesota--A beautiful Land--Rival Savages-Abercrombie--News from the North-Plans--A Lonely Shanty--The Red River--Prairies--Sunset-- Mosquitoes--Going North--A Mosquito Night--A Thunder-storm--A Prussian-- Dakota--I ride for it--The Steamer "International"--Pembina. The stage-coach takes three days to run from St. Cloud to Fort Abercrombie, about 180 miles. The road was tolerably good, and many portions of the country were very beautiful to look at. On the second day one reaches the height of land between the Mississippi and Red Rivers, a region abounding in clear crystal lakes of every size and shape, the old home of the great Sioux nation, the true Minnesota of their dreams. Minnesota ("sky-coloured water"), how aptly did it describe that home which was no longer theirs! They have left it for ever; the Norwegian and the Swede now call it theirs, and nothing remains of the red man save these sounding names of lake and river which long years ago he gave them. Along the margins of these lakes many comfortable dwellings nestle amongst oak openings and glades, and hill and valley are golden in summer with fields of wheat and corn, and little towns are springing up where twenty years ago the Sioux lodge-poles were the only signs of habitation; but one cannot look on this transformation without feeling, with Longfellow, the terrible surge of the white man, "whose breath, like the blast of the east wind, drifts evermore to the west the scanty smoke of the wigwams." What savages, too, are they, the successors of the old race--savages! not less barbarous because they do not scalp, or war-dance, or go out to meet the Ojibbeway in the woods or the Assineboine in the plains. We had passed a beautiful sheet of water called Lake Osakis, and reached another lake not less lovely, the name of which I did not know. "What is the name of this place?" I asked the driver who had stopped to water his horses. "I don't know," he answered, lifting a bucket of water to his thirsty steeds; "some God-dam Italian name, I guess." This high rolling land which divides the waters flowing into the Gulf of Mexico from those of Hudson Bay lies at an elevation of 1600 feet above the sea level. It is rich in every thing that can make a country prosperous; and that portion of the "down-trodden millions," who "starve in the garrets of Europe," and have made their homes along that height of land, have no reason to regret their choice. On the evening of the second day we stopped for the night at the old stockaded post of Pomme-de-Terre, not far from the Ottertail River. The place was foul beyond the power of words to paint it, but a "shake down" amidst the hay in a cow-house was far preferable to the society of man close by. At eleven o'clock on the following morning we reached and crossed the Ottertail River, the main branch of the Red River, and I beheld with joy the stream upon whose banks, still many hundred miles distant, stood Fort Garry. Later in the day, having passed the great level expanse known as The Breckenridge Flats, the stage drew up at Fort Abercrombie, and I saw for the first time the yellow, muddy waters of the Red River of the North. Mr. Nolan, express agent, stage agent, and hotel keeper in the town of McAulyville, put me up for that night, and although the room which I occupied was shared by no less than five other individuals, he nevertheless most kindly provided me with a bed to myself. I can't say that I enjoyed the diggings very much. A person lately returned from Fort Garry detailed his experiences of that place and his interview with the President at some length. A large band of the Sioux Indians was ready to support the Dictator against all comers, and a vigilant watch was maintained upon the Pembina frontier for the purpose of excluding strangers who might attempt to enter from the United States; and altogether M. Riel was as securely established in Fort Garry as if there had not existed a red-coat in the universe. As for the Expedition, its failure was looked upon as a foregone conclusion; nothing had been heard of it excepting a single rumour, and that was one of disaster. An Indian coming from beyond Fort Francis, somewhere in the wilderness north of Lake Superior, had brought tidings to the Lake of the Woods, that forty Canadian soldiers had already been lost in one of the boiling rapids of the route. "Not a man will get through!" was the general verdict of society, as that body was represented at Mr. Nolan's hotel, and, truth' to say, society seemed elated at its verdict. All this, told to a roomful of Americans, had no very exhilarating effect upon me as I sat, unknown and unnoticed, on my portmanteau, a stranger to every one. When our luck seems at its lowest there is only one thing to be done, and that is to go on and try again. Things certainly looked badly, obstacles grew bigger as I got nearer to them--but that is a way they have, and they never grow smaller merely by being looked at; so I laid my plans for rapid movement. There was no horse or conveyance of any kind to be had from Abercrombie; but I discovered in the course of questions that the captain of the "International" steamboat on the Red River had gone to St. Paul a week before, and was expected to return to Abercrombie by the next stage, two days from this time; he had left a horse and Red River cart at Abercrombie, and it was his intention to start with this horse and cart for his steamboat immediately upon his arrival by stage from St. Paul. Now the boat "International" was lying at a part of the Red River known as Frog Point, distant by land 100 miles north from Abercrombie, and as I had no means of getting over this 100 miles, except through the agency of this horse and cart of the captain's, it became a question of the very greatest importance to secure a place in it, for, be it understood, that a Red River cart is a very limited conveyance, and a Red River horse, as we shall hereafter know, an animal capable of wonders, but not of impossibilities. To pen a brief letter to the captain asking for conveyance in his cart to Frog Point, and to despatch it-by the stage back towards St. Cloud, was the work of the following morning, and as two days had to elapse before the return stage could bring the captain, I set out to pass that time in a solitary house in the centre of the Breckenridge Prairie, ten miles back on the stage-road towards St. Cloud. This move withdrew me from the society of Fort Abercrombie, which for many reasons was a matter for congratulation, and put me in a position to intercept the captain on his way to Abercrombie. So-on the 13th of July I left Nolan's hotel, and, with dog and gun, arrived at the solitary house which was situated not very far from the junction of the Ottertail and Bois-des-Sioux River on the Minnesota shore, a small, rough settler's log-hut which stood out upon the level sea of grass and was visible miles and miles before one reached it. Here had rested one of those unquiet birds whose flight is ever westward, building himself a rude nest of such material as the oak-wooded "bays" of the Red River afforded, and multiplying--in spite of much opposition to the contrary. His eldest had been struck dead in his house only a few months before by the thunderbolt, which so frequently hurls destruction upon the valley of the Red River. The settler had seen many lands since his old home in Cavan had been left behind, and but for his name it would have been difficult to tell his Irish nationality. He had wandered up to Red River Settlement and wandered back again, had squatted in Iowa, and finally, like some bird which long wheels in circles ere it settles upon the earth, had pitched his tent on the Red River. The Red River--let us trace it while we wait the coming captain who is to navigate us down its tortuous channel. Close to the Lake Ithaska, in which the great river Mississippi takes its rise, there is a small sheet of water known as Elbow Lake. Here, at an elevation of 1689 feet above the sea level, nine feet higher than the source of the Mississippi, the Red River has its birth. It is curious that the primary direction of both rivers should be in courses diametrically opposite to their afterlines; the Mississippi first running to the north, and the Red River first bending towards the south; in fact, it is only when it gets down here, near the Breckenridge Prairies, that it finally determines to seek a northern outlet to the ocean. Meeting the current of the Bois-des-Sioux, which has its source in Lac Travers, in which the Minnesota River, a tributary of the Mississippi, also takes its rise, the Red River hurries on into the level prairie and soon commences its immense windings. This Lac Travers discharges in wet seasons north and south, and is the only sheet of water on the Continent which sheds its waters into the tropics of the Gulf of Mexico and into the polar ocean of the Hudson Bay. In former times the whole system of rivers bore the name of the great Dakota nation the Sioux River and the title of Red River was only borne by that portion of the stream which flows from Red Lake to the forks of the Assineboine. Now, however, the whole stream, from its source in Elbow Lake to its estuary in Lake Winnipeg fully 900 miles by water, is called the Red River: people say that the name is derived from a bloody Indian battle which once took place upon its banks, tinging the waters with crimson dye. It certainly cannot be called red from the hue of the water, which is of a dirty-white colour. Flowing towards the north with innumerable twists and sudden turnings, the Red River divides the State of Minnesota, which it has upon its right, from the great territory of Dakota, receiving from each side many tributary streams which take their source in the Leaf Hills of Minnesota and in the Coteau of the Missouri. Its tributaries from the east flow through dense forests, those from the west wind through the vast sandy wastes of the Dakota Prairie, where trees are almost unknown. The plain through which Red River flows is fertile beyond description. At a little distance it looks one vast level plain through which the windings of the river are marked by a dark line of woods fringing the whole length of the stream--each tributary has also its line of forest--a line visible many miles away over the great sea of grass. As one travels on, there first rise above the prairie the summits of the trees; these gradually'! grow larger, until finally, after many hours, the river is reached. Nothing else breaks the uniform level. Standing upon the ground the eye ranges over many miles of grass, standing on a waggon, one doubles the area of vision, and to look over the plains from an elevation of twelve feet above the earth is to survey at a glance a space so vast that distance alone seems to bound its limits. The effect of sunset over these oceans of verdure is very beautiful; a thousand hues spread themselves upon the grassy plains; a thousand tints of gold are cast along the heavens, and the two oceans of the sky and of the earth intermingle in one great blaze of glory at the very gates of the setting sun. But to speak of sunsets now is only to anticipate. Here at the Red River we are only at the threshold of the sunset, its true home yet lies many days journey to the west: there, where the long shadows of the vast herds of bison trail slowly over the immense plains, huge and dark against the golden west; there, where the red man still sees in the glory of the setting sun the realization of his dream of heaven. Shooting the prairie plover, which were numerous around the solitary shanty, gossipping with Mr. Connelly on Western life and Red River experiences--I passed the long July day until evening came to a close. Then came the time of the mosquito; he swarmed around the shanty, he came out from blade of grass and up from river sedge, from the wooded bay and the dusky prairie, in clouds and clouds, until the air hummed with his presence. My host "made a smoke," and the cattle came close around and stood into the very fire itself, scorching their hides in attempting to escape the stings of their ruthless tormentors. My friend's house was not a large one, but he managed to make me a shake-down on the loft overhead, and to it he led the way. To live in a country infested by mosquitoes ought to insure to a person the possession of health, wisdom, and riches, for assuredly I know of nothing so conducive to early turning in and early turning out as that most pitiless pest. On the present occasion I had not long turned in before I became aware of the presence of at least two other persons within the limits of the little loft, for only a few feet distant soft whispers became fintly audible. Listening attentively, I gathered the following dialogue: "Do you think he has got it about him?" "Maybe he has," replied the first speaker with the voice of a woman. "Are you shure he has it at all at all?" "Didn't I see it in his own hand?" Here was a fearful position! The dark loft, the lonely shanty miles away from any other habitation, the mysterious allusions to the possession of property, all naturally combined to raise the most dreadful suspicions in the mind of the solitary traveller. Strange to say, this conversation had not the terrible effect upon me which might be supposed. It was evident that my old friends, father and mother of Mrs. C----, occupied the loft in company with me, and the mention of that most suggestive word, "crathure," was sufficient to neutralize all suspicions connected with the lonely surroundings of the place. It was, in fact, a drop of that much-desired "crathure" that the old couple were so anxious to obtain. About three o'clock on the afternoon of Sunday the 17th July I left the house of Mr. Connelly, and journeyed back to Abercrombie in the stage waggon from St. Cloud. I had as a fellow-passenger the captain of the "International" steamboat, whose acquaintance was quickly made. He had received my letter at Pomme-de-Terre, and most kindly offered his pony and cart for our joint conveyance to George town that evening; so, having waited only long enough at Abercrombie to satisfy hunger and get ready the Red River cart, we left Mr. Nolan's door some little time before sunset, and turning north along the river held our way towards Georgetown. The evening was beautifully fine and clear; the plug trotted steadily on, and darkness soon wrapped its mantle around the prairie. My new acquaintance had many questions to ask and much information to impart, and although a Red River cart is not the easiest mode of conveyance to one who sits amidships between the wheels, still when I looked to the northern skies and saw the old pointers marking our course almost due north, and thought that at last I was launched fair on a road whose termination was the goal for which I had longed so earnestly, I little recked the rough jolting of the wheels whose revolutions brought me closer to my journey's end. Shortly after leaving Abercrombie we passed a small creek in whose leaves and stagnant waters mosquitoes were numerous. "If the mosquitoes let us travel," said my companion, as we emerged upon the prairie again, "we should reach Georgetown to breakfast." "If the mosquitoes let us travel?" thought I. "Surely he must be joking!" I little knew then the significance of the captain's words. I thought that my experiences of mosquitoes in Indian jungles and Irrawaddy swamps, to say nothing of my recent wanderings by Mississippi forests, had taught me something about these pests; but I was doomed to learn a lesson that night and the following which will cause me never to doubt the possibility of anything, no matter how formidable or how unlikely it may appear, connected with mosquitoes. It was about ten o'clock at night when there rose close to the south-west a small dark cloud scarcely visible above the horizon. The wind, which was very light, was blowing from the north-east; so when my attention had been called to the speck of cloud by my companion I naturally concluded that it could in no way concern us, but in this I was grievously mistaken. In a very short space of time the little cloud grew bigger, the wind died away altogether, and the stars began to look mistily from a sky no longer blue. Every now and again my companion looked towards this increasing cloud, and each time his opinion seemed to be less favourable. But another change also occurred of a character altogether different. There came upon us, brought apparently by the cloud, dense swarms of mosquitoes, humming and buzzing along with us as we journeyed on, and covering our faces and heads with their sharp stinging bites. They seemed to come with us, after us, and against us, from above and from below, in volumes that ever increased. It soon began to dawn upon me that this might mean something akin to the "mosquitoes allowing us to travel," of which my friend had spoken some three hours earlier. Meantime the cloud had increased to large proportions; it was no longer in the south-west; it occupied the whole west, and was moving on towards the north. Presently, from out of the dark heavens, streamed liquid fire, and long peals of thunder rolled far away over the gloomy prairies. So sudden appeared the change that one could scarce realize that only a little while before the stars had been shining so brightly upon the ocean of grass. At length the bright flashes came nearer and nearer, the thunder rolled louder and louder, and the mosquitoes seemed to have made up their minds that to achieve the maximum of torture in the minimum of time was the sole end and aim of their existence. The captain's pony showed many signs of agony; my dog howled with pain, and rolled himself amongst the baggage in useless writhings. "I thought it would come to this," said the captain. "We must unhitch and lie down." It was now midnight. To loose the horse from the shafts, to put the oil-cloth over the cart, and to creep underneath the wheels did-not take my friend long. I followed his movements, crept in and drew a blanket over my head. Then came the crash; the fire seemed to pour out of the clouds. It was impossible to keep the blanket on, so raising it every now and again I. looked out from between the spokes of the wheel. During three hours the lightning seemed to run like a river of flame out of the clouds. Sometimes a stream would descend, then, dividing into two branches, would pour down on the prairie two distinct channels of fire. The thunder rang sharply, as though the metallic clash of steel was about it, and the rain descended in torrents upon the level prairies. At about three o'clock in the morning the storm seemed to lull a little. My companion crept out from underneath the cart; I followed. The plug, who had managed to improve the occasion by stuffing himself with grass, was soon in the shafts again, and just as dawn began to streak the dense low-lying clouds towards the east we were once more in motion. Still for a couple of hours more the rain came down in drenching torrents and the lightning flashed with angry fury over the long corn-like grass beaten flat by the rain-torrent. What a dreary prospect lay stretched around us when the light grew strong enough to show it! rain and cloud lying low upon the dank prairie. Soaked through and through, cold, shivering, and sleepy, glad indeed was I when a house appeared in view and we drew up at the door of a shanty for Food and fire. The house belonged to a Prussian subject of the name of Probsfeld, a terribly self-opinionated North German, with all the bumptious proclivities of that thriving nation most fully developed.' Herr Probsfeld appeared to be a man who regretted that men in general should be persons of a very inferior order of intellect, but who accepted the fact as a thing not to be avoided under the existing arrangements of limitation regarding Prussia in general and Probsfelds in particular. While the Herr was thus engaged in illuminating our minds, the Frau was much more agreeably employed in preparing something for our bodily comfort. I noticed with pleasure that there appeared some hope for the future of the human race, in the fact that the generation of the Probsfelds seemed to be progressing satisfactorily. Many youthful Probsfelds were visible around, and matters appeared to promise a continuation of the line, so that the State of Minnesota and that portion of Dakota lying adjacent to it may still look confidently to the future. It is more than probable that Herr Probsfeld realized the fact, that just at that moment, when the sun was breaking out through the eastern clouds over the distant outline of the Leaf Hills, 700,000 of his countrymen were moving hastily toward the French frontier for the special furtherance of those ideas so dear to his mind-it is most probable, I say, that his self-laudation and cock-like conceit would have been in no ways lessened. Our arrival at Georgetown had been delayed by the night storm on the prairie, and it was midday on the 18th when we reached the Hudson Bay Company Post which stood at the confluence of the Buffalo and Red Rivers. Food and fresh horses were all we required, and after these requisites had been obtained the journey was prosecuted with renewed vigour. Forty miles had yet to be traversed before the point at which the Steamboat lay could be reached, and for that distance the track ran on the left or Dakota side of the Red River. As we journeyed along the Dakota prairies the last hour of daylight overtook us, bringing with it a Scene of magical beauty. The sun resting on the rim of the prairie cast over the vast expanse of grass a flood of light. On the east lay the darker green of the trees of the Red River. The whole western sky was full of wild-looking thunder-clouds, through which the rays of sunlight shot upward in great trembling shafts of glory. Being on horseback and alone, for my companion had trotted on in his waggon, I had time to watch and note this brilliant spectacle; but as soon as the sun had dipped beneath the sea of verdure an ominous sound caused me to gallop on with increasing haste. The pony seemed to know the significance of that sound much better than its rider. He no longer lagged, nor needed the spur or whip to urge him to faster exertion, for darker and denser than on the previous night there rose around us vast numbers of mosquitoes--choking masses of biting insects, no mere cloud thicker and denser in one place than in another, but one huge wall of never-ending insects filling nostrils, ears, and eyes. Where they came from I cannot tell; the prairie seemed too small to hold them; the air too limited to yield them space. I had seen many vast accumulations of insect life in lands old and new, but never any thing that approached to this mountain of mosquitoes on the prairies of Dakota. To say that they covered the coat of the horse I rode would be to give but a faint idea of their numbers; they were literally six or eight deep upon his skin, and with a single sweep of the hand one could crush myriads from his neck. Their hum seemed to be in all things around. To ride for it was the sole resource. Darkness came quickly down, but the track knew no turn, and for seven miles I kept the pony at a gallop; my face, neck, and hands cut and bleeding. At last in the gloom I saw, down in what appeared to be the bottom of a valley, a long white wooden building, with lights showing out through the windows. Riding quickly down this valley we reached, followed by hosts of winged pursuers, the edge of some water lying amidst tree-covered banks-the water was the Red River, and the white wooden building the steamboat "International." Now one word about mosquitoes in the valley of the Red River. People will be inclined to say, "We know well what a mosquito is--very troublesome and annoying, no doubt, but you needn't make so much of what every one understands." People reading what I have written about this insect will probably say this. I would have said so myself before the occurrences of the last two nights, but I will never say so again, nor perhaps will my readers when they have read the following: It is no unusual event during a wet summer in that portion of Minnesota and Dakota to which I refer for oxen and horses to perish from the bites of mosquitoes. An exposure of a very few hours duration is sufficient to cause death to these animals. It is said, too, that not many years ago the Sioux were in the habit of sometimes killing their captives by exposing them at night to the attacks of the mosquitoes; and any person who has experienced the full intensity of a mosquito night along the American portion of the Red River will not have any difficulty in realizing how short a period would be necessary to cause death. Our arrival at the "International" was the cause of no small amount of discomfort to the persons already on board that vessel. It took us but little time to rush over the gangway and seek safety from our pursuers within the precincts of the steamboat: but they were not to be baffled easily; they came in after us in millions; like Bishop Haddo's rats, they came "in at the windows and in at the doors," until in a very short space of time the interior of the boat became perfectly black with insects. Attracted by the light they flocked into the saloon, covering walls and ceiling in one dark mass. We attempted supper, but had to give it up. They got into the coffee, they stuck fast in the soft, melting butter, until at length, feverish, bitten, bleeding, and hungry, I sought refuge beneath the gauze curtains in my cabin, and fell asleep from sheer exhaustion. And in truth there was reason enough for sleep independently of mosquitoes bites. By dint of hard travel we had accomplished 104 miles in twenty-seven hours. The midnight storm had lost us three hours and added in no small degree to discomfort. Mosquitoes had certainly caused but little thought to be bestowed upon fatigue during the last two hours; but I much doubt if the spur-goaded horse, when he stretches himself at night to rest his weary limbs, feels the less tired because the miles flew behind him all unheeded under the influence of the spur-rowel. When morning broke we were in motion. The air was fresh and cool; not a mosquito was visible. The green banks of Red River looked pleasant to the eye as the "International" puffed along between them, rolling the tranquil water before her in a great muddy wave, which broke amidst the red and grey willows on the shore. Now and then the eye caught glimpses of the prairies through the skirting of oak woods on the left, but to the right there lay an unbroken line of forest fringing deeply the Minnesota shore. The "International" was a curious craft; she measured about 130 feet in length, drew only two feet of water, and was propelled by an enormous wheel placed over her stern. Eight summers of varied success and as many winters of total inaction had told heavily against her river worthiness; the sun had cracked her roof and sides, the rigour of the Winnipeg winter left its trace on bows and hull. Her engines were a perfect marvel of patchwork--pieces of rope seemed twisted around crank and shaft, mud was laid thickly on boiler and pipes, little jets and spurts of steam had a disagreeable way of coming out from places not supposed to be capable of such outpourings. Her capacity for going on fire seemed to be very great; each gust of wind sent showers of sparks from the furnaces flying along the lower deck, the charred beams of which attested the frequency of the occurrence. Alarmed at the prospect of seeing my conveyance wrapped in flames, I shouted vigorously for assistance, and will long remember the look of surprise and pity with which the native regarded me as he leisurely approached with the water-bucket and cast its contents along the smoking deck. I have already mentioned the tortuous course which the Red River has wound for itself through these level northern prairies. The windings of the river more than double the length of its general direction, and the turns are so sharp that after steaming a mile the traveller will often arrive at a spot not one hundred yards distant from where he started. Steaming thus for one day and one night down the Red River of the North, enjoying no variation of scene or change of prospect, but nevertheless enjoying beyond expression a profound sense of mingled rest and progression, I reached at eight o'clock on the morning of the-20th of July the frontier post of Pembina. And here, at the verge of my destination, on the boundary of the Red River Settlement, although making but short delay myself, I must ask my readers to pause awhile and to go back through long years into earlier times. For it would ill suit the purpose of writer or of reader if the latter were to be thus hastily introduced to the isolated colony of Assineboine without any preliminary-acquaintance with its history or its inhabitants. CHAPTER EIGHT. Retrospective--The North-west Passage--The Bay of Hudson--Rival Claims--The Old French Fur Trade--The North-west Company--How the Half-breeds came--The Highlanders defeated-Progress--Old Feuds. WE who have seen in our times the solution of the long-hidden secret worked out amidst the icy solitudes of the Polar Seas cannot realize the excitement which for nigh 400 years vexed the minds of European kings and peoples--how they thought and toiled over this northern passage to wild realms of Cathay and Hindostan--how from every port, from the Adriatic to the Baltic, ships had sailed out in quest of this ocean strait, to find in succession portions of the great world which Columbus had given to the human race. Adventurous spirits were these early navigators who thus fearlessly entered the great unknown oceans of the North in craft scarce larger than canal-boats. And how long and how tenaciously did they hold that some passage must exist by which the Indies could be reached! Not a creek, not a bay, but seemed to promise the long-sought-for opening to the Pacific. Hudson and Frobisher, Fox, Baffin, Davis, and James, how little thought they of that vast continent whose presence was but an obstacle in the path of their discovery! Hudson had long perished in the ocean which bears his name before it was known to be a cul-de-sac. Two hundred years had passed away from the time of Columbus ere his dream of an open sea to the city of Quinsay in Cathay had ceased to find believers. This immense inlet of Hudson Bay must lead to the Western Ocean. So, at least, thought a host of bold navigators who steered their way through fog and ice into the great Sea of Hudson, giving those names to strait and bay and island, which we read in our school-days upon great wall-hung maps and never think or care about again. Nor were these anticipations of reaching the East held only by the sailors. La Salle, when he fitted out his expeditions from the Island of Montreal for the West, named his point of departure La Chine, so certain was he that his canoes would eventually reach Cathay. And La Chine still exists to attest his object. But those who went on into the great continent, reaching the shores of vast lakes and the banks of mighty rivers, learnt another and a truer story. They saw these rivers flowing with vast volumes of water from the north-west; and, standing on the brink of their unknown waves, they rightly judged that such rolling volumes of water must have their sources far away in distant mountain ranges. Well might the great heart of De Soto sink within him when, after long months of arduous toil through swamp and forest, he stood at last on the low shores of the Mississippi and beheld in thought the enormous space which lay between him and the spot where such a river had its birth. The East--it was always the East. Columbus had said the world was not so large as the common herd believed it, and yet when he had increased it by a continent he tried to make it smaller than it really was. So fixed were men's minds upon the East, that it was long before they would think of turning to account the discoveries of those early navigators. But in time there came to the markets of Europe the products of the New World. The gold and the silver of Mexico and the rich sables of the frozen North found their way into the marts of Western Europe. And while Drake plundered galleons from the Spanish Main, England and France commenced their career of rivalry for the possession of that trade in furs and peltries which had its sources round the icy shores of the Bay of Hudson. It was reserved however for the fiery Prince Rupert to carry into effect the idea of opening up the North-west. Through the ocean of Hudson Bay. Somewhere about 200 years ago a ship sailed away from England bearing in it a company of adventurers sent out to form a colony upon the southern shores of James's Bay. These men named the new land after the Prince who sent them forth, and were the pioneers of that "Hon. Company of Adventurers from England trading into Hudson Bay." More than forty years previous to the date of the charter by which Charles II. conferred the territory of Rupert's Land upon the London company, a similar grant had been made by the French monarch, Louis XIII, to "La Compagnie de la Nouvelle France." Thus there had arisen rival claims to the possession of this sterile region, and although treaties had at various times attempted to rectify boundaries or to rearrange watersheds, the question of the right of Canada or of the Company to hold a portion of the vast territory draining into Hudson Bay had never been legally solved. For some eighty years after this settlement on James's Bay, the Company held a precarious tenure of their forts and factories. Wild-looking men, more Indian than French, marched from Canada over the height of land and raided upon the posts of Moose and Albany, burning the stockades and carrying off the little brass howitzers mounted thereon. The same wild-looking men, pushing on into the interior from Lake Superior, made their way into Lake Winnipeg, up the great Saskatchewan River, and across to the valley of the Red River; building their forts for war and trade by distant lake-shore and confluence of river current, and drawing off the valued trade in furs to France; until all of a sudden there came the great blow struck by Wolfe under the walls of Quebec, and every little far-away post and distant fort throughout the vast interior continent felt the echoes of the guns of Abraham. It might have been imagined that now, when the power of France was crushed in the Canadas, the trade which she had carried on with the Indian tribes of the Far West would lapse to the English company trading Into Hudson Bay; but such was not the case. Immediately upon the capitulation of Montreal, fur traders from the English cities of Boston and Albany appeared in Montreal and Quebec, and pushed their way along the old French route to Lake Winnipeg and into the valley of the Saskatchewan. There they, in turn, erected their little posts and trading-stations, laid out their beads and blankets, their strouds and cottons, and exchanged their long-carried goods for the beaver and marten and fisher skins of the Nadow, Sioux, Kinistineau, and Osinipoilles. Old maps of the North-west still mark spots along the shores of Winnipeg and the Saskatchewan with names of Henry's House, Finlay's House, and Mackay's House. These "houses" were the Trading-posts of the first English free-traders, whose combination in 1783 gave rise to the great North-west Fur Company, so long the fierce rival of the Hudson Bay. To picture here the jealous rivalry which during forty years raged throughout these immense territories would be to fill a volume with tales of adventure and discovery. The zeal with which the North-west Company pursued the trade in furs quickly led to the exploration of the entire country. A Mackenzie penetrated to the Arctic Ocean down the immense river which bears his name--a Frazer and a Thompson pierced the tremendous masses of the Rocky Mountains and beheld the Pacific rolling its waters against the rocks of New Caledonia. Based upon a system which rewarded the efforts of its employees by giving them a share in the profits of the trade, making them partners as well as servants, the North-west Company soon put to sore straits the older organization of the Hudson Bay. While the heads of both companies were of the same nation, the working men and voyageurs were of totally different races, the Hudson Bay employing Highlanders and Orkney men from Scotland, and the North-west Company drawing its recruits from the hardy French inhabitants of Lower Canada. This difference of nationality deepened the strife between them, and many a deed of cruelty and bloodshed lies buried amidst the oblivion of that time in those distant regions. The men who went out to the North-west as voyageurs and servants in the employment of the rival companies from Canada and from Scotland hardly ever returned to their native lands. The wild roving life in the great prairie or the trackless pine forest, the vast solitudes of inland lakes and rivers, the chase, and the camp-fire had too much of excitement in them to allow the voyageur to return again to the narrow limits of civilization. Besides, he had taken to himself an Indian wife, and although the ceremony by which that was effected was frequently wanting in those accessories of bell, book, and candle so essential to its proper well-being, nevertheless the voyageur and his squaw got on pretty well together, and little ones, who jabbered the smallest amount of English or French, and a great deal of Ojibbeway, or Cree, or Assineboine, began to multiply around them. Matters were in this state when, in 1812, as we have already seen in an earlier chapter, the Earl of Selkirk, a large proprietor of the Hudson Bay Company, conceived the idea of planting a colony of Highlanders on the banks of the Red River near the lake called Winnipeg. Some great magnate was intent on making a deer forest in Scotland about the period that this country was holding its own with difficulty against Napoleon. So, leaving their native parish of Kildonan in Sutherlandshire, these people established another Kildonan in the very heart of North America, in the midst of an immense and apparently boundless prairie. Poor people! they had a hard time of it-inundation and North-west Company hostility nearly sweeping them off their prairie lands. Before long matters reached a climax. The North-west Canadians and half-breeds sallied forth one day and attacked the settlers; the settlers had a small guard in whose prowess they placed much credence; the guard turned out after the usual manner of soldiers, the half-breeds and Indians lay in the long grass after the method of savages. For once the Indian tactics prevailed. The Governor of the Hudson Bay Company and the guard were shot down, the fort at Point Douglas on the Red River was taken, and the Scotch settlers driven out to the shores of Lake Winnipeg. To keep the peace between the rival companies and the two nationalities was no easy matter, but at last Lord Selkirk came to the rescue; they were disbanding regiments after the great peace of 1815, and portions of two foreign corps, called De Muiron's and De Watteville's Regiments, were induced to attempt an expedition to the Red River. Starting in winter from the shores of Lake Superior, these hardy fellows traversed the forests and frozen lakes upon snow-shoes, and, entering from the Lake of the Woods, suddenly appeared in the Selkirk Settlement, and took possession of Fort Douglas. A few years later the great Fur Companies became amalgamated, or rather the North-west ceased to exist, and henceforth the Hudson Bay Company ruled supreme from the shores of the Atlantic to the frontiers of Russian America. From that date, 1822, the progress of the little colony had been gradual but sure. Its numbers were constantly increased by the retired servants of the Hudson Bay Company, who selected it as a place of settlement when their period of active service had expired. Thither came the voyageur and the trader to spend the winter of their lives in the little world of Assineboine. Thus the Selkirk Settlement grew and flourished, caring little for the outside earth-"the world forgetting, by the world forgot." But the old feelings which had their rise in earlier years never wholly died out. National rivalry still existed, and it required no violent effort to fan the embers into flame again. The descendants of the two nationalities dwelt apart; there were the French parishes and the Scotch and English parishes, and, although each nationality spoke the same mother tongue, still the spread of schools and churches fostered the different languages of the fatherland, and perpetuated the distinction of race which otherwise would have disappeared by lapsing into savagery. In an earlier chapter I have traced the events immediately pre ceding the breaking out of the insurrectionary movement among the French half-breeds, and in the foregoing pages I have tried to sketch the early life and history of the country into which I am about to ask the reader to follow me. Into the immediate sectional disputes and religious animosities of the present movement it is not my intention to enter; as I journey on an occasional arrow may be shot to the right or to the left at men and things; but I will leave to others the details of a petty provincial quarrel, while-I have before me, stretching far and wide, the vast solitudes which await in silence the footfall of the future. CHAPTER NINE Running the Gauntlet--Across the Line--Mischief ahead-Preparations--A Night March--The Steamer captured--The Pursuit-Daylight--The Lower Fort--The Red-Indian at last--The Chief's Speech--A Big Feed--Making ready for the Winnipeg--A Delay--I visit Fort Garry--Mr. President Riel--The Final Start-Lake Winnipeg--The First Night out--My Crew. THE steamer "International" made only a short delay at the frontier post of Pembina, but it was long enough to impress the on-looker with a sense of dirt and debauchery, which seemed to pervade the place. Some of the leading citizens came forth with hands stuck so deep in breeches' pockets, that the shoulders seemed to have formed an offensive and defensive alliance with the arms, never again to permit the hands to emerge into daylight unless it should be in the vicinity of the ankles. Upon inquiring for the post-office, I was referred to the Postmaster himself, who, in his-capacity of leading citizen, was standing by. Asking if there were any letters lying at his office for me, I was answered in a very curt negative, the postmaster retiring immediately up the steep bank towards the collection of huts which calls itself Pembina. The boat soon cast off her moorings and steamed on into British territory. We were at length within the limits of the Red River Settlement, in the land of M. Louis Riel, President, Dictator, Ogre, Saviour of Society, and New Napoleon; as he was variously named by friends and foes in the little tea-cup of Red River whose tempest had cast him suddenly from dregs to surface. "I wasn't so sure that they wouldn't have searched the boat for you," said the captain from his wheel-house on the roof-deck, soon after we had passed the Hudson Bay Company's post, whereat M. Riel's frontier guard was supposed to hold its head-quarters. "Now, darn me, if them whelps had stopped the boat, but I'd have just rounded her back to Pembina and tied up under the American post yonder, and claimed protection as an American citizen." As the act of tying up under the American post would in no way have forwarded my movements, however consolatory it might have proved to the wounded feelings of the captain, I was glad that we had been permitted to proceed without molestation. But I had in my possession a document which I looked upon as an "open sesame" in case of obstruction from any of the underlings of the Provisional Government. This document had been handed to me by an eminent ecclesiastic whom I met on the evening preceding my departure at St. Paul, and who, upon hearing that it was my intention to proceed to the Red River, had handed me, unsolicited, a very useful notification. So far, then, I had got within the outer circle of this so jealously protected settlement. The guard, whose presence had so often been the theme of Manitoban journals, the picquet line which extended from Pembina Mountain to Lake of the Woods (150 miles), was nowhere visible, and I. began to think that the whole thing was only a myth, and that the Red River revolt was as unsubstantial as the Spectre of the Brocken. But just then, as I stood on the high roof of the "International," from whence a wide view was obtained, I saw across the level prairie outside the huts of Pembina the figures of two horsemen riding at a rapid pace towards the north. They were on the road to Fort Garry. The long July day passed slowly away, and evening began to darken over the level land, to find us still steaming down the widening reaches of the Red River. But the day had shown symptoms sufficient to convince me that there was some reality after all in the stories of detention and resistance, so frequently mentioned; more than once had the figures of the two horsemen been visible from the roof-deck of the steamer, still keeping the Fort Garry trail, and still forcing their horses at a gallop. The windings of the river enabled these men to keep ahead of the boat, a feat which, from their pace and manner, seemed the object they had in view. But there were other indications of difficulty lying ahead: an individual connected with the working of our boat had been informed by persons at Pembina that my expected arrival had been notified to Mr. President Riel and the members of his triumvirate, as I would learn to my cost upon arrival at Fort Garry. That there was mischief ahead appeared probable enough, and it was with no pleasant feelings that when darkness came I mentally surveyed the situation, and bethought me of some plan by which to baffle those who sought my detention. In an hour's time the boat would reach Fort Garry. I was a stranger in a strange land, knowing not a feature in the locality, and with only an imperfect map for my guidance. Going down to my cabin, I spread out the map before me. I saw the names: of places familiar in imagination--the winding river, the junction of the Assineboine and the Red River, and close to it Fort Garry and the village of Winnipeg; then, twenty miles farther to the north, the Lower Fort Garry and the Scotch and English Settlement. My object was to reach this lower fort; but in that lay all the difficulty. The map showed plainly enough the place in which safety lay; but it showed no means by which it could be reached, and left me, as before, to my own resources. These were not large. My baggage was small and compact, but weighty; for it had in it much shot and sporting gear for perspective swamp and prairie work at wild duck and sharp-tailed grouse. I carried arms available against man and beast a Colt's six-shooter and a fourteen-shot repeating carbine, both light, good, and trusty; excellent weapons when things came to a certain point, but useless before that point is reached. Now, amidst perplexing prospects and doubtful expedients, one course appeared plainly prominent; and that was that there should be no capture by Riel. The baggage and the sporting gear might go, but, for the rest, I was bound to carry myself and my arms, together with my papers and a dog, to the Lower Fort and English Settlement. Having decided on this course, I had not much time to lose in putting it into execution. I packed my things, loaded my arms, put some extra ammunition into pocket, handed over my personal effects into the safe custody of the captain, and awaited whatever might turn up. When these preparations were completed, I had still an hour to spare. There happened to be on board the same boat as passenger a gentleman whose English proclivities had marked him during the late disturbances at Red River as a dangerous opponent to M. Riel, and who consequently had forfeited no small portion of his liberty and his chattels. The last two days had made me acquainted-with his history and opinions, and, knowing that he could supply the want I was most in need of--a horse--I told him the plan I had formed for evading M. Ril, in case his minions should attempt my capture. This was to pass quickly from the steamboat on its reaching the landing-place and to hold my way across the country in the direction of the Lower Fort, which I hoped to reach before daylight. If stopped, there was but one course to pursue--to announce name and profession, and trust to the Colt and sixteen-shooter for the rest. My new acquaintance, however, advised a change of programme, suggested by his knowledge of the locality. At the point of junction of the Assineboine and Red Rivers the steamer, he said, would touch the north shore. The spot was only a couple of hundred yards distant from Fort Garry, but it was sufficient in the darkness to conceal any movement at that point; we would both leave the boat and, passing by the flank of the fort, gain the village of Winnipeg before the steamer would reach her landing place; he would seek his home and, if possible, send a horse to meet me at the first wooden bridge upon the road to the Lower Fort. All this was simple enough, and supplied me with that knowledge of the ground which I required. It was now eleven o'clock p.m., dark but fine. With my carbine concealed under a large coat, I took my station near the bows of the boat, watching my companion's movements. Suddenly the steam was shut off, and the boat began to round from the Red River into the narrow Assineboine. A short distance in front appeared lights and figures moving to and fro along the shore--the lights were those of Fort Garry, the figures those of Riel, O'Donoghue, and Lepine, with a strong body of guards. A second more, and the boat gently touched the soft mud of the north shore. My friend jumped off to the beach; dragging the pointer by chain and collar after me, I too, sprang to the shore just as the boat began to recede from it. As I did so, I saw my companion rushing up a very steep and lofty bank. Much impeded by the arms and dog, I followed him up the ascent and reached the top. Around stretched a dead black level plain, on the left the fort, and figures were dimly visible about 200 yards away. There was not much time to take in all this, for my companion, whispering me to follow him closely, commenced to move quickly along an irregular path which led from the river bank. In a short time we: had reached the vicinity of a few straggling houses whose white walls showed distinctly through the darkness; this, he told me, was Winnipeg. Here was his residence, and here we were to separate. Giving me a few hurried directions for further guidance, he pointed to the road before me as a starting-point, and then vanished into the gloom. For a moment I stood at the entrance of the little village half irresolute what to do. One or two houses showed lights in single windows, behind gleamed the lights of the steamer which had now reached the place of landing. I commenced to walk quickly through the silent houses. As I emerged from the farther side of the village I saw, standing on the centre of the road, a solitary figure. Approaching nearer to him, I found that he occupied a narrow wooden bridge which opened out upon the prairie. To pause or hesitate would only be to excite suspicion in the mind of this man, sentinel or guard, as he might be. So, at a sharp pace, I advanced towards him. He never moved; and without word or sign I passed him at arm's length. But here the dog, which I had unfastened when parting from my companion, strayed away, and, being loth to lose him, I stopped at the farther end of the bridge to call him back. This was evidently the bridge of which my companion had spoken, as the place where I was to await the horse he would send me. The trysting-place seemed to be but ill-chosen-close to the village, and already in possession of a sentinel, it would not do. "If the horse comes," thought I, "he will be too late; if he does not come, there can be no use in waiting," so, giving a last whistle for the dog (which I never saw again), I turned and held my way into the dark level plain lying mistily spread around me. For more than an hour I walked hard along a black-clay track bordered on both sides by prairie. I saw no one, and heard nothing save the barking of some stray dogs away to my right. During this time the moon, now at its last quarter, rose above trees to the east, and enabled me better to discern the general features of the country through which I was passing. Another hour passed, and still I held on my way. I had said to myself that for three hours I must keep up the same rapid stride without pause or halt. In the meantime I was calculating for emergencies. If followed on horseback, I must become aware of the fact while yet my enemies were some distance away. The black capote flung on the road would have arrested their attention, the enclosed fields on the right of the track would afford me concealment, a few shots from the fourteen shooter fired in the direction of the party, already partly dismounted deliberating over the mysterious capote, would have occasioned a violent demoralization, probably causing a rapid retreat upon Fort Garry, darkness would have multiplied numbers, and a fourteen-shooter by day or night is a weapon of very equalizing tendencies. When the three hours had elapsed I looked anxiously around for water, as I was thirsty in the extreme. A creek soon gave me the drink I thirsted for, and, once more refreshed, I kept on my lonely way beneath the waning moon. At the time when I was searching for water along the bottom of the Middle Creek my pursuers were close at hand--probably not five minutes distant--but in those things it is the minutes which make all the difference one way or the other. We must now go back and join the pursuit, just to see what the followers of M. Riel were about. Sometime during the afternoon preceding the arrival of the steamer at Fort Garry, news had come down by mounted express from Pembina, that a stranger was about to make his entrance into Red River. Who he might be was not clearly discernible; some said he was an officer in Her Majesty's Service, and others, that he was somebody connected with the disturbances of the preceding winter who was attempting to revisit the settlement. Whoever he was, it was unanimously decreed that he should be captured; and a call was made by M. Riel for "men not afraid to fight" who would proceed up the river to meet the steamer. Upon after-reflection, however, it was resolved to await the arrival of the boat, and, by capturing captain, crew, and passengers, secure the person of the mysterious stranger. Accordingly, when the "International" reached the landing-place beneath the walls of Fort Garry a strange scene was enacted. Messrs. Riel, Lepine, and O'Donoghue, surrounded by a body-guard of half-breeds and a few American adventurers, appeared upon the landing-place. A select detachment, I presume, of the "men not afraid to fight'" boarded the boat and commenced to ransack her from stem to stern. While the confusion was at its height, and doors, etc., were being broken open, it became known to some of the searchers that two persons had left the boat only a few minutes previously. The rage of the petty Napoleon became excessive, he sarcéed and stamped and swore, he ordered pursuit on foot and on horseback; and altogether conducted himself after the manner of rum-drunkenness and despotism based upon ignorance and "straight drinks." All sorts of persons were made prisoners upon the spot. My poor companion was seized in his house twenty minutes after he had reached it, and, being hurried to the boat, was threatened with instant hanging. Where had the stranger gone to? and who was he? He had asserted himself to belong to Her Majesty's Service, and he had gone to the Lower Fort. "After him!" screamed the President; "bring him in dead or alive." So some half-dozen men, half-breeds and American filibusters, started out in pursuit. It was averred that the man who left the boat was of colossal proportions, that he carried arms of novel and terrible construction, and, more mysterious still, that he was closely followed by a gigantic dog. People shuddered as they listened to this part of the story-a dog of gigantic size! What a picture, this immense man and that immense dog--stalking through the gloom-wrapped prairie, goodness knows where! Was it to be wondered at, that the pursuit, vigorously though it commenced, should have waned faint as it reached the dusky prairie and left behind the neighbourhood and the habitations of men? The party, under the leadership of Lepine the "Adjutant-general," was seen at one period of its progress besides the moments of starting and return. Just previous to daybreak it halted at a house known by the suggestive title of "Whisky Tom's," eight miles from the village of Winnipeg; whether it ever got farther on its way remains a mystery, but I am inclined to think that the many attractions of Mr. Tom's residence, as evinced by the prefix to his name, must have proved a powerful obstacle to such thirsty souls. Daylight breaks early in the month of July, and I had been but little more than three hours on the march when the first sign of dawn began to glimmer above the tree tops of the Red River. When the light became strong enough to afford a clear view of the country, I found that I was walking along a road or track of very black soil with poplar groves at intervals on each side. Through openings in these poplar groves I beheld a row of houses built apparently along the bank of the river, and soon the steeple of a church and a comfortable-looking glebe became visible about a quarter of a mile to the right. Calculating by my watch, I concluded that I must be some sixteen miles distant from Fort Garry, and therefore not more than four miles from the Lower Fort. However, as it was now quite light, I thought' I could not do better than approach the comfortable-looking glebe with a double view towards refreshment and information. I reached the gate and, having run the gauntlet of an evilly-intentioned dog, pulled a bell at the door. Now it had never occurred to me that my outward appearance savoured not a little of the bandit--a poet has written about "the dark Suliote, in his shaggy capote" etc., conveying the idea of a very ferocious-looking fellow but I believe that my appearance fully realized the description, as far as outward semblance was concerned; so, evidently, thought the worthy clergyman when, cautiously approaching his hall-door, he beheld through the glass window the person whose reiterated ringing had summoned him hastily from his early slumbers. Half opening his door, he inquired my business. "How far," asked I, "to the Lower Fort?" "About four miles." "Any conveyance thither?" "None whatever." He was about to close the door in my face, when I inquired his country, and he replied, "I am English." "And I am an English officer, arrived last night in the Red River, and now making my way to the Lower Fort." Had my appearance been ten times more disreputable than it was, had I carried a mitrailleuse instead of a fourteen-shooter, I would have been still received with open arms after that piece of information was given and received. The door opened very wide and the worthy clergyman's hand shut very close. Then suddenly there became apparent many facilities for reaching the Lower Fort not before visible, nor was the hour deemed too early to preclude all thoughts of refreshment. It was some time before my host could exactly realize the state of affairs, but when he did, his horse and buggy were soon in readiness, and driving along the narrow road which here led almost uninterruptedly through little clumps and thickets of poplars, we reached the Lower Fort Garry not very long after the sun had begun his morning work of making gold the forest summits. I had run the gauntlet of the lower settlement; I was between the Expedition and its destination, and it was time to lie down and rest. Up to this time no intimation had reached the Lower Fort of pursuit by the myrmidons of M. Riel. But soon there came intelligence. A farmer carrying corn to the mill in the fort had been stopped by a party of men some seven miles away, and questioned as to his having seen a stranger; others had also seen the mounted scouts. And so while I slept the sleep of the tired my worthy host was receiving all manner of information regarding the movements of the marauders who were in quest of his sleeping guest. I may have been asleep some two hours, when I became aware of a hand laid on my shoulder and a voice whispering something into my ear. Rousing myself from a very deep sleep, I beheld the Hudson Bay officer in charge of the fort standing by the bed repeating words which failed at first to carry any meaning along with them. "The French are after you," he reiterated. "The French"-where was I, in France? I had been so sound asleep, that it took some seconds to gather up-the different threads of thought where I had left them off a few hours before, and "the French" was at that time altogether a new name in my ears for the Red River natives. "The French are after you!" altogether it was not an agreeable prospect to open my eyes upon, tired, exhausted, and sleepy as I was. But, under the circumstances, breakfast seemed the best preparation for the siege, assault, and general battery which, according to all the rules of war, ought to have followed the announcement of the Gallic Nationality being in full pursuit of me. Seated at breakfast, and doing full justice to a very excellent mutton chop and cup of Hudson Bay Company Souchong (and where does there exist such tea; out of China?), I heard a digest of the pursuit from the lips of my host. The French had visited him in his fort once before with evil intentions, and they might come again, so he proposed that we should drive down to the Indian Settlement, where the ever-faithful Ojibbeways would, if necessary, roll back the tide of Gallic pursuit, giving the pursuers a reception in which Pahaouza-tau-ka, or "The Great Scalp-taker," would play a prominent part. Breakfast over, a drive of eight miles brought us to the mission of the Indian Settlement presided over by Archdeacon Cowley. Here, along the last few miles of the Red River ere it seeks, through many channels, the waters of Lake Winnipeg, dwell the remnants of the tribes whose fathers in times gone by claimed the broad lands of the Red River; now clothing themselves, after the fashion of the white man, in garments and in religion, and learning a few of his ways and dealings, but still with many wistful hankerings towards the older era of the paint and feathers, of the medicine bag and the dream omen. Poor red man of the great North-west, I am at last in your land! Long as I have been hearing of you and your wild doings, it is only here that I have reached you on the confines of the far-stretching Winnipeg. It is no easy task to find you now, for one has to travel far into the lone spaces of the Continent before the smoke of your wigwam or of your tepie blurs the evening air. But henceforth we will be companions for many months, and through many varied scenes, for my path lies amidst the lone spaces which are still your own; by the rushing rapids where you spear the great "namha" ( sturgeon) will we light the evening fire and lie down to rest, lulled by the ceaseless thunder of the torrent; the lone lake shore will give us rest for the midday meal, and from your frail canoe, lying like a sea-gull on the wave, we will get the "mecuhaga" (the blueberry) and the "wa-wa," (the goose) giving you the great medicine of the white man, the thé and suga in exchange. But I anticipate. On the morning following my arrival at the mission house a strange sound greeted my ears as I arose. Looking through the window, I beheld for the first time the red man in his glory. Filing along the outside road came some two hundred of the warriors and braves of the Ojibbeways, intent upon all manner of rejoicing. At their head marched Chief Henry Prince, Chief "Kechiwis" (or the Big Apron) "Sou Souse" (or Little Long Ears); there was also "We-we-tak-gum Na-gash" (or the Man who flies round the Feathers), and Pahaouza-tau-ka, if not present, was represented by at least a dozen individuals just as fully qualified to separate the membrane from the top of the head as was that most renowned scalp-taker. Wheeling into the grass-plot in front of the mission house, the whole body advanced towards the door shouting, "Ho, ho!" and firing off their flint trading-guns in token of welcome. The chiefs and old men advancing to the front, seated themselves on the ground in a semi-circle, while the young men and braves remained standing or lying on the ground farther back in two deep lines. In front of all stood Henry Prince the son of Pequis, Chief of the Swampy tribe, attended by his interpreter and pipe-bearer. My appearance upon the door-step was the signal for a burst of deep and long-rolling, "Ho, ho's," and then the ceremony commenced. There Was no dance or "pow wow;" it meant business at once. Striking his hand upon his breast the chief began; as he finished each sentence the interpreter took up the thread, explaining with difficulty the long rolling, words of the Indian. "You see here," he said, "the most faithful children of the Great Mother; they have heard that you have come from the great chief who is bringing thither his warriors from the Kitchi-gami" (Lake Superior), "and they have come to bid you welcome, and to place between you and the enemies of the Great Mother their guns and their lives. But these children are sorely puzzled; they know not what to do. They have gathered in from the East, and the North, and the West, because bad men have risen their hands against the Great Mother and robbed her goods and killed her sons and put a strange flag over her fort. And these bad men are now living in plenty on what they have robbed, and the faithful children of the Great Mother are starving and very poor, and they wish to know what they are to do. It is said that a great chief is coming across from the big sea-water with many mighty braves and warriors, and much goods and presents for the Indians. But though we have watched long for him, the lake is still clear of his canoes, and we begin to think he is not coming at all; therefore we were glad when we were told that you had come, for now you will tell us what we are to do and what message the great Ogima has sent to the red children of the Great Mother." The speech ended, a deep and prolonged "Ho!"--a sort of universal "thems our sentiments "--ran round the painted throng of warriors, and then they awaited my answer, each looking with stolid indifference straight before him. My reply was couched in as few words as possible. "It was true what they had heard. The big chief was coming across from the Kitchi-gami at the head of many warriors. The arm of the Great Mother was a long one, and stretched far over'seas and forests; let them keep quiet, and when the chief would arrive, he would give them store of presents and supplies; he would reward them for their good behaviour. Bad men had set themselves against the Great Mother; but the Great Mother would feel angry if any of her red children moved against these men. The big chief would soon be with them, and all would be made right. As for myself, I was now on my way to meet the big chief and his warriors, and I would say to him how true had been the red children, and he would be made glad thereat. Meantime, they should have a present of tea, tobacco, flour, and pemmican; and with full stomachs their harts would feel fuller still." A universal "Ho!" testified that the speech was good; and then the ceremony of hand-shaking began. I intimated, however, that time would only permit of my having that honour with a few of the large assembly--in fact, with the leaders and old men of the tribe. Thus, in turns, I grasped the bony hands of the "Red Deer'" and the "Big Apron," of the "Old Englishman" and the "Long Claws," and the "Big Bird;" and, with the same "Ho, ho!" and shot-firing, they filed away as they had come, carrying with them my order upon the Lower Fort for one big feed and one long pipe, and, I dare say, many blissful visions of that life the red man ever loves to live-the life that never does come to him the future of plenty and of ease. Meantime, my preparations for departure, aided by my friends at the mission, had gone on apace. I had got a canoe and five stout English half-breeds, blankets, pemmican, tea, flour, and biscuit. All were being made ready, and the Indian Settlement was alive with excitement on the subject of the coming man--now no longer a myth--in relation to a general millennium of unlimited pemmican and tobacco. But just when all preparations had been made complete an unexpected event occurred which postponed for a time the date of my departure; this was the arrival of a very urgent message from the Upper Fort, with an invitation to visit that place before quitting the settlement. There had been an error in the proceedings on the night of my arrival, I was told, and, acting under a mistake, pursuit had been organized. Great excitement existed amongst the French half breeds, who were in reality most loyally disposed; it was quite a mistake to imagine that there was any thing approaching to treason in the designs of the Provisional Government and much more to the same effect. It is needless now to enter into the question of how much all this was worth: at that time so much conflicting testimony was not easily reduced into proper limits. But on three points, at all events, I could form a correct opinion for myself. Had not my companion been arrested and threatened with instant death? Was he not still kept in confinement? and had not my baggage undergone confiscation (it is a new name for an old thing)? And was there not a flag other than the Union Jack flying over Fort Garry? Yes, it was true; all these things were realities. Then I replied, "While these things remain, I will not visit Fort Garry." Then I was told that Colonel Wolseley had written, urging the construction of a road between Fort Garry and Lake of the Woods, and that it could not be done unless I visited the upper settlement. I felt a wish, and a very strong one, to visit this upper Fort Garry and see for myself its chief and its garrison, if the thing could be managed in any possible way. From many sources I was advised that it would be dangerous to do so; but those who tendered this counsel had in a manner grown old under the despotism of M. Riel, and had, moreover, begun to doubt that the expeditionary force would ever succeed in overcoming the terrible obstacles of the long route from Lake Superior. I knew better. Of Riel I knew nothing, or next to nothing; of the progress of the expeditionary force, I knew only that it was led by a man who regarded impossibilities merely in the light of obstacles to be cleared from his path; and that it was composed of soldiers who, thus led, would go any where, and do any thing, that men in any shape of savagery or of civilization can do or dare. And although no tidings had reached me of its having passed the rugged portage from the shore of Lake Superior to the height of land and launched itself fairly on the waters which flow from thence into Lake Winnipeg, still its ultimate approach never gave me one doubtful thought. I reckoned much on the Bishop's letter, which I had still in my possession, and on the influence which his last communication to the "President" would of necessity exercise; so I decided to visit Fort Garry, upon the conditions that my baggage was restored intact, Mr. Dreever set at liberty, and the nondescript flag taken down. My interviewer said he could promise the first two propositions, but of the third he was not so certain. He would, however, despatch a message to me with full information as to how they had been received. I gave him until five o'clock the following evening, at which hour, if his messenger had not appeared, I was to start for the Winnipeg River, en route for the Expedition. Five o'clock came on the following day, and no messenger. Every thing was in readiness for my departure: the canoe, freshly pitched, was declared fit for the Winnipeg itself; the provisions were all ready to be put on board at a moment's notice. I gave half an hour's law, and that delay brought the messenger; so, putting off my intention of starting, I turned my face back towards Fort Garry. My former interviewer had sent me a letter; all was as I wished-Mr. Dreever had been set at liberty, my baggage given up, and he would expect me on the following morning. The Indians were in a terrible state of commotion over my going. One of their chief medicine-men, an old Swampy named Bear, laboured long and earnestly to convince me that Riel had got on what he called "the track of blood," the devil's track, and that he could not get off of it. This curious proposition he endeavoured to illustrate by means of three small pegs of wood, which he set up on the ground. One represented Riel, another his Satanic Majesty, while the third was supposed to indicate myself. He moved these three pegs about-very much after the fashion of a thimble-rigger; and I seemed to have, through my peg, about as bad a time of it as the pea under the thimble usually experiences. Upon the most conclusive testimony, Bear proceeded to show that I hadn't a chance between Riel and the devil, who, according to an equally clear demonstration, were about as bad as bad could be. I had to admit a total inability to follow Bear in the reasoning which led to his deductions; but that only proved that I was not a "medicine-man," and knew nothing whatever of the peg theory. So, despite of the evil deductions drawn by Bear from the three pegs, I set out for Fort Garry, and, journeying along the same road which I had travelled two nights previously, I arrived in sight of the village of Winnipeg before midday on the 23rd of July. At a little distance from the village rose the roof and flag-staffs of Fort Garry, and around in unbroken verdure stretched-the prairie lands of Red River. Passing from the village along the walls of the fort, I crossed the Assineboine River and saw the "International" lying at her moorings below the floating bridge. The captain had been liberated, and waved his hand with a cheer as I crossed the bridge. The gate of the fort stood open, a sentry was leaning lazily against the wall, a portion of which leant in turn against nothing. The whole exterior of the place looked old and dirty. The muzzles of one or two guns protruding through the embrasures in the flanking bastions failed even to convey the idea of-fort or fortress to the mind of the beholder. Returning from the east or St. Boniface side of the Red River, I was conducted by my companion into the fort. His private residence was situated within the walls, and to it we proceeded. Upon entering the gate I took in at a glance the surroundings-ranged in a semi-circle with their muzzles all pointing towards the entrance, stood some six or eight field-pieces; on each side and in front were bare looking, white-washed buildings. The ground and the houses looked equally dirty, and the whole aspect of the place was desolate and ruinous. A few ragged-looking dusky men with rusty firelocks, and still more rusty bayonets, stood lounging about. We drove through without stopping, and drew up at the door of my companion's house, which was situated at the rear of the buildings I have spoken of. From the two flag-staffs flew two flags, one-the Union Jack in shreds and tatters, the other a well-kept bit of bunting having the fleur-de-lis and a shamrock on a white field. Once in the house, my companion asked me if I would see Mr. Riel. "To call on him, certainly not," was my reply. "But if he calls on you?" "Then I will see him," replied I. The gentleman who had spoken thus soon left the room. There stood in the centre of the apartment a small billiard table, I took up a cue and commenced a game with the only other occupant of the room-the same individual who had on the previous evening acted as messenger to the Indian Settlement. We had played some half a dozen strokes when the door opened, and my friend returned. Following him closely came a short stout man with a large head, a sallow, puffy face, a sharp, restless, intelligent eye, a square-cut massive forehead overhung by a mass of long and thickly clustering hair, and marked with well-cut eyebrows--altogether, a remarkable-looking face, all the more so, perhaps, because it was to be seen in a land where such things are rare sights. This was M. Louis Riel, the head and front of the Red River Rebellion-the President, the little Napoleon, the Ogre, or whatever else he may be called. He was dressed in a curious mixture of clothing--a black frock-coat, vest, and trousers; but the effect of this somewhat clerical costume was not a little marred by a pair of Indian mocassins, which nowhere look more out of place than on a carpeted floor. M. Riel advanced to me, and we shook hands with all that empressement so characteristic of hand-shaking on the American Continent. Then there came a pause. My companion had laid his cue down. I still retained mine in my hands, and, more as a means of bridging the awkward gulf of silence which followed the introduction, I asked him to continue the game--another stroke or two, and the mocassined President began to move nervously about the window recess. To relieve his burthened feelings, I inquired if he ever indulged in billiards; a rather laconic "Never," was his reply. "Quite a loss," I answered, making an absurd stroke across the table; "a capital game." I had scarcely uttered this profound sentiment when I beheld the President moving hastily towards the door, muttering as he went, "I see I am intruding here." There was hardly time to say, "Not at all," when he vanished. But my companion was too quick for him; going out into the hall, he brought him back once more into the room, called away my billiard opponent, and left me alone with the chosen of the people of the new nation. Motioning M. Riel to be seated, I took a chair myself, and the conversation began. Speaking with difficulty, and dwelling long upon his words, Riel regretted that I should have shown such distrust of him and his party as to prefer the Lower Fort and the English Settlement to the Upper Fort and the society of the French. I answered, that if such distrust existed it was justified by the rumours spread by his sympathizers on the American frontier, who represented him as making active preparations to resist the approaching Expedition. "Nothing," he said, "was more false than these statements. I only wish to retain power until I can resign it to a proper Government. I have done every thing for the sake of peace, and to prevent bloodshed amongst the people of this land. But they will find," he added passionately, "they will find, if they try, these people here, to put me out-they will find they cannot do it. I will keep what is mine until the proper Government arrives;" as he spoke he got up from his chair and began to pace nervously about the room. I mentioned having met Bishop Taché in St. Paul and the letter which I had received from him. He read it attentively and commenced to speak about the Expedition. "Had I come from it?" "No; I was going to it." He seemed surprised. "By the road to the Lake of the Woods?" "No; by the Winnipeg River," I replied. "Where was the Expedition?" I could not answer this question; but I concluded it could not be very far from the Lake of the Woods. "Was it a large force?" I told him exactly, setting the limits as low as possible, not to deter him from fighting if such was his intention. The question uppermost in his mind was one of which he did not speak, and he deserves the credit of his silence. Amnesty or no amnesty was at that moment a matter of very grave import to the French half-breeds, and to none so much as to their leader. Yet he never asked if that pardon was an event on which he could calculate. He did not even allude to it at all. At one time, when speaking of the efforts he had made for the advantage of his country, he grew very excited, walking hastily up and down the room with theatrical attitudes and declamation, which he evidently fancied had the effect of imposing on his listener; but, alas! for the vanity of man, it only made him appear ridiculous; the mocassins sadly marred the exhibition of presidential power. An Indian speaking with the solemn gravity of his race looks right manful enough, as with moose-clad leg his mocassined feet rest on prairie grass or frozen snow-drift; but this picture of the black-coated Metis playing the part of Europe's great soldier in the garb of a priest and the shoes of a savage looked simply absurd. At length M. Riel appeared to think he had enough of the interview, for stopping in front of me he said, "Had I been your enemy you would have known it be fore. I heard you would not visit me, and, although I felt humiliated, I came to see you to show you my pacific inclinations." Then darting quickly from the room he left me. An hour later I left the dirty ill-kept fort. The place was then full of half-breeds armed and unarmed. They said nothing and did nothing, but simply stared as I drove by. I had seen the inside of Fort Garry and its president, not at my solicitation but at his own; and now before me lay the solitudes of the foaming Winnipeg and the pathless waters of great inland seas. It was growing dusk when I reached the Lower Fort. My canoe men stood ready, for the hour at which I was to have joined them had passed, and they had begun to think some mishap had befallen me. After a hasty supper and a farewell to my kind host of the Lower Fort, I stepped into the frail canoe of painted bark which lay restive on the swift current. "All right; away!" The crew, with paddles held high for the first dip, gave a parting shout, and like an arrow from its bow we shot out into the current. Overhead the stars were beginning to brighten in the intense blue of the twilight heavens; far away to the north, where the river ran between wooded shores, the luminous arch of the twilight bow spanned the horizon, merging the northern constellation into its soft hazy glow. Towards that north we held our rapid way, while the shadows deepened on the shores and the reflected stars grew brighter on the river. We halted that night at the mission, resuming our course at sunrise on the following morning. A few miles below the mission stood the huts and birch-bark lodges Of the Indians. My men declared that it would be impossible to pass without the ceremony of a visit. The chief had given them orders on the subject, and all the Indians were expecting it; so, paddling in to the shore, I landed and walked up the pathway leading to the chief's hut. It was yet very early in the morning, and most of the braves were lying asleep inside their wigwams, dogs and papooses seeming to have matters pretty much their own way outside. The hut in which dwelt the son of Pequis was small, low, and ill-ventilated. Opening the latched door I entered stooping; nor was there much room to extend oneself when the interior was attained. The son of Pequis had not yet been aroused from his morning's slumber; the noise of my entrance, however, disturbed him, and he quickly came forth from a small interior den, rubbing his eyelids and gaping profusely. He looked sleepy all over, and was as much disconcerted as a man usually is who has a visit of ceremony paid to him as he is getting out of bed. Prince, the son of Pequis, essayed a speech, but I am constrained to admit that taken altogether it was a miserable failure. Action loses dignity when it is accompanied by furtive attempts at buttoning nether garments, and not even the eloquence of the Indian is proof against the generally demoralized aspect of a man just out of bed. I felt that some apology was due to the chief for this early visit; but I told him that being on my way to meet the great Ogima whose braves were coming from the big sea water, I could not pass the Indian camp without stopping to say good-bye. Before any thing else could be said I shook Prince by the hand and walked back towards the river. By this time, however, the whole camp was thoroughly aroused. From each lodge came forth warriors decked in whatever garments could be most easily donned. The chief gave a signal, and a hundred trading-guns were held aloft and a hundred shots rang out on the morning air. Again and again the salutes were repeated, the whole tribe moving down to the water's edge to see me off. Putting out into the middle of the river, I discharged my four teen shooter in the air in rapid succession; a prolonged war whoop answered my salute, and paddling their very best, for the eyes of the finest canoers in the world were upon them, my men drove the little craft flying over the water until the Indian village and its still firing braves were hidden behind a river bend. Through many marsh-lined channels, and amidst a vast sea of reeds and rushes, the Red River of the North seeks the waters of Lake Winnipeg. A mixture of land and water, of mud, and of the varied vegetation which grows thereon, this delta of the Red River is, like other spots of a similar description, inexplicably lonely. The wind sighs over it, bending the tall reeds with mournful rustle, and the wild bird passes and repasses with plaintive cry over the rushes which form his summer home. Emerging from the sedges of the Red River, we shot out into the waters of an immense lake, a lake which stretched away into unseen spaces, and over whose waters the fervid July sun was playing strange freaks of mirage and inverted shore land. This was Lake Winnipeg, a great lake even on a continent where lakes are inland seas. But vast as it is now, it is only a tithe of what it must have been in the earlier ages of the earth. The capes and headlands of what once was a vast inland sea now stand far away from the shores of Winnipeg. Hundreds of miles from its present limits these great landmarks still look down on an ocean, but it is an ocean of grass. The waters of Winnipeg have retired from their feet, and they are now mountain ridges rising over seas of verdure. At the bottom of this bygone lake lay the whole valley of the Red River, the present Lakes Winnipegoos and Manitoba, and the prairie lands of the Lower Assineboine, 100,000 square miles of water. The water has long since been drained off by the lowering of the rocky channels leading to Hudson Bay, and the bed of the extinct lake now forms the richest prairie land in the world. But although Winnipeg has shrunken to a tenth of its original size, its rivers still remain worthy of the great basin into which they once flowed. The Saskatchewan is longer than the Danube, the Winnipeg has twice the volume of the Rhine. 400,000 square miles of continent shed their waters into Lake Winnipeg; a lake as changeful as the ocean, but, fortunately for us, in its very calmest mood to-day. Not a wave, not a ripple on its surface; not a breath of breeze to aid the untiring paddles. The little canoe, weighed down by men and provisions, had scarcely three inches of its gunwale over the water, and yet the steersman held his course far out into the glassy waste, leaving behind the marshy headlands which marked the river's mouth. A long low point stretching from the south shore of the lake was faintly visible on the horizon. It was past mid day when we reached it; so, putting in among the rocky boulders which lined the shore, we lighted our fire and cooked our dinner. Then, resuming our way, the Grande Traverse was entered upon. Far away over the lake rose the point of the Big Stone, a lonely cape whose perpendicular front was raised high over the water. The sun began to sink towards the west; but still not a breath rippled the surface of the lake, not a sail moved over the wide expanse, all was as lonely as though our tiny craft had been the sole speck of life on the waters of the world. The red sun sank into the lake, warning us that it was time to seek the shore and make our beds for the night. A deep sandy bay, with a high backing of woods and rocks, seemed to invite us to its solitudes. Steering in with great caution amid the rocks, we landed in this sheltered spot, and our boat upon the sandy beach. The shore yielded large store of drift-wood, the relics of many a northern gale. Behind us lay a trackless forest; in front the golden glory of the Western sky. As the night shades deepened around us and the red glare of our drift-wood fire cast its light upon the woods and the rocks, the scene became one of rare beauty. As I sat watching from a little distance this picture so full of all the charms of the wild life of the voyageur and the Indian, I little marvelled that the red child of the lakes and the woods should be loth to quit such scenes for all the luxuries of our civilization. Almost as I thought with pity over his fate, seeing here the treasures of nature which were his, there suddenly emerged from the forest two dusky forms.' They were Ojibbeways, who came to share our fire and our evening meal. The land was still their own. When I lay down to rest that night on the dry sandy shore, I long watched the stars above me. As children sleep after a day of toil and play, so slept the dusky men who lay around me. It was my first night with these poor wild sons of the lone spaces; it was strange and weird, and the lapping of the mimic wave against the rocks close by failed to bring sleep to my thinking eyes. Many a night afterwards I lay down to sleep beside these men and their brethren--many a night by lake-shore, by torrent's edge, and far out amidst the measureless meadows of the West--but "custom stales" even nature's infinite variety, and through many wild bivouacs my memory still wanders back to that first night out by the shore of Lake Winnipeg. At break of day we launched the canoe again and pursued our course for the mouth of the Winnipeg River. The lake which yesterday was all sunshine, to-day looked black and overcast--thunder-clouds hung angrily around the horizon, and it seemed as though Winnipeg was anxious to give a sample of her rough ways before she had done with us. While the morning was yet young we made a portage--that is, we carried the canoe and its stores across a neck of land, saving thereby a long paddle round a projecting cape. The portage was through a marshy tract covered with long grass and rushes. While the men are busily engaged in carrying across the boat and stores, I will introduce them to the reader. They were four in number, and were named as follows:-Joseph Monkman, cook and interpreter; William Prince, full Indian; Thomas Smith, ditto; Thomas Hope, ci-devant schoolmaster, and now self-constituted steersman. The three first were good men. Prince, in particular, was a splendid canoe-man in dangerous water. But Hope possessed the greatest capacity for eating and talking of any man I ever met. He could devour quantities of pemmican any number of times during the day, and be hungry still. What he taught during the period when he was schoolmaster I have never been able to find out, but he was popularly supposed at the mission to be a very good Christian. He had a marked disinclination to hard or continued toil, although he would impress an on looker with a sense of unremitting exertion. This he achieved by divesting himself of his shirt and using his paddle, as Alp used his sword, "with right arm bare." A fifth Indian was added to the canoe soon after crossing the portage. A couple of Indian lodges stood on the shore along which we were coasting. We put in towards these lodges to ask information, and found them to belong to Samuel Henderson, full Swampy Indian. Samuel, who spoke excellent English, at once volunteered to come with me as a guide to the Winnipeg River; but I declined to engage him until I had a report of his capability for the duty from the Hudson Bay officer in charge of Fort Alexander, a fort now only a few miles distant. Samuel at once launched his canoe, said "Good-bye" to his wife and nine children, and started after us for the fort, where, on the advice of the officer, I finally engaged him. CHAPTER TEN. The Winnipeg River--The Ojibbeway's House--Rushing a Rapid--A Camp--No Tidings of the Coming Man--Hope in Danger--Rat Portage--A far-fetched Islington--"Like Pemmican". WE entered the mouth of the Winnipeg River at midday and paddled up to Fort Alexander, which stands about a mile from the river's entrance. Here I made my final preparations for the ascent of the Winnipeg, getting a fresh canoe better adapted for forcing the rapids, and at five o'clock in the evening started on my journey Up the river. Eight miles above the fort the roar of a great fall of water sounded through the twilight. In surge and spray and foaming torrent the enormous volume of the Winnipeg was making its last grand leap on its way to mingle its waters with the lake. On the flat surface of an enormous rock which stood well out into the boiling water we made our fire and our camp. The pine-trees which gave the fall its name stood round us, dark and solemn, waving their long arms to and fro in the gusty winds that swept the valley. It was a wild picture. The pine-trees standing in inky blackness the rushing water, white with foam-above, the rifted thunder-clouds. Soon the lightning began to flash and the voice of the thunder to sound above the roar of the cataract. My Indians made me a rough shelter with cross-poles and a sail-cloth, and, huddling themselves together under the upturned canoe, we slept regardless of the storm. I was ninety miles from Fort Garry, and as yet no tidings of the Expedition. A man may journey very far through the lone spaces of the earth without meeting with another Winnipeg River. In it nature has contrived to place her two great units of earth and water in strange and wild combinations. To say that the Winnipeg River has an immense volume of water, that it descends 360 feet in a distance of 160 miles, that it is full of eddies and whirlpools, of every variation of waterfall from chutes to cataracts, that it expands into lonely pine edged lakes and far-reaching island-studded bays, that its bed is cumbered with immense wave-polished rocks, that its vast solitudes are silent and its cascades ceaselessly active--to say all this is but to tell in bare items of fact the narrative of its beauty. For the Winnipeg by the multiplicity of its perils and the ever-changing beauty of its character, defies the description of civilized men as it defies the puny efforts of civilized travel. It seems part of the savage-fitted alone for him and for his ways, useless to carry the burden of man's labour, but useful to shelter the wild things of wood and water which dwell in its waves and along its shores. And the red man who steers his little birch-bark canoe through the foaming rapids of the Winnipeg, how well he knows its various ways! To him it seems to possess life and instinct, he speaks of it as one would of a high-mettled charger which will do any thing if he be rightly handled. It gives him his test of superiority, his proof of courage. To shoot the Otter Falls or the Rapids of the Barriere, to carry his canoe down the whirling eddies of Portage-de-l'Isle, to lift her from the rush of water at the Seven Portages, or launch her by the edge of the whirlpool below the Chute-à-Jocko, all this is to be a brave and a skilful Indian, for the man who can do all this must possess a power in the sweep of his paddle, a quickness of glance, and a quiet consciousness of skill, not to be found except after generations of practice. For hundreds of years the Indian has lived amidst these rapids; they have been the playthings of his boyhood, the realities of his life, the instinctive habit of his old age. What the horse is to the Arab, what the dog is to the Esquimaux, what the camel is to those who journey across Arabian deserts, so is the canoe to the Ojibbeway. Yonder wooded shore yields him from first to last the materials-he requires for its construction: cedar for the slender ribs, birch-bark to cover them, juniper to stitch together the separate pieces, red pine to give resin for the seams and crevices. By the lake or river shore, close to his wigwam, the boat is built; "And the forest life is in it All its mystery and its magic, All the tightness of the birch-tree, All the toughness of the cedar, All the larch's supple sinews. And it floated on the river Like a yellow leaf in autumn, Like a yellow water-lily." It is not a boat, it is a house; it can be carried long distances over land from lake to lake. It is frail beyond words, yet you can load it down to the water's edge; it carries the Indian by day, it shelters him by night; in it he will steer boldly out into a vast lake where land is unseen, or paddle through mud and swamp or reedy shallows; sitting in it, he gathers his harvest of wild rice and catches his fish or shoots his game; it will dash down a foaming rapid, brave a fiercely-rushing torrent, or lie like a sea-bird on the placid water. For six months the canoe is the home of the Ojibbeway. While the trees are green, while the waters dance and sparkle, while the wild rice bends its graceful head in the lake and the wild duck dwells amidst the rush-covered mere, the Ojibbeway's home is the birch-bark canoe. When the winter comes and the lake and rivers harden beneath the icy breath of the north wind, the canoe is put carefully away; covered with branches and with snow, it lies through the long dreary winter until the wild swan and the wavy, passing northward to the polar seas, call it again from its long icy sleep. Such is the life of the canoe, and such the river along which it rushes like an arrow. The days that now commenced to pass were filled from dawn to dark with moments of keenest enjoyment, every thing was new and strange, and each hour brought with it some fresh surprise of Indian skill or Indian scenery. The sun would be just tipping the western shores with his first rays when the canoe would be lifted from its ledge of rock and laid gently on the water; then the blankets and kettles, the provisions and the guns would be placed in it, and four Indians would take their seats, while one remained on the shore to steady the bark upon the water and keep its sides from contact with the rock; then when I had taken my place in the centre, the outside man would spring gently in, and we would glide away from the rocky resting-place. To tell the mere work of each day is no difficult matter: start at five o'clock a.m., halt for breakfast at seven o'clock, off again at eight, halt at one o'clock for dinner, away at two o'clock, paddle until sunset at 7:30; that was the work of each day. But how shall I attempt to fill in the details of scene and circumstance between these rough outlines of time and toil, for almost at every hour of the long summer day the great Winnipeg revealed some new phase of beauty and of peril, some changing scene of lonely grandeur? I have already stated that the river in its course from the Lake of the Woods to Lake Winnipeg, 160 miles, makes a descent of 360 feet. This descent is effected not by a continuous decline, but by a series of terraces at various distances from each other; in other words, the river forms innumerable lakes and wide expanding reaches bound together by rapids and perpendicular falls of varying altitude, thus when the voyageur has lifted his canoe from the foot of the Silver Falls and launched it again above the head of that rapid, he will have surmounted two-and-twenty feet of the ascent; again, the dreaded Seven Portages will give him a total rise of sixty feet in a distance of three miles. (How cold does the bare narration of these facts appear beside their actual realization in a small canoe manned by Indians!) Let us see if we can picture one of these many scenes. There sounds ahead a roar of falling water, and we see, upon rounding some pine-clad island or ledge of rock, a tumbling mass of foam and spray studded with projecting rocks and flanked by dark wooded shores; above we can see nothing, but below the waters, maddened by their wild rush amidst the rocks, surge and leap in angry whirlpools. It is as wild a scene of crag and wood and water as the eye can gaze upon, but we look upon it not for its beauty, because there is no time for that, but because it is an enemy that must be conquered. Now mark how these Indians steal upon this enemy before he is aware of it. The immense volume of water, escaping from the eddies and whirlpools at the foot of the fall, rushes on in a majestic sweep into calmer water; this rush produces along the shores of the river a counter or back-current which flows up sometimes close to the foot of the fall, along this back-water the canoe is carefully steered, being often not six feet from the opposing rush in the central river, but the back-current in turn ends in a whirlpool, and the canoe, if it followed this back-current, would inevitably end in the same place; for a minute there is no paddling, the bow paddle and the steersman alone keeping the boat in her proper direction as she drifts rapidly up the current. Amongst the crew not a word is spoken, but every man knows what he has to do and will be ready when the moment comes; and now the moment has come, for on one side there foams along a mad surge of water, and on the other the angry whirlpool twists and turns in smooth green hollowing curves round an axis of air, whirling round it with a strength that would snap our birch bark into fragments and suck us down into great depths below. All that can be gained by the back-current has been gained, and now it is time to quit it; but where? for there is often only the choice of the whirlpool or the central river. Just on the very edge of the eddy there is one loud shout given by the bow paddle, and the canoe shoots full into the centre of the boiling flood, driven by the united strength of the entire crew--the men work for their very lives, and the boat breasts across the river with her head turned full toward the falls; the waters foam and dash about her, the waves leap high over the gunwale, the Indians shout as they dip their paddles like lightning into the foam, and the stranger to such a scene holds his breath amidst this war of man against nature. Ha! the struggle is useless, they cannot force her against such a torrent, we are close to the rocks and the foam; but see, she is driven down by the current in spite of those wild fast strokes. The dead strength of such a rushing flood must prevail. Yes, it is true, the canoe has been driven back; but behold, almost in a second the whole thing is done-we float suddenly beneath a little rocky isle on the foot of the cataract. We have crossed the river in the face of the fall, and the portage landing is over this rock, while three yards out on either side the torrent foams its headlong course. Of the skill necessary to perform such things it is useless to speak. A single false stroke, and the whole thing would have failed; driven headlong down the torrent, another attempt would have to be made to gain this rock-protected spot, but now we lie secure here; spray all around us, for the rush of the river is on either side and you can touch it with an outstretched paddle. The Indians rest on their paddles and laugh; their long hair has escaped from its-fastening through their exertion, and they retie it while they rest. One is already standing upon the wet slippery rock holding the canoe in its place, then the others get out. The freight is carried up piece by piece and deposited on the flat surface some ten feet above; that done, the canoe is lifted out very gently, for a single blow against this hard granite boulder would shiver and splinter the frail birch-bark covering; they raise her very carefully up the steep face of the cliff and rest again on the top. What a view there is from this coigne of vantage! We are on the lip of the fall, on each side it makes its plunge, and below we mark at leisure the torrent we have just braved; above, it is smooth water, and away ahead we see the foam of another rapid. The rock on which we stand has been worn smooth by the washing of the water during countless ages, and from a cleft or fissure there springs a pine-tree or a rustling aspen. We have crossed the Petit Roches, and our course is onward still. Through many scenes like this we held our way during the last days of July. The weather was beautiful; now and then a thunder-storm would roll along during the night, but the morning sun rising clear and bright would almost tempt one to believe that it had been a dream, if the pools of water in the hollows of the rocks and the dampness of blanket or oil-cloth had not proved the sun a humbug. Our general distance each day would be about thirty-two miles, with an average of six portages. At sunset we made our camp on some rocky isle or shelving shore, one or two cut wood, another got the cooking things ready, a fourth gummed the seams of the canoe, a fifth cut shavings from a dry stick for the fire--for myself, I generally took a plunge in the cool delicious water--and soon the supper hissed in the pans, the kettle steamed from its suspending stick, and the evening meal was eaten with appetites such as only the voyageur can understand. Then when the shadows of the night had fallen around and all was silent, save the river's tide against the rocks, we would stretch our blankets on the springy moss of the crag and lie down to sleep with only the stars for a roof. Happy, happy days were these--days the memory of which goes very far into the future, growing brighter as we journey farther away from them, for the scenes through which our course was laid were such as speak in whispers, only when we have left them--the whispers of the pine-tree, the music of running water, the stillness of great lonely lakes. On the evening of the fifth day from leaving Fort Alexander we reached the foot of the Rat Portage, the twenty-seventh, and last, upon the Winnipeg River; above this portage stretched the Lake of the Woods, which here poured its waters through a deep rock-bound gorge with tremendous force. During the five days we had only encountered two solitary Indians; they knew nothing whatever about the Expedition, and, after a short parley and a present of tea and flour, we pushed on. About midday on the fourth day we halted at the Mission of the White Dog, a spot which some more than heathen missionary had named Islington in a moment of virtuous cockneyism. What could have tempted him to commit this act of desecration it is needless to ask. Islington on the Winnipeg! O religious Gilpin, hadst thou fallen a prey to savage Cannibalism, not even Sidney Smith's farewell aspiration would have saved the savage who devoured you, you must have killed him. The Mission of the White Dog had been the scene of Thomas Hope's most brilliant triumphs in the role of schoolmaster, and the youthful Ojibbeways of the place had formerly belonged to the band of hope. For some days past Thomas had been labouring under depression, his power of devouring pemmican had, it is true, remained unimpaired, but in one or two trying moments of toil, in rapids and portages, he had been found miserably wanting; he had, in fact, shown many indications of utter uselessness; he had also begun to entertain gloomy apprehensions of what the French would do to him when they caught him on the Lake of the Woods, and although he endeavoured frequently to prove that under certain circumstances the French would have no chance whatever against him, yet, as these circumstances were from the nature of things never likely to occur, necessitating, in the first instance, a presumption that Thomas would show fight, he failed to convince not only his hearers, but himself, that he was not in a very bad way. At the White Dog Mission he was, so to speak, on his own hearth, and was doubtless desirous of showing me that his claims to the rank of interpreter were well founded. No tidings whatever had reached the few huts of the Indians at the White Dog; the women and children, who now formed the sole inhabitants, went but little out of the neighbourhood, and the men had been away for many days in the forest, hunting and fishing. Thus, through the whole course of the Winnipeg, from lake to lake, I could glean no tale or tidings of the great Ogima or of his myriad warriors. It was quite dark when we reached, on the evening of the 30th July, the northern edge of the Lake of the Woods and paddled across its placid waters to the Hudson Bay Company's post at the Rat Portage. An arrival of a canoe with six strangers is no ordinary event at one of these remote posts which the great fur company have built at long intervals over their immense territory. Out came the denizens of a few Indian lodges, out came the people of the fort and the clerk in charge of it. My first question was about the Expedition, but here, as elsewhere, no tidings had been heard of it. Other tidings were however forthcoming which struck terror into the heart of Hope. Suspicious canoes had been seen for-some days past amongst the many islands of the lake; strange men had come to the fort at night, and strange fires had been seen on the islands-the French were out on the lake. The officer in charge of the post was absent at the time of my visit, but I had met him at Fort Alexander, and he had anticipated my wants in a letter which I myself carried to his son. I now determined to strain every effort to cross with rapidity the Lake of the Woods and ascend the Rainy River to the next post of the Company, Fort Francis, distant from Rat Portage about 1400 miles, for there I felt sure that I must learn tidings of the Expedition and bring my long solitary journey to a close. But the Lake of the Woods is an immense sheet of water lying 1000 feet above the sea level, and subject to violent gales which lash its bosom into angry billows. To be detained upon some island, storm-bound amidst the lake, %would never have answered, so I ordered a large keeled boat to be got ready by midday it only required a few trifling repairs of sail and oars, but a great feast had to be gone through in which my pemmican and flour were destined to play a very prominent part. As the word pemmican is one which may figure frequently in these pages, a few words explanatory of it may be useful. Pemmican, the favourite food of the Indian and the half-breed voyageur, can be made from the flesh of any animal, but it is nearly altogether composed of buffalo meat; the meat is first cut into slices, then dried either by fire or in the sun, and then pounded or beaten out into a thick flaky substance; in this state it is put into a large bag made from the hide of the animal, the dry pulp being soldered down into a hard solid mass by melted fat being poured over it-the quantity of fat is nearly half the total weight, forty pounds of fat going to fifty pounds of "beat meat;" the best pemmican generally has added to it ten pounds of berries and sugar, the whole composition forming the most solid description of food that man can make. If any person should feel inclined to ask, "What does pemmicau taste like?" I can only reply, "Like pemmican," there is nothing else in the world that bears to it the slightest resemblance. -Can I say any thing that Will give the reader an idea of its sufficing quality? Yes, I think I can. A dog that will eat from four to six pounds of raw fish a day when sleighing, will only devour two pounds: of pemmican, if he be fed upon that food; yet I have seen Indians and half-breeds eat four pounds of it in a single day-but this is anticipating. Pemmican can be prepared in many ways, and it is not easy to decide which method is the least objectionable. There is rubeiboo and richot, and pemmican plain and pemmican raw, this last method being the one most in vogue amongst voyageurs; but the richot, to me, seemed the best; mixed with a little flour and fried in a pan, pemmican in this form can be eaten, provided the appetite be sharp and there is nothing else to be had--this last consideration is, however, of importance. CHAPTER ELEVEN. The Expedition--The Lake of the Woods--A Night Alarm--A close Shave--Rainy River--A Night Paddle--Fort Francis--A Meeting--The Officer commanding the Expedition--The Rank and File--The 60th Rifles--A Windigo--Ojibbeway Bravery--Canadian Volunteers. The feast having been concluded (I believe it had gone on all night, and was protracted far into the morning), the sails and oars were suddenly reported ready, and about midday on the 31st July we stood away from the Portages du Rat into the Lake of the Woods. I had added another man to my crew, which now numbered seven hands, the last accession was a French half-breed, named Morrisseau. Thomas Hope had possessed himself of a flint gun, with which he was to do desperate things should we fall in with the French scouts upon the lake. The boat in which I now found myself was a large, roomy craft, capable of carrying about three tons of freight; it had a single tall mast carrying a large square lug-sail, and also possessed of powerful sweeps, which were worked by the men in standing positions, the rise of the oar after each stroke making the oarsman sink back upon the thwarts only to resume again his upright attitude for the next dip of the heavy sweep. This is the regular Hudson Bay Mackinaw boat, used for the carrying trade of the great Fur Company on every river from the Bay of Hudson to the Polar Ocean. It looks a big, heavy, lumbering affair, but it can sail well before a wind, and will do good work with the oars too. That portion of the Lake of the Woods through which we now steered our way was a perfect maze and network of island and narrow channel; a light breeze from the north favoured us, and we passed gently along the rocky islet shores through unruffled water. In all directions there opened out innumerable channels, some narrow and winding, others straight and open, but all lying'-between shores clothed with a rich and luxuriant vegetation; shores that curved and twisted into mimic bays and tiny promontories, that rose in rocky masses abruptly from the water, that sloped down to meet the lake in gently swelling undulations, that seemed, in fine, to present in the compass of a single glance every varying feature of island scenery. Looking through these rich labyrinths of tree and moss-covered rock, it was difficult to imagine that winter could ever -stamp its frozen image upon such a soft summer scene. The air was balmy with the scented things which grow profusely upon the islands; the water was warm, almost tepid, and yet despite of this the winter frost would cover the lake with five feet of ice, and the thick brushwood of the islands would lie hidden during many months beneath great depths of snow. As we glided along through this beautiful scene the men kept a sharp look-out for the suspicious craft whose presence had caused such alarm at the Portage-du-Rat. We saw no trace of man or canoe, and nothing broke the stillness of the evening except the splash of a sturgeon in the lonely bays. About sunset we put ashore upon a large rock for supper. While it was being prepared I tried to count the islands around. From a projecting point I could see island upon island to the number of over a hundred--the wild cherry, the plum, the wild rose, the raspberry, intermixed with ferns and mosses in vast variety, covered every spot around me, and from rock and crevice the pine and the poplar hung their branches over the water. As the breeze still blew fitfully from the north we again embarked and held our way through the winding channels--at times these channels would grow wider only again to close together; but there was no current, and the large high sail moved us slowly through the water. When it became dark a fire suddenly appeared on an island some distance ahead. Thomas Hope grasped his flint gun and seemed to think the supreme moment had at length arrived. During the evening I could tell by the gestures and looks of the men that the mysterious rovers formed the chief subject of conversation, and our latest accession painted so vividly their various suspicious movements, that Thomas was more than ever convinced his hour was at hand. Great then was the excitement when the fire was observed upon the island, and greater still when I told Samuel to steer full towards it. As we approached we could distinguish figures moving to and fro between us and the bright flame, but when we had got within a few hundred yards of the spot the light was suddenly extinguished, and the ledge of rock upon which it had been burning became wrapped in darkness. We hailed, but there was no reply. Whoever had been around the fire had vanished through the trees; launching their canoe upon the other side of the island, they had paddled away through the intricate labyrinth scared by our sudden appearance in front of their lonely bivouac. This apparent confirmation of his worst fears in no way served to reanimate the spirits of Hope, and though shortly after he lay down with the other men in the bottom of the boat, it was not without misgivings as to the events which lay before him in the darkness. One man only remained up to steer, for it was my intention to run as long as the breeze, faint though it was, lasted. I had been asleep about half an hour when I felt my arm quickly pulled, and, looking up, beheld Samuel bending over me, while with one hand he steered the boat. "Here they are," he whispered, "here they are." I looked over the gunwale and under the sail and beheld right on the course we were steering two bright fires burning close to the water's edge. We were running down a channel which seemed to narrow to a strait between two islands, and presently a third fire came into view on the other side of the strait, showing distinctly the narrow pass towards which we were steering, it did not appear to be more than twenty feet across it, and, from its exceeding narrowness and the position of the fires, it seemed as though the place had really been selected to dispute our outward passage. We were not more than two hundred yards from the strait and the breeze was holding well into it. What was to be done? Samuel was for putting the helm up; but that would Have been useless, because we were already in the channel, and to run on shore would only place us still more in the power of our enemies, if enemies they were, so I told him to hold his course and run right through the narrow pass. The other men had sprung quickly from their blankets, and Thomas was the picture of terror. When he saw that I was about to run the boat through the strait, he instantly made up his mind to shape for himself a different course. Abandoning his flint musket to any body who would take it, he clambered like a monkey on to the gunwale, with the evident intention of dropping noiselessly into the water, and seeking, by swimming on shore, a safety which he deemed denied to him on board. Never shall I forget his face as he was pulled back into the boat; nor is it easy to describe the sudden revulsion of feeling which possessed him when: a dozen different fires breaking into view showed at once that the forest was on fire, and that the imaginary bivouac of the French was only the flames of burning brushwood. Samuel laughed over his mistake, but Thomas looked on it in no laughing light, and, seizing his gun, stoutly maintained that had it really been the French they would have learnt a terrible lesson from the united volleys of the fourteen-shooter and his flint musket. The Lake of the Woods covers a very large extent of country. In length it measures about seventy miles, and its greatest breadth is about the same distance; its shores are but little known, and it is only the Indian who can steer with accuracy through its labyrinthine channels. In its southern portion it spreads out into a vast expanse of open water, the surface of which is lashed by tempests into high-running seas. In the early days of the French fur trade it yielded large stores of beaver and of martens, but it has long ceased to be rich in furs. Its shores and islands will be found to abound in minerals whenever civilization reaches them. Among the Indians the lake holds high place as the favourite haunt of the Manitou. The strange water-worn rocks, the islands of soft pipe-stone from which are cut the bowls for many a calumet, the curious masses of ore resting on the polished surface of rock, the islands struck yearly by lightning, the islands which abound in lizards although these reptiles are scarce elsewhere--all these make the Lake of the Woods a region abounding in Indian legend and superstition. There are isles upon which he will not dare to venture, because the evil spirit has chosen them; there are promontories upon which offerings must be made to the Manitou when the canoe drifts by their lonely shores; and there are spots watched over by the great Kennebic, or Serpent, who is jealous of the treasures which they contain. But all these things are too long to dwell upon now; I must haste along my way. On the second morning after leaving Rat Portage we began to leave behind the thickly-studded islands and to get out into the open waters. A thunder-storm had swept the lake during the night, but the morning was calm, and the heavy sweeps were not able to make much way. Suddenly, while we were halted for breakfast, the wind veered round to the north-west and promised us a rapid passage across the Grande Traverse to the mouth of Rainy River. Embarking hastily, we set sail for a strait known as the Grassy Portage, which the high stage of water in the lake enabled us to run through without touching ground. Beyond this strait there stretched away a vast expanse of water over which the white-capped waves were running in high billows from the west. It soon became so rough that we had to take on board the small canoe which I had brought with me from Rat Portage in case of accident, and which was towing astern. On we swept over the high-rolling billows with a double reef in the lug-sail. Before us, far away, rose a rocky promontory, the extreme point of which we had to weather in order to make the mouth of Rainy River. Keeping the boat as close to the wind as she would go, we reeled on over the tumbling seas. Our lee-way was very great, and for some time it seemed doubtful if we would clear the point; as we neared it we saw that there was a tremendous sea running against the rock, the white sprays shooting far up into the air When the rollers struck against it. The wind had now freshened to a gale and the boat laboured much, constantly shipping sprays. At last we were abreast of the rocks, close hauled, and yet only a hundred yards from the breakers. Suddenly the wind veered a little, or the heavy swell which was running caught us, for we began to drift quickly down into the mass of breakers. The men were all huddled together in the bottom of the boat, and for a moment or two nothing could be done. "Out with the sweeps!" I roared. All was confusion; the long sweeps got foul of each other, and for a second every thing went wrong. At last three sweeps were got to work, but they could do nothing against such a sea. We were close to the rocks, so close that one began to make preparations for doing something--one didn't well know what--when we should strike. Two more oars were out, and for an instant we hung in suspense as to the result. How they did pull! it was the old paddle-work forcing the rapid again; and it told; in spite of wave and wind, we were round the point, but it was only by a shade. An hour later we were running through a vast expanse of marsh and reeds into the mouth of Rainy River; the Lake of the Woods was passed, and now before me Lay eighty miles of the Rivière-de-la-Pluie. A friend of mine once, describing the scenery of the Falls of the Cauvery in India, wrote that "below the falls there was an island round which there was water on every side:" this mode of description, so very true and yet so very simple in its character, may fairly-be applied to Rainy River; one may safely say that it is a river, and that it has banks on Either side of it; if one adds that the banks are rich, fertile, and well wooded, the description will be complete--such was the river up which I now steered to meet the Expedition. The Expedition, where was it? An Indian whom we met on the lake knew nothing about it; perhaps on the river we should hear some tidings. About five miles from the mouth of Rainy River there was a small out-station of the Hudson Bay Company kept by a man named Morrisseau, a brother of my boatman. As we approached this little post it was announced to us by an Indian that Morrisseau had that morning lost a child. It was a place so wretched looking that its name of Hungery Hall seemed well adapted to it. When the boat touched the shore the father of the dead child came out of the hut, and shook hands with every one in solemn silence; when he came to his brother he kissed him, and the brother in his turn went up the bank and kissed a number of Indian women who were standing round; there was not a word spoken by any one; after awhile they all went into the hut in which the little body lay, and remained some time inside. In its way, I don't ever recollect seeing a more solemn exhibition of grief than this complete silence in the presence of death; there was no question asked, no sign given, and the silence of the dead seemed to have descended upon the living. In a little time several Indians appeared, and I questioned them as to the Expedition; had they seen or heard of it? "Yes, there was one young man who had seen with his own eyes the great army of the white braves." "Where?" I asked. "Where the road slants down into the lake, was the interpreted reply. "What were they like?" I asked again, half incredulous after so many disappointments. He thought for awhile: "They were like the locusts," he answered, "they came on one after the other." There could be no mistake about it, he had seen British soldiers. The chief of the party now came forward, and asked what I had got to say to the Indians; that he would like to hear me make a speech; that they wanted to know why all these men were coming through their country. To make a speech! it was a curious request. I was leaning with my back against the mast, and the Indians were seated in a line on the bank; every thing looked so miserable around, that I thought I might for once play the part of Chadband, and improve the occasion, and, as a speech was expected of me, make it. So I said, "Tell this old chief that I am sorry he is poor and hungry; but let him look around, the land on which he sits is rich and fertile, why does he not cut down the trees that cover it, and plant in their places potatoes and corn? then he will have food in the winter when the moose is scarce and the sturgeon cannot be caught." He did not seem to relish my speech, but said nothing. I gave a few plugs of tobacco all round, and we shoved out again into the river. "Where the road comes down to the lake" the Indian had seen the troops; where was that spot? No easy matter to decide, for lakes are so numerous in this land of the North-west that the springs of the earth seem to have found vent there. Before sunset we fell in with another Indian; he was alone in a canoe, which he paddled close along shore out of the reach of the strong breeze which was sweeping us fast up the river. While he was yet a long way off, Samuel declared that he had recently left Fort Francis, and therefore would bring us news from that place. "How can you tell at this distance that he has come from the fort?" I asked. "Because his shirt looks bright," he answered. And so it was; he had left the fort on the previous day and run seventy miles; he was old Monkman's Indian returning after having left that hardy voyageur at Fort Francis. Not a soldier of the Expedition had yet reached the fort, nor did any man know where they were. On again; another sun set and another sun rose, and we were still running up the Rainy River before a strong north wind which fell away towards evening. At sundown of the 3rd August I calculated that some four and twenty miles must yet lie between me and that fort at which, I felt convinced, some distinct tidings must reach me of the progress of the invading column. I was already 180 miles beyond the spot where I had counted upon falling in with them. I was nearly 400 miles from Fort Garry. Towards evening on the 3rd it fell a dead calm, and the heavy boat could make but little progress against the strong running current of the river, so I bethought me of the little birch-bark canoe which I had brought from Rat Portage; it was a very tiny one, but that was no hindrance to the work I now\ required of it. We had been sailing all day, so my men were fresh. At supper I proposed that Samuel, Monkman, and William Prince should come on with me during the night, that we would leave Thomas Hope in command of the big boat and push on for the fort in the light canoe, taking with us only sufficient food for one meal. The three men at once assented, and Thomas was delighted at the prospect of one last grand feed all to himself, besides the great honour of being promoted to the rank and dignity of Captain of the boat. So we got the little craft out, and having gummed her all over, started once more on our upward way just as the shadows of the night began to close around the river. We were four in number, quite as many as the canoe could carry; she was very low in the water and, owing to some damage received in the rough waves of the Lake of the Woods, soon began to leak badly. Once we put ashore to gum and pitch her seams again, but still the water oozed in and we were wet. What was to be done? with these delays we never could hope to reach the fort by daybreak, and something told me instinctively, that unless I did get there that night I would find the Expedition already arrived. Just at that moment we descried smoke rising amidst the trees on the right shore, and soon saw the poles of Indian lodges. The men said they were very bad Indians. firom the American side--the left shore of Rainy River is American territory--but the chance of a bad Indian was better than the certainty of a bad canoe, and we stopped at the camp. A lot of half-naked redskins came out of the trees, and the pow-wow commenced. I gave them all tobacco, and then asked if they would give me a good canoe in exchange for my bad one, telling them that I would give them a present next day at the fort if one or two amongst them would come up there. After a short parley they assented, and a beautiful canoe was brought out and placed on the water. They also gave us a supply of dried sturgeon, and, again shaking hands all round, we departed on our way. This time there was no mistake, the canoe proved as dry as a bottle, and we paddled bravely on through the mists of night. About midnight we halted for supper, making a fire amidst the long wet grass, over which we fried the sturgeon and boiled our kettle; then we went on again through the small hours of the morning. At times I could see on the right the mouths of large rivers which flowed from the west: it is down these rivers that the American Indians come to fish for sturgeon in the Rainy River. For nearly 200 miles the country is still theirs, and the Pillager and Red Lake branches of the Ojibbeway nation yet hold their hunting-grounds in the vast swamps of North Minnesota. These Indians have a bad reputation, as the name of Pillager implies, and my Red River men were anxious to avoid falling in with them. Once during the night, opposite the mouth of one of the rivers opening to the west, we saw the lodges of a large party on our left; with paddles that were never lifted out of the water, we glided noiselessly by, as silently as a wild duck would cleave the current. Once again during the long night a large sturgeon, struck suddenly by a paddle, alarmed us by bounding out of the water and landing full upon the gunwale of the Canoe, splashing back again into the water and wetting us all by his curious manoeuvre. At length in the darkness we heard the hollow roar of the great Falls of the Chaudiere sounding loud through the stillness. It grew louder and louder as with now tiring strokes my worn-out men worked mechanically at their paddles. The day was beginning to break. We were close beneath the Chaudiere and alongside of Fort Francis. The scene was wondrously beautiful. In the indistinct light of the early dawn the cataract seemed twice its natural height, the tops of pine trees rose against the pale green of the coming day, close above the falls the bright morning star hung, diamond-like, over the rim of the descending torrent; around the air was tremulous with the rush of water, and to the north the rose-coloured streaks of the aurora were woven into the dawn. My long solitary journey had nearly reached its close. Very cold and cramped by the constrained position in which I had remained all night, I reached the fort, and, unbarring the gate, with my rifle knocked at the door of one of the wooden houses. After a little, a man opened the door in the costume, scant and unpicturesque, in which he had risen from his bed. "Is that Colonel Wolseley?" he asked. "No," I answered; "but that sounds well; he can't be far off." "He will be in to breakfast," was the reply. After all, I was not much too soon. When one has journeyed very far along such a route as the one I had followed since leaving Fort Garry in daily expectation of meeting with a body of men making their way from a distant point through the same wilderness, one does not like the idea of being found at last within the stockades of an Indian trading-post as though one had quietly taken one's ease at an inn. Still there were others to be consulted in the matter, others whose toil during the twenty-seven hours of our continuous travel had been far greater than mine. After an hour's delay I went to the house where the men were lying down, and said to them, "The Colonel is close at hand. It will be well for us to go and meet him, and we will thus see the soldiers before they arrive at the Fort;" so getting the canoe out once more, we carried her above the falls, and paddled up towards the Rainy Lake, whose waters flow into Rainy River two miles above the fort. It was the 4th of August-we reached the foot of the rapid which the river makes as it flows out of the Lake. Forcing up this rapid, we saw spreading out before us the broad waters of the Rainy Lake. The eye of the half-breed or the Indian is of marvellous keenness; it. can detect the presence of any strange object long before that object will strike the vision of the civilized man; but on this occasion the eyes of my men were at fault, and the glint of something strange upon the lake first caught my sight. There they are! Yes, there they were. Coming along with the full swing of eight paddles, swept a large North-west canoe, its Iroquois paddlers timing their strokes to an old French chant as they shot down towards the river's source. Beyond, in the expanse of the lake, a boat or two showed far and faint. We put into the rocky shore, and, mounting upon a crag which guarded the head of the rapid, I waved to the leading canoe as it swept along. In the centre sat a figure in uniform with forage-cap on head, and I could see that he was scanning through a field-glass the strange figure that waved a welcome from the rock. Soon they entered the rapid, and commenced to dip down its rushing waters. Quitting the rock, I got again into my canoe, and we shoved off into the current. Thus running down the rapid the two canoes drew together, until at its foot they were only a few paces apart. Then the officer in the large canoe, recognizing a face he had last seen three months before in the hotel at Toronto, called out, "Where on earth have you dropped from?" and with a "Fort Garry, twelve days out, sir," I was in his boat. The officer whose canoe thus led the advance into Rainy River was no other than the commander of the Expeditionary Force. During the period which had elapsed since that force had landed at Thunder Bay on the shore of Lake Superior, he had toiled with untiring energy to overcome the many obstacles which opposed the progress of the troops through the rock-bound fastnesses of the North. But there are men whose perseverance hardens, whose energy quickens beneath difficulties and delay, whose genius, like some spring bent back upon its base, only gathers strength from resistance. These men are the natural soldiers of the world; and fortunate is it for those who carry swords and rifles and are dressed in uniform when such men are allowed to lead them, for with such men as leaders the following, if it be British, will be all right--nay, if it be of any nationality on the earth, it will be all right too. Marches will be made beneath suns which by every rule of known experience ought to prove fatal to nine-tenths of those who are exposed to them, rivers will be crossed, deserts will be traversed, and mountain passes will be pierced, and the men who cross and traverse and pierce them will only marvel that doubt or distrust should ever have entered into their minds as to the feasibility of the undertaking. The man who led the little army across the Northern wilderness towards Red River was well fitted in every respect for the work which was to be done. He was young in years but he was old in service; the highest professional training had developed to the utmost his ability, while it had left unimpaired the natural instinctive faculty of doing a thing from oneself, which the knowledge of a given rule for a given action so frequently destroys. Nor was it only by his energy, perseverance, and professional training that Wolseley was fitted to lead men upon the very exceptional service now required from them. Officers and soldiers will always follow when those three qualities are combined in the man who leads them; but they will follow with delight the man who, to these qualities, unites a happy aptitude for command, which is neither taught nor learned, but which is instinctively possessed. Let us look back a little upon the track of this Expedition. Through a vast wilderness of wood and rock and water, extending for more than 600 miles, 1200 men, carrying with them all the appliances of modern war, had to force their way. The region through which they travelled was utterly destitute of food, except such as the wild game afforded to the few scattered Indians; and even that source was so limited that whole families of the Ojibbeways had perished of starvation, and cases of cannibalism had been frequent amongst them. Once cut adrift from Lake Superior, no chance remained for food until the distant settlement of Red River had been reached. Nor was it at all certain that even there supplies could be obtained, periods of great distress had occurred in the settlement itself; and the disturbed state into which its affairs had lately fallen in no way promised to give greater habits of agricultural industry to a people who were proverbially roving in their tastes. It became necessary, therefore, in piercing this wilderness to take with the Expedition three month's supply of food, and the magnitude of the undertaking will be somewhat under stood by the outside world when this fact is borne in mind. Of course it would have been a simple matter if the-boats which carried the men and their supplies had been able to sail through an unbroken channel into the bosom of Lake Winnipeg; but through that long 600 miles of lake and river and winding creek, the rocky declivities of cataracts and the wild wooded shores of rapids had to be traversed, and full forty-seven times between lake and lake had boats, stores, and ammunition, had cannon, rifles, sails, and oars to be lifted from the water, borne across long ridges of rock and swamp and forest, and placed again upon the northward rolling river. But other difficulties had to be overcome which delayed at the outset the movements of the Expedition. A road, leading from Lake Superior to the height by land (42 miles), had been rendered utterly impassable by fires which swept the forest and rains which descended for days in continuous torrents. A considerable portion of this road had also to be opened out in order to carry the communication through to Lake Shebandowan close to the height of land. For weeks the whole available strength of the Expedition f had been employed in road-making and in hauling the boats up the rapids of the Kaministiquia River, and it was only on the 16th of July, after seven weeks of unremitting toil and arduous labour, that all these preliminary difficulties had been finally overcome and the leading detachments of boats set out upon their long and perilous journey into the wilderness. Thus it came to pass that on the morning of the 4th of August, just three weeks after that departure, the silent shores of the Rainy River beheld the advance of these pioneer boats who thus far had "marched on without impediment." The evening of the day that witnessed my arrival at Fort Francis saw also my departure from it; and before the sun had set I was already far down the Rainy River. But I was no longer the solitary white man; and no longer the camp-fire had around it the swarthy faces of the Swampies. The woods were noisy with many tongues; the night was bright with the glare of many fires. The Indians, frightened by such a concourse of braves, had fled into the woods, and the roofless poles of their wigwams alone marked the camping-places where but the evening before I had seen the red man monarch of all he surveyed. The word had gone forth from the commander to push on with all speed for Red River, and I was now with the advanced portion of the 60th Rifles en route for the Lake of the Woods. Of my old friends the Swampies only one remained with me, the others had been kept at Fort Francis to be distributed amongst the various brigades of boats as guides to the Lake of the Woods and Winnipeg River; even Thomas Hope had got a promise of a brigade-in the mean time pork was abundant; and between pride and pork what more could even Hope desire? In two days we entered the Lake of the Woods, and hoisting sail stood out across the waters. Never before had these lonely islands witnessed such a sight as they now beheld. Seventeen large boats close hauled to a splendid breeze swept in a great scattered mass through the high running seas, dashing the foam from their bows as they dipped and rose under their large lug-sails. Samuel Henderson led the way, proud of his new position, and looked upon by the soldiers of his boat as the very acme of an Indian. How the poor fellows enjoyed that day! no oar, no portage no galling weight over rocky ledges, nothing but a grand day's racing over the immense lake. They smoked-all day, balancing themselves on the weather-side to steadv the boats as they keeled over into the heavy seas. I think they would have-given even Mr. Riel that day a pipeful of tobacco; but Heaven help him if they: had caught him two days later on the portages of the Winnipeg! he would have had a hard time of it. There has been some Hungarian poet, I think, who has found a theme for his genius in the glories of the _private soldier. He had been a soldier himself, and he knew the wealth of the mine hidden in the unknown and unthought of Rank and File. It is a pity that the knowledge of that wealth should not be more widely circulated. Who are the Rank and File? They are the poor wild birds whose country has cast them off, and who repay her by offering their lives for her glory; the men who take the shilling, who drink, who drill, who march to music, who fill the graveyards of Asia; the men who stand sentry at the gates of world-famous fortresses, who are old when their elder brothers are still young, who are bronzed and burned by fierce suns, who sail over seas packed in great masses, who watch at night over lonely magazines, who shout, "Who comes there?" through the darkness, who dig in trenches, who are blown to pieces in mines, who are torn by shot and shell, who have carried the flag of England into every land, who have made her name famous through the nations, who are the nation's pride in her hour of peril and her plaything-in her hour of prosperity--these are the rank and file. We are a curious nation; until lately we bought our rank, as we buy our mutton, in a market; and we found officers and gentlemen where other nations would have found thieves and swindlers. Until lately we flogged our files with a cat-o'-nine-tails, and found heroes by treating men like dogs. But to return to the rank and file. The regiment-which had been selected for the work of piercing these solitudes of the American continent had peculiar claims for that service. In bygone times it had been composed exclusively of Americans, and there was not an Expedition through all the wars which England waged against France in the New World in which the 60th, or "Royal Americans," had not taken a prominent part. When Munro yielded to Montcalm the fort of William Henry, when Wolfe reeled back from Montmorenci and stormed Abraham, when Pontiac swept the forts from Lake Superior to the Ohio, the 60th, or Royal Americans, had ever been foremost in the struggle. Weeded now of their weak and sickly men, they formed a picked 'body, numbering 350 soldiers, of whom any nation on earth might well be proud. They were fit to do anything and to go any where; and if a fear lurked in the minds of any of them, it was that Mr. Riel would not show fight. Well led, and officered by men who shared with them every thing, from the portage-strap to a roll of tobacco, there was complete confidence from the highest to the lowest. To be wet seemed to be the normal condition of man, and to carry a pork-barrel weighing 200 pounds over a rocky portage was but constitutional and exhilarating exercise--such were the men with whom, on the evening of the 8th of August, I once more reached the neighbourhood' of the Rat Portage. In a little bay between many islands the flotilla halted just before entering the reach which led to the portage. Paddling on in front with Samuel in my little canoe, we came suddenly upon four large Hudson Bay boats with full crews of Red River half-breeds and Indians-they were on their way to meet the Expedition, with the object of rendering what assistance they could to the troops in the descent of the Winnipeg river. They had begun, to despair of ever falling in with it, and great was the excitement at the sudden meeting; the flint-gun was at once discharged into the air, and the shrill shouts began to echo through the islands. But the excitement on the side of the Expedition was quite as keen. The sudden shots and the wild shouts made the men in the boats in rear imagine that the fun was really about to begin, and that a skirmish through the wooded isles would be the evening's work. The mistake was quickly discovered. They were glad of course to meet their Red River friends; but somehow, I fancy, the feeling, of joy would certainly not have been lessened had the boats held the dusky adherents of the Provisional Government. On the following morning the seventeen boats commenced the descent of the Winnipeg river, while I remained at the Portage-du-Rat to await the arrival of the chief of the Expedition from Fort Francis. Each succeeding day brought a fresh brigade of boats under the guidance of one of my late canoe-men; and finally Thomas Hope came along,-seemingly enjoying life to the utmost--pork was plentiful, and as for the French there was no need to dream of them, and he could sleep in peace in the midst of fifty white soldiers. During six days I remained at the little Hudson Bay Company's post at the Rat Portage, making short excursions into the surrounding lakes and rivers, fishing below the rapids of the Great Chute; and in the evenings listening to the Indian stories of the lake as told by my worthy host, Mr. Macpherson, a great portion of whose life had been spent in the vicinity. One day I went some distance away from the fort to fish at the foot of one of the great rapids formed by the Winnipeg River as it runs from the Lake of the Woods. We carried our canoe over two or three portages, and at length reached the chosen spot. In the centre of the river an Indian was floating quietly in his canoe, casting every now and then a large hook baited with a bit of fish into the water. My bait consisted of a bright spinning piece of metal, which I had got in one of the American cities on my way through Minnesota. Its effect upon the fish of this lonely region was marvellous; they had never before been exposed to such a fascinating affair, and they rushed at it with avidity. Civilization on the rocks had certainly a better time of it, as far as catching fish went, than barbarism in the canoe. With the shining thing we killed three for the Indian's one. My companion, who was working the spinning bait while I sat on the rock, casually observed, pointing to the Indian, "He's a Windigo." "A what?" I asked. "A Windigo." "What is that?" "A man that has eaten other men." "Has this man eaten other men?" "Yes; a long time ago he and his band were starving, and they killed and ate forty other Indians who were starving with them. They lived through the winter on them, and in the spring he had to fly from Lake Superior because the others wanted to kill him in revenge; and so he came here, and he now lives alone near this place." The Windigo soon paddled over to us, and I had a good opportunity of studying his appearance. He was a stout, low-sized savage, with coarse and repulsive features, and eyes fixed sideways in his head like a Tartar's. We had left our canoe some distance away, and my companion asked him to put us across to an island. The Windigo at once consented: we got into his canoe, and he ferried us over. I don't know the name of the island upon which he landed us, and very likely it has got no name, but in my mind, at least, the rock and the Windigo will always be associated with that celebrated individual of our early days, the King of the Cannibal Islands. The Windigo looked with wonder at the spinning bait, seeming to regard it as a "great medicine;" perhaps if he had possessed such a thing he would never have been forced by hunger to become a Windigo. Of the bravery of the Lake of the Woods Ojibbeway I did not form a very high estimate. Two instances related to me by Mr. Macpherson will suffice to show that opinion to have been well founded. Since the days when the Bird of Ages dwelt on the Coteau-des-Prairies the Ojibbeway and the Sioux have warred against each other; but as the Ojibbeway dwelt chiefly in the woods and the Sioux are denizens of the great plains, the actual war carried on between them has not beena unusually destructive. The Ojibbeways dislike to go far into the open plains; the Sioux hesitate to pierce the dark depths of the forest, and the war is generally confined to the border land, where the forest begins to merge into the plains. Every now and again, however, it becomes necessary to go through the form of a war-party, and the young men depart upon the war-path against their hereditary enemies. To kill a Sioux and take his scalp then becomes the great object of existence. Fortunate is the brave who can return to the camp bearing with him the coveted trophy. Far and near spreads the glorious news that a Sioux scalp has been taken, and for many a night the camps are noisy with the shouts and revels of the scalp dance from Winnipeg to Rainy Lake. It matters little whether it be the scalp of a man, a woman, or a child; provided it be a scalp it is all right. There is the record of the two last war-paths from the Lake of the Woods. Thirty Ojibbeways set out one fine day for the plains to war against the Sioux, they followed the line of the Rosseaui river, and soon emerged from the forest. Before them lay a camp of Sioux. The thirty braves, hidden in the thickets, looked at the camp of their enemies; but the more they looked the less they liked it. They called a council of deliberation; it was unanimously resolved to retire to the Lake of the Woods: but surely they must bring back a scalp, the women would laugh at them! What was to be done? At length the difficulty was solved. Close by there was a newly-made grave, a squaw had died and been buried. Excellent idea; one scalp was as good as another. So the braves dug up the buried squaw-, took the scalp, and departed for Rat Portage. There was a great dance, and it was decided that each and every one of the thirty Ojibbeways deserved well of his nation. But the second instance is still more revolting. A very brave Indian departed alone from the Lake of the Woods to war against the Sioux; he wandered about, hiding in the thickets by day and coming forth at night. One evening, being nearly starved, he saw the smoke of a wigwam; he went towards it, and found that it was inhabited only by women and children, of whom there were four altogether. He went up and asked for food; they invited him to enter the lodge; they set before him the best food they had got, and they laid a buffalo robe for his bed in the warmest corner of the wigwam. When night came, all slept; when midnight came the Ojibbeway quietly arose from his couch, killed the two women, killed the two children, and departed for the Lake of the Woods with four scalps. Oh, he was a very brave Indian, and his name went far through the forest! I know somebody who would have gone very far to see him hanged. Late on the evening of the 14th August the commander of the Expedition arrived from Fort Francis at the Portage-du-Rat. He had attempted to cross the Lake of the Woods in a gig manned by soldiers, the weather being too tempestuous to allow the canoe to put out, and had lost his way in the vast maze of islands already spoken of. As we had received intelligence at the Portage-du-Rat of his having set out from the other side of the lake, and as hour after hour passed without bringing his boat in sight, I got the canoe ready and, with two Indians, started to light a beacon-fire on the top of the Devil's Rock, one of the haunted islands of the lake, which towered high over the surrounding isles. We had not proceeded far, however, before we fell in with the missing gig bearing down for the portage under the guidance of an Indian who had been picked up en route. On the following day I received orders to start at once for Fort Alexander at the mouth of the Winnipeg River to engage guides for the brigades of boats which had still to come--two regiments of Canadian Militia. And here let us not-forget the men who, following in the footsteps of the regular troops, were now only a few marches behind their more fortunate comrades. To the lot of these two regiments of Canadian Volunteers fell the same hard toil of oar and portage which we have already described. The men composing these regiments were stout athletic fellows, eager for service, tired of citizen life, and only needing the toil of a campaign to weld them into as tough and resolute a body of men as ever leader could desire. CHAPTER TWELVE. To Fort Garry--Down the Winnipeg--Her Majesty's Royal Mail--Grilling a Mail-bag--Running a Rapid--Up the Red River-A dreary Bivouac--The President bolts--The Rebel Chiefs--Departure of the Regular Troops. I TOOK a very small canoe, manned by three Indians--father and two sons--and, with provisions for three days, commenced the descent of the river of rapids. How we shot down the hissing waters in that tiny craft! How fast we left the wooded shores behind us, and saw the-lonely isles flit by as the powerful current swept us like a leaf upon its bosom! It was late of the afternoon of the 15th August when I left for the last time the Lake of the Woods. Next night our camp was made below the Eagle's Nest, seventy miles from the Portage-du-Rat. A wild storm burst upon us at night-fall, and our bivouac was a damp and dreary one. The Indians lay under the canoe; I sheltered as best I could beneath a huge pine-tree. My oil-cloth was only four feet in length-a shortcoming on the part of its feet which caused mine to suffer much discomfort. Besides, I had Her Majesty's royal mail to keep dry, and, with the limited liability of my oil-cloth in the matter of length, that became no easy task--two bags of letters and papers, home letters and papers, too, for the Expedition. They had been flung into my: canoe when leaving Rat Portage, and I had spent the first day in-sorting them as we swept along, and now they were getting wet in spite of every effort to the contrary. I made one bag into a pillow, but the rain came through the big pine-tree, splashing down through the branches, putting out my fire and drenching mail-bags and blankets. Daylight came at last, but still the rain hissed down, making it no easy matter to boil our kettle and fry our bit of pork. Then we put out for the day's work on the river. How bleak and wretched it all was! After a while we found it was impossible to make head against the storm of wind and rain which swept the water, and we had to put back to the shelter of our miserable camp. About seven o'clock the wind fell, and we set out again. Soon the sun came forth drying and warming us all over. All day we paddled on, passing in succession the grand Chute-à-Jacquot, the Three Portages-des-Bois, the Slave Falls, and the dangerous rapids of the Barrière. The Slave Falls! who that has ever beheld that superb rush of water will forget it? Glorious, glorious Winnipeg! it may be that with these eyes of mine I shall never see thee again, for thou liest far out of the track of life, and man mars not thy beauty with ways of civilized travel; but I shall often see thee in imagination, and thy rocks and thy waters shall murmur in memory for life. That night, the 17th of August, we made our camp on a little island close to the Otter Falls. It came a night of ceaseless rain, and again the mail-bags underwent a drenching. The old Indian cleared a space in the dripping vegetation, and made me a rude shelter with branches woven together; but the rain beat through, and drenched body, bag, and baggage. And yet how easy it all was, and how sound one slept! simply because one had to do it; that one consideration is the greatest expounder of the possible. I could not speak a word to my Indians, but we got on by signs, and seldom found the want of speech--"ugh, ugh" and "caween," yes and no, answered for any difficulty. To make a fire and a camp, to boil a kettle and fry a bit of meat are the home works of the Indian. His life is one long picnic, and it matters as little to him whether sun or rain, snow or biting frost, warm, drench, cover, or freeze him, as it does to the moose or the reindeer that share his forest life and yield him often his forest fare. Upon examining the letters in-the morning the interior of the bags presented such a pulpy and generally deplorable appearance that I was obliged to stop at one of the Seven Portages for the purpose of drying Her Majesty's mail. With this object we made a large fire, and placing cross-sticks above proceeded to toast and grill the dripping papers. The Indians sat around, turning the letters with little sticks as if they were baking cakes or frying sturgeon. Under their skilful treatment the pulpy mats soon attained the consistency, and in many instances the legibility, of a smoked herring, but as they had before presented a very fishy appearance that was not of much consequence. This day was bright and fine. Notwithstanding the delay caused by drying the mails, as well as distributing them to the several brigades which we overhauled and passed, we ran a distance of forty miles and made no less than fifteen portages. The carrying or portaging power of the Indian is very remarkable. A young boy will trot away under a load which would stagger a strong European unaccustomed to such labour. The portages and the falls which they avoid bear names which seem strange and un meaning but which have their origin in some long-forgotten incident connected with the early history of the fur trade or of Indian war. Thus the great Slave Fall tells by its name the fate of two Sioux captives taken in some foray by the Ojibbeway; lashed together in a canoe, they were the only men who ever ran the Great Chute. The rocks around were black with the figures of the Ojibbeways, whose wild triumphant yells were hushed by the roar of the cataract; but the torture was a short one; the mighty rush, the wild leap, and the happy hunting-ground, where even Ojibbeways cease from troubling and Sioux warriors are at rest, had been reached. In Mackenzie's journal the fall called Galet-du-Bonnet is said to have been named by the Canadian voyageurs, from the fact that the Indians were in the habit of crowning the highest rock above the portage with wreaths of flowers and branches of trees. The Grand Portage, which is three quarters of a mile in length, is the great test of the strength of the Indian and half-breed; but, if Mackenzie speaks correctly, the voyageur has much degenerated since the early days of the fur trade, for he writes that seven pieces, weighing each ninety pounds, were carried over the Grand Portage by an Indian in one trip, 630 pounds borne three quarters of a mile by one man--the loads look big enough still, but 250 pounds is considered excessive now. These loads are carried in a manner which allows the whole strength of the body to be put into the work. A broad leather strap is placed round the forehead, the ends of the strap passing back over the shoulders support the pieces which, thus carried, lie along-the spine from the small of the back to the crown of the head. When fully loaded, the voyageur stands with his body bent forward, and with one hand steadying the "pieces," he trots briskly away over the steep and rock-strewn portage, his bare or mocassined feet enable him to pass nimbly over the slippery rocks in places where boots would infallibly send portager and pieces feet-foremost to the bottom. In ascending the Winnipeg we have seen what exciting toil is rushing or breasting up a rapid. Let us now glance at the still more exciting operation of running a rapid. It is difficult-to find in life any event which so effectually condenses intense nervous sensation into the shortest possible space of time as does the work of shooting, or running an immense rapid. There is no toil, no heart-breaking labour about it, but as much coolness, dexterity, and skill as man can throw into the work of hand, eye, and head; knowledge of when to strike and how to do it; knowledge of water and of rock, and of the one hundred combinations which rock and watercan assume--for these two things, rock and water, taken in the abstract, fail as completely to convey any idea of their fierce embracings in the throes of a rapid as the fire burning quietly in a drawing-room fireplace fails to convey the idea of a house wrapped and sheeted in flames. Above the rapid all is still and quiet, and one cannot see what is going on below the first rim of the rush, but stray shoots of spray and the deafening roar of descending water tell well enough what is about to happen. The Indian has got some rock or mark to steer by, and knows well the door by which he is to enter the slope of water. As the canoe--never appearing so frail and tiny as when it is about to commence its series of wild leaps and rushes--nears the rim where the waters disappear from view, the bowsman stands up and, stretching forward his head, peers down the eddying rush'; in a second he is on his knees again; without turning his head he speaks a word or two to those who are behind him; then not quick enough to take in the rushing scene. There is a rock here and a big green cave of water there; there is a tumultuous rising and sinking and sinking of snow-tipped waves; there are places that are smooth-running for a moment and then yawn and open up into great gurgling chasms the next; there are strange whirls and backward eddies and rocks, rough and smooth and polished--and through all this the canoe glances like an arrow, dips like a wild bird down the wing of the storm, now slanting from a rock, now edging a green cavern, now breaking through a backward rolling billow, without a word spoken, but with every now and again a quick convulsive twist and turn of the bow-paddle to edge far off some rock, to put her full through some boiling billow, to hold her steady down the slope of some thundering chute which has the power of a thousand horses: for remember, this river of rapids, this Winnipeg, is no mountain torrent, no brawling brook, but over every rocky ledge and "wave-worn precipice" there rushes twice a vaster volume than Rhine itself pours forth. The rocks which strew the torrent are frequently the most trifling of the dangers of the descent, formidable though they appear to the stranger. Sometimes a huge boulder will stand full in the midst of the channel, apparently presenting an obstacle from which escape seems impossible. The canoe is rushing full towards it, and no power can save it--there is just one power that can do it, and the rock itself provides it. Not the skill of man could run the boat bows on to that rock. There is a wilder sweep of water rushing off the polished sides than on to them, and the instant that we touch that sweep we shoot away with redoubled speed. No, the rock is not as treacherous as the whirlpool and twisting billow. On the night of the 20th of August the whole of the regular troops of the Expedition and the general commanding it and his staff had reached Fort Alexander, at the mouth of the Winnipeg River. Some accidents had occurred, and many had been the "close shaves" of rock and rapid, but no life had been lost; and from the 600 miles of wilderness there emerged 400 soldiers whose muscles and sinews, taxed and tested by continuous toil, had been developed to a pitch of excellence seldom equalled, and whose appearance and physique--browned, tanned, and powerful told: of the glorious climate of these Northern solitudes, It was near sunset when the large canoe touched the wooden pier opposite the Fort Alexander and the commander of the Expedition stepped on shore to meet his men, assembled for the first time together since Lake Superior's distant sea had been left behind. It-was a meeting not devoid of those associations which make such things memorable, and the cheer which went up from the soldiers who lined the steep bank to bid him welcome had in it a note of that sympathy which binds men together by the inward consciousness of difficulties shared in common and dangers--successfully overcome together. Next day the united fleet put out into Lake Winnipeg; and steered for the lonely shores of the Island of Elks, the solitary island of the southern portion of the lake. In a broad, curving, sandy bay the boats found that night a shelter; a hundred fires threw their lights far into the lake, and bugle-calls startled echoes that assuredly had never been rouse before by notes so strange. Sailing in a wide scattered mass before a favouring breeze, the fleet reached about noon the following day the mouth of the Red River, the river whose name was the name of the Expedition, and whose shores had so long been looked forward to as a haven of rest from portage and oar labour. There it was at last, seeking through its many mouths the waters of the lake. And now our course lay up along the reed fringed river and sluggish current to where the tree-tops began to rise over the low marsh-land-up to where my old friends the Indians had pitched their camp and given me the parting salute on the morning of my departure just one month before. It was dusk when we reached the Indian Settlement and made a camp upon the opposite shore, and darkness had quite set in when I reached the mission-house, some three miles higher up. My old friend the Archdeacon was glad indeed to welcome me back. News from the settlement there was none--news from the outside world there was plenty. "A great battle had been fought near the Rhine," the old man said, "and the French had been disastrously defeated." Another day of rowing, poling, tracking, and sailing, and evening closed over the Expedition, camped within six miles of Fort Garry; but all through the day the river banks were enlivened with people shouting welcome to the soldiers, and church bells rang out peals of gladness as the boats passed by. This was through the English and Scotch Settlement, the people of which had long grown weary of the tyranny of the Dictator Riel. Riel--why, we have almost forgotten him altogether during these weeks on the Winnipeg! Nevertheless, he-had still held his own within the walls of Fort Garry, and still played to a constantly decreasing audience the part of the Little Napoleon. During this day, the 23rd August, vague rumours reached us of terrible things to be done by the warlike President. He would suddenly appear with his guns from the woods? he would blow up the fort when the troops had taken possession--he would die in the ruins. These and many other schemes of a similar description were to be enacted by the Dictator in the last extremity of his despair. I had spent the day in the saddle, scouring the woods on the right bank of the river in advance of the fleet, while on the left shore a company of the 60th, partly mounted, moved on also in advance of the leading boats. But neither Riel nor his followers appeared to dispute-the upward passage of the flotilla, and the woods through which I rode were silent and deserted. Early in the morning a horse had been lent to me by an individual rejoicing in the classical name of Tacitus Struthers. Tacitus had also assisted me to swim the steed across the Red River in order to gain the right shore, and, having done so, took leave of me with oft-repeated injunctions to preserve from harm the horse and his accoutrements, "For," said Tacitus, "that horse is a racer." Well, I suppose it must have been that fact that made the horse race all day through the thickets and oak woods of the right shore, but I rather fancy my spurs had something to say to it too. When night again fell, the whole force had reached a spot six-miles from the rebel fort, and camp was formed for the last time on the west bank of the river. And what a night and storm then broke upon the Red River Expedition! till the tents flapped and fell and the drenched soldiers shiv'ered shelterless, waiting for the dawn. The occupants of tents which stood the pelting of the pitiless storm were no better off than those outside; the surface of the ground became ankle-deep in mud and water, and the men lay in pools during the last hours of the night. At length a dismal daylight dawned over the dreary scene, and the upward course was resumed. Still the rain came down in torrents, and, with water above, below, and around, the Expedition neared its destination. If the steed of Tacitus had had a hard day, the night had been less severe upon him than upon his rider. I had procured him an excellent stable at the other side of the river, and upon recrossing again in the morning I found him as ready to race as his owner could desire. Poor beast, he was a most miserable-looking animal, though belying his attenuated appearance by his performance. The only race which his generally forlorn aspect justified one in believing him capable of running was a race, and a hard one, for existence; but for all that he went well, and Tacitus himself might have envied the classical outline of his Roman nose. About two miles north of Fort Garry the Red River makes a sharp bend to the east and, again turning round to the west, forms a projecting point or neck of land known as Point Douglas. This spot is famous in Red River history as the scene of the battle, before referred to in these pages, where the voyageurs and French half-breeds of the North west Fur Company attacked the retainers of the Hudson Bay, some time in 1813, and succeeded in putting to death by various methods of half-Indian warfare the governor of the rival company and about a score of his followers. At this point, where the usually abrupt bank of the Red River was less steep, the troops began to disembark from the boats for the final advance upon Fort Garry. The preliminary arrangements were soon completed, and the little army, with its two brass guns trundling along behind Red River carts, commenced its march across the mud-soaked prairie. How unspeakably dreary it all looked! the bridge, the wretched village, the crumbling fort, the vast level prairie, water soaked, draped in mist, and pressed down by low-lying clouds. To me the ground was not new--the bridge was the spot where only a month before I had passed the half reed sentry in my midnight march to the Lower Fort. Other things had changed since then besides the weather. Preceded by skirmishers and followed by a rear-guard, the little force drew near Fort Garry. There was no sign of occupation; no flag on the flag-staff, no men upon the 4 walls; the muzzles of one or two guns showed through the bastions, but no sign of defence or resistance was visible about the place. The gate facing the north was closed, but the ordinary one, looking South upon the Assineboine River, was found open. As the skirmish line neared the northside two mounted men rode round the west face and entered at a gallop through the open gateway. On the top steps of the Government House stood a tall, majestic-looking man, who, with his horse beside him; alternately welcomed with uplifted hat the new arrivals and enounced in no stinted terms one or two miserable-looking men who seemed to cower beneath his reproaches. This was an officer of the Hudson Bay Company, ell known as one of the most intrepid amongst the many brave men who had sought for the lost Franklin in the darkness of the long polar night. He had been the first to enter the fort, some minutes in advance of the Expedition, and his triumphant imprecations, bestowed with unsparing vigour, had tended to accelerate the flight of M. Riel and the members of his government, who sought in rapid retreat the safety of the American frontier. How had the mighty fallen! With insult and derision the President and his colleagues fled from the scene of their triumph and their crimes. An officer in the service of the Company they had plundered hooted them as they went, but perhaps there was a still harder note of retribution in the "still small voice" which must have sounded from the bastion wherein the murdered Scott had been so brutally done to death. On the bare flag-staff in the fort the Union Jack was once more hoisted, and from the battery found in the square a royal salute of twenty-one guns told to settler and savage that the man who had been "elevated by the grace of Providence and the suffrage of his fellow-citizens to the highest position the Government of his country" had been ignominiously expelled from his high position. Still even in his fall we must not be too hard upon him. Vain, ignorant, and conceited though he was, he seemed to have been an implicit believer in his mission; nor can it be doubted that he possessed a fair share of courage too--courage not of the Red River type, which is a very peculiar one, but more in accordance with our European ideas of that virtue. That he meditated opposition cannot be doubted. The muskets cast away by his guard were found loaded; ammunition had been served from the magazine on the morning of the flight. But muskets and ammunition are not worth much without hands and hearts to use them, and twenty hands with perhaps an aggregate of two and a half hearts among them were all he had to depend on at the last moment. The other members of his government appear to have been utterly devoid of a single redeeming quality. The Hon. W. B. O'Donoghue was one of those miserable beings who seem to inherit the Vices of every calling and nationality to which they can claim a kindred. Educated for some semi-clerical profession which he abandoned for the more congenial trade of treason rendered apparently secure by distance, he remained in garb the cleric, while he plundered his prisoners and indulged in the fashionable pastime of gambling with purloined property and racing with confiscated horses--a man whose revolting countenance at once suggested the hulks and prison garb, and who, in any other land save America, would probably long since have reached the convict level for which nature destined him. Of the other active member of the rebel council--Adjutant-General the Hon. Lepine--it is unnecessary to say much. He seems to have possessed all the vices of the Metis without any of his virtues or noble traits. A strange ignorance, quite in keeping with the rest of the Red River rebellion, seems to have existed among the members of the Provisional Government to the last moment with regard to the approach of the Expedition. It is said that it was only the bugle-sound of the skirmishers that finally convinced M. Riel of the proximity of the troops, and this note, utterly unknown in Red River, followed quickly by the arrival in hot haste of the Hudson Bay official, whose deprecatory language has been already alluded to, completed the terror of the rebel government, inducing a retreat so hasty, that the breakfast of Government House was found untouched. Thus that tempest in the tea-cup, the revolt of Red River, found a fitting conclusion in the President's untasted tea. A wild scene of drunkenness and debauchery amongst the voyageurs followed the arrival of the troops in Winnipeg'. The miserable-looking village produced, as if by magic, more saloons than any city of twice its size in the States could boast of. The vilest compounds of intoxicating liquors were sold indiscriminately to every one, and for a time it seemed as though the place had become a very Pandemonium. No civil authority had been given to the commander of the Expedition, and no civil power of any kind existed in the settlement. The troops alone were under control, but the populace were free to work what mischief they pleased. It is almost to be considered a matter of congratulation, that the terrible fire-water sold by the people of the village should have been of the nature that it was, for so deadly were its effects upon the brain and nervous system, that under its influence men became perfectly helpless, lying stretched upon the prairie for hours, as though they were bereft of life itself. I regret to say that Samuel Henderson was by no means an exception to the general demoralization that ensued. Men who had been forced to fly from the settlement during the reign of the rebel government now returned to their homes, and for some time it seemed probable that the sudden revulsion of feeling, unrestrained by the presence of a civil power, would lead to excesses against the late ruling faction; but, with one or two exceptions, things began to quiet down again, and soon the arrival of the civil governor, the Hon. Mr. Archibald, set matters completely to rights. Before ten days had elapsed the regular troops had commenced their long return march to Canada, and the two regiments of Canadian militia had arrived to remain stationed for some time in the settlement. But what work it was to get the voyageurs away! The Iroquois were terribly intoxicated, and for a long time refused to get into the boats. There was a bear (a trophy from Fort Garry), and a terrible nuisance he proved at the embarkation; for a long-time previous to the start he had been kept quiet with un limited sugar, but at last he seemed to have had enough of that condiment, and, with a violent tug, he succeeded in snapping his chain and getting away up the bank. What a business it was! drunken Iroquois stumbling about, and the bear, with 100 men after him, scuttling in every direction. Then when the bear would be captured and put safely back into his boat, half a dozen of the Iroquois would get out and run a-muck through every thing. Louis (the pilot) would fall foul of Jacques Sitsoli, and commence to inflict severe bodily punishment upon the person of the unoffending Jacques, until, by the interference of the multitude, peace would be restored and both would be reconducted to their boats. At length they all got away down the river. Thus, during the first week of September, the whole of the regulars departed once more to try the torrents of the Winnipeg, and on the 10th of the month the commander also took his leave. I was left alone in Fort Garry. The Red River Expedition was over, and I had to find my way once more through the United States to Canada. My long journey seemed finished, but I was mistaken, for it was only about to begin. CHAPTER THIRTEEN. Westward--News from the Outside World--I retrace my Steps--An Offer--The West--The Kissaskatchewan--The Inland Ocean--Preparations-- Departure--A Terrible Plague--A lonely Grave-Digressive--The Assineboine River--Rossette. One night, it was the 19th of September, I was lying out in the long prairie grass near the south shore of Lake Manitoba, in the marshes of which I had been hunting wild fowl for some days. It was apparently my last night in Red River, for the period of my stay there had drawn to its close. I had much to think about-that night, for only a few hours before a French half-breed named La Ronde had brought news to the lonely shores of Lake Manitoba--news such as men can hear but once in their lives: the whole of the French army and the Emperor had surrendered themselves prisoners at Sedan, and the Republic had been proclaimed in Paris. So dreaming and thinking over these stupendous facts, I-lay-under the quiet stars, while around me my fellow travellers slept. The prospects of my own career seemed gloomy enough too. I was about to go back to old associations and life-rusting routine, and here was a nation, whose every feeling my heart had so long echoed a response to, beaten down and trampled under the heel of the German whose legions must already be gathering around the walls of Paris. Why not offer to France in the moment of her bitter adversity the sword and service of even one sympathizing friend--not much of a gift, certainly, but one which would be at least congenial to my own longing for a life of service, and my hopeless prospects in a profession in which wealth was made the test of ability. So as I lay there in the quiet of the starlit prairie, my mind, running in these eddying circles of thought, fixed itself upon this idea: I would go to Paris. I would seek through one well-known in other times the means of putting in execution my resolution. I felt strangely excited; sleep seemed banished altogether. I arose from the ground, and walked away into the stillness of the night. Oh, for a sign, for some guiding light in this uncertain hour of my life! I looked towards the north as this thought entered my brain. The aurora was burning faint in the horizon; Arcturus lay like a diamond above the ring of the dusky prairie. As I looked, a bright globe of light flashed from beneath the star and passed slowly along towards the west, leaving in its train a long track of rose-coloured light; in the uttermost bounds of the west it died slowly away. Was my wish answered? and did my path lie to the west, not east after all? or was it merely that thing which men call chance, and dreamers destiny? A few days from this time I found myself at the frontier post of Pembina, whither the troublesome doings of the escaped Provisional leaders had induced the new governor Mr. Archibald to send me. On the last day of September I again reached, by the steamer "International," the Well-remembered Point of Frogs. I had left Red River for good. When the boat reached the landing-place a gentleman came on board, a well-known member of the Canadian bench. "Where are you going?" he inquired of me. "To Canada." "Why?" "Because there is nothing more to be done." "Oh, you must come back." "Why so?" "Because we have a lot of despatches to send to Ottawa, and the mail is not safe. Come back now and you will be here again in ten days time." Go back again on the steam-boat and come up next trip--would I? There are many men who pride themselves upon their fixity of purpose, and a lot of similar fixidities and steadiness; but I don't. I know of nothing so fixed as the mole, so obstinate as the mule, or so steady as a stone wall, but I don't particularly care about making their general characteristics the rule of my life; and so I decided to go back to Fort Garry, just as I would have decided to start for the North Pole had the occasion offered. Early in the second week of October I once more drew nigh the hallowed precincts of Fort Garry. "I am so glad you have returned," said the governor, Mr. Archibald, when I met him on the evening of my arrival, "because I want to ask you if you will undertake a much longer journey than any thing you have yet done. I am going to ask you if you will accept a mission to the Saskatchewan Valley and through the Indian countries of the West. Take a couple of days to think over it, and let me know your decision." "There is no necessity, sir," I replied, "to consider the matter, I have already made up my mind, and, if necessary, will start in half an hour." This was on the 10th of October, and winter was already sending his breath over the yellow grass of the prairies. And now let us turn our glance to this great North west whither my wandering steps are about to lead me. Fully 900 miles as bird would fly, and 1200 as horse can travel, west of Red River an immense range of mountains, eternally capped with snow, rises in rugged masses from a vast stream-seared plain. They who first beheld these grand guardians of the central prairies named them the Montagnes des Rochers; a fitting title for such vast accumulation of rugged magnificence. From the glaciers and ice valleys of this great range of mountains innumerable streams descend into the plains. For a time they wander, as if heedless of direction, through groves and glades and green spreading declivities; then, assuming greater fixidity of purpose, they gather up many a wandering rill, and start eastward upon a long journey. At length the many detached streams resolve themselves into two great water systems; through hundreds of miles these two rivers pursue their parallel courses, now approaching, now opening out from each other. Suddenly, the southern river bends towards the north, and at a point some 600 miles from the mountains pours its volume of water into the northern channel. Then the united river rolls in vast majestic curves steadily towards the north-east, turns once more towards the south, opens out into a great reed covered marsh, sweeps on into a large cedar-lined lake, and finally, rolling over a rocky ledge, casts its waters into the northern end of the great Lake Winnipeg, fully 1300 miles from the glacier cradle where it took its birth. This river, which has along it every diversity of hill and vale, meadow-land and forest, treeless plain and fertile hill-side, is called by the wild tribes who dwell-along its glorious shores the Kissaskatchewan, or Rapid-flowing River. But this Kissaskatchewan is not the only river which waters the great central region lying between Red River and the Rocky Mountains. The Assineboine or Stony River drains the rolling prairie lands 500 miles west from Red River, and many a smaller stream and rushing, bubbling brook carries into its devious channel the waters of that vast country which lies between the American boundary-line and the pine woods of the lower Saskatchewan. So much for the rivers; and now for the land through which they flow. How shall we picture it? How shall we tell the story of that great, boundless, solitary waste of verdure? The old, old maps which the navigators of the sixteenth century framed from the discoveries of Cabot and Cartier, of Varrazanno and Hudson, played strange pranks with the geography of the New World. The coast-line, with the estuaries of large rivers, was tolerably accurate; but the centre of America was represented as a vast inland sea whose shores stretched far into the Polar North; a sea through which lay the much-coveted passage to the long sought treasures of the old realms of Cathay. Well, the geographers of that period erred only in the description of ocean which they placed in the central continent, for an ocean there is, and an ocean through which men seek the treasures of Cathay, even in our own times. But the ocean is one of grass, and the shores are the crests of mountain ranges, and the dark pine forests of sub-Arctic regions. The great ocean itself does not present more infinite variety than does this prairie-ocean of which we speak. In winter, a dazzling surface-of purest snow; in early summer, a vast expanse of grass and pale pink roses; in autumn too often a-wild sea of raging-fire. No ocean of water in the world can vie with its gorgeous sunsets;--no solitude can equal the loneliness of a night-shadowed prairie: one feels the stillness, and hears the silence, the wail of the prowling wolf makes the voice of solitude audible, the stars look down through infinite silence upon a silence almost as intense. This ocean has no past--time has been nought to it; and men have come and gone, leaving behind them no track, no vestige, of their presence. Some French writer, speaking of these prairies, has said that the sense of this utter negation of life, this complete absence of history, has struck him with a loneliness oppressive and sometimes terrible in its intensity. Perhaps so; but, for my part, the prairies had nothing terrible in their aspect, nothing oppressive in their loneliness. One saw here the world as it had taken shape and form from the hands of the Creator. Nor did the scene look less beautiful because nature alone tilled the earth, and the unaided sun brought forth the flowers. October had reached its latest week: the wild geese and swans had taken their long flight to the south, and their wailing cry no more descended through the darkness; ice had settled upon the quiet pools and was settling upon the quick-running streams; the horizon glowed at night with the red light of moving prairie fires. It was the close of the Indian summer, and winter was coming quickly down from his far northern home. On the 24th of October I quitted Fort Garry, at ten o'clock at night, and, turning out into the level prairie, commenced a long journey towards the West. The night was cold and moonless, but a brilliant aurora flashed and trembled in many-coloured shafts across the starry sky. Behind me lay friends and news of friends, civilization, tidings of a terrible war, firesides, and houses; before me lay unknown savage tribes, long days of saddle-travel, long nights of chilling bivouac, silence, separation, and space! I had as a companion for a portion of the journey an officer of the Hudson Bay Company's service who was returning to his fort in the Saskatchewan, from whence he had but recently come. As attendant I had a French half-breed from Red River Settlement--a tall, active fellow, by name Pierre Diome. My means of travel consisted of five horses and one Red River cart. For my personal use I had a small black Canadian horse, or pony, and an English saddle. My companion, the Hudson Bay officer, drove his own light spring-waggon, and had also his own horse. I was well found in blankets, deer-skins, and moccassins; all the appliances of half-breed apparel had been brought into play to fit me out, and I found myself possessed of ample stores of leggings, buffalo "mittaines" and capots, where with to face the biting breeze of the prairie and to stand at night the icy bivouac. So much for personal costume; now for official kit. In the first place, I was the bearer and owner of two commissions. By virtue of the first I was empowered to confer upon two gentlemen in the Saskatchewan the rank and status of Justice of the Peace; and in the second I was appointed to that rank and status myself. As to the matter of extent of jurisdiction comprehended under the name of Justice of the Peace for Rupert's Land and the North-west, I believe that the only parallel to be found in the world exists under the title of "Czar of all the Russias" and "Khan of Mongolia;" but the northern limit of all the Russias has been successfully arrived at, whereas the North-west is but a general term for every thing between the 49th parallel of north latitude and the North-Pole itself. But documentary evidence of unlimited jurisdiction over Blackfeet, Bloods, Big Bellies (how much better this name sounds in French!), Sircies, Peagins, Assineboines, Crees, uskegoes, Salteaux, Chipwayans, Loucheaux, and Dogribs, not including Esquimaux, was not the only cartulary carried by me into the prairies. A terrible disease had swept, for some months previous to the date of my journey, the Indian tribes of Saskatchewan. Small-pox, in its most aggravated type, had passed from tribe to tribe, leaving in its track depopulated wigwams and vacant council-lodges; thousands (and there are not many thousands, all told) had perished on the great sandy plains that lie between the Saskatchewan and the Missouri. Why this most terrible of diseases should prey with especial fury upon the poor red man of America has never been accounted for by, medical authority; but that it does prey upon him with a violence nowhere else to be found is an undoubted fact. Of all the fatal methods of destroying the Indians which his white brother has introduced into the West, this plague of small-pox is the most deadly. The history of its annihilating progress is written in too legible characters on the desolate expanses of untenanted wilds, where the Indian graves are the sole traces of the red man's former domination. Beneath this awful scourge whole tribes have disappeared the bravest and the best have vanished, because their bravery forbade that they should flee from the terrible infection, and, like soldiers in some square plunged through and rent with shot, the survivors only closed more despairingly together when the death-stroke fell heaviest among them. They knew nothing of this terrible disease; it had come from the white man and the trader; but its speed had distanced even the race for gold, and the Missouri Valley had been swept by the epidemic before the men who carried the firewater had crossed the Mississippi. For eighty years these vast regions had known at intervals the deadly presence of this disease, and through that lapse of time its history had been ever the same. It had commenced in the trading camp; but the white man had remained comparatively secure, while his red brothers were swept away by hundreds. Then it had travelled on, and every thing had gone down before it-the chief and the brave, the medicine-man, the squaw, the papoose. The camp moved away; but the dread disease clung to it--dogged it--with a perseverance more deadly than hostile tribe or prowling war-party; and far over the plains the track was marked with the unburied bodies and bleaching bones of the wild warriors of the West. The summer which had just passed had witnessed one of the deadliest attacks of this disease. It had swept from the Missouri through the Blackfeet tribes, and had run the whole length of the North Saskatchewan, attacking indiscriminately Crees, half-breeds, and Hudson Bay employees. The latest news received from the Saskatchewan was one long record of death. Carlton House, a fort of the Hudson Bay Company, 600 miles north-west from Red River, had been attacked in August. Late in September the disease still raged among its few inhabitants. From farther west tidings had also come bearing the same message of disaster. Crees, half-breeds, and even the few Europeans had been attacked; all medicines had been expended, and the officer in charge at Carlton had perished of the disease. "You are to ascertain as far as you can in what places and among what tribes of Indians, and what settlements of Whites, the small-pox is now prevailing, including the extent of its ravages, and every particular you can ascertain in connexion with the rise and the spread of the disease. You are to take with you such, small supply of medicines as shall be deemed by the Board of Health here suitable and proper for the treatment of small-pox, and you will obtain written instructions for the proper treatment of the disease, and will leave a copy thereof with the chief officer of each fort you pass, and with any clergyman or other intelligent person belonging to settlements outside the forts." So ran this clause in my instructions, and thus it came about that amongst many curious parts which a wandering life had caused me to play, that of physician in ordinary to the Indian tribes of the farthest west became the most original. The preparation of these medicines and the printing of the instructions and directions for the treatment of small-pox had consumed many days and occasioned considerable delay in my departure. At length the medicines were declared complete, and I proceeded to inspect them. Eight large cases met my astonished gaze. I was in despair; eight cases would necessitate slow progression and extra horses; fortunately a remedy arose. A medical officer was directed by the Board of Health to visit the Saskatchewan; he was to start at a later date. I handed over to him six of the eight cases, and with my two remaining ones and unlimited printed directions for small-pox in three stages, departed, as we have already seen. By forced marching I hoped to reach the distant station of Edmonton on the Upper Saskatchewan in a little less than one month, but much would depend upon the state of the larger rivers and upon the snow-fall en route. The first week in November is usually the period of the freezing in of rivers; but crossing large rivers partially frozen is a dangerous work, and many such obstacles lay between me and the mountains. If Edmonton was to be reached before the end of November delays would not be possible, and the season of my journey was one which made the question of rapid travel a question of the change of temperature of a single night. On the second day out we passed the Portage-la-prairie, the last settlement towards the West. A few miles farther on we crossed the Rat Creek, the boundary of the new province of Manitoba, and struck out into the solitudes. The first sight was not a cheering one. Close beside the trail, just where it ascended from the ravine of the Rat Creek, stood a solitary newly-made grave. It was the grave of one who had been left to die only a few days before. Thrown away by his companions, who had passed on towards Red River, he had lingered for three days all exposed to dew and frost. At length death had kindly put an end to his sufferings, but three days more elapsed before any person would approach to bury the remains. He had died from smallpox brought from the Saskatchewan, and no one would go near the fatal spot. A French missionary, however, passing by stopped to dig a hole in the black, soft earth; and so the poor disfigured clay found at length its lonely resting-place. That night we made our first camp out in the solitudes. It was a dark, cold night, and the wind howled dismally through some bare thickets close by. When the fire flickered low and the wind wailed and sighed amongst the dry white grass, it was impossible to resist a feeling of utter loneliness. A long journey lay before me, nearly 3000 miles would have to be traversed before I could hope to reach the neighbourhood of even this lonely spot itself, this last verge of civilization; the terrific cold of a winter of which I had only heard, a cold so intense that travel ceases, except in the vicinity of the forts of the Hudson Bay Company-a cold which freezes mercury, and of which the spirit registers 80 degrees of frost-this was to be the thought of many nights, the ever-present companion of many days. Between this little camp-fire and the giant mountains to which my steps were turned, there stood in that long 1200 miles but six houses, and in these houses a terrible malady had swept nearly half the inhabitants out of life. So, lying down that night for the first time with all this before me, I felt as one who had to face not a few of those things from which is evolved that strange mystery called death, and looking out into the vague dark immensity around me, saw in it the gloomy shapes and shadowy outlines of the by gone which memory hides but to produce at such times. Men whose lot in life is cast in that mould which is so aptly described by the term of "having only their wits to depend on," must accustom themselves to fling aside quickly and at will all such thoughts and gloomy memories, for assuredly, if they do not so habituate themselves, they had better never try in life to race against those more favoured individuals who have things other than their wits to rely upon. The Wit will prove but a sorry steed unless its owner be ever ready to race it against those more substantial horses called Wealth and Interest, and if in that race, the prize of which is Success, Wit should have to carry its rider into strange and uncouth places, over rough and broken country, while the other two horses have only plain sailing before them, there is only all the more reason for throwing aside all useless weight and extra incumbrance; and, with these few digressive remarks, we will proceed into the solitudes. The days that now commenced to pass were filled from dawn to dark with unceasing travel; clear, bright days of mellow sunshine followed by nights of sharp frost which almost imperceptibly made stronger the icy covering of the pools and carried farther and farther out into the running streams the edging of ice which so soon was destined to cover completely the river and the rill. Our route lay along the left bank of the Assineboine, but at a considerable distance from the river, whose winding course could be marked at times by the dark oak woods that fringed it. Far away to the south rose the outline of the Blue Hills of the Souris, and to the north the Riding Mountains lay faintly upon the horizon. The country was no longer level, fine rolling hills stretched away before us over which the wind came with a keenness that made our prairie-fare seem delicious at the close of a hard day's toil. 36, 22, 24, 20; such were the readings of my thermometer as each morning I looked at it by the fire-light as we arose from our blankets-before the dawn and shivered in the keen hoarfrost while the kettle was being boiled. Perceptibly getting colder, but still clear and fine, and with every Breeze laden with healthy and invigorating freshness, for four days we journeyed without seeing man or beast; but on the morning of the fifth day, while camped in a thicket on the right of the trail, we heard the noise of horses passing near us. A few hours afterwards we passed a small band of Salteaux encamped farther on; and later in the day overtook a half-breed trader on his way to the Missouri to trade with the Sioux. This was a celebrated &French half breed named Chaumon Rossette. Chaumon had been undergoing a severe course of drink since he had left the settlement some ten days earlier, and his haggard eyes and swollen features revealed the incessant orgies of his travels. He had as companion and defender a young Sioux brave, whose handsome face also bore token to his having been busily employed in seeing Chaumon through it. M. Rossette was one of the most noted of the Red River bullies, a terrible drunkard, but tolerated for some stray tokens of a better nature which seemed at times to belong to him. When we came up to him he was camped with his horses and carts on a piece of rising ground situated between two clear and beautiful lakes. "Well, Chaumon, going to trade again?" "Oui, Captain." "You had better not come to the forts, all liquor can be confiscated now. No more whisky for Indian-all stopped." "I go very far out on Coteau to meet Sioux. Long before I get to Sioux I drink all my own liquor; drink all, trade none. Sioux know me very well, Sioux give me plenty horses; plenty things: I quite fond of Sioux." Chaumon had that holy horror of the law and its ways which every wild or semi-wild man possesses. There is nothing so terrible to the savage as the idea of imprisonment; the wilder the bird the harder he will feel the cage. The next thing to imprisonment in Chaumon's mind was a Government proclamation--a thing all the more terrible because he could not read a line of it nor comprehend what it could be about. Chaumon's face was a study when I handed him three different proclamations and one copy of "The Small-pox in Three Stages." Whether he ever reached the Coteau and his friends the Sioux I don't know, for I soon passed on my way; but if that lively bit of literature, entitled "The Small-pox in Three Stages," had as convincing an impression on the minds of the Sioux as it had upon Chaumon, that he was doing something very reprehensible indeed, if he could only find out what it was, abject terror must have been carried far over the Coteau and the authority of the law fully vindicated along the Missouri. On Sunday morning the 30th of October we reached a high bank overlooking' a deep valley through which rolled the Assineboine River. On the opposite shore, 300 feet above the current, stood a few white houses surrounded by a wooden palisade. Around, the country stretched away on all sides in magnificent expanses. This was Fort Ellice, near the junction of the Qu'Appelle and Assineboine Rivers, 230 miles west from Fort Garry. Fording the Assineboine, which rolled its masses of ice Swiftly against the shoulder and neck of my horse, we climbed the steep hill, and gained the fort. I had ridden that distance in five days and two hours. CHAPTER FOURTEEN. The Hudson Bay Company--Furs and Free Trade--Fort Ellice--Quick Travelling-Horses--Little Blackie--Touchwood Hills--A Snow-storm--The South Saskatchewan--Attempt to cross the River--Death of poor Blackie--Carlton. IT may have occurred to some reader to ask, What is this company whose name so often appears upon these pages? Who are the men composing it, and what are the objects it has in view? You have glanced at its early history, its rivalries, and its discoveries, but now, now at this present time, while our giant rush of life roars and surges along, what is the work done by this Company of Adventurers trading into the Bay of Hudson? Let us see if we can answer. Of the two great monopolies which the impecuniosity of Charles II. gave birth to, the Hudson Bay Company alone survives, but to-day the monopoly is one of fact, and not of law. All men are now free to come and go, to trade and sell and gather furs in the great Northern territory, but distance and climate raise more formidable barriers against strangers than law or protection could devise. Bold would be the trader who would carry his goods to the far away Mackenzie River; intrepid would be the voyageur who sought a profit from the lonely shores of the great Bear Lake. Locked in their fastnesses of ice and distance, these remote and friendless solitudes of the North must long remain, as they are at present, the great fur preserve of the Hudson Bay Company. Dwellers within the limits of European states can ill comprehend the vastness of territory over which this Fur Company holds sway. I say holds sway, for the north of North America is still as much in the possession of the Company, despite all cession of title to Canada, as Crusoe was the monarch of his island, or the man must be the owner of the moon. From Pembina on Red River to Fort Anderson on the Mackenzie is as great a distance as from London to Mecca. From the King's Posts to the Pelly Banks is farther than from Paris to Samarcand, and yet today throughout that immense region the Company is king. And what a king! no monarch rules his subjects with half the power of this Fur Company. It clothes, feeds, and utterly maintains nine-tenths of its subjects. From the Esquimaux at Ungava to the Loucheaux at Fort Simpson, all live by and through this London Corporation. The earth possesses not a wilder spot than the barren grounds of Fort Providence; around lie the desolate shores of the great_ Slave Lake. _Twice in the year news comes from the outside world-news many, many months old--news borne by men and dogs through 2000 miles of snow; and yet even there the gun that brings down the moose and the musk-ox has been forged in a London smithy; the blanket that covers the wild Indian in his cold camp has been woven in a Whitney loom; that knife is from Sheffield; that string of beads from Birmingham. Let us follow the ships that sail annually from the Thames bound for the supply of this vast region. It is early in June when she gets clear of the Nore; it is mid-June when the Orkneys and Stornaway are left behind; it is August when the frozen Straits of Hudson are pierced; and the end of the month has been reached when the ship comes to anchor off the sand-barred mouth of the Nelson River. For one year-the stores that she has brought lie in the warehouses of York factory; twelve months later they reach Red River; twelve months later again they reach Fort Simpson on the Mackenzie. That rough flint-gun, which might have done duty in the days of the Stuarts, is worth many a rich sable in the country of the Dogribs and the Loucheaux, and is bartered for skins whose value can be rated at four times their weight in gold; but the gun on the banks of the Thames and the gun in the pine woods of the Mackenzie are two widely different articles. The old rough flint, whose bent barrel the Indians will often straighten between the cleft of a tree or the crevice of a rock, has been made precious by the labour of many men; by the trackless wastes through which it has been carried; by winter-famine of those who have to vend it; by the years which elapse between its departure from the work shop and the return of that skin of sable or silver-fox for which it has been bartered. They are short-sighted men who hold that because the flint-gun and the sable possess such different values in London, these articles should also possess their relative values in North America, and argue from this that the Hudson Bay Company treat the Indians unfairly; they are short-sighted men, I say, and know not of what they speak. That old rough flint has often cost more to put in the hands of that Dogrib hunter than the best finished central fire of Boss or Purdey. But that is not all that has to be said about the trade of this Company. Free trade may be an admirable institution for some nations-making them, amongst other things, very-much more liable to national destruction; but it by no means follows that it should be adapted equally well to the savage Indian. Unfortunately for the universality of British institutions, free trade has invariably been found to improve the red man from the face of the earth. Free trade in furs means dear beavers, dear martens, dear minks, and dear otters; and all these "dears" mean whisky, alcohol, high wine, and poison, which in their turn mean, to the Indian, murder, disease, small-pox, and death. There is no need to tell me that these four dears and their four corollaries ought not to be associated with free trade, an institution which is so pre-eminently pure; I only answer that these things have ever been associated with free trade in furs, and I see no reason whatever to behold in our present day amongst traders, Indian, or, for that matter, English, any very remarkable reformation in the principles of trade. Now the Hudson Bay Company are in the position of men who have taken a valuable shooting for a very long term of years or for a perpetuity,-and who therefore are desirous of preserving for a future time the game which they hunt, and also of preserving the hunters and trappers who are their servants. The free trader is as a man who takes his shooting for the term of a year or two and wishes to destroy all he can. He has two objects in view; first, to get the furs himself, second, to prevent the other traders from getting them. "If I cannot get them, then he shan't. Hunt, hunt, hunt, kill, kill, kill; next year may take care of itself." One word more. Other companies and other means have been tried to carry on the Indian trade and to protect the interests of the Indians, but all have failed; from Texas to the Saskatchewan there has been but one result, and that result has been the destruction of the wild animals and the extinction, partial or total, of the Indian race. I remained only long enough at Fort Ellice to complete a few changes in costume which the rapidly increasing cold rendered necessary. Boots and hat were finally discarded, the stirrup-irons were rolled in strips of buffalo skin,-the large moose-skin "mittaines" taken into wear, and immense moccassins got ready. These precautions were necessary, for before us there now lay a great open region with treeless expanses that were sixty miles across them-a vast tract of rolling hill and plain over which, for three hundred miles, there lay no fort or house of any kind. Bidding adieu to my host, a young Scotch gentleman, at Fort Ellice, my little party turned once more towards the North-west and, fording the Qu'Appelle five miles above its confluence with the Assineboine, struck out into a lovely country. It was the last day of October and almost the last of the Indian summer. Clear and distinct lay the blue sky upon the quiet sun-lit prairie. The horses trotted briskly on under the charge of an English half-breed named Daniel. Pierre Diome had returned to Red River, and Daniel was to bear me company as far as Carlton on the North Saskatchewan. My five horses were now beginning to show the effect of their incessant work, but it was only in appearance, and the distance travelled each day was increased instead of diminished as we journeyed on. I would not have believed it possible that horses could travel the daily distance which mine did without breaking down altogether under it, still less would it have appeared possible upon the food which they had to eat. We had neither hay nor oats to give them; there was nothing-but the dry grass of the prairie, and no time to eat that but the cold frosty hours of the night. Still we seldom travelled less than fifty miles a-day, stopping only for one hour at midday, and going on again until night began to wrap her mantle around the shivering prairie. My horse was a wonderful animal; day after day would I fear that his game little limbs were growing weary, and that soon he must give out; but no, not a bit of it; his black coat roughened and his flanks grew a little leaner, but still he went on as gamely and as pluckily as ever. Often during the long day I would dismount and walk along leading him by the bridle, while the other two men and the six horses jogged on far in advance; when they had disappeared altogether behind some distant ridge of the prairie my little horse would commence to look anxiously around, whinnying and trying to get along after his comrades; and then how gamely he trotted on when I remounted, watching out for the first sign of his friends again, far-away little specks on the great wilds before us. When the camping place would be reached at nightfall the first care went to the horse. To remove saddle, bridle, and saddle-cloth, to untie the strip of soft buffalo leather from his neck and twist it well around his fore-legs, for the purpose of hobbling, was the work of only a few minutes, and then poor Blackie hobbled away to find over the darkening expanse his night's provender. Before our own supper of pemmican, half-baked bread, and tea had been discussed, we always drove the band of horses down to some frozen lake hard-by, and Daniel cut with the axe little drinking holes in the ever-thickening ice; then up would bubble the water and down went the heads-of the thirsty horses for a long pull at the too often bitter spring, for in this region between the Assineboine and the South Saskatchewan fully half the lakes and pools that lie scattered about in-vast variety are harsh with salt and alkalis. Three horses always ran loose while the other three worked in harness. These loose horses, one might imagine, would be prone to gallop away when they found themselves at liberty to do so: but nothing seems farther from their thoughts; they trot along by the side of their harnessed comrades apparently as though they knew all about it now and again they stop behind, to crop a bit of grass or tempting stalk of wild pea or vetches, but on they come again until the party has been reached, then, with ears thrown back, the jog-trot is resumed, and the whole band sweeps on over hill and plain. To halt and change horses is only the work of two minutes --out comes one horse, the other is standing close by and never stirs while the hot harness is being put upon him; in he goes into the rough shafts, and, with a crack of the half-breed's whip across his flanks, away we start again. But my little Blackie seldom got a respite from the saddle; he seemed so well up to his work, so much stronger and better than any of the others, that day after day I rode him, thinking each day, "Well, to-morrow I will let him run loose;" but when to-morrow came he used to look so fresh and well, carrying his little head as high as ever, that again I put the saddle on his back, and another day's talk and companionship would still further cement our friendship, for I grew to like that horse as one only can like the poor dumb beast that serves us. I know not how it is, but horse and dog have worn themselves into my heart as few men have ever done in life and now, as day by day went by in one long scene of true companionship, I came to feel for little Blackie a friendship not the less sincere because all the service was upon his side, and I was powerless to make his supper a better one, or give him more cosy lodging for the night. He fed and lodged himself and he carried me--all he asks in return was a water-hole in the frozen lake, and that I cut for him. Sometimes the night came down upon us still in the midst of a great open treeless plain, without shelter, water, or grass, and then we would continue on in the inky darkness as though our march was to last eternally, and poor Blackie would step out as if his natural state was one of perpetual motion. On the 4th November we rode over sixty miles; and when at length the camp was made in the lea of a little clump of bare willows, the snow was lying cold upon the prairies, and Blackie and his comrades went out to shiver through their supper in the bleakest scene my eyes had ever looked upon. About midway between Fort Ellice and Carlton a sudden and well-defined change occurs in the character of the country; the light soil disappears, and its place is succeeded by a rich dark loam covered deep in grass and vetches. Beautiful hills swell in slopes more or less abrupt on all sides, while lakes fringed with thickets and clumps of good-sized poplar balsam lie lapped in their fertile hollows. This region bears the name of the Touchwood Hills. Around it, far into endless space, stretch immense plains of bare and scanty vegetation, plains seared with the tracks of countless buffalo which, until a few years ago, were wont to roam in vast herds between the Assineboine and the Saskatchewan. Upon whatever side the eye turns when crossing these great expanses, the same wrecks of the monarch of the prairie lie thickly strewn over the surface. Hundreds of thousands of skeletons dot the short scant grass; and when fire has laid barer still the level surface, the bleached ribs and skulls of long-killed bison whiten far and near the dark burnt prairie. There is something unspeakably melancholy in the aspect of this portion of the North-west. From one of the westward jutting spurs of the Touchwood Hills the eye sees far away over an immense plain; the sun goes down, and as he sinks upon the earth the straight line of the horizon becomes visible for a moment across this blood red disc, but so distant, so far away, that it seems dream like in its immensity. There is not a sound in the air or on the earth; on every side lie spread the relics of the great fight waged by man against the brute creation: all is silent and deserted--the Indian and the buffalo gone, the settler not yet come. You turn quickly to the right or left; over a hill-top, close by, a solitary wolf steals away. Quickly the vast prairie begins to grow dim, and darkness forsakes the skies because they light their stars, coming down to seek in the utter solitude of the blackened plains a kindred spirit for the night. On the night of the 4th November we made our camp long after dark in a little clump of willows far out in the plain which lies west of the Touchwood Hills. We had missed the only lake that was known to lie in this part of the plain, and after journeying far in the darkness halted at length, determined to go supperless, or next to supperless, to bed, for pemmican without that cup which nowhere tastes more delicious than in the wilds of the North-west would prove but sorry comfort, and the supper without tea would be only a delusion. The fire was made, the frying-pan taken out, the bag of dried buffalo meat and the block of pemmican got ready, but we said little in the presence of such a loss as the steaming kettle and the hot, delicious, fragrant tea. Why not have provided against this evil hour by bringing on from the last frozen lake some blocks of ice? Alas! why not? Moodily we sat down round the blazing willows. Meantime Daniel commenced to unroll the oil cloth cart cover-and lo, in the ruddy glare of the fire, out rolled three or four large pieces of thick, heavy ice, sufficient to fill our kettle three times over with delicious tea. Oh, what a joy it was! and how we relished that cup! for remember, cynical friend who may be inclined to hold such happiness cheap and light, that this wild life of ours is a curious leveller of civilized habits--a cup of water to a thirsty man can be more valuable than a cup of diamonds, and the value of one article over the other is only the question of a few hours privation. When the morning of the. 5th dawned we were covered deep in snow, a storm had burst in the night, and all around was hidden in a dense sheet of driving snow-flakes; not a vestige of our horses was to be seen, their tracks were obliterated by the fast-falling snow, and the surrounding objects close at hand showed dim and indistinct through the white cloud. After fruitless search, Daniel returned to camp with the tidings that the horses were nowhere to be found; so, when breakfast had been finished, all three set out in separate directions to look again for the missing steeds. Keeping the snow-storm on my left shoulder, I went along through little clumps of stunted bushes which frequently deceived me by their resemblance through the driving snow to horses grouped together. After awhile I bent round towards the wind and, making a long sweep in that direction, bent again so as to bring the drift upon my right shoulder. No horses, no tracks, any where--nothing but a waste of white drifting flake and feathery snow-spray. At last I turned away from the wind, and soon struck full on our little camp; neither of the others had returned. I cut down some willows and made a blaze. After a while I got on to the top of the cart, and looked out again into the waste. Presently I heard a distant shout; replying vigorously to it, several indistinct forms came into view; and Daniel soon emerged from the mist, driving before him the hobbled wanderers; they had been hidden under the lea of a thicket some distance off, all clustered together for shelter and warmth. Our only difficulty was now the absence of my friend the Hudson Bay officer. We waited some time, and at length, putting the saddle on Blackie, I started out in the direction he had taken. Soon I heard a faint far-away shout; riding quickly in the direction from whence it proceeded, I heard the calls getting louder and louder, and soon came up with a figure heading right away into the immense plain, going altogether in a direction opposite to where our camp lay. I shouted, and back came my friend no little pleased to find his road again, for a snowstorm is no easy thing to steer through, and at times it will even fall out that not the Indian with all his craft and instinct for direction will be able to find his way through its blinding maze. Woe betide the wretched man who at such a time finds himself alone upon the prairie, without fire or the means of making it; not even the ship-wrecked-sailor clinging to the floating mast is in a more pitiable strait. During the greater portion of this day it snowed hard, but our track was distinctly-marked across the plains, and we held on all day. I still rode Blackie; the little fellow had to keep his wits at work to avoid tumbling into the badger holes which the snow soon rendered invisible. These badger holes in this portion of the plains were very numerous; it is not always easy to avoid them when the ground is clear of snow, but riding becomes extremely difficult when once the winter has set in. The badger burrows straight down for two or three feet, and if a horse be travelling at any pace his fall is so sudden and violent that a broken leg is too often the result. Once or twice Blackie went in nearly to the shoulder, but he invariably scrambled up again all right-poor fellow, he was reserved for a worse fate, and his long journey was near its end! A clear cold day followed the day of snow, and for the first time the thermometer fell below zero. Day dawned upon us on the 6th November camped in a little thicket of poplars some seventy miles from the South Saskatchewan; the thermometer stood 30 below zero, and as I drew the girths tight on poor Blackie's ribs that morning, I felt happy in the thought that I had slept for the first time under the stars with 35 degrees of frost lying on the blanket outside. Another long day's ride, and the last great treeless plain was crossed and evening found us camped near the Minitchinass, or Solitary Hill, some sixteen miles south-east of the South Saskatchewan. The grass again grew long and thick, the clumps of willow, poplar, and birch had reappeared, and the soil, when we scraped the snow away to make our sleeping place, turned up black and rich-looking under the blows of the axe. About midday on the 7th November, in a driving storm of snow, we suddenly emerged upon a high plateau. Before us, at a little distance, a great gap or valley seemed to open suddenly out, and farther off the white sides of hills and dark tree-tops rose into view. Riding to the edge of this steep valley I beheld a magnificent river flowing between great banks of ice and snow 300 feet below the level on which we stood. Upon each side masses of ice stretched out far into the river, but in the centre, between these banks of ice, ran a swift, black-looking current the sight of which for a moment filled us with dismay. We had counted upon the Saskatchewan being firmly locked in ice, and here was the river rolling along between its icy banks forbidding all passage. Descending to the low valley of the river, we halted for dinner, determined to try some method by which to cross this formidable barrier. An examination of the river and its banks soon revealed the difficulties before us. The ice, as it approached the open portion, was unsafe, rendering it impossible to get within reach of the running water.` An interval of some ten yards separated the sound ice from the current, while nearly 100 yards of solid ice lay between the true bank of the river and the dangerous portion; thus our first labour was to make a solid footing for ourselves from which to launch any raft or make-shift boat which we might construct. After a great deal of trouble and labour, we got the waggon-box roughly fashioned into a raft, covered over with one of our large oil-cloths, and Lashed together with buffalo leather. This most primitive looking craft we carried down over the ice to where the dangerous portion commenced; then Daniel,-wielding the axe with powerful dexterity, began to hew away at the ice until space enough was opened out to float our raft upon. Into this-we slipped the-waggon-box, and into the waggon-box we put the half-breed Daniel. It floated admirably, and on went the axe-man, hewing, as before, with might and main. It was cold, wet work, and, in spite of every thing, the water began to ooze through the oil-cloth into the waggon-box. We had to haul it up, empty it, and launch again; thus for some hours we kept on, cold, wet, and miserable, until night forced us to desist and make our camp on the tree-lined shore. So we hauled in the wagon and retired, baffled, but not beaten, to begin again next morning. There were many reasons to make this delay feel vexatious and disappointing; we had travelled a distance of 560 miles in twelve days; travelled only to find ourselves stopped by this partially frozen river at a point twenty miles distant from Carlton, the first great station on my journey. Our stock of provisions, too, was not such as would admit of much delay; pemmican and dried meat we had none, and flour, tea, and grease were all that remained to us. However, Daniel declared that he knew a most excellent method of making a combination of flour and fat which Would allay all disappointment-and I must conscientiously admit that a more hunger-satiating mixture than he produced out of the frying-pan it had never before been my lot to taste. A little of it went such a long way, that it would be impossible to find a parallel for it in portability; in fact, it went such a long way, that the person who dined off it found himself, by common reciprocity of feeling, bound to go a long way in return before he again partook of it; but Daniel was not of that opinion, for he ate the greater portion of our united shares, and slept peacefully when it was all gone. I would particularly recommend this mixture to the consideration of the guardians of the poor throughout the United Kingdom, as I know of nothing which would so readily conduce to the satisfaction of the hungry element in' our society. Had such a combination been known to Bumble. and his Board, the hunger of Twist would even have been satisfied by a single helping; but, perhaps, it might be injudicious to introduce into the sister island any condiment so antidotal in its nature to the removal of the Celt across the Atlantic--that "consummation so devoutly wished for" by the "leading journal." Fortified by Daniel's delicacy, we set to work early next morning at raft-making and ice-cutting; but we made the attempt to cross at a portion of the river where the open water was narrower and the bordering ice sounded more firm to the testing blows of the axe. One part of the river had now closed in, but the ice over it was unsafe. We succeeded in' getting the craft into the running water and, having strung together all the available line and rope we possessed, prepared for the venture. It was found that the waggon-boat would only carry one passenger, and accordingly I took my place in it, and with a make-shift paddle put out into the quick-running stream. The current had great power over the ill-shaped craft, and it was no easy-matter to keep her head at all against stream. I had not got five yards out when the whole thing commenced to fill rapidly with water, and I had just time to get back again to ice before she was quite full. We hauled her out once more, and found the oil-cloth had been cut by the jagged ice, so there was nothing for it but to remove it altogether and put on another. This was done, and soon our waggon-box was once again afloat. This time I reached in safety the farther side; but there a difficulty arose which we had not foreseen. Along this farther edge of ice the current ran with great force, and as the leather line which was attached to the back of the boat sank deeper and deeper into the water, the drag upon it caused the boat to drift quicker and quicker downstream; thus, when I touched the opposite ice, I found the drift was so rapid that my axe failed to catch a hold in the yielding edge, which broke away at every stroke. After several ineffectual attempts to stay the rush of the boat, and as I was being borne rapidly into a mass of rushing water and huge blocks of ice, I saw it was all up, and shouted to the others to rope in the line; but this was no easy matter, because the rope had got foul of the running ice, and was caught underneath. At last, by careful handling, it was freed, and I stood once more on the spot from whence I had started, having crossed the River Saskatchevan to no purpose. Daniel now essayed the task, and reached the opposite shore, taking the precaution to work up the nearer side before crossing; once over, his vigorous use of the axe told on the ice, and he succeeded in fixing the boat against the edge. Then lhe quickly clove his way into the frozen mass, and, by repeated blows, finally reached a spot from which he got on shore. This success of our long labour and exertion was announced to the solitude by three ringing cheers, which we gave from our side; for, be it remembered, that it was now our intention to use the waggon-boat to convey across all our baggage, towing the boat from one side to the other by means of our line; after which, we would force the horses to swim the river, and then cross ourselves in the boat. But all our plans were defeated by an unlooked-for accident; the line lay deep in the water, as before, and to raise it required no small amount of force. We hauled and hauled, until snap went the long rope somewhere underneath the water, and all was over. With no little difficulty Daniel got the boat across again to our side, and we all went back to camp wet, tired, and dispirited by so much labour and so many misfortunes. It froze hard that night, and in the morning the great river had its waters altogether hidden opposite our camp by a covering of ice. Would it bear? that was the question. We went on it early, testing with axe and sharp-pointed poles. In places it was very thin, but in other parts it rang hard and solid to the blows. The dangerous spot was in the very centre of the river, where the water had shown through in round holes on the previous day, but we hoped to avoid these bad places by taking a slanting course across the channel. After walking backwards and forwards several times, we determined to try a light horse. He was led out with a long piece of rope attached to his neck. In the centre of the stream the ice seemed to bend slightly as he passed over, but no break occurred, and in safety we reached the opposite side. Now came Blackie's turn. Somehow or other I felt uncomfortable about it and remarked that the horse ought to have his shoes removed before the attempt was made. My companion, however, demurred, and his experience in these matters had extended over so many years, that I was foolishly induced to allow him to proceed as he thought fit, even against my better judgment. Blackie was taken out, led as before, tied by a long line. I followed close behind him, to drive him if necessary. He did not need much driving, but took the ice quite readily. We had got to the centre of the river, when the surface suddenly bent downwards, and, to my horror, the poor horse plunged deep into black, quick-running water! He was not three yards in front of me when the ice broke. I recoiled involuntarily from the black, seething chasm; the horse, though he plunged suddenly down, never let his head under water, but kept swimming manfully round and round the narrow hole, trying all he could to get upon the ice. All his efforts were useless; a cruel wall of sharp ice struck his knees as he tried to lift them on the surface, and the current, running with immense velocity, repeatedly carried him back underneath. As soon as the horse had broken through, the man who held the rope let it go, and the leather line flew back about poor Blackie's head. I got up almost to the edge of the hole, and stretching out took hold of the line again; but that could do no good nor give him any assistance in his struggles. I shall never forget the way the poor brute looked at me--even now, as I write these lines, the whole scene comes back in memory with all the vividness of a picture, and I feel again the horrible sensation of being utterly unable, though almost within touching distance, to give him help in his dire extremity and if ever dumb animal spoke with unutterable eloquence, that horse called to me in his agony he turned to me as to one from whom he had a right to expect assistance. I could not stand the scene any longer. "Is there no help for him?" I cried to the other men. "None whatever," was the reply; "the ice is dangerous -all around." Then I rushed back to the shore and up to the camp where my rifle lay, then back again to the fatal spot where the poor beast still struggled against his fate. As I raised the rifle he looked at me so imploringly that my hand shook and trembled. Another instant, and the deadly bullet crashed through his head, and, with one look never to be forgotten, he went down under the cold, unpitying ice! It may have been very foolish, perhaps, for poor Blackie was only a. horse, but for all that I went back to camp, and, sitting down in the snow, cried like a child. With my own hand I had taken my poor friend's life; but if there should exist somewhere in the regions of space that happy Indian paradise where horses are never hungry and never tired, Blackie, at least, will forgive the hand that sent him there, if he can but see the heart that long regretted him. Leaving Daniel in charge of the remaining horses, we crossed on foot the fatal river, and with a single horse set out for Carlton. From the high north bank I took one last look back at the South Saskatchewan-it lay in its broad deep valley glittering in one great band of purest 'snow; but I loathed the sight of it, while the small round open hole, dwarfed to a speck by distance, marked the spot where my poor horse had found his grave, after having carried me so faithfully through the long lonely wilds. We had travelled about six miles when a figure appeared in sight, coming towards us upon the same track. The new-comer proved to be a Cree Indian travelling to Fort Pelly. He bore the name of the Starving Bull. Starving Bull and his boy at once turned back With us towards Carlton. In a little while a party of horsemen hove in sight: they had come out from the fort to visit the South Branch, and amongst them was the Hudson Bay officer in charge of the station. Our first question had reference to the plague. Like a fire, it had burned itself out. There was no case then in the fort, but out of the little garrison of some sixty souls no fewer than thirty-two had perished! Four only had recovered of the thirty-six who had taken the terrible infection. We halted for dinner by the edge of the Duck Lake; midway between the North and South Branches of the Saskatchewan. It was a rich, beautiful country, although the snow lay some inches deep. Clumps of trees dotted the undulating surface, and lakelets glittering in the bright sunshine spread out in sheets of dazzling whiteness. The Starving Bull set himself busily to work preparing our dinner. What it would have been under ordinary circumstances, I cannot state; but, unfortunately for its success on the present occasion, its preparation was attended with unusual drawbacks. Starving Bull had succeeded in killing a skunk during his journey. This performance, while highly creditable to his energy as a hunter, was by no means conducive to his success, as a cook. Bitterly did that skunk revente himself upon us who had borne no part in his destruction. Pemmican is at no time a delicacy; but pemmican flavoured with skunk was more than I could attempt. However, Starving Bull proved himself worthy of his name, and the frying-pan was-soon scraped clean under his hungry manipulations. Another hour's ride brought us to a high bank, at the base of which lay the North Saskatchewan. In the low ground adjoining the river stood Carlton House, a large square enclosure, the wooden walls of which were more than twenty feet in height. Within these palisades some dozen or more houses stood crowded together. Close by, to the right, many snow-covered mounds with a few rough wooden crosses above them marked the spot where, only four weeks before, the last Victim of the epidemic had been laid. On the very spot where I stood looking at this sceiqe, a Blackfoot Indian, three years earlier, had stolen out from a thicket, fired at, and grievously wounded the Hudson Bay officer belonging to the fort, and now close to the same spot a small cross marked that officer's last resting-place. Strange fate! he had escaped the Blackfoot's bullet only to be the first to succumb to the deadly epidemic. I cannot say that Carlton was at all a lively place of sojourn. Its natural gloom was considerably deepened by the events of the last few months, and the whole place seemed to have received the stamp of death upon it. To add to the general depression, provisions were by no means abundant, the few Indians that had come in from the plains brought the same tidings of unsuccessful chase--for the buffalo were "far out" on the great prairie, and that phrase "far out," applied to buffalo, means starvation in the North-west. CHAPTER FIFTEEN. The Saskatchewan--Start from Carlton--Wild Mares--Lose our Way--A long Ride-Battle River--Mistawassis the Cree--A Dance. Two things strike the new-comer at Carlton. First, he sees evidences on every side of a rich and fertile country; and, secondly, he sees by many signs that war is the normal condition of the wild men who have pitched their tents in the land of the Saskatchewan that land from which we have taken the Indian prefix Kis, without much improvement of length or euphony. It is a name but little known to the ear of the outside world, but destined one day or other to fill its place in the long list of lands whose surface yields back to man, in manifold, the toil of his brain and hand. Its boundaries are of the simplest description, and it is as well to begin with them. It has on the north a huge forest, on the west a huge mountain, on the south an immense desert, on the east an immense marsh. From the forest to the desert there lies a distance varying from 40 to 150 miles, and from the marsh to the mountain, 800 miles of land lie spread in every varying phase of undulating fertility. This is the Fertile Belt, the land of the Saskatchewan, the winter home of the buffalo, the war country of the Crees and Blackfeet, the future home of millions yet unborn. Few men have looked on this land-but the thoughts of many in the New World tend towards it, and crave for description and fact which in many instances can only be given to them at second-hand. Like all things in this world, the Saskatchcwan has its poles of opinion; there are those who paint it a paradise, and those who picture it a hell. It is unfit for habitation, it is to be the garden-spot of America--it is too cold, it is too dry--it is too beautiful; and, in reality, what is it? I answer in a few words. It is rich; it is fertile; it is fair to the eye. Man lives long in it, and the children of his body are cast in manly mould. The cold of winter is intense, the strongest heat of summer is not excessive. The autumn days are bright and-beautiful; the snow is seldom deep, the frosts are early to come and late to go. All crops flourish, though primitive and rude are the means by which they are tilled; timber is in places plentiful, in other places scarce; grass grows high, thick, and rich. Horses winter out, and are round-carcased, and fat in spring. The lake-shores are deep in hay; lakelets every where. Rivers close in mid-November and open in mid-April. The lakes teem with fish; and such fish! fit for the table of a prince, but disdained at the feast of the Indian. The river-heads lie all in a forest region; and it is midsummer when their water has reached its highest level. Through the land the red man stalks; war, his unceasing toil--horse-raiding, the pastime of his life. How long has the Indian thus warred?-since he has been known to the white man, and long before. In 1776 the earliest English voyager in these regions speaks of war between the Assineboines and their trouble some western neighbours, the Snake and Blackfeet Indians. But war was older than the era of the earliest white man, older probably than the Indian himself; for, from what ever branch of the human race this stock is sprung, the lesson of warfare was in all cases the same to him. To say he fights is, after all, but to say he is a man; for whether it be in Polynesia or in Paris, in the Saskatchewan or in Sweden, in Bundelond or in Bulgaria, fighting is just the one universal "touch of nature which makes the whole world kin." "My good brothers," said a missionary friend of mine, some little while ago, to an assemblage of Crees, "My good brothers--why do you carry on this unceasing war with the Blackfeet and Peaginoos, with Sircies and Bloods? It is not good, it is not right; the great Manitou does not like his children to kill each other, but he wishes them to live in peace and brotherhood." To which the Cree chief made answer--"My friend, what you say is good; but look, you are white man and Christian, we are red men and worship the Manitou; but what is the news we hear from the traders and the black-robes? Is it not always the news of war? The Kitchi Mokamans (i.e. the Americans) are on the war-path against their brethren of the South, the English are fighting some tribes far away over the big lake; the French, and all the other tribes are fighting too! My brother, it is news of war, always news of war! and we--we go on the war-path in small numbers. We stop when we kill a few of our enemies and take a few scalps; but your nations go to war in countless thousands, and we hear of more of your braves killed in one battle than all our tribe numbers together. So, my brother, do not say to us that it is wrong to go on the war-path, for what is right for the white man cannot be wrong in his red brother. I have done!" During the seven days which I remained at Carlton the winter was not idle. It snowed and froze, and looked dreary enough within the darkening walls of the fort. A French missionary had come down from the northern lake of Isle-à-la-Crosse, but, unlike his brethren, he appeared shy and uncommunicative. Two of the stories which he related, however, deserve record. One was a singular magnetic storm which took place at Isle-à-la-Crosse during the preceding winter. A party of Indians and half-breeds were crossing the lake on the ice when suddenly their hair stood up on end; the hair of the dogs also turned the wrong way, and the blankets belonging to the part even evinced signs of acting, in an upright manner. I will not pretend to account for this phenomenon, but merely tell it as the worthy père told it to me, and I shall rest perfectly satisfied if my readers hair does not follow the example of the Indians dogs and blankets and proceed generally after the manner of the "frightful porcupine." The other tale told by the père was of a more tragical nature. During a storm in the prairies near the South Branch of the Saskatchewan a rain of fire suddenly descended upon a camp of Cree Indians and burned everything around. Thirty-two Crees perished in the flames; the ground was burned deeply for a considerable distance, and only one or two of the party who happened to stand close to a lake were saved by throwing themselves into the water. "It was," said my informant, "not a flash of lightning, but a rain of fire which descended for some moments." The increasing severity of the frost hardened into a solid mass the surface of the Saskatchewan, and on the morning of the 14th November we set out again upon our Western journey. The North Saskatchewan which I now crossed for the first time, is a river 400 yards in width, lying between banks descending steeply to a low alluvial valley. These outer banks are some 200 feet in height, and in some by-gone age were doubtless the boundaries of the majestic stream that then rolled between them. I had now a new-band of horses numbering altogether nine head, but three of them were wild brood mares that had never before been in harness, and laughable was the scene that ensued at starting. The snow was now sufficiently deep to prevent wheels running with ease, so we substituted two small horse-sleds for the Red River cart, and into these sleds the wild mares were put. At first they refused to move an inch--no, not an inch; then came loud and prolonged thwacking from a motley assemblage of Crees and half-breeds. Ropes, shanganappi, whips, and sticks were freely used; then, like an arrow out of a bow, away went the mare; then suddenly a dead stop, two or three plunges high in air, and down flat upon the ground. Againthe thwacking, and again suddenly up starts the mare and off like a rocket. Shanganappi harness is tough stuff and a broken sled is easily set to rights, or else we would have been in a bad way. But for all horses in the North-west there is the very simplest manner of persuasion: if the horse lies down, lick him until he gets up; if he stands up on his hind-legs, lick him until he reverts to his original position; if he bucks, jibs, or kicks, lick him, lick him, lick him; when you are tired of licking him, get another man to continue the process; if you can use violent language in three different tongues so much the better, but if you cannot imprecate freely at least in French, you will have a bad time of it. Thus we started from Carlton and, crossing the wide Saskatchewan, held our way south-west for the Eagle Hills. It was yet the dusk of the early morning, but as we climbed the steep northern bank the sun was beginning to lift himself above the horizon. Looking back, beneath lay the wide frozen river, and beyond the solitary fort still wrapped in shade, the trees glistened pure and white on the high-rolling bank beside me, and the untrodden snow stretched far away in dazzling brilliancy. Our course now lay to the south of west, and -our pace was even faster than it had been in the days of poor Blackie. About midday we entered upon a vast tract of burnt country, the unbroken snow filling the hollows of the ground beneath it. Fortunately, just at camping-time we reached a hill-side whose grass and tangled vetches had escaped the fire, and here we pitched our camp for the night. Around rose hills whose sides were covered with the traces of fire-destroyed' forests, and a lake lay close beside us, wrapped in ice and snow. A small winter-station had been established by the Hudson Bay Company at a point some ninety miles distant from Carlton, opposite the junction of the Battle River with the North Saskatchewan. There, it was said, a large camp of Crees had assembled, and to this post we were now directing our steps. On the morning of the second day out from Carlton, the guide showed symptoms of haziness as to direction: he began to bend greatly to the south, and at sunrise he ascended a high hill for the purpose of taking a general survey of the surrounding country. From this hill the eye ranged over a vast extent of landscape, and although the guide failed altogether to correct his course, the hill-top yielded such a glorious view of sun rising from a sea of snow into an ocean of pale green barred with pink and crimson streaks, that I felt well repaid for the trouble of the long ascent. When evening closed around us that day, I found myself alone amidst a wild, weird scene. Far as the eye could reach in front and to the right a boundless, treeless plain stretched into unseen distance; to the left a range of steep hills rose abruptly from the plain; over all the night was coming down. Long before sunset I had noticed a clump of trees many miles ahead, and thought that in this solitary thicket we would make our camp for the night. Hours passed away, and yet the solitary clump seemed as distant as ever--nay, more, it even appeared to grow smaller as I approached it. At last, just at dusk, I drew near the wished for camping-place; but lo! it was nothing but a single bush. My clump had vanished, my camping-place had gone, the mirage had been playing tricks with the little bush and magnifying it into a grove of aspens. When night fell there was no trace of camp or companions, but the snow marks showed that I was still upon the right track. On again for two hours in darkness often it was so dark that it was only by giving the horse his head that he was able to smell out the hoofs of his comrades in the partially covered grass of frozen swamp and moorland. No living thing stirred, save now and then a prairie owl flitting through the gloom added to the sombre desolation of the scene. At last the trail turned suddenly towards a deep ravine to the left. Riding to the edge of this ravine, the welcome glare of a fire glittering through a thick screen of bushes struck my eye. The guide had hopelessly lost his way, and after thirteen hours hard riding we were lucky to find this cosy nook in the tree-sheltered valley. The Saskatchewan was close beside us, and the dark ridges beyond were the Eagle Hills of the Battle River. Early next forenoon we reached the camp of Crees and the winter post of the Hudson Bay Company some distance above the confluence of the Battle Riverwith the Saskatchewan. A wild scene of confusion followed our entry into the camp; braves and squaws, dogs and papooses crowded round, and it was difficult work to get to the door of the little shanty where the Hudson Bay officer dwelt. Fortunately, there was no small-pox in this crowded camp, although many traces of its effects were to be seen in the seared and disfigured faces around, and in none more than my host, who had been one of the four that had recovered at Carlton. He was a splendid specimen of a half-breed, but his handsome face was awfully marked by the terrible scourge. This assemblage of Crees was under the leadership of Mistawassis, a man of small and slight stature, but whose bravery had often been tested in fight against the Blackfeet. He was a man of quiet and dignified manner, a good listener, a fluent speaker, as much at his ease and as free from restraint as any lord in Christendom. He hears the news I have to tell him through the interpreter, bending his head in assent to every sentence; then he pauses a bit and speaks. "He wishes to know if aught can be done against the Blackfeet; they are troublesome, they are fond of war; he has seen war for many years, and he would wish for peace; it is only the young men, who want scalps and the soft words of the squaws, who desire war." I tell him that "the Great Mother wishes her red children to live at peace; but what is the use? do they not themselves break the peace when it is made, and is not the war as often commenced by the Crees as by the Blackfeet?" He says that "men have told them that the white man was coming to take their lands, that the white braves were coming to the country, and he wished to know if it was true." "If the white braves did come," I replied, "it would be to protect the red man, and to keep peace amongst all. So dear was the red man to the heart of the chief whom the Great Mother had sent, that the sale of all spirits had been stopped in the Indian country, and henceforth, when he saw any trader bringing whisky or fire-water into the camp, he could tell his young men to go and take the fire-water by force from the trader." "That is good," he repeated twice, "that is good!" but whether this remark of approval had reference to the stoppage of the fire-water or to the prospective seizure of liquor by his braves, I cannot say. Soon after the departure of Mistawassis from the hut, a loud drumming outside was suddenly struck up, and going to the door I found the young men had assembled to dance the dance of welcome in my honour; they drummed and danced in different stages of semi-nudity for some time, and at the termination of the performance I gave an order for tobacco all round. When the dancing-party had departed, a very garrulous Indian presented himself, saying that he had been informed that the Ogima was possessed of some "great medicines," and that he wished to see them. I have almost forgotten to remark that my store of drugs and medicines had under gone considerable delapidation from frost and fast travelling. An examination held at Carlton into the contents of the two cases had revealed a sad state of affairs. Frost had smashed many bottles; powders badly folded up had fetched way in a deplorable manner; tinctures had proved their capability for the work they had to perform by tincturing every thing that came within their reach; hopeless confusion reigned in the department of pills. A few glass-stoppered bottles had indeed resisted the general demoralization; but, for the rest, it really seemed as though blisters, pills, powders, scales, and disinfecting fluids had been wildly bent upon blistering, pilling, powdering, weighing, and disinfecting one another ever since they had left Fort Garry. I deposited at Carlton a considerable quantity of a disinfecting fluid frozen solid, and as highly garnished with pills as the exterior of that condiment known as a chancellor's pudding is resplendent with raisins. Whether this conglomerate really did disinfect the walls of Carlton I cannot state, but from its appearance and general medicinal aspect I should say that no disease, however virulent, had the slightest chance against it. Having repacked the other things as safely as possible into one large box, I still found that I was the possessor of medicine amply sufficient to poison a very large extent of territory, and in particular I had a small leather medicine-chest in which the glass-stoppered bottles had kept intact. This chest I now produced for the benefit of my garrulous friend; one very strong essence of smelling-salts particularly delighted him; the more it burned his nostrils the more he laughed and hugged it, and after a time declared that there could be no doubt whatever as to that article, -for it was a very "great medicine" indeed. CHAPTER SIXTEEN. The Red Man--Leave Battle River--The Red Deer Hills--A long Ride--Fort Pitt--The Plague--Hauling by the Tail--A pleasant Companion--An easy Method of Divorce--Reach Edmonton. EVER, towards the setting sun drifts the flow of Indian migration; ever nearer and nearer to that glorious range of snow-clad peaks which the red man has so aptly named "the Mountains of the Setting Sun." It is a mournful task to trace back through the long list of extinct tribes the history of this migration. Turning over the leaves of books belonging to that "old colonial time" of which Longfellow speaks, we find strange names of Indian tribes now utterly unknown, meetings of council and treaty making with Mohawks and Oneidas and Tuscaroras. They are gone, and scarcely a trace remains of them. Others have left in lake and mountain-top the record of their names. Erie and Ottawa, Seneca and Cayuga tell of forgotten or almost forgotten nations which a century ago were great and powerful. But never at any time since first the white man was welcomed on the newly-discovered shores of the Western Continent by his red brother, never has such disaster and destruction overtaken these poor wild, wandering sons of nature as at the moment in which we write. Of yore it was the pioneers of France, England, and Spain with whom they had to contend, but now the whole white world is leagued in bitter strife against the Indian. The American and Canadian are only names that hide beneath them the greed of united Europe. Terrible deeds have been wrought out in that western land; terrible heart-sickening deeds of cruelty and rapacious infamy--have been, I say? no, are to this day and hour, and never perhaps more sickening than now in the full blaze of nineteenth-century civilization. If on the long line of the American frontier, from the Gulf of Mexico to the British boundary, a Single life is taken by an Indian, if even a horse or ox be stolen from a settler, the fact is chronicled in scores of-journals throughout the United States, but the reverse of the story we never know. The countless deeds of perfidious robbery, of ruthless murder done by white savages out in these Western wilds never find the light of day. The poor red man has no telegraph, no newspaper, no type, to tell his sufferings and his woes. My God, what a terrible tale could I not tell of these dark deeds done by the white savage against the far nobler red man! From southernmost Texas to most northern Montana there is but one universal remedy for Indian difficulty--kill him. Let no man tell me that such is not the case. I answer, I have heard it hundreds of times: "Never trust a redskin unless he be dead." "Kill every buffalo you see," said a Yankee colonel to me one day in Nebraska; "every buffalo dead is an Indiaan gone;" such things are only trifles. Listen to this cute feat of a Montana trader. A store-keeper in Helena City had some sugar stolen from him. He poisoned the sugar next night and left his door open. In the morning six Indians were found dead outside the town. That was a cute notion, I guess; and yet there are other examples worse than that, but they are too revolting to tell. Never mind; I suppose they have found record somewhere else if not in this world, and in one shape or another they will speak in due time. The Crees are perhaps the only tribe of prairie Indians who have as yet suffered no injustice at the hands of the white man. The land is still theirs, the hunting-rounds remain almost undisturbed; but their days are numbered, and already the echo of the approaching wave of Western immigration is sounding through the solitudes of the Cree country. It is the same story from the Atlantic to the Pacific. First the White man was the welcome guest, the honoured visitor; then the greedy hunter, the death-dealing vender of fire-water and poison; then the settler and exterminator--every where it has been the same story. This wild man who first welcomed the new-comer is the only perfect socialist or communist in the world. He holds all things in common with his tribe--the land, the bison, the river, and the moose. He is starving, and the rest of the tribe want food. Well, he kills a moose, and to the last bit the coveted food is shared by all. That war-party has taken one hundred horses in the last raid into Blackfoot or Peagin territory; well, the whole tribe are free to help themselves to the best and fleetest steeds before the captors will touch one out of the band. There is but a scrap of beaver, a thin rabbit, or a bit of sturgeon in the lodge; a stranger comes, and he is hungry; give him his share and let him be first served and best attended to. If one child starves in an Indian camp you may know that in every lodge scarcity is universal and that every stomach is hungry. Poor, poor fellow! his virtues are all his own; crimes he may have, and plenty, but his noble traits spring from no book-learning, from no school-craft, from the preaching of no pulpit; they come from the instinct of good which the Great Spirit has taught him; they are the whisperings from that lost world whose glorious shores beyond the Mountains of the Setting Sun are the long dream of his life. The most curious anomaly among the race of man, the red man of America, is passing away beneath our eyes into the infinite solitude. The possession of the same noble qualities which we affect to reverence among our nations makes us kill him. If he would be as the African or the Asiatic it would be all right for him; if he would be our slave he might live, but as he won't be that, won't toil and delve and hew for us, and will persist in hunting, fishing, and roaming over the beautiful prairie land which the Great Spirit gave him; in a word, since he will be free we kill him. Why do I call this wild child the great anomaly of the human race? I will tell you. Alone amongst savage tribes he has learnt the lesson which the great mother Nature teaches to her sons through the voices of the night, the forest, and the solitude. This river, this mountain, this measureless meadow speak to him in a language of their own. Dwelling with them, he learns their varied tongues, and his speech becomes the echo of the beauty that lies spread around him. Every name for lake or river, for mountain or meadow, has its peculiar significance, and to tell the Indian title of such things is generally to tell the nature of them also. Ossian never spoke with the voice of the mist-shrouded mountain or the wave-beat shores of the isles more thoroughly than does this chief of the Blackfeet or the Sioux speak the voices of the things of earth and air amidst which his wild life is cast. I know that it is the fashion to hold in derision and mockery the idea that nobility, poetry, or eloquence exist in the wild Indian. I know that with that low brutality which has ever made the Anglo-Saxon race deny its enemy the possession of one atom of generous sensibility, that dull enmity which prompted us to paint the Maid of Orleans a harlot, and to call Napoleon the Corsican robber--I know that that same instinct glories in degrading the savage, whose chief crime is that he prefers death to slavery; glories in painting him devoid of every trait of manhood, worthy only to share the fate of the wild beast of the wilderness--to be shot down mercilessly when seen. But those bright spirits who have redeemed the America of to-day from the dreary waste of vulgar greed and ignorant conceit which we in Europe have flung so heavily upon her; those men whose writings have come back across the Atlantic, and have become as household words among us--Irving, Cooper, Longfellow--have they not found in the rich store of Indian poetry the source of their choicest thought? Nay, I will go farther, because it may be said that the a poet would be prone to drape with poetry every subject on which his fancy lighted, as the sun turns to gold and crimson the dullest and the dreariest clouds: but Search the books of travel amongst remote Indian tribes, from Columbus to Catlin, from Charlevoix to Carver, from Bonneville to Pallisser the story is ever the same. The traveller is welcomed and made much of; he is free to come and go; the best food is set before him; the lodge is made warm and bright; he is welcome to stay his lifetime if he pleases. "I swear to your majesties," writes Columbus--alas! the red man's greatest enemy--"I swear to your majesties that there is not in the world a better people than these, more affectionate, affable, or mild." "At this moment," writes an American officer only ten years back, "it is certain a man can go about throughout the Blackfoot territory without molestation, except in the contingency of being mistaken at night for an Indian." No, they are-fast going, and soon they will be all gone, but in after-times men will judge more justly the poor wild creatures whom to-day we kill and vilify; men will go back again to those old books of travel, or to those pages of "Hiawatha" and "Mohican," to find that far away from the border-land of civilization the wild red man, if more of the savage, was infinitely less of the brute than was the white ruffian who destroyed him. I quitted the camp at Battle River on the 17th November, with a large band of horses and a young Cree brave who had volunteered his services for some reason of his own which he did not think necessary to impart to us. The usual crowd of squaws, braves in buffalo robes, naked children, and howling dogs assembled to see us start. The Cree led the way mounted on a ragged-looking pony, then came the baggage-sleds, and I brought up the rear on a tall horse belonging to the Company. Thus we held our way in a north-west direction over high-rolling plains along the north bank of the Saskatchewan towards Fort Pitt. On the morning of the 18th we got away from our camping thicket of poplars long before the break of day. There was no track to guide us, but the Cree went straight as an arrow over hill and dale and frozen lake. The hour that preceded the dawn was brilliant with the flash and glow of meteors across the North-western sky. I lagged so far behind to watch them that when day broke I found myself alone, miles from the party. The Cree kept the pace so well that it took me some hours before I again Caught sight of them. After a hard ride of six-and-thirty miles, we halted for dinner on the banks of English Creek. Close beside our camping-place a large clump of spruce-pine stood in dull contrast to the snowy surface. They looked like old friends to me--friends of the Winnipeg and the now distant Lake of the Woods; for from Red River to English Creek, a distance of 750 miles, I-had seen but a solitary pine-tree. After a short dinner We resumed our rapid way, forcing the pace with a view of making Fort Pitt by night-fall. A French half-breed declared he knew a short cut across the hills of the Red Deer, a wild rugged tract of country lying on the north of the Saskatchewan. Crossing these hills, he said, we would strike the river at their farther side, and then, passing over on the ice, cut the bend which the Saskatchewan makes to the north, and, emerging again opposite Fort Pitt, finally re-cross the river at that station. So much for the plan, and now for its fulfilment. We entered the region of the Red Deer Hills at about two o'clock in the afternoon, and continued at a very rapid pace in a westerly direction for three hours. As we proceeded the country became more broken, the hills rising steeply from narrow V-shaped valleys, and the ground in many places covered with fallen and decaying trees--the wrecks of fire and tempest. Every where throughout this wild region lay the antlers and heads of moose and elk; but, with the exception of an occasional large jackass-rabbit, nothing living moved through the silent hills. The ground was free from badger-holes; the day, though dark, was fine; and, with a good horse under me, that two hours gallop over, the Red Deer Hills was glorious work. It wanted yet an hour of sunset when we came suddenly upon the Saskatchewan flowing in a deep narrow valley between steep and lofty hills, which were bare of trees and bushes and clear of snow. A very wild desolate scene it looked as I surveyed it from a projecting spur upon whose summit I rested my blown horse. I was now far in advance of the party who occupied a parallel ridge behind me. By signs they intimated that our course now lay to the north; in fact, Daniel had steered very much too ar south, and we had struck the Saskatchewan river a long, distance below the intended place of crossing. Away we went again to the north, soon losing sight of the party; but as I kept the river on my left far below in the valley I knew they could not cross without my being aware of it. Just before sun set they appeared again in sight, making signs that they were about to descend into the valley and to cross the river. The valley here was five hundred feet in depth, the slope being one of the steepest I had ever seen. At the bottom of this steep descent the Saskatchewan lay in its icy bed, a large majestic-looking river three hundred yards in width. We crossed on the ice without accident, and winding up the steep southern shore gained the level plateau above. The sun was going down, right on our forward track. In the deep valley below the Cree and an English half-breed were getting the horses and baggage-sleds over the river. We made signs to them to camp in the valley, and we ourselves turned our tired horses towards the west, determined at all hazards to reach the fort that night. The Frenchman led the way riding, the Hudson Bay officer followed in a horse-sled, I brought up the rear on horseback. Soon it got quite dark, and we held on over a rough and bushless plateau seamed with deep gullies into which we descended at hap hazard forcing our weary horses with difficulty up the opposite sides. The night got later and later, and still no sign of Fort Pitt; riding in rear I was able to mark the course taken by our guide, and it soon struck me that he was steering wrong; our correct course lay west, but he seemed to be heading gradually to the North, and finally, began to veer even towards the East. I called out to the Hudson Bay man that I had serious doubts as to Daniel's knowledge of the track, but I was assured that all was correct. Still we went on, and still no sign of fort or river. At length the Frenchman suddenly pulled Up and asked us to halt while he rode on and surveyed the country, because he had lost the track, and didn't know where he had got to. Here was a pleasant prospect! without food, fire, or covering, out on the bleak plains, with the thermometer at 20 degrees of frost! After some time the Frenchman returned and declared that he had altogether lost his way, and that there was nothing for it but to camp where we were, and wait for daylight to proceed. I looked around in the darkness. The ridge on which we stood was bare and bleak, with the snow drifted off into the valleys. A few miserable stunted willows were the only signs of vegetation, and the wind whistling through their ragged branches made up as dismal a prospect as man could look at. I certainly felt in no very amiable mood with the men who had brought me into this predicament, because I had been overruled in the matter of leaving our baggage behind and in the track we had been pursuing. My companion, however, accepted the situation with apparent resignation, and I saw him commence to unharness his horse from the sled with the aspect of a man who thought a bare hill-top without food, fire, or clothes was the normal state of happiness to which a man might reasonably aspire at the close of an eighty-mile march, with out laying himself open to the accusation of being over effeminate. Watching this for some seconds in silence, I determined to shape for myself a different course. I dismounted, and taking from the sled a shirt made of deer-skin, mounted again my poor weary horse and turned off alone into the darkness. "Where are you going to?" I heard my companions calling out after me. I was half inclined not to answer, but turned in the saddle and holloaed back, "To Fort Pitt, that's all." I heard behind me a violent bustle, as though they were busily engaged in yoking up the horses again, and then I rode off as hard as my weary horse could go. My friends took a very short time to harness up again, and they were soon powdering along through the wilderness. I kept on for about half an hour, steering by the stars due west; suddenly I came out upon the edge of a deep valley, and by the broad white band beneath recognized the frozen Saskatchewan again. I have at least found the river, and Fort Pitt, we knew, lay somewhere upon the bank. Turning away from the river, I held on in a south-westerly direction for a considerable distance, passing up along a bare snow-covered valley and crossing a high ridge at its end. I could hear my friends behind in the dark. But they had got, I think, a notion that I had taken leave of my senses, and they were afraid to call out to me. After a bit I bent my course again to the west, and steering by my old guides, the stars, those truest and most unchanging friends of the wanderer, I once more struck the Saskatchewan, this time descending to its level and crossing it on the ice. As I walked along, leading my horse, I must admit to experiencing a sensation not at all pleasant. The memory of the crossing of the South Branch was still too strong to admit of over-confidence in the strength of the ice, and as every now and again my tired horse broke through the upper crust of snow and the ice beneath cracked, as it always will when weight is placed on it for the first time, no matter how strong it may be, I felt by no means as comfortable as I would have wished. At last the long river was passed, and there on the opposite shore lay the cart track to Fort Pitt. We were close to Pipe-stone Creek, and only three miles from the Fort. It was ten o'clock when we reached the closely-barred gate of this Hudson Bay post, the inhabitants of which had gone to bed. Ten o'clock at night, and we had started at six o'clock in the morning. I had been fifteen hours in the saddle, and no less than ninety miles had passed under my horse's hoofs, but so accustomed had I grown to travel that I felt just as ready to set out again as though only twenty miles had been traversed. The excitement of the last few hours steering by the stars in an unknown country, and its most successful denouement, had put fatigue and weariness in the background; and as we sat down to a well-cooked supper of buffalo steaks and potatoes, with the brightest eyed little lassie, half Cree, half Scotch, in the North-west to wait upon us, while a great fire of pine wood blazed and crackled on the open hearth, I couldn't help saying to my companions, "Well, this is better than your hill-top and the fireless bivouac in the rustling willows." Fort Pitt was free from small-pox, but it had gone through a fearful ordeal: more than one hundred Crees had perished close around its stockades. The unburied dead lay for days by the road-side, till the wolves, growing bold with the impunity which death among the hunters ever gives to the hunted, approached and fought over the decay ing bodies. From a spot many marches to the south the Indians had come to the fort in midsummer, leaving behind them a long track of dead and dying men over the waste of distance. "Give us help," they cried, "give us help, our medicine-men can do nothing against this plague; from the white man We got it, and it is only the white man who can take it away from us." But there was no help to be given, and day by day the wretched band grew less. Then came another idea into the red man's brain: "If we can only give this disease to the white man and the trader in the fort," thought they, "we will cease to suffer from it ourselves;" so they came into the houses dying and disfigured as they were, horrible beyond description to look at, and sat down in the entrances of the wooden houses, and stretched themselves on the floors and spat upon the door-handles. It was no use, the fell disease held them in a grasp from which there was no escape, and just six weeks before my arrival the living remnant fled away in despair. Fort Pitt stands on the left or north shore of the Saskatchewan River, which is here more than four hundred yards in width. On the opposite shore immense bare, bleak hills raise their wind-swept heads seven hundred feet above the river level. A few pine-trees show their tops some distance away to the north, but no other trace of wood is to be seen in that vast amphitheatre of dry grassy hill in which the fort is built. It is a singularly wild-looking scene, not without a certain beauty of its own, but difficult of association with the idea of disease orepidemic, so pure and bracing is the air which sweeps over those great grassy uplands. On the 20th November I left Fort Pitt, having exchanged some tired horses for fresher ones, but still keeping the same steed for the saddle, as nothing, better could be procured from the band at the fort. The snow had now almost disappeared from the ground, and a Red River cart was once more taken into use for the baggage. Still keeping along the north shore of the Saskatchewan, we now held our way towards the station of Victoria, a small half-breed settlement situated at the most northerly bend which the Saskatchewan makes in its long course from the mountains to Lake Winnipeg. The order of march was ever the same; the Cree, wrapped in a loose blanket, with his gun balanced across the shoulder of his pony, jogged on in front, then came a young half-breed named Batte notte, who will be better known perhaps to the English reader when I say that he was the son of the Assineboine guide who conducted Lord Milton and Dr. Cheadle through the pine forests of the Thompson River. This youngster employed himself by continually shouting the name of the horse he was driving--thus "Rouge!" would be vigorously yelled out by his tongue, and Rouge at the same moment would be vigorously belaboured by his whip; "Noir!" he would again shout, when that most ragged animal would be within the shafts; and as Rouge and Noir invariably had this ejaculation of their respective titles coupled with the descent of the whip upon their respective backs, it followed that after a while the mere mention of the name conveyed to the animal the sensation of being licked. One horse, rejoicing in the title of "Jean l'Hereux," seemed specially selected for this mode of treatment. He was a brute of surpassing obstinacy, but, as he bore the name of his former owner, a French semi-clerical maniac who had fled from Canada and joined the Blackfeet, and who was regarded by the Crees as one of their direst foes, I rather think that the youthful Battenotte took out on the horse some of the grudges that he owed to the man. Be that as it may, Jean l'Hereux got many a trouncing as he laboured along the sandy pine-covered ridges which rise to the north-west of Fort Pitt. On the night of the 21st November we reached the shore of the Eggo Lake, and made our camp in a thick clump of aspens. About midday on the following day we came in sight of the Saddle Lake, a favourite camping-ground of the Crees, owing to its inexhaustible stores of finest fish. Nothing struck me more as we thus pushed on rapidly along the Upper Saskatchewan than the absence of all authentic information from stations farther west. Every thing was rumour, and the most absurd rumour. "If you meet an old Indian named Pinguish and a boy without a name at Saddle Lake," said the Hudson Bay officer at Fort Pitt to me, "they may give you letters from Edmonton, and you may get some news from them, because they lost letters near the lake three weeks ago, and perhaps they may have found them by the time you get there." It struck me very forcibly, after a little while, that this "boy without a name" was a most puzzling individual to go in search of. The usual interrogatory question of "What's your name?" would not be of the least use to find such a personage, and to ask a man if he had no name, as a preliminary question, might be to insult him. I therefore fell back upon Pinguish, but could obtain no intelligence of him whatever. Pinguish had apparently never been heard of. It then occurred to me that the boy without the name might perhaps be a remarkable character in the neighbourhood, owing to his peculiar exception from the lot of humanity; but no such negative person had ever been known, and I was constrained to believe that Pinguish and his mysterious partner had fallen victims to the small-pox or had no existence; for at Saddle Lake the small-pox had worked its direst fury, it was still raging in two little huts close to the track, and when we halted for dinner near the south end of the lake the first man who approached was marked and seared by the disease. It was fated that this day we were to be honoured by peculiar company at our dinner. In addition to the small-pox man, there came an ill-looking fellow of the name of Fayel, who at once proceeded to make himself at his ease beside us. This individual bore a deeper brand than that of small-pox upon him, inasmuch as a couple of years before he had foully murdered a comrade in one of the passes of the Rocky Mountains when returning from British Columbia. But this was not the only intelligence as to my companions that I was destined to receive upon my arrival on the following day at Victoria. "You have got Louis Battenotte, with you, I see," said the Hudson Bay officer in charge. "Yes," I replied. "Did he tell you any thing about the small-pox?" "Oh yes; a great deal; he often spoke about it." "Did he say he had had it himself?" "No." "Well, he had," continued ny host, "only a month ago, and the coat and trousers that he now wears were the same articles of clothing in which he lay all the time he had it," was the pleasant reply. After this little revelation concerning Battenotte and his habiliments, I must admit that I was not quite as ready to look with pleasure upon his performance of the duties of cook, chambermaid, and general valet as I had been in the earlier stage of our acquaintance; but a little reflection made the hole thing right again, convincing one of the fact that travelling, like misery, "makes one acquainted with strange bedfellows," and that luck has more to do with our lives than we are wont to admit. After leaving Saddle Lake we entered a very rich and beautiful country, completely clear of snow and covered deep in grass and vetches. We travelled hard, and reached at nightfall a thick wood of pines and spruce-trees, in which we made a cosy camp. I had brought with me a bottle of old brandy from Red River in case of illness, and on this evening, not feeling all right, I drew the cork while the Cree was away with the horses, and drank a little with my companion. Before we had quite finished, the Cree returned to camp, and at once declared that he smelt grog. He became very lively at this discovery. We had taken the precaution to rinse out the cup that had held the spirit, but he nevertheless commenced a series of brewing which appeared to give him infinite satisfaction. Two or three times did he fill the empty cup with water and drain it to the bottom, laughing and rolling his head each time with delight, and in order to be sure that he had got the right one he proceeded in the same manner with every cup we possessed; then he confided to Battenotte that he had not tasted grog for a long time before, the last occasion being one on which he had divested himself of his shirt and buffalo robe, in other words, gone naked, in order to obtain the coveted fire-water. The weather had now become beautifully mild, and on the 23rd of November the thermometer did not show even one degree of frost. As we approached the neighbourhood of the White Earth River the aspect of the country became very striking: groves of spruce and pine crowned the ridges; rich, well-watered valleys lay between, deep in the long white grass of the autumn. The track wound in and out through groves and wooded declivities, and all nature looked bright and beautiful. Some of the ascents from the river bottoms were so steep that the united efforts of Battenotte and the Cree were powerless to induce Rouge or Noir, or even Jean l'Hcreux, to draw the cart to the summit. But the Cree was equal to the occasion. With a piece of shanganappi he fastened L'Hereux's tail to the shafts of the cart-shafts which had already between them the redoubted Noir. This new method of harnessing had a marked effect upon L'Hereux; he strained and hauled with a persistency and vigour which I feared must prove fatal to the permanency of his tail in that portion of his body in which nature had located it, but happily such was not the case, and by the united efforts of all parties the summit was reached. I only remained one day at Victoria, and the 25th of November found me again en route for Edmonton. Our Cree had, however, disappeared. One night when he was eating his supper with his scalping-knife--a knife, by the way, with which he had taken, he informed us, three Black feet scalps --I asked him why he had come away with us from Battle River. Because he wanted to get rid of his wife, of whom he was tired, he replied. He had come off without saying any thing to her. "And what will happen to the wife?" I asked. "Oh, she will marry another brave when she finds me gone," he answered, laughing at the idea. I did not enter into the previous domestic events which had led to this separation, but I presume they were of a nature similar to those which are not altogether unknown in more civilized society, and I make no hesitation in offering to our legislators the example of my friend the Cree as tending to simplify the solution, or rather the dissolution, of that knotty point, the separation of couples who, for reasons best known to themselves, have ceased to love. Whether it was that the Cree found in Victoria a lady suitad to his fancy, or whether he had heard of a war-party against the Sircies, I cannot say, but he vanished during the night of our stay in the fort, and we saw him no more. As we journeyed on towards Edmonton the country maintained its rich and beautiful appearance, and the weather continued fine and mild. Every where nature had written in unmistakable characters the story of the fertility of the soil over which we rode--every where the eye looked upon panoramas filled with the beauty of lake and winding river, and grassy slope and undulating woodland. The whole face of the country was indeed one vast park. For two days we passed through this beautiful land,-and on the evening of the 28th November drew near to Edmonton. My party had been increased by the presence of two gentlemen from Victoria, a Wesleyan minister and the Hudson Bay official in charge of the Company's post at that place. Both of these gentlemen had resided long in the Upper Saskatchewan, and were intimately acquainted with the tribes who inhabit The vast territory from the Rocky Mountains to Carlton House. It was late in the evening, just one month after I had started from the banks of the Red River, that I approached the high palisades of Edmonton. As one who looks back at evening from the summit of some lofty ridge over the long track which he has followed since the morning, so now did my mind travel back over the immense distance through which I had ridden in twenty-two days of actual travel and in thirty-three of the entire journey-that distance could not have been less than 1000 miles; and as each camp scene rose again before me, with its surrounding of snow and storm-swept prairie and lonely clump of aspens, it seemed as though something like infinite space stretched between me and that far-away land which one word alone can picture, that one word in which so many others centre--Home. CHAPTER SEVENTEEN. Edmonton--The Ruffian Tahakooch--French Missionaries--Westward still--A beautiful Land--The Blackfeet-Horses--A "Bellox" Soldier--A Blackfoot Speech--The Indian Land--First Sight of the Rocky Mountains--The Mountain House--The Mountain Assineboines--An Indian Trade--M. la Combe--Fire-water--A Night Assault. EDMONTON, the head-quarters of the Hudson Bay Company's Saskatchewan trade, and the residence of a chief factor of the corporation, is a large five-sided fort with the usual flanking bastions and high stockades. It has within these stockades many commodious and well-built wooden houses, and differs in the cleanliness and order of its arrangements from the general run of trading forts in the Indian country. It stands on a high level bank 100 feet above the Saskatchewan River, which rolls below in a broad majestic stream, 300 yards in width. Farming operations, boat-building, and flour-milling are carried on extensively at the fort, and a blacksmith's forge is also kept going. My business with the officer in charge of Edmonton was soon concluded. It principally consisted in conferring upon him, by commission, the same high judicial functions which I have already observed had been entrusted to me before setting out for the Indian territories. There was one very serious drawback, however, to the possession of magisterial or other authority in the Saskatchewan, in as much as there existed no means whatever of putting that authority into force. The Lord High Chancellor of England, together with the Master of the Rolls and the twenty-four judges of different degrees, would be perfectly useless if placed in the Saskatchewan to put in execution the authority of the law. The Crees, Blackfeet, Peagins, and Sircies would doubtless have come to the conclusion that these high judicial functionaries were "very great medicines;" but beyond that conclusion, which they would have drawn more from the remarkable costume and head-gear worn by those exponents of the law than from the possession of any legal acumen, much would not have been attained. These considerations somewhat mollified the feelings of disappointment with which I now found myself face to face with the most desperate set of criminals, while I was utterly unable to enforce against them the majesty of my commission. First, there was the notorious Tahakooch-murderer, robber, and general scoundrel of deepest dye; then there was the sister of the above, a maiden of some twenty summers, who had also perpetrated the murder of two Black foot children close to Edmonton; then there was a youthful French half-breed who had killed his uncle at the settlement of Grand Lac, nine miles to the north-west; and, finally, there was my dinner companion at Saddle Lake, whose crime I only became aware of after I had left that locality. But this Tahakooch was a ruffian too desperate. Here was one of his murderous acts. A short time previous to my arrival two Sircies came to Edmonton. Tahakooch and two of his brothers were camped near the fort. Tahakooch professed friendship for the Sircies, and they went to his lodge. After a few days had passed the Sircies thought it was time to return to their tribe. Rumour said that the charms of the sister of Tahakooch had captivated either one or both of them, and that she had not been insensible to their admiration. Be this as it may, it was time to go; and so they prepared for the journey. An Indian will travel by night as readily as by day, and it was night when these men left the tent of Tahakooch. "We will go to the fort," said the host, "in order to get provisions for your journey." The party, three in number, went to the fort, and knocked at the gate for admittance. The man on watch at the gate, before unharring, looked from the bastion over the stockades, to see who might be the three men who sought an entrance. It was bright moonlight, and he noticed the shimmer of a gun-barrel under the blanket of Tahakooch. The Sircies were provided with some dried meat, and the party went away. The Sircies marched first in single file, then followed Tahakooch close behind them; the three formed one line. Suddenly, Tahakooch drew from beneath his blanket a short double-barrelled gun, and discharged both barrels into the back of the nearest Sircie. The bullets passed through one man into the body of the other, killing the nearest one instantly. The leading Sircie, though desperately wounded, ran fleetly along the moonlit path until, faint and bleeding, he fell. Tahakooch was close behind; but the villain's hand shook, and four times his shots missed the wounded wretch upon the ground. Summoning up all his strength, the Sircie sprung upon his assailant; a hand-to-hand struggle ensued; but the desperate wound was too much for him, he grew faint in his efforts, and the villain Tahakooch passed his knife into his victim's body. All this took place in the same year during which I reached Edmonton, and within sight of the walls of the fort. Tahakooch lived only a short distance away, and was a daily visitor at the fort. But to recount the deeds of blood enacted around the wooden walls of Edmonton Would be to fill a volume. Edmonton and Fort Pitt both stand within the war country of the Crees and Blackfeet, and are consequently the scenes of many conflicts between these fierce and implacable enemies. Hitherto my route has led through the Cree country, hitherto we have seen only the prairies and woods through which the Crees hunt and camp; but my wanderings are yet far from their end. To the south-west, for many and many a mile, lie the wide regions of the Blackfeet and the mountain Assineboines; and into these regions I am about to push my way. It is a wild, lone land guarded by the giant peaks of mountains whose snow-capped summits lift themselves 17,000 feet above the sea level. It is the birth-place of waters which seek in four mighty streams the four distant oceans--the Polar Sea, the Atlantic, the Gulf of Mexico, and the Pacific. A few miles north-west of Edmonton a settlement composed exclusively of French half-breeds is situated on the shores of a rather extensive lake which bears the name of the Grand Lac, or St. Albert. This settlement is presided over by a mission of French Roman Catholic clergymen of the order of Oblates, headed by a bishop of the same order and nationality. It is a curious contrast to find in this distant and strange land men of culture and high mental excellence devoting their lives to the task of civilizing the wild Indians of the forest and the prairie--going far in advance of the settler, whose advent they have but too much cause to dread. I care not what may be the form of belief which the on-looker may hold--whether it be in unison or in antagonism with that faith preached by these men; but he is only a poor semblance of a man who can behold such a sight through the narrow glass of sectarian feeling, holding' opinions foreign to his own. He who has travelled through the vast colonial empire of Britain--that empire which covers one third of the entire habitable surface of the globe and probably half of the lone lands of the world must often have met with men dwelling in the midst of wild, savage peoples whom they tended with a strange and mother-like devotion. If you asked who was this stranger who dwelt thus among wild men in these Lone places, you were told he was the French missionary; and if you sought him in his lonely hut, you found ever the same surroundings, the same simple evidences of a faith which seemed more than human. I do not speak from hearsay or book-knowledge. I have myself witnessed the scenes I now try to recall. And it has ever been the same, East and West, far in advance of trader or merchant, of sailor or soldier, has gone this dark-haired, fragile man, whose earliest memories are thick with sunny scenes by bank of Loire or vine-clad slope of Rhone or Garonne, and whose vision in this life, at least, is never destined to rest again upon these oft-remembered places. Glancing through a pamphlet one day at Edmonton, a pamphlet which recorded the progress of a Canadian Wesleyan Missionary Society, I read the following extract from the letter of a Western missionary:--"These representatives of the Man of Sin, these priests, are hard-workers; summer and winter they follow the camps, suffering great privations. They are indefatigable in their efforts to make converts, but their converts," he adds, "have never heard of the Holy Ghost." "The man of sin "--which of us is without it? To these French missionaries at Grand Lac I was the bearer of terrible tidings. I carried to them the story of Sedan, the overwhelming rush of armed Germany into the heart of France, the closing of the high-schooled hordes of Teuton savagery around Paris; all that was hard home news to: hear. Fate had leant heavily upon their little congregation; out of 900 souls more than 300 had perished of small-pox up to the date of my arrival, and others were still sick in the huts along the lake. Well might the bishop and his priests bow their heads in the midst of such manifold tribulations of death and disaster. By the last day of November my preparations for further travel into the regions lying west of Edmonton were completed, and at midday on the 1st December I set out for the Rocky Mountain House. This station, the most Western and southern held by the Hudson Bay Company in the Saskatchewan, is distant from Edmonton about 180 miles by horse trail, and 211 miles by river. I was provided with five fresh horses, two good guides, and I carried letters to merchants in the United States, should fortune permit me to push through the great stretch of Blackfoot country lying on the northern borders of the American territory; for it was my intention to leave the Mountain House as soon as possible, and to endeavour to cross by rapid marches the 400 miles of plains to some of the mining cities of Montana or Idaho; the principal difficulty lay, however, in the reluctance of men to come with me into the country of the Blackfeet. At Edmonton only one man spoke the Blackfoot tongue, and the offer of high wages failed to induce him to attempt the journey. He was a splendid specimen of a half-breed; he had married a Blackfoot squaw, and spoke the difficult language with fluency; but he had lost nearly all his relations in the fatal plague, and his answer was full of quiet thought when asked to be my guide. "It is a work of peril," he said, "to pass the Blackfoot country all' pitching along the foot of the mountains; they will see our trail in the snow, follow it, and steal our horses, or perhaps worse still. At another time I would attempt it, but death has been too heavy upon my friends, and I don't feel that I can go." It was still possible, however, that at the Mountain House I might find a guide ready to attempt the journey, and my kind host at Edmonton provided me with letters to facilitate my procuring all supplies from his subordinate officer at that station. Thus fully accoutred and prepared to meet the now rapidly increasing severity of the winter, I started on the 1st December for the mountains. It-was a bright, beautiful day. I was alone with my two retainers; before me lay an uncertain future, but so many curious scenes had been passed in safety during the last six months of my life, that I recked little of what was before me, drawing a kind of blind confidence from the thought that so much could not have been in vain. Crossing the now fast-frozen Saskatchewan, we ascended the southern bank and entered upon a rich country watered with many streams and wooded with park-like clumps of aspen and pine. My two retainers were first-rate fellows. One spoke English very fairly: he was a brother of the bright-eyed little beauty at Fort Pitt. The other, Paul Foyale, was a thick, stout-set man, a good voyageur, and excellent-in camp. Both were noted travellers, and both had suffered severely in the epidemic of the small-pox. Paul had lost his wife and child, and Rowland's children had all had the disease, but had recovered. As for any idea about taking infection from men coming out of places where that infection existed, that would have been the merest foolishness; at least, Paul and Rowland thought so, and as they were destined to be my close companions for some days, cooking for me, tying up my blankets, and sleeping beside me, it was just as well to put a good face upon the matter and trust once more to the glorious doctrine of chance. Besides, they were really such good fellows, princes among voyayeurs, that, small-pox or no small-pox, they were first-rate company for any ordinary mortal. For two days we jogged merrily along. The Musquashis or Bears Hill rose before us and faded away into blue distance behind us. After sundown on the 2nd we camped in a thicket of large aspens by the high bank of the Battle River, the same stream at whose mouth nearly 400 miles away I had found the Crees a fortnight before. On the 3rd December we crossed this river, and, quitting the Blackfeet trail, struck in a south-westerly direction through a succession of grassy hills with partially wooded valleys and small frozen lakes. A glorious country to ride over--a country in which the eye ranged across miles and miles of fair-lying hill and long-stretching valley; a silent, beautiful land upon which summer had stamped so many traces, that December had so far been powerless to efface their beauty. Close by to the south lay the country of the great Blackfeet nation--that wild, restless tribe whose name has been a terror to other tribes and to trader and trapper for many and many a year. Who and what are these wild dusky men who have held their own against all comers, sweeping like a whirlwind over the sand deserts of the central continent? They speak a tongue distinct from all other Indian tribes; they have ceremonies and feasts wholly different, too, from the feasts and ceremonies of other nations; they are at war with every nation that touches the wide circle of their boundaries; the Crows, the Flatheads, the Kootenies, the Rocky Mountain Assineboines, the Crees, the Plain Assineboines, the Minnitarrees, all are and have been the inveterate enemies of the five confederate nations which form together the great Blackfeet tribe. Long years ago, when their great forefather crossed the Mountains of the Setting Sun and settled along the sources of the Missouri and the South Saskatchewan, so runs the legend of their old chiefs, it came to pass that a chief had three sons, Kenna, or The Blood, Peaginou, or The Wealth, and a third who was nameless. The two first were great hunters, they brought to their father's lodge rich store of moose and elk meat, and the buffalo fell before their unerring arrows; but the third, or nameless one, ever returned empty-handed from the chase, until his brothers mocked him for his want of skill. One day the old chief said to this unsuccessful hunter, "My son, you cannot kill the moose, your arrows shun the buffalo, the elk is too fleet for your footsteps, and your brothers mock you because you bring no meat into the lodge; but see, I will make you a great hunter." And the old chief took from the lodge-fire a piece of burnt stick, and, wetting it, he rubbed the feet of his son with the blackened charcoal, and he named him Sat-Sia-qua, or The Blackfeet, and evermore Sat-Sia-qua was a mighty hunter, and his arrows flew straight to the buffalo, and his feet moved swift in the chase. From these three sons are descended the three tribes of Blood, Peaginou, and Blackfeet, but in addition, for many generations, two other tribes or portions of tribes have been admitted into the confederacy; These are the Sircies, on the north, a branch, or offshoot from the Chipwayans of the Athabasca; and the Gros Ventres, or Atsinas, on the southeast, a branch from the Arrapahoe nation who dwelt along the sources of the Platte. How these branches became detached from the parent stocks has never been determined, but to this day they speak the languages of their original tribe in addition to that of the adopted one. The parent tongue of the Sircies is harsh and guttural, that of the Blackfeet is rich and musical; and while the Sircies always speak Blackfeet in addition to their own tongue, the Blackfeet rarely master the language of the Sircies. War, as we have already said, is the sole toil and thought of the red man's life. He has three great causes of fight: to steal a horse, take a scalp, or get a wife. I regret to have to write that the possession of a horse is valued before that of a wife-and this has been the case for many years. "A horse," writes McKenzie, "is valued at ten guns, a woman is only worth one gun;" but at that time horses were scarcer than at present. Horses have been a late importation, comparatively speaking, into the Indian country. They travelled rapidly north from Mexico, and the prairies soon became covered with the Spanish mustang, for whose possession the red man killed his brother with singular pertinacity. The Indian to-day believes that the horse has ever dwelt with him on the Western deserts, but that such is not the case his own language undoubtedly tells. It is curious to compare the different names which the wild men gave the new-comer who was destined to work such evil among them. In Cree, a dog is called "Atim," and a horse, "Mistatim," or the "Big Dog." In the Assineboine tongue the horse is called "Sho-a-th-in-ga," "Thongatch shonga," a great dog. In Blackfeet, "Po-no-ka-mi-taa" signifies the horse; and "Po-no-ko" means red deer, and "Emita," a dog--the "Red-deer Dog." But the Sircies made the best name of all for the new-comer; they called him the "Chistli" "Chis," seven, "Li," dogs "Seven Dogs." Thus we have him called the big dog, the great dog, the red-deer dog, the seven dogs, and the red dog, or "It-shou-ma-shungu," by the Gros Ventres. The dog was their universal beast of burthen, and so they multiplied the name in many ways to enable it to define the Superior powers of the new beast. But a far more formidable enemy than Crow or Cree has lately come in contact with the Blackfeet--an enemy before whom all his stratagem, all his skill with lance or arrow, all his dexterity of horsemanship is of no avail. The "Moka-manus" (the Big-knives), the white men, have pushed up the great Missouri River into the heart of the Blackfeet country, the fire-canoes have forced their way along the muddy waters, and behind them a long chain of armed posts have arisen to hold in check the wild roving races of Dakota and the Montana. It is a useless struggle that which these Indians wage against their latest and most deadly enemy, but nevertheless it is one in which the sympathy of any brave heart must lie on the side of the savage. Here, at the head-waters of the great River Missouri which finds its outlet into the Gulf of Mexico-here, pent up against the barriers of the "Mountains of the Setting Sun," the Blackfeet offer a last despairing struggle to the ever-increasing tide that hems them in. It is not yet two years since a certain citizen soldier of the United States made a famous raid against a portion of this tribe at the head-waters of the Missouri. It so happened that I had the opportunity of hearing this raid described from the rival points of view of the Indian and the white man, and, if possible, the brutality of the latter--brutality which was gloried in--exceeded the relation of the former. Here is the story of the raid as told me by a miner whose "pal" was present in the scene. "It was a little afore day when the boys came upon two redskins in a gulch near-away to the Sun River" (the Sun River flows into the Missouri, and the forks lie below Benton). "They caught the darned red devils and strapped them on a horse, and swore that if they didn't just lead the way to their camp that they'd blow their b---- brains out; and Jim Baker wasn't the coon to go under if he said he'd do it--no, you bet he wasn't. So the red devils showed the trail, and soon the boys came out on a wide gulch, and saw down below the lodges of the Pagans. Baker just says, 'Now, boys, says he, 'thar's the devils, and just you go in and clear them out. No darned prisoners, you know; Uncle Sam ain't agoin' to keep prisoners, I guess. No darned squaws or young uns, but just kill'em all, squaws and all; it's them squaws what breeds'em, and them young uns will only be horse-thieves or hair-lifters when they grows up; so just make a clean shave of the hull brood. Wall, mister, ye see, the boys jist rode in among the lodges afore daylight, and they killed every thing that was able to come out of the tents, for, you see, the redskins had the small-pox bad, they had, and a heap of them couldn't come out nohow; so the boys jist turned over the lodges and fixed them as they lay on the ground. Thar was up to 170 of them Pagans wiped out that mornin', and thar was only one of the boys sent under by a redskin firing out at him from inside a lodge. I say, mister, that Baker's a bell-ox among sodgers, you bet." One month after this slaughter on the Sun River a band of Peagins were met on the Bow River by a French missionary priest, the only missionary whose daring spirit has carried him into the country of these redoubled tribes. They told him of the cruel loss their tribe had suffered at the hands of the "Long-knives;" but they spoke of it as the fortune of war, as a thing to be deplored, but to be also revenged: it was after the manner of their own war, and it did not strike them as brutal or cowardly; for, alas! they knew no better. But what shall be said of these heroes--the outscourings of Europe--who, under the congenial guidance of that "bell-ox" soldier Jim Baker, "wiped out them Pagan redskins"? This meeting of the missionary with the Indians was in: its way singular. The priest, thinking that the loss of so many lives would teach the tribe how useless must be a war carried on against-the Americans, and how its end must inevitably be the complete destruction of the Indians, asked the chief to assemble his band to listen to his counsel and advice. They met together in the council-tent, and then the priest began. He told them that "their recent loss was only the beginning of their destruction, that the Long knives had countless braves, guns and rifles beyond number, fleet steeds, and huge war-canoes, and that it was useless for the poor wild man to attempt to stop their progress through the great Western solitudes." He asked them "why were their faces black and their hearts heavy? was it not for their relatives and friends so lately killed, and would it not be better to make peace while yet they could do it, and thus save the lives of their remaining friends?" While thus he spoke there reigned a deep silence through the council-tent, each one looked fixedly at the ground before him; but when the address was over the chief rose quietly, and, casting around a look full of dignity, he asked, "My brother, have you done, or is there aught you would like yet to say to us?" To this the priest made answer that he had no more to say. "It is well," answered the Indian; "and listen now to what I say to you; but first," he said, turning to his men, "you, my brethren, you, my sons, who sit around me, if there should be aught in my words from which you differ, if I say one word that you would not say yourselves, stop me, and say to this black-robe I speak with a forked tongue." Then, turning again to the priest, he continued, "You have spoken true, your words come straight; the Long-knives are too many and too strong for us; their guns shoot farther than ours, their big guns shoot twice" (alluding to shells which exploded after they fell); "their numbers are as the buffalo were in the days of our fathers. But what of all that? do you want us to starve on the land which is ours? to lie down as slaves to the white man, to die away one by one in misery and hunger? It is true that the long-knives must kill us, but I say still, to my children and to my tribe, fight on, fight on, fight on! go on fighting to the very last man; and let that last man go on fighting too, for it is better to die thus, as a brave man should die, than to live a little time and then die like a coward. So now, my brethren, I tell you, as I have told you before, keep fighting still. When you see these men coming along the river, digging holes in the ground and looking for the little bright sand" (gold), "kill them, for they mean to kill you; fight, and if it must be, die, for you can only die once, and it is better to die than to starve." He ceased, and a universal hum of approval running through the dusky warriors told how truly the chief had spoken the thoughts of his followers; Again he said, "What does the white man want in our land? You tell us he is rich and strong, and has plenty of food to eat; for what then does he come to our land? We have only the buffalo, and he takes that from us. See the buffalo, how they dwell with us; they care not for the closeness of our lodges, the smoke of our camp-fires does not fright them, the shouts of our young men will not drive them away; but behold how they flee from the sight, the sound, and the smell of the white man! Why does he take the land from us? who sent him here? He puts up sticks, and he calls the land his land, the river his river, the trees his trees. Who gave him the ground, and the water, and the trees? was it the Great Spirit? No; for the Great Spirit gave to us the beasts and the fish, and the white man comes to take the waters and the ground where these fishes and these beasts live--why does he not take the sky as well as the ground? We who have dwelt on these prairies ever since the stars fell" (an epoch from which the Blackfeet are fond of dating, their antiquity) "do not put sticks over the land and say, Between these sticks this land is mine; you shall not come here or go there." Fortunate is it for these Blackfeet tribes that their hunting grounds lie partly on British territory--from where our midday camp was made on the 2nd December to the boundary-line at the 49th parallel, fully 180 miles of plain knows only the domination of the Blackfeet tribes. Here, around this midday camp, lies spread a fair and fertile land; but close by, scarce half a day's journey to the south, the sandy plains begin to supplant the rich grass-covered hills, and that immense central desert commences to spread out those ocean-like expanses which find their southern limits far down by the waters of the Canadian River,1200 miles due south of the Saskatchewan. This immense central sandy plateau is the true home of the bison. Here were raised for countless ages these huge herds whose hollow tramp shook the solid roof of America during the countless cycles which it remained unknown to man. Here, too, was the true home of the Indian: the Commanche, the Apache, the Kio-wa, the Arapahoe, the Shienne, the Crow, the Sioux, the Pawnee, the Omahaw, the Mandan, the Manatarree, the Blackfeet, the Cree, and the Assineboine divided between them the immense region, warring and wandering through the vast expanses until the white race from the East pushed their way into the land, and carved out states and territories from the Mississippi to the Rocky Mountains. How it came to pass in the building of the world that to the north of that great region of sand and waste should spread out suddenly the fair country of the Saskatchewan, I must leave to the guess-work of other and more scientific writers; but the fact remains, that alone, from Texas to the sub-Arctic forest, the Saskatchewan Valley lays its fair length for 800 miles in mixed fertility. But we must resume our Western way. The evening of the 3rd December found us crossing a succession of wooded hills which divide the water system of the North from that of the South Saskatchewan. These systems come so close together at this region, that while my midday kettle was filled with water which finds its way through Battle River into the North Saskatchewan, that of my evening meal was taken from the ice of the Pas-co-pee, or Blindman's; River, whose waters seek through Red Deer River the South Saskatchewan. It was near sunset when we rode by the lonely shores of the Gull Lake, whose frozen surface stretched beyond the horizon to the north. Before us, at a distance of some ten miles, lay the abrupt line of the Three Medicine Hills, from whose gorges the first view of the great range of the Rocky Mountains was destined to burst upon my sight; But not on this day was I to behold that long-looked-for vision. Night came quickly down upon the silent wilderness; and it was long after dark when we made our camps by the bank of the Pas-co-pee, or Blindman's River, and turned adrift the weary horses to graze in a well-grassed meadow lying in one of the curves of the river. We had ridden more than sixty miles that day. About midnight a heavy storm of snow burst upon us, and daybreak revealed the whole camp buried deep in snow. As I threw back the blankets from my head (one always lies covered up completely), the wet, cold mass struck chillily upon my face. The snow was wet and sticky, and therefore things were much more wretched than if the temperature had been lower; but the hot tea made matters seem brighter, and about breakfast-time the snow ceased to fall and the clouds began to clear away. Packing our wet blankets together, we set out for the three Medicine Hills, through whose defiles our course lay; the snow was deep in the narrow valleys, making travelling slower and more laborious than before. It was midday when, having rounded the highest of the three hills, we entered a narrow gorge fringed with a fire-ravaged forest. This gorge wound through the hills, preventing a far-reaching view ahead; but at length its western termination was reached, and there lay before me a sight to be long remembered. The great chain of the Rocky Mountains rose their snow-clad sierras in endless succession. Climbing one of the eminences, I gained a vantage-point on the summit from which some by-gone fire had swept the trees. Then, looking west, I beheld the great range in unclouded glory. The snow had cleared the atmosphere, the sky was coldly bright. An immense plain stretched from my feet to the mountain--a plain so vast that every object of hill and wood and lake lay dwarfed into one continuous level, and at the back of this level, beyond the pines and the lakes and the river-courses, rose the giant range, solid, impassable, silent--a mighty barrier rising-midst an immense land, standing sentinel over the plains and prairies of America, over the measureless solitudes of this Great Lone Land. Here, at last, lay the Rocky Mountains. Leaving behind the Medicine Hills, we descended into the plain and held our way until sunset towards the west. It was a calm and beautiful evening; far away objects stood out sharp and distinct in the pure atmosphere of these elevated regions. For some hours we had lost sight of the mountains, but shortly before sunset the summit of a long ridge was gained, and they burst suddenly into view in greater magnificence than at midday. Telling my men to go on and make the camp at the Medicine River, I rode through some fire-wasted forest to a lofty grass-covered height which the declining sun was bathing in floods of glory. I cannot hope to put into the compass of words the scene which lay rolled beneath from this sunset-lighted eminence; for, as I looked over the immense plain and watched the slow descent of the evening sun upon the frosted crest of these lone mountains, it seemed as if the varied scenes of my long journey had woven themselves into the landscape, filling with the music of memory the earth, the sky, and the mighty panorama of mountains. Here at length lay the barrier to my onward wanderings, here lay the boundary to that 4000 miles of unceasing travel which had carried me by so many varied scenes so far into the lone-land; and other thoughts were not wanting. The peaks on which I gazed were no pigmies; they stood the culminating monarchs of the mighty range of the Rocky Mountains. From the estuary of the Mackenzie to the Lake of Mexico no point of the American continent reaches higher to the skies. That eternal crust of snow seeks in summer widely-severed oceans. The Mackenzie, the Columbia, and the Saskatchewan spring from the peaks whose teeth-like summits lie grouped from this spot into the compass of a single glance. The clouds that cast their moisture upon this long line of upheaven rocks seek again the ocean which gave them birth in its far-separated divisions of Atlantic, Pacific, and Arctic. The sun sank slowly behind the range and darkness began to fall on the immense plain, but aloft on the topmost edge the pure white of the jagged crest-line glowed for an instant in many-coloured silver, and then the lonely peaks grew dark and dim. As thus I watched from the silent hill-top this great mountain-chain, whose summits slept in the glory of the sunset, it seemed no stretch of fancy which made the red man place his paradise beyond their golden peaks. The "Mountains of the Setting Sun," the "Bridge of the World," Thus he has named them, and beyond them the soul first catches a glimpse of that mystical land where the tents are pitched midst everlasting verdure and countless herds and the music of ceaseless streams. That night there came a frost, the first of real severity that had fallen upon us. At daybreak next morning, the 5th December, my thermometer showed 22 degrees below zero, and, in spite of buffalo boots and moose "mittaines," the saddle proved a freezing affair; many a time I got down and trotted on in front of my horse until feet and hands, cased as they were, began to be felt again. But the morning, though piercingly cold, was bright with sunshine, and the snowy range was lighted up in many a fair hue, and the contrasts of pine wood and snow and towering wind-swept cliff showed in rich beauty. As the day wore on we entered the pine forest which stretches to the base of the mountains, and emerged suddenly upon the high banks of the Saskatchewan. The river here ran in a deep, wooded valley, over the western extremity of which rose the Rocky Mountains; the windings of the river showed distinctly from the height on which we stood; and in mid-distance the light blue smoke of the Mountain House curled in fair contrast from amidst a mass of dark green pines. Leaving my little party to get my baggage across the Clear Water River, I rode on ahead to the fort. While yet a long way off we had been descried by the watchful eyes of some Rocky Mountain Assineboines, and our arrival had been duly telegraphed to the officer in charge. As usual, the excitement was intense to know what the strange party could mean. The denizens of the place looked upon themselves as closed up for the winter, and the arrival of a party with a baggage-cart at such a time betokened something unusual. Nor was this excitement at all lessened when in answer to a summons from the opposite bank of the Saskatchewan I announced my name and place of departure. The river was still open, its rushing waters had resisted so far the efforts of the winter to cover them up, but the ice projected a considerable distance from either shore; the open water in the centre was, however, shallow, and when the rotten ice had been cut away on each side I was able to force my horse into it. In he went with a great splash, but he kept his feet nevertheless; then at the other side the people of the fort had cut away the ice too, and again the horse scrambled safely up. The long ride to the West was over; exactly forty-one days earlier I had left Red River, and in twenty-seven days of actual travel I had ridden 1180 miles. The Rocky Mountain House of the Hudson Bay Company stands in a level meadow which is clear of trees, although dense forest lies around it at some little distance. It is indifferently situated with regard to the Indian trade, being too far from the Plain Indians, who seek in the American posts along the Missouri a nearer and more profitable exchange for their goods; while the wooded district in which it lies produces furs of a second-class quality, and has for years been deficient in game. The neighbouring forest, however, supplies a rich store of the white spruce for boat-building, and several full-sized Hudson Bay boats are built annually at the fort. Coal of very fair quality is also plentiful along the river banks, and the forge glows with the ruddy light of a real coal fire--a friendly sight when one has not seen it during many months. The Mountain House stands within the limits of the Rocky Mountain Assineboines, a branch of-the once famous Assineboines of the Plains whose wars in times not very remote made them the terror of the prairies which lie between the middle Missouri and the Saskatchewan. The Assineboines derive their name, which signifies "stone-heaters," from a custom in vogue among them before the advent of the traders into their country. Their manner of boiling meat was as follows: a round hole was scooped in the earth, and into the hole was sunk a piece of raw hide; this was filled with water, and the buffalo meat placed in it, then a fire was lighted close by and a number of round stones made red hot; in this state they were dropped into, or held in, the water, which was thus raised to boiling temperature and the meat cooked. When the white man came he sold his kettle to the stone-heaters, and henceforth the practice disappeared, while the name it had given rise to remained--a name which long after the final extinction of the tribe will still exist in the River Assineboine and its surroundings. Nothing testifies more conclusively to the varied changes and vicissitude's Indian tribes than the presence of this branch of the Assineboine nation in the pine forests of the Rocky Mountains. It is not yet a hundred years since the "Ossinepoilles" were found by one of the earliest traders inhabiting the country between the head of the Pasquayah or Saskatchewan and the country of the Sioux, a stretch of territory fully 900 miles in length. Twenty years later they still were numerous along the whole line of the North Saskatchewan, and their lodges were at intervals seen along a river line of 800 miles in length, but even then a great change had come upon them. In 1780 the first epidemic of small-pox swept over the Western plains, and almost annihilated the powerful Assineboines. The whole central portion of the tribe was destroyed, but the outskirting portions drew together and again made themselves a terror to trapper and trader. In 1821 they were noted for their desperate forays, and for many years later a fierce conflict raged between them and the Blackfeet; under the leadership of a chief still famous in Indian story--Tehatka, or the "Left-handed;" they for a long time more than held their own against these redoubtable warriors. Tehatka was a medicine-man of the first order, and by the exercise of his superior cunning and dream power he was implicitly relied on by his followers; at length fortune deserted him, and he fell in a bloody battle with the Gros Ventres near the Knife River, a branch of the Missouri, in 1837. About the same date small-pox again swept the tribe, and they almost disappeared from the prairies. The Crees too pressed down from the North and East, and occupied a great-portion of their territory; the Blackfeet smote them hard on the south-west frontier; and thus, between foes and disease, the Assineboines of to-day have dwindled down into far-scattered remnants of tribes. Warned by the tradition of the frightful losses of earlier times from the ravages of small-pox, the Assineboines this year kept far out in the great central prairie along the coteau, and escaped the infection altogether, but their cousins, the Rocky Mountain Stonies, were not so fortunate, they lost some of their bravest men during the pre ceding summer and autumn. Even under the changed circumstances of their present lives, dwelling amidst the forests and rocks instead of in the plains and open country, these Assineboines of the Mountains retain many of the better characteristics of their race; they are brave and skilful men, good hunters of red deer, moose, and big horn, and are still held in dread by the Blackfeet, who rarely venture into their country. They are well acquainted with the valleys and passes through the mountains, and will probably take a horse over as rough ground as any men in the creation. At the ford on the Clear Water River, half a mile from the Mountain House, a small clump of old pine-trees stands on the north side of the stream. A few years ago a large band of Blood Indians camped round this clump of pines during a trading expedition to the Mountain House. They were under the leadership of two young chiefs, brothers. One evening a dispute about some trifling matter arose, words ran high, there was a flash of a scalping-knife, a plunge, and one brother reeled back with a fearful gash in his side, the other stalked slowly to his tent, and sat down silent and impassive. The wounded man loaded his gun, and keeping the fatal wound closed together with one hand walked steadily to his brothers tent; pulling back the door-casing, he placed the muzzle of his gun to the heart of the man who sat immovable all the time, and shot him dead, then, removing his hand from his own mortal wound, he fell lifeless beside his brother's body. They buried the two brothers in the same grave by the shadow of the dark pine-trees. The band to which the chiefs belonged broke up and moved away into the great plains--the reckoning of blood had been paid, and the account was closed. Many tales of Indian war and revenge could I tell--tales gleaned from trader and missionary and voyageur, and told by camp-fire or distant trading post, but there is no time to recount them now, a long period of travel lies before me and I must away to enter upon it; the scattered thread must be gathered up and tied together too quickly, perhaps, for the success of this wandering story, but not an hour too soon for the success of another expedition into a still farther and more friendless region. Eight days passed pleasantly at the Mountain House; rambles by day into the neighbouring hills, stories of Indian life and prairie scenes at the evening fire filled up the time, and it was near mid-December before I thought of moving my quarters. The Mountain House is perhaps the most singular specimen of an Indian trading post to be found in the wide territory of the Hudson Bay Company. Every precaution known to the traders has been put in force to prevent the possibility of surprise during "a trade." Bars and bolts and places to fire down at the Indians who are trading abound in every direction; so dreaded is the name borne by the Black feet, that it is thus their trading post has been constructed. Some fifty years ago the Company had a post far south on the Bow River in the very heart of the Blackfeet country. Despite of all precautions it was frequently plundered And at last burnt down by the Blackfeet, and since that date no attempt has ever been made to erect another fort in their country. Still, I believe the Blackfeet and their confederates are not nearly so bad as they have been painted, those among the Hudson Bay Company who are best acquainted with them are of the same opinion, and, to use the words of Pe to-pee, or the Perched Eagle, to Dr. Hector in 1857, "We see but little of the white man," he said, "and our young men do not know how to behave; but if you come among us, the chiefs will restrain the young men, for we have power over them. But look at the Crees, they have long lived in the company of white men, and nevertheless they are just like dogs, they try to bite when your head is turned--they have no manners; but the Blackfeet have large hearts and they love to show hospitality." Without going the length of Pe-to-pee in this estimate of the virtues of his tribe, I am still of opinion that under proper management these wild wandering men might be made trusty friends. We have been too much inclined to believe all the bad things said of them by other tribes, and, as they are at war with every nation around them, the wickedness of the Blackfeet'has grown into a proverb among men. But to go back to the trading house. When the Blackfeet arrive on a trading visit to the Mountain House they usually come in large numbers, prepared for a brush with either Crees or Stonies. The camp is formed at some distance from the fort, and the braves, having piled their robes, leather, and provisions on the backs of their wives or their horses, approach in long cavalcade. The officer goes out to meet them, and the gates are closed. Many speeches are made, and the chief, to show his "big heart," usually piles on top of a horse a heterogeneous mass of buffalo robes, pemmican, and dried meat, and hands horse and all he carries over to the trader. After such a present no man can possibly enter tain for a moment a doubt upon the subject of the big-heartedness of the donor, but if, in the trade which ensues: after this present has been made, it should happen that fifty horses are bought by the Company, not one of all the band will cost so dear as that which demonstrates the large heartedness of the brave. Money-values are entirely unknown in these trades. The values of articles are computed by "skins;" for instance, a horse will be reckoned at 60 skins; and these 60 skins will be given thus: a gun, 15 skins; a capote, 10 skins; a blanket, 10 skins; ball and powder, 10 skins; tobacco, 15 skins total, 60 skins. The Bull Ermine, or the Four Bears, or the Red Daybreak, or whatever may be the brave's name, hands over the horse, and gets in return a blanket, a gun, a capote, ball and powder, and tobacco. The term "skin" is a very old one in the fur trade; the original standard, the beaver skin or, as it was called, "the made beaver" was the medium of exchange, and every other skin and article of trade was graduated upon the scale of the beaver; thus a beaver, or a skin, was reckoned equivalent to 1 mink skin, one marten was equal to 2 skins, one black fox 20 skins, and so on; in the same manner, a blanket, a capote, a gun, or a kettle had their different values in skins. This being explained, we will now proceed with the trade. Sapoomaxica, or the Big Crow's Foot, having demonstrated the bigness of his heart, and received in return a tangible proof of the corresponding size of the trader's, addresses his braves, cautioning them against violence or rough behaviour. The braves, standing ready with their peltries, are in a high state of excitement to begin the trade. Within the fort all the preparations have been completed, communication cut off between the Indian room and the rest of the buildings, guns placed up in the loft overhead, and men all get ready for any thing that might turn up; then the outer gate is thrown open, and a large throng enters the Indian room. Three or four of the first-comers are now admitted through a narrow passage into the trading-shop, from the shelves of which most of the blankets, red cloth, and beads have been removed, for the red man brought into the presence of so much finery would unfortunately behave very much after the manner of a hungry boy put in immediate juxtaposition to bath-buns, cream-cakes, and jam-fritters, to the complete collapse of profit upon the trade to the Hudson Bay Company. The first Indians admitted hand in their peltries through a wooden grating, and receive in exchange so many blankets, beads, or strouds. Out they go to the large hall where their comrades are anxiously awaiting their turn, and in rush another batch, and the doors are locked again. The reappearance of the fortunate braves with the much-coveted articles of finery adds immensely to the excitement. What did they see inside? "Oh, not much, only a few dozen blankets and a few guns, and a little tea and sugar;" this is terrible news for the outsiders, and the crush to get\in increases tenfold, under the belief that the good things will all be gone. So the trade progresses, until at last all the peltries and provisions have changed hands, and there is nothing more to be traded; but some times things do not run quite so smoothly. Sometimes, when the stock of pemmican or robes is small, the braves object to see their "pile" go for a little parcel of tea or sugar. The steelyard and weighing-balance are their especial objects of dislike. "What for you put on one side tea or sugar, and on the other a little bit of iron?" they say; "we don't know what that medicine is-but, look here, put on one side of that thing that swings a bag of pemmican, and put on the other side blankets and tea and sugar, and then, when the two sides stop swinging, you take the bag of pemmican and we will take the blankets and the tea: that would be fair, for one side will be as big as the other." This is a very bright idea on the part of the Four Bears, and elicits universal satisfaction all round. Four Bears and his brethren are, however, a little bit put out of conceit when the trader observes, "Well, let be as you say. We will make the balance swing level between the bag of pemmican and the blankets, but we will carry out the idea still further. You will put your marten skins and your otter and fisher skins on one side, I will put against them on the other my blankets, and my gun and ball and powder; then, when both sides are level, you will take the ball and powder and the blankets, and I will take the marten and the rest of the fine furs." This proposition throws a new light upon the question of weighing-machines and steelyards, and, after some little deliberation, it is resolved to abide by the old plan of letting the white trader decide the weight himself in his own way, for it is clear that the steelyard is a great medicine which no brave can understand, and which can only be manipulated by a white medicine-man. This white medicine-man was in olden times a terrible demon in the eyes' of the Indian. His power reached far into the plains; he possessed three medicines of the very highest order: his heart could sing, demons sprung from the light of his candle, and he had a little box stronger than the strongest Indian. When a large band of the Blackfeet would assemble at Edmonton, years ago, the Chief Factor would-win-dup his musical box, get his magic lantern ready, and take out his galvanic battery. Imparting with the last-named article a terrific shock to the frame of the Indian chief, he would warn him that far out in the plains he could at will inflict the same medicine upon him if he ever behaved badly. "Look," he would say, "now my heart beats for you," then the spring of the little musical box concealed under his coat would be touched, and lo! the heart of the white trader would sing with the strength of his love for the Blackfeet. "To-morrow I start to cross the mountains against the Nez Perces," a chief would say, "what says my white brother, don't he dream that my arm will be strong in battle, and that the scalps and horses of the Nez Perces will be ours?" "I have dreamt that you are to draw one of these two little sticks which I hold in my hand. If you draw the right one, your arm will be strong, your eye keen, the horses of the Nez Perces will be yours; but, listen, the fleetest horse must come to me; you will have to give me the best steed in the band of the Nez Perces. Woe betide you if you should draw the wrong stick!" Trembling with fear, the Blackfoot would approach and draw the bit of wood. "My brother, you are a great chief, you have drawn the right stick--your fortune is assured, go." Three weeks later a magnificent horse, the pride of some Nez Perce chief on the lower Columbia, would be led into the fort on the Saskatchewan, and when next the Blackfoot chief came to visit the white medicine-man a couple of freshly taken scalps would dangle from his spear shaft. In former times, when rum was used in the trade, the most frightful scenes were in the habit of occurring in the Indian room. The fire-water, although freely diluted with water soon reduced the assemblage to a state of wild hilarity, quickly followed by stupidity and sleep. The fire-water for the Crees was composed of three parts of water to one of spirit, that of the Blackfeet, seven of water to one of spirit, but so potent is the power which alcohol in any shape his well-diluted liquor, was wont to become helplessly intoxicated. The trade usually began with a present of-fire water all round--then the business went on apace. 'Horses, robes, tents, provisions, all would be proffered for one more drink at the beloved poison. Nothing could exceed the excitement inside the tent, except it was the excitement outside. There the anxious crowd could only learn by hearsay what was going on within. Now and then a brave, with an amount of self-abnegation worthy of a better cause, would issue from the tent with his cheeks distended and his mouth full of the fire-water, and going along the ranks of his friends he would squirt a little of the liquor into the open mouths of his less fortunate brethren. But things did not always go so smoothly. Knives were wont to flash, shots to be fired--even-now the walls of the Indian rooms at Fort Pitt and Edmonton show many traces of bullet marks and knife hacking done in the wild fury of the intoxicated savage. Some ten years ago this most baneful distribution was stopped by the Hudson Bay Company in the Saskatchewan district, but the free traders still continued to employ alcohol as a means of acquiring the furs belonging to the Indians. I was the bearer of an Order in Council from the Lieutenant-Governor prohibiting, under heavy penalties, the sale, distribution, or possession of alcohol, and this law, if hereafter enforced, will do much to remove at least one leading source of Indian demoralization. The universal passion for dress is strangely illustrated in the Western Indian. His ideal of perfection is the English costume of some forty years ago. The tall chimney-pot hat with round narrow brim, the coat with high collar going up over the neck, sleeves tight-fitting, waist narrow. All this is perfection, and the chief who can array himself in this ancient garb struts out of the fort the envy and admiration of all beholders. Sometimes the tall felt chimney-pot is graced by a large feather which has done duty in the turban of a dowager thirty years ago in England. The addition of a little gold tinsel to the coat collar is of considerable consequence, but the presence of a nether garment is not at all requisite to the completeness of the general get-up. For this most ridiculous-looking costume a Blackfeet chief will readily exchange his beautifully-dressed deerskin Indian shirt embroidered with porcupine quills and ornamented with the raven locks of his enemies--his head-dress of ermine skins, his flowing buffalo robe: a dress in which he looks every inch a savage king for one in which he looks every inch a foolish savage. But the new dress does not long survive--bit by bit it is found unsuited to the wild work which its: owner has to perform; and although it never loses the high estimate originally set upon it, it, nevertheless, is discarded by virtue of the many inconveniences arising out of running buffalo in'a tall beaver,-or fighting in a tail coat against Crees. During the days spent in the Mountain House I enjoyed the society of the most enterprising and best informed missionary in the Indian countries-M. la Combe. This gentleman, a native of Lower Canada, has devoted himself for more than twenty years to the Blackfeet and Crees of the far-West, sharing their sufferings, their hunts, their summer journeys, and their winter camps--sharing even, unwillingly, their war forays and night assaults. The devotion which he has evinced towards these poor wild warriors has not been thrown away upon them, and Pèere la Combe is the only man who can pass and repass from Blackfoot camp to Cree camp with perfect impunity when these long-lasting enemies are at war. On one occasion he was camped with a small party of Blackfeet south of the. Red Deer River. It was night, and the lodges were silent and dark, all save one, the lodge of the chief, who had invited the black-robe to his tent for the night and was conversing with him as they lay on the buffalo robes, while the fire in the centre of the lodge burned clear and bright. Every thing was quiet, and no thought of war-party or lurking enemy was entertained. Suddenly a small dog put his head into the lodge. A dog is such an ordinary and inevitable nuisance in the camp of the Indians, that the missionary never even noticed the partial intrusion. Not so the Indian; he hissed out, "It is a Cree dog. We are surprised! run!" then, catching his gun in one hand and dragging his wife by the other, he darted from his tent into the darkness. Not one second too soon, for instantly there crashed through the leather lodge some score of bullets, and the wild war-whoop of the Crees broke forth through the sharp and rapid detonation of many muskets. The Crees were upon them in force. Darkness, and the want of a dashing leader on the part of the Crees, Saved the Blackfeet from total destruction, for nothing could have helped them had their enemies charged home; but as soon as the priest had reached the open which he did when he saw how matters stood-he called loudly to the Blackfeet not to run, but to stand and return the fire of their attackers. This timely advice checked the onslaught of the Crees, who were in numbers nmore than sufficient to make an end of the Blackfeet party in a few minutes. Mean time, the Blackfeet Women delved busily in the earth with knife and finger, while the men fired at random into the darkness. The lighted, semi-transparent tent of the chief had given a mark for the guns of the Crees; but that was quickly overturned, riddled' with balls and although the Crees continued to fire without intermission, their shots generally went high. Sometimes the Crees would charge boldly up to within a few feet of their enemies, then fire and rush back again, yelling all the time, and taunting their enemies. The père spent the night in attending to the wounded Blackfeet. When day dawned the Crees drew off to count their losses; but it was afterwards ascertained that eighteen of their braves had been killed or wounded, and of the small party of Blackfeet twenty had fallen--but who cared? Both sides kept their scalps, and that was every thing. This battle served not a little to increase the reputation in which the missionary was held as a "great medicine-man." The Blackfeet ascribed to his "medicine" what was really due to his pluck; and the Crees, when they learnt that he had been with their enemies during the fight, at once found in that fact a satisfactory explanation for the want of courage they had displayed. But it is time to quit the Mountain House, for winter has run on into mid-December, and 1500 miles have yet to be travelled, but not travelled towards the South. The most trusty guide, Piscan Munro, was away on the plains; and as day after day passed by, making the snow a little deeper and the cold a little colder, it was evident that the passage of the 400 miles intervening between the Mountain House and the nearest American Fort had become almost an impossibility. CHAPTER EIGHTEEN. Eastward--A beautiful Light. On the 12th of December I said "Good-bye" to my friends at the Mountain House, and, crossing the now ice-bound torrent of the Saskatchewan, turned my steps, for the first time during many months towards the East. With the same two men, and eight horses, I passed quickly through the snow-covered country. One day later I looked my last look at the far-stretching range of the Rocky Mountains from the lonely ridges of the Medicine Hills. Henceforth there would be no mountains. That immense region through which I had traveled--from Quebec to these Three Medicine Hills--has not a single mountain ridge in its long 3000 miles; woods, streams, and mighty rivers, ocean-lakes, rocks, hills, and prairies, but no mountains, no rough cloud-seeking summit on which to rest the eye that loves the bold outlined of peak and precipice. "Ah! doctor, dear," Said an old Highland woman, dying in the Red River Settlement long years after she had left her Highland home--"Ah! doctor, dear, if I could but see a wee bit of hill I thinking I might get well again." Camped that night near a beaver lodge on the Pas-co-pe, the conversation turned upon the mountains we had just left. "Are they the greatest mountains in the world?" asked Paul Foyale. "No, there are others nearly as big again." "Is the Company there, too?" again inquired the faithful Paul. I was obliged to admit that the Company did not exist in the country of these very big mountains, and I rather fear that the admission somewhat detracted from the altitude of the Himalayas in the estimation of my hearers. About an hour before daybreak on the 16th of December a Very remarkable light was visible for some time in the zenith, A central orb, or heart of red and crimson light, became suddenly visible a little to the north of the zenith; around this most luminous centre was a great ring, or circle of bright light, and from this outer band there flashed innumerable rays far-into the surrounding darkness. As I looked at it, my thoughts traveled far away to the proud city by the Seine. Was she holding herself bravely against the German hordes? In olden times these weird lights of the sky were supposed only to flash forth when "kings or heroes" fell. Did the sky mirror the earth, even as the ocean mirrors the sky? While I looked at the gorgeous spectacle blazing above me, the great heart of France was red with the blood of her sons, and from the circles of the German league there flashed the glare of cannon round the doomed but defiant city. CHAPTER NINETEEN. I start from Edmonton with Dogs--Dog-travelling--The Cabri Sack--A Cold Day--Victoria--"Sent to Rome"--Reach Fort Pitt--The blind Cree--A Feast or a Famine--Death of Pe-na-koam the Blackfoot. I was now making my way back to Edmonton, with the intention of there exchanging my horses for dogs, and then endeavouring to make the return journey to Red River upon the ice of the River Saskatchewan. Dog travelling was a novelty. The cold had more than reached the limit at which the saddle is a safe mode of travel, and the horses suffered so much in pawing away the snow to get within reach of the grass lying underneath, that I longed to exchange them for the train of dogs, the painted cariole, and little baggage-sled. It took me four days to complete the arrangements necessary for my new journey; and, on the afternoon of the 20th December, I set out upon a long journey, with dogs, down the valley of the Saskatchewan. I little thought then of the distance before me; of the intense cold through which I was destined to travel during two entire months of most rigorous winter; how day by day the frost was to harden, the snow to deepen, all nature to sink more completely under the breath of the ice-king. And it was well that all this was hidden from me at the time, or perhaps I should have been tempted to remain during the winter at Edmonton, until the spring had set free once more the rushing waters of the Saskatchewan. Behold me then on the 20th of December starting from Edmonton with three trains of dogs--one to carry myself, the other two to drag provisions, baggage, and blankets and all the usual paraphernalia of winter travel. The cold which, with the exception of a few nights severe frost, had been so long-delayed now seemed determined to atone for lost time by becoming suddenly intense. On the night of the 21st December we reached, just at dusk, a magnificent clump of large pine-trees on the right bank of the river. During the afternoon the temperature had fallen below zero; a keen wind blew along-the frozen river, and the dogs and men were glad to clamber up the steep clayey bank into the thick shelter of the pine bluff', amidst whose dark-green recesses a huge fire was quickly alight. While here we sit in the ruddy blaze: of immense dry pine logs it will be well to say a few words on dogs and dog driving. Dogs in the territories of the North-west have but one function--to haul. Pointer, setter, lurcher, foxhound, greyhound, Indian mongrel, miserable cur or beautiful Esquimaux, all alike are destined to pull a sled of some kind or other during, the months of snow and ice: all are destined to howl under the driver's lash; to tug wildly at the moose-skin collar; to drag until they can drag no more, and then to die. At what age a dog is put to haul I could never satisfactorily ascertain, but I have seen dogs doing some kind of hauling long be fore the peculiar expression of the puppy had left their countenances. Speaking now with the experience of nearly fifty days of dog travelling, and the knowledge of some twenty different trains of dogs of all sizes, ages, and degrees, watching them closely on the track and in the camp during 1300 miles of travel, I may claim, I think, some right to assert that I possess no inconsiderable insight into the habits, customs, and thoughts (for a dog thinks far better than many of his masters) of the hauling dog. When I look back again upon the long list of "Whiskies," "Brandies," "Chocolats," "Corbeaus," "Tigres," "Tete Noirs," "Cerf Volants," "Pilots," "Capitaines," "Cariboos," "muskymotes," "Coffees," and "Nichinassis" who individually and collectively did their best to haul me and my baggage over that immense waste of snow and ice, what a host of sadly resigned faces rises up in the dusky light of the fire! faces seared by whip-mark and blow of stick, faces mutely conscious that that master for whom the dog gives up every thing in this life was treating him in a most brutal manner. I do not for an instant mean to assert that these dogs were not, many of them, great rascals and rank imposters; but Just as slavery produces certain vices in the slave which it would be unfair to hold him accountable for, so does this perversion of the dog from his true use to that of a beast of burthen produce in endless variety traits of cunning and deception in the hauling-dog. To be a thorough expert in dog-training a man must be able to imprecate freely and with considerable variety in at least three different languages. But whatever number of tongues the driver may speak, one is indispensable to perfection in the art, and that is French: curses seem useful adjuncts in any language, but curses delivered in French will get a train of dogs through or over any thing. There is a good story told which illustrates this peculiar feature in dog-training. It is said that a high dignitary of the Church was once making a winter tour through his missions in the North-west. The driver, out of deference for his freight's profession, abstained from the use of forcible language to his dogs, and the hauling was very indifferently performed. Soon the train came to the foot of a hill, and notwithstanding all the efforts of the driver with whip and stick the dogs were unable to draw the cariole to the summit. "Oh," said the Church dignitary, "this is not at all as good a train of dogs as the one you drove last year; why, they are unable to pull me up this hill!" "No, monseigneur," replied the owner of the dogs, "but I am driving them differently; if you will only permit me to drive them in the old way you will see how easily they will pull the cariole to the top of this hill; they do not understand my new method." "By all means," said the bishop; "drive them then in the usual manner." Instantly there rang out a long string of "sacré chien," "sacré diable," and still more unmentionable phrases. The effect-upon the dogs was magical; the cariole flew to the summit; the progress of the episcopal tour was undeniably expedited, and a-practical exposition was given of the poet's thought, "From seeming evil still aducing good." Dogs in the Hudson Bay territories haul in various ways. The Esquimaux in the far North run their dogs abreast. The natives of Labrador and along the shores of Hudson Bay harness their dogs by many separate lines in a kind of band or pack, while in the Saskatchewan, and Mackenzie River territories the dogs are put one after the other, in tandem fashion. The usual number allowed to a complete train is four, but three, and sometimes even two are used. The train of four dogs is harnessed to the 'cariole, or sled, by means of two long traces; between these traces the dogs stand one after the other, the head of one dog being about a foot behind the tail of the dog in front of him. They are attached to the traces by a round collar which slips on over the head and ears and then lies close on the swell of the neck; this collar buckles on each side to the traces, which are kept from touching the ground by a back-band of leather buttoned under the dog's ribs or stomach. This back band is generally covered with little brass bells; the collar is also hung with larger bells, and tufts of gay-coloured ribbons or fox-tails are put upon it. Great pride is taken in turning out a train of dogs in good style. Beads, bells, and embroidery are freely used to bedizen the poor brutes, and a most comical effect is produced by the appearance of so much finery upon the woefully frightened dog, who, when he is first put into his harness, usually looks the picture of fear. The fact is patent that in hauling the dog is put to a work from which his whole nature revolts, that is to say the ordinary dog; with the beautiful dog of the Esquimaux breed the case is very different. To haul is as natural to him as to point is natural to the pointer. He alone looks jolly over the work and takes to it kindly, and consequently he alone of all dogs is the best and most lasting hauler; longer than any other dog will his clean firm feet hold tough over the trying ice, and although other dogs will surpass him in the speed which they will maintain for a few days, he alone can travel his many hundreds of miles and finish fresh and hearty after all. It is a pleasure to sit behind such a train of dogs; it is a pain to watch the other poor brutes toiling at their traces. But, after all it is the same with dog-driving as with every other thing; there are dogs and there -are dogs, and the distance from one to the other is as, great as that between a Thames barge and a Cowes schooner. The hauling-dogs day is a long tissue of trial. While yet the night is in its small hours, and the aurora is beginning to think of hiding its trembling lustre in the earliest dawn, the hauling-dog has his slumber rudely broken by the summons of his driver. Poor beast! All night long he has lain curled up in the roundest of round balls hard by the camp; there, in the lea of tree-stumps or snow-drift, he has dreamt the dreams of peace and comfort. If the night has been one of storm, the fast-falling flakes have added to his sense of warmth by covering him completely beneath them. Perhaps, too, he will remain unseen by the driver when the fatal moment comes for harnessing-up. Not a bit of it. He lies ever so quiet under the snow, but the rounded hillock betrays his hiding place; and he is dragged forth to the gaudy gear of bells and moose-skin lying ready to receive him. Then comes the start. The pine or aspen bluff is left behind, and under the grey starlight we plod along through the snow. Day dawns, sun rises, morning wears into midday, and it is time to halt for dinner; then on again in Indian file, as before. If there is no track in the snow a man goes in front on snow-shoes, and the leading dog, or "foregoer," as he is called, trots close behind him. If there should be a track, however faint, the dog-will follow it himself; and when sight fails to show it, or storm has hidden it beneath drifts, his sense of smell will enable him to keep straight. Thus through the long waste we journey on, by frozen lakelet, by willow copse, through pine forest, or over treeless prairie, until the winter's day draws to its close and the darkening landscape bids us seek some resting-place for the night. Then the hauling-dog is taken out of the harness, and his day's work is at an end; his whip-marked face begins to look less rueful, he stretches and rolls in the dry powdery snow, and finally twists himself a bed and goes fast asleep. But the real moment of pleasure is still in store for him When our supper is over the chopping of the axe, on the block of pemmican, or the unloading of the frozen white-fish from the provision-sled, tells him that his is about to begin. He springs lightly up and watches eagerly these preparations for his supper. On the plains he receives a daily ration of 2 lbs. of pemmican. In the forest and lake country, where fish is the staple food, he gets two large white-fish raw. He prefers fish to meat, and will work better on it too. His supper is soon over; there is a short after-piece of growling and snapping at hungry comrade, and then he lies down out in the snow to dream that whips have been abolished and hauling is discarded for ever, sleeping peacefully until morning, unless indeed some band of wolves should prowl around and, scenting campfire, howl their long chorus to the midnight skies. And now, with this introductory digression on dogs, let us return to our camp in the thick pine-bluff on the river bank. The night fell very cold. Between supper and bed there is not much time when present cold and perspective early-rising are the chief features of the night and morning. I laid down my buffalo robe with more care than usual, and got into my sack of deer-skins with a notion that the night was going to be one of unusual severity. My sack of deer-skins--so far it has been scarcely mentioned in this journal, and yet it played no insignificant part in the nightly programme. Its origin and construction were simply these. Before leaving Red River I had received from a gentleman, well known in the Hudson Bay Company, some most useful suggestions as to winter travel. His residence of many years in the coldest parts of Labrador, and his long journey into the interior of that most wild and sterile land, had made him acquainted with all the vicissitudes of northern travel. Under his direction I had procured a number of the skins of the common cabri, or small deer, had them made into a large sack of some seven feet in length and three in diameter. The skin of this deer is very light, but possesses, for some reason with which I am unacquainted, a power of giving great warmth to the person it covers. The sack was made with the hair turned inside, and was covered on the outside with canvass. To make my bed, therefore, became a very simple operation: lay down a buffalo robe, unroll the sack, and the thing was done. To get into bed was simply to get into the sack, pull the hood over one's head, and go to sleep. Remember, there was no tent, no outer covering of any kind, nothing but the trees--sometimes not many of them--the clouds, or the stars. During the journey with horses I had generally found the bag too warm, and had for the most part slept on it, not in it; but now its time was about to begin, and this night in the pine-bluff was to record a signal triumph for the sack principle applied to shake-downs. About three o'clock in the morning the men got up, unable to sleep on account of the cold, and set the fire going. The noise soon awoke me, but I lay quiet inside the bag, knowing what was going on outside. Now, amongst its other advantages, the sack possessed one of no small value. It enabled me to tell at once on awaking what the cold was doing outside; if it was cold in the sack, or if the hood was fastened down by frozen breath to the opening, then it must be a howler outside; then it was time to get ready the greasiest breakfast and put on the thickest duffel-socks and mittens. On the morning of the 22nd all these symptoms were manifest; the bag was not warm, the hood was frozen fast against the opening, and one or two smooth-haired dogs were shivering close beside my feet and on top of the bag. Tearing under the frozen mouth of the sack, I got out into the open. Beyond a doubt it was cold; I don't mean cold in the ordinary manner, cold such as you can localize to your feet, or your fingers, or your nose, but cold all over, crushing cold. Putting on coat and moccassins as close to the fire as possible, I ran to the tree on which I had hung the thermometer on the previous evening; it stood at 37 below zero at 3:30 in the morning. I had slept well; the cabri sack was a very Ajax among roosts; it defied the elements. Having eaten a tolerably fat breakfast and swallowed a good many cups of hot tea, we packed the sleds, harnessed the dogs, and got away from the pine bluff two hours before daybreak. Oh, how biting cold it was! On in the grey snow light with a terrible wind sweeping up the long reaches of the river; nothing spoken, for such cold makes men silent, morose, and savage. After four hours travelling, we stopped to dine. It was only 9:30, but we had breakfasted six hours before. We were some time before we could make fire, but at length it was set going, and we piled the dry driftwood fast upon the flames. Then I set up my thermometer again; it registered 39 below zero, 71 degrees of frost. What it must have been at day break I cannot say; but it was sensibly colder than at ten o'clock, and I do not doubt must have been 45 below zero. I had never been exposed to any thing like this cold before. Set full in the sun at eleven o'clock, the thermometer rose only to 26 below zero, the sun seemed to have lost all power of warmth; it was very low in the heavens, the day being the shortest in the year; in fact, in the centre of the river the sun did not show above the steep south bank, while the wind had full sweep from the north-east. This portion of the Saskatchewan is the farthest north reached by the river in its entire course. It here runs for some distance a little north of the 51th parallel of north latitude, and its elevation above the sea is about 1801 feet. During the whole day we journeyed on, the wind still kept dead against us, and at times it was impossible to face its terrible keenness. The dogs began to tire out; the ice cut their feet, and the white surface was often speckled with the crimson icicles that fell from their wounded toes. Out of the twelve dogs composing my cavalcade, it would have been impossible to select four good ones. Coffee, Tête Noir, Michinass, and another whose name I forget, underwent repeated whalings at the hands of my driver, a half-breed from Edmonnton named Frazer. Early in the afternoon the head of Tête Noir was reduced to shapeless pulp from tremendous thrashings. Michinass, or the "Spotted One," had one eye wherewith to watch the dreaded driver, and coffee had devoted so much strength to wild lurches and sudden springs in order to dodge the descending whip, that he had none whatever to bestow upon his legitimate toil of hauling me. At length, so useless did he become, that he had to be taken out altogether from the harness and left to his fate on the river. "And this," I said to myself, "is dog-driving; this inhuman thrashing and varied cursing, this frantic howling of dogs, this bitter, terrible cold is the long-talked of mode of winter travel!" To say that I was disgusted and stunned by the prospect of such work for hundreds of Miles would be-only to speak a portion of what I felt. Was the cold always to be so crushing? were the dogs always to be the same wretched creatures? Fortunately, no; but it was only when I reached Victoria that night, long after dark, that I learned that the day had been very exceptionally severe, and that my dogs were unusually miserable ones. As at Edmonton so in the fort at Victoria the small-pox had again broken out; in spite of cold and frost the infection still lurked in many places, and in none more fatally than in this little settlement where, during the autumn, it had wrought so much havoc among the scanty community. In this distant settlement I spent the few days of Christmas; the weather had become suddenly milder, although the thermometer still stood below zero. Small-pox had not been the only evil from which Victoria had suffered during the year which was about to close; the Sircies had made many raids upon it during the summer, stealing-down the sheltering banks of a small creek which entered the Saskatchewan at the opposite side, and then swimming the broad river during the night and lying hidden at day in the high corn-fields of the mission. Incredible though it may appear, they continued this practice at a time when they were being; swept away by the small-pox; their bodies were found in one instance dead upon the bank of the river they had crossed by swimming when the fever of the disease had been at its height. Those who live their lives quietly at home, who sleep in beds, and lay up when sickness comes upon them, know but little of what the human frame is capable of enduring if put to the test. With us, to be ill is to lie down; not so with the Indian; he is never ill with the casual illnesses of our civilization: when he lies down it is to sleep for a few hours, or-for ever. Thus these Sircies had literally kept the war-trail till they died. When the corn-fields were being cut around the mission, the reapers found unmistakable traces of how these wild men had kept the field undaunted by disease. Long black hair was found where it had fallen from the head of some brave in the lairs from which he had watched the horses of his enemies; the ruling passion had been strong in death. In the end, the much-coveted horses were carried off by the few survivors, and the mission had to bewail the loss of some of its best steeds. One, a mare belonging to the missionary himself, had returned to her home after an absence of a few days, but she carried in her flank a couple of Sircie arrows. She had broken away from the band, and the braves had sent their arrows after her in an attempt to kill what they could not keep. To add to the-misfortunes of the settlement, the buffalo were far out in the great plains; so between disease, war, and famine, Victoria had had a hard time of it. In the farmyard of the mission-house there lay-a curious block of metal of immense weight'; it was ringed,-deeply indented, and polished on the outer edges of the indentations by the wear and friction of many years. Its history was a curious one. Longer than any man could say, it had lain on the summit of a hill far out in the southern prairies. It had been a medicine-stone of surpassing virtue among the Indians over a vast territory. No tribe or portion of a tribe would pass in the vicinity without paying a visit to this great-medicine: it was said to be increasing yearly in weight. Old men remembered having heard old men say that they had once lifted it easily from the ground. Now no single man could carry it. And it was no wonder that this metallic stone should be a Manito-stone and an object of intense veneration to the Indian; it had come down from heaven; it did not belong to the earth, but had descended out of the sky; it was, in fact an aerolite. Not very long before my, visit this curious stone had been removed from the hill upon which it had so long rested and brought to the Mission of Victoria by some person from that place: When the Indians found that it had been taken away, they were loud in the expression of their regret. The old medicine men declared that its removal would lead to great misfortunes and that war, disease, and dearth of buffalo would afflict the tribes of the Saskatchewan. This was not a prophecy made after the occurrence of the plague of small-pox, for in a magazine published by the Wesleyan Society in Canada there appears a letter from the missionary, setting forth the predictions of the medicine-men a year prior to my visit. The letter concludes with an expression of thanks that their evil prognostications had not been attended with success. But a few months later brought all the three evils upon the Indians; and never, probably, since the first trader had reached the country had so many afflictions of war, famine, and plague fallen upon the _Crees and the Blackfeet as during the year which succeeded the useless removal of their Manito-stone from the lone hill-top upon which the skies had cast it. I spent the evening of Christmas Day in the house of the missionary. Two of his daughters sang very sweetly to the music of a small melodian. Both song and strain were sad--sadder, perhaps, than the words or music could make them; for the recollection of the two absent ones, whose newly-made graves, covered with their first snow, lay close outside, mingled with the hymn and deepened the melancholy of the music. On the day after Christmas Day I left Victoria, with three trains of dogs, bound for Fort Pitt. This time the drivers were all English half-breeds, and that tongue was chiefly used to accelerate the dogs. The temperature had risen considerably, and the snow was soft and clammy, making the "hauling" heavy upon the dogs. For my own use I had a very excellent train, but the other two were of the useless class.` As before, the beatings were incessant, and I witnessed the first example of a very common occurrence in dog-driving--I beheld the operation known as "sending a dog to Rome." This consists simply of striking him over the head with a large stick until he falls perfectly senseless to the ground; after a little he revives, and, with memory of the awful blows that took his consciousness away full upon him, he pulls franticly at his load. Oftentimes a dog is "sent to Rome" because he will not allow the driver to arrange some hitch in the harness; then, while he is insensible, the necessary alteration is carried out, and when the dog recovers he receives a terrible lash of the whip to set him going again. The half-breeds are a race easily offended, prone to sulk if reproved; but at the risk of causing delay and inconvenience I had to interfere' with a peremptory order that "sending to Rome" should be at once discontinued in my trains. The wretched "Whisky," after his voyage to the Eternal City, appeared quite overcome with what he had there seen, and continued to stagger along the trail, making feeble efforts to keep straight. This tendency to wobble caused the half-breeds to indulge in funny remarks, one of them calling the track a "drunken trail." Eventually, "Whisky" was abandoned to his fate. I had never been a believer in the pluck and courage of the men who are the descendants of mixed European and Indian parents. Admirable as guides, unequalled as voyageurs, trappers, and hunters, they nevertheless are wanting in those qualities which give courage or true manhood. "Tell me your friends and I will tell you what you are ": is a sound proverb, and in no sense more true than when the bounds of man's friendships are stretched Wide. enough to admit those dumb companions, the horse and the dog. I never knew a man yet, or for that matter a woman, worth much who did not like dogs and horses, and I would always feel inclined to suspect a man who was shunned by a dog. The cruelty so systematically practised upon dogs by their half-breed drivers is utterly unwarrantable. In winter the poor brutes become more than ever the benefactors of man, uniting in themselves all the services of horse and dog--by day they work, by night they watch, and the man must be a very cur in nature who would inflict, at such a time, needless cruelty upon the animal that renders him so much assistance. On this day, the 29th December, we made a night march in the hope of reaching Fort Pitt. For four hours we walked on through the dark until the trail led us suddenly into the midst of an immense band of animals, which commenced to dash around us in a high state of alarm. At first we fancied in the indistinct moonlight that they were buffalo, but another instant sufficed to prove them horses. We had, in fact, struck into the middle of the Fort Pitt band of horses, numbering some ninety or a hundred head. We were, however, still a long way from the fort, and as the trail was utterly lost in the confused medley of tracks all round us, we were compelled to halt for the night near midnight. In a small clump of willows we made a hasty camp and lay down to sleep. Daylight next morning showed that conspicuous landmark called the Frenchman's Knoll rising north-east; and lying in the snow close beside us was poor "Whisky." He had followed on during the night from the place where he had been abandoned on the previous day, and had come up again with his persecutors while they lay asleep; for, after all, there was one fate worse than being "sent to Rome," and that was being left to starve. After a few hours run we reached Fort Pitt, having travelled about 150 miles in three days and a half. Fort Pitt was destitute of fresh dogs or drivers, and consequently a delay of some days became necessary before my onward journey could be resumed. In the absence of dogs and drivers Fort Pitt, however, offered small-pox to its visitors. A case had broken out a few days previous to my arrival impossible to trace in any way, but probably the result of some infection conveyed into the fort during the terrible visitation of the autumn. I have already spoken of the power which the Indian possesses of continuing the ordinary avocations of his life in the presence of disease. This power he also possesses under that most terrible affliction-the loss of sight. Blindness is by no means an uncommon occurrence among the tribes of the Saskatchewan. The blinding glare of the snow-covered plains, the sand in summer, and, above all, the dense smoke of the tents, where the fire of wood, lighted in the centre, fills the whole lodge with a smoke which is peculiarly trying to the sight-all these causes render ophthalmic affections among the Indians a common misfortune. Here is the story of a blind Cree who arrived at Fort Pitt one day weak with starvation: From a distant camp he had started five days before, in company with his wife. They had some skins to trade, so they loaded their dog and set out on the march--the woman led the way, the blind man followed next, and the dog brought up the rear. Soon they approached a plain upon which buffalo were feeding. The dog, seeing the buffalo, left the trail, and, carrying the furs with him, gave chase. Away out of sight he went, until there was nothing for it but to set out in pursuit of him. Telling her husband to wait in this spot until she returned, the woman now started after the dog. Time passed,--it was growing late, and the wind swept coldly over the snow. The blind man began to grow uneasy; "She has lost her way," he said to himself; "I will go on, and we may meet." He walked on--he called aloud, but there was no answer; go back he could not; he knew by the coldness of the air that night had fallen on the plain, but day and night were alike to him. He was alone--he was lost. Suddenly he felt against his feet the rustle of long sedgy grass--he stooped down and found that he had reached the margin of a frozen lake. He was tired, and it was time to rest; so with his knife he cut a quantity of long dry grass, and, making a bed for himself on the margin of the lake, lay down and slept. Let us go back to the woman. The dog had led her a long chase, and it was very late when she got back to the spot where she had left her husband-he was gone, but his tracks in the snow were visible, and she hurried after him. Suddenly the wind arose, the light powdery snow began to drift in clouds over the surface of the plain, the track was speedily obliterated and night was coming on. Still she followed the general direction of the footprints, and at last came to the border of the same lake by which her husband was lying asleep, but it was at some distance from the spot. She too was tired, and, making a fire in a thicket, she lay down to sleep. About the middle of the night the man awoke and set out again on his solitary way. It snowed all night: the morning came, the day passed, the night closed again--again the morning dawned, and still he wandered on. For three days he travelled thus over an immense plain, without food, and having only the snow wherewith to quench his thirst. On the third day he walked into a thicket; he felt around, and found that the timber was dry; with his axe he cut down some wood, then struck a light and made a fire. When the fire was alight he laid his gun down beside it, and went to gather more wood; but fate was heavy against him, he was unable to find the fire which he had lighted, and by which he had left his gun. He made another fire, and again the same result. A third time he set to work; and now, to make certain of his getting back, again, he tied a line to a tree close beside his fire, and then set on to gather wood. Again the fates smote him-his line broke, and he had to grope his way in weary search. But chance, tired of ill-treating him so long, now stood his friend--he found the first fire, and with it his gun and blanket. Again he travelled on, but now his strength began to fail, and for the first time his heart sank within him--blind, starving, and utterly lost, there seemed no hope on earth for him. "Then," he said, "I thought of the Great Spirit of whom the white men speak, and I called aloud to him, 'O Great Spirit! have pity on me, and show me the path! and as I said it I heard close by the calling of a crow, and I knew that the road was not far off. I followed the call; soon I felt the crusted snow of a path under my feet, and the next day reached the fort." He had been five days without food. No man can starve better than the Indian--no man can feast better either. For long days and nights, he will go without sustenance of any kind; but see him when the buffalo are near, when the cows are fat; see him then if you want to know what quantity of food it is possible for a man to consume at a sitting. Here is one bill of fare:--Seven men in thirteen days consumed two buffalo bulls, seven cabri, 40 lbs. of pemmican, and a great many ducks and geese, and on the last day there was nothing to eat. I am perfectly aware that this enormous quantity could not have weighed less than 1600 lbs. at the very lowest estimate, which would give a daily ration to each man of 18 lbs.; but, incredible as this may appear, it is by no means impossible. During the entire time I remained at Fort Pitt the daily ration issued to each man was 10 lbs. of beef. Beef is so much richer and coarser food than buffalo meat, that 10 lbs. of the former would be equivalent-to 15lbs. or 16 lbs. of the latter, and yet every scrap of that 10 lbs. was eaten by the man who received it. The women got 5 lbs., and the children, no matter how small, 3 lbs. each. Fancy a child in arms getting 3 lbs. of beef for its daily sustenance! The old Orkney men of the Hudson Bay Company servants must have seen in such a ration the realization of the poet's lines, "O Caledonia, stern and wild! Meet nurse for a poetic child," etc. All these people at Fort Pitt were idle, and therefore were not capable of eating as much as if they had been on the plains. The wild hills that surround Fort Pitt are frequently the scenes of Indian ambush and attack, and on more than one occasion the fort itself has been captured by the Blackfeet. The region in which Fort Pitt stands is a favourite camping-ground of the Crees, and the Blackfeet cannot be persuaded that the people of the fort are not the active friends and allies of their enemies in fact, Fort Pitt and Carlton are looked upon by them as places belonging to another company altogether from the one which rules at the Mountain House and at Edmonton. "If it was the same company," they-say, "how could they give our enemies, the Crees, guns and powder; for do they not give us guns and powder too?" This mode of argument, which refuses to recognize that species of neutrality so dear to the English heart, is eminently calculated to lay Fort Pitt open to Blackfeet raid. It is only a few years since the place was plundered by a large band, but the general forbearance displayed by the Indians on that occasion is nevertheless remarkable. Here is the story: One morning the people in the fort beheld a small party of Blackfeet on a high hill at the opposite side of the Saskatchewan. The usual flag carried by the chief was waved to denote a wish to trade, and accordingly the officer in charge pushed off in his boat to meet and hold converse with the party. When he reached the other side he found the chief and a few men drawn up to receive him. "Are there Crees around the fort?" asked the chief. "No," replied the trader; "there are none with us." "You speak with a forked tongue," answered the Blackfoot--dividing his fingers as he spoke to indicate that the-other was speaking falsely. Just at that moment something caught the traders eye in the bushes along the river bank; he looked again and saw, close alongside, the willows swarming with naked Blackfeet. He made one spring back into his boat, and called to his men to shove off; but it was too late. In an instant two hundred braves rose out of the grass and willows and rushed into the water; they caught the boat and brought her back to the shore; then, filling her as full as she would hold with men, they pushed off for the other side. To put as good a face upon matters as possible, the trader commenced a trade, and at first the batch that had crossed, about forty in number, kept quiet enough, but some-of their number took the boat back again to the south shore and brought over the entire band; then the wild work commenced, bolts and bars were broken open, the trading-shop was quickly cleared out, and in the highest spirits, laughing loudly at the glorious fun they were having, the braves commenced to enter the houses, ripping up the feather beds to look for guns and tearing down calico curtains for finery. The men of the fort were nearly all away in the plains, and the women and children were in a high state of alarm. Sometimes the Indians would point their guns at the women, then drag them off the beds on which they were sitting and rip open bedding and mattress, looking for concealed weapons; but no further violence was attempted, and the whole thing was accompanied by such peals of laughter that it was evident the braves had not enjoyed such a "high old time" for a very long period. At last the chief, thinking, perhaps, that things had gone quite far enough, called out, in a loud voice, "Crees! Crees!" and, dashing out of the fort, was quickly followed by the whole band. Still in high good humour, the braves recrossed the river, and, turning round on the farther shore, fired a volley to Wards the fort; but as the distance was at least 500 yards, this parting salute was simply as a bravado. This band was evidently bent on mischief. As they retreated south to their own country they met the carts belonging to the fort on their way from the plains; the men in charge ran off with the fleetest horses, but the carts were all captured and ransacked, and an old Scotchman, a servant of the Company, who stood his ground, was reduced to a state bordering upon nudity by the frequent demands of his captors. The Blackfeet chiefs exercise great authority over their braves; some of them are men of considerable natural abilities, and all-must be brave and celebrated in battle. To disobey the mandate of a chief is at times to court instant death at his hands. At the present time the two most formidable chiefs of the Blackfeet nations are Sapoo-max-sikes, or "The Great Crow's Claw;" and Oma-ka-pee-mulkee-yeu, or "The Great Swan." These men are widely different in their characters; the Crow's Claw being a man whose word once given can be relied on to the death, but the other is represented as a man of colossal size and savage disposition, crafty and treacherous. During the year just past death had struck heavily among the Blackfeet chiefs. The death of one of their greatest men, Pe-na-koam, or "The Far-off Dawn," was worthy of a great brave. When he felt that his last night had come, he ordered his best horse to be brought to the door of the tent, and mounting him he rode slowly around the camp; at each corner he halted and called out, in a loud voice to his people, "The last hour of Pe-na-koam has come; but to his people he says, Be brave; separate into small parties, so that this disease will have less power to kill you; be strong to fight our enemies the Crees, and be able to destroy them. It is no matter now that this disease has come upon us, for our enemies have got it too, and they will also die of it. Pe-na-koam tells his people before he dies to live so that they may fight their enemies, and be strong." It is said that, having spoken thus, he died quietly. Upon the top of a lonely hill they laid the body of their chief beneath a tent hung round with scarlet cloth; beside him they put six revolvers and two American repeating rifles, an at the door of his tent twelve horses were slain, so that their spirits would carry him in the green prairies of the happy hunting-grounds; four hundred blankets were piled around as offerings to his memory, and then the tribe moved away from the spot, leaving the tomb of their dead king to the winds and to the wolves. CHAPTER TWENTY. The Buffalo--His Limits and favourite Grounds--Modes of Hunting--A Fight --His inevitable End--I become a Medicine-man--Great Cold-Carlton--Family Responsibilities. WHEN the early Spanish adventurers penetrated from the sea-board of America into the great central prairie region, they beheld for the first time a strange animal whose countless numbers covered the face of the country. When De Soto had been buried in the dark waters of the Mississippi, the remnant of his band, pursuing their western way, entered the "Country of the Wild Cows." When in the same year explorers pushed their way northward from Mexico into the region of the Rio-del-Norte, they looked over immense plains black with moving beasts. Nearly 100 years later settlers on the coasts of New England heard from westward-hailing Indians of huge beasts on the shores of a great lake not many days journey to the north-west. Naturalists in Europe, hearing of the new animal, named it the bison; but the colonists united in calling it the buffalo, and, as is usual in such cases, although science clearly demonstrated that it was a bison, and was not a buffalo, scientific knowledge had not a chance against practical ignorance, and "buffalo" carried the day. The true home of this animal lay in the great prairie region between the Rocky Mountains, the Mississippi, the Texan forest, and the Saskatchewan River and although undoubted evidence exists to show that at some period the buffalo reached in his vast migrations the shores of the Pacific and the Atlantic; yet since the party of De Soto only entered the Country of the Wild Cows after they had crossed the Mississippi, it may fairly be inferred that the Ohio River and the lower Mississippi formed the eastern boundaries to the wanderings of the herds since the New World has been known to the white man. Still even within this immense region, a region not less than 1,000,000 of square miles in area, the havoc worked by the European has been terrible. Faster even than the decay of the Indian has gone on the destruction-of the bison and only a few years must elapse before this noble beast, hunted down in the last recesses of his breeding-grounds, will have taken his place in the long list of those extinct giants which once dwelt in our world. Many favourite spots had this huge animal throughout the great domain over which he roamed-many beautiful scenes where, along river meadows, the grass in winter was still succulent and the wooded "bays" gave food and shelter, but-no more favourite ground than this valley of the Saskatchewan; thither he wended his way from the bleak plains of the Missouri in herds that passed and passed for days and nights in seemingly never-ending numbers. Along the countless creeks and rivers that add their tribute to the great stream, along the banks of the Battle River and the Vermilion River, along the many White Earth Rivers and Sturgeon Creeks of the upper and middle Saskatchewan, down through the willow copses and aspen thickets of the Touchwood Hills and the Assineboine, the great beasts dwelt in all the happiness of calf-rearing and connubial felicity. The Indians who then occupied these regions killed only what was required for the supply of the camps-a mere speck in the dense herds that roamed up to the very doors of the wigwams; but when the trader pushed his adventurous way into the fur regions of the North, the herds of the Saskatchewan plains began to experience a change in their surroundings. The meat, pounded down` and mixed with fat into "pemmican," was found to supply a most excellent food for transport service, and accordingly vast numbers of buffalo were destroyed to supply the demand of the fur traders. In the border-land between the wooded country and the plains, the Crees, not satisfied with the ordinary methods of destroying the buffalo, devised a plan by which great multitudes could be easily annihilated. This method of hunting, consists in the erection of strong wooden enclosures called pounds, into which the buffalo are guided by the supposed magic power of a medicine-man. Sometimes for two days the medicine-man will live with the herd, which he half guides and half drives into the enclosures; sometimes he is on the right, sometimes on the left, and sometimes, again, in rear of the herd, but never to windward of them. At last they approach the pound, which is usually concealed in a thicket of wood. For many miles from the entrance to this pound two gradually diverging lines of tree-stumps and heaps of snow lead out into the plains. Within these lines the buffalo are led by the medicine-man, and as the lines narrow towards the entrance, the herd, finding itself hemmed in on both sides, becomes more and more alarmed, until at length the great beasts plunge on into the pound itself, across the mouth of which ropes are quickly thrown and barriers raised. Then commences the slaughter. From the wooded fence around arrows and bullets are poured into the dense plunging mass of buffalo careering wildly round the ring. Always going in one direction, with the sun, the poor beasts race on until not a living thing is left; then, when there is nothing more to kill, the cutting-up commences, and pemmican-making goes on. Widely different from this indiscriminate slaughter is the fair hunt on horseback in the great open plains. The approach, the cautious survey over some hill-top, the wild charge on the herd, the headlong flight, the turn to bay, the flight and fall--all this contains a large share of that excitement which we call by the much abused term sport. It is possible, however, that many of those who delight in killing placid pheasants and stoical partridges might enjoy the huge battue of an Indian "pound" in preference to the wild charge over the sky bound prairie, but, for my part, not being of the privileged few who breed pheasants at the expense of peasants (what a difference the "h" makes in Malthusian theories!), I have been compelled to seek my sport in hot climates instead of in hot corners, and in the sandy bluffs of Nebraska and the Missouri have drawn many an hour of keen enjoyment from the long chase of the buffalo. One evening, shortly before sunset, I was steering my way through the sandy hills of the Platte Valley, in the State of Nebraska, slowly towards Fort Kearney; both horse and rider were tired after a long day over sand-bluff and meadow-land, for buffalo were plenty, and five tongues dangling to the saddle told that horse, man, and rifle had not been idle. Crossing a grassy ridge, I suddenly came in sight of three buffalo just emerging from the broken bluff. Tired as was my horse, the sight of one of these three animals urged me to one last chase. He was a very large bull, whose black shaggy mane and dewlaps nearly brushed the short prairie grass beneath him. I dismounted behind the hill, tightened the saddle-girths, looked to rifle and cartridge touch, and then remounting rode slowly over the intervening ridge. As I came in view of the three beasts thus majestically stalking their way towards the Platte for the luxury of an evening drink, the three shaggy heads were thrown up--one steady look given, then round went the animals and away for the bluffs again. With a whoop and a cheer I gave chase, and the mustang, answering gamely to my call, launched himself well over the prairie. Singling out the large bull, I urged the horse with spur and voice, then, rising in the stirrups I took a snap-shot at my quarry. The bullet struck him in the flanks, and quick as lightning he wheeled down upon me. It was now my turn to run. I had urged the horse with voice and spur to close with the buffalo, but still more vigorously did I endeavour, under the altered position of affairs, to make him increase the distance lying between us. Down the sandy incline thundered the huge beast, gaining on us at every stride. Looking back over my shoulder, I saw him close to my horse's tail, with head lowered and eyes flashing furiously-under their shaggy covering. The horse was tired; the buffalo was fresh, and it seemed as though another instant must bring pursuer and pursued into wild collision. Throwing back my rifle over the crupper; I laid it at arm's length, with muzzle full upon the buffalo's head. The shot struck the centre of his forehead, but he only shook his head when he received it; still it seemed to check his pace a little, and as we had now reached level ground the horse began to gain something upon his pursuer. Quite as suddenly as he had charged the bull now changed his tactics. Wheeling off he followed his companions, who by this time had vanished into the bluffs. It never would have done to lose him after such a fight, so Ii brought the mustang round again, and gave chase. This time a shot fired low behind the shoulder brought my fierce friend to bay. Proudly he turned upon me, but now his rage was calm and stately, he pawed the ground, and blew with short angry snorts the sand in clouds from the plain; moving thus slowly towards me, he looked the incarnation of strength and angry pride. But his doom was sealed. I remember so vividly all the wild surroundings of the scene--the great silent waste, the two buffalo watching from a hill-top the fight of their leader, the noble beast himself stricken but defiant, and beyond, the thousand glories of the prairie sunset. It was only to last an instant, for the giant bull, still with low-bent head and angry snorts, advancing slowly towards his puny enemy, sank quietly to the plain and stretched his limbs in death. Late that night I reached the American fort with six tongues hanging to my saddle, but never since that hour, though often but a two days ride from buffalo, have I sought to take the life of one of these noble animals. Too soon will the last of them have vanished from the great central prairie land; never again will those countless herds roam from the Platte to the Missouri, from the Missouri to the Saskatchewan; chased for his robe, for his beef, for sport, for the very pastime of his death, he is rapidly vanishing from the land. Far in the northern forests of the Athabasca a few buffaloes may for a time bid defiance to man, but they, too, must disappear and nothing be left of this giant beast save the bones that for many an age will whiten the prairies over which the great herds roamed at will in times before the white man came. It was the 5th of January before the return of the dogs from an Indian trade enabled me to get away from Fort Pitt. During the days I had remained in the fort the snow covering had deepened on the plains and winter had got a still firmer grasp upon the river and meadow. In two days travel we ran the length of the river between Fort Pitt and Battle River, travelling rapidly over the ice down the centre of the stream. The dogs were good ones, the drivers well versed in their work, and although the thermometer stood at 20 degrees below zero on the evening of the 6th, the whole run tended in no small degree to improve the general opinion which I had previously formed upon the delights of dog-travel. Arrived at Battle River, I found that the Crees had disappeared since my former visit; the place was now tenanted only by a few Indians and half-breeds. It seemed to be my fate to encounter cases of sickness at every post on my return journey. Here a woman was lying in a state of complete unconsciousness with intervals of convulsion and spitting of blood. It was in vain that I represented my total inability to deal with such a case. The friends of the lady all declared that it was necessary that I should see her, and accordingly I was introduced into the miserable hut in which she lay. She was stretched upon a low bed in one corner of a room about seven feet square; the roof approached so near the ground that I was unable to stand straight in any part of the place; the rough floor was crowded with women squatted thickly upon it, and a huge fire blazed in a corner, making the heat something terrible. Having gone through the ordinary medical programme of pulse feeling, I put some general questions to the surrounding bevy of women which, being duly interpreted into Cree, elicited the fact that the sick woman had been engaged in carrying a very heavy load of wood on her back for the use of her lord and master, and that while she had been thus employed she was seized with convulsions and became senseless. "What is it?" said the Hudson Bay man, looking at me in a manner which seemed to indicate complete confidence in my professional sagacity. "Do you think it's small-pox?" Some acquaintance with this disease enabled me to state my deliberate conviction that it was not small-pox, but as to what particular form of the many "ills that flesh is heir to" it really was, I could not for the life of me determine. I had not even that clue which the Yankee practitioner is said to have established for his guidance in the case of his infant patient, whose puzzling ailment he endeavoured to diagnosticate by administering what he termed "a convulsion powder," being a whale at the treatment of convulsions. In the case now before me convulsions were unfortunately of frequent occurrence, and I could not lay claim to the high powers of pathology which the Yankee had asserted himself to be the possessor of. Under all the circumstances I judged it expedient to forego any direct opinion upon the case, and to administer a compound quite as innocuous in its nature as the "soothing syrup" of infantile notoriety. It was, how ever, a gratifying fact to learn next morning that--whether owing to the syrup or not, I am not prepared to state the patient had shown decided symptoms of rallying, and took my departure from Battle River with the reputation of being a "medicine-man" of the very first order. I now began to experience the full toil and labour of a winter journey. Our course lay across a bare, open region on which for distances of thirty to forty miles not one tree or bush was visible; the cold was very great, and the snow, lying loosely as it had fallen, was so soft that the dogs sank through the drifts as they pulled slowly at their loads. On the evening of the 10th January we reached a little clump of poplars on the edge of a large plain on which no tree was visible. It was piercingly cold, a bitter wind swept across the snow, making us glad to find even this poor shelter against the coming night. Two hours after dark the thermometer stood at minus 38 degrees, or 70 degrees of frost. The wood was small and poor; the wind howled through the scanty thicket, driving the smoke into our eyes as we cowered over the fire. Oh, what misery it was! and how blank seemed the prospect before me! 900 miles still to travel, and to-day I had only made about twenty miles, toiling from dawn to dark through blinding drift and intense cold. On again next morning over the trackless plain, thermometer at minus 20 in morning, and minus 12 at midday, with high wind, snow, and heavy drift. One of my men, a half-breed in name, an Indian in reality, became utterly done up from cold and exposure-the others would have left him behind to make his own way through the snow, or most likely to lie down and die, but I stopped the doggs until he came up, and then let him lie on one of the sleds for the remainder of the day. He was a miserable-looking wretch, but he ate enormous quantities of pemmican at every meal. After four days of very arduous travel we reached Carlton at sunset on the 12th January. The thermometer had kept varying between 20 and 38 degrees below zero every night, but on the night of the 12th surpassed any thing I had yet experienced. I spent that night in a room at Carlton, a room in which a fire had been burning until midnight, nevertheless at daybreak on the 13th the thermometer showed -20 degrees on the table close to my bed. At half-past ten o'clock, when placed outside, facing north, it fell to -44 degrees, and I afterwards ascertained that an instrument kept at the mission of Prince Albert, 60 miles east from Carlton, showed the enormous amount of 51 degrees below zero at daybreak that morning, 83 degrees of frost. This was the coldest night during the winter, but it was clear, calm, and fine. I now determined to leave the usual winter route from Carlton to Red River, and to strike out a new line of travel, which, though very much longer than the trail via Fort Pelly, had several advantages to recommend it to my choice. In the first place, it promised a new line of country down the great valley of the Saskatchewan River to its expansion into the sheet of water called Cedar Lake, and from thence across the dividing ridge into the Lake Winnipegosis, down the length of that water and its southern neighbour, the Lake Manitoba, until the boundary of the new province would be again reached, fully 700 miles from Carlton. It was a long, cold travel, but it promised the novelty of tracing to its delta in the vast marshes of Cumberland and the Pasquia, the great river whose foaming torrent I had forded at the Rocky Mountains, and whose middle course I had followed for more than a month of wintry travel. Great as Were the hardships and privations of this Winter journey, it had nevertheless many moments of keen pleasure, moments filled with those instincts of that long-ago time before our civilization and its servitude had commenced--that time when, like the Arab and the Indian, we were all rovers over the earth; as a dog on a drawing-room carpet twists himself round and round before he lies down to sleep--the instinct bred in him in that time when bhis ancestors thus trampled smooth their beds in the long grasses of the primeval prairies--so man, in the midst of his civilization, instinctively goes back to some half-hidden reminiscence of the forest and the wilderness in which his savage forefathers dwelt. My lord seeks his highland moor, Norvegian salmon river, or more homely coverside; the retired grocer, in his snug retreat at Tooting, builds himself an arbour of rocks and mosses, and, by dint of strong imagination and stronger tobacco, becomes a very Kalmuck in his back-garden; and it is by no means improbable that the grocer in his rockery and the grandee at his rocketers draw their instincts of pleasure from the same long-ago time "When wild in woods the noble savage ran." But be this as it may, -this long journey of mine, despite its excessive cold, its nights under the wintry heavens, its days of ceaseless travel, had not as yet grown monotonous or devoid of pleasure, and although there were moments long before daylight when the shivering scene around the camp-fire froze one to the marrow, and I half feared to ask myself how many more mornings like this will I have to endure? how many more miles have been taken from that long total of travel? still, as the day wore on and the hour of the midday meal came round, and, warmed and hungry by exercise, I would relish with keen appetite the plate of moose steaks and the hot delicious tea, as camped amidst the snow, with buffalo robe spread out before the fire, and the dogs watching the feast with perspective ideas of bones and pan-licking, then the balance would veer back again to the side of enjoyment; and I could look forward to twice 600 miles of ice and snow without one feeling of despondency. These icy nights, too, were often filled with the strange meteors of the north. Hour by hour have I watched the many-hued shafts of the aurora trembling from their northern home across the starlight of the zenith, till their lustre lighted up the silent landscape of the frozen river with that weird light which the Indians name "the dance of the dead spirits." At times, too, the "sun dogs" hung about the sun so close, that it was not always easy to tell which was the real sun and which the mock one; but wild weather usually followed the track of the sun dogs; and whenever I saw them in the heavens I looked for deeper snow and colder bivouacs. Carlton stands on the edge of the great forest region whose shores, if we may use the expression, are washed by the waves of the prairie ocean lying south of it; but the waves are of fire, not of water. Year by year the great torrent of flame moves on deeper and deeper into the dark ranks of the solemn-standing pines; year by year a wider region is laid open to the influences of sun and shower, and soon the traces of the conflict are hidden beneath the waving grass, and clinging vetches, and the clumps of tufted prairie roses. But another species of vegetation also springs up in the track of the fire; groves of aspens and poplars grow out of the burnt soil, giving to the country that park-like appearance already spoken of. Nestling along the borders of the innumerable lakes that stud the face of the Saskatchewan region, these poplar thickets sometimes attain large growth, but the fire too frequently checks their progress, and many of them stand bare and dry to delight the eye of the traveller with the assurance of an ample store of bright and warm firewood for his winter camp when the sunset bids him begin to make all cosy against the night. After my usual delay of one day, I set out from Carlton, bound for the pine woods of the Lower Saskatchewan. My first stage was to be a short one. Sixty miles east from Carlton lies the small Presbyterian mission called Prince Albert. Carlton being destitute of dogs, I was obliged to take horses again into use; but the distance was only a two days march, and the track lay all the way upon the river. The wife of one of the Hudson Bay officers, desirous of visiting the mission, took advantage of my escort to travel to Prince Albert; and thus a lady, a nurse, and an infant aged eight months, became suddenly added to my responsibilities, with the thermometer varying between 70 and 80 degrees of frost I must candidly admit to having entertained very grave feelings at the contemplation of these family liabilities. A baby at any period of a man's life is a very serious affair, but a baby below zero is something appalling. The first night passed over without accident.` I resigned my deerskin bag to the lady and her infant, and Mrs. Winslow herself could not have desired a more peaceful state of slumber than that enjoyed by the youthful traveller. But the second night was a terror long to be remembered; the cold was intense. Out of the inmost recesses of my abandoned bag came those dire screams which result from infantile disquietude. Shivering, under my blanket, I listened to the terrible commotion going on in the interior of that cold-defying construction that so long had stood my warmest friend. At daybreak, chilled to the marrow, I rose, and gathered the fire together in speechless agony: no wonder, the thermometer stood at 40 degrees below zero; and yet, can it be believed? the baby seemed to be perfectly oblivious to the benefits of the bag, and continued to howl unmercifully. Such is the perversity of human nature even at that early age! Our arrival at the mission put an end to my family responsibilities, and restored me once more to the beloved bag; but the warm atmosphere of a house soon revealed the cause of much of the commotion of the night. "Wasn't-it-its-mother's-pet" displayed two round red marks upon its chubby countenance! "Wasn't-it-its-mother's-pet" had, in fact, been frost-bitten about the region of the nose and cheeks, and hence the hubbub. After a delay of two days at the mission, during which the thermometer always showed more than 60 degrees of frost in the early morning, I continued my journey towards the east, crossing over from the North to the South Branch of the Saskatchewan at a point some twenty miles from the junction of the two rivers--a rich and fertile land, well wooded and watered, a region destined in the near future to hear its echoes wake to other sounds than those of moose-call or wolf-howl. It was dusk in the evening of the 19th of January when we reached the high ground which looks down upon the "forks" of the Saskatchewan River. On some low ground at the farther side of the North Branch a camp-fire glimmered in the twilight. On the ridges beyond stood the dark pines of the Great Sub-Arctic Forest, and below lay the two broad converging rivers whose immense currents; hushed beneath the weight of ice, here merged into the single channel of the Lower Saskatchewan--a wild, weird scene it looked as the shadows closed around it. We descended with difficulty the steep bank and crossed the river to the camp-fire on the north shore. Three red-deer hunters were around it; they had some freshly killed elk meat, and potatoes from Fort-à-la-Corne, eighteen miles below the forks; and with so many delicacies our supper à-la-fourchette, despite a snow-storm, was a decided success. CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE The Great Sub-Arctic Forest--The "Forks" of the Saskatchewan--An Iroquois --Fort-à-la-Corne--News from the outside World--All haste for Home--The solitary Wigwam--Joe Miller's Death. AT the "forks" of the Saskatchcwan the traveller to the east enters the Great Sub-Arctic Forest. Let us look for a moment at this region where the earth dwells in the perpetual gloom of the pine-trees. Travelling north from the Saskatchewan River at any portion of its course From Carlton to Edmonton, one enters on the second day's journey this region of the Great Pine Forest. We have before compared it to the shore of an ocean, and like a shore it has its capes and promontories which stretch far into the sea-like prairie, the indentations caused by the fires sometimes forming large bays and open spaces won from the domain of the forest by the fierce flames which beat against it in the dry days of autumn. Some 500 or 600 miles to the north this forest ends, giving place to that most desolate region of the earth, the barren grounds of the extreme north, the lasting home of the musk-ox and the summer haunt of the reindeer; but along the valley of the Mackenzie River the wooded tract is continued close to the Arctic Sea, and on the shores of the great Bear Lake a slow growth of four centuries scarce brings a circumference of thirty inches to the trunks of the white spruce. Swamp and lake, muskeg, and river rocks of the earliest formations, wild wooded tracts of impenetrable wilderness combine to make this region the great preserve of the rich fur-bearing animals whose skins are rated in the marts of Europe at four times their weight in gold. Here the darkest mink, the silkiest sable, the blackest otter are trapped and traded; here are bred these rich furs whose possession women prize as second only to precious stones. Into the extreme north of this region only the fur trader and the missionary have as yet penetrated. The sullen Chipwayan, the feeble Dogrib, and the fierce and warlike Kutchin dwell along the systems which carry the waters of this vast forest into Hudson Bay and thee Arctic Ocean. This place, the "forks" of the Saskatchewan, is destined at some time or other to be an important centre of commerce and civilization. When men shall have cast down the barriers which now intervene between the shores of Lake Winnipeg and Lake Superior, what a highway will not these two great river Systems of the St. Lawrence and the Saskatchewan offer to the trader! Less than 100 miles of canal through low alluvial soil have only to be built to carry a boat from the foot of the Rocky Mountains to the head of Rainy Lake, within 100 miles of Lake Superior. With inexhaustible supplies of water held at a level high above the current surface of the height of land, it is not too much to say, that before many years have rolled by, boats will float from the base of the Rocky Mountains to the harbour of Quebec. But long before that time the Saskatchewan must have risen to importance from its fertility, its beauty, and its mineral wealth. Long before the period shall arrive when the Saskatchewan will ship its products to the ocean, another period will have come, when the mining populations of Montana and Idaho will seek in the fertile lands of the middle Saskatchewan a supply of those necessaries of life which the arid soil of the central States is powerless to yield. It is impossible that the wave of life which rolls so unceasingly into America can leave unoccupied this great fertile tract; as the river valleys farther east have all been peopled long before settlers found their way into the countries lying at the back, so must this great valley of the Saskatchewan, when once brought within the reach of the emigrant, become the scene of numerous settlements. As I stood in twilight looking down on the silent rivers merging into the great single stream which here enters the forest region, the mind had little difficulty in seeing another picture, when the river forks would be a busy scene of commerce, and man's labour would waken echoes now answering only to the wild things of plain and forest. At this point, as I have said, we leave the plains and the park-like country. The land of the prairie Indian and the buffalo-hunter lies behind us-of the thick-wood Indian and moose-hunter before us. As far back as 1780 the French had pushed their Way into the Saskatchewan and established forts along its banks. It is generally held that their most western post was situated below the junction of the Saskatchewans, at a place called Nippoween; but I am of opinion that this is an error, and That their pioneer settlements had even gone west of Carlton. One of the earliest English travellers into the country, in 1776, speaks of Fort-des-Prairies as a post twenty-four days journey from Cumberland on the lower river, and as the Hudson Bay Company only moved west of Cumberland in 1774, it is only natural to suppose that this Fort-des Prairies had originally been a French post. Nothing proves more conclusively that the whole territory of the Saskatchewan was supposed to have belonged by treaty to Canada, and not to England, than does the fact that it was only at this date--1774--that the Hudson Bay Company took possession of it. During the bitter rivalry between the North-west and the Hudson Bay Companies a small colony of Iroquois indians was brought from Canada to the Saskatchewan and planted near the forks of the river. The descendants of these men are still to be found scattered over different portions of the country; nor have they lost that boldness and skill in all the wild works of Indian life which made their tribe such formidable warriors in the early contests of the French colonists; neither, have they lost that gift of eloquence which was so much prized in the days of Champlain and Frontinac. Here are the concluding words of a speech addressed by an Iroquois against the establishment of a missionary station near the junction of the Saskatchewan: "You have spoken of your Great Spirit," said the Indian; "you have told us He died for all men--for the red tribes of the West as for the white tribes of the East; but did He not die with His arms stretched forth in different directions, one hang towards the rising sun and the other towards the setting sun?" "Well, it is true." "And now say, did He not mean by those outstretched arms that for evermore the white tribes should dwell in the East and the red tribes in the West? when the Great Spirit could not speak, did He not still point out where His children should live?" What a curious compound must be the man who is capable of such a strange, beautiful metaphor and yet remain a savage! Fort-à-la-Corne lies some twenty miles below the point of junction of the rivers. Towards Fort-à-la-Corne I bent my steps with a strange anxiety, for at that point I was to intercept the "Winter Express" carrying from Red River its burden of news to the far-distant forts of the Mackenzie River. This winter packet had left Fort Garry in mid-December, and travelling by way of Lake Winnipeg, Norway House and Cumberland, was due at Fort-à-la-Corne about the 21st January. Anxiously then did I press on to the little fort, where I expected to get tidings of that strife whose echoes during the past month had been powerless to pierce the solitudes of this lone land. With tired dogs whose pace no whip or call could accelerate, we reached the fort at midday on the 21st. On the river, 'close by, an old Indian met us. Has the packet arrived? "Ask him if the packet has come," I said. He only stared blankly at me and shook his head. I had forgotten, what was the packet to him? the capture of a musk-rat was of more consequence than the capture of Metz. The packet had not come, I found when we reached the fort, but it was hourly expected, and I determined to await its arrival. Two days passed away in wild storms of snow. The wind howled dismally through the pine woods, but within the logs crackled and flew, and the board of my host was always set with moose steaks and good things, although outside, and far down the river, starvation had laid his hand heavily upon the red man. It had fallen dark some hours on the evening of the 22nd January when there came a knock at the door of our house; the raised latch gave admittance to an old travel-worn Indian who held in his hand a small bundle of papers. He had cached the packet, he said, many miles down the river, for his dogs were utterly tired out and unable to move; he had come on himself with a few papers for the fort: the snow was very deep to Cumberland. He had been eight days in travelling 200 miles; he was tired and starving, and white with drift and storm. Such was his tale. I tore open the packet--it was a paper of mid-November. Metz had surrendered; Orleans been retaken; Paris, starving, still held out; for the rest, the Russians had torn to pieces the Treaty of Paris, and our millions and our priceless blood had been spilt and spent in vain on the Peninsula of the Black Sea--perhaps, after all, we would fight? So the night drew itself out, and the pine-tops began to jag the horizon before I ceased to read. Early on the following morning, the express was hauled from its cache and brought to the fort; but it failed to throw much later light upon the meagre news of the previous evening. Old Adam was tried for verbal intelligence, but he too proved a failure. He had carried the packet from Norway House on Lake Winnipeg to Carlton for more than a score of winters, and, from the fact of his being the bearer of so much news in his lifetime, was looked upon by his compeers as a kind of condensed electric telegraph; but when the question of war was fairly put to him, he gravely replied that at the forts he had heard there was war, and "England," he added, "was gaining the day." This latter fact was too much for me, for I was but too well aware that had war been declared in November, an army organization based upon the Parliamentary system was not likely to have "gained the day" in the short space of three weeks. To cross with celerity the 700 miles lying between me and Fort Garry Became now the chief object of my life. I lightened my baggage as much as possible, dispensing with many comforts of clothing and equipment, and on the morn ing of the 23rd January started for Cumberland. I will not dwell on the seven days that now ensued, or how from long before dawn to verge of evening we toiled down the great silent river. It was the close of January, the very depth of winter. With heads bent down to meet the crushing blast, we plodded on, oft times as silent as the river and the forest, from whose bosom no sound ever came, no ripple ever broke, no bird, no beast, no human face, but ever the same great forest-fringed river whose majestic turns bent always to the north-east. To tell, day after day, the extreme of cold that now seldom varied would be to inflict on the reader a tiresome record; and, in truth, there would be no use in attempting it; 40 below zero means so many things impossible to picture or to describe, that it would be a hopeless task to enter upon its delineation. After one has gone through the list of all those things that freeze; after one has spoken of the knife which burns the hand that would touch its blade, the tea that freezes while it is being dlrunk, there still remains a sense of having said nothing; a sense which may perhaps be better understood by saying that 40 degrees below zero means just one thing more than all these items--it means death, in a period whose duration would expire in the hours of a winter's daylight, if there was no fire or means of making it on the track. Conversation round a camp-fire in the North-west is limited to one Subject--dogs and dog-driving. To be a good driver of dogs, and to be able to run fifty miles in a day with ease, is to be a great man. The fame of a noted dog-driver spreads far and wide. Night after night would I listen to the prodigies of running performed by some Ba'tiste or Angus, doughty champions of the rival races. If Ba'tiste dwelt at Cumberland, I Would begin to hear his name mentioned 200 miles from that place, and his fame would still be talked of 200 miles beyond it. With delight would I hear the name of this celebrity dying gradually away in distance, for by the disappearance of some oft-heard name and the rising of some new constellation of dog-driver, one could mark a stage of many hundred miles on the long road upon which I was travelling. On the 29th January we reached the shore of Pine Island Lake, and saw in our track the birch lodge of an Indian. It was before sunrise, and we stopped the dogs to warm our fingers over the fire of the wigwam. Within sat a very old Indian and two or three women and children. The old man was singing to himself a low monotonous chant; beside him some reeds, marked by the impress of a human form, were spread upon the ground; the fire burned brightly in the centre of the lodge, while the smoke escaped and the light entered through the same round aperture in the top of the conical roof. When we had entered and seated ourselves, the old man still continued his song. "What is he saying?" I asked, although the Indian etiquette forbids abrupt questioning. "He is singing for his son," a man answered, "who died yesterday, and whose body they have taken to the fort last night." It was even so. A French Canadian who had dwelt in Indian fashion for some years, marrying the daughter of the old man, had died from the effects of over-exertion in running down a silver fox, and the men from Cumberland had taken away the body a few hours before. Thus the old man mourned, while his daughter the widow, and a child sat moodily looking at the flames. "He hunted for us; he fed us," the old man said. "I am too old to hunt; I can scarce see the light; I would like to die too." Those old words which the presence of the great mystery forces from our lips-those words of consolation which some one says are "chaff well meant for grain"--were changed into their Cree equivalents and duly rendered to him, but he he only shook his head, as though the change of language had not altered the value of the commodity. But the name of the dead hunter was a curious anomaly-Joe Miller. What a strange antithesis appeared this name beside the presence of the childless father, the fatherless child, and the mateless woman! One service the death of poor Joe Miller conferred on me--the dog-sled that had carried his body had made a track over the snow-covered lake, and we quickly glided along it to the Fort of Cumberland. CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO. Cumberland---We bury poor Joe--A good Train of Dogs--The great Marsh--Mutiny--Chicag the Sturgeon-fisher--A Night with a Medicine-man-- Lakes Winnipegoosis and Manitoba--Muskeymote eats his Boots--We reach the Settlement--From the Saskatchewan to the Seine. CUMBERLAND HOUSE, the oldest post of the Company in the interior, stands on the south shore of Pine Island Lake; the waters of which seek the Saskatchewan by two channels--Tearing River and Big-stone River. These two rivers form, together with the Saskatchewan and the lake, a large island, upon which stands Cumberland. Time moves slowly at such places as Cumberland, and change is almost unknown. To-day it is the same as it was 100 years ago. An old list of goods sent to Cumberland, from England in 1783 had precisely the same items as one of 1870. Strouds, cotton, beads, and trading-guns are still the wants of the Indian, and are still traded for marten and musquash. In its day Cumberland has had distinguished visitors. Franklin; in 1819, wintered at the fort, and a sun-dial still stands in rear of the house, a gift from the great explorer. We buried Joe Miller in the pine-shadowed graveyard near the fort. Hard work it was with pick and crowbar to prise up the ice-locked earth and to get poor Joe that depth which the frozen clay would seem to grudge him. It was long after dark when his bed was ready, and by the light of a couple of lanterns we laid him down in the great rest. The graveyard and the funeral had few of those accessories of the modern mortuary which are supposed to be the characteristics of civilized sorrow. There was no mute, no crape, no parade--nothing of that imposing array of hat-bands and horses by which man, even` in the face of the mighty mystery, seeks still to glorify the miserable conceits of life; but the silent snow-laden pine-trees, the few words of prayer read in the flickering light of the lantern, the hush of nature and of night, made accessions full as fitting, as all the muffled music and craped sorrow of church and city. At Cumberland I beheld for the first time a genuine train of dogs. There was no mistake about them in shape or form, from fore-goer to hindermost hauler. Two of them were the pure Esquimaux breed, the bush-tailed, fox-headed, long-furred, clean-legged animals whose ears, sharp-pointed and erect, sprung from a head embedded in thick tufts of woolly hair; Pomeranians multiplied by four; the other two were a curious compound of Esquimaux and Athabascan, with hair so long that eyes were scarcely 'visible. I had suffered so long from the wretched condition and description of the dogs of the Hudson Bay Company, that I determined to become the possessor of those animals, and, although I had to pay considerably more than had ever been previously demanded as the price of a train of dogs in the North, I was still glad, to get them at any figure. Five hundred miles yet lay between me and Red River-five hundred miles of marsh and frozen lakes, the delta of the Saskatchewan and the great Lakes Winnipegoosis and Manitoba. It was the last day of January when I got away from Cumberland with this fine train of dogs and another 2 serviceable set which belonged to a Swampy Indian named Bear, who had agreed to accompany me to Red River. Bear was the son of the old man whose evolutions with the three pegs had caused so much commotion among the Indians at Red River on the occasion of my visit to Fort Garry eight months earlier. He was now to be my close companion during many days and nights, and it may not be out of place here to anticipate the verdict of three weeks, and to award him as a voyageur, snow-shoer and camp-maker a place second to none in the long list of my employees. Soon after quitting Cumberland we struck the Saskatchewan River, and, turning eastward along it, entered the great region of marsh and swamp. During five days our course lay through vast expanses of stiff frozen reeds, whose corn-like stalks rattled harshly against the parchment sides of the cariole as the dog-trains wound along through their snow-covered roots. Bleak and dreary beyond expression stretched this region of frozen swamp for fully 100 miles. The cold remained all the time at about the same degree--20 below zero. The camps were generally poor and miserable ones. Stunted willow is the chief timber of the region, and fortunate did we deem ourselves when at nightfall a low line of willows would rise above the sea of reeds to bid us seek its shelter for the night. The snow became deeper as we proceeded. At the Pasquia three feet lay level over the country, and the dogs sank deep as they toiled along. Through this great marsh the Saskatchewan winds in tortuous course, its flooded level in summer scarce lower than the alluvial shores that line it. The bends made by the river would have been too long to follow, so we held a straight track through the marsh, cutting the points as we travelled. It was difficult to imagine that this many-channelled, marsh-lined river could be the same noble stream whose mountain birth I had beheld far away in the Rocky Mountains, and whose central course had lain for so many miles through the bold precipitous bank of the Western prairies. On the 7th February we emerged from this desolate region of lake and swamp, and saw before us in the twilight a ridge covered with dense woods. It was the west shore of the Cedar Lake, and on the wooded promontory towards which we steered some Indian sturgeon-fishers had pitched their lodges. But I had not got thus far without much trouble and vexatious resistance. Of the three men from Cumberland, one had utterly knocked up, and the other two had turned mutinous. What cared they for my anxiety to push on for Red River? What did it matter if the whole world was at war? Nay, must I not be the rankest of impostors; for if there was war away beyond the big sea, was that not the very reason why any man possessing a particle of sense should take his time over the journey, and be in no hurry to get back again to his house? One night I reached the post of Moose Lake a few hours before daybreak, having been induced to make the flank march by representations of the wonderful train of dogs at that station, and being anxious to obtain them in addition to my own: It is almost needless to remark that these dogs had no existence except in the imagination of Bear and his companion. Arrived at Moose Lake (one of the most desolate spots-I had' ever looked upon), I found out that the dog-trick was not the only one my men intended playing upon me, for a message was sent in by Bear to the effect that his dogs were unable to stand the hard travel of the past week, and that he could no longer accompany me. Here was a pleasant prospect--stranded on the wild shores of the Moose Lake with one train of dogs, deserted and deceived! There was but one course to pursue, and fortunately it proved the right one. "Can you give me a guide to Norway House?" I asked the Hudson Bay Company's half-breed clerk. "Yes." "Then tell Bear that he can go," I said, "and the quicker he goes the better. I will start for Norway House with my single train of dogs, and though it will add eighty miles to my journey I will get from thence to Red River down the length of Lake Winnipeg. Tell Bear he has the whole North-west to choose from except Red River. He had better not go there; for if I have to wait for six months For his arrival, I'll wait, just to put him in prison for breach of contract." What a glorious institution is the law! The idea of the prison, that terrible punishment in the eyes of the wild man, quelled the mutiny, and I was quickly assured that the whole thing was a mistake, and that Bear and his dogs were still at my service. Glad was I then, on the night of the 7th, to behold the wooded shores of the Cedar Lake rising out of the reeds of the great marsh, and to know that by another sunset I would have reached the Winnipegoosis and looked my last upon the valley of the Saskatchewan. The lodge of Chicag the sturgeon-fisher was small; one entered almost on all-fours, and once inside matters were not much bettered. To the question, "Was Chicag at home?" one of his ladies replied that he was attending a medicine-feast close by, and that he would soon be in. A loud and prolonged drumming corroborated the statement of the medicine, and seemed to indicate that Chicag was putting on the steam with the Manito, having got an inkling of the new arrival. Meantime I inquired of Bear as to the ceremony which was being enacted. Chicag, or the "Skunk," I was told, and his friends were bound to devour as many sturgeon and to drink as much sturgeon oil as it was possible to contain. When that point had been attained the ceremony might be considered over, and if the morrow's dawn did not show the sturgeon nets filled with fish, all that could be said upon the matter was that the Manito was oblivious to the efforts of Chicag and his comrades. The drumming now reached a point that seemed to indicate that either Chicag or the sturgeon was having a bad time of it. Presently the noise ceased, the low door opened, and the "Skunk" entered, followed by some ten or a dozen of his friends and relations. How they all found room in the little hut remains a mystery, but its eight-by-ten of superficial space held some eighteen persons, the greater number of whom were greasy with the oil of the sturgeon. Meantime a supper of sturgeon had been prepared for me, and great was the excitement to watch me eat it. The fish was by no means bad; but I have reason to believe that my performance in the matter of eating it was not at all a success. It is true that stifling atmosphere, in tense heat, and many varieties of nastiness and nudity are not promoters of appetite; but even had I been given a clearer stage and more favourable conducers towards voracity, I must still have proved but a mere nibbler of sturgeon in the eyes of such a whale as Chicag. Glad to escape from the suffocating hole, I emptied my fire-bag of tobacco among the group and got out into the cold night-air. What a change! Over the silent snow-sheeted lake, over the dark isles and the cedar shores, the moon was shining amidst a deep blue sky. Around were grouped a few birch-bark wigwams. My four dogs, now well known and trusty friends, were holding high carnival over the heads and tails of Chicag's feast. In one of the wigwams, detached from the rest, sat a very old man wrapped in a tattered blanket. He was splitting wood into little pieces, and feeding a small fire in the centre of the lodge, while he chattered to himself all the time. The place was clean, and as I watched the little old fellow at his work I decided to make my bed in his lodge. He was no other than Parisiboy, the medicine-man of the camp, the quaintest little old savage I had ever encountered. Two small white mongrels alone shared his wigwam. "See," he said, "I have no one with me but these two dogs." The curs thus alluded to felt themselves bound to prove that they were cognizant of the fact by shoving forward their noses one on each side of old Parisiboy, an impertinence on their part which led to their sudden expulsion by being pitched headlong out of the door. Parisiboy now commenced a lengthened exposition of his woes. "His blanket was old and full of holes, through which the cold found easy entrance. He was a very great medicine-man, but he was very poor, and tea was a luxury which he seldom tasted." I put a handful of tea into his little kettle, and his bright eyes twinkled with delight under their shaggy brows. "I never go to sleep," he continued; "it is too cold to go to sleep; I sit up all night splitting wood and smoking and keeping the fire alight; if I had tea I would never lie down at all." As I made my bed he continued to sing to himself, chatter and laugh with a peculiar low chuckle, watching me all the time. His first brew of tea was quickly made; hot and strong, he poured it into a cup, and drank it with evident delight; then in went more water on the leaves and down on the fire again went the little kettle.` But I was not permitted to lie down without interruption. Chicag headed a deputation of his brethren, and grew loud over the recital of his grievances. Between the sturgeon and the Company he appeared to think himself victim, but I was unable to gather whether the balance of ill-treatment lay on the side of the fish or of the corporation. Finally I got rid of the lot, and crept into my bag. Parisiboy sat at the other side of the fire, grinning and chuckling and sipping his tea. All night long I heard through my fitful sleep his harsh chuckle and his song. Whenever I opened my eyes, there was the little old man in the same attitude, crouching over the fire, which he sedulously kept alight. How many brews of tea he made, I can't say; but when daylight came he was still at the work, and as I replenished the kettle the old leaves seemed well-nigh bleached by continued boilings. That morning I got away from the camp of Chicag, and crossing one arm of Cedar Lake reached at noon the Mossy Portage. Striking into the cedar Forest at this point, I quitted for good the Saskatchewan. Just three Months earlier I had struck its waters at the South Branch, and since that day fully 1600 miles of travel had carried me far along its shores. The Mossy Portage is a low swampy ridge dividing the waters of Cedar Lake from those of Lake Winnipegoosis. From one lake to the other is a distance of about four miles. Coming from the Cedar Lake the portage is quite level until it reaches the close vicinity of the Winnipegoosis, when there is a steep descent of some forty feet to gain the waters of the latter lake. These two lakes are supposed to lie at almost the same level, but I shall not be surprised if a closer examination of their respective heights proves the Cedar to be some thirty feet higher than its neighbour the Winnipegoosis. The question is one of considerable interest, as the Mossy Portage will one day or other form the easy line of communication between the waters of Red River and those of Saskatchewan. It was late in the afternoon when we got the dogs on the broad bosom of Lake Winnipegoosis, whose immense surface spread out south and west until the sky alone bounded the prospect. But there were many islands scattered over the sea of ice that lay rolled before us; islands dark with the pine-trees that covered them, and standing out in strong relief from the dazzling whiteness amidst which they lay. On one of these islands we camped, spreading the robes under a large pine-tree and building up a huge fire from the wrecks of bygone storms. This Lake Winnipegoosis, or the "Small Sea,'" is a very large expanse of water measuring about 120 miles in length and some 30 in width. Its shores and islands are densely wooded with the white spruce, the juniper, the banksian pine, and the black spruce, and as the traveller draws near the southern shores he beholds again the dwarf white-oak which here reaches its northern limit. This growth of the oak-tree may be said to mark at present the line between civilization and savagery. Within the limit of the oak lies the country of the white man; without lies that Great Lone Land through which my steps have wandered so far. Descending the Lake Winnipegoosis to Shoal Lake, I passed across the belt of forest which. Lies between the two lakes, and emerging again upon Winnipegoosis crossed it in a long day's journey to the Waterhen River. This river carries the surplus water of Winnipegosis into the large expanse of Lake Manitoba. For another hundred miles this lake lays its length towards the south, but here the pine-trees have vanished, and birch and poplar alone cover the shores. Along the whole line of the western shores of these lakes the bold ridges of the Pas, the Porcupine, Duck, and Riding Mountains rise over the forest-covered swamps which lie immediately along the water. These four mountain ranges never exceed an elevation of 1600 feet above the sea. They are wooded to the summits, and long ages ago their rugged cliffs formed, doubtless, a fitting shore-line to that great lake whose fresh-water billows were nursed in a space twice larger than even Superior itself can boast of; but, as has been stated in an earlier chapter, that inland ocean has long since shrunken into the narrower limits of Winnipeg, Winnipegoosis, and Manitoba-the Great Sea, the Little Sea, and the Straits of the God. I have not dwelt upon the days of travel during which we passed down the length of these lakes. From the camp of Chicag I had driven my own train of dogs; with Bear the sole companion of the journey. Nor were these days on the great lakes by any means the dullest of the journey, Cerf Volant, Tigre, Cariboo, and Muskeymote gave ample occupation to their driver. Long before Manitoba was reached they had learnt a new lesson-that men were not all cruel to dogs in camp or on the road. It is true that in the learning of that lesson some little difficulty was occasioned by the sudden loosening and disruption of ideas implanted by generations of cruelty in the dog-mind of my train. It is true that Muskeymote, in particular, long held aloof from offers of friendship, and then suddenly passed from the excess of caution to the extreme of imprudence, imagining, doubtless, that the millennium had at length arrived, and that dogs were henceforth no more to haul. But Muskeymote was soon set right upon that point, and showed no inclination to repeat his mistake. Then there was Cerf Volant, that most perfect Esquimaux. Cerf Volant entered readily into friendship, upon an under-standing of an additional half-fish at supper every evening. No alderman ever loved his turtle better than did Cerf Volant love his white fish; but I rather think that the white fish was better earned than the turtle--however we will let that be matter of opinion. Having satisfied his hunger, which, by the way, is a luxury only allowed to the hauling-dog once a day, Cerf Volant would generally establish himself in close proximity to my feet, frequently on the top of the bag, from which coigne of vantage he would exchange fierce growls with any dog who had the temerity to approach us. None of our dogs were harness-eaters, a circumstance that saved us the nightly trouble of placing harness and cariole in the branches of a tree. On one or two occasions Muskeymote, however, ate his boots. "Boots!" the reader will exclaim; "how came Muskeymote to possess boots? We have heard of a puss in boots, but a dog, that is something new." Nevertheless Muskeymote had his boots, and ate them, too. This is how a dog is put in boots. When the day is very cold--I don't mean in your reading of that word, reader, but in its North-west sense--when the morning, then, comes very cold, the dogs travel fast, the drivers run to try and restore the circulation, and noses and cheeks which grow white beneath the bitter blast are rubbed with snow caught-quickly from the ground without pausing in the rapid stride; on such mornings, and they are by no means uncommon, the particles of snow which adhere to the feet of the dog form sharp icicles between his toes, which grow larger and larger as he travels. A nowing old hauler will stop every now and then, and tear out these icicles with his teeth, but a young dog plods wearily along leaving his footprints in crimson stains upon the snow behind him. When he comes into camp, he lies down and licks his poor wounded feet, but the rest is only for a short time, and the next start makes them worse than before. Now comes the time for boots. The dog-boot is simply a fingerless glove drawn on over the toes and foot, and tied by a running string of leather round the wrist or ankle of the animal; the boot itself is either made of leather or strong white cloth. Thus protected, the dog will travel for days and days with wounded feet, and get no worse, in fact he will frequently recover while still on the journey. Now Muskeymote, being a young dog, had not attained to that degree of wisdom which induces older dogs to drag the icicles from their toes, and consequently Muskeymote had to be duly booted every morning--a cold operation it was too, and many a run had I to make to the fire while it was being performed, holding my hands into the blaze for a moment and then back again to the dog. Upon arrival in camp these boots should always be removed from the dogs feet, and hung up in the smoke of the fire, with moccassins of the men, to dry. It was on an occasion when this custom had been forgotten that Muskeymote performed the feat we have already mentioned, of eating his boots. The night-camps along the lakes were all good ones; it took some time to clear away the deep snow and to reach the ground, but wood for fire and young spruce tops for bedding were plenty, and fifteen minutes axe work sufficed to fell as many trees as our fire needed for night and morning. From wooded point to wooded point we journeyed on over the frozen lakes; the snow lying packed into the crevices and uneven places of the ice formed a compact level surface, upon which the dogs scarce marked the impress of their feet, and the sleds and cariole bounded briskly after the train, jumping the little wavelets of hardened snow to the merry jingling of innumerable bells. On snow such as this dogs will make a run of forty miles in a day, and keep that pace for many days in succession, but in the soft snow of the woods or the river thirty miles will form a fair day's work for continuous travel. On the night of the 19th of February we made our last camp on the ridge to the south of Lake Manitoba, fifty miles from Fort Garry. Not without a feeling of regret was the old work gone through for the last time--the old work of tree-cutting, and fire-making, and supper-frying, and dog-feeding. Once more I had reached those confines of civilization on whose limits four months earlier I had made my first camp on the shivering Prairie of the Lonely Grave; then the long journey lay before me, now the unnumbered scenes of nigh 3000 miles of travel were spread out in that picture which memory sees in the embers of slow-burning fires, when the night-wind speaks in dreamy tones to the willow branches and waving grasses. And if there be those among my readers who can il comprehend such feelings, seeing only in this return the escape from savagery to civilization--from the wild Indian to the Anglo-American, from the life of toil and hardship to that of rest and comfort-then words would be useless to throw light upon the matter, or to better enable such men to understand that it was possible to look back with keen regret to the wild days of the forest and the prairie. Natures, no matter how we may mould them beneath the uniform pressure of the great machine called civilization, are not all alike, and many men's minds echo in some shape or other the voice of the Kirghis woman, which says, "Man must keep moving; for, behold, sun, moon, stars, water, beast, bird, fish, all are in movement: it is but the dead and the earth that remain in one place." There are many who have seen a prisoned lark sitting on its perch, looking listlessly through the bars, from some brick wall against which its cage was hung; but at times, when the spring comes round, and a bit of grassy earth is put into the narrow cage, and, in spite of smoke and mist, the blue sky looks a moment on the foul face of the city, the little prisoner dreams himself free, and, with eyes fixed on the blue sky and feet clasping the tiny turf of green sod, he pours forth into the dirty street those notes which nature taught him in the never-to-be-forgotten days of boundless freedom. So I have seen an Indian, far down in Canada, listlessly watching the vista of a broad river whose waters and whose shores once owned the dominion of his race; and when I told him of regions where his brothers still built their lodges midst the wandering herds of the stupendous wilds, far away towards that setting sun upon 'which his eyes were fixed, there came a change over his listless look, and when he spoke in answer there was in his voice an echo from that bygone time when the Five Nations were a mighty power on the shores of the Great Lakes. Nor are such as these the only prisoners of our civilization. He who has once tasted the unworded freedom of the Western wilds must ever feel a sense of constraint within the boundaries of civilized life. The Russian is not the only man who has the Tartar close underneath his skin. That Indian idea of the earth being free to all men catches quick and lasting hold of the imagination--the mind widens out to grasp the reality of the lone space and cannot shrink again to suit the requirements of fenced divisions. There is a strange fascination in the idea, "Wheresoever my horse wanders there is my home;" stronger perhaps is that thought than any allurement of wealth, or power, or possession given us by life. Nor can after-time ever wholly remove it; midst the smoke and hum of cities, midst the prayer of churches, in street or salon, it needs but little cause to recall again to the wanderer the image of the immense meadows where, far away at the portals of the setting sun, lies the Great Lone Land. It is time to close. It was my lot to shift the scene of life with curious rapidity. In a shorter space of time than it had taken to traverse the length of the Saskatchewan, I stood by the banks of that river whose proud city had just paid the price of conquest in blood and ruin--yet I witnessed a still heavier ransom than that paid to German robbers. I saw the blank windows of the Tuileries red with the light of flames fed from five hundred years of history, and the flagged courtyard of La Roquette running deep in the blood of Frenchmen spilt by France, while the common enemy smoked and laughed, leaning on the ramparts of St. Denis. APPENDIX.'. GOVERNOR ARCHIBALD'S INSTRUCTIONS. Fort Garry, 10th October, 1870. W. F. Butler, Esq., 69th Regiment. SIR,--Adverting to the interviews between his honour the Lieutenant-Governor and yourself on the subject of the proposed mission to the Saskatchewan, I have it now in command to acquaint you with the objects his honour has in view in asking you to undertake the mission, and also to define the duties he desires you to perform. In the first place, I am to say that representations have been made from various quarters that within the last two years much disorder has prevailed in the settlements along the line of the Saskatchewan, and that the local authorities are utterly powerless for the protection of life and property within that region. It is asserted to be absolutely necessary for the protection, not only of the Hudson Bay Company's Forts, but for the safety of the settlements along the river, that a small body of troops should be sent to some of the forts of the Hudson Bay Company, to assist the local authorities in the maintenance of peace and order. I am to enclose you a copy of a communication on this subject from Donald A. Smith, Esq., the Governor of the Hudson Bay Company, and also. an extract of a letter from W. J. Christie, Esq., a chief factor stationed at Fort Carlton, which will give you some of the facts which have been adduced to show the representations to be well grounded. The statements made in these papers come from the officers of the Hudson Bay Company, whose views may be supposed to be in some measure affected by their pecuniary interests. It is the desire of the Lieutenant-Governor that you should examine the matter entirely from an independent point of view, giving his honour for the benefit of the Government of Canada your views of the state of matters on the Saskatchewan in reference to the necessity of troops being sent there, basing your report upon what you shall find by actual examination. You will be expected to report upon the whole question of the existing state of affairs in that territory, and to state your views on what may be necessary to be done in the interest of peace and order. Secondly, you are to ascertain, as far as you can, in what places and among what tribes of Indians, and what settlements of whites, the small-pox is now prevailing, including the extent of its ravages and every particular you can ascertain in connexion with the rise and the spread of the disease. You are to take with you such small supply of medicines as shall be considered by the Board of Health here suitable and proper for the treatment of small-pox, and you will obtain written instructions for the proper treatment of the disease, and will leave a copy thereof with the chief officer of each fort you pass, and with any clergyman or other intelligent person belonging to settlements outside the forts. You will also ascertain, as far as in your power, the number of Indians on the line between Red River and the Rocky Mountains; the different nations and tribes into which they are divided and the particular locality inhabited, and the language spoken, and also the names of the principal chiefs of each tribe. In doing this you will be careful to obtain the information without in any manner leading the Indians to suppose you are acting under authority, or inducing them to form any expectations based on your inquiries. You will also be expected to ascertain, as far as possible, the nature of the trade in furs conducted upon the Saskatchewan, the number and nationality of the persons employed in what has been called the Free Trade there, and what portion of the supplies, if any, come from the United States territory, and what portion of the furs are sent thither; and generally to make such inquiries as to the source of trade in that region as may enable the Lieutenant-Governor to form an accurate idea of the commerce of the Saskatchewan. You are to report from time to time as you proceed westward, and forward your communications by such opportunities as may occur. The Lieutenant-Governor will rely upon your executing this mission with all reasonable despatch. (Signed) S. W. HILL, P. Secretary. LIEUTENANT BUTLER'S REPORT. INTRODUCTORY. The Hon. Adams G. Archibald, Lieut.-Governor, Manitoba. SIR,--Before entering into the questions contained in the written instructions under which I acted, and before attempting to state an opinion upon the existing situation of affairs in the Saskatchewvan, I will briefly allude to the time occupied in travel, to the route followed, and to the general circumstances attending my journey. Starting from Fort Garry on the 25th October, I reached Fort Ellice at junction of Qu'Appelle and Assineboine Rivers on the 30th of the same month. On the following day I continued my journey towards Carlton, which place was reached on the 9th November, a detention of two days having occurred upon the banks of the South Saskatchewan River, the waters of which were only partially frozen. After a delay of five days in Carlton, the North Branch of the Saskatchewan was reported fit for the passage of horses, and on the morning of the 14th November I proceeded on my western journey towards Edmonton. By this time snow had fallen to the depth of about six inches over the country, which rendered it necessary to abandon the use of wheels for the transport of baggage, substituting a light sled in place of the cart which had hitherto been used, although I still retained the same mode of conveyance, namely the saddle, for personal use. Passing the Hudson Bay Company Posts of Battle River, Fort Pitt and Victoria, I reached Edmonton on the night of the 26th November. For the last 200 miles the country had become clear of snow, and the frosts, notwithstanding the high altitude of the region, had decreased in severity. Starting again on the afternoon of the 1st December, I recrossed the Saskatchewan River below Edmonton and continued in a south-westerly direction towards the Rocky Mountain House, passing through a country which, even at that advanced period of the year, still retained many traces of its summer beauty. At midday on the 4th December, having passed the gorges of the Three Medicine Hills, I came in sight of the Rocky Mountains, which rose from the western extremity of an immense plain and stretched their great snow-clad peaks far away to the northern and southern horizons. Finding it impossible to procure guides for the prosecution of my journey south to Montana, I left the Rocky Mountain House on the 12th December and commenced my return travels to Red River along the valley of the Saskatchewan. Snow had now fallen to the depth of about a foot, and the cold had of late begun to show symptoms of its winter intensity. Thus on the morning of the 5th December my thermometer indicated 22 degrees below zero, and again on the 13th 16 below zero, a degree of cold which in itself was not remarkable, but which had the effect of rendering the saddle by no means a comfortable mode of transport. Arriving at Edmonton on the 16th December, I exchanged my horses for dogs, the saddle for a small cariole, and on the 20th December commenced in earnest the winter journey to Red River. The cold, long delayed, now\ began in all its severity. On the 22nd December my thermometer at ten o'clock in the morning indicated 39 degrees below zero, later in the day a biting wind swept the long reaches of the Saskatchewan River and rendered travelling on the ice almost insupportable. To note here the long days of travel down the great valley of the Saskatchewan, at times on the frozen river and at times upon the neighbouring plains, would prove only a tiresome record. Little by little the snow seemed to deepen, day by day the frost to obtain a more lasting power and to bind in a still more solid embrace all visible Nature. No human voice, no sound of bird or beast, no ripple of stream to break the intense silence of these vast solitudes of the Lower Saskatchewan. At length, early in the month of February, I quitted the valley of Saskatchewan at Cedar Lake, crossed the ridge which separates that sheet of water from Lake Winnipegoosis, and, descending the latter lake to its outlet at Waterhen River, passed from thence to the northern extremity of the Lake Manitoba. Finally, on the 18th February, I reached the settlement of Oak Point on south shore of Manitoba, and two days later arrived at Fort Garry. In following the river and lake route from Carlton, I passed in succession the Mission of Prince Albert, Forts-à-la-Corne and Cumberland, the Posts of the Pas, Moose Lake, Shoal River and Manitoba House, and, with a few exceptions, travelled upon ice the entire way. The journey from first to last occupied 119 days and embraced a distance of about 2700 miles. I have now to offer the expression of my best acknowledgements to the officers of the various posts of the Hudson Bay Company passed en route. To Mr. W. J. Christie, of Edmonton, to Mr. Richard Hardistry, of Victoria, as well as to Messrs. Hackland, Sinclair, Ballenden, Trail, Turner, Belanger, Matheison, McBeath, Munro, and MacDonald, I am indebted for much kindness and hospitality, and I have to thank Mr. W. J. Christie for information of much value regarding statistics connected with his district. I have also to offer to the Rev. Messrs. Lacombe, McDougall, and Nisbet the expression of the obligations which I am under towards them for uniform kindness and hospitality. GENERAL REPORT. Having in the foregoing pages briefly alluded to the time occupied in travel, to the route followed, and to the general circumstances attending my journey, I now propose entering upon the subjects contained in the written instructions under which I acted, and in the first instance to lay before you the views which I have formed upon the important question of the existing state of affairs in the Saskatchewan. The institutions of Law and Order, as understood in civilized communities, are wholly unknown in the regions of the Saskatchewan, insomuch as the country is without any executive organization, and destitute of any means to enforce the authority of the law. I do not mean to assert that crime and outrage are of habitual occurrence among the people of this territory, or that a state of anarchy exists in any particular portion of it, but it is an undoubted fact that crimes of the most serious nature have been committed, in various places, by persons of mixed and native blood, without any vindication of the law being possible, and that the position of affairs rests at the present moment not on the just power of an executive authority to enforce obedience, but rather upon the passive acquiescence of the majority of a scant population who hitherto have lived in ignorance of those conflicting interests which, in more populous and civilized communities, tend to anarchy and disorder. But the question may be asked, If the Hudson Bay Company represent the centres round which the half-breed settlers have gathered, how then does it occur that that body should be destitute of governing power, and unable to repress crime and outrage? To this question I would reply that the Hudson Bay Company, being a commercial corporation, dependent for its profits on the suffrages of the people, is of necessity cautious in the exercise of repressive powers; that, also, it is exposed in the Saskatchewan to the evil influence which free trade has ever developed among the native races; that, furthermore, it is brought in contact with tribes long remarkable for their lawlessness and ferocity; and that, lastly, the elements of disorder in the whole territory of Saskatchewan are for many causes, yearly on the increase. But before entering upon the subject into which this last-consideration would lead me, it will be advisable to glance at the various elements which comprise the population of this Western region. In point of numbers, and in the power which they possess of committing depredations, the aboriginal races claim the foremost place among the inhabitants of the Saskatchewan. These tribes, like the Indians of other portions of Rupert's Land and the North-west, carry on the pursuits of hunting, bringing the produce of their hunts to barter for the goods of the Hudson Bay Company; but, unlike the Indians of more northern regions, they subsist almost entirely upon the buffalo, and they carry on among themselves an unceasing warfare which has long become traditional. Accustomed to regard murder as honourable war, robbery and pillage as the traits most ennobling to man hood, free from all restraint, these warring tribes of Crees, Assineboines, and Blackfeet form some of the most savage among even the races of Western America. Hitherto it maybe said that the Crees have looked upon the white man as their friend, but latterly indications have not been wanting to foreshadow a change in this respect--a change which I. have found many causes to account for, and which, if the Saskatchewan remains in its present condition, must, I fear, deepen into more positive enmity. The buffalo, the red man's sole means of subsistence, is rapidly disappearing; year by year the prairies, which once shook beneath the tread of countless herds of bisons, are becoming denuded of animal life, and year by year the affliction of starvation comes with an ever-increasing intensity upon the land. There are men still living who remember to have hunted buffalo on the shores of Lake Manitoba. It is scarcely twelve years since Fort Ellice, on the Assineboine River, formed one of the principal posts of supply for the Hudson Bay Company; and the vast prairies which flank the southern and western spurs of the Touchwood Hills, now utterly silent and deserted, are still white with the bones of the migratory herds which, until lately, roamed over their surface. Nor is this absence of animal life confined to the plains of the Qu'Appelle and of the Upper Assineboine--all along the line of the North Saskatchewan, from Carlton to Edmonton House, the same scarcity prevails; and if further illustration of this decrease of buffalo be wanting, I would state that, during the present winter, I have traversed the plains from the Red River to the Rocky Mountains without seeing even one solitary animal upon 1200 miles of prairie. The Indian is not slow to attribute this lessening of his principal food to the presence of the white and half-breed settlers, whose active competition for pemmican (valuable as supplying the transport service of the Hudson Bay Company) has led to this all but total extinction of the bison. Nor does he fail to trace other grievances--some real, some imaginary-to the same cause. Wherever the half-breed settler or hunter has established himself he has resorted to the use of poison as a means of destroying the wolves and foxes which were numerous on the prairies. This most pernicious practice has had the effect of greatly embittering the Indians against the settler, for not only have large numbers of animals been uselessly destroyed, inasmuch as fully one-half the animals thus killed are lost to the trapper, but also the poison is frequently communicated to the Indian dogs, and thus a very important mode of winter transport is lost to the red man. It is asserted, too, that horses are sometimes poisoned by eating grasses which have become tainted by the presence of strychnine; and although this latter assertion may not be true, yetits effects are the same, as the Indian fully believes it. In consequence of these losses a threat has been made, very generally, by the natives against the half-breeds, to the effect that if the use of poison was persisted in, the horses belonging to the settlers would be shot. Another increasing source of Indian discontent is to be found in the policy pursued by the American Government in their settlement of the countries lying south of the Saskatchewan. Throughout the territories of Dakota and Montana a state of hostility has long existed between the Americans and the tribes of Sioux, Black feet, and Peagin Indians. This state of hostility has latterly degenerated on the part of the Americans, into a war of extermination; and the policy of "clearing out" the red man has now become a recognized portion of Indian warfare. Some of these acts of extermination find their way into the public records, many of them never find publicity. Among the former, the attack made during the spring of 1870 by a large party of troops upon a camp of Peagin Indians close to the British boundary-line will be fresh in the recollection of your Excellency. The tribe thus attacked was suffering severely from small-pox, was surprised at daybreak by the soldiers, who, rushing in upon the tents, destroyed 170 men, women, and children in a few moments. This tribe forms one of the four nations comprised in the Blackfeet league, and have their hunting-grounds partly on British and partly on American territory. I have mentioned the presence of small-pox in connexion with these Indians. It is very generally believed in the Saskatchewan that this disease was originally communicated to the Blackfeet tribes by Missouri traders with a view to the accumulation of robes; and this opinion, monstrous though it may appear, has been somewhat terrified by the Western press when treating of the epidemic last year. As I propose to enter at some length into the question of this disease at a later portion of this report, I now only make allusion to it as forming one of the grievances which the Indian affirms he suffers at the hands of the white man. In estimating the causes of Indian discontent as bearing upon the future preservation of peace and order in the Saskatchewan, and as illustrating the growing difficulties which a commercial corporation like the Hudson Bay Company have to contend against when acting in an executive capacity, I must now allude to the subject of Free Trade. The policy of a free trader in furs is essentially a short-sighted one-he does not care about the future--the continuance and partial well-being of the Indian is of no consequence to him. His object is to obtain possession of all the furs the Indian may have at the moment to barter, and to gain that end he spares no effort. Alcohol, discontinued by the Hudson Bay Company in their Saskatchewan district for many years, has been freely used of late by free traders from Red River; and, as great competition always exists between the traders and the employees of the Company, the former have not hesitated to circulate among the natives the idea that they have suffered much injustice in their intercourse with the Company. The events which took place in the Settlement of Red River during the winter of '69 and '70 have also tended to disturb the minds of the Indians--they have heard of changes of Government, of rebellion and pillage of property, of the occupation of forts belonging to the Hudson Bay Company, and the stoppage of trade and ammunition. Many of these events have been magnified and distorted--evil-disposed persons have not been wanting to spread abroad among the natives the idea of the downfall of the Company, and the threatened immigration of settlers to occupy the hunting-grounds and drive the Indian from the land. All these rumours, some of them vague and wild in the extreme, have found ready credence by camp-fires and in council-lodge, and thus it is easy to perceive how the red man, with many of his old convictions and beliefs rudely shaken, should now be more disturbed and discontented than he has been at any former period. In endeavouring to correctly estimate the present condition of Indian affairs in the Saskatchewan the efforts and influence of the various missionary bodies must not be overlooked. It has only been during the last twenty years that the Plain Tribes have been brought into contact with the individuals whom the contributions of European and Colonial communities have sent out on missions of religion and civilization. Many of these individuals have toiled with untiring energy and undaunted perseverance in the work to which they have devoted themselves, but it is unfortunately true that the jarring interests of different religious denominations have sometimes induced them to introduce into the field of Indian theology that polemical rancour which so unhappily distinguishes more civilized communities. To fully understand the question of missionary enterprise, as bearing upon the Indian tribes of the Saskatchewan valley, I must glance for a moment at the peculiarities in the mental condition of the Indians which render extreme caution necessary in all inter course between him and the white man. It is most difficult to make the Indian comprehend the true nature of the foreigner with whom he is brought in contact, or rather, I should say, that having his own standard by which he measures truth and falsehood, misery and happiness, and all the accompaniments of life, it is almost impossible to induce him to look at the white man from any point of view but his own. From this point of view every thing is Indian. English, French, Canadians, and Americans are so many tribes inhabiting various parts of the world, whose land is bad, and who are not possessed of buffalo--for this last desideratum they (the strangers) send goods, missions, etc., to the Indians of the Plains. "Ah!" they say, "if it was not for our buffalo where would you be? You would starve, your bones would whiten the prairies." It is useless to tell them that such is not the case, they answer, "Where then does all the pemmican go to that you take away in your boats and in your carts?" With the Indian, seeing is believing, and his world is the visible one in which his wild life is cast. This being understood, the necessity for caution in communicating with the native will at once be apparent-yet such caution on the part of those who seek the Indians as missionaries is not always observed. Too frequently the language suitable for civilized society has been addressed to the red man. He is told of governments, and changes in the political world, successive religious systems are laid before him by their various advocates. To-day he is told to believe one religion, to-morrow to have faith in another. Is it any wonder that, applying his own simple tests to so much conflicting testimony, he becomes utterly confused, unsettled, and suspicious? To the white man, as a white man, the Indian has no dislike; on the contrary, he is pretty certain to receive him with kindness and friendship, provided always that the new-comer will adopt the native system, join the hunting-camp, and live on the plains; but to the white man as a settler, or hunter on his own account, the Crees and Blackfeet are in direct antagonism. Ownership in any particular portion of the soil by an individual is altogether foreign to men who, in the course of a single summer, roam over 500 miles of prairie. In another portion of this report I hope to refer again to the Indian question, when treating upon that clause in my instructions which relates exclusively to Indian matters. I have alluded here to missionary enterprise and to the Indian generally, as both subjects are very closely connected with the state of affairs in the Saskatchewan. Next in importance to the native race is the half-breed element in the population which now claims our attention. The persons composing this class are chiefly of French descent originally of no fixed habitation, they have, within the last few years, been induced by their clergy to form scattered settlements along the line of the North Saskatchewan. Many of them have emigrated from Red River, and others are either the discharged servants of the Hudson Bay Company or the relatives of persons still in the employment of the Company. In contradistinction to this latter class they bear the name of "free men" and if freedom from all restraint, general inaptitude for settled employment, and love for the pursuits of hunting be the characteristics of free men, then they are eminently entitled to the name they bear. With very few exceptions, they have preferred adopting the exciting but precarious means of living, the chase, to following the more certain` methods of agriculture. Almost the entire summer is spent by them upon the plains, where they carry on the pursuit of the buffalo in large and well organized bands, bringing the produce of their hunt to trade with the Hudson Bay Company. In winter they generally reside at their settlements, going to the nearer plains in small parties and dragging the frozen buffalo meat for the supply of the Company's posts. This preference for the wild life of the prairies, by bringing them more in contact with their savage brethren, and by removing them from the means of acquiring knowledge and civilization, has tended in no small degree to throw them back in the social scale, and to make the establishment of a prosperous colony almost an impossibility--even starvation, that most potent inducement to toil, seems powerless to promote habits of industry and agriculture. During the winter season they frequently undergo periods of great privation, but, like he Indian, they refuse to credit the gradual extinction of the buffalo, and persist in still depending on that animal for their food. Were I to sum up the general character of the Saskatchewan half-breed population, I would say: They are gay, idle, dissipated, unreliable, and ungrateful, in a measure brave, hasty to form conclusions and quick to act upon them, possessing extra ordinary power-of endurance, and capable of undergoing immense fatigue, yet scarcely-ever to be depended on in critical moments, superstitious and ignorant, having a very deep-rooted distaste to any fixed employment, opposed to the Indian, yet widely separated from the white man--altogether a race presenting, I fear, a hopeless prospect to those who would attempt to frame, from such materials, a future nationality. In the appendix will be found a statement showing the population and extent of the half-breed settlements in the West. I will here merely remark that the principal settlements are to be found in the Upper Saskatchewan, in the vicinity of Edmonton House, at which post their trade is chiefly carried on. Among the French half-breed population there exists the same political feeling which is to be found among their brethren in Manitoba, and the same sentiments which produced the outbreak of 1869-70 are undoubtedly existing in the small communities of the Saskatchewan. It is no easy matter to understand how the feeling of distrust towards Canada, and a certain hesitation to accept the Dominion Government, first entered into the mind of the half-breed, but undoubtedly such distrust and hesitation have made themselves apparent in the Upper Saskatchewan, as in Red River, though in a much less formidable degree; in fact, I may fairly close this notice of the half-breed population by observing that an exact counterpart of French political feeling in Manitoba may be found in the territory of the Saskatchewan, but kept in abeyance both by the isolation of the various settlements, as well as by a certain dread of Indian attack which presses equally upon all classes. The next element of which I would speak is that composed of the white settler, European and American,` not being servants of the Hudson Bay Company. At the present time this class is numerically insignificant, and were it not that causes might at any moment arise which would rapidly develop it into consequence, it would not now claim more than a passing notice. These causes are to be found in the existence of gold throughout a large extent of the territory lying at the eastern base of the Rocky Mountains, and in the effect which the discovery of gold-fields would have in inducing a rapid movement of miners from the already over-worked fields of the Pacific States and British Columbia. For some years back indication of gold, in more or less quantities, have been found in almost every river running east from the mountains. On the Peace, Athabasca, McLeod, and Pembina Rivers, all of which drain their waters into the Arctic Ocean, as well as on the North Saskatchewan, Red Beer, and Bow Rivers, which shed to Lake Winnipeg, gold has been discovered. The obstacles which the miner has to contend with are, however, very great, and preclude any thing but the most partial examination of the country. The Blackfeet are especially hostile towards miners, and never hesitate to attack them, nor is the miner slow to retaliate; indeed he has been too frequently the aggressor, and the records of gold discovery are full of horrible atrocities committed upon the red man. It has only been in the neighbourhood of the forts of the Hudson Bay Company that continued washing for gold could be carried on. In the neighbourhood of Edmonton from three to twelve dollars of gold have frequently been "washed" in a single day by one man; but the miner is not satisfied with what he calls "dirt washing," and craves for the more exciting work in the dry diggings where, if the "strike" is good, the yield is sometimes enormous. The difficulty of procuring provisions or supplies of any kind has also prevented "prospecting" parties from examining the head-waters of the numerous streams which form the sources of the North and South Saskatchewan. It is not the high price of provisions that deters the miner from penetrating these regions, but the absolute impossibility of procuring any. Notwithstanding the many difficulties which I have enumerated, a very determined effort will in all probability be made, during the coming summer, to examine the head-waters of the North Branch of the Saskatchewan. A party of miners, four in number, crossed the mountains late in the autumn of 1870, and are now wintering between Edmonton and the Mountain House, having laid in large supplies for the coming season. These men speak with confidence of the existence of rich diggings in some portion of the country lying within the outer range of the mountains. From conversations which I have held with these men, as well as with others who have partly investigated the country, I am of opinion that there exists a very strong probability of the discovery of gold-fields in the Upper Saskatchewan at no distant period. Should this opinion be well founded, the effect which it will have upon the whole Western territory will be of the utmost consequence. Despite the hostility of the Indians inhabiting the neighbourhood of such discoveries, or the plains or passes leading to them, a general influx of miners will take place into the Saskatchewan, and in their track will come the waggon or pack-horse of the merchant from the towns of Benton or Kootenais, or Helena. It is impossible to say what effect such an influx of strangers would have upon the plain Indians; but of one fact we may rest assured, namely, that should these tribes exhibit their usual spirit of robbery and murder they would quickly be exterminated by the miners. Every where throughout the Pacific States and along the central territories of America, as well as in our own colony of British Columbia, a war of extermination has arisen, under such circum stances, between the miners and the savages, and there is good reason to suppose that similar results would follow contact with the proverbially hostile tribe of Blackfeet Indians. Having in the foregoing remarks reviewed the various elements which compose the scanty but widely extended population of the Saskatchewan, outside the circle of the Hudson Bay Company, I have now to refer to that body, as far as it is connected with the present condition of affairs in the Saskatchewan. As a governing body the Hudson Bay Company has ever had to contend against the evils which are inseparable from monopoly of trade combined with monopoly of judicial power, but so long as the aboriginal inhabitants were the only people with whom it came in contact its authority could be preserved; and as it centred within itself whatever knowledge and enlightenment existed in the country, its officials were regarded by the aboriginals as persons of a superior nature, nay, even in bygone times it was by no means unusual for the Indians to regard the possession of some of the most ordinary inventions of civilization on the part of the officials of the Company as clearly demonstrating a close affinity between these gentlemen and the Manitou, nor were these attributes of divinity altogether distasteful to the officers, who found them both remunerative as to trade and conducive to the exercise of authority. When, however, the Free Traders and the missionary reached the Saskatchewan this primitive state of affairs ceased-with the enlightenment of the savage came the inevitable discontent of the' Indian, until there arose the condition of things to which I have already alluded. I am aware that there are persons who, while admitting the present unsatisfactory state of the Saskatchewan, ascribe its evils more to mistakes committed by officers of the Company, in their management of the Indians, than to any material change in the character of the people; but I believe such opinion to be founded in error. It would be impossible to revert to the old management of affairs. The Indians and the half-breeds are aware of their strength, and openly speak of it; and although I am far from asserting that a more determined policy on the part of the officer in charge of the Saskatchewan District would not be attended by better results, still it is apparent that the great isolation of the posts, as well as the absence of any fighting element in the class of servants belonging to the Company, render the forts on the Upper Saskatchewan, in a very great degree, helpless, and at the mercy of the people of that country. Nor are the engaged servants of the Company a class of persons with whom it is at all easy to deal. Recruited principally from the French half-breed population, and exposed, as I have already shown, to the wild and lawless life of the prairies, there exists in reality only a very slight distinction between them and their Indian brethren, hence it is not surprising that acts of insubordination Should be of frequent occurrence among these servants, and that personal violence towards superior officers should be by no means an unusual event in the forts of the Saskatchewan; indeed it has only been by the exercise of manual force on the part of the officials in charge that the semblance of authority has sometimes been preserved. This tendency towards insubordination is still more observable among the casual servants or "trip men" belonging to the Company. These persons are in the habit of engaging for a trip or journey, and-frequently select the most critical moments to demand an increased rate of pay, or to desert en masse. At Edmonton House, the head-quarters of the Saskatchewan District, and at the posts of Victoria and Fort Pitt, this state of lawlessness is more apparent than on the lower portion of the river. Threats are frequently made use of by the Indians and half-breeds as a means of extorting favourable terms from the officers in charge, the cattle belonging to the posts are uselessly killed, and altogether the Hudson Bay Company may be said to retain their tenure of the Upper Saskatchewan upon a base which appears insecure and unsatisfactory. In the foregoing remarks I have entered at some length into the question of the materials comprising the population of the Saskatchewan, with a, view to demonstrate that the condition of affairs in-that territory is the natural result of many causes, which have been gradually developing themselves, and which must of necessity undergo still further developments if left in their present state. I have endeavoured to point out how from the growing wants of the aboriginal inhabitants, from the conflicting nature of the interests of the half-breed and Indian population, as well as from the natural constitution of the Hudson Bay Company, a state of society has arisen in the Saskatchewan which threatens at no distant day to give rise to grave complications; and which now has the effect of rendering life and property insecure and preventing the settlement of those fertile regions which in other respects are so admirably suited to colonization. As matters at present rest, the region of the Saskatchewan is without law, order, or security for life or property; robbery and murder for years have gone unpunished; Indian massacres are unchecked even in the close vicinity of the Hudson Bay Company's posts, and all civil and legal institutions are entirely unknown. I now enter upon that portion of your Excellency's instructions which has reference to the epidemic of small-pox in the Saskatchewan. It is about fifty years since the first great epidemic of small pox swept over the regions of the Missouri and the Saskatchewan, committing great ravages among the tribes of Sioux, Gros-Ventres, and Flatheads upon American territory; and among the Crees and Assineboines of the British. The Blackfeet Indians escaped that epidemic, while, on the other hand, the Assineboines, or Stonies of the Qu'Appelle Plains, were almost entirely destroyed. Since that-period the disease appears to have visited some of the tribes at intervals of greater or less duration; but until this and the previous year its ravages were confined to certain localities and did not extend universally throughout the country. During the summer and early winter of '69 and '70 reports reached the Saskatchewan of the prevalence of small-pox of a very malignant type among the South Peagin Indians, a branch of the great Blackfeet nation. It was hoped, however, that the disease would be confined to the Missouri River, and the Crees who, as usual, were at war with their traditional enemies, were warned by Missionaries and others that the prosecution of their predatory expeditions into the Blackfeet country would in all probability carry the infection into the North Saskatchewan. From the South Peagin tribes, on the head-waters of the Missouri, the disease spread rapidly through the kindred tribes of Blood, Blackfeet, and Lucee Indians, all which new tribes have their hunting-grounds north of the boundary-line. Unfortunately for the Crees, they failed to listen to the advice of those persons who had recommended a suspension of hostilities. With the opening of spring the war-parties commenced their raids; a band of seventeen Crees penetrated, in the month of April, into the Blackfeet country, and coming upon a deserted camp of their enemies in which a tent was still standing, they proceeded to ransack it, This tent contained the dead bodies of some Blackfeet, and although these bodies presented a very revolting spectacle, being in an advanced stage of decomposition, they were nevertheless-subjected to the usual process of mutilation, the scalps and clothing being also carried away. For this act the Crees paid a terrible penalty; scarcely had they reached their own country before the disease appeared among them, in its most virulent and infectious form. Nor were the consequences of this raid less disastrous to the whole Cree nation. At the period of the-year to which I allude, the early summer, these Indians usually assemble together from different directions in large numbers, and it was towards one of those numerous assemblies that the returning war-party, still carrying the scalps and clothing of the Blackfeet, directed their steps. Almost immediately upon their arrival the disease broke out amongst them in its most malignant form. Out of the seventeen men who took part in the raid, it is asserted that not one escape the infection, and only two of the number appear to have survived. The disease, once-introduced into the camp, spread with the utmost rapidity; numbers of men, women, and children fell victims to it during the month of June; the cures of the medicine-men were found utterly-unavailing to arrest it, and, as a last resource, the camp broke up into small parties, some directing their march towards Edmonton, and others to Victoria, Saddle Lake, Fort Pitt, and along the whole line of the North Saskatchewan. Thus, at the same period, the beginning of July, small-pox of the very worst description was spread throughout some 500 miles of territory, appearing almost simultaneously at the Hudson Bay Company's posts from the Rocky Mountain House to Carlton. It is difficult to imagine, a state of pestilence more terrible than that which kept pace with these moving parties of Crees during the summer months of 1870. By streams and lakes, in willow copses,'! and upon bare hill-sides, often shelterless from the fierce rays of the summer sun and exposed to the rains and dews of night, the poor plague-stricken wretches lay down to die--no assistance of any kind, for the ties of family were quickly loosened, and mothers abandoned their helpless children upon the wayside, fleeing onward to some fancied place of safety. The district lying between Fort Pitt and Victoria, a distance of about 140 miles, was perhaps the scene of the greatest suffering. In the immediate neighbourhood of Fort Pitt two camps of Crees established themselves, at first in the hope of obtaining medical assistance, and failing in that--for the officer in charge soon exhausted his slender store--they appear to have endeavoured to convey the infection into the fort, in the belief that by doing so they would cease to suffer from it themselves. The dead bodies were left unburied close to the stockades, and frequently Indians in the worst stage of the disease might be seen trying to force an entrance into the houses, or rubbing portions of the infections matter from their persons against the door-handles and window-frames of the dwellings. It is singular that only three persons within the fort should have been infected with the disease, and I can only attribute the comparative immunity enjoyed by the residents at that post to the fact that Mr. John Sinclair had taken the precaution early in the summer to vaccinate all the persons residing there, having obtained the vaccine matter from a Salteaux Indian who had been vaccinated at the Mission of Prince Albert, presided over by Rev. Mr. Nesbit, sometime during the spring. In this matter of vaccination a very important difference appears to have existed between the Upper and Lower Saskatchewan. At the settlement of St. Albert, near Edmonton, the opinion prevails that vaccination was of little or no avail to check-the spread of the disease, while, on the contrary, residents on the lower portion of the Saskatchewan assert that they cannot trace a single case in which death had ensued after vaccination had been properly performed. I attribute this difference of opinion on the benefits resulting from vaccination to the fact that the vaccine matter used at St. Albert and Edimonton was of a spurious description, having been brought from Fort Benton, on the Missouri River, by traders during the early summer, and that also it was used when the disease had reached its height, while, on the other hand, the vaccination carried on from Mr. Nesbit's Mission appears to have been commenced early in the spring, and also to have been of a genuine description. At the Mission of St. Albert, called also "Big Lake," the disease assumed a most malignant form; the infection appears to have been introduced into the settlement from two different sources almost at the same period. The summer hunting-party met the Blackfeet on the plains and visited the Indian camp (then infected with small-pox) for the purpose of making peace and trading. A few days later the disease appeared among them and swept off half their number in a very short space of time. To such a degree of helplessness were they reduced that when the prairie fires broke out in the neighbourhood of their camp they were unable to do any thing towards arresting its progress or saving their property. The fire swept through the camp, destroying a number of horses, carts, and tents, and the unfortunate people returned to their homes at Big Lake carrying the disease with them. About the same time some of the Crees also reached the settlement, and the infection thus communicated from both quarters spread with amazing rapidity. Out of a total population numbering about 900 souls, 600 caught the disease, and up to the date of my departure from Edmonton (22nd December) 311 deaths had occurred. Nor is this enormous percentage of deaths very much to be wondered at when we consider the circumstances attending this epidemic. The people, huddled together in small hordes, were destitute of medical assistance or of even the most ordinary requirements of the hospital. During the period of delirium incidental to small-pox, they frequently wandered forth at night into the open air, and remained exposed for hours to dew or rain; in the latter stages of the disease they took no precautions against cold, and frequently died from relapse produced by exposure; on the other hand, they appear to have suffered but little pain after the primary fever passed away. "I have frequently," says Père André, "asked a man in the last stages of small pox,-whose end was close at hand, if he was suffering much pain; and the almost invariable reply was, None whatever." They seem also to have died without suffering, although the fearfully swollen appearance of the face, upon which scarcely a feature was visible, would lead to the supposition that such a condition must of necessity be accompanied by great pain. The circumstances attending the progress of the epidemic at Carlton House are worthy of notice, both on account of the extreme virulence which characterized the disease at that post, and also as no official record of this visitation of small-pox would be complete which failed to bring to the notice of your Excellency the undaunted: heroism displayed by a young officer of the Hudson Bay Company who was in temporary charge of the station. At the breaking out of the disease, early in the month of August, the population of Carlton: numbered about seventy souls. Of these thirty-two persons caught the infection, and twenty-eight persons died. Throughout the entire period of the epidemic the officer already alluded to, Mr. Wm. Traill, laboured with untiring perseverance in ministering to the necessities of the sick, at whose bedsides he was to be found both day and night, undeterred by the fear of infection, and undismayed by the unusually loathsome nature of the disease. To estimate with any thing like accuracy the losses caused among the Indian tribes is a matter of considerable difficulty. Some tribes and portions of tribes suffered much more severely than others. That most competent authority, Père Lacombe, is of opinion that neither the Blood nor Blackfeet Indians had, in proportion to their numbers, as many casualties as the Crees, whose losses may be safely stated at from 600 to 800 persons. The Lurcees, a small tribe in close alliance with the Blackfeet, suffered very severely, the number of their tents being reduced from fifty to twelve. On the.' other hand, the Assineboines, or Stonies of the Plains, warned by the memory of the former epidemic, by which they were almost annihilated, fled at the first approach of the disease, and, keeping far out in the south-eastern prairies, escaped the infection altogether. The very heavy loss suffered by the Lurcees to which I have just alluded was, I apprehend, due to the fact that the members of this tribe have long been noted as persons possessing enfeebled constitutions, as evidenced by the prevalence of goitre almost universally amongst them. As a singular illustration of the intractable nature of these Indians, I would mention that at the period when the small-pox was most destructive among them they still continued to carry on their horse-stealing raids against the Crees and half-breeds in the neighbourhood of Victoria Mission. It was not unusual to come upon traces of the disease in the corn-fields around the settlement, and even the dead bodies of some Lurcees were discovered in the vicinity of a river which they had been in the habit of swimming while in the prosecution of their predatory attacks. The Rocky Mountain Stonies are stated to have lost over fifty souls. The losses sustained by the Blood, Blackfeet, and Peagin tribes are merely conjectural; but, as their loss in leading men or chiefs has been heavy, it is only reasonable to presume that the casualties suffered generally by those tribes have been proportionately severe. Only three white persons appear to have fallen victims to the disease, one an officer of the Hudson Bay Company service at Carlton, and two members of the family of the Rev. Mr. McDougall, at Victoria. Altogether, I should be inclined to estimate the entire loss along the North Saskatchewan, not including Blood, Blackfeet, or Peagin Indians, at about 1200 persons. At the period of my departure from the Saskatchewan, the beginning of-the present year, the disease which committed such terrible havoc among the scanty population of that region still lingered in many localities. On my upward journey to the Rocky Mountains I had found the forts of the Hudson Bay Company free from infection: On my return journey I found cases of small-pox in the Forts, of Edmonton, Victoria, and Pitt--cases which, it is true, were of a milder description than those of the autumn and summer, but which, nevertheless, boded ill for the hoped for disappearance of the plague beneath the snows and cold of winter. With regard to the supply of medicine sent by direction of the Board of Health in Manitoba to the Saskatchewan, I have only to remark that I conveyed to Edmonton the portion of the supply destined for that station. It was found, however, that many of the bottles had been much injured by frost, and I cannot in any way favourably notice either the composition or general selection of these supplies. Amongst the many sad traces of the epidemic existing in the Upper Saskatchewan I know of none so touching as that which is to be found in an assemblage of some twenty little orphan children gathered together beneath the roof of the sisters of charity at the settlement of St. Albert. These children are of all races, and even in some instances the sole survivors of what was lately a numerous family. They are fed, clothed, and taught at the expense of the Mission; and when we consider that the war which is at present raging in France has dried up the sources of charity from whence the Missions of the North-west derived their chief support, and that the present winter is one of unusual scarcity and distress along the North Saskatchewan, then it will be perceived what a fitting object for the assistance of other communities is now existing in this distant orphanage of the North. I cannot close this notice of the epidemic without alluding to the danger which will arise in the spring of introducing the infection into Manitoba. As soon as the prairie route becomes practicable there will be much traffic to and from the Saskatchewan--furs and robes will be introduced into the settlement despite the law which prohibits their importation. The present quarantine establishment at Rat Creek is situated too near to the settlement to admit of a strict enforcement of the sanitary regulations. It was only in the month of October last year that a man coming direct from Carlton died at-this Rat Creek, while his companions, who were also from the same place, and from whom he caught the infection, passed on into the province. If I might suggest the course which appears to me to be the most efficacious, I would say that a constable stationed at Fort Ellice during the spring and summer months who would examine freighters and others, giving them bills of health to enable them to enter the province, would effectually meet the requirements of the situation. All persons coming from the West are obliged to pass close to the neighbourhood of Fort Ellice. This station is situated about 170 miles west of the provincial boundary, and about 300 miles south-east of the South Saskatchewan, forming the only post of call upon the road between Carlton and Portage la-Prairie. I have only to add that, unless vaccination is made compulsory among the half-breed inhabitants, they will, I fear, be slow to avail themselves of it. It must not be forgotten that with the disappearance of the snow from the plains a quantity of infected matter--clothing, robes, and portions of skeletons--will again be come exposed to the atmosphere, and also that the skins of wolves, etc., collected during the present winter will be very liable to contain infection of the most virulent description. The portion of-your Excellency's instructions which has reference to the Indian tribes of the Assineboine and Saskatchewan regions now claims my attention. The aboriginal inhabitants of the country lying between Red River and the Rocky Monntains are divided into tribes of Salteaux, Swampies, Crees, Assineboines, or Stonies of the Plains, Blackfeet and Assineboines of the Mountains. A simpler classification, and one which will be found more useful when estimating the relative habits of these tribes, is to divide them into two great classes of Trairie Indians and Thickwood Indians--the first comprising the Blackfeet with their kindred tribes of Bloods, Lurcees, and Peagins, as also the Crees of the Saskatchewan and the Assineboines of the Qu'Appelle; and the last being composed of the Rocky Mountain Stonies, the Swampy Crees, and the Salteaux of the country lying between Manitoba and Fort Ellice. This classification marks in reality the distinctive characteristics of the Western Indians. On the one hand, we find the Prairie tribes subsisting almost entirely upon the buffalo, assembling together in large camps, acknowledging the leadership and authority of men conspicuous by their abilities in war or in the chase, and carrying on a perpetual state\of warfare with the other Indians of the plains. On the other hand, we find the Indians of the woods subsisting by fishing and by the pursuit of moose and deer, living together in small parties, admitting only a very nominal authority on the part of one man, professing to entertain hostile feelings towards certain races, but rarely developing such feelings into positive hostilities--altogether a much more peacefully disposed people, because less exposed to the dangerous influence of large assemblies. Commencing with the Salteaux, I find that they extend westward from Portage-la-Prairie to Fort Ellice, and from thence north to Fort Pelly and the neighbourhood of Fort-à-la-Corne, where they border and mix with the kindred race of Swampy or Muskego Crees. At Portage-la-Prairie and in the vicinity of Fort Ellice a few Sioux have appeared since the outbreak in Minnesota and Dakota in 1862. It is probable that the number of this tribe on British territory will annually increase with the prosecution of railroad enterprise and settlement in the northern portion of the United States. At present, however, the Sioux are strangers at Fort Ellice, and have not yet assumed those rights of proprietorship which other tribes, longer resident, arrogate to themselves. The Salteaux, who inhabit the country lying west of Manitoba, partake partly of the character of Thickwood, and partly of Prairie Indians--the buffalo no longer exists in that portion of the country, the Indian camps are small, and the authority of the chief merely nominal. The language spoken by this tribe is the same dialect of the Algonquin tongue which is used in the Lac-la-Pluie District and throughout the greater portion of the settlement. Passing north-west from Fort Ellice, we enter the country of the Cree Indians, having to the north and east the Thickwood Crees, and to the south and west the Plain Crees. The former, under the various names of Swampies or Muskego Indians, inhabit the country west of Lake Winnipeg, extending as far as Forts Pelly and à-la-Corne, and from, the latter place, in a north-westerly direction, to Carlton and Fort Pitt. Their language, which is similar to that spoken by their cousins, the Plain Crees, is also a dialect of the Algonquin tongue. They are seldom found in large numbers, usually forming camps of from four to ten families. They carry on the pursuit of the moose and red deer, and are, generally speaking, expert hunters and trappers. Bordering the Thickwood Crees on the south and west lies the country of the Plain Crees--a land of vast treeless expanses, of high rolling prairies, of wooded tracts lying in valleys of many-sized streams, in a word, the land of the Saskatchewan. A line running direct from the Touchwood Hills to Edmonton House would measure 500 miles in length, yet would lie altogether within the country of the Plain Crees. They inhabit the prairies which extend from the Qu'Appelle to the South Saskatchewan, a portion of territory which was formerly the land of the Assineboine, but which became the country of the Crees through lapse of time and chance of war. From the elbow of the South Branch of the Saskatchewan the Cree nation extends in a west and north-west direction to the vicinity of the Peace Hills, some fifty miles south of Edmonton. Along the entire line there exists a state of perpetual warfare during the months of summer and autumn, for here commences the territory over which roams the great Blackfeet tribe, whose southern boundary lies be yond the Missouri River, and whose western limits are guarded by the giant peaks of the Rocky Mountains. Ever since these tribes became known to the fur-traders of the North-west and Hudson Bay Companies there has existed this state of hostility amongst them. The Crees, having been the first to obtain fire-arms from the white traders, quickly-extended their boundaries, and moving from the Hudson Bay and the region of the lakes overran the plains of the Upper Saskatchewan. Fragments of other tribes scattered at long intervals through the present country of the Crees attest this conquest, and it is-probable that the whole Indian territory lying between the Saskatchewan and the American boundary-line would have been dominated over by this tribe had they not found themselves opposed by the great Blackfeet nation, which dwelt along the sources of the Missouri. Passing west from Edmonton, we enter the country of the Rocky Mountain Stonies, a small tribe of Thickwood Indians dwelling along the source of the North Saskatchewan and in the outer ranges of the Rocky Mountains,-a fragment, no doubt, from the once-powerful Assineboine nation which has found a refuge amidst the forests and mountains of the West. This tribe is noted as possessing hunters and mountain guides of great energy and skill. Although at war with the Blackfeet, collisions are not frequent between them, as the Assineboines never go upon war-parties; and the Blackfeet rarely venture into the wooded country. Having spoken in detail of the Indian tribes inhabiting the line of fertile country lying between Red River and the Rocky Mountains, it only remains for me to allude to the Blackfeet with the confederate tribes of Blood, Lurcees and Peagins. These tribes inhabit the great plains lying between the Red Deer River and the Missouri, a vast tract of country which, with few exceptions, is treeless, and sandy--a portion of the true American desert, which extends from the fertile belt of the Saskatchewan to the borders of Texas. With the exception of the Lurcees, the other confederate tribes speak the same language--the Lurcees, being a branch of the Chipwayans of the North, speak a language peculiar to themselves, while at the same time understanding and speaking the Blackfeet tongue. At war with their hereditary enemies, the Crees, upon their northern and eastern boundaries--at war with Kootanais and Flathead tribes on south and west--at war with Assineboines on the south-east and north-west--carrying on predatory excursions against the Americans on the Missouri, this Blackfeet nation forms a people of whom it may truly be said that they are against every man, and that every man is against them. Essentially a wild, lawless, erring race, whose natures have received the stamps of the region in which they dwell; whose knowledge is read from the great book which Day, Night, and the Desert unfold to them; and who yet possess a rude eloquence, a savage pride, and a wild love of freedom of their own. Nor are there other indications wanting to lead to the hope that this tribe may yet be found to be capable of yielding to influences to which they have heretofore been strangers, namely, Justice and Kindness. Inhabiting, as the Blackfeet do, a large extent of country which, from the arid nature of its soil mist ever prove useless for purposes of settlement and colonization, I do not apprehend that much difficulty will arise between them and the whites, provided always that measures are taken to guard against certain possibilities of danger, and that the Crees are made to unnderstand that the forts and settlements along the Upper Saskatchewan must be considered as neutral ground upon which hostilities cannot be waged against the Black feet. As matters at present stand, whenever the Blackfeet venture in upon a trading expedition to the forts of the Hudson Bay Company they are generally assaulted by the Crees, and savagely murdered. Pèe Lacombe estimates the nunber of Blackfeet killed in and around Edmonton alone during his residence in the West, at over forty men, and he has assured me that to his knowledge the Blackfeet have never killed a Cree at that place, except in self-defence. Mr. W. J. Christie, chief factor at Edmonton house, confirms this statement. He says, "The Blackfeet respect the whites more than the Crees do, that is, a Blackfoot will never attempt the life of a Cree at our forts, and bands of them are more easily controlled in an excitement, than Crees. It would be easier for one of us to save the life of a Cree among a band of Blackfeet than it would be to save a Blackfoot in a band of Crees." In consequence of these repeated assaults in the vicinity of the forts, the Blackfeet can with difficulty be persuaded that the whites are not in active alliance with the Crees. Any person who studies the geographical position of the posts of the Hudson Bay Company cannot fail to notice the immense extent of country intervening between the North Saskatchewan and the American boundary-line in which there exists no fort or trading post of the Company. This blank space upon the maps is the country of the Blackfeet. Many years ago a post was established upon the Bow River, in the heart of the Blackfeet country, but at that time they were even more lawless than at present, and the position had to be abandoned on account of the expenses necessary to keep up a large garrison of servants. Since that time (nearly forty years ago) the Blackfeet have only had the Rocky Mountain House to depend on for supplies, and as it is situated far from the centre of their country it only receives a portion of their trade. Thus we find a very active business carried on by the Americans upon the Upper Missouri, and there can be little doubt that the greater portion of robes, buffalo leather, etc. traded by the Blackfeet finds its way down the waters of the Missouri. There is also another point connected with Americau trade amongst the Blackfeet to which I desire to draw special attention. Indians visiting the Rocky Mountain House during the fall of 1870 have spoken of the existence of a trading post of Americans from Fort Benton, upon the Belly River, sixty miles within the British bounndary-line. They have asserted that two American traders, well-known on the Missouri, named Culverston and Healy, have established themselves at this post for the purpose of trading alcohol, whiskey, and arms and ammunition of the most improved description, with the Blackfeet Indians; and that an active trade is being carried on in all these articles, which, it is said, are constantly smuggled across the boundary-line by people from Fort Benton. This story is apparently confirmed by the absence of the Blackfeet from the Rocky Mountain House this season, and also from the fact of the arms in question (repeating rifles) being found in possession of these Indians. The town of Benton on the Missouri River has long been noted for supplying the Indians with arms and ammunition; to such an extent has this trade been carried on, that miners in Montana, who have suffered from Indian attack, have threatened on some occasions to burn the stores belonging to the traders, if the practice was continued. I have already spoken of the great extent of the Blackfeet country; some idea of the roamings of these Indians may be gathered from a circumstance connected wit the trade of the Rocky Mountain House. During the spring and summer raids which the Blackfeet make upon the Crees of the Middle Saskatchewan, a number of horses belonging to the Hudson Bay Company and to settlers are yearly carried away. It is a general practice for persons whose horses have been stolen to send during the fall to the Rocky Mountain House for the missing animals, although that station is 300 to 600 miles distant from the places where the thefts have been committed. If the horse has not perished from the ill treatment to which he has been subjected by his captors, he is usually found at the above-named station, to which he has been brought for barter in a terribly worn out condition. In the Appendix marked B will be found information regarding the localities occupied by-the Indian tribes, the names of the principal chiefs, estimate of numbers in each tribe, and other information connected with the aboriginal inhabitants, which for sake of clearness I have arranged in a tabular form. It now only remains for me to refer to the last clause in the instructions under which I acted, before entering into an expression of the views which I have formed upon the subject of what appears necessary to be done in the interests of peace and order in the Saskatchewan. The fur trade of the Saskatchewan District has long been in a declining state, great scarcity of the richer descriptions of furs, competition of free traders, and the very heavy expenses incurred in the maintenance of large establishments, have combined to render the district a source of loss to the Hudson Bay Company. This loss has, I believe, varied annually from 2000 to 6000 pounds, but heretofore it has been somewhat counter-balanced by the fact that the Inland Transport Line of the Company was dependent for its supply of provisions upon the buffalo meat, which of late years has only been procurable in the Saskatchewan. Now, however; that buffalo can no longer be procured in numbers, the Upper Saskatchewan becomes more than ever a burden to the Hudson Bay Company; still the abandonment of it by the Company might be attended by more serious loss to the trade than that which is incurred in its retention, Undoubtedly the Saskatchewan, if abandoned by the Hudson Bay Company, would be speedily occupied by traders from the Missouri, who would also tap the trade of the richer fur-producing districts of Lesser Slave Lake and the North. The products-of the Saskatchewan proper principally consists of provisions, including pemmican and dry meat, buffalo robes and leather, linx, cat, and wolf skins. The richer furs; such as otters, minks, beavers, martins, etc., are chiefly procured in the Lesser Slave Lake Division of the Saskatchewan District. With regard to the subject of Free Trade in the Saskatchewan, it is at present conducted upon principles quite different from those existing in Manitoba. The free men or "winterers" are, strictly speaking, free traders, but they dispose of the greater portion of their furs, robes, etc., to the Company. Some, it is true, carry the produce of their trade or hunt (for they are both hunters and traders) to Red River, disposing of it to the merchants in Winnipeg, but I do not imagine that more than one-third of their trade thus finds its way into the market. These free men are nearly all French half-breeds, and are mostly outfitted by the Company. It has frequently occurred that a very considerable trade has been carried on with alcohol, brought by free men from the Settlement of Red River; and distributed to Indians and others in the Upper Saskatchewan. This trade has been productive of the very worst consequences, but the law prohibiting the sale or possession of liquor is now widely known throughout the Western, territory, and its beneficial effects have already been experienced. I feel convinced that if the proper means are taken the suppression of the liquor traffic of the West can be easily accomplished. A very important subject is that which has reference to the communication between the Upper Saskatchewan and Missouri Rivers. Fort Benton on the Missouri has of late become a place of very considerable importance as a post for the supply of the mining districts of Montana. Its geographical position is favourable. Standing at the head of the navigation of the Missouri, it commands: the trade of Idaho and Montana.-'A steamboat, without breaking bulk, can go from New Orleans to Benton, a distance of 4000 miles. Speaking from the recollection of information obtained at Omaha three years ago, it takes about thirty days to ascend the river from that town to Benton, the distance being about 2000 miles. Only boats drawing two or three feet of water can perform the journey, as there are many shoals and shifting sands to obstruct heavier vessels. It has been estimated that between thirty or forty steamboats reached Benton during the course of last summer. The season, for purposes of navigation, may be reckoned as having a duration of about four months. Let us now travel north of the American boundary-line, and see what effect Benton is likely to produce upon the trade of the Saskatchewan. Edmonton lies N.N.W. from Benton about 370 miles. Carlton about the same distance north-east. From both Carlton and Edmonton to Fort Benton the country presents no obstacle whatever to the passage of loaded carts or waggons, but the road from Edmonton is free from Blackfeet during the summer months, and is better provided with wood and water. For the first time in the history of the Saskatchewan, carts passed safely from Edmonton to Benton during the course of last summer. These carts, ten in number, started from Edmonton in the month of May, bringing furs, robes, etc., to the Missouri. They returned in the month of June with a cargo consisting of flour and alcohol. The furs and robes realized good prices, and altogether the journey was so successful as to hold out high inducements to other persons to attempt it during the coming summer. Already the merchants of Benton are bidding high for the possession of the trade of the Upper Saskatchewan, and estimates have been received by missionaries offering to deliver goods at Edmonton for 7 (American currency) per 100 lbs., all risks being insured. In fact it has only been on account of the absence of a frontier custom house that importations of bonded goods have not already been made via Benton. These facts speak for themselves. Without doubt, if the natural outlet to the trade of the Saskatchewan, namely the River Saskatchewan itself, remains in its present neglected state, the trade of the Western territory will seek a new source, and Benton will become to Edmonton what St. Paul in Minnesota is to Manitoba. With a view to bringing the regions of the Saskatchewan into a state of order and security, and to establish the authority and jurisdiction of the Dominion Government, as well as to promote the colonization of the country known as the "Fertile Belt," and particularly to guard against the deplorable evils arising out of an Indian war, I would recommend the following course for the consideration of your Excellency. 1st--The appointment of a Civil Magistrate or Commissioner, after the model of similar appointments in Ireland and in India. This official would be required to make semi-annual tours through the Saskatchewan for the purpose of holding courts; he would be assisted in the discharge of his judicial functions by the civil magistrates of the Hudson Bay Company who have been already nominated, and by others yet to be appointed from amongst the most influential and respected persons of the French and English half-breed population. This officer should reside in the Upper Saskatchewan. 2nd. The organization of a well-equipped force of from 100 to 150 men, one-third to be mounted, specially recruited and engaged for service in the Saskatchewan; enlisting for two or three years service, and at expiration of that period to become military settlers, receiving grants of land, but still remaining as a reserve force should their services be required. 3rd. The establishment of two Government stations, one on the Upper Saskatchewan, in the neighbourhood of Edmonton, the other at the junctions of the North and South Branches of the River Saskatchewan, below Carlton. The establishment of these stations to be followed by the extinguishment of the Indian title, within certain limits, to be determined by the geographical features of the locality; for instance, say from longitude of Carlton House eastward to junction of-two Saskatchewans, the northern and southern limits being the river banks. Again, at Edmonton, I would recommend the Government to take possession of both banks of the Saskatchewan River, from Edmonton House to Victoria, a distance of about 80 miles, with a depth of, say, from six to eight miles. The districts thus taken possession of would immediately become available for settlement, Government titles being given at rates which would induce immigration. These are the three general propositions, with a few additions to be mentioned hereafter, which I believe will, if acted upon, secure peace and order to the Saskatchewan, encourage settlement, and open up to the influences of civilized man one of the fairest regions of the earth. For the sake of clearness, I have em bodied these three suggestions in the shortest possible forms. I will now review the reasons which recommend their adoption and the benefits likely to accrue from them. With reference to the first suggestion, namely, the appointment of a resident magistrate, or civil commissioner. I would merely observe that the general report which I have already made on the subject of the state of the Saskatchewan, as well as the particular statement to be found in the Appendix marked D, will be sufficient to prove the necessity of that appointment. With regard, however, to this appointment as connected with the other suggestion of military force and Government stations or districts, I have much to advance. The first pressing necessity is the establishment, as speedily as possible, of some civil authority which will give a distinct and tangible idea of Government to the native and half-breed population, now so totally devoid of the knowledge of what law and civil government may pertain to. The establishment of such an authority, distinct from, and independent of, the Hudson Bay Company, as well as from any missionary body situated in the country, would inaugurate a new series of events, a commencement, as it were, of civilization in these vast regions, free from all associations connected with the former history of the country, and separate from the rival systems of missionary enterprise, while at the same time lending countenance and support to all. Without some material force to render obligatory the ordinances of such an authority matters would, I believe, become even worse than they are at present, where the wrong-doer does not appear to violate any law, because there is no law to violate. On the other hand, I am strongly of opinion that any military force which would merely be sent to the forts of the Hudson Bay Company would prove only a source of useless expenditure to the Dominion Government, leaving matters in very much the same state as they exist at present, affording little protection outside the immediate circle of the forts in question, holding out no inducements to the establishment of new settlements, and liable to be mistaken by the ignorant people of the country for the-hired defenders of the Hudson Bay Company. Thus it seems to me that force without distinct civil government would be useless, and that civil government would be powerless without a material force. Again, as to the purchase of Indian rights upon certain localities and the formation of settlements, it must be borne in mind that no settlement is possible in the Saskatchewan until some such plan is adopted. People will not build houses, rear stock, or cultivate land in places where their cattle are liable to be killed and their crops stolen. It must also be remembered that the Saskatchewan offers at present not only a magnificent soil and a fine climate, but also a market for all farming produce at rates which are exorbitantly high. For instance, flour sells from 2 pounds 10 shillings to 5 pounds per 100 lbs.; potatoes from 5 shillings to 7 shillings a bushel; and other commodities in proportion. No apprehension need be entertained that such settlements would remain isolated establishments. There are at the present time many persons scattered through the Saskatchewan who wish to become farmers and settlers, but hesitate to do so in the absence of protection and security. These persons are old servants of the Hudson Bay Company who have made money, or hunters whose lives have been passed in the great West, and who now desire to settle down. Nor would another class of settler be absent. Several of the missionaries in the Saskatchewan have been in correspondence with persons in Canada who desire to seek a home in this western land, but who have been advised to remain in their present country until matters have become more settled along the Saskatchewan. The advantages of the localities which I have specified, the junction of the branches of the Saskatchewan River and the neighbourhood of Edmonton, may be stated as follows:--Junction of north and south branch--a place of great future military and commercial importance, commanding navigation of both rivers; enjoys a climate suitable to the production of all cereals and roots, and a soil of unsurpassed fertility; is situated about midway between Red River and the Rocky Mountains, and possesses abundant and excellent supplies of timber for building and fuel; is below the presumed interruption to steam navigation on Saskatchewan River known as "Coal Falls," and is situated on direct cart-road from Manitoba to Carlton. Edmonton, the centre of the Upper Saskatchewan, also the centre of a large population (half-breed)-country lying between it and Victoria very fertile, is within easy reach of Blackfeet, Cree, and Assineboine country; summer frosts often injurious to wheat, but all other crops thrive well, and even wheat is frequently a large and productive crop; timber for fuel plenty, and for building can be obtained in large quantities ten miles distant; coal in large quantities on bank of river and gold at from three to ten dollars a day in sand bars. Only one other subject remains for consideration (I presume that the establishment of regular mail communication and steam navigation would follow the adoption of the course I have recommended, and, therefore, have not thought fit to introduce them), and to that subject I will now allude before closing this Report, which has already reached proportions very much larger than I had anticipated. I refer to the Indian question, and the best mode of dealing with it. As the military protection of the linq of the Saskatchewan against Indian attack would be a practical impossibility without a very great expenditure of money, it becomes necessary that all precautions should be taken to prevent the outbreak of an Indian war, which, if once commenced, could not fail to be productive of evil consequences. I would urge the advisability of sending a Commissioner to meet the tribes of the Saskatchewan during their summer assemblies. It must be borne in mind that the real Indian Question exists many hundred miles west of Manitoba, in a region where the red man wields a power and an influence of his own. Upon one point I would recommend particular caution, and that is, in the selection of the individual for this purpose. I have heard a good deal of persons who were said to possess great knowledge of the Indian character, and I have seen enough of the red man to estimate at its real worth the possession of this knowledge. Knowledge of Indian character has too long been synonymous with knowledge of how to cheat the Indian--a species of cleverness which, even in the science of chicanery, does not require the exercise of the highest abilities. I fear that the Indian has already had too many dealings with persons of this class, and has now got a very shrewd idea that those who possess this knowledge of his character have also managed to possess themselves of his property. With regard to the objects to be attended to by a Commission of the kind I have referred to, the principal would be the establishment of peace between the warring tribes of Crees and Blackfeet. I believe that a peace duly entered into, and signed by the chiefs of both nations, in the presence and under the authority of a Government Commissioner, with that show of ceremony and display so dear to the mind of the Indian, would be lasting in its effects. Such a peace should be made on the basis of restitution to Government in case of robbery. For instance, during time of peace a Cree steals five horses from a Black-foot. In that case the particular branch of the Cree nation to which the thief belonged would have to give up ten horses to Government, which would be handed over to the Black-feet as restitution and atonement. The idea of peace on some such understanding occurred to me in the Saskatchewan, and I questioned one of the most influential of the Cree chiefs upon the subject. His answer to me-was that his band would agree to such a proposal and abide by it, but that he could not speak for the other bands. I would also recommend that medals, such as those given to the Indian chiefs of Canada and Lake Superior many years ago, be distributed among the leading men of the Plain Tribes. It is astonishing with what religious veneration these large silver medals have been preserved by their owners through all the vicissitudes of war and time, and with what pride the well-polished effigy is still pointed out, and the words "King George" shouted by the Indian, who has yet a firm belief in the present existence of that monarch. If it should be decided that a body of troops should be despatched to the West, I think it very advisable that the officer in command of such body should make himself thoroughly acquainted with the Plain Tribes, visiting them at least annually in their camps, and conferring with them on points connected with their interest. I am also of opinion that if the Government establishes itself in the Saskatchewan, a third post': should be formed, after the lapse of a year, at the junction of the Medicine and Red Deer Rivers in latitude 52.18 north, and longitude 114.15 west, about 90 miles south of Edmonton. This position is well within the Blackfeet country, possesses a good soil, excellent timber, and commands the road to Benton. This post need not be the centre of a settlement, but merely a military, customs, missionary, and trading establishment. Such, Sir, are the views which I have formed upon the whole question of the existing state of affairs in the Saskatchewan. They result from the thought and experience of-many long days of travel through a large portion of the region to which they have reference. If I were asked from what point of view I have looked upon this question, I would answer From that point which sees a vast country lying, as it were, silently awaiting the approach of the immense wave of human life which rolls unceasingly from Europe to America. Far off as lie the regions of the Saskatchewan from the Atlantic sea-board on which that wave is thrown, remote as are the fertile glades which fringe the eastern slopes of the Rocky Mountains, still that wave of human life is destined to reach those beautiful solitudes, and to convert the wild luxuriance of their now Useless vegetation into all the requirements of civilized existence. And If it-be matter for desire that across this immense continent, resting upon the two greatest oceans of the world, a powerful nation should. arise with the strength and the manhood which race and climate and tradition would assign to it--a nation which would look with no evil eye upon the old mother land from whence it sprung, a nation which, having no bitter memories to recall would have no idle prejudices to perpetuate then surely it is worthy of all toil of hand and brain, on the part of those who to-day rule, that this great link in the chain of such a future nationality should no longer remain undeveloped, a prey to the conflicts of savage races, at once the garden and the wilderness of the Central Continent. W. F. BUTLER, Lieutenant, 69th Regiment. Manitoba, 10th March, 1871. APPENDIX A Settlements (Half-breed) in Saskatchewan. PRINCE ALBERT.--English half-breed. A Presbyterian Mission presided over by Rev. Mr. Nesbit. Small post of Hudson Bay Company with large farm attached. On North Branch of Saskatchewan River, 35 miles above junction of both branches; a fine soil, plenty of timber, and good wintering ground for stock; 50 miles east of Carlton, and 60 west of Fort-à-la-Corne. WHITEFISH LAKE.--English. Wesleyan Mission--only a few settlers--soil good--timber plenty. Situated north-east of Victoria 60 miles. LAC LA BICHE.--French half-breed. Roman Catholic Mission. Large farm attached to mission with water grist mill, etc. Soil very good and timber abundant; excellent fishery. Situated at 70 miles north-west from Fort Pitt. VICTORIA.--English half-breed. Wesleyan Mission. Large farm, soil good, altogether a rising little colony. Situated on North Branch of Saskatchewan River, 84 miles below Edmonton Mission, presided over by Rev. J. McDougall. ST. ALBERT.--French half-breed. Roman Catholic Mission and residence of Bishop (Grandin); fine church building, school and convent, etc. Previous to epidemic, 900 French, the largest settlement in Saskatchewan; very little farming done, all hunters. Situated 9 miles north of Edmonton; orphanage here. ST. ANNE.--French half-breed. Roman Catholic. Settlers mostly emigrated to St. Albert. Good fishery; a few farms existing and doing well. Timber plenty, and soil (as usual) very good; 50 miles north-west from Edmonton. Information concerning Native Tribes of Saskatchewan River Living between Red River and Rocky Mountains. (Transcriber's Note: The original presents this in tabular form. Where a field is blank, I have shown this by . . . Fields are: Name of Tribe. Locality Occupied. No. by Pellitier Pressent Estimate. Language. Where Trading. Names of Chiefs.) Salteaux-Assiniboine River--. . .--. . .-Salteaux--Forts Ellice and Pelly. Koota. . . . . Crees--N. Saskatchewan--11,500-7000-Cree--Carlton, Pitt, Victoria, Edmonton, Battle River-Sgamnat, Sweet Grass--. . . Blackfeet--S. Saskatchewan-6000-4000-Blackfeet--R. Mount. House--The Big Crow--Represented as being a good man. Blood-S. Saskatchewan-2800-2000-Ditto--R. Mount. House--The Swan--A great villain. Peagin--49 Parallel-4400-3000-Ditto--R. Mount. House--The Horn--. . . . Lorcees--Red Deer River-1100-200-Ditto, Chipawayan--R. Mount. House, Edmonton. Assineboine--S. of Qu'Appelle-1000-500-Assineboine--Qu'Appelle--. . . --. . Wood Crees--North of Carlton-425--. . . Cree-Forts-à-la-Corne and Carlton-Misstawasis--A good man. Rocky Mountain Assimneboine--Rocky Mountains-225--. . . Assineboine--R. Mount. House, Assineboine--The Bear's Paw--. . . Estimated population of half-breed about 2000 souls, forming many scattered settlements not permanently located. APPENDIX C. Names of persons whose appointment to the Commission of the Peace would be recommended: All officers of Hudson Bay Company in charge of posts. Mr. Chanletain, of St. Albert Mission, Edmonton. Mr. Brazeau. Mr. McKenzie, of Victoria. Mr. Wm. Borwick, St. Albert Mission, Edmonton. Mr. McGillis, residing near Fort Pitt. APPENDIX D. List of some of the crimes which have been committed in Saskatchewan without investigation or punishment: Murder of a man named Whitford near Rocky Mountains. Murder of George Daniels by George Robertson at White Mud River, Near Victoria. Murder of French half-breed by his nephew at St. Albert. Murder of two Lurcee Indians by half-breed close to Edmonton House. Murderous attack upon a small party of Blackfeet Indians (men, women, and children), made by Crees, near Edmonton, in April, 1870, by which several of the former were killed and wounded. This attack occurred after the safety of these Indians had been purchased from the Crees by the officer of the Hudson Bay Company in charge at Edmonton, and a guard provided for their safe passage across the rivers. This guard, composed of French half-breeds from St. Albert opened out to right and left when the attack commenced, and did nothing towards saving the lives of the Blackfeet, who were nearly all killed or wounded. There is now living close to Edmonton a woman who beat out the brain of a little child aged two years on this occasion; also a half-bred man who is the foremost instigator to all these atrocities. Besides these murders and acts of violence robbery is of continual occurrence in the Saskatchewan. The outrages specified above have taken place during the last few years. The End. 
18182	----	Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this file which includes the original illustration (Radisson's map). See 18182-h.htm or 18182-h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/1/8/1/8/18182/18182-h/18182-h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/1/8/1/8/18182/18182-h.zip) HERALDS OF EMPIRE Being the Story of One Ramsay Stanhope Lieutenant to Pierre Radisson in the Northern Fur Trade by A. C. LAUT Author of Lords of the North Toronto, Canada William Briggs 1902 Entered according to Act of the Parliament of Canada in the year 1902 By A. C. LAUT at the Department of Agriculture All rights reserved DEDICATED TO THE NEW WORLD NOBILITY ----Now I learned how the man must have felt when he set about conquering the elements, subduing land and sea and savagery. And in that lies the Homeric greatness of this vast fresh New World of ours. Your Old World victor takes up the unfinished work left by generations of men. Your New World hero begins at the pristine task. I pray you, who are born to the nobility of the New World, forget not the glory of your heritage; for the place which Got hath given you in the history of the race is one which men must hold in envy when Roman patrician and Norman conqueror and robber baron are as forgotten as the kingly lines of old Egypt.---- CONTENTS CHAPTER Foreword PART I I. What are King-Killers? II. I rescue and am rescued III. Touching Witchcraft IV. Rebecca and Jack Battle Conspire V. M. Radisson Again PART II VI. The Roaring Forties VII. M. de Radisson Acts VIII. M. de Radisson Comes to his Own IX. Visitors X. The Cause of the Firing XI. More of M. Radisson's Rivals XII. M. Radisson begins the Game XIII. The White Darkness XIV. A Challenge XV. The Battle not to the Strong XVI. We seek the Inlanders XVII. A Bootless Sacrifice XVIII. Facing the End XIX. Afterward XX. Who the Pirates were XXI. How the Pirates came XXII. We leave the North Sea PART III XXIII. A Change of Partners XXIV. Under the Aegis of the Court XXV. Jack Battle again XXVI. At Oxford XXVII. Home from the Bay XXVIII. Rebecca and I fall out XXIX. The King's Pleasure ILLUSTRATION Radisson's Map HERALDS OF EMPIRE FOREWORD I see him yet--swarthy, straight as a lance, keen as steel, in his eyes the restless fire that leaps to red when sword cuts sword. I see him yet--beating about the high seas, a lone adventurer, tracking forest wastes where no man else dare go, pitting his wit against the intrigue of king and court and empire. Prince of pathfinders, prince of pioneers, prince of gamesters, he played the game for love of the game, caring never a rush for the gold which pawns other men's souls. How much of good was in his ill, how much of ill in his good, let his life declare! He played fast and loose with truth, I know, till all the world played fast and loose with him. He juggled with empires as with puppets, but he died not a groat the richer, which is better record than greater men can boast. Of enemies, Sieur Radisson had a-plenty, for which, methinks, he had that lying tongue of his to thank. Old France and New France, Old England and New England, would have paid a price for his head; but Pierre Radisson's head held afar too much cunning for any hang-dog of an assassin to try "fall-back, fall-edge" on him. In spite of all the malice with which his enemies fouled him living and dead, Sieur Radisson was never the common buccaneer which your cheap pamphleteers have painted him; though, i' faith, buccaneers stood high enough in my day, when Prince Rupert himself turned robber and pirate of the high seas. Pierre Radisson held his title of nobility from the king; so did all those young noblemen who went with him to the north, as may be seen from M. Colbert's papers in the records _de la marine_. Nor was the disembarking of furs at Isle Percée an attempt to steal M. de la Chesnaye's cargo, as slanderers would have us believe, but a way of escape from those vampires sucking the life-blood of New France--the farmers of the revenue. Indeed, His Most Christian Majesty himself commanded those robber rulers of Quebec to desist from meddling with the northern adventurers. And if some gentleman who has never been farther from city cobblestones than to ride afield with the hounds or take waters at foreign baths, should protest that no maid was ever in so desolate a case as Mistress Hortense, I answer there are to-day many in the same region keeping themselves pure as pond-lilies in a brackish pool, at the forts of their fathers and husbands in the fur-trading country. [1] And as memory looks back to those far days, there is another--a poor, shambling, mean-spoken, mean-clad fellow, with the scars of convict gyves on his wrists and the dumb love of a faithful spaniel in his eyes. Compare these two as I may--Pierre Radisson, the explorer with fame like a meteor that drops in the dark; Jack Battle, the wharf-rat--for the life of me I cannot tell which memory grips the more. One played the game, the other paid the pawn. Both were misunderstood. One took no thought but of self; the other, no thought of self at all. But where the great man won glory that was a target for envy, the poor sailor lad garnered quiet happiness. [1] In confirmation of which reference may be called to the daughter of Governor Norton in Prince of Wales Fort, north of Nelson. Hearne reports that the poor creature died from exposure about the time of her father's death, which was many years after Mr. Stanhope had written the last words of this record.--_Author_. PART I CHAPTER I WHAT ARE KING-KILLERS? My father--peace to his soul!--had been of those who thronged London streets with wine tubs to drink the restored king's health on bended knee; but he, poor gentleman, departed this life before his monarch could restore a wasted patrimony. For old Tibbie, the nurse, there was nothing left but to pawn the family plate and take me, a spoiled lad in his teens, out to Puritan kin of Boston Town. On the night my father died he had spoken remorsefully of the past to the lord bishop at his bedside. "Tush, man, have a heart," cries his lordship. "Thou'lt see pasch and yule yet forty year, Stanhope. Tush, man, 'tis thy liver, or a touch of the gout. Take here a smack of port. Sleep sound, man, sleep sound." And my father slept so sound he never wakened more. So I came to my Uncle Kirke, whose virtues were of the acid sort that curdles the milk of human kindness. With him, goodness meant gloom. If the sweet joy of living ever sang to him in his youth, he shut his ears to the sound as to siren temptings, and sternly set himself to the fierce delight of being miserable. For misery he had reason enough. Having writ a book in which he called King Charles "a man of blood and everlasting abomination"--whatever that might mean--Eli Kirke got himself star-chambered. When, in the language of those times, he was examined "before torture, in torture, between torture, and after torture"--the torture of the rack and the thumbkins and the boot--he added to his former testimony that the queen was a "Babylonish woman, a Potiphar, a Jezebel, a--" There his mouth was gagged, head and heels roped to the rack, and a wrench given the pulleys at each end that nigh dismembered his poor, torn body. And what words, think you, came quick on top of his first sharp outcry? "Wisdom is justified of her children! The wicked shall he pull down and the humble shall he exalt!" And when you come to think of it, Charles Stuart lost his head on the block five years from that day. When Eli Kirke left jail to take ship for Boston Town both ears had been cropped. On his forehead the letters S L--seditious libeler--were branded deep, though not so deep as the bitterness burned into his soul. There comes before me a picture of my landing, showing as clearly as it were threescore years ago that soft, summer night, the harbour waters molten gold in a harvest moon, a waiting group of figures grim above the quay. No firing of muskets and drinking of flagons and ringing of bells to welcome us, for each ship brought out court minions to whip Boston into line with the Restoration--as hungry a lot of rascals as ever gathered to pick fresh bones. Old Tibbie had pranked me out in brave finery: the close-cut, black-velvet waistcoat that young royalists then wore; a scarlet doublet, flaming enough to set the turkey yard afire; the silken hose and big shoe-buckles late introduced from France by the king; and a beaver hat with plumes a-nodding like my lady's fan. My curls, I mind, tumbled forward thicker than those foppish French perukes. "There is thy Uncle Kirke," whispers Nurse Tibbie. "Pay thy best devoirs, Master Ramsay," and she pushes me to the fore of those crowding up the docks. A thin, pale man with a scarred face silently permitted me to salute four limp fingers. His eyes swept me with chill disapproval. My hat clapped on a deal faster than it had come off, for you must know we unhatted in those days with a grand, slow bow. "Thy Aunt Ruth," says Tibbie, nudging me; for had I stood from that day to this, I was bound that cold man should speak first. To my aunt the beaver came off in its grandest flourish. The pressure of a dutiful kiss touched my forehead, and I minded the passion kisses of a dead mother. Those errant curls blew out in the wind. "Ramsay Stanhope," begins my uncle sourly, "what do you with uncropped hair and the foolish trappings of vanity?" As I live, those were the first words he uttered to me. "I perceive silken garters," says he, clearing his throat and lowering his glance down my person. "Many a good man hath exchanged silk for hemp, my fine gentleman!" "An the hemp hold like silk, 'twere a fair exchange, sir," I returned; though I knew very well he referred to those men who had died for the cause. "Ramsay," says he, pointing one lank fore-finger at me, "Ramsay, draw your neck out of that collar; for the vanities of the wicked are a yoke leading captive the foolish!" Now, my collar was _point-de-vice_ of prime quality over black velvet. My uncle's welcome was more than a vain lad could stomach; and what youth of his first teens hath not a vanity hidden about him somewhere? "Thou shalt not put the horse and the ass under the same yoke, sir," said I, drawing myself up far as ever high heels would lift. He looked dazed for a minute. Then he told me that he spake concerning my spiritual blindness, his compassions being moved to show me the error of my way. At that, old nurse must needs take fire. "Lord save a lad from the likes o' sich compassions! Sure, sir, an the good Lord makes pretty hair grow, 'twere casting pearls before swine to shave his head like a cannon-ball"--this with a look at my uncle's crown--"or to dress a proper little gentleman like a ragged flibbergibbet." "Tibbie, hold your tongue!" I order. "Silence were fitter for fools and children," says Eli Kirke loftily. There comes a time when every life must choose whether to laugh or weep over trivial pains, and when a cut may be broken on the foil of that glancing mirth which the good Creator gave mankind to keep our race from going mad. It came to me on the night of my arrival on the wharves of Boston Town. We lumbered up through the straggling village in one of those clumsy coaches that had late become the terror of foot-passengers in London crowds. My aunt pointed with a pride that was colonial to the fine light which the towns-people had erected on Beacon Hill; and told me pretty legends of Rattlesnake Hill that fired the desire to explore those inland dangers. I noticed that the rubble-faced houses showed lanterns in iron clamps above most of the doorways. My kinsman's house stood on the verge of the wilds-rough stone below, timbered plaster above, with a circle of bay windows midway, like an umbrella. High windows were safer in case of attack from savages, Aunt Ruth explained; and I mentally set to scaling rope ladders in and out of those windows. We drew up before the front garden and entered by a turnstile with flying arms. Many a ride have little Rebecca Stocking, of the court-house, and Ben Gillam, the captain's son, and Jack Battle, the sailor lad, had, perched on that turnstile, while I ran pushing and jumping on, as the arms flew creaking round. The home-coming was not auspicious. Yet I thought no resentment against my uncle. I realized too well how the bloody revenge of the royalists was turning the hearts of England to stone. One morning I recall, when my poor father lay a-bed of the gout and there came a roar through London streets as of a burst ocean dike. Before Tibbie could say no, I had snatched up a cap and was off. God spare me another such sight! In all my wild wanderings have I never seen savages do worse. Through the streets of London before the shoutings of a rabble rout was whipped an old, white-haired man. In front of him rumbled a cart; in the cart, the axeman, laving wet hands; at the axeman's feet, the head of a regicide--all to intimidate that old, white-haired man, fearlessly erect, singing a psalm. When they reached the shambles, know you what they did? Go read the old court records and learn what that sentence meant when a man's body was cast into fire before his living eyes! All the while, watching from a window were the princes and their shameless ones. Ah, yes! God wot, I understood Eli Kirke's bitterness! But the beginning was not auspicious, and my best intentions presaged worse. For instance, one morning my uncle was sounding my convictions--he was ever sounding other people's convictions--"touching the divine right of kings." Thinking to give strength to contempt for that doctrine, I applied to it one forcible word I had oft heard used by gentlemen of the cloth. Had I shot a gun across the table, the effect could not have been worse. The serving maid fell all of a heap against the pantry door. Old Tibbie yelped out with laughter, and then nigh choked. Aunt Ruth glanced from me to Eli Kirke with a timid look in her eye; but Eli Kirke gazed stolidly into my soul as he would read whether I scoffed or no. Thereafter he nailed up a little box to receive fines for blasphemy. "To be plucked as a brand from the burning," I hear him say, fetching a mighty sigh. But sweet, calm Aunt Ruth, stitching at some spotless kerchief, intercedes. "Let us be thankful the lad hath come to us." "Bound fast in cords of vanity," deplores Uncle Kirke. "But all things are possible," Aunt Ruth softly interposes. "All things are possible," concedes Eli Kirke grudgingly, "but thou knowest, Ruth, all things are not probable!" And I, knowing my uncle loved an argument as dearly as merry gentlemen love a glass, slip away leg-bail for the docks, where sits Ben Gillam among the spars spinning sailor yarns to Jack Battle, of the great north sea, whither his father goes for the fur trade; or of M. Radisson, the half-wild Frenchman, who married an English kinswoman of Eli Kirke's and went where never man went and came back with so many pelts that the Quebec governor wanted to build a fortress of beaver fur; [1] or of the English squadron, rocking to the harbour tide, fresh from winning the Dutch of Manhattan, and ready to subdue malcontents of Boston Town. Then Jack Battle, the sailor lad from no one knows where, living no one knows how, digs his bare toes into the sand and asks under his breath if we have heard about king-killers. "What are king-killers?" demands young Gillam. I discreetly hold my tongue; for a gentleman who supped late with my uncle one night has strangely disappeared, and the rats in the attic have grown boldly loud. "What are king-killers?" asks Gillam. "Them as sent Charles I to his death," explains Jack. "They do say," he whispers fearfully, "one o' them is hid hereabouts now! The king's commission hath ordered to have hounds and Indians run him down." "Pah!" says Gillam, making little of what he had not known, "hounds are only for run-aways," this with a sneering look at odd marks round Jack's wrists. "I am no slave!" vows Jack in crestfallen tones. "Who said 'slave'?" laughs Gillam triumphantly. "My father saith he is a runaway rat from the Barbadoes," adds Ben to me. With the fear of a hunted animal under his shaggy brows, little Jack tries to read how much is guess. "I am no slave, Ben Gillam," he flings back at hazard; but his voice is thin from fright. "My father saith some planter hath lost ten pound on thee, little slavie," continues Ben. "Pah! Ten pound for such a scrub! He's not worth six! Look at the marks on his arms, Ramsay"--catching the sailor roughly by the wrist. "He can say what he likes. He knows chains." Little Jack jerked free and ran along the sands as hard as his bare feet could carry him. Then I turned to Ben, who had always bullied us both. Dropping the solemn "thou's" which our elders still used, I let him have plain "you's." "You--you--mean coward! I've a mind to knock you into the sea!" "Grow bigger first, little billycock," taunts Ben. By the next day I was big enough. Mistress Hortense Hillary was down on the beach with M. Picot's blackamoor, who dogged her heels wherever she went; and presently comes Rebecca Stocking to shovel sand too. Then Ben must show what a big fellow he is by kicking over the little maid's cart-load. "Stop that!" commands Jack Battle, springing of a sudden from the beach. For an instant, Ben was taken aback. Then the insolence that provokes its own punishment broke forth. "Go play with your equals, jack-pudding! Jailbirds who ape their betters are strangled up in Quebec," and he kicked down Rebecca's pile too. Rebecca's doll-blue eyes spilled over with tears, but Mistress Hortense was the high-mettled, high-stepping little dame. She fairly stamped her wrath, and to Jack's amaze took him by the hand and marched off with the hauteur of an empress. Then Ben must call out something about M. Picot, the French doctor, not being what he ought, and little Hortense having no mother. "Ben," said I quietly, "come out on the pier." The pier ran to deep water. At the far end I spoke. "Not another word against Hortense and Jack! Promise me!" His back was to the water, mine to the shore. He would have promised readily enough, I think, if the other monkeys had not followed--Rebecca with big tear-drops on both cheeks, Hortense quivering with wrath, Jack flushed, half shy and half shamed to be championed by a girl. "Come, Ben; 'fore I count three, promise----" But he lugged at me. I dodged. With a splash that doused us four, Ben went headlong into the sea. The uplift of the waves caught him. He threw back his arms with a cry. Then he sank like lead. The sailor son of the famous captain could not swim. Rebecca's eyes nigh jumped from her head with fright. Hortense grew white to the lips and shouted for that lout of a blackamoor sound asleep on the sand. Before I could get my doublet off to dive, Jack Battle was cleaving air like a leaping fish, and the waters closed over his heels. Bethink you, who are not withered into forgetfulness of your own merry youth, whether our hearts stopped beating then! But up comes that water-dog of a Jack gripping Ben by the scruff of the neck; and when by our united strength we had hauled them both on the pier, little Mistress Hortense was the one to roll Gillam on his stomach and bid us "Quick! Stand him on his head and pour the water out!" From that day Hortense was Jack's slave, Jack was mine, and Ben was a pampered hero because he never told and took the punishment like a man. But there was never a word more slurring Hortense's unknown origin and Jack's strange wrist marks. [1] Young Stanhope's informant had evidently mixed tradition with fact. Radisson was fined for going overland to Hudson Bay without the governor's permission, the fine to build a fort at Three Rivers. Eli Kirke's kinswoman was a daughter of Sir John Kirke, of the Hudson's Bay Fur Company.--_Author_. CHAPTER II I RESCUE AND AM RESCUED So the happy childhood days sped on, a swift stream past flowered banks. Ben went off to sail the north sea in Captain Gillam's ship. M. Picot, the French doctor, brought a governess from Paris for Hortense, so that we saw little of our playmate, and Jack Battle continued to live like a hunted rat at the docks. My uncle and Rebecca's father, who were beginning to dabble in the fur trade, had jointly hired a peripatetic dominie to give us youngsters lessons in Bible history and the three R's. At noon hour I initiated Rebecca into all the thrilling dangers of Indian warfare, and many a time have we had wild escapes from imaginary savages by scaling a rope ladder of my own making up to the high nursery window. By-and-bye, when school was in and the dominie dozed, I would lower that timid little whiffet of a Puritan maid out through the window to the turnstile. Then I would ride her round till our heads whirled. If Jack Battle came along, Rebecca would jump down primly and run in, for Jack was unknown in the meeting-house, and the meeting-house was Rebecca's measure of the whole world. One day Jack lingered. He was carrying something tenderly in a red cambric handkerchief. "Where is Mistress Hortense?" he asked sheepishly. "That silly French woman keeps her caged like a squirrel." Little Jack began tittering and giggling. "Why--that's what I have here," he explained, slipping a bundle of soft fur in my hand. "It's tame! It's for Hortense," said he. "Why don't you take it to her, Jack?" "Take it to her?" reiterated he in a daze. "As long as she gets it, what does it matter who takes it?" With that, he was off across the marshy commons, leaving the squirrel in my hand. Forgetting lessons, I ran to M. Picot's house. That governess answered the knocker. "From Jack Battle to Mistress Hortense!" And I proffered the squirrel. Though she smirked a world of thanks, she would not take it. Then Hortense came dancing down the hall. "Am I not grown tall?" she asked, mischievously shaking her curls. "No," said I, looking down to her feet cased in those high slippers French ladies then wore, "'tis your heels!" And we all laughed. Catching sight of the squirrel, Hortense snatched it up with caresses against her neck, and the French governess sputtered out something of which I knew only the word "beau." "Jack is no beau, mademoiselle," said I loftily. "Pah! He's a wharf lad." I had thought Hortense would die in fits. "Mademoiselle means the squirrel, Ramsay," she said, choking, her handkerchief to her lips. "Tell Jack thanks, with my love," she called, floating back up the stairs. And the governess set to laughing in the pleasant French way that shakes all over and has no spite. Emboldened, I asked why Hortense could not play with us any more. Hortense, she explained, was become too big to prank on the commons. "Faith, mademoiselle," said I ruefully, "an she mayn't play war on the commons, what may she play?" "Beau!" teases mademoiselle, perking her lips saucily; and she shut the door in my face. It seemed a silly answer enough, but it put a notion in a lad's head. I would try it on Rebecca. When I re-entered the window, the dominie still slept. Rebecca, the demure monkey, bent over her lesson book as innocently as though there were no turnstiles. "Rebecca," I whispered, leaning across the bench, "you are big enough to have a--what? Guess." "Go away, Ramsay Stanhope!" snapped Rebecca, grown mighty good of a sudden, with glance fast on her white stomacher. "O-ho! Crosspatch," thought I; and from no other motive than transgressing the forbidden, I reached across to distract the attentive goodness of the prim little baggage; but--an iron grip lifted me bodily from the bench. It was Eli Kirke, wry-faced, tight-lipped. He had seen all! This was the secret of Mistress Rebecca's new-found diligence. No syllable was uttered, but it was the awfullest silence that ever a lad heard. I was lifted rather than led upstairs and left a prisoner in locked room with naught to do but gnaw my conscience and gaze at the woods skirting the crests of the inland hills. Those rats in the attic grew noisier, and presently sounds a mighty hallooing outside, with a blowing of hunting-horns and baying of hounds. What ado was this in Boston, where men were only hunters of souls and chasers of devils? The rats fell to sudden quiet, and from the yells of the rabble crowd I could make out only "King-killers! King-killers!" These were no Puritans shouting, but the blackguard sailors and hirelings of the English squadron set loose to hunt down the refugees. The shouting became a roar. Then in burst Eli Kirke's front door. The house was suddenly filled with swearings enough to cram his blasphemy box to the brim. There was a trampling of feet on the stairs, followed by the crashing of overturned furniture, and the rabble had rushed up with neither let nor hindrance and were searching every room. Who had turned informer on my uncle? Was I not the only royalist in the house? Would suspicion fall on me? But questions were put to flight by a thunderous rapping on the door. It gave as it had been cardboard, and in tumbled a dozen ruffians with gold-lace doublets, cockades and clanking swords. Behind peered Eli Kirke, pale with fear, his eyes asking mine if I knew. True as eyes can speak, mine told him that I knew as well as he. "Body o' me! What-a-deuce? Only a little fighting sparrow of a royalist!" cried a swaggering colt of a fellow in officer's uniform. "No one here, lad?" demanded a second. And I saw Eli Kirke close his eyes as in prayer. "Sir," said I, drawing myself up on my heels, "I don't understand you. I--am here." They bellowed a laugh and were tumbling over one another in their haste up the attic stairs. Then my blood went cold with fear, for the memory of that poor old man going to the shambles of London flashed back. A window lifted and fell in the attic gable. With a rush I had slammed the door and was craning out full length from the window-sill. Against the lattice timber-work of the plastered wall below the attic window clung a figure in Geneva cloak, with portmanteau under arm. It was the man who had supped so late with Eli Kirke. "Sir," I whispered, fearing to startle him from perilous footing, "let me hold your portmanteau. Jump to the slant roof below." For a second his face went ashy, but he tossed me the bag, gained the shed roof at a leap, snatched back the case, and with a "Lord bless thee, child!" was down and away. The spurred boots of the searchers clanked on the stairs. A blowing of horns! They were all to horse and off as fast as the hounds coursed away. The deep, far baying of the dogs, now loud, now low, as the trail ran away or the wind blew clear, told where the chase led inland. If the fugitive but hid till the dogs passed he was safe enough; but of a sudden came the hoarse, furious barkings that signal hot scent. What had happened was plain. The poor wretch had crossed the road and given the hounds clew. The baying came nearer. He had discovered his mistake and was trying to regain the house. Balaam stood saddled to carry Eli Kirke to the docks. 'Twas a wan hope, but in a twinkling I was riding like wind for the barking behind the hill. A white-faced man broke from the brush at crazy pace. "God ha' mercy, sir," I cried, leaping off; "to horse and away! Ride up the brook bed to throw the hounds off." I saw him in saddle, struck Balaam's flank a blow that set pace for a gallop, turned, and--for a second time that day was lifted from the ground. "Pardieu! Clean done!" says a low voice. "'Tis a pretty trick!" And I felt myself set up before a rider. "To save thee from the hounds," says the voice. Scarce knowing whether I dreamed, I looked over my shoulder to see one who was neither royalist nor Puritan--a thin, swarth man, tall and straight as an Indian, bare-shaven and scarred from war, with long, wiry hair and black eyes full of sparks. The pack came on in a whirl to lose scent at the stream, and my rescuer headed our horse away from the rabble, doffing his beaver familiarly to the officers galloping past. "Ha!" called one, reining his horse to its haunches, "did that snivelling knave pass this way?" "Do you mean this little gentleman?" The officer galloped off. "Keep an eye open, Radisson," he shouted over his shoulder. "'Twere better shut," says M. Radisson softly; and at his name my blood pricked to a jump. Here was he of whom Ben Gillam told, the half-wild Frenchman, who had married the royalist kinswoman of Eli Kirke; the hero of Spanish fights and Turkish wars; the bold explorer of the north sea, who brought back such wealth from an unknown land, governors and merchant princes were spying his heels like pirates a treasure ship. "'Tis more sport hunting than being hunted," he remarked, with an air of quiet reminiscence. His suit was fine-tanned, cream buckskin, garnished with gold braid like any courtier's, with a deep collar of otter. Unmindful of manners, I would have turned again to stare, but he bade me guide the horse back to my home. "Lest the hunters ask questions," he explained. "And what," he demanded, "what doth a little cavalier in a Puritan hotbed?" "I am even where God hath been pleased to set me, sir." "'Twas a ticklish place he set thee when I came up." "By your leave, sir, 'tis a higher place than I ever thought to know." M. Radisson laughed a low, mellow laugh, and, vowing I should be a court gallant, put me down before Eli Kirke's turnstile. My uncle came stalking forth, his lips pale with rage. He had blazed out ere I could explain one word. "Have I put bread in thy mouth, Ramsay Stanhope, that thou shouldst turn traitor? Viper and imp of Satan!" he shouted, shaking his clinched fist in my face. "Was it not enough that thou wert utterly bound in iniquity without persecuting the Lord's anointed?" I took a breath. "Where is Balaam?" he demanded, seizing me roughly. "Sir," said I, "for leaving the room without leave, I pray you to flog me as I deserve. As for the horse, he is safe and I hope far away under the gentleman I helped down from the attic." His face fell a-blank. M. Radisson dismounted laughing. "Nay, nay, Eli Kirke, I protest 'twas to the lad's credit. 'Twas this way, kinsman," and he told all, with many a strange-sounding, foreign expression that must have put the Puritan's nose out of joint, for Eli Kirke began blowing like a trumpet. Then out comes Aunt Ruth to insist that M. Radisson share a haunch of venison at our noonday meal. And how I wish I could tell you of that dinner, and of all that M. Radisson talked; of captivity among Iroquois and imprisonment in Spain and wars in Turkey; of his voyage over land and lake to a far north sea, and of the conspiracy among merchant princes of Quebec to ruin him. By-and-bye Rebecca Stocking's father came in, and the three sat talking plans for the northern trade till M. Radisson let drop that the English commissioners were keen to join the enterprise. Then the two Puritans would have naught to do with it. Long ago, as you know, we dined at midday; but so swiftly had the hour flown with M. Radisson's tales of daring that Tibbie was already lighting candles when we rose from the dinner table. "And now," cried M. Radisson, lifting a stirrup-cup of home-brewed October, "health to the little gentleman who saved a life to-day! Health to mine host! And a cup fathoms deep to his luck when Ramsay sails yon sea!" "He might do worse," said Eli Kirke grimly. And the words come back like the echo of a prophecy. I would have escaped my uncle, but he waylaid me in the dark at the foot of the stairs. "Ramsay," said he gently. "Sir?" said I, wondering if flint could melt. "'The Lord bless thee, and keep thee: the Lord make his face shine upon thee, and be gracious unto thee: the Lord lift up his countenance upon thee, and give thee peace!'" CHAPTER III TOUCHING WITCHCRAFT That interrupted lesson with Rebecca finished my schooling. I was set to learning the mysteries of accounts in Eli Kirke's warehouse. "How goes the keeping of accounts, Ramsay?" he questioned soon after I had been in tutelage. I had always intended to try my fortune in the English court when I came of age, and the air of the counting-house ill suited a royalist's health. "Why, sir," I made answer, picking my words not to trip his displeasure, "I get as much as I can--and I give as little as I can; and those be all the accounts that ever I intend to keep." Aunt Ruth looked up from her spinning-wheel in a way that had become an alarm signal. Eli Kirke glanced dubiously to the blasphemy box, as though my words were actionable. There was no sound but the drone of the loom till I slipped from the room. Then they both began to talk. Soon after came transfer from the counting-house to the fur trade. That took me through the shadowy forests from town to town, and when I returned my old comrades seemed shot of a sudden from youth to manhood. There was Ben Gillam, a giff-gaffing blade home from the north sea, so topful of spray that salt water spilled over at every word. "Split me fore and aft," exclaims Ben, "if I sail not a ship of my own next year! I'll take the boat without commission. Stocking and my father have made an offer," he hinted darkly. "I'll go without commission!" "And risk being strangled for't, if the French governor catch you." "Body o' me!" flouts Ben, ripping out a peck of oaths that had cost dear and meant a day in the stocks if the elders heard, "who's going to inform when my father sails the only other ship in the bay? Devil sink my soul to the bottom of the sea if I don't take a boat to Hudson Bay under the French governor's nose!" "A boat of your own," I laughed. "What for, Ben?" "For the same as your Prince Rupert, Prince Robber, took his. Go out light as a cork, come back loaded with Spanish gold to the water-line." Ben paused to take a pinch of snuff and display his new embroidered waist-coat. "Look you at the wealth in the beaver trade," he added. "M. Radisson went home with George Carteret not worth a curse, formed the Fur Company, and came back from Hudson Bay with pelts packed to the quarter-deck. Devil sink me! but they say, after the fur sale, the gentlemen adventurers had to haul the gold through London streets with carts! Bread o' grace, Ramsay, have half an eye for your own purse!" he urged. "There is a life for a man o' spirit! Why don't you join the beaver trade, Ramsay?" Why not, indeed? 'Twas that or turn cut-purse and road-lifter for a youth of birth without means in those days. Of Jack Battle I saw less. He shipped with the fishing boats in the summer and cruised with any vagrant craft for the winter. When he came ashore he was as small and eel-like and shy and awkward as ever, with the same dumb fidelity in his eyes. And what a snowy maid had Rebecca become! Sitting behind her spinning-wheel, with her dainty fingers darting in the sunlight, she seemed the pink and whitest thing that ever grew, with a look on her face of apple-blossoms in June; but the sly wench had grown mighty demure with me. When I laughed over that ending to our last lesson, she must affect an air of injury. 'Twas neither her fault nor mine, I declare, coaxing back her good-humour; 'twas the fault of the face. I wanted to see where the white began and the pink ended. Then Rebecca, with cheeks a-bloom under the hiding of her bonnet, quickens steps to the meeting-house; but as a matter of course we walk home together, for behind march the older folk, staidly discoursing of doctrine. "Rebecca," I say, "you did not take your eyes off the preacher for one minute." "How do you know, Ramsay?" retorts Rebecca, turning her face away with a dimple trembling in her chin, albeit it was the Sabbath. "That preacher is too handsome to be sound in his doctrine, Rebecca." Then she grows so mighty prim she must ask which heading of the sermon pleases me best. "I liked the last," I declare; and with that, we are at the turnstile. Hortense became a vision of something lost, a type of what I had known when great ladies came to our country hall. M. Picot himself took her on the grand tour of the Continent. How much we had been hoping to see more of her I did not realize till she came back and we saw less. Once I encountered M. Picot and his ward on the wharf. Her curls were more wayward than of old and her large eyes more lustrous, full of deep, new lights, dark like the flash of a black diamond. Her form appeared slender against the long, flowing mantilla shot with gold like any grand dame's. She wore a white beaver with plumes sweeping down on her curls. Indeed, little Hortense seemed altogether such a great lady that I held back, though she was looking straight towards me. "Give you good-e'en, Ramsay," salutes M. Picot, a small, thin man with pointed beard, eyebrows of a fierce curlicue, and an expression under half-shut lids like cat's eyes in the dark. "Give you good-e'en! Can you guess who this is?" As if any one could forget Hortense! But I did not say so. Instead, I begged leave to welcome her back by saluting the tips of her gloved fingers. She asked me if I minded that drowning of Ben long ago. Then she wanted to know of Jack. "I hear you are fur trading, Ramsay?" remarks M. Picot with the inflection of a question. I told him somewhat of the trade, and he broke out in almost the same words as Ben Gillam. 'Twas the life for a gentleman of spirit. Why didn't I join the beaver trade of Hudson Bay? And did I know of any secret league between Captain Zachariah Gillam and Mr. Stocking to trade without commission? "Ah, Hillary," he sighed, "had we been beaver trading like Radisson instead of pounding pestles, we might have had little Hortense restored." "Restored!" thought I. And M. Picot must have seen my surprise, for he drew back to his shell like a pricked snail. Observing that the wind was chill, he bade me an icy good-night. I had no desire to pry into M. Picot's secrets, but I could not help knowing that he had unbended to me because he was interested in the fur trade. From that 'twas but a step to the guess that he had come to New England to amass wealth to restore Mistress Hortense. Restore her to what? There I pulled up sharp. 'Twas none of my affair; and yet, in spite of resolves, it daily became more of my affair. Do what I would, spending part of every day with Rebecca, that image of lustrous eyes under the white beaver, the plume nodding above the curls, the slender figure outlined against the gold-shot mantilla, became a haunting memory. Countless times I blotted out that mental picture with a sweep of common sense. "She was a pert miss, with her head full of French nonsense and a nose held too high in air." Then a memory of the eyes under the beaver, and fancy was at it again spinning cobwebs in moonshine. M. Picot kept more aloof than formerly, and was as heartily hated for it as the little minds of a little place ever hate those apart. Occasionally, in the forest far back from the settlement, I caught a flying glimpse of Lincoln green; and Hortense went through the woods, hard as her Irish hunter could gallop, followed by the blackamoor, churning up and down on a blowing nag. Once I had the good luck to restore a dropped gauntlet before the blackamoor could come. With eyes alight she threw me a flashing thanks and was off, a sunbeam through the forest shades; and something was thumping under a velvet waistcoat faster than the greyhound's pace. A moment later, back came the hound in springy stretches, with the riders at full gallop. Her whip fell, but this time she did not turn. But when I carried the whip to the doctor's house that night, M. Picot received it with scant grace! Whispers--gall-midges among evil tongues--were raising a buzz that boded ill for the doctor. France had paid spies among the English, some said. Deliverance Dobbins, a frumpish, fizgig of a maid, ever complaining of bodily ills though her chuffy cheeks were red as pippins, reported that one day when she had gone for simples she had seen strange, dead things in the jars of M. Picot's dispensary. At this I laughed as Rebecca told it me, and old Tibbie winked behind the little Puritan maid's head; for my father, like the princes, had known that love of the new sciences which became a passion among gentlemen. Had I not noticed the mole on the French doctor's cheek? Rebecca asked. I had: what of it? "The crops have been blighted," says Rebecca; though what connection that had with M. Picot's mole, I could not see. "Deliverance Dobbins oft hath racking pains," says Rebecca, with that air of injury which became her demure dimples so well. "Drat that Deliverance Dobbins for a low-bred mongrel mischief-maker!" cries old Tibbie from the pantry door. "Tibbie," I order, "hold your tongue and drop an angel in the blasphemy box." "'Twas good coin wasted," the old nurse vowed; but I must needs put some curb on her royalist tongue, which was ever running a-riot in that Puritan household. It was an accident, in the end, that threw me across M. Picot's path. I had gone to have him bind up a splintered wrist, and he invited me to stay for a round of piquet. I, having only one hand, must beg Mistress Hortense to sort the cards for me. She sat so near that I could not see her. You may guess I lost every game. "Tut! tut! Hillary dear, 'tis a poor helper Ramsay gained when he asked your hand. Pish! pish!" he added, seeing our faces crimson; "come away," and he carried me off to the dispensary, as though his preserved reptiles would be more interesting than Hortense. With an indifference a trifle too marked, he brought me round to the fur trade and wanted to know whether I would be willing to risk trading without a license, on shares with a partner. "Quick wealth that way, Ramsay, an you have courage to go to the north. An it were not for Hortense, I'd hire that young rapscallion of a Gillam to take me north." I caught his drift, and had to tell him that I meant to try my fortune in the English court. But he paid small heed to what I said, gazing absently at the creatures in the jars. "'Twould be devilish dangerous for a girl," he muttered, pulling fiercely at his mustache. "Do you mean the court, sir?" I asked. "Aye," returned the doctor with a dry laugh that meant the opposite of his words. "An you incline to the court, learn the tricks o' the foils, or rogues will slit both purse and throat." And all the while he was smiling as though my going to the court were an odd notion. "If I could but find a master," I lamented. "Come to me of an evening," says M. Picot. "I'll teach you, and you can tell me of the fur trade." You may be sure I went as often as ever I could. M. Picot took me upstairs to a sort of hunting room. It had a great many ponderous oak pieces carved after the Flemish pattern and a few little bandy-legged chairs and gilded tables with courtly scenes painted on top, which he said Mistress Hortense had brought back as of the latest French fashion. The blackamoor drew close the iron shutters; for, though those in the world must know the ways of the world, worldling practices were a sad offence to New England. Shoving the furnishings aside, M. Picot picked from the armory rack two slim foils resembling Spanish rapiers and prepared to give me my lesson. Carte and tierce, low carte and flanconnade, he taught me with many a ringing clash of steel till beads were dripping from our brows like rain-drops. "Bravo!" shouted M. Picot in a pause. "Are you son o' the Stanhope that fought on the king's side?" I said that I was. "I knew the rascal that got the estate from the king," says M. Picot, with a curious look from Hortense to me; and he told me of Blood, the freebooter, who stole the king's crown but won royal favour by his bravado and entered court service for the doing of deeds that bore not the light of day. Nightly I went to the French doctor's house, and I learned every wicked trick of thrust and parry that M. Picot knew. Once when I bungled a foul lunge, which M. Picot said was a habit of the infamous Blood, his weapon touched my chest, and Mistress Hortense uttered a sharp cry. "What--what--what!" exclaims M. Picot, whirling on her. "'Twas so real," murmurs Hortense, biting her lip. After that she sat still enough. Then the steel was exchanged for cards; and when I lost too steadily M. Picot broke out: "Pish, boy, your luck fails here! Hillary, child, go practise thy songs on the spinet." Or: "Hortense, go mull us a smack o' wine!" Or: "Ha, ha, little witch! Up yet? Late hours make old ladies." And Hortense must go off, so that I never saw her alone but once. 'Twas the night before I was to leave for the trade. The blackamoor appeared to say that Deliverance Dobbins was "a-goin' in fits" on the dispensary floor. "Faith, doctor," said I, "she used to have dumps on our turnstile." "Yes," laughed Hortense, "small wonder she had dumps on that turnstile! Ramsay used to tilt her backward." M. Picot hastened away, laughing. Hortense was in a great carved high-back chair with clumsy, wooden cupids floundering all about the tall head-rest. Her face was alight in soft-hued crimson flaming from an Arabian cresset stuck in sockets against the Flemish cabinet. "A child's trick," began Hortense, catching at the shafts of light. "I often think of those old days on the beach." "So do I," said Hortense. "I wish they could come back." "So do I," smiled Hortense. Then, as if to check more: "I suppose, Ramsay, you would want to drown us all--Ben and Jack and Rebecca and me." "And I suppose you would want to stand us all on our heads," I retorted. Then we both laughed, and Hortense demanded if I had as much skill with the lyre as with the sword. She had heard that I was much given to chanting vain airs and wanton songs, she said. And this is what I sang, with a heart that knocked to the notes of the old madrigal like the precentor's tuning-fork to a meeting-house psalm: "Lady, when I behold the roses sprouting, Which, clad in damask mantles, deck the arbours, And then behold your lips where sweet love harbours, My eyes perplex me with a double doubting, Whether the roses be your lips, or your lips the roses." Barely had I finished when Mistress Hortense seats herself at the spinet, and, changing the words to suit her saucy fancy, trills off that ballad but newly writ by one of our English courtiers: "Shall I, wasting in despair, Die because--_Rebecca's_--fair? Or make pale my cheeks with care 'Cause _Rebecca's_ rosier are?" "Hortense!" I protested. "Be _he_ fairer than the day Or the _June-field coils of hay_; If _he_ be not so to me, What care I how _fine_ he be?" There was such merriment in the dark-lashed eyes, I defy Eli Kirke himself to have taken offence; and so, like many another youth, I was all too ready to be the pipe on which a dainty lady played her stops. As the song faded to the last tinkling notes of the spinet her fingers took to touching low, tuneless melodies like thoughts creeping into thoughts, or perfume of flowers in the dark. The melting airs slipped into silence, and Hortense shut her eyes, "to get the memory of it," she said. I thought she meant some new-fangled tune. "This is memory enough for me," said I. "Oh?" asked Hortense, and she uncovered all the blaze of the dark lights hid in those eyes. "Faith, Hortense," I answered, like a moth gone giddy in flame, "your naughty music wakes echoes of what souls must hear in paradise." "Then it isn't naughty," said Hortense, beginning to play fiercely, striking false notes and discords and things. "Hortense," said I. "No--Ramsay!" cried Hortense, jangling harder than ever. "But--yes!--Hortense----" And in bustled M. Picot, hastier than need, methought. "What, Hillary? Not a-bed yet, child? Ha!--crow's-feet under eyes to-morrow! Bed, little baggage! Forget not thy prayers! Pish! Pish! Good-night! Good-night!" That is the way an older man takes it. "Now, devil fly away with that prying wench of a Deliverance Dobbins!" ejaculated M. Picot, stamping about. "Oh, I'll cure her fanciful fits! Pish! Pish! That frump and her fits! Bad blood, Ramsay; low-bred, low-bred! 'Tis ever the way of her kind to blab of aches and stuffed stomachs that were well if left empty. An she come prying into my chemicals, taking fits when she's caught, I'll mix her a pill o' Deliverance!" And M. Picot laughed heartily at his own joke. The next morning I was off to the trade. Though I hardly acknowledged the reason to myself, any youth can guess why I made excuse to come back soon. As I rode up, Rebecca stood at our gate. She had no smile. Had I not been thinking of another, I had noticed the sadness of her face; but when she moved back a pace, I flung out some foolishness about a gate being no bar if one had a mind to jump. Then she brought me sharp to my senses as I sprang to the ground. "Ramsay," she exclaimed, "M. Picot and Mistress Hortense are in jail charged with sorcery! M. Picot is like to be hanged! An they do not confess, they may be set in the bilboes and whipped. There is talk of putting Mistress Hortense to the test." "The test!" 'Twas as if a great weight struck away power to think, for the test meant neither more nor less than torture till confession were wrung from agony. The night went black and Rebecca's voice came as from some far place. "Ramsay, you are hurting--you are crushing my hands!" Poor child, she was crying; and the words I would have said stuck fast behind sealed lips. She seemed to understand, for she went on: "Deliverance Dobbins saw strange things in his house. She went to spy. He hath crazed her intellectuals. She hath dumb fits." Now I understood. This trouble was the result of M. Picot's threat; but little Rebecca's voice was tinkling on like a bell in a dome. "My father hath the key to their ward. My father saith there is like to be trouble if they do not confess--" "Confess!" I broke out. "Confess what? If they confess the lie they will be burned for witchcraft. And if they refuse to confess, they will be hanged for not telling the lie. Pretty justice! And your holy men fined one fellow a hundred pounds for calling their justices a pack of jackasses----" "Sentence is to be pronounced to-morrow after communion," said Rebecca. "After communion?" I could say no more. On that of all days for tyranny's crime! God forgive me for despairing of mankind that night. I thought freedom had been won in the Commonwealth war, but that was only freedom of body. A greater strife was to wage for freedom of soul. CHAPTER IV REBECCA AND JACK BATTLE CONSPIRE 'Twas cockcrow when I left pacing the shore where we had so often played in childhood; and through the darkness came the howl of M. Picot's hound, scratching outside the prison gate. As well reason with maniacs as fanatics, say I, for they hide as much folly under the mask of conscience as ever court fool wore 'neath painted face. There was Mr. Stocking, as well-meaning a man as trod earth, obdurate beyond persuasion against poor M. Picot under his charge. Might I not speak to the French doctor through the bars of his window? By no means, Mr. Stocking assured. If once the great door were unlocked, who could tell what black arts a sorcerer might use? "Look you, Ramsay lad," says he, "I've had this brass key made against his witchcraft, and I do not trust it to the hands of the jailer." Then, I fear, I pleaded too keenly; for, suspecting collusion with M. Picot, the warden of the court-house grew frigid and bade me ask Eli Kirke's opinion on witchcraft. "'Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live,'" rasped Eli Kirke, his stern eyes ablaze from an inner fire. "'A man' also, or woman, that hath a familiar spirit, or that is a wizard, shall surely be put to death.' Think you M. Picot burns incense to the serpent in his jars for the healing of mankind?" he demanded fiercely. "Yes," said I, "'tis for the healing of mankind by experimentation with chemicals. Knowledge of God nor chemicals springs full grown from man's head, Uncle Eli. Both must be learned. That is all the meaning of his jars and crucibles. He is only trying to learn what laws God ordained among materials. And when M. Picot makes mistakes, it is the same as when the Church makes mistakes and learns wisdom by blunders." Eli Kirke blinked his eyes as though my monstrous pleadings dazed him. "'Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live,'" he cried doggedly. "Do the Scriptures lie, Ramsay Stanhope? Tell me that?" "No," said I. "The Scriptures condemn liars, and the man who pretends witchcraft _is_ a liar. There's no such thing. That is why the Scriptures command burning." I paused. He made no answer, and I pleaded on. "But M. Picot denies witchcraft, and you would burn him for not lying." Never think to gain a stubborn antagonist by partial concession. M. Radisson used to say if you give an enemy an inch he will claim an ell. 'Twas so with Eli Kirke, for he leaped to his feet in a fine frenzy and bade me cease juggling Holy Writ. "'Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live,'" he shouted. "'Tis abomination! It shall utterly be put away from you! Because of this hidden iniquity the colony hath fallen on evil days. Let it perish root and branch!" But Tibbie breaks in upon his declamation by throwing wide the library door, and in marches a line of pale-faced ascetics, rigid of jaw, cold of eye, and exalted with that gloomy fervour which counts burning life's highest joy. Among them was the famous witch-hanger of after years, a mere youth then, but about his lips the hard lines of a spiritual zeal scarce differing from pride. "God was awakening the churches by marvellous signs," said one, extending a lank, cold hand to salute Eli Kirke. "Have we not wrestled mightily for signs and wonders?" demanded another with jaw of steel. And one description of the generation seeking signs was all but off the tip of my tongue. "Some aver there be no witches--so fearfully hath error gone abroad," lamented young Mather, keen to be heard then, as he always was. "Brethren, toleration would make a kingdom of chaos, a Sodom, a Gomorrah, a Babylon!" Faith, it needed no horoscope to forecast that young divine's dark future! I stood it as long as I could, with palms itching to knock their solemn heads together like so many bowling balls; but when one cadaverous-faced fellow, whose sanctity had gone bilious from lack of sunshine, whined out against "the saucy miss," meaning thereby Mistress Hortense, and another prayed Heaven through his nose that his daughter might "lie in her grave ere she minced her steps with such dissoluteness of hair and unseemly broideries and bright colours, showing the lightness of her mind," and a third averred that "a cucking-stool would teach a maid to walk more shamefacedly," I whirled upon them in a fury that had disinherited me from Eli Kirke's graces ere I spake ten words. "Sirs," said I, "your slatternly wenches may be dead ere they match Mistress Hortense! As for wearing light colours, the devil himself is painted black. Let them who are doing shameful acts to the innocent walk shamefacedly! For shame, sirs, to cloak malice and jealousy of M. Picot under religion! New England will remember this blot against you and curse you for it! An you listen to Deliverance Dobbins's lies, what hinders any lying wench sending good men to the scaffold?" At first they listened agape, but now the hot blood rushed to their faces. "Hold thy tongue, lad!" roared Eli Kirke. Then, as if to atone for that violence: "The Lord rebuke thee," he added solemnly. And I flung from the house dumb with impotent rage. My thoughts were as the snatched sleep of a sick man's dreams. Again the hideous nightmare of the old martyr at the shambles; but now the shambles were in the New World and the martyr was M. Picot. Something cold touched my hand through the dark, and there crouched M. Picot's hound, whining for its master. Automatically I followed across the commons to the court-house square. It stopped at the prison gate, sniffing and whining and begging in. Poor dog! What could I do? I tried to coax it away, but it lay at the wall like a stone. Of the long service in the new-built meeting-house I remember very little. Beat of drums, not bells, called to church in those days, and the beat was to me as a funeral march. The pale face of the preacher in the high pulpit overtowering us all was alight with stern zeal. The elders, sitting in a row below the pulpit facing us, listened to the fierce diatribe against the dark arts with looks of approbation that boded ill for M. Picot; and at every fresh fusillade of texts to bolster his argument, the line of deacons below the elders glanced back at the preacher approvingly. Rebecca sat on that side of the congregation assigned to the women with a dumb look of sympathy on the sweet hooded face. The prisoners were not present. At the end of the service the preacher paused; and there fell a great hush in which men scarce breathed, for sentence was to be pronounced. But the preacher only announced that before handing the case to the civil court of oyer and terminer for judgment, the elders wished to hold it in meditation for another day. The singing of the dismissal psalm began and a smothered cry seemed to break from Rebecca's pew. Then the preacher had raised his hands above bowed heads. The service was over. The people crowded solemnly out, and I was left alone in the gathering darkness--alone with the ghosts of youth's illusions mocking from the gloom. Religion, then, did not always mean right! There were tyrants of souls as well as tyrants of sword. Prayers were uttered that were fitter for hearing in hell than in Heaven. Good men could deceive themselves into crime cloaking spiritual malice, sect jealousy, race hatred with an unctuous text. Here, in New England, where men had come for freedom, was tyranny masking in the guise of religion. Preachers as jealous of the power slipping from their hands as ever was primate of England! A poor gentleman hounded to his death because he practised the sciences! Millions of victims all the world over burned for witchcraft, sacrificed to a Moloch of superstition in the name of a Christ who came to let in the light of knowledge on all superstition! Could I have found a wilderness where was no human face, I think I had fled to it that night. And, indeed, when you come to think of my breaking with Eli Kirke, 'twas the witch trial that drove me to the wilderness. There was yet a respite. But the Church still dominated the civil courts, and a transfer of the case meant that the Church would throw the onus of executing sentence on those lay figures who were the puppets of a Pharisaical oligarchy. There was no time to appeal to England. There was no chance of sudden rescue. New England had not the stuff of which mobs are made. I thought of appealing to the mercy of the judges; but what mercy had Eli Kirke received at the hands of royalists that he should be merciful to them? I thought of firing the prison; but the walls were stone, and the night wet, and the outcome doubtful. I thought of the cell window; but if there had been any hope that way, M. Picot had worked an escape. Bowing my head to think--to pray--to imprecate, I lost all sense of time and place. Some one had slipped quietly into the dark of the church. I felt rather than saw a nearing presence. But I paid no heed, for despair blotted out all thought. Whoever it was came feeling a way down the dark aisle. Then hot tears fell upon my hands. In the gloom there paused a childlike figure. "Rebecca!" She panted out a wordless cry. Then she came closer and laid a hand on my arm. She was struggling to subdue sobs. The question came in a shivering breath. "Is Hortense--so dear?" "So dear, Rebecca." "She must be wondrous happy, Ramsay." A tumult of effort. "If I could only take her place----" "Take her place, Rebecca?" "My father hath the key--if--if--if I took her place, she might go free." "Take her place, child! What folly is this--dear, kind Rebecca? Would 't be any better to send you to the rope than Hortense? No--no--dear child!" At that her agitation abated, and she puzzled as if to say more. "Dear Rebecca," said I, comforting her as I would a sister, "dear child, run home. Forget not little Hortense in thy prayers." May the angel of forgiveness spread a broader mantle across our blunders than our sins, but could I have said worse? "I have cooked dainties with my own hands. I have sent her cakes every day," sobbed Rebecca. "Go home now, Rebecca," I begged. But she stood silent. "Rebecca--what is it?" "You have not been to see me for a year, Ramsay." I could scarce believe my ears. "My father is away to-night. Will you not come?" "But, Rebecca----" "I have never asked a thing of you before." "But, Rebecca----" "Will you come for Hortense's sake?" she interrupted, with a little sharp, hard, falsetto note in her baby voice. "Rebecca," I demanded, "what do you mean?" But she snapped back like the peevish child that she was: "An you come not when I ask you, you may stay!" And she had gone. What was she trying to say with her dark hints and overnice scruples of a Puritan conscience? And was not that Jack Battle greeting her outside in the dark? I tore after Rebecca at such speed that I had cannoned into open arms before I saw a hulking form across the way. "Fall-back--fall-edge!" roared Jack, closing his arms about me. "'Tis Ramsay himself, with a sword like a butcher's cleaver and a wit like a broadaxe!" "Have you not heard, Jack?" "Heard! Ship ahoy!" cried Jack. "Split me to the chin like a cod! Stood I not abaft of you all day long, packed like a herring in a pickle! 'Twas a pretty kettle of fish in your Noah's ark to-day! 'Tis all along o' goodness gone stale from too much salt," says Jack. I told him of little Rebecca, and asked what he made of it. He said he made of it that fools didn't love in the right place--which was not to the point, whatever Jack thought of Rebecca. Linking his arm through mine, he headed me about. "Captain Gillam, Ben's father, sails for England at sunrise," vouched Jack. "What has that to do with Mistress Hortense?" I returned testily. "'Tis a swift ship to sail in." "To sail in, Jack Battle?"--I caught at the hope. "Out with your plan, man!" "And be hanged for it," snaps Jack, falling silent. We were opposite the prison. He pointed to a light behind the bars. "They are the only prisoners," he said. "They must be in there." "One could pass a note through those bars with a long pole," I observed, gazing over the yard wall. "Or a key," answered Jack. He paused before Rebecca's house to the left of the prison. "Ramsay," inquired Jack quizzically, "do you happen to have heard who has the keys?" "Rebecca's father is warden." "And Rebecca's father is from home to-night," says he, facing me squarely to the lantern above the door. How did he know that? Then I remembered the voices outside the church. "Jack--what did Rebecca mean----" "Not to be hanged," interrupts Jack. "'Tis all along o' having too much conscience, Ramsay. They must either lie like a Dutchman and be damned, or tell the truth and be hanged. Now, ship ahoy," says he, "to the quarterdeck!" and he flung me forcibly up the steps. Rebecca, herself, red-eyed and reserved, threw wide the door. She motioned me to a bench seat opposite the fireplace and fastened her gaze above the mantel till mine followed there too. A bunch of keys hung from an iron rack. "What are those, Rebecca?" "The largest is for the gate," says she with the panic of conscience running from fire. "The brass one unlocks the great door, and--and--the--M. Picot's cell unbolts," she stammered. "May I examine them, Rebecca?" "I will even draw you a pint of cider," says Rebecca evasively, with great trepidation, "but come back soon," she called, tripping off to the wine-cellar door. Snatching the keys, I was down the steps at a leap. "The large one for the gate, Jack! The brass one for the big door, and the cell unbolts!" "Ease your helm, sonny!" says Jack, catching the bunch from my clasp. "Fall-back--fall-edge!" he laughed in that awful mockery of the axeman's block. "Fall-back--fall-edge! If there's any hacking of necks, mine is thicker than yours! I'll run the risks. Do you wait here in shadow." And he darted away. The gate creaked as it gave. Then I waited for what seemed eternity. A night-watchman shuffled along with swinging lantern, calling out: "What ho? What ho?" Townsfolks rode through the streets with a clatter of the chairmen's feet; but no words were bandied by the fellows, for a Sabbath hush lay over the night. A great hackney-coach nigh mired in mud as it lumbered through mid-road. And M. Picot's hound came sniffing hungrily to me. A glare of light shot aslant the dark. Softly the door of Rebecca's house opened. A frail figure was silhouetted against the light. The wick above snuffed out. The figure drew in without a single look, leaving the door ajar. But an hour ago, the iron righteousness of bigots had filled my soul with revolt. Now the sight of that little Puritan maid brought prayers to my lips and a Te Deum to my soul. The prison gate swung open again with rusty protest. Two hooded figures slipped through the dark. Jack Battle had locked the gate and the keys were in my hand. "Take them back," he gurgled out with school-lad glee. "'Twill be a pretty to-do of witchcraft to-morrow when they find a cell empty. Go hire passage to England in Captain Gillam's boat!" "Captain Gillam's boat?" "Yes, or Master Ben's pirate-ship of the north, if she's there," and he had dashed off in the dark. When Rebecca appeared above the cellar-way with a flagon that reamed to a beaded top, the keys were back on the wall. "I was overlong," panted Rebecca, with eyes averted as of old to the folds of her white stomacher. "'Twas a stubborn bung and hard to draw." "Dear little cheat! God bless you!--and bless you!--and bless you, Rebecca!" I cried. At which the poor child took fright. "It--it--it was not all a lie, Ramsay," she stammered. "The bung was hard--and--and--and I didn't hasten----" "Dear comrade--good-bye, forever!" I called from the dark-of the step. "Forever?" asked the faint voice of a forlorn figure black in the doorway. Dear, snowy, self-sacrificing spirit--'tis my clearest memory of her with the thin, grieved voice coming through the dark. I ran to the wharf hard as ever heels nerved by fear and joy and triumph and love could carry me. The passage I easily engaged from the ship's mate, who dinned into my unlistening ears full account of the north sea, whither Captain Gillam was to go for the Fur Company, and whither, too, Master Ben was keen to sail, "a pirateer, along o' his own risk and gain," explained the mate with a wink, "pirateer or privateer, call 'em what you will, Mister; the Susan with white sails in Boston Town, and Le Bon Garçon with sails black as the devil himself up in Quebec, ha--ha--and I'll give ye odds on it, Mister, the devil himself don't catch Master Ben! Why, bless you, gentlemen, who's to jail 'im here for droppin' Spanish gold in his own hold and poachin' furs on the king's preserve o' the north sea, when Stocking, the warden, 'imself owns 'alf the Susan and Cap'en Gillam, 'is father, is master o' the king's ship?" "They do say," he babbled on, "now that Radisson, the French jack-a-boots, hath given the slip to the King's Company, he sails from Quebec in ship o' his own. If him and Ben and the Capiten meet--oh, there'll be times! There'll be times!" And "times" there were sure enough; but of that I had then small care and shook the loquacious rascal off so that he left me in peace. First came the servants, trundling cart-loads of cases, which passed unnoticed; for the town bell had tolled the close of Sabbath, and Monday shipping had begun. The cusp of a watery moon faded in the gray dawn streaks of a muffled sky, and at last came the chairmen, with Jack running alert. From the chairs stepped the blackamoor, painted as white as paste. Then a New Amsterdam gentleman slipped out from the curtains, followed by his page-boy and servants. "Jack," I asked, "where is Hortense?" The page glanced from under curls. "Dear Jack," she whispered, standing high on her heels nigh as tall as the sailor lad. And poor Jack Battle, not knowing how to play down, stood blushing, cap in hand, till she laughed a queer little laugh and, bidding him good-bye, told him to remember that she had the squirrel stuffed. To me she said no word. Her hand touched mine quick farewell. The long lashes lifted. There was a look on her face. I ask no greater joy in Paradise than memory of that look. * * * * * * One lone, gray star hung over the masthead. The ship careened across the billows till star and mast-top met. Jack fetched a deep sigh. "There be work for sailors in England," he said. In a flash I thought that I knew what he had meant by fools not loving in the right place. "That were folly, Jack! She hath her station!" Jack Battle pointed to the fading steel point above the vanishing masthead. "Doth looking hurt yon star?" asks Jack. "Nay; but looking may strain the eyes; and the arrows of longing come back void." He answered nothing, and we lingered heavy hearted till the sun came up over the pillowed waves turning the tumbling waters to molten gold. Between us and the fan-like rays behind the glossy billows--was no ship. Hortense was safe! There was an end-all to undared hopes. CHAPTER V M. RADISSON AGAIN "Good-bye to you, Ramsay," said Jack abruptly. "Where to, Jack?" I asked, bestirring myself. I could no more go back to Eli Kirke. But little Jack Battle was squirming his wooden clogs into the sand as he used to dig his toes, and he answered not a word. "'Tis early yet for the Grand Banks, Jack. Ben Gillam's ship keeled mast over hull from being ice-logged last spring. The spars were solid with frozen sleet from the crosstrees to the crow's nest. Your dories would be ice-logged for a month yet." "It--it--it aren't the Grand Banks no more," stammered Jack. His manner arrested me. The honest blue eyes were shifting and his toes at work in the sand. "There be gold on the high seas for the taking," vouched Jack. "An your fine gentlemen grow rich that way, why mayn't I?" "Jack," I warned, thinking of Ben Gillam's craft rigged with sails of as many colours as Joseph's coat, "Jack--is it a pirate-ship?" "No," laughed the sailor lad sheepishly, "'tis a pirateer," meaning thereby a privateer, which was the same thing in those days. "Have a care of your pirateers--privateers, Jack," said I, speaking plain. "A gentleman would be run through the gullet with a clean rapier, but you--you--would be strangled by sentence of court or sold to the Barbadoes." "Not if the warden o' the court owns half the ship," protested Jack, smiling queerly under his shaggy brows. "Oh--ho!" said I, thinking of Rebecca's father, and beginning to understand who supplied money for Ben Gillam's ventures. "I'm tired o' being a kick-a-toe and fisticuff to everybody. Now, if I'd been rich and had a ship, I might 'a' sailed for M. Picot." "Or Mistress Hortense," I added, which brought red spots to the sailor lad's cheeks. Off he went unanswering, leaving me at gaze across an unbroken sea with a heart heavy as lead. "Poor fellow! He will get over it," said I. "Another hath need o' the same medicine," came a voice. I wheeled, expecting arrest. A tall, wiry man, with coal-black hair and deep-set eyes and a scar across his swarth skin, smiled pleasantly down at me. "Now that you have them safely off," said he, still smiling, "better begone yourself." "I'll thank you for your advice when I ask it, sir," said I, suspicious of the press-gang infesting that port. Involuntarily I caught at my empty sword-belt. "Permit me," proffered the gentleman, with a broader smile, handing out his own rapier. "Sir," said I, "your pardon, but the press-gang have been busy of late." "And the sheriffs may be busy to-day," he laughed. "Black arts don't open stone walls, Ramsay." And he sent the blade clanking home to its scabbard. His surtout falling open revealed a waistcoat of buckskin. I searched his face. "M. de Radisson!" "My hero of rescues," and he offered his hand. "And my quondam nephew," he added, laughing; for his wife was a Kirke of the English branch, and my aunt was married to Eli. "Eli Kirke cannot know you are here, sir--" "Eli Kirke _need_ not know," emphasized Radisson dryly. And remembering bits of rumour about M. Radisson deserting the English Fur Company, I hastened to add: "Eli Kirke _shall_ not know!" "Your wits jump quick enough sometimes," said he. "Now tell me, whose is she, and what value do you set on her?" I was speechless with surprise. However wild a life M. Radisson led, his title of nobility was from a king who awarded patents to gentlemen only. "We neither call our women '_she_' nor give them market value," I retorted. Thereupon M. de Radisson falls in such fits of laughter, I had thought he must split his baldrick. "Pardieu!" he laughed, wiping the tears away with a tangled lace thing fit for a dandy, "Pardieu! 'Tis not your girl-page? 'Tis the ship o' that hangdog of a New England captain!" The thing came in a jiffy. Sieur Radisson, having deserted the English Fur Company, was setting up for himself. He was spying the strength of his rivals for the north sea. "You praised my wit. I have but given you a sample." Then I told him all I knew of the ship, and M. de Radisson laughed again till he was like to weep. "How is she called?" he asked. "The Prince Rupert," said I. "Ha! Then the same crew of gentlemen's scullions and courtiers' valets stuffing the lockers full o' trash to trade on their master's account. A pretty cheat for the Company!" The end of it was, M. Radisson invited me to join his ships. "A beaver-skin for a needle, Ramsay! Twenty otter for an awl! Wealth for a merchant prince," he urged. But no sooner had I grasped at this easy way out of difficulty than the Frenchman interrupts: "Hold back, man! Do you know the risk?" "No--nor care one rush!" "Governor Frontenac demands half of the furs for a license to trade, but M. de la Barre, who comes to take his place, is a friend of La Chesnaye's, and La Chesnaye owns our ships----" "And you go without a license?" "And the galleys for life----" "If you're caught," said I. "Pardieu!" he laughed, "yes--if we're caught!" "I'd as lief go to the galleys for fur-trading as the scaffold for witchcraft," said I. With that our bargain was sealed. PART II Now comes that part of a life which deals with what you will say no one man could do, yet the things were done; with wonders stranger than witchcraft, yet were true. But because you have never lived a sword-length from city pavement, nor seen one man holding his own against a thousand enemies, I pray you deny not these things. Each life is a shut-in valley, says the jonglière; but Manitou, who strides from peak to peak, knows there is more than one valley, which had been a maxim among the jonglières long before one Danish gentleman assured another there were more things in heaven and earth than philosophy dreamed. CHAPTER VI THE ROARING FORTIES Keen as an arrow from twanging bowstring, Pierre Radisson set sail over the roaring seas for the northern bay. 'Twas midsummer before his busy flittings between Acadia and Quebec brought us to Isle Percée, at the mouth of the St. Lawrence. Here Chouart Groseillers (his brother-in-law) lay with two of the craziest craft that ever rocked anchor. I scarce had time to note the bulging hulls, stout at stem and stern with deep sinking of the waist, before M. Radisson had climbed the ship's ladder and scattered quick commands that sent sailors shinning up masts, for all the world like so many monkeys. The St. Pierre, our ship was called, in honour of Pierre Radisson; for admiral and captain and trader, all in one, was Sieur Radisson, himself. Indeed, he could reef a sail as handily as any old tar. I have seen him take the wheel and hurl Allemand head-foremost from the pilot-house when that sponge-soaked rascal had imbibed more gin than was safe for the weathering of rocky coasts. Call him gamester, liar, cheat--what you will! He had his faults, which dogged him down to poverty and ruin; but deeds are proof of the inner man. And look you that judge Pierre Radisson whether your own deeds ring as mettle and true. The ironwood capstan bars clanked to that seaman's music of running sailors. A clattering of the pawls--the anchor came away. The St. Pierre shook out her bellying sails and the white sheets drew to a full beam wind. Long foam lines crisped away from the prow. Green shores slipped to haze of distance. With her larboard lipping low and that long break of swishing waters against her ports which is as a croon to the seaman's ear, the St. Pierre dipped and rose and sank again to the swell of the billowing sea. Behind, crowding every stitch of canvas and staggering not a little as she got under weigh, ploughed the Ste. Anne. And all about, heaving and falling like the deep breathings of a slumbering monster, were the wide wastes of the sea. And how I wish that I could take you back with me and show you the two miserable old gallipots which M. de Radisson rode into the roaring forties! 'Twas as if those gods of chance that had held riotous sway over all that watery desolation now first discovered one greater than themselves--a rebel 'mid their warring elements whose will they might harry but could not crush--Man, the king undaunted, coming to his own! Children oft get closer to the essences of truth than older folk grown foolish with too much learning. As a child I used to think what a wonderful moment that was when Man, the master, first appeared on face of earth. How did the beasts and the seas and the winds feel about it, I asked. Did they laugh at this fellow, the most helpless of all things, setting out to conquer all things? Did the beasts pursue him till he made bow and arrow and the seas defy him till he rafted their waters and the winds blow his house down till he dovetailed his timbers? That was the child's way of asking a very old question--Was Man the sport of the elements, the plaything of all the cruel, blind gods of chance? Now, the position was reversed. Now, I learned how the Man must have felt when he set about conquering the elements, subduing land and sea and savagery. And in that lies the Homeric greatness of this vast, fresh, New World of ours. Your Old World victor takes up the unfinished work left by generations of men. Your New World hero begins at the pristine task. I pray you, who are born to the nobility of the New World, forget not the glory of your heritage; for the place which God hath given you in the history of the race is one which men must hold in envy when Roman patrician and Norman conqueror and robber baron are as forgotten as the kingly lines of old Egypt. Fifty ton was our craft, with a crazy pitch to her prow like to take a man's stomach out and the groaning of infernal fiends in her timbers. Twelve men, our crew all told, half of them young gentlemen of fortune from Quebec, with titles as long as a tilting lance and the fighting blood of a Spanish don and the airs of a king's grand chamberlain. Their seamanship you may guess. All of them spent the better part of the first weeks at sea full length below deck. Of a calm day they lolled disconsolate over the taffrail, with one eye alert for flight down the companionway when the ship began to heave. "What are you doing back there, La Chesnaye?" asks M. de Radisson, with a quiet wink, not speaking loud enough for fo'castle hands to hear. "Cursing myself for ever coming," growls that young gentleman, scarce turning his head. "In that case," smiles Sieur Radisson, "you might be better occupied learning to take a hand at the helm." "Sir," pleads La Chesnaye meekly, "'tis all I can do to ballast the ship below stairs." "'Tis laziness, La Chesnaye," vows Radisson. "Men are thrown overboard for less!" "A quick death were kindness, sir," groans La Chesnaye, scalloping in blind zigzags for the stair. "May I be shot from that cannon, sir, if I ever set foot on ship again!" M. de Radisson laughs, and the place of the merchant prince is taken by the marquis with a face the gray shade of old Tibbie's linen a-bleaching on the green. The Ste. Anne, under Groseillers--whom we called Mr. Gooseberry when he wore his airs too mightily--was better manned, having able-bodied seamen, who distinguished themselves by a mutiny. Of which you shall hear anon. But the spirits of our young gentlemen took a prodigious leap upward as their bodies became used to the crazy pace of our ship, whose gait I can compare only to the bouncings of loose timber in a heavy sea. North of Newfoundland we were blanketed in a dirty fog. That gave our fine gentlemen a chance to right end up. "Every man of them a good seaman in calm weather," Sieur Radisson observed; and he put them through marine drill all that week. La Chesnaye so far recovered that he sometimes kept me company at the bowsprit, where we watched the clumsy gambols of the porpoise, racing and leaping and turning somersets in mid-air about the ship. Once, I mind the St. Pierre gave a tremor as if her keel had grated a reef; and a monster silver-stripe heaved up on our lee. 'Twas a finback whale, M. Radisson explained; and he protested against the impudence of scratching its back on our keel. As we sailed farther north many a school of rolling finbacks glistened silver in the sun or rose higher than our masthead, when one took the death-leap to escape its leagued foes--swordfish and thrasher and shark. And to give you an idea of the fearful tide breaking through the narrow fiords of that rock-bound coast, I may tell you that La Chesnaye and I have often seen those leviathans of the deep swept tail foremost by the driving tide into some land-locked lagoon and there beached high on naked rock. That was the sea M. Radisson was navigating with cockle-shell boats unstable of pace as a vagrant with rickets. Even Forêt, the marquis, forgot his dainty-fingered dignity and took a hand at the fishing of a shark one day. The cook had put out a bait at the end of a chain fastened to the capstan, when comes a mighty tug; and the cook shouts out that he has caught a shark. All hands are hailed to the capstan, and every one of my fine gentlemen grasps an ironwood bar to hoist the monster home. I wish you had seen their faces when the shark's great head with six rows of teeth in its gaping upper jaw came abreast the deck! Half the fellows were for throwing down the bars and running, but the other half would not show white feather before the common sailors; and two or three clanking rounds brought the great shark lashing to deck in a way that sent us scuttling up the ratlines. But Forêt would not be beaten. He thrust an ironwood bar across the gaping jaws. The shark tore the wood to splinters. There was a rip that snapped the cable with the report of a pistol, and the great fish was over deck and away in the sea. By this, you may know, we had all left our landsmen's fears far south of Belle Isle and were filled with the spirit of that wild, tempestuous world where the storm never sleeps and the cordage pipes on calmest day and the beam seas break in the long, low, growling wash that warns the coming hurricane. But if you think we were a Noah's ark of solemn faces 'mid all that warring desolation, you are much mistaken. I doubt if lamentations ever did as much to lift mankind to victory as the naughty glee of the shrieking fife. And of glee, we had a-plenty on all that voyage north. La Chesnaye, son of the merchant prince who owned our ships, played cock-o'-the-walk, took rank next to M. Radisson, and called himself deputy-governor. Forêt, whose father had a stretch of barren shingle on The Labrador, and who had himself received letters patent from His Most Christian Majesty for a marquisate, swore he would be cursed if he gave the _pas_ to La Chesnaye, or any other commoner. And M. de Radisson was as great a stickler for fine points as any of the new-fledged colonials. When he called a conference, he must needs muster to the quarter-deck by beat of drum, with a tipstaff, having a silver bauble of a stick, leading the way. This office fell to Godefroy, the trader, a fellow with the figure of a slat and a scalp tonsured bare as a billiard-ball by Indian hunting-knife. Spite of many a thwack from the flat of M. de Radisson's sword, Godefroy would carry the silver mace to the chant of a "diddle-dee-dee," which he was always humming in a sand-papered voice wherever he went. At beat of drum for conference we all came scrambling down the ratlines like tumbling acrobats of a country fair, Godefroy grasps his silver stick. "Fall in line, there, deputy-governor, diddle-dee-dee!" La Chesnaye cuffs the fellow's ears. "Diddle-dee-dee! Come on, marquis. Does Your High Mightiness give place to a merchant's son? Heaven help you, gentlemen! Come on! Come on! Diddle-dee-dee!" And we all march to M. de Radisson's cabin and sit down gravely at a long table. "Pot o' beer, tipstaff," orders Radisson; and Godefroy goes off slapping his buckskins with glee. M. Radisson no more takes off his hat than a king's ambassador, but he waits for La Chesnaye and Forêt to uncover. The merchant strums on the table and glares at the marquis, and the marquis looks at the skylight, waiting for the merchant; and the end of it is M. Radisson must give Godefroy the wink, who knocks both their hats off at once, explaining that a landsman can ill keep his legs on the sea, and the sea is no respecter of persons. Once, at the end of his byplay between the two young fire-eaters, the sea lurched in earnest, a mighty pitch that threw tipstaff sprawling across the table. And the beer went full in the face of the marquis. "There's a health to you, Forêt!" roared the merchant in whirlwinds of laughter. But the marquis had gone heels over head. He gained his feet as the ship righted, whipped out his rapier, vowed he would dust somebody's jacket, and caught up Godefroy on the tip of his sword by the rascal's belt. "Forêt, I protest," cried M. Radisson, scarce speaking for laughter, "I protest there's nothing spilt but the beer and the dignity! The beer can be mopped. There's plenty o' dignity in the same barrel. Save Godefroy! We can ill spare a man!" With a quick rip of his own rapier, Radisson had cut Godefroy's belt and the wretch scuttled up-stairs out of reach. Sailors wiped up the beer, and all hands braced chairs 'twixt table and wall to await M. Radisson's pleasure. He had dressed with unusual care. Gold braid edged his black doublet, and fine old Mechlin came back over his sleeves in deep ruffs. And in his eyes the glancing light of steel striking fire. Bidding the sailors take themselves off, M. Radisson drew his blade from the scabbard and called attention by a sharp rap. Quick silence fell, and he laid the naked sword across the table. His right hand played with the jewelled hilt. Across his breast were medals and stars of honour given him by many monarchs. I think as we looked at our leader every man of us would have esteemed it honour to sail the seas in a tub if Pierre Radisson captained the craft. But his left hand was twitching uneasily at his chin, and in his eyes were the restless lights. "Gentlemen," says he, as unconcerned as if he were forecasting weather, "gentlemen, I seem to have heard that the crew of my kinsman's ship have mutinied." We were nigh a thousand leagues from rescue or help that day! "Mutinied!" shrieks La Chesnaye, with his voice all athrill. "Mutinied? What will my father have to say?" And he clapped his tilted chair to floor with a thwack that might have echoed to the fo'castle. "Shall I lend you a trumpet, La Chesnaye, or--or a fife?" asks M. Radisson, very quiet. And I assure you there was no more loud talk in the cabin that day; only the long, low wash and pound and break of the seas abeam, with the surly wail that portends storm. I do not believe any of us ever realized what a frail chip was between life and eternity till we heard the wrenching and groaning of the timbers in the silence that followed M. Radisson's words. "Gentlemen," continues M. Radisson, softer-spoken than before, "if any one here is for turning back, I desire him to stand up and say so." The St. Pierre shipped a sea with a strain like to tear her asunder, and waters went sizzling through lee scuppers above with the hiss of a cataract. M. Radisson inverts a sand-glass and watches the sand trickle through till the last grain drops. Then he turns to us. Two or three faces had gone white as the driving spray, but never a man opened his lips to counsel return. "Gentlemen," says M. Radisson, with the fires agleam in his deep-set eyes, "am I to understand that every one here is for going forward at any risk?" "Aye--aye, sir!" burst like a clarion from our circle. Pierre Radisson smiled quietly. "'Tis as well," says he, "for I bade the coward stand up so that I could run him through to the hilt," and he clanked the sword back to its scabbard. "As I said before," he went on, "the crew on my kinsman's ship have mutinied. There's another trifle to keep under your caps, gentlemen--the mutineers have been running up pirate signals to the crew of this ship----" "Pirate signals!" interrupts La Chesnaye, whose temper was ever crackling off like grains of gunpowder. "May I ask, sir, how you know the pirate signals?" M. de Radisson's face was a study in masks. "You may ask, La Chesnaye," says he, rubbing his chin with a wrinkling smile, "you may ask, but I'm hanged if I answer!" And from lips that had whitened with fear but a moment before came laughter that set the timbers ringing. Then Forêt found his tongue. "Hang a baker's dozen of the mutineers from the yard-arm!" "A baker's dozen is thirteen, Forêt," retorted Radisson, "and the Ste. Anne's crew numbers fifteen." "Hang 'em in effigy as they do in Quebec," persists Forêt. Pierre Radisson only pointed over his shoulder to the port astern. Crowding to the glazed window we saw a dozen scarecrows tossing from the crosstrees of Groseillers's ship. "What does Captain Radisson advise?" asks La Chesnaye. "La Chesnaye," says Radisson, "I never advise. I act!" CHAPTER VII M. DE RADISSON ACTS Quick as tongue could trip off the orders, eyes everywhere, thought and act jumping together, Pierre Radisson had given each one his part, and pledged our obedience, though he bade us walk the plank blindfold to the sea. Two men were set to transferring powder and arms from the forehold to our captain's cabin. One went hand over fist up the mainmast and signalled the Ste. Anne to close up. Jackets were torn from the deck-guns and the guns slued round to sweep from stem to stern. With a jarring of cranes and shaking of timbers, the two ships bumped together; and a more surprised looking lot of men than the crew of the Ste. Anne you never saw. Pierre Radisson had played the rogues their own game in the matter of signals. They had thought the St. Pierre in league, else would they not have come into his trap so readily. Before they had time to protest, the ships were together, the two captains conferring face to face across the rails, and our sailors standing at arms ready to shoot down the first rebel. At a word, the St. Pierre's crew were scrambling to the Ste. Anne's decks. A shout through the trumpet of the Ste. Anne's bo'swain and the mutinous crew of the Ste. Anne were marched aboard the St. Pierre. Then M. Radisson's plan became plain. The other ship was the better. M. de Radisson was determined that at least one crew should reach the bay. Besides, as he had half-laughingly insinuated, perhaps he knew better than Chouart Groseillers of the Ste. Anne how to manage mutinous pirates. Of the St. Pierre's crew, three only remained with Radisson: Allemand, in the pilot-house; young Jean Groseillers, Chouart's son, on guard aft; and myself, armed with a musket, to sweep the fo'castle. And all the time there was such a rolling sea the two ships were like to pound their bulwarks to kindling wood. Then the Ste. Anne eased off, sheered away, and wore ship for open sea. Pierre Radisson turned. There faced him that grim, mutinous crew. No need to try orders then. 'Twas the cat those men wanted. Before Pierre Radisson had said one word the mutineers had discovered the deck cannon pointing amidships. A shout of baffled rage broke from the ragged group. Quick words passed from man to man. A noisy, shuffling, indeterminate movement! The crowd swayed forward. There was a sudden rush from the fo'castle to the waist. They had charged to gain possession of the powder cabin--Pierre Radisson raised his pistol. For an instant they held back. Then a barefoot fellow struck at him with a belaying-pin. 'Twere better for that man if he had called down the lightnings. Quicker than I can tell it, Pierre Radisson had sprung upon him. The Frenchman's left arm had coiled the fellow round the waist. Our leader's pistol flashed a circle that drove the rabble back, and the ringleader went hurling head foremost through the main hatch with force like to flatten his skull to a gun-wad. There was a mighty scattering back to the fo'castle then, I promise you. Pierre Radisson uttered never a syllable. He pointed to the fore scuttle. Then he pointed to the men. Down they went under hatches--rats in a trap! "Tramp--bundle--pack!" says he, as the last man bobbed below. But with a ping that raised the hair from my head, came a pistol-shot from the mainmasts. There, perched astride of the crosstrees, was a rascal mutineer popping at M. Radisson bold as you please. Our captain took off his beaver, felt the bullet-hole in the brim, looked up coolly, and pointed his musket. "Drop that pistol!" said he. The fellow yelped out fear. Down clattered his weapon to the deck. "Now sit there," ordered Radisson, replacing his beaver. "Sit there till I give you leave to come down!" Allemand, the pilot, had lost his head and was steering a course crooked as a worm fence. Young Jean Groseillers went white as the sails, and scarce had strength to slue the guns back or jacket their muzzles. And, instead of curling forward with the crest of the roll, the spray began to chop off backward in little short waves like a horse's mane--a bad, bad sign, as any seaman will testify. And I, with my musket at guard above the fo'scuttle, had a heart thumping harder than the pounding seas. And what do you think M. Radisson said as he wiped the sweat from his brow? "A pretty pickle,[1] indeed, to ground a man's plans on such dashed impudence! Hazard o' life! As if a man would turn from his course for them! Spiders o' hell! I'll strike my topmast to Death himself first--so the devil go with them! The blind gods may crush--they shall not conquer! They may kill--but I snap my fingers in their faces to the death! A pretty pickle, indeed! Batten down the hatches, Ramsay. Lend Jean a hand to get the guns under cover. There's a storm!" And "a pretty pickle" it was, with the "porps" floundering bodily from wave-crest to wave-crest, the winds shrieking through the cordage, and the storm-fiends brewing a hurricane like to engulf master and crew! In the forehold were rebels who would sink us all to the bottom of the sea if they could. Aft, powder enough to blow us all to eternity! On deck, one brave man, two chittering lads, and a gin-soaked pilot steering a crazy course among the fanged reefs of Labrador. The wind backed and veered and came again so that a weather-vane could not have shown which way it blew. At one moment the ship was jumping from wave to wave before the wind with a single tiny storms'l out. At another I had thought we must scud under bare poles for open sea. The coast sheered vertical like a rampart wall, and up--up--up that dripping rock clutched the tossing billows like watery arms of sirens. It needed no seaman to prophecy the fate of a boat caught between that rock and a nor'easter. Then the gale would veer, and out raced a tidal billow of waters like to take the St. Pierre broadside. "Helm hard alee!" shouts Radisson in the teeth of the gale. For the fraction of a second we were driving before the oncoming rush. Then the sea rose up in a wall on our rear. There was a shattering crash. The billows broke in sheets of whipping spray. The decks swam with a river of waters. One gun wrenched loose, teetered to the roll, and pitched into the seething deep. Yard-arms came splintering to the deck. There was a roaring of waters over us, under us, round us--then M. de Radisson, Jean, and I went slithering forward like water-rats caught in a whirlpool. My feet struck against windlass chains. Jean saved himself from washing overboard by cannoning into me; but before the dripping bowsprit rose again to mount the swell, M. de Radisson was up, shaking off spray like a water-dog and muttering to himself: "To be snuffed out like a candle--no--no--no, my fine fellows! Leap to meet it! Leap to meet it!" And he was at the wheel himself. The ship gave a long shudder, staggered back, stern foremost, to the trough of the swell, and lay weltering cataracts from her decks. There was a pause of sudden quiet, the quiet of forces gathering strength for fiercer assault; and in that pause I remembered something had flung over me in the wash of the breaking sea. I looked to the crosstrees. The mutineer was gone. It was the first and last time that I have ever seen a smoking sea. The ocean boiled white. Far out in the wake of the tide that had caught us foam smoked on the track of the ploughing waters. Waters--did I say? You could not see waters for the spray. Then Jean bade me look how the stays'l had been torn to flutters, and we both set about righting decks. For all I could see, M. Radisson was simply holding the wheel; but the holding of a wheel in stress is mighty fine seamanship. To keep that old gallipot from shipping seas in the tempest of billows was a more ticklish task than rope-walking a whirlpool or sacking a city. Presently came two sounds--a swish of seas at our stern and the booming of surf against coast rocks. Then M. de Radisson did the maddest thing that ever I have seen. Both sounds told of the coming tempest. The veering wind settled to a driving nor'easter, and M. de Radisson was steering straight as a bullet to the mark for that rock wall. But I did not know that coast. When our ship was but three lengths from destruction the St. Pierre answered to the helm. Her prow rounded a sharp rock. Then the wind caught her, whirling her right about; but in she went, stern foremost, like a fish, between the narrow walls of a fiord to the quiet shelter of a land-locked lagoon. Pierre Radisson had taken refuge in what the sailors call "a hole in the wall." There we lay close reefed, both anchors out, while the hurricane held high carnival on the outer sea. After we had put the St. Pierre ship-shape, M. Radisson stationed Jean and me fore and aft with muskets levelled, and bade us shoot any man but himself who appeared above the hatch. Arming himself with his short, curved hanger--oh, I warrant there would have been a carving below decks had any one resisted him that day!--down he went to the mutineers of the dim-lighted forehold. Perhaps the storm had quelled the spirit of rebellion; but up came M. de Radisson, followed by the entire crew--one fellow's head in white cotton where it had struck the floor, and every man jumping keen to answer his captain's word. I must not forget a curious thing that happened as we lay at anchor. The storm had scarce abated when a strange ship poked her jib-boom across the entrance to the lagoon, followed by queer-rigged black sails. "A pirate!" said Jean. But Sieur de Radisson only puckered his brows, shifted position so that the St. Pierre could give a broadside, and said nothing. Then came the strangest part of it. Another ship poked her nose across the other side of the entrance. This was white-rigged. "Two ships, and they have us cooped!" exclaimed Jean. "One sporting different sails," said M. de Radisson contemptuously. "What do you think we should do, sir?" asked Jean. "Think?" demanded Radisson. "I have stopped thinking! I act! My thoughts are acts." But all the same his thought at that moment was to let go a broadside that sent the stranger scudding. Judging it unwise to keep a half-mutinous crew too near pirate ships, M. Radisson ordered anchor up. With a deck-mop fastened in defiance to our prow, the St. Pierre slipped out of the harbour through the half-dark of those northern summer nights, and gave the heel to any highwayman waiting to attack as she passed. The rest of the voyage was a ploughing through brash ice in the straits, with an occasional disembarking at the edge of some great ice-field; but one morning we were all awakened from the heavy sleep of hard-worked seamen by the screaming of a multitude of birds. The air was odorous with the crisp smell of woods. When we came on deck, 'twas to see the St. Pierre anchored in the cove of a river that raced to meet the bay. The screaming gulls knew not what to make of these strange visitors; for we were at Port Nelson--Fort Bourbon, as the French called it. And you must not forget that we were French on _that_ trip! [1] These expressions are M. de Radisson's and not words coined by Mr. Stanhope, as may be seen by reference to the French explorer's account of his own travels, written partly in English, where he repeatedly refers to a "pretty pickle." As for the ships, they seem to have been something between a modern whaler and old-time brigantine.--_Author_. CHAPTER VIII M. DE RADISSON COMES TO HIS OWN The sea was touched to silver by the rising sun--not the warm, red sun of southern climes, nor yet the gold light of the temperate zones, but the cold, clear steel of that great cold land where all the warring elements challenge man to combat. Browned by the early frosts, with a glint of hoar rime on the cobwebs among the grasses, north, south, and west, as far as eye could see, were boundless reaches of hill and valley. And over all lay the rich-toned shadows of early dawn. The broad river raced not to meet the sea more swiftly than our pulses leaped at sight of that unclaimed world. 'Twas a kingdom waiting for its king. And its king had come! Flush with triumph, sniffing the nutty, autumn air like a war-horse keen for battle, stood M. Radisson all impatience for the conquest of new realms. His jewelled sword-hilt glistened in the sun. The fire that always slumbered in the deep-set eyes flashed to life; and, fetching a deep breath, he said a queer thing to Jean and me. "'Tis good air, lads," says he; "'tis free!" And I, who minded that bloody war in which my father lost his all, knew what the words meant, and drank deep. But for the screaming of the birds there was silence of death. And, indeed, it was death we had come to disenthrone. M. Radisson issued orders quick on top of one another, and the sailors swarmed from the hold like bees from a hive. The drum beat a roundelay that set our blood hopping. There were trumpet-calls back and forth from our ship to the Ste. Anne. Then, to a whacking of cables through blocks, the gig-boats touched water, and all hands were racing for the shore. Godefroy waved a monster flag--lilies of France, gold-wrought on cloth of silk--and Allemand kept beating--and beating--and beating the drum, rumbling out a "Vive le Roi!" to every stroke. Before the keel gravelled on the beach, M. Radisson's foot was on the gunwale, and he leaped ashore. Godefroy followed, flourishing the French flag and yelling at the top of his voice for the King of France. Behind, wading and floundering through the water, came the rest. Godefroy planted the flag-staff. The two crews sent up a shout that startled those strange, primeval silences. Then, M. Radisson stepped forward, hat in hand, whipped out his sword, and held it aloft. "In the name of Louis the Great, King of France," he shouted, "in the name of His Most Christian Majesty, the King of France, I take possession of all these regions!" At that, Chouart Groseillers shivered a bottle of wine against the flag-pole. Drums beat, fifes shrieked as for battle, and lusty cheers for the king and Sieur Radisson rang and echoed and re-echoed from our crews. Three times did Allemand beat his drum and three times did we cheer. Then Pierre Radisson raised his sword. Every man dropped to knee. Catholics and Protestants, Calvinists and infidels, and riff-raff adventurers who had no religion but what they swore by, bowed their heads to the solemn thanks which Pierre Radisson uttered for safe deliverance from perilous voyage. [1] That was my first experience of the fusion which the New World makes of Old World divisions. We thought we had taken possession of the land. No, no, 'twas the land had taken possession of us, as the New World ever does, fusing ancient hates and rearing a new race, of which--I wot--no prophet may dare too much! "He who twiddles his thumbs may gnaw his gums," M. Radisson was wont to say; and I assure you there was no twiddling of thumbs that morning. Bare had M. Radisson finished prayers, when he gave sharp command for Groseillers, his brother-in-law, to look to the building of the Habitation--as the French called their forts--while he himself would go up-stream to seek the Indians for trade. Jean and Godefroy and I were sent to the ship for a birch canoe, which M. Radisson had brought from Quebec. Our leader took the bow; Godefroy, the stern; Jean and I, the middle. A poise of the steel-shod steering pole, we grasped our paddles, a downward dip, quick followed by Godefroy at the stern, and out shot the canoe, swift, light, lithe, alert, like a racer to the bit, with a gurgling of waters below the gunwales, the keel athrob to the swirl of a turbulent current and a trail of eddies dimpling away on each side. A sharp breeze sprang up abeam, and M. Radisson ordered a blanket sail hoisted on the steersman's fishing-pole. But if you think that he permitted idle paddles because a wind would do the work, you know not the ways of the great explorer. He bade us ply the faster, till the canoe sped between earth and sky like an arrow shot on the level. The shore-line became a blur. Clumps of juniper and pine marched abreast, halted the length of time an eye could rest, and wheeled away. The swift current raced to meet us. The canoe jumped to mount the glossy waves raised by the beam wind. An upward tilt of her prow, and we had skimmed the swell like a winged thing. And all the while M. Radisson's eyes were everywhere. Chips whirled past. There were beaver, he said. Was the water suddenly muddied? Deer had flitted at our approach. Did a fish rise? M. Radisson predicted otter; and where there were otter and beaver and deer, there should be Indians. As for the rest of us, it had gone to our heads. We were intoxicated with the wine of the rugged, new, free life. Sky above; wild woods where never foot had trod; air that drew through the nostrils in thirst-quenching draughts; blood atingle to the laughing rhythm of the river--what wonder that youth leaped to a fresh life from the mummified existence of little, old peoples in little, old lands? We laughed aloud from fulness of life. Jean laid his paddle athwart, ripped off his buckskin, and smiled back. "Ramsay feels as if he had room to stretch himself," said he. "Feel! I feel as if I could run a thousand miles and jump off the ends of the earth--" "And dive to the bottom of the sea and harness whales and play bowling-balls with the spheres, you young rantipoles," added M. Radisson ironically. "The fever of the adventurer," said Jean quietly. "My uncle knows it." I laughed again. "I was wondering if Eli Kirke ever felt this way," I explained. "Pardieu," retorted M. de Radisson, loosening his coat, "if people moved more and moped less, they'd brew small bile! Come, lads! Come, lads! We waste time!" And we were paddling again, in quick, light strokes, silent from zest, careless of toil, strenuous from love of it. Once we came to a bend in the river where the current was so strong that we had dipped our paddles full five minutes against the mill race without gaining an inch. The canoe squirmed like a hunter balking a hedge, and Jean's blade splintered off to the handle. But M. de Radisson braced back to lighten the bow; the prow rose, a sweep of the paddles, and on we sped! "Hard luck to pull and not gain a boat length," observed Jean. "Harder luck not to pull, and to be swept back," corrected M. de Radisson. We left the main river to thread a labyrinthine chain of waterways, where were portages over brambly shores and slippery rocks, with the pace set at a run by M. de Radisson. Jean and I followed with the pack straps across our foreheads and the provisions on our backs. Godefroy brought up the rear with the bark canoe above his head. At one place, where we disembarked, M. de Radisson traced the sand with the muzzle of his musket. "A boot-mark," said he, drawing the faint outlines of a footprint, "and egad, it's not a man's foot either!" "Impossible!" cried Jean. "We are a thousand miles from any white-man." "There's nothing impossible on this earth," retorted Radisson impatiently. "But pardieu, there are neither white women in this wilderness, nor ghosts wearing women's boots! I'd give my right hand to know what left that mark!" After that his haste grew feverish. We snatched our meals by turns between paddles. He seemed to grudge the waste of each night, camping late and launching early; and it was Godefroy's complaint that each portage was made so swiftly there was no time for that solace of the common voyageur--the boatman's pipe. For eight days we travelled without seeing a sign of human presence but that one vague footmark in the sand. "If there are no Indians, how much farther do we go, sir?" asked Godefroy sulkily on the eighth day. "Till we find them," answered M. Radisson. And we found them that night. A deer broke from the woods edging the sand where we camped and had almost bounded across our fire when an Indian darted out a hundred yards behind. Mistaking us for his own people, he whistled the hunter's signal to head the game back. Then he saw that we were strangers. Pulling up of a sudden, he threw back his arms, uttered a cry of surprise, and ran to the hiding of the bush. M. Radisson was the first to pursue; but where the sand joined the thicket he paused and began tracing the point of his rapier round the outlines of a mark. "What do you make of it, Godefroy?" he demanded of the trader. The trader looked quizzically at Sieur de Radisson. "The toes of that man's moccasin turn out," says Godefroy significantly. "Then that man is no Indian," retorted M. Radisson, "and hang me, if the size is not that of a woman or a boy!" And he led back to the beach. "Yon ship was a pirate," began Godefroy, "and if buccaneers be about----" "Hold your clack, fool," interrupted M. Radisson, as if the fellow's prattle had cut into his mental plannings; and he bade us heap such a fire as could be seen by Indians for a hundred miles. "If once I can find the Indians," meditated he moodily, "I'll drive out a whole regiment of scoundrels with one snap o' my thumb!" Black clouds rolled in from the distant bay, boding a stormy night; and Godefroy began to complain that black deeds were done in the dark, and we were forty leagues away from the protection of our ships. "A pretty target that fire will make of us in the dark," whined the fellow. M. Radisson's eyes glistened sparks. "I'd as lief be a pirate myself, as be shot down by pirates," grumbled the trader, giving a hand to hoist the shed of sheet canvas that was to shield us from the rains now aslant against the seaward horizon. At the words M. Radisson turned sharply; but the heedless fellow gabbled on. "Where is a man to take cover, an the buccaneers began shooting from the bush behind?" demanded Godefroy belligerently. M. Radisson reached one arm across the fire. "I'll show you," said he. Taking Godefroy by the ear, with a prick of the sword he led the lazy knave quick march to the beach, where lay our canoe bottom up. "Crawl under!" M. Radisson lifted the prow. From very shame--I think it was--Godefroy balked; but M. Radisson brought a cutting rap across the rascal's heels that made him hop. The canoe clapped down, and Godefroy was safe. "Pardieu," mutters Radisson, "such cowards would turn the marrow o' men's bones to butter!" Sitting on a log, with his feet to the fire, he motioned Jean and me to come into the shelter of the slant canvas; for the clouds were rolling overhead black as ink and the wind roared up the river-bed with a wall of pelting rain. M. Radisson gazed absently into the flame. The steel lights were at play in his eyes, and his lips parted. "Storm and cold--man and beast--powers of darkness and devil--knaves and fools and his own sins--he must fight them all, lads," says M. Radisson slowly. "Who must fight them all?" asks Jean. "The victor," answers Radisson, and warm red flashed to the surface of the cold steel in his eyes. "Jean," he began, looking up quickly towards the gathering darkness of the woods. "Sir?" "'Tis cold enough for hunters to want a fire." "Is the fire not big enough?" "Now, where are your wits, lad? If hunters were hiding in that bush, one could see this fire a long way off. The wind is loud. One could go close without being heard. Pardieu, I'll wager a good scout could creep up to a log like this"--touching the pine on which we sat---"and hear every word we are saying without a soul being the wiser!" Jean turned with a start, half-suspecting a spy. Radisson laughed. "Must I spell it out? Eh, lad, afraid to go?" The taunt bit home. Without a word Jean and I rose. "Keep far enough apart so that one of you will escape back with the news," called Radisson, as we plunged into the woods. Of the one who might not escape Pierre Radisson gave small heed, and so did we. Jean took the river side and I the inland thicket, feeling our way blindly through the blackness of forest and storm and night. Then the rain broke--broke in lashing whip-cords with the crackle of fire. Jean whistled and I signalled back; but there was soon such a pounding of rains it drowned every sound. For all the help one could give the other we might have been a thousand miles apart. I looked back. M. Radisson's fire threw a dull glare into the cavernous upper darkness. That was guide enough. Jean could keep his course by the river. It was plunging into a black nowhere. The trees thinned. I seemed to be running across the open, the rain driving me forward like a wet sail, a roar of wind in my ears and the words of M. Radisson ringing their battle-cry--"Storm and cold--man and beast--powers of darkness and devil--knaves and fools and his own sins--he must fight them all!"--"Who?"--"The victor!" Of a sudden the dripping thicket gave back a glint. Had I run in a circle and come again on M. Radisson's fire? Behind, a dim glare still shone against the sky. Another glint from the rain drip, and I dropped like a deer hit on the run. Not a gunshot away was a hunter's fire. Against the fire were three figures. One stood with his face towards me, an Indian dressed in buckskin, the man who had pursued the deer. The second was hid by an intervening tree; and as I watched, the third faded into the phaseless dark. Who were these night-watchers? I liked not that business of spying--though you may call it scouting, if you will, but I must either report nothing to M. Radisson, or find out more. I turned to skirt the group. A pistol-shot rang through the wood. A sword flashed to light. Before I had time to think, but not--thanks to M. Picot's lessons long ago--not before I had my own rapier out, an assassin blade would have taken me unawares. I was on guard. Steel struck fire in red spots as it clashed against steel. One thrust, I know, touched home; for the pistol went whirling out of my adversary's hand, and his sword came through the dark with the hiss of a serpent. Again I seemed to be in Boston Town; but the hunting room had become a northland forest, M. Picot, a bearded man with his back to the fire and his face in the dark, and our slim foils, naked swords that pressed and parried and thrust in many a foul such as the French doctor had taught me was a trick of the infamous Blood! Indeed, I could have sworn that a woman's voice cried out through the dark; but the rain was in my face and a sword striking red against my own. Thanks, yes, thanks a thousand times to M. Picot's lessons; for again and yet again I foiled that lunge of the unscrupulous swordsman till I heard my adversary swearing, between clinched teeth. He retreated. I followed. By a dexterous spring he put himself under cover of the woods, leaving me in the open. My only practice in swordsmanship had been with M. Picot, and it was not till long years after that I minded how those lessons seemed to forestall and counter the moves of that ambushed assassin. But the baffling thing was that my enemy's moves countered mine in the very same way. He had not seen my face, for my back was turned when he came up, and my face in the shade when I whirled. But I stood between the dark and the fire. Every motion of mine he could forecast, while I could but parry and retreat, striving in vain to lure him out, to get into the dark, to strike what I could not see, pushed back and back till I felt the rush that aims not to disarm but to slay. Our weapons rang with a glint of green lightnings. A piece of steel flew up. My rapier had snapped short at the hilt. A cold point was at my throat pressing me down and back as the foil had caught me that night in M. Picot's house. To right, to left, I swerved, the last blind rushes of the fugitive man. . . . "Storm and cold--man and beast--powers of darkness and devil--he must fight them all----" The memory of those words spurred like a battle-cry. Beaten? Not yet! "Leap to meet it! Leap to meet it!" I caught the blade at my throat with a naked hand. Hot floods drenched my face. The earth swam. We were both in the light now, a bearded man pushing his sword through my hand, and I falling down. Then my antagonist leaped back with a shivering cry of horror, flung the weapon to the ground and fled into the dark. And when I sat up my right hand held the hilt of a broken rapier, the left was gashed across the palm, and a sword as like my own as two peas lay at my feet. The fire was there. But I was alone. [1] Reference to M. Radisson's journal corroborates Mr. Stanhope in this observance, which was never neglected by M. Radisson after season of peril. It is to be noted that he made his prayers after not at the season of peril. CHAPTER IX VISITORS The fire had every appearance of a night bivouac, but there was remnant of neither camp nor hunt. Somewhere on my left lay the river. By that the way led back to M. Radisson's rendezvous. It was risky enough--that threading of the pathless woods through the pitchy dark; but he who pauses to measure the risk at each tread is ill fitted to pioneer wild lands. Who the assassin was and why he had so suddenly desisted, I knew no more than you do! That he had attacked was natural enough; for whoever took first possession of no-man's-land in those days either murdered his rivals or sold them to slavery. But why had he flung his sword down at the moment of victory? The pelting of the rain softened to a leafy patter, the patter to a drip, and a watery moon came glimmering through the clouds. With my enemy's rapier in hand I began cutting a course through the thicket. Radisson's fire no longer shone. Indeed, I became mighty uncertain which direction to take, for the rush of the river merged with the beating of the wind. The ground sloped precipitously; and I was holding back by the underbrush lest the bank led to water when an indistinct sound, a smothery murmur like the gurgle of a subterranean pool, came from below. The wind fell. The swirl of the flowing river sounded far from the rear. I had become confused and was travelling away from the true course. But what was that sound? I threw a stick forward. It struck hard stone. At the same instant was a sibilant, human--distinctly human--"Hss-h," and the sound had ceased. That was no laving of inland pond against pebbles. Make of it what you will--there were voices, smothered but talking. "No-no-no" . . . then the warning . . . "Hush!" . . . then the wind and the river and . . . "No--no!" with words like oaths. . . . "No--I say, no! Having come so far, no!--not if it were my own brother!" . . . then the low "Hush!" . . . and pleadings . . . then--"Send Le Borgne!" And an Indian had rushed past me in the dark with a pine fagot in his hand. Rising, I stole after him. 'Twas the fellow who had been at the fire with that unknown assailant. He paused over the smouldering embers, searching the ground, found the hilt of the broken sword, lifted the severed blade, kicked leaves over all traces of conflict, and extinguishing the fire, carried off the broken weapon. An Indian can pick his way over known ground without a torch. What was this fellow doing with a torch? Had he been sent for me? I drew back in shadow to let him pass. Then I ran with all speed to the river. Gray dawn came over the trees as I reached the swollen waters, and the sun was high in mid-heaven when I came to the gravel patch where M. de Radisson had camped. Round a sharp bend in the river a strange sight unfolded. A score of crested savages with painted bodies sat on the ground. In the centre, clad like a king, with purple doublet and plumed hat and velvet waistcoat ablaze with medals of honour--was M. Radisson. One hand deftly held his scabbard forward so that the jewelled hilt shone against the velvet, and the other was raised impressively above the savages. How had he made the savages come to him? How are some men born to draw all others as the sea draws the streams? The poor creatures had piled their robes at his feet as offerings to a god. "What did he give for the pelts, Godefroy?" I asked. "Words!" says Godefroy, with a grin, "gab and a drop o' rum diluted in a pot o' water!" "What is he saying to them now?" Godefroy shrugged his shoulders. "That the gods have sent him a messenger to them; that the fire he brings "--he was handing a musket to the chief--"will smite the Indians' enemy from the earth; that the bullet is magic to outrace the fleetest runner"--this as M. Radisson fired a shot into mid-air that sent the Indians into ecstasies of childish wonder--"that the bottle in his hands contains death, and if the Indians bring their hunt to the white-man, the white-man will never take the cork out except to let death fly at the Indians' enemy"--he lifted a little phial of poison as he spoke--"that the Indian need never feel cold nor thirst, now that the white-man has brought fire-water!" At this came a harsh laugh from a taciturn Indian standing on the outer rim of the crowd. It was the fellow who had run through the forest with the torch. "Who is that, Godefroy?" "Le Borgne." "Le Borgne need not laugh," retorted M. de Radisson sharply. "Le Borgne knows the taste of fire-water! Le Borgne has been with the white-man at the south, and knows what the white-man says is true." But Le Borgne only laughed the harder, deep, guttural, contemptuous "huh-huh's!"--a fitting rebuke, methought, for the ignoble deception implied in M. Radisson's words. Indeed, I would fain suppress this part of M. Radisson's record, for he juggled with truth so oft, when he thought the end justified the means, he finally got a knack of juggling so much with truth that the means would never justify any end. I would fain repress the ignoble faults of a noble leader, but I must even set down the facts as they are, so you may see why a man who was the greatest leader and trader and explorer of his times reaped only an aftermath of universal distrust. He lied his way through thick and thin--as we traders used to say--till that lying habit of his sewed him up in a net of his own weaving like a grub in a cocoon. Godefroy was giving a hand to bind up my gashed palm when something grunted a "huff-huff" beside us. Le Borgne was there with a queer look on his inscrutable face. "Le Borgne, you rascal, you know who gave me this," I began, taking careful scrutiny of the Indian. One eye was glazed and sightless, the other yellow like a fox's; but the fellow was straight, supple, and clean-timbered as a fresh-hewn mast. With a "huh-huh," he gabbled back some answer. "What does he say, Godefroy?" "He says he doesn't understand the white-man's tongue--which is a lie," added Godefroy of his own account. "Le Borgne was interpreter for the Fur Company at the south of the bay the year that M. Radisson left the English." Were my assailants, then, Hudson's Bay Company men come up from the south end of James Bay? Certainly, the voice had spoken English. I would have drawn Godefroy aside to inform him of my adventure, but Le Borgne stuck to us like a burr. Jean was busy helping M. de Radisson at the trade, or what was called "trade," when white men gave an awl for forty beaver-skins. "Godefroy," I said, "keep an eye on this Indian till I speak to M. de Radisson." And I turned to the group. 'Twas as pretty a bit of colour as I have ever seen. The sea, like silver, on one side; the autumn-tinted woods, brown and yellow and gold, on the other; M. de Radisson in his gay dress surrounded by a score of savages with their faces and naked chests painted a gaudy red, headgear of swans' down, eagle quills depending from their backs, and buckskin trousers fringed with the scalp-locks of the slain. Drawing M. de Radisson aside, I gave him hurried account of the night's adventures. "Ha!" says he. "Not Hudson's Bay Company men, or you would be in irons, lad! Not French, for they spoke English. Pardieu! Poachers and thieves--we shall see! Where is that vagabond Cree? These people are southern Indians and know nothing of him.--Godefroy," he called. Godefroy came running up. "Le Borgne's gone," said Godefroy breathlessly. "Gone?" repeated Radisson. "He left word for Master Stanhope from one who wishes him well--" "One who wishes him well," repeated M. Radisson, looking askance at me. "For Master Stanhope not to be bitten twice by the same dog!" Our amazement you may guess: M. de Radisson, suspicious of treachery and private trade and piracy on my part; I as surprised to learn that I had a well-wisher as I had been to discover an unknown foe; and Godefroy, all cock-a-whoop with his news, as is the way of the vulgar. "Ramsay," said M. Radisson, speaking very low and tense, "As you hope to live and without a lie, what--does--this--mean?" "Sir, as I hope to live--I--do--not--know!" He continued to search me with doubting looks. I raised my wounded hand. "Will you do me the honour to satisfy yourself that wound is genuine?" "Pish!" says he. He studied the ground. "There's nothing impossible on this earth. Facts are hard dogs to down.--Jean," he called, "gather up the pelts! It takes a man to trade well, but any fool can make fools drink! Godefroy--give the knaves the rum--but mind yourselves," he warned, "three parts rain-water!" Then facing me, "Take me to that bank!" He followed without comment. At the place of the camp-fire were marks of the struggle. "The same boot-prints as on the sand! A small man," observed Radisson. But when we came to the sloping bank, where the land fell sheer away to a dry, pebbly reach, M. Radisson pulled a puzzled brow. "They must have taken shelter from the rain. They must have been under your feet." "But where are their foot-marks?" I asked. "Washed out by the rain," said he; but that was one of the untruths with which a man who is ever telling untruths sometimes deceives himself; for if the bank sheltered the intruders from the rain, it also sheltered their foot-marks, and there was not a trace. "All the same," said M. de Radisson, "we shall make these Indians our friends by taking them back to the fort with us." "Ramsay," he remarked on the way, "there's a game to play." "So it seems." "Hold yourself in," said he sententiously. I walked on listening. "One plays as your friend, the other as your foe! Show neither friend nor foe your hand! Let the game tell! 'Twas the reined-in horse won King Charles's stakes at Newmarket last year! Hold yourself in, I say!" "In," I repeated, wondering at this homily. "And hold yourself up," he continued. "That coxcomb of a marquis always trailing his dignity in the dust of mid-road to worry with a common dog like La Chesnaye--pish! Hold your self-respect in the chest of your jacket, man! 'Tis the slouching nag that loses the race! Hold yourself up!" His words seemed hard sense plain spoken. "And let your feet travel on," he added. "In and up and on!" I repeated. "In and up and on--there's mettle for you, lad!" And with that terse text--which, I think, comprehended the whole of M. Radisson's philosophy--we were back at the beach. The Indians were not in such a state as I have seen after many a trading bout. They were able to accompany us. In embarking, M. Radisson must needs observe all the ceremony of two races. Such a whiffing of pipes among the stately, half-drunk Indian chiefs you never saw, with a pompous proffering of the stem to the four corners of the compass, which they thought would propitiate the spirits. Jean blew a blast on the trumpet. I waved the French flag. Godefroy beat a rattling fusillade on the drum, grabbed up his bobbing tipstaff, led the way; and down we filed to the canoes. At all this ostentation I could not but smile; but no man ever had greater need of pomp to hold his own against uneven odds than Radisson. As we were leaving came a noise that set us all by the ears--the dull booming reverberations of heavy cannonading. The Indians shook as with palsy. Jean Groseillers cried out that his father's ships were in peril. Godefroy implored the saints; but with that lying facility which was his doom, M. de Radisson blandly informed the savages that more of his vessels had arrived from France. Bidding Jean go on to the Habitation with the Indians, he took the rest of us ashore with one redskin as guide, to spy out the cause of the firing. "'Twill be a pretty to-do if the English Fur Company's ships arrive before we have a French fort ready to welcome them," said he. CHAPTER X THE CAUSE OF THE FIRING The landing was but a part of the labyrinthine trickery in which our leader delighted to play; for while Jean delayed the natives we ran overland through the woods, launched our canoe far ahead of the Indian flotilla, and went racing forward to the throbs of the leaping river. "If a man would win, he must run fast as the hour-glass," observed M. Radisson, poising his steering-pole. "And now, my brave lads," he began, counting in quick, sharp words that rang with command, "keep time--one--two--three! One--two--three!" And to each word the paddles dipped with the speed of a fly-wheel's spokes. "One--two--three! In and up and on! An you keep yourselves in hand, men, you can win against the devil's own artillery! Speed to your strokes, Godefroy," he urged. And the canoe answered as a fine-strung racer to the spur. Shore-lines blurred to a green streak. The frosty air met our faces in wind. Gurgling waters curled from the prow in corrugated runnels. And we were running a swift race with a tumult of waves, mounting the swell, dipping, rising buoyant, forward in bounds, with a roar of the nearing rapids, and spray dashing athwart in drifts. M. Radisson braced back. The prow lifted, shot into mid-air, touched water again, and went whirling through the mill-race that boiled below a waterfall. Once the canoe aimed straight as an arrow for rocks in mid-current. M. Radisson's steel-shod pole flashed in the sun. There was a quick thrust, answered by Godefroy's counter-stroke at the stern; and the canoe grazed past the rocks not a hair's-breadth off. "Sainte Anne ha' mercy!" mumbled Godefroy, baling water from the canoe as we breasted a turn in the river to calmer currents, "Sainte Anne ha' mercy! But the master'd run us over Niagara, if he had a mind." "Or the River Styx, if 'twould gain his end," sharply added Radisson. But he ordered our paddles athwart for snatched rest, while he himself kept alert at the bow. With the rash presumption of youth, I offered to take the bow that he might rest; but he threw his head back with a loud laugh, more of scorn than mirth, and bade me nurse a wounded hand. On the evening of the third day we came to the Habitation. Without disembarking, M. de Radisson sent the soldiers on sentinel duty at the river front up to the fort with warning to prepare for instant siege. "'Twill put speed in the lazy rascals to finish the fort," he remarked; and the canoe glided out to mid-current again for the far expanse of the bay. By this we were all so used to M. Radisson's doings, 'twould not have surprised us when the craft shot out from river-mouth to open sea if he had ordered us to circumnavigate the ocean on a chip. He did what was nigh as venturesome. A quick, unwarned swerve of his pole, which bare gave Godefroy time to take the cue, and our prow went scouring across the scud of whipping currents where two rivers and an ocean-tide met. The seething waves lashed to foam with the long, low moan of the world-devouring serpent which, legend says, is ever an-hungering to devour voyageurs on life's sea. And for all the world that reef of combing breakers was not unlike a serpent type of malignant elements bent on man's destruction! Then, to the amaze of us all, we had left the lower river. The canoe was cutting up-stream against a new current; and the moan of the pounding surf receded to the rear. Clouds blew inland, muffling the moon; and M. Radisson ordered us ashore for the night. Feet at a smouldering fire too dull for an enemy to see and heads pillowed on logs, we bivouacked with the frosty ground for bed. "Bad beds make good risers," was all M. Radisson's comfort, when Godefroy grumbled out some complaint. A _hard_ master, you say? A wise one, say I, for the forces he fought in that desolate land were as adamant. Only the man dauntless as adamant could conquer. And you must remember, while the diamond and the charcoal are of the same family, 'tis the diamond has lustre, because it is _hard_. Faults, M. Radisson had, which were almost crimes; but look you who judge him--his faults were not the faults of nearly all other men, the faults which _are_ a crime--_the crime of being weak_! The first thing our eyes lighted on when the sun rose in flaming darts through the gray haze of dawn was a half-built fort on an island in mid-river. At the water side lay a queer-rigged brigantine, rocking to the swell of the tide. Here, then, was cause of that firing heard across the marsh on the lower river. "'Tis the pirate ship we saw on the high sea," muttered Godefroy, rubbing his eyes. "She flies no flag! She has no license to trade! She's a poacher! She will make a prize worth the taking," added M. Radisson sharply. Then, as if to justify that intent--"As _we_ have no license, we must either take or be taken!" The river mist gradually lifted, and there emerged from the fog a stockaded fort with two bastions facing the river and guns protruding from loopholes. "Not so easy to take that fort," growled Godefroy, who was ever a hanger-back. "All the better," retorted M. de Radisson. "Easy taking makes soft men! 'Twill test your mettle!" "Test our mettle!" sulked the trader, a key higher in his obstinacy. "All very well to talk, sir, but how can we take a fort mounted with twenty cannon----" "I'll tell you _the how_ when it's done," interrupted M. de Radisson. But Godefroy was one of those obstinates who would be silent only when stunned. "I'd like to know, sir, what we're to do," he began. "Godefroy, 'twould be waste time to knock sense in your pate! There is only one thing to do always--only one, _the right thing_! Do it, fool! An I hear more clack from you till it's done, I'll have your tongue out with the nippers!" Godefroy cowered sulkily back, and M. de Radisson laughed. "That will quell him," said he. "When Godefroy's tongue is out he can't grumble, and grumbling is his bread of life!" Stripping off his bright doublet, M. Radisson hung it from a tree to attract the fort's notice. Then he posted us in ambuscade with orders to capture whatever came. But nothing came. And when the fort guns boomed out the noon hour M. Radisson sprang up all impatience. "I'll wait no man's time," he vowed. "Losing time is losing the game! Launch out!" Chittering something about our throats being cut, Godefroy shrank back. With a quick stride M. Radisson was towering above him. Catching Godefroy by the scruff of the neck, he threw him face down into the canoe, muttering out it would be small loss if all the cowards in the world had their throats cut. "The pirates come to trade," he explained. "They will not fire at Indians. Bind your hair back like that Indian there!" No sooner were we in the range of the fort than M. Radisson uttered the shrill call of a native, bade our Indian stand up, and himself enacted the pantomime of a savage, waving his arms, whistling, and hallooing. With cries of welcome, the fort people ran to the shore and left their guns unmanned. Reading from a syllable book, they shouted out Indian words. It was safe to approach. Before they could arm we could escape. But we were two men, one lad, and a neutral Indian against an armed garrison in a land where killing was no murder. M. de Radisson stood up and called in the Indian tongue. They did not understand. "New to it," commented Radisson, "not the Hudson's Bay Company!" All the while he was imperceptibly approaching nearer. He shouted in French. They shook their heads. "English highwaymen, blundered in here by chance," said he. Tearing off the Indian head-band of disguise, he demanded in mighty peremptory tones who they were. "English," they called back doubtfully. "What have you come for?" insisted Radisson, with a great swelling of his chest. "The beaver trade," came a faint voice. Where had I heard it before? Did it rise from the ground in the woods, or from a far memory of children throwing a bully into the sea? "I demand to see your license," boldly challenged Radisson. At that the fellows ashore put their heads together. "In the name of the king, I demand to see your license instantly," repeated Sieur de Radisson, with louder authority. "We have no license," explained one of the men, who was dressed with slashed boots, red doublet, and cocked hat. M. Radisson smiled and poled a length closer. "A ship without a license! A prize-for the taking! If the rascals complain--the galleys for life!" and he laughed softly. "This coast is possessed by the King of France," he shouted. "We have a strong garrison! We mistook your firing for more French ships!" Shaping his hands trumpet fashion to his mouth, he called this out again, adding that our Indian was of a nation in league with the French. The pirates were dumb as if he had tossed a hand grenade among them. "The ship is ours now, lads," said Radisson softly, poling nearer. "See, lads, the bottom has tumbled from their courage! We'll not waste a pound o' powder in capturing that prize!" He turned suddenly to me--"As I live by bread, 'tis that bragging young dandy-prat--hop-o'-my-thumb--Ben Gillam of Boston Town!" "Ben Gillam!" I was thinking of my assailant in the woods. "Ben was tall. The pirate, who came carving at me, was small." But Ben Gillam it was, turned pirate or privateer--as you choose to call it--grown to a well-timbered rapscallion with head high in air, jack-boots half-way to his waist, a clanking sword at heel, and a nose too red from rum. As we landed, he sent his men scattering to the fort, and stood twirling his mustaches till the recognition struck him. "By Jericho--Radisson!" he gasped. Then he tossed his chin defiantly in air like an unbroken colt disposed to try odds with a master. "Don't be afraid to land," he called down out of sheer impudence. "Don't be afraid to have us land," Radisson shouted up to him. "We'll not harm you!" Ben swore a big oath, fleered a laugh, and kicked the sand with his heels. Raising a hand, he signalled the watchers on the ship. "Sorry to welcome you in this warlike fashion," said he. "Glad to welcome you to the domain of His Most Christian Majesty, the King of France," retorted Radisson, leaping ashore. Ben blinked to catch the drift of that. "Devil take their majesties!" he ejaculated. "He's king who conquers!" "No need to talk of conquering when one is master already," corrected M. de Radisson. "Shiver my soul," blurts out Ben, "I haven't a tongue like an eel, but that's what I mean; and I'm king here, and welcome to you, Radisson!" "And that's what I mean," laughed M. Radisson, with a bow, quietly motioning us to follow ashore. "No need to conquer where one is master, and welcome to you, Captain Gillam!" And they embraced each other like spider and fly, each with a free hand to his sword-hilt, and a questioning look on the other's face. Says M. Radisson: "I've seen that ship before!" Ben laughs awkwardly. "We captured her from a Dutchman," he begins. "Oh!" says Sieur Radisson. "I meant outside the straits after the storm!" Gillam's eyes widen. "Were those your ships?" he asks. Then both men laugh. "Not much to boast in the way of a fleet," taunts Ben. "Those are the two smallest we have," quickly explains Radisson. Gillam's face went blank, and M. Radisson's eyes closed to the watchful slit of a cat mouse-hunting. "Come! Come!" exclaims Ben, with a sudden flare of friendliness, "I am no baby-eater! Put a peg in that! Shiver my soul if this is a way to welcome friends! Come aboard all of you and test the Canary we got in the hold of a fine Spanish galleon last week! Such a top-heavy ship, with sails like a tinker's tatters, you never saw! And her hold running over with Canary and Madeira--oh! Come aboard! Come aboard!" he urged. It was Pierre Radisson's turn to blink. "And drink to the success of the beaver trade," importunes Ben. 'Twas as pretty a piece of play as you could see: Ben, scheming to get the Frenchman captive; M. Radisson, with the lightnings under his brows and that dare-devil rashness of his blood tempting him to spy out the lad's strength. "Ben was the body of the venture! Where was the brain? It was that took me aboard his ship," M. Radisson afterward confessed to us. "Come! Come!" pressed Gillam. "I know young Stanhope there"--his mighty air brought the laugh to my face--"young Stanhope there has a taste for fine Canary----" "But, lad," protested Radisson, with a condescension that was vinegar to Ben's vanity, "we cannot be debtors altogether. Let two of your men stay here and whiff pipes with my fellows, while I go aboard!" Ben's teeth ground out an assent that sounded precious like an oath; for he knew that he was being asked for hostages of safe-conduct while M. Radisson spied out the ship. He signalled, as we thought, for two hostages to come down from the fort; but scarce had he dropped his hand when fort and ship let out such a roar of cannonading as would have lifted the hair from any other head than Pierre Radisson's. Godefroy cut a caper. The Indian's eyes bulged with terror, and my own pulse went a-hop; but M. Radisson never changed countenance. "Pardieu," says he softly, with a pleased smile as the last shot went skipping over the water, "you're devilish fond o' fireworks, to waste good powder so far from home!" Ben mumbled out that he had plenty of powder, and that some fools didn't know fireworks from war. M. Radisson said he was glad there was plenty of powder, there would doubtless be use found for it, and he knew fools oft mistook fireworks for war. With that a cannon-shot sent the sand spattering to our boots and filled the air with powder-dust; but when the smoke cleared, M. Radisson had quietly put himself between Ben and the fort. Drawing out his sword, the Frenchman ran his finger up the edge. "Sharp as the next," said he. Lowering the point, he scratched a line on the sand between the mark of the last shot and us. "How close can your gunners hit, Ben?" asked Radisson. "Now I'll wager you a bottle of Madeira they can't hit that line without hitting you!" Ben's hand went up quick enough. The gunners ceased firing and M. Radisson sheathed his sword with a laugh. "You'll not take the odds? Take advice instead! Take a man's advice, and never waste powder! You'll need it all if he's king who conquers! Besides," he added, turning suddenly serious, "if my forces learn you are here I'll not promise I've strength to restrain them!" "How many have you?" blurted Ben. "Plenty to spare! Now, if you are afraid of the Hudson's Bay Company ships attacking you, I'd be glad to loan you enough young fire-eaters to garrison the fort here!" "Thanks," says Ben, twirling his mustaches till they were nigh jerked out, "but how long would they stay?" "Till you sent them away," says M. de Radisson, with the lights at play under his brows. "Hang me if I know how long that would be," laughed Gillam, half-puzzled, half-pleased with the Frenchman's darting wits. "Ben," begins M. Radisson, tapping the lace ruffle of Gillam's sleeve, "you must not fire those guns!" "No?" questions Gillam. "My officers are swashing young blades! What with the marines and the common soldiers and my own guard, 'tis all I can manage to keep the rascals in hand! They must not know you are here!" Gillam muttered something of a treaty of truce for the winter. M. Radisson shook his head. "I have scarce the support to do as I will," he protests. Young Gillam swore such coolness was scurvy treatment for an old friend. "Old friend," laughed Radisson afterward. "Did the cub's hangdog of a father not offer a thousand pounds for my head on the end of a pikestaff?" But with Ben he played the game out. "The season is too far advanced for you to _escape_," says he with soft emphasis. "'Tis why I want a treaty," answers the sailor. "Come, then," laughs the Frenchman, "now--as to terms----" "Name them," says Gillam. "If you don't wish to be discovered----" "I don't wish to be discovered!" "If you don't wish to be discovered don't run up a flag!" "One," says Gillam. "If you don't wish to be discovered, don't let your people leave the island!" "They haven't," says Gillam. "What?" asks M. Radisson, glancing sharply at me; for we were both thinking of that night attack. "They haven't left the island," repeats Gillam. "Ten lies are as cheap as two," says Radisson to us. Then to Gillam, "Don't let your people leave the island, or they'll meet my forces." "Two," says Gillam. "If you don't wish the Fur Company to discover you, don't fire guns!" "Three," says Gillam. "That is to keep 'em from connecting with those inlanders," whispered Godefroy, who knew the plays of his master's game better than I. "We can beat 'em single; but if Ben joins the inlanders and the Fur Company against us----" Godefroy completed his prophecy with an ominous shake of the head. "My men shall not know you are here," M. Radisson was promising. "One," counts Gillam. "I'll join with you against the English ships!" Young Gillam laughed derisively. "My father commands the Hudson's Bay ship," says he. "Egad, yes!" retorts M. Radisson nonchalantly, "but your father doesn't command the governor of the Fur Company, who sailed out in his ship." "The governor does not know that I am here," flouts Ben. "But he would know if I told him," adds M. de Radisson, "and if I told him the Company's captain owned half the ship poaching on the Company's preserve, the Company's captain and the captain's son might go hang for all the furs they'd get! By the Lord, youngster, I rather suspect both the captain and the captain's son would be whipped and hanged for the theft!" Ben gave a start and looked hard at Radisson. 'Twas the first time, I think, the cub realized that the pawn in so soft-spoken a game was his own neck. "Go on," he said, with haste and fear in his look. "I promised three terms. You will keep your people from knowing I am here and join me against the English--go on! What next?" "I'll defend you against the Indians," coolly capped M. Radisson. Godefroy whispered in my ear that he would not give a pin's purchase for all the furs the New Englander would get; and Ben Gillam looked like a man whose shoe pinches. He hung his head hesitating. "But if you run up a flag, or fire a gun, or let your people leave the island," warned M. Radisson, "I may let my men come, or tell the English, or join the Indians against you." Gillam put out his hand. "It's a treaty," said he. There and then he would have been glad to see the last of us; but M. Radisson was not the man to miss the chance of seeing a rival's ship. "How about that Canary taken from the foreign ship? A galleon, did you say, tall and slim? Did you sink her or sell her? Send down your men to my fellows! Let us go aboard for the story." CHAPTER XI MORE OF M. RADISSON'S RIVALS So Ben Gillam must take M. Radisson aboard the Susan, or Garden, as she was called when she sailed different colours, the young fellow with a wry face, the Frenchman, all gaiety. As the two leaders mounted the companion-ladder, hostages came towards the beach to join us. I had scarce noticed them when one tugged at my sleeve, and I turned to look full in the faithful shy face of little Jack Battle. "Jack!" I shouted, but he only wrung and wrung and wrung at my hand, emitting little gurgling laughs. Then we linked arms and walked along the beach, where others could not hear. "Where did you come from?" I demanded. "Master Ben fished me up on the Grand Banks. I was with the fleet. It was after he met you off the straits; and here I be, Ramsay." "After he met us off the straits." I was trying to piece some connection between Gillam's ship and the inland assailants. "Jack, tell me! How many days have you been here?" "Three," says Jack. "Split me fore and aft if we've been a day more!" It was four since that night in the bush. "You could not build a fort in three days!" "'Twas half-built when we came." "Who did that? Is Captain Gillam stealing the Company's furs for Ben?" "No-o-o," drawled Jack thoughtfully, "it aren't that. It are something else, I can't make out. Master Ben keeps firing and firing and firing his guns expecting some one to answer." "The Indians with the pelts," I suggested. "No-o-o," answered Jack. "Split me fore and aft if it's Indians he wants! He could send up river for them. It's some one as came from his father's ship outside Boston when Master Ben sailed for the north and Captain Gillam was agoing home to England with Mistress Hortense in his ship. When no answer comes to our firing, Master Ben takes to climbing the masthead and yelling like a fog-horn and dropping curses like hail and swearing he'll shoot him as fails to keep appointment as he'd shoot a dog, if he has to track him inland a thousand leagues. Split me fore and aft if he don't!" "Who shoot what?" I demanded, trying to extract some meaning from the jumbled narrative. "That's what I don't know," says Jack. I fetched a sigh of despair. "What's the matter with your hand? Does it hurt?" he asked quickly. Poor Jack! I looked into his faithful blue eyes. There was not a shadow of deception there--only the affection that gives without wishing to comprehend. Should I tell him of the adventure? But a loud halloo from Godefroy notified me that M. de Radisson was on the beach ready to launch. "Almost waste work to go on fortifying," he was warning Ben. "You forget the danger from your own crews," pleaded young Gillam. "Pardieu! We can easily arrange that. I promise you never to approach with more than thirty of a guard." (We were twenty-nine all told.) "But remember, don't hoist a flag, don't fire, don't let your people leave the island." Then we launched out, and I heard Ben muttering under his breath that he was cursed if he had ever known such impudence. In mid-current our leader laid his pole crosswise and laughed long. "'Tis a pretty prize. 'Twill fetch the price of a thousand beaver-skins! Captain Gillam reckoned short when he furnished young Ben to defraud the Company. He would give a thousand pounds for my head--would he? Pardieu! He shall give five thousand pounds and leave my head where it is! And egad, if he behaves too badly, he shall pay hush-money, or the governor shall know! When we've taken him, lads, who--think you--dare complain?" And he laughed again; but at a bend in the river he turned suddenly with his eyes snapping--"Who a' deuce could that have been playing pranks in the woods the other night? Mark my words, Stanhope, whoever 'twas will prove the brains and the mainspring and the driving-wheel and the rudder of this cub's venture!" And he began to dip in quick vigorous strokes like the thoughts ferreting through his brain. We had made bare a dozen miles when paddles clapped athwart as if petrified. Up the wide river, like a great white bird, came a stately ship. It was the Prince Rupert of the Hudson's Bay Company, which claimed sole right to trade in all that north land. Young Gillam, with guns mounted, to the rear! A hostile ship, with fighting men and ordnance, to the fore! An unknown enemy inland! And for our leader a man on whose head England and New England set a price! Do you wonder that our hearts stopped almost as suddenly as the paddles? But it was not fear that gave pause to M. Radisson. "If those ships get together, the game is lost," says he hurriedly. "May the devil fly away with us, if we haven't wit to stop that ship!" Act jumping with thought, he shot the canoe under cover of the wooded shore. In a twinkling we had such a fire roaring as the natives use for signals. Between the fire and the river he stationed our Indian, as hunters place a decoy. The ruse succeeded. Lowering sail, the Prince Rupert cast anchor opposite our fire; but darkness had gathered, and the English sent no boat ashore till morning. Posting us against the woods, M. Radisson went forward alone to meet the company of soldiers rowing ashore. The man standing amidships, Godefroy said, was Captain Gillam, Ben's father; but the gentleman with gold-laced doublet and ruffled sleeves sitting back in the sheets was Governor Brigdar, of the Hudson's Bay Fur Company, a courtier of Prince Rupert's choice. The clumsy boat grounded in the shallows, and a soldier got both feet in the water to wade. Instantly M. Radisson roared out such a stentorian "Halt!" you would have thought that he had an army at his back. Indeed, that is what the party thought, for the fellow got his feet back in the boat monstrous quick. And there was a vast bandying of words, each asking other who they were, and bidding each other in no very polite terms to mind their own affairs. Of a sudden M. Radisson wheeled to us standing guard. "Officers," he shouted, "first brigade!--forward!" From the manner of him we might have had an army under cover behind that bush. All at once Governor Brigdar's lace handkerchief was aflutter at the end of a sword, and the representative of King Charles begged leave to land and salute the representative of His Most Christian Majesty, the King of France. And land they did, pompously peaceful, though their swords clanked so oft every man must have had a hand ready at his baldrick, Pierre Radisson receiving them with the lofty air of a gracious monarch, the others bowing and unhatting and bending and crooking their spines supple as courtiers with a king. Presently came the soldiers back to us as hostages, while Radisson stepped into the boat to go aboard the Prince Rupert with the captain and governor. Godefroy called out against such rashness, and Pierre Radisson shouted back that threat about the nippers pulling the end off the fellow's tongue. Serving under the French flag, I was not supposed to know English; but when one soldier said he had seen "Mr. What-d'y-call-'im before," pointing at me, I recognised the mate from whom I had hired passage to England for M. Picot on Captain Gillam's ship. "Like enough," says the other, "'tis a land where no man brings his back history." "See here, fellow," said I, whipping out a crown, "here's for you to tell me of the New Amsterdam gentleman who sailed from Boston last spring!" "No New Amsterdam gentleman sailed from Boston," answered both in one breath. "I am not paying for lies," and I returned the crown to my pocket. Then Radisson came back, urging Captain Gillam against proceeding up the river. "The Prince Rupert might ground on the shallows," he warned. "That will keep them apart till we trap one or both," he told us, as we set off in our canoe. But we had not gone out of range before we were ordered ashore. Picking our way back overland, we spied through the bush for two days, till we saw that Governor Brigdar was taking Radisson's advice, going no farther up-stream, but erecting a fort on the shore where he had anchored. "And now," said Radisson, "we must act." While we were spying through the woods, watching the English build their fort, I thought that I saw a figure flitting through the bush to the rear. I dared not fire. One shot would have betrayed us to the English. But I pointed my gun. The thing came gliding noiselessly nearer. I clicked the gun-butt without firing. The thing paused. Then I called M. Radisson, who said it was Le Borgne, the wall-eyed Indian. Godefroy vowed 'twas a spy from Ben Gillam's fort. The Indian mumbled some superstition of a manitou. To me it seemed like a caribou; for it faded to nothing the way those fleet creatures have of skimming into distance. CHAPTER XII M. RADISSON BEGINS THE GAME M. Radisson had reckoned well. His warning to prepare for instant siege set all the young fire-eaters of our Habitation working like beavers to complete the French fort. The marquis took a hand at squaring timbers shoulder to shoulder with Allemand, the pilot; and La Chesnaye, the merchant prince, forgot to strut while digging up earthworks for a parapet. The leaven of the New World was working. Honour was for him only whose brawn won the place; and our young fellows of the birth and the pride were keenest to gird for the task. On our return from the upper river to the fort, the palisaded walls were finished, guns were mounted on all bastions, the two ships beached under shelter of cannon, sentinels on parade at the main gate, and a long barracks built mid-way across the courtyard. Here we passed many a merry hour of a long winter night, the green timbers cracking like pistol-shots to the tightening frost-grip, and the hearth logs at each end of the long, low-raftered hall sending up a roar that set the red shadows dancing among ceiling joists. After ward-room mess, with fare that kings might have envied--teal and partridge and venison and a steak of beaver's tail, and moose nose as an _entrée_, with a tidbit of buffalo hump that melted in your mouth like flakes--the commonalty, as La Chesnaye designated those who sat below the salt, would draw off to the far hearth. Here the sailors gathered close, spinning yarns, cracking jokes, popping corn, and toasting wits, a-merrier far that your kitchen cuddies of older lands. At the other hearth sat M. de Radisson, feet spread to the fire, a long pipe between his lips, and an audience of young blades eager for his tales. "D'ye mind how we got away from the Iroquois, Chouart?" Radisson asks Groseillers, who sits in a chair rough-hewn from a stump on the other side of the fire. Chouart Groseillers smiles quietly and strokes his black beard. Jean stretches across a bear-skin on the floor and shouts out, "Tell us! Tell us!" "We had been captives six months. The Iroquois were beginning to let us wander about alone. Chouart there had sewed his thumb up, where an old squaw had hacked at it with a dull shell. The padre's nails, which the Indians tore off in torture, had grown well enough for him to handle a gun. One day we were allowed out to hunt. Chouart brought down three deer, the padre two moose, and I a couple of bear. That night the warriors came back from a raid on Orange with not a thing to eat but one miserable, little, thin, squealing pig. Pardieu! men, 'twas our chance; and the chance is always hiding round a corner for the man who goes ahead." Radisson paused to whiff his pipe, all the lights in his eyes laughing and his mouth expressionless as steel. "'Tis an insult among Iroquois to leave food at a feast. There were we with food enough to stuff the tribe torpid as winter toads. The padre was sent round to the lodges with a tom-tom to beat every soul to the feast. Chouart and a Dutch prisoner and I cooked like kings' scullions for four mortal hours!--" "We wanted to delay the feast till midnight," explains Groseillers. "And at midnight in trooped every man, woman, and brat of the encampment. The padre takes a tom-tom and stands at one end of the lodge beating a very knave of a rub-a-dub and shouting at the top of his voice: 'Eat, brothers, eat! Bulge the eye, swell the coat, loose the belt! Eat, brothers, eat!' Chouart stands at the boiler ladling out joints faster than an army could gobble. Within an hour every brat lay stretched and the women were snoring asleep where they crouched. From the warriors, here a grunt, there a groan! But Chouart keeps ladling out the meat. Then the Dutchman grabs up a drum at the other end of the lodge, and begins to beat and yell: 'Stuff, brudders, stuff! Vat de gut zperets zend, gast not out! Eat, braves, eat!' And the padre cuts the capers of a fiend on coals. Still the warriors eat! Still the drums beat! Still the meat is heaped! Then, one brave bowls over asleep with his head on his knees! Another warrior tumbles back! Guards sit bolt upright sound asleep as a stone!" "What did you put in the meat, Pierre?" asked Groseillers absently. Radisson laughed. "Do you mind, Chouart," he asked, "how the padre wanted to put poison in the meat, and the Dutchman wouldn't let him? Then the Dutchman wanted to murder them all in their sleep, and the padre wouldn't let him?" Both men laughed. "And the end?" asked Jean. "We tied the squealing pig at the door for sentinel, broke ice with our muskets, launched the canoe, and never stopped paddling till we reached Three Rivers." [1] At that comes a loud sally of laughter from the sailors at the far end of the hall. Godefroy, the English trader, is singing a rhyme of All Souls' Day, and Allemand, the French pilot, protests. "Soul! Soul! For a soul-cake! One for Peter, two for Paul, Three for----." But La Chesnaye shouts out for the knaves to hold quiet. Godefroy bobs his tipstaff, and bawls on: "Soul! Soul! For an apple or two! If you've got no apples, nuts will do! Out with your raisins, down with your gin! Give me plenty and I'll begin." M. Radisson looks down the hall and laughs. "By the saints," says he softly, "a man loses the Christian calendar in this land! 'Tis All Souls' Night! Give the men a treat, La Chesnaye." But La Chesnaye, being governor, must needs show his authority, and vows to flog the knave for impudence. Turning over benches in his haste, the merchant falls on Godefroy with such largesse of cuffs that the fellow is glad to keep peace. The door blows open, and with a gust of wind a silent figure blows in. 'Tis Le Borgne, the one-eyed, who has taken to joining our men of a merry night, which M. de Radisson encourages; for he would have all the Indians come freely. "Ha!" says Radisson, "I thought 'twas the men I sent to spy if the marsh were safe crossing. Give Le Borgne tobacco, La Chesnaye. If once the fellow gets drunk," he adds to me in an undertone, "that silent tongue of his may wag on the interlopers. We must be stirring, stirring, Ramsay! Ten days past! Egad, a man might as well be a fish-worm burrowing underground as such a snail! We must stir--stir! See here"--drawing me to the table apart from the others--"here we are on the lower river," and he marked the letter X on a line indicating the flow of our river to the bay. "Here is the upper river," and he drew another river meeting ours at a sharp angle. "Here is Governor Brigdar of the Hudson's Bay Company," marking another X on the upper river. "Here is Ben Gillam! We are half-way between them on the south. I sent two men to see if the marsh between the rivers is fit crossing." [Illustration: Radisson's map.] "Fit crossing?" "When 'tis safe, we might plan a surprise. The only doubt is how many of those pirates are there who attacked you in the woods?" And he sat back whiffing his pipe and gazing in space. By this, La Chesnaye had distributed so generous a treat that half the sailors were roaring out hilarious mirth. Godefroy astride a bench played big drum on the wrong-end-up of the cook's dish-pan. Allemand attempted to fiddle a poker across the tongs. Voyageurs tried to shoot the big canoe over a waterfall; for when Jean tilted one end of the long bench, they landed as cleanly on the floor as if their craft had plunged. But the copper-faced Le Borgne remained taciturn and tongue-tied. "Be curse to that wall-eyed knave," muttered Radisson. "He's too deep a man to let go! We must capture him or win him!" "Perhaps when he becomes more friendly we may track him back to the inlanders," I suggested. M. de Radisson closed one eye and looked at me attentively. "La Chesnaye," he called, "treat that fellow like a king!" And the rafters rang so loud with the merriment that we none of us noticed the door flung open, nor saw two figures stamping off the snow till they had thrown a third man bound at M. de Radisson's feet. The messengers sent to spy out the marsh had returned with a half-frozen prisoner. "We found him where the ice is soft. He was half dead," explained one scout. Silence fell. Through the half-dark the Indian glided towards the door. The unconscious prisoner lay face down. "Turn him over," ordered Radisson. As our men rolled him roughly over, the captive uttered a heavy groan. His arms fell away from his face revealing little Jack Battle, the castaway, in a haven as strange as of old. "Search him before he wakes," commanded Radisson roughly. "Let me," I asked. In the pouches of the caribou coat was only pemmican; but my hand crushed against a softness in the inner waistcoat. I pulled it out--a little, old glove, the colour Hortense had dangled the day that Ben Gillam fell into the sea. "Pish!" says Radisson. "Anything else?" There crumpled out a yellow paper. M. Radisson snatched it up. "Pish!" says he, "nothing--put it back!" It was a page of my copy-book, when I used to take lessons with Rebecca. Replacing paper and glove, I closed up the sailor lad's coat. "Search his cap and moccasins!" I was mighty thankful, as you may guess, that other hands than mine found the tell-tale missive--a badly writ letter addressed to "Captain Zechariah Gillium." Tearing it open, M. Radisson read with stormy lights agleam in his eyes. "Sir, this sailor lad is an old comrade," I pleaded. "Then'a God's name take care of him," he flashed out. But long before I had Jack Battle thawed back to consciousness in my own quarters, Jean came running with orders for me to report to M. Radisson. "I'll take care of the sailor for you," proffered Jean. And I hastened to the main hall. "Get ready," ordered Radisson. "We must stir! That young hop-o'-my-thumb suspects his father has arrived. He has sent this fellow with word of me. Things will be doing. We must stir--we must stir. Read those for news," and he handed me the letter. The letter was addressed to Ben's father, of the Hudson's Bay ship, Prince Rupert. In writing which was scarcely legible, it ran: I take Up my Pen to lett You knowe that cutt-throte french viper Who deserted You at ye fort of ye bay 10 Years ago hath come here for France Threatening us. he Must Be Stopped. Will i Do It? have Bin Here Come Six weekes All Souls' day and Not Heard a Word of Him that went inland to Catch ye Furs from ye Savages before they Mett Governor B----. If He Proves False---- There the crushed missive was torn, but the purport was plain. Ben Gillam and his father were in collusion with the inland pirates to get peltries from the Indians before Governor Brigdar came; and the inlanders, whoever they were, had concealed both themselves and the furs. I handed the paper back to M. Radisson. "We must stir, lad--we must stir," he repeated. "But the marsh is soft yet. It is unsafe to cross." "The river is not frozen in mid-current," retorted M. Radisson impatiently. "Get ready! I am taking different men to impress the young spark with our numbers--you and La Chesnaye and the marquis and Allemand. But where a' devil is that Indian?" Le Borgne had slipped away. "Is he a spy?" I asked. "Get ready! Why do you ask questions? The thing is--to do!--do!!--do--!!!" But Allemand, who had been hauling out the big canoe, came up sullenly. "Sir," he complained, "the river's running ice the size of a raft, and the wind's a-blowing a gale." "Man," retorted M. de Radisson with the quiet precision of steel, "if the river were running live fire and the gale blew from the inferno, I--would--go! Stay home and go to bed, Allemand." And he chose one of the common sailors instead. And when we walked out to the thick edge of the shore-ice and launched the canoe among a whirling drift of ice-pans, we had small hope of ever seeing Fort Bourbon again. The ice had not the thickness of the spring jam, but it was sharp enough to cut our canoe, and we poled our way far oftener than we paddled. Where the currents of the two rivers joined, the wind had whipped the waters to a maelstrom. The night was moonless. It was well we did not see the white turmoil, else M. Radisson had had a mutiny on his hands. When the canoe leaped to the throb of the sucking currents like a cataract to the plunge, La Chesnaye clapped his pole athwart and called out a curse on such rashness. M. Radisson did not hear or did not heed. An ice-pan pitched against La Chesnaye's place, and the merchant must needs thrust out to save himself. The only light was the white glare of ice. The only guide across that heaving traverse, the unerring instinct of that tall figure at the bow, now plunging forward, now bracing back, now shouting out a "Steady!" that the wind carried to our ears, thrusting his pole to right, to left in lightning strokes, till the canoe suddenly darted up the roaring current of the north river. Here we could no longer stem both wind and tide. M. Radisson ordered us ashore for rest. Fourteen days were we paddling, portaging, struggling up the north river before we came in range of the Hudson's Bay fort built by Governor Brigdar. Our proximity was heralded by a low laugh from M. de Radisson. "Look," said he, "their ship aground in mud a mile from the fort. In case of attack, their forces will be divided. It is well," said M. Radisson. The Prince Rupert lay high on the shallows, fast bound in the freezing sands. Hiding our canoe in the woods, we came within hail and called. There was no answer. "Drunk or scurvy," commented M. Radisson. "An faith, Ramsay, 'twould be an easy capture if we had big enough fort to hold them all!" Shaping his hands to a trumpet, he shouted, "How are you, there?" As we were turning away a fellow came scrambling up the fo'castle and called back: "A little better, but all asleep." "A good time for us to examine the fort," said M. de Radisson. Aloud, he answered that he would not disturb the crew, and he wheeled us off through the woods. "See!" he observed, as we emerged in full view of the stockaded fur post, "palisades nailed on from the inside--easily pushed loose from the outside. Pish!--low enough for a dog to jump." Posting us in ambush, he advanced to the main edifice behind the wide-open gate. I saw him shaking hands with the Governor of the Hudson's Bay Company, who seemed on the point of sallying out to hunt. Then he signalled for us to come. I had almost concluded he meant to capture Governor Brigdar on the spot; but Pierre Radisson ever took friends and foes unawares. "Your Excellency," says he, with the bow of a courtier, "this is Captain Gingras of our new ship." Before I had gathered my wits, Governor Brigdar was shaking hands. "And this," continued Radisson, motioning forward the common sailor too quick for surprise to betray us, "this, Your Excellency, is Colonel Bienville of our marines." Colonel Bienville, being but a lubberly fellow, nigh choked with amazement at the English governor's warmth; but before we knew our leader's drift, the marquis and La Chesnaye were each in turn presented as commanders of our different land forces. "'Tis the misfortune of my staff not to speak English," explains Pierre Radisson suavely with another bow, which effectually shut any of our mouths that might have betrayed him. "Doubtless your officers know Canary better than English," returns Governor Brigdar; and he would have us all in to drink healths. "Keep your foot in the open door," Pierre Radisson whispered as we passed into the house. Then we drank the health of the King of England, firing our muskets into the roof; and drank to His Most Christian Majesty of France with another volley; and drank to the confusion of our common enemies, with a clanking of gun-butts that might have alarmed the dead. Upon which Pierre Radisson protested that he would not keep Governor Brigdar from the hunt; and we took our departure. "And now," said he, hastening through the bush, "as no one took fright at all that firing, what's to hinder examining the ship?" "Pardieu, Ramsay," he remarked, placing us in ambush again, "an we had a big enough fort, with food to keep them alive, we might have bagged them all." From which I hold that M. Radisson was not so black a man as he has been painted; for he could have captured the English as they lay weak of the scurvy and done to them, for the saving of fort rations, what rivals did to all foes--shot them in a land which tells no secrets. From our place on the shore we saw him scramble to the deck. A man in red nightcap rushed forward with an oath. "And what might you want, stealing up like a thief in the night?" roared the man. "To offer my services, Captain Gillam," retorted Radisson with a hand to his sword-hilt and both feet planted firm on the deck. "Services?" bawled Gillam. "Services for your crew, captain," interrupted Radisson softly. "Hm!" retorted Captain Gillam, pulling fiercely at his grizzled beard. "Then you might send a dozen brace o' partridges, some oil, and candles." With that they fell to talking in lower tones; and M. Radisson came away with quiet, unspoken mirth in his eyes, leaving Captain Gillam in better mood. "Curse me if he doesn't make those partridges an excuse to go back soon," exclaimed La Chesnaye. "The ship would be of some value; but why take the men prisoners? Much better shoot them down as they would us, an they had the chance!" "La Chesnaye!" uttered a sharp voice. Radisson had heard. "There are two things I don't excuse a fool for--not minding his own business and not holding his tongue." And though La Chesnaye's money paid for the enterprise, he held his tongue mighty still. Indeed, I think if any tongue had wagged twice in Radisson's hearing he would have torn the offending member out. Doing as we were bid without question, we all filed down to the canoe. Less ice cumbered the upper current, and by the next day we were opposite Ben Gillam's New England fort. "La Chesnaye and Forêt will shoot partridges," commanded M. de Radisson. Leaving them on the far side of the river, he bade the sailor and me paddle him across to young Gillam's island. What was our surprise to see every bastion mounted with heavy guns and the walls full manned. We took the precaution of landing under shelter of the ship and fired a musket to call out sentinels. Down ran Ben Gillam and a second officer, armed cap-a-pie, with swaggering insolence that they took no pains to conceal. "Congratulate you on coming in the nick of time," cried Ben. "Now what in the Old Nick does he mean by that?" said Radisson. "Does the cub think to cower me with his threats?" "I trust your welcome includes my four officers," he responded. "Two are with me and two have gone for partridges." Ben bellowed a jeering laugh, and his second man took the cue. "Your four officers may be forty devils," yelled the lieutenant; "we've finished our fort. Come in, Monsieur Radisson! Two can play at the game of big talk! You're welcome in if you leave your forty officers out!" For the space of a second M. Radisson's eyes swept the cannon pointing from the bastion embrasures. We were safe enough. The full hull of their own ship was between the guns and us. "Young man," said M. Radisson, addressing Ben, "you may speak less haughtily, as I come in friendship." "Friendship!" flouted Ben, twirling his mustache and showing both rows of teeth. "Pooh, pooh, M. Radisson! You are not talking to a stripling!" "I had thought I was--and a very fool of a booby, too," answered M. Radisson coolly. "Sir!" roared young Gillam with a rumbling of oaths, and he fumbled his sword. But his sword had not left the scabbard before M. de Radisson sent it spinning through mid-air into the sea. "I must ask your forgiveness for that, boy," said the Frenchman to Ben, "but a gentleman fights only his equals." Ben Gillam went white and red by turns, his nose flushing and paling like the wattle of an angry turkey; and he stammered out that he hoped M. de Radisson did not take umbrage at the building of a fort. "We must protect ourselves from the English," pleaded Ben. "Pardieu, yes," agreed M. de Radisson, proffering his own sword with a gesture in place of the one that had gone into the sea, "and I had come to offer you twenty men _to hold_ the fort!" Ben glanced questioningly to his second officer. "Bid that fellow draw off!" ordered M. Radisson. Dazed like a man struck between the eyes, Ben did as he was commanded. "I told you that I came in friendship," began Radisson. Gillam waited. "Have you lost a man, Ben?" "No," boldly lied Gillam. "Has one run away from the island against orders?" "No, devil take me, if I've lost a hand but the supercargo that I killed." "I had thought that was yours," said Radisson, with contempt for the ruffian's boast; and he handed out the paper taken from Jack. Ben staggered back with a great oath, vowing he would have the scalp of the traitor who lost that letter. Both stood silent, each contemplating the other. Then M. Radisson spoke. "Ben," said he, never taking his glance from the young fellow's face, "what will you give me if I guide you to your father this afternoon? I have just come from Captain Gillam. He and his crew are ill of the scurvy. Dress as a coureur and I pass you for a Frenchman." "My father!" cried Ben with his jaws agape and his wits at sea. "Pardieu--yes, I said your father!" "What do you want in return?" stammered Ben. Radisson uttered a laugh that had the sound of sword-play. "Egad, 'tis a hot supper I'd like better than anything else just now! If you feed us well and disguise yourself as a coureur, I'll take you at sundown!" And in spite of his second officer's signals, Ben Gillam hailed us forthwith to the fort, where M. Radisson's keen eyes took in every feature of door and gate and sally-port and gun. While the cook was preparing our supper and Ben disguising as a French wood-runner, we wandered at will, M. Radisson all the while uttering low laughs and words as of thoughts. It was--"Caught--neat as a mouse in a trap! Don't let him spill the canoe when we're running the traverse, Ramsay! May the fiends blast La Chesnaye if he opens his foolish mouth in Gillam's hearing! Where, think you, may we best secure him? Are the timbers of your room sound?" Or else--"Faith, a stout timber would hold those main gates open! Egad, now, an a man were standing in this doorway, he might jam a musket in the hinge so the thing would keep open! Those guns in the bastions though--think you those cannon are not pushed too far through the windows to be slued round quickly?" And much more to the same purpose, which told why M. Radisson stooped to beg supper from rivals. At sundown all was ready for departure. La Chesnaye and the marquis had come back with the partridges that were to make pretence for our quick return to the Prince Rupert. Ben Gillam had disguised as a bush-runner, and the canoe lay ready to launch. Fools and children unconsciously do wise things by mistake, as you know; and 'twas such an unwitting act sprung M. Radisson's plans and let the prize out of the trap. "Sink me an you didn't promise the loan of twenty men to hold the fort!" exclaimed Ben, stepping down. "Twenty--and more--and welcome," cried Radisson eagerly. "Then send Ramsay and Monsieur La Chesnaye back," put in Ben quickly. "I like not the fort without one head while I'm away." "Willingly," and M. Radisson's eyes glinted triumph. "Hold a minute!" cried Ben before sitting down. "The river is rough. Let two of my men take their places in the canoe!" M. Radisson's breath drew sharp through his teeth. But the trap was sprung, and he yielded gracefully enough to hide design. "A curse on the blundering cub!" he muttered, drawing apart to give me instructions. "Pardieu--you must profit on this, Ramsay! Keep your eyes open. Spoil a door-lock or two! Plug the cannon if you can! Mix sand with their powder! Shift the sentinels! Get the devils insubordinate----" "M. Radisson!" shouted Gillam. "Coming!" says Radisson; and he went off with his teeth gritting sand. [1] See Radisson's own account. CHAPTER XIII THE WHITE DARKNESS How much of those instructions we carried out I leave untold. Certainly we could not have been less grateful as guests than Ben Gillam's men were inhospitable as hosts. A more sottish crew of rakes you never saw. 'Twas gin in the morning and rum in the afternoon and vile potions of mixed poisons half the night, with a cracking of the cook's head for withholding fresh kegs and a continual scuffle of fighters over cheating at cards. No marvel the second officer flogged and carved at the knaves like an African slaver. The first night the whole crew set on us with drawn swords because we refused to gamble the doublets from our backs. La Chesnaye laid about with his sword and I with my rapier, till the cook rushed to our rescue with a kettle of lye. After that we escaped to the deck of the ship and locked ourselves inside Ben Gillam's cabin. Here we heard the weather-vanes of the fort bastions creaking for three days to the shift of fickle winds. Shore-ice grew thicker and stretched farther to mid-current. Mock suns, or sun-dogs, as we called them, oft hung on each side of the sun. La Chesnaye said these boded ill weather. Sea-birds caught the first breath of storm and wheeled landward with shrill calls, and once La Chesnaye and I made out through the ship's glass a vast herd of caribou running to sniff the gale from the crest of an inland hill. "If Radisson comes not back soon we are storm-bound here for the winter. As you live, we are," grumbled the merchant. But prompt as the ring of a bell to the clapper came Pierre Radisson on the third day, well pleased with what he had done and alert to keep two of us outside the fort in spite of Ben's urgings to bring the French in for refreshments. The wind was shifting in a way that portended a nor'easter, and the weather would presently be too inclement for us to remain outside. That hastened M. Radisson's departure, though sun-dogs and the long, shrill whistling of contrary winds foretold what was brewing. "Sink me, after such kindness, I'll see you part way home! By the Lord Harry, I will!" swore Ben. M. Radisson screwed his eyes nigh shut and protested he could not permit young Captain Gillam to take such trouble. "The young villain," mutters La Chesnaye, "he wants to spy which way we go." "Come! Come!" cries Ben. "If you say another word I go all the way with you!" "To spy on our fort," whispers La Chesnaye. M. Radisson responds that nothing would give greater pleasure. "I've half a mind to do it," hesitates Ben, looking doubtfully at us. "To be sure," urges M. Radisson, "come along and have a Christmas with our merry blades!" "Why, then, by the Lord, I will!" decides Gillam. "That is," he added, "if you'll send the marquis and his man, there, back to my fort as hostages." M. Radisson twirled his mustaches thoughtfully, gave the marquis the same instructions in French as he had given us when we were left in the New Englander's fort, and turning with a calm face to Ben, bade him get into our canoe. But when we launched out M. Radisson headed the craft up-stream in the wrong direction, whither we paddled till nightfall. It was cold enough in all conscience to afford Ben Gillam excuse for tipping a flask from his jacket-pouch to his teeth every minute or two; but when we were rested and ready to launch again, the young captain's brain was so befuddled that he scarce knew whether he were in Boston or on Hudson Bay. This time we headed straight down-stream, Ben nodding and dozing from his place in the middle, M. Radisson, La Chesnaye, and I poling hard to keep the drift-ice off. We avoided the New Englander's fort by going on the other side of the island, and when we shot past Governor Brigdar's stockades with the lights of the Prince Rupert blinking through the dark, Ben was fast asleep. And all the while the winds were piping overhead with a roar as from the wings of the great storm bird which broods over all that northland. Then the blore of the trumpeting wind was answered by a counter fugue from the sea, with a roll and pound of breakers across the sand of the traverse. Carried by the swift current, we had shot into the bay. It was morning, but the black of night had given place to the white darkness of northern storm. Ben Gillam jerked up sober and grasped an idle pole to lend a hand. Through the whirl of spray M. Radisson's figure loomed black at the bow, and above the boom of tumbling waves came the grinding as of an earthquake. "We are lost! We are lost!" shrieked Gillam in panic, cowering back to the stern. "The storm's drifted down polar ice from the north and we're caught! We're caught!" he cried. He sprang to his feet as if to leap into that white waste of seething ice foam. 'Twas the frenzy of terror, which oft seizes men adrift on ice. In another moment he would have swamped us under the pitching crest of a mountain sea. But M. Radisson turned. One blow of his pole and the foolish youth fell senseless to the bottom of the canoe. "Look, sir, look!" screamed La Chesnaye, "the canoe's getting ice-logged! She's sunk to the gun'ales!" But at the moment when M. Radisson turned to save young Gillam, the unguided canoe had darted between two rolling seas. Walls of ice rose on either side. A white whirl--a mighty rush--a tumult of roaring waters--the ice walls pitched down--the canoe was caught--tossed up--nipped--crushed like a card-box--and we four flung on the drenching ice-pans to a roll of the seas like to sweep us under, with a footing slippery as glass. "Keep hold of Gillam! Lock hands!" came a clarion voice through the storm. "Don't fear, men! There is no danger! The gale will drive us ashore! Don't fear! Hold tight! Hold tight! There's no danger if you have no fear!" The ice heaved and flung to the roll of the drift. "Hold fast and your wet sleeves will freeze you to the ice! Steady!" he called, as the thing fell and rose again. Then, with the hiss of the world serpent that pursues man to his doom, we were scudding before a mountain swell. There was the splintering report of a cannon-shot. The ice split. We clung the closer. The rush of waves swept under us, around us, above us. There came a crash. The thing gave from below. The powers of darkness seemed to close over us, the jaws of the world serpent shut upon their prey, the spirit of evil shrieked its triumph. Our feet touched bottom. The waves fell back, and we were ashore on the sand-bar of the traverse. "Run! Run for your lives!" shouted Radisson. Jerking up Gillam, whom the shock had brought to his senses. "Lock hands and run!" And run we did, like those spirits in the twilight of the lost, with never a hope of rescue and never a respite from fear, hand gripping hand, the tide and the gale and the driving sleet yelping wolfishly at our heels! Twas the old, old story of Man leaping undaunted as a warrior to conquer his foes--turned back!--beaten!--pursued by serpent and wolf, spirit of darkness and power of destruction, with the light of life flickering low and the endless frosts creeping close to a heart beating faint! Oh, those were giants that we set forth to conquer in that harsh northland--the giants of the warring elements! And giants were needed for the task. Think you of that when you hear the slighting scorn of the rough pioneer, because he minceth not his speech, nor weareth ruffs at his wrists, nor bendeth so low at the knee as your Old-World hero! The earth fell away from our feet. We all four tumbled forward. The storm whistled past overhead. And we lay at the bottom of a cliff that seemed to shelter a multitude of shadowy forms. We had fallen to a ravine where the vast caribou herds had wandered from the storm. Says M. Radisson, with a depth of reverence which words cannot tell, "Men," says he, "thank God for this deliverance!" * * * * * * So unused to man's presence were the caribou, or perhaps so stupefied by the storm, they let us wander to the centre of the herd, round which the great bucks had formed a cordon with their backs to the wind to protect the does and the young. The heat from the multitude of bodies warmed us back to life, and I make no doubt the finding of that herd was God Almighty's provision for our safety. For three days we wandered with nothing to eat but wild birds done to death by the gale. [1] On the third day the storm abated; but it was still snowing too heavily for us to see a man's length away. Two or three times the caribou tossed up their heads sniffing the air suspiciously, and La Chesnaye fell to cursing lest the wolf-pack should stampede the herd. At this Gillam, whose hulking body had wasted from lack of bulky rations, began to whimper-- "If the wolf-pack come we are lost!" "Man," says Radisson sternly, "say thy prayers and thank God we are alive!" The caribou began to rove aimlessly for a time, then they were off with a rush that bare gave us chance to escape the army of clicking hoofs. We were left unprotected in the falling snow. The primal instincts come uppermost at such times, and like the wild creatures of the woods facing a foe, instantaneously we wheeled back to back, alert for the enemy that had frightened the caribou. "Hist!" whispers Radisson. "Look!" Ben Gillam leaped into the air as if he had been shot, shrieking out: "It's him! It's him! Shoot him! The thief! The traitor! It's him!" He dashed forward, followed by the rest of us, hardly sure whether Ben were sane. Three figures loomed through the snowy darkness, white and silent as the snow itself--vague as phantoms in mist--pointing at us like wraiths of death--spirit hunters incarnate of that vast wilderness riding the riotous storm over land and sea. One swung a weapon aloft. There was the scream as of a woman's cry--and the shrieking wind had swept the snow-clouds about us in a blind fury that blotted all sight. And when the combing billows of drift passed, the apparition had faded. We four stood alone staring in space with strange questionings. "Egad!" gasped Radisson, "I don't mind when the wind howls like a wolf, but when it takes to the death-scream, with snow like the skirts of a shroud----" "May the Lord have mercy on us!" muttered La Chesnaye, crossing himself. "It is sign of death! That was a woman's figure. It is sign of death!" "Sign of death!" raged Ben, stamping his impotent fury, "'tis him--'tis him! The Judas Iscariot, and he's left us to die so that he may steal the furs!" "Hold quiet!" ordered M. Radisson. "Look, you rantipole--who is that?" 'Twas Le Borgne, the one-eyed, emerging from the gloom of the snow like a ghost. By signs and Indian words the fellow offered to guide us back to our Habitation. We reached the fort that night, Le Borgne flitting away like a shadow, as he had come. And the first thing we did was to hold a service of thanks to God Almighty for our deliverance. [1] See Radisson's account--Prince Society (1885), Boston--Bodleian Library.--Canadian Archives, 1895-'96. CHAPTER XIV A CHALLENGE Filling the air with ghost-shadows, silencing earth, muffling the sea, day after day fell the snow. Shore-ice barred out the pounding surf. The river had frozen to adamant. Brushwood sank in the deepening drifts like a foundered ship, and all that remained visible of evergreens was an occasional spar or snow mushroom on the crest of a branch. No east, no west, no day, no night; nothing but a white darkness, billowing snow, and a silence as of death. It was the cold, silent, mystic, white world of northern winter. At one moment the fort door flings wide with a rush of frost like smoke clouds, and in stamps Godefroy, shaking snow off with boisterous noise and vowing by the saints that the drifts are as high as the St. Pierre's deck. M. Groseillers orders the rascal to shut the door; but bare has the latch clicked when young Jean whisks in, tossing snow from cap and gauntlets like a clipper shaking a reef to the spray, and declares that the snow is already level with the fort walls. "Eh, nephew," exclaims Radisson sharply, "how are the cannon?" Ben Gillam, who has lugged himself from bed to the hearth for the first time since his freezing, blurts out a taunting laugh. We had done better to build on the sheltered side of an island, he informs us. "Now, the shivers take me!" cries Ben, "but where a deuce are all your land forces and marines and jack-tars and forty thousand officers?" He cast a scornful look down our long, low-roofed barracks, counting the men gathered round the hearth and laughing as he counted. M. Radisson affected not to hear, telling Jean to hoist the cannon and puncture embrasures high to the bastion-roofs like Italian towers. "Monsieur Radisson," impudently mouths Ben, who had taken more rum for his health than was good for his head, "I asked you to inform me where your land forces are?" "Outside the fort constructing a breastwork of snow." "Good!" sneers Ben. "And the marines?" "On the ships, where they ought to be." "Good!" laughs Gillam again. "And the officers?" "Superintending the raising of the cannon. And I would have you to know, young man," adds Radisson, "that when a guest asks too many questions, a host may not answer." But Ben goes on unheeding. "Now I'll wager that dog of a runaway slave o' mine, that Jack Battle who's hiding hereabouts, I'll wager the hangdog slave and pawn my head you haven't a corporal's guard o' marines and land forces all told!" M. Radisson never allowed an enemy's taunt to hasten speech or act. He looked at Ben with a measuring glance which sized that fellow very small indeed. "Then I must decline your wager, Ben," says he. "In the first place, Jack Battle is mine already. In the second, you would lose ten times over. In the third, you have few enough men already. And in the fourth, your head isn't worth pawn for a wager; though I may take you, body and boots, all the same," adds he. With that he goes off, leaving Ben blowing curses into the fire like a bellows. The young rake bawled out for more gin, and with head sunk on his chest began muttering to himself. "That black-eyed, false-hearted, slippery French eel!" he mumbles, rapping out an oath. "Now the devil fly off with me, an I don't slit him like a Dutch herring for a traitor and a knave and a thief and a cheat! By Judas, if he doesn't turn up with the furs, I'll do to him as I did to the supercargo last week, and bury him deep in the bastion! Very fine, him that was to get the furs hiding inland! Him, that didn't add a cent to what Kirke and Stocking paid; they to supply the money, my father to keep the company from knowing, and me to sail the ship--him, that might 'a' hung in Boston but for my father towing him out o' port--him the first to turn knave and steal all the pelts!" "Who?" quietly puts in M. Groseillers, who had been listening with wide eyes. But Ben's head rolled drunkenly and he slid down in sodden sleep. Again the fort door opened with the rush of frost clouds, and in the midst of the white vapour hesitated three men. The door softly closed, and Le Borgne stole forward. "White-man--promise--no--hurt--good Indian?" he asked. "The white-man is Le Borgne's friend," assured Groseillers, "but who are these?" He pointed to two figures, more dead than alive, chittering with cold. Le Borgne's foxy eye took on a stolid look. "White--men--lost--in the snow," said he, "white-man from the big white canoe--come walkee--walkee--one--two--three sleep--watchee good Indian--friend--fort!" M. Groseillers sprang to his feet muttering of treachery from Governor Brigdar of the Hudson's Bay Company, and put himself in front of the intruders so that Ben could not see. But the poor fellows were so frozen that they could only mumble out something about the Prince Rupert having foundered, carrying half the crew to the river bottom. Hurrying the two Englishmen to another part of the fort, M. Groseillers bade me run for Radisson. I wish that you could have seen the triumphant glint laughing in Pierre Radisson's eyes when I told him. "Fate deals the cards! 'Tis we must play them! This time the jade hath trumped her partner's ace! Ha, ha, Ramsay! We could 'a' captured both father and son with a flip o' the finger! Now there's only need to hold the son! Governor Brigdar must beg passage from us to leave the bay; but who a deuce are those inlanders that Ben Gillam keeps raving against for hiding the furs?" And he flung the mess-room door open so forcibly that Ben Gillam waked with a jump. At sight of Le Borgne the young New Englander sprang over the benches with his teeth agleam and murder on his face. But the liquor had gone to his knees. He keeled head over like a top-heavy brig, and when we dragged him up Le Borgne had bolted. All that night Ben swore deliriously that he would do worse to Le Borgne's master than he had done to the supercargo; but he never by any chance let slip who Le Borgne's master might be, though M. Radisson, Chouart Groseillers, young Jean, and I kept watch by turns lest the drunken knave should run amuck of our Frenchmen. I mind once, when M. Radisson and I were sitting quiet by the bunk where Ben was berthed, the young rake sat up with a fog-horn of a yell and swore he would slice that pirate of a Radisson and all his cursed Frenchies into meat for the dogs. M. Radisson looked through the candle-light and smiled. "If you want to know your character, Ramsay," says he, "get your enemy talking in his cups!" "Shiver my soul, if I'd ever come to his fort but to find out how strong the liar is!" cries Ben. "Hm! I thought so," says M. de Radisson, pushing the young fellow back to his pillow and fastening the fur robes close lest frost steamed through the ill-chinked logs. By Christmas Ben Gillam and Jack Battle of the New Englanders' fort and the two spies of the Hudson's Bay Company had all recovered enough from their freezing to go about. What with keeping the English and New Englanders from knowing of each other's presence, we had as twisted a piece of by-play as you could want. Ben Gillam and Jack we dressed as bushrangers; the Hudson's Bay spies as French marines. Neither suspected the others were English, nor ever crossed words while with us. And whatever enemies say of Pierre Radisson, I would have you remember that he treated his captives so well that chains would not have dragged them back to their own masters. "How can I handle all the English of both forts unless I win some of them for friends?" he would ask, never laying unction to his soul for the kindness that he practised. By Christmas, too, the snow had ceased falling and the frost turned the land to a silent, white, paleocrystic world. Sap-frozen timbers cracked with the loud, sharp snapping of pistol-shots--then the white silence! The river ice splintered to the tightening grip of winter with the grinding of an earthquake, and again the white silence! Or the heavy night air, lying thick with frost smoke like a pall over earth, would reverberate to the deep bayings of the wolf-pack, and over all would close the white silence! As if to defy the powers of that deathly realm, M. de Radisson had the more logs heaped on our hearth and doubled the men's rations. On Christmas morning he had us all out to fire a salute, Ben Gillam and Jack and the two Fur Company spies disguised as usual, and the rest of us muffled to our eyes. Jackets and tompions were torn from the cannon. Unfrosted priming was distributed. Flags were run up on boats and bastions. Then the word was given to fire and cheer at the top of our voices. Ben Gillam was sober enough that morning but in the mood of a ruffian stale from overnight brawls. Hardly had the rocking echoes of cannonading died away when the rascal strode boldly forward in front of us all, up with his musket, took quick aim at the main flagstaff and fired. The pole splintered off at the top and the French flag fluttered to the ground. "There's for you--you Frenchies!" he shouted. "See the old rag tumble!" 'Twas the only time M. Radisson gave vent to wrath. "Dog!" he ground out, wrenching the gun from Gillam's hands. "Avast! Avast!" cries Ben. "He who lives in glass-houses needs not to throw stones! Mind that, ye pirate!" "Dog!" repeats M. Radisson, "dare to show disrespect to the Most Christian of Kings!" "Most Christian of Kings!" flouts Ben. "I'll return to my fort! Then I'll show you what I'll give the Most Christian of Kings!" La Chesnaye rushed up with rash threat; but M. de Radisson pushed the merchant aside and stood very still, looking at Ben. "Young man," he began, as quietly as if he were wishing Ben the season's compliments, "I brought you to this fort for the purpose of keeping you in this fort, and it is for me to say when you may leave this fort!" Ben rumbled out a string of oaths, and M. Radisson motioned the soldiers to encircle him. Then all Ben's pot-valiant bravery ebbed. "Am I a prisoner?" he demanded savagely. "Prisoner or guest, according to your conduct," answered Radisson lightly. Then to the men--"Form line-march!" At the word we filed into the guard-room, where the soldiers relieved Gillam of pistol and sword. "Am I to be shot? Am I to be shot?" cried Gillam, white with terror at M. Radisson's order to load muskets. "Am I to be shot?" he whimpered. "Not unless you do it yourself, and 'twould be the most graceful act of your life, Ben! And now," said M. Radisson, dismissing all the men but one sentinel for the door, "and now, Ben, a Merry Christmas to you, and may it be your last in Hudson Bay!" With that he left Ben Gillam prisoner; but he ordered special watch to be kept on the fort bastions lest Ben's bravado portended attack. The next morning he asked Ben to breakfast with our staff. "The compliments of the morning to you. And I trust you rested well!" M. Radisson called out. Ben wished that he might be cursed if any man could rest well on bare boards rimed with frost like curdled milk. "Cheer up, man! Cheer up!" encourages Radisson. "There's to be a capture to-day!" "A capture!" reiterates Ben, glowering black across the table and doffing his cap with bad grace. "Aye, I said a capture! Egad, lad, one fort and one ship are prize enough for one day!" "Sink my soul," flouts Gillam, looking insolently down the table to the rows of ragged sailors sitting beyond our officers, "if every man o' your rough-scuff had the nine lives of a cat, their nine lives would be shot down before they reached our palisades!" "Is it a wager?" demands M. Radisson. "A wager--ship and fort and myself to boot if you win!" "Done!" cries La Chesnaye. "Ah, well," calculates M. Radisson, "the ship and the fort are worth something! When we've taken them, Ben can go. Nine lives for each man, did you say?" "A hundred, if you like," boasts the New Englander, letting fly a broadside of oaths at the Frenchman's slur. "A hundred men with nine lives, if you like! We've powder for all!" "Ben!" M. Radisson rose. "Two men are in the fort now! Pick me out seven more! That will make nine! With those nine I own your fort by nightfall or I set you free!" "Done!" shouts Ben. "Every man here a witness!" "Choose!" insists M. Radisson. Sailors and soldiers were all on their feet gesticulating and laughing; for Godefroy was translating into French as fast as the leaders talked. "Choose!" urges M. Radisson, leaning over to snuff out the great breakfast candle with bare fingers as if his hand were iron. "Shiver my soul, then," laughs Ben, in high feather, "let the first be that little Jack Sprat of a half-frozen Battle! He's loyal to me!" "Good!" smiles M. Radisson. "Come over here, Jack Battle." Jack Battle jumped over the table and stood behind M. Radisson as second lieutenant, Ben's eyes gaping to see Jack's disguise of bushranger like himself. "Go on," orders M. Radisson, "choose whom you will!" The soldiers broke into ringing cheers. "Devil take you, Radisson," ejaculates Ben familiarly, "such cool impudence would chill the Nick!" "That is as it may be," retorts Radisson. "Choose! We must be off!" Again the soldiers cheered. "Well, there's that turncoat of a Stanhope with his fine airs. I'd rather see him shot next than any one else!" "Thank you, Ben," said I. "Come over here, Ramsay," orders Radisson. "That's two. Go on! Five more!" The soldiers fell to laughing and Ben to pulling at his mustache. "That money-bag of a La Chesnaye next," mutters Ben. "He's lady enough to faint at first shot." "There'll be no first shot. Come, La Chesnaye! Three. Go on! Go on, Ben! Your wits work slow!" "Allemand, the pilot! He is drunk most of the time." "Four," counts M. Radisson. "Come over here, Allemand! You're drunk most of the time, like Ben. Go on!" "Godefroy, the English trader--he sulks--he's English--he'll do!" "Five," laughs M. Radisson. And for the remaining two, Ben Gillam chose a scullion lad and a wretched little stowaway, who had kept hidden under hatches till we were too far out to send him back. At the last choice our men shouted and clapped and stamped and broke into snatches of song about conquerors. CHAPTER XV THE BATTLE NOT TO THE STRONG M. Radisson turned the sand-glass up to time our preparations. Before the last grain fell we seven were out, led by M. Radisson, speeding over the snow-drifted marsh through the thick frosty darkness that lies like a blanket over that northland at dawn. The air hung heavy, gray, gritty to the touch with ice-frost. The hard-packed drifts crisped to our tread with little noises which I can call by no other name than frost-shots. Frost pricked the taste to each breath. Endless reaches of frost were all that met the sight. Frost-crackling the only sound. Frost in one's throat like a drink of water, and the tingle of the frost in the blood with a leap that was fulness of life. Up drifts with the help of our muskets! Down hills with a rush of snow-shoes that set the powdery snow flying! Skimming the levels with the silent speed of wings! Past the snow mushrooms topping underbrush and the snow cones of the evergreens and the snow billows of under rocks and the snow-wreathed antlers of the naked forest in a world of snow! The morning stars paled to steel pin-pricks through a gray sky. Shadows took form in the frost. The slant rays of a southern sun struck through the frost clouds in spears. Then the frost smoke rose like mist, and the white glare shone as a sea. In another hour it would be high noon of the short shadow. Every coat--beaver and bear and otter and raccoon--hung open, every capote flung back, every runner hot as in midsummer, though frost-rime edged the hair like snow. When the sun lay like a fiery shield half-way across the southern horizon, M. Radisson called a halt for nooning. "Now, remember, my brave lads," said he, after he had outlined his plans, drawing figures of fort and ship and army of seven on the snow, "now, remember, if you do what I've told you, not a shot will be fired, not a drop of blood spilled, not a grain of powder used, and to every man free tobacco for the winter--" "If we succeed," interjects Godefroy sullenly. "_If_," repeats M. Radisson; "an I hear that word again there will be a carving!" Long before we came to the north river near the Hudson's Bay Company's fort, the sun had wheeled across the horizon and sunk in a sea of snow, but now that the Prince Rupert had foundered, the capture of these helpless Englishmen was no object to us. Unless a ship from the south end of the bay came to rescue them they were at our mercy. Hastening up the river course we met Governor Brigdar sledding the ice with a dog-team of huskies. "The compliments of the season to Your Excellency!" shouted Radisson across the snow. "The same to the representative of France," returned Governor Brigdar, trying to get away before questions could be asked. "I don't see your ship," called Radisson. "Four leagues down the river," explained the governor. "_Under_ the river," retorted Radisson, affecting not to hear. "No--down the river," and the governor whisked round a bluff out of call. The gray night shadows gathered against the woods. Stars seeded the sky overhead till the whole heavens were aglow. And the northern lights shot their arrowy jets of fire above the pole, rippled in billows of flame, scintillated with the faint rustling of a flag in a gale, or swung midway between heaven and earth like censers to the invisible God of that cold, far, northern world. Then the bastions of Ben Gillam's fort loomed above the wastes like the peak of a ship at sea, and M. Radisson issued his last commands. Godefroy and I were to approach the main gate. M. Radisson and his five men would make a detour to attack from the rear. A black flag waved above the ship to signal those inland pirates whom Ben Gillam was ever cursing, and the main gates stood wide ajar. Half a mile away Godefroy hallooed aloud. A dozen New Englanders, led by the lieutenant, ran to meet us. "Where is Master Ben?" demanded the leader. "Le capitaine," answered Godefroy, affecting broken English, "le capitaine, he is fatigue. He is back--voilá--how you for speak it?--avec, monsieur! Le capitaine, he has need, he has want for you to go with food." At that, with a deal of unguarded gabbling, they must hail us inside for refreshments, while half a dozen men ran in the direction Godefroy pointed with the food for their master. No sooner were their backs turned than Godefroy whispers instructions to the marquis and his man, who had been left as hostages. Forêt strolled casually across to the guard-room, where the powder was stored. Here he posted himself in the doorway with his sword jammed above the hinge. His man made a precipitate rush to heap fires for our refreshment, dropping three logs across the fort gates and two more athwart the door of the house. Godefroy and I, on pretext of scanning out the returning travellers, ran one to the nigh bastion, the other to the fore-deck of the ship, where was a swivel cannon that might have done damage. Then Godefroy whistled. Like wolves out of the earth rose M. Radisson and his five men from the shore near the gates. They were in possession before the lieutenant and his men had returned. On the instant when the surprised New Englanders ran up, Radisson bolted the gates. "Where is my master?" thundered the lieutenant, beating for admission. "Come in." M. Radisson cautiously opened the gate, admitting the lieutenant alone. "It is not a question of where your master is, but of mustering your men and calling the roll," said the Frenchman to the astounded lieutenant. "You see that my people are in control of your powder-house, your cannon, and your ship. Your master is a prisoner in my fort. Now summon your men, and be glad Ben Gillam is not here to kill more of you as he killed your super-cargo!" Half an hour from the time we had entered the fort, keys, arms, and ammunition were in M. de Radisson's hands without the firing of a shot, and the unarmed New Englanders assigned to the main building, where we could lock them if they mutinied. To sound of trumpet and drum, with Godefroy bobbing his tipstaff, M. Radisson must needs run up the French flag in place of the pirate ensign. Then, with the lieutenant and two New Englanders to witness capitulation, he marched from the gates to do the same with the ship. Allemand and Godefroy kept sentinel duty at the gates. La Chesnaye, Forêt, and Jack Battle held the bastions, and the rest stood guard in front of the main building. From my place I saw how it happened. The lieutenant stepped back to let M. de Radisson pass up the ship's ladder first. The New Englanders followed, the lieutenant still waiting at the bottom step; and when M. Radisson's back was turned the lieutenant darted down the river bank in the direction of Governor Brigdar's fort. The flag went up and M. Radisson looked back to witness the salute. Then he discovered the lieutenant's flight. The New Englanders' purpose was easily guessed--to lock forces with Governor Brigdar, and while our strength was divided attack us here or at the Habitation. "One fight at a time," says Radisson, summoning to council in the powder-house all hands but our guard at the gate. "You, Allemand and Godefroy, will cross the marsh to-night, bidding Chouart be ready for attack and send back re-enforcements here! You two lads"--pointing to the stowaway and scullion--"will boil down bears' grease and porpoise fat for a half a hundred cressets! Cut up all the brooms in the fort! Use pine-boughs! Split the green wood and slip in oiled rags! Have a hundred lights ready by ten of the clock! Go--make haste, or I throw you both into the pot! "You, Forêt and La Chesnaye, transfer all the New Englanders to the hold of the ship and batten them under! If there's to be fighting, let the enemies be outside the walls. And you, Ramsay, will keep guard at the river bastion all night! And you, Jack Battle, will gather all the hats and helmets and caps in the fort, and divide them equally between the two front bastions----" "Hats and helmets?" interrupts La Chesnaye. "La Chesnaye," says M. Radisson, whirling, "an any one would question me this night he had best pull his tongue out with the tongs! Go, all of you!" But Godefroy, ever a dour-headed knave, must test the steel of M. de Radisson's mood. "D'ye mean me an' the pilot to risk crossing the marsh by night----" But he got no farther. M. de Radisson was upon him with a cudgel like a flail on wheat. "An you think it risk to go, I'll make it greater risk to stay! An you fear to obey, I'll make you fear more to disobey! An you shirk the pain of toeing the scratch, I'll make it a deal more painful to lag behind!" "But at night--at night," roared Godefroy between blows. "The night--knave," hissed out Radisson, "the night is lighter than morning with the north light. The night"--this with a last drive--"the night is same as day to man of spirit! 'Tis the sort of encouragement half the world needs to succeed," said M. Radisson, throwing down the cudgel. And Godefroy, the skulker, was glad to run for the marsh. The rest of us waited no urgings, but were to our posts on the run. I saw M. Radisson passing fife, piccolo, trumpet, and drum to the two tatterdemalion lads of our army. "Now blow like fiends when I give the word," said he. Across the courtyard, single file, marched the New Englanders from barracks to boat. La Chesnaye leading with drawn sword, the marquis following with pointed musket. Forêt and La Chesnaye then mounted guard at the gate. The sailor of our company was heaping cannon-balls ready for use. Jack Battle scoured the fort for odd headgear. M. de Radisson was everywhere, seizing papers, burying ammunition, making fast loose stockades, putting extra rivets in hinges, and issuing quick orders that sent Jack Battle skipping to the word. Then Jack was set to planting double rows of sticks inside on a level with the wall. The purpose of these I could not guess till M. Radisson ordered hat, helmet, or cap clapped atop of each pole. Oh, we were a formidable army, I warrant you, seen by any one mounting the drift to spy across our walls! But 'twas no burlesque that night, as you may know when I tell you that Governor Brigdar's forces played us such a trick they were under shelter of the ship before we had discovered them. Forêt and La Chesnaye were watching from loopholes at the gates, and I was all alert from my place in the bastion. The northern lights waved overhead in a restless ocean of rose-tinted fire. Against the blue, stars were aglint with the twinkle of a million harbour lights. Below, lay the frost mist, white as foam, diaphanous as a veil, every floating icy particle aglimmer with star rays like spray in sunlight. Through the night air came the far howlings of the running wolf-pack. The little ermine, darting across the level with its black tail-tip marking the snow in dots and dashes, would sit up quickly, listen and dive under, to wriggle forward like a snake; or the black-eyed hare would scurry off to cover of brushwood. Of a sudden sounded such a yelling from the New Englanders imprisoned in the ship, with a beating of guns on the keel, that I gave quick alarm. Forêt and La Chesnaye sallied from the gate. Pistol-shots rang out as they rounded the ship's prow into shadow. At the same instant, a man flung forward out of the frost cloud beating for admittance. M. de Radisson opened. "The Indians! The Indians! Where are the New Englanders?" cried the man, pitching headlong in. And when he regained his feet, Governor Brigdar, of the Hudson's Bay Company, stood face to face with M. de Radisson. "A right warm welcome, Your Excellency," bowed M. de Radisson, bolting the gate. "The New Englanders are in safe keeping, sir, and so are you!" The bewildered governor gasped at M. Radisson's words. Then he lost all command of himself. "Radisson, man," he stormed, "this is no feint--this is no time for acting! Six o' my men shot on the way--four hiding by the ship and the Indians not a hundred yards behind! Take my sword and pistol," he proffered, M. de Radisson still hesitating, "but as you hope for eternal mercy, call in my four men!" After that, all was confusion. Forêt and the marquis rushed pell-mell for the fort with four terrified Englishmen disarmed. The gates were clapped to. Myriad figures darted from the frost mist--figures with war-paint on their faces and bodies clothed in white to disguise approach. English and French, enemies all, crouched to the palisades against the common foe, with sword-thrust for the hands catching at pickets to scale the wall and volleying shots that scattered assailants back. The redskins were now plainly visible through the frost. When they swerved away from shelter of the ship, every bastion let go the roar of a cannon discharge. There was the sudden silence of a drawing off, then the shrill "Ah-o-o-o-oh! Ah-o-o-o-oh! Ah-o-o-o-oh!" of Indian war-cry! And M. Radisson gave the signal. Instantaneously half a hundred lights were aflare. Red tongues of fire darted from the loop-holes. Two lads were obeying our leader's call to run--run--run, blowing fife, beating drum like an army's band, while streams of boiling grease poured down from bastions and lookout. Helmets, hats, and caps sticking round on the poles were lighted up like the heads of a battalion; and oft as any of us showed himself he displayed fresh cap. One Indian, I mind, got a stockade off and an arm inside the wall. That arm was never withdrawn, for M. Radisson's broadsword came down, and the Indian reeled back with a yelping scream. Then the smoke cleared, and I saw what will stay with me as long as memory lasts--M. Radisson, target for arrows or shot, long hair flying and red doublet alight in the flare of the torches, was standing on top of the pickets with his right arm waving a sword. "Whom do you make them out to be, Ramsay?" he called. "Is not yon Le Borgne?" I looked to the Indians. Le Borgne it was, thin and straight, like a mast-pole through mist, in conference with another man--a man with a beard, a man who was no Indian. "Sir!" I shouted back. "Those are the inland pirates. They are leading the Indians against Ben Gillam, and not against us at all." At that M. Radisson extends a handkerchief on the end of his sword as flag of truce, and the bearded man waves back. Down from the wall jumps M. Radisson, running forward fearlessly where Indians lay wounded, and waving for the enemy to come. But the two only waved back in friendly fashion, wheeled their forces off, and disappeared through the frost. "Those were Ben Gillam's cut-throats trying to do for him! When they saw us on the walls, they knew their mistake," says M. de Radisson as he re-entered the gate. "There's only one way to find those pirates out, Ramsay. Nurse these wounded Indians back to life, visit the tribe, and watch! After Chouart's re-enforcements come, I'll send you and Jack Battle, with Godefroy for interpreter!" To Governor Brigdar and his four refugees M. de Radisson was all courtesy. "And how comes Your Excellency to be out so late with ten men?" he asked, as we supped that night. "We heard that you were here. We were coming to visit you," stammered Governor Brigdar, growing red. "Then let us make you so welcome that you will not hasten away! Here, Jack Battle, here, fellow, stack these gentlemen's swords and pistols where they'll come to no harm! Ah! No? But I must relieve you, gentlemen! Your coming was a miracle. I thank you for it. It has saved us much trouble. A pledge to the pleasure--and the length--of your stay, gentlemen," and they stand to the toast, M. de Radisson smiling at the lights in his wine. But we all knew very well what such welcome meant. 'Twas Radisson's humour to play the host that night, but the runaway lieutenant was a prisoner in our guard-house. CHAPTER XVI WE SEEK THE INLANDERS In the matter of fighting, I find small difference between white-men and red. Let the lust of conquest but burn, the justice of the quarrel receives small thought. Your fire-eating prophet cares little for the right of the cause, provided the fighter come out conqueror; and many a poet praises only that right which is might over-trampling weakness. I have heard the withered hag of an Indian camp chant as spirited war-song as your minstrels of butchery; but the strange thing of it is, that the people, who have taken the sword in a wantonness of conquest, are the races that have been swept from the face of the earth like dead leaves before the winter blast; but the people, who have held immutably by the power of right, which our Lord Christ set up, the meek and the peace-makers and the children of God, these are they that inherit the earth. Where are the tribes with whom Godefroy and Jack Battle and I wandered in nomadic life over the northern wastes? Buried in oblivion black as night, but for the lurid memories flashed down to you of later generations. Where are the Puritan folk, with their cast-iron, narrow creeds damning all creation but themselves, with their foibles of snivelling to attest sanctity, with such a wolfish zeal to hound down devils that they hounded innocents for witchcraft? Spreading over the face of the New World, making the desert to bloom and the waste places fruitful gardens? And the reason for it all is simply this: Your butchering Indian, like your swashing cavalier, founded his _right_ upon _might_; your Puritan, grim but faithful, to the outermost bounds of his tragic errors, founded his _might_ upon _right_. We learn our hardest lessons from unlikeliest masters. This one came to me from the Indians of the blood-dyed northern snows. * * * * * * "Don't show your faces till you have something to report about those pirates, who led the Indians," was M. Radisson's last command, as we sallied from the New Englanders' fort with a firing of cannon and beating of drums. Godefroy, the trader, muttered under his breath that M. Radisson need never fear eternal torment. "Why?" I asked. "Because, if he goes _there_," answered Godefroy, "he'll get the better o' the Nick." I think the fellow was smarting from recent punishment. He and Allemand, the drunken pilot, had been draining gin kegs on the sly and replacing what they took with snow water. That last morning at prayers Godefroy, who was half-seas over, must yelp out a loud "Amen" in the wrong place. Without rising from his knees, or as much as changing his tone, M. de Radisson brought the drunken knave such a cuff it flattened him to the floor. Then prayers went on as before. The Indians, whom we had nursed of their wounds, were to lead us to the tribe, one only being held by M. Radisson as hostage for safe conduct. In my mind, that trust to the Indians' honour was the single mistake M. Radisson made in the winter's campaign. In the first place, the Indian has no honour. Why should he have, when his only standard of right is conquest? In the second place, kindness is regarded as weakness by the Indian. Why should it not be, when his only god is victory? In the third place, the lust of blood, to kill, to butcher, to mutilate, still surged as hot in their veins as on the night when they had attempted to scale our walls. And again I ask why not, when the law of their life was to kill or to be killed? These questions I put to you because life put them to me. At the time my father died, the gentlemen of King Charles's court were already affecting that refinement of philosophy which justifies despotism. From justifying despotism, 'twas but a step to justifying the wicked acts of tyranny; and from that, but another step to thrusting God's laws aside as too obsolete for our clever courtiers. "Give your unbroken colt tether enough to pull itself up with one sharp fall," M. Radisson used to say, "and it will never run to the end of its line again." The mind of Europe spun the tissue of foolish philosophy. The savage of the wilderness went the full tether; and I leave you to judge whether the _might_ that is _right_ or the _right_ that is _might_ be the better creed for a people. But I do not mean to imply that M. Radisson did not understand the savages better than any man of us in the fort. He risked three men as pawns in the game he was playing for mastery of the fur trade. Gamester of the wilderness as he was, Pierre Radisson was not the man to court a certain loss. The Indians led us to the lodges of the hostiles safely enough; and their return gave us entrance if not welcome to the tepee village. We had entered a ravine and came on a cluster of wigwams to the lee side of a bluff. Dusk hid our approach; and the absence of the dogs that usually infest Indian camps told us that these fellows were marauders. Smoke curled up from the poles crisscrossed at the tepee forks, but we could descry no figures against the tent-walls as in summer, for heavy skins of the chase overlaid the parchment. All was silence but in one wigwam. This was an enormous structure, built on poles long as a mast, with moose-hides scattered so thickly upon it that not a glint of firelight came through except the red glow of smoke at the peak. There was a low hum of suppressed voices, then one voice alone in solemn tones, then guttural grunts of applause. "In council," whispered Godefroy, steering straight for the bearskin that hung flapping across the entrance. Bidding Jack Battle stand guard outside, we followed the Indians who had led us from the fort. Lifting the tent-flap, we found ourselves inside. A withered creature with snaky, tangled hair, toothless gums, eyes that burned like embers, and a haunched, shrivelled figure, stood gesticulating and crooning over a low monotone in the centre of the lodge. As we entered, the draught from the door sent a tongue of flame darting to mid-air from the central fire, and scores of tawny faces with glance intent on the speaker were etched against the dark. These were no camp families, but braves, deep in war council. The elder men sat with crossed feet to the fore of the circle. The young braves were behind, kneeling, standing, and stretched full length. All were smoking their long-stemmed pipes and listening to the medicine-man, or seer, who was crooning his low-toned chant. The air was black with smoke. Always audacious, Godefroy, the trader, advanced boldly and sat down in the circle. I kept back in shadow, for directly behind the Indian wizard was a figure lying face downward, chin resting in hand, which somehow reminded me of Le Borgne. The fellow rolled lazily over, got to his knees, and stood up. Pushing the wizard aside, this Indian faced the audience. It was Le Borgne, his foxy eye yellow as flame, teeth snapping, and a tongue running at such a pace that we could scarce make out a word of his jargon. "What does he say, Godefroy?" "Sit down," whispered the trader, "you are safe." This was what the Indian was saying as Godefroy muttered it over to me: "Were the Indians fools and dogs to throw away two fish for the sake of one? The French were friends of the Indians. Let the Indians find out what the French would give them for killing the English. He, Le Borgne, the one-eyed, was brave. He would go to the Frenchman's fort and spy out how strong they were. If the French gave them muskets for killing the English, after the ships left in the spring the Indians could attack the fort and kill the French. The great medicine-man, the white hunter, who lived under the earth, would supply them with muskets----" "He says the white hunter who lives under the earth is giving them muskets to make war," whispered Godefroy. "That must be the pirate." "Listen!" "Let the braves prepare to meet the Indians of the Land of Little White Sticks, who were coming with furs for the white men--" Le Borgne went on. "Let the braves send their runners over the hills to the Little White Sticks sleeping in the sheltered valley. Let the braves creep through the mist of the morning like the lynx seeking the ermine. And when the Little White Sticks were all asleep, the runners would shoot fire arrows into the air and the braves would slay--slay--slay the men, who might fight, the women, who might run to the whites for aid, and the children, who might live to tell tales." "The devils!" says Godefroy under his breath. A log broke on the coals with a flare that painted Le Borgne's evil face fiery red; and the fellow gabbled on, with figure crouching stealthily forward, foxy eye alight with evil, and teeth glistening. "Let the braves seize the furs of the Little White Sticks, trade the furs to the white-man for muskets, massacre the English, then when the great white chief's big canoes left, kill the Frenchmen of the fort." "Ha," says Godefroy. "Jack's safe outside! We'll have a care to serve you through the loop-holes, and trade you only broken muskets!" A guttural grunt applauded Le Borgne's advice, and the crafty scoundrel continued: "The great medicine-man, the white hunter, who lived under the earth, was their friend. Was he not here among them? Let the braves hear what he advised." The Indians grunted their approbation. Some one stirred the fire to flame. There was a shuffling movement among the figures in the dark. Involuntarily Godefroy and I had risen to our feet. Emerging from the dusk to the firelight was a white man, gaudily clothed in tunic of scarlet with steel breastplates and gold lace enough for an ambassador. His face was hidden by Le Borgne's form. Godefroy pushed too far forward; for the next thing, a shout of rage rent the tent roof. Le Borgne was stamping out the fire. A red form with averted face raced round the lodge wall to gain the door. Then Godefroy and I were standing weapons in hand, with the band of infuriated braves brandishing tomahawks about our heads. Le Borgne broke through the circle and confronted us with his face agleam. "Le Borgne, you rascal, is this a way to treat your friends?" I demanded. "What you--come for?" slowly snarled Le Borgne through set teeth. "To bring back your wounded and for furs, you fool," cried Godefroy, "and if you don't call your braves off, you can sell no more pelts to the French." Le Borgne gabbled out something that drove the braves back. "We have no furs yet," said he. "But you will have them when you raid the Little White Sticks," raged Godefroy, caring nothing for the harm his words might work if he saved his own scalp. Le Borgne drew off to confer with the braves. Then he came back and there was a treacherous smile of welcome on his bronze face. "The Indians thought the white-men spies from the Little White Sticks," he explained in the mellow, rhythmic tones of the redman. "The Indians were in war council. The Indians are friends of the French." "Look out for him, Godefroy," said I. "If the French are friends to the Indians, let the white-men come to battle against the Little White Sticks," added Le Borgne. "Tell him no! We'll wait here till they come back!" "He says they are not coming back," answered Godefroy, "and hang me, Ramsay, an I'd not face an Indian massacre before I go back empty-handed to M. Radisson. We're in for it," says he, speaking English too quick for Le Borgne's ear. "If we show the white feather now, they'll finish us. They'll not harm us till they've done for the English and got more muskets. And that red pirate is after these same furs! Body o' me, an you hang back, scared o' battle, you'd best not come to the wilderness." "The white-men will go with the Indians, but the white-men will not fight with the Little Sticks," announced Godefroy to Le Borgne, proffering tobacco enough to pacify the tribe. 'Twas in vain that I expostulated against the risk of going far inland with hostiles, who had attacked the New England fort and were even now planning the slaughter of white-men. Inoffensiveness is the most deadly of offences with savagery, whether the savagery be of white men or red. Le Borgne had the insolence to ask why the tribe could not as easily kill us where we were as farther inland; and we saw that remonstrances were working the evil that we wished to avoid--increasing the Indians' daring. After all, Godefroy was right. The man who fears death should neither go to the wilderness nor launch his canoe above a whirlpool unless he is prepared to run the rapids. This New World had never been won from darkness if men had hung back from fear of spilt blood. 'Twas but a moment's work for the braves to deck out in war-gear. Faces were blackened with red streaks typifying wounds; bodies clad in caribou skins or ermine-pelts white as the snow to be crossed; quivers of barbed and poisonous arrows hanging over their backs in otter and beaver skins; powder in buffalo-horns for those who had muskets; shields of toughened hide on one arm, and such a number of scalp-locks fringing every seam as told their own story of murderous foray. While the land still smoked under morning frost and the stars yet pricked through the gray darkness, the warriors were far afield coasting the snow-billows as on tireless wings. Up the swelling drifts water-waved by wind like a rolling sea, down cliffs crumbling over with snowy cornices, across the icy marshes swept glare by the gales, the braves pressed relentlessly on. Godefroy, Jack Battle, and I would have hung to the rear and slipped away if we could; but the fate of an old man was warning enough. Muttering against the braves for embroiling themselves in war without cause, he fell away from the marauders as if to leave. Le Borgne's foxy eye saw the move. Turning, he rushed at the old man with a hiss of air through his teeth like a whistling arrow. His musket swung up. It clubbed down. There was a groan; and as we rounded a bluff at a pace that brought the air cutting in our faces, I saw the old man's body lying motionless on the snow. If this was the beginning, what was the end? Godefroy vowed that the man was only an Indian, and his death was no sin. "The wolves would 'a' picked his bones soon anyway. He wore a score o' scalps at his belt. Pah, an we could get furs without any Indians, I'd see all their skulls go!" snapped the trader. "If killing's no murder, whose turn comes next?" asked Jack. And that gave Godefroy pause. CHAPTER XVII A BOOTLESS SACRIFICE For what I now tell I offer no excuse. I would but record what savagery meant. Then may you who are descended from the New World pioneers know that your lineage is from men as heroic as those crusaders who rescued our Saviour's grave from the pagans; for crusaders of Old World and New carried the sword of destruction in one hand, but in the other, a cross that was light in darkness. Then may you, my lady-fingered sentimentalist, who go to bed of a winter night with a warming-pan and champion the rights of the savage from your soft place among cushions, realize what a fine hero your redman was, and realize, too, what were the powers that the white-man crushed! For what I do not tell I offer no excuse. It is not permitted to relate _all_ that savage warfare meant. Once I marvelled that a just God could order his chosen people to exterminate any race. Now I marvel that a just God hath not exterminated many races long ago. We reached the crest of a swelling upland as the first sun-rays came through the frost mist in shafts of fire. A quick halt was called. One white-garbed scout went crawling stealthily down the snow-slope like a mountain-cat. Then the frost thinned to the rising sun and vague outlines of tepee lodges could be descried in the clouded valley. An arrow whistled through the air glancing into snow with a soft whirr at our feet. It was the signal. As with one thought, the warriors charged down the hill, leaping from side to side in a frenzy, dancing in a madness of slaughter, shrieking their long, shrill--"Ah--oh!--Ah--oh!"--yelping, howling, screaming their war-cry--"Ah--oh!--Ah--oh!--Ah--oh!"--like demons incarnate. The medicine-man had stripped himself naked and was tossing his arms with maniacal fury, leaping up and down, yelling the war-cry, beating the tom-tom, rattling the death-gourd. Some of the warriors went down on hands and feet, sidling forward through the mist like the stealthy beasts of prey that they were. Godefroy, Jack Battle, and I were carried before the charge helpless as leaves in a hurricane. All slid down the hillside to the bottom of a ravine. With the long bound of a tiger-spring, Le Borgne plunged through the frost cloud. The lodges of the victims were about us. We had evidently come upon the tribe when all were asleep. Then that dark under-world of which men dream in wild delirium became reality. Pandemonium broke its bounds. * * * * * * And had I once thought that Eli Kirke's fanatic faith painted too lurid a hell? God knows if the realm of darkness be half as hideous as the deeds of this life, 'tis blacker than prophet may portray. Day or night, after fifty years, do I close my eyes to shut the memory out! But the shafts are still hurtling through the gray gloom. Arrows rip against the skin shields. Running fugitives fall pierced. Men rush from their lodges in the daze of sleep and fight barehanded against musket and battle-axe and lance till the snows are red and scalps steaming from the belts of conquerors. Women fall to the feet of the victors, kneeling, crouching, dumbly pleading for mercy; and the mercy is a spear-thrust that pinions the living body to earth. Maimed, helpless and living victims are thrown aside to await slow death. Children are torn from their mothers' arms--but there--memory revolts and the pen fails! It was in vain for us to flee. Turn where we would, pursued and pursuer were there. "Don't flinch! Don't flinch!" Godefroy kept shouting. "They'll take it for fear! They'll kill you by torture!" Almost on the words a bowstring twanged to the fore and a young girl stumbled across Jack Battle's feet with a scream that rings, and rings, and rings in memory like the tocsin of a horrible dream. She was wounded in the shoulder. Getting to her knees she threw her arms round Jack with such a terrified look of helpless pleading in her great eyes as would have moved stone. "Don't touch her! Don't touch her! Don't touch her!" screamed Godefroy, jerking to pull Jack free. "It will do no good! Don't help her! They'll kill you both--" "Great God!" sobbed Jack, with shivering horror, "I can't help helping her--" But there leaped from the mist a figure with uplifted spear. May God forgive it, but I struck that man dead! It was a bootless sacrifice at the risk of three lives. But so was Christ's a bootless sacrifice at the time, if you measure deeds by gain. And so has every sacrifice worthy of the name been a bootless sacrifice, if you stop to weigh life in a goldsmith's scale! Justice is blind; but praise be to God, so is mercy! And, indeed, I have but quoted our Lord and Saviour, not as an example, but as a precedent. For the act I merited no credit. Like Jack, I could not have helped helping her. The act was out before the thought. Then we were back to back fighting a horde of demons. Godefroy fought cursing our souls to all eternity for embroiling him in peril. Jack Battle fought mumbling feverishly, deliriously, unconscious of how he shot or what he said--"Might as well die here as elsewhere! Might as well die here as elsewhere! Damn that Indian! Give it to him, Ramsay! You shoot while I prime! Might as well die here as elsewhere----" And all fought resolute to die hard, when, where, or how the dying came! To that desperate game there was but one possible end. It is only in story-books writ for sentimental maids that the good who are weak defeat the wicked who are strong. We shattered many an assailant before the last stake was dared, but in the end they shattered my sword-arm, which left me helpless as a hull at ebb-tide. Then Godefroy, the craven rascal, must throw up his arms for surrender, which gave Le Borgne opening to bring down the butt of his gun on Jack's crown. The poor sailor went bundling over the snow like a shot rabbit. When the frost smoke cleared, there was such a scene as I may not paint; for you must know that your Indian hero is not content to kill. Like the ghoul, he must mutilate. Of all the Indian band attacked by our forces, not one escaped except the girl, whose form I could descry nowhere on the stained snow. Jack Battle presently regained his senses and staggered up to have his arms thonged behind his back. The thongs on my arms they tightened with a stick through the loop to extort cry of pain as the sinew cut into the shattered wrist. An the smile had cost my last breath, I would have defied their tortures with a laugh. They got no cry from me. Godefroy, the trader, cursed us in one breath and in the next threatened that the Indians would keep us for torture. "You are the only man who can speak their language," I retorted. "Stop whimpering and warn these brutes what Radisson will do if they harm us! He will neither take their furs nor give them muskets! He will arm their enemies to destroy them! Tell them that!" But as well talk to tigers. Le Borgne alone listened, his foxy glance fastened on my face with a strange, watchful look, neither hostile nor friendly. To Godefroy's threats the Indian answered that "white-man talk--not true--of all," pointing to Jack Battle, "him no friend great white chief--him captive----" Then Godefroy burst out with the unworthiest answer that ever passed man's lips. "Of course he's a captive," screamed the trader, "then take him and torture him and let us go! 'Twas him stopped the Indian getting the girl!" "Le Borgne," I cut in sharply, "Le Borgne, it was I who stopped the Indian killing the girl! You need not torture the little white-man. He is a good man. He is the friend of the great white chief." But Le Borgne showed no interest. While the others stripped the dead and wreaked their ghoulish work, Le Borgne gathered up the furs of the Little Sticks and with two or three young men stole away over the crest of the hill. Then the hostiles left the dead and the half-dead for the wolves. Prodded forward by lance-thrusts, we began the weary march back to the lodges. The sun sank on the snowy wastes red as a shield of blood; and with the early dusk of the northern night purpling the shadowy fields in mist came a south wind that filled the desolate silence with restless waitings as of lament for eternal wrong, moaning and sighing and rustling past like invisible spirits that find no peace. Some of the Indians laid hands to thin lips with a low "Hs-s-h," and the whole band quickened pace. Before twilight had deepened to the dark that precedes the silver glow of the moon and stars and northern lights, we were back where Le Borgne had killed the old man. The very snow had been picked clean, and through the purple gloom far back prowled vague forms. Jack Battle and I looked at each other, but the Indian fellow, who was our guard, emitted a harsh, rasping laugh. As for Godefroy, he was marching abreast of the braves gabbling a mumble-jumble of pleadings and threats, which, I know very well, ignored poor Jack. Godefroy would make a scapegoat of the weak to save his own neck, and small good his cowardice did him! The moon was high in mid-heaven flooding a white world when we reached the lodges. We three were placed under guards, while the warriors feasted their triumph and danced the scalp-dance to drive away the spirits of the dead. To beat of tom-tom and shriek of gourd-rattles, the whole terrible scene was re-enacted. Stripping himself naked, but for his moccasins, the old wizard pranced up and down like a fiend in the midst of the circling dancers. Flaming torches smoked from poles in front of the lodges, or were waved and tossed by the braves. Flaunting fresh scalps from lance-heads, with tomahawk in the other hand, each warrior went through all the fiendish moves and feints of attack--prowling on knees, uttering the yelping, wolfish yells, crouching for the leap, springing through mid-air, brandishing the battle-axe, stamping upon the imaginary prostrate foe, stooping with a glint of the scalping knife, then up, with a shout of triumph and the scalp waving from the lance, all in time to the dull thum--thum--thum of the tom-tom and the screaming chant of the wizard. Still the south wind moaned about the lodges; and the dancers shouted the louder to drown those ghost-cries of the dead. Faster and faster beat the drum. Swifter and swifter darted the braves, hacking their own flesh in a frenzy of fear till their shrieks out-screamed the wind. Then the spirits were deemed appeased. The mad orgy of horrors was over, but the dancers were too exhausted for the torture of prisoners. The older men came to the lodge where we were guarded and Godefroy again began his importunings. Setting Jack Battle aside, they bade the trader and me come out. "Better one be tortured than three," heartlessly muttered Godefroy to Jack. "Now they'll set us free for fear of M. Radisson, and we'll come back for you." But Godefroy had miscalculated the effects of his threats. At the door stood a score of warriors who had not been to the massacre. If we hoped to escape torture the wizard bade us follow these men. They led us away with a sinister silence. When we reached the crest of the hill, half-way between the lodges and the massacre, Godefroy took alarm. This was not the direction of our fort. The trader shouted out that M. Radisson would punish them well if they did us harm. At that one of the taciturn fellows turned. They would take care to do us no harm, he said, with an evil laugh. On the ridge of the hill they paused, as if seeking a mark. Two spindly wind-stripped trees stood straight as mast-poles above the snow. The leader went forward to examine the bark for Indian signal, motioning Godefroy and me closer as he examined the trees. With the whistle of a whip-lash through air the thongs were about us, round and round ankle, neck, and arms, binding us fast. Godefroy shouted out a blasphemous oath and struggled till the deer sinew cut his buckskin. I had only succeeded in wheeling to face our treacherous tormentors when the strands tightened. In the struggle the trader had somehow got his face to the bark. The coils circled round him. The thongs drew close. The Indians stood back. They had done what they came to do. They would not harm us, they taunted, pointing to the frost-silvered valley, where lay the dead of their morning crime. Then with harsh gibes, the warriors ran down the hillside, leaving us bound. CHAPTER XVIII FACING THE END Below the hill on one side flickered the moving torches of the hostiles. On the other side, where the cliff fell sheer away, lay the red-dyed snows with misty shapes moving through the frosty valley. A wind of sighs swept across the white wastes. Short, sharp barkings rose from the shadowy depth of the ravine. Then the silence of desolation . . . then the moaning night-wind . . . then the shivering cry of the wolf-pack scouring on nightly hunt. For a moment neither Godefroy nor I spoke. Then the sinews, cutting deep, wakened consciousness. "Are they gone?" asked Godefroy hoarsely. "Yes," said I, glancing to the valley. "Can't you break through the thongs and get a hand free?" "My back is to the tree. We'll have to face it, Godefroy--don't break down, man! We must face it!" "Face what?" he shuddered out. "Is anything there? Face what?" he half screamed. "The end!" He strained at the thongs till he had strength to strain no more. Then he broke out in a volley of maledictions at Jack Battle and me for interfering with the massacre, to which I could answer never a word; for the motives that merit greatest applause when they succeed, win bitterest curses when they fail. The northern lights swung low. Once those lights seemed censers of flame to an invisible God. Now they shot across the steel sky like fiery serpents, and the rustling of their fire was as the hiss when a fang strikes. A shooting star blazed into light against the blue, then dropped into the eternal darkness. "Godefroy," I asked, "how long will this last?" "Till the wolves come," said he huskily. "A man must die some time," I called back; but my voice belied the bravery of the words, for something gray loomed from the ravine and stood stealthily motionless in the dusk behind the trader. Involuntarily a quick "Hist!" went from my lips. "What's that?" shouted Godefroy. "Is anything there?" "I am cold," said I. And on top of that lie I prayed--prayed with wide-staring eyes on the thing whose head had turned towards us--prayed as I have never prayed before or since! "Are you sure there's nothing?" cried the trader. "Look on both sides! I'm sure I feel something!" Another crouching form emerged from the gloom--then another and another--silent and still as spectres. With a sidling motion they prowled nearer, sniffing the air, shifting watchful look from Godefroy to me, from me to Godefroy. A green eye gleamed nearer through the mist. Then I knew. The wolves had come. Godefroy screamed out that he heard something, and again bade me look on both sides of the hill. "Keep quiet till I see," said I; but I never took my gaze from the green eyes of a great brute to the fore of the gathering pack. "But I feel them--but I hear them!" shouted Godefroy, in an agony of terror. What gain to keep up pretence longer? Still holding the beast back with no other power than the power of the man's eye over the brute, I called out the truth to the trader. "Don't move! Don't speak! Don't cry out! Perhaps we can stare them back till daylight comes!" Godefroy held quiet as death. Some subtle power of the man over the brute puzzled the leader of the pack. He shook his great head with angry snarls and slunk from side to side to evade the human eye, every hair of his fur bristling. Then he threw up his jaws and uttered a long howl, answered by the far cry of the coming pack. Sniffing the ground, he began circling--closing in--closing in---- Then there was a shout--a groan, a struggle--a rip as of teeth--from Godefroy's place! Then with naught but a blazing of comets dropping into an everlasting dark, with naught but a ship of fire billowing away to the flame of the northern lights, with naught but the rush of a sea, blinding, deafening, bearing me to the engulfment of the eternal--I lost knowledge of this life! CHAPTER XIX AFTERWARD A long shudder, and I had awakened in stifling darkness. Was I dreaming, or were there voices, English voices, talking about me? "It was too late! He will die!" "Draw back the curtain! Give him plenty of air!" In the daze of a misty dream, M. Picot was there with the foils in his hands; and Hortense had cried out as she did that night when the button touched home. A sweet, fresh gust blew across my face with a faint odour of the pungent flames that used to flicker under the crucibles of the dispensary. How came I to be lying in Boston Town? Was M. Radisson a myth? Was the northland a dream? I tried to rise, but whelming shadows pushed me down; and through the dark shifted phantom faces. Now it was M. Radisson quelling mutiny, tossed on plunging ice-drift, scouring before the hurricane, leaping through red flame over the fort wall, while wind and sea crooned a chorus like the hum of soldiers singing and marching to battle. "Storm and cold, man and beast, powers of darkness and devil--he must fight them all," sang the gale. "Who?" asked a voice. In the dark was a lone figure clinging to the spars of a wreck. "The victor," shrieked the wind. Then the waves washed over the cast-away, leaving naught but the screaming gale and the pounding seas and the eternal dark. Or it was M. Picot, fencing in mid-room. Of a sudden, foils turn to swords, M. Picot to a masked man, and Boston to the northland forest. I fall, and when I awaken M. Picot is standing, candle in hand, tincturing my wounds. Or the dark is filled with a multitude--men and beasts; and the beasts wear a crown of victory and the men are drunk with the blood of the slain. Or stealthy, crouching, wolfish forms steal through the frost mist, closer and closer till there comes a shout--a groan--a rip as of teeth--then I am up, struggling with Le Borgne, the one-eyed, who pushes me back to a couch in the dark. Like the faces that hover above battle in soldiers' dreams was a white face framed in curls with lustrous eyes full of lights. Always when the darkness thickened and I began slipping--slipping into the folds of bottomless deeps--always the face came from the gloom, like a star of hope; and the hope drew me back. "There is nothing--nothing--nothing at all to fear," says the face. And I laugh at the absurdity of the dream. "To think of dreaming that Hortense would be here--would be in the northland--Hortense, the little queen, who never would let me tell her----" "Tell her what?" asks the face. "Hah! What a question! There is only one thing in all this world to tell her!" And I laughed again till I thought there must be some elf scrambling among the rafters of that smothery ceiling. It seemed so absurd to be thrilled with love of Hortense with the breath of the wolves yet hot in one's face! "The wolves got Godefroy," I would reason, "how didn't they get me? How did I get away? What was that smell of fur--" Then some one was throwing fur robes from the couch. The phantom Hortense kneeled at the pillow. "There are no wolves--it was only the robe," she says. "And I suppose you will be telling me there are no Indians up there among the rafters?" "Give me the candle. Go away, Le Borgne! Leave me alone with him," says the face in the gloom. "Look," says the shadow, "I am Hortense!" A torch was in her hand and the light fell on her face. I was as certain that she knelt beside me as I was that I lay helpless to rise. But the trouble was, I was equally certain there were wolves skulking through the dark and Indians skipping among the rafters. "Ghosts haven't hands," says Hortense, touching mine lightly; and the touch brought the memory of those old mocking airs from the spinet. Was it flood of memory or a sick man's dream? The presence seemed so real that mustering all strength, I turned--turned to see Le Borgne, the one-eyed, sitting on a log-end with a stolid, watchful, unreadable look on his crafty face. Bluish shafts of light struck athwart the dark. A fire burned against the far wall. The smoke had the pungent bark smell of the flame that used to burn in M. Picot's dispensary. This, then, had brought the dreams of Hortense, now so far away. Skins hung everywhere; but in places the earth showed through. Like a gleam of sunlight through dark came the thought--this was a cave, the cave of the pirates whose voices I had heard from the ground that night in the forest, one pleading to save me, the other sending Le Borgne to trap me. Leaning on my elbow, I looked from the Indian to a bearskin partition hiding another apartment. Le Borgne had carried the stolen pelts of the massacred tribe to the inland pirates. The pirates had sent him back for me. And Hortense was a dream. Ah, well, men in their senses might have done worse than dream of a Hortense! But the voice and the hand were real. "Le Borgne," I ask, "was any one here?" Le Borgne's cheeks corrugate in wrinkles of bronze that leer an evil laugh, and he pretends not to understand. "Le Borgne, was any one here with you?" Le Borgne shifts his spread feet, mutters a guttural grunt, and puffs out his torch; but the shafted flame reveals his shadow. I can still hear him beside me in the dark. "Le Borgne is the great white chief's friend," I say; "and the white-man is the great white chief's friend. Where are we, Le Borgne?" Le Borgne grunts out a low huff-huff of a laugh. "Here; white-man is here," says Le Borgne; and he shuffles away to the bearskin partition hiding another apartment. Ah well as I said, one might do worse than dream of Hortense. But in spite of all your philosophers say about there being no world but the world we spin in our brains, I could not woo my lady back to it. Like the wind that bloweth where it listeth was my love. Try as I might to call up that pretty deceit of a Hortense about me in spirit, my perverse lady came not to the call. Then, thoughts would race back to the mutiny on the stormy sea, to the roar of the breakers crashing over decks, to M. Radisson leaping up from dripping wreckage, muttering between his teeth--"Blind god o' chance, they may crush, but they shall not conquer; they may kill, but I snap my fingers in their faces to the death!" Then, uncalled, through the darkness comes her face. "God is love," says she. If I lie there like a log, never moving, she seems to stay; but if I feel out through the darkness for the grip of a living hand, for the substance of a reality on which souls anchor, like the shadow of a dream she is gone. I mind once in the misty region between delirium and consciousness, when the face slipped from me like a fading light, I called out eagerly that love was a phantom; for her God of love had left me to the blind gods that crush, to the storm and the dark and the ravening wolves. Like a light flaming from dark, the face shone through the gloom. "Love, a phantom," laughs the mocking voice of the imperious Hortense I knew long ago; and the thrill of her laugh proves love the realest phantom life can know. Then the child Hortense becomes of a sudden the grown woman, grave and sweet, with eyes in the dark like stars, and strange, broken thoughts I had not dared to hope shining unspoken on her face. "Life, a phantom-substance, the shadow--love, the all," the dream-face seems to be saying. "Events are God's thoughts--storms and darkness and prey are his puppets, the blind gods, his slaves-God is love; for you are here! . . . You are here! . . . You are here with me!" When I feel through the dark this time is the grip of a living hand. Then we lock arms and sweep through space, the northern lights curtaining overhead, the stars for torches, and the blazing comets heralding a way. "The very stars in their courses fight for us," says Hortense. And I, with an earthy intellect groping behind the winged love of the woman, think that she refers to some of M. Picot's mystic astrologies. "No--no," says the dream-face, with the love that divines without speech, "do you not understand? The stars fight for us--because--because----" "Because God is love," catching the gleam of the thought; and the stars that fight in their courses for mortals sweep to a noonday splendour. And all the while I was but a crazy dreamer lying captive, wounded and weak in a pirate cave. Oh, yes, I know very well what my fine gentlemen dabblers in the new sciences will say--the fellow was daft and delirious--he had lost grip on reality and his fevered wits mixed a mumble-jumble of ancient symbolism with his own adventures. But before you reduce all this great universe to the dimensions of a chemist's crucible, I pray you to think twice whether the mind that fashioned the crucible be not greater than the crucible; whether the Master-mind that shaped the laws of the universe be not greater than the universe; whether when man's mind loses grip--as you call it--of the little, nagging, insistent realities it may not leap free like the jagged lightnings from peak to peak of a consciousness that overtowers life's commoner levels! Spite of our boastings, each knows neither more nor less than life hath taught him. For me, I know what the dream-voice spoke proved true: life, the shadow of a great reality; love, the all; the blind gods of storm and dark and prey, the puppets of the God of gods, working his will; and the God of gods a God of love, realest when love is near. Once, I mind, the dark seemed alive with wolfish shades, sniffing, prowling, circling, creeping nearer like that monster wolf of fable set on by the powers of evil to hunt Man to his doom. A nightmare of fear bound me down. The death-frosts settled and tightened and closed--but suddenly, Hortense took cold hands in her palms, calling and calling and calling me back to life and hope and her. Then I waked. Though I peopled the mist with many shadows, Le Borgne alone stood there. CHAPTER XX WHO THE PIRATES WERE How long I lay in the pirates' cave I could not tell; for day and night were alike with the pale-blue flame quivering against the earth-wall, gusts of cold air sweeping through the door, low-whispered talks from the inner cave. At last I surprised Le Borgne mightily by sitting bolt upright and bidding him bring me a meal of buffalo-tongue or teal. With the stolid repartee of the Indian he grunted back that I had tongue enough; but he brought the stuff with no ill grace. After that he had much ado to keep me off my feet. Finally, I promised by the soul of his grandfather neither to spy nor listen about the doors of the inner cave, and he let me up for an hour at a time to practise walking with the aid of a lance-pole. As he found that I kept my word, he trusted me alone in the cave, sitting crouched on the log-end with a buckskin sling round my shattered sword-arm, which the wolves had not helped that night at the stake. In the food Le Borgne brought was always a flavour of simples or drugs. One night--at least I supposed it was night from the chill of the air blowing past the bearskin--just as Le Borgne stooped to serve me, his torch flickered out. Before he could relight, I had poured the broth out and handed back an empty bowl. Then I lay with eyes tight shut and senses wide awake. The Indian sat on the log-end watching. I did not stir. Neither did I fall asleep as usual. The Indian cautiously passed a candle across my face. I lay motionless as I had been drugged. At that he stalked off. Voices began in the other apartment. Two or three forms went tip-toeing about the cave. Shadows passed athwart the flame. A gust of cold; and with half-closed eyes I saw three men vanish through the outer doorway over fields no longer snow-clad. Had spring come? How long had I lain in the cave? Before I gained strength to escape, would M. Radisson have left for Quebec? Then came a black wave of memory--thought of Jack Battle, the sailor lad, awaiting our return to rescue him. From the first Jack and I had held together as aliens in Boston Town. Should I lie like a stranded hull while he perished? Risking spies on the watch, I struggled up and staggered across the cave to that blue flame quivering so mysteriously. As I neared, the mystery vanished, for it was nothing more than one of those northern beds of combustibles--gas, tar, or coal--set burning by the ingenious pirates. [1] The spirit was willing enough to help Jack, but the flesh was weak. Presently I sank on the heaped pelts all atremble. I had promised not to spy nor eavesdrop, but that did not prohibit escape. But how could one forage for food with a right arm in bands and a left unsteady as aim of a girl? Le Borgne had befriended me twice--once in the storm, again on the hill. Perhaps he might know of Jack. I would wait the Indian's return. Meanwhile I could practise my strength by walking up and down the cave. The walls were hung with pelts. Where the dry clay crumbled, the roof had been timbered. A rivulet of spring water bubbled in one dark corner. At the same end an archway led to inner recesses. Behind the skin doorway sounded heavy breathing, as of sleepers. I had promised not to spy. Turning, I retraced the way to the outer door. Here another pelt swayed heavily in the wind. Dank, earthy smells of spring, odours of leaves water-soaked by melting snows, the faint perfume of flowers pushing up through mats of verdure, blew in on the night breeze. Pushing aside the flap, I looked out. The spur of a steep declivity cut athwart the cave. Now I could guess where I was. This was the hill down which I had stumbled that night the voices had come from the ground. Here the masked man had sprung from the thicket. Not far off M. Radisson had first met the Indians. To reach the French Habitation I had but to follow the river. That hope set me pacing again for exercise; and the faster I walked the faster raced thoughts over the events of the crowded years. Again the Prince Rupert careened seaward, bearing little Hortense to England. Once more Ben Gillam swaggered on the water-front of Boston Town, boasting all that he would do when he had ship of his own. Then Jack Battle, building his castles of fortune for love of Hortense, and all unconsciously letting slip the secret of good Boston men deep involved in pirate schemes. The scene shifted to the far north, and a masked man had leaped from the forest dark only to throw down his weapon when the firelight shone on my face. Again the white darkness of the storm, the three shadowy figures and Le Borgne sent to guide us back to the fort. Again, to beat of drum and shriek of fife, M. Radisson was holding his own against the swarming savages that assailed the New Englanders' fort. Then I was living over the unspeakable horror of the Indian massacre ending in that awful wait on the crest of the hill. The memory brought a chill as of winter cold. With my back to both doors I stood shuddering over the blue fire. Whatever logicians may say, we do not reason life's conclusions out. Clouds blacken the heavens till there comes the lightning-flash. So do our intuitions leap unwarned from the dark. 'Twas thus I seemed to fathom the mystery of those interlopers. Ben Gillam had been chosen to bring the pirate ship north because his father, of the Hudson's Bay Company, could screen him from English spies. Mr. Stocking, of Boston, was another partner to the venture, who could shield Ben from punishment in New England. But the third partner was hiding inland to defraud the others of the furs. That was the meaning of Ben's drunken threats. Who was the third partner? Had not Eli Kirke planned trading in the north with Mr. Stocking? Were the pirates some agents of my uncle? Did that explain why my life had been three times spared? One code of morals for the church and another for the trade is the way of many a man; but would the agents of a Puritan deacon murder a rival in the dark of a forest, or lead Indians to massacre the crew of partners, or take furs gotten at the price of a tribe's extermination? Turning that question over, I heard the inner door-flap lift. There was no time to regain the couch, but a quick swerve took me out of the firelight in the shadow of a great wolfskin against the wall. You will laugh at the old idea of honour, but I had promised not to spy, and I never raised my eyes from the floor. There was no sound but the gurgling of the spring in the dark and the sharp crackle of the flame. Thinking the wind had blown the flap, I stepped from hiding. Something vague as mist held back in shadow. The lines of a white-clad figure etched themselves against the cave wall. It floated out, paused, moved forward. Then I remember clutching at the wolfskin like one clinching a death-grip of reality, praying God not to let go a soul's anchor-hold of reason. For when the figure glided into the slant blue rays of the shafted flame it was Hortense--the Hortense of the dreams, sweet as the child, grave as the grown woman-Hortense with closed eyes and moving lips and hands feeling out in the dark as if playing invisible keys. She was asleep. Then came the flash that lighted the clouds of the past. The interloper, the pirate, the leader of Indian marauders, the defrauder of his partners, was M. Picot, the French doctor, whom Boston had outlawed, and who was now outlawing their outlawry. We do not reason out our conclusions, as I said before. At our supremest moments we do not _think_. Consciousness leaps from summit to summit like the forked lightnings across the mountain-peaks; and the mysteries of life are illumined as a spread-out scroll. In that moment of joy and fear and horror, as I crouched back to the wall, I did not _think_. I _knew_--knew the meaning of all M. Picot's questionings on the fur trade; of that murderous attack in the dark when an antagonist flung down his weapon; of the spying through the frosted woods; of the figures in the white darkness; of the attempt to destroy Ben Gillam's fort; of the rescue from the crest of the hill; and of all those strange delirious dreams. It was as if the past focused itself to one flaming point, and the flash of that point illumined life, as deity must feel to whom past and present and future are one. And all the while, with temples pounding like surf on rock and the roar of the sea in my ears, I was not _thinking_, only _knowing_ that Hortense was standing in the blue-shafted light with tremulous lips and white face and a radiance on her brow not of this life. Her hands ran lightly over imaginary keys. The blue flame darted and quivered through the gloom. The hushed purr of the spring broke the stillness in metallic tinklings. A smile flitted across the sleeper's face. Her lips parted. The crackle of the flame seemed loud as tick of clock in death-room. "To get the memory of it," she said. And there stole out of the past mocking memories of that last night in the hunting-room, filling the cave with tuneless melodies like thoughts creeping into thoughts or odour of flowers in dark. But what was she saying in her sleep? "Blind gods of chance"--the words that had haunted my delirium, then quick-spoken snatches too low for me to hear--"no-no"--then more that was incoherent, and she was gliding back to the cave. She had lifted the curtain door--she was whispering--she paused as if for answer-then with face alight, "The stars fight for us--" she said; and she had disappeared. The flame set the shadows flickering. The rivulet gurgled loud in the dark. And I came from concealment as from a spirit world. Then Hortense was no dream, and love was no phantom, and God--was what? There I halted. The powers of darkness yet pressed too close for me to see through to the God that was love. I only knew that He who throned the universe was neither the fool that ignorant bigots painted, nor the blind power, making wanton war of storm and dark and cold. For had not the blind forces brought Hortense to me, and me to Hortense? Consciousness was leaping from summit to summit like the forked lightnings, and the light that burned was the light that transfigures life for each soul. The spell of a presence was there. Then it came home to me what a desperate game the French doctor had played. That sword-thrust in the dark meant death; so did the attack on Ben Gillam's fort; and was it not Le Borgne, M. Picot's Indian ally, who had counselled the massacre of the sleeping tribe? You must not think that M. Picot was worse than other traders of those days! The north is a desolate land, and though blood cry aloud from stones, there is no man to hear. I easily guessed that M. Picot would try to keep me with him till M. Radisson had sailed. Then I must needs lock hands with piracy. Hortense and I were pawns in the game. At one moment I upbraided him for bringing Hortense to this wilderness of murder and pillage. At another I considered that a banished gentleman could not choose his goings. How could I stay with M. Picot and desert M. de Radisson? How could I go to M. de Radisson and abandon Hortense? "Straight is the narrow way," Eli Kirke oft cried out as he expounded Holy Writ. Ah, well, if the narrow way is straight, it has a trick of becoming tangled in a most terrible snarl! Wheeling the log-end right about, I sat down to await M. Picot. There was stirring in the next apartment. An ebon head poked past the door curtain, looked about, and withdrew without detecting me. The face I remembered at once. It was the wife of M. Picot's blackamoor. Only three men had passed from the cave. If the blackamoor were one, M. Picot and Le Borgne _must_ be the others. Footsteps grated on the pebbles outside. I rose with beating heart to meet M. Picot, who held my fate in his hands. Then a ringing pistol-shot set my pulse jumping. I ran to the door. Something plunged heavily against the curtain. The robe ripped from the hangings. In the flood of moonlight a man pitched face forward to the cave floor. He reeled up with a cry of rage, caught blindly at the air, uttered a groan, fell back. "M. Picot!" Blanched and faint, the French doctor lay with a crimsoning pool wet under his head. "I am shot! What will become of her?" he groaned. "I am shot! It was Gillam! It was Gillam!" Hortense and the negress came running from the inner cave. Le Borgne and the blackamoor dashed from the open with staring horror. "Lift me up! For God's sake, air!" cried M. Picot. We laid him on the pelts in the doorway, Le Borgne standing guard outside. Hortense stooped to stanch the wound, but the doctor motioned her off with a fierce impatience, and bade the negress lead her away. Then he lay with closed eyes, hands clutched to the pelts, and shuddering breath. The blackamoor had rushed to the inner cave for liquor, when M. Picot opened his eyes with a strange far look fastened upon me. "Swear it," he commanded. And I thought his mind wandering. He groaned heavily. "Don't you understand? It's Hortense. Swear you'll restore her--" and his breath came with a hard metallic rattle that warned the end. "Doctor Picot," said I, "if you have anything to say, say it quickly and make your peace with God!" "Swear you'll take her back to her people and treat her as a sister," he cried. "I swear before God that I shall take Hortense back to her people, and that I shall treat her like a sister," I repeated, raising my right hand. That seemed to quiet him. He closed his eyes. "Sir," said I, "have you nothing more to say? Who are her people?" "Is . . . is . . . any one listening?" he asked in short, hard breaths. I motioned the others back. "Listen"--the words came in quick, rasping breaths. "She is not mine . . . it was at night . . . they brought her . . . ward o' the court . . . lands . . . they wanted me." There was a sharp pause, a shivering whisper. "I didn't poison her"--the dying man caught convulsively at my hands--"I swear I had no thought of harming her. . . . They . . . paid. . . . I fled. . . ." "Who paid you to poison Hortense? Who is Hortense?" I demanded; for his life was ebbing and the words portended deep wrong. But his mind was wandering again, for he began talking so fast that I could catch only a few words. "Blood! Blood! Colonel Blood!" Then "Swear it," he cried. That speech sapped his strength. He sank back with shut eyes and faint breathings. We forced a potion between his lips. "Don't let Gillam," he mumbled, "don't let Gillam . . . have the furs." A tremor ran through his stiffening frame. A little shuddering breath--and M. Picot had staked his last pawn in life's game. [1] In confirmation of Mr. Stanhope's record it may be stated that on the western side of the northland in the Mackenzie River region are gas and tar veins that are known to have been burning continuously for nearly two centuries. CHAPTER XXI HOW THE PIRATES CAME Inside our Habitation all was the confusion of preparation for leaving the bay. Outside, the Indians held high carnival; for Allemand, the gin-soaked pilot, was busy passing drink through the loopholes to a pandemonium of savages raving outside the stockades. 'Tis not a pretty picture, that memory of white-men besotting the Indian; but I must even set down the facts as they are, bidding you to remember that the white trader who besotted the Indian was the same white trader who befriended all tribes alike when the hunt failed and the famine came. La Chesnaye, the merchant prince, it was, who managed this low trafficking. Indeed, for the rubbing together of more doubloons in his money-bags I think that La Chesnaye's servile nature would have bargained to send souls in job lots blindfold over the gangplank. But, as La Chesnaye said when Pierre Radisson remonstrated against the knavery, the gin was nine parts rain-water. "The more cheat, you, to lay such unction to your conscience," says M. de Radisson. "Be an honest knave, La Chesnaye!" Forêt, the marquis, stalked up and down before the gate with two guards at his heels. All day long birch canoes and log dugouts and tubby pirogues and crazy rafts of loose-lashed pine logs drifted to our water-front with bands of squalid Indians bringing their pelts. Skin tepees rose outside our palisades like an army of mushrooms. Naked brats with wisps of hair coarse as a horse's mane crawled over our mounted cannon, or scudded between our feet like pups, or felt our European clothes with impudent wonder. Young girls having hair plastered flat with bear's grease stood peeping shyly from tent flaps. Old squaws with skin withered to a parchment hung over the campfires, cooking. And at the loopholes pressed the braves and the bucks and the chief men exchanging beaver-skins for old iron, or a silver fox for a drink of gin, or ermine enough to make His Majesty's coronation robe for some flashy trinket to trick out a vain squaw. From dawn to dusk ran the patter of moccasined feet, man after man toiling up from river-front to fort gate with bundles of peltries on his back and a carrying strap across his brow. Unarmed, among the savages, pacifying drunken hostiles at the water-front, bidding Jean and me look after the carriers, in the gateway, helping Sieur de Groseillers to sort the furs--Pierre Radisson was everywhere. In the guard-house were more English prisoners than we had crews of French; and in the mess-room sat Governor Brigdar of the Hudson's Bay Company, who took his captivity mighty ill and grew prodigious pot-valiant over his cups. Here, too, lolled Ben Gillam, the young New Englander, rumbling out a drunken vengeance against those inland pirates, who had deprived him of the season's furs. Once, I mind, when M. Radisson came suddenly on these two worthies, their fuddled heads were close together above the table. "Look you," Ben was saying in a big, rasping whisper, "I shot him--I shot him with a brass button. The black arts are powerless agen brass. Devil sink my soul if I didn't shoot him! The red--spattered over the brush----" M. Radisson raised a hand to silence my coming. Ben's nose poked across the table, closer to Governor Brigdar's ear. "But look you, Mister What's-y-er-name," says he. "Don't you Mister me, you young cub!" interrupts the governor with a pompous show of drunken dignity. "A fig for Your Excellency," cries the young blackguard. "Who's who when he's drunk? As I was a-telling, look you, though the red spattered the bushes, when I run up he'd vanished into air with a flash o' powder from my musket! 'Twas by the black arts that nigh hanged him in Boston Town----" At that, Governor Brigdar claps his hand to the table and swears that he cares nothing for black arts if only the furs can be found. "The furs--aye," husks Ben, "if we can only find the furs! An our men hold together, we're two to one agen the Frenchies----" "Ha," says M. Radisson. "Give you good-morning, gentlemen, and I hope you find yourselves in health." The two heads flew apart like the halves of a burst cannon-shell. Thereafter, Radisson kept Ben and Governor Brigdar apart. Of Godefroy and Jack Battle we could learn naught. Le Borgne would never tell what he and M. Picot had seen that night they rescued me from the hill. Whether Le Borgne and the hostiles of the massacre lied or no, they both told the same story of Jack. While the tribe was still engaged in the scalp-dance, some one had untied Jack's bands. When the braves went to torture their captive, he had escaped. But whither had he gone that he had not come back to us? Like the sea is the northland, full of nameless graves; and after sending scouts far and wide, we gave up all hope of finding the sailor lad. But in the fort was another whose presence our rough fellows likened to a star flower on the stained ground of some hard-fought battle. After M. Radisson had quieted turbulent spirits by a reading of holy lessons, Mistress Hortense queened it over our table of a Sunday at noon. Waiting upon her at either hand were the blackamoor and the negress. A soldier in red stood guard behind; and every man, officer, and commoner down the long mess-table tuned his manners to the pure grace of her fair face. What a hushing of voices and cleansing of wits and disusing of oaths was there after my little lady came to our rough Habitation! I mind the first Sunday M. Radisson led her out like a queen to the mess-room table. When our voyageurs went upstream for M. Picot's hidden furs, her story had got noised about the fort. Officers, soldiers, and sailors had seated themselves at the long benches on either side the table; but M. Radisson's place was empty and a sort of throne chair had been extemporized at the head of the table. An angry question went from group to group to know if M. Radisson designed such place of honour for the two leaders of our prisoners--under lock in the guard-room. M. de Groseillers only laughed and bade the fellows contain their souls and stomachs in patience. A moment later, the door to the quarters where Hortense lived was thrown open by a red-coated soldier, and out stepped M. Radisson leading Hortense by the tips of her dainty fingers, the ebon faces of the two blackamoors grinning delight behind. You could have heard a pin fall among our fellows. Then there was a noise of armour clanking to the floor. Every man unconsciously took to throwing his pistol under the table, flinging sword-belt down and hiding daggers below benches. Of a sudden, the surprise went to their heads. "Gentlemen," began M. Radisson. But the fellows would have none of his grand speeches. With a cheer that set the rafters ringing, they were on their feet; and to Mistress Hortense's face came a look that does more for the making of men than all New England's laws or my uncle's blasphemy boxes or King Charles's dragoons. You ask what that look was? Go to, with your teasings! A lover is not to be asked his whys! I ask you in return why you like the spire of a cathedral pointing up instead of down; or why the muses lift souls heavenward? Indeed, of all the fine arts granted the human race to lead men's thoughts above the sordid brutalities of living, methinks woman is the finest; for God's own hand fashioned her, and she was the last crowning piece of all His week's doings. The finest arts are the easiest spoiled, as you know very well; and if you demand how Mistress Hortense could escape harm amid all the wickedness of that wilderness, I answer it is a thing that your townsfolk cannot know. It is of the wilderness. The wilderness is a foster-mother that teacheth hard, strange paradoxes. The first is _the sin of being weak_; and the second is that _death is the least of life's harms_. Wrapped in those furs for which he had staked his life like many a gamester of the wilderness, M. Picot lay buried in that sandy stretch outside the cave door. Turning to lead Hortense away before Le Borgne and the blackamoor began filling the grave, I found her stonily silent and tearless. But it was she who led me. Scrambling up the hillside like a chamois of the mountains, she flitted lightly through the greening to a small open where campers had built night fires. Her quick glance ran from tree to tree. Some wood-runner had blazed a trail by notching the bark. Pausing, she turned with the frank, fearless look of the wilderness woman. She was no longer the elusive Hortense of secluded life. A change had come--the change of the hothouse plant set out to the bufferings of the four winds of heaven to perish from weakness or gather strength from hardship. Your woman of older lands must hood fair eyes, perforce, lest evil masking under other eyes give wrong intent to candour; but in the wilderness each life stands stripped of pretence, honestly good or evil, bare at what it is; and purity clear as the noonday sun needs no trick of custom to make it plainer. "Is not this the place?" she asked. Looking closer, from shrub to open, I recognised the ground of that night attack in the woods. "Hortense, then it was you that I saw at the fire with the others?" She nodded assent. She had not uttered one word to explain how she came to that wild land; nor had I asked. "It was you who pleaded for my life in the cave below my feet?" "I did not know you had heard! I only sent Le Borgne to bring you back!" "I hid as he passed." "But I sent a message to the fort----" "Not to be bitten by the same dog twice--I thought that meant to keep away?" "What?" asked Hortense, passing her hand over her eyes. "Was that the message he gave you? Then monsieur had bribed him! I sent for you to come to us. Oh, that is the reason you never came----" "And that is the reason you have hidden from me all the year and never sent me word?" "I thought--I thought--" She turned away. "Ben Gillam told monsieur you had left Boston on our account----" "And you thought I wanted to avoid you----" "I did not blame you," she said. "Indeed, indeed, I was very weak--monsieur must have bribed Le Borgne--I sent word again and again--but you never answered!" "How could you misunderstand--O Hortense, after that night in the hunting-room, how could you believe so poorly of me!" She gave a low laugh. "That's what your good angel used to plead," she said. "Good angel, indeed!" said I, memory of the vows to that miscreant adventurer fading. "That good angel was a lazy baggage! She should have compelled you to believe!" "Oh--she did," says Hortense quickly. "The poor thing kept telling me and telling me to trust you till I--" "Till you what, Hortense?" She did not answer at once. "Monsieur and the blackamoor and I had gone to the upper river watching for the expected boats----" "Hortense, were you the white figure behind the bush that night we were spying on the Prince Rupert!" "Yes," she said, "and you pointed your gun at me!" I was too dumfounded for words. Then a suspicion flashed to my mind. "Who sent Le Borgne for us in the storm, Hortense?" "Oh," says Hortense, "that was nothing! Monsieur pretended that he thought you were caribou. He wanted to shoot. Oh," she said, "oh, how I have hated him! To think--to think that he would shoot when you helped us in Boston!" "Hortense, who sent Le Borgne and M. Picot to save me from the wolves?" "Oh," says Hortense bravely, with a shudder between the words, "that was--that was nothing--I mean--one would do as much for anybody--for--for--for a poor little stoat, or--or--a caribou if the wolves were after it!" And we laughed with the tears in our eyes. And all the while that vow to the dying adventurer was ringing like a faint death toll to hope. I remember trying to speak a gratitude too deep for words. "Can--I ever--ever repay you--Hortense?" I was asking. "Repay!" she said with a little bitter laugh. "Oh! I hate that word repay! I hate all give-and-take and so-much-given-for-so-much-got!" Then turning to me with her face aflame: "I am--I am--oh--why can't you understand?" she asked. And then--and then--there was a wordless cry--her arms reached out in mute appeal--there was no need of speech. The forest shone green and gold in the sunlight. The wind rustled past like a springtime presence, a presence that set all the pines swaying and the aspens aquiver with music of flower legend and new birth and the joy of life. There was a long silence; and in that silence the pulsing of the mighty forces that lift mortals to immortality. Then a voice which only speaks when love speaks through the voice was saying, "Do you remember your dreams?" "What?" stooping to cull some violets that had looked well against the green of her hunting-suit. "'Blind gods of chance--blind gods of chance'--you used to say that over and over!" "Ah, M. Radisson taught me that! God bless the blind gods of chance--Hortense teaches me that; for"--giving her back her own words--"you are here--you are here--you are here with me! God bless the gods of chance!" "Oh," she cried, "were you not asleep? Monsieur let me watch after you had taken the sleeping drug." "The stars fight for us in their courses," said I, handing up the violets. "Ramsay," she asked with a sudden look straight through my eyes, "what did he make you promise when--when--he was dying?" The question brought me up like a sail hauled short. And when I told her, she uttered strange reproaches. "Why--why did you promise that?" she asked. "It has always been his mad dream. And when I told him I did not want to be restored, that I wanted to be like Rebecca and Jack and you and the rest, he called me a little fool and bade me understand that he had not poisoned me as he was paid to do because it was to his advantage to keep me alive. Courtiers would not assassinate a stray waif, he said; there was wealth for the court's ward somewhere; and when I was restored, I was to remember who had slaved for me. Indeed, indeed, I think that he would have married me, but that he feared it would bar him from any property as a king's ward----" "Is that all you know?" "That is all. Why--why--did you promise?" "What else was there to do, Hortense? You can't stay in this wilderness." "Oh, yes," says Hortense wearily, and she let the violets fall. "What--what else was there to do?" She led the way back to the cave. "You have not asked me how we came here," she began with visible effort. "Tell me no more than you wish me to know!" "Perhaps you remember a New Amsterdam gentleman and a page boy leaving Boston on the Prince Rupert?" "Perhaps," said I. "Captain Gillam of the Prince Rupert signalled to his son outside the harbour. Monsieur had been bargaining with Ben all winter. Ben took us to the north with Le Borgne for interpreter----" "Does Ben know you are here?" "Not as Hortense! I was dressed as a page. Then Le Borgne told us of this cave and monsieur plotted to lead the Indians against Ben, capture the fort and ship, and sail away with all the furs for himself. Oh, how I have hated him!" she exclaimed with a sudden impetuous stamp. Leaving her with the slaves, I took Le Borgne with me to the Habitation. Here, I told all to M. Radisson. And his quick mind seized this, too, for advantage. "Precious pearls," he exclaims, "but 'tis a gift of the gods!" "Sir?" "Pardieu, Chouart; listen to this," and he tells his kinsman, Groseillers. "Why not?" asks Groseillers. "You mean to send her to Mary Kirke?" Mary Kirke was Pierre Radisson's wife, who would not leave the English to go to him when he had deserted England for France. "Sir John Kirke is director of the English Company now. He hath been knighted by King Charles. Mary and Sir John will present this little maid at the English court. An she be not a nine days' wonder there, my name is not Pierre Radisson. If she's a court ward, some of the crew must take care of her." Groseillers smiled. "An the French reward us not well for this winter's work, that little maid may open a door back to England; eh, kinsman?" 'Twas the same gamestering spirit carrying them through all hazard that now led them to prepare for fresh partnership, lest France played false. And as history tells, France played very false indeed. CHAPTER XXII WE LEAVE THE NORTH SEA So Sieur Radisson must fit out a royal flotilla to carry Mistress Hortense to the French Habitation. And gracious acts are like the gift horse: you must not look them in the mouth. For the same flotilla that brought Hortense brought all M. Picot's hoard of furs. Coming down the river, lying languidly back among the peltries of the loaded canoe, Hortense, I mind, turned to me with that honest look of hers and asked why Sieur Radisson sent to fetch her in such royal state. "I am but a poor beggar like your little Jack Battle," she protested. I told her of M. Radisson's plans for entrance to the English court, and the fire that flashed to her eyes was like his own. "Must a woman ever be a cat's-paw to man's ambitions?" she asked, with a gleam of the dark lights. "Oh, the wilderness is different," says Hortense with a sigh. "In the wild land, each is for its own! Oh, I love it!" she adds, with a sudden lighting of the depths in her eyes. "Love--what?" "The wilderness," says Hortense. "It is hard, but it's free and it's pure and it's true and it's strong!" And she sat back among the pillows. When we shot through racing rapids--"sauter les rapides," as our French voyageurs say--she sat up all alert and laughed as the spray splashed athwart. Old Allemand, the pilot, who was steersman on this canoe, forgot the ill-humour of his gin thirst, and proffered her a paddle. "Here, pretty thing," says he, "try a stroke yourself!" And to the old curmudgeon's surprise she took it with a joyous laugh, and paddled half that day. Bethink you who know what warm hearts beat inside rough buckskin whether those voyageurs were her slaves or no! The wind was blowing; Mistress Hortense's hair tossed in a way to make a man swear (vows, not oaths), and Allemand said that I paddled worse than any green hand of a first week. At the Habitation we disembarked after nightfall to conceal our movements from the English. After her arrival, none of us caught a glimpse of Mistress Hortense except of a Sunday at noon, but of her presence there was proof enough. Did voices grow loud in the mess-room? A hand was raised. Some one pointed to the far door, and the voices fell. Did a fellow's tales slip an oath or two? There was a hush. Some one's thumb jerked significantly shoulderwise to the door, and the story-teller leashed his oats for a more convenient season. "Oh, lordy," taunts an English prisoner out on parole one day, "any angels from kingdom come that you Frenchies keep meek as lambs?" Allemand, not being able to explain, knocked the fellow flat. It would scarce have been human nature had not some of the ruffians uttered slurs on the origin of such an one as Hortense found in so strange a case. The mind that feedeth on carrion ever goeth with the large mouth, and for the cleansing of such natures I wot there is no better physic than our crew gave those gossips. What the sailors did I say not. Enough that broken heads were bound by our chirurgeon for the rest of the week. That same chirurgeon advised a walk outside the fort walls for Mistress Hillary's health. By the goodness of Providence, the duty of escorting her fell to me. Attended by the blackamoor and a soldier, with a musket across my shoulder, I led her out of a rear sally-port and so avoided the scenes of drunkenness among the Indians at the main gate. We got into hiding of a thicket, but boisterous shouting came from the Indian encampment. I glanced at Hortense. She was clad in a green hunting-suit, and by the light of the setting sun her face shone radiant. "You are not afraid?" A flush of sheer delight in life flooded her cheeks. "Afraid?" she laughed. "Hortense! Hortense! Do you not hear the drunken revel? Do you know what it means? This world is full of what a maid must fear. 'Tis her fear protects her." "Ah?" asks Hortense. And she opened the tight-clasped hunting-cloak. A Spanish poniard hung against the inner folds. "'Tis her courage must protect her. The wilderness teaches that," says Hortense, "the wilderness and men like Picot." Then we clasped hands and ran like children from thicket to rock and rock to the long stretches of shingly shore. Behind came the blackamoor and the soldier. The salt spray flew in our faces, the wind through our hair; and in our hearts, a joy untold. Where a great obelisk of rock thrust across the way, Hortense halted. She stood on the lee side of the rock fanning herself with her hat. "Now you are the old Hortense!" "I _am_ older, hundreds of years older," laughed Hortense. The westering sun and the gold light of the sea and the caress of a spring wind be perilous setting for a fair face. I looked and looked again. "Hortense, should an oath to the dead bind the living?" "If it was right to take the oath, yes," said Hortense. "Hortense, I may never see you alone again. I promised to treat you as I would treat a sister----" "But--" interrupts Hortense. Footsteps were approaching along the sand. I thought only of the blackamoor and soldier. "I promised to treat you as I would a sister--but what--Hortense?" "But--but I didn't promise to treat you as I would a brother----" Then a voice from the other side of the rock: "Devil sink my soul to the bottom of the sea if that viper Frenchman hasn't all our furs packed away in his hold!" Then--"A pox on him for a meddlesome--" the voice fell. Then Ben Gillam again: "Shiver my soul! Let 'im set sail, I say! Aren't you and me to be shipped on a raft for the English fort at the foot o' the bay?" "We'll send 'em all to the bottom o' hell first." "An you give the word, all my men will rise!" "Capture the fort--risk the ships--butcher the French!" Hortense raised her hand and pointed along the shore. Our two guards were lumbering up and would presently betray our presence. Stealing forward we motioned their silence. I sent both to listen behind the rock, while Hortense and I struck into cover of the thicket to regain the fort. "Do not fear," said I. "M. Radisson has kept the prisoners in hand. He will snuff this pretty conspiracy out before Brigdar and Ben get their heads apart." She gave that flitting look which laughs at fear and hastened on. We could not go back as we had come without exposing ourselves to the two conspirators, and our course lay nearer the Indian revel. About a mile from the fort Hortense stopped short. Through the underbrush crawled two braves with their eyes leering at us. "Hortense," I urged, "run for the rear gate! I'll deal with these two alone. There may be more! Run, my dear!" "Give me your musket," she said, never taking her eyes from the savages. Wondering not a little at the request, I handed her the weapon. "Now run," I begged, for a sand crane flapped up where the savages had prowled a pace nearer. Quick as it rose Hortense aimed. There was a puff of smoke. The bird fell shot at the savages' feet, and the miscreants scudded off in terror. "That was better," said Hortense, "_you_ would have killed a man." In vain I urged her to hasten back. She walked. "You know it may be the last time," she laughed, mocking my grave air of the beach. "Hortense--Hortense--how am I to keep a promise?" But she did not answer a word till we reached the sally-port. There she turned with a brave enough look till her eyes met mine, when all was the confusion that men give their lives to win. "Yes--yes--keep your promise. If you had not come, I had died; if I had not come, you had died. Let us keep faith with truth, for that's keeping faith with God--and--and--God bless you," she whispered brokenly, and she darted through the gate. * * * * * * And the next morning we embarked, young Jean Groseillers remaining with ten Frenchmen to hold the fort; Brigdar and Ben aboard our ship instead of going to the English at the foot of the bay; half the prisoners under hatches in M. Groseillers's ship; the other half sent south on the raft--a plan which effectually stopped that conspiracy of Ben's. Not one glimpse of our fair passenger had we on all that voyage south, for what with Ben's oaths and Governor Brigdar's drinking, the cabin was no place for Hortense. At Isle Percée, entering the St. Lawrence, lay a messenger from La Chesnaye's father with a missive that bore ill news. M. de la Barre, the new governor, had ordered our furs confiscated because we had gone north without a license, and La Chesnaye had thriftily rigged up this ship to send half our cargo across to France before the Farmers of the Revenue could get their hands upon it. It was this gave rise to the slander that M. de Radisson ran off with half La Chesnaye's furs--which the records de la marine will disprove, if you search them. On this ship with her blackamoors sailed Mistress Hortense, bearing letters to Sir John Kirke, director of the Hudson's Bay Company and father of M. Radisson's wife. "Now praise be Heaven, that little ward will open the way for us in England, Chouart," said M. de Radisson, as he moodily listened to news of the trouble abrewing in Quebec. And all the way up the St. Lawrence, as the rolling tide lapped our keel, I was dreaming of a far, cold paleocrystic sea, mystic in the frost-clouds that lay over it like smoke. Then a figure emerged from the white darkness. I was snatched up, with the northern lights for chariot, two blazing comets our steeds, and the north star a charioteer. PART III CHAPTER XXIII A CHANGE OF PARTNERS Old folks are wont to repeat themselves, but that is because they would impress those garnered lessons which age no longer has strength to drive home at one blow. Royalist and Puritan, each had his lesson to learn, as I said before. Each marked the pendulum swing to a wrong extreme, and the pendulum was beating time for your younger generations to march by. And so I say to you who are wiser by the follies of your fathers, look not back too scornfully; for he who is ever watching to mock at the tripping of other men's feet is like to fall over a very small stumbling-block himself. Already have I told you of holy men who would gouge a man's eye out for the extraction of one small bean, and counted burnings life's highest joy, and held the body accursed as a necessary evil for the tabernacling of the soul. Now must I tell you of those who wantoned "in the lust of the flesh and the lust of the eye and the pride of life," who burned their lives out at a shrine of folly, and who held that the soul and all things spiritual had gone out of fashion except for the making of vows and pretty conceits in verse by a lover to his lady. For Pierre Radisson's fears of France playing false proved true. Bare had our keels bumped through that forest of sailing craft, which ever swung to the tide below Quebec fort, when a company of young cadets marches down from the Castle St. Louis to escort us up to M. de la Barre, the new governor. "Hm," says M. Radisson, looking in his half-savage buckskins a wild enough figure among all those young jacks-in-a-box with their gold lace and steel breastplates. "Hm--let the governor come to us! An you will not go to a man, a man must come to you!" "I am indisposed," says he to the cadets. "Let the governor come to me." And come he did, with a company of troops fresh out from France and a roar of cannon from the ramparts that was more for the frightening than welcoming of us. M. de Radisson bade us answer the salute by a firing of muskets in mid-air. Then we all let go a cheer for the Governor of New France. "I must thank Your Excellency for the welcome sent down by your cadets," says M. de Radisson, meeting the governor half-way across the gang-plank. M. de la Barre, an iron-gray man past the prime of life, gave spare smile in answer to that. "I bade my cadets request you to _report_ at the castle," says he, with a hard wrinkling of the lines round his lips. "I bade your fellows report that I was indisposed!" "Did the north not agree with Sieur Radisson?" asks the governor dryly. "Pardieu!--yes--better than the air of Quebec," retorts M. Radisson. By this the eyes of the listeners were agape, M. Radisson not budging a pace to go ashore, the governor scarce courting rebuff in sight of his soldiers. "Radisson," says M. de la Barre, motioning his soldiers back and following to our captain's cabin, "a fellow was haltered and whipped for disrespect to the bishop yesterday!" "Fortunately," says M. Radisson, touching the hilt of his rapier, "gentlemen settle differences in a simpler way!" They had entered the cabin, where Radisson bade me stand guard at the door, and at our leader's bravado M. de la Barre saw fit to throw off all disguise. "Radisson," he said, "those who trade without license are sent to the galleys----" "And those who go to the galleys get no more furs to divide with the Governor of New France, and the governor who gets no furs goes home a poor man." M. de la Barre's sallow face wrinkled again in a dry laugh. "La Chesnaye has told you?" "La Chesnaye's son----" "Have the ships a good cargo? They must remain here till our officer examines them." Which meant till the governor's minions looted both vessels for His Excellency's profit. M. Radisson, who knew that the better part of the furs were already crossing the ocean, nodded his assent. "But about these English prisoners, of whom La Chesnaye sent word from Isle Percée?" continued the governor. "The prisoners matter nothing--'tis their ship has value----" "She must go back," interjects M. de la Barre. "Back?" exclaims M. Radisson. "Why didn't you sell her to some Spanish adventurer before you came here?" "Spanish adventurer--Your Excellency? I am no butcher!" "Eh--man!" says the governor, tapping the table with a document he pulled from his greatcoat pocket and shrugging his shoulders with a deprecating gesture of the hands, "if her crew feared sharks, they should have defended her against capture. Now--your prize must go back to New England and we lose the profit! Here," says he, "are orders from the king and M. Colbert that nothing be done to offend the subjects of King Charles of England----" "Which means that Barillon, the French ambassador----?" M. de la Barre laid his finger on his lips. "Walls have ears! If one king be willing to buy and another to sell himself and his country, loyal subjects have no comment, Radisson." [1] "Loyal subjects!" sneers M. de Radisson. "And that reminds me, M. Colbert orders Sieur Radisson to present himself in Paris and report on the state of the fur-trade to the king!" "Ramsay," said M. Radisson to me, after Governor la Barre had gone, "this is some new gamestering!" "Your court players are too deep for me, sir!" "Pish!" says he impatiently, "plain as day--we must sail on the frigate for France, or they imprison us here--in Paris we shall be kept dangling by promises, hangers-on and do-nothings till the moneys are all used--then----" "Then--sir?" "Then, active men are dangerous men, and dangerous men may lie safe and quiet in the sponging-house!" "Do we sail in that case?" "Egad, yes! Why not? Keep your colours flying and you may sail into hell, man, and conquer, too! Yes--we sail! Man or devil, don't swerve, lad! Go your gait! Go your gait! Chouart here will look after the ships! Paris is near London, and praise be Providence for that little maid of thine! We shall presently have letters from her--and," he added, "from Sir John Kirke of the Hudson's Bay Company!" And it was even as he foretold. I find, on looking over the tattered pages of a handbook, these notes: _Oct. 6._--Ben Gillam and Governor Brigdar this day sent back to New England. There will be great complaints against us in the English court before we can reach London. _Nov. 11._--Sailed for France in the French frigate. _Dec. 18._--Reach Rochelle--hear of M. Colbert's death. _Jan. 30._--Paris--all our furs seized by the French Government in order to keep M. Radisson powerless--Lord Preston, the English ambassador, complaining against us on the one hand, and battering our doors down on the other, with spies offering M. Radisson safe passage from Paris to London. I would that I had time to tell you of that hard winter in Paris, M. Radisson week by week, like a fort resisting siege, forced to take cheaper and cheaper lodgings, till we were housed between an attic roof and creaking rat-ridden floor in the Faubourg St. Antoine. But not one jot did M. Radisson lose of his kingly bearing, though he went to some fête in Versailles with beaded moccasins and frayed plushes and tattered laces and hair that one of the pretty wits declared the birds would be anesting in for hay-coils. In that Faubourg St. Antoine house, I mind, we took grand apartments on the ground floor, but up and up we went, till M. Radisson vowed we'd presently be under the stars--as the French say when they are homeless--unless my Lord Preston, the English ambassador, came to our terms. That starving of us for surrender was only another trick of the gamestering in which we were enmeshed. Had Captain Godey, Lord Preston's messenger, succeeded in luring us back to England without terms, what a pretty pickle had ours been! France would have set a price on us. Then must we have accepted any kick-of-toe England chose to offer--and thanked our new masters for the same, else back to France they would have sent us. But attic dwellers stave off many a woe with empty stomachs and stout courage. When April came, boats for the fur-trade should have been stirring, and my Lord Preston changes his tune. One night, when Pierre Radisson sat spinning his yarns of captivity with Iroquois to our attic neighbours, comes a rap at the door, and in walks Captain Godey of the English Embassy. As soon as our neighbours had gone, he counts out one hundred gold pieces on the table. Then he hands us a letter signed by the Duke of York, King Charles's brother, who was Governor of the Hudson's Bay Company, granting us all that we asked. Thereupon, Pierre Radisson asks leave of the French court to seek change of air; but the country air we sought was that of England in May, not France, as the court inferred. [1] The reference is evidently to the secret treaty by which King Charles of England received annual payment for compliance with King Louis's schemes for French aggression. CHAPTER XXIV UNDER THE AEGIS OF THE COURT The roar of London was about us. Sign-boards creaked and swung to every puff of wind. Great hackney-coaches, sunk at the waist like those old gallipot boats of ours, went ploughing past through the mud of mid-road, with bepowdered footmen clinging behind and saucy coachmen perched in front. These flunkeys thought it fine sport to splash us passers-by, or beguiled the time when there was stoppage across the narrow street by lashing rival drivers with their long whips and knocking cock-hats to the gutter. 'Prentices stood ringing their bells and shouting their wares at every shop-door. "What d'ye lack? What d'ye lack? What d'ye please to lack, good sirs? Walk this way for kerseys, sayes, and perpetuanoes! Bands and ruffs and piccadillies! Walk this way! Walk this way!" "Pardieu, lad!" says M. Radisson, elbowing a saucy spark from the wall for the tenth time in as many paces. "Pardieu, you can't hear yourself think! Shut up to you!" he called to a bawling 'prentice dressed in white velvet waistcoat like a showman's dummy to exhibit the fashion. "Shut up to you!" And I heard the fellow telling his comrades my strange companion with the tangled hair was a pirate from the Barbary States. Another saucy vender caught at the chance. "Perukes! Perukes! Newest French periwigs!" he shouts, jangling his bell and putting himself across M. Radisson's course. "You'd please to lack a periwig, sir! Walk this way! Walk this way--" "Out of my way!" orders Radisson with a hiss of his rapier round the fellow's fat calves. "'Tis a milliner's doll the town makes of a man! Out of my way!" And the 'prentice went skipping. We were to meet the directors of the Hudson's Bay Company that night, and we had come out to refurbish our scant, wild attire. But bare had we turned the corner for the linen-draper's shops of Fleet Street when M. Radisson's troubles began. Idlers eyed us with strange looks. Hucksters read our necessitous state and ran at heel shouting their wares. Shopmen saw needy customers in us and sent their 'prentices running. Chairmen splashed us as they passed; and impudent dandies powdered and patched and laced and bewigged like any fizgig of a girl would have elbowed us from the wall to the gutter for the sport of seeing M. Radisson's moccasins slimed. "Egad," says M. Radisson, "an I spill not some sawdust out o' these dolls, or cut their stay-strings, may the gutter take us for good and all! Pardieu! An your wig's the latest fashion, the wits under 't don't matter--" "Have a care, sir," I warned, "here comes a fellow!" 'Twas a dandy in pink of fashion with a three-cornered hat coming over his face like a waterspout, red-cheeked from carminative and with the high look in his eyes of one who saw common folk from the top of church steeple. His lips were parted enough to show his teeth; and I warrant you my fine spark had posed an hour at the looking-glass ere he got his neck at the angle that brought out the swell of his chest. He was dressed in red plush with silk hose of the same colour and a square-cut, tailed coat out of whose pockets stuck a roll of paper missives. "Verse ready writ by some penny-a-liner for any wench with cheap smiles," says M. Radisson aloud. But the fellow came on like a strutting peacock with his head in air. Behind followed his page with cloak and rapier. In one hand our dandy carried his white gloves, in the other a lace gewgaw heavy with musk, which he fluttered in the face of every shopkeeper's daughter. "Give the wall! Give the wall!" cries the page. "Give the wall to Lieutenant Blood o' the Tower!" "S'blood," says M. Radisson insolently, "let us send that snipe sprawling!" At that was a mighty awakening on the part of my fine gentleman. "Blood is my name," says he. "Step aside!" "An Blood is its name," retorts M. Radisson, "'tis bad blood; and I've a mind to let some of it, unless the thing gets out of my way!" With which M. Radisson whips out his sword, and my grand beau condescends to look at us. "Boy," he commands, "call an officer!" "Boy," shouts M. Radisson, "call a chirurgeon to mend its toes!" and his blade cut a swath across the dandy's shining pumps. At that was a jump! Whatever the beaux of King Charles's court may have been, they were not cowards! Grasping his sword from the page, the fellow made at us. What with the lashing of the coachmen riding post-haste to see the fray, the jostling chairmen calling out "A fight! A fight!" and the 'prentices yelling at the top of their voices for "A watch! A watch!" we had had it hot enough then and there for M. Radisson's sport; but above the melee sounded another shrill alarm, the "Gardez l'eau! Gardy loo!" of some French kitchen wench throwing her breakfast slops to mid-road from the dwelling overhead. [1] Only on the instant had I jerked M. Radisson back; and down they came--dish-water--and coffee leavings--and porridge scraps full on the crown of my fine young gentleman, drenching his gay attire as it had been soaked in soapsuds of a week old. Something burst from his lips a deal stronger than the modish French oaths then in vogue. There was a shout from the rabble. I dragged rather than led M. Radisson pell-mell into a shop from front to rear, over a score of garden walls, and out again from rear to front, so that we gave the slip to all those officers now running for the scene of the broil. "Egad's life," cried M. de Radisson, laughing and laughing, "'tis the narrowest escape I've ever had! Pardieu--to escape the north sea and drown in dish-water! Lord--to beat devils and be snuffed out by a wench in petticoats! 'Tis the martyrdom of heroes! What a tale for the court!" And he laughed and laughed again till I must needs call a chair to get him away from onlookers. In the shop of a draper a thought struck him. "Egad, lad, that young blade was Blood!" "So he told you." "Did he? Son of the Blood who stole the crown ten years ago, and got your own Stanhope lands in reward from the king!" What memories were his words bringing back?--M. Picot in the hunting-room telling me of Blood, the freebooter and swordsman. And that brings me to the real reason for our plundering the linen-drapers' shops before presenting ourselves at Sir John Kirke's mansion in Drury Lane, where gentlemen with one eye cocked on the doings of the nobility in the west and the other keen for city trade were wont to live in those days. For six years M. Radisson had not seen Mistress Mary Kirke--as his wife styled herself after he broke from the English--and I had not heard one word of Hortense for nigh as many months. Say what you will of the dandified dolls who wasted half a day before the looking-glass in the reign of Charles Stuart, there are times when the bravest of men had best look twice in the glass ere he set himself to the task of conquering fair eyes. We did not drag our linen through a scent bath nor loll all morning in the hands of a man milliner charged with the duty of turning us into showmen's dummies--as was the way of young sparks in that age. But that was how I came to buy yon monstrous wig costing forty guineas and weighing ten pounds and coming half-way to a man's waist. And you may set it down to M. Radisson's credit that he went with his wiry hair flying wild as a lion's mane. Nothing I could say would make him exchange his Indian moccasins for the high-heeled pumps with a buckle at the instep. "I suppose," he had conceded grudgingly, "we must have a brat to carry swords and cloaks for us, or we'll be taken for some o' your cheap-jack hucksters parading latest fashions," and he bade our host of the Star and Garter have some lad searched out for us by the time we should be coming home from Sir John Kirke's that night. A mighty personage with fat chops and ruddy cheeks and rounded waistcoat and padded calves received us at the door of Sir John Kirke's house in Drury Lane. Sir John was not yet back from the Exchange, this grand fellow loftily informed us at the entrance to the house. A glance told him that we had neither page-boy nor private carriage; and he half-shut the door in our faces. "Now the devil take _this thing_ for a half-baked, back-stairs, second-hand kitchen gentleman," hissed M. Radisson, pushing in. "Here, my fine fellow," says he with a largesse of vails his purse could ill afford, "here, you sauce-pans, go tell Madame Radisson her husband is here!" I have always held that the vulgar like insolence nigh as well as silver; and Sieur Radisson's air sent the feet of the kitchen steward pattering. "Confound him!" muttered Radisson, as we both went stumbling over footstools into the dark of Sir John's great drawing-room, "Confound him! An a man treats a man as a man in these stuffed match-boxes o' towns, looking man as a man on the level square in the eye, he only gets himself slapped in the face for it! An there's to be any slapping in the face, be the first to do it, boy! A man's a man by the measure of his stature in the wilderness. Here, 'tis by the measure of his clothes----" But a great rustling of flounced petticoats down the hallway broke in on his speech, and a little lady had jumped at me with a cry of "Pierre, Pierre!" when M. Radisson's long arms caught her from her feet. "You don't even remember what your own husband looked like," said he. "Ah, Mary, Mary--don't dear me! I'm only dear when the court takes me up! But, egad," says he, setting her down on her feet, "you may wager these pretty ringlets of yours, I'm mighty dear for the gilded crew this time!" Madame Radisson said she was glad of it; for when Pierre was rich they could take a fine house in the West End like my Lord So-and-So; but in the next breath she begged him not to call the Royalists a gilded crew. "And who is this?" she asked, turning to me as the servants brought in candles. "Egad, and you might have asked that before you tried to kiss him! You always did have a pretty choice, Mary! I knew it when you took me! That," says he, pointing to me, "that is the kite's tail!" "But for convenience' sake, perhaps the kite's tail may have a name," retorts Madame Radisson. "To be sure--to be sure--Stanhope, a young Royalist kinsman of yours." "Royalist?" reiterates Mary Kirke with a world of meaning to the high-keyed question, "then my welcome was no mistake! Welcome waits Royalists here," and she gave me her hand to kiss just as an elderly woman with monster white ringlets all about her face and bejewelled fingers and bare shoulders and flowing draperies swept into the room, followed by a serving-maid and a page-boy. With the aid of two men, her daughter, a serving-maid, and the page, it took her all of five minutes by the clock to get herself seated. But when her slippered feet were on a Persian rug and the displaced ringlets of her monster wig adjusted by the waiting abigail and smelling-salts put on a marquetry table nearby and the folds of the gown righted by the page-boy, Lady Kirke extended a hand to receive our compliments. I mind she called Radisson her "dear, sweet savage," and bade him have a care not to squeeze the stones of her rings into the flesh of her fingers. "As if any man would want to squeeze such a ragbag o' tawdry finery and milliners' tinsel," said Radisson afterward to me. I, being younger, was "a dear, bold fellow," with a tap of her fan to the words and a look over the top of it like to have come from some saucy jade of sixteen. After which the serving-maid must hand the smelling-salts and the page-boy haste to stroke out her train. "Egad," says Radisson when my lady had informed us that Sir John would await Sieur Radisson's coming at the Fur Company's offices, "egad, there'll be no getting Ramsay away till he sees some one else!" "And who is that?" simpers Lady Kirke, languishing behind her fan. "Who, indeed, but the little maid we sent from the north sea." "La," cries Lady Kirke with a sudden livening, "an you always do as well for us all, we can forgive you, Pierre! The courtiers have cried her up and cried her up, till your pretty savage of the north sea is like to become the first lady of the land! Sir John comes home with your letter to me--boy, the smelling-salts!--so!--and I say to him, 'Sir John, take the story to His Royal Highness!' Good lack, Pierre, no sooner hath the Duke of York heard the tale than off he goes with it to King Charles! His Majesty hath an eye for a pretty baggage. Oh, I promise you, Pierre, you have done finely for us all!" And the lady must simper and smirk and tap Pierre Radisson with her fan, with a glimmer of ill-meaning through her winks and nods that might have brought the blush to a woman's cheeks in Commonwealth days. "Madame," cried Pierre Radisson with his eyes ablaze, "that sweet child came to no harm or wrong among our wilderness of savages! An she come to harm in a Christian court, by Heaven, somebody'll answer me for't!" "Lackaday! Hoighty-toighty, Pierre! How you stamp! The black-eyed monkey hath been named maid of honour to Queen Catherine! How much better could we have done for her?" "Maid of honour to the lonely queen?" says Radisson. "That is well!" "She is ward of the court till a husband be found for her," continues Lady Kirke. "There will be plenty willing to be found," says Pierre Radisson, looking me wondrous straight in the eye. "Not so sure--not so sure, Pierre! We catch no glimpse of her nowadays; but they say young Lieutenant Blood o' the Tower shadows the court wherever she is----" "A well-dressed young man?" adds Radisson, winking at me. "And carries himself with a grand air," amplifies my lady, puffing out her chest, "but then, Pierre, when it comes to the point, your pretty wench hath no dower--no property----" "Heaven be praised for that!" burst from my lips. At which there was a sudden silence, followed by sudden laughter to my confusion. "And so Master Stanhope came seeking the bird that had flown," twitted Radisson's mother-in-law. "Faugh--faugh--to have had the bird in his hand and to let it go! But--ta-ta!" she laughed, tapping my arm with her fan, "some one else is here who keeps asking and asking for Master Stanhope. Boy," she ordered, "tell thy master's guest to come down!" Two seconds later entered little Rebecca of Boston Town. Blushing pink as apple-blossoms, dressed demurely as of old, with her glances playing a shy hide-and-seek under the downcast lids, she seemed as alien to the artificial grandeur about her as meadow violets to the tawdry splendour of a flower-dyer's shop. "Fie, fie, sly ladybird," called out Sir John's wife, "here are friends of yours!" At sight of us, she uttered a little gasp of pleasure. "So--so--so joysome to see Boston folk," she stammered. "Fie, fie!" laughed Lady Kirke. "Doth Boston air bring red so quick to all faces?" "If they be not painted too deep," said Pierre Radisson loud and distinct. And I doubt not the coquettish old dame blushed red, though the depth of paint hid it from our eyes; for she held her tongue long enough for me to lead Rebecca to an alcove window. Some men are born to jump in sudden-made gaps. Such an one was Pierre Radisson; for he set himself between his wife and Lady Kirke, where he kept them achattering so fast they had no time to note little Rebecca's unmasked confusion. "This is an unexpected pleasure, Rebecca!" She glanced up as if to question me. "Your fine gallants have so many fine speeches----" "Have you been here long?" "A month. My father came to see about the furs that Ben Gillam lost in the bay," explains Rebecca. "Oh!" said I, vouching no more. "The ship was sent back," continues Rebecca, all innocent of the nature of her father's venture, "and my father hopes that King Charles may get the French to return the value of the furs." "Oh!" There was a little silence. The other tongues prattled louder. Rebecca leaned towards me. "Have you seen her?" she asked. "Who?" She gave an impetuous little shake of her head. "You know," she said. "Well?" I asked. "She hath taken me through all the grand places, Ramsay; through Whitehall and Hampton Court and the Tower! She hath come to see me every week!" I said nothing. "To-morrow she goes to Oxford with the queen. She is not happy, Ramsay. She says she feels like a caged bird. Ramsay, why did she love that north land where the wicked Frenchman took her?" "I don't know, Rebecca. She once said it was strong and pure and free." "Did you see her oft, Ramsay?" "No, Rebecca; only at dinner on Sundays." "And--and--all the officers were there on the Sabbath?" "All the officers were there!" She sat silent, eyes downcast, thinking. "Ramsay?" "Well?" "Hortense will be marrying some grand courtier." "May he be worthy of her." "I think many ask her." "And what does Mistress Hortense say?" "I think," answers Rebecca meditatively, "from the quantity of love-verse writ, she must keep saying--No." Then Lady Kirke turns to bid us all go to the Duke's Theatre, where the king's suite would appear that night. Rebecca, of course, would not go. Her father would be expecting her when he came home, she said. So Pierre Radisson and I escorted Lady Kirke and her daughter to the play, riding in one of those ponderous coaches, with four belaced footmen clinging behind and postillions before. At the entrance to the playhouse was a great concourse of crowding people, masked ladies, courtiers with pages carrying torches for the return after dark, merchants with linkmen, work folk with lanterns, noblemen elbowing tradesmen from the wall, tradesmen elbowing mechanics; all pushing and jostling and cracking their jokes with a freedom of speech that would have cost dear in Boston Town. The beaux, I mind, had ready-writ love-verses sticking out of pockets thick as bailiffs' yellow papers; so that a gallant could have stocked his own munitions by picking up the missives dropped at the feet of disdainfuls. Of the play, I recall nothing but that some favourite of the king, Mary Davies, or the famous Nell, or some such an one, danced a monstrous bold jig. Indeed, our grand people, taking their cue from the courtiers' boxes, affected a mighty contempt for the play, except when a naughty jade on the boards stepped high, or blew a kiss to some dandy among the noted folk. For aught I could make out, they did not come to hear, but to be heard; the ladies chattering and ogling; the gallants stalking from box to box and pit to gallery, waving their scented handkerchiefs, striking a pose where the greater part of the audience could see the flash of beringed fingers, or taking a pinch of snuff with a snap of the lid to call attention to its gold-work and naked goddesses. "Drat these tradespeople, kinsman!" says Lady Kirke, as a fat townsman and his wife pushed past us, "drat these tradespeople!" says she as we were taking our place in one of the boxes, "'tis monstrous gracious of the king to come among them at all!" Methought her memory of Sir John's career had been suddenly clipped short; but Pierre Radisson only smiled solemnly. Some jokes, like dessert, are best taken cold, not hot. Then there was a craning of necks; and the king's party came in, His Majesty grown sallow with years but gay and nonchalant as ever, with Barillon, the French ambassador, on one side and Her Grace of Portsmouth on the other. Behind came the whole court; the Duchess of Cleveland, whom our wits were beginning to call "a perennial," because she held her power with the king and her lovers increased with age; statesmen hanging upon her for a look or a smile that might lead the way to the king's ear; Sir George Jeffreys, the judge, whose name was to become England's infamy; Queen Catherine of Braganza, keeping up hollow mirth with those whose presence was insult; the Duke of York, soberer than his royal brother, the king, since Monmouth's menace to the succession; and a host of hangers-on ready to swear away England's liberties for a licking of the crumbs that fell from royal lips. Then the hum of the playhouse seemed as the beating of the north sea; for Lady Kirke was whispering, "There! There! There she is!" and Hortense was entering one of the royal boxes accompanied by a foreign-looking, elderly woman, and that young Lieutenant Blood, whom we had encountered earlier in the day. "The countess from Portugal--Her Majesty's friend," murmurs Lady Kirke. "Ah, Pierre, you have done finely for us all!" And there oozed over my Lady Kirke's countenance as fine a satisfaction as ever radiated from the face of a sweating cook. "How?" asks Pierre Radisson, pursing his lips. "Sir John hath dined twice with His Royal Highness----" "The Duke is Governor of the Company, and Sir John is a director." "Ta-ta, now there you go, Pierre!" smirks my lady. "An your pretty baggage had not such a saucy way with the men--why--who can tell----" "Madame," interrupted Pierre Radisson, "God forbid! There be many lords amaking in strange ways, but we of the wilderness only count honour worth when it's won honourably." But Lady Kirke bare heard the rebuke. She was all eyes for the royal box. "La, now, Pierre," she cries, "see! The king hath recognised you!" She lurched forward into fuller view of onlookers as she spoke. "Wella-day! Good lack! Pierre Radisson, I do believe!--Yes!--See!--His Majesty is sending for you!" And a page in royal colours appeared to say that the king commanded Pierre Radisson to present himself in the royal box. With his wiry hair wild as it had ever been on the north sea, off he went, all unconscious of the contemptuous looks from courtier and dandy at his strange, half-savage dress. And presently Pierre Radisson is seated in the king's presence, chatting unabashed, the cynosure of all eyes. At the stir, Hortense had turned towards us. For a moment the listless hauteur gave place to a scarce hidden start. Then the pallid face had looked indifferently away. "The huzzy!" mutters Lady Kirke. "She might 'a' bowed in sight of the whole house! Hoighty-toighty! We shall see, an the little moth so easily blinded by court glare is not singed for its vanity! Ungrateful baggage! See how she sits, not deigning to listen one word of all the young lieutenant is saying! Mary?" "Yes----" "You mind I told her--I warned the saucy miss to give more heed to the men--to remember what it might mean to us----" "Yes," adds Madame Radisson, "and she said she hated the court----" "Faugh!" laughs Lady Kirke, fussing and fuming and shifting her place like a peacock with ruffled plumage, "pride before the fall--I'll warrant, you men spoiled her in the north! Very fine, forsooth, when a pauper wench from no one knows where may slight the first ladies of the land!" "Madame," said I, "you are missing the play!" "Master Stanhope," said she, "the play must be marvellous moving! Where is your colour of a moment ago?" I had no response to her railing. It was as if that look of Hortense had come from across the chasm that separated the old order from the new. In the wilderness she was in distress, I her helper. Here she was of the court and I--a common trader. Such fools does pride make of us, and so prone are we to doubt another's faith! "One slight was enough," Lady Kirke was vowing with a toss of her head; and we none of us gave another look to the royal boxes that night, though all about the wits were cracking their jokes against M. Radisson's "Medusa locks," or "the king's idol, with feet of clay and face of brass," thereby meaning M. Radisson's moccasins and swarth skin. At the door we were awaiting M. Radisson's return when the royal company came out. I turned suddenly and met Hortense's eyes blazing with a hauteur that forbade recognition. Beside her in lover-like pose lolled that milliners' dummy whom we had seen humbled in the morning. Then, promising to rejoin Pierre Radisson at the Fur Company's offices, I made my adieux to the Kirkes and flung out among those wild revellers who scoured London streets of a dark night. [1] The old expression which the law compelled before throwing slops in mid-street. CHAPTER XXV JACK BATTLE AGAIN The higher one's hopes mount the farther they have to fall; and I, who had mounted to stars with Hortense, was pushed to the gutter by the king's dragoons making way for the royal equipage. There was a crackling of whips among the king's postillions. A yeoman thrust the crowd back with his pike. The carriages rolled past. The flash of a linkman's torch revealed Hortense sitting languid and scornful between the foreign countess and that milliner's dummy of a lieutenant. Then the royal carriages were lost in the darkness, and the streets thronged by a rabble of singing, shouting, hilarious revellers. Different generations have different ways of taking their pleasure, and the youth of King Charles's day were alternately bullies on the street and dandies at the feet of my lady disdainful. At the approach of the shouting, night-watchmen threw down their lanterns and took to their heels. Street-sweeps tossed their brooms in mid-road with cries of "The Scowerers! The Scowerers!" Hucksters fled into the dark of side lanes. Shopkeepers shot their door-bolts. Householders blew out lights. Fruit-venders made off without their baskets, and small urchins shrieked the alarm of "Baby-eaters! Baby-eaters!" One sturdy watch, I mind, stood his guard, laying about with a stout pike in a way that broke our fine revellers' heads like soft pumpkins; but him they stood upon his crown in some goodwife's rain-barrel with his lantern tied to his heels. At the rush of the rabble for shelves of cakes and pies, one shopman levelled his blunderbuss. That brought shouts of "A sweat! A sweat!" In a twinkling the rascals were about him. A sword pricked from behind. The fellow jumped. Another prick, and yet another, till the good man was dancing such a jig the sweat rolled from his fat jowls and he roared out promise to feast the whole rout. A peddler of small images had lingered to see the sport, and enough of it he had, I promise you; for they dumped him into his wicker basket and trundled it through the gutter till the peddler and his little white saints were black as chimney-sweeps. Nor did our merry blades play their pranks on poor folk alone. At Will's Coffee House, where sat Dryden and other mighty quidnuncs spinning their poetry and politics over full cups, before mine host got his doors barred our fellows had charged in, seized one of the great wits and set him singing Gammer Gurton's Needle, till the gentlemen were glad to put down pennies for the company to drink healths. By this I had enough of your gentleman bully's brawling, and I gave the fellows the slip to meet Pierre Radisson at the General Council of Hudson's Bay Adventurers to be held in John Horth's offices in Broad Street. Our gentlemen adventurers were mighty jealous of their secrets in those days. I think they imagined their great game-preserve a kind of Spanish gold-mine safer hidden from public ken, and they held their meetings with an air of mystery that pirates might have worn. For my part, I do not believe there were French spies hanging round Horth's office for knowledge of the Fur Company's doings, though the doorkeeper, who gave me a chair in the anteroom, reported that a strange-looking fellow with a wife as from foreign parts had been asking for me all that day, and refused to leave till he had learned the address of my lodgings. "'Ave ye taken the hoath of hallegiance, sir?" asked the porter. "I was born in England," said I dryly. "Your renegade of a French savage is atakin' the hoath now," confided the porter, jerking his thumb towards the inner door. "They do say as 'ow it is for love of Mary Kirke and not the English--" "Your renegade of a French--who?" I asked sharply, thinking it ill omen to hear a flunkey of the English Company speaking lightly of our leader. But at the question the fellow went glum with a tipping and bowing and begging of pardon. Then the councillors began to come: Arlington and Ashley of the court, one of those Carterets, who had been on the Boston Commission long ago and first induced M. Radisson to go to England, and at last His Royal Highness the Duke of York, deep in conversation with my kinsman, Sir John Kirke. "It can do no harm to employ him for one trip," Sir John was saying. "He hath taken the oath?" asks His Royal Highness. "He is taking it to-night; but," laughs Sir John, "we thought he was a good Englishman once before." "Your company used him ill. You must keep him from going over to the French again." "Till he undo the evil he has done--till he capture back all that he took from us--then," says Sir John cautiously, "then we must consider whether it be politic to keep a gamester in the company." "Anyway," adds His Highness, "France will not take him back." And the door closed on the councillors while I awaited Radisson in the anteroom. A moment later Pierre Radisson came out with eyes alight and face elate. "I've signed to sail in three days," he announced. "Do you go with me or no?" Two memories came back: one of a face between a westering sun and a golden sea, and I hesitated; the other, of a cold, pallid, disdainful look from the royal box. "I go." And entering the council chamber, I signed the papers without one glance at the terms. Gentlemen sat all about the long table, and at the head was the governor of the company--the Duke of York, talking freely with M. de Radisson. My Lord Ashley would know if anything but furs grew in that wild New World. "Furs?" says M. Radisson. "Sir, mark my words, 'tis a world that grows empires--also men," with an emphasis which those court dandies could not understand. But the wise gentlemen only smiled at M. Radisson's warmth. "If it grew good soldiers for our wars--" begins one military gentleman. "Aye," flashes back M. Radisson ironically, "if it grows men for your wars and your butchery and your shambles! Mark my words: it is a land that grows men good for more than killing," and he smiles half in bitterness. "'Tis a prodigious expensive land in diplomacy when men like you are let loose in it," remarks Arlington. His Royal Highness rose to take his leave. "You will present a full report to His Majesty at Oxford," he orders M. Radisson in parting. Then the council dispersed. "Oxford," says M. Radisson, as we picked our way home through the dark streets; "an I go to meet the king at Oxford, you will see a hornets' nest of jealousy about my ears." I did not tell him of the double work implied in Sir John's words with the prince, for Sir John Kirke was Pierre Radisson's father-in-law. At the door of the Star and Garter mine host calls out that a strange-looking fellow wearing a grizzled beard and with a wife as from foreign parts had been waiting all afternoon for me in my rooms. "From foreign parts!" repeats M. Radisson, getting into a chair to go to Sir John's house in Drury Lane. "If they're French spies, send them right about, Ramsay! We've stopped gamestering!" "We have; but perhaps the others haven't." "Let them game," laughs M. Radisson scornfully, as the chair moved off. Not knowing what to expect I ran up-stairs to my room. At the door I paused. That morning I had gone from the house light-hearted. Now interest had died from life. I had but one wish, to reach that wilderness of swift conflict, where thought has no time for regret. The door was ajar. A coal fire burned on the hearth. Sitting on the floor were two figures with backs towards me, a ragged, bearded man and a woman with a shawl over her head. What fools does hope make of us! I had almost called out Hortense's name when the noise of the closing door caught their hearing. I was in the north again; an Indian girl was on her knees clinging to my feet, sobbing out incoherent gratitude; a pair of arms were belabouring my shoulders; and a voice was saying with broken gurgles of joy: "Ship ahoy, there! Ease your helm! Don't heave all your ballast overboard!"--a clapping of hands on my back--"Port your helm! Ease her up! All sheets in the wind and the storms'l aflutter! Ha-ha!" with a wringing and a wringing like to wrench my hands off--"Anchor out! Haul away! Home with her . . . !" "Jack Battle!" It was all I could say. There he was, grizzled and bronzed and weather-worn, laughing with joy and thrashing his arms about as if to belabour me again. "But who is this, Jack?" I lifted the Indian woman from her knees. It was the girl my blow had saved that morning long ago. "Who--what is this?" "My wife," Says Jack, swinging his arms afresh and proud as a prince. "Your wife? . . . Where . . . who married you?" "There warn't no parson," says Jack, "that is, there warn't no parson nearer nor three thousand leagues and more. And say," adds Jack, "I s'pose there was marryin' afore there _could_ be parsons! She saved my life. She hain't no folks. I hain't no folks. She got away that morning o' the massacre--she see them take us captive--she gets a white pelt to hide her agen the snow--she come, she do all them cold miles and lets me loose when the braves ain't watching . . . she risks her life to save my life--she don't belong to nobody. I don't belong to nobody. There waren't no parson, but we're married tight . . . and--and--let not man put asunder," says Jack. For full five minutes there was not a word. The east was trying to understand the west! "Amen, Jack," said I. "God bless you--you are a man!" "We mean to get a parson and have it done straight yet," explained Jack, "but I wanted you to stand by me----" "Faith, Jack, you've done it pretty thorough without any help----" "Yes, but folks won't understand," pleaded Jack, "and--and--I'd do as much for you--I wanted you to stand by me and tell me where to say 'yes' when the parson reads the words----" "All right--I shall," I promised, laughing. If only Hortense could know all this! That is the sorrow of rifted lives--the dark between, on each side the thoughts that yearn. "And--and," Jack was stammering on, "I thought, perhaps, Mistress Rebecca 'd be willing to stand by Mizza," nodding to the young squaw, "that is, if you asked Rebecca," pleaded Jack. "We'll see," said I. For the New England conscience was something to reckon with! "How did you come here?" I asked. "Mizza snared rabbits and I stole back my musket when we ran away and did some shooting long as powder lasted----" "And then?" "And then we used bow and arrow. We hid in the bush till the hostiles quit cruisin'; but the spring storms caught us when we started for the coast. I s'pose I'm a better sailor on water than land, for split me for a herring if my eyes didn't go blind from snow! We hove to in the woods again, Mizza snaring rabbit and building a lodge and keepin' fire agoin' and carin' for me as if I deserved it. There I lay water-logged, odd's man--blind as a mole till the spring thaws came. Then Mizza an' me built a raft; for sez I to Miz, though she didn't understand: 'Miz,' sez I, 'water don't flow uphill! If we rig up a craft, that river'll carry us to the bay!' But she only gets down on the ground the way she did with you and puts my foot on her neck. Lordy," laughs Jack, "s'pose I don't know what a foot on a neck feels like? I sez: 'Miz, if you ever do that again, I'll throw you overboard!' Then the backwash came so strong from the bay, we had to wait till the floods settled. While we swung at anchorman, what d'y' think happened? I taught Miz English. Soon as ever she knew words enough I told her if I was a captain I'd want a mate! She didn't catch the wind o' that, lad, till we were navigating our raft downstream agen the ice-jam. Ship ahoy, you know, the ice was like to nip us, and lackin' a life-belt I put me arm round her waist! Ease your helm! Port--a little! Haul away! But she understood--when she saw me save her from the jam before I saved myself." And Jack Battle stood away arm's length from his Indian wife and laughed his pride. "And by the time we'd got to the bay you'd gone, but Jean Groseillers sent us to the English ship that came out expecting to find Governor Brigdar at Nelson. We shipped with the company boat, and here we be." "And what are you going to do?" "Oh, I get work enough on the docks to pay for Mizza's lessons--" "Lessons?" "Yes--she's learning sewin' and readin' from the nuns, and as soon as she's baptized we're going to be married regular." "Oh!" A sigh of relief escaped me. "Then you'll not need Rebecca for six months or so?" "No; but you'll ask her?" pleaded Jack. "If I'm here." As they were going out Jack slipped back from the hallway to the fireplace, leaving Mizza outside. "Ramsay?" "Yes?" "You think--it's--it's--all right?" "What?" "What I done about a mate?" "Right?" I reiterated. "Here's my hand to you--blessing on the voyage, Captain Jack Battle!" "Ah," smiled Jack, "you've been to the wilderness--you understand! Other folks don't! That is the way it happens out there!" He lingered as of old when there was more to come. "Ramsay?" "Sail away, captain!" "Have you seen Hortense?" he asked, looking straight at me. "Um--yes--no--that is--I have and I haven't." "Why haven't you?" "Because having become a grand lady, her ladyship didn't choose to see me." Jack Battle turned on his heel and swore a seaman's oath. "That--that's a lie," said he. "Very well--it's a lie, but this is what happened," and I told him of the scene in the theatre. Jack pulled a puzzled face, looking askance as he listened. "Why didn't you go round to her box, the way M. Radisson did to the king's?" "You forget I am only a trader!" "Pah," says Jack, "that is nothing!" "You forget that Lieutenant Blood might have objected to my visit," and I told him of Blood. "But how was Mistress Hortense to know that?" Wounded pride hugs its misery, and I answered nothing. At the door he stopped. "You go along with Radisson to Oxford," he called. "The court will be there." CHAPTER XXVI AT OXFORD Rioting through London streets or playing second in M. Radisson's games of empire, it was possible to forget her, but not in Oxford with the court retinue all about and the hedgerows abloom and spring-time in the air. M. Radisson had gone to present his reports to the king. With a vague belief that chance might work some miracle, I accompanied M. Radisson till we encountered the first belaced fellow of the King's Guard. 'Twas outside the porter's lodge of the grand house where the king had been pleased to breakfast that morning. "And what might this young man want?" demanded the fellow, with lordly belligerence, letting M. Radisson pass without question. Your colonial hero will face the desperate chance of death; but not the smug arrogance of a beliveried flunkey. "Wait here," says M. Radisson to me, forgetful of Hortense now that his own end was won. And I struck through the copse-wood, telling myself that chance makes grim sport. Ah, well, the toughening of the wilderness is not to be undone by fickle fingers, however dainty, nor a strong life blown out by a girl's caprice! Riders went clanking past. I did not turn. Let those that honoured dishonour doff hats to that company of loose women and dissolute men! Hortense was welcome to the womanish men and the mannish women, to her dandified lieutenant and foreign adventuresses and grand ambassadors, who bought English honour with the smiles of evil women. Coming to a high stone wall, I saw two riders galloping across the open field for the copse wood. "A very good place to break foolish necks," thought I; for the riders were coming straight towards me, and a deep ditch ran along the other side of the wall. To clear the wall and then the ditch would be easy enough; but to clear the ditch and then the wall required as pretty a piece of foolhardy horsemanship as hunters could find. Out of sheer curiosity to see the end I slackened my walk. A woman in green was leading the pace. The man behind was shouting "Don't try it! Don't try it! Ride round the end! Wait! Wait!" But the woman came on as if her horse had the bit. Then all my mighty, cool stoicism began thumping like a smith's forge. The woman was Hortense, with that daring look on her face I had seen come to it in the north land; and her escort, young Lieutenant Blood, with terror as plainly writ on his fan-shaped elbows and pounding gait as if his horse were galloping to perdition. "Don't jump! Head about, Mistress Hillary!" cried the lieutenant. But Hortense's lips tightened, the rein tightened, there was that lifting bound into air when horse and rider are one--the quick paying-out of the rein--the long, stretching leap--the backward brace--and the wall had been cleared. But Blood's horse balked the jump, nigh sending him head over into the moat, and seizing the bit, carried its cursing rider down the slope of the field. In vain the lieutenant beat it about the head and dug the spurs deep. The beast sidled off each time he headed it up, or plunged at the water's edge till Mistress Hortense cried out: "Oh--please! I cannot see you risk yourself on that beast! Oh--please won't you ride farther down where I can get back!" "Ho--away, then," calls Blood, mighty glad of that way out of his predicament, "but don't try the wall here again, Mistress Hillary! I protest 'tis not safe for you! Ho--away, then! I race you to the end of the wall!" And off he gallops, never looking back, keen to clear the wall and meet my lady half-way up. Hortense sat erect, reining her horse and smiling at me. "And so you would go away without seeing me," she said, "and I must needs ride you down at the risk of the lieutenant's neck." "'Tis the way of the proud with the humble," I laughed back; but the laugh had no mirth. Her face went grave. She sat gazing at me with that straight, honest look of the wilderness which neither lies nor seeks a lie. "Your horse is champing to be off, Hortense!" "Yes--and if you looked you might see that I am keeping him from going off." I smiled at the poor jest as a court conceit. "Or perhaps, if you tried, you might help me to hold him," says Hortense, never taking her search from my face. "And defraud the lieutenant," said I. "Ah!" says Hortense, looking away. "Are you jealous of anything so small?" I took hold of the bit and quieted the horse. Hortense laughed. "Were you so mighty proud the other night that you could not come to see a humble ward of the court?" she asked. "I am only a poor trader now!" "Ah," says Hortense, questioning my face again, "I had thought you were only a poor trader before! Was that the only reason?" "To be sure, Hortense, the lieutenant would not have welcomed me--he might have told his fellow to turn me out and made confusion." And I related M. Radisson's morning encounter with Lieutenant Blood, whereat Mistress Hortense uttered such merry peals of laughter I had thought the chapel-bells were chiming. "Ramsay!" she cried impetuously, "I hate this life--why did you all send me to it?" "Hate it! Why----?" "Why?" reiterated Hortense. "Why, when a king, who is too busy to sign death-reprieves, may spend the night hunting a single moth from room to room of the palace? Why, when ladies of the court dress in men's clothes to run the streets with the Scowerers? Why, when a duchess must take me every morning to a milliner's shop, where she meets her lover, who is a rope-walker? Why, when our sailors starve unpaid and gold enough lies on the basset-table of a Sunday night to feed the army? Ah, yes!" says Hortense, "why do I hate this life? Why must you and Madame Radisson and Lady Kirke all push me here?" "Hortense," I broke in, "you were a ward of the crown! What else was there for us to do?" "Ah, yes!" says Hortense, "what else? You kept your promise, and a ward of the crown must marry whom the king names--" "Marry?" "Or--or go to a nunnery abroad." "A nunnery?" "Ah, yes!" mocks Hortense, "what else is there to do?" And at that comes Blood crashing through the brush. "Here, fellow, hands off that bridle!" "The horse became restless. This gentleman held him for me till you came." "Gad's life!" cries the lieutenant, dismounting. "Let's see?" And he examines the girths with a great show of concern. "A nasty tumble," says he, as if Hortense had been rolled on. "All sound, Mistress Hillary! Egad! You must not ride such a wild beast! I protest, such risks are too desperate!" And he casts up the whites of his eyes at Mistress Hortense, laying his hand on his heart. "When did you feel him getting away from you?" "At the wall," says Hortense. The lieutenant vaulted to his saddle. "Here, fellow!" He had tossed me a gold-piece. They were off. I lifted the coin, balanced it on my thumb, and flipped it ringing against the wall. When I looked up, Hortense was laughing back over her shoulder. On May 17th we sailed from Gravesend in the Happy Return, two ships accompanying us for Hudson Bay, and a convoy of the Royal Marine coming as far as the north of Scotland to stand off Dutch highwaymen and Spanish pirates. But I made the news of Jack Battle's marriage the occasion of a letter to one of the queen's maids of honour. CHAPTER XXVII HOME FROM THE BAY 'Twas as fair sailing under English colours as you could wish till Pierre Radisson had undone all the mischief that he had worked against the Fur Company in Hudson Bay. Pierre Radisson sits with a pipe in his mouth and his long legs stretched clear across the cabin-table, spinning yarns of wild doings in savage lands, and Governor Phipps, of the Hudson's Bay Company, listens with eyes a trifle too sleepily watchful, methinks, for the Frenchman's good. A summer sea kept us course all the way to the northern bay, and sometimes Pierre Radisson would fling out of the cabin, marching up and down the deck muttering, "Pah! Tis tame adventuring! Takes a dish o' spray to salt the freshness out o' men! Tis the roaring forties put nerve in a man's marrow! Soft days are your Delilah's that shave away men's strength! Toughen your fighters, Captain Gazer! Toughen your fighters!" And once, when M. Radisson had passed beyond hearing, the governor turns with a sleepy laugh to the captain. "A pox on the rantipole!" says he. "May the sharks test the nerve of his marrow after he's captured back the forts!" In the bay great ice-drift stopped our way, and Pierre Radisson's impatience took fire. "What a deuce, Captain Gazer!" he cries. "How long do you intend to squat here anchored to an ice-pan?" A spark shot from the governor's sleepy eyes, and Captain Gazer swallowed words twice before he answered. "Till the ice opens a way," says he. "Opens a way!" repeats Radisson. "Man alive, why don't you carve a way?" "Carve a way yourself, Radisson," says the governor contemptuously. That was let enough for Pierre Radisson. He had the sailors lowering jolly-boats in a jiffy; and off seven of us went, round the ice-pans, ploughing, cutting, portaging a way till we had crossed the obstruction and were pulling for the French fort with the spars of three Company boats far in the offing. I detained the English sailors at the river-front till M. Radisson had entered the fort and won young Jean Groseillers to the change of masters. Before the Fur Company's ships came, the English flag was flying above the fort and Fort Bourbon had become Fort Nelson. "I bid you welcome to the French Habitation," bows Radisson, throwing wide the gates to the English governor. "Hm!" returns Phipps, "how many beaver-skins are there in store?" M. Radisson looked at the governor. "You must ask my tradespeople that," he answers; and he stood aside for them all to pass. "Your English mind thinks only of the gain," he said to me. "And your French mind?" I asked. "The game and not the winnings," said he. No sooner were the winnings safe--twenty thousand beaver-skins stowed away in three ships' holds--than Pierre Radisson's foes unmasked. The morning of our departure Governor Phipps marched all our Frenchmen aboard like captives of war. "Sir," expostulated M. de Radisson, "before they gave up the fort I promised these men they should remain in the bay." Governor Phipps's sleepy eyes of a sudden waked wide. "Aye," he taunted, "with Frenchmen holding our fort, a pretty trick you could play us when the fancy took you!" M. Radisson said not a word. He pulled free a gantlet and strode forward, but the doughty governor hastily scuttled down the ship's ladder and put a boat's length of water between him and Pierre Radisson's challenge. The gig-boat pulled away. Our ship had raised anchor. Radisson leaned over the deck-rail and laughed. "Egad, Phipps," he shouted, "a man may not fight cowards, but he can cudgel them! An I have to wait for you on the River Styx, I'll punish you for making me break promise to these good fellows!" "Promise--and when did promise o' yours hold good, Pierre Radisson?" The Frenchman turned with a bitter laugh. "A giant is big enough to be hit--a giant is easy to fight," says he, "but egad, these pigmies crawl all over you and sting to death before they are visible to the naked eye!" And as the Happy Return wore ship for open sea he stood moodily silent with eyes towards the shore where Governor Phipps's gig-boat had moored before Fort Nelson. Then, speaking more to himself than to Jean and me, his lips curled with a hard scorn. "The Happy Return!" says he. "Pardieu! 'tis a happy return to beat devils and then have all your own little lies come roosting home like imps that filch the victory! They don't trust me because I won by trickery! Egad! is a slaughter better than a game? An a man wins, who a devil gives a rush for the winnings? 'Tis the fight and the game--pah!--not the thing won! Storm and cold, man and beast, powers o' darkness and devil, knaves and fools and his own sins--aye, that's the scratch!--The man and the beast and the dark and the devil, he can breast 'em all with a bold front! But knaves and fools and his own sins, pah!--death grubs!--hatching and nesting in a man's bosom till they wake to sting him! Flesh-worms--vampires--blood-suckers--spun out o' a man's own tissue to sap his life!" He rapped his pistol impatiently against the deck-rail, stalked past us, then turned. "Lads," says he, "if you don't want gall in your wine and a grub in your victory, a' God's name keep your own counsel and play the game fair and square and aboveboard." And though his speech worked a pretty enough havoc with fine-spun rhetoric to raise the wig off a pedant's head, Jean and I thought we read some sense in his mixed metaphors. On all that voyage home he never once crossed words with the English officers, but took his share of hardship with the French prisoners. "I mayn't go back to France. They think they have me cornered and in their power," he would say, gnawing at his finger-ends and gazing into space. Once, after long reverie, he sprang up from a gun-waist where he had been sitting and uttered a scornful laugh. "Cornered? Hah! We shall see! I snap my fingers in their faces." Thereafter his mood brightened perceptibly, and he was the first to put foot ashore when we came to anchor in British port. There were yet four hours before the post-chaise left for London, and the English crew made the most of the time by flocking to the ale-houses. M. Radisson drew Jean and me apart. "We'll beat our detractors yet," he said. "If news of this capture be carried to the king and the Duke of York[1] before the shareholders spread false reports, we are safe. If His Royal Highness favour us, the Company must fall in line or lose their charter!" And he bade us hire three of the fleetest saddle-horses to be found. While the English crew were yet brawling in the taverns, we were to horse and away. Our horse's feet rang on the cobblestones with the echo of steel and the sparks flashed from M. Radisson's eyes. A wharfmaster rushed into mid-road to stop us, but M. Radisson rode him down. A uniformed constable called out to know what we were about. "Our business!" shouts M. Radisson, and we are off. Country franklins got their wains out of our way with mighty confusion, and coaches drew aside for us to pass, and roadside brats scampered off with a scream of freebooters; but M. Radisson only laughed. "This is living," said he. "Give your nag rein, Jean! Whip and spur! Ramsay! Whip and spur! Nothing's won but at cost of a sting! Throw off those jack-boots, Jean! They're a handicap! Loose your holsters, lad! An any highwaymen come at us to-day I'll send him a short way to a place where he'll stay! Whip up! Whip up!" "What have you under your arm?" cries Jean breathlessly. "Rare furs for the king," calls Radisson. Then the wind is in our hair, and thatched cots race off in a blur on either side; plodding workmen stand to stare and are gone; open fields give place to forest, forest to village, village to bare heath; and still we race on. * * * * * * Midnight found us pounding through the dark of London streets for Cheapside, where lived Mr. Young, a director of the Hudson's Bay Company, who was favourable to Pierre Radisson. "Halloo! Halloo!" shouts Radisson, beating his pistol-butt on the door. A candle and a nightcap emerge from the upper window. "Who's there?" demands a voice. "It's Radisson, Mr. Young!" "Radisson! In the name o' the fiends--where from?" "Oh, we've just run across the way from Hudson Bay!" says Radisson. And the good man presently appears at the door with a candle in one hand and a bludgeon in the other. "In the name o' the fiends, when did you arrive, man?" exclaims Mr. Young, hailing us inside. "Two minutes ago by the clock," laughs Radisson, looking at the timepiece in the hall. "Two minutes and a half ago," says he, following our host to the library. "How many beaver-skins?" asks the Englishman, setting down his candle. The Frenchman smiles. "Twenty thousand beaver--skins and as many more of other sorts!" The Englishman sits down to pencil out how much that will total at ten shillings each; and Pierre Radisson winks at us. "The winnings again," says he. "Twenty thousand pounds!" cries our host, springing up. "Aye," says Pierre Radisson, "twenty thousand pounds' worth o' fur without a pound of shot or the trade of a nail-head for them. The French had these furs in store ready for us!" Mr. Young lifts his candle so that the light falls on Radisson's bronzed face. He stands staring as if to make sure we are no wraiths. "Twenty thousand pounds," says he, slowly extending his right hand to Pierre Radisson. "Radisson, man, welcome!" The Frenchman bows with an ironical laugh. "Twenty thousand pounds' worth o' welcome, sir!" But the director of the Fur Company rambles on unheeding. "These be great news for the king and His Royal Highness," says he. "Aye, and as I have some rare furs for them both, why not let us bear the news to them ourselves?" asks Radisson. "That you shall," cries Mr. Young; and he led us up-stairs, where we might refresh ourselves for the honour of presentation to His Majesty next day. [1] The Duke of York became Governor of the Hudson's Bay Company after Prince Rupert's death, and the Company's charter was a royal favour direct from the king. CHAPTER XXVIII REBECCA AND I FALL OUT M. Radisson had carried his rare furs to the king, and I was at Sir John Kirke's door to report the return of her husband to Madame Radisson. The same grand personage with sleek jowls and padded calves opened the door in the gingerly fashion of his office. This time he ushered me quick enough into the dark reception-room. As I entered, two figures jumped from the shadow of a tapestried alcove with gasps of fright. "Ramsay!" It was Rebecca, the prim monkey, blushing a deal more than her innocence warranted, with a solemn-countenanced gentleman of the cloth scowling from behind. "When--when--did you come?" she asked, all in a pretty flutter that set her dimples atrembling; and she forgot to give me welcome. "Now--exactly on the minute!" "Why--why--didn't you give us warning?" stammered Rebecca, putting out one shy hand. At that I laughed outright; but it was as much the fashion for gentlemen of the cloth to affect a mighty solemnity in those days as it was for the laity to let out an oath at every other word, and the young divine only frowned sourly at my levity. "If--if--if you'd only given us warning," interrupts Rebecca. "Faith, Rebecca, an you talk of warning, I'll begin to think you needed it----" "To give you welcome," explains Rebecca. Then recovering herself, she begs, with a pretty bobbing courtesy, to make me known to the Reverend Adam Kittridge. The Reverend Kittridge shakes hands with an air as he would sound my doctrine on the spot, and Rebecca hastens to add that I am "a very--_old--old_ friend." "Not so _very_ old, Rebecca, not so very long ago since you and I read over the same lesson-books. Do you mind the copy-heads on the writing-books? "'_Heaven to find. The Bible mind. In Adam's fall we sinn'ed all. Adam lived a lonely life until he got himself a wife._'" But at that last, which was not to be found among the head-lines of Boston's old copy-books, little Rebecca looked like to drop, and with a frightened gesture begged us to be seated, which we all accomplished with a perceptible stiffening of the young gentleman's joints. "Is M. Radisson back?" she asks. "He reached England yesterday. He bade me say that he will be here after he meets the shareholders. He goes to present furs to the king this morning." "That will please Lady Kirke," says the young gentleman. "Some one else is back in England," exclaims Rebecca, with the air of news. "Ben Gillam is here." "O-ho! Has he seen the Company?" "He and Governor Brigdar have been among M. Radisson's enemies. Young Captain Gillam says there's a sailor-lad working on the docks here can give evidence against M. Radisson." "Can you guess who that sailor-lad is, Rebecca?" "It is not--no--it is not Jack?" she asks. "Jack it is, Rebecca. That reminds me, Jack sent a message to you!" "A message to me?" "Yes--you know he's married--he married last year when he was in the north." "Married?" cries Rebecca, throwing up her hands and like to faint from surprise. "Married in the north? Why--who--who married him, Ramsay?" "A woman, of course!" "But--" Rebecca was blushing furiously, "but--I mean--was there a chaplain? Had you a preacher? And--and was not Mistress Hortense the only woman----?" "No--child--there were thousands of women--native women----" "Squaws!" exclaims the prim little Puritan maid, with a red spot burning on each cheek. "Do you mean that Jack Battle has married a squaw?" and she rose indignantly. "No--I mean a woman! Now, Rebecca, will you sit down till I tell you all about it?" "Sir," interjects the young gentleman of the cloth, "I protest there are things that a maid ought not to hear!" "Then, sir, have a care that you say none of them under cloak of religion! _Honi soit qui mal y pense_! The mind that thinketh no evil taketh no evil." Then I turned to Rebecca, standing with a startled look in her eyes. "Rebecca, Madame Radisson has told you how Jack was left to be tortured by the Indians?" "Hortense has told me." "And how he risked his life to save an Indian girl's life?" "Yes," says Rebecca, with downcast lids. "That Indian girl came and untied Jack's bonds the night of the massacre. They escaped together. When he went snow-blind, Mizza hunted and snared for him and kept him. Her people were all dead; she could not go back to her tribe--if Jack had left her in the north, the hostiles would have killed her. Jack brought her home with him----" "He ought to have put her in a house of correction," snapped Rebecca. "Rebecca! Why would he put her in a house of correction? What had she done that she ought not to have done? She had saved his life. He had saved hers, and he married her." "There was no minister," said Rebecca, with a tightening of her childish dimpled mouth and a reddening of her cheeks and a little indignant toss of the chin. "Rebecca! How could they get a minister a thousand leagues away from any church? They will get one now----" Rebecca rose stiffly, her little lily face all aflame. "My father saith much evil cometh of this--it is sin--he ought not to have married her; and--and--it is very wrong of you to be telling me this--" she stammered angrily, with her little hands clasped tight across the white stomacher. "Very unfit," comes from that young gentleman of the cloth. We were all three standing, and I make no doubt my own face went as red as theirs, for the taunt bit home. That inference of evil where no evil was, made an angrier man than was my wont. The two moved towards the door. I put myself across their way. "Rebecca, you do yourself wrong! You are measuring other people's deeds with too short a yardstick, little woman, and the wrong is in your own mind, not theirs." "I--I--don't know what you mean!" cried Rebecca obstinately, with a break in her voice that ought to have warned; but her next words provoked afresh. "It was wicked!--it was sinful!"--with an angry stamp--"it was shameful of Jack Battle to marry an Indian girl----" There I cut in. "Was it?" I asked. "Young woman, let me tell you a bald truth! When a white man marries an Indian, the union is as honourable as your own would be. It is when the white man does _not_ marry the Indian that there is shame; and the shame is to the white man, not the Indian----!" Sure, one might let an innocent bundle of swans' down and baby cheeks have its foibles without laying rough hands upon them! The next,--little Rebecca cries out that I've insulted her, is in floods of tears, and marches off on the young gentleman's arm. Comes a clatter of slippered heels on the hall floor and in bustles my Lady Kirke, bejewelled and befrilled and beflounced till I had thought no mortal might bend in such massive casings of starch. "La," she pants, "good lack!--Wellaway! My fine savage! Welladay! What a pretty mischief have you been working? Proposals are amaking at the foot of the stairs. O--lud! The preacher was akissing that little Puritan maid as I came by! Good lack, what will Sir John say?" And my lady laughs and laughs till I look to see the tears stain the rouge of her cheeks. "O-lud," she laughs, "I'm like to die! He tried to kiss the baggage! And the little saint jumps back so quick that he hit her ear by mistake! La," she laughs, "I'm like to die!" I'd a mind to tell her ladyship that a loosening of her stays might prolong life, but I didn't. Instead, I delivered the message from Pierre Radisson and took myself off a mighty mad man; for youth can be angry, indeed. And the cause of the anger was the same as fretteth the Old World and New to-day. Rebecca was measuring Jack by old standards. I was measuring Rebecca by new standards. And the measuring of the old by the new and the new by the old teareth love to tatters. Pierre Radisson I met at the entrance to the Fur Company's offices in Broad Street. His steps were of one on steel springs and his eyes afire with victory. "We've beaten them," he muttered to me. "His Majesty favours us! His Majesty accepted the furs and would have us at Whitehall to-morrow night to give account of our doings. An they try to trick me out of reward I'll have them to the foot o' the throne!" But of Pierre Radisson's intrigue against his detractors I was not thinking at all. "Were the courtiers about?" I asked. "Egad! yes; Palmer and Buckingham and Ashley leering at Her Grace of Portsmouth, with Cleveland looking daggers at the new favourite, and the French ambassador shaking his sides with laughter to see the women at battle. His Royal Highness, the Duke of York, got us access to present the furs. Egad, Ramsay, I am a rough man, but it seemed prodigious strange to see a king giving audience in the apartments of the French woman, and great men leering for a smile from that huzzy! The king lolls on a Persian couch with a litter of spaniel puppies on one side and the French woman on the other. And what do you think that black-eyed jade asks when I present the furs and tell of our captured Frenchmen? To have her own countrymen sold to the Barbadoes so that she may have the money for her gaming-table! Egad, I spiked that pretty plan by saying the Frenchmen were sending her a present of furs, too! To-morrow night we go to Whitehall to entertain His Majesty with our doings! We need not fear enemies in the Company now!" "I'm not so sure of that," said I. "The Gillams have been working against you here, and so has Brigdar." "Hah--let them work!" "Did you see _her_?" I asked. "_Her_?" questions Radisson absently. "Pardieu, there are so many _hers_ about the court now with no she-saint among them! Which do you mean?" The naming of Hortense after such speech was impossible. Without more mention of the court, we entered the Company's office, where sat the councillors in session around a long table. No one rose to welcome him who had brought such wealth on the Happy Return; and the reason was not far to seek. The post-chaise had arrived with Pierre Radisson's detractors, and allied with them were the Gillams and Governor Brigdar. Pierre Radisson advanced undaunted and sat down. Black looks greeted his coming, and the deputy-governor, who was taking the Duke of York's place, rose to suggest that "Mr. Brigdar, wrongfully dispossessed of the fort on the bay by one Frenchman known as Radisson, be restored as governor of those parts." A grim smile went from face to face at Pierre Radisson's expense. "Better withdraw, man, better withdraw," whispers Sir John Kirke, his father-in-law. But Radisson only laughs. Then one rises to ask by what authority the Frenchman, Radisson, had gone to report matters to the king instead of leaving that to the shareholders. M. de Radisson utters another loud laugh. Comes a knocking, and there appears at the door Colonel Blood, father of the young lieutenant, with a message from the king. "Gentlemen," announces the freebooter, "His Majesty hath bespoke dinner for the Fur Company at the Lion. His Royal Highness, the Duke of York, hath ordered Madeira for the councillors' refreshment, and now awaits your coming!" For the third time M. Radisson laughs aloud with a triumph of insolence. "Come, gentlemen," says he, "I've countered. Let us be going. His Royal Highness awaits us across the way." Blood stood twirling his mustaches and tapping his sword-handle impatiently. He was as swarth and straight and dauntless as Pierre Radisson, with a sinister daring in his eyes that might have put the seal to any act. "Egad's life!" he exclaimed, "do fur-traders keep royalty awaiting?" And our irate gentleman must needs haste across to the Lion, where awaited the Company Governor, the Duke of York, with all the merry young blades of the court. King Charles's reign was a time of license, you have been told. What that meant you would have known if you had seen the Fur Company at dinner. Blood, Senior, I mind, had a drinking-match against Sir George Jeffreys, the judge; and I risk not my word on how much those two rascals put away. The judge it was who went under mahogany first, though Colonel Blood scarce had wit enough left to count the winnings of his wager. Young Lieutenant Blood stood up on his chair and bawled out some monstrous bad-writ verse to "a fair-dark lady"--whatever that meant--"who was as cold as ice and combustible as gunpowder." Healths were drunk to His Majesty King Charles, to His Royal Highness the Duke of York, to our councillors of the Company, to our governors of the fur-posts, and to the captains. Then the Duke of York himself lifted the cup to Pierre Radisson's honour; whereat the young courtiers raised such a cheering, the grim silence of Pierre Radisson's detractors passed unnoticed. After the Duke of York had withdrawn, our riotous sparks threw off all restraint. On bended knee they drank to that fair evil woman whom King Louis had sent to ensnare King Charles. Odds were offered on how long her power with the king would last. Then followed toasts to a list of second-rate names, dancing girls and French milliners, who kept place of assignation for the dissolute crew, and maids of honour, who were no maids of honour, but adventuresses in the pay of great men to advance their interest with the king, and riffraff women whose names history hath done well to forget. To these toasts Colonel Blood and Pierre Radisson and I sat with inverted glasses. While the inn was ringing to the shouts of the revellers, the freebooter leaned across to Pierre Radisson. "Gad's name if they like you," he mumbled drunkenly. "Who?" asked Radisson. "Fur Company," explained Blood. "They hate you! So they do me! But if the king favours you, they've got to have you," and he laughed to himself. "That's the way with me," he whispered in drunken confidence to M. Radisson. "What a deuce?" he asked, turning drowsily to the table. "What's my boy doing?" Young Lieutenant Blood was to his feet holding a reaming glass high as his head. "Gentlemen, I give you the sweet savage!" he cried, "the Diana of the snows--a thistle like a rose--ice that burns--a pauper that spurns--" "Curse me if he doesn't mean that saucy wench late come from your north fort," interrupted the father. My hands were itching to throw a glass in the face of father or son, but Pierre Radisson restrained me. "More to be done sometimes by doing nothing," he whispered. The young fellows were on their knees draining bumpers; but Colonel Blood was rambling again. "He gives 'em that saucy brat, does he? Gad's me, I'd give her to perdition for twopenny-worth o' rat poison! Look you, Radisson, 'tis what I did once; but she's come back! Curse me, I could 'a' done it neater and cheaper myself--twopenny-worth o' poison would do it, Picot said; but gad's me, I paid him a hundred guineas, and here she's come back again!" "Blood . . . Colonel Blood," M. Picot had repeated at his death. I had sprung up. Again M. Radisson held me back. "How long ago was that, Colonel Blood?" he asked softly. "Come twenty year this day s'ennight," mutters the freebooter. "'Twas before I entered court service. Her father had four o' my fellows gibbeted at Charing Cross, Gad's me, I swore he'd sweat for it! She was Osmond's only child--squalling brat coming with nurse over Hounslow Heath. 'Sdeath--I see it yet! Postillions yelled like stuck pigs, nurses kicked over in coach dead away. When they waked up, curse me, but the French poisoner had the brat! Curse me, I'd done better to finish her myself. Picot ran away and wrote letters--letters--letters, till I had to threaten to slit his throat, 'pon my soul, I had! And now she must marry the boy----" "Why?" put in Radisson, with cold indifference and half-listening air. "Gad's life, can't you see?" asked the knave. "Osmond's dead, the boy's lands are hers--the French doctor may 'a' told somebody," and Colonel Blood of His Majesty's service slid under the table with the judge. M. Radisson rose and led the way out. "You'd like to cudgel him," he said. "Come with me to Whitehall instead!" CHAPTER XXIX THE KING'S PLEASURE My Lady Kirke was all agog. Pierre Radisson was her "dear sweet savage," and "naughty spark," and "bold, bad beau," and "devilish fellow," and "lovely wretch!" "La, Pierre," she cries, with a tap of her fan, "anybody can go to the king's _levee_! But, dear heart!" she trills, with a sidelong ogle. "Ta!--ta! naughty devil!--to think of our sweet savage going to Whitehall of an evening! Lud, Mary, I'll wager you, Her Grace of Portsmouth hath laid eyes on him----" "The Lord forbid!" ejaculates Pierre Radisson. "Hoighty-toighty! Now! there you go, my saucy spark! Good lack! An the king's women laid eyes on any other man, 'twould turn his head and be his fortune! Naughty fellow!" she warns, with a flirt of her fan. "We shall watch you! Ta-ta, don't tell me no! Oh, we know this _gâité de coeur_! You'll presently be _intime_ o' Portsmouth and Cleveland and all o' them!" "Madame," groans Pierre Radisson, "swear, if you will! But as you love me, don't abuse the French tongue!" At which she gave him a slap with her fan. "An I were not so young," she simpers, "I'd cuff your ears, you saucy Pierre!" "So young!" mutters Pierre Radisson, with grim looks at her powdered locks. "Egad's life, so is the bud on a century plant young," and he turns to his wife. But my Lady Kirke was blush-proof. "Don't forget to pay special compliments to the favourites," she calls, as we set out for Whitehall; and she must run to the door in a flutter and ask if Pierre Radisson has any love-verse ready writ, in case of an _amour_ with one of the court ladies. "No," says Radisson, "but here are unpaid tailor bills! 'Tis as good as your _billets-doux_! I'll kiss 'em just as hard!" "So!" cries Lady Kirke, bobbing a courtesy and blowing a kiss from her finger-tips as we rolled away in Sir John's coach. "The old flirt-o'-tail," blurted Radisson, "you could pack her brains in a hazel-nut; but 'twould turn the stomach of a grub!" * * * * * * 'Twas not the Whitehall you know to-day, which is but a remnant of the grand old pile that stretched all the way from the river front to the inner park. Before the fires, Whitehall was a city of palaces reaching far into St. James, with a fleet of royal barges at float below the river stairs. From Scotland Yard to Bridge Street the royal ensign blew to the wind above tower and parapet and battlement. I mind under the archway that spanned little Whitehall Street M. Radisson dismissed our coachman. "How shall we bring up the matter of Hortense?" I asked. "Trust me," said Radisson. "The gods of chance!" "Will you petition the king direct?" "Egad--no! Never petition a selfish man direct, or you'll get a No! Bring him round to the generous, so that he may take all credit for it himself! Do you hold back among the on-lookers till I've told our story o' the north! 'Tis not a state occasion! Egad, there'll be court wenches aplenty ready to take up with a likely looking man! Have a word with Hortense if you can! Let me but get the king's ear--" And Radisson laughed with a confidence, methought, nothing on earth could shake. Then we were passed from the sentinel doing duty at the gate to the king's guards, and from the guards to orderlies, and from orderlies to fellows in royal colours, who led us from an ante-room to that glorious gallery of art where it pleased the king to take his pleasure that night. It was not a state occasion, as Radisson said; but for a moment I think the glitter in which those jaded voluptuaries burned out their moth-lives blinded even the clear vision of Pierre Radisson. The great gallery was thronged with graceful courtiers and stately dowagers and gaily attired page-boys and fair ladies with a beauty of youth on their features and the satiety of age in their look. My Lord Preston, I mind, was costumed in purple velvet with trimming of pearls such as a girl might wear. Young Blood moved from group to group to show his white velvets sparkling with diamonds. One of the Sidneys was there playing at hazard with my Lady Castlemaine for a monstrous pile of gold on the table, which some onlookers whispered made up three thousand guineas. As I watched my lady lost; but in spite of that, she coiled her bare arm around the gold as if to hold the winnings back. "And indeed," I heard her say, with a pout, "I've a mind to prove your love! I've a mind not to pay!" At which young Sidney kisses her finger-tips and bids her pay the debt in favours; for the way to the king was through the influence of Castlemaine or Portsmouth or other of the dissolute crew. Round other tables sat men and women, old and young, playing away estate and fortune and honour at tick-tack or ombre or basset. One noble lord was so old that he could not see to game, and must needs have his valet by to tell him how the dice came up. On the walls hung the works of Vandyke and Correggio and Raphael and Rubens; but the pure faces of art's creation looked down on statesmen bending low to the beck of adventuresses, old men pawning a noble name for the leer of a Portsmouth, and women vying for the glance of a jaded king. At the far end of the apartment was a page-boy dressed as Cupid, singing love-songs. In the group of listeners lolled the languid king. Portsmouth sat near, fanning the passion of a poor young fool, who hung about her like a moth; but Charles was not a lover to be spurred. As Portsmouth played her ruse the more openly a contemptuous smile flitted over the proud, dark face of the king, and he only fondled his lap-dog with indifferent heed for all those flatterers and foot-lickers and curry-favours hovering round royalty. Barillon, the French ambassador, pricked up his ears, I can tell you, when Chaffinch, the king's man, came back with word that His Majesty was ready to hear M. Radisson. "Now, lad, move about and keep your eyes open and your mouth shut!" whispers M. Radisson as he left me. Barillon would have followed to the king's group, but His Majesty looked up with a quiet insolence that sent the ambassador to another circle. Then a page-boy touched my arm. "Master Stanhope?" he questioned. "Yes," said I. "Come this way," and he led to a tapestried corner, where sat the queen and her ladies. Mistress Hortense stood behind the royal chair. Queen Catherine extended her hand for my salute. "Her Majesty is pleased to ask what has become of the sailor-lad and his bride," said Hortense. "Hath the little Puritan helped to get them married right?" asked the queen, with the soft trill of a foreign tongue. "Your Majesty," said I, "the little Puritan holds back." "It is as you thought," said Queen Catherine, looking over her shoulder to Hortense. "Would another bridesmaid do?" asked the queen. Laughing looks passed among the ladies. "If the bridesmaid were Mistress Hillary, Your Majesty," I began. "Hortense hath been to see them." I might have guessed. It was like Hortense to seek the lonely pair. "Here is the king. We must ask his advice," said the queen. At the king's entrance all fell back and I managed to whisper to Hortense what we had learned the night before. "Here are news," smiled His Majesty. "Your maid of the north is Osmond's daughter! The lands young Lieutenant Blood wants are hers!" At that were more looks among the ladies. "And faith, the lieutenant asks for her as well as the lands," said the king. Hortense had turned very white and moved a little forward. "We may not disturb our loyal subject's possession. What does Osmond's daughter say?" questioned the king. Then Hortense took her fate in her hands. "Your Majesty," she said, "if Osmond's daughter did not want the lands, it would not be necessary to disturb the lieutenant." "And who would find a husband for a portionless bride?" asked King Charles. "May it please Your Majesty," began Hortense; but the words trembled unspoken on her lips. There was a flutter among the ladies. The queen turned and rose. A half-startled look of comprehension came to her face. And out stepped Mistress Hortense from the group behind. "Your Majesties," she stammered, "I do not want the lands----" "Nor the lieutenant," laughed the king. "Your Majesties," she said. She could say no more. But with the swift intuition of the lonely woman's loveless heart, Queen Catherine read in my face what a poor trader might not speak. She reached her hand to me, and when I would have saluted it like any dutiful subject, she took my hand in hers and placed Hortense's hand in mine. Then there was a great laughing and hand-shaking and protesting, with the courtiers thronging round. "Ha, Radisson," Barillon was saying, "you not only steal our forts--you must rifle the court and run off with the queen's maid!" "And there will be two marriages at the sailor's wedding," said the queen. It was Hortense's caprice that both marriages be deferred till we reached Boston Town, where she must needs seek out the old Puritan divine whom I had helped to escape so many years ago. Before I lay down my pen, I would that I could leave with you a picture of M. Radisson, the indomitable, the victorious, the dauntless, living in opulence and peace! But my last memory of him, as our ship sheered away for Boston Town, is of a grave man standing on the quay denouncing princes' promises and gazing into space. M. Radisson lived to serve the Fur Company for many a year as history tells; but his service was as the flight of a great eagle, harried by a multitude of meaner birds. 
14261	----	ALTON OF SOMASCO A Romance of the Great Northwest By HAROLD BINDLOSS Author of "Winston of the Prairie," "The Dust of Conflict," "The Cattle Baron's Daughter," "The Young Traders," etc. With Illustrations By R. MARTINE REAY A. L. BURT COMPANY, PUBLISHERS NEW YORK COPYRIGHT, 1905 BY FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY This Edition Issued in March, 1906. CONTENTS CHAP. I THE FIRST ENCOUNTER II AT TOWNSHEAD'S RANCH III HARRY THE TEAMSTER IV HALLAM OF THE TYEE V THE HEIR OF CARNABY VI MISS DERINGHAM MAKES FRIENDS VII ALTON BLUNDERS VIII HALLAM'S CONFEDERATE IX MISS DERINGHAM FEELS SLIGHTED X THE UNDELIVERED MESSAGE XI CONFIDENCE MISPLACED XII IN VANCOUVER XIII THE SOMASCO CONSOLIDATED XIV THE COMPACT XV ON THE TRAIL XVI CAUSE FOR ANXIETY XVII ALONE XVIII IN THE WILDERNESS XIX FOUL PLAY XX THE NICKED BULLET XXI OKANAGAN'S ROAD XXII MISS DERINGHAM DECIDES XXIII THE AWAKENING XXIV HALLAM TRIES AGAIN XXV ALTON IS SILENT XXVI WITHOUT COUNTING THE COST XXVII THE FORCE OF CALUMNY XXVIII ALTON FINDS A WAY XXIX THE PRICE OF DELAY XXX SEAFORTH'S REINSTATEMENT XXXI "THE THIRD TIME" XXXII ALTON HOLDS HIS HAND XXXIII MISS DERINGHAM'S CONFESSION XXXIV THE CONSUMMATION ALTON OF SOMASCO CHAPTER I THE FIRST ENCOUNTER It was snowing slowly and persistently, as it had done all day, when Henry Alton of Somasco ranch stood struggling with a half-tamed Cayuse pony in a British Columbian settlement. The Cayuse had laid its ears back, and was describing a circle round him, scattering mud and snow, while the man who gripped the bridle in a lean, brown hand watched it without impatience, admiringly. "Game!" he said. "I like them that way. Still, it isn't every man could seize a pack on him, and you'll have to let up three dollars on the price you asked me." Now three dollars is a considerable proportion of the value of an Indian pony fresh from the northern grass lands, with the devil that lurks in most of his race still unsubdued within him, but the rancher who owned him did not immediately reject the offer. Possibly he was not especially anxious to keep the beast. "Oh, yes," said a bystander. "He's game enough, and I'd ask the boys to my funeral if I meant to drive him at night over the lake trail. After being most kicked into wood-pulp Carter hasn't any more use for him, and I'll lay you a dollar, Alton, you and your partner can't put the pack on him." Perhaps the Cayuse was tired, or desirous of watching for an opportunity, for it came to a standstill, snorting, with its wicked eyes upon the man, who laughed a little and shoved back the broad hat from his forehead as he straightened himself. The laugh rang pleasantly, and the faint twinkle in Alton's eyes was in keeping with it. They were grey, and steady when the light sank out of them, and the rest of the bronzed face was shrewd and quietly masterful. He wore a deerskin jacket fancifully embroidered, blue canvas overalls, and gum boots to the knee, while, though all of them needed repair, the attire was picturesque, and showed its wearer's lean symmetry. The man's age was apparently twenty-five, and eight years' use of the axe had set a stamp of springy suppleness upon him. He had also wrested rather more than a livelihood from the Canadian forest during them. All round him the loghouses rose in all their unadorned dinginess beneath the sombre pines, and the largest of them bore a straggling legend announcing that it was Horton's store and hotel. A mixed company of bush ranchers, free prospectors, axemen, and miners lounged outside it in picturesque disarray, and high above rose a dim white line of never-melting snow. "Well," said Alton, "it's time this circus was over, anyway, and if Carter will take my bid I'll clinch that deal with you. Have the pack and seizings handy, Charley." The rancher nodded, and Alton got a tighter grip on the bridle. Then the Cayuse rose upright with fore-hoofs lifted, and the man's arm was drawn back to strike. The hoofs came down harmlessly, but the fist got home, and for a moment or two there was a swaying and plunging of man and beast amidst the hurled-up snow. Then the Cayuse was borne backwards until the vicinity of the hotel verandah left no room for kicking, and another man hastily flung a rope round the bundles he piled upon its back. He was also tolerably capable, and in another minute the struggle was over. The Cayuse's attitude expressed indignant astonishment, while Alton stood up breathless, with his knuckles bleeding. "I'll trouble you for that dollar, and I'll keep him now," he said. "Can you wait until I come down next week, Carter?" "Oh, yes," said the rancher. "Your promise is good enough for a year or two." The speaker was a sinewy bushman in curiously patched overalls with a bronzed and honest face, and he turned aside with a little gesture of dislike, when a man of a very different stamp pushed by him. The latter wore a black felt hat and a great fur-lined coat, while his face was pale and fleshy and his eyes were cunning. His appearance suggested prosperity and a life of indulgence in the cities, and when he stopped in front of Alton the latter would have lost little by any comparison between the pair. The pose of his sinewy figure and the clear brownness of his skin spoke of arduous labour, sound sleep, and the vigour that comes from a healthful occupation. The steady directness of his gaze and quiet immobility of his face also conveyed an indefinite suggestion of power and endurance, and there was a curious grace in his movements when he turned courteously towards the stranger. "You soon fixed him, packer," said the city man. Alton laughed. "The boys mostly call me rancher," said he. "Still, it don't count for much, and I do some packing occasionally." "That's all right," said the stranger sharply, for there was something in Alton's answer which made him inclined to assert his dignity. "Everybody seems to be a rancher hereaway, and you mayn't be too proud to put through a job for me." Alton nodded, and glanced at the speaker questioningly. "No. If it would fit in," he said. "I'm Hallam," said the other man. "Hallam and Vose, of the Tyee mineral claim. They've been fooling things up yonder, big pump's given out, and I've a few hundred pounds of engine fixings back at the railroad I want brought in by to-morrow." Alton glanced at the pack-beasts waiting unloaded outside the store, and shook his head. "I'm sorry I can't trade with you," he said. "You see, I've promised another man to pack up some stores for him." Hallam made a gesture of impatience. "Then you can let him wait," he said. "This deal will pay you better. You can put your own price on it." Alton's eyelids came down a little, and the stranger seemed to find his glance disconcerting. "You don't seem to understand. I promised the other man to bring up his things," he said. "Well," said Hallam, "come along into the shanty yonder, and have a drink with me. We may fix up some way of getting over the difficulty." "Sorry!" said Alton with a suspicious quietness. "I don't drink much, anyway, and then only with the boys who know me." "Hey!" said Hallam. "You are talking like a condemned Englishman." "I can't help that," said Alton. "I am a Canadian, but if you want another reason, it wouldn't suit me to drink with you, anyway. You see, you didn't do the square thing with one or two friends of mine who worked on the Tyee." He turned on his heel, and Hallam, who was a man of some importance in the cities, gasped with astonishment and indignation. "What is that fellow?" he said. The man laughed, and answered him in the bushman's slowest drawl. "You don't know much, or you wouldn't ask," said he. "He's Alton of Somasco, but if he lives long enough he will be one of the biggest men in this country." Hallam said nothing, but there was a curious look in his face which puzzled the rancher. It suggested that he had heard of Alton, and something more. Meanwhile Alton entered the store, where the man who kept it pointed to a litter of packages strewn about the floor and sundry bags upon the counter. "That's Townshead's lot, and those are Thomson's things," he said, and turned aside to listen to a rancher who came in smiling. Alton took up a big cotton bag marked Townshead, tossed it aloft and caught it, and then shook his head dubiously. "That's rather too light for ten pounds. You want to try her on the scales again," he said. The storekeeper, who was also a magistrate, grinned good-humouredly. "It's good enough for the money, anyway," said he. "But what's the matter with the Tyee dollars, Harry, that you wouldn't do Hallam's packing?" Alton glanced at him gravely. "I think not," said he. "Put another pound or two into her, and I'll pay you on your invoice for the last lot you sent me. Otherwise I'm going to whittle down that bill considerably. You see Townshead is too shaky to come down, and he can't live on nothing." "And the Lord knows when he'll pay you," said the storekeeper. "It's a good twelve months since he sent a dollar to me." Alton laughed a little. "I can wait," he said. "Fill that bag up again. Get hold of the truck, Charley." Charles Seaforth, who was apparently younger, and certainly a trifle more fastidious about his attire than his comrade, shouldered a flour bag, and twenty minutes later he and Alton tramped out of the settlement with three loaded beasts splashing and floundering in front of them. It was almost dark now, though a line of snow still glimmered white and cold high up beyond the trees until the trail plunged into the blackness of the forest. Then the lights of the settlement were blotted out behind them, the hum of voices ceased, and they were alone in the primeval silence of the bush. The thud and splash of tired hoofs only served to emphasize it, the thin jingle of steel or creak of pack-rope was swallowed up and lost, for the great dim forest seemed to mock at anything man could do to disturb its pristine serenity. It had shrouded all that valley, where no biting gale ever blew, from the beginning, majestic in its solitary grandeur and eternally green. Pine and hemlock, balsam and cedar, had followed in due succession others that had grown to the fulness of their stature only in centuries, and their healing essence, which brings sound sleep to man's jaded body and tranquillity to his mind, had doubtless risen like incense when all was made very good. Now Alton loved the wilderness, partly because he had been born in it, and because he had a large share of the spirit of his race. He had also seen the cities, and they did not greatly please him, though he had watched their inhabitants curiously and been taught a good deal about them by what he read in books, which to the wonder of his associates he would spend hardly-earned dollars upon. It was more curious that he understood all he read, and sometimes more than the writer apparently did, for Alton was not only the son of a clever man, but had seen Nature in her primitive nakedness and the human passions that usually lie beneath the surface, for man reverts a little and the veneer of his civilization wears through in the silent bush. Thus he plodded on contentedly on his twelve-mile march, with the snow and the mire beneath it reaching now and then to his knee, until his companion stopped beside a little bark shanty and lighted a lantern. "Thomson's dumping-place already," he said, pulling a burst cotton bag out of the sack of sundries upon the Cayuse pony's back. "Some of it has got out, and Jimmy was always particular about the weight of his sugar. Well, the rest of it must be in the bottom somewhere, and if you'll hold the sack up I'll shake it into my hat." Alton's hat was capacious, and he had worn it during the two years which had elapsed since his last visit to Vancouver, but it did not seem to occur to him that it was in any way an unusual receptacle for sugar. His companion, however, laughed a little as he stirred the sticky mass round with his wet fingers. "There is no use giving him our tobacco and matches in," said he. "Here are the letters Mrs. Neilson gave me at the post-office, too." Alton took the letters, and his face grew a trifle grim under the flickering light of the lantern as he thrust them crumpled into his pocket. "From England, and they will keep," he said. "There's nobody I'm anxious to hear from in that country. Now we'll go on again, Charley." The Cayuse, however, objected, and there was a struggle before Alton convinced it that resistance would be useless, while presently the trail grew steeper and the roar of water came out of the darkness before them. "This," said Alton gravely, "is a great country, but it's mighty unfinished yet, and it kind of hurts me to see all that power wasted." "Wasted?" said Seaforth, smiling. "Don't the salmon swim in it, and the bear and deer come down to drink?" "Oh, yes," said Alton. "And sometimes the Siwash wash themselves in it too, but that's not the question. This earth wasn't made for the bear and deer, and they've thousands of poor folks they can't find a use for back there in the old country. Isn't that so, Charley?" Seaforth, who was a young Englishman of good upbringing, laughed. "I have no reason for doubting it," said he. "In any case, none of my worthy relations had any use for me. Still, I don't see the connection exactly." "No?" said Alton. "Well, it's simple. We have the gold and silver, and the coal and iron, too, while it don't strike one that these forests were put here just to look pretty." "The metals you allude to take some trouble in getting out," said Seaforth dryly. Alton nodded. "Of course," he said. "That's what man got his brains for, and the one difference between a white man and a Siwash is that he's always striking for something better." Seaforth laughed. "You are trying to get at something, as usual," said he. "Yes," said Alton gravely. "I generally am. Well, I can see what we don't want of these forests sailing sawn up to China, and this river sprinkled with sawmills and wood-pulp factories. Then I can hear the big dynamoes humming, and the thump of the mine stamps run with the current the men who put them down will get for nothing. What we're wasting round Somasco is going to feed ten thousand people by and by." "It's a big idea," said Seaforth reflectively. "Still, I don't know that if it were ever put through the place would look any prettier--and the question is, who's going to set the whole thing running?" "God knows," said Alton gravely. "But somebody will, and if I live long enough I'll make a shot at it. Oh, yes, it's very pretty as it is, but the greatest thing in this world is man, and it was made as it is for him to master." "You have curious notions for a Canadian bush rancher," said Seaforth. "You are, however, really an Englishman, aren't you?" "No," said Alton grimly. "My father used to be, but he was too much of my way of thinking and they fired him out of the country. It's a thing I don't like to talk of, Charley, and just now I'm a low-down packer hauling in a pile of truck I'll never get paid for. Steady, come up. There's nothing going to hurt you, Julius Caesar." The snarling and spitting of a panther came out of the darkness, and it was only by main force Alton dragged the Cayuse past. Then he laughed a little. "It's a pity we didn't bring a rifle along," he said. "Panthers must have been made for something, or they wouldn't be here, but it's a beast a white man has no kind of use for." It was an hour later, and snowing fast, when they climbed out of the valley and floundered over shale and slippery rock amidst scattered pines to the forking of the trail. One arm of it dipped again, and wound through a deep sheltered hollow to the Somasco ranch, the other ran straight along the hillside to Townshead's dwelling. The hillside was also steep, the beasts were tired, and the trail was very bad. Seaforth glanced at his comrade when they stopped a moment, and saw him dimly, tugging at the Cayuse's bridle, through the snow. "It's a long way to Townshead's. Still, I think we can make it out," he said. Alton laughed. "We have got to. There's not generally too much to eat at that house, and they'll want the things," he said. There was another struggle with the Cayuse, which appeared reluctant to face a treacherous ascent whose slope was somewhat steeper than the pitch of an average roof, but once more Alton conquered, and they dragged the beasts up, and then floundered on doggedly beside them, seeing nothing but a dim pine or two through the snow. Now and then there was a rattle and a rush beneath them, followed by a faint splash, and Seaforth shivered a little, knowing that the shingle they dislodged had plunged into a lonely lake lying far below. Still Alton said nothing, but floundered on, apparently as cheerfully as though he would be well paid for the risk he ran, until he crawled down into the sliding whiteness, when a hide strip burst and some of Townshead's packages were scattered about the face of a precipitous declivity. Seaforth held his breath a moment as, gripping the bridle of a trembling beast, he watched him until the dim moving figure sank into the snow. He could hear the wash of the unfrozen lake, and knew there was no foothold on the slippery rock which sloped almost sheer to it through the darkness close beneath. Then a voice came up, "Wasn't there a dry goods package of some kind, Charley?" "There was," shouted Seaforth. "But come up with what you've got, and leave it." A faint laugh answered him, and through the moaning of the pines he caught the words, "If it's not over the edge here, I'm going to get the thing." Seaforth said nothing further. He knew his comrade too well, and could picture him clinging by hand and heel as he crawled along the brink of the declivity with the lake below, and gasped from relief when once more a dim whitened object lurched up out of the snow. "Got them all," said Alton cheerfully. "That last one was just on the edge, and it took some thinking before I could get at it. Still, I guessed it was some kind of dress stuff for the girl, and if we lost it it might be a long while before she got another." They relashed the packages and went on again, floundering through steadily deepening snow, until once more the roar of water met them as they dipped into a hollow. It grew louder rapidly, and presently Alton pulled the Cayuse up on the brink of a river. It came down frothing out of a haze of sliding snow, tumbling with a hoarse growl about the great dim boulders, whirled and tossed in a white confusion down the wild race of a rapid, and was lost again. How far the other bank was there was nothing to show, for even the scattered pines behind the men were hidden now, and Seaforth stared at the tumult of froth before him very dubiously. "She's pretty full to-night," he said. "It has got to be attempted, but I'm not quite sure how we're going through." Alton laughed a little, and brought his hand down on the Cayuse pony's flank. "Well, if you'll come along behind me you will see," said he. Seaforth was waist-deep next minute, and the water was horribly cold. Then he was washed against a boulder, and fancied that one of the pack-beasts kicked him in its floundering. In any case one knee seemed to grow suddenly useless, but he was not very sure of anything just then, for a burst of spray filled his eyes, and the bottom appeared to slip from under him. He found foothold again in a moment or two, and dimly saw Alton's head and shoulders above the back of a plunging beast, while another was apparently swimming somewhere between them. Then the one Seaforth led stumbled, and they went away down stream together, clawing for a foothold with the shingle slipping under them, until there was a thud as they brought up against another boulder. As he was not sensible of any especially painful blow Seaforth decided that it was the pony which had struck the rock, and had just come to this decision when his feet were swept from under him, and, still clinging to the bridle, he was pressed against the stone while the river frothed and roared about him. Once more he felt that it was horribly cold, and flung a wet arm about the rock, but the power seemed to go out of him, and he wondered vacantly whether the pony would be able to extricate itself and him. It floundered spasmodically for a while, and then lay still. How long this continued Seaforth did not know, but it was more than twelve hours since he had left Somasco, and he had plodded up and down steep hillsides, over rock and boulder, and through deep mire and snow, most of the time, while there are limits to the domination the will of any man may exercise over his worn-out body. Seaforth had commenced to realize, still with a curious absence of concern which was possibly the result of cold and fatigue, that as the pony could not help him it might be too late very soon unless he made a vigorous effort to help himself, when he heard a shout, and something came slowly through the sliding whiteness in his direction. Then there was another shout, and when somebody dragged the pony clear of the boulder he held on by the bridle and went floundering waist-deep up stream. The water, however, now sank rapidly, and soon he was clear of it to the knee. Then there was a clatter of hoofs on slippery rock, and he lurched dripping and gasping into the partial shelter of the pines. Somebody smote him on the shoulder, and he heard Alton's voice, "Get hold and hustle. We'll fetch Townshead's in an hour or so." CHAPTER II AT TOWNSHEAD'S RANCH It was chilly and damp in the log-walled living-room of the Townshead homestead, which stood far up in a lonely valley amidst the scattered pines. The room was also bare and somewhat comfortless, for the land was too poor to furnish its possessor with more than necessities, and Townshead not the man to improve it much. He lay in an old leather chair beside the stove, a slender, grey-haired man with the worn look of one whose burden had been too heavy for him. His face was thin and somewhat haggard, his long, slender hand rather that of an artist than a bush rancher, and his threadbare attire was curiously neat. He wore among other somewhat unusual things an old red velvet jacket, and there was a little cup of black coffee and a single cigar of exceptional quality on the table beside him. Townshead was, in fact, somewhat of an anachronism in a country whose inhabitants exhibit at least a trace of primitive and wholesome barbarity. One could have fancied him at home among men of leisure and cultivated tastes, but he seemed out of place in a log-built ranch in the snow-wrapped wilderness swept by the bitter wind. Perhaps he realized it, for his voice was querulous as he said, "I wonder if you have forgotten, Nellie, that we were sitting warm and safe in England five years ago tonight." Nellie Townshead looked up quickly over her sewing from the other side of the stove, and for a moment there was something akin to pain in her eyes. They were clear brown eyes, and it was characteristic that they almost immediately brightened into a smile, for while the girl's face resembled her father's in its refinement, there was courage in it in place of weariness. "I am afraid I do, though I try not to, and am generally able," she said. Townshead sighed. "The young are fortunate, for they can forget," he said. "Even that small compensation is, however, denied to me, while the man I called my friend is living in luxury on what was yours and mine. Had it been any one but Charters I might have borne it better, but it was the one man I had faith in who sent us out here to penury." Townshead was wrong in one respect, for it was the weakness of an over-sensitive temperament which, while friends were ready to help him, had driven him to hide himself in Western Canada when, as the result of unwise speculations, financial disaster overtook him. His daughter, however, did not remind him of this, as some daughters would have done, though she understood it well enough, and a memory out of keeping with the patter of the snow and moaning of the wind rose up before her as she looked into the twinkling stove. She could recall that night five years ago very well, for she had spent most of it amidst lights and music, as fresh and bright herself as the flowers that nestled against her first ball dress. It was a night of triumph and revelation, in which she had first felt the full power of her beauty and her sex, and she had returned with the glamour of it all upon her to find her father sitting with his head in his hands at a table littered with business papers. His face had frightened her, and it had never wholly lost the look she saw upon it then, for Townshead was lacking in fibre, and had found that a fondness for horses and some experience of amateur cattle-breeding on a small and expensive scale was a very poor preparation for the grim reality of ranching in Western Canada. Presently his daughter brushed the memories from her, and stood, smiling at the man, straight and willowy in her faded cotton dress with a partly finished garment in her hands, which frost and sun had not wholly turned rough and red. "Your coffee will be getting cold. Shall I put it on the stove?" she said. Townshead made a little grimace. "One may as well describe things correctly, and that is chickory," he said. "Still, you may warm it if it pleases you, but I might point out that, indifferent as it is, preserved milk which has gone musty does not improve its flavour." The girl laughed a little, though there was something more pathetic than heartsome in her merriment. "I am afraid we shall have none to-morrow unless Mr. Seaforth gets through," she said. "I suppose you have not a few dollars you could give me, father?" "No," said Townshead, with somewhat unusual decisiveness; "I have not. You are always asking for dollars. What do you want them for?" "Mr. Seaforth has packed our stores in for a long while, and we have paid him nothing," said the girl, while a little colour crept into her face. Townshead made a gesture of weariness. "The young man seems willing to do it out of friendship for us, and I see no reason why we should not allow him, unless he presumes upon the trifling service," he said. "To do him justice, however, he and his comrade have always shown commendable taste." The girl smiled a little, for considering their relative positions in a country where a man takes his station according to his usefulness the word "presume" appeared incongruous. "Still, I should prefer not to be in their debt," she said. "Then we will free ourselves of the obligation with the next remittance Jack sends in," said Townshead impatiently. The girl's face grew troubled. "I am afraid that will not be for some little time," she said. "Poor Jack. You surely remember he is lying ill?" "It is especially inconvenient just now," said Townshead querulously. "It has also been a sore point with me that a son of mine should hire himself out as a labourer. I am sorry I let him go, the more so because the work upon the ranch is getting too much for me." Nellie Townshead said nothing, though she sighed as she pictured the young lad, who had been stricken by rheumatic fever as a result of toiling waist-deep in icy, water, lying uncared for in the mining camp amidst the snows of Caribou. She did not, however, remind her father that it was she who had in the meanwhile done most of the indispensable work upon the ranch, and Townshead would not in any case have believed her, for he had a fine capacity for deceiving himself. In place of it she spread out some masculine garments about the stove and coloured a trifle when her father glanced at her inquiringly. "The creek must be running high and Mr. Alton and his partner will be very wet," she said. "I am warming a few of Jack's old things for them. They cannot go back to Somasco to-night, you know." "I confess that it did not occur to me," said Townshead languidly. "No, I suppose one could scarcely expect them to, and we shall have to endure their company." A faint sparkle that had nothing to do with laughter crept into the girl's eyes, for there were times when her father tried her patience. "I wonder if it occurred to you that we shall probably starve to-morrow unless Mr. Alton, who is apparently not to be paid for it, makes what must be a very arduous march to-night?" she said. "I'm afraid it did not," said Townshead, with a fine unconcern. "I think you understand, my dear, that I leave the commissariat to you, and you have a way of putting things which jars upon one occasionally." A little trace of colour crept into the girl's cheek, but it faded again as she sat down beside the stove. Still, now and then she pricked her fingers with the needle, which she had not done before, and finally laid down the fabric and laughed softly. "There is," she said, "something distinctly humorous in the whole position." "You," said her father, "had always a somewhat peculiar sense of humour." "Well," said his daughter with a slight quiver of her lips, "I feel that I must either cry or laugh to-night. Do you know there is scarcely enough for breakfast in the house, and that I am dreadfully hungry now?" Townshead glanced at her reproachfully. "Either one or the other would be equally distasteful to me," he said. The girl sighed, and turned away to thrust a few small billets into the stove. She chose them carefully, for the big box whose ugliness she had hidden by a strip of cheap printed cotton was almost empty. The hired man, seeing no prospect of receiving his wages, had departed after a stormy interview, and shortly after his son followed him. Townshead discovered that sawing wood was especially unsuited to his constitution. Then the girl increased the draught a little and endeavoured to repress a shiver. The house was damp for want of proper packing, and the cold wind that came down from the high peaks moaned about it eerily. It was also very lonely, and the girl, who was young, felt a great longing for human fellowship. Her father presently took up a book, and there was silence only broken by the rattle of loose shingles overhead and the soft thud against the windows of driving snow, while the girl sat dreaming over her sewing of the brighter days in far-off England which had slipped away from her for ever. Five years was not a very long time, but during it her English friends had forgotten her, and one who had scarcely left her side that memorable night had, though she read of the doings of his regiment now and then, sent her no word or token. A little flush crept into her cheek as, remembering certain words of his, she glanced at her reddened wrists and little toil-hardened hands. She who had been a high-spirited girl with the world at her feet then, was now one of the obscure toilers whose work was never done. Still, because it was only on rare occasions that work left her leisure to think about herself, it had not occurred to her that she had lost but little by the change. The hands that had once been soft and white were now firm and brown, the stillness of the great firs and cedars had given her a calm tranquillity in place of restless haste, and frost and sun the clear, warm-tinted complexion, while a look of strength and patience had replaced the laughter in her hazel eyes. Suddenly, however, there was a trampling in the snow and a sound of voices, followed after, an interval by a knocking at the door. It swung open, and two whitened objects loaded with bags and packages strode into the room. The blast that came in with them set the lamp flickering, and sent a chill through the girl, but she rose with a smile when rancher Alton stood, a shapeless figure, with the moisture on his bronzed face, beside the stove. "Take those things through into the kitchen, Charley," he said. "I think we've got them all, Miss Townshead. I hope, sir, you are feeling pretty well." Townshead made some answer with a slight bend of his head, but Alton appeared a trifle dubious when the girl offered him hospitality. "I'm afraid the beasts are used up, or I wouldn't think of it," he said. Nellie Townshead's eyes twinkled as she glanced at him. "Could you not have put it in another way?" she said. Alton laughed, and brushed his fingers across the top of the stove. "Well, it doesn't sound quite right, but after all the meaning's the great thing," he said. "This place isn't warm enough for you, Miss Nellie." He turned and walked to the wood-box, and after glancing into it carefully straightened out its covering. Then he strode towards the door, and stopped a moment before he opened it. "Excuse!" he said simply. "No, don't you worry; I know just where the saw and lantern are, and Charley, who comes from the old country, can talk to you for me." He went out in another moment, but the fact that he was very weary did not escape the attention of the girl, who also noticed the absence of any unnecessary questions or explanations. Alton was, she knew already, one who did things the better because he did them silently. Still, it was Seaforth whom, when nobody observed her, her eyes rested most upon. It was half an hour before the former returned with a load of scented firewood upon his back, and, saying nothing, filled the box with it, packing each piece where it best fitted deliberately but swiftly; then he passed through the room into an adjoining one, and returned attired picturesquely in Jack Townshead's overalls, which were distinctly too small for him. By this time supper was ready, and Seaforth, also dressed in borrowed garments, seated at the table, but though Miss Townshead had not lost the stamp of refinement she brought with her from England. and her father was dignified and precise, Alton showed no embarrassment. He also listened patiently to Townshead's views on ranching and the mining prospects of that region, though he was already looked up to as a master of the former industry, and contrived meanwhile that the girl made a good meal instead of attending to him. When it was finished he unfolded a carefully wrapped up packet, and took an envelope out of it, though Miss Townshead noticed that several others he laid down were crumpled and wet. "Here is a letter for you," he said. He glanced at the girl questioningly as she took it up, and fingered one of the envelopes upon the table. "Excuse?" he said. Nellie Townshead smiled and nodded, and then, knowing that the communication handed her was of no importance, watched him covertly as he tore open a long blue envelope. There were documents inside it, and the man's fingers shook a little as he spread out one of them. Then bewildered astonishment crept into his eyes, and was replaced by a flash of something very like anger, after which his face grew suddenly impassive, and he thrust the documents all together into his pocket. "Get up, Charley, and bring the tray along," he said. Miss Townshead glanced at him sharply. "What do you wish to do?" she said. "Wash up," said Alton simply. "I don't know how you fix these things in England, but this is a good Canadian custom. Stir around, Charley." "But," said the girl, "you don't know where the things are." "Well," said Alton, smiling, "I figure I can find them." He laid the cups and dishes on the tray, gave it to Seaforth, and disappeared down a passage carrying the kettle, but not before Miss Townshead had noticed that while his comrade, who had apparently been used to the smoother side of life in England, displayed some awkwardness, everything the big rancher did seemed appropriate, and, because removing plates is not a man's task, she wondered at it. They came back presently, and by that time the girl, who had opened some of the packages, held a roll of fabric upon her knee. "If you can find a splash anywhere I'll forfeit a dollar. Charley's good at mopping up," said Alton gravely. "I'm afraid that stuff's a little wet, but it was the Cayuse's fault. He started in kicking and burst the rope, you see." "It would have been wetter if it had gone into the lake," said Seaforth. "The lake?" said the girl. Seaforth nodded. "Yes," he said. "It was on the Tyee trail the pony commenced kicking." The girl looked up sharply, and there was a subdued brightness in her eyes, for she had more than once shivered when leading her horse along that perilous trail. Alton felt for his comrade's leg under the table and kicked it grievously. "There wasn't any trouble, and the snow was soft," said he. "You're going to make a dress of that stuff, Miss Nellie?" "Yes," said the girl. "I could, however, wish the stuff was better." Alton smiled gravely. "Of course!" he said. "Still, it don't count for much. You would look like a picture in anything." Nellie Townshead glanced at him sharply, and for a moment there was a faint sparkle in her eyes, for she had a trace of temper. "Whatever made you say that?" said she. Alton laughed. "I really don't quite know. I just felt I had to," he said with a naive simplicity. "I wouldn't have done it if I had thought it would vex you." After this he listened while his comrade talked--and Seaforth on occasion could talk gracefully--until at last he said, "England's not so very big, Miss Nellie. I wonder if you know a place called Carnaby." "Yes," said the girl. "I once went to see rather a fine old hall there." "Carnaby Grange?" said Alton quietly. "Yes," said the girl with a trace of curiosity. "We spent some little time in the grounds. They lie deep in the woods, and there is a famous rose garden." "Yes," said Alton. "All kinds of roses. And the old place? Tell me about it!" "Is very picturesque," said the girl. "It looked quiet and grey, and almost stately under its ivy that autumn day, but I could scarcely describe it you. You have nothing like it in Canada." "No," said Alton gravely. "I have seen nothing like it in Canada. But wasn't there a lake?" The girl glanced at him curiously. "There was," she said. "I remember it lay shining before us between the woods. It was very beautiful, quieter and calmer than our lakes in Canada." A slight flush crept through the bronze in Alton's face, which grew a trifle grim, and a light into his eyes. "There is a lake at Somasco where you can see the white peaks lie shining, and the big Wapiti come down to drink," he said. "There are cedars and redwoods about it which except for a few in California, haven't their equal in the world, but there's nothing about that lake or valley that's quiet or calm. It's wild and great and grand. No. They've nothing of that kind in the old country. Are not Abana and Pharfar better than all the waters of Israel?" "Apposite!" said Townshead. "You apparently read the Scriptures?" "Sometimes," said Alton simply. "They get hold of me. Those old fellows went right down to the bed rock of human nature back there in Palestine, and it strikes me there's no great difference in that between now and then." "When," said Townshead smiling, "I was a King in Babylon." "No," said Alton reflectively. "You're a little late on time. The Christian slave don't quite fit in." Townshead glanced at him sharply, and said nothing, for the rancher had once or twice already somewhat astonished him. "Well," said Alton, "tell me, Miss Nellie, were the lilies where the ashes hung over the lake? I want to know all about Carnaby." The girl seemed somewhat thoughtful, and a trifle astonished, but she made the best use of her memory, and Alton listened gravely. "Yes," he said. "I seem to see it. The rose garden on the south side, the big lawn, and the lake. There's a little stream on the opposite side of it that comes down through the fern from the big beech wood." "But," said the girl, "how could you know that?" "I think I must have dreamt it," said Alton gravely. "Or perhaps my father told me. He used to talk of Carnaby, and I feel I know it well." The girl stared at him in her wonder. "But what is Carnaby to you?" she said. Alton rose up, and stood still a moment, somewhat grim in face. "It should have been my father's, and now when I don't know that I want it, I think it's mine," he said. "Anyway, I'm kind of tired, and I think I'll turn in. Excuse me." He went out, and Nellie Townshead glanced at his comrade. "Do you know what he means?" she said. Seaforth smiled and shook his head. "I've never seen Harry taken that way before," he said. "Still, we'll hope he'll be better to-morrow. He has been through a good deal to-day." Miss Townshead did not appear contented, but she changed the topic. "Then what did you mean when you spoke about the dress packet?" "I'll tell you," said Seaforth, "if you don't tell Harry. Well, when the packet slipped down to the edge of the big drop I'm not sure that the price of two ranches would have induced most men to follow it." "But why did Mr. Alton go?" said the girl, with an expression which was not quite the one the man had expected to see in her face. Seaforth smiled. "He may have fancied you wanted it. Anyway, Harry is a little obstinate occasionally, and when a thing looks difficult he can't resist attempting it. In the language of my adopted country that's the kind of man he is. Now I think I had better go after him, because I fancy he wants soothing after that last speech of his." CHAPTER III HARRY THE TEAMSTER The sun was on the hill slopes, and there was a dazzling glare of snow, when Miss Alice Deringham stood with her travelling dress fluttering about her on the platform of the observation car as the Pacific express went thundering down a valley of British Columbia. The dress, which was somewhat dusty, had cost her father a good deal of money, and the hat that was sprinkled with cinders had come from Paris; while the artistic simplicity of both had excited the envy of the two Winnipeg ladies who, having failed to make friends with Miss Deringham during the journey, now sat watching her disapprovingly in a corner of the car. The girl was of a type as yet not common in Western Canada, reserved, quietly imperious, and annoyingly free from any manifestation of enthusiasm. She had also listened languidly to their most racy stories with a somewhat tired look in her eyes. They were, however, fine eyes of a violet blue, and gold hair with a warmer tinge in it clustered about the broad white forehead, while the rest of the girl's face was refined in its modelling, if a trifle cold in expression and colouring. Miss Deringham was also tall, and as she stood with one little hand on the rail and the other on the brim of the hat the wind would have torn away from her, her pose displayed a daintily-proportioned figure. The girl was, however, as oblivious of her companions as she was of the dust, and her eyes were at last keen with wonder. She had seen nothing which resembled the panorama that unrolled itself before her as the great mountain locomotives sped on through the primeval wilderness, and the wild beauty of it left a deeper mark on her because her Canadian journey had been more or less a disappointment. Alice Deringham had tasted of the best that England had to offer in the shape of sport and scenery, art and music, and had grown a little tired of it all; while, when her father had announced his intention of crossing the Canadian Dominion, partly on an affair of business and partly for the benefit of his health, she had gladly accompanied him in the hope of seeing something new. Deringham was a promoter and director of English companies, but his daughter having the fine disdain for anything connected with finance which occasionally characterizes those who have never felt the lack of money, asked him a few questions concerning one object of his journey. She only knew that the Carnaby estate, which would in the usual course have reverted to her, had been unexpectedly willed to the son of a man its late owner had disinherited, on conditions. The man, it appeared, was dead, and Deringham desired to see whether any understanding or compromise could be arrived at with the one son he had left behind in Western Canada. To become the mistress of Carnaby Hall would have pleased Alice Deringham, but, as she had already realized there was no great hope of that, she had prepared to enjoy her Canadian journey. It had, however, fallen short of her expectations. Ontario reminded her of southern Scotland, and there was nothing to impress one who had seen the Highlands when the cars ran into the confusion of rock and forest, lake and river, along the Superior shore. Winnipeg in no way appealed to her, and she grew weary as they swept out past straggling wooden towns into the grass lands of the West. The towns rose stark from the prairie in unsoftened ugliness, and there was nothing to stir the imagination in the great waste of sun-bleached grass. Day by day, while the dust whirled by them, and the gaunt telegraph posts came up out of the far horizon and sank into the east, they raced across the wide levels. The red dawns burned behind them, the sunsets flamed ahead, and still there was only dust and grass, chequered here and there with bands of stubble, while driving grit and ugliness were the salient features of the little stations they stopped at. Miss Deringham had read enough to learn that pistol and bandolier had long gone out of fashion in Western Canada, where, indeed, they had rarely formed a necessary portion of the plainsman's attire, but she had expected a little vivid colour and dash of romance. The stock-riders she saw at the station were, however, for the most part dress in faded jean, and many of them appeared to speak excellent English, while the wheat-growers rode soberly in dusty and dilapidated wagons. Still the romance was there, though in place of the swashbuckling cavalier she found only quiet, slowly-spoken men, with patience most plainly stamped upon their sun-darkened faces. Their hands were hard with the grip of the bridle and plough-stilt in place of the rifle, and the struggle they waged was a slow and grim one against frost and drought and adverse seasons. There was, however, a transformation when she awoke one morning and found the Rockies had been left behind, and they were roaring down through the passes of British Columbia. This was a new, and apparently unfinished, world, a land of tremendous mountains, leagues of forests, such as her imagination had never pictured, and untrodden heights of never-melting snow. Glacier, blue lake, river droning through shadowy canons, rushed by, and the glamour of it crept into the heart of the girl, until as they swept down into the valley with a river two thousand feet below, she felt she was at last in touch with something strange and new. Presently the hoot of the whistle came ringing up the pass, wheels screamed discordantly, and the pines below flitted towards them a trifle more slowly. Then, as they swung rocking round the face of a crag and a cluster of wooden buildings rose to view, Deringham came out upon the platform. He was a tall, slightly-built man, with a pallid face and keen but slightly shifty eyes, and bore the unmistakable stamp of the Englishman. "That must be our alighting-place, and I am not sure how we are to get on," he said. "It is, I understand, a long way to Somasco, and when we get there I really do not know whether we shall find any accommodation suitable for you. It might have been better if you had gone on to our friends, the Fords, at Vancouver." Alice Deringham laughed a little. "I don't think you need worry. Mr. Alton will, no doubt, take us in," she said. "A little primitive barbarity would not be unpleasant as a novelty." A trace of something very like anger crept into Deringham's eyes. It was not very perceptible, for he seldom showed much of what he felt, but his daughter noticed it. "It is somewhat unfortunate that we shall probably have to avail ourselves of the young man's hospitality," he said. "You understand, my dear, that he is a kinsman of your own, and, unless he can be persuaded to relinquish his claim, the owner of Carnaby. Still, I have hopes of coming to terms with him. The charges upon the land are very burdensome." Alice Deringham's face grew a trifle scornful. "You will do your best," she said. "The thought of one of these half-civilized axemen living at Carnaby is almost distressful to me. In fact, I feel a curious dislike to the man even before I have seen him." There was another hoot of the whistle, a little station grew larger down the track, and here and there a wooden house peeped out amidst the slowly-flitting trees. Then the cars stopped with a jerk, and Miss Deringham stepped down from the platform. Her first glance showed her long ranks of climbing pines, with a great white peak silhouetted hard and sharp above them against the blue. Then she became conscious of the silver mist streaming ethereally athwart the sombre verdure from the river hollow, and that a new and pungent smell cut through the odours of dust and creosote which reeked along the track. It came from a cord of cedar-wood piled up close by, and she found it curiously refreshing. The drowsy roar of the river mingled with the panting of the locomotive pump, but there was a singular absence of life and movement in the station until the door of the baggage-car slid open, and her father sprang aside as her trunks were shot out on to the platform. A bag or two of something followed them, the great engines panted, and the dusty cars went on again, while it dawned upon Alice Deringham that her last hold upon civilization had gone, and she was left to her own resources in a new and somewhat barbarous land. There were no obsequious porters to collect her baggage, which lay where it had alighted with one trunk gaping open, while a couple of men in blue shirts and soil-stained jeans leaned upon the neighbouring fence watching her with mild curiosity. Her father addressed another one somewhat differently attired who stood in the door of the office. "There is a hotel here, but they couldn't take you in," said the man. "Party of timber-right prospectors came along, and they're kind of frolicsome. They might find you a berth on the verandah, but I don't know that it would suit the lady. It mixes things up considerable when you bring a woman." Deringham glanced at his daughter, and the girl laughed. "Then is there any means of getting on to Cedar Valley?" she said. The man slowly shook his head. "You might walk, but it's close on forty miles," he said. "Stage goes out on Saturday." Deringham made a gesture of resignation. "I never walked forty miles at once in my life," he said. "Can you suggest anything at all? We cannot well live here on the platform until Saturday." "No," said the man gravely. "I don't figure I could let you. Well, now I wonder if Harry could find room for you." He shouted, and a man who was carrying a flour-bag turned his head and then went on again until he hove his load into a two-horse wagon, while Miss Deringham noticed that although the bag was stamped 140 lbs. the man trotted lightly across the metals and ballast with it upon his shoulders. Then he came in their direction, and she glanced at him with some curiosity as he stood a trifle breathless before them. He wore a blue shirt burst open at the neck which showed his full red throat, and somewhat ragged overalls. The brown hair beneath his broad felt hat was whitened with flour, and his bronzed face was red with the dust. Still he stood very straight, and it was a good face, with broad forehead and long, straight nose, while the effect of the solid jaw was mitigated by something in the shape of the mobile lips. The grey eyes were keen and steady until a sympathetic twinkle crept into them, and Miss Deringham felt that the man understood her position. "Well," he said. "What's the difficulty?" The station agent explained laconically, and the stranger gravely took off his battered hat. "My wagon's pretty full, but I can take you through," he said. "It would be a favour," said Deringham, taking out a roll of bills. "I should, of course, be glad to recompense you for your trouble." For a moment the man's eyes closed a trifle, then he laughed, and Miss Deringham noticed that there was nothing dissonant in his merriment. "Well," he said lightly, "there will be plenty time to talk of that. These are your things, miss?" The girl nodded, and wondered when, heaving up the biggest trunk as though it weighed nothing at all, he laid it carefully in the wagon, because she remembered having to fee two hotel porters lavishly for handling it in Liverpool. He stopped, however, and glanced at the second one with a faint trace of embarrassment. It had burst open, and several folds of filmy fabric projected. "My hands are floury. You might be able to shut it up," he said. Miss Deringham stooped over the box that he might not see her face. It was merely the skirt of an evening dress which had displayed itself, but she had guessed what the man was thinking, and remembering his excuse was not displeased with him. When the box was in the wagon she took out a dollar, and then for no special reason put it back again. The man was a bush teamster, but she did not feel equal to offering him a piece of silver. She swung herself up into the wagon with her foot in his hand, and wondered whether it could be by intent that he stood bare-headed while she did it. Then her father climbed in, and the man at the station laughed as he said, "What's the odds, Harry, you don't spill the whole freight on the dip to the ford?" The teamster, who made no answer, shook the reins, and they went lurching over a horrible trail down the valley, while Miss Deringham delightedly breathed in the scent of the cedars and felt the lash of snow-chilled wind bring the blood to her face. She, however, wished that the bundle of straw which served as seat would not move about so much, and fancied her father would have been more comfortable had he not been menaced by a jolting piece of machinery. Their progress was rudely interrupted presently, for the teamster standing upright reined the horses in on their haunches, and the girl saw a line of loaded ponies straggling up the winding trail. One of the men who plodded behind them glanced at the driver of the wagon with an ironical grin, and Miss Deringham saw a warmer colour creep into the sun-darkened cheek. This was, she fancied, a man with a temper. "Now," he said, and then stopped suddenly. The other man's grin became more pronounced. "You can start in," he said. "We're not bashful." The teamster said nothing, but a faint twinkle replaced the anger in his eye, when as they started again Miss Deringham glanced at him questioningly. "That," he said, "wasn't quite fair to me. They knew I couldn't talk back, you see." Miss Deringham laughed, and when an hour or two later he pulled the horses up beside a lake and made one or two alterations to enhance her comfort, glanced at him again. "Did you come out here from England?" said she. The man's face grew a trifle grim. "No," he said gravely. "Whatever could have made you think that of me?" There were reasons why the girl could not explain, and the man stretched out an arm with a little proud gesture that became him curiously. "I am a Canadian first and last," said he. "Isn't this country good enough for anybody?" Miss Deringham was forced to admit that it apparently was. A blue lake gleaming steely blue in the sunlight stretched away before them between the towering firs, and beyond it lay an entrancing vision of great white peaks. "You do not like England, then?" said she. The teamster smiled a little. "That," he said, "is not a fair question to ask me. You and your father live there, don't you?" Miss Deringham felt that she had trespassed, but was astonished that this teamster should have wit enough to silence her with a compliment. She also decided that he should not have the opportunity again. They went on, winding along steep hillsides, splashing through sparkling rivers, and lurching through the dim shadow of the bush, until when the saffron sunset flamed along the peaks they came to the head of a long declivity. On the one hand the snow towered in awful white purity, on the other scattered firs sloped sharply down into a hollow until they were lost in the fleecy vapours that streamed athwart them. "Sit tight," said the teamster. "It's eight miles to Hobart's ranch, and there's no time to lose if we're going to get in there to-night." He shook the reins, and the girl clutched the side of the wagon as she felt the lash of the wind and noticed how the firs rushed past. It was jolting horribly, and she was relieved when as the trail grew steeper she saw the man tightening his grip on the reins and heard the grating of the brake. It ceased suddenly, one of the horses stumbled, then flung up its head, and they were going down faster than ever, while the man had flung his shoulders back and was dragging at the reins. It dawned upon Miss Deringham that something had gone wrong and the team were running away. There was now only white mist beneath them and the roar of water. Trees came whirling up out of it, rock and bush swept past, while now and then the wheels hung almost over the edge of the declivity, and the girl could look down upon the sombre firs in the haze below. After one glance, however, she felt that it would not be well for her to do so. Suddenly one of the horses stumbled again, and the teamster flung her father the reins. "Get hold," he said. "Line's in the trace-hook." He was over the front of the wagon next moment, and the girl gasped as she saw him crawl out with an arm across the back of one of the galloping horses and his knees on the pole. It looked horribly dangerous, and probably was, for the wagon was lurching furiously down the declivity. Then he leaned out and downwards over the horse, clawing at something desperately, and Miss Deringham would have shut her eyes if she could have done so. In place of it she stared fascinated at the clinging figure while the trees flashed past, until it was evident that the man had accomplished his task. How he got back she did not know, but he was once more on the driving-seat when his voice reached her breathlessly. "Get a good hold. I'm going to put them at the hill when I can," he said. They swept on until the hillside sloped more gently on the one hand, and the teamster flung, himself backwards, dragging at the reins. The wagon, tilting, swung partly round, then there was a horrible lurching, and the lathered beasts were floundering up a slope, smashing down the undergrowth and fern, until the vehicle stopped suddenly with a crash. The man sprang down and Miss Deringham and her father lost no time in following him, while when at last the team stood still trembling, he crawled out from under the wagon and turned to them. "That brake never was much good," he said. "One of the beasts stumbling jerked the line into the hook there, and the fore-wheel beam gave out when we struck the tree. I'm most afraid we'll have to stop right here tonight!" "But that, as you will realize, is quite impossible," said Deringham, glancing towards his daughter. The man nodded. "It looks that way now, but you wait until I've fixed things up," said he. "Then if you feel like walking eight miles I'll go on with you." The girl noticed the swift orderliness of all he did as she watched him take out the horses and tether them, tear down armfuls of cedar-twigs, and then pack them between some flour-bag's and the side of the wagon, over which he stretched a strip of waterproof sheeting. Then he made a fire, disappeared into the mist, and coming back with the kettle, strode into the bush again. In the meanwhile Deringham, looking into the wagon, pointed to the twigs. "Do you think you could sleep there?" he said. The girl glanced at the twigs. They looked soft and springy, and had a pleasant aromatic fragrance, while the covering sheet was thick. "I know I could not walk eight miles," she said. "Where has our accomplished companion gone to?" Deringham laughed. "To look for something for supper in the bush, I believe," he said. "I also fancy if there is anything eatable in the vicinity he will find it." The snows above had lost their brilliancy, and it was dark below, when the teamster returned with several fine trout which he skewered upon a barberry stem. He also brought a deerhide bag from the wagon, and presently announced that supper was ready, while Alice Deringham, who long afterwards remembered that meal, enjoyed it considerably more than she would have believed herself capable of doing a few days earlier. She had travelled far in search of something new, and this was the first time she had tasted the biting green tea with the reek of the smoke about it from a blackened pannikin. Grindstone bread baked in a hole in the ground was also a novelty, and the crumbling flakes of salmon smoked by some Siwash Indian a delicacy, while she wondered if it was only the keen mountain air which made the flesh of the big trout so good, or whether it owed anything to skilful cookery. There was also, by way of background, the glow of the fire flickering athwart the great columnar trunks which ran up into the dimness above her, and the cold glimmer of the snows with a pale star beyond them when the red flame sank, while the hoarse roar of an unseen river emphasized the silence. At first she felt there was something unreal and theatrical about it all. The light that blazed up and died, awful serenity of the snow, and the vast impenetrable shadows filled with profound silence, seemed all part of a fervidly-imagined spectacle; but as the silence deepened and gained upon her the position was reversed, and she seemed to feel that this was the reality, the environment man was created for, and she, wrapped in the tinsel of civilization, out of place in the primeval wilderness. Her father, immaculate as ever in his travelling tweeds, with his lean, pallid face, also jarred upon the picture, and Harry the teamster, bronzed by frost and sun, with the stain of the soil upon him, alone a part of its harmonies. They seemed no longer harsh and barbaric, but vast and subtle, and she felt she must go back to the simplicity she had laid aside before she could grasp their meaning. It was the man who first broke the silence. "I was wondering if you would like a cigar, sir?" he said. Deringham glanced at the Indian-wrought case, which was singularly artistic, somewhat dubiously, but remembering that something was due to their host, drew a cigar out and lighted it. He said nothing for a minute, and then turned to the teamster. "Wherever did you get cigars of that kind from? They are far better than any I could find in Winnipeg," he said. Miss Deringham noticed the man's eyes close a trifle, and fancied that very little would call the steely sparkle she had seen when the pack-ponies blocked the trail into them. "Well," he said quietly, "a friend of mine sent them me, and I believe they came from Cuba. We don't raise cigars of any kind in British Columbia." Miss Deringham saw her father's face, and felt quietly amused. He could, she knew, assume a manner which went far to carry him smoothly through discontented share-holders' meetings, but it seemed that the men who dwelt in the wilderness were at least as exigent as those who dwelt in London. Deringham, however, glanced at the speaker. "The least said is often the soonest mended, but if you think----" he said. The teamster laughed. "It should come from me, but the fact is I was worrying about that wagon and forgot," he said. "Now, if there is anything I can tell you about this country." "I wonder," said Alice Deringham, "whether you know Mr. Alton of Somasco." "Oh, yes," said the man, with a little smile. "You have worked for him possibly?" said the girl. Harry the teamster nodded. "Considerably harder than I ever did for anybody else," he said. The next question required some consideration, and he appeared to ruminate over it. "You mean what kind of man he is?" he said. "Well, he's not very much to look at, and there are a good many things he don't know." "So I should have fancied," said the girl, more to herself than the listener, and wondered whether it was an effect of the firelight or the curious twinkle had once more flashed into his eyes. "You do not seem to like him?" she said. The man looked into the fire. "The trouble is I know how mean he is," he said. "Mean?" said the girl. "That is niggardly?" "No," said Harry; "I don't think he's niggardly. It's another word for low down in this country. You see he has always had to work hard for a living, and never had time to teach himself the nice little ways you folks have in England. He's just a big rough rancher who has fought pretty toughly for his own hand, and that's apt to take the gentleness out of a man, and make him what you would call coarse and brutal." The girl seemed to shiver. "Is there nothing to say on the other side?" she said. "Well," said the teamster reflectively, "I think he means well, and never took more than his right from any man, while there are people who would as soon have his word as its value in dollar bills." "You seem to know him suspiciously well," said Miss Deringham sharply. "I do," said Harry simply, as he stood up. "Anyway, as well as most people. You know where I fixed your bed up, sir, when you want to turn in. There's nothing in this bush, miss, that would hurt you." He stepped back into the shadows, and the camp seemed lonely without him, while as the girl shivered in the cold wind, Deringham glanced at her curiously. "Well?" he said. Then the red crept into his daughter's cheeks and a sparkle Into her eyes. "It will take a very long time to get used to. I could almost hate the man," she said, "It is hard to lose one's inheritance," said Deringham dryly. The flush grew a trifle plainer in his daughter's cheek. "It is not the value of the land," she said. "But think of such a man, a brutal, cattle-driving boor, ruling at Carnaby where my mother lived." "Still," said Deringham, "the value is not inconsiderable, and Carnaby would have been yours some day." The girl made a gesture of impatience. "That is not my complaint," she said. "I could have let it pass without bitterness to an Englishman who would have lived in it in accordance with the traditions of his race, but this man----" "Will no doubt cut down the timber, open the fireclay pits, and desecrate the park with brickworks," he said. "That is, unless he has convivial proclivities, and, finding himself ostracized, fills Carnaby with turf and billiard-room blacklegs." The girl ground her heel viciously into the mould. "Have you any reason for going into these details?" she said. Deringham watched her closely. "I only wished you to understand the position, and to remember that you and I are both to some extent at the mercy of our rancher kinsman," he said. He left her presently to seek the couch the teamster had prepared for him, and Miss Deringham retired to the wagon. She found the bed of cedar-twigs comfortable, but it was some time before she slept and dreamed that a stranger dressed in coarse blue jean was holding high revel in the Carnaby she loved. She was awakened by the howl of a wolf, and lay still shivering, until she saw the tall, dusky figure of the Canadian approach the fire and stand there as if on guard with the red light upon him. Then with a curious sense of security she went to sleep again. CHAPTER IV HALLAM OF THE TYEE The morning was still and warm when the driver of the wagon pulled up his team where four trails met in the shadow of the bush. Miss Deringham had somewhat to her astonishment passed the night very comfortably and enjoyed the breakfast their companion provided. The bracing cold of sunrise, when all the bush was steeped in fragrance and a wonderful freshness came down from the snow, had also brought her a curious exhilaration, as well as a tinge of colour into her cheeks, and now she was sensible of a faint regret and irritation when the man glanced towards her deprecatingly. "It would please me to drive you straight through to the settlement, but there's a load of things I want at Calhoun's up yonder," he said. He pointed to a trail that turned off sharply, and the girl glanced at her father somewhat blankly. "And what are we to do?" said she. "Well," said the man, "you can wait here until Barscombe comes along. He'll be riding in to the settlement presently, and would be glad to take you for a dollar or two." "But we might have to wait a long time," said the girl with a trace of imperiousness. "It would suit us considerably better to go on with you." "Sorry!" said the man gravely. "I can't take you. Calhoun's a busy man, and he'll be waiting up at the ranch for me. I told him I was coming." There was now no doubt about the colour in Miss Deringham's face. Few of her wishes bad been denied her hitherto, and most of the men she had met had been eager to do her bidding, while the scarcely qualified refusal of this one came as a painful astonishment. The fact that she should be left in the lonely forest to avoid keeping some rude rancher waiting was distinctly exasperating. Deringham, however, smiled a little as he took a wallet from his pocket. "I can understand it, because I am also a busy man when I'm at home," he said. "It is a question of the value of your time and Mr. Calhoun's apparently?" Though he possibly did not realize it Deringham's tone was a trifling condescending, and there was something in it which suggested that he believed anything could be bought with money. He was, however, a little astonished when the man regarded him gravely out of eyes that closed a trifle. "That's just where you're wrong," said he. "If I could have taken you on to save the lady waiting it would have pleased me. As it is, I can't, you see." He said nothing more, but dismounting pulled the boxes out of the wagon and laid some travelling wraps upon one of them, while Miss Deringham affected not to see what he was doing. "And how long will it be before Barscombe passes?" said she. "It can't be more than two hours," said the teamster quietly. "All you have to do is to sit there and wait for him." He took off his broad hat when the others alighted, and Miss Deringham noticed there was a trace of courtliness in his simplicity. Then he strode past her father, who was taking something out of his wallet, and swung himself lightly into the wagon. He spoke to the team, there was a creak and rattle, and next moment the vehicle was lurching down the trail. Deringham stood still a moment, his fingers inside the wallet and mild wonder in his eyes, and then smiled a little as his daughter turned towards him. There was a faint pink flush of anger in her cheeks. "The dollar does not appear to retain its usual influence in this part of Canada," he said dryly. "Possibly, however, the man was too embarrassed by your evident displeasure to remember his hire." Miss Deringham saw the twinkle in her father's eyes and laughed a little. "I don't think he was," she said. "Had that been the case one could have forgiven him more easily. Well, I wonder how long Barscombe will keep us waiting." Deringham made a whimsical gesture of resignation. "In the meantime I notice that our late conductor has arranged a comfortable seat for you," he said. The girl sat down, and looked about her. It was very still in the bush, and the sound of running water drifted musically out of the silence. From somewhere in the distance there also came a curious drumming which she did not know then was made by an axe, but it presently ceased, and the song of the river rose alone in long drowsy pulsations. In front of and behind her stretched the rows of serried trunks which had grown to vastness of girth and stateliness with the centuries, and the girl, who was of quick perceptions, felt instinctively the influence of their age and silence. There was, it seemed, something intangible but existent in this still land of shadow which reacted upon her pleasantly after the artificial gaieties and glitter of surface civilization. Her impatience and irritation seemed to melt, and the time slipped by, until she was almost drowsy when with an increasing rattle another wagon came jolting down the trail. Its driver pulled up, and regarded them with placid astonishment, but he was amenable to the influence of Deringham's wallet, and they took their places in the vehicle. There was nothing remarkable about the man, and he ruminated gravely when as they stopped to let the horses drink Deringham asked him a question concerning their late companion. "It might have been Thomson," he said. "A big man, kind of solid and homely?" "No," said Miss Deringham reflectively. "I should scarcely describe him as homely." "Well," said the other, "if you told me the kind of wagon I might guess at him." Deringham described the vehicle as well as he was able, and the stranger nodded. "That's Jimmy Thomson's outfit all right," said he. "What did he charge you?" Miss Dillingham laughed. "It is curious that he charged us nothing," said she. "Well," said the stranger gravely, "that was blame unlike Jimmy. There's only one man in this country would do that kind of thing, and as he hasn't a wagon to fit what you're telling me, it couldn't he him." Miss Deringham had purposed asking who the man in question was, but the driver started his team just then, and an hour later drove them into the sleepy settlement and carried their boxes into Horton's hotel. He gravely invited Deringham to drink with him, and appearing mildly astonished went about his business when the latter declined. Deringham smiled at his daughter. "There are, as one might expect, men of somewhat different type in this country, but I prefer the first one," said he. Miss Deringham also fancied that she did so, though she did not admit it, and that evening was made acquainted with yet another and more different one. Horton as usual served supper at six o'clock, and all his guests were expected to partake of reasty pork, potatoes, flapjacks, green tea and fruits at the same table. To this he made no exception, and would not have done so for the premier, and when a small company of axemen and free prospectors filed in Deringham and his daughter took their places amidst the rest. The room was long and bare, boarded with rough-sawn cedar, and furnished chiefly by the benches that ran down either side of the plain table; but the aromatic smell of the wood was stronger than that of stale tobacco, and the company avoided more than quietly respectful glances at the daintily-dressed Englishwoman. They were quiet men with grave and steady eyes, and though they ate as if feeding was a serious business, and they had no time to waste, there was nothing in their converse that jarred upon the girl. Indeed, she saw one break off in a story whose conclusion she fancied might not have pleased her when a comrade glanced at him deprecatingly. In another ten minutes they filed out again, and Deringham smiled at his daughter. "What do you think of them?" he said. The girl laughed. "Ostriches," she said. "Of course, I guess your thoughts. You were wondering if my kinsman resembles them. How long do we stay here?" Deringham glanced at her covertly, and noticed the faint sparkle in her eyes and the scornful set of her lips. "That depends," he said, "partly upon our kinsman's attitude, for if he offered us hospitality we should probably stay a little. You were also right, my dear, as usual." The girl's pose grew a trifle more rigid, and the fingers of one hand seemed to close vindictively. "It is grotesque--almost horrible, isn't it?" she said. Her father nodded. "It might be," he said. "Still, as you know, the Carnaby affairs are involved, and there is a possibility of contesting his claim under the somewhat extravagant will. It is not altogether improbable that I shall find means of persuading him to stay here with his cows and pigs." Deringham slightly accentuated part of the sentence, and again a faint tinge of colour crept into the face of the girl and vindictiveness into her eyes, for she understood him. The man who had on his deathbed bequeathed Carnaby to his grandson had driven out the young man's father years ago, and approaching dissolution had possibly somewhat clouded his faculties when he made the will. Deringham, who had married into the Alton family, and figured as a legatee, was, with the exception of the disinherited, the nearest of kin, and it had been generally expected that Carnaby would fall to his daughter; but perhaps in an endeavour to treat both sides fairly, its dying owner had, in the face of his lawyer's protests, inserted one clause which, for financial reasons, rendered a second union between the houses of Alton and Deringham distinctly advisable. There was, however, a high spirit in the girl, and she looked at her father steadily. "But you were left the money, or most of it?" she said. "Yes," said Deringham grimly. "I was left the money." The girl asked nothing further, for there was something in the man's face which warned her not to press that subject. She knew that her father had long acted as financial adviser to the late owner of Carnaby, but it was not astonishing that Deringham had not told her he had exceeded the discretion allowed him, and been singularly unfortunate in his speculations. She rose, and a man who like themselves had finished his meal leisurely followed them outside into the verandah. He smiled as he drew out a chair for the girl, and then sat down opposite her father with a card in his hand. "Glad to meet you, Mr. Deringham. I'll introduce myself," said he. Deringham took the card handed him, and glanced with an air of quiet indifference at the stranger, while his daughter looked apparently straight past him towards the climbing pines. Nevertheless, she had seen the man, and was not pleased with him. He had a somewhat fleshy face, beady black eyes with a boldness in them that was more akin to insolence than courage, and a full-lipped, mobile mouth. His dress was correct enough, though he wore a somewhat ample ring with a diamond in it, and his watchchain was too heavy and prominent, but there was a suggestion of coarseness about him. Her father, leaning forward in his chair with an air of languid curiosity, the card in his slender fingers, appeared his antithesis, and yet the girl fancied there was a resemblance in the expression of the two faces. She also felt her dislike for the stranger increased when she saw for the first time the look of greed and cunning in his face reflected in that of her father. She had hitherto only pictured him as a skilful financier, but now she saw qualities she had never suspected in him revealed as by a daring caricature. "Willard Hallam," Deringham read aloud. "Hallam and Vose. Land and mining agents. Advances made on mineral claims." "Yes," said the stranger, smiling. "That's me." Deringham made no comment, but laid the card down beside him. "I wonder," he said indifferently, "how you came to know me." The chilling evenness of his voice seemed to irritate the other man, and Alice Deringham was conscious of a faint amusement as she glanced at them. Deringham in his tweed travelling attire, which, worn with apparent carelessness, seemed to hang with every fold just where it should be, was wholly at his ease, and there was a trace of half-expressed toleration in his thin, finely-cut face, while Hallam appeared to become coarse and embarrassed by comparison. He probably did not feel so, for diffidence of any kind is not common in the West, but he may have realized that in any delicate fencing the advantage would lie with Deringham. Both, producing nothing and living upon the toil of their fellows, played the same game, but, while the stakes and counters are very similar, one played it in Vancouver and the other in London, where a more subtle finesse is demanded from the players. Hallam, however, smiled. "I don't know that you will be pleased when I tell you, but this should explain things," he said. "Of course, since your company took hold out here I have heard of you." Deringham took the Colonial Journal handed him, glanced down a paragraph, and passed it to his daughter. "Your maid!" he said. "I fancied it was a mistake to part with her, my dear. It is evident she has not gone home." Alice Deringham unconsciously drew herself up a trifle, as her eyes ran down the column. It was headed "Another missing heir," and ran: "We are getting used to having our railroad-shovelling and trail-cutting done by scions of the British aristocracy, and seldom ask them what they did in the old country so long as they behave themselves decently in this one. Twice recently, as mentioned in these columns, the successor to an English property of some value was discovered, in the one case peddling oranges, and in the other digging a rancher's ditches, while now we have another instance in the Somasco valley. It appears that long ago there was a family quarrel at Carnaby, England, and though we do not know what it was all about, the owner of what we understand is an encumbered estate turned out his son, who had the good sense to come out to this country, where he did pretty well. He died and left a son, Mr. Henry Alton, well known in the Somasco district, who appears to be a credit to the country which took his father in. The owner of Carnaby dying later, left the ancestral property to him, and, as in this case there does not seem to be a wicked uncle, Mr. Deringham, the next of kin and a distinguished London financier who has, we believe, had some dealings in local mines, has come out to look for him. Mr. Alton of Somasco will probably stop right where he is if he is the sensible man his neighbours seem to think him." "That's correct?" said Hallam, glancing at Deringham. "I knew who you were when I saw you." "Yes," said Deringham. "The taste is questionable, but I can't deny its comparative accuracy." "Then," said Hallam, "Alton stands between you and this Carnaby property?" "I believe so," said Deringham quietly. "It's a big estate?" said Hallam, and Alice Deringham, who knew his capabilities, wondered when her father would effectually silence this presumptuous stranger. In the meanwhile he, however, showed no intention of doing so. "No," he said languidly. "It is a small one, and heavily in debt. I presume you know rancher Alton by the interest you show in him?" "Yes," said Hallam, "and I don't like him." Deringham scarcely glanced at his daughter, but she realized that her presence was not especially desired, and when she rose and went back into the building her father glanced steadily at Hallam. "I wonder why you told me that," he said. Hallam laughed. "Well, I generally talk straight, and I feel like that," he said. "Now, they don't keep anything that doesn't burn a hole in you here, and I've a bottle of English whisky. Don't see any reason why you shouldn't take a drink with me?" "No," said Deringham indifferently. "I am, however, a somewhat abstemious man." Hallam went into the building and returned with a cigar-case and a bottle. The contents of both were good, and Deringham sat languidly glancing over the curling smoke towards the glimmering snow. It towered white and cold against a pale green, shining high above climbing pines and dusky valley, while the fleecy mist crept higher and higher athwart the serried waves of trees that fell to the river hollow. Alice Deringham saw it, and drinking in the wonderful freshness that came down from the peaks and permeated the silence of the valley, realized a little of that great white rampart's awful serenity. She also wondered vacantly what the two men on the verandah were talking about; but in this she was wrong, for Hallam, overcharged with Western vivacity, was talking, and her father waiting quietly. "No," said the former, returning to the subject with an affectation of naive directness. "I don't like Alton, and I figure he don't like me. Nothing wrong with the man that I know of, but I'm not fond of anybody who gets in my way, and Alton of Somasco has taken out timber rights all over the valley where we're running the Tyee. He got in with his claim a day or two ahead of me." "A capable man?" said Deringham quietly. "Oh, yes," said the other. "He's capable, so far as he sees, but the trouble is he doesn't see quite far enough. Now, there's not room enough for two men with notions round about Somasco, and a one-horse rancher can't fight men with money, so Alton's got hold of a good deal bigger contract than he can carry through. Anyway, now I've told you what I think of your relation, you can if you feel like that let right go of me." Deringham smiled a little. "This," he said, "is the best whisky I have tasted in Canada." Hallam laughed. "Well," he said, "I'm glad I met you, especially as you'll no doubt stop here a little, and size up the mineral resources of the country. There's lots of information lying round that should be useful to you. Anyway, you made a big mistake when you took up the Peveril. Dropped a good many dollars that time, didn't you?" Deringham's face grew a trifle grim. "As you probably know just what the mistake cost us there is no use in me denying it," said he. "Well," said Hallam sympathetically, "one can't always come out on top, and if you're stopping down at Vancouver I may be of some use to you, and you to me. If you'll come up to-morrow I'll show you the Tyee, and I've something better still up the valley." "I'm sorry," said Deringham indifferently; "I'm going through to Somasco!" Hallam glanced at him steadily. "Of course you are," said he. "Well, I've told you nothing Alton doesn't know, and I've letters to answer. You'll excuse me?" Deringham rose with him, and strolling along the verandah together they stopped a moment at the door, close by where Alice Deringham sat at an open window. It was growing dark now, but the last of the afterglow was flung down into their faces by the snow, and it seemed to the girl that the resemblance between them had grown stronger. Her father's appeared a trifle less refined in its chiselling than it had been, and there was a look which did not please her in his eyes. It suggested cupidity and cunning in place of intellectuality. "Well," said Hallam, "you'll call on me at Vancouver anyway, and it's possible we may be some use to each other." The hint of a confidence or understanding between them which the man's tone conveyed irritated the girl, but she saw that her father did not resent it. "Yes," he said. "If I think I can benefit by your co-operation in any way I will not fail to let you know." Hallam went in, and Deringham leaned upon the verandah balustrade smoking tranquilly while the shadows that left the rolling mist behind crept higher and higher up the climbing pines until at last they touched and smeared into dimness the ethereal snow. Then the girl rose with a shiver and turned towards her father as Horton lighted the big lantern at the door. Deringham's face was, she fancied, a trifle haggard. "I wonder why you have borne with that man so long," she said. Deringham smiled a little. "There are many kinds of men, and presumably all of them are useful in their place," said he. CHAPTER V THE HEIR OF CARNABY The sun was dipping towards the black ridge of firs on the shoulder of a hill when Deringham and his daughter rode down the winding trail into the Somasco valley. The girl gazed about her with eager curiosity, but the man who rode in silence apparently saw nothing, and it was only when his horse stumbled into a rut that he glanced round for a moment abstractedly. Deringham had much to occupy his mind just then, for while it was generally understood that he had made the journey at a physician's recommendation, he had reasons for choosing British Columbia to recuperate in. He still retained control of the finances of Carnaby with the concurrence of the trustees, who were country gentlemen of no business capacity, and as it suited the family lawyer to remain on good terms with him nothing more than a very perfunctory account of his stewardship had been demanded. The late owner of Carnaby had been a man of simple tastes and unbending pride, who had a faint contempt for his kinsman, and refrained from inquiries respecting finances while there was no stoppage of supplies. There were one or two men who suspected that Deringham had profited by his relative's supineness, but it was only a vague surmise, and they did not know that the legacy bequeathed him had little more than an apparent value. Deringham had been unfortunate in his latest ventures, and could foresee considerable difficulty in extricating himself from a distinctly unpleasant position if the new heir decided to take immediate possession of his property. The latter had, however, shown no great desire to do so, and Deringham had accepted a commission from the trustees to ascertain his intentions. A company of which he was one of the promoters had also invested somewhat unhappily in Western mines, and Deringham, who purposed to see what could be done with the depreciated securities, intended that the expenses of his sojourn in the mountain province should be borne by the shareholders. He had acquired considerable facility in the art of managing them, but the owner of Carnaby was an unknown quantity and Deringham was anxious. Presently his daughter reined in her pony. "Stop a moment, father. That must be the ranch," she said. The man drew bridle, and for a moment forgot his perplexities as he gazed at the scene before him. Far down in the valley lay a still blue lake with a great white peak shining ethereally at its northern end. Dark pines rolled about it, growing smaller and smaller up the hillside until they dwindled with spires clean cut against the azure into a gossamer filigree. Between them and the water stupendous forest shrouded all the valley, save where an oblong of pale verdure ran back from the fringe of boulders and was traversed by the frothing streak of a river whose roar came up hoarsely across the pines in long pulsations. That was all Deringham saw at first sight, but he realized that it was very beautiful, and then commenced to note details with observant eyes. There was a sawmill beside the river, for he could faintly hear a strident scream and see the blue smoke drifting in gauzy wisps across the hill. The square log-house which stood some little distance from the lake looked well built and substantial, and the road that wound through the green oblong had been skilfully laid with rounded strips sawn off the great fir-trunks. Sleek cattle stood apparently ready for dispatch in a corral, the yellowing oats beyond them were railed off by a six-foot fence, and behind the rows of sawn-off stumps which ringed about the clearing great trunks and branches lay piled in the confusion of the slashing. Deringham was not a farmer, but he was a man of affairs, and all he saw spoke to him of prosperity that sprang from strenuous energy and administrative ability. "You are very silent," said his daughter. "What are you thinking?" Deringham laughed a little, somewhat mirthlessly. "It occurs to me that whatever our unknown relative may be he is a good rancher, if this is his handiwork," he said. "Well, we shall see him very shortly." The girl's fingers tightened a little on the switch she held. "We know what we shall find," she said with a gesture of cold disdain. "It would be so much easier if he had only been an educated Englishman!" "Still," said Deringham dryly, "since we are ousted from Carnaby I do not see that it makes any great difference." Miss Deringham's eyes sparkled, and a spot of colour tinged her cheeks. Her mother had been one of the Altons who had long been proud of Carnaby, and the instincts of the landholding race were strong within her. "No?" she said, with a little scornful inflection. "And you could look on while a cattle-driving boor made himself a laughing-stock at Carnaby?" Deringham smiled again. "I am," he said, "inclined to feel sorry for the Canadian, but you will at least be civil to him." Miss Deringham made a little gesture of impatience. "You do not suppose I should be openly resentful?" she said. Her father still appeared ironically amused. "I do not know that it would be necessary, but I fancy the Canadian will have cause to regret he is an Alton," he said. "No doubt it would be some solace to you to make him realize his offences, but I scarcely think it would be advisable." Then they rode down into the valley, through oatfields, and between the tall fir-stumps that rose amidst the fern, under the boughs of an orchard, and up to the square log-house. Nobody came out to receive them, or answered their call, and Deringham, dismounting, helped his daughter down, and tethering the horses passed through the verandah into the house. The long table in the big log-walled room they entered was littered with unwashed plates. Torn over-alls and old knee-boots lay amidst the axes and big saws in one corner, the dust was heavy everywhere, and rifles and salmon-spears hung upon the walls. There was no sign of taste or comfort. Everything suggested grim utility, and the house was very still. The girl, who was tired, sat down with a little gesture of dismay. "This is worse and worse," she said. Deringham, who was fond of his daughter, laid a hand upon her shoulder reassuringly. "You can go on to Vancouver when you wish," said he. "Sit still and rest, while I see if there is anybody about." He strolled round the homestead, and noticed that log barns and stables were all well built, while presently he found a man plucking fowls in a galvanized shed. There was a row of them before him, all without heads, while an ensanguined axe close by indicated the fashion of their execution. He glanced at Deringham a moment, and then fell to work again. "Oh, yes, this is Somasco, and the finest ranch this side of the Fraser," he said. "Can you see Mr. Alton? Well, I figure he's busy, and you had better wait a little. Get hold of this. It's your supper." Deringham recoiled a pace when a somewhat gory fowl struck him on the knee, and then sat down on a pile of cedar-wood staring at the speaker. "I wish to see Mr. Alton as soon as possible," he said. The other man looked up again, and grinned. "You'd better not," said he. "Harry Alton's a bit short in temper when he's busy, and if you're peddling anything it would be better if you saw him after supper. Then if you can't make a deal you can go on to-morrow. There's plenty good straw in the barn." Deringham was not especially flattered at being mistaken for a peddler, nor had the prospect of sleeping on straw any great attraction for him, but he had a sense of humour, and, being desirous of acquiring information, took up the fowl. "Do you put up every stranger who calls here, and give him a fowl for supper? What am I to do with this one?" he said. "Now, where did you come from?" said the other. "That's just what we do. A fowl's not much for a man, anyway, and Harry will eat two of them when he's hungry. What are you going to do with it? Well, you can, pull the feathers off it, and fix it for cooking, unless you like them better with their insides in." Deringham gravely pulled out four or five feathers, and then, finding it more difficult than he had expected, desisted. "Mr. Alton is apparently not married," he said. The man grinned. "No, Harry knows when he's well off, and it would take a woman with a mighty firm grip to manage him," said he. "Still, there's one or two of them quite ready to see what they could make of him, but Mrs. Margery scares them off when they come round bringing him little things, and Harry's a bit pernicketty. His father was a duke or something in the old country." "Mrs. Margery?" said Deringham inquiringly. "Yes," said the other. "She's not here just now, but she keeps the house for him. I help round and do the cooking." Deringham, who could adapt himself to his surroundings, nodded. "That is what you would consider a soft job in this country?" "Well," said the man grimly, as he pointed to the deformation of one lower limb, "I am not fond of it, but it's about all I'm good for now. That's where the axe went in, and anybody but Harry Alton might have fired me. It was my own blame foolishness, too, but when the doctor told him Harry comes to me. 'You needn't worry about one thing, anyway. There'll be a job for you just so long as you're wanting it,'" says he. "He does that kind of thing sometimes?" said Deringham curiously. "No, sir," said the other dryly. "He does it every time, but the devil himself wouldn't squeeze ten cents out of Harry if he didn't want to give it him. But how long are you going to be stripping that fowl?" "As I'm afraid it would take me all night, I would prefer to give you a half-a-dollar to do it for me," said Deringham. The man straightened himself a little, and Deringham received another surprise. "Patent medicines and hair-growers are up?" said he. "I don't quite understand," said Deringham quietly. "No?" said the other. "Well, you will do presently unless you get right out of this shanty. I'm fit to make my wages yet, if I've only got one handy leg, and I can put my mark on any blame peddler who talks that way to me." "I'm sorry," said Deringham gravely. "I have, you see, just come from England, where folks are not always so well paid as you seem to be. I think I will look for Mr. Alton. Can you tell me where he is?" The man, who appeared a trifle mollified, pointed to the bush. "He's yonder, but if he scares you, you needn't blame me," he said. Deringham picked his way amidst the six-foot fir-stumps girdled with tall fern, over a breadth of white ashes and charcoal where the newly-won land lay waiting for the plough, in and out amidst the chaos of trunks that lay piled athwart each other all round the clearing, and stopped close by three men who were making an onslaught on a majestic tree. Its topmost sprays towered two hundred feet above them, and the great trunk ran a stupendous column to the vault of dusky green above. It was, however, the men who most attracted Deringham's attention, and he stood for a moment watching them. Two were poised on narrow boards notched into the tree a man's height from the ground, and one was huge and swarthy, so that the heavy axe he held seemed a toy in his great gnarled hand. The other, whose figure seemed in some respects familiar, stooped a little with the bright axe blade laid flat in one palm as though he were examining it, and Deringham, who could not see his face, turned towards another who sat at the foot of the tree sharpening a big saw. His overalls were in tolerable repair, while from an indefinite something in his face and the way he wore them Deringham set him down as an Englishman. Still, he did not think he was an Alton. "Can you tell me where Mr. Henry Alton is?" he said. The young man nodded. "Harry!" he said. Then the man on the plank above turned round, and Deringham felt inclined to gasp as he stood face to face with the new heir to Carnaby. The man was grimed with dust and ashes. His blue shirt rolled back to the shoulders left uncovered arms that were corded like a smith's, and was rent at the neck so that Deringham could see the finely-arched chest. The overalls, tight-belted round the waist, set off the solidity of his shoulders and the leanness of the flank, while with the first glance at his face Deringham recognized the teamster who had driven them through the bush. He stood poised on the few inches of springy redwood looking down upon him with a grimly humorous twinkle in his eyes, but through the smears of perspiration and the charcoal grime Deringham now recognized the expression of quiet forcefulness and the directness of gaze which was his birthright. "Mr. Henry Alton?" he said. "Yes," said the other quietly. There was a moment's embarrassing silence, for Alton said nothing further, and Deringham gazed at the man he had journeyed three thousand miles to see. "I should like a little talk with you," he said presently. "Can't oblige you," said the other. "I couldn't spare more than a minute now for a railroad director. You can tell me anything you want after supper." Deringham lost a little of his usual serenity. "My business is of some importance," he said. Alton smiled grimly. "I can't help that. So is mine," said he. "A lawyer, by the stamp of you. Well, you're trailing the wrong man, because I don't owe anybody money. We'll put you up to-night, and you can look for him to-morrow." "I have come from Carnaby, England," said Deringham, watching the effect upon the man. "You are, I presume the grandson of its late owner." This shot got home, but the effect was not altogether what Deringham had anticipated, for Alton's big hands tightened on the axe and his face grew very stern. "I'm not proud of the connection, anyway," he said. "Alton of Somasco is good enough for me." "But," said Deringham quietly, "I have come to talk things over with you. Tristan Alton left you Carnaby." Alton straightened himself a little and flung out an arm, while Deringham recognized the Alton pride as with a sweeping gesture he pointed to wide lake, forest-shrouded hillside, and the clearing in the valley. "He turned out my father because he knew his mind, and now when there is no one else leaves me the played-out property. Thank God, I don't want it, while that's all mine," he said. "What brings you here to talk of Carnaby?" Deringham smiled a little. "The executor sent me, and I have come a long way," said he. "When I tell you that I am Ralph Deringham you should know me." Alton nodded gravely. "Then you can tell me all about it after supper, and we'll have plenty time for talking, because you'll stay a while with me," he said. "If you'll go back to the house you'll find some cigars that might please you in the bureau. Sorry I can't come with you, but I'm busy. Are you ready, Tom?" He turned, and swung up the axe while the big bushman swept his blade aloft, and Deringham watched them curiously. Alton swayed with a steely suppleness from the waist, and the broad wedge of steel flashed about his head before it came down ringing. The man had a few inches of springy wood which bent and heaved beneath him to stand upon, but the great blade descended exactly where the last chip had lain, and when it hissed aloft again that of the silent axeman dropped into the notch it made. Deringham knew a little about a good many things, including sword-play, and he realized as he watched the whirl and flash of blades, precision of effort, and exactitude of time, that this was an example of man's mastery over the trenchant steel. Presently the man with the saw rose and touched his shoulder. "I fancy we had better draw aside a little," he said. "She will come down in another minute just here." Now Deringham had seen trees wedged over and drawn down by ropes in England, and wondered a little when the man pointed to the spot where he was standing. "If you don't resent the question, how do you know?" he said. The other man laughed a little. "Harry told me, and he's seldom more than a foot out," he said. There was a groaning of fibres as Deringham drew aside, but the two figures on the springy planks still smote and swung, until simultaneously they flung the axes down and, sprang. Then the great fir quivered a little, toppled, lurched, and fell, and the hillside resounded to the thud it made. It also smote the trembling soil just where the man with the saw had indicated. Then Alton signed to his assistant, and strode away with the axe on his shoulder towards another tree. The saw-sharpener laughed a little as he sat down again. "Now you have had your say it would be better if you waited until after supper," he said. "You see, one thing at one time is quite enough for Harry, and he really isn't in the least uncivil when you understand him. Still, it's no use trying to make him listen when he doesn't want to." "That," said Deringham dryly, "was always one of the characteristics of his family. You are presumably an Englishman?" The other man laughed a little. "Yes," he said, "I'm Charles Seaforth, better known to the boys here as the Honourable Charley, though I have no especial right to the title, and am fortunate in holding a small share in the Somasco ranch, which I owe to my partner's generosity." "Do I understand that he gave it you?" said Deringham. Seaforth nodded. "You would be near the mark if you came to that conclusion." "And is Mr. Alton in the habit of making similar presents?" said Deringham. Seaforth glanced towards the sinewy figure with the glinting axe, and smiled again. "That," he said quietly, "is one of the most generous men in the Dominion of Canada, but I should not care to be the man who attempted to take advantage of him." Deringham said nothing further, though he was sensible of a slight uneasiness, and presently went back to the house to rejoin his daughter, while the dusk was creeping across the valley when the men from the sawmill and clearing came home, and Deringham led his daughter out when he heard Alton's voice in the verandah. The latter and his partner were together, and the girl at first felt a slight sense of relief as her glance fell upon Seaforth, who stood with his wide hat in his hand. He was, for that country, somewhat fastidious in dress, his eyes were mildly humorous, and his face was pleasant, while he had not as yet wholly lost the stamp of the graceful idler he had brought with him from England. "This," said Deringham with the faintest trace of irony, "is our kinsman, Mr. Henry Alton of Carnaby. You have seen him already. My daughter Alice, Mr. Alton!" The girl stood still a moment, and glanced at Seaforth, whom she could not recollect having seen before, with something that suggested not altogether unpleased surprise in her face. His appearance and attitude disarmed her, but as she was about to speak to him the other man moved so that the fading light fell full upon him. He stood, tall and almost statuesque in his torn overalls, with the misty pines rolling up the hillside behind him, and a big axe in his hand--a type, it seemed to her, of Western barbarity--and a red spot, faint but perceptible, rose into her cheeks as he bent his head. Then she came near forgetting what was due to both of them in her astonishment and anger. "You!" she said. "Yes," said the axeman gravely. "Still, your father made a little mistake. I'm Alton of Somasco." Then he turned and moved forward with a gesture that was almost courtly. "You are very welcome to this poor house of mine," he said. CHAPTER VI MISS DERINGHAM MAKES FRIENDS The Homeric supper was over, and Miss Deringham, who, sitting next to Alton at the head of the long table, had watched the stalwart axeman feed with sensations divided between disgust and wonder, was talking to Seaforth on the verandah, when her father sat by a window of the room his kinsman called his own. There were survey maps, tassels of oats, and a great Wapiti head upon the wall, while Alton himself lay almost full length in a deerhide chair. The window was open wide, and the vista of lake, pine-shrouded hillside, and snow, framed by its log casing, steeped in nocturnal harmonies of silver and blue. Out of the stillness came the scent of balsam, and the sighing of a little breeze amidst the pines. Deringham held a good cigar, and there was a cup of coffee beside him, while he was not wholly sorry that they sat in darkness. He had realized that Alton of Somasco was by no means a fool, and waited his questions with some anxiety. The rancher, however, had apparently no present intention of asking any. "So they've been wondering when I am coming over," he said reflectively. "I don't know that I'll come at all." Deringham looked down at his cigar to cover his astonishment. "But you are an Alton of Carnaby," he said. "Yes," said Alton slowly. "But that is one of the things I want to forget. You see they drove my father out because he had the grit to marry the woman who loved him instead of another one who had the money, but you know all that?" Deringham nodded, and Alton's face showed grim in the moonlight as he continued: "But what you don't know is how he fought his way uphill in this country, and what my mother suffered helping him. Oh, yes, I can remember her well, gentle, brave, and patient as she was, and know what it must have cost her to camp down alone in the bush, and fight through the hard winter in the ice and snow. Well, she was too good for this world, and she just faded out of it before the good time came. I think they must have a special place for women of her kind in the other one." Deringham only nodded again, because this type of man was new to him, and he had learned to keep silent when in doubt; but Alton's big right hand closed into a fist. "And now, when I have Somasco, the man who had not a dollar for his only son leaves me Carnaby," he said. "There. Look out and see. Timber, lake and clearing, cattle, mills, and crops, the finest ranch in the district. My father commenced it, and I have finished. The Almighty made him a man, and he wouldn't sell his birthright to loaf his days away, overfed, at Carnaby." Alton dropped his cigar, and laughed a little. "Well, I'm talking like a fool again. There are times when I can't help it. It's a way of mine." Deringham sat still smoking, and thinking rapidly. He had never had dealings with a man of this description before, but while he surmised that Alton of Somasco might under some conditions prove himself a headstrong fool, it was evident that there were limits to his folly. The man's handiwork spoke for him, and his energy and intentness had not escaped Deringham's attentions, while the occasional utterances that might have appeared bombastic coming from other men were redeemed in his case by the tone of naive sincerity and imperious ring. Deringham was becoming conscious of a vague respect for and fear of his companion. "We are apparently no nearer the answer to my question," he said at length. "No," said Alton, smiling. "This thing will take some thinking over. Carnaby isn't exactly what you call a rich property?" "It is heavily encumbered," said Deringham, almost too eagerly. Alton nodded, "Still, it must be worth a little, and would give the folks who lived there a standing in the old country?" "Yes," said Deringham thoughtfully, and was once more astonished by his companion's answer. "Well," he said slowly. "I was thinking about your daughter. All this, it seems to me, is mighty rough on her. It would hurt her to be turned out of Carnaby?" "Isn't that beside the question?" said Deringham with a trace of stiffness. Alton took up another cigar and lighted it. "I don't quite know that it is," he said. "You see, I remember a good deal what my mother had to put up with, and it has made me kind of sorry for women who have to do without the things they have been used to. Now Miss Deringham has had a pretty good time in the old country?" Deringham moved his head very slightly. "I scarcely think we need go into that, but it is incontrovertible that the loss of Carnaby would make a difference to her," he said. Alton sat silent a space, and then while Deringham wondered, smiled a little. "And she might have kept it but for a very little thing that happened a month or two ago," he said. "If the juniper-twigs had broken it would have saved considerable trouble to everybody. I was back there in the mountains looking for a silver lead, you see." "Silver mines are, I understand, not always profitable to the man who finds them, and I should have fancied you had already sufficient scope for your energies," said Deringham dryly. Alton laughed, but there was a trace of grimness in his voice. "If I once get my stakes in on the lead this one's going to be, and if I could get the dollars I could do a good deal for Somasco," he said. "We want roads and mills, the biggest orchard in the province, and a fruit cannery, and we're going to have them presently. That's why I wanted the silver." "You did not find it then?" said Deringham, who was not unwilling to follow his companion from the former topic. "No," said Alton, "not that time, but I will by and by. Well, there was a good deal of snow up in the ranges, and my feet got away from me one evening when we were crawling along the edge of a gully. There was a river and big boulders some five hundred feet below, and I slipped down, clawing at the snow, until I grabbed a little bunch of juniper just on the edge. Part of it tore up, but I got a grip of a better handful, and hung on to it, with most of me swinging over the gully. Charley was stripping off the pack-rope on the slope above, and he was mighty quick, but I knew that bush was coming away with me, and didn't think he could be fast enough. I didn't feel exactly happy, but while I've read that folks think of some astonishing things when they're starting out on the long trail, it wasn't that way with me. I could only remember there was a man I'd never got even with who'd badly cheated me." [Illustration: "There was a river and big boulders some five hundred feet below."] Deringham felt a little shiver run through him, for there was a grim vindictiveness in the speaker's tone, and he felt that Alton of Somasco would not lightly forgive an injury. "You managed to crawl up?" he said. "No," said Alton simply, "I didn't. I lay there watching Charley, and felt the bush drawing out, until the rope came down and Charley hauled me up. It would have made a big difference to Miss Deringham if he'd been a second or two longer. Well, we'll have lots of time for talking, because you're out for your health, and we'll keep you right here until we see what Somasco can do for you, and just now I see Miss Deringham alone on the verandah." He rose, and left Deringham sitting by the window. The moon had swung higher now, and the lake was a blaze of silver, but Deringham scarcely noticed it or the ethereal line of snow. In place of it he saw a shadowy figure hanging between earth and heaven with tense fingers gripping a little bush, while a river frothed down the black hollow five hundred feet below, and remembered that even in that moment the man who hung there regretted he could not repay somebody who had cheated him. Then he rose and moved once or twice up and down the room, his fancy still dwelling upon the picture. If the juniper-twigs had yielded it would have made a great difference to him as well as his daughter. He sat down again presently and stared at the valley, seeing nothing as he remembered that Alton of Somasco might go back to the ranges again, and then with an effort shook the fancies from him. They were not wholesome for a man hemmed in by difficulties as he was then. In the meanwhile his daughter stood with one hand on the verandah balustrade, listening to the song of the river which came sonorously through the shadows of the bush. She also breathed in the scent of the firs, and found it pleasant, but it was instinctively she did so, for her thoughts were also busy. Alice Deringham had noticed her father's fits of abstraction as well as the anxiety in his face, and had no great difficulty in connecting them with the loss of Carnaby. She was also fond of him, for Deringham had shown only his better side to her, and sensible of a very bitter feeling towards the man who had supplanted him. In addition to this, she remembered the faint amusement in his eyes when he noticed the glint of a silver coin she held half-covered in her hand, and her pulses throbbed a little faster. The man had placed her in a ridiculous position, and had he guessed her feelings towards him he would probably not have made his appearance as he did just then. The boards creaked behind her, and turning partly round she straightened herself with a slow sinuous gracefulness, and stood drawn up to her full height looking at the newcomer. He stood still a moment with veiled admiration in his eyes, and this was not altogether surprising in one who had dwelt for the most part far remote from civilization in the lonely bush. Alice Deringham had been considered somewhat of a beauty in London, and it was possible that she knew the pale moonlight and the harmonies of blue and silver she stood out against enhanced the symmetry of her outline. The man stood watching her with his head bent a trifle, but Miss Deringham evinced a fine indifference. She had formed a somewhat mistaken estimate of him already. "I want to tell you that I'm sorry," he said. The girl fancied she understood him, and it increased her anger, for the fact that this barbarian of the bush should venture to express pity for her was galling. Still, she had no intention of admitting it, and regarded him inquiringly with a half-contemptuous indifference which she had found especially effective with presumptuous young men in England. Somewhat to her astonishment it apparently had no result at all, for Alton returned her gaze gravely and without embarrassment. "I don't understand," she said. "I was hoping you would, because I felt I must tell you, and I'm not good at talking," said the man. "I can't help seeing that you are vexed with me." If Alton had intended to be conciliatory he had signally failed, because Miss Deringham had no intention of admitting that anything he could do would cause her anger. "I am afraid you are taking things for granted," she said. Alton smiled gravely, and the girl noticed that he accepted the onus of the explanation she had forced upon him. "I really don't think you should be," he said. "I can't help being Tristan Alton's grandson, you see, and we are some kind of relations and ought to be friendly." Miss Deringham laughed a little. "Relations do not always love each other very much," said she. "No," said Alton. "Still, I think they should, and, even if it hurts, I feel I've got to tell you I'm sorry. If you would only take it, it would please me to give you back Carnaby." The girl almost gasped with astonishment and indignation. "That is a trifle unnecessary, since you know it is perfectly impossible," she said. She had at last roused the man, for the moonlight showed a darker colour creeping into his tan. "I don't usually say more than I mean," he said. "Now we shall never understand each other unless you will talk quite straight with me." Alice Deringham had not lost her discretion in her anger, and, since there was no avoiding the issue, decided it would be preferable to blame him for the lesser of his offences. "Then," she said coldly, "it was somewhat difficult to appreciate the humour of the trick you played upon us. You may, however, have different notions as to what is tasteful in the Colonies." Again the darker colour showed in Alton's bronzed forehead, but he spoke gravely. "I don't think that's quite fair," he said. "I am what the Almighty made me, a plain bushman who has had to work too hard for his living to learn to put things nicely, but I never came down to any meanness that would hurt a woman, and there isn't any need for a dainty English lady to point out the difference between herself and me." "There may be less difference than you seem to fancy," said the girl a trifle maliciously. "You are Alton of Carnaby." "Pshaw!" said the man with a little gesture of pride and impatience, which Miss Deringham was forced to admit became him. "I'm Alton of Somasco, and nobody gave it me. I won it from the lake and the forest that comes crawling in again--but I'm getting off the trail. I didn't know your father was coming here, and hadn't any notion who you were." "That's curious, because he wrote to tell you," said the girl. Alton flushed a little, for he was somewhat quick-tempered, and too proud to be otherwise than a veracious man. "Well," he said slowly, "I have the honour of telling you I didn't get the letter. There's a place called Somasco down in Vancouver." Miss Deringham decided that she had ventured sufficiently far. Indeed, on subsequent reflection she was forced to admit that she had gone farther than was quite seemly, which somewhat naturally increased her displeasure against the man. In the meanwhile she, however, made a little gracious gesture. "Then I don't think the explanation was necessary," she said. Alton laughed a little, and held out his hand. "Do you know I'm thankful that's over once for all, and now we can be friends," he said. "There are lots of things I can show you in the valley, and a good deal more that you can teach me." Alice Deringham could not afterwards quite decide why she shook hands with him, for she had no intention of teaching him anything, just then; but she did, and felt as the hard brown fingers closed upon her own that the friendship of this curious man could in time of necessity be relied upon. In any case, and obeying some impulse, she shook off her chilliness, and asking questions about the district evinced a gracious interest in all he had to tell her, while presently induced by his naive frankness she smiled at him as she noticed him regarding her gravely. "I presume a dress of this kind is scarcely suitable for the bush," she said. Alton laughed. "I wasn't looking at the dress, though it's a very pretty one," he said. "You see, except my mother and Miss Townshead, I have never spoken to an English lady." "But you must have been very young when you lost her," said the girl. Alton took off his hat, and pointed to a hillside shrouded with sombre firs. "Yes," he said quietly. "She sleeps up there, and in a little while my father followed her. He was lonely without her, and because of what she had done for him, proud of his countrywomen. He often used to talk about them." "And," said Alice Deringham, "you wondered if he was mistaken?" Alton made a little gesture that in a curious fashion implied a wide chivalric faith. "No," he said gravely, "I believe he was right." Miss Deringham felt a faint warmth creep into her cheek, and it was not because the speech might have been deemed a personal compliment. She saw a little deeper into the man's nature than that, and, if she had not, the tone of grave respect would have enlightened her. Then she turned with a little sense of relief as Deringham came out upon the verandah. "I am pleased to see you and Mr. Alton have made friends," he said, and the girl, who noticed a faint twinkle in his eyes, turned quietly and looked down the valley as she remembered one odious clause in the will. She rose early next morning, and flinging the window open to let in the glorious freshness heard a commotion below, while as she wondered as to the cause of it several pairs of old boots went gyrating over the balustrade of the verandah. A dilapidated saddle followed them, and then a cloud of dust rolled up, while she saw the new owner of Carnaby appear somewhat scantily attired out of the midst of it. He had a brush in one hand and seemed disturbed about something. "Where the brimstone does Mrs. Margery keep the scrubbing soap?" he said. Nobody answered him, and he moved back into the dust, while Seaforth was coming up the stairway carrying a mop and pail when a big empty oilcan smote him upon the chest. He dropped the pail and leaned a moment, gasping and dripping, against the balustrade. "You might notice where you're throwing things," he said. The dust rolled more thickly, and Alton's voice came out of it. "I hadn't time to be particular, and a sensible man would have got out of the way of it. Don't stand there, anyway, but help me fix this place fit for a lady before Miss Deringham gets up. Then you're going through to the railroad with the new pack-horse to wire for Mrs. Margery after breakfast." "I don't think I am," said Seaforth. "Not on Julius Caesar, anyway. He will need a little more taming before I'm fit to ride him." "Then," said Alton, laughing, "I guess you can shove him, because you'll want a horse to bring up the things you're going to wire Vancouver for, and Tom's off with the teams up the valley. Fetch some more water, and start in with the scrubbing. I don't want Miss Deringham to guess we've been doing anything unusual." "If she doesn't hear you," said Seaforth, "she must be very deaf." "Now," said Alton regretfully, "I never thought of that. Sit right down, Charley, and take your boots off." "I am going to the well first," said Seaforth, who retired grinning, and Miss Deringham laughed softly as she heard the cautious movements of a big barefooted man floundering about clumsily with a brush or mop. When she came down to breakfast, however, she was a little astonished. The room was swept, and garnished with cedar sprays, while though it smelled of some crude soap the aromatic sweetness of balsam was present too, and there were signs of taste in its decoration and the disposition of the splendid fruit upon the table. Alton had not plucked it all, and the golden apples and velvety peaches lay with their soft tinting enhanced amidst the leaves. When he came in, bright of eye and apparently glowing from a plunge in the river, she glanced at him with quiet amusement. "You have been improving the place wonderfully," she said. "You are pleased with it?" said the rancher, and the girl noticed the contentment in his eyes when she smiled approvingly. "I think," she said, "it is very pretty." CHAPTER VII ALTON BLUNDERS Deringham spent several weeks at Somasco without arriving at any understanding with its owner. This, however, did not cause him any great concern, because he had at his doctor's recommendation decided on a somewhat lengthy absence from England, and found himself regaining health and vigour with every day he passed in the pleasant valley. He was also desirous of gaining time, because he had left negotiations for the formation of a company to take over an enterprise he was interested in in train, and, while these could proceed as well without him, a favourable termination would, by relieving him from immediate financial anxiety, enable him if it seemed advisable to adopt a firmer tone in any discussion respecting Carnaby. Alton had in the meanwhile quietly avoided the subject. Affairs were in this position when he sat one evening with his daughter on the verandah, glancing now and then down the valley. It was very still and peaceful, and trails of white mist crept about the pines, while, though the paling light still lingered high up upon the snow, a crescent moon was growing into visibility against the steely blueness behind the eastern shoulder of a hill. Deringham, however, was listening for the thud of hoofs, and wondering if the mounted man sent down to the settlement would bring any letters for him. His daughter sat close by him, dreamily watching the darkness roll higher about the pines. She had not as yet grown tired of Somasco, and found its owner an interesting study. He was of a type that was new to her, and the girl of a somewhat inquiring disposition. Presently she turned to her father. "How long shall we stay here?" she said. "I don't know," said Deringham. "It depends upon the Canadian, and in the meanwhile I am picking up a good deal of useful information about the mineral resources of this country. Alton of Somasco seems to be a somewhat intelligent man." "Yes," said the girl thoughtfully. "It is a little difficult to dislike him." "I," said her father, smiling, "do not know that there is any great necessity, or notice signs of a marked endeavour on your part to do so." The girl glanced at him inquiringly. "You mean?" said she. "Nothing," said Deringham. "Only the Canadian is also a man. Well, we shall be going on to Vancouver presently." The girl laughed a little. "That is incontrovertible," she said. "Why not go on now?" "There are reasons," said Deringham somewhat gravely. "For one thing I hope to be in a position shortly to make terms with him." "But Carnaby is his," said the girl. "Yes," said Deringham, "unless he gives it up." His daughter appeared thoughtful. "I scarcely think he will!" Deringham laughed a little. "It might be possible to find means of inducing him." Alice Deringham shook her head. "From what I have seen of Mr. Alton, I fancy it would be difficult." "Well," said Deringham dryly, "we shall see." He had scarcely spoken when a soft drumming sound came out of the stillness. It grew steadily louder, was lost in the roar of the river, and rose more distinct again, while the girl, who realized that a man was riding up the valley, wondered with unusual curiosity what news he would bring. She also grew impatient, for that staccato drumming seemed to jar upon the harmonies of the evening, and she walked to the balustrade when the sound swelled into a thudding beat of hoofs. The man was crossing the oatfield at a gallop now. Then the sound rose muffled out of the gloom of the orchard the trail ran through, and she felt curiously expectant when once more the rider swung out into the shadowy clearing. She afterwards remembered the vague apprehension with which she watched and listened, for it seemed to her that some intangible peril was drawing nearer with the galloping horse. A minute or two later Seaforth came into the verandah with a packet of letters in his hand. "There are several for you, sir," he said, handing Deringham some of them, and passed into the house shouting, "Harry." Deringham glanced through his budget, and his face changed a little, while his daughter noticed the set of his lips and the clustering wrinkles about his eyes. There was a telegraphic message, but he put it aside and opened a bulky envelope whose stamp he recognized. Then the missive he took out rustled a little in his hand as he read: "I'm afraid negotiations are not progressing well. Mortimer, as you will see by enclosed copies of correspondence, demands a revaluation which would not be advisable before he will underwrite any of the capital." Deringham laid down the letter, and his daughter turned suddenly at his exclamation. "The fools should have bought him off!" he said. Then he took up the telegraphic message and read, "Scheme impracticable. Cannot compromise with Mortimer. Harper and the Syndicate against us. Details following." Deringham said nothing, but sat staring before him with a face that seemed to have grown suddenly grey and haggard, until his daughter spoke to him. "Have you had bad news, father?" she said. The man, who had been sitting so that the light which shone out from the room behind them fell upon him, moved. "I have," he said. "This message informs me that at least ten thousand pounds have been virtually taken out of my pocket. As it happened, I wanted the money somewhat badly." He rose, and entering the house met Alton coming out of it. The Canadian brushed past him with a letter in his hand, and Deringham turned a moment and looked after him. The financier's face was not pleasant just then, and there was a curious glitter in his eyes, while Seaforth, who was following his comrade, stared at him as he passed, and came up with Alton on the verandah. "What has gone wrong with Deringham?" he said. "I don't know," said Alton lightly. "Do you think anything has?" "That," said Seaforth, "is what I am asking you. He looked condemnably ugly just now. One could have fancied that he contemplated killing somebody." Alton laughed. "Got a little business trip up, I expect," he said, and moved forward as he spoke. "Here's word from Mrs. Jimmy. She wants to know when I'm going to begin. Women are very persistent, Miss Deringham, but this one has some reason." "They usually have," said the girl. "I do not, however, know Mrs. Jimmy." "Of course," said Alton, smiling. "Still, I expect you'll see her up here presently." It was a day or two later when Alton returned to the topic of Mrs. Jimmy, and he was then kneeling in the stern of a canoe which slid with a swift smoothness down the placid lake as he dipped the glistening paddle. Miss Deringham was seated forward on a pile of cedar-twigs, with a wet line in her fingers, and in no way disturbed by the fact that she had caught nothing. Such expeditions had become somewhat frequent of late, and though the girl sometimes wondered what she found to please her in the company and conversation of the bush rancher, the fact that she usually went with him when he crossed the lake remained. "I have seen that trail of smoke up there before. Where does it come from?" she said languidly, pointing to a distant film of vapour that drifted in a faint blue wreath along the slope of a hill. "That," said Alton, "is the Tyee mine." "I have heard of it. They find silver there?" "Yes," said Alton dryly. "They find a little." "There is silver in those mountains, then?" said Miss Deringham. Alton nodded. "Lots of it. Still, it costs a good deal to get out, and then it doesn't pay for the mining occasionally. That's the trouble with the Tyee." "Still, it must pay somebody, or they would not go on," said Miss Deringham. Alton laughed a little. "Oh, yes," he said dryly. "It pays a man called Hallam and some others of his kind who got up the company. Still, sometime and somehow, I think he will be sorry he stole poor folks' money." "You," said Miss Deringham, smiling, "are an optimist, then?" Alton gravely glanced about him, and the girl fancied she understood him as she followed his gaze from snowpeak down the great pine-shrouded hillside to the river frothing in the valley. "I don't know, but one feels there's something beyond all that," he said. "It didn't come there by accident, and it has all its work to do. Sun and frost and sliding snow grinding up the hillside very sure and slow, and the river sweeping what it gets from them way down the valley to spread new wheatfields out into the sea." "But," said Miss Deringham, smiling, "we are speaking of men, and I don't quite see the connection." "Well," said Alton, "they have their place in the great machine too, and must work like the rest, and do something to make it more fruitful, in return for the food the good earth gives them." "A good many men don't seem to realize the obligation," said Miss Deringham. Alton nodded. "No, but I can't help thinking they'll be dealt with somehow. They're just stealing from the others." "You are a socialist, then?" "No," said Alton, "I don't think I am. It seems to me that every man is entitled to all the dollars he can get by working for them honestly, and there's a place somewhere in this great world for him, if he has the grit to get up and look for it as he was meant to do, but it has no use for the man who wants to sit still and think about his dinner while other folks work for him." "Still, he may have earned the right to do so," said the girl. "Well," said Alton grimly, "most of that kind I've met with seemed to have stolen it, and one or two of them had, for a few thousand dollars, sent good men to their death. When you've seen your comrades sickening and starving on rotten provisions in the snow, or washed out down the valley by the bursting of a dam that was only built to sell, you begin to wonder whether it would be wrong to wipe out some of that crowd with the rifle." The veins swelled on his forehead, and there was a smouldering fire in his eyes, while the girl suspected he was alluding to some especial member of the class, and noticed that his eye seemed to follow the smoke of the Tyee. Then he laughed. "I guess I'm talking nonsense again, but there's a little behind it, and I feel that you can pick it out," he said. "Now I'm not good at amusing women, but you and Mrs. Jimmy seem to understand me." "Who is Mrs. Jimmy, and does her husband belong to Somasco?" asked the girl, with a smile. Alton laid down the paddle, and took off his hat. "Jimmy," he said solemnly, "is dead. He was my partner, and his wife is a friend of mine. She was in some ways very like you." "They had a ranch up here?" said Miss Deringham languidly. "No," said Alton. "It wasn't often they had ten dollars. She was a lady bar-keep down in Vancouver before she married Jimmy. He was a trail-chopper in this country. I don't know what he was in the old one." "And," said Miss Deringham, "Mrs. Jimmy resembles me?" She regretted it next moment when she saw Alton's face. It expressed subdued surprise, and the girl felt irritated with herself. "Yes," he said gravely. "Human nature's much the same at the bottom, whether it has gold on the top of it or the dints of the hammer, and Mrs. Jimmy was good all through." "That," said Miss Deringham, "is distinctly pretty." "Well," said Alton smiling, "I didn't mean it that way. Work was scarce in the province, and I'd lost my cattle when Jimmy went up with me into the ranges to look for silver. He brought his wife along, because he had no dollars or anywhere to leave her, and it was a mighty tough place for a woman where we camped under the big glacier. We stayed right there most of the winter. There was only frost and snow, and the wind that whirled it about the pines, and, until it froze up, we lived a good deal on salmon from the river. They were dead when we got them, and some of them rotten." Miss Deringham shivered. "And when the river froze?" she said. "Then," said Alton gravely, "there were days when we lived on nothing, and worked until we couldn't hold the pick to keep from thinking. Still, we got a deer now and then, and we had a very little flour. It was mouldy when we bought it, but we hadn't dollars enough for anything better. Mrs. Jimmy got sick and thin, but she never grumbled, and was always waiting bright and smiling when we crawled back into the shanty. Anyway, we found no silver that would pay for the getting, though we knew it was there." "How did you know that?" said Miss Deringham. "Well," said Alton, "a Siwash told us something. He crawled in starving one day, and though we hadn't much over we fed him. For another thing we felt it in us that we were on the right trail." "That," said the girl, "does not sound possible." Alton nodded. "No," he said. "Still, one gets taught up there in the bush that there's more in a man than what some folks think of as his reason. Well, we made a tough fight, and were beaten." Miss Deringham glanced at him covertly, and noticing his quiet, bronzed face, steady eyes, and big brown hands, felt that the struggle had been very grim and stubborn. "So you gave it up?" she said. "Yes," said Alton, "for a time, and I had my hands full with other things when Jimmy went back again. He had piled up a few dollars and left the woman behind him. He took the trail with a good outfit and a pack-horse, but he didn't come down again, and when Mrs. Jimmy got anxious I went up to look for him. It was a good while before I found him sitting under a pine, and he had found the silver, though it wasn't much use to him." "Was it a rich vein?" said the girl. "Yes," said Alton solemnly, "I think it was, from the specimens he had brought along, but, and it's difficult sometimes to see why things should happen that way, he couldn't tell me where it was. Jimmy was dead, you see." The girl shivered visibly. "It must have been horrible." "No," said Alton gravely. "He was sitting there very quiet in the snow with his hand frozen on the rifle, and there was a big dead panther not far away; but I was more sorry for Mrs. Jimmy than I was for him. Jimmy hadn't always been a trail-chopper, and one could see he had been carrying a heavy load he brought out from the old country. I think he was tired." "And the silver still lies hidden up there?" said Miss Deringham. Alton nodded. "Yes," he said. "I've hunted for it twice, but couldn't find Jimmy's trail. By and by, and because the woman wants it, I'm going back again." "But it would belong to anybody who found it now," said Miss Deringham. "No," said Alton quietly. "A half of what I get there belongs to Mrs. Jimmy. The dead man has a claim." "I am not sure that most men would think so. You are generous," said the girl. "No," said Alton. "I'm just where I can, and it hurts me to owe anybody anything, whether it's a favour, or the other thing." Miss Deringham understood him, and reflected as she glanced at him out of the corners of her eyes that her father would do well if he dealt openly with this man. She fancied he could be remorseless in a reckoning, and she had now and then of late had unpleasant suspicions respecting Deringham's intentions concerning him. Alton took up the paddle, and the pair found Deringham waiting them when they landed. They crossed the valley together, and the girl, who had seen little of industrial activity, became interested when at her father's desire they followed Alton into the mill. A cloud of pungent smoke hung about it, and the steady pounding of an engine jarred through the monotone of the river, which was low just then, while there was a pleasant fragrance in the open-sided building where brawny men moved amidst the whirling dust with the precision of the machines they handled. Alice Deringham could see with untrained eyes that there was no waste of effort here. The great logs that slid in at one end passed straight forward over the rattling rollers, and made no deviation until they went out as planking. Silent men and whirring saws, whose strident scream changed to a deeper humming as they rent into the great redwood trunks, alike did their work with swift efficiency, and once more the girl glanced with a little wonder at the man who had organized it all. "This appears to be a remarkably well-laid-out mill," said her father. Alton laughed a little. "We shall have a bigger one by and by," he said. "The only thing I'm proud of is the planer, and she cost me a pile of dollars. I had to cut down all round before I could buy the thing, and then I pulled her all to pieces, and fixed her up myself." Alice Deringham followed her father towards a big, humming machine that was tearing off the surface of the planks fed to it and flinging them out polished into whiteness. Alton glanced at it admiringly. "Yes, I'm proud of that," he said. "It was a tight fit buying her, and now she's saving me dollars every day." Then he turned to a stooping man. "You're crowding her a little." Alice Deringham noticed the resentment in the man's face, which was not a pleasant one, and that, in place of relaxing the pressure, he seemed to thrust a little more strenuously upon the plank he guided; but that was all she saw, for the next moment there was a crash and a loud whirring, and a cloud of woody dust was flung all over her. Alton sprang forward through it, and a big leather belt suddenly stopped, but the girl could never clearly remember what happened next, for the dust still whirled about her. There, however, appeared to be a brief altercation, and as Alton moved towards him the other man dropped his hand to his belt. Guessing what the action meant, Alice Deringham shrank back with a little shiver, and her father appeared to grasp the man's shoulder. Alton swayed suddenly sideways, and then hurled himself forward, while next moment two men fell violently against the wrecked machine. One of them seemed to be helpless in the grasp of the other, and staggering clear of the planer they went reeling through the mill. Then there was a splash in the river, and Alton returned alone, breathless and somewhat white in face. "Sorry, but there was no other way out of it," he said a trifle hoarsely. "Now I've got to size up the ruin, if you'll excuse me." Deringham turned away with his daughter in time to see a dripping object crawl out on the opposite side of the river. "Are you still pleased with your tame bear?" he said ironically. The girl laughed a little, though her colour was perhaps a trifle higher than usual. "There is a good deal of the beast still unsubdued in him," she said. Deringham nodded. "Still, he had some provocation, and I think he was right. So far as I could follow the discussion, the other man meant to question his ability to dismiss him, with the pistol." Alice Deringham said nothing further upon the subject until Alton joined them as they sat out on the verandah that night. "You are not pleased with me?" he said. "There is nothing to warrant me telling you so, and I may have been mistaken," said the girl reflectively. "No," said Alton, "that's the pity; but couldn't you remember just now and then that you are friends with me?" "Things of this kind make it a little difficult," said Miss Deringham. "Well," said Alton, "that machine cost me twelve months' grim self-denial, and the fellow broke it out of temper because I spoke to him." "It was," said Miss Deringham, "sufficiently exasperating, but was the rest justifiable because you were a stronger or bolder man than him?" Alton laughed a little. "You don't understand. I did it because I was afraid," said he. "Now if I hadn't been, I'd have backed that man right into the river without touching him." The girl glanced at him and then lapsed into a ripple of laughter. "I'm afraid I must give you up," said she. Just then Deringham came into the verandah, and Alton turned towards him. "It's a little difficult to put it as I would like to, but I'm glad it was you. You know what I mean." Deringham appeared a trifle embarrassed. "I'm not sure that you are indebted to me at all," he said. "I only seized his shoulder, and you would not have expected me to look on?" Alton shook his head. "I don't think he would have missed if you hadn't done it, and I will not forget," he said. "This thing will always count for a good deal between you and me." He went away, and Alice Deringham glanced at her father with a flush in her face. "I did not understand before. The man had a pistol and you took it from him?" "No," said Deringham, with a curious little laugh. "I meant to knock his arm up, and am not sure that I did it. It was, considering all things, a somewhat disinterested action." CHAPTER VIII HALLAM'S CONFEDERATE It was about the middle of the afternoon of the day following Alton's affray with the workman when the cook came limping into the verandah of the Somasco ranch, where Deringham leaned, cigar in hand, against a pillar talking to his daughter. She lay in a hide chair Alton had found for her, listening more to the drowsy roar of the river than to her father, but she lifted her head when the man appeared. He carried a tray whereon were displayed a badly dinted metal teapot of considerable size, two large, flat cakes of bread, a can of condensed milk, and a saucer swimming with partially melted butter, which had resolved itself into little lumps of whitish grease and a thin golden fluid under the afternoon sun. He laid them on the table, and after deftly picking out one or two dead flies from the butter turned to the girl with a grin in which pride was evident, though it was apparently meant to be deprecatory. "I guess this is the kind of thing you were used to in the old country, Miss," he said. "You have only got to tell me if you would fancy a piece of cold pork or other fixings." Alice Deringham dared not glance at her father, who seemed to be gazing fixedly down the valley, but her lips quivered a little as she turned towards the man. "I do not think we shall want anything else," she said with a serenity that cost her an effort, though it was excellently assumed. The man limped away with the tray, though he stopped again at the foot of the stairway. "If you take a notion of that pork after all, hammer on the iron roofing sheet there, and I'll bring it right away," he said. Alice Deringham waited until he was out of sight, and then lay back in her chair and laughed when her father glanced at her with a little grim smile. "Savages, my dear!" he said. "Still, their intentions are evidently kindly, which is unfortunate because it involves us in a difficulty." "A difficulty?" Deringham nodded. "I have a suspicion that our estimable kinsman, who seems to consider that what is good enough for Somasco should content anybody, might be offended if we slighted his hospitality, and that teapot apparently contains at least three pints of strong green tea," he said. "I do not know whether you feel equal to consuming half of it, but if it is the same as I had at breakfast I must be excused. One could also fancy from their solidity that those cups had been intended for breaking stones with." "I can at least pour the tea over the balustrade," said the girl. "It is the bread that presents the difficulty. It would crumble in your pocket, and you will presumably have to eat a little to save appearances." Deringham made a gesture of resignation. "On condition that you do as much. I am not going to be the only victim, though I fancy you could not crumble that bread in a stamp battery. This meal, and what we have otherwise seen at Somasco, confirms my theory that the folks who make money in the Colonies could save as much, or more, in England if they lived in a similar fashion." "Would it be worth while?" asked the girl with a little smile. "It is a question of temperament," said Deringham. "Personally, I do not think it would. Indeed, one could fancy that a man of taste would sooner be interred decently, which is why I will take a very little of the tea. You see, our mode of life in England, unfortunately, depends to some extent upon my retaining the good will of Mr. Alton of Somasco. He will, however, have to excuse me from tasting his butter." The girl poured a little of the tea into the cups, and then emptied the pot over the balustrade, which was, as it happened, a blunder, because while she endeavoured to crumble a small portion of the bread so as to convey the impression that she had been eating it, Alton and Seaforth came into the verandah. The latter glanced at her, and, for he could not help it, a little smile flickered in his eyes. "It is a very long while since I had afternoon tea, and I am not sure that Harry ever indulged in it in his life," he said. "I will bring some more cups if you will give us some." Deringham looked at his daughter reproachfully, though his eyes twinkled, and for just a moment a flush crept into the girl's face, but she laughed as she said, "Then I must trouble to ask the cook for more water." Alton hammered upon the suspended iron sheet, and in a minute or two the cook appeared again with a large plateful of sliced pork which he laid down before Miss Deringham. "I was figuring you would change your mind, and if you want any more you have only to ask for it," he said. It cost the girl an effort to repress a shiver of disgust, but though she succeeded Alton saw her face, and she noticed that the bronze grew a trifle darker in his forehead. It seemed that he guessed her thoughts, but the fact that he offered no explanation and made no excuse for the uninviting fare pleased her. She fancied she understood his reticence, and that it became him. "Take that pork away, and bring more water!" he said, and there was a faint ring in his voice, as he turned to the cook. The man, who took up the teapot, shook it, and then, as though still incredulous, lifted the lid and gazed inside it. "More water?" he said. "Yes," said Alton, a trifle harshly. "Get it right now!" The man went away, and there was for almost a minute a somewhat unpleasant silence. Even Seaforth did not seem to know what to say, though he felt an absurd desire to laugh, and Alice Deringham was at once relieved and somewhat astonished when Alton put an end to it by a whimsical story of a raw Englishman's camp cookery. Seaforth followed it with a better one, and the whole four were laughing when the cook came back again. He smiled at them reassuringly as he put the teapot down. "I guess there's enough this time," he said. "It's that full I could scarcely get the lid on." The tea was strong, and acrid with the sting of the wood smoke, but there was no avoiding another cupful, and Deringham drank determinedly, while his daughter felt that she had made full atonement when she set her cup down half empty. Then Alton, who explained that he had something to attend to, went away, and Seaforth smiled at the girl when Deringham went in for another cigar. "I wonder if one might venture to congratulate you on your resolution?" he said. "If I knew exactly what you meant I could answer more readily," said Alice Deringham. "Well," said Seaforth reflectively, "I fancy you do, and, if it's any comfort to you, I think Harry does too. He is considerably less of a fool than folks who do not understand this country might suppose him to be; but the point is, that if he can prevent it you will not suffer an infliction of this kind again." "I wonder why you thought it worth while to tell me," said Alice Deringham. "Have I admitted that it was an affliction, or do you suppose I am very frightened of a little indifferent tea?" Seaforth laughed. "I can't fancy you so fond of it as the cook seems to conclude, and I don't think indifferent was exactly the word. A stronger one would have been appropriate. Still, though I am not sure that you will understand me, I told you because I felt it was due to Harry. You see, his attitude was really the correct one, and taking him all round I am rather proud of him." "Hasn't that an appearance of unnecessary patronage?" asked Miss Deringham, who was slightly nettled. Seaforth nodded. "It has," he said. "Only that the feeling is shared by everybody in this district, it would be sheer presumption. Good wine, you know, needs no bush." He went away because he had a suspicion that Alton would be wanting him, which was borne out when he found his comrade saddling a horse. "Where are you going, Harry? We are not half way through with the sawlogs," he said. "No," said Alton dryly. "Still, if you work hard enough, you and Tom should get them into the water before it's dark to-night. I'm going right down to Horton's." Seaforth laughed. "I thought you would. Horton has, however, as much taste in china as the average mule. Don't leave it to him." "How did you guess that?" and Alton stared at him. "That," said Seaforth, "was delightfully simple. It is a little more difficult to decide what Miss Deringham, who is a quick-witted young woman, did with the tea. As you are quite aware, she did not drink it. Still, that is not the question. I'll write you out a little list of what is wanted--I used to know a little about china once, you see, and you tell Horton to send it on to Vancouver. How much would you care to spend, Harry?" "Just whatever is necessary, but get the best," said Alton. "Write another list of cakes and jellies and things of that kind, too. Put down plenty." Seaforth returned by the time the horse was saddled, with an envelope, and Alton, who took it, rode out at a gallop, for it was a long way to the settlement, and the evenings at the ranch had of late become very pleasant to him. He did not wish to lose a minute of one of them. He drew bridle, however, when he came up with two men standing in the narrow trail, one of whom signed to him. He was a small rancher, but it was not until the impatient horse plunged that Alton recognized the other, who moved aside, as the man he had thrown into the river. The rancher saw the glance that passed between them. "Hallo!" he said. "Then you two had trouble when you split? Now, Damer was telling me he'd got kind of tired of saw milling." Alton laughed. "That's quite likely," he said. "He showed it by breaking up my planer in a fit of temper, and I fired him." Then he touched the horse with his heel, and Damer's gaze grew venomous as he watched him ride away down the shadowy trail. The rancher evidently noticed it. "Now I begin to understand how you got your jacket tore up and that lump on your forehead," he said. "I wasn't quite sure about your tale, anyway, and if Harry fired you it was for something mean. You'll get no horse from me." The other man said nothing as he turned away, but his face was not pleasant as he plodded down the trail, and those words of Alton's were to cost him dear, for if Damer had obtained the horse he wanted to carry him to the railroad he would in all probability have left the country, which would have prevented a good deal of trouble. As it was, however, he restrapped the roll of blankets on his back, and trudged on with bitterness in his heart under the heat of the afternoon. He had when he left the Somasco mill headed in the direction of the Tyee mine, and passed the night in the woods; but with the morning reflection came, and he had doubled on his trail and was then making for the railroad, stiff with fatigue. Each time he stumbled into a rut and the jolt shook him he remembered his last grievance against Alton, who had sent him on foot, and his frame of mind was not an enviable one when he limped into sight of the settlement as dusk was closing down. He had made a long journey that day, and a good deal depended on the fact that he was weary and his boots galled him, because it had been his intention to push on to a ranch beyond the settlement before he slept, and hire a horse there. Damer was not especially sensitive, but he felt no great desire to encounter the badinage of the men generally to be found about the store, who, he surmised, would have heard by this time what had happened at the Somasco mill. Still, he was hungry and weary, and stopped a moment when he caught a blink of light between the trees. The bush behind him was very black and still, the dampness of the dew was on his dusty garments, and he shivered a little in the faint cold breeze that came down from the snow. Then more lights twinkled into brightness, a cheerful murmur of voices and a burst of laughter came out of the shadows, and the glow that broke out from the windows of Horton's store seemed curiously inviting. Damer, however, dallied still, and fumbled for his tobacco. He would sit down where he was and smoke, he said, and then attempt that last toilsome league. As it happened, he could not find the tobacco, and having a hazy recollection of laying it on the ground the last time he filled his pipe, he shook his aching shoulders and trudged on. The loss of the tobacco decided him, and with a malediction on Alton he made for Horton's. It was also a fateful decision with far-reaching results he made just then. Supper had long been cleared away when he entered the general room of the hotel, and then stopped a moment with his hand on the door, for the one man who sat under the big lamp was the last person he desired to meet. He had, however, some papers spread out in front of him, and Damer decided to slip away quietly, but as he moved the blankets on his shoulders struck the door, which rattled, and the man looked up sharply. He had a fleshy face, and black beady eyes, which he fixed on Damer, who stood still, with a little, unpleasant smile. "Come right in!" he said. Damer smothered an anathema as he recognized the command in the tone. "No," he said. "If you don't mind, Mr. Hallam, I'll be getting on again." "Come in!" said Hallam, a trifle more sharply, but for just a moment Damer remained motionless. A few steps would take him down the verandah stairway, and then the shadowy bush lay before him. Had he had a horse, he would have obeyed the impulse which prompted him to avoid the encounter; but, as it happened, owing to the fact that Alton had met the rancher who would otherwise have lent him one, he had none. So with evident unwillingness he came slowly forward, and dropping his bundles on the floor flung himself into a chair. "Well," he said, "I'm here." Hallam, who had been watching him, nodded reflectively. "I guess you didn't expect to find me, or you wouldn't have come," he said. "Where were you going?" "To the railroad," said Damer. "Out of the country!" "Without telling me? That was kind of foolish of you. Still, you haven't much sense, anyway. You had quite a well-paid job at Somasco." "Well," said Damer dryly, "I haven't got it now." Hallam laughed, though the glint in his eyes did not express good will. "You have got a temper that will be the ruin of you, and don't know when a man's too big for you, while, now I come to look at you, there's a lump on your forehead that makes the thing quite plain. You have been fooling with Alton, and he has 'most pounded the life out of you. Still, what do you want to leave the country for, anyway?" Damer set his lips, and drummed with his fingers on the table. Then he made a little deprecatory gesture, and glanced at Hallam. "You'll hear it all by and by, but there's one point where you're wrong," he said. "Now, I'm not scared too easily, but I kind of feel it in me I'll make nothing but trouble for myself by worrying Alton. Still, it's not the man himself I'm afraid of. I've met tougher ones, and come out ahead of them." Hallam sat silent a moment, for he knew the prospectors and survey packers who passed their lives amidst the desolate ranges and in the shadowy bush and their superstitions. "You have had trouble with him before?" he said. "Yes," said Damer, "I have. He cut my partner down with an axe back there in Washington. It was in the big rush in the Baker foothills, and we had a hard crowd standing in with us; but I had to pull out, and Alton and another man made most of five thousand dollars out of the claim I left." "The Bluebird?" said Hallam reflectively. "I remember that rush. Alton did himself well. Wasn't there a man called Nailer mixed up in the affair?" "There was," said Damer, who seemed to shiver a little. "He was my partner. We'd have had the claim, and Alton wouldn't have worried anybody again, if Nailer had kept his nerve that night. Something went wrong with the spring of his Winchester.--and Alton didn't give him another chance." The silence that followed was, somewhat impressive. Hallam was trying to remember what he had read about the affray in question in a Tacoma paper, while Damer once more saw in fancy a man spring half-dressed through the wisp of smoke that drifted about a little tent. He remembered with an unpleasant distinctness the crash of the rifle shot that rang amidst the shadowy pines, and the grim face of the man who whirled an axe that glinted in the moonlight about his head. He saw the flash of its descent--and then brushing the memories from him stretched out a hand that shook a little towards the whisky on the table. "Well," he said, "I owe Alton a good deal, and that's why I went up to Somasco when you told me, but he has been too much for me again, and now I feel it in me that if I'm wise I'll let that man alone." He drank a little whisky, and sat still, staring vacantly before him with a vague apprehension in his eyes, while the strained tenseness of his expression and attitude was not without its effect on Hallam, and it was unfortunate he did not yield to the impulse which prompted him to let Damer go. He, however, shook off the fancy with a little, impatient laugh. "It's not going to suit me to have you slipping out of the country," he said. "I want you right here, though it would be quite easy to find a man with twice the grit you have in you. You let Alton whip you off your claim in Washington, and--for I've a notion of what has happened--'most pound the head off you yesterday. Now you want to light out, leaving him to laugh at you?" Damer flushed a little, and a look of vindictive malice crept into his eyes as he rose. "That's about enough!" he said. "You're quite a different man from Alton. I'm going on." "Sit down!" said Hallam sharply. "I'm quite as dangerous to you. Take some more whisky, and listen to me, though I didn't think it would be necessary to go into the thing again. I was with the men who found Gordon at the bottom of his shaft on the Quatchigan." Damer appeared irresolute, but he sat down. "Nobody knows how he got there." "No? Well, I have a notion, and I guess Tom Winstanley and one other man could tell." "Winstanley's dead." Hallam laughed. "Still, the other man is on my pay-roll, but where you can't get at him unless I want you to. Now, are you going to gain anything by kicking against me?" Damer was evidently astonished, and sat for almost a minute as though lost in reflection. Then he made a little gesture as one who abandons a struggle. "I guess that takes me. What do you want?" he said. "Nothing very much in the meanwhile. They'll start you rock-drilling at the Tyee, but it's quite likely I'll send you up into the ranges prospecting by and by. Still, I don't want any of the folks down here to know you're with me, and you'll start out by the railroad trail to-morrow, and wait at the lake until I come up with you. There's somebody coming now!" Damer moved abruptly, for there was a step on the stairway, and as he reached the verandah a man brushed past him. He stopped, and for a moment Damer and Alton stood face to face. The latter, however, passed on, and swept his glance round the room, seeing only a man he did not recognize sitting at the opposite end with his back to him. Then he swung round again, and went down the stairway shouting, "Horton!" until a man came out from a shed at the back of the store. "Well," he said, "I'm here. You needn't raise the whole place, Harry." Alton laughed. "I've been up to Grantly's, and he's going in to the railroad to-morrow. You can send that order for the crockery along with him. Dollars are no object so long as it's pretty. The tea is to be the best they keep in Vancouver, too." He swung himself into the saddle, and shook the bridle, while Damer leaned on the verandah balustrade gazing up the dusky trail he had taken until the last faint beat of horsehoofs sank into the silence of the bush. It was now very black and solemn, but away beyond it the snow still shone faintly cold and white against the sky, and once more Damer shivered a little as he turned towards the lighted store. He had meant to leave the country, but fate had been too strong for him, and remembering what Hallam had told him about the prospecting he wondered if he and Alton would meet again under that cold gleam of snow amidst the great desolation of the ranges. CHAPTER IX MISS DERINGHAM FEELS SLIGHTED The morning was still and almost unpleasantly warm, but Miss Deringham looked very fresh and cool in her long white dress as she lay in a deerhide chair on the verandah of the Somasco ranch. She had hung her hat on the back of the chair, and a shaft of sunlight called up an answering brightness from the coils of lustrous hair. One foot in the scantiest form of slipper rested on the lowest rail of the balustrade, and she had slightly curled herself up in the chair in a fashion which implied a languid content with her surroundings, and that there was no longer any need for ceremony between herself and her companion. It is possible that Miss Deringham was aware of this, even if she had not intended to convey that impression. Alton, who now wore a new jean jacket buttoned right up to the neck, leaned against a pillar, answering the questions of the girl, who glanced at him with a smile occasionally. He had, as usual, a good deal to do that day, and now and then turned his eyes towards the sun, as though noticing its height above the cedars, which did not, of course, escape Miss Deringham's attention. Still, he lingered upon the verandah, and what she deduced from this was not unpleasant to the girl. Though it still returned at increasing intervals, she had almost forgotten her antipathy to the man, and the fact that he was rapidly yielding to her refining and sometimes chastening influence was indirectly flattering. Miss Deringham experienced the more gratification in using it because he was quick-witted, and a veiled rebuke would bring a little darker colour into his sun-darkened face, and she could forgive his offences, which were indeed not frequent, for the sake of his penitence. "You have been very patient," she said at length. "No," said Alton with a twinkle in his eyes, "I don't think that is a thing anybody could bring up against me." "Still," said the girl, "you have been an hour here talking to me, when you must have been dying to get away." Alton laughed, and Miss Deringham found something pleasant in his naive directness. "Now, that's not fair. If I had been I should have gone," said he. "It would please me to stay right here and talk to you all day." Miss Deringham shook her head reproachfully. "One should imply such things and not put them into words. Still, I scarcely think you will much longer have an opportunity. We are going on to Vancouver very shortly." Alton's face grew clouded. "Why?" he said. The girl laughed softly. "We have inconvenienced Mrs. Margery a good deal already, and it is evident that we cannot stay here for ever." Alton moved abruptly, and his companion fancied she heard a stifled sigh. "No," he said gravely. "It's a pity; but you could wait for another month or two." Alice Deringham smiled a little. "You and Charley will miss us, then?" Alton nodded gravely, but there was a subdued brightness in his eyes, and the girl wished he would open them fully. She fancied he was putting considerable restraint upon himself. "I don't know about Charley. He can talk better than I can for himself, but I shall miss you all the time," he said. "This has been a revelation to me, and I feel that it is good for me to talk to you. Then, before you came I had a kind of bitter feeling against all my father's folks in England. I figured they were wrapped up in their cast-iron pride, and ready to trample on anybody who got in their way; but you have started me thinking differently, and it seems my duty to know more of them. After all, I am an Alton of Carnaby." The girl smiled again. "You fancy you may have been wrong?" The man's face flushed a little, and there was once more evidence of the self-restraint. "Yes," he said simply. "I know I was a fool." He might have said a good deal more, and lessened the effect, for Miss Deringham had seen his face and read the respect in it. Its sincerity touched her, and she felt with a vague uneasiness that it would not be pleasant to face his contempt if he found it misplaced. "And yet you take your father's part?" he said. "Of course," said Alton simply. "What would any son do? But it seems to me there might be a little allowance for my grandfather, too, and I think he and my father have fixed up that quarrel long ago." "They are both dead," said the girl with a little curiosity. "Yes," said Alton, "and they kept their word, and died unyielding. Well, I think they were each right from their way of looking at the thing, and that being so they could only do what they did, and would respect each other for it when they meet where the long trail ends. My father was right in holding to the woman who loved him, and I think Tristan Alton knew it when he left Carnaby to me." Miss Deringham seemed thoughtful. The man's grim code of honour, inflexible as it was primitive, caused her, for no apparent reason, indefinite misgivings, and she made a little gesture of weariness. "I think," she said, "it would be better if we did not talk of Carnaby, and I was wondering if it would be possible to catch a trout if there is a little more wind presently." This was scarcely a correct rendering of her thoughts, for she was in reality desirous of ascertaining whether the man would, to afford her pleasure, thrust his work aside. "Well," he said eagerly, "I shouldn't wonder if it would. Now, there's the planer to fix up, but that could wait a little, and--but here's someone coming!" Miss Deringham was conscious of a trace of annoyance when a girl rode out of the orchard on a wiry little pony. She was dressed neatly and rode well, though the somewhat scanty skirt was evidently not the work of a habitmaker and had seen lengthy service, while the plain straw hat could not at the limit have cost more than a dollar; nor did she wear any gloves, and her hands were brown, while her face betokened exposure to frost and wind and sun. It was, however, a comely face, and Miss Deringham noticed that the girl carried herself gracefully. It was also curious that she was not wholly pleased when Alton went forward to greet the newcomer with his hat in his hand, and, she fancied, offered more assistance than was absolutely necessary in helping her down. Then they entered the verandah together, and Alice Deringham smiled in a fashion which did not pledge her to any extreme good-will when Alton presented the stranger. "Miss Townshead, from the ranch back yonder," he said. Miss Deringham said something of no importance, and waited with slightly unusual curiosity for the girl's answer, which somewhat astonished her. The voice was nicely modulated, and the intonation free from Western harshness and unmistakably English. "You will come over and see us. It is a long time since we had a visit from anybody from England," she said. "Are you pleased with this country?" Miss Deringham glanced at Alton. "I grow almost enthusiastic about it at times," she said. "Its inhabitants are also especially kind." The man did not, however, respond as he might have done. "It's a tolerably good country," he said gravely, and then glanced at the stranger. "Nothing wrong at the ranch, I hope, Miss Nellie?" "No,", said the girl. "We have, however, heard that Jack is seriously ill, and I rode over because the spotted steer has broken away, and I found the trail led into the Somasco valley. It was one of the beasts father was sending down to sell." Alton became suddenly intent. "Then it has not gone far. I saw its trail an hour ago," he said. "Well, we must head the beast off before it gets into the thick timber under the range, and there's no time to lose. I'll be ready in two minutes. Would you like to follow with Charley, Miss Deringham?" The time had scarcely been exceeded when he led a horse out of the stable, held his hand out for Miss Townshead to mount by, and then swung himself to the saddle. Then he and the girl swung across the clearing at a gallop, and Alice Deringham endeavoured to assure herself that she was not angry. It appeared that her angling was of considerably less importance than the capture of the steer. It was possibly for this reason that she was unusually gracious to Seaforth, who came along just then, and though evidently in some haste, stopped to talk to her; while when she had promised to accompany him to witness the chase, and he strode away towards the stable, her father sauntered out of the house and glanced in her direction whimsically. "It occurs to me that one of us is responsible for some irregularity in the work upon this ranch, and that the beast it a trifle uncertain in his moods," said he. "It is," said his daughter, "a little difficult to understand you." Deringham pointed to the two mounted figures just entering the brush, and the girl fancied that something had ruffled him. He could be unpleasant when that happened. "Alton of Somasco is a somewhat busy man, but both he and his partner seem to have suspended their energies this morning," he said. "No doubt wild-beast taming has its fascination, but one might fancy it was apt to prove a somewhat disconcerting and perilous amusement." "Yes?" said the girl in a tone of languid inquiry. Deringham nodded. "One can never tell when the beast may revert to his primitive instincts, and do something unpleasant," he said. "This one is also evidently of somewhat uncertain temperament. We are told that Una had a lion, but the effect of the story would have been diminished if it had been recorded that the king of the forest divided his allegiance." Miss Deringham was now convinced that her father was not pleased. "I have not noticed anything especially leonine about Mr. Seaforth," she said. "No," said Deringham dryly. "The Honourable Charley appears to be an admirable young man of the domestic feline species, but I don't know of any reason that would make it advisable to waste powder and shot over him." Miss Deringham rose languidly, but her father felt he had gone as far as was desirable, and went back to grapple with a financial difficulty from which he could see only one escape, while she rode away with Seaforth, who led out the horse reserved for her use. Alice Deringham could ride, but when they left the clearing and plunged into the bush she found that all she had been taught in England was not much use in British Columbia. There was no perceptible trail, and the horses floundered round great fallen trees, and plunged smashing through thickets of black raspberry and barberry. In places their flanks were brushed by tall, black-stemmed fern, and where the forest was more open treacherous gravel slipped beneath the hoofs that sank from sight amidst the blood-red clusters of the little wineberry. After an hour of it the girl was shaken and breathless, and she contemplated her habit somewhat ruefully when Seaforth drew bridle. Somewhere far up on a hill shoulder there was a smashing in the bush. "Are you sure you have not lost the way?" she said. "It seems impossible for horses or cattle to get through this forest." Seaforth laughed. "The bush is really thin here," he said. "Anybody used to it could get through at a gallop, while a good bushman could scarcely make five miles a day walking where it's tolerably thick. I wonder if you know that the ox was originally a denizen of the bush. I didn't until Harry told me. It always seemed to me a tranquil beast adapted for sober locomotion on nice green grass." "And isn't it?" said the girl with indifference in her eyes. "Mr. Alton is an authority on cattle?" "Harry," said Seaforth, smiling, "is, although one might not always fancy so, a complete encyclopaedia on everything useful. Anyway, from the sound up yonder you will presently see some of the primitive habits of the genus _bos_, and the spectacle may be the more interesting because the beast will if possible head away up that valley into fastnesses where only a prehistoric man with a tail could follow it." Alice Deringham said nothing further and was glad of the rest. They had pulled their horses up on the slope of a hill which formed one side of a hollow out of which several valleys opened. There were great trees about them, and it was only here and there a ray of sunlight pierced the dim green shadow, while below them a stream went frothing down a miniature canon whose banks were cumbered by fallen timber. It was, the girl fancied, an especially difficult place for a horseman to pick his way through. Meanwhile the sound above grew louder, and presently an object apparently travelling like a thunderbolt came out of the shadow. It was, notwithstanding the speed it made, gambolling playfully, with head tossed sideways and tail in the air, and when Miss Deringham fancied it must turn aside for a tangled brake, went smashing straight through it. As it emerged with an exultant flourish of head and tail two other objects became visible behind it, and Seaforth pushed forward when the mounted figures came sweeping down the mountain side. Here and there they swung wide round a fallen tree, but they rode straight through raspberry-canes and breast-high fern, and Alice Deringham wondered when she saw that one of them was a girl. She had left her hat somewhere in the bush, her hair streamed about her, the skirt was blown aside; but she held on with set lips and two vivid spots of colour in her warm-tinted face, a length or two behind her companion. He was riding hard, and there was a red smear across his face where a branch had smote him. Miss Deringham turned to watch them, realizing that whatever the steer risked, its pursuers were in peril of life and limb. Sometimes one horse rose above fern and thicket, or twisted, apparently with the sinuosity of a snake, in and out amidst the clustered trunks, while once the girl lurched forward. Miss Deringham gasped, but part of the fluttering skirt was rent away, and the little lithe figure swept on again. The pair were, it was evident, closing with the steer, and the latter apparently cut off from the valley it made for by the ravine. This was not, however, to prove an insuperable obstacle, for as Miss Deringham with difficulty edged her horse nearer, the beast charged straight at the hollow, and dropped into it. Then, while she regarded its capture as certain, it rose into view again, and floundered up the almost vertical slope on the other side with no very obvious difficulty. Miss Deringham, who found this riding down of a Canadian steer almost as exciting as anything she had seen when following the English hounds, regretted that the ravine with its fringe of undergrowth and litter of netted branches must apparently put a stop to the pursuit. Though the width was not great, no horse, she fancied, would be expected to face it, and she watched the two figures flitting amidst the trunks to see when they would pull up. There was, however, no sign that they intended to do so, and Miss Deringham gasped a little when Alton glanced for a moment over his shoulder. "Pull him!" his voice reached her hoarsely, and she held her breath as she saw the man's hand move on the bridle and his heels pressed home. The horse swung clear of the thicket, plunged with head down, flung it up, and straightened itself again; there was a drumming of hoofs, and man and beast had shot forward from the bank. It seemed an appreciable time before they came down amidst the fern, and then Miss Deringham drew in her breath with a little sibilant sigh. "Oh!" she said softly, and there was a great smashing as man and beast reeled through a brake on the other side. "Yes," said Seaforth, "it was a tolerably risky thing, but it takes a good deal to turn Harry. Where's Nellie Townshead now?" "There," said Miss Deringham, instinctively clenching her bridle. "Surely the girl cannot be going to try it." "Good Lord!" said Seaforth under his breath, and the second figure rushed with streaming skirt and hair at the gap cleared by Alton's passage. Then the man turned his head, and it was a moment before he looked round again, very white in face. "Thank Heaven!" he said hoarsely. "She's over." Miss Deringham glanced at him curiously, and then laughed a little. "Miss Townshead is evidently a determined young woman," she said, with something in her manner which led Seaforth to fancy that this was not intended as a compliment. "But what is Mr. Alton doing?" "Getting the rope ready," said Seaforth. "It's scarcely used in this country, but Harry once did some stock-riding on the prairie. We'll push on a little." It became evident as they did so that the position favoured the pursuers now. A rock it was apparently incapable of climbing prevented the flight of the steer in one direction, and Miss Townshead had ridden forward ready to turn the beast if it attempted escape in another. It stopped with lowered head as though meditating an onslaught upon her, then wheeled again and came back towards Alton, who rose a trifle in his stirrups, whirling the rope about his head. It shot forward presently, uncoiling in a curve, and then the man swung backwards, wheeling his horse, and there was a crash as the steer went down amidst the fern. "That should take a good deal of the friskiness out of it," said Seaforth. "We'll go across and join them. There's a way over somewhere." The steer was roped to a tree when they came up with the pair, and Seaforth noticed with some inward amusement the way in which the two girls glanced at each other, and the contrast between them. Miss Deringham was almost too serene, and, he fancied, might have stepped out of a picture. Miss Townshead's cheeks were crimson, her skirt was rent, and, though she had evidently found opportunity to effect some alteration, loose wisps of hair still hung about her shoulders. They were, however, of a fine silky brown, and it seemed to Seaforth, might have been arranged in a more unbecoming fashion. "I wonder if I might venture to congratulate you. We seldom witness horsemanship of this description in England," said Miss Deringham, with an inflection in her voice which Seaforth guessed the meaning of, and seemed to bring a slightly warmer tinge into the already carmine cheeks of the girl. Still, she looked at the speaker with a little smile. "There is a difference between the two countries, and the scarcity of dollars in this one explains a good deal," she said. Alton glanced at both of them with a slightly bewildered expression. "Of course!" said he. "The thing's quite simple. That steer is worth so many dollars to Miss Townshead's father, and he couldn't afford to lose them." Alice Deringham turned aside with a just perceptible gesture of impatience, which Seaforth noticed and fancied he understood, though it was not apparent to the others, and while she rode on with him, Alton appeared thoughtful as he did something to his bridle. When he had finished it he saw that his companion was smiling at him. "It seems to me there are a good many things I don't know," said he. "Of course," said the girl lightly. "Still, I don't think I would worry over them if I were you. They are very trivial!" Alton nodded sagely, and odd fragments of his conversation reached Miss Deringham. "We'll send someone back for the steer," he said. "Jack's no better?" "No," said the girl, with a little quiver in her voice. "I am afraid the work is too hard for him up there." Alton seemed thoughtful. "I wonder if he would come down and do something for me," he said. "I could find a use for another man or two, you see." Again the little flush of crimson crept into Miss Townshead's cheeks. "I don't think so; he seems to fancy he can get into the C.P.R. service when he is better." "Well," said Alton, "I'm going to take a liberty. Jack wouldn't have gone up yonder if you hadn't wanted the dollars?" Nellie Townshead looked down a moment, then swiftly raised her head, and though her fingers seemed to tighten on the bridle there was a curious steadiness in her eyes. "There is," she said, "no use in denying what everybody knows." Alton nodded. "I know that kind of worry, and it's a bad one. Has Hallam got a hold upon the ranch?" Miss Townshead appeared astonished, and did not answer for a moment. "I fancied you did not know, but he has," she said. "He came up to see my father a week ago, and that is why we are selling the stock." Alton's face darkened. "That man's of the same breed as the panther, only the panther lets up when he's full. Well, you needn't tell me any more. Interest's high in this country, but it's a pity your father------" He stopped a moment, and appeared a trifle embarrassed when the girl regarded him with a little flash in her eyes. "My father has done his best," she said. "Of course!" said Alton hastily. "Well, now, Hallam wants your ranch, and when that man wants a thing it's bad to keep him from getting it, but it wouldn't please me to see him take the ranch. I wonder if you can figure what his next move will be?" The girl's fingers trembled, but there was patience and courage in her eyes. "I am afraid I can," said she. "We shall be sold up and driven out very shortly." Alton shook his head. "I wouldn't count too much on that. Hallam's bad all through, but there are one or two other men who will have a finger in what's going to be made out of this country, and it would be a favour if when he shuts down on you, you send word to me." The girl did not look at the man, but rode silent for a while. "I think I understand you, and you are very kind--but it is impossible." "No," said Alton grimly. "You don't understand me. There's not room enough up here for Hallam and me, and I've a deal to square off with him already. Now when you get your notice you will send word to me?" "Yes," said the girl, as one making a swift decision, and there was a sudden flash of hope in her eyes. "That is a bargain," said Alton, with the little soft laugh of his. "Then when the deal's fixed up all the winnings will not be counted over by Mr. Hallam." Miss Deringham heard nothing further, and understood very little of what had reached her, while though unusually gracious to Seaforth she found him distinctly unresponsive. She, however, lent Miss Townshead a hat when they reached the ranch, and made no comment when Seaforth rode home with her. It was late that night when the latter found Alton smoking in a somewhat dubious mood upon the verandah. "Is there anything worrying you?" said he. "Oh, yes," said Alton grimly. "There's work of all kinds waiting, and nothing done to-day. Somehow women seem to play the devil with a man's plans, Charley." "Yes," said Seaforth, "they not infrequently do." "Well," said Alton, "I wouldn't mind so much if I'd pleased anybody, but I haven't, you see. I was talking at large about something after we'd got the steer, when Miss Nellie turned right round on me. Then I came back here, and Miss Deringham didn't seem pleased with me." "Did she tell you so?" said Seaforth, smiling, and Alton turned upon him savagely. "No, sir, she did not," said he. "Anyway, it wasn't necessary. You understand these folks from the old country, Charley?" "It is," said Seaforth dryly, "a tolerably bold venture to assert that one understands anybody." "Well," said Alton, "you know what I mean. Now do you think Miss Deringham was vexed because she didn't get that fishing? You see she is tolerably keen on it. Of course, if I had thought of it I might have sent you with her." "No," said Seaforth, smiling. "I should scarcely fancy that was the reason, and I don't fancy the arrangement suggested would have given Miss Deringham any great pleasure. Nor do I think I should have gone." "No?" said Alton inquiringly. "No," said Seaforth dryly. "I'm not Alton of Somasco--and Carnaby--you see." Alton regarded him sternly out of half-closed eyes. "There are jokes that don't please me, Charley," he said, and then laughed softly. "I'm a fool with a red-hot temper, but it's a consolation that I know a bigger one than me." "You need not be bashful, Harry. You mean me?" Alton nodded as he turned upon his heel, and Seaforth watched him meditatively. "I wish I was as sure of it as you seem to be," said he. "Well, I'm occasionally thankful I'm not a rich man, nor much of a beauty." CHAPTER X THE UNDELIVERED MESSAGE The afternoon was slipping by when, some time after the capture of the steer, Alice Deringham sat waiting for Alton under a big fir. He had promised to take her out upon the lake, and the little breeze that stirred the cedars to drowsy music would, she knew, ripple the shining surface and render the capture of a big trout the less problematical. The trout of British Columbia are also at least equal to those of England in their faculties of discrimination and observation, and during the listless autumn days Miss Deringham's angling had not been especially successful. Still, though she not infrequently returned with an empty basket, the girl apparently retained an enthusiasm for it she had not always displayed at home. The lake she declared was beautiful, and this was beyond contravention, while even when no splash disturbed its mirror-like shining she found it pleasant to slide across its black depths in a light canoe. She knew, and so did Alton, that under those conditions the silver and vermilion lure would have been quite as useful in the bottom of the craft, but the man usually seemed too content to lazily dip the paddle while the girl would lead him on to talk with judicious questions. Alton could on occasion talk well, displaying a vigour and freshness of thought which at the commencement had slightly astonished his companion, who found a curious pleasure in sounding this and that depth of his nature. As a rule, he responded readily, and she was conscious of the same sense of power that a master of the organ might feel as his fingers touched the stops and keys. Alton had lived simply in close touch with nature, and though he had read much, his thoughts had something of the pristine purity and vigour of the land he dwelt in, and were in a fashion musical; but now and then the girl venturing overfar chanced upon a chord that rang harsh and discordant, and shrinking a little recognized, she fancied, the undertone of primitive barbarity. On the afternoon in question she was, however, slightly angry with him. He had fixed no special time, but she had waited some while, and Alice Deringham preferred that other people should wait for her. She had also taken some pains with her toilet and though her attire was neat in place of ornate, its simplicity was the result of lavish expenditure and artistic selection. To some extent, and so far as she could ascertain it, it was also in accordance with the taste of the man who was to accompany her. It was very still. Nobody moved in the clearing, though from beyond it rose the faint humming of saws, and the little breeze was heavy with a resinous fragrance. The log-house was silent save for an occasional clatter from the kitchen, where Mrs. Margery was apparently busy. Alice Deringham did not like Mrs. Margery, and had reason to believe the latter returned the feeling, though she had noticed that the somewhat grim old lady had a smile that was almost gentle for rancher Townshead's daughter. Presently the rattle of plates also ceased, and the girl found the silence exasperating. The time was slipping by, and there was still no sign of Alton. At last, however, there was a thud of horsehoofs in the orchard, and a man rode out from among the trees, but Miss Deringham, who had risen with a smile, shut the fingers of one hand a trifle viciously when she saw that it was not Alton. The man sat loosely in his saddle, and his face was a trifle flushed when he pulled the horse up. "Is Harry Alton anywhere around, miss?" he said, and the girl noticed that his voice was uneven. "He may be here presently," she said. "I don't know where he is." "I've a long way to ride, and can't wait for him," said the man, swaying a little as he gathered up the bridle. "There seems to be nobody around the place, and when he comes you might tell him to go up to Townshead's as soon as he can. Miss Nellie's wanting to see him, and it's Thursday." "Thursday?" said Miss Deringham. "Yes," said the man. "Harry will understand. There was some more about it, but I've forgotten it. Well, you'll tell him. I must be getting on." He lurched when the horse started, and though most men are abstemious in that country, Alice Deringham decided that he was under the influence of alcohol. She also felt distinctly displeased with him for bringing his message before she and Alton had set out for the lake. It was a favourable afternoon for fishing, and not pleasant to reflect that her amusement must be deferred at the bidding of the girl from the ranch. Then she decided that as Alton would not have received the message had he come when she expected him, it would not make any great difference if he did not hear it until their return. Miss Deringham did not remember by what reasoning she arrived at that result, but it seemed to her distinctly more fitting that Miss Townshead should be the one to wait. Ten minutes later Alton rode up at a gallop. "Sorry I couldn't come before, but I was over at Thomson's borrowing a new trolling spoon," he said. "Jimmy's too slow for anything, and I had to look at a span of oxen he'd been buying." "It seems to me that leisureliness is a characteristic of the country," said the girl. Alton glanced at her with a faint twinkle in his eyes. "Now if you feel vexed with me, look at the horse," said he. "Anyway, the canoe's ready and the lake all rippling, and I've one of the new flight-hook spoons." Miss Deringham, who saw the spume upon the bit and the horse's whitened sides, smiled graciously, and decided that Nellie Townshead's message could very well wait until the evening. "I will be ready in about five minutes," she said. She kept the man waiting twenty, possibly because she believed it would be a salutary discipline, and was not displeased to notice that he stamped impatiently up and down. Then she went down with him to the lake, and it was dusk when they returned with several fine trout, in the state of content with each other which occasionally characterizes comrades in a successful angling expedition. They had also so much to talk about that Miss Deringham completely forgot the message, and her pleasure was only dissipated when she met her father alone for a minute. His pose expressed dejection and indecision as he came towards her along the verandah. "You do not look well," she said. "That," said Deringham dryly, "is quite possible. Things are not going well with me just now." "Business worries?" said the girl. Deringham nodded. "And domestic too, if the affairs of Carnaby come under that heading. In fact, I am hemmed in by difficulties I cannot see a way through, and to make it worse Alton will come to no decision until he has sent somebody over to report upon the property. I have wondered now and then if he was talking altogether at random when he told you that he was willing to give it you." "Of course!" said his daughter, smiling outwardly to cover her indignation. "It would be preposterous to think that I could accept such a favour even if he had the slightest intention of relinquishing his claim!" "Yes," said Deringham dryly. "Still, I fancy there are young women who would not disdain to be mistress of Carnaby." The girl straightened herself a little, and the colour crept into her face. "Do not be foolish, father. You cannot fancy that the man was speaking seriously." "I don't know," said Deringham. "I am not sure that he does himself, and if you do not, there is an end of the affair. Still, if there had been anything in the speech the possibility alluded to would have lifted a great load from me." He said nothing further, but passed on, leaving the girl standing on the verandah with head bent a trifle, and a face that was less cold in colouring than usual. Presently, however, she stood upright suddenly as Alton came up the stairway, but not before he had seen her. After a swift glance at her he put his hand gently on her shoulder. "You are in some trouble. Can't you tell me what it is?" he said. Alice Deringham could just see his face in the moonlight, and it was gravely compassionate, but there was in it, none of the personal admiration she had sometimes noticed there, which had its effect upon her attitude towards him. He was, she felt, sorry for her because she was a woman menaced by some difficulty, and that she should be an object of pity to this bush rancher stung the pride, of which she had a good deal. Had he tendered his sympathy because she was Alice Deringham it is possible that she would have told him something, though not exactly the simple state of the case. As it was, however, she shook his hand off, and looked at him with a sparkle in her eyes. "Why should you suppose that, and venture to presume upon it?" she said. "Would it be presuming?" "It would," said the girl very coldly. "Then," said Alton, "you can't tell me?" "No, of course not. Is there any reason why I should?" Here at least was an opportunity, but if the man desired to gain his companion's confidence he made an indifferent use of it. "We are some kind of relations, and you promised to be friends with me," he said. Miss Deringham laughed a little. "One seldom tells one's troubles to one's friends," she said. Alton seemed to sigh. "Then there is nothing I can do?" "Yes," said Miss Deringham. "People are usually best alone when they have to grapple with a difficulty." Alton still lingered a moment. "If you don't want to tell me, I don't know how to make you, and I'm sorry, because I might fix the thing up," he said gravely. "Well, I'm going, but it hurts me to see anything worrying you, and know that somebody else has brought it upon you." "How could you know that?" said the girl. The man smiled a little. "It's quite simple," said he, "You are too good and kind to bring sorrow upon yourself or anybody." This was much better, but it was over-late now, and, for the girl said nothing, he moved away, and presently met Seaforth as he strode down the trail. "Hallo!" said the latter. "Where are you going, Harry?" "I know where you can go," said Alton grimly, "and that's right away to the devil." Seaforth laughed a little. "And that's the woman's work. It's a pity Harry can't distinguish between paste and diamonds," said he. It happened about this time that Miss Townshead sat in an attitude of expectancy in her father's house. Townshead, still wearing the red velvet jacket, sat in the old leather chair, with the resignation of the incapable stamped upon him, and the cigar and cup of coffee close by. His attitude seemed to imply that he was a very ill-used man, but had discovered that it was no use protesting. He sipped his coffee delicately, and then glanced towards his daughter with a trace of irritation. "I wish you could keep still, my dear," he said. "There is an inquietude in your very pose that unsettles me, and with a little fortitude one can get used to anything. For instance, if anybody had told me five years ago that I could take my after-dinner coffee without a slight flavour of old cognac I should not have believed them." Nellie Townshead evinced a little impatience. "It might be slightly more difficult to dispense with the dinner, as well as the coffee, and that is what we shall probably have to do presently," said she. "Why did you borrow that money from Mr. Hallam, father? Any one could have seen that he was a rascal, and I believe that Mr. Seaforth warned you." Townshead sighed. "The difficulty," he said, "is to arrive at a correct decision before one knows what will happen. Afterwards, it is comparatively easy. It appeared desirable to buy some cattle, and that I should visit Victoria, where I made an unfortunate speculation, to recuperate after my last attack. During my absence Jack, as you will remember, lost some of the cattle and mismanaged the ranch. Mr. Seaforth is also a young man who occasionally takes too much upon himself." The girl flushed a little. "Jack worked from morning to night, and if we had spent a few dollars hiring somebody to help him, it would have been better for all of us," she said. "That, however, is not the question. What are we to do when we are turned out of the ranch, as we shall be very shortly?" "There is," said Townshead, "no use in anticipating unpleasant probabilities. We will in the first place go down to Vancouver, where I fancy you will be able to earn a moderate sum by typewriting. The use of the instrument is, I understand, readily acquired, and while I regret the necessity for a daughter of mine to follow such an occupation, the emolument appears to be reasonable." Nellie Townshead smiled somewhat bitterly, for the fact that she had ridden after straying cattle, and done a good many things that women do not usually undertake upon the ranch, had apparently escaped her father's attention. "But is there anything you could do in Vancouver? You have no great knowledge of business," she said. Townshead smiled wryly. "It is," he said, "a pity that I have so much, because on the two occasions I took an interest in it I lost a good deal of money. There is nothing for me to do here, at least. I cannot chop big trees." "No," said the girl. "But have you nothing in contemplation?" Townshead shook his head as though he were tired of the subject. "No," he said resignedly. "I have too much regard for my very indifferent health to worry unnecessarily." The girl sighed a little, and felt very helpless, knowing that the task of maintaining both would devolve upon her and her brother. She was a dutiful daughter, but she occasionally found it difficult to maintain her respect for her father. Had he been beaten down after a stubborn struggle she would with almost fierce loyalty have been proud of him: but Townshead, who spent most of his time safeguarding his constitution, had never fought at all. Conflict of any kind jarred upon him. Answering nothing, she sat still listening, until at last a tramp of horsehoofs became audible. Somebody was riding that way, but there was another ranch farther up the valley, and her pulses throbbed when her strained senses told her that the horseman had reached the forking of the trail. If he passed on the blow she shrank from might be suspended a little longer. The man did not, however, pass by, but turned into the home trail, and she rose with a little shiver when there was a knocking at the door. A man stood outside it with a horse behind him, and a paper in his hand, while his dress betrayed him as one from the cities. He was also young, and appeared considerably embarrassed, but he took off his hat and made the girl a little bow. She flung the door open, and stood very straight and still before him. "You may come in," she said. The stranger glanced at her swiftly, and Nellie Townshead was somewhat astonished to see the blood mantle to his forehead. "Very sorry, but I see you guess who I am," he said, with a crisp, English intonation. "I am here to--well, you understand--on behalf of Mr. Hallam, but I really wouldn't be if I could help it." "You can put your horse in the stable, and then I will give you some supper," said the girl, in a coldly even tone. "There is still a little to eat here, and you must be hungry." The man appeared dubious, and stood still a moment, then touched his hat again when he saw the crimson flame higher in the cheeks of the girl. "Of course," he said; "I'm going." Nellie Townshead laughed bitterly. "If I had intended to shut you out I should scarcely have asked you in," she said. The young man came back in a few minutes, and by that time there were a few plates upon the table. He sat down, and then stood up once more when he saw the girl standing close by with a tray. "You must let me wait upon myself," said he. "During the course of my last ranching visit they set savage dogs on me, and I wouldn't trouble you, only that I've ridden fifty miles, and am very hungry." The girl seemed to soften, for she saw he was talking at random to cover her embarrassment as well as his own. "You are an Englishman?" she said. "Yes," said the stranger. "I'm not especially proud of it just now, but, you see, a man must live." Townshead looked up from his chair. "I fancy that is a slightly mistaken sentiment. Some men are better dead, and I occasionally feel tempted to include myself in the category." The young man smiled a little. "The Frenchman put it a trifle more concisely, sir," he said. Townshead nodded. "Still, he was correct. I don't mind admitting that I looked forward to your visit with apprehension, but I now fancy you will not jar upon me so much as I expected." The stranger glanced at Miss Townshead, who, though she wished to, could not quite check a smile. He was very young, and had a pleasant face. "That was very kind of you," he said. "Now, I think the least that I can do is to retire to the barn or stable. I have some blankets, and can make myself comfortable." He went out, knocking over a cup in his haste, and the girl sat still and laughed. There was not a great deal of merriment in her laughter, and the tears were close behind it, but it was a relief. Townshead, however, watched her disapprovingly. "You should," he said, "endeavour to preserve a becoming serenity." Nellie Townshead became grave again. "I fancy it would have been better if we had not displayed so much of it and let things drift, but that is not the question now," she said. "How could any one willing to help us do so, father?" Townshead made a little grimace. "Are you not suggesting an impossibility?" "But if there was somebody," persisted the girl. "What could he do on Thursday? I want to understand everything." "Well," said Townshead, "I think this is the position. Hallam lent me money which I cannot repay him, and he sells us up. Incidentally, I fancy he has some reason for desiring this ranch, and as he has been acquiring a good deal of land lately will get somebody to buy it in. Very few of our neighbours have any dollars to spare, and the price will necessarily be a low one. Now if any man with the means to bid against him were here it would put heart into some of the others and run the prices up, and in that case Hallam would have to hand me over a balance, as well as pay a good deal more than he meant to for the ranch. I think that is simple, and I believe the manoeuvre has been used with some success in other parts of Canada." "But," said the girl, "if the man offered more than Hallam or his nominee would outbid, he would have to take the ranch." Townshead nodded agreement. "That," he said, "is the difficulty. Still, though I do not think there is any one who would do so much for us, I presume you would not have asked the question unless you had something in your mind." The girl, who did not answer for a moment, stooped and stirred the stove. "No," she said very slowly. "I sent word to Mr. Alton." "Alton?" said Townshead, and sat silent a while. "Well, although I do not altogether approve of him, I fancy that if there is anybody in this district able to help us that is the man. There remains the question is he willing?" Nellie Townshead still busied herself at the stove. "I think he is," she said. Townshead straightened himself a trifle in his chair. "Then, I am curious to know why he should be," he said. "I do not know," said the girl, who rose and took up the supper dishes. "Still, I feel sure that he is." Townshead turned towards her. "You fancied so a moment or two ago, and now you are sure," he said. "There must be some meaning to this." His daughter looked round and laughed a little, holding the tray at a perilous slope. "He made me promise to let him know," she said. Her father shook his head. "A young man of Mr. Alton's description does not do anything of the kind without a motive," he said. "Now I wonder if there are minerals upon the ranch." The colour crept into his daughter's cheeks again. "They would in any case belong to the Crown," she said. "Can you not believe that the man who packed our provisions in through flooded fords and snow would do anything out of generosity?" She turned away and left him, and Townshead puckered his face dubiously. "I should find it very difficult, and the care of a daughter is a heavy responsibility," he said. Miss Townshead did not return for some little while, but stood above the cedar washing-board scarcely seeing the dishes that once or twice almost slipped from her hand. There was, her father had told her, one man who could help them in the only way in which assistance could be accepted, and she felt sure he would. If rancher Alton failed to keep his word she felt it would be very difficult to believe in the honour of his sex again. CHAPTER XI CONFIDENCE MISPLACED There was sliding mist in the Somasco valley, and the pines were dripping when Alton and Miss Deringham stood upon a slippery ledge above the river. Just there it came down frothing into a deep, black pool, swung round it white-streaked, and swept on with a hoarse murmur into the gloom of the bush again. A wall of fissured rock overhung the pool on the farther side, and a fallen pine wetted with the spray stretched across the outflow and rested on one jagged pinnacle. A wet wind which drove the vapours before it called up wild music from the cedars that loomed through them on the side of the hill. "I'd cast across the rush at the head of the pool and let the fly come down," said Alton. "There's generally a big trout lying in the eddy behind the boulder." The girl nodded, and the line sweeping back towards the pines behind her went forward again. It fell lightly amidst the frothing rush, and Alton smiled approval as he watched the rod point follow it downstream towards a foam-licked rock. It swung to and fro a moment, then slid on again towards the still black stretch behind the stone, tightened there suddenly, and ran, tense and straight, upstream again, while the reel clacked and rattled. "A big one," said Alton quietly. "Check the winch a little, and keep the butt down. He can't face the rapid, and you'll lose him unless you can keep a strain on when he turns again." The girl flung herself backwards, with eyes dilated and a warmth in her cheeks, the rod bending above her, and the line ripping its way towards the welter at the head of the pool. There it curved inwards a trifle, and Alton shouted, "Reel!" There was a quick rattle, something broke the water with a silvery flash, and the line was shooting downstream again. "Let him go, unless he makes for the fir yonder," said Alton quietly. For the space of several minutes the line swept up and down the pool, and Miss Deringham watched it almost breathlessly with fingers on the reel. Then it swept straight towards the fallen fir. "Stop him!" said Alton. "It's a good trace. Keep the butt down." The rod bent further, a big silvery body rushed clear of the water and went down again, while next moment the line stopped and quivered as it rasped against the fallen fir. Miss Deringham turned to her companion with a gesture of consternation. "Oh!" she said breathlessly. "It has gone." "I don't know," said Alton, "That trace is a good deal thicker than what you use in England. I'll see if I can get him. Keep your thumb on the reel." He took up a net, and clambering along the ledge sprang lightly upon the log. It was sharply rounded, the bark was wet, and the way along it obstructed by the stake-like ends of torn-off limbs, but the man crawled forward foot by foot with the swift whirl of current close beneath him. Then he knelt where the tree dipped almost level with the flood, and grasping the line with one hand swept the net in and out amidst the broken-off branches, while the girl watching him fancied she could see a bright flash between the splashes. Presently he rose again shaking his head, with nothing in the net. "Give me a yard or two when I shout," he said. Grasping a branch with one hand he lay down on the log, and lowered himself until arm and shoulder were in the river. Then he sank still further until his head was under too, and the girl shivered a little. It seemed to her that it would be difficult for even a good swimmer to extricate himself from the tangle of snapped-off branches between the log and the bottom of the river. Still, the clinging foot and arm were visible above the rush of frothing water. Then more of the man came into sight again, there was a half-smothered shout, and she loosed the reel, while in another moment or two Alton swung himself up dripping with part of one hand apparently thrust into a great flapping fish's head. With the back of it pressed gainst his knee he drew the head towards him, and the long silvery body became still, while the man stood up smiling. "Fingers were made before nets, but I wasn't quite sure of him all the time," he said. Miss Deringham, who was flushed and breathless, felt very gracious towards her companion just then. It was, she realized, a somewhat perilous thing he had done to please her, and this was gratifying in itself, while the knowledge that he had postponed several affairs which demanded his attention was more flattering still. He was also, in such surroundings, almost admirable as he stood before her bareheaded and dripping, the river frothing at his feet and the sliding mists behind him. Deerskin jacket and stained and faded jean, lean, sinewy figure, and bronzed face were all in keeping with the spirit of the scene. Then a voice came out of the bush. "Hallo, Harry! Are you anywhere around?" it said. Alton answered, and Miss Deringham felt distinctly displeased. She had been about to say something delicately apposite, and now Seaforth, whose company she could have dispensed with, stood on the bank above them, apparently quietly amused. "You seem to be enjoying yourself, Harry," he said. "Well," said Alton a trifle curtly, "you didn't come keeyowling through the bush like a prairie coyote to tell me that?" "No," said Seaforth, with a sudden change in his voice which Miss Deringham noticed. "There's a man in from the settlement, and Hallam's selling Townshead up to-day according to his tale." Alton scrambled swiftly along the log. "Just one question, Charley. Quite sure nobody came here with any message for me about it that you forgot?" he said. Seaforth made a little gesture of impatience, and there was a trace of anger in his tone. "It is scarcely likely I should have forgotten that," he said. Then he glanced at Miss Deringham, and was slightly bewildered by what he saw in her face. Seaforth had once or twice admired the girl's serenity in somewhat difficult surroundings, but there was now a suggestion of fear in her eyes, and she seemed to avoid Alton's gaze. It, however, passed in a moment, and she turned towards the rancher tranquilly. "I wonder how far I am to blame," she said. "A man came here a day or two ago, and apparently endeavoured to tell me something. He was, however, unintelligible, and I fancy somebody had been giving him whisky." "Mounted?" said Alton. "What kind of horse?" Miss Deringham considered for a moment, and then possibly deciding that Alton would have no difficulty in ascertaining elsewhere, told him. "Tom!" he said grimly. "Well, I'll talk to him. You'll take Miss Deringham home, Charley, and then come on to Townshead's after me." He swung away into the bush next moment, and Seaforth followed him more slowly with Miss Deringham. Neither of them spoke, but though the man's thoughts were busy with other affairs, he noticed that his companion glanced at him covertly. "The girl could have told us something more," he said to himself, and put a stern check on his impatience as he kept pace with her. When they came out into the clearing they heard the thud of hoofs, and saw a mounted man send a horse at the tall split fence. The slip-rails were up, and the fence was unusually well put together, but there was a crash as the top bar flew apart, and presently the thud of hoofs grew fainter down the fir-shadowed trail. Miss Deringham now appeared quite serene again. "Has he ridden off wet through as he was?" she said. "I expect so," said Seaforth dryly. "Harry does not usually let trifles of that kind worry him, nor do I think there are many men who would have ridden at that fence." Alice Deringham said nothing, but though she smiled Seaforth fancied that she was not pleased. Her thoughts were, however, of small importance to him, and he hastened fuming with impatience towards the stables. It was some time later when Nellie Townshead stood by a window of her father's ranch. Jean-clad stock breeders and axemen hung about the clearing, and a little knot of men from the cities stood apart from them. A wagon, implements out of repair, old sets of harness, axes, saws, and shovels were littered about the front of the house, and there were two or three horses and a few poor cattle in the corral. The ranchers spoke slowly to one another, and their faces were sombre, but Hallam, who stood amidst the other men, was smiling over a big cigar. The girl clenched her hands as she watched him, and then turning her head looked down the valley. "I fancy I hear hoofs. He told me he would come," she said, but Townshead, who sat apathetically in the old leather chair, shook his head. "He has, of course, forgotten if he did," he said. "No," said the girl with a trace of harshness in her voice. "Mr. Alton never forgets a promise. That must be the drumming of hoofs. Can you hear nothing?" "The river," said Townshead despondently. "He will be too late directly. They are putting up the ranch." Confidence and dismay seemed to struggle together in the face of the girl, but the former rose uppermost, for she clung fast to hope. "There! Oh, why can they not stop talking? That is something now," she said. "No," said Townshead. "Only the wind in the firs." The girl leaned forward a little, drawing in her breath as she stared down the valley. The voices drowned the sound she fancied she had heard, and the colour came and went in her face when she caught one of them. "The thing's no better than robbery. Why isn't Harry Alton or his partner here?" Nellie Townshead had asked herself the same question over and over again that day when rancher and axemen in somewhat embarrassed fashion tendered her their sympathy. What she expected from him she did not quite know, but she had a curious confidence in Alton, and at least as much in his comrade, and felt that even if the scheme her father had alluded to was not feasible there would be something they could do. Then she drew back from the window and sat down, with a little shiver as the harsh voice of the auctioneer rose from the clearing. She caught disjointed words and sentences. "Don't need tell you what the place is worth. You have seen the boundaries. Richest soil in the Dominion. Grow anything. Now if I was a rancher. Well, I'm waiting for your offer." He apparently waited some little time, and then a laugh that expressed bitterness in place of merriment followed the voice of one of the men from the cities. "Put two hundred dollars on to it," said somebody, and there was another laugh, which the girl, recognizing the voice, understood; for it was known that the bidder had probably not ten dollars in his possession and was in debt at the store. The fact that this man whom she had scarcely spoken to should endeavour to help her while her friends at Somasco did nothing also brought a little flash of anger to her eyes. Then she told herself that there was time yet, and they would come. The voices rose again more rapidly. "Fifty more. Another to me. Oh, what's the use of fooling. One hundred better. Twenty again to me." Miss Townshead glanced at her father. "They'll stop presently," said he. "The place stands at a third of its value, but it would cripple most of them to pay for it if they got it now. The man from Vancouver who goes up by twenties will get it at half of what it cost me, and I don't think you need watch for rancher Alton." Still Nellie Townshead did not quite give up hope. The bidding was only beginning, and there was time yet. She had been taught to look beneath the surface in Western Canada, and had cherished a curious respect for rancher Alton. The girl was young still, and he stood for her as a romantic ideal of the new manhood that was to grow to greatness in the wildest province of the Dominion, while now and then she fancied she saw something in his comrade's face which roused her pity and stirred her to sympathy. That, having made it unasked, the former should slight a promise of the kind appeared incomprehensible and she felt that if he did so her faith in the type he served as an example of would fall with him. There was also pressing need of some one to look to for guidance in her time of necessity, because Townshead was not the man to grapple with any difficulty, and most of his neighbours knew little or nothing about the cities. "Father," she said, "in case the purchaser turns us out where shall we go to-night? The stage does not go in to the railroad until a week to-day, and do you think there will be anything left over to keep us for a little in Vancouver?" Townshead glanced at her querulously. "Somebody will take us in," said he. "I should have fancied, my dear, that you would have seen I am sufficiently distressed and unwell to-day without having to anticipate further difficulties. There will, I hope, be a balance. What is the bidding now?" The girl listened, but for a few moments there was a significant silence, and her heart sank when a single voice rose. One or two others joined in, and there was silence again until the auctioneer repeated the offer. Then she turned quivering towards her father. "You heard him?" she said. Townshead groaned despondently, "I am afraid the prospect of a balance is very small," he said. Again there was a stillness in the clearing, until the auctioneer's voice rose raucously expostulating. "It is really preposterous, gentlemen," he said. "I'm giving the place away." "Well, I'll go ten better," said somebody, and the girl held her breath, "Twenty!" said another man, and there was a laugh. "Then that takes me. You can have the ranch." The voice of the auctioneer rose again. "Nobody to follow him? Your last chance, gentlemen. He's getting it for nothing. Too late in a moment. Going--going." Nellie Townshead closed her hands and turned her head away, then sprang up quivering with the revulsion from despair to hope. Through the silence she heard a faint drumming down the valley. "He is coming. Stop them, father," she said. Nobody else apparently heard the sound. The eyes of all in the clearing were fixed upon the auctioneer, and while Townshead rose from his chair he brought down his hand. "It's yours, sir," he said, "I'll take your cheque, or you can fill this contract in if you're bidding for the smaller lots." Nellie Townshead grew white in face as she glanced towards her father. Townshead stood still, gripping the back of his chair. "We are homeless now," he said. It was five minutes before the girl looked out again, and then in spite of every effort her eyes grew hazy, but it was a long time before she forgot the scene, for the groups of bronzed men in jean, cattle, clearing, and the tall firs behind them burned themselves into her memory. Hallam stood smiling close by the auctioneer's table with a cigar in his hand, and another man from the cities was apparently replacing a roll of paper dollars in his wallet. That impressed her even more than the sympathetic faces turned towards the house, for it was a token that the sale was irrevocably completed. Then the group split up as a man rode at a gallop straight towards the table. He was breathless, the horse was smoking, and there were red smears upon its flanks as well as flecks of spume. He swung himself from the saddle, and there followed the sound of an altercation while a noisy group surged about the table. It opened up again, and rancher Alton walked out, pale and grim of face, alone. "You should have come sooner, Harry," said somebody. The rancher turned, the group closed in again, and the girl did not see Alton stride up to a big man, and laying a hand upon his shoulder swing him round. "Tom," he said with a curious quietness, "there was a message you did not give me, you drunken hog." The man shook his grasp off, glanced at him bewilderedly, and then while the bronze grew a little darker in his face doubled a great fist. "If I take a little more than is good for me now and then, that's my lookout," he said. "Now I don't want any trouble with you, Harry, but I'll not take that talk from any man." Alton's face was almost grey and his eyes partly closed, but there was a steely glint in them as he said, "Did you bring me the message Miss Townshead gave you?" "I did the next thing," said the man. "When I couldn't find you I gave it to the lady. She promised to tell you." "Tom," said Alton slowly, "you are worse than a drunken hog, you are----" A man stepped in front of him before the word was spoken, while another pinioned the culprit's arm. "We've no use for that kind of talk and the fuss that follows it," said the first one. "Anyway, if Tom mixed things up it was my fault and Dobey's for giving him the whisky. We'd sold some stock well and we rushed him in. Well, now, if you still feel you must work it off on somebody you've got to tackle Dobey and me!" Alton let his hands drop. "Do you know what you have done?" said he. "It wasn't very much, anyway," said the other man. "Tom didn't want to come in; told us he'd a message for you. But we made him, and were sorry after, because when he got started he left us very little whisky." Alton glanced at him a moment, and the man grew embarrassed under his gaze. Then he smiled wryly. "And this is what you have brought Townshead and his daughter to, and there is more behind. What you have made of me counts for little after that," he said. Some time had passed when he walked quietly into the house. Nellie Townshead rose as he entered and stood looking at him very white in face. "I wonder if you will believe what I have to tell you, Miss Townshead," he commenced, and stopped when the rancher turned towards him, "My daughter has, I think, been taught that it is unwise to place much confidence in any one," he said. Alton glanced at the girl, and stood silent a moment when she made a little gesture of agreement. "I am afraid appearances are against me," he said. "Yes," said the girl. "So are the facts." "Well," said Alton grimly, "the latter are of the most importance, but I think you should hear me." "There is," said Miss Townshead, "no reason why I should. You made me a promise--why I do not know, any more than I do why I allowed you--but I was very anxious just then. No doubt you spoke on impulse, and afterwards regretted it." "My daughter was a trifle injudicious," said Townshead. Alton made a last endeavour. "I know what you must think of me, and it hurts," he said. "Still, that is a little thing." The girl checked him by a gesture, and the man stopped with his meaning unexpressed. "You have made as much evident," she said. Alton turned towards her father. "I'm afraid the suggestion I wished to make would be out of place just now," he said. "Still, I had ridden over in the hope that you and Miss Townshead would stay with us at Somasco while you decided on your next step." "We have to thank you for your offer, but your surmise is correct," said Townshead. Alton said nothing further, but went out into the clearing and stood apart from the rest while the auctioneer disposed of the household effects, until a little cabinet was offered, when he moved up to the table and bid savagely. Hallam for some reason bid against him, and only stopped when he had quadrupled its value. Alton flung down a roll of dollar bills and then turned to a man close by. "Will you take that in to Miss Townshead, and not tell her who bought it?" he said. "It was her mother's, and I believe she values it." "I'll do my best," said the other man dryly. "Still, I'm not good at fixing up a story, and Miss Nellie's not a fool." "Well," said Alton simply, "there's another thing. Where is Townshead going?" The rancher smiled a little. "He's coming home with me. Susie's driving over with the wagon." Alton nodded. "Now you needn't be touchy, but we've fruit and things at Somasco you haven't got," said he. "Well, I want you to come round with the wagon." The rancher straightened himself a trifle. "My place isn't Somasco, but it will be a mean day when I can't feed my friends," said he. Alton laughed softly. "I don't care ten cents about your feelings, Jack," he said. "The girl and the old man might like the things, and there's no reason they should know where you got them." The other man also laughed. "You ride straight home, Harry, before you make it worse," said he. "One might figure that you'd mixed things up enough already." Alton turned away, and found Seaforth awaiting him. They mounted, and Alton rode in silence until when they were climbing out of the valley he said, "I wonder, Charley, if there's a man in the Dominion who feels as mean as I do." Seaforth smiled curiously, and there was bitterness in his voice which Alton was too disturbed to notice. "I think there is," he said. "You haven't asked what kept me, but you will see if you look at the horse's knees. It's a little difficult to understand why he must get his foot in a hole to-day." It was late that night when they reached Somasco, but Alton found Miss Deringham upon the verandah, and she glanced at him with very pretty sympathy. Still, Seaforth fancied that she seemed a trifle anxious. "Have you seen the man who brought the message?" she said. "I have," said Alton. "You were right, of course. He'd had too much whisky." The girl appeared, so Seaforth fancied, curiously relieved. "I was almost afraid you might think I was in some respects to blame," she said. "No," said Alton simply, "That was one of the things I couldn't do. It was right out of the question." He went in, and the warm colour crept into Miss Deringham's face as she presently followed him. CHAPTER XII IN VANCOUVER Autumn was merging into winter when one morning Alton and his comrade strolled along the water-front at Vancouver. It was still early, and the store and office clerks were just hastening to their occupations, but Alton had spent an hour already in a great sawmill. His face was thoughtful, and he seemed to be repeating details of machines and engines half aloud. Presently he stood still and gazed about him, and Seaforth, who followed his gaze, knew there was something working in his comrade's mind. The scene was also inspiriting and suggestive. Across the wide inlet, mountain beyond mountain towered against the blueness of the north. To the east, sombre forest shut the sheltered basin in, its black ridge serrated by the ragged spires of taller pines, and blurred in places by the drifting smoke of mills. Between them and the water stood long lines of loaded cars, with huge locomotives snorting in the midst of them, and where the metal road which commenced at Quebec ended, the white shape of an Empress liner rose above the wharf, the clasp of the new steel girdle which bound England to the East. Above the pines which shrouded the narrows shone the topsails of a timber-laden barque, and a crawling cloud of smoke betokened a steamer coming up out of the wastes of the Pacific, while four-masted ships lay two deep beneath the humming mills. Then, rising ridge on ridge, jumbled in picturesque confusion, and flanked by towering telegraph poles, store and bank and office climbed the slope of the hill. It was a new stone city which had sprung, as by enchantment, from the ashes of a wooden one, and would, purging itself of its raw crudity, rise to beauty and greatness yet. Alton glanced towards it with a comprehensive gesture. "What a place this will be by and by," he said. "Sometimes I'm proud I was born in this country. Now I might have been raised back there at Carnaby, and taught it was every man's chief duty to dress and talk nicely, chase foxes, and think about his dinner." "I fancy there are men who would not have thought that a great misfortune," said Seaforth dryly. "You could also, if you liked it, do so still." Alton laughed a little grimly. "There are two kinds of men in this world, Charley, and which of them makes it go?" said he. "The ones who have too much to eat and too little to do, or the others who have to keep on doing something because they're hungry? Well, I needn't ask you, because the conundrum was answered long ago, and that kind of talking's no great use to anybody. That was a very fine mill, and I picked up a good deal down there. Still, we will scarcely want such a big one at Somasco." "No," said Seaforth, smiling. "I don't quite see how we are going to keep the one we have busy." "Well," said Alton, "you will by and by, and I'm going to buy three or four new saw-fixings to-day. You don't know anything about bookkeeping, Charley?" "You have surmised correctly," said Seaforth. "I don't know that I want to." Alton laughed, and presently stopped in front of a building on which a brass plate was inscribed, "Bookkeeping and Shorthand taught efficiently." "I think you're wrong, and this is the place," said he. "That's a sensible man, and he just puts down what he can do. Go right in, and ask how long he'll take to make a business man of you." Seaforth stared at him in bewilderment. "You took nothing with your breakfast, Harry?" said he. Alton smiled a little grimly. "I haven't had any yet. I've been too busy," he said. "Walk in, Charley, while I see whether they'll lend me twenty thousand dollars at the bank yonder." Seaforth, who, however, knew that there was no use in arguing with his comrade, shook his head. "It's a long rest you want, Harry," he said. He went in, and Alton, proceeding down the street, presently entered the Bank of Montreal, where he left the manager divided between astonishment and admiration. He, however, came out with just as many dollars as he carried into the building, and lighting a cigar, watched the passers-by gravely as he waited for his comrade. They were of many and widely different types; men with keen, sallow faces from eastern cities hastening as though every moment lost was an opportunity wasted; others moving with the tranquillity which proclaimed them Englishmen; bronzed prospectors, and solemn axemen from the shadowy bush, with the stillness of the forest in their eyes; sailors, Japs, and Siwash sealermen. All of them appeared well fed and prosperous, and Alton was wondering whether there was any one hungry in that city, when a girl came down the stairway of the building Seaforth had entered. Alton did not at first see her face, but he noticed that her dress was threadbare, and she was walking wearily, while the man who read dejection in her attitude was sorry for her. She stopped in the passage, glancing at the card in her hand, then drew herself up a little and with a quick, nervous movement lifted her head. Alton saw her face at last, and though it had grown a trifle hollow and pale, he recognized Miss Townshead. Then she saw him, and he moved forward hastily. "This is a pleasure I was not expecting," he said. He fancied for a moment that the girl would have retreated. She, however, looked at him quietly, though something in her manner checked Alton's outstretched hand. "Are you staying here?" she said. "No," said Alton. "I'm going away to-morrow, but I want quite a long talk with you." "I do not wish to hear anything about Somasco," said the girl. "Well," said Alton, who understood her, smiling, "we'll let that go by. Now, they begin on time in this city, and as your father doesn't like his breakfast early, I'm figuring you haven't had any. We'll get some together. I've been too busy to think of mine." Nellie Townshead was afterwards both astonished and angry with herself. She had lost her respect for this man who had, it seemed, betrayed her confidence, and if he had given her a moment's time, would probably have dispensed with his company. As it was, however, Alton drew her out into the street with a swift forcefulness before she could frame an answer. She was also feeling very lonely and downcast then, and it was pleasant to find somebody she knew in the busy city that had apparently no place for her. "Now," said Alton presently, "we'll go in here. It's nice and quiet for Vancouver, but I expect you know this place." He realized that he had blundered when he saw the girl's face, but in another second she was laughing a little. "No," she said. "I'm afraid you are forgetting." Alton apparently misunderstood her. "Well," he said, smiling, "it's quite possible you know another place that's nicer; but sit right yonder while I waken some of these people up." Now the public breakfast is an institution in Western cities whose inhabitants frequently take no meals at home, and the appearance of the bronzed man and girl together excited no comment, while Alton was able to contrive that they had a table in a corner to themselves. His tastes were, as his companion knew, severely simple, and she wondered a little, because that establishment was one of the most expensive in the city. In the meanwhile, the man talked assiduously, if somewhat at random, and was contented when he found that he could keep the girl's attention occupied so that she scarcely noticed how often he refilled her plate. At last, as he passed a great cluster of fruit across, he said, "It's time you did the talking now. You are going right ahead in this city?" The girl's face quivered for a second, and her fingers moved nervously, "I am afraid I have not commenced yet," she said. "No?" said Alton. "Now Susie Thomson told me you were running a typewriter for somebody." A tinge of carmine flickered into the cheek of his companion and faded swiftly again. "I was," she said. "The commercial school found a place for me, but it was impossible that I should stay there." Alton half closed his eyes, and the girl noticed his big hand slowly clenched, for he fancied he understood. "It's a pity I wasn't a brother of yours, Miss Nellie. I should like to see those folks," he said. "Still, you have known me a long while, and that's something to go upon." "I'm afraid it's not sufficient," said the girl hastily, with a little smile. "Well," said Alton, with a sigh, "you have got hold of something better." Miss Townshead appeared to make an endeavour to answer hopefully, but again her fingers trembled, and there was a little less courage than usual in her eyes. "Not yet, but I shall soon," she said. "Of course," said Alton gravely. "Now how long have you been looking for it?" "A month," said the girl without reflection, and Alton nodded as though in answer to some question he had put to himself. "And when you went into that place this morning there was nothing again?" he said. "No," said Miss Townshead, with a trace of despondency she could not quite conceal. "There was a post vacant, but it had some trust attached to it, and nobody knows me." Now while he talked Alton's eyes had been busy, and he had noticed a curious weariness which he had not seen before in his companion's face. Her fingers, which had grown white, were also very slender, and the well-worn dress, which he remembered, did not seem to hang about her as it had done. Her eyes, however, were brighter, and now and then a little florid colour flushed her cheeks, but that did not please him, for Alton had seen not a little of want and hunger in the snows of the North. "You mean they want security?" said he. "Yes," said Miss Townshead hastily. "Still, one of the girls I met at the school told me there was somebody wanted at a big dry goods store, and I think I had better go round and see the people now." Alton rose, and when they went out together gravely held out his hand. "We used to be good friends, and you were kind to me," said he. "Now is there nothing that I can do?" "No," said Miss Townshead hastily. "Of course there is nothing, and you will hear that I am prospering presently." Alton bent a trifle over the little hand in the shabby glove that rested a moment in his palm. "Well, if ever there is anything you will let me know. You are a brave girl," said he. Nellie Townshead turned and left him, feeling for no apparent reason a slight choking sensation, and Alton, who watched the little figure in the threadbare dress for at least a minute, strode resolutely back to the commercial school. "I want to see the man who runs this place," he said. He was shown into an office, where a man, whose face he was pleased with, greeted him. "You taught Miss Townshead here?" he said. "Yes," said the other. "She is a lady of considerable ability, and I could recommend her with confidence." Alton stared at him a moment out of half-closed eyes. "Of course you would," he said. "Well now, she has been applying for some place where they want security. Is it fit for a lady?" "Yes," said the man dryly. "Otherwise I should not have mentioned it to her. The storekeeper having been victimized lately, however, requires a deposit of one hundred dollars." Alton took out his wallet. "He can have two hundred if he likes. Now I want you to fix it up without telling Miss Townshead or anybody." "You are a relation of hers?" said the man. "No," said Alton, "I am a friend." "Then I'm afraid I can't assist you," said the other man. "It is necessary to avoid any probability of complications in my business." Again a glint crept into Alton's eyes, but it vanished, and he spoke quietly. "I think you're straight," he said. "Well, I'm direct too, and I'm going right back to my ranch to-morrow. Anybody from that district will tell you all about Alton of Somasco. Now you'll take the dollars, and if you hear of me hanging round this city you can send them back to me." The man appeared dubious, but finally nodded. "I'll make an exception in your case," he said. "The fact is, I'm sorry for Miss Townshead, because I fancy it is desirable that she should secure an appointment of any kind as soon as possible." Alton went out contented, having, so he fancied, somewhat skilfully obtained Townshead's address, and found Seaforth awaiting him. "They could, if I am an apt pupil, turn me out proficient for anything in three months," he said. Alton laughed. "They'll have to do it in less, and we'll find a use for all they've taught you by and by," he said. "Now I came across Miss Townshead, and she wasn't looking well or happy. We'll call upon her father when we get through what we have to do." Seaforth, who appeared disturbed, would have gone sooner, but it was afternoon when they strolled round the outskirts of the city, and his face was somewhat grim as they entered the Alsatia, which is the usual adjunct of such places. It would, however, have impressed the unsophisticated Eastern observer as being well painted, respectable, and especially prosperous, for virtue is not the only thing which is rewarded and recognized in a Western city. Finally, after traversing it, they found Townshead in a little wooden house which was apparently occupied by two other families. The remnants of a very meagre meal lay before him, and he sat wearing the red velvet jacket, which looked older and more faded than ever, in a canvas chair. He greeted the two men coldly and somewhat condescendingly. "We have not been especially fortunate hitherto," he said presently. "In fact, this city seems to be labouring under a commercial depression, and I have been unable to find any of the opportunities I had expected. Nor has my daughter been more successful." Alton, who had been looking about him in the meanwhile, noticed that although the day was chilly there was no fire in the stove, while glancing at the man who lay, infirm alike in will and body, in the chair, he understood why the girl's fingers had trembled and the mistiness he had for a moment seen in her eyes. He was also wondering by what means he could lessen one difficulty, but it was Seaforth who devised one first. "Things will get better presently," he said. "Now Harry and I often remember the pleasant evenings we spent at your ranch, and we never got suppers like those Miss Townshead made us, at Somasco." "My daughter found it necessary to acquire the art of cookery in Canada," said Townshead a trifle distantly. "Of course," said Seaforth, smiling. "Everybody is compelled to in this country, and I only referred to the subject because Harry seems to fancy it must be difficult to get any of the little things we are used to in the bush in the city, while your kindness to us would justify what might otherwise appear a liberty. We brought a few odds and ends you can't get quite so nice in Vancouver along. Hadn't you better go and bring them in, Harry?" Alton glanced at him in bewildered astonishment. "Bring them in?" he said. Seaforth shook his head deprecatingly. "You haven't forgotten already, and you are not going to escape in that fashion," he said. "If you'll ask at the hotel they'll tell you where to find the things." Alton moved so that Townshead could not see him, and his face was utterly perplexed. "What things?" he said. "Two or three fowls," said Seaforth reflectively. "There were some eggs, a bag of the big yellow apples, and--now it's curious I forgot the rest." Alton's eyes twinkled. "Oh, yes," he said. "Some venison. There was the deer you shot in the potatoes, and a bag of dried plums. Our orchard has done very well, Mr. Townshead." "I wonder if I forgot the Excelsior pears," said Seaforth. "They're as big as your two fists, and Harry's quite proud of them." Townshead, who was not an observant man, appeared astonished, and also a trifle touched. "I'm afraid I have not always appreciated my bush friends as I should have done, and your kindness will I think lessen my daughter's difficulty respecting the commissariat," he said. "There are, of course, many of the little things we were used to which she feels the loss of." Seaforth, who read a good deal more than his words expressed in the speaker's face, signed to his comrade, who went out and returned later with a hamper. "Somebody must have forgotten to put the venison in, but the other things are all there," he said. Townshead assisted them to unpack the hamper, and while they were busy over it his daughter came in. It was apparently raining, for the thin white dress clung about her, and she seemed very white and weary. Darkness was drawing on, the room was dim, and at first she apparently only saw her father as she stood taking off her hat by the window. "Nothing again to-day, and I am very tired," she said. "Still, I am to call at another store to-morrow, and I was wickedly extravagant. I was kept until it was too late for dinner, and I bought something that will please you for supper." Then as she turned to lay the wet hat down the blood rushed to her face, for she saw Alton kneeling by the hamper and Seaforth standing in the shadow behind her father's chair. The former did not rise, but his comrade came forward smiling in another moment. "I am glad we did not miss you, as we were about to go when you came in," he said. "These are one or two trifles Harry fancied might be useful. He is absurdly proud of all the products of Somasco, and seems to think nobody can get anything nice in the city." Seaforth also talked a good deal, and Miss Townshead smiled now and then at him, but when she went with them to the door he lingered a moment because he felt her eyes were on him. "Your comrade didn't support you well, and I don't think the expedient would have occurred to him," she said, with a little tremor in her voice. "Still, it was done in kindness--and I am grateful." Seaforth smiled gravely, though his face perplexed the girl. "A little faith is a good thing, and people should believe what they're told," said he. "Now I wonder if one could take the liberty?" "No," said the girl. "Even if he had the best intentions. I and my father have not lost our pride." Seaforth sighed as he turned away, and, when he rejoined Alton, stared at the lights of the city savagely, while as they passed along the water-front he said, "Will you give me a cigar, Harry?" Alton drew out his cigar-case, glanced at it a moment, and then tossed it across the wharf. "What right have you and I to be going back to dinner when that girl hasn't enough to eat?" he said. "You know what those cigars cost me. Lord, what selfish brutes we are! Now stop right here and tell me what we are going to do!" Seaforth made a gesture of helplessness. "The difficulty is that one can't do anything," he said. "You see, we can't attempt the hamper trick too frequently, and I scarcely think Miss Townshead would care to be indebted to either of us in any other fashion." "Well," said Alton simply, "there must be a way somewhere, and I'm going to find it." "Then," said Seaforth, with a trace of bitterness, "for the sake of everybody's peace of mind I hope you will. You seem especially compassionate towards Miss Townshead." Alton glanced at him a moment, and then laughed a little. "I suppose you can't help being foolish, Charley, but you should know I've no time to think of anything beyond what I have to do just now," he said. "The biggest contract I've ever taken hold of is waiting for me." "I am," said Seaforth dryly, "glad to hear you say so, even though your recent conduct would make it somewhat difficult for most people to believe you." Alton glanced at him very gravely. "I don't like those jokes," he said. "You'll get more sense as you grow up, Charley." CHAPTER XIII THE SOMASCO CONSOLIDATED Alton left Vancouver by the Quebec express next day, found horses waiting at the little station, and only waiting while fresh ones were saddled at a lonely ranch, took the trail again before the first faint light crept out of the east. He also spoke little with Seaforth during the journey, and stared at the latter, who drew rein when the weary horses plodded, steaming and bespattered all over, into the settlement. "What are you stopping for?" he said. Seaforth glanced at the wisp of blue smoke which hung about the pines behind Horton's hotel. "It's rather more than twelve hours since I've had a meal," he said. "Don't you ever get tired or hungry, Harry?" Alton laughed. "Oh, yes; sometimes I do, but not usually when I'm busy. Anyway, if the beasts hold out we'll be getting breakfast at Somasco in two hours or so." Seaforth groaned inwardly, but, knowing the futility of argument, shook his bridle and rode on, lurching a little in his saddle as the tired horse stumbled into mudholes and, brushed through dripping fern. By and by, however, Alton swung himself down in front of a lonely log-house with a big clearing behind it, where a man took their horses without a word and signed them to enter. Seaforth stretched his limbs wearily, and would have dropped into a chair but that Alton stood erect until the man came back again, and dusting two seats with his soft hat pointed to them with a gesture of hospitality. His hair and beard were frosted, his face was lean and brown, and there were many wrinkles about his eyes, but he held himself very upright and pointed to the stove. "Ye'll be in from Vancouver. I'll ready ye some pork and flapjacks?" he said. Alton shook his head. "Don't worry, I can't wait," he said. "Ye are very welcome," said the other. "Of course!" said Alton simply; "still, I can't stop. I'm here to talk business, Callender." Seaforth noticed that in face of the typical absence of protest or compliment there was nothing the most critical could find fault with in the invitation or the refusal. The old man was dressed in very curiously-patched jean, but he was almost stately in his simplicity, and nothing could have been more apposite than the little nod with which Alton made his affirmation. It implied a good deal more than speech could have done. "Ye will be asking about the place?" said Callender. "I'm wanting three thousand dollars. It's worth all that." Alton nodded, and it was evident that the men understood each other, for there was no endeavour to lessen or enhance the value of the property. "It will be worth more presently, but that's about the fair thing now," he said. "Weel," said Callender simply, "by then I may be dead. Twenty years I've lived on my lone here, and I thought at one time I would be content to lie down by between the bush and the river, but now a longing to see the old land grips me. Ye will not understand it. Ye were born in Canada." "No," said Alton gravely. "The land that has fed me is good enough for me." The old man made a little gesture of assent. "Aye," he said. "It's a good country, but I feel the old one calling me. It's just three thousand dollars I'm asking ye." Alton drew a sheet which seemed covered with calculations from his wallet, and glanced at it silently. Then he looked at the rancher. "One thousand down, one thousand in six months, and the rest any time in two years, with six per cent," he said. "You might get the dollars in your wallet if you made the deal with a land agent in Vancouver." "Maybe," said Callender simply; "I can trust ye. I would not sell the place to anybody." Alton stood up. "You shall have a cheque to-morrow," he said. They had mounted within another minute, and Alton glanced with a little smile at his comrade as they rode on again. "That," said Seaforth, "was in a sense a somewhat effective scene, but I'm not sure which of us should go to the business school." Alton laughed. "I don't often blunder when I deal with a man," said he. "Callender and I wouldn't have been better pleased, or five dollars richer, if we'd talked all day." Seaforth nodded, though his eyes twinkled. "You don't seem so confident about the other sex?" he said. Alton gravely pointed to a towering fir. "That redwood would fetch a good many dollars in Vancouver. I wonder when we'll get those saws through," he said. While he spoke a thud of hoofs grew louder, and presently a man came riding in haste towards them down the trail. He drew bridle when he recognized them, and Seaforth became curious when he saw that it was Hallam. The latter made them an ironical salutation, and sat regarding Alton covertly with his cunning beady eyes until the rancher smiled. "If you were going down to see Callender, I fancy you're a little too late," he said. Seaforth wondered whether his comrade saw the wickedness in the other man's face, and the slight closing of his hands upon the bridle. It was very perceptible for a second, and then he made a gesture of resignation. "I think there was another time you got in ahead of me, and it might be cheaper to buy you off," he said. "You haven't answered my letter asking what you wanted for all you're holding up here, as well as the ranch." Alton flung his head back a trifle, and Seaforth knew what lay behind his laugh. "No," he said; "I put it in the stove." A little grey spot appeared in Hallam's cheeks, and once more his fingers closed upon the bridle. "Well, you may be sorry by and by, but as I'm a business man first and last I'll give you another chance," he said. "There's not room for two of us in this valley, and with what I'm holding I can call you any time." Alton's eyes were half closed now, and there was a glint in them. "I've been figuring on that," he said. "When I'm ready, I'll let you see my hand." Now if Hallam had been taught his business, which was an especially mean one, in England he might have kept his temper; but he lacked finish, though his abilities were unpleasantly sufficient in the West. "Then it is to be hoped you'll put up a better game than you did at Townshead's ranch. I was a little sorry for the girl," he said. "Met her once or twice in Vancouver, and she didn't seem well off." Alton said nothing, but he pressed his heels home, and the big tired horse moved forward. The trail was narrow just there, and wound through a quaggy belt where tall wild cabbage grew out of black depths of mire. There was also no room for Hallam to wheel his horse on the slippery sawn-up logs, and Alton urged his beast on, glancing imperturbably at the man in front of him. Again the grey crept into Hallam's face, and a very unpleasant look in his eyes, but he drew his bridle, and next moment his horse was floundering in the mire. Alton laughed a little as he rode on without glancing behind him. "That may have been pleasant," said Seaforth dryly, "but in view of what I saw in Hallam's face I don't know that it was wise." "Well," said Alton, "I think it was. There's only one way of arguing with a panther, and that beast's a good deal less dangerous than Hallam is. Now you'll ride in to the settlement to-morrow, and put up a notice at the store: 'The ranchers of the Somasco district are requested to attend a meeting at 6.30, Saturday.' At the bottom you'll put a big 'Important.' I've got to have a talk with you to-night." He made a hasty breakfast when they reached the ranch, and was busy at the sawmill, from which he did not return until supper, all day, so that it was not until that meal was finished and he was waiting for Seaforth that he had speech with Miss Deringham. She sat by the stove apparently occupied with some delicate embroidery, but it was possible that her attention was not confined to the stitches. Alton sat near her, looking straight before him, in a deerhide chair, and it was significant that neither of them found speech necessary. The man's face was somewhat grim, and the girl wondered what he was thinking. "You apparently did not find Vancouver enlivening," she said. Alton laughed a little. "I took one or two little worries along, and found another when I got there." Miss Deringham went on with her embroidery for a While, and then glanced at the man again. "I wonder if any of them were connected with the sale of Townshead's ranch?" she said. Alton smiled a little. "I'm getting kind of afraid of you," he said. "One of them was." Alice Deringham laughed prettily, and was inwardly contented. She had been used to influence and admiration, but there was a subtle pleasure in being the recipient of this man's homage, while she surmised that had he not offered her all of it he would not have made the admission concerning Townshead. "Your recent neighbour is not doing well down there?" she said. "I am sorry for Miss Townshead." Alton nodded, and his face was sombre as well as pitiful, "It's very rough on a girl of that kind, and she's true grit right through," he said. "I'm thankful you don't know what some women who have to earn their living doing what used to be men's work in the cities have to put up with." "Still," said Alice Deringham, "I can guess. Miss Townshead was working at something uncongenial for a livelihood, and was not especially cordial to you?" Alton looked at her gravely. "No," he said. "She hadn't even found that something yet, and she was very kind. That's what made me feel it worse." "Of course she would not have shown you what she thought," said the girl a trifle dryly. "And you were not responsible in any case." Alton glanced at her with some bewilderment. "No?" he said. "I'm sitting here with all that a man could wish for, while that girl, who was used to all the good things you have in the old country, walks round and round the city looking for something she can earn a few dollars at, when I might have fixed things differently if it hadn't been for Tom. It's hard to feel there's a meaner man than I am in the Dominion." Miss Deringham saw the veins rise on his forehead and the glint in his eyes, and shivered a little as she hoped the man would never discover it was not the rancher who had brought the shame upon him. "Would it have been possible for you to do anything to help them if you had reached the ranch in time?" she said. "Yes," said Alton simply, "I think it would. And it would have been better for everybody in the district." Though the girl did not altogether understand him, his very quietness was impressive, for she knew by this time that what he stated was usually rather more than less the fact. "Well," she said lightly, "it was not your fault, and you will forget it presently." Alton smiled wryly. "I don't know," he said. "There are some kinds of stains that don't wash out, but you're only wishing to be kind to me because you understand all that better than I do in the old country." The girl glanced aside and dropped her needle, while when she spoke her voice was a trifle strained. "Do you know that you bushmen have made me ashamed once or twice?" she said. "I am afraid there is a great disappointment waiting for you when you see us as we are." Alton rose as her father and Seaforth came in, with a curious little inclination of his head which came well from him. "That simply couldn't be," he said. "Well, it's a pity I couldn't tell you all you have done for me already--and that's one reason why I'm so sorry the other thing will not wash out. Now Charley and I have a good deal to do, and you'll excuse me." He went out with his comrade, and Deringham smiled at his daughter. "He is learning rapidly. Still, I fancy the man will feel it when--and I am of course speaking impersonally--he finds you out," he said. Alice Deringham laughed, though she was not conscious of much amusement just then, and pointed to the bookcase close by her. "It is really not his fault, if that is where he gets his fancies from," she said. "No," said Deringham, nodding. "We grow out of them at sixteen in the old country. Of course, Tennyson, Kingsley, Scott. Now I wonder if he would find Elaine a more common type than Vivienne if he went home to Carnaby. Still, if you look a little more closely, there is literature which might throw a slightly different light upon the man's character. I notice a bulky volume on soft-wooded trees, somebody on trigonometry, geology in relation to mining, and what I recognize as a standard work on finance and banking." Alice Deringham smiled. "Do you know I fancy that Alton of Somasco would with a little training make his mark at home," she said. "Has he mentioned any intention of returning with you?" Deringham's face grew a trifle sombre. "He has not. We will talk of something else," he said. Alton and Seaforth sat up late that night, but what their conversation was did not appear until they walked into a room at the rear of Horton's store just as supper was being cleared away on the Saturday evening. The nights were already growing cold, and a pile of pinewood crackled in the stove, while the light of two big lamps fell upon the bronzed faces of grave jean-clad men, all turned expectantly towards Alton. He sat down at the head of the table, with Seaforth beside him, and Horton, got up in a frayed-out white shirt from which his bony wrists and red neck protruded grotesquely, at the foot. The rest sat on the table and sundry boxes and barrels smoking tranquilly. They were, for the most part, silent men who waged a grim and ceaseless warfare with the forest, and disdained any indication of curiosity. Nobody asked a question, but the steady eyes which watched the convener of the meeting were mildly inquiring when he rose up. "I sent for you, boys, because it seemed the fairest thing," he said. "Now somebody has got to take hold with a tight grip if the dollars that are coming into it are to go to the men who have done the work in this valley. You have seen what has happened down Washington and Oregon way, and we don't any of us want it here in Canada. When the good time came was it the man who'd put in his twelve hours daily with the axe and crosscut who got the dollars, or the one who lived soft in the cities?" There was a little growl from several among the assembly, for most of those who sat there realized that it was usually the mortgage broker and speculator who reaped where the toilers with axe and saw had sown. "There'll have to be laws made to hold them fellows' grip off the poor man." said somebody. Alton laughed a little. "Well," he said dryly, "it seems to me that the poor man should do a little of the holding off himself. Now I want you to listen carefully. Within twelve months you'll see a new wagon-road cut south towards the big river, and inside two years the surveyors running the line for a new railroad into the Somasco valley." The men stared at the speaker, and there was a murmur, almost of doubt, and wonder. They knew what that promise meant, and it implied the opening of mines and mills, a market for all they could raise on the spot, and the quadrupling in value of every ranch. Alton sat quietly imperturbable at the head of the table. "And you believe the thing's going to be?" said somebody. "I think," said Alton quietly, "I have just told you so." There was another murmur, of strong and patient men's unexpressed exultation, and Seaforth noticed that they had accepted his comrade's statement, without further question, implicitly. They were in some respects simple, and the complex life of the cities was unknown to most of them, but they had seen human nature stripped of its veneer in the bush and understood it well. It was a delicate compliment they had paid Alton, and the little flush in his face showed that he realized it. "It's great news," said somebody. Alton nodded. "Yes," he said. "Now I can't tell you exactly why I know this thing will come, and you wouldn't be any worse off if I were wrong. Further, you see I might have gone ahead and brought you up without speaking a word to you." A man got up from a barrel. "No, sir," he said. "I'm not going to disturb this meeting, but that's just what you couldn't do. It wouldn't be like Somasco Harry." There was grave applause, but the glint in the steady eyes was pleasant to see, and Seaforth felt a curious thrill as he glanced at his partner. Alton, however, proceeded quietly. "I needn't tell you what it means," he said. "It may mean anything, including a wooden city. You know it as well as I do, but I'm going to tell you this. Unless you hold tight to your own, and do a little for yourselves, when the good time comes you'll be left out in the cold. There's a man who sees this better than you or I feeling for a grip on the Somasco valley, and there'll be very little left for the rest of us if he gets it." "Hallam of the Tyee," a growl ran down the table. Alton nodded. "Yes," said he. "Now you have seen poor men frozen out of their ranches and claims by men with money in other parts of this country as well as across the frontier, and there's usually only one end to the battle when the man without the dollars kicks against the man with plenty. Stay right where you are with mortgages held open, timber rights that are lapsing because you've done nothing, and undeveloped mineral claims, and the man who sits scheming while you're resting will squeeze you out one by one." "It has happened before," said somebody, and there was silence for a space. The men had spent the best years of their life hewing the clearings that grew so slowly farther into the virgin forest, faring sparingly, and only quitting that herculean toil to earn sufficient dollars railroad building or working at the mines to feed them when they continued it again. They had sown the best that was in them of mind and body, giving all they had, courage that never faltered, as well as the ceaseless effort of over-strained muscle, and as yet their fee was but the right to hope and toil. And now, they knew, it was once more possible that the full-fleshed taxer of other men's labours would sweep what was theirs into his garner. "Yes," said Alton. "And what has happened before will happen again--unless you stir round and stop it. That's the only use in remembering things. Standing alone, Hallam and his crowd will squeeze you out one by one; standing fast together for what is your own, you're fit to choke off anybody, and what I've called you here for is to see whether we can't fix up a Co-operative Company!" A man stood up with a light in his eyes. "Then you've hit the thing plumb where you wanted," he said. "Whose standing in with Alton of Somasco, boys?" There was a roar this time, and then a silence as if the assembly felt that they had done an unseemly thing, but it was evident that they were all of them ready. "I figure you've got a programme?" said somebody. "I have," said Alton. "I'll have a bigger one by and by, but in the meanwhile it includes the selling of timber in place of destroying it, and a doubling right off of the Somasco mill. It also takes in a gristmill, the recording of more timber rights, and most of you getting in on the ground floor of a new silver mine. There's to be an office down in Vancouver, and a desiccated fruit store, and the best men we can get hold of to run them. Now sit still while I read what might do for a scheme." They sat very still, and even Seaforth, who knew his comrade, wondered a little, for that scheme, while crude in one or two directions, was eminently workable. It provided for a pro rata division of profits and partition of expenses, while each man would retain the control of his own holding, and those who listened nodded now and then as they noted the efficiency of some portion of the plan of co-operation. "Now," said Alton quietly, laying down the paper. "That's my notion. I'm willing to listen if any man can bring out a better." There was a silence until Horton rose up at the foot of the table, glass in hand. "I," he said simply, "don't think he can. Every dollar I can raise is going in, and we're all standing in with Alton. Here's the Somasco Consolidated, and to ---- with Hallam." There was a roar louder than the first one, a clink of glasses, and forgetting their reticence for once the big bronzed men thronged about the one who smiled at them from the head of the table. CHAPTER XIV THE COMPACT After the first meeting of the Somasco Consolidated, Alton was frequently absent from the ranch, and spent most of the nights shut up with bulky books, while he also apparently became involved in an extensive correspondence with the cities. There were, however, times when Miss Deringham surprised him standing still and gazing into vacancy, which was distinctly unusual with him, but the girl, who had once or twice noticed his eyes fixed upon her and signs of an inward conflict in his face, was not displeased. She could arrive at a tolerably accurate deduction as well as most young women. In the meanwhile Seaforth had gone down to Vancouver, and Deringham still appeared content to linger at Somasco. He had, his daughter knew, been ordered a lengthy rest, and it was evident that the tranquillity of the mountain ranch was benefiting him physically, though now and then the girl noticed that his face was anxious when communications from England reached him. She was also, for no reason she was willing to admit, content to remain a little longer at Somasco. One night when she was sitting meditatively in the room set apart for her use, Alton passed the half-opened door, and noticing the curious slowness of his pace she signed him to enter. She had, somewhat to the indignation of Mrs. Margery, taken the room in hand, and with the aid of a few sundries surreptitiously brought from Vancouver with Seaforth's connivance, made a transformation in its aspect. A red curtain hung behind the door. There were a few fine furs which Seaforth had collected here and there about the ranch upon the floor, and Alton, who had just returned from a ride of forty miles through the mire and rain, stopped a moment upon the threshold. He was a man of quick perceptions, and all he saw seemed stamped with the personality of its occupant. It was dainty, and essentially feminine, and he became, for perhaps the first time, uneasily conscious of his own solid masculine proportions and bespattered garments as he glanced deprecatingly at the girl. She lay with lithe gracefulness in a basket chair, very collected and very pretty, while he dimly understood that the fact that she did not move but only smiled at him implied a good deal. A brightness flashed into his eyes and sank out of them again. "Come in and sit down," she said, "I have seen very little of you lately, and you seem tired. Half-an-hour's casual chatter will do you no harm, although it may appear to you a terrible waste of time." Alton came in and dropped into a chair which creaked beneath him. His face was somewhat weary, and the girl noticed the stiffness of his movements. He also looked about him with a curious expression which seemed to suggest reverence in his eyes. "No," he said gravely, "it wouldn't be a waste of time." Alice Deringham smiled a little, and moved one foot a trifle nearer the stove. It was little, and delicately moulded, and lost nothing from being encased in a very open bronze slipper. Alton, noticing the slight rustle of fabric which accompanied the movement, glanced towards it, and then turned his eyes away. "You see I have been taking liberties," said the girl. "All this is very tawdry, isn't it?" Alton's eyes were wistful. "No. Do you know, this place has quite an effect on me. It makes me feel--as if I were in church," said he. Miss Deringham's face was not responsive. There were times when she was sensible of a curious compunction in this rancher's presence. "A sensation of that kind is apt to become oppressive," she said. "When we have gone you will throw these things away." The man seemed to wince, as though the contemplation of something was painful to him, but he looked at his companion gravely. "I think I shall screw the door up tight," he said. Alice Deringham laughed musically. "Now I think that was very pretty," she said. "It seems commonplace to offer you a cup of coffee after it, and no doubt you will consider the indulgence in such luxuries a sign of weakness. I have reasons for believing that Mrs. Margery does." Alton smiled somewhat grimly. "I'm just about as fond of good things as most other men," he said. "The difficulty was that I seldom had the chance of getting them." Miss Deringham busied herself with a spirit lamp, and Alton watched her with a little glint in his eyes. Possibly the girl knew that her movements were graceful as she bent over the lamp, and that the light from the one above her struck a fine sparkle from her hair. She may also have been aware that the picture had its attractions for a man who had lived a grim life of toil and self-denial, as this one had done. "It has occurred to me that this coffee is not the same that we had when we first came to Somasco," she said. Alton appeared a trifle embarrassed. "I had to go down and worry Horton about one or two little things," he said. "It's good for him occasionally, and he had been sending me flour we couldn't use lately." Miss Deringham nodded, though she was quite aware that the storekeeper was scarcely likely to supply axemen and ranchers, whose tastes were simple and dollars scarce, with what she guessed by its bouquet was the finest product of Costa Rica. If she had not been, she was capable of deducing a little from the stamp upon the packets she had seen in Mrs. Margery's store, which showed that they had come direct from Vancouver. Alton took up the cup handed him, and leaned back in his chair with a little gesture of content, while the girl smiled as she glanced at him. [Illustration: Alton leaned back with a little gesture of content.] "You bear it very well," she said. The man looked at her with a bewildered expression for a moment or two. Then he laughed. "No," he said, "I find it wonderfully nice." There was an underlying sincerity in his voice, and Alice Deringham driven by curiosity went a step farther. "The coffee?" she said. She was almost sorry next moment, for she had at other times called up considerably more than she had expected or desired from the unsounded depths of the man's nature. For a second or two there was a great wistfulness, which changed into a little glow she shrank from, in his eyes. He turned them upon her, and then away, and they were once more grave when he looked back again. Still, she guessed what that effort had cost him. "No," he said quietly. "I did not mean the coffee. You see, I had never until you came here been used to anything smooth or pretty." Alice Deringham smiled a little, for she understood. The man, she thought, was willing she should accept the somewhat pointless compliment as the sequence of his former speech, to cover his mistake if he had betrayed more than he thought desirable. It also increased her liking for him, since it appeared that Alton was capable of self-restraint. There was, however, no mistaking what she had seen, and the girl remembered that one of the Winnipeg ladies she travelled with, who had visited one of the weird valleys across the American frontier, described to her the fascination of throwing stones into the basin of a geyser to see how many it would take before it erupted. During her intercourse with rancher Alton, Alice Deringham had experienced the sensation. "You have been working too hard lately, and worrying, too, I think," she said. Alton laughed a little, and then glanced at the stove for a while in silence, as though communing with himself. When he looked up again the girl fancied that he had decided something. "Work hurts nobody. It's the worry that leaves the mark," he said, with a smile. "Of course, a good many people will have told you that before. Yes, I've been thinking a good deal lately." "It is occasionally a solace to tell one's friends one's thoughts," said Miss Deringham. "Well," said Alton gravely, "there's a thing I feel I should do, and yet I don't want to, because it would stand in the way of my doing something else." "That is a somewhat common difficulty," said Alice Deringham. "It depends upon the importance to yourself, or others, of the first thing." Alton nodded. "There are," he said, "men in this district who have worked very hard, not for the bare living the ranch gives them, because some have put a good deal more into the land than they have taken out of it, but for what it will give them presently. Now, unless somebody does the right thing for them, another man will walk right in and take all they have worked for away. I wouldn't like that to happen, because I am one of them, you see." "No," said Miss Deringham. "Still, surmising that you are the somebody, I wonder if you have a more convincing reason." A little flush seemed to creep into Alton's bronzed face. "I find I can talk to you as I never did to any one else," he said. "Well, this valley's waiting to feed a host of people, and teeming with riches that somebody is wanting, and I feel it's my task to do the best I can for it. Now, when one feels that, and does nothing, he's putting a load he was meant to carry on other people's shoulders." "Yes," said Miss Deringham. "Still, isn't it slightly egotistical? There may be other men who could do what is necessary better." Alton laughed a little. "You get right home every time," he said. "I've been thinking the same thing, but, though I wanted to, I couldn't find the man, and there isn't much use in running away from the work that's set out for you." Alice Deringham understood him because she was a somewhat intellectual young woman, though she had, and possibly fortunately, but seldom been required to decide between inclination and duty in any affair of importance hitherto. There was also something that touched her in the man's simple faithfulness. "And you are going to do a good deal?" she said. "I don't know," said Alton gravely. "I should like to. You see, we want roads and mills, and an office down there in the city." "And," said the girl, "that means money." "Yes," said Alton. "When a man goes round borrowing he finds out that the folks who have got the dollars like to keep them. That's why I'm going up to look for Jimmy's silver mine." Miss Deringham shivered a little. "Winter is coming on," she said. "The last man who looked for it was frozen--and there is Carnaby." The girl's pulses throbbed a little faster as she spoke, and there was nothing in the man's face which escaped her attention. Again the curious glint became apparent in his eyes, and the warm bronze a little deeper in tint. "I might raise some dollars on Carnaby, but I don't want to," he said. Miss Deringham had seen sufficient, and decided to change the topic. "So you intend to find the silver?" she said. "Yes," said Alton simply. "I feel I have got to do that--first." There was a significant silence, and the girl leaned back in her chair, conscious without resentment that the man was watching her. Her eyes were softer than usual, the faintest trace of colour showed in her cheek, while the light evening dress emphasized the fine sweep of curve and line that was further accentuated by her pose. The lamp that hung above her smote a track of brightness athwart her red-gold hair, until she slightly moved her head so that while part of the full round neck showed in its snowy whiteness her face was in the shadow. "I think you will be successful. I hope you will," she said. It was evident that the man understood all that was meant, but he rose with an apparent effort. "And now I have a good deal to do," he said. Alice Deringham also rose with a little stateliness, and when he had gone out sank down contemplatively into the chair again. Her hands lay open in her lap, and it is possible that she saw nothing of the sewing they rested on as she grappled with the question why had the man told her what he had done. There were two apparent reasons, for Alice Deringham realized that there was a certain greatness behind his simplicity. Granting that, she could see his standpoint clearly, though it was more difficult to understand why such a man had made it evident to her. He was, she knew, not one to stoop even to win a woman's good opinion, and would have seen that in this direction silence became him best, unless he felt that while so much was due to honour there was something due to her. He had told her simply that it was not to please himself he was going out to look for the silver just then, and the deduction was that the expedition had no attractions for him because he wished to stay at the ranch. Allowing that, the revelation of his motive had not been purposeless. It was only his responsibility drove him away from her, and there was a vague but effective compliment in the implication that she would recognize it. Still, this train of reasoning had led Alice Deringham far enough, and she sought distraction from it in her embroidery, which during the next hour progressed but indifferently. It was a day or two later when Alton drew Deringham into his room when he came in bemired all over from the settlement, and the financier noticed that the table and most of the floor was littered with books, survey plans, and miscellaneous papers. "I'll have to leave this place for a little," he said. "I'm going up to find the silver, but the ranch and all that's in it is at your service just as long as it pleases you. If all goes as I expect it, I shall be back in a month or so, and would be glad to find you still at Somasco. Then, if you are ready, Charley and I will go back to the old country with you. A lawyer in Vancouver has written to an English accountant for me, and with him to help us we can fix up all about Carnaby." Now Deringham had up to that moment still retained a hope that he could arrive at an understanding with Alton respecting Carnaby on the spot. As it was, unless he could gain time, exposure and even worse things stared him in the face. It had been comparatively simple to hoodwink his co-trustee, but it would be very different with an accountant of reputation, and he had also grown afraid of Alton's instinctive grasp of whatever subject he turned his attention to. There was, of course, much the rancher did not know, but that left him with attention the more concentrated upon issues of importance. Deringham, however, showed but little evidence of dismay or astonishment. Had he been liable to do so, he would not have held his own so long in the occupation he followed. His breath came a trifle more quickly, and his hand trembled a little, but he rested it upon the table, and all that Alton noticed was a curious little movement about the corner of his eyes. The rancher, however, remembered it. "Well," said Deringham, "I must endeavour if possible to return to England with you. When you spoke of being away a month you seemed to contemplate a possibility of being absent longer." Alton nodded. "I did," he said. "The man who found the silver is lying up there still, but I've provided for anything of that kind happening to me, as you will see in a day or two. Now I don't think we need worry any more until we get to Carnaby." Deringham made a gesture of concurrence, but the grim irony of Alton's speech occurred to him as he went out to grapple with his torturing anxiety. At first he could scarcely think of anything consecutively, and once more the picture of a man hanging by a juniper-bush with a river frothing down the gorge below rose up persistently before his memory. It was replaced by another of a grim silent figure keeping watch with eyes that never ceased their fixed stare beside a frozen trail. On the second day afterwards he sauntered into Horton's store and found Hallam there. The mining speculator appeared ironically amused, the storekeeper flushed and savage, but when Hallam turned to Deringham there was something in his manner that suggested they had not met by accident. "I've been telling the storekeeper not to lay in too many Somascos just yet, and have got to put in the time here for an hour or two," he said. "Know any reason why you shouldn't have a drink with me?" They strolled into an adjoining room, and Horton, who supplied them with a bottle and glasses, came back smiling sardonically. "Now if Hallam hadn't put it that way I mightn't have thought anything," said he. "Still, when a man of his kind takes the trouble to tell one anything it's a blame good reason for not believing him." In the meanwhile Hallam, who filled the glasses, glanced at Deringham. "You think I can be of some use to you?" he said. "Yes," said Deringham. "I presume you know Alton is going up to find the silver he needs to help him traverse your schemes?" "Oh, yes," said Hallam. "Still I should have figured he could have got it out of Carnaby." "I believe he intends to." Hallam smiled unpleasantly. "Now I begin to understand you," he said. "You lost a good many dollars over the Peveril." "I think that is beside the question," said Deringham. Hallam regarded his companion steadily. "Well, I don't know, but we needn't argue. You don't want him to get those dollars out of Carnaby?" "And you don't want him to find the silver." Hallam laughed. "That's quite right," said he. "The same thing would suit both of us." "I scarcely think so," said Deringham. "In my case, I really do not mind whether he gets the dollars from Carnaby or not." "No?" said Hallam. "Then you'll have to tell me what you want." "I don't want him to come over to England too soon. If anything kept him up there among the mountains a month or so longer than he expected, so that I should have time to straighten up things a little, I would not complain." "And," said Hallam, "you would be ready to pay for it?" Deringham bent his head. "Yes. To a moderate extent." Hallam sat silent for a time, and then looked up with a glint in his beady eyes. "It could be done. Well, I don't want him to find that silver, and if he doesn't get through his prospecting in the next month or so he'll not find much of anything under six feet of snow, and I'll have fixed things up as I want them before it's melted. Now you're holding pretty heavy in the Aconada mine, and I've been wanting to get my foot in there for a long while." Deringham stood up, and thrust aside the bottle Hallam passed him. "Before we go any further I want you to understand that if Alton is held up there until December is over it is all I ask," he said. Hallam nodded. "Oh, yes," he said. "All I want is so many of those shares transferred to me." They debated for a while, and then Deringham said, "I would sooner fix it through a third party." Hallam laughed unpleasantly. "That would suit, but I'd want your cheque to buy them with made out payable to me." "It would," said Deringham, "not suit me." "Then we can't make a deal. It's me that's putting this thing through, and if anything goes wrong I'm anxious to have somebody to stand in with me as well as pick up the dollars if it doesn't. I'm talking quite straight. There it is. Take it or leave it." Deringham was silent again. Then he laughed a little. "Since I cannot apparently do anything else, I'll take it." Hallam filled up both glasses. "Then that's all," he said. "Here's my respects to the Somasco Consolidated." Deringham just touched his glass and went out, while Hallam, who sat down and emptied his, smiled ironically. "That man might have kept his dollars, and I'd be quite pleased if Alton stayed up there a good deal more than two months," said he. Deringham was in the meanwhile hastily writing out telegraphic messages which were to cause a little astonishment on the London stock market, and hamper the working of one or two companies. He would, so far as he could see, be a much poorer man in a few months or so, but he fancied he could gain time to save the reputation that would help him to commence again, and to men of his attainments there are always opportunities. Then he sent off a mounted messenger, and rode slowly back towards Somasco, while Horton spent some time examining a blotting-pad in his back store. "I'm kind of sorry I can't make anything of that stuff," said he. "What's the use of wiring any one the names of cities?" During the next day Alton drew Deringham into his room, and laid a document on the table. "I don't know if that's quite the usual thing, but Horton and I have been worrying over a lawyer's book, and I think it will hold," he said. Deringham took up the paper, and again there was the little movement at the corners of his eye as he read. "I, Henry Alton, of Somasco ranch, being now in sound health, and as clear of head as usual, but about to start on a journey to which there are risks attached, hereby bequeath in the event of disaster overtaking me the estate of Carnaby, England, with all its rents and revenues of any kind whatever to which I am entitled, to Miss Alice Deringham, daughter of ----. In case of my decease during the next six months, the above-mentioned Ralph Deringham and my partner Charles Seaforth, of Somasco, British Columbia, will, acting as trustees, either dispose of the estate for the benefit of Miss Deringham or install her in possession of it at her discretion." There was a little more to the purpose, and Deringham read all of it. "This is very generous," he said. "No," said Alton, "it's only just, and it can't be very generous, because Carnaby wouldn't be much use to me if I don't come back. I could, of course, revoke this thing if I do." Deringham said nothing. There was a good deal he wished to say, but for once words failed him, and when he went out with the will in his pocket his face had grown a trifle grey. Yet though he suffered grievously in that moment, he was conscious of something in his brain that throbbed in time to the refrain, "Alice Deringham, mistress of Carnaby." CHAPTER XV ON THE TRAIL Daylight was just creeping through the rain, and thin mist rolled about the pines, when early one morning Alton, who was setting out to find the silver, stood upon the verandah of Somasco ranch. The trickle from the eaves dripped upon two pack-horses waiting in the mire below, and Tom of Okanagan, the big axeman who had been hewing with Alton when Deringham first met him at the ranch, stood motionless with their bridles in his hand, apparently as oblivious of the rain as the pines behind him. Seaforth was at the head of the stairway with a pack upon his back, and the barrel of a Marlin rifle sloped across his shoulders. Beyond lay a blurred vista of driving rain and dripping trees. Early as it was, Deringham and his daughter were also upon the verandah, and the girl shivered a little as she gazed northwards into the mist. It was a very wild and lonely region the rolling vapours hid, and she knew the men who ventured into it at that season of the year would find their courage and endurance tested to the uttermost. There were but three of them, but she had discovered already that they were a little more than average men, and a glance at their burdens and those of the dripping beasts was as reassuring as their bearing. It was evident that they knew what their task would be, and had prepared for it with a thoroughness that overlooked nothing. Tents, blankets, flour-bags, cooking utensils and hide packages were hung where man and horse could carry them with a minimum of effort. The place for every strap had been exactly determined, and there was an absence of concern, and a quietness about the men that had its meaning. Presently Seaforth descended the stairway with Deringham, Tom of Okanagan moved forward with the horses, and Alton was left alone with Alice Deringham. Neither of them spoke for a moment, and it was noticeable that the girl, who knew that silence is often more expressive than speech and had acquired some skill in avoiding unpleasant situations, was for the moment unable to break it. It was, Alton who spoke first, and his voice was a trifle too even. "You will be gone when we come back?" he said. The girl noticed he did not look at her, and fancied she understood the reason. This was a strong man, but it seemed he knew there were limits to his strength. "Yes," she said. "The time we spent at Somasco has passed very pleasantly, but we shall go down to Vancouver in a day or two." It seemed very trivial, for Alice Deringham was quite aware that this might be the last time she would look upon her companion, but she had bidden farewell to men of his kind before. They had worn their nation's khaki, and Alton wore deerskin and jean, with the shovel girded about him in place of the sword; but she knew there was in him the same spirit that animated them, and that it was a silent spirit made most terribly manifest in action. "I hope you will have a good time down there," he said. The girl glancing at him in sidelong fashion noticed his curious little smile. "Oh, yes, I think I shall," she said. "I shall expect to hear you have come back with the silver." Alton nodded. "Yes," he said. "When I come back I shall have found the silver." He spoke quietly, and there was nothing unusual in his voice, but glancing at his eyes the girl understood what he had left unspoken. If this man did not return with his object accomplished, she felt it would be because he would not come back at all. Then there was another silence more oppressive still, until Alton held out his hand. "I must be going," he said. Alice Deringham was conscious of a little thrill as her fingers rested in his big, hard palm, and when he released them waited for a moment with a curious expectancy. "You will take my good wishes with you," she said. Alton bent his head. "I am doing this thing because I feel I have to," he said very slowly. "I could come and see you at Vancouver when I come back?" The light was dim, but the girl moved her head a little so that the man did not see her face. "Yes," she said; "if it would please you." Alton smiled gravely as he swung down his wet hat. "Then," he said, "I will come." He went down the stairway next moment, there was a soft thud of hoofs splashing in the mud, and in another minute he had gone, and Alice Deringham glancing towards the bush saw only sliding mist and driving rain, until her father stopped close by her. "There is evidently a good deal in heredity," he said. "Our rancher kinsman occasionally makes it very evident that he is Alton--of Somasco--but there are also times when he appears to understand what would be becoming in Alton of Carnaby." Now Deringham may have been right, and he may equally have been wrong; for, while Alton of Somasco had doubtless inherited something from the generations of land-holders who had gone before him, the man animated by a single purpose who has grappled with untrammelled nature, subduing the weaknesses of his body, and bearing hardship, peril, and toil, not infrequently attains to something of the greatness which is the birthright of humanity, and not confined to the English gentleman. Alice Deringham, however, smiled ironically at her father. "Did you expect anything else from him?" she said. "I wonder how long it will be before he comes back again." Deringham did not answer her, but there was a curious look in his face, and he seemed to shiver. It was, however, very cold, and the rain drove into the verandah. It was ten days later and the little party, clearing a path for the horses through a chaos of fallen trunks and thickets, had made with difficulty some six or eight miles a day, when Alton was awakened one night by the trampling of the beasts. He sat up in his blankets and listened intently, but could only hear the hoarse roar of a river and the little cold breeze moaning in the pines. A man new to that region would have lain down again, but Alton had taught himself to understand a little of the nature of the beasts that worked for him, and when he heard another movement crept to the tent door. Looking out he could see the pines lifting their spires of blackness against the night where they followed the ridge of a hill. That was on the one hand, but on the other they rolled, vague and blurred, down into a vast hollow from which the mist was drifting. The sound of the river rose reverberating from its profundity of shadow, for it had cost the party most of a day to climb to the height they had pitched the camp upon. There was but little light overhead, though here and there a star blinked fitfully, and Alton shivered again, for it was very cold and but little past the hour when man's vitality sinks to its lowest. Raising himself a trifle he listened again with ears that could distinguish each component of the nocturnal harmonies. No one but a bushman could have heard them, but to those who toil in the stillness of that forest-shrouded land the silence is but the perfect blending of musical sound. There was the faintest of crisp rattles as the withered needles shook down from a twig, and then a sigh and a whisper along the dim black vault above, as though a spirit hovered above the sleeping earth. Alton heard, and knew it was not the wind, for the little breeze had paused while the river made it answer in subdued antiphones. He had dwelt in close contact with the soil he sprang from, and there were times when he felt his nature thrill in faint response to the life there is in what the men of the cities deem inanimate things. Then a leaf sailed past the tent, and he knew what tree it came from as it touched the earth, and strained his ears the more, wondering what he listened for, as he, and others of his kind, had done in the bush before. It could be, he almost felt, nothing material, and yet, though they did not move now, he knew the horses were also listening. That had its meaning, for man cannot measure his keenest senses with those of the beasts of the field. The little breeze awoke again, and shook fantastic harmonies out of the shivering trees, and one horse stamped. The other wheeled and snorted, and Alton sprang back into the tent, as somewhere in the bushes there commenced a sound that suggested the snarling of a great cat. It was possibly unfortunate he was not a trifle less prompt, because otherwise he might have noticed something slightly unusual in the sound. As it was, however, he fell over Okanagan Tom, who being a very similar man to him, and not as yet wholly awake, asked no questions but gripped him silently, and proceeded to crush the breath out of him. Alton was sinewy, but he was almost choking before he freed one hand, and drove it into a tender portion of his assailant's frame. Then with a little laugh Tom of Okanagan flung him across the tent. "Great Columbus! It's good I found out in time," he said. Alton was almost speechless still, and, while he gasped, the object he had fallen on moved strenuously beneath him. "You might get up," it said. "It's a somewhat unprotected place you're sitting on." "Confound you both," said Alton. "Hand me the rifle." Seaforth afterwards remembered that he did not ask where the rifle was, which would have been the question put by most men, and as he held it out felt the stock touch Alton's hand. Then there was a little rattle, and as Seaforth floundered to his feet a weird snarling cry broke out. Alton was out of the tent in a moment, but Seaforth afterwards recalled the fact that they were all moving when he heard the sound, and Tom of Okanagan apparently groping for his axe and throwing things about. He also decided that it might have been better if one had sat still and listened, but it is not given to human beings to always do the most appropriate thing. Alton instinctively avoided the tent-line nearest the opening, which was unfortunate, because the peg had drawn a trifle, and Seaforth had moved it after his comrade had driven it. It therefore came about that the line was not where he had last seen it, and he went down headlong, while the rifle rolled away from him. Just there, there was a rush and a drumming of hoofs, and before Alton could pick himself up the horses were sweeping in a panic through the shadowy bush. "Anything the worse, Harry?" said Seaforth. "We had better get off at once while there's the sound to guide us." Alton laughed softly, as he did now and then when he might have been disconcerted. "I can't beat a Cayuse, Charley, and I don't think you'll hear them very long," he said. Tom of Okanagan grunted approval, and the three stood still, until the drumming of hoofs was lost in the silence of the bush. "They're gone," said Seaforth. "Do you mean to do nothing?" "Yes," said Alton. "I am going to stop right where I am until there's light enough to trail them by. Do you know anything better, Tom?" "No," said the man from Okanagan. "Still, I'm not quite as good at thinking just now as I would like to be. The last time I felt like this was when Siwash Bob took the back of the axe to me. I figure that was a panther." "Yes," said Alton; "it was a panther." "Well," said Okanagan, "did you ever hear of one that went for a horse close up with a tent before?" "I have," said Alton, "seen a panther that turned on a man who wanted to get a shot at it in the undergrowth." "Oh, yes," said Okanagan. "He'd got something he'd caught for dinner in the bushes, but it's kind of curious that beasts come round and howl at us. Anyway, we can't find out nothing until the daylight comes." They crawled back into the tent, and it was characteristic of them that although the loss of the horses might traverse all their plans they went to sleep again, and awakened as the beasts do, instinctively, when the first light crept over the shoulder of the hill. Ten minutes later Alton had the fire lighted, and sat down beside it with the frypan in his hand. The recovery of the horses was a question of importance, but it might well entail a day's journey, and he knew that to commence it without his breakfast would be distinctly unwise of him. Accordingly he tranquilly held the pan, while as the mists melted and the awakening earth put on shape and form there was unrolled before him a wondrous transformation scene. When he had last awakened the wilderness had lain formless, wrapped in blackness, primitive and pagan. Now the great pines rising row and row from the hollow pointed heavenwards with all their sombre spires, and led the eye upwards ever over the rock that lost its greyness and glinted to the gleam of snow far up in the empyrean that was sundered from earth by the vapours and wholly spiritual. Alton realized dimly a little of the motive of the scene, and felt that the world was good, for, laying down the frypan, he stood up stretching his arms above his head as he rejoiced in the strength of his vigorous manhood. Still, like most of the bushmen, he did not express his feelings in speech. "Charley, you'll be slow for your wedding. Turn out, the pork's done," he said. They lost no time, but they did not eat in haste, and Alton glanced at Seaforth when the meal was done. "You'll stop right here, Charley, by the tent," he said. "I can't quite tell when Tom and I will be back again." Then without another word he strode into the bush, and Seaforth, who first washed the breakfast-cans, proceeded to make a circuit of the camp. He found the spot where the horses had been tethered with but little difficulty, and also the hole out of which one of them had drawn the picket-peg. The redwoods which towered above him were vast of girth, and it would have needed a long halter to encompass them, while there was no branch for sixty feet or so. Still, though he searched diligently, he did not find any print which might have been left by the paw of a panther, and regretted that there was a ridge of rock outcrop behind the camp. "That beast was hungry, or he wouldn't have come so near," he said. It was near dusk when Alton came back leading one weary horse, and darkness had closed down before Tom of Okanagan strode in with nothing but the pack-rope he had set out with. Seaforth had supper ready, and no questions were asked until they had eaten. Then Alton, stretching himself at full length beside the fire, lighted his pipe. "You found nothing after I left you where the trail split tip?" he said. "No," said Okanagan. "Anyway, not for more than a mile. Ran into rock and gravel, and lost the trail. Crawled round in rings most of the day, and couldn't strike it again. Guess the beast swam the river and lit out for home." "Well," said Alton dryly, "I found more than that, for I ran into a man's trail, and it wasn't very old. I think he had long boots on and one was down at the heel. I spent an hour over it, and when it led me into rock came back again." "A man?" said Seaforth. "I fancied there was nobody but ourselves between here and Somasco. What could he be doing?" "I don't know," said Alton. "Did you find the panther's trail?" "No," said Seaforth. "Rock again!" Alton said nothing for a minute, and when he spoke his voice had a curious tone. "Well," he said gravely, "the rock belongs to this place and we don't, so there's no use kicking, but it would have been convenient if there had been less of it. Now it's quite possible that a few pounds of grub and a load of blankets may make a big difference before we get home again, and if we can't trail that horse to-morrow you'll go back to Somasco for another one. We'll cache the load somewhere here and make a big smoke for you at every camping." "That means the loss of a fortnight, anyway," said Seaforth. "Time is valuable with the winter coming on." Alton nodded. "Still, it can't be helped," he said. "I'll lose no time," said Seaforth, who had been watching his comrade. "Are you quite sure you have told us all, Harry?" Alton slowly drew a strip of hide from beneath him, and passed it across. Seaforth and Okanagan bent over it together, their faces showing intent in the light of the fire, while Alton laughed softly as he watched them. "What do you make of that?" he said. Seaforth glanced round sharply. "It's a trifle curious. That hide's thick, and yet the beast has evidently broken it, but it pulled up the peg." "Did you find the peg?" said Alton, and Okanagan swept his glance across the faces before him. Seaforth's expressed bewilderment, Alton's was grim. "I found one," said Seaforth--"Julius Caesar's." "Yes," said Alton dryly. "There should have been another, and a horse that breaks his tether can't pull out the peg. Still, I don't think he broke it." "But," said Seaforth, "the thing is broken." Tom of Okanagan smiled in a curious fashion while Alton reached out and laid his finger on the hide. "One can't be sure of anything," he said. "Still, one could fancy that had felt the knife before it snapped." There was silence for almost a minute, and the shadows of the great firs seemed to close in upon the camp. Then Alton rose up and stretched his limbs wearily. "I am kind of tired," he said. "There's a good deal to be done to-morrow." CHAPTER XVI CAUSE FOR ANXIETY There was no sign of the missing horse next day, and Alton's face was grave when he returned to camp at noon. Tom of Okanagan arrived an hour or two later, and shook his head when Seaforth glanced at him inquiringly. "Rock again. Right down to the river," he said. Alton nodded, but did not ask if his companion had effected a crossing. "There was a good deal of water coming down?" he said. "Oh, yes," said Okanagan. "It was cold. Boulders all along on the other side. Now if the beast got over he'll be lighting out for home, and there are some of us better than others at picking up a trail." Seaforth understood him, and the implication pleased him though it was not openly expressed. "Had you any especial reason when you asked me to go, Harry?" he asked. Alton smiled dryly. "I had, but I don't know that it was a very good one. You would sooner stay up here. What do you think, Tom?" "Of course!" said Seaforth, and Alton nodded silently, while Okanagan rose to his feet. "Now you have asked me, Charley's right," he said. "I'll be moving south in ten minutes." He had set off in somewhat less, and the men he left behind stood still listening until the sound of his footsteps had sunk into the stillness. Then Seaforth glanced at his comrade, and Alton laughed. "It's lonely, Charley," he said. "I don't know that you were wise, but we'll get a move on and cache some of these provisions." Seaforth was glad of something to do. Three had started from Somasco, and already one had gone, while he felt a slight sense of depression as he glanced north towards the wilderness of rock and snow their path led into. He did not, however, tell his comrade so, and they toiled for an hour before Alton, carefully smoothing off the soil that covered what they had hidden, strewed it with cedar-twigs. "Step it off, Charley; twenty paces east to the rock, with the big peak over the shoulder of the hill," he said. Seaforth walked straight forward with measured strides. "A foot over!" he said. Alton nodded. "Go back and make your traverse," he said. "Forty north with the gully over the fork of the river." "Forty," said Seaforth, "and a half." "Well," said Alton, "whatever you don't remember, hold tight on to that." Seaforth felt the depression he had shaken off return to him. "There are," he said slowly, "few things that you forget." Alton, glancing at him, understood, and then turned his eyes towards the snow of the wilderness. "It's the man that can't look forward who gets left," he said. "Now something might stop me coming back with you for that grub." Seaforth said nothing, and he was a little graver than usual as they packed the tent and blankets on the remaining horse, and an extra load upon their own backs. A good many things might happen up there in the north, including snow-slides, floods and frost, or the downward rush of great trees in a _brulee_. That was possibly why he commenced a little jingling song of the music-halls when they took the trail again, but the white grandeur of the great peaks silenced him, or his breath gave out as they floundered into fern-choked forest which was further garnished with the horrible devil's club. Seaforth fell into a clump of it, and for several minutes his comments were venomous, for though he had been taught restraint in England and had further tuition in Canada of a grimmer description, little can be expected from the man who is gripped by that Satanic thorn. It was half an hour before he went on again with his garments ensanguined as the result of Alton's treatment with the knife, and he gasped with relief when after a march of four miles, which occupied most of what was left of the day, they came out into the more open spaces of a big _brulee_. Some time in the hot autumn a fire had passed that way, and the great trees towered above them, stripped and blackened columns, that seemed to stretch between earth and sky. There was no limb left them, and they rose, majestic in their cylindrical symmetry, in apparently endless battalions, a vista of plutonic desolation. Underfoot there was charcoal, and feathery ashes that whirled aloft, and sprinkling the men with a fine grey powder slowly settled again. Alton was white in ten minutes, a gritty mire defiled the horse's sides, and Seaforth floundered, coughing, ankle-deep at times, with livid circles where he had rubbed the grime away about his eyes. There was no sign of beast or bird, and the shuffle of weary feet and thud of hoofs rose muffled out of a great silence, until there was a stupendous crash somewhere in the distance. The charred trunks took up the sound, and while they flung it from one to another Alton sprang forward and smote the pack-horse with his fist. "Jump!" he said hoarsely. Next moment Seaforth felt himself hurled forward, and glancing over his shoulder when he found his footing again saw a big trunk tilt a little. It seemed to hang quivering for a second or two, then toppled further, and with a great humming came rushing down. Then there was a stunning crash, and he stood gasping, deafened, and bereft of sight, amidst a stifling cloud of dust which swept into his mouth and nostrils and almost suffocated him. When he could see anything again the horse was quivering, and the dust still rising from a shapeless pile a few yards behind him. Alton, who was black and grey to the ankles, took his hat off, shook it, and put it on again in a curious unconcerned fashion which suggested that he did it unconsciously. "Those six feet make a big difference," said he. As he spoke there was a crash a little farther behind them, another ahead, and they stood still; Alton gripping the horse's bridle, Seaforth staring about him and scarcely breathing, while concussion answered concussion, until there was a silence that was almost bewildering again. "Now," said Alton quietly, "we'll get out of this, though I don't know that we need worry, because that should have cleared out the shaky ones. When one goes, more of them generally follow. It wouldn't have grieved Hallam of the Tyee very much if we had been a yard or two farther back." Seaforth was possibly a little shaken, for he answered as he might not otherwise have done. "I wonder if it would have displeased anybody else," he said. Alton jerked the horse to a standstill and looked at him. "I don't think you meant that, Charley." Seaforth noticed the glint in his comrade's eyes, and departed a little from veracity. "No," he said. "There are times when a man is apt to talk a little at random." Alton nodded. "You'll not forget again. The man is a kinsman of mine." Seaforth smote the pack-horse, because he did not quite know what to answer. He had vague suspicions concerning Deringham, but was quite aware that it would be inappropriate for him to express them. Also, having seen a little of the smoother side of life in England, he knew a trifle more about young women of Miss Deringham's description than his comrade did. He admired the girl, as most men would have done, but the qualities Alton had evidently endowed her with were not especially apparent to him. He also fancied that Miss Deringham would have found some of them distinctly irksome now and then. It was dark when they came out of the _brulee_ and pitched camp amidst the boulders beside a lonely lake. The mists crawled about the pines that shut it in, and its surface was seamed with white by a little bitter wind. Sombre clouds rolled lower down the surrounding hills, and Seaforth was glad to stretch his weary limbs under the lee of a big boulder while the fire snapped and crackled in front of him. "I wonder when we shall see this lake again," he said. Alton, who was busy with the frypan, turned and stirred the fire, and the sparks and smoke whirled about them before a stinging blast. "I don't know," he said, glancing at a smear of whiteness that swept athwart the lake. "It depends upon the weather, and I'm not pleased with that to-night. You see the Chinook winds would keep off the snow." "Of course," said Seaforth, who knew that the warm breezes from the Pacific occasionally drive back the rigorous winter that turns the northern portion of the mountain province into a white desolation. "They usually do, but we'll surmise that in place of them we get the back-draughts from the Pole?" "Then," said Alton dryly, "it would be a good deal nicer down at Somasco. Are you sorry you didn't stop there, Charley?" Seaforth threw an armful of fir wood upon the fire with somewhat unnecessary violence. "You are not so pleasant as you might be to-night," he said. Alton rose and stretched himself. "I wouldn't worry about me. It seems to me we are both of us feeling lonely, and that's curious, because when we had him Okanagan wasn't any special kind of a companionable man. There was a time when you would have been driving to dinner with a diamond pin stuck in you and silk stockings on about this time, Charley?" Seaforth laughed. "I scarcely think either of the things are in common masculine use," he said. "There, however, was a time when I walked into a British Columbian mining camp with my whole wardrobe on my back and, I think, fifty cents in my pocket. Still, what you ask me suggests a not quite unwarranted question. What are you going to do with Carnaby, Harry?" "I don't know yet. I'm not sure it's mine, you see." "Your grandfather left it you," said Seaforth; "and it was his." "Yes," said Alton gravely. "He did, but he tacked a kind of condition on to it, and--well, that's about all I can tell you, Charley." "Of course!" and Seaforth smiled curiously. "I would not have asked you, only I am your partner, and when you're Alton of Carnaby you will have no more use for me." Alton seemed to sigh. "I am," he said simply, "Alton of Somasco, and I fancy now and then that was all I was meant to be. You are my partner, Charley, and it would take a good deal more than Carnaby to separate you and me." Seaforth smiled again, though there was more than amusement in his face, while Alton, who stopped beside the fire and filled two cans from the kettle, shook his head reproachfully as he flung their contents into the bush. "That's what comes of talking too much. You have forgotten to put in the tea," he said. They lay down early, rolled in the blankets, with the tent across them, for the wind that lashed the lake rendered it advisable not to erect it, but it was some time before Seaforth went to sleep. He fancied he understood Alton's assertion that he was not sure Carnaby was his, for he knew his comrade was capable under certain conditions of almost reasonless generosity. Nor did he desire a better partner, but he was not sure that in the event of Alton transferring his activities to England their friendship would be approved of by a possible mistress of Carnaby. Women, Seaforth knew, regarded these things differently. He slept at last, and awakening felt the tent heavy upon him. There was also a curious rawness in the atmosphere, and he glanced about him with a little gasp of consternation. The hillside gleamed coldly above him under the creeping light, and only the pines were sombre, for the earth was white with snow. "Get up, Harry," he said, with something in his voice that roused his comrade suddenly. Alton rose, and his face became a trifle grim. "This," he said quietly, "is going to mix up things. We'll have breakfast quick as you can get it." They were on their way in half an hour, struggling up the hillside under the pines until at last the trees grew smaller towards the timber line. Then they floundered painfully over what had been bare slopes of rock and was now a waste of snow, with a dazzling field of whiteness. between them and the blue. Up there the frost was biting, and the snow lay fine as flour, blowing in thin wisps from under the horse's hoofs, while the men's jean and deerhide were sprinkled with glittering particles. The wind dropped towards sundown, and when, climbing a great hill shoulder, they dipped again to the forest the snows flamed crimson, against a pitiless blueness, out of which there seemed to fall a devastating cold. Diamonds glinted upon the shivering pines, sound seemed frozen, and there was a great impressive stillness across which the jingle of the bridle rang stridently when Alton pulled the horse up near the foremost of the trees. "This," he said softly, "is where I found Jimmy. He was sitting there with his rifle on his knee, looking straight at me, as though there were lots of things he could tell me." Seaforth shivered a little. "He had the specimens with him?" Alton nodded. "Yes," he said. "He had his grip right on the deerhide bag, as though he didn't want to let me have them, and I had to think of Mrs. Jimmy while I took them from him. It didn't seem quite fair of Jimmy, because they haven't much use for silver in the country the long trail leads to." Seaforth glanced down into the great hollow that fell away beneath them, and up at the glittering snow. "You were alone, I think?" "I was," said Alton grimly. "And most half-frozen. It was that cold there was ice in the big rapid, and I hadn't had much to eat for several days." Seaforth shivered again, as he pictured that strange encounter between the dead and the living. Jimmy the prospector, having taken his secret with him to a region where silver is valueless, had sat within a few paces from where he stood with his fingers clenched upon the bag, and an awful disregard of the rights of the woman he had left behind in his frozen face. Seaforth could also picture his comrade stooping over him with averted eyes, but swift, resolute movements, for when there was work to be done Alton of Somasco was not the man to turn aside. "It must have been a trifle horrible," he said. Alton's eyes closed a little. "It wasn't nice. Still, there was Mrs. Jimmy working down at the store, and that secret belonged to her." He stopped abruptly with a little gesture as of one shaking off a painful memory, and looked down across the climbing pines to the lake in the hollow behind them. It still shone steelily, and apparently not very far away, though it had cost the men strenuous toil all day to traverse the distance that divided them from it. Seaforth, who watched him, noticed something unusual in his attitude, for his comrade stood very still with eyes that never for a moment wavered from one point in the valley. "Do you see anything down there?" he said. "Yes," said Alton grimly. "I see smoke." "There is nothing astonishing in that," said Seaforth. "I damped down the bark well, and raked up the soil to shut off the draught. There was a big pile of wet green twigs, Harry." Alton smiled curiously. "You made one fire?" "Yes," said Seaforth, wondering. "We don't usually make two." His sight was not equal to his comrade's, but he could see a smear of blue vapour curl athwart the pines, for he had banked the fire with wet fuel, so that it should smoke all day in case Tom of Okanagan had overtaken the horse and was following their trail. "Well," said Alton dryly, "there is another one." Seaforth swept his gaze twice across the valley before he saw anything beyond the crowded pines, and then for a moment he caught sight of a second faint streak athwart their sombreness. It was a mere film that vanished and rose again, illusory and almost imperceptible, but for some reason it troubled him. "It might be Tom," he said. Alton laughed in a curious fashion. "I don't think it is. One fire would be enough for Tom to make his supper with, and that one's nearer us." "But," said Seaforth, "I can scarcely see the smoke." Alton raised one hand impatiently. "No," he said. "Whoever made that fire didn't want you to, and there's no need to make much smoke if you keep clear of sap and twigs." Seaforth's face grew grave. "Is there any reason why you can't tell me a little more? If the man would sooner we did not see it, what did he make the fire for?" Alton smiled grimly. "I don't know any more, but a man must eat," he said. "In the meanwhile it seems to me that fellow understands his business, and I've a kind of notion we shall hear from him or see him presently." Seaforth glanced back along the blue-grey trail that led towards the bare hill shoulder, which rose a mere ridge of the great mountain side that swept round the hollow. "There is no controverting that, and he needn't have much difficulty in finding us if he wants to. Is there anything to be done?" he said. "No," said Alton dryly. "If there was, I'd sit down here and wait for him, but there's nothing to stop a free miner prospecting round where it suits him in this country." CHAPTER XVII ALONE The frost held for two days, and the men made small progress through the dusty snow. On the third it grew softer as they floundered wearily down into a valley, and Seaforth was aching in every limb when at last they halted at the edge of a river. Not far below them it plunged frothing into a gloomy canon, and the roar of its turmoil came out of the thin white vapour which curled through the stupendous portals of stream-worn stone. Seaforth felt moist and generally uncomfortable, as well as weary, for it was humid and a trifle warmer now, while his long boots were soaked, and at every step he dragged after him a clogging weight of snow. He leaned against a cedar, glad to rest a while, and glanced inquiringly at his comrade. Alton, however, showed no sign of fatigue. He stood with the half-melted snow he had fallen in clinging about his deerskin jacket and trickling slowly down his tattered leggings, the bridle of the worn-out horse in his hand and a slight perplexity in his eyes. "Now, I wonder if that will make a road to the south," he said reflectively, pointing to the canon. "I don't know," said Seaforth dryly. "So far as my opinion goes, I scarcely think it will; but isn't that a little outside the question? Just now a road to the north would be more to the purpose." "Well," said Alton, "a few sticks of giant powder here and there would make a difference, and one could do a good deal with a few score of men used to the pick and drill." "It would also," said Seaforth, "take a good many dollars to pay them." Alton laughed as he turned, and pointed upstream, Darkness was not far away, and the river came down deep and slow out of the dimness. Dark pines rolled up the hillsides that shut it in, and wisps of grey vapour drifted about them. "There are," he said, "dollars enough to build a road right down to Vancouver in those hills, and by and by one of two men will have his hands on them." "Isn't that a somewhat curious way of putting it?" said his companion. "Well," said Alton, "there is as usual a reason. Whichever of those men comes out on top will not have much use for the other fellow. In the meanwhile we'll be getting on. There's a canoe under the big boulders yonder, and the island should make the horse a corral." Seaforth said nothing, though he thought a good deal. He guessed that one of the men alluded to was his comrade and the other Hallam, and there was a grim suggestiveness in the former's simple explanation, for it seemed that Alton understood quarter would not be given in the struggle he had embarked upon. There was also something disconcerting in the fact that they found the canoe where he indicated. That it had lain there since Jimmy the prospector, who lay sleeping on the heights above them, had last used it emphasized the desolation of the region they were pushing their way into, and Seaforth once more felt a curious depression as he glanced up the lonely valley. It stretched away before them, a road to the unknown, and he fancied that a future which was fraught with great and perilous possibilities lay hidden beyond the drifting mist. They had, it seemed, set out upon a journey which led farther than the silver Jimmy had found, but knowing that his comrade would go on to the end of it, Seaforth shook off his misgivings, and assisted him to load and launch the craft. They made fast the pack-horse by a halter, and in ten minutes had landed the beast upon an island. Then, somewhat to Seaforth's regret, they took up the paddles and went on again. Alton smiled curiously as he glanced towards the firs that slid by them half-seen through the mist. "We're taking Jimmy's road. He was the last man to come down here, and I wonder what he was thinking about," he said. "There would have been an ice fringe along the bank, and Jimmy was hungry. I think he knew he wouldn't get through, and it was only because of the woman he held on so tight." Seaforth shivered a little, as his fancy called up the scene. The starving man crouching half-frozen with the paddle clenched in stiffened fingers had watched those trees slide by him, knowing that on their speed depended his fast-failing chance of life. He had, Seaforth fancied, stared at the crawling boulders with despair in his dimming eyes, and the weary man turned towards his comrade almost savagely. "Can't you think of anything a little more pleasant?" he said. Alton smiled gravely. "It comes to all of us one day, and the trail of the treasure-seeker leads most often to the unknown hunting grounds," he said. "We have got to keep faith with Jimmy. He did his best, and I think he knew I would come up here after him." Seaforth said nothing further, but bent over his paddle, until an hour later they landed on a point and set up the tent. Neither was communicative over the supper, and Seaforth went early to sleep. The last thing he saw was Alton sitting, a black motionless figure, apparently staring into the darkness from the door of the tent, with his face towards the north. It was raining when he awakened next morning. The tent was saturated, the fire ill to light, and that day was spent in unremitting toil. The stream ran strong against them, and Seaforth's wet hands grew blistered from the grasp of the paddle and his knees raw from the rasp of the craft's bottom as he swung with the weary blade. Hour by hour the rain beat on them, and the pines that crawled out of it went very slowly by, while it was almost a relief to stand upright now and then, and with strenuous effort drive the frail shell up against the swirl of the slower rapids with long fir poles. At times they were swept down sideways before the poles could find hold again, and fought, gasping and panting, for minutes to regain what they had lost in as many seconds. Now and then it was also needful to drag the canoe out, flounder amidst boulders or through tangled forest with her contents, and then, hewing a path here and there with the axe, painfully drag her round; but portage after portage was left behind, and they were still fighting their way yard by yard upstream while the rain came down. Seaforth also knew that it often rains for several weeks in that country when the Chinook wind that melts the snow sets in. Darkness was closing down when at last they drew the canoe out upon a shelving bank and dragged themselves ashore. Seaforth was too chilled and wet to sleep, and his eyes had scarcely closed when Alton shook him, and he rose up, shivering, and stiff in every joint, to commence the task again. It was fortunately easier that day, for the river spread out into a narrow winding lake, and there was less current against them. Still the rain did not abate, and the afternoon was not quite spent when Alton pointed to a little cove. "We haven't made much to-day, but unless you're anxious to go on that would make a good camping-place," he said deprecatingly. "Now there was a time when I wouldn't have thought of stopping yet, but I guess too much good living has taken a little of the stiffening out of me." Seaforth slowly unclenched one hand from the red-smeared paddle-haft, and glanced at it. "If you feel diffident, don't worry about me," he said. "Eight hours' hard labour while you're wet through is, in my opinion, quite enough for anybody." Alton ran the canoe in, and Seaforth staggered a little when he walked ashore. The water was draining from him, and it was several minutes before he could straighten himself. There were pools amidst the boulders, and when they had splashed through these to the edge of the forest, fallen needles and withered fern were spongy, while the dark branches shook down water on them as they swung to the chilly blast. Seaforth groaned now and then as he struggled with the tent, while Alton tramped into the forest with the axe, but he came back presently with an armful of resinous chips, and his comrade's spirits rose a trifle when a crackling fire flung its red flicker through the creeping shadows. It hissed as the gusts lashed it with the rain, but the blackened and dinted kettle boiled, and while they ate and drank the smoke-flavoured tea, a little warmth crept with the pungent vapour into the tent. The bush was dim and shadowy before the meal was finished, but Alton flung fresh branches on the fire, and the blaze that whirled aloft rent a track of radiance through the rain, and called up the vague outlines of the columnar trunks. Then he stretched himself out upon an armful of dripping twigs, and his garments steamed about him as he lighted an old blackened pipe. Seaforth lay amidst the packages, feeling blissfully drowsy as the warmth crept slowly into his aching limbs. Overhead the pine branches, wailed in wild harmonies, and the showers they shook down beat upon the tent. "It seems to me this journey might have begun better," said Alton presently. Seaforth nodded full concurrence. "It would be a little difficult to imagine it commencing very much worse. Wouldn't it have been wiser if you had waited a little longer, Harry?" Alton seemed to notice something unusual in his companion's inflection. "You will have to talk straighter, Charley," he said. Seaforth, who saw the glint in his eyes, laughed. "I merely meant that spring is coming, and it would be a trifle warmer then. I'm inclined to be a little cantankerous to-night, but, of course, it is not my business how long you stayed at the ranch." "No," said Alton dryly, "I don't think it is. Spring would have been nicer, but, you see, Hallam was crowding me. Did anything else strike you, Charley?" "Nothing of much importance," said Seaforth, smiling. "Only that while we lie shivering here Hallam is probably dining in state in the big hotel at Vancouver. Jingling glasses, good wine, light and warmth, flowers and silver on the table. The contrast's a little exasperating." Alton glanced at the saturated canvas and his steaming clothes, while Seaforth, for no apparent reason, stretched out one foot and kicked over the dinted kettle. "There are folks who would think that's only fit," he said. "Mr. Hallam is one of the men who are building up the future greatness of this wonderful country. At least, that's what they called him at the last big speech-making, but I don't quite see what good it would do us if you kicked the bottom of that kettle in, Charley. Now it's curious how a thing that's once started goes on. Jimmy took a notion that there was silver here, and that drew me in as well as Mrs. Jimmy. Then you came along, and presently it got hold of Hallam. The Somasco Consolidated has got drawn in, too--now there are you and I, with only the Almighty knows how much upon our shoulders, up here in the rain and snow." Seaforth glanced at his comrade reflectively as he said, "I was wondering if there was anybody else." Alton's face grew suddenly impassive. "Oh, yes," he said. "There's another man I don't know, the one who lighted the fire. He's back there somewhere." Seaforth said nothing for a minute or two, but as he glanced about him the shadows seemed to grow darker beyond the flickering radiance of the fire, and the roar of wind in the branches angrier. He had been a prey to half-formed suspicions of late, and there was something sinister in the thought of that man who followed them. "Harry," he said presently, "you have got most of the things you wanted so far?" "Yes," said Alton quietly. "It wasn't always easy, and they didn't come to me, but I knew what I wanted, and I usually got it." Seaforth made a sign of comprehension. "Did it ever occur to you that you had probably as much already as is good for you?" Alton glanced at him with half-closed eyes. "A little plainer, Charley." "You have Somasco, the liking of all the ranchers down the valley, the timber rights and mill. You have also Carnaby, and most folks would think you a fortunate man. Now the man who wants too much is occasionally sorry when he gets it." Alton's eyes glinted. "I have a partner, too, who doesn't know where to stop," he said. Seaforth met his comrade's gaze steadily. "This," he said reflectively, "is a good country. In fact I don't know a better one for the man who wants to live as he was meant to in the wind and sun, watching what he has worked for slowly grow. Is it a little thing, Harry, to see the oats and timothy where the forest had been, to clear a new way for the river with giant powder, and hear the big wheels humming where there was only a frothing rapid? Orchards, barns, and homestead built by your own labour, horses and herds of cattle all your own, and by and by the railroad coming through to bring you the long dreamed of prosperity. It's alluring, Harry?" The glint was a trifle plainer in Alton's eyes, and his lean fingers were closed together. "I don't quite see where that trail leads to," he said quietly. Seaforth laughed a little. "It is good to rise when the sun is creeping above the firs and plunge down into an ice-cold pool. Better still to lie on the verandah, tired in body, tranquil in mind, when the snows are fading and your work is done, knowing that every redwood hewn and new plough-furrow driven has been so much added to the prosperity of this province and the Dominion. It isn't a bad life--this one you were meant for, Harry." "No," said Alton slowly. "There are times when I'm a very thankful man." "Well, there is another one, and I have seen very tired men playing at being amused by the trifles that sickened them. They had, however, kept up the game so long that the manhood they were once proud of was only a memory. There are a good many of them in the old country, and some of them have sacrificed all they had for the one thing that wasn't good for them. It was too late when they found it out, Harry." Alton's face was grim. "It would," he said, "be a pity if you and I fell out, Charley." Seaforth laughed in a curious fashion. "It would, but I scarcely think we shall. You and I are partners, and a little more, and I will keep silent now I have spoken." Alton said nothing, but sat smoking and staring at the fire, until Seaforth rolled himself in his damp blankets and sank into not altogether refreshing sleep. A misty light was creeping into the tent when he was awakened by the thudding of his companion's axe, and rising stiffly with the ache at the hip-joint which every bushman knows, went out shivering. "Coffee!" said Alton. "I left it in the deerhide bag in the canoe." Seaforth's limbs were too stiff to be much use to him yet, and he blundered amidst the boulders, falling over one or two, before he reached the shingle where they had partly drawn out the canoe. Then he stood still, staring about him, and saw only the green-tinted water sliding by under the uncertain light, and the pines on the other side growing a trifle plainer through the mist. Turning, he hastened along the shingle until a shelf of rock shut it in, and then back to the tent again. Alton laid down the axe, for there was something in his comrade's face that troubled him. "Have you got it?" he asked. "No," said Seaforth very quietly. "You told me the bag was in the canoe." "Of course," said Alton. "Well, wasn't it there?" "I don't know," said Seaforth. "I couldn't find the canoe." Alton said nothing further, but stumbled in haste towards the river. Seaforth followed him more slowly, and Alton stood very still when he found nothing but boulders and shingle. Then he stooped and bent over a little depression in the pebbles, and when he rose again his face was impassive. "The water has risen since last night, but I'm not sure that accounts for it," he said. "The bank slopes a little, but we pulled most of her out." "I think we pulled the whole of her clear," said Seaforth quietly. Alton stood silent for almost a minute with his right hand clenched. Then he said slowly, "You'll have to go down and look for her while I push on, Charley." Seaforth was about to speak, but he saw his comrade's eyes and did not express himself as he had meant to. "Yes," he said. "I don't know that I shall find her." The two men looked at each other, until Alton moved his head. "Still, one of us must try," he said. "Take all you can carry, and a rifle. I'll load up as much as I'm fit for, and we'll cache the rest. You'll come on after me, or join Tom, as you think best." Seaforth smiled a little. "I'll come on, and even if I sacrifice something else I'll take the rifle." Alton said nothing, and for an hour they were busy about the camp. Then as they stood a moment, loaded like beasts of burden, under the dripping pines, Seaforth held out his hand. "Harry, are you wise?" he said. "I don't know," said Alton simply; "but I'm going on." It was noticeable that they shook hands, which they were not in the habit of doing, and that there was a very faint but perceptible tremor in Seaforth's voice. "Good-bye," he said. "Well," said Alton with a smile, which seemed to lack heartiness. "I wouldn't put it that way." He swung forward with his face towards the north, but the smile faded and his fingers closed on the rifle when he heard Seaforth struggling southwards through the bush. "Two of them gone now," he said. "I wonder if that is what the other fellow wanted." CHAPTER XVIII IN THE WILDERNESS Dusk was closing down on the valley, and the rain had ceased, when Alton unstrapped his load, and stood with aching shoulders amidst the dripping pines. He could hear the rattle of the twigs that met and brushed through the shrill wailing of the wind about the sombre spires that pierced the growing darkness far above him, and the harmonic murmuring that rose and fell in cadence along the dim, vaulted roof. There was, however, nothing else beyond the growl of a rapid somewhere up the valley, and stretching out his arms wearily, he stooped with a little smile that was grim rather than mirthful and caught up the axe. Now one can usually hear the thudding of the axe a mile or more in the stillness of the woods that is not silence to the bushman's ear. Their voice is always musical, and the sounds that man makes jar through its harmonies, but only a forest rancher or free prospector would have caught the muffled sound, that was lost in the song of the pines a few score yards from Alton's camp. He knew where to find the resinous knots with their sticky exudations, and was a master of the axe, while it was noticeable that when the fire commenced to crackle he stood still and listened again before he went down to the river with the kettle. Nor did he at once return into the light, but slipped for a moment behind a wide-girthed trunk. It was only a deer he heard moving along the hillside above him, and there was nothing visible but the row of stupendous columns that appeared and vanished as the red light rose and sank. Alton set the kettle down amidst the flame, and unrolling one of the packages laid out his supper. It was prepared and eaten in twenty minutes, and refilling the kettle for breakfast he lay smoking in a hollow between the great roots which crawled away from a cedar-trunk. Nothing moved in the bush now but a bear that was grubbing amidst the wild cabbage in a swamp, and the weary man, stretching out his hand instinctively to touch the rifle that lay within his reach, gave himself up to thought. He had also much to occupy him, and being a somewhat systematic person he proceeded to consider the questions that demanded an answer in what appeared to him their order of importance. It was characteristic that in face of recent events he placed the probable whereabouts of the silver first. This was at the first glance a somewhat difficult problem. In front of him lay the wilderness, a trackless chaos of forest and rock and snow wherein he had to find the scar made by a stick of giant powder or the scratching of the shovel. There were, however, points to guide the searcher, and Alton could deduce a good deal from each of them. Jimmy the prospector had, it was evident, perished of hunger and exhaustion, for Alton had traced the last stages of his journey backwards through the snow, and the grim story of human endurance and anguish was plainly legible. Here Jimmy had fallen, there lain still, and then dragged himself forward before he rose again, while the uneven footsteps had borne their own testimony. Also the bag of specimens was heavy, and Alton decided that for a man in the last stages of exhaustion, the river had furnished the only road. The silver was therefore somewhere up the Valley, and as it was winter when Jimmy found it, it would lie low down where the snow was cut off by the pines. Alton lay still a minute with a curious glint in his eyes when the firelight touched them which was a tribute to the dead man, and then filled his pipe again. His journey had been marked by petty misfortunes, each of which might become a more serious one, hitherto, and he was now alone. This might be due to coincidence, but Alton, admitting that hypothesis, proceeded to consider an alternative one which resolved itself into two. It was generally known in Somasco that he and Jimmy had held the clue to a secret that might be valuable, and strange prospectors for timber rights and minerals occasionally strayed into the valley. Alton knew that most of the bushmen and free prospectors had a standard of honour which was somewhat higher than that usually lived up to in the cities. They were quiet, fearless, free-handed men, the antitype of the roystering desperadoes he had now and then seen them depicted as by those who did not know them. There were, he, however, knew, among them a few who it was probable had their own reasons for vacating the great Republic, and these were men of distinctly different calibre. One or more of them, it seemed, might have heard of his aspirations and be following him. If so, it was evident that he would be in security until he found the silver. Then the peril would begin. This led to the second issue. Alton was quite aware that he had an enemy whom he had got the better of on several occasions hitherto. Partly because devious finesse is not always superior to shrewd sense and fearless honesty, he had as yet held his own against Hallam of the Tyee. Both knew that a time of prosperity was approaching for Somasco, and had decided more or less correctly that it would lead to affluence the man who had control of the valley; but while Alton had striven with arduous toil to bring about this consummation, Hallam of the Tyee was waiting while those he meant to plunder worked for him. It was also plain that there was no room for two leaders with divergent aspirations, and the rancher had seen sufficient of his opponent's dealings to recognize that he would not scruple about any measures which promised to rid him of a rival. Therefore it became him to be careful, and once more his fingers fell upon the rifle. Alton had reached the limit of his surmises, and refilling his pipe again abandoned himself to more pleasant dreams. He heard the whistle of the locomotive ringing among the pines, and the hum of the great mills that would grind out wealth for Somasco. Then while the pungent smoke curled about him visions materialized out of its filmy wreaths, and he saw the lake at Carnaby shining amidst the woodlands of peaceful England, and the old grey hall. In place of the sting of the resin he could smell the English roses, and when the next acrid wisp slid past him it seemed to change its form, and there grew out of it the gracious, alluring shape of a woman. Costly fabrics floated about her, there was a flash of diamonds in the red-gold hair, a face that lost its patrician serenity as it smiled, and for a setting the glitter of light and silver in the great hall at Carnaby. Alton, whose eyes were growing dim, stretched out his arms towards the darkness, and a chilling gust swept the smoke aside, while great drops of water fell splashing upon him. He was back once more in the wilderness, a wet and very weary man, with thorn-rents in his deerskin jacket and the mire clinging about him, but he smiled as he rose stiffly and stretched his aching limbs. "I figure there's a good deal to be done before that time comes, and some of it can't wait after sun up," he said. Then, having left the tent behind, he carried his blankets away from the fire, and rolled himself up in them between two great fir-roots that afforded concealment as well as shelter. Though he had strewn them about the blaze the blankets were still clammy, but he drew the damp folds about him uncomplainingly, and lay down with the rifle at his side. Ten minutes passed. The fire snapped and crackled, the growl of the rapid rose and fell fitfully, but the worn-out man heard neither, for he was sleeping heavily. There are many like him who dream great dreams scattered across the new lands by the Pacific from the snow of the Yukon to Mexico, but their visions are sacred and not expressed in speech, while a smile which is half ironical flickers in the steadfast eyes when they hear them caricatured by the platform Imperialist. Their words are scanty, but their handiwork is plain; the gap hewn in the virgin forest, bridge flung over frothing river, and the raw rent of the giant powder amidst the lonely hills. It is crude and unsightly often, the creosote-reeking railroad track, and the ugly humming mills, but it means food for the toilers, good wages and trade, and in place of a pleasance for the rich to seek diversion in, a new and rich dominion won, not for England, or the Republic, alone, but for humanity. He started with the sunrise, the pack-straps galling his shoulders, his feet bleeding in the saturated boots, clammy blankets, flour-bag, and pork upon his aching back, kettle, frypan, and rifle rattling about him, and for the first hour every stride that led him farther into the wilderness was made with pain and difficulty. Still, he made it cheerfully, for Alton had long borne the burden that was laid on Adam uncomplainingly, while his rival, sitting beyond the reach of hardship in his Vancouver office, plotted, and filched the fruits of others' toil. It was also an apparently unequal conflict they had been drawn into, subtlety pitted against sturdiness, the elusive, foining rapier against the bushman's axe, but there are moments in all struggles when finesse does not avail, and it is by raw, unreasoning valour a man must stand or fall, while at times like these the ponderous blade is the equal of the slender streak of steel. It was two days later when Alton, who may have made ten miles in the time, noticed something unusual on the opposite hillside. A snowslide had come down that way, and its path was marked by willows and smaller trees. Alton, of course, knew that the hollow they sprang from had been scored out deep by countless tons of debris and snow, and that prospector Jimmy would scarcely have passed the place. It also seemed to him that there was a gap in the slighter band of forest which ran straight towards the snowline up the face of the hill that suggested the work of man, and his pace quickened a trifle as he pressed forward towards the river. There he stopped for several minutes, gazing about him. The flood came down before him stained green with the clay that underlies the glaciers, and swollen by rain and snow. There was a big pool above him, lake-like and still, but it was too wide for any weary and shivering man to swim, and the wild, white rush of a rapid close below. Alton glanced at both of them and a cluster of smaller trees across the river, and smiled somewhat grimly. "Now I wonder," he said, "why the thing one wants the most is always on the other side." The firs behind him were great of girth, the smallest some distance from the bank, and he was weary; but loosing the straps about him, he dropped his burdens and fell to with the axe. It was an hour before the tree went down, and at least another had passed before he had hewn off a portion. Then very slowly and painfully he rolled it to the river with skids and levers cut in the bush. He was breathless, and the perspiration dripped from him when at last it slid into the water and he seated himself astride, with his possessions on the wet bark in front of him. The device was a very old one, but there is a difficulty attached to the putting it in execution, for it is needful to lean out a little while using the propelling pole, and a log is addicted to rolling round when anything disturbs its equilibrium. Alton, of course, knew this, but when still some distance from the opposite side, had apparently to choose between a somewhat perilous effort and an unwished-for descent of the rapid. He glanced at its foaming rush a moment, and then decided upon the former. Several times he dipped the pole and won a yard with the strenuous thrust, and then what he partly expected happened. The bark seemed to be slipping away beneath him, and, as throwing himself forward upon his belongings he flung an arm about it, the log rolled slowly, and there was a splash in the water. He had restored the equilibrium, but one blanket and the flour-bag were in the river. In another few minutes he waded ashore, and drew the butt of the log out upon the shingle before he turned to glance ruefully at the sliding water. "If I went back and plunged for it I might get that flour," he said. "Still, I should have to go down the rapid with it, and I mightn't want it then." Dripping from the waist with snow water, he reslung his traps, glanced back at the sombre bush behind him and then plunged into that ahead, while the dusk was closing in when he stood panting amidst the stumps of smaller trees. The mark of the axe was on them, and somebody had piled up a mound of rock and stones. Alton drew in a long breath and shook off his burden. "Jimmy's claim," he said. "It may mean--most anything--to me." Then, though his pulses throbbed, and he could feel his blood tingling, he fell to work systematically, groping about the excavation the dead man had made where the snowslide had rent apart the forest and scored out the rock for him. Here and there he smashed a fragment of it with the back of the axe, or picked up a discoloured stone of unusual gravity and compared it with the pieces he took out of a little bag, until at last he stood up stiffly and flung his head back. All round him the forest rose dim and sombre, flinging back the roar of the rapid in long pulsations of sound, and its solitude was not lessened by the presence of the wet and weary man standing so still that his outline was scarcely perceptible against the trunks behind him. Save for the light of triumph in his eyes there was nothing in the whole scene to uplift the fancy. The man's garments were tattered, the river had not washed the mire from him, and one of his boots was gaping, but the discovery he had made was fraught with great possibilities for that lonely valley, and changes in the destinies of many other men. It had lain wrapped in stillness, a sanctuary for the beasts of the forest, countless ages since the world was young, being made ready slowly by frost and sun, and now man had come. For five long minutes Alton looked into the future, and once more the fragrance of English roses seemed to steal faintly through the resinous odours of the firs. Then he shook himself, and glanced again dubiously at the river. "And now," he said half aloud, "I'll get supper. It's a pity about that flour." As those who have sojourned in the bush of that country know, one can sup on reasty pork and green tea alone, when it is impossible to get anything better, but there are more appetizing compounds, and when the edge of his appetite had been blunted, Alton stopped with greasy fingers in the frypan and a little smile upon his face. "And Somasco's mine, and Carnaby--when I ask for it, with all that lies beneath me here," he said, and sat very still a space, with eyes that had lost their keenness fixed upon the bush. He did not see the big balsam in front of him nor the dusky firs, for it was once more the picture of a woman with red-gold hair standing in an English rose garden his fancy painted him. Then he rose abruptly, and the smile faded, while his face grew grim again. "In the meanwhile I figure there's a good deal to do," he said. He commenced it by picking the remnants of the pork out of the frying-pan, and when he had replaced them carefully in the bag, he filled the former with water and set it on the fire. That done, he proceeded to hew four square pegs, and spent some little time cutting, "One Discovery," upon the largest of them. Then with a compass in his palm he strode with even paces up the slope of the hill, and drove one of the pegs in, turned sharply, and floundered into the bush, where he hammered down a second, and came back along the river until he had paced off and marked down an oblong. "Now I'll put in the first shot," he said. He toiled assiduously with the axehead and a little drill, bruising his fingers as the light grew dim, and when his left hand was smeared with blood, drew out a plastic yellow roll from one of his bundles. This he gently rammed into the hole, squeezed down a copper cap upon a strip of fuse, and, lighting the latter, retired expeditiously towards the river. Standing behind a big cedar, he watched the train of blue vapour and thin red sparks creep on through the dusk until a blaze of yellow flame leapt up, and a stunning detonation rolled across the woods. The hillsides took up the sound, and flung it from one to another in great reverberations, while the pines, quivering in all their sprays, shook drops of water down. Alton stood still and listened, silent and intent, while the discord died, until there was once more stillness again, realizing dimly a little of its significance. It was man's challenge to the wilderness that had lain sterile long, and he could forecast the grimness, but not the end of the coming struggle with rock and flood and snow. Other men had gone down vanquished in such a fight, he knew, and the forest they slept in had closed once more upon and hidden the little scars they made. Jimmy had also challenged savage nature, and Jimmy was dead, while the man who came after him stood alone, dripping still, and weary, amidst the whispering pines: he had more than the wilderness against him. Alton turned with a little shiver, strode back to the fire, unrolled a piece of pork, a packet of green tea, and a little bag of sugar from a strip of hide. The piece of pork was very small, and a good deal of it apparently bad. Then he laughed curiously. "It seems to me that the sooner I can get south and put in my record the less hungry I'm likely to be," he said. "It would be kind of convenient if I could find a deer. I wonder just how far back the other man is?" CHAPTER XIX FOUL PLAY Alton looked for a deer on the morrow and during several days that followed without finding it. There are tracts of the mountain province which for no apparent reason are almost devoid of animal life, while the deer are also addicted to travelling south towards valleys swept by the warm Chinook wind before the approach of winter. Meanwhile, though he husbanded it, the piece of pork grew rapidly smaller, and Alton hungry, while there were times when he wondered somewhat anxiously when he would find his comrades. It was unpleasantly possible that he might miss them, which would have been especially unfortunate, because, as every adult citizen is entitled to claim so many feet of frontage on unrecorded mineral land which pertains to the Crown, it appeared advisable that they should have the opportunity of staking off two more claims, and his provisions were almost exhausted. Thus it came about that one evening he tramped somewhat dejectedly back towards his camp through a strip of thinner forest high up on the hill. There was a sting of frost in the air and a little snow beneath his feet, while his belt was girded about him tightly and his fingers stiffened on the rifle-barrel. Alton had eaten nothing since early morning, and very little then, while the fashion in which he stumbled through the thickets and amidst the fern conveyed a hint of exhaustion. It was, however, fortunate that a twig snapped noisily beneath him, because the deer are difficult to see in their sylvan home, and the sound was answered by a crackle that roused him to eager attention. Alton, knowing there was a big fir behind him, stood very still, glancing about him without a movement of his head, until he made out what might have been a forked twig rising above the thicket. He did not, however, think it was, and gazing more intently fancied he saw a patch of something that was not the fern. He knew that at the first movement it would be gone, and there was no time for any fine alignment of the sights of the rifle, so leaning slightly forward he drew his right foot back, and with eyes fixed steadily on the little patch amidst the fern, trusted to them and the balance as he flung the long barrel up. Few men can use the rifle as the Canadian bush rancher can, and there was a flash from the muzzle as the heelplate touched his shoulder. Alton had not glanced along the barrel, but the curious thud which he heard in place of the explosion told him that the heavy bullet was smashing through bone and muscle. Then thin smoke drifted into his eyes, and there was a crackling amidst the thicket. When he floundered forward the deer had gone, but something was smashing through the undergrowth up the face of the hill, and the weary man prepared for a grim effort as he saw the red trail it left behind. He fell headlong in a thicket where the splashes were warm upon the withered leaves, staggered up again, and presently reeled against a cedar on the crest of a depression. There was nothing visible, but he could hear a confused rattle and snapping of twigs, and shook himself as he remembered the speed with which even a badly-wounded deer can make downhill. He had his choice of a long and possibly fruitless chase or another supperless night that would be followed by a very scanty breakfast on the morrow. Alton did not care to anticipate what might happen after that, because he had discovered on previous occasions that green tea will not unassisted sustain vigorous animation very long. In place of it he went downhill, falling into bushes, floundering to the shoulders through withered fern, and now and then stumbling over rotting trees, but the splashes grew closer, and he fancied the sound before him a little nearer. It was significant that there was any sound at all, because a deer usually clears every obstacle in its almost silent flight, and the gasping man took heart again. The quarry's strength was evidently failing as its life drained away, but darkness was also close at hand, and Alton knew that he could not hold out very long. Already there was a horrible pain in his left side and his sight was growing dim. He went on, stumbling, gasping, falling now and then, for any man not accustomed to the bush in that country would find it sufficiently difficult to walk through, until once more a grey patch of something showed up in a thicket. Again the rifle flashed, a dim shape reeled out of the bushes, and, while the man savagely smashed through those it had quitted, plunged into another thicket. Alton, who did not see it come out again, also went in headlong, tripped, and fell upon something with life in it that struggled spasmodically beneath him. There was no room to use his rifle, for he and the deer were rolling amidst the fern together, and while he felt for its throat the long knife came out. Twice it sank harmlessly amidst the snow and leaves, and then there was a gurgle, and the man rose stiffly to his feet, with dripping hands and something smoking on the sleeve of his jacket. He glanced at it without disgust, and then down at the limp shape, which now lay very still, almost compassionately. "Well," he said simply, "it was you or me, and the wolves would have had you, anyway." He was busy amidst the bushes for some time, and the light had gone when he stood up with the deer upon his shoulders and the rifle beneath it. It would have pleased him better to carry the latter, but the bushman brings home a deer with its fore-legs drawn over his shoulders and grasped in front of him. Alton jerked it into the most convenient position, and then stopped a moment, panting, and glanced about him. His burden was not especially heavy, but he was weary and his camp was far away, while, though a half-moon was now growing into brilliancy above the firs, it was dark below. "I figure I'd not have to worry quite so much about my supper at Carnaby," he said, and laughed a little as he floundered stiffly up the hill. It was at least an hour later, and he was limping on, encouraging himself with the expectation of resting in warm repletion beside the snapping fire, when he entered a denser growth of timber. Alton had like most of his kind been taught by necessity to hold the weaknesses of his body in subjection, but he was a man with the instincts of his fellows, and the thought of the steaming kettle, smell of roasting meat, glare of flickering light, and snug blankets appealed to him, and just then he would not have bartered the blackened can of smoke-tasted tea for all the plate and glass of Carnaby. His step grew a little steadier, and the sound of the river louder, until he stopped suddenly near a prostrate fir. There was a gap in the dusky vault above him through which the moon shone down and called up a sparkle from the thin scattering of snow. Beyond it the dark trunks stretched back, a stupendous colonnade, into the shadow again. There was nothing unusual in all this, but the man had seen something that made him check his breathing and set his lips. He knew he might be mistaken, but the glint he had caught for a moment suggested the barrel of a rifle. He stood, as he realized instinctively, in the shadow with a great trunk behind him, and remained so, motionless, with his blood tingling, because the bushman knows the difficulty of catching the outline of anything that is still. Then there was a soft snapping, and the glint became visible, in another place, again, while Alton saw that he was not mistaken. He was also aware that the free prospector does not usually wait the approach of a stranger in silence with the rifle, and it flashed upon him that as the other man had moved there would in place of a shadowy trunk now be a patch of snow behind him. Alton regretted he had waited so long, and dropping the deer sprang backwards, feeling for the sling of his rifle. He was, however, a second too late, for there was a thin red flash amidst the undergrowth, and he reeled with a stinging pain somewhere about his knee. It yielded and grew almost useless under him, and while his rifle fell with a rattle he lurched into a thicket of withered fern. For a moment he lay still, his face awry with pain, and groaned as he strove to draw his leg up beneath him. It felt numbed and powerless, and, desisting, he strove to collect his scattered wits, realizing that he had never needed them more than he did just then. The rifle had fallen outside the thicket where the forest was more open and there was a sprinkling of snow, and Alton knew that an attempt to recover it would probably be fatal. He was equally convinced that the man who had shot him would not have come out on such an errand without his magazine full, or leave his task unfinished. There was in the meanwhile no sign of him beyond the smoke that hung about the bushes, and Alton turning over groaned again more loudly as he felt for his long-bladed knife. It was not done without a purpose, but he had little difficulty in simulating a moan of pain, and when he heard a swish of leaves, lay flat, and dragged himself very softly farther into the fern. The wet fronds brushed his face, and here and there his fingers sank into a patch of snow, but he found its chilly touch curiously pleasant, and once clawed up a handful and thrust it into his mouth. A numbness was creeping over him, his head felt curiously heavy, but he was scheming for his life with the instinctive cunning of a wounded beast rather than reason. There was now a sound behind him, but it was dulled by the roar of the river, which he realized would drown the faint rustle he made, and, when the fern grew scantier, dragged himself across an opening and crawled in amidst the raspberry briars on the other side. The thorns scarred his face and ripped his hands, but he moved amidst them to clear space for his arms, and then lay still with the big knife beneath him. A shaft of moonlight shone down a few yards away, and he had no desire to betray his hiding-place by the glint of steel. It was also possible that he might have crawled away beyond the reach of discovery into the shadows, but that was not his intention, for, though he could never decide afterwards whether he acted from instinct or reasoned his course out, he was bent on waiting for, and not escaping from, his pursuer. Nor did he know how long he waited, but it seemed a very long while before he saw a shadowy object move round and afterwards into the opposite side of the thicket. Then the man's face became visible as he moved across the shaft of moonlight. It was set and grey, the mouth was awry, and there was fear in the staring eyes. It also seemed to Alton curiously familiar, but his brain was scarcely capable of receiving many diverse impressions just then, and he only realized that it was reluctantly and because his safety demanded it, the man was looking for him. Alton felt a little relief at that. He was growing colder, and there was a bewildering dimness in his eyes, but he stiffened the muscles of his arms and tightened his grasp on the knife, wondering if his strength would last until he had his hands upon his enemy. The man swayed forward as he crossed the strip of moonlight with a little spring, then came on again with both hands on the rifle, waist-deep in the fern, glancing down momentarily at the trail his victim had made, and then about him again. Alton's face was drawn up into a very grim smile as he lay amidst the raspberries watching him, for it was evident that the assassin fancied he had crawled straight on. The latter stopped once for several seconds, and Alton heard his heart thumping while the sound of the river seemed to grow bewildering. He stiffened his fingers upon the knife-haft savagely, for the horrible faintness he could not shake off was growing upon him. Then with a little jerk of his shoulders the man who caught sight of the opening moved again, faster than he had done, and the watcher surmised that fear and savagery struggled for the mastery within him. The latter apparently rose uppermost, for he came straight on through the thicket, sprang across the clear space, and would have plunged into the bush beyond it but that Alton, reaching out caught him by the ankle. Then he lurched forward with a hoarse cry, went down, and rolled over with Alton's hand at his throat, and the blade of the knife driven through the inner side of the sleeve of his jacket. That was the commencement of a very grim struggle. The stranger was wiry and vigorous, but the terrible hard fingers clung to his throat, and a leg was wound about him, while as he panted and smote he felt something was ripping his clothing. Instinctively he jammed the hand that held it down, rolled over on his antagonist, and then shook himself almost free again half-choked, as something that stung it sank into his shoulder. Next moment he smote fiercely at a dim white face, knowing that a bone had turned the blade, but that the result would have been different had it entered a few inches lower. His fist came down smashing, but the terrible fingers were clinging still, and the man's face was purple when they rolled together out of the briars and into the widening strip of radiance where the moon shone down. Alton's hand was free now, and with arm bent between his enemy and the ground he thrust upwards with the last of his strength. There was a crash, the man writhed backwards, the rancher's fingers slipped from their grasp, and a figure that rose partly upright reeled into the fern, while Alton felt the barrel of a rifle under him. He rolled on his side, and clawed for it, almost sightless, with one hand, and laughed harshly as he raised himself a trifle. There was a flash and a concussion, the trigger-guard sank into his nerveless finger, and a smashing amidst the undergrowth was followed by footsteps that were presently lost in the roar of the river. Alton drew one knee under him, and listened until the sound grew altogether bewildering and the dim trunks reeled about him. Then he lurched over and lay where he fell, sensible only that it was bitterly cold. It was still night when he awakened from sleep or stupor, but the moon shone down and he saw that there was white frost on the fern. His hands were also stiffened, and there was a horrible ache in every limb, while he groaned as the cold struck through him. Twice he essayed to raise himself and fell back again, but at last by an effort crawled towards a tree and leaned his back against it while he stretched out one numbed and useless limb into the silver light. The long boots were curiously smeared, the overalls above them stiffened and crusted, while following the movement he made there was a swift spreading of the stain. Alton shivered and set his lips as he groped for his handkerchief, then groaning the while dragged at it until it was knotted above his knee. After that he laid his finger on the overalls and saw that the stain spread past it more slowly. Then he felt for the matches in one pocket, and finding them, turned over cautiously and dragged himself towards a fallen fir. He knew where to find the resin, and tore at the smaller branches fiercely, flung them together, and striking a match, watched the flame that spread from splinter to splinter and crawled amidst the twigs. At last it sprang aloft in a great crackling blaze, and Alton swayed unevenly and fell over on his side again. After that he remembered nothing until he saw that the sun was in the sky, and dragged himself to the thicket for an armful of frosted fern. When he had piled it on the fire a gauzy blue column that rose straight between the firs replaced the flame, and the man who watched it vacantly for a while dragged himself back groaning for another armful of the fern. He afterwards fancied that he spent most of the day crawling between the fire and the thicket, but was never very sure of anything he did just then. Nor did he feel hungry, though now and then he clawed up and sucked a handful of snow, but he remembered that he was lying in the smoke when the bush grew dimmer and the red blaze more brilliant as darkness crept down. Presently he fancied that something broke through the monotone of the river, and after listening to it vacantly groped for the rifle. He clutched it, and raising himself a trifle with difficulty, blinked at the darkness that hemmed in the fire until footsteps came out of it. They were not furtive, but apparently those of somebody coming straight towards the light in haste. Alton smiled curiously, and wriggled until he was out of the strongest light, and found support for the barrel of the rifle. Then a cry came out of the shadows, "Is it you, Harry?" Alton did not answer, for his voice seemed to fail him, and he blinked at the man who bent over him. "You have been a long while, Charley, and I came very near putting a bullet into you just now," he said. "Well," said Seaforth, "I did my best, and Tom's coming along behind me. What are you doing here anyway?" Alton glanced at him bewilderedly. "I don't quite know, but I got the deer. It's somewhere around here," said he. Seaforth's face grew suddenly grave as he stopped and shook his comrade, then let his hand drop as he saw a red trickle spreading across the crusted overalls. "Good Lord! Are you hurt, Harry, and what's all this?" he said. Alton glanced up at him with dimming eyes. "The thing's broken out again. I think it's blood," he said, and while his arm slipped from under him, slowly rolled over with his feet in the smoking fern. CHAPTER XX THE NICKED BULLET The grey daylight was creeping into the little tent and Alton sleeping at last when Seaforth rose to his feet. His eyes were heavy with the long night's watch which had followed a twelve hours' march, and he shivered as he went out. The morning was bitterly cold, and a fire burned redly outside the tent, but there was no sign of Okanagan, who had joined him during the night, nor had any preparations for breakfast been made. "Tom," he twice called softly, but only the moaning of the branches overhead answered him, and with a little gesture of impatience he strode into the bush. Seaforth had no definite purpose, but he was glad to stretch his stiffened limbs, and instinctively turned towards the spot where he had found his comrade. As he approached it he stopped, and watched the dim moving object that caught his eyes with some bewilderment. Tom of Okanagan was kneeling beside a thicket with a stick in his hand, and apparently holding it carefully in line with a fir. After moving once or twice he drove it into the soil, and crawled on hands and knees into the fern so that Seaforth could only see his boots, and surmise by the rustling that he was groping amidst the withered fronds. Once he caught a muffled expletive, after which the rustling ceased awhile, but it commenced again, and Seaforth wondered the more when Okanagan crawled out of the opposite side of the thicket, and set up a second stick in line with the other. He had not the faintest notion of what his companion could be doing. "Are you finding anything down there, Tom?" he said. Okanagan rose up with a little grim laugh. "Thorns," he said. "There's a condemned big one in my thumb." Seaforth stared at him with a vague suspicion that the hardships of the forced march they had made had left their mark upon his comrade, though he had never noticed any signs of mental weakness in the big axeman before. "Aren't there plenty to be picked up in this country without looking for them?" he said. Okanagan glanced at him with a little twinkle which was not altogether mirthful in his eyes. "Oh, yes. More than I've any use for. You were trying to figure on what I was after? The thing's quite as easy as trailing a deer." "I was," said Seaforth dryly, and Okanagan approaching him dropped a big hand upon his shoulder. "Come right along, and I'll show you," said he. Seaforth followed him, until he stopped by the fir he had worked his alignment from, where he picked up a spent cartridge and pointed to a mark in the snow. "Nothing particular about that, anyway, a forty-four Winchester," he said. "The fellow had long boots on with one heel down, and he stood right here waiting for Harry. Harry was coming along yonder with the deer, forty yards I make it, and he jumped when the fellow started shooting." "You think he did?" said Seaforth, slightly bewildered, and Okanagan laughed. "No, sir, I'm sure," he said. "I could show you where his heels went in if it would do you any good. Harry was coming along quick as he could, thinking about his supper, and the other fellow was crouching here, clawing his rifle and waiting until he came into the moonlight." The blood surged into Seaforth's forehead, and he clenched one hand. "The condemned villain! It was devilish," he said. Okanagan nodded gravely, and his rugged face was stern. "Oh, yes, but, slinging names at him's not much use," he said. "Well, I feel it in me that we're going to see more of that man by and by, and that's just why I'm working up the whole thing from the beginning. Now I'll show you some more of it." They floundered through one or two thickets until Okanagan stopped again, and pointed to the red smear upon the fern and withered pine-needles. "That's where Harry lay and waited for him," he said. "He was bleeding pretty bad, but he knew the other fellow meant to finish him." "Waited for him when he was almost helpless and the man meant to murder him?" said Seaforth, with cold rage and horror in his face. Okanagan laughed a little almost silent laugh that had a very grim undertone in it. "Yes, sir. That's just what he did. Don't you know Harry yet?" he said. "Still, he didn't figure that all the killing would be done by the other man. See here, this is where he gripped him, and tried to get the knife in. They fell over together there. Harry was played out and bleeding hard, or that man would never have got away when he once had his hands on him." Seaforth stared at the rent-down undergrowth, and had no great difficulty in reconstructing the scene. Smashed fern and scattered leaves as well as the red smears on the snow bore plain testimony to the fierceness of that struggle, and he pictured his comrade grappling with his adversary while his strength flowed from him with that horrible red trickle. The light that came down between towering trunks showed that his face was grey and stern, and Okanagan, who looked at him, nodded as it were approvingly. "I've seen enough," said the former. "If I can find that man he will not get away from me." "Well," said Okanagan simply, "we're short of the bullet now, and I'll know better what to do with Harry when we find it. It's low down in one of those cedars yonder." "It will be deep in at that range," said Seaforth. "No," said Okanagan quietly. "I don't think it will. It's pretty plain from the hole it made that it wasn't a common bullet, and I'm kind of anxious to know if all of it came out again." Seaforth shivered a little as he assisted in the search, and his lips were set when Okanagan, digging something out of the cedar-bark with his knife, laid it in his palm. It was a little piece of blackened lead that was ragged in place of round, as though the soft metal had been rent open and bent backwards. Then the two men looked at each other, and the hot fury that for a moment flushed Seaforth to the temples, passed and left him with a curious vindictive coldness and a faint shrinking from the touch of the murderous lead. Okanagan's eyes were very steady, but there was a little glow down at the back of them. "Nicked across with a hack saw or a file--and it's not all here," he said. "It strikes me the sooner we find the rest of it the better this weather." Seaforth drew in his breath. A strip of lead torn off that bullet was rankling in his comrade's flesh, and during the night bitter frost had laid its grip upon the forest. Wounds, he knew, do not heal, but fester under such conditions. "You can do it, Tom!" he said, and his voice was hoarse. "I'll try--when he wakes," said Okanagan. "You'll find some flat stones by the river. I want one with an open grit that you could grind a knife down with." It was long before Alton awakened, and then it became evident that he was not wholly sensible. Loss of blood, over-fatigue, exposure and hunger had left their mark on him, and while he rambled disjointedly a bitter wind sprang up. It raged down the valley, bringing with it the cold of the Pole, and while the pines raised their wild voices, the water congealed in the kettle, and in spite of the great fire built outside it the tent grew icy. At noon Tom of Okanagan glanced at his patient and shook his head, while Seaforth felt his misgivings confirmed as he saw his face. "I guess we've got to wait for to-morrow. There'll be snow to-night," he said. It was a long day to Seaforth. Alton moved restlessly in his sleep, or talked and laughed meaninglessly during most of it, while when his eyes closed Tom, who sat in a corner, laid the stone upon his lap and ground at his knife. He had already rubbed the blade down to half its width, but was apparently not contented, and Seaforth felt colder and set his lips each time the harsh grating of steel broke through the roaring of the pines that swelled in volume as the wind increased. It was seldom that either of them spoke, though the big axeman's face would soften momentarily when Alton moaned a little in his sleep. Then it grew sombre and impassive again save for the little gleam in the eyes, and Seaforth guessed what was in his companion's thoughts as the hard, gnarled fingers tightened viciously on the steel. Somehow the day wore through, and the snow came with the night. It beat upon the canvas and fell hissing in the fire, which snapped and crackled the more fiercely, while acrid vapour crept into the tent, and now and then one of the men's eyes would close a moment. Seaforth had indeed roused himself several times with a jerk when Okanagan pointed to the roll of blankets and layer of springy twigs, and he saw that at last Alton was sleeping restfully. Five minutes later the roar of the branches seemed to sink into a musical lullaby, and the last thing he saw was the big, impassive bushman sitting as still as the motionless figure beneath him on the opposite side of the tent. Then he was wafted back to England on the wings of dreams. It was broad daylight and warmer when he awakened. Outside the fire crackled noisily, and the great pines rose spires of sombre green against a field of white. Alton was also awake, and smiled at him, while Tom, who stood behind him, made a sign. "It has got to be done right now before the frost comes back, but we're not going to hurt you, Harry," he said. "You'll walk down to the river and fill that kettle up, Charley." Seaforth wondered a little, because the snow lay a foot deep in the bush and he could have filled the kettle beside the fire, but he floundered down to the river and felt a little more prepared to face what must be done when he returned. When he did so he found that Tom had rolled back Alton's jean trousers to the knee, and saw a red smear that broadened across the brawny limb. It pulsed over the swell of the corded muscles that showed through the clear, smooth skin, and then Seaforth shivered and turned his eyes away as they fell upon the welling depression with the discoloured edges. Alton noticed the movement, and glanced at him with a twinkle in his eyes. "It isn't pretty, but I don't think Tom will keep us long," he said. Seaforth felt the blood surge into his face, for it seemed most unfitting that the wounded man should sympathize with him, but finding nothing apposite to say he kept silent, and Okanagan shook his head at them. "Get hold of his hands, and keep hold. The quieter you are, Harry, the quicker I'll be," he said. Alton smiled a little. "I don't think it's necessary," he said. "Still, if it will please you, Tom." Seaforth clutched the fingers held out to him, and felt suddenly chilly. He would have touched his lips with his tongue, for the blood seemed to have gone out of them, but that he felt Alton's eyes were upon him. Accordingly he turned his face, which he fancied was growing a trifle colourless, aside, and for a moment or two watched Okanagan, who was kneeling with one hand pressed upon the smeared whiteness of the uncovered limb. Seaforth could hear his own heart beating and the thud of snow shaken off a swinging branch upon the tent, and see the light the whiteness outside flung in glint upon the slender knife. He saw it move a little, and sternly repressed a shiver when the lean, hard fingers closed suddenly upon his own. A tremor ran through them, and then the pressure increased, until Seaforth was glad that it grew painful. He dare not glance at his comrade, he would not look at Tom, and sat very still in torment for a space, while he felt that Alton's arms had grown rigid by the cruel grip upon his hands. Then the tension slackened, and the injured man drew in his breath with a gasp, while Okanagan rose to one knee with great drops of sweat upon his face. "You got it?" said Alton in a low, strained voice, and nodded when the axeman answered him. "No," he said, a trifle huskily. "I'm going to try again. Lift him over on his side, Charley." Seaforth trembled a little as he did it, and glanced for just a moment at his comrade's face. It was set and grey, but it went suddenly awry into the grotesque semblance of a smile. "Tom never was in a hurry. It's rough on you," he said. Still, Seaforth, who had once held his own with men and women in quick retort and graceful badinage in England, did not answer, but only pressed the hard fingers that now lay somewhat limply in his palm and wondered vaguely whether the ordeal would never be over. It was only then he realized to the full all that Alton had been to him since the day he limped, ragged and very hungry, into a little mining camp. His friends in the old country had turned their backs on him, and Seaforth, who had been hopeless and desperate then, knew that he owed a good deal more than material prosperity to Alton of Somasco. "Tom," he said hoarsely, "I think we're ready." Okanagan said nothing, but stooped again, and Seaforth tightening his grasp of the contracting fingers, heard the sound of uneven breathing through the thud of snow upon the tent. He was by this time a little more master of himself, and looked steadily down on the white face with the grimly-set lips. His own was distorted into what was not a sympathetic smile, but a grotesque grin, and there was every now and then a reflection of it in the one awry with pain which looked up at him. Then Alton drew in his breath with a little quivering sigh, and there was a rattle as Okanagan dropped the steel. "I want that bandage--quick. We are through now," he said. Seaforth had afterwards a hazy recollection of helping him to twist the strip of fabric about the firm white flesh, and that his hands made red smears on Alton's deerskin jacket when he stooped and lifted him a little. There was no bronze in his comrade's face, but in place of it a curious yellow tinge, through which the greyness showed in patches, and with fingers that were strangely clumsy he held a flask to Alton's lips. The latter choked, and then his eyes opened wide again. "Pass it round. I'm figuring you're all wanting some," he said. Seaforth to humour him touched the flask with his lips, and handed it to Tom, who did the same, and then screwing the top on it passed it back to Seaforth no emptier than when it reached him. Alton, however, raised his head a trifle further, and looked at both of them. "You'll have to do it better. Let me see the thing," he said. Okanagan glanced at him severely. "I guess you'll lie right where you are and keep very still, or I'll make a hole through the other leg," he said. Alton appeared to chuckle, but his arm slipped from under him, and he dropped back heavily amidst the blankets with eyes closed while Seaforth bent over him. "That's all right," said Okanagan. "You needn't worry. I was kind of hoping he would do it because I was anxious about the bleeding. Now we'll get everything fixed up before he comes round again." Seaforth did what he was bidden, and nothing more, for he had been reared in England, and not amidst the firs and snows of Northern Canada where misadventures are many and doctors very few, but he envied the big bushman his skill that day, and Okanagan may have guessed it, for he once smiled a little as he said: "There are lots of things I can't do, and it's not your fault that you were raised back in the old country, where you have other folks to put the patches on to you." "No," said Seaforth, smiling. "Still, he is my partner, you see. Now I want to know what we are going to do with him." Okanagan's smile was just perceptible as he held up a ragged piece of lead, but Seaforth saw that he understood all the speech implied, though he made no reference to it, "There's half the trouble gone," he said. "The rest of it went straight through the bone, and I kind of fancy smashed it up considerable." "Will the pieces knit as they were before?" said Seaforth very anxiously, and for a moment or two Okanagan did not answer him. "That," he said very slowly, "is what I don't quite know. One of them bones is a rocker, and she swings on the other. That one's cut, but I don't think it's smashed right through. Now if it goes as well as the other, it's quite possible Harry will limp ever after." Seaforth stood up with a little shiver. "Good Lord. Harry of all men a cripple! Tom, you must do something." Okanagan slowly shook his head. "I've done my best now," he said. "We can get him down to Somasco and a live doctor up from Vancouver as soon as we can, and that's about all. There's no time to lose. We'll start to-morrow." Seaforth cast one glance at the still figure and grey face amidst the blankets, and then clenched his hands as he blundered out of the tent. A white flake fell upon his face, another on his hands, and he shivered again as he glanced at the forest. It was very evident that much depended upon their speed, and down between the sombre pines came the sliding snow. CHAPTER XXI OKANAGAN'S ROAD The great cedar-boughs above the river bent beneath their load, and the scanty light was dimmed by sliding snow, when Seaforth and his comrade stood panting and white all over by the last portage. Okanagan by dint of laborious searching had found the canoe jammed between two boulders with her side crushed in, and had spent a day repairing her with a flattened out meat-can and strips of deerskin. The craft had notwithstanding this leaked considerably, but they made shift to descend the river in her, and now if they could accomplish the last big portage hoped by toiling strenuously to make the mouth of the canon by nightfall. What they would do when they reached it neither of them knew, but they were too cold and jaded to concern themselves with more than the question how they were to convey their comrade over the boulders and through the thickets which divided them from the next stretch of comparatively untroubled water just then. They had spent most of the day dragging the canoe round the rapid which roared down the hollow in a wild tumult of froth, lifting her with levers from rock to rock, and now and then sliding with her down a declivity, but that was a mode of progression clearly unsuited to an injured man. Alton lay in the snow beneath a boulder that but indifferently sheltered him, and there was a little grim smile in his face as he looked up at his companions. "Isn't it time you got hold of me? We can't stop here all day," he said. Okanagan turned, and stared sombrely at the wall of rock which dropped to the river close behind him, and the strip of boulders and great fallen fragments amidst which the undergrowth crept in and out between. "There's a gully yonder, but if we worked back round the hillside I don't quite see how we're coming down," he said. "No," said Alton dryly. "I'm not good at flying. Well, you had better start in and carry me." Seaforth stooped and grasped his comrade round the thighs, which were lashed together with deerhide with a stiff strip of cedar-bark outside them. Okanagan passed his arms about his shoulders, and they rose with a jerk and stood swaying unevenly for a moment, while Seaforth wondered with a curious feeling of helplessness whether they would ever accomplish the journey to the canoe. It would have tested the agility of an unencumbered man, while he was almost worn out, and Alton cruelly heavy. "Heave him up a trifle," said Okanagan. "Now then!" Seaforth gasped, and floundered forward through a foot of snow that hid the holes he sank into and slipped away beneath him as he clawed for a footing on the boulders, but with strenuous toil they made a hundred yards or so, and then laying down their burden stood still, panting. Alton lay silent, with half-closed eyes and the soft flakes settling on his grey face, in the snow, while Seaforth gazed about him despairingly. There was rock and shadowy forest behind them, and in front the smoking rush of the river, while though it was but afternoon the light was failing. "Get hold again, Tom. It's not good to wait here," he said with a shiver. This time with infinite difficulty they made fifty yards, and Alton's face showed what his silence had cost him when they set him down again. Seaforth stooped and drew the blanket about him with a great gentleness. "We did our best. I'd change places with you, Harry, if I could," he said. Alton smiled a little, but said nothing, and in five minutes they went on again, Seaforth gasping from exhaustion, with a horrible pain in his side and his feet slipping from under him as they struggled up a sloping face of rock, but they had won forty yards when Tom went down and Alton, who fell heavily upon him, rolled over. Seaforth held his breath a moment until he heard the voice of the injured man. "I wouldn't worry about my head. It would take an axe to hurt me there," he said. "Look at the lashings." The lashings, however, had not slackened, the cedar-bark was intact, and once more they took up their burden, while Seaforth could not remember how often they had rested when at last they came out upon a smooth strip of sloping rock close to the last of the portage. He was dragging a clogging weight of snow with him, and the white flakes were in his eyes, while now and then his breath failed him and he heard Okanagan growling hoarse and half-articulate expletives. "You have got to hold out, Charley. There's the canoe below you," he said. Seaforth braced himself for a last effort, and was never sure whether he or Okanagan stumbled first, but his feet slipped from under him and he fell upon Alton as Tom went down. Then the three slid together down the slope of rock, and fell heavily over the edge of it. Seaforth was partly dazed when Okanagan dragged him to his feet, but, he could see that Alton lay very still with his face awry and that there was consternation in the eyes of his comrade. "Have we hurt you, Harry?" he said hoarsely. Alton groaned a little, and his lips moved once or twice before Seaforth caught any audible answer. "I don't know that you did it, but I think that bone has gone," he said. Okanagan, saying nothing, dropped on hands and knees, and while Alton groaned drew the bands tighter about the shattered cedar-bark. Then he rose up and looked at Seaforth, and the two stood silent for almost a minute with the snow whirling about them. There was something very like despair in Seaforth's eyes, and at last his comrade solemnly shook his fist at the forest. "We have got to get him home straight off," he said. Seaforth did not ask how it was to be done when they had the range to cross, but as one dreaming laid hold of his comrade again, and floundered towards the canoe, which lay close by them now. He was still partly dazed when he took up the paddle and dimly saw the white pines sliding past through a haze of snow. Nor did he remember whether he or Okanagan set the tent up when they reached the island near the canon, but he was sitting inside it holding out a smoking can of tea to Alton when some time after darkness had closed down Tom came in. The snow had ceased in the meanwhile and a biting frost descended upon the valley through which the roar of the canon pulsed in long reverberations. Okanagan dropped the rifle he carried. "I might have left the thing. The horse is dead," he said. "Dead?" said Seaforth vacantly. Okanagan nodded. "Yes," he said. "Somebody has saved me the trouble. Two bullets in him." Seaforth was almost past anger now, but the tea splashed from the can he still held as he realized the thoroughness of the work of their enemy. "Then how are you going to pack Harry and the other things over the range?" he said. Okanagan's face was almost expressionless. "We're not going to. It can't be done." Seaforth said nothing. The last fall had shaken him severely, and he had realized since they started that the task before them was almost beyond the power of any two men, but had refused to contemplate what must happen if they failed in it. Now he could see that it was impossible, but dazed with utter weariness as he was he could not think consecutively, and only felt a numbing dismay that in some strange fashion softened the blow, while in place of considering the future his memory reverted without his will to the incidents of that strange journey. They rose blurred before him as the creations of an evil dream, the wild descent of a rapid, the desperate effort of the portage, the long hours of toil at the paddle, and endless unrolling of whitened pines that crawled by them through the snow. Now at least, when he could do no more, that stupendous toil was finished. Turning, he glanced at Alton, who had with apparent difficulty swallowed a little of the tea. He lay amidst the blankets with eyes closed, breathing unevenly. "Then you'll go on to Somasco, Tom, and send back the boys for us. They may be in time," he said. Okanagan strode softly to the entrance of the tent and drew the canvas back. A moon hung red with frost in the pitiless heavens, the stars shone steelily, and it was evident that the cold of the icy North was laying its grip upon the valley. "Harry wouldn't have much use for them when they came. There's an ice fringe round the boulders now," he said. Seaforth stared out into the glittering night, and groaned, for he knew what happened to wounded men unsheltered from the frost. His voice was low and harsh as he asked, "Then what is to be done?" Okanagan replaced the canvas before he answered quietly, "There's the canon." "Yes," said Seaforth. "Still, no man has ever gone down it." "No. But the water's lowest in winter, and a canoe once came through. I can't see why another shouldn't do as well with men in it. It's easy getting in, anyway." Seaforth laughed mirthlessly. "Oh, yes. The question is, will any of us come out again alive?" As he spoke the sound of the river's turmoil swelled in a great pulsation about the tent, and Seaforth involuntarily drew in his breath. The curious glow he had seen there before, however, grew a trifle brighter in his companion's eyes. "That," he said solemnly, "only the Almighty knows, but if we stop here there'll be an end of Harry. Now, there are some folks in the old country who'd be sorry if you don't come back?" Seaforth smiled a trifle bitterly. "I don't think there are. They had an opportunity of showing their affection before I came out to Canada, and didn't take it. I found the best friend I ever had in this country--and as there seems no other way we'll try the canon." Okanagan sat down again, and hacked away with Alton's knife at a piece of redwood he was fashioning into a paddle. Both of them knew that the effort they were to make on their friend's behalf might well cost their life, but big, untaught bushman and once gently-nurtured Briton were in one respect at least alike, and that was a fact which would never again be mentioned between them. It was an hour or thereabouts later when Alton opened his eyes. "I don't know that I asked you, though I meant to, but you and Tom staked two more claims off?" he said. Okanagan appeared a trifle embarrassed, but Seaforth laughed. "I'm afraid we didn't. You see, we started in a hurry, and I forgot." Alton stared at him a moment in bewilderment, and then through the pain that distorted it a curious look crept into his face. "I figure you're lying, Charley, and you don't do it well," he said. "Folks don't usually forget when they leave a fortune behind them." Seaforth smiled a little. "Well, I may have been, but a fortune didn't seem very likely to be much use to me then or now," he said. Alton gravely shook his head, but the two men's eyes met for a moment, and Seaforth felt embarrassed as he turned his aside. There was no need to tell the injured man that his welfare had appeared of more importance to his comrades than any profit that might accrue to them from the silver mine. "Well," he said simply, "you or Tom should get through to Somasco." "I hope so," said Seaforth, as Okanagan signed to him. "You see, we are all going there together by the shortest way, down the canon." Alton stared at him a moment. "Now I had----" he commenced, and then stopped abruptly. Once more Seaforth smiled. "Then you had thought about it, Harry?" Alton's eyes closed a little. "I'm not one of the folks who go round telling people all they think," he said. "There's no way down that canon." Seaforth understood what was passing in his comrade's mind, and knew that Alton had not kept silence because of the risk to himself, for whatever was done the chances were equally against him. "I'm afraid we can't contradict you, but we shall discover to-morrow whether you are right or not," he said. Alton's glance grew a little less direct. "I would stop you if I could." "Of course," said Seaforth, smiling. "Still, you see you can't, and when you go out mining with feather-brained companions must take the consequences." Alton, who said nothing further, apparently went to sleep, and there was silence in the tent save for the roar of water and the rattle of Okanagan's knife. They launched the canoe with the first of the daylight, dragging her through the crackling ice fringe under the bitter frost, and as they slid down the smooth green flow towards the stupendous rent in the mountain side the river poured through, Okanagan glanced towards it and then at the still figure lying huddled in the blankets in the bottom of the canoe. "That, I figure, is one of the most useful men in the Dominion, and between Somasco and the place in England he has a good deal in his hands," he said. Seaforth understood him, and smiled grimly. "We brought nothing into this world--and we'll be very close to the next one in a few more minutes," he said. "Hadn't you better get way on, Tom?" They dipped the paddles, and the canoe slid on smoothly under the clear sunlight and the frost towards the film of mist where the oily green now broke up into the mad white tumult that poured down the canon. Then the strokes quickened, the craft lurched beneath them, and the sunlight was blotted out as they plunged into spray-filled dimness. High through the vapour towered smooth walls of stone, and the river that rebounded from them was piled in a white track of foam midway between. The canoe swept onwards down it apparently with the speed of a locomotive, and Seaforth, crouching in the bows, gripped his paddle with bleeding fingers that had split at the knuckles with the frost. He watched the smooth walls whirl by him mechanically, and remembered that the canon could not last forever. There was comfort in the reflection, because the miles would melt behind them at the pace they travelled at. That was so long as the stream flowed straight and even, but he did not care to contemplate what would happen if it foamed over any obstacle. For a time he saw nothing but froth and spray and flitting stone, and then the roar that came back from the towering walls swelled into a great diapason terrifying and bewildering. Seaforth glanced over his shoulder and saw that Okanagan was dipping his paddle. "A fall or a big rapid. We've got to go through," he said. Seaforth swept his gaze aloft for a moment while the bewildering roar grew deafening. Nothing that had life in it could scale the horrible smooth walls that hung over them, and through a rift in the vapour he could see a filigree of whitened pines that seemed very far away projected against the blue. They were, he fancied, at least a thousand feet above him, and he and Okanagan alone far down in the dimness of another world with their helpless companion. Then he nerved himself for an effort as he looked forward into the spray and vapour that whirled in denser clouds ahead. Nothing was visible through its filmy folds, but his flesh shrank from the tumult of sound that came out of it. "Hold her straight," cried Okanagan, in a breathless roar, and Seaforth just heard his voice through the diapason of the river. Then the canoe lurched beneath them, and sped faster still, plunging, rocking, rolling, while the froth beat into her, and Seaforth whirled his paddle in a frenzy. The shrinking had gone, and he was only conscious of a curious unreasoning exaltation. A pinnacle of rock flashed by them, there was a roar from Tom, and straining every sinew on the paddle they swung, with eyes dilated and laboured breath, sideways towards the wall of stone. Then the froth that leapt about it swept astern, and they were going on again, faster than ever, and apparently down a declivity, the spray beating upon them and the canoe swinging her bows out of a frothing confusion. Seaforth heard a cry behind him, but could attach no meaning to it, and whirled his paddle mechanically, until the craft appeared to lurch out from under him, and fall bodily with a great splashing. Twice, it seemed to him, she swung round a great black pool, and then they were driving forward again a trifle more smoothly, while here and there a stunted pine that clung to the rocks came flitting back to them. He felt Okanagan's paddle in his shoulder, and glanced round a moment. There was a green strip behind them that seemed to roll itself together and fall roaring into the pool, but a wisp of mist that blotted out everything drifted across his eyes. Seaforth retained no very clear impression of the remainder of that day's journey, but it was late in the afternoon when the walls of rock fell back a little on either hand, and it seemed to him that they lay motionless in the bottom of a great pit while the hills slowly rolled away behind them. Here and there a strip of shingle now divided rock from river, and when presently Okanagan called out, Seaforth felt by the change of motion that he was backing his paddle. Looking forward he saw the cause of it, for there were boulders in the channel, and a great fir lay jammed across them. They were almost upon it when the bows reached the shingle. Okanagan helped him to carry Alton ashore, and then stood still looking at the fir, which was of a girth seldom seen in any other country. "She's lying right across, and we've got to chop our way through," he said. "You'll fix the tent and make supper while I take first turn." He came back dripping presently, and Seaforth was waist-deep in icy water when he reached the tree. The shingle slipped beneath him, the stream frothed about his limbs, and he felt very puny and helpless with that great log before him. His hands were split and opened by the frost, and the wounds bled at every stroke, but while the red glare of the fire Okanagan was feeding with washed-up branches flickered about him he panted and smote, until the power went from him, and his comrade took his place. It was apparently a task for demigods, but it is no unusual thing for the men who come to grips with nature unsubdued in the frozen North to attempt, and accomplish, more than flesh and blood seem capable of, and all night long they fought their grim battle, hewing until sight and breathing failed them, and then staggering back to lie dripping and gasping by the fire. Arms grew powerless, eyes were dim, the rents in their wet hands gaped, and there was blood upon their deerskins; but little by little the notch widened, until at last the steel splashed in the water that deflected it, and Seaforth fancied they were beaten. Still, there was no relaxing of effort, and as the stars were paling in the rift high overhead he heard a sound that was not the monotone of the river. Another man heard it, too, for Okanagan came floundering towards him through a tumult of foam and wrested the axe from his hand. For five minutes he smote fiercely, and then raised a hoarse, half-articulate cry of triumph. "She's going." There was a smashing and snapping. The huge trunk rolled a little, rent, and swept away, and Seaforth reeling shorewards sat down with bleeding hands in the ashes, laughing foolishly, until Okanagan stooped and smote his shoulder. "Get up," he said. "It's time we were going." There was not light enough to see by, and they had eaten nothing during all those hours of heroic toil, but Seaforth seemed to realize that the issue lay beyond them now, and it did not matter greatly what they did or failed to do. He was also consumed by a desire to escape from that horrible place of shadow, and striking the tent in clumsy haste they launched the canoe. After that he remembered little, though he had a hazy recollection of stopping somewhere and helping Tom to make a fire, for there was wood in abundance everywhere. Whether he ate anything he did not know, but all day the canoe slid on comparatively smoothly, and they toiled at the paddle until hands and arms seemed to move of their own volition. Seaforth felt that he would gladly have lain down and frozen, but an influence which had apparently nothing to do with his will constrained him to labour on. At last, when the stars were shining and the moon hung red in a broader strip of sky, the curious sustaining animus seemed to desert him, and he lurched forward with a little gasp, while the paddle almost slipped from his stiffened fingers. "Hold up," said Okanagan. "Stream's running slow, and the hills are opening there. I'm not sure that we're not close on the Somasco valley." Seaforth made a last effort, but his fingers lost their grasp, and when he slipped forward again his paddle slid away behind them. Then he groaned a little, and lay still in the bottom of the canoe. The next thing he was clearly conscious of was the ringing of a rifle and he raised himself as the woods flung back the sound. They seemed some distance from him now, and the moon shone down on a broadening strip of water. Again the rifle flashed, and he wondered vacantly whether the twinkle that perplexed his hazy sight could be lights that blinked at them. "Where have we got to, Tom?" he said. Okanagan laughed softly. "Tolerably close on Somasco," he said. "I think they've heard us at the mill." Then as Seaforth listened, a shout came ringing across the glinting space before them that seemed curiously still. "Hold on. We're coming. Is that you and the others, Tom?" Okanagan laughed again, and the canoe stopped amidst the ice when the paddle fell from his hand. "It's a good deal less of us than there was when we started out," he said. CHAPTER XXII MISS DERINGHAM DECIDES It was a clear winter day, when a big side-wheel steamer bound for way ports down the Sound lay at the wharf at Vancouver waiting for the mail. Towering white in the sunshine high above the translucent brine, she looked with her huge wheel-casings, lines of winking windows, and triple tier of decks more like a hotel set afloat than a steamer, and the resemblance was completed by the long tables set out for breakfast in the white and gold saloon. No swarm of voracious passengers had, however, descended upon them as yet, for though winter touches the southern coast but lightly, it is occasionally almost Arctic amidst the ranges of the mountain province, and the Pacific express was held up somewhere by the snow. Bright though the sunshine was, a bitter wind came down across the inlet from the gleaming hills that stretched back, ridged here and there by the sombre green of pines, towards the frozen North, and Deringham and his daughter, who were setting out on a visit to a town of Washington, had sought shelter in the saloon. Alice Deringham leaned back in a corner, a very dainty picture in her clinging furs, with the ivory whiteness of the panelling behind her. Her father sat close by, with a face that was slightly puckered, and thoughtful eyes, turning over a packet of letters that had reached him from England the day before, and his daughter fancied that their contents by no means pleased him. There were a few of her passengers in the saloon, and one couple attracted her languid attention. She could see the man plainly, and he was one of the usual type of Western citizen, keen-eyed, quick and nervous of movement and gesture, and incisive of speech. He had a bundle of papers before him, and appeared to be making calculations in pencil while he dictated to his companion. Now and then she caught disjointed fragments of his conversation. "Got that quite straight? Fall in securities, silver depreciating. Now did I put in anything about the Democrats going in?" Miss Deringham could make but little of this, and had always cherished a faint contempt, which she may have inherited from her mother, who had been born at Carnaby, for anything connected with business. Still, she was mildly interested in the man's companion, whose face she could not see. The girl was dressed very plainly, and Miss Deringham decided that the fabric had not cost much to begin with and was by no means new. It, however, set off a pretty, slender figure, and the girl had fine brown hair, while the little ungloved fingers on pencil were white and shapely. Alice Deringham wondered with a languid curiosity what her face was like, and felt a half contemptuous pity for her. She did not consider such an occupation fitting for a woman. Then her attention was diverted as a boy with a satchel calling out "_Colonist_," in a shrill nasal drawl, came in, and she vacantly watched a man who purchased a paper spread out the sheet. "They've got that fellow up at Slocane," he said to a companion. "Yes, sir, sent him down for trial, and it took a special guard to keep the boys off him. I guess if he'd done it down our way they wouldn't have worried, but put him in a tar-keg and set a light to him. They're way behind the times in the Dominion." "Killed him in his sleep for a hundred dollars," said another man, glancing over the reader's shoulder, but Miss Deringham was not interested in the murder she remembered having heard about. She was, however, a trifle astonished to see that her father was watching the gathering group with a serious look in his eyes, but he glanced down somewhat hastily at his papers when he met her gaze. Then the voices grew less distinct, and that of the man dictating broke monotonously through them until a steward approached her father with an envelope in his hand. "Mr. Forel has just sent it down, sir," he said. "You're Mr. Deringham?" Deringham tore the envelope open, and while he sat staring at the paper inside it his daughter noticed that there was a little pale spot in his cheek. His hand also appeared to tremble slightly when, saying nothing, he passed the telegram across to her. "Regret to inform you that my partner met with accident in the ranges, and his condition is critical," it read. "Can you send us nurse or capable woman? Mrs. Margery ill. Seaforth, Somasco." Alice Deringham shivered a little. "He is evidently dangerously injured." "It appears so," said Deringham, and his daughter afterwards remembered that his voice was hoarse and strained. The girl, however, said nothing for a while. She was not impulsive, and her face remained almost as cold in its clear whiteness as the panelling behind it, but her heart beat a little faster than usual, and she was trying somewhat unsuccessfully to analyze her sensations. In the meanwhile the voices of the men who now surrounded the one with the paper reached her, and she noticed vacantly that her father seemed to be listening to them. "They'll hang him, anyway," said one. "Made no show at all when they got him hiding in the bush," said another. "Still, you couldn't expect much from that kind of man. Killed him for a hundred dollars in his bed." "Yes, sir," said the first speaker. "And he didn't get all of them. The man was his own cousin, and too sick to do anything. Well, thank God, we haven't got many vermin of that kind in the Dominion." Deringham, who had picked up the telegram, let it slip from his fingers as he rose, and the girl wondered at the change in him. He seemed to have grown suddenly haggard, and the lines upon his face were much more apparent than usual. "You will excuse me a minute," he said, and the girl noticed the curious deliberation of his movements and the stoop in his shoulders as he crossed the saloon. Deringham had faced more than one crisis in the past, and the difference in his pose might not have attracted a stranger's notice, though it was evident to his daughter that something had troubled him. Why he should be so disturbed by the news of Alton's condition she could not quite see, but that appeared of the less importance, because she was endeavouring to evade the question why the telegram should also have caused her a curious consternation. He was a half-taught rancher, and she had been accustomed to the homage of men of mark and polish in England--but it was with something approaching dismay she heard that the man who had supplanted her father was, though she could scarcely contemplate the possibility, dying. In the meanwhile Deringham walked into the bar, and leaned somewhat heavily upon the counter as he asked for a glass of brandy. He spilled a little of it, and the steward, who saw that his fingers shook, glanced at him curiously as he set it down. "I guess that will fix you, sir," he said. "You're not feeling well?" Deringham made a little gesture of assent, and the man drew him out a chair. "That is good brandy," he said. "You'd better sit down there quietly and have another. Here's _The Colonist_. They've got that fellow up at Slocane, but one feels sorry the boys didn't get hold of him. Hanging's not much use for that kind of man." Deringham's fingers trembled as he thrust the journal aside, but his voice was even. "The brandy is rather better than any I've had of late," he said. "You can give me another glass of it." For at least ten minutes he lay somewhat limply in the chair, and his reflections were not pleasant. He had speculated with another man's money and lost most of it, as well as profited by several transactions which were little better than a swindle; but that was as far as he had gone hitherto, and he had in a curious fashion, retained through it all a measure of inherited pride. Now, however, the disguise was for a moment torn aside, and he saw himself as he was, a thief and a miscreant, no better than the brutish bushman who had slain his sick kinsman for a hundred dollars. There was, as he had read already, nothing to redeem the sordid, cowardly treachery of that crime. Deringham was, however, proficient at finding excuses for himself and shutting his eyes to unpleasant facts, and the phase commenced to pass. He had, he recollected, plainly stated that he merely desired Alton to be detained a little amidst the ranges, and it became evident to him that what had happened was the result of Hallam's villainy. Hallam had injured him as well as Alton, while there was no controverting the fact that the rancher's decease would relieve him of a vast anxiety, and his first indignation against Hallam also melted when he rose composedly from the chair. He felt that Seaforth expected something of him, and it appeared advisable to consider what could be done, while a project already commended itself to him. In another five minutes he had rejoined his daughter, looking more like the man who urbanely presided over the not always contented shareholders' meetings. He realized, however, that he had a slightly difficult task before him. "You seem to take the news rather badly, father," said the girl. Deringham smiled deprecatingly. "I have not been quite so well lately, and it upset me a trifle," said he. "I have a regard for our Canadian kinsman and have been inclined to fancy that you shared it with me." "Of course," said the girl indifferently. "Mr. Alton has been especially kind to us." "Yes," said Deringham. "Mr. Seaforth must also be very helpless up there alone, with his comrade seriously ill. Now there is no great necessity for my journey down the Sound, and I have no doubt that the business could be handled almost as well by letter. I do not know that there is very much that would please you to be seen in the Washington townships either." Alice Deringham glanced at him thoughtfully. "And?" she said. Deringham glanced down a moment at his shoes. "I was wondering if you could be of any use up there." His daughter laughed a little. "I think that is readily answered. I cannot cook, and neither can I wash, while I have never attended to a sick person in my life." "No," said her father with a trace of embarrassment. "Still, one understands that it comes naturally to women. In any case your mere presence would in a fashion be an advantage." Alice Deringham watched him in silence for a few seconds and then smiled again. "It is somewhat difficult to believe it. I am sincerely sorry for Mr. Alton, but I can see no reason for intruding at Somasco now." Deringham regarded her steadily, and the girl knew it would be advisable for her to yield. This did not displease her, for, though she had negatived his suggestion, her father's wishes coincided with her own. She, however, desired to visit Somasco as it were under compulsion, and to feel that she had not done so of her own inclination. "I think there is a reason--and it would please me," he said. "Then I should be pleased to hear it." Deringham appeared to consider, because the motives which influenced him were ones he could not well reveal. "We are his only relatives in this country--and there is the look of the thing," he said. The girl moved a little, and her father watching her noticed her fine symmetry, and how her red-gold hair gleamed against the white panelling. It was possibly because of this background he also noticed the faint flicker of warmth that crept into her face and neck, and that there was a glow in her eyes he had not seen there previously. "That," she said with a cold distinctness, "is precisely what I object to." Deringham laughed a little. "I think that aspect of the question will not be evident to Alton." "No?" said the girl, while the tinge of colour deepened a little. "Still, it is very plain to me." Deringham said nothing, and the two sat still while the voice of the man dictating jarred upon one of them. "Very little interest taken in mineral claims, no inquiries for ranching properties." Alice Deringham turned, and saw the girl's fingers flittering across the paper, but her face was still hidden and the monotonous voice continued, "We made a few advances during the last week or two." The other passengers had gone out of the saloon, and it was very quiet save for the soft flow of words and rattle of the pencil, when Deringham once more unfolded the telegram. "I am afraid it is going hardly with the man," he said suggestively. "'My partner met with accident--his condition is critical.' The message left Somasco yesterday." There was a rustle at the adjoining table, and the girl's pencil fell to the floor. "Will you wait a moment, please?" a voice said, and the dictation broke off abruptly, while when the girl rose Alice Deringham found herself suddenly confronted with Miss Townshead. Deringham, who stood up, made her a little decorous inclination. "I am pleased to see you again," he said. The speech was apparently lost upon the girl, who did not seem to notice his daughter's greeting. "I could not avoid hearing a few words of yours," she said. "Mr. Alton--or his partner--is seriously ill." Deringham handed her the telegram, and stood watching her curiously while she read it. He saw her lips set a trifle, and a slight lowering of her eyes, but though the girl seemed to draw in her breath he fancied it was not with consternation. "That is all we know," he said. Miss Townshead gave him back the message, but Deringham did not see her face, for she and his daughter seemed to be looking at each other. They formed a somewhat curious contrast, for Alice Deringham appeared taller and more stately than she was in her costly furs, and Nellie Townshead very slight and almost shabby in her thin and well-worn dress. Neither spoke for a moment, but the half-amiable condescension in Miss Deringham's attitude was a trifle too marked. "I am afraid that is all we can tell you," she said. "Mr. Alton has evidently met with a serious accident, and we are going up at once to Somasco to see what we can do for him." Deringham moved a trifle and glanced at his daughter. She had said very little, but there was a subtle something in her tone and bearing which implied a good deal, and he fancied it was not lost upon Miss Townshead. The latter, however, glanced round towards her employer, and her face was once more expressionless as she said, "Then I hope you will find him progressing favourably, and it would be a kindness to my father and myself if you or Mr. Seaforth would send us word." She went back to her duties, and Deringham smiled a little as the monotonous voice commenced again. "That's all right, Miss Townshead. Now where was I? Oh, yes, we should not recommend any further advances. Did I tell him we had to negotiate Tyrer's bond at a discount?" "You seem to have reversed your decision somewhat suddenly," he said. "I had not noticed it before, but Miss Townshead is distinctly pretty. She was, I believe, on tolerably good terms with our afflicted kinsman." Miss Deringham laughed as she answered him. "That is one of our privileges, but you had better inquire about my baggage. I think I hear the train coming in." She turned a moment as she went out of the saloon, and glanced back towards the table. She could only see that Miss Townshead's head was bent lower over the paper than it had been, but she had a suspicion as to what the girl was feeling. It was also partly, but not more than partly justified, for Nellie Townshead was writing mechanically just then, though now and then she drove the pencil somewhat viciously into the paper when the hasty words grew faster. "Don't consider your recommendation workable. We are sending you ore to test. Finish it up in the usual way." Then the locomotive bell on the wharf was answered by the roar of the steamer's whistle, and the man folded up his papers. "You will have to get ashore, but we have done a good morning's work," said he. "Those were friends of yours from the old country?" "No," said Nellie Townshead with a curious expression. "They are from the old country, but I only met them once or twice at Somasco." The man glanced at her thoughtfully. "Yes," he said. "I kind of fancied the lady didn't mean to be nice to you." Miss Townshead smiled, though there was an ominous brightness in her eyes. "I scarcely think she would take the trouble to make me feel that," she said. "Miss Deringham is, I understand, a lady of some importance in the old country." The man once more regarded her with grave kindliness. "Folks of that kind can be very nasty prettily. I've met one or two of them. Well, you're one of the smartest business ladies I've come across yet in this country, and I should figure that's quite as good as the other. Now--well, of course, we held back a little when we engaged you, and you can tell the cashier to hand you out another two dollars every Saturday." Nellie Townshead felt that the colour was in her cheeks, but she thanked the man, and gathering up her papers hastened down the gangway at the last moment. She stopped a moment breathless when she reached the wharf and saw Deringham and his daughter drive away, and shut one little hand. Then she laughed, and turned towards the city with a gesture of impatience. "The two dollars are badly needed--and I'm a little fool, but it hurt, all of it," she said. CHAPTER XXIII THE AWAKENING The snow had ceased an hour or two earlier, and the moon shone down upon the glistening pines that shook off their white covering under a bitter wind, when a wagon came lurching into the Somasco valley. Four weary horses floundered in front of it, a thin white steam rising from them into the nipping air, and Okanagan swayed half asleep upon the driving-seat, growling inarticulate objurgations when the vehicle sank creaking into a hollow he could not see. He had, wearing out several horses during the journey, driven close upon a hundred miles through the frost and snow, and had ceased to encourage his companions during the last hour or so. In fact, he was almost as incapable of speech just then as they were of comprehending him. They had, however, won his admiration, which he was somewhat slow of according city folk, for although there had been times when, as he dragged the worn-out team up steep hillsides through the blinding snow, he almost despaired of reaching Somasco, he had heard no complaint from either Deringham or his daughter. The man had helped him where he could, and when there was nothing that he could do sat silent beside him smoking tranquilly, while, with the flung-up snow whirling about them, the team went floundering down almost precipitous gully or rutted declivity, where a stumble would have hurled them all into the tops of the pines below. Nor had a cry escaped the girl who sat behind them, gripping the side of the bouncing vehicle, when once a horse went down, and on another occasion the wagon left the trail and drove into a hemlock. Okanagan also remembered that though it had been necessary to lift her down when twice they stopped to change the team at a lonely ranch, she rose smiling with blue lips when it was time to go on again. "Yes, sir," he afterwards said to Seaforth, "there wasn't any weakening down in either of them, and the girl's a daisy." Deringham, however, was now sitting amidst the straw in the bottom of the wagon, with his arm about his daughter, who nestled close to him for the sake of warmth. A bitter frost had set in during the last hour or so, and the snow was frozen in white patches upon her wrappings, while it was with numbed senses she vacantly watched the pines flit past her. It seemed that they would crawl up out of the darkness and slide by, white beneath the moonlight, forever. Nor could she recollect much of the journey, which had only left a hazy memory of biting cold and blinding snow, fierce struggles through the drifts, and brief interludes of warmth and brightness in forest-shrouded ranches, where her chilled flesh shrank from the task before her when she rose to go on again. There was Alton blood in Alice Deringham, and more than a trace of the Alton pride, but she did not know what motive had sustained her or why she had borne it all so patiently, and in this she differed from her father. Deringham seldom did anything without a purpose, and he had one now. His daughter had been asleep with her head on his shoulder when a shout roused her two hours earlier, and with a drumming of hoofs they came lurching into the settlement. For a blissful moment she fancied the journey was at an end, for there were lights and voices and a pleasant smell of firwood smoke, but Okanagan shouted to his team, and the lights faded away behind as they plunged into the silence beneath the pines again. "Father," she said faintly, "do you think he has gone the wrong way? It seems ever so long since we left the settlement." Okanagan may have heard her, though the words were almost indistinguishable. "You lie right where you are for another ten minutes, and keep warm, miss," he said; "then I'll show you something." Alice Deringham shivered all through. "It is a little difficult," she said. Okanagan spoke to his horses, and after what appeared an interminable time looked down again. "There," he said, with a curious, almost silent laugh, and the girl saw a red blink amidst the pines across the valley. "That's Somasco." Alice Deringham let her head drop back on her father's shoulder with a little sigh. "It seems a very long way," she said, "and I am very cold." It was some time later when the wagon stopped with a jerk, and she roused herself as a glare of light shone about her. Voices came out of it, somebody held out a hand, and a man whom she did not recognize lifted her from the wagon. Then she walked unevenly into the brightness of a log-walled hall and grew faint, while a tingling pain ran through her with the change of temperature. A woman whom she did not know clumsily took her wrappings from her, and then led her into a room where Seaforth drew a chair up to a table beside the stove. Alice Deringham's head was throbbing, but she could see that he was white and haggard. "How is he?" she said, and the tingling pain grew more pronounced as she waited the answer. Seaforth's face was very grave. "I think it is touch and go with him--but if he wears the night out he may pull through. It was very good of you to come." Alice Deringham made a little gesture of impatience. "But there is hope?" she said, and her voice was very low and strained. Seaforth glanced round sharply as the woman, knocking over something, went out of the room. "A little, I believe, if he could sleep," he said huskily. "The doctor is with him now--scarcely left him the last four days. We have nobody to help us. Mrs. Margery broke down. The woman you saw is incapable. Harry has been delirious--and asking for you--half the time." Seaforth looked at his companion as he spoke, and the girl met his gaze directly. There was no room for anything but frankness at such a time. "Ah," she said simply. "I am glad I came." Seaforth's eyes seemed to grow a little misty, and Alice Deringham, who suddenly looked aside, wondered whether it was only the effect of weariness. Whatever he felt, he, however, quietly poured something into a cup and handed it to her. "But you must eat," he said. Hungry and cold as she had been, the girl could eat but little, though the steaming liquid in the cup put a little life into her, and presently she rose up and shook off the coarse shawl which somebody had wrapped about her shoulders. "I am ready now," she said. Seaforth glanced at her a moment with open admiration. The girl to hide her weariness stood very straight, and Alice Deringham knew how to hold herself. The pallor in her face intensified the little glow in her eyes and the ruddy gleam of her lustrous hair under the lamplight. She was, it seemed to him, almost splendid in her statuesque symmetry, but there was also a subtle change in her, and a sudden sense of confusion came upon him. He remembered his previous distrust of her, and that it was to save his comrade she had come. "No," he said quietly; "you must rest and sleep before you go to him." Alice Deringham smiled a little, but there was a vibration in her voice that stirred the man. "Do you think I could?" This time there was no mistaking the faint haziness in Seaforth's eyes. "God bless you," he said simply. "He is my friend--and I think you are the only one who can do anything for him." Alice Deringham had in her a trace of greatness which was instinctive, and not the result of the training that had taught her serenity. So, though the man had not hidden his meaning, she made no protest nor asked any question. "All this is new to me," she said; "but I will do the best I can." Seaforth led her into a room where a dim light was burning. It was most of it in shadow, but she could see the still form on the bed, and for a moment or two nothing else. The face on the pillow was very white and hollow, the half-closed eyes had a curious glitter, while a lean hand was clenched upon the coverlet. Alice Deringham had seen very little of suffering of any kind, and nothing of sickness, and for a moment she stood motionless, horrified at the sight of what was left of the man who had parted from her on the verandah the incarnation of resolute virility. As she watched him he moaned a little, and the sound, which was scarcely human and suggested the cry of some unreasoning creature in pain, sent a thrill through her. Her eyes dimmed a little, and moving forward softly she laid a cool palm on the flushed forehead. "Don't you know me, Harry? I have come to take care of you," she said. The man's eyes opened wider, and though it was evident that there was not complete comprehension in them he sighed as with a great contentment. Then they closed altogether as he turned his head a trifle on the pillow. The girl did not move, but stood stooping a little, and looking down at him with a great compassion, until a man who had been watching her nodded unseen to Seaforth as he also bent over the bed. He waited for almost a minute, and then straightened himself wearily as he spoke in a just audible whisper. "Quiet at last, and sleep may come! Miss Deringham, I think?" he said. The girl bent her head, and moved softly with him towards the door. "He knew me?" she said. The doctor shook his head. "No--not altogether, I think. Still, he is quiet, and that is everything. Now I may be wanted--presently--and for a little there is nothing I can do, while Mr. Seaforth and I have reached our limits. If Alton opens his eyes, let him see you, and you will give him the draught yonder in an hour from now. It is of vital importance that he should take it. If he does not, tap on the door for me." Alice Deringham bent her head again, and, when the doctor went out with Seaforth, sat down beside the bed. Her fatigue had gone from her, and though she had never done such things before, she gently drew the coverings higher about the man, and once ventured to raise his head a trifle and smooth down the pillow. Alton opened his eyes, and for a moment they seemed to follow her, but the gleam of understanding went out of them when she sat down again. Then he lay very still, and there was an oppressive quietness through which she could hear the crackle of the stove and the night wind moaning about the ranch. Alton's eyes were shut now, and the girl sat and watched him, too intent almost to wonder at herself. This was the man she had striven to despise, and yet she, who had never concerned herself with woman's work before, forgot her weariness as she waited to minister to him. It was but little help that she could offer--a gentle touch that checked a restless movement, a wrinkle smoothed from the pillow--but it was done with a great tenderness, for fibres in the girl's nature that had lain silent long awoke that night and thrilled. Now and then Alton moved a little, and once or twice he moaned. The firewood snapped and crackled in the stove, the sigh of the pines came up in fantastic cadence across the clearing, and so while the dark angel stooped above the lonely ranch the night wore on. There was, however, one man in Somasco ranch who needed sleep that night and found it fly from him. Deringham, who had spoken with the doctor, lay fully dressed in an adjoining room, listening to the ticking of his watch, and for any sound that might rise from beyond the cedar boarding where his daughter kept her vigil. He had gathered that before the morning Alton of Somasco and Carnaby would either have laid aside his activities for ever or be within hope of recovery, and while Deringham dare not ask himself just then whether he desired the death of his kinsman, the suspense was maddening. If the flame of vitality that was flickering so feebly went out Carnaby would be his daughter's, and the burden which almost crushed him lifted. If it burned on there was at the best a long struggle with adversity before him, and at the worst disgrace, and possibly a prison. A very little thing, he knew, would turn the scale, an effort made in delirium, a draught that struck too shrewdly on the fevered frame, and the issue, of stupendous importance as it was to both of them, lay in his daughter's hands. Seaforth and the doctor slept the sleep of exhaustion, and Deringham could have laughed with bitter mirthlessness at the irony of it all. Until she had quarrelled with her maid, Alice Deringham had apparently been incapable of putting on her own dresses unassisted, and it seemed that the grim, mysterious destiny which treated men as puppets and traversed all their schemes was the one factor to reckon with in that comedy. Deringham, however, found little solace in such reflections, and could not lie still, and rising, strained his ears to listen. There was nothing but the moaning of the wind, the ranch was very still, and the sound of his watch grew maddening. If Alton was sleeping now, Deringham knew it was ticking his last hold on good fame and fortune away. Twice he paced up and down the room with uncovered feet, and then, quivering a little when the floor creaked, opened the door that led into the one adjoining. "Alice," he said, and, for he had thrown off the mask now, his daughter wondered at his face. "Hush," she said almost sternly, and then moved very quietly away from the bed. Deringham came in and leaned upon the table beside her. "The great question is still unanswered?" he said. His daughter bent her head, and then looked at him steadily. "I think we shall know in an hour or two. Is it important to you?" Deringham, who was not wholly master of himself, made a little grimace, and the girl glanced away from him with a curious shrinking. Under stress of fatigue and anxiety the veneer had worn off both of them, and in that impressive hour, when the spirit is bound most loosely to the clay, each had seen something not hitherto suspected of the other's inmost self. In the girl's case the sight had been painful, for all that was good in her had risen uppermost just then. In Deringham's there was very little but veneer, and craven fear and avarice looked out through his eyes. "Yes," he said in a voice that was the harsher for its lowness; "and to you. I did not tell you, but if that man dies you will be the mistress of Carnaby." Alice Deringham made a little half-contemptuous gesture of impatience, but the colour showed in her cheek. "You are over-tired, father, or you would not have thought of that--just now." Deringham glanced at her curiously with an unpleasant smile. "You apparently did not comprehend me," he said. "Would you be astonished to hear that Alton, who seems to have anticipated disaster, left you Carnaby by will?" The girl rose and met the man's gaze directly, though the colour had crept beyond her cheeks now. "No," she said very quietly; "though I never thought of this. I know him better than ever you could do. But it is time I gave him the medicine, and you must go." Deringham did not move, but watched his daughter as she took up the glass and phial. "It is important that he should have the draught?" he said. "Yes," she said in a voice that thrilled a little as she stood very straight before him. "I think it would make all the difference between--a girl without a dowry, and the mistress of Carnaby." Then she pointed as it were commandingly towards the door, and Deringham went out with a white face, as though she had struck him upon it, while Alice Deringham shivered and sank down limply into the chair. She sat still for a moment with eyes that shone mistily and a great sense of humility, and then, rousing herself with an effort, moved towards the bed and touched the sick man gently. He opened his eyes as she did so, and there was no glitter in them now, but a dawning comprehension. He seemed to smile a little when she raised his head. "You must drink this," she said. Alton made a gesture of understanding, and drained the glass, then let his head fall back, and feebly stretched out his hand until it touched her fingers. The girl did not move, and his grasp tightened suddenly. "Hold me fast. I am slipping--slipping down," he said. Alice Deringham returned the pressure of the clinging fingers, and as she saw a curious unreasoning confidence creep into the haggard face her eyes once more shone through a gathering mistiness. "I will hold you fast," she said. "Yes," said the sick man in a strained voice. "You will not let go. It's five hundred feet to the river--in the dark below. I'm slipping, slipping--no holding in the snow." He ceased and looked up at her suddenly as though the fear had left him, and the girl said very softly, "Don't you know me?" "Yes," said the man. "Of course. I was sliding back into the gully, but I knew you would help me." He stopped again, and the strained expression suddenly sank out of his eyes, while the girl flushed to the temples when they met her own. "Now," he said very softly, "I shall get better. Nothing can stop me. You will hold me fast, and not let go." He drew her towards him, and Alice Deringham, seeing that the brief flash of reason was fading again, yielded to the feeble pressure, and sank to her knees holding fast the hot fingers that drew her hand to his breast. Then moved by an impulse swift and uncontrollable she bent a little farther and kissed him on the cheek. Alton said nothing, but opened his eyes and smiled at her, and then lay still. For a space of minutes the girl dare scarcely breathe. Everything, she had been told, depended upon the sick man sleeping, and now he was very quiet. Then she raised her head and glanced at him. He had not moved at all, and his face was tranquil, but the hot fingers still clung to her hand. It was borne in upon her that she could in verity draw him back from the darkness he was slipping into, and with a great fear and compassion she held the hot fingers fast. There was no longer any snapping in the stove. The roar of the pines grew louder and the room grew cold, but while the minutes slipped by Alton slept peacefully, with the hand of the woman he had dispossessed in his, and she forgetting her fatigue watched him with eyes that filled with tenderness. Still, she was not more than a woman, and at last the eyes grew hazy, while every joint ached. There was a horrible cramp in her shoulder, and to lessen it she moved a trifle so that her arm rested on the pillow. That was easier, and while she struggled with her weariness her head followed it, until it sank down close by Alton's shoulder. Then for five minutes she fought with her weakness, and was vanquished, for her head settled lower into its resting place, and her eyes closed. It was some little time later when Seaforth came very softly into the room, and stopped with a little gasp. He could just see his comrade's face, and it was still and serene, but there was a gleam of red-gold hair beside it on the coverlet, and now a shapely arm was flung protectingly about the sick man's shoulder. The girl was also very still, and a little flush of colour crept into Seaforth's face as he stooped above her and saw the clasped hands. "Thank God!" he said. Then he moved backwards on tiptoe towards Deringham's room, but apparently changed his intention, and presently knocked at the doctor's door. "Time's up, and I thought I'd better rouse you," he said. "Shall I go in, and look at your patient?" The doctor rose up fully dressed, and Seaforth, who watched him enter the other room, nodded to himself, while the man he had left stooped above the sleeping pair and smiled with a great contentment. He had done what he could, but he knew that a greater power than any he wielded had driven back the dark angel which had stooped above the sick man's bed. The sun was in the heavens when, finding other procedure unavailing, he gently touched the girl, and Alice Deringham rose silently and turned to him some moments later almost proudly with a soft glow in her cheeks, and a question in her eyes. "Yes," said the doctor, smiling. "I fancy we have seen the worst." Then the girl's strength went from her, and she caught at the rail of the bed, shivering, until the man touched her arm and led her from the room. "You have done a great deal, I think, and must sleep," he said. It was afternoon when Alice Deringham resumed her watch, and she met Seaforth on her way to the sick man's room. "I want to thank you, Miss Deringham. He is my partner, and the only friend I have," he said, with a slight huskiness. The girl regarded him steadily. "You mean it?" Seaforth winced a little. "Yes," he said. Alice Deringham still fixed her eyes upon him. "And yet you distrusted me once?" Seaforth's face was haggard, but it was less pale than it had been when he bent his head. "I can only throw myself on your mercy. I was more of a fool than usual then." Alice Deringham laughed softly but graciously. "I could not blame you--and you may have been right," she said. Then she passed into the room, and saw the light creep into Alton's eyes, which had apparently been fixed upon the door. Her blood tingled and her neck grew hot, for it was evident that while his mind was clear at last he remembered a little. "The river is farther away now, but I want you still," he said. CHAPTER XXIV HALLAM TRIES AGAIN There was frost in the valley when one clear morning Alton lay partly dressed in a big chair beside the stove at Somasco ranch. Outside the snow lay white on the clearing, and the great pines rose above it sombre and motionless under the sunlight that had no warmth in it, while the peaks beyond them shone with a silvery lustre against the cloudless blue. It was a day to set the blood stirring and rouse the vigour of the strong, and Alton felt the effect of it as he lay listening to the rhythmic humming of the saws. The sound spoke of activity, and raising himself a trifle in his chair he glanced at his partner with a faint sparkle in his eye. "It's good to feel alive again," he said. Seaforth's smile was somewhat forced, for he had reason for dreading the moment when his comrade would take an interest in the affairs of life again. There was something that Alton must know, and glancing at his hollow face he shrank from telling him. The struggle had been a long one, for fever had once more seized Alton when he was apparently on the way to recovery, and there had been times when it seemed to Seaforth that two angels kept the long night watches with him beside his comrade's bed. One was terrible and shadowy, and stooped lower and lower and above the scarcely breathing form; the other bright and beautiful, an angel of tenderness and mercy, and if Seaforth was fanciful there were excuses for him. His endurance had been strained to the uttermost as day and night he kept his vigil, while the humanity of the girl who watched with him had become etherealized until her beauty was almost spiritual. The coldness had gone out of it, and now and then it seemed to the worn-out man that a faint reflection of a light that is not kindled in this world shone through the pity in her eyes. That spark was all that had been lacking, and Seaforth, who had doubted, bent his head in homage when it came, for it appeared to him that in sloughing off her pride and becoming wholly womanly the girl had reached out in her gentleness and compassion towards the divine. When at last the turning had been passed, and Alice Deringham went down with her father for a brief rest to Vancouver, she took Seaforth's limitless respect and gratitude with her, though it occurred to him that she had gone somewhat suddenly as though anxious to escape from the ranch. They were, however, to return that evening. "I talked a good deal, Charley, when I was sick?" said Alton. Seaforth smiled dryly. "There is no use in denying it, because you did," he said. Alton's face grew clouded. "I'd have bitten my tongue right through if I'd known. There were one or two things I'd been through that would come back to me, things one would sooner forget." Seaforth appeared thoughtful, but evidently decided that frankness was best. "There certainly were occasions when your recollections were somewhat realistic." Alton groaned, and his face was a study of consternation. "Lord, what brutes we are," he said. "There was the trouble over the Bluebird claim down in Washington. Did I talk about that?" Seaforth crossed over and sat down on the arm of his comrade's chair. His expression was somewhat whimsical, but there was a suggestion of tenderness in his eyes, for he saw the direction in which Alton's thoughts were tending, and that he should speak of such matters to him betokened the closeness of the bond between them. "I don't think you need worry about it, Harry." he said. "No?" said Alton sternly. "Are those the things you would like a dainty English lady who knows nothing of what we have to do now and then to hear?" Seaforth smiled again as he said, "Miss Deringham struck me as an especially sensible young woman. Now you need not get savage, for I am speaking respectfully, but I fancy that Miss Deringham knows almost as much about the ins and outs of life as many bush ranchers of seventy. Young women brought up as she has been in the old country not infrequently do, and as it happened you mentioned nothing about that last affair in the bush; while though one or two incidents were somewhat startling, there are, I fancy, girls in the old country who would be rather inclined to look with approval on--the type of man she might have reason for supposing you to be. In any case, there was no word of any other woman." Alton drew in his breath. "No," he said simply. "Thank God, there never was another." Seaforth's expression perplexed his comrade, and his voice was a trifle strained. "Yes," he said. "That is a good deal to be thankful for, Harry." Alton looked at him thoughtfully in silence for a space. Then he said, "I never asked you any questions about the old country, Charley, and I don't mean to now, but I have fancied now and then that you brought out some trouble along with you." Seaforth glanced down at his comrade, smiling curiously. "I may tell you some time--but not now. You do well to be thankful, Harry, and do you believe that any woman would think the worse of you because you cut down the man who meant to take your life, you big, great-natured fool?" Alton sighed. "Well," he said very slowly, "perhaps it is better over, because that and other things would have to be told; but though I had only an axe against his pistol I can't get that man's face out of my memory." Seaforth's face was somewhat awry just then. "You can tell your story without a blush--if you think it necessary, but I have not the courage to tell mine--and the silence may cost me very dear," he said. Alton seemed a trifle bewildered. "When you can I'll listen, but there's nothing you could tell me would make any difference between you and me." Seaforth laughed mirthlessly. "I'm glad of that, but it wasn't you I was thinking of just then," he said. "Still it seems to me that we are both a little off our balance this morning, and may be sorry for it afterwards." Alton rose up and moved somewhat stiffly towards the window, where he leaned against the log casing, looking out greedily upon the sunlit valley. Then he limped back to the table and rested both hands upon it. "I figure it's because I haven't used it, but this leg doesn't feel the same as it used to," he said. "Did it strike you that I walked kind of stiffly?" Seaforth knew that the moment he feared had come, but he felt his courage fail him and turned his head aside. "I was not watching you," he said. Alton, who appeared a trifle perturbed, sat down, and glanced at the partly finished meal upon the table disgustedly. "Tell them to take those things away, and bring me something a man can eat. Then I want my long boots and the nicest clothes I have." "They will not be much use to you. You're not going out for another week, anyway." Alton laughed a little. "Well," he said, "we'll see. Bring me a good solid piece of venison, and take those things away." He made an ample meal, dressed himself with wholly unusual fastidiousness, and when Seaforth left him for a few moments strode out of the room. One leg felt very stiff and he clutched the balustrade a moment when he came to the head of a short stairway, then stiffened himself, and, putting all the weight he could on the limb that was least useful, stepped forward resolutely to descend it. His knee bent suddenly under him, he clutched at the rails, and missed them, reeled and lost his balance, and there was a crash as Seaforth sprang out of his room. He was in time to see his comrade rise and lean against the logs at the foot of the stairway very white and grim in face, and shivered a little as he went down. "What's the meaning of this, Charley ?" said Alton with an ominous quietness. "I just put my weight on my left foot--and down I came." Again Seaforth shrank from his task. "You were warned not to try to walk much for a week or two." "Pshaw!" said Alton with sudden fierceness. "There's more than that." Seaforth laid his hand compassionately upon his comrade's shoulder. "It had to come sooner or later--and I was afraid to tell you before. You will never walk quite as well as you used to, Harry." Alton clutched the balustrade, and a greyness crept into his face. "I," he said very slowly, "a cripple--all my life!" Seaforth said nothing, and there was a silence for almost a minute until Alton slowly straightened himself. "Well," he said quietly, "there is no use kicking--but this was to have been the best day of my life." Seaforth understood him and saw his opportunity. "I don't think that will make any difference, Harry." Alton seemed to choke down a groan. "I had so little before," he said. Again Seaforth laid his hand upon his shoulder, "Shake yourself together, Harry. After all, I don't think it is the things that one can offer which count," he said. "Let me help you back." Alton resolutely shook off his grasp, and moved very slowly and stiffly towards the living-room. "No," he said. "I'm not going back there any more. Get me a big black cigar, Charley--and then go right away." Seaforth did as he was bidden, for there were many things which demanded his attention, but he glanced at his comrade as he went out, and the sight of the gaunt figure sitting very grim and straight in a chair by the window would return long afterwards to his memory. "He takes it badly--and a little while ago I should have thought he was right," he said. It was several hours later when Seaforth returned to the house, and found Mrs. Margery in a state of consternation. "Where's Harry?" he said. "'Way down to the settlement," said the woman. "Okanagan was fool enough to hoist him on a horse, and though I talked half-an-hour solid I couldn't stop him." Seaforth smiled dryly. "I scarcely think you could. Harry is himself again. What has taken him to the settlement, anyway?" The woman glanced at him contemptuously. "All men are fools," said she. "He went to meet that girl from the old country, and find out his mistake." Seaforth said nothing, but went out in haste and saddled a horse, for although it had been apparent to him that there was no affection wasted between Alice Deringham and Mrs. Margery, her words had left him with a vague uneasiness. In the meantime Alton dropped very stiffly from the saddle in front of Horton's hotel, and, limping up the stairway, found the man who kept it upon the verandah. "Glad to see you coming round, Harry; but you're looking very white, and walking kind of stiff," he said. "Yes," said Alton dryly. "I shall probably walk just that way all my life." Horton made no attempt to condole with him. He knew Alton tolerably well, and felt that any sympathy he could offer would be inadequate. "Well," he said, "here's a letter Thomson brought you in from the railroad." Alton tore open the envelope, and read the message with a faint relief, for it was from Deringham, and stated that an affair of business would prevent him returning to Somasco for some little time. Then he remembered that to delay a question which must be asked would but prolong the suspense. "I'm going through to the railroad, but the ride has shaken me, and I'll lie down and sleep a while," he said. "Well," said Horton, "you know best, but you look a long way more fit to be sitting beside the stove up there at the ranch. That was a tolerably bad accident you had?" Alton glanced at him sharply, but his voice was indifferent as he answered. "Oh, yes, I came to grief bringing in a deer, and lay out in the frost a good while before they found me. Have you had many strangers round here?" Horton nodded. "The bush is just full of them--looking for timber rights and prospecting round the Crown lands--Hallam's friends, I think. There was one of them seemed kind of anxious about you lately." Alton's eyes grew a trifle keener, but he was shaken and weary, and made a little gesture which seemed to indicate that he would ask questions later. "You'll give the horse a light feed, and let me know when supper's on," he said. It was dark when he mounted with Horton's assistance, and the horse plunged once or twice. Then it started at a gallop, and Alton had some difficulty in pulling it up, for the snow was beaten down and the trail was good. He had not been gone half-an-hour when Seaforth, whose horse was smoking, swung himself down before the hotel. "Where's Harry?" he said. "On the trail," said Horton. "I wanted to keep him, but he lit out a little while ago, and borrowed a rifle. What he wanted it for I don't know, but he wouldn't be lonely, anyway. One of the boys who was staying here pulled out for the railroad just before him." "Did you know the man?" asked Seaforth with unusual sharpness. "No," said Horton. "He was timber-righting, but I'd a kind of fancy I'd once seen somebody very like him working round Somasco." Seaforth said nothing further, but swung himself into the saddle and rode off at a gallop. He had been unsettled all day, and now it was with vague apprehensions he sent his heels home and shook the bridle. In the meantime Alton was riding almost as fast, though the saddle galled him and he was stiff and aching. His senses also grew a trifle lethargic under the frost, but he knew there would be little rest for him until he reached Vancouver, and strove to shake off his weakness. The horse was, however, unusually restive, and would at times break into a gallop in spite of him where the trail was level, but Alton, who fancied there was something troubling the beast, was more than a little dubious of his ability to mount again if he got out of the saddle. Until that day he had not ventured outside the ranch. The shadowy pines flitted by him, here and there the moon shone down, and the drumming of hoofs rang muffled by the snow through a great silence which was curiously emphasized when twice a wolf howled. Still, plunging and snorting now and then, the beast held pluckily on while the miles melted behind them, and midnight was past when Alton, turning, half-asleep, in his saddle, fancied he heard somebody riding behind him. For a moment his fingers tightened on the bridle, but his hearing was dulled by weakness and the numbing cold, and pressing his heels home he rode on into the darkness. It would probably have occurred to him at any other time that the beast responded with suspicious readiness, but his perceptions were not of the clearest just then, which was unfortunate, because the trail led downwards steeply through black darkness along the edge of a ravine. The rain had also washed parts of it away, and no ray of moonlight pierced the vaulted roof of cedar-sprays. The drumming of hoofs rolled along it, there was a hoarse growling far down in the darkness below, and Alton strove to rouse himself, knowing that a stumble might result in a plunge down the declivity. He could dimly see the great trunks stream past him on the one hand, but there was only a gulf of shadow on the other. Suddenly a flash of light sprang up almost under the horse's feet. The beast flung its head up, and next moment they were flying at a gallop down the winding and almost precipitous trail. Alton's strength had not returned to him, and he set his lips, realizing the uselessness of it as he shifted his numbed hands on the bridle. Twice the horse stumbled, but picked up its stride again, and the man had almost commenced to hope they might reach the foot of the declivity when it stumbled once more, struck a young fir, and reeled downwards from the trail. It all happened in a moment, but there was just time enough for Alton to clear his feet from his stirrups, and though he was never quite sure what next he did he found himself sitting in the snow, shaken and dazed by his fall, while the horse rolled downwards through the shadows beneath him. He heard the brushwood crackle, and then a curiously sickening thud as though something soft had fallen from a height upon a rock. After that there was an oppressive silence save for a faint drumming that grew louder down the trail. Alton unslung the rifle which still hung behind him, and crawled behind a big hemlock that grew out of the slope. He could hear nothing but the increasing thud of hoofs for a while, and then there was a sound that suggested stealthy footsteps in the darkness up the trail. Alton crouched very still and waited, but the footsteps came no nearer, and then pitching up the rifle fired in their direction at a venture. The sound ceased suddenly, and while the great trunks flung back the concussion it was evident that the rider was coming on at a furious gallop, and Alton rising sent out a hoarse cry, "Pull him before you come to the edge of the dip!" The beat of hoofs sank into silence, and a shout came down. "Hallo. Is that you, Harry?" "Yes," said Alton. "Lead your beast down." It was five minutes later when Seaforth found him leaning against a tree with the rifle in his hand. "What was the shooting for, and where's your horse?" said he. Alton appeared to laugh softly and venomously, and his voice jarred upon the listener. "Down there, and stone dead. The last drop's most of a hundred feet," he said. "But how did he get there?" and Seaforth felt a little chill strike through him. Alton grasped his arm, and his voice was harsher still. "This is the second time." "Good Lord!" said Seaforth, who understood him, huskily. "Well," said Alton, "I think the thing's quite plain. If we could get down to the poor beast I figure we'd find something that had no business there under the girth or saddle. The rest is simpler--a little coal oil or giant powder, and--just at the turning yonder--a lariat across the trail. That man knows his business, Charley." "Good Lord!" said Seaforth once more. "It's devilish, Harry. You're not going to tell anybody, and repeat the mistake you made?" "Yes," said Alton grimly. "That's just what I figure on doing." "But," and Seaforth's horror was evident, "he may try again. There are more than the Somasco ranchers who would be sorry if--he was successful--Harry." Alton laughed, but the grating cachination sent a shiver through his companion. "Yes," he said, "I think he will, and that's why I'm waiting. He may give himself away the third time, and then it will be either him or me." Seaforth stood silent for almost a minute. "If you would only listen to me--but of course you will not. Can't you see that you are in the way of somebody who stands behind that man?" "Yes," and Alton's smile was now quietly grim. "It don't take much genius to figure out that. Before I'm through I'll know just who he is, and all about him." Once more Seaforth was silent a space. Then he spoke very slowly. "Are you sure you're wise?" Alton gripped his comrade's arm so that he winced with pain. "It's the second time you've asked me that," he said. "There will not be room for you and me in this province if you ask it me again." Seaforth shook his grasp off. "You are my partner, Harry, and the only friend I have. God send you safe through with it. Now, is there any use in looking for the fellow with the lariat?" "No," said Alton in his usual voice. "There isn't. He would have been waiting up there ready to whip the thing away, and by this time he has doubled back down the trail. If you met a man riding along quietly what could you do to him?" "It's devilish," said Seaforth, as a fit of impotent anger shook him. "Oh, yes," said Alton languidly. "Still, there isn't much use in slinging names, and I'm kind of tired. Help me up into your saddle, and lead the beast by the bridle. We'll head for Gordon's." CHAPTER XXV ALTON IS SILENT There is a ridge of rising ground on the outskirts of Vancouver City where a few years ago a pretty wooden house stood beneath the pines. They rose sombrely behind it, but the axe had let in the sunlight between the rise and the water, and one could look out from the trim garden across the blue inlet towards the ranges' snow. To-day one would in all probability look for that dwelling in vain, and find only stores or great stone buildings, for as the silent men with the axes push the lonely clearings farther back into the forest the Western cities grow, and those who dwell in them increase in riches, which is not usually the case with the axeman who goes on farther into the bush again. Still, one moonlight evening, when Alton waited upon its verandah, cigar in hand, the house stood upon the hillside, picturesque with its painted scroll-work, green shutters, colonnades of cedar pillars, and broad verandahs. Its owner was an Englishman who had prospered in the Dominion, and combined the kindliness he still retained for his countrymen with the lavish hospitality of the West. He knew Alton by reputation, and having business with him had made him free of his house when he inquired for Deringham, who was his guest, during the former's absence in the State of Washington. That was how Alton came to be waiting for dinner in company with a young naval officer. Deringham and his daughter had returned during the day, but they had driven somewhere with their hostess and not come back as yet. Alton had seen Commander Thorne for the first time that day, but some friendships are made rapidly and without an effort, and he was already sensible of a regard for his companion. He was a quiet and unobtrusive Englishman, with the steadiness of gaze and decisiveness of speech which characterized those who command at sea, and had discovered that he had, notwithstanding the difference in their vocations, much in common with rancher Alton. "Yes," he said. "It is very good of you, and if we stay at Esquimault I will come up and spend a day or two among the deer. Atkinson told us what a good time he had with you, but we were a trifle astonished to see the fine wapiti head he brought back with him." There was a faint twinkle in the speaker's eyes which Alton understood, for Atkinson, who was not an adept at trailing deer, had shot more than a wapiti. Still, he was not the man to allude to the misadventures of his guest. "He killed it neatly--a good hundred yards, and in the fern," he said. "Well," said Thorne with a little laugh, "you were with him, and know best. You had, however, a tolerably mixed bag on that occasion?" Alton checked a smile. "A wapiti, a wood deer--and sundries." Thorne laughed again. "I wonder if you have forgotten the hog? You see, Atkinson told us one night at mess, and I was inclined to fancy he came near including you in the bag." Alton's face was suspiciously grave, but his answer strengthened the incipient friendship between the men. "It is a little difficult for a stranger to distinguish things in the bush." Thorne nodded. "You had Deringham and Miss Deringham staying with you?" "Yes," said Alton. "They are connections of mine, and Miss Deringham did a good deal for me when I was sick a little while ago. You knew them in the old country?" There was, though he strove to suppress it, something in his voice which caused the naval officer to glance at him sharply. "Oh, yes," he said. "I knew them--rather well." The men's eyes met, and both were conscious that the words might have been amplified, while it was with a slight abruptness they returned to the previous topic and discussed it until there was a rattle of wheels in the drive. Then Forel, their host, came out upon the verandah, and there was a hum of voices as several people descended from the vehicle beneath. Mrs. Forel came up the stairway first with Alice Deringham, and when a blaze of light shone into the verandah from the open door Alton saw the girl draw back for a second as her eyes rested upon his companion. She, however, smiled next moment, and Alton did not miss the slight flush of pleasure in the face of Commander Thorne. He was also to meet with another astonishment, for Deringham and Seaforth came up the stairway next together, and Thorne dropped his cigar when he and the latter stood face to face. "Charley! Is it you?" he said. Seaforth stood quite still a moment looking at him, and then, being possibly sensible that other eyes were upon him, shook hands. "Yes," he said. "I heard the gunboat was at Esquimault, but did not expect to see you." Then there was a somewhat awkward silence, and Alton fancied that both men were relieved when Mrs. Forel's voice broke in, "Jack, you will look after the men, but don't keep them talking too long. We picked up Mr. Seaforth, and there are one or two more of our friends coming." Alton followed his host, wondering at what he had seen. It was evident that Miss Deringham had not noticed him, and he fancied she had been for a moment almost embarrassed by the encounter with Thorne. That and what the man had told him had its meaning. He had also noticed that when the latter greeted his comrade there had been a constraint upon both of them, but decided that what it betokened did not concern him. Returning he found Mrs. Forel waiting for him, and having been born in a Western city her conversation was not marked by English reticence or the restraint which is at least as common in the Canadian bush. "Dinner is ready, and you will have to talk to me and the railroad man during it," she said. "I had thought of making you over to Miss Deringham until Commander Thorne turned up. Jack and he are great friends, but he didn't seem able to get over here, until he heard Miss Deringham was staying with us." Alton laughed a little. "Now what am I to answer to that? Miss Deringham was very good to me." The lady fancied that his merriment was a trifle forced. "You will just sit down, and eat your dinner like a sensible man," she said. "You are a Canadian and not expected to say nice things like those others from the old country. They don't always do it very well, and, though Jack is fond of them, they make me tired now and then." Alton took his place beside her, and speedily found himself at home. Save for the naval officer and two English financiers the men present had a stake in the future of that country, and as usual neither they nor their womenkind considered it out of place to talk of their affairs. They were also men of mark, though several of them who now held large issues in very capable hands had commenced life as wielders of the axe. Most of them had heard of Alton of the Somasco Consolidated, and those who had not listened with attention when he spoke, for it was evident that they and the rancher had the same cause at heart. Alice Deringham noticed this, and, though he was not conscious of it, little Alton did that night escaped her attention. She saw that while he rarely asserted himself, these men, whom she knew were regarded with respect as leaders of great industries, accepted him as an equal when they had heard him speak, but that caused her less surprise than the fashion in which he adapted himself to his surroundings. She had already discovered that he was a man with abilities and ambitions, but she had only seen him amidst the grim simplicity of the Somasco ranch, and now there was no trifling lapse or momentary embarrassments to show that he found the changed conditions incongruous. His dress was also different, but he wore his city garments as though he had worn nothing else, and there was, she fancied, an indefinite stamp of something which almost amounted to distinction upon him that set him apart from the rest. Even Seaforth wondered a little at his comrade, but both he and Alice Deringham overlooked the fact that Alton had not spent his whole life at Somasco ranch. He, on his part, as the girl was quite aware, glanced often at her. She did not, however, meet his gaze, for once Alton was on the way to recovery, she had left the ranch somewhat hastily, and there had been as yet no defining of the relations between them, while neither she nor her father were cognizant of the actual cause of his wound. In the meanwhile she made the most of Thorne, and by degrees Alton lost his grip of the conversation. He had never seen Alice Deringham attired as she was then, and, for his hostess had made the bravest display possible, the profusion of flowers, glass, and glittering silver which it seemed appropriate that she should be placed amidst, in a curious fashion troubled the man. This, he knew, was a part of the environment she had been used to, and he sighed as he thought of the sordid simplicity at Somasco. There was also Commander Thorne beside her, and the naval officer was one upon whom the stamp of birth and polish was very visible. This man, he surmised, would understand the thoughts and fancies which were incomprehensible to him, and was acquainted with all the petty trifles which are of vast importance to a woman in the aggregate. Alton's heart grew heavy as he watched them, noticing the passing smile of comprehension that came so easily and expressed so much, and heard through the hum of voices the soft English accentuation which by contrast with his own speech seemed musical. He knew his value in the busy world, but he also knew his failings, and the knowledge was bitter to him then. There were so many little things he did not know, and he saw himself, as he thought the girl must see him--uncouth, which it was impossible for him to be, crude of thought, over-vehement or taciturn in speech, a barbarian. The misgivings had troubled him before, but they were very forceful now, and at last he was glad when Mrs. Forel smiled at him. "You have been watching Miss Deringham, and neglecting me," she said. For a moment Alton looked almost confused, and the lady laughed as she continued. "Very pretty and stylish, isn't she? Now we have pretty girls right here in Vancouver, but I fancy they can still give us points in one respect in the old country. You think that is foolish of me? Well, I wouldn't worry to tell me so; I think Commander Thorne could do it more neatly." "He is apparently too busy," said Alton. "Still, I fancy if you asked him he would support me." Mrs. Forel smiled mischievously, "Well, though one could scarcely blame you, jealousy wouldn't do you any good. Those two were great friends in the old country." "That," said Alton, "is a little indefinite." "Of course, but I don't know anything more," said his companion. "Lieutenant Atkinson, who knew them both, told me. Thorne wasn't rich, you see, but he comes of good people, and not long ago somebody left him all their money. Quite romantic, isn't it? Still, don't you think Miss Deringham would be thrown away upon anybody less than a baronet." Alton did not answer, but his face grew somewhat grim as once more he glanced across at Thorne. This, he thought, was a good man, and he had all that Alton felt himself so horribly deficient in. In the meanwhile Mrs. Forel was looking at Seaforth, who was talking to the wife of an English financier. "I like your partner, and he is from the old country, too," she said. "Of course you know what he was over there?" It was put artlessly, but Alton's eyes twinkled. "I'm afraid I don't, though I've no doubt Charley would have told me if I'd asked him," he said. "He is a tolerably useful man in this country, anyway, and that kind of contented me." The lady shook her head at him reproachfully. "And I thought you were slow in the bush," said she. "Still, Thorne will know." Alton fancied his hostess intended to be kind to him, but he was glad when the dinner was over and he gravitated with the other men towards Forel's smoking-room. There, as it happened, the talk turned upon shooting and fishing, and when one or two of the guests had narrated their adventures in the ranges, one who was bent and grizzled told in turn several grim stories of the early days when the treasure-seekers went up into the snows of Caribou. There was a brief silence when he had finished, until one of the Englishmen said: "I presume things of that kind seldom happen now?" "I don't know," said Seaforth, who spoke in the Western idiom. "We have still a few of the good old-fashioned villains right here in this country, and that reminds me of a thing which happened to a man I know. He was a quiet man, and quite harmless so long as nobody worried him, but generally held on with a tight grip to his own, and he once got his hands into something another man wanted. That was how the fuss began." There was a little pause, during which Alton glanced bewilderedly at his comrade, and Deringham glanced round as he poured himself out a whisky and seltzer. "It's not an uncommon beginning," said Forel. "What was the end?" "There isn't any," said Seaforth, "but I can tell you the middle. One day the quiet man, who was living by himself way up in the bush, went out hunting, and as he had eaten very little for a week he was tolerably hungry. Well, when he had been out all day be got a deer, and was packing it home at night when he struck a belt of thick timber. The man was played out from want of food, the deer was heavy, but he dragged himself along thinking of his supper, until something twinkled beneath a fir. He jumped when he saw it, but he wasn't quick enough, and went down with a bullet in him. His rifle fell away from him where he couldn't get it without the other man seeing him, and he was bleeding fast, but still sensible enough to know that nobody would start out on a contract of that kind without his magazine full. It was a tolerably tight place for him--the man was worn out, and almost famishing, and he lay there in the snow, getting fainter every minute, with one leg no use to him." Seaforth looked round as though to see what impression he had made, and though all the faces were turned towards him it was one among them his eyes rested on. Deringham was leaning forward in his chair with fingers closed more tightly about the glass he held than there seemed any necessity for. His eyes were slightly dilated, and Seaforth fancied he read in them a growing horror. "He crawled away into the bush?" said somebody. "No, sir," said Seaforth, "he just wriggled into the undergrowth and waited for the other man." "Waited for him?" said Forel. "Yes," said Seaforth. "That is what he did, and when the other man came along peering into the bushes, just reached out and grabbed him by the leg. Then they both rolled over, and I think that must have been a tolerably grim struggle. There they were, alone, far up in the bush, and probably not a living soul within forty miles of them." Seaforth stopped again and reached out for his glass, while he noticed that Deringham emptied his at a gulp and refilled it with fingers that seemed to shake a trifle. "And your friend got away?" said somebody. "No, sir," said Seaforth. "It was the other man. The one I knew had his hand on the other's throat and his knife feeling for a soft place when his adversary broke away from him. He did it just a moment too soon, for while he was getting out through the bush the other one dropped his knife and rolled over in the snow. He lay there a day or two until somebody found him." Seaforth rose and moved towards the cigar-box on the table. "And that's all," he said. "Dramatic, but it's a little incomplete, isn't it?" said the Englishman. Seaforth smiled somewhat dryly, and once more glanced casually towards Deringham. "It may be finished by and by, and I fancy the wind-up will be more dramatic still," he said. "You see the man who would wait for his enemy with only a knife in his hand while his life drained away from him, is scarcely likely to forget an injury." There was silence for several moments which was broken by a rattle, and a stream of whisky and seltzer dripped from the table. "Hallo!" said Forel. "Has anything upset you, Deringham?" Deringham stood up with a little harsh laugh, dabbing It the breast of his shirt with his handkerchief. "I think the question should apply to my glass, but the room is a trifle hot, and my heart has been troubling me lately," he said. Forel flung one of the windows open. "I fancy my wife is waiting for us, gentlemen, and I will be with you in a few minutes," he said. Alton and Seaforth were almost the last to file out of the smoking-room, and when they reached the corridor the former turned upon his comrade with a glint in his half-closed eyes. "You show a curious taste for a man raised as you have been in the old country," he said. "Now what in the name of thunder made you tell that story?" Seaforth smiled somewhat inanely. "I don't know; I just felt I had to. All of us are subject to little weaknesses occasionally." Alton stopped and looked at him steadily. "Then there will be trouble if you give way to them again. And you put in a good deal more than I ever told anybody. Now you haven't brains enough to figure out all that." Seaforth laughed good-humouredly. "It is possibly fortunate that Tom has," he said. "Tom--be condemned," said Alton viciously, and Seaforth, seeing that he was about to revert to the previous question, apparently answered a summons from his host and slipped back into the smoking-room. Alton waited a moment, and then moved somewhat stiffly towards a low stairway which led to a broad landing that was draped and furnished as an annex to an upper room. One or two of the company were seated there, and he hoped they would not notice him, for while he could walk tolerably well upon the level a stairway presented a difficulty. He had all his life been a vigorous man, and because of it was painfully sensitive about his affliction. Just then Mrs. Forel came out upon the landing, and when the girl she spoke to turned. Alton saw that Alice Deringham was looking down on him. For a moment there was a brightness in his eyes, but it faded suddenly, and while his knee bent under him he set his lips as with pain. Then he stumbled, and clung to the balustrade. For a moment he dare not look up, and when he did so there was a flush on his forehead which slowly died away as he saw the face of the girl. She had also laid her hand as if for support upon the balustrade, for it was unfortunate she had not been told that one effect of Alton's injury would be permanent. At the commencement of their friendship she had been painfully aware of what she considered his shortcomings, but these had gradually become less evident, and something in the man's forceful personality had carried her away. Possibly, though she may not have realized it, his splendid animal vigour had its part in this--and now dismay and a great pity struggled within her. It was especially unfortunate that when Alton looked up the consternation had risen uppermost, for the man's perceptions were not of the clearest then, and he saw nothing of the compassion, but only the shrinking in her eyes. His face grew a trifle grey as he straightened himself with a visible effort and limped forward, for he was one who could make a quick decision, while to complete his bitterness Thorne came up behind him and slipped an arm beneath his shoulder. "You seem a little shaky, I'll help you up," he said. "An axe-cut? The effect will probably soon wear off." Alton understood that Thorne was talking to cover any embarrassment he may have felt, but was not especially grateful just then. "No," he said; "a rifle-shot." He fancied that Thorne was a trifle astonished, and remembered Seaforth's story, but they had gained the head of the stairway now, and he looked at Alice Deringham as he added, "And the effect will not wear off." Thorne passed through with the others into the lighted room, and Alton stood silent before the girl. She was a trifle pale, and though the pity for him was there, it is possible that she had understood him, and she was very proud. Thus the silence that was perilous lasted too long, and her voice was a trifle strained in place of gentle as she said, "I am so sorry." Alton, who dared not look at her, now bent his head. "You are very kind--still, it can't be helped," he said. "I think Mrs. Forel is coming back for you. Somebody is going to sing." Their hostess approached the doorway, and Alice Deringham found words fail her as she watched the man, though she knew that the silence was horribly eloquent. It was Alton who broke it. "You had better go in. I"--and he smiled bitterly--"will wait until the music commences and they cannot notice me." The girl could stay no longer, though at last words which would have made a difference to both of them rose to her lips, but Alton waited until he could slip into the room unnoticed, and heard very little of the music. During it Mrs. Forel managed to secure a few words with Thorne. "You seem to have made friends with rancher Alton," she said. Thorne smiled a little. "Yes," he said. "Of course I know little about him, but I think that is a man one could trust." The lady nodded, for he had given her an opportunity. "You know more about his partner?" Thorne's manner appeared to change a trifle, which Mrs. Forel of course noticed. "Yes," he said. The lady thoughtfully smoothed out a fold of her dress. "Well," she said with Western frankness, "I want to know a little about him, too." Thorne smiled as he saw there was no evading the issue. "So I surmised from what your husband asked me. Seaforth was considered a young man of promise when I knew him in England, and his family is unexceptional. His father, however, lost a good deal of money, which presumably accounts for Charley having turned Canadian rancher." Mrs. Forel turned so that she could see her companion. "That is not what I mean, and I think I had better talk quite straight to you. Now I like Mr. Seaforth and Mr. Alton, too, and as Jack is mixed up in some business of theirs and they are going to stay down in Vancouver we shall probably see a good deal of them. Jack, however, is sometimes a little hasty in making friends, and I want to know the other reason that brought Mr. Seaforth out from the old country." "You fancy there is one?" Thorne said quietly. "Yes. Lieutenant Atkinson made a little blunder one night when he spoke of him." "Atkinson never had very much sense," Thorne said dryly. "I, however, fancied a man took his standing among you according to what he did in this country." "Yes," said Mrs. Forel. "The trouble is that the man who has crossed the line once may do so again. Well, you see who these people are, and if he meets them here it means that I vouch for him." Thorne sighed. "If Atkinson has blundered, I am afraid that I must speak. Now I don't think you need be afraid of Seaforth crossing that line again. He was not worse than foolish and somebody victimized him, but he has had his punishment and borne it very well--while if you knew the whole story you would scarcely blame him." "And that is all you can tell me?" "Yes," said Thorne, very quietly. "Still, I can add that if Charley ever comes back to the old country I--and my mother and sisters--would be glad to welcome him." "That I think should be sufficient," said Mrs. Forel, who was acquainted with Commander Thorne's status in the old country. It was a little later when Alton glanced towards Thorne, who was talking to Alice Deringham. "I could get on with that man," he said. "You knew him, Charley?" "Oh, yes," said Seaforth with a curious expression. "He is a very good fellow, and has distinguished himself several times. Somebody left him a good deal of money lately." Alton seemed to sigh. "Well," he said slowly, "he is to be envied. They wouldn't have much use for him in your navy if he was a cripple." The party was breaking up before Alton had speech with Alice Deringham again, and as it happened the girl had just left Commander Thorne. Alton spoke with an effort as one going through a task. "I never thanked you yet for what you did for me," he said. The girl smiled, though her pulses were throbbing painfully. "It was very little." "No," said Alton gravely. "I think I should not have been here now if you had not taken care of me, and I'm very grateful. Still"--and he glanced down with a wry smile at his knee, which was bent a trifle--"it was unfortunate you and the doctor did not get me earlier. There are disadvantages in being--all one's life--a cripple." As fate would have it they were interrupted before Miss Deringham could answer, and Alton limped down the stairway very grim in face, while Thorne appeared sympathetic when he overtook him. "That wound of yours is troubling you?" he said. "Yes," said Alton dryly; "I'm afraid it will. Now I was a trifle confused when you helped me. Did I tell you how I got it?" Thorne remembering Seaforth's story answered indifferently, "I concluded it was an axe-cut." He passed on, but Alton had quick perceptions, and made a little gesture of contentment. "He is almost good enough, anyway," he said wearily. When all the guests had gone Deringham came upon his daughter alone. "I noticed Mr. Alton was not effusive," he said. "No," said the girl languidly, though there was a curious expression in her eyes. "I do not remember that he told much beyond the fact that he would be a cripple--all his life. He mentioned it twice." CHAPTER XXVI WITHOUT COUNTING THE COST There had been a revival of speculation in industrial enterprise, and it was unusually late at night when Miss Townshead rose wearily from the table she had been busy at. Her eyes ached, her fingers and arms were cramped, but that did not distress her greatly, for Townshead needed many comforts, and she was earning what would have been considered in England a liberal salary. It was very quiet in the room at the top of the towering building, where, however, another young woman, who as it happened was jealous of her companion's progress, still sat writing, and a light blinked in the adjoining one across the passage in which one of the heads of the firm would probably remain most of the night. Trade is spasmodic in the West, and those who live by it work with feverish activity when the tide is with them. "You're through?" said Miss Holder. "Well, if you can wait ten minutes I'll come along with you." Nellie Townshead was not especially fond of her companion, but at that hour the streets were lonely, and she sat down again when she had put on her hat and jacket. While she waited a little bell began to ring, and Miss Holder rose with an impatient exclamation. "Get your pencil, Nellie," she said, as she took the telephonic receiver down from the hook. Miss Townshead took a sheet of paper from a case, and waited until her companion spoke again. "Oh, yes, I'm here. A little late to worry tired folks, isn't it? No. Mr. Hallam's away just now. Wire from Somasco just come in--and we're to let him have it as soon as we can. Oh, yes, I understand you. 'Platinum, galena, cyanide, Alton, oxide. In a vise.' You've got that, Nellie? Do I know when Hallam will get it? No, I don't. Good-night." Now a man would probably have at once enclosed the message in an envelope, but a Western business lady not infrequently takes a kindly interest in the private concerns of her employer, especially if they are not quite clear to her. Accordingly Miss Holder sat down and read over the message, after which she shook her head. "I wonder what it's all about, and I don't like that Hallam," she said. "He's an insect. A crawling one with slimy feet, and to pin a big diamond in front of one as he does is horrible taste. Give me the book, Nellie. It reads like our cypher. Oh, yes. 'Instructions to hand. No legal improvements done and claim unrecorded. Will relocate.' Now we've nothing that silver stands for, and it reads quite straight. 'Will relocate the silver claim as soon as prospecting is possible. Alton cannot take action.' He means he's got him in a vise." Miss Holder crossed the landing and tapped at the door of the adjoining room, while Nellie Townshead walked to the window and looked down on the city. It stretched away before her, silent for once under its blinking lights, sidewalk and pavement lying empty far down beneath the mazy wires and towering buildings, but she saw little of it as she glanced towards the block where the Somasco Consolidated had their offices. The message had troubled her, for she recalled many kindnesses shown to her and her father by the owners of Somasco ranch. She also owed one of them a reparation, for she had seen the man who miscarried the message in Vancouver, and knew that the delay, when the ranch was sold, was not Alton's fault. Nor had she forgiven Hallam for the greed and cunning which had effected her father's ruin, and now it seemed that he held Alton of Somasco and his partner in his grip. That there was treachery at work she felt sure, and grew hot with indignation as she determined that if she could prevent it neither Alton--nor his partner--should suffer. It might have occurred to a man that what she contemplated implied a breach of confidence, but Nellie Townshead was a high-spirited girl, and only realized that Hallam was about to wrong her friends just then. There would also be no difficulty in warning him, for Alton had taken over the office of the Somasco Consolidated on his arrival at Vancouver, and while she considered the question a voice came out of the adjoining room. "Hallam's at Westminster, and it will have to wait until he comes round in the morning. Don't stay any longer, and take Miss Townshead with you. It's later than I fancied." Five minutes afterwards the two girls went out into the silent streets, and Miss Townshead, who left her companion at the corner of one of them, turned round again and walked back somewhat slowly part of the way she had come. She did not notice that Miss Holder had also turned and was watching her, for she realized for the first time that what she was about to do admitted of misconception. Still, remembering how Hallam had tricked her father, she went on, and only stopped for a moment when she entered the great building in the upper part of which was the office of the Somasco Consolidated. It was very silent. The rooms which had hummed with voices all day long were shut, and one blinking light emphasized the darkness of the big empty corridor. Scarcely a sound reached her from the city, but she had seen that two windows high up were lighted, and went up the stairway resolutely. The warning could be delivered in less than a minute, and she fancied that Alton would not be alone, while she knew that the conventionalities as understood in England are almost unknown in the West. As it happened Alton, who, though Miss Townshead did not know this, lived in the room adjoining his office, was busy about the stove just then. In those days, when Vancouver had more inhabitants than it could well find room for and its hotels overflowed, single men taking their meals in the public restaurants lived as best they could, over their stores and offices, or in rude cabins and shanties flung up anywhere on the outskirts of the city, while it is not improbable that a good many of them live in much the same fashion now. Alton had, however, missed the six o'clock supper, for reasons which the sheaf of papers on his desk made plain, and was then engaged in cooking something in a frying-pan. A portable cedar partition partly shrouded the little table set out with a few plates, and the stove, while his old worked-deerhide slippers and loose jacket indicated that the man was just then not so much in his place of business as at home. He had been busy in the city and at his desk for ten hours that day, for the Somasco products were becoming known, and men had been toiling in the valley, driving roads, and building a new sawmill in the frost and snow. Part of Alton's business in the city was to raise the money that was needed to maintain them, and already he could foresee that if the time of prosperity was delayed it might go hardly with the Somasco Company. He had laid down the frying-pan and was shaking a pot of strong green tea when there was a tapping at the door, which opened while he wondered whether there would be time for him to alter his attire. Then he stood up with the teapot in his hand, and made a little whimsical gesture of dismay as Miss Townshead stood before him. She coloured a trifle, but took courage at Alton's soft laugh, for it was clear that he was as yet only concerned about the plight in which she had found him. Alton, she remembered, had not been brought up conventionally in England, and she knew his wholesome simplicity. "I'm very glad to see you, but if I'd known who was there I'd have fixed the place up before you got in," he said. "Sit right down beside the stove." Nellie Townshead stood still a moment, but she was tired and the night was cold, so she took the chair he drew forward, and then shook her head as he laid a cup before her. "It's Horton's tea, and bad at that, but it will help us to fancy ourselves back in the bush," he said. "Your father is keeping all right?" The girl made a little gesture of impatience. "Yes," she said. "I am almost afraid I am doing wrong, but I felt I must warn you. Now don't ask me any questions, but take it as a fact that Hallam has sent up somebody to locate your silver as soon as it can be done. He seems to consider he has you at a disadvantage because you have not put in your legal improvements." Alton thrust his chair back and clenched one hand, while the girl noticed with relief that he had almost forgotten her. "Hallam," he said, and stopped a moment, while his voice was harsh as he continued, "going to restake my claim. Well, there is time still in hand and he can't do it yet. Now----" The girl stopped him with a gesture. "You must ask me nothing," she said. "You can understand what I told you?" A slow glow crept into Alton's eyes. "Oh, yes, it's all quite plain," he said. "When you find a mineral claim you have got to record it in fifteen days, or it goes back to the Crown, and I couldn't do that, you see, because I was lying for weeks at Somasco. Well, while the claim is unrecorded anybody can jump it, but I couldn't get back up there through the snow, and didn't figure Hallam's man knew just where to find it. Now you've told me we'll get in ahead of him yet, and the man he sends up there will have his journey for nothing. Do you know that what you have done means just everything to Somasco?" Alton stopped suddenly, and there was consternation in the girl's face as she glanced at him. "I think there's somebody coming," he said slowly. Now there was still just time for Alton to have shut the outer door, but he remembered for the first time that the girl's visit at that hour might be considered unusual, and it appeared probable that she would not approve of the action, while having as yet only dealt with men, his usual quick decision deserted him. He glanced once from his companion to the partition and the door of the inner room, and shook his head. Then he sprang forward towards the outer door, forgetting that he was lame. That, however, did not alter the fact, and as he stumbled a little the tray on the table he struck went down with a crash, scattering its contents about the room, while before he reached the door it swung open and a man stood smiling in the opening. "Hello! I seem to have scared you," he said. "Got anything you don't want folks to know about in here?" The stranger moved forward another step, and then stopped abruptly with a little gasp as his glance took in the overturned tray, scattered crockery, and the rigid figure of the girl standing with a flushed face beside the stove. Then he glanced at Alton, and noticing the old jacket and deerhide slippers, appeared to have some difficulty in checking a smile, for this was a young man who knew nothing of the simple strenuous life of the bush, but a good deal about the under-side of that of the cities. "I'll come back in business hours to-morrow," he said. "Sorry to disturb you, but I hadn't a minute all day, and there was a question I figured we could best talk over quietly." "Then you had better start in with it," said Alton quietly. "This lady, who came here on business, is just going." "Of course," said the stranger. "I think I have had the pleasure of meeting her." He turned with a little smile which broadened into a grin Alton found intolerable, for there was a patter of feet on the stairway, and when he looked round except for himself and Alton the room was empty. "The fact is I'm awfully sorry," he said. "But how was I to know?" The veins were swollen on Alton's forehead, and his eyes half-closed. "Now," he said sternly, "I don't want to hear any more of that. I think I told you the lady you saw here came in a few minutes ago on an affair of business." It was unfortunate that Alton had a difficult temper and his visitor no discretion, for there are men in whom Western directness degenerates into effrontery. "Of course!" said the latter. "My dear fellow, you needn't protest. Considering the connection between her employers and Hallam, who is scarcely a friend of yours, that is especially likely." Alton stood very straight, looking at the speaker in a fashion which would have warned any one who knew him. "I figure you can't help being a fool, but I want to hear you admit that you're sorry for it," he said. He spoke very quietly, but it was unfortunate for both of them that the other man, who was growing slightly nettled, did not know when to stop. "I told you I was sorry--I looked in at an inopportune time--already, and I'll forget it right off," he said. "Now that should content anybody, because there are folks who would think the story too good to be lost." He got no further, because Alton stepped forward and seized him by the collar, which tore away in his grasp. Then there was a brief scuffle, a scattering of papers up and down the room, and Alton stood gasping in the doorway, while his visitor reeled down the first flight of stairs and into the wall at the foot of it. Alton glanced down at him a moment, and seeing he was not seriously hurt, flung the door to with a bang that rolled from corridor to corridor through the great silent building, before he turned back into the disordered room with a little laugh. "I've fixed that fellow, anyway, and now I'd better go through those plans until I simmer down," he said. He picked up the overturned table and his scattered supper, while it was characteristic of him that when an hour later he rolled up a sheet of mill-drawings in a survey plotting of the Somasco valley, he had forgotten all about the incident, which was, however, not the case with the other man. In another twenty minutes he was also fast asleep, and because men commence their work betimes in that country, had disposed of several car-loads of Somasco produce before he breakfasted next morning. During the day he noticed that some of the younger men he met smiled at him curiously, but attached no especial meaning to it. Alton had taught himself to concentrate all his faculties upon his task, and he worked in the city as he had done in the bush, with the singleness of purpose and activity that left no opportunity of considering side issues. He had also, as usual, a good deal to do: buyers of dressed lumber, cattle, and ranching produce to interview; shippers of horses to bargain with: railroad men and politicians to obtain promises of concessions from, and men who had money to lend to interest. The latter was the most difficult task, and now and then his face grew momentarily grave as he remembered the burdens he had already laid upon his ranch and the Somasco Consolidated. "Still, what we're working for is bound to come, and we'll hold on somehow until it does," he said to Forel, who occasionally remonstrated with him. "When you've helped me to put the new loan through I'll bring Charley or the other man down, and go up and relocate the claim. After the late snowfall nobody could get through the ranges now, but Tom and I could make our way when it wouldn't be possible to any of Hallam's men." Possibly because he had been successful hitherto, Alton was slightly over-sanguine, and apt to make too small allowance in his calculations for contingencies in which human foresight and tenacity of purpose may not avail. It happened in the meanwhile, though he was, of course, not aware of this, that Deringham had an interview with Hallam in the smoking-room of the big C.P.R. hotel. They did not enter it together, for Deringham was sitting there when Hallam came in, about the time the Atlantic express was starting, which accounted for the fact that there was nobody else present. Deringham appeared a trifle too much at his ease, though his face was pale, for he had not departed from veracity when he informed Forel that his heart had troubled him after listening to Seaforth's story. He nodded to Hallam, and picked out a fresh cigar from the box upon the table before he spoke. "It is fine weather," he said. "Oh, yes," said Hallam dryly. "Still, I guess you didn't ask me to come here and talk about the climate." "No," and Deringham glanced at his cigar. "I meant to tell you that the little speculation you recently mentioned does not commend itself to me. In fact, I have decided that we can have no more dealings of any description together." "No?" said Hallam, with a little brutal laugh. "Dollars running out?" Deringham glanced at him languidly. "As you know, that is not the reason. Now I do not ask for a return of the money you obtained from me--but I want the thing stopped immediately." Hallam poured out a glass of wine. "You will have to put it straight." "Well," said Deringham, "if you insist. I am sincerely sorry I ever saw or heard of you. You, of course, remember the conditions on which I made that deal with you. I desired Mr. Alton kept away from Somasco--for a time, and now I want a definite promise from you that he will be free from any further molestation." "Then," said Hallam, with a grin, "what's your programme if I don't agree? You would put the police on to me?" "No," said Deringham, making the best play he could, though he realized the weakness of his hand. "That would not appear advisable--or necessary. It would be simpler to warn my kinsman." Hallam laid his hand upon the table, and Deringham noticed that it was coarse and ill-shaped, but suggested a brutal tenacity of grasp. "Bluff, with nothing behind it. You don't take me that way," he said. "Now I'll put my cards right down in front of you. Alton is not a fool, and you couldn't tell him anything he doesn't know already. The trouble is, he can prove nothing. He has a tolerably short temper, and one day he 'most hammered the life out of another man in the Somasco mill. That man didn't like him before, and it's quite possible he fell foul of Alton after it, but where does that take in me? Got hold of that, haven't you? Well, then, there's just this difference between you and me. I could tell Alton one or two things about you he didn't know!" "I would be willing to take my chance of his believing you," said Deringham. Hallam laughed. "For a man of business you have a plaguy bad memory. Now it seems to me quite likely that the man I talked about has had quite enough of fooling with Alton, and we'll let what you asked for go at that, because there's something else we're coming to. There was a cheque you gave me, and I had who it was drawn by and payable to put down on the slip when I passed it through my bank. Now I've got that slip, and after I'd had a talk with him, Alton wouldn't wonder what you gave me all those dollars for." Deringham was silent almost a minute, for he knew his opponent had seen the weak point. Then he said, "If I admitted that you were right?" Hallam raised his big hand, and pressed his thumb down slowly and viciously on the table. "It don't need admitting. I've got you there," he said. "Still, I don't know that I want to squeeze you. Well, I once kept Alton out of Somasco to please you, and now I want you to keep him right here in Vancouver for a while." "I could not do it." "Well," said Hallam, grinning, "if you couldn't, I figure your daughter could." Deringham had all along been struggling with a sense of disgust, and now his anger mastered him. It was, however, the rage of a weak man which is not far removed from fear. "You infernal scoundrel," he said. Hallam laughed brutally. "That may do you good, and it makes no difference to me," he said. "I want Alton to stop here just three weeks from to-day. He'll stay without pressing for two of them, I think--and you've got to keep him during the third one. There's nothing going to hurt him, but it wouldn't be wise to fool things, you understand?" He took up his hat as he spoke, and moved towards the door, while Deringham's eyes blazed when it closed behind him. "Damn him!" he said, almost choked with impotent fury, and then sat down limply with a face that grew suddenly blanched. His hand shook as he seized his glass, and some of the wine he needed was spilled upon the table, for his eyes grew dim as the faintness came upon him. Deringham had been recommended a rest from all excitement and business anxieties before he sailed from England, and passion was distinctly injudicious considering the condition of one of his organs. CHAPTER XXVII THE FORCE OF CALUMNY As Hallam had surmised, one or two affairs of importance detained Alton in Vancouver. The winter had been exceptionally rigorous, and he knew that the claim was guarded securely by frost and snow. Having also, he fancied, effectually silenced his indiscreet visitor by flinging him down-stairs, he thought no more about that affair, and spent one or two evenings pleasantly at Forel's house, where Alice Deringham greeted him with slightly reserved cordiality. She fancied she understood his reticence on the memorable evening when he had stumbled on the stairway, and was not altogether displeased by it. He had, it seemed, been over-sensitive, for he was but slightly lame, while she had reasons for surmising that he would realize there was no great necessity for the self-sacrifice in time. Alice Deringham was not unduly vain, but she knew her power, and Alton had in his silence betrayed himself again and again. Still, it seemed only fitting that he should make the first advances, now the moment when she might have done so had passed. She also fancied she understood the motive which prompted his answer when her father spoke to him respecting Carnaby. "I can't go over now," he said. "Your lawyers and agents can look after the place a little longer, and I needn't worry if you're content with them. Anyway, all of it does not belong to me and we will see what we can fix up between us when I go over by and by." This was pleasant hearing to Deringham, who commenced to hope that he would be able to give a satisfactory account of his stewardship when the time came, and winced at the recollection of the folly which had placed him in Hallam's grasp. Of late his health had given way again, and that served as an excuse for remaining at Vancouver, which he had scarcely the courage to leave. Affairs were in this condition when Miss Deringham sat listening to the conversation of other visitors in the house of a friend of Mrs. Forel's one afternoon. Now and then a veiled allusion reached her, and at last she glanced inquiringly at her hostess. The lady smiled deprecatingly and shook her head. "It is really indiscreet of Helen, but she seems to believe it is true," she said. "These things do happen, even in the old country." Alice Deringham laughed. "I am afraid I cannot controvert you if that is uncomplimentary, because I don't know what you are alluding to." Her hostess looked thoughtful. "Then you haven't heard it yet?" she said. "Well, I am not the one to tell you, and it is quite possible they haven't got the story correctly." Miss Deringham was interested, but she asked no more questions, and had changed her place when she once more heard a subdued voice she recognized behind a great lacquered screen. "One would be sorry for Hettie Forel, but her husband was always a little unguarded. Opened his house to everybody, you know." "It was the big bushman I saw there?" said another person, and Alice Deringham felt a curious little quiver in her fingers as she waited the answer. "Yes. Hettie will feel it. She made such a fuss of him, but it mayn't have been his fault altogether. He is quite a good-looking man, if he is a trifle lame, and the girl may have thrown herself at him. They sometimes do." Alice Deringham set her lips and turned her head away from her companion as one of the voices continued. "Hettie has not heard it yet, and Tom did not seem sure about it when he told me. In fact, Forel brought the man over to see us the night before, but it is quite evident now the girl had been living there. Yes, Tom heard he had rooms behind his office." Miss Deringham had recovered her outward serenity, and the flush had faded from her face, leaving it very colourless as she turned to her companion. "You heard that woman?" she said. The lady beside her nodded, though there was a little pink tinge in her cheeks. "I am sorry that you did, my dear." Alice Deringham stood up, and looked down at her with a sparkle in her eyes. "I know," she said, "that it cannot be true." "We must hope so," said her companion, who appeared distinctly uncomfortable. "Still, the story is being told all over the city, and several of the houses Forel took the man to are closed against him already." Alice Deringham seemed to shiver a little. "But--it is impossible." Her companion shook her bead. "My husband is a member of the company which employed Miss Townshead, and as the man's business affairs were antagonistic to theirs she was dismissed immediately." Alice Deringham found it very difficult to conceal the effect of this last blow, and was turning away when two women rose from a divan behind the screen. "The tea is cold. Shall I ask for some more for you?" said one of them. "Pleased to see you again, Miss Deringham." She got no further, for the girl, who looked her full in the face, passed on, and the other woman flushed a trifle. "I'm afraid she must have heard you," said somebody. "Miss Deringham is, I believe, a connection of Alton's, and Hettie Forel hinted there was something more than that between them. It would be an especially suitable match because of some property in the old country." The lady she spoke to smiled somewhat sourly. "Then one would be a trifle sorry for the rancher," she said. It cost Miss Deringham a good deal to talk to her hostess until she could depart without attracting attention, and she walked back to Forel's house with a blaze in her eyes. As yet she could not think connectedly, for the astonishment had left no room for more than vague sensations of disgust and anger and a horrible rankling of wounded pride. Mrs. Forel as it happened was busy, and the girl slipped away to a room that was seldom occupied and sat there in the gathering darkness staring at the fire. The story was, she strove to persuade herself, utterly impossible, for she had probed the man's character thoroughly, and seen that it was wholesome through all its crudities--and yet it was evident the horrible tale must have some foundation, because otherwise refutation would be so simple. Almost incredible as it was, the belief that it was borne out by fact was forced upon her, and too dazed to reason clearly she shrank with an overwhelming sense of disgust. She had, it seemed, wilfully deceived herself, and the man was, as she had fancied at the beginning, without sensibility or refinement, brutal in his forcefulness, and swayed by elementary passions. Then she writhed under the memory of the occasions on which she had unbent somewhat far to him, and the recollection of two incidents in the sickroom stung her pride to the quick; while when the booming of a gong rolled through the house, she rose faint and cold with an intensity of anger that for the time being drove out any other feeling. It would have gone very hardly with Alton had chance afforded her the means of punishing him just then. As fate would have it the opportunity was also given her, for that evening Deringham, who had heard nothing of the story, was able to secure a few minutes alone with his daughter. He was, she noticed, looking unusually pale and ill, and that reminded her that he owed all his anxieties to Alton. "Our kinsman is going back to Somasco very shortly, and then on into the ranges. I wish he could be prevented," he said. The girl laughed a little. "I think it would be difficult to prevent Mr. Alton doing anything he had decided on." "Yes," said Deringham. "He can be exasperatingly obstinate, but--and I put it frankly--he might listen to you. The journey he contemplates would be apt to prove perilous at this season." Alice Deringham looked at her father with a smile the meaning of which he could not fathom. He did not know that she had of late been disturbed by unpleasant suspicions concerning his connection with Hallam. "I fancy you are mistaken. You are of course influenced by a desire for his safety?" Deringham winced, for he recognized the tone of sardonic scepticism, but he was horribly afraid of Hallam, and could not afford to fail. "Well," he said, with a gesture of weariness, "I am afraid I must make an admission, I am hemmed in by almost overwhelming anxieties, and I have come to no understanding yet with Alton respecting Carnaby. Now if disaster overtook him in the ranges it would entail an investigation of the Carnaby affairs, and the withdrawal of a good deal of money from my companies, which would seriously hamper me. I have once or twice had to slightly exceed my duties as trustee, and Alton would approve of steps I have taken which a lawyer or accountant would consider irregular. Of course, if you had any knowledge of business I could make it more clear to you, but I can only tell you that I am anxious about Alton's safety for my own sake as well as his." Alice Deringham turned towards him with a trace of impatience. "We may as well be honest, and I fancy Mr. Alton is used to risks," she said quietly. "Whether he encounters more than usual just now or otherwise is absolutely no concern of mine." Deringham saw the change in her and wondered, but resolved to profit by it. "I want him kept here a little longer. It is important to me," he said, The girl saw the hand of Hallam in this, and surmised that it would not be to Alton's advantage if he postponed his journey, but she was vindictively bitter against him then, and glanced at her father inquiringly. It was evident that he was anxious and ill, and she was sensible of a pity that had yet a trace of contempt in it for him. "Still, I do not see how I could induce him to remain," she said. "Well," said Deringham slowly, "there is a way. Forel will be here in a minute--but if you would listen to me." Deringham seemed to find a difficulty in commencing, and there was a curious expression in his restless eyes, while once or twice he stopped and proceeded somewhat inconsequently. He had made tools of a good many men and befooled the public without any especial scruples, but there was a shred of pride left him, and this was the first time he had stooped to drag his daughter into his schemes. His story lacked plausibility, and the girl was not deceived, but he was her father, and it was his cause she was asked to further against the man who had humiliated her and dispossessed him. She glanced away from him when he had finished, but her voice was quietly even. "I think I shall be sorry for it ever afterwards, but I will do what you ask," she said. Deringham, who was slightly bewildered by something in her attitude, sighed with relief, and then turned with the grotesque resemblance of a smile in his face to greet Forel, who came in. "Gillard has been called away south on business and has sent me word he can let me have the places at the opera-house for both nights," he said. "No doubt you have seen the great man in England with his regular company, but a treat of the kind is appreciated here, and Gillard bought up a row of places, the best in the house. My wife is wondering who she should ask, and would like to know if Miss Deringham has any preference." Deringham glanced at his daughter, and then smiled at his host. "One feels a little diffident about returning a favour at somebody else's expense, but my kinsman Alton was very kind to us in the bush," he said. Forel appeared a trifle embarrassed, and Alice Deringham felt her neck grow warm as she watched him. "We can talk about it later, but I scarcely think Mr. Alton would come just now if he was asked," he said. The girl turned away, for she could comprehend Forel's discomfiture, while as they followed him her father touched her. "Get Mr. Alton there on the second night, and that is all I ask," he said. It was two days later, when Alton returned to his office in a somewhat uncertain temper. He had called at Forel's house the previous evening, and been informed that Mrs. Forel was not at home, though the blaze of lights and music made it evident that she was entertaining a good many guests. He had also waited a considerable time for a banker who had been apparently willing to make him certain advances a few days earlier, and when he came to complete the transaction, raised wholly unexpected difficulties. Afterwards he called upon a dealer in tools and sawmill machinery, who, after professing his willingness to deal with him on usual easy terms, demanded a cheque with the order. Alton fancied he recognized the hand of Hallam in this, but there was also something else which troubled him. Some of the men he had business with had been a trifle abrupt in their greetings, and others smiled sardonically when they saw him. As he strode down the corridor the keeper of the building signed to him. "There was a young man here asking for you," he said. "Told me he was Mr. Townshead, and he'd be back again." Alton had scarcely reopened his office when a produce broker he had dealings with came in. "I've worked off the first two car-loads, and you can send some more along," he said. "Now, it's not quite my business, but if you'll not stand out about the usual commission I can put you on to a man who wants a hundred fat cattle." "It's a deal," said Alton, glancing thoughtfully at his visitor, whom he considered an honest man. "Now I think you know a good deal about all that goes on in this city?" "Oh, yes," said the other man, "I have to. Glad to be of any use to you I can." "Well," said Alton, "I've noticed men smiling at me kind of curiously, and I want to know right off what's the meaning of it. There's nothing especially humorous about me." "You don't know?" and his visitor appeared to reflect when Alton shook his head. "Then to put it straight, there are folks who would not believe you. No, stop a little, I mentioned nothing about myself. Have you done anything lately, that might have hurt the susceptibilities of Mr. Cartier?" Alton laughed grimly. "Yes," he said, "I hope so. I hove him out of this place one night and he fell downstairs." "Well," said the other man, smiling, "that accounts for a good deal. Do you happen to be on good terms with Mr. Hallam? Cartier is." "No," said Alton dryly, "I don't. When Mr. Hallam and I feel at peace one of us will be dead." "Now, this thing is getting a little more clear to me. I wasn't willing to believe all I heard, anyway." "That," said Alton, "does not concern me. The question is what did you hear?" The other man appeared embarrassed and sat silent a space. "I think it's only right that you should know," he said. "Well--according to Cartier--there was a lady here when he came in close on midnight, and he gave folks the impression that she stayed here altogether. That wouldn't possibly have counted for so much, but it also got about that she made use of her place to give you information that was worth a good deal about the business of Hallam and the folks she worked for." Alton's face grew almost purple, but the dark hue faded and left it unusually pale again. "That," he said very slowly, "is a damnable lie. The lady alluded to was here once only, and for at the most three minutes." The other man grew a trifle uneasy under his gaze. "Of course," he said, "your word will do for me. Still, she was here, you see--and it's difficult to rub out a lie with that much behind it. I'm afraid you'll find it stick to you both like glue, especially as her employers turned the girl out immediately. Anyway, I'll do what I can for you, and now about that other car-load and the cattle?" Alton brought his hand down crashing on the table. "The cattle? Oh, get out and come back to-morrow or next month, when I feel less like killing somebody!" The other man appeared quite willing to accept his dismissal, and Alton vacantly noticed that a black stream of ink was trickling across the table. Mechanically he dabbled his handkerchief in it and then flung it and the ink-vessel into the grate, after which he sat still with a black stain upon the cheek that rested on his fist. "The plucky little soul--and they've turned her out," he said. "Lord, but somebody has got to pay for this!" He did not move for at least ten minutes, while the clamour of the city vibrated through the silent room, and when his first anger passed away became sensible of a great pity for the girl who had risked so much for him. It appeared only too probable that because of the modicum of truth it was founded on the lie would stick to both of them, and now when it was too late Alton regretted his folly. He had been fully justified in kicking Cartier out of his rooms, but he knew that everything that is legitimate is not advisable, and groaned as he saw what the story must cost the defenceless girl who had a living to earn and her father to maintain. There was so far as he could see no way out of the difficulty yet--and the one that concerned himself was almost as formidable, for he knew Alice Deringham's pride, and the damning fact remained that he could not deny the whole story. He had flung himself back wearily in his chair when there was a step in the passage and a young man came in. He walked straight forward, and stood with one hand on Alton's table looking down on him with wonder and anger in his face. His eyes were unusually bright, and there was a great contusion on his forehead. "Jack," said Alton simply. "Well, sit down there, and I'll try to talk to you. This is a devlish mess I've got into. Only heard about it ten minutes ago." Jack Townshead did not move at all. "I'll stand in the meantime." he said harshly. "Unfortunately there are more concerned than you." "Yes," said Alton wearily. "Don't rub it in. I know. Who was it told you?" "That's beyond the question," said the lad. "Still, last night one of our men who'd been down here came in and was telling the story in the boys' sleeping-shed. I knocked him down--that is, I meant to, and started out by the first train. I'm at the mine on the south road now." "You haven't been home?" "No," said Townshead grimly. "I came straight to you, and in the first place you're coming with me everywhere to deny this story." Alton sat very still for a space, and the lad seemed to quiver as he watched him. "I can't--that is, not all of it." Every trace of colour faded from Jack Townshead's face. "Good Lord! Damn you, Alton--it can't be true." Alton rose up slowly and stretched his hand out, while the veins swelled out on his forehead. Then he dropped it again. "You'll be sorry for this by and by, Jack," he said. "Don't you know your sister better--you fool? Now sit down there, and I'll tell you everything." The lad was evidently spirited, but he was a trifle awed by what he saw in Alton's eyes, and did as he was bidden. The hoarse voice he listened to carried conviction with it, but his face was almost haggard when the story was concluded. "Now," said Alton very slowly, "that's all, and for your sister's sake you dare not disbelieve me." Jack Townshead groaned. "Thank God," he said, with a tremor in his voice. "But, Harry, what is to be done? I simply can't tell the old man--and there's Nellie. You can't deny sufficient to be any good--and the cursed thing will kill her. Now I'm trying not to blame you--but there must be a way of getting out somehow--and it's for you to find it." Alton leaned upon the table a trifle more heavily, his eyes half-closed, and one hand clenched. "Yes," he said slowly. "There is a way--and I'm beginning to see it now. Get your hat, Jack, and in the first place we'll go right along and see Mr. Cartier." The lad rose, and then, possibly because he was over-strung and needed relief in some direction, laughed harshly. "I think you had better wash your face before you go," he said. Twenty minutes later they entered an office together and Alton signed to a clerk. "Tell Mr. Cartier I'm wanting to see him right now," he said. "You know who I am." The man smiled, for he probably also grasped the purport of Alton's visit. "Then you had better come back in a week," he said. "He went across to Victoria yesterday." "That," said Alton grimly, "was wise of him." They went out, and the lad glanced at his companion. "It is of the least importance. There is more to be done!" "Yes," said Alton simply. "You have my sympathy, Jack, but just now I can't do with too much of you. Go right away--to anywhere, and don't come back until you're wanted. I've got to think how I can best do the thing that's right to everybody." CHAPTER XXVIII ALTON FINDS A WAY Daylight was fading, and it was growing dim in the little upper room where Miss Townshead sat alone. The front of the stove was, however, open, and now and then a flicker of radiance fell upon the girl, and showed that her eyes were hazy, and there were traces of moisture on her cheek. Her patience had been taxed to the uttermost that day, but Townshead, who had spent most of it in querulous reproaches, had gone out, and his daughter was thankful to be alone at last, for the effort to retain a show of composure had become almost unendurable. It was with a sinking heart she glanced down across the roofs of the city into the busy streets where already the big lights were blinking, and remembered all she had borne with there during the last few days. Somebody, it seemed, had industriously spread the story of her dismissal, and a refusal had followed every application she made for employment; but while that alone was sufficient to cause her consternation, the half-contemptuous pity of her former companions, and the fashion in which one or two of them had avoided her, were almost worse to bear, and sitting alone in the gathering darkness the girl flushed crimson at the memory. There was also the grim question by what means she could stave off actual want to grapple with, and to that she could as yet find no answer, while her eyes grew dim as she glanced about the little room. Townshead had changed his quarters, and many of the trifles that caught his daughter's glance had cost her a meal or hours of labour with the needle after a long day in the city, but they made the place a home, and she knew what it would cost her to part with them. Twice she had raised her head and straightened herself with an effort, while a flicker of pride and resolution crept into her eyes, only to sink back again limply in her chair, when there was a tapping at the door, and she rose as some one came into the room. Then she set her lips and stood up very straight as she saw that it was Alton. "I could find nobody about, and there was no answer when I knocked," he said. "So I just came in." The girl moved a little so that she could see his face in the light from the stove, and it was quietly stern, but the movement had served two purposes, for her own was now invisible. "And you fancied you could dispense with common courtesy in my case?" she said. Alton made a little grave gesture of deprecation. "I wanted to see you--very much--but please sit down." Nellie Townshead took the chair he drew out, and was glad that it was in the shadow, for Alton stood leaning against the window-casing looking down on her with grave respect and pity in his face. "I am a little lame--as you may have heard," he said, as though to explain his attitude. "Yes," said the girl, whose composure returned as she saw that he was temporizing. "I am sorry." "Well," said Alton quietly, "so am I--especially just now--but I did not come to talk to you about my injury." Nellie Townshead appeared very collected as she glanced in his direction, for she had a good courage, and had been taught already that when an issue is unavoidable it is better to face it boldly. "One would scarcely have fancied that was your object." "No," said Alton very quietly. "Now I am just a plain bush rancher, and don't know how to put things nicely, but I don't know that there's any disrespect in a straight question, and I came to ask if you would marry me." The girl was mistress of herself, and the man's naive directness was in a fashion reassuring. She was also, for a moment, very angry. "It is a little sudden, is it not?" she said. "Did I ever give you any cause for believing that I would?" "No," said Alton, "I don't think you did." Nellie Townshead afterwards wondered a little at her composure and temerity, but she fancied she knew what had prompted the man, and, because it hurt her horribly, all the pride she had came to her assistance, and in place of embarrassment she was sensible of a desire to test him to the uttermost. "Then," she said, "one should have a reason for asking such a question, and, at least, something to urge in support of it." Alton moved forward, and leaned over the back of her chair, where because he did most things thoroughly he attempted to lay one hand caressingly on her hair. Miss Townshead, however, moved her head suddenly, and the man drew back a pace with a flush in his face. "It is very lonely up at the ranch, and I have begun to see that I have been missing the best of life. Mine is too grim and bare, and I want somebody to brighten and sweeten it for me." The girl was very collected. What she had borne during the last few days had turned her gentleness into bitterness and anger. Thus it was, with a curious dispassionate interest she would have been incapable of under different circumstances, she continued to try the man, realizing that though it was no doubt unpleasant to him, there was one great reason which precluded the possibility of his suffering as he would otherwise have done. "But you are going to live in the city now," she said. "Yes," said Alton gravely. "That is why I want you more. You see I know so little, and there is so much you could teach me. I want somebody to lead me where I could not otherwise go, though I know it is asking a great deal while I can give so little." This, the girl realized, was, though somewhat impersonal, wholly genuine. The tone of chivalrous respect rang true, and she could comprehend the half-instinctive straining after an ideal by one whose belief in her sex was, if slightly crude, almost reverential. It touched her, though she knew that to benefit him it could only be offered to one woman, and she was not that one. "And that is all?" she said. "Of course!" said Alton too decisively, because he remembered, as Miss Townshead quite realized, that the other reason must always remain hidden. This was also as balm to her pride, and there was a trace of a smile in her eyes. "It is, as you appear to understand, very little." "Well," said Alton, who seemed to take courage, "now when I see your meaning there is a trifle more." Again he moved a pace, and the girl fancied he would have laid his hand upon her shoulder. "No," she said decisively. Alton sighed, and his face became impassive, but it seemed to the girl that there was relief in it. "I think I could be kind to you and make things smooth for you," he said very simply. "I should always look up to you, and I wouldn't ask for very much--only to see you happy." He stopped apparently for inspiration, and Nellie Townshead smiled a little. "Do you think that last was wise?" Alton turned towards her with a little glint in his eyes, and the girl, who knew his temperament, felt that she had gone far enough. He had borne it very well, and it seemed to her that other men might have handled the situation, which was difficult, less delicately. "I asked you a question, and it seems to me that it still waits an answer." The girl rose and stood looking at him with a little colour in her cheeks and a flash in her eyes, but there was that in her attitude which held Alton at a distance. "If you were not the man you are, and I was a little weaker, I should have said yes," she said. "As it is--there is nothing that would induce me to marry you." It was almost dark now, and Nellie Townshead could not see her companion's face, but she was no longer careful to keep her own in the shadow, even when the radiance from the stove flickered about the room. "Will you not think it over?" he said very quietly. "I know how unfit I am for you--and I am a cripple--but----" The light was now more visible in Nellie Townshead's eyes, but her voice was gentle. "No," she said, "There are two very good reasons why it is impossible--and you know one of them. Now do you believe I do not know what brought you here to-day?" "I think I have been trying to tell you," said Alton sturdily. "If you fancy it was anything else you are wrong." The girl shook her head. "You are a good man, Harry Alton, but not a clever one. Only that it would have been a wrong to you, you would almost have persuaded me--by your silence chiefly. Still, you must go away, and never speak of this again." Alton stood still a moment glancing at her with pity and a great admiration. The girl was good to look upon, he knew her courage, and now as she flung all that he could offer her away and stood alone and friendless with the world against her, but undismayed, all his heart went out to her, and what he had commenced from duty he could almost have continued from inclination. "Please listen just a little, and I'll be quite frank," he said. "You told me there were two reasons." Possibly the girl read what was passing in his mind, for she smiled curiously. "I think you had better go--now--and leave me only a kindly memory of you. Do you think I should be content to take--the second place?" she said. "Nothing that you could tell me would remove one of the obstacles, and you will be grateful presently. When that time comes be wise, and don't ask for less than everything." Alton said nothing further, and when his steps rang hollowly down the stairway the girl sat down and sighed. Then she laughed a curious little laugh and stopped to brush the tears from her eyes. As it happened, while Nellie Townshead sat alone in the darkness Miss Deringham was writing a note to Alton. Spoiled sheets of paper were scattered about the table, and though there was nobody to see it the girl's face was flushed as she glanced down at the last one. The message it bore was somewhat laconic and ran, "We are going to the opera-house on Thursday, and as there is a place not filled I would like to see you there before you start for the ranges, if you know of no reason why you should not come." She gave it to a maid, and sat still until she heard a door swing to, then rose swiftly and ran down the stairway. She met the maid at the foot of it, and said breathlessly, "I want to add something to the letter." "It's too late, miss," said the maid, who was a recent importation from Britain. "I gave it John the Chinaman, and he went off trotting as usual. I couldn't overtake him." Alice Deringham smiled a little, though her voice belied her as she said, "It is of no importance. I can write another." She knew, however, that no second message she could send would repair what she had done, for Alton had timed his departure for the ranges next day, and several must elapse before Thursday came. He would, she also felt assured, not fail to come. Miss Deringham was justified, for a few days later Seaforth stood waiting in the snow with a pack-horse's bridle in his hand, and several brawny men with heavy packs slung about them close by, when Tom of Okanagan drove into the clearing as fast as his smoking team could haul the jolting wagon. "You can sling all those things down again," he said. "Thomson rode in with a wire from the railroad, and Harry's not coming." "Not coming?" said Seaforth bewilderedly as he opened the message. "We've no time to lose--now." Then he crumpled the strip of paper angrily. "We'll push on slowly, boys, until he comes up with us, but you had better wait for him, Tom," he said, and added half aloud, "The devil take all women!" Miss Deringham went to the opera-house on Thursday with a somewhat distinguished party, and though a storm of applause greeted the eminent English dramatist, and the play was a popular one, saw very little of him or the first act of it. Then when the glitter of lights filled the building as the curtain went down she looked about her with veiled expectancy. She knew Alton of Somasco, and that if he intended to keep the assignation he would then come when everybody could see him. She had also surmised correctly, for just then Alton, who had shouldered his way through a group in the corridor, moved down it under a blaze of light, his head erect, and his face somewhat grim as he saw the smiles and glances of disapproval of those who made way for him. As the rancher who was fighting Hallam and the capitalists behind him he was already known in that city, and the story that the woman who was spoken of with him had assisted him from the beginning by betraying the secrets of those who employed her at his instigation had spread, and told against him. Alton saw it all, and did not for a moment turn aside so long as the smiles and whispers were directed at him, but he stopped and waited, leaning on a chair some distance behind the spot where Forel's party were until the curtain rose again. The next act commenced, as he knew, with a night scene, and while most of the audience had no eyes for any one but the great tragedian, he moved forward quickly, and Alice Deringham turned her head a trifle as a shadowy form slipped into the vacant place beside her. She could scarcely see the man, and was not certain that she desired to, but she would have known who he was had he been wholly invisible. "It is you," she said softly. "I knew that you would come." "Yes," said Alton. "You asked me to, but now I know that I should not have done so." "And that I should not have asked you?" said Alice Deringham. "You should have been on your journey already." Alton laughed a little. "That was not what I meant--as of course you know," he said. "Still, I wanted to see you--and I had to come." "Why?" Alton was silent a little. "It may be the last time." Alice Deringham shivered. "But there is no reason?" "No--and yes," said Alton grimly. "I--and it is due to you and another to tell you this--have done no wrong, but there are reasons why I should not intrude myself into your company, and I am going back up there into the snow to-morrow." "But," said the girl, feeling horribly guilty, "there are times when one's friends can do a good deal for one." Alton seemed to laugh a trifle bitterly. "Yes," he said. "Still, I do not care to trouble mine in that direction. One must stand alone now and then, and things have not been going well with me lately. I had another blow to-day. I asked Miss Townshead to marry me--and she would not." Alice Deringham said nothing for a space, and then her voice was different. There was no shade of expression in it. "And you are going back to look for the silver tomorrow? I hope you will be successful." "Thank you," said Alton. "It would mean a good deal to everybody--and now I think I have already stayed too long." Alice Deringham heard the creaking of a chair, and when she looked round he had gone, but she said very little to any one when the curtain came down again, while Alton, turning in a doorway for a moment, set his lips as he caught the gleam of her hair. "I think I have done the right thing all round, but it was condemnably hard," he said as he went down the corridor. By chance he came face to face with Forel a few moments later, and both men stopped. "I am glad I found you," said Alton. "It is only fitting to tell you that for a minute or two I joined your party." Forel looked uncomfortable. "To be frank, there are unpleasant tales about you, and while they needn't interfere with business one has to----" he said, and stopped. Alton nodded. "You needn't be too explicit. The tales, so far as you have heard them, are not true. I tell you so on my word of honour--and I want you to show that you believe me by finding Miss Townshead something to do. You can draw on me for the salary if it's necessary." Forel, who was a good-tempered man, flushed a little. "If there was anything in the stories I should take this very ill." "Of course," said Alton. "I shouldn't have objected if you had knocked me down, but, as I see you are not quite sure yet, for just five minutes you have got to listen to me." Forel did so, and nodded when Alton concluded, "I think you should do what I want you to, because in the first place it will give you very little trouble, and if you can't take my word so far, I'm not fit to be trusted with your interests in the big deal we have in hand." "And in the second?" said Forel, who stood to benefit considerably by the success of the Somasco Consolidated, dryly. Alton laughed. "I think it would be more tasteful to leave that unexpressed, because it's connected with the other one," he said. "Well," said Forel, "frankly, I should have doubted what you have told me had it come from most other men, but in this case I will see what I can do. We are, as it happens, in want of somebody at Westminster, and I'll send them down a line to-morrow." "Thanks," said Alton, with a little sigh of relief. "Now I think I've straightened up everything, and I can go back to the ranges contented." CHAPTER XXIX THE PRICE OF DELAY It was raining with pitiless persistency when Alton and Tom of Okanagan came floundering down into the river valley. The roar of the canon rose in great reverberations from out of the haze beneath them, and all the pines were dripping, while the men struggled wearily knee-deep in slush of snow. The spring which lingers in the North had come suddenly, and a warm wind from the Pacific was melting the snow, so that the hillsides ran water, and the torrents that had burst their chains swirled frothing down every hollow. The men were chilled to the backbone, for it had rained all day and they had passed several nights sheltered only by the pines. Garments and boots were sodden, and Alton's face was set and drawn, for though he could now walk without much visible effort upon the level, a journey through the ranges of that country would at any season test the endurance of the strongest whole-limbed man, and his forced march had only been accomplished by stubborn determination and disregard of pain. Still, it was not physical distress alone which accounted for his gravity. He had put off his journey to the latest moment, and now when time was scanty the weather promised to further delay him. They had stopped a moment breathless, when Okanagan broke the silence. "Plenty water. I'm figuring we'll find Charley Seaforth somewhere here," he said. "The jumpers would have it drier, if they headed out from lower down the railroad over the bench country." Alton nodded as he listened to the roar of the river, which warned him that their road up the valley would be almost impassable. "It can't be helped," he said, and Tom of Okanagan, who saw how grim his face had grown, understood the reason. If Hallam's emissaries had gone up before them any further delay might cost Alton the mine. Nothing was said for another minute, and then Okanagan pointed to a dim smear of vapour below them that was a little bluer than the mist. "Smoke. Charley's held up by the river," he said. They went on in moody silence, knowing that where the hardy ranchers Seaforth had with him had failed there was little probability of any man forcing a passage, and presently the smell of burning firwood came up to them through the rain. Then a red flicker appeared and vanished amidst the dusky trunks, and in another few minutes Alton was shaking his comrade's hand. The faces of both of them were unusually grave, and there was dejection in the growl of greeting from the men, who sat half seen amidst the smoke watching them. "That's the whole of us," said Seaforth, who noticed his comrade's glance. "We can't get on." "How long have you been here?" said Alton, with significant quietness. "Two days. It's unfortunate you didn't come earlier, Harry, because we could have got right through a week ago. Was it the leg that kept you?" "No," said Alton, with a little mirthless laugh, "it wasn't the leg. I should have come, but one can't always do two things at once, and I had to choose. I've a good deal to tell you." Seaforth glanced sharply at his comrade. "I fancied you had. You are not the man I left at Vancouver, Harry. Well, you will be hungry, and supper's almost ready." It was several hours later, and the men in the bigger tent were fast asleep, when Seaforth and Alton sat swathed in clammy blankets under a little canvas shelter. The drip from the great branches above beat upon it, and the red light of the snapping fire shone in upon the men. Neither of them had spoken for some time, but at last Alton laid down his pipe. "This is a thing I wouldn't tell to any man if it could be helped, but as you will hear it told the wrong way when you get back to the city, you have got to know," he said. "I'd have been where I was wanted if it hadn't happened, and now I can't help feeling I have given you and the rest away. It hurts me, Charley, but what could I do? It would have been worse to let two women suffer for my condemned folly." Seaforth was in no mood for laughter, but his eyes twinkled faintly. "Two of them? You have been getting on tolerably fast down there, Harry." Alton stopped him with a gesture. "My temper's not what it was a few weeks ago," he said. "Now, you sit still and listen to me." He had scarcely commenced his story when the smile died out of Seaforth's eyes. He seemed to listen with breathless intentness, and his voice shook a little as he said, "And you asked her to marry you. Did you think for a moment that she would?" Alton appeared to consider. "I didn't think at all," he said. "It seemed the one thing I could do, and I did it." "The city hasn't made much difference in you," said Seaforth, watching his comrade intently. "It must have been a load off your mind when she refused you?" Alton straightened himself a little. "I don't like the way you put it, Charley. Whoever gets Miss Townshead will have a treasure. The girl's good all through. Now I think I've told you everything, and I don't ask if you believe me." There was a flicker of warmer colour under Seaforth's bronze, and a curious glint in his eyes. "Yes," he said slowly; "I think she is too good even for you, and you have done all that any one could have expected of you, without keeping up the farce any longer. I am glad you did not ask if I believed you--because I could scarcely have forgiven you that question. Do you think I don't know--both of you--better?" The last words were a trifle strained, and Alton stared at his comrade in bewildered astonishment, for Seaforth had betrayed himself in his passion. Then there was silence for a full minute until he said very quietly-- "And I never guessed." "No?" said Seaforth, still a trifle hoarsely. "And now I think you know." Alton nodded, and there was a very kindly smile in his eyes. "Yes; I'm beginning to understand--a good deal," he said. "I'm very glad, for there are not many girls like Miss Townshead in the Dominion. Charley, you're a lucky man, but why have you been so long over it? It never struck me that you were bashful." Seaforth smiled mirthlessly. "If you will listen a few minutes you will see how fortunate I am. You never asked me what brought me out from the old country, Harry." Alton gravely pressed his arm. "There are times when one must talk. Go on, if it will do you good," he said. It was not an uncommon story Seaforth told that night, and Alton, who had heard it, slightly varied, several times already, could fill up the gaps when his comrade ceased, and the drip from the branches splashing upon the canvas replaced his disjointed utterance. Seaforth was very young when it happened and the woman older than him. "Now you see what kept me silent. It wasn't a nice thing to tell--you," he said. Alton glanced at him with grave sympathy, and then stared at the fire. "And what became of her? I saw her picture once--in a twenty-five cent album," he said. "A woman of that kind would know what she was about?" Seaforth smiled wryly. "I was not the only fool," he said. "When I'd flung away everything a richer man came along." Alton was silent a space. "Three thousand pounds," he said, "is a good deal, even in the old country." "Yes," said Seaforth wearily; "though it goes a very little way as I spent it, it is, and I've been paying it back, at first a few dollars at a time, ever since I came out to the Dominion. You see, the old man paid off everything, though I know now money was very scarce with him then, and I've wondered sometimes how far it helped to break him. He died soon after the crash came--and the girls had nothing." "I think you told me your sisters were married now?" "Yes," said Seaforth, "Flora sent me back the last exchange somewhat indignantly, which was why I was able to take my share in the Consolidated. Still, all that is a little outside the question, isn't it?" Alton smiled at his partner, and laid a sinewy hand on his shoulder. "I wouldn't worry too much about it, Charley," he said. "You were a young fool, but you have lived it down, and there's the room there has always been for a good many more like you in the Dominion. Look round in high places, and you'll see them--good men, and better than they might have been but for that little trip-up when they were young. Yes, I've wondered where your dollars went to--and I'm glad we have done so well now I know. You can stand straight up, Charley, and face the world again." Seaforth laughed wryly. "The trouble is that it isn't the world I care about," he said. "No," said Alton. "Well, for one has to do the square thing, I think I'd chance telling somebody the story you told me--though of course you'd have to put parts of it differently." Seaforth made a little gesture of despondency. "I'm afraid I haven't the courage, and--with all that behind me----" "It--is--behind," said Alton. "And somehow I fancy it would only be fair to give the person it might concern the opportunity of hearing you." Seaforth appeared to check a groan. "There are things that one can never quite rub out. I was twenty-three then, and now when it is five years ago, and she is alone in that horrible city, I must keep silent still. Harry, it's almost unendurable, but, because I must tell that story, to speak now would be to throw my last chance away." Alton nodded with grave sympathy. "Yes, I think you're right, and you must wait. Well, it's time to turn in. With the first of the daylight we're going on again." He was asleep in another ten minutes, but Seaforth lay awake shivering under his clammy blankets most of the night, and rose aching when he heard his comrade's voice through the patter of the rain in the misty darkness of the early morning. They made four miles that day, and floundered waist-deep in water amidst the boulders during most of it. The hillsides above them were steep and almost unclimbable, and no man could have driven a canoe upstream amidst the grinding ice-cake which cumbered the river, that was frozen still in its slower reaches. There they found better travelling through the slush that covered the rotten ice, but those reaches were few and short, and they went back to the boulders when the swollen river burst its bonds again. It came down in savage tumult between the rocks, whose heads just showed above the foam, and its banks were further cumbered by a whitened driftwood frieze over which the men must clamber warily, clawing for a foothold on the great battered trunks, or smashing through a tangle of brittle limbs. At times they were stopped altogether by a maze of washed-up timber no man could struggle through, and the axes were plied for an hour or more before they went on again. The second day was like the first one, though their toil was if anything more arduous still, and on the evening of the fourth they came, worn out, dripping, and dejected, to a spot where the valley narrowed in. A strip of forest divided the rock from the river on the opposite shore, but between them and it a confusion of froth and foam swirled down, while the hillsides seemed to vibrate with the roar of the rapid. One glance sufficed to show that the crossing was wholly impossible for either beast or man. On their side of the river a wall of rock hemmed the little party in, and even Seaforth wondered, while Okanagan growled half-aloud, when Alton, knee-deep in water, plodded steadily on. There was not more than another hour's daylight, and Seaforth remembered that the gorge extended for a league or so, while the flood had spread across it in front of them, but he knew his comrade and said nothing. Presently he slipped from a boulder, and sank almost shoulder-deep in a whirling pool, but somebody grabbed his arm, and after a breathless flounder he felt the shingle under him and the froth lapped only to his knee. Then they crawled amidst the driftwood which washed up and down beneath them, tearing garments and lacerating limbs, until they stood once more panting on dry shingle, with a broad stretch of froth before them, and the light growing dim. The river had spread from side to side of the constricted valley, and the crash of the ice it brought down rang hollowly from rock to rock until it was lost high up amidst the climbing pines. It seemed to Seaforth that to go on was impossible, and he glanced at his comrade anxiously, Alton stood alone upon a driftwood trunk, his figure silhouetted in rigid outline against the whiteness of the foam, for his drenched garments clung in sodden folds to every curve of it. His face was as immobile in its wet grimness save for the smouldering glow in his eyes, and there was a low growl of half-articulate expostulation from those about him as he turned and pointed to the river. "What are you stopping for? The silver's yonder, and there's our road," he said. None of them protested. They knew no rancher or prospector in the province could traverse the road he pointed to, but in their long grapple with the forest they had not infrequently attempted things that appeared beyond the power of man, and speech seemed useless when the river would answer for them. Therefore, when Alton once more took to the water they followed him, bracing overtaxed muscle against the tireless stream until the man who pressed on a dozen yards in front went down. Then while Seaforth held his breath there was a cry from Okanagan, who clutched at an arm that rose from the flood. Seaforth had his hand next moment, somebody clung to him, and they went downstream together for a space, with the shingle slipping beneath them, and their burdens dragging them down, panting, floundering, choking, but still holding on, until they found a foothold in the slack of an eddy, and Seaforth saw that Alton was on his feet again. His hat had gone, and there was a red gash on his forehead from which the blood ran down. He said nothing until they stood less than knee-deep, when Seaforth glanced at him. "You will be contented now?" he said. "Yes," said Alton, with hoarse breathlessness. "I'm beaten. Well, we'll go back and make a traverse across the ranges." Seaforth glanced for a moment at the slope of rock that ran up into the dimness above him. Here and there it afforded a foothold to a juniper or stunted pine, but that was all, and there was a gleam of slushy snow high up above it, where though the pitch was flatter the firs could scarcely climb. Whether any man could reach those heights or cross them through the melting drifts he did not know, but at the best the journey would cost a day for every hour it would have done had it been possible to follow the valley. "You know what day it is?" he said. "Yes," said Alton very quietly. "If Hallam's men are up there it will be too late when we get through. That means tolerably bad times for Somasco." "I," said Seaforth, "wasn't exactly thinking about Somasco." Alton's face was very grim. "Well," he said dryly, "it means a good deal less to one of us than it would have done a few weeks ago." They went back, and it was dark when they camped in the dripping undergrowth, but while Seaforth fancied that Alton did not sleep that night, he was the first upon his feet when they rose in the darkness of the morning, and commenced the slow ascent. There was no man in the party who did not feel that the journey would be useless, but they went on nevertheless, hewing a path through thickets, crawling up steep rock faces on hands and knees, and wading through the drifts to the waist in melting snow. So with toil incredible they left the leagues behind, one, and when they were fortunate, two to the day, and evening was at hand when at last they came scrambling down from fir to fir into the rain-swept valley. There was nothing visible beneath them but a haze of falling water and the tops of dripping trees, but Alton stooped now and then as though listening, and Seaforth could guess at the torments of suspense he was enduring. "We shall know in a few more minutes," he said. "I can see the river now." "Go on," said Alton hoarsely. "Oh, get on." Five minutes had scarcely passed when they stopped again, and the men stared at each other in silence as a thudding sound came up to them through the rain. It was just distinguishable, and they might be mistaken, but a full minute went by before one of them glanced at Alton. He stood very still, with one knee bent a trifle, leaning against a pine until the sound grew plainer and was followed by a voice. "We're too late, but we'll go down and see it out," he said. Ten minutes later they plodded into the glare of a fire, and stopped, worn-out and dripping in front of a rude bark shelter. A few men were scattered about it eating their evening meal, and for a moment or two they stared at the newcomers silently, until Alton stepped forward and stood where all could see him, hatless and tattered, with a clotted bandage about his head. "What are you doing on my claim?" he said. A big man rose up slowly with an axe in his hand, and pointed to a board with rough letters cut in it nailed to a tree. "It may have been yours one time. It's ours now," he said. "There's no getting over the laws of this country." Seaforth expected an outbreak, and heard a growl from his comrades, who commenced to close in behind him, but Alton only closed one hand a little. "Where's the man who brought you here?" he said. "Gone out," said the other, "to record the claim. Now we don't want any unpleasantness, but the mine is ours, and there are enough of us to keep it, you see. Come in and have some supper, and take it reasonably." Alton looked at him for a space out of half-closed eyes, and the man appeared to grow uneasy. "You condemned jumper! These are honest men," he said, pointing to those who followed him. "We'll go back and camp up yonder, boys." It was close on midnight when Seaforth crept up to Alton, who lay huddled against a cedar in the smoke of the fire. His face showed drawn and puckered in the flickering light. "Don't take it too hard, Harry," he said. Alton smothered a groan. "I'm feeling very mean tonight," he said. "Lord, what a mess I've made of everything. Every ranch in Somasco mortgaged to the last rod, the new mill not finished, roads half made, and not another dollar to be had in the city. And there's not a man or woman who believed in me but I've dragged them down." "I think," said Seaforth, "they believe in you still. You did all that any man could have done, Harry." "No," said Alton. "I stayed down in Vancouver when I should have been here. That can never be quite wiped out--but what could I do?" Seaforth laid his hand on his comrade's shoulder. "Don't worry too much about what is done with, but look forward. You'll find your friends behind you yet." Alton shook off his grasp. "My friends! I've done them harm enough, but you are right. This thing isn't finished yet." Seaforth smiled a little. "That is a good deal better, Harry. One wins at the last round now and then." Alton looked at him steadily. "You don't understand. All that was worth winning has gone already--but Hallam must fight." Seaforth saw the smouldering fire in the half-closed eyes, and the instinctive closing of the lean, hard fingers, and went back to his lair in the wet undergrowth contented. Hallam had won hitherto, but he knew his comrade, and the struggle was not over yet. CHAPTER XXX SEAFORTH'S REINSTATEMENT There is on the road between Vancouver and New Westminster a strip of primeval bush. Beyond it the Fraser meadows stretch, open to wind and sun, westwards to the sea, but beneath the great black pines it is dim and shadowy, and Seaforth was glad of that as he stood leaning against a hemlock one sunny afternoon. He would have found the task he had undertaken almost impossible in the glare of the white road that ran straight under the open sky, but the stillness of that green realm of shadow where all things were softened in the faint half-light had made it a trifle easier. Also, the essence of the spring, which had come suddenly, was in the scent of pine and cedar, and it had given him courage, and set his pulses throbbing faster. It is possible that the man did not realize all the influences that upheld him then, but something that sprang from the steaming earth and the life that was stirring in every towering pine reacted upon him, and he gathered hope when he saw the reflex of it in the eyes of his companion. She sat a pace or two apart from him on a cedar-trunk, and a dusty bicycle rested against the farther end of it. The dust was also thick upon her simple dress and the cotton gloves that lay in her hands. Her fingers had tightened upon them, and there was a flush in her cheeks when for a moment she glanced at the man. His face was a trifle colourless, but the girl looked aside again as she saw the tense anxiety in his eyes. "And that is all," he said, with a little tremble in his voice. "You will think it is horribly too much?" Nellie Townshead glanced away into the shadows of the bush, and there was pain and a trace of shrinking in her face, but it had vanished when she turned again, and her voice had a little imperious ring. "And what made you tell me now?" Seaforth spread his hands out with a little deprecatory gesture. "I expected this. The story I have told you should have shown you what I am--and while I wanted to tell it earlier I was afraid." The colour was a trifle plainer in the cheeks of the girl, and her voice slightly more imperious still. "That leaves the question unanswered. I still want to know what gave you the courage now?" Seaforth understood her, and knew her pride. "I think Harry gave me some of it. You see, I never had a great deal." "Harry?" said Miss Townshead, with a trace of astonishment that was not quite free from disdain. Seaforth moved his head. "Yes," he said. "What I have told you I told him, and he seemed to think that one could live--even that kind of thing--down. He is, you see, a somewhat exacting man, and that gave me the hope that you would be as merciful." "Still, you have not answered me." Seaforth flushed a little. "I know what you mean--but would even what I have told you warrant you thinking that of me?" "I must know," said the girl. Seaforth was silent a moment. "There is a distinction--but it is difficult to draw," he said. "Well, I could not bear to think of you struggling on down here alone with everything against you. There were times when it almost maddened me, and at last, though I knew it might cost me all I hoped for, I had to speak." The girl's face softened. "And there was nothing else. You did not think that--because of anything which had happened--I should be more apt to listen?" Seaforth was usually undemonstrative in bearing and speech, but he stood up stiffly, and his voice was a trifle strained. "That is what I have been trying to make clear, and I can only give you my word that I did not," he said. "If I had had more courage I would have told you that story long ago." Nellie Townshead's eyes were very gentle now. "I felt I must make quite sure, because had it been otherwise I should never have forgiven you." "And," said Seaforth slowly, "you can forgive the rest. I can make no protestations, but if I have gone straight in this country it was you who helped me, and I should never have gone down into the mire if I had known you in the other one. And now I have nothing, not even moderate prosperity to offer you." "You think that would have counted?" said the girl. "No," said Seaforth quietly, "not with you. It is because I have so little to offer I venture to ask so much. All the giving must be done by you." Seaforth had, though not an eloquent man, pleaded his cause efficaciously, for although his words might have been better chosen, the inference behind them was plain; and while parts of his story had brought the colour to the cheeks of his companion, his blameless life in Canada was a very acceptable offering since he owed it to her. It is pleasant to feel oneself a refining influence, but it was not gratified vanity which stirred the girl. She had a wide charity, and was one of those whose mission is to give without looking for a return. She rose up slowly, and stood before him with eyes that had grown a trifle hazy. "All that counts the most is yours still," she said. "And as to the rest--I think it is done with, Charley. You have lived it down." Seaforth stretched out his hands and drew her to him. "God bless you, my dear, but you are wrong," he said, "All I had was yours two years ago." It was some little time later when a creaking wagon swung round a bend of the road, and the bronzed rancher on the driving-seat laughed softly to himself as he saw Miss Townshead sitting demurely but with downcast face on one end of the cedar, and Seaforth, who appeared suspiciously unconcerned, at least six feet away. That was not just how he had seen them when with the soft dust muffling the rattle of wheels he and his team came out of the shadows which hung athwart the bend. The wagon was old and weather-scarred, the harness rudely patched with hide, but it is possible there was room in the life of strenuous toil the bushman lived for the romance that brightens everything, and he shouted a mirthful greeting to them as he whipped his team. Then as the wagon jolted on out under the sombre archway into the brightness of the sun there came drifting back to them the refrain of a song. It was one sung often in the bush of that country at the time, and the two who sat listening in the green stillness that sunny afternoon grasped the verity that underlay its crude sentimentality. Shorn of its harshness, by the distance the voice rang bravely through the thud of hoofs and rattle, of wheels, and there was in the half-heard words and jingling rhythm what there was in the sunshine and scent of steaming earth, the life and hope of the eternal spring. Seaforth laughed a little as he stretched his hand out to the girl, but the light which shone back at him from her eyes was softer than that of mirth. "I think that man knows what we know," he said. "Come out into the sunlight. The world is not what it was an hour ago." They were plodding down the dazzling road, one on either side of the dusty bicycle under the open sky when he spoke again. "All this makes me sorry for Harry." "Yes," said the girl reflectively, for she saw there was more to follow. Seaforth bent his head. "He has so little now. Hallam has beaten us all round, and Harry's face takes my sleep away. Everything he hoped for has been taken from him, and he is lame, you see." Nellie Townshead glanced at him swiftly. "One would scarcely notice it. You have something in your mind, Charley." Seaforth's face was troubled as he answered her. "It is a little difficult to put into words, and if it was anybody else than Harry I would not try. Still, Alice Deringham is almost as much to him as you are to me--and I don't think she knows the truth, you see." Nellie Townshead flushed a little, and there was a trace of anger in her eyes. "If Miss Deringham is punished for her wicked pride what is that to you?" "Nothing," said Seaforth quietly. "Still--because of what I saw at the ranch--I am sorry for her, and Harry, who has been a very good friend to me, is being punished too. We have so much, you and I, and he has nothing now." The girl did not answer him for at least a minute, and appeared concerned about something that rattled in the bicycle. Then she stopped and looked up at the man with a great tenderness in her eyes. "You want to tell her? Well, it will be very difficult, but I will do it for you." Seaforth stooped and kissed the little ungloved hand on the bicycle reverentially. "I don't know how I asked you, and knowing how much has been given me I am almost afraid," he said. Nellie Townshead smiled at him, but she said nothing further until they parted, and Seaforth turned back towards Vancouver city. He was brimming over with good-will to everybody when he reached it, and as it happened found storekeeper Horton, who came down there occasionally, waiting for him. Horton was by no means a genius or well versed in legal procedure, but he had a ready wit, and Seaforth felt prompted to tell him the story of their first disastrous march, which Alton had hitherto but partially narrated, though he suppressed its final incident. Horton listened gravely with his most magisterial air. "Harry's no fool, but he don't know everything," he said. "Now I see where you and me can take a hand in." "Yes?" said Seaforth thoughtfully. Horton nodded. "It was Damer who recorded your claim." "Damer?" said Seaforth. "That was the man Harry pitched into the river at Somasco." Horton chuckled. "You're right. Harry's just a trifle too handy at slinging folks into rivers and down stairways. Well, the fellow was hanging round my store, and I thought I knew him and wasn't sure, but when I saw his name down on the Crown mining record that fixed me. Now you're quite ready, you and Tom, to swear to the story you told me?" "Of course, but still I don't see----" Horton's eyes twinkled. "You will presently. That's where being a magistrate comes in. I'm going to take hold of Damer for horse-stealing." A thought came swiftly into Seaforth's mind, and he smote the table. "But I can't swear it was Damer. You would never convict him." Horton laughed the bushman's almost silent laugh. "I don't know that I want to. Anyway, I can keep on remanding him, and when I sent him up for trial it would be a rancher's jury. That's going to give us a pull on Mr. Hallam, who is standing in somewhere behind the whole thing--and I kind of fancy there's another man with him." Seaforth's face grew grave. "Then, as Harry wouldn't like it and there's nothing in it, I'd get rid of that fancy. Now, of course, you know what you can do, but isn't it playing a little too much into your own hand? And you see folks might get talking about the thing." Horton put on his most impressive air. "There's justice by statute, and there's equity, as well as a lot more you never heard about," said he. Seaforth could not check his smile. "And which of them is what we're going to do?" "This," said Horton solemnly, "is--all of them. It's the square thing. Is there any reason why a man shouldn't do what is right because it suits him? Anyway, it needn't worry you, because you can just sit up and watch the circus begin." "Just one question. Was Damer the man who rode out for the railroad one snowy night, shortly before I started after Harry?" Horton nodded, and wondered a little at the change in his companion, for there was a little flash in Seaforth's eyes and his voice had a ring. "Then," he said grimly, "I'm going to take a hand in, but there are several good reasons why we should not tell Harry." It was a week later when Forel came home one night looking somewhat anxious and depressed. He said little during the evening meal, but after it spoke to his wife alone, and Mrs. Forel came upon Alice Deringham soon after she left him. "I'm not going to get the new ponies after all," she said. "Poor Tom has been unfortunate again." "I am sorry," said Alice Deringham. "You mean in the city?" "Yes," said Mrs. Forel with a little sigh. "He is always a trifle sanguine, and he put a good many dollars into a venture Mr. Alton recommended. Tom expected a good deal from it--but the dollars have all gone." Alice Deringham did not look at the speaker. "They have lost the money?" "Well," said Mrs. Forel, "I believe they will do. I don't understand all of it, but Tom tells me that he can't see any hope for Alton unless a new railroad's built, or the Government does something for the Somasco country, and that does not seem likely." "Please tell me all you know." Mrs. Forel looked thoughtful. "It isn't a great deal. The land and ranches up at Somasco are not worth very much just now, but Alton persuaded Tom they would be presently, and he helped Alton to borrow more dollars from everybody who would lend them. Then they built mills and things which will not be much use to anybody unless a railroad comes in. The people would only lend him the money for a little while, and Alton had hoped to pay them out of a silver mine, but Hallam, it seems, has been working against him and got somebody to relocate the mine because Alton did not get there in time. Now unless Alton and his company can pay those dollars back the other people will take all he has away from him, and if the railroad is ever built it is they or Hallam, who has been trying to buy the mortgages from them, who will benefit." "But," said Alice Deringham, "how was it that Mr. Alton did not make sure of the mine?" "That is just what puzzles Tom. He stayed down here too long, and then there was a flood or something that delayed him. Still, if he had gone when he intended he would have been in time." Mrs. Forel glanced at her companion curiously, but the girl sat very still with her face turned aside. It was almost a minute before she spoke again. "And Mr. Alton takes it hardly?" "Tom doesn't seem to know. Alton, he thinks, must be beaten, but he told him he meant holding on until the last dollar had gone. After all, I can't help feeling sorry for him. It must be hard to get oneself crippled and then lose everything, while Tom declares there was nothing in that other affair about the girl." Alice Deringham said nothing, but Mrs. Forel saw the blood creep into the polished whiteness of her neck, and wished that she would look up. The girl's rigid stillness was, she fancied, a trifle unnatural, and suggested that there was a good deal behind it. "Well," she said presently, "that is all I know, and I think Tom is waiting for me." Mrs. Forel went away, and Alice Deringham sat where she had left her, white in face now, with something that was not wholly unlike horror in her eyes. "And," she said, "I kept him." Half an hour passed, and she did not move. Anger against her father and horror of herself were held in check as yet by a tense anxiety as to the end of the struggle she had plunged the man who loved her in. She could picture him standing with his grave quietness face to face with ruin, and holding on until the last faint hope had gone. Still, it seemed almost impossible that he should be beaten, and the curious confidence she had had in him reasserted itself and crept as a ray of brightness into the darkness of her humiliation. That might be borne or grappled with afterwards if Alton came out triumphant, but in the meanwhile she dare not think of herself or what she had done. Presently there was a tapping at the door, and a maid came in. "There's a lady--Miss Townshead--waiting to see you, miss," she said. Now Alice Deringham was the reverse of a timid woman, but for a few moments she felt her courage fail. Every instinct in her shrank from that meeting, but the maid had no cause to suspect it when she rose languidly and followed her. The interview was not of long duration, and nobody ever heard all that passed between the two, but when Seaforth, who had been waiting anxiously, handed Miss Townshead into the cars her eyes were misty. "Was it very hard?" he said. "No," the girl said slowly; "not after the beginning. I was angry when I went in, and I came away only sorry for her. There is a great deal more that is lovable in Miss Deringham than I ever fancied there could be." "Yes," said Seaforth sapiently. "But it's much better when there's nothing else, which is the case with somebody I know. I like my gold free from alloy." It was the next day when Deringham found his daughter alone in the sunny corner of the verandah. He carried a handful of papers, and the girl noticed that while he looked ill and haggard there was relief in his face. It was, however, with a vacant curiosity she waited for him to speak, for she had risen heavy-eyed and listless after a sleepless night. Deringham leaned against the balustrade in front of her, and appeared to find it somewhat difficult to begin. "I have just spent an hour with Mr. Alton and a lawyer, and have something of importance to tell you," he said. "I am listening," said the girl languidly, though Deringham fancied there were signs of a sudden intentness in her face. "We will commence at the beginning. Alton appears to have been doubtful respecting his right to Carnaby, and seems to have felt in the first place that it would not be fitting for him to receive as a favour what was his father's by right. I do not know that many men would have regarded it in that light." "I think," said the girl with a little quickening of her pulses, "that Mr. Alton's view was right!" "Well," said Deringham, with a little smile that seemed to indicate that the point was not important, "that brings us to his other motive, which displays a very creditable feeling. Tristan Alton, as you know, only relented upon his deathbed, when, as I pointed out to our kinsman, his senses were, in the opinion even of those who signed his will, a trifle clouded, and Alton was reluctant to profit by a half-delirious fancy which deprived us, or to be more literal, you, of what was virtually your own. As I told him no man in the possession of all his wits would have made such a will, and there was a probability that it could he successfully contested." "Then I think you blundered, father," said the girl. Deringham raised his hand as though to indicate that he did not purpose to discuss the question. "I have been trying to show you that Alton never regarded Carnaby as his. You follow me?" "No. I go farther," said the girl with a curious smile. "All that you have told me was quite clear to me some while ago." "Now we come to the present. Alton has proved to myself and the lawyer that he is solvent. That is if he sold everything he could just pay his debts, but because he does not intend to sell, he stands figuratively speaking with his back to the wall, and appears to consider that financial ruin may overtake him. That being so he has while he has the power made over all his rights in Carnaby to you." Alice Deringham rose up with a little gasp, quivering. "Father," she said in a strained voice, "I don't think I can forgive you." Deringham smiled deprecatingly. "I think that is beside the point," he said. "It seems to me that Alton has acted most becomingly, and if he survives his difficulties we could, of course, come to some amicable understanding with him respecting the partition of the property." The girl's face grew a trifle plainer, for one word had an ominous ring. "There is more than you have told me," and once more it struck her that Deringham was curiously haggard. "Well," he said, "life is always a trifle uncertain, and Alton has twice met with disaster in the ranges." The girl stood still looking at him steadily with a vague terror in her eyes. Then she said slowly, "And I am the mistress of all the Carnaby property. It is mine to do what I like with. I could borrow money upon it, or sell it?" "Under conditions," said Deringham with a little smile of relief, though his face grew clouded again. "Alton has made it yours, almost too absolutely." Alice Deringham did not remember what next passed between them or how she dismissed her father, but presently she sat alone staring down across the blue inlet with eyes that saw nothing. She was numbly sensible of a horrible humiliation, but that troubled her the least. Alton was standing with his back to the wall and in some vague peril of his life, and it was she who had helped to betray him. She almost hated her father, and she loathed herself, and yet a ray of hope shone through her fears. Carnaby was wholly hers, and with it she held the power to help him. That something which would test her courage to the uttermost must be done before he would accept help from her she knew, but the pride which had been a curse to her was in the dust, and when the vague project slowly grew into shape she rose and sought Forel. She was very composed in speech and bearing, but when the merchant heard what she asked him he gasped with astonishment. "I want it done as soon as possible," she said. CHAPTER XXXI "THE THIRD TIME" Horton was essentially practical, and once he saw his way usually set about the following of it without any of the misgivings which might have proved a hindrance to more intellectual men. There were, however, times when Seaforth wondered uneasily whether he was doing well, but he decided that as the outlook could not be much more unfavourable any variation would almost of necessity be an improvement, and that one could not afford to be over-scrupulous in a struggle with a man of Hallam's description. Accordingly he hoped for the best, and resigned himself to Horton, who grew more assured of the beneficence and legality of his proceedings during the journey to Somasco, where Seaforth accompanied him, and as soon as he arrived there sent round demanding the attendance of all the ranchers in that vicinity at his store, in the name of the law. He, however, contrived that the summons should not reach the few who, having refused to join the Somasco Consolidated, were suspected of complicity with Hallam, until it was too late, and though Seaforth ventured a few protestations, appeared perfectly contented with himself. "I'm put right here to scare off malefactors and encourage honest men, and I'm doing it, the best way I can," he said. The ranchers came, as did Captain Andersen, the venerable Scandinavian constable, whose duties had hitherto consisted in keeping his neighbours' gardens free of depredating hogs and improving his own land. Horton also made a speech to them, and appeared somewhat offended when some of them broke into the bushman's silent chuckle. "We have," he said, "no use for fooling. This is the most serious and solemn kind of thing." "Oh, yes," said one of the assembly. "That's just what it's going to be if Damer's friends stand by him. Damer isn't going to come along to prison because Andersen tells him." Horton regarded the speaker with a gravity that was tempered by semi-contemptuous pity. "Then," he said, "because I'm going to swear you in as special constables, you and the boys will make him." There was another lapse into half-audible laughter and one of the men touched Seaforth's shoulder. "I'm wondering what Harry would think of this," said he. "It would sound kind of curious in the old country." Seaforth smiled as he made a little gesture of resignation. "The point is that he doesn't know. Anyway, we haven't done much to be proud of while we acted sensibly, and now and then foolishness seems to pay as well as wisdom." "Well," said the other, grinning, "I wouldn't call old Horton a fool altogether." Horton interrupted him by calling up six of the biggest men, and very gravely swearing them in, after which he produced a paper. "This," he said, "is a warrant for the apprehension of one Roger Damer for horse-stealing, and all you have to do is to go up and get him. You will meet here at daylight to-morrow, every man with a horse and provisions, but while I'll do the best I can for you I'm not quite sure the Government will pay for them." Once more there was soft laughter, but early next morning six silent men, whose bronze faces bore no trace of merriment now, rode out of the settlement, with rifles slung behind them, and four more followed later leading heavily-laden horses by the bridle. Time was not of vital importance, and though all of them were at home in the bush they prospected for the easiest road, which led them through valleys few men of their race had ever set foot in before. Twice a few of the Siwash, who come down the rivers with the spring, awoke when the moon was in the sky, and heard a trampling of horses high up amidst the pines that shut in a lonely valley, and once a solitary prospector, camping close beneath the snow, rose drowsily beside his fire, and wondered whether he was dreaming as he saw a line of mounted men with rifles flit by and vanish beyond a black hill shoulder. They rode in silence, and save for the muffled ring of iron and faint jingle of steel, he could have taken them for disembodied spirits in place of living men. Horton, however, had in him a trace of the general, and did what his mind could grasp with a grim thoroughness, while, as the result of it, there was blank astonishment one morning in a mining camp as he and the men who followed him appeared as by magic from amidst the pines surrounding it. They were also armed, and the miners, who rose from their breakfast, stared at them motionless in silence, that is, all save one, who slipped into a tent and afterwards out through the back of it. Horton, however, saw him, and his command was to the point--"Stop him." There was a rustle of branches, and Tom of Okanagan rose out of the thicket the fugitive had almost gained, with a rifle in his hand. He laughed somewhat grimly as he said, "Stop right where you are." Then there was for a space a somewhat impressive tableau, that had in it humorous as well as tragic possibilities. Hallam's men had doubtless been chosen because of qualities which are more tolerated farther south than they are in that country, but they had nothing handy to enforce their protests with beyond their camp utensils, and it did not appear advisable to make a move in search of more effective weapons. Accordingly they stood silent, with the smoke drifting about them, all save one of them, who, with impotent fury in his face, backed step by step into the opening before their shanty, as Tom of Okanagan beckoned him. Nobody else moved at all, for Horton's company were commandingly posted beneath the surrounding pines, and there was a grim twinkle in the eyes of one who carried a rifle, and had risen out of the undergrowth between the shovels and axes and their legitimate owners. How long the spectacle would have lasted Seaforth did not know, but at last the man, who had backed away before Okanagan, tripped on a tent line and went down headlong. That broke the silence, and the big man, who had on a previous occasion spoken with Alton, stepped forward. "Now what the ---- is all this about?" he said. "Stand back," said Horton solemnly as he drew out a paper. "It's the hand of the law. Here's a warrant for Roger Damer, and it's his body we've come for. You will put the handcuffs on him, Constable Andersen, and if he tries to stop you Tom has full authority to pound the wickedness out of him." "Hold on," said the big man. "That's your way of it. Now has it struck you that there are things we might do?" "Oh, yes," said Horton with undiminished gravity. "You're going to stop where you are, like lawful citizens, because there are enough of us to make you if you don't want to." The argument was incontrovertible, and there was only a growl of protest as the venerable Scandinavian did his duty. Then while two men stood on guard over their prisoner Horton turned for the last time to the miners. "I'm kind of sorry I don't know quite enough about you to take the rest of you along," he said. "Still, if I can find out anything we'll come back for you again. Well, boys, we'll be going. Hitch that lariat on to the prisoner's wrists, and keep a good hold on it, Constable Andersen." Nothing more was said, for Horton's men marched out of camp as silently as they had come, and it was only when the pines had closed about them that a hoarse laugh went back in answer to the volley of vituperation that rose out of the hollow behind them. Damer spoke no word to any man all that day or the next, but when they camped on the second night high up on the hillside he signed to Seaforth, who passed the fire where he lay a little apart from the rest. "Somebody is going to be sorry for this," he said. "Now a sensible man would wonder what you expect to make by it." "You mean that we can't connect you with the horse-stealing?" "Yes," said the man, "if there was any. Now there are men behind me who will make you and Horton very sorry you ever fooled with me." Seaforth smiled outwardly and with his eyes, for he surmised that the prisoner was willing to bargain for his freedom, but his lips were set and he found it difficult to restrain the rage that welled up within him. "Well," he said, "I don't know that it is of any great importance whether we do or not. It will be enough to hold you by until we find out all that happened one snowy night when somebody fixed a lariat across a trail, and there was another affair up in the bush." The light of the fire was on them, and the man's face betrayed him, though his words were bold enough. "You don't take me with a hand like that!" Seaforth trembled a little as his anger shook him, for he had seen enough. "I think you are the man we want," he said. He had desired to make quite certain and succeeded, but he afterwards regretted it, for the effect of that speech upon the prisoner, who did not answer him, was considerably more than he had anticipated. The man, who appeared, as Seaforth decided later, suspiciously cowed and dejected, said nothing to any of his captors all next day, and lay down at night in apathetic sullenness, but when the rancher who slept beside him awoke in the morning he had gone, and by way of ironical farewell somebody had hung a pair of rusty handcuffs whose snap-spring was evidently defective upon a neighbouring tree. One man had kept watch beside the fire, which he had left for a few minutes to bring in more wood, and another by the horses; but while neither of them had seen or heard anything, the fact that their captive was no longer with them remained, and half-an-hour spent in very pointed and personal recriminations did nothing to solve the mystery. It was Horton who terminated the discussion. "We've no use for more talking, boys," he said. "The man was here last night, and he isn't now, and it don't count for very much how he got away. Head right away for the railroad, two of you. Another two will strike for the pass in the main divide, and if you get through quick enough you'll turn him off into the back country. The rest of you will stop right here and help Okanagan to pick up his trail." There was a hurried saddling of horses, four mounted men went crashing through the undergrowth downhill at the risk of neck and limbs, and an hour later Seaforth and Okanagan stopped a few moments breathless beside a frothing stream. "He'll have gone this way for the river, sure," said the latter. "You can tell Horton to send Thomson and Andersen across to watch the canon." Seaforth looked at the bushman, and his face was curiously grim. "You know who he is, Tom? We must have him at any cost, and I think it is my fault he got away." Okanagan laughed a little almost silent laugh that had no mirth in it. "If the boys can head him off from the railroad I'll find him sure," he said. "Oh, yes, I think I know him. When we get him I'm figuring we'll find the marks of Harry's knife on him." Okanagan found the trail again lower down the valley, and he and another tireless man headed for the river through a country no horse could traverse all that day, leaving Seaforth behind them worn-out at noon. He sat down to wait for Horton considerably disturbed in mind, and his anxieties would not have been diminished had he known that Alton was starting for Somasco by the Atlantic express that afternoon. It was next day when Alton reached the settlement and found the few women there in a state of excitement, while when he had heard their story he borrowed the best horse he could find and rode out at a gallop towards the ranges. He had also spent several days in the bush without finding any trace of the party when he camped one evening on the edge of one of the many deep ravines the torrents wear out of the hillsides. It stretched, a dim shadowy chasm, across his path, and looking down he could faintly see the firs that clung here and there to the sides of it loom faintly black through the drifting mist. It was too dark to seek for a way of descending or round the head of it, and he decided to remain where he was until the morning. Twenty minutes sufficed to make his simple camp, and he sat with his back to a cedar-trunk and a can of green tea beside him, while the shadows crept higher up the hillsides and night tame down to meet them out of the dimness of the east. The fire crackled joyously. There was hope in all the smells of spring, and the stir of life in every growing thing, while the chill that came down from the white peaks fired the blood like wine; but Alton sighed as he glanced up at the stars above him and his face was sombre. There was, it seemed, no possibility of the railroad being built to Somasco, he could only see disaster in front of him, and knew that with the hope of prosperity a brighter one had gone. He would be a poor man, and was a cripple, and--for he had not forgotten his deficiencies--could have laughed at the folly which had led him to grasp at that which could never be his. Then his slow, enduring stubbornness came to his help again as he remembered that there yet remained to him the fight with Hallam. "I was a fool. She only wanted to be kind," he said. Still, he groaned in a fit of passion as the memory of one moment at midnight in Somasco ranch returned to him, for all his pulses throbbed feverishly as he felt in fancy the warm white arm steal round his neck. "I must have dreamt it--with the rest," he said. "And if I didn't, that was enough to remember. God bless her for her gentleness." Again he flung the memories from him with an effort that brought a dew to his face, but the conflict which must be fought every day was over, and he stretched his long limbs amidst the soft cedar-twigs and lay down to sleep with a stolid acquiescence that if wholly free from bitterness was but little brightened by the victory. The man's life had been a struggle almost since its beginning, and he was stubborn, but his own headstrong passions had been the most obdurate enemy he had ever brought into subjection. Sleep came and brought him forgetfulness. The fire sank to a lambent flicker above the white-flecked embers, the pines sang their mystic songs about him as a little breeze awoke, and their soft sighing was answered by the growl of the torrent far down in the ravine. Now and then the horse stamped restlessly and tugged at the lariat that was pegged down within reach of Alton's arm, and once came up and looked down on him. Alton usually slumbered lightly in the bush, but man's primitive instincts reassert themselves in the wilderness, and because it is possible that his senses were not wholly dormant and there was some subtle sympathy between him and the beasts that served him he did not awaken. Then the horse grew restless and pricked its ears, stood still snorting, and backed away to the length of its tether as a face looked out from the undergrowth. The sinking light of the fire was on it, and it was an evil face with the stamp of hunger on it, and malevolence in the staring eyes. Again the horse snorted and trembled as an arm was thrust out of the bushes and something glinted in the hand, but Alton still lay motionless with the pack saddle under his shoulders. Then a man crawled clear of the undergrowth, rose up, and stooped over the lariat with a knife in his hand. He needed a horse badly, and one stroke with the blade would give him one; but he needed food and a saddle almost as much, and moving forward a few paces gazed at the sleeping man. He saw the pack that had been seized to the saddle, and guessed that there were several days' provisions inside it, while a wolfish gleam came into his eyes as he straightened himself and stood very still listening. His garments hung in thorn-rent rags about him, weariness was in his very attitude, but his face had written on it the cunning and courage of desperation, for he had been hunted by tireless men who were then close behind him, and had travelled for the most part starving and without sleep. With a good horse and provisions he could yet escape his enemies, and the man looked scarcely human as he stood watching the sleeper with a sullen glow in his eyes. There was nothing audible but the sighing of the pines and the faint sound of breathing, and moving a pace nearer he stopped again. The man he watched was very still, but a little breeze fanned the fire, and when the flickering radiance passed across his face the watcher almost betrayed himself with a cry as he recognized him. There was only one course open to him now, and with the muscles of his right arm contracting and the lean soil-stained fingers he had clawed his way up the ravine with closing on the knife, he crept forward another pace. He had no great fear of anything Horton and the ranchers could do without the help of this man who could condemn him, and he knew his capabilities. Now one swift thrust would silence him forever, and once he could reach the railroad there was a man who for his own sake would help him safely out of the country with as many dollars as he might demand. Still, he slipped out of the firelight next second, and the knife shook a little in his hand. Alton had lain with his right arm under him, and the starched shirt he had worn when he left the city showing white where the jacket and blanket had fallen apart, but now the arm was stretched across his body. Still, his eyes were closed, and the man who surmised that he must have moved while he glanced at the provisions closed with him swiftly, crouching. He stopped again, stooping further, for the arm and blanket were in the way, and he knew he might have no opportunity for a second thrust. Something must be risked, and moving his eyes from the sleeper's face he endeavoured to draw the blanket gently aside. That was a blunder, for the soil-stained fingers had scarcely touched the fabric when a fist was dashed full in his face, and as he staggered backwards something hove itself partly upright and fell upon him. After that neither of them knew all that had happened, but the knife fell from a hand whose wrist yielded under a crushing grasp, and was kicked away and trampled on. Then breathing stertorously they reeled into a fir, and the assailant's hand was free again, while stones rattled beneath them as Alton, half-suffocated, flung him almost at arm's length from him. Then the ground seemed to slip away beneath him, and he wound an arm about his adversary as he smote again. Faint as he was with the blow, Alton did not, however, strive to shake him off now, but grappled with him the more closely, and next moment they had rolled crashing through a juniper. Then the other man came down undermost and struck a stone, there was a swift glissade over rattling shingle and through smashing undergrowth, and Alton lay still alone, while something rolled on down the slope beneath him, until hearing a splash below he rose with a little hoarse cry and swung himself off the ledge which had arrested him. He rolled over several times, but came down, as he discovered later, whole in limb, for he could think of nothing then as he groped in and out amidst the pools and boulders for his enemy. When he found him the man lay with his face apparently in the water, and only moaned a little when Alton shook him. Then suddenly his passion fell from him, and with a gentleness that was in no way akin to pity he dragged the limp body from the water, and sat down to wait for morning with the wet head upon his knee. The morning was also a very long while coming, but at last, when the stars were paling and the dark pines slowly grew into shape and form, there was a sound of footsteps on the heights above and a voice he recognized came down: "Come right along. Here's his fire, but the man has gone." "Charley!" cried Alton, and there was an exclamation of astonishment followed by a scrambling, and presently Seaforth stopped with a little gasp by his comrade. Alton's face showed drawn and grey in the creeping light, and there was another more blanched one in the wet fern beside him. "Good Lord!" said Seaforth. "What's the meaning of this, Harry?" "Look at him," said Alton gravely. "You should know him. I think this is the third time." "Damer!" said Seaforth hoarsely. "We were trailing him, and knew he couldn't be far off when we saw your fire. We took it for his. Is he dead?" "No," said Alton gravely, "I hope not. We have some use for him. Go back and get the lariat, and we'll try to heave him up." CHAPTER XXXII ALTON HOLDS HIS HAND It was very quiet and somewhat chilly in the little back room of Horton's hotel when Damer, who lay on a trestle-cot, moved his head a trifle and made a feeble sign. The fire had sunk in the stove, and it was then towards two o'clock in the morning, when man's vitality is at its lowest. The young doctor Horton had brought in from a distant settlement shivered a little as he rose and stooped over the bed. Damer glanced at him out of glazing eyes, and made a faint gesture. "I have no use for you," he said. "It's Alton I want." The doctor crossed over to Horton, who sat in a corner. "If there is anything you want to ask him lose no time," he said. "The man can't last until the morning." "Well," said Horton gravely, "it would be a favour if you went down for Neilson, the surveyor. He's sitting up waiting. You see we want some witnesses not connected with the thing in case he's going to tell us anything. Harry, you'd better talk to him." Alton crossed the room and sat down by the bed. He had, as it happened, come out almost scatheless from the fall into the ravine, which was not the case with his assailant, who had been carried down to the settlement with the life just clinging to his crushed body. All that was possible had been done for him, and now Alton waited with intense suspense, with something akin to compassion in his eyes, and his anger diverted from the dying wretch to the man who had made use of him. "You're going to talk?" he said. "Well, it's only square to warn you that it will be all put down." Damer glanced at Horton, who sat with a pen in his hand and a paper on his knee, and from him to the surveyor holding one or two Government appointments, who came quietly in. "That's all right," he said very slowly. "Well, I wanted to kill you, but I don't know that I've a great deal against you now. You and the boys did what you could for me, and it was a man in the city who held me to it. Oh, yes, he's sitting down there raking in the dollars, and don't care two cents that the man he sent up to make them is dying here. The thing's not square, anyway." Alton was sensible of a faint disgust, but he remembered that he could not afford to be fastidious, because the men he had drawn into his venture must stand or fall with him. "We want to know who he is," he said. There was a glimmer of malice in Damer's face. "Well," he said, and the strained voice grew clearer, "it was Hallam of the Tyee. There was something I did that gave him a pull on me, and that man has no mercy for anybody." Alton heard the scratching of Horton's pen. "And Hallam hired you to murder me?" "Yes," and Damer glanced at Horton. "You have got that down? At first he only hired me to go up to Somasco and watch you while I worked for you. You're a tolerably smart man, Harry Alton, but it's kind of curious you didn't know me." Alton stared at the drawn face with a bewildered expression, and then moved a trifle in his chair. "Good Lord!" he said. "Black Nailer's partner! Well, I didn't see you that often--and it was dark when----" Damer's face went awry with pain, but his gesture implied comprehension. "Yes," he said feebly. "When you got him with the axe. Nailer had been on the whisky, and that gun of his was a little stiff on the magazine-spring; but he was the best partner I ever had, and I left a good claim behind when you and the boys chased me right out of that part of Washington. Now you've got the beginning. Give me a little more brandy." The doctor came forward softly and held a glass to the cracked lips, then lifted the dying man a little. After that there was silence for at least five minutes, and Alton sat rigidly still, choking down his fierce impatience as he saw his last hope slipping away from him. Then he drew in his breath with a quivering sigh as the feeble voice commenced again. "Get it down. You haven't much time." Horton's pen scratched and spluttered, as sinking now and then almost beyond hearing, the disjointed words fell from the lips that could scarcely frame them; but it was nevertheless with a horrible vividness that Damer told his story, and those who sat listening gasped with relief when at last it was finished and everything was plain. Then he signed to the doctor, who raised his head a trifle and once more held a glass to his lips. "Read it. I want to see you've got it straight," he said. For a space Horton's voice rose and fell monotonously as he read in haste. Then he approached the bed with the paper, and the dying man seized the pen. He traced a few straggling characters upon the document, and let it fall again, watched with strained impatience while Horton and the surveyor signed, and then turned his head from the light. "Now," he said, "I guess I've fixed the man who held the whip over me up quite tight." It was probably ten minutes before he moved again, and then he signed to Alton very feebly with his fingers, while a curious look that afterwards puzzled the rancher, who could not forget it, crept into his eyes. There was vindictiveness in it, but whether there was more than this he could never tell. "There's just another thing," he said in a hoarse, strained whisper as Alton bent over him. "Come nearer--a little nearer still. Now there was another man as well as Hallam." Alton glancing round saw that the others had not heard, and stooped a trifle further as the cracked lips moved again. Nobody caught what Damer told him, but when he straightened himself again his face was white and grim, and he went out without a word to any one. Then the flicker of a smile came into the eyes of the dying man, and he moved his head so that his face was hidden. The doctor, crossing over softly, looked down on him and signed to the others that they might leave the room. "He may last an hour or two, but I don't think he will speak again," he said. In the meanwhile Alton strode with hands clenched into the shadows of the silent pines. He had long been troubled by vague suspicions, and had driven them away, but he could not doubt what Damer had told him, and groaned as he stood face to face with the verity. He had been too proud to stoop at any time to take an unfair advantage of an enemy, but he could not lightly forget a wrong, and there was a trace of stubborn vindictiveness within him. Hallam had brought him down to ruin, and thrice struck at his life by treachery, and now Damer's testimony had placed his enemy in his hand. He had but to close it and crush him, but he also realized with fierce anger what this would cost him, for Hallam had, it seemed, protected himself effectively. If he dragged Hallam down Deringham must fall with him, and while that consideration alone would not have stayed him in spite of the curious pride of race and family which he had become sensible of of late, it was evident that his daughter must suffer too. She had done no wrong, and Alton, who thought of her with a great tenderness, dare not contemplate all that the revelation would cost her. It would have been bitter to let his enemy go free, had he stood alone, but that was, he realized, what no man can do, and there were behind him with their future linked to his the ranchers of Somasco whose safety demanded that he should put it out of Hallam's power to do them a further injury. It would also be so simple. He had but to hold his hand, and Horton would take all the action that was needful. Then it became more plain to him that even at the cost of his loyalty to his comrades he could not allow the woman he loved to suffer with the guilty. He knew her pride and that the blow would crush her, but again through all his pity for her a gust of rage shook him, and he ground the soft cedar-twigs viciously beneath his heel. He could not face the thought of the woman's humiliation. Everything must go, his pride, his faith, his vengeance, before that came about, and he stopped in his restless pacing and leaned against a pine as the conflicting emotions gave place to a quiet resolution. At last he could see the stars between the great branches high above him, and shivered a little as a chilly breeze sighed across the silent bush. Something in its stillness reacted upon him, and the last trace of his passion melted away. If he did wrong he alone would be responsible, and at least his enemy's daughter should not suffer. Walking very slowly he went back to the hotel, and found Horton writing. He glanced at Alton curiously and then answered the unasked question. "Yes," he said; "he's out on the trail now, and one would kind of wonder where it was taking him. Where have you been all this time, Harry?" "How long have I been?" said Alton. "Two hours, anyway. Well, you needn't tell me if you don't want to, but it's quite easy to see that something is worrying you." Alton concealed his astonishment. "I've had things to think about," said he. "Wasn't there a paper you took from Damer?" "Oh, yes," and Horton flung him several crumpled sheets across. "Nothing much to be made of that. It has been given him to send cipher telegrams with." Alton glanced at the paper with apparently vague curiosity, but his brain was busy and he had a good memory. "I think I'd let the folks in Vancouver have it," he said with a yawn. "Now I want a few hours' rest, because we're going back at sun up to restake the claim." Horton looked thoughtful. "I'm not quite sure you could hold it. It hasn't been declared open." Alton laughed a little. "Well, I think I can," he said. "Damer hadn't got his patent, anyway, and it's scarcely likely that the man who sent him will protest against me." Then he slowly strolled away, but once the door closed behind him moved with quick resolute steps to his room. There he sat busy with pen and paper for several minutes, and then descending softly found Okanagan in the store. "Get your horse as quietly as you can, and ride in to the railroad with this message as if the devil was after you," he said. Okanagan stretched himself sleepily. "Horton's sending in at sun up." "Yes," said Alton dryly. "I want my message on the wires some hours before his, but nobody need know of it beyond you and me." Okanagan nodded, and in another five minutes Alton looked into the room where Horton was still writing. "I fancied I heard somebody riding down the trail, but it's not quite easy being a magistrate, and my head's got kind of mixed," said the latter. "Still, I've nearly got this thing fixed, and if the folks down in Vancouver don't fool over it, when Hallam hears what's happened to his partner he'll be under lock and key." "Oh, yes," said Alton. "We'll hope for the best, though that man's kind of slippery." In the meanwhile Tom of Okanagan was riding at a gallop down the trail, with the thin mist whirling by him and the stars above him growing dim, and there were several leagues between him and the settlement when daylight crept slowly into the valley. Thus it happened that Horton's dispatches to the police at Vancouver were not the first that left the station, and that evening Deringham, who was sitting with his daughter on the verandah of Forel's house, turned from the girl with a little closing of his lips as he saw Hallam coming up the pathway. His movements suggested nervous haste, and though he was usually neat in dress, his unbuttoned coat had evidently been flung on, while the glance he cast behind him towards the wharf where one of the Sound steamers was about to sail savoured of apprehension. This did not escape Alice Deringham. "Mr. Hallam seems to be in a hurry," she said. "I wish he had not come now, because I do not like that man, and you have not been well lately. You will not let him disturb you?" Deringham rose and looked down on her with a curious little smile. "I don't know that it can be helped, but I am no more pleased to see Mr. Hallam than you seem to be," he said. For a moment, and though the breach between them had not been healed, the girl's heart smote her. Deringham had beguiled her into an action whose memory would, she fancied, always retain its sting, but he was her father, and seemed very worn and ill. Also some instinctive impulse prompted her to detain him. "Father," she said pleadingly, "don't see him. Go in at once, and I will tell him that quietness is necessary to you." Deringham had almost yielded to the hand upon his arm when Hallam glanced in their direction and signed to him. Then he shook off the girl's grasp and she shivered a little for no apparent reason as they went in together. There was nobody else about, for Mrs. Forel and her husband had gone down to the city, and she sat alone on the verandah while a murmur of voices reached her through an open window. Though his words were inaudible her father appeared to be expostulating. Then he came out, and as she noticed there was an unusual pallor in his face and that his hands were trembling, she remembered he had looked as he did then once before when a partial failure of the heart's action had almost cost him his life. "You must send Mr. Hallam away at once," she said. Deringham made a gesture of impatience. "I shall be rid of him altogether in a few more minutes. You have some money by you?" "Yes," said the girl. "I am not fond of going to the bank, and got Mr. Forel to change my English cheque into currency, but why do you want it?" "Hallam has to catch the steamer, and the banks are shut. Don't ask questions now, but get me the money quick." Alice Deringham went in, and returned with a little satchel. "This is all I have, and I don't feel very willing to lend it Mr. Hallam," she said. Deringham took the satchel from her and moved away; then, as though acting under impulse, he stopped and looked back at her. "Thank you, my dear," he said, with a curious gentleness. "It has relieved me of a good deal of anxiety." He went away, and Alice Deringham, hearing the door close behind him, wondered a little. When she next looked up she saw Hallam swinging with hasty strides down the road, and a little later the roar of a whistle rang about the pines as a big white steamer moved out into the inlet. A cloud of yellow vapour rolled from her funnel, there was a frothing wash beneath her towering sides, and the girl watched her languidly until the pines which shroud the Narrows shut the great white fabric from her sight and left only a moving trail of smoke. Then she felt happier. The steamer had at least taken Hallam away, and her father was not now the courtly though somewhat reserved gentleman who had treated her with indulgent kindness until Hallam crossed his path. It was a fine evening, and she sat still on the verandah wondering how the rift had imperceptibly widened between them, until again the blood crept to her forehead as she remembered that it was at his instigation she had detained Alton. Still, though she realized that this could not be wholly forgotten, she took her part of the blame, and felt sorry for the harassed man whose anxieties were intensified by his solicitude for her welfare. He was in difficulties, his health was failing, and she decided upon an attempt at reconciliation. The respect she had cherished for him could never be quite restored, but she could be a more sympathetic daughter, and help him to bear his troubles. Then as she glanced down across the inlet with eyes that grew softer, Forel and his wife came up through the garden. "Still alone?" he said. "Where is your father?" "I think he is in your room," said the girl. "Mr. Hallam came in to see him." "Hallam? Now I wonder----" said Forel, and stopped, but Alice Deringham had seen his face, and being a woman took instinctive warning. "I don't think he wanted anything of importance, and he was only in a minute or two," she said. They went in together, but Forel was behind the girl, when she pushed open a door and then stopped just inside it. Deringham was sitting before a table, and there was something that perplexed her in his attitude. He seemed curiously still, and his head had fallen forward. "Father," she said, and her heart beat a trifle faster, for Deringham did not move. His face was not visible, and moving forward she grew suddenly faint and cold as she touched his shoulder. There was no response from the man, and she now noticed that he seemed huddled together; but she saw nothing more, for just then a hand was laid upon her arm. Shaking off the grasp, she turned and saw her growing horror reflected in Forel's face. "You must come away, my dear," he said hoarsely. Alice Deringham shivered, but she stood very straight a moment, staring down with dilated eyes at the grim figure in the chair. "Touch him. Speak to him," she said in a voice that set Forel's nerves on edge, and then as the last faint hope died away, stretched out her hands with a little half-choked cry. "Come away," said Forel very huskily. He was sensible that the girl's hand was very cold as he drew her from the room, but he left her with his wife on the verandah and then went back hastily. Forel was a kindly man, but he knew that speculation in Western mines has its under-side, and it was for the girl's sake he stripped off the top sheet of the blotting-pad, which had a recent impression on it, and afterwards poured the remaining contents of a wineglass out into the stove. Then he glanced all round the room before he went out to send for a doctor. It was an hour later when he found his wife alone. "How is she?" he said. Mrs. Forel's eyes were hazy. "I think she has given way at last--it was awful at first when she would only sit and look at me," she said; and then her voice sank a little, "How did it happen, Tom?" "Heart disease," said Forel. "The doctor is quite sure of that." "But," said Mrs. Forel, "what brought it on?" "Well," said Forel slowly, "anything that upsets one is apt to prove perilous in cases like his, and I rather fancy that Deringham had a quarrel with Hallam. They had dealings together, and I think Deringham must have lost a good deal of money. You will not, however, mention it to anybody." Mrs. Forel looked at her husband curiously, "No, of course," she said. "I wish I knew what to do for the girl." CHAPTER XXXIII MISS DERINGHAM'S CONFESSION Several weeks had passed since Deringham's funeral when one evening Forel, sitting alone on his verandah, saw Alton coming up the pathway. His face was once more bronzed by wind and sun, but it had not wholly lost the sombreness Forel had noticed when he had last seen him in Vancouver. "I'm glad to see you, Forel, for I've just come in from Victoria, and there's a good deal I want to know," he said. "You generally do," and Forel became suddenly grave. "You heard what happened to your kinsman?" "Yes," said Alton. "It was some time before I got your letter. I was back up there at the mine, you know. Very sudden, wasn't it?" Forel nodded. "Still, it was not altogether astonishing. The doctor had warned him a few days before it happened that any unusual exertion or excitement might prove perilous." "And, so far as you know, was there anything of that kind?" Ford watched his companion closely as he answered: "I have told nobody else, but Hallam called here and saw him shortly before it happened." Alton's face remained impassive, but his voice was not quite in accordance with it as he said, "The police have no word of him?" Forel smiled. "As there cannot well be a prosecution without a prisoner they are somewhat reticent. Still, Hallam caught the Sound steamer, and late that night one of the officers came round here, while I was eventually able to glean a few details. The steamer had called at one or two ports before they got the wires, and while the American police might have shadowed him, you cannot arrest a Canadian across the frontier until you get your papers through. By the time that was done there was no trace of Hallam. Still, I'm a little puzzled, because he seems to have cleared out at a moment's notice, and it's difficult to see who could have warned him." Forel fancied that Alton seemed relieved. "He has gone, anyway," he said. "Still, if he had only time to catch the steamer the banks would be closed, and he couldn't go very far without dollars. They generally want two signatures to a cheque in a concern like his." Forel looked Alton steadily in the face. "I happen to know that he took a good big cheque with him, and it was negotiated in Tacoma," he said. "It has transpired since that his partner was away that day, and his cheque-book not available." Alton's eyes closed a trifle, and though he made no other sign Forel saw that the shot had reached its mark. "Then," he said slowly, "I would rather you didn't mention it. Hallam is scarcely likely to venture back again." "No," said Forel. "There were, I fancy, things his partners didn't know, but when he had gone they commenced inquiring, and it is currently believed that what they discovered slightly astonished them. Then there was an indignation meeting of the Tyee shareholders and talk about prosecuting the accountant." There was relief in Alton's face, which softened suddenly as he said, "And how is Miss Deringham?" Forel smiled. "I fancied you were about to ask that question first," he said. "The girl seemed to take it very hard, and at last I sent my wife and her away up to the hotel in the Rockies. Hettie has persuaded her to stay on here, and I expect them home very shortly." "But she would be wanted at Carnaby?" said Alton. "Well," said Forel, once more watching him, "I believe the lawyers wrote for her, but she seems to have a horror of the place, and Hettie dare scarcely mention it to her. I'll tell you nothing more until you've had dinner." Forel adhered to his resolution, and it was more than an hour later when he returned to the subject as they sat, cigar in hand, on the verandah, watching the lights of the vessels blink across the inlet. "We are going to keep Miss Deringham as long as we can," he said. "She has no kinsfolk she thinks much of in England, and Hettie is very fond of her. Did I tell you that Thorne called upon her?" "No," said Alton, with a curious vibration in his voice. "Well," said Forel, "I meant to. No doubt he felt it his duty, but Hettie seemed to fancy there was something else. Still, I think she was mistaken, because he said good-bye to us when he went away, and we heard since that he had sailed for another station." "He was a good man," said Alton gravely. Forel glanced at him curiously. "Women are subject to such fancies, and Hettie had another once," he said. "In fact, I think she was quite sorry when it apparently came to nothing." Alton laughed mirthlessly. "Wasn't it a trifle foolish of Mrs. Forel? Miss Deringham is a lady of position in the old country, and I a bush rancher, standing on the brink of ruin, and a cripple." "Of course," said Forel, "you know best. Still, I can't help fancying you are unduly proud of your affliction, because it is scarcely perceptible to other people, while Miss Deringham has not a great deal to maintain her position with. You see the death duties are heavy in the old country, and from the letters she has shown me Deringham appears to have involved the estate considerably during his stewardship." Alton laid down his cigar. "It seems to me that we are taking a liberty in discussing Miss Deringham's affairs," he said dryly. "Well," said Forel, with a little smile, "you have a good deal to tell me." Alton nodded. "I went back to the mine after Damer's death," he said. "Got there just before sun up, and we had our stakes in before Hallam's men quite realized what we were after. Of course there was a circus, but we had expected it and fixed things accordingly. Hallam's men went out and I came down to see the Crown people in Victoria. Two or three of the others, however, called on the nearest recorder's at the same time as me. We came down in the same cars, you see." "Have we any chance at all?" said Forel. Alton smiled dryly. "I left Okanagan and Seaforth with enough of the boys to hold the claim sitting tight," he said. "Talked to the chiefs in Victoria, and showed them Damer's testimony. They told me that nobody had a patent, and that everything that had been done was informal, and because they would probably have to submit the case to Ottawa it would take time for them to come to a decision. And now for Somasco. The new mill's finished, but it has got to live on the local demand, and just now there isn't any. We're half through with the desiccatory, but as it seems the Government will not make us roads, the California people with their cheap transport will beat us easily. I've got thirty men chopping out a new trail one could haul a loaded wagon on, and don't quite know how to pay them. We've raised a piece of the cannery, but for want of dollars don't go on, and, to put it straight, unless that railroad comes in, Somasco will be busted when the loans come due." "Well," said Forel, "I've some news for you. One of my clients who seems to think a good deal of the future of Somasco offers dollars enough to help you considerably--in fact, half as much again as you were asking for lately." Alton's face brightened, and then grew clouded again. "The other folks have security, and as I don't know that we have anything we could offer this one, I'm not sure it would be square," he said. "The dollars," said Forel, "are now in my hands, and I fancy that if you will go through the books with me tomorrow we can find something that would figure as security. In fact, the lender left me a tolerably wide discretion and would almost as soon I sank the dollars to take a share of the profits as put them out on loan." Alton appeared astonished. "Considering our present credit, that is somewhat curious." "There it is, anyway," said Forel, smiling. "There are, it seems, still people who believe in Somasco and you, but we'll see what we can fix up to-morrow." Alton stood up and straightened himself to his full height, while his voice trembled a little as he said, "Then I think whoever it is is going to save us yet." Forel made no answer, but he fancied that his client would have been contented had she seen how Alton seemed to shake off the grim hopelessness that had been too apparent through all his resolution. It was with a lighter heart that Alton went away, and having little leisure or inclination for company, he did not go back to his friend's house until the evening of Mrs. Forel's return. The sun had dipped behind the pines when he reached it, and Forel and his wife sat with Alice Deringham upon the verandah, for which the girl was grateful, because the presence of others rendered their conventional greetings easier, and she at once shrank from and desired an interview with Alton alone. By and by it, however, happened that Forel, who may have received a warning from his wife, remembered that he had some business to attend to, while Mrs. Forel went away, as she explained, to instruct the Chinese cook, and Alice Deringham was left face to face with a task that now appeared almost impossible. She could not commence it directly. "And now I want you to tell me all about Somasco," she said. Alton leaned with his back against a pillar looking down on her, and the girl, who lay in a long chair, wished that she had chosen a position where the light did not fall so directly upon her. That was in one respect curious, because she had taken considerable pains with her toilet, and knew that the sweeping lines of the long black dress became her. Its sombreness also emphasized the ivory whiteness of her neck and hands, while the pallor and weariness of her face awoke a tenderness that was far more than pity in the man. He caught the glint of the lustrous red-gold hair as she moved her head a trifle, and then turned his eyes away with a little restless movement that did not escape his companion. "We may hold the mine after all," he said. "Yes?" said Alice Deringham, with an evident eagerness which puzzled him. "That is very good news. And your other difficulties? You see, I made Mr. Forel talk about them occasionally." The interest that this implied was not lost upon the man, but he glanced away again. "They are less than they were," he said gravely. "Still, I don't know that you would care to hear about these things." "That is not very friendly," said Alice Deringham, with a little smile. Alton glanced down at her in swift surprise, and then his face became a mask again. "Well," he said slowly, "when I think we would have been beaten without it, somebody lent us enough dollars to carry us through. It sounds very simple, but it has made a new man of me. To have dragged down all the men who trusted me would have hurt me horribly." "And this loan or whatever it is will prevent that happening? It was opportune?" "Yes," and a little glow came into Alton's eyes. "It was very opportune." "You were not so laconic at the ranch," said the girl, who smiled at him. "Once upon a time you would tell me all about your plans." The man seemed to quiver as he met her gaze, and then slowly straightened himself. "I have been taught a good deal since then and know what an egotistical fool I was," he said. "Still, this loan makes too great a difference to me to be expressed in words. You can scarcely understand--I think no woman could--what it is to feel utterly beaten." "Still," said Alice Deringham, with a little flash in her eyes, "I don't think you ever quite felt that, and now you will have everything you hoped for again?" Alton's fingers closed suddenly as he looked down on the gleaming hair and whiteness of the neck beneath it, for the girl's face had been turned from him. "No," he said slowly. "I wanted so much, you see." "And yet you once seemed to think there was nothing impossible to the man who was resolute enough--and I fancied you were right," said the girl. "Still, the things one used to admire occasionally lose their value." She glanced at him a moment, and was afraid to look again. The man's face was very grim, but she had seen what was in his eyes, and waited almost breathless, until he stooped and laid his hand upon her shoulder. "Will you look up and tell me that again?" he said. Alice Deringham was never quite sure whether she looked up or not, but she felt her cheeks glowing and the man's hand tighten on her shoulder. "I--I can't," she said. Perhaps her voice betrayed her, for Alton had evidently flung restraint to the winds. "Then," he said, with the quietness which she knew was most often a mask for his vehemence, "I have something to tell you." It cost Alice Deringham an effort she remembered all her life, but she shook off his grasp, and stopped him with a little imperious gesture. "No," she said, "you must listen. Go back to the rail." Alton stood a moment irresolute, the veins on his forehead swollen and passion in his eyes. Then he stretched out his hand with a little laugh, and Miss Deringham knew that unless she used all her strength that tale would never be told. She rose up, and stood looking at him, very statuesque and cold now in the long trailing dress. Alton let his hand drop and bent his head. "I am only a bushman, and I am sorry," he said. "Now you will sit down again." It was evident that he had put a stern restraint upon himself, but the girl knew that he would listen. "I have a confession to make," she said quietly. "You will remember the sale of Townshead's ranch, but you do not know I kept back the message Miss Townshead sent you." Alton laughed a little. "Nothing would convince me of it. The man who should have brought it was not sober. He told me himself." Alice Deringham had not anticipated this, and the man's unwavering faith in her was worse to bear than his anger would have been. "Still, the message was plain, and I remembered it," she said. Alton made a little gesture of impatience. "No," he said resolutely, "you did not, and if you had done you would have had a reason that would have made it right." The girl sat silent a few moments, her thoughts in confusion, almost angry with the man for his loyalty. "But there is more. You were going back into the ranges to relocate the mine--and I knew that it would cost you a great deal when I sent the note that stopped you." The bronze faded suddenly in the man's face, and there was a dew upon his forehead, while the girl felt very faint and cold as she realized how he would feel the blow. Yet she could not spare either herself or him, and she struck while she had the courage left. "I knew you would risk everything if I asked you to, and that was why I sent the note. I wanted to hurt you." Alton's hand tightened upon the balustrade, and then turning slowly he paced along the verandah, while Alice Deringham choked back a sob as she noticed that now his steps were uneven. She had accomplished the task that was laid upon her, and it only remained for her to keep silence and hide her suffering. In another moment he would descend the verandah stairway and she would never see him again. Alton, however, went past the stairway as though he did not see it, moving clumsily, with a limp that pained the girl more than his face had done. Then he turned and she felt her heart beat faster, for there was a change in him when he came back again. He stopped and stood still close by her. "You must try to forgive me--but it hurt," he said. Alice Deringham turned her face away from him, and for a moment wonder almost drove all other emotion out of her. "I--I don't understand. It was I who did that horrible thing." "Then," said Alton very gravely, "you were driven to it. My dear, you could of your own will do no wrong." Again his great faith in her brought the blood to the white face of the girl, and her humiliation almost overwhelmed her. Still, she was determined that he should know all, and she struck again. "No," she said, with a cold incisiveness, though her voice was faint and strained. "I did it because I hated you--and longed for any means of punishing you." Alton seemed to shiver, but his eyes were fixed on her steadily, and next moment he had laid his hand upon her shoulder and forced her to look up at him. "Then we will forget it together," he said. "There was a mistake somewhere--for I do not think you could have hated me." Alice Deringham made a last struggle; it was a very bitter one, for she realized the all-sufficiency of the love that would believe no evil. "It is impossible, and it will always be," she said. "Will you not see what I am, and how very different that is from what you think of me?" Alton smiled gravely. "My dear, I want you as you are. How could it make a difference whether you had done right or wrong--and I shall still hold you blameless when I know everything." Passion was once more kindling in his eyes, and Alice Deringham, who saw it, rose stiffly upright, holding on to her last strength. Her face was very weary, but there was something in her eyes which restrained the man. "I can bear no more," she said, with a downward glance at the long black dress. "Have you forgotten? You have shown me what a man can rise to, Harry Alton, but I will not wrong you further by marrying you. Now you must say nothing, but out of pity for me go away." The appeal was effective, for Alton bent his head. "I am going--but there is nothing impossible, and I will come back," he said, and moved slowly towards the stairway. Alice Deringham watched him cross the garden, and then the last vestige of the resolution that had sustained her melted, and she went very wearily into the house, where, as it happened, Mrs. Forel was waiting for her. The elder lady asked no questions, for she saw her face, but drew the girl very gently down beside her. "I am sorry, my dear," she said. Alice Deringham let her head sink down upon her companion's shoulder and sobbed aloud. "There can be very few men like Harry Alton," she said disjointedly. "And because I could not abuse his goodness I sent him away." CHAPTER XXXIV THE CONSUMMATION It was hot outside in the noisy streets, but the Somasco Consolidated offices were quiet and cool when Alton entertained two of his friends there one afternoon. There is no special sanctity attached to a place of business in the West, and nobody who knew Alton would have been astonished to find plates of fruit upon the papers which littered his table, and a spirit lamp burning on the big empty stove. A very winsome young lady also sat in a lounge-chair, and Forel close by glanced at her with a most unbusinesslike twinkle in his eyes. Seaforth had been married recently, and his wife had called in to see, so she told Alton, that he was not working him too hard. "You will give Mrs. Charley some tea," said Alton. "Your husband, madam, has been brought up well, but there was a time when I had real trouble in teaching him. Forel, you'll find some ice and soda yonder as well as the other things." Nellie Seaforth laughed a little as she thrust the cup away. "No," she said; "I know where that tea comes from, and I would sooner have some ice and soda with out the other things. Have the strawberries gone up, Harry?" Alton nodded. "That's a fact, and I am very glad," he said. "You see, we are sending out about a ton of them every day, and there are none to equal ours in the Dominion. Still, if Charley wasn't so lazy he'd give you some. Can't you find that ice, Forel? There was a big lump yesterday." "That is quite possible," said Forel dryly, "but it has gone, and it is apparently running out of your plans and estimates now." "Then you will have to fall back upon Horton's tea," said Alton, smiling. "Nobody knows where he gets it from except that it isn't China, but he seems to think it's my duty to buy it from him, and the rasp of it brings the bush back to me. Makes one smell the cedars, and see the lake flashing, and I'm very tired of the city." Mrs. Seaforth laughed as she glanced at the bottles Forel was pitching out of a box, for as yet he had not found one with anything in it. "Have you a mineral water factory at Somasco, too?" she said. "Not yet," said Alton gravely. "But we may have by and by, though some of my partners would have more use for a distillery. We're going to have everything that will pay, but we've been too busy making roads lately." Forel stood up, looking a little more thoughtful. "You are, at any rate, running up a confoundedly long bill," he said. "You will get very few new dresses, Mrs. Seaforth, unless you make your husband stop him. Of course you heard nothing, Alton, from the roads and trails?" Alton laughed softly. "That's where you're wrong. I wrote them wanting to know if they thought it my duty to open up the country for them, and I got a letter that the affair is receiving consideration. If the bush country members can get the new appropriation through, the surveyor's going up to look at what we've done." "Effrontery is the thing that pays," said Forel. "But have you heard from Tom?" Alton's face grew a trifle graver. "He and more of the boys are sitting on the claim, and there's another crowd camped down with stakes ready right in front of him. He tells me he finds it hard to keep his hands off them, and I'd have gone up only that I'm waiting for the Crown folks' decision." "I think they can only declare the claim open," said Forel, "and that being so they couldn't well send you an intimation before they made the fact public." Nobody said anything for a little. Forel had told them nothing new, and they could guess at the suspense Alton had been enduring, for the decision of the Crown authorities meant a good deal to all of them. If the claim were declared open, the first man to restake it and get in his papers could take possession. "It would be dreadful if Harry lost it," said Mrs. Seaforth. "Still, I don't think he will." Alton laughed a little. "I don't mean to if I can help it," he said. "I've had Thomson prospecting for the fastest road down, and he has found one that is rideable." Forel nodded. "That reminds," he said. "Hettie wants to get away from the city, and I thought of taking her and Miss Deringham up to Somasco. You will lend us the house for a week or two?" "Of course," said Alton. "Go as soon as it's possible. I want a man with a business grip up there. My head will scarcely hold all the things I've been trying to cram into it lately." Mrs. Seaforth glanced at him with a little smile of sympathy, for although the Somasco affairs looked a little more promising now, Alton had been doing the work of several men, and the strain had told on him. She also remembered her husband's sleepless nights. "We shall all be glad when the anxiety is over, but one can't help thinking that you men have the best of it now and then," she said. "At least you can work--while we can only sit still." Forel smiled upon her. "Well," he said, without reflection, "there is one woman who has done a good deal for Somasco." He saw his blunder next moment, for Alton rose up suddenly. "I would like to hear that again," he said. Forel was manifestly uncomfortable, but he glanced towards Mrs. Seaforth as he said, "I think Charley will back me up." "Of course," said Seaforth, whose tone, however, chiefly expressed bewilderment; but Alton made a little forceful gesture. "Pshaw!" he said. "You're fooling, Forel, and you would never disclose who your client was that lent us the money." "No," said Forel resolutely. "Nor do I mean to. Sit down again, Harry, and don't get fancying things." Alton moved a pace forward with a dark flush in his face. "Forel," he said, "where did all those dollars come from?" Forel looked almost abject, and in his desperation glanced towards Nellie Seaforth. "I think you had better tell him now," she said. "You know, too?" said Forel. Nellie Seaforth smiled a little. "I think I knew all along," she said. "Still, Charley didn't. He is, of course, a man." "Then one of you has got to tell me," said Alton. Nellie Seaforth raised her hand with a little imperious gesture. "As you know half of it I think you had better hear it all," she said. "Well, if I had been Miss Deringham I would have taken that way of giving you back Carnaby. It is possible to raise money on an estate in the old country." There was no need of further questions, for the answer was written on Forel's flushed face, and Alton sat down with his lips firmly set. Then there was an awkward silence until he spoke again. "And I cannot return it. Every dollar has been sunk in the mills and roads except what we took up the first loan with." Nellie Seaforth nodded with a pretty gravity, for the bond between them all was stronger than friendship usually is. "No," she said, "and I can't help thinking that it is just as well. One cannot shirk his responsibilities, Harry, and you are an Alton--of Carnaby. You see, nobody could take your inheritance from you, nor, though you did your best, could you give it away, and there is, I fancy, only one meaning to that. Fate is too strong for you. You will redeem Carnaby again, go over there, and be--what you were born to be." Alton's face was once more flushed, and the girl fancied his fingers quivered a little, but while he sat silent there was a tapping at the door and an urchin flung a journal into the room. "_Colonist_," he said, and vanished suddenly. Forel, who appeared glad of the diversion, picked up the paper, and then stood up. "News at last," he said excitedly. "I fancied we would have had it first, but the news agency fellows have beaten us, Harry; it's more than probable they're going to rush the railroad through." Alton's eyes glittered. "Great news, but it will keep," he said. "No, don't worry over any more of it. Look at the notices." Forel folded back the sheet. Then it rustled in his hand, and his voice shook as he read disjointedly: "Vacant Crown lands. To all it may concern. Mineral claim on left bank headwaters Somasco River in unsurveyed territory, frontage declared to be----" "Give it to me, or get on," Alton said hoarsely. The paper was shaking visibly. "Is declared to be on or after 12 P.M. on the date undermentioned eligible for relocation," and Forel ended with a little gasp, "You have lost it, Harry." Alton was on his feet by this time and snatching out his watch. "No, by the Lord!" he said. "I've still rather a better chance than most other men. Head straight for the freight traffic man, Charley, and tell him I'm going up with the fast Atlantic freight they're sending our empty cars back on. Forel, run across and send in your stenographer. There are lots of things I've got to do, and the freight will be going out in an hour or so." Nellie Seaforth laughed a little. "Then Mr. Forel will not have time, and there's another woman anxious to do a little for Somasco. Give me a pencil, Harry, and begin right away." Alton only flung her a grateful glance, and dictated rapidly, until Seaforth appeared in the doorway flushed with haste, when shouting his thanks after him he ran down the stairway. Nellie Seaforth laughed a little. "Good fortune go with him. That is Alton--of Somasco," she said. "I wonder whether he will remember to put on his hat." "I don't think it's likely," said her husband. "Nellie, I can't help wondering if you were right just now." Mrs. Seaforth smiled at him curiously. "It was right I did," she said. "Possibly the distinction is too fine for you, but I think the future will justify me." Then she drew off her gloves, and endeavoured to remember only that she had been considered a capable business lady. Forel went up to Somasco next day, and one afternoon sat with his wife and Miss Deringham upon the verandah of Horton's hotel. Horton himself was pacing up and down, and a group of bronzed bush ranchers stood in the dust below. They spoke more rapidly than was usual with them, their movements were curiously restless for impassive men, and their eyes were fixed upon the shadowy trail that led down the valley beneath the sombre pines. The afternoon was still, and a drowsy resinous fragrance hung heavily about the hotel. There was no sound but the low voices, and the murmur of sliding water in the distance. Alice Deringham was pale and very quiet, though there was an intentness in her eyes, and when Horton stopped close by her she looked at him. "They have heard nothing yet?" she said. "No," said the storekeeper. "Still, some of them should have been here by now." The little nervous tremor in his voice did not escape the girl, and though it had all been explained to her before, she said, "Then you expect more than Mr. Alton?" "Well," said Horton, who seemed glad to find an outlet in speech, "I don't quite know. You see there was a man brought a wire in before Harry got through, and once the claim was posted vacant anybody could stake it. There's a holy crowd of jumpers hanging round the mine, and because there'd be such a circus nobody could be sure who'd got his pegs in first, the Crown people would probably listen to the man who got through and recorded. Oh, yes, they'll be pounding down the trail as if the devil was after them now, but there's none of them got the relays of horses we've fixed up for Harry." Horton moved away, and the girl sat still listening, while Mrs. Forel stirred nervously, and her husband apparently found it necessary to light his cigar again every now and then. The voices had died away, and there was no sound but the faint song of water and the patter of restless feet. How long the silence continued Alice Deringham did not know, but a quiver went through her as a hoarse shout rose up, "They're coming!" Then there was silence again, and she watched a bronzed man rubbing down a great black horse whose blood had not come from a Cayuse pedigree until a faint drumming grew louder down the trail. It swelled into a sharp staccato, and the murmurs commenced again. "Two of them. Another man behind. Riding like brimstone. Can you see them yet?" The drumming sound sank, and rose again in a confused roar as the horsemen crossed a wooden bridge while Alice Deringham stood up, when once more the voices rose stridently. "One of the jumpers first. Harry's coming along behind. Cayuse played out. Lord, how they're riding!" Then lips were set tight, and steady eyes blazed, as a man grimed with sweat and dust who reeled in his saddle swept out from the forest on a jaded horse. Most of those who watched him had a heavy stake in that race, for it was with Alton's prosperity they must stand or fall; but the bushman's code of honour is as high as it is simple, and they sprang aside to give the rider a free passage. The man blinked at them in a curious dazed fashion, as he rode on, the dust whirling behind him and the lather dripping tinged with red from the horse's whitened sides. Still, the drumming behind grew louder, and he had scarcely sunk into the shadows when Alton, stripped to shirt and trousers, rode in. He, too, swayed in the saddle, and his face was foul with dust, but it was firmly set, and there was a glint in his eyes, while as he swept out of the shadow of the pines two men led the horse out into the trail. He reined his beast in upon its haunches, swung himself down, thrust aside the pitcher somebody tendered him, and with a swing that rent the white shirt was once more in the saddle. Then there was a scattering of the crowd and a shouting broke out. "You'll have him in a league, Harry. Another horse ready at Thomson's ranch." Alice Deringham held her breath as, while a third beat of hoofs grew louder behind, Alton gathered up the bridle and drove his heels home. The horse, frightened by the clamour, reared almost upright and then backed across the trail, while the girl wondered with a tense anxiety whether the man would look up. Then for just a second he turned his head, and saw her standing on the verandah with a blaze in her cheeks and a dimness in her eyes. "Off with you, Harry, and remember you're riding for all of us and Somasco," cried somebody. [Illustration: "Remember you're riding for all of us and Somasco," cried somebody.] Alton had the beast's head up the trail now, but as he sent his heels home he swung up his right hand, and the girl smiled down on him bravely out of misty eyes. "And for Carnaby," he cried. "I can't be beaten." Then the horse shot forward, and he was away, his torn shirt fluttering as the wind rushed past, while Alice Deringham hastened to the end of the verandah with Forel to see the last of him just as another man rode in at a floundering gallop. The trail led straight beneath the pines, and her heart throbbed painfully while she watched the second rider closing with the one in front of him, until the two figures became blurred before her eyes, and she turned suddenly cold. "He's fouling him," cried somebody, and a roar of execrations went up. "Both of them for the same company. The condemned jumper's right across the trail." There was silence once more, and the two objects seemed to rush together, then another roar went up. "Down. Oh, yes, the jumper's down. Harry rode straight into him--the fool might have known his horse was blown. The other one's used up. Somasco's leading clear again." Alice Deringham was trembling visibly, and knew that Mrs. Forel's eyes were upon her, but that did not seem to count at all. She could see a figure standing over a fallen horse up the trail, while another that had already left it far behind was sinking into the shadow of the pines. The jumper was beaten, but Alton was riding still--for Somasco and Carnaby--with a fresh horse beneath him. Then she turned to Mrs. Forel with a softness in her eyes which somewhat astonished the elder lady. "I should like to go back to Somasco now," she said. "I am a little tired, and I know that he will win." A wagon was awaiting them, and Forel several times came near overturning it in his excitement as he drove them home to the ranch. It was a week later when one evening the leading inhabitants of the district assembled in Somasco ranch. Those who were married had brought their wives with them, and the cook and Mrs. Margery had toiled since morning to set out the table in a fashion befitting the occasion, for the chief roads and trails surveyor and a member of the Provincial Government were to be entertained that evening. The sombre green of cedar-sprays relieved the red-veined panelling, there were flowers and early fruits upon the table, and the fragrance of the firs came in through the open windows, while when the bronzed men filed in there was expectancy in their steady eyes. Several of them had ridden here and there with the surveyor all that day, and he had expressed grave approval of all they had shown him. Once, too, he appeared a trifle astonished when pointed out the new road they had driven under Alton's guidance along the mountain side. It would reduce the distance to the settlement several miles, but it had cost many dollars and weeks of perilous toil, while the surveyor had only stated that it was well done, and the men of Somasco had as yet no answer to the important question whether the Government would complete what remained unfinished or in any way recompense them. Supper was served with as much ceremony as was possible at Somasco, but the meal was a somewhat silent one. The ranchers were a trifle anxious while the surveyor spoke most to Alice Deringham, who sat next him near the head of the table, and the member of the Government divided his observations between the wife of a big axeman and Mrs. Forel. All of those present knew that events of great importance to them were happening in the city, but save for a brief telegram from Alton stating that he had been allowed to record the mine and would return in a day or two they had no authentic news. It was almost a relief when the meal was over, and there was a sudden hush of attention as the surveyor rose up. Every eye was turned upon the grave-faced gentleman at the head of the table. "I have spent a good many years building roads and bridges in various parts of the Dominion, and have never seen better work than you have shown me to-day," he said. "Now I don't quite know if you expected me to talk business on this occasion, but I'm going out early to-morrow, and I fancy your good ladies are as anxious as you are about the welfare of Somasco." A woman with hard brown hands turned in her chair. "Oh, yes," she said. "We are that, anyway, and because we're most of us working twelve hours every day just for the right to live, we've sent out our men to make the roads that are to bring the dollars that will make things easier in. The Government don't help us, we're doing the work ourselves, and we'll go out, too, with the drill and shovel if the men are beaten." There was a deprecatory murmur that had yet in it grim approval, and the surveyor smiled a little. "That, I think, is the spirit which is going to make this province the greatest in the Dominion," he said. "Well, I may tell you that I was sent up here with a tolerably wide discretion, and after seeing the rock cutting by the lake I'm going to use it now. Nothing better has been done in the province, and the man who planned it for you had courage as well as genius. It is a most daring and successful piece of engineering." A little flush crept into the bronzed faces, and Mrs. Forel noticed the brightness in Alice Deringham's eyes, for the man who had spoken was a famous engineer. "Well," he said gravely, "we are going to take over that road--as from the beginning--and finish it for you. That is, you will be paid by the province for every day you spent upon it, and I leave it to the man who commenced it to see the work through. His pay orders will be honoured, and I should very much like to see and compliment him." A murmur ran along the table, for the Government pay is good and a road-making grant a coveted boon in each lonely valley, whose inhabitants are usually glad to keep the work in their own hands. "Boys," said somebody, "this is what comes of trusting Harry." It was a simple speech, but the second murmur which followed it and the confidence in the bronzed faces stirred Alice Deringham. She had been taught a little about these silent men, and knew the value of their testimony. The surveyor sat down, and the member stood up. "I can add a little, gentlemen," he said. "Roads are always useful, and we'll give you a good one, and, if my word goes far enough, a grant to cut across trails with and improve your bridges, but you're going to have a better one than any you can build." He stopped a moment, and there was not a sound in the room. The men sat still as statues, the women drew in their breath, and the song of the river came in through the windows in slow pulsations. Every eye was on the speaker, and now and then a hard brown hand quivered a little, but in the midst of their suspense there was no man weak enough to ask a premature question. The surveyor smiled a little. "Gentlemen," he said slowly, "you have all heard conflicting rumours, but I have had a message, and you can take it as a fact that you will have the steel road very shortly." This time there was a roar that shook the rafters, and a rattle of flung-back chairs as the men rose to their feet. They had toiled and hoped for this, holding on with grim endurance when hope had almost gone, and now all that they had looked for was to be given them. There was no man present who did not know that his ranch was worth treble what it had been a few days ago, or woman who could not see that henceforward there need be no more ceaseless drudgery. One, indeed, laughed inanely, clasping her hardened hands, and a dimness crept into eyes, more than one pair of eyes, from which the care that had long lurked there had vanished suddenly. Then a man swung up a brimming glass. "Boys," he said, a trifle hoarsely, "it's only cider this time, but you can drink what I'm going to give you in champagne when the railroad's through. Here's the man who stood right with us through everything, the man who beat off Hallam, and brought the railroad in." There was a jingle of glasses, and the surveyor and the member stood up with the rest, while, for the men had let themselves go at last, a great shout rang out, "Harry Alton, Alton of Somasco." Then there was silence, and while the men stood with flushed faces too stirred as yet to remember that they had done an unusual thing, Seaforth, who had come up on some business from Vancouver with his wife, moved out a little from the rest. "Boys," he said, and his voice shook a little, "I would have tried to thank you on behalf of the best comrade you or I ever had, only that I fancy he will be here in a minute to answer for himself." He stopped abruptly, and through the silence that followed all heard a drumming that might have been made by the hoofs of a galloping horse, and Mrs. Forel wondered as she glanced at the girl opposite her across the table. Alice Deringham had like the rest been stirred out of her reticence, and now she seemed almost transfigured with the warm flush in her cheeks and the pride discernible through the softness in her eyes. The beat of hoofs stopped presently, and a man came hastily through the verandah. Alice Deringham could not see him, but the flush in her cheeks grew deeper, for she knew that slightly uneven step. Then there was a move towards the door, and she sat almost alone at the head of the table, knowing that somebody was shouldering his way through those who thronged about him in her direction. Still she could not look until a man dropped into the vacant chair beside her. Then she saw that Alton was glancing down at her with a question in his face. "You are pleased that we have won?" he said. "Yes," said the girl, who felt that speech had its limits. "I knew you would." Alton seemed to sigh with a great contentment. "Then," he said quietly, "if it was only to hear that I would begin it all again." He had no opportunity for further speech. There were questions to be asked and answers given, while it was some hours later and most of the guests had departed when he found Alice Deringham alone upon the verandah. The moon hung over the cedars on a black hillside, the lake flung back its radiance steelily, and the stillness was made musical by the sound of falling water. Alton had come out from the presence of the surveyor with a glint of triumph in his eyes. "There is only one thing wanting to make this the greatest day of my life, but without it all the rest counts for nothing. You know what it is," he said. "Yes," said Alice Deringham simply. "But why did you not ask for it earlier, Harry? It would have saved one of us so much." Alton laughed a little, and glanced down at his knee. "Well, I fancied--but, pshaw, I was a fool," said he. "Yes," said Alice Deringham. "I think you were--for I was only sorry then. And--after all that has happened--are you not foolish still? I am not the woman you fancy I am, Harry, and you know how I have wronged you." "You are the one I want," said Alton gravely. "And I know who it was gave all she had to help me when I was beaten." Alice Deringham still drew back from him. "It was your own, and you do not quite know all yet," she said. "I am a penniless girl----" Alton laughed exultantly as he stooped and caught her wrist. "All that I want the most you give, and when you sent me away I knew it was mine," he said. "But Somasco, and the silver up yonder, is mine, too, and that when we have redeemed Carnaby will be quite enough for two." Alice Deringham made no further resistance, but glanced up into his eyes as he drew her to him, and then felt his arm close round her with a great contentment. It was half an hour later when she met Nellie Seaforth in a corridor, and the latter stretched her hands out impulsively and kissed her. "You need not tell me, and I am very glad," she said. "Of course you will be happy. He is a good man." Alice Deringham coloured in a fashion Nellie Seaforth had not believed her capable of, and there was a depth of grave tenderness in her eyes. "Yes," she said simply. "And because of his goodness I must try to be a better woman." She passed on, and Nellie Seaforth, who found her husband, smiled at him. "It has all come right, and I don't think Harry will be sorry, though he might have been had it happened earlier," she said, "That strikes me as a little mixed," said Seaforth dryly. Mrs. Seaforth shook her head at him. "No. It's quite plain," she said. "I think Miss Deringham has been taught a good deal, and whatever she may have been she will only be lovable as Mrs. Alton." Seaforth smiled gravely. "Now I understand--fellow-feeling prompts me to, and of course you are right," he said. "There must be a special blessing on those who, like you and Harry, ask very little, and give with an open hand." THE END 
18216	----	[Frontispiece: Stealing from the Fort by Night.] Pathfinders of the West BEING THE THRILLING STORY OF THE ADVENTURES OF THE MEN WHO DISCOVERED THE GREAT NORTHWEST RADISSON, LA VÉRENDRYE, LEWIS AND CLARK BY A. C. LAUT AUTHOR OF "LORDS OF THE NORTH," "HERALDS OF EMPIRE," "STORY OF THE TRAPPER" ILLUSTRATIONS BY REMINGTON, GOODWIN, MARCHAND AND OTHERS NEW YORK GROSSET & DUNLAP PUBLISHERS COPYRIGHT, 1904, By THE MACMILLAN COMPANY. Set up and electrotyped. Published November, 1904. Reprinted February, 1906. WILDWOOD PLACE, WASSAIC, N.Y. August 15, 1904. DEAR MR. SULTE: A few years ago, when I was a resident of the Far West and tried to trace the paths of early explorers, I found that all authorities--first, second, and third rate--alike referred to one source of information for their facts. The name in the tell-tale footnote was invariably your own. While I assume _all_ responsibility for upsetting the apple cart of established opinions by this book, will you permit me to dedicate it to you as a slight token of esteem to the greatest living French-Canadian historian, from whom we have all borrowed and to whom few of us have rendered the tribute due? Faithfully, AGNES C. LAUT. MR. BENJAMIN SULTE, PRESIDENT ROYAL SOCIETY, OTTAWA, CANADA. THE GREAT NORTHWEST I love thee, O thou great, wild, rugged land Of fenceless field and snowy mountain height, Uprearing crests all starry-diademed Above the silver clouds! A sea of light Swims o'er thy prairies, shimmering to the sight A rolling world of glossy yellow wheat That runs before the wind in billows bright As waves beneath the beat of unseen feet, And ripples far as eye can see--as far and fleet! Here's chances for every man! The hands that work Become the hands that rule! Thy harvests yield Only to him who toils; and hands that shirk Must empty go! And here the hands that wield The sceptre work! O glorious golden field! O bounteous, plenteous land of poet's dream! O'er thy broad plain the cloudless sun ne'er wheeled But some dull heart was brightened by its gleam To seize on hope and realize life's highest dream! Thy roaring tempests sweep from out the north-- Ten thousand cohorts on the wind's wild mane-- No hand can check thy frost-steeds bursting forth To gambol madly on the storm-swept plain! Thy hissing snow-drifts wreathe their serpent train, With stormy laughter shrieks the joy of might-- Or lifts, or falls, or wails upon the wane-- Thy tempests sweep their stormy trail of white Across the deepening drifts--and man must die, or fight! Yes, man must sink or fight, be strong or die! That is thy law, O great, free, strenuous West! The weak thou wilt make strong till he defy Thy bufferings; but spacious prairie breast Will never nourish weakling as its guest! He must grow strong or die! Thou givest all An equal chance--to work, to do their best-- Free land, free hand--thy son must work or fall Grow strong or die! That message shrieks the storm-wind's call! And so I love thee, great, free, rugged land Of cloudless summer days, with west-wind croon, And prairie flowers all dewy-diademed, And twilights long, with blood-red, low-hung moon And mountain peaks that glisten white each noon Through purple haze that veils the western sky-- And well I know the meadow-lark's far rune As up and down he lilts and circles high And sings sheer joy--be strong, be free; be strong or die! Foreword The question will at once occur why no mention is made of Marquette and Jolliet and La Salle in a work on the pathfinders of the West. The simple answer is--they were _not_ pathfinders. Contrary to the notions imbibed at school, and repeated in all histories of the West, Marquette, Jolliet, and La Salle did not discover the vast region beyond the Great Lakes. Twelve years before these explorers had thought of visiting the land which the French hunter designated as the _Pays d'en Haut_, the West had already been discovered by the most intrepid _voyageurs_ that France produced,--men whose wide-ranging explorations exceeded the achievements of Cartier and Champlain and La Salle put together. It naturally rouses resentment to find that names revered for more than two centuries as the first explorers of the Great Northwest must give place to a name almost unknown. It seems impossible that at this late date history should have to be rewritten. Such is the fact _if we would have our history true_. Not Marquette, Jolliet, and La Salle discovered the West, but two poor adventurers, who sacrificed all earthly possessions to the enthusiasm for discovery, and incurred such bitter hostility from the governments of France and England that their names have been hounded to infamy. These were Sieur Pierre Esprit Radisson and Sieur Médard Chouart Groseillers, fur traders of Three Rivers, Quebec. [1] The explanation of the long oblivion obscuring the fame of these two men is very simple. Radisson and Groseillers defied, first New France, then Old France, and lastly England. While on friendly terms with the church, they did not make their explorations subservient to the propagation of the faith. In consequence, they were ignored by both Church and State. The _Jesuit Relations_ repeatedly refer to two young Frenchmen who went beyond Lake Michigan to a "Forked River" (the Mississippi), among the Sioux and other Indian tribes that used coal for fire because wood did not grow large enough on the prairie. Contemporaneous documents mention the exploits of the young Frenchmen. The State Papers of the Marine Department, Paris, contain numerous references to Radisson and Groseillers. But, then, the _Jesuit Relations_ were not accessible to scholars, let alone the general public, until the middle of the last century, when a limited edition was reprinted of the Cramoisy copies published at the time the priests sent their letters home to France. The contemporaneous writings of Marie de l'Incarnation, the Abbé Belmont, and Dollier de Casson were not known outside the circle of French savants until still later; and it is only within recent years that the Archives of Paris have been searched for historical data. Meantime, the historians of France and England, animated by the hostility of their respective governments, either slurred over the discoveries of Radisson and Groseillers entirely, or blackened their memories without the slightest regard to truth. It would, in fact, take a large volume to contradict and disprove half the lies written of these two men. Instead of consulting contemporaneous documents,--which would have entailed both cost and labor,--modern writers have, unfortunately, been satisfied to serve up a rehash of the detractions written by the old historians. In 1885 came a discovery that punished such slovenly methods by practically wiping out the work of the pseudo-historians. There was found in the British Museum, the Bodleian Library, and Hudson's Bay House, London, unmistakably authentic record of Radisson's voyages, written by himself. The Prince Society of Boston printed two hundred and fifty copies of the collected Journals. The Canadian Archives published the journals of the two last voyages. Francis Parkman was too conscientious to ignore the importance of the find; but his history of the West was already written. He made what reparation he could to Radisson's memory by appending a footnote to subsequent editions of two of his books, stating that Radisson and Groseillers' travels took them to the "Forked River" before 1660. Some ten other lines are all that Mr. Parkman relates of Radisson; and the data for these brief references have evidently been drawn from Radisson's enemies, for the explorer is called "a renegade." It is necessary to state this, because some writers, whose zeal for criticism was much greater than their qualifications, wanted to know why any one should attempt to write Radisson's life when Parkman had already done so. Radisson's life reads more like a second Robinson Crusoe than sober history. For that reason I have put the corroborative evidence in footnotes, rather than cumber the movement of the main theme. I am sorry to have loaded the opening parts with so many notes; but Radisson's voyages change the relative positions of the other explorers so radically that proofs must be given. The footnotes are for the student and may be omitted by the general reader. The study of Radisson arose from, using his later exploits on Hudson Bay as the subject of the novel, _Heralds of Empire_. On the publication of that book, several letters came from the Western states asking how far I thought Radisson had gone beyond Lake Superior before he went to Hudson Bay. Having in mind--I am sorry to say--mainly the early records of Radisson's enemies, I at first answered that I thought it very difficult to identify the discoverer's itinerary beyond the Great Lakes. So many letters continued to come on the subject that I began to investigate contemporaneous documents. The path followed by the explorer west of the Great Lakes--as given by Radisson himself--is here written. Full corroboration of all that Radisson relates is to be found--as already stated--in chronicles written at the period of his life and in the State Papers. Copies of these I have in my possession. Samples of the papers bearing on Radisson's times, copied from the Marine Archives, will be found in the Appendix. One must either accept the explorer's word as conclusive,--even when he relates his own trickery,--or in rejecting his journal also reject as fictions the _Jesuit Relations_, the _Marine Archives_, _Dollier de Casson_, _Marie de l'Incarnation_, and the _Abbé Belmont_, which record the same events as Radisson. In no case has reliance been placed on second-hand chronicles. Oldmixon and Charlevoix must both have written from hearsay; therefore, though quoted in the footnotes, they are not given as conclusive proof. The only means of identifying Radisson's routes are (1) by his descriptions of the countries, (2) his notes of the Indian tribes; so that personal knowledge of the territory is absolutely essential in following Radisson's narrative. All the regions traversed by Radisson--the Ottawa, the St. Lawrence, the Great Lakes, Labrador, and the Great Northwest--I have visited, some of them many times, except the shores of Hudson Bay, and of that region I have some hundreds of photographs. Material for the accounts of the other pathfinders of the West has been drawn directly from the different explorers' journals. For historical matter I wish to express my indebtedness to Dr. N. E. Dionne of the Parliamentary Library, Quebec, whose splendid sketch of Radisson and Groseillers, read before the Royal Society of Canada, does much to redeem the memory of the discoverers from ignominy; to Dr. George Bryce of Winnipeg, whose investigation of Hudson's Bay Archives adds a new chapter to Radisson's life; to Mr. Benjamin Sulte of Ottawa, whose destructive criticism of inaccuracies in old and modern records has done so much to stop people writing history out of their heads and to put research on an honest basis; and to M. Edouard Richard for scholarly advice relating to the Marine Archives, which he has exploited so thoroughly. For transcripts and archives now out of print, thanks are due Mr. L. P. Sylvain of the Parliamentary Library, Ottawa, the officials of the Archives Department, Ottawa, Mr. F. C. Wurtele of Quebec, Professor Andrew Baird of Winnipeg, Mr. Alfred Matthews of the Prince Society, Boston, the Hon. Jacob V. Brower and Mr. Warren Upham of St. Paul. Mr. Lawrence J. Burpee of Ottawa was so good as to give me a reading of his exhaustive notes on La Vérendrye and of data found on the Radisson family. To Mrs. Fred Paget of Ottawa, the daughter of a Hudson's Bay Company officer, and to Mr. and Mrs. C. C. Farr of the Northern Ottawa, I am indebted for interesting facts on life in the fur posts. Miss Talbot of Winnipeg obtained from retired officers of the Hudson's Bay Company a most complete set of photographs relating to the fur trade. To her and to those officers who loaned old heirlooms to be photographed, I beg to express my cordial appreciation. And the thanks of all who write on the North are permanently due Mr. C. C. Chipman, Chief Commissioner of the Hudson's Bay Company, for unfailing courtesy in extending information. WILDWOOD PLACE, WASSAIC, N.Y. [1] I of course refer to the West as beyond the Great Lakes; for Nicotet, in 1634, and two nameless Frenchmen--servants of Jean de Lauzon--in 1654, had been beyond the Sault. Just as this volume was going to the printer, I received a copy of the very valuable Minnesota _Memoir_, Vol. VI, compiled by the Hon. J. V. Brower of St. Paul, to whom my thanks are due for this excellent contribution to Western annals. It may be said that the authors of this volume have done more than any other writers to vindicate Radisson and Groseillers as explorers of the West. The very differences of opinion over the regions visited establish the fact that Radisson _did_ explore parts of Minnesota. I have purposely avoided trying to say _what_ parts of Minnesota he exploited, because, it seems to me, the controversy is futile. Radisson's memory has been the subject of controversy from the time of his life. The controversy--first between the governments of France and England, subsequently between the French and English historians--has eclipsed the real achievements of Radisson. To me it seems non-essential as to whether Radisson camped on an island in the Mississippi, or only visited the region of that island. The fact remains that he discovered the Great Northwest, meaning by that the region west of the Mississippi. The same dispute has obscured his explorations of Hudson Bay, French writers maintaining that he went overland to the North and put his feet in the waters of the bay, the English writers insisting that he only crossed over the watershed toward Hudson Bay. Again, the fact remains that he did what others had failed to do--discovered an overland route to the bay. I am sorry that Radisson is accused in this _Memoir_ of intentionally falsifying his relations in two respects, (1) in adding a fanciful year to the 1658-1660 voyage; (2) in saying that he had voyaged down the Mississippi to Mexico. (1) Internal evidence plainly shows that Radisson's first four voyages were written twenty years afterward, when he was in London, and not while on the voyage across the Atlantic with Cartwright, the Boston commissioner. It is the most natural thing in the world that Radisson, who had so often been to the wilds, should have mixed his dates. Every slip as to dates is so easily checked by contemporaneous records--which, themselves, need to be checked--that it seems too bad to accuse Radisson of wilfully lying in the matter. When Radisson lied it was to avoid bloodshed, and not to exalt himself. If he had had glorification of self in mind, he would not have set down his own faults so unblushingly; for instance, where he deceives M. Colbert of Paris. (2) Radisson does not try to give the impression that he went to Mexico. The sense of the context is that he met an Indian tribe--Illinois, Mandans, Omahas, or some other--who lived next to another tribe who told _of_ the Spaniards. I feel almost sure that the scholarly Mr. Benjamin Sulte is right in his letter to me when he suggests that Radisson's manuscript has been mixed by transposition of pages or paragraphs, rather than that Radisson himself was confused in his account. At the same time every one of the contributors to the Minnesota _Memoir_ deserves the thanks of all who love _true_ history. ADDENDUM Since the above foreword was written, the contents of this volume have appeared serially in four New York magazines. The context of the book was slightly abridged in these articles, so that a very vital distinction--namely, the difference between what is given as in dispute, and what is given as incontrovertible fact--was lost; but what was my amusement to receive letters from all parts of the West all but challenging me to a duel. One wants to know "how a reputable author dare" suggest that Radisson's voyages be taken as authentic. There is no "dare" about it. It is a fact. For any "reputable" historian to suggest--as two recently have--that Radisson's voyages are a fabrication, is to stamp that historian as a pretender who has not investigated a single record contemporaneous with Radisson's life. One cannot consult documents contemporaneous with his life and not learn instantly that he was a very live fact of the most troublesome kind the governments of France and England ever had to accept. That is why it impresses me as a presumption that is almost comical for any modern writer to condescend to say that he "accepts" or "rejects" this or that part of Radisson's record. If he "rejects" Radisson, he also rejects the _Marine Archives of Paris_, and the _Jesuit Relations_, which are the recognized sources of our early history. Another correspondent furiously denounces Radisson as a liar because he mixes his dates of the 1660 trip. It would be just as reasonable to call La Salle a liar because there are discrepancies in the dates of his exploits, as to call Radisson a liar for the slips in his dates. When the mistakes can be checked from internal evidence, one is hardly justified in charging falsification. A third correspondent is troubled by the reference to the Mascoutin Indians being _beyond_ the Mississippi. State documents establish this fact. I am not responsible for it; and Radisson could not circle west-northwest from the Mascoutins to the great encampments of the Sioux without going far west of the Mississippi. Even if the Jesuits make a slip in referring to the Sioux's use of some kind of coal for fire because there was no wood on the prairie, and really mean turf or buffalo refuse,--which I have seen the Sioux use for fire,--the fact is that only the tribes far west of the Mississippi habitually used such substitutes for wood. My Wisconsin correspondents I have offended by saying that Radisson went beyond the Wisconsin; my Minnesota friends, by saying that he went beyond Minnesota; and my Manitoba co-workers of past days, by suggesting that he ever went beyond Manitoba. The fact remains that when we try to identify Radisson's voyages, we must take his own account of his journeyings; and that account establishes him as the Discoverer of the Northwest. For those who know, I surely do not need to state that there is no picture of Radisson extant, and that some of the studies of his life are just as genuine (?) as alleged old prints of his likeness. CONTENTS PART ONE PIERRE ESPRIT RADISSON ADVENTURES OF THE FIRST WHITE MAN TO EXPLORE THE WEST, THE NORTHWEST, AND THE NORTH CHAPTER I RADISSON'S FIRST VOYAGE The Boy Radisson is captured by the Iroquois and carried to the Mohawk Valley--In League with Another Captive, he slays their Guards and escapes--He is overtaken in Sight of Home--Tortured and adopted in the Tribe, he visits Orange, where the Dutch offer to ransom him--His Escape CHAPTER II RADISSON'S SECOND VOYAGE Radisson returns to Quebec, where he joins the Jesuits to go to the Iroquois Mission--He witnesses the Massacre of the Hurons among the Thousand Islands--Besieged by the Iroquois, they pass the Winter as Prisoners of War--Conspiracy to massacre the French foiled by Radisson CHAPTER III RADISSON'S THIRD VOYAGE The Discovery of the Great Northwest--Radisson and his Brother-in-law, Groseillers, visit what are now Wisconsin, Minnesota, Dakota, and the Canadian Northwest--Radisson's Prophecy on first beholding the West--Twelve Years before Marquette and Jolliet, Radisson sees the Mississippi--The Terrible Remains of Dollard's Fight seen on the Way down the Ottawa--Why Radisson's Explorations have been ignored CHAPTER IV RADISSON'S FOURTH VOYAGE The Success of the Explorers arouses Envy--It becomes known that they have heard of the Famous Sea of the North--When they ask Permission to resume their Explorations, the French Governor refuses except on Condition of receiving Half the Profits--In Defiance, the Explorers steal off at Midnight--They return with a Fortune and are driven from New France CHAPTER V RADISSON RENOUNCES ALLEGIANCE TO TWO CROWNS Rival Traders thwart the Plans of the Discoverers--Entangled in Lawsuits, the Two French Explorers go to England--The Organization of the Hudson's Bay Fur Company--Radisson the Storm-centre of International Intrigue--Boston Merchants in the Struggle to capture the Fur Trade CHAPTER VI RADISSON GIVES UP A CAREER IN THE NAVY FOR THE FUR TRADE Though opposed by the Monopolists of Quebec, he secures Ships for a Voyage to Hudson Bay--Here he encounters a Pirate Ship from Boston and an English Ship of the Hudson's Bay Company--How he plays his Cards to win against Both Rivals CHAPTER VII THE LAST VOYAGE OF RADISSON TO HUDSON BAY France refuses to restore the Confiscated Furs and Radisson tries to redeem his Fortune--Reëngaged by England, he captures back Fort Nelson, but comes to Want in his Old Age--His Character PART TWO THE SEARCH FOR THE WESTERN SEA, BEING AN ACCOUNT OF THE DISCOVERY OF THE ROCKY MOUNTAINS, THE MISSOURI UPLANDS, AND THE VALLEY OF THE SASKATCHEWAN CHAPTER VIII THE SEARCH FOR THE WESTERN SEA M. de la Vérendrye continues the Exploration of the Great Northwest by establishing a Chain of Fur Posts across the Continent--Privations of the Explorers and the Massacre of Twenty Followers--His Sons visit the Mandans and discover the Rockies--The Valley of the Saskatchewan is next explored, but Jealousy thwarts the Explorer, and he dies in Poverty PART THREE SEARCH FOR THE NORTHWEST PASSAGE LEADS SAMUEL HEARNE TO THE ARCTIC CIRCLE AND ATHABASCA REGION CHAPTER IX SAMUEL HEARNE The Adventures of Hearne in his Search for the Coppermine River and Northwest Passage--Hilarious Life of Wassail led by Governor Norton--The Massacre of the Eskimo by Hearne's Indians North of the Arctic Circle--Discovery of the Athabasca Country--Hearne becomes Resident Governor of the Hudson's Bay Company, but is captured by the French--Death of Norton and Suicide of Matonabbee PART FOUR FIRST ACROSS THE ROCKIES--HOW MACKENZIE CROSSED THE NORTHERN ROCKIES AND LEWIS AND CLARK WERE FIRST TO CROSS FROM MISSOURI TO COLUMBIA CHAPTER X FIRST ACROSS THE ROCKIES How Mackenzie found the Great River named after him and then pushed across the Mountains to the Pacific, forever settling the Question of a Northwest Passage CHAPTER XI LEWIS AND CLARK The First White Men to ascend the Missouri to its Sources and descend the Columbia to the Pacific--Exciting Adventures on the Cañons of the Missouri, the Discovery of the Great Falls and the Yellowstone--Lewis' Escape from Hostiles APPENDIX INDEX ILLUSTRATIONS Stealing from the Fort by Night . . . . . . Frontispiece Map of the Great Fur Country Three Rivers in 1757 Map of the Iroquois Country in the Days of Radisson Albany from an Old Print The Battery, New York, in Radisson's Time Fort Amsterdam, from an ancient engraving executed in Holland One of the Earliest Maps of the Great Lakes Paddling past Hostiles Jogues, the Jesuit Missionary, who was tortured by the Mohawks Château de Ramezay, Montreal A Cree Brave, with the Wampum String An Old-time Buffalo Hunt on the Plains among the Sioux Father Marquette, from an old painting discovered in Montreal Voyageurs running the Rapids of the Ottawa River Montreal in 1760 Château St. Louis, Quebec, 1669 A Parley on the Plains Martello Tower of Refuge in Time of Indian Wars--Three Rivers Skin for Skin, Coat of Arms and Motto, Hudson's Bay Company Hudson's Bay Company Coins, made of Lead melted from Tea-chests at York Factory Hudson Bay Dog Trains laden with Furs arriving at Lower Fort Garry, Red River Indians and Hunters spurring to the Fight Fights at the Foothills of the Rockies, between Crows and Snakes Each Man landed with Pack on his Back and trotted away over Portages A Cree Indian of the Minnesota Borderlands A Group of Cree Indians The Soldiers marched out from Mount Royal for the Western Sea Traders' Boats running the Rapids of the Athabasca River The Ragged Sky-line of the Mountains Hungry Hall, 1870 A Monarch of the Plains Fur Traders towed down the Saskatchewan in the Summer of 1900 Tepees dotted the Valley An Eskimo Belle Samuel Hearne Eskimo using Double-bladed Paddle Eskimo Family, taken by Light of Midnight Sun Fort Garry, Winnipeg, a Century Ago Plan of Fort Prince of Wales, from Robson's drawing, 1733-1747 Fort Prince of Wales Beaver Coin of the Hudson's Bay Company Alexander Mackenzie Eskimo trading his Pipe, carved from Walrus Tusk, for the Value of Three Beaver Skins Quill and Beadwork on Buckskin Fort William, Headquarters Northwest Company, Lake Superior Running a Rapid on Mackenzie River Slave Lake Indians Good Hope, Mackenzie River, Hudson's Bay Company Fort The Mouth of the Mackenzie by the Light of the Midnight Sun Captain Meriwether Lewis Captain William Clark Tracking up Stream Typical Mountain Trapper The Discovery of the Great Falls Fighting a Grizzly Packer carrying Goods across Portage Spying on Enemy's Fort Indian Camp at Foothills of Rockies On Guard Indians of the Up-country or Pays d'en Haut PART I PIERRE ESPRIT RADISSON ADVENTURES OF THE FIRST WHITE MAN TO EXPLORE THE WEST, THE NORTHWEST, AND THE NORTH [Illustration: Map of the Great Fur Company.] Pathfinders of the West CHAPTER I 1651-1653 RADISSON'S FIRST VOYAGE The Boy Radisson is captured by the Iroquois and carried to the Mohawk Valley--In League with Another Captive, he slays their Guards and escapes--He is overtaken in Sight of Home--Tortured and adopted in the Tribe, he visits Orange, where the Dutch offer to ransom him--His Escape Early one morning in the spring of 1652 three young men left the little stockaded fort of Three Rivers, on the north bank of the St. Lawrence, for a day's hunting in the marshes of Lake St. Peter. On one side were the forested hills, purple with the mists of rising vapor and still streaked with white patches of snow where the dense woods shut out the sunlight. On the other lay the silver expanse of the St. Lawrence, more like a lake than a river, with mile on mile southwestward of rush-grown marshes, where plover and curlew and duck and wild geese flocked to their favorite feeding-grounds three hundred years ago just as they do to-day. Northeastward, the three mouths of the St. Maurice poured their spring flood into the St. Lawrence. The hunters were very young. Only hunters rash with the courage of untried youth would have left the shelter of the fort walls when all the world knew that the Iroquois had been lying in ambush round the little settlement of Three Rivers day and night for the preceding year. Not a week passed but some settler working on the outskirts of Three Rivers was set upon and left dead in his fields by marauding Iroquois. The tortures suffered by Jogues, the great Jesuit missionary who had been captured by the Iroquois a few years before, were still fresh in the memory of every man, woman, and child in New France. It was from Three Rivers that Piescaret, the famous Algonquin chief who could outrun a deer, had set out against the Iroquois, turning his snowshoes back to front, so that the track seemed to lead north when he was really going south, and then, having thrown his pursuers off the trail, coming back on his own footsteps, slipping up stealthily on the Iroquois that were following the false scent, and tomahawking the laggards.[1] It was from Three Rivers that the Mohawks had captured the Algonquin girl who escaped by slipping off the thongs that bound her. Stepping over the prostrate forms of her sleeping guards, such a fury of revenge possessed her that she seized an axe and brained the nearest sleeper, then eluded her pursuers by first hiding in a hollow tree and afterward diving under the debris of a beaver dam. [Illustration: Three Rivers in 1757.] These things were known to every inhabitant of Three Rivers. Farmers had flocked into the little fort and could venture back to their fields only when armed with a musket.[2] Yet the three young hunters rashly left the shelter of the fort walls and took the very dangerous path that led between the forests and the water. One of the young men was barely in his seventeenth year.[3] This was Pierre Esprit Radisson, from St. Malo, the town of the famous Cartier. Young Radisson had only come to New France the year before, and therefore could not realize the dangers of Indian warfare. Like boys the world over, the three went along, boasting how they would fight if the Indians came. One skirted the forest, on the watch for Iroquois, the others kept to the water, on the lookout for game. About a mile from Three Rivers they encountered a herdsman who warned them to keep out from the foot of the hills. Things that looked like a multitude of heads had risen out of the earth back there, he said, pointing to the forests. That set the young hunters loading their pistols and priming muskets. It must also have chilled their zest; for, shooting some ducks, one of the young men presently declared that he had had enough--he was going back. With that daring which was to prove both the lodestar and the curse of his life, young Radisson laughed to scorn the sudden change of mind. Thereupon the first hunter was joined by the second, and the two went off in high dudgeon. With a laugh, Pierre Radisson marched along alone, foreshadowing his after life,--a type of every pathfinder facing the dangers of the unknown with dauntless scorn, an immortal type of the world-hero. Shooting at every pace and hilarious over his luck, Radisson had wandered some nine miles from the fort, when he came to a stream too deep to ford and realized that he already had more game than he could possibly carry. Hiding in hollow trees what he could not bring back, he began trudging toward Three Rivers with a string of geese, ducks, and odd teal over his shoulders, Wading swollen brooks and scrambling over windfalls, he retraced his way without pause till he caught sight of the town chapel glimmering in the sunlight against the darkening horizon above the river. He was almost back where his comrades had left him; so he sat down to rest. The cowherd had driven his cattle back to Three Rivers.[4] The river came lapping through the rushes. There was a clacking of wild-fowl flocking down to their marsh nests; perhaps a crane flopped through the reeds; but Radisson, who had laughed the nervous fears of the others to scorn, suddenly gave a start at the lonely sounds of twilight. Then he noticed that his pistols were water-soaked. Emptying the charges, he at once reloaded, and with characteristic daring crept softly back to reconnoitre the woods. Dodging from tree to tree, he peered up and down the river. Great flocks of ducks were swimming on the water. That reassured him, for the bird is more alert to alarm than man. The fort was almost within call. Radisson determined to have a shot at such easy quarry; but as he crept through the grass toward the game, he almost stumbled over what rooted him to the spot with horror. Just as they had fallen, naked and scalped, with bullet and hatchet wounds all over their bodies, lay his comrades of the morning, dead among the rushes. Radisson was too far out to get back to the woods. Stooping, he tried to grope to the hiding of the rushes. As he bent, half a hundred heads rose from the grasses, peering which way he might go. They were behind, before, on all sides--his only hope was a dash for the cane-grown river, where he might hide by diving and wading, till darkness gave a chance for a rush to the fort. Slipping bullet and shot in his musket as he ran, and ramming down the paper, hoping against hope that he had not been seen, he dashed through the brushwood. A score of guns crashed from the forest.[5] Before he realized the penalty that the Iroquois might exact for such an act, he had fired back; but they were upon him. He was thrown down and disarmed. When he came giddily to his senses, he found himself being dragged back to the woods, where the Iroquois flaunted the fresh scalps of his dead friends. Half drawn, half driven, he was taken to the shore. Here, a flotilla of canoes lay concealed where he had been hunting wild-fowl but a few hours before. Fires were kindled, and the crotched sticks driven in the ground to boil the kettle for the evening meal. The young Frenchman was searched, stripped, and tied round the waist with a rope, the Indians yelling and howling like so many wolves all the while till a pause was given their jubilation by the alarm of a scout that the French and Algonquins were coming. In a trice, the fire was out and covered. A score of young braves set off to reconnoitre. Fifty remained at the boats; but if Radisson hoped for a rescue, he was doomed to disappointment. The warriors returned. Seventy Iroquois gathered round a second fire for the night. The one predominating passion of the savage nature is bravery. Lying in ambush, they had heard this French youth laugh at his comrades' fears. In defiance of danger, they had seen him go hunting alone. After he had heard an alarm, he had daringly come out to shoot at the ducks. And, then, boy as he was, when attacked he had instantly fired back at numerous enough enemies to have intimidated a score of grown men. There is not the slightest doubt it was Radisson's bravery that now saved him from the fate of his companions. His clothes were returned. While the evening meal was boiling, young warriors dressed and combed the Frenchman's hair after the manner of braves. They daubed his cheeks with war-paint; and when they saw that their rancid meats turned him faint, they boiled meat in clean water and gave him meal browned on burning sand.[6] He did not struggle to escape, so he was now untied. That night he slept between two warriors under a common blanket, through which he counted the stars. For fifty years his home was to be under the stars. It is typically Radisson when he could add: "I slept a sound sleep; for they wakened me upon the breaking of the day." In the morning they embarked in thirty-seven canoes, two Indians in each boat, with Radisson tied to the cross-bar of one, the scalps lying at his feet. Spreading out on the river, they beat their paddles on the gunwales of the canoes, shot off guns, and uttered the shrill war-cry--"Ah-oh! Ah-oh! Ah-oh!" [7] Lest this were not sufficient defiance to the penned-up fort on the river bank, the chief stood up in his canoe, signalled silence, and gave three shouts. At once the whole company answered till the hills rang; and out swung the fleet of canoes with more shouting and singing and firing of guns, each paddle-stroke sounding the death knell to the young Frenchman's hopes. By sunset they were among the islands at the mouth of the Richelieu, where muskrats scuttled through the rushes and wild-fowl clouded the air. The south shore of Lake St. Peter was heavily forested; the north, shallow. The lake was flooded with spring thaw, and the Mohawks could scarcely find camping-ground among the islands. The young prisoner was deathly sick from the rank food that he had eaten and heart-sick from the widening distance between himself and Three Rivers. Still, they treated him kindly, saying, "Chagon! Chagon!--Be merry! Cheer up!" The fourth day up the Richelieu, he was embarked without being fastened to the cross-bar, and he was given a paddle. Fresh to the work, Radisson made a labor of his oar. The Iroquois took the paddle and taught him how to give the light, deft, feather strokes of the Indian canoeman. On the river they met another band of warriors, and the prisoner was compelled to show himself a trophy of victory and to sing songs for his captors. That evening the united bands kindled an enormous campfire and with the scalps of the dead flaunting from spear heads danced the scalp dance, reënacting in pantomime all the episodes of the massacre to the monotonous chant-chant, of a recitative relating the foray. At the next camping-ground, Radisson's hair was shaved in front and decorated on top with the war-crest of a brave. Having translated the white man into a savage, they brought him one of the tin looking-glasses used by Indians to signal in the sun. "I, viewing myself all in a pickle," relates Radisson, "smeared with red and black, covered with such a top, . . . could not but fall in love with myself, if I had not had better instructions to shun the sin of pride." Radisson saw that apparent compliance with the Mohawks might win him a chance to escape; so he was the first to arise in the morning, wakening the others and urging them that it was time to break camp. The stolid Indians were not to be moved by an audacious white boy. Watching the young prisoner, the keepers lay still, feigning sleep. Radisson rose. They made no protest. He wandered casually down to the water side. One can guess that the half-closed eyelids of his guards opened a trifle: was the mouse trying to get away from the cat? To the Indians' amusement, instead of trying to escape, Radisson picked up a spear and practised tossing it, till a Mohawk became so interested that he jumped up and taught the young Frenchman the proper throws. That day the Indians gave him the present of a hunting-knife. North of Lake Champlain, the river became so turbulent that they were forced to land and make a _portage_. Instead of lagging, as captives frequently did from very fear as they approached nearer and nearer what was almost certain to mean death-torture in the Iroquois villages--Radisson hurried over the rocks, helping the older warriors to carry their packs. At night he was the first to cut wood for the camp fire. About a week from the time they had left Lake St. Peter, they entered Lake Champlain. On the shores of the former had been enacted the most hideous of all Indian customs--the scalp dance. On the shores of the latter was performed one of the most redeeming rites of Indian warfare. Round a small pool of water a coppice of branches was interlaced. Into the water were thrown hot stones till the enclosure was steaming. Here each warrior took a sweat-bath of purification to prepare for reunion with his family. Invoking the spirits as they bathed, the warriors emerged washed--as they thought--of all blood-guilt.[8] [Illustration: Map of the Iroquois country in the days of Radisson.] In the night shots sounded through the heavy silence of the forest, and the Mohawks embarked in alarm, compelling their white prisoner to lie flat in the bottom of the canoe. In the morning when he awakened, he found the entire band hidden among the rushes of the lake. They spent several days on Lake Champlain, then glided past wooded mountains down a calm river to Lake George, where canoes were abandoned and the warriors struck westward through dense forests to the country of the Iroquois. Two days from the lake slave women met the returning braves, and in Radisson's words, "loaded themselves like mules with baggage." On this woodland march Radisson won golden opinions for himself by two acts: struck by an insolent young brave, he thrashed the culprit soundly; seeing an old man staggering under too heavy a load, the white youth took the burden on his own shoulders. The return of the warriors to their villages was always celebrated as a triumph. The tribe marched out to meet them, singing, firing guns, shouting a welcome, dancing as the Israelites danced of old when victors returned from battle. Men, women, and children lined up on each side armed with clubs and whips to scourge the captives. Well for Radisson that he had won the warriors' favor; for when the time came for him to run the gantlet of Iroquois _diableries_, instead of being slowly led, with trussed arms and shackled feet, he was stripped free and signalled to run so fast that his tormentors could not hit him. Shrieks of laughter from the women, shouts of applause from the men, always greeted the racer who reached the end of the line unscathed. A captive Huron woman, who had been adopted by the tribe, caught the white boy as he dashed free of a single blow clear through the lines of tormentors. Leading him to her cabin, she fed and clothed him. Presently a band of braves marched up, demanded the surrender of Radisson, and took him to the Council Lodge of the Iroquois for judgment. Old men sat solemnly round a central fire, smoking their calumets in silence. Radisson was ordered to sit down. A coal of fire was put in the bowl of the great Council Pipe and passed reverently round the assemblage. Then the old Huron woman entered, gesticulating and pleading for the youth's life. The men smoked on silently with deep, guttural "ho-ho's," meaning "yes, yes, we are pleased." The woman was granted permission to adopt Radisson as a son. Radisson had won his end. Diplomacy and courage had saved his life. It now remained to await an opportunity for escape. Radisson bent all his energies to become a great hunter. He was given firearms, and daily hunted with the family of his adoption. It so happened that the family had lost a son in the wars, whose name had signified the same as Radisson's--that is, "a stone"; so the Pierre of Three Rivers became the Orimha of the Mohawks. The Iroquois husband of the woman who had befriended him gave such a feast to the Mohawk braves as befitted the prestige of a warrior who had slain nineteen enemies with his own hand. Three hundred young Mohawks sat down to a collation of moose nose and beaver tails and bears' paws, served by slaves. To this banquet Radisson was led, decked out in colored blankets with garnished leggings and such a wealth of wampum strings hanging from wrists, neck, hair, and waist that he could scarcely walk. Wampum means more to the Indian than money to the white man. It represents not only wealth but social standing, and its value may be compared to the white man's estimate of pink pearls. Diamond-cutters seldom spend more than two weeks in polishing a good stone. An Indian would spend thirty days in perfecting a single bit of shell into fine wampum. Radisson's friends had ornamented him for the feast in order to win the respect of the Mohawks for the French boy. Striking his hatchet through a kettle of sagamite to signify thus would he break peace to all Radisson's foes, the old Iroquois warrior made a speech to the assembled guests. The guests clapped their hands and shouted, "Chagon, Orimha!--Be merry, Pierre!" The Frenchman had been formally adopted as a Mohawk. The forests were now painted in all the glories of autumn. All the creatures of the woodlands shook off the drowsy laziness of summer and came down from the uplands seeking haunts for winter retreat. Moose and deer were on the move. Beaver came splashing down-stream to plaster up their wattled homes before frost. Bear and lynx and marten, all were restless as the autumn winds instinct with coming storm. This is the season when the Indian sets out to hunt and fight. Furnished with clothing, food, and firearms, Radisson left the Mohawk Valley with three hunters. By the middle of August, the rind of the birch is in perfect condition for peeling. The first thing the hunters did was to slit off the bark of a thick-girthed birch and with cedar linings make themselves a skiff. Then they prepared to lay up a store of meat for the winter's war-raids. Before ice forms a skim across the still pools, nibbled chips betray where a beaver colony is at work; so the hunters began setting beaver traps. One night as they were returning to their wigwam, there came through the leafy darkness the weird sound of a man singing. It was a solitary Algonquin captive, who called out that he had been on the track of a bear since daybreak. He probably belonged to some well-known Iroquois, for he was welcomed to the camp-fire. The sight of a face from Three Rivers roused the Algonquin's memories of his northern home. In the noise of the crackling fire, he succeeded in telling Radisson, without being overheard by the Iroquois, that he had been a captive for two years and longed to escape. "Do you love the French?" the Algonquin asked Radisson. "Do you love the Algonquin?" returned Radisson, knowing they were watched. "As I do my own nation." Then leaning across to Radisson, "Brother--white man!--Let us escape! The Three Rivers--it is not far off! Will you live like a Huron in bondage, or have your liberty with the French?" Then, lowering his voice, "Let us kill all three this night when they are asleep!" From such a way of escape, the French youth held back. The Algonquin continued to urge him. By this time, Radisson must have heard from returning Iroquois warriors that they had slain the governor of Three Rivers, Duplessis-Kerbodot, and eleven other Frenchmen, among whom was the husband of Radisson's eldest sister, Marguerite.[9] While Radisson was still hesitating, the suspicious Iroquois demanded what so much whispering was about; but the alert Algonquin promptly quieted their fears by trumping up some hunting story. Wearied from their day's hunt, the three Mohawks slept heavily round the camp-fire. They had not the least suspicion of danger, for they had stacked their arms carelessly against the trees of the forest. Terrified lest the Algonquin should attempt to carry out his threat, Radisson pretended to be asleep. Rising noiselessly, the Algonquin sat down by the fire. The Mohawks slept on. The Algonquin gave Radisson a push. The French boy looked up to see the Algonquin studying the postures of the sleeping forms. The dying fire glimmered like a blotch of blood under the trees. Stepping stealthy as a cat over the sleeping men, the Indian took possession of their firearms. Drawn by a kind of horror, Radisson had risen. The Algonquin thrust one of the tomahawks into the French lad's hands and pointed without a word at the three sleeping Mohawks. Then the Indian began the black work. The Mohawk nearest the fire never knew that he had been struck, and died without a sound. Radisson tried to imitate the relentless Algonquin, but, unnerved with horror, he bungled the blow and lost hold of the hatchet just as it struck the Mohawk's head. The Iroquois sprang up with a shout that awakened the third man, but the Algonquin was ready. Radisson's blow proved fatal. The victim reeled back dead, and the third man was already despatched by the Algonquin. Radisson was free. It was a black deed that freed him, but not half so black as the deeds perpetrated in civilized wars for less cause; and for that deed Radisson was to pay swift retribution. Taking the scalps as trophies to attest his word, the Algonquin threw the bodies into the river. He seized all the belongings of the dead men but one gun and then launched out with Radisson on the river. The French youth was conscience-stricken. "I was sorry to have been in such an encounter," he writes, "but it was too late to repent." Under cover of the night mist and shore foliage, they slipped away with the current. At first dawn streak, while the mist still hid them, they landed, carried their canoe to a sequestered spot in the dense forest, and lay hidden under the upturned skiff all that day, tormented by swarms of mosquitoes and flies, but not daring to move from concealment. At nightfall, they again launched down-stream, keeping always in the shadows of the shore till mist and darkness shrouded them, then sheering off for mid-current, where they paddled for dear life. Where camp-fires glimmered on the banks, they glided past with motionless paddles. Across Lake Champlain, across the Richelieu, over long _portages_ where every shadow took the shape of an ambushed Iroquois, for fourteen nights they travelled, when at last with many windings and false alarms they swept out on the wide surface of Lake St. Peter in the St. Lawrence. Within a day's journey of Three Rivers, they were really in greater danger than they had been in the forests of Lake Champlain. Iroquois had infested that part of the St. Lawrence for more than a year. The forest of the south shore, the rush-grown marshes, the wooded islands, all afforded impenetrable hiding. It was four in the morning when they reached Lake St. Peter. Concealing their canoe, they withdrew to the woods, cooked their breakfast, covered the fire, and lay down to sleep. In a couple of hours the Algonquin impatiently wakened Radisson and urged him to cross the lake to the north shore on the Three Rivers side. Radisson warned the Indian that the Iroquois were ever lurking about Three Rivers. The Indian would not wait till sunset. "Let us go," he said. "We are past fear. Let us shake off the yoke of these whelps that have killed so many French and black robes (priests). . . . If you come not now that we are so near, I leave you, and will tell the governor you were afraid to come." Radisson's judgment was overruled by the impatient Indian. They pushed their skiff out from the rushes. The water lay calm as a sea of silver. They paddled directly across to get into hiding on the north shore. Halfway across Radisson, who was at the bow, called out that he saw shadows on the water ahead. The Indian stood up and declared that the shadow was the reflection of a flying bird. Barely had they gone a boat length when the shadows multiplied. They were the reflections of Iroquois ambushed among the rushes. Heading the canoe back for the south shore, they raced for their lives. The Iroquois pursued in their own boats. About a mile from the shore, the strength of the fugitives fagged. Knowing that the Iroquois were gaining fast, Radisson threw out the loathsome scalps that the Algonquin had persisted in carrying. By that strange fatality which seems to follow crime, instead of sinking, the hairy scalps floated on the surface of the water back to the pursuing Iroquois. Shouts of rage broke from the warriors. Radisson's skiff was so near the south shore that he could see the pebbled bottom of the lake; but the water was too deep to wade and too clear for a dive, and there was no driftwood to afford hiding. Then a crash of musketry from the Iroquois knocked the bottom out of the canoe. The Algonquin fell dead with two bullet wounds in his head and the canoe gradually filled, settled, and sank, with the young Frenchman clinging to the cross-bar mute as stone. Just as it disappeared under water, Radisson was seized, and the dead Algonquin was thrown into the Mohawk boats. Radisson alone remained to pay the penalty of a double crime; and he might well have prayed for the boat to sink. The victors shouted their triumph. Hurrying ashore, they kindled a great fire. They tore the heart from the dead Algonquin, transfixed the head on a pike, and cast the mutilated body into the flames for those cannibal rites in which savages thought they gained courage by eating the flesh of their enemies. Radisson was rifled of clothes and arms, trussed at the elbows, roped round the waist, and driven with blows back to the canoes. There were other captives among the Mohawks. As the canoes emerged from the islands, Radisson counted one hundred and fifty Iroquois warriors, with two French captives, one white woman, and seventeen Hurons. Flaunting from the canoe prows were the scalps of eleven Algonquins. The victors fired off their muskets and shouted defiance until the valley rang. As the seventy-five canoes turned up the Richelieu River for the country of the Iroquois, hope died in the captive Hurons and there mingled with the chant of the Mohawks' war-songs, the low monotonous dirge of the prisoners:-- "If I die, I die valiant! I go without fear To that land where brave men Have gone long before me-- If I die, I die valiant." Twelve miles up the Richelieu, the Iroquois landed to camp. The prisoners were pegged out on the sand, elbows trussed to knees, each captive tied to a post. In this fashion they lay every night of encampment, tortured by sand-flies that they were powerless to drive off. At the entrance to the Mohawk village, a yoke was fastened to the captives' necks by placing pairs of saplings one on each side down the line of prisoners. By the rope round the waist of the foremost prisoner, they were led slowly between the lines of tormentors. The captives were ordered to sing. If one refused or showed fear, a Mohawk struck off a finger with a hatchet, or tore the prisoners' nails out, or thrust red-hot irons into the muscles of the bound arms.[10] As Radisson appeared, he was recognized with shouts of rage by the friends of the murdered Mohawks. Men, women, and children armed with rods and skull-crackers--leather bags loaded with stones--rushed on the slowly moving file of prisoners. "They began to cry from both sides," says Radisson; "we marching one after another, environed with people to witness that hideous sight, which seriously may be called the image of Hell in this world." The prisoners moved mournfully on. The Hurons chanted their death dirge. The Mohawk women uttered screams of mockery. Suddenly there broke from the throng of onlookers the Iroquois family that had adopted Radisson. Pushing through the crew of torturers, the mother caught Radisson by the hair, calling him by the name of her dead son, "Orimha! Orimha!" She cut the thongs that bound him to the poles, and wresting him free shoved him to her husband, who led Radisson to their own lodge. "Thou fool," cried the old chief, "thou wast my son! Thou makest thyself an enemy! Thou lovest us not, though we saved thy life! Wouldst kill me, too?" Then, with a rough push to a mat on the ground, "Chagon--now, be merry! It's a merry business you've got into! Give him something to eat!" Trembling with fear, young Radisson put as bold a face on as he could and made a show of eating what the squaw placed before him. He was still relating his adventures when there came a roar of anger from the Mohawks outside, who had discovered his absence from the line. A moment later the rabble broke into the lodge. Jostling the friendly chief aside, the Mohawk warriors carried Radisson back to the orgies of the torture. The prisoners had been taken out of the stocks and placed on several scaffoldings. One poor Frenchman fell to the ground bruised and unable to rise. The Iroquois tore the scalp from his head and threw him into the fire. That was Radisson's first glimpse of what was in store for him. Then he, too, stood on the scaffolding among the other prisoners, who never ceased singing their death song. In the midst of these horrors--_diableries_, the Jesuits called them--as if the very elements had been moved with pity, there burst over the darkened forest a terrific hurricane of hail and rain. This put out the fires and drove all the tormentors away but a few impish children, who stayed to pluck nails from the hands and feet of the captives and shoot arrows with barbed points at the naked bodies. Every iniquity that cruelty could invent, these children practised on the captives. Red-hot spears were brought from the lodge fires and thrust into the prisoners. The mutilated finger ends were ground between stones. Thongs were twisted round wrists and ankles, by sticks put through a loop, till flesh was cut to the bone. As the rain ceased falling, a woman, who was probably the wife of one of the murdered Mohawks, brought her little boy to cut one of Radisson's fingers with a flint stone. The child was too young and ran away from the gruesome task. Gathering darkness fell over the horrible spectacle. The exhausted captives, some in a delirium from pain, others unconscious, were led to separate lodges, or dragged over the ground, and left tied for the night. The next morning all were returned to the scaffolds, but the first day had glutted the Iroquois appetite for tortures. The friendly family was permitted to approach Radisson. The mother brought him food and told him that the Council Lodge had decided not to kill him for that day--they wanted the young white warrior for their own ranks; but even as the cheering hope was uttered, came a brave with a pipe of live coals, in which he thrust and held Radisson's thumb. No sooner had the tormentor left than the woman bound up the burn and oiled Radisson's wounds. He suffered no abuse that day till night, when the soles of both feet were burned. The majority of the captives were flung into a great bonfire. On the third day of torture he almost lost his life. First came a child to gnaw at his fingers. Then a man appeared armed for the ghastly work of mutilation. Both these the Iroquois father of Radisson sent away. Once, when none of the friendly family happened to be near, Radisson was seized and bound for burning, but by chance the lighted faggot scorched his executioner. A friendly hand slashed the thongs that bound him, and he was drawn back to the scaffold. Past caring whether he lived or died, and in too great agony from the burns of his feet to realize where he was going, Radisson was conducted to the Great Council. Sixty old men sat on a circle of mats, smoking, round the central fire. Before them stood seven other captives. Radisson only was still bound. A gust of wind from the opening lodge door cleared the smoke for an instant and there entered Radisson's Indian father, clad in the regalia of a mighty chief. Tomahawk and calumet and medicine-bag were in his hands. He took his place in the circle of councillors. Judgment was to be given on the remaining prisoners. After passing the Council Pipe from hand to hand in solemn silence, the sachems prepared to give their views. One arose, and offering the smoke of incense to the four winds of heaven to invoke witness to the justice of the trial, gave his opinion on the matter of life or death. Each of the chiefs in succession spoke. Without any warning whatever, one chief rose and summarily tomahawked three of the captives. That had been the sentence. The rest were driven, like sheep for the shambles, to life-long slavery. Radisson was left last. His case was important. He had sanctioned the murder of three Mohawks. Not for a moment since he was recaptured had they dared to untie the hands of so dangerous a prisoner. Amid deathly silence, the Iroquois father stood up. Flinging down medicine-bag, fur robe, wampum belts, and tomahawk, he pointed to the nineteen scars upon his side, each of which signified an enemy slain by his own hand. Then the old Mohawk broke into one of those impassioned rhapsodies of eloquence which delighted the savage nature, calling back to each of the warriors recollection of victories for the Iroquois. His eyes took fire from memory of heroic battle. The councillors shook off their imperturbable gravity and shouted "Ho, ho!" Each man of them had a memory of his part in those past glories. And as they applauded, there glided into the wigwam the mother, singing some battle-song of valor, dancing and gesticulating round and round the lodge in dizzy, serpentine circlings, that illustrated in pantomime those battles of long ago. Gliding ghostily from the camp-fire to the outer dark, she suddenly stopped, stood erect, advanced a step, and with all her might threw one belt of priceless wampum at the councillors' feet, one necklace over the prisoner's head. Before the applause could cease or the councillors' ardor cool, the adopted brother sprang up, hatchet in hand, and sang of other victories. Then, with a delicacy of etiquette which white pleaders do not always observe, father and son withdrew from the Council Lodge to let the jury deliberate. The old sachems were disturbed. They had been moved more than their wont. Twenty withdrew to confer. Dusk gathered deeper and deeper over the forests of the Mohawk Valley. Tawny faces came peering at the doors, waiting for the decision. Outsiders tore the skins from the walls of the lodge that they, too, might witness the memorable trial of the boy prisoner. Sachem after sachem rose and spoke. Tobacco was sacrificed to the fire-god. Would the relatives of the dead Mohawks consider the wampum belts full compensation? Could the Iroquois suffer a youth to live who had joined the murderers of the Mohawks? Could the Mohawks afford to offend the great Iroquois chief who was the French youth's friend? As they deliberated, the other councillors returned, accompanied by all the members of Radisson's friendly family. Again the father sang and spoke. This time when he finished, instead of sitting down, he caught the necklace of wampum from Radisson's neck, threw it at the feet of the oldest sachem, cut the captive's bonds, and, amid shouts of applause, set the white youth free. One of the incomprehensible things to civilization is how a white man _can_ degenerate to savagery. Young Radisson's life is an illustration. In the first transports of his freedom, with the Mohawk women dancing and singing around him, the men shouting, he leaped up, oblivious of pain; but when the flush of ecstasy had passed, he sank to the mat of the Iroquois lodge, and he was unable to use his burned feet for more than a month. During this time the Iroquois dressed his wounds, brought him the choice portions of the hunt, gave him clean clothing purchased at Orange (Albany), and attended to his wants as if he had been a prince. No doubt the bright eyes of the swarthy young French boy moved to pity the hearts of the Mohawk mothers, and his courage had won him favor among the warriors. He was treated like a king. The women waited upon him like slaves, and the men gave him presents of firearms and ammunition--the Indian's most precious possessions. Between flattered vanity and indolence, other white men, similarly treated, have lost their self-respect. Beckworth, of the Missouri, became to all intents and purposes a savage; and Bird, of the Blackfeet, degenerated lower than the Indians. Other Frenchmen captured from the St. Lawrence, and white women taken from the New England colonies, became so enamored of savage life that they refused to leave the Indian lodges when peace had liberated them. Not so Radisson. Though only seventeen, flattered vanity never caused him to forget the gratitude he owed the Mohawk family. Though he relates his life with a frankness that leaves nothing untold, he never at any time returned treachery for kindness. The very chivalry of the French nature endangered him all the more. Would he forget his manhood, his birthright of a superior race, his inheritance of nobility from a family that stood foremost among the _noblesse_ of New France? [Illustration: Albany, from an Old Print.] The spring of 1653 came with unloosening of the rivers and stirring of the forest sap and fret of the warrior blood. Radisson's Iroquois father held great feasts in which he heaved up the hatchet to break the kettle of sagamite against all enemies. Would Radisson go on the war-path with the braves, or stay at home with the women and so lose the respect of the tribe? In the hope of coming again within reach of Three Rivers, he offered to join the Iroquois in their wars. The Mohawks were delighted with his spirit, but they feared to lose their young warrior. Accepting his offer, they refused to let him accompany them to Quebec, but assigned him to a band of young braves, who were to raid the border-lands between the Huron country of the Upper Lakes and the St. Lawrence. This was not what Radisson wanted, but he could not draw back. There followed months of wild wanderings round the regions of Niagara. The band of young braves passed dangerous places with great precipices and a waterfall, where the river was a mile wide and unfrozen. Radisson was constrained to witness many acts against the Eries, which must have one of two effects on white blood,--either turn the white man into a complete savage, or disgust him utterly with savage life. Leaving the Mohawk village amid a blare of guns and shouts, the young braves on their maiden venture passed successively through the lodges of Oneidas, Onondagas, Senecas, and Cayugas, where they were feasted almost to death by the Iroquois Confederacy.[11] Then they marched to the vast wilderness of snow-padded forests and heaped windfall between Lake Ontario and Lake Erie. Snow still lay in great drifts under the shadow of hemlock and spruce; and the braves skimmed forward winged with the noiseless speed of snow-shoes. When the snow became too soft from thaw for snow-shoes, they paused to build themselves a skiff. It was too early to peel the bark off the birch, so they made themselves a dugout of the walnut tree. The wind changed from north to south, clearing the lakes of ice and filling the air with the earthy smells of up-bursting growth. "There was such a thawing," writes Radisson, "ye little brookes flowed like rivers, which made us embark to wander over that sweet sea." Lounging in their skiff all day, carried from shore to shore with the waves, and sleeping round camp-fires on the sand each night, the young braves luxuriated in all the delights of sunny idleness and spring life. But this was not war. It was play, and play of the sort that weans the white man from civilization to savagery. One day a scout, who had climbed to the top of a tree, espied two strange squaws. They were of a hostile tribe. The Mohawk bloodthirst was up as a wolf's at the sight of lambs. In vain Radisson tried to save the women by warning the Iroquois that if there were women, there must be men, too, who would exact vengeance for the squaws' death. The young braves only laid their plans the more carefully for his warning and massacred the entire encampment. Prisoners were taken, but when food became scarce they were brutally knocked on the head. These tribes had never heard guns before, and at the sound of shots fled as from diabolical enemies. It was an easy matter for the young braves in the course of a few weeks to take a score of scalps and a dozen prisoners. At one place more than two hundred beaver were trapped. At the end of the raid, the booty was equally divided. Radisson asked that the woman prisoner be given to him; and he saved her from torture and death on the return to the Mohawks by presenting her as a slave to his Indian mother. All his other share of booty he gave to the friendly family. The raid was over. He had failed of his main object in joining it. He had not escaped. But he had made one important gain. His valor had reëstablished the confidence of the Indians so that when they went on a free-booting expedition against the whites of the Dutch settlements at Orange (Albany), Radisson was taken with them. Orange, or Albany, consisted at that time of some fifty thatched log-houses surrounded by a settlement of perhaps a hundred and fifty farmers. This raid was bloodless. The warriors looted the farmers' cabins, emptied their cupboards, and drank their beer cellars dry to the last drop. Once more Radisson kept his head. While the braves entered Fort Orange roaring drunk, Radisson was alert and sober. A drunk Indian falls an easy prey in the bartering of pelts. The Iroquois wanted guns. The Dutch wanted pelts. The whites treated the savages like kings; and the Mohawks marched from house to house feasting of the best. Radisson was dressed in garnished buckskin and had been painted like a Mohawk. Suspecting some design to escape, his Iroquois friends never left him. The young Frenchman now saw white men for the first time in almost two years; but the speech that he heard was in a strange tongue. As Radisson went into the fort, he noticed a soldier among the Dutch. At the same instant the soldier recognized him as a Frenchman, and oblivious of the Mohawks' presence blurted out his discovery in Iroquois dialect, vowing that for all the paint and grease, this youth was a white man below. The fellow's blundering might have cost Radisson's life; but the youth had not been a captive among crafty Mohawks for nothing. Radisson feigned surprise at the accusation. That quieted the Mohawk suspicions and they were presently deep in the beer pots of the Dutch. Again the soldier spoke, this time in French. It was the first time that Radisson had heard his native tongue for months. He answered in French. At that the soldier emitted shouts of delight, for he, too, was French, and these strangers in an alien land threw their arms about each other like a pair of long-lost brothers with exclamations of joy too great for words. [Illustration: The Battery, New York, in Radisson's Time.] From that moment Radisson became the lion of Fort Orange. The women dragged him to their houses and forced more dainties on him than he could eat. He was conducted from house to house in triumph, to the amazed delight of the Indians. The Dutch offered to ransom him at any price; but that would have exposed the Dutch settlement to the resentment of the Mohawks and placed Radisson under heavy obligation to people who were the enemies of New France. Besides, his honor was pledged to return to his Indian parents; and it was a long way home to have to sail to Europe and back again to Quebec. Perhaps, too, there was deep in his heart what he did not realize--a rooted love for the wilds that was to follow him all through life. By the devious course of captivity, he had tasted of a new freedom and could not give it up. He declined the offer of the Dutch. In two days he was back among the Mohawks ten times more a hero than he had ever been. Mother and sisters were his slaves. But between love of the wilds and love of barbarism is a wide difference. He had not been back for two weeks when that glimpse of crude civilization at Orange recalled torturing memories of the French home in Three Rivers. The filthy food, the smoky lodges, the cruelties of the Mohawks, filled him with loathing. The nature of the white man, which had been hidden under the grease and paint of the savage--and in danger of total eclipse--now came upper-most. With Radisson, to think was to act. He determined to escape if it cost him his life. Taking only a hatchet as if he were going to cut wood, Radisson left the Indian lodge early one morning in the fall of 1653. Once out of sight from the village, he broke into a run, following the trail through the dense forests of the Mohawk Valley toward Fort Orange. On and on he ran, all that day, without pause to rest or eat, without backward glance, with eye ever piercing through the long leafy vistas of the forest on the watch for the fresh-chipped bark of the trees that guided his course, or the narrow indurated path over the spongy mould worn by running warriors. And when night filled the forest with the hoot of owl, and the far, weird cries of wild creatures on the rove, there sped through the aisled columns of star light and shadow, the ghostly figure of the French boy slim, and lithe as a willow, with muscles tense as ironwood, and step silent as the mountain-cat. All that night he ran without a single stop. Chill daybreak found him still staggering on, over rocks slippery with the night frost, over windfall tree on tree in a barricade, through brawling mountain brooks where his moccasins broke the skim of ice at the edge, past rivers where he half waded, half swam. He was now faint from want of food; but fear spurred him on. The morning air was so cold that he found it better to run than rest. By four of the afternoon he came to a clearing in the forest, where was the cabin of a settler. A man was chopping wood. Radisson ascertained that there were no Iroquois in the cabin, and, hiding in it, persuaded the settler to carry a message to Fort Orange, two miles farther on. While he waited Indians passed the cabin, singing and shouting. The settler's wife concealed him behind sacks of wheat and put out all lights. Within an hour came a rescue party from Orange, who conducted him safely to the fort. For three days Radisson hid in Orange, while the Mohawks wandered through the fort, calling him by name. Gifts of money from the Jesuit, Poncet, and from a Dutch merchant, enabled Radisson to take ship from Orange to New York, and from New York to Europe. [Illustration: Fort Amsterdam, from an ancient engraving executed in Holland. This view of Fort Amsterdam on the Manhattan is copied from an ancient engraving executed in Holland. The fort was erected in 1623 but finished upon the above model by Governor Van Twiller in 1635.] Père Poncet had been captured by the Mohawks the preceding summer, but had escaped to Orange.[12] Embarking on a small sloop, Radisson sailed down the Hudson to New York, which then consisted of some five hundred houses, with stores, barracks, a stone church, and a dilapidated fort. Central Park was a forest; goats and cows pastured on what is now Wall Street; and to east and west was a howling wilderness of marsh and woods. After a stay of three weeks, Radisson embarked for Amsterdam, which he reached in January, 1654. [1] Benjamin Sulte in _Chronique Trifluvienne_. [2] It was in August of this same year, 1652, that the governor of Three Rivers was slain by the Iroquois. Parkman gives this date, 1653, Garneau, 1651, L'Abbé Tanguay, 1651; Dollier de Casson, 1651, Belmont, 1653. Sulte gives the name of the governor Duplessis-Kerbodot, not Bochart, as given in Parkman. [3] Dr. Bryce has unearthed the fact that in a petition to the House of Commons, 1698, Radisson sets down his age as sixty-two. This gives the year of his birth as 1636. On the other hand, Sulte has record of a Pierre Radisson registered at Quebec in 1681, aged fifty-one, which would make him slightly older, if it is the same Radisson. Mr. Sulte's explanation is as follows: Sébastien Hayet of St. Malo married Madeline Hénault. Their daughter Marguerite married Chouart, known as Groseillers. Madeline Hénault then married Pierre Esprit Radisson of Paris, whose children were Pierre, our hero, and two daughters. [4] A despatch from M. Talon in 1666 shows there were 461 families in Three Rivers. State papers from the Minister to M. Frontenac in 1674 show there were only 6705 French in all the colony. Averaging five a family, there must have been 2000 people at Three Rivers. Fear of the Iroquois must have driven the country people inside the fort, so that the population enrolled was larger than the real population of Three Rivers. Sulte gives the normal population of Three Rivers in 1654 as 38 married couples, 13 bachelors, 38 boys, 26 girls--in all not 200. [5] At first flush, this seems a slip in _Radisson's Relation_. Where did the Mohawks get their guns? _New York Colonial Documents_ show that between 1640 and 1650 the Dutch at Fort Orange had supplied the Mohawks alone with four hundred guns. [6] One of many instances of Radisson's accuracy in detail. All tribes have a trick of browning food on hot stones or sand that has been taken from fire. The Assiniboines gained their name from this practice: they were the users of "boiling stones." [7] I have asked both natives and old fur-traders what combination of sounds in English most closely resembles the Indian war-cry, and they have all given the words that I have quoted. One daughter of a chief factor, who went through a six weeks' siege by hostiles in her father's fort, gave a still more graphic description. She said: "you can imagine the snarls of a pack of furiously vicious dogs saying 'ah-oh' with a whoop, you have it; and you will not forget it!" [8] This practice was a binding law on many tribes. Catlin relates it of the Mandans, and Hearne of the Chipewyans. The latter considered it a crime to kiss wives and children after a massacre without the bath of purification. Could one know where and when that universal custom of washing blood-guilt arose, one mystery of existence would be unlocked. [9] I have throughout followed Mr. Sulte's correction of the name of this governor. The mistake followed by Parkman, Tanguay, and others--it seems--was first made in 1820, and has been faithfully copied since. Elsewhere will be found Mr. Sulte's complete elucidation of the hopeless dark in which all writers have involved Radisson's family. [10] If there were not corroborative testimony, one might suspect the excited French lad of gross exaggeration in his account of Iroquois tortures; but the Jesuits more than confirm the worst that Radisson relates. Bad as these torments were, they were equalled by the deeds of white troops from civilized cities in the nineteenth century. A band of Montana scouts came on the body of a comrade horribly mutilated by the Indians. They caught the culprits a few days afterwards. Though the government report has no account of what happened, traders say the bodies of the guilty Indians were found skinned and scalped by the white troops. [11] Radisson puts the Senecas before the Cayugas, which is different from the order given by the Jesuits. [12] The fact that Radisson confessed his sins to this priest seems pretty well to prove that Pierre was a Catholic and not a Protestant, as has been so often stated. CHAPTER II 1657-1658 RADISSON'S SECOND VOYAGE Radisson returns to Quebec, where he joins the Jesuits to go to the Iroquois Mission--He witnesses the Massacre of the Hurons among the Thousand Islands--Besieged by the Iroquois, they pass the Winter as Prisoners of War--Conspiracy to massacre the French foiled by Radisson. From Amsterdam Radisson took ship to Rochelle. Here he found himself a stranger in his native land. All his kin of whom there is any record--Pierre Radisson, his father, Madeline Hénault, his mother, Marguerite and Françoise, his elder and younger sisters, his uncle and aunt, with their daughter, Elizabeth--were now living at Three Rivers in New France.[1] Embarking with the fishing fleet that yearly left France for the Grand Banks, Radisson came early in the spring of 1654 to Isle Percée at the mouth of the St. Lawrence. He was still a week's journey from Three Rivers, but chance befriended him. Algonquin canoes were on the way up the river to war on the Iroquois. Joining the Indian canoes, he slipped past the hilly shores of the St. Lawrence and in five days was between the main bank on the north side and the muddy shallows of the Isle of Orleans. Sheering out where the Montmorency roars over a precipice in a shining cataract, the canoes glided across St. Charles River among the forests of masts heaving to the tide below the beetling heights of Cape Diamond, Quebec. [Illustration: One of the earliest maps of the Great Lakes.] It was May, 1651, when he had first seen the turrets and spires of Quebec glittering on the hillside in the sun; it was May, 1652, that the Iroquois had carried him off from Three Rivers; and it was May, 1654, when he came again to his own. He was welcomed back as from the dead. Changes had taken place in the interval of his captivity. A truce had been arranged between the Iroquois and the French. Now that the Huron missions had been wiped out by Iroquois wars, the Jesuits regarded the truce as a Divine provision for a mission among the Iroquois. The year that Radisson escaped from the Mohawks, Jesuit priests had gone among them. A still greater change that was to affect his life more vitally had taken place in the Radisson family. The year that Radisson had been captured, the outraged people of Three Rivers had seized a Mohawk chief and burned him to death. In revenge, the Mohawks murdered the governor of Three Rivers and a company of Frenchmen. Among the slain was the husband of Radisson's sister, Marguerite. When Radisson returned, he found that his widowed sister had married Médard Chouart Groseillers, a famous fur trader of New France, who had passed his youth as a lay helper to the Jesuit missions of Lake Huron.[2] Radisson was now doubly bound to the Jesuits by gratitude and family ties. Never did pagan heart hear an evangel more gladly than the Mohawks heard the Jesuits. The priests were welcomed with acclaim, led to the Council Lodge, and presented with belts of wampum. Not a suspicion of foul play seems to have entered the Jesuits' mind. When the Iroquois proposed to incorporate into the Confederacy the remnants of the Hurons, the Jesuits discerned nothing in the plan but the most excellent means to convert pagan Iroquois by Christian Hurons. Having gained an inch, the Iroquois demanded the proverbial ell. They asked that a French settlement be made in the Iroquois country. The Indians wanted a supply of firearms to war against all enemies; and with a French settlement miles away from help, the Iroquois could wage what war they pleased against the Algonquins without fear of reprisals from Quebec--the settlement of white men among hostiles would be hostage of generous treatment from New France. Of these designs, neither priests nor governor had the slightest suspicion. The Jesuits were thinking only of the Iroquois' soul; the French, of peace with the Iroquois at any cost. In 1656 Major Dupuis and fifty Frenchmen had established a French colony among the Iroquois.[3] The hardships of these pioneers form no part of Radisson's life, and are, therefore, not set down here. Peace not bought by a victory is an unstable foundation for Indian treaty. The Mohawks were jealous that their confederates, the Onondagas, had obtained the French settlement. In 1657, eighty Iroquois came to Quebec to escort one hundred Huron refugees back to Onondaga for adoption into the Confederacy. These Hurons were Christians, and the two Jesuits, Paul Ragueneau and François du Péron, were appointed to accompany them to their new abode. Twenty young Frenchmen joined the party to seek their fortunes at the new settlement; but a man was needed who could speak Iroquois. Glad to repay his debt to the Jesuits, young Radisson volunteered to go as a _donné_, that is, a lay helper vowed to gratuitous services. It was midsummer before all preparations had been made. On July 26, the party of two hundred, made up of twenty Frenchmen, eighty Iroquois, and a hundred Hurons, filed out of the gates of Montreal, and winding round the foot of the mountain followed a trail through the forest that took them past the Lachine Rapids. The Onondaga _voyageurs_ carried the long birch canoes inverted on their shoulders, two Indians at each end; and the other Iroquois trotted over the rocks with the Frenchmen's baggage on their backs. The day was hot, the _portage_ long and slippery with dank moisture. The Huron children fagged and fell behind. At nightfall, thirty of the haughty Iroquois lost patience, and throwing down their bundles made off for Quebec with the avowed purpose of raiding the Algonquins. On the way, they paused to scalp three Frenchmen at Montreal, cynically explaining that if the French persisted in taking Algonquins into their arms, the white men need not be surprised if the blow aimed at an Algonquin sometimes struck a Frenchman. That act opened the eyes of the French to the real meaning of the peace made with the Iroquois; but the little colony was beyond recall. To insure the safety of the French among the Onondagas, the French governor at Quebec seized a dozen Iroquois and kept them as hostages of good conduct. Meanwhile, all was confusion on Lake St. Louis, where the last band of colonists had encamped. The Iroquois had cast the Frenchmen's baggage on the rocks and refused to carry it farther. Leaving the whites all embarrassed, the Onondagas hurriedly embarked the Hurons and paddled quickly out of sight. The act was too suddenly unanimous not to have been premeditated. Why had the Iroquois carried the Hurons away from the Frenchmen? Father Ragueneau at once suspected some sinister purpose. Taking only a single sack of flour for food, he called for volunteers among the twenty Frenchmen to embark in a leaky, old canoe and follow the treacherous Onondagas. Young Radisson was one of the first to offer himself. Six others followed his example; and the seven Frenchmen led by the priest struck across the lake, leaving the others to gather up the scattered baggage. The Onondagas were too deep to reveal their plots with seven armed Frenchmen in pursuit. The Indians permitted the French boats to come up with the main band. All camped together in the most friendly fashion that night; but the next morning one Iroquois offered passage in his canoe to one Frenchman, another Iroquois to another of the whites, and by the third day, when they came to Lake St. Francis, the old canoe had been abandoned. The French were scattered promiscuously among the Iroquois, with no two whites in one boat. The Hurons were quicker to read the signs of treachery than the French. There were rumors of one hundred Mohawks lying in ambush at the Thousand Islands to massacre the coming Hurons. On the morning of August 3 four Huron warriors and two women seized a canoe, and to the great astonishment of the encampment launched out before they could be stopped. Heading the canoe back for Montreal, they broke out in a war chant of defiance to the Iroquois. The Onondagas made no sign, but they evidently took council to delay no longer. Again, when they embarked, they allowed no two whites in one canoe. The boats spread out. Nothing was said to indicate anything unusual. The lake lay like a silver mirror in the August sun. The water was so clear that the Indians frequently paused to spear fish lying below on the stones. At places the canoes skirted close to the wood-fringed shore, and braves landed to shoot wild-fowl. Radisson and Ragueneau seemed simultaneously to have noticed the same thing. Without any signal, at about four in the afternoon, the Onondagas steered their canoes for a wooded island in the middle of the St. Lawrence. With Radisson were three Iroquois and a Huron. As the canoe grated shore, the bowman loaded his musket and sprang into the thicket. Naturally, the Huron turned to gaze after the disappearing hunter. Instantly, the Onondaga standing directly behind buried his hatchet in the Huron's head. The victim fell quivering across Radisson's feet and was hacked to pieces by the other Iroquois. Not far along the shore from Radisson, the priest was landing. He noticed an Iroquois chief approach a Christian Huron girl. If the Huron had not been a convert, she might have saved her life by becoming one of the chief's many slaves; but she had repulsed the Onondaga pagan. As Ragueneau looked, the girl fell dead with her skull split by the chief's war-axe. The Hurons on the lake now knew what awaited them; and a cry of terror arose from the children. Then a silence of numb horror settled over the incoming canoes. The women were driven ashore like lambs before wolves; but the valiant Hurons would not die without striking one blow at their inveterate and treacherous enemies. They threw themselves together back to back, prepared to fight. For a moment this show of resistance drove off the Iroquois. Then the Onondaga chieftain rushed forward, protesting that the two murders had been a personal quarrel. Striking back his own warriors with a great show of sincerity, he bade the Hurons run for refuge to the top of the hill. No sooner had the Hurons broken rank, than there rushed from the woods scores of Iroquois, daubed in war-paint and shouting their war-cry. This was the hunt to which the young braves had dashed from the canoes to be in readiness behind the thicket. Before the scattered Hurons could get together for defence, the Onondagas had closed around the hilltop in a cordon. The priest ran here, there, everywhere,--comforting the dying, stopping mutilation, defending the women. All the Hurons were massacred but one man, and the bodies were thrown into the river. With blankets drawn over their heads that they might not see, the women huddled together, dumb with terror. When the Onondagas turned toward the women, the Frenchmen stood with muskets levelled. The Onondagas halted, conferred, and drew off. [Illustration: Paddling past Hostiles.] The fight lasted for four hours. Darkness and the valor of the little French band saved the women for the time. The Iroquois kindled a fire and gathered to celebrate their victory. Then the old priest took his life in his hands. Borrowing three belts of wampum, he left the huddling group of Huron women and Frenchmen and marched boldly into the circle of hostiles. The lives of all the French and Hurons hung by a thread. Ragueneau had been the spiritual guide of the murdered tribe for twenty years; and he was now sobbing like a child. The Iroquois regarded his grief with sardonic scorn; but they misjudged the manhood below the old priest's tears. Ragueneau asked leave to speak. They grunted permission. Springing up, he broke into impassioned, fearless reproaches of the Iroquois for their treachery. Casting one belt of wampum at the Onondaga chief's feet, the priest demanded pledges that the massacre cease. A second belt was given to register the Onondaga's vow to conduct the women and children safely to the Iroquois country. The third belt was for the safety of the French at Onondaga. The Iroquois were astonished. They had looked for womanish pleadings. They had heard stern demands coupled with fearless threats of punishment. When Ragueneau sat down, the Onondaga chief bestirred himself to counteract the priest's powerful impression. Lounging to his feet, the Onondaga impudently declared that the governor of Quebec had instigated the massacre. Ragueneau leaped up with a denial that took the lie from the scoundrel's teeth. The chief sat down abashed. The Council grunted "Ho, ho!" accepting the wampum and promising all that the Jesuit had asked. Among the Thousand Islands, the French who had remained behind to gather up the baggage again joined the Onondagas. They brought with them from the Isle of Massacres a poor Huron woman, whom they had found lying insensible on a rock. During the massacre she had hidden in a hollow tree, where she remained for three days. In this region, Radisson almost lost his life by hoisting a blanket sail to his canoe. The wind drifted the boat so far out that Radisson had to throw all ballast overboard to keep from being swamped. As they turned from the St. Lawrence and Lake Ontario up the Oswego River for Onondaga, they met other warriors of the Iroquois nation. In spite of pledges to the priest, the meeting was celebrated by torturing the Huron women to entertain the newcomers. Not the sufferings of the early Christians in Rome exceeded the martyrdom of the Christian Hurons among the Onondagas. As her mother mounted the scaffold of tortures, a little girl who had been educated by the Ursulines of Quebec broke out with loud weeping. The Huron mother turned calmly to the child:-- "Weep not my death, my little daughter! We shall this day be in heaven," said she; "God will pity us to all eternity. The Iroquois cannot rob us of that." As the flames crept about her, her voice was heard chanting in the crooning monotone of Indian death dirge: "Jesu--have pity on us! Jesu--have pity on us!" The next moment the child was thrown into the flames, repeating the same words. The Iroquois recognized Radisson. He sent presents to his Mohawk parents, who afterwards played an important part in saving the French of Onondaga. Having passed the falls, they came to the French fort situated on the crest of a hill above a lake. Two high towers loopholed for musketry occupied the centre of the courtyard. Double walls, trenched between, ran round a space large enough to enable the French to keep their cattle inside the fort. The _voyageurs_ were welcomed to Onondaga by Major Dupuis, fifty Frenchmen, and several Jesuits. The pilgrims had scarcely settled at Onondaga before signs of the dangers that were gathering became too plain for the blind zeal of the Jesuits to ignore. Cayugas, Onondagas, and Senecas, togged out in war-gear, swarmed outside the palisades. There was no more dissembling of hunger for the Jesuits' evangel. The warriors spoke no more soft words, but spent their time feasting, chanting war-songs, heaving up the war-hatchet against the kettle of sagamite--which meant the rupture of peace. Then came four hundred Mohawks, who not only shouted their war-songs, but built their wigwams before the fort gates and established themselves for the winter like a besieging army. That the intent of the entire Confederacy was hostile to Onondaga could not be mistaken; but what was holding the Indians back? Why did they delay the massacre? Then Huron slaves brought word to the besieged fort of the twelve Iroquois hostages held at Quebec. The fort understood what stayed the Iroquois blow. The Confederacy dared not attack the isolated fort lest Quebec should take terrible vengeance on the hostages. [Illustration: Jogues, the Jesuit missionary, who was tortured by the Mohawks. From a painting in Château de Ramezay, Montreal.] The French decided to send messengers to Quebec for instructions before closing navigation cut them off for the winter. Thirteen men and one Jesuit left the fort the first week of September. Mohawk spies knew of the departure and lay in ambush at each side of the narrow river to intercept the party; but the messengers eluded the trap by striking through the forests back from the river directly to the St. Lawrence. Then the little fort closed its gates and awaited an answer from Quebec. Winter settled over the land, blocking the rivers with ice and the forest trails with drifts of snow; but no messengers came back from Quebec. The Mohawks had missed the outgoing scouts: but they caught the return coureurs and destroyed the letters. Not a soul could leave the fort but spies dogged his steps. The Jesuits continued going from lodge to lodge, and in this way Onondaga gained vague knowledge of the plots outside the fort. The French could venture out only at the risk of their lives, and spent the winter as closely confined as prisoners of war. Of the ten drilled soldiers, nine threatened to desert. One night an unseen hand plunged through the dark, seized the sentry, and dragged him from the gate. The sentry drew his sword and shouted, "To arms!" A band of Frenchmen sallied from the gates with swords and muskets. In the tussle the sentry was rescued, and gifts were sent out in the morning to pacify the wounded Mohawks. Fortunately the besieged had plenty of food inside the stockades; but the Iroquois knew there could be no escape till the ice broke up in spring, and were quite willing to exchange ample supplies of corn for tobacco and firearms. The Huron slaves who carried the corn to the fort acted as spies among the Mohawks for the French. In the month of February the vague rumors of conspiracy crystallized into terrible reality. A dying Mohawk confessed to a Jesuit that the Iroquois[4] Council had determined to massacre half the company of French and to hold the other half till their own Mohawk hostages were released from Quebec. Among the hostiles encamped before the gates was Radisson's Indian father. This Mohawk was still an influential member of the Great Council. He, too, reported that the warriors were bent on destroying Onondaga.[5] What was to be done? No answer had come from Quebec, and no aid could come till the spring. The rivers were still blocked with ice; and there were not sufficient boats in the fort to carry fifty men down to Quebec. "What could we do?" writes Radisson. "We were in their hands. It was as hard to get away from them as for a ship in full sea without a pilot." They at once began constructing two large flat-bottomed boats of light enough draft to run the rapids in the flood-tide of spring. Carpenters worked hidden in an attic; but when the timbers were mortised together, the boats had to be brought downstairs, where one of the Huron slaves caught a glimpse of them. Boats of such a size he had never before seen. Each was capable of carrying fifteen passengers with full complement of baggage. Spring rains were falling in floods. The convert Huron had heard the Jesuits tell of Noah's ark in the deluge. Returning to the Mohawks, he spread a terrifying report of an impending flood and of strange arks of refuge built by the white men. Emissaries were appointed to visit the French fort; but the garrison had been forewarned. Radisson knew of the coming spies from his Indian father; and the Jesuits had learned of the Council from their converts. Before the spies arrived, the French had built a floor over their flatboats, and to cover the fresh floor had heaped up a dozen canoes. The spies left the fort satisfied that neither a deluge nor an escape was impending. Birch canoes would be crushed like egg-shells if they were run through the ice jams of spring floods. Certain that their victims were trapped, the Iroquois were in no haste to assault a double-walled fort, where musketry could mow them down as they rushed the hilltop. The Indian is bravest under cover; so the Mohawks spread themselves in ambush on each side of the narrow river and placed guards at the falls where any boats must be _portaged_. Of what good were the boats? To allay suspicion of escape, the Jesuits continued to visit the wigwams.[6] The French were in despair. They consulted Radisson, who could go among the Mohawks as with a charmed life, and who knew the customs of the Confederacy so well. Radisson proposed a way to outwit the savages. With this plan the priests had nothing to do. To the harum-scarum Radisson belong the sole credit and discredit of the escapade. On his device hung the lives of fifty innocent men. These men must either escape or be massacred. Of bloodshed, Radisson had already seen too much; and the youth of twenty-one now no more proposed to stickle over the means of victory than generals who wear the Victoria cross stop to stickle over means to-day. Radisson knew that the Indians had implicit faith in dreams; so Radisson had a dream.[7] He realized as critics of Indian customs fail to understand that the fearful privations of savage life teach the crime of waste. The Indian will eat the last morsel of food set before him if he dies for it. He believes that the gods punish waste of food by famine. The belief is a religious principle and the feasts--_festins à tout manger_--are a religious act; so Radisson dreamed--whether sleeping or waking--that the white men were to give a great festival to the Iroquois. This dream he related to his Indian father. The Indian like his white brother can clothe a vice under religious mantle. The Iroquois were gluttonous on a religious principle. Radisson's dream was greeted with joy. _Coureurs_ ran through the forest, bidding the Mohawks to the feast. Leaving ambush of forest and waterfall, the warriors hastened to the walls of Onondaga. To whet their appetite, they were kept waiting outside for two whole days. The French took turns in entertaining the waiting guests. Boisterous games, songs, dances, and music kept the Iroquois awake and hilarious to the evening of the second day. Inside the fort bedlam reigned. Boats were dragged from floors to a sally-port at the rear of the courtyard. Here firearms, ammunition, food, and baggage were placed in readiness. Guns which could not be taken were burned or broken. Ammunition was scattered in the snow. All the stock but one solitary pig, a few chickens, and the dogs was sacrificed for the feast, and in the barracks a score of men were laboring over enormous kettles of meat. Had an Indian spy climbed to the top of a tree and looked over the palisades, all would have been discovered; but the French entertainers outside kept their guests busy. [Illustration: Château de Ramezay, Montreal, for years the residence of the governor, and later the storehouse of the fur companies.] On the evening of the second day a great fire was kindled in the outer enclosure, between the two walls. The trumpets blew a deafening blast. The Mohawks answered with a shout. The French clapped their hands. The outer gates were thrown wide open, and in trooped several hundred Mohawk warriors, seating themselves in a circle round the fire. Another blare of trumpets, and twelve enormous kettles of mincemeat were carried round the circle of guests. A Mohawk chief rose solemnly and gave his deities of earth, air, and fire profuse thanks for having brought such generous people as the French among the Iroquois. Other chiefs arose and declaimed to their hearers that earth did not contain such hosts as the French. Before they had finished speaking there came a second and a third and a fourth relay of kettles round the circle of feasters. Not one Iroquois dared to refuse the food heaped before him. By the time the kettles of salted fowl and venison and bear had passed round the circle, each Indian was glancing furtively sideways to see if his neighbor could still eat. He who was compelled to forsake the feast first was to become the butt of the company. All the while the French kept up a din of drums and trumpets and flageolets, dancing and singing and shouting to drive off sleep. The eyes of the gorging Indians began to roll. Never had they attempted to demolish such a banquet. Some shook their heads and drew back. Others fell over in the dead sleep that results from long fasting and overfeeding and fresh air. Radisson was everywhere, urging the Iroquois to "Cheer up! cheer up! If sleep overcomes you, you must awake! Beat the drum! Blow the trumpet! Cheer up! Cheer up!" But the end of the repulsive scene was at hand. By midnight the Indians had--in the language of the white man--"gone under the mahogany." They lay sprawled on the ground in sodden sleep. Perhaps, too, something had been dropped in the fleshpots to make their sleep the sounder. Radisson does not say no, neither does the priest, and they two were the only whites present who have written of the episode.[8] But the French would hardly have been human if they had not assured their own safety by drugging the feasters. It was a common thing for the fur traders of a later period to prevent massacre and quell riot by administering a quietus to Indians with a few drops of laudanum. The French now retired to the inner court. The main gate was bolted and chained. Through the loophole of this gate ran a rope attached to a bell that was used to summon the sentry. To this rope the mischievous Radisson tied the only remaining pig, so that when the Indians would pull the rope for admission, the noise of the disturbed pig would give the impression of a sentry's tramp-tramp on parade. Stuffed effigies of soldiers were then stuck about the barracks. If a spy climbed up to look over the palisades, he would see Frenchmen still in the fort. While Radisson was busy with these precautions to delay pursuit, the soldiers and priests, led by Major Dupuis, had broken open the sally-port, forced the boats through sideways, and launched out on the river. Speaking in whispers, they stowed the baggage in the flat-boats, then brought out skiffs--dugouts to withstand the ice jam--for the rest of the company. The night was raw and cold. A skim of ice had formed on the margins of the river. Through the pitchy darkness fell a sleet of rain and snow that washed out the footsteps of the fugitives. The current of mid-river ran a noisy mill-race of ice and log drift; and the _voyageurs_ could not see one boat length ahead. To men living in savagery come temptations that can neither be measured nor judged by civilization. To the French at Onondaga came such a temptation now. Their priests were busy launching the boats. The departing soldiers seemed simultaneously to have become conscious of a very black suggestion. Cooped up against the outer wall in the dead sleep of torpid gluttony lay the leading warriors of the Iroquois nation. Were these not the assassins of countless Frenchmen, the murderers of women, the torturers of children? Had Providence not placed the treacherous Iroquois in the hands of fifty Frenchmen? If these warriors were slain, it would be an easy matter to march to the villages of the Confederacy, kill the old men, and take prisoners the women. New France would be forever free of her most deadly enemy. Like the Indians, the white men were trying to justify a wrong under pretence of good. By chance, word of the conspiracy was carried to the Jesuits. With all the authority of the church, the priests forbade the crime. "Their answer was," relates Radisson, "that they were sent to instruct in the faith of Jesus Christ and not to destroy, and that the cross must be their sword." Locking the sally-port, the company--as the Jesuit father records--"shook the dust of Onondaga from their feet," launched out on the swift-flowing, dark river and escaped "as the children of Israel escaped by night from the land of Egypt." They had not gone far through the darkness before the roar of waters told them of a cataract ahead. They were four hours carrying baggage and boats over this _portage_. Sleet beat upon their backs. The rocks were slippery with glazed ice; and through the rotten, half-thawed snow, the men sank to mid-waist. Navigation became worse on Lake Ontario; for the wind tossed the lake like a sea, and ice had whirled against the St. Lawrence in a jam. On the St. Lawrence, they had to wait for the current to carry the ice out. At places they cut a passage through the honeycombed ice with their hatchets, and again they were compelled to _portage_ over the ice. The water was so high that the rapids were safely ridden by all the boats but one, which was shipwrecked, and three of the men were drowned. They had left Onondaga on the 20th of March, 1658. On the evening of April 3d they came to Montreal, where they learned that New France had all winter suffered intolerable insolence from the Iroquois, lest punishment of the hostiles should endanger the French at Onondaga. The fleeing colonists waited twelve days at Montreal for the ice to clear, and were again held back by a jam at Three Rivers; but on April 23 they moored safely under the heights of Quebec. _Coureurs_ from Onondaga brought word that the Mohawks had been deceived by the pig and the ringing bell and the effigies for more than a week. Crowing came from the chicken yard, dogs bayed in their kennels, and when a Mohawk pulled the bell at the gate, he could hear the sentry's measured march. At the end of seven days not a white man had come from the fort. At first the Mohawks had thought the "black robes" were at prayers; but now suspicions of trickery flashed on the Iroquois. Warriors climbed the palisades and found the fort empty. Two hundred Mohawks set out in pursuit; but the bad weather held them back. And that was the way Radisson saved Onondaga.[9] [1] The uncle, Pierre Esprit Radisson, is the one with whom careless writers have confused the young hero, owing to identity of name. Madeline Hénault has been described as the explorer's first wife, notwithstanding genealogical impossibilities which make the explorer's daughter thirty-six years old before he was seventeen. Even the infallible Tanguay trips on Radisson's genealogy. I have before me the complete record of the family taken from the parish registers of Three Rivers and Quebec, by the indefatigable Mr. Sulte, whose explanation of the case is this: that Radisson's mother, Madeline Hénault, first married Sébastien Hayet, of St. Malo, to whom was born Marguerite about 1630; that her second husband was Pierre Esprit Radisson of Paris, to whom were born our hero and the sisters Françoise and Elizabeth. [2] I have throughout referred to Médard Chouart, Sieur des Groseillers, as simply "Groseillers," because that is the name referring to him most commonly used in the _State Papers_ and old histories. He was from Charly-Saint-Cyr, near Meaux, and is supposed to have been born about 1621. His first wife was Helen Martin, daughter of Abraham Martin, who gave his name to the Plains of Abraham. [3] This is the story of Onondaga which Parkman has told. Unfortunately, when Parkman's account was written, _Radisson's Journals_ were unknown and Mr. Parkman had to rely entirely on the _Letters of Marie de l'Incarnation_ and the _Jesuit Relations_. After the discovery of _Radisson's Journals_, Parkman added a footnote to his account of Onondaga, _quoting_ Radisson in confirmation. If Radisson may be quoted to corroborate Parkman, Radisson may surely be accepted as authentic. At the same time, I have compared this journal with Father Ragueneau's of the same party, and the two tally in every detail. [4] See _Jesuit Relations_, 1657-1658. [5] _Letters of Marie de l'Incarnation_. [6] See Ragueneau's account. [7] See _Marie de l'Incarnation_ and Dr. Dionne's modern monograph. [8] This account is drawn mainly from _Radisson's Journal_, partly from Father Ragueneau, and in one detail from a letter of _Marie de l'Incarnation_. Garneau says the feasters were drugged, but I cannot find his authority for this, though from my knowledge of fur traders' escapes, I fancy it would hardly have been human nature not to add a sleeping potion to the kettles. [9] The _festins à tout manger_ must not be too sweepingly condemned by the self-righteous white man as long as drinking bouts are a part of civilized customs; and at least one civilized nation has the gross proverb, "Better burst than waste." CHAPTER III 1658-1660 RADISSON'S THIRD VOYAGE The Discovery of the Great Northwest--Radisson and his Brother-in-law, Groseillers, visit what are now Wisconsin, Minnesota, Dakota, and the Canadian Northwest--Radisson's Prophecy on first beholding the West--Twelve Years before Marquette and Jolliet, Radisson sees the Mississippi--The Terrible Remains of Dollard's Fight seen on the Way down the Ottawa--Why Radisson's Explorations have been ignored While Radisson was among the Iroquois, the little world of New France had not been asleep. Before Radisson was born, Jean Nicolet of Three Rivers had passed westward through the straits of Mackinaw and coasted down Lake Michigan as far as Green Bay.[1] Some years later the great Jesuit martyr, Jogues, had preached to the Indians of Sault Ste. Marie; but beyond the Sault was an unknown world that beckoned the young adventurers of New France as with the hands of a siren. Of the great beyond--known to-day as the Great Northwest--nothing had been learned but this: from it came the priceless stores of beaver pelts yearly brought down the Ottawa to Three Rivers by the Algonquins, and in it dwelt strange, wild races whose territory extended northwest and north to unknown nameless seas. The Great Beyond held the two things most coveted by ambitious young men of New France,--quick wealth by means of the fur trade and the immortal fame of being a first explorer. Nicolet had gone only as far as Green Bay and Fox River; Jogues not far beyond the Sault. What secrets lay in the Great Unknown? Year after year young Frenchmen, fired with the zeal of the explorer, joined wandering tribes of Algonquins going up the Ottawa, in the hope of being taken beyond the Sault. In August, 1656, there came from Green Bay two young Frenchmen with fifty canoes of Algonquins, who told of far-distant waters called Lake "Ouinipeg," and tribes of wandering hunters called "Christinos" (Crees), who spent their winters in a land bare of trees (the prairie), and their summers on the North Sea (Hudson's Bay). They also told of other tribes, who were great warriors, living to the south,--these were the Sioux. But the two Frenchmen had not gone beyond the Great Lakes.[2] These Algonquins were received at Château St. Louis, Quebec, with pompous firing of cannon and other demonstrations of welcome. So eager were the French to take possession of the new land that thirty young men equipped themselves to go back with the Indians; and the Jesuits sent out two priests, Leonard Gareau and Gabriel Dreuillettes, with a lay helper, Louis Boësme. The sixty canoes left Quebec with more firing of guns for a God-speed; but at Lake St. Peter the Mohawks ambushed the flotilla. The enterprise of exploring the Great Beyond was abandoned by all the French but two. Gareau, who was mortally wounded on the Ottawa, probably by a Frenchman or renegade hunter, died at Montreal; and Dreuillettes did not go farther than Lake Nipissing. Here, Dreuillettes learned much of the Unknown from an old Nipissing chief. He heard of six overland routes to the bay of the North, whence came such store of peltry.[3] He, too, like the two Frenchmen from Green Bay, heard of wandering tribes who had no settled lodge like the Hurons and Iroquois, but lived by the chase,--Crees and Sioux and Assiniboines of the prairie, at constant war round a lake called "Ouinipegouek." [Illustration: A Cree brave, with the wampum string.] By one of those curious coincidences of destiny which mark the lives of nations and men, the young Frenchman who had gone with the Jesuit, Dreuillettes, to Lake Nipissing when the other Frenchmen turned back, was Médard Chouart Groseillers, the fur trader married to Radisson's widowed sister, Marguerite.[4] When Radisson came back from Onondaga, he found his brother-in-law, Groseillers, at Three Rivers, with ambitious designs of exploration in the unknown land of which he had heard at Green Bay and on Lake Nipissing. Jacques Cartier had discovered only one great river, had laid the foundations of only one small province; Champlain had only made the circuit of the St. Lawrence, the Ottawa, and the Great Lakes; but here was a country--if the Indians spoke the truth--greater than all the empires of Europe together, a country bounded only by three great seas, the Sea of the North, the Sea of the South, and the Sea of Japan, a country so vast as to stagger the utmost conception of little New France. It was unnecessary for Groseillers to say more. The ambition of young Radisson took fire. Long ago, when a captive among the Mohawks, he had cherished boyish dreams that it was to be his "destiny to discover many wild nations"; and here was that destiny opening the door for him, pointing the way, beckoning to the toils and dangers and glories of the discoverer's life. Radisson had been tortured among the Mohawks and besieged among the Onondagas. Groseillers had been among the Huron missions that were destroyed and among the Algonquin canoes that were attacked. Both explorers knew what perils awaited them; but what youthful blood ever chilled at prospect of danger when a single _coup_ might win both wealth and fame? Radisson had not been home one month; but he had no sooner heard the plan than he "longed to see himself in a boat." A hundred and fifty Algonquins had come down the Ottawa from the Great Beyond shortly after Radisson returned from Onondaga. Six of these Algonquins had brought their furs to Three Rivers. Some emissaries had gone to Quebec to meet the governor; but the majority of the Indians remained at Montreal to avoid the ambuscade of the Mohawks on Lake St. Peter. Radisson and Groseillers were not the only Frenchmen conspiring to wrest fame and fortune from the Upper Country. When the Indians came back from Quebec, they were accompanied by thirty young French adventurers, gay as boys out of school or gold hunters before the first check to their plans. There were also two Jesuits sent out to win the new domain for the cross.[5] As ignorant as children of the hardships ahead, the other treasure-seekers kept up nonchalant boasting that roused the irony of such seasoned men as Radisson and Groseillers. "What fairer bastion than a good tongue," Radisson demands cynically, "especially when one sees his own chimney smoke? . . . It is different when food is wanting, work necessary day and night, sleep taken on the bare ground or to mid-waist in water, with an empty stomach, weariness in the bones, and bad weather overhead." Giving the slip to their noisy companions, Radisson and Groseillers stole out from Three Rivers late one night in June, accompanied by Algonquin guides. Travelling only at night to avoid Iroquois spies, they came to Montreal in three days. Here were gathered one hundred and forty Indians from the Upper Country, the thirty French, and the two priests. No gun was fired at Montreal, lest the Mohawks should get wind of the departure; and the flotilla of sixty canoes spread over Lake St. Louis for the far venture of the _Pays d'en Haut_. Three days of work had silenced the boasting of the gay adventurers; and the _voyageurs_, white and red, were now paddling in swift silence. Safety engendered carelessness. As the fleet seemed to be safe from Iroquois ambush, the canoes began to scatter. Some loitered behind. Hunters went ashore to shoot. The hills began to ring with shot and call. At the first _portage_ many of the canoes were nine and ten miles apart. Enemies could have set on the Algonquins in some narrow defile and slaughtered the entire company like sheep in a pen. Radisson and Groseillers warned the Indians of the risk they were running. Many of these Algonquins had never before possessed firearms. With the muskets obtained in trade at Three Rivers, they thought themselves invincible and laughed all warning to scorn. Radisson and Groseillers were told that they were a pair of timid squaws; and the canoes spread apart till not twenty were within call. As they skirted the wooded shores, a man suddenly dashed from the forest with an upraised war-hatchet in one hand and a blanket streaming from his shoulders. He shouted for them to come to him. The Algonquins were panic-stricken. Was the man pursued by Mohawks, or laying a trap to lure them within shooting range? Seeing them hesitate, the Indian threw down blanket and hatchet to signify that he was defenceless, and rushed into the water to his armpits. "I would save you," he shouted in Iroquois. The Algonquins did not understand. They only knew that he spoke the tongue of the hated enemy and was unarmed. In a trice, the Algonquins in the nearest canoe had thrown out a well-aimed lasso, roped the man round the waist, and drawn him a captive into the canoe. "Brothers," protested the captive, who seems to have been either a Huron slave or an Iroquois magician, "your enemies are spread up and down! Sleep not! They have heard your noise! They wait for you! They are sure of their prey! Believe me--keep together! Spend not your powder in vain to frighten your enemies by noise! See that the stones of your arrows be not bent! Bend your bows! Keep your hatchets sharp! Build a fort! Make haste!" But the Algonquins, intoxicated with the new power of firearms, would hear no warning. They did not understand his words and refused to heed Radisson's interpretation. Beating paddles on their canoes and firing off guns, they shouted derisively that the man was "a dog and a hen." All the same, they did not land to encamp that night, but slept in midstream, with their boats tied to the rushes or on the lee side of floating trees. The French lost heart. If this were the beginning, what of the end? Daylight had scarcely broken when the paddles of the eager _voyageurs_ were cutting the thick gray mist that rose from the river to get away from observation while the fog still hid the fleet. From afar came the dull, heavy rumble of a waterfall.[6] There was a rush of the twelve foremost canoes to reach the landing and cross the _portage_ before the thinning mist lifted entirely. Twelve boats had got ashore when the fog was cleft by a tremendous crashing of guns, and Iroquois ambushed in the bordering forest let go a salute of musketry. Everything was instantly in confusion. Abandoning their baggage to the enemy, the Algonquins and French rushed for the woods to erect a barricade. This would protect the landing of the other canoes. The Iroquois immediately threw up a defence of fallen logs likewise, and each canoe that came ashore was greeted with a cross fire between the two barricades. Four canoes were destroyed and thirteen of the Indians from the Upper Country killed. As day wore on, the Iroquois' shots ceased, and the Algonquins celebrated the truce by killing and devouring all the prisoners they had taken, among whom was the magician who had given them warning. Radisson and Groseillers wondered if the Iroquois were reserving their powder for a night raid. The Algonquins did not wait to know. As soon as darkness fell, there was a wild scramble for the shore. A long, low trumpet call, such as hunters use, signalled the Algonquins to rally and rush for the boats. The French embarked as best they could. The Indians swam and paddled for the opposite shore of the river. Here, in the dark, hurried council was taken. The most of the baggage had been lost. The Indians refused to help either the Jesuits or the French, and it was impossible for the white _voyageurs_ to keep up the pace in the dash across an unknown _portage_ through the dark. The French adventurers turned back for Montreal. Of the white men, Radisson and Groseillers alone went on. Frightened into their senses by the encounter, the Algonquins now travelled only at night till they were far beyond range of the Iroquois. All day the fugitive band lay hidden in the woods. They could not hunt, lest Mohawk spies might hear the gunshots. Provisions dwindled. In a short time the food consisted of _tripe de roche_--a greenish moss boiled into a soup--and the few fish that might be caught during hurried nightly launch or morning landing. Sometimes they hid in a berry patch, when the fruit was gathered and boiled, but camp-fires were stamped out and covered. Turning westward, they crossed the barren region of iron-capped rocks and dwarf growth between the Upper Ottawa and the Great Lakes. Now they were farther from the Iroquois, and staved off famine by shooting an occasional bear in the berry patches. For a thousand miles they had travelled against stream, carrying their boats across sixty _portages_. Now they glided with the current westward to Lake Nipissing. On the lake, the Upper Indians always _cached_ provisions. Fish, otter, and beaver were plentiful; but again they refrained from using firearms, for Iroquois footprints had been found on the sand. From Lake Nipissing they passed to Lake Huron, where the fleet divided. Radisson and Groseillers went with the Indians, who crossed Lake Huron for Green Bay on Lake Michigan. The birch canoes could not venture across the lake in storms; so the boats rounded southward, keeping along the shore of Georgian Bay. Cedar forests clustered down the sandy reaches of the lake. Rivers dark as cathedral aisles rolled their brown tides through the woods to the blue waters of Lake Huron. At one point Groseillers recognized the site of the ruined Jesuit missions. The Indians waited the chance of a fair day, and paddled over to the straits at the entrance to Lake Michigan. At Manitoulin Island were Huron refugees, among whom were, doubtless, the waiting families of the Indians with Radisson. All struck south for Green Bay. So far Radisson and Groseillers had travelled over beaten ground. Now they were at the gateway of the Great Beyond, where no white man had yet gone. The first thing done on taking up winter quarters on Green Bay was to appease the friends of those warriors slain by the Mohawks. A distribution of gifts had barely dried up the tears of mourning when news came of Iroquois on the war-path. Radisson did not wait for fear to unman the Algonquin warriors. Before making winter camp, he offered to lead a band of volunteers against the marauders. For two days he followed vague tracks through the autumn-tinted forests. Here were markings of the dead leaves turned freshly up; there a moccasin print on the sand; and now the ashes of a hidden camp-fire lying in almost imperceptible powder on fallen logs told where the Mohawks had bivouacked. On the third day Radisson caught the ambushed band unprepared, and fell upon the Iroquois so furiously that not one escaped. After that the Indians of the Upper Country could not do too much for the white men. Radisson and Groseillers were conducted from camp to camp in triumph. Feasts were held. Ambassadors went ahead with gifts from the Frenchmen; and companies of women marched to meet the explorers, chanting songs of welcome. "But our mind was not to stay here," relates Radisson, "but to know the remotest people; and, because we had been willing to die in their defence, these Indians consented to conduct us." Before the opening of spring, 1659, Radisson and Groseillers had been guided across what is now Wisconsin to "a mighty river, great, rushing, profound, and comparable to the St. Lawrence." [7] On the shores of the river they found a vast nation--"the people of the fire," prairie tribes, a branch of the Sioux, who received them well.[8] This river was undoubtedly the Upper Mississippi, now for the first time seen by white men. Radisson and Groseillers had discovered the Great Northwest.[9] They were standing on the threshold of the Great Beyond. They saw before them not the Sea of China, as speculators had dreamed, not kingdoms for conquest, which the princes of Europe coveted; not a short road to Asia, of which savants had spun a cobweb of theories. They saw what every Westerner sees to-day,--illimitable reaches of prairie and ravine, forested hills sloping to mighty rivers, and open meadow-lands watered by streams looped like a ribbon. They saw a land waiting for its people, wealth waiting for possessors, an empire waiting for the nation builders. [Illustration: An Old-time Buffalo Hunt on the Plains among the Sioux.] What were Radisson's thoughts? Did he realize the importance of his discovery? Could he have the vaguest premonition that he had opened a door of escape from stifled older lands to a higher type of manhood and freedom than the most sanguine dreamer had ever hoped?[10] After an act has come to fruition, it is easy to read into the actor's mind fuller purpose than he could have intended. Columbus could not have realized to what the discovery of America would lead. Did Radisson realize what the discovery of the Great Northwest meant? Here is what he says, in that curious medley of idioms which so often results when a speaker knows many languages but is master of none:-- "The country was so pleasant, so beautiful, and so fruitful, that it grieved me to see that the world could not discover such inticing countries to live in. This, I say, because the Europeans fight for a rock in the sea against one another, or for a steril land . . . where the people by changement of air engender sickness and die. . . . Contrariwise, these kingdoms are so delicious and under so temperate a climate, plentiful of all things, and the earth brings forth its fruit twice a year, that the people live long and lusty and wise in their way. What a conquest would this be, at little or no cost? What pleasure should people have . . . instead of misery and poverty! Why should not men reap of the love of God here? Surely, more is to be gained converting souls here than in differences of creed, when wrongs are committed under pretence of religion! . . . It is true, I confess, . . . that access here is difficult . . . but nothing is to be gained without labor and pains." [11] [Illustration: Father Marquette, from an old painting discovered in Montreal by Mr. McNab. The date on the picture is 1669.] Here Radisson foreshadows all the best gains that the West has accomplished for the human race. What are they? Mainly room,--room to live and room for opportunity; equal chances for all classes, high and low; plenty for all classes, high and low; the conquests not of war but of peace. The question arises,--when Radisson discovered the Great Northwest ten years before Marquette and Jolliet, twenty years before La Salle, a hundred years before De la Vérendrye, why has his name been slurred over and left in oblivion?[12] The reasons are plain. Radisson was a Christian, but he was not a slave to any creed. Such liberality did not commend itself to the annalists of an age that was still rioting in a very carnival of religious persecution. Radisson always invoked the blessing of Heaven on his enterprises and rendered thanks for his victories; but he was indifferent as to whether he was acting as lay helper with the Jesuits, or allied to the Huguenots of London and Boston. His discoveries were too important to be ignored by the missionaries. They related his discoveries, but refrained from mentioning his name, though twice referring to Groseillers. What hurt Radisson's fame even more than his indifference to creeds was his indifference to nationality. Like Columbus, he had little care what flag floated at the prow, provided only that the prow pushed on and on and on,--into the Unknown. He sold his services alternately to France and England till he had offended both governments; and, in addition to withstanding a conspiracy of silence on the part of the Church, his fame encountered the ill-will of state historians. He is mentioned as "the adventurer," "the hang-dog," "the renegade." Only in 1885, when the manuscript of his travels was rescued from oblivion, did it become evident that history must be rewritten. Here was a man whose discoveries were second only to those of Columbus, and whose explorations were more far-ranging and important than those of Champlain and La Salle and De la Vérendrye put together. The spring of 1659 found the explorers still among the prairie tribes of the Mississippi. From these people Radisson learned of four other races occupying vast, undiscovered countries. He heard of the Sioux, a warlike nation to the west, who had no fixed abode but lived by the chase and were at constant war with another nomadic tribe to the north--the Crees. The Crees spent the summer time round the shores of salt water, and in winter came inland to hunt. Between these two was a third,--the Assiniboines,--who used earthen pots for cooking, heated their food by throwing hot stones in water, and dressed themselves in buckskin. These three tribes were wandering hunters; but the people of the fire told Radisson of yet another nation, who lived in villages like the Iroquois, on "a great river that divided itself in two," and was called "the Forked River," because "it had two branches, the one toward the west, the other toward the south, . . . toward Mexico." These people were the Mandans or Omahas, or Iowas, or other people of the Missouri.[13] A whole world of discoveries lay before them. In what direction should they go? "We desired not to go to the north till we had made a discovery in the south," explains Radisson. The people of the fire refused to accompany the explorers farther; so the two "put themselves in hazard," as Radisson relates, and set out alone. They must have struck across the height of land between the Mississippi and the Missouri; for Radisson records that they met several nations having villages, "all amazed to see us and very civil. The farther we sojourned, the delightfuller the land became. I can say that in all my lifetime I have never seen a finer country, for all that I have been in Italy. The people have very long hair. They reap twice a year. They war against the Sioux and the Cree. . . . It was very hot there. . . . Being among the people they told us . . . of men that built great cabins and have beards and have knives like the French." The Indians showed Radisson a string of beads only used by Europeans. These people must have been the Spaniards of the south. The tribes on the Missouri were large men of well-formed figures. There were no deformities among the people. Radisson saw corn and pumpkins in their gardens. "Their arrows were not of stone, but of fish bones. . . . Their dishes were made of wood. . . . They had great calumets of red and green stone . . . and great store of tobacco. . . . They had a kind of drink that made them mad for a whole day." [14] "We had not yet seen the Sioux," relates Radisson. "We went toward the south and came back by the north." The _Jesuit Relations_ are more explicit. Written the year that Radisson returned to Quebec, they state: "Continuing their wanderings, our two young Frenchmen visited the Sioux, where they found five thousand warriors. They then left this nation for another warlike people, who with bows and arrows had rendered themselves redoubtable." These were the Crees, with whom, say the Jesuits, wood is so rare and small that nature has taught them to make fire of a kind of coal and to cover their cabins with skins of the chase. The explorers seem to have spent the summer hunting antelope, buffalo, moose, and wild turkey. The Sioux received them cordially, supplied them with food, and gave them an escort to the next encampments. They had set out southwest to the Mascoutins, Mandans, and perhaps, also, the Omahas. They were now circling back northeastward toward the Sault between Lake Michigan and Lake Superior. How far westward had they gone? Only two facts gave any clew. Radisson reports that mountains lay far inland; and the Jesuits record that the explorers were among tribes that used coal. This must have been a country far west of the Mandans and Mascoutins and within sight of at least the Bad Lands, or that stretch of rough country between the prairie and outlying foothills of the Rockies.[15] The course of the first exploration seems to have circled over the territory now known as Wisconsin, perhaps eastern Iowa and Nebraska, South Dakota, Montana, and back over North Dakota and Minnesota to the north shore of Lake Superior. "The lake toward the north is full of rocks, yet great ships can ride in it without danger," writes Radisson. At the Sault they found the Crees and Sautaux in bitter war. They also heard of a French establishment, and going to visit it found that the Jesuits had established a mission. Radisson had explored the Southwest. He now decided to essay the Northwest. When the Sautaux were at war with the Crees, he met the Crees and heard of the great salt sea in the north. Surely this was the Sea of the North--Hudson Bay--of which the Nipissing chief had told Groseillers long ago. Then the Crees had great store of beaver pelts; and trade must not be forgotten. No sooner had peace been arranged between Sautaux and Crees, than Cree hunters flocked out of the northern forests to winter on Lake Superior. A rumor of Iroquois on the war-path compelled Radisson and Groseillers to move their camp back from Lake Superior higher up the chain of lakes and rivers between what is now Minnesota and Canada, toward the country of the Sioux. In the fall of 1659 Groseillers' health began to fail from the hardships; so he remained in camp for the winter, attending to the trade, while Radisson carried on the explorations alone. This was one of the coldest winters known in Canada.[16] The snow fell so heavily in the thick pine woods of Minnesota that Radisson says the forest became as sombre as a cellar. The colder the weather the better the fur, and, presenting gifts to insure safe conduct, Radisson set out with a band of one hundred and fifty Cree hunters for the Northwest. They travelled on snow-shoes, hunting moose on the way and sleeping at night round a camp-fire under the stars. League after league, with no sound through the deathly white forest but the soft crunch-crunch of the snowshoes, they travelled two hundred miles toward what is now Manitoba. When they had set out, the snow was like a cushion. Now it began to melt in the spring sun, and clogged the snow-shoes till it was almost impossible to travel. In the morning the surface was glazed ice, and they could march without snow-shoes. Spring thaw called a halt to their exploration. The Crees encamped for three weeks to build boats. As soon as the ice cleared, the band launched back down-stream for the appointed rendezvous on Green Bay. All that Radisson learned on this trip was that the Bay of the North lay much farther from Lake Superior than the old Nipissing chief had told Dreuillettes and Groseillers.[17] Groseillers had all in readiness to depart for Quebec; and five hundred Indians from the Upper Country had come together to go down the Ottawa and St. Lawrence with the explorers. As they were about to embark, _coureurs_ came in from the woods with news that more than a thousand Iroquois were on the war-path, boasting that they would exterminate the French.[18] Somewhere along the Ottawa a small band of Hurons had been massacred. The Indians with Groseillers and Radisson were terrified. A council of the elders was called. "Brothers, why are ye so foolish as to put yourselves in the hands of those that wait for you?" demanded an old chief, addressing the two white men. "The Iroquois will destroy you and carry you away captive. Will you have your brethren, that love you, slain? Who will baptize our children?" (Radisson and Groseillers had baptized more than two hundred children.[19]) "Stay till next year! Then you may freely go! Our mothers will send their children to be taught in the way of the Lord!" Fear is like fire. It must be taken in the beginning, or it spreads. The explorers retired, decided on a course of action, and requested the Indians to meet them in council a second time. Eight hundred warriors assembled, seating themselves in a circle. Radisson and Groseillers took their station in the centre.[20] "Who am I?" demanded Groseillers, hotly. "Am I a foe or a friend? If a foe, why did you suffer me to live? If a friend, listen what I say! You know that we risked our lives for you! If we have no courage, why did you not tell us? If you have more wit than we, why did you not use it to defend yourselves against the Iroquois? How can you defend your wives and children unless you get arms from the French!" "Fools," cried Radisson, striking a beaver skin across an Indian's shoulder, "will you fight the Iroquois with beaver pelts? Do you not know the French way? We fight with guns, not robes. The Iroquois will coop you up here till you have used all your powder, and then despatch you with ease! Shall your children be slaves because you are cowards? Do what you will! For my part I choose to die like a man rather than live like a beggar. Take back your beaver robes. We can live without you--" and the white men strode out from the council. Consternation reigned among the Indians. There was an uproar of argument. For six days the fate of the white men hung fire. Finally the chiefs sent word that the five hundred young warriors would go to Quebec with the white men. Radisson did not give their ardor time to cool. They embarked at once. The fleet of canoes crossed the head of the lakes and came to the Upper Ottawa without adventure. Scouts went ahead to all the _portages_, and great care was taken to avoid an ambush when passing overland. Below the Chaudière Falls the scouts reported that four Iroquois boats had crossed the river. Again Radisson did not give time for fear. He sent the lightest boats in pursuit; and while keeping the enemy thus engaged with half his own company on guard at the ends of the long _portage_, he hurriedly got cargoes and canoes across the landing. The Iroquois had fled. By that Radisson knew they were weak. Somewhere along the Long Sault Rapids, the scouts saw sixteen Iroquois canoes. The Indians would have thrown down their goods and fled, but Radisson instantly got his forces in hand and held them with a grip of steel. Distributing loaded muskets to the bravest warriors, he pursued the Iroquois with a picked company of Hurons, Algonquins, Sautaux, and Sioux. Beating their paddles, Radisson's company shouted the war-cry till the hills rang; but all the warriors were careful not to waste an ounce of powder till within hitting range. The Iroquois were not used to this sort of defence. They fled. The Long Sault was always the most dangerous part of the Ottawa. Radisson kept scouts to rear and fore, but the Iroquois had deserted their boats and were hanging on the flanks of the company to attempt an ambush. It was apparent that a fort had been erected at the foot of the rapids. Leaving half the band in their boats, Radisson marched overland with two hundred warriors. Iroquois shots spattered from each side; but the Huron muskets kept the assailants at a distance, and those of Radisson's warriors who had not guns were armed with bows and arrows, and wore a shield of buffalo skin dried hard as metal. The Iroquois rushed for the barricade at the foot of the Sault. Five of them were picked off as they ran. For a moment the Iroquois were out of cover, and their weakness was betrayed. They had only one hundred and fifty men, while Radisson had five hundred; but the odds would not long be in his favor. Ammunition was running out, and the enemy must be dislodged without wasting a shot. Radisson called back encouragement to his followers. They answered with a shout. Tying the beaver pelts in great bundles, the Indians rolled the fur in front nearer and nearer the Iroquois boats, keeping under shelter from the shots of the fort. The Iroquois must either lose their boats and be cut off from escape, or retire from the fort. It was not necessary for Radisson's warriors to fire a shot. Abandoning even their baggage and glad to get off with their lives, the Iroquois dashed to save their boats. [Illustration: Voyageurs running the Rapids of the Ottawa River.] A terrible spectacle awaited Radisson inside the enclosure of the palisades.[21] The scalps of dead Indians flaunted from the pickets. Not a tree but was spattered with bullet marks as with bird shot. Here and there burnt holes gaped in the stockades like wounds. Outside along the river bank lay the charred bones of captives who had been burned. The scarred fort told its own tale. Here refugees had been penned up by the Iroquois till thirst and starvation did their work. In the clay a hole had been dug for water by the parched victims, and the ooze through the mud eagerly scooped up. Only when he reached Montreal did Radisson learn the story of the dismantled fort. The rumor carried to the explorers on Lake Michigan of a thousand Iroquois going on the war-path to exterminate the French had been only too true. Half the warriors were to assault Quebec, half to come down on Montreal from the Ottawa. One thing only could save the French--to keep the bands apart. Those on the Ottawa had been hunting all winter and must necessarily be short of powder. To intercept them, a gallant band of seventeen French, four Algonquins, and sixty Hurons led by Dollard took their stand at the Long Sault. The French and their Indian allies were boiling their kettles when two hundred Iroquois broke from the woods. There was no time to build a fort. Leaving their food, Dollard and his men threw themselves into the rude palisades which Indians had erected the previous year. The Iroquois kept up a constant fire and sent for reinforcements of six hundred warriors, who were on the Richelieu. In defiance the Indians fighting for the French sallied out, scalped the fallen Iroquois, and hoisted the sanguinary trophies on long poles above the pickets. The enraged Iroquois redoubled their fury. The fort was too small to admit all the Hurons; and when the Iroquois came up from the Richelieu with Huron renegades among their warriors, the Hurons deserted their French allies and went over in a body to the enemy. For two days the French had fought against two hundred Iroquois. For five more days they fought against eight hundred. "The worst of it was," relates Radisson, "the French had no water, as we plainly saw; for they had made a hole in the ground out of which they could get but little because the fort was on a hill. It was pitiable. There was not a tree but what was shot with bullets. The Iroquois had rushed to make a breach (in the wall). . . . The French set fire to a barrel of powder to drive the Iroquois back . . . but it fell inside the fort. . . . Upon this, the Iroquois entered . . . so that not one of the French escaped. . . . It was terrible . . . for we came there eight days after the defeat." [22] Without a doubt it was Dollard's splendid fight that put fear in the hearts of the Iroquois who fled before Radisson. The passage to Montreal was clear. The boats ran the rapids without unloading; but Groseillers almost lost his life. His canoe caught on a rock in midstream, but righting herself shot down safely to the landing with no greater loss than a damaged keel. The next day, after two years' absence, Radisson and Groseillers arrived at Montreal. A brief stop was made at Three Rivers for rest till twenty citizens had fitted out two shallops with cannon to escort the discoverers in fitting pomp to Quebec. As the fleet of canoes glided round Cape Diamond, battery and bastion thundered a welcome. Welcome they were, and thrice welcome; for so ceaseless had been the Iroquois wars that the three French ships lying at anchor would have returned to France without a single beaver skin if the explorers had not come. Citizens shouted from the terraced heights of Château St. Louis, and bells rang out the joy of all New France over the discoverers' return. For a week Radisson and Groseillers were fêted. Viscomte d'Argenson, the new governor, presented them with gifts and sent two brigantines to carry them home to Three Rivers. There they rested for the remainder of the year, Groseillers at his seigniory with his wife, Marguerite; Radisson, under the parental roof.[23] [1] Mr. Benjamin Sulte establishes this date as 1634. [2] See _Jesuit Relations_, 1656-57-58. I have purposely refrained from entering into the heated controversy as to the identity of these two men. It is apart from the subject, as there is no proof these men went beyond the Green Bay region. [3] These routes were; (1) By the Saguenay, (2) by Three Rivers and the St. Maurice, (3) by Lake Nipissing, (4) by Lake Huron, through the land of the Sautaux, (5) by Lake Superior overland, (6) by the Ottawa. See _Jesuit Relations_ for detailed accounts of these routes. Dreuillettes went farther west to the Crees a few years later, but that does not concern this narrative. [4] The dispute as to whether eastern Minnesota was discovered on the 1654-55-56 trip, and whether Groseillers discovered it, is a point for savants, but will, I think, remain an unsettled dispute. [5] The _Relations_ do not give the names of these two Jesuits, probably owing to the fact that the enterprise failed. They simply state that two priests set out, but were compelled to remain behind owing to the caprice of the savages. [6] Whether they were now on the Ottawa or the St. Lawrence, it is impossible to tell. Dr. Dionne thinks that the band went overland from Lake Ontario to Lake Huron. I know both waters--Lake Ontario and the Ottawa--from many trips, and I think Radisson's description here tallies with his other descriptions of the Ottawa. It is certain that they must have been on the Ottawa before they came to the Lake of the Castors or Nipissing. The noise of the waterfall seems to point to the Chaudière Falls of the Ottawa. If so, the landing place would be the tongue of land running out from Hull, opposite the city of Ottawa, and the _portage_ would be the Aylmer Road beyond the rapids above the falls. Mr. Benjamin Sulte, the scholarly historian, thinks they went by way of the Ottawa, not Lake Ontario, as the St. Lawrence route was not used till 1702. [7] _Jesuit Relations_, 1660. [8] _Jesuit Relations_, 1660, and _Radisson's Journal_. These "people of the fire," or Mascoutins, were in three regions, (1) Wisconsin, (2) Nebraska, (3) on the Missouri. See Appendix E. [9] Benjamin Sulte unequivocally states that the river was the Mississippi. Of writers contemporaneous with Radisson, the Jesuits, Marie de l'Incarnation, and Charlevoix corroborate Radisson's account. In the face of this, what are we to think of modern writers with a reputation to lose, who brush Radisson's exploits aside as a possible fabrication? The only conclusion is that they have not read his _Journal_. [10] I refer to Radisson alone, because for half the time in 1659 Groseillers was ill at the lake, and we cannot be sure that he accompanied Radisson in all the journeys south and west, though Radisson generously always includes him as "we." Besides, Groseillers seems to have attended to the trading, Radisson to the exploring. [11] If any one cares to render Radisson's peculiar jumble of French, English, Italian, and Indian idioms into more intelligent form, they may try their hand at it. His meaning is quite clear; but the words are a medley. The passage is to be found on pp. 150-151, of the _Prince Society Reprint_. See also _Jesuit Relations_, 1660. [12] It will be noted that what I claim for Radisson is the honor of discovering the Great Northwest, and refrain from trying to identify his movements with the modern place names of certain states. I have done this intentionally--though it would have been easy to advance opinions about Green Bay, Fox River, and the Wisconsin, and so become involved in the childish quarrel that has split the western historical societies and obscured the main issue of Radisson's feat. Needless to say, the world does not care whether Radisson went by way of the Menominee, or snow-shoed across country. The question is: Did he reach the Mississippi Valley before Marquette and Jolliet and La Salle? That question this chapter answers. [13] I have refrained from quoting Radisson's names for the different Indian tribes because it would only be "caviare to the general." If Radisson's manuscript be consulted it will be seen that the crucial point is the whereabouts of the Mascoutins--or people of the fire. Reference to the last part of Appendix E will show that these people extended far beyond the Wisconsin to the Missouri. It is ignorance of this fact that has created such bitter and childish controversy about the exact direction taken by Radisson west-north-west of the Mascoutins. The exact words of the document in the Marine Department are; "In the lower Missipy there are several other nations very numerous with whom we have no commerce who are trading yet with nobody. Above Missoury river which is in the Mississippi below the river Illinois, to the south, there are the Mascoutins, Nadoessioux (Sioux) with whom we trade and who are numerous." Benjamin Sulte was one of the first to discover that the Mascoutins had been in Nebraska, though he does not attempt to trace this part of Radisson's journey definitely. [14] The entire account of the people on "the Forked River" is so exact an account of the Mandans that it might be a page from Catlin's descriptions two centuries later. The long hair, the two crops a year, the tobacco, the soap-stone calumets, the stationary villages, the knowledge of the Spaniards, the warm climate--all point to a region far south of the Northern States, to which so many historians have stupidly and with almost wilful ignorance insisted on limiting Radisson's travels. Parkman has been thoroughly honest in the matter. His _La Salle_ had been written before the discovery of the _Radisson Journals_; but in subsequent editions he acknowledges in a footnote that Radisson had been to "the Forked River." Other writers (with the exception of five) have been content to quote from Radisson's enemies instead of going directly to his journals. Even Garneau slurs over Radisson's explorations; but Garneau, too, wrote before the discovery of the Radisson papers. Abbé Tanguay, who is almost infallible on French-Canadian matters, slips up on Radisson, because his writings preceded the publication of the _Radisson Relations_. The five writers who have attempted to redeem Radisson's memory from ignominy are: Dr. N. E. Dionne, of the Parliamentary Library, Quebec; Mr. Justice Prudhomme, of St. Boniface, Manitoba; Dr. George Bryce, of Winnepeg, Mr. Benjamin Sulte, of Ottawa; and Judge J. V. Brower, of St. Paul. It ever a monument be erected to Radisson--as one certainly ought in every province and state west of the Great Lakes--the names of these four champions should be engraved upon it. [15] This claim will, I know, stagger preconceived ideas. In the light of only Radisson's narrative, the third voyage has usually been identified with Wisconsin and Minnesota; but in the light of the _Jesuit Relations_, written the year that Radisson returned, to what tribes could the descriptions apply? Even Parkman's footnote acknowledged that Radisson was among the people of the Missouri. Grant that, and the question arises, What people on the Missouri answer the description? The Indians of the far west use not only coal for fire, but raw galena to make bullets for their guns. In fact, it was that practice of the tribes of Idaho that led prospectors to find the Blue Bell Mine of Kootenay. Granting that the Jesuit account--which was of course, from hearsay--mistook the use of turf, dry grass, or buffalo refuse for a kind of coal, the fact remains that only the very far western tribes had this custom. [16] _Letters of Marie de l'Incarnation_. [17] _Jesuit Relations_, 1658. [18] See Marie de l'Incarnation, Dollier de Casson, and Abbé Belmont. [19] _Jesuit Relations_, 1660. [20] It may be well to state as nearly as possible exactly _what_ tribes Radisson had met in this trip. Those rejoined on the way up at Manitoulin Island were refugee Hurons and Ottawas. From the Hurons, Ottawas, and Algonquins of Green Bay, Radisson went west with Pottowatomies, from them to the Escotecke or Sioux of the Fire, namely a branch of the Mascoutins. From these Wisconsin Mascoutins, he learns of the Nadoneceroron, or Sioux proper, and of the Christinos or Crees. Going west with the Mascoutins, he comes to "sedentary" tribes. Are these the Mandans? He compares this country to Italy. From them he hears of white men, that he thinks may be Spaniards. This tribe is at bitter war with Sioux and Crees. At Green Bay he hears of the Sautaux in war with Crees. His description of buffalo hunts among the Sioux tallies exactly with the Pembina hunts of a later day. Oldmixon says that it was from Crees and Assiniboines visiting at Green Bay that Radisson learned of a way overland to the great game country of Hudson Bay. [21] There is a mistake in Radisson's account here, which is easily checked by contemporaneous accounts of Marie de l'Incarnation and Dollier de Casson. Radisson describes Dollard's fight during his fourth trip in 1664, when it is quite plain that he means 1660. The fight has been so thoroughly described by Mr. Parkman, who drew his material from the two authorities mentioned, and the _Jesuit Relations_ that I do not give it in detail. I give a brief account of Radisson's description of the tragedy. [22] It will be noticed that Radisson's account of the battle at the Long Sault--which I have given in his own words as far as possible--differs in details from the only other accounts written by contemporaries; namely, Marie de l'Incarnation, Dollier de Casson, the Abbé Belmont, and the Jesuits. All these must have written from hearsay, for they were at Quebec and Montreal. Radisson was on the spot a week after the tragedy; so that his account may be supposed to be as accurate as any. [23] Mr. Benjamin Sulte states that the explorers wintered on Green Bay, 1658-1659, then visited the tribes between Milwaukee and the river Wisconsin in the spring of 1659. Here they learn of the Sioux and the Crees. They push southwest first, where they see the Mississippi between April and July, 1659. Thence they come back to the Sault. Then they winter, 1659-1660, among the Sioux. I have not attempted to give the dates of the itinerary; because it would be a matter of speculation open to contradiction; but if we accept Radisson's account at all--and that account is corroborated by writers contemporaneous with him--we must then accept _his_ account of _where_ he went, and not the casual guesses of modern writers who have given his journal one hurried reading, and then sat down, without consulting documents contemporaneous with Radisson, to inform the world of _where_ he went. Because this is such a very sore point with two or three western historical societies, I beg to state the reasons why I have set down Radisson's itinerary as much farther west than has been generally believed, though how far west he went does not efface the main and essential fact _that Radisson was the true discoverer of the Great Northwest_. For that, let us give him a belated credit and not obscure the feat by disputes. (1) The term "Forked River" referred to the Missouri and Mississippi, not the Wisconsin and Mississippi. (2) No other rivers in that region are to be compared to the Ottawa and St. Lawrence but the Missouri and Mississippi. (3) The Mascoutins, or People of the Fire, among whom Radisson found himself when he descended the Wisconsin from Green Bay, conducted him westward only as far as the tribes allied to them, the Mascoutins of the Missouri or Nebraska. Hence, Radisson going west-north-west to the Sioux--as he says he did--must have skirted much farther west than Wisconsin and Minnesota. (4) His descriptions of the Indians who knew tribes in trade with the Spaniards must refer to the Indians south of the Big Bend of the Missouri. (5) His description of the climate refers to the same region. (6) The _Jesuit Relations_ confirm beyond all doubt that he was among the main body of the great Sioux Confederacy. (7) Both his and the Jesuit reference is to the treeless prairie, which does not apply to the wooded lake regions of eastern Minnesota or northern Wisconsin. To me, it is simply astounding--and that is putting it mildly--that any one pretending to have read _Radisson's Journal_ can accuse him of "claiming" to have "descended to the salt sea" (Gulf of Mexico). Radisson makes no such claim; and to accuse him of such is like building a straw enemy for the sake of knocking him down, or stirring up muddy waters to make them look deep. The exact words of Radisson's narrative are: "We went into ye great river that divides itself in 2, where the hurrons with some Ottauake . . . had retired. . . . This nation have warrs against those of the Forked River . . . so called because it has 1 branches the one towards the west, the other towards the South, wch. we believe runns towards Mexico, by the tokens they gave us . . . they told us the prisoners they take tells them that they have warrs against a nation . . . that have great beards and such knives as we have" . . . etc., etc., etc. . . . "which made us believe they were Europeans." This statement is _no_ claim that Radisson went to Mexico, but only that he met tribes who knew tribes trading with Spaniards of Mexico. And yet, on the careless reading of this statement, one historian brands Radisson as a liar for "having claimed he went to Mexico." The thing would be comical in its impudence if it were not that many such misrepresentations of what Radisson wrote have dimmed the glory of his real achievements. CHAPTER IV 1661-1664 RADISSON'S FOURTH VOYAGE The Success of the Explorers arouses Envy--It becomes known that they have heard of the Famous Sea of the North--When they ask Permission to resume their Explorations, the French Governor refuses except on Condition of receiving Half the Profits--In Defiance, the Explorers steal off at Midnight--They return with a Fortune and are driven from New France Radisson was not yet twenty-six years of age, and his explorations of the Great Northwest had won him both fame and fortune. As Spain sought gold in the New Word, so France sought precious furs. Furs were the only possible means of wealth to the French colony, and for ten years the fur trade had languished owing to the Iroquois wars. For a year after the migration of the Hurons to Onondaga, not a single beaver skin was brought to Montreal. Then began the annual visits of the Indians from the Upper Country to the forts of the St. Lawrence. Sweeping down the northern rivers like wild-fowl, in far-spread, desultory flocks, came the Indians of the _Pays d'en Haut_. Down the Ottawa to Montreal, down the St. Maurice to Three Rivers, down the Saguenay and round to Quebec, came the treasure-craft,--light fleets of birch canoes laden to the water-line with beaver skins. Whence came the wealth that revived the languishing trade of New France? From a vague, far Eldorado somewhere round a sea in the North. Hudson had discovered this sea half a century before Radisson's day; Jean Bourdon, a Frenchman, had coasted up Labrador in 1657 seeking the Bay of the North; and on their last trip the explorers had learned from the Crees who came through the dense forests of the hinterland that there lay round this Bay of the North a vast country with untold wealth of furs. The discovery of a route overland to the north sea was to become the lodestar of Radisson's life.[1] [Illustration: Montreal in 1760: 1, the St. Lawrence; 20, the Dock; 18-19, Arsenal; 16, the Church; 13-15, the Convent and Hospital; 8-12, Sally-ports, River Side; 17, Cannon and Wall; 3-4-5, Houses on Island.] "We considered whether to reveal what we had learned," explains Radisson, "for we had _not_ been in the Bay of the North, knowing only what the Crees told us. We wished to discover it ourselves and have assurance before revealing anything." But the secret leaked out. Either Groseillers told his wife, or the Jesuits got wind of the news from the Indians; for it was announced from Quebec that two priests, young La Vallière, the son of the governor at Three Rivers, six other Frenchmen, and some Indians would set out for the Bay of the North up the Saguenay. Radisson was invited to join the company as a guide. Needless to say that a man who had already discovered the Great Northwest and knew the secret of the road to the North, refused to play a second part among amateur explorers. Radisson promptly declined. Nevertheless, in May, 1661, the Jesuits, Gabriel Dreuillettes and Claude Dablon, accompanied by Couture, La Vallière, and three others, set out with Indian guides for the discovery of Hudson's Bay by land. On June 1 they began to ascend the Saguenay, pressing through vast solitudes below the sombre precipices of the river. The rapids were frequent, the heat was terrific, and the _portages_ arduous. Owing to the obstinacy of the guides, the French were stopped north of Lake St. John. Here the priests established a mission, and messengers were sent to Quebec for instructions. Meanwhile, Radisson and Groseillers saw that no time must be lost. If they would be first in the North, as they had been first in the West, they must set out at once. Two Indian guides from the Upper Country chanced to be in Montreal. Groseillers secured them by bringing both to Three Rivers. Then the explorers formally applied to the French governor, D'Avaugour, for permission to go on the voyage of discovery. New France regulated the fur trade by license. Imprisonment, the galleys for life, even death on a second offence, were the punishments of those who traded without a license. The governor's answer revealed the real animus behind his enthusiasm for discovery. He would give the explorers a license if they would share half the profits of the trip with him and take along two of his servants as auditors of the returns. One can imagine the indignation of the dauntless explorers at this answer. Their cargo of furs the preceding year had saved New France from bankruptcy. Offering to venture their lives a second time for the extension of the French domain, they were told they might do so if they would share half the profits with an avaricious governor. Their answer was characteristic. Discoverers were greater than governors; still, if the Indians of the Upper Country invited his Excellency, Radisson and Groseillers would be glad to have the honor of his company; as for his servants--men who went on voyages of discovery had to act as both masters and servants. D'Avaugour was furious. He issued orders forbidding the explorers to leave Three Rivers without his express permission. Radisson and Groseillers knew the penalties of ignoring this order. They asked the Jesuits to intercede for them. Though Gareau had been slain trying to ascend the Ottawa and Father Ménard had by this time preached in the forests of Lake Michigan, the Jesuits had made no great discoveries in the Northwest. All they got for their intercessions was a snub.[2] While messages were still passing between the governor and the explorers, there swept down the St. Lawrence to Three Rivers seven canoes of Indians from the Upper Country, asking for Radisson and Groseillers. The explorers were honorable to a degree. They notified the governor of Quebec that they intended to embark with the Indians. D'Avaugour stubbornly ordered the Indians to await the return of his party from the Saguenay. The Indians made off to hide in the rushes of Lake St. Peter. The sympathy of Three Rivers was with the explorers. Late one night in August Radisson and Groseillers--who was captain of the soldiers and carried the keys of the fort--slipped out from the gates, with a third Frenchman called Larivière. As they stepped into their canoe, the sentry demanded, "Who goes?" "Groseillers," came the answer through the dark. "God give you a good voyage, sir," called the sentry, faithful to his captain rather than the governor. The skiff pushed out on the lapping tide. A bend in the river--and the lights of the fort glimmering in long lines across the water had vanished behind. The prow of Radisson's boat was once more heading upstream for the Unknown. Paddling with all swiftness through the dark, the three Frenchmen had come to the rushes of Lake St. Peter before daybreak. No Indians could be found. Men of softer mettle might have turned back. Not so Radisson. "We were well-armed and had a good boat," he relates, "so we resolved to paddle day and night to overtake the Indians." At the west end of the lake they came up with the north-bound canoes. For three days and nights they pushed on without rest. Naturally, Radisson did not pause to report progress at Montreal. Game was so plentiful in the surrounding forests that Iroquois hunters were always abroad in the regions of the St. Lawrence and Ottawa.[3] Once they heard guns. Turning a bend in the river, they discovered five Iroquois boats, just in time to avoid them. That night the Frenchman, Larivière, dreamed that he had been captured by the Mohawks, and he shouted out in such terror that the alarmed Indians rushed to embark. The next day they again came on the trail of Iroquois. The frightened Indians from the Upper Country shouldered their canoes and dashed through the woods. Larivière could not keep up and was afraid to go back from the river lest he should lose his bearings. Fighting his way over windfall and rock, he sank exhausted and fell asleep. Far ahead of the Iroquois boats the Upper Country Indians came together again. The Frenchman was nowhere to be found. It was dark. The Indians would not wait to search. Radisson and Groseillers dared not turn back to face the irate governor. Larivière was abandoned. Two weeks afterwards some French hunters found him lying on the rocks almost dead from starvation. He was sent back to Three Rivers, where D'Avaugour had him imprisoned. This outrage the inhabitants of Three Rivers resented. They forced the jail and rescued Larivière. Three days after the loss of Larivière Radisson and Groseillers caught up with seven more canoes of Indians from the Upper Country. The union of the two bands was just in time, for the next day they were set upon at a _portage_ by the Iroquois. Ordering the Indians to encase themselves in bucklers of matting and buffalo hide, Radisson led the assault on the Iroquois barricade. Trees were cut down, and the Upper Indians rushed the rude fort with timbers extemporized into battering-rams. In close range of the enemy, Radisson made a curious discovery. Frenchmen were directing the Iroquois warriors. Who had sent these French to intercept the explorers? If Radisson suspected treachery on the part of jealous rivals from Quebec, it must have redoubled his fury; for the Indians from the Upper Country threw themselves in the breached barricade with such force that the Iroquois lost heart and tossed belts of wampum over the stockades to supplicate peace. It was almost night. Radisson's Indians drew off to consider the terms of peace. When morning came, behold an empty fort! The French renegades had fled with their Indian allies. [Illustration: Château St. Louis, Quebec, 1669, from one of the oldest prints in existence.] Glad to be rid of the first hindrance, the explorers once more sped north. In the afternoon, Radisson's scouts ran full tilt into a band of Iroquois laden with beaver pelts. The Iroquois were smarting from their defeat of the previous night; and what was Radisson's amusement to see his own scouts and the Iroquois running from each other in equal fright, while the ground between lay strewn with booty! Radisson rushed his Indians for the waterside to intercept the Iroquois' flight. The Iroquois left their boats and swam for the opposite shore, where they threw up the usual barricade and entrenched themselves to shoot on Radisson's passing canoes. Using the captured beaver pelts as shields, the Upper Indians ran the gantlet of the Iroquois fire with the loss of only one man. The slightest defeat may turn well-ordered retreat into panic. If the explorers went on, the Iroquois would hang to the rear of the travelling Indians and pick off warriors till the Upper Country people became so weakened they would fall an easy prey. Not flight, but fight, was Radisson's motto. He ordered his men ashore to break up the barricade. Darkness fell over the forest. The Iroquois could not see to fire. "They spared not their powder," relates Radisson, "but they made more noise than hurt." Attaching a fuse to a barrel of powder, Radisson threw this over into the Iroquois fort. The crash of the explosion was followed by a blaze of the Iroquois musketry that killed three of Radisson's men. Radisson then tore the bark off a birch tree, filled the bole with powder, and in the darkness crept close to the Iroquois barricade and set fire to the logs. Red tongues of fire leaped up, there was a roar as of wind, and the Iroquois fort was on fire. Radisson's men dashed through the fire, hatchet in hand. The Iroquois answered with their death chant. Friend and foe merged in the smoke and darkness. "We could not know one another in that skirmish of blows," says Radisson. "There was noise to terrify the stoutest man." In the midst of the mêlée a frightful storm of thunder and sheeted rain rolled over the forest. "To my mind," writes the disgusted Radisson, "that was something extraordinary. I think the Devil himself sent that storm to let those wretches escape, so that they might destroy more innocents." The rain put out the fire. As soon as the storm had passed, Radisson kindled torches to search for the missing. Three of his men were slain, seven wounded. Of the enemy, eleven lay dead, five were prisoners. The rest of the Iroquois had fled to the forest. The Upper Indians burned their prisoners according to their custom, and the night was passed in mad orgies to celebrate the victory. "The sleep we took did not make our heads giddy," writes Radisson. The next day they encountered more Iroquois. Both sides at once began building forts; but when he could, Radisson always avoided war. Having gained victory enough to hold the Iroquois in check, he wanted no massacre. That night he embarked his men noiselessly; and never once stopping to kindle camp-fire, they paddled from Friday night to Tuesday morning. The _portages _over rocks in the dark cut the _voyageurs'_ moccasins to shreds. Every landing was marked with the blood of bruised feet. Sometimes they avoided leaving any trace of themselves by walking in the stream, dragging their boats along the edge of the rapids. By Tuesday the Indians were so fagged that they could go no farther without rest. Canoes were moored in the hiding of the rushes till the _voyageurs_ slept. They had been twenty-two days going from Three Rivers to Lake Nipissing, and had not slept one hour on land. It was October when they came to Lake Superior. The forests were painted in all the glory of autumn, and game abounded. White fish appeared under the clear, still waters of the lake like shoals of floating metal; bears were seen hulking away from the watering places of sandy shores; and wild geese whistled overhead. After the terrible dangers of the voyage, with scant sleep and scanter fare, the country seemed, as Radisson says, a terrestrial paradise. The Indians gave solemn thanks to their gods of earth and forest, "and we," writes Radisson, "to the God of gods." Indian summer lay on the land. November found the explorers coasting the south shore of Lake Superior. They passed the Island of Michilimackinac with its stone arches. Radisson heard from the Indians of the copper mines. He saw the pictured rocks that were to become famous for beauty. "I gave it the name of St. Peter because that was my name and I was the first Christian to see it," he writes of the stone arch. "There were in these places very deep caves, caused by the violence of the waves." Jesuits had been on the part of Lake Superior near the Sault, and poor Ménard perished in the forests of Lake Michigan; but Radisson and Groseillers were the first white men to cruise from south to west and west to north, where a chain of lakes and waterways leads from the Minnesota lake country to the prairies now known as Manitoba. Before the end of November the explorers rounded the western end of Lake Superior and proceeded northwest. Radisson records that they came to great winter encampments of the Crees; and the Crees did not venture east for fear of Sautaux and Iroquois. He mentions a river of Sturgeons, where was a great store of fish. The Crees wished to conduct the two white men to the wooded lake region, northwest towards the land of the Assiniboines, where Indian families took refuge on islands from those tigers of the plains--the Sioux--who were invincible on horseback but less skilful in canoes. The rivers were beginning to freeze. Boats were abandoned; but there was no snow for snow-shoe travelling, and the explorers were unable to transport the goods brought for trade. Bidding the Crees go to their families and bring back slaves to carry the baggage, Radisson and Groseillers built themselves the first fort and the first fur post between the Missouri and the North Pole. It was evidently somewhere west of Duluth in either what is now Minnesota or northwestern Ontario. This fur post was the first habitation of civilization in all the Great Northwest. Not the railway, not the cattle trail, not the path of forward-marching empire purposely hewing a way through the wilderness, opened the West. It was the fur trade that found the West. It was the fur trade that explored the West. It was the fur trade that wrested the West from savagery. The beginning was in the little fort built by Radisson and Groseillers. No great factor in human progress ever had a more insignificant beginning. The fort was rushed up by two men almost starving for food. It was on the side of a river, built in the shape of a triangle, with the base at the water side. The walls were of unbarked logs, the roof of thatched branches interlaced, with the door at the river side. In the middle of the earth floor, so that the smoke would curl up where the branches formed a funnel or chimney, was the fire. On the right of the fire, two hewn logs overlaid with pine boughs made a bed. On the left, another hewn log acted as a table. Jumbled everywhere, hanging from branches and knobs of branches, were the firearms, clothing, and merchandise of the two fur traders. Naturally, a fort two thousand miles from help needed sentries. Radisson had not forgotten his boyhood days of Onondaga. He strung carefully concealed cords through the grass and branches around the fort. To these bells were fastened, and the bells were the sentries. The two white men could now sleep soundly without fear of approach. This fort, from which sprang the buoyant, aggressive, prosperous, free life of the Great Northwest, was founded and built and completed in two days. The West had begun.[4] It was a beginning which every Western pioneer was to repeat for the next two hundred years: first, the log cabins; then, the fight with the wilderness for food. Radisson, being the younger, went into the woods to hunt, while Groseillers kept house. Wild geese and ducks were whistling south, but "the whistling that I made," writes Radisson, "was another music than theirs; for I killed three and scared the rest." Strange Indians came through the forest, but were not admitted to the tiny fort, lest knowledge of the traders' weakness should tempt theft. Many a night the explorers were roused by a sudden ringing of the bells or crashing through the underbrush, to find that wild animals had been attracted by the smell of meat, and wolverine or wildcat was attempting to tear through the matted branches of the thatched roof. The desire for firearms has tempted Indians to murder many a trader; so Radisson and Groseillers _cached_ all the supplies that they did not need in a hole across the river. News of the two white men alone in the northern forest spread like wild-fire to the different Sautaux and Ojibway encampments; and Radisson invented another protection in addition to the bells. He rolled gunpowder in twisted tubes of birch bark, and ran a circle of this round the fort. Putting a torch to the birch, he surprised the Indians by displaying to them a circle of fire running along the ground in a series of jumps. To the Indians it was magic. The two white men were engirt with a mystery that defended them from all harm. Thus white men passed their first winter in the Great Northwest. Toward winter four hundred Crees came to escort the explorers to the wooded lake region yet farther west towards the land of the Assiniboines, the modern Manitoba. "We were Caesars," writes Radisson. "There was no one to contradict us. We went away free from any burden, while those poor miserables thought themselves happy to carry our equipage in the hope of getting a brass ring, or an awl, or a needle. . . . They admired our actions more than the fools of Paris their king. . . .[5] They made a great noise, calling us gods and devils. We marched four days through the woods. The country was beautiful with clear parks. At last we came within a league of the Cree cabins, where we spent the night that we might enter the encampment with pomp the next day. The swiftest Indians ran ahead to warn the people of our coming." Embarking in boats, where the water was open, the two explorers came to the Cree lodges. They were welcomed with shouts. Messengers marched in front, scattering presents from the white men,--kettles to call all to a feast of friendship; knives to encourage the warriors to be brave; swords to signify that the white men would fight all enemies of the Cree; and abundance of trinkets--needles and awls and combs and tin mirrors--for the women. The Indians prostrated themselves as slaves; and the explorers were conducted to a grand council of welcome. A feast was held, followed by a symbolic dance in celebration of the white men's presence. Their entry to the Great Northwest had been a triumph: but they could not escape the privations of the explorer's life. Winter set in with a severity to make up for the long, late autumn. Snow fell continuously till day and night were as one, the sombre forests muffled to silence with the wild creatures driven for shelter to secret haunts. Four hundred men had brought the explorers north. Allowing an average of four to each family, there must have been sixteen hundred people in the encampment of Crees. To prevent famine, the Crees scattered to the winter hunting-grounds, arranging to come together again in two months at a northern rendezvous. When Radisson and Groseillers came to the rendezvous, they learned that the gathering hunters had had poor luck. Food was short. To make matters worse, heavy rains were followed by sharp frost. The snow became iced over, destroying rabbit and grouse, which feed the large game. Radisson noticed that the Indians often snatched food from the hands of hungry children. More starving Crees continued to come into camp. Soon the husbands were taking the wives' share of food, and the women were subsisting on dried pelts. The Crees became too weak to carry their snow-shoes, or to gather wood for fire. The cries of the dying broke the deathly stillness of the winter forest; and the strong began to dog the footsteps of the weak. "Good God, have mercy on these innocent people," writes Radisson; "have mercy on us who acknowledge Thee!" Digging through the snow with their rackets, some of the Crees got roots to eat. Others tore the bark from trees and made a kind of soup that kept them alive. Two weeks after the famine set in, the Indians were boiling the pulverized bones of the waste heap. After that the only food was the buckskin that had been tanned for clothing. "We ate it so eagerly," writes Radisson, "that our gums did bleed. . . . We became the image of death." Before the spring five hundred Crees had died of famine. Radisson and Groseillers scarcely had strength to drag the dead from the tepees. The Indians thought that Groseillers had been fed by some fiend, for his heavy, black beard covered his thin face. Radisson they loved, because his beardless face looked as gaunt as theirs.[6] Relief came with the breaking of the weather. The rain washed the iced snows away; deer began to roam; and with the opening of the rivers came two messengers from the Sioux to invite Radisson and Groseillers to visit their nation. The two Sioux had a dog, which they refused to sell for all Radisson's gifts. The Crees dared not offend the Sioux ambassadors by stealing the worthless cur on which such hungry eyes were cast, but at night Radisson slipped up to the Sioux tepee. The dog came prowling out. Radisson stabbed it so suddenly that it dropped without a sound. Hurrying back, he boiled and fed the meat to the famishing Crees. When the Sioux returned to their own country, they sent a score of slaves with food for the starving encampment. No doubt Radisson had plied the first messengers with gifts; for the slaves brought word that thirty picked runners from the Sioux were coming to escort the white men to the prairie. To receive their benefactors, and also, perhaps, to show that they were not defenceless, the Crees at once constructed a fort; for Cree and Sioux had been enemies from time immemorial. In two days came the runners, clad only in short garments, and carrying bow and quiver. The Crees led the young braves to the fort. Kettles were set out. Fagged from the long run, the Sioux ate without a word. At the end of the meal one rose. Shooting an arrow into the air as a sign that he called Deity to witness the truth of his words, he proclaimed in a loud voice that the elders of the Sioux nation would arrive next day at the fort to make a treaty with the French. The news was no proof of generosity. The Sioux were the great warriors of the West. They knew very well that whoever formed an alliance with the French would obtain firearms; and firearms meant victory against all other tribes. The news set the Crees by the ears. Warriors hastened from the forests to defend the fort. The next day came the elders of the Sioux in pomp. They were preceded by the young braves bearing bows and arrows and buffalo-skin shields on which were drawn figures portraying victories. Their hair was turned up in a stiff crest surmounted by eagle feathers, and their bodies were painted bright vermilion. Behind came the elders, with medicine-bags of rattlesnake skin streaming from their shoulders and long strings of bears' claws hanging from neck and wrist. They were dressed in buckskin, garnished with porcupine quills, and wore moccasins of buffalo hide, with the hair dangling from the heel. In the belt of each was a skull-cracker--a sort of sling stone with a long handle--and a war-hatchet. Each elder carried a peace pipe set with precious stones, and stuck in the stem were the quills of the war eagle to represent enemies slain. Women slaves followed, loaded with skins for the elders' tents. [Illustration: A parley on the Plains.] A great fire had been kindled inside the court of the Cree stockades. Round the pavilion the Sioux elders seated themselves. First, they solemnly smoked the calumet of peace. Then the chief of the Sioux rose and chanted a song, giving thanks for their safe journey. Setting aside gifts of rare beaver pelts, he declared that the Sioux had come to make friends with the French, who were masters of peace and war; that the elders would conduct the white men back to the Sioux country; that the mountains were levelled and the valleys cast up, and the way made smooth, and branches strewn on the ground for the white men's feet, and streams bridged, and the doors of the tepees open. Let the French come to the Sioux! The Indians would die for the French. A gift was presented to invoke the friendship of the Crees. Another rich gift of furs let out the secret of the Sioux' anxiety: it was that the French might give the Sioux "thunder weapons," meaning guns. The speech being finished, the Crees set a feast before their guests. To this feast Radisson and Groseillers came in a style that eclipsed the Sioux. Cree warriors marched in front, carrying guns. Radisson and Groseillers were dressed in armor.[7] At their belts they wore pistol, sword, and dagger. On their heads were crowns of colored porcupine quills. Two pages carried the dishes and spoons to be used at the feast; and four Cree magicians followed with smoking calumets in their hands. Four Indian maids carried bearskins to place on the ground when the two explorers deigned to sit down. Inside the fort more than six hundred councillors had assembled. Outside were gathered a thousand spectators. As Radisson and Groseillers entered, an old Cree flung a peace pipe at the explorers' feet and sang a song of thanksgiving to the sun that he had lived to see "those terrible men whose words (guns) made the earth quake." Stripping himself of his costly furs, he placed them on the white men's shoulders, shouting: "Ye are masters over us; dead or alive, dispose of us as you will." Then Radisson rose and chanted a song, in which he declared that the French took the Crees for brethren and would defend them. To prove his words, he threw powder in the fire and had twelve guns shot off, which frightened the Sioux almost out of their senses. A slave girl placed a coal in the calumet. Radisson then presented gifts; the first to testify that the French adopted the Sioux for friends; the second as a token that the French also took the Crees for friends; the third as a sign that the French "would reduce to powder with heavenly fire" any one who disturbed the peace between these tribes. The fourth gift was in grateful recognition of the Sioux' courtesy in granting free passage through their country. The gifts consisted of kettles and hatchets and awls and needles and looking-glasses and bells and combs and paint, but _not_ guns. Radisson's speech was received with "Ho, ho's" of applause. Sports began. Radisson offered prizes for racing, jumping, shooting with the bow, and climbing a greased post. All the while, musicians were singing and beating the tom-tom, a drum made of buffalo hide stretched on hoops and filled with water. Fourteen days later Radisson and Groseillers set out for the Sioux country, or what are now known as the Northwestern states.[8] On the third voyage Radisson came to the Sioux from the south. On this voyage, he came to them from the northeast. He found that the tribe numbered seven thousand men of fighting age. He remarked that the Sioux used a kind of coke or peat for fire instead of wood. While he heard of the tribes that used coal for fire, he does not relate that he went to them on this trip. Again he heard of the mountains far inland, where the Indians found copper and lead and a kind of stone that was transparent.[9] He remained six weeks with the Sioux, hunting buffalo and deer. Between the Missouri and the Saskatchewan ran a well-beaten trail northeastward, which was used by the Crees and the Sioux in their wars. It is probable that the Sioux escorted Radisson back to the Crees by this trail, till he was across what is now the boundary between Minnesota and Canada, and could strike directly eastward for the Lake of the Woods region, or the hinterland between James Bay and Lake Superior. In spring the Crees went to the Bay of the North, which Radisson was seeking; and after leaving the Sioux, the two explorers struck for the little fort north of Lake Superior, where they had _cached_ their goods. Spring in the North was later than spring in the South; but the shore ice of the Northern lakes had already become soft. To save time they cut across the lakes of Minnesota, dragging their sleighs on the ice. Groseillers' sleigh was loaded with pelts obtained from the Sioux, and the elder man began to fag. Radisson took the heavy sleigh, giving Groseillers the lighter one. About twelve miles out from the shore, on one of these lakes, the ice suddenly gave, and Radisson plunged through to his waist. It was as dangerous to turn back as to go on. If they deserted their merchandise, they would have nothing to trade with the Indians; but when Radisson succeeded in extricating himself, he was so badly strained that he could not go forward another step. There was no sense in risking both their lives on the rotten ice. He urged Groseillers to go on. Groseillers dared not hesitate. Laying two sleds as a wind-break on each side of Radisson, he covered the injured man with robes, consigned him to the keeping of God, and hurried over the ice to obtain help from the Crees. The Crees got Radisson ashore, and there he lay in agony for eight days. The Indians were preparing to set out for the North. They invited Radisson to go with them. His sprain had not healed; but he could not miss the opportunity of approaching the Bay of the North. For two days he marched with the hunters, enduring torture at every step. The third day he could go no farther and they deserted him. Groseillers had gone hunting with another band of Crees. Radisson had neither gun nor hatchet, and the Indians left him only ten pounds of pemmican. After a short rest he journeyed painfully on, following the trail of the marching Crees. On the fifth day he found the frame of a deserted wigwam. Covering it with branches of trees and kindling a fire to drive off beasts of prey, he crept in and lay down to sleep. He was awakened by a crackling of flame. The fire had caught the pine boughs and the tepee was in a blaze. Radisson flung his snow-shoes and clothing as far as he could, and broke from the fire-trap. Half-dressed and lame, shuddering with cold and hunger, he felt through the dark over the snow for his clothing. A far cry rang through the forest like the bay of the wolf pack. Radisson kept solitary watch till morning, when he found that the cry came from Indians sent out to find him by Groseillers. He was taken to an encampment, where the Crees were building canoes to go to the Bay of the North. The entire band, with the two explorers, then launched on the rivers flowing north. "We were in danger to perish a thousand times from the ice jam," writes Radisson. ". . . At last we came full sail from a deep bay . . . we came to the seaside, where we found an old house all demolished and battered with bullets. . . . They (the Crees) told us about Europeans. . . . We went from isle to isle all that summer. . . . This region had a great store of cows (caribou). . . . We went farther to see the place that the Indians were to pass the summer. . . . The river (where they went) came from the lake that empties itself in . . . the Saguenay . . . a hundred leagues from the great river of Canada (the St. Lawrence) . . . to where we were in the Bay of the North. . . . We passed the summer quietly coasting the seaside. . . . The people here burn not their prisoners, but knock them on the head. . . . They have a store of turquoise. . . . They find green stones, very fine, at the same Bay of the Sea (labradorite). . . . We went up another river to the Upper Lake (Winnipeg)." [10] For years the dispute has been waged with zeal worthy of a better cause whether Radisson referred to Hudson Bay in this passage. The French claim that he did; the English that he did not. "The house demolished with bullets" was probably an old trading post, contend the English; but there was no trading post except Radisson's west of Lake Superior at that time, retort the French. By "cows" Radisson meant buffalo, and no buffalo were found as far east as Hudson Bay, say the English; by "cows" Radisson meant caribou and deer, and herds of these frequented the shores of Hudson Bay, answer the French. No river comes from the Saguenay to Hudson Bay, declare the English; yes, but a river comes from the direction of the Saguenay, and was followed by subsequent explorers, assert the French.[11] The stones of turquoise and green were agates from Lake Superior, explain the English; the stones were labradorites from the east coast of the Bay, maintain the French. So the childish quarrel has gone on for two centuries. England and France alike conspired to crush the man while he lived; and when he died they quarrelled over the glory of his discoveries. The point is not whether Radisson actually wet his oars in the different indentations of Hudson and James bays. The point is that he found where it lay from the Great Lakes, and discovered the watershed sloping north from the Great Lakes to Hudson Bay. This was new ground, and entitled Radisson to the fame of a discoverer. From the Indians of the bay, Radisson heard of another lake leagues to the north, whose upper end was always frozen. This was probably some vague story of the lakes in the region that was to become known two centuries later as Mackenzie River. The spring of 1663 found the explorers back in the Lake of the Woods region accompanied by seven hundred Indians of the Upper Country. The company filled three hundred and sixty canoes. Indian girls dived into the lake to push the canoes off, and stood chanting a song of good-speed till the boats had glided out of sight through the long, narrow, rocky gaps of the Lake of the Woods. At Lake Superior the company paused to lay up a supply of smoked sturgeon. At the Sault four hundred Crees turned back. The rest of the Indians hoisted blankets on fishing-poles, and, with a west wind, scudded across Lake Huron to Lake Nipissing. From Lake Nipissing they rode safely down the Ottawa to Montreal. Cannon were fired to welcome the discoverers, for New France was again on the verge of bankruptcy from a beaver famine. A different welcome awaited them at Quebec. D'Argenson, the governor, was about to leave for France, and nothing had come of the Jesuit expedition up the Saguenay. He had already sent Couture, for a second time, overland to find a way to Hudson Bay; but no word had come from Couture, and the governor's time was up. The explorers had disobeyed him in leaving without his permission. Their return with a fortune of pelts was the salvation of the impecunious governor. From 1627 to 1663 five distinct fur companies, organized under the patronage of royalty, had gone bankrupt in New France.[12] Therefore, it became a loyal governor to protect his Majesty's interests. Besides, the revenue collectors could claim one-fourth of all returns in beaver except from posts farmed expressly for the king. No sooner had Radisson and Groseillers come home than D'Argenson ordered Groseillers imprisoned. He then fined the explorers $20,000, to build a fort at Three Rivers, giving them leave to put their coats-of-arms on the gate; a $30,000 fine was to go to the public treasury of New France; $70,000 worth of beaver was seized as the tax due the revenue. Of a cargo worth $300,000 in modern money, Radisson and Groseillers had less than $20,000 left.[13] Had D'Argenson and his successors encouraged instead of persecuted the discoverers, France could have claimed all North America but the narrow strip of New England on the east and the Spanish settlements on the south. Having repudiated Radisson and Groseillers, France could not claim the fruits of deeds which she punished.[14] [1] The childish dispute whether Bourdon sailed into the bay and up to its head, or only to 50 degrees N. latitude, does not concern Radisson's life, and, therefore, is ignored. One thing I can state with absolute certainty from having been up the coast of Labrador in a most inclement season, that Bourdon could not possibly have gone to and back from the inner waters of Hudson Bay between May 2 and August 11. J. Edmond Roy and Mr. Sulte both pronounce Bourdon a myth, and his trip a fabrication. [2] "Shame put upon them," says Radisson. Ménard did _not_ go out with Radisson and Groseillers, as is erroneously recorded. [3] I have purposely avoided stating whether Radisson went by way of Lake Ontario or the Ottawa. Dr. Dionne thinks that he went by Ontario and Niagara because Radisson refers to vast waterfalls under which a man could walk. Radisson gives the height of these falls as forty feet. Niagara are nearer three hundred; and the Chaudière of the Ottawa would answer Radisson's description better, were it not that he says a man could go under the falls for a quarter of a mile. "The Lake of the Castors" plainly points to Lake Nipissing. [4] The two main reasons why I think that Radisson and Groseillers were now moving up that chain of lakes and rivers between Minnesota and Canada, connecting Lake of the Woods with Lake Winnipeg, are: (1) Oldmixon says it was the report of the Assiniboine Indians from Lake Assiniboine (Lake Winnipeg) that led Radisson to seek for the Bay of the North overland. These Assiniboines did not go to the bay by way of Lake Superior, but by way of Lake Winnipeg. (2) A mémoire written by De la Chesnaye in 1696--see _Documents Nouvelle France_, 1492-1712--distinctly refers to a _coureur's_ trail from Lake Superior to Lake Assiniboine or Lake Winnipeg. There is no record of any Frenchmen but Radisson and Groseillers having followed such a trail to the land of the Assiniboines--the Manitoba of to-day--before 1676. [5] One can guess that a man who wrote in that spirit two centuries before the French Revolution would not be a sycophant in courts,--which, perhaps, helps to explain the conspiracy of silence that obscured Radisson's fame. [6] My reason for thinking that this region was farther north than Minnesota is the size of the Cree winter camp; but I have refrained from trying to localize this part of the trip, except to say it was west and north of Duluth. Some writers recognize in the description parts of Minnesota, others the hinterland between Lake Superior and James Bay. In the light of the _mémoire_ of 1696 sent to the French government, I am unable to regard this itinerary as any other than the famous fur traders' trail between Lake Superior and Lake Winnipeg by way of Sturgeon River and the Lake of the Woods. [7] _Radisson Relations_, p. 207. [8] We are now on safe ground. There was a well-known trail from what is now known as the Rat Portage region to the great Sioux camps west of the Mississippi and Red River valleys. But again I refuse to lay myself open to controversy by trying definitely to give either the dates or exact places of this trip. [9] If any proof is wanted that Radisson's journeyings took him far west of the Mississippi, these details afford it. [10] _Radisson's Journal_, pp. 224, 225, 226. [11] Mr. A. P. Low, who has made the most thorough exploration of Labrador and Hudson Bay of any man living, says, "Rupert River forms the discharge of the Mistassini lakes . . . and empties into Rupert Bay close to the mouth of the Nottoway River, and rises in a number of lakes close to the height of land dividing it from the St. Maurice River, which joins the St. Lawrence at Three Rivers." [12] _Les Compagnies de Colonisation sous l'ancien régime_, by Chailly-Bert. [13] Oldmixon says: "Radisson and Groseillers met with some savages on the Lake of Assiniboin, and from them they learned that they might go by land to the bottom of Hudson's Bay, where the English had not been yet, at James Bay; upon which they desired them to conduct them thither, and the savages accordingly did it. They returned to the Upper Lake the same way they came, and thence to Quebec, where they offered the principal merchants to carry ships to Hudson's Bay; but their project was rejected." Vol. I, p. 548. Radisson's figures are given as "pounds "; but by "_L_" did he mean English "pound" or French livre, that is 17 cents? A franc in 1660 equalled the modern dollar. [14] The exact tribes mentioned in the _Mémoire of 1696_, with whom the French were in trade in the West are: On the "Missoury" and south of it, the Mascoutins and Sioux; two hundred miles beyond the "Missisipy" the Issaguy, the Octbatons, the Omtous, of whom were Sioux capable of mustering four thousand warriors, south of Lake Superior, the Sauteurs, on "Sipisagny, the river which is the discharge of Lake Asemipigon" (Winnipeg), the "Nation of the Grand Rat," Algonquins numbering two thousand, who traded with the English of Hudson Bay, De la Chesnaye adds in his mémoire details of the trip from Lake Superior to the lake of the Assiniboines. Knowing what close co-workers he and Radisson were, we can guess where he got his information. CHAPTER V 1664-1676 RADISSON RENOUNCES ALLEGIANCE TO TWO CROWNS Rival Traders thwart the Plans of the Discoverers--Entangled in Lawsuits, the two French Explorers go to England--The Organization of the Hudson's Bay Fur Company--Radisson the Storm-centre of International Intrigue--Boston Merchants in the Struggle to capture the Fur Trade Henceforth Radisson and Groseillers were men without a country. Twice their return from the North with cargoes of beaver had saved New France from ruin. They had discovered more of America than all the other explorers combined. Their reward was jealous rivalry that reduced them to beggary; injustice that compelled them to renounce allegiance to two crowns; obloquy during a lifetime; and oblivion for two centuries after their death. The very force of unchecked impulse that carries the hero over all obstacles may also carry him over the bounds of caution and compromise that regulate the conduct of other men. This was the case with Radisson and Groseillers. They were powerless to resist the extortion of the French governor. The Company of One Hundred Associates had given place to the Company of the West Indies. This trading venture had been organized under the direct patronage of the king.[1] It had been proclaimed from the pulpits of France. Privileges were promised to all who subscribed for the stock. The Company was granted a blank list of titles to bestow on its patrons and servants. No one else in New France might engage in the beaver trade; no one else might buy skins from the Indians and sell the pelts in Europe; and one-fourth of the trade went for public revenue. In spite of all the privileges, fur company after fur company failed in New France; but to them Radisson had to sell his furs, and when the revenue officers went over the cargo, the minions of the governor also seized a share under pretence of a fine for trading without a license. Groseillers was furious, and sailed for France to demand restitution; but the intriguing courtiers proved too strong for him. Though he spent 10,000 pounds, nothing was done. D'Avaugour had come back to France, and stockholders of the jealous fur company were all-powerful at court. Groseillers then relinquished all idea of restitution, and tried to interest merchants in another expedition to Hudson Bay by way of the sea.[2] He might have spared himself the trouble. His enthusiasm only aroused the quiet smile of supercilious indifference. His plans were regarded as chimerical. Finally a merchant of Rochelle half promised to send a boat to Isle Percée at the mouth of the St. Lawrence in 1664. Groseillers had already wasted six months. Eager for action, he hurried back to Three Rivers, where Radisson awaited him. The two secretly took passage in a fishing schooner to Anticosti, and from Anticosti went south to Isle Percée. Here a Jesuit just out from France bore the message to them that no ship would come. The promise had been a put-off to rid France of the enthusiast. New France had treated them with injustice. Old France with mockery. Which way should they turn? They could not go back to Three Rivers. This attempt to go to Hudson Bay without a license laid them open to a second fine. Baffled, but not beaten, the explorers did what ninety-nine men out of a hundred would have done in similar circumstances--they left the country. Some rumor of their intention to abandon New France must have gone abroad; for when they reached Cape Breton, their servants grumbled so loudly that a mob of Frenchmen threatened to burn the explorers. Dismissing their servants, Radisson and Groseillers escaped to Port Royal, Nova Scotia. [Illustration: Martello Tower of Refuge in Time of Indian Wars--Three Rivers.] In Port Royal they met a sea-captain from Boston, Zechariah Gillam, who offered his ship for a voyage to Hudson Bay, but the season was far spent when they set out. Captain Gillam was afraid to enter the ice-locked bay so late in summer. The boat turned back, and the trip was a loss. This run of ill-luck had now lasted for a year. They still had some money from the Northern trips, and they signed a contract with ship-owners of Boston to take two vessels to Hudson Bay the following spring. Provisions must be laid up for the long voyage. One of the ships was sent to the Grand Banks for fish. Rounding eastward past the crescent reefs of Sable Island, the ship was caught by the beach-combers and totally wrecked on the drifts of sand. Instead of sailing for Hudson Bay in the spring of 1665, Radisson and Groseillers were summoned to Boston to defend themselves in a lawsuit for the value of the lost vessel. They were acquitted; but lawsuits on the heels of misfortune exhausted the resources of the adventurers. The exploits of the two Frenchmen had become the sensation of Boston. Sir Robert Carr, one of the British commissioners then in the New England colonies, urged Radisson and Groseillers to renounce allegiance to a country that had shown only ingratitude, and to come to England.[3] When Sir George Cartwright sailed from Nantucket on August 1, 1665, he was accompanied by Radisson and Groseillers.[4] Misfortune continued to dog them. Within a few days' sail of England, their ship encountered the Dutch cruiser _Caper_. For two hours the ships poured broadsides of shot into each other's hulls. The masts were torn from the English vessel. She was boarded and stripped, and the Frenchmen were thoroughly questioned. Then the captives were all landed in Spain. Accompanied by the two Frenchmen, Sir George Cartwright hastened to England early in 1666. The plague had driven the court from London to Oxford. Cartwright laid the plans of the explorers before Charles II. The king ordered 40s. a week paid to Radisson and Groseillers for the winter. They took chambers in London. Later they followed the court to Windsor, where they were received by King Charles. The English court favored the project of trade in Hudson Bay, but during the Dutch war nothing could be done. The captain of the Dutch ship _Caper_ had sent word of the French explorers to De Witt, the great statesman. De Witt despatched a spy from Picardy, France, one Eli Godefroy Touret, who chanced to know Groseillers, to meet the explorers in London. Masking as Groseillers' nephew, Touret tried to bribe both men to join the Dutch. Failing this, he attempted to undermine their credit with the English by accusing Radisson and Groseillers of counterfeiting money; but the English court refused to be deceived, and Touret was imprisoned. Owing to the plague and the war, two years passed without the vague promises of the English court taking shape. Montague, the English ambassador to France, heard of the explorers' feats, and wrote to Prince Rupert. Prince Rupert was a soldier of fortune, who could enter into the spirit of the explorers. He had fought on the losing side against Cromwell, and then taken to the high seas to replenish broken fortunes by piracy. The wealth of the beaver trade appealed to him. He gave all the influence of his _prestige_ to the explorers' plans. By the spring of 1668 money enough had been advanced to fit out two boats for Hudson Bay. In the _Eagle_, with Captain Stannard, went Radisson; in the _Nonsuch_, with Captain Zechariah Gillam of Boston, went Groseillers. North of Ireland furious gales drove the ships apart. Radisson's vessel was damaged and driven back to London; but his year was not wasted. It is likely that the account of his first voyages was written while Groseillers was away.[5] Sometime during his stay in London he married Mary Kirke, a daughter of the Huguenot John Kirke, whose family had long ago gone from Boston and captured Quebec. Gillam's journal records that the _Nonsuch_ left Gravesend the 3d of June, 1668, reached Resolution Island on August 4, and came to anchor at the south of James Bay on September 29.[6] It was here that Radisson had come overland five years before, when he thought that he discovered a river flowing from the direction of the St. Lawrence. The river was Nemisco. Groseillers called it Rupert in honor of his patron. A palisaded fort was at once built, and named King Charles after the English monarch. By December, the bay was locked in the deathly silence of northern frost. Snow fell till the air became darkened day after day, a ceaseless fall of muffling snow; the earth--as Gillam's journal says--"seemed frozen to death." Gillam attended to the fort, Groseillers to the trade. Dual command was bound to cause a clash. By April, 1669, the terrible cold had relaxed. The ice swept out of the river with a roar. Wild fowl came winging north in myriad flocks. By June the fort was sweltering in almost tropical heat. The _Nonsuch_ hoisted anchor and sailed for England, loaded to the water-line with a cargo of furs. Honors awaited Groseillers in London. King Charles created him a _Knight de la Jarretière_, an order for princes of the royal blood.[7] In addition, he was granted a sum of money. Prince Rupert and Radisson had, meanwhile, been busy organizing a fur company. The success of Groseillers' voyage now assured this company a royal charter, which was granted in May, 1670. Such was the origin of the Hudson's Bay Company. Prince Rupert was its first governor; Charles Bayly was appointed resident governor on the bay. Among the first shareholders were Prince Rupert, the Duke of York, Sir George Cartwright, the Duke of Albermarle, Shaftesbury, Sir Peter Colleton, who had advanced Radisson a loan during the long period of waiting, and Sir John Kirke, whose daughter had married Radisson. That spring, Radisson and Groseillers again sailed for the bay. In 1671, three ships were sent out from England, and Radisson established a second post westward at Moose. With Governor Bayly, he sailed up and met the Indians at what was to become the great fur capital of the north, Port Nelson, or York. The third year of the company's existence, Radisson and Groseillers perceived a change. Not so many Indians came down to the English forts to trade. Those who came brought fewer pelts and demanded higher prices. Rivals had been at work. The English learned that the French had come overland and were paying high prices to draw the Indians from the bay. In the spring a council was held.[8] Should they continue on the east side of the bay, or move west, where there would be no rivalry? Groseillers boldly counselled moving inland and driving off French competition. Bayly was for moving west. He even hinted that Groseillers' advice sprang from disloyalty to the English. The clash that was inevitable from divided command was this time avoided by compromise. They would all sail west, and all come back to Rupert's River. When they returned, they found that the English ensign had been torn down and the French flag raised.[9] A veteran Jesuit missionary of the Saguenay, Charles Albanel, two French companions, and some Indian guides had ensconced themselves in the empty houses.[10] The priest now presented Governor Bayly with letters from Count Frontenac commending the French to the good offices of Governor Bayly.[11] France had not been idle. When it was too late, the country awakened to the injustice done Radisson and Groseillers. While Radisson was still in Boston, all restrictions were taken from the beaver trade, except the tax of one-fourth to the revenue. The Jesuit Dablon, who was near the western end of Lake Superior, gathered all the information he could from the Indians of the way to the Sea of the North. Father Marquette learned of the Mississippi from the Indians. The Western tribes had been summoned to the Sault, where Sieur de Saint-Lusson met them in treaty for the French; and the French flag was raised in the presence of Père Claude Allouez, who blessed the ceremony. M. Colbert sent instructions to M. Talon, the intendant of New France, to grant titles of nobility to Groseillers' nephew in order to keep him in the country.[12] On the Saguenay was a Jesuit, Charles Albanel, loyal to the French and of English birth, whose devotion to the Indians during the small-pox scourge of 1670 had given him unbounded influence. Talon, the intendant of New France, was keen to retrieve in the North what D'Argenson's injustice had lost. Who could be better qualified to go overland to Hudson Bay than the old missionary, loyal to France, of English birth, and beloved by the Indians? Albanel was summoned to Quebec and gladly accepted the commission. He chose for companions Saint-Simon and young Couture, the son of the famous guide to the Jesuits. The company left Quebec on August 6, 1671, and secured a guide at Tadoussac. Embarking in canoes, they ascended the shadowy cañon of the Saguenay to Lake St. John. On the 7th of September they left the forest of Lake St. John and mounted the current of a winding river, full of cataracts and rapids, toward Mistassini. On this stream they met Indians who told them that two European vessels were on Hudson Bay. The Indians showed Albanel tobacco which they had received from the English. It seemed futile to go on a voyage of discovery where English were already in possession. The priest sent one of the Frenchmen and two Indians back to Quebec for passports and instructions. What the instructions were can only be guessed by subsequent developments. The messengers left the depth of the forest on the 19th of September, and had returned from Quebec by the 10th of October. Snow was falling. The streams had frozen, and the Indians had gone into camp for the winter. Going from wigwam to wigwam through the drifted forest. Father Albanel passed the winter preaching to the savages. Skins of the chase were laid on the wigwams. Against the pelts, snow was banked to close up every chink. Inside, the air was blue with smoke and the steam of the simmering kettle. Indian hunters lay on the moss floor round the central fires. Children and dogs crouched heterogeneously against the sloping tent walls. Squaws plodded through the forest, setting traps and baiting the fish-lines that hung through airholes of the thick ice. In these lodges Albanel wintered. He was among strange Indians and suffered incredible hardships. Where there was room, he, too, sat crouched under the crowded tent walls, scoffed at by the braves, teased by the unrebuked children, eating when the squaws threw waste food to him, going hungry when his French companions failed to bring in game. Sometimes night overtook him on the trail. Shovelling a bed through the snow to the moss with his snow-shoes, piling shrubs as a wind-break, and kindling a roaring fire, the priest passed the night under the stars. When spring came, the Indians opposed his passage down the river. A council was called. Albanel explained that his message was to bring the Indians down to Quebec and keep them from going to the English for trade. The Indians, who had acted as middlemen between Quebec traders and the Northern tribes, saw the advantage of undermining the English trade. Gifts were presented by the Frenchmen, and the friendship of the Indians was secured. On June 1, 1672, sixteen savages embarked with the three Frenchmen. For the next ten days, the difficulties were almost insurmountable. The river tore through a deep gorge of sheer precipices which the _voyageurs_ could pass only by clinging to the rock walls with hands and feet. One _portage_ was twelve miles long over a muskeg of quaking moss that floated on water. At every step the travellers plunged through to their waists. Over this the long canoes and baggage had to be carried. On the 10th of June they reached the height of land that divides the waters of Hudson Bay from the St. Lawrence. The watershed was a small plateau with two lakes, one of which emptied north, the other, south. As they approached Lake Mistassini, the Lake Indians again opposed their free passage down the rivers. "You must wait," they said, "till we notify the elders of your coming." Shortly afterwards, the French met a score of canoes with the Indians all painted for war. The idea of turning back never occurred to the priest. By way of demonstrating his joy at meeting the warriors, he had ten volleys of musketry fired off, which converted the war into a council of peace. At the assemblage, Albanel distributed gifts to the savages. "Stop trading with the English at the sea," he cried; "they do not pray to God; come to Lake St. John with your furs; there you will always find a _robe noire_ to instruct you and baptize you." The treaty was celebrated by a festival and a dance. In the morning, after solemn religious services, the French embarked. On the 18th of June they came to Lake Mistassini, an enormous body of water similar to the Great Lakes.[13] From Mistassini, the course was down-stream and easier. High water enabled them to run many of the rapids; and on the 28th of June, after a voyage of eight hundred leagues, four hundred rapids, and two hundred waterfalls, they came to the deserted houses of the English. The very next day they found the Indians and held religious services, making solemn treaty, presenting presents, and hoisting the French flag. For the first three weeks of July they coasted along the shores of James Bay, taking possession of the country in the name of the French king. Then they cruised back to King Charles Fort on Rupert's River.[14] They were just in time to meet the returned Englishmen. Governor Bayly of the Hudson's Bay Company was astounded to find the French at Rupert's River. Now he knew what had allured the Indians from the bay, but he hardly relished finding foreigners in possession of his own fort. The situation required delicate tact. Governor Bayly was a bluff tradesman with an insular dislike of Frenchmen and Catholics common in England at a time when bigoted fanaticism ran riot. King Charles was on friendly terms with France. Therefore, the Jesuit's passport must be respected; so Albanel was received with at least a show of courtesy. But Bayly was the governor of a fur company; and the rights of the company must be respected. To make matters worse, the French voyageurs brought letters to Groseillers and Radisson from their relatives in Quebec. Bayly, no doubt, wished the Jesuit guest far enough. Albanel left in a few weeks. Then Bayly's suspicions blazed out in open accusations that the two French explorers had been playing a double game and acting against English interests. In September came the company ship to the fort with Captain Gillam, who had never agreed with Radisson from the time that they had quarrelled about going from Port Royal to the straits of Hudson Bay. It has been said that, at this stage, Radisson and Groseillers, feeling the prejudice too strong against them, deserted and passed overland through the forests to Quebec. The records of the Hudson's Bay Company do not corroborate this report. Bayly in the heat of his wrath sent home accusations with the returning ship. The ship that came out in 1674 requested Radisson to go to England and report. This he did, and so completely refuted the charges of disloyalty that in 1675 the company voted him 100 pounds a year; but Radisson would not sit quietly in England on a pension. Owing to hostility toward him among the English employees of the company, he could not go back to the bay. Meantime he had wife and family and servants to maintain on 100 pounds a year. If England had no more need of him, France realized the fact that she had. Debts were accumulating. Restless as a caged tiger, Radisson found himself baffled until a message came from the great Colbert of France, offering to pay all his debts and give him a position in the French navy. His pardon was signed and proclaimed. In 1676, France granted him fishing privileges on the island of Anticosti; but the lodestar of the fur trade still drew him, for that year he was called to Quebec to meet a company of traders conferring on the price of beaver.[15] In that meeting assembled, among others, Jolliet, La Salle, Groseillers, and Radisson--men whose names were to become immortal. It was plain that the two adventurers could not long rest.[16] [1] Chailly-Bert. [2] The Jesuit expeditions of Dablon and Dreuillettes in 1661 had failed to reach the bay overland. Cabot had coasted Labrador in 1497; Captain Davis had gone north of Hudson Bay in 1585-1587; Hudson had lost his life there in 1610. Sir Thomas Button had explored Baffin's Land, Nelson River, and the Button Islands in 1612; Munck, the Dane, had found the mouth of the Churchill River in 1619, James and Fox had explored the inland sea in 1631; Shapley had brought a ship up from Boston in 1640; and Bourdon, the Frenchman, had gone up to the straits in 1656-1657. [3] George Carr, writing to Lord Arlington on December 14, 1665, says: "Hearing some Frenchmen discourse in New England . . . of a great trade of beaver, and afterward making proof of what they had said, he thought them the best present he could possibly make his Majesty and persuaded them to come to England." [4] Colonel Richard Nicolls, writing on July 31, 1665, says he "supposes Col. Geo. Cartwright is now at sea." [5] It plainly could not have been written while _en route_ across the Atlantic with Sir George Cartwright, for it records events after that time. [6] Robson's _Hudson Bay_. [7] See Dr. N. E. Dionne, also Marie de l'Incarnation, but Sulte discredits this granting of a title. [8] See Robson's _Hudson Bay_, containing reference to the journal kept by Gorst, Bayly's secretary, at Rupert Fort. [9] See State Papers, Canadian Archives, 1676, January 26, Whitehall: Memorial of the Hudson Bay Company complaining of Albanel, a Jesuit, attempting to seduce Radisson and Groseillers from the company's services; in absence of ships pulling down the British ensign and tampering with the Indians. [10] I am inclined to think that Albanel may not have been aware of the documents which he carried from Quebec to the traders being practically an offer to bribe Radisson and Groseillers to desert England. Some accounts say that Albanel was accompanied by Groseillers' son, but I find no authority for this. On the other hand, Albanel does not mention the Englishmen being present. Just as Radisson and Groseillers, ten years before, had taken possession of the old house battered with bullets, so Albanel took possession of the deserted huts. Here is what his account says (Cramoisy edition of the _Relations_): "Le 28 June à peine avions nous avancé un quart de lieue, que nous rencontrasmes à main gauche dans un petit ruisseau un heu avec ses agrez de dix ou dou tonneaux, qui portoit le Pavilion Anglois et la voile latine; delà à la portée du fusil, nous entrasmes dans deux maisons desertes . . . nous rencontrasmes deux ou trois cabanes et un chien abandonné. . . ." His tampering with the Indians was simply the presentation of gifts to attract them to Quebec. [11] See State Papers, Canadian Archives: M. Frontenac, the commander of French (?) king's troops at Hudson Bay, introduces and recommends Father Albanel. [12] State Papers, Canadian Archives. [13] For some years there were sensational reports that Mistassini was larger than Lake Superior. Mr. Low, of the Canadian Geological Survey, in a very exhaustive report, shows this is not so. Still, the lake ranks with the large lakes of America. Mr. Low gives its dimensions as one hundred miles long and twelve miles wide. [14] There is a discrepancy in dates here which I leave savants to worry out. _Albanel's Relation_ (Cramoisy) is of 1672. Thomas Gorst, secretary to Governor Bayly, says that the quarrel took place in 1674. Oldmixon, who wrote from hearsay, says in 1673. Robson, who had access to Hudson's Bay records, says 1676; and I am inclined to think they all agree. In a word, Radisson and Groseillers were on bad terms with the local Hudson's Bay Company governor from the first, and the open quarrel took place only in 1675. Considering the bigotry of the times, the quarrel was only natural. Bayly was governor, but he could not take precedence over Radisson and Groseillers. He was Protestant and English. They were Catholics and French. Besides, they were really at the English governor's mercy; for they could not go back to Canada until publicly pardoned by the French king. [15] State Papers, Canadian Archives, October 20, 1676, Quebec: Report of proceedings regarding the price of beaver . . . by an ordinance, October 19, 1676, M. Jacques Duchesneau, Intendant, had called a meeting of the leading fur traders to consult about fixing the price of beaver. There were present, among others, Robert, Cavelier de la Salle, . . . Charles le Moyne, . . . two Godefroys of Three Rivers, . . . Groseillers, . . . Jolliet, . . . Pierre Radisson. [16] Mr. Low's geological report on Labrador contains interesting particulars of the route followed by Father Albanel. He speaks of the gorge and swamps and difficult _portages_ in precisely the same way as the priest, though Albanel must have encountered the worst possible difficulties on the route, for he went down so early in the spring. CHAPTER VI 1682-1684 RADISSON GIVES UP A CAREER IN THE NAVY FOR THE FUR TRADE Though opposed by the Monopolists of Quebec, he secures Ships for a Voyage to Hudson Bay--Here he encounters a Pirate Ship from Boston and an English Ship of the Hudson's Bay Company--How he plays his Cards to win against Both Rivals A clever man may be a dangerous rival. Both France and England recognized this in Radisson. The Hudson's Bay Company distrusted him because he was a foreigner. The fur traders of Quebec were jealous. The Hudson's Bay Company had offered him a pension of 100 pounds a year to do nothing. France had pardoned his secession to England, paid his debts, and given him a position in the navy, and when the fleet was wrecked returning from the campaign against Dutch possessions in the West Indies, the French king advanced money for Radisson to refit himself; but France distrusted the explorer because he had an English wife. All that France and England wanted Radisson to do was to keep quiet. What the haughty spirit of Radisson would _not_ do for all the fortunes which two nations could offer to bribe him--was to keep quiet. He cared more for the game than the winnings; and the game of sitting still and drawing a pension for doing nothing was altogether too tame for Radisson. Groseillers gave up the struggle and retired for the time to his family at Three Rivers. At Quebec, in 1676, Radisson heard of others everywhere reaping where he had sown. Jolliet and La Salle were preparing to push the fur trade of New France westward of the Great Lakes, where Radisson had penetrated twenty years previously. Fur traders of Quebec, who organized under the name of the Company of the North, yearly sent their canoes up the Ottawa, St. Maurice, and Saguenay to the forests south of Hudson Bay, which Radisson had traversed. On the bay itself the English company were entrenched. North, northwest, and west, Radisson had been the explorer; but the reward of his labor had been snatched by other hands. [Illustration: "Skin for Skin," Coat of Arms and Motto, Hudson's Bay Company.] Radisson must have served meritoriously on the fleet, for after the wreck he was offered the command of a man-of-war; but he asked for a commission to New France. From this request there arose complications. His wife's family, the Kirkes, had held claims against New France from the days when the Kirkes of Boston had captured Quebec. These claims now amounted to 40,000 pounds. M. Colbert, the great French statesman, hesitated to give a commission to a man allied by marriage with the enemies of New France. Radisson at last learned why preferment had been denied him. It was on account of his wife. Twice Radisson journeyed to London for Mary Kirke. Those were times of an easy change in faith. Charles II was playing double with Catholics and Protestants. The Kirkes were closely attached to the court; and it was, perhaps, not difficult for the Huguenot wife to abjure Protestantism and declare herself a convert to the religion of her husband. But when Radisson proposed taking her back to France, that was another matter. Sir John Kirke forbade his daughter's departure till the claims of the Kirke family against New France had been paid. When Radisson returned without his wife, he was reproached by M. Colbert for disloyalty. The government refused its patronage to his plans for the fur trade; but M. Colbert sent him to confer with La Chesnaye, a prominent fur trader and member of the Council in New France, who happened to be in Paris at that time. La Chesnaye had been sent out to Canada to look after the affairs of a Rouen fur-trading company. Soon he became a commissioner of the West Indies Company; and when the merchants of Quebec organized the Company of the North, La Chesnaye became a director. No one knew better than he how bitterly the monopolists of Quebec would oppose Radisson's plans for a trip to Hudson Bay; but the prospects were alluring. La Chesnaye was deeply involved in the fur trade and snatched at the chance of profits to stave off the bankruptcy that reduced him to beggary a few years later. In defiance of the rival companies and independent of those with which he was connected, he offered to furnish ships and share profits with Radisson and Groseillers for a voyage to Hudson Bay. M. Colbert did not give his patronage to the scheme; but he wished Radisson a God-speed. The Jesuits advanced Radisson money to pay his passage; and in the fall of 1681, he arrived in Quebec. La Chesnaye met him, and Groseillers was summoned. The three then went to the Château Saint-Louis to lay their plans before the governor. Though the privileges of the West Indies Company had been curtailed, the fur trade was again regulated by license.[1] Frontenac had granted a license to the Company of the North for the fur trade of Hudson Bay. He could not openly favor Radisson; but he winked at the expedition by granting passports to the explorers, and the three men who were to accompany him, Jean Baptiste, son of Groseillers, Pierre Allemand, the pilot who was afterward given a commission to explore the Eskimo country, and Jean Godefroy, an interpreter.[2] Jean Baptiste, Radisson's nephew, invested 500 pounds in goods for barter. Others of Three Rivers and Quebec advanced money, to provision the ship.[3] Ten days after Radisson's arrival in Quebec, the explorers had left the high fortress of the St. Lawrence to winter in Acadia. When spring came, they went with the fishing fleets to Isle Percée, where La Chesnaye was to send the ships. Radisson's ship, the _St. Pierre_,--named after himself,--came first, a rickety sloop of fifty tons with a crew of twelve mutinous, ill-fed men, a cargo of goods for barter, and scant enough supply of provisions. Groseillers' ship, the _St. Anne_, was smaller and better built, with a crew of fifteen. The explorers set sail on the 11th of July. From the first there was trouble with the crews. Fresh-water _voyageurs_ make bad ocean sailors. Food was short. The voyage was to be long. It was to unknown waters, famous for disaster. The sea was boisterous. In the months of June and July, the North Atlantic is beset with fog and iceberg. The ice sweeps south in mountainous bergs that have thawed and split before they reach the temperate zones.[4] On the 30th of July the two ships passed the Straits of Belle Isle. Fog-banks hung heavy on the blue of the far watery horizon. Out of the fog, like ghosts in gloom, drifted the shadowy ice-floes. The coast of Labrador consists of bare, domed, lonely hills alternated with rock walls rising sheer from the sea as some giant masonry. Here the rock is buttressed by a sharp angle knife-edged in a precipice. There, the beetling walls are guarded by long reefs like the teeth of a saw. Over these reefs, the drifting tide breaks with multitudinous voices. The French _voyageurs_ had never known such seafaring. In the wail of the white-foamed reefs, their superstition heard the shriek of the demons. The explorers had anchored in one of the sheltered harbors, which the sailors call "holes-in-the-wall." The crews mutinied. They would go no farther through ice-drift and fog to an unknown sea. Radisson never waited for the contagion of fear to work. He ordered anchors up and headed for open sea. Then he tried to encourage the sailors with promises. They would not hear him; for the ship's galley was nearly empty of food. Then Radisson threatened the first mutineer to show rebellion with such severe punishment as the hard customs of the age permitted. The crew sulked, biding its time. At that moment the lookout shouted "Sail ho!" All hands discerned a ship with a strange sail, such as Dutch and Spanish pirates carried, bearing down upon them shoreward. The lesser fear was forgotten in the greater. The _St. Pierre's_ crew crowded sail. Heading about, the two explorers' ships threaded the rock reefs like pursued deer. The pirate came on full speed before the wind. Night fell while Radisson was still hiding among the rocks. Notwithstanding reefs and high seas, while the pirate ship hove to for the night, Radisson stole out in the dark and gave his pursuer the slip. The chase had saved him a mutiny. As the vessels drove northward, the ice drifted past like a white world afloat. When Radisson approached the entrance to Hudson Bay, he met floes in impenetrable masses. So far the ships had avoided delay by tacking along the edges of the ice-fields, from lake to lake of ocean surrounded by ice. Now the ice began to crush together, driven by wind and tide with furious enough force to snap the two ships like egg-shells. Radisson watched for a free passage, and, with a wind to rear, scudded for shelter of a hole-in-the-wall. Here he met the Eskimo, and provisions were replenished; but the dangers of the ice-fields had frightened the crews again. In two days Radisson put to sea to avoid a second mutiny. The wind was landward, driving the ice back from the straits, and they passed safely into Hudson Bay. The ice again surrounded them; but it was useless for the men to mutiny. Ice blocked up all retreat. Jammed among the floes, Groseillers was afraid to carry sail, and fell behind. Radisson drove ahead, now skirting the ice-floes, now pounded by breaking icebergs, now crashing into surface brash or puddled ice to the fore. "We were like to have perished," he writes, "but God was pleased to preserve us." On the 26th of August, six weeks after sailing from Isle Percée, Radisson rode triumphantly in on the tide to Hayes River, south of Nelson River, where he had been with the English ships ten years before. Two weeks later the _Ste. Anne_, with Groseillers, arrived. The two ships cautiously ascended the river, seeking a harbor. Fifteen miles from salt water, Radisson anchored. At last he was back in his native element, the wilderness, where man must set himself to conquer and take dominion over earth. Groseillers was always the trader, Radisson the explorer. Leaving his brother-in-law to build the fort, Radisson launched a canoe on Hayes River to explore inland. Young Jean Groseillers accompanied him to look after the trade with the Indians.[5] For eight days they paddled up a river that was destined to be the path of countless traders and pioneers for two centuries, and that may yet be destined to become the path of a northern commerce. By September the floodtide of Hayes River had subsided. In a week the _voyageurs_ had travelled probably three hundred miles, and were within the region of Lake Winnipeg, where the Cree hunters assemble in October for the winter. Radisson had come to this region by way of Lake Superior with the Cree hunters twenty years before, and his visit had become a tradition among the tribes. Beaver are busy in October gnawing down young saplings for winter food. Radisson observed chips floating past the canoe. Where there are beaver, there should be Indians; so the _voyageurs_ paddled on. One night, as they lay round the camp-fire, with canoes overturned, a deer, startled from its evening drinking-place, bounded from the thicket. A sharp whistle--and an Indian ran from the brush of an island opposite the camp, signalling the white men to head the deer back; but when Radisson called from the waterside, the savage took fright and dashed for the woods. All that night the _voyageurs_ kept sleepless guard. In the morning they moved to the island and kindled a signal-fire to call the Indians. In a little while canoes cautiously skirted the island, and the chief of the band stood up, bow and arrow in hand. Pointing his arrows to the deities of north, south, east, and west, he broke the shaft to splinters, as a signal of peace, and chanted his welcome:-- "Ho, young men, be not afraid! The sun is favorable to us! Our enemies shall fear us! This is the man we have wished Since the days of our fathers!" With a leap, the chief sprang into the water and swam ashore, followed by all the canoes. Radisson called out to know who was commander. The chief, with a sign as old and universal as humanity, bowed his head in servility. Radisson took the Indian by the hand, and, seating him by the fire, chanted an answer in Cree:-- "I know all the earth! Your friends shall be my friends! I come to bring you arms to destroy your enemies! Nor wife nor child shall die of hunger! For I have brought you merchandise! Be of good cheer! I will be thy son! I have brought thee a father! He is yonder below building a fort Where I have two great ships!" [6] The chief kept pace with the profuse compliments by vowing the life of his tribe in service of the white man. Radisson presented pipes and tobacco to the Indians. For the chief he reserved a fowling-piece with powder and shot. White man and Indian then exchanged blankets. Presents were sent for the absent wives. The savages were so grateful that they cast all their furs at Radisson's feet, and promised to bring their hunt to the fort in spring. In Paris and London Radisson had been harassed by jealousy. In the wilderness he was master of circumstance; but a surprise awaited him at Groseillers' fort. The French habitation--called Fort Bourbon--had been built on the north shore of Hayes or Ste. Therese River. Directly north, overland, was another broad river with a gulflike entrance. This was the Nelson. Between the two rivers ran a narrow neck of swampy, bush-grown land. The day that Radisson returned to the newly erected fort, there rolled across the marshes the ominous echo of cannon-firing. Who could the newcomers be? A week's sail south at the head of the bay were the English establishments of the Hudson's Bay Company. The season was far advanced. Had English ships come to winter on Nelson River? Ordering Jean Groseillers to go back inland to the Indians, Radisson launched down Hayes River in search of the strange ship. He went to the salt water, but saw nothing. Upon returning, he found that Jean Groseillers had come back to the fort with news of more cannonading farther inland. Radisson rightly guessed that the ship had sailed up Nelson River, firing cannon as she went to notify Indians for trade. Picking out three intrepid men, Radisson crossed the marsh by a creek which the Indian canoes used, to go to Nelson River.[7] Through the brush the scout spied a white tent on an island. All night the Frenchmen lay in the woods, watching their rivals and hoping that some workman might pass close enough to be seized and questioned. At noon, next day, Radisson's patience was exhausted. He paddled round the island, and showed himself a cannon-shot distant from the fort. Holding up a pole, Radisson waved as if he were an Indian afraid to approach closer in order to trade. The others hallooed a welcome and gabbled out Indian words from a guide-book. Radisson paddled a length closer. The others ran eagerly down to the water side away from their cannon. In signal of friendship, they advanced unarmed. Radisson must have laughed to see how well his ruse worked. "Who are you?" he demanded in plain English, "and what do you want?" The traders called back that they were Englishmen come for beaver. Again the crafty Frenchman must have laughed; for he knew very well that all English ships except those of the Hudson's Bay Company were prohibited by law from coming here to trade.[8] Though the strange ship displayed an English ensign, the flag did not show the magical letters "H. B. C." "Whose commission have you?" pursued Radisson. "No commission--New Englanders," answered the others. "Contrabands," thought Radisson to himself. Then he announced that he had taken possession of all that country for France, had built a strong fort, and expected more ships. In a word, he advised the New Englanders to save themselves by instant flight; but his canoe had glided nearer. To Radisson's surprise, he discovered that the leader of the New England poachers was Ben Gillam of Boston, son of Captain Gillam, the trusted servant of the Hudson's Bay Company, who had opposed Radisson and Groseillers on Rupert's River. It looked as if the contraband might be a venture of the father as well as the son.[9] Radisson and young Gillam recognized each other with a show of friendliness, Gillam inviting Radisson to inspect the ship with much the same motive that the fabled spider invited the fly. Radisson took tactful precaution for his own liberty by graciously asking that two of the New England servants go down to the canoe with the three Frenchmen. No sooner had Radisson gone on the New England ship than young Gillam ordered cannon fired and English flags run up. Having made that brave show of strength, the young man proposed that the French and the New Englanders should divide the traffic between them for the winter. Radisson diplomatically suggested that such an important proposal be laid before his colleagues. In leaving, he advised Gillam to keep his men from wandering beyond the island, lest they suffer wrong at the hands of the French soldiers. Incidentally, that advice would also keep the New Englanders from learning how desperately weak the French really were. Neither leader was in the slightest deceived by the other; each played for time to take the other unawares, and each knew the game that was being played. [Illustration: Hudson's Bay Company Coins, made of Lead melted from Tea Chests at York Factory, each Coin representing so many Beaver Skins.] Instead of returning by the creek that cut athwart the neck of land between the two rivers, Radisson decided to go down Nelson River to the bay, round the point, and ascend Hayes River to the French quarters. Cogitating how to frighten young Gillam out of the country or else to seize him, Radisson glided down the swift current of Nelson River toward salt water. He had not gone nine miles from the New Englanders when he was astounded by the spectacle of a ship breasting with full-blown sails up the tide of the Nelson directly in front of the French canoe. The French dashed for the hiding of the brushwood on shore. From their concealment they saw that the ship was a Hudson's Bay Company vessel, armed with cannon and commission for lawful trade. If once the Hudson's Bay Company ship and the New Englanders united, the English would be strong enough to overpower the French. The majority of leaders would have escaped the impending disaster by taking ingloriously to their heels. Radisson, with that adroit presence of mind which characterized his entire life, had provided for his followers' safety by landing them on the south shore, where the French could flee across the marsh to the ships if pursued. Then his only thought was how to keep the rivals apart. Instantly he had an enormous bonfire kindled. Then he posted his followers in ambush. The ship mistook the fire for an Indian signal, reefed its sails, and anchored. Usually natives paddled out to the traders' ships to barter. These Indians kept in hiding. The ship waited for them to come; and Radisson waited for the ship's hands to land. In the morning a gig boat was lowered to row ashore. In it were Captain Gillam, Radisson's personal enemy, John Bridgar,[10] the new governor of the Hudson's Bay Company for Nelson River, and six sailors. All were heavily armed, yet Radisson stood alone to receive them, with his three companions posted on the outskirts of the woods as if in command of ambushed forces. Fortune is said to favor the dauntless, and just as the boat came within gunshot of the shore, it ran aground. A sailor jumped out to drag the craft up the bank. They were all at Radisson's mercy--without cover. He at once levelled his gun with a shout of "Halt!" At the same moment his own men made as if to sally from the woods. The English imagined themselves ambushed, and called out that they were the officers of the Hudson's Bay Company. Radisson declared who he was and that he had taken possession of the country for France. His musket was still levelled. His men were ready to dash forward. The English put their heads together and decided that discretion was the better part of valor. Governor Bridgar meekly requested permission to land and salute the commander of the French. Then followed a pompous melodrama of bravado, each side affecting sham strength. Radisson told the English all that he had told the New Englanders, going on board the Company's ship to dine, while English hostages remained with his French followers. For reasons which he did not reveal, he strongly advised Governor Bridgar not to go farther up Nelson River. Above all, he warned Captain Gillam not to permit the English sailors to wander inland. Having exchanged compliments, Radisson took gracious leave of his hosts, and with his three men slipped down the Nelson in their canoe. Past a bend in the river, he ordered the canoe ashore. The French then skirted back through the woods and lay watching the English till satisfied that the Hudson's Bay Company ship would go no nearer the island where Ben Gillam lay hidden. Groseillers and his son looked after the trade that winter. Radisson had his hands full keeping the two English crews apart. Ten days after his return, he again left Hayes River to see what his rivals were doing. The Hudson's Bay Company ship had gone aground in the ooze a mile from the fort where Governor Bridgar had taken up quarters. That division of forces weakened the English fort. Introducing his man as captain of a French ship, Radisson entered the governor's house. The visitors drained a health to their host and fired off muskets to learn whether sentinels were on guard. No attention was paid to the unwonted noise. "I judged," writes Radisson, "that they were careless, and might easily be surprised." He then went across to the river flats, where the tide had left the vessel, and, calmly mounting the ladder, took a survey of Gillam's ship. When the irate old captain rushed up to know the meaning of the intrusion Radisson suavely proffered provisions, of which they were plainly in need. The New Englanders had been more industrious. A stoutly palisaded fort had been completed on young Gillam's island, and cannon commanded all approach. Radisson fired a musket to notify the sentry, and took care to beach his canoe below the range of the guns. Young Gillam showed a less civil front than before. His lieutenant ironically congratulated Radisson on his "safe" return, and invited him to visit the fort if he would enter _alone_. When Radisson would have introduced his four followers, the lieutenant swore "if the four French were forty devils, they could not take the New Englanders' fort." The safety of the French habitation now hung by a hair. Everything depended on keeping the two English companies apart, and they were distant only nine miles. The scheme must have flashed on Radisson in an intuition; for he laid his plans as he listened to the boastings of the New Englanders. If father and son could be brought together through Radisson's favor, Captain Gillam would keep the English from coming to the New England fort lest his son should be seized for poaching on the trade of the Company; and Ben Gillam would keep his men from going near the English fort lest Governor Bridgar should learn of the contraband ship from Boston. Incidentally, both sides would be prevented from knowing the weakness of the French at Fort Bourbon. At once Radisson told young Gillam of his father's presence. Ben was eager to see his father and, as he thought, secure himself from detection in illegal trade. Radisson was to return to the old captain with the promised provisions. He offered to take young Gillam, disguised as a bush-ranger. In return, he demanded (1) that the New Englanders should not leave their fort; (2) that they should not betray themselves by discharging cannon; (3) that they shoot any Hudson's Bay Company people who tried to enter the New England fort. To young Gillam these terms seemed designed for his own protection. What they really accomplished was the complete protection of the French from united attack. Father and son would have put themselves in Radisson's power. A word of betrayal to Bridgar, the Hudson's Bay governor, and both the Gillams would be arrested for illegal trade. Ben Gillam's visit to his father was fraught with all the danger that Radisson's daring could have desired. A seaman half suspected the identity of the bush-ranger, and Governor Bridgar wanted to know how Radisson had returned so soon when the French fort was far away. "I told him, smiling," writes Radisson, "that I could fly when there was need to serve my friends." Young Gillam had begun to suspect the weakness of the French. When the two were safely out of the Hudson's Bay Company fort, he offered to go home part of the way with Radisson. This was to learn where the French fort lay. Radisson declined the kindly service and deliberately set out from the New Englanders' island in the wrong direction, coming down the Nelson past young Gillam's fort at night. The delay of the trick nearly cost Radisson his life. Fall rains had set in, and the river was running a mill-race. Great floes of ice from the North were tossing on the bay at the mouth of the Nelson River in a maelstrom of tide and wind. In the dark Radisson did not see how swiftly his canoe had been carried down-stream. Before he knew it his boat shot out of the river among the tossing ice-floes of the bay. Surrounded by ice in a wild sea, he could not get back to land. The spray drove over the canoe till the Frenchman's clothes were stiff with ice. For four hours they lay jammed in the ice-drift till a sudden upheaval crushed the canoe to kindling wood and left the men stranded on the ice. Running from floe to floe, they gained the shore and beat their way for three days through a raging hurricane of sleet and snow toward the French habitation. They were on the side of the Hayes opposite the French fort. Four _voyageurs_ crossed for them, and the little company at last gained the shelter of a roof. Radisson now knew that young Gillam intended to spy upon the French; so he sent scouts to watch the New Englanders' fort. The scouts reported that the young captain had sent messengers to obtain additional men from his father; but the New England soldiers, remembering Radisson's orders to shoot any one approaching, had levelled muskets to fire at the reënforcements. The rebuffed men had gone back to Governor Bridgar with word of a fort and ship only nine miles up Nelson River. Bridgar thought this was the French establishment, and old Captain Gillam could not undeceive him. The Hudson's Bay Company governor had sent the two men back to spy on what he thought was a French fort. At once Radisson sent out men to capture Bridgar's scouts, who were found half dead with cold and hunger. The captives reported to Radisson that the English ship had been totally wrecked in the ice jam. Bridgar's people were starving. Many traders would have left their rivals to perish. Radisson supplied them with food for the winter. They were no longer to be feared; but there was still danger from young Gillam. He had wished to visit the French fort. Radisson decided to give him an opportunity. Ben Gillam was escorted down to Hayes River. A month passed quietly. The young captain had learned that the boasted forces of the French consisted of less than thirty men. His insolence knew no bounds. He struck a French servant, called Radisson a pirate, and gathering up his belongings prepared to go home. Radisson quietly barred the young man's way. "You pitiful dog!" said the Frenchman, coolly. "You poor young fool! Why do you suppose you were brought to this fort? We brought you here because it suited us! We keep you here as long as it suits us! We take you back when it suits us!" Ben Gillam was dumfounded to find that he had been trapped, when he had all the while thought that he was acting the part of a clever spy. He broke out in a storm of abuse. Radisson remanded the foolish young man to a French guard. At the mess-room table Radisson addressed his prisoner:-- "Gillam, to-day I set out to capture your fort." At the table sat less than thirty men. Young Gillam gave one scornful glance at the French faces and laughed. "If you had a hundred men instead of twenty," he jeered. "How many have you, Ben?" "Nine; and they'll kill you before you reach the palisades." Radisson was not talking of killing. "Gillam," he returned imperturbably, "pick out nine of my men, and I have your fort within forty-eight hours." Gillam chose the company, and Radisson took one of the Hudson Bay captives as a witness. The thing was done as easily as a piece of farcical comedy. French hostages had been left among the New Englanders as guarantee of Gillam's safety in Radisson's fort. These hostages had been instructed to drop, as if by chance, blocks of wood across the doors of the guard-room and powder house and barracks. Even these precautions proved unnecessary. Two of Radisson's advance guard, who were met by the lieutenant of the New England fort, reported that "Gillam had remained behind." The lieutenant led the two Frenchmen into the fort. These two kept the gates open for Radisson, who marched in with his band, unopposed. The keys were delivered and Radisson was in possession. At midnight the watch-dogs raised an alarm, and the French sallied out to find that a New Englander had run to the Hudson's Bay Company for aid, and Governor Bridgar's men were attacking the ships. All of the assailants fled but four, whom Radisson caught ransacking the ship's cabin. Radisson now had more captives than he could guard, so he loaded the Hudson's Bay Company men with provisions and sent them back to their own starving fort. Radisson left the New England fort in charge of his Frenchmen and returned to the French quarters. Strange news was carried to him there. Bridgar had forgotten all benefits, waited until Radisson's back was turned, and, with one last desperate cast of the die to retrieve all by capturing the New England fort and ship for the fur company, had marched against young Gillam's island. The French threw open the gates for the Hudson's Bay governor to enter. Then they turned the key and told Governor Bridgar that he was a prisoner. Their _coup_ was a complete triumph for Radisson. Both of his rivals were prisoners, and the French flag flew undisputed over Port Nelson. Spring brought the Indians down to the bay with the winter's hunt. The sight of threescore Englishmen captured by twenty Frenchmen roused the war spirit of the young braves. They offered Radisson two hundred beaver skins to be allowed to massacre the English. Radisson thanked the savages for their good will, but declined their offer. Floods had damaged the water-rotted timbers of the two old hulls in which the explorers voyaged north. It was agreed to return to Quebec in Ben Gillam's boat. A vessel was constructed on one of the hulls to send the English prisoners to the Hudson's Bay Company forts at the south end of the bay.[11] Young Jean Groseillers was left, with seven men, to hold the French post till boats came in the following year. On the 27th of July the ships weighed anchor for the homeward voyage. Young Gillam was given a free passage by way of Quebec. Bridgar was to have gone with his men to the Hudson's Bay Company forts at the south of the bay, but at the last moment a friendly Englishman warned Radisson that the governor's design was to wait till the large ship had left, head the bark back for Hayes River, capture the fort, and put the Frenchmen to the sword. To prevent this Bridgar, too, was carried to Quebec. Twenty miles out the ship was caught in ice-floes that held her for a month, and Bridgar again conspired to cut the throats of the Frenchmen. Henceforth young Gillam and Bridgar were out on parole during the day and kept under lock at night. The same jealousy as of old awaited Radisson at Quebec. The Company of the North was furious that La Chesnaye had sent ships to Hudson Bay, which the shareholders considered to be their territory by license.[12] Farmers of the Revenue beset the ship to seize the cargo, because the explorers had gone North without a permit. La Chesnaye saved some of the furs by transshipping them for France before the vessel reached Quebec. Then followed an interminable lawsuit, that exhausted the profits of the voyage. La Barre had succeeded Frontenac as governor. The best friends of La Barre would scarcely deny that his sole ambition as governor was to amass a fortune from the fur trade of Canada. Inspired by the jealous Company of the North, he refused to grant Radisson prize money for the capture of the contraband ship, restored the vessel to Gillam, and gave him clearance to sail for Boston.[13] For this La Barre was sharply reprimanded from France; but the reprimand did not mend the broken fortunes of the two explorers, who had given their lives for the extension of the French domain.[14] M. Colbert summoned Radisson and Groseillers to return to France and give an account of all they had done; but when they arrived in Paris, on January 15, 1684, they learned that the great statesman had died. Lord Preston, the English envoy, had lodged such complaints against them for the defeat of the Englishmen in Hudson Bay, that France hesitated to extend public recognition of their services. [1] Within ten years so many different regulations were promulgated on the fur trade that it is almost impossible to keep track of them. In 1673 orders came from Paris forbidding French settlers of New France from wandering in the woods for longer than twenty-four hours. In 1672 M. Frontenac forbade the selling of merchandise to _coureurs du bois_, or the purchase of furs from them. In 1675 a decree of the Council of State awarded to M. Jean Oudiette one-fourth of all beaver, with the exclusive right of buying and selling in Canada. In 1676 Frontenac withdrew from the _Cie Indes Occidentales_ all the rights it had over Canada and other places. An ordinance of October 1, 1682, forbade all trade except under license. An ordinance in 1684 ordered all fur traders trading in Hudson Bay to pay one-fourth to Farmers of the Revenue. [2] It is hard to tell who this Godefroy was. Of all the famous Godefroys of Three Rivers (according to Abbé Tanguay) there was only one, Jean Batiste, born 1658, who might have gone with Radisson; but I hardly think so. The Godefroys descended from the French nobility and themselves bore titles from the king, but in spite of this, were the best canoemen of New France, as ready--according to Mr. Sulte--to _faire la cuisine_ as to command a fort. Radisson's Godefroy evidently went in the capacity of a servant, for his name is not mentioned in the official list of promoters. On the other hand, parish records do not give the date of Jean Batiste Godefroy's death; so that he may have gone as a servant and died in the North. [3] State Papers, 1683, state that Dame Sorel, La Chesnaye, Chaujon, Gitton, Foret, and others advanced money for the goods. [4] In 1898, when up the coast of Labrador, I was told by the superintendent of a northern whaling station--a man who has received royal decorations for his scientific research of ocean phenomena--that he has frequently seen icebergs off Labrador that were nine miles long. [5] Jean was born in 1654 and was, therefore, twenty-eight. [6] I have written both addresses as the Indians would chant them. To be sure, they will not scan according to the elephantine grace of the pedant's iambics; but then, neither will the Indian songs scan, though I know of nothing more subtly rhythmical. Rhythm is so much a part of the Indian that it is in his walk, in the intonation of his words, in the gesture of his hands. I think most Westerners will bear me out in saying that it is the exquisitely musical intonation of words that betrays Indian blood to the third and fourth generation. [7] See Robson's map. [8] State Papers: "The Governor of New England is ordered to seize all vessels trading in Hudson Bay contrary to charter--" [9] _Radisson's Journal_, p. 277. [10] Robson gives the commission to this governor. [11] Later in Hudson Bay history, when another commander captured the forts, the prisoners were sold into slavery. Radisson's treatment of his rivals hardly substantiates all the accusations of rascality trumped up against him. Just how many prisoners he took in this _coup_, no two records agree. [12] Archives, September 24, 1683: Ordinance of M. de Meulles regarding the claims of persons interested in the expedition to Hudson Bay, organized by M. de la Chesnaye, Gitton, Bruneau, Mme. Sorel. . . . In order to avoid difficulties with the Company of the North, they had placed a vessel at Isle Percée to receive the furs brought back . . . and convey them to Holland and Spain. . . . Joachims de Chalons, agent of the Company of the North, sent a _bateau_ to Percée to defeat the project. De la Chesnaye, summoned to appear before the intendant, maintained that the company had no right to this trade, . . . that the enterprise involved so many risks that he could not consent to divide the profits, if he had any. The partners having been heard, M. de Meulles orders that the boats from Hudson Bay be anchored at Quebec. [13] Archives, October 25, 1683: M. de la Barre grants Benjamin Gillam of Boston clearance for the ship _Le Garçon_, now in port at Quebec, although he had no license from his Britannic Majesty permitting him to enter Hudson Bay. [14] Such foundationless accusations have been written against Radisson by historians who ought to have known better, about these furs, that I quote the final orders of the government on the subject: November 5, 1683, M. de la Barre forbids Chalons, agent of La Ferme du Canada, confiscating the furs brought from Hudson Bay; November 8 M. de la Chesnaye is to be paid for the furs seized. CHAPTER VII 1684-1710 THE LAST VOYAGE OF RADISSON TO HUDSON BAY France refuses to restore the Confiscated Furs and Radisson tries to redeem his Fortune--Reëngaged by England, he captures back Fort Nelson, but comes to Want in his Old Age--his Character Radisson was now near his fiftieth year. He had spent his entire life exploring the wilds. He had saved New France from bankruptcy with cargoes of furs that in four years amounted to half a million of modern money. In ten years he had brought half a million dollars worth of furs to the English company.[1] Yet he was a poor man, threatened with the sponging-house by clamorous creditors and in the power of avaricious statesmen, who used him as a tool for their own schemes. La Chesnaye had saved his furs; but the half of the cargo that was the share of Radisson and Groseillers had been seized at Quebec.[2] On arriving in France, Groseillers presented a memorial of their wrong to the court.[3] Probably because England and France were allied by treaty at that time, the petition for redress was ignored. Groseillers was now an old man. He left the struggle to Radisson and retired to spend his days in quietness.[4] Radisson did not cease to press his claim for the return of confiscated furs. He had a wife and four children to support; but, in spite of all his services to England and France, he did not own a shilling's worth of property in the whole world. From January to May he waited for the tardy justice of the French court. When his suit became too urgent, he was told that he had offended the Most Christian King by attacking the fur posts under the protection of a friendly monarch, King Charles. The hollowness of that excuse became apparent when the French government sanctioned the fitting out of two vessels for Radisson to go to Hudson Bay in the spring. Lord Preston, the English ambassador, was also playing a double game. He never ceased to reproach the French for the destruction of the fur posts on Hudson Bay. At the same time he besieged Radisson with offers to return to the service of the Hudson's Bay Company. Radisson was deadly tired of the farce. From first to last France had treated him with the blackest injustice. If he had wished to be rich, he could long ago have accumulated wealth by casting in his lot with the dishonest rulers of Quebec. In England a strong clique, headed by Bridgar, Gillam, and Bering opposed him; but King Charles and the Duke of York, Prince Rupert, when he was alive, Sir William Young, Sir James Hayes, and Sir John Kirke were in his favor. His heart yearned for his wife and children. Just then letters came from England urging him to return to the Hudson's Bay Company. Lord Preston plied the explorer with fair promises. Under threat of punishment for molesting the English of Hudson Bay, the French government tried to force him into a contract to sail on a second voyage to the North on the same terms as in 1682-1683--not to share the profits. England and France were both playing double. Radisson smiled a grim smile and took his resolution. Daily he conferred with the French Marine on details of the voyage. He permitted the date of sailing to be set for April 24. Sailors were enlisted, stores put on board, everything was in readiness. At the last moment, Radisson asked leave of absence to say good-by to his family. The request was granted. Without losing a moment, he sailed for England, where he arrived on the 10th of May and was at once taken in hand by Sir William Young and Sir James Hayes. He was honored as his explorations entitled him to be. King Charles and the Duke of York received him. Both royal brothers gave him gifts in token of appreciation. He took the oath of fealty and cast in his lot with the English for good. It was characteristic of the enthusiast that he was, when Radisson did not sign a strictly business contract with the Hudson's Bay Company. "I accepted their commission with the greatest pleasure in the world," he writes; ". . . without any precautions on my part for my own interests . . . since they had confidence in me, I wished to be generous towards them . . . in the hope they would render me all the justice due from gentlemen of honor and probity." But to the troubles of the future Radisson always paid small heed. Glad to be off once more to the adventurous freedom of the wilds, he set sail from England on May 17, 1684, in the _Happy Return_, accompanied by two other vessels. No incident marked the voyage till the ships had passed through the straits and were driven apart by the ice-drift of the bay. About sixty miles out from Port Nelson, the _Happy Return_ was held back by ice. Fearing trouble between young Jean Groseillers' men and the English of the other ships, Radisson embarked in a shallop with seven men in order to arrive at Hayes River before the other boats came. Rowing with might and main for forty-eight hours, they came to the site of the French fort. The fort had been removed. Jean Groseillers had his own troubles during Radisson's absence. A few days after Radisson's departure in July, 1683, cannon announced the arrival of the annual English ships on Nelson River. Jean at once sent out scouts, who found a tribe of Indians on the way home from trading with the ships that had fired the cannon. The scouts brought the Indians back to the French fort. Young Groseillers admitted the savages only one at a time; but the cunning braves pretended to run back for things they had forgotten in the French house. Suspecting nothing, Jean had permitted his own men to leave the fort. On different pretexts, a dozen warriors had surrounded the young trader. Suddenly the mask was thrown off. Springing up, treacherous as a tiger cat, the chief of the band struck at Groseillers with a dagger. Jean parried the blow, grabbed the redskin by his collar of bears' claws strung on thongs, threw the assassin to the ground almost strangling him, and with one foot on the villain's throat and the sword point at his chest, demanded of the Indians what they meant. The savages would have fled, but French soldiers who had heard the noise dashed to Groseillers' aid. The Indians threw down their weapons and confessed all: the Englishmen of the ship had promised the band a barrel of powder to massacre the French. Jean took his foot from the Indian's throat and kicked him out of the fort. The English outnumbered the French; so Jean removed his fort farther from the bay, among the Indians, where the English could not follow. To keep the warriors about him, he offered to house and feed them for the winter. This protected him from the attacks of the English. In the spring Indians came to the French with pelts. Jean was short of firearms; so he bribed the Indians to trade their peltries to the English for guns, and to retrade the guns to him for other goods. It was a stroke worthy of Radisson himself, and saved the little French fort. The English must have suspected the young trader's straits, for they again paid warriors to attack the French; but Jean had forestalled assault by forming an alliance with the Assiniboines, who came down Hayes River from Lake Winnipeg four hundred strong, and encamped a body-guard around the fort. Affairs were at this stage when Radisson arrived with news that he had transferred his services to the English. Young Groseillers was amazed.[5] Letters to his mother show that he surrendered his charge with a very ill grace. "Do not forget," Radisson urged him, "the injuries that France has inflicted on your father." Young Groseillers' mother, Marguerite Hayet, was in want at Three Rivers.[6] It was memory of her that now turned the scales with the young man. He would turn over the furs to Radisson for the English Company, if Radisson would take care of the far-away mother at Three Rivers. The bargain was made, and the two embraced. The surrender of the French furs to the English Company has been represented as Radisson's crowning treachery. Under that odium the great discoverer's name has rested for nearly three centuries; yet the accusation of theft is without a grain of truth. Radisson and Groseillers were to obtain half the proceeds of the voyage in 1682-1683. Neither the explorers nor Jean Groseillers, who had privately invested 500 pounds in the venture, ever received one sou. The furs at Port Nelson--or Fort Bourbon--belonged to the Frenchmen, to do what they pleased with them. The act of the enthusiast is often tainted with folly. That Radisson turned over twenty thousand beaver pelts to the English, without the slightest assurance that he would be given adequate return, was surely folly; but it was not theft. The transfer of all possessions to the English was promptly made. Radisson then arranged a peace treaty between the Indians and the English. That peace treaty has endured between the Indians and the Hudson's Bay Company to this day. A new fort was built, the furs stored in the hold of the vessels, and the crews mustered for the return voyage. Radisson had been given a solemn promise by the Hudson's Bay Company that Jean Groseillers and his comrades should be well treated and reëngaged for the English at 100 pounds a year. Now he learned that the English intended to ship all the French out of Hudson Bay and to keep them out. The enthusiast had played his game with more zeal than discretion. The English had what they wanted--furs and fort. In return, Radisson had what had misled him like a will-o'-the-wisp all his life--vague promises. In vain Radisson protested that he had given his promise to the French before they surrendered the fort. The English distrusted foreigners. The Frenchmen had been mustered on the ships to receive last instructions. They were told that they were to be taken to England. No chance was given them to escape. Some of the French had gone inland with the Indians. Of Jean's colony, these alone remained. When Radisson realized the conspiracy, he advised his fellow-countrymen to make no resistance; for he feared that some of the English bitter against him might seize on the pretext of a scuffle to murder the French. His advice proved wise. He had strong friends at the English court, and atonement was made for the breach of faith to the French. The ships set sail on the 4th of September and arrived in England on the 23d of October. Without waiting for the coach, Radisson hired a horse and spurred to London in order to give his version first of the quarrel on the bay. The Hudson's Bay Company was delighted with the success of Radisson. He was taken before the directors, given a present of a hundred guineas, and thanked for his services. He was once more presented to the King and the Duke of York. The company redeemed its promise to Radisson by employing the Frenchmen of the surrendered fort and offering to engage young Groseillers at 100 pounds a year.[7] [Illustration: Hudson Bay Dog Trains laden with Furs arriving at Lower Fort Garry, Red River. (Courtesy of C. C. Chipman, Commissioner H. B. Company.)] For five years the English kept faith with Radisson, and he made annual voyages to the bay; but war broke out with France. New France entered on a brilliant campaign against the English of Hudson Bay. The company's profits fell. Radisson, the Frenchman, was distrusted. France had set a price on his head, and one Martinière went to Port Nelson to seize him, but was unable to cope with the English. At no time did Radisson's salary with the company exceed 100 pounds; and now, when war stopped dividends on the small amount of stock which had been given to him, he fell into poverty and debt. In 1692 Sir William Young petitioned the company in his favor; but a man with a price on his head for treason could plainly not return to France.[8] The French were in possession of the bay. Radisson could do no harm to the English. Therefore the company ignored him till he sued them and received payment in full for arrears of salary and dividends on stock which he was not permitted to sell; but 50 pounds a year would not support a man who paid half that amount for rent, and had a wife, four children, and servants to support. In 1700 Radisson applied for the position of warehouse keeper for the company at London. Even this was denied. The dauntless pathfinder was growing old; and the old cannot fight and lose and begin again as Radisson had done all his life. State Papers of Paris contain records of a Radisson with Tonty at Detroit![9] Was this his nephew, François Radisson's son, who took the name of the explorer, or Radisson's own son, or the game old warrior himself, come out to die on the frontier as he had lived? History is silent. Until the year 1710 Radisson drew his allowance of 50 pounds a year from the English Company, then the payments stopped. Did the dauntless life stop too? Oblivion hides all record of his death, as it obscured the brilliant achievements of his life. There is no need to point out Radisson's faults. They are written on his life without extenuation or excuse, so that all may read. There is less need to eulogize his virtues. They declare themselves in every act of his life. This, only, should be remembered. Like all enthusiasts, Radisson could not have been a hero, if he had not been a bit of a fool. If he had not had his faults, if he had not been as impulsive, as daring, as reckless, as inconstant, as improvident of the morrow, as a savage or a child, he would not have accomplished the exploration of half a continent. Men who weigh consequences are not of the stuff to win empires. Had Radisson haggled as to the means, he would have missed or muddled the end. He went ahead; and when the way did not open, he went round, or crawled over, or carved his way through. There was an old saying among retired hunters of Three Rivers that "one learned more in the woods than was ever found in l' petee cat-ee-cheesm." Radisson's training was of the woods, rather than the curé's catechism; yet who that has been trained to the strictest code may boast of as dauntless faults and noble virtues? He was not faithful to any country, but he was faithful to his wife and children; and he was "faithful to his highest hope,"--that of becoming a discoverer,--which is more than common mortals are to their meanest aspirations. When statesmen played him a double game, he paid them back in their own coin with compound interest. Perhaps that is why they hated him so heartily and blackened his memory. But amid all the mad license of savage life, Radisson remained untainted. Other explorers and statesmen, too, have left a trail of blood to perpetuate their memory; Radisson never once spilled human blood needlessly, and was beloved by the savages. Memorial tablets commemorate other discoverers. Radisson needs none. The Great Northwest is his monument for all time. [1] Radisson's petition to the Hudson's Bay Company gives these amounts. [2] See State Papers quoted in Chapter VI. I need scarcely add that Radisson did not steal a march on his patrons by secretly shipping furs to Europe. This is only another of the innumerable slanders against Radisson which State Papers disprove. [3] It seems impossible that historians with the slightest regard for truth should have branded this part of _Radisson's Relation_ as a fabrication, too. Yet such is the case, and of writers whose books are supposed to be reputable. Since parts of Radisson's life appeared in the magazines, among many letters I received one from a well-known historian which to put it mildly was furious at the acceptance of _Radisson's Journal_ as authentic. In reply, I asked that historian how many documents contemporaneous with Radisson's life he had consulted before he branded so great an explorer as Radisson as a liar. Needless to say, that question was not answered. In corroboration of this part of Radisson's life, I have lying before me: (1) Chouart's letters--see Appendix. (2) A letter of Frontenac recording Radisson's first trip by boat for De la Chesnaye and the complications it would be likely to cause. (3) A complete official account sent from Quebec to France of Radisson's doings in the bay, which tallies in every respect with _Radisson's Journal_. (4) Report of M. de Meulles to the Minister on the whole affair with the English and New Englanders. (5) An official report on the release of Gillam's boat at Quebec. (6) The memorial presented by Groseillers to the French minister. (7) An official statement of the first discovery of the bay overland. (8) A complete statement (official) of the complications created by Radisson's wife being English. (9) A statement through a third party--presumably an official--by Radisson himself of these complications dated 1683. (10) A letter from the king to the governor at Quebec retailing the English complaints of Radisson at Nelson River. In the face of this, what is to be said of the historian who calls Radisson's adventures "a fabrication"? Such misrepresentation betrays about equal amounts of impudence and ignorance. [4] From Charlevoix to modern writers mention is made of the death of these two explorers. Different names are given as the places where they died. This is all pure supposition. Therefore I do not quote. No records exist to prove where Radisson and Groseillers died. [5] See Appendix. [6] State Papers record payment of money to her because she was in want. [7] Dr. George Bryce, who is really the only scholar who has tried to unravel the mystery of Radisson's last days, supplies new facts about his dealings with the Company to 1710. [8] Marquis de Denonville ordered the arrest of Radisson wherever he might be found. [9] Appendix; see State Papers. PART II THE SEARCH FOR THE WESTERN SEA: BEING AN ACCOUNT OF THE DISCOVERY OF THE ROCKY MOUNTAINS, THE MISSOURI UPLANDS, AND THE VALLEY OF THE SASKATCHEWAN CHAPTER VIII 1730-1750 THE SEARCH FOR THE WESTERN SEA[1] M. de la Vérendrye continues the Exploration of the Great Northwest by establishing a Chain of Fur Posts across the Continent--Privations of the Explorers and the Massacre of Twenty Followers--His Sons visit the Mandans and discover the Rockies--The Valley of the Saskatchewan is next explored, but Jealousy thwarts the Explorer, and he dies in Poverty I 1731-1736 A curious paradox is that the men who have done the most for North America did not intend to do so. They set out on the far quest of a crack-brained idealist's dream. They pulled up at a foreshortened purpose; but the unaccomplished aim did more for humanity than the idealist's dream. Columbus set out to find Asia. He discovered America. Jacques Cartier sought a mythical passage to the Orient. He found a northern empire. La Salle thought to reach China. He succeeded only in exploring the valley of the Mississippi, but the new continent so explored has done more for humanity than Asia from time immemorial. Of all crack-brained dreams that led to far-reaching results, none was wilder than the search for the Western Sea. Marquette, Jolliet, and La Salle had followed the trail that Radisson had blazed and explored the valley of the Mississippi; but like a will-o'-the-wisp beckoning ever westward was that undiscovered myth, the Western Sea, thought to lie like a narrow strait between America and Japan. The search began in earnest one sweltering afternoon on June 8, 1731, at the little stockaded fort on the banks of the St. Lawrence, where Montreal stands to-day. Fifty grizzled adventurers--wood runners, voyageurs, Indian interpreters--bareheaded, except for the colored handkerchief binding back the lank hair, dressed in fringed buckskin, and chattering with the exuberant nonchalance of boys out of school, had finished gumming the splits of their ninety-foot birch canoes, and now stood in line awaiting the coming of their captain, Sieur Pierre Gaultier de Varennes de la Vérendrye. The French soldier with his three sons, aged respectively eighteen, seventeen, and sixteen, now essayed to discover the fabled Western Sea, whose narrow waters were supposed to be between the valley of the "Great Forked River" and the Empire of China. [Illustration: Indians and Hunters spurring to the Fight.] Certainly, if it were worth while for Peter the Great of Russia to send Vitus Bering coasting the bleak headlands of ice-blocked, misty shores to find the Western Sea, it would--as one of the French governors reported--"be nobler than open war" for the little colony of New France to discover this "sea of the setting sun." The quest was invested with all the rainbow tints of "_la gloire_"; but the rainbow hopes were founded on the practical basis of profits. Leading merchants of Montreal had advanced goods for trade with the Indians on the way to the Western Sea. Their expectations of profits were probably the same as the man's who buys a mining share for ten cents and looks for dividends of several thousand per cent. And the fur trade at that time was capable of yielding such profits. Traders had gone West with less than $2000 worth of goods in modern money, and returned three years later with a sheer profit of a quarter of a million. Hope of such returns added zest to De la Vérendrye's venture for the discovery of the Western Sea. Goods done up in packets of a hundred pounds lay at the feet of the _voyageurs_ awaiting De la Vérendrye's command. A dozen soldiers in the plumed hats, slashed buskins, the brightly colored doublets of the period, joined the motley company. Priests came out to bless the departing _voyageurs_. Chapel bells rang out their God-speed. To the booming of cannon, and at a word from De la Vérendrye, the gates opened. Falling in line with measured tread, the soldiers marched out from Mount Royal. Behind, in the ambling gait of the moccasined woodsman, came the _voyageurs_ and _coureurs_ and interpreters, pack-straps across their foreheads, packets on the bent backs, the long birch canoes hoisted to the shoulders of four men, two abreast at each end, heads hidden in the inverted keel. The path led between the white fret of Lachine Rapids and the dense forests that shrouded the base of Mount Royal. Checkerboard squares of farm patches had been cleared in the woods. La Salle's old thatch-roofed seigniory lay not far back from the water. St. Anne's was the launching place for fleets of canoes that were to ascend the Ottawa. Here, a last look was taken of splits and seams in the birch keels. With invocations of St. Anne in one breath, and invocations of a personage not mentioned in the curé's "petee cat-ee-cheesm" in the next breath, and imprecations that their "souls might be smashed on the end of a picket fence,"--the _voyageur's_ common oath even to this day,--the boatmen stored goods fore, aft, and athwart till each long canoe sank to the gunwale as it was gently pushed out on the water. A last sign of the cross, and the lithe figures leap light as a mountain cat to their place in the canoes. There are four benches of paddlers, two abreast, with bowman and steersman, to each canoe. One can guess that the explorer and his sons and his nephew, Sieur de la Jemmeraie, who was to be second in command, all unhatted as they heard the long last farewell of the bells. Every eye is fastened on the chief bowman's steel-shod pole, held high--there is silence but for the bells--the bowman's pole is lowered--as with one stroke out sweep the paddles in a poetry of motion. The chimes die away over the water, the chapel spire gleams--it, too, is gone. Some one strikes up a plaintive ditty,--the _voyageur's_ song of the lost lady and the faded roses, or the dying farewell of Cadieux, the hunter, to his comrades,--and the adventurers are launched for the Western Sea. [Illustration: Fight at the Foot-hills of the Rockies between Crows and Snakes.] II 1731-1736 Every mile westward was consecrated by heroism. There was the place where Cadieux, the white hunter, went ashore single-handed to hold the Iroquois at bay, while his comrades escaped by running the rapids; but Cadieux was assailed by a subtler foe than the Iroquois, _la folie des bois_,--the folly of the woods,--that sends the hunter wandering in endless circles till he dies from hunger; and when his companions returned, Cadieux lay in eternal sleep with a death chant scribbled on bark across his breast. There were the Rapids of the Long Sault where Dollard and seventeen Frenchmen fought seven hundred Iroquois till every white man fell. Not one of all De la Vérendrye's fifty followers but knew that perils as great awaited him. Streaked foam told the voyageurs where they were approaching rapids. Alert as a hawk, the bowman stroked for the shore; and his stroke was answered by all paddles. If the water were high enough to carry the canoes above rocks, and the rapids were not too violent, several of the boatmen leaped out to knees in water, and "tracked" the canoes up stream; but this was unusual with loaded craft. The bowman steadied the beached keel. Each man landed with pack on his back, lighted his pipe, and trotted away over portages so dank and slippery that only a moccasined foot could gain hold. On long portages, camp-fires were kindled and the kettles slung on the crotched sticks for the evening meal. At night, the voyageurs slept under the overturned canoes, or lay on the sand with bare faces to the sky. Morning mist had not risen till all the boats were once more breasting the flood of the Ottawa. For a month the canoe prows met the current when a portage lifted the fleet out of the Ottawa into a shallow stream flowing toward Lake Nipissing, and from Lake Nipissing to Lake Huron. The change was a welcome relief. The canoes now rode with the current; and when a wind sprang up astern, blanket sails were hoisted that let the boatmen lie back, paddles athwart. Going with the stream, the _voyageurs_ would "run"--"_sauter les rapides_"--the safest of the cataracts. Bowman, not steersman, was the pilot of such "runs." A faint, far swish as of night wind, little forward leaps and swirls of the current, the blur of trees on either bank, were signs to the bowman. He rose in his place. A thrust of the steel-shod pole at a rock in mid-stream--the rock raced past; a throb of the keel to the live waters below--the bowman crouches back, lightening the prow just as a rider "lifts" his horse to the leap; a sudden splash--the thing has happened--the canoe has run the rapids or shot the falls. [Illustration: "Each man landed with pack on his back, and trotted away over portages."] Pause was made at Lake Huron for favorable weather; and a rear wind would carry the canoes at a bouncing pace clear across to Michilimackinac, at the mouth of Lake Michigan. This was the chief fur post of the lakes at that time. All the boats bound east or west, Sioux and Cree and Iroquois and Fox, traders' and priests' and outlaws'--stopped at Michilimackinac. Vice and brandy and religion were the characteristics of the fort. [Illustration: A Cree Indian of the Minnesota Borderlands.] This was familiar ground to De la Vérendrye. It was at the lonely fur post of Nepigon, north of Michilimackinac, in the midst of a wilderness forest, that he had eaten his heart out with baffled ambition from 1728 to 1730, when he descended to Montreal to lay before M. de Beauharnois, the governor, plans for the discovery of the Western Sea. Born at Three Rivers in 1686, where the passion for discovery and Radisson's fame were in the very air and traders from the wilderness of the Upper Country wintered, young Pierre Gaultier de Varennes de la Vérendrye, at the ambitious age of fourteen, determined that he would become a discoverer.[2] At eighteen he was fighting in New England, at nineteen in Newfoundland, at twenty-three in Europe at the battle of Malplaquet, where he was carried off the field with nine wounds. Eager for more distinguished service, he returned to Canada in his twenty-seventh year, only to find himself relegated to an obscure trading post in far Northern wilds. Then the boyhood ambitions reawakened. All France and Canada, too, were ringing with projects for the discovery of the Western Sea. Russia was acting. France knew it. The great priest Charlevoix had been sent to Canada to investigate plans for the venture, and had recommended an advance westward through the country of the Sioux; but the Sioux[3] swarmed round the little fort at Lake Pepin on the Mississippi like angry wasps. That way, exploration was plainly barred. Nothing came of the attempt except a brisk fur trade and a brisker warfare on the part of the Sioux. At the lonely post of Nepigon, vague Indian tales came to De la Vérendrye of "a great river flowing west" and "a vast, flat country devoid of timber" with "large herds of cattle." Ochagach, an old Indian, drew maps on birch bark showing rivers that emptied into the Western Sea. De la Vérendrye's smouldering ambitions kindled. He hurried to Michilimackinac. There the traders and Indians told the same story. Glory seemed suddenly within De la Vérendrye's grasp. Carried away with the passion for discovery that ruled his age, he took passage in the canoes bound for Quebec. The Marquis Charles de Beauharnois had become governor. His brother Claude had taken part in the exploration of the Mississippi. The governor favored the project of the Western Sea. Perhaps Russia's activity gave edge to the governor's zest; but he promised De la Vérendrye the court's patronage and prestige. This was not money. France would not advance the enthusiast one sou, but granted him a monopoly of the fur trade in the countries which he might discover. The winter of 1731-1732 was spent by De la Vérendrye as the guest of the governor at Château St. Louis, arranging with merchants to furnish goods for trade; and on May 19 the agreement was signed. By a lucky coincidence, the same winter that M. de la Vérendrye had come down to Quebec, there had arrived from the Mississippi fort, his nephew, Christopher Dufrost, Sieur de la Jemmeraie, who had commanded the Sioux post and been prisoner among the Indians. So M. de la Vérendrye chose Jemmeraie for lieutenant. And now the explorer was back at Michilimackinac, on the way to the accomplishment of the daring ambition of his life. The trip from Montreal had fatigued the _voyageurs_. Brandy flowed at the lake post freely as at a modern mining camp. The explorer kept military discipline over his men. They received no pay which could be squandered away on liquor. Discontent grew rife. Taking Father Messaiger, the Jesuit, as chaplain, M. de la Vérendrye ordered his grumbling _voyageurs_ to their canoes, and, passing through the Straits of the Sault, headed his fleet once more for the Western Sea. Other explorers had preceded him on this part of the route. The Jesuits had coasted the north shore of Lake Superior. So had Radisson. In 1688 De Noyon of Three Rivers had gone as far west as the Lake of the Woods towards what is now Minnesota and Manitoba; and in 1717 De Lanoue had built a fur post at Kaministiquia, near what is now Fort William on Lake Superior. The shore was always perilous to the boatman of frail craft. The harbors were fathoms deep, and the waves thrashed by a cross wind often proved as dangerous as the high sea. It took M. de la Vérendrye's canoemen a month to coast from the Straits of Mackinaw to Kaministiquia, which they reached on the 26th of August, seventy-eight days after they had left Montreal. The same distance is now traversed in two days. Prospects were not encouraging. The crews were sulky. Kaministiquia was the outermost post in the West. Within a month, the early Northern winter would set in. One hunter can scramble for his winter's food where fifty will certainly starve; and the Indians could not be expected back from the chase with supplies of furs and food till spring. The canoemen had received no pay. Free as woodland denizens, they chafed under military command. Boats were always setting out at this season for the homeland hamlets of the St. Lawrence; and perhaps other hunters told De la Vérendrye's men that this Western Sea was a will-o'-the-wisp that would lead for leagues and leagues over strange lands, through hostile tribes, to a lonely death in the wilderness. When the explorer ordered his men once more in line to launch for the Western Sea, there was outright mutiny. Soldiers and boatmen refused to go on. The Jesuit Messaiger threatened and expostulated with the men. Jemmeraie, who had been among the Sioux, interceded with the _voyageurs_. A compromise was effected. Half the boatmen would go ahead with Jemmeraie if M. de la Vérendrye would remain with the other half at Lake Superior as a rear guard for retreat and the supply of provisions. So the explorer suffered his first check in the advance to the Western Sea. III 1732-1736 Equipping four canoes, Lieutenant de la Jemmeraie and young Jean Ba'tiste de la Vérendrye set out with thirty men from Kaministiquia, _portaged_ through dense forests over moss and dank rock past the high cataract of the falls, and launched westward to prepare a fort for the reception of their leader in spring. Before winter had closed navigation, Fort St. Pierre--named in honor of the explorer--had been erected on the left bank or Minnesota side of Rainy Lake, and the two young men not only succeeded in holding their mutinous followers, but drove a thriving trade in furs with the Crees. Perhaps the furs were obtained at too great cost, for ammunition and firearms were the price paid, but the same mistake has been made at a later day for a lesser object than the discovery of the Western Sea. The spring of 1732 saw the young men back at Lake Superior, going post-haste to Michilimackinac to exchange furs for the goods from Montreal. On the 8th of June, exactly a year from the day that he had left Montreal, M. de la Vérendrye pushed forward with all his people for Fort St. Pierre. Five weeks later he was welcomed inside the stockades. Uniformed soldiers were a wonder to the awe-struck Crees, who hung round the gateway with hands over their hushed lips. Gifts of ammunition won the loyalty of the chiefs. Not to be lacking in generosity, the Indians collected fifty of their gaudiest canoes and offered to escort the explorer west to the Lake of the Woods. De la Vérendrye could not miss such an offer. Though his _voyageurs_ were fatigued, he set out at once. He had reached Fort St. Pierre on July 14. In August his entire fleet glided over the Lake of the Woods. The threescore canoes manned by the Cree boatmen threaded the shadowy defiles and labyrinthine channels of the Lake of the Woods--or Lake of the Isles--coasting island after island along the south or Minnesota shore westward to the opening of the river at the northwest angle. This was the border of the Sioux territory. Before the boatmen opened the channel of an unknown river. Around them were sheltered harbors, good hunting, and good fishing. The Crees favored this region for winter camping ground because they could hide their families from the Sioux on the sheltered islands of the wooded lake. Night frosts had painted the forests red. The flacker of wild-fowl overhead, the skim of ice forming on the lake, the poignant sting of the north wind--all fore-warned winter's approach. Jean de la Vérendrye had not come up with the supplies from Michilimackinac. The explorer did not tempt mutiny by going farther. He ordered a halt and began building a fort that was to be the centre of operations between Montreal and the unfound Western Sea. The fort was named St. Charles in honor of Beauharnois. It was defended by four rows of thick palisades fifteen feet high. In the middle of the enclosure stood the living quarters, log cabins with thatched roofs. [Illustration: A Group of Cree Indians.] By October the Indians had scattered to their hunting-grounds like leaves to the wind. The ice thickened. By November the islands were ice-locked and snow had drifted waist-high through the forests. The _voyageurs_ could still fish through ice holes for food; but where was young Jean who was to bring up provisions from Michilimackinac? The commander did not voice his fears; and his men were too deep in the wilds for desertion. One afternoon, a shout sounded from the silent woods, and out from the white-edged evergreens stepped a figure on snowshoes--Jean de la Vérendrye, leading his boatmen, with the provisions packed on their backs, from a point fifty miles away where the ice had caught the canoes. If the supplies had not come, the explorer could neither have advanced nor retreated in spring. It was a risk that De la Vérendrye did not intend to have repeated. Suspecting that his merchant partners were dissatisfied, he sent Jemmeraie down to Montreal in 1733 to report and urge the necessity for prompt forwarding of all supplies. With Jemmeraie went the Jesuit Messaiger; but their combined explanations failed to satisfy the merchants of Montreal. De la Vérendrye had now been away three years. True, he had constructed two fur posts and sent East two cargoes of furs. His partners were looking for enormous wealth. Disappointed and caring nothing for the Western Sea; perhaps, too, secretly accusing De la Vérendrye of making profits privately, as many a gentleman of fortune did,--the merchants decided to advance provisions only in proportion to earnings. What would become of the fifty men in the Northern wilderness the partners neither asked nor cared. Young Jean had meanwhile pushed on and built Fort Maurepas on Lake Winnipeg; but his father dared not leave Fort St. Charles without supplies. De la Vérendrye's position was now desperate. He was hopelessly in debt to his men for wages. That did not help discipline. His partners were not only withholding supplies, but charging up a high rate of interest on the first equipment. To turn back meant ruin. To go forward he was powerless. Leaving Jemmeraie in command, and permitting his eager son to go ahead with a few picked men to Fort Maurepas on Lake Winnipeg, De la Vérendrye took a small canoe and descended with all swiftness to Quebec. The winter of 1634-1635 was spent with the governor; and the partners were convinced that they must either go on with the venture or lose all. They consented to continue supplying goods, but also charging all outlay against the explorer. Father Aulneau went back with De la Vérendrye as chaplain. The trip was made at terrible speed, in the hottest season, through stifling forest fires. Behind, at slower pace, came the provisions. De la Vérendrye reached the Lake of the Woods in September. Fearing the delay of the goods for trade, and dreading the danger of famine with so many men in one place, De la Vérendrye despatched Jemmeraie to winter with part of the forces at Lake Winnipeg, where Jean and Pierre, the second son, had built Fort Maurepas. The worst fears were realized. Ice had blocked the Northern rivers by the time the supplies had come to Lake Superior. Fishing failed. The hunt was poor. During the winter of 1736 food became scantier at the little forts of St. Pierre, St. Charles, and Maurepas. Rations were reduced from three times to once and twice a day. By spring De la Vérendrye was put to all the extremities of famine-stricken traders, his men subsisting on parchment, moccasin leather, roots, and their hunting dogs. He was compelled to wait at St. Charles for the delayed supplies. While he waited came blow upon blow: Jean and Pierre arrived from Fort Maurepas with news that Jemmeraie had died three weeks before on his way down to aid De la Vérendrye. Wrapped in a hunter's robe, his body was buried in the sand-bank of a little Northern stream, La Fourche des Roseaux. Over the lonely grave the two brothers had erected a cross. Father and sons took stock of supplies. They had not enough powder to last another month, and already the Indians were coming in with furs and food to be traded for ammunition. If the Crees had known the weakness of the white men, short work might have been made of Fort St. Charles. It never entered the minds of De la Vérendrye and his sons to give up. They decided to rush three canoes of twenty _voyageurs_ to Michilimackinac for food and powder. Father Aulneau, the young priest, accompanied the boatmen to attend a religious retreat at Michilimackinac. It had been a hard year for the youthful missionary. The ship that brought him from France had been plague-stricken. The trip to Fort St. Charles had been arduous and swift, through stifling heat; and the year passed in the North was one of famine. Accompanied by the priest and led by Jean de la Vérendrye, now in his twenty-third year, the _voyageurs_ embarked hurriedly on the 8th of June, 1736, five years to a day from the time that they left Montreal--and a fateful day it was--in the search for the Western Sea. The Crees had always been friendly; and when the boatmen landed on a sheltered island twenty miles from Fort St. Charles to camp for the night, no sentry was stationed. The lake lay calm as glass in the hot June night, the camp-fire casting long lines across the water that could be seen for miles. An early start was to be made in the morning and a furious pace to be kept all the way to Lake Superior, and the _voyageurs_ were presently sound asleep on the sand. The keenest ears could scarcely have distinguished the soft lapping of muffled paddles; and no one heard the moccasined tread of ambushed Indians reconnoitring. Seventeen Sioux stepped from their canoes, stole from cover to cover, and looked out on the unsuspecting sleepers. Then the Indians as noiselessly slipped back to their canoes to carry word of the discovery to a band of marauders. [Illustration: "The soldiers marched out from Mount Royal."] Something had occurred at Fort St. Charles without M. de la Vérendrye's knowledge. Hilarious with their new possessions of firearms, and perhaps, also, mad with the brandy of which Father Aulneau had complained, a few mischievous Crees had fired from the fort on wandering Sioux of the prairie. "Who--fire--on--us?" demanded the outraged Sioux. "The French," laughed the Crees. The Sioux at once went back to a band of one hundred and thirty warriors. "Tigers of the plains" the Sioux were called, and now the tigers' blood was up. They set out to slay the first white man seen. By chance, he was one Bourassa, coasting by himself. Taking him captive, they had tied him to burn him, when a slave squaw rushed out, crying: "What would you do? This Frenchman is a friend of the Sioux! He saved my life! If you desire to be avenged, go farther on! You will find a camp of Frenchmen, among whom is the son of the white chief!" The _voyageur_ was at once unbound, and scouts scattered to find the white men. Night had passed before the scouts had carried news of Jean de la Vérendrye's men to the marauding warriors. The ghostly gray of dawn saw the _voyageurs_ paddling swiftly through the morning mist from island to island of the Lake of the Woods. Cleaving the mist behind, following solely by the double foam wreaths rippling from the canoe prows, came the silent boats of the Sioux. When sunrise lifted the fog, the pursuers paused like stealthy cats. At sunrise Jean de la Vérendrye landed his crews for breakfast. Camp-fires told the Indians where to follow. A few days later bands of Sautaux came to the camping ground of the French. The heads of the white men lay on a beaver skin. All had been scalped. The missionary, Aulneau, was on his knees, as if in morning prayers. An arrow projected from his head. His left hand was on the earth, fallen forward, his right hand uplifted, invoking Divine aid. Young Vérendrye lay face down, his back hacked to pieces, a spear sunk in his waist, the headless body mockingly decorated with porcupine quills. So died one of the bravest of the young nobility in New France. The Sautaux erected a cairn of stones over the bodies of the dead. All that was known of the massacre was vague Indian gossip. The Sioux reported that they had not intended to murder the priest, but a crazy-brained fanatic had shot the fatal arrow and broken from restraint, weapon in hand. Rain-storms had washed out all marks of the fray. In September the bodies of the victims were carried to Fort St. Charles, and interred in the chapel. Eight hundred Crees besought M. de la Vérendrye to let them avenge the murder; but the veteran of Malplaquet exhorted them not to war. Meanwhile, Fort St. Charles awaited the coming of supplies from Lake Superior. IV 1736-1740 A week passed, and on the 17th of June the canoe loads of ammunition and supplies for which the murdered _voyageurs_ had been sent arrived at Fort St. Charles. In June the Indian hunters came in with the winter's hunt; and on the 20th thirty Sautaux hurried to Fort St. Charles, to report that they had found the mangled bodies of the massacred Frenchmen on an island seven leagues from the fort. Again La Vérendrye had to choose whether to abandon his cherished dreams, or follow them at the risk of ruin and death. As before, when his men had mutinied, he determined to advance. Jean, the eldest son, was dead. Pierre and François were with their father. Louis, the youngest, now seventeen years of age, had come up with the supplies. Pierre at once went to Lake Winnipeg, to prepare Fort Maurepas for the reception of all the forces. Winter set in. Snow lay twelve feet deep in the forests now known as the Minnesota Borderlands. On February 8, 1737, in the face of a biting north wind, with the thermometer at forty degrees below zero, M. de la Vérendrye left Fort St. Charles, François carrying the French flag, with ten soldiers, wearing snow-shoes, in line behind, and two or three hundred Crees swathed in furs bringing up a ragged rear. The bright uniforms of the soldiers were patches of red among the snowy everglades. Bivouac was made on beds of pine boughs,--feet to the camp-fire, the night frost snapping like a whiplash, the stars flashing with a steely clearness known only in northern climes. The march was at a swift pace, for three weeks by canoe is short enough time to traverse the Minnesota and Manitoba Borderlands northwest to Lake Winnipeg; and in seventeen days M. de la Vérendrye was at Fort Maurepas. Fort Maurepas (in the region of the modern Alexander) lay on a tongue of sand extending into the lake a few miles beyond the entrance of Red River. Tamarack and poplar fringe the shore; and in windy weather the lake is lashed into a roughness that resembles the flux of ocean tides. I remember once going on a steamer towards the site of Maurepas. The ship drew lightest of draft. While we were anchored the breeze fell, and the ship was stranded as if by ebb tide for twenty-four hours. The action of the wind explained the Indian tales of an ocean tide, which had misled La Vérendrye into expecting to find the Western Sea at this point. He found a magnificent body of fresh water, but not the ocean. The fort was the usual pioneer fur post--a barracks of unbarked logs, chinked up with frozen clay and moss, roofed with branches and snow, occupying the centre of a courtyard, palisaded by slabs of pine logs. M. de la Vérendrye was now in the true realm of the explorer--in territory where no other white man had trod. With a shout his motley forces emerged from the snowy tamaracks, and with a shout from Pierre de la Vérendrye and his tawny followers the explorer was welcomed through the gateway of little Fort Maurepas. [Illustration: Traders' Boats running the Rapids of the Athabasca River.] Pierre de la Vérendrye had heard of a region to the south much frequented by the Assiniboine Indians, who had conducted Radisson to the Sea of the North fifty years before--the Forks where the Assiniboine River joins the Red, and the city of Winnipeg stands to-day. It was reported that game was plentiful here. Two hundred tepees of Assiniboines were awaiting the explorer. His forces were worn with their marching, but in a few weeks the glaze of ice above the fathomless drifts of snow would be too rotten for travel, and not until June would the riverways be clear for canoes. But such a scant supply of goods had his partners sent up that poor De la Vérendrye had nothing to trade with the waiting Assiniboines. Sending his sons forward to reconnoitre the Forks of the Assiniboine,--the modern Winnipeg,--he set out for Montreal as soon as navigation opened, taking with him fourteen great canoes of precious furs. The fourteen canoe loads proved his salvation. As long as there were furs and prospects of furs, his partners would back the enterprise of finding the Western Sea. The winter of 1738 was spent as the guest of the governor at Château St. Louis. The partners were satisfied, and plucked up hope of their venture. They would advance provisions in proportion to earnings. By September he was back at Fort Maurepas on Lake Winnipeg, pushing for the undiscovered bourne of the Western Sea. Leaving orders for trade with the chief clerk at Maurepas, De la Vérendrye picked out his most intrepid men; and in September of 1738, for the first time in history, white men glided up the ochre-colored, muddy current of the Red for the Forks of the Assiniboine. Ten Cree wigwams and two war chiefs awaited De la Vérendrye on the low flats of what are now known as South Winnipeg. Not the fabled Western Sea, but an illimitable ocean of rolling prairie--the long russet grass rising and falling to the wind like waves to the run of invisible feet--stretched out before the eager eyes of the explorer. Northward lay the autumn-tinged brushwood of Red River. South, shimmering in the purple mists of Indian summer, was Red River Valley. Westward the sun hung like a red shield, close to the horizon, over vast reaches of prairie billowing to the sky-line in the tide of a boundless ocean. Such was the discovery of the Canadian Northwest. Doubtless the weary gaze of the tired _voyageurs_ turned longingly westward. Where was the Western Sea? Did it lie just beyond the horizon where skyline and prairie met, or did the trail of their quest run on--on--on--endlessly? The Assiniboine flows into the Red, the Red into Lake Winnipeg, the Lake into Hudson Bay. Plainly, Assiniboine Valley was not the way to the Western Sea. But what lay just beyond this Assiniboine Valley? An old Cree chief warned the boatmen that the Assiniboine River was very low and would wreck the canoes; but he also told vague yarns of "great waters beyond the mountains of the setting sun," where white men dwelt, and the waves came in a tide, and the waters were salt. The Western Sea where the Spaniards dwelt had long been known. It was a Western Sea to the north, that would connect Louisiana and Canada, that De la Vérendrye sought. The Indian fables, without doubt, referred to a sea beyond the Assiniboine River, and thither would De la Vérendrye go at any cost. Some sort of barracks or shelter was knocked up on the south side of the Assiniboine opposite the flats. It was subsequently known as Fort Rouge, after the color of the adjacent river, and was the foundation of Winnipeg. Leaving men to trade at Fort Rouge, De la Vérendrye set out on September 26, 1738, for the height of land that must lie beyond the sources of the Assiniboine. De la Vérendrye was now like a man hounded by his own Frankenstein. A thousand leagues--every one marked by disaster and failure and sinking hopes--lay behind him. A thousand leagues of wilderness lay before him. He had only a handful of men. The Assiniboine Indians were of dubious friendliness. The white men were scarce of food. In a few weeks they would be exposed to the terrible rigors of Northern winter. Yet they set their faces toward the west, types of the pioneers who have carved empire out of wilderness. [Illustration: The Ragged Sky-line of the Mountains.] The Assiniboine was winding and low, with many sand bars. On the wooded banks deer and buffalo grazed in such countless multitudes that the boatmen took them for great herds of cattle. Flocks of wild geese darkened the sky overhead. As the boats wound up the shallows of the river, ducks rose in myriad flocks. Prairie wolves skulked away from the river bank, and the sand-hill cranes were so unused to human presence that they scarcely rose as the voyageurs poled past. While the boatmen poled, the soldiers marched in military order across country, so avoiding the bends of the river. Daily, Crees and Assiniboines of the plains joined the white men. A week after leaving the Forks or Fort Rouge, De la Vérendrye came to the Portage of the Prairie, leading north to Lake Manitoba and from the lake to Hudson Bay. Clearly, northward was not the way to the Western Sea; but the Assiniboines told of a people to the southwest--the Mandans--who knew a people who lived on the Western Sea. As soon as his baggage came up, De la Vérendrye ordered the construction of a fort--called De la Reine--on the banks of the Assiniboine. This was to be the forwarding post for the Western Sea. To the Mandans living on the Missouri, who knew a people living on salt water, De la Vérendrye now directed his course. [Illustration: Hungry Hall, 1870; near the site of the Vérendrye Fort in Rainy River Region.] On the morning of October 18 drums beat to arms. Additional men had come up from the other forts. Fifty-two soldiers and _voyageurs_ now stood in line. Arms were inspected. To each man were given powder, balls, axe, and kettle. Pierre and François de la Vérendrye hoisted the French flag. For the first time a bugle call sounded over the prairie. At the word, out stepped the little band of white men, marking time for the Western Sea. The course lay west-southwest, up the Souris River, through wooded ravines now stripped of foliage, past alkali sloughs ice-edged by frost, over rolling cliffs russet and bare, where gopher and badger and owl and roving buffalo were the only signs of life. On the 21st of October two hundred Assiniboine warriors joined the marching white men. In the sheltered ravines buffalo grazed by the hundreds of thousands, and the march was delayed by frequent buffalo hunts to gather pemmican--pounded marrow and fat of the buffalo--which was much esteemed by the Mandans. Within a month so many Assiniboines had joined the French that the company numbered more than six hundred warriors, who were ample protection against the Sioux; and the Sioux were the deadly terror of all tribes of the plains. But M. de la Vérendrye was expected to present ammunition to his Assiniboine friends. Four outrunners went speeding to the Missouri to notify the Mandans of the advancing warriors. The _coureurs_ carried presents of pemmican. To prevent surprise, the Assiniboines marched under the sheltered slopes of the hills and observed military order. In front rode the warriors, dressed in garnished buckskin and armed with spears and arrows. Behind, on foot, came the old and the lame. To the rear was another guard of warriors. Lagging in ragged lines far back came a ragamuffin brigade, the women, children, and dogs--squaws astride cayuses lean as barrel hoops, children in moss bags on their mothers' backs, and horses and dogs alike harnessed with the _travaille_--two sticks tied into a triangle, with the shafts fastened to a cinch on horse or dog. The joined end of the shafts dragged on the ground, and between them hung the baggage, surmounted by papoose, or pet owl, or the half-tamed pup of a prairie-wolf, or even a wild-eyed young squaw with hair flying to the wind. At night camp was made in a circle formed of the hobbled horses. Outside, the dogs scoured in pursuit of coyotes. The women and children took refuge in the centre, and the warriors slept near their picketed horses. By the middle of November the motley cavalcade had crossed the height of land between the Assiniboine River and the Missouri, and was heading for the Mandan villages. Mandan _coureurs_ came out to welcome the visitors, pompously presenting De la Vérendrye with corn in the ear and tobacco. At this stage, the explorer discovered that his bag of presents for his hosts had been stolen by the Assiniboines; but he presented the Mandans with what ammunition he could spare, and gave them plenty of pemmican which his hunters had cured. The two tribes drove a brisk trade in furs, which the northern Indians offered, and painted plumes, which the Mandans displayed to the envy of Assiniboine warriors. On the 3d of December, De la Vérendrye's sons stepped before the ragged host of six hundred savages with the French flag hoisted. The explorer himself was lifted to the shoulders of the Mandan _coureurs_. A gun was fired and the strange procession set out for the Mandan villages. In this fashion white men first took possession of the Upper Missouri. Some miles from the lodges a band of old chiefs met De la Vérendrye and gravely handed him a grand calumet of pipestone ornamented with eagle feathers. This typified peace. De la Vérendrye ordered his fifty French followers to draw up in line. The sons placed the French flag four paces to the fore. The Assiniboine warriors took possession in stately Indian silence to the right and left of the whites. At a signal three thundering volleys of musketry were fired. The Mandans fell back, prostrated with fear and wonder. The command "forward" was given, and the Mandan village was entered in state at four in the afternoon of December 3, 1738. The village was in much the same condition as a hundred years later when visited by Prince Maximilian and by the artist Catlin. It consisted of circular huts, with thatched roofs, on which perched the gaping women and children. Around the village of huts ran a moat or ditch, which was guarded in time of war with the Sioux. Flags flew from the centre poles of each hut; but the flags were the scalps of enemies slain. In the centre of the village was a larger hut. This was the "medicine lodge," or council hall, of the chiefs, used only for ceremonies of religion and war and treaties of peace. Thither De la Vérendrye was conducted. Here the Mandan chiefs sat on buffalo robes in a circle round the fire, smoking the calumet, which was handed to the white man. The explorer then told the Indians of his search for the Western Sea. Of a Western Sea they could tell him nothing definite. They knew a people far west who grew corn and tobacco and who lived on the shores of water that was bitter for drinking. The people were white. They dressed in armor and lived in houses of stone. Their country was full of mountains. More of the Western Sea, De la Vérendrye could not learn. Meanwhile, six hundred Assiniboine visitors were a tax on the hospitality of the Mandans, who at once spread a rumor of a Sioux raid. This gave speed to the Assiniboines' departure. Among the Assiniboines who ran off in precipitate fright was De la Vérendrye's interpreter. It was useless to wait longer. The French were short of provisions, and the Missouri Indians could not be expected to support fifty white men. Though it was the bitter cold of midwinter, De la Vérendrye departed for Fort de la Reine. Two Frenchmen were left to learn the Missouri dialects. A French flag in a leaden box with the arms of France inscribed was presented to the Mandan chief; and De la Vérendrye marched from the village on the 8th of December. Scarcely had he left, when he fell terribly ill; but for the pathfinder of the wilderness there is neither halt nor retreat. M. de la Vérendrye's ragged army tramped wearily on, half blinded by snow glare and buffeted by prairie blizzards, huddling in snowdrifts from the wind at night and uncertain of their compass over the white wastes by day. There is nothing so deadly silent and utterly destitute of life as the prairie in midwinter. Moose and buffalo had sought the shelter of wooded ravines. Here a fox track ran over the snow. There a coyote skulked from cover, to lope away the next instant for brushwood or hollow, and snow-buntings or whiskey-jacks might have followed the marchers for pickings of waste; but east, west, north, and south was nothing but the wide, white wastes of drifted snow. On Christmas Eve of 1738 low curling smoke above the prairie told the wanderers that they were nearing the Indian camps of the Assiniboines; and by nightfall of February 10, 1739, they were under the shelter of Fort de la Reine. "I have never been so wretched from illness and fatigue in all my life as on that journey," reported De la Vérendrye. As usual, provisions were scarce at the fort. Fifty people had to be fed. Buffalo and deer meat saved the French from starvation till spring. [Illustration: A Monarch of the Plains.] All that De la Vérendrye had accomplished on this trip was to learn that salt water existed west-southwest. Anxious to know more of the Northwest, he sent his sons to the banks of a great northern river. This was the Saskatchewan. In their search of the Northwest, they constructed two more trading posts, Fort Dauphin near Lake Manitoba, and Bourbon on the Saskatchewan. Winter quarters were built at the forks of the river, which afterwards became the site of Fort Poskoyac. This spring not a canoe load of food came up from Montreal. Papers had been served for the seizure of all De la Vérendrye's forts, goods, property, and chattels to meet the claims of his creditors. Desperate, but not deterred from his quest, De la Vérendrye set out to contest the lawsuits in Montreal. V 1740-1750 Which way to turn now for the Western Sea that eluded their quest like a will-o'-the-wisp was the question confronting Pierre, François, and Louis de la Vérendrye during the explorer's absence in Montreal. They had followed the great Saskatchewan westward to its forks. No river was found in this region flowing in the direction of the Western Sea. They had been in the country of the Missouri; but neither did any river there flow to a Western Sea. Yet the Mandans told of salt water far to the west. Thither they would turn the baffling search. The two men left among the Mandans to learn the language had returned to the Assiniboine River with more news of tribes from "the setting sun" who dwelt on salt water. Pierre de la Vérendrye went down to the Missouri with the two interpreters; but the Mandans refused to supply guides that year, and the young Frenchman came back to winter on the Assiniboine. Here he made every preparation for another attempt to find the Western Sea by way of the Missouri. On April 29, 1742, the two brothers, Pierre and François, left the Assiniboine with the two interpreters. Their course led along the trail that for two hundred years was to be a famous highway between the Missouri and Hudson Bay. Heading southwest, they followed the Souris River to the watershed of the Missouri, and in three weeks were once more the guests of the smoky Mandan lodges. Round the inside walls of each circular hut ran berth beds of buffalo skin with trophies of the chase,--hide-shields and weapons of war, fastened to the posts that separated berth from berth. A common fire, with a family meat pot hanging above, occupied the centre of the lodge. In one of these lodges the two brothers and their men were quartered. The summer passed feasting with the Mandans and smoking the calumet of peace; but all was in vain. The Missouri Indians were arrant cowards in the matter of war. The terror of their existence was the Sioux. The Mandans would not venture through Sioux territory to accompany the brothers in the search for the Western Sea. At last two guides were obtained, who promised to conduct the French to a neighboring tribe that might know of the Western Sea. [Illustration: Fur Traders' Boats towed down the Saskatchewan in the Summer of 1900.] The party set out on horseback, travelling swiftly southwest and along the valley of the Little Missouri toward the Black Hills. Here their course turned sharply west toward the Powder River country, past the southern bounds of the Yellowstone. For three weeks they saw no sign of human existence. Deer and antelope bounded over the parched alkali uplands. Prairie dogs perched on top of their earth mounds, to watch the lonely riders pass; and all night the far howl of grayish forms on the offing of the starlit prairie told of prowling coyotes. On the 11th of August the brothers camped on the Powder Hills. Mounting to the crest of a cliff, they scanned far and wide for signs of the Indians whom the Mandans knew. The valleys were desolate. Kindling a signal-fire to attract any tribes that might be roaming, they built a hut and waited. A month passed. There was no answering signal. One of the Mandan guides took himself off in fright. On the fifth week a thin line of smoke rose against the distant sky. The remaining Mandans went to reconnoitre and found a camp of Beaux Hommes, or Crows, who received the French well. Obtaining fresh guides from the Crows and dismissing the Mandans, the brothers again headed westward. The Crows guided them to the Horse Indians, who in turn took the French to their next western neighbors, the Bows. The Bows were preparing to war on the Snakes, a mountain tribe to the west. Tepees dotted the valley. Women were pounding the buffalo meat into pemmican for the raiders. The young braves spent the night with war-song and war-dance, to work themselves into a frenzy of bravado. The Bows were to march west; so the French joined the warriors, gradually turning northwest toward what is now Helena. It was winter. The hills were powdered with snow that obliterated all traces of the fleeing Snakes. The way became more mountainous and dangerous. Iced sloughs gave place to swift torrents and cataracts. On New Year's day, 1743, there rose through the gray haze to the fore the ragged sky-line of the Bighorn Mountains. Women and children were now left in a sheltered valley, the warriors advancing unimpeded. François de la Vérendrye remained at the camp to guard the baggage. Pierre went on with the raiders. In two weeks they were at the foot of the main range of the northern Rockies. Against the sky the snowy heights rose--an impassable barrier between the plains and the Western Sea. What lay beyond--the Beyond that had been luring them on and on, from river to river and land to land, for more than ten years? Surely on the other side of those lofty summits one might look down on the long-sought Western Sea. Never suspecting that another thousand miles of wilderness and mountain fastness lay between him and his quest, young De la Vérendrye wanted to cross the Great Divide. Destiny decreed otherwise. The raid of the Bows against the Snakes ended in a fiasco. No Snakes were to be found at their usual winter hunt. Had they decamped to massacre the Bow women and children left in the valley to the rear? The Bows fled back to their wives in a panic; so De la Vérendrye could not climb the mountains that barred the way to the sea. The retreat was made in the teeth of a howling mountain blizzard, and the warriors reached the rendezvous more dead than alive. No Snake Indians were seen at all. The Bows marched homeward along the valley of the Upper Missouri through the country of the Sioux, with whom they were allied. On the banks of the river the brothers buried a leaden plate with the royal arms of France imprinted. At the end of July, 1743, they were once more back on the Assiniboine River. For thirteen years they had followed a hopeless quest. Instead of a Western Sea, they had found a sea of prairie, a sea of mountains, and two great rivers, the Saskatchewan and the Missouri. VI 1743-1750 But the explorer, who had done so much to extend French domain in the West, was a ruined man. To the accusations of his creditors were added the jealous calumnies of fur traders eager to exploit the new country. The eldest son, with tireless energy, had gone up the Saskatchewan to Fort Poskoyac when he was recalled to take a position in the army at Montreal. In 1746 De la Vérendrye himself was summoned to Quebec and his command given to M. de Noyelles. The game being played by jealous rivals was plain. De la Vérendrye was to be kept out of the West while tools of the Quebec traders spied out the fur trade of the Assiniboine and the Missouri. Immediately on receiving freedom from military duty, young Chevalier de la Vérendrye set out for Manitoba. On the way he met his father's successor, M. de Noyelles, coming home crestfallen. The supplanter had failed to control the Indians. In one year half the forts of the chain leading to the Western Sea had been destroyed. These Chevalier de la Vérendrye restored as he passed westward. Governor Beauharnois had always refused to believe the charges of private peculation against M. de la Vérendrye. Governor de la Galissonnière was equally favorable to the explorer; and De la Vérendrye was decorated with the Order of the Cross of St. Louis, and given permission to continue his explorations. The winter of 1749 was passed preparing supplies for the posts of the West; but a life of hardship and disappointment had undermined the constitution of the dauntless pathfinder. On the 6th of December, while busy with plans for his hazardous and thankless quest, he died suddenly at Montreal. Rival fur traders scrambled for the spoils of the Manitoba and Missouri territory like dogs for a bone. De la Jonquière had become governor. Allied with him was the infamous Bigot, the intendant, and those two saw in the Western fur trade an opportunity to enrich themselves. The rights of De la Vérendrye's sons to succeed their father were entirely disregarded. Legardeur de Saint-Pierre was appointed commander of the Western Sea. The very goods forwarded by De la Vérendrye were confiscated. [Illustration: "Tepees dotted the valley."] But Saint-Pierre had enough trouble from his appointment. His lieutenant, M. de Niverville, almost lost his life among hostiles on the way down the Saskatchewan after building Fort Lajonquière at the foothills of the Rockies, where Calgary now stands. Saint-Pierre had headquarters in Manitoba on the Assiniboine, and one afternoon in midwinter, when his men were out hunting, he saw his fort suddenly fill with armed Assiniboines bent on massacre. They jostled him aside, broke into the armory, and helped themselves to weapons. Saint-Pierre had only one recourse. Seizing a firebrand, he tore the cover off a keg of powder and threatened to blow the Indians to perdition. The marauders dashed from the fort, and Saint-Pierre shot the bolts of gate and sally-port. When the white hunters returned, they quickly gathered their possessions together and abandoned Fort de la Reine. Four days later the fort lay in ashes. So ended the dream of enthusiasts to find a way overland to the Western Sea. [1] The authorities for La Vérendrye's life are, of course, his own reports as found in the State Papers of the Canadian Archives, Pierre Margry's compilation of these reports, and the Rev. Father Jones' collection of the _Aulneau Letters_. [2] The _Pays d'en Haut_ or "Up-Country" was the vague name given by the fur traders to the region between the Missouri and the North Pole. [3] Throughout this volume the word "Sioux" is used as applying to the entire confederacy, and not to the Minnesota Sioux only. PART III 1769-1782 SEARCH FOR THE NORTHWEST PASSAGE LEADS SAMUEL HEARNE TO THE ARCTIC CIRCLE AND ATHABASCA REGION CHAPTER IX 1769-1782 SAMUEL HEARNE The Adventures of Hearne in his Search for the Coppermine River and the Northwest Passage--Hilarious Life of Wassail led by Governor Norton--The Massacre of the Eskimo by Hearne's Indians North of the Arctic Circle--Discovery of the Athabasca Country--Hearne becomes Resident Governor of the Hudson's Bay Company, but is captured by the French--Frightful Death of Norton and Suicide of Matonabbee For a hundred years after receiving its charter to exploit the furs of the North, the Hudson's Bay Company slumbered on the edge of a frozen sea. Its fur posts were scattered round the desolate shores of the Northern bay like beads on a string; but the languid Company never attempted to penetrate the unknown lands beyond the coast. It was unnecessary. The Indians came to the Company. The company did not need to go to the Indians. Just as surely as spring cleared the rivers of ice and set the unlocked torrents rushing to the sea, there floated down-stream Indian dugout and birch canoe, loaded with wealth of peltries for the fur posts of the English Company. So the English sat snugly secure inside their stockades, lords of the wilderness, and drove a thriving trade with folded hands. For a penny knife, they bought a beaver skin; and the skin sold in Europe for two or three shillings. The trade of the old Company was not brisk; but it paid. [Illustration: An Eskimo Belle. Note the apron of ermine and sable]. It was the prod of keen French traders that stirred the slumbering giant. In his search for the Western Sea, De la Vérendrye had pushed west by way of the Great Lakes to the Missouri and the Rocky Mountains and the Saskatchewan. Henceforth, not so many furs came down-stream to the English Company on the bay. De la Vérendrye had been followed by hosts of free-lances--_coureurs_ and _voyageurs_--who spread through the wilderness from the Missouri to the Athabasca, intercepting the fleets of furs that formerly went to Hudson Bay. The English Company rubbed its eyes; and rivals at home began to ask what had been done in return for the charter. France had never ceased seeking the mythical Western Sea that was supposed to lie just beyond the Mississippi; and when French buccaneers destroyed the English Company's forts on the bay, the English ambassador at Paris exacted such an enormous bill of damages that the Hudson Bay traders were enabled to build a stronger fortress up at Prince of Wales on the mouth of Churchill River than the French themselves possessed at Quebec on the St. Lawrence. What--asked the rivals of the Company in London--had been done in return for such national protection? France had discovered and explored a whole new world north of the Missouri. What had the English done? Where did the Western Sea of which Spain had possession in the South lie towards the North? What lay between the Hudson Bay and that Western Sea? Was there a Northwest passage by water through this region to Asia? If not, was there an undiscovered world in the North, like Louisiana in the South? There was talk of revoking the charter. Then the Company awakened from its long sleep with a mighty stir. The annual boats that came out to Hudson Bay in the summer of 1769 anchored on the offing, six miles from the gray walls of Fort Prince of Wales, and roared out a salute of cannon becoming the importance of ships that bore almost revolutionary commissions. The fort cannon on the walls of Churchill River thundered their answer. A pinnace came scudding over the waves from the ships. A gig boat launched out from the fort to welcome the messengers. Where the two met halfway, packets of letters were handed to Moses Norton, governor at Fort Prince of Wales, commanding him to despatch his most intrepid explorers for the discovery of unknown rivers, strange lands, rumored copper mines, and the mythical Northwest Passage that was supposed to lead directly to China. The fort lay on a spit of sand running out into the bay at the mouth of Churchill River. It was three hundred yards long by three hundred yards wide, with four bastions, in three of which were stores and wells of water. The fourth bastion contained the powder-magazine. The walls were thirty feet wide at the bottom and twenty feet wide at the top, of hammer-dressed stone, mounted with forty great cannon. A commodious stone house, furnished with all the luxuries of the chase, stood in the centre of the courtyard. This was the residence of the governor. Offices, warehouses, barracks, and hunters' lodges were banked round the inner walls of the fort. The garrison consisted of thirty-nine common soldiers and a few officers. In addition, there hung about the fort the usual habitués of a Northern fur post,--young clerks from England, who had come out for a year's experience in the wilds; underpaid artisans, striving to mend their fortunes by illicit trade; hunters and _coureurs_ and _voyageurs_, living like Indians but with a strain of white blood that forever distinguished them from their comrades; stately Indian sachems, stalking about the fort with whiffs of contempt from their long calumets for all this white-man luxury; and a ragamuffin brigade,--squaws, youngsters, and beggars,--who subsisted by picking up food from the waste heap of the fort. The commission to despatch explorers to the inland country proved the sensation of a century at the fort. Round the long mess-room table gathered officers and traders, intent on the birch-bark maps drawn by old Indian chiefs of an unknown interior, where a "Far-Off-Metal River" flowed down to the Northwest Passage. Huge log fires blazed on the stone hearths at each end of the mess room. Smoky lanterns and pine fagots, dipped in tallow and stuck in iron clamps, shed a fitful light from rafters that girded ceiling and walls. On the floor of flagstones lay enormous skins of the chase--polar bear, Arctic wolf, and grizzly. Heads of musk-ox, caribou, and deer decorated the great timber girders. Draped across the walls were Company flags--an English ensign with the letters "H. B. C." painted in white on a red background, or in red on a white background. At the head of the table sat one of the most remarkable scoundrels known in the annals of the Company, Moses Norton, governor of Fort Prince of Wales, a full-blooded Indian, who had been sent to England for nine years to be educated and had returned to the fort to resume all the vices and none of the virtues of white man and red. Clean-skinned, copper-colored, lithe and wiry as a tiger cat, with the long, lank, oily black hair of his race, Norton bore himself with all the airs of a European princelet and dressed himself in the beaded buckskins of a savage. Before him the Indians cringed as before one of their demon gods, and on the same principle. Bad gods could do the Indians harm. Good gods wouldn't. Therefore, the Indians propitiated the bad gods; and of all Indian demons Norton was the worst. The black arts of mediaeval poisoning were known to him, and he never scrupled to use them against an enemy. The Indians thought him possessed of the power of the evil eye; but his power was that of arsenic or laudanum dropped in the food of an unsuspecting enemy. Two of his wives, with all of whom he was inordinately jealous, had died of poison. Against white men who might offend him he used more open means,--the triangle, the whipping post, the branding iron. Needless to say that a man who wielded such power swelled the Company's profits and stood high in favor with the directors. At his right hand lay an enormous bunch of keys. These he carried with him by day and kept under his pillow by night. They were the keys to the apartments of his many wives, for like all Indians Norton believed in a plurality of wives, and the life of no Indian was safe who refused to contribute a daughter to the harem. The two master passions of the governor were jealousy and tyranny; and while he lived like a Turkish despot himself, he ruled his fort with a rod of iron and left the brand of his wrath on the person of soldier or officer who offered indignity to the Indian race. It was a common thing for Norton to poison an Indian who refused to permit a daughter to join the collection of wives; then to flog the back off a soldier who casually spoke to one of the wives in the courtyard; and in the evening spend the entire supper hour preaching sermons on virtue to his men. By a curious freak, Marie, his daughter, now a child of nine, inherited from her father the gentle qualities of the English life in which he had passed his youth. She shunned the native women and was often to be seen hanging on her father's arm, as officers and governor smoked their pipes over the mess-room table. Near Norton sat another famous Indian, Matonabbee, the son of a slave woman at the fort, who had grown up to become a great ambassador to the native tribes for the English traders. Measuring more than six feet, straight as a lance, supple as a wrestler, thin, wiry, alert, restless with the instinct of the wild creatures, Matonabbee was now in the prime of his manhood, chief of the Chipewyans at the fort, and master of life and death to all in his tribe. It was Matonabbee whom the English traders sent up the Saskatchewan to invite the tribes of the Athabasca down to the bay. The Athabascans listened to the message of peace with a treacherous smile. At midnight assassins stole to his tent, overpowered his slave, and dragged the captive out. Leaping to his feet, Matonabbee shouted defiance, hurled his assailants aside like so many straws, pursued the raiders to their tents, single-handed released his slave, and marched out unscathed. That was the way Matonabbee had won the Athabascans for the Hudson's Bay Company. Officers of the garrison, bluff sea-captains, spinning yarns of iceberg and floe, soldiers and traders, made up the rest of the company. Among the white men was one eager face,--that of Samuel Hearne, who was to explore the interior and now scanned the birch-bark drawings to learn the way to the "Far-off-Metal River." [Illustration: Samuel Hearne.] By November 6 all was in readiness for the departure of the explorer. Two Indian guides, who knew the way to the North, were assigned to Hearne; two European servants went with him to look after the provisions; and two Indian hunters joined the company. In the gray mist of Northern dawn, with the stars still pricking through the frosty air, seven salutes of cannon awakened the echoes of the frozen sea. The gates of the fort flung open, creaking with the frost rust, and Hearne came out, followed by his little company, the dog bells of the long toboggan sleighs setting up a merry jingling as the huskies broke from a trot to a gallop over the snow-fields for the North. Heading west-northwest, the band travelled swiftly with all the enthusiasm of untested courage. North winds cut their faces like whip-lashes. The first night out there was not enough snow to make a wind-break of the drifts; so the sleighs were piled on edge to windward, dogs and men lying heterogeneously in their shelter. When morning came, one of the Indian guides had deserted. The way became barer. Frozen swamps across which the storm wind swept with hurricane force were succeeded by high, rocky barrens devoid of game, unsheltered, with barely enough stunted shrubbery for the whittling of chips that cooked the morning and night meals. In a month the travellers had not accomplished ten miles a day. Where deer were found the Indians halted to gorge themselves with feasts. Where game was scarce they lay in camp, depending on the white hunters. Within three weeks rations had dwindled to one partridge a day for the entire company. The Indians seemed to think that Hearne's white servants had secret store of food on the sleighs. The savages refused to hunt. Then Hearne suspected some ulterior design. It was to drive him back to the fort by famine. Henceforth, he noticed on the march that the Indians always preceded the whites and secured any game before his men could fire a shot. One night toward the end of November the savages plundered the sleighs. Hearne awakened in amazement to see the company marching off, laden with guns, ammunition, and hatchets. He called. Their answer was laughter that set the woods ringing. Hearne was now two hundred miles from the fort, without either ammunition or food. There was nothing to do but turn back. The weather was fair. By snaring partridges, the white men obtained enough game to sustain them till they reached the fort on the 11th of December. [Illustration: Eskimo using Double-bladed Paddle.] The question now was whether to wait till spring or set out in the teeth of midwinter. If Hearne left the fort in spring, he could not possibly reach the Arctic Circle till the following winter; and with the North buried under drifts of snow, he could not learn where lay the Northwest Passage. If he left the fort in winter in order to reach the Arctic in summer, he must expose his guides to the risks of cold and starvation. The Indians told of high, rocky barrens, across which no canoes could be carried. They advised snow-shoe travel. Obtaining three Chipewyans and two Crees as guides, and taking no white servants, Hearne once more set out, on February 23, 1770, for the "Far-Away-Metal River." This time there was no cannonading. The guns were buried under snow-drifts twenty feet deep, and the snow-shoes of the travellers glided over the fort walls to the echoing cheers of soldiers and governor standing on the ramparts. The company travelled light, depending on chance game for food. All wood that could be used for fire lay hidden deep under snow. At wide intervals over the white wastes mushroom cones of snow told where a stunted tree projected the antlered branches of topmost bough through the depths of drift; but for the most part camp was made by digging through the shallowest snow with snow-shoes to the bottom of moss, which served the double purpose of fuel for the night kettle and bed for travellers. In the hollow a wigwam was erected, with the door to the south, away from the north wind. Snared rabbits and partridges supplied the food. The way lay as before--west-northwest--along a chain of frozen lakes and rivers connecting Hudson Bay with the Arctic Ocean. By April the marchers were on the margin of a desolate wilderness--the Indian region of "Little Sticks,"--known to white men as the Barren Lands, where dwarf trees project above the billowing wastes of snow like dismantled masts on the far offing of a lonely sea. Game became scarcer. Neither the round footprint of the hare nor the frost tracery of the northern grouse marked the snowy reaches of unbroken white. Caribou had retreated to the sheltered woods of the interior; and a cleverer hunter than man had scoured the wide wastes of game. Only the wolf pack roamed the Barren Lands. It was unsafe to go on without food. Hearne kept in camp till the coming of the goose month--April--when birds of passage wended their way north. For three days rations consisted of snow water and pipes of tobacco. The Indians endured the privations with stoical indifference, daily marching out on a bootless quest for game. On the third night Hearne was alone in his tent. Twilight deepened to night, night to morning. Still no hunters returned. Had he been deserted? Not a sound broke the waste silence but the baying of the wolf pack. Weak from hunger, Hearne fell asleep. Before daylight he was awakened by a shout; and his Indians shambled over the drifts laden with haunches of half a dozen deer. That relieved want till the coming of the geese. In May Hearne struck across the Barren Lands. By June the rotting snow clogged the snow-shoes. Dog trains drew heavy, and food was again scarce. For a week the travellers found nothing to eat but cranberries. Half the company was ill from hunger when a mangy old musk-ox, shedding his fur and lean as barrel hoops, came scrambling over the rocks, sure of foot as a mountain goat. A single shot brought him down. In spite of the musky odor of which the coarse flesh reeked, every morsel of the ox was instantly devoured. Sometimes during their long fasts they would encounter a solitary Indian wandering over the rocky barren. If he had arms, gun, or arrow, and carried skins of the chase, he was welcomed to camp, no matter how scant the fare. Otherwise he was shunned as an outcast, never to be touched or addressed by a human being; for only one thing could have fed an Indian on the Barren Lands who could show no trophies of the chase, and that was the flesh of some human creature weaker than himself. The outcast was a cannibal, condemned by an unwritten law to wander alone through the wastes. Snow had barely cleared from the Barren Lands when Hearne witnessed the great traverse of the caribou herds, marching in countless multitudes with a clicking of horns and hoofs from west to east for the summer. Indians from all parts of the North had placed themselves at rivers across the line of march to spear the caribou as they swam; and Hearne was joined by a company of six hundred savages. Summer had dried the moss. That gave abundance of fuel. Caribou were plentiful. That supplied the hunters with pemmican. Hearne decided to pass the following winter with the Indians; but he was one white man among hundreds of savages. Nightly his ammunition was plundered. One of his survey instruments was broken in a wind storm. Others were stolen. It was useless to go on without instruments to take observations of the Arctic Circle; so for a second time Hearne was compelled to turn back to Fort Prince of Wales. Terrible storms impeded the return march. His dog was frozen in the traces. Tent poles were used for fire-wood; and the northern lights served as the only compass. On midday of November 25, 1770, after eight months' absence, in which he had not found the "Far-Off-Metal River," Hearne reached shelter inside the fort walls. Beating through the gales of sleet and snow on the homeward march, Hearne had careened into a majestic figure half shrouded by the storm. The explorer halted before a fur-muffled form, six feet in its moccasins, erect as a mast pole, haughty as a king; and the gauntleted hand of the Indian chief went up to his forehead in sign of peace. It was Matonabbee, the ambassador of the Hudson's Bay Company to the Athabascans, now returning to Fort Prince of Wales, followed by a long line of slave women driving their dog sleighs. The two travellers hailed each other through the storm like ships at sea. That night they camped together on the lee side of the dog sleighs, piled high as a wind-break; and Matonabbee, the famous courser of the Northern wastes, gave Hearne wise advice. Women should be taken on a long journey, the Indian chief said; for travel must be swift through the deadly cold of the barrens. Men must travel light of hand, trusting to chance game for food. Women were needed to snare rabbits, catch partridges, bring in game shot by the braves, and attend to the camping. And then in a burst of enthusiasm, perhaps warmed by Hearne's fine tobacco, Matonabbee, who had found the way to the Athabasca, offered to conduct the white man to the "Far-Off-Metal River" of the Arctic Circle. The chief was the greatest pathfinder of the Northern tribes. His offer was the chance of a lifetime. Hearne could hardly restrain his eagerness till he reached the fort. Leaving Matonabbee to follow with the slave women, the explorer hurried to Fort Prince of Wales, laid the plan before Governor Norton, and in less than two weeks from the day of his return was ready to depart for the unknown river that was to lead to the Northwest Passage. The weather was dazzlingly clear, with that burnished brightness of polished steel known only where unbroken sunlight meets unbroken snow glare. On the 7th of December, 1770, Hearne left the fort, led by Matonabbee and followed by the slave Indians with the dog sleighs. One of Matonabbee's wives lay ill; but that did not hinder the iron pathfinder. The woman was wrapped in robes and drawn on a dog sleigh. There was neither pause nor hesitation. If the woman recovered, good. If she died, they would bury her under a cairn of stones as they travelled. Matonabbee struck directly west-northwest for some _caches_ of provisions which he had left hidden on the trail. The place was found; but the _caches_ had been rifled clean of food. That did not stop Matonabbee. Nor did he show the slightest symptoms of anger. He simply hastened their pace the more for their hunger, recognizing the unwritten law of the wilderness--that starving hunters who had rifled the _cache_ had a right to food wherever they found it. Day after day, stoical as men of bronze, the marchers reeled off the long white miles over the snowy wastes, pausing only for night sleep with evening and morning meals. Here nibbled twigs were found; there the stamping ground of a deer shelter; elsewhere the small, cleft foot-mark like the ace of hearts. But the signs were all old. No deer were seen. Even the black marble eye that betrays the white hare on the snow, and the fluffy bird track of the feather-footed northern grouse, grew rarer; and the slave women came in every morning empty-handed from untouched snares. In spite of hunger and cold, Matonabbee remained good-natured, imperturbable, hard as a man of bronze, coursing with the winged speed of snow-shoes from morning till night without pause, going to a bed of rock moss on a meal of snow water and rising eager as an arrow to leave the bow-string for the next day's march. For three days before Christmas the entire company had no food but snow. Christmas was celebrated by starvation. Hearne could not indulge in the despair of the civilized man's self-pity when his faithful guides went on without complaint. [Illustration: Eskimo Family, taken by Light of Midnight Sun.--C. W. Mathers.] By January the company had entered the Barren Lands. The Barren Lands were bare but for an occasional oasis of trees like an island of refuge in a shelterless sea. In the clumps of dwarf shrubs, the Indians found signs that meant relief from famine--tufts of hair rubbed off on tree trunks, fallen antlers, and countless heart-shaped tracks barely puncturing the snow but for the sharp outer edge. The caribou were on their yearly traverse east to west for the shelter of the inland woods. The Indians at once pitched camp. Scouts went scouring to find which way the caribou herds were coming. Pounds of snares were constructed of shrubs and saplings stuck up in palisades with scarecrows on the pickets round a V-shaped enclosure. The best hunters took their station at the angle of the V, armed with loaded muskets and long, lank, and iron-pointed arrows. Women and children lined the palisades to scare back high jumpers or strays of the caribou herd. Then scouts and dogs beat up the rear of the fleeing herd, driving the caribou straight for the pound. By a curious provision of nature, the male caribou sheds its antlers just as he leaves the Barren Lands for the wooded interior, where the horns would impede flight through brush, and he only leaves the woods for the bare open when the horns are grown enough to fight the annual battle to protect the herd from the wolf pack ravenous with spring hunger. For one caribou caught in the pound by Hearne's Indians, a hundred of the herd escaped; for the caribou crossed the Barrens in tens of thousands, and Matonabbee's braves obtained enough venison for the trip to the "Far-Off-Metal River." The farther north they travelled the scanter became the growth of pine and poplar and willow. Snow still lay heavy in April; but Matonabbee ordered a halt while there was still large enough wood to construct dugouts to carry provisions down the river. The boats were built large and heavy in front, light behind. This was to resist the ice jam of Northern currents. The caribou hunt had brought other Indians to the Barren Lands. Matonabbee was joined by two hundred warriors. Though the tribes puffed the calumet of peace together, they drew their war hatchets when they saw the smoke of an alien tribe's fire rise against the northern sky. A suspicion that he hardly dared to acknowledge flashed through Hearne's mind. Eleven thousand beaver pelts were yearly brought down to the fort from the unknown river. How did the Chipewyans obtain these pelts from the Eskimo? What was the real reason of the Indian eagerness to conduct the white man to the "Far-Off-Metal River"? The white man was not taken into the confidence of the Indian council; but he could not fail to draw his own conclusions. Scouts were sent cautiously forward to trail the path of the aliens who had lighted the far moss fire. Women and children were ordered to head about for a rendezvous southwest on Lake Athabasca. Carrying only the lightest supplies, the braves set out swiftly for the North on June 1. Mist and rain hung so heavily over the desolate moors that the travellers could not see twenty feet ahead. In places the rocks were glazed with ice and scored with runnels of water. Half the warriors here lost heart and turned back. The others led by Hearne and Matonabbee crossed the iced precipices on hands and knees, with gun stocks strapped to backs or held in teeth. On the 21st of June the sun did not set. Hearne had crossed the Arctic Circle. The sun hung on the southern horizon all night long. Henceforth the travellers marched without tents. During rain or snow storm, they took refuge under rocks or in caves. Provisions turned mouldy with wet. The moss was too soaked for fire. Snow fell so heavily in drifting storms that Hearne often awakened in the morning to find himself almost immured in the cave where they had sought shelter. Ice lay solid on the lakes in July. Once, clambering up steep, bare heights, the travellers met a herd of a hundred musk-oxen scrambling over the rocks with the agility of squirrels, the spreading, agile hoof giving grip that lifted the hulking forms over all obstacles. Down the bleak, bare heights there poured cataract and mountain torrent, plainly leading to some near river bed; but the thick gray fog lay on the land like a blanket. At last a thunder-storm cleared the air; and Hearne saw bleak moors sloping north, bare of all growth but the trunks of burnt trees, with barren heights of rock and vast, desolate swamps, where the wild-fowl flocked in myriads. [Illustration: Fort Garry, Winnipeg, a Century Ago.] All count of day and night was now lost, for the sun did not set. Sometime between midnight and morning of July 12, 1771, with the sun as bright as noon, the lakes converged to a single river-bed a hundred yards wide, narrowing to a waterfall that roared over the rocks in three cataracts. This, then, was the "Far-Off-Metal River." Plainly, it was a disappointing discovery, this Coppermine River. It did not lead to China. It did not point the way to a Northwest Passage. In his disappointment, Hearne learned what every other discoverer in North America had learned--that the Great Northwest was something more than a bridge between Europe and Asia, that it was a world in itself with its own destiny.[1] But Hearne had no time to brood over disappointment. The conduct of his rascally companions could no longer be misunderstood. Hunters came in with game; but when the hungry slaves would have lighted a moss fire to cook the meat, the forbidding hand of a chief went up. No fires were to be lighted. The Indians advanced with whispers, dodging from stone to stone like raiders in ambush. Spies went forward on tiptoe. Then far down-stream below the cataracts Hearne descried the domed tent-tops of an Eskimo band sound asleep; for it was midnight, though the sun was at high noon. When Hearne looked back to his companions, he found himself deserted. The Indians were already wading the river for the west bank, where the Eskimo had camped. Hearne overtook his guides stripping themselves of everything that might impede flight or give hand-hold to an enemy, and daubing their skin with war-paint. Hearne begged Matonabbee to restrain the murderous warriors. The great chief smiled with silent contempt. He was too true a disciple of a doctrine which Indians' practised hundreds of years before white men had avowed it--the survival of the fit, the extermination of the weak, for any qualms of pity towards a victim whose death would contribute profit. Wearing only moccasins and bucklers of hardened hide, armed with muskets, lances, and tomahawks, the Indians jostled Hearne out of their way, stole forward from stone to stone to within a gun length of the Eskimo, then with a wild war shout flung themselves on the unsuspecting sleepers. The Eskimo were taken unprepared. They staggered from their tents, still dazed in sleep, to be mowed down by a crashing of firearms which they had never before heard. The poor creatures fled in frantic terror, to be met only by lance point and gun butt. A young girl fell coiling at Hearne's feet like a wounded snake. A well-aimed lance had pinioned the living form to earth. She caught Hearne round the knees, imploring him with dumb entreaty; but the white man was pushed back with jeers. Sobbing with horror, Hearne begged the Indians to put their victim out of pain. The rocks rang with the mockery of the torturers. She was speared to death before Hearne's eyes. On that scene of indescribable horror the white man could no longer bear to look. He turned toward the river, and there was a spectacle like a nightmare. Some of the Eskimo were escaping by leaping to their hide boats and with lightning strokes of the double-bladed paddles dashing down the current to the far bank of the river; but sitting motionless as stone was an old, old woman--probably a witch of the tribe--red-eyed as if she were blind, deaf to all the noise about her, unconscious of all her danger, fishing for salmon below the falls. There was a shout from the raiders; the old woman did not even look up to face her fate; and she too fell a victim to that thirst for blood which is as insatiable in the redskin as in the wolf pack. Odd commentary in our modern philosophies--this white-man explorer, unnerved, unmanned, weeping with pity, this champion of the weak, jostled aside by bloodthirsty, triumphant savages, represented the race that was to jostle the Indian from the face of the New World. Something more than a triumphant, aggressive Strength was needed to the permanency of a race; and that something more was represented by poor, weak, vacillating Hearne, weeping like a woman. Horror of the massacre robbed Hearne of all an explorer's exultation. A day afterward, on July 17, he stood on the shores of the Arctic Ocean,--the first white man to reach it overland in America. Ice extended from the mouth of the river as far as eye could see. Not a sign of land broke the endless reaches of cold steel, where the snow lay, and icy green, where pools of the ocean cast their reflection on the sky of the far horizon. At one in the morning, with the sun hanging above the river to the south, Hearne formally took possession of the Arctic regions for the Hudson's Bay Company. The same Company rules those regions to-day. Not an eye had been closed for three days and nights. Throwing themselves down on the wet shore, the entire band now slept for six hours. The hunters awakened to find a musk-ox nosing over the mossed rocks. A shot sent it tumbling over the cliffs. Whether it was that the moss was too wet for fuel to cook the meat, or the massacre had brutalized the men into beasts of prey, the Indians fell on the carcass and devoured it raw.[2] [Illustration: Plan of Fort Prince of Wales, from Robson's Drawing, 1733-47.] The retreat from the Arctic was made with all swiftness, keeping close to the Coppermine River. For thirty miles from the sea not a tree was to be seen. The river was sinuous and narrow, hemmed in by walls of solid rock, down which streamed cascades and mountain torrents. On both sides of the high bank extended endless reaches of swamps and barrens. Twenty miles from the sea Hearne found the copper mines from which the Indians made their weapons. His guides were to join their families in the Athabasca country of the southwest, and thither Matonabbee now led the way at such a terrible pace that moccasins were worn to shreds and toe-nails torn from the feet of the marchers; and woe to the man who fell behind, for the wolf pack prowled on the rear. When the smoke of moss fires told of the wives' camp, the Indians halted to take the sweat bath of purification for the cleansing of all blood guilt from the massacre. Heated stones were thrown into a small pool. In this each Indian bathed himself, invoking his deity for freedom from all punishment for the deaths of the slain.[3] By August the Indians had joined their wives. By October they were on Lake Athabasca, which had already frozen. Here one of the wives, in the last stages of consumption, could go no farther. For a band short of food to halt on the march meant death to all. The Northern wilderness has its grim unwritten law, inexorable and merciless as death. For those who fall by the way there is no pity. A whole tribe may not be exposed to death for the sake of one person. Civilized nations follow the same principle in their quarantine. Giving the squaw food and a tent, the Indians left her to meet her last enemy, whether death came by starvation or cold or the wolf pack. Again and again the abandoned squaw came up with the marchers, weeping and begging their pity, only to fall from weakness. But the wilderness has no pity; and so they left her. Christmas of 1771 was passed on Athabasca Lake, the northern lights rustling overhead with the crackling of a flag. There was food in plenty; for the Athabasca was rich in buffalo meadows and beaver dams and moose yards. On the lake shore Hearne found a little cabin, in which dwelt a solitary woman of the Dog Rib tribe who for eight months had not seen a soul. Her band had been massacred. She alone escaped and had lived here in hiding for almost a year. In spring the Indians of the lake carried their furs to the forts of Hudson Bay. With the Athabascans went Hearne, reaching Fort Prince of Wales on June 30, 1772, after eighteen months' absence. He had discovered Coppermine River, the Arctic Ocean, and the Athabasca country,--a region in all as large as half European Russia. For his achievements Hearne received prompt promotion. Within a year of his return to the fort, Governor Norton, the Indian bully, fell deadly ill. In the agony of death throes, he called for his wives. The great keys to the apartments of the women were taken from his pillow, and the wives were brought in. Norton lay convulsed with pain. One of the younger women began to sob. An officer of the garrison took her hand to comfort her grief. Norton's rolling eyes caught sight of the innocent conference between the officer and the young wife. With a roar the dying bully hurled himself up in bed:-- "I'll burn you alive! I'll burn you alive," he shrieked. With oaths on his lips he fell back dead. [Illustration: Fort Prince of Wales (Churchill), from Hearne's Account, 1799 Edition.] Samuel Hearne became governor of the fort. For ten years nothing disturbed the calm of his rule. Marie, Norton's daughter, still lived in the shelter of the fort; the wives found consolation in other husbands; and Matonabbee continued the ambassador of the company to strange tribes. One afternoon of August, 1782, the sleepy calm of the fort was upset by the sentry dashing in breathlessly with news that three great vessels of war with full-blown sails and carrying many guns were ploughing straight for Prince of Wales. At sundown the ships swung at anchor six miles from the fort. From their masts fluttered a foreign flag--the French ensign. Gig boat and pinnace began sounding the harbor. Hearne had less than forty men to defend the fort. In the morning four hundred French troopers lined up on Churchill River, and the admiral, La Perouse, sent a messenger with demand of surrender. Hearne did not feel justified in exposing his men to the attack of three warships carrying from seventy to a hundred guns apiece, and to assault by land of four hundred troopers. He surrendered without a blow. [Illustration: Beaver Coin of Hudson's Bay Company, melted from Old Tea Chests, one Coin representing one Beaver.] The furs were quickly transferred to the French ships, and the soldiers were turned loose to loot the fort. The Indians fled, among them Moses Norton's gentle daughter, now in her twenty-second year. She could not revert to the loathsome habits of savage life; she dared not go to the fort filled with lawless foreign soldiers; and she perished of starvation outside the walls. Matonabbee had been absent when the French came. He returned to find the fort where he had spent his life in ruins. The English whom he thought invincible were defeated and prisoners of war. Hearne, whom the dauntless old chief had led through untold perils, was a captive. Matonabbee's proud spirit was broken. The grief was greater than he could bear. All that living stood for had been lost. Drawing off from observation, Matonabbee blew his brains out. [1] I have purposely avoided bringing up the dispute as to a mistake of some few degrees made by Hearne in his calculations--the point really being finical. [2] I am sorry to say that in pioneer border warfares I have heard of white men acting in a precisely similar beastly manner after some brutal conflict. To be frank, I know of one case in the early days of Minnesota fur trade, where the irate fur trader killed and devoured his weak companion, not from famine, but sheer frenzy of brutalized passion. Such naked light does wilderness life shed over our drawing-room philosophies of the triumphantly strong being the highest type of manhood. [3] Again the wilderness plunges us back to the primordial: if man be but the supreme beast of prey, whence this consciousness of blood guilt in these unschooled children of the wilds? PART IV 1780-1793 FIRST ACROSS THE ROCKIES--HOW MACKENZIE CROSSED THE NORTHERN ROCKIES AND LEWIS AND CLARK WERE FIRST TO CROSS FROM MISSOURI TO COLUMBIA CHAPTER X 1780-1793 FIRST ACROSS THE ROCKIES How Mackenzie found the Great River named after him and then pushed across the Mountains to the Pacific, forever settling the question of a Northwest Passage There is an old saying that if a man has the right mettle in him, you may stick him a thousand leagues in the wilderness on a barren rock and he will plant pennies and grow dollar bills. In other words, no matter where or how, success will succeed. No class illustrates this better than a type that has almost passed away--the old fur traders who were lords of the wilderness. Cut off from all comfort, from all encouragement, from all restraint, what set of men ever had fewer incentives to go up, more temptations to go down? Yet from the fur traders sprang the pioneer heroes of America. When young Donald Smith came out--a raw lad--to America, he was packed off to eighteen years' exile on the desert coast of Labrador. Donald Smith came out of the wilderness to become the Lord Strathcona of to-day. Sir Alexander Mackenzie's life presents even more dramatic contrasts. A clerk in a counting-house at Montreal one year, the next finds him at Detroit setting out for the backwoods of Michigan to barter with Indians for furs. Then he is off with a fleet of canoes forty strong for the Upper Country of forest and wilderness beyond the Great Lakes, where he fights such a desperate battle with rivals that one of his companions is murdered, a second lamed, a third wounded. In all this Alexander Mackenzie was successful while still in the prime of his manhood,--not more than thirty years of age; and the reward of his success was to be exiled to the sub-arctics of the Athabasca, six weeks' travel from another fur post,--not a likely field to play the hero. Yet Mackenzie emerged from the polar wilderness bearing a name that ranks with Columbus and Carrier and La Salle. [Illustration: Alexander Mackenzie, from a Painting of the Explorer.] Far north of the Missouri beyond the borderlands flows the Saskatchewan. As far north again, beyond the Saskatchewan, flows another great river, the Athabasca, into Athabasca Lake, on whose blue shores to the north lies a little white-washed fort of some twenty log houses, large barn-like stores, a Catholic chapel, an Episcopal mission, and a biggish residence of pretence for the chief trader. This is Fort Chipewyan. At certain seasons Indian tepees dot the surrounding plains; and bronze-faced savages, clad in the ill-fitting garments of white people, shamble about the stores, or sit haunched round the shady sides of the log houses, smoking long-stemmed pipes. These are the Chipewyans come in from their hunting-grounds; but for the most part the fort seems chiefly populated by regiments of husky dogs, shaggy-coated, with the sharp nose of the fox, which spend the long winters in harness coasting the white wilderness, and pass the summers basking lazily all day long except when the bell rings for fish time, when half a hundred huskies scramble wildly for the first meat thrown. A century ago Chipewyan was much the same as to-day, except that it lay on the south side of the lake. Mails came only once in two years instead of monthly, and rival traders were engaged in the merry game of slitting each other's throats. All together, it wasn't exactly the place for ambition to dream; but ambition was there in the person of Alexander Mackenzie, the young fur trader, dreaming what he hardly dared hope. Business men fight shy of dreamers; so Mackenzie told his dreams to no one but his cousin Roderick, whom he pledged to secrecy. For fifty years the British government had offered a reward of 20,000 pounds to any one who should discover a Northwest Passage between the Atlantic and the Pacific. The hope of such a passageway had led many navigators on bootless voyages; and here was Mackenzie with the same bee in his bonnet. To the north of Chipewyan he saw a mighty river, more than a mile wide in places, walled in by great ramparts, and flowing to unknown seas. To the west he saw another river rolling through the far mountains. Where did this river come from, and where did both rivers go? Mackenzie was not the man to leave vital questions unanswered. He determined to find out; but difficulties lay in the way. He couldn't leave the Athabascan posts. That was overcome by getting his cousin Roderick to take charge. The Northwest Fur Company, which had succeeded the French fur traders of Quebec and Montreal when Canada passed from the hands of the French to the English, wouldn't assume any cost or risk for exploring unknown seas. This was more niggardly than the Hudson's Bay Company, which had paid all cost of outlay for its explorers; but Mackenzie assumed risk and cost himself. Then the Indians hesitated to act as guides; so Mackenzie hired guides when he could, seized them by compulsion when he couldn't hire them, and went ahead without guides when they escaped. [Illustration: Eskimo trading his Pipe, carved from Walrus Tusk, for the Value of Three Beaver Skins.] May--the frog moon--and June--the bird's egg moon--were the festive seasons at Fort Chipewyan on Lake Athabasca. Indian hunters came tramping in from the Barren Lands with toboggan loads of pelts drawn by half-wild husky dogs. Woody Crees and Slaves and Chipewyans paddled across the lake in canoes laden to the gunwales with furs. A world of white skin tepees sprang up like mushrooms round the fur post. By June the traders had collected the furs, sorted and shipped them in flotillas of keel boat, barge, and canoe, east to Lake Superior and Montreal. On the evening of June 2, 1789, Alexander Mackenzie, chief trader, had finished the year's trade and sent the furs to the Eastern warehouses of the Northwest Company, on Lake Superior, at Fort William, not far from where Radisson had first explored, and La Vérendrye followed. Indians lingered round the fort of the Northern lake engaged in mad _boissons_, or drinking matches, that used up a winter's earnings in the spree of a single week. Along the shore lay upturned canoes, keels red against the blue of the lake, and everywhere in the dark burned the red fires of the boatmen melting resin to gum the seams of the canoes; for the canoes were to be launched on a long voyage the next day. Mackenzie was going to float down with the current of the Athabasca or Grand River, and find out where that great river emptied in the North. The crew must have spent the night in a last wild spree; for it was nine in the morning before all hands were ready to embark. In Mackenzie's large birch canoe went four Canadian _voyageurs_, their Indian wives, and a German. In other canoes were the Indian hunters and interpreters, led by "English Chief," who had often been to Hudson Bay. Few provisions were taken. The men were to hunt, the women to cook and keep the _voyageurs_ supplied with moccasins, which wore out at the rate of one pair a day for each man. Traders bound for Slave Lake followed behind. Only fifty miles were made the first day. Henceforth Mackenzie embarked his men at three and four in the morning. [Illustration: Quill and Bead Work on Buckskin, Mackenzie River Indians.] The mouth of Peace River was passed a mile broad as it pours down from the west, and the boatmen _portaged_ six rapids the third day, one of the canoes, steered by a squaw more intent on her sewing than the paddles, going over the falls with a smash that shivered the bark to kindling-wood. The woman escaped, as the current caught the canoe, by leaping into the water and swimming ashore with the aid of a line. Ice four feet thick clung to the walls of the rampart shores, and this increased the danger of landing for a _portage_, the Indians whining out their complaints in exactly the tone of the wailing north wind that had cradled their lives--"Eduiy, eduiy!--It is hard, white man, it is hard!" And harder the way became. For nine nights fog lay so heavily on the river that not a star was seen. This was followed by driving rain and wind. Mackenzie hoisted a three-foot sail and cut over the water before the wind with the hiss of a boiling kettle. Though the sail did the work of the paddles, it gave the _voyageurs_ no respite. Cramped and rain-soaked, they had to bail out water to keep the canoe afloat. In this fashion the boats entered Slave Lake, a large body of water with one horn pointing west, the other east. Out of both horns led unknown rivers. Which way should Mackenzie go? Low-lying marshlands--beaver meadows where the wattled houses of the beaver had stopped up the current of streams till moss overgrew the swamps and the land became quaking muskeg--lay along the shores of the lake. There were islands in deep water, where caribou had taken refuge, travelling over ice in winter for the calves to be safe in summer from wolf pack and bear. Mackenzie hired a guide from the Slave Indians to pilot the canoes over the lake; but the man proved useless. Days were wasted poking through mist and rushes trying to find an outlet to the Grand River of the North. Finally, English Chief lost his temper and threatened to kill the Slave Indian unless he succeeded in taking the canoes out of the lake. The waters presently narrowed to half a mile; the current began to race with a hiss; sails were hoisted on fishing-poles; and Mackenzie found himself out of the rushes on the Grand River to the west of Slave Lake. [Illustration: Fort William, Headquarters Northwest Company, Lake Superior.] Here pause was made at a camp of Dog Ribs, who took the bottom from the courage of Mackenzie's comrades by gruesome predictions that old age would come upon the _voyageurs_ before they reached salt water. There were impassable falls ahead. The river flowed through a land of famine peopled by a monstrous race of hostiles who massacred all Indians from the South. The effect of these cheerful prophecies was that the Slave Lake guide refused to go on. English Chief bodily put the recalcitrant into a canoe and forced him ahead at the end of a paddle. Snow-capped mountains loomed to the west. The river from Bear Lake was passed, greenish of hue like the sea, and the Slave Lake guide now feigned such illness that watch was kept day and night to prevent his escape. The river now began to wind, with lofty ramparts on each side; and once, at a sharp bend in the current, Mackenzie looked back to see Slave Lake Indians following to aid the guide in escaping. After that one of the white men slept with the fellow each night to prevent desertion; but during the confusion of a terrific thunder-storm, when tents and cooking utensils were hurled about their heads, the Slave succeeded in giving his watchers the slip. Mackenzie promptly stopped at an encampment of strange Indians, and failing to obtain another guide by persuasion, seized and hoisted a protesting savage into the big canoe, and signalled the unwilling captive to point the way. The Indians of the river were indifferent, if not friendly; but once Mackenzie discovered a band hiding their women and children as soon as the boatmen came in view. The unwilling guide was forced ashore, as interpreter, and gifts pacified all fear. But the incident left its impression on Mackenzie's comrades. They had now been away from Chipewyan for forty days. If it took much longer to go back, ice would imprison them in the polar wilderness. Snow lay drifted in the valleys, and scarcely any game was seen but fox and grouse. The river was widening almost to the dimensions of a lake, and when this was whipped by a north wind the canoes were in peril enough. The four Canadians besought Mackenzie to return. To return Mackenzie had not the slightest intention; but he would not tempt mutiny. He promised that if he did not find the sea within seven days, he would go back. That night the sun hung so high above the southern horizon that the men rose by mistake to embark at twelve o'clock. They did not realize that they were in the region of midnight sun; but Mackenzie knew and rejoiced, for he must be near the sea. The next day he was not surprised to find a deserted Eskimo village. At that sight the enthusiasm of the others took fire. They were keen to reach the sea, and imagined that they smelt salt water. In spite of the lakelike expanse of the river, the current was swift, and the canoes went ahead at the rate of sixty and seventy miles a day--if it could be called day when there was no night. Between the 13th and 14th of July the _voyageurs_ suddenly awakened to find themselves and their baggage floating in rising water. What had happened to the lake? Their hearts took a leap; for it was no lake. It was the tide. They had found the sea. How hilariously jubilant were Mackenzie's men, one may guess from the fact that they chased whales all the next day in their canoes. The whales dived below, fortunately; for one blow of a finback or sulphur bottom would have played skittles with the canoes. Coming back from the whale hunt, triumphant as if they had caught a dozen finbacks, the men erected a post, engraving on it the date, July 14, 1789, and the names of all present. It had taken six weeks to reach the Arctic. It took eight to return to Chipewyan, for the course was against stream, in many places tracking the canoes by a tow-line. The beaver meadows along the shore impeded the march. Many a time the quaking moss gave way, and the men sank to mid-waist in water. While skirting close ashore, Mackenzie discovered the banks of the river to be on fire. The fire was a natural tar bed, which the Indians said had been burning for centuries and which burns to-day as when Mackenzie found it. On September 12, with a high sail up and a driving wind, the canoes cut across Lake Athabasca and reached the beach of Chipewyan at three in the afternoon, after one hundred and two days' absence. Mackenzie had not found the Northwest Passage. He had proved there was no Northwest Passage, and discovered the Mississippi of the north--Mackenzie River. [Illustration: Running a Rapid on Mackenzie River.] Mackenzie spent the long winter at Fort Chipewyan; but just as soon as the rivers cleared of ice, he took passage in the east-bound canoes and hurried down to the Grand Portage or Fort William on Lake Superior, the headquarters of the Northwest Company, where he reported his discovery of Mackenzie River. His report was received with utter indifference. The company had other matters to think about. It was girding itself for the life-and-death struggle with its rival, the Hudson's Bay Company. "My expedition was hardly spoken of, but that is what I expected," he writes to his cousin. But chagrin did not deter purpose. He asked the directors' permission to explore that other broad stream--Peace River--rolling down from the mountains. His request was granted. Winter saw him on furlough in England, studying astronomy and surveying for the next expedition. Here he heard much of the Western Sea--the Pacific--that fired his eagerness. The voyages of Cook and Hanna and Meares were on everybody's lips. Spain and England and Russia were each pushing for first possession of the northwest coast. Mackenzie hurried back to his Company's fort on the banks of Peace River, where he spent a restless winter waiting for navigation to open. Doubts of his own ambitions began to trouble him. What if Peace River did not lead to the west coast at all? What if he were behind some other discoverer sent out by the Spaniards or the Russians? "I have been so vexed of late that I cannot sit down to anything steadily," he confesses in a letter to his cousin. Such a tissue-paper wall separates the aims of the real hero from those of the fool, that almost every ambitious man must pass through these periods of self-doubt before reaching the goal of his hopes. But despondency did not benumb Mackenzie into apathy, as it has weaker men. By April he had shipped the year's furs from the forks of Peace River to Chipewyan. By May his season's work was done. He was ready to go up Peace River. A birch canoe thirty feet long, lined with lightest of cedar, was built. In this were stored pemmican and powder. Alexander Mackay, a clerk of the company, was chosen as first assistant. Six Canadian _voyageurs_--two of whom had accompanied Mackenzie to the Arctic--and two Indian hunters made up the party of ten who stepped into the canoes at seven in the evening of May 9, 1793. Peace River tore down from the mountains flooded with spring thaw. The crew soon realized that paddles must be bent against the current of a veritable mill-race; but it was safer going against, than with, such a current, for unknown dangers could be seen from below instead of above, where suction would whirl a canoe on the rocks. Keen air foretold the nearing mountains. In less than a week snow-capped peaks had crowded the canoe in a narrow cañon below a tumbling cascade where the river was one wild sheet of tossing foam as far as eye could see. The difficulty was to land; for precipices rose on each side in a wall, down which rolled enormous boulders and land-slides of loose earth. To _portage_ goods up these walls was impossible. Fastening an eighty-foot tow-line to the bow, Mackenzie leaped to the declivity, axe in hand, cut foothold along the face of the steep cliff to a place where he could jump to level rock, and then, turning, signalled through the roar of the rapids for his men to come on. The _voyageurs_ were paralyzed with fear. They stripped themselves ready to swim if they missed the jump, then one by one vaulted from foothold to foothold where Mackenzie had cut till they came to the final jump across water. Here Mackenzie caught each on his shoulders as the _voyageurs_ leaped. The tow-line was then passed round trees growing on the edge of the precipice, and the canoe tracked up the raging cascade. The waves almost lashed the frail craft to pieces. Once a wave caught her sideways; the tow-line snapped like a pistol shot, for just one instant the canoe hung poised, and then the back-wash of an enormous boulder drove her bow foremost ashore, where the _voyageurs_ regained the tow-line. [Illustration: Slave Lake Indians.] The men had not bargained on this kind of work. They bluntly declared that it was absurd trying to go up cañons with such cascades. Mackenzie paid no heed to the murmurings. He got his crew to the top of the hill, spread out the best of a regale--including tea sweetened with sugar--and while the men were stimulating courage by a feast, he went ahead to reconnoitre the gorge. Windfalls of enormous spruce trees, with a thickness twice the height of a man, lay on a steep declivity of sliding rock. Up this climbed Mackenzie, clothes torn to tatters by devil's club (a thorn bush with spines like needles), boots hacked to pieces by the sharp rocks, and feet gashed with cuts. The prospect was not bright. As far as he could see the river was one succession of cataracts fifty feet wide walled in by stupendous precipices, down which rolled great boulders, shattering to pebbles as they fell. The men were right. No canoe could go up that stream. Mackenzie came back, set his men to repairing the canoe and making axe handles, to avoid the idleness that breeds mutiny, and sent Mackay ahead to see how far the rapids extended. Mackay reported that the _portage_ would be nine miles over the mountain. Leading the way, axe in hand, Mackenzie began felling trees so that the trunks formed an outer railing to prevent a fall down the precipice. Up this trail they warped the canoe by pulling the tow-line round stumps, five men going in advance to cut the way, five hauling and pushing the canoe. In one day progress was three miles. By five in the afternoon the men were so exhausted that they went to bed--if bare ground with sky overhead could be called bed. One thing alone encouraged them: as they rose higher up the mountain side, they saw that the green edges of the glaciers and the eternal snows projected over the precipices. They were nearing the summit--they must surely soon cross the Divide. The air grew colder. For three days the choppers worked in their blanket coats. When they finally got the canoe down to the river-bed, it was to see another range of impassable mountains barring the way westward. All that kept Mackenzie's men from turning back was that awful _portage_ of nine miles. Nothing ahead could be worse than what lay behind; so they embarked, following the south branch where the river forked. The stream was swift as a cascade. Half the crew walked to lighten the canoe and prevent grazing on the rocky bottoms. Once, at dusk, when walkers and paddlers happened to have camped on opposite shores, the marchers came dashing across stream, wading neck-high, with news that they had heard the firearms of Indian raiders. Fires were put out, muskets loaded, and each man took his station at the foot of a tree, where all passed a sleepless night. No hostiles appeared. The noise was probably falling avalanches. And once when Mackenzie and Mackay had gone ahead with the Indian interpreters, they came back to find that the canoe had disappeared. In vain they kindled fires, fired guns, set branches adrift on the swift current as a signal--no response came from the _voyageurs_. The boatmen evidently did not wish to be found. What Mackenzie's suspicions were one may guess. It would be easier for the crew to float back down Peace River than pull against this terrific current with more _portages_ over mountains. The Indians became so alarmed that they wanted to build a raft forthwith and float back to Chipewyan. The abandoned party had not tasted a bite of food for twenty-four hours. They had not even seen a grouse, and in their powder horns were only a few rounds of ammunition. Separating, Mackenzie and his Indian went up-stream, Mackay and his went down-stream, each agreeing to signal the other by gunshots if either found the canoe. Barefooted and drenched in a terrific thunderstorm, Mackenzie wandered on till darkness shrouded the forest. He had just lain down on a soaking couch of spruce boughs when the ricochetting echo of a gun set the boulders crashing down the precipices. Hurrying down-stream, he found Mackay at the canoe. The crew pretended that a leakage about the keel had caused delay; but the canoe did not substantiate the excuse. Mackenzie said nothing; but he never again allowed the crew out of his sight on the east side of the mountains. So far there had been no sign of Indians among the mountains; and now the canoe was gliding along calm waters when savages suddenly sprang out of a thicket, brandishing spears. The crew became panic-stricken; but Mackenzie stepped fearlessly ashore, offered the hostiles presents, shook hands, and made his camp with them. The savages told him that he was nearing a _portage_ across the Divide. One of them went with Mackenzie the next day as guide. The river narrowed to a small tarn--the source of Peace River; and a short _portage_ over rocky ground brought the canoe to a second tarn emptying into a river that, to Mackenzie's disappointment, did not flow west, but south. He had crossed the Divide, the first white man to cross the continent in the North; but how could he know whether to follow this stream? It might lead east to the Saskatchewan. As a matter of fact, he was on the sources of the Fraser, that winds for countless leagues south through the mountains before turning westward for the Pacific. Full of doubt and misgivings, uncertain whether he had crossed the Divide at all, Mackenzie ordered the canoe down this river. Snowy peaks were on every side. Glaciers lay along the mountain tarns, icy green from the silt of the glacier grinding over rock; and the river was hemmed in by shadowy cañons with roaring cascades that compelled frequent _portage_. Mackenzie wanted to walk ahead, in order to lighten the canoe and look out for danger; but fear had got in the marrow of his men. They thought that he was trying to avoid risks to which he was exposing them; and they compelled him to embark, vowing, if they were to perish, he was to perish with them. To quiet their fears, Mackenzie embarked with them. Barely had they pushed out when the canoe was caught by a sucking undercurrent which the paddlers could not stem--a terrific rip told them that the canoe had struck--the rapids whirled her sideways and away she went down-stream--the men jumped out, but the current carried them to such deep water that they were clinging to the gunwales as best they could when, with another rip, the stern was torn clean out of the canoe. The blow sent her swirling--another rock battered the bow out--the keel flattened like a raft held together only by the bars. Branches hung overhead. The bowman made a frantic grab at these to stop the rush of the canoe--he was hoisted clear from his seat and dropped ashore. Mackenzie jumped out up to his waist in ice-water. The steersman had yelled for each to save himself; but Mackenzie shouted out a countermand for every man to hold on to the gunwales. In this fashion they were all dragged several hundred yards till a whirl sent the wreck into a shallow eddy. The men got their feet on bottom, and the wreckage was hauled ashore. During the entire crisis the Indians sat on top of the canoe, howling with terror. All the bullets had been lost. A few were recovered. Powder was spread out to dry; and the men flatly refused to go one foot farther. Mackenzie listened to the revolt without a word. He got their clothes dry and their benumbed limbs warmed over a roaring fire. He fed them till their spirits had risen. Then he quietly remarked that the experience would teach them how to run rapids in the future. Men of the North--to turn back? Such a thing had never been known in the history of the Northwest Fur Company. It would disgrace them forever. Think of the honor of conquering disaster. Then he vowed that he would go ahead, whether the men accompanied him or not. Then he set them to patching the canoe with oil-cloth and bits of bark; but large sheets of birch bark are rare in the Rockies; and the patched canoe weighed so heavily that the men could scarcely carry it. It took them fourteen hours to make the three-mile _portage_ of these rapids. The Indian from the mountain tribe had lost heart. Mackenzie and Mackay watched him by turns at night; but the fellow got away under cover of darkness, the crew conniving at the escape in order to compel Mackenzie to turn back. Finally the river wound into a large stream on the west side of the main range of the Rockies. Mackenzie had crossed the Divide. For a week after crossing the Divide, the canoe followed the course of the river southward. This was not what Mackenzie expected. He sought a stream flowing directly westward, and was keenly alert for sign of Indian encampment where he might learn the shortest way to the Western Sea. Once the smoke of a camp-fire rose through the bordering forest; but no sooner had Mackenzie's interpreters approached than the savages fired volley after volley of arrows and swiftly decamped, leaving no trace of a trail. There was nothing to do but continue down the devious course of the uncertain river. The current was swift and the outlook cut off by the towering mountains; but in a bend of the river they came on an Indian canoe drawn ashore. A savage was just emerging from a side stream when Mackenzie's men came in view. With a wild whoop, the fellow made off for the woods; and in a trice the narrow river was lined with naked warriors, brandishing spears and displaying the most outrageous hostility. When Mackenzie attempted to land, arrows hissed past the canoe, which they might have punctured and sunk. Determined to learn the way westward from these Indians, Mackenzie tried strategy. He ordered his men to float some distance from the savages. Then he landed alone on the shore opposite the hostiles, having sent one of his interpreters by a detour through the woods to lie in ambush with fusee ready for instant action. Throwing aside weapons, Mackenzie displayed tempting trinkets. The warriors conferred, hesitated, jumped in the canoes, and came, backing stern foremost, toward Mackenzie. He threw out presents. They came ashore and were presently sitting by his side. From them he learned the river he was following ran for "many moons" through the "shining mountains" before it reached the "midday sun." It was barred by fearful rapids; but by retracing the way back up the river, the white men could leave the canoe at a carrying place and go overland to the salt water in eleven days. From other tribes down the same river, Mackenzie gathered similar facts. He knew that the stream was misleading him; but a retrograde movement up such a current would discourage his men. He had only one month's provisions left. His ammunition had dwindled to one hundred and fifty bullets and thirty pounds of shot. Instead of folding his hands in despondency, Mackenzie resolved to set the future at defiance and go on. From the Indians he obtained promise of a man to guide him back. Then he frankly laid all the difficulties before his followers, declaring that he was going on alone and they need not continue unless they voluntarily decided to do so. His dogged courage was contagious. The speech was received with huzzas, and the canoe was headed upstream. The Indian guide was to join Mackenzie higher upstream; but the reappearance of the white men when they had said they would not be back for "many moons" roused the suspicions of the savages. The shores were lined with warriors who would receive no explanation that Mackenzie tried to give in sign language. The canoe began to leak so badly that the boatmen had to spend half the time bailing out water; and the _voyageurs_ dared not venture ashore for resin. Along the river cliff was a little three-cornered hut of thatched clay. Here Mackenzie took refuge, awaiting the return of the savage who had promised to act as guide. The three walls protected the rear, but the front of the hut was exposed to the warriors across the river; and the whites dared not kindle a fire that might serve as a target. Two nights were passed in this hazardous shelter, Mackay and Mackenzie alternately lying in their cloaks on the wet rocks, keeping watch. At midnight of the third day's siege, a rustling came from the woods to the rear and the boatmen's dog set up a furious barking. The men were so frightened that they three times loaded the canoe to desert their leader, but something in the fearless confidence of the explorer deterred them. As daylight sifted through the forest, Mackenzie descried a vague object creeping through the underbrush. A less fearless man would have fired and lost all. Mackenzie dashed out to find the cause of alarm an old blind man, almost in convulsions from fear. He had been driven from this river hut. Mackenzie quieted his terror with food. By signs the old man explained that the Indians had suspected treachery when the whites returned so soon; and by signs Mackenzie requested him to guide the canoe back up the river to the carrying place; but the old creature went off in such a palsy of fear that he had to be lifted bodily into the canoe. The situation was saved. The hostiles could not fire without wounding one of their own people; and the old man could explain the real reason for Mackenzie's return. Rations had been reduced to two meals a day. The men were still sulking from the perils of the siege when the canoe struck a stump that knocked a hole in the keel, "which," reports Mackenzie, laconically, "gave them all an opportunity to let loose their discontent without reserve." Camp after camp they passed, which the old man's explanations pacified, till they at length came to the carrying place. Here, to the surprise and delight of all, the guide awaited them. [Illustration: Good Hope, Mackenzie River. Hudson's Bay Company Fort.] On July 4, provisions were _cached_, the canoe abandoned, and a start made overland westward, each carrying ninety pounds of provisions besides musket and pistols. And this burden was borne on the rations of two scant meals a day. The way was ridgy, steep, and obstructed by windfalls. At cloud-line, the rocks were slippery as glass from moisture, and Mackenzie led the way, beating the drip from the branches as they marched. The record was twelve miles the first day. When it rained, the shelter was a piece of oil-cloth held up in an extemporized tent, the men crouching to sleep as best they could. The way was well beaten and camp was frequently made for the night with strange Indians, from whom fresh guides were hired; but when he did not camp with the natives, Mackenzie watched his guide by sleeping with him. Though the fellow was malodorous from fish oil and infested with vermin, Mackenzie would spread his cloak in such a way that escape was impossible without awakening himself. No sentry was kept at night. All hands were too deadly tired from the day's climb. Once, in the impenetrable gloom of the midnight forest, Mackenzie was awakened by a plaintive chant in a kind of unearthly music. A tribe was engaged in religious devotions to some woodland deity. Totem poles of cedar, carved with the heads of animals emblematic of family clans, told Mackenzie that he was nearing the coast tribes. Barefooted, with ankles swollen and clothes torn to shreds, they had crossed the last range of mountains within two weeks of leaving the inland river. They now embarked with some natives for the sea. One can guess how Mackenzie's heart thrilled as they swept down the swift river--six miles an hour--past fishing weirs and Indian camps, till at last, far out between the mountains, he descried the narrow arm of the blue, limitless sea. The canoe leaked like a sieve; but what did that matter? At eight o'clock on the morning of Saturday, July 20, the river carried them to a wide lagoon, lapped by a tide, with the seaweed waving for miles along the shore. Morning fog still lay on the far-billowing ocean. Sea otters tumbled over the slimy rocks with discordant cries. Gulls darted overhead; and past the canoe dived the great floundering grampus. There was no mistaking. This was the sea--the Western Sea, that for three hundred years had baffled all search overland, and led the world's greatest explorers on a chase of a will-o'-the-wisp. What Cartier and La Salle and La Vérendrye failed to do, Mackenzie had accomplished. But Mackenzie's position was not to be envied. Ten starving men on a barbarous coast had exactly twenty pounds of pemmican, fifteen of rice, six of flour. Of ammunition there was scarcely any. Between home and their leaky canoe lay half a continent of wilderness and mountains. The next day was spent coasting the cove for a place to take observations. Canoes of savages met the white men, and one impudent fellow kept whining out that he had once been shot at by men of Mackenzie's color. Mackenzie took refuge for the night on an isolated rock which was barely large enough for his party to gain a foothold. The savages hung about pestering the boatmen for gifts. Two white men kept guard, while the rest slept. On Monday, when Mackenzie was setting up his instruments, his young Indian guide came, foaming at the mouth from terror, with news that the coast tribes were to attack the white men by hurling spears at the unsheltered rock. The boatmen lost their heads and were for instant flight, anywhere, everywhere, in a leaky canoe that would have foundered a mile out at sea. Mackenzie did not stir, but ordered fusees primed and the canoe gummed. Mixing up a pot of vermilion, he painted in large letters on the face of the rock where they had passed the night:-- "Alexander Mackenzie, from Canada, by land, the twenty-second of July, one thousand seven hundred and ninety-three." The canoe was then headed eastward for the homeward trip. Only once was the explorer in great danger on his return. It was just as the canoe was leaving tide-water for the river. The young Indian guide led him full tilt into the village of hostiles that had besieged the rock. Mackenzie was alone, his men following with the baggage. Barely had he reached the woods when two savages sprang out, with daggers in hand ready to strike. Quick as a flash, Mackenzie quietly raised his gun. They dropped back; but he was surrounded by a horde led by the impudent chief of the attack on the rock the first night on the sea. One warrior grasped Mackenzie from behind. In the scuffle hat and cloak came off; but Mackenzie shook himself free, got his sword out, and succeeded in holding the shouting rabble at bay till his men came. Then such was his rage at the indignity that he ordered his followers in line with loaded fusees, marched to the village, demanded the return of the hat and cloak, and obtained a peace-offering of fish as well. The Indians knew the power of firearms, and fell at his feet in contrition. Mackenzie named this camp Rascal Village. At another time his men lost heart so completely over the difficulties ahead that they threw everything they were carrying into the river. Mackenzie patiently sat on a stone till they had recovered from their panic. Then he reasoned and coaxed and dragooned them into the spirit of courage that at last brought them safely over mountain and through cañon to Peace River. On August 24, a sharp bend in the river showed them the little home fort which they had left four months before. The joy of the _voyageurs_ fairly exploded. They beat their paddles on the canoe, fired off all the ammunition that remained, waved flags, and set the cliffs ringing with shouts. Mackenzie spent the following winter at Chipewyan, despondent and lonely. "What a situation, starving and alone!" he writes to his cousin. The hard life was beginning to wear down the dauntless spirit. "I spend the greater part of my time in vague speculations. . . . In fact my mind was never at ease, nor could I bend it to my wishes. Though I am not superstitious, my dreams cause me great annoyance. I scarcely close my eyes without finding myself in company with the dead." The following winter Mackenzie left the West never to return. The story of his travels was published early in the nineteenth century, and he was knighted by the English king. The remainder of his life was spent quietly on an estate in Scotland, where he died in 1820. [Illustration: The Mouth of the Mackenzie by the Light of the Midnight Sun.--C. W. Mathers.] CHAPTER XI 1803-1806 LEWIS AND CLARK The First White Men to ascend the Missouri to its Sources and descend the Columbia to the Pacific--Exciting Adventures on the Cañons of the Missouri, the Discovery of the Great Falls and the Yellowstone--Lewis' Escape from Hostiles The spring of 1904 witnessed the centennial celebration of an area as large as half the kingdoms of Europe, that has the unique distinction of having transferred its allegiance to three different flags within twenty-four hours. At the opening of the nineteenth century Spain had ceded all the region vaguely known as Louisiana back to France, and France had sold the territory, to the United States; but post-horse and stage of those old days travelled slowly. News of Spain's cession and France's sale reached Louisiana almost simultaneously. On March 9, 1804, the Spanish grandees of St. Louis took down their flag and, to the delight of Louisiana, for form's sake erected French colors. On March 10, the French flag was lowered for the emblem that has floated over the Great West ever since--the stars and stripes. How vast was the new territory acquired, the eastern states had not the slightest conception. As early as 1792 Captain Gray, of the ship _Columbia_, from Boston, had blundered into the harbor of a vast river flowing into the Pacific. What lay between this river and that other great river on the eastern side of the mountains--the Missouri? Jefferson had arranged with John Ledyard of Connecticut, who had been with Captain Cook on the Pacific, to explore the northwest coast of America by crossing Russia overland; but Russia had similar designs for herself, and stopped Ledyard on the way. In 1803 President Jefferson asked Congress for an appropriation to explore the Northwest by way of the Missouri. Now that the wealth of the West is beyond the estimate of any figure, it seems almost inconceivable that there were people little-minded enough to haggle over the price paid for Louisiana--$15,000,000--and to object to the appropriation required for its exploration--$2500; but fortunately the world goes ahead in spite of hagglers. May of 1804 saw Captain Meriwether Lewis, formerly secretary to President Jefferson, and Captain William Clark of Virginia launch out from Wood River opposite St. Louis, where they had kept their men encamped all winter on the east side of the Mississippi, waiting until the formal transfer of Louisiana for the long journey of exploration to the sources of the Missouri and the Columbia. Their escort consisted of twenty soldiers, eleven _voyageurs_, and nine frontiersmen. The main craft was a keel boat fifty-five feet long, of light draft, with square-rigged sail and twenty-two oars, and tow-line fastened to the mast pole to track the boat upstream through rapids. An American flag floated from the prow, and behind the flag the universal types of progress everywhere--goods for trade and a swivel-gun. Horses were led alongshore for hunting, and two pirogues--sharp at prow, broad at stern, like a flat-iron or a turtle--glided to the fore of the keel boat. [Illustration: Captain Meriwether Lewis.] The Missouri was at flood tide, turbid with crumbling clay banks and great trees torn out by the roots, from which keel boat and pirogues sheered safely off. For the first time in history the Missouri resounded to the Fourth of July guns; and round camp-fire the men danced to the strains of a _voyageur's_ fiddle. Usually, among forty men is one traitor, and Liberte must desert on pretence of running back for a knife; but perhaps the fellow took fright from the wild yarns told by the lonely-eyed, shaggy-browed, ragged trappers who came floating down the Platte, down the Osage, down the Missouri, with canoe loads of furs for St. Louis. These men foregathered with the _voyageurs_ and told only too true stories of the dangers ahead. Fires kindled on the banks of the river called neighboring Indians to council. Council Bluffs commemorates one conference, of which there were many with Iowas and Omahas and Ricarees and Sioux. Pause was made on the south side of the Missouri to visit the high mound where Blackbird, chief of the Omahas, was buried astride his war horse that his spirit might forever watch the French _voyageurs_ passing up and down the river. [Illustration: Captain William Clark.] By October the explorers were sixteen hundred miles north of St. Louis, at the Mandan villages near where Bismarck stands to-day. The Mandans welcomed the white men; but the neighboring tribes of Ricarees were insolent. "Had I these white warriors on the upper plains," boasted a chief to Charles Mackenzie, one of the Northwest Fur Company men from Canada, "my young men on horseback would finish them as they would so many wolves; for there are only two sensible men among them, the worker of iron [blacksmith] and the mender of guns." Four Canadian traders had already been massacred by this chief. Captain Lewis knew that his company must winter on the east side of the mountains, and there were a dozen traders--Hudson Bay and Nor'westers--on the ground practising all the unscrupulous tricks of rivals, Nor'westers driving off Hudson Bay horses, Hudson Bay men driving off Nor'-westers', to defeat trade; so Captain Lewis at once had a fort constructed. It was triangular in shape, the two converging walls consisting of barracks with a loopholed bastion at the apex, the base being a high wall of strong pickets where sentry kept constant guard. Hitherto Captain Lewis had been able to secure the services of French trappers as interpreters with the Indians; but the next year he was going where there were no trappers; and now he luckily engaged an old Nor'wester, Chaboneau, whose Indian wife, Sacajawea, was a captive from the Snake tribe of the Rockies.[1] On Christmas morning, the stars and stripes were hoisted above Fort Mandan; and all that night the men danced hilariously. On New Years of 1805, the white men visited the Mandan lodges, and one _voyageur_ danced "on his head" to the uproarious applause of the savages. All winter the men joined in the buffalo hunts, laying up store of pemmican. In February, work was begun on the small boats for the ascent of the Missouri. By the end of March, the river had cleared of ice, and a dozen men were sent back to St. Louis. At five, in the afternoon of April 7, six canoes and two pirogues were pushed out on the Missouri. Sails were hoisted; a cheer from the Canadian traders and Indians standing on the shore--and the boats glided up the Missouri with flags flying from foremost prow. Hitherto Lewis and Clark had passed over travelled ground. Now they had set sail for the Unknown. Within a week they had passed the Little Missouri, the height of land that divides the waters of the Missouri from those of the Saskatchewan, and the great Yellowstone River, first found by wandering French trappers and now for the first time explored. The current of the Missouri grew swifter, the banks steeper, and the use of the tow-line more frequent. The voyage was no more the holiday trip that it had been all the way from St. Louis. Hunters were kept on the banks to forage for game, and once four of them came so suddenly on an open-mouthed, ferocious old bear that he had turned hunter and they hunted before guns could be loaded; and the men saved themselves only by jumping twenty feet over the bank into the river. For miles the boats had to be tracked up-stream by the tow-line. The shore was so steep that it offered no foothold. Men and stones slithered heterogeneously down the sliding gravel into the water. Moccasins wore out faster than they could be sewed; and the men's feet were cut by prickly-pear and rock as if by knives. On Sunday, May 26, when Captain Lewis was marching to lighten the canoes, he had just climbed to the summit of a high, broken cliff when there burst on his glad eyes a first glimpse of the far, white "Shining Mountains" of which the Indians told, the Rockies, snowy and dazzling in the morning sun. One can guess how the weather-bronzed, ragged man paused to gaze on the glimmering summits. Only one other explorer had ever been so far west in this region--young De la Vérendrye, fifty years before; but the Frenchman had been compelled to turn back without crossing the mountains, and the two Americans were to assail and conquer what had proved an impassable barrier. The Missouri had become too deep for poles, too swift for paddles; and the banks were so precipitous that the men were often poised at dizzy heights above the river, dragging the tow-line round the edge of rock and crumbly cliff. Captain Lewis was leading the way one day, crawling along the face of a rock wall, when he slipped. Only a quick thrust of his spontoon into the cliff saved him from falling almost a hundred feet. He had just struck it with terrific force into the rock, where it gave him firm handhold, when he heard a voice cry, "Good God, Captain, what shall I do?" [Illustration: Tracking Up-stream.] Windsor, a frontiersman, had slipped to the very verge of the rock, where he lay face down with right arm and leg completely over the precipice, his left hand vainly grabbing empty air for grip of anything that would hold him back. Captain Lewis was horrified, but kept his presence of mind; for the man's life hung by a thread. A move, a turn, the slightest start of alarm to disturb Windsor's balance--and he was lost. Steadying his voice, Captain Lewis shouted back, "You're in little danger. Stick your knife in the cliff to hoist yourself up." With the leverage of the knife, Windsor succeeded in lifting himself back to the narrow ledge. Then taking off his moccasins, he crawled along the cliff to broader foothold. Lewis sent word for the crews to wade the margin of the river instead of attempting this pass--which they did, though shore water was breast high and ice cold. [Illustration: Typical Mountain Trapper.] The Missouri had now become so narrow that it was hard to tell which was the main river and which a tributary; so Captain Lewis and four men went in advance to find the true course. Leaving camp at sunrise, Captain Lewis was crossing a high, bare plain, when he heard the most musical of all wilderness sounds--the far rushing that is the voice of many waters. Far above the prairie there shimmered in the morning sun a gigantic plume of spray. Surely this was the Great Falls of which the Indians told. Lewis and his men broke into a run across the open for seven miles, the rush of waters increasing to a deafening roar, the plume of spray to clouds of foam. Cliffs two hundred feet high shut off the view. Down these scrambled Lewis, not daring to look away from his feet till safely at bottom, when he faced about to see the river compressed by sheer cliffs over which hurled a white cataract in one smooth sheet eighty feet high. The spray tossed up in a thousand bizarre shapes of wind-driven clouds. Captain Lewis drew the long sigh of the thing accomplished. He had found the Great Falls of the Missouri. [Illustration: The Discovery of the Great Falls.] Seating himself on the rock, he awaited his hunters. That night they camped under a tree near the falls. Morning showed that the river was one succession of falls and rapids for eighteen miles. Here was indeed a stoppage to the progress of the boats. Sending back word to Captain Clark of the discovery of the falls, Lewis had ascended the course of the cascades to a high hill when he suddenly encountered a herd of a thousand buffalo. It was near supper-time. Quick as thought, Lewis fired. What was his amazement to see a huge bear leap from the furze to pounce on the wounded quarry; and what was Bruin's amazement to see the unusual spectacle of a thing as small as a man marching out to contest possession of that quarry? Man and bear reared up to look at each other. Bear had been master in these regions from time immemorial. Man or beast--which was to be master now? Lewis had aimed his weapon to fire again, when he recollected that it was not loaded; and the bear was coming on too fast for time to recharge. Captain Lewis was a brave man and a dignified man; but the plain was bare of tree or brush, and the only safety was inglorious flight. But if he had to retreat, the captain determined that he _would_ retreat only at a walk. The rip of tearing claws sounded from behind, and Lewis looked over his shoulder to see the bear at a hulking gallop, open-mouthed,--and off they went, explorer and exploited, in a sprinting match of eighty yards, when the grunting roar of pursuer told pursued that the bear was gaining. Turning short, Lewis plunged into the river to mid-waist and faced about with his spontoon at the bear's nose. A sudden turn is an old trick with all Indian hunters; the bear floundered back on his haunches, reconsidered the sport of hunting this new animal, man, and whirled right about for the dead buffalo. [Illustration: Fighting a Grizzly.] It took the crews from the 15th to the 25th of June to _portage_ past the Great Falls. Cottonwood trees yielded carriage wheels two feet in diameter, and the masts of the pirogues made axletrees. On these wagonettes the canoes were dragged across the _portage_. It was hard, hot work. Grizzlies prowled round the camp at night, wakening the exhausted workers. The men actually fell asleep on their feet as they toiled, and spent half the night double-soling their torn moccasins, for the cactus already had most of the men limping from festered feet. Yet not one word of complaint was uttered; and once, when the men were camped on a green along the _portage_, a _voyageur_ got out his fiddle, and the sore feet danced, which was more wholesome than moping or poulticing. The boldness of the grizzlies was now explained. Antelope and buffalo were carried over the falls. The bears prowled below for the carrion. After failure to construct good hide boats, two other craft, twenty-five and thirty-three feet long, were knocked together, and the crews launched above the rapids for the far Shining Mountains that lured like a mariner's beacon. Night and day, when the sun was hot, came the boom-boom as of artillery from the mountains. The _voyageurs_ thought this the explosion of stones, but soon learned to recognize the sound of avalanche and land-slide. The river became narrower, deeper, swifter, as the explorers approached the mountains. For five miles rocks rose on each side twelve hundred feet high, sheer as a wall. Into this shadowy cañon, silent as death, crept the boats of the white men, vainly straining their eyes for glimpse of egress from the watery defile. A word, a laugh, the snatch of a _voyageur's_ ditty, came back with elfin echo, as if spirits hung above the dizzy heights spying on the intruders. Springs and tenuous, wind-blown falls like water threads trickled down each side of the lofty rocks. The water was so deep that poles did not touch bottom, and there was not the width of a foot-hold between water and wall for camping ground. Flags were unfurled from the prows of the boats to warn marauding Indians on the height above that the _voyageurs_ were white men, not enemies. Darkness fell on the cañon with the great hushed silence of the mountains; and still the boats must go on and on in the darkness, for there was no anchorage. Finally, above a small island in the middle of the river, was found a tiny camping ground with pine-drift enough for fire-wood. Here they landed in the pitchy dark. They had entered the Gates of the Rockies on the 19th of July. In the morning bighorn and mountain goat were seen scrambling along the ledges above the water. On the 25th the Three Forks of the Missouri were reached. Here the Indian woman, Sacajawea, recognized the ground and practically became the guide of the party, advising the two explorers to follow the south fork or the Jefferson, as that was the stream which her tribe followed when crossing the mountains to the plains. [Illustration: Packer carrying Goods across Portage.] It now became absolutely necessary to find mountain Indians who would supply horses and guide the white men across the Divide. In the hope of finding the Indian trail, Captain Lewis landed with two men and preceded the boats. He had not gone five miles when to his sheer delight he saw a Snake Indian on horseback. Ordering his men to keep back, he advanced within a mile of the horseman and three times spread his blanket on the ground as a signal of friendship. The horseman sat motionless as bronze. Captain Lewis went forward, with trinkets held out to tempt a parley, and was within a few hundred yards when the savage wheeled and dashed off. Lewis' men had disobeyed orders and frightened the fellow by advancing. Deeply chagrined, Lewis hoisted an American flag as sign of friendship and continued his march. Tracks of horses were followed across a bog, along what was plainly an Indian road, till the sources of the Missouri became so narrow that one of the men put a foot on each side and thanked God that he had lived to bestride the Missouri. Stooping, all drank from the crystal spring whose waters they had traced for three thousand miles from St. Louis. Following a steep declivity, they were presently crossing the course of a stream that flowed west and must lead to some branch of the Columbia. [Illustration: Spying on an Enemy's Fort.] Suddenly, on the cliff in front, Captain Lewis discovered two squaws, an Indian, and some dogs. Unfurling his flag, he advanced. The Indians paused, then dashed for the woods. Lewis tried to tie some presents round the dogs' necks as a peace-offering, but the curs made off after their master. The white men had not proceeded a mile before they came to three squaws, who never moved but bowed their heads to the ground for the expected blow that would make them captives. Throwing down weapons, Lewis pulled up his sleeve to show that he was white. Presents allayed all fear, and the squaws had led him two miles toward their camp when sixty warriors came galloping at full speed with arrows levelled. The squaws rushed forward, vociferating and showing their presents. Three chiefs at once dismounted, and fell on Captain Lewis with such greasy embraces of welcome that he was glad to end the ceremony. Pipes were smoked, presents distributed, and the white men conducted to a great leathern lodge, where Lewis announced his mission and prepared the Indians for the coming of the main force in the boats. [Illustration: Indian Camp at Foothills of Rockies.] The Snakes scarcely knew whether to believe the white man's tale. The Indian camp was short of provisions, and Lewis urged the warriors to come back up the trail to meet the advancing boats. The braves hesitated. Cameahwait, the chief, harangued till a dozen warriors mounted their horses and set out, Lewis and his men each riding behind an Indian. Captain Clark could advance only slowly, and the Indians with Lewis grew suspicious as they entered the rocky denies without meeting the explorers' party. Half the Snakes turned back. Among those that went on were three women. To demonstrate good faith, Lewis again mounted a horse behind an Indian, though the bare-back riding over rough ground at a mad pace was almost jolting his bones apart. A spy came back breathless with news for the hungry warriors that one of the white hunters had killed a deer, and the whole company lashed to a breakneck gallop that nearly finished Lewis, who could only cling for dear life to the Indian's waist. The poor wretches were so ravenous that they fell on the dead deer and devoured it raw. It was here that Lewis expected the boats. They were not to be seen. The Indians grew more distrustful. The chief at once put fur collars, after the fashion of Indian dress, round the white men's shoulders. As this was plainly a trick to conceal the whites in case of treachery on their part, Lewis at once took off his hat and placed it on the chief's head. Then he hurried the Indians along, lest they should lose courage completely. To his mortification, Captain Clark did not appear. To revive the Indians' courage, the white men then passed their guns across to the Snakes, signalling willingness to suffer death if the Indians discovered treachery. That night all the Indians hid in the woods but five, who slept on guard round the whites. If anything had stopped Clark's advance, Lewis was lost. Though neither knew it, Lewis and Clark were only four miles apart, Clark, Chaboneau, the guide, and Sacajawea, the Indian woman, were walking on the shore early in the morning, when the squaw began to dance with signs of the most extravagant joy. Looking ahead, Clark saw one of Lewis' men, disguised as an Indian, leading a company of Snake warriors that the squaw had recognized as her own people, from whom she had been wrested when a child. The Indians broke into songs of delight, and Sacajawea, dashing through the crowd, threw her arms round an Indian woman, sobbing and laughing and exhibiting all the hysterical delight of a demented creature. Sacajawea and the woman had been playmates in childhood and had been captured in the same war; but the Snake woman had escaped, while Sacajawea became a slave and married the French guide. Meanwhile, Captain Clark was being welcomed by Lewis and the chief, Cameahwait. Sacajawea was called to interpret. Cameahwait rose to speak. The poor squaw flung herself on him with cries of delight. In the chief of the Snakes she had recognized her brother. Laced coats, medals, flags, and trinkets were presented to the Snakes; but though willing enough to act as guides, the Indians discouraged the explorers about going on in boats. The western stream was broken for leagues by terrible rapids walled in with impassable precipices. Boats were abandoned and horses bought from the Snakes. The white men set their faces northwestward, the southern trail, usually followed by the Snakes, leading too much in the direction of the Spanish settlements. Game grew so scarce that by September the men were without food and a colt was killed for meat. By October the company was reduced to a diet of dog; but the last Divide had been crossed. Horses were left with an Indian chief of the Flatheads, and the explorers glided down the Clearwater, leading to the Columbia, in five canoes and one pilot boat. Great was the joy in camp on November 8, 1805; for the boats had passed the last _portage_ of the Columbia. When heavy fog rose, there burst on the eager gaze of the _voyageurs_ the shining expanse of the Pacific. The shouts of the jubilant _voyageurs_ mingled with the roar of ocean breakers. Like Alexander Mackenzie of the far North a decade before, Lewis and Clark had reached the long-sought Western Sea. They had been first up the Missouri, first across the middle Rockies, and first down the Columbia to the Pacific. Seven huts, known as Fort Clatsop, were knocked up on the south side of the Columbia's harbor for winter quarters; and a wretched winter the little fort spent, beleaguered not by hostiles, but by such inclement damp that all the men were ill before spring and their very leather suits rotted from their backs. Many a time, coasting the sea, were they benighted. Spreading mats on the sand, they slept in the drenching rain. Unused to ocean waters, the inland voyageurs became deadly seasick. Once, when all were encamped on the shore, an enormous tidal wave broke over the camp with a smashing of log-drift that almost crushed the boats. Nez Perces and Flatheads had assisted the white men after the Snake guides had turned back. Clatsops and Chinooks were now their neighbors. Christmas and New Year of 1806 were celebrated by a discharge of firearms. No boats chanced to touch at the Columbia during the winter. The time was passed laying up store of elk meat and leather; for the company was not only starving, but nearly naked. The Pacific had been reached on November 14, 1805. Fort Clatsop was evacuated on the afternoon of March 23, 1806. The goods left to trade for food and horses when Lewis and Clark departed from the coast inland had dwindled to what could have been tied in two handkerchiefs; but necessity proved the mother of invention, and the men cut the brass buttons from their tattered clothes and vended brass trinkets to the Indians. The medicine-chest was also sacrificed, every Indian tribe besieging the two captains for eye-water, fly-blisters, and other patent wares. The poverty of the white man roused the insolence of the natives on the return over the mountains. Rocks were rolled down on the boatmen at the worst _portages_ by aggressive Indians; and once, when the hungry _voyageurs_ were at a meal of dog meat, an Indian impudently flung a live pup straight at Captain Lewis' plate. In a trice the pup was back in the fellow's face; Lewis had seized a weapon; and the crestfallen aggressor had taken ignominiously to his heels. When they had crossed the mountains, the forces divided into three parties, two to go east by the Yellowstone, one under Lewis by the main Missouri. Somewhere up the height of land that divides the southern waters of the Saskatchewan from the northern waters of the Missouri, the tracks of Minnetaree warriors were found. These were the most murderous raiders of the plains. Over a swell of the prairie Lewis was startled to see a band of thirty horses, half of them saddled. The Indians were plainly on the war-path, for no women were in camp; so Lewis took out his flag and advanced unfalteringly. An Indian came forward. Lewis and the chief shook hands, but Lewis now had no presents to pacify hostiles. Camping with the Minnetarees for the night, as if he feared nothing, Lewis nevertheless took good care to keep close watch on all movements. He smoked the pipe of peace with them as late as he dared; and when he retired to sleep, he had ordered Fields and the other two white men to be on guard. At sunrise the Indians crowded round the fire, where Fields had for the moment carelessly laid his rifle. Simultaneously, the warriors dashed at the weapons of the sleeping white men, while other Indians made off with the explorers' horses. With a shout, Fields gave the alarm, and pursuing the thieves, grappled with the Indian who had stolen his rifle. In the scuffle the Indian was stabbed to the heart. Drewyer succeeded in wresting back his gun, and Lewis dashed out with his pistol, shouting for the Indians to leave the horses. The raiders were mounting to go off at full speed. The white men pursued on foot. Twelve horses fell behind; but just as the Indians dashed for hiding behind a cliff, Lewis' strength gave out. He warned them if they did not stop he would shoot. An Indian turned to fire with one of the stolen weapons, and instantly Lewis' pistol rang true. The fellow rolled to earth mortally wounded; but Lewis felt the whiz of a bullet past his own head. Having captured more horses than they had lost, the white men at once mounted and rode for their lives through river and slough, sixty miles without halt; for the Minnetarees would assuredly rally a larger band of warriors to their aid. A pause of an hour to refresh the horses and a wilder ride by moonlight put forty more miles between Captain Lewis and danger. At daylight the men were so sore from the mad pace for twenty-four hours that they could scarcely stand; but safety depended on speed and on they went again till they reached the main Missouri, where by singularly good luck some of the other _voyageurs_ had arrived. [Illustration: On Guard.] The entire forces were reunited below the Yellowstone on August 12th. Traders on the way up the Missouri from St. Louis brought first news of the outer world, and the discoverers were not a little amused to learn that they had been given up for dead. At the Mandans, Colter, one of the frontiersmen, asked leave to go back to the wilds; and Chaboneau, with his dauntless wife, bade the white men farewell. On September 20th settlers on the river bank above St. Louis were surprised to see thirty ragged men, with faces bronzed like leather, passing down the river. Then some one remembered who these worn _voyageurs_ were, and cheers of welcome made the cliffs of the Missouri ring. On September 23d, at midday, the boats drew quietly up to the river front of St. Louis. Lewis and Clark, the greatest pathfinders of the United States, had returned from the discovery of a new world as large as half Europe, without losing a single man but Sergeant Floyd, who had died from natural causes a few months after leaving St. Louis. What Radisson had begun in 1659-1660, what De la Vérendrye had attempted when he found the way barred by the Rockies--was completed by Lewis and Clark in 1805. It was the last act in that drama of heroes who carved empire out of wilderness; and all alike possessed the same hero-qualities--courage and endurance that were indomitable, the strength that is generated in life-and-death grapple with naked primordial reality, and that reckless daring which defies life and death. Those were hero-days; and they produced hero-types, who flung themselves against the impossible--and conquered it. What they conquered we have inherited. It is the Great Northwest. [Illustration: Indians of the Up-country or _Pays d'en Haut_.] [1] Mention of this man is to be found in Northwest Company manuscripts, lately sold in the Masson collection of documents to the Canadian Archives and McGill College Library. It was also my good fortune--while this book was going to print--to see the entire family collection of Clark's letters, owned by Mrs. Julia Clark Voorhis of New York. Among these letters is one to Chaboneau from Clark. In spite of the cordial relations between the Nor'westers and Lewis and Clark, these fur traders cannot conceal their fear that this trip presages the end of the fur trade. APPENDIX For the very excellent translations of the almost untranslatable transcripts taken from the Marine Archives of Paris, and forwarded to me by the Canadian Archives, I am indebted to Mr. R. Roy, of the Marine Department, Ottawa, the eminent authority on French Canadian genealogical matters. Some of the topics in the Appendices are of such a controversial nature--the whereabouts of the Mascoutins, for instance--that at my request Mr. Roy made the translation absolutely literal no matter how incongruous the wording. To those who say Radisson was not on the Missouri I commend Appendix E, where the tribes of the West are described. APPENDIX A COPY OF LETTER WRITTEN TO M. COMPORTÉ BY M. CHOUART, AT LONDON, THE 29TH APRIL, 1685 SIR, I have received the two letters with which you have honored me; I have even received one inclosed that I have not given, for reasons that I will tell you, God willing, in a few days. I have received your instructions contained in the one and the other, as to the way I should act, and I should not have failed to execute all that you order me for the service of our Master, if I had been at full liberty so to do; you must have no doubt about it, because my inclination and my duty agree perfectly well. All the advantages that I am offered did not for a moment cause me to waver, but, in short, sir, I could not go to Paris, and I shall be happy to go and meet you by the route you travel. I shall be well pleased to find landed the people you state will be there; in case they may have the commission you speak of in your two letters, have it accompanied if you please with a memorandum of what I shall have to do for the service of our Master. I know of a case whereby I am sufficiently taught that it is not safe to undertake too many things, however advantageous they may be, nor undertaking too little. I am convinced, sir, that having orders, I will carry them out at the risk of my life, and I flatter myself that you do not doubt it. There is much likelihood that the men you sent last year are lost. I should like, sir, to be at the place you desire me to go; be assured I will perish, or be there as soon as I possibly can; it is saying enough. I do not answer to the rest of your letter, it is sufficient that I am addressing a sensible man, who, knowing my heart, will not doubt that I will keep my word with him, as I believe he will do all he can for my interests. I am, with much anxiety to see you, sir, your most humble and most obedient servant, (signed) CHOUART. I will leave here only on the 25th of next month. APPENDIX B COPY OF LETTER WRITTEN BY M. CHOUART TO MRS. DES GROSEILLERS, HIS MOTHER AT LONDON, 11TH APRIL, 1685. MY VERY DEAR MOTHER, I learn by the letter you have written me, of the 2nd November last, that my father has returned from France without obtaining anything at that Court, which made you think of leaving Quebec; my sentiment would be that you abandon this idea as I am strongly determined to go and be by you at the first opportunity I get, which shall be, God willing, as soon as I have taken means to that effect when I have returned from the North. I hope to start on this voyage in a month or six weeks at the latest; I cannot determine on what date I could be near you; my father may know what difficulties there are. However, I hope to surmount them, and there is nothing I would not do to that end. The money I left with my cousin is intended to buy you a house, as I have had always in mind to do, had not my father opposed it, but now I will do it so as to give you a chance to get on, and always see you in the country where I will live. I have been made, here, proposals of marriage, to which I have not listened, not being here under the rule of my king nor near my parents, and I would have left this kingdom had I been given the liberty to do so, but they hold back on me my pay and the price of my merchandise, and I cannot sail away as orders have been given to arrest me in case I should prepare to leave. What you fear in reference to my money should not give you any uneasiness on account of the English. I will cause it to be pretty well known that I never intended to follow the English. I have been surprised and forced by my uncle's subterfuges to risk this voyage being unable to escape the English vessels where my uncle made me go without disclosing his plan, which he has worked out in bringing me here, but I will not disclose mine either: to abandon this nation. I am willing that my cousin should pay you the income on my money, until I return home. M. the earl of Denonville, your governor, will see to my mother's affairs, as they who render service to the country will not be forsaken as in the past, and being generous as he is, loyal and zealous for his country, he will inform the Court what there is to be done for the benefit of our nation. I am, my dear mother, to my father and to you, most obedient servant, (signed) CHOUART. And below is written:-- MOTHER, I pray you to see on my behalf M. du Lude, and assure him of my very humble services. I will have the honor of seeing him as soon as I can. Please do the same with M. Peray and all our good friends. APPENDIX C COUNCIL Held at fort Pontchartrain, in lake Erie strait, 8th June, 1704. By the indians Kiskacous, Ottawa, Sinagot of the Sable Nation, Hurons, Saulteurs (Sault Indians), Amikoique (Amikoués), Mississaugas, Nipissings, Miamis and Wolves, in the presence of M. de Lamothe-Cadillac, commanding at the said fort; de Tonty, captain of a detachment of Marines; the rev F. Constantin, Recollet missionary at the said post; Messrs Desnoyers and Radisson, principal clerks of the Company of the Colony, and of all the French, soldiers as well as _voyageurs_. The one named FORTY SOLS, (40 half-penny), indian chief of the Huron nation speaks as much on behalf of the said nation as of all those present at the meeting. The French having come, he said:-- "We ask that all the French be present at this Council so that they hear and know what we will say to you. "We are well on this land, it is very good, and we are much pleased with it; listen well, father, we pray you. "Mrs de Tonty went away last year; she did not return; we see you going away to-day, father, with your wife, your children and all the Frenchwomen as well as that of M. Radisson, who is going down with you; that reveals to us that you abandon us. "We are angry for good and ill-disposed if the women go away. We pray you to pay attention to this because we could not stop you nor your young men: we demand that Radisson remains, or at least, that he returns promptly." BY A NECKLACE (Wampum) "We will escort your wife and the other Frenchwomen who intend to go down to Montreal. Now, mind well what we are asking you. "We readily see that the Governor is a liar, as he does not keep to what he has promised us; as he has lied to us we will lie to him also, and we will listen no more to his word. "What brings that man here (speaking of M. Desnoyers)? We do not know him and do not understand him; we are ill-disposed. It is two years since you have been gathering in our peltries, part of which has been taken down; we will allow nothing to leave until the French come up with goods." BY ANOTHER NECKLACE "Father, we pray you to send back that man (speaking of M. Desnoyers), because if he remains here, we do not answer for his safety; our people have told us that he despises our peltries and only wanted beaver; where does he want us to get it. We absolutely want him to go; nothing will leave the house where the trading is done and where the peltries and bundles are, until the French arrive here with merchandise and they be allowed to trade. When we came here, the Governor did not tell us that the merchants would be masters over the merchandise; he lied to us; we ask that all the Frenchmen trade here; we pray you to write and tell him what we are saying, and if he does not listen to us, we will also refuse to accept his word. "The land is not yours, it is ours, and we will leave it to go where we like without anybody finding fault. We regret having allowed the surgeon to leave as we apprehend he will not come back. "We pray you will cause to remain Gauvereau the blacksmith and gunsmith. "I have nothing more to say, I have spoken for all the nations here present." M. de Lamothe had a question put to the Ottawa and the other nations, if that was their sentiment; they all answered: Yes, and that they were of one and the same mind. He told them that, seeing they had taken time to think over what they had just said, he would consider as to what he had to answer them, and, put them off to the morrow, after having accepted their necklace. (Not signed.) COUNCIL Held at fort Pontchartrain, in lake Erie strait, the 9th June, 1704. By the Indians Kiskacous; Ottawas; Sinagotres, the Sable nation; Hurons; Sauteux (Sault Ste Marie Indians); Amikoique (Beaver nation); Mississaugas; Miamis and Wolves in the presence of M. de Lamothe-Cadillac, commanding at the said fort; de Tonty, captain of a detachment of Marines; the rev F. Constantin, Recollet missionary at the said post, Messrs Desnoyers and Radisson, principal clerks of the Company of the Colony, and of all the French, soldiers as well as _voyageurs_. M. de Lamothe addressed all the said nations:-- "As you requested me to pay attention to your words, please listen, the same, to-day. "I was aware that Mdme. de Tonty's trip to Montreal last year had given you umbrage, because she did not come back; and the cause of it is her pregnancy. "I knew also that my wife's setting out for Montreal as also the other Frenchwomen was causing you uneasiness, because you believed I was going to abandon you. It is true she was going away, but it was not for ever. I showed her your necklace; that her children would miss her very much and that they begged of her to stay. When she heard of your grief, she accepted your necklace and she will stay for some time, because she does not like to refuse her children; the other Frenchwomen will remain also. "You spoke ill of the Governor when you said he was a liar. If anyone told you that he was forsaking you, I will be pleased if you will tell me who it is. As for me I have no knowledge of it. "M. Desnoyers was present when you offered your necklace, and like me he heard your statement. He told me you were wrong to complain about him because he would not take your peltries and that he wanted beaver only; you are complaining inopportunely seeing that he has not done any trading. You should tell me who made those reports. But as you are not glad to see him, he has decided to go back, and as I am going down to Montreal on good business, he will accompany me, and also M. Radisson, because the Governor wants him, and he must obey, and we will arrange so that we come back together. "You have asked me to write down your speech to the Governor. I will be the bearer of it. I have not the authority to have the French to trade here; it is a matter that M. the Governor will settle with M. the Intendant. "The Governor did not lie to you because he did not notify you the first year, that the merchants would be masters of the merchandise, because it was the King who sent it here then and I could dispose of it; since then, an order came from the King in favor of the merchants. "This land is mine, because I am the first one who lighted a fire thereon, and you all took some to light yours. "I am very glad that you like this land, and that you find it is good. "It is of no consequence that the surgeon left, because when one goes another comes, and the same applies for the gunsmith. "I have no more to tell you. Here is some tobacco that you may all smoke together, and that it may give you wisdom until I return and the Governor sends you his word. Attend to your mother during my absence, and see that she does not want for provisions, for if you do not take care of her, on my return I will not give you a drink of brandy. "M. de Tonty replaces me; I pray you to be on good terms with him." FORTY SOLS, chief of the Hurons, spoke for all the indians:-- "We remember well, father, of what we said yesterday because you repeat it to-day. We thank you for having listened to us and granted all we asked you. We thank the women for not going away, because their remaining is as if you remained. From to-morrow we will stimulate our young men to go after provisions for our mother. "It is three years ago, when in Montreal at the general meeting our chiefs died, the governor told us to have courage, that he was sorry for us, that he saw we were very far to come and get goods in Montreal, and he invited us to come and settle around you, and that he would send us merchandise at the same price as in Montreal. This worked well for two years, but goods rose up too much in price the third year. "The first year you came, we were very happy, but now we are naked, not even having a bad shirt to put on our back. We would be pleased by the establishment of several stores here, because if we were refused in one, we could go to another. "We are very glad of M. Desnoyers' going back because we do not know him and we fear some of our young men may be ill-disposed. "We were under the impression the Governor had sold us to the merchants since they are the masters of the commerce. "It is true that we took of your fire to light ours but we have waited two years without anything coming this way so that your land is ours. I told the same thing to the Governor last year in Montreal. "Have courage, father, we will pray God for you during your voyage so that you may bring back good news." (Not signed.) APPENDIX D Cie des Indes (Indies Co'y) Renders account to the said company of the death of Mr. Radisson, receiver at Montreal, of the nomination ad interim of Mr. Gamelin to fill the vacancy of receiver, of account to render by Mr. Deplessis, heir of Mr. Radisson to reëstablish price of summer beaver as before ordinance of the 4th January, 1733. AT QUEBEC, THE 25TH OCTOBER, 1735. GENTLEMEN, I have received the letter you did me the honor to send me of the 9th March last. M. Radisson, your receiver at Montreal, died there the 14th of June and immediately M. Gamelin, merchant, to whom Messrs La Gorgendière and Daine had given three years ago, had commissioned to look after your interests in default or in case of death of M. Radisson, applied to M. Michel, my sub-delegate to affix the seals on of all your effects, which was done according to the account rendered you by Messrs. La Gorgendière and Daine. It was necessary to fill the vacancy. I have appointed temporarily in virtue of the authority, you gave, gentlemen, the same M. Gamelin; I thought I could not have your interests in better hands, as much for his honesty than his intelligence in regulating his sales and his receipts. Independently of the knowledge he has of the different qualities of beaver, I have had the honor to speak to you on this subject in my preceding letters and to say that the only obstacle I find to giving him the office of receiver at Montreal was his quality of merchant outfitter for the upper country, which might render him suspicious to you because of the returns he gets in beaver. Although I have a pretty good opinion of him to believe his loyalty proof against any particular interest, you shall see, gentlemen, by the copy of the commission I have given him, which is sent you, that it is on condition either directly or indirectly to do no traffic in the upper country, and to confine himself either to marine trade or other inland commerce, to which he has agreed, but nevertheless has represented to me that being engaged as a partner with M. Lamarque, another merchant, for the working out of the post named "the Western Sea" and that of the Sioux; this partnership only terminating in 1737; that he was looking around to sell his share, but, if this thing was impossible requesting me to kindly allow him to continue until that term, past which he would cease all commerce in the upper country. I agreed to this arrangement on account of his good qualities, and this will not turn to any account of consequence; whatever, selection you may make, gentlemen, you will not find a better one in this country. M. de La Gorgendière having offered me his son to act as clerk to M. Gamelin and comptroller in the Montreal office, for the auditing to be made, without increasing on that score the expenditure of your administration, I have consented on these conditions; M. Gamelin to give him 800 livres (shillings) on the commission of one per cent the company allow the receiver at Montreal, and M. Daine has assured me he was satisfied with his work. I will not entertain, you, messieurs, with the discussion of the account to be rendered by M. Duplessis, M. Radisson's heir, to your agent, who claims he owes 5 to 6000 livres. Those discussions did not take place in my presence. Most of the beaver shipped this year were put up in bundles, and shortage in cotton cloth for packing prevented shipment of the whole. The disturbances which have occurred for some years in the upper country have effectively prevented the Indians from hunting; the post of the Bay which abounds ordinarily with beaver, produced nothing; those of Detroit and Michilimakinac, only furnished very little. Happily the post of the Sioux and of the Western Sea produced near to 100,000 which swelled up the receipt; otherwise it would have been very middling. The party commanded by M. Desnoyelles against the Indians Sakis and Foxes was not as successful as expected on account of the desertion and retreat of 100 Hurons and Iroquois who left him when at the Kakanons (Kiskanons of Michilimakinac?) without his being able to hold them, so that this officer found himself after a long tramp at those Indians' fort, not only inferior in numbers but also much in want of provisions. He was under the necessity of returning after a rather sharp skirmish which took place between some of his men and the enemy. We lost two Frenchmen and one of our indians; the Foxes and Sakis lost 21 men, either killed, wounded or captured. If the Sakis come back to the Bay, as they pledged themselves to M. Desnoyelles we are in hopes here that peace will again flourish and consequently the trade of the upper country. I have seen, gentlemen, what you were pleased to say as to reduction in price on the summer-beaver. I had been assured by reliable persons that this reduction might become very injurious to your commerce. I have learned that some of this kind of beaver were carried to the English who pay two livres (shillings) for one and at a higher price than you pay over your counters. It was from what you wrote me in 1732, that the hatters could make no use of that beaver, that at your request I published an ordinance of the 4th January, 1733, reducing the price of summer-beaver either green (gras) or dry (sec) to ten pence a pound, on condition that it should be burned. There could be nothing suspicious in that. But since you now deem that that reduction may be harmful, as I have also had in mind to invite the indians and even the French under this pretence to take the good as well as the bad beaver to the English; I will restore the price of the summer-beaver as it was before my ordinance. I will not be at a loss for a cause: it is not in your interest to give a lower price. You run your commerce, gentlemen, with too much good faith to give rise to suspicion that you wished for a reduction in price to 10 pence for this kind of beaver, and having it burned only to procure it yourself at that price and not burn it. Besides, the quantity received is too small a matter to deserve consideration. [Sidenote: Beaver hats half worked made in the country.] M. the marquis de Beauharnois and I have received the orders of the King with reference to beaver hats half worked made in Canada. His Majesty has ordered us to break up the workmen's benches and to prevent any manufacture of hats. We have made some representations on this subject, to those made to us, namely by a man named ------, hatter, and your receiver at Quebec. It is true that the making of beaver hats half worked and other for export to France could turn out of consequence in ruining your privilege and the hat establishments in France. These are the only inconveniences, to my mind, to be feared, as I do not look upon such, the making of hats for the use of residents of the country. So that we have satisfied ourselves, until further orders, to forbid the going, out of the colony, of all kind of hats, as you will see by the ordinance we have published together, M. the General and I. If we had been more strict, the three hatters established in this colony, who know no other business than their trade, the man ------ amongst others, who follow that calling from father to son, would have been reduced to begging. The quantity of hats they will manufacture when export is stopped, cannot be of any injury to the manufactures of the kingdom and be but of small matter to your commerce. Moreover, I am aware that these hatters employ the worst kind of beaver, which they get very cheap, and your stores at Paris are that much rid of them. [Sidenote: Defects in list of cloth sent.] The cloths you sent this year are of better quality than the precedding shipment. Messrs La Gorgendiere, Daine and Gamelin have observed on defects which happen in the lists; they told me they would inform you. [Sidenote: Remittance of 300 livres (shillings) to the Baron de Longueuil.] I have the honor to thank you, gentlemen, for the remittance of 300 livres you were pleased to grant to M. the Baron of Longueuil, on my recommendation. It is very difficult to prevent the Indians going to Chouaguen; the brandy that the English give out freely is an invincible attraction. I have heard, the same as you, that some Frenchmen disguised as Indians had been there; if I can discover some one, you may be sure that I will deal promptly with them. You may have heard that the man LENOIR, resident of Montreal, having gone to England three years ago without leave, I have kept him in prison till he had settled the fine he was condemned to pay, and which I transferred to the hospitals. I add that a part of the interest you have in the Indians not going to Chouaguen, I have another on account of the trading carried on for the benefit of the King at Niagara and at fort Frontenac which that English post has ruined. By all means you may rely on my attention to break up English trade. I fear I may not succeed in this so long as the brandy traffic, although moderate, will find adversaries among those who govern consciences. [Sidenote: Foreign trade; Beaver at trade at Labrador.] I will do my best to prevent the beaver which is traded at Labrador and the other posts in the lower part of the River to be smuggled to France by ships from Bayonne, St Malo and Marseille. This will be difficult as we cannot have at those posts any inspector. I will try, however, to give an ordinance so as to prevent that, which may intimidate some of those who carry on that commerce. It is true that the commandants of the upper country posts have relaxed in the sending of the declarations made or to be made by the _voyageurs_ as to the quantity and quality of the bundles of beaver they take down to Montreal. M. the General and I have renewed the necessary orders on this subject so that the commandants shall conform to them. [Sidenote: Asks for continuation of gratuity received by Mr. Michel, even to increase it.] M. Michel, my subdelegate at Montreal has received the bounty of 500 livres you have requested your agent to pay to him; he hopes that you will be pleased to have it continued next year. I have the honor to pray you to do so, and even augment it, if possible. I can assure you, gentlemen that he lends himself on all occasions to all that may concern your commerce. As for myself, I am very flattered by the opinion you entertain that I have at heart your interests. I always feel a true satisfaction in renewing you these assurances. I am, respectfully, [Sidenote: Thanks for the coffee sent.] GENTLEMEN, M. de La Gorgendière has delivered to me on your behalf, a bale of Moka coffee. I am very sensible, gentlemen, to this token of friendship on your part. I have the honor to thank you, and to assure you that I am very truly and respectfully, etc. (signed) HOCQUART. APPENDIX E MEMORANDUM RE CANADA (No locality) 1697 All the discoveries in America were only made step by step and little by little, especially those of lands held by the French in that part of the North. It being certain that during the reign of king Francis I, several of his subjects, amateurs of shipping and of discoveries, in imitation of the Portuguese and the Spaniards, made the voyage, where they found the great cod bank. The quality of birds frequenting this sea where they always find food, caused them to heave the lead, and bottom was found and the said great bank. He got an opinion on the nearest lands, and other curious persons desired to go farther, and discovered Cape Breton, Virginia and Florida. Some even inhabited and took possession of the divers places, abandoned since, through misunderstanding of the commanders and their poor skill in knowing how to keep on good terms with the indians of those countries, who, good natured all at the beginning, could not suffer the rigor with which it was wanted to subjugate them, so that after a short occupation, they left to return to Europe. And since, the Spaniards and the English successfully have taken possession of the land and all the coasts that the said English have kept until this day to much advantage, so that Frenchmen who have returned since have been obliged to settle at Cape Breton and Acadia. About the year 1540, the said Cape Breton was fortified by Jacques Carrier, captain of St Malo, who afterward entered the river St. Lawrence up to 7 or 8 leagues above Quebec, where desiring to know more, the season also being too far advanced he stopped off to winter at a small river which bears his name and which forms the boundary of M. de Becancourt's land whom he knew; he made sociable a number of Indians who came aboard his ship and brought back beaver pretty abundantly. Since, he made another voyage with Saintonge men which did not prevent several other ships to go after the said beaver; men from Dieppe, Brittany and La Rochelle, some with a passport and others by fraud and piracy, especially the latter, the Civil war having carried away persons out of dutifulness, the Admiralty and the Marine being then held in very little consideration, which lasted a long time. However, I believe for having heard it said, that the lands after new discoveries were given since to M. Chabot or to M. Ventadour, where a certain gentleman from Saintonge named M. du Champlain, had very free admittance and who may have mingled with those of his country who had navigated with Carrier and had given him a longing to see that of which he had only heard speak. He was a proper man for such a scheme; a great courage, wisdom, sensible, pious, fair and of great experience; a robust body which would render him indefatigable and capable to resist hunger, cold and heat. This gentleman then solicited permission to come to Canada and obtained it. His small estate and his friends supplied him with a medium sized vessel for the passage. This new commandant or governor pitied much the Indians and had the satisfaction at his arrival to see that he was much feared and loved by them. He took memoranda through his interpreter of their wars, their mode of living and of their interests. At that time they were numerous and proud of the great advantages they had over the Iroquois, their enemy. With this information he recrossed to France; gave an account of his voyage, and was so charmed with the land, the climate and of the good which would result from a permanent establishment that he persuaded his wife to accompany him. His example induced missionaries of St. François and some parisian families to follow him. He was granted a commission or governor's provisions to take his living from the country. He erected a palissade fort at the place now occupied by the fort St Louis of Quebec. To please the indians he went with them and three Frenchmen only, warring in the Iroquois country, which has no doubt given rise to our quarrel with this nation. The Commerce was then in the hands of the Rochelois (?) who supplied some provisions to the said M. de Champlain, a man without interest and disposed to be content with little. He returns to France in the interests of the country and took back Madam his wife who died in a Ursuline convent, at Saintes, I believe, and he at Quebec, after having worked hard there, with little help because of the misfortunes of France. M. the Cardinal of Richelieu have inspired France with confidence by the humiliation of the Rochelois (?) wanted to take care of the marine and formed at that time, about 1626 or 1627 what was then called the "Society of One Hundred," in which joined persons of all qualifications, and also merchants from Dieppe and Rouen. Dieppe was then reputed for good navigators and for navigation. The said M. the Cardinal got granted to the said company the islands of St Christophe, newly discovered and all the lands of Canada. The Company composed of divers states did not take long to disjoin, and of this great Company several were formed by themselves, the ones concerning themselves about the Isles and the others about Canada, where they were also divided up in a Company of Miscou, which is an island of the Bay in the lower part of the River, where all the Indians meet, and a Company of Tadoussac or Quebec. The Basques, Rochelois, Bretons, and Normans, who during the disorders of the war had commenced secretly on the River, crossed their commerce much by the continuation of their runs without passport. Sometimes on pretext of cod or whale fishing, notwithstanding the interdiction of decrees, the gain made them risk everything, as the two sides of the river were all settled and many more came down from inland. Those Companies for being badly served on account of inexperience and through poor economy, as will happen at the beginning of all affairs, were put to large expenses. The English had already seized on Boston abandoned by the French after their new discovery; beaver and elk peltry were much sought after and at a very high price in Europe; they could be had for a needle, a hawk-bell or a tin looking-glass, a marked copper coin. Our possession was there very well-off. The English who made war to us in France, also made it in Canada, and began to take the fleet about Isle Percée, as it was ascending to Quebec. As four or five vessels came every year loaded with goods for the Indians, it was at that time quantity of peas, plums, raisins, figs and others and provisions for M. de Champlain; a garrison of 15 or 20 men; a store in the lower town where the clerks of the Company lived with 10 or 12 families already used to the country. This succor failing, much hardship was endured in a country which then produced nothing by itself, so that the English presenting themselves the next year with their fleet, surrender was obligatory; the governor and the Recollets crossed over to France and the families were treated honestly enough. Happily in 1628 or 1629, France made it up with England and the treaty gave back Canada to the French, when M. de Champlain, returned and died some years later. Those of the Company of 100, who were persons of dignity and consideration, living in Paris, thought fit to leave the care and benefits of commerce for Canada with the Rouen and Dieppe merchants, with whom joined a few from Paris. They were charged with the payment of the governor's appointments, to furnish him with provisions and subsistence and to keep up the garrisons of Quebec and Three-Rivers where there was also a post on account of the large number of Indians calling; to furnish the things necessary for the war; to pay themselves off the product and give account of the surplus to the directors of the Company who had an office at Paris. It has been said that Dieppe and Rouen benefitted and that Paris suffered and was disgusted. To M. de Champlain succeeded M. de Montmagny, very wise and very dignified; knight of Malta; relative of M. de Poinsy, who commanded at the Island of St Christophe where the said M. de Montmagny died after leaving Canada after a sojourn of 14 or 15 years, loved and cherished by the French and the natives--we say the French, although the complaints made against him by the principals were the cause of his sorrow and he resigned voluntarily. It is to be remarked that all the commerce was done at Rouen to go out through Dieppe on the hearsay and the fine connections that the Jesuit Fathers who had taken the Recollets' place, took great care to have printed and distributed every year. Canada was in vogue and several families from Normandy and the Perche took sail to come and reside in it; there were nobles, the most of them poor, we might say, who found out from the first, that M. de Montmagny was too disinterested to be willing to consider the change they desired for their advantage. They intrigued against him five or six families without the participation of the others, got leave from him to go to France to ask for favors and there had one of themselves as governor; obtained liberty in the beaver trade, which until then had been strictly forbidden to the inhabitants who had been reserved the fruits of the country to advance the culture of the land such as pease, Indian corn, and wheat bread. That was the first title of the inhabitants to trade with the indians. To arrive at that end they promised to pay annually 1000 beaver to the Paris office for its seignorial right which it did not receive through its attention and management of its affairs. They got permission to form a Board from their principal men, to transact with the governor all matters in the country for peace, for war, the settlement of accounts of their society or little republic, and also sitting on cases concerning interests of private individuals. It was then that to keep up this sham republic or society, a tax of one-fourth was imposed on the export of beaver. By these means the authority of the Company and its store were ruined and the whole was turning to the advantage of those four or six families, the others, either poor or slighted by the authority of M. D'Ailleboust, their governor. On this footing it was not hard for them to find large credit at La Rochelle, because loans were made in the name of the Community, although it consisted only of these four or six families; which from their being poor found themselves in large managements enlarged their household, ran into expense, that of their vessels and shipments was excessive and the wealth derived from the beaver was to pay all. Their bad management altered their credit and brought them to agree, after several years' enjoyment so as not to pay La Rochelle, to take their ships to Hâvre-de-Grace, where, on arrival they sold to Messrs Lick and Tabac; this perfidy which they excused because of the large interest taken from them, alarmed La Rochelle who complained to Paris, and after much pressing a trustee was appointed to give bonds in the name of the society for large sums yet due to the city of La Rochelle. Their vessels all bore off to Normandy; they took on their cargoes there in part, and part at La Rochelle, the trade having been allowed those two places, because Rouen and Dieppe had several persons on the roll of the Company and obligation was due La Rochelle for having loaned property. The governor and the families addressed reproaches to each other, and the King being pleased to listen to them, had the kindness to appoint from the body of the company persons of first dignity to give attention to what was going on in this colony, who were called Commissioners; they were Messrs de Morangis, de la Marguerid, Verthamont and Chame, and since, Messrs de Lamoignon, de Boucherat and de Lauzon, the latter also of the body of the Company offered to pass over to this country to arrange the difficulties, and he asked for its government, which was accorded him. He embarked at La Rochelle because of the obligation of the creditors of that city to treat him gently; Rouen did not care much. He was a literary man; he made friends with the R. F. Jesuits, and created a new council in virtue of the powers he had brought, rebuke the one and the other place, even the inhabitants, in forbidding them to barter in what was called the limits of Tadoussac, which he bounded for a particular lease as a security for his payment and of what has always since been called the offices of the country or the state of the 33,000 livres; the emoluments of the Councillors, the garrison, the Jesuits, the Parish, the Ursulines, the Hote-Dieu, etc. The pretext given was that the Iroquois having burned and ruined the Hurons or Ottawa, the tax of one-fourth did not produce enough to meet those demands, and because Tadoussac also was not sufficient to meet all the expenditure contemplated to give war to the Iroquois, he it was also who began in not paying the thousand weight in beaver owing for seignorial right to the Company who was irritated and blamed his conduct, and after the lapse of some years his friends write him they could not longer shield him he anticipated his recall in returning to France, where he has since served as sub-dean of the Council, residing at the cloister of Notre-Dame with his son, canon at the said church. I only saw him two years in Canada where he was hardly liked, by reason of the little care he took to keep up his rank, without servant, living on pork and peas like an artisan or a peasant. However, having decided to go back, for a second time he threw open the Tadoussac trade, by an order of his Council. M. de Lamoignon, the first president, got named to replace him, M. D'Argenson, young man of 30 to 32 years steady as could be, who remained four or five years to the satisfaction of everybody; he kept up the Council as it is intended for the security of his emoluments and of the garrison, selected twelve of the most notable persons to whom he gave the faculty of trading at Tadoussac and all the sureties to be wished for the administration and maintenance. He had the misfortune to fall out with the Jesuit Fathers, and they, with messieurs de Mont Royal, of St Sulpice who had sent Mr the abbey de Queysac, in the hope of making a bishop of him; the former wishing to have one of their nomination presented to the Queen-mother of the reigning King, whom God preserve, M. de Laval, to-day elder and first bishop, who, very rigid, not only backed the Jesuits against the governor in all difficulties but specially in the matter of the liquor traffic with the indians. Although (D'Argenson) a much God-fearing-man he had his private opinions, and this offended him; he asked M. de Lamoignon for his recall, which was done in 1661, when M. d'Avaugour came out. It was in 1660 that the Office in Paris, at the request of the governor, of the Local council and on the advice of Messrs de Lamoignon, Chame and other commissioners made an agreement with the Rouen merchants to supply the inhabitants with all goods they would require with 60% profit on dry goods and 100% on liquors, freight paid. It was pretended that the country was not safely secured by ships of private parties, and that when they arrived alone by unforeseen accidents, they happened unexpectedly, to the ruin of the country; as well as the beaver fallen to a low price and which was restored only at the marriage of the king should keep up. The creditors then pressing payment of their claims, a decree ordered that of the 60%, 10% should be taken for the payment of debts which were fixed at 10,000 livres at the rate of the consumption of the time and of which the Company of Normandy took charge. The country was favorable enough to this treaty because they were well served, but when the treaty arrived at first, the bishop who was jealous because he had not been consulted and that some little gratification had been given to facilitate matters had it opposed by some of the inhabitants and by M. D'Avaugour, governor in the place of the said D'Argenson. The Society of Normandy consented to the breaking off of the treaty on receiving a minute account and being paid some compensation, as to which they had no satisfaction because of the changes, for M. D'Avaugour, like the others, fell out with the Bishop who went to France and had him revoked, presenting in his stead M. de Mezy, a Norman gentleman who did nothing better than to overdo all the difficulties arising on the question of the Bishop and the Governor's powers. The beaver dropped down, as soon, to a low price, and there was a difference by half when the King in 1664 formed the Company of the West Indies, which alone, to the exclusion of all others, had to supply the country with merchandise and receive also all the beaver; in 1669, came M. de Tracy, de Courcelles and Talon; the latter did not want any Company and employed all kinds of ways to ruin the one he found established. He gave to understand to M. Colbert that this country was too big to be bounded; that there should come out of it fleets and armies; his plans appeared too broad, still he met with no contradiction at first, on the contrary he was lauded, which moved him to establish a large trade and put out that of the company, which through bad success in its affairs at the Isles, was relaxing enough of itself in all sorts of undertakings. M. Talon desiring to bring together the government and the superintendence was spending on a large scale to make friends and therefore there was not a merchant when the Company quit who could transact any business in his presence; he gets his goods free of dues, freight and insurance; he also refused to pay the import tax on his wines, liquors and tobacco. Finally his friends or enemies told him aloud that it was of profits of his commerce that the King would be enriched. They fell out, M. de Courcelles and he; their misunderstanding forced the first to ask for his discharge. M. de Frontenac, who succeeded him also complained and I believe he returned to France without his congé whence he never came back although he had promised so to all his friends. You are aware as well as and perhaps better than I of the disputes of M. de Frontenac and M. du Chesneau. And that is all I have been told for my satisfaction of what occurred previous to 1655 when I came here to attend to the affairs of the Rouen Company. I have also learned at the time of my arrival that properly speaking, though there were a very large number of Indians, known under divers names, which they bear with reference to certain action that their chiefs had performed or with reference to lakes, rivers, lands or mountains which they inhabit, or sometimes to animals stocking their rivers and forests, nevertheless they could all be comprised under two mother languages, to wit: the Huron and the Algonquin. At that period, I was told, the Huron was the most spread over men and territory, and at present, I believe, that the Algonquin can well be compared to it. To note, that all the Indians of the Algonquin language are stationed and occupy land that we call land of the North on account of the River which divides the country into two parts, and where they all live by fishing and hunting. As well as the Indians of the Huron language who inhabit land to the South, where they till the land and winter wheat, horse-beans, pease, and other similar seeds to subsist; they are sedentary and the Algonquin follow fish and game. However, this nation has always passed for the noblest, proudest and hardest to manage when prosperous. When the French came here the true Algonquin owned land from Tadoussac to Quebec, and I have always thought they were issued from the Saguenay. It was a tradition that they had expelled the Iroquois from the said place of Quebec and neighborhood where they once lived; we were shown the sites of their villages and towns covered by trees of a fresh growth, and now that the lands are of value through cultivation, the farmers find thereon tools, axes and knives as they were used to make them. We must believe that the said Algonquin were really masters over the said Iroquois, because they obliged them to move away so far. Nobody could tell me anything certain about the origin of their war but it was of a more cruel nature between these two nations than between the said Iroquois and Hurons, who have the same language or nearly so. It is only known that the Iroquois commenced first to burn, importuned by their enemies who came to break their heads whilst at work in their wilderness; they imagined that such cruel treatment would give them relaxation, and since, all the nations of this continent have used fire, with the exception of the Abenakis and other tribes of Virginia. These Iroquois having had the best of the fight and reduced the Algonquins since our discovery of this country, principally because their pride giving us apprehension about their large number, they would not arm themselves until a long time after the Dutch had armed the Iroquois, made war and ruined all the other nations who were not nearly so warlike as the Algonquin, and after the war, diseases came on that killed those remaining; some have scattered in the woods, but in comparison to what I have seen on my arrival, one might say that there are no more men in this country outside of the fastnesses of the forests recently discovered. The Hurons before their defeat by the Iroquois had, through the hope of their conversion obliged the Jesuits to establish with them a strong mission, and as from time to time it was necessary to carry to them necessities of life, the governors began to allow some of their servants to run up there every three or four years, from where they brought that good green (gras) Huron beaver that the hatters seek for so much. Sometimes this was kept up; sometimes no one offered for the voyage there being then so little greediness it is true that the Iroquois were so feared; M. de Lauson was the only one to send two individuals in 1656 who each secured 14 to 15,000 livres and came back with an indian fleet worth 100,000 crowns. However, M. D'Argenson who succeeded him and was five years in the country sent nobody neither did Messrs Avaugour and de Mezy. It was consequently after the arrival of M. Talon that under pretext of discovery, and of finding copper mines, he alone became director of those voyages, for he obliged M. de Courcelles to sign him congés which he got worked, but on a dispute between the workers he handled some himself, of which I remember. You know the number and the regulations given under the first administration of M. the Earl of Frontenac. It is certain that it is the holders of congés who look after and bring down the beaver, and, can it be said that it is wrong to have an abundance of goods. The French and the Indians have come down this year; the receipts of the office must total up 200 millions or thereabouts, which judging from your letter, will surprise those gentlemen very much. The clerks have rejected it as much as they liked; I am told that they admitted somewhere about six thousands of muscovy; during our administration there were 28 or 30 thousands received, which is a large difference without taking into account other qualities, and all this does not give the French much trouble, and at the most for the year we were not informed. I have given my sentiments to the meeting, and in particular to M. de Frontenac and to M. de Champigny. We should be agreeable to our Prince's wishes who is doing so much good to this country: his tenants who must supply him in such troubled times, lose, and it is proper that people in Canada contribute something to compensate them by freely agreeing to a pretty rich receipt on their commodity but what resource in regard to the indian so interested that everything moves with him, through necessity; they are asked and sought after to receive English goods, infinitely better than ours, at a cost half as low and to pay their beaver very high. This commercial communication gives them peace with their enemies and liberty to hunt, and consequently to live in abundance instead of their living at present with great hardship. Should we not say that it requires a great affection not to break away in the face of such strong attractions; if we lose them once we lose them for ever, that it is certain, and from friends they become our enemies; thus we lose not only the beaver but the colony, and absolutely no more cattle, no more grains, no more fishing. The colony with all the forces of the Kingdom cannot resist the Indians when they have the English or other Europeans to supply them with ammunitions of war, which leads me to the query: what is the beaver worth to the English that they seek to get it by all means? If also the rumors set agoing are true the farmers-general would not sell a considerable part to the Danes at a very high price, should they not have had somebody in their employ who understands and knows that article well, it appears to me that the thing is worth while. All the same, people are asking why they want to sell so dear, what costs them so little, for taking one and the other, that going out this year should not cost them more than 50s (_sous_), the entries, Tadoussac, and the tax of one fourth, does it not pay the lease with profit. This is in everybody's mind, and everyone looks at it as he fancies. I was of opinion to arrange the receipts on a basis that these gentlemen got M. Benac to offer, so as to avoid the difficulties on the qualities, and this opinion served to examine the loss this proposition would bring to the country in the general receipt. I have no other interest than the Prince's service, and to please these gentlemen I should like to know, heartily, of some expedient, because it is absolutely necessary to find one to satisfy the Indian; M. the Earl of Frontenac is under a delusion: I may say it, they will give us the goby, and after that all shall be lost, I am not sure even, if they would not repeat the Sicilian Vespers, to show their good will, and that they never want to make it up. I am so isolated that I do not say anything about it, as I am afraid for myself, but I know well that it is Indian's nature to betray, and that our affairs are not at all good in the upper country. To a great evil great remedy. I had said to M. de Frontenac that the 25 per cent could be abolished and make it up on something else, as it is a question of saving the country, but he did not deem fit of anything being said about it. I also told him and M. de Champigny that we might treat with a Dutchman to bring on a clearance English and Dutch goods which are much thought of by our indians for their good quality and their price, that this vessel would not go up the river but stay below at a stated place, where we could go for his goods, and give him beaver for his rightful lading. The company should have the control of these merchandise, so as to sell them to the indians on the base of a tariff, so as to prevent the greediness of the _voyageurs_ which contributes very much to the discontent of the natives, because at first the French only went to the Hurons and since to Michilimakinac where they sold to the Indians of the locality, who then went to exchange with other indians in distant woods, lands and rivers, but now the said Frenchmen holding permits to have a larger gain pass over all the Ottawas and Indians of Michilimakinac to go themselves and find the most distant tribes which displeased the former very much. This has led to fine discoveries and four or five hundred young men of Canada's best men are employed at this business. Through them we have become acquainted with several Indian's names we knew not, and 4 and 500 leagues farther away, there are other indians unknown to us. Down the Gulf in French Acadia, we have always known the Abenakis and Micmacs. On the north shore of the River, from Seven islands up we have always known the Papinachois, Montagnais, Poissons Blancs, (White Fish), (these being in what is called limits of Tadoussac), Mistassinis, Algonquins. AT QUEBEC There are Hurons, remains of the ancient Hurons, defeated by the Iroquois, in Lake Huron. There is also south of the Chaudière (River), five leagues from Quebec, a large village of Christian Abenakis. The Hurons & Abenakis are under the Jesuit Fathers. These Hurons have staid at Quebec so as to pray God more conveniently and without fear of the Iroquois. The Abenakis pray God with more fervor than any Indians of these countries. I have seen and been twice with them when warring; they must have faith to believe as they do and their exactitude to live well according to principles of our religion. Blessed be God! They are very good men at war and those who have give and still give so much trouble to the Bostoners. AT THREE-RIVERS Wolves and Algonquins both sides of the river. AT MONTROYAL OR VILLE-MARIE There are Iroquois of the five nations who have left their home to pray (everyone is free to believe) but it is certain that threefourths have no other motive nor interest to stay with us than to pray. There are, then, Senecas, Mohawks, Cayugas, Wyandotts, Oneida partly on the mountain of Mont-Royal under the direction of Messrs of St Sulpice, and partly at the Sault (Recollet) south side, that is to say, above the rapids, under the R. F. Jesuits, whose mission is larger than St Sulpice's. 150 leagues from Mont Royal the Grand River leading to the Ottawas; to the north are the Temiscamingues, Abitiby, Outanloubys, who speak Algonquin. At lake Nepissing, the Nipissiniens, Algonquin language, always going up the Grand River. In lake Huron, 200 leagues from Montreal, the Mississagues and Amikoués: Algonquins. At Michilimackinac, the Negoaschendaching or people of the Sable, Ottawas, Linage Kikacons or Cut Tail, the men from Forked Lake Onnasaccoctois, the Hurons, in all 1000 men or thereabouts half Huron and half Algonquin language. In the Michigan or lake Illinois, north side, the Noquets, Algonquins, Malomini (Menomeenee), or men of the Folle-Avoine: different language. SOUTH OF PUANTS (GREEN) BAY The Wanebagoes otherwise Puans, because of the name of the Bay; language different from the two others. The Sakis, 3 leagues from the Bay, and Pottewatamis, about 200 warriors. Towards lake Illinois, on River St Joseph, the Miamis or men of the Crane who have three different languages, though they live together. United they would form about 600 men. Above the Bay, on Fox river, the Ottagamis, the Mascoutins and the Kicapoos: all together 1200 men. At Maramegue river where is situated Nicholas Perrot's post, are some more Miamis numbering five to six hundred; always the same language. The Illinois midway on the Illinois river making 5 to 6 different villages, making in all 2000 men. We traffic with all these nations who are all at war with the Iroquois. In the lower Missipy there are several other nations very numerous with whom we have no commerce and who are trading yet with nobody. Above Missoury river which is of the Mississippi below the river Illinois, to the south, there are the Mascoutins Nadoessioux, with whom we trade, and who are numerous. Sixty leagues above the missisipi and St Anthony of Padua Fall, there is lake Issaquy otherwise lake of Buade, where there are 23 villages of Sioux Nadoessioux who are called Issaquy, and beyond lake Oettatous, lower down the auctoustous, who are Sioux, and could muster together 4000 warriors. Because of their remoteness they only know the Iroquois from what they heard the French say. In lake Superior, south side are the saulteurs who are called Ouchijoe (objibway), Macomili, Ouxcinacomigo, Mixmac and living at Chagoumigon, it is the name of the country, the Malanas or men of the Cat-fish; 60 men; always the Algonquin language. Michipicoten, name of the land; the Machacoutiby and Opendachiliny, otherwise Dung-heads; lands' men; algonquin language. The Picy is the name of a land of men, way inland, who come to trade. Bagoasche, also name of a place of men of same nation who come also to trade 200 and 300 men. Osepisagny river being discharge of lake Asemipigon; sometimes the indians of the lake come to trade; they are called Kristinos and the nation of the Great Rat. These men are Algonquins, numbering more than 2000, and also go to trade with the English of the north. There are too the Chichigoe who come sometimes to us, sometimes north to the English. Towards West-Northwest, it is nations called Fir-trees; numerous; all their traffic is with the English. All those north nations are rovers, as was said, living on fish and game or wild-oats which is abundant on the shores of their lakes and rivers. In lake Ontario, south side, the five Iroquois nations; our enemies; about 1200 warriors live on indian corn and by hunting. We can say, that, of all the Indians they are the most cruel during war, as during peace they are the most humane, hospitable, and sociable; they are sensible at their meetings, and their behaviour resembles much to the manners of republics of Europe. Lake Ontario has 200 leagues in circumference. Lake Erie above Niagara 250 leagues; lakes Huron and Michigan joined 552 leagues: to have access to these three lakes by boat, there is only the portage of Niagara, of two leagues, above the said lake Ontario. All those who have been through those lakes say they are terrestrial paradises for abundance of venison, game, fishing, and good quality of the land. From the said lakes to go to lake Superior there is only one portage of 15 (?). The said lake is 500 leagues long in a straight line, from point to point, without going around coves nor the bays of Michipicoten and Kaministiquia. To go from lake Superior to lake Asemipigon there is only 15 leagues to travel, in which happen seven portages averaging 3 good leagues; the said lake has a circumference of 280 leagues. From lake Huron to lake Nipissing there is the river called French River, 25 leagues long; there are 3 portages; the said lake has 60 to 80 leagues of circumference. Lake Assiniboel is larger than lake Superior, and an infinity of others, lesser and greater have to be discovered, for which I approve of M. the Marquis of Denonville's saying, often repeated:--that the King of France, our monarch was not high lord enough to open up such a vast country, as we are only beginning to enter on the confines of the immensity of such a great country. The road to enter it is by the Grand River and lake Ontario by Niagara, which should be easy in peaceful times in establishing families at Niagara for the portage, and building boats on Lake Erie. I did not find that a difficult thing, and I want to do it under M. the Marquis of Denonville, who did not care, so soon as he perceived that his war expedition had not succeeded. I have given you in this memorandum the names of the natives known to us and with whom our wood rovers (coureurs de bois) have traded; my information comes from some of the most experienced. The surplus of the memorandum will serve to inform you that prior to M. de Tracy, de Courcelle and Talon's arrival, nothing was regulated but by the governor's will, although there was a Board; as they were his appointments and that by appearances, only his creatures got in, he was the absolute master of it and which was the cause that the Colony and the inhabitants suffered very much at the beginning. M. de Tracy on his arrival by virtue of his commission dismissed the Board and the Councillors, to appoint another one with members chosen by himself and the Bishop, which existed until the 2nd and 3rd year of M. de Frontenac's reign, who had them granted at Court, provisions by a decree for the establishment of the Council. It is only from that time that the King having given the country over to the gentlemen of the Co'y of West Indies, the tax of one fourth and the Tadoussac trade were looked upon as belonging to the Company, and since to the King, because M. Talon, who crippled as much as he could, this company dare not touch to these two items of the Domain, of which the enjoyment remained to them until cessation of their lease. So, it was in favor of this company that all the regulations were granted in reference to the limits and working out of Tadoussac as well as to prevent cheating on the beaver tax. Tadoussac is leased to six gentlemen for the sum of ---- yearly; I took shares for one fourth, as it was an occasion to dispose of some goods and a profit to everyone of at most 20 ---- yearly. About beavers there is no fraud to be feared, everybody preferring to get letters of exchange to avoid the great difficulties on going out, the entry and sale in France, and of large premiums for the risks; in a word, no one defrauds nor thinks of it. The office is not large enough to receive all the beaver. The ships came in very late; I could not get M. Dumenu the secretary to the Board to send you the regulations you ask for the beaver trade; you shall have them, next year, if it pleases God. They contain prohibition to embark from France under a penalty of 3000 livres' fine, confiscation of the goods, even of the ships; however, under the treaty of Normandy, I had a Dieppe captain seized for about 200 crowns worth of beaver, and the Council here confiscated the vessel, and imposed a fine of 1500 livres, on which the captain appealed to France, and he obtained at the King's Council, replevin on his ship and the fine was reduced to 30 livres. As prior to M. Talon nobody sent traders in the woods as explained in this memorandum there was not to my knowledge any regulation as to the said woods before the decree of 1675. On the contrary I remember that those two individuals under M. de Lauzon's government who brought in each for 14. or 15,000 livres applied to me to be exempted from the tax of one fourth, because, they said we were obliged to them for having brought down a fleet which enriched the country. (Not signed.) INDEX [Transcriber's note: Many index entries contain references like the "9 n." in the "Arms" entry. The "n." appears to refer to the footnote(s) that were on their host pages in the original book. In this e-book, all footnotes have been moved to the end of their respective chapters.] A Abenaki Indians, the, 363. Abitiby Indians, the, 364. Acadia, Indian tribes located in, 363. Albanel, Charles, Jesuit missionary, 141; overland trip of, to Hudson Bay, 143-146; at King Charles Fort, 147. Albany (Orange), 32; Iroquois freebooting expedition against, 36-38; Radisson's escape to, 39-41. Algonquin Indian, murder of Mohawk hunters by a, 20. Algonquin Indians, Radisson and Groseillers travel to the West with, 73-79; territory of the, 359; wars with the Iroquois, 359-360; tribes of, on Lake Huron, 364. Allemand, Pierre, companion of Radisson, 154. Allouez, Père Claude, 142. Amsterdam, Radisson's early visit to, 42. Arctic Ocean, Hearne's overland trip to, 257-265; arrival at, 265-266; Mackenzie's trip of exploration to, 281-286. Arms, supplied to Mohawks by Dutch, 9 n.; desire for, cause of Sioux' friendliness to Radisson, 120, 122. Assiniboine Indians, origin of name, 10 n., 85; Radisson learns of, from prairie tribes, 85; defence of the younger Groseillers by, 184; De la Vérendrye meets the, 218-221; accompany De la Vérendrye to the Mandans, 223-227; Saint-Pierre's encounter with, 237. Assiniboine River, 218, 219, 221-222. Athabasca country, Hearne explores the, 268-269. Athabasca Lake; Hearne's arrival at, 268-269. Athabasca River, 277. Athabascan tribes, Matonabbee and the, 249. Aulneau, Father, 210, 211; killed by Indians, 214. B Baptism of Indian children by Radisson and Groseillers, 92. Barren lands, region of "Little Sticks," 253-254, 259-260. Bath of purification, Indian, 14, 268. Bay of the North. _See_ Hudson Bay. Bayly, Charles, governor of Hudson's Bay Company, 140; in Canada, 140-142; encounter with the Jesuit Albanel, 141-142, 147; accusations against Radisson and Groseillers, 147-148. Bear, Lewis's experience with a, 318. Beauharnois, Charles de, governor of New France, 201, 203, 235. _Beaux Hommes_, Crow Indians, 232. Beckworth, prisoner among Missouri Indians, 33. Belmont, Abbé, cited, 5 n., 98 n. Bering, Vitus, 195. Bigot, intendant of New France, 236. Bird, prisoner of the Blackfeet, 33. Bird's egg moon, the (June), 279. Blackbird, Omaha chief, grave of, 311. Bochart, governor of Three Rivers. _See_ Duplessis-Kerbodot. Boësme, Louis, 70. _Boissons_, drinking matches, 280. Boston, Radisson and Groseillers in, 136. Bourassa, _voyageur_, 213. Bourdon, Jean, explorations by, 102, 134 n. Bow Indians, the, 232-233. Bridgar, John, governor of Hudson's Bay Company, 166, 169, 171, 173, 174, 175, 180. Brower, J. V., cited, 88 n. Bryce, Dr. George, 6 n., 88 n., 187 n. Buffalo-hunts, Sioux, 92 n., 124. Button, Sir Thomas, explorations of, 134 n. C Cadieux, exploit and death of, 197-198. Cameahwait, Snake Indian chief, 324-326. Cannibalism among Indians, 24, 77. Cannibals of the Barren Lands, 255. Cape Breton, discovery and fortification of, 350. Caribou, Radisson's remarks on, 127. Caribou herds in Barren Lands, 255; Indian method of hunting, 259. Carr, George, letter from, to Lord Darlington, 136 n. Carr, Sir Robert, urges Radisson to renounce France, 136. Carrier, Jacques, 71, 193, 350-351. Cartwright, Sir George, Radisson and Groseillers sail with, 136-137; shareholder in Hudson's Bay Company, 140. Catlin, cited, 14 n., 226. Cayuga Indians, the, 34, 55, 364. Chaboneau, guide to Lewis and Clark, 312, 326, 332. Chame, M., commissioner of Company of Normandy, 355, 357. Champlain, governor in Canada, 351-353. Charlevoix, mission of, 202. Chichigoe tribe of Indians, the, 365. Chinook Indians, Lewis and Clark friends with, 328. Chipewyans, bath of purification practised by, 14 n.; Hearne's journey with, 257-263; massacre of Eskimo by, 263-265. Chouart, M., letters of, 335-337. _See_ Groseillers, Jean Baptiste. Chouart, Médard. See Groseillers, Médard Chouart. _Chronique Trifluvienne_, Sulte's, 4 n. Clark, William, companion of Meriwether Lewis, 308-309; exploration of Yellowstone River by, 329; hero-qualities of, 332-333. _See_ Lewis. Clatsop Indians, Lewis and Clark among the, 328. Clearwater River, Lewis and Clark on the, 327. Coal, use of, by Indians, 89. Colbert, Radisson pardoned and commissioned by, 148; withholds advancement from Radisson, 152; summons Radisson and Groseillers to France, 176-177; death of, 177. Colleton, Sir Peter, shareholder in Hudson's Bay Company, 140. Colter, frontiersman with Lewis and Clark, 332. Columbia River, Lewis and Clark travel down the, 327. Company of Miscou, the, 352. Company of Normandy, the, 354-357. Company of the North, the, 151, 154, 175, 176. Company of One Hundred Associates, the, 133, 352, 353. Company of Tadoussac, the, 352. Company of the West Indies, the, 133, 153; account of formation of, 357. Comporté, M., letter to, from M. Chouart, 335-336. Coppermine River ("Far-Off-Metal River"), 245, 249, 252, 262, 267. Copper mines, Radisson receives reports of, 112, 124; discovery of, by Hearne, 267. Council Bluffs, origin of name, 311. Council pipe, smoking the, 16, 29. Couture, explorations of, 103, 129-130. Couture (the younger), 143. Cree Indians, first reports of, 69, 85; Radisson's second visit to, 112-113, 116; wintering in a settlement of, 117; a famine among, 118-119; De la Vérendrye assisted by, 206-208. Crow Indians, De la Vérendrye's sons among, 232-233. D Dablon, Claude, Jesuit missionary, 103, 134 n., 142. D'Ailleboust, M., governor of Company of Normandy, 354. Dakota, Radisson's explorations in, 89. D'Argenson, Viscomte, governor of New France, 99, 129-130, 356-357, 360. D'Avaugour, governor, 104, 105, 107, 133, 143, 357, 360. Death-song, Huron, 24, 54. De Casson, Dollier, cited, 5 n., 96 n., 98 n. De la Galissonnière, governor, 235. De la Jonquière, governor, 236. De Lanoue, fur-trade pioneer, 204. De la Vérendrye, Francois, 215, 222, 229, 230, 233. De la Vérendrye, Jean Baptiste, 197, 205, 208-209, 210, 212; murder of, by Sioux, 214. De la Vérendrye, Louis, 215, 229. De la Vérendrye, Pierre, 215, 222, 229, 230, 235, 315. De la Vérendrye, Pierre Gaultier de Varennes, leaves Montreal on search for Western Sea (1731), 194-197; at Nepigon, 201; previous career, 201-203; traverses Lake Superior to Kaministiquia, 204; Fort St. Pierre named for, 206; among the Cree Indians, 206-208; return to Quebec to raise supplies, 210; loss of eldest son in Sioux massacre, 214; explores Minnesota and Manitoba to Lake Winnipeg, 215-216; at Fort Maurepas, 217; return to Montreal with furs, 218; explores valley of the Assiniboine, 219-221; visits the Mandan Indians, 224-225; takes possession for France of the Upper Missouri, 225; superseded by De Noyelles (1746), 235; decorated with Order of Cross of St. Louis, 235; death at Montreal, 236. De Niverville, lieutenant of Saint-Pierre, 236-237. Denonville, Marquis of, 336, 366, 367. De Noyelles, supersession of De la Vérendrye by, 235. De Noyon, explorations of, 204. Dieppe, merchants of, interested in Canada trade, 352, 353. Dionne, Dr. N. E., cited, 76 n., 88 n., 106 n., 139 n. Dog Rib Indians, Mackenzie among, 283-284. Dollard, fight of, against the Iroquois, 96-98, 198. Dreuillettes, Gabriel, discoveries by, 70-71, 103, 134 n. Drewyer, companion of Meriwether Lewis, 331. Drugging of Indians, 63-64. Duchesnau, M. Jacques, 149 n., 358. Dufrost, Christopher, Sieur de la Jemmeraie, 197, 203, 205, 209, 210, 211. Du Péron, Francois, 47. Duplessis-Kerbodot, murder of, by Iroquois, 5 n., 19, 45. Dupuis, Major, at Onondaga, 46, 55-66. Dutch, arms supplied to Mohawk Indians by, 9 n.; war of, with the English, 137-138. E England, arrival of Radisson and Groseillers in, 137; effect of war between Holland and, on exploring propositions, 137-138; Hudson's Bay Company organized in, 139-140; fur-trading expeditions from, 140-149. _See_ Hudson's Bay Company _and_ Radisson. Erie Indians, the, 34. Eskimo, massacre of, by Chipewyans, 263-265. F "Far-Off-Metal River," the, 245, 249, 252; Hearne reaches the, 262. Feasts, Indian, 60, 62-63, 67 n. _Festins à tout manger_, 60, 67 n. Fields, companion of Meriwether Lewis, 330-331. Flathead Indians, assistance given Lewis and Clark by, 327, 328. Floyd, Sergeant, of Lewis and Clark's expedition, 332. Forked River, term applied to Mississippi and Missouri rivers, 86, 100; Radisson's account of people on the, 86-87. Fort, Dollard's so-called, at the Long Sault, 97; Radisson and Groseillers', in the Northwest, 114-115. Fort Bourbon (Port Royal), on Hayes River, 161-175, 182-186. Fort Bourbon, on Saskatchewan, 229. Fort Chipewyan, 277. Fort Clatsop, Lewis and Clark's winter quarters, 327-328. Fort Dauphin, 229. Fort King Charles, 139, 146. Fort Lajonquière, 237. Fort Mandan, stars and stripes hoisted at, 312. Fort Maurepas, construction, 209; description, 216-217; De la Vérendrye at, 217. Fort Orange, Radisson and the Iroquois at, 36-38; Radisson's escape to, 39-41. Fort Poskoyac, 229, 235. Fort Prince of Wales, building of, 243; description, 244-245; Hearne becomes governor of, 270; surrender and destruction of, 271-272. Fort de la Reine, construction of, 222; De la Vérendrye returns to, after visiting Mandans, 228; abandonment of, 237. Fort Rouge, 221. Fort St. Charles, 208-209, 210, 215. Fort St. Louis, of Quebec, first fortification on site of, 351. Fort St. Pierre, 206. Fort William, 280, 283, 287. Fraser River, Mackenzie's explorations on, 294-302. Frog moon, the (May), 279. Frontenac, governor of New France, 154, 358, 360, 361, 362, 367. Fur companies of New France, 130, 133, 151, 153, 175-176, 352-358. Fur company, Hudson's Bay. _See_ Hudson's Bay Company. Fur trade, the French, 101-102, 104; regulations governing the, 104, 153 n.; effect of, on development of West, 113. G Gantlet, running the, 15-16. Gareau, Leonard, journey and death of, 70. Garneau, cited, 5 n., 87 n. Gillam, Ben, encounters with Radisson, 163-164, 168-175. Gillam, Zechariah, Radisson's first transactions with, 135-136; Groseillers' voyage to Hudson Bay with, 138-139; at Rupert River with Hudson's Bay Company ship, 148; active enmity of, toward Radisson, 165-167, 168-169, 171, 176, 180. Godefroy, Jean, companion of Radisson, 154. Godefroy family, the, 154 n. Goose month (April), 253-254. Gorst, Thomas, 140 n., 147 n. Grand River of the North. _See_ Mackenzie River. Gray, Captain, 308. Great Falls of the Missouri, Lewis discovers the, 317. Great Rat, nation of the, 131, 365. Green Bay, western limit of French explorations until Radisson, 69; Radisson's winter quarters at, 79-80, 99-100. Groseillers, nephew of explorer, title of nobility ordered granted to, 142. Groseillers, Jean Baptiste, accompanies Radisson to Hudson Bay (1682), 154; trip up Hayes River, 158, 161; left in charge of Fort Bourbon, 175; troubles with Indians and with English, 182-183; surrenders fort to Radisson, acting for Hudson's Bay Company, 184; letters to mother, 184, 335-337; carried to England by force, 186; offer from Hudson's Bay Company, 187. Groseillers, Médard Chouart, birth, birthplace, and marriage, 45; journey to Lake Nipissing, 71; engages with Radisson in voyage of exploration to the West (1658), 71-79; winter quarters at Green Bay, 79-80; explorations in West and Northwest, 80-90; return to Quebec, 99; second trip to Northwest (1661), 103-129; imprisoned and fined on return to Quebec (1663), 130; goes to France to seek reparation, 133; meets with neglect and indifference, 133-134; deceived into returning to Three Rivers and going to Isle Percée, 135; goes to Port Royal, N.S., becomes involved with Boston sea-captain, and reaches England _via_ Boston and Spain (1666), 135-137; backed by Prince Rupert, fits out ship for Hudson Bay, and spends year in trading expedition (1668-1669),138-139; on return to London, created a _Knight de la Jarretière_, 139; second voyage from England (1670), 140; involved with Radisson in suspicions of double-dealing, 147-148; in meeting of fur traders at Quebec, 149; retires to family at Three Rivers, 151; summoned by Radisson to join expedition in private French interests to Hayes River (1681-1682), 153-158; successful trade in furs, 158, 167; jealousy and lawsuits on return to Quebec, 175-176; summoned to France by Colbert (1684), 176-177; petition for redress of wrongs ignored by French court, 179; gives up struggle and retires to Three Rivers, 179. H Hayes, Sir James, 180, 181. Hayes River, Radisson's canoe trip up the, 158-160; Fort Bourbon established on, 161; Radisson's second visit to, 182-186. Hayet, Marguerite, Radisson's sister, 6 n., 43; death of first husband, 19, 45; marriage with Groseillers, 45; letters from son, 184, 335-337. Hayet, Sébastien, 6 n., 43 n. Hearne, Samuel, cited, 14 n.; departure from Fort Prince of Wales on exploring trip, 249-252; in the Barren Lands, 253-255, 259-260; crosses the Arctic Circle, 261; discovers the Coppermine River, 262-263; massacre of Eskimo by Indians accompanying, 264-265; arrival at Arctic Ocean, 265; takes possession of Arctic regions for Hudson's Bay Company, 266-267; returns up the Coppermine River and discovers copper mines, 267; travels in Athabasca region, 268-269; returns to Fort Prince of Wales, 269; becomes governor of post, 270; surrenders fort to the French, 271-272. Hénault, Madeline, Radisson's mother, 6 n., 43. Hudson Bay, overland routes to, 71; Radisson's early discoveries regarding, 90-91, 127-128. _Hudson Bay_, Robson's, cited, 139 n., 140 n., 147 n., 161 n., 166 n. Hudson's Bay Company, origin of, 139-140; early expeditions, 140-149; distrust of Radisson by, 150; contract between Radisson and, 181-182; final treaty of peace made between Indians and, 185; poor treatment of Radisson by, 188; quietly prosperous career of, 241-242; encroachments of French traders, 242-243; demand for activity, 243-244; possession taken of Arctic regions for, by Hearne, 266-267. Huron Indians, death songs of, 24, 54; massacre of Christian, by Iroquois, 50-54; band of, with Dollard, against the Iroquois, 97-98; territory of, 359; tribes of, at Michilimackinac, 364. Husky dogs, 277. I Icebergs, Labradorian, 155. Iroquois Confederacy, the five tribes composing the, 34; characteristics of, 366. Iroquois Indians, murder of inhabitants of Three Rivers by, 5 n., 19, 45; treatment of prisoners by, 15-16, 25-28, 54; Radisson's life with, 16-39; Frenchmen at Montreal scalped by, 48; hostages of, held at Quebec, 48, 55-56; siege of Onondaga by, 55-67; encounters between Algonquins and Radisson and, 76-78, 79-80; Radisson's fight with, on the Grand Sault, 94-96; Bollard's battle with, 97-98; Radisson's fights with, on second Western trip, 107-108, 109-111; wars between Algonquins and, 359. Isle of Massacres, 50-54. Issaguy tribe of Indians, 131 n. J Jemmeraie, Sieur de la, De la Vérendrye's lieutenant, 197, 203, 205, 209, 210; death of, 211. _Jesuit Relations_, cited, 57 n., 69 n., 71 n., 73 n., 80 n., 81 n., 82 n., 91 n., 92 n., 96 n., 141 n.; quoted, 88. Jesuits, in Onondaga expedition, 44-67; lives of Iroquois saved by, 65; start with Radisson and Groseillers on first Western expedition, 73; turn back to Montreal, 77. Jogues, Father, 4, 56, 68, 69. Jolliet, 84 n., 149, 151. K Kaministiquia, fur post at, 204. Kickapoo Indians, location of, 364. King Charles Fort. _See_ Fort King Charles. Kirke, Mary, marriage with Radisson, 138; becomes a Catholic, 152. Kirke, Sir John, shareholder in Hudson's Bay Company, 140; claims of, against New France, 152; forbids daughter's going to France, 152; friendly influence used for Radisson, 180. _Knight de la Jarretière_, Groseillers created a, 139. L La Barre, governor of New France, 176 La Chesnaye, cited, 115 n., 131 n.; backs Radisson in Northern expedition, 152-153; outcome of Radisson's dealings with, 175-176. Lake Assiniboel, 366. "Lake of the Castors," the (Lake Nipissing), 76 n., 106 n., 364. Lake Ontario, tribes about, 366. Lake Superior, exploration of, by Radisson, 89; explorer's second visit to, 111-112. Lamoignon, M. de, president of Company of Normandy, 355, 356, 357. La Perouse, French admiral, 271. Larivière, companion of Radisson and Groseillers, 105, 106-107. La Salle, 84 n., 85, 149, 151, 194. Lauzon, M. de, governor of Company of Normandy, 355-356, 368. La Vallière, 103. La Vérendrye. _See_ De la Vérendrye. Ledyard, John, 308. _Letters of Marie de l'Incarnation_, cited, 46 n., 58 n., 60 n., 63 n., 81 n., 90 n., 96 n., 98 n., 139 n. Lewis, Meriwether, starts on expedition to explore Missouri and Columbia rivers, 308-309; reaches villages of Mandan Indians, 311-313; first views the Rocky Mountains, 314-315; discovers the Great Falls of the Missouri, 317; narrowly escapes death from a bear, 318-319; enters the Gates of the Rockies, 321; reaches sources of the Missouri, 322-323; makes friends with Snake Indians, 323-327; crosses Divide to the Clearwater River and travels down the Columbia, 327; arrival on Pacific Ocean, 327; winters at Fort Clatsop (1805-1806), 327-328; return trip by main stream of the Missouri, 329; adventures with Minnetaree Indians, 329-331; arrival at St. Louis, 332; tribute to character and qualities of, 332-333. Liberte, traitor in Lewis and Clark's expedition, 311. Little Missouri, Lewis and Clark pass the, 313. "Little Sticks," region of, 253-254, 259-260. London, Radisson's first visit to, 137-138. Long Sault, Rapids of, Dollard's battle at, 96-98, 198. Lord Preston, English envoy in France, 177, 180, 181. Low, A. P., quoted, 128 n., 146 n., 149 n. M Mackay, Alexander, Mackenzie's lieutenant, 288, 291, 292, 293, 296, 299. Mackenzie, Sir Alexander, early career of, 276; stationed at Fort Chipewyan, 276-277; exploration of Mackenzie River by, 280-285; crosses the Arctic Circle, 285; reaches Arctic Ocean, 285-286; returns up the Mackenzie to Fort Chipewyan, 286; exploration of Peace River by, 288-294; discovers source of Peace River, 294; crosses the Divide and reaches head waters of Fraser River, 294; travels down the Fraser, 294-298; adventures with Indians, 298-300; reaches the Pacific Ocean, 302-303; return to Fort Chipewyan _via_ Peace River, 304-305; later life, 306. Mackenzie, Charles, 311. Mackenzie, Roderick, 278, 279. Mackenzie River, exploration of, 280-287, 296-302. Mandan Indians, bath of purification practised by, 14 n.; Radisson discovers the, 86, 88; De la Vérendrye's visit to, 222, 225-227; the younger De la Vérendryes' second visit to, 230-231; Lewis and Clark at villages of, 311-313, 332. Manitoba, Radisson's explorations in, 113-128. Marquette, Père, 84 n. Martin, Abraham, Plains of Abraham named for, 45 n. Martin, Helen, Groseillers' first wife, 45 n. Martinière, plan of, to capture Radisson for French, 188. Mascoutins, "people of the fire," 80, 131 n., 364, 365; location of the, 86; Radisson among the, 100. Matonabbee, chief of Chipewyans, 248-249; aid afforded Hearne by, 256-263; massacre of Eskimo directed by, 264-265; suicide of, 272. Ménard, Father, 105, 112. Messaiger, Father, 204, 205, 209. Miami Indians, location of the, 364. Michigan, Indian tribes in, 364. Michilimackinac, Island of, Radisson; passes, 112; early headquarters of fur trade, 201; Indian tribes at, 364. Micmac Indians, the, 363. Minnesota, dispute as to discovery of eastern, 71 n.; Radisson's explorations in, 89; Radisson may have wintered in, on second trip, 113. Minnetaree Indians, Lewis and the, 329-331. Mississippi, Radisson discovers the Upper, 80-81. Mississippi Valley, Radisson first to explore the, 85-89. Missouri, tribes of the, 86; De la Vérendrye takes possession of the Upper, 225; Lewis and Clark explore the, 313-323. Mistassini, Lake, Father Albanel at, 146. Mistassini Indians, the, 363. Mohawk Indians, murder of French of Three Rivers by, 5 n., 19, 45; adoption of Radisson by a family of, 17; murder of three, by Radisson and an Algonquin, 20; jealous as to French settlement among Onondagas, 47-48; siege of Onondaga by, 55-59; outwitted by Radisson at Onondaga, 59-67; location of the, 364. Montagnais Indians, the, 363. Montana, punishment of Indians by scouts in, 25 n. Montmagny, M. de, governor in Canada, 353-354. Montreal, expedition for Onondaga leaves, 47; Iroquois scalp Frenchmen at, 48; return of Onondaga party, 66; De la Vérendrye's departure from, 194-197; Indian tribes located in vicinity of, 363-364. Munck, explorations of, 134 n. N "Nation of the Grand Rat," 131, 365. Nelson River, Radisson on the, 140, 161, 164-167, 170-174, 179 n. Nemisco River, called the Rupert, 139. Nepigon, De la Vérendrye at, 201, 202. New York in 1653, 41-42. _New York Colonial Documents_, 9 n. Nez Perces Indians, help given to Lewis and Clark by, 328. Nicolet, Jean, 68, 69. Nicolls, Colonel Richard, quoted, 136 n. Nipissing, Lake, 76 n., 106 n., 364. Nipissinien Indians, the, 364. Northwest, the Great, discovery of, by Radisson, 80-85. Northwest Fur Company, the, 279, 280, 287. Northwest Passage, reward of L20,000 offered for discovery of, 278. Norton, Marie, 247, 270, 271-272. Norton, Moses, governor of Fort Prince of Wales, 244; character of, 246-247; death of, 269-270. O Ochagach, Indian hunter, 202. Octbaton tribe of Indians, 131 n. Ojibway Indians, 115, 365. Oldmixon, John, cited, 92 n., 114 n., 130 n., 147 n. Omaha Indians, Radisson's possible visit to, 86, 88. Omtou tribe of Indians, 131 n. Oneida Indians, the, 34, 364. Onondaga, settlement at, 46; Iroquois conspiracy against, 46-48; garrison besieged at, 55-63; escape of French from, 64-67. Onondaga tribe, the, 34; Jesuit mission among (1656), 46-47; treacherous conduct of, toward Christian Hurons, 50-54. Orange. _See_ Albany. Orimha, Radisson's Mohawk name, 16. Oudiette, Jean, 154 n. "Ouinipeg," Lake, 69, 71. Outanlouby Indians, the, 364. P Pacific Ocean, Mackenzie's expedition reaches the, 302-303; Lewis and Clark's expedition reaches, 327. Papinachois Indians, the, 363. Parkman, Francis, cited, 5 n., 19 n., 46 n., 87 n., 96 n. _Pays d'en Haut_, "Up-Country," defined, 201 n. Peace River, the, 281; exploration of, 287; Mackenzie reaches the source of the, 294. Pemmican, defined, 223. "People of the Fire," the, Mascoutin Indians, 80 n., 86 n., 100, 131 n. Pictured Rocks of Lake Superior, the, 112. Piescaret, Algonquin chief, 4. Pipe of peace, smoking the, 121-123. Plains of Abraham, named for Abraham Martin, 45 n. Poinsy, M. de, commander at St. Christopher, 353. Poissons Blancs (White Fish) Indians, the, 363. Poncet, Père, 41. Port Nelson, 140, 161-175, 182-186. Port Royal, Nova Scotia, Radisson and Groseillers at, 135. Prince Maximilian, 226. Prince Rupert, patron of French explorers, 138-139, 180; first governor of Hudson's Bay Company, 140. Prisoners, treatment of, by Iroquois, 15-16, 25-28, 54. Prudhomme, Mr. Justice, 88 n. Purification, bath of, Indian rite, 14, 268. Q Quebec, Iroquois hostages for safety of Onondaga held at, 48, 55-56; celebration at, on return of Radisson and Groseillers, 99; meeting of fur traders at (1676), 149; Indian tribes located about, 363. R Radisson, Pierre Esprit (the elder), 6 n., 43 n. Radisson, Pierre Esprit, uncle of the explorer, 43 n. Radisson, Pierre Esprit, date and place of birth, 6; genealogy of, 6 n., 43 n.; captured by Iroquois Indians, 9; adopted into Mohawk tribe, 17; escape to Fort Orange (1653), 39-41; proof of Catholicism of, 41 n.; visits Europe and returns to Three Rivers (1654), 42-44; joins expedition to Onondaga (1657), 47; besieged by Iroquois throughout winter, 55-64; saves the garrison and returns to Montreal, 65-67; goes on trapping and exploring trip to the West (1658), 73-74; reaches Lake Nipissing and Lake Huron, 78; in winter quarters at Green Bay, 79-80; crosses present state of Wisconsin and discovers Upper Mississippi, 80-85; explorations to the west and south, 86-89; in Minnesota and Manitoba, 89-91; encounter with Iroquois at Long Sault of the Ottawa, 94-96; at scene of Dollard's fight of a week before, 96-98; arrival at Quebec (1660), 99; sets forth on voyage of discovery toward Hudson Bay (1661), 105; traverses Lake Superior, 111-112; builds fort and winters west of present Duluth, 113-116; visits the Sioux, 123-124; reaches Lake Winnipeg, 127; returns to Quebec (1663), 129; bad treatment by French officials, 130; goes to France to gain his rights, 133-134; ill-treatment, deception by Rochelle merchant, dealings with Captain Gillam of Boston, and visit to Boston (1665), 134-136; goes to England, 137-138; marriage with Mary Kirke, 138; formation of Hudson's Bay Company (1670), 139-140; trading voyage to Port Nelson (1671), 140-141; recalled to England and poorly treated (1674-1675), 148; receives commission in French navy (1675-1676), 148; complications between wife's father and French government, 152; backed by La Chesnaye, engages in new expedition to Hudson Bay, 152-153; returns to Quebec (1681) and sails to Hayes River (1682), 153-158; troubles with English and Boston ships, 161-175; jealousy and lawsuits on return to Quebec, 175-177; unsuccessfully presses claims in France, 179-180; commissioned by Hudson's Bay Company, 181-182; sails to Hayes River and takes possession of Fort Bourbon and French furs (1684), 182-185; return to England, 186-187; annual voyages to Hudson Bay for five years, 188; distrusted on breaking out of war with France, and neglect in old age, 188-189: consideration of character and career, 189-190. _Radisson's Relation_, cited, 9 n., 46 n., 63 n., 80 n., 81 n., 98 n., 99 n., 122, 127, 163 n., 179; language used in, 82; time of writing, 138. Ragueneau, Father Paul, 46 n., 47, 48, 50, 51, 52, 53, 59 n., 63 n. Rascal Village, Indian camp, 305. Red River, first white men on, 219. Rhythm as an Indian characteristic, 160 n. Ricaree Indians, insolence of, to Lewis and Clark, 311-312. Robson, cited, 139, 140, 147, 161, 166. Rochelle, Radisson's visit to, in 1654, 43. Rocky Mountains, Radisson's nearest approach to the, 89; Pierre de la Vérendrye reaches the, 233; Lewis's first view of the, 314-315; Lewis and Clark enter Gates of the, 321. Rouen, merchants of, interested in Canada trade, 352, 353, 357. Roy, J. Edmond, cited, 102 n. Roy, R., translations of documents, 335. Rupert River, the Nemisco renamed the, 139. S Sacajawea, squaw guide to Lewis and Clark, 312, 321, 326, 332. St. Louis, departure of Lewis and Clark's expedition from, 308-309; return to, 332. Saint-Lusson, Sieur de, 142. Saint-Pierre, Legardeur de, 236-237. Saskatchewan River, exploration of, 229. Sautaux Indians, the, 89-90, 92 n., 131 n., 365. Scalp dance, the, 12, 14. Seneca Indians, the, 34, 55, 364. Sioux Indians, the, 69; Radisson and the, 85, 88, 120-124; desire of, for firearms, 120, 122; location of the, 365. Skull-crackers, Indian, defined, 25, 121. Slave Lake, Mackenzie on, 282. Slave Lake Indians, the, 280, 282, 290. Smith, Donald (Lord Strathcona), 275-276. Snake Indians, Lewis and Clark make friends with, 323-326. Society of One Hundred. _See_ Company of One Hundred Associates. Songs, Indian, 159, 160. Sturgeons, Radisson's river of, 112. Sulte, Benjamin, cited, 4, 5 n., 6 n., 7 n., 19 n., 43 n., 68 n., 76 n., 86 n., 99 n., 102 n., 139 n., 154 n. T Tadoussac (Quebec), Company of, 352. Talon, intendant of New France, 7 n., 142-143, 357-358, 360, 367, 368. Tanguay, Abbé, 5 n., 19 n., 88 n. Tar bed, Mackenzie's discovery of a, in the Arctic, 286. Temiscamingue Indians, the, 364. Thousand Islands, massacre of Huron captives by Iroquois at, 53-54. Three Forks of the Missouri, Lewis and Clark arrive at, 321. Three Rivers, population of, 7 n.; in 1654, 44-45; De la Vérendrye born at, 201; Indians of, 363. Touret, Eli Godefroy, French spy, 137. Torture, Indian methods of, 15-16, 25-28, 54. _Travaille_, defined, 224. _Tripe de roches_, defined, 78. V Vérendrye. _See_ De la Vérendrye. Ville-Marie (Montreal), Indian tribes about, 363-364. Voorhis, Mrs. Julia Clark, Clark letters owned by, 312 n. W Wampum, significance to Indians, 17. War-cry, Indian, sounds representing the, 11 n. Waste, viewed by Indians as crime, 60. West Indies Company. _See_ Company of the West Indies. Windsor, member of Lewis and Clark's expedition, 315-316. Winnipeg, Lake, first reports of, 69, 71; Radisson arrives at, 127; rumours of a tide on, 216; De la Vérendrye on, 216-218. Wisconsin, Radisson's travels in, 80-8l, 89. Wolf Indians located at Three Rivers, 363. Wyandotte Indians, the, 364. Y Yellowstone River, exploration of, by Lewis and Clark, 313, 329. York (Port Nelson), 140, 161-175, 182-186. Young, Sir William, champions Radisson's cause, 180, 181, 188. 
18495	----	[Frontispiece: A strange apparition was seen crossing the lake. It appeared to have wings, but it did not fly; and though it possessed a tail, it did not run, but contented itself with moving steadily forward on its long up-turned feet. Over an arm it carried what might have been a trident, and what with its waving tail and great outspreading wings that rose above its horned-like head, it suggested . . . See Chapter VI.] THE DRAMA OF THE FORESTS _Romance and Adventure_ BY ARTHUR HEMING ILLUSTRATED BY THE AUTHOR WITH REPRODUCTIONS FROM A SERIES OF HIS PAINTINGS OWNED BY THE ROYAL ONTARIO MUSEUM GARDEN CITY, N. Y., AND TORONTO DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY 1921 COPYRIGHT, 1921, BY DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY ALL RIGHTS RESERVED, INCLUDING THAT OF TRANSLATION INTO FOREIGN LANGUAGES, INCLUDING THE SCANDINAVIAN PRINTED AT THE COUNTRY LIFE PRESS, GARDEN CITY, N, Y.. U. S. A. First Edition TO MR. AND MRS. DAVID A. DUNLAP WITH WHOM I SPENT MANY HAPPY SEASONS IN THE GREAT NORTHERN FOREST CONTENTS I. ROMANCE AND ADVENTURE II. IN QUEST OF TREASURE III. OO-KOO-HOO'S EL DORADO IV. OO-KOO-HOO PLAYS THE GAME V. MEETING OF THE WILD MEN VI. WILD ANIMALS AND MEN VII. LIFE AND LOVE RETURN VIII. BUSINESS AND ROMANCE LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS A strange apparition was seen crossing the lake. It appeared to have wings . . . . . . _Frontispiece_ I surmised at once who he was, for one could see by the merest glance Oo-koo-hoo's bill Oo-koo-hoo's calendar Going to the brink, we saw a "York Boat" in the act of shooting the cataract Minutes passed while the rising moon cast golden ripples upon the water The lynx is an expert swimmer and is dangerous to tackle in the water Next morning we found that everything was covered with a heavy blanket of snow The bear circled a little in order to descend. Presently it left the shadow Going to the stage, he took down his five-foot snowshoes As the wolf dashed away, the bounding clog sent the snow flying "There's the York Factory packet from Hudson Bay to Winnipeg" "It was on my father's hunting grounds, and late one afternoon" Oo-koo-hoo could even hear the strange clicking sound After half of May had passed away, and when the spring hunt was over The departure of the Fur Brigade was the one great event of the year INTRODUCTION It was in childhood that the primitive spirit first came whispering to me. It was then that I had my first day-dreams of the Northland--of its forests, its rivers and lakes, its hunters and trappers and traders, its fur-runners and mounted police, its voyageurs and packeteers, its missionaries and Indians and prospectors, its animals, its birds and its fishes, its trees and its flowers, and its seasons. Even in childhood I was for ever wondering . . . what is daily going on in the Great Northern Forest? . . . not just this week, this month, or this season, but what is actually occurring day by day, throughout the cycle of an entire year? It was that thought that fascinated me, and when I grew into boyhood, I began delving into books of northern travel, but I did not find the answer there. With the years this ever-present wonder grew, until it so possessed me that at last it spirited me away from the city, while I was still in my teens, and led me along a path of ever-changing and ever-increasing pleasure, showing me the world, not as men had mauled and marred it, but as the Master of Life had made it, in all its original beauty and splendour. Nor was this all. It led me to observe and ponder over the daily pages of the most profound and yet the most fascinating book that man has ever tried to read; and though, it seemed to me, my feeble attempts to decipher its text were always futile, it has, nevertheless, not only taught me to love Nature with an ever-increasing passion, but it has inspired in me an infinite homage toward the Almighty; for, as Emerson says: "In the woods we return to reason and faith. Then I feel that nothing can befall me in life--no disgrace, no calamity (leaving me my eyes)--which Nature cannot repair. Standing on the bare ground--my head bathed by the blithe air and uplifted into infinite space--all mean egoism vanishes. . . . I am the lover of uncontained and immortal beauty." So, to make my life-dream come true, to contemplate in all its thrilling action and undying splendour the drama of the forests, I travelled twenty-three times through various parts of the vast northern woods, between Maine and Alaska, and covered thousands upon thousands of miles by canoe, pack-train, snowshoes, _bateau_, dog-train, buck-board, timber-raft, prairie-schooner, lumber-wagon, and "alligator." No one trip ever satisfied me, or afforded me the knowledge or the experience I sought, for traversing a single section of the forest was not unlike making one's way along a single street of a metropolis and then trying to persuade oneself that one knew all about the city's life. So back again I went at all seasons of the year to encamp in that great timber-land that sweeps from the Atlantic to the Pacific. Thus it has taken me thirty-three years to gather the information this volume contains, and my only hope in writing it is that perhaps others may have had the same day-dream, and that in this book they may find a reliable and satisfactory answer to all their wonderings. But making my dream come true--what delight it gave me! What sport and travel it afforded me! What toil and sweat it caused me! What food and rest it brought me! What charming places it led me through! What interesting people it ranged beside me! What romance it unfolded before me! and into what thrilling adventures it plunged me! But before we paddle down the winding wilderness aisle toward the great stage upon which Diana and all her attendant huntsmen and forest creatures may appear, I wish to explain that in compliance with the wishes of the leading actors--who actually lived their parts of this story--fictitious names have been given to the principal characters and to the principal trading posts, lakes, and rivers herein depicted. Furthermore, in order to give the reader a more interesting, complete, and faithful description of the daily and the yearly life of the forest dwellers as I have observed it, I have taken the liberty of weaving together the more interesting facts I have gathered--both first- and second-hand--into one continuous narrative as though it all happened in a single year. And in order to retain all the primitive local colour, the unique costumes, and the fascinating romance of the fur-trade days as I witnessed them in my twenties--though much of the life has already passed away--the scene is set to represent a certain year in the early nineties. ARTHUR HEMING. THE DRAMA OF THE FORESTS I ROMANCE AND ADVENTURE HER FATHER THE FREE TRADER It was September 9, 189-. From sunrise to sunset through mist, sunshine, shower, and shadow we travelled, and the nearer we drew to our first destination, the wilder the country became, the more water-fowl we saw, and the more the river banks were marked with traces of big game. Here signs told us that three caribou had crossed the stream, there muddy water was still trickling into the hoofprint of a moose, and yonder a bear had been fishing. Finally, the day of our arrival dawned, and as I paddled, I spent much of the time dreaming of the adventure before me. As our beautiful birchen craft still sped on her way, the handsome bow parted the shimmering waters, and a passing breeze sent little running waves gurgling along her sides, while the splendour of the autumn sun was reflected on a far-reaching row of dazzling ripples that danced upon the water, making our voyageurs lower their eyes and the trader doze again. There was no other sign of life except an eagle soaring in and out among the fleecy clouds slowly passing overhead. All around was a panorama of enchanting forest. My travelling companion was a "Free Trader," whose name was Spear--a tall, stoop-shouldered man with heavy eyebrows and shaggy, drooping moustache. The way we met was amusing. It happened in a certain frontier town. His first question was as to whether I was single. His second, as to whether my time was my own. Then he slowly looked me over from head to foot. He seemed to be measuring my stature and strength and to be noting the colour of my eyes and hair. Narrowing his vision, he scrutinized me more carefully than before, for now he seemed to be reading my character--if not my soul. Then, smiling, he blurted out: "Come, be my guest for a couple of weeks. Will you?" I laughed. He frowned. But on realizing that my mirth was caused only by surprise, he smiled again and let flow a vivid description of a place he called Spearhead. It was the home of the northern fur trade. It was the centre of a great timber region. It was the heart of a vast fertile belt that was rapidly becoming the greatest of all farming districts. It was built on the fountain head of gigantic water power. It virtually stood over the very vault that contained the richest veins of mineral to be found in the whole Dominion--at least that's what he said--and he also assured me that the Government had realized it, too, for was it not going to hew a provincial highway clean through the forest to Spearhead? Was it not going to build a fleet of steamers to ply upon the lakes and rivers in that section? And was it not going to build a line of railroad to the town itself in order to connect it with the new transcontinental and thus put it in communication with the great commercial centres of the East and the West? In fact, he also impressed upon me that Spearhead was a town created for young men who were not averse to becoming wealthy in whatever line of business they might choose. It seemed that great riches were already there and had but to be lifted. Would I go? But when I explained that although I was single, and quite free, I was not a business man, he became crestfallen, but presently revived enough to exclaim: "Well, what the dickens are you?" "An artist," I replied. "Oh, I see! Well . . . we need an artist very badly. You'll have the field all to yourself in Spearhead. Besides, your pictures of the fur trade and of pioneer life would eventually become historical and bring you no end of wealth. You had better come. Better decide right away, or some other artist chap will get ahead of you." But when I further explained that I was going to spend the winter in the wilderness, that I had already written to the Hudson's Bay Factor at Fort Consolation and that he was expecting me, Spear gloated: "Bully boy!" and slapping me on the shoulder, he chuckled: "Why, my town is just across the lake from Fort Consolation. A mere five-mile paddle, old chap, and remember, I extend to you the freedom of Spearhead in the name of its future mayor. And, man alive, I'm leaving for there to-morrow morning in a big four-fathom birch bark, with four Indian canoe-men. Be my guest. It won't cost you a farthing, and we'll make the trip together." I gladly accepted. The next morning we started. Free Trader Spear was a character, and I afterward learned that he was an Oxford University man, who, having been "ploughed," left for Canada, entered the service of the Hudson's Bay Company, and had finally been moved to Fort Consolation where he served seven years, learned the fur-trade business, and resigned to become a "free trader" as all fur traders are called who carry on business in opposition to "The Great Company." We were eight days upon the trip, but, strange to say, during each day's travel toward Spearhead, his conversation in reference to that thriving town made it appear to grow smaller and smaller, until at last it actually dwindled down to such a point, that, about sunset on the day we were to arrive, he turned to me and casually remarked: "Presently you'll see Fort Consolation and the Indian village beyond. Spearhead is just across the lake, and by the bye, my boy, I forgot to tell you that Spearhead is just my log shack. But it's a nice little place, and you'll like it when you pay us a visit, for I want you to meet my wife." Then our canoe passed a jutting point of land and in a moment the scene was changed--we were no longer on a river, but were now upon a lake, and the wilderness seemed suddenly left behind. AT FORT CONSOLATION On the outer end of a distant point a cluster of poplars shaded a small, clapboarded log house. There, in charge of Fort Consolation, lived the Factor of the Hudson's Bay Company. Beyond a little lawn enclosed by a picket fence stood the large storehouse. The lower floor of this was used as a trading room; the upper story served for a fur loft. Behind were seen a number of shanties, then another large building in which dog-sleds and great birch-bark canoes were stored. Farther away was a long open shed, under which those big canoes were built, then a few small huts where the half-breeds lived. With the exception of the Factor's house, all the buildings were of rough-hewn logs plastered with clay. Around the sweeping bend of the bay was a village of tepees in which the Indian fur hunters and their families spend their midsummer. Crowning a knoll in the rear stood a quaint little church with a small tin spire glistening in the sun, and capped by a cross that spread its tiny arms to heaven. On the hill in the background the time-worn pines swayed their shaggy heads and softly whispered to that, the first gentle touch of civilization in the wilderness. Presently, at irregular intervals, guns were discharged along the shore, beginning at the point nearest the canoe and running round the curve of the bay to the Indian camp, where a brisk fusillade took place. A moment later the Hudson's Bay Company's flag fluttered over Fort Consolation. Plainly, the arrival of our canoe was causing excitement at the Post. Trader Spear laughed aloud: "That's one on old Mackenzie. He's taking my canoe for that of the Hudson's Bay Inspector. He's generally due about this time." From all directions men, women, and children were swarming toward the landing, and when our canoe arrived there must have been fully four hundred Indians present. The first to greet us was Factor Mackenzie--a gruff, bearded Scotsman with a clean-shaven upper lip, gray hair, and piercing gray eyes. When we entered the Factor's house we found it to be a typical wilderness home of an officer of the Hudson's Bay Company; and, therefore, as far unlike the interiors of furtraders' houses as shown upon the stage, movie screen, or in magazine illustration, as it is possible to imagine. Upon the walls we saw neither mounted heads nor skins of wild animals; nor were fur robes spread upon the floors, as one would expect to find after reading the average story of Hudson's Bay life. On the contrary, the well-scrubbed floors were perfectly bare, and the walls were papered from top to bottom with countless illustrations cut from the London _Graphic_ and the _Illustrated London News_. The pictures not only took the place of wall paper, making the house more nearly wind-proof, but also afforded endless amusement to those who had to spend therein the long winter months. The house was furnished sparingly with simple, home-made furniture that had more the appearance of utility than of beauty. At supper time we sat down with Mrs. Mackenzie, the Factor's half-breed wife, who took the head of the table. After the meal we gathered in the living room before an open fire, over the mantelpiece of which there were no guns, no powder horns, nor even a pair of snowshoes; for a fur trader would no more think of hanging his snowshoes there than a city dweller would think of hanging his overshoes over his drawing-room mantel. Upon the mantel shelf, however, stood a few unframed family photographs and some books, while above hung a rustic picture frame, the only frame to be seen in the room; it contained the motto, worked in coloured yarns: "God Bless Our Home." When pipes were lighted and we had drawn closer to the fire, the Factor occupied a quaint, home-made, rough-hewn affair known as the "Factor's chair." On the under side of the seat were inscribed the signatures and dates of accession to that throne of all the factors who had reigned at the Post during the past eighty-seven years. A MIGHTY HUNTER After the two traders had finished "talking musquash"--fur-trade business--they began reminiscing on the more picturesque side of their work, and as I had come to spend the winter with the fur hunters on their hunting grounds, the subject naturally turned to that well-worn topic, the famous Nimrods of the North. It brought forth many an interesting tale, for both my companions were well versed in such lore, and in order to keep up my end I quoted from Warren's book on the Ojibways: "As an illustration of the kind and abundance of animals which then covered the country, it is stated that an Ojibway hunter named No-Ka, the grandfather of Chief White Fisher, killed in one day's hunt, starting from the mouth of Crow Wing River, sixteen elk, four buffalo, five deer, three bear, one lynx, and one porcupine. There was a trader wintering at the time at Crow Wing, and for his winter's supply of meat, No-Ka presented him with the fruits of his day's hunt." My host granted that that was the biggest day's bag he had ever heard of, and Trader Spear, withdrawing his pipe from his mouth, remarked: "No-Ka must have been a great hunter. I would like to have had his trade. But, nevertheless, I have heard of an Indian who might have been a match for him. He, too, was an Ojibway, and his name was Narphim. He lived somewhere out in the Peace River country, and I've heard it stated that he killed, in his lifetime, more than eighty thousand living things. Some bag for one hunter." Since Trader Spear made that interesting remark I have had the pleasure of meeting a factor of the Hudson's Bay Company who knew Narphim from boyhood, and who was a personal friend of his, and who was actually in charge of a number of posts at which the Indian traded. Owing to their friendship for one another, the Factor took such a personal pride in the fame the hunter won, that he compiled, from the books of the Hudson's Bay Company, a complete record of all the fur-bearing animals the Indian killed between the time he began to trade as a hunter at the age of eleven, until his hunting days were ended. Furthermore, in discussing the subject with Narphim they together compiled an approximate list of the number of fish, wild fowl, and rabbits that the hunter must have secured each season, and thus Narphim's record stands as the following figures show. I would tell you the Factor's name but as he has written to me: "For many cogent reasons it is desirable that my name be not mentioned officially in your book," I must refrain. I shall, however, give you the history of Narphim in the Factor's own words: "Narphim's proper name remains unknown as he was one of two children saved when a band of Ojibways were drowned in crossing a large lake that lies S. E. of Cat Lake and Island Lake, and S. E. of Norway House. He was called Narphim--Saved from the Waters. The other child that was rescued was a girl and she was called Neseemis--Our Little Sister. At first Narphim was adopted and lived with a Swampy Cree chief, the celebrated Keteche-ka-paness, who was a great medicine man. When Narphim grew to be eleven years old he became a hunter, and first traded his catch at Island Lake; then as the years went by, at Oxford House; then at Norway House, then at Fort Chepewyan, and then at Fort McMurray. After that he went to Lesser Slave Lake, then on to the Peace River at Dunvegan, then he showed up at Fort St. John, next at Battle River, and finally at Vermilion. "The following is a list of the number of creatures Narphim killed, but of course he also killed a good deal of game that was never recorded in the Company's books, especially those animals whose skins were used for the clothing of the hunter's family. "Bears 585, beaver 1,080, ermines 130, fishers 195, red foxes 362, cross foxes 78, silver and black foxes 6, lynxes 418, martens 1,078, minks 384, muskrats 900, porcupines 19, otters 194, wolves 112, wolverines 24, wood buffaloes 99, moose 396, caribou 196, jumping deer 72, wapiti 156, mountain sheep 60, mountain goats 29; and rabbits, approximately 8,000, wild fowl, approximately 23,800, and fish approximately 36,000. Total 74,573. "Yes, Narphim was a great hunter and a good man," says the Factor in his last letter to me. "He was a fine, active, well-built Indian and a reliable and pleasant companion. In fact, he was one of Nature's gentlemen, whom we shall be, and well may be, proud to meet in the Great Beyond, known as the Happy Hunting Grounds." Thus the evening drifted by. While the names of several of the best hunters had been mentioned as suitable men for me to accompany on their hunting trail, it was suggested that as the men themselves would probably visit the Post in the morning, I should have a chat with them before making my selection. Both Mackenzie and Spear, however, seemed much in favour of my going with an Indian called Oo-koo-hoo. Presently the clock struck ten and we turned in, the Free Trader sharing a big feather bed with me. THEIR SUMMER LIFE After breakfast next morning I strolled about the picturesque point. It was a windless, hazy day. An early frost had already clothed a number of the trees with their gorgeous autumnal mantles, the forerunners of Indian summer, the most glorious season of the Northern year. When I turned down toward the wharf, I found a score of Indians and half-breed trippers unloading freight from a couple of six-fathom birch-bark canoes. Eager men and boys were good-naturedly loading themselves with packs and hurrying away with them to the storehouse, while others were lounging around or applauding the carriers with the heaviest loads. As the packers hurried by, Delaronde, the jovial, swarthy-faced, French-Canadian clerk, note-book in hand, checked the number of pieces. Over by the log huts a group of Indian women were sitting in the shade, talking to Delaronde's Indian wife. All about, and in and out of the Indian lodges, dirty, half-naked children romped together, and savage dogs prowled around seeking what they might devour. The deerskin or canvas covers of most of the tepees were raised a few feet to allow the breeze to pass under. Small groups of women and children squatted or reclined in the shade, smoking and chatting the hours away. Here and there women were cleaning fish, mending nets, weaving mats, making clothes, or standing over steaming kettles. Many of the men had joined the "goods brigade," and their return was hourly expected. Many canoes were resting upon the sandy beach, and many more were lying bottom up beneath the shade of trees. The most important work undertaken by the Indians during the summer is canoe building. As some of the men are more expert at this than others, it often happens that the bulk of the work is done by a few who engage in it as a matter of business. Birch bark for canoe building is taken from the tree early in May. The chosen section, which may run from four to eight feet in length, is first cut at the top and bottom; then a two-inch strip is removed from top to bottom in order to make room for working a chisel-shaped wooden wedge--about two feet long--with which the bark is taken off. Where knots appear great care is exercised that the bark be not torn. To make it easier to pack, the sheet of bark is then rolled up the narrow way, and tied with willow. In this shape, it is transported to the summer camping grounds. Canoes range in size all the way from twelve feet to thirty-six feet in length. The smaller size, being more easily portaged, is used by hunters, and is known as a two-fathom canoe. For family use canoes are usually from two and a half to three and a half fathoms long. Canoes of the largest size, thirty-six feet, are called six-fathom or "North" canoes. With a crew of from eight to twelve, they have a carrying capacity of from three to four tons, and are used by the traders for transporting furs and supplies. Some Indians engage in "voyaging" or "tripping" for the traders--taking out fur packs to the steamboats or railroads, by six-fathom canoe, York boat, or sturgeon-head scow brigades, and bringing in supplies. Others put in part of their time on an occasional hunt for moose or caribou, or in shooting wild fowl. On their return they potter around camp making paddles or snowshoe frames; or they give themselves up to gambling--a vice to which they are rather prone. Sometimes twenty men or more, divided into equal sides, will sit in the form of an oval, with their hair drawn over their faces that their expression may not easily be read, and with their knees covered with blankets. Leaders are chosen on either side, and each team is supplied with twelve small sticks. The game begins by one of the leaders placing his closed hands upon his blanket, and calling upon the other to match him. If the latter is holding his stick in the wrong hand, he loses; and so the game goes on. Two sets of drummers are playing continuously and all the while there is much chanting. In this simple wise they gamble away their belongings, even to their clothing, and, sometimes, their wives. When the wives are at stake, however, they have the privilege of taking a hand in the game. The women, in addition to their regular routine of summer camp duties, occupy themselves with fishing, moccasin making, and berry picking. The girls join their mothers in picking berries, which are plentiful and of great variety--raspberries, strawberries, cranberries, blueberries, gooseberries, swampberries, saskatoonberries, pembinaberries, pheasantberries, bearberries, and snakeberries. They gather also wild celery, the roots of rushes, and the inner bark of the poplar--all which they eat raw. In some parts, too, they gather wild rice. Before their summer holidays are over, they have usually secured a fair stock of dried berries, smoked meats and bladders and casings filled with fish oil or other soft grease, to help out their bill of fare during the winter. The women devote most of their spare moments to bead, hair, porcupine, or silk work which they use for the decoration of their clothing. They make _mos-quil-moots_, or hunting bags, of plaited _babiche_, or deerskin thongs, for the use of the men. The girl's first lesson in sewing is always upon the coarsest work; such as joining skins together for lodge coverings. The threads used are made from the sinews of the deer or the wolf. These sinews are first hung outside to dry a little, and are then split into the finest threads. The thread-maker passes each strand through her mouth to moisten it, then places it upon her bare thigh, and with a quick movement rolls it with the flat of her hand to twist it. Passing it again through her mouth, she ties a knot at one end, points the other, and puts it away to dry. The result is a thread like the finest hair-wire. For colouring moose hair or porcupine quills for fancy work, the women obtain their dyes in the following ways: From the juice of boiled cranberries they derive a magenta dye. From alder bark, boiled, beaten, and strained, they get a dark, slate-coloured blue which is mixed with rabbits' gall to make it adhere. The juice of bearberries gives them a bright red. From gunpowder and water they obtain a fine black, and from coal tar a stain for work of the coarsest kind. They rely chiefly, however, upon the red, blue, green, and yellow ochres found in many parts of the country. These, when applied to the decoration of canoes, they mix with fish oil; but for general purposes the earths are baked and used in the form of powder. From scenes such as I have described the summer traveller obtains his impression of the forest Indians. Too often their life and character are judged by such scenes, as if these truly represented their whole existence. In reality, this is but their holiday season which they are spending upon their tribal summer camping ground. It is only upon their hunting grounds that one may fairly study the Indians; so, presently, we shall follow them there. And when one experiences the wild, free life the Indian lives--hampered by no household goods or other property that he cannot at a moment's notice dump into his canoe and carry with him to the ends of the earth if he chooses--one not only envies him, but ceases to wonder which of the two is the greater philosopher--the white man or the red; for the poor old white man is so overwhelmed with absurd conventions and encumbering property that he can rarely do what his heart dictates. FAMILY HUNTING GROUNDS Don't let us decide just yet, however, whether the Indian derives more pleasure from life than does the white man, at least, not until we return from our voyage of pleasure and investigation; but before we leave Fort Consolation it is well to know that the hunting grounds in possession of the Indian tribes that live in the Great Northern Forest have been for centuries divided and subdivided and allotted, either by bargain or by battle, to the main families of each band. In many cases the same hunting grounds have remained in the undisputed possession of the same families for generations. Family hunting grounds are usually delimited by natural boundaries, such as hills, valleys, rivers, and lakes. The allotments of land generally take the form of wedge-shaped tracts radiating from common centres. From the intersection of these converging boundary lines the common centres become the hubs of the various districts. These district centres mark convenient summer camping grounds for the reunion of families after their arduous labour during the long winter hunting season. The tribal summer camping grounds, therefore, are not only situated on the natural highways of the country--the principal rivers and lakes--but also indicate excellent fishing stations. There, too, the Indians have their burial grounds. Often these camping grounds are the summer headquarters for from three to eight main families; and each main family may contain from five or six to fifty or sixty hunting men. Inter-marriage between families of two districts gives the man the right to hunt on the land of his wife's family as long as he "sits on the brush" with her--is wedded to her--but the children do not inherit that right; it dies with the father. An Indian usually lives upon his own land, but makes frequent excursions to the land of his wife's family. In the past, the side boundaries of hunting grounds have been the cause of many family feuds, and the outer boundaries have furnished the occasion for many tribal wars. The past and the present headquarters camping grounds of the Strong Woods Indians--as the inhabitants of the Great Northern Forest are generally called--lie about one hundred and fifty miles apart. The natural overland highways throughout the country, especially those intersecting the watercourses and now used as the roadbeds for our great transcontinental railways, were not originally discovered by man at all. The credit is due to the big game of the wilderness; for the animals were not only the first to find them, but also the first to use them. The Indian simply followed the animals, and the trader followed the Indian, and the official "explorer" followed the trader, and the engineer followed the "explorer," and the railroad contractor followed the engineer. It was the buffalo, the deer, the bear, and the wolf who were our original transcontinental path-finders, or rather pathmakers. Then, too, the praise bestowed upon the pioneer fur traders for the excellent judgment shown in choosing the sites upon which trading posts have been established throughout Canada, has not been deserved; the credit is really due to the Indians. The fur traders erected their posts or forts upon the tribal camping grounds simply because they found such spots to be the general meeting places of the Indians, and not only situated on the principal highways of the wilderness but accessible from all points of the surrounding country, and, moreover, the very centres of excellent fish and game regions. Thus in Canada many of the ancient tribal camping grounds are now known by the names of trading posts, of progressive frontier towns, or of important cities. Now, as of old, the forest Indians after their winter's hunt return in the early summer to trade their catch of furs, to meet old friends, and to rest and gossip awhile before the turning leaf warns them to secure their next winter's "advances" from the trader, and once more paddle away to their distant hunting grounds. The several zones of the Canadian wilderness are locally known as the Coast Country--the shores of the Arctic Ocean and Hudson Bay; the Barren Grounds--the treeless country between Hudson Bay and the Mackenzie River; the Strong Woods Country--the whole of that enormous belt of heavy timber that spans Canada from east to west; the Border Lands--the tracts of small, scattered timber that lie between the prairies and the northern forests; the Prairie Country; the Mountains; and the Big Lakes. These names have been adopted by the fur traders from the Indians. It is in the Strong Woods Country that most of the fur-bearing animals live. MEETING OO-KOO-HOO About ten o'clock on the morning after our arrival at Fort Consolation, Free Trader Spear left for home with my promise to paddle over and dine at Spearhead next day. At noon Factor Mackenzie informed me that he had received word that Oo-koo-hoo--The Owl--was coming to the Fort that afternoon and that, taking everything into consideration, he thought Oo-koo-hoo's hunting party the best for me to join. It consisted, he said, of Oo-koo-hoo and his wife, his daughter, and his son-in-law, Amik--The Beaver--and Amik's five children. The Factor further added that Oo-koo-hoo was not only one of the greatest hunters, and one of the best canoe-men in that district, but in his youth he had been a great traveller, as he had hunted with other Indian tribes, on Hudson Bay, on the Churchill, the Peace, the Athabasca, and the Slave rivers, and even on the far-away Mackenzie; and was a master at the game. His son-in-law, Amik, was his hunting partner. Though Amik would not be home until to-morrow, Oo-koo-hoo and his wife, their daughter and her children were coming that afternoon to get their "advances," as the party contemplated leaving for their hunting grounds on the second day. That I might look them over while they were getting their supplies in the Indian shop, and if I took a fancy to the old gentleman--who by the way was about sixty years of age--the trader would give me an introduction, and I could then make my arrangements with the hunter himself. So after dinner, when word came that they had landed, I left the living room for the Indian shop. In the old days, in certain parts of the country, when the Indians came to the posts to get their "advances" or to barter their winter's catch of fur, the traders had to exercise constant caution to prevent them from looting the establishments. At some of the posts only a few Indians at a time were allowed within the fort, and even then trading was done through a wicket. But that applied only to the Plains Indians and to some of the natives of the Pacific Coast; for the Strong Woods people were remarkably honest. Even to-day this holds good notwithstanding the fact that they are now so much in contact with white men. Nowadays the Indians in any locality rarely cause trouble, and at the trading posts the business of the Indian shops is conducted in a quiet and orderly way. The traders do most of their bartering with the Indians in the early summer when the hunters return laden with the spoils of their winter's hunt. In the early autumn, when the Indians are about to leave for their hunting grounds, much business is done, but little in the way of barter. At that season the Indians procure their outfit for the winter. Being usually insolvent, owing to the leisurely time spent upon the tribal camping grounds, they receive the necessary supplies on credit. The amount of credit, or "advances," given to each Indian seldom exceeds one third of the value of his average annual catch. That is the white man's way of securing, in advance, the bulk of the Indian's prospective hunt; yet, although a few of them are sometimes slow in settling their debts, they are never a match for the civilized white man. When I entered the trading room I saw that it was furnished with a U-shaped counter paralleling three sides of the room, and with a large box-stove in the middle of the intervening space. On the shelves and racks upon the walls and from hooks in the rafters rested or hung a conglomeration of goods to be offered in trade to the natives. There were copper pails and calico dresses, pain-killer bottles and Hudson's Bay blankets, sow-belly and chocolate drops, castor oil and gun worms, frying-pans and ladies' wire bustles, guns and corsets, axes and ribbons, shirts and hunting-knives, perfumes and bear traps. In a way, the Indian shop resembled a department store except that all the departments were jumbled together in a single room. At one post I visited years ago--that of Abitibi--they had a rather progressive addition in the way of a millinery department. It was contained in a large lidless packing case against the side of which stood a long steering paddle for the clerk's use in stirring about the varied assortment of white women's ancient headgear, should a fastidious Indian woman request to see more than the uppermost layer. Already a number of Indians were being served by the Factor and Delaronde, the clerk, and I had not long to wait before Oo-koo-hoo appeared. I surmised at once who he was, for one could see by the merest glance at his remarkably pleasant yet thoroughly clever face, that he was all his name implied, a wise, dignified old gentleman, who was in the habit of observing much more than he gave tongue to--a rare quality in men--especially white men. Even before I heard him speak I liked Oo-koo-hoo--The Owl. [Illustration: I surmised at once who he was, for one could see by the merest glance at his remarkably pleasant yet thoroughly clever face that he was all his name implied, a wise dignified old gentleman, who was in the habit of observing much more than he gave tongue to--a rare quality in men--especially white men. Even before I heard him speak I liked Oo-koo-hoo--The . . . See Chapter I] But before going any farther, I ought to explain that as I am endeavouring to render a faithful description of forest life, I am going to repeat in the next few paragraphs part of what once appeared in one of my fictitious stories of northern life. I then made use of the matter because it was the truth, and for that very reason I am now going to repeat it; also because this transaction as depicted is typical of what usually happens when the Indians try to secure their advances. Furthermore, I give the dialogue in detail, as perchance some reader may feel as Thoreau did, when he said: "It would be some advantage to live a primitive and frontier life, though in the midst of an outward civilization, if only to learn what are the gross necessaries of life and what methods have been taken to obtain them; or even to look over the old day-books of the merchants, to see what it was that men most commonly bought at the stores, what they stored, that is, what are the grossest groceries." But while the following outfit might be considered the Indian's grossest groceries, the articles are not really necessaries at all for him; for, to go to the extreme, a good woodsman can hunt without even gun, axe, knife, or matches, and can live happily, absolutely independent of our civilization. As the Factor was busy with another Indian when the Chief entered--for Oo-koo-hoo was the chief of the Ojibways of that district--he waited patiently, as he would not deign to do business with a clerk. When he saw the trader free, he greeted: "_Quay, quay, Hugemow_!" (Good day, Master). "Gude day, man Oo-koo-hoo, what can I do for ye the day?" amicably responded the Factor. "Master, it is this way. I am about to leave for my hunting grounds; but this time I am going to spend the winter upon a new part of them, where I have not hunted for years, and where game of all kinds will be plentiful. Therefore, I want you to give me liberal advances so that my hunt will not be hindered." "Pegs, Oo-koo-hoo, ma freen', yon's an auld, auld farrant. But ye're well kenn'd for a leal, honest man; an' sae, I'se no be unco haird upon ye." So saying, the Factor made him a present of a couple of pounds of flour, half a pound of pork, half a pound of sugar, a quarter of a pound of tea, a plug of tobacco, and some matches. The Factor's generosity was prompted largely by his desire to keep the Indian in good humour. After a little friendly chaffing, the Factor promised to give the hunter advances to the extent of one hundred "skins." A "skin," or, as it is often called, a "made beaver," is equivalent to one dollar in the Hudson Bay and the Mackenzie River districts, but only fifty cents in the region of the Athabasca. Perhaps it should be explained here that while Oo-koo-hoo could speak broken English, he always preferred to use his own language when addressing the trader, whom he knew to be quite conversant with Ojibway, and so, throughout this book, I have chosen to render the Indian's speech as though it was translated from Ojibway into English, rather than at any time render it in broken English, as the former is not only easier to read, but is more expressive of the natural quality of the Indian's speech. In olden days some of the chiefs who could not speak English at all were, it is claimed, eloquent orators--far outclassing our greatest statesmen. Oo-koo-hoo, having ascertained the amount of his credit, reckoned that he would use about fifty skins in buying traps and ammunition; the rest he would devote to the purchase of necessaries for himself and his party, as his son-in-law had arranged with him to look after his family's wants in his absence. So the old gentleman now asked for the promised skins. He was handed one hundred marked goose quills representing that number of skins. After checking them over in bunches of ten, he entrusted twenty to his eldest grandson, Ne-geek--The Otter--to be held in reserve for ammunition and tobacco, and ten to his eldest granddaughter, Neykia, with which to purchase an outfit for the rest of the party. For a long time Oo-koo-hoo stood immersed in thought. At last his face brightened. He had reached a decision. For years he had coveted a new muzzle-loading gun, and he felt that the time had now arrived to get it. So he picked out one valued at forty skins and paid for it. Then, taking back the quills his grandson held, he bought twenty skins' worth of powder, caps, shot, and bullets. Then he selected for himself a couple of pairs of trousers, one pair made of moleskin and the other of tweed, costing ten skins; two shirts and a suit of underwear, ten skins; half a dozen assorted traps, ten skins. Finding that he had used up all his quills, he drew on those set aside for his wife and son-in-law's family and bought tobacco, five skins; files, one skin; an axe, two skins; a knife, one skin; matches, one half skin; and candy for his youngest grandchild, one half skin. On looking over his acquisitions he discovered that he must have at least ten skins' worth of twine for nets and snares, five skins' worth of tea, one skin worth of soap, one skin worth of needles and thread, as well as a tin pail and a new frying pan. After a good deal of haggling, the Factor threw him that number of quills, and Oo-koo-hoo's manifest contentment somewhat relieved the trader's anxiety. A moment later, however, Oo-koo-hoo was reminded by his wife, Ojistoh, that there was nothing for her, so she determined to interview the Factor herself. She tried to persuade him to give her twenty skins in trade, and promised to pay for them in the spring with rat and ermine skins, or--should those fail her--with her dog, which was worth fully thirty skins. She had been counting on getting some cotton print for a dress, as well as thread and needles, to say nothing of extra tea, which in all would amount to at least thirty-five or forty skins. When, however, the Factor allowed her only ten skins, her disappointment was keen, and she ended by getting a shawl. Then she left the trading room to pay a visit to the Factor's wife, and confide to her the story of her expectations and of her disappointment so movingly that she would get a cup of tea, a word of sympathy, and perhaps even an old petticoat. In the meantime, Oo-koo-hoo was catching it again. He had forgotten his daughter; so after more haggling the trader agreed to advance her ten skins. Her mind had long been made up. She bought a three-point blanket, a small head shawl, and a piece of cotton print. Then the grandsons crowded round and grumbled because there was nothing for them. By this time the trader was beginning to feel that he had done pretty well for the family already; but he kept up the appearance of bluff good humour, and asked: "Well, Oo-koo-hoo, what wad ye be wantin' for the laddies?" "My grandsons are no bunglers, as you know," said the proud old grandsire. "They can each kill at least twenty skins' worth of fur." "Aye, aye!" rejoined the trader. "I shall e'en gi'e them twenty atween them." In the goodness of his heart he offered the boys some advice as to what they should buy: "Ye'll be wantin' to buy traps, I'm jalousin', an' sure ye'll turn oot to be graun' hunters, Nimrods o' the North that men'll mak' sangs aboot i' the comin' years." He cautioned them to choose wisely, because from henceforth they would be personally responsible for everything they bought, and must pay, "skin for skin" (the motto of the Hudson's Bay Company). The boys listened with gloomy civility, and then purchased an assortment of useless trifles such as ribbons, tobacco, buttons, candy, rings, pomatum, perfume, and Jew's harps. The Factor's patience was now nearly exhausted. He picked up his account book, and strode to the door, and held it open as a hint to the Indians to leave. But they pretended to take no notice of his action. The granddaughters, who had been growing more and more anxious lest they should be forgotten, now began to be voluble in complaint. Oo-koo-hoo called the trader aside and explained the trouble. The Factor realized that he was in a corner, and that if he now refused further supplies he would offend the old chief and drive him to sell his best furs to the opposition trader in revenge. He surrendered, and the girls received ten skins between them. At long last everyone was pleased except the unhappy Factor. Gathering his purchases together, Oo-koo-hoo tied up the powder, shot, tea, and sugar in the legs of the trousers; placed the purchases for his wife, daughter, and granddaughters in the shawl, and the rest of the goods in the blanket. Then he made the discovery that he had neither flour nor grease. He could not start without them. The Factor's blood was now almost at the boiling pitch, but he dared not betray his feelings; for the Indian was ready to take offence at the slightest word, so rich and independent did he feel. Angering him now would simply mean adding to the harvest of the opposition trader. He chewed his lower lip in the effort to smother his disgust, and growled out with an angry grin: "Hoots, mon, ye ha'e gotten ower muckle already. It's fair redeeklus. I jist canna gi'e ye onythin' mair ava!" "Ah, but, master, you have forgotten that I am a great hunter. And that my son-in-law is a great hunter, too. This is but the outfit for a lazy man! Besides, the Great Company is rich, and I am poor. If you will be stingy, I shall not trouble you more." Once again the Factor gave way, and handed out the flour and grease. All filed out, and the Factor turned the key in the door. As he walked toward the house, his spirits began to rise, and he clapped the old Indian on the back good-naturedly. Presently Oo-koo-hoo halted in his tracks. He had forgotten something: he had nothing in case of sickness. "Master, you know my voyage is long; my work is hard; the winter is severe. I am not very strong now: I may fall ill. My wife--she is not very strong--may fall ill also. My son-in-law is not very strong: he may fall ill too. My daughter is not. . . ." "De'il ha'e ye!" roared the Factor, "what is't the noo?" "Never mind, it will do to-morrow," muttered the hunter with an offended air. "As I'm a leevin' sinner, it's noo or it's nivver," insisted the Factor, who had no desire to let the Indian have another day at it. "Come back this verra minnit, an' I'll gi'e ye a wheen poothers an' sic like, that'll keep ye a' hale and hearty, I houp, till ye win hame again." The Factor took him back and gave him some salts, peppermint, pain-killer, and sticking-plaster to offset all the ills that might befall him and his party during the next ten months. Once more they started for the house. The Factor was ready to put up with anything as long as he could get them away from the store. Oo-koo-hoo now told the trader not to charge anything against his wife as he would settle her account himself, and that as Amik would be back in the morning, he, too, would want his advances, and if they had forgotten anything, Amik could get it next day. The Factor scowled again, but it was too late. While the Indians lounged around the kitchen and talked to the Factor's wife and the half-breed servant girl, the Factor went to his office and made out Oo-koo-hoo's bill, which read: Fort Consolation 18 September 189- Dr. Advances to Oo-koo-hoo and family XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX1111--164 M.B. Hudson's Bay Company per Donald Mackenzie, Factor [Illustration: Oo-koo-hoo's bill.] The Indian now told the trader that he wanted him to send the "Fur Runners" to him with supplies in ten weeks' time; and that he must have a "geese-wark," or measure of days, in order to know exactly when the Fur Runners would arrive at his camp. So the Factor made out the following calendar: Fort Consolation 18 September 189- LNE 1111X111111X1 NRU 11111X111111X111111X111111X1111 NVER 11X111111X111111X111111X111111 Hudson's Bay Company per Donald Mackenzie, Factor [Illustration: Oo-koo-hoo's calendar.] The above characters to the left are syllabic--a method of writing taught to the Indians by the missionaries. They spell the words September, October, and November. The 1's represent week days, and the X's Sundays. The calendar begins with the 18th of September, and the crescent marks the 29th of November, the date of the arrival of the Fur Runners. The Indian would keep track of the days by pricking a pin hole every day above the proper figure. Presently the Factor and I were alone for a few moments and he growled: "Whit d'ye think o' the auld de'il?" "Fine, I'll go with him, if he will take me." So I had a talk with the old Indian, and when he learned that I had no intention of killing game, but merely wanted to accompany him and his son-in-law on their hunts, he consented and we came to terms. I was to be ready to start early on the morning of the 20th. Then Oo-koo-hoo turned to the trader and said: "Master, it is getting late and it will be later when I reach my lodge. I am hungry now, and I shall be hungrier still when I get home. I am growing . . ." "Aye, aye, ma birkie," interrupted the Factor, "I un'erstaun' fine." He bestowed upon the confident petitioner a further gratuity of flour, tea, sugar, and tallow, a clay pipe, a plug of tobacco and some matches, so as to save him from having to break in upon his winter supplies before he started upon his journey to the hunting grounds. Oo-koo-hoo solemnly expressed his gratitude: "Master, my heart is pleased. You are my father. I shall now hunt well, and you shall have all my fur." To show his appreciation of the compliment, the Factor gave him an old shirt, and wished him good luck. In the meantime, Oo-koo-hoo's wife had succeeded in obtaining from the Factor's wife old clothes for her grandchildren, needles and thread, and some food. Just as they got ready to go, the younger woman, Amik's wife, remembered that the baby had brought a duck as a present for the Factor's children so they had to give a present in return, worth at least twice as much as the duck. The Factor and his family were by this time sufficiently weary. Right willingly did they go down to the landing to see the Indians off. No sooner had these taken their places in the canoes and paddled a few strokes away than the grandmother remembered that she had a present for the Factor and his wife. All paddled back again, and the Factor and his wife were each presented with a pair of moccasins. No, she would not take anything in return, at least, not just now. To-morrow, perhaps, when they came to say good-bye. "Losh me! I thocht they were aff an' gane," exclaimed the trader as he turned and strode up the beach. I inwardly laughed, for any man--red, white, black, or yellow--who could make such a hard-headed old Scotsman as Donald Mackenzie loosen up, was certainly clever; and the way old Oo-koo-hoo made off with such a lot of supplies proved him more than a match for the trader. THE BEST FUR DISTRICTS While we were at supper a perfect roar of gun shots ran around the bay and on our rushing to the doorway we saw the Inspector's big canoe coming. Up went the flag and more gun shots followed. Then we went down to the landing to meet Inspecting Chief Factor Bell. After supper the newcomer and the Factor and I sat before the fire and discussed the fur trade. I liked to listen to the old trader, but the Inspector, being the greater traveller of the two, covering every year on the rounds of his regular work thousands upon thousands of miles, was the more interesting talker. Presently, when the subject turned to the distribution of the fur-bearing animals, Mr. Bell took a case from his bag and opening it, spread it out before us upon the Factor's desk. It was a map of the Dominion of Canada, on which the names of the principal posts of the Hudson's Bay Company were printed in red. Across it many irregular lines were drawn in different-coloured inks, and upon its margins were many written notes. "This map, as you see," remarked the Inspector, "defines approximately the distribution of the fur-bearing animals of Canada, and I'll wager that you have never seen another like it; for if it were not for the records of the Hudson's Bay Company, no such map could have been compiled. How did I manage it? Well, to begin with, you must understand that the Indians invariably trade their winter's catch of fur at the trading post nearest their hunting grounds; so when the annual returns of all the posts are sent in to the Company's headquarters, those returns accurately define the distribution of the fur-bearing animals for that year. These irregular lines across the map were drawn after an examination of the annual returns from all the posts for the last forty years. Publish it? No, siree, that would never do!" But the Inspector's remarks did not end the subject, as we began discussing the greatest breeding grounds of the various fur-bearers, and Mr. Bell presently continued: "The greatest centre for coloured foxes is near Salt River, which flows into Slave River at Fort Smith. There, too, most of the black foxes and silver foxes are trapped. The great otter and fisher centre is around Trout Lake, Island Lake, Sandy Lake, and God's Lake. Otter taken north of Lake Superior are found to be fully one third larger than those killed in any other region. Black bears and brown bears are most frequently to be met with between Fort Pelly and Portage La Loche. Cumberland House is the centre of the greatest breeding grounds for muskrat, mink, and ermine. Manitoba House is another great district for muskrat. Lynxes are found in greatest numbers in the Iroquois Valley, in the foothills on the eastern side of the Rockies. Coyote skins come chiefly from the district between Calgary and Qu'Appelle for a hundred miles both north and south. Skunks are most plentiful just south of Green Lake; formerly, they lived on the plains, but of late they have moved northward into the woods. Wolverines frequent most the timber country just south of the Barren Grounds, where they are often found travelling in bands. The home of the porcupine lies just north of Isle a la Crosse. Forty years ago the breeding grounds of the beaver were on the eastern side of the Rockies. Nowadays that region is hardly worth considering as a trapping ground for them. They have been steadily migrating eastward along the Churchill River, then by way of Cross Lake, Fort Hope, to Abitibi, thence north-easterly clean across the country to Labrador, where few were to be found twenty-five years ago. Don't misunderstand me. I'm not saying that beaver were not found in those parts years ago, but what I mean is that the source of the greatest harvest of beaver skins has moved steadily eastward during the last forty years. Strange to say, the finest marten skins secured in Canada are not those of the extreme northern limit, but those taken on the Parsnip River in British Columbia." WANTED, A SON-IN-LAW Next morning I busied myself making a few additions to my outfit for the winter. Then I borrowed a two-and-a-half fathom canoe and paddled across the lake to Spearhead. The town I had heard so much about from the Free Trader was just a little clearing of about three acres on the edge of the forest; in fact, it was really just a stump lot with a small one-and-a-half story log house standing in the middle. Where there was a rise in the field, a small log stable was set half underground, and upon its roof was stacked the winter's supply of hay for a team of horses, a cow, and a heifer. At the front door Mr. and Mrs. Spear welcomed me. My hostess was a prepossessing Canadian woman of fair education, in fact, she had been a stenographer. On entering the house I found the trading room on the right of a tiny hall, on the left was the living room, which was also used to eat in, and the kitchen was, of course, in the rear. After being entertained for ten or fifteen minutes by my host and hostess, I heard light steps descending the stairs, and the next moment I beheld a charming girl. She was their only child. They called her Athabasca, after the beautiful lake of that name. She was sixteen years of age, tall, slender, and graceful, a brunette with large, soft eyes and long, flowing, wavy hair. She wore a simple little print dress that was becomingly short in the skirt, a pair of black stockings, and low, beaded moccasins. I admired her appearance, but regretted her shyness, for she was almost as bashful as I was. She bowed and blushed--so did I--and while her parents talked to me she sat demurely silent on the sofa. Occasionally, I caught from her with pleasant embarrassment a shy but fleeting glance. Presently, dinner was announced by a half-breed maid, and we four took our places at the table, Athabasca opposite me. At first the talk was lively, though only three shared in it. Then, as the third seemed rather more interested in his silent partner, he would from time to time lose the thread of the discourse. By degrees the conversation died down into silence. A few minutes later Mrs. Spear suddenly remarked: "Father . . . don't you think it would be a good thing if you took son-in-law into partnership?" Father leaned back, scratched his head for a while, and then replied: "Yes, Mother, I do, and I'll do it." The silent though beautiful Athabasca, without even raising her eyes from her plate, blushed violently, and needless to say, I blushed, too, but, of course, only out of sympathy. "The horses are too busy, just now, to haul the logs, but of course the young people could have our spare room until I could build them a log shack." "Father, that's a capital idea. So there's no occasion for any delay whatever. Then, when their house is finished, we could spare them a bed, a table, a couple of chairs, and give them a new cooking stove." Athabasca blushed deeper than ever, and studied her plate all the harder, and I began to show interest and prick up my ears, for I wondered who on earth son-in-law could be? I knew perfectly well there was no young white man in all that region, and that even if he lived in the nearest frontier town, it would take him, either by canoe or on snowshoes, at least two weeks to make the round trip to Spearhead, just to call on her. I couldn't fathom it at all. "Besides, Mother, we might give them the heifer, as a starter, for she will be ready to milk in the spring. Then, too, we might give them a few ducks and geese and perhaps a pig." "Excellent idea, Father; besides, I think I could spare enough cutlery, dishes, and cooking utensils to help out for a while." "And I could lend them some blankets from the store," the trader returned. But at that moment Athabasca miscalculated the distance to her mouth and dropped a bit of potato on the floor, and when she stooped to recover it, I caught a glance from the corner of her eye. It was one of those indescribable glances that girls give. I remember it made me perspire all over. Queer, isn't it, the way women sometimes affect one? I would have blushed more deeply, but by that time there was no possible chance of my face becoming any redder, notwithstanding the fact that I was a red-head. Ponder as I would, I couldn't fathom the mystery . . . who Son-in-law could be . . . though I had already begun to think him a lucky fellow--quite one to be envied. Then Mrs. Spear exclaimed, as we rose from the table: "Good! . . . Then that's settled . . . you'll take him into partnership, and I'm glad, for I like him, and I think he'll make an excellent trader." Our getting away from the table rather relieved me, as I was dripping perspiration, and I wanted to fairly mop my face--of course, when they weren't looking. Together they showed me over the establishment: the spare bedroom, the trading shop, the stable, the heifer, the ducks and geese, and even the pig--though it puzzled me why they singled out the very one they intended giving Son-in-law. The silent though beautiful Athabasca followed a few feet behind as we went the rounds, and inspected the wealth that was to be bestowed upon her lover. I was growing more inquisitive than ever as to who Son-in-law might be. Indeed, I felt like asking, but was really too shy, and besides, when I thought it over, I concluded it was none of my business. When the time came for me to return to the Hudson's Bay Post, I shook hands with them all--Athabasca had nice hands and a good grip, too. Her parents gave me a pressing invitation to visit them again for a few days at New Year's, when everyone in the country would be going to the great winter festival that was always held at Fort Consolation. As I paddled away I mused: "By George, Son-in-law is certainly a lucky dog, for Athabasca's a peach . . . but I don't see how in thunder her lover ever gets a chance to call." LEAVING FORT CONSOLATION I was up early next morning and as I wished to see how Oo-koo-hoo and his party would pack up and board their canoes, I walked round the bay to the Indian village. After a hasty breakfast, the women pulled down the lodge coverings of sheets of birch bark and rolling them up placed them upon the _star-chi-gan_--the stage--along with other things which they intended leaving behind. The lodge poles were left standing in readiness for their return next summer, and it wasn't long before all their worldly goods--save their skin tepees and most of their traps, which had been left on their last winter's hunting grounds--were placed aboard their three canoes, and off they paddled to the Post, to say good-bye, while Amik secured his advances. Just think of it, all you housekeepers--no gold plate or silverware to send to the vault, no bric-a-brac to pack, no furniture to cover, no bedding to put away, no rugs or furs or clothes to send to cold storage, no servants to wrangle with or discharge, no plumbers to swear over, no janitors to cuss at, no, not even any housecleaning to do before you depart--just move and nothing more. Just dump a little outfit into a canoe and then paddle away from all your tiresome environment, and travel wherever your heart dictates, and then settle down where not even an exasperating neighbour could find you. What would you give to live such a peaceful life? "As I understand it," says Thoreau, "that was a valid objection urged by Momus against the house which Minerva made, that she had not made it movable, by which means a bad neighbourhood might be avoided; and it may still be urged, for our houses are such unwieldy property that we are often imprisoned rather than housed in them; and the bad neighbourhood to be avoided is our own scurvy selves." On their arrival, Amik at once set about getting his advances. He was a stalwart, athletic-looking man of about thirty-five, but not the equal of his father-in-law in character. Oo-koo-hoo now told the Factor just where he intended to hunt, what fur he expected to get, and how the fur runners could best find his camp. As the price of fur had risen, the Factor told him what price he expected to pay. If, however, the price had dropped, the Factor would not have informed the hunter until his return next year. During the course of the conversation, the old hunter begged the loan of a second-hand gun and some traps for the use of his grandsons; and the Factor granted his request. In the meantime, the women called upon the clergyman and the priest and the nuns to wish them farewell, and incidentally to do a little more begging. As they were not ready to go by noon, the Factor's wife spread a cloth upon the kitchen floor, and placed upon it some food for the party. After lunch they actually made ready to depart, and everybody came down to the landing to see us off. As the children and dogs scrambled aboard the canoes, the older woman remembered that she had not been paid for her gift of moccasins, and so another delay took place while the Factor selected a suitable present. It is always thus. Then, at last, the canoes push off. Amid the waving of hands, the shouting of farewells, and the shedding of a few tears even, the simple natives of the wilderness paddled away over the silent lake en route for their distant hunting grounds. Thither the reader must follow, and there, amid the fastnesses of the Great Northern Forest, he must spend the winter if he would see the Indian at his best. There he is a beggar no longer. There, escaped from the civilization which the white man is ever forcing upon the red--a civilization which rarely fails to make a degenerate of him--he proves his manhood. There, contrary to the popular idea, he will be found to be a diligent and skilful worker and an affectionate husband and father. There, given health and game, no toil and no hardship will hinder him from procuring fur enough to pay off his indebtedness, and to lay up in store twice as much again with which to engage next spring in the delightful battle of wits between white man and red in the Great Company's trading room. II IN QUEST OF TREASURE THE PERFECT FOOL It was an ideal day and the season and the country were in keeping. Soon the trading posts faded from view, and when, after trolling around Fishing Point, we entered White River and went ashore for an early supper, everyone was smiling. I revelled over the prospect of work, freedom, contentment, and beauty before me; and over the thought of leaving behind me the last vestige of the white man's ugly, hypercritical, and oppressive civilization. Was it any wonder I was happy? For me it was but the beginning of a never-to-be-forgotten journey in a land where man can be a man without the aid of money. Yes . . . without money. And that reminds me of a white man I knew who was born and bred in the Great Northern Forest, and who supported and educated a family of twelve, and yet he reached his sixtieth birthday without once having handled or ever having seen money. He was as generous, as refined, and as noble a man as one would desire to know; yet when he visited civilization for the first time--in his sixty-first year--he was reviled because he had a smile for all, he was swindled because he knew no guile, he was robbed because he trusted everyone, and he was arrested because he manifested brotherly love toward his fellow-creatures. Our vaunted civilization! It was the regret of his declining years that circumstances prevented him from leaving the enlightened Christians of the cities, and going back to live in peace among the honest, kindly hearted barbarians of the forest. Soon there were salmon-trout--fried to a golden brown--crisp bannock, and tea for all; then a little re-adjusting of the packs, and we were again at the paddles. Oo-koo-hoo's wife, Ojistoh, along with her second granddaughter and her two grandsons, occupied one of the three-and-a-half fathom canoes; Amik, and his wife, Naudin, with her baby and eldest daughter, occupied the other; and Oo-koo-hoo and I paddled together in the two-and-a-half fathom canoe. One of the five dogs--Oo-koo-hoo's best hunter--travelled with us, while the other four took passage in the other canoes. Although the going was now up stream--the same river by which I had come--we made fair speed until Island Lake stretched before us, when we felt a southwest wind that threatened trouble; but by making a long detour about the bays of the southwestern shore the danger vanished. Arriving at the foot of the portage trail at Bear Rock Rapids, we carried our outfit to a cliff above, which afforded an excellent camping ground; and there arose the smoke of our evening fire. The cloudless sky giving no sign of rain, we contented ourselves with laying mattresses of balsam brush upon which to sleep. While the sunset glow still filled the western sky, we heard a man's voice shouting above the roar of the rapids, and on going to the brink, saw a "York boat" in the act of shooting the cataract. It was one of the boats of "The Goods Brigade" transporting supplies for the northern posts of the Hudson's Bay Company. As the craft measured forty feet in length and was manned by eight men, it was capable of carrying about seventy packs, each weighing about a hundred pounds. But of these boat brigades--more in due season. [Illustration: Going to the brink, saw a "York boat" in the act of shooting the cataract. It was one of the boats of "The Goods Brigade" transporting supplies for the northern posts of the Hudson's Bay Company. As the craft measured forty feet in length and was manned by eight men, it was capable of carrying about seventy packs, each weighing about a hundred pounds. But of these boat brigades . . . See Chapter II.] After supper, when twilight was deepening, and tobacco--in the smoking of which the women conscientiously joined--was freely forthcoming, the subject of conversation turned to woodcraft. Since it fell to Oo-koo-hoo, as the principal hunter, to keep the party supplied with game while en route, I was wondering what he would do in case he saw a bear and went ashore to trail it. Would he himself skin and cut up the bear, or would he want the women to help him? If the latter, what sign or signal would he use so that they might keep in touch with him? But when I questioned Oo-koo-hoo, he replied: "My white son"--for that is what he sometimes called me--"I see you are just like all white men, but if you are observant and listen to those who are wiser than you, you may some day rank almost the equal of an Indian." Afterward, when I became better acquainted with him, I learned that with regard to white men in general, he held the same opinion that all Indians do, and that is, that they are perfect fools. When I agreed with the old gentleman, and assured him he was absolutely right, and that the biggest fool I ever knew was the one who was talking to him, he laughed outright, and replied that now he knew that I was quite different from most white men, and that he believed some day I would be the equal of an Indian. When I first heard his opinion of white men, I regarded him as a pretty sane man, but afterward, when I tried to get him to include not only his brother Indians, but also himself under the same definition, I could not get him to agree with me, therefore I was disappointed in him. He was not the philosopher I had at first taken him to be; for life has taught me that all men are fools--of one kind or another. OO-KOO-HOO'S WOODCRAFT But to return to woodcraft. Emerson says: "Men are naturally hunters and inquisitive of woodcraft, and I suppose that such a gazetteer as wood-cutters and Indians should furnish facts for would take place in the most sumptuous drawing rooms of all the 'Wreaths' and 'Flora's Chaplets' of the bookshops" and believing that to be true, I shall therefore tell you not only how my Indian friends managed to keep their bearings while travelling without a compass, but how, without the aid of writing, they continued to leave various messages for their companions. When I asked Oo-koo-hoo how he would signal, in case he went ashore to trail game--when the other canoes were out of sight behind him--and he should want someone to follow him to help carry back the meat, he replied that he would cut a small bushy-topped sapling and plant it upright in the river near his landing place on the shore. That, he said, would signify that he wished his party to go ashore and camp on the first good camping ground; while, at the same time, it would warn them not to kindle a fire until they had first examined the tracks to make sure whether the smoke would frighten the game. Then someone would follow his trail to render him assistance, providing they saw that he had blazed a tree. If he did not want them to follow him, he would shove two sticks into the ground so that they would slant across the trail in the form of an X, but if he wanted them to follow he would blaze a tree. If he wanted them to hurry, he would blaze the same tree twice. If he wanted them to follow as fast as they could with caution, he would blaze the same tree three times, but if he desired them to abandon all caution and to follow with all speed, he would cut a long blaze and tear it off. Then, again, if he were leaving the game trail to circle his quarry, and if he wished them to follow his tracks instead of those of the game, he would cut a long blaze on one tree and a small one on another tree, which would signify that he had left the game trail at a point between the two trees and that they were to follow his tracks instead of those of the game. But if he wished them to stop and come no farther, he would drop some article of his clothing on the trail. Should, however, the game trail happen to cross a muskeg where there were no trees to blaze, he would place moss upon the bushes to answer instead of blazes, and in case the ground was hard and left an invisible trail, he would cut a stick and shoving the small end into the trail, would slant the butt in the direction he had gone. If traversing water where there were no saplings at hand, and he wished to let his followers know where he had left the water to cross a muskeg, he would try to secure a pole, which he would leave standing in the water, with grass protruding from the split upper end, and the pole slanting to show in which direction he had gone. If, on the arrival at the fork of a river, he wished to let his followers know up which fork he had paddled--say, for instance, if it were the right one--he would shove a long stick into either bank of the left fork in such a way that it would point straight across the channel of the left fork, to signify, as it were, that the channel was blocked. Then, a little farther up the right fork, he would plant a sapling or pole in the water, slanting in the direction he had gone--to prove to the follower that he was now on the right trail. Oo-koo-hoo further explained that if he were about to cross a lake and he wished to let his follower know the exact point upon which he intended to land, he would cut two poles, placing the larger nearest the woods and the smaller nearest the water, both in an upright position and in an exact line with the point to which he was going to head, so that the follower by taking sight from one pole to the other would learn the exact spot on the other shore where he should land--even though it were several miles away. But if he were not sure just where he intended to land, he would cut a willow branch and twist it into the form of a hoop and hang it upon the smaller pole--that would signify that he might land at any point of the surrounding shore of the lake. If he wanted to signal his family to camp at any particular point along his trail, he would leave some article of his clothing and place near it a number of sticks standing in the form of the poles of a lodge, thus suggesting to them that they should erect their tepee upon that spot. If he had wounded big game and expected soon to overtake and kill it, and if he wanted help to carry back the meat, he would blaze a tree and upon that smooth surface would make a sketch, either with knife or charcoal, of the animal he was pursuing. If a full day had elapsed since the placing of crossed sticks over the trail, the follower would abandon all caution and follow at top speed, as he would realize that some misfortune had befallen the hunter. The second man, or follower, however, never blazes trees as he trails the first hunter, but simply breaks off twigs or bends branches in the direction in which he is going, so that should it be necessary that a third man should also follow, he could readily distinguish the difference between the two trails. If a hunter wishes to leave a good trail over a treeless district, he, as far as possible, chooses soft ground and treads upon his heels. When a hunter is trailing an animal, he avoids stepping upon the animal's trail, so that should it be necessary for him to go back and re-trail his quarry, the animal's tracks shall not be obliterated. If, in circling about his quarry, the hunter should happen to cut his own trail, he takes great care to cut it at right angles, so that, should he have to circle several times, he may never be at a loss to know which was his original trail. If the hunter should wish to leave a danger signal behind him, he will take two saplings, one from either side of the trail, and twist them together in such a way that they shall block the passage of the follower, requiring him to pause in order to disentangle them or to pass around them; and if the hunter were to repeat such a signal two or three times, it would signify that the follower should use great caution and circle down wind in order to still-hunt the hunter's trail in exactly the same way he would still-hunt a moose. Then, again, if the hunter should wish to let the follower know the exact time of day he had passed a certain spot, he would draw on the earth or snow a bow with an arrow placed at right angles to the bow, but pointing straight in the direction where the sun had been at that precise moment. THE BEAR'S DEDUCTION Owing to their knowledge of wood-craft some Indians are very clever at deduction. On Great Slave Lake near Fort Rae an Indian cripple, named Simpson's Brother, had joined a party of canoe-men for the purpose of hunting eggs. After paddling toward a group of islands, the party separated, finally landing on different isles. They had agreed, however, to meet at sunset on a certain island and there eat and sleep together. While at work several of the Indians saw Simpson's Brother alone on a little rocky islet, busily engaged in gathering eggs. Toward evening, the party met at their rendezvous and took supper together, but strange to say, Simpson's Brother did not appear. After smoking and talking for a while, some grew anxious about the cripple. The Bear began to fear lest some mishap had befallen him; but The Caribou scoffed at the idea: he was sure that Simpson's Brother was still working and that he would soon return with more eggs than any of them. The Bear, however, thought they ought to search for him, as his canoe might have drifted away. But The Mink replied that if anything like that had happened, the cripple would certainly have fired his gun. "But how could he fire his gun if his canoe had drifted away?" asked The Bear, "for would not his gun be in his canoe?" So they all paddled off to investigate the mystery. On nearing the island, they saw the Brother's canoe adrift. When they overhauled it, sure enough his gun was aboard. They then landed on the little isle where the cripple had been at work and began calling aloud for him. As they received no answer, some of the Indians claimed that he must be asleep. The Bear replied that if he was asleep their shouting would have awakened him and he would have answered, but that now they had best search the island. So they divided into two parties and searched the shore in different directions until they finally met on the other side, then they scattered and examined every nook and corner of the place--but all in vain. Some now contended that the others were mistaken, and that that could not be the island on which the Brother had been working; but The Bear--though he had not seen the cripple there--insisted that it was. They asked him to prove it. "The wind has been blowing steadily from the north," replied The Bear, "the other islands are all south of this one, and you know that we found his canoe adrift south of here and north of all the other islands. That is sufficient proof." Then he added: "The reason Simpson's Brother did not answer is because he is not on the island, but in the water." Again they all clamoured for proof and The Bear answered: "But first I must find where he landed, and the quickest way to find that place is to remember that the wind was blowing too strong for him to land on the north shore, and that the running swells were too strong for him to land on either the east or west sides, therefore he landed on the south side--the sheltered side. Now let us go and see where he drew up his canoe." But one of the others argued that that would be impossible as Simpson's Brother was not such a fool as to act like a white man and drag his canoe over the rocks. The Bear, however, persisted that there would be some sign, at least where the bow touched shore when the cripple got out, and that he, The Bear, would go and find it. But first he would go and examine the nests to learn from which of them the cripple had removed the eggs. Thus they would learn where he had been working; and the finding of the landing place would be made easier. So The Bear set to work. From the empty nests he soon learned where the cripple had been working, and after a careful search he presently found on a big rock a little white spot no larger than a man's finger nail. "There, my friends, is where Simpson's Brother landed, for that white mark is of gum and proves where the bow of the canoe bumped the rock." They then asked The Bear where he thought the cripple was, and pointing, he replied: "If we search long enough we shall find him in the deep water down there; for when Simpson's Brother was getting aboard his canoe, he slipped and in falling struck his head upon the rock; the blow stunned him, and without a struggle he slid into the water, and was drowned." When they had brought their canoes round and had peered into the deep water, true enough, they discovered the body on the bottom of the lake. Securing a long pole, they fastened a gun worm to one end and, reaching down, twisted it into the cripple's clothing and brought the body to the surface. Sadly they placed it in the unfortunate man's canoe, towed the craft and its burden to the other island, and sent to Fort Rae for the priest, Father Roure, to come and perform the burial service. BEASTS WITH HUMAN SOULS Next morning we arose with dawn. After a hearty breakfast of fish--taken from the gill-net that had been set overnight below the rapid--the work of portaging round the rapids was begun and by about ten o'clock was finished. Noon overtook us near the mouth of Caribou River, up which we were to ascend on the first half of our journey to Oo-koo-hoo's hunting grounds. About two o'clock we entered that stream and headed westerly toward a spur of mountains that lay about a week's travel away and through which we had to pass to gain our winter camping ground. An hour later, as Oo-koo-hoo and I preceded the party, paddling up one of the channels caused by a number of large islands dividing the river into mere creeks, we chanced upon a woodland caribou bull, as it stood among the rushes in a marshy bend watching us from a distance of not more than forty yards. As I crouched down to be out of the hunter's way, I heard him say: "I'm sorry, my brother, but we need you for both food and clothing, so turn your eyes away before I fire." The next moment the woods echoed the report of his smooth-bore muzzle-loader--the kind of gun used by about 90 per cent. of the fur hunters of the forest. Why? Because of the simplicity of its ammunition. Such a gun never requires a variety of cumbersome shells for different kinds of game, but with varying charges of powder and shot or ball, is ready for anything from a rat or duck to a bear or moose. Before bleeding the deer, Oo-koo-hoo did a curious thing: with his sharp knife he destroyed the deer's eyes. When I questioned him as to his purpose he replied: "As long as the eyes remain perfect, the spirit remains within the head, and I could not bear to skin the deer with its spirit looking at me." Though Oo-koo-hoo was in many ways a wise old man, he held some beliefs that were past my understanding, and others that, when I tried to analyze them, seemed to be founded on the working of a sensitive conscience. Hearing the report of the gun, the others hurried to the scene. While the deer was being bled the old grandmother caught the blood in a pail--into which she threw a pinch of salt to clot the blood--as she wished to use it for the making of a blood pudding. Then the carcass was loaded aboard Oo-koo-hoo's canoe, rather, indeed, overloading it. Accordingly, I accepted Amik's invitation to board his craft, and at the first good place we all went ashore to clear the ground for the night's camp. There was a porcupine there, and though it moved but slowly away, my friends did not kill it, for they had plenty to eat, and did not want to be bothered with taking care of those dangerous little quills that the women dye and use to such good advantage in their fancy work. As to the Indian method of dressing meat and skins--more anon, when we are finally settled upon the fur trail. That evening, while flames were leaping after ascending sparks, and shadows were dancing behind us among the trees, we lounged about the fire on packs and blankets and discussed the events of the day. When I asked Oo-koo-hoo why he had addressed the deer in such a manner, he replied that it was the proper and regular way to speak to an animal, because every creature in the forest, whether beast, bird, or fish, contained the spirit of some former human being. He further explained that whenever the men of the olden time killed an unusually large animal with an extra fine coat, they did not save the skin to sell to the trader, but burnt the carcass, pelt and all, and in that way they returned the body to the spirit again. Thus they not only paid homage to the spirit, but proved themselves unselfish men. He went on to say that from the time of the Great, Great Long Ago, the Indian had always believed--as he did to-day--that every bull moose contained the spirit of a famous Indian chief, that every caribou bull contained the spirit of a lesser chief, and so on down through the whole of the animal creation. Bears, however, or rather the spirits animating them, possessed the greatest power to render good or evil, and for that reason the hunter usually took the greatest care to address Bruin properly before he slew him. It is no wonder that the Indians still retain such ideas when, as Lord Avebury says: "We do not now, most of us, believe that animals have souls, and yet probably the majority of mankind from Buddha to Wesley and Kingsley have done so." Another thing Oo-koo-hoo told me was that out of respect to the dignified spirit possessed by the bull moose, women were never allowed to eat of the head, nor was a moose head to be placed upon a sled upon which a woman had ever sat; for if that were done, bad luck would follow the hunter to the end of his days. He knew of a hunter who on one occasion had been guilty of that irreverence; afterward, whenever that hunter would see a moose, the moose--instead of trying to escape--would indifferently bark at him, and even follow him back close to camp; and when that hunter would go out again, other moose would do the very same thing. Moreover, the hunter was afraid to kill any moose that acted that way, for he well knew that the animal was simply warning him of some great danger that was surely going to befall him. So, in the end, the hunter fretted himself to death. Therefore every hunter should take great care to burn all the bones of a moose's head and never on any account allow a woman to eat thereof or to feed it to the dogs. In burning the head, the hunter was merely paying the homage due to so noble a creature. Again, a hunter might find that though he had formerly been a good moose hunter, and had always observed every custom, yet he now utterly failed to secure a moose at all. He might come upon plenty of tracks, but the moose would always escape, and prove the efforts of an experienced moose hunter of no more avail than those of a greenhorn. In such a case, there was but one thing to do, and that was to secure the whole skin--head, legs, and all--of a fawn, stuff it into its natural shape, set it up in the woods, wait till the new moon was in the first crescent, and then, just after sundown, engage a young girl to shoot five arrows at it from the regular hunting distance. If she missed, it was proof that the spirit had rejected the girl, and that another would have to be secured to do the shooting. If success were then attained, the hunter might go upon his hunt, well knowing he would soon be rewarded by bringing down a moose. Of course such ideas seem strange to us, but, after all, are we in a position to ridicule the Indians' belief? I think not, if we but recall the weird ideas our ancestors held. The Indian, like the white man, has many superstitions, some ugly, and some beautiful, and of the latter class, I quote one: he believes that the spirits of still-born children or very young infants take flight, when they die, and enter the bodies of birds. A delightful thought--especially for the mother. For as Kingsley says of St. Francis, "perfectly sure that he himself was a spiritual being, he thought it at least possible that birds might be spiritual beings likewise, incarnate like himself in mortal flesh; and saw no degradation to the dignity of human nature in claiming kindred lovingly, with creatures so beautiful, so wonderful, who praised God in the forest, even as angels did in heaven." The forest Indian, however, is not content with merely stating that the spirits of infants enter birds; but he goes on to say that while the spirits of Indian children always enter the beings of the finest singers and the most beautiful of all the birds, the spirits of the children of white people enter the bodies of stupid, ugly birds that just squawk around, and are neither interesting to look at nor pleasant to listen to, but are quarrelsome, and thievish. When I asked Oo-koo-hoo to name a few birds into which the spirits of white children entered, he mentioned, among others, the woodpecker--which the Indians consider to have, proportionately, the longest and sharpest tongue of all birds. That reminds me of the reply I received from one of the characters in this book, when I wrote him, among others, requesting that he grant me permission to make use of his name, in order to add authority to my text. Like others, he begged me to refrain from quoting his name, as he was afraid that the information he had given me might be the cause of the Hudson's Bay Company stopping his pension. I had suggested that he refer the matter to his wife as she, too, figures in this story, and the following is part of his reply: "This being an affair between you and I--I have not consulted my wife. For as you know, the human female tongue is very similar to that of the female woodpecker: unusually long, and much too pointed to be of any use." THE HONESTY OF INDIANS But to return to the Indian's reproach of the white man's dishonesty; when he states that the spirits of white children enter only those birds that are counted great thieves, one cannot wonder at it, for as far as honesty is concerned, a comparison between the forest Indian and the white man brands the latter as a thief. Not only is that the private opinion of all the old fur traders I have met, but I could quote many other authorities; let two, however, suffice: Charles Mair, the author of "Tecumseh," and a member of the Indian Treaty Expedition of 1899, says: "The writer, and doubtless some of his readers, can recall the time when to go to 'Peace River' seemed almost like going to another sphere, where, it was conjectured, life was lived very differently from that of civilized man. And, truly, it was to enter into an unfamiliar state of things; a region in which a primitive people, not without fault or depravities, lived on Nature's food, and throve on her unfailing harvest of fur. A region in which they often left their beaver, silver fox, or marten packs--the envy of Fashion--lying by the dog-trail, or hanging to some sheltering tree, because no one stole, and took their fellow's word without question, because no one lied. A very simple folk indeed, in whose language profanity was unknown, and who had no desire to leave their congenital solitudes for any other spot on earth: solitudes which so charmed the educated minds who brought the white man's religion, or traffic, to their doors, that, like the Lotus-eaters, they, too, felt little craving to depart. Yet they were not regions of sloth or idleness, but of necessary toil; of the laborious chase and the endless activities of aboriginal life: the regions of a people familiar with its fauna and flora--of skilled but unconscious naturalists, who knew no science . . . But theft such as white men practice was a puzzle to these people, amongst whom it was unknown." Another example worth quoting is taken from Sir William Butler's "The Wild North Land": "The 'Moose That Walks' arrived at Hudson's Hope early in the spring. He was sorely in want of gunpowder and shot, for it was the season when the beaver leave their winter houses and when it is easy to shoot them. So he carried his thirty martens' skins to the fort, to barter them for shot, powder, and tobacco. "There was no person at the Hope. The dwelling-house was closed, the store shut up, the man in charge had not yet come up from St. John's; now what was to be done? Inside that wooden house lay piles and piles of all that the 'Moose that Walks' most needed. There was a whole keg of powder; there were bags of shot, and tobacco--there was as much as the Moose could smoke in his whole life. "Through a rent in the parchment window the Moose looked at all those wonderful things, and at the red flannel shirts, and at the four flint guns and the spotted cotton handerchiefs, each worth a sable skin at one end of the fur trade, half a six-pence at the other. There was tea, too--tea, that magic medicine before which life's cares vanished like snow in spring sunshine. "The Moose sat down to think about all these things, but thinking only made matters worse. He was short of ammunition, therefore he had no food, and to think of food when one is very hungry is an unsatisfactory business. It is true that the Moose that Walks had only to walk in through that parchment window and help himself until he was tired. But no, that would not do. "'Ah,' my Christian friend will exclaim, 'Ah, yes, the poor Indian had known the good missionary, and had learnt the lesson of honesty and respect for his neighbour's property.' "Yes; he had learnt the lesson of honesty, but his teacher, my friend, had been other than human. The good missionary had never reached the Hope of Hudson, nor improved the morals of the Moose That Walks. "But let us go on. After waiting two days he determined to set off for St. John's, two full days' travel. He set out, but his heart failed him, and he turned back again. "At last, on the fourth day, he entered the parchment window, leaving outside his comrade, to whom he jealously denied admittance. Then he took from the cask of powder three skins' worth, from the tobacco four skins' worth, from the shot the same; and sticking the requisite number of martens' skins in the powder barrel and the shot bag and the tobacco case, he hung up his remaining skins on a nail to the credit of his account, and departed from this El Dorado, this Bank of England of the Red Man in the wilderness. And when it was all over he went his way, thinking he had done a very reprehensible act, and one by no means to be proud of." If it were necessary further to establish the honesty of the forest Indian, I could add many proofs from my own experience, but one will suffice: Years ago, during my first visit to the Hudson's Bay Post on Lake Temagami, when the only white man living in all that beautiful region was old Malcolm MacLean, a "freeman" of the H. B. Co., who had married an Indian woman and become a trapper, I was invited to be the guest of the half-breed Hudson's Bay trader, Johnnie Turner, and was given a bedroom in his log house. The window of my room on the ground floor was always left wide open, and in fact was never once closed during my stay of a week or more. Inside my room, a foot from the open window, a lidless cigar box was nailed to the wall, yet it contained a heap of bills of varying denominations--ones, fives, and tens, and even twenties; how much in all I don't know for I never had the curiosity to count them--though, at the time, I guessed that there were many hundreds of dollars. It was the trader's bank. Nevertheless, beside that open window was the favourite lounging place of all the Indian trappers and hunters who visited the Post, and during my stay a group of Indians that numbered from three or four to thirty or forty were daily loitering in the shade within a few feet of that open window. Sometimes, when I was in my room, they would even intrude their heads and shoulders through the window and talk to me. Several times I saw them glance at the heap of money, but they no more thought of touching it than I did; yet day or night it could have been taken with the greatest ease, and the thief never discovered--but, of course, there wasn't a thief in all that region. But now that the white man has made Lake Temagami a fashionable summer resort, and the civilized Christians flock there from New York, Toronto, Pittsburgh, and Montreal, how long would the trader's money remain in an open box beside an open window on a dark night? TRACKING UP RAPIDS After breakfast next morning, while ascending Caribou River, we encountered a series of rapids that extended for nearly a quarter of a mile. Here and there, in midstream, rocks protruded above the foaming water, and from their leeward ends flowed eddying currents of back water that from their dark, undulating appearance rather suggested that every boulder possessed a tail. It was always for those long, flowing tails that the canoes were steered in their slow upward struggle from one rock to another; for each tail formed a little harbour in which the canoe could not only make easier headway, but also might hover for a moment while the paddlers caught their breath. Then out again they would creep, and once more the battle would rage and, working with might and main, the paddlers would force the canoe gradually ahead and over into the eddy of another boulder. Sometimes the water would leap over the gunwales and come aboard with a savage hiss. At other times the canoes seemed to become discouraged and, with their heads almost buried beneath the angry, spitting waves, would balk in midstream and not move forward so much as a foot to the minute. It was dangerous work, for if at any time a canoe became inclined across the current, even to the slightest degree, it might be rolled over and over, like a barrel descending an incline. Dangerous work it was, but it was interesting to see how powerfully the Indians propelled their canoes, how skilfully they guided them, and how adroitly even the little children handled their paddles. However, we landed safely at the head of the rapids, and upon going ashore to drain the canoes, partook of a refreshing snack of tea and bannock. Then to the canoes again. The aspect of the river was now very beautiful, beautiful enough to ponder over and to dream, so we took it easy. While pipes were going we gazed, in peace and restfulness, at the reflections, for they were wonderful. After dinner we encountered another rapid, but though it was much shorter than the former, the current ran too strong to attempt the ascent with the aid of only paddles or poles. The northern tripper has the choice between five methods of circumventing "white waters," and his selection depends upon the strength of the current: first, paddling; second, poling; third, wading; fourth, tracking; and fifth, portaging. You are already familiar with the method of paddling, and also with that of portaging, and a description of poling will shortly follow. Wading is resorted to only when the trippers, unprovided with poles, have been defeated in their effort to ascend with no other aid than their paddles. Then they leap overboard and seizing hold of the gunwales drag the craft up the rapids before it can be overcome by the turbulent water, and either driven down stream or capsized. Again, when the trippers encounter, in shallow water, such obstacles as jammed timbers, wading allows them carefully to ease their craft around or over the obstruction. When tracking their six-fathom canoes, or "York boats," or "sturgeon scows," the voyageurs of the north brigades use very long lines, one end of which is attached to the bow of the craft while to the other end is secured a leather harness of breast straps called _otapanapi_ into which each hauler adjusts himself. Thus, while the majority of the crew land upon the shore and, so harnessed, walk off briskly in single file along the river bank, their mates aboard endeavour, with the aid of either paddles, sweeps, or poles, to keep the craft in a safe channel. In the present instance we had to resort to tracking, but it was of a light character, for the canoes were not too heavily loaded, nor was the current too strong for us to make fair headway along the rough, pathless bank of the wild little stream. In each canoe one person remained aboard to hold the bow off shore with a paddle or pole, while the others scrambled along the river bank, either to help haul upon a line, or, in the case of the younger children and the dogs, simply to walk in order to relieve the craft of their weight and also for safety's sake, should the canoe overturn. The greatest danger is for the steersman to lose control and allow the canoe to get out of line with the current, as the least headway in a wrong direction is apt to capsize it. With us all went well until a scream from the children announced that Ah-ging-goos, the second son, had fallen in, and anxiety reigned until the well-drenched Chipmunk partly crawled and was partly hauled ashore; and then laughter echoed in the river valley, for The Chipmunk was at times much given to frisking about and showing off, and this time he got his reward. But before we had ascended half the length of the rapids we encountered the usual troubles that overtake the tracker--those of clearing our lines of trees and bushes, slipping into the muck of small inlets, stumbling over stones, cutting the lines upon sharp rocks, or having them caught by gnarled roots of driftwood. As we approached the last lap of white water the canoes passed through a rocky basin that held a thirty- or forty-yard section of the river in a slack and unruffled pool. While ascending this last section, the last canoe, the one in which the old grandmother was wielding the paddle, broke away from Oo-koo-hoo, the strain severing his well-worn line, and away Grandmother went, racing backward down through the turbulent foam. With her usual presence of mind she exercised such skill in guiding her canoe that it never for a moment swerved out of the true line of the current, and thus she saved herself and all her precious cargo. Then, the moment she struck slack water, she in with her paddle, and out with her pole, stood up in her unsteady craft, bent her powerful old frame, and--her pipe still clenched between her ancient teeth--with all her might and main she actually poled her canoe right up to the very head of the rapids, and came safely ashore. It was thrilling to watch her--for we could render no aid--and when she landed we hailed her with approval for her courage, strength, and skill; but Grandmother was annoyed--her pipe was out. TRAVELLING AT NIGHT While we rested a few minutes, the women espied, in a little springy dell, some unusually fine moss, which they at once began to gather. Indian women dry it and use it in a number of ways, especially for packing about the little naked bodies of their babies when lacing them to their cradle boards. The incident, however, reminds me of what once happened to an Indian woman and her eight-year-old daughter when they were gathering moss about a mile from their camp on the shore of Great Slave Lake. They were working in a muskeg, and the mother, observing a clump of gnarled spruces a little way off, sent her daughter there to see if there were any berries. Instead of fruit the child found a nice round hole that led into a cavern beneath the roots of the trees that stood upon the little knoll; and she called to her mother to come and see it. On kneeling down and peering within, the mother discovered a bear inside, and instantly turning about, hauled up her skirt and sat down in such a way that her figure completely blocked the hole and shut out all light. Then she despatched her child on the run for camp, to tell Father to come immediately with his gun and shoot the bear. To one who is not versed in woodcraft, such an act displays remarkable bravery, but to an Indian woman it meant no such thing, it was merely the outcome of her knowledge of bears, for she well knew that as long as all light was blocked from the hole the bear would lie still. But perhaps you wonder why she pulled up her skirt. To prevent it from being soiled or torn? No, that was not the reason. Again it was her knowledge of bears that prompted her, for she knew that if by any strange chance the bear did move about in the dark, and if he did happen to touch her bare figure--for Indian ladies never wear lingerie--the bear would have been so mystified on encountering a living thing in the dark that he would make never another move until light solved the mystery. However, Father came with a rush, and shot the bear, and the brute was a big one, too. During the rest of the afternoon we found the current quite slack and therefore, making better headway, we gained Caribou Lake about an hour before sundown; and on finding a fair wind beneath a clear sky that promised moonlight, it was decided to sail as far down the lake as the breeze would favour us, and then go ashore upon some neighbouring isle for the balance of the night. So two stout poles were secured and laid across our two large canoes as they rested about a foot apart and parallel to one another. Then, the poles being lashed to the thwarts, a single "four-point" blanket was rigged horizontally to two masts, one standing in each canoe and both guyed with tump-lines, and leaning away from each other in order to spread the improvised sail. Two canoes so rigged cannot only make good headway, but can with safety run before a very strong wind. While Oo-koo-hoo's canoe was kept free, he nevertheless counted on having it towed, as it could then be cast off without a moment's delay in case of our coming unexpectedly upon tempting game. Supper was no sooner over than we were lying lazily in our canoes and, to the music of babbling water and foaming wakes, rushing toward the setting sun. Soon twilight overtook us, and wrapping shadows about us, accompanied us for a while. Next starlight appeared and with myriads of twinkling lanterns showed us our way among the now silhouetted islands. Then the moon uprose and pushed a shiny head through the upper branches of the eastern trees. At first it merely peeped as though to make sure we were not afraid; then it came out boldly in glory and quickly turning our wake into a path of molten gold, began to soar above the forest. For a while I could hear the childish prattle of the children and the crooning of Naudin as she hushed, with swaying body, her baby to her breast. Then even those gentle sounds died away as the little forms snuggled down beneath the blankets among the dogs and bales. Occasionally a loon called to us, or an owl swooped, ghost-like, overhead, and as we passed among pine-crested isles, those weather-beaten old monarchs just stood there, and whispering to one another, shook their heads as we swept by. Then for a few moments a mother moose with her two calves stood knee deep in a water-lily bay, and watched us on our way. But Oo-koo-hoo was now too drowsy to think of anything but sleep. So hour after hour went by while the moon rose higher and higher, and circling round to the westward, began to descend in front of us. POLING UP RAPIDS Out of the east came dawn with a sweep of radiant splendour. Still we sailed westward, ever westward, until the sun rose and through the rising mist showed us that the mouth of Caribou River opened right before us; then, happily, we landed on a little island to breakfast, and to drowse away a couple of hours on mossy beds beneath the shade of wind-blown pines. Besides shooting a few ducks and a beaver, and seeing a distant moose, nothing happened that was eventful enough to deflect my interest from the endless variety of charming scenery that came into view as we swept round bend after bend of that woodland river; at least, not until about four o'clock, when we arrived at the foot of another rapid. This Oo-koo-hoo and Amik examined carefully from the river bank, and decided that it could be ascended by poling. So from green wood we cut suitable poles of about two inches in diameter and from seven to nine feet in length and knifed them carefully to rid them of bark and knots. Then, for this was a shoal rapids, both bowman and sternman stood up, the better to put the full force of their strength and weight into the work; the children, however, merely knelt to the work of wielding their slender poles; but in deep water, or where there were many boulders and consequently greater risk if the canoe were overturned, all would have knelt to do the work. Going bow-on straight for the mid-stream current, we plied our poles to good advantage. Each man remembered, however, to lift his pole only when his mate's had been planted firmly in the river bottom. Then he would fix his own a little farther ahead and throw all his weight and strength upon it, while at the same moment his companion went the same round. Then he would firmly re-fix his pole a little farther up stream, and then once again shoved in unison. Thus foot by foot we crept up stream. It was hard but joyous work, for standing up in a canoe surrounded by a powerful and treacherous current gave us the thrill of adventure. OO-KOO-HOO VISITS BEAVERS All the canoes having mounted the white water, however, in safety, it was decided, though sunset was several hours away, to spend the night at the head of the rapids, as the place afforded an excellent camping ground and besides, the next day was Sunday, a day upon which all good trippers cease to travel. While the canvas tepee, and my tent, too, were being erected, we heard the dogs barking and growling several hundred yards away, so Amik, slipping on his powder horn and bullet pouch, ran to investigate. Presently the report of his gun was added to the din, then silence reigned; and when we went to see what had happened we found that the hunter had shot a two-year-old moose heifer that the dogs had bayed. Then, as was her custom, Granny came with her pail to catch the blood, and to select the entrails she needed to hold it. By supper time the moose had not only been skinned but the carcass dressed, too. After the meal was over, Granny washed the entrails inside and out and then stuffed them with a mixture of blood and oatmeal that she had prepared and seasoned with salt, and hung her home-made sausages high up inside the tepee to let them congeal and also to be out of reach of the dogs. In the meantime, Amik had made two frames, and Naudin and her daughters had stretched and laced into them, not only the moose hide, but the skin of the caribou as well; and when the meat was cut up and hung from the branches of a tree, it was time to sit around the fire and have our evening talk. But Oo-koo-hoo, slipping away in his hunting canoe, paddled up a little creek into a small lake in which he knew a colony of beavers lived. He was gone about an hour and upon his return he told us about it. On gaining the little mere, he, without removing his paddle from the water, propelled his canoe slowly and silently along the shore in the shadow of the overhanging trees, until a large beaver lodge appeared in the rising mist; and then standing up in his canoe--in order to get a better view--he became motionless. Minutes passed while the rising moon cast golden ripples upon the water, and two beavers, rising from below, swam toward and mounted the roof of their island home. Then, while the moonlight faded and glowed, other beavers appeared and swam hither and thither; some hauling old barkless poles, others bringing freshly cut poplar branches, and all busily engaged. A twig snapping behind the hunter, he turned his head, and as he caught a vanishing glimpse of a lynx in a tree, he was instantly startled by a tremendous report and a splashing upheaval of water beside his canoe. A beaver had been swimming there, and on seeing the hunter move, had struck the water with its powerful tail, to warn its mates before it dived. The lynx had been watching the beaver. [Illustration: Minutes passed while the rising moon cast golden ripples upon the water and two beavers, rising from below, swam toward and mounted the roof of their island home. A twig snapping behind the hunter, he turned his head, and as he caught the vanishing glimpse of a lynx in a tree, he was instantly startled by a tremendous report and a splashing upheaval . . . See Chapter II.] "Did you bring back anything?" "No, my son," Oo-koo-hoo replied, "that hunting-ground belongs to an old friend of mine." WOODCRAFT OF TRAILING After a while the subject of woodcraft arose. When I inquired as to how I could best locate the north in case I happened to be travelling on a cloudy day without a compass, the old hunter replied, that though he never used a compass, he found no difficulty in determining the north at any time, as the woods were full of signs. For instance, the branches of trees had a general tendency to be less numerous and shorter on the north side, and the bark on the north side was usually finer in texture and of a smoother surface. Also moss was more often found on the north side of vertical trees. The tops of pine trees usually leant toward the southeast--but that that was not always a sure sign in all localities, as in some places the tree tops were affected by the prevailing winds. The stumps of trees furnished a surer indication. They showed the rings of growth to be greater in thickness on the north side. When trees were shattered by lightning, the cracks more often opened on the south side for lightning generally struck from that direction. Snow was usually deeper on the south side of trees on account of the prevailing northerly winds; and if one dug away the crust from around a tree they would come to fine, granulated snow much sooner on the north side, thus proving where the shadow usually fell. Furthermore, as the snowdrifts always pointed in the direction whither the wind had gone, knowing the direction of the prevailing winds, one had no trouble in locating the north even on the snow-covered surface of a great lake. The old woodman cautioned me that if, while travelling alone upon a big lake, I should be overtaken by a blizzard, in no case should I try to fight it, but stop right in my tracks, take off my snowshoes, dig a hole in the snow, turn my sled over on its side to form a wind-break, crawl into the hole with the dogs, and wait until the storm subsided. If a blizzard came head-on it was useless to try to fight it, for it would easily win; but if the wind were fair and if one were still sure of his bearings, he might drift with the wind, although at heavy risk, as the wind is apt to change its course and the tripper lose his way. There was always one consolation, however, and that was that the greater the storm the sooner it was over. Another thing I should remember when travelling on a lake or over an open country, in a violent snow-storm--I should allow for drifting, much in the same way as one would if travelling by canoe. By that time, however, the women and children had gone to sleep upon their evergreen beds, while we three men continued to converse in whispers over the glow of the fading fire. Next I asked Oo-koo-hoo in which direction men usually turned when lost in the woods--to the right or to the left? He replied that circumstances had much to do with that, for the character of the country affected the man's turning, as it was natural to follow the line of least resistance; also it depended somewhat on the man's build--whether one leg were shorter than the other. But though he had repeatedly experimented, he could not arrive at any definite conclusion. However, when trying blindfolded men on a frozen lake, he noticed that they had a tendency to turn to the south regardless of whether they were facing east or west. And he concluded by remarking that he thought people were very foolish to put so much faith in certain statements, simply because they were twice-told tales. Upon my questioning him as to how a hunter would act, if, for instance, he were trailing a moose, and suspected that he was being followed by enemies, say a pack of wolves, or strange hunters, he informed me that if that happened to him--that if he suspected some enemy were following his trail--he would not stop, nor even look around, but at the first favourable opportunity, when he was sure he couldn't be observed, he would leave the game trail, circle back a mile or so through the woods, and upon cutting his old track would at once learn what was following him. Then if it were worth while he could trail his pursuers and, coming up behind them, could take them unaware. But if all this happened on a lake or in open country, where he could not circle back under cover, he would suddenly turn in his tracks, as though upon a pivot, and without losing the least headway or causing a moment's delay in his pace, he would continue walking, but now in a backward direction, long enough to give himself ample time to scrutinize his distant trail. By manoeuvring thus, he could study his pursuers without arousing their suspicion, for whether they were animals or men, the chances would be--if they were some distance away--that they would never notice that he had turned about, and was now inspecting his own tracks. As regards trailing game, whether large or small, he cautioned me to watch my quarry carefully, and instantly to become rigid at the first sign that the game was about to turn round or raise its head to peer in my direction. More than that, I should not only remain motionless while the animal was gazing toward me, but I should assume at once some form that suggested the character of the surrounding trees or bushes or rocks. For example, among straight-boled, perfectly vertical trees, I should stand upright; among uprooted trees, I should assume the character of an overturned stump, by standing with inclined body, bent legs, and arms and fingers thrust out at such angles as to suggest the roots of a fallen tree. And he added that if I doubted the wisdom of such an act, I should test it at a distance of fifty or a hundred paces, and prove the difficulty of detecting a man who assumed a characteristic landscape pose among trees or rocks. That was years before the World War had brought the word _camouflage_ into general use; for as a matter of fact, the forest Indians had been practising _camouflage_ for centuries and, no doubt, that was one reason why many of the Indians in the Canadian Expeditionary Force did such remarkable work as snipers. INDIANS IN THE WORLD WAR For instance: Sampson Comego destroyed twenty-eight of the enemy. Philip Macdonald killed forty, Johnny Ballantyne fifty-eight. "One of their number, Lance-Corporal Johnson Paudash," as the Department of Indian Affairs states, "received the Military Medal for his distinguished gallantry in saving life under heavy fire and for giving a warning that the enemy were preparing a counter-attack at Hill Seventy; the counter-attack took place twenty-five minutes after Paudash gave the information. It is said that a serious reverse was averted as a result of his action. Like other Indian soldiers, he won a splendid record as a sniper, and is officially credited with having destroyed no less than eighty-eight of the enemy. Another Indian who won fame at the front was Lance-Corporal Norwest; he was one of the foremost snipers in the army and was officially credited with one hundred and fifteen observed hits. He won the Military Medal and bar. Still another, Corporal Francis Pegahmagabow, won the Military Medal and two bars. He distinguished himself signally as a sniper and bears the extraordinary record of having killed three hundred and seventy-eight of the enemy. His Military Medal and two bars were awarded, however, for his distinguished conduct at Mount Sorrell, Amiens, and Passchendaele. At Passchendaele, Corporal Pegahmagabow led his company through an engagement with a single casualty, and subsequently captured three hundred Germans at Mount Sorrell. "The fine record of the Indians in the great war appears in a peculiarly favourable light when it is remembered that their services were absolutely voluntary, as they were specially exempted from the operation of the Military Service Act, and that they were prepared to give their lives for their country without compulsion or even the fear of compulsion." Many military medals were won by the Canadian Indians; Captain A. G. E. Smith of the Grand River Band of the Iroquois having been decorated seven times by the Governments of England, France, and Poland, and many distinguished themselves by great acts upon the battlefield. "Another Indian to be decorated was Dave Kisek. During the heavy fighting around Cambrai he unstrapped a machine gun from his shoulder and advanced about one hundred yards to the German position, where he ran along the top of their trench, doing deadly execution with his machine gun. He, single-handed, took thirty prisoners upon this occasion. This Indian came from the remote regions of the Patricia district. Sergeant Clear Sky was awarded the Military Medal for one of the most gallant and unselfish deeds that is recorded in the annals of the Canadian Expeditionary Force. During a heavy gas attack he noticed a wounded man lying in 'No Man's Land' whose gas mask had been rendered useless. Clear Sky crawled to him through the poisonous fumes, removed his own mask, and placed it on the wounded man, whose life was in consequence saved. Sergeant Clear Sky was himself severely gassed as a result of his heroic action. Joe Thunder was awarded the Military Medal for a feat of arms of an exceptionally dramatic character. He was separated from his platoon and surrounded by six Germans, each of whom he bayoneted. George McLean received the Distinguished Conduct Medal in recognition of the performance of a feat which was an extraordinary one even for the great war. Private McLean, single-handed, destroyed nineteen of the enemy with bombs and captured fourteen." And yet not a single Canadian Indian has claimed that he won the World War--not even Pegahmagabow, who shot three hundred and seventy-eight Germans. APPROACHING GAME But to return to the land of peace. Of course, in attempting to deceive game, one must always guard against approaching down wind, for most animals grow more frantic over the scent than they do over the sight of man. Later on, when I went hunting with Oo-koo-hoo, he used to make me laugh, for at one moment he would be a jolly old Indian gentleman, and just as likely as not the next instant he would be posing as a rotten pine stump that had been violently overturned, and now resembled an object against which a bear might like to rub his back and scratch himself. Often have I proved the value of the old hunter's methods, and I could recite not a few instances of how easy it is to deceive either birds or animals; but I shall mention only one, which happened on the borderline of Alaska. I was running through a grove of heavy timber, where the moss was so deep that my tread made no sound, when suddenly rounding a large boulder, I came upon a black bear less than fourteen paces away. It was sitting upon its haunches, directly in the footpath I was following. As good luck would have it, I saw him first, and for the fun of it, I instantly became an old gray stump--or tried to look like one. Presently the bear's head swung round, and at first he seemed a bit uneasy over the fact that he had not seen that stump before. It appeared to puzzle him, for he even twisted about to get a better view; but after watching me for about five minutes he contentedly turned his head away. A few minutes later, however, he looked again, and becoming reassured, yawned deliberately in my face. But by that time, being troubled with a kink in my back, I had to straighten up. Then, strange to say, as I walked quietly and slowly round him to gain the path ahead, the brute did not even get up off his haunches--but such behaviour on the part of a bear rarely happens. Perhaps you wonder why I didn't shoot the brute. I never carry a gun. For when one is provided with food, one can carry no more useless thing than a gun; so far as protection is concerned, there is no more need to carry a gun in the north woods, than to carry a gun down Broadway; in fact, the wolves of Broadway--especially those of the female species--are much more dangerous to man than the wolves of the Great Northern Forest. SUNDAY IN CAMP Next morning being Sunday, we did not strike camp, and the first thing the women attended to, even while breakfast was under way, was the starting of a fire of damp, rotten wood, which smoked but never blazed, and over which, at a distance of about four feet, they leant the stretched deerskins, hair side up, to dry. Besides those, other frames were made and erected over another slow fire, and here the flakes or slabs of moose flesh were hung to be dried and smoked into what is called jerked meat. The fat, being chopped up and melted in a pail, was then poured into the moose bladder and other entrails to cool and be handy for future use. Of course, it would take several days to dry out the deerskins; so each morning when we were about to travel, the skins were unlaced and rolled up, to be re-stretched and placed over another fire the following evening. Sunday was pleasantly spent, notwithstanding that so many different religious denominations were represented in camp: for while old Ojistoh counted her beads according to the Roman Catholic faith, Amik and Naudin were singing hymns, as the former was an English Churchman and his wife a Presbyterian; but Oo-koo-hoo would join in none of it as he had no faith whatever in the various religions of the white men and so he remained a pagan. Part of the day we spent in pottering about, in doing a little mending here and there, smoking, telling stories, or in strolling through the woods; as both Oo-koo-hoo and Amik were opposed to doing actual work on Sunday. In the afternoon I turned to sketching, and my drawing excited so much interest that Amik tried his hand, and in a crude way his sketches of animals and birds were quite graphic in character. One sketch I made, that of the baby, so pleased Neykia, that I gave it to her, and when she realized my intention she seized it with such eagerness that she crumpled and almost tore the paper; for as the Ojibways have no word to express their thanks, they show their gratitude by the eagerness with which they accept a present. That, however, reminds me of having read in one of the leading American magazines an account of a noted American illustrator's trip into the woods of Quebec. While there he presented a red handkerchief to an Indian girl. The fact that she snatched it from him, and then ran away, was to him--as he stated--a sign that she was willing to comply with any evil intentions he might entertain toward her. Such absolute rot! The polite little maid was merely trying to express her unbounded thanks for his gift. The only thing that interrupted our paddling the following day was our going ashore to portage around a picturesque waterfall where two huge rocks, on the very brink of the cascade, split the river into three. When we had carried up the canoes, we found the children making a great to-do about wasps attacking them; for they had put down their packs beside a wasps' hole; and old Granny, seeing the commotion, had put down her end of the canoe, and with disgust exclaimed: "Oh, my foolish people, always standing around and waiting for old Granny to fix everything!" So saying, she pulled a big bunch of long, dry grass, and lighting it, ran with a blanket over her head, and placed the fire against the wasps' hole; in a moment they ceased their attack and utterly disappeared. We were now nearing the fork of Crane River, that in its three-mile course came from Crane Lake, on the shore of which was Oo-koo-hoo's last winter's camping ground; the men therefore decided that it was best for Amik to push on in the light canoe and get the two deerskin winter tepee coverings, as well as their traps, that had been cached there last spring; and then return to the fork of the river where the family would go into camp and wait for him. NEARING TRIP'S END Transferring most of the cargo to the other canoes, Amik and I provided ourselves with a little snack and started at once for Oo-koo-koo's old camping ground. It appeared about a three-mile paddle to the fork of the river. Nothing save the quacking of ducks rushing by on the wing, the occasional rise of a crane in front of us, the soaring of an eagle overhead, and the rippling wakes left by muskrats as they scurried away, enlivened our hurried trip. We found the leather lodge coverings in good order upon a stage, and securing them along with several bundles of steel traps that hung from trees, we put all aboard and found we had quite a load, for not only were the tepee coverings bulky, each bundle being about two feet thick by four feet long, but they were heavy, too, for each weighed about a hundred pounds. Then, too, the traps were quite a load in themselves. I didn't stop to count them, but it is surprising the number of traps a keen, hard-working hunter employs; and they ranged all the way from small ones for rat and ermine to ponderous ones for bears. Also we gathered up a few odds and ends such as old axes, an iron pot, a couple of slush scoops, a bundle of fish-nets, and a lot of old snowshoes. Crane Lake, like many another northern mere, was a charming little body of water nestling among beautiful hills. After a cup of tea and some bannock, we once more plied our paddles. Now it was down stream and we glided swiftly along, arriving at the confluence of the Crane and Caribou just before twilight and found smiling faces and a good supper awaiting our return. How human some Indians are, much more so than many a cold-blooded white. Next day we wanted to make the Height-of-land portage for our camp. As it meant a long, stiff paddle against a strong current for most of the distance, we were up early, if not bright, and on our way before sunrise. This time, however, no rapids impeded us and we reached the portage on the farther shore of Height-of-land Lake, tired and hungry, but happy over a day's work well done. It was a pretty little lake about two miles long, surrounded by low-lying land in the midst of a range of great rock-bound hills, and its waters had a whimsical fashion of running either east or west according to which way the wind struck it. Thus its waters became divided and, flowing either way, travel afar to their final destinations in oceans thousands of miles apart. But the western outlet, Moose Creek, being too shallow for canoes, a portage of a couple of miles was made the following day, to the fork of an incoming stream that doubles its waters and makes the creek navigable. When we camped that night the hour was late. Then a two-days' run--the second of which we travelled due north--took us into Moose Lake; but not without shooting three rapids, each of which the Indians examined carefully before we undertook the sport that all enjoyed so much. An eastern storm, however, caught us on Moose Lake and not only sent us ashore on an island, but windbound us there for two days while cold showers pelted us. Another day and a half up Bear River, with a portage round Crane Falls, landed us on the western shore of Bear Lake at the mouth of Muskrat Creek--and there we were to spend the winter. There, too, I remembered Thoreau when he said: "As I ran down the hill toward the reddening west, with the rainbow over my shoulder, and some faint tinkling sounds borne to my ear through the cleansed air, from I know not what quarter, my Good Genius seemed to say,--'Go fish and hunt far and wide day by day,--farther and wider,--and rest thee by many brooks and hearth-sides without misgiving. Remember thy Creator in the days of thy youth. Rise free from care before the dawn, and seek adventures. Let the noon find thee by other lakes, and the night overtake thee everywhere at home'." And furthermore: "Let not to get a living be thy trade, but thy sport. Enjoy the land, but own it not. Through want of enterprise and faith men are where they are, buying and selling, and spending their lives like serfs." III OO-KOO-HOO'S EL DORADO OUR WINTER CAMP Bear Lake was beautiful. Its shores were fringed here and there with marshy reeds or sandy beaches; and its rivulets, flowing in and out, connected it with other meres in other regions. At dawn moose and caribou came thither to drink; bears roamed its surrounding slopes; lynxes, foxes, fishers, martens, ermines, and minks lived in its bordering woods. Otters, muskrats, and beavers swam its inrushing creeks; wolverines prowled its rocky glens, and nightly concerts of howling wolves echoed along its shores. The eagles and the hawks built their nests in its towering trees, while the cranes fished and the ruffed grouse drummed. Nightly, too, the owls and the loons hooted and laughed at the quacking ducks and the honking geese as they flew swiftly by in the light of the moon. Salmon-trout, whitefish, pike, and pickerel rippled its placid waters, and brook-trout leaped above the shimmering pools of its crystal streams. It was Oo-koo-hoo's happiest hunting ground, and truly it was a hunter's paradise . . . a poet's heaven . . . an artist's home. "What fools we mortals be!"--when we live in the city! The site chosen for the lodges was on one of two points jutting into the lake, separated by the waters of Muskrat Greek. On its northwest side ran a heavily timbered ridge that broke the force of the winter winds from the west and the north, and thus protected Oo-koo-hoo's camp, which stood on the southeast side of the little stream. Such a site in such a region afforded wood, water, fruit, fish, fowl, and game; and, moreover, an enchanting view of the surrounding country. Furthermore, that section of The Owl's game-lands had not been hunted for forty-two moons. Immediately after dinner the men began cutting lodge poles, while the women cleared the tepee sites and levelled the ground. On asking Oo-koo-hoo how many poles would be required for the canvas lodge which he had kindly offered me the use of for the coming winter, he replied: "My son, cut a pole for every moon, and cut them thirteen feet in length, and the base of the tepee, too, should be thirteen feet across." Then looking at me with his small, shrewd, but pleasant eyes, he added: "Thirteen is our lucky number. It always brings good fortune. Besides, most canoes are made of thirteen pieces, and when we kill big game, we always cut the carcasses into thirteen parts. My son, when I have time I shall carve a different symbol upon each of the thirteen poles of your lodge; they shall represent the thirteen moons of the year, and thus they will enable you to keep track of the phase of the season through which you are passing." All the poles were of green pine or spruce. The thin ends of three of the stoutest were lashed together; on being erected, they formed a tripod against which the other poles were leant, while their butts, placed in a circle, were spread an equal distance apart. Over that framework the lodge covering was spread by inserting the end of a pole into the pocket of each of the two windshields, and then hoisting the covering into place. Next the lapping edges, brought together over the doorway, were fastened securely together with wooden pins, while the bottom edge was pegged down all round the lodge with wooden stakes. In the centre of the floor-space six little cut logs were fastened down in the form of a hexagon, and the earth scooped from within the hexagon was banked against the logs to form a permanent and limited fireplace. The surrounding floor space was covered with a layer of fir-brush, then a layer of rushes, and finally, where the beds were to be laid, a heavy mattress of balsam twigs laid, shingle-fashion, one upon another, with their stems down. Thus a springy, comfortable bed was formed, and the lodge perfumed with a delightful forest aroma. Above the fireplace was hung a stage, or framework of light sticks, upon which to dry or smoke the meat. Around the wall on the inner side was hung a canvas curtain that overlapped the floor, and thus protected the lodgers from draught while they were sitting about the fire. The doorway was two feet by five, and was covered with a raw deerskin hung from the top. A stick across the lower edge kept the skin taut. A log at the bottom of the doorway answered for a doorstep and in winter kept out the snow. Now the lodge was ready for occupation. As there are six different ways of building campfires, it should be explained that my friends built theirs according to the Ojibway custom; that is, in the so-called "lodge fashion", by placing the sticks upright, leaning them together, and crossing them over one another in the manner of lodge poles. When the fire was lighted, the windshields formed a perfect draught to carry the smoke up through the permanently open flue in the apex of the structure, and one soon realized that of all tents or dwellings, no healthier abode was ever contrived by man. Indeed, if the stupid, meddlesome agents of civilization had been wise enough to have left the Indians in their tepees, instead of forcing them to live in houses--the ventilation of which was never understood--they would have been spared at least one of civilization's diseases--tuberculosis--and many more tribesmen would have been alive to-day. On entering an Indian tepee one usually finds the first space, on the right of the doorway, occupied by the woodpile; the next, by the wife; the third, by the baby; and the fourth, by the husband. Opposite these, on the other side of the fire, the older children are ranged. To the visitor is allotted the warmest place in the lodge, the place of honour, farthest from and directly opposite the doorway. When the dogs are allowed in the tepee, they know their place to be the first space on the left, between the entrance and the children. While the two leather lodges of the Indians stood close together with stages near at hand upon which to store food and implements out of reach of the dogs and wild animals, my tepee, the canvas one, stood by itself a little farther up the creek. Taking particular pains in making my bed, and settling everything for service and comfort, I turned in that night in a happy mood and fell asleep contemplating the season of adventure before me and the great charm of living in such simplicity. "In the savage state every family owns a shelter as good as the best, and sufficient for its coarser and simpler wants," says Thoreau, "but I think that I speak within bounds when I say that, though birds of the air have their nests, and the foxes their holes, and the savages their wigwams, in modern civilized society not more than one half the families own a shelter. In the large towns and cities, where civilization especially prevails, the number of those who own a shelter is a very small fraction of the whole. The rest pay an annual tax for this outside garment of all, become indispensable summer and winter, which would buy a village of Indian wigwams but now helps to keep them poor as long as they live. . . . But how happens it that he who is said to enjoy these things is so commonly a _poor_ civilized man, while the savage, who has them not, is rich as a savage?" Next morning, while roaming about the point, I discovered two well-worn game trails that, converging together, led directly to the extreme outer end of our point. The tracks were the wild animals' highways through that part of the woods, and were used by them when they desired to make a short cut across that end of the lake by way of a neighbouring island. Worn fairly smooth, and from three to five inches in depth, by from eight to ten inches in width, these tracks were entirely free of grass or moss. In following them a few hundred paces, I could plainly recognize the prints of the moose, the bear, the wolf, and the fox; and a few smaller and lesser impressions with regard to the origin of which I was not so sure. The trails were much like the buffalo trails one used to see upon the plains. To my delight, my lodge door was not more than ten paces from that wild Broadway of the Wilderness. INDIAN POLITENESS After breakfast Oo-koo-hoo suggested that a "lop-stick" should be cut in honour of the white man's visit. Selecting a tall spruce, Amik, with a half-axe in hand, began to ascend it. When he had climbed about three parts of the way up he began to chop off the surrounding branches and continued to do so as he descended, until he was about halfway down, when he desisted and came to earth. The result was a strange-looking tree with a long bare trunk, surmounted by a tuft of branches that could be seen and recognized for miles around. Cutting lop-sticks is an old custom of the forest Indians. Such trees are used to mark portages, camping grounds, meeting places, or dangerous channels where submerged rocks lie in wait for the unsuspecting voyageur. In fact, they are to the Indian what lighthouses are to the mariner. Yet, sometimes they are used to celebrate the beginning of a young man's hunting career, or to mark the grave of a famous hunter. When made to indicate a wilderness rendezvous, the meeting place is commonly used for the purpose of coming in contact with their nearest neighbours or friends, and halting a day or so, while upon their voyage to the post, in order to discuss their affairs--the winter's hunt, the strange tracks they have seen, the strange sounds they have heard, the raiding of their hunting ground, and the like. Always at such meetings a fire is kindled regardless of the season, an ancient custom of their old religion, but used to-day more for the purpose of lighting pipes. Beside the fire a post stripped of its bark is erected, and on it a fire-bag containing tobacco for the use of all hands is hung. Around the fire the women and children spread a carpet of brush, upon which the men sit while conversing. At such meetings one never hears two Indians talk at once--a fine example for white people to heed--nor do they openly contradict one another as the vulgar white man does, for such an offence would be considered, by the savage, rude--and the offender would be regarded as no better than a white man; for they believe themselves to be not only the wisest and the bravest, but the politest people in the world; and when one stops to compare the average Indian with the average white man in North America, one must grant that the savage is right. In relation to their politeness I can go beyond my own observation and quote the experience of Sir Alexander Henry--whom they called Coseagon--while he was held a prisoner. "I could not let all this pass without modestly remarking that his account of the beginning of things was subject to great uncertainty as being trusted to memory only, from woman to woman through so many generations, and might have been greatly altered, whereas the account I gave them was written down by direction of the Great Spirit himself and preserved carefully in a book which was never altered, but had ever remained the same and was undoubtedly the truth. 'Coseagon,' says Canassatego, 'you are yet almost as rude as when you first came among us. When young it seems you were not well taught, you did not learn the civil behaviour of men. We excused you; it was the fault of your instructors. But why have you not more improved since you have long had the opportunity from our example? You see I always believe your stories. That is, I never contradict them. Why do you not believe mine?' Contradiction, or a direct denial of the truth of what another says, is among the Indians deemed extremely rude. Only great superiority, as of a father to a child, or of an old counsellor to some boy, can excuse it. Alaquippy and the other Indians kindly made some apology for me, saying I should be wiser in time, and they concluded with an observation which they thought very polite and respectful toward me, that my stories might be best for the white people, but Indian stories were undoubtedly best for Indians." Furthermore, if we compare the philosophy of the red man and the white, we find that just because the white man has invented a lot of asinine fashions and customs, a lot of unnecessary gear and junk, and feeds himself on unhealthy concoctions that give him indigestion and make his teeth fall out, he flatters himself that he is the wisest man on earth, whereas, all things considered, in my humble opinion, he is the prize fool of the universe--for removing himself so far from nature. And when the female follower of Dame Fashion goes mincing along the cement-paved street in her sharp-toed, French-heeled slippers, on her way to the factory, she flatters herself that she knows better than God how to perfect the human foot; then the All Wise One, in His just wrath, strikes back at her by presenting her with a luxuriant crop of varicose veins, corns, ingrowing nails, fallen arches, and bunions that supply her with suffering in plenty for the rest of her days. Her red sister, on the contrary, in moccasined feet, walks naturally through the forest; and The Master of Life, beholding her becoming humility, rewards her with painless pleasure. But to return to the Indians' meeting places in the wilderness. The important meetings held in the forest are always opened by smoking. No man speaks without first standing up, and his delivery is always slow and in short, clear sentences. In the past there were great orators among the red men as many of the old writers and traders affirm--but again I quote Sir Alexander Henry: "Old Canassatego, a warrior, counsellor, and the chief man of our village, used to come frequently to smoke and talk with me, while I worked at my new business (mending of gun locks), and many of the younger men would come and sit with him, pleased to hear our conversations. As he soon saw I was curious on that head he took a good deal of pains to instruct me in the principles of their eloquence, an art (it may seem strange to say it, but it is strictly true) carried much higher among these savages than is now in any part of Europe, as it is their only polite art, as they practice it from their infancy, as everything of consequence is transacted in councils, and all the force of their government consists in persuasion." Once when questioning Oo-koo-hoo regarding old Indian customs, he informed me that among Indians bowing was a very recent innovation, and that the men of the olden time--the fire-worshippers or sun-worshippers--never deigned to bow to one another: they bowed to none but the Deity. They took not the Great Spirit's name in vain; nor did they mention it save in a whisper, and with bowed head. He regretted that since coming in contact with the irreverent and blaspheming white men, his people had lost much of their old-time godly spirit. TRAPPING EQUIPMENT For the next few days the work done by the men was confined to odd jobs in preparation for the coming winter, and the laying out of their future trapping trails. They built some stages upon which to store the canoes, and others nearer the lodges, upon which to place their guns, sleds, and snowshoes. They cut and shaved axe-handles and helved them. They overhauled traps, and got ready all their trapping gear. It was always interesting to watch Oo-koo-hoo and Amik, even when they were engaged upon the most trivial forest work, for much of it was new to me and it was all so different from the ways of civilization. Then, too, they had taken the boys in hand and were instructing them in relation to the hunter's art. The first thing they did with the traps, after seeing that the old ones were in working order, was to boil both the new ones and the old ones for about half an hour in pots in which was placed either pine, or spruce, or cedar brush. This they did--Oo-koo-hoo explained--to cleanse the old traps and to soften the temper of the new ones, thus lessening the chances of their breaking in zero weather; and also to free both old and new from all man-smell and to perfume them with the natural scent of the forest trees, of which no animal is afraid. The traps they used were the No. 1, "Rat," for muskrats, ermines, and minks; the No. 2, "Mink," for minks, martens, skunks, and foxes; the No. 3, "Fox," for foxes, minks, martens, fishers, wolves, wolverines, skunks, otters, and beavers; the No. 4, "Beaver," for beavers, otters, wolves, wolverines, and fishers; the No. 5, "Otter," for otters, beavers, wolves, wolverines, and small bears; and the "Bear" trap in two sizes--_A_, large, and _B_, small, for all kinds of bears and deer. Traps with teeth they did not use, as they said the teeth injured the fur. Next to the knife, the woodsman uses no more useful implement than the axe. Even with the professional hunter, the gun takes third place to the knife and the axe. As between the two makes of axes--the American and the Canadian--the former appears the best. It is really a good fair-weather axe, but winter work proves the superiority of the Canadian implement. The latter does not chip so readily in cold weather. Furthermore, the eye of the American axe is too small for the soft-wood helve usually made in the northern forest, since in many parts no wood harder than birch is to be had. But to reduce the high temper of the American axe, the hunter can heat the head in fire until it becomes a slight bluish tinge and then dip it in either fish oil or beaver oil. The sizes of axes run: "Trappers," 1 1/2 lbs.; "Voyageurs," 2 1/2 lbs., "Chopping," 3 1/2 lbs., and "Felling," 4 lbs. At last the eventful morning arrived. Now we were to go a-hunting. The trap-setting party was to be composed of four persons: Oo-koo-hoo, the two boys, and myself. Our _ne-mar-win_--provisions--for four, to last a week, consisted of: one pound of tea, eight pounds of dried meat, four pounds of grease, four pounds of dried fish, and a number of small bannocks; the rest of our grub was to be secured by hunting. Of course, while hunting, Oo-koo-hoo always carried his gun loaded--lacking the cap--but it was charged with nothing heavier than powder and shot, so that the hunter might be ready at any moment for small game; yet if he encountered big game, all he had to do was to ram down a ball, slip on a cap, and then be ready to fire at a moose or a bear. SETTING FOX TRAP After the usual affectionate good-bye, and the waving of farewell as we moved in single file into the denser forest, we followed a game trail that wound in and out among the trees and rocks--always along the line of least resistance--and for a while headed westward through the valley of Muskrat Creek. Oo-koo-hoo led the way and, as he walked along, would occasionally turn and, pointing at the trail, whisper: "My white son, see, a moose passed two days ago . . . That's fox--this morning," and when we were overlooking the stream, he remarked: "This is a good place for muskrats, but I'll come for them by canoe." The principal object of the trip was to set fox and marten traps. Hilly timberland of spruce or pine, without much brushwood, is the most likely place for martens; and in fairly open country foxes may be found. The favourite haunt of beavers, otters, fishers, minks, and muskrats is a marshy region containing little lakes and streams; while for lynxes, a willowy valley interspersed with poplars is the usual resort. Coming to an open space along the creek, the wise old Owl concluded from the fox signs he had already seen, and from the condition of the soil on a cut bank, that it was a desirable place in which to set a steel trap for foxes. Laying aside his kit, he put on his trapping mits, to prevent any trace of man-smell being left about the trap, and with the aid of his trowel he dug into the bank a horizontal hole about two feet deep and about a foot in diameter. He wedged the chain-ring of the trap over the small end of a five-foot pole to be used as a clog or drag-anchor in case the fox tried to make away with the trap. The pole was then buried at one side of the hole. Digging a trench from the pole to the back of the hole, he carefully set the trap, laid it in the trench near the back of the hole, so that it rested about half an inch below the surface of the surrounding earth, covered it with thin layers of birch bark (sewed together with _watap_--thin spruce roots) then, sifting earth over it, covered all signs of both trap and chain, and finally, with a crane's wing brushed the sand into natural form. Placing at the back of the hole a duck's head that Ne-geek had shot for the purpose, Oo-koo-hoo scattered a few feathers about. Some of these, as well as the pan of the trap, had been previously daubed with a most stinking concoction called "fox bait"--hereafter called "mixed bait" to prevent confusing this with other baits. It was composed of half a pound of soft grease, half an ounce of aniseed, an eighth of an ounce of asafoetida, six to ten rotten birds' eggs, and the glands taken from a female fox--all thoroughly mixed in a jar and then buried underground to rot it, as well as for safe keeping. The reason for such a concoction is that the cold in winter does not affect the stench of asafoetida; aniseed forms a strong attraction for many kinds of animals; foxes are fond of eggs; and no stronger lure exists for an animal than the smell of the female gland. So powerful is the fetor of this "mixed bait," and so delicious is the merest whiff of it, that it forms not only an irresistible but a long-range allurement for many kinds of fur-bearers. Indeed, so pungent was it, that Oo-koo-hoo carried merely a little of it in a cap-box, and found that a tiny daub was quite sufficient to do his work. The reason for using the two kinds of bait was that while the mixed bait would attract the animal to the trap by its scent, the sight of the duck's head would induce the fox to enter the hole, step upon the unseen trap while reaching to secure its favourite food, and thus be caught by a foreleg. The mention of an animal being caught by a foreleg reminds me of the strange experience that Louison Laferte, a French half-breed, manservant at Fort Rae, once had with a wolf. Louison was quite a wag and at all times loved a joke. One day while visiting one of his trapping paths with his four-dog team he came upon a wolf caught in one of his traps by the foreleg. After stunning the brute, he found that its leg was in no way injured, for it had been in the trap but a short time. Louison, in a sudden fit of frolic humour, unharnessed his Number 3 dog and harnessed in its place the unconscious wolf. When the wild brute came to, and leaped up, the half-breed shouted: "_Ma-a-r-r-che_!" and whipped up his dogs. Off they went, the two leading dogs pulling the wolf along from in front, while the sled-dog nipped him from behind and encouraged him to go ahead. Thus into Fort Rae drove the gay Louison with an untamed timber-wolf in harness actually helping to haul his sled as one of his dog-team. The half-breed kept the wolf for more than a month trying to train it, but it proved so intractable and so vicious that fearing for the children around the Post, eventually he killed it. DOG TRAILING FOX It is generally conceded by the most experienced fur-hunters of the northern forest, that while the wolverine is a crafty brute and difficult to hunt, yet of all forest creatures the coloured fox is the hardest to trap. In hunting the two animals with dogs, however, there is little comparison. The wolverine, being a heavy, short-legged beast, can soon be overhauled in an open country or on a beaten trail by a dog, or in deep snow even by a man on snowshoes; while the chances of a fox being run down by a dog are not so good. Some hunters, however, kill many foxes by running them down with dogs, and for such work they use a light-weight, long-legged dog possessed of both long sight and keen scent. Hunters declare that no animal, not even the wolf, has so much endurance as a good hunting-dog. When a hunting-dog sights a fox on a frozen lake he runs straight for him. The fox, on realizing that he is being pursued, leaps wildly into the air two or three times, and then makes off at tremendous speed--much faster than the dog can run. But in about half a mile the fox, becoming played out, stops to rest a moment and to look around to see if the dog is still following. Then, on seeing the dog still in pursuit, he sets off in another great burst of speed. Meanwhile, the dog has gained on him, and the fox, discovering this, bolts off at a different angle. The dog, however, observing what has happened, takes advantage of his quarry, and cuts the corner and thereby makes another gain. The fox, now more alarmed than ever, makes another turn, and the dog cuts another corner and makes another gain. Thus the race goes on until the fox comes to the conclusion that the dog is sure to get him, loses both heart and wind and finally lies down from sheer exhaustion. The dog rushes at him, seizes him between the forelegs, and with one crunch the hunt is over. It is much the same in the deep snow of the timberland. There the fox will start off with great bounds that sink him deep into the snow and make the scent only the stronger for the dog. Meanwhile, the dog lopes steadily along, though far out of sight. The fox stops to listen and learn if his enemy is still pursuing him. When the dog finally comes into view, the fox changes his course, and the dog cuts the corner, and thus the story ends in the usual way. OTHER WAYS OF TRAPPING As the methods of hunting the wolf, the marten, the lynx, and the wolverine are founded on the various ways of trapping the fox, a full description of how foxes are hunted may be of interest. Then, too, the reader will be enabled to understand more easily, without unnecessary repetition, the modes of trapping other animals. My description, however, will apply only to the hunting of the crafty coloured foxes of the forest, and not to their stupid brethren of the Arctic coasts--the white and the blue foxes. Of course, every Indian tribe believes its own manner of hunting to be the master way, but it is conceded by experienced fur-traders that the Ojibway method is the best. When setting a fox trap in the winter time, the first thing an Ojibway does is to jab into the snow, small end down, and in an upright position, the clog or drag-pole. With his knife he then cuts a hole in the snow exactly the size of the set trap, the plate of which has already been daubed with mixed bait. In this hole the trap is placed in such a position that it rests about half an inch below the surface of the snow. A thin shield of birch bark covers this, and then with a crane's wing the snow is brushed over both trap and chain so that no sign remains. Then in addition to the mixed bait, he plants about the spot food bait, such as bits of rotten fish or duck. Most hunters have a regular system for setting their traps so that they may know exactly where and how they are placed. Usually he sets them east and west, then cutting a notch on a branch--about a foot from the butt--he measures that distance from the trap, and thrusts the branch into the snow in an upright position, as though it were growing naturally. The stick serves not only to mark the trap, but in an open space to furnish the same attraction for a fox as a tree does for a dog; besides, when the hunter is going his rounds, at the sight of the branch he will remember where and how his trap is set, and can read all the signs without going too near. The object of laying the sheet of birch bark over the trap is that when any part of the bark is touched the trap may go off; besides, it forms a hollow space beneath, and thus allows the animal's foot to sink deeper into the trap, to be caught farther up, and to be held more securely. The foregoing is the usual way of setting a fox trap, yet the Wood Crees and the Swampy Crees set their fox traps on mounds of snow about the size of muskrat houses. For that purpose they bank the snow into a mound about eighteen inches high, bury the drag-pole at the bottom, set the trap exactly in the crest of the mound, and, covering up all traces of trap and chain with powdered snow, sprinkle food bait and mixed bait around the bottom of the mound. The approaching fox, catching scent of the mixed bait, follows it up and then eats some of the food bait, which presently gives him the desire to go and sit upon the mound--which is the habit of foxes in such a condition--and thus he is caught. A curious thing once happened to a Dog-rib Indian at Great Slave Lake. One day he found a wolf caught in one of his traps and foolishly allowed his hunting-dog to rush at it. The wolf leaped about so furiously that it broke the trap chain, and ran out upon the lake, too far for the hunter's gun. In pursuit of the wolf, the dog drew too near and was seized and overpowered by the wolf. In order to save his dog the hunter rushed out upon the lake; and when within fair range, dropped upon one knee and fired. Unluckily, the ball struck the trap, smashed it, and set the wolf free; and all the hunter got for his pains was a dead dog and a broken trap--while the wolf went scot free. The Chipewyan and Slave Indians set their traps inside a lodge made of eight or ten poles, seven or eight feet in length, placed together lodge fashion and banked round with a wall of brush to prevent the fox entering except by the doorway. The trap is set in the usual way, just outside the entrance, the chain being fastened to one of the door poles. Instead, however, of being placed on the snow around the trap, the mixed bait is put on a bit of rabbit skin fastened in the centre of the lodge; the idea being that the fox will step on the trap when he endeavours to enter. The Louchieux Indian sets his trap the foregoing way, but in addition he sets a snare in the doorway of the lodge, not so much to catch and hold the fox, as to check him from leaping in without treading on the trap. Oo-koo-hoo told me that whenever a trap set in the usual way had failed to catch a fox, he then tried to take advantage of the cautious and suspicious nature of the animal by casting about on the snow little bits of iron, and re-setting and covering his trap on the crest of some little mound close at hand without any bait whatever. The fox, returning to the spot where he had scented and seen the bait before, would now scent the iron, and becoming puzzled over the mystery would try to solve it by going to the top of the mound to sit down and think it over; and thus he would be caught. Another way to try for a fox that has been nipped in a trap and yet has got away is to take into account the strange fact that the animal will surely come back to investigate the source of the trouble. The hunter re-sets the trap in its old position and in the usual way; then, a short distance off, he builds a little brush tepee, something like a lynx-lodge, which has a base of about four feet, and by means of a snare fastened to a tossing-pole, he hangs a rabbit with its hind feet about six inches above the snow. A mixed-bait stick is placed a little farther back, in order to attract the fox, while another trap is set just below the rabbit. The idea of re-setting the first trap in the old position is to put the fox off his guard when he approaches the dead rabbit hanging in the snare. As, no doubt, he has seen a rabbit hang many times before, and snares so baited he has often robbed. The Indian in his extreme care to avoid communicating man-smell to the rabbit will even remain to leeward of it while he handles it, lest man-scent should blow against the rabbit and adhere to the fur. If that happened, the fox would be so suspicious that he would not go near the rabbit. But to illustrate how stupid the white fox of the Arctic coast is in comparison with the coloured fox of the forest, the following story is worth repeating. It happened near Fort Churchill on the northwest coast of Hudson Bay. The trader at the post had given a certain Eskimo a spoon-bait, or spoon-hook, the first he had ever seen; and as he thought it a very wonderful thing, he always carried it about with him. The next fall, while going along the coast, he saw a pack of white foxes approaching, and having with him neither a trap nor a gun, he thought of his spoon-hook. Tearing a rag off his shirt, he rubbed on it some porpoise oil which he was carrying in a bladder, fastened the rag about the hook, laid it on a log directly in the path of the approaching foxes, and, going to the end of the line, lay down out of sight to watch what would happen. When the foxes drew near, one of them seized the bait, and the Eskimo, jerking the line, caught the fox by the tongue. In that way the native caught six foxes before he returned to the post; but then, as everyone in the Far North knows, white foxes are proverbially stupid creatures. The more expert the hunter, the more pride he takes in his work. Before leaving a trap, he will examine its surroundings carefully and decide from which angle he wishes the animal to approach; then by arranging cut brush in a natural way in the snow he will block all other approaches, and thus compel the unsuspecting fox to carry out his wishes. When a fox springs a trap without being caught, he rarely pauses to eat the bait, but leaps away in fright. The hunter, however, knowing that the fox will soon return, not only leaves the trap as the fox left it, but sets another trap, or even two more, without bait, close to the first, where he thinks the fox will tread when he makes his second visit. If that fails, he will trace the fox's trail to where it passes between thick brush and there he will set a trap in the usual way, but without bait, right in the fox's track. Then he will cut brush and shore up the natural bushes in such a way that, no other opening being left, the fox must return by his own track, and run the chance of being caught. Should that method also fail, the hunter will set another trap in the trail close to the first, in the hope that if one trap does not catch the fox, the next will. Another device is to break a bit of glass into tiny slivers which the hunter mixes with grease and forms into little tablets that he leaves on the snow. If the fox scents them, the chances are that he will swallow each tablet at a single gulp. Presently he will feel a pain in his stomach. At first this will cause him to leap about, but as his sufferings will only increase, he will lie down for an hour or so. When he finally rises to move away, he will feel the pain again. Once more he will lie down, and the chances are that he will remain there until found either dead or alive by the hunter. FASHIONABLE FOOLS If my readers, especially my women readers, should feel regret at the great suffering resulting from fur-hunting, they should recall to mind its chief contributory cause--those devotees of fashionable civilization who mince around during the sweltering days of July and August in furs. The mere thought of them once so filled with wrath a former acting Prime Minister of Canada--Sir George Foster--that he lost his usual flow of suave and classic oratory, and rearing up, roared out in the House of Parliament: "Such women get my goat!" Truly, there is much suffering in the wilderness, especially on account of civilization; but if my readers will be patient enough to wade through these few paragraphs of pain, they may later on find enough novelty, beauty, and charm in the forest to reward them for reading on to the end. But to return to foxes--they are much given to playing dead. Once, while travelling in Athabasca with Caspar Whitney, the noted American writer on Sport and Travel, we came upon a black fox caught in a steel trap. One of our dog-drivers stunned it and covered it with a mound of snow in order to protect its pelt from other animals, so that when the unknown trapper came along he would find his prize in good order. Three days later, when I passed that way, the fox was sitting upon the mound of snow, and was as alive as when first seen. This time, however, my half-breed made sure by first hitting the fox on the snout to stun it, and then gently pressing his moccasined foot over its heart until it was dead--the proper way of killing small fur-bearing animals without either injuring the fur or inflicting unnecessary pain. Colin Campbell, a half-breed at York Factory, once had a different experience. He had been on a visit to an Indian camp with his dog-train and on his way back found a white fox in one of his traps. He stunned it in the usual way and pressed his foot over its heart; and when he was sure it was dead, placed it inside his sled-wrapper and drove home. On arriving at the Fort he unhitched his sled from the dogs, and leaving them harnessed, pulled his sled, still containing its load, into the trading room; where, upon opening the wrapper to remove the load, the fox leaped out and, as the door was closed, bolted in fright straight through the window, carrying the glass with it, and escaped before the dogs could be released from their harness. There are, however, other ways of catching the fox. One is to chop a hole in the ice on a river or lake, fill the hole with water and place in it a "hung" white-fish, in such a position that, when the water freezes, about one third of the fish will protrude above the ice. Then in the usual way, but without bait or sign, set one or two traps near the fish. When the fox arrives, he may succeed in eating the fish's head, but when he tries to dig the rest of the fish out of the ice, he will become too interested to remain cautious, and in shifting his place of stance will soon be taken prisoner. But sometimes a knowing old fox will first dig about in the snow, and on finding the trap, will thereafter be able to eat the fish in safety. Mention of the fish bait recalls what strange things occasionally happen in relation to hunting. A half-breed hunter, named Pierre Geraud, living near Fort Isle a la Crosse, in laying out his trapping trail one winter, had set one of his mink deadfalls in a swamp close to the water-line; and on visiting the trap after the spring flood, found a large pike caught in it. All the signs showed that when the flood had been at its height the fish had been swimming about, and on discovering the bait set for mink had seized it, and in trying to make away with it had set off the trap, the heavy drop-log falling and killing the fish. When I expressed surprise that an animal should have intelligence enough not only to find a buried trap, but to dig it up and then spring it without being caught, Oo-koo-hoo explained that it was not so much a matter of animal intelligence as of man's stupidity; for whenever that happened it did not prove to the animal's credit, but to man's discredit; the careless hunter having simply left enough man-smell on the trap to form a guide that told the animal exactly where the trap lay. Then, the overwhelming curiosity of the fox had compelled it to investigate the mystery by digging it up, and when found, the fox in its usual way would play with the strange object; just as a domestic kitten would do, and so the fox would set off the trap. THE LAST RESORT On my first trips into the forest, whenever I questioned an Indian hunter as to the cause of this or that, the completeness of his graphic explanation always puzzled me; for I could not understand how it was that when he was not an eye-witness, he knew all the details of the affair as well as though the dead animal itself had told him the full story. But when I, too, began to study Nature's book on woodcraft, it amazed me no longer; for then I realized that to those who had studied enough it was easy to read the drama of the forest; especially in the winter, for then Nature never fails to record it, and every story is always published just where it happens. Even to those who have not taken the Indian degree in woodcraft, it is not difficult to read in winter time the annals of animal life in the forest, for then Nature describes with ample detail many an interesting story. In winter time, too, even a blind Indian can follow a trail of which a town-bred man with normal sight could see no trace. If his steel traps fail, the Indian may resort to still another method--the gun trap--regardless of the fact that this may lessen the value of the animal's pelt. A gun, first carefully cleaned and loaded with the exception of the cap, is placed in a nearly horizontal position about two feet above the snow and lashed securely to two posts; the barrel slanting downward to a point about a foot in height and eight feet away. At that precise spot the bait stick is so fixed that when the fox seizes the bait, its head will be directly in line with the gun-barrel. Fastened to the bait by one end will be a thong, the other end of which will be attached to the trigger, and will discharge the gun when the bait is seized. When all is in readiness, the cap is put on the nipple, and a birch-bark shelter arranged to keep the gun-lock free from falling snow. Brush is then placed in the snow in such a way that it will cause the fox to approach from only one direction, and that the one the hunter desires. It is not a good trap, being very uncertain, as whiskey-jacks, ermine, mice, or rabbits may meddle with it, and set it off. It is seldom used except for wolverine. Frequently the value an Indian places upon a certain pelt is determined not according to its quality, but according to the trouble the animal caused him in securing it, and for that reason he will sometimes expect more for a red fox pelt than for the skin of a beautiful black fox. Then, in order to retain the Indian's goodwill, the experienced trader will humour him by giving the price asked, and count on making up his loss in another way. In hunting fur-bearers poison should never be used, since it bleaches the fur and thus reduces its value. Moreover, it is apt to kill in an almost endless chain many forest creatures besides the animal sought, as they may feed on the first victim to the deadly drug. The hunter's last resort in trapping the coloured fox is to set a snare for him. In setting a snare the Chipewyan and northern Indians always use a tossing-pole, while most of the southern and eastern Indians use a spring-pole; the difference being that a tossing-pole is usually made by bending down a small tree--the size of the tree being determined by the size of the game--to the top of which is fastened the snare; or the tossing-pole may be made by cutting a pole for that purpose. The result, however, being that the moment the snare is sprung the tossing-pole flies free, and hauling the game into the air, holds it there out of reach of other animals that might rob the hunter of his prize. A spring-pole is made by setting a springy pole in such a position that when the snare is sprung, the tension is released, and the pole, springing up, hauls the animal against a stationary bar set horizontally above the loop of the snare, and holds the quarry there. Many kinds of animals are caught with snares, and in size they run all the way from rabbits to bears and even to the great bull-moose. HUNTER CAUGHT IN SNARE Snares, steel traps, and deadfalls that are set for large game are dangerous even for man to approach carelessly, and sometimes even the trapper himself has the misfortune to be caught in the very trap he has set for some other animal. Early one winter, in fact, just after the first heavy snowfall, and while some bears were still roaming about, before turning in for their long winter sleep, an Indian hunter--I have forgotten his name--assisted by his son, had just set a powerful snare for bears. Soon after starting for home, the hunter, discovering that he had left his pipe by the trap, told his son to go on to camp, and he would return to recover his treasure. On arriving at the snare, he saw his pipe lying just beyond his reach at the back of the loop, but instead of walking round the brush fence and picking it up from behind, as he should have done, he foolishly put his leg through the snare in order to reach and dislodge his pipe. By some evil chance his foot caught upon the loop; and instantly he was violently jerked, heels over head, into the air, and there hung head downward struggling for his life. He had made the tossing-pole from a strong tree, up which his son had climbed with a line, and by their combined weight they had forced the tree top over and down until they could secure it by setting the snare. The tossing-pole, when the snare went off, sprung up with such force that it not only dislocated the hunter's right leg at the knee, but it threw his knife out of its sheath, and, consequently, he had no means by which he could cut the line, nor could he unfasten it or even climb up--for he was hanging clear of the tree. Presently, however, he began to bleed from the nose and ears; and in his violent effort to struggle free, he noticed that he was swinging from side to side; then it dawned upon him that if he could only increase the radius of his swing he might manage to reach and seize hold of the tree, climb up to slacken the line, unfasten the snare, and set himself free. This, after much violent effort, he finally accomplished; but even when he reached the ground, everything seemed utterly hopeless, for on account of his dislocated leg, he could not walk. So there he lay all night long. During twilight, as fate ordained, the wounded man had a visitor; it was a bear, and no doubt the very bear for which he had set his snare. But the bear, in approaching, did not notice the man until it was almost on top of him, and then it became so frightened that it tore up into a neighbouring tree and there remained for hours. By midnight, however, it came down, and then it was the suffering hunter's turn to become alarmed, for the big brute passed very close to him before it finally walked away. A little after sunrise the hunter's son arrived, but not being able to carry his father, and fearing lest the bear might return before he could secure help, he decided to leave his father there, while he went in search of the bear. Tracking it, he soon came upon it and shot it dead. Back he hastened to camp and, with his mother, returned with a sled and hauled the wounded man home. THE FOX AT HOME The "coloured" foxes, including the red, the cross, the silver, and the black--the latter three being merely colour phases of the former and not separate species, as has frequently been proved, but all four having been found in the same litter--mate in February and March. They pair and remain faithful partners. The father also helps in feeding and caring for the young which are born about fifty days after the mating season. The litter contains from three to ten, and when a few weeks old the young are as playful and as interesting as domestic kittens. The den in which they are born may be a hollow tree, a hollow log, or more often an underground tunnel with several entrances and a storeroom besides the living chamber. The nest is never lined, but left quite bare and is kept clean. Their principal food is derived from mice, birds, fowl, and rabbits; and the parents frequently cache food for both their young and themselves. No wonder they are good providers, for what with their keen sense of scent and their great speed they seldom fail in their hunts. They are fond of open country and have an individual range of very few miles, perhaps ten at the most. In winter they run singly until the mating season; seldom are the tracks of more than two foxes seen together, and their principal enemies are men, wolves, lynxes, and dogs. As the district through which we were passing was rich in fox-signs, Oo-koo-hoo set a number of traps. Such work takes time, and when we reached a well-wooded grove of second-growth birch, poplars, and--along a little creek--willows, we began to think of where we should camp for the night. Besides, the old hunter deemed it an ideal spot in which to set lynx and rabbit snares. So while the boys cut wood for the fire and brush for our beds, and then turned to the cooking of supper, Oo-koo-hoo cut a great mass of birch, poplar, and willow branches and tops, and threw them into piles, not only to attract the rabbits thither, but to afford them a prolonged feast for many weeks, and thus fatten them for his own use; moreover, the gathering of the rabbits would prove a strong attraction for the lynxes of the region. Sometimes, at such a spot, hundreds of rabbits will feed, and in winter time the place may become such a network of runways that if it happens to be a fairly open hillside one can see from half a mile away the shadows of the endless tracks that mark the glistening snow in all directions. During the years of great plenty--which the Indians and traders assert come about every seventh year--the number of rabbits in some sections of the northern forest is almost beyond belief. Then a plague suddenly overtakes them, almost wiping them out of existence, and several years elapse before the disease disappears and they begin to increase again. The plague, of course, is the rabbit's greatest enemy, then follows the lynx, the fox, the wolf, and many other animals and even birds such as the owl and the hawk; but somewhere among that destructive group man plays a prominent part. THE RABBIT AND THE HUNTER The rabbit, or more properly the varying-hare, of the northern forest is also called the snowshoe rabbit, from the fact that nature has provided it with remarkable feet that allow it to run with ease over the deepest and softest snow. It wears a coat that changes colour with the changing seasons: brown in summer and white in winter. Its food is derived principally from the bark of the poplar, the willow, and the birch. In winter time rabbits are found to be fattest when the moon is full, and that is accounted for by the fact that they feed at night, and feed most when the moon is giving light. Besides, on stormy nights, especially between moons, they remain more under cover and feel less inclined to venture out even to secure their needed food. In all the north woods there is no animal that is of more use to man, beast, or bird, than the rabbit, nor is there any animal that is so friendly to all alike; yet no other creature of the wilderness is so preyed upon as the rabbit. But in winter its safety lies not so much in the great speed it possesses as in its snowshoe feet and in its skill in dodging. Rabbits mate in March and April, the usual litter of three or four being born about a month later. The nest is usually on the ground in some sheltered place under brushwood that forms a good protection, and the nest is lined with leaves, grass, or their own cast-off fur. A rabbit snare is made of fine babiche, sinew, cord, or wire, and the loop is hung over a rabbit runway just high enough to catch it round the neck. In its struggles it sets off the spring or tossing-pole, thus usually ending its sufferings. When thus caught the flesh is tender and sweet; but when caught by a leg the flesh is flabby and tasteless, the reason being that when caught by the neck the rabbit is killed almost instantly; but when snared by a leg it hangs struggling in pain for hours before it finally bleeds at the nose and dies, or is frozen to death. When the latter happens, however, the rabbit is usually thrown to a dog or used for trap bait. The reason Oo-koo-hoo set the rabbit snares was not so much for present needs as to provide meals for the hunter while on his future rounds; also to keep on hand a goodly supply of trap bait. Expert hunters, when they have time, prefer to hunt rabbits by calling them. In the rutting season they imitate the love-call of the female, and in other seasons they mimic the cries of the young; in either case, the unsuspecting animals come loping from all directions, and the hunter bowls them over with fine shot. Calling takes much practice, but when the hunter has become an adept, it is the easiest and the quickest way of catching them. In relation to setting snares for rabbits, Mrs. Wm. Cornwallis King, the wife of a well-known Hudson's Bay Company's chief trader, once had an unusual experience. She had set for rabbits a number of snares made of piano wire, and when visiting them one morning she was astonished and delighted, too, to find caught in one of her snares a beautiful silver fox; stranger still, the fox was caught by its tongue. As usual, after investigation, the snow told the whole story in a graphic way. It showed that the fox had been pursuing a rabbit, both going on the full run, and the latter always dodging in the effort to escape from its enemy. Finally, the rabbit had bolted past the snare, and the panting fox, with its tongue hanging out, following close behind, accidentally had touched its wet tongue against the wire, and the frost of many degrees below zero had instantly frozen it there. Then the fox, struggling to get free, had set off the snare, which closing on its tongue had hauled it into the air, where it had hung with just the tip of its tail and its hind toes resting on the snow. When Mrs. King found it, it was dead. That evening, when the fire sank low and we turned in, a pack of timber wolves for fully an hour sang us a most interesting lullaby; such a one, indeed, that it made the goose-flesh run up and down our backs--or rather my back--just as really fine music always does; and to tell the truth, I enjoyed it more than many a human concert I have heard. HUNTING THE LYNX It was cool next morning and cloudy and threatening snow. Five rabbits had been caught during the night, and after breakfast we turned to setting lynx snares. The steel trap is set for the lynx much in the same way as it is for the fox; but for the lynx, a snare is preferable. It is set with or without a tossing-pole, at the entrance of a brush-lodge, the base of which is about five feet wide. The bait used is made by rubbing beaver castorum on a bit of rabbit skin placed in a split stick set vertically in the centre of the lodge. A surer way, however, is to also set a steel trap in front of the lodge door, so that if the lynx does not enter, he may be caught while looking in. The Indians often hunt them with dogs, for, when pursued, the lynx soon takes to a tree and then is easily shot. But the most proficient hunters like to hunt them by calling. They imitate its screech and also its whistle, for the lynx whistles somewhat like a jack-rabbit, though the sound is coarser and louder. Some Indians are very successful in this mode of hunting. Besides being able to whistle, the lynx far surpasses the domestic cat in the range and volume of his evening song; and during the rutting season, at sunrise and sunset, he has a peculiar habit of beating or drumming with his forepaws on the hard snow or earth. No doubt it is a form of challenge, used much in the same way as the drumming of cock-grouse; martens and rabbits do the same. The lynx is a wonderful swimmer and is dangerous to tackle in the water, for he can turn with remarkable agility, and board a canoe in a moment. Of all northern animals he is perhaps the most silent walker, for in the night a band of five or six lynxes may pass close beside one's tent and never be heard, though a single rabbit, passing at the same distance, may make enough noise to awaken a sound sleeper. Though he often behaves like a coward, hunters approach him with care when he is caught in a steel trap, as he can make a great spring and when he chooses, can fight desperately. While in summer he is a poor runner, in winter he is greatly aided by his big feet, which act as snowshoes and help him over the soft snow and the deep drifts. Few animals succeed in killing him, for what with his unusual speed in water and the fact that he can climb a tree with almost the ease of a monkey, his chances of escape are always good. [Illustration: The lynx is a wonderful swimmer and is dangerous to tackle in the water, for he can turn with remarkable agility, and board a canoe in a moment. Of all northern animals he is perhaps the most silent walker. Though he often behaves like a coward, hunters approach him with care when he is caught in a steel trap, as he can make a great spring and when he chooses, can . . . See Chapter III.] Lynxes mate in March, the young being born about three months later, the litter consisting of from one to five. The father assists in the support of the kittens, which are much like those of the domestic cat. The lynx's coat is gray mottled with brown, but in winter it turns a lighter colour; in weight he runs from thirty-five to forty-five pounds. His principal food is derived from rabbits and any other animals he can kill, from beaver down, as well as grouse, ptarmigan, and other birds and fowl; occasionally he will tackle the young of deer, but he never dares to molest man. When his catch is more than sufficient for his present need, he caches the remainder in snow or earth for future use. He is as cleanly as a house cat, and his flesh when cooked resembles a cross between rabbit and veal. MARTEN TRAPPING After setting a number of snares for lynxes we resumed our march, and on rounding the end of a little lake, saw two fresh moose-tracks. Following them up, we finally came to a park-like region, where was very little underbrush, and where most of the trees were pine and spruce--an ideal spot for marten. So Oo-koo-hoo, forgetting all about his moose-tracks, made ready to set some marten traps. For one marten an Indian catches in a steel trap he catches a dozen in wooden deadfalls; but with the white trapper it is different--he relies chiefly on the steel traps. Steel traps are set either in the open or in the tracks of the marten in exactly the same way as for foxes, and either with or without tossing-poles. The largest and best deadfalls used by the Indians are those they set for bears. The city-dwelling author, or illustrator, who has not lived in the wilderness, would never think of depicting an Indian trapper with a big hand-auger hanging from his belt, perhaps no more than he would depict a pirate armed with a big Bible; yet, nevertheless, it is a fact that the Indian trapper nowadays carries an auger much as the old buccaneer carried his cutlass--thrust through his belt. Somehow or other, I never could associate Oo-koo-hoo's big wooden-handled auger with his gun and powder-horn, and all the while I was curious as to what use he was going to make of it. Now I was to have my curiosity satisfied. First he selected an evergreen tree about a foot in diameter--this time it was a pine--and with his axe cut a horizontal notch one to two inches deep; then he blazed the tree six or eight inches down to the notch, in order to form a smooth, flat surface; then he took his big auger and bored down into the tree, at an incline of about twenty degrees, a hole of two inches' diameter and nine inches deep. Allowing at that spot for two feet of snow, he had bored the hole about thirty inches above ground. Then taking two inch-and-a-quarter, thin, sharp-pointed nails he drove them obliquely into the tree just above the hole, so that about three quarters of each protruded into the hole. He did the same with two other nails below the hole, but this time drove them upward until they, too, protruded into the hole. Both sets of nails were driven in about an inch and a quarter apart. The bait used was a duck's head placed at the bottom of the hole. The idea was that when the marten scented the bait, he would crawl into the hole to secure it; but when he tried to withdraw, he would find himself entrapped by the four sharp-pointed nails that, though they allowed him to slip in, now prevented him from backing out as they ran into his flesh, and held him until the hunter, placing two fingers of each hand over the four nail-points, seizing with his teeth the animal's tail, and throwing back his head, would draw his victim out. But such work is rather risky, as the hunter may be bitten before he has a chance to kill the marten. Though it is a very recent mode of trapping--only about thirty-five years old--it is now considered the best of all ways for taking marten, as the traps not only remain set all winter, but they last for years. Later I learned from a chief factor that it was invented by a Saulteaux Indian named Ke-now-keoose, who was at one time employed as a servant of the Hudson's Bay Company, where he learned the use of carpenter's tools--later, when he left the service, he hunted and trapped along the Athabasca, the Slave, and the Mackenzie rivers. Sometimes twenty-five to thirty such traps are set by a hunter in a single day. Mink and ermine are often caught in them, and on one occasion even a wolverine was taken. The wolverine, having scented the bait, followed it up, and while endeavouring to secure the dainty duck's head, thrust his forepaw into the hole and was thus taken prisoner. Oo-koo-hoo took pains to teach the boys everything in relation to trapping, and as soon as he was sure they had mastered the details of setting such traps, he went ahead with his axe to blaze the right trees, while the boys followed with the auger, and in the work of boring the holes and driving the nails took turn and turn about. But after all, the old-fashioned deadfall is more humane than any other way of trapping, as it often ends the animal's suffering at once by killing it outright, instead of holding it a prisoner till it starves or is frozen to death, before the hunter arrives on his usual weekly round of that particular trapping path. Martens mate in February or March, the young being born about three months later, either in a hole in the ground or in a hollow tree; the nest being lined with moss, grass, or leaves, and the litter numbering usually from two to four. The marten is a wonderfully energetic little animal, even more tireless than the squirrel and as great a climber. It is an expert hunter and its food includes birds, fish, chipmunks, birds' eggs, mice, fruit, and rabbits; and it stores its surplus food by burying it. MINK ON THE FUR TRAIL By the time Oo-koo-hoo and his grandsons had set twelve or fifteen traps it was nearing noon, so we had lunch before starting off in search of another rich game region. While on our way that afternoon the old hunter again discovered signs of wolverines and it worried him, for it meant not only the destruction of many of his traps, but also the ruining of the pelts of some of the animals he might catch. Continuing, we soon entered an ideal valley for mink, where two turbulent little crystal streams roared at one another as they sprang together among the rocks and then fell down into dark, eddying pools where, no doubt, trout leaped after flies in due season. The mink is a small animal, about two feet long, including his tail. In colour he is of a dark, rich brown. Though he is not a swift runner and is rather a poor climber, he is an excellent swimmer and is a desperate fighter of great strength. Minks mate in February and March; the female burrowing in a bank, a rocky crevice, or beneath a log or a stump, or perhaps in a hollow tree; the nest is lined with moss, feathers, or grass, and the young are born about forty days after the mating season. The minks' food may be flesh, fish, or fowl and, if overstocked, it is stored for future use. On land, the mink is caught exactly as the fox, the fisher, or the marten is caught, except, of course, that there is a difference in the size of the traps. In water, the steel trap is set just below the surface and rests on the muddy or sandy bottom, where it is half covered with soil as it lies in readiness close to the bank where the mink is in the habit of passing in and out of the stream. Mixed bait is placed on the branches of the near-by bushes. In order, however, to better his chances of catching the mink, the hunter may build a deadfall near the trap, where the animal is in the habit of entering the bush. Then extra bait of rancid fish or duck is used. This mode of water-trapping applies, also, to muskrat, otter, and beaver. The mink, however, is a stupid creature, and it does not require great skill to trap him; but the hunter, nevertheless, must take care when removing him from the trap, for the little brute has the heart of a lion and will tackle anything, regardless of size. We camped that night on the hillside overlooking "Mink Creek" as Oo-koo-hoo called it, and next morning we again set out on our circular way, for on leaving our lodges, we first headed almost due west for about three miles, then we turned south for two more, and gradually working round, we were soon facing east; that course we followed for a day, then on the morrow we worked round toward the north, and finally to the west again, as we neared home. Thus the trapping path was laid in an elliptic form, somewhat suggesting the letter C, with the home camp between the two ends of the letter. Many times during the winter circumstances proved the wisdom of Oo-koo-hoo's plan, especially when the sled became over-loaded with game, and a short cut to camp became desirable. Though no part of his fur path lay more than five miles from the lodges, yet to make the full circuit on showshoes, to examine the traps, and to set some of them, it required a long day, as the path must have covered in a zig-zagging way more than twenty miles. Later on he and Amik laid out two more such trapping paths: one to the north and the other to the east of Bear Lake. The one to the northward was to be especially for bears and wolves as it was a good region for both those animals. At supper time a snow flurry overtook us and whitened the forest. As we sat around the fire that evening, the last evening of our trip, Oo-koo-hoo again began worrying about the presence of wolverines, recalling many of his experiences with those destructive animals. But none of his stories equalled the following, told once by Chief Factor Thompson. MEGUIR AND THE WOLVERINE It happened years ago when an old Dog-rib Indian, called Meguir, was living and hunting in the vicinity of Fort Rae on Great Slave Lake. The Dog-rib and his family of five had been hunting Barren Ground Caribou, and after killing, skinning, and cutting up a number of deer, had built a stage upon which they placed the venison. Moving on and encountering another herd of caribou, they killed again, and cutting up the game, stored it this time in a log cache. Again setting out on the hunt--for they were laying in their supply of deer meat for the winter--they again met with success; but as it was in a district devoid of trees, they simply covered the meat with brush; and while Meguir and his wife set off to haul the first lot of meat to camp, the three grandchildren set to work to haul in the last. On continuing their work the next day the children brought in word that a wolverine, or carcajou, had visited the log cache; so Meguir set off at once to investigate the story. When he arrived, he found the cache torn asunder, and the meat gone. Wolverine tracks were plentiful and mottled the snow in many directions, but on circling, Meguir found a trail that led away, and on following it up, he came upon a quarter of deer. He circled again, trailed another track, found more meat, and after a few hours' work he had recovered most of the venison; but on smelling it, he found that the wolverine, in its usual loathsome way, had defiled the meat. Then, on going to his stage, Meguir found that it, too, had been visited by the wolverine, as the stage had been torn down and the meat defiled. Indignant at the outrage, the old Dog-rib determined to hunt the carcajou and destroy it. But before doing so, he made sure that all his deer meat was hauled to camp and safely stored upon the stages beside his lodge. That night, however, his old wife woke up with a start and hearing the dogs growling, looked out, and discovered a strange animal scrambling down from one of the stages. At once she screamed to her old man to get his gun as fast as The Master of Life would let him, as the wolverine was robbing them again. Half-awake, and that half all excitement, the old man rushed out into the snow with his muzzle-loading flintlock and let drive. Instantly one of his dogs fell over. Roaring with rage, the old Indian re-loaded with all speed, and catching another glimpse of the wolverine in the faint light of the Aurora Borealis, let drive again; but as ill-luck would have it, the gun went off just as another of his dogs made a gallant charge, and once more a dog fell dead--and the wolverine got away! Nothing would now do but that the old man must seek his revenge at the earliest possible moment, so when dawn broke he was already following the trail of the malicious raider. All day he trailed it through the snow, and just before dusk the tracks told him that he was very near his quarry; but rather than run the risk of firing in a poor light, he decided not to despatch the brute until daylight came. According to the northern custom, when he camped that night, he stood his gun and snowshoes in the snow far enough away to prevent their being affected by the heat of the fire. In the morning his snowshoes were gone. Tracks, however, showed that the wolverine had taken them. Again the old man trailed the thief; but without snowshoes, the going was extra hard, and it was afternoon before he stumbled upon one of his snowshoes lying in the snow, and quite near his former camp, as the "Great Mischief Maker" had simply made a big circuit and come back again. But of what use was one snowshoe? So the old hunter continued his search, and late that day found the other--damaged beyond repair. That night, filled with rage and despondency, he returned to his old camp, and as usual placed his gun upright in the snow away from the heat of the fire. In the morning it was gone. New tracks marked the snow and showed where the carcajou had dragged it away. Several hours later the old man found it with its case torn to ribbons, the butt gnawed, and the trigger broken. Tired, hungry, dejected, and enraged, old Meguir sought his last night's camp to make a fire and to rest awhile; but when he got there he found he had lost his fire bag containing his flint and steel--his wherewithal for making fire. Again he went in search, but fresh-falling snow had so obliterated the trail and so hindered his progress, that it was late before he recovered his treasure, and regained his dead fireplace. Yet still the wolverine was at large. But instead of thinking of wreaking his rage upon the wolverine, the poor old Indian was so completely intimidated by the wily brute, so discouraged and so despondent, that he imagined that the whole transaction was the work of some evil spirit. As a result, he not only gave up hunting the wolverine, but he gave up hunting altogether, and he and his family would have starved had not friends come to their rescue and rendered them assistance until his grandsons were old enough to take charge. PREPARING FOR WINTER After our return to the home-camp we experienced several weeks of perfect Indian summer, and its passing was marked by one of the most beautiful natural phenomena I have ever seen. It happened when the deciduous trees were at their height of autumnal glory, and when--as though to add still more to the wonderful scene--three inches of clinging snow having fallen during the night, glittered under the brilliant morning sun. Truly it was a glory to behold--a perfect panorama of rioting greens, yellows, browns, blues, reds, grays, crimsons, purples, in fact, every colour which an artist's palette could carry; and through it all was ever woven a mass of lace-like brilliant white that dazzled the eyes of the beholder. Only once in fifty years have I beheld a scene so enchanting. Next day, however, a strong wind blew wild-looking leaden clouds over the forest, and Autumn, taking fright, threw aside her gorgeous rustling mantle and fled away; while the loons on the lake fairly shrieked with laughter. Meanwhile, the work in preparation for the coming of winter had made good progress. Already the women and children had laid out their own little trapping paths--principally for ermine, rabbits, partridges, muskrats, and skunks, the game found nearest camp; and many another thing had the women attended to. Though they still possessed the sticking-plaster and the painkiller supplied by the trader, they refused to rely on the white man's trivial cure-alls, as they could gather better remedies from their own woods. Their chief reason for buying "painkiller" was that they, like other Indians, relished it as a cocktail on festival occasions; and many a time have I seen a group of Indians--like civilized society people--topping off cocktails (of painkiller) before sitting down to dinner. In case of illness, however, the Indians resort much to bleeding, and this is the mode of operation: a sharp flint is fastened to the split end of a stick, a U-shaped piece of wood is laid over the intended spot, and the thickness of the wood determines the depth of the incision. The flint end of the stick is raised while the other end is held down in such a way as to bend the stick; on releasing the end containing the flint, the stick strikes downward and drives the flint into the flesh to the required depth and no more. The bowl of a pipe is then applied to the cut, and the blood is drawn off through the stem. Young birch roots boiled in a second water make a tea which they sweeten with sugar and use as a laxative. Yellow water-lily roots are boiled until a black sediment forms--somewhat similar to iodine in appearance--and with a feather dipped in this liquid wounds are painted in order to consume proud flesh and to prevent mortification. The upper tips--about four inches long--of juniper trees having been boiled, and the outer bark removed, the inner bark is scraped off and mashed up for poultices. The liquor in which the juniper has been boiled is employed for washing wounds, as it causes the rapid formation of a healing cicatrix. To cure colic, the dried root of the "rat root" is chewed, and the juice swallowed. Among other work that was well under way was the making of the moccasins, known as the "mitten moccasin"--by far the best for snowshoeing, as the seam runs round only the outer side of the foot and leaves no puckering above the toes to cause blistering. True, the mitten moccasin is not of the Ojibway style, but Mrs. Oo-koo-hoo had learned to make it when she and her husband formerly sojourned among the Wood-Crees on the upper Athabasca. Supplying the family with socks was a very easy affair, as these articles were simply rectangular shapes, 12 x 18 inches (for adults) cut from duffle--a woollen material resembling an extra closely woven H.B.C. blanket--and worn wrapped about the foot. Such socks have an advantage over the ordinary kind as they are more easily dried, and they wear much longer, as the sock can be shifted about every time the wearer puts it on, thus warding off the evil day when holes appear. Amik, during the summer, had made a number of snowshoe frames, and now the women were lacing them. They used fine caribou thongs, especially fine for the heel and toe. I have seen snowshoes that white men have strung with cord; but cord is of little use, for cord, or rope, shrinks when wet and stretches when dry, whereas deerskin stretches when wet and shrinks when drying. Of all deerskin, however, that of caribou stretches less when wet than any other; besides, it is much stronger and that is why it makes the best mesh for snowshoes. In lacing a shoe, a wooden needle is used, but the eye, instead of being at one end, is in the centre. Amik had also started work on several hunting sleds of the toboggan type--the only kind used by the natives of the Great Northern Forest. They are made of birch wood and not of birch bark, as a noted American author asserted in one of his books on northern life. A hunting sled is made of two thin boards, split from a birch log by using wooden wedges, and the boards are shaved flat and smooth, first with the aid of a very sharp axe and then with a crooked knife. A hunting sled is ten to twelve inches wide, and commonly eight feet long. The widest part of the sled is at the first cross-bar, then it tapers both ways, an inch less at the tail, and four or five inches less at the end of its gracefully curved prow. That is done to prevent jamming among trees. The two boards are fastened to four cross-bars with deerskin thongs, never with pegs or nails, and the ground-lashing is made fast to the cross-bars. A wrapper of deerskin is provided in which to lash the load. The lashing thong is eighteen to twenty feet in length. Dog-sleds are made much longer, and up to about sixteen inches in width, and are provided with an extra line that trails out behind, by which the driver holds back the sled when going down hill, in order to prevent it from over-running the dogs. A hunting-sled, however, is usually hauled by man by means of a looped strap, or tump-line, with a broad centre which goes over the hunter's shoulders or head, and has its two ends fastened to the first cross-bar below the prow. During the next few days Oo-koo-hoo and Amik had also finished setting their traps, snares, and deadfalls for all the furred creatures of the woods, including wolves and bears. Already the camp had taken on a business-like air, for the big stretching frames for the skins of moose, bear, and caribou had been erected near the lodges; and as the hunters had secured both moose and caribou, the frames were already in use. Trapping had begun in earnest, and though fairly successful--a number of fine skins having been already taken--the hunters were still worried over the wolverines. On one path alone they had found nothing but a fox's foot, and the tails of four martens; besides, several of their traps were missing. In another place, where they had dressed a caribou killed by Oo-koo-hoo, and had left the meat overnight for the women and boys to haul in next day, wolverines had found it and defiled it in their usual way. The women, too, had had their troubles as owls had visited their snares, and robbed them of many a pelt. Worse in some respects than the wolverine is the owl, for while the wolverine leaves a track that one can trail, and either find what is left of the game, or overtake and punish the marauder, the owl leaves no trail at all, and though he frequently eats only the brain or eyes of the game, he has a habit of carrying the game away and dropping it in the distant woods where it is seldom found. So the women took to setting steel traps on the ends of upright poles upon which they judged the owls would alight, as these birds are much given to resting upon the tips of "ram-pikes," and in that way they had caught several. One evening early in November, after a hard day's travel through a big storm of wet, clinging snow, we sat by the fire in Oo-koo-hoo's lodge, and happily commented on the fact that we had got everything in good shape for the coming of winter. Next morning, when we went outside, we found that everything was covered with a heavy blanket of clinging snow, and the streams and the lake beginning to freeze over. We found, also, to our amazement that a big bull-moose had been standing on the bank of Muskrat Creek and watching the smoke rising from our lodges as the fires were lighted at sunrise--just as I have shown in my painting. [Illustration: Next morning we found that everything was covered with a heavy blanket of clinging snow, and the streams and the lake beginning to freeze over. We found, also to our amazement that a big bull-moose had been standing on the bank of Muskrat Creek and watching the smoke rising from our lodges as the fires were lighted at sunrise. After a hurried breakfast, we set out in pursuit of the moose, which we . . . See Chapter III.] After a hurried breakfast, we three men set out in pursuit of the moose which we overtook within a mile, and then there was meat to haul on sleds to our camp. That day the temperature fell rapidly, and by night the little streams were strongly frozen, and around the lake the ice stretched far out from the shore. So we gathered up the canoes and stored them for the winter upside down upon stages made for the purpose; and that night before we turned in we saw, for the first time that season, _Akwutinoowe_--"The Freezing Moon." IV OO-KOO-HOO PLAYS THE GAME TRAILING THE BEAR "My son, a good hunter is never long in doubt; for when he discovers a bear track and follows it for a few hundred paces, he knows whether the track was made by day or by night, whether the bear was large or small, old or young, male or female; whether its coat was in condition or not; whether the beast was merely wandering or travelling with a purpose in view; whether it was frightened or undisturbed; whether going fast or slow; and whether seeking friends or food. Also, the hunter knows which way the wind was blowing when the track was made, he knows whether the bear felt tired or active, and, furthermore, whether or not it wanted to go to bed." I laughed aloud. Instantly the old man's kindly face was clouded with a frown and he exclaimed: "My son . . . that was the laugh of a _monias_ (greenhorn)", and glaring at me, he added: "At first, I thought better of you, but now I am sure that all white men are fools!" Realizing my mistake, I sobered, and suggested that if he would explain I would have a chance to learn the ways of a great hunter. "My son, it is a simple matter to read a track--that is, when one has learned the game. For then one has but to look, remember, and reason, and then the whole story unfolds before your eyes; just as when you open and read what you white men call a book. And some day, my son, if you try hard to learn, you, too, may be able to read the tales of the Strong Woods Country. Now listen to your grandfather and he will explain: under ordinary conditions a deep, clear track implies action; a faint, shallow one, inaction; the length of the stride indicates the speed; if, when travelling slow, hair is found upon the underwood, the animal passed at night, for in daylight a bear is as careful as a lynx to avoid striking things; if the bear is young or middle aged, the claw marks are sharp and clean cut; if it is old, they are blunt and blurred. The tracks of the male, though larger, are not so round as those of the female, and the male's toes are not only longer and spread farther apart, but the underside of his foot is not so hairy as that of his mate. Then, too, as you know, there are other signs by which a tracker tells the sex of his quarry. Now if the bear was travelling with a definite purpose in mind, he would travel straight, or as nearly straight as he could through the woods, and in order to save time, he might even occasionally climb a tree to spy out the lay of the land--as he frequently does. Then, again, if he were feeding, the ground and growth beside his trail would show it; if suddenly startled, he would leave the familiar sign that all large animals usually leave when frightened; and, moreover, it would be left within fifty paces of the place where he took fright. Furthermore, if he were tired and wanted to rest, he would begin circling down wind, so that he could come about close to his back trail, and then lie down, facing down wind, in such a position that he could see anything he could not scent, and scent anything he could not see. Thus if an enemy approached, his eyes would guard his front while his scent would guard his rear. And now, my son, as a bear usually travels up wind, even a _monias_ of a white man could surmise which way the wind was blowing when the track was made. And always remember, my son, that only fools laugh at common sense. But don't get discouraged, keep on trying hard to learn, and then perhaps some day, if you live long enough, you may become almost as wise as an ordinary Indian." The perfect season for hunting the black bear, and in fact all other fur-bearing animals, is between the coming of the snow in late autumn and the going of the snow in early spring, for during that intervening season the coat is in its prime; but as the bear spends much of the winter in hibernation, the hunter must make the best of his two short opportunities; that is, unless he already knows where the bear will "den up," and is counting on killing him in his _o-wazhe_--or as the white hunters and traders call it "wash"--his den. His wash may consist of a hollow tree or a hollow log, a cave, or any suitable shelter formed by an uprooted tree. The finest wash I ever saw was in the woods of Quebec, where, many years ago, three birch saplings had taken root in a huge, hollow pine stump, and where, as time passed, the stump, gradually decaying, had allowed the roots of the fast-growing birches to penetrate through the cracks in the stump to the ground. The roots eventually formed the rafters of a moss- and rotten-wood chinked, water-tight roof to the little cavern in which the old pine stump had once stood and where two winters ago slept a bear. There was but a single entrance between two of the now massive birch roots, and it must have proved a tight squeeze when its tenant last entered. The den was shown to me by a hunter who the spring before had happened that way. While pausing to listen to some distant sound, he had heard a stranger one within ten feet of where he stood. He had heard deep breathing and turning to look down at the roots of the birches, he had discovered a full-grown black bear lying there with its head protruding out of the den. The head was turned toward him and the eyes were fixed upon him with a friendly expression. Without moving a single step the hunter raised his rifle and fired, instantly killing the bear that lay motionless scarcely beyond the muzzle of his gun. THE TRUTH ABOUT BEARS The black bear's coat is all of a glossy black, save just the muzzle, which is light brown. In weight the black bear runs from two hundred to five hundred pounds. Though he is found throughout the Great Northern Forest, he is a comparative stay-at-home, for he seldom roams, even in summer time, more than ten miles from his den, where, if undisturbed, he goes into the same winter quarters, year after year. Consequently, his paths are often clearly defined and well-beaten, for he has the habit of treading repeatedly in his old tracks, and occasionally he blazes his trail by clawing and biting, as high as he can reach, a neighbouring tree. There, too, he frequently leaves other signs--as a dog does at a post. Dog-like, also, other bears that happen along manifest pleasure or rage according to whether the sign has been left by friend or foe. The mating season is in June, though the female rarely bears young except every second year. The young are born in January while the mother is hibernating; and the cubs, usually two in number, are at birth very small, weighing only about ten ounces. The she-bear makes a good mother, for though she shows great affection for her babies, she nevertheless reprimands them, and cuffs them as well, whenever they misbehave or fail to comply with her wishes. The cubs are easily tamed, and being natural little romps, they soon become proficient wrestlers and boxers, and in latter years, show so much agility in the manly art that they strike and parry with amazing power, speed, and skill. When hurt, however, the cubs whimper and cry just like children, and if the little tots are badly wounded, the distress of the mother is pitiful to see, for she moans and sheds tears just as any tender-hearted human mother would. Bear-cubs are droll little mischiefs. Not only do they, when tamed, frequently get into trouble through the pranks they play, but they like to imitate at any risk to themselves the doings of others. As the following example shows: Years ago, near Fort Pelly, on the Assiniboine River, an old Indian killed a she-bear that was followed by two cubs. Though he skinned and cut up the carcass of the mother, he did not touch the whimpering babes, and on going to camp, he sent his wife out with a horse to bring in the meat. When the Indian woman arrived at the spot, she found the two cubs cuddled up against the dressed meat of their mother, and crying as if their poor hearts would break. Their affectionate behaviour so touched the motherly heart of the old woman that, after loading the meat aboard the _travois_--a framework of poles stretched out behind the horse--she picked up the sobbing children and, wrapping them in a blanket to keep them from falling off the _travois_, bestrode her horse, and brought them whimpering into camp. For some time she kept them tethered beside her lodge where she took good care of them, but when they grew larger and seemed well behaved, she released them and allowed them to run and play with the dogs around camp. In the fall it was her habit to take a hand-net and go down to the river to fish. Standing upon a rock and every once in a while casting in her net, she would land a fish on the bank. For several days the cubs watched her with interest, and then one day, it seems, they decided they ought to try and help their foster-mother; so wading in on their hind legs till the water covered their little round tummies, they would stand perfectly still until a fish would swim near. Then they would make a violent lunge for it, and striking lightning-like blows with their paws, they, too, would land a fish upon the bank. Over and over they repeated the manoeuvre, with evident excitement and pleasure. At last, every time the old woman picked up her net to go fishing, these two went along and helped her with her work. So fond of the sport did they become that, presently, they didn't even wait for her to accompany them, but scurried down to the river by themselves and would often have a day's fishing caught and ready for her before she had put in her appearance. But a few months later, when the cubs had grown still larger and stronger, they became so boisterous and mischievous that they not only handled the dogs too roughly, but when the old Indian and his wife left camp at any time, they went on the rampage: chasing the dogs about, ransacking the larder, turning the camp topsy-turvy, and scattering everything in confusion. So the old couple decided that it was now high time to put their skins upon the skin-stretcher in readiness to sell to the fur-trader. The black bear is a good swimmer and an excellent tree climber, and the speed with which he can rush up a hillside is surprising. His diet is a varied one, for he is always ready to eat vegetables, roots, berries, insects, nuts, fish, eggs, meat, fruit, and of course sugar or honey; furthermore, he is a killer of small game--when he is extra-hungry. The black bear has been given so bad a name by uninformed writers and dishonest story-tellers that most people dread to meet him in the woods; whereas, in truth he is usually more frightened at meeting human beings than they are of meeting him--for man is always his greatest and most dangerous enemy. Though I have seen many bears in the bush--seventeen on one trip--they never caused me any anxiety, and at once took flight. But on one of two rare occasions they did not run, perhaps because they were three in number and all full-grown. It happened up on the borderline of Alaska. I was walking alone through the mountains on my way to Stewart, and wishing to cross the Marmot River, I took advantage of a great, permanent snowslide that had been annually added to by avalanches from the snow-capped glaciers. The snowslide not only completely blocked the cañon, but on either side it reached many hundreds of feet up the almost perpendicular mountains, yet in the middle, where it bridged the river, it was no more than two hundred feet high, though it was about two thousand feet in width. Year in and year out that great snow-bridge spanned the little river, and now when I wanted to make use of it, I had no sooner started over than I discovered three bears with the same intention. They, too, had just come out of the woods, and were only forty paces from me--as I afterward measured. We were all going in the same direction, and though we were exactly opposite one another and all walking in a parallel line, no one ran, and for two thousand feet or more, without stick or stone between us, we had a good opportunity to study each other. As usual, I was armed--as I always take care to be--with a penknife and a pocket handkerchief. Occasionally one reads in the daily press shocking stories of the ferocity of bears. What a pity that the truth of these stories cannot always be run to earth! Billy Le Heup, a prospector and guide of northern Ontario, once having occasion to call for his mail in a little backwoods settlement, opened a newspaper and was shocked to learn that a most harrowing affliction had befallen an old friend of his, by name--But I'm sorry I have forgotten it, so let us call him Jones. The paper reported that while several of Jones's children were out berry-picking, a great, black bear had attacked them, and killing the youngest, a little girl, had devoured her entirely, save only one tiny fragment; for when the rescue party went in search of the poor little child they found nothing but her blood-stained right hand. Le Heup was so overcome with sorrow and so filled with indignation that he then and there determined to get together a few trapper friends of his and at once start by canoe for the scene of the tragedy, only a few miles away; there to condole with the poor father, trail the huge brute and wreak vengeance upon the child-eating monster. So Bill, with several of the best bear-hunters in that region, all well armed, set out in haste for the Jones's clearing. When they arrived, Jones was splitting wood outside his shack. The sorrowing trappers, with downcast eyes, moved slowly toward the bereaved father, and Le Heup, appointed spokesman, offered their condolences on the terrible death of his favourite child. Jones was completely dumbfounded. When it was explained to him what a dreadful thing had happened to his child, he swore he had no idea a bear had ever eaten any one of his children; but he was willing to put their story to the proof, so as he had a lot of children, he called them all out of the house to check them over. To the joyful surprise of the visitors, there among them was little Eva--supposed to be eaten, and she even retained her right hand. Thus another newspaper libel upon the poor old black bear--the buffoon of the forest--was shown to be devoid of truth; yet that story was published in the Toronto papers, and, no doubt, was copied all over the United States. But though the black bear is a shy, playful brute, usually ready for flight if danger approaches, the tyro should remember that if wounded or cornered he will readily fight. Furthermore, if one is unlucky enough to get between a bear cub and its mother, and if the cub should cry out as though you were giving it pain, the mother will attack you as readily as any mother would--be she chicken, moose, or woman. THE WAYS OF THE BEAVER A few days later Oo-koo-hoo and Amik set out to hunt beavers--those wonderful amphibious animals of the Northland that display more intelligence, perseverance, prudence, and morality than many a highly civilized human being. In appearance the beaver somewhat resembles a greatly magnified muskrat, save that the beaver's hairless, scaly tail is very broad and flat. The coat of the beaver is brown, and the darker the colour the higher the price it brings. An adult beaver may measure from thirty-five to forty-five inches in length, and weigh anywhere from thirty to sixty pounds. The beaver's home is usually in the form of an island house, built in the waters of a small lake or slowly running stream, to afford protection from prowling enemies, much in the same way that the old feudal lords surrounded the ramparts of their castles with broad moats and flooded the intervening space with a deep canal of water, in order to check the advance of enemy raiders. The surrounding shores of the beaver's castle are nearly always wooded with poplars, as it is upon the bark of that tree that the beaver depends most for his food; though at times, other hardwoods contribute to his feast as well as water-lily roots and other vegetation. The beaver's island-like lodge is a dome-shaped structure that rises from four to seven feet above the water, and measures from ten to thirty feet in diameter on the water-line. It is composed mostly of barkless sticks and poles from one to four inches in diameter, although at times much heavier material is used; and it is tightly chinked with stones and mud and matted vegetation. Frequently, I have watched the building of their lodges. A foundation of water-logged poles and sticks is laid upon the lake or river bottom, next mud and stones are added, then another lot of branches, thus the structure rises in a fairly solid mound until its dome-like top reaches the desired height above the water-line. Then the beavers tunnel their two runways into the centre of the mass from an underwater level on the outside to an over-water level on the inside of the mound. Next, by gnawing away the inside sticks and excavating the inner mass, the inside chamber is formed, measuring anywhere from four to fourteen feet in width, and a little over two feet in height, with its walls finished fairly smooth. Furthermore, the chamber is provided with two floors each of which covers about half the room. While the lower floor rises from three to six inches above the water level, the upper floor rises from four to eight inches above the lower floor. The tunnels open in the lower floor and it is the lower floor or level that is used as a drying place and a dining room. The upper level, covered with a mattress of shredded wood, grass, or moss, forms the living and sleeping half of the chamber. Though in winter time most of their meals are eaten in the house, the green, bark-covered sticks being brought into the chamber through the straightest tunnel, the house is kept quite clean and free of all rubbish or filth. In fact, beavers are better housekeepers than some human beings I have known. A certain amount of ventilation is derived from a few little chinks in the apex of the roof. During the first freezing nights of late fall the beavers plaster the above-water dome of their house with mud which they carry up between their forelegs and chin from the lake bottom, and placing it upon the roof of their house, spread it about in a thick coating, not with their tails, but with their forefeet, where it soon freezes into so solid a mass that it protects the inmates from the attacks of both the severest winter weather and the most savage of four-footed enemies. So strong indeed does the roof then become that even a moose could stand upon it without it giving way. While some writers doubt that beavers plaster the outside of their house with mud, I wish to add that I have not only examined their houses before and after the plastering was done, but on several moonlight nights I have actually sat within forty feet of them and watched them do it. The winter supply of food, being mostly poplar bark, is derived from the branches of green trees which the beavers cut down in the autumn for that very purpose. While engaged in gnawing down trees the beavers usually work in pairs--one cutting while the other rests and also acts as a sentinel to give warning in case an enemy approaches. While cutting down trees they stand or sit in an upright position upon their hind legs and are firmly supported by the tripod formed by the spreading out of their hind feet and tail. They generally choose trees nearest the water on an inclined bank, and usually leaning toward the stream; and while they show no particular skill in felling trees in a certain position, they do display great perseverance, for if it happens, as it sometimes does, that a tree in its descent is checked and eventually held up by its neighbours, the beavers will cut the trunk for the second time, and in some cases even for the third time, in order to bring it down. At night I have frequently sat by the hour at a time, with the brush-screened bow of my canoe within ten feet of a party of beavers, while they were busily engaged in cutting the branches off a tree that they had felled into the water the previous evening. They work quickly, too, for some mornings I have paddled past a big tree lying in the water, which they had dropped the night before and--on returning next day--have found all the branches removed, though some of them would have measured five inches in diameter. But watching beavers work at night is not only interesting, it is easy to do, and I have frequently taken both women and children to share in the sport. Sometimes, right in the heart of the wilderness, I have placed children within fifteen feet of beavers while they were engaged in cutting up a tree. When branches measure from one to three inches in diameter they are usually cut in lengths of from five to ten feet, and the thicker the branch the shorter they cut the lengths. If the cutting is done on land, the butt of the long thinner length is seized by the beaver's teeth and with the weight resting upon the animal's back, is dragged along the ground--over a specially cleared road--and eventually deposited in the water. The shorter lengths, sometimes no longer than a couple of feet, but measuring perhaps six or eight inches in diameter, are rolled along the ground by the beaver pushing the log with the forefeet or shoulder. When the wood is placed in the water, the beaver propels it to its under-water storage place near its lodge, where--the wood being green and heavy--it is easily secured from floating up and away, by placing a little mud over one end or by interlocking the stick with the rest of the pile. The green wood, however, soon becomes waterlogged and gives no further trouble. Thus, when the lake or river is frozen over, the beaver--for it does not hibernate--may live in comfort all winter long in its weather-proof lodge with plenty of food stored beneath the ice and just beyond the watery doorway of its home. HUNTING THE BEAVER The hunters, arriving at a small lake that lay about three miles to the northwest of Rear Lake, crossed it, and turning up a winding creek, followed the little river until they came to a beaver dam which caused the stream to expand into another little lake that flooded far beyond its old water-line. In it was to be seen three beaver lodges. Oo-koo-hoo said the scene was somewhat altered since he had visited it four years before, as the dam had been increased both in height and length, and the pond, increasing, too, had reached out close to many a tree that formerly stood some distance from the water. It was a beautiful little mere containing a few spruce-crowned islands, and surrounded by thickly wooded hills whose bases were well fringed with poplars, birches, willows, and alders--an ideal home for beaver. Among the little islands stood three snow-capped beaver lodges. Here and there wide-spreading, wind-packed carpets of snow covered the ice, while in between big stretches of clear, glassy ice, acting as skylights, lit up the beavers' submarine gardens around their ice-locked homes. The hunters were accompanied by three of their dogs, and before they had time to decide where they should first begin work, the dogs began barking at a point between the west lodge and the bank; so they went over to investigate. Evidently the dogs had spied a beaver, for now, though none was in sight, the canines were rushing back and forth in great excitement over a fairly deep submarine runway or clear passageway, through the shallow, rush-matted water under the ice. Chopping a hole through the ice with his axe, Oo-koo-hoo drove down a couple of crossed poles to block the passageway, and Amik, finding other runways, did likewise at other places. Several of the passageways led to the bank, where, Oo-koo-hoo said, they had what is called "bank lodges"--natural cavities in the river bank to which the beavers had counted on resorting in case their house was raided. In other places, where the snow obscured the view, the Indians knocked on the ice with the backs of their axes, to find and follow the hollow-sounding ice that told of runways below, that other stakes might be driven down. The rapping sound, however, instead of driving the beavers out of their lodge, had a tendency to make them remain at home, for as Oo-koo-hoo explained, cutting ice and working around their homes does not always frighten the beavers. Securing two stouter poles, the hunters now chopped the butts into wedge-shaped chisels, with which they proposed to break open the beavers' lodge. Work was begun about a foot above the level of the snow on the south side, as they explained that the lodge would not only be thinner on that side, but that the sun would make it slightly softer, too--and before much headway was made the dogs, all alert, discovered that several of the beavers had rushed out of their house, but finding the passageways blocked had returned home. Now, strange to say, as soon as the side of the house was broken open and daylight let in, the beavers, becoming curious over the inflowing light that dazzled their eyes, actually came toward the newly made hole to investigate. Then Oo-koo-hoo, with the aid of a crooked stick, suddenly jerked one of the unsuspecting animals out of the hole and Amik knocked it on the head. Thus they secured four large ones, but left a number of smaller ones unharmed, as Oo-koo-hoo never made a practice of taking a whole family. In that house the portion of the chamber used for sleeping quarters was covered with a thick mattress of dry "snake-grass," and the whole interior was remarkably clean. After blocking and patching up the hole and covering the place with snow, the hunters threw water over it until it froze into a solid mass, then they removed the stakes from the runways and left the rest of the beavers in peace. Loading their catch upon their toboggans, all set out for home. BEAVER DAMS AND CANALS Resides erecting their remarkably strong houses there are two other ways in which the beavers display wonderful skill: in the building of their dams and in the excavating of their canals. Their dams are built for the purpose of retarding, raising, and storing water, in order--in summer time--to circumvent their enemies by placing a well-watered moat between their foe and their castle; also to flood a wider area so that the far-reaching waters of their pond may lap close to the roots of many otherwise inaccessible trees and thus enable them to fell and float them to their lodge; and--in winter time--to raise the water high enough to secure their pond from freezing solid and imprisoning them in their lodges where they would starve to death, or if they gnawed their way to freedom, the intense cold of mid-winter would freeze their hairless tails and cause their death; furthermore, should they escape from the weather, they would be at the mercy of all their enemies and would not long survive. A dam, in the beginning, is usually erected in a small way, just to raise and expand the waters of some small creek or even those of a spring; then, as the years go by, it is constantly added to, to increase the depth and expansion of the pond, and thus the dam grows from a small one of a few yards in length to a big one of several hundred feet--sometimes to even four or five hundred feet in length--that may bank up the water four or five feet above the stream just outside the dam, and turn the pond into a great reservoir covering hundreds of acres of land. The dam is more often built of branches laid parallel to the current with their butts pointing up stream, and weighted down with mud and stones; thus layer after layer is added until the structure rises to the desired height and strength. Some dams contain hundreds of tons of material. They are usually built upon a solid bottom, not of rock--though big, stationary boulders often are included in the construction for the extra support they furnish. When thus used, boulders often cause the beavers to divert the line of the dam out of its usual graceful and scientific curve that well withstands the pressure from even a large body of water. The beavers excavate canals--sometimes hundreds of feet in length--to enable them to reach more easily and float home the wood they have cut from freshly felled trees lying far beyond the reaches of their pond. The canals measure from two to three feet in width and a foot to a foot and a half in depth, and are not only surprisingly clean-cut and straight but occasionally they are even provided with locks, or rather little dams, to raise the water from one level to another--generally about a foot at a time--to offset the disadvantage of the wood lying on higher and more distant ground than is reached by the waters of the residential pond. Sometimes their canals are fed by springs, but more often by the drainage of rainwater. The building of many of their dams and canals displays remarkable skill and a fine sense of engineering, together with a spirit of perseverance that is astounding. Is it any wonder that the Indians say that the beavers were once human beings, whom, for the punishment of some misconduct The Master of Life condemned to get down and grovel upon the ground as four-footed animals for the rest of their days. "Yes, my son," replied Oo-koo-hoo, when we were discussing beavers, "they are a very clever and a very wise people, and it would be better for us if we emulated them more than we do, for as you know, they believe in not talking but in working and making good use of the brains The Master of Life has given them, and that is the only way to be really happy in this world. Besides, he is always true to his wife--a fine example to men--furthermore, he is a good provider who looks after his children, and is a decent, clean-living fellow who never goes out of his way to quarrel with any one, but just minds his own business and cuts wood." Could any nation choose a creature more fit for a national emblem? I believe not. For would any wise man compare a useless, screeching eagle, or a useless, roaring lion--each a creature of prey--to a silent, hard-working, and useful beaver who remains true to his wife all his life, who builds a comfortable home for his children, provides them well with food and teaches them . . . not how to kill other creatures . . . but how to work, . . . how to construct strong, comfortable houses, how to build dams to protect, not only their children, but their homes, too, how to chop down trees for food, how to dig canals to float the food home, how to store it for the winter, how to keep the home clean and in good order, how to mind their own business and never seek a quarrel, and, at the same time, how to defend themselves desperately if an enemy attacks them. For his size, the beaver is powerful, so powerful, indeed, that Oo-koo-hoo said: "Remember, my son, the beaver is a very strong animal, he can drag a man after him, and the only way for a hunter to hold him--if he is caught in a trap--is to lift him off his feet." Notwithstanding his great strength, however, he is a peace-loving chap, but when a just occasion arises, you ought to see him fight! BEAVER FIGHTS WOLVERINE One spring while hunting along a river, some years ago, Oo-koo-hoo discovered a beaver at work upon the bank, and wishing to observe him for a while, kept perfectly still. The beaver was cutting poplar sticks to take them through a hole in the ice to the under-water entrance of his near-by home for his family to feed upon. But presently Oo-koo-hoo discovered another moving object; it was a wolverine, and it was stalking the beaver. When it drew near enough to the unsuspecting worker, it made a sudden spring and landed upon his back. A desperate fight ensued. The wolverine was trying to cut the spinal cord at the back of the beaver's neck; but the short, stout neck caused trouble, and before the wolverine had managed it, the beaver, realizing that the only chance for life was to make for the water-hole, lunged toward it, and with the wolverine still on his back, dived in. On being submerged, the wolverine let go and swam around and around in an effort to get out; but the beaver, now in his element, took advantage of the fact, and rising beneath the foe, leaped at it, and with one bite of his powerful, chisel-like teeth, gripped it by the throat, then let go and sank to watch it bleed to death. A little later, the beaver had the satisfaction of seeing old Oo-koo-hoo walk off with the wolverine's skin. No . . . beavers do not believe in divorce . . . and on their wedding day--usually in February--they promise to be true to each other for the rest of their lives, and, moreover, unlike many human beings, they keep their promise. About three months later the husband, seeing his wife is getting ready to welcome new relations, leaves his comfortable home just to be out of the way, and takes up new quarters in a hole in the river bank. While he is there the children--any number from one to six--arrive, and then can be heard much gentle whimpering, just as though human babies were now living in the old homestead. When the beaver children grow older they romp in the water much as puppies do on land. If danger approaches, the first beaver to sense it slaps the surface of the water with his broad, powerful tail, making a noise that resounds through the forest as though a strong man had struck the water a violent blow with the broad side of a paddle blade. Instantly the first beaver's nearest companion signals the danger to others by doing the same; then a second later they plunge out of sight in the water and leave behind nothing but a great sound--as though an elephant had fallen in. When married and settled down, the beaver is very domestic--a great stay-at-home--but when seeking a mate, he travels far and wide, and leaves here and there along the shore scent signals, in the hope of more easily attracting and winning a bride. Beavers are full grown at three years of age, and by that time they have learned how to erect houses, build dams, dig canals, chop down trees, cut up wood, float it home and store it for the winter, and by that time too, they have, no doubt, learned that man is their worst enemy, though the wolverine, wolf, otter, lynx, and fisher are ever ready to pounce upon them whenever a chance offers. USEFULNESS OP BEAVER But I had almost forgotten that I owed the reader an explanation when I said that the beaver was a very useful creature. I was not thinking of the value of his fur, because that is as nothing compared to the great service he has been rendering mankind, not only to-day, but for endless generations. How? By the great work he has been doing during the past hundreds and thousands of years. How? By going into rocky, useless valleys and building the dams that checked the rushing rivers that were constantly robbing much rich soil from the surrounding country and carrying it down and out to sea. And his dams, moreover, not only held up those treacherous highwaymen, but took the loot from them and let it settle in the valleys, where, as years rolled on, it grew and grew into endless great expansions of level meadow lands that now afford much of the most fertile farming soil to be found in North America; and thus the great industry of those silent workers, who lived ages and ages ago, is even to-day benefiting mankind. And thus, too, that great work is being steadily carried on by the living beavers of to-day. Could any country in the world have chosen a more inspiring creature than Canada has chosen for her national symbol? When, on his fall and spring expeditions, Oo-koo-hoo was hunting beavers with the waters free of ice, he placed steel traps in their runways, either just below the surface of the water, or on the bank; and the only bait he used in both cases was the rubbing of castorum on near-by bushes. Also, he built deadfalls much like those he built for bear, but of course much smaller; and again the bait was castorum, but this time it was rubbed on a bit of rabbit skin which was then attached to the bait stick of the deadfall. The deadfalls he built for beavers were nearly always made of dead tamarack--never of green poplar--otherwise the beavers would have pulled them to pieces for the sake of the wood. Further, Oo-koo-hoo told me that in the spring he sometimes broke open beaver dams and set traps near the breaks in order to catch the beavers when they came to repair the damage. Such a mode of trapping was, he said, equally successful whether or not there was ice upon the water. He also told me that he had seen other Indians catch beaver with a net made of No. 10 twine, with a three-and-a-half-inch mesh, but that, though the method worked rather well, he had never tried it. The way of all others, that he liked best, was to hunt them by calling, and the best time for that was during the mornings and evenings of the rutting season. Later in the year, when the ice is gone, and the beaver is swimming, say a foot under water, the hunter can easily follow his course from the appearance of the surface. The same applies to the muskrat, mink, and otter. Muskrats and beavers swim much alike, as they are usually going in search of roots, and, knowing exactly where to find them, they swim straight; but minks and otters swim a zig-zag course for the reason that they are always looking for fish and therefore are constantly turning their heads about; and that rule applies whether their heads are above or below the surface. When a beaver--providing he has not slapped the water with his tail--or an otter dives, an observant hunter can judge fairly well as to where the animal is heading for, by simply noting the twist of the tail, a point that helps the hunter to gauge the place where it may rise. The same applies to whales when they sound, though I found--while whale hunting--that few whalers realized it, and fewer still took advantage of it, for much time was lost while waiting for the whale to rise before the boat could be headed in the right direction. But then the average Indian is much more observant than the average white man. If a beaver is caught in a steel trap, he will do his utmost to plunge into water and remain there even though he should drown, yet his house may not be in that river or pond; but if he is wounded, he will either try to reach his house or take to the woods. When in pursuit of beavers it is advisable to watch for them on moonlight nights about eight or nine o'clock, and it is best to be in a canoe, as then there is less danger of the beaver sinking before he can be removed from the water. The hunter, while waiting for a shot, makes a noise with the handle of his knife against a stick in imitation of a beaver cutting wood--a sound somewhat similar to that of the boring of a large auger. It is astonishing how far, on a still night, beavers will hear such a sound and come to help their friends at work. When Oo-koo-hoo shot beaver he charged his gun with four slugs and fired for the head, as he explained that ordinary shot was too fine and scattered too much, while a single ball was too large. OO-KOO-HOO SHOOTS A BEAR The following morning Oo-koo-hoo and I set out to go the round of the northern trapping trail which for some distance followed the valley of Beaver River, upon the bank of which traps, snares, and deadfalls for bears were set. Along that section of the river there were also traps set for otters, beavers, and muskrats; but the hunting of these amphibious animals was pursued with more diligence in the spring than in the winter. Though we hauled a hunting toboggan, the snow was not yet deep enough for snowshoes, but what a feast of reading the forest afforded us! What tragedies were written in the snow! Here we followed a mink's track as it skirted the river bank that wound in and out among the trees, showing that the mink had leaped here, crouched there, or had been scratching beyond in the snow. Evidently it was in search of food. Presently we noticed another track, that of an ermine. The two trails were converging. Now, apparently, the mink had seen its enemy, and, therefore, in order to get past the ermine and escape trouble, it had increased its speed. At this point the ermine had spied it and had redoubled its speed. Now they had both bounded along with all their might. But as ill-fate would have it, they had met. A violent struggle had ensued. Blood was spattered upon the snow. From the battle-ground only one trail led away. It was that of the ermine. But though the snow was marked by the footprints of only one animal, the trail of two tails plainly showed. It was evident that the ermine had seized its victim by the throat and throwing it over its back, had carried it away. Many other tracks of beasts and birds were printed upon the snow and told in vivid detail stories of life in the winter wilderness. Beaver River was now frozen firmly enough to bear a man, except in a few places where rapid water kept the ice thin or left the stream open; and as we tramped along we examined a number of traps, from two of which we took an otter and a beaver. But the bear and the wolf traps remained undisturbed though we saw a number of wolf tracks near at hand. Turning westward we ascended a slope and came suddenly upon the fresh track of a bear. It was fairly large, and was travelling slowly; merely sauntering along as though looking for a den in which to pass the winter. At once Oo-koo-hoo was all alert. Carefully re-charging his gun with ball, and seeing that his knife and axe were at hand, he left the toboggan behind, lest it make a noise among the trees and alarm the quarry. In less than a quarter of a mile, however, we came upon a sign that the bear had passed but a few minutes before. The hunter paused to suggest that it would better his approach if I were to follow a little farther in the rear; then he noiselessly continued his pursuit. Slowly he moved forward, cautiously avoiding the snapping of a twig or the scraping of underbrush. After peering through the shrubbery ahead or halting a moment to reexamine the track, he would move on again, but with scarcely any perceptible motion of the upper part of his body. When in doubt, he would stand stock-still and try by sight or hearing to get news of the bear. Luckily, there was no wind, so it made little difference which way we turned in following the trail. But just then there happened a disturbing and irritating thing, for a whiskey jack--Canada Jay--took to following us, and chirping about it, too. Crossing a rocky patch on the hillside, the bear came into view as it circled a little in order to descend. Presently it left the shadow of the forest and emerging into sunlight on a snow-covered ledge, turned its head as though it had heard a sound in the rear. It was Oo-koo-hoo speaking: [Illustration: The bear circled a little in order to descend. Presently it left the shadow of the forest and, emerging into sunlight on a snow-covered ledge, turned its head as though it had heard a sound in the rear. It was Oo-koo-hoo speaking: "Turn your head away, my brother . . ." but the report of his gun cut short his sentence, and the bear, leaping forward, disappeared among, . . . See Chapter IV.] "Turn your head away, my brother . . ." but the report of his gun cut short his sentence, and the bear, leaping forward, disappeared among the growth below. Re-loading his gun, the hunter slowly followed, more cautiously than ever, for he saw from the blood upon the snow that the beast was wounded and, therefore, dangerous. As he went he covered every likely place with his gun, lest the bear should be lurking there and rush at him. At last I saw him pause much longer than usual, then move forward again. Finally he turned, and in a satisfied tone exclaimed: "It's dead!" The ball had struck just behind the left shoulder and had entered the heart; and the hunter explained that when he saw his best chance, he spoke to the bear to make it pause in order to better his aim. "And what did you say to him?" "My son, I said: 'Turn your eyes away, my brother, for I am about to kill you.' I never care to fire at a bear without first telling him how sorry I am that I need his coat." Then the skinning began, and by noon we had it finished. Loading the head and part of the meat on the sled, I hauled it, while the hunter rolled up the heavy pelt and packed it upon his back with the aid of a tump-line. Taking our loads back to the river and caching them there, we continued along the trapping trail. A DEADFALL FOR BEAR Soon we came to one of the best deadfalls I had ever seen. It was set for bear, and was of the "log-house" kind, with walls nearly six feet high, and a base that was eight feet long by five feet wide in front, while only two feet in width in the rear. It was built in conjunction with two standing trees that formed the two corner posts retaining the huge drop-log. The front of the big trap was left quite open, save for the drop-log that crossed it obliquely. While the thin end of the log was staked to the ground, the thick end, loaded with a platform, weighted with stones, projected beyond the far side of the trap at a height of about five feet from the ground. It was ready to fall and crush any unlucky creature that might venture in and touch the bait-trigger. Whatever the drop-log might fall upon, it would hold as though in a vise, and if the bear were not already dead when the hunter should arrive, he would take care to shoot the animal in the head before removing the drop-log. Snares are also set for bears, and the best of them are made of twenty strands of _babiche_ twisted into the form of a rope. The loop is set about eighteen inches in diameter, and is attached to either a spring-pole or a tossing-pole--or, more correctly speaking, a tree sufficiently large to raise and support the weight of the bear. Sometimes a guiding-pole is used in connection with a snare. One end is planted in the ground in the centre of the path and the other, slanting up toward the snare, is used as a guide toward the loop, since a bear walking forward would straddle the pole. In a further effort to getting the animal's head in the right place, the hunter smears the upper end of the pole with syrup. Another wooden trap is that of the stump and wedge. It is made by chopping down a tree of not less than half a foot in diameter, so that a stump is left about six feet high. The stump is then split, and a long, tapering wedge, well greased, is driven in, and upon it is smeared a coating of syrup or honey as a bait. The bear will not only try to lick off the bait, but in his eagerness to pull out the wedge and lick it, too, will spring the trap and find a paw caught between the closing stump. Also, the Indians sometimes use a stage from the top of which they shoot the bear at night while he passes on his runway; and to attract the bear they imitate the cry of a cub in distress. Steel traps, too, are set for bears. They are very strong with big double springs and weigh about twenty pounds. They, too, are set on the runway of the bears, and are carefully covered with leaves or moss. No bait is used on the trap, but syrup or honey is spread upon a near-by tree to induce the bear to step in the trap. MARASTY AND THE BEAR But all bear traps are dangerous to mankind and not infrequently a man is caught in one. In 1899 a half-breed hunter by the name of Marasty, who lived near Green Lake, about 150 miles north of Prince Albert, went one late spring day to visit his traps, and in the course of his trip came upon one of his deadfalls set for bear, from which he noticed the bait had been removed, although the trap had not been sprung. Before rebaiting it, however, he built a fire to boil his tea-pail, and sat down to eat his lunch. After refreshment, Marasty, being a lazy man, decided to enter the trap from in front, instead of first opening up the rear and entering from that quarter, as he should have done. He got along all right until he started to back out, when in some way he jarred the trigger, and, just as he was all free of the ground-log save his right arm, down came the ponderous drop-log with its additional weight of platform and stones. It caught him just above the elbow, crushed his arm flat, and held him a prisoner in excruciating pain. The poor wretch nearly swooned. Later, he thought of his knife. He would try to cut the log in two and thus free himself. He knew that, handicapped as he was, though he worked feverishly and incessantly, the task would demand many hours of furious toil. After a while the wind arose and re-kindled his dying fire into life. The sparks flew up and the flames ran over the dry moss toward him. Now there was added the dread of being burnt alive. But he worked his feet violently and succeeded in roughening the ground sufficiently to turn the fire so, that it passed on either side of him, and though it continued beyond the wooden trap, eventually died down. Then he went on with his cutting, but night came on before he had dug into the log more than a few inches. Growing faint, he rested awhile, and later fell asleep. When he awoke, he discovered a full-grown black bear sitting upon its haunches watching him. He shouted to drive the beast away, but, strange to say, the noise did not frighten the bear, for several times it got up and attempted to reach the syrup on the trap. When the captive renewed his shouting and kicking, the bear merely stepped back, sat down, and persisted in maintaining its fearsome watch all night. Nevertheless, the half-breed was afraid to stop shouting, so he kept it up at intervals all night long. When, however, dawn came, the bear went away. At sunrise Marasty renewed his efforts to escape, and though his hand was now blistered and sore, he worked for several hours. Then thirst attacked him; and he dug in the ground, but without avail, in the hope of finding moisture. Again he turned to the cutting of the log, but soon exhaustion weakened his exertions. Night came on again and with it came the bear; but this time he was glad to see the brute, for its presence made him feel less lonely and drove away despair. This time, too, the bear sat around in such a friendly way, that Marasty felt relieved enough to sing some hymns and do a little praying; but when he began to sing a second time, the big black beast lost patience, got up and walked away, much to the regret of the imprisoned hunter. In the morning the now almost lifeless Marasty heard in the distance the voice of his brother calling his name; but though he shouted wildly in answer, no response came, for the wind was blowing in the wrong direction, and defeated his attempt to benefit by the help that was so near. Later, the unhappy man swooned. About noon the brother, finding the sufferer's trail, arrived upon the scene, removed the drop-log, picked up the unconscious man, and carrying him to his canoe, cut away the thwarts and laid him in. After a paddle of fifteen miles to the portage landing, he left the stricken wretch in the canoe, and ran four miles to get help. With other men and two horses he speedily returned, rigged up a stage swung between the horses, and laying Marasty thereon, transported him through the bush to his home. In the meantime, an express had been despatched to Prince Albert to summon a doctor; but the old Indian women could not bear to wait so long for the coming of relief, so filing a big knife into a fine-toothed saw, they cut away the bruised flesh and sawed off the broken bones. They made a clean amputation which they dressed with a poultice made from well-boiled inner bark of juniper, and not only did no mortification set in, but the arm healed nicely; and when the doctor arrived ten days later, he examined the amputation carefully and said that there was nothing for him to do: the old women had done their work so well. Marasty quickly recovered, and next winter he was on the hunting trail again. HOW BEARS ARE HUNTED After spending three days upon the trapping trail we returned to camp; but because our toboggan was loaded with game, and also because we did not return by our outgoing route, the grandmother and the two boys set out to bring in the bear meat and the bear's head. During the feast that followed Oo-koo-hoo addressed the bear's head with superstitious awe and again begged it not to be offended or angry because it had been killed since they needed both its coat and its fat and flesh to help tide them over the winter. In this entreaty Amik did not join--perhaps because he was too civilized. After the meal, the skull was hung upon a branch of a pine that stood near the lodges. It reminded me that once I had seen at an old camping place eleven bear skulls upon a single branch; but the sight of bear skulls upon trees is not uncommon when one is travelling through the Strong Woods Country. That night, when I was sitting beside Oo-koo-hoo, we began talking about bear hunting and he said: "My son, some day you, too, may want to become a great bear-hunter, and when you do go out to hunt alone, don't do as I do, but do as I say, for I am growing old and am sometimes careless about the way I approach game." Puffing away at his pipe, he presently continued: "In trailing bear, the hunter's method of approach, of course, depends entirely upon the information he has gained from the tracks he has discovered. If the hunter sees the bear without being seen, he will approach to within about twenty paces or even ten of the brute before he fires; being, however, always careful to keep some object between him and his quarry. And when he does fire, he should not wait to see the effect, but should immediately run aside for a distance of fifteen or twenty paces, as the first thing a bear does when it is shot is to bite the wound on account of the pain, next it tries to discover who hit it, and remembering from which direction the sound came, it looks up, and seeing the smoke, rushes for it. Then the hunter has his opportunity, for on seeing the beast pass broadside, he fires, and thus stands a good chance of hitting a vital spot. "At a critical moment a good hunter's movements are not only swift but always premeditated. Nor does he ever treat a bear with contempt: from first to last, he is always on guard. He never takes a chance. Even if the bear drops when the hunter fires, he will immediately re-load and advance very slowly lest the brute be feigning death. The hunter advances, with his gun cocked and in readiness, to within perhaps five paces, and then waits to see if his quarry is really dead. If the bear is not dead and sees that the hunter is off his guard, the chances are it will rush at him. But an experienced hunter is not easily fooled, for he knows that if an animal makes a choking sound in its throat, caused by internal bleeding, it is mortally wounded; but if it makes no such sound--watch out!" "My son, no animal is ever instantly killed, for there is always a gradual collapse, or more or less of a movement caused by the contraction of its muscles, before death actually comes; but when an animal feigns death, it is always in too much of a hurry about it, and drops instantly without a final struggle, or any hard breathing--that is the time when one should wait and be careful. "Then again, my son, if a wounded or cornered bear comes suddenly upon a hunter, the beast will not at once rush at him, grab him or bite him, but will instantly draw back, just as the hunter will do; then it will sit up upon its haunches for a moment, as though to think over the situation; that pause, slight as it is, gives the hunter a moment to uncover his gun, cock it, and aim, and fire it at the beast's mouth. In such a situation the hunter prefers to fire at its mouth, because if shot in the heart, the bear can still lunge at the hunter before it falls, but if struck in the mouth, the brute is dazed and stops to rub its face; meanwhile, the hunter has a chance to re-load and try for a shot behind the ear, as that is even more fatal than one in the heart. But if the bear happens to be in a tree, the hunter does not try for either the brain or the heart, because the former is usually out of aim, and the latter is protected by the trunk or limb of the tree; so he shoots at the small of the back for that will paralyze it and cause it to let go hold of the tree, and drop to the ground. The fall will leave very little fight in it, or will finish it altogether. But if hit in the head or even in a paw, the chances are that the bear will jump; and then watch out, for it will either run or fight! "In hunting bears, however, the hunter must remember that he should guard most against scent and sound betraying him, since a bear's sight is not very keen. If the bear happens to be feeding, the hunter may easily approach, provided that the wind is right and he keeps quiet; but if the bear hears the slightest sound or catches a single whiff of scent--away he goes! If, however, the hunter approaches in an open place and the bear, seeing him, sits up to get a better look, the hunter should immediately stand perfectly still, and wait thus until the bear again resumes feeding or moves away. Then the hunter rushes forward, but all the while watches keenly to see when it stops to look again; and at the first sign of that the hunter becomes rigid once more. Such tactics may be successful two or three times but rarely more, so then the hunter had best fire. Now, my son, when you go hunting you will know what to do, and if Amik would only pay attention to what I say, he, too, might become a better hunter, for I have had much experience in hunting both black and grizzly bears." NEYKIA AND HER LOVER As the weeks passed, the children devoted themselves to their winter play and spent most of their days in the open air. Tobogganing was their greatest sport. Often did they invite me to take part in this, and whenever, in descending a slope, a sled-load was upset, it always created hilarious laughter. The younger children, even during the severest part of the winter when it registered forty or more degrees below zero, were always kept comfortably warm, sometimes uncomfortably warm, in the rabbit-skin coats that their mother and their grandmother had made for them. The rabbit skins were cut into thin, spiral strips and twisted, with the hair-side out, about thin thongs, and woven together like a small-meshed fish-net, so that, though the hair overlapped and filled every mesh completely, one's fingers might be passed through the garment anywhere. They also made rabbit-skin blankets in the same way; and of all blankets used in the north woods, none has so many good qualities. A rabbit-skin blanket is less bulky than that of the caribou skin; it is warmer than the famous four-point woollen blanket of the H. B. Co., and not only ventilates better than either of the others, but it is light to carry. It has the drawback, however, that unless it is enclosed in a covering of some light material, the hair gets on everything, for as long as the blanket lasts it sheds rabbit hair. I have tried many kinds of beds, and many kinds of blankets, and sleeping bags, too, even the Eskimo sleeping bag of double skin--hairless sealskin on the outside and hairy caribou skin on the inside--and many a night I have slept out in the snow when it was fifty degrees below zero, and experience has taught me that the rabbit skin blanket is best for winter use in the northern forest. A sleeping bag that is large enough to get into is too large when you are in it; you cannot wrap it around you as you can a blanket, therefore it is not so warm; besides, it is harder to keep a bag free of gathering moisture than a blanket. But to return to the children. It used to amuse me to see the boys returning from their hunts carrying their guns over their shoulders. The contrast in size between the weapons and the bearers of them was so great that by comparison the lads looked like Liliputians, yet with all the dignified air of great hunters they would stalk up to their sisters and hand them their guns and game bags to be disposed of while they slipped off their snowshoes, lighted their pipes, and entered the lodge. By the way, I don't believe I have mentioned that in winter time the guns are never kept in the lodges, but always put under cover on the stages, as the heat of the lodges would cause the guns to sweat and therefore to require constant drying and oiling; and for the same reason, in winter time, when a hunter is camped for the night, he does not place his gun near the open fire, but sets it back against a tree, well out of range of the heat. On one of their rounds of the trapping trails the boys discovered a splendid black fox in one of Oo-koo-hoo's traps, and it was with great pride that the little chaps returned home with the prize. One sunny day, late in November, while tobogganing with the children on the hillside, our sport was interrupted by the approach of a young stranger, an Indian youth of about seventeen. He came tramping along on snowshoes with his little hunting toboggan behind him on which was lashed his caribou robe, his tea-pail, his kit bag, and a haunch of young moose as a present to Amik and his wife. In his hand he carried his gun in a moose-skin case. He was a good-looking young fellow, and wore the regulation cream-coloured H. B. _capote_ with hood and turned-back cuffs of dark blue. He wore no cap, but his hair was fastened back by a broad yellow ribbon that encircled his head. At first I thought he was the advance member of a hunting party, but when I saw the bashful yet persistent way in which he sidled up to Neykia, and when I observed, too, the shy, radiant glance of welcome she gave him, I understood; so also did the children, but the little rogues, instead of leaving the young couple alone, teased their sister aloud, and followed the teasing with boisterous laughter. It was then that I obtained my first impression of the mating of the natives of the northern forest. The sylvan scene reminded me of the mating, too, of the white people of that same region, and I thought again of the beautiful Athabasca. Was it in the same way that her young white man had come so many miles on snowshoes through the winter woods just to call upon her? It set me thinking. Again, I wondered who "Son-in-law" could be? Whence did he come? But, perhaps, after all he was no super-man, or, rather, super-lover, for had not Neykia's beau travelled alone in the dead of winter, over ninety miles, just to see her once again and to speak to her? Shing-wauk--The Little Pine--as the Indians called him, stayed three days, but I did not see much of him, for I left early the following morning on another round of another trapping-path. OO-KOO-HOO AND THE WOLF As a faint gray light crept through the upper branches of the eastern trees and warned the denizens of the winter wilderness of approaching day, the door-skin flapped aside and a tall figure stepped from the cozy fire-lit lodge into the outer sombreness of the silent forest. It was Oo-koo-hoo. His form clad in fox-skin cap, blanket _capote_, and leggings, made a picturesque silhouette of lighter tone against the darker shadows of the woods as he stood for a moment scanning the starry sky. Reëntering the lodge, he partook of the breakfast his wife had cooked for him, then he kissed her and went outside. Going to the stage, he took down his five-foot snowshoes, slipped his moccasined feet into the thongs, and with his gun resting in the hollow of his bemittened hand, and the sled's hauling-line over his shoulder, strode off through the vaulted aisles between the boles of the evergreens; while through a tiny slit in the wall of his moose-skin home two loving eyes watched the stalwart figure vanishing among the trees. [Illustration: Going to the stage, he took down his five-foot snowshoes, slipped his moccasined feet info the thongs, and with his gun resting in the hollow of his bemittened hand, and the sled's hauling-line over his shoulder, strode off through the vaulted aisles between the boles of evergreens; while through a tiny slit in the wall of his moose-skin home two loving eyes watched his stalwart figure vanishing among the . . . See Chapter IV.] Later on, though the sun was already shining, it was still intensely cold. As we went along, Oo-koo-hoo's breath rose like a cloud of white smoke fifteen or twenty feet in the air before it disappeared. Only the faintest whisper of scuffling snowshoes and scrunching snow could be heard; the sound of the occasional snapping of a twig came as a startling report compared with the almost noiseless tread of the hunter. A little cloud of powdery snow rose above the dragging heels of his snowshoes, and, whirling about, covered the back of his leggings with a coating of white. Onward he strode, twisting through the tangled scrub, stooping under a fallen tree, stepping over a snow-capped log, or pacing along a winter-locked stream. When Oo-koo-hoo came to a district overgrown with willows interspersed with poplars, he stopped to examine a snare set for lynx. It had not been disturbed, but a little farther on we saw the form of a dead lynx hanging from a tossing-pole above the trail. The carcass was frozen stiff, and the face still showed the ghastly expression it had worn in its death struggle. The rigid body was taken down and lashed to the sled. Resetting the snare, we continued our way. Farther on, in a hilly country timbered with spruce, where there was not much undergrowth, we came to marten traps. In swampy places, or where there were creeks and small lakes, we examined traps and deadfalls set for mink, muskrat, beaver, fisher, and otter. Where the country was fairly open and marked with rabbit runways we came upon traps set for foxes and wolves. The gray, or timber, wolf is trapped in the same way as the coloured fox, save only that the trap is larger. Though the steel trap is much in vogue among white men and half-breeds, the deadfall, even to this day, is much preferred by the Indian. Though, in the first place, it requires more labour to build, yet it requires less for transportation since the materials are all at hand; and, besides, when once built it lasts for years. Then, again, it is not only cheaper, but it is more deadly than the steel trap, for once the animal is caught, it seldom escapes. With the steel trap it is different, as animals often pull away from the steel jaws or even gnaw off a foot in order to get free. If, however, the hunter's deadfalls and traps have been set in vain, and if the wolf has been causing trouble and the hunter is determined to secure him, he will sit up for him at night in the hope of getting a shot at him. Years ago many wolves were destroyed with poison, but nowadays it has gone out of use--that is, among the fur-hunters of the forest. When a wolf is caught in a trap and he sees a hunter approaching, he will at first lie down, close his eyes, and keep as still as possible to escape notice; but should he find that the hunter is still coming on, say to within twenty paces from him, he will fly into a rage, show his fangs, bristle his hair, and get ready for a spring. The hunter usually takes a green stick about a yard long by two inches thick, and instead of striking a great, swinging blow with both hands, he holds the stick in one hand and strikes a short, quick, though powerful, blow, hitting the brute on the snout close to the eyes. That stuns him, and then the hunter, with either foot or knee, presses over the heart until death ensues. But clubbing the wolf is dangerous work, for the hunter may hit the trap and set the captive free, or it may bite him. So the gun is frequently used, but only to shoot the wolf in the head, as a wound anywhere else would injure the fur. Late in the afternoon, as we were approaching a wolf trap, Oo-koo-hoo, who was leading the way, suddenly stopped and gazed ahead. A large wolf was lying in the snow, evidently pretending to be dead. One of its forepaws was held by the trap, and the hunter drew his axe and moved forward. As we came near, the beast could stand the strain no longer, but rose up with bristling hair, champing fangs, and savage growl. When Oo-koo-hoo had almost reached the deeply marked circle in the snow where the wolf had been struggling to gain its freedom, he paused and said: "My brother, I need your coat, so turn your eyes away while I strike." A momentary calmness came over the beast, but as the hunter raised his axe it suddenly crouched, and with its eyes flashing with rage, sprang for Oo-koo-hoo's throat. Its mighty leap, however, ended three feet short of the mark, for the trap chain grew taut, jerked it down and threw it violently upon its back. Instantly regaining its feet, it dashed away on three legs, and in its effort to escape dragged the clog through the snow. The bounding clog sent the snow flying, and the hunter rushed in pursuit, while the wolf dodged among the trees to escape a blow from Oo-koo-hoo. Then it bolted again, and ran straight for a few yards until the clog caught and held fast. The hunter, pressing on with raised axe, had no time to draw back when the brute sprang for him as it did; luckily, however, his aim was true: the back of the axe descended upon the wolf's head, and it fell dead. This was fortunate for the hunter, as unwarily he had allowed himself so to get between the clog and the beast that the chain almost swung over his snowshoes. If he had missed his aim, no doubt it would have gone hard with him. [Illustration: As the wolf dashed away, the bounding clog sent the snow flying, and the hunter rushed in pursuit, while the wolf dodged among the trees to escape a blow from Oo-koo-hoo. Then it bolted again, and ran straight for a few yards until the clog caught and held fast. The hunter, pressing on with raised axe, had no time to draw back when the brute sprang for him . . . See Chapter IV.] A few slant rays of the sun penetrating the deep gloom of the thick forest and reminding us that day was fast passing, we decided to camp there for the night. So we cut a mattress of brush, made a fire, and refreshed ourselves with supper before we started to skin the wolf. THE WAYS OF A WOLF Talk of wolves prevailed all evening, and Oo-koo-hoo certainly had a store of information upon that subject. In expressing surprise that a wolf had strength enough to jerk about a big drag-log, as though it were merely a small stick, he replied that once when he had killed a full-grown bull-moose and dressed and hung up the meat, he had left for camp with part of his prize, but on returning again to the cache, he had found a wolf moving off with one of the hindquarters. It must have weighed close upon a hundred pounds. But perhaps, if I quote Charles Mair, the strength and endurance of a wolf will be better realized: "In the sketch of 'North-Western America' (1868) Archbishop Tache, of St. Boniface, Manitoba, recounts a remarkable instance of persevering fortitude exhibited by a large, dark wolf caught in a steel trap at Isle a la Crosse many years ago. A month afterward it was killed near Green Lake, ninety miles distant, with the trap and connecting wood-block still attached to one of its hind legs. It had evidently dragged both around in the snow for many a mile, during a period of intense cold, and it is, therefore, not surprising that it was a 'walking skeleton' when finally secured." Though the timber-wolf is a fast traveller, it cannot out-distance the greyhound or wolf hound; but though it is seldom seen in water it is a good swimmer. Its weight may run from seventy-five to one hundred and fifty pounds, and an extra large wolf may stand close to thirty inches at the shoulder, and be over five feet in length. In colour they range from white to nearly black, but the ordinary colour is a light brownish gray. Usually they mate in February, but whether or not for life, it is hard to say. They breed in a hollow log, or tree or stump, or in a hole in the ground, or in a cave. The young are normally born in April, usually six or eight in a litter, and the father helps to care for them. Many of the wolves I have seen were running in pairs, some in families, and the greatest number I have ever seen together was seven. That was in Athabasca in the winter time. The seven were in a playful mood, racing around and jumping over one another; and though all were full-grown, five of them displayed the romping spirits of puppies, and I wondered if they could be but one family. Though my dog-driver and I, with our dog-train, passed within about a hundred paces of them, and though we were all on a sunny lake, they never ceased their play for a single moment, nor did they show in any way that they had seen us. There are several voices of the wilderness that cause some city people alarm and dread, and they are the voices of the owl, the loon, and the timber-wolf. But to me their voices bring a solemn, at times an eerie, charm, that I would gladly go miles to renew. Though much of the wolf-howling has been of little appeal, I have heard wolf concerts that held me spell-bound. On some occasions--but always at night--they lasted without scarcely any intermission for three or four hours. The first part of the programme was usually rendered--according to the sound of their voices--by the youngest of the pack; later the middle-aged seemed to take the stage; but of all the performance, nothing equalled in greatness of volume or in richness of tone the closing numbers, and they were always rendered by what seemed to be some mighty veteran, the patriarch of the pack, for his effort was so thrilling and awe-inspiring that it always sent the gooseflesh rushing up and down my back. Many a time, night after night, beneath the Northern Lights, I have gone out to the edge of a lake to listen to them. When hunting big game, such as deer, wolves assist one another and display a fine sense of the value of team-work in running down their prey. Though the wolf is a shy and cautious animal, he is no coward, as the way he will slash into a pack of dogs goes far to prove. In the North the stories of the wolf's courage are endless; here, for example, is one: "During our residence at Cumberland House in 1820," says Richardson, "a wolf, which had been prowling and was wounded by a musket ball and driven off, returned after it became dark, whilst the blood was still flowing from its wound, and carried off a dog, from amongst fifty others, that howled piteously, but had no courage to unite in an attack on their enemy." Nevertheless, wolves rarely attack man, in fact, only when they are afflicted with rabies or hydrophobia. No doubt everyone has read, at one time or another, harrowing stories of the great timber-wolves of our northern forest forming themselves into huge packs and pursuing people all over the wilderness until there is nothing left of the unfortunate community save a few odds and ends of cheap jewellery. Even our most dignified and reliable newspapers are never loath to publish such thrilling drivel; and their ignorant readers gulp it all down, apparently with a relishing shudder; for the dear public not only loves to be fooled, but actually gloats over that sort of thing, since it is their hereditary belief. When I was a boy, I, too, thrilled over such nonsense, and when I made my first trip into the forest I began to delve for true wolf stories, and I have been delving ever since. So far, after over thirty years of digging, I have actually dug up what I believe to be one authentic story of an unprovoked wolf having actually attacked and killed a man. On several occasions, too, I have had the satisfaction of running to cover some of the wolf stories published in our daily press. I read a few years ago in one of Canada's leading daily papers--and no doubt the same account was copied throughout the United States--a thrilling story of two lumber-jacks in the wilds of Northern Ontario being pursued by a pack of timber-wolves, and the exhausted woodsmen barely escaping with their lives, being forced by the ferocious brutes to spend a whole night in a tree at a time when the thermometer registered -- below zero. I am sorry I have forgotten the exact degree of frost the paper stated, but as a rule it is always close to 70 or 80 degrees below zero when the great four-legged demons of the forest go on the rampage. THE WOLVES AND GREENHORNS Several years later, when I was spending the summer at Shahwandahgooze, in the Laurentian Mountains, I again met Billy Le Heup, the hunter, and one night when we were listening to a wolf concert I mentioned the foregoing newspaper thriller. Billy laughed and acknowledged that he, too, had read it, but not until several weeks after he had had a chance to investigate, first hand, the very same yarn; for he, too, had been trailing wolf stories all his life. It so happened that Le Heup's work had taken him through the timber country north of Lake Temiscamingue. While stopping one day at a lumber camp to have a snack, three men entered the cookery where he was eating. One of them was the foreman, and he was in a perfect rage. He had discharged the other two men, and now he was warning them that if they didn't get something to eat pretty ---- quick and leave the camp in a ---- of a hurry, he would kick them out. Then, just before he slammed the door and disappeared, he roared out at them that not for one moment would he stand for such ---- rot, as their being chased and treed all night by wolves. When quiet was restored and the two men had sat down beside Le Heup at the dining table, he had questioned them and they had told him a graphic story of how they had been chased by a great pack of wolves and how they had managed to escape with their lives by climbing a tree only just in the nick of time; and, moreover, how the ferocious brutes had kept them there all night long, and how, consequently, they had been nearly frozen to death. It was a thrilling story and so full of detail that even "old-timer" Le Heup grew quite interested and congratulated himself on having at last actually heard, first hand, a true story of how Canadian timber-wolves, though unprovoked, had pursued, attacked, and treed two men. Indeed, he was so impressed that he decided to back-track the heroes' trail and count for himself just how many wolves the pack had numbered. So he got the would-be lumber-jacks--for they were greenhorns from the city--to point out for him their incoming trail, which he at once set out to back-track. After a tramp of three or four miles he came to the very tree which from all signs they had climbed and in which they had spent the night. Then desiring to count the wolf tracks in the snow, he looked around, but never a one could he see. Walking away for about a hundred yards he began to circle the tree, but still without success. He circled again with about an eighth of a mile radius, but still no wolf tracks were to be seen. As a last resort he circled once more about a quarter of a mile from the tree, and this time he was rewarded; he found wolf tracks in the snow. There had been three wolves. They had been running full gallop. Moreover, they had been trailing a white-tailed deer; but never once had either deer or wolves paused in their run, nor had they come within a quarter of a mile of the tree in which the greenhorns from the city had spent the night. Of such material are the man-chasing, man-killing wolf stories made. Frequently I have had timber-wolves follow me, sometimes for half an hour or so; on one occasion two of the largest and handsomest timber-wolves I ever saw followed me for over two hours. During that time they travelled all round me, ahead, behind, and on either side; and occasionally they came within sixty or seventy feet of me. Yet never once, by action or expression, did they show any signs other than those which two friendly but very shy dogs might have shown toward me. THE WOLF THAT KILLED A MAN Of course, wolves will attack a man; when they are trapped, wounded, or cornered--just as a muskrat will; but of all the wolf stories I have ever heard, in which wolves killed a man, the following is the only one I have any reason to believe, as it was told me first-hand by a gentleman whose word I honour, and whose unusual knowledge of animal life and northern travel places his story beyond a doubt. One winter's day in the seventies, when Mr. William Cornwallis King was in charge of Fort Rae, one of the Hudson's Bay Company's posts on Great Slave Lake, he was snowshoeing to a number of Indian camps to collect furs, and had under his command several Indians in charge of his dog-trains. On the way they came upon a small party of Dog-rib Indians, who, after a smoke and a chat, informed him that, being in need of meat, one of their party, named Pot-fighter's-father, had set out three days before to hunt caribou; and as he had not returned, they were afraid lest some evil had befallen him. When Mr. King learned that it had been Pot-fighter's-father's intention to return to camp on the evening of the first day, he advised the Indians to set out at once in search of him. After following his tracks for half a day they came suddenly upon the footprints of an unusually large wolf which had turned to trail the hunter. For some miles the brute had evidently followed close beside the trail of Pot-fighter's-father, diverging at times as though seeking cover, and then again stalking its prey in the open. One Indian continued to follow the old man's trail, while another followed that of the wolf. They had not gone far before they discovered that Pot-fighter's-father had come upon a herd of caribou, and a little farther on they found, lying on the snow, a couple of caribou carcasses that he had shot. Strange to say, the animals had not been skinned, nor had their tongues been removed. More remarkable still, the wolf--although passing close to them--had not stopped to feed. Soon they came upon another dead caribou, and this time Pot-fighter's-father had skinned it, and had cut out its tongue; but again the wolf had refused to touch the deer. Continuing their pursuit, they discovered a brush windbreak where the hunter had evidently stopped to camp for the night. Now they noticed that the tracks of the wolf took to cover among the scrub. Approaching the shelter, they read in the snow the signs of a terrible struggle between a man and a wolf. The hunter's gun, snowshoes, and sash containing his knife, rested against the windbreak, and his axe stood in the snow where he had been cutting brush. From the snow the Indians read the story of the long-drawn fight. Here it told how the great wolf had leaped upon the back of the unsuspecting man while he was carrying an armful of brush, and had knocked him down. There it showed that the man had grappled with the brute and rolled it over upon its back. Here the signs showed that the wolf had broken free; there, that the two had grappled again, and in their struggle had rolled over and over. The snow was now strewn with wolf-hair, and dyed with blood. While the dreadful encounter had raged, the battleground had kept steadily shifting nearer the gun. Just a couple of yards away from it lay the frozen body of poor old Pot-fighter's-father. His deerskin clothing was slit to tatters; his scalp was torn away; his fingers were chewed off, but his bloody mouth was filled with hair and flesh of the wolf. After burying the body of old Pot-fighter's-father in a mound of stones, the Indians determined to continue in pursuit of the wolf. Its tracks at last led them to a solitary lodge that stood in the shelter of a thicket of spruce. There the hunters were greeted by an Indian who was living in the tepee with his wife and baby. After having a cup of tea, a smoke, and then a little chat, the hunters enquired about the tracks of the great wolf that had brought them to the lodge. The Indian told them that during the night before last, while he and his wife were asleep with the baby between them, they had been awakened by a great uproar among the dogs. They had no sooner sat up than the dogs had rushed into the tepee followed by an enormous wolf. Leaping up, the hunter had seized his axe and attacked the beast, while his wife had grabbed the baby, wrapped it in a blanket, and rushing outside, had rammed the child out of sight in a snowdrift, and returned to help her husband to fight the brute. The wolf had already killed one of the dogs, and the Indian in his excitement had tripped upon the bedding, fallen, and lost his grip upon his axe. When he rose, he found the wolf between himself and his weapon. His wife, however, had seized a piece of firewood and, being unobserved by the wolf, had used it as a club and dealt the beast so powerful a blow upon the small of the back that it had been seriously weakened and had given the Indian an opportunity to recover his axe, with which at last he had managed to kill the wolf. It was Mr. King's belief, however, that such unusual behaviour of a wolf was caused by distemper, for the brute seemed to display no more fear of man than would a mad dog. And he added that the behaviour of the wolf in question was no more typical of wolves in general than was the behaviour of a mad dog typical of dogs. COMING OF THE FUR-RUNNERS That night, when we returned home, Oo-koo-hoo said to his grandsons: "Ne-geek and Ah-ging-goos, my grandchildren, the fur-runner is coming soon. To-morrow do you both take the dogs and break a two-days' trail on Otter River in order to hasten his coming." Next morning the boys set out to break the trail. When they camped on Otter River on the afternoon of the second day they cached in the river ice some fish for the trader's dogs. They chopped a hole and, after placing the fish in, filled it up with water, which they allowed to freeze, with the tail of a single fish protruding, in order to show the fur-runner what was cached below. To mark the spot, they planted a pole with its butt in the hole, and rigged up a tripod of sticks to support it. At the top of the pole they tied a little bag of tea and a choice piece of meat for the trader. At the bend of the river below, where he would surely pass, they erected another pole with a bunch of fir twigs attached, for the purpose of attracting his attention to their tracks. On their return home they found Oo-koo-hoo and Amik sorting their furs in anticipation of the fur-runner's arrival. Before them lay, among the other skins, the skin of the black fox, and when the boys entered the lodge Oo-koo-hoo addressed the whole family, saying: "Do not mention the black fox to the fur-runner, since I intend keeping it until I go to the Post, in the hope of making a better bargain there. Now sort your skins, and set aside those you wish to give in payment on your debt to the Great Company." During the afternoon of the following day Lawson the fur-runner for the Hudson's Bay Company arrived with his dog-train. He shook hands with Oo-koo-hoo and Amik and the boys, and kissed the women and the girls, as the custom of the traders is. It being late in the day, Oo-koo-hoo decided not to begin trading until next morning. So they spent the evening in spinning yarns around the fire. Shortly after breakfast strange dogs were heard. The boys ran out and saw an unknown man approaching. When the newcomer--a French-Canadian half-breed--had eaten, and had joined the others in a smoke, he gave me a letter from Free Trader Spear. Then Oo-koo-hoo began questioning him: "My brother, you are a stranger in this country; so I have given you fire and food and tobacco in friendship. Tell me now why and from whence you come?" The half-breed replied: "My brother, I come from the Border Lands--where the plains and the forests meet--and my name is Gibeault. I have come to trade regularly with you as I am now working for Free Trader Spear, whose post, as you know, is near Fort Consolation. You will do well to encourage opposition to the Great Company, and thus raise the price of furs." The half-breed then presented the hunters with several plugs of "T & B," some matches, tea, sugar, flour, and a piece of "sow-belly." For some time Oo-koo-hoo sat holding a little fresh-cut tobacco in his hand, until Gibeault, taking notice, asked him why he did not smoke it. "The Great Company always gives me a pipe," replied the hunter. The runner for the free trader, not to be outdone, gave him a pipe. "I suppose," began Oo-koo-hoo, "that your heart is glad to see me." "Yes," replied Gibeault, "and I want to get some of your fur." "That is all very well, but I will see which way you look at me," returned the Indian. "Have you much fur?" asked the half-breed. "I have enough to pay my debt to the Great Company." "Yes, I know, but you will have some left, and I want to do business with you, so bring out your furs and I will treat you right." "That sounds well, but you must remember that though the Great Company charges more, their goods are the best goods, while yours are all cheap rubbish." Thinking the opportunity a favourable one, Gibeault assumed an air of friendly solicitude and said: "The Company has cheated your people so many hundred years that they are now very rich. No wonder they can afford to give you high prices for your furs. Free Trader Spear is a poor but honest man. It is to your great advantage to trade part of your furs with me in order to make it worth his while to send me here every winter. As you know, my presence here compels the Company to pay full value for your furs and so you are the one who reaps the greatest benefit." "That is partly true," answered Oo-koo-hoo, "but I must be loyal to the Company. You are here to-day and away tomorrow; but the Company is here for ever. But I will not be hard on you; I will wait and see how you look at me." For a while the dignified Indian sat puffing at his pipe and gazing at the fire. Every line of his weather-beaten and wrinkled but handsome face was full of sterling character. At times his small eyes twinkled as a flash of cunning crept into them, and a keen sense of humour frequently twitched the corners of his determined mouth. Then he brought out a pack of furs and, handing it to Lawson, said: "This is to pay the Great Company for the advances they gave us last summer." Lawson took the bundle without opening it, as it would not be checked over until he delivered it at Fort Consolation. Resenting the Indian's attitude toward Gibeault he began: "I see, now that there's another trader here, it's easy for you to forget your old friends. The free trader comes and goes. Give him your furs, an' he doesn't care whether you're dead to-morrow. It's not like that with the Great Company. The Company came first among your people, and since then it has been like a father, not only to all your people before you, but to you as well. Whenever your forefathers were smitten with hunger or disease, who looked after them? It wasn't the free trader; it was the Company. Who sells you the best goods? It isn't the free trader; it's the Company. Who gave you your debt last fall and made it possible for you to hunt this winter? It wasn't the free trader; it was the Company. My brother, you have none to thank but the Great Company that you're alive to-day." With a grunt of disapproval Oo-koo-hoo sullenly retorted: "The Priest says it is The Master of Life we have to thank for that. I am sure that the Commissioner of the Great Company is not so great as God. It is true you give us good prices now, but it is also true that you have not given us back the countless sums you stole from our fathers and grandfathers and all our people before them; for did you not wait until the coming of the free traders before you would give us the worth of our skins? No wonder you are great masters; it seems to me that it takes great rogues to become great masters." The angry Lawson, to save a quarrel, bit his moustache, smiled faintly and, presenting the hunter with even more than Gibeault had given, said: "Never mind, my brother, you're a pretty smart man." Without replying, Oo-koo-hoo accepted the present so eagerly that he jerked it out of the trader's hand. That pleased Lawson. Presently the Indian threw down a bear skin, saying: "My brother, this is to see how you look at me." Now the way of the experienced fur-runner is to offer a big price--often an excessive price--for the first skin. He calculates that it puts the Indian in a good humour and in the end gives the trader a chance of getting ahead of the native. That is just what Lawson did, and Gibeault refused to raise the bid. "My brother," said the Indian addressing the latter, "you had better go home if you cannot pay better prices than the Great Company." Gibeault, nettled, outbid his rival for the next skin, and thus it went on, first one and then the other raising the prices higher and higher, much to the delight of the Indians. Oo-koo-hoo had already sold a number of skins for more than their market value before it dawned on the white men that they were playing a losing game. Though glaring savagely at each other, both were ready to capitulate. Lawson, pretending to examine some of Gibeault's goods, stooped and whispered: "We're actin' like fools. If we keep this up our bosses will fire us both." "Let's swap even--you take every other skin at your own figure," returned the French half-breed. "Agreed," said Lawson, straightening up. No longer outbidding one another, they got the next few skins below the market price. But before the traders had made good their loss the Indian gathered up his furs and turning to the fur-runners with a smile, said: "My brothers, as I see that you have agreed to cheat me, I have decided that I and my people will keep all our furs until we go out next spring; so it is now useless for you to remain any longer." Having read the note Gibeault brought me from Free Trader Spear, I hastened to hand the half-breed my reply, accepting Mr. and Mrs. Spear's invitation to be their guest for a few days when everyone would be gathering at Fort Consolation to attend the New Year's dance; and again I wondered if "Son-in-law" would be there. V MEETING OF THE WILD MEN WHO IS SON-IN-LAW? Christmas week had arrived and now we were off for the New Year's dance to be held at Fort Consolation. Instead of travelling round three sides of an oblong as we had done to reach Oo-koo-hoo's hunting ground by canoe, we now, travelling on snowshoes, cut across country, over hill and valley, lake and river, in a southeasterly direction, until we struck Caribou River and then turned toward White River and finally arrived at God's Lake. Our little party included Oo-koo-hoo, his wife Ojistoh, their granddaughter Neykia, and myself. Our domestic outfit was loaded upon two hunting sleds in the hauling of which we all took turns, as well as in relieving each other in the work of track beating. At night we camped in the woods without any shelter save brush windbreaks over the heads of our beds, our couches being made of balsam-twigs laid shingle fashion in the snow. For the sake of warmth Ojistoh and Neykia slept together, while Oo-koo-hoo and I cuddled up close to one another and fitted together like spoons in a cutlery case, for the cold sometimes dipped to forty below. The prisoner of the city, however, may think sleeping under such conditions not only a terrible hardship but a very dangerous thing in the way of catching one's death of cold. I can assure him it is nothing of the kind--when the bed is properly made. And not only does one _never_ catch cold under such conditions, but it is my experience that there is no easier way to get rid of a bad cold than to sleep out in the snow, wrapped in a Hudson's Bay blanket, a caribou robe, or a rabbit-skin quilt, when the thermometer is about fifty below zero. But rather than delay over a description in detail of the mere novelty of winter travel, let us hurry along to our first destination, and visit the Free Trader Mr. Spear and his family, and find out for our own satisfaction whether or not the mysterious "Son-in-law" had recently been courting the charming Athabasca. When we reached God's Lake, for a while we snowshoed down the centre, until at the parting of our ways we said good-bye, for the Indians were heading directly for Fort Consolation. As I neared Spearhead and came in view of its one and only house, the Free Trader's dogs set up a howl, and Mr. Spear came out to greet me and lead me into the sitting room where I was welcomed by his wife and daughter. Now I made a discovery: quartered in a box in the hall behind the front door they had three geese that being quite free to walk up and down the hall, occasionally strolled about for exercise. As good luck would have it, supper was nearly ready, and I had just sufficient time to make use of the tin hand-basin in the kitchen before the tea bell rang. Again, during the first half of the meal we all chatted in a lively strain, all save Athabasca, who, though blushing less than usual, smiled a little more, and murmured an occasional yes or no; all the while looking even more charming. But her composure endured not long, for her mother presently renewed the subject of "Son-in-law": "Father, don't you think it would be a good idea if you took son-in-law into partnership very soon?" "Yes, Mother, I do, because business is rapidly growing, and I'll need help in the spring. Besides, it would give me a chance to do my own fur-running in winter, and in that way I believe I could double, if not treble, our income." Athabasca turned crimson and I followed suit--for being a born blusher myself, and mortally hating it, I could never refrain from sympathizing with others similarly afflicted. "Precisely, Father," replied Mrs. Spear, "that's exactly what I thought. So you see you wouldn't be making any sacrifice whatever, and such an arrangement would prove an advantage all round. Everybody would be the happier for it, and it seems to me to delay the wedding would be a vital mistake." From that moment until we left the table Athabasca concentrated her vision on her plate; and I wondered more than ever who "Son-in-law" could be. Then an idea came to me, and I mused: "We'll surely see him at Fort Consolation." After supper I discovered a new member of the household, a chore-boy, twenty-eight years of age, who had come out from England to learn farming in the Free Trader's stump lot, and who was paying Mr. Spear so many hundred dollars a year for that privilege, and also for the pleasure of daily cleaning out the stable--and the pig pen. When I first saw him, I thought: "Why here, at last, is 'Son-in-law.'" But on second consideration, I knew he was not the lucky man, for it was evident the Spears did not recognize him as their social equal, since they placed him, at meal time, out in the kitchen at the table with their two half-breed maid-servants. That evening, while sitting around the big wood stove, we discussed Shakespeare, Byron, Scott, and even the latest novel that was then in vogue--"Trilby," if I remember right--for the Spears not only subscribed to the _Illustrated London News_ and _Blackwood's_ but they took _Harper's_ and _Scribner's_, too. And by the way, though Athabasca had never been to school, her mother had personally attended to her education. When bedtime arrived, they all peeled off their moccasins and stockings and hung them round the stove to dry, and then pitter-pattered up the cold, bare stairs in their bare feet. I was shown into the spare room and given a candle, and when I bade them good-night and turned to close the door, I discovered that there was no door to close, nor was there even a curtain to screen me from view. The bed, however, was an old-fashioned wooden affair with a big solid footboard, so I concluded that in case of any one passing the doorway, I could crouch behind the foot of the bed. Then, when I blew out my candle, I got a great surprise, for lo and behold! I could see all over the house! I could see "Paw and Maw" getting undressed, Athabasca saying her prayers, and the half-breed maids getting into bed. How did it happen? The cracks between the upright boards of my partition were so wide that I could have shoved my fingers through. As a matter of fact, Mr. Spear explained next day, the lumber being green, rather than nail the boards tightly into place, he had merely stood them up, and waited for them to season. During the night the cold grew intense, and several times I was startled out of my sleep by a frosty report from the ice and snow on the roof that reminded one of the firing of a cannon. In the morning when the geese began screeching in the lower hall, I thought it was time to get up, and was soon in the very act of pulling off a certain garment over my head when one of the half-breed maids--the red-headed one whose hair Mr. Spear had cut off with the horse clippers--intruded herself into my room to see if I were going to be down in time for breakfast, and I had to drop behind the foot of the bed. At breakfast, the first course was oatmeal porridge; the second, "Son-in-law"; the third, fried bacon, toast, and tea; after which we all put on our wraps for our five-mile trip across God's Lake to Fort Consolation. Everyone went, maids, chore-boy, and all, and everyone made the trip on snowshoes--all save the trader's wife, who rode in state, in a carriole, hauled by a tandem train of four dogs. THE NEW YEAR'S DANCE It was a beautiful sunny day and the air was very still; and though the snow was wind-packed and hard, the footing was very tiresome, for the whole surface of the lake was just one endless mass of hard-packed snowdrifts that represented nothing so much as a great, stormy, white-capped sea that had been instantly congealed. And for us it was just up and down, in and out, up and down, in and out, all the way over. These solid white waves, however, proved one thing, and that was the truth of Oo-koo-hoo's woodcraft; for, just as he had previously told me, if we had been suddenly encompassed by a dense fog or a heavy snowstorm, we could never for a moment have strayed from our true course; as all the drifts pointed one way, south-by-southeast, and therefore must have kept us to our proper direction. There were many dogs and sleds, and many Indians and half-breeds, too, about the Fort when we arrived; and as the dogs heralded our approach, the Factor came out to greet us and wish us a Happy New Year. At the door Mrs. Mackenzie, the half-breed wife of the Factor, was waiting with a beaming smile and a hearty welcome for us; and after we had removed our outer wraps, she led us over to the storehouse in which a big room had been cleared, and heated, and decorated to answer as a ballroom and banqueting hall. Tables were being laid for the feast, and Indian mothers and maidens and children, too, were already sitting on the floor around the sides of the room, and with sparkling eyes were watching the work in happy expectation. Around the doorway, both out and in, stood the men--Indians and half-breeds and a few French and English Canadians. Some wore hairy caribou _capotes_, others hairless moose-skin jackets trimmed with otter or beaver fur, others again were-garbed in duffel _capotes_ of various colours with hoods and turned-back cuffs of another hue; but the majority wore _capotes_ made of Hudson's Bay blanket and trimmed with slashed fringes at the shoulders and skirt; while their legs were encased in trousers gartered below the knee, and their feet rested comfortably in moccasins. Though, when snowshoeing, all the men wore hip-high leggings of duffel or blanket, the former sometimes decorated with a broad strip of another colour, the latter were always befringed the whole way down the outer seam; both kinds were gartered at the knee. Such leggings are always removed when entering a lodge or house or when resting beside a campfire--in order to free the legs from the gathered snow and prevent it from thawing and wetting the trousers. The children wore outer garments of either blanket or rabbit skin, while the women gloried in brilliant plaid shawls of two sizes--a small one for the head and a large one for the shoulders. The short cloth skirts of the women and girls were made so that the fullness at the waist, instead of being cut away, was merely puckered into place, and beneath the lower hem of the skirt showed a pair of beaded leggings and a pair of silk-worked moccasins. All the Indians shook hands with us, for in the Canadian Government's treaty with them it is stipulated that: "We expect you to be good friends with everyone, and shake hands with all whom you meet." And I might further add that the Indian--when one meets him in the winter bush--is more polite than the average white man, for he always removes his mitten, and offers one his bare hand. Further, if his hand happens to be dirty, he will spit on it and rub it on his leggings to try and cleanse it before presenting it to you. But when he did that, I could never decide which was the more acceptable condition--before or after. When the Factor entered, he was greeted with a perfect gale of merriment, as it was the ancient custom of the Great Company that he should kiss every woman and girl at the New Year's feast. After that historical ceremony was over--in which Free Trader Spear also had to do his duty--and the laughter had subsided, the principal guests were seated at the Factor's table, the company consisting of the three clergymen, the Spears, myself, the two North-West Mounted Policemen--who had just arrived from the south--and a few native headmen, including my friend Oo-koo-hoo. Though the feast was served in relays, some of the guests who were too hungry to await their turn were served as they sat about the floor. The dishes included the choice of moose, caribou, bear, lynx, beaver, or muskrat. Then a couple of picturesque, shock-haired French Canadians got up on a big box that rested upon a table, and tuning up their fiddles, the dance was soon in full swing. In rapid succession the music changed from the Double Jig to the Reel of Four, the Duck Dance, the Double Reel of Four, the Reel of Eight, and the Red River Jig, till the old log storehouse shook from its foundation right up to its very rafters. The breathless, perspiring, but happy couples kept at it until exhaustion fairly overtook them, and then dropping out now and then, they sat on the floor around the walls till they had rested; and then, with all their might and main, they went at it again. Among other things I noticed that the natives who were smoking were so considerate of their hosts' feelings that they never for a moment forgot themselves enough to soil the freshly scrubbed floor, but always used their upturned fur caps as cuspidors. The children, even the little tots, showed great interest in the dancing of their parents, and so delighted did they become that they would sometimes gather in a group in a corner and try to step in time with the music. Everyone that could dance took a turn--even Oo-koo-hoo and old Granny did the "light fantastic"--and at one time or another all the principal guests were upon the floor; all save--the priest. The scarlet tunics of the corporal and the constable of the Royal North-West Mounted Police as well as the sombre black of the English Church and the Presbyterian clergymen, added much to the whirling colour scheme, as well as to the joy of the occasion. But look where I would I could not find "Son-in-law," and though the blushing Athabasca was often in the dance, it was plain to see her lover was not there, for even the handsome policemen, though they paid her marked attention, gave no sign, either of them, of being the lucky one. In the number of partners, Oo-koo-hoo's granddaughter outshone them all, and, moreover, her lover was present. At every chance Shing-wauk--The Little Pine--was shyly whispering to her and she was looking very happy. Even I rose to the occasion and had for my first partner our host's swarthy wife, a wonderful performer, who, after her husband's retirement from the service of the Hudson's Bay Company, became the most popular dancer in all Winnipeg. Nor must I forget my dance with that merry, muscular, iron-framed lady, Oo-koo-hoo's better half--old Granny--who at first crumpled me up in her gorilla-like embrace, and ended by swinging me clean off my feet, much to the merriment of the Indian maidens. As the afternoon wore on the Rabbit Dance began, and was soon followed by the Hug-Me-Snug, the Drops of Brandy, and the Saskatchewan Circle, and--last but not least--the Kissing Dance. And when the Kissing Dance was encored for the fifth time, the company certainly proclaimed it a Happy New Year. THE BEAUTIFUL ATHABASCA Again at tea time the guests gathered round the festive board; then, a little later, the music once more signalled the dancers to take their places on the floor. Hour after hour it went on. After midnight another supper was served; but still "the band"--consisting of a violin and a concertina--played on, and still the moccasined feet pounded the floor without intermission. At the very height of the fun, when the Free Trader's charming daughter was being whirled about by a scarlet tunic, Mrs. Spear turned to me and beamed: "Doesn't Athabasca look radiantly beautiful?" "Indeed she does!" I blushed. "And what a delightful party this is . . . but there's just one thing lacking . . . to make it perfect." "What's that?" I enquired. "A wedding . . . my dear." Then, after a long pause, during which she seemed to be staring at me--but I didn't dare look--she impatiently tossed her head and exclaimed: "My . . . but some men are deathly slow!" "Indeed they are," I agreed. About four o'clock in the morning the music died down, then, after much hand-shaking, the company dispersed in various directions over the moonlit snow; some to their near-by lodges, some to the log shacks in the now-deserted Indian village, and others to their distant hunting grounds. It must have been nearly five o'clock before the ladies in the Factor's house went upstairs, and the men lay down upon caribou, bear, and buffalo skins on the otherwise bare floor of the living room. It was late next morning when we arose, yet already the policemen had vanished--they had again set out on their long northern patrol. At breakfast Mr. and Mrs. Spear invited me to return and spend the night with them, and as Oo-koo-hoo and his wife wanted to remain a few days to visit some Indian friends, and as the Factor had told me that the north-bound packet with the winter's mail from the railroad was soon due; and as, moreover, the Fur Brigade would be starting south in a few days, and it would travel for part of the way along our homeward trail, I accepted Mr. Mackenzie's invitation to return to Fort Consolation and depart with the Fur Brigade. It was a cold trip across the lake as the thermometer had dropped many degrees and a northwest wind was blowing in our faces. As I had frequently had my nose frozen, it now turned white very quickly, and a half-breed, who was crossing with us, turned round every once in a while and exclaimed to me: "Oh my gud! your nose all froze!" The snow seemed harder than ever, and for long stretches we took off our snowshoes and ran over the drifts, but so wind-packed were they that they received little impression from our feet. Of course, when we arrived at Spearhead, the house was cold and everything in it above the cellar--except the cats and geese--was frozen solid; but it is surprising how quickly those good old-fashioned box stoves will heat a dwelling; for in twenty or thirty minutes those wood-burning stoves were red-hot and the whole house comfortably warm. It's strange, but nevertheless true, that "Son-in-law" was never once mentioned at dinner, but later on, when Athabasca and I were sitting one on either side of the room, Mrs. Spear got up and, getting a picture book, asked: "Mr. Heming, are you fond of pictures? Daughter has a delightful little picture book here that I want her to show you, so now, my dears, both sit over there on the sofa where the light will be better, and look at it together." Moving over to the old horsehair sofa--the pride of all Spearhead and even of Fort Consolation--we sat down together, much closer than I had expected, as some of the springs were broken, thus forming a hollow in the centre of the affair, into which we both slid without warning--just as though it were a trap set for bashful people. Then Mrs. Spear with a sigh, evidently of satisfaction, withdrew from the room, and we were left alone together. With the book spread out upon our knees we looked it over for perhaps---- Well, I am not sure how long, but anyway, when I came to, I saw something just in front of me on the floor. Really, it startled me. For in following it up with my eye I discovered that it was the toe of a moccasin, and the worst of it was that it was being worn by Mrs. Spear. There, for ever so long, she must have been standing and watching us. The worst of that household was that all its members wore moccasins, so you could never hear them coming. That night, when we were sitting around the stove, Mrs. Spear explained to me how she had educated her daughter and added: "But perhaps, after all, if the wedding is not going to take place right away, it might be well to send Daughter to some finishing school for a few months--say in Toronto," and then, after a little pause, and still looking at me, she asked: "To which school would you prefer us to send Athabasca?" When I named the most fashionable girls' school in that city, "Paw and Maw" settled it, there and then, that Daughter would attend it next fall, that is, unless it was decided to celebrate her wedding at an earlier date. Next morning, at breakfast, Mrs. Spear suggested that Athabasca should take me for a drive through the woods and Mr. Spear remarked: "You know, Mr. Heming, we haven't any cutter or any suitable sleigh, and besides, one of the horses is working in the stump lot; but I think I can manage." In a little while he led a horse round to the front door. The animal had a pole attached to either side, the other end of which dragged out behind; across the two poles, just behind the horse's tail, was fastened a rack of cross poles upon which was placed some straw and a buffalo robe. It was really a _travois_, the kind of conveyance used by the Plains Indians. Getting aboard the affair, off we went, the old plug rumbling along in a kind of a trotting walk, while Athabasca held the reins. The morning being a fine sunny one, and the trees being draped and festooned with snow, the scene was so beautiful when we got into the thicker woods that it made one think of fairyland. A couple of fluffy little whiskey jacks followed us all the way there and back, just as though they wanted to see and hear everything that was going on; but those little meddlers of the northwoods must have been disappointed, for both Athabasca and I were not only too shy to talk, but too bashful even to sit upright; in fact, we both leaned so far away from one another that we each hung over our side of the trap, and did nothing but gaze far off into the enchanted wood. We must have been gone nearly two hours when the house again came into view. Yes, I enjoyed it. It was so romantic. But what I couldn't understand was why her parents allowed her to go with me, when they were already counting on "Son-in-law" marrying her. It was certainly a mystery to me. However, that afternoon I left for Fort Consolation. BACK TO FORT CONSOLATION On my way across the lake I noticed that the wind was veering round toward the east and that the temperature was rising. When I arrived in good time for supper Factor Mackenzie seemed relieved, and remarked that the barometer indicated a big storm from the northeast. That night, in front of the big open fire, we talked of the fur trade. Among other books and papers he showed me was a copy of the Company's Deed Poll; not published a century ago, but printed at the time of which I am writing, and thus it read: "To all whom these presents shall come, The Governor and Company of Adventurers of England Trading into Hudson's Bay send greeting. Whereas His Majesty King Charles the Second did, by His Royal Charter, constitute the Governor and Company of Adventurers of England trading into Hudson's Bay in a Body Corporate, with perpetual succession and with power to elect a Governor and Deputy Governor and Committee for the management of their trade and affairs----." From it I learned that the commissioned officers appointed by the Company to carry on their trade in Canada were: a Commissioner, three Inspecting Chief Factors, eight Chief Factors, fifteen Factors, ten Chief Traders, and twenty-one Junior Chief Traders, all of whom on appointment became shareholders in the Company. While the Governor and Committee had their offices in London, the Commissioner was the Canadian head with his offices in Winnipeg, and to assist him an advisory council, composed of Chief Factors and Chief Traders, was occasionally called. The Company's territory was divided into four departments--the Western, the Southern, the Northern, and the Montreal--while each department was again sub-divided into many districts, the total number being thirty-four. The non-commissioned employees at the various posts were: clerks, postmasters, and servants. Besides the regular post servants there were others employed such as: voyageurs, among whom were the guides, canoe-men, boatmen, and scowmen; then, again, there were fur-runners, fort-hunters, and packeteers. In the morning a miserable northeaster was blowing a heavy fall of snow over the country, and the Factor offered to show me the fur-loft where the clerk and a few half-breed men-servants were folding and packing furs. First they were put into a collapsible mould to hold them in the proper form, then when the desired weight of eighty pounds had been reached, they were passed into a powerful home-made fur-press, and after being pressed down into a solid pack, were corded and covered with burlap, and marked ready for shipment. The room in which the men worked was a big loft with endless bundles of skins of many sizes and colours hanging from the rafters, and with long rows of shelves stacked with folded furs, and with huge piles of pelts and opened bales upon the floor. Also there were moose and caribou horns lying about, and bundles of Indian-made snowshoes hanging by wires from the rafters, and in one corner kegs of dried beaver castors. THE WINTER MAIL ARRIVES On the morning of the second day of the storm I happened to be in the Indian shop, where I had gone to see the Factor and the clerk barter for the furs of a recently arrived party of Indian fur-hunters, when presently I was startled by hearing: "_Voyez, voyez, le pacquet_!" shouted by Bateese as he floundered into the trading room without a thought of closing the door, though the drifting snow scurried in after him. Vociferously he called to the others to come and see, and instantly trade was stopped. The Factor, the clerk, and the Indians, rushed to the doorway to obtain a glimpse of the long-expected packet. For two days the storm had raged, and the snow was still blowing in clouds that blotted out the neighbouring forest. "Come awa', Bateese, ye auld fule! Come awa' ben, an steek yon door! Ye dinna see ony packet!" roared the Factor, who could distinguish nothing through the flying snow. "_Bien, m'sieu_, mebbe she not very clear jus' now; but w'en I pass from de Mad Wolf's Hill, w'en de storm she lif' a leetle, I see two men an' dog-train on de lac below de islan's," replied the half-breed fort-hunter, who had returned from a caribou cache, and whose duty it was to keep the fort supplied with meat. "Weel, fetch me the gless, ma mon; fetch me the gless an' aiblins we may catch a glint o' them through this smoorin' snaw; though I doot it's the packet, as ye say." And the Factor stood shading his eyes and gazing anxiously in the direction of the invisible islands. But before the fort-hunter had returned with the telescope, the snowy veil suddenly thinned and revealed the gray figure of a tripper coming up the bank. "_Quay, quay_! Ke-e-e-pling!" sang out one of the Indians. He had recognized the tripper to be Kipling, the famous snowshoe runner. Immediately all save the Factor rushed forward to meet the little half-breed who was in charge of the storm-bound packet, and to welcome him with a fusilade of gunshots. Everyone was happy now, for last year's news of the "_Grand Pays_"--the habitant's significant term for the outer world--had at last arrived. The monotonous routine of the Post was forgotten. To-day the long, dreary silence of the winter would be again broken in upon by hearty feasting, merry music, and joyous dancing in honour of the arrival of the half-yearly mail. All crowded round the voyageur, who, though scarcely more than five feet in height, was famed as a snowshoe runner throughout the wilderness stretching from the Canadian Pacific Railroad to the Arctic Ocean. While they were eagerly plying him with questions, the crack of a dog-whip was heard. Soon the faint tinkling of bells came through the storm. In a moment all the dogs of the settlement were in an uproar, for the packet had arrived. With a final rush the gaunt, travel-worn dogs galloped through the driving snow, and, eager for the shelter of the trading room, bolted pell-mell through the gathering at the doorway, upsetting several spectators before the driver could halt the runaways by falling headlong upon the foregoer's back and flattening him to the floor. All was excitement. Every dog at the post dashed in with bristling hair and clamping jaws to overawe the strangers. Amid the hubbub of shouting men, women, and children, the cracking of whips, and the yelping of dogs, the packet was removed from the overturned sled and hustled into the Factor's office, where it was opened, and the mail quickly overhauled. While the Factor and his clerk were busily writing despatches, a relay of dogs was being harnessed, and two fresh runners were making ready to speed the mail upon its northward way. Before long the Factor's letters were sealed and carefully deposited in the packet box, which was lashed on the tail of the sled, the forepart of which was packed with blankets, flour, tea, and pork for the packeteers, and frozen whitefish for the dogs. Then amid the usual handshaking the word "_Marche_!" was given, and to the tune of cracking whips, whining dogs, and crunching snow, the northern packet glided out upon the lake with the Indian track-beater hurrying far ahead while the half-breed dog-driver loped behind the sled. Thus for over two centuries the Hudson's Bay Company had been sending its mails through the great wilderness of Northern Canada. THE DOG BRIGADE That afternoon five dog-trains arrived from outlying posts. They had come to join the Dog Brigade that was to leave Fort Consolation first thing in the morning on its southern way to the far-off railroad. As I wished to accompany the brigade, I had arranged with Oo-koo-hoo that we should do so, as far as we could without going out of our way, in returning to his hunting grounds. So to bed that night we all went very early, and at four o'clock in the morning we were astir again. Breakfast was soon over, then followed the packing of the sleds, the harnessing of the dogs, the slipping of moccasined feet into snowshoe thongs, the shaking of hands, and the wishing of farewells. Already the tracker, or track-beater, had gone ahead to break the trail. "_M-a-r-r-che_!" (start) shouted the guide--as the head dog-driver is called. Every driver repeated the word; whips cracked; dogs howled, and the brigade moved forward in single file. At the head went the Factor's train of four powerful-looking and handsomely harnessed dogs hauling a decorated carriole in which the Factor rode and behind which trotted a picturesque half-breed driver. Next in order went the teams of the Church of England clergyman and the Roman Catholic priest, both of whom happened to be going out to the railroad. Behind these followed twelve sleds or toboggans, laden with furs, which the Hudson's Bay Company was shipping to its Department Headquarters. When one remembers that black or silver fox skins are frequently sold for over a thousand dollars each, one may surmise the great value of a cargo of furs weighing nearly four thousand pounds, such as the Dog Brigade was hauling. No wonder the Company was using all haste to place those furs on the London market before the then high prices fell. The brigade formed an interesting sight, as the Indians, half-breeds, and white men were garbed most curiously; and in strong contrast to the brilliant colours worn by the members of the brigade, the clergymen trotted along in their sombre black--the priest's cassock flowing to his snowshoes, and his crucifix thrust, daggerlike, in his girdle. The four dogs comprising each of the fur-trains hauled three hundred pounds of fur besides the camp outfit and grub for both driver and dogs--in all, about five hundred pounds to the sled. When the sleighing grew heavy, the drivers used long pushing-poles against the ends of the sleds to help the dogs. TRAVELLING WITH DOG-TRAINS While the march always started in a stately way--the Factor's carriole in advance--it was not long before the trains abandoned their formal order; for whenever one train was delayed through any one of many reasons, the train behind invariably strove to steal ahead so that after a few hours' run the best dogs were usually leading. For several hours we followed the lake and the river, and just before daylight appeared in the southeastern sky the Aurora Borealis vanished from view. Later, a golden glow tipping the tops of the tallest trees, heralded the rising of the sun. Coming out upon a little lake--for we were now short-cutting across the country--we saw that the light over the distant hills had broken into a glorious flood of sunshine. Half over the far-off trees, along the horizon, the sun was shining, and the whole southeastern sky seemed aflame with bands and balls of fire. A vertical ribbon of gradually diminishing lustre, scarcely wider than the sun, was rising into the heavens to meet a vast semi-circle of rainbow beauty arched above the natural sun. Where the strange halo cut the vertical flame and the horizon on either side three mock suns marked the intersection. Above the natural sun and beneath the halo, four other mock suns studded the vertical band of light. It was a wonderful sight and lasted fully twenty minutes--the sky was just as I have shown it in my picture of the York Factory Packet. Now the brigade was halted, in voyageur parlance, "to spell the dogs one smoke," which, being translated, meant that the dogs could rest as long as it took their masters to smoke a pipeful of tobacco. The drivers, conversing in little groups or sitting upon sleds as they puffed at their pipes, watched the beautiful phenomenon, and the talk turned to the many remarkable sun-dogs that they had seen. Presently the mock suns grew dim; the arch faded away; the band lost its colour; the true sun rose above the trees and then, as ashes were knocked from pipes, we resumed our journey. After leaving the lake we entered a muskeg that extended for miles. Its uneven surface was studded with countless grassy hummocks, many of them crowned with willow and alder bushes or gnarled and stunted spruces or jack pines. It made hard hauling for the dogs. From a distance, the closely following trains reminded one of a great serpent passing over the country, that--when it encountered a hummocky section requiring the trains to turn from side to side, and to glide up and down--seemed to be writhing in pain. Near the end of the swamp an open hillside rose before us, and upon its snowy slopes the sun showed thousands of rabbit-runs intersecting one another in a maze of tracks that made one think of a vast gray net cast over the hill. Passing into a "bent-pole" district we encountered an endless number of little spruce trees, the tops of which had become so laden with snow that their slender stems, no longer able to sustain the weight, had bent almost double as they let their white-capped heads rest in the snow upon the ground. Later, we entered a park-like forest where pine trees stood apart with seldom any brushwood between. Fresh marten tracks were noticed in the snow. A little farther on, two timber-wolves were seen slinking along like shadows among the distant trees as they paralleled our trail on the right. The dogs noticed them, too, but they, like their masters, were too busy to pay much attention. The wolves were big handsome creatures with thick fluffy coats that waved like tall grasses in a strong breeze as they bounded along. Coming to a steep hill everyone helped the dogs in their climb. When at last the brigade, puffing and panting, reached the summit, pipes were at once in evidence and then another rest followed. When the descent began, the drivers--most of them having removed their snowshoes that their feet might sink deeper into the snow--seized their trail-lines, and, acting as anchors behind the sleds, allowed themselves to be hauled stiff-legged through the deep snow in their effort to keep the sleds from over-running the dogs. It was exciting work. The men throwing their utmost weight upon the lines sought every obstruction, swerving against trees, bracing against roots, grasping at branches, and floundering through bushes. Often they fell, and occasionally, when they failed to regain their footing, were mercilessly dragged downhill; the heavy sleds, gathering momentum, overtook the fleeing dogs, and their unfortunate masters were ploughed head-first through the snow. At the foot of the steepest incline a tumult arose as men and dogs struggled together in an effort to free themselves from overturned sleds. Above the cursing in French and English--but not in Indian--rose the howling of the dogs as lead-loaded lashes whistled through the frosty air. One wondered how such a tangle could ever be unravelled, but soon all was set straight again. About eight o'clock we had our second breakfast and by twelve we stopped again for the noon-day meal, both of which consisted of bannock, pork, and tea. While we ate, the dogs, still harnessed, lay curled up in the snow. Again the guide shouted "_Ma-r-r-che_!" and again the brigade moved forward. Some of the trains were handsomely harnessed, especially the Factor's. The loin-cloths of the dogs, called _tapis_, were richly embroidered and edged with fringe. Above the collars projected pompons of broken colours and clusters of streaming ribbons, while beneath hung a number of bells. All the dogs were hitched tandem, and every train was made up of four units. Except the dogs of the Factor's train, there were few real "huskies," as Eskimo dogs are called, for most of the brutes were the usual sharp-nosed, heavy-coated mongrels that in the Strong Woods Country go by the name of _giddes_; some, however, had been sired by wolves. The track-beater's snowshoes, which were the largest used by any of the brigade, were Wood Cree "hunting shoes" and measured nearly six feet in length. The other men wore Chipewyan "tripping shoes" about three feet long--the only style of Canadian snowshoes that are made in "rights and lefts." For a number of miles we passed through heavily timbered forest where shafts of sunlight threw patches of brilliant white upon the woodland's winter carpet, and where gentle breezes had played fantastically with the falling snow, for it was heaped in all manner of remarkable forms. Here and there long, soft festoons of white were draped about groups of trees where the living stood interlocked with the dead. Among the branches huge "snow-bosses" were seen, and "snow-mushrooms" of wondrous shape and bulk were perched upon logs and stumps. "Snow-caps" of almost unbelievable size were mounted upon the smallest of trees, the slender trunks of which seemed ready to break at any moment. It was all so strangely picturesque that it suggested an enchanted forest. Early that afternoon we came upon an Indian lodge hiding in the woods, and from within came three little children. It was then fully twenty below zero, yet the little tots, wishing to watch the passing brigade, stood in the most unconcerned way, holding each other by the hand, their merry eyes shining from their wistful faces while their bare legs and feet were buried in the snow. Though they wore nothing but little blanket shirts, what healthy, happy children they appeared to be! Then out upon a lake we swung where the wind-packed snow made easy going. Here the heavy sleds slid along as if loadless, and we broke into a run. On rounding a point we saw a band of woodland caribou trot off the lake and enter the distant forest. By the time we reached the end of the lake, and had taken to the shelter of the trees, dusk was creeping through the eastern woods and the rabbits had come out to play. They were as white as the snow upon which they ran helter-skelter after one another. Forward and backward they bounded across the trail without apparently noticing the dogs. Sometimes they passed within ten feet of us. The woodland seemed to swarm with them, and no wonder, for it was the seventh year, the year of Northland game abundance, when not only rabbits are most numerous, but also all the other dwellers of the wilderness that prey upon them. Already, however, the periodical plague had arrived. When I stopped to adjust a snowshoe thong I counted five dead hares within sight; next year starvation would be stalking the forest creatures. CAMPING IN THE SNOW While the sunset glow was rapidly fading, the brigade halted to make camp for the night. All were to sleep in the open, for dog brigades never carry tents but bivouac on the snow with nothing but a blanket between the sleeper and the Aurora Borealis--though the thermometer may fall to sixty below zero. Some of the men moved off with axes in their hands, and the sound of chopping began to echo through the forest. On every side big dry trees came crashing down. Then the huge "long fires", driving darkness farther away, began to leap and roar. Then, too, could be seen the building of stages on which to place the valuable fur-laden sleds out of reach of the destructive dogs; the gathering of evergreen brush; the unhitching of dogs and the hanging up of their harness in the surrounding trees; the unloading of sleds; the placing of frozen whitefish to thaw for the dogs; the baking of bannocks, the frying of pork, and the infusing of tea. Then, in silence, the men ate ravenously, while the hungry dogs watched them. When pipes had been filled and lighted each driver took his allotment of fish, called his dogs aside, and gave them a couple each. Some of the brutes bolted their food in a few gulps and rushed to seize the share of others, but a few blows from the drivers' whips drove them back. When the dogs had devoured their day's rations--for they are fed only once every twenty-four hours--their masters sought out sheltered spots for them and cut a few branches of brush for their beds. Some of the men cooked a supply of bannock to be eaten the following day. Others hung their moccasins, mittens, and leggings on little sticks before the fires to dry. It was an animated scene. The "long fires" were huge structures, twelve or fifteen feet in length, so that each man might bask in the heat without crowding his neighbour. A number stood with their back to the blaze while the rest sat or lounged on their blankets and, puffing away at their pipes, joined in the conversation that before long became general. Just then the dogs began to blow and then to growl, as a strange Indian strode out of the gloom into the brilliant glare of the fires. "_Wat-che_! _wat-che_?" (What cheer, what cheer?) sang out the men. The stranger replied in Cree, and then began a lively interchange of gossip. The Indian was the track-beater of the south-bound packet from the Far North that was now approaching. All were keenly interested. The cracking of whips and the howling of dogs were heard, and a little later the tinkling of bells. Then came a train of long-legged, handsomely harnessed dogs hauling a highly decorated carriole behind which trotted a strikingly dressed half-breed dog-driver. When the train had drawn abreast of our fire an elderly white man, who proved to be Chief Factor Thompson, of a still more northerly district of the Hudson's Bay Company, got out from beneath the carriole robes, cheerfully returned our greeting, and accepted a seat on the dunnage beside Factor Mackenzie's fire. Two other trains and two other dog-drivers immediately followed the arrival of the Chief Factor, for they were the packeteers in charge of the packet. Now the woods seemed to be full of talking and laughing men and snarling, snapping dogs. Twenty-two men were now crowding round the fires, and seventy-two dogs and eighteen sleds were blocking the spaces between the trees. NORTHERN MAIL SERVICE Chief Factor Thompson was the "real thing," and therefore not at all the kind of Hudson's Bay officer that one ever meets in fiction. For instead of being a big, burly, "red-blooded brute," of the "he-man" type of factor--the kind that springs from nowhere save the wild imaginations of the authors who have never lived in the wilderness . . . he was just a real man . . . just a fine type of Hudson's Bay factor, who was not only brother to both man and beast, but who knew every bird by its flight or song; who loved children with all his heart--flowers, too--and whose kindly spirit often rose in song. Yes, he was just a real man, like some of the men you know--but after all, perhaps he was even finer--for the wilderness does nothing to a man save make him healthier in body and in soul; while the cities are the world's cesspools. He was rather a small, slender man, with fatherly eyes set in an intelligent face that was framed with gray hair and gray beard. After the Chief Factor and his men had been refreshed with bannock, pork, and tea, pipes were filled and lighted and for a time we talked of all sorts of subjects. Later, when we were alone for a little while, I found Mr. Thompson a man richly informed on northern travel, for he had spent his whole life in the service of the Hudson's Bay Company, and at one time or another had been in charge of the principal posts on Hudson Bay, Great Slave Lake, and the Peace, the Churchill, the Athabasca, and the Mackenzie rivers. Among other subjects discussed were dogs and dog-driving; and when I questioned him as to the loading of sleds, he answered: "Usually, in extremely cold weather, the Company allots dogs not more than seventy-five pounds each, but in milder weather they can handily haul a hundred pounds, and toward spring, when sleds slide easily, they often manage more than that." Then dreamily puffing at his pipe he added: "I remember when six dog-trains of four dogs each hauled from Fort Chipewyan on Lake Athabasca to Fort Vermillion on the Peace River loads that averaged six hundred and fifty pounds per sled--not including the grub for the men and dogs and the men's dunnage. Then, again, William Irving with Chief Factor Camsell's dogs brought to Fort Simpson a load of nine hundred pounds. The greatest load hauled by four dogs that I know of was brought to Fort Good Hope by Gaudet. When it arrived it weighed a trifle over one thousand pounds. But Factor Gaudet is one of the best dog-drivers in the country." Then, re-settling himself more comfortably before the fire, he continued: "And while I think of it we have had some pretty fine dogs in the service of the Company. The most famous of all were certainly those belonging to my good friend Chief Factor Wm. Clark. He bred them from Scotch stag hounds and "huskies"--the latter, of course, he procured from the Eskimos. His dogs, however, showed more hound than husky. Their hair was so short that they had to be blanketed at night. Once they made a trip from Oak Point on Lake Manitoba to Winnipeg, starting at four o'clock in the morning, stopping for a second breakfast by the way, and reaching Winnipeg by one o'clock at noon, the distance being sixty miles. They were splendid dogs and great pets of his. They used to love playing tricks and romping with him. Frequently, when nearing a post, they would purposely dump him out of his carriole and leaving him behind, go on to the post, where, of course, on their arrival with the empty sled, they were promptly sent back for Mr. Clark. Understanding the command, they would at once wheel about and, without a driver, return on the full gallop to get their master. When coming upon him they would rush around and bark at him, showing all the while the greatest glee over the trick they had played him. He never used a whip upon them. No snowshoer could be found who was swift enough to break a trail for those dogs and no horse ever overtook them. Once, while going from Oak Point to Winnipeg, Factor Clark's train ran down six wolves, allowing him to shoot the brutes as he rode in his carriole. Another time they overhauled and threw a wolf which Mr. Clark afterward stunned, and then bound its jaws together. When the brute came to, it found itself harnessed in the train in place of one of the dogs, and thus Chief Factor Clark drove a wild timber-wolf into the city of Winnipeg." "They must have been wonderful dogs," remarked Father Jois, "but it's too bad they don't breed such dogs nowadays." "That's so," returned the Chief Factor. "Twenty or thirty years ago at each of the big posts--the district depots--they used to keep from forty to fifty dogs, and at the outposts, from twenty to thirty were always on hand. At each of the district depots a man was engaged as keeper of the dogs and it was his duty to attend to their breeding, training, and feeding." "Speaking of feeding, what do you consider the best food for dogs?" I asked. "By all means pemmican," replied the Chief Factor, "and give each dog a pound a day. The next best rations for dogs come in the following order: two pounds of dried fish, four pounds of fresh deer meat, two rabbits or two ptarmigan, one pound of flour or meal mixed with two ounces of tallow. That reminds me of the way the old half-breed dog-drivers used to do. In such districts as Pelly and Swan River, where fish and other food for dogs was scarce, we had frequently to feed both men and dogs on rations of flour. Some of the half-breeds would leave their ration of flour with their family, and count on eating the dog's ration while on the trip and letting the poor brutes go hungry, just because the dogs belonged to the Company. So we put a stop to that by mixing coal oil with the dog's rations and having them bated into cakes before the trip was begun. Such a mixture made the men sick when they tried to eat it, but the dogs didn't seem to mind it at all." "Then kerosene is not included in the regular rations the Company supplies for its trippers and voyageurs?" I ventured, laughingly. "Hardly, for in the Northland that would be rather an expensive condiment." The old gentleman smiled as he continued: "In outfitting our people for a voyage, we supply what is known as a full ration for a man, a half ration for a woman or a dog, and a quarter ration for a child. For instance, we give a man eight pounds of fresh deer meat per day while we give a woman or a dog only four pounds and a child two pounds. A man's ration of fish is four pounds per day, of pemmican two pounds, of flour or meal two pounds, of rabbits or ptarmigan four of each," said he, as he knocked the ashes from his pipe. I was afraid he was going to turn in, so I quickly asked: "Which is the longest of the Company's packet routes at the present day?" "That of the Mackenzie River packet from Edmonton to Fort Macpherson. In winter it is hauled two thousand and twelve miles by dog-train; and in summer it is carried by the Company's steamers on the Athabasca, the Slave, and the Mackenzie rivers. Next comes the Peace River packet from Edmonton to Hudson's Hope, a distance of over a thousand miles. In summer it goes by steamer, and in winter by dog-train. There's the York Factory packet from Winnipeg to Hudson Bay by way of Norway House, a distance of seven hundred miles. In winter it is hauled by dogs from Selkirk as far as Oxford House, and from there to York Factory by men with toboggans. In summer it is carried by canoe on Hay River and by steamboat on Lake Winnipeg. Then there's the Liard River packet and the Reindeer Lake packet. Each travels about five hundred miles by dogs in winter and by canoe in summer. The Moose Factory packet from Temiscamingue to James Bay goes by canoe in summer, but by men in winter. All mails in and out from Hudson Bay or James Bay to or from the next post in the interior, are hauled by men. Dogs are seldom used on those routes, on account of the depth of the snow and the scarcity of dog feed." [Illustration: "There's the York Factory packet from Hudson Bay to Winnipeg, a distance of seven hundred miles. In winter it is hauled by dogs between Selkirk and Or ford House, but between the latter post and York Factory it is hauled by men with toboggans. All mails in and out from Hudson Bay to or from the next post in the interior are hauled by men. Dogs are seldom used on those routes, on account of . . ." See Chapter V.] Though I well knew that packeteers did not carry firearms, I asked Chief Factor Thompson--just for the sake of getting the truth from him and giving it to the public: "How does the Hudson's Bay Company arm their packeteers?" "Arm them?" the Chief Factor laughed outright, "why, we always provide them with an axe." "Firearms, I mean." "Firearms! Why, they aren't allowed to carry firearms at all. It's against the rules and regulations of the Company. In the first place, packeteers are supplied with plenty of grub for the trip; in the next place, if they had a gun they might go hunting and fooling around with it instead of attending to their business; and, moreover, it doesn't matter whether the mail travels two hundred or two thousand miles, there is no occasion for packeteers to carry firearms, for there are no highwaymen and no animals in this country that would make an offensive attack upon them." And in truth, in all that wild brigade there were no fire-arms save Oo-koo-hoo's old muzzle-loader; but then The Owl was a hunter by profession, and he carried a gun only as a matter of business. Now for the last twenty-five years that is exactly what I have wanted to tell the public. When one reads a story, or sees a play or a moving picture, in which characters bristling with firearms are set forth as veritable representatives of life in the Canadian wilderness, he may rest assured that the work is nothing but a travesty on life in Canada. Any author, any illustrator, any playwright, any scenario writer, any actor or any director who depicts Canadian wilderness life in that way is either an ignoramus or a shameless humbug. And to add strength to my statement I shall quote the experience of a gentleman who was the first City Clerk, Treasurer, Assessor, and Tax Collector of Dawson City--Mr. E. Ward Smith: POLICE AND GUNMEN "The Mounted Police generally received word in advance when any particularly bad character was headed for the Yukon, and in all such cases he was met when he slipped off the boat. I remember particularly one case of the kind, as I happened to be on hand when the American gunman landed. He was a quiet enough looking individual and had no weapons of any kind in sight, but a close scrutiny revealed the fact that he had a particularly evil eye in his sandy-freckled face. One of the Mounties picked him out unerringly and tapped him on the shoulder. "'Gat Gardiner?' he asked. "'No,' said the newcomer. 'My name is Davidson.' "'I happen to know you as Gat Gardiner,' insisted the policeman. 'Got any weapons on you?' "'Leave go of me,' flared the so-called Davidson, all the veneer of civility gone. 'You got nothing on me. Let go, I say!' "'I've got something on you,' declared the policeman, hauling a revolver from the hip pocket of the man. 'Carrying concealed weapons is against the law on this side the line. Back on the boat, you, and don't you dare put foot ashore or I'll have you in jail. You go back the way you came.' "And Gardiner went. I saw him leaning over the rail when the boat started on the return trip and he shook his fist at the policeman on the wharf and emitted a string of vile oaths. But he never came back. "When the notorious 'Soapy' Smith was killed at Skagway, Alaska, his gang of desperadoes was promptly broken up and word came to Dawson that some of them were headed for the Canadian side. They were gathered in as soon as they crossed the line, denuded of weapons, and sent back. Not one of the gang eluded the vigilance of the police. "The law against carrying concealed weapons was a big factor in keeping the peace. Comparatively few men took advantage of their legal right to carry a revolver in sight. I remember seeing an open box in a pawnshop containing the most amazing collection of weapons I had ever set eyes on--revolvers with silver handles, pistols of carved ivory, antiquated breech-loaders, weapons of fantastic design, and, probably, of equally fantastic history, strange implements of death that had come from all climes and bespoke adventures on all the seven seas. "'Where did you get the lot?' I asked the proprietor. "'They all sell their shooting irons. No use for them here. I get 'em for practically nothing. Help yourself if you have any fancy that way. I'll make you a present of anything you want.' "So much for the wild Yukon of the novelists! Instead of lurching into the dance hall and blazing away at the ceiling, picture the 'old-timer', the hardened miner of a hundred camps, planking down his pistols on the counter of the pawnshop and asking 'How much?' That's the truer picture." As part of my boyhood education was derived from the study of American illustrated magazines, I was led by those periodicals to believe that the North American wilderness was inhabited by wild and woolly men bedecked with firearms, and ever since I have been on the lookout for just such characters. Now while I cannot speak for the Western States, I can at least speak for Canada; and I must now admit that, during my thirty-three years of contact with wilderness life, on one occasion--but on one only--I found that there was justification for describing the men of the northern wilderness as carrying firearms for protection. But does not the one exception prove the rule? It happened near Stewart, on the borderline of Alaska, several years ago. I encountered a prospector who wanted to cross Portland Canal from Alaska to Canada, and as I was rowing over, I offered to take him across. When, however, he turned to pick up his pack I caught sight of something that fairly made me burst out laughing; for it was as funny a sight as though I had witnessed it on Piccadilly or Broadway. At first I thought he was a movie actor who, in some unaccountable way, had strayed from Los Angeles and become lost in the northern wilderness before he had had time to remove his ridiculous "make-up"; but a moment later he proved beyond doubt that he was not an actor, for he blushed scarlet when he observed that I was focussing a regular Mutt-and-Jeff dotted-line stare at a revolver that hung from his belt, and he faltered: "But . . . Why the mirth?" "Well, old man," I laughed again, "for over twenty-five years I have been roaming the Canadian wilderness from the borderline of Maine right up here to Alaska, and in all that time--with the exception of the Constables of the North-West Mounted Police--you are the first man, woman, or child, I have seen carrying a revolver. And I swear, old dear, that that's the truth. So now, do you wonder that I laugh?" RECORD TRAVELLING But to return to the Hudson's Bay Company's packet system, I asked Chief Factor Thompson: "Which is the more important, the summer or the winter mail?" "Oh, the winter; for, when inward bound, it bears the Commissioner's instructions to the district chief factors; and, when outward bound, it contains information regarding the results and the progress of the fur-trade, and orders for additional supplies." "How many miles a day do the packeteers average on their winter trips?" "Well," replied the Chief Factor, "I think the rate of speed maintained by our packeteers is remarkable; especially when one considers the roughness of the country, the hardships of winter travel, the fact that the men must make their bread, cook their meals, care for their dogs, and, when on the trail, cannot even quench their thirst without halting to build a fire and melt snow. Yet the packeteers of the Mackenzie River mail cover their two thousand miles on snowshoes at an average rate of twenty-seven and a half miles a day, including all stoppages." "That is certainly splendid travelling. Some of the packeteers, I should judge, have made great records; haven't they?" "Yes, that's true," acknowledged the trader, "the packeteers do make great efforts to break records between posts. But, though they may have succeeded in cutting down the time, their achievement is never mentioned on the way-bill, nor does it affect the time allowed for the completion of the trip; for, though the mail be brought in ahead of time, it is never handed over to the relay until the appointed hour has struck. Otherwise, the whole system would be thrown out of gear. Exceptionally fast runs are not shown upon the way-bills, because they would eventually affect the average time allowed for the trip; and in stormy weather that would be hard upon the packeteers. The time allowed for the transmission of a packet is calculated on a ten-years' average. No excuse for delay, except death, is tolerated. At each post on certain fixed dates relays of men and dogs are kept in readiness to forward the mail without delay. A through way-bill accompanies every packet from point of departure to point of delivery. At each post along the route the time of arrival and the time of departure of the mail must be entered upon the way-bill, as well as the names of the packeteers and of the officers in charge." "I understand that packets contain not only the despatches of the Company, but the private mail of the employees, that of missionaries of all denominations, that of chance 'explorers' or travellers, and even that of opposition fur-traders. Is that a fact?" "Yes, sir, and moreover, no charge is made by the Company." "Do the Company's officers experience much trouble in procuring men to act as packeteers?" "Oh, no; none whatever. As a rule, when men enter the Company's service, they stipulate that they shall be given a place on the packet; for that affords them an opportunity to pay a visit to the next post, and to join in the dance which is always held on the arrival of the mail. Trippers consider themselves greatly honoured on being given charge of a packet; for it means that they are held to be trustworthy, and thoroughly familiar with the topography of the district." "Before the advent of the railroad and the steamboat, which was the longest of the Company's packet routes?" "By all odds that of the Yukon packet. It made the journey from Montreal to Fort Yukon, which was then situated at the junction of the Porcupine and Yukon rivers. It was routed by way of the Ottawa River, Lake Huron, Lake Superior, Lake of the Woods, Lake Winnipeg, the Athabasca River, the Slave River, and the Mackenzie River. It was forwarded in summer by canoe, in winter by dog-train, for the enormous distance of four thousand five hundred miles. And let me tell you, it is to-day, as it was two hundred years ago, the pride of the Company's people that not one packet was ever lost beyond recovery. Packeteers have been drowned, frozen, burned, shot, smothered, and even eaten; but the packet has always reached its destination somehow." BEAR HOLDS UP MAIL A sudden burst of laughter from the men at a neighbouring fire attracted the attention of Chief Factor Thompson, and glancing over, he remarked to me: "Telling yarns, eh! Let's go over and listen." Twelve or fifteen men were crowded round that fire--including Factor Mackenzie, the Rev. Mr. Wilson, Father Jois, and Oo-koo-hoo--and they were now coaxing "Old Billy Brass" to tell the next story. He was a wiry little white man of about sixty who had seen much service in the Hudson's Bay Company. He hesitated. They clamoured again, and he began: "But talkin' 'bout bears reminds me of a little affair I once had on the Peace River," said the old man, glancing slyly from the corner of his eye to see what effect his statement made upon his campfire companions. Billy was sitting cross-legged upon his caribou robe; and, as he turned the browning bannocks before the fire, he continued: "Well, as I was sayin', me an' Old-pot-head's son once had a go with a great big black bear away up on the Peace River. But, don't you forget it, Billy Brass didn't lose the packet." "Come, Billy, tell us all about it," coaxed the Chief Factor, well knowing that if he were once started there would be on his part little need of urging in order to extract from the old tripper all he knew, or could invent to suit the occasion. "Well, gentlemen, if you ain't too sleepy, an' if some o' you boys'll watch the bannock, I don't mind tellin'," replied Billy as he leaned toward the fire, picked up a red-hot coal, and palmed it into his pipe. "But I can't give a funny bear story, the same as you've been tellin', because all my experiences with bears have been mighty serious. However, I'll try and tell you 'bout me an Old-pot-head's son; an' to my mind it's the most serious of 'em all. "As I was sayin', we was in charge of the Peace River packet; an' if it hadn't been for the charm Father La Mille blessed for me at Fort Good Hope, I don't know 's I'd be here to tell about it. "Anyway, me an' Old-pot-head's son was carryin' the packet and headin' for Hudson's Hope. It was the fall packet, an'--as winter was just about due--we was hustlin' 'long for all we was worth, an' jabbin' holes in the river with our paddles as fast as we could, in fear o' the freeze up. "As bad lack would have it, that very night the ice overtook us, an' we had to leave the canoe ashore an' finish the voyage afoot. Lucky for us, we was only about three-days' travel from the Fort, so we leaves our axe an' whatever we don't particular need with the canoe. "Mile after mile we walks along the river bank; an' as we don't have no extra moccasins, our bare skin was soon upon the sand. What with havin' our duds torn by bushes, an' our fallin' in the mud once or twice, and several times a-wadin' creeks, we was a pretty sight when we stops to camp that night. When the sun went down, we was so tired that we just stopped dead in our tracks. We had been packin' our blankets, our grub, an' cookin' gear to say nothin' o' the packet; so, of course, we didn't give much thought to the campin' ground. But after supper I looks round an' sees that we'd made our fire down in a little hollow, an' that the place was bare o' trees 'ception three that stood in a row 'bout four lengths of a three-fathom canoe from our fire. The middle one was a birch with a long bare trunk, an' on each side stood a pine. Now, I want you gentlemen to pay perticler 'tention to just how they stood; for them three trees is goin' to do a mighty lot o' figgerin' in this here story. "As I was sayin', there was two pines with a birch in between, an' all standin' in a row, with the upper branches o' pines runnin' square in among the branches o' the birch. 'Bout half ways between the birch and the east pine, but a trifle off the line, was a pool o' water. Before I turns in for the night, I takes the packet an' sticks it on the end of a long pole, an' shoves it up against the birch tree, for fear o' the fire spreadin' an' burnin' up the mail. "Me an' Old-pot-head's son turns in an' sleeps as sound as any trippers could. Some time in the night I wakes up with a mighty start that almost busts me heart. Somethin' was maulin' me. So, with me head still under the blanket, for I dassn't peep out, I sings out to the Injun an' asks him what in creation he's kickin' me for; an' if he couldn't wake me without killin' me. Old-pot-head's son yells back that he hasn't touched me. Then you bet I was scared; for the thing hauls off agen an' gives me a clout that knocks the wind plum' out o' me. "Just then I heard Old-pot-head's son shout, 'Keep still, Bill, it's a big black bear.' I grabs the edges o' me blanket an' pulls 'em in under me so hard I thinks I've bust it. But the bear keeps on maulin' me, an' givin' me such hard swats that I began to fear it'd cave in me ribs." "But, Billy, why didn't you shoot it?" asked the Reverend Mr. Wilson. "Shoot? Why, your reverence, don't you know, packeteers never carries a gun?" the old man exclaimed with disgust, and then continued his story: "Not content with that, the brute starts to roll me over an' over. An' all the time I'm doin' me best to play dead. Now you needn't laff. I'd like to see any o' youse pretendin' you was dead while a big bear was poundin' you that hard that you begin to believe you ain't shammin'. An' when that ugly brute hauls off an' hits me agen, I decides then an' there that there's no occasion to sham it. But just as soon as I makes up my mind I'm dead, the bear leaves me; an' when I can no longer hear him breathin', I peeps out of a tiny little hole, and sees the big brute maulin' me old friend the Injun. Then I takes another peep roun', an' don't see no escape 'cept by way o' them three trees, so I just jumps up, an' lights out like greased lightnin' for the nearest tree. After me comes the bear gallopin'. I guess that was the quickest runnin' I ever done in all me life. I just managed to climb into the lower branches o' the west pine as the bear struck the trunk below me. "When I stops for breath in the upper branches, I sees the old bear canterin' back agen to have another go with me pardner. "Just as soon as I was safe, the whole performance struck me as bein' pretty funny, an' I couldn't help roarin' out and a-laffin' when I saw the beast maulin' Old-pot-head's son, an' him tryin' for all he was worth to play dead. "Thinks I, I'll make me old friend laff. So I starts in to guy him, an' he begins to snicker, an' that makes the bear mad, an' he begins to roll the Injun. Then, you bet, I couldn't make him laff no more; for, what with shammin' dead, an' bein' frightened to death into the bargain, I don't think there was much laff left in him. "You know how bears will act when they sometimes comes across a handy log? Well, that's just what the beast was doin' with Old-pot-head's son--it was rollin' him over an' over. The very next second it rolls his feet into the fire. Down the tree I slid, like snow down a mountain, an' stood at the foot of it an' pelted the bear with stones. The Injun's blanket began to smoke. It was no laffin' matter, for I knowed if I didn't drive the brute off in a jiffy Old-pot-head's son would be a comin' out of his trance mighty sudden an' that meant a catch-as-catch-can with a great, big, crazy black bear. "As good luck would have it, the next time I threw a stone, it landed on the tip of the bear's snout, an' with a snarl he comes for me. I waits as long as I dares, then up the tree I skips, with the brute follerin' me. About half ways up I thinks I hears a human bein' laffin' in the east pine. So I looks over, an' sure enuff, I sees me old pardner settin' on a limb an' fairly roarin'. All the same, I was feelin' mighty squeemish, for the bear was comin' up lickety splinter after me. "Just then I spies a good stout branch that reaches out close against a big limb of the birch, an' I crawls over. As the bear follers me, I slides down the trunk o' the birch, an' lights out for the east pine where me pardner was doin' the laffin'. On its way down the bear rammed itself right smack against the mail-bag; and when the beast struck ground, it smelt the man smell on the packet, an' began to gnaw it. "Now me an' Old-pot-head's son knowed well enuff we had to save the mail-sack, so I slips down the east pine a ways, an' breaks off dead branches, an' pelts them at the bear while the Injun crosses over into the top o' the west pine. Then we both at once slides down as low as we dares, an' I begins to lamm the brute with a shower o' sticks. Up the tree it comes for me, while me pardner slips down, grabs the mail-sack, an' sails up the west pine again. "That was a mighty clever move, thinks I, but a bag is an orkad thing to portage when you're meanderin' up an' down a tree with a bear after you. But the tump-line was on it, just as we carried it the day before, so it wasn't as bad as it might 'a' been. "Well, when I went up the east pine, the bear follered, an', as there wasn't any too much room between me an' the bear, I crosses over into the birch an' slides down its slippery trunk as tho' it was greased. I hits the ground a little harder than I wanted to, but didn't waste no time in lightin' out for the west pine, where the Injun was restin'; an' all the time the bear was tryin' to grab me coat-tails. "It was just a case of up to the west pine, cross over and down the birch; then up the east pine, cross over an' down the birch; then up the west pine, cross over an' down the birch, till we got so dizzy we could a hardly keep from fallin'. If you could just 'a' seen the way we tore roun' through them trees, I'll bet you would 'a' done a heap o' laffin'. "The bear was mighty spry in goin' up, but when it came to goin' down he'd just do the drop-an'-clutch, drop-an'-clutch act. That's just where me an' me pardner had the advantage on the brute; for we just swung our arms an' legs roun' that birch an' did the drop act, too; but, somehow, we hadn't time to do the clutch, so our coat-tails got badly crushed every time we landed. "It was a kind of go-as-you-please until about the tenth roun', when I accidentally drops the mail-bag on the bear's head, an' that makes him boilin' mad; so he lights out after us as tho' he had swallered a hornet's nest. "Then away we goes up an' down, up an' down, an' roun' an' roun' that perpendicular race track, until we made such a blur in the scen'ry that any fool with half an eye an' standin' half a mile away could 'a' seen a great big figger eight layin' on its side in the middle o' the landscape. We took turns at carryin' the packet, but sometimes I noticed Old-pot-head's son was havin' a good deal of trouble with it. It didn't seem to bother him much when he was climbin' up; for he just swung it on his back with the loop o' the tump-line over his head, an' so he had his hands free. But it was when he was comin' down the slippery birch that the weight of the bag made him rather more rapid than he wanted to be; an' so, when he an' the bag struck groun', they nearly always bounced apart; an' if the Injun failed to get his feet in time to ketch the sack on the first bounce, I ketched it on the second bounce as I glode by. So between the two of us we managed to hang on to the packet. "By-an'-by, we was gettin' terribly tuckered out. It was a good thing for us that the bear was gettin' winded an' dizzy as well; because, at about the sixty-seventh roun', the brute had no sooner gone down the birch than he bounded up agen just when Old-pot-head's son was a-climbin' thro' the upper branches o' the birch. So he slips over into the top o' the east pine, while I stays in the top o' the west pine, an' the bear sits down in a upper crotch o' the birch. "Well, we puts in a good many heats of anywhere from twenty-five to seventy-five laps roun' that track by the time daylight comes, an' sunrise finds us all ketching our wind in the upper branches. I noticed that whenever the brute wanted to stop the whirligig it always climbed up the birch just in time to separate me an' me pardner; an' there we would sit, me in the west pine, me pardner in the east pine, an' the black brute right in between. "About breakfast time me an' the Injun was feelin' mighty hungry. There we sat cussin' our luck an' castin' longin' glances down at the grub bag. By the time I'd caught me wind a great idea strikes me. Durin' the next heat I would rush out. So I sings out my intentions to me pardner; an' he says he thinks we can do it. So while he was carryin' Her Majesty's mail I was to try an' grab the grub bag. "We got ready, an' dropped down them pines so fast that we both hits groun' before the bear knows what's doin'. Then I leaves that tree like as if all the animals in the woods was after me. I got on so much speed that by the time I grabs the grub bag I was goin' so fast that I couldn't turn roun' without slackin' down. That's where I loses a terrible amount o' time, an' I was beginnin' to think it was all up with me. By the time I got headed roun' agen for the tree, I sees that the bear is comin' down with his back to me. When he hits groun' he sees the Injun dancin' roun' the foot o' the west pine; so he makes for the redskin, an' chases him up while I climbs the east pine. "Then we all went roun' an' roun' for maybe fifty laps, an' the way we wore the bark off them trees an' trod down the grass between 'em was a caution. By-an'-by the bear gets so dizzy that he bucks up the birch agen, an' sure enuff that stops the performance. "I didn't need any breakfast bell to remind me to open the grub bag. I just reaches in an' pulls out some busted bannock an' throws a chunk over to Old-pot-head's son, an' without even sayin' grace, we starts in. Every little while I'd toss another chunk of bread over to me pardner an' just out o' sheer spite I'd chuck it so that it would go sailin' thro' the air right in front o' the bear's snout. That makes him mad. So he tried to catch the stuff as it flies by; but I just puts on a little more curve, an' that makes him madder still, an' he ups an' comes for me. "Then we all knocks off breakfast an' goes for another canter. But it don't do no good, 'ceptin' that we all gets puffed out agen. After a bit, the bear stops to ketch his breath, an' then me an' me pardner goes on with our breakfast. "With the bear exercisin' us the way he did, we had to take our breakfast in a good many courses. That makes it so long drawn out that we gets mighty thirsty. The Injun asks me if the cups is in the grub bag. I puts me han' in an' feels, but they ain't there. Then I remembers that we left them down by the fire. We didn't either of us care to risk snakin' a cup, so I tells me pardner that the next time we goes roun' we'd best try an' grab a handful o' water. We didn't have long to wait, for the bear soon gets another move on; an' then away we all goes sailin' roun' agen. Every time me an' the Injun canters past the pool, we just makes a sudden dip an' grabs up a handful o' water an' throws it in. "It took so much exercise to get so little water that I thought I'd die of thirst while I was tryin' to drink me fill. When the bear caught on to what we was doin', it just made him madder an' madder; an' he lights out after us at such a breathless clip that we had to fairly gallop up them pines, an' slide down the birch faster than ever. It wasn't long before nearly every button was wore off, an' our clothes was so ripped up an' torn down that I'd blush every time I'd ketch the bear lookin' at me. An' every time we ran 'long the groun' from one tree to another, me an' me pardner had to use both hands on our garments in order to keep up our--er--respectability. However, the bear didn't have the laff on us altogether, for he had gone up an' down them trees so often an' so fast that he had worn all the hair off his stomach. "After a while we all gets tuckered out agen; an' while we rests in the trees me an' me pardner talks about the weather, lettin' on that there ain't no bear anywheres nigh. So the time passed. As we didn't recollect just how much grub we had at the start, or how much water there was in the pool first off, we couldn't for the life of us reckon just how long we'd been there. Neither me nor Old-pot-head's son would care to take our oaths whether we'd been there a night an' half a day, or half a dozen nights an' days; the night time an' the day time was so mixed up together that we hadn't time to separate 'em. We were sure, tho', that our grub was givin' out, the water was dryin' up, an' death was gettin' good an' ready for us. "We was in such a terrible tight place that I begins to think o' takin' off me shirt an' flyin' it from the top o' the tallest pine as a signal o' distress; for we was worse off than if we'd been shipwrecked. Talk about bein' cast adrift on a raft! Why, it wasn't in it with bein' fixed the way we was. We just stayed in one spot with no chance of ever driftin' to'rds help. As long as the bear kept tab on us there wasn't no sign of our ever gettin' a wink o' sleep. And more, besides starvin' to death, we had to face bein' frozen; for our clothes was all wore off, an' winter was comin' on mighty fast. "At last, when me an' Old-pot-head's son had about given up hope, an' was just pickin' out which would be the easiest death, what should we see but somethin' bobbin' in an' out among the bushes. Say, it was another bear! When it comes a little closer, we makes out it was a little lady bear. No sooner does our old stern-chaser spy her than he slides down to the groun', an' risin' up on his hind legs, throws out his chest, an' cocks his eye at her, for all the world like a man when he sees a pretty girl comin' his way. But when her dainty little ladyship ketches sight of his bald-headed stomach, she just tosses up her nose with disgust, an' wheels roun' an' makes for the tall timbers with our affectionate friend limpin' the best he can after her. "An' that's the last we sees o' the bear that tried to hold up the Company's packet." After the laughter had died down, Chief Factor Thompson yawned: "Well, gentlemen, it's getting on. I must be turning in or my men will be late in getting under way in the morning." GOD AND THE WILD MEN Drowsiness had indeed overtaken the camp. But now I must digress a moment to tell you something that the public--at least the public that has derived its knowledge of northern wilderness life from fiction--may find it hard to believe. And this is what I want to say: that every one in that whole brigade of wild men of the wilderness, from the lowest dog-driver right up to the Chief Factor--when each had fixed his bed in readiness for the night--knelt down, and with bowed head, said his evening prayer to The Master of Life. Moreover, the fact that two clergymen were present had nothing whatever to do with it, for the "barbarians" of the forest would have done just the same had no priest been there--just as I have seen them do scores and scores of times. In fact, in some sections of the forest the native wilderness man--red, white, or half-breed--who does not, is not the rule, but the exception. Then, too--unless one's ears are closed to such sounds--one may occasionally hear the voyageurs of the "North canoe" and the "York boat" brigades, while straining on the tracking line, singing, among other hymns: Onward, Christian soldiers, Marching as to war, With the Cross of Jesus, Going on before. And, furthermore, I wonder if the fiction-reading public will believe that the majority of the men in the fur brigades always partake of the holy sacrament before departing upon their voyages? Nevertheless, it is the truth--though of course truth does not agree with the orgies of gun-play that spring from the weird imaginations of the stay-at-home authors, who, in their wild fancy, people the wilderness with characters from the putrescence of civilization. It is time these authors were enlightened, for a man, native to the wilderness, is a better man . . . more honest, more chivalrous, more generous, and--at heart, though he talks less about it--more God-respecting . . . than the man born in the city. That is something the public should never forget; for if the public remembers that, then the authors of wilderness stories will soon have to change their discordant tune. Yes, it is true, every one of those wild men said his evening prayer and then, with his blanket wrapped about him, lay down upon his thick, springy mattress of fir-brush, with his feet toward the fire, and slumbered as only a decent, hard-working man can. Out among the dancing shadows that flitted among the snow-mantled bushes and heavily laden trees a hundred and fifty eyes glared in the brooding darkness--as though all the wolves in the forest were gathering there. Later, when the sound of heavy breathing was heard round the fires, a fierce, wolfish-looking dog, bolder than the rest, left its snowy bed to hunt for more sheltered quarters. There was a whine, a snarl, then the sound of clashing teeth. In a moment every dog leaped up with bristling hair. Instantly bedlam reigned. Over seventy dogs waged the wildest kind of war and the distant woods reechoed the horrible din. A dozen blanketed mounds rose up, and many long lashes whistled through the air. The seething mass broke away and flew howling and yelping into outer darkness followed by a roar of curses--but only in civilized tongues. Presently all was still again. The men lay down, and the dogs, one by one, came slinking back to their resting places. But in a couple of hours one of the half-frozen brutes silently rose up, cautiously stepped among the sleeping men, and lay couched close to a smouldering fire. Another followed and then another until most of the dogs had left their beds. Growing bolder, a couple of the beasts fought for a warmer spot. In their tussle they sprawled over one of the men, but a few lusty blows from a handy frying-pan restored calm. As the night wore on some of the dogs, not contented with sleeping beside the men, curled up on top of their unconscious masters. Then for hours nothing but the heavy breathing and snoring in camp and the howling of distant wolves was heard. Slumber had at last overtaken the wild men of the wilderness--who always made it a rule to kneel down every night, and ask God to bless their little children at home. Now, though time still sped on, silence possessed the forest--until: "Hurrah, _mes bons hommes_! _Levey, levey, levey_! Up, up up, up, up!" ending in a shrill yell from the guide startled the drowsy crew. It was three o'clock in the morning. Had it not been for the brilliancy of the Northern Lights all would have been in darkness. An obscure form bent over an ash-bed and fumbled something. A tiny blaze appeared and rapidly grew until the surrounding forest was aflare. Over the fires frying-pans sizzled, while tea-pails heaped with snow began to steam. A hurried breakfast followed. The sleds were packed. The dogs, still curled up in the snow, pretended to be asleep. "Caesar! Tigre! Cabri! Whiskey! Tête Noire! Pilot! Michinass! Coffee! Bull! Brandie! Caribou!" shouted the men. A few of the dogs answered to their names and came to harness while some holding back were tugged forward by the scruff of the neck. Others were still in hiding. The men searched among the mounds and bushes. Every now and then the crack of a whip and the yelp of a dog announced the finding of a truant. Two trackers on large snowshoes had already gone ahead to break the trail. It was easy to follow their tracks though the woods were still in darkness and remained so for several hours. At dawn Oo-koo-hoo and our little outfit parted company with the Dog Brigade. Already the packet was many miles ahead. As I turned on my western way, I thought of the work of these postmen of the wilderness, of the hardships they endured, and the perils they braved; and the Chief Factor's assertion that no packet had ever been lost beyond recovery, recalled to mind other stories that were worth remembering: For instance, a canoe express was descending the Mackenzie River; the canoe was smashed in an ice jam, and the packeteers were drowned. A few weeks later passing Indians caught sight of a stick bobbing in the surface of the stream. Though the water was deep and the current was running at the rate of three miles an hour, the stick remained in the same place. So the Indians paddled over to investigate. They found that to the floating stick was fastened a long thong, which on being pulled up brought the missing packet to light. Again, while making camp near the Athabasca River, the packeteers had slung the packet in a tree, the usual place for it while in camp. During the night their fire spread and burned up the whole equipment except the tree, which, being green, received little more than a scorching. The packet was unharmed. On Great Slave Lake during a fierce snowstorm the packeteers became separated from their dogs, and were frozen to death. But the packet was recovered. In one autumn two packeteers journeying from George's River Post to Ungava Post drew up their canoe on a sandy beach, and camped beneath a high, overhanging bank. During the night the bank gave way and buried them as they slept. When the ice formed, the trader at Ungava sent out two men to search for the missing packet. They found the canoe on the beach; and from the appearance of the bank, conjectured what had happened. Next spring the landslide was dug into, and the packeteers were found both lying under the same blanket, their heads resting upon the packet. VI WILD ANIMALS AND MEN WOLVERINE AND HUNTER One evening, while sitting before the fire in Oo-koo-hoo's lodge, we heard sounds that told us that Amik had returned, and presently he entered the tepee, full of wrath over the havoc a wolverine had wrought along his trapping path. The pelts of more dead game had been ruined; deadfalls had been broken; and even some of his steel traps had been carried away. There and then Oo-koo-hoo decided that he would drop all other work and hunt the marauder. For its size--being about three feet in length and from twelve to eighteen inches high--the wolverine is an amazingly powerful creature. In appearance it somewhat resembles a small brown bear. Though it is not a fast traveller its home range may cover anywhere from five to fifty miles. It feeds upon all sorts of small game, and has been known to kill even deer. It mates about the end of March, dens in any convenient earthen hole or rocky crevice or cave that may afford suitable shelter; and it makes its bed of dry leaves, grass, or moss. The young, which number from three to five, are born in June. Whenever necessary, the mother strives desperately to protect her young, and is so formidable a fighter that even though the hunter may be armed with a gun, he runs considerable risk of being injured by the brute. It has been known to take possession of the carcass even of a caribou and to stand off the hunter who had just shot it. Also, it has been known to drive a wolf, and even a bear, away from their quarry. The superstitious Indian not only believes that the wolverine is possessed of the devil--for it is the most destructive animal in the northern world--but he considers it also to be endowed with great intelligence. The wily Indian, however, knowing the animal's habit of trying to destroy what it cannot carry away, takes advantage of that very fact and hunts it accordingly. All that has been said in relation to trapping the fox applies also to _le Carcajou_--_i.e._, the wolverine--save that the trap chain should be doubled, and everything else made stronger and heavier in proportion to the wolverine's greater size and strength. That evening Oo-koo-hoo talked much of wolverines. "My son, no other animal surpasses it in devilish cunning. For it is not content to merely spring a trap, but it will carry it away--more often for a short distance, but sometimes for miles--and hide or bury it. Later on the wolverine may visit it again, carry it still farther away and bury it once more. The wolverine has good teeth for cutting wood, and will sometimes free a trap from its clog by gnawing the pole in two. My son, I have even known a wolverine go to the trouble of digging a hole in which to bury a trap of mine; but just in order to fool me, the beast has filled up the hole again, carried the trap to another place, and there finally buried it. But as a good hunter is very observant, he is seldom fooled that way, for the wolverine, having very short legs, has difficulty in keeping both the chain and the trap from leaving tell-tale marks in the snow. "Yes, my son, the wolverine is a very knowing brute, and if he thinks he may be trailed, he will sometimes--without the slightest sign of premeditation--jump sideways over a bush, a log, or a rock, in order to begin, out of sight of any trailer, a new trail; or he may make a great spring to gain a tree, and ascend it without even leaving the evidence of freshly fallen bark. Then, too, he may climb from tree to tree, by way of the interlocking branches, for a distance of a hundred paces or more, all the while carrying the trap with him. Then, descending to the ground, he may travel for a considerable distance before eventually burying the trap. I have known him even leave a trap in a tree, but in that case it was not done from design, for signs proved that the chain had been caught upon a branch." "How many wolverines," I asked, "do you suppose are causing all the trouble on your and Amik's trapping paths?" "Only one, my son, for even one wolverine can destroy traps and game for twenty or thirty miles around; and the reason the brute is so persistent in following a hunter's fur path is that it usually affords the wolverine an abundance of food. Then, when the hunter finds the brute is bent on steady mischief, it is time for him to turn from all other work and hunt the thief. If at first steel traps fail, he may build special deadfalls, often only as decoys round which to set, unseen, more steel traps in wait for the marauder. "If a hunter still fails, he may sit up all night in wait for the robber, knowing that the more stormy the night, the better his chance of shooting the brute. Sometimes, too, I have found a wolverine so hard to catch that I have resorted to setting traps in the ashes of my dead fires, or beneath the brush I have used for my bed, while camping upon my trapping path." Then he added with a twinkle about his eye and a shake of his finger: "But, my son, I have another way and I am going to try it before the moon grows much older." I asked him to explain, but he only laughed knowingly, so I turned the subject by asking: "Does an animal ever eat the bait after it is caught?" "No, my son, no animal ever does that, not even if it be starving, but it may eat snow to quench its thirst. Animals, however, do not often starve to death when caught in traps, but if the weather be very severe, they may freeze in a single night. If, however, the beast is still alive when the hunter arrives, the prisoner will in most cases feign death in the hope of getting free. That is true of most animals, and, furthermore, it will feign death even when other animals approach; but then, more often, its purpose is to secure the advantage of making a sudden or surprise attack." An Indian named Larzie, who was engaged to hunt meat for the priests at Fort Resolution, once came upon a wolverine in one of his traps that had done that very thing and won the battle, too. The snow, the trap, and the carcass of a wolf, silently told Larzie every detail of the fight. The wolverine, having been caught by the left hind leg, had attempted by many means to escape, even trying to remove the nuts from the steel trap with its teeth, as well as trying to break the steel chain, and gnaw in two the wooden clog to which the trap was fastened. But before accomplishing this, the wolverine had spied a pack of five wolves approaching. In an effort to save its life the wolverine worked itself down low in the snow and there lay, feigning death. The cautious wolves, on sighting the wolverine, began circling about, each time drawing a little nearer. Still suspicious, they sat down to watch the wolverine for a while. Then they circled again, sat down once more, and perhaps did a little howling, too. Then they circled again, each time coming closer, until at last, feeling quite sure the wolverine was dead, one of the wolves, in a careless way, ventured too near. No doubt it was then that the wolverine, peeping through his almost closed eyelids, had seen his chance--that the nearest wolf was now not only within reach, but off guard, too--for the snow gave evidence of a sudden spring. The wolverine had landed upon the back of the wolf, clung on with his powerful forelegs, and not only ripped away at the wolf's belly with the long, sharp claws of his free hind foot, but with his terrible jaws had seized the wolf by the neck and chewed away at the spinal cord. Then, no doubt, the other wolves, seeing their comrade overpowered and done to death, had turned away and left the scene of battle. Later, Larzie had arrived, and after killing the wolverine and skinning both the conqueror and the conquered, had lighted his pipe and leisurely read every detail of the story in that morning's issue of the forest publication called _The Snow_. Next morning, when I turned out before breakfast, I found that Oo-koo-hoo had left camp before daylight; and half the afternoon passed before he returned. That evening he explained that during the previous night, the thought of the wolverine having haunted him and spoilt his rest, he had decided on a certain plan, risen before dawn, and started upon the trail. Now he was full of the subject, and without my asking, described what he had done. Securing a number of fish hooks--trout size--he had wired them together, enclosed them in the centre of a ball of grease which he had placed inside an old canvas bag, and fastened there with the aid of wires attached to the hooks. Then, carrying the bag to where he found fairly fresh wolverine signs, he had dropped it upon the trail as though it had accidentally fallen there. The wolverine, he explained, would probably at first attempt to carry away the bag, but on scenting the grease it would paw the bag about; then, upon discovering the opening, it would thrust its head inside, seize the ball of grease in its mouth, and start to pull it out. "If that should happen," commented Oo-koo-hoo, "the wolverine would never leave that spot alive; it would just lie there and wait for me to come and knock it on the head." But now at last--as later events proved--Oo-koo-hoo, the great hunter, had encountered his match. Now it was no longer an unequal contest, for now two could play at cunning--especially when both were masters at the game. Three times The Owl visited his latest wolverine trap, only to learn that twice the brute had inspected it and spurned it, for its tracks proved that caution had kept the animal more than five feet away. Later, as the winter wore on, the subject of wolverines was rarely mentioned as it did not add to the cheerfulness of Oo-koo-hoo's otherwise happy mood. THE BEST FOOT-GEAR About a week later, with a few days' outfit loaded upon our sled, Oo-koo-hoo and I were heading first for the Moose Hills where we were to hunt moose, and if successful, to cache the meat where Granny and the boys could find it; then continuing farther north we were to call upon The Owl's sister to deliver her a present from the children of Oo-koo-hoo. In the meantime, Amik had gone upon one of his trapping paths, and the boys were off to a swampy region to examine deadfalls set for mink and fisher. The boys had taken the dogs with them. It was a fine, cold, sunny morning when Oo-koo-hoo and I set out upon our hunt, and with every breath we seemed to be drinking aerial champagne that made us fairly tingle with the joy of living--for such is the northern air in winter time. As we snowshoed along I felt thankful for the excellent socks with which the old hunter had provided me. On the last hunt my snowshoe thongs had blistered my feet, but now, thanks to Oo-koo-hoo, I was shod with the most perfect footgear for winter travel I have ever known--a natural sock that was both blister- and cold-proof. I had never heard of it before, but The Owl assured me that it had been long in fashion among the Indians. On each foot I was now wearing next my bare skin a rabbit pelt--minus legs and ears--put on, hair side out, while the skin was still green and damp, and then allowed to dry and shape itself to the foot. Over the rabbit pelts I wore my regular woollen socks, duffel neaps, and caribou-skin mitten moccasins. The pelts had been removed from the rabbits by simply cutting them between the hind legs, and then peeling them off inside out. With the inside of the skin next the foot blisters never form, nor does the hair wear off and ball up under the foot in such a way that it may hurt the wearer. Though the rabbit pelt is very tender and tears easily, it can be worn for five or six days of hard travel. For warmth and comfort it is unexcelled. Early that afternoon we came upon many lynx tracks, evidently there had been a "pass of lynxes" as the hunters call it, for lynxes have a way of gathering in bands of about four to eight and passing through the forest. Oo-koo-hoo stated that they migrated in that way from one region to another, covering many miles in search of game, especially during the years when the rabbit plague causes a great shortage of food; and had he known of their presence in time, he would have cut big heaps of poplar, birch, and willow branches to attract the rabbits, and thus furnish more food for the lynxes. Hoping, however, that he was not too late, he set what few snares he had; nevertheless, he regretted that the boys had gone off with the dogs, for, if they had not, he would have tried to trail and tree the lynxes. The boys had taken the dogs because they wanted them to haul their sled. It was, however, against the advice of their grandfather, for he had admonished them that only white men and half-breeds would use dogs to haul a sled on a trapping path; that a good hunter would never do such a foolish thing, and for many reasons: the traps--being usually set close to the path--were apt to be either set off or destroyed by the swinging sled; besides, the dogs' tracks would obliterate the tracks of game; also the dogs might be caught in the traps; furthermore, the smell of dogs always inspired fear in animals, again, the noise of driving dogs frightened the game away. So, according to Oo-koo-hoo, the wise hunter either packs his load upon his back, or, by himself, hauls it upon his sled. But one must remember that The Owl was an Ojibway and that those Indians as well as the Saulteaux Indians prefer to haul their own sleds on the hunting trail and to keep their dogs solely for trailing game; though all other Indians of the Strong Woods use their dogs for hauling sleds. One advantage of the Ojibway custom is that hunting dogs--when running loose--never have to be fed. Amik, however, being a rather shiftless fellow, often spoilt his boys as much as the average white father spoils his, for he never thrashed them, though they frequently deserved it, and having given in to them on many previous occasions, he had now let them take the dogs. But speaking of parents' treatment of children, even an old she-bear could give many a civilized father or mother pointers on how to bring up children, for even among animals and birds one frequently finds a model parent. According to the verdict of the old fur-traders, the best trapper is the uncivilized Indian. Though, apparently, he does not derive the same amount of sport from his work as the white man does, he never shirks his work and always takes great pains to prepare for and perfect the setting of his traps. Though he is slow, he is, nevertheless, sure and deadly in his work. Oo-koo-hoo assured me that the secret of successful hunting was intelligence, caution, and patience. During December and January, or according to the Indians, Yeyekoopewe Pesim--"The Rime Moon," and Kakisapowatukinum--"The Moon When Everything Is Brittle," there is always a lull in the trapping, for the reason that then the days are shorter and the weather colder, and on that account and also on account of the fact that the sun and winds of March have not arrived to harden the deep soft snow, the forest creatures prefer to remain more at home. APPROACHING MOOSE In approaching the Moose Hills we saw many moose tracks, but they were old, the freshest having been made two days before. The age of these the hunter was able to determine from the amount of newly fallen snow in the track, as well as from other conditions; for he well remembered how much snow had fallen each day for the last week or two, when and which way the wind had blown, and when the sun was strong and the cold severe. Now selecting a two-day-old trail as the best for us to follow, he decided to camp for the night, and we spent the interval between supper and bedtime discussing not only the hunting of moose, but also their range and habits. The extreme range of a moose covers from five to fifteen miles. More often it is confined to a much smaller area that merely includes the low-lying river and lake valleys that afford him the choicest of summer food--the pineapple-like roots of waterlilies--and also affords him protection from flies while he is wading and delving for those very roots; and the higher lands among the hills, where he spends the winter in the denser forest. But it is in midsummer that we can study the moose with greatest ease, for then he spends the sunrises and sunsets wading among the lily pads, and if we are careful to observe the direction of the wind to guard against being scented, and also careful to cease paddling or any other motion before the big brute looks at us, we may, with the greatest ease and safety, propel our canoe to within from a hundred yards to fifty or forty feet of the great beast as he stands looking at us with raised head and dilating nostrils trying to catch our scent. If he catches it, he suddenly tosses his ponderous head, drops back slightly on his hind legs as he swings round, and is off with a grunt. Nevertheless, he--or she--will pause long enough to leave the sign that all deer leave upon the ground when suddenly startled by--to them--the dreadful smell of human beings. Or if it happens to be moonlight and the moose is a bit mystified by the steady, but silent, scentless, and motionless approach of our canoe, he may at first stand gazing at us, then grunt at us, then back out of the water up on to the bank and there stand, not fifty feet away, towering above us--for he may measure from six to seven feet at the shoulder and weigh three quarters of a ton--shaking his great antlers and grunting, or perhaps, more properly speaking, _barking_ at us while he stamps his big fore hoofs until he shakes the very river bank. How children love to take part in such sport! How they thrill over such an experience! Many a time I have taken them right up to even the largest of bulls until the little tots could look into the very eyes of the greatest of all living deer. What fine little hunters, too, they made, never speaking, not even in a whisper; never moving--save only their eyelids. In fact, I have been so close to wild moose that on one occasion I could have spanked a huge bull with my paddle. He was standing belly-deep in the river with his head under water, and so close did my canoe glide past him that I had to turn it to prevent it from running in between his hind legs. It was the sound of turning aside the canoe that brought his head up, and when he beheld the cause, he lunged forward and trotted away leaving a great wake of surging foam behind him. His head, crowned with massive antlers, was a ponderous affair. His body was as large as that of a Shire stallion and his back just as flat, while his legs were very much longer. He was the largest moose I have ever seen--and yet, by leaning slightly toward him, I could have spanked him with my paddle! One such experience with a great, wild animal, is more adventuresome, more thrilling and more satisfactory, than the shooting of a hundred such creatures. It is more than the sport of kings--it is the sport of men of common sense. On another occasion, at Shahwandahgooze, in Quebec, in broad daylight, I paddled a friend of mine right in between three bulls and a cow, and there we rested with moose on three sides of us. They were standing in a semicircle and no one of them was more than fifty paces away. They were unusually fine specimens and had the bulls been triplets they could not have been more alike even to the detail of their antlers. The cow paid little attention to us and went on feeding while the bulls, with heads held much higher than usual, stood as though in perfect pose for some sculptor. There wasn't a breath of wind and the wondrous spell must have lasted from eight to ten minutes; then a faint zephyr came and carried our tell-tale scent to them and they wheeled round and trotted away. Yet the head hunter from the city, who usually stands off at long range and fires at the first sight of game, will argue that killing is the greatest sport; when in truth it requires greater courage and greater skill to approach, unarmed, so close to game that one may touch it with a fish pole, and the reward is a much greater and a more satisfactory thrill than the head hunter ever gets from lying off at long range with a high-powered rifle and utterly destroying life. Furthermore, think of how much better one can study natural history by observing live animals in action, rather than motionless ones in death! An artist, in his effort to render a perfect portrait of a human being, never murders his sitter, as the so-called "sportsman-naturalist" does. It seems to me that if sportsmen were more active, more skilful, and more courageous, they would give up slaughtering animals and birds for the sake of the unbounded pleasure and adventure of observing wild game at closer quarters; but in truth, long experience has taught me that the average hunter from the city is something of a coward--never daring to walk alone in the forest without his trusty, life-destroying machines. But if those same hunters would only take a little more interest in nature, pluck up a little more courage, and remember that the wild animals of the northern forest are less vicious--when unmolested--than are many of the tame animals of civilization, how much more sane they would be. Remember, it is much safer to approach the great bulls of the forest than it is to approach the smaller bulls of the farmers' fields. Likewise, when tramping along the rural road one runs a much greater chance of being bitten by the farmer's dog, than one does, when travelling through the forest, of being bitten by a wolf. Then, too, it is just the same of men, for the men of the cities are much more quarrelsome, dishonest, and evil-minded than are those of the wilderness, and that, no doubt, accounts for the endless slandering of the wilderness dwellers by fiction writers who live in towns, for those authors--never having lived in the wilderness--form their judgment of life, either as they have experienced it in cities or as they imagine it to be in the wilderness. THE OUTLAW AND NEW YORKER Now, in order to confirm my statement, I shall go to the very extreme and quote what Al Jennings, the notorious outlaw, says upon this very subject. The quotation is taken from Jennings' reminiscences of his prison days, when he and the late lamented William Sydney Porter--the afterward famous author O. Henry--formed such a strong friendship. In the following dialogue Jennings is in New York City visiting Porter--whom he calls "Bill"--and Porter is speaking: "I have accepted an invitation for you, Colonel." He was in one of his gently sparkling moods. "Get into your armor asinorum, for we fare forth to make contest with tinsel and gauze. In other words, we mingle with the proletariat. We go to see Margaret Anglin and Henry Miller in that superb and realistic Western libel, 'The Great Divide.'" After the play the great actress, Porter, and I, and one or two others were to have supper at the Breslin Hotel. I think Porter took me there that he might sit back and enjoy my unabashed criticisms to the young lady's face. "I feel greatly disappointed in you, Mr. Porter," Margaret Anglin said to Bill as we took our places at the table. "In what have I failed?" "You promised to bring your Western friend--that terrible Mr. Jennings--to criticize the play." "Well, I have introduced him." He waved his hand down toward me. Miss Anglin looked me over with the trace of a smile in her eye. "Pardon me," she said, "but I can hardly associate you with the lovely things they say of you. Did you like the play?" I told her I didn't. It was unreal. No man of the West would shake dice for a lady in distress. The situation was unheard of and could only occur in the imagination of a fat-headed Easterner who had never set his feet beyond the Hudson. Miss Anglin laughed merrily. "New York is wild over it; New York doesn't know any better." Porter sat back, an expansive smile spreading a light in his gray eyes. "I am inclined to agree with our friend," he offered. "The West is unacquainted with Manhattan chivalry." That is the truth in a sentence; and while O. Henry and Jennings have spoken for the West, may I add my own experience of wilderness men and say that the North, also, is unacquainted with Manhattan chivalry. LAW AND ORDER ENFORCED Furthermore, while upon this subject, I wish to add to my own protest against the novelists' wild dreams of outlawry in the Canadian wilderness, a quotation from E. Ward Smith's "Chronicles of the Klondyke." Mr. Smith--as you no doubt remember--was the first city clerk, treasurer, assessor, and tax collector of Dawson City; and this is what he says: "I want to say at the very outset that the Yukon was, in my opinion at least, one of the most orderly corners of the earth. Even in the early days of the boom, when miners and adventurers of all nationalities poured in, the scales of justice were held firmly and rigidly. The spell of the Mounted Police hung over the snow-bound land and checked the evil-doer. It may sound ridiculous when I assert that the Yukon--that gathering spot of so much of the scum of the earth--was better policed than Winnipeg, or Toronto, or Halifax; but, nevertheless, I believe it to be a fact. "Of course, crimes were committed, some of which were never solved. Doubtless, also many deeds of violence occurred whose authors never came to light. But, on the whole, life and property were surprisingly secure. One day I visited the cabin of my friend Lippy, who made a million or so upon El Dorado. The door was partly open, so, on receiving no response to my knock, I walked in. The cabin was empty. On the table was a five-gallon pail heaped high with glittering nuggets of gold! I glanced around the place. On the shelves and rafters, on chairs and under bunks, were cans filled with gold. There was a snug fortune in sight. Any one could have slipped in and stolen the lot. I took Lippy to task about it when he came in. He did not seem at all concerned, however. "Pshaw," he said, "I always have quite a lot of gold about. But no one would steal it. I've never lost anything." But as the Yukon and New York are a long way from where Oo-koo-hoo was hunting, let us return to his Moose Hills. THE WAYS OF THE MOOSE Moose mate in September and October, and during this period great battles between bulls frequently occur before the victor walks off with his hard-won spouse. The young--either one or two, but generally two after the mother's first experience--are born in May, in some secluded spot, and the calves soon begin to follow their mother about, and they follow her, too, into their second year. Horns begin to grow on the young bull before he is a year old, but they are mere knobs until he is a year and a half old, when spikes form; by the third year he is supplied with antlers. The perfect antlers of a big bull sometimes measure seventy inches across, yet every winter--in January or February--the horns are shed. During the mating season moose are frequently hunted by the method known as "calling." The hunter, with the aid of a birch-bark megaphone, imitates the long-drawn call of the cow, to attract the bull. Then, when a bull answers with his guttural grunt of Oo-ah, Oo-ah, the Indian imitates that sound, too, to give the first bull the impression that a second is approaching, and thus provokes the first to hurry forward within range of the hunter's gun. But when the rutting season is over, the hunting is done by snaring or stalking or trailing. The moose derives its winter food principally from browsing upon hardwood twigs, and when the deep snows of midwinter arrive, he is generally to be found in a "yard" where such growth is most abundant. A moose yard is usually composed of a series of gutters from one foot to eighteen inches wide, intersecting one another at any distance from ten to fifty feet or more apart, and each gutter being punctured about every three feet with a post hole in which the moose steps as it walks. The space between the tracks is generally nothing but deep, soft snow, anywhere from three to five feet in depth. Beside the moose tracks that Oo-koo-hoo and I had seen that day was much silver birch and red willow, and from the signs of freshly cropped twigs we knew that the moose were not unusually tall, and we knew, too, from the fact that the tracks were sharply defined as well as from their ordinary size and that they were not deeply impressed in the snow, that the moose were those of about three years old. THE OWL TRACKS MOOSE That night, as Oo-koo-hoo was in a talkative mood, he told me much about the hunting of moose, as we sat before our snow-encircled fire in the still, silent, sombre woods. "We hunters usually take moose by shooting or snaring them, and the first thing to do is to find a track, and if it is old, follow it up until new signs appear. And now, my son, as you may some day want to hunt moose on your own account, I shall tell you how to trail them and what to do when you find them. Listen to my words and remember: As soon as you find a fresh track, look toward the sun to learn the time of day; for if it is between eight and nine on a winter morning the moose will be feeding, as it seldom lies down until between ten and three. If feeding, the track will zig-zag about, and for a time head mainly up wind, until its feeding is nearly done, then if the wind is from the right, the moose will turn to the left and circle down wind and finally come about close to its old trail where it will lie down to rest. So when you find a zig-zagging track about which the brush has been browsed, and when the wind comes from the right of the trail, you, too, should circle to the left, but instead of circling down wind as the moose has done, or is now doing, you circle up wind until you either approach the danger point where the wind may carry your scent to the moose, or otherwise, until you cut the moose's track. In either case you should now retrace your steps for some distance and then begin a new circle, and this time, a smaller one. If you now find a new trail, but still no sign that the moose has turned up wind, or is about to do so, you retrace your steps and begin a still smaller circle, then when you strike the trail again, you can judge fairly well--without even getting a sight of it--the exact position of your quarry. Then is the time to take off your snowshoes and approach with greater care then ever; but remember, always keep to leeward of the track and always look up wind. Should you now come to an open space, watch carefully any clumps of trees or bushes; if passing through heavy timber, watch for an opening, and if there should be fallen timber there, scan it most carefully where the dead trees lie, for there, too, your game may be lying. Remember, my son, if you approach a moose directly he will either see or scent you, and in circling, you must understand that only the skill of the hunter in reading the signs can successfully determine the size of the circle--sometimes it may cover a quarter of a mile. "Then, too, my son, the seasons play a part in hunting. In winter, a moose, of course, does not go to water, but eats snow to slake its thirst. But whenever there is open water, a moose will go to drink about sunrise; in the fly season, however, all rules are broken, as the brute then goes to water night or day, to get rid of the pests, and it will even remain submerged with nothing above the surface--save its nose. In stormy weather look for moose among heavy timber, and in fair weather search the open feeding places. But in bad weather, though the hunter gains one advantage, the moose gains another; for while many twigs and sticks are apt to be broken by the high wind and thus the sound of the hunter's approach is less likely to be heard, the eddying currents of air are then more apt to carry the hunter's scent to the moose regardless of the fact that his approach may be faultless. "Also, my son, you must be careful not to disturb the little tell-tale creatures of the woods or success that seems so near may vanish in a moment; for a raven may fly overhead, and spying you, circle about--just as the pigeons used to do--and then crying out may warn the moose of your presence. Or you may flush a partridge; or a squirrel, taking fright, may rush up a tree and begin chattering about you; or a rabbit may go drumming into a thicket, and the moose, reading these signs of alarm, will surely look about to learn the cause. "But, my son, should you spy a moose lying down, it is rather risky to fire at it in that position, as it is then hard to hit a vital spot. The better way is to stand with cocked gun covering the game, and then break a twig--not too sharply though, or you may scare away your quarry. Watch its ears: if they flop back and forward, it has heard nothing, but if both ears point in your direction, keep still and be ready, for it has heard you, and now with one great spring it may disappear into a thicket. Instead of breaking a twig, some hunters prefer to whistle like a startled rabbit while other hunters prefer to speak to the moose in a gentle voice, always taking care to use none but kindly words, such as for instance: 'Oh, my lazy brother, I see you are sleeping long this morning.' "For we Indians never speak harshly to so good an animal, nor do we ever use bad words, as bad words always bring bad luck to the hunter. "In winter, my son, a moose makes much noise in walking and feeding, for then he often breaks off the tops of little trees--though some of the trunks may be as thick as a man's arm. The moose breaks down trees of such a size by placing his big shoulder against it, and curving his powerful neck round it, and then bending it over with his massive head. Then, too, he often rides down small trees, such as birch or poplars, just by straddling his fore legs about them and using his chest to force them over. "In shooting a moose, remember the best spot is just behind the shoulder, and while the next best is in the kidneys, the head is not a good shot for a smooth-bore gun, for bone often deflects a round ball. A good hunter always tries to get a clear view of his quarry, for even a twig may deflect his bullet. And remember, too, my son, that as a rule, when coming upon a fresh track, it is wiser to back-track it than to follow it up at once, as back-tracking will provide the hunter with about all the information he may require, as the back trail will tell him if the game was travelling fast or slow, whether it was fleeing in fright or feeding; and if feeding, whether it was feeding quietly or in haste; and if in haste, the twigs would be torn off instead of being clean cut. Sometimes a good hunter will back-track a trail several miles in order to assure the success of his hunt. "My son, if a moose is badly frightened by man-smell it may at first go off on the gallop and then settle down to a steady trot for four or five miles before it stops to listen--but not to feed. Then, turning its head this way and that, and even trembling with excitement, as it throws its snout into the air, to test if danger is still following, it may then start off again on another long trot, but all the time it will, as much as possible, avoid open places. Later it may attempt to feed by tearing off twigs as it hurries along, and then at last it will circle to leeward and finally rest not far from its old trail. Under such conditions, the distance a moose travels depends largely upon the depth of the snow. Two or three feet of snow will not hamper it much, but when the depth is four feet, or when the moose's belly begins to drag in the snow, the brute will not travel far. An old bull will not run as far as a young one, and a cow will not travel as far as a bull; but when tired out a moose sleeps soundly, so soundly, indeed, that a hunter can easily approach as close as he pleases. But don't forget, my son, that a good hunter never runs a moose--at least, not unless he is starving--as running a moose spoils the meat. "Sometimes, my son, a hunter may use a dog to trail a moose, but it is dangerous work for the dog, as the moose may turn at bay and strike at the dog with any one of its chisel-like hoofs or may even seize the dog by the back in its mouth, carry it for a little way, then throw it into the air and when it falls trample it to death. So, my son, when hunting moose in that way, it is best to have two dogs or more, as then one dog may attack while another is being pursued. But I warn you, if you are in pursuit of a moose and if he turns at bay for the first time . . . look out . . . for then he will surely attack you; if, however, he turns at bay through sheer exhaustion or from over-whelming pain, he will not always fight; but under the first condition, the hunter is a fool if he approaches within ten paces of a bayed moose." "THE OWL" MAKES A KILL Rising early next morning we made a very small fire to cook our breakfast and were ready to start as soon as dawn came to light us on our way. Oo-koo-hoo took great care in loading his gun as he expected to come upon moose at any time. He placed a patch of cotton about the ball before ramming it in, and made sure that the powder showed in the nipple before putting on the percussion cap. And as he took his fire-steel and whetted a keener edge upon his knife, a smile of hunter's contentment overspread his face, because he well knew how soon he was to use the blade. That morning he did not light his pipe as usual because, as he explained, he wanted to have his wits about him; furthermore, he did not wish to add to the strength of his man-smell; and whispering to me he added with a smile: "My son, when I smell some men, especially some white men, I never blame the animals of the Strong Woods for taking fright and running away." And that reminds me that while we white people consider the negro the standard-bearer of the most offensive of all human body smells, the Indian always unhesitatingly awards the palm to the white man, and sometimes even the Indian children and babies, when they get an unadulterated whiff from a white man, will take such fright that it is hard for their mothers to console them--a fact that has often made me wonder what the poor little tots would do if they scented one of those highly painted and perfumed "ladies" that parade up and down Piccadilly, Fifth Avenue, or Yonge Street? After following the trail for about fifteen minutes, we came to where the moose had been lying down, and the hunter whispered: "My son, I am glad I did not smoke, but I am sorry that we camped so near." Then he added as he pointed to the impression of a moose's body in the snow: "A moose seldom lies twice in the same place in the snow, as the old bed would be frozen and hard as well as dirty." But as we had not made much noise, nor cut any big wood to make a fire, he was hopeful that our chances were still good; and at sunrise he concluded that it was time we should leave our sled behind and begin to track our quarry more cautiously. From then on there was to be no talking--not even in a whisper. Soon we came upon yesterday's tracks, then farther on we saw where the moose had circled before lying down again for the night, with their eyes guarding their front while their scent guarded their rear. At last we came upon still fresher signs that told that the moose might be within a hundred paces or less. At a signal from the old hunter I imitated him by slipping off my snowshoes, and standing them upon end in the snow, and Oo-koo-hoo leading the way, began to circle to our right as a gentle wind was coming on our left. Now our progress was indeed slow, and also perfectly noiseless. It seemed to take an age to make a semicircle of a couple of hundred paces. Again we came upon the tracks of the moose. The signs were now fresher than ever. Retracing our own tracks for a little way we started on another circle, but this time, a smaller one, for we were now very near the moose. Silent ages passed, then we heard the swishing of a pulled branch as it flew back into place; a few steps nearer we progressed; then we heard the munching sound of a large animal's jaws. Oo-koo-hoo rose slightly from his stooped position, peered through the branches of a dense spruce thicket, crouched again, turned aside for perhaps twenty paces . . . looked up again . . . raised his gun and saying in a gentle voice: "My brother, I need . . ." he fired. Instantly there was a great commotion beyond the thicket, one sound running off among the trees, while the other, the greater sound, first made a brittle crash, then a ponderous thud as of a large object falling among the dead under-branches. The hunter now straightened up and with his teeth pulled the plug from his powder horn, poured a charge into his gun, spat a bullet from his mouth into the barrel, struck the butt violently upon the palm of his left hand, then slipping a cap upon the nipple, moved cautiously forward as he whispered: "Its neck must be broken." Soon we saw what had happened. One moose was lying dead, the ball had struck it in the neck; it was a three-year-old cow--the one Oo-koo-hoo had selected--while the other, a bull, had left nothing but its tracks. Presently The Owl re-loaded his gun with greater care, then we returned for our snowshoes and to recover our toboggan before we started to skin the carcass. On the way Oo-koo-hoo talked of moose hunting, and I questioned him as to why he had turned aside for the last time, just before he fired, and he answered: "My son, I did it so that in case I should miss, the report of my gun would come from the right direction to drive the moose toward home and also toward our sled; and in case, too, that I hit the moose and only wounded it, the brute would run toward our sled and not take us farther away from it. Also, my son, if I had merely wounded the beast, but had seen from the way it flinched that it had been struck in a vital spot, I would not have followed immediately, but would have sat down and had a smoke, so as not to further disturb the wounded animal before it had time to bleed to death. Besides, a mere glance at the trail would tell me whether or not I had mortally wounded the moose--whether the brute was hit high or low, and whether the blood was dark or light. If hit high, the blood would be upon the branches as well as upon the snow; if the blood was black it would mean that an artery had been severed and that the moose was mortally wounded. If the latter had happened, then would be the time for me to get out my pipe and have a smoke." SKINNING ANIMALS As we were to be busy for the rest of the day, we made a suitable camp and started a fire and by that time the moose had stiffened enough for proper handling while removing the skin. As usual the hunter's first act was to cut the eyes, then to cut off the head, which he at once skinned and, removing the tongue, hung the head beside the fire to cook while we went on with our work. But while we propped up the moose and got it into good position, three whiskey jacks (Canada Jays) came, as they always seem to come at the first sign of smoke, to pay us a visit and partake of the feast. They are fluffy, heavily feathered little birds of gray, with wings and tail of darker hue, and with a white spot on their forehead. They are not unlike the blue jay in their calls and shrieks, though they have some notes of their own that are of a quieter, softer tone. They are friendly little beggars that will at times come so near that they may occasionally be caught in one's hand; but while one likes to have them about for the sake of their companionship, they will, uninvited, take a share of anything that is good to eat. They are the most familiar birds to be seen in the winter forest, and they have a remarkable way of laying their eggs and nesting in the month of March when the weather may register from twenty to forty below zero. In the forest there are several different ways of skinning animals: one is called "case skinning" and another is called "split skinning." To case skin an animal such as ermine, fox, fisher, lynx, marten, mink, otter, muskrat, rabbit, or skunk, the skin is cut down the inner side of each hind leg until the two cuts meet just under the tail, and then the pelt is peeled off by turning it inside out. To split skin an animal such as wood-buffalo, moose, wapiti, caribou, deer, bear, beaver, wolf, or wolverine, the skin is cut down the belly from throat to tail and also on the inside of each leg to the centre cut, and then the pelt is peeled off both ways toward the back. All split skins are stretched on rectangular frames--all save beaver skins which are stretched on oval frames. All case skins are stretched over wedge-shaped boards of various sizes--all save muskrat skins which are more often stretched over a hooped frame or a looped stick. So, of course, our moose pelt was "split skinned," but there is still another way to skin an animal that is too large for one man to turn over, and that is--in case the animal is lying on its belly--to split the skin down the back and then peel it off both ways toward the belly. If the skin is to be used as a robe, the hair is left on, and the animal's brains are rubbed into the inner side of the pelt, after the fat has been removed, and then the skin is left to dry. That softens the pelt; but traders prefer skins to be sun-dried or cold-dried. If the skin is to be used as leather, the hair is cut off with a knife, and a deer's shin-bone is used as a dressing tool in scraping off the fat; both sides of the skin are dressed to remove the outer surface. It is easier to dress a skin in winter than in summer, but summer-made leather wears better, for the reason that the roots of the hair run all through a summer skin; whereas in winter the roots show only on the outer side; that is why a fur-trader--when looking only at the inner side--can tell whether a skin has been taken in winter or summer. In dressing leather the inner side is rubbed well with brains which are then allowed to soak in for three or four days; then the skin is soaked in a vessel filled with water--but not in a river--for about two days more; then it is stretched again and let dry, then scraped with a bone, shell, or steel scraper--if it is a moose skin, only on one side, but if it is a caribou skin, on both sides. The object of scraping is to further soften the skin. After that, it is taken off the stretcher and rubbed together between the hands and pulled between two people. Then it is stretched again and smoked over a slow fire that does not blaze. Woodsmen hunt moose for food and clothing. Townsmen hunt moose for the satisfaction of killing. But should the townsman fail in his hunt, he may hire a native "Head Hunter" to secure a head for him; and that reminds me of one night during the early winter, when a strange apparition was seen crossing the lake. It appeared to have wings, but it did not fly, and though it possessed a tail, it did not run, but contented itself with moving steadily forward on its long, up-turned feet. Over an arm it carried what might have been a trident, and what with its waving tail and great outspreading wings that rose above its horned-like head, it suggested that nothing less than Old Beelzebub himself had come from his flaming region beyond to cool himself on the snow-covered lake. But in reality it was just Oo-koo-hoo returning with a fine pair of moose horns upon his back, and which he counted on turning over to the trader for some city sportsman who would readily palm it off as a trophy that had fallen to his unerring aim, and which he had brought down, too, with but a single shot . . . of $25. While at work I recalled how Oo-koo-hoo had surmised, before he had examined the carcass, that he had broken the moose's neck with his ball, and on questioning him as to how he knew, he replied: "My son, if an animal is hit in the neck and the neck is broken, the beast will collapse right where it is; but if hit in the heart, it will lunge forward; if hit in the nose, it will rear up; if hit in the spine, it will leap into the air. Yes, my son, I have seen a great bull buffalo leap lynx-like, into the air, when it was struck in the spine." Knowing that the hunter had wanted to procure more than one moose I asked him why he had not at once pursued the other? And he explained: "For two reasons, my son: first, because I don't want a bull, I want the tenderer meat and the softer skin of a cow; and secondly, even if I had wanted him, I would not have pursued him at once as that would cause him to run. If a moose is pursued on the run, it overheats, and that spoils the meat, because the moose is naturally a rather inactive animal that lives on a small range and travels very little; but it is quite different with the caribou, for the caribou is naturally an active animal, a great traveller, that wanders far for its food, and to pursue it on the run only improves the flavour and the texture of its meat." OLD-TIME HUNTING After supper, as we sat in the comfortable glow of the fire, we talked much of old-time hunting, for in certain parts of the Great Northern Forest many of the ancient methods are practised to-day. Fire is often made by friction; many hunters still use the bow and arrow, while others use the flintlock gun; frequently, too, they rely upon their spears; bone knives and awls as well as stone axes are still applied to work; fish nets are yet woven from the inner bark of cedar; and still to-day wooden baskets and birch-bark rogans are used for the purpose of heating water and boiling food. Notwithstanding our far over-rated civilization the natives in some sections are dressed to-day in clothing entirely derived from the forest. One of the most ancient methods of hunting and one which is still in vogue in some remote localities is the "drive." Two famous places for drive hunting in olden days were Point Carcajou on Peace River, and the Grand Detour on Great Slave River. The former driving ground was about thirty miles long by about three miles across, while the latter was about fifteen miles long by about three miles across. The mode of hunting was for a party of Indians to spread out through the woods, and all, at an appointed time, to move forward toward a certain point, and thus drive the game before them, until the animals, on coming out into the open at the other end, were attacked by men in ambush. At those driving grounds in the right season--even if a drive of only a few miles were made--the Indians could count on securing two or three bears, three or four moose, and twelve or fifteen caribou. But in later years, a number of the drivers having been accidentally shot from ambush, the practice has been discontinued in those localities. THE BEAR IN HIS WASH It is not an uncommon occurrence for a hunter, when travelling through the winter woods, to discover the place where a bear is hibernating; the secret being given away by the condensed breath of the brute forming hoar frost about the imperfectly blocked entrance to the wash. The Indians' hunting dogs are experts at finding such hidden treasure, and when they do locate such a claim, they do their best to acquaint their master of the fact. One day when Oo-koo-hoo was snowshoeing across a beaver meadow, his dogs, having gained the wooded slope beyond, began racing about as though they had scented game and were trying to connect a broken trail. So The Owl got out his pipe and sat down to have a smoke while his dogs were busily engaged. Presently they centred on a certain spot, and Oo-koo-hoo, going over, discovered the tell-tale hoar frost. Twisting out of his snowshoes--for an Indian never has to touch his hands to them when he puts them on or takes them off--he used one of them for a shovel, and digging away the snow, he came upon a bear's wash. It was quite a cave and dark inside, and as the dogs refused to enter, the hunter crawled into the entrance and reaching in as far as he could with his hand, felt the forms of two bears. Making sure of the exact position of the head of one of them, he then shoved his gun in until the muzzle was close to the ear of one of the bears and then he fired. The explosion aroused the other bear and as it crawled out Oo-koo-hoo killed it with his axe. The latter was a brown bear while the former was a black. When a bear in his den shows fight and threatens danger, the hunter may wedge two crossed poles against the opening of the wash, leaving only enough space for the brute to squeeze through and thus prevent it from making a sudden rush. Then when the bear does try to come out, the hunter, standing over the opening, kills it with the back of his axe. Sometimes a second hole is dug in order to prod the beast with a pole to make it leave its den. The white hunter frequently uses fire to smoke a bear out, but not infrequently he succeeds in ruining the coat by singeing the hair. It requires more skill, however, to find a bear's wash than it does to kill him in his den. The Indians hunt for bear washes in the vicinity of good fishing grounds or in a district where berries have been plentiful. One winter when I happened to be spending a few days at Brunswick House an old Indian woman came to call upon the Hudson's Bay trader's wife, and, while she was having afternoon tea, she casually remarked that while on her way to the Post she had espied a bear wash. Digging down into its den with one of her snowshoes, she had killed the brute with her axe, and if the other guests would care to see her prize, it was lying on her sled, just outside the door. What a contrast to the way the Wild West movie actors would have done the deadly work with the aid of all their absurd artillery! Nevertheless, that kindly spoken, smiling-faced, motherly old lady, did the deed with nothing but her little axe. But while the men of the wilderness laugh over the serious drivel of most fiction writers who make a specialty of northern tales, nothing is so supremely ludicrous as the attempts made by the average movie director to depict northern life in Canada. Never have I seen a photoplay that truthfully illustrated northern Canadian life. THE WOLVERINE AND GILL NET Next day we again set out on a moose trail, but, as ill luck followed us in the way of a heavy snowstorm, we gave up the chase and continued on our way. It was hard going and we stopped often. Once we halted to rest beside a number of otter tracks. Otters leave a surprisingly big trail for animals of their size. A good imitation could be made of an otter's trail by pressing down into the snow, in a horizontal position, a long, irregular stove pipe of the usual size. The reason the otter's trail is so formed, is that the animal, when travelling through deep snow, progresses on its belly and propels itself principally by its hind legs, especially when going down hill. When making a hillside descent an otter prefers to use an old, well-worn track and glides down it with the ease and grace of a toboggan on its slide. It was the sight of the otter's trail that set Oo-koo-hoo thinking of his younger days. "Years ago, my son, I very nearly killed a man. It happened at just such a place as this: a little lake with a patch of open water above a spring. It was on my father's hunting grounds, and late one afternoon, after passing through heavy timber, I came out upon its shore, and there I discovered two men robbing one of my otter traps. One man was holding up the otter by the tail and laughingly commenting on his gain, while the other was resetting the trap beneath the ice. I raised my gun and was about to fire, when it occurred to me that, after all, a man's life was worth more than an otter's skin; so I let them go, and left it to the Redcoats (Mounted Police) to settle with them. I knew them both. They were half-breeds from near Montreal, and were well learned in the ways of the whites." [Illustration: It was on my father's hunting grounds, and late one afternoon, after passing through heavy timber, I came out upon its shore, and there I discovered two men robbing one of my traps. One man was holding up the otter by the tail and laughingly commenting on his gain, while the other was resetting the trap beneath the ice. I raised my gun and was about to fire, when . . . See Chapter VI.] But before setting out on our way--I forgot to tell you--we cached our moose meat in a tree as was previously agreed upon with old Granny, who, with the boys, was to come and take it home; and in order to prevent wolverines from stealing or spoiling the meat, the hunter wrapped round the trunk of the tree an old bag to which were fastened many fish hooks, all with their barbs pointing downward and ready to impale any creature that tried to climb the tree. Needless to say, as that tree stood alone, no wolverine touched that meat. That day we covered about twenty miles, and by the afternoon of the second day we had arrived at the lake on the far shore of which lived Oo-koo-hoo's sister, Ko-ko-hay--The Perfect Woman--with her daughter and her son-in-law and four granddaughters. As we drew near the camp we found the women about a mile from shore fishing through the ice for salmon trout. There were a number of holes--each of which was marked by a spruce bough set upright in the snow--and the fishing was being done with hook and line. The hook dangling below the ice about a third of the water's depth, was held in position by a branch line to which was attached a suitable sinker. The trout they had caught ran from ten to thirty pounds each--as near as I could judge--and as the women had already gained a good haul, they loaded their catch upon their sled and returned home with us. Gill nets are also used in the winter time. They are strung under the ice beneath a series of holes by means of which the net is passed under the ice with the aid of a pole. The lines being then secured at either end, the net can be readily drawn back and forth for the purpose of emptying and resetting. Of course, floats and sinkers are used to spread the net and keep it in proper position. In some localities--where the water is muddy--the nets are occasionally boiled with willow bark to keep them from being destroyed by worms. Gill nets, however, are frequently injured by animals, not only amphibious ones such as beaver and otter, but even by such animals as wolverines. Some years ago, a Yellowknife Indian hunting near Fort Resolution had an experience of that kind. He having set a gill net beneath the ice, failed to visit it for several days. When, however, he did arrive, he saw that it had been tampered with, and found no difficulty in reading the story in the snow. A wolverine, happening by on a mild day when the fishing holes were open, began sniffing about one of the poles to which the end lines of the net were secured; then scenting the smell of fish, he began chewing the pole; and incidentally his sharp teeth severed the cords that held the net. Then, for the want of something better to do, he went to the other end, to which were attached the lines of the other end of the net. Again scenting fish, he began to chew the second pole, but this time finding it give way, he hauled it out of the hole; and with the pole came part of the net; and with the net came a few fish. In trying to free the fish from the tangled mesh, he hauled out more net which contained more fish; then, in an effort to feast royally, he ended by hauling out the whole net. The following day the Indian arrived and reading the story in the snow, set a trap for the robber. Again the wolverine came, but so did the hunter, and much to his delight found the wolverine caught in the trap. Such an incident, indeed, is not rare, for the same thing has happened in other parts of the forest. "THE PERFECT WOMAN" The Perfect Woman's daughter was married to a half-breed by the name of Tastowich and the four granddaughters were nice-looking girls ranging in age from fourteen to twenty. Though very shy, they were bubbling over with quiet fun and I enjoyed my visit. That evening, among other subjects, we discussed the various hunting caps worn by Indian big-game hunters, and The Perfect Woman offered to make me one if I could supply her with the needed material; but when she saw that I had nothing but a double "four-point" Hudson's Bay blanket, she offered to make me a complete suit from that article and to lend me, for the rest of the winter, a rabbit-skin quilt to take the place of the blanket. I accepted her kindly offer, but of course paid her for both the work and the quilt. So the older women set to work with nothing more modern in the way of tools than a pair of scissors, a thimble, and a needle and thread; and by bed time I was well rigged in Indian fashion, for the hunting trail. The cap they made me was the same as Amik wears in my picture of the lynx hunter. The suit consisted of a coat and hip-high leggings, and though I have worn that suit on many a winter trip, and though it is now over twenty-five years old, I have never had to repair their excellent hand-sewing. When the work was finished the father and the mother crawled into a double bunk that was surrounded by a curtain; Ko-ko-hay wound herself up in a blanket and lay down upon the floor, and Oo-koo-hoo did likewise, yet there were two bunks still unoccupied. But I was informed that I was to occupy the single one, while the four girls were to sleep in the big double one. As I had not had my clothes off for several days and as I was counting on the pleasure of sleeping in my night-shirt, I planned to sit up late enough to make my wish come true, though I knew that the intended occupants of those two bunks would have to rely solely upon darkness to form a screen, as neither bunk was provided with a curtain. After a little while, however, it began to dawn upon me that the girls were counting on doing the same thing, for they made no move to leave the open fire. But the Sand Man finally made them capitulate. At last, rising from their seats, they piled a lot of fresh wood upon the fire, then climbing into their big bunk, they took off their shawls and hanging them from the rafters, draped them completely about their bed. Now my opportunity had arrived, and though the fire was filling the one-room log house with a blaze of light, I made haste to discard my clothes--for now the older people were all sound asleep. In a few moments I was in the very act of slipping on the coveted garment when I heard a peal of merriment behind me. On looking round I discovered that the shawls had vanished from around the bunk and four merry young ladies, all in a row, were peering at me from beneath their blankets and fairly shaking their bed with laughter. INDIANS AND CIVILIZATION Tastowich's home was built entirely of wood, deerskin, and clay. The house was of logs, the glassless windows were of deerskin parchment, the door-lock and the door-hinges were of wood, the latch string was of deerskin, the fireplace and the chimney were of clay, the roof thatch was of bark. The abode was clean, serviceable, and warm; and yet it was a house that could have been built thousands of years ago. But consider, for instance, Oo-koo-hoo's comfortable lodge; a similar dwelling, no doubt, could have been erected a million years ago; and thus, even in our time, the pre-historic still hovers on the outskirts of our flimsy civilization. A civilization that billions of human beings for millions of years have been struggling violently to gain; and now after all that eternal striving since the beginning of time--what has been the great outstanding gain--as the Indian sees it? "Baldness and starched underwear for men, high-heeled shoes and corsets for women, and for both--spectacles and false teeth." Is it any wonder the red man laughs? But some of you will doubt that the Indian laughs, and more of you will even doubt whether the red man possesses a sense of humour. A few days ago my Toronto oculist--you see I have been justly rewarded for hovering around civilization--and I were discussing Indians. The doctor quoted his experience with them. Some years before he had taken a trip into the forest where he had met an old Indian chief whose wife had had her eye injured by accident. The doctor told the old man if ever he contemplated taking his wife to Toronto, to let the doctor know of their coming, and he would see what he could do to repair the injury. A year or so later a letter arrived from the very same Indian reservation. Though it was hard to read, the doctor made out that the Indian intended to bring his wife to Toronto so that the oculist could fulfil his promise; but as luck would have it, the doctor had not only forgotten the Indian's name, but he had great difficulty in reading the signature. After much study, however, he decided that the old Indian had signed his name as "Chief Squirrel" so thus the doctor addressed his reply. A couple of weeks later the postman arrived with a letter he was rather loath to leave at the doctor's house. The oculist, however, on seeing that it was addressed to his own number on Bloor Street West, and that the name was preceded by the title of Doctor, believed that it was intended for him. On opening it he found it was from the old Indian whom he had addressed as "Chief Squirrel." Now, however, he realized he had made a mistake in giving the red man such a name, for another glance at the outside of the envelope not only proved that the Indian was indignant, but that he also possessed a sense of humour, for "Chief Squirrel" had, in return, addressed the noted oculist as "Doctor Chipmunk." While spending a couple of days at Tastowich's house the subject of hunting was never long omitted from the general conversation; and upon learning from the half-breed that caribou were plentiful about a day's travel to the westward, nothing would do but Oo-koo-hoo must take that route on his return home; though of course it meant many more miles to cover. The excursion, however, was inviting, as a good trail could be followed all the way to the caribou country, as the Tastowichs had been hauling deer meat from that region. By the evening of the first day, as good fortune would have it, we baited among many signs of caribou, and not only were fresh caribou tracks to be seen, but also those of wolves, for the latter were trailing the deer. The incident reminded Oo-koo-hoo of a former experience which he told as we sat by the fire. WOLVES RUNNING CABIBOU "It happened years ago. For weeks, my son, I had had ill luck and my family were starving. For days I had hunted first one kind of game and then another, but always without success. Then, as a last resort, I started after caribou, though I well knew that I should have to travel a long distance before falling in with them. But in the end I was rewarded. The going was bad, mostly through a dense growth of small black spruce, where the trees stood so close together that I had difficulty in hauling my sled, being compelled, at times, to turn on edge, not only my toboggan, but also my snowshoes, in order to pass between. After several hours' hard work the forest grew more open and, about noon of the third day, I discovered a band of caribou quietly sunning themselves on a large muskeg. "Some were feeding, others were lying down, fawns were scampering about in play, and young bulls were thrusting at each other with their prong-like horns. There were over a hundred in all. I watched them for some time before I was discovered by seven young bulls, and as they were nearest me, they stopped in their play, left the others, and came down wind to investigate the strange two-legged creature that also wore a caribou skin. "With heads held high and expanded nostrils quivering in readiness to catch scent of danger, they came on very slowly yet not without a great deal of high stepping and of prancing, with a sort of rhythmical dancing motion. Every now and then they threw their heads down, then up, and then held them rigid again. They were brave enough to come within sixty or seventy paces and even a little closer. But as ill luck ordained, while I was waiting for a better chance to bring down one of them with my old flint-lock, they caught scent of me, and suddenly falling back--almost upon their haunches--as though they had been struck upon the head, they wheeled round, then fled in alarm to the main body. Then, as caribou usually do, the whole band began leaping three or four feet into the air--much as they sometimes do when hit by a bullet. Then, too, with tails up they swept away at full gallop and, entering the forest beyond, were lost to view. "It was a great disappointment, my son, and I became so disheartened that I made but a poor attempt to trail them that day. That evening, when I lay down to rest upon the edge of a muskeg, the moon was already shining; and by midnight the cold was so intense that the frost-bitten trees went off with such bangs that I was startled out of my slumber. It was then that I discovered a pack of eight wolves silently romping about in the snow of the muskeg--just like a lot of young dogs. Their antics interested me and it was some time before I fell asleep again. "In the morning, though a heavy rime (frozen mist) was falling and though it was so thick that it obliterated the surrounding forest, I set out again in search of game tracks, and having crossed the muskeg, not only found the tracks of many caribou, but learned, too, that the eight wolves were now trailing the deer in earnest. "About half way between sunrise and midday I came upon a lake, and there I discovered not only the same herd of caribou and the same wolves, but the deer were running at full speed with the wolves in full chase behind them. My son, it was a fascinating sight. The caribou were going at full gallop, covering twenty feet or more at a bound, and all running at exactly the same speed, none trying to outstrip the others, for the fawns, does, and bucks were all compactly bunched together. It was as exciting and as interesting a sight as one may see in the Strong Woods. Though the wolves did not seem to be putting forth their utmost speed, they nevertheless took care to cut every corner, and thus they managed to keep close behind, while their long, regular lope foretold their eventually overhauling their quarry. "Protected by a gentle southwest wind and a thick screen of underbrush, I watched the chase. Three times the deer circled the lake, which was about half a mile in length. For safety's sake the caribou carefully avoided entering the woods, even rounding every point rather than cut across among the trees. On the fourth round I saw that the wolves had set their minds upon running down a single deer, for as they now suddenly burst forward at their top speed, the herd, splitting apart, allowed the wolves to pass through their ranks. A few moments later an unfortunate doe, emerging in front, galloped frantically ahead with the wolves in hot pursuit; while the rest of the herd slowed down to a trot, then to a walk, and finally halted to rest in perfect indifference as to their companion's fate. "Round and round the lake the frightened creature sped, with the determined wolves behind her. Presently, however, the wolves one by one turned aside, and lay down to rest, until only two continued the pursuit. But as the deer came round the lake again several of the now-refreshed wolves again entered the chase, thus they relieved one another. The ill-fated doe, in a vain hope of throwing aside her pursuers, twice rushed into the very centre of the caribou herd; but it was of no avail, for, as the wolves relentlessly followed her, the other deer wildly scattered away to a safer distance, where, however, they soon came together again, and stood watching their enemies running down their doomed comrade. Now first one wolf and then another took the lead; closer and closer they pressed upon the exhausted doe whose shortening stride told that her strength was fast ebbing away. "My son, perhaps you wonder why I did not use my gun? I was out of range, and, moreover, while I was afraid that if I ventured out of the woods I might frighten the game away, I knew I had but to wait a little while and then I should be sure of at least one deer without even firing my gun. I did not have to wait long. With a few tremendous leaps the leading wolf seized the doe by the base of the throat and throwing her, heels over head, brought her down. "Realizing that I must act at once, I rushed out upon the lake, but in my haste I fell and broke the stock off my gun--just behind the hammer. But as I still had my axe, I picked up the broken gun, and charged in among the wolves that now began to back away, though not without much snarling, glaring of angry eyes, and champing of powerful jaws. As one remained too near, I let drive at it with a charge from my almost useless gun; and though I missed my aim, the report relieved me of any further trouble. Cutting up the deer, I feasted upon it for several hours, then loaded my sled and hurried home with the meat for my starving family." There are three principal species of Canadian caribou: the smallest living on the Barren Grounds and taking their name from that region; the largest frequenting the Rocky Mountains west of the Mackenzie River and known as Woodland or Mountain caribou; and the intermediate size inhabiting the Great Northern Forest and called Woodland caribou. In comparison with moose, wapiti, and other deer of North America, the Woodland caribou ranks third in size. In colour its coat is of a grayish brown with a white neck and belly. In winter the heavy growth of neck hair really amounts to a mane. Of the three breeds, the Woodland caribou have the smallest horns, the Barren Ground the slenderest, while the Mountain caribou have the most massive. Record antlers range from fifty- to sixty-inch beams, with a forty- to fifty-inch spread, and possessing from sixty to seventy points. The does are usually provided with small horns, and in that way they are distinct from all other Canadian deer. On account of its wide-spreading and concave hoofs the Woodland caribou does not have to "yard" as other deer do in winter time, for thus provided with natural snowshoes, the caribou can pass over the deepest snow with little trouble. Also, throughout the year it is an extensive traveller, and as its food is found everywhere within its wide range, its wanderings are determined chiefly by the wind. Indeed, so great a traveller is it that, when thoroughly alarmed, it may cover from fifty to a hundred miles before settling down again. Rivers and lakes do not hinder its roaming for it is a powerful and a willing swimmer. The mating takes place in October and the calves are born in June. The following morning while at breakfast Oo-koo-hoo discoursed upon the game we were about to hunt: "My son, everything that applies to hunting the moose, applies to hunting the caribou, except that the hunter never tries to 'call' the caribou. But now I recollect that there is one thing about moose hunting that I forgot to tell you and it applies also to hunting the caribou. In some localities barriers are still in use, but nowadays they seldom make new ones. In the old days whole tribes used to take part in barrier hunting and sometimes the barriers would stretch for fifteen or twenty miles and were usually made from one part of the river to another, and thus they marked off the woods enclosed in a river's bend. Barriers are made by felling trees in a line; or, in an open place, or upon a river or lake, placing a line of little trees in the snow about ten paces apart. Small evergreens with the butts no thicker than a man's thumb were often used; yet an artificial line of such brush was enough to turn moose or caribou and cause them to move forward in a certain direction where the hunters were hiding. Even big clumps of moss, placed upon trees, will produce the same effect. Frequently, too, snares for deer are set in suitable places along the barrier, and while the snares are made of babiche the loops are kept open with blades of grass. "There is still another thing I forgot to tell you about moose hunting--my son, I must be growing old when I forget so much. While my Indian cousins in the East use birch-bark horns for calling moose, my other cousins in the Far North never do, yet they call moose, too, but in a different way. They use the shoulder blade of a deer. Thus, when a bull is approaching, the hunter stands behind a tree and rubs the shoulder blade upon the trunk or strikes it against the branches of a neighbouring bush, as it then makes a sound not unlike a bull thrashing his horns about. Such a sound makes a bull believe that another is approaching and ready to fight him for the possession of the cow, and he prepares to charge his enemy. At such a moment the hunter throws the shoulder blade into some bushes that may be standing a little way off, and the enraged bull, hearing this last sound, charges directly for the spot. Then, as the brute passes broadside, the hunter fires. "But, my son, to return to caribou hunting, you probably know that those deer are very fond of open places during sunny weather in winter time, such places as, for instance, rivers and small lakes where the wind will not be strong. There they will spend most of the day resting or playing together in big bands of perhaps fifty or more. Sometimes, however, when a high wind springs up, they have a curious custom of all racing round in a circle at high speed. It is a charming sight to watch them at such sport. Most of their feeding is done right after sunrise and just before sunset, and at night they always resort to the woods. "Then, too, when caribou go out upon a lake they have a habit of lying down beside the big ridges that rise three or four feet above the rest of the surface, where the ice has been split apart and then jammed together again with such power that the edges are forced upward. They lie down there to avoid the wind while resting in the sun. There the hunter sometimes digs a trench in the snow and lies in wait for the unsuspecting deer. When he shoots one, he immediately skins it, but takes care to leave the head attached to the skin; then ramming a pole into the head at the neck, he drapes the skin over the pole and getting down on all fours places the skin over his back and pretends to be a caribou. Thus he will approach the band, and should he tire of crawling along on his hands and knees he will even lie down to rest in sight of the deer, but he always takes care to keep down wind. In such a guise it is not hard to come within gun-range of the band. "A very good thing to carry when hunting deer in the woods is a bunch of tips of deer horns, each about four inches long and all suspended from the back of the hunter's belt; as the horn tips will then tinkle together at every movement of the hunter, and make a sound as though the horns of a distant band of closely marching caribou were striking together. In that way, my son, it is easier to approach, and when you are ready to fire, look carefully for a large, white, fat doe, and then let drive at her; for bands of deer are never led by bulls, but always by does and usually by a barren one. If you shoot the leader first, the chances are the band will stand waiting for one of their number to lead the way. Remember, too, that deer are never so frightened at seeing or hearing you as they are at scenting you, for the merest whiff of man-smell will drive them away. When they first scent you they will take two or three jumps into the air with their heads held high, their nostrils extended, and their eyes peering about; then swinging round, they will gallop off and later settle down into a great high-stepping, distance-covering trot that will carry them many miles away before they halt. There is still another good way to hunt caribou on a lake and that is to put on a wolf skin and approach on all fours, but it is not so successful as when the hunter wears a caribou skin." TRAILING IN THE SNOW Breakfast over, we slipped on our snowshoes and set out to follow a mass of tracks that led southward. It was easy going on a beaten trail, a blind man could have followed it; and that reminds me of something I have failed to tell you about winter trailing in the Northland. In winter, the men of the Northland don't trail human beings by scent, they trail them by sight or sometimes by touch. Sight trailing, of course, you understand. Trailing by touch, however, when not understood by the spectator, seems a marvellous performance. For instance, when a husky dog, the leader of a sled-train, will come out of the forest and with his head held high, and without a moment's hesitation, trot across a lake that may be three or four miles wide, upon the surface of which the wind and drifting snow have left absolutely no visible sign of a trail, and when that dog will cross that great unbroken expanse and enter the woods on the far shore exactly where the trail appears in sight again, though no stick or stone or any other visible thing marks the spot--it does seem a marvellous feat. But it is done, not by sight, sound, or scent, but by touch--the feel of the foot. In winter time man, too, follows a trail in the same way, notwithstanding that he is generally handicapped by a pair of snowshoes. Some unseen trails are not hard to follow--even a blind man could follow them. It is done this way: Suppose you come to a creek that you want to cross, yet you can see no way of doing it, for there is nothing in sight--neither log nor bridge--spanning the river. But suppose someone tells you that, though the water is so muddy that you cannot see an inch into it, there is a flat log spanning the creek about six inches below the surface, and that if you feel about with your foot you can find it. Then, of course, you would make your way across by walking on the unseen log, yet knowing all the time that if you made a misstep you would plunge into the stream. You would do it by the feel of the foot. It is just the same in following an unseen trail in the snow--it lies hard-packed beneath the surface, just as the log lay unseen in the river. What a pity it is that the writers of northern tales so rarely understand the life they have made a specialty of depicting. But to return to the caribou we were trailing, and also to make a long hunt short--for you now know most of the interesting points in the sport--I must tell you that we spent a full day and a night before we came up with them. And that night, too, a heavy fall of snow added to our trouble, but it made the forest more beautiful than ever. It was after sunrise when we picked up fresh tracks. A heavy rime was falling, but though it screened all distant things, we espied five caribou that were still lingering on a lake, over which the main band had passed. They were east of us and were heading for the north side of a long, narrow island. As soon as they passed behind it, Oo-koo-hoo hurried across the intervening space, and ran along the southern shore to head them off. The eastern end of the island dwindled into a long point and it was there that The Owl hoped to get a shot. Sure enough he did, for he arrived there ahead of the deer. Though he had lost sight of them, he knew they were nearing him, for he could hear the crunching sound of their hoofs in the frosty snow, and later he could even hear that strange clicking sound caused by the muscular action of the hoofs in walking--a sound peculiar to caribou. [Illustration: Oo-koo-hoo could even hear the strange clicking sound, caused by the muscular action of the hoofs in walking--a sound peculiar to caribou. He cautiously went down on one knee and there waited with his gun cocked and in position. Now antlered heads appeared beyond the openings between the snow-mantled trees. The hunter, taking aim, addressed them: "My brothers, I need your . . ." Then the violent report of his gun shattered the . . . See Chapter VI.] Oo-koo-hoo cautiously went down on one knee and there waited with his gun cocked and in position. The air was scarcely moving. Now antlered heads appeared beyond the openings between the snow-mantled trees. The hunter, taking aim, addressed them: "My brothers, I need your . . ." Then the violent report of his gun shattered the stillness, and the leader, a doe, lunged forward a few paces, staggered upon trembling legs, and then sank down into the brilliantly sunny snow. But before Oo-koo-hoo could re-load for a second shot the rest of the little band passed out of range, and, with their high-stepping, hackney action, soon passed out of sight. So, later on, with our sled again heavily loaded, and with packs of meat upon our backs, we set out for home. THE MAN WHO HIBERNATED Next morning, soon after sunrise, while I was breaking trail across a lake, I espied a log house in a little clearing beside a large beaver meadow. As it was about the time we usually stopped for our second breakfast, I turned in the direction of the lonely abode. It was a small, well-built house, and with the exception of the spaces at the two windows and the door, was entirely enclosed by neatly stacked firewood suitable for a stove. Beyond, half built in the rising ground, stood a little log stable, and near it a few cattle were eating from haystacks. Going up to the shack, I knocked upon the door, and as a voice bade me enter I slipped off my snowshoes, pulled the latch string, and walked in. Entering from the dazzling sunlight made the room at first seem in darkness. Presently, however, I regained my sight, and then beheld the interior of a comfortable little home--the extreme of neatness and order; and then I saw a human form lying beneath the blankets of a bunk in a far corner. Later I noticed that two black eyes beneath a shock of black hair were smiling a welcome. "Good morning," I greeted. "May I use your stove to cook breakfast?" "No, sir," replied the figure, then it sat up in bed, and I saw that it was a white man. "I'll do the cooking myself, for you're to be my guest." "Thanks," I returned, "I'm travelling with an Indian and I don't wish to trouble you; but if I may use your stove I'll be much obliged." "If I have what you haven't got," my host smiled, "will you dine with me?" "All right," I agreed. "Potatoes," he exclaimed. "Good," I laughed. "Then sit down, please, and rest while I do the cooking." Oo-koo-hoo now came in and at the host's bidding, filled his pipe from a tobacco pouch upon the table. The accent of the stranger suggested that he was an English gentleman, and it seemed strange, indeed, to discover so refined and educated a man living apparently alone and without any special occupation in the very heart of the Great Northern Forest. Curiosity seized me. Then I wondered--was this the man? . . . could he be "Son-in-law"? But I refrained from questioning him. So I talked about the woods and the weather, while Oo-koo-hoo brought in a haunch of venison from his sled and presented it to the stranger. But with my host's every action and word the mystery grew. The stove, which was fireless, stood beside the bed, and reaching for the griddle-lifter, my host removed the lids; then picking up a stick of pine kindling from behind the stove, he whittled some shavings and placed them in the fire-box; and on top of this he laid kindling and birch firewood. Then he replaced the lids, struck a match, and while the fire began to roar, filled the kettle from a keg of water that stood behind the stove, and mind you, he did it without getting out of bed. Next, he leant over the side of the bunk, opened a little trap door in the floor, reached down into his little box-like cellar, and hauled up a bag containing potatoes, which he then put in a pot to boil, in their skins. From the wall he took a long stick with a crook upon the end, and reaching out, hooked the crook round the leg and drew the table toward him. Reaching up to one of the three shelves above his bunk, he took down the necessary dishes and cutlery to set the breakfast table for us three. While the potatoes were boiling he took from another shelf--the one upon which he kept a few well-chosen books--a photograph album and suggested that I look it over while he broiled the venison steak and infused the tea. When I opened the album and saw its contents, it not only further excited my curiosity regarding the personal history of my host, but it thrilled me with interest, for never before or since have I seen an album that contained photographs of a finer-looking or more distinguished lot of people. Its pages contained photographs of Lord This, General That, Admiral What's-his-name, and also the Bishop of I've-forgotten and many a Sir and Lady, too, as well as the beautiful Countess of Can't-remember. Breakfast was served. The potatoes were a treat, the steak was excellent, the tea was good, and there we three sat and ate a hearty meal, for not only did we relish the food, but the company, the wit, and the laughter, too. But all the while my healthy, jovial, handsome host remained in bed. I studied the blankets that covered his legs--apparently there was nothing wrong with that part of him. I could not fathom the mystery. It completely nonplussed me. I glanced round the room; there were many photographs upon the walls, among them Cambridge "eights" and "fours"; and sure enough, there he was, rowing in those very crews; and in the football and tennis pictures he also appeared as one of the best of them all. And how neat and clean was his one-room house! Everything was in order. A water keg behind the stove to keep the water from freezing. A big barrel by the door in which to turn snow into water. A woodpile across the end of the room--enough to outlast any blizzard. Then when I glanced at him again, I noticed a crested signet ring upon his left little finger. Breakfast over, smoking began, and as he washed the dishes, I wiped them--but still I pondered. Then, at last, I grew brave. I would risk it. I would ask him: "Why do you stay in bed?" First he responded with a burst of laughter, then with the question: "Why, what's the use of getting up?" and next with the statement: "I stay in bed all winter . . . or nearly so. It's the only thing to do. I used to get up, and go for my mail occasionally . . . at least, I did a few years ago, but too many times I walked the forty miles to the Hudson's Bay Company's Flying Post at Elbow Creek only to find no letters for me . . . so I chucked it all. Then, too, the first few winters I was here I used to do a little shooting, but I get all the game I want from the Indians now, so I have chucked the shooting, too. Now the only thing that gets me out of bed, or takes me out of doors, is to watch which way the wind blows. Two winters ago, when I was away from here a week, the wind blew steadily from the north for five days or more, and my cattle ate so far into the south sides of the hay stacks that two of the stacks fell over on them and in that way I lost five head--they were smothered." Oo-koo-hoo, knocking the ashes from his pipe, began to tie his coat; apparently, he thought it was time we were going. I opened the album again, and glanced through it once more as I sat upon the edge of my strange host's bunk. I stopped my turning when I came to a photograph of a charming gentlewoman whose hair was done in an old-fashioned way so becoming to her character and beauty. She must have been twenty-three. He, then, was nearing forty. I thought his hand lingered a little upon the page. And when I commented on her beauty, I fancied his voice tremored slightly--anyway his pipe went out. But Oo-koo-hoo, getting up, broke the silence. I invited my still-unknown host to pay me a visit. We shook hands heartily, and as I turned to close the door, I noticed that he had lain down again, and had covered up his head. As a pleasant parting salutation--a cheering one as I thought--I exclaimed: "Perfectly stunning! . . . the most beautiful lot of women I have ever seen!" And then from beneath the bed clothes came-- "Y-e-s . . . _the blighters_!" VII LIFE AND LOVE RETURN HYMEN COMES WITH SPRING "My son, it is ever thus, when spring is on the way," smiled Oo-koo-hoo, as Granny entered with glee and displayed a new deerskin work-bag, containing needles, thread, thimble, and scissors; a present from Shing-wauk--The Little Pine--Neykia's lover. "Now that Spring and Love are going to hunt together," further remarked the Indian, "the snow will run away, and the ice begin to tremble when it hears the home-coming birds singing among the trees. Ah, my son, it reminds me of the days of my youth," sighed The Owl, "when I, too, was a lover." "Tell me," I coaxed. "It was many years ago, at the New Year's dance at Fort Perseverance that I first met Ojistoh. She was thirteen then, and as beautiful as she was young. . . . No; I shall never forget those days . . . When she spoke her voice was as gentle as the whispering south wind, and when she ran she passed among the trees as silently and as swiftly as a vanishing dream; but now," added Oo-koo-hoo, with a sly, teasing glance at his wife, "but now look at her, my son . . . She is nothing but a bundle of old wrinkled leather, that makes a noise like a she-wolf that has no mate, and when she waddles about she goes thudding around on the split end of her body--like a rabbit with frozen feet." But Granny, saying never a word, seized the wooden fire-poker, and dealt her lord and master such a vigorous blow across the shoulders that she slew his chuckle of laughter the moment it was born. Then, as the dust settled, silence reigned. A little later, as Granny put more wood upon the fire, she turned to me with twinkling eyes and said: "My son, if you could have seen the old loon when he was courting me, it would have filled your heart with laughter. It is true he was always a loon, for in those days Oo-koo-hoo, the great hunter, was even afraid of his own shadow, for he never dared call upon me in daylight, and even when he came sneaking round at night he always took good care that it was at a time when my father was away from home. Furthermore, he always chose a stormy evening when the snow would be drifting and thus cover his trail; and worse still, when he came to court me he always wore women's snowshoes; because, my son, he had not courage enough to come as a man." This sally, however, only made Oo-koo-hoo smile the more as he puffed away at his brier. "Did he always bring your grandmother a present?" I enquired. "No, my son, not always, he was too stingy," replied the old woman, "but he did once in a while, I must grant him that." "What was it?" "Oh, just a few coils of tripe." But Granny, of course, was joking, that was why she did not explain that deer tripe filled with blood was as great a delicacy as a suitor could offer his prospective grandmother-in-law; for among certain forest tribes, it is the custom that a marriageable daughter leaves the lodge of her parents and takes up her abode with her grandmother--that is, if the old lady is living within reasonable distance. Shing-wauk--The Little Pine--had come that day, and had been invited to sleep in Amik's tepee; yet he spent the greater part of his time sitting with Neykia in her grandmother's lodge. As there are no cozy corners in a tepee, it is the Ojibway custom for a lover to converse with his sweetheart under cover of a blanket which screens the lovers from the gaze of the other occupants of the lodge. Early in the evening the blanket always hung in a dignified way, as though draped over a couple of posts set a few feet apart. Later, however, the posts frequently lost their balance and swayed about in such a way as to come dangerously near colliding. Then, if the old grandmother did not speak or make a stir, the blanket would sometimes show that one support had given away. Accordingly, the old woman was able to judge by the general contour of the blanket just how the courtship was progressing, and being a foxy old dame she occasionally pretended to snore just to see what might happen. One night, however, Granny's snoring was no longer pretense, and when she woke up from her nap, she found that both supports of the blanket were in immediate danger of collapsing. Seizing the stick with which she used to poke the fire, she leaped up and belaboured the blanket so severely that it lost no time in recovering its proper form. Kissa Pesim (The Old Moon)--February, and Mikesewe Pesim (The Eagle Moon)--March, had flown and now Niske Pesim, (The Goose Moon)--April, had arrived; and with it had come the advance guard of a few of those numerous legions of migratory birds and fowls that are merely winter visitors to the United States, Mexico, and South America; while Canada is their real home--the place where they were born. Next would follow Ayeke Pesim (the Frog Moon) of May, when love would be in full play; then a little later would come Wawe Pesim (The Egg Moon) otherwise June, when the lovers would be living together--or nesting. Yes, truly, the long-tarrying but wonderous Goose Moon had at last arrived, and at last, too, the spring hunt was on. It was now a joyous season accompanied with charming music rendered by the feathered creatures. Overhead the geese where honking, out upon the lake the loons were calling, near the shore the ducks were quacking, while all through the woods the smaller birds were singing. Now, even among the shadows, the snow was slinking away; while the river ice, plunging along with a roar, ran down to the lake where it rested quietly in a space of open water. Now, too, it so happened that day, that Neykia, she of woodland grace and beauty, was strolling in the sunshine with her Little Pine; while on every side the trees were shaking their heads and it seemed gossiping about the hunting plans of that reckless little elfin hunter, Hymen, who was hurrying overland and shooting his joyous arrows in every direction, till the very air felt charged with the whisperings of countless lovers. It made me think of the shy but radiant Athabasca, and I wondered--was her lover with her now? THE SPRING HUNT The Indians divide their annual hunt for fur into three distinct hunting seasons: the fall hunt--from autumn until Christmas; the winter hunt--from New Year's Day until Easter; and the spring hunt--from Easter until the hunters depart for their tribal summer camping ground. At the end of each hunting season--if the fur-runners have not traded with the hunters and if the hunter is not too far away from the post--he usually loads upon his sled the result of his fall hunt and hauls it to the Post during Christmas week; likewise he hauls to the Post the catch of his winter hunt about Easter time; while the gain from his spring hunt is loaded aboard his canoe and taken to the Post the latter part of May. Easter time, or the end of the winter hunt, marks the closing of the hunting season for all land animals except bear; and the renewing of the hunting season for bear, beaver, otter, mink, and muskrat, all water animals save the first. Meanwhile, the canoes had been overhauled: freshly patched, stitched, and gummed, their thwarts strengthened, their ribs adjusted, and their bottoms greased. A few days later, loading some traps and kit--among which was the hunter's bow and quiver of arrows--aboard his small canoe, Oo-koo-hoo and I set out at sunrise and paddling around the western end of Bear Lake, entered Bear River. It was a cold but delightful morning, and the effect of the sun shining through the rising mist was extremely beautiful. We were going otter- and muskrat-hunting; and as we descended that charming little stream and wound about amid its marshy flats and birch- and poplar-clad slopes, every once in a while ducks startled us by suddenly whirring out of the mist. Then, when long light lines of rippling water showed in the misty screen we knew that they were nothing but the wakes of swimming muskrats; and soon we glided into a colony of them; but for the time being they were not at home--the still-rising spring freshet had driven them from their flooded houses. The muskrat's little island lodge among the rushes is erected upon a foundation of mud and reeds that rises about two feet before it protrudes above the surface of the water. The building material, taken from round the base, by its removal helps to form a deep-water moat that answers as a further protection to the muskrat's home. Upon that foundation the house is built by piling upon it more reeds and mud. Then the tunnels are cut through the pile from about the centre of the over-water level down and out at one side of the under-water foundation, while upon the top more reeds and mud are placed to form the dome-shaped roof, after which the chamber inside is cleared. The apex of the roof rises about three feet above the water. In some localities, however, muskrats live in dens excavated in the banks of rivers or ponds. To these dens several under-water runways lead. Muskrats feed principally on the roots and stalks of many kinds of sub-aqueous plants. In winter time, when their pond is frozen over, and when they have to travel far under water to find their food, they sometimes make a point of keeping several water-holes open, so that after securing their food, they may rise at a convenient hole and eat their meal without having to make long trips to their house for the purpose. In order to keep the water-hole from freezing, they build a little house of reeds and mud over it. Sometimes, too, they store food in their lodges, especially the bulbous roots of certain plants. Muskrats, like beavers, use their tails for signalling danger, and when alarm causes them to dive they make a great noise, out of all proportion to their size. Thus the greenhorn from the city is apt to take the muskrat's nightly plunges for the sound of deer leaping into water; and just in the same way does the sleepless tenderfoot mistake the thudding footfalls of the midnight rabbit for those of moose or caribou running round his tent. Muskrats are fairly sociable and help one another in their work. They mate in April and their young are born about a month later. The Indians claim that they pair like the beaver, and that the father helps to take care of the children. The young number from three to eight. When they are full grown their coats are dark brown. In length muskrats measure about eighteen inches, while in weight they run from a pound and a half to two pounds. Except in autumn, their range is exceedingly small, though at that season they wander much farther away from their homes. If danger threatens they are always ready to fight, and they prove to be desperate fighters, too. While slow on land, they are swift in water; and such excellent divers are they that in that way they sometimes escape their greatest enemy--the mink; though wolves, fishers, foxes, otters, as well as birds of prey and Indians are always glad to have a muskrat for dinner. But to return to our muskrat hunt: Oo-koo-hoo, stringing his bow and adjusting an arrow, let drive at one of the little animals as it sat upon some drift-wood. The blunt-headed shaft just skimmed its back and sank into the mud beyond; the next arrow, however, bowled the muskrat over; and in an hour's time The Owl had eleven in his canoe. When I questioned him as to why he used such an ancient weapon, he explained that a bow was much better than a gun, as it did not frighten the other muskrats away, also it did not injure the pelt in the way shot would do, and, moreover, it was much more economical. Occasionally Oo-koo-hoo would imitate the call of the muskrats; sometimes to arrest their attention, but more often to entice them within easy range of his arrows. If he killed them outright while they were swimming, they sank like stones; but when only wounded, they usually swam round on the surface for a while. Once, however, a wounded one dived, and, seizing hold of a reed, held on with its teeth in order to escape its pursuer; Oo-koo-hoo, nevertheless, eventually landed it in his canoe. In setting steel traps for them the hunter placed the traps either in the water or on the bank at a spot where they were in the habit of going ashore, and to decoy them to that landing Oo-koo-hoo rubbed castoreum on the branches of the surrounding bushes--just in the same way as he did for mink or otter. Another way he had of setting traps was to cut a hole in the side of a muskrat's house, so that he could thrust in his arm and feel for the entrance to the tunnel, then he would set a trap there and close up the hole. One day when he was passing a muskrat house that he had previously opened for that purpose and closed again, he discovered that the hole was again open. Thinking that the newly added mud had merely fallen out, he thrust his arm into the hole to reach for the trap, when without the slightest warning some animal seized him by the finger. It was a mink that had been raiding the house; and in the excitement that followed, the brute escaped. The hunter, however, made little of his injury; chewing up a quid of tobacco, he placed it over the wound and bound it securely with a rag torn from the tail of his shirt. Oo-koo-hoo explained that in winter time, when there was little snow, he often speared muskrats through the ice. The spear point is usually made of quarter-inch iron wire and attached to a seven-foot shaft. Much of the spearing he did at the rats' feeding and airing places--those little dome-shaped affairs made of reeds and mud that cover their water-holes. The hunter, enabled by the clearness of the ice, followed their runways and traced them to where the little fellows often sat inside their shelters. Knowing that the south side of the shelter is the thinnest side, The Owl would drive in his spear and impale the little dweller. HUNTING THE OTTER That afternoon Oo-koo-hoo set a number of traps for otter. When placed on land otter traps are set as for fox, though of course of a larger size, and the same statement applies to deadfalls; while the bait used for both kinds of otter traps is the same as that used for mink. The otter is an unusually playful, graceful, active, and powerful animal; but when caught in a trap becomes exceedingly vicious, and the hunter must take care lest he be severely bitten. Oo-koo-hoo told me that on one occasion, when he was hunting otters, he lost his favourite dog. The dog was holding an otter prisoner in a rocky pocket where the water was shallow, and the otter, waiting to attack the dog when off guard, at last got its chance, seized its adversary by the throat, and that was the end of the dog. The otter is not only easily tamed, but makes a charming pet, as many a trader has proved; and it is one of the few animals that actually indulge in a sport or game for the sheer sake of the thrill it affords. Thus the otter is much given to the Canadian sports of tobogganing and "shooting the chute," but it does it without sled or canoe; and at all seasons of the year it may be seen sharing its favourite slide--sometimes fifty or a hundred feet in length--with its companions. If in summer, the descent is made on a grassy or clayey slope down which the animals swiftly glide, and plunge headlong into deep water. If the sport takes place on a clay bank, the wet coats of the otters soon make the slide so slippery that the descent is made at thrilling speed. But in winter time the sport becomes general, as then the snow forms a more convenient and easier surface down which to slide. The otter, though not a fast traveller upon land, is a master swimmer, and not only does it pursue and overtake the speckled trout, but also the swift and agile salmon. Otters den in the river or lake bank and provide an underwater entrance to their home. They mate in February and the young--never more than five, but more often two--are born in April; and though their food includes flesh and fowl--muskrats, frogs, and young ducks--it is principally composed of fish. Though slow on land an otter often travels considerable distances, especially in winter time, when it goes roaming in search of open water. If pursued it has a protective way of diving into and crawling swiftly beneath the surface of the snow, in such a way that though its pursuer may run fast, he more often loses his quarry; I know, because I have experienced it. The otter not only has its thick, oily, dark-brown fur to keep it warm, but also a thick layer of fat between its skin and body; and thus, seal-like, it seems to enjoy in comfort the coldest of winter water. Otters measure three or four feet in length and in weight run from fifteen to thirty pounds. The Indians of the Strong Woods are very superstitious in relation to the otter. They not only refuse to eat the flesh, but they don't like to take the carcass home, always preferring to skin it where it is caught. Even then they dislike to place the skin in their hunting bag, but will drag it behind them on the snow. Also, Indian women refuse to skin an otter, as they have a superstition that it would prevent them from becoming mothers. One afternoon, when Oo-koo-hoo and I were sitting on a high rock overlooking the rapids on Bear River, he espied an otter ascending the turbulent waters by walking on the river bottom. We watched the animal for some time. It was an interesting sight, as it was evidently hunting for fish that might be resting in the backwaters behind the boulders. Every time it would ascend the rapids it would rise to the surface and then quietly float down stream in the sluggish, eddying shore currents where the bushes overhung the bank. Then it would again dive and again make the ascent by crawling up the river bottom. "My son, watch him closely, for if he catches a fish you will see that he always seizes it either by the head or tail, rarely by the middle, as the fish would then squirm and shake so violently that the otter would not like it. Sometimes, too, an otter will lie in wait on a rock at the head of a rapid, and when a fish tries to ascend to the upper reach of the river by leaping out of the water and thus avoiding the swift current, the otter will leap, too, and seize the fish in mid-air. It is a thrilling sight to see him do it." The snow was going so rapidly and the water running so freely that Oo-koo-hoo felt sure the bears had now all left their dens, otherwise water might be trickling into their winter beds. So, for the next few days, the hunter was busily engaged in setting traps for bears, beavers, otters, minks, and muskrats; and thus the spring hunt went steadily on while the Goose Moon waned and then disappeared, and in its place the Frog Moon shone. LITTLE PINE'S LOVE SONG One sunny morning, while I was strolling along the beach, I heard the sound of distant drumming, and presently a youthful voice broke into song. It was The Little Pine singing to his sweetheart. Now it was Maytime in the Northland. Tender grasses were thrusting their tiny blades from under last year's leaves and here and there the woodland's pale-green carpet was enriched with masses of varying colours where wild flowers were bursting into bloom. Yet the increasing power of the sun had failed to destroy every trace of winter--for occasional patches of snow were to be seen clinging to the shady sides of the steepest hills and small ice floes were still floating in the lake below. But as summer comes swiftly in the Great Northern Forest, spring loses no time in lingering by the way. Already the restless south wind was singing softly to the "Loneland" of the glorious days to come. The forest and all her creatures, hearing the song of spring time, were astir with joyous life. Among the whispering trees the bees were humming, the squirrels chattering, and many kinds of birds were making love to one another. No wonder Shing-wauk--The Little Pine--sang his love song, too, for was not his heart aflame with the spring time of life? Perched high among the branches of a pine the youth was relieving the monotony of his drumming by occasionally chanting. At the foot of the thickly wooded hillside upon which the pine stood the indolent waters of Muskrat Creek meandered toward Bear Lake. On the bank near the river's mouth stood the lodges, but neither Oo-koo-hoo nor Amik seemed to be at home; and the rest of the family may have been absent, too, for the dogs were mounting guard. Again the boy beat his drum; louder and louder he sang his love song until his soft rich voice broke into a wail. Presently the door-skin of Granny's lodge was gently pushed aside, and Neykia stepped indolently forth. Shading her eyes with her hand, the girl gazed at the hillside, but failed to discern her lover in the tree top. She listened awhile and then, upon hearing once more the love song above the beating of the drum, yielded to the dictates of her heart and began to climb the hill. Little Pine saw her coming, ceased his drumming, and slid down to hide behind the tree trunk. A faintly marked woodland path led close by, and along it the maiden was advancing. As she came abreast of the tree the youth, in fun, gave a shout, and the maid--evidently pretending bashful alarm--took to flight. Though fleet of foot, she suffered him to overtake her soon and catch her by the arm, and hold her while she feigned to struggle desperately for freedom. That won, she turned away with a laugh, sat down upon a bank of wild flowers, and with shyly averted face, began plucking them. Little Pine sat down beside her. A moment later she sprang up and with merry laughter ran into the denser forest, and there, with her lover swiftly following her, disappeared from view. At sunset that evening Oo-koo-hoo and his wife sat smoking beside their fire; and when the hermit thrush was singing, the whippoorwill whippoorwilling, the owl oo-koo-hooing, the fox barking, the bull frog whoo-wonking, the gander honking, the otter whistling, the drake quacking, the squirrel chattering, the cock grouse drumming, and the wolf howling--each to his own chosen mate, the hunter turned to me and smiled: "Do you hear Shing-wauk singing?" I listened more attentively to the many mingling love songs of the forest dwellers, and sure enough, away off along the shore, I could hear Little Pine singing to his sweetheart. It was charming. THE LOVE DANCE "My son," sighed Oo-koo-hoo, "it reminds me of the days when I, too, was a boy and when Ojistoh was a girl, away back among the many springs of long ago." "Yes, Nar-pim," smiled Granny--for an Indian woman never calls her husband by his name, but always addresses him as Nar-pim, which means "my man." "Yes, Nar-pim, don't you remember when I heard that drumming away off among the trees, and when I, girl-like, pretended I did not know what it meant, but you, saying never a word and taking me by the hand, led me to the very spot where that handsome little lover was beating his drum and making love to so many sweethearts?" "Yes, I remember it well, when I took little Ojistoh, my sweetheart, by the hand and we hurried to find the little drummer." Then, turning to me, the hunter continued: "My son, one never forgets the days of his youth, and well can I recall picking our way in and out among the trees and undergrowth, tiptoeing here and there lest our moccasined feet should break a fallen twig and alarm the drummer or the dancers. For it was the love dance we were going to see. As the drumming sound increased in volume, our caution increased, too. Soon we deemed it prudent to go down upon our hands and knees and thus be more surely screened by the underbrush as we stealthily approached. Creeping on toward the sound, slowly and with infinite precaution, we discovered that we were not the only ones going to the dance: the whirring of wings frequently rustled overhead as ruffed grouse skimmed past us in rapid flight. "Once, my son, we felt the wind from a hawk's wing swooping low from bush to bush, as though endeavouring to arrive unheralded. Twice we caught sight of a fox silently and craftily stealing along. Once we saw a lynx--a soft gray shadow--slinking through the undergrowth ahead. It seemed as if all the Strong Woods dwellers were going to the love dance, too, and, I remember, Ojistoh began to feel afraid. But," smiled Oo-koo-hoo, "she was devoured with curiosity; and, besides, was not her young lover with her? Why need she fear? "When we came to the foot of a ridge the drumming sounded very near. With utmost wariness we crawled from bush to bush, pausing every now and then, and crouching low. Then, judging the way still clear, we crawled forward, and finally gained the top of the ridge. With thumping hearts we rested a moment in a crouching posture, for we had at last arrived upon the scene. Slowly and breathlessly raising our heads, we peered through the leafy screen and beheld the love dance in full swing. "And there, my son, on a clear sandy opening in the wood, twenty or thirty partridge hens were dancing in a semicircle, in the centre of which, perched upon a rotten log, a beautiful cock partridge drummed. He was standing with his small head thrust forward upon a finely arched neck which was circled by a handsome outstanding black ruff, fully as wide as his body. His extended wings grazed his perch, while his superb tail spread out horizontally. "'Chun--chun--chun--chun--chun-nnnnnnnnnnnnnnn,' he hissed slowly at first, but with steadily increasing rapidity. His bill was open; his bright eyes were gleaming; his wings were beating at such a rate that the forest resounded with the prolonged roll of his drumming. Again and again he shrilled his love call, and again and again he beat his wondrous accompaniment. Every little while the whirring of swiftly moving wings was heard overhead as other hens flew down to join in the love dance. To and fro strutted the cock bird in all his pride of beauty--his wings trailing upon the log, his neck arched more haughtily than ever, his ruff rising above his head, and his handsome fan-like tail extended higher still. "Meanwhile, my son, the hens, too, were strutting up and down, and in and out among their rivals; some, with wings brushing upon the ground; others, with a single wing spread out, against which they frequently kicked the nearest foot as they circled round each other. A continuous hissing was kept up, along with a shaking of heads from side to side, a ceremonious bowing, and a striking of bills upon the ground. But--though the cock was doing his best to dazzle them with the display of his charms--the hens appeared unconscious of his presence and indifferent to his advances. "There Ojistoh and I were gazing in silent admiration at the scene before us, when--without the slightest warning, and as though dropped from the sky--another cock landed in the midst of the dancers. Immediately the cock of the dance rushed at the intruder and fiercely attacked him. "But the newcomer was ready. My son, you should have seen them. Bills and wings clashed together. In a moment feathers were flying and blood was running. But the hens never paused in their love dance. Again and again the feathered fighters dashed at each other, only to drop apart. Then, facing each other with drooping wings, ruffled plumes, extended necks, lowered heads, and gaping bills, they would gasp for breath. A moment later they would spring into the air and strike viciously at each other with bill and wing, then separate again. The sand was soon strewn with feathers and sprinkled with blood, yet the belligerents kept renewing the deadly conflict. Unconcernedly, all the while, the stupid hens tripped to and fro in the evolutions of their love dance. "Already the intruder's scalp was torn; the left wing of the cock of the dance was broken; and both were bleeding copiously. It was a great fight, my son, and the end was near. At the next rush the intruder knocked the cock of the dance down, and leaping upon him, drove his bill into his skull, killing him. "After a brief rest to recover breath, the victor jumped over his late rival's body, took a short leap into the air, gave a back kick of contempt, flew up on the log, and looked round as though seeking for female applause. But the hens, with apparently never a thought of him, still kept up their dancing. Presently he, too, sounded his love call and drummed his accompaniment. Then, strutting up and down, he inspected the dancers. When he had made up his mind as to which was the belle of the dance, he made a rush for her. "But, my son, at that very moment a lynx sprang through the air, seized him by the neck, and bounded off with him among the bushes. In the confusion that followed, the hens flew away and I, seizing Ojistoh, kissed her. Startled, she leaped up, and with laughter ran away, but in hot pursuit I followed her." THE WAYS OF THE FEMALE "Ah, my son," commented Granny with a smile and a shake of her head as she drew her pipe from her mouth, "Nar-pim has always been like that . . . but he was worse in the days of his youth . . . fancy him taking a little girl to see the love dance . . . the old rabbit!" "The old rabbit . . . indeed?" Oo-koo-hoo questioned. "Why, it was just the other way round. It was you who wanted me to take you there; it was your hypocritical pretence of innocence that made me do it; and though, as you said, I took your hand, it was you who was always leading the way." Then was renewed the ancient and never-settled question as to who was at fault, the old Adam or the old Eve; but as Granny usually got the better of it by adding the last word, Oo-koo-hoo turned to me in disgust and grunted: "Listen to her . . . why, my son, it has always been the female that did the courting . . . all down through the Great, Great Long Ago, it has ever been thus . . . and so it is to-day. Look at the cow of the moose, the doe of the deer, the she of the lynx, the female of the wolf, the she of the bear, the goose, the duck, the hen, and the female of the rabbit. What do they do when they want a mate? . . . They bellow and run, they meow and bow, they howl and prance, they twitter and dance . . . just as women have always done. And when the male comes, what does the female do? She pretends indifference, she feigns innocence, she runs away, and stops to listen, _afraid lest she has run too far_; and then, if he does not follow, she comes deceitfully back again and pretends not even to see him. Remember, my son, that though the female always runs away, she never runs so fast that she couldn't run faster; and it makes no difference whether the female has wings or fins, flippers or feet, it is all the same . . . the female always does the courting." No doubt, had they ever met, Oo-koo-hoo and George Bernard Shaw would have become fast friends; for George, too, insists on the very same thing. But does not the average man, from his great store of conceit, draw the flattering inference that it is he and he alone who does the courting, and that his success is entirely due to his wonderful display of physical and mental charm; while the average woman looks in her mirror and laughs in her sleeve--less gown. Though for some time silence filled the tepee and the dogs were asleep beside the door, the pipes still glowed; and Oo-koo-hoo, stirring the fire, mused aloud: "But, perhaps, my son, you wonder why the hen partridges dance that way and why the cock drums his accompaniment?" "It does seem strange," I replied. "But not, my son, if you know their history. It is an old, old story, and it began away back in the Great, Great, Long Ago, even before it was the custom of our people to marry. It happened this way: Once there was an old chief who used oftentimes to go away alone into the woods and mount upon a high rock and sing his hunting songs and beat his drum. Since he was much in favour, many women would come and listen to his songs; also, they would dance before him--to attract his attention. "Now it came to pass on a certain day that a young chief of another tribe happened by chance upon that way. Hearing the drumming, he resolved to find out what it was about. Deep into the heart of the wood he followed the sound and came upon an open glade wherein were many women dancing before a huge boulder. Wondering, with great admiration, the young chief gazed upon their graceful movements and comely figures, and determined to rush in and capture the most beautiful of them. Turning thought into act, he bounded in among the dancers, and, to his amazement, discovered the old chief, who, at sight of him, dropped his drum, grasped his war club, and leaping down from his rocky eminence, rushed upon the young interloper in a frenzy of jealous fury. The women made no outcry; for, like the female moose or caribou, they love the victor. So to the accompaniment of the men's hard breathing and the clashing of their war clubs, they went unconcernedly on with their love dance. In the end the young chief slew the older one, and departed in triumph with the women. But, my son, when the Master of Life learned what had happened, he was exceeding wroth; insomuch that he turned the young chief and the women into partridges. That is why the partridges dance the love dance even to this day." HUNTING WILD FOWL Next morning, while Oo-koo-hoo was examining a muskrat lodge from his canoe, he heard a sudden "honk, honk," and looking up he espied two Canada geese flying low and straight toward us; seizing his gun, he up with it and let drive at one of the geese as it was passing beyond him, and brought it down. He concluded that they had just arrived from the south and were seeking a place to feed. Later, we encountered at close range several more and the hunter secured another. As they were the first geese he had killed that season, he did not allow the women to touch them, but according to the Indian custom, dressed and cooked them himself; also, at supper time, he gave all the flesh to the rest of us, and saved for himself nothing but the part from which the eggs came. Further, he cautioned us not to laugh or talk while eating the geese, otherwise their spirits would be offended and he would have ill-luck for the rest of the season. And when the meal was finished he collected all the bones and tossed them into the centre of the fire, so that they would be properly consumed instead of allowing the dogs to eat them; and thus he warded off misfortune. As we sat by the fire that night Oo-koo-hoo busied himself making decoys for geese, by chopping blocks of dry pine into rough images of their bodies, and fashioning their necks and heads from bent willow sticks; as well as roughly staining the completed models to represent the plumage. And while he worked he talked of the coming of the birds in spring. "My son, the first birds to arrive are the eagles; next, the snow-birds and the barking crows (ravens); then the big gray (Canada) geese, and the larger ducks; then the smaller kinds of geese and the smaller kinds of ducks; and then the robins, blackbirds, and gulls. Then, as likely as not, a few days later, what is called a 'goose winter'--a heavy, wet snowstorm followed by colder weather--may come along and try to drive the birds all back again; but before the bad weather completes its useless work a timely south wind may arrive, and with the aid of a milder spell, will utterly destroy the 'goose winter'. Then, after that, the sky soon becomes mottled with flying birds of many kinds: gray geese, laughing geese, waveys, and white geese, as well as great flocks of ducks of many kinds; also mud-hens, sawbills, waders, plovers, curlew, pelicans, swans, and cranes, both white and gray. Then another great flight of little birds as well as loons. And last of all may come the little husky geese that travel farther north to breed their young than do those of any other kind." The next day the hunters built a "goose stand" on the sandy beach of Willow Point by making a screen about six feet long by three feet high of willow branches; and, as the ground was wet and cold, a brush mattress was laid behind the screen upon which the hunters could sit while watching for geese. The site was a good one, as Willow Point jutted into the lake near a big marsh on its south side. Beyond the screen they set their decoys, some in the water and others on the sand, but all heading up wind. When they shot their first geese, the hunters cut off the wings and necks together with the heads and fastened them in a natural way upon the decoys. Oo-koo-hoo told me that when one wished to secure geese, he should be in readiness to take his position behind the stand before the first sign of morning sun. Furthermore, he told me that geese were usually looking for open water and sandy beaches from eight to nine o'clock; from ten to twelve they preferred the marshes in order to feed upon goose grass and goose weed, as well as upon the roots and seeds of other aquatic plants. Then from noon to four o'clock they sought the lakes to preen themselves; while from four to six they returned to the sandy beaches and then resorted to the marshes in which to spend the night. That was the usual procedure for from ten to fifteen days, then away they went to their more northern breeding grounds where they spent midsummer. Seeing a hawk soaring overhead, Oo-koo-hoo said it reminded him of a hawk that once bothered him by repeatedly swooping down among his dead-duck decoys, and each time he had to rush from his blind to drive the hawk away or it would have carried away one of his dead ducks; and being short of ammunition, he did not care to waste a shot. But he ended the trouble by taking up all his dead ducks save one. Then he removed the pointed iron from his muskrat spear, and ramming the butt of the iron into the sand, left it standing up beside the duck as though it had been a reed. The next time the hawk swooped down, he let it drive with full force at the dead duck, and thus impale itself on the muskrat spear. But one day, after the geese had passed on their northward journey, Oo-koo-hoo began making other decoys of a different nature, and when I questioned him, he replied that he was going to kill a few loons with his bow and arrow, as Granny wished to use the skins of their necks to make a work-bag for the Factor's wife at Fort Consolation. After shaping the decoys, he mixed together gunpowder, charcoal, and grease with which to paint the decoys black--save where he left spots of the light-coloured wood to represent the white markings of those beautiful birds. When the decoys were eventually anchored in the bay they bobbed about on the rippling water quite true to life and they even took an occasional dive, when the anchor thong ran taut. OO-KOO-HOO'S COURTING After supper, when we were talking about old customs, I questioned Oo-koo-hoo as to how the Indians married before it was the custom to go to the Post to get the clergyman to perform that rite; and in reply he said: "My son, Ojistoh and I were married both ways, so I don't think I can do better than to tell you how our own marriage took place. It was this way, my son: one night, when old Noo-koom, Ojistoh's grandmother, became convinced that we lovers had sat under the blanket long enough, she decided that it was time we sat upon the brush together, or were married. Accordingly, she talked the matter over with Ojistoh's parents. They agreed with her, and Ojistoh's father said: 'It is well that Oo-koo-hoo and Ojistoh should be married according to the custom of our people, but it is also well that we should retain the friendship of the priest and the nuns. On our return to Fort Perseverance, therefore, the children must be married in the face of the Church; but I charge you all not to let any one at the Post know that Oo-koo-hoo and Ojistoh have already been married after the custom of our people. It is well that we should live according to the ways of our forefathers, and it is also well that we should seem to adopt the ways of the white man. Now call Ojistoh, and let me hear what she has to say.' "When Ojistoh came in, her father told her that I was a good boy; that I would certainly make a successful hunter; and that, if she would sit upon the brush with me, they would give her plenty of marrow grease for her hair and some porcupine quills for her moccasins. They might even buy her some ribbon, beads, and silk thread for fancy work. Furthermore, they said I would be given enough moose skins to make a lodge covering. "Ojistoh chewed meditatively upon the large piece of spruce gum in her mouth, while she listened with averted eyes and drooping head. But old Noo-koom, evidently supposing Ojistoh to be in doubt, interposed: 'You must sit upon the brush with him, because I have promised that you would. Did we not eat the fat and the blood, and use the firewood he left at our door?' "The remembrance, no doubt, of all that dainty eating decided Ojistoh, and she gave her word that she would sit upon the brush with me if they would promise to buy her a bottle of perfume when they returned to Fort Perseverance. When Ojistoh left the lodge, her father said to me: "'Listen, my boy, Noo-koom tells me that you have been sitting under the blanket with my daughter Ojistoh. She is a good girl and will make you happy; for she can make good moccasins.' "'Yes,' I replied, 'I know the girl and I want her.' "'To-morrow, then,' said her father, 'you must sit upon the brush with her. I will tell the women to prepare the feast.' "Next morning Ojistoh sat waiting in her lodge for me to come. Already she wore the badge of womanhood, for not having a new dress she had simply reversed her old one and buttoned it up in front instead of the back. For it is the custom of Ojibway girls to button their dresses behind and for married women to button theirs in front. "My son, you should have seen me that morning, for I was bedecked in all my finery, and upon entering Noo-koom's lodge, I seized Ojistoh by the hair of her head, and dragged her out. Her struggles to escape from me were quite edifying in their propriety. Her shrieks were heartrending--or rather, they would have been had they not alternated with delighted giggles. By that time the wedding march had begun; for as we struggling lovers led the way, the children, bubbling with laughter, followed; and the old people brought up the rear of the joyous procession. We, the happy couple, tussled with each other until we reached a spot in the bush where I had cleared a space and laid a carpet of balsam brush beside a fire. There I deposited her. With a final shriek she accepted the new conditions, and at once set about her matrimonial duties, while the others returned to their lodges to put the finishing touches to the wedding breakfast. "Oh, yes, my son, those were happy days," continued the hunter. "There, beside a great fire in the open, was laid a carpet of brush, in the centre of which a blanket was spread, and upon it the feast. There were rabbits, partridges, and fish roasted upon sticks. In a pot, boiled fresh moose and caribou meat; in another, simmered lynx entrails, bear fat, and moose steak. In a third, stewed ducks and geese. In a fourth, bubbled choice pieces of beaver, muskrat, lynx, and skunk. Besides, there were caribou tongues, beaver tails, bear meat, and foxes' entrails roasted upon the coals. Strong tea in plenty, fresh birch syrup, forest-made cranberry wine, a large chunk of dried Saskatoon berries served with bear's grease, frozen cranberries, and a little bannock made of flour, water, and grease, completed the fare. "Then, too, Ojistoh sat beside me and ate out of my dish. She even used my pipe for an after-dinner smoke. Then, after an interval of rest, dancing began, by the dancers circling the fire to the measured beat of a drum. Round and round we moved in silence. Then, breaking into a chant, we men faced the women, and from time to time solemnly revolved. But the women never turned their backs upon the fire. It was rather slow, monotonous measure, only relieved by the women and children throwing feathers at one another. Between each dance the company partook of refreshments, and so the festivity proceeded until daylight. Next morning Ojistoh's father gave us some wholesome advice and then we set up housekeeping on our own account, and, as you see, have continued it even to this day; haven't we, my little Ojistoh?" smiled the old hunter at his wife. NATURE'S SANCTUARIES One Sunday morning, when spring was all a-dance to the wondrous wild music of the woods, I sat in the warmth of the sun and thought of my Creator. Later, I learned that Oo-koo-hoo and Amik were also thinking of Him; for in the wilderness one often thinks of The Master of Life. That morning I thought, too, of the tolling of village church bells and of cathedral chimes, and I contrasted those metallic sounds with the beautiful singing of the birds of the forest; also I contrasted the difference of a Sunday in the city with a Sunday in the wilderness; and my soul rested in supreme contentment. Yet the ignorant city dwellers think of the wilderness as "God-forsaken." Hunt the world over, and could one find any more holy places than some of Nature's sanctuaries? I have found many, but I shall recall but one, a certain grove on the Alaskan border. It was in one of the wildest of all wild regions of the northern world. "God-forsaken" . . . indeed? In truth, it seemed to be the very home of God. There, between the bases of two towering perpendicular ranges of mountains, mantled by endless snows and capped by eternal ice, lay the wildest of all box-cañons: one end of which was blocked by a barrier of snow hundreds of feet high and thousands of feet thick--the work of countless avalanches; while the other end was blocked by a barrier of eternal ice thousands of feet in width and millions of tons in weight--a living and growing glacier. And there, away down at the very bottom of that wild gorge, beside a roaring, leaping little river of seething foam, grew a beautiful grove of trees; and never a time did I enter there but what I thought of it as holy ground--far more holy than any cathedral I have ever known . . . for there, in that grove, one seemed to stand in the presence of God. There, in that grove, the great reddish-brown boles of Sitka spruces--four and five feet in diameter--towered up like many huge architectural columns as they supported the ruggedly beamed and evergreen ceiling that domed far overhead. High above an altar-like mass of rock, completely mantled with gorgeously coloured mosses, an opening shone in the gray-green wall, and through it filtered long slanting beams of sunlight, as though coming through a leaded, sky-blue, stained-glass window of some wonderful cathedral. While upon the grove's mossy floor stood, row upon row, a mass of luxuriant ferns that almost covered the velvet carpet, and seemed to form endless seats in readiness for the coming of some congregation. But on only one occasion did I ever see a worshipper there. Weary from the weight of a heavy pack--seventy-five pounds of dynamite--I had paused to rest a moment in that wonderful place which so few human beings had ever discovered; where, too, on passing through, it was always my custom to remove my hat--just as any one would do on entering a church. There that day, as I stood gazing at the glorious sunbeams as they filtered through the great chancel window, I listened to the enchanting music of the feathered choir high overhead, that seemed to be singing to the accompaniment of one of Nature's most powerful organs--the roaring river--that thundered aloud, as, with all its force, it wildly rolled huge boulders down its rocky bed. Then, lowering my eyes, I discovered the one and only worshipper I ever saw there. He was standing near a side aisle in the shadow of an alcove, and he, too, was gazing up at those radiant sunbeams and listening to the choir; moreover, notwithstanding that he was a big brown bear, he appeared too devout even to notice me--perhaps because he, too, felt the holy presence of "The Great Mystery" . . . our God. Yes, my friend, it is my belief that if there is any place on earth that is "God-forsaken," it is not to be found in even the wildest part of the wildest wilderness, but in that cesspool called a city. GOING TO THE POST After half of May had passed away, and when the spring hunt was over, Oo-koo-hoo and Amik, poling up the turbulent little streams, and following as closely as possible the routes of their fur trails, went the round of their trapping paths, removed their snares, sprung their deadfalls, and gathering their steel traps loaded them aboard their canoes. That work completed, packing began in readiness for the postward journey; there, as usual, they would spend their well-earned holidays with pleasure upon their tribal summer camping grounds. [Illustration: After half of May had passed away, and when the spring hunt was over, Oo-koo-hoo and Amik, poling up the turbulent little streams, and following as closely as possible the routes of their fur trails, went the round of their trapping paths, removed their snares, sprung their deadfalls, and gathering their steel traps loaded them aboard their canoes. That work completed, packing began in readiness for the . . . See Chapter VII.] So, when all was in readiness, the deerskin lodge coverings were taken down, rolled up, and stored out of harm's way upon a stage. Then, with hearts light with happiness and canoes heavy with the wealth of the forest, we paddled away with pleasant memories of our forest home, and looked forward to our arrival at Fort Consolation. Soon after entering Bear River the canoes were turned toward the western bank and halted at a point near one of their old camping grounds. Then Naudin--Amik's wife--left the others, and took her way among the trees to an opening in the wood. There stood two little wooden crosses that marked the graves of two of her children--one a still-born girl and the other a boy who had died at the age of three. Upon the boy's grave she placed some food and a little bow and some arrows, and bowed low over it and wept aloud. But at the grave of her still-born child she forgot her grief and smiled with joy as she placed upon the mound a handful of fresh flowers, a few pretty feathers, and some handsome furs. Sitting there in the warm sunshine, she closed her eyes--as she told me afterward--and fancied she heard the little maid dancing among the rustling leaves and singing to her. Like all Indian women of the Strong Woods, she believed that her still-born child would never grow larger or older; that it would never leave her; that it would always love her, though she lived to be a great-grandmother; that when sorrow and pain bowed her low this little maid would laugh and dance and talk and sing to her, and thus change her grief into joy. That is why an Indian mother puts pretty things upon the grave of her still-born child, and that is why she never mourns over it. As our journey progressed those enemies of comfort and pleasure, the black flies, appeared, and at sunrise and sunset caused much annoyance, especially among the children. Then, too, at night if the breeze subsided, mosquitoes swarmed from the leeward side of bushes and drove slumber away. One afternoon, while resting, we observed signs of beaver and Oo-koo-hoo, being reminded of an incident he once witnessed, related it to me: "Once, my son, while paddling alone, I rounded the bend of a river, and hearing a splash just beyond the turn, silently propelled my canoe beneath a screen of overhanging branches. After waiting and watching awhile, I saw an otter fishing in the stream. A moment later I beheld a beaver--evidently a female--swimming just beyond the otter, and pursued by two other beavers--evidently males. The males, perceiving the otter swimming in the direction of the female, probably came to the conclusion that he was about to pay his court to her, for they suddenly swerved from their course and attacked the innocent otter. He dived to escape his assailants, and they dived after him. When he rose for breath, they came up, too, and made after him; so he dived again. Evidently, they were trying to wind their quarry, for whenever he came up for breath they endeavoured to reach him before he got it. In a short time they had so exhausted him that he refused to dive again before he gained his breath. He made for the shore. The beavers rushed after him, overtook him, and just as he gained the bank, ripped his throat open. Then I shot one of the beavers and tossed it into my canoe along with the otter." The journey to the Post was a delight all the way--save when the flies were busy. One night those almost invisible little torments, the sand flies, caused us--or rather me--much misery until Granny built such a large fire that it attracted the attention of the little brutes, and into it they all dived, or apparently did--just as she said they would--for in less than half an hour not a single sand fly remained. On our way to God's Lake we had considerable sport in the way of shooting white-water. One morning we landed at the head of a portage, and, as the rapid was not a dangerous one, Oo-koo-hoo and Amik determined to run it, but first went ashore to examine the channel. On their return Oo-koo-hoo instructed the others to follow his lead about four canoe-lengths apart, so that in case of mishap they could help each other. Down the canoes plunged one after the other. The children wielded their little paddles, screaming with delight as they swiftly glided through the foaming spray past shores still lined here and there with walls of ice. As the canoes rounded a sharp bend in the rapid Oo-koo-hoo descried a black bear walking on the ice that overhung the eastern bank. The animal seemed as much surprised as any of us, and, instead of making off, rose upon its haunches and gazed in amazement at the passing canoes. But as we swept by there was no thought of firing guns. The sight of the bear reminded Oo-koo-hoo of an experience some friends of his once had with a black bear; and when we reached slack water he told it to me. The friends in question were a mother and her daughter, and late one afternoon they were returning from berry picking. As they rounded a bend in the river the daughter in the bow suddenly stopped paddling, and--without turning her face toward her mother in the stern--excitedly whispered: "_Muskwa_! _Muskwa_!" Then as the older woman caught sight of a dark object fifty paces away, she uttered a few hurried commands. Both fell to paddling with all their might. With straining backs, stiffened arms, and bending blades, they fairly lifted the canoe at every stroke; and the waters gave a tearing sound as the slashing blades sent little whirlpools far behind. Their hearts were fired with the spirit of the chase, and--though their only weapons were their skinning knives--they felt no fear. On they raced to head the bear, who was swimming desperately to gain the shore. They overhauled him. He turned at bay. The daughter soused a blanket in the water and threw it over his head. The mother in the stern reached over as the canoe glided by, seized him by an ear as he struggled blindly beneath the smothering mantle, and drove her knife into his throat. A broad circle of crimson coloured the water round the blanket. The canoe was quickly brought about; the mother slipped a noose over his head, and in triumph they towed the carcass to their camp. On the last morning of our trip there was a flutter of pleasant excitement among our little party; and by the time the sun appeared and breakfast was over, everybody was laughing and talking, for we had made such progress that we expected to reach Fort Consolation by ten o'clock that forenoon. Quickly we loaded the canoes again, and away we paddled. In a few hours the beautiful expanse of God's Lake appeared before us. When we sighted the old fort, a joyous shout rang out; paddles were waved overhead, and tears of joy rose to the eyes of the women--and of some of the men. Going ashore, we quickly made our toilets, donning our very finest in order to make a good appearance on our arrival at the Fort--as is the custom of the Northland. Bear's grease was employed with lavish profusion, even Oo-koo-hoo and Amik and the boys using it on their hair; while the women and girls greased and wove their tresses into a single elongated braid which hung down behind. The men put on their fancy silk-worked moccasins; tied silk handkerchiefs about their necks--the reverse of cow-boy fashion--and beaded garters around their legs; while the women placed many brass rings upon their fingers, bright plaid shawls about their shoulders, gay silk handkerchiefs over their heads, and beaded leggings upon their legs. How I regretted I had not brought along my top-hat--that idiotic symbol of civilization--for if I could have worn it on that occasion, the Indians at Fort Consolation would have been so filled with merriment that they would have in all probability remembered me for many a year as the one white man with a sense of humour. For in truth, it is just as Ohiyesa (Charles A. Eastman) the full-blooded Sioux, says in his book on Indian Boyhood: "There is scarcely anything so exasperating to me as the idea that the natives of this country have no sense of humour and no faculty for mirth. This phase of their character is well understood by those whose fortune or misfortune it has been to live among them day in and day out at their homes. I don't believe I ever heard a real hearty laugh away from the Indians' fireside. I have often spent an entire evening in laughing with them until I could laugh no more." CONTEST OF WITS When we arrived at Fort Consolation, Oo-koo-hoo and his party were greeted by a swarm of their copper-coloured friends, among whom were The Little Pine and his father, mother, and sister. Making his way through the press, The Owl strode toward the trading room to shake hands with Factor Mackenzie; but the trader, hearing of Oo-koo-hoo's arrival, hastened from his house to welcome the famous hunter; and The Owl greeted him with: "_Quay, quay, Hu-ge-mow_" (good day, Master). On their way to the Indian shop they passed the canoe shed, where skilled hands were finishing two handsome six-fathom canoes for the use of the Fur Brigade; and they stopped to examine them. The building of a six-fathom or "North" canoe generally takes place under a shed erected for the purpose, where there is a clear, level space and plenty of working room. Two principal stakes are driven at a distance apart of thirty-six feet, the length of the craft to be. These are connected by two rows of smaller stakes diverging and converging so as to form the shape of the canoe. The smaller stakes are five feet apart at the centre. Pieces of birch bark are soaked in water for a day and no more, sewn together with wat-tap--the roots of cedar or spruce gathered in spring--placed between the stakes with the outer side down, and then made fast. The well-soaked ribs are then put in place and as soon as they are loaded with stones the bark assumes its proper form. The gunwales, into which the ends of the ribs are mortised, are bound into position with _wat-tap_. The thwarts are next adjusted. The stones and stakes are then removed; the seams are covered with a mixture of one part grease to nine parts spruce gum; the craft is tested, and is then held in readiness for its maiden voyage. On entering the Indian shop or trading room, Oo-koo-hoo was ready to talk about anything under the sun save business, as he wanted to force the Trader to solicit his patronage; but as the Factor was trying to make the hunter do the same thing, they parted company a little later without having mentioned the word "trade." No wonder the Indians are glad to return to their tribal summer camping grounds; for it is there that they rest and play and spend their summer holidays. It is there, too, that the young people enjoy the most favourable opportunity for doing their courting; as every event--such as the departure or the return of the Fur Brigade--calls for a festival of dancing which not infrequently lasts for several days. Also, in many other ways, the boys and girls have chances of becoming acquainted. Since young hunters often claim their sweethearts during the winter, many "marriages" take place after the Indian fashion. On their return to the Post, however, the young couples are generally married over again, and this time after the white man's custom--"in the face of the Church." The way the young people "keep company" at the summer camping grounds presents no feature of special interest. It is during the winter season in the forest many miles beyond the Post that the old customs have full sway. The re-marrying the young couples "in the face of the Church" frequently demands extreme vigilance, for in the confusion of the matrimonial busy season when the Indians first come in the little papoose is apt to be christened--unless the clergyman is very careful--before the parents have had time to arrange for their church wedding. Meanwhile, the women having erected the canvas lodge and put in order one of their last-year's birch-bark wigwams, called upon the Factor's wife and presented her with a handsome work-bag made of beautifully marked skins from the necks of the loons Oo-koo-hoo had shot with his bow and arrow for that purpose. After leaving the Indian shop, the hunter returned to his camp to talk matters over with Amik and the women. He told them that he intended selling most of his furs to the Company, but that he thought it wise to stay away from the Factor until next day. But as Granny, being a Roman Catholic, wanted to have Father Jois marry Neykia and The Little Pine, she suggested that Oo-koo-hoo go and call upon the priest at once. Notwithstanding that her mother was a Presbyterian, Neykia had joined the Roman Catholic Church and when asked why she had done so, she said it was because she thought the candles looked so pretty burning on the altar. Though The Owl was not in the least interested in any one of the white man's many religions, nor in the priest, the clergyman, or the minister of the three different denominations represented at the Post, he now called upon the priest as his wife wished him to. During the course of their conversation the priest said: "My son, that was a beautiful silver fox you sold the Company three years ago. I, myself, would have paid you well for it." "Would you look as well upon a black fox?" asked Oo-koo-hoo in surprise, as it is an unwritten law of the country that missionaries are not to carry on trade with the Indians. "Yes. Have you one?" questioned the priest. "I have never seen a finer," replied the hunter. "But do either of the traders know you have it?" asked the priest. "No," answered Oo-koo-hoo, with a shake of his head. Later, when the priest saw the skin, he was delighted with it, and a bargain was soon made. Oo-koo-hoo was to get one hundred "skins" for the black fox, and he was told to call next day. But after returning to camp, he grew impatient and went back to the priest to demand his pay. The priest said he would give him a tent and a rifle worth more than fifty skins and that he would say ten masses for him and his family, which would be a very generous equivalent for the other fifty skins. But Oo-koo-hoo, suddenly flaring up, began to storm at the priest, and demanded the black fox back. But the priest sternly motioned for silence with upraised hand, and whispered: "This is God's House. There must be no noise or anger here." And without another word he withdrew to get the rifle and the tent. When he returned with an old tent and a second-hand rifle, Oo-koo-hoo would not deign to touch them. Without more ado, he turned on his heel and walked away. On reaching camp, the old hunter learned from the children that the women had gone to pay a visit to the nuns; so he followed them, and, without even speaking to the Sisters, ordered the women to come home. On the way he eased his wrath by telling them that never again would he buy prayers or masses from the priest with black fox skins, and that if they ever wanted masses, he would pay for them with nothing but the skins of skunks. He did not see why he had to pay for masses, anyway, when Free Trader Spear had made them a standing offer of all the prayers they wanted free of charge, provided that he, Oo-koo-hoo, would trade with him. He added that he had half a mind to accept Spear's offer, just to spite the priest. So after meditating for a while upon his steadfast belief that any fool of an Indian is better than a white man, and that the only good white men are the dead ones, he got into his canoe and paddled across the lake to interview the opposition trader. When he told Spear what a splendid black fox he had, and how the priest had already offered him a hundred skins for it, the Free Trader said: "I'll give you a hundred and ten for it," and the old reprobate added, "and I'll throw into the bargain half-a-dozen prayers for the women." The offer was at once accepted. On handing over the goods to Oo-koo-hoo, the trader asked where the black fox was, and was told that it was in keeping of the priest. So without delay Mr. Spear paddled back with The Owl to get the skin. When the priest learned how the hunter had stolen a march on him, he was righteously indignant; but he dared not complain, since he was not supposed to deal in furs. There was nothing to do but hand over the magnificent skin to the Free Trader although he knew right well that in London or Paris it would bring twenty times the price paid for it. Next day old Granny came crying to Oo-koo-hoo and complaining that the priest had refused to officiate at the wedding on the day agreed upon. The nuns had told her that his refusal was due to his determination to discipline The Owl for his rudeness and irreverence. That seemed to worry the hunter considerably, for, though he cared nothing for the priest's benediction, he did want the wedding to come off upon the day appointed. It touched his pride to be balked in his plans. He had already invited all the Indians at the Post to the ceremony. Great preparations were being made. If the wedding were put off even a single day, everybody would be curious to know why; and sooner or later it would be known that he had had to bow to the will of the priest. The thought rankled. So he went to the Factor and told him the whole affair. "Ma brither," said the Factor, "we are auld freens; it is weel that we shud staun' thegither. If ye will trade a' yir furs wi' me this day, I'll get the meenister o' the Presybyterian Kirk tae mairry yir gran'dochter. He'll be gled eneuch tae gi'e Father Jois a dour by mairryin' twa o' his fowk. Sell me yir furs, an' I'll warrant ye ye'll hae the laff on Father Jois." MISSIONARIES AND INDIANS That settled it. Factor Mackenzie got all the furs Oo-koo-hoo and his family possessed. The Factor and the hunter were now the best of friends, and they even went so far as to exchange presents--and that's going some . . . for a Scotsman. Should the foregoing amuse the Protestant reader, the following may be of interest to the Roman Catholic. One winter, while halting at a certain Hudson's Bay post, I met a Protestant clergyman, who having spent a number of years as a missionary among the natives on the coast of Hudson Bay excited my interest as to his work among the Indians. That night, after supper, I questioned him as to his spiritual work among the "barbarians" of the forest, and in the presence of the Hudson's Bay trader, he turned to me and, with the air of being intensely bored by the subject, he replied: "Mr. Heming . . . the only interest I ever take in the Indian . . . is when I bury him." But while I have cited two types of clergymen I have known--the name of the priest being, of course, fictitious--merely to point out the kind of missionaries that should never be sent among the Indians, I not only wish to state that they are very much the exception to the rule, but I also want to make known my unbounded respect and admiration for that host of splendid men--and women--of all denominations, who have devoted their lives to the spiritual welfare of the people of the wilderness, and some of whom have already left behind them hallowed names of imperishable memory. But the lot of the missionary among the Indians is not altogether a joyous one. In his distant and isolated outpost there are privations to endure and hardships to suffer. Frequently, too, it happens that he is placed in a position exceedingly embarrassing to a man of gentle breeding and kindly spirit. A well-known Canadian priest was being entertained by an Indian family. The hospitable old grandmother undertook to prepare a meal for him. Determined to set before the "black-robe" a really dainty dish--something after the fashion of a Hamburg steak--and possessing no machine for mincing the meat, she simply chewed it up nice and fine in her own mouth. After cooking it to a turn, she set it before her honoured guest, and was at a loss to understand why the good man had so suddenly lost his appetite. But there is often a brighter and also a graver side to the missionary's life among the red men. Incidents occur which appeal irresistibly to his sense of humour. One Sunday afternoon a certain noted bishop of the English Church in Canada, who had spent most of his life as a missionary in the far Northwest, was discoursing at considerable length to a band of Dog-rib Indians camped at the mouth of Hay River on Great Slave Lake. His Lordship dwelt earnestly upon the virtue of brotherly love, and enlarged upon the beauty of the Divine saying--"It is more blessed to give than to receive." After the service an old Indian walked up to the preacher, piously repeated the sacred text, and intimated that he was prepared to become the humble instrument for bringing upon his reverence the promised blessing. To that end he was willing to receive his lordship's hat. The good bishop was taken aback. Realizing, however, that there was nothing else for him to do, he took off his hat and bestowed it with commendable cheerfulness upon his new disciple. Another red man, jealous of his brother who was now parading in all the splendour of the bishop's hat, claimed upon the same ground the prelate's gaiters, and received them. The two Indians, envious each of the other's acquisition, began to discuss with growing anger the comparative value of the articles. Unable to arrive at an agreement, they resolved to put up the hat and gaiters as a stake and gamble for them. The impressive head-gear and antique gaiters of an Anglican bishop never appeared to greater advantage than they did upon the old Indian, the winner of the game, when he proudly strutted before his dusky, admiring brethren, displaying on head and bare legs the Episcopal insignia, and having for his only other garment an old shirt whose dingy tail fluttered coyly in the summer breeze. NEYKIA'S WEDDING At ten o'clock, on the morning of Neykia's wedding, a motley mass of natives clothed in many colours crowded about the little church, which, for lack of space, they could not enter. Presently the crowd surged back from the door and formed on either side of the path, leaving an opening down the centre. A tall half-breed with a shock of wavy black hair stepped from the doorway, raised his violin, and adjusting it into position, struck up a lively tune to the accompaniment of the wailing of a broken concertina played by another half-breed who preceded the newly married couple. Neykia wore a silk handkerchief over her head, a light-coloured cotton waist open at the throat, a silk sash over one shoulder, and a short skirt revealing beaded leggings and moccasins. Behind the bride and groom walked Oo-koo-hoo and the fathers of the bridal couple, then the mothers and the rest of the relations, while the clergy and the other guests brought up the rear. As the little procession moved along, the men, lined up on either side of the path, crossed their guns over the heads of the wedding party, and discharged a _feu de joie_. On reaching a certain log-house the procession broke up. The older people went in to partake of the wedding breakfast, while the bride and groom went over to one of the warehouses and amused themselves dancing with their young friends until they were summoned to the second table of the marriage feast. Everybody at the Post had contributed something toward either the feast or the dance. Out of respect for Oo-koo-hoo the Factor had furnished a liberal stock of groceries and had, in addition, granted the free use of the buildings. The clerk had sent in a quantity of candies and tobacco. The priest had given potatoes; the clergyman had supplied a copy of the Bible in syllabic characters; and the minister had given the silver-plated wedding ring. The nuns had presented a supply of skim-milk and butter. Mr. Spear provided jam, pickles, and coal-oil for the lamps. The Mounted Police contributed two dollars to pay for the "band"--the fiddle and the concertina--and ammunition enough for the _feu de joie_. The friends and relations had given a plentiful store of fresh, dried, and pounded fish; and had also furnished a lavish supply of moose, caribou, and bear meat; as well as dainty bits of beaver, lynx, muskrat, and skunk. The bridal party having dined, they and their elders opened the ball officially. The first dance was--as it always is--the Double Jig, then followed in regular order the same dances as those of the New Year's feast. After a frolic of several hours' duration some of the dancers grew weary and returned to the banquet room for refreshments. And thus for three days and three nights the festivities continued. THE WEDDING SPEECHES During a lull in the dancing on the afternoon of the wedding day Little Pine's sister went up to him and said: "Brother, may I kiss you? Are you ashamed?" He answered: "No." She kissed him, took his wife's hand, placed it in his with her own over both, and addressed the young wife: "As you have taken my place, do to him as I have done; listen to him, work for him, and, if need be, die for him." Then she lowered her head and began to cry. Ne-Geek, The Otter, Neykia's oldest brother, then went up to Little Pine and asked: "Are you man enough to work for her, to feed her, and to protect her?" "Yes," replied the new-made husband. The Otter put the husband's hand on his sister's hand, and--looking him straight in the eyes . . . shook his clenched fist at him and said in a threatening tone . . . "Beware!" In the midst of one of the dances Oo-koo-hoo walked up to the "band" and knocked up the fiddle to command silence. Pulling his _capote_ tightly about him, he assumed a dignified attitude, slowly looked round the room to see that he had the attention of all present, and began to address the assemblage: "The step which Shing-wauk has taken is a very serious one. Now he will have to think for two. Now he must supply the wants of two. Now he will realize what trouble is. But the One who made us . . . The Great Mystery . . . The Master of Life . . . made us right. The man has his work to do, and the woman has hers. The man must hunt and kill animals, and the woman must skin and dress them. The man must always stand by her and she by him. The two together are strong . . . and there is no need of outside assistance. Remember . . . my grandchildren . . . you are starting out together that way . . ." To illustrate his meaning, he held up two fingers parallel, and added: "If your tracks fork . . . they will soon be as far apart as sunrise is from sunset . . . and you will find many ready to come in between. Carry on in the way you have begun . . . for that is the way you should end. And remember . . . if your tracks once fork . . . they will never come together again . . . my grandchildren . . . I have spoken." After Little Pine's father, as well as several of the guests, had made their remarks, Naudin, Neykia's mother, rose to address her daughter. Overcome with nervousness, she pulled her shawl so far over her face as to leave only a tiny peep-hole through which to look. Hesitatingly she began: "My daughter, you never knew what trouble is, now you will know. You never knew what hard work is, now you will soon learn. Never let your husband want for anything. Never allow another woman to do anything for him; if you do . . . you are lost. When you have children, my daughter, and they grow up, your sons will always be sons to you, even though they be gray-headed. But with your daughters it will not be so; when they marry, they will be lost to you. Once married, they are gone for ever." She stepped up to her daughter, kissed her, and sank to the floor, weeping copiously. Then Amik rose to speak. He beckoned to his daughter. She advanced and knelt down, holding the fringe of his legging while he addressed her: "Neykia, my daughter, you have taken this man. Be good to him, work for him, live for him, and if need be, die for him. Kiss me, Neykia, my daughter; kiss me for the last time." She kissed him, and he added: "You have kissed me for the last time: henceforth never kiss any man but your husband." Raising his hand with untutored dignity, he pronounced the words: "Remember . . . I have spoken." VIII BUSINESS AND ROMANCE FAREWELL ATHABASCA Though Wawe Pesim (The Egg Moon), or June, had already brought summer to the Great Northern Forest, the beautiful Athabasca still waited in vain. Son-in-law had not yet appeared. After all--was he but a fond parents' dream? I wondered. Soon the picturesque and romantic Fur Brigade would be sweeping southward on its voyage from the last entrenchments of the Red Gods to the newest outposts of civilization--a civilization that has debauched, infected, plundered, and murdered the red man ever since its first onset upon the eastern shores of North America. If you don't believe this, read history, especially the history of the American fur trade. Meanwhile, canoes laden with furs and in charge of Hudson's Bay traders or clerks from outlying "Flying Posts" had arrived; and among the voyageurs was that amusing character, Old Billy Brass. A little later, too, Chief Factor Thompson arrived from the North. Now in the fur loft many hands were busily engaged in sorting, folding, and packing in collapsible moulds--that determined the size and shape of the fur packs--a great variety of skins. Also they were energetically weighing, cording, and covering the fur packs with burlap--leaving two ears of that material at each end to facilitate handling them, as each pack weighed eighty pounds. A fur pack of one hundred pounds--for the weight varies according to the difficulty of transportation in certain regions--contains on an average fourteen bear, sixty otter, seventy beaver, one hundred and ten fox skins, or six hundred muskrat skins. A pack of assorted furs contains about eighty skins and the most valuable ones are placed in the centre. During the next few days the great "North" or six-fathom canoes--made of birch bark and capable of carrying from three to four tons of freight in addition to their crews of from eight to twelve men--were brought out of the canoe house, and together with the two new ones, had their bows and sterns painted white in readiness for their finishing touch of decoration in the way of some symbol of the fur trade. As the principal Indian canoemen, who were to join the Fur Brigade, were already familiar with my ability as an artist, they waited upon the Factor and requested him to solicit my help in the final decorating of those beautiful canoes. So it came to pass that on the bow of one a leaping otter appeared and on the bows of others, a rearing bear, a flying goose, a rampant caribou, a galloping fox, a leaping lynx, a rampant moose, and on still another the coat-of-arms of the Hudson's Bay Company. Each in turn had its admirers, but Oo-koo-hoo, who was to have charge of all the voyageurs, sidled up to Factor Mackenzie and whispered that if Hu-ge-mow--Master--would let him take his choice of the canoes, he would not only give the Factor a dollar in return for the privilege, but he would promise to keep that particular canoe at the very head of the whole brigade, and never once allow another canoe to pass it during the voyage. The Factor was not only interested in the Indian's appreciation of art, as well as amused over the idea that he would accept a bribe of a dollar, but he was curious to know which canoe the Indian most favoured. It was the one that displayed the Great Company's coat-of-arms; so Oo-koo-hoo, the famous white-water-man, not only won his choice and retained his dollar, but furthermore, he and his crew actually did keep the bow of that canoe ahead of all others--no matter where or when the other crews contested for the honour of leading the Fur Brigade. The next morning, at sunrise, the Fur Brigade was to take its departure. Now it was time I visited Spearhead, to thank my friends, the Free Trader and his family, for all their kindness to me, and to bid them farewell; so I borrowed a small canoe and paddled across the lake. When I arrived they invited me to dine with them. At the table that day there was less talking--everyone seemed to be in a thoughtful mood. The windows and doors were open and the baggy mosquito netting sagged away from the hot sun as the cool breeze whispered through its close-knit mesh. Outside, I could see the heifer and her mother lying in the shade of a tree on the far side of the stump-lot, and near the doorway the ducks and geese were sauntering about the grass and every now and then making sudden little rushes--as though they were trying to catch something. There, too, in the pathway, the chickens were scratching about and ruffling their feathers in little dust holes--as though they were trying to get rid of something. An unexpected grunt at the doorway attracted my attention and I saw a pig leering at me from the corners of its half-closed eyes--the very same pig the Free Trader and his wife had chosen to add to their daughter's wedding dowry--then it gave a familiar little nod, as though it recognized me; and I fancied, too, that its ugly chops broke into an insolent smile. What was it thinking about? . . . Was it Son-in-law? I wondered. I glanced at Athabasca. How beautiful she looked! The reflected sunlight in the room cast a delightful sheen over her lustrous brown hair, and seemed to enhance the beauty of her charmingly sun-browned skin, that added so much to the whiteness of her even teeth, and to the brilliancy of her soft brown eyes. In a dreamy way she was looking far out through the window and away off toward the distant hills. She, too, set me wondering; was she thinking of Son-in-law? At that moment, however, the pig gave another impatient grunt which startled Athabasca and caused her to look directly at me. I blushed scarlet, then; so did she--but, of course, only out of sympathy. "Yes, we'll send her to that finishing school in Toronto," her mother mused, while Free Trader Spear scratched his head once more, and three house flies lazily sat on the sugar bowl and hummed a vulgar tune. After dinner Mr. Spear invited me into the trading room to see some of the furs he had secured. Among them were four silver fox skins as well as the black one he had bought from Oo-koo-hoo. They were indeed fine skins. It was now time for me to take my departure, so I returned to the living room, but found no one there. Presently, however, Mrs. Spear entered, and though she sat down opposite me, she never once looked my way. She seemed agitated about something. Clasping her fingers together, she twirled her thumbs about one another, then she twirled them back the other way; later she took to tapping her moccasined toe upon the bare floor, I wondered what was coming. I couldn't make it out. For all the while she was looking at a certain crack in the floor. Once more she renewed the twirling action of her thumbs, and even increased the action of her toe upon the floor. What did it all mean? Had I done anything to displease her? No; I could think of nothing of the sort, so I felt a little easier. Suddenly, however, she glanced up and, looking straight at me, began: "Mr. Heming . . . we have only one child . . . and we love her dearly . . ." But the pause that followed was so long drawn out that I began to lose interest, especially as the flies were once more humming the same old tune. A little later, however, I was almost startled when Mrs. Spear exclaimed: "But I'll lend you a photograph of Athabasca for six weeks!" Thereupon Mrs. Spear left her chair and going upstairs presently returned with a photograph wrapped in a silk handkerchief; and as at that very moment the Free Trader and his daughter entered the room, I, without comment, slipped the photograph into my inside pocket, and wished them all good-bye; though they insisted upon walking down to the landing to wave me farewell on my way to Fort Consolation. MUSTERING THE FUR BRIGADE Next morning, soon after dawn, the church bells were ringing and everyone was up and astir; and presently all were on their way to one or another of the little log chapels on the hill; where, a little later, they saw the stalwart men of the Fur Brigade kneeling before the altar as they partook of the holy sacrament before starting upon their voyage to the frontier of civilization. Strange, isn't it, that the writers of northern novels never depict a scene like that? Probably because they have never been inside a northern church. Next, breakfasts were hurriedly eaten, then the voyageurs assembled upon the beach placed those big, beautifully formed, six-fathom canoes upon the water, and paddled them to the landing. Then Chief Factor Thompson and Factor Mackenzie joined the throng; and that veteran voyageur, Oo-koo-hoo, who was to command the Fur Brigade, touched his hat and conversed with the officers. A few moments later the old guide waved his swarthy men into line. From them he chose the bowmen, calling each by name, and motioning them to rank beside him; then, in turn, each bowman selected a man for his crew; until, for each of the eight canoes, eight men were chosen. Then work began. Some went off with tump-line in hand to the warehouse, ascended the massive stairs, and entered the fur loft. Tiers of empty shelves circled the room, where the furs were stored during the winter; but upon the floor were stacked packs of valuable pelts--the harvest of the fur trade. The old-fashioned scales, the collapsible mould, and the giant fur press told of the work that had been done. Every pack weighed eighty pounds. Loading up, they rapidly carried the fur to the landing. In the storeroom the voyageurs gathered up the "tripping" kit of paddles, tents, axes, tarpaulins, sponges; and a box for each crew containing frying-pans, tea pails, tin plates, and tea-dishes. In the trading room the crews were supplied with provisions of flour, pork, and tea, at the rate of three pounds a day for each man. They were also given tobacco. Most of the voyageurs received "advances" from the clerk in the way of clothing, knives, pipes, and things deemed essential for the voyage. Birch bark, spruce roots, and gum were supplied for repairing the canoes. All was now in readiness. The loading of freight began, and when each canoe had received its allotted cargo the voyageurs indulged in much handshaking with their friends, a little quiet talking and affectionate kissing with their families and sweethearts. Then, paddle in hand, they boarded their canoes and took their places. In manning a six-fathom canoe the bowman is always the most important; the steersman comes next in rank, while the others are called "midmen." DEPARTURE OF THE FUR BRIGADE Factor Mackenzie and his senior officer, sitting in the guide's or chief voyageur's canoe, which, of course, was Oo-koo-hoo's, gave the word; and all together the paddle blades dipped, the water swirled, and on the gunwales the paddle handles thudded as the canoes heaved away. The going and coming of the Fur Brigade was the one great event of the year to those nomadic people who stood watching and waving to the fast-vanishing flotilla. Were they not bidding farewell to fathers, husbands, brothers, sons, or lovers, chosen as the best men from their village? Had they not lent a hand in the winning of the treasure that was floating away? If only the pelts in those packs could speak, what tales they would unfold! As I looked back the animated picture of the little settlement wherein we figured but a moment before gradually faded into distance. The wild-looking assembly was blotted from the shore. But still above the rapidly dwindling buildings waved the flag of the oldest chartered trading association in the world--the Hudson's Bay Company. Between eleven and twelve o'clock the brigade went ashore for a "snack." The canoes were snubbed to overhanging trees, and upon a rocky flat the fires burned. Hurriedly drinking the hot tea, the men seized pieces of frying pork and, placing them upon their broken bannock, ravenously devoured both as they returned to the canoes. No time was lost. Away we went again. Then the brigade would paddle incessantly for about two hours; then they would "spell", and paddles were laid aside "one smoke." As the way slackened the steersmen bunched the canoes. The soft, rich voices of the crews blended as they quietly chatted and joked and laughed together. [Illustration: The departure of the Fur Brigade was the one great event of the year. In manning six-fathom canoes the bowman are always the most important; the steersman coming next in rank, while the others are called "midmen." The brigade would paddle incessantly for about two hours; then they would "spell", and paddles were laid aside "one smoke." The soft, rich voices of the crews blended as they quietly chatted and joked and . . . See Chapter VIII.] Later, a stern wind came along. Nearing an island, some of the men went ashore and cut a mast and sprit-sail boom for each canoe. They lashed the masts to the thwarts with tump-lines, and rigged the tarpaulins, used to cover the packs, into sails. Again the paddles were shipped, save those of the steersmen; and the crews lounged about, either smoking or drowsing. The men were weary. Last night they had danced both hard and long, with dusky maids--as all true voyageurs do on the eve of their departure. To voyageurs stern winds are blessings. Mile after mile the wild flotilla swept along. Sunshine danced upon the rippling waves that gurgled and lapped as the bows overreached them. Rugged islands of moss-covered rock and evergreen trees rose on every side. The wind favoured us for about five miles, then shifted. Reluctantly the sails were let down, and masts and booms tossed overboard. At four o'clock the brigade landed on a pretty island, and a hurried afternoon tea was taken; after which we again paddled on, and at sundown halted to pitch camp for the night. CAMP OF THE FUR BRIGADE The canoes--held off shore so as not to damage them by touching the beach--were unloaded by men wading in the water. The fur packs were neatly piled and covered with tarpaulins. Then the canoes were lifted off the water, and carried ashore, and turned upside-down for the night. Tents were erected and campfires lit. Upon a thick carpet of evergreen brush the blankets were spread in the tents. The tired men sat in the smoke at the fires and ate their suppers round which black flies and mosquitoes hovered. Canadian voyageurs, being well used to both fasting and feasting, display great appetites when savoury food is plentiful, and though I have seen much feasting and heard astonishing tales of great eating, I feel I cannot do better than quote the following, as told by Charles Mair, one of the co-authors of that reliable book "Through the Mackenzie Basin": "I have already hinted at those masterpieces of voracity for which the region is renowned; yet the undoubted facts related around our campfires, and otherwise, a few of which follow, almost beggar belief. Mr. Young, of our party, an old Hudson's Bay officer, knew of sixteen trackers who, in a few days, consumed eight bears, two moose, two bags of pemmican, two sacks of flour, and three sacks of potatoes. Bishop Grouard vouched for four men eating a reindeer at a sitting. Our friend, Mr. d'Eschambault, once gave Oskinnegu,--'The Young Man'--six pounds of pemmican. He ate it all at a meal, washing it down with a gallon of tea, and then complained that he had not had enough. Sir George Simpson states that at Athabasca Lake, in 1820, he was one of a party of twelve who ate twenty-two geese and three ducks at a single meal. But, as he says, they had been three whole days without food. The Saskatchewan folk, however, known of old as the Gens de Blaireaux--'The People of the Badger Holes'--were not behind their congeners. That man of weight and might, our old friend Chief Factor Belanger, once served out to thirteen men a sack of pemmican weighing ninety pounds. It was enough for three days; but there and then they sat down and consumed it all at a single meal, not, it must be added, without some subsequent and just pangs of indigestion. Mr. B., having occasion to pass the place of eating, and finding the sack of pemmican, as he supposed, in his path, gave it a kick; but, to his amazement, it bounded aloft several feet, and then lit. It was empty! When it is remembered that in the old buffalo days the daily ration per head at the Company's prairie posts was eight pounds of fresh meat, which was all eaten, its equivalent being two pounds of pemmican, the enormity of this Gargantuan feast may be imagined. But we ourselves were not bad hands at the trencher. In fact, we were always hungry. So I do not reproduce the foregoing facts as a reproach, but rather as a meagre tribute to the prowess of the great of old--the men of unbounded stomach!" And yet, strange as it may seem, fat men are seldom seen in the northern wilderness. That is something movie directors should remember. Pemmican, though little used nowadays, was formerly the mainstay of the voyageurs. It was made of the flesh of buffalo, musk-ox, moose, caribou, wapiti, beaver, rabbit, or ptarmigan; and for ordinary use was composed of 66 per cent. of dried meat pounded fine to 34 per cent. of hard fat boiled and strained. A finer quality of pemmican for officers or travellers was composed of 60 per cent. of dried meat pounded extra fine and sifted; 33 per cent. of grease taken from marrow bones boiled and strained; 5 per cent. of dried Saskatoon berries; 2 per cent. of dried choke cherries, and sugar according to taste. The pounded meat was placed in a large wooden trough and, being spread out, hot grease was poured over it and then stirred until thoroughly mixed with the meat. Then, after first letting it cool somewhat, the whole was packed into leather bags, and, with the aid of wooden mallets, driven down into a solid mass, when the bags were sewn up and flattened out and left to cool; during the cooling precaution was taken to turn the bags every five minutes to prevent the grease settling too much to one side. Pemmican was packed 50, 80, or 100 lb. in a bag--according to the difficulty of transporting it through the country in which it was to be used. The best pemmican was made from buffalo meat, and 2 lb. of buffalo pemmican was considered equal to 2 1/2 lb. of moose or 3 lb. of caribou pemmican. Later, a cool sunset breeze from over the water blew the little tormentors away, and then it was that those swarthy men enjoyed their rest. After supper some made bannock batter in the mouths of flour-sacks, adding water, salt, and baking powder. This they worked into balls and spread out in sizzling pans arranged obliquely before the fire with a bed of coals at the back of each. It was an enlivening scene. Great roaring fires sent glowing sparks high into the still night air, lighting up the trees with their intense glare, and casting weird shadows upon the surrounding tents and bushes. Picturesque, wild-looking men laughed, talked, and gesticulated at one another. A few with _capotes_ off were sitting close to the fires, and flipping into the air the browning flap-jacks that were to be eaten the following day. Others, with hoods over their heads, lolled back from the fire smoking their pipes--and by the way, novelists and movie directors and actors should know that the natives of the northern wilderness, both white and red, do not smoke cigarettes; they smoke pipes and nothing else. Some held their moccasins before the fire to dry, or arranged their blankets for turning in. Others slipped away under cover of darkness to rub pork rinds on the bottom of their canoes, for there was much rivalry as to the speed of the crews. Still more beautiful grows the scene, when the June moon rises above the trees and tips with flickering light the running waves. Sauntering from one crew's fire to another, I listened for a while to the talking and laughing of the voyageurs, but hearing no thrilling tales or even a humorous story by that noted romancer Old Billy Brass, I went over and sat down at the officers' fire, where Chief Factor Thompson was discussing old days and ways with his brother trader. THE LONGEST BRIGADE ROUTES After a little while I asked: "What was the longest route of the old-time canoe and boat brigades?" "There were several very long ones," replied Mr. Thompson, "for instance, the one from Montreal to Vancouver, a distance of about three thousand miles; also the one from York Factory on Hudson Bay to the Queen Charlotte Islands, and another from York Factory to the Mackenzie River posts. Some of the portages on the main highway of canoe travel were rather long, for instance, the one at Portage La Loche was twelve miles in length and over it everything had to be carried on man back. "In winter time, travel was by way of snowshoes, dog-sled, or jumper. A jumper is a low, short, strong sleigh set upon heavy wooden runners and hauled by ox, horse, men, or dogs. The freight load per dog--as you know--is a hundred pounds; per man, one to two hundred pounds; per horse, four to six hundred pounds; and per ox, five to seven hundred pounds. In summer there were the canoe, York boat, sturgeon-head scow, and Red River cart brigades. A six-fathom canoe carries from twenty to thirty packages; a York boat, seventy-five packages; a Sturgeon-head scow, one hundred packages; and a Red River cart, six hundred pounds. The carts were made entirely of wood and leather and were hauled by horse or ox. With every brigade went the wife of one of the voyageurs to attend to the mending of the voyageurs' clothing and to look after the comfort of the officer in charge. But the voyageurs always had to do their own cooking and washing. "In the old days, too, much of their food had to be procured from the country through which they travelled and therefore they relied upon buffalo, moose, wapiti, deer, bear, beaver, rabbit, fish, and water-fowl to keep them in plenty." Then for a while the Factors sat smoking in silence. The moon had mounted higher and was now out of sight behind the tops of the neighbouring trees, but its reflection was brilliantly rippled upon the water. At one of the fires a French half-breed was singing in a rich barytone one of the old _chansons_ that were so much in vogue among the voyageurs of by-gone days--_� la Claire Fontaine_. After an encore, silence again held sway, until around another fire hearty laughter began to play. "The boys over there must be yarning again," remarked, the Chief Factor, as he pointed with his pipe, "let's go over, and listen awhile." BILLY BRASS TELLS ANOTHER STORY It was Oo-koo-hoo's fire and among his men was seated that ever-welcome member of another crew--Old Billy Brass. Evidently he had just finished telling one of his mirth-provoking stories, as the men were good-naturedly questioning him about it; for, as we sat down, he continued: "Yes, sir, it's true; fire attraks 'em. Why, I've knowed 'em come from miles round when they catched a glimpse of it, an' as long as there's danger o' white bears bein' round you'll never again find Old Billy Brass tryin' to sleep beside a big fire. No, sir, not even if His Royal Highness the Commissioner or His Lordship the Bishop gives the word." Then he sat there slowly drawing upon his pipe with apparently no intention of adding a single word to what he had already said. Lest something interesting should be lost, I ventured: "Was it the Bishop or the Commissioner that made the trouble?" "No, sir, neither; 'twas the Archdeacon," replied the old man as he withdrew his pipe and rubbed his smarting eyes clear of the smoke from the blazing logs. Taking a few short draws at the tobacco, he continued: "There was three of us, me an' Archdeacon Lofty an' Captain Hawser, who was commandin' one of the Company's boats that was a-goin' to winter in Hudson Bay. It happened in September. The three of us was hoofin' it along the great barren shore o' the bay. In some places the shore was that flat that every time the tide came in she flooded 'bout all the country we could see, an' we had a devil of a time tryin' to keep clear o' the mud. We had a few dogs along to help pack our beddin', but, nevertheless, it was hard work; for we was carryin' most of our outfit on our backs. "One evenin' just before sundown we stumbled upon a lot o' driftwood scattered all about the flats. As so much wood was lyin' around handy, we decided to spend the night on a little knoll that rose above high-water mark. For the last few days we had seen so little wood that any of our fires could 'a' been built in a hat. But that night the sight o' so much wood fairly set the Archdeacon crazy with delight, an' nothin' would do but we must have a great roarin' fire to sleep by. I would have enjoyed a good warmin' as well as any one, but I was mighty leary about havin' a big fire. So I cautioned the Archdeacon not to use much wood as there was likely to be bears about, an' that no matter how far off they was, if they saw that fire they would make for it--even if they was five or six miles out on the ice floes. He wouldn't listen to me. The Captain backed him up, an' they both set to an' built a fire as big as a tepee. "We was pretty well tuckered out from the day's walkin'. So after supper we dried our moccasins an' was about to turn in early when--lo an' behold!--the Archdeacon got up an' piled more wood upon the fire. That made me mad; for unless he was huntin' for trouble he couldn't 'a' done a thing more foolish, an' I says somethin' to that effect. He comes back at me as though I was afraid o' me own shadder, an' says: 'Billy Brass, I'm s'prised that a man like you doesn't put more faith in prayin' an' trustin' hisself in the hands o' the Almighty.' "I was so hot over the foolishness of havin' such a big fire that I ups an' says: "'That may be all right for you, sir, but I prefer to use my wits first, an' trust in Providence afterwards.' "Nothin' more was said, an' we all turns in. I didn't like the idea of every one goin' to sleep with a fire so big that it was showin' itself for miles aroun', so I kep' myself awake. I wasn't exactly thinkin' that somethin' really serious was goin' to happen, but I was just wishin' it would, just to teach the Archdeacon a lesson. As time went on I must 'a' done a little dozin'; for when I looks up at the Dipper again, I learns from its angle with the North Star that it was already after midnight. An'--would you believe it?--that fire was still blazin' away nearly as big as ever. The heat seemed to make me drowsy, for I began to doze once more. All at once I heard the dogs blowin' so hard----" "Blowing?" "Yes, that's right; they were blowin'; for geddies don't bark like other dogs when they're frightened. Well, as I was sayin', they were blowin' so hard that my hair nearly stood on end. Like a shot I throws off me blanket an' jumps to me feet, for I knowed what was comin'. The Captain an' the Archdeacon heard them, too, an' we all grabbed at once for the only gun, a single-barrelled muzzle-loader. "As ill luck would have it, the Archdeacon was nearest to that gun an' grabbed it, an' by the time we was straightened up we sees a great big white bear rushin' at us. Quick as thought the Archdeacon points the gun at the bear an' pulls the trigger, but the hammer only snaps upon the bare nipple; for the cap had tumbled off in the scramble. There was no time for re-cappin'; so, bein' the nearest to the chargin' bear, the Archdeacon just drops the old gun an' runs for dear life around that fire with me an' the Captin followin' close behind him. "When I seen the way the Archdeacon an' the Captin went a sailin' round that fire, it fairly took me breath away; for somehow I never had any idea that them two old cripples had so much speed left in 'em. An' you can bet it kep' me unusually busy bringin' up the rear; an', anyway, the feelin' that the bear was for ever snappin' at me coat-tails kep' me from takin' things too easy. "Well, we tore round an' round an' round that fire so dang many times that we was not only rapidly losin' our wind but we was beginnin' to get dizzy into the bargain. All the time we could hear the great beast thunderin' after us, yet we daren't slacken our pace; no, sir, not even enough to take a single glance behind just to see which was gainin'. It was a sure case of life or death, but principally death; an' you can depend on it we wasn't takin' any chances. "Me an' the Captin was crowdin' so close upon the Archdeacon's heels that in his terror lest we should pass him by he ups an' sets the pace at such a tremendous speed that the whole three of us actually catches up to the bear . . . without the brute's knowin' it. If it hadn't been for the Archdeacon steppin' on the sole of the bear's upturned left hind foot as the hungry beast was gallopin' round the fire . . . we'd have been runnin' a good deal longer. "Well, sir, if you had just seen how foolish that bear looked when he discovered that we was chasin' him instead of him chasin' us, you'd have died laughin'. Why, he was the most bewildered an' crest-fallen animal I ever did see. But he soon regained his wits an'--evidently calculatin' that his only salvation layed in his overhaulin' us--lit out at a saprisin' gait in a grand effort to leave us far enough behind for him to catch up to us. But it didn't work; for by that time we had all got our second wind an' he soon realized that we was determined not to be overhauled from the rear. So he set to ponderin' what was really the best thing for him to do; an' then he did it. "You must understand that we was so close upon his heels that there wasn't room for him to stop an' turn around without us all fallin' on top of him. So what do you think the cunnin' brute did? Why, he just hauled off an' kicked out behind with his right hind foot, an' hit the Archdeacon a smashin' blow square on his stomach, an' knocked him bang against the Captin an' the Captin against me, an' me against the dogs; an' we all went down in a heap beside the fire. "Well, sir, that old brute had put so much glad an' earnest energy into its kick that it knocked the wind plum out of every one of us, an' for the next few seconds there was a mess of arms an' legs an' tails frantically tryin' to disentangle themselves. But, as good luck would have it, I went down upon the gun. As I rose to my feet, I slipped a cap on the nipple just as the bear comes chargin' around the fire facing us. I ups an' lets him have it full in the mouth. The shot nearly stunned him. While he was clawin' the pain in his face I had time to re-load, an' lets him have it behind the ear, an' he drops dead without a whimper. "Then--would you believe it?--the Archdeacon goes up to the shaggy carcass, puts his foot on the bear's head, an' stands there lookin' for all the world like British Columbia discoverin' America, an' says: "'There, now, Billy Brass, I hope you have learned a lesson. Next time you will know where to place your trust.' "Well, sir, the way he was lettin' on that he had saved the whole outfit made me mad. So I ups an' says: "'Yes, sir, an' if I hadn't put me trust in me gun, there would have been another Archdeacon in heaven.'" THE TRUTH ABOUT WOODSMEN It was now growing late. For a while the smiling Indians, half-breeds, and white men smoked in silence; then one after another, each knocked the ashes from his pipe, arose, stretched himself, and sauntered off to his bed, whether in a tent, under a canoe, or in the open. Walking down to the water's edge I watched the moonlight for a while, then passed quietly from one smouldering fire to another. Some of the men were still talking together in low tones so as not to disturb those who were already seeking slumber, while others were arranging their bedding; and still others were devoutly kneeling in prayer to The Master of Life. Thus during the four seasons of the year I had lived with and observed the men of the northern wilderness; and not only had I learned to like and respect them, but to admire their generosity and honesty, their simplicity and skill, their gentleness and prowess; and, above all, to honour their spiritual attitude toward this world and the next. How different they were from the city dwellers' conception of them! But still you may want further proof. You may want first-hand knowledge of those northern men. You may want to study their minds and to look into their hearts. Then may I ask you to read the following letter, written a few years ago by an old Canadian woodsman--Mr. A. B. Carleton--who was born and bred in the northern wilderness. Then you may become better acquainted with at least one of the men I have been trying to picture to you. "I was born in the heart of the northern forest, and in my wanderings my steps have ever gone most willingly back toward the pine-covered hills and the grassy glades that slope down to cool, deep waters. The wanderlust has carried me far, but the lakes and waterfalls, the bluffs and the bays of the great northern No-Man's Land are my home, and with _Mukwa_ the bear, _Mah-en-gin_ the wolf, _Wash-gish_ the red deer, and _Ah-Meek_ the beaver, I have much consorted and have found their company quite to my liking. "But the fates have so dealt with me that for two years I have not been able to see the smile of Springtime breaking forth upon the rugged face of my northern No-Man's Land. I have had glimpses of it, merely, among crowded houses, out of hospital windows. Still, my mind is native to the forest, and my thoughts and fancies, breaking captivity, go back, like the free wild things they are, on bright days of springtime to the wild land where the change of season means what it never can mean in the town. "What does Spring mean to you town folk, anyway? I will tell you. It means lighter clothing, dust instead of sleet, the transfer of your patronage from fuel man to ice man, a few days of slushy streets and baseball instead of hockey. "What does it mean to the man of the woods? That I will try to tell you. It means that the deep snow which has mantled hill and valley for five months has melted into brooks and rivulets which are plunging and splashing away to find the ocean from whence they came. It means that the thick ice which throughout the long winter has imprisoned the waters of the lakes, is now broken, and the waves, incited by the south wind, are wreaking vengeance by beating it upon the rocks of the northern shore, until, subdued and melted, it returns to be a mere part of the waves again. Instead of the hungry winter howl of the wolf or the whining snarl of the sneaking lynx the air is now filled with happier sounds: ducks are quacking; geese are honking; waveys are cackling as they fly northward; squirrels among the spruce trees chatter noisily; on sandy ridges woodchucks whistle excitedly; back deep in the birch thicket partridges are drumming, and all the woodland is musical with the song of birds. "The trees, through whose bare branches the wind all winter has whistled and shrieked, are now sending forth leaves of tender green and the voice of the wind caressing them is softened to a tone as musical as the song of birds. Flowers are springing up, not in the rigid rows or precise squares of a mechanically inclined horticulturist, but surprising one by elbowing themselves out of the narrowest crevices, or peeping bashfully out from behind fallen trees, or clinging almost upside down to the side of an overhanging cliff. "My camp on Rainy Lake faces the south and in front is a little stunted black ash tree, so dwarfed, gnarled, twisted, and homely that it is almost pretty. I refrained from cutting it down because of its attractive deformity. In the springtime, a few years ago, a pair of robins chose it as their nesting place. One bright Sunday morning, as the nest was in course of construction, I was sitting in my doorway watching the pair. The brisk little husband was hurrying toward the nest with a bit of moss; but the mild sun, the crisp air, the sweet breathing earth, the gently whispering trees seemed to make him so very happy he could not but tell of it. Alighting on a twig he dropped the moss, opened his beak, and poured forth in song the joy his little body could no longer contain. That is the joy of a northern No-Man's Land in the month of May. "We are so happy in our woodland home that we wish everyone might share it with us. But perhaps some would not enjoy what we enjoy, or see what we see, and some are prevented from coming by the duties of other callings, and each must follow the pathway his feet are most fitted to tread. For myself, I only want my little log cabin with the wild vines climbing over its walls and clinging to the mud-chinked crevices, where I can hear the song of wild birds mingled with the sleepy hum of bees moving from blossom to blossom about the doorway; where I can see the timid red deer, as, peeping out of the brush, it hesitates between the fear of man and the temptation of the white clover growing in front of my home, and where I can watch the endless procession of waves following each other up the bay. Give me the necessity of working for my daily bread so that I will not feel as though I were a useless cumbrance upon the earth; allow me an opportunity now and then of doing a kindly act, even if it be no more than restoring to the shelter of its mother's breast a fledgling that has fallen from its nest in a tree top. If I may have these I will be happy, and happier still if I could know that when the time comes for me to travel the trail, the sands of which show no imprint of returning footsteps, that I might be put to rest on the southern slope of the ridge beside my camp, where the sunshine chases the shadows around the birch tree, where the murmur of the waves comes in rhythm to the robin's song, and where the red deer play on moonlight nights. Neither will I fear the snows of winter that come drifting over the bay, driven by the wind that whines through the naked tree tops, nor the howl of the hungry wolf, for what had no terror for me in life need not have afterward. And if the lessons that I learned at my mother's knee be true; if there be that within me that lives on, I am sure that it will be happier in its eternal home if it may look back and know that the body which it had tried to guide through its earthly career was having its long rest in the spot it loved best." Did you ever meet a character like that in northern fiction? No, of course not; how could you? . . . When the books were written by city-dwelling men. Then, too, is not any production of the creative arts--a poem, a story, a play, a painting, or a statue--but a reflection of the composer's soul? So . . . when you read a book filled with inhuman characters, you have taken the measure of the man who wrote it, you have seen a reflection of the author's soul. Furthermore, when people exclaim: "What's the matter with the movies?" The answer is: Nothing . . . save that the screens too often reflect the degenerate souls of the movie directors. But the Indian--how he has been slandered for centuries! When in reality it is just as Warren, the Historian of the Ojibways, proclaimed: "There was consequently less theft and lying, more devotion to the Great Spirit, more obedience to their parents, and more chastity in man and woman, than exists at the present day, since their baneful intercourse with the white race." And Hearne, the northern traveller, ended a similar contention--more than a hundred years ago--by saying: "It being well known that those who have the least intercourse with white men are by far the happiest." That night, as I turned in, I had occasion to look through my kit bag, and there I found, wrapped in a silk handkerchief, the photograph--lent to me for six weeks--of the charming Athabasca. Being alone in my tent, I carefully unfolded its wrapper, and drawing the candle a little nearer, I gazed at her beautiful face. Again I wondered about Son-in-law. . . . A RACE FOR THE PORTAGE At three o'clock next morning the camp was astir. In the half light of early day, and while breakfast was being prepared, the men "gummed" afresh the big canoes. Whittling handles to dry pinesticks, they split the butts half way down, and placed that end in the fire. After a little burning, the stick opened like a fork; and, placing it over the broken seam, the voyageur blew upon the crotch, thus melting the hardened "gum"; then, spitting upon his palm, he rounded it off and smoothed it down. By the time breakfast was ready the tents were again stowed away in the canoes along with the valuable cargoes of furs. Paddling up the mist-enshrouded river the canoes rounded a bend. There the eddying of muddy water told that a moose had just left a water-lily bed. The leaves of the forest hid his fleeing form; but on the soft bank the water slowly trickled into his deep hoof-prints, so late was his departure. The tracks of bear and deer continuously marked the shores, for the woods were full of game. From the rushes startled ducks rose up and whirred away. How varied was the scenery. Island-dotted lakes, timber-covered mountains, winding streams and marshy places; bold rocky gorges and mighty cataracts; dense forests of spruce, tamarack, poplar, birch, and pine--a region well worthy to be the home of either Nimrod or Diana. Later in the day, when all the canoes were ranged side by side, their gracefully curved bows came in line; dip, swirl, thud; dip, swirl, thud, sounded all the paddles together. The time was faultless. Then it was that the picturesque brigade appeared in wild perfection. Nearing a portage, spontaneously a race began for the best landing place. Like contending chargers, forward they bounded at every stroke. Vigorously the voyageurs plied their paddles. Stiffening their arms and curving their backs, they bent the blades. Every muscle was strained. The sharp bows cleaved the lumpy water, sending it gurgling to the paddles that slashed it, and whirled it aside. On they went. Now Oo-koo-hoo's canoe was gaining. As that brightly painted craft gradually forged ahead, its swiftly running wake crept steadily along the sides of the other canoes. Presently the wavelets were sounding "whiff, whiff, whiff," as the white bows crushed them down. Then at last his canoe broke free and lunged away, leaving all the brigade to follow in its broadening trail. The pace was too exhausting; the canoes strung out; but still the narrow blades slashed away, for the portage was at hand. With dangerous speed the first canoe rushed abreast of the landing, and just as one expected disaster the bowman gave the word. Instantly the crew, with their utmost strength, backed water. As the canoe came to a standstill the voyageurs rolled their paddle-handles along the gunwales, twirling the dripping blades and enveloping the canoe in a veil of whirling spray. Then, jumping into the shallow water, they lined up and quickly passed the packs ashore. The moment the cargo was transferred to the bank, the crew lifted the great canoe off the water and turned it bottom up, while four of them placed their heads beneath and rested the gunwales upon their _capote_-bepadded shoulders. As they carried it off, one was reminded of some immense antediluvian reptile crawling slowly over the portage trail. There was now much excitement. Other crews had arrived, and were rapidly unloading. As the landing was over-crowded the portaging began. Each man tied the thin, tapering ends of his tump-line--a fifteen-foot leather strap with a broad centre--about a pack, swung it upon his back, and, bending forward, rested its broad loop over his head. Upon the first his companion placed two more packs; then, stooping beneath the weight of 240 pounds, the packers at a jog-trot set off uphill and down, over rugged rocks and fallen timber, through fern-covered marsh and dense underbrush. Coming to an opening in the wood at the far end of the portage, they quickly tossed their burdens aside, and back again they ran. Nowhere could one see more willing workers. You heard no swearing or grumbling about the exceedingly hard task before them. On the contrary, every man vied with the rest as to which could carry the greatest load and most swiftly cross the portage. Rivalry sped the work along. Shirts and trousers reeked with perspiration. The voyageurs puffed and panted as they went by, and no wonder--the portage was three quarters of a mile in length. Then away we went again, and up, up, up, we mounted day by day, toward the height-of-land, where a long portage over low-lying marshy ground brought us to the place where our descent began; then for days we ran with the current until it entered a larger river, and soon we found that endless rapids interrupted our work, and down many of them the canoes were run. The Hudson's Bay Company, however, never allows its men to shoot rapids with fur-laden canoes; so it was on that wild stretch of our trip that the skill of the voyageur was tested most. FIGHTING WITH DEATH At the head of one of the great rapids Oo-koo-hoo, seeing that I mated well with one of his crew, invited me to take a paddle and help them through. Tossing in an extra paddle for each canoeman we stepped aboard, and with a gentle shove the current caught the light canoe and carried us out to mid-stream. Long before we sighted white water the roar of the cataract was humming in our ears. We midmen sat upon dunnage sacks and braced our moccasined feet against the ribbing. Presently the bowman stood up and scanned the river. Dark, ominous water raced ahead for a hundred yards then disappeared, leaving nothing but a great surging mass of white that leaped high and dropped out of sight in the apparently forsaken river-bed. Then the steersman stood up, too, and Indian words passed between them. Every moment we were gaining impetus, and always heading for the highest crest of foam. Waiting for the word to paddle was even worse than waiting for the starter's gun in a sculling race. At last it came, just as we were twenty-five yards from the end of dark water. With a wild shout from the bowman we drove our paddles home. The great canoe trembled a little at first, as our work was somewhat ragged, but a moment later we settled into an even stroke and swept buoyantly among the tossing billows. Now before us ran a strange wild river of seething white, lashing among great, gray-capped, dark greenish boulders that blocked the way. High rocky banks standing close together squeezed the mighty river into a tumult of fury. Swiftly we glide down the racing torrent and plunge through the boiling waters. Sharp rocks rear above the flying spray while others are barely covered by the foaming flood. It is dangerous work. We midmen paddle hard to force the canoe ahead of the current. The steersman in bow and stern ply and bend their great seven-foot paddles. The bowman with eyes alert keenly watches the whirling waters and signs of hidden rocks below. The roar of seething waters drowns the bowman's orders. The steersman closely watches and follows every move his companion makes. Down we go, riding upon the very back of the river; for here the water forms a great ridge, rising four or five feet above the waterline on either shore. To swerve to either side means sure destruction. With terrific speed we reach the brink of a violent descent. For a moment the canoe pauses, steadies herself, then dips her head as the stern upheaves, and down we plunge among more rocks than ever. Right in our path the angry stream is waging battle with a hoary bowlder that disputes the way. With all its might and fury the frantic river hisses and roars and lashes it. Yet it never moves--it only frowns destruction upon all that dares approach it. How the bowman is working! See his paddle bend! With lightning movements he jabs his great paddle deep into the water and close under the left side of the bow; then with a mighty heave he lifts her head around. The great canoe swings as though upon a pivot; for is not the steersman doing exactly the very opposite at this precise moment? We sheer off. But the next instant the paddles are working on the opposite sides, for the bowman sees signs of a water-covered rock not three yards from the very bow. With a wild lunge he strives to lift the bow around; but the paddle snaps like a rotten twig. Instantly he grabs for another, and a grating sound runs the length of the heaving bottom. The next moment he is working the new paddle. A little water is coming in but she is running true. The rocks now grow fewer, but still there is another pitch ahead. Again the bow dips as we rush down the incline. Spray rises in clouds that drench us to the skin as we plunge through the "great swell" and then shoot out among a multitude of tumbling billows that threaten to engulf us. The canoe rides upon the backs of the "white horses" and we rise and fall, rise and fall, as they fight beneath us. At last we leave their wild arena, and, entering calmer water, paddle away to the end of the portage trail. One morning, soon after sunrise, the brigade came to the end of its journey as it rounded a point and headed for a smoking steamboat that rested upon a shimmering lake; and so entirely did the rising mist envelop the craft that it suggested the silhouette of a distant mountain in volcanic eruption. Then the canoes, each in turn, lay alongside the steamer; the fur packs were loaded aboard, and thence by steamboat and railroad they continued their journey to Montreal; where together with the "returns" from many another of the Hudson's Bay Company's thirty-four districts, they were reshipped in ocean-going craft for England where eventually they were sold by auction in London. A hundred years ago as many as ten brigades, each numbering twenty six-fathom canoes, sometimes swept along those northern highways and awoke those wild solitudes with the rollicking songs and laughter of fifteen or sixteen hundred voyageurs; but alas for those wonderfully picturesque days of bygone times! The steamboats and the railroads have driven them away. In my youth, however, I was fortunate enough to have travelled with the last of those once-famous fur brigades; and also to have learned from personal experience the daily life of the northern woods--the drama of the forests--of which in my still earlier youth I had had so many day-dreams; and now if in describing and depicting it to you I have succeeded in imparting at least a fraction of the pleasure it gave me to witness it, I am well repaid. But perhaps you are wondering about the beautiful Athabasca? ATHABASCA AND SON-IN-LAW Some years later, while on my second visit to Fort Consolation, I not only found a flourishing town of some four or five thousand inhabitants built on Free Trader Spear's original freehold, but in the handsome brick City Hall--standing in the original stump-lot--I met the old Free Trader himself, now holding office as the Mayor of Spearhead City. Not only had he become wealthy--rumour said he was already a millionaire--but he had taken another man into partnership, for now over his big brick storehouse read a huge sign in golden letters "SPEAR AND . . ." For like all day-dreams--if only dreamed often enough--the ever-present dream of the Free Trader and his wife had really come true. It was then that I learned that soon after my departure Prince Charming had come up out of the East, fallen in love with the beautiful Athabasca, become the actual Son-in-law, had been taken into partnership by her father, and together the lucky groom and his blushing bride had moved into their newly built log cabin, furnished with the long-promised bed, table, and chairs, the cooking stove, blankets, crockery, cutlery, and cooking utensils. Round about their simple little home a heifer, a pig, and some ducks and geese stood guard while their beautiful mistress lived happy ever after--at least she did until prosperity inveigled her into a grand new brick mansion; and then, of course, her troubles began, because happiness always prefers a cabin to a castle. THE END 
21244	----	By Canoe and Dog-Train By Egerton Ryerson Young ________________________________________________________________________ ________________________________________________________________________ BY CANOE AND DOG-TRAIN BY EGERTON RYERSON YOUNG CHAPTER ONE. THE SUMMONS TO THE INDIAN WORK--THE DECISION--THE VALEDICTORY SERVICES-- DR. PUNSHON--THE DEPARTURE--LEAVING HAMILTON--ST. CATHERINE'S--MILWAUKEE CUSTOM-HOUSE DELAYS--MISSISSIPPI--ST. PAUL'S--ON THE PRAIRIES--FRONTIER SETTLERS--NARROW ESCAPE FROM SHOOTING ONE OF OUR SCHOOL TEACHERS--SIOUX INDIANS AND THEIR WARS--SAVED BY OUR FLAG--VARIED EXPERIENCES. Several letters were handed into my study, where I sat at work among my books. I was then pastor of a Church in the city of Hamilton. Showers of blessing had been descending upon us, and over a hundred and forty new members had but recently been received into the Church. I had availed myself of the Christmas holidays by getting married, and now was back again with my beloved, when these letters were handed in. With only one of them have we at present anything to do. As near as I can remember, it read as follows:-- "Mission Rooms, Toronto, 1868. "Reverend Egerton R. Young. "Dear Brother,--At a large and influential meeting of the Missionary Committee, held yesterday, it was unanimously decided to ask you to go as a missionary to the Indian tribes at Norway House, and in the North-West Territories north of Lake Winnipeg. An early answer signifying your acceptance of this will much oblige, "Yours affectionately, "E. Wood, "L. Taylor." I read the letter, and then handed it, without comment, across the table to Mrs Young--the bride of but a few days--for her perusal. She read it over carefully, and then, after a quiet moment, as was quite natural, asked, "What does this mean?" "I can hardly tell," I replied; "but it is evident that it means a good deal." "Have you volunteered to go as a missionary to that far-off land?" she asked. "Why, no. Much as I love, and deeply interested as I have ever been in the missionary work of our Church, I have not made the first move in this direction. Years ago I used to think I would love to go to a foreign field, but lately, as the Lord has been so blessing us here in the home work, and has given us such a glorious revival, I should have thought it like running away from duty to have volunteered for any other field." "Well, here is this letter; what are you going to do about it?" "That is just what I would like to know," was my answer. "There is one thing we can do," she said quietly; and we bowed ourselves in prayer, and "spread the letter before the Lord," and asked for wisdom to guide us aright in this important matter which had so suddenly come upon us, and which, if carried out, would completely change all the plans and purposes which we, the young married couple, in all the joyousness of our honeymoon, had just been marking out. We earnestly prayed for Divine light and guidance to be so clearly revealed that we could not be mistaken as to our duty. As we arose from our knees, I quietly said to Mrs Young, "Have you any impression on your mind as to our duty in this matter?" Her eyes were suffused in tears, but the voice, though low, was firm, as she replied, "The call has come very unexpectedly, but I think it is from God, and we will go." My Church and its kind officials strongly opposed my leaving them, especially at such a time as this, when, they said, so many new converts, through my instrumentality, had been brought into the Church. I consulted my beloved ministerial brethren in the city, and with but one exception the reply was, "Remain at your present station, where God has so abundantly blessed your labours." The answer of the one brother who did not join in with the others has never been forgotten. As it may do good, I will put it on record. When I showed him the letter, and asked what I should do in reference to it, he, much to my surprise, became deeply agitated, and wept like a child. When he could control his emotions, he said, "For my answer let me give you a little of my history. "Years ago, I was very happily situated in the ministry in the Old Land. I loved my work, my home, and my wife passionately. I had the confidence and esteem of my people, and thought I was as happy as I could be this side [of] heaven. One day there came a letter from the Wesleyan Mission Rooms in London, asking if I would go out as a missionary to the West Indies. Without consideration, and without making it a matter of prayer, I at once sent back a positive refusal. "From that day," he continued, "everything went wrong with me. Heaven's smile seemed to have left me. I lost my grip upon my people. My influence for good over them left me, I could not tell how. My once happy home was blasted, and in all my trouble I got no sympathy from my Church or in the community. I had to resign my position, and leave the place. I fell into darkness, and lost my hold upon God. A few years ago I came out to this country. God has restored me to the light of His countenance. The Church has been very sympathetic and indulgent. For years I have been permitted to labour in her fold, and for this I rejoice. But," he added, with emphasis, "I long ago came to the resolve that if ever the Church asked me to go to the West Indies, or to any other Mission field, I would be careful about sending back an abrupt refusal." I pondered over his words and his experience, and talked about them with my good wife, and we decided to go. Our loving friends were startled at our resolve, but soon gave us their benedictions, united to tangible evidences of their regard. A blessed peace filled our souls, and we longed to be away and at work in the new field which had so suddenly opened before us. "Yes, we will go. We may no longer doubt To give up friends, and home, and every tie, That binds our heart to thee, our country. Henceforth, then, It matters not if storms or sunshine be Our earthly lot, bitter or sweet our cup. We only pray, God fit us for the work, God make us holy, and our spirits nerve For the stern hour of strife. Let us but know There is an Arm unseen that holds us up, An Eye that kindly watches all our path, Till we our weary pilgrimage have done. Let us but know we have a Friend that waits To welcome us to glory, and we joy To tread that drear and northern wilderness." The grand valedictory services were held in the old Richmond Street Church, Toronto, Thursday, May 7th, 1868. The church was crowded, and the enthusiasm was very great. The honoured President of the Conference for that year, the Reverend James Elliott, who presided, was the one who had ordained me a few months before. Many were the speakers. Among them was the Reverend George McDougall, who already had had a varied experience of missionary life. He had something to talk about, to which it was worth listening. The Reverend George Young, also, had much that was interesting to say, as he was there bidding farewell to his own Church and to the people, of whom he had long been the beloved pastor. Dr Punshon, who had just arrived from England, was present, and gave one of his inimitable magnetic addresses. The memory of his loving, cheering words abode with us for many a day. It was also a great joy to us that my honoured father, the Reverend William Young, was with us on the platform at this impressive farewell service. For many years he had been one of that heroic band of pioneer ministers in Canada who had laid so grandly and well the foundations of the Church which, with others, had contributed so much to the spiritual development of the country. His benedictions and blessings were among the prized favours in these eventful hours in our new career. My father had been intimately acquainted with William Case and James Evans, and at times had been partially associated with them in Indian evangelisation. He had faith in the power of the Gospel to save even Indians, and now rejoiced that he had a son and daughter who had consecrated themselves to this work. As a long journey of many hundreds of miles would have to be made by us after getting beyond cars or steamboats in the Western States, it was decided that we should take our own horses and canvas-covered waggons from Ontario with us. We arranged to make Hamilton our starting-point; and on Monday, the 11th of May, 1868, our little company filed out of that city towards St. Catherine's, where we were to take passage in a "propeller" for Milwaukee. Thus our adventurous journey was begun. The following was our party. First, the Reverend George McDougall, who for years had been successfully doing the work of a faithful missionary among the Indians in the distant Saskatchewan country, a thousand miles north-west of the Red River country. He had come down to Canada for reinforcements for the work, and had not failed in his efforts to secure them. As he was an old, experienced Western traveller, he was the guide of the party. Next was the Reverend George Young, with his wife and son. Dr Young had consented to go and begin the work in the Red River Settlement, a place where Methodism had never before had a footing. Grandly and well did he succeed in his efforts. Next came the genial Reverend Peter Campbell, who, with his brave wife and two little girls, relinquished a pleasant Circuit to go to the distant Mission field among the Indians of the North-West prairies. We had also with us two Messrs. Snyders, brothers of Mrs Campbell, who had consecrated themselves to the work as teachers among the distant Indian tribes. Several other young men were in our party, and in Dacota we were joined by "Joe" and "Job," a couple of young Indians. These, with the writer and his wife, constituted our party of fifteen or twenty. At St. Catherine's on the Welland Canal we shipped our outfit, and took passage on board the steamer _Empire_ for Milwaukee. The vessel was very much crowded, and there was a good deal of discomfort. In passing through Lake Michigan we encountered rough weather, and, as a natural result, sea-sickness assailed the great majority of our party. We reached Milwaukee on Sabbath, the 17th of May. We found it then a lively, wide-awake Americo-German city. There did not seem to be, on the part of the multitudes whom we met, much respect for the Sabbath. Business was in full blast in many of the streets, and there were but few evidences that it was the day of rest. Doubtless there were many who had not defiled their garments and had not profaned the day, but we weary travellers had not then time to find them out. Although we had taken the precaution to bond everything through to the North-West, and had the American Consular certificate to the effect that every regulation had been complied with, we were subjected to many vexatious delays and expenses by the Custom House officials. So delayed were we that we had to telegraph to head-quarters at Washington about the matter and soon there came the orders to the over-officious officials to at once allow us to proceed. Two valuable days, however, had been lost by their obstructiveness. Why cannot Canada and the United States, lying side by side, from the Atlantic to the Pacific, devise some mutually advantageous scheme of reciprocity, by which the vexatious delays and annoyances and expense of these Custom Houses can be done away with? We left Milwaukee for La Crosse on the Mississippi on Tuesday evening at eight o'clock. At La Crosse we embarked on the steamer _Milwaukee_ for St. Paul's. These large flat-bottomed steamers are quite an institution on these western rivers. Drawing but a few inches of water, they glide over sandbars where the water is very shallow, and, swinging in against the shore, land and receive passengers and freight where wharves are unknown, or where, if they existed, they would be liable to be swept away in the great spring freshets. The scenery in many places along the upper Mississippi is very fine. High bold bluffs rise up in wondrous variety and picturesque beauty. In some places they are composed of naked rock. Others are covered to their very summit with the richest green. Here, a few years ago, the war-whoop of the Indians sounded, and the buffalo swarmed around these Buttes, and quenched their thirst in these waters. Now the shrill whistle of the steamer disturbs the solitudes, and echoes and re-echoes with wondrous distinctness among the high bluffs and fertile vales. "Westward the Star of Empire takes its way." We arrived at St. Paul's on Thursday forenoon and found it to be a stirring city, beautifully situated on the eastern side of the Mississippi. We had several hours of good hard work in getting our caravan in order, purchasing supplies, and making all final arrangements for the long journey that was before us. For beyond this the iron horse had not yet penetrated, and the great surging waves of immigration, which soon after rolled over into those fertile territories, had as yet been only little ripples. Our splendid horses, which had been cooped up in the holds of vessels, or cramped up in uncomfortable freight cars, were now to have an opportunity for exercising their limbs, and showing of what mettle they were made. At 4 PM we filed out of the city. The recollection of that first ride on the prairie will live on as long as memory holds her throne. The day was one of those gloriously perfect ones that are but rarely given us, as if to show what earth must have been before the Fall. The sky, the air, the landscape--everything seemed in such harmony and so perfect, that involuntarily I exclaimed, "If God's footstool is so glorious, what will the throne be?" We journeyed a few miles, then encamped for the night. We were all in the best of spirits, and seemed to rejoice that we were getting away from civilisation, and more and more out into the wilderness, although for days we were in the vicinity of frontier villages and settlements, which, however, as we journeyed on, were rapidly diminishing in number. After several days' travelling we encamped on the western side of the Mississippi, near where the thriving town of Clear Water now stands. As some of our carts and travelling equipage had begun to show signs of weakness, it was thought prudent to give everything a thorough overhauling ere we pushed out from this point, as beyond this there was no place where assistance could be obtained. We had in our encampment eight tents, fourteen horses, and from fifteen to twenty persons, counting big and little, whites and Indians. Whenever we camped our horses were turned loose in the luxuriant prairie grass, the only precaution taken being to "hobble" them, as the work of tying their forefeet together is called. It seemed a little cruel at first, and some of our spirited horses resented it, and struggled a good deal against it as an infringement on their liberties. But they soon became used to it, and it served the good purpose we had in view--namely, that of keeping them from straying far away from the camp during the night. At one place, where we were obliged to stop for a few days to repair broken axle-trees, I passed through an adventure that will not soon be forgotten. Some friendly settlers came to our camp, and gave us the unpleasant information, that a number of notorious horse-thieves were prowling around, and it would be advisable for us to keep a sharp look- out on our splendid Canadian horses. As there was an isolated barn about half a mile or so from the camp, that had been put up by a settler who would not require it until harvest, we obtained permission to use it as a place in which to keep our horses during the nights while we were detained in the settlement. Two of our party were detailed each night to act as a guard. One evening, as Dr Young's son George and I, who had been selected for this duty, were about starting from the camp for our post, I overheard our old veteran guide, the Reverend George McDougall, say, in a bantering sort of way, "Pretty guards they are! Why, some of my Indian boys could go and steal every horse from them without the slightest trouble." Stung to the quick by the remark, I replied, "Mr McDougall, I think I have the best horse in the company; but if you or any of your Indians can steal him out of that barn between sundown and sunrise, you may keep him!" We tethered the horses in a line, and fastened securely all the doors but the large front one. We arranged our seats where we were partially concealed, but where we could see our horses, and could command every door with our rifles. In quiet tones we chatted about various things, until about one o'clock, when all became hushed and still. The novelty of the situation impressed me, and, sitting there in the darkness, I could not help contrasting my present position with the one I had occupied a few weeks before. Then the pastor of a city Church, in the midst of a blessed revival, surrounded by all the comforts of civilisation; now out here in Minnesota, in this barn, sitting on a bundle of prairie grass through the long hours of night with a breech- loading rifle in hand, guarding a number of horses from a band of horse- thieves. "Hush! what is that?" A hand is surely on the door feeling for the wooden latch. We mentally say, "You have made too much noise, Mr Thief, for your purpose, and you are discovered." Soon the door opened a little. As it was a beautiful starlight night, the form of a tall man was plainly visible in the opening. Covering him with my rifle, and about to fire, quick as a flash came the thought, "Better be sure that that man is a horse-thief, or is intent on evil, ere you fire; for it is at any time a serious thing to send a soul so suddenly into eternity." So keeping my rifle to my shoulder, I shouted out, "Who's there?" "Why, it's only your friend Matthew," said our tall friend, as he came stumbling along in the darkness; "queer if you don't know me by this time." As the thought came to me of how near I had been to sending him into the other world, a strange feeling of faintness came over me, and, flinging my rifle from me, I sank back trembling like a leaf. Meanwhile the good-natured fellow, little knowing the risk he had run, and not seeing the effect his thoughtless action had produced on me, talked on, saying that as it was so hot and close over at the tents that he could not sleep there, he thought he would come over and stop with us in the barn. There was considerable excitement, and some strong words were uttered at the camp next morning at his breach of orders and narrow escape, since instructions had been given to all that none should, under any consideration, go near the barn while it was being guarded. At another place in Minnesota we came across a party who were restoring their homes, and "building up their waste places" desolated by the terrible Sioux wars of but a short time before. As they had nearly all of them suffered by that fearful struggle, they were very bitter in their feelings towards the Indians, completely ignoring the fact that the whites were to blame for that last sanguinary outbreak, in which nine hundred lives were lost, and a section of country larger than some of the New England States was laid desolate. It is now an undisputed fact that the greed and dishonesty of the Indian agents of the United States caused that terrible war of 1863. The principal agent received 600,000 dollars in gold from the Government, which belonged to the Indians, and was to be paid to Little Crow and the other chiefs and members of the tribe. The agent took advantage of the premium on gold, which in those days was very high, and exchanged the gold for greenbacks, and with these paid the Indians, putting the enormous difference in his own pocket. When the payments began, Little Crow, who knew what he had a right to according to the Treaty, said, "Gold dollars worth more than paper dollars. You pay us gold." The agent refused, and the war followed. This is only one instance out of scores, in which the greed and selfishness of a few have plunged the country into war, causing the loss of hundreds of lives and millions of treasure. In addition to this, these same unprincipled agents, with their hired accomplices and subsidised press, in order to hide the enormity of their crimes, and to divert attention from themselves and their crookedness, systematically and incessantly misrepresent and vilify the Indian character. "Stay and be our minister," said some of these settlers to me in one place. "We'll secure for you a good location, and will help you get in some crops, and will do the best we can to make you comfortable." When they saw we were all proof against their appeals, they changed their tactics, and one exclaimed, "You'll never get through the Indian country north with those fine horses and all that fine truck you have." "O yes, we will," said Mr McDougall; "we have a little flag that will carry us in safety through any Indian tribe in America." They doubted the assertion very much, but we found it to be literally true, at all events as regarded the Sioux; for when, a few days later, we met them, our Union Jack fluttering from the whip-stalk caused them to fling their guns in the grass, and come crowding round us with extended hands, saying, through those who understood their language, that they were glad to see and shake hands with the subjects of the "Great Mother" across the waters. When we, in our journey north, reached their country, and saw them coming down upon us, at Mr McDougall's orders we stowed away our rifles and revolvers inside of our waggons, and met them as friends, unarmed and fearless. They smoked the pipe of peace with those of our party who could use the weed, and others drank tea with the rest of us. As we were in profound ignorance of their language, and they of ours, some of us had not much conversation with them beyond what could be carried on by a few signs. But, through Mr McDougall and our own Indians, they assured us of their friendship. We pitched our tents, hobbled our horses and turned them loose, as usual. We cooked our evening meals, said our prayers, unrolled our camp-beds, and lay down to rest without earthly sentinels or guards around us, although the camp-fires of these so-called "treacherous and bloodthirsty" Sioux could be seen in the distance, and we knew their sharp eyes were upon us. Yet we lay down and slept in peace, and arose in safety. Nothing was disturbed or stolen. So much for a clean record of honourable dealing with a people who, while quick to resent when provoked, are mindful of kindnesses received, and are as faithful to their promises and treaty obligations, as are any other of the races of the world. We were thirty days in making the trip from St. Paul's to the Red River settlement. We had to ford a large number of bridgeless streams. Some of them took us three or four days to get our whole party across. We not unfrequently had some of our waggons stuck in the quicksands, or so sunk in the quagmires that the combined strength of all the men of our party was required to get them out. Often the ladies of our company, with shoes and stockings off, would be seen bravely wading across wide streams, where now in luxurious comfort, in parlour cars, travellers are whirled along at the rate of forty miles an hour. They were a cheerful, brave band of pioneers. The weather, on the whole, was pleasant, but we had some drenching rain- storms; and then the spirits of some of the party went down, and they wondered whatever possessed them to leave their happy homes for such exile and wretchedness as this. There was one fearful, tornado-like storm that assailed us when we were encamped for the night on the western bank of Red River. Tents were instantly blown down. Heavy waggons were driven before it, and for a time confusion reigned supreme. Fortunately nobody was hurt, and most of the things blown away were recovered the next day. Our Sabbaths were days of quiet rest and delightful communion with God. Together we worshipped Him Who dwelleth not in temples made with hands. Many were the precious communions we had with Him Who had been our Comforter and our Refuge under other circumstances, and Who, having now called us to this new work and novel life, was sweetly fulfilling in us the blessed promise: "Lo, I am with you alway, even unto the end of the world." CHAPTER TWO. STILL ON THE ROUTE--FORT GARRY--BREAKING UP OF OUR PARTY OF MISSIONARIES--LOWER FORT--HOSPITABLE HUDSON'S BAY OFFICIALS-- PECULIARITIES--FOURTEEN DAYS IN A LITTLE OPEN BOAT ON STORMY LAKE WINNIPEG--STRANGE EXPERIENCES--HAPPY CHRISTIAN INDIAN BOATMEN--"IN PERILS BY WATERS." At Fort Garry in the Red River settlement, now the flourishing city of Winnipeg, our party, which had so long travelled together, broke up with mutual regrets. The Reverend George Young and his family remained to commence the first Methodist Mission in that place. Many were his discouragements and difficulties, but glorious have been his successes. More to him than to any other man is due the prominent position which the Methodist Church now occupies in the North-West. His station was one calling for rare tact and ability. The Riel Rebellion, and the disaffection of the Half-breed population, made his position at times one of danger and insecurity; but he proved himself to be equal to every emergency. In addition to the many duties devolving upon him in the establishment of the Church amidst so many discordant elements, a great many extra cares were imposed upon him by the isolated missionaries in the interior, who looked to him for the purchasing and sending out to them, as best he could, of their much-needed supplies. His kindly laborious efforts for their comfort can never be forgotten. The Revs. George McDougall and Peter Campbell, with the teachers and other members of the party, pushed on, with their horses, waggons, and carts, for the still farther North-West, the great North Saskatchewan River, twelve hundred miles farther into the interior. During the first part of their journey over the fertile but then unbroken prairies, the only inhabitants they met were the roving Indians and Half-breeds, whose rude wigwams and uncouth noisy carts have long since disappeared, and have been replaced by the comfortable habitations of energetic settlers, and the swiftly moving trains of the railroads. From Fort Garry Mrs Young and myself performed the rest of our journey by water, going down the Red River to its mouth, and then along the whole length of the stormy Lake Winnipeg, and beyond, to our own far-off northern home. The trip was made in what is called "the Hudson's Bay inland boat." These boats are constructed like large skiffs, only each end is sharp. They have neither deck nor cabin. They are furnished with a mast and a large square sail, both of which are stowed away when the wind is not favourable for sailing. They are manned by six or eight oarsmen, and are supposed to carry about four tons of merchandise. They can stand a rough sea, and weather very severe gales, as we found out during our years of adventurous trips in them. When there is no favourable wind for sailing, the stalwart boatmen push out their heavy oars, and, bending their sturdy backs to the work, and keeping the most perfect time, are often able to make their sixty miles a day. But this toiling at the oar is slavish work, and the favouring gale, even if it develops into a fierce storm, is always preferable to a dead calm. These northern Indians make capital sailors, and in the sudden squalls and fierce gales to which these great lakes are subject, they display much courage and judgment. Our place in the boat was in the hinder part near the steersman, a pure Indian, whose name was Thomas Mamanowatum, familiarly known as "Big Tom," on account of his almost gigantic size. He was one of Nature's noblemen, a grand, true man, and of him we shall have more to say hereafter. Honoured indeed was the missionary who led such a man from Paganism to Christianity. We journeyed on pleasantly for twenty miles down the Red River to Lower Fort Garry, where we found that we should have to wait for several days ere the outfit for the boats would be ready. We were, however, very courteously entertained by the Hudson's Bay officials, who showed us no little kindness. This Lower Fort Garry, or "the Stone Fort," as it is called in the country, is an extensive affair, having a massive stone wall all around it, with the Company's buildings in the centre. It was built in stormy times, when rival trading parties existed, and hostile bands were ever on the war path. It is capable of resisting almost any force that could be brought against it, unaided by artillery. We were a little amused and very much pleased with the old-time and almost courtly etiquette which abounded at this and the other establishments of this flourishing Company. In those days the law of precedents was in full force. When the bell rang, no clerk of fourteen years' standing would think of entering before one who had been fifteen years in the service, or of sitting above him at the table. Such a thing would have brought down upon him the severe reproof of the senior officer in charge. Irksome and even frivolous as some of these laws seemed, doubtless they served a good purpose, and prevented many misunderstandings which might have occurred. Another singular custom, which we did not like, was the fact that there were two dining-rooms in these establishments, one for the ladies, and the other for the gentlemen of the service. It appeared to us very odd to see the gentlemen with the greatest politeness escort the ladies into the hall which ran between the two dining-rooms, and then gravely turn to the left, while the ladies all filed off into the room on the right. As the arrangement was so contrary to all our ideas and education on the subject, we presumed to question it; but the only satisfaction we could get in reference to it was, that it was one of their old customs, and had worked well. One old crusty bachelor official said, "We do not want the women around us when we are discussing our business matters, which we wish to keep to ourselves. If they were present, all our schemes and plans would soon be known to all, and our trade might be much injured." Throughout this vast country, until very lately, the adventurous traveller, whose courage or curiosity was sufficient to enable him to brave the hardships or run the risks of exploring these enormous territories, was entirely dependent upon the goodwill and hospitality of the officials of the Hudson's Bay Company. They were uniformly treated with courtesy and hospitably entertained. Very isolated are some of these inland posts, and quite expatriated are the inmates for years at a time. These lonely establishments are to be found scattered all over the upper half of this great American Continent. They have each a population of from five to sixty human beings. These are, if possible, placed in favourable localities for fish or game, but often from one to five hundred miles apart. The only object of their erection and occupancy is to exchange the products of civilisation for the rich and valuable furs which are to be obtained here as nowhere else in the world. In many instances the inmates hear from the outside world but twice, and at times but once, in twelve months. Then the arrival of the packet is the great event of the year. We spent a very pleasant Sabbath at Lower Fort Garry, and I preached in the largest dining-room to a very attentive congregation, composed of the officials and servants of the Company, with several visitors, and also some Half-breeds and Indians who happened to be at the fort at that time. The next day two boats were ready, and we embarked on our adventurous journey for our far-off, isolated home beyond the northern end of Lake Winnipeg. The trip down Red River was very pleasant. We passed through the flourishing Indian Settlement, where the Church of England has a successful Mission among the Indians. We admired their substantial church and comfortable homes, and saw in them, and in the farms, tangible evidence of the power of Christian Missions to elevate and bless those who come under their ennobling influences. The cosy residence of the Venerable Archdeacon Cowley was pointed out to us, beautifully embowered among the trees. He was a man beloved of all; a life-long friend of the Indians, and one who was as an angel of mercy to us in after years when our Nellie died, while Mrs Young was making an adventurous journey in an open boat on the stormy, treacherous Lake Winnipeg. This sad event occurred when, after five years' residence among the Crees at Norway House, we had instructions from our missionary authorities to go and open up a new Indian Mission among the then pagan Salteaux. I had orders to remain at Norway House until my successor arrived; and as but one opportunity was offered for Mrs Young and the children to travel in those days of limited opportunities, they started on several weeks ahead in an open skiff manned by a few Indians, leaving me to follow in a birch canoe. So terrible was the heat that hot July, in that open boat with no deck or awning, that the beautiful child sickened and died of brain-fever. Mrs Young found herself with her dying child on the banks of Red River, all alone among her sorrowing Indian boatmen, "a stranger in a strange land;" no home to which to go; no friends to sympathise with her. Fortunately for her, the Hudson's Bay officials at Lower Fort Garry were made aware of her sorrows, and received her into one of their homes ere the child died. The Reverend Mr Cowley also came and prayed for her, and sympathised with her on the loss of her beautiful child. As I was far away when Nellie died, Mrs Young knew not what to do with our precious dead. A temporary grave was made, and in it the body was laid until I could be communicated with, and arrangements could be made for its permanent interment. I wrote at once by an Indian to the Venerable Archdeacon Cowley, asking permission to bury our dead in his graveyard; and there came promptly back, by the canoe, a very brotherly, sympathetic letter, ending up with, "Our graveyards are open before you; `in the choicest of our sepulchres bury thy dead.'" A few weeks after, when I had handed over my Mission to Brother Ruttan, I hurried on to the settlement, and with a few sympathising friends, mostly Indians, we took up the little body from its temporary resting-place, and buried it in the St. Peter's Church graveyard, the dear archdeacon himself being present, and reading the beautiful Burial Service of his Church. That land to us has been doubly precious since it has become the repository of our darling child. As we floated down the current, or were propelled along by the oars of our Indian boatmen, on that first journey, little did we imagine that this sad episode in our lives would happen in that very spot a few years after. When we were near the end of the Indian Settlement, as it is called, we saw several Indians on the bank, holding on to a couple of oxen. Our boats were immediately turned in to the shore near them, and, to our great astonishment, we found out that each boat was to have an addition to its passenger list in the shape of one of these big fellows. The getting of these animals shipped was no easy matter, as there was no wharf or gangway; but after a good deal of pulling and pushing, and lifting up of one leg, and then another, the patient brutes were embarked on the frail crafts, to be our companions during the voyage to Norway House. The position assigned to the one in our boat was just in front of us, "broadside on," as the sailors would say; his head often hanging over one side of the boat, and his tail over the other side. The only partition there was between him and us was a single board a few inches wide. Such close proximity to this animal for fourteen days was not very agreeable; but as it could not be helped it had to be endured. At times, during the first few days, the ox made some desperate efforts to break loose; and it seemed as though he would either smash our boat to pieces or upset it; but, finding his efforts unsuccessful, he gracefully accepted the situation, and behaved himself admirably. When storms arose he quietly lay down, and served as so much ballast to steady the boat. "Tom," the guide, kept him well supplied with food from the rich nutritious grasses which grew abundantly along the shore at our different camping-places. Winnipeg is considered one of the stormiest lakes on the American Continent. It is about three hundred miles long, and varies from eighty to but a few miles in width. It is indented with innumerable bays, and is dangerous to navigators, on account of its many shoals and hidden rocks. _Winnipeg_, or _Wenipak_, as some Indians pronounce it, means "the sea," and _Keche Wenipak_ means "the ocean." The trip across Lake Winnipeg was one that at the present day would be considered a great hardship, taking into consideration the style of the boat and the way we travelled. Our method of procedure was about as follows. We were aroused very early in the morning by the guide's cry of _Koos koos kwa_! "Wake up!" Everybody was expected to obey promptly, as there was always a good deal of rivalry between the boats as to which could get away first. A hasty breakfast was prepared on the rocks; after which a morning hymn was sung, and an earnest prayer was offered up to Him Who holds the winds and waves under His control. Then "All aboard" was the cry, and soon tents, kettles, axes, and all the other things were hurriedly gathered up and placed on board. If the wind was favourable, the mast was put up, the sail hoisted, and we were soon rapidly speeding on our way. If the oars had to be used, there was not half the alacrity displayed by the poor fellows, who well knew how wearisome their task would be. When we had a favourable wind, we generally dined as well as we could in the boat, to save time, as the rowers well knew how much more pleasant it was to glide along with the favouring breeze than to be obliged to work at the heavy oars. Often during whole nights we sailed on, although at considerable risks in that treacherous lake, rather than lose the fair wind. For, if there ever was, in this world of uncertainties, one route of more uncertainty than another, the palm must be conceded to the voyages on Lake Winnipeg in those Hudson's Bay Company's inland boats. You might make the trip in four days, or even a few hours less; and you might be thirty days, and a few hours over. Once, in after years, I was detained for six days on a little rocky islet by a fierce northern gale, which at times blew with such force that we could not keep up a tent or even stand upright against its fury; and as there was not sufficient soil in which to drive a tent pin, we, with all our bedding and supplies, were drenched by the pitiless sleet and rain. Often in these later years, when I have heard people, sitting in the comfortable waiting-room of a railway station, bitterly complaining because a train was an hour or two late, memory has carried me back to some of those long detentions amidst the most disagreeable surroundings, and I have wondered at the trifles which can upset the equanimity of some or cause them to show such fretfulness. When the weather was fine, the camping on the shore was very enjoyable. Our tent was quickly erected by willing hands; the camp fire was kindled, and glowed with increasing brightness as the shadows of night fell around us. The evening meal was soon prepared, and an hour or two would sometimes be spent in pleasant converse with our dusky friends, who were most delightful travelling companions. Our days always began and closed with a religious service. All of our Indian companions in the two boats on this first trip were Christians, in the best and truest sense of the word. They were the converts of the earlier missionaries of our Church. At first they were a little reserved, and acted as though they imagined we expected them to be very sedate and dignified. For, like some white folks, they imagined the "black-coat" and his wife did not believe in laughter or pleasantry. However, we soon disabused their minds of those erroneous ideas, and before we reached Norway House we were on the best of terms with each other. We knew but little of their language, but some of them had a good idea of English, and, using these as our interpreters, we got along finely. They were well furnished with Testaments and hymn-books, printed in the beautiful syllabic characters; and they used them well. This worshipping with a people who used to us an unknown tongue was at first rather novel; but it attracted and charmed us at once. We were forcibly struck with the reverential manner in which they conducted their devotions. No levity or indifference marred the solemnity of their religious services. They listened very attentively while one of their number read to them from the sacred Word, and gave the closest attention to what I had to say, through an interpreter. Very sweetly and soothingly sounded the hymns of praise and adoration that welled up from their musical voices; and though we understood them not, yet in their earnest prayers there seemed to be so much that was real and genuine, as in pathetic tones they offered up their petitions, that we felt it to be a great privilege and a source of much blessing, when with them we bowed at the mercy-seat of our great loving Father, to Whom all languages of earth are known, and before Whom all hearts are open. Very helpful at times to devout worship were our surroundings. As in the ancient days, when the vast multitudes gathered around Him on the seaside and were comforted and cheered by His presence, so we felt on these quiet shores of the lake that we were worshipping Him Who is always the same. At times delightful and suggestive were our environments. With Winnipeg's sunlit waves before us, the blue sky above us, the dark, deep, primeval forest as our background, and the massive granite rocks beneath us, we often felt a nearness of access to Him, the Sovereign of the universe, Who "dwelleth not in temples made with hands,"--but "Who covereth Himself with light as with a garment; Who stretcheth out the heavens like a curtain; Who layeth the beams of His chambers in the waters; Who maketh the clouds his chariot; Who walketh upon the wings of the wind; Who laid the foundations of the earth, that it should not be removed for ever." Our Sabbaths were days of rest. The Christian Indians had been taught by their faithful missionaries the fourth commandment, and they kept it well. Although far from their homes and their beloved sanctuary, they respected the day. When they camped on Saturday night, all the necessary preparations were made for a quiet, restful Sabbath. All the wood that would be needed to cook the day's supplies was secured, and the food that required cooking was prepared. Guns were stowed away, and although sometimes ducks or other game would come near, they were not disturbed. Generally two religious services were held and enjoyed. The Testaments and hymn-books were well used throughout the day, and an atmosphere of "Paradise Regained" seemed to pervade the place. At first, long years ago, the Hudson's Bay Company's officials bitterly opposed the observance of the Sabbath by their boatmen and tripmen; but the missionaries were true and firm, and although persecution for a time abounded, eventually right and truth prevailed, and our Christian Indians were left to keep the day without molestation. And, as has always been found to be the case in such instances, there was no loss, but rather gain. Our Christian Indians, who rested the Sabbath day, were never behindhand. On the long trips into the interior or down to York Factory or Hudson Bay, these Indian canoe brigades used to make better time, have better health, and bring up their boats and cargoes in better shape, than the Catholic Half-breeds or pagan Indians, who pushed on without any day of rest. Years of studying this question, judging from the standpoint of the work accomplished and its effects on men's physical constitution, apart altogether from its moral and religious aspect, most conclusively taught me that the institution of the one day in seven as a day of rest is for man's highest good. Thus we journeyed on, meeting with various adventures by the way. One evening, rather than lose the advantage of a good wind, our party resolved to sail on throughout the night. We had no compass or chart, no moon or fickle Auroras lit up the watery waste. Clouds, dark and heavy, flitted by, obscuring the dim starlight, and adding to the risk and danger of our proceeding. On account of the gloom part of the crew were kept on the watch continually. The bowsman, with a long pole in his hands, sat in the prow of the boat, alert and watchful. For a long time I sat with the steersman in the stern of our little craft, enjoying this weird way of travelling. Out of the darkness behind us into the vague blackness before us we plunged. Sometimes through the darkness came the sullen roar and dash of waves against the rocky isles or dangerous shore near at hand, reminding us of the risks we were running, and what need there was of the greatest care. Our camp bed had been spread on some boards in the hinder part of our little boat; and here Mrs Young, who for a time had enjoyed the exciting voyage, was now fast asleep. I remained up with "Big Tom" until after midnight; and then, having exhausted my stock of Indian words in conversation with him, and becoming weary, I wrapped a blanket around myself and lay down to rest. Hardly had I reached the land of dreams, when I was suddenly awakened by being most unceremoniously thrown, with wife, bedding, bales, boxes, and some drowsy Indians, on one side of the boat. We scrambled up as well as we could, and endeavoured to take in our situation. The darkness was intense, but we could easily make out the fact that our boat was stuck fast. The wind whistled around us, and bore with such power upon our big sail that the wonder was that it did not snap the mast or ropes. The sail was quickly lowered, a lantern was lit, but its flickering light showed no land in view. We had run upon a submerged rock, and there we were held fast. In vain the Indians, using their big oars as poles, endeavoured to push the boat back into deep water. Finding this impossible, some of them sprang out into the water which threatened to engulf them; but, with the precarious footing the submerged rock gave them, they pushed and shouted, when, being aided by a giant wave, the boat at last was pushed over into the deep water beyond. At considerable risk and thoroughly drenched, the brave fellows scrambled on board; the sail was again hoisted, and away we sped through the gloom and darkness. CHAPTER THREE. ARRIVAL AT NORWAY HOUSE--OUR NEW HOME--REVEREND CHARLES STRINGFELLOW-- THUNDERSTORM--REVEREND JAMES EVANS--SYLLABIC CHARACTERS INVENTED-- DIFFICULTIES OVERCOME--HELP FROM ENGLISH WESLEYAN MISSIONARY SOCIETY-- EXTENSIVE USE OF THE SYLLABIC CHARACTERS--OUR PEOPLE, CHRISTIAN AND PAGAN--LEARNING LESSONS BY DEAR EXPERIENCE--THE HUNGRY WOMAN--THE MAN WITH THE TWO DUCKS--THE FIRST SABBATH IN OUR NEW FIELD--SUNDAY SCHOOL AND SABBATH SERVICES--FAMILY ALTARS. We reached Norway House on the afternoon of the 29th of July, 1868, and received a very cordial welcome from James Stewart, Esquire, the gentleman in charge of this Hudson's Bay post. This is one of the most important establishments of this wealthy fur-trading Company. For many years it was the capital, at which the different officers and other officials from the different districts of this vast country were in the habit of meeting annually for the purpose of arranging the various matters in connection with their prosecution of the fur trade. Here Sir George Simpson, for many years the energetic and despotic Governor, used to come to meet these officials, travelling by birch canoe, manned by his matchless crew of Iroquois Indians, all the way from Montreal, a distance of several thousand miles. Here immense quantities of furs were collected from the different trading posts, and then shipped to England by way of Hudson's Bay. The sight of this well-kept establishment, and the courtesy and cordial welcome extended to us, were very pleasing after our long toilsome voyage up Lake Winnipeg. But still we were two miles and a half from our Indian Mission, and so we were full of anxiety to reach the end of our journey. Mr Stewart, however, insisted on our remaining to tea with him, and then took us over to the Indian village in his own row- boat, manned by four sturdy Highlanders. Ere we reached the shore, sweet sounds of melody fell upon our ears. The Wednesday evening service was being held, and songs of praise were being sung by the Indian congregation, the notes of which reached us as we neared the margin and landed upon the rocky beach. We welcomed this as a pleasing omen, and rejoiced at it as one of the grand evidences of the Gospel's power to change. Not many years ago the horrid yells of the conjurer, and the whoops of the savage Indians, were here the only familiar sounds. Now the sweet songs of Zion are heard, and God's praises are sung by a people whose lives attest the genuineness of the work accomplished. We were cordially welcomed by Mrs Stringfellow in the Mission house, and were soon afterwards joined by her husband, who had been conducting the religious services in the church. Very thankful were we that after our long and adventurous journeyings for two months and eighteen days, by land and water, through the good providence of God we had reached our field of toil among the Cree Indians, where for years we were to be permitted to labour. Mr and Mrs Stringfellow remained with us for a few days ere they set out on their return trip to the province of Ontario. We took sweet counsel together, and I received a great deal of valuable information in reference to the prosecution of our work among these Red men. For eleven years the missionary and his wife had toiled and suffered in this northern land. A goodly degree of success had attended their efforts, and we were much pleased with the state in which we found everything connected with the Mission. While we were at family prayers the first evening after our arrival, there came up one of the most terrific thunderstorms we ever experienced. The heavy Mission house, although built of logs, and well mudded and clap-boarded, shook so much while we were on our knees that several large pictures fell from the walls; one of which, tumbling on Brother Stringfellow's head, put a very sudden termination to his evening devotions. Rossville Mission, Norway House, was commenced by the Reverend James Evans in the year 1840. It has been, and still is, one of the most successful Indian Missions in America. Here Mr Evans invented the syllabic characters, by which an intelligent Indian can learn to read the Word of God in ten days or two weeks. Earnestly desirous to devise some method by which the wandering Indians could acquire the art of reading in a more expeditious manner than by the use of the English alphabet, he invented these characters, each of which stands for a syllable. He carved his first type with his pocket-knife, and procured the lead for the purpose from the tea-chests of the Hudson's Bay Company's post. His first ink he made out of the soot from the chimney, and his first paper was birch bark. Great was the excitement among the Indians when he had perfected his invention, and had begun printing in their own language. The conjurers, and other pagan Indians, were very much alarmed, when, as they expressed it, they found the "bark of the tree was beginning to talk." The English Wesleyan Missionary Society was early impressed with the advantage of this wonderful invention, and the great help it would be in carrying on the blessed work. At great expense they sent out a printing press, with a large quantity of type, which they had had specially cast. Abundance of paper, and everything else essential, were furnished. For years portions of the Word of God, and a goodly number of hymns translated into the Cree language, were printed, and incalculable good resulted. Other missionary organisations at work in the country quickly saw the advantage of using these syllabic characters, and were not slow to avail themselves of them. While all lovers of Missions rejoice at this, it is to be regretted that some, from whom better things might have been expected, were anxious to take the credit of the invention, instead of giving it to its rightful claimant, the Reverend James Evans. It is a remarkable fact, that so perfectly did Mr Evans do his work, that no improvement has been made as regards the use of these characters among the Cree Indians. Other missionaries have introduced them among other tribes, with additions to meet the sounds used in those tribes which are not found among the Crees. They have even been successfully utilised by the Moravians among the Esquimaux. On our arrival at Rossville the Indians crowded in to see the new missionary and his wife, and were very cordial in their greetings. Even some pagan Indians, dressed up in their wild picturesque costumes, came to see us, and were very friendly. As quickly as possible we settled down to our work, and tried to grasp its possibilities. We saw many pleasing evidences of what had been accomplished by faithful predecessors, and were soon convinced of the greatness of the work yet to be done. For, while from our church, and the houses of our Christian people, the songs of Zion were heard, our eyes were saluted by the shouts and yells of old Indian conjurers and medicine-men, added to the monotonous sounds of their drums, which came to us nightly from almost every point in the compass, from islands and headlands not far away. Our first Sabbath was naturally a very interesting day. Our own curiosity to see our people was doubtless equalled by that of the people to see their new missionary. Pagans flocked in with Christians, until the church was crowded. We were very much pleased with their respectful demeanour in the house of God. There was no laughing or frivolity in the sanctuary. With their moccasined feet and cat-like tread, several hundred Indians did not make one quarter the noise often heard in Christian lands, made by audiences one-tenth the size. We were much delighted with their singing. There is a peculiar plaintive sweetness about Indian singing that has for me a special attractiveness. Scores of them brought their Bibles to the church. When I announced the lessons for the day, the quickness with which they found the places showed their familiarity with the sacred volume. During prayers they were old-fashioned Methodists enough to kneel down while the Sovereign of the universe was being addressed. They sincerely and literally entered into the spirit of the Psalmist when he said: "O come, let us worship and bow down: let us kneel before the Lord our Maker." I was fortunate in securing for my interpreter a thoroughly good Indian by the name of Timothy Bear. He was of an emotional nature, and rendered good service to the cause of Christ. Sometimes, when interpreting for me the blessed truths of the Gospel, his heart would get fired up, and he would become so absorbed in his theme that he would in a most eloquent way beseech and plead with the people to accept this wonderful salvation. As the days rolled by, and we went in and out among them, and contrasted the pagan with the Christian Indian, we saw many evidences that the Gospel is still the power of God unto salvation, and that, whenever accepted in its fulness, it brings not only peace and joy to the heart, but is attended by the secondary blessings of civilisation. The Christian Indians could easily be picked out by the improved appearance of their homes, as well as by the marvellous change in their lives and actions. We found out, before we had been there many days, that we had much to learn about Indian customs and habits and modes of thought. For example: the day after Mr and Mrs Stringfellow had left us, a poor woman came in, and by the sign language let Mrs Young know that she was very hungry. On the table were a large loaf of bread, a large piece of corned beef, and a dish of vegetables, left over from our boat supplies. My good wife's sympathies were aroused at the poor woman's story, and, cutting off a generous supply of meat and bread, and adding thereto a large quantity of the vegetables and a quart of tea, she seated the woman at the table before the hearty meal. Without any trouble the guest disposed of the whole, and then, to our amazement, began pulling up the skirt of her dress at the side till she had formed a capacious pocket. Reaching over, she seized the meat, and put it in this large receptacle, the loaf of bread quickly followed, and lastly, the dish of vegetables. Then, getting up from her chair, she turned towards us, saying, "Na-nas-koo-moo-wi-nah," which is the Cree for thanksgiving. She gracefully backed out of the dining-room, holding carefully onto her supplies. Mrs Young and I looked in astonishment, but said nothing till she had gone out. We could not help laughing at the queer sight, although the food which had disappeared in this unexpected way was what was to have been our principal support for two or three days, until our supplies should have arrived. Afterwards, when expressing our astonishment at what looked like the greediness of this woman, we learned that she had only complied with the strict etiquette of her tribe. It seems it is their habit, when they make a feast for anybody, or give them a dinner, if fortunate enough to have abundance of food, to put a large quantity before them. The invited guest is expected to eat all he can, and then to carry the rest away. This was exactly what the poor woman did. From this lesson of experience we learnt just to place before them what we felt our limited abilities enabled us to give at the time. One day a fine-looking Indian came in with a couple of fat ducks. As our supplies were low, we were glad to see them; and in taking them I asked him what I should give him for them. His answer was, "O, nothing; they are a _present_ for the missionary and his wife." Of course I was delighted at this exhibition of generosity on the part of this entire stranger to us so soon after our arrival in this wild land. The Indian at once made himself at home with us, and kept us busy answering questions and explaining to him everything that excited his curiosity. Mrs Young had to leave her work to play for his edification on the little melodeon. He remained to dinner, and ate one of the ducks, while Mrs Young and I had the other. He hung around all the afternoon, and did ample justice to a supper out of our supplies. He tarried with us until near the hour for retiring, when I gently hinted to him that I thought it was about time he went to see if his wigwam was where he left it. "O," he exclaimed, "I am only waiting." "Waiting?" I said; "for what are you waiting?" "I am waiting for the _present_ you are going to give me for the _present_ I gave you." I at once took in the situation, and went off and got him something worth half-a-dozen times as much as his ducks, and he went off very happy. When he was gone, my good wife and I sat down, and we said, "Here is lesson number _two_. Perhaps, after we have been here a while, we shall know something about the Indians." After that we accepted of no presents from them, but insisted on paying a reasonable price for everything we needed which they had to sell. Our Sunday's work began with the Sunday School at nine o'clock. All the boys and girls attended, and often there were present many of the adults. The children were attentive and respectful, and many of them were able to repeat large portions of Scripture from memory. A goodly number studied the Catechism translated into their own Language. They sang the hymns sweetly, and joined with us in repeating the Lord's Prayer. The public service followed at half-past ten o'clock. This morning service was always in English, although the hymns, lessons, and text would be announced in the two languages. The Hudson's Bay officials who might be at the Fort two miles away, and all their _employes_, regularly attended this morning service. Then, as many of the Indians understood English, and our object was ever to get them all to know more and more about it, this service usually was largely attended by the people. The great Indian service was held in the afternoon. It was all their own, and was very much prized by them. At the morning service they were very dignified and reserved; at the afternoon they sang with an enthusiasm that was delightful, and were not afraid, if their hearts prompted them to it, to come out with a glad "Amen!" They bring with them to the sanctuary their Bibles, and very sweet to my ears was the rustle of many leaves as they rapidly turned to the Lessons of the day in the Old or New Testament. Sermons were never considered too long. Very quietly and reverently did the people come into the house of God, and with equal respect for the place, and for Him Whom there they had worshipped, did they depart. Dr Taylor, one of our missionary secretaries, when visiting us, said at the close of one of these hallowed afternoon services, "Mr Young, if the good people who help us to support Missions and missionaries could see what my eyes have beheld to-day, they would most cheerfully and gladly give us ten thousand dollars a year more for our Indian Missions." Every Sunday evening I went over to the Fort, by canoe in summer, and dog-train in winter, and held service there. A little chapel had been specially fitted up for these evening services. Another service was also held in the church at the Mission by the Indians themselves. There were among them several who could preach very acceptable sermons, and others who, with a burning eloquence, could tell, like Paul, the story of their own conversion, and beseech others to be likewise reconciled to God. We were surprised at times by seeing companies of pagan Indians stalk into the church during the services, not always acting in a way becoming to the house or day. At first it was a matter of surprise to me that our Christian Indians put up with some of these irregularities. I was very much astounded one day by the entrance of an old Indian called Tapastonum, who, rattling his ornaments, and crying, "Ho! Ho!" came into the church in a sort of trot, and gravely kissed several of the men and women. As my Christian Indians seemed to stand the interruption, I felt that I could. Soon he sat down, at the invitation of Big Tom, and listened to me. He was grotesquely dressed, and had a good-sized looking-glass hanging on his breast, kept in its place by a string hung around his neck. To aid himself in listening, he lit his big pipe and smoked through the rest of the service. When I spoke to the people afterwards about the conduct of this man, so opposite to their quiet, respectful demeanour in the house of God, their expressive, charitable answer was: "Such were we once, as ignorant as Tapastonum is now. Let us have patience with him, and perhaps he, too, will soon decide to give his heart to God. Let him come; he will get quiet when he gets the light." The week evenings were nearly all filled up with services of one kind or another, and were well attended, or otherwise, according as the Indians might be present at the village, or away hunting, or fishing, or "tripping" for the Hudson's Bay Company. What pleased us very much was the fact that in the homes of the people there were so many family altars. It was very delightful to take a quiet walk in the gloaming through the village, and hear from so many little homes the voice of the head of the family reading the precious volume, or the sounds of prayer and praise. Those were times when in every professed Christian home in the village there was a family altar. CHAPTER FOUR. CONSTANT PROGRESS--WOMAN'S SAD CONDITION IN PAGANISM--ILLUSTRATIONS-- WONDROUS CHANGES PRODUCED BY CHRISTIANITY--ILLUSTRATIONS--NEW YEAR'S DAY CHRISTIAN FESTIVAL--THE AGED AND FEEBLE ONES FIRST REMEMBERED--CLOSING THANKSGIVING SERVICES. We found ourselves in a Christian village surrounded by paganism. The contrast between the two classes was very evident. Our Christians, as fast as they were able to build, were living in comfortable houses, and earnestly endeavouring to lift themselves up in the social circle. Their personal appearance was better, and cleanliness was accepted as next to godliness. On the Sabbaths they were well dressed, and presented such a respectable and devout appearance in the sanctuary as to win the admiration of all who visited us. The great majority of those who made a profession of faith lived honest, sober, and consistent lives, and thus showed the genuineness of the change wrought in them by the glorious Gospel of the Son of God. One of the most delightful and tangible evidences of the thoroughness and genuineness of the change was seen in the improvement in the family life. Such a thing as genuine home life, with mutual love and sympathy existing among the different members of the family, was unknown in their pagan state. The men, and even boys, considered it a sign of courage and manliness to despise and shamefully treat their mothers, wives, or sisters. Christianity changed all this; and we were constant witnesses of the genuineness of the change wrought in the hearts and lives of this people by the preaching of the Gospel, by seeing how woman was uplifted from her degraded position to her true place in the household. My heart was often pained at what I saw among some of the wild savage bands around us. When, by canoe in summer, or dog-train in winter, I have visited these wild men, I have seen the proud, lazy hunter come stalking into the camp with his gun on his shoulder, and in loud, imperative tones shout out to his poor wife, who was busily engaged in cutting wood, "Get up there, you dog, my squaw, and go back on my tracks in the woods, and bring in the deer I have shot; and hurry, for I want my food!" To quicken her steps, although she was hurrying as rapidly as possible, a stick was thrown at her, which fortunately she was able to dodge. Seizing the long carrying strap, which is a piece of leather several feet in length, and wide at the middle, where it rests against the forehead when in use, she rapidly glides away on the trail made by her husband's snow-shoes, it may be for miles, to the spot where lies the deer he has shot. Fastening one end of the strap to the haunches of the deer, and the other around its neck, after a good deal of effort and ingenuity, she succeeds at length in getting the animal, which may weigh from a hundred and fifty to two hundred pounds, upon her back, supported by the strap across her forehead. Panting with fatigue, she comes in with her heavy burden, and as she throws it down she is met with a sharp stern command from the lips of the despot called her husband, who has thought it beneath his dignity to carry in the deer himself, but who imagines it to be a sign of his being a great brave thus to treat his wife. The gun was enough for him to carry. Without giving the poor tired creature a moment's rest, he shouts out again for her to hurry up and be quick; he is hungry, and wants his dinner. The poor woman, although almost exhausted, knows full well, by the bitter experiences of the past, that to delay an instant would bring upon herself severe punishment, and so she quickly seizes the scalping knife and deftly skins the animal, and fills a pot with the savoury venison, which is soon boiled and placed before his highness. While he, and the men and boys whom he may choose to invite to eat with him, are rapidly devouring the venison, the poor woman has her first moments of rest. She goes and seats herself down where women and girls and dogs are congregated, and there women and dogs struggle for the half-picked bones which the men, with derisive laughter, throw among them! This was one of the sad aspects of paganism which I often had to witness as I travelled among those bands that had not, up to that time, accepted the Gospel. When these poor women get old and feeble, very sad and deplorable is their condition. When able to toil and slave, they are tolerated as necessary evils. When aged and weak, they are shamefully neglected, and, often, put out of existence. One of the missionaries, on visiting a pagan band, preached from those blessed words of the Saviour: "Come unto Me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest." In his sermon he spoke about life's toils and burdens, and how all men had to work and labour. The men of the congregation were very angry at him; and at an indignation meeting which they held, they said, "Let him go to the squaws with that kind of talk. They have to carry all the heavy burdens, and do the hard work. Such stuff as that is not for us men, but for the women." So they were offended at him. At a small Indian settlement on the north-eastern shores of Lake Winnipeg lived a chief by the name of Moo-koo-woo-soo, who deliberately strangled his mother, and then burnt her body to ashes. When questioned about the horrid deed, he coolly and heartlessly said that as she had become too old to snare rabbits or catch fish, he was not going to be bothered with keeping her, and so he deliberately put her to death. Such instances could be multiplied many times. Truly "the tender mercies of the wicked are cruel." In delightful contrast to these sad sights among the degraded savages around us, were the kindly ways and happy homes of our converted Indians. Among them a woman occupied her true position, and was well and lovingly treated. The aged and infirm, who but for the Gospel would have been dealt with as Moo-koo-woo-soo dealt with his mother, had the warmest place in the little home and the daintiest morsel on the table. I have seen the sexton of the church throw wide open the door of the sanctuary, that two stalwart young men might easily enter, carrying in their arms their invalid mother, who had expressed a desire to come to the house of God. Tenderly they supported her until the service ended, and then they lovingly carried her home again. But for the Gospel's blessed influences on their haughty natures they would have died ere doing such a thing for a woman, even though she were their own mother. Life for the women was not now all slavery. They had their happy hours, and knew well how to enjoy them. Nothing, however, seemed so to delight them as to be gliding about in the glorious summer time in their light canoes. And sometimes, combining pleasure with profit, many a duck was shot by these young Indian maidens. This changed feeling towards the aged and afflicted ones we have seen manifested in a very expressive and blessed way at the great annual New Year's Feast. It was customary for the Indians, long before they became Christians, to have a great feast at the beginning of the New Year. In the old times, the principal article of food at these horrid feasts was dogs, the eating of which was accompanied by many revolting ceremonies. The missionaries, instead of abolishing the feast, turned it into a religious festival. I carried out the methods of my worthy predecessors at Norway House, and so we had a feast every New Year's Day. The Crees call this day "Ooche-me-gou Kesigow," which literally means "the kissing day," as on this day the men claim the right to kiss every woman they meet; and, strange to say, every woman expects to be kissed. It used to amuse me very much to see thirty or forty Indians, dressed up in their finest apparel, come quietly marching into the Mission House, and gravely kiss Mrs Young on her cheek. When I used to rally her over this strange phase of unexpected missionary experience, she would laughingly retort, "O, you need not laugh at me. See that crowd of women out there in the yard, expecting you to go out and kiss them!" It was surprising how much work that day kept me shut in my study; or if that expedient would not avail, I used to select a dear old sweet-faced, white-haired grandma, the mother of the chief, and say, "Now I am going to kiss grandma; and as I kiss her you must all consider yourselves kissed." This institution is more ancient among them than shaking hands, about which they knew nothing until it was introduced by the whites. For weeks before New Year's Day great preparations were made for the feast. A council would be called, and the men would have recorded what they were willing to give towards it. Some, who were good deer-hunters, promised venison. Others promised so many beavers. Perhaps there were those who knew where bears had made their winter dens, and they agreed to go and kill them for the feast. Others, who were good fur-hunters, stated their willingness to exchange some of the furs they would catch for flour and tea and sugar at the trading post. Thus the business went on, until enough was promised, with the liberal supplies given by the Hudson's Bay Company's officials and the missionary, to make the affair a great success. An outbuilding of the Mission, called "the fish house," was the place where all these various things, as they were obtained, were stored. Months were sometimes consumed in collecting the meat. But Jack Frost is a good preservative, and so nothing spoiled. A few days before the feast, Mrs Young would select several of the Indian women, and under her superintendency the various supplies would be cooked. Very clever were these willing helpers; and in a short time a quantity of food would be piled up, sufficient for all, although it is well known that Indians have good appetites. When the great day arrived, the men quickly removed the seats out of the church, and there put up long tables. Great boilers of tea were made ready, and every preparation was completed for a good time. But, before a mouthful was eaten by any of the eight hundred or thousand persons present, the chief used to ask me for a pencil and a piece of writing paper; and then, standing up on a box or bench, he would shout out, "How many of our people are aged, or sick, or afflicted, and cannot be with us to-day!" As one name after another was mentioned, he rapidly wrote them down. Then he read over the list, and said, "Let us not forget any one." Somebody shouted out, "There is an old woman ten miles up the river towards the old Fort." Somebody else said, "Have you the name of that boy who was accidentally shot in the leg?" Their names were both put down. Then somebody says, "There are two or three left behind in the tent of the pagans, while the rest have come to the feast." "Let us feed those who have come, and send something with our kind greetings to the others," is the unanimous response. When it was certain that none had been overlooked, request was made to me for all the old newspapers and packing paper I could give them, and soon loving hands were busily engaged in cutting off large pieces of different kinds of meat and arranging them with the large flat cakes in generous bundles. To these were added little packages of tea and sugar. In this way as many large bundles--each containing an assortment of everything at the feast--would be made up as there were names on the paper. Then the chief would call in, from where the young men were busily engaged in playing football, as many of the fleet runners as there were bundles, and giving each his load, would indicate the person to whom he was to give it, and also would add, "Give them our New Year's greetings and sympathy, and tell them we are sorry they cannot be with us to-day." Very delightful were these sights to us. Such things paid us a thousandfold for our hardships and sufferings. Here, before a mouthful was eaten by the healthy and vigorous ones, large generous bundles, that would last for days, were sent off to the aged and infirm or wounded ones, who in all probability, but for the blessed influences of the Gospel, if not quickly and cruelly put out of existence, would have been allowed to linger on in neglect and wretchedness. Even the young runners seemed to consider that it was an honour to be permitted to carry these bundles, with the loving messages, to the distant homes or wigwams where the afflicted ones were. It was quite amusing to watch them tighten up their belts and dash off like deers. Some of them had several miles to go; but what cared they on this glad day? According to seniority the tables were filled, and the feast began as soon as the "Grace before Meat" had been sung. Mrs Young had her own long table, and to it she invited not only the Hudson's Bay Company's people, but as many of the aged and worthy from among the poor Indians as we wished specially to honour. Sometimes we filled one table with wild pagans who had come in from some distant forest home, attracted by the reports of the coming great feast. Through their stomachs we sometimes reached their hearts, and won them to Christ. Thus for hours the feast continued, until all had been supplied. None were neglected, and everybody was happy. Then with a glad heart they sang: "Praise God, from Whom all blessings flow." When all the guests were satisfied, what was left was carried off by the needy ones, among whom it was generously divided; the tables were quickly taken down by the men, and the church was speedily swept clean by some active women. The seats and pews were replaced, and every arrangement was made for the great annual New Year's Meeting. The church was lit up; and when the audience had gathered, a chairman was appointed, and, after singing and prayer, speeches were made by several of the Indians. Many pleasant and many sensible things were said. Some of the sober- minded ones reviewed the year just gone, with all its blessings and mercies, and expressed the hope that the one on which they had entered would be crowned with blessings. Some of the speeches referred to Treaty matters with the Government, and others were in reference to their huntings and fisheries. Some were bright and witty, and were received with laughter and applause. Others were of a serious, religious character, and were equally welcome, and touched responsive hearts. With pleasure I noticed that in them all the most frequent word was "Na-nas-koomoo-win-ah," which means "Thanksgiving," and for this my heart rejoiced. Thus ended, with the Doxology and Benediction, these happy days, in which we saw so many evidences that the preaching of the Gospel had not been in vain. CHAPTER FIVE. OXFORD HOUSE MISSION--VISITED BY CANOE--DESCRIPTION OF THIS USEFUL CRAFT-INDIAN SKILL--OXFORD LAKE--DR. TAYLOR--EDWARD PAPANEKIS--STILL ON THE TRAIL BY BIRCH CANOE--NARROW ESCAPE FROM BEING CRUSHED BY THE ICE-- ON STORMY LAKE WINNIPEG--PIONEERING FARTHER NORTH--SUCCESSES--"SHOW US THE FATHER, AND IT SUFFICETH US"--CHRIST ACCEPTED IN THE PLACE OF IDOLS. I had received instructions from the Missionary Secretaries to visit Oxford Mission as soon as possible, and to do all I could for its upbuilding. This Mission had had a good measure of success in years gone by. A church and Mission house had been built at Jackson's Bay, and many of the Indians had been converted. But the village was too far from the Hudson's Bay Company's Post, where the Indians traded, and where naturally they gathered. For several years the work had been left in charge of a native teacher. The people regretted the absence of an ordained Missionary, and the place suffered accordingly. Making all the arrangements I could for the successful prosecution of the work in my absence, I left Norway House in a small canoe, manned by two of my Christian Indians, one of whom was my interpreter. With this wonderful little boat I was now to make my first intimate acquaintance. For this wild land of broad lakes and rapid rivers and winding creeks, the birch- bark canoe is the boat of all others most admirably fitted. It is to the Indian denizen here what the horse is to his more warlike red brother on the great prairies, or what the camel is to those who live and wander amidst Arabian deserts. The canoe is absolutely essential to these natives in this land, where there are no other roads than the intricate devious water routes. It is the frailest of all boats, yet it can be loaded down to the water's edge, and, under the skilful guidance of these Indians, who are unquestionably the finest canoe men in the world, it can be made to respond to the sweep of their paddles, so that it seems almost instinct with life and reason. What they can do in it, and with it, appeared to me at times perfectly marvellous. Yet when we remember that for about five months of every year some of the hunters almost live in it, this may not seem so very wonderful. It carries them by day, and in it, or under it, they often sleep by night. At the many portages which have to be made in this land, where the rivers are so full of falls and rapids, one man can easily carry it on his head to the smooth water beyond. In it we have travelled thousands of miles, while going from place to place with the blessed tidings of salvation to these wandering bands scattered over my immense Circuit. Down the wild rapids we have rushed for miles together, and then out into great Winnipeg, or other lakes, so far from shore that the distant headlands were scarce visible. Foam-crested waves have often seemed as though about to overwhelm us, and treacherous gales to swamp us, yet my faithful, well- trained canoe men were always equal to every emergency, and by the accuracy of their judgment, and the quickness of their movements, appeared ever to do exactly the right thing at the right moment. As the result, I came at length to feel as much at home in a canoe as anywhere else, and with God's blessing was permitted to make many long trips to those who could not be reached in any other way, except by dog-trains in winter. Good canoe-makers are not many, and so really good canoes are always in demand. Frail and light as this Indian craft may be, there is a great deal of skill and ingenuity required in its construction. Great care is requisite in taking the bark from the tree. A long incision is first made longitudinally in the trunk of the tree. Then, from this cut, the Indian begins, and with his keen knife gradually peels off the whole of the bark, as high up as his incision went, in one large piece or sheet. And even now that he has safely got it off the tree, the greatest care is necessary in handling it, as it will split or crack very easily. Cedar is preferred for the woodwork, and when it can possibly be obtained, is always used. But in the section of the country where I lived, as we were north of the cedar limit, the canoe-makers used pieces of the spruce tree, split very thin, as the best substitute for cedar that our country afforded. All the sewing of the pieces of birch bark together, and the fastening of the whole to the outer frame, is done with the long slender roots of the balsam or larch trees, which are soaked and rubbed until they are as flexible as narrow strips of leather. When all the sewing is done, the many narrow limber pieces of spruce are crowded into their places, giving the whole canoe its requisite proportions and strength. Then the seams and weak spots are well covered over with melted pitch, which the Indians obtain from the spruce and balsam trees. Great care is taken to make the canoe watertight. To accomplish this, the boat is often swung between trees and filled with water. Every place where the slightest leak is discovered is marked, and, when the canoe is emptied, is carefully attended to. Canoes vary in style and size. Each tribe using them has its own patterns, and it was to me an ever interesting sight, to observe how admirably suited to the character of the lakes and rivers were the canoes of each tribe or district. The finest and largest canoes were those formerly made by the Lake Superior Indians. Living on the shores of that great inland sea, they required canoes of great size and strength. These "great north canoes," as they were called, could easily carry from a dozen to a score of paddlers, with a cargo of a couple of tons of goods. In the old days of the rival fur-traders, these great canoes played a very prominent part. Before steam or even large sailing vessels had penetrated into those northern lakes, these canoes were extensively used, loaded with the rich furs of those wild forests, they used to come down into the Ottawa, and thence on down that great stream, often even as far as to Montreal. Sir George Simpson, the energetic but despotic and unprincipled governor of the Hudson's Bay Company for many years, used to travel in one of these birch canoes all the way from Montreal up the Ottawa on through Lake Nipissing into Georgian Bay; from thence into Lake Superior, on to Thunder Bay. From this place, with indomitable pluck, he pushed on back into the interior, through the Lake of the Woods, down the tortuous river Winnipeg into the lake of the same name. Along the whole length of this lake he annually travelled, in spite of its treacherous storms and annoying head winds, to preside over the Council and attend to the business of the wealthiest fur-trading company that ever existed, over which he watched with eagle eye, and in every department of which his distinct personality was felt. His famous Iroquois crew are still talked about, and marvellous are the stories in circulation about many a northern camp fire of their endurance and skill. How rapid the changes which are taking place in this world of ours! It seems almost incredible, in these days of mighty steamships going almost everywhere on our great waters, to think that there are hundreds of people still living who distinctly remember when the annual trips of a great governor were made from Montreal to Winnipeg in a birch-bark Canoe, manned by Indians. Of this light Indian craft Longfellow wrote:-- "Give me of your bark, O Birch tree! Of your yellow bark, O Birch tree! Growing by the rushing river, Tall and stately in the valley! I a light canoe will build me, Build a swift canoe for sailing. "Thus the Birch canoe was builded In the valley, by the river, In the bosom of the forest; All its mystery and its magic, All the brightness of the birch tree, All the toughness of the cedar, All the larch trees supple sinews; And it floated on the river Like a yellow leaf in autumn, Like a yellow water-lily." We left for Oxford Mission on the 8th of September. The distance is over two hundred miles, through the wildest country imaginable. We did not see a house--with the exception of those built by the beavers--from the time we left our Mission home until we reached our destination. We paddled through a bewildering variety of picturesque lakes, rivers, and creeks. When no storms or fierce head-winds impeded us, we were able to make fifty or sixty miles a day. When night overtook us, we camped on the shore. Sometimes it was very pleasant and romantic. At other times, when storms raged and we were drenched with the rain so thoroughly that for days we had not a dry stitch upon us, it was not quite so agreeable. We generally began our day's journey very early in the morning, if the weather was at all favourable, and paddled on as rapidly as possible, since we knew not when head-winds might arise and stop our progress. The Oxford route is a very diversified one. There are lakes, large and small, across which we had to paddle. In some of them, when the wind was favourable, our Indians improvised a sail out of one of our blankets. Lashing it to a couple of oars, they lifted it up in the favouring wind, and thus very rapidly did we speed on our way. At times we were in broad beautiful rivers, and then paddling along in little narrow creeks amidst the reeds and rushes. We passed over, or, as they say in that country, "made" nine portages around picturesque falls or rapids. In these portages one of the Indians carried the canoe on his head. The other made a great load of the bedding and provisions, all of which he carried on his back. My load consisted of the two guns, ammunition, two kettles, the bag containing my changes of raiment, and a package of books for the Indians we were to visit. How the Indians could run so quickly through the portages was to me a marvel. Often the path was but a narrow ledge of rock against the side of the great granite cliff. At other times it was through the quaking bog or treacherous muskeg. To them it seemed to make no difference. On they went with their heavy loads at that swinging Indian stride which soon left me far behind. On some of my canoe trips the portages were several miles long, and through regions so wild that there was nothing to indicate to me the right direction. When we were making them, I used to follow on as long as I knew I was in the right way. When I lost the trail, I at once stopped and patiently waited until one of my faithful men, having carried his load safely to the end, would come back for me. Quickly picking up my load, he would hurry off, and even then, unencumbered as I was, it was often as much as I could do to keep up with him. Oxford Lake is one of the most beautiful and picturesque lakes I ever saw. It is between twenty and thirty miles long and several miles wide. It is studded with islands of every imaginable variety. Its waters are almost as transparent as the clear, fresh air above it. When no breath ripples its surface, one can look down into its crystal depths and see, many feet below, the great fish quietly moving about. To visit the Indians who fish in its waters, and hunt upon its shores, I once brought one of our Missionary Secretaries, the eloquent Reverend Lachlin Taylor, DD. The trip down had not been one of the most pleasant. The rains had drenched him, and the mosquitoes had plagued him with such persistency, that he loudly bemoaned his lot in being found in a country that was cursed with such abominable animals. One night I heard him muttering between his efforts to get them out of his tent, where he declared they were attacking him in battalions:-- "They throng the air, and darken heaven, And curse this Western land." However, when we reached Oxford Lake, the mosquitoes left us for a time. The sun came out in splendour, and we had some days of rarest beauty. The good doctor regained his spirits, and laughed when I rallied him on some of his strong expressions about the country, and told him that I hoped, as the result of his experience, he, as all Missionary Secretaries ought, would have a good deal of sympathy for the Missionaries who live in such regions for years together. We camped for the night on one of the most picturesque points. We had two canoes, and to man them four Indians from our Norway House Mission. As the doctor was an enthusiastic fisherman, he decided that we must stop there during the forenoon, while he tried his hand. His first haul was a splendid pike over two feet long. Great was his excitement as his success was assured. Eloquence poured from him; we were flooded with it. The Indians looked on in amazement while he talked of the beauties of the lake and islands, of the water and the sky. "Wait a moment, doctor," I said. "I can add to the wild beauty of the place something that will please your artistic eye." I requested two fine-looking Indians to launch one of the canoes, and to quietly paddle out to the edge of an island which abruptly rose from the deep, clear waters before us, the top of which had on it a number of splendid spruce and balsams, massed together in natural beauty. I directed the men to drop over the side of the canoe a long fishing line, and then, posing them in striking attitudes in harmony with the place, I asked them to keep perfectly still until every ripple made by their canoe had died away. I confess I was entranced by the loveliness of the sight. The reflections of the canoe and men, and of the islands and rocks, were as vivid as the actual realities. So clear and transparent was the water, that where it and the air met there seemed but a narrow thread between the two elements. Not a breath of air stirred, not a ripple moved. It was one of those sights which come to us but seldom in a lifetime, where everything is in perfect unison, and God gives us glimpses of what this world, His footstool, must have been before sin entered. "Doctor," I said quietly, for my heart was full of the Doxology, "tell me what you think of that vision." Standing up, with a great rock beneath his feet, in a voice of suppressed emotion he began. Quietly at first he spoke, but soon he was carried away with his own eloquence:-- "I know well the lochs of my own beloved Scotland, for in many of them I have rowed and fished. I have visited all the famed lakes of Ireland, and have rowed on those in the Lake counties of England. I have travelled far and oft on our great American lakes, and have seen Tahoe, in all its crystal beauty. I have rowed on the Bosphorus, and travelled in a felucca on the Nile. I have lingered in the gondola on the canals of Venice, and have traced Rob Roy's canoe in the Sea of Galilee, and on the old historic Jordan. I have seen, in my wanderings in many lands, places of rarest beauty, but the equal of this mine eyes have never gazed upon." Never after did I see the lake as we saw it that day. On it we have had to battle against fierce storms, where the angry waves seemed determined to engulf us. Once, in speeding along as well as we could from island to island, keeping in the lee as much as possible, we ran upon a sharp rock and stove a hole in our canoe. We had to use our paddles desperately to reach the shore, and when we had done so, we found our canoe half-full of water, in which our bedding and food were soaked. We hurriedly built a fire, melted some pitch, and mended our canoe, and hurried on. On this lake, which can give us such pictures of wondrous beauty, I have encountered some of the greatest gales and tempests against which I have ever had to contend, even in this land of storms and blizzards. Then in winter, upon its frozen surface it used to seem to me that the Frost King held high carnival. Terrible were the sufferings of both dogs and men on some of those trips. One winter, in spite of all the wraps I could put around me, making it possible for me to run--for riding was out of the question, so intense was the cold--every part of my face exposed to the pitiless blast was frozen. My nose, cheeks, eyebrows, and even lips, were badly frozen, and for days after I suffered. Cuffy, the best of my Newfoundland dogs, had all of her feet frozen, and even Jack's were sore for many a day after. My loyal Indians suffered also, and we all declared Oxford Lake to be a cold place in winter, and its storms worse than the summer mosquitoes. The Indians of Oxford Lake were among the finest in all the great North- West. It was ever a joy to meet them as I used to do once in summer by canoe trip, and then again in winter by dog-train. God blessed my visits to them. The old members were cheered and comforted as the Gospel was preached to them, and the Sacraments administered. Some pagans were induced to renounce their old lives, and the cause of religion was more and more established. The Reverend Mr Brooking, and, later, the studious and devoted Reverend Orrin German, did blessed service in that lonely Mission. At the present time the Reverend Edward Papanekis is the acceptable Missionary there. Long years ago I found Edward a careless, sinful young man. Once he rushed into the Mission house under the influence of liquor, and threatened to strike me. But the blessed truth reached his heart, and it was my joy to see him a humble suppliant at the Cross. His heart's desire was realised. God has blessedly led him on, and now he is faithfully preaching that same blessed Gospel to his countrymen at Oxford Mission. In responding to the many Macedonian cries my Circuit kept so enlarging that I had to be "in journeyings often." My canoes were sometimes launched in spring, ere the great floating ice-fields had disappeared, and through tortuous open channels we carefully paddled our way, often exposed to great danger. On one of these early trips we came to a place where for many miles the moving ice fields stretched out before us. One narrow channel of open water only was before us. Anxious to get on, we dashed into it, and rapidly paddled ourselves along. I had two experienced Indians, and so had no fear, but expected some novel adventures--and had them with interest. Our hopes were that the wind would widen the channel, and thus let us into open water. But, to our disappointment, when we had got along a mile or so in this narrow open space, we found the ice was quietly but surely closing in upon us. As it was from four to six feet thick, and of vast extent, there was power enough in it to crush a good-sized ship; so it seemed that our frail birch-bark canoe would have but a poor chance. I saw there was a reasonable possibility that when the crash came we could spring on to the floating ice. But what should we do then? was the question, with canoe destroyed and us on floating ice far from land. However, as my Indians kept perfectly cool, I said nothing, but paddled away and watched for the development of events. Nearer and nearer came the ice; soon our channel was not fifty feet wide. Already behind us the floes had met, and we could hear the ice grinding and breaking as the enormous masses met in opposite directions. Now it was only about twenty feet from side to side. Still the men paddled on, and I kept paddling in unison with them. When the ice was so close that we could easily touch it on either side with our paddles, one of the Indians quietly said, "Missionary, will you please give me your paddle?" I quickly handed it to him, when he immediately thrust it with his own into the water, holding down the ends of them so low horizontally under the canoe that the blade end was out of water on the other side of the boat. The other Indian held his paddle in the same position, although from the other side of the canoe. Almost immediately after the ice crowded in upon us. But as the points of the paddles were higher than the ice, of course they rested upon it for an instant. This was what my cool-headed, clever men wanted. They had a fulcrum for their paddles, and so they pulled carefully on the handle ends of them, and, the canoe sliding up as the ice closed in and met with a crash under us, we found ourselves seated in it on the top of the ice. The craft, although only a frail birch-bark canoe, was not in the least injured. As we quickly sprang out of our canoe, and carried it away from where the ice had met and was being ground into pieces by the momentum with which it met, I could not but express my admiration to my men at the clever feat. After some exciting work we reached the shore, and there patiently waited until the wind and sun cleared away the ice, and we could venture on. My plan was to spend at least a week in each Indian village or encampment, preaching three times a day, and either holding school with the children, or by personal entreaty beseeching men and women to be reconciled to God. When returning from the visit, which was a very successful one, we had to experience some of the inconveniences of travelling in such a frail bark as a birch canoe on such a stormy lake as Winnipeg. The weather had been very unsettled, and so we had cautiously paddled from point to point. We had dinner at what the Indians call Montreal Point, and then started for the long crossing to Old Norway House Point, as it was then called. It is a very long open traverse, and as lowering clouds threatened us we pulled on as rapidly as our three paddles could propel us. When out a few miles from land the storm broke upon us, the wind rose rapidly, and soon we were riding over great white-crested billows. My men were very skilful, and we had no fear; but the most skilful management was necessary to safely ride the waves, which soon in size were rivalling those of the ocean. A canoe is a peculiar craft, and requires an experienced hand in these great storms. We were getting on all right, and were successfully climbing the big waves in quick succession, alert and watchful that no sudden erratic move should catch us off our guard and overturn us. At length we met a wave of unusual height, and succeeded in climbing up into its foaming crest all right. Then down its side our little craft shot with the apparent velocity of a sled down a toboggan slide. When we reached the bottom of this trough of the sea, our canoe slapped so violently upon the water that the birch bark on the bottom split from side to side. Of course the water rushed in upon us with uncomfortable rapidity. The more we paddled the worse the water entered, as the exertion strained the boat and opened the rent. Quickly folding up a blanket, I carefully placed it over the long rent, and kneeled down upon it to keep it in place. The man in the front of the canoe put down his paddle, and, taking up the kettle, baled as rapidly as he could, while the Indian in the stern, and myself in the middle, plied our paddles for dear life. We turned towards the Spider Islands, which were over a mile away, and by vigorous work succeeded in reaching one of them, although our canoe was half full of water. Then could we enter into David's words, as for life we struggled, and our little craft was tossed on the cross sea in our efforts to reach a place of safety: "They reel to and fro, and stagger like a drunken man, and are at their wit's end. Then they cry unto the Lord in their trouble, and He bringeth them out of their distresses." We paddled up as far as we could on a smooth granite rock that came out gradually in the water. Then out we sprang, and strong hands dragged our little canoe up beyond the reach of the waves. We hastily pulled out our dripping blankets and soaked food and other things, and then, overturning the canoe, emptied it of water; and as we saw the large break in the bottom, we realised as we had not before the danger we had been in, and the providential escape which had been ours. So, with glad hearts, we said, "We do `praise the Lord for His goodness, and for His wonderful works to the children of men.'" We quickly built a fire, and melted some pitch, a quantity of which is always carried ready for such emergencies. The long rent was covered over with a piece of cloth well saturated in the boiling pitch, a quantity more was poured over, and the whole was carefully smoothed out over the weak place. Soon it cooled and hardened, and the work was done. We ate a little food, and then launched our frail craft and pushed on. No serious accidents again troubled us, and we ended this long canoe trip, as we had done many others, thankful that we had such blessed opportunities to go to the remote places as heralds of the Cross, and doubly thankful when we were safe at home again. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ On one of my canoe trips, when looking after pagan bands in the remote Nelson River District, I had some singular experiences, and learned some important lessons about the craving of the pagan heart after God. We had been journeying on for ten or twelve days when one night we camped on the shore of a lake-like river. While my men were busily employed in gathering wood and cooking the supper, I wandered off and ascended to the top of a well wooded hill which I saw in the distance. Very great indeed was my surprise, when I reached the top, to find myself in the presence of the most startling evidences of a degraded paganism. The hill had once been densely covered with trees, but about every third one had been cut down, and the stumps, which had been left from four to ten feet high, had been carved into rude representations of the human form. Scattered around were the dog-ovens, which were nothing but holes dug in the ground and lined with stones, in which at certain seasons, as part of their religious ceremonies, some of their favourite dogs--white ones were always preferred--were roasted, and then devoured by the excited crowd. Here and there were the tents of the old conjurers and medicine men, who, combining some knowledge of disease and medicine with a great deal of superstitious abominations, held despotic sway over the people. The power of these old conjurers over the deluded Indians was very great. They were generally lazy old fellows, but succeeded nevertheless in getting the best that was going, as they held other Indians in such terror of their power, that gifts in the shape of fish and game were constantly flowing in upon them. They have the secret art among themselves of concocting some poisons so deadly that a little put in the food of a person who has excited their displeasure will cause death almost as soon as a dose of strychnine. They have other poisons which, while not immediately causing death to the unfortunate victims, yet so affect and disfigure them that, until death releases them, their sufferings are intense and their appearance frightful. Here on this hill top were all these sad evidences of the degraded condition of the people. I wandered around and examined the idols, most of which had in front of them, and in some instances on their flat heads, offerings of tobacco, food, red cotton, and other things. My heart was sad at these evidences of such degrading idolatry, and I was deeply impressed with my need of wisdom and aid from on high, so that when I met the people who here worshipped these idols I might so preach Christ and Him crucified that they would be constrained to accept Him as their all-sufficient Saviour. While there I lingered, and mused, and prayed, the shadows of the night fell on me, and I was shrouded in gloom. Then the full moon rose up in the East, and as her silvery beams shone through the trees and lit up these grotesque idols, the scene presented a strange weird appearance. My faithful Indians, becoming alarmed at my long absence--for the country was infested by wild animals--were on the search for me, when I returned to the camp fire. We ate our evening meal, sang a hymn, and bowed in prayer. Then we wrapped ourselves up in our blankets, and lay down on the granite rocks to rest. Although our bed was hard and there was no roof above us, we slept sweetly, for the day had been one of hard work and strange adventure. After paddling about forty miles the next day we reached the Indians of that section of the country, and remained several weeks among them. With the exception of the old conjurers, they all received me very cordially. These old conjurers had the same feelings toward me as those who made silver shrines for Diana of Ephesus had toward the first preachers of Christianity in their city. They trembled for their occupation. They well knew that if I succeeded in inducing the people to become Christians their occupation would be gone, and they would have to settle down to work for their own living, like other people, or starve. I visited them as I did the rest of the encampment, but they had enmity in their hearts toward me. Of all their efforts to injure or destroy me of course I knew not. That their threats were many I well understood; but He Who had said, "Lo, I am with you alway," mercifully watched over me and shielded me from their evil deeds. My two Indian attendants also watched as well as prayed, with a vigilance that seemed untiring. Very pleasant, indeed, are my memories of my faithful Indian comrades on those long journeys. Their loyalty and devotion could not be excelled. Everything that they could do for my safety and happiness was cheerfully done. We held three religious services every day, and between these services taught the people to read in the Syllabic characters. One day, in conversing with an old fine-looking Indian, I said to him, "What is your religion? If you have any clear idea of a religion, tell me in what you believe." His answer was; "We believe in a good Spirit and in a bad spirit." "Why, then," I said, "do you not worship the good Spirit? I came through your sacred grounds, and I saw where you had cut down some trees. Part you had used as fuel with which to cook your bear or deer meat; out of the rest you had made an idol, which you worship. How is one part more sacred than the other? Why do you make and worship idols?" I can never forget his answer, or the impressive and almost passionate way in which the old man replied:-- "Missionary, the Indian's mind is dark, and he cannot grasp the unseen. He hears the great Spirit's voice in the thunder and storms. He sees the evidences of His existence all around, but neither he nor his fathers have ever seen the great Spirit, or any one who has; and so he does not know what He looks like. But man is the highest creature that he knows of, and so he makes his idols like a man, and calls it his `Manito.' We only worship them because we do not know what the great Spirit looks like, but these we can understand." Suddenly there flashed into my mind the request of Philip to the Lord Jesus: "Show us the Father, and it sufficeth us;" and the wonderful answer: "Have I been so long time with you, and yet hast thou not known Me, Philip? He that hath seen Me hath seen the Father; and how sayest thou then, Show us the Father?" I opened my Indian Bible at that wonderful chapter of disinterested love, the fourteenth of John, and preached unto them Jesus, in His two natures, Divine and human. While emphasising the redemptive work of the Son of God, I referred to His various offices and purposes of love and compassion, His willingness to meet us and to save us from perplexity and doubt, as well as from sin. I spoke about Him as our elder Brother, so intimately allied to us, and still retaining His human form as He pleads for us at the throne of God. I dwelt upon these delightful truths, and showed how Christ's love had so brought him to us, that with the eye of faith we could see Him, and in Him all of God for which our hearts craved. "Whom having not seen, we love; in Whom, though now we see Him not, yet believing, we rejoice with joy unspeakable and full of glory." For many days I needed no other themes. They listened attentively, and the holy Spirit applied these truths to their hearts and consciences so effectively that they gladly received them. A few more visits effectually settled them in the truth. They have cut down their idols, filled up the dog-ovens, torn away the conjurers' tents, cleared the forest, and banished every vestige of the old life. And there, at what is called "the Meeting of the Three Rivers," on that very spot where idols were worshipped amidst horrid orgies, and where the yells, rattles, and drums of the old conjurers and medicine men were heard continuously for days and nights, there is now a little church, where these same Indians, transformed by the glorious Gospel of the Son of God, are "clothed and in their right mind, sitting at the feet of Jesus." My visits to Nelson River so impressed me with the fact of the necessity of some zealous missionary going down there and living among the people, that, in response to appeals made, the Reverend John Semmens, whose heart God had filled with missionary zeal, and who had come out to assist me at Norway House, nobly resolved to undertake the work. He was admirably fitted for the arduous and responsible task. But no language of mine can describe what he had to suffer. His record is on high. The Master has it all, and He will reward. Great were his successes, and signal his triumphs. At that place, where I found the stumps carved into idols, which Brother Semmens has so graphically described, the church, mainly through his instrumentality and personal efforts, has been erected. In the last letter which I have received from that land, the writer says: "The Indians now all profess themselves to be Christians. Scores of them by their lives and testimonies assure us of the blessed consciousness that the Lord Jesus is indeed their own loving Saviour. Every conjuring drum has ceased. All vestiges of the old heathenish life are gone, we believe for ever." "The wilderness and the solitary place shall be glad for them, and the desert shall rejoice and blossom as the rose." Grandly has this prophecy been fulfilled, and dwarfs into insignificance all the sufferings and hardships endured in the pioneer work which I had in beginning this Mission. With a glad heart I rejoice that "unto me, who am less than the least of all saints, is this grace given, that I should preach among the Gentiles the unsearchable riches of Christ." CHAPTER SIX. THE WILD NORTH LAND--THE TWO METHODS OF TRAVEL, BY CANOE AND DOG-TRAIN-- THE NATIVE DOGS--ST. BERNARD AND NEWFOUNDLAND DOGS--THE DOG SLEDS--THE GUIDE--THE DOG DRIVERS--THE LONG JOURNEYS--NIGHT TRAVELLING--WONDROUS VISIONS OF THE NIGHT. So destitute are these wild north lands of roads that there are really no distinct words in the languages of these northern tribes to represent land vehicles. In translating such words as "waggon" or "chariot" into the Cree language, a word similar to that for "dog-sled" had to be used. No surveyor, up to the years about which I am writing, had visited those regions, and there were literally no roads as understood in civilised lands. So numerous are the lakes and rivers that roads are unnecessary to the Indian in the summer time. With his light birch canoe he can go almost everywhere he desires. If obstructions block up his passage, all he has to do is to put his little canoe on his head, and a short run will take him across the portage, or around the cataracts or falls, or over the height of land to some other lake or stream, where he quickly embarks and continues his journey. All summer travelling is done along the water routes. Naturally the various trading posts and Indian villages or encampments are located on the edges of the lakes or rivers, or very near them, so as to be most conveniently reached in this way. So short are the summers that there are only about five months of open water to be depended upon in these high latitudes. During the other seven months the dog sled is the only conveyance for purposes of travelling. So rough and wild is the country that we know of no vehicle that could take its place, and no animals that could do the work of the dogs. As the years of toil rolled on, my Mission field or Circuit so enlarged that it extended irregularly north and south over five hundred miles, with a width in some places of over three hundred. In summer I travelled over it in a birch canoe, and in winter with my dog-trains. At first it seemed very novel, and almost like child's play, to be dragged along by dogs, and there was almost a feeling of rebellion against what seemed such frivolous work. But we soon found out that we had travelled in worse conveyances and with poorer steeds than in a good dog sled, when whirled along by a train of first-class dogs. The dogs generally used are of the Esquimaux breed, although in many places they have become so mixed up with other varieties as to be almost unrecognisable. The pure Esquimaux sled dogs are well-built, compact animals, weighing from eighty to a hundred and twenty pounds. They are of various colours, and have a close, warm, furry coat of hair. They have sharp-pointed ears and very bushy, curly tails. They are the most notorious thieves. I never could completely break an Esquimaux dog of this propensity. It seemed ingrained in their very natures. I have purchased young puppies of this breed from the natives, have fed them well, and have faithfully endeavoured to bring them up in the way in which they ought to go, but I never could get them to stay there. Steal they would, and did, whenever they had an opportunity. This serious defect may have been the result of the constant and unremitting neglect with which Indians generally treat their dogs. They are fond of them in a way, and are unwilling to part with them, except at a good price; yet, except when working them, they very seldom feed them. The dogs are generally left to steal their living, and some of them become very clever at it, as more than once I found to my sorrow. When the fisheries are successful, or many deer have been killed, the dogs, like their owners, are fat and flourishing. When food is scarce, the dogs' allowance is the first cut off. We could always tell at a glance, when a band of wild, wandering pagan Indians came in to visit our village from their distant hunting grounds, how they had prospered. If they and their dogs were fat and good-natured, they had had abundance of food. If, while the people looked fairly well, the dogs were thin and wolfish, we knew they had fared but moderately. If the dogs were all gone and the people looked gaunt and famine-stricken, we knew they had had hard times, and, as a last resort, had eaten their poor dogs to keep themselves alive. Some of the Indians who make a pretence to feed their dogs in winter never think of doing so in summer. The result is that, as they have to steal, hunt, or starve, they become adepts in one or the other. Everything that is eatable, and many things apparently uneatable, are devoured by them. They fairly howled with delight when they found access to such things as old leather moccasins, dog harness, whips, fur caps, mitts, and similar things. They greedily devoured all they could, and then most cunningly buried the rest. Many of them go off in summer- time on long fishing excursions. I once, when away on a canoe trip, met a pack of them up a great river over a hundred miles from their home. When we first saw them at a long distance, we mistook them for wolves, and began to prepare for battle. The quick eyes of my Indian canoe men soon saw what they were, and putting down our guns, we spent a little time in watching them. To my great surprise I found out that they were fishing on their own account. This was something new to me, and so I watched them with much interest. On the side of the river on which they were was a shallow, reedy marsh, where the water was from a few inches to a foot in depth. In these shallow waters, at certain seasons of the year, different varieties of fish are to be found. The principal is the Jack fish, or pike, some of which are over three feet long. As they crowd along in these shallows, often with their back fins out of the water, they are observed by the dogs, who quietly wade out, often to a distance of many yards, and seize them with such a grip that, in spite of their struggles, they are carried in triumph to the shore, and there speedily devoured. Sometimes the dogs will remain away for weeks together on these fishing excursions, and will return in much better condition than when they left. During the winter of the first Riel Rebellion, when all our supplies had been cut off, my good wife and I got tired of dining twenty-one times a week on fish diet, varied only by a pot of boiled musk rats, or a roast hind-quarter of a wild cat. To improve our bill of fare, the next summer, when I went into the Red River Settlement, I bought a sheep, which I carefully took out with me in a little open boat. I succeeded in getting it safely home, and put it in a yard that had a heavy stockade fence twelve feet high around it. In some way the dogs got in and devoured my sheep. The next summer, I took out a couple of pigs, and put them into a little log stable with a two-inch spruce plank door. To my great disgust, one night the dogs ate a hole through the door and devoured my pigs. There seemed to be a good deal of the wolf in their nature. Many of them never manifested much affection for their masters, and never could be fully depended upon. Still I always found that even with Esquimaux dogs patience and kindness went farther than anything else in teaching them to know what was required of them, and in inducing them to accept the situation. Some of them are naturally lazy, and some of them are incorrigible shirks; and so there is in dog-driving a capital opportunity for the exercise of the cardinal virtue of patience. As my Mission increased in size, and new appointments were taken up, I found I should have to be on the move nearly all the winter if those who longed for the Word of Life were to be visited. Do the best I could, there were some bands so remote that I could only visit them twice a year. In summer I went by canoe, and in winter by dog-train. After a few wretched experiences with native dogs, where I suffered most intensely, as much on account of their inferior powers as anything else, I began to think of the many splendid St. Bernard and Newfoundland dogs I had seen in civilised lands, doing nothing in return for the care and affection lavished upon them. These thoughts, which came to me while far from home, were promptly followed by action as soon as that terrible trip was ended, in which every part of my face exposed to the intense cold had been frozen, even to my eyebrows and lips. Missionary Secretaries were amused at the requisition for dogs, and had their laugh at what they called "my unique request," and wrote me to that effect. Thanks, however, to the kindness of such men as the Honourable Mr Sanford, of Hamilton, the Honourable Mr Ferrier, of Montreal, and other friends, I had in my possession some splendid dogs before the next season opened, and then the work went on with increasing interest and satisfaction. With splendid, well-trained dogs, I could so shorten the time of the three hundred miles' trip, that, instead of shivering seven or eight nights in a hole dug in the snow, we could reduce the number to four or five. Those who have experienced the sufferings and hardships of camping out in the forest with the temperature ranging from thirty to sixty degrees below zero, will agree that to escape two or three nights of it meant a good deal. I found by years of experience that the St. Bernard and Newfoundland dogs had all the good qualities, and none of the defects, of the Esquimaux. By kindness and firmness they were easily broken in, and then a whip was only an ornamental appendage of the driver's picturesque costume. Of these splendid dogs I often had in my possession, counting old and young, as many as twenty at a time. The largest and best of them all was Jack, a noble St. Bernard. He was black as jet, and stood over thirty-three inches high at his fore shoulder. When in good working trim, he weighed about a hundred and sixty pounds. He had no equal in all that northern land. Several times he saved my life, as we shall see further on. No whip ever ruffled his glossy coat; no danger ever deterred him from his work, when he with his marvellous intelligence once got to know what was expected of him. No blizzard storm, no matter how fickle and changeful, could lead him off from the desired camping place, even if the courage of other dogs failed them, and even though the guides gave up in despair. The distance we could travel with dogs depended of course very much on the character of the trail or route. On the frozen surface of Lake Winnipeg, when no blinding gales opposed us, and our dogs were good and loads not too heavy, we have made from seventy to ninety miles a day. One winter I accomplished the journey from Fort Garry to Norway House in five days and a half--a distance of nearly four hundred miles. When we were toiling along in the dense forests, where the snow lay deep and the obstructions were many, and the country was broken with hills and ravines, we often did not make more than a third of that distance, and then suffered much more than when we had made much greater journeys under more favourable auspices. The dog sleds are made of two oak or birch boards, about twelve feet long, eight or nine inches wide, and from half an inch to an inch thick. These two boards are fastened securely together, edge to edge, by crossbars. Then one of the ends is planed down thin, and so thoroughly steamed or soaked in hot water that it can easily be bent or curved up to form what is called the head of the sled. It is then planed smooth, and fitted out with side loops. The front ones are those to which the traces of the dogs are attached, and the others along the sides are used to fasten the load securely. When finished, allowing two or three feet for the curled-up head, a good dog sled is nine or ten feet long, and from sixteen to eighteen inches wide. Sometimes they are fitted with parchment sides and a comfortable back. Then they are called carioles. When the dogs were strong enough, or the trail was a well beaten one, or we were travelling on the great frozen lakes, I was able to ride the greater part of the time. Then it was not unpleasant or toilsome work. But as many of my winter trails led me through the primeval forests, where the snow was often very deep, and the hills were steep, and the fallen trees many, and the standing ones thickly clustered together, on such journeys there was but little riding. One had to strap on his snow shoes, and help his faithful Indians to tramp down the deep snow in the trail, that the poor dogs might drag the heavily loaded sleds along. Four dogs constitute a train. They are harnessed in tandem style, as all this vast country north of the fertile prairies is a region of forests. The Esquimaux style of giving each dog a separate trace, thus letting them spread out in a fan-like form, would never do in this land of trees and dense under-bush. The harness, which is made of moose skin, is often decorated with ribbons and little musical bells. Singular as it may appear, the dogs were very fond of the bells, and always seemed to travel better and be in greater spirits when they could dash along in unison with their tinkling. Some dogs could not be more severely punished than by taking the bells off their harness. The head dog of the train is called "the leader." Upon him depends a great deal of the comfort and success, and at times the safety, of the whole party. A really good leader is a very valuable animal. Some of them are so intelligent that they do not require a guide to run ahead of them, except in the most dense and unbeaten forest trails. I had a long-legged white dog, of mixed breed, that ever seemed to consider a guide a nuisance, when once he had got into his big head an idea of what I wanted him to do. Outside of his harness Old Voyager, as we called him, was a morose, sullen, unsociable brute. So hard to approach was he that generally a rope about sixty feet long, with one end fastened around his neck, trailed out behind him. When we wanted to catch him, we generally had to start off in the opposite direction from him, for he was as cunning as a fox, and ever objected to being caught. In zigzag ways we moved about until he was thrown off his guard, and then by-and- by it was possible to come near enough to get hold of the long rope and haul him in. When once the collar was on his neck, and he had taken his place at the head of the party, he was the unrivalled leader. No matter how many trains might happen to be travelling together, no one thought of taking first place while Old Voyager was at hand. Lake Winnipeg is very much indented with deep, wide bays. The headlands are from five to thirty miles apart. When dog-travelling on that great lake in winter, the general plan is to travel from headland to headland. When leaving one where perhaps we had slept or dined, all we had to do was to turn Old Voyager's head in the right direction, and show him the distant point to which we wished to go; and although it might be many miles away, a surveyor's line could not be much straighter than the trail our sleds would make under his unerring guidance. I have gone into these details about this mode of travelling, because there is so little known about it in the outside world. Doubtless it will soon become a thing of the past, as the Indians are settling down in their Reservations, and, each tribe or band having a resident Missionary, these long, toilsome journeys will not be essential. The companions of my long trips were the far-famed Indian runners of the north. The principal one of our party was called "the guide." To him was committed the responsibility of leading us by the quickest and safest route to the band of Indians we wished to visit with the good news of a Saviour's love. His place was in front of the dogs, unless the way happened to lead us for a time over frozen lakes or well-beaten trails, where the dogs were able to go on alone, cheered by the voice of their drivers behind. When the trail was of this description, the guide generally strode along in company with one of the drivers. As the greater part of my work was in the wild forest regions, there were many trips when the guide was always at the front. Marvellously gifted were some of these men. The reader must bear in mind the fact that there were no roads or vestiges of a path. Often the whole distance we wished to go was through the dense unbroken forest. The snow, some winters, was from two to four feet deep. Often the trees were clustered so closely together that it was at times difficult to find them standing far enough apart to get our sleds, narrow as they were, between them. In many places the under-brush was so dense that it was laborious work to force our way through it. Yet the guide on his large snowshoes was expected to push on through all obstructions, and open the way where it was possible for the dog-sleds to follow. His chief work was to mark out the trail, along which the rest of us travelled as rapidly as our loaded sleds, or wearied limbs, and often bleeding feet, would allow. Wonderfully clever and active were these guides in this difficult and trying work. To them it made but little difference whether the sun shone brightly, or clouds obscured the sky. On and on they pushed without hesitancy or delay. There were times when the sun's rays were reflected with such splendour from the snowy wastes, that our eyes became so affected by the glare, that it was impossible to travel by sunlight. The black eyes of the Indians seemed very susceptible to this disease, which they call "snow blindness." It is very painful, as I know by sad experience. The sensation is like that of having red-hot sand thrown on the eyeballs. Often my faithful dog-drivers used to suffer so from it that, stoical as they naturally are, I have known them to groan and almost cry out like children in the camp. Once, in travelling near Oxford Lake, we came across a couple of Indians who were stone-blind from this disease. Fortunately they had been able to reach the woods and make a camp and get some food ready ere total blindness came upon them. We went out of our course to guide them to their friends. To guard against the attack of this disease, which seldom occurs except in the months of March and April, when the increasing brightness of the sun, in those lengthening days, makes its rays so powerful, we often travelled only during the night-time, and rested in the sheltered camps during the hours of sunshine. On some of our long trips we have travelled eight nights continuously in this way. We generally left our camp about sundown. At midnight we groped about as well as we could, aided by the light of the stars or the brilliant auroras, and found some dry wood and birch bark, with which we made a fire and cooked a midnight dinner. Then on we went until the morning light came. Then a regular camp was prepared, and breakfast cooked and eaten, and the dogs were fed, instead of at night. Prayers said, and ourselves wrapped up in our blankets and robes, we slept until the hours of brilliant sunshine were over, when on we went. It always seemed to me that the work of the guides would be much more difficult at night than during the daytime. They, however, did not think so. With unerring accuracy they pushed on. It made no matter to them whether the stars shone out in all the beauty and brilliancy of the Arctic sky, or whether clouds arose and obscured them all. On the guide pushed through tangled underwood or dense gloomy forest, where there were not to be seen, for days, or rather nights, together, any other tracks than those made by the wild beasts of the forest. Sometimes the wondrous auroras blazed out, flashing and scintillating with a splendour indescribable. At times the whole heavens seemed aglow with their fickle, inconstant beauty, and then various portions of the sky were illumined in succession by their ever-changing bars, or columns of coloured light. Man's mightiest pyrotechnic displays dwarfed into insignificance in the presence of these celestial visions. For hours at a time have I been entranced amidst their glories. So bewildering were they at times to me that I have lost all ideas of location, and knew not which was north or south. But to the experienced guide, although, like many of the Indians, he had a keen appreciation of the beauties of nature, so intent was he on his duties that these changing auroras made no difference, and caused him no bewilderment in his work. This, to me, was often a matter of surprise. They are very susceptible in their natures, and their souls are full of poetry, as many of their expressive and beautiful names indicate. To them, in their pagan state, those scintillating bars of coloured light were the spirits of their forefathers, rank after rank, rushing out to battle. Yet, while on our long trips I have had Indians as guides who became intensely interested in these wondrous visions of the night, I never knew them to lose the trail or become confused as to the proper route. Very pleasant are my memories of different guides and dog-drivers. With very few exceptions they served me loyally and well. Most of them were devoted Christian men. With me they rejoiced to go on these long journeys to their countrymen who were still groping in the darkness, but most of them longing for the light. Many of them were capable of giving exhortations or addresses; and if not able to do this, they could, Paul- like, tell the story of their conversion, and how they had found the Saviour. My heart warms to those faithful men, my companions in many a storm, my bed-fellows in many a cold wintry camp. Memory brings up many incidents where they risked their lives for me, and where, when food was about exhausted, and the possibilities of obtaining additional supplies for days were very poor, they quietly and unostentatiously put themselves on quarter rations, for days together, that their beloved missionary might not starve. Some of them have finished their course. Up the shining trail, following the unerring Guide, they have gone beyond the auroras and beyond the stars right to the throne of God. CHAPTER SEVEN. ON THE TRAIL WITH THE DOGS, TO FIELDS RIPE FOR THE REAPER--THE PLACE-- THE TRIP--THE WINTER CAMP--THE BITTER COLD--ENDURING HARDNESS--DEATH SHAKING HANDS WITH US--MANY DAYS ON THE TRAIL. In January, 1869, I started on my first winter trip to Nelson River, to visit a band of Indians there, who had never yet seen a missionary or heard the glad tidings of salvation. Their principal gatherings were at the little trading post on the Burntwood River. Their hunting grounds extended so very far north that they bordered on those of the Esquimaux, with whom, however, the Indians have no dealings. Between these two races, the Indian and the Esquimaux, there is no affinity whatever. They differ very materially in appearance, language, customs, and beliefs. Though they will seldom engage in open hostilities, yet they are very rarely at peace with each other, and generally strive to keep as far apart as possible. The weather was bitterly cold, as the temperature ranged from thirty- five to fifty-five below zero. Our course was due north all the way. The road we made, for there was none ahead of the snow-shoe tracks of our guide, was a rugged, unbroken forest path. As the country through which we passed is rich in fur-bearing animals, we saw many evidences of their presence, and occasionally crossed a hunter's trail. We passed over twenty little lakes, averaging from one to thirty miles in diameter. Over these our dogs drew us very fast, and we could indulge in the luxury of a ride; but in the portages and wood-roads our progress was very slow, and generally all of us, with our snow-shoes on, and at times with axes in hand, had to tramp on ahead and pack the deep snow down, and occasionally cut out an obstructing log, that our dogs might be able to drag our heavily laden sleds along. Sometimes the trees were so thickly clustered together that it was almost impossible to get our sleds through them. At times we were testing our agility by climbing over fallen trees, and then on our hands and knees had to crawl under reclining ones. Our faces were often bleeding, and our feet bruised. There were times when the strap of my snowshoes so frayed and lacerated my feet that the blood soaked through the moccasins and webbing of the snowshoes, and occasionally the trail was marked with blood. We always travelled in Indian file. At the head ran or walked the guide, as the roads would permit. On these trips, when I got to understand dog- driving, I generally followed next; and behind me were three other dog- trains, each with an Indian driver. Sometimes the snow was so deep that the four dog-drivers went ahead of the dogs, immediately behind the guide, and, keeping in line with him, industriously packed down the snow, that the dogs might the more easily drag the heavy sleds along. The reason why our loads were so heavy was this. We were not in a country where, when night overtook us, we could find some hospitable home to welcome us. Neither were we where there were hotels or houses in which for money we could secure lodgings. We were in one of the most desolate and thinly inhabited parts of the world, where those who travel long distances see no human beings, except the Indian hunters, and these but rarely. Hence, in spite of all our efforts to make our loads as light as possible, they would be heavy, although we were only carrying what was considered absolutely essential. We had to take our provisions, fish for our dogs, kettles, tin dishes, axes, bedding, guns, extra clothing, and various other things, to meet emergencies that might arise. The heaviest item on our sleds was the fish for the dogs. Each dog was fed once a day, and then received two good white fishes, each weighing from four to six pounds. So that if the daily allowance for each dog averaged five pounds, the fish alone on each sled would weigh one hundred and twenty pounds, when we began a trip of a week's duration. Then the bitter cold and the vigorous exercise gave both the drivers and the missionary good appetites, and so the food provided for them was of no insignificant weight. We generally stopped about half an hour before sundown in order to have time, ere darkness enshrouded us, to prepare our camp. As we journeyed on we had observed that the guide who had been running along in front had been, for the last half hour or so, carefully scanning the forest to the right and left. At length he stopped, and as we came up to him we said, "Well, Tom, what is the matter?" His answer is, "Here is a capital place for our camp." "Why do you think so?" we ask. He replies, "Do you see those balsams? They will furnish us with a bed, and this cluster of dry, dead small trees will give us the wood we need for our fire." So we quickly set to work to prepare for our all-night stay in the woods. The dogs were soon unharnessed, and seemed thankful to get their heads out of their collars. They were never tied up, neither did they ever desert us, or take the back track for home. Some of the younger ones often organised a rabbit hunt on their own responsibility, and had some sport. The older and wiser ones looked around for the most cosy and sheltered spots, and there began to prepare their resting-places for the night. They would carefully scrape away the snow until they came to the ground, and there, with teeth and paws, would make the spot as smooth and even as possible. They would then curl themselves up, and patiently wait until they were called to supper. After unharnessing our dogs, our next work was with our axes, and there was a good sharp one for the Missionary, to cut down some of the green balsams and dry dead trees. Then using our snowshoes as shovels, from the place selected for our camp we soon scraped away the snow, piling it up as well as we could to the right, left, and in rear of where we were to sleep. On the ground thus cleared of snow we spread out a layer of the balsam boughs, and in front, where the wind would blow the smoke from us, we made up a large fire with the small dry trees which we had cut down. On this blazing log fire we put our two kettles, which we had filled with snow. When it melted down, we refilled the kettles, until enough water was secured. In the large kettle we boiled a piece of fat meat, of goodly size, and in the other we made our tea. On my first trip I carried with me a tin basin, a towel, and a cake of soap. At our first camp-fire, when the snow had been melted in our kettle, I asked the guide to give me a little of the water in my basin. Suspecting the purpose for which I wanted it, he said, "What are you going to do with it?" "Wash my face and hands," I replied. Very earnestly he answered, "Please, Missionary, do not do so." I was longing for a good wash, for I felt like a chimney-sweep. We had been travelling for hours through a region of country where, in the previous summer, great forest fires had raged, leaving many of the trunks of the trees charred and black. Against some of them we had often rubbed, and to some of them, or their branches, we had had to cling as we went dashing down some of the ravines. The result of these weary hours of toil amidst charred trunks was very visible, and I rejoiced that an opportunity had arrived when I could wash off the sooty stuff. Great indeed was my surprise to hear this strong protest on the part of my guide against my doing anything of the kind. "Why should I not wash?" I said, holding up my blackened hands. "You must not let water touch you out in the open air, when it is so very cold as it is to-day," was his answer. I was very inexperienced then, and not willing to lose my wash, which I so much needed, I did not heed the warning. Having a blazing fire before me and a good dry towel, I ventured to take the wash, and for a minute or two after felt much better. Soon, however, there were strange prickling sensations on the tops of my hands, and then they began to chap and bleed, and they became very sore, and did not get well for weeks. The one experiment of washing in the open air with the temperature in the fifties below zero was quite enough. In the following years I left the soap at home and only carried the towel. When very much in need of a wash, I had to be content with a dry rub with the towel. Mrs Young used to say, when I returned from some of these trips, that I looked like old mahogany. The bath was then considered a much-needed luxury. For our food, when travelling in such cold weather, we preferred the fattest meat we could obtain. From personal experience I can endorse the statements of Arctic explorers about the value of fat or oil and blubber as articles of food, and the natural craving of the system for them. Nothing else seemed to supply the same amount of internal heat. As the result of experience, we carried the fattest kind of meat. As soon as the snow was melted down in the larger of our kettles, meat sufficient for our party was soon put on and boiled. While it was cooking, we thawed out the frozen fish for our dogs. Such is the effect of the frost that they were as hard as stone, and it would have been cruel to have given them in that state to the noble animals that served us so well. Our plan was to put down a small log in front of the fire, so close to it that when the fish were placed against it, the intensity of the heat would soon thaw them out. The hungry dogs were ever sharp enough to know when their supper was being prepared; and as it was the only meal of the day for them, they crowded around us and were impatient at times, and had to be restrained. Sometimes, in their eagerness and anxiety for their food--for it often required a long time for the fire to thaw the fishes sufficiently for us to bend them--the dogs in crowding one before the other would get into a fight, and then there would be trouble. Two dogs of the same train very seldom fought with each other. Yoke-fellows in toil, they were too wise to try to injure each other in needless conflict. So, when a battle began, the dogs quickly ranged themselves on the sides of their own comrades, and soon it was a conflict of train against train. At first I thought it cruel not to feed them more frequently, but I found, as all experienced dog-drivers had told me, that one good meal a day was the best for them. So great were my sympathies for them that sometimes I would give them a good breakfast in the morning; but it did not turn out to be of any real benefit. The additional meal made them sluggish and short-winded, and they did not seem to thrive so well. Good white fish was the best food we could give them, and on this diet they could thrive and work as on no other. A goodly number of _dog-shoes_ were very necessary on these wild, rough trips. Dogs' feet are tender, and are liable to injury from various causes. On the smooth glare ice the pads of the feet would sometimes wear so thin that they bled a good deal. Then on the rough roads there was always the danger of their breaking off a claw or running a sliver through the webbing between the toes. Many of the wise old dogs that had become accustomed to these shoes, and thus knew their value, would suddenly stop the whole train, and by holding up an injured foot very eloquently, if mutely, tell the reason why they had done so. The dog-shoes are like heavy woollen mits without the thumbs, made in different sizes. When a foot is injured, the mit is drawn on and securely tied with a piece of soft deer-skin. Then the grateful dog, which perhaps had refused to move before, springs to his work, often giving out his joyous barks of gratitude. So fond do some of the dogs become of these warm woollen shoes that instances are known where they have come into the camp from their cold resting-places in the snow, and would not be content until the men got up and put shoes on all of their feet. Then, with every demonstration of gratitude, they have gone back to their holes in the snow. Our dogs having been fed, we next make our simple arrangements for our own supper. A number of balsam boughs are spread over the spot near the fires, from which the snow has been scraped away by our snowshoes. On these is laid our table-cloth, which was generally an empty flour bag, cut down the side. Our dishes, all of tin, are placed in order, and around we gather with vigorous appetites. It is fortunate that they are so good, as otherwise our homely fare would not be much prized. The large piece of fat meat is served up in a tin pan, and our pint cups are filled up with hot tea. If we are fortunate enough to have some bread, which was far from being always the case, we thaw it out and eat it with our meat. Vegetables were unknown on these trips. Our great staple was fat meat, and the fatter the better; morning, noon, and night, and often between times did we stop and eat fat meat. If we did vary the _menu_, it would be by making a raid on the dogs' supply, and in the evening camp cooking ourselves a good kettle of fish. As we dared not wash our hands or faces, of course such a thing as washing dishes was unknown. When supper was in progress, Jack Frost made us busy in keeping ourselves and provisions warm. I have seen the large piece of meat put back into the pot three times during the one meal, to warm it up. I have seen the ice gather on the top of the cup of tea that a few minutes before was boiling vigorously in the kettle. After supper wood was cut, to be in readiness for the morning's fire; and every break in clothes or harness was repaired, that there might be no delay in making a good start. Then the guide, who always had charge of all these things, when satisfied that all was arranged, would say, "Missionary, we are ready for prayers." The Bible and Hymn-book were brought out, and the Indians gathered round me, and there together we offered up our evening devotions. Would that our readers could have seen us! The background is of dense balsam trees, whose great drooping branches, partially covered with snow, sweep the ground. Above us are the bright stars, and, it may be, the flashing auroras. In front of us is the blazing fire, and scattered around us, in picturesque confusion, are our dog-sleds, snow-shoes, harness, and the other essentials of our outfit. A few of the dogs generally insisted on remaining up until their masters had retired, and they were now to be seen in various postures around us. With uncovered heads, no matter how intense the cold, my Christian Indians listened reverently, while in their own language I read from the precious volume which they have learned to love so well. Then together we sang a hymn. Frequently it would be the Evening Hymn, the first verse of which in their beautiful Cree language is as follows:-- "Ne mahmechemon ne muntome Kahke wastanahmahweyan, Kah nah way yemin Kechabyah Ah kwah-nahtahtah-kwahnaoon." After singing we bow in prayer. There is there, as there should be everywhere, a consciousness of our dependence upon the great Helper for protection and support, and so the prayer we sang:-- "Keep me, O keep me, King of Kings, Beneath Thine own Almighty wings." is indeed our heart's desire. Sometimes we are a hundred and fifty miles from the nearest human habitation. We are camping out in the woods in a hole dug in the snow. We have no walls around us but the snow thrown out of the place in which we are huddled, with perhaps the addition of some balsam boughs. We have no roof above us but the stars. There in that place we are going to lie down and try to sleep during that bitter cold night. The light fire will soon go out. A foot of snow may fall upon us, and its coming will be welcomed, as its warmth will lessen our shivering. Prowling grey wolves may come near us, but the terrible Frost King is more to be feared than they. Does anybody, who knows the efficacy of prayer, wonder that, as we draw near to God, "by prayer and supplication, with thanksgiving," we crave the assurance of His favour and smile, and that He, Who never slumbers or sleeps, will be our Guardian and our Friend? After prayers we soon _retire to rest_. The guide's familiar words soon after prayers used to be, "Now, Missionary, I will make your bed." This was his work, and he was an adept at it. He first spread out a layer of evergreen boughs, and then on these he laid a large buffalo robe, and upon this a heavy blanket. Then, placing my pillow so that my head would be farthest away from the fire, he would say to me, "Now, if you will get into bed, I will cover you up and tuck you in." Such a thing as disrobing out there in a wintry camp is unknown, unless, as the result of the violent exercise of running all day, a person's underclothing has become very damp by perspiration, and it is not safe to sleep in it in that condition. Some travellers sleep in a fur bag, in which they manage to insert themselves, and then have it tightened around their necks. Then a large fur hood over the usual head-gear completes their sleeping apparel. I used to wrap myself up in a heavy overcoat over my usual apparel, and then putting on long buffalo-skin boots, fur mits, cap, cape, and big mufflers, considered myself rigged up for retiring. When thus wrapped, I used to have some difficulty in getting down into the bed, although it was only on the ground. When in position, the guide would throw over me another heavy blanket and fur robe. Then very skilfully, and in a way most motherly, he would begin at my feet and carefully tuck me in. Rapidly and deftly did he proceed with his work, and almost before I was aware of what he was doing, he had reached my head, which he began to cover completely up with the heavy robe which he seemed to be crowding down under my back and shoulders. The first time he packed me in in this manner I was only able to stand it for a minute or two, as I thought I should be smothered. So I very suddenly threw up my arms and sent the whole upper covering off in a hurry. "Do you wish to smother me, man?" I said. "I cannot live with my head covered up like that!" Without any annoyance at my having so quickly undone his work, he replied very kindly, "I know it must be hard work for you white people to sleep with your heads completely covered up, but you will have to do it here, or you will freeze to death. You must be very careful, for this seems to be a very cold night indeed." Then he called my attention to the distant thunder-like sounds which we had been hearing occasionally during the evening. That, he told me, was the ice, from four to six feet thick, on the great lake, cracking in the bitter cold. "Look at the smoke," he added. "See how it keeps very near the ground. It does that in the bitter cold nights." From the trees around us we heard occasionally a sharp pistol-like report, loud enough at times to make a nervous person fancy that lurking enemies were firing at us. The observant Indians say these loud reports are burstings in the trees caused by the freezing of the sap. Admiring his cleverness and kindness, I told him that I had been taught that every person requires so many cubic feet of fresh air; and, cold or no cold, how did he think I could get my share with my head covered up as he desired? "You must do with less out here," he said, as he proceeded to cover me up again, while I tried to arrange myself so that I could at least have a small portion of air. Kindly and patiently he humoured me, and then, when he had finished tucking me in, he said, "Now, Missionary, good-night; but don't stir. If you do, you may disarrange your coverings while you sleep, and you may freeze to death without waking up." "Don't stir!" What a command, I thought, to give a tired traveller whose bones ache from his long snow-shoe tramping in the woods, whose nerves and muscles are unstrung, and who, like others when thus fatigued, has even found it helpful to his rest and comfort to turn occasionally and stretch his limbs! In this frame of mind, and under this order, which, after all, I felt must be obeyed for fear of the dire results that might follow, I at length managed to fall asleep, for I was very weary. After a while I woke up to a state of semi-consciousness, and found myself tugging and pulling at what I thought in my dreamy condition was the end of an axe handle. The vague impression on my mind was, that some careless Indian had left his axe just behind my head, and in the night the handle had fallen across my face, and I had now got hold of the end of it. Fortunately for me, I very quickly after this woke fully up, and then found out that what I had imagined to be the end of an axe handle was my own nose; and a badly frozen one it was, and both of my ears were about in the same condition. With the guide's last orders in my ears, I think I must have gone to sleep all right, but I suppose, from the unusual smothering sensation, unconsciously I must have pushed down the robes from my face, and uncovered my head and my hand, and then gradually returned to consciousness with the above results. However, after a few nights of this severe kind of discipline, I at length became as able to sleep with my head covered up as an Indian. When a foot or eighteen inches of snow fell upon us, we rejoiced, for it added to our comfort, and caused us to sleep the better. Under this additional covering we generally rested a couple of hours longer than usual, often to make up for the loss of sleep of the previous nights, when we had found it impossible, or had considered it dangerous, to go to sleep. The hardest work and the most disagreeable is the getting up from such a bed in such a place. Often, in spite of the intense cold, we are in a kind of a clammy perspiration, on account of the many wraps and coverings about us. As we throw off these outer garments, and spring up in our camp, Jack Frost instantly assails us in a way that makes us shiver, and often some are almost compelled to cry out in bitter anguish. Fortunately the wood is always prepared the night before, and so, as quickly as possible, a great roaring fire is built up, and our breakfast of strong tea and fat meat is prepared and eaten with all speed. There were times when the morning outlook was gloomy indeed, and our position was not an enviable one. On one of my trips, of only a hundred and eighty miles, in order to save expense, I only took with me one companion, and he was a young Indian lad of about sixteen years of age. We each had our own train of dogs, and as Old Voyager was leader we guided him by voice alone, and he did not disappoint us. One morning, when we sprang up from our wintry camp-bed, we found that several inches of snow had fallen upon us during the night. As soon as possible we arranged our wood in order and endeavoured to kindle our fire. We had been late the previous evening in reaching this camping place, and so had to grope around in the rapidly increasing darkness for our wood. It was of very inferior quality, but as we had succeeded in cooking our suppers with part of it, we had not anticipated any trouble with the rest. The snow which had fallen upon it had not improved it, and so, as we lighted match after match, we were at first disgusted, and then alarmed, at finding that the poor stuff persistently refused to ignite. Of course we had to take our hands out of our big fur mits when trying to light the matches. Before we had succeeded in our attempts to start the fire our hands began to chill, and soon they were so powerless that we were not able to hold a match in our fingers. Very naturally we became alarmed, but we persevered as long as possible. I remember that, taking one of the matches between my teeth and holding up an axe before me, I tried to jerk my head quick enough to light it in that way, but the experiment was not a success. Suddenly there came the consciousness that we were not far from perishing if we could not make a fire. I quickly turned to my young comrade, and saw by the look in his face that he also grasped the situation, and was terrified at the outlook. "Alec," I said, "this is a serious thing for us." "Yes, Missionary," said he. "I am afraid we die here. If we can make no fire and have no breakfast, I am afraid we will freeze to death." "Not so bad as that yet, Alec," I said. "God is our refuge and help. He has given us other ways by which we can get warm. As quickly as possible get on your snow-shoes, and up with your hood and on with your mits, and I will do likewise, and now see if you can catch me." In much less time than I have taken to describe it, we were rigged up for rapid snow-shoe running, and were off. Away I rushed through the woods as rapidly as I could on my snow-shoes. The lad followed me, and thus we ran chasing and catching each other alternately as though we were a couple of boisterous schoolboys instead of a Missionary and his Indian companion striving to save themselves from freezing to death. After about half an hour of this most vigorous exercise, we felt the warmth coming back to our bodies, and then the hot blood began working its way out to our benumbed hands, and by-and-by we could bend our fingers again. When we felt the comfortable glow of warmth over our whole bodies, we rushed back again to the camp, and, gathering a quantity of birch bark which we found loosely hanging from the trees, and which is very inflammable, we soon had a good fire and then our hot breakfast. At our morning devotions which followed there was a good deal of thanksgiving, and the grateful spirit continued in our hearts as we packed up our loads, harnessed up our dogs, and sped on our way. It was a very narrow escape. The King of Terrors looked us both in the face that cold morning, and very nearly chilled us into death by the icy fingers of the Frost King. As the hours of daylight in the winter months in these high latitudes are so few, we generally roused ourselves up several hours before daylight. Often my kind-hearted men endeavoured to get up first, and have a rousing fire made and breakfast cooked, before I would awake. This, however, did not occur very often, as such a bed was not conducive to sleep; so, generally, after about four or five hours in such a state of suffocation, I was thankful to get up the instant I heard any one stirring. I would rather freeze to death than be suffocated. There were times not a few when I was the first to get up, and kindle the fire and cook the breakfast before I called my faithful wearied companions, who, long accustomed to such hardships, could sleep on soundly, where for me it was an absolute impossibility. Sometimes my men, when thus aroused, would look up at the stars and say "Assam weputch," _i.e._, "Very early." All I had to do was to look gravely at my watch, and this satisfied them that it was all right. The breakfast was quickly eaten, our prayers were said, our sleds loaded, dogs captured and harnessed--with the Esquimaux ones this was not always an easy task--and we were ready to start. Before starting we generally threw the evergreen brush on which we had slept on the fire, and by its ruddy, cheerful light began our day's journey. When some mornings we made from twenty-five to forty miles before sunrise, the Indians began to think the stars were about right after all, and the Missionary's watch very fast. However, they were just as willing to get on rapidly as I was, and so did not find fault with the way in which I endeavoured to hurry our party along. I paid them extra whenever the record of a trip was broken, and we could lessen the number of nights in those open-air camps in the snow. We were six days in making our first winter trip to Nelson River. In after years we reduced it to four days. The trail is through one of the finest fur-producing regions of the North-West. Here the wandering Indian hunters make their living by trapping such animals as the black and silver foxes, as well as the more common varieties of that animal. Here are to be found otters, minks, martens, beavers, ermines, bears, wolves, and many other kinds of the fur-bearing animals. Here the black bears are very numerous. On one canoe trip one summer we saw no less than seven of them, one of which we shot and lived on for several days. Here come the adventurous fur traders to purchase these valuable skins, and great fortunes have been made in the business. If, merely to make money and get rich, men are willing to come and put up with the hardships and privations of the country, what a disgrace to us if, for their souls' sake, we are afraid to follow in these hunters' trail, or, if need be, show them the way, that we may go with the glad story of a Saviour's love! CHAPTER EIGHT. NELSON RIVER--A DEMONSTRATIVE WELCOME--FIRST RELIGIOUS SERVICE--A FOUR HOURS' SERMON--THE CHIEF'S ELOQUENT REPLY--THE OLD MAN WITH GRANDCHILDREN IN HIS WIGWAM--"OUR FATHER"--"THEN WE ARE BROTHERS"--"YES"--"THEN WHY IS THE WHITE BROTHER SO LONG TIME IN COMING WITH THE GOSPEL TO HIS RED BROTHER?"--GLORIOUS SUCCESSES. It was at my second visit to Nelson River that the work really commenced. Through some unforeseen difficulty at the first visit, many of the natives were away. Hunting is even at the best a precarious mode of obtaining a livelihood. Then, as the movements of the herds of deer, upon the flesh of which many of these Indians subsist for the greater part of the year, are very erratic, it is often difficult to arrange for a place of meeting, where food can be obtained in sufficient abundance while the religious services are being held. It used to be very discouraging, after having travelled for several days together, either by canoe in summer, or dog-trains in winter, to reach a certain place which had been arranged for meeting, and find very few present. The deer, and other animals on which they had expected to live, had gone in another direction, and the Indians had been obliged to follow them. Everything, however, favoured us on our second visit. We found over fifty families camped at the place of meeting, and full of curiosity to see the Missionary. They had all sorts of strange notions in their minds. When Mr Rundle, of the English Wesleyan Church, first went among some of the wild tribes of the great Saskatchewan country, with his open Bible, preaching the wonderful Gospel truths, great was the excitement of the people to know where this strange man had come from. So a great council was summoned, and the conjurers were ordered to find out all about it. After a great deal of drumming and dreaming and conjuring, they gravely reported that this strange man with his wonderful book had been wrapped up in an envelope, and had come down from the Great Spirit on a rainbow! The Nelson River Indians welcomed me very cordially, and were much more demonstrative in their greetings than were any of the other tribes I had visited, although I had had my share of strange welcomes. Here the custom of handshaking was but little known, but the more ancient one of kissing prevailed. Great indeed was my amazement when I found myself surrounded by two hundred and fifty or three hundred wild Indians, men, women, and children, whose faces seemed in blissful ignorance of soap and water, but all waiting to kiss me. I felt unable to stand the ordeal, and so I managed to put them off with a shake of the hand, and a kind word or two. At eight o'clock the next morning we called the Indians together for the first public religious service which most of them had ever attended. They were intensely interested. My Christian Indians from Norway House aided me in the opening services, and, being sweet singers, added very much to the interest. We sang several hymns, read a couple of lessons from the Bible, and engaged in prayer. At about nine o'clock I read as my text those sublime words: "For God so loved the world, that He gave His only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in Him should not perish, but have everlasting life." They listened with the most enrapt attention, while for four hours I talked to them of some of the truths of this glorious verse. They had never heard a sermon before; they were ignorant of the simplest truths of our blessed Christianity; and so I had to make everything plain and clear as I went along. I could not take anything for granted with that audience. So I had to take them back to the Creation and Fall. Then I spoke of God's love in providence and grace; and of His greatest act of love, the gift of His only begotten beloved Son, the Lord Jesus Christ, Who died that we might live. I dwelt on the benefits which come to us from the personal acceptance of this Saviour. I tried hard to show how we, who had wandered so far away, were invited back to actual adoption into God's great family, as a conscious reality. I spoke of the universality and impartiality of God's love; of His willingness to receive all, to fill our hearts with joy and peace, to comfort us all through life, to sustain us in death, and then to take us to everlasting life in a world of light and glory. The ever-blessed Spirit most graciously applied the truth, as I tried, in the simplest and plainest way, to bring it down to their comprehension. The attention they gave showed that my words were being understood. Their bright eyes glistened and at times were suffused with tears, and as I closed the long-pent-up silence gave place to loud exclamations of delight. Then we translated into their language and sang part of the good old hymn:-- "O for a thousand tongues to sing My great Redeemer's praise, The glories of my God and King, The triumphs of His grace!" Again we bowed in prayer, and, at my request, they repeated after me all the petitions which in short easy sentences we offered up to Him Who is the Hearer and Answerer of prayer. A spirit of awe and solemnity seemed to rest upon us. It was the first time the great majority had ever attempted to pray in the Name of Jesus, and I felt a sweet assurance that those simple petitions, from the hearts and lips of those poor Indians, were not despised by Him Whose great heart of love beats so true to all. After prayer I requested them all to again seat themselves on the ground, as I wished to hear from them about these great truths which I had come so far to tell them of. I wanted to know what were their wishes and determinations about becoming Christians. When I had finished, every eye turned towards the principal chief, as these Indians, like the other tribes, have their unwritten laws of precedence. He rose up from his place among his people, and, coming near me on my right hand, he made one of the most thrilling addresses I ever heard. Years have passed away since that hour, and yet the memory of that tall, straight, impassioned Indian is as vivid as ever. His actions were many, but all were graceful. His voice was particularly fine and full of pathos, for he spoke from his heart. Here is the bare outline of his speech, as, with my interpreter to aid me, I shortly afterwards wrote it down. "Missionary, I have long lost faith in our old paganism." Then pointing down to the outer edge of the audience, where some old conjurers and medicine men were seated, he said, "They know I have not cared for our old religion. I have neglected it. And I will tell you, Missionary, why I have not believed in our old paganism for a long time. I hear God in the thunder, in the tempest, and in the storm; I see His power in the lightning that shivers the tree into kindling wood; I see His goodness in giving us the moose, the reindeer, the beaver, and the bear; I see His loving-kindness in giving us, when the south winds blow, the ducks and geese; and when the snow and ice melt away, and our lakes and rivers are open again, I see how He fills them with fish. I have watched these things for years, and I see how during every moon of the year He gives us something; and so He has arranged it, that if we are only industrious and careful, we can always have something to eat. So thinking about these things which I had observed, I made up my mind years ago, that this Great Spirit, so kind and so watchful and so loving, did not care for the beating of the conjurer's drum, or the shaking of the rattle of the medicine man. So I for years have had no religion." Then turning towards me and looking me in the face, he said, in tones that thrilled me, "Missionary, what you have said to-day fills up my heart and satisfies all its longings. It is just what I have been expecting to hear about the Great Spirit. I am so glad you have come with this wonderful story. Stay as long as you can; and when you have to go away, do not forget us, but come again as soon as you can." Loud expressions of approval greeted these words of the chief. When he had finished, I said, "I want to hear from others, and I want your own views on these important things." Many responded to my request, and, with the exception of an old conjurer or two, who feared for their occupation, all spoke in the same strain as did the head chief. The last to speak was an old man with grizzly hair, and wild, excited movements. He was a queer, savage-looking man, and came from the rear of the company to the front with strange springy movements. His hair was braided, and reached to his knees. Threading his way through the audience, he came up close to me, and then, pushing his fingers into his hair as far as its braided condition would allow, he exclaimed in a tone full of earnestness, "Missionary, once my hair was as black as a crow's wing, now it is getting white. Grey hairs here, and grandchildren in the wigwam, tell me that I am getting to be an old man; and yet I never before heard such things as you have told us to-day. I am so glad I did not die before I heard this wonderful story. Yet I am getting old. Grey hairs here, and grandchildren yonder, tell the story. Stay as long as you can, Missionary, tell us much of these things, and when you have to go away, come back soon, for I have grandchildren, and I have grey hairs, and may not live many winters more. Do come back soon." He turned as though he would go back to his place and sit down; but he only went a step or two ere he turned round and faced me, and said, "Missionary, may I say more?" "Talk on," I said. "I am here now to listen." "You said just now, `Notawenan.'" ("Our Father.") "Yes," I said, "I did say, `Our Father.'" "That is very new and sweet to us," he said. "We never thought of the Great Spirit as Father: we heard Him in the thunder, and saw Him in the lightning, and tempest; and blizzard, and we were afraid. So, when you tell us of the Great Spirit as Father, that is very beautiful to us." Hesitating a moment, he stood there, a wild, picturesque Indian, yet my heart had strangely gone out in loving interest and sympathy to him. Lifting up his eyes to mine, again he said, "May I say more?" "Yes," I answered, "say on." "You say, `Notawenan'." ("_Our_ Father"). "He is your Father?" "Yes, He is my Father." Then he said, while his eyes and voice yearned for the answer, "Does it mean He is my Father--poor Indian's Father?" "Yes, O yes!" I exclaimed. "He is your Father too." "Your Father--missionary's Father, and Indian's Father, too!" he repeated. "Yes, that is true," I answered. "Then we are brothers?" he almost shouted out. "Yes, we are brothers," I replied. The excitement in the audience had become something wonderful. When our conversation with the old man had reached this point, and in such an unexpected, and yet dramatic manner, had so clearly brought out, not only the Fatherhood of God, but the oneness of the human family, the people could hardly restrain their expressions of delight. The old man, however, had not yet finished, and so, quietly restraining the most demonstrative ones, he again turned to me, and said,-- "May I say more?" "Yes, say on; say all that is in your heart." Never can I forget his answer. "Well, I do not want to be rude, but it does seem to me that you, my white brother, have been a long time in coming with that great Book and its wonderful story, to tell it to your red brothers in the woods." This question thrilled me, and I found it hard to answer. This is the question that millions of weary, longing, waiting souls, dissatisfied with their false religions, and craving for that soul rest which only can be found in the hearty acceptance of the glorious Gospel of the Son of God, are asking. I tried to apologise for the slowness of the advancement of the Redeemer's kingdom, and the apathy of those who, while acknowledging the brotherhood of humanity, so often forget that they are their brother's keeper. We closed the service for a brief period, and then, as soon as a hurried dinner had been eaten, we all assembled again for the afternoon service. This second service lasted for five hours. After singing and prayer, I read the beautiful story of the Ethiopian eunuch, and the Baptismal Service. I endeavoured to explain what we meant by becoming Christians, and stated that I was willing to baptize all who would renounce their paganism, with its polygamy, conjuring, gambling, and other vices, and from that time begin to worship the true God. Polygamy was the greatest stumbling-block among them, as some of them had three or four wives. Intemperance here is but little known, on account perhaps of the great difficulty of importing liquor into a region so remote from civilisation. After I had spent a long time in making clear the doctrines or the blessed Book, and had answered many questions, I invited all who were willing to comply with these conditions, and desired baptism, to come to the front of the audience, where I was standing. About forty men and women immediately responded, and came forward and seated themselves at my feet. Some were trembling, others were weeping: all seemed deeply moved. Then I read the beautiful Scripture lessons in connection with the baptismal service for children, and dwelt upon the love of Jesus for children, and His willingness to receive them. I invited the parents to consecrate their children to God, even if they themselves were as yet undecided. We had a solemn and impressive time. All desired new names, and for the great majority I had to make the selection. While baptizing them and selecting Christian names as additions to their generally poetic and expressive Indian names, my constant prayer was, that they might "see His face, and His name" be Written "in their foreheads." Still there was some opposition. Satan would not thus easily be dispossessed or driven out. Old conjurers and medicine men, faithful followers of the enemy, quickly began their opposition. Their selfish natures were aroused. They were shrewd enough to see that if I succeeded, as I was likely to do, they, like Demetrius, the shrine-maker of Diana, would soon be without an occupation. So at this afternoon gathering they were there to oppose. But they were in such a helpless minority that they dared do no worse than storm and threaten. One savage old conjurer rushed up to me, just as I was about to baptize his wife, who, with many others, had come for this sign and seal of her acceptance of Christ. Before I had perceived his purpose, or had power to stop him, he seized and shook her roughly, and, looking at me, in his impotent wrath, said in an insulting manner,-- "Call her Atim," ("dog"). "No," I said, looking kindly at the poor trembling woman, "I will do nothing of the kind; but I will give her the sweetest name ever borne by woman, for it was the name of the mother of Jesus." So I baptized her Mary. We spent several days in giving lessons in the Syllabic characters between the religious services, three of which we endeavoured to hold each day. Sometimes we assembled all the people together, and, with these characters marked on the side of a rock with a burnt stick, we taught them as best we could. At other times we went from tent to tent, and gave them lessons, and had religious conversation and prayer. It was on one of these rounds of wigwam visitations that I came across Pe-pe-qua-na-pua, or Sandy Harte, the story of whose life and conversion has been so widely circulated. Several acquired such a knowledge of these characters that, by persevering for a few weeks, they were able to read very nicely in the blessed Book. I left with them several dozen copies of the New Testament, Hymn-books, and Catechisms, in their own language. So great was their anxiety for religious instruction, that many of them remained for three days after they had eaten all of their provisions. When I first heard this, I could hardly credit it, but found out by personal investigation that it was the actual fact. With tears in their eyes they bade me farewell, and said, that on account of their famishing children they must start off for their fishing and hunting grounds. But they added, "What we have heard from you will make us glad and thankful all the time." With my faithful travelling companions, I made a trip out from Nelson River to another small band about thirty miles away. We spent the Sabbath in a miserable wigwam, where the snow and sleet dashed in upon us, making us shiver in spite of all we could do. Still, as the poor Indians were anxious to hear the Gospel, we soon forgot our physical discomforts in the joy of preaching this great salvation. Nineteen of them accepted Christ as their Saviour, and were baptized. We held a meeting for the purpose of hearing them tell of their wishes as to this blessed religion. Many very interesting things were said. We here record only one. A fine-looking man said, "What has fully decided me to endeavour to be a good Christian all my days is this. The Missionary has told us many reasons, all sufficient to decide us; but the one that came very near to my heart was, that all the little children who have died have been taken to that better land, and there they are with the loving Saviour in heaven. My little ones have passed away, leaving my heart sore and bleeding. I yearn after them; I long to meet them again. So I want so to live that when I die Jesus will permit me to embrace them, and never be separated from them again." On this trip, we found at another small encampment a young girl, about twelve years of age, dying of consumption. I talked to her of Jesus and heaven, and prayed with her several times. When the closing scene drew near, she said to her sorrowing mother, "I am glad the praying man has told me such words of comfort. I have lost that dread of death I had. I believe that dear Jesus will take me to that better land; but, mother, when you come, will you look for me until you find me? for I do wish to see you again." Is it any wonder that I became deeply attached to these Nelson River Indians? I visited them twice a year, and by pen and voice pleaded for them until my heart's desire was obtained, and a brother beloved volunteered to go and live among them. Of him with joy I write. CHAPTER NINE. A WELCOME ACCESSION--THE REVEREND JOHN SEMMENS--A DEVOTED YOUNG MISSIONARY--FIRST TO RESIDE AT NELSON RIVER--IN LABOURS AND IN PERILS OFT--IN JOURNEYINGS OFT BY DOG-TRAINS TOGETHER--THE CENTENARIAN OLD CHRISTIAN--WILLIAM PAPANEKIS--HIS GODLY LIFE AND WONDROUS TRANSLATION. One cold wintry morning we were gladdened by the arrival of a dear brother and colleague in the work, the Reverend John Semmens, who had left a comfortable charge in Ontario, and had come out to help me in the prosecution of the blessed work. Brother Semmens had to taste, early in his missionary work among the Indians, some of the dangers incident to such a life. He came to us at Norway House in the depth of the winter, and suffered much from the intense cold and blizzard storms. One night, while trying to rest in the camp in the woods on his way out, a fierce storm blew down a large tree, which fell very close to him. Providentially no one was hurt. He soon became very popular among the Indians, for whom he subsequently gave many years of successful, self-denying toil. His presence with us in our home was a great joy. None but those who have been deprived of the pleasure of the society and fellowship of kindred spirits can realise what a benediction this sweet-spirited and devoted young brother was in our home. With one great object before us, that of doing the greatest possible good we could to the Indians among whom we were called to labour, and fortunately seeing "eye to eye" as to the methods of our work, we spent some months and broken years in harmony in doing what we could. Brother Semmens' name will ever be associated with the Nelson River Mission, as he was the first missionary to go and live in that region of country and among those wandering Aborigines, who had received me with such expressions of joy when on my visits, so few, alas! and far between. Very many indeed were Mr Semmens' hardships. Their wandering life made his work slow and at times discouraging. He had not at first a knowledge of their language, and could not always get an interpreter. However, as the love of Christ was the constraining motive, he persevered, and great indeed was his success among them. We will not here insert any of the many thrilling incidents of his romantic pioneer work among them. We hope that from his fluent pen will come his own record, which will be a very valuable addition to missionary literature. Often did we, like the early ones sent out by the Master in pairs, go together on some long and difficult exploring tours. At many a camp-fire and in many a wigwam have we talked and pleaded with the wandering Indians, and have besought them to be reconciled to God. Hundreds of miles have we tramped on together, until our limbs were cramped and our feet were bleeding; and then, in the cold camp after supper and prayers, have we crowded in close together under the same robes and tried to sleep. Will either of us ever forget the trip in to District Meeting at Winnipeg, where on the great Lake we got separated from the rest of our party, but by rapid travelling reached the comfortable home and cordial welcome of our beloved Chairman, the Reverend George Young, thus escaping the terrible blizzard in which so many suffered? Then the return trip was equally exciting and perilous. We left Winnipeg on the Saturday afternoon with our heavily loaded dog sleds. At Mr Sifton's, near Selkirk, we were cordially welcomed, and here we remained in quiet rest and joyous worship during the Sabbath day. When the clock struck the hour of midnight, we exchanged our black clothes for our leather suits. We harnessed up our dogs, and then, after eating a midnight meal, we bade our host and hostess farewell, and pushed out under the stars on our long journey to the far North. Mr Semmens' journey would not be finished until he was six or seven hundred miles nearer the North Pole. Mr Sifton told me in after years, that they could only sit there and weep as they thought of our starting off in the bitter cold and gloom of that midnight hour on such a journey. Missionary work to them from that hour took on itself additional interest, and ever after much greater, if possible, was their love for those who for His sake were willing to endure hardness in extending the knowledge of His Name. Ere the sun rose, we were near the Willow Islands, and there we had our breakfast. It was getting late in the winter season, and so the reflection of the brilliant rays of the sun on the dazzlingly white snowy waste of Winnipeg gave us both a touch of snow-blindness. Still, as we could see a little, we only stopped when it was necessary, and rapidly hurried on. When about twenty miles from Beren's River night came down upon us; but I could not bear the idea of having again to sleep in a miserable camp when home was so near, for at this time I was in charge of the new work among the Saulteaux. So I said to Brother Semmens, and to our two well-disciplined dog-drivers, "Courage, men, a little longer; let us not stop here in the bitter cold when our homes are so near." The Indians responded with a will, and rejoiced that we were to go on. But my beloved Brother Semmens was completely tired out, and my heart was filled with sorrow as I saw how utterly exhausted he was. Throwing himself down on the cold, icy surface of the lake, he said, "Throw me out a blanket and a piece of pemmican, and leave me here. I cannot go a step further. The rest of you have wives and children to lure you on to your homes; I have none. I can go no farther. My feet are bleeding from the straps of my snowshoes. I will stay here. Never mind me." Thus the dear fellow talked, for he was exhausted and discouraged. I did not feel much better, but I tried to put a bold face on the matter, and I said, "No, indeed, we will not leave you here. We are going on, and we are going to take you with us; and a good supper under a roof, and then a warm bed, are to be yours before morning comes." One of my dogs, called Muff, a magnificent but over-ambitious St. Bernard, the gift of Mrs Andrew Allen, of Montreal, had broken her collar-bone during this trip. The plan generally adopted, when such an accident happens to one of the dogs, was to kill it at once, and then push on with the diminished train. However, as Muff was such a valuable dog, and there was a possibility of her recovering, I decided to carry her home, although we were a long distance from it. I so arranged my sled that she could ride upon it, and she soon became quite reconciled to her place. But it meant a good deal of hard running for me. Before the accident occurred, I could ride a great part of the time, although we had over six hundred pounds weight upon the sled. However, as Jack was one of the train, I was able to ride when the ice was good. Now, however, with one dog less in the train, and that one as so much additional weight on the sled, it meant the end of my riding for that trip. Very quickly did I decide how to act in order to help my dear companion in tribulation. With our axes my Indians and myself chopped a hole in the solidly packed snow and ice near the shore of the lake. In this we spread out a buffalo robe, and on it we placed the injured dog. Then around her we placed the greater part of the load of the dog-sled, and then covered all up as well as we could with the large deer-skin sleigh wrapper. Giving the dog orders to guard well the supplies from prowling wild animals, and making a large number of tracks as an additional precaution, we left Muff there with her goods. Then we drove the dogs over to the spot where Mr Semmens lay, and, wrapping him well up in robes and putting a little pillow under his head, we tied him on the sled, and started off on the last stage of our journey. We were all so weary that we made but slow progress, and it was after midnight ere the welcome Mission House was reached, and we were within the walls of home. Mr Semmens had fortunately slept most of the way. A good supper, after a warm bath, and then a long, sweet, dreamless sleep, that lasted until nearly noon of the next day, wonderfully refreshed his spirits, and as he came down and greeted us, his first words were, "O Egerton, I am so glad you did not leave me there to perish on the ice!" Still in his prime, with a noble wife and precious children around him, he is in that land doing good service for the Master. From him we yet expect to hear good tidings, for in physical strength and mental equipment and thorough consecration to his work he is the peer of any who there toil. THE CENTENARIAN. One of the first Indians to attract our attention at Norway House was a venerable-looking old man of more than usual height. His appearance was quite patriarchal. His welcome had been most cordial, and his words seemed to us like a loving benediction. He called us his children, and welcomed us to our home and work in the name of the Lord Jesus. As he was very aged, and had to come a long distance from his home to the Sunday morning service, we invited him, on the first Sunday after our arrival at the Mission, to dine with us. He was very grateful, and said this would enable him to remain for the afternoon native service, which he dearly prized. He was not only a blessed Christian, but a natural gentleman. We were so drawn towards him that we invited him to dine with us, and then rest awhile, each Sabbath between the services. Like all the old Indians, his age was unknown, but it must have been over a century, as men above fifty said he was called an old man when they were boys. The fact that his name had been on the Hudson's Bay Company's book for eighty years, as a skilful hunter, makes it quite safe to class him as a centenarian. His testimony to the blessedness of the Gospel was very clear and delightful. He "knew Whom he had believed," and ever rejoiced in the blessed assurance that he would have grace given to keep him to the end. He was one of the first converts of the early Missionaries, and had remained true and steadfast. He had been a successful Class Leader for many years, and faithfully and well did he attend to his duties. If any of his members were not at the meeting, he knew the reason why before the next evening, if they were within five or six miles of his home. As he lived a couple of years after we reached the Mission, we got to be very well acquainted, and it was ever a blessing to talk to him of spiritual things. I had a very convincing evidence one day of the thoroughness with which he had renounced his old pagan life and its sinful practices. We had been talking on various subjects, and the matter of different kinds of beliefs came up. As he had a very retentive memory, and I had been told that he was the best authority on old Indian religions and superstitions, I took out of my pocket a note- book and pencil, and said, "Mismis" (English, "Grandfather"), "I want you to tell me some things about your old conjurings and religions. I may want to write a book some time, and put some of these things in it." The dear old man's face became clouded, and he shook his head and remained silent. I urged my request, saying I felt certain he, from his great age, must have much to talk about. For his answer, he sat down in his chair, and, putting his elbows on his knees, buried his face in his hands, and seemed lost in a kind of reverie. I waited for a few minutes, for all was hushed and still. His family had heard my question, and they had become intensely interested. The silence became almost painful, and so I said in a cheery strain, "Come, grandfather, I am waiting to write down what you have to say." Suddenly he sprang up in a way that startled us all, and, stretching out his hand like an orator, he began:-- "Missionary! the old wicked life is like a nightmare, like a bad dream, like a terrible sickness that made us cry out with pain. I am trying to banish it, to forget it, to wipe it out of my memory. Please do not ask me to talk about it, or to bring it up. I could not sleep; I should be miserable." Of course I put up my book and pencil, and did not further trouble the dear old man, who seemed so loth to talk about his old belief. The next Sunday after this interview we had a Fellowship Meeting in the church. One of the first to speak was this venerable grandfather. He said, "The Missionary wanted me to talk to him about my old religion. I could not do it. It was my enemy. It only made me miserable. The more I followed it, the more unhappy I was. So I have cast it out of my life, and from my heart. Would that I could wash it out of my memory!" Then he added, "But perhaps the memory of it helps to make me love my Saviour better, as I can remember from what He has saved me. I was so far from him, and so dark and sinful He reached down His strong arm and lifted me out of the dark place, and put me into the light. O, I am so thankful Jesus saves me, and I love to talk about it." And he did talk about it, and our hearts rejoiced with him. Of him it could be truthfully said, "What he once loved he now hates, and does it so thoroughly that he does not even wish to talk about it." While writing these pleasant memories, perhaps I cannot do better than here record the remarkable closing scenes of the life of this venerable old man, the patriarch of the village. His family was a large one. He had several sons. Worthy, excellent men they were. About some of them we shall have interesting things to say. The youngest, Edward, it was my joy to lead into the sweet assurance that his sins were all forgiven. In July, 1889, he was ordained, in Winnipeg, to the office and work of the Christian ministry. Martin, another of his sons, was one of my most loved and trusted guides, and my companion, for thousands of miles, in birch canoe by summer, and dog-trains by winter. We have looked death in the face together many times, but I never knew him to flinch or play a coward's part. Supplies might fail, and storms and head-winds delay us, until starvation stared us in the face, and even the Missionary himself began to question the wisdom of taking these wild journeys where the chances were largely against our return, when from Martin, or one of the others, would come the apt quotation from the Sacred Word, or from their musical voices the cheering hymn which said,-- "Give to the winds thy fears; Hope, and be undismayed: God hears thy sighs, and counts thy tears, God shall lift up thy head. "Through waves and clouds and storms He gently clears thy way: Wait thou His time, so shall this night Soon end in joyous day." Very precious and very real were many of the blessed promises, and their fulfilment, to us in those times of peril and danger, when death seemed to be so near, and we so helpless and dependent upon the Almighty arm. Another son of this old saint was Samuel, the courageous guide and modest, unassuming Christian. He was the one who guided his well-loaded brigade up the mighty Saskatchewan river to the rescue of the whites there, and having safely and grandly done his work, "holding on to God," went up the shining way so triumphantly that there lingered behind on his once pallid face some radiance of the glory like that into which he had entered; and some seeing it were smitten with a longing to have it as their portion, and so, then and there, they gave themselves to God. Of him we shall hear more farther on. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ One day when the venerable father met his class, he told his members that his work was nearly done, and very soon indeed he expected to pass over to the better land. Although as well as he had been for months, yet he had a premonition that the end of his life was near. Very lovingly and faithfully did he talk to them, and exhorted them to be faithful to the end. The next day he sent for me, and requested me to appoint one of his sons as leader of his class, if I thought him worthy of the place. I said, "We do not want to lose you. Your class members all love you. Why resign your position?" A strange look in his face told me that he had set his heart on joining another company, and that it seemed as though he were only postponing his departure until his little affairs on earth were set in order. "I am going very soon now, and I want to have everything settled before I go; and I shall be so glad to see my son William leader of my class, if you think it best." As the son was a most excellent man the appointment was made, much to the aged father's delight. The next day he had assembled all the old members who had renounced paganism and become Christians at the same time as he did, over thirty years before. There were enough of them to fill his house, and all came who possibly could. They sang and prayed together, and then he stood up before them and addressed them in loving and affectionate words. As I sat there and looked upon the scene, while, for about an hour, he was reviewing the past, and talking of God's goodness in bringing them out of paganism, and conferring so many blessings upon them, I thought of Joshua's memorable gathering of the elder people at Shechem to hear his dying charge. At his request I administered to them all, and those of his many relations who were worthy, the sacrament of the Lord's Supper. It was a most impressive time. He Whose dying we celebrated seemed in Spirit very blessedly near. Then perhaps another hour was spent, at his desire, in singing his favourite hymns and in prayer. He entered with great spirit into the devotions, and many said afterwards, "Heaven seemed very near." I shook hands with him and said, "Goodbye," and returned to my home. With the exception of a little weariness on account of the exciting services through which he had passed, I saw no change in him. His voice was just as cheery, his eye as bright, his grip as firm as usual, and I saw no reason why he should not live a good while yet. About an hour after, while talking the matter over with Mrs Young, and giving her some of the specially interesting incidents of the memorable services with our dear old friend, there was a sudden call for me by an Indian, who, rushing in without any ceremony, exclaimed, "Come quickly; grandfather is dead!" I hurriedly returned with him, and found that the aged patriarch had indeed passed away. They told me that after I had left them he continued for a time to speak loving words of counsel and advice to them. Then, as had been his habit, he lay down on his bed, and drew his blanket around him, as though prepared for rest. As they knew he must be weary, they kept very still, so as not to disturb him. Not hearing him breathe, one of them touched him, and found that he had fallen into that sleep which here knows no waking. He was not, for God had taken him. It was a remarkable death. The great difficulty among us seemed to be, to realise the presence of death at all. He suffered from no disease, and never complained of pain. His mind was unclouded till the last. In his humble position he had done his work, and done it well; and so now, with all the confidence of a loving child resting in the arms of a mother, he laid his head down on the bosom of his Lord. With rejoicings, rather than weepings, we laid in the little graveyard all that was mortal of William Papanekis. We missed him very much, for his presence was like the sunshine, and his prayers were benedictions upon us all. CHAPTER TEN. REVEREND JAMES EVANS, THE PEERLESS MISSIONARY--HIS JOURNEYS BY CANOE AND DOG-TRAIN--THE CREE SYLLABIC CHARACTERS, HIS INVENTION--LORD DUFFERIN'S WORDS CONCERNING HIM--HIS SUCCESSES--HIS TRIALS--ACCIDENTAL SHOOTING OF HIS INTERPRETER--SURRENDERING HIMSELF TO THE AVENGERS--ADOPTED INTO A PAGAN FAMILY--VISIT TO ENGLAND--SUDDEN DEATH. Without any question, the Reverend James Evans was the grandest and most successful of all our Indian Missionaries. Of him it can be said most emphatically, "While others have done well, he excelled them all." In burning zeal, in heroic efforts, in journeyings oft, in tact that never failed in many a trying hour, in success most marvellous, in a vivacity and sprightliness that never succumbed to discouragement, in a faith that never faltered, and in a solicitude for the spread of our blessed Christianity that never grew less, James Evans stands among us without a peer. If full accounts of his long journeys in the wilds of the great North- West could be written, they would equal in thrilling interest anything of the kind known in modern missionary annals. There is hardly an Indian Mission of any prominence to-day in the whole of the vast North- West, whether belonging to the Church of England, the Roman Catholic, or the Methodist Church, that James Evans did not commence; and the reason why the Methodist Church to-day does not hold them all is, because the apathetic Church did not respond to his thrilling appeals, and send in men to take possession and hold the fields as fast as they were successfully opened up by him. From the northern shores of Lake Superior away to the _ultima Thule_ that lies beyond the waters of Athabasca and Slave Lakes, where the Aurora Borealis holds high carnival; from the beautiful prairies of the Bow and Saskatchewan Rivers to the muskegs and sterile regions of Hudson's Bay; from the fair and fertile domains of Red and Assinaboia Rivers, to the foot-hills of the Rocky Mountains, enduring footprints of James Evans may still be seen. At many a camp-fire, and in many a lonely wigwam, old Indians yet linger, whose eyes brighten and whose tongues wax eloquent as they recall that man whose deeds live on, and whose converts from a degrading paganism are still to be counted by scores. Many a weary hour has been charmed away, as I have listened to Papanekis the elder, or Henry Budd, or some other old Indian guide or dog-driver, or canoe-man, while they rehearsed the thrilling adventures, the narrow escapes, the wonderful deliverances, and also some of the tragic events, through which they passed in company with the "Nistum Ayumeaookemou," the "first Missionary." The dog-drivers loved to talk about Mr Evans' wonderful train of half dogs, half wolves, with which for years he travelled. With great enthusiasm they would talk of their marvellous speed and endurance, of their fierceness and sagacity; of how, when the nights in the wintry camps were unusually cold--say fifty or sixty degrees below zero--these fierce animals would crowd into the camp, and, lying on their backs, would hold up both their fore and hind feet, and thus mutely beg for some one to have compassion upon them and put on the warm woollen dog- shoes. His canoe trips were often of many weeks' duration, and extended for thousands of miles. No river seemed too rapid, and no lake too stormy, to deter him in his untiring zeal to find out the Indian in his solitudes, and preach to him the ever-blessed Gospel. Ever on the look- out for improvements to aid him in more rapid transit through the country, Mr Evans constructed a canoe out of sheet tin. This the Indians called the "Island of light," on account of its flashing back the sun's rays as it glided along propelled by the strong paddles in the hands of the well trained crew. With them they carried in this novel craft solder and soldering-iron, and when they had the misfortune to run upon a rock they went ashore and quickly repaired the injured place. Mr Evans had been for years a Minister and Missionary in the Canadian Methodist Church. With the Reverend William Case he had been very successfully employed among the Indians in the Province of Ontario. When the English Wesleyan Society decided to begin work among the neglected tribes in the Hudson's Bay Territories, the Reverend James Evans was the man appointed to be the leader of the devoted band. In order to reach Norway House, which was to be his first principal Mission, his household effects had to be shipped from Toronto to England, and thence reshipped to York Factory on the Hudson Bay. From this place they had to be taken up by boats to Norway House in the interior, a distance of five hundred miles. Seventy times had they to be lifted out of these inland boats and carried along the portages around falls and cataracts ere they reached their destination. Mr Evans himself went by boat from Toronto. The trip from Thunder Bay in Lake Superior to Norway House was performed in a birch bark canoe. Hundreds of Indians listened to his burning messages, and great good was done by him and his faithful companions in arms, among them being the heroic Mr Barnley, and Mr Rundle, of the English Wesleyan Church. The great work of Mr Evans' life, and that with which his name will be ever associated, was undoubtedly the invention and perfecting of what is now so widely known as the Cree Syllabic Characters. What first led him to this invention was the difficulty he and others had in teaching the Indians to read in the ordinary way. They are hunters, and so are very much on the move, like the animals they seek. To-day their tents are pitched where there is good fishing, and perhaps in two weeks they are far away in the deep forests, where roam the reindeer, or on the banks of streams where the beavers build their wonderful dams and curious homes. The constant thought in this master Missionary's mind was, "Can I possibly devise a plan by which these wandering people can learn to read more easily?" The principle of the characters which he adopted is phonetic. There are no silent letters. Each character represents a syllable; hence no spelling is required. As soon as the alphabet is mastered, and a few additional secondary signs, some of which represent consonants, and some aspirates, and some partially change the sound of the main character, the Indian student, be he a man or woman of eighty, or a child of six years, can commence at the first chapter of Genesis and read on, slowly of course at first, but in a few days with surprising ease and accuracy. Many were Mr Evans' difficulties in perfecting this invention and putting it in practical use, even after he had got the scheme clear and distinct in his own mind. He was hundreds of miles away from civilisation. Very little indeed had he with which to work. Yet with him there was no such word as failure. Obtaining, as a great favour, the thin sheets of lead that were around the tea-chests of the fur traders, he melted these down into little bars, and from them cut out his first types. His ink was made out of the soot of the chimneys, and his first paper was birch bark. After a good deal of effort, and the exercise of much ingenuity, he made a press, and then the work began. Great indeed was the amazement and delight of the Indians. The fact that the bark could "talk" was to them most wonderful. Portions of the Gospels were first printed, and then some of the beautiful hymns. The story of this invention reached the Wesleyan Home Society. Generous help was afforded. A good supply of these types was cast in London, and, with a good press and all the essential requisites, including a large quantity of paper, was sent out to that Mission, and for years it was the great point from which considerable portions of the Word of God were scattered among the wandering tribes, conferring unnumbered blessings upon them. In later years the noble British and Foreign Bible Society has taken charge of the work; and now, thanks to their generosity, the Indians have the blessed Word scattered among them, and thousands can read its glorious truths. All the Churches having Missions in that great land have availed themselves, more or less, of Mr Evans' invention. To suit other tribes speaking different languages, the characters have been modified or have had additions to them, to correspond with sounds in those languages which were not in the Cree. Even in Greenland the Moravian Missionaries are now using Evans' Syllabic Characters with great success among the Esquimaux. When Lord Dufferin was Governor-General of the Dominion of Canada, hearing that a couple of Missionaries from the Indian tribes were in Ottawa, where he resided, he sent a courteous request for us to call upon him. With two or three friends, Mr Crosby, our successful and energetic Missionary from British Columbia, and I, obeyed the summons. The interview was a very pleasant and profitable one. Lord Dufferin questioned Mr Crosby about British Columbia and his work, and was pleased to hear of his great success. After a bright and earnest conversation with me in reference to the Indians of the North-West Territories, in which his Excellency expressed his solicitude for the welfare and happiness of the aboriginal tribes of red men, he made some inquiries in reference to missionary work among them, and seemed much pleased with the answers I was able to give. In mentioning the help I had in my work, I showed him my Cree Indian Testament printed in Evans' Syllabic Characters, and explained the invention to him. At once his curiosity was excited, and, jumping up, he hurried off for pen and ink, and got me to write out the whole alphabet for him; and then, with that glee and vivacity for which his lordship was so noted, he constituted me his teacher, and commenced at once to master them. As their simplicity, and yet wonderful adaptation for their designed work, became evident to him--for in a short time he was able to read a portion of the Lord's Prayer--Lord Dufferin was much excited, and, getting up from his chair and holding up the Testament in his hand, exclaimed, "Why, Mr Young, what a blessing to humanity the man was who invented that alphabet!" Then he added, "I profess to be a kind of a literary man myself, and try to keep posted up in my reading of what is going on, but I never heard of this before. The fact is, the nation has given many a man a title, and a pension, and then a resting-place and a monument in Westminster Abbey, who never did half so much for his fellow-creatures." Then again he asked, "Who did you say was the author or inventor of these characters?" "The Reverend James Evans," I replied. "Well, why is it I never heard of him before, I wonder?" My reply was, "My lord, perhaps the reason why you never heard of him before was because he was a humble, modest Methodist preacher." With a laugh he replied, "That may have been it," and then the conversation changed. Mr Evans was ever anxious that the Indian converts should at once be made to understand all the duties and responsibilities of the new life on which they were entering, he was a fearless man, and boldly declared unto them the whole counsel of God. Knowing the blighting, destroying influences of the "fire water" upon the poor Indian race, he made the Church a total abstinence society, and, as all missionaries should, he set them the example of his own life. Then, as regards the keeping of the Sabbath, he took his stand on the Word of God, and preached the absolute necessity of the one day's rest in seven. In after years we saw the good results of the scriptural lessons which he and his worthy successors taught in reference to the holy day. Many and severe were the trials, and mysterious some of the persecutions, which this glorious man had to bear. Because of his unswerving loyalty to truth, and his conscientious and fearless teaching of all the commandments of God's Word, some in high authority, who at first were supposed to be friendly, turned against him, and became his unprincipled foes. The trouble first seemed to begin when Mr Evans taught the Indians to "Remember the Sabbath day to keep it holy." At his request, they, when hunting or fishing or tripping in the months of open water, rested on the Lord's day. Short-sighted employers, unconscious of the fact, so often demonstrated, that they who rest the one day in seven can do more work in the other six, opposed this teaching, and, when they could not stop it, assailed the Missionary in a way that must have caused a jubilee in hell. I shall not go into particulars. Most of the principal actors are in the presence of the Judge of all the earth. He Who suffered for a time the name of this devoted servant of His to be so shamefully clouded has cleared all the mists away; and like the silver refined by the furnace, so has it been in this case. But persecutions, and even these bitter assaults upon his character, could not turn him from the most intense activity in his blessed life- work. Like an Apostle Paul in primitive times, or like a Coke or Asbury in the early years of this century, so travelled James Evans. When we say he travelled thousands of miles each year on his almost semi- continental journeys, we must remember that these were not performed by coach or railroad, or even with horse and carriage, or in the saddle or sailing vessel, but by canoe and dog-train. How much of hardship and suffering that means, we are thankful but few of our readers will ever know. There are a few of us who do know something of these things, and this fellowship of his suffering knits our hearts in loving memory to him who excelled us all, and the fragrance of whose name and unselfish devotion to his work met us almost everywhere, although years had passed away since James Evans had entered into his rest. "He being dead yet speaketh." To write about him and his work is a labour of love. Would that the pen of some ready writer might give us a biography of this Missionary of such versatility of gifts, and such marvellous success in his work! Room only have I here, in addition to what has already been written, to give some account of the sad event of his life, the accidental shooting of his interpreter, Joseph Hasselton, and the after consequences. Word reached Mr Evans one year, that the priests were endeavouring to crowd up into the Athabasca and Mackenzie River country, and get a foothold among some very interesting Indians whom Mr Evans had visited and found very anxious for the truth. Desirous that they should not be led away from the simplicity of the Gospel, he felt that the best plan was for him to hurry up by light canoe and get into that country and among his Indians before the priests arrived. They had gone the usual route up the Saskatchewan, and from thence were to go over the height of land, and then by boat down the streams which from those regions run towards the Arctic Ocean. Mr Evans' plan was to take what is called "the back route," that was, to go partly down the Nelson River, and then, turning westward through an almost endless succession of lakes and rivers and portages, arrive before the other parties, although several weeks of severest toil would be passed in making the long journey. With his beloved interpreter, who was one of the most remarkable Indians of his day, a man who could talk almost every Indian language spoken by the natives of the land, and, what was better, a devoted Christian, full of zeal and enthusiasm for the work, and with another reliable native from whom I received my information as to what occurred, the long journey was commenced. For several days they made good progress, and were rejoicing at the prospect of success. One morning, very early, while they were paddling along in the great Nelson River, Hasselton, the interpreter, who was in the front of the canoe, said, "I see some ducks in those reeds near the shore. Hand me the gun." In these small canoes the guns are generally kept in the stern with the muzzles pointing back, so as to prevent accidents. The man who was in the stern quickly picked up the gun, and foolishly drew back the trigger. With the muzzle pointing forward he passed the gun to Mr Evans, who did not turn his head, as he was earnestly looking if he also could see the ducks. As Mr Evans took the gun passed to him he unfortunately let the trigger, which had no guard around it, strike against the thaft of the canoe. Instantly it went off, and the contents were discharged into the head of the poor man in front. He turned his dying eyes upon Mr Evans, and then fell over, a corpse. It was an awful accident, and doubly painful on account of the unfortunate surroundings. Here the two survivors were, about two hundred miles from any habitation. They could not take the body back with them. For days they would meet none to whom they could tell their story. They went ashore, and, when their first paroxysm of grief was over, they had to dig, as best they could, a grave in the wilderness, and there bury their dead. They turned their faces homeward, and very sorrowful indeed was the journey. Great was the grief at the village, and greater still the consternation when it was discovered what Mr Evans had resolved to do. His interpreter was the only Christian among his relatives. The rest of them were wild pagans with bad records. Life for life was their motto, and many had been their deeds of cruelty and bloodshed in seeking that revenge which occupies so large a place in the savage Indian's heart. They lived several hundred miles away, and Mr Evans resolved to go and surrender himself to them, tell them what he had done, and take all the consequences. Many friends, knowing how quick the Indian is to act when aroused by the news of the death of a relative--for often before he hears all the circumstances does he strike the fatal blow--urged him not to go himself, but to send a mediator. To this suggestion he turned a deaf ear, and, having made his will and left all instructions as to the work if he should never return, and bidden farewell to his stricken family, who never expected to see him alive again, he started off on his strange and perilous journey. Reaching the distant village, he walked into the tent of the parents of his interpreter, and told them that his heart was broken, and why. Angry words were uttered, and tomahawks and guns were freely handled, while he described the tragic scene. Feeling so utterly miserable that he little cared whether they killed him or let him live, there he sat down on the ground in their midst, and awaited their decision. Some of the hot-headed spirits were for killing him at once; but wiser counsels prevailed, and it was decided that he must be adopted into the family from which he had shot the son, and be all to them, as far as possible, that their son had been. This had been a good deal. Becoming a Christian had made him kind and loving, and so all that he could spare of his wages, earned while interpreting for Mr Evans, had been faithfully sent to his parents. The ceremony of adoption lasted several days. Mr Evans assumed as his Indian name that of this family, and a good son indeed they found in him. When he left to return to his Mission they kissed him, and acted towards him with as much affection as such people can show. Many were the gifts which were sent them by their adopted son, who took good care of them as long as he lived. But while this difficulty was thus tided over, the memory of it never faded away from Mr Evans. He was never the same man after. Yet he did not allow it to deter him from the most vigorous prosecution of his work: indeed, it seemed to his people as though he tried to bury his sorrow in incessant toil, and labours so abundant, that but few even of the Indians "in journeyings oft" could equal him. To aid the further prosecution of his labours, and to excite greater interest in the well-being of the Red Indians of British North America, Mr Evans went to England to speak about his work and its needs. His story of marvellous incidents and varied experiences in this land of which so little was known, produced a deep impression, and great crowds came out to hear him, and insisted on his continuing at great length his wonderful descriptions of travelling by canoe and dog-train, and the longing desire there was in the hearts of the Indians for the Gospel. On November 23rd, 1846, after having spoken at Keelby in Lincolnshire, he returned with his wife, who was in every respect a devoted helpmate for such a work, to the home of the gentleman and lady with whom they were stopping. While chatting on various subjects, Mrs Evans turned to her husband, who was comfortably seated in a large arm-chair, and said, "My dear, I have had such a strange presentiment--that we shall never see Norway House and our faithful Indians again." He turned to her and said, with something of his old enthusiasm, "Why should that thought trouble you, my dear? Heaven is just as near from England as from America." The two ladies said, "Good night!" and retired, leaving Mr Evans and the gentleman of the house to chat together a little longer. Shortly after, the gentleman said something to Mr Evans, and, receiving no answer, he turned from the fire and looked at him. At first he thought he had fallen asleep, but this was only for an instant. Springing up and going to him, he found that the immortal spirit had so quietly and gently flitted away, that there had not been the slightest sob or cry. The noble Indian Missionary was dead. The eloquent tongue was hushed for ever. For his return hundreds of anxious weeping Indians in those northern wilds would long and wait, but wait in vain. He had been conveyed by angel bands to that innumerable company of redeemed, blood- washed saints around the throne of God, which even then had received many happy converted Indians, who, brought to God by his instrumentality, had finished their course with joy, and before him had entered in through the gates into the city, and were there to welcome him. Hundreds, since then, of his spiritual children have had the "abundant entrance ministered unto" them, and they have joined him in that rapidly increasing throng. And although many years have passed away since he preached to them his last sermon, at many a camp-fire, and in many a wigwam, still linger old men, and women too, whose eyes glisten, and then become bedimmed with tears, as they think of him who so long ago went on before. But while they weep, they also rejoice that that salvation, which, as the result of his preaching, they accepted, is still their solace and their joy, and, clinging to it and its great Author, they shall by-and-by meet their Missionary and loved ones who have finished their course and gained the eternal shores. On the previous page are the Syllabic Characters, as invented by Mr Evans; and on this we give the Lord's Prayer in Cree, as printed in them. Perhaps the following explanations will help the student who may have a wish to master this wonderful invention. In the Alphabet the first line of characters, the equilateral triangle in four positions, reads as follows, a e oo ah. The addition of the little dot, as seen in the second line, adds to any character after which it is placed the sound of w. So this second line reads wa, we, woo, wah. The following lines read thus: pa pe poo pah; ta te too tah; ka ke koo kah; cha che choo chah; ma mee moo mah; na ne noo nah; sa se soo sah; ya ye yoo yah. With a little patience the Lord's Prayer can be read even without a teacher. I have gone to a pagan band far away in the northern wilderness, and after they have become willing to receive the truth, I have commenced to teach them to read the Word of God. Very limited indeed were our appliances, for we were hundreds of miles from the nearest school house. But from the camp-fire, where we had cooked our bear's meat or beaver, I would take a burnt stick, and with it make these Syllabic Characters on the side of a rock, and then patiently repeat them over and over again with my school of often three generations of Indians together, until they had some idea of them. Then I would give them the copies of the Bible I had brought, and at the first verse of Genesis we would begin. It paid for the hardships of the trip a thousandfold to see the looks of joy and delight on their faces as they themselves were able to read that wonderful verse. By Canoe and Dog-Train--by Egerton Ryerson Young CHAPTER ELEVEN. SOWING AND REAPING--BEAUTIFUL INCIDENT--"HELP ME TO BE A CHRISTIAN!"-- THIRTY YEARS BETWEEN THE SOWING AND THE REAPING--SORROWING, YET STUBBORN, INDIANS INDUCED TO YIELD BY THE EXPRESSION, "I KNOW WHERE YOUR CHILDREN ARE!" While in our every-day missionary life there were dark hours, and times when our faith was severely tried, there was, on the other hand, much to encourage us to persevere in the blessed work among these Cree Indians. An incident that occurred to us brought up very forcibly to our minds the couplet: "Whate'er may die and be forgot, Work done for God, it dieth not." I was sitting, one pleasant day in June, in my study at Norway House, absorbed in my work, when I was startled by a loud "Ahem!" behind me. I quickly sprang up, and, turning round, discovered that the man who had thus suddenly interrupted me in my thoughts was a big, stalwart Indian. He had come into the room in that catlike way in which nearly all of the Indians move. Their moccasined feet make no sound, and so it is quite possible for even scores of them to come into the house unheard. Then, as Indians have a great dislike to knocking, they generally omit it altogether, and unceremoniously enter, as this man had done, and as quietly as possible. My first glance at him told me that he was an entire stranger, although I had by this time become acquainted with some hundreds of the natives. I shook hands with him and said a few commonplace things to him, to which I thought he paid but little heed. I pointed to a chair, and asked him to be seated; but, instead of doing so, he came up close to me and said with great earnestness: "Missionary, will you help me to be a Christian?" Surprised and pleased by this abrupt question, I replied, "Certainly I will; that is my business here." "Will you help my wife and children also to become Christians?" he added with equal emphasis. "Of course I will," I answered again. "It was for just such work as that my good wife and I came from our far-away home to live in this land." Naturally I had already become very much interested in this big, bronzed Indian; and so I said to him, "Tell me who you are, and from what place you have come." I made him sit down before me, and he told me the following remarkable story. I wish I could put into the narrative his pathos and his dramatic action. He did not keep his seat very long after he began talking, but moved around, and at times was very much excited. He said,-- "Many years ago, when I was a little boy, I was kindly cared for by the first Missionary, Mr Evans. I was a poor orphan. My father and mother had died, leaving none to care for me; so the good Missionary took me to his own house and was very kind to me. 'Tis true I had some relatives, but they were not Christians and so there was not much love in their hearts towards a poor orphan boy. So Mr Evans took me to his house, and was very kind to me. He gave me clothes and food, and a home. He taught me to read the new letters he had made for our people, and told me much about the Great Spirit and His Son Jesus. He taught me and other children to pray to God, and he often talked to us about Him, and how kind and good He was. He kept me with him two or three years, and I was very well off indeed in having such a home and such a friend, if I had only known it. "One summer, among the many Indians who came to trade their furs at the Company's store, was one family who lived very far away. They seemed to take a liking to me, and often would talk to me. They had no little boy, they said, in their wigwam, and they told me a lot of foolish stuff about how much happier I would be, if I lived with them, than I was here, where I had to obey the white man. Like the foolish child that I was, I listened to this nonsense, and one night, when they had got everything ready to start, I slipped quietly out of the house and joined them. We paddled hard most of the night, for we felt that we had done wrong, and did not know but we should be followed. "After travelling many days we reached their hunting grounds and wigwams. I did not find it as pleasant as they had told me it would be. Often they were very cruel to me, and sometimes we did not have much to eat. But I dared not run away, for there was no place to which I could go, except to other wicked Indians; and they would only make things worse. They were all very bad Indians, and very much afraid of the medicine men. All the worship they did was to the bad spirit. They were afraid of him, and so they worshipped him, so that he might not do them much harm. I became as bad as any of them. I tried to forget all that the good Missionary had told me. I tried to wipe all his teachings and prayers from my memory. All he had told me about the Good Spirit and His Son I tried to forget. "I grew up to be a man. I had become a wicked pagan; but I was a good hunter, and one of the men sold me one of his daughters to be my wife. We have quite a family. Because I had seen, when I was a little boy, how Christian Indian men treat the women better than the pagan Indians treat theirs, I treated my wife and children well. I was never cruel to them. I love my wife and children. "Last winter, you remember, the snow was very deep. I had taken my family and gone out into the region of deer and other animals, and there had made my hunting lodge for the winter. There we set our traps for the fur-bearing animals. We took a good many of the smaller animals that have got furs, but the larger ones, that are good for food, were very few. We had a hard time, as food was very scarce. I could not find any deer to shoot, and we had come far from the great lakes and rivers, and so had no fish. "At length it seemed as though we must starve. I tried hard to get something, but I seemed to fail every time. Sometimes, when I did manage to get within range of the moose or reindeer, and I fired, my gun, which is only a flintlock, would only flash the powder in the pan, and so the charge would not go off. The noise, however, had so frightened the deer that he had rushed away before I could get ready to fire again. "At length it got so bad with us that I became completely discouraged, and I said, `I will only try once more; and if I do not succeed in shooting a deer, I will shoot myself.' So I took up my gun and hurried into the forest away from my half-starved family. I cautiously tramped along on my snowshoes all the first day, and did not see even a track. I made a little camp and lay down cold and hungry. I hunted all the next day and only got a rabbit. This I ate in the little camp I made the second night in the snow. On the third day I hunted until about noon. Then feeling very weak and hungry, I got so discouraged that I said, as I sat down on a log covered with snow, `I will die here. I am weak with hunger, I can go no further.' I was cross and angry, and I said, as I talked to myself, `No use trying any more.' Then I loaded my gun with a heavy charge of powder and two bullets, and, drawing back the trigger, my plan was to put the muzzle of the gun against the side of my head, and then press on the trigger with my big toe, which, you know, moves easily in the moccasin. Just as I was getting ready thus to kill myself, something seemed to speak to me, `William!' I pushed the gun away, for I was frightened. I looked all around, but could not see anybody. Then I found that the voice was in me, and it began to talk to me out of my heart; and as I listened it seemed to say, `William, do you not remember what the Missionary told you long ago about the Great Spirit? He said He was kind and forgiving, and that even if we did wander far away from him, if we became sorry and would come back, He would forgive. Do you not remember, William, he said that if we ever got into great trouble, the Great Spirit was the best Friend to Whom to go to help us out? You are in great trouble, William. Don't you think you had better come back to him?' "But I trembled and hesitated, for I was ashamed to come. I thought over my life, how I had run away from the kind Missionary who had taken me, a poor orphan boy, into his home, and fed and clothed me, and taught me so much about the true way. Then I remembered so well how I had tried to wipe out from my memory all I had learned about the Great Spirit and His Son, and the good Book. I had denied to the pagan people that I knew anything about the white man's religion. I had been very bad, and had got very far away; how could I come back? Still all the answer I got was, `You had better come back.' "There I sat and trembled, and I felt I was too mean to come back. But all the answer I got was, `It is meaner to stay away, if what the Missionary said is true.' While I was hesitating what to do, and all trembling in the cold, I seemed to hear my wife and children in the wigwam far away crying for food. This decided me. So I turned round, and kneeled down in the snow by the log, and began to pray. I hardly know what I said, but I do remember I asked the Great Spirit to forgive the poor Indian who had got so far away from Him, and had been so wicked, and had tried to wipe Him out of his memory. I told him I was sorry, and wanted to do better; and there in the snow I promised, if He would forgive and help me in my trouble, and give something for my wife and children to eat, I would, just as soon as the snow and ice left the rivers and lakes, go and find the Missionary, and ask him to help me to be a Christian. "While I prayed I felt better; I seemed to feel in my heart that help was coming. I got up from my knees, and it seemed as though that prayer had strengthened me like food. I forgot I was cold and hungry. I took up my gun with a glad heart, and away I started; and I had not gone far before a large reindeer came dashing along. I fired and killed him. I was very glad. I quickly skinned him, and I soon made a fire and cooked some of the meat. Then I pulled down a small tree, and fastened part of the meat into the top of it, and let it swing up again, so as to keep it from the wolves and wolverines. Then I took the rest on my back and hurried home to my hungry wife and children. Soon after I went back for the rest of the venison, and found it all right. "Since that hour we have always had something. I have hunted hard, and have had success. None of us have been hungry since. The Great Spirit has been all that the Missionary said He would be to us. He has cared for us, and given us all that we have needed. "I have not forgotten my promise made while kneeling in the snow beside the log in the woods. The snow has gone, and the ice has left the lakes and rivers. I have launched my canoe, and have come with my wife and children to ask you to help us to be Christians." We were very much pleased to hear such a wonderful experience, which was thus leading him back to God; and we told him so. When we learned that all this time he had been talking, his wife and children were patiently sitting in the canoe outside at the shore, we hurried out with him and brought them into the Mission House. Mrs Young, and one or two others, attracted by William's earnest words, had come into my study, and had heard most of his story, and of course were also deeply interested. Out of our scant supplies we gave the whole family a good hearty meal, and we both did what we could by words and actions to make them feel that we were their friends, and would do all we could to help them to be Christians. We were delighted to find that since that memorable day when at the snow-covered log in the forest William had bowed in prayer, he had been diligent in teaching his family all that he could remember of the blessed truths of the Gospel. They had gladly received it and were eager for more. I called together some of the head men of the village, and told them the story of this family, and what William had said about his early life. A few of the older people remembered the circumstance of his adoption by Mr Evans after the death of his parents, whom they remembered well. Happy Christians themselves, and anxious that others should enjoy the same blessedness, they rejoiced at William's return, and especially with such a desire in his heart. So they at once gave the exile a place among themselves, and some needed help. Thorough and genuine were the changes wrought in the hearts of that family by Divine grace, and they have remained firm and true. In their house was a family altar, and from the church services they were never absent, unless far off in distant hunting grounds. Various were the arguments which the Good Spirit gave us to use in persuading men and women to be reconciled to God. Here is a beautiful illustration:-- "WHERE ARE OUR CHILDREN?" On the banks of a wild river, about sixty miles from Beaver Lake, I visited a band of pagan Indians, who seemed determined to resist every appeal or entreaty I could make to induce them to listen to my words. They were so dead and indifferent that I was for a time quite disheartened. The journey to reach them had taken about eight days from home through the dreary wilderness, where we had not met a single human being. My two faithful canoemen and I had suffered much from the character of the route, and the absence of game, which had caused us more than once to wrap ourselves up in our blankets and lie down supperless upon the granite rocks, and try to sleep. The rain had fallen upon us so persistently that for days the water had been dripping from us, and we had longed for the sunshine that we might get dry again. We had met with some strange adventures, and I had had another opportunity for observing the intelligence and shrewdness of my men, and their quickness in arriving at right conclusions from very little data. Many think of the Indians as savages and uncivilised, yet in some respects they are highly educated, and are gifted with a quickness of perception not excelled by any other people in the world. We had the following illustration of it on this trip. As most of the Indians had gone away in the brigades to York Factory, to carry down the furs and to freight up the goods for the next winter's trade, I could not find any canoemen who were acquainted with the route to the pagan band which I wished to visit. The best I could do was to secure the services of a man as a guide who had only been as far as Beaver Lake. He was willing to go and run the risk of finding the Indian band, if possible, although so far beyond the most northern point he had ever gone before. As I could do no better I hired him and another Indian, and away we went. After several days of hard work--for the portages around the falls and rapids were many, and several times we had to wade through muskegs or morasses up to our knees for miles together, carrying all our load on our heads or backs--we at length reached Beaver Lake. Here we camped for the night and talked over our future movements. We had come two hundred and forty miles through these northern wilds, and yet had about sixty miles to go ere we expected to see human beings, and were all absolutely ignorant of the direction in which to go. We spent the night on the shore of the lake, and slept comfortably on the smooth rocks. Early the next morning we began to look out for signs to guide us on our way. There were several high hills in the vicinity, and it was decided that we should each ascend one of these, and see if from these elevated positions the curling smoke from some distant Indian camp-fire, or other signs of human beings, could be observed. Seizing my rifle, I started off to ascend the high hill which had been assigned me, while my Indians went off in other directions. This hill was perhaps half a mile from our camp-fire, and I was soon at its foot, ready to push my way up through the tangled underbrush that grew so densely on its sides. To my surprise I came almost suddenly upon a creek of rare crystal beauty, on the banks of which were many impressions of hoofs, large and small, as though a herd of cattle had there been drinking. Thoughtlessly, for I seemed to have forgotten where we were, I came to the conclusion that as the herd of cattle had there quenched their thirst, they and their owner must be near. So I hurried back to the camp, and signalled to the men to return, and told them what I had seen. There was an amused look on their faces, but they were very polite and courteous men, and so they accompanied me to the creek, where, with a good deal of pride, I pointed out to them the footprints of cattle, and stated that I thought that they and their owners could not be far off. They listened to me patiently, and then made me feel extremely foolish by uttering the word "Moose." I had mistaken the footprints of a herd of moose for a drove of cattle, much to their quiet amusement. We looked around for a time, and, getting no clue, we embarked in our canoe, and started to explore the different streams that flowed into or out of this picturesque lake. After several hours of unsuccessful work we entered into the mouth of quite a fine river, and began paddling up it, keeping close to one of its sandy shores. Suddenly one of my Indians sprang up in the canoe, and began carefully examining some small tracks on the shore. A few hasty words were uttered by the men, and then we landed. They closely inspected these little footprints, and then exclaimed, "We have got it now, Missionary; we can take you soon to the Indians!" "What have you discovered?" I said. "I see nothing to tell me where the Indians are." "We see it very plain," was the reply. "You sent word that you were coming to meet them this moon. They have been scattered hunting, but are gathering at the place appointed, and a canoe of them went up this river yesterday, and the dog ran along the shore, and these are his tracks." I examined these impressions in the sand, and said, "The country is full of wild animals; these may be the tracks of a wolf or wolverine or some other beast." They only laughed at me, and said, "We can see a great difference between these tracks and those made by the wild animals." Our canoe was soon afloat again, and, using our paddles vigorously, we sped rapidly along the river. With no other clue than those little footprints in the sand my men confidently pushed along. After paddling for about twenty miles we came to the camp-fire, still smouldering, where the Indians had slept the night before. Here we cooked our dinner, and then hurried on, still guided by the little tracks along the shore. Towards evening we reached the encampment, just as my canoemen had intimated we should. The welcome we received was not very cordial. The Indians were soured and saddened by having lost many of their number, principally children, by scarlet fever, which for the first time had visited their country, and which had been undoubtedly brought into their land by some free- traders the year before. With the exception of an old conjurer or two, none openly opposed me, but the sullen apathy of the people made it very discouraging work to try to preach or teach. However, we did the best we could, and were resolved that, having come so far, and suffered so many hardships to reach them, we would faithfully deliver the message, and leave the results to Him Who had permitted us to be the first who had ever visited that Land to tell the story of redeeming love. One cold, rainy day a large number of us were crowded into the largest wigwam for a talk about the truths in the great Book. My two faithful Christian companions aided me all they could by giving personal testimony to the blessedness of this great salvation. But all seemed in vain. There the people sat and smoked in sullen indifference. When questioned as to their wishes and determinations, all I could get from them was, "As our fathers lived and died, so will we." Tired out and sad of heart, I sat down in quiet communion with the Blessed Spirit, and breathed up a prayer for guidance and help in this hour of sore perplexity. In my extremity the needed assistance came so consciously that I almost exulted in the assurance of coming victory. Springing up, I shouted out, "I know where all your children are, who are not among the living! I know, yes, I do know most certainly where all the children are, whom Death has taken in his cold grasp from among us, the children of the good and of the bad, of the whites and of the Indians, I know where all the children are." Great indeed was the excitement among them. Some of them had had their faces well shrouded in their blankets as they sat like upright mummies in the crowded wigwam. But when I uttered these words, they quickly uncovered their faces, and manifested the most intense interest. Seeing that I had at length got their attention, I went on with my words: "Yes, I know where all the children are. They have gone from your camp-fires and wigwams. The hammocks are empty, and the little bows and arrows lie idle. Many of your hearts are sad, as you mourn for those little ones whose voices you hear not, and who come not at your call. I am so glad that the Great Spirit gives me authority to tell you that you may meet your children again, and be happy with them for ever. But you must listen to His words, which I bring to you from His great Book, and give Him your hearts, and love and serve Him. There is only one way to that beautiful land, where Jesus, the Son of the Great Spirit, has gone, and into which He takes all the children who have died; and now that you have heard His message and seen His Book, you too must come this way, if you would be happy and there enter in." While I was thus speaking, a big, stalwart man from the other side of the tent sprang up, and rushed towards me. Beating on his breast, he said, "Missionary, my heart is empty, and I mourn much, for none of my children are left among the living; very lonely is my wigwam. I long to see my children again, and to clasp them in my arms. Tell me, Missionary, what must I do to please the Great Spirit, that I may get to that beautiful land, that I may meet my children again?" Then he sank at my feet upon the ground, his eyes suffused with tears, and was quickly joined by others, who, like him, were broken down with grief, and were anxious now for religious instruction. To the blessed Book we went, and after reading what Jesus had said about little children, and giving them some glimpses of His great love for them, we told them "the old, old story," as simply and lovingly as we could. There was no more scoffing or indifference. Every word was heard and pondered over, and from that hour a blessed work began, which resulted in the great majority of them deciding to give their hearts to God; and they have been true to their vows. CHAPTER TWELVE. ON THE TRAIL TO SANDY BAR--SLEEPING ON THE ICE--THIEVISH ESQUIMAUX DOGS--NARROW ESCAPE OF JACK--JOYOUS WELCOME--SOCIETY FORMED--BENJAMIN CAMERON, ONCE A CANNIBAL, NOW A LAY HELPER--PLUM-PUDDING--A STRIKING INSTANCE OF HONESTY. In December, 1877, I made a journey to the Indians living at Sandy Bar. As there were some experiences quite different from those of other trips, they shall here be recorded. Sandy Bar, or White Mud, as some call it, is over a hundred miles south of Beren's River, where we then resided. We made the usual preparations for our journey, getting sleds loaded with supplies for ourselves and fish for our dogs, with all the cooking arrangements necessary for a month's absence from home. As the people among whom we were going were poor, we ever felt that, Paul-like, for the furtherance of the Gospel, the wisest course among those bands who had not fully accepted salvation was to keep ourselves as far as possible from being burdensome unto them. So my good wife cooked a generous supply of meat and buns, made as rich with fat as possible. Fortunate indeed were we in having supplies sufficient for this to be done. It was not always so. At this very Mission, all we had one morning for breakfast was a hind-quarter of a wild cat! All our preparations were completed, and we were ready to start at one o'clock in the morning. To our great regret a fierce storm arose, and so we were obliged to wait until the day dawned, ere we could harness our dogs and venture out. When we had gone about twenty miles, the storm swept with such power over the great Lake Winnipeg, driving the recently fallen snow before it, with such a stinging, blinding effect, that we were forced to give up the struggle, and run into the forest and camp. We cleared away the snow from a space about eight feet square. At one side of this we built up our fire, and over the rest of the cleared space we spread some evergreen boughs, on which we placed our beds. We unharnessed our dogs, and thawed out for them some frozen fish. As this was one of my short trips, I had with me but two dog-trains and two good Indians. We melted snow in our kettles, and made tea, and cooked some meat. This, with the bread, of which we were on this trip the happy possessors, constituted our meals. About sundown we had prayers, and then, as we had been up most of the previous night, we wrapped ourselves in our robes and blankets, and went to sleep to the lullaby of the howling tempest. About ten o'clock that night I woke up, and, uncovering my head, found that the storm had ceased. I sprang up and kindled the fire, but my fingers ached and my body shivered ere I succeeded in getting it to blaze brightly. I filled the tea-kettle with snow, and while it was melting I called up my two travelling companions, and also a couple of young natives, who, with their dog-trains, had joined us. The Indians can tell with marvellous accuracy the hour of the night by the position of the Great Bear in the heavens. This is their night clock. I saw by their puzzled looks, as they gazed at the stars, that they wanted to tell me I had made a great mistake, if I thought it was near morning. But I did not give them the opportunity, and only hurried up the breakfast. After prayers we harnessed our dogs, tied up our loads of bedding, food, kettles, and other things; and then, throwing the boughs on which we had slept on the fire, by the light which it afforded us, we wended our way out through the forest gloom to the frozen lake. Taking the lead with my own splendid dogs, we travelled at such a rate that, ere the sun rose up to cheer us, over forty miles of Winnipeg's icy expanse lay between us and the snowy bed where we had sought shelter and slept during the raging storm. After stopping at Dog's Head, where were a few Indians, under the eccentric chief, Thickfoot, onward we travelled, crossing the lake to what is called Bull's Head, where we camped for the night. The face of the cliff is here so steep that we could not get our heavy loads up into the forest above, so we were obliged to make our fire and bed in the snowdrift at the base of the cliff. It was a poor place indeed. The snow, from the constant drifting in from the lake, was very deep. There was no shelter or screen from the fierce cold wind, which, changing during the night, blew upon us. We tried to build up the fire, but, owing to our peculiar position, could not change it. In the woods, at our camps, we build the fire where the smoke will be driven from us. If the wind changes, we change our fires. Here at the base of this cliff we could do nothing of the kind; the result was, we were either shivering in the bitter cold, or blinded by the smoke. While in this uncomfortable plight, and trying to arrange our camp beds on the snow, for we could not get any balsam boughs here to put under us, we were joined by several wild Indians, who, coming down the lake, saw our camp-fire. They had a number of thin, wild, wolfish, half- starved Esquimaux dogs with them. They made a great fuss over me, which here meant so much tea and food. I treated them kindly, and, fearing for our supplies, and even our dog harness, and the other things for which the terrible Esquimaux dog has such an appetite, I politely informed them that I thought they would be more comfortable if they travelled on a little further. This hint was met with loud protestations that they could not, under any circumstances, think of denying themselves the pleasure of at least stopping one night in the camp of the Missionary, about whom they had heard so much as the great friend of the Indian. Of course I could not go back on my record, or resist such diplomacy; but I saw trouble ahead, and I was not disappointed. In order to save something, I gave to their wolfish dogs all the fish I had, which was sufficient for my eight for several days. These the Esquimaux speedily devoured. I made the men bring the dog harness into the camp, and with the sleds, to save the straps and lashings, they built a little barricade against the wind. In addition to the food supplies for the trip, I had a bag of meat, and another of buns, for my use when I should reach the village, where I was going to preach and to teach. I gathered a pile of clubs, which I cut from the driftwood on the shore, from which we had also obtained that for our fire. Then, putting the bag of meat, which was frozen hard, under my pillow, and giving the bag of buns to one of my Indians, with orders to guard it carefully, I lay down and tried to go to sleep. Vain effort indeed was it for a long time. No sooner were we down than in upon us swarmed the dogs. They fought for the honour of cleaning, in dog fashion, our meat kettle, and then began seeking for something more. Over us they walked, and soon, by their gathering around my head, I knew they had scented the meat. Up I sprang, and, vigorously using my clubs, a number of which I sent among them, I soon drove them out into the darkness of the lake. Then under my robes again I got, but not to sleep. In less than ten minutes there was an _encore_, which was repeated several times. At length my supply of clubs gave out. My only consolation was that the dogs had received so many of them that they acted as though they were ready to cry quits and behave themselves. As it looked as though they were settling down to rest, I gladly did the same. Vain hope, indeed! I went to sleep very quickly, for I was very weary, but I woke up in the morning to find that there was not an ounce of meat left in the bag under my head, nor a single bun left in the bag which the Indian had orders so carefully to guard. Our condition the next morning was not a very pleasant one. The outlook was somewhat gloomy. Our camp was in an exposed snow-drift. We had no roof over us. The fire was a poor one, as the drift-wood with which it was made was wretched stuff, giving out more smoke than heat, which, persisting in going the wrong way, often filled our eyes with blinding tears. Our generous supply of meat, that we so much require in this cold climate, and our rich buns, so highly prized, were devoured by the dogs which, with the most innocent looks imaginable, sat around us in the snow and watched our movements. Fortunately one of the Indians had put a few plain biscuits in a small bag, which he was taking, as a great gift, to a friend. These were brought out, and with our tea and sugar were all we had, or could get, until we were sixty miles further south. No time for grumbling, so we prepared ourselves for the race against the march of hunger, which we well knew, by some bitter experiences, would, after a few hours, rapidly gain upon us. After the light breakfast we knelt down in the snow and said our prayers, and then hurried off. My gallant dogs responded to my call upon them so nobly that ere that short wintry day in December had fled away, and the lake was shrouded in darkness, the flying sparks from the tops of the little cabins of the friendly Indians told us we had conquered in the race, although not without some narrow escapes and scars. While crossing a long traverse of at least twenty-five miles, my largest dog, Jack, went through a crack in the ice up to his collar. These ice cracks are dangerous things. The ice, which may be several feet thick, often bursts open with a loud report, making a fissure which may be from a few inches to several feet wide. Up this fissure the water rushes until it is level with the top. Of course, as the cold is so intense, it soon freezes over, but it is very dangerous for travellers to come along soon after the fissure has been made. I have seen the guide get in more than once, and have had some very narrow escapes myself. On this occasion I was riding on the sled; the two foremost dogs of the train got across the thinly frozen ice all right, but Jack, who was third, broke though into the cold water below. The head dogs kept pulling ahead, and the sled dog did his work admirably, and so we saved the noble St. Bernard from drowning, and soon got him out. The cold was so intense that in a few minutes his glossy black coat was covered with a coat of icy mail. He seemed to know the danger he was in; and so, the instant I got the sled across the ice crack, he started off direct for the distant forest at such a rate that he seemed to drag the other dogs as well as myself most of the time. We were about twelve miles from the shore, but in a little more than an hour the land was reached, and as there was abundance of dry wood here, a good fire was soon kindled, before which, on a buffalo skin, I placed my ice-covered companion. He turned himself around when necessary, and, ere the other sled arrived, Jack was himself again. As two of the Indians behind us had fallen into this same fissure, we were delayed for some time in getting them dry again. We boiled our kettle and had some more tea, and then on we hurried. I met with a very warm welcome from the people. The greater part of them were Indians I had met in other years. Many were from Norway House. To this place they had come, attracted by the stories of its valuable fisheries and productive soil. So rapidly had the Mission at Norway House increased that fish and game were beginning to fail. Hence a large number emigrated to this and other places. To this place they had come late in the summer, and so the little houses they had built were small and cold. Then, to make matters worse, the fisheries had not proved to be what they had been represented. They crowded round me as I drove into their village, and told me of their "hungerings oft," and other hardships. As some sleds were ready to start for Manitoba, I hurried into one of the little homes to pencil a note to my Chairman, the Reverend George Young, but found it to be almost an impossibility, as the four fingers of my right hand were frozen. These, and a frozen nose, reminded me for several days of that sixty miles' run on short rations. I found, in addition to the Christian Indians, quite a number of others who had been attracted to this place. I spent eight days among them. They had about a dozen little houses, in addition to a large number of wigwams. For their supplies they were depending on their rabbit snares, and their nets for fish, which were obtained in but limited quantities. As my food had been stolen from me by the dogs, I had nothing but what they gave me; but of their best they supplied me most cheerfully, and so I breakfasted, dined, and supped on rabbit or fish, and fared well. I preached, as was my custom, three times a day, and kept school between the services. I organised a class or society of thirty-five members, ten of whom for the first time now decided for Christ, and resolved henceforth to be His loyal followers. It was a great joy to be gathering in those decided ones, as the result of the seed sown amidst the discouragements of earlier years. I was very fortunate in securing a good leader, or spiritual overseer, for this little flock in the wilderness. Benjamin Cameron was his name. He had had a strange career. He had been a cannibal in his day, but Divine Grace had gone down into the depths of sin into which he had sunk, and had lifted him out, and put his feet upon the Rock, and filled his lips with singing, and his heart with praise. He was emphatically "a good man, and full of the Holy Ghost." The hours I spent with the children were very pleasant and profitable. I was pleased to hear the elder children read so well, and was especially delighted with their knowledge of the Catechism in both Cree and English. I distributed a fresh supply of books which I had brought them, and also gave to the needy ones some warm, comfortable garments sent by loving friends from Montreal. If the dear friends, into whose hearts the good desire to send these very comfortable garments had been put, could only have seen how much misery was relieved, and happiness conferred, they would have felt amply rewarded for their gifts. In connection with one of the Sunday services I administered the Sacrament of the Lord's Supper. We had a most solemn and impressive yet delightful time. The Loving Saviour seemed very near, and fresh vows and covenants were entered into by all, that to Him they would be true. I spent Christmas among them, and as one of them had succeeded in getting some minks in his traps, and for the skins had obtained from some passing "free-traders" some flour and plums, they got up, in honour of my visit, a plum-pudding. It haunts me yet, and so I will not here describe it. As beautiful weather favoured us on our return, we took the straight route home, and arrived there in two days, rejoicing that the trip, as regarded its spiritual aspects, had been a great success. One day an Indian came into my house and threw down a fine haunch of venison upon the table. As we were poorly off for food, I was very much pleased, and said to him, "What shall I give you for this meat?" "Nothing," he replied; "it belongs to you." "You must be mistaken," I said. "I never had any dealings with you." "But I had with you," he answered. "And so this meat is yours." Being unacquainted with the man, I asked him to tell me who he was, and how he made it out that this meat belonged to me. Said he, "Did you not go to Nelson River with dogs and Indians about two moons ago?" "Yes," I replied, "I did." "Well, I was out hunting deer, but I did not have much luck. The snow was deep, the deer were very shy, and I had no success. One day, when very hungry, for I had only taken a little dried rabbit meat with me from my wigwam, I came across your trail, and I found where your Indians had made a _cache_, that is, a big bundle of provisions and other things had been tied up in a blanket, and then a small tree had been bent down by your men, and the bundle fastened on the top, and let spring up again to keep it from the wolves. I saw your bundle hanging there, and as I was very hungry I thought, `Now if the kind-hearted Missionary only knew the poor Indian hunter was here looking at his bundle of food, he would say, "Help yourself;"' and that was what I did. I bent down the tree, and found the large piece of pemmican. I cut off a piece big enough to make me a good dinner, then I tied up the bundle again, and let it swing up as you had it. And now I have brought you this venison in place of what I took." I was pleased with his honesty, and had in the incident another example of the Indian quickness to read much where the white man sees nothing. The reason why we had made the _cache_ which the Indian had discovered was, that we had taken a large quantity of pemmican for our food, as the people we wore going to see were poor, and we did not wish to be a burden to them; but we had been caught in a terrible storm, and as the snow was very deep, making the travelling heavy, we were obliged to lighten our loads as soon as possible. So we left a portion, as the Indian has described, on the way. When we returned to the _cache_, and my men pulled it down and opened the bundle, one of them quickly cried out, "Somebody has been at our _cache_." "Nonsense," I replied; "nobody would disturb it. And then there were no tracks around when we reached here to-night." Looking at the largest piece of pemmican, the Indians said, "Missionary, somebody has taken down our bundle and cut off a piece just here. That there are no tracks, is because there have been so many snow-storms lately. All tracks made a few days ago are covered up." As I knew they were so much quicker along these lines of education than white men, I did not argue any more with them. The coming of the old hunter with the venison was the proof of the cleverness of my men, and also a very honourable act on his part. I kept the old man to dinner, and among other things I asked him how he knew it was the Missionary's party that passed that way. He quickly replied, "By your tracks in the snow. Indians' toes turn in when they walk, white men's toes turn out." CHAPTER THIRTEEN. AN INDIAN LOVEFEAST--MANY WITNESSES--SWEET SONGS OF ZION--THE LORD'S SUPPER--MEMOIR OF WILLIAM MEMOTAS, THE DEVOTED CHRISTIAN. Our Lovefeasts and sacramental services were always well attended, if it were within the range of possibility for the Indians to be present. To come in on Saturday from their distant hunting grounds sixty miles away, that they might enjoy the services of the Lord's house on His own day, was no unusual thing. Then on Monday morning we have seen them again strap on their snowshoes, and with glad hearts and renewed zeal start off to return to their lonely hunting camps in the distant forests. They are able to express themselves clearly, and often quite eloquently. When their hearts are full of the love of God, and they are rejoicing in the blessed assurance of the Divine favour, they are willing to speak about it. "What they have felt and seen With confidence they tell." Here are some of their testimonies. Those are the living words of men and women who were once the slaves of a debasing paganism. But on their hearts the blessed Spirit shone, and to His pleading voice they responded, and now, happy in the consciousness that they are the children of God, they love to talk about what wonderful things have been done for them and wrought in them. Timothy Bear said: "It is such a joy to me, that I can tell you of great things done for me. Great is the joy I have in my heart to-day. I rest in the consciousness that He is my own reconciled Heavenly Father, and so I feel it good to be here in the Lord's house, and with those that love Him. The good Spirit gives me to see how good and kind my heavenly Father is; and so I can say that the greatest anxiety of my heart and life is to serve God better and better as I grow older. To do this I have found out that I must have Divine help. But He is my Helper for everything, and so I need not fail. So I am encouraged that I shall love God more and more, and, with that, I want to love His cause and people, and those who have not yet become His people, that they may soon do so, more and more. For the conversion of the unsaved, let us, who feel that Jesus saves us, pray more earnestly than ever, and may God help us to live our religion, that the heathen around us may see in our lives what a wonderful thing it is." Timothy's burning words produced a deep impression, and some one began to sing: "Ayume-oo-we-nah," "The praying Spirit breathe." Half a dozen were on their feet when the verses were sung, but Thomas Walker spoke first. He said: "When I first heard the Gospel long winters ago, as brought to us by Mr Evans, I was soon convinced that I was a sinner and needed forgiveness. I found I could not of myself get rid of my sins, so I believed in Christ, and found that He had power to forgive. I was very wretched before I was forgiven. I was afraid I should be lost for ever. I mourned and wept before God on account of my sins. In the woods alone, I cried in my troubles, and was in deep distress. But I heard of the love and power, and willingness to save, of this Jesus of the great Book, and so I exercised a living faith in Him; and as I believed, God's voice was heard, saying, `My son, I have forgiven your sins; I have blotted them out. Go in peace.' I am sure I was not mistaken; I felt filled with peace and joy. I felt that I, Thomas Walker, was cleansed from my many sins, and clothed with the garments of salvation. That was a blessed day when the Spirit of God shone into my heart and drove out the darkness. Since then, my way in Him has been like the sunlight on the waters. The more waves, the more sunshine. I am happy in His love to-day. I am confident that, because He aids me, I am growing in grace. "I rejoice at being spared to come to another celebration of the Lord's Supper; and in view of partaking of the emblems of the dying, loving Jesus, I feel that my soul is feeding on Christ, the true Bread of Life." Earnest yet suppressed words of praise and adoration quietly dropped from many lips as Thomas ended. Then dear old Henry Budd succeeded in getting a hearing. Henry was Mr Evans' marvellous dog-driver over twenty-five years before the date of this blessed lovefeast. He had had many wonderful adventures and some narrow escapes. Once, when running ahead on a treacherous river, where in places the current was very rapid, and consequently the ice was thin, he broke through into the current underneath. He quickly caught hold of the edge of the ice, but it was so weak it would not hold him up. His only comrade could not get very near him as the ice was so bad, and so had to run about a mile for a rope. When he returned, so intense was the cold that both of Henry's hands, with which he had been holding on to the ice, were frozen. He was utterly unable to close them on the rope. George shouted to him to open his mouth. The rope was then thrown, lasso-like, so skilfully, that the poor half-frozen man seized it in his teeth, and was thus dragged out, and rushed off to the nearest wigwam. He was literally saved by the "skin of his teeth." Thus Henry Budd had, like many others, much for which to praise God. He spoke on this occasion as follows: "I rejoice in God my Saviour, Who has done such wonderful things for me. I feel very happy. I am His child. He is my reconciled Father. How can I help being happy? "When I first began to get my poor blind eyes opened, and there came to me a desire to seek God, and to obtain salvation for my soul, I was troubled on account of my sins. My many transgressions rose up before me like a cloud. I was ignorant, and so my mind was full of doubts and fears. Yet with all my doubts there was the anxious desire to be saved. But the victory came at last. I was enabled to hear enough about the Almighty Friend, and so, as I had confidence in His power and love, and believed in Him, I was at last enabled to rejoice in the knowledge of sins forgiven through faith in the Lord Jesus Christ. From those sad doubts and fears I am now happily delivered. I feel I love God, and that God loves me. I am growing in grace, and in the knowledge of God my Saviour. My hopes are brightening all the time. I am getting old, but not unhappy, for I am cheered with the blessed assurance of one day meeting, in my Father's house in heaven, with many who are safely there, and many more who, like me, will soon enter in. That this may be a blessed certainty, I desire to be faithful unto the end, that no man take my crown." When Henry sat down, before another one could be heard, the large congregation were singing:-- "Pe teh-na-mah-me cha-te yak Ke ehe ne-ka-mo-yak," etc. "O for a thousand tongues to sing My great Redeemer's praise." The next to get the floor was one of the sweetest, purest Christians it was ever my lot to become acquainted with in any land. His name was William Memotas. He was a very happy Christian. As he was a Local Preacher and a Class Leader, I was much in his society, and I can say, as many others have said, that William, since the day of his conversion, was never heard to utter an unkind word about any one, or do anything that could give the enemies of the Lord Jesus an opportunity to scoff at his profession of loving the Lord with all his heart. He was never a very strong man physically while we knew him, and so was unable to go on the long tripping or hunting expeditions with him more vigorous comrades. He suffered much from inward pain, but was ever bright and hopeful. When he stood up to add his testimony, the sick, pallid face caused a wave of sympathy to pass over the audience, but his cheery words quickly lifted the cloud, and we seemed to look through the open door into the celestial city, into which he was so soon to enter. His obituary, which I wrote at the time of his death, is added at the close of this chapter. He said:-- "For many years I have now been walking in this way, and proving this great salvation. It is a blessed way, and it is getting more delightful all the time. Every day on it is a day's walk nearer Jesus. It is not like the trails in our country, sometimes rocks, and then more often muskegs and quaking bogs; but it is the solid rock all the time, and on it we may always be sure of our footing, and it leads us up to Him Who is the Rock of Ages. I am not now a strong man, as you know I once was. This poor weak body is like the old wigwam. It is breaking up. As each storm tears fresh rents in the old wigwam, so each attack of disease seems to tear me, and bring me nearer the time when what is immortal of me shall slip away from the worn body into the everlasting brightness of that land where the happy people never say, `I am sick.' I am very glad and happy in the service of this Jesus, and will serve Him as long as He lends me health. But I do want to go home. I cannot do much more here. Our Missionary, Mr Young, said to me, `William, don't talk so much about leaving us. How can we spare you?' I thank him for his love and friendship, but there is another Friend I am getting such a longing in my heart to see, and that is Jesus, my Saviour, my Redeemer. I am praying for patience, but by-and-by I shall be with Him, with him for evermore. There I shall have no pain, and I will praise my Jesus for evermore. So, while waiting, I ask God to be with me here, and to let me serve Him in some way every day." With suppressed emotion, for many eyes were full of tears, the people sang-- "Tapwa meyoo ootaskewuk, Ispemik ayahchik," etc. "There is a land of pure delight, Where saints immortal reign." William was a sweet singer, and joined heartily with the rest in singing several verses of that grand old hymn. We had a presentiment that the end was not far off, but we little thought, as we looked into his radiant face, and heard his clear scriptural testimony, and his longings for rest and heaven, that this was to be the last Lovefeast in which our dear brother was to be with us. Ere another similar service was held, William Memotas had gone sweeping through the gates, washed in the blood of the Lamb. James Cochrane, a Class Leader, said,-- "I have great reason to bless God for the privileges and mercies I have had from him. I am so glad to be with you to-day in his house. I try to arrange all my huntings and journeys so as to be present at all of these love-feasts and sacraments. Since I decided, many years ago, to give up paganism and become a Christian, I have never missed one of these meetings, though sometimes I have had to take several days and travel hundreds of miles to get here. I only had to travel sixty miles on my snow-shoes to be here to-day. It has paid me well to come. I rejoice that God has enabled me to be faithful all these years since I started in His service. When I first began, I had a great many doubts and fears. The way seemed very long ahead of me. I felt so weak and so prone to sin. It seemed impossible that such a weak, unworthy creature as I could stand true and faithful; but trusting in God, and constantly endeavouring to exercise a living faith in Christ, I have been kept to this day, and I can say I realise a daily growth in grace. I ask God to give me His Holy Spirit to help me to follow Christ's example and to keep all of God's commandments. May I, too, prove faithful." Mary Cook, a very old woman, who has had to endure persecution for Christ's sake, spoke next. She said: "I am very glad to be here once more. I have many pagan relatives who have no feeling of friendship towards me, because I am a follower of Jesus. But He is my Friend, so it is all right. I have been very sick, and thought that God was going to take me home to heaven. That thought made me very happy in my sickness. My poor little room often seemed light with the presence of my Lord. I love to dwell with God's people. It is my chief joy. I refused to go and live with my relatives in the woods, even though I should be better off, because I love the house of God, and because I so love to worship with God's people." Mary Oig said: "Very happy do I feel in my heart to-day. My heart is filled with his love. I knew I love Him and his people; and His service is to me a great delight. Once, like many others, I was in the great darkness, wandering in sin; but God sought me by His Holy Spirit, and convinced me of my lost condition, and shewed me Himself as my only Hope, and enabled me to rejoice in his pardoning mercy through faith in the Atonement. May God keep me faithful, that with you I may join around the Throne above." Thomas Mamanowatum, generally known as "Big Tom," on account of his almost gigantic size, was the next to speak. He is one of the best of men. I have used him to help me a good deal, and have ever found him one of the worthiest and truest assistants. His people all love and trust him. He is perhaps the most influential Indian in the village. Tom said: "I, too, desire to express my gratitude to God for His great blessings and mercies to me. I am like David, who said, `Come, all ye who fear the Lord, and I will tell you what He hath done for my soul.' He has taken me out of the pit of sin, and set me on the rock. So I rejoice, for I have felt and tasted of His love. When I think of what he has done for me, and then think of what I have been, I feel that I am not worthy even to stand up in such a place as this. But He is worthy, and so I must praise Him. I have a comfortable assurance that He, my good Father, is contented with me. But it is only because the grace of God is sufficient to keep me. I am growing in grace, and I desire more than ever to glorify God in all I think, or speak, or do. I have been helping our Missionary at Beren's River in the good work among the people there. I often felt happy while endeavouring to point my heathen brethren to Jesus Christ, Who takes away the sins of the world. My first consecration was of myself, when converted to Christ. My second was of my family to Him. My third is of my class. I am often very happy while trying to lead them on in the way to heaven. To-day I renew my vows of consecration. I offer the sacrifice of thanksgiving, for He is my God and my portion for ever. As He is the Source of Love and Light and Safety, I want to be continually drawing nearer to Him." Very appropriate was the hymn which was next sung,-- "Ke-se-wog-ne-man-toom Ke-nah-te-tin," etcetera, "Nearer, my God, to Thee." After three verses of this beautiful hymn were sung, we had a large number of short testimonies. Some of the people beautifully expressed themselves by quoting passages from their Indian Bibles. For example, one said: "The joy of the Lord is my portion." Another: "The Lord is my Shepherd; I shall not want." Another: "Beloved, now are we the sons of God, and it doth not yet appear what we shall be: but we know that, when He shall appear, we shall be like Him; for we shall see him as He is." Thus delightfully passed away two hours. Perhaps fifty or sixty gave their testimonies, or quoted passages of Scripture. The speaking was up to the average of a similar gathering among white people, as these examples we have given would indicate. They were faithfully translated by two of our best interpreters, and then compared. And yet many of the beautiful Indian images are lost in the translation into English. The best of all has also to be left out. The Divine power, the holy emotions, the shining faces, the atmosphere of heaven, cannot be put down on paper. Many of my readers know what I mean as thus I write, for they have been in those hallowed gatherings where "they that feared the Lord spake often one to another." Then followed the Sacrament of the Lord's Supper. To the Christian Indians this service is, as it ever should be, the most solemn and impressive in the Church. Our custom was to hold four Communion services during the year. In addition, we sometimes gave a dying devoted member this sacrament, if so desired. Here there were a few other very important occasions, when we celebrated in this way the dying of the Lord Jesus. As, for example, when several scores of our people were going off on a dangerous trip in a plague-infected district with but very poor prospects of all returning home again. WILLIAM MEMOTAS. William Memotas was converted from the darkness of paganism to the light of the Gospel soon after the introduction of the glad tidings of salvation among the Cree Indians by that most useful and godly man, the Reverend James Evans. William's conversion was so clear and positive that he never had any doubts about it. His progress in the Divine life was marked and intelligent, and soon he became a useful and acceptable worker in the Church. He was a Class Leader and Local Preacher of great power and acceptability. He was pre-eminently a happy Christian. His face seemed full of sunshine. There was a genial sweetness about him that caused his very presence to act as a charm. His coming into our Mission home was like the sunshine, in which even our little ones basked with great delight. He was an every-day Christian. Although I was often in his company, and was thrown in contact with him on some occasions calculated to severely test him, yet I never heard from him an improper word, or heard of his having in any way gone contrary to his Christian profession during the thirty years that he had professed to be a follower of the Lord Jesus. His greatest aim in life seemed to be to get to heaven; and next to that he strove to induce others to follow in the same course. When some of the Indians were getting excited about their lands, and the treaties which were soon to be made with the Government, William, in writing to a friend, said: "I care for none of these things; they will all come right. My only desire is to love Jesus more and more, so as to see Him by-and-by." He was a useful Christian, possessing a good knowledge of the roots and herbs of his native forests, and also having had some instruction given him in reference to some of the simpler medicines of the whites, he was often styled our "village doctor." Although seldom remunerated for his services, he was always ready to listen to the calls of the afflicted, and, with Heaven's blessing, was instrumental in accomplishing some marvellous cures. He believed in using a good deal of prayer with his medicines. His skill in dressing and curing gun-shot wounds could not be excelled. Yet, while doing all he could to cure others, his own health was very poor for several years. He suffered frequently from violent headaches that caused intense pain. Yet he was never heard to murmur or complain, but would say to us, when we tried to sympathise with him, "Never mind, by-and-by I shall get home, and when I see Jesus I shall have no more pain." About nine days before his departure he caught a severe cold that settled upon his lungs, which seemed to have been diseased for a long time. He had from the beginning a presentiment that his sickness was "unto death," and never did a weary toiler welcome his bed of rest with greater delight than did William the grave. The prospect of getting to heaven seemed so fully to absorb his thoughts that he appeared dead to everything earthly. In life he had been a most loving and affectionate husband and father, but now, with a strong belief in God's promises of protection and care over the widow and fatherless, he resigned his family into the Lord's hands, and then seemed almost to banish them from his thoughts. Being very poor on account of his long-continued ill health, which had incapacitated him for work, he had, when his severe illness began, nothing to eat but fish. We cheerfully supplied him with what things our limited means would allow, to alleviate his sorrows and poverty. One day, when my beloved Brother Semmens and I had visited him, we had prayer and a blessed talk with him. As we were leaving him, after giving him some tangible evidences of our love, Brother Semmens said, "Now, Brother William, can we do anything else for you? Do you want anything more?" The poor sick man turned his radiant face towards us and said, "O no, I want nothing now, but more of Christ." He often conversed with us about his glorious prospects and the joy and happiness he felt as the pearly gates of the Golden City seemed to be opening before him. Here are some of his dying words whispered either to my beloved colleague or to myself. Would that we could portray the scene, or describe the happy, shining face of the dying man, lying there on a bed of blankets and rabbit skins in his little dwelling! He said, "While my body is getting weaker, my faith is getting stronger, and I am very happy in Jesus' love. Very glad am I that I responded to Mr Evans' invitations, and gave my heart to Him Who has saved me and kept me so happy in His love. I am so glad I was permitted to do some little work for Jesus. He used to help me when I tried to talk about His love and recommend Him to others. I used to get very happy in my own soul when thus working for Him. I am happier now than ever before. I am resting in His love." Thus would the happy man talk on as long as his strength permitted. It was ever a blessing to visit him. It wonderfully encouraged and strengthened us in our work. One day, as we came from one of these blessed visits, Brother Semmens burst out in almost ecstatic delight,-- "O may I triumph so When all my warfare's past!" When we administered to him the emblems of the broken body and spilt blood of the Redeemer, he was much affected, and exclaimed, "My precious Saviour! I shall soon see Him. `That will be joy for evermore.'" Once, when conversing with him, I happened to say, "I hope you will not leave us. We want you to remain with us. We need you to help us to preach. We need you in the Sunday School and in the Prayer Meetings. Your sixty class members are full of sorrow at your sickness. They think they cannot spare you. Do not be in a hurry to leave us, William. We want your presence, your example, your prayers." He listened patiently while I talked, and then he looked up at me so chidingly, like a weary, home-sick child, and exclaimed, in a voice that showed that earth had lost all its charms, "Why do you wish to detain me? You know I want to go home." Shortly after, his heart's desire was his in actual possession. Triumphantly he went home. While we felt that our Mission was much the loser by his departure, we knew it was better for him, and an accession to heaven's glorious company of one who was worthy to mingle with the white-robed throng around the throne of God. There is nothing that more roots and grounds us in this blessed Gospel, and more stimulates us to labour on, even amidst hardships and sufferings, than the consistent lives and triumphant deaths of our Indian converts. Ignorant as many of them are of the non-essentials of our religion, yet possessing by the Spirit's influence a vivid knowledge of their state by nature, and of the Saviour's love for them, they cling to Him with a faith so strong and abiding, that the blessed assurance of His favour abides with them as a conscious reality through life; and when the end draws near, sustained by His presence, even the Valley of the Shadow of Death is entered with delight. The Missions among the Indians of North America have not been failures. The thousands converted from different tribes, and now before the throne of God, and the many true and steadfast ones following after, tell us that although many of the toilers among them, as they went with the seed, literally went forth weeping, yet the harvest has been an abundant one, and has more than compensated for the tears and toils of the sewers. CHAPTER FOURTEEN. VARIED DUTIES--CHRISTIANITY MUST PRECEDE CIVILISATION--ILLUSTRATIONS-- EXPERIMENTAL FARMING--PLOUGHING WITH DOGS--ABUNDANCE OF FISH--VISITS FROM FAR-OFF INDIANS--SOME COME TO DISTURB--MANY SINCERE INQUIRERS AFTER THE TRUTH--"WHERE IS THE MISSIONARY?"--BEREN'S RIVER MISSION BEGUN-- TIMOTHY BEAR--PERILS ON THE ICE. Very diversified were our duties among these Indians. Not only were there those that in all places are associated with ministerial or pastoral work, but there were also many others, peculiar to this kind of missionary toil. Following closely on the acceptance of the spiritual blessings of the Gospel came the desire for temporal progress and development. Christianity must ever precede a real and genuine civilisation. To reverse this order of proceedings has always resulted in humiliating failure among the North American Indians. Sir Francis Bond Head, one of the early Governors of Canada, took a great interest in the Indians. He zealously endeavoured to improve them, and honestly worked for their advancement. He gathered together a large number of them at one of their settlements, and held a great council with them. Oxen were killed, and flour and tea and tobacco were provided in large quantities. The Indians feasted and smoked, and listened attentively to this great man who represented the Queen, and who, having also supplied them with food for the great feast, was worthy of all attention. The Governor told them that the great object of his coming to see them, and thus feasting them, was to show his kindness to them, and interest in their welfare. Then, with much emphasis he told them how the game was disappearing, and the fish also would soon not be so plentiful, and, unless they settled down and cultivated the soil, they would suffer from hunger, and perhaps starve to death. He got them to promise that they would begin this new way of life. As they were feeling very comfortable while feasting on his bounties, they were in the humour of promising everything he desired. Very much delighted at their docility, he said he would send them axes to clear more of their land, and oxen and ploughs to prepare it for seed; and when all was ready he would send them seed grain. Great were their rejoicings at these words, and with stately ceremony the council broke up. In a few days along came the ploughs, oxen, and axes. It was in the pleasant springtime, but instead of going to work and ploughing up what land there was cleared in their village, and beginning with their axes to get more ready, they held a council among themselves. These were their conclusions: "These axes are bright and shine like glass. If we use them to cut down trees, they will lose their fine appearance. Let us keep them as ornaments. These oxen now are fat and good. If we fasten them up to these heavy ploughs, and make them drag them through the ground, they will soon get poor and not fit for food. Let us make a great feast." So they killed the oxen, and invited all of the surrounding Indians to join them, and as long as a piece of meat was left the pots were kept boiling. Thus ended, just as many other efforts of the kind have ended, this effort to civilise the Indians before Christianising them. We found that almost in proportion to the genuineness of the Indian's acceptance of the Gospel was his desire to improve his temporal circumstances. Of course there were some places where the Indians could not cultivate the land. We were four hundred miles north of the fertile prairies of the great western part of the Dominion of Canada, where perhaps a hundred millions of people will yet find happy times. From these wondrously fertile regions my Nelson River Indians were at least six hundred miles north. As hunters and fishermen these men, and those at Oxford Mission, and indeed nearly all in those high latitudes, must live. But where there was land to cultivate the Indians had their gardens and little fields. I carried out with me four potatoes. I did not get them in the ground until the 6th of August. Yet in the short season left I succeeded in raising a few little ones. These I carefully packed in cotton wool and kept safe from the frost. The next year I got from them a pailful. The yield the third year was six bushels, and the fourth year one hundred and twenty-five bushels; and before I left the Indians were raising thousands of bushels from those four potatoes. They had had some before, but there had been some neglect, and they had run out. One summer I carried out, in a little open boat from Red River, a good Scotch iron beam plough. The next winter, when I came in to the District Meeting, I bought a bag of wheat containing two bushels and a half; and I got also thirty-two iron harrow teeth. I dragged these things, with many others, including quite an assortment of garden seeds, on my dog-trains, all the way to Norway House. I harnessed eight dogs to my plough, and ploughed up my little fields; and, after making a harrow, I harrowed in my wheat with the dogs. The first year I had thirty bushels of beautiful wheat. This I cut with a sickle, and then thrashed it with a flail. Mrs Young sewed several sheets together, and one day, when there was a steady, gentle breeze blowing, we winnowed the chaff from the wheat in the wind. There were no mills within hundreds of miles of us; so we merely cracked the wheat in a hand coffee-mill, and used some of it for porridge, and gave the rest to the Indians, who made use of it in their soups. Thus we laboured with them and for them, and were more and more encouraged, as the years rolled on, at seeing how resolved they were to improve their temporal circumstances, which at the best were not to be envied. The principal article of food was fish. The nets were in the water from the time the ice disappeared in May until it returned in October; and often were holes cut in the ice, and nets placed under it, for this staple article of food. The great fall fisheries were times of activity and anxiety, as the winter's supply of food depended very much upon the numbers caught. So steady and severe is the frost at Norway House, and at all the Missions north of it, that the fish caught in October and the early part of November, keep frozen solid until April. The principal fish is the white fish, although many other varieties abound. Each Indian family endeavoured to secure from three to five thousand fish, each fall, for the winter's supply. For my own family use, and more especially for my numerous dogs, which were required for my long winter trips to the out Mission appointments, I used to endeavour to secure not less than ten thousand fish. It is fortunate that those lakes and rivers so abound in splendid varieties of fish. If it were not so, the Indians could not exist. But, providentially,-- "The teeming sea supplies The food the niggard soil denies." Deer of several varieties abound, and also other animals, the flesh of which furnishes nutritious food. But all supplies of food thus obtained are insignificant in comparison with the fish, which the Indians are able to obtain except in the severest weather. As with the natives, so it was with the Missionaries; the principal article of food upon their tables was fish. During the first Riel Rebellion, when all communication with the interior was cut off, and our supplies could not as usual be sent out to us from Red River, my good wife and I lived on fish twenty-one times a week, for nearly six months. Of course there were times when we had on the table, in addition to the fish, a cooked rabbit, or it may be a piece of venison or bear's meat. However, the great "stand-by," as they say out in that land, was the fish. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Every summer hundreds of Indians from other places visited us. Some came in their small canoes, and others with the Brigades, which in those days travelled vast distances with their loads of rich furs, which were sent down to York Factory on the Hudson Bay, to be shipped thence to England. Sometimes they remained several weeks between the trading post and the Mission. Very frequent were the conversations we had with these wandering red men about the Great Spirit and the Great Book. Some, full of mischief, and at times unfortunately full of rum, used to come to annoy and disturb us. One summer a band of Athabasca Indians so attacked our Mission House that for three days and nights we were as in a state of siege. Unfortunately for us our own loyal able-bodied Indian men were all away as trip men, and the few at the Mission village were powerless to help. Our lives were in jeopardy, and they came very near burning down the premises. Shortly after these Athabasca Indians had left us I saw a large boatload of men coming across the lake towards our village. Imagining them to be some of these same disturbers, I hastily rallied all the old men I could, and went down to the shore, to keep them, if possible, from landing. Very agreeable indeed was my surprise to find that they were a band of earnest seekers after the Great Light, who had come a long distance to see and talk with me. Gladly did I lead them to the Mission House, and until midnight I endeavoured to preach to them Jesus. They came a distance of over three hundred miles; but in that far-off district had met in their wanderings some of our Christian Indians from Norway House, who, always carrying their Bibles with them, had, by reading to them and praying with them, under the good Spirit's influence, implanted in their hearts longing desires after the great salvation. They were literally hungering and thirsting after salvation. Before they left for their homes, they were all baptized. Their importunate request to me on leaving was the same as that of many others: "Do come and visit us in our own land, and tell us and our families more of these blessed truths." From God's Lake, which is sixty miles from Oxford Lake, a deputation of eleven Indians came to see me. They had travelled the whole distance of two hundred and sixty miles in order that they might hear the Gospel, and get from me a supply of Bibles, Hymn-books, and Catechisms. One of them had been baptized and taught years ago by the Reverend H. Brooking. His life and teachings had made the others eager for this blessed way, and so he brought these hungry sheep in the wilderness that long distance that they might have the truth explained to them more perfectly, and be baptised. As it had been with the others who came from a different direction, so it was with these. Their earnest, oft- repeated entreaty was, "Come and visit us and ours in our far-away homes." A few weeks after, another boatload of men called to have a talk with me. They seated themselves on the grass in front of the Mission House, and at first acted as though they expected me to begin the conversation. I found out very soon that they were Saulteaux, and had come from Beren's River, about a hundred and fifty miles away. After a few words as to their health and families had passed between us, an old man, who seemed to be the spokesman of the party, said, "Well, Ayumeaookemou" ("praying master," the Missionary's name), "do you remember your words of three summers ago?" "What were my words of three summers ago?" I asked. "Why," he replied, "your words were that you would write to the Keche- ayumeaookemou" (the great praying masters, the Missionary Secretaries) "for a Missionary for us." When I first passed through their country, they with tears in their eyes had begged for a Missionary. I had been much moved by their appeals, and had written to the Mission House about them and for them, but all in vain. None had come to labour among them. For my answer to this old man's words I translated a copy of my letter, which had been published, and in which I had strongly urged their claims for a Missionary. They all listened attentively to the end, and then the old man sprang up and said, "We all thank you for sending that word, but _where is the Missionary_?" I was lost for an answer, for I felt that I was being asked by this hungering soul the most important question that can be heard by the Christian Church, to whom God has committed the great work of the world's evangelisation. "WHERE IS THE MISSIONARY?" The question thrilled me, and I went down before it like the reed before the storm. I could only weep and say, "Lord, have mercy upon me and on the apathetic Christian world." That was the hardest question a human being ever asked me. To tell him of a want of men, or a lack of money, to carry the glad tidings of salvation to him and his people, would only have filled his mind with doubts as to the genuineness of the religion enjoyed by a people so numerous and rich as he knew the whites were. So I tried to give them some idea of the world's population, and the vast number yet unconverted to Christianity. I told him the Churches were at work in many places and among many nations, but that many years would pass away before all the world would be supplied with Missionaries. "How many winters will pass by before that time comes?" he asked. "A great many, I fear," was my answer. He put his hands through his long hair, once as black as a raven's wing, but now becoming silvered, and replied: "These white hairs show that I have lived many winters, and am getting old. My countrymen at Red River on the south of us, and here at Norway House on the north of us, have Missionaries, and churches, and schools; and we have none. I do not wish to die until we have a church and a school." The story of this old man's appeal woke up the good people of the Churches, and something was soon done for these Indians. I visited them twice a year by canoe and dog-train, and found them anxious for religious instruction and progress. At first I sent to live among them my faithful interpreter, Timothy Bear. He worked faithfully and did good service. He was not a strong man physically, and could not stand much exposure. To live in, he had my large leather tent, which was made of the prepared skins of the buffalo. One night a great tornado swept over the country, and Timothy's tent was carried away, and then the drenching rains fell upon him and his. A severe cold resulted, and when word reached me several weeks after at Norway House, it was that my trusted friend was hopelessly ill, but was still endeavouring to keep at his duties. So great was my anxiety to go and comfort him that I started out with my dog-trains so soon after the winter set in that that trip very nearly proved to be my last. The greater part of that journey was performed upon Lake Winnipeg. Very frequently on the northern end of that lake the ice, which there forms first, is broken up by the fierce winds from the southern end, which, being three hundred miles further south, remains open several days longer. I had with me two Indians,--one was an old experienced man, named William Cochran; the other a splendid specimen of physical manhood, named Felix. When we reached Lake Winnipeg, as far as we could judge by the appearance of the ice, it must have formed three times, and then have been broken up by the storms. The broken masses were piled up in picturesque ridges along the shore, or frozen together in vast fields extending for many miles. Over these rough ice-fields, where great pieces of ice, from five to twenty feet high, were thrown at every angle, and then frozen solid, we travelled for two days. Both men and dogs suffered a great deal from falls and bruises. Our feet at times were bruised and bleeding. Just about daybreak, on our third day, as we pushed out from our camp in the woods where we had passed the night, when we had got a considerable distance from the shore, Felix was delighted to find smooth ice. He was guiding at the time. He put on his skates and bounded off quickly, and was soon followed by the dogs, who seemed as delighted as he that the rough ice had all been passed, and now there was a possibility of getting on with speed and comfort. Just as I was congratulating myself on the fact of our having reached good ice, and that now there was a prospect of soon reaching my sick Indian brother, a cry of terror came from William, the experienced Indian who was driving our provision sled behind mine. "This ice is bad, and we are sinking," he shouted. Thinking the best way for me was to stop I checked my dogs, and at once began to sink. "Keep moving, but make for the shore," was the instant cry of the man behind. I shouted to my splendid, well-trained dogs, and they at once responded to the command given, and bounded towards the shore. Fortunately the ice was strong enough to hold the dogs up, although under the sled it bent and cracked, and in some places broke through. Very grateful were we when we got back to the rough strong ice near the shore. In quiet tones we spoke a few words of congratulation to each other, and lifted up our hearts in gratitude to our great Preserver, and then hurried on. If we had broken in, we could have received no earthly aid, as there was not even a wigwam within a day's journey of us. That night at the camp-fire I overheard William saying to Felix, "I am ashamed of ourselves for not having taken better care of our Missionary." We found Timothy very sick indeed. We ministered to his comfort, and had it then in our power so to arrange that, while the work should not suffer, he could have rest and quiet. His success had been very marked, and the old Saulteaux rejoiced that he and the rest of them were to be neglected no longer. He had made such diligent progress himself in spiritual things that I gladly baptized him and his household. There were times when our supplies ran very short, and hunger and suffering had to be endured. During the first Riel Rebellion, when we were cut off from access to the outside world, we were entirely dependent upon our nets and guns for a long time. Our artist has tried to tell a story in three pictures. At the breakfast table we had nothing to eat but the hind-quarter of a wild cat. It was very tough and tasteless; and while we were trying to make our breakfast from it, Mrs Young said, "My dear, unless you shoot something for dinner, I am afraid there will be none." So I took down my rifle, and tied on my snow-shoes, and started off looking for game. See Picture I. Pictures II and III tell the rest of the story. CHAPTER FIFTEEN. SMALL-POX PESTILENCE--HEROIC CONDUCT OF CHRISTIAN INDIANS--WHITES SUPPLIED WITH PROVISIONS BY RED MEN--THE GUIDE SAMUEL PAPANEKIS--HIS TRIUMPHANT DEATH--NANCY, THE HAPPY WIDOW--IN POVERTY, YET REJOICING. We were very much shocked, during the early spring, to hear that that terrible disease, the small-pox, had broken out among the Indians on the great plains of the Saskatchewan. It seems to have been brought into the country by some white traders coming up from the State of Montana. When once it had got amongst them, it spread with amazing rapidity and fatality. To make matters worse, one of the tribes of Indians, being at war with another, secretly carried some of the infected clothing, which had been worn by their own dead friends, into the territory of those with whom they were at war, and left it where it could be easily found and carried off. In this way the disease was communicated to this second tribe, and thousands of them died from it. Every possible precaution against the spread of this terrible destroyer was taken by the Missionaries, Messrs. McDougall and Campbell, aided by their Christian people. But, in spite of all their efforts, it continued cutting down both whites and Indians. To save some of his people Mr McDougall got the Indians of his Victoria Mission to leave their homes and scatter themselves over the great prairies, where, he hoped, they would, by being isolated, escape the contagion. The pagan Indians, rendered desperate under the terrible scourge which was so rapidly cutting them off, and being powerless to check it, resolved to wreak their vengeance upon the defenceless whites. So they sent a band of warriors to destroy every white person in the country. The first place they reached, where dwelt any of the pale-faces, was the Victoria Mission on the Saskatchewan River. Indian-like, they did not openly attack, but, leaving the greater number of their warriors in ambush in the long grass, a few of them sauntered into the Mission House. Here, to their surprise, they found that the small-pox had entered, and some of the inmates of the home had died. Quickly and quietly they glided away, and told their comrades what they had seen. A hasty consultation was held, and they decided that it could not have been the Missionary who had control of the disease; for, if he had, he would not have allowed it to have killed his own. They then decided it must have been the fur-traders, and so they started for the trading post. Here they pursued the same tactics, and found to their surprise that a Mr Clarke, the gentleman in charge of that place, had fallen a victim. Another hasty council made them think that they had been mistaken, and so they quickly returned to their own country without having injured any one. But the Missionary and his family were surrounded by perils. The Indians were excited and unsettled, and their old pagan conjurers were ever ready to incite them to deeds of violence. The restraining power of God alone saved them from massacre. Once the Missionary's wife and some of the family were at work in the garden, while secreted in the long grass not a hundred yards from them lay eleven Blackfeet, who had come to murder and pillage the place, but, as they afterwards acknowledged, were strangely restrained from firing. At another time some of the fierce warriors of this same bloodthirsty tribe crawled through a field of barley, and for a long time watched the movements of the family, and then noiselessly retired, doing no harm to any one. To hear the ping of a bullet as it passed in close proximity to the head was no very rare event in the lives of several of the early Missionaries among the excited pagans. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ While the small-pox was raging in the Great Saskatchewan country, strenuous efforts were made to prevent it spreading to other districts. Manitoba had now been formed into a province, and was filling up with white settlers. The old name, Fort Garry, had been changed to Winnipeg, and this place was rapidly growing into a prosperous town. From Fort Garry long trains of Red River carts had been in the habit of going for years with the supplies needed in the far-off Saskatchewan country. These carts were made without having in their construction a single piece of iron. The Half-breeds or Indian drivers never oiled or greased them, and the result was they could be heard about as far as seen, even on the level prairies. Each cart was drawn by one ox, and was supposed to carry from eight to twelve hundred pounds of supplies, in addition to the food and outfit of the driver, who was always expected to walk. This freighting by carts on the prairies is the counterpart of transporting goods by open boats or canoes in the northern rivers, to which we have elsewhere referred. The arrival of the brigade of carts with the supplies, and the news from the outside world, was the great event of the year in the early times at those lonely prairie settlements. But stern measures had to be adopted in this year of the small-pox plague. A proclamation was issued by the Governor of the Province of Manitoba, absolutely prohibiting any trade or communication in any way with the infected district. Not a single cart or traveller was permitted to go on the trail. This meant a good deal of suffering and many privations for the isolated Missionaries and traders and other whites who, for purposes of settlement or adventure, had gone into that remote interior country. As it was, only twice a year in many places did the lonely Missionaries hear from the outside world. Then the mail-carrier was very welcome, whether he came by canoe or dog-train. Although there were still plenty of buffalo on the plains, it was well known that the ammunition was about exhausted, as well as all other supplies, including medicines, now so much needed. Some interested parties vainly urged the Governor to relent and allow some supplies to be sent in. But, conscious of the risks that would be run of the pestilence reaching the province over which he governed, he remained firm, while he felt for those who necessarily must suffer. "What can be done to aid those unfortunate ones, who, in addition to their sorrows and troubles incident to the ravages of the small-pox among them, are now to be exposed to pinching famine and want?" was the question that sympathising friends were asking each other. As a last resort it was decided to appeal to the Norway House Christian Indians, and ask them to form a brigade of boats, and take the much-needed supplies up the mighty Saskatchewan River, where they could be reached by those needing them. To me, as Missionary of these Indians, Mr Stewart, the highest official of the Hudson's Bay Company, came; and we talked the matter over, and the risks which the Indians, not one of whom had been vaccinated, must run in going on such a perilous journey. They would have to go hundreds of miles through the disease-stricken land where hundreds had died. But it seemed essential that something must be done, and there were possibilities that the Indians, by acting very wisely, could escape infection: so we decided to call them together, and see what they would do in this emergency. When the church bell was rung, and the people had assembled together in their Council house, wondering what was the matter, I described the sad circumstances to them, and then presented the request, that one hundred and sixty of them should take twenty boats loaded with supplies, and go up the Saskatchewan, to save these white people from starving. I said to these converted Indians, my own people: "I know your race on this continent has not always been fairly treated; but never mind that. Here is a grand opportunity for you to do a glorious act, and to show to the world and to the good Lord, Whose children you are, that you can make sacrifices and run risks when duty calls, as well as the whites can." We told them that there was a possibility that they, by keeping in the middle of the great river all the time, and _never_ going ashore, might all escape. They would be provided with abundance of food; so they need not go ashore to hunt. Then we asked, "Are you willing to run the risk, and avail yourselves of this chance to do a glorious act?" Turning to one of the most trusted guides in the country, one of my best Class- Leaders, I said: "Samuel Papanekis, you are to be the guide and leader of this party." He was a son of the old centenarian, and brother of the Reverend Edward Papanekis, now our Missionary at Oxford House Mission. He seemed at first a little startled by the responsibility of the position, and after a moment's thought quietly said: "Will you give us a little time to talk it over?" So we left them to discuss the matter among themselves. When they sent us word that they had their answer ready, we returned, and he said: "Missionary, we have talked it over, and have decided to go to take the supplies to our suffering white brothers and their families. But will you let us have one more Sunday at the church, and will you give us the Sacrament of the Lord's Supper, ere we start upon the dangerous journey?" "Yes," I said, "it will take several days to get your loads and boats ready, and so we will have another blessed day of rest and hallowed worship together." It was a memorable Sabbath. Every man, woman, and child who could come to church, seemed to be there. Some of the women wept as they thought of the risks their husbands, or brothers, or sons were running. Others of them seemed to catch the spirit of the men, and felt proud that those they loved were willing to undertake so brave and noble a work. At the close of the morning service we had the Sacrament of the Lord's Supper. It was very solemn and impressive. As they came forward and partook of the emblems of their dear Lord's dying love, the recollection of His self-sacrifice and disinterested kindness seemed to come very vividly before us all, and there was in many hearts a kind of exultant joy that they were counted worthy to run some risks for the sake of doing good. No foolish boastfulness, or desire to seek for sympathy, characterised their utterances at the afternoon service, at which we met again in a Testimony or Fellowship Meeting. Some made no reference at all to the work before them; others asked for our prayers for them; and others, well taught in the Word of God, with the hallowed influences of the morning sacramental service still resting upon them, thought that they ought to rejoice when there were chances for getting into this spirit, so as to be partakers of Christ's sufferings, or companions in tribulation with such a Friend, so that when His glory should be revealed, they also might rejoice, as He has taught us: "If we suffer with Him," we shall "also be glorified together." Two or three days after this they started on their long, dangerous journey. They had twenty boats well loaded with supplies, each manned by eight Indians, and all under the guidance of Samuel Papanekis, whom they were expected to implicitly obey. They went up the fine river that passes by Norway House, until they entered into Lake Winnipeg. From this place they skirted around the north-western shore of this great lake, until they reached the mouth of the Saskatchewan River. Up this great river they had to row their beats against the current for many hundreds of miles. That summer was an exceedingly hot one, yet for weeks together these gallant fellows tugged away at their heavy oars. For a few short hours of rest during the night they anchored their boats in mid-stream, and then at first blush of morning they continued their journey. Wild beasts were sometimes seen walking on the shores or quenching their thirst in the river. The hunting instincts of the younger Indian boatmen were so strong that they begged to be allowed to fire; but Samuel, ever on the alert, and seeing the danger, always positively refused. When the Sabbaths came they anchored their boats as close together as possible near the middle of the river on some shoal or shallow spot, such as abound in this great river of shifting sand bars. Here they spent their quiet, restful days, having prayers and a couple of religious services each Sunday. Ere they reached the place where they were to deliver their precious cargoes, the river passed through many miles of the plague-stricken country. They could see on the shores the deserted wigwams, in which all the inmates had fallen victims to the fell destroyer, or had, panic- stricken, fled away. Very long seemed that summer, and great indeed was our solicitude, and many were our prayers for these noble men, from whom we did not hear a single word during the whole time of their absence. After being away for about ten weeks, they came back amidst a doxology of thanksgiving and gratitude. All of them were happy and in vigorous health, with the exception of the guide. The strain and anxiety upon him had been too much, and he was never the same man after. The others said, "Samuel seemed to be everywhere, and to watch every movement with almost sleepless vigilance." Realising how great the responsibilities were upon him, he determined, if untiring devotion to his work would enable him to rescue those suffering whites, and then return with his large brigade uncontaminated by the disease, it should be done. He succeeded, but at the price of his own life, for he only came home to linger a while and then to die. His indomitable will-power kept him up until he saw the last boat safely moored in our quiet harbour, and witnessed the loving greetings between his stalwart crews and their happy families. He joined with us all in the blessed thanksgiving service in our overflowing sanctuary, where with glad hearts we sang together: "And are we yet alive, And see each other's face? Glory and praise to Jesus give For His redeeming grace: Preserved by power Divine To full salvation here, Again in Jesu's praise we join, And in His sight appear." Then he began to droop and wither, and in spite of all that we, or the kind Hudson's Bay officials, who were very much attached to him, could do for him, he seemed almost visibly to slip away from us. By-and-by the end drew near. It was a beautiful day, and as he had some difficulty in breathing, at his own request a wigwam was prepared, and he was well wrapped up and gently lifted out of his house and placed upon a bed of balsam boughs covered with robes. He seemed grateful for the change, and appeared a little easier for a time. We talked of Jesus, and heaven, and "the abundant entrance," and "the exceeding great and precious promises." Then he dropped off in a quiet slumber. Soon after, he awoke with a consciousness that the time of his departure had come, and laid himself out to die. Bending over him, I said, "Samuel, this is death that has come for you! Tell me how it is with you." His hearing had partly left him, and so he did not understand me. Speaking more loudly I said, "Samuel, my brother, you are in the Valley of the Shadow of Death; how is it with you?" His eye brightened, and his look told me he had understood my question. He lifted up his thin, emaciated arm, and, seeming to clasp hold of something, he said, "Missionary, I am holding on to God; He is my all of joy and hope and happiness." Then the arm fell nerveless, and my triumphant Indian brother was in the Better Land. Perhaps I cannot find a better place than here to refer to Samuel's widow and children, and an interview I had with them. They moved away, shortly after his death, from his house in the Mission village, and took up their abode with several other families up the river beyond the Fort, several miles from the village. We had visited them and substantially aided them up to the time of their moving away, but for a while I had not met them, except at the services, and so did not know how they were prospering. When the cold winter set in, I arranged with my good Brother Semmens that we would take our dog-trains and go and make pastoral visits among all the Indian families on the outskirts, and find out how they were prospering, temporally and spiritually. It was ever a great joy to them when we visited them, and by our inquiries about their fishing and hunting, and other simple affairs, showed we were interested in these things, and rejoiced with them when they could tell of success, and sympathised with them when they had met with loss or disaster. Then they listened reverently when we read from the blessed Word, and prayed with them in their humble homes. One bitterly cold day towards evening we drove up to a very poor little house. We knocked at the door, and in answer to a cheery "Astum,"--the Indian for "Come in,"--we entered the little abode. Our hearts sank within us at the evidences of the poverty of the inmates. The little building was made of poplar logs, the interstices of which were filled up with moss and clay. The floor was of the native earth, and there was not a piece of furniture in the abode, not a table, chair, or bedstead. In one corner of the room was an earthen fireplace, and, huddled around a poor fire in it, there sat a widow with a large family of children, one of whom was a cripple. We said a few words of kindly greeting to the family, and then, looking round on the destitute home, I said sorrowfully, "Nancy, you seem to be very poor; you don't seem to have anything to make you happy and comfortable." Very quickly came the response,--and it was in a very much more cheery strain than my words had been,-- "I have not got much, but I am not unhappy, Missionary." "You poor creature," I replied, "you don't seem to have anything to make you comfortable." "I have but little," she said quietly. "Have you any venison?" "No!" "Have you any flour?" "No!" "Have you any tea?" "Have you any potatoes?" When this last question of mine was uttered, the poor woman looked up at me, for she was the widow of Samuel Papanekis, and this was her answer: "I have no potatoes, for, don't you remember, at the time of potato planting Samuel took charge of the brigade that went up with provisions to save the poor white people? And Samuel is not here to shoot deer, that I may have venison; and Samuel is not here to catch mink and marten and beaver and other things to exchange for flour and tea." "What have you got, poor woman?" I said with my heart full of sorrow. She replied, "I have got a couple of fish-nets." "What did you do when it was too stormy to visit the nets?" "Sometimes some of the men from the other houses visited them for me, and would bring me the fish. Then we sometimes get some by fishing through the ice." "What about when it was too stormy for any one to go?" She quietly said, "If nothing were left, we go without anything." As I looked at her and her large family of fatherless children, and then thought of her husband's triumphant death, and his glorious transfer to that blest abode, where "they shall hunger no more, neither thirst any more," and where "God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes," the contrast between the husband and father in his felicity, and the sorrow of the widow and children in their poverty, so affected me that, to hide my emotion and keep back my tears, I hurried out of the room, following my loving Brother Semmens, who was, if possible, more deeply moved than I was. We had gone into that house to pray, but we could not. There must be tangible sympathy given ere we could look to a higher source. My brother had reached the cariole, which was a few yards away, and I was not far behind, when the word, "Ayumeaookemou," ("Praying master,") arrested my hurrying steps. I turned back, and there, just outside of the door, was Nancy. With a woman's quick intuition to read the feelings of the heart from the face and voice, she had followed me out, and her words, as nearly as I can recall them, were these: "Missionary, I do not want you to feel so badly for me; it is true I am very poor; it is true, since Samuel died, we have often been hungry and have often suffered from the bitter cold; but, Missionary," and her face had no trace of sorrow upon it, "you have heard me say that as Samuel gave his heart to God, so have I given God my heart, and He Who comforted Samuel and helped him, so that he died so happily, is my Saviour; and where Samuel has gone, by-and-by I am going too; and that thought makes me happy all the day long." There came a blessed exultation into my soul, but I could find no answer then. So I hurried on and joined my weeping brother, and shouting, "Marchez!" to our dogs, we were soon rapidly speeding over the icy trail to our Mission home. That night our bed was a blanket thinner, and on our limited supplies there was a heavy drain. I told the Indians who were better off about her straitened condition, and she and hers were made more comfortable. Many of them gave very generously indeed to help her. The grace of liberality abounds largely among these poor Christian Indians, and they will give to the necessities of those who are poorer than themselves until it seems at times as though they had about reached the same level. The triumphant death of Samuel, and then Nancy's brave words, very much encouraged us in our work. We could not but more than rejoice at the Gospel's power, still so consciously manifested to save in the Valley of the Shadow of Death, and also to make a humble log-cabin a little heaven below. We pitied her in her poverty, and yet soon after, when we had thought it all over in the light of eternity, we could only rejoice with her, and in our spirits say, "Happy woman! Better live in a log hut without a chair or table or bedstead, without flour or tea or potatoes, entirely dependent upon the nets in the lake for food, if the Lord Jesus is a constant Guest, than in a mansion of a millionaire, surrounded by every luxury, but destitute of His presence." It is a matter of great thankfulness that not only spiritually but temporally thousands of the Indians in different parts of Canada are improving grandly. The accompanying picture (page 209) is from a photograph taken at the Scugog Lake Indian Mission. The fine barn, well filled with wheat, as well as all the surrounding vehicles and agricultural implements, belong to one of the Christian Indians. CHAPTER SIXTEEN. A RACE FOR LIFE IN A BLIZZARD STORM--SAVED BY THE MARVELLOUS INTELLIGENCE OF JACK--"WHERE IS THE OLD MAN, WHOSE HEAD WAS LIKE THE SNOW-DRIFT?" Blizzard storms sometimes assailed us, as on the long winter trails, with our gallant dogs and faithful companions, we wandered over those regions of magnificent distances. To persons who have not actually made the acquaintance of the blizzard storms of the North-Western Territories, or Wild North Land, it is almost impossible to give a satisfactory description. One peculiarity about them, causing them to differ from other storms, is that the wind seems to be ever coming in little whirls or eddies, which keep the air full of snow, and make it almost impossible to tell the direction from which the wind really comes. With it apparently striking you in the face, you turn your back to it, and are amazed at finding that it still faces you. Once, when on Lake Winnipeg, we saw one coming down upon us. Its appearance was that of a dense fog blowing in from the sea. Very few indeed are they who can steer their course correctly in a blizzard storm. Most people, when so unfortunate as to be caught in one, soon get bewildered, and almost blinded by the fine, dry, hard particles of snow which so pitilessly beat upon them, filling eyes, nose, and even ears and mouth, if at all exposed. Once, when crossing Lake Winnipeg, to visit some wild Indians, whom we found on our arrival in the midst of the hideous ceremonies of a dog feast, I got caught in a terrible storm. My men had gone on ahead with all the dogs, to have dinner ready in the camp on the distant shore, leaving me miles behind, tramping along on snow-shoes. Down from the north, with terrific fury, came the gale. I tramped on as rapidly as possible, until I got bewildered. Then I took off one of my snow-shoes, and, fastening it in a hole cut in the ice, I got ready to tramp in a small circle around it to keep from freezing to death, when fortunately I heard the welcome whooping of my Indians, who, seeing my danger, had quickly turned round, and risking their own lives for mine, for they could have reached the woods and shelter, aided by the dogs, had fortunately reached me. There we stopped for hours, until the blizzard had spent its fury, and then on we went. I had a remarkable experience in a blizzard, which I will more fully describe, as our escape was under Providence so much indebted to my wonderful dog Jack. I had started on one of my long winter trips to visit the few little bands of Indians who were struggling for an existence on the Eastern coast of Lake Winnipeg, and who were always glad to welcome the Missionary, and to hear from him of the love of the Great Spirit, and of His Son Jesus Christ. Their country is very wild and rough, very different from the beautiful prairie regions of the North-West. To keep down expenses, which in those Northern Missions are very heavy, I had started out on this long trip with only this young Indian lad as my companion. But as he was good and true, I thought we could succeed, since I had been several years in the country, and had faced many a wintry storm, and slept many nights in the snow. We had with us two splendid trains of dogs. My leader was a lively, cunning Esquimaux dog, as white as snow. His name was Koona, which is the Indian word for "snow"; and he was well named. The other three dogs of my train were my favourites from Ontario. Two of them were gifts from Senator Sanford, of Hamilton; the other was kindly sent to me by Dr Mark, of Ottawa. The other train, driven by Alec, was composed of some sagacious St. Bernards obtained for me by the kindness of Mr Ferrier, of Montreal. The largest and most enduring of the eight was Jack from Hamilton, whose place was second in my train, and who is to be the hero of this adventure. We had left our camp-fire in the woods early in the morning, and, turning our faces towards the north, had hoped that ere the shadows of night had fallen around us, at least sixty miles of the frozen surface of Lake Winnipeg would have been travelled over. For a time we were able to push on very rapidly, keeping the distant points of headlands well in view for our guidance. Lake Winnipeg is very much indented with bays, and in travelling we do not follow the coast line, but strike directly across these bays from point to point. Some of them run back for many miles into the land, and several of them are from ten to thirty miles wide. The dogs get so accustomed to these long trips and to their work, that they require no guide to run on ahead, but will, with wonderful intelligence, push on from point to point with great exactness. On and on we had travelled for hours; the cold was very great, but we could easily jump off from our dog-sleds and run until we felt the glow and warmth of such vigorous exercise. After a while, we noticed that the strong wind which had arisen was filling the air with fine dry snow, and making travelling very difficult and unpleasant. Soon it increased to a gale, and we found ourselves in a real North-West blizzard on stormy Lake Winnipeg, many miles from shore. Perhaps our wisest plan would have been, at the commencement of the storm, to have turned sharply to the east, and got into the shelter of the forest as quickly as possible. But the bay we were crossing was a very deep one, and the headland before us seemed as near as the other end of the bay; and so we thought it best to run the risk and push on. That we might not get separated from each other, I fastened what we call the tail rope of my sled to the collar of the head dog of Alec's train. After Alec and I had travelled on for several hours, no sign of any land appearing, we began to think that the fickle blizzard was playing us one of its tricks, and that we had wandered far out into the lake. We stopped our dogs out there in the blinding, bewildering storm. "Alec!" I shouted, "I am afraid we are lost." "Yes, Missionary," he replied, "we are surely lost." We talked about our position, and both had to confess that we did not really know where we were or which way we ought to go. The result of our deliberation was that we could do no better than trust in the good Providence above us, and in our dogs before us. As it was now after midday, and the vigorous exercise of the last few hours had made us very hungry, we opened our provision bag, and, taking out some frozen food, made a fairly good attempt to satisfy the keen demands of appetite. We missed very much the good cup of hot black tea we should have had if we had been fortunate enough to reach the shore, and find some wood with which to make a fire. After our hasty meal we held a short consultation, in which the fact became more and more evident to us, that our position was a very perilous one, as we were becoming blinded by the driving particles of fine snow that stung our eyeballs and added much to our bewilderment. We found that we did not know east from west, or north from south, and would have to leave the dogs to decide on their own course, and let them go in any direction they pleased. I had a good deal of confidence in my dogs, as I had proved their sagacity. To Jack, the noblest of them all, I looked to lead us out of our difficulty; and he did not disappoint our expectations. I suppose I acted and talked to my dog in a way that some folks would have considered very foolish. When travelling regularly, the dogs are only fed once a day, and that when the day's work is done. However, it was different that day, as in the blinding gale Alec and I tried to eat our dinner. As Jack and the others crowded around us, they were not neglected, and with them we shared the food we had, as there was a great uncertainty whether another meal would ever be required by any one of us. As usual in such emergencies, Jack had come up close to me, and so, while he and Alec and I, and the rest of us, men and dogs, were eating our dinners, I had a talk with him. "Jack, my noble fellow," I said, "do you know that we are lost, and that it is very doubtful whether we shall ever see the Mission House again? The prospect is that the snow will soon be our winding sheet, and that loving eyes will look in vain for our return. The chances are against your ever having the opportunity of stretching yourself out on the wolf rug before the study fire. Rouse up yourself, old dog, for in your intelligence we are going to trust to lead us to a place of safety." The few arrangements necessary for the race were soon made. Alec wrapped himself up as comfortably as possible in his rabbit-skin robe, and I helped him to ensconce himself securely on his dog-sled. I tied a rope from the end of my sled to the collar of his leader dog, so that our trains might not get separated. Then I straightened out the trains, and, wrapping myself up as well as I could on my sled, I shouted "Marchez!" to the dogs. I had as leader dog the intelligent white Esquimaux, "Koona." As I shouted the word for "Go," Koona turned his head and looked at me, as though bewildered, and seemed to be waiting for "Chaw" or "Yee," the words for "right" and "left." As I did not know myself, I shouted to Jack, who was second in the train, "Go on, Jack, whichever way you like, and do the best you can, for I do not know anything about it." As Koona still hesitated, Jack, with all the confidence imaginable, dashed off in a certain direction, and Koona with slackened traces ran beside him, very willing in such an emergency to give him all the honour of leadership. For hours the dogs kept bravely to their work. The storm raged and howled around us, but not for one moment did Jack hesitate or seem to be at fault. Koona had nothing to do but run beside him; but the other two splendid dogs in the traces behind Jack seemed to catch his spirit, and nobly aided him by their untiring efforts and courage. The cold was so intense that I had grave fears that we should freeze to death. We were obliged so to wrap ourselves up that it was impossible with so much on us to run with any comfort, or to keep up with the dogs whilst going at such a rapid rate. Frequently would I shout back to my comrade, "Alec! don't go to sleep. Alec, if you do, you may never wake up until the Judgment morning." Back would come his response, "All right, sir; then I'll try to keep awake." Thus on we travelled through that wintry storm. How cold, how relentless, how bitter were the continuous blasts of the north wind! After a while the shadows of night fell upon us, and we were enshrouded in the darkness. Not a pleasant position was that in which we were situated; but there was no help for it, nor any use in giving way to despondency or despair. A sweet peace filled my soul, and in a blessed restfulness of spirit my heart was kept stayed upon God. While there is life there is hope; and so, with an occasional shout of warning to Alec to keep awake, and a cheering call to the dogs, who required no special urging, so gallantly were they doing their work, we patiently hung on to our sleds and awaited the result. We were now in the gloom of night, dashing along I knew not where, and not even able at times to see the dogs before us. About three hours after dark the dogs quickened their pace into a gallop, and showed by their excitement that they had detected evidences of nearness to the shore and safety, of which as yet I knew nothing. Soon after they dragged us over a large pile of broken ice and snow, the accumulations of ice cut out of the holes in the lake, where the Indian families had for months obtained their supply of water for cooking and other purposes. Turning sharply on the trail towards the shore, our dogs dashed along for a couple of hundred yards more; then they dragged us up a steep bank into the forest, and, after a few minutes more of rapid travelling, we found ourselves in the midst of a little collection of wigwams, and among a band of friendly Indians, who gave us a cordial welcome, and rejoiced with us at our escape from the storm, which was the severest of the year. We had three days of religious services with them, and then went on our way from encampment to encampment. Very glad were the poor people to see us, and with avidity did they receive the word preached. I felt that it was very slow work. My Circuit or Mission-field was larger than all England. I was the only Missionary of any Church in this large field. By canoe or dog-train I could only get around to all my appointments or out-stations twice a year. Six months the poor souls had to wait for the messenger and the message. At one of these Indian encampments on one of these visits I had the following sad experience. Before I closed the first service I asked, "Where is the old man whose head was like the snow-drift?" for I had missed a white-haired old man, who had ever been at all the services, and had from the time of his conversion manifested the greatest anxiety to hear and learn all he could about this great salvation. At first he had opposed me, and was annoyed at my coming among his people. Ultimately, however, he became convinced of the error of his ways, and was an earnest, decided Christian. When I arrived at his village, whether by canoe in summer, or dog-train in winter, I was always received by this venerable old man with great delight. Not satisfied with attending all the services held, and being at hand whenever I taught the Syllabic Characters, that the Indians might be able to read the blessed Word, he used to follow me like my shadow, and listen very attentively to all I had to say. It was rather startling, indeed, when one night, after a hard day of preaching and teaching and counselling, I kneeled down to pray, ere I wrapped myself up in my camp-bed to get a little rest, to hear whispered in quiet tones beside me, "Missionary, pray in Indian, and so loud that I can hear you." In the morning he was there again, and as I bowed to say my quiet morning prayers there came into my ears from this old man the pleading words again, "Missionary, please pray in Indian, and pray out loud, so that I may hear what you say." Is it any wonder that I became very much attached to my old friend with the snow-white hair, who was so hungering and thirsting for the teachings of the Word? Only twice a year could I then visit him and his people. I used to remain a few days at each of these visits, and very busy ones indeed they were. For six months these poor sheep in the wilderness had been without the Gospel, and as soon as I left they would have to get along as well as they could on what they had heard. Now that they had, under the good Spirit's influence, a longing desire to receive the truth, can any one wonder at their anxiety to learn all they could from the Missionary during his short stay among them? This intense desire on their part filled my heart with thankfulness, and amply compensated for all the sufferings and hardships of the long, cold, dangerous journeys. On my arrival at this place, as usual, the Indians had crowded around to welcome me. I was disappointed at not seeing my old friend. So it was that at our first meeting, held as soon as possible after my arrival, I asked the question, "Where is the old man whose head was like the snow- drift?" To my question there was no response, but every head was bowed as in grief and sorrow. Again I asked: "Tell me, what have you done with the old man with the snow-white hair?" Then there was a little whispering among them, and one of them, speaking out softly, said in the Cree language, "Non pimmatissit;" the English of which is, "He is not among the living." The poor Indians, who have not as yet come to understand that death is a conquered foe, never like to use the word; and so, when speaking of those who have gone, they say they are "not among the living." When in this expressive way I learned that my old friend was dead, my heart was filled with sorrow, as I saw also were theirs. After a little pause I said, "Tell me how he died." At first there was a great deal of reluctance to answer this question; but when they saw I was not only anxious but resolved to know all about it, they took me into a wigwam where most of his relatives were, and there a young man, a grandson, got up and told me this pathetic story. He said: "Missionary, you had not been long gone with your canoe last summer before Mismis," (the Indian word for "grandfather"), "got very sick, and after some weeks he seemed to know that he was going to leave us. So he called us all around him, and said a great many things to us. I cannot remember them all, as he spoke many times; but I do remember that he said, `how I wish the Missionary would soon come again to talk to me and comfort me! But he is far away, and my memory is bad, and I have forgotten what he used to say to me. My body is breaking up, and so also is my memory getting bad. Tell him his coming was like the sunlight on the waters; but it was so seldom that he came that all in my mind has got so dark, and my memory is so bad, that I have forgotten all he used to say to me. The good things he used to tell us about the Good Spirit and His Son, and what we ought to do, have slipped away from me. O that he were here to help me! Tell him, as long as I was able; I used to go up to the point of land that runs out into the lake, and watch if I could see his canoe returning. But it came not. Tell him I have, since the winter set in, listened for the sound of the bells on his dog- trains. But I have not heard them. O that he were here to help me! He is far away; so get me my old drum and medicine bag, and let me die as did my fathers. But you, young people, with good memories, who can remember all the Missionary has said to you, listen to his words, and worship the Great Spirit and His Son, as he tells you, and do not do as I am doing!' "Then, as we saw his mind was weak, or he would not have asked for his old things, we got him the old drum, and put it before him where he was sitting upon the ground. We also hung up a medicine bag before him in the wigwam, and he drummed. As he drummed he fell, and as he fell he died. But his last words were to the young people with good memories to be sure and listen to the Missionary, and to give up all their old Indian sinful paganism." When the young man ceased and sat down again, a deep silence fell upon us all, as there we were huddled that cold, stormy day in that little bark tent. An occasional sob from some sorrowing relative was the only sound heard for several minutes. My own heart was deeply affected when they told me these and other things, which I cannot now call up, about the old Indian's death. After a while I broke the silence by saying, "Where have you buried him?" They showed me the place. It was where his wigwam had stood. So terrible is the power of the Frost King in that land in winter, that to dig a grave out in the open places is like cutting through a granite rock. And so in his tent, where burned his fire, thus keeping the ground unfrozen, there they dug his grave and buried him. The wigwam was removed, and soon the fierce storms swept over the place, and the snow fell deeply upon it, and there was nothing to indicate that there, so shortly before, had been a human habitation. When they had pointed out the place where, underneath the snow-drift, rested all that was mortal of my old friend, I lingered until the Indians had sought the shelter of their wigwams from the bitter cold, and then all alone, except with Him Who hears His people's cry, I knelt down in the snow and prayed, or tried to pray. But I could only weep out my sorrow as I thought of this old man's precious soul passing into eternity under such strange circumstances. With his waning strength he exhorted his loved ones to be Christians, and yet he himself was performing some of the foolish and unmeaning rites of paganism, not because he had much faith in them, but because there was no Missionary or teacher to keep in his memory the story of Jesus and His wondrous love! Never before did the wants and woes of the weary, waiting, wailing millions of earth's perishing ones rise up so vividly as I knelt there in the snow. Before me, through my blinding tears, I seemed to see them pass in dense array,--a dark world, to be illumined; an enslaved world, to be set free; a sinful world, to be made holy; a redeemed world, to be saved. In a spirit that perhaps savoured too much of unbelief I cried out, "How long, O Lord, how long? Why do Thy chariot wheels delay?" Saving me from further gloom, came some of the sweet promises of the Word: and so I prayed for their speedy fulfilment. Earnestly did my feeble petitions ascend, that the time would soon come when not only all the poor Indians of the great North-West, but also all the unnumbered millions of earth's inhabitants who are going down from the darkness of paganism and superstition to the darkness of the grave, might soon have faithful teachers to whisper in their ears the story of the Cross, and point them to the world's Redeemer. Making all the visits we had arranged for that trip, we returned home. Months after, when the packet arrived from Manitoba, the sad news, that had so filled the Church with sorrow, of the death of the heroic George McDougall reached us. Out on the wild prairies he had been caught in a blizzard storm. Horse and man seem to have become bewildered, and there the noble Missionary to the Indians on the great plains laid himself down to die, and his frozen body was not found until after fourteen days of diligent search. After my dear wife and I had read the story, and talked and wept about his death, so sad, so mysterious, so inscrutable, she said to me, "Where were you during that week?" The journal was searched, and we were not a little startled at finding that the race for life we have in this chapter described was in all probability on the same day as that on which the Reverend George McDougall perished. CHAPTER SEVENTEEN. WORK OUTSIDE THE PULPIT--POLYGAMY AND ITS EVILS--FAMILY RE- ARRANGEMENTS--DANGEROUS WORK AT TIMES--PRACTICAL PASTORAL DUTIES--A FISH SERMON--FIVE MEN WON TO CHRIST. While the blessed work of preaching "the glorious Gospel of the Son of God" was ever recognised as the most important of our duties, and we were permitted to rejoice that, as in Paul's time, still "it pleased God by the foolishness of preaching to save them that believe," yet there was a great deal to be done outside of the pulpit ere these Indians could shake off the fetters of a degrading paganism with its attendant evils. The slavish fear of the old conjurers deterred some from openly avowing themselves as willing to accept the truths of Christianity. Others were polygamists, and were unwilling to comply with the Scriptural requirements. To have several wives is considered a great honour in some of the tribes. For a man to separate from all but one is to expose himself to ridicule from his pagan friends, and also to the danger of incurring the hostility of the relations of the discarded wives. Some of the most perplexing and trying duties of my missionary life have been in connection with this matter of re-organising, on a Christian basis, the families of once heathen polygamists, who, desirous to do what was right, have left the matter entirely in my hands. At first my convictions and views were that the first wife should always be the one to remain with the man, and the others should go away. Like all the other Missionaries in the country, I had to modify these ideas, and decide differently in some peculiar cases. For example, a man came to me who was much impressed by the truth, and desired to be a Christian. I questioned him closely, and found him very sincere and earnest in his resolves. The Spirit was undoubtedly working in his heart and conscience. He told us he had two wives, but was willing to put one away. Which one should go, he said he would leave to the Missionary to decide. His first wife was much the older woman, but she had no children, while the younger wife had quite a family of little ones around her. So poor are they in this cold northern land that it is hard for the best of them at times to get along. Very sad is the condition of the widow, or those women who have no able-bodied men as husbands, fathers, or sons, to hunt and work for them. Worse still is it if they have helpless little children to be cared for. So the decision we came to was, that the wife with the family of little ones should remain with the man, and the one who had no children should leave him. We tried to arrange that a certain quantity of help should be rendered to the wife, or wives, put away by the husband. But we found that there was a certain amount of danger in this, the nature of which will be evident to the reader; and so, while we insisted on the one or more who left receiving as large a share as possible of the man's "worldly goods," we endeavoured to make the separation complete and final. To help those who for conscience sake thus acted was often a very heavy tax upon our limited means. Often the women themselves were the first to insist on a change from the old polygamous style, which, they were quick to see very soon after the Gospel was proclaimed to them, was antagonistic to its teachings. There was one most thrilling case that moved our hearts, and yet caused us to rejoice, for it showed us the depth of the religious convictions which impelled them to have the matter set right, even though one must be cast out and exposed to the ridicule of her heathen friends, and to the loss of a fairly good-natured husband, considering his pagan surroundings. Two women came to our Mission House, and asked to have a talk with my good wife and myself. After talking about different things, at length they told us, with much trepidation, that they had attended our services, and had a great desire in their hearts to become Christians. We found they were the two wives of an Indian whose wigwam had been pitched in our vicinity a few weeks before. These women and others had quietly come to our services at the church, and their hearts and consciences had been touched by the truth. We had had some experiences on these lines, and so with entire strangers we had learned to be a little cautious. In that country, as well as in civilised lands, it is sometimes a dangerous matter to interfere in the domestic affairs of other people. So we questioned them closely, and found that they were resolved to have the matter settled. I asked them if they had spoken to their husband about it, and they answered in the affirmative; also that he had left it to them to settle which should go, as he likewise had begun to think they ought to live as the Christian Indians did. We asked them what they wanted us to do, and they said that they had decided that they would leave the matter to the Missionary and his wife, and whichever we thought ought to leave, would go away, and try to get her own living. They returned to their wigwam, and with the consent of their husband made an equal division of the few things which constituted their possessions, such as nets, traps, blankets, kettles, and axes. Then, accompanied by their children, they came again to our house, and sat down apart from each other, and patiently awaited our decision. My wife and I deeply felt the responsibility of deciding; yet, as it had come to us because of the awakening of their hearts to desire a better life, we could not do otherwise than accept the situation, and do the best we could. We had talked the matter over, and had asked Divine guidance; and so now, when summoned to give our decision, we quickly but kindly said to the woman with five children, "You are to stay with your husband;" and to the other woman, who had four children, we said, "You are not to return to the wigwam, but must be from this hour as an entire stranger to it." The first woman sprang up, her eyes flashing with joy, and gathering her children and property around her she uttered her hasty words of farewell, and was gone. For a few moments the other woman, who had drawn her blanket over her head, remained perfectly still, with the exception of a suppressed sob, which seemed to make the whole body quiver. Soon, with that wonderful will-power which these Indian women, as well as the men, possess, she appeared to have obtained the mastery over herself again, and, uncovering her head, she began to make preparations for leaving. As she turned her large black eyes dimmed with tears towards us, while there was no malice in them, there was a despairing sorrow that pierced us like a knife. She seemed to see the lonely, neglected, contemned, suffering life before her; but she had counted the cost, and had taken the step for conscience' sake, and she would not flinch now. We entered into conversation with her, and it seemed almost cruel that we, who had given a decision that had shut up against her the only home she had, should begin to talk to her about where she would go and what she would do. She told us she did not know where to go or what to do. Her husband had bought her from her father, but he was dead; and as her girlhood home was far away, and she had not been there since her husband took her away, she knew nothing about any of her relatives. But even if she did, and could find some of them, it was very likely they would treat her with contempt, and perhaps persecute her. So she had not the slightest idea as to the future. Need I write that our hearts were full of sorrow, and we saw that this was a case which must have help, no matter how straitened might be our financial circumstances! We had but lately read the story of the little oil in the cruse, and the handful of meal in the barrel; and so this woman and her children must be helped. While Mrs Young fed them and talked kindly to them, I went out and got some of my Christian Indians together, and we talked the matter over, and then took off our coats and went to work, and made her a wigwam for the present, as it was in the pleasant summer-time. A canoe was obtained for her, and her nets were set where white fish could be caught readily. She was an industrious woman, willing to do everything she could; and so, with the help we gave her and the tangible sympathy manifested by the Christian Indians, she took heart and got along very well, and became a good Christian woman. As the result of the looseness of the marriage tie in their old sinful lives, we found many strange complicated tangles, some of which it was impossible to straighten. To deal with some of them would have caused endless difficulty, without any possibility of improving matters. To refuse to interfere gave offence to some, who, I am afraid, were more pharisaical than wise. Here, for example, was one case. A couple had been married years ago. After living together for several years and having three children, the man went off to Red River as a boatman for the Hudson's Bay Company. Delayed there for a time, he married a wife in the Indian settlement, and made that place his home, only returning with his second family about the time I went there. His first wife, a year or two after he left, not hearing from him, married another man, who supposed she was a widow, and they had several bright, interesting children. As the result of the faithful preaching of the Word, these families were converted, and became good Christians. They felt keenly their position, but, after pondering it over and listening to many solutions, I gave it up; and as the two families were living happily, I left them as I had found them. Paganism, not Christianity, was responsible for the difficulty. At Nelson River I was accosted one day by an old man, who said he had listened carefully to what I had said, and wanted to become a Christian and be baptised. I was very much pleased with his talk, but, suspecting him to be a polygamist, I asked him as to the number of his wives. His answer was that he had four. I had a long conversation with him as to our views, and explained to him the teachings of God's Word, and candidly told him that I could not baptize him until he put three of them away. He seemed grieved at my decision, and said that he did want to be a Christian, but he and his wives were getting old, and they had got along fairly well; and now if he went and told them what he would have to do, he was afraid there would be trouble. As I saw the man was really in earnest, and it was evident that the good Spirit was working upon his heart, I encouraged him to make the effort, and I told him everything would work out all right. He went to his large tent, and, getting his large family around him,-- for three of these wives had stalwart sons,--he told them of his desire to become a Christian, and what he would have to do before the Missionary would consent to baptize him. At once there was a "row." The women began to wail, and the sons, who generally treated their mothers with neglect and indifference, now declared, with a good deal of emphasis, that their mothers should not be sent away, and thus degraded in the eyes of the people. From what I afterwards learned, there must have been a rough time. At length one of the sons spoke up and said, "Who is causing us all this trouble?" The answer was, "Why, it is the Missionary, whom we have all heard, and who refuses to baptize our father unless he puts away all of his wives but one." "Let us go for that Missionary," said several of them, and seizing their arms, they came for me. Fortunately for me I was outside of the trading post on the green, and saw them coming, and, not liking their suspicious movements, and imagining the cause, I speedily decided on my course of action. Calling one of my reliable Christian Indians, I went quickly towards them, and, ignoring their angry looks, I began talking to them as though we were the best of friends. Something like the following were my words to them:-- "Men, you have heard me talk to you out of the great Book. You have listened attentively. You are thinking about what I have said to you. I wish we could do something, or find out some way, by which you and your mothers and father could all resolve together to give up the old bad life, and accept the new one, and become Christians together. I have been thinking it over since I had a little talk with your father, and I have a plan that I think will work well." While I went on in this way, they listened attentively; and when I came to mention a plan by which the difficulty could be overcome, the wicked looks began to fade from their eyes, for they were not anxious to kill me if any other solution of the difficulty could be found. They were eager to know what I had to suggest, and listened very attentively when I told them it would not be humiliating to any one. I told them I was pleased to find some young men who were willing to stand up for their mothers, while the great majority treated them worse than they did their dogs. My suggestion was, that the sons of each mother should form a wigwam of their own, and take their own mother with them and care for her. They were good hunters and strong men, and could do well. Then I added, "Let your father remain with the wife who has no children, no strong sons or daughters. Do this, and the Great Spirit will be pleased, and when you are further instructed there will be nothing to prevent you all being baptized and becoming Christians together." They were much pleased with the suggestion, and went away to talk it over. I did not succeed in getting the scheme immediately carried out, but my successor, the devoted and heroic Reverend John Semmens, was so successful in following up the work thus begun, that these Indians, with many scores of others, have become sincere, consistent Christians. Various were the plans adopted by my zealous, devoted wife and myself to help the people up to a better and happier life. In their old ways there were but few efforts made by the women to keep their homes neat and tidy, and their children or themselves clean. They had no encouragements to do anything of the kind. Kicked and cuffed and despised, there was left in them no ambition to do anything more than would save them from the rough treatment of those who considered themselves their lords and masters. The result was, when they became Christians, there was a great deal to learn ere their simple little homes could be kept decently, and in order. Fortunately, with a great many of them there was a desire to learn. A novel plan that we adopted, as one among many that did much good, was occasionally to go and dine with some of them. Our method was something like this. On the Sabbath from the pulpit I would announce that on Monday, if all was well, Mrs Young and I would dine with such a family, mentioning the name. On Tuesday we would dine with some one else, and on Wednesday with some other family, and so on for the week. This was, of course, the first intimation any of these families had received that, without waiting for an invitation, the Missionary and his wife were coming to dine with them. After service they waited to ask us if they could believe their own ears. "Yes, certainly," I replied. "Why, we have nothing to set before you but fish," they would say. "Never mind if you have but little; we will see to the food. All we are anxious for you to do is to have your little house as clean as you can possibly make it, and yourselves and children as clean and nice as possible." In this way we would talk to the half-frightened women, who were at first really alarmed at the prospect of having to entertain us; however, our words comforted them, and they went off delighted. Our plan was generally as follows. I would start off after breakfast and make several pastoral visits, or attend to some other matters, and so arrange my forenoon work that I should be able to reach the Indian home, where that day we had announced to dine, about noon. Mrs Young would have her own train of dogs harnessed up about ten o'clock. In her cariole she would put dishes, tablecloth, and provisions, with everything else requisite for a comfortable dinner considering our limited circumstances. A faithful young Indian acted as her dog-driver, and soon she and her load were at the home of the expectant family, who were all excitement at the coming of the Missionary and his wife. Very clean and tidy looked the little house and family. The floor had been scrubbed and rubbed until it could not be made whiter, and everything else was similarly polished up. As but very few of the houses had tables in those days, the floor was ever used as the substitute. On it the tablecloth was spread, and the dishes and knives and forks were arranged in order, and the dinner prepared. If the family had fish and potatoes, some of them would be cooked; but if not, sufficient was always taken in the cariole. We ever found it best to let them contribute to the dinner if they had abundance of either fish or potatoes. About the time I arrived dinner would be ready, and after cheering words of greeting to all, even to the fat papoose in the board cradle, we sat down, picnic style, on the floor to dinner. It would be called in civilised lands a plain dinner, and so it was; yet it was a feast to them, a banquet to us. Cheery conversation added to our enjoyment, and a very happy hour was thus spent. Then the Bible and hymn-books were brought out, and together we sang and read and talked about the blessed truths of that glorious Book. Then together we kneeled down, and "by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving" made our requests known to God; and to us came the sweet fulfilment, "the peace of God, which passeth all understanding," filled our hearts. I generally hurried off to other duties. Mrs Young directed in the washing of the dishes and in putting them away, and then helped the woman of the house in some things about which she was longing for assistance. Perhaps it was a dress to be cut out for herself, or some garments fitted on some of the girls, or other similar things too intricate or difficult for my obtuse mind to be able to grasp. Thus from house to house we would go, and by our presence and cheery words encourage them to become more industrious and tidy. Those families never forgot these visits. With many of them there was a marked change in their homes, and with many also there was a marked improvement in their religious life. Once, in preaching from the text, "Behold, I stand at the door, and knock: if any man hear My voice, and open the door, I will come in," I tried to describe the blessed Redeemer coming to our hearts and knocking for admittance. I told them, all He wanted was a welcome to come in. As they made their little houses so clean, and gave the Missionary and his wife such a welcome, so the Saviour asked us to drive all sin out, and give Him all the place. "Some of you said, `We cannot entertain the Missionary; we have no food, so there will be no dinner.' But the Missionary and his wife brought abundance, and there was a good dinner. Better far is it when Jesus comes. He spreads out the feast, and He invites us to sit down and feast with Him. O let Him in!" Such talks as these, after practical illustrations, opened many hearts to the Heavenly Guest. So many and importunate had been the pleading calls for visits to different places, to tell the wonderful story of the Great Spirit and his Son, and to teach the people to read His Book, that one year my canoe trip to Oxford House Mission had to be delayed until the summer was nearly ended. But my comrades were splendid fellows, and we started off in good spirits, anticipating a successful visit; and we were not disappointed. We preached several times to the Indians, and baptized a large number of children; some young couples were married, and we had a solemn and blessed time when celebrating the dying of the Lord Jesus. The Sacrament of the Lord's Supper is very much prized by the Indians, and the greatest reverence is always manifested during the service. The fellowship meeting was a very good one, and some of the testimonies given by the men and women, so happily rescued by the Gospel's power, were of great interest. When travelling, if the weather was good, we generally rose with the first blush of morn, and so were often on the way by four o'clock. Sometimes our route was across fine lakes, or along majestic rivers; and then we were in narrow, sluggish streams, that were destitute of beauty or interest. One morning our way was down a large river, on the shores of which the fog had settled, completely hiding us from land. The early morning air was invigorating, and so in unison we were plying our paddles vigorously, and rapidly speeding along. We had seen no signs of human beings for days, and so were surprised and startled when several reports of firearms in quick succession sounded sharp and clear through the fog on our right. Nothing was visible through the gloom, but we quickly hove to, and turned our canoe in the direction from which the _feu-de-joie_ had sounded. As we approached the shore human forms began to appear in ghostly outline, more and more distinct, until they resolved themselves into a company of Indians, who were delighted to see us, and had been on the look-out for days. They had come sixty miles from the interior, and had camped on that point jutting out into the river, for the purpose of having a visit from us as we passed. The fact that they detected us as we were passing was another evidence of the marvellous education, in certain lines, of these Indians. It was very early in the morning; our canoe was some hundreds of yards from the shore; a dense fog hid us completely from each other. All the noise we made was the dip of our paddles in the water. Yet these wide-awake, alert Indians heard that sound, and by the rapid firing of the guns drew us to them. We shared their hospitality, as they had abundance of game. We had service with them, married a young couple, baptized several children, and had a pleasant time. Then on we hurried, since the time of open navigation was drawing to a close, and we did not wish to be caught in the ice, and have to walk perhaps scores of miles with our bedding, provisions, kettles, axes, and other things strapped on our backs. We made the greater part of the return trip all right, had reached Harry Lake early in the forenoon, and were rapidly paddling out of the river which entered into it, when again we heard the report of guns. So anxious were we to get on that we hesitated about stopping. It was now later in the season than often in some other years. Fierce storms had raged, and the ice had formed on the lake and rivers. We were dreading these fierce fall storms, which come down very suddenly, and stir up those northern lakes, so that in a very short time where all was calm and still, great foam-crested waves go rushing madly by. The lake before us, into which we had just entered and which was several miles in diameter, was now as placid as a pond. To cross it now, as in wondrous beauty it spread before us, would be but a pleasure jaunt. The poetry of motion is to be found in the Indian's birch canoe, when the water is calm and the sky is clear. Cold-hearted prudence said, "Go on, and never mind those Indians' signals for you to land." Our better natures said, "They may be in need, and have good reason for asking you to stop. Perhaps you can do them good." So we turned the head of our canoe to the shore, and were soon alongside the rock on which we saw them standing. They were five hunters. Without getting out of the canoe, we asked why they had signalled to us to come ashore. Their answer was one we had often heard before. They were hungry, and wanted help. Finding they had only been a few days away from the Fort, where they had got supplies, I asked how it was that they were so badly off. Their reply was that they had unfortunately left their powder, which they were carrying in a canvas bag, out on the rock a few nights before. While they slept the rain came down upon them and ruined it, and so they could not shoot anything. I quickly said to one of my men, "How much food have we?" He examined our limited supply, and then said there was about one square meal. We found these men were pagan Indians, whom I had met before, and had talked with about becoming Christians; but all I could get from them was the characteristic Indian shrug of the shoulders, and the words, "As our fathers lived, so will we." Our dinner was the last of a bear we had shot a few days before. While it was cooking the storm which we feared began to gather, and ere our dinner was finished the lake looked very different from what it was an hour before. If we had not stopped, we could have easily got across it. As it was now, it would have been madness to have ventured out upon it. So we had to pull up our canoe, and there, as contentedly as possible, wait for the storm to cease. It raged furiously all that day and the next. The third day it began to moderate. What made it worse for us was the scarcity, or rather the entire absence, of food. We were unfortunately storm-bound in about the worst part of that country for game. It was so late in the season that the ducks and geese had gone south, the beaver and musk-rats were in their houses, and we could find nothing. On some of our trips we carried fishing-tackle, but this time we had nothing of the kind. Fortunately we had some tea and sugar. Without breakfast, dinner, or supper, we had to live on as best we could. Before we lay down to sleep there had to be a considerable tightening of the belts, or there would be no sleep at all, so keen were the gnawings of hunger. I found it helpful to sleep to roll up my towel as hard as possible, and then crowd it under my tight belt over the pit of my stomach. Nearly three days without food was no pleasant ordeal even in missionary work. We held several religious services, even though our congregation was a small one. We also found out that it was not at all helpful to piety to try to worship on an empty stomach, and have been ever since in great sympathy with these who would feed the poor first, and then preach to them. The third day one of the Indians, while walking along the shore, found the old bleached shoulder-blade of a bear. With his knife he carved out a rude fish-hook, and, taking the strings of his moccasins, and those of others, he formed a line. A piece of red flannel was used as bait, and a small stone served as a sinker. With this primitive arrangement he began fishing. His method was to stand on a rock and throw the hook out as far as his line would permit, and then draw it in rapidly, like trolling. Strange to say, with this rude appliance he caught a fish. It was a pike weighing six or eight pounds. Very quickly was it scaled, cleaned, and put in the pot. When cooked, about a third of it was put on my tin plate, and placed before me with these words: "Please, Missionary, eat." I looked at the hungry men around me and said, "No, that is not the way." And then I put back the third of the fish with the rest, and, taking out my hunting knife, I counted the company, and then cut the fish into eight pieces, and gave each man his eighth, and took an equal portion myself. It was right that I should thus act, and it seemed to be a little thing to do, but it was a sermon that led those five men to become Christians. As soon as they had finished their portions they lit their pipes, and as they smoked they talked; and as near as I and my men could make out, here is what they said: "We must listen with both ears to that Missionary. He is here without food, suffering from hunger, because he stopped to share with us his last meal. We caught a fish, and when we offered him a large piece he refused it, and divided equally with us all. He has been anxious to do us good and to have us to listen to his words. He has not once scolded us for asking him to stop, although he could have got across the lake before the storm arose, and, as the rest of the way is in the river, he could have gone on home. He has shown himself to be our friend, and we must listen to what he has to say." Thus they went on, and I must confess I paid but little attention to what they were saying. After a few hours more the storm went down, and we gladly embarked that evening in our canoe and pushed on. The next day we reached the Mission village of Rossville, making our last portage at Sea River Falls, near Norway House; and as we saw the fish and venison hanging on the stagings around the houses of the people, my patient fellows cried out, "We should like to laugh at the sight of food, but we are too empty altogether." We paddled the last mile as quickly as we had any other, and kept up our courage until we were home. As I entered the house, a strange faintness came over me, and all the welcome words I could give to my loved ones were, "My dear, we are starving; please get us some food." Then I sank down exhausted. Loving care from one of the best and bravest of wives quickly brought me round again, and I was soon ready to be off on another trip. The long winter passed away, and the welcome summer came at last. We have really very little of spring in that northern land. The transition from winter to summer is very rapid. With the disappearance of the ice from the lakes and rivers came the Indians in their birch canoes, from various quarters where they had spent the winter in trapping the fur- bearing animals. As usual they came to see the Missionary in goodly numbers. Among those who thus honoured us were five big men, who, after a few words of greeting, said, "We hope you have not forgotten the fish; we have not, and we want to have a talk with you." "Fish?" I said. "Why, we have fish twenty-one times a week, boiled, baked, fried, salt, dried,--good, bad, and indifferent. I have seen so many fishes, I cannot think of any one in particular." Then they told me about the long delay by the storm, when I had stopped and fed them, at the time when they had not kept their powder dry; and how, when one of them caught a fish and offered me a good-sized piece, I divided it equally among them. As they brought the incident back to my memory, for there were so many strange adventures occurring in the wild life that this one had partly faded, I said: "Yes, I now remember there did happen something of the kind." Very earnestly spoke up one of them and said: "We have never forgotten it, and all through the moons of the winter we have talked about it and your lessons out of the great Book. And while up to that time we had decided not to be Christians, but to die as did our fathers, we have changed our minds since that time you divided the fish, and we want you to teach us more and more of this good way." They were intensely in earnest and fully decided for Christ. So five more families settled down in the Christian village, and are giving evidence by their lives and conversation that the change wrought in them was real and abiding. Their conversion in this peculiar way was very cheering to us, and it was another lesson to be "instant in season, out of season." CHAPTER EIGHTEEN. EXPLORING NEW FIELDS--THE GOSPEL BEFORE TREATIES--BIG TOM'S NOBLE SPIRIT OF SELF-SACRIFICE. In 1873 I received a most urgent request from a deputation of Indians to go and visit a band of their countrymen who lived on the western side of Lake Winnipeg at a place called Jack Head. They were getting unsettled and uneasy in their minds in reference to their lands. Treaties were being made with other tribes, but nothing as yet had been done for them; and as surveyors and other white men had been seen in their country, they were suspicious, and wanted to know what they had better do. So, after many councils among themselves, they decided to send over into the land of the Crees and Salteaux for their Missionary to come and give them advice, in order that they too might make a treaty with the Government of the Queen. I felt much pleased on receiving this deputation; and as it would give me a grand opportunity to preach the Gospel to a people who had not as yet heard it, I consented to go. With two dog-trains, and accompanied by a couple of trusty Indians, we left the Eastern side of the great Lake Winnipeg about sunrise. We dug a hole in the snow at Pigeon Point, and there made a fire of some dry young willows, and enjoyed our breakfast. From that point we struck out in a south-west direction across the great lake. The day, although cold, was a very bright one. The ice was good, and our dogs were magnificent fellows; and so we sped along at a rapid rate. We reached a chain of little islands out in the middle of the lake early in the afternoon. On the shore of one of them we gathered some dry wood, cleared away the snow, made a fire, melted some snow, and made ourselves a good kettle of tea. This, with some pemmican and flat cakes, made us a capital dinner. From this island the western shore of the lake was just visible, over thirty miles away. Towards it we pushed as rapidly as possible, considering that one of our Indians was quite an old man. When within about three miles of the shore, the report of fire-arms reached our ears, telling us that the Indians had observed our coming. Our noble dogs seemed to rejoice at the sound as much as ourselves, and, well knowing that their day's journey of over sixty miles was nearly ended, changed their swinging trot into a gallop; and very soon we were at Jack head, and among its plumed and painted inhabitants, by whom we were received in a most extraordinary manner. At some other places where I have gone as the first Missionary who ever visited them, I have had two or three hundred men, women, and children trying to see who could be the first to kiss me; but here the reception was very different. Night was just falling upon us as we drew near the shore, but there was light enough to observe that the narrow trail, up from the lake into the dark recesses of the forest, along which we must pass with our dog-trains, was lined with men armed with guns. When we were about a hundred yards from them, the foremost ones began firing. This _feu-de-joie_ continued until we had reached them and had dashed through the lines of fire, for they continued loading and firing as rapidly as possible. Our ears were almost deafened with the continuous reports, and our nerves were somewhat tried, as the younger braves especially consider it great fun to fire off their heavy charges of powder as close to their visitors' heads as possible. But a well- singed fur cap was the only evidence of harm having been done. To increase the welcome, they courteously brought out for our special benefit the few English and French words of which they were masters. Some of them were most ludicrously out of place. It did require a good deal of nerve to keep my face straight when a grave and dignified chief, who wished to inquire politely as to my health, for the moment dropped his own language, and in good English said, "Does your mother know you're out?" I found out afterwards that a roguish fur-trader had taught him the expression, as a very polite one to use to distinguished strangers. We quickly unharnessed and fed our faithful dogs. We hung up in the trees our sleds and harness beyond the reach of the wolfish curs, which in large numbers prowled around. If they could get the opportunity, they would make short work of the deer-skin and raw-hide fastenings of the sleds, and the harness would entirely disappear, with perhaps the exception of the buckles. We waited until our big dogs had given a few of the most impudent and saucy of these brutes a good thrashing, so that there was some prospect of peace; and then, feeling that our outside work was attended to, and that the Indians had had time to get arranged in their council room, we went to the door, and were ceremoniously ushered in. The council house was a large square log building of much better construction than I had expected to see. It was without partitions, and was lighted by the brilliant council fire, and a number of fish oil lamps hanging from the walls. At the places of honour were seated the chiefs of the band. Their "thrones of state" were curiously woven mats of rushes made by the Indian women. Their head-dresses were gorgeous masses of feathers, and their costume was very picturesque. Some of them had not yet adopted the pantaloons of civilisation, but wore instead the scant leggings of native manufacture. From the chiefs on either side and extending around the room in circles, were the old men and warriors and hunters, ranged according to their rank and standing. Behind these were the young men and boys. All were seated on the ground, and all were silent, as I entered. The chiefs were fine-looking men, and there was that indescribable _hauteur_ now so rarely seen among this interesting people. Crowded out behind the men and boys, and in many places packed against the walls of the house, were the women and girls. While the men were in many instances well and often brilliantly dressed in their finery, the women and girls were wretchedly clothed, and miserable in appearance. The house was filled, with the exception of a small space reserved at the right hand of the principal chief for the visitors. With a good deal of ceremony we were escorted to our seats. For me they had obtained a little box, on which a fur robe was placed, as they said afterwards, that they had heard that white men cannot sit comfortably on the ground. On this I seated myself next to the chief, and my attendant Indians ranged themselves beside me. During the profound silence that lasted for several minutes after our entrance, I had a good opportunity to grasp the situation. I breathed an earnest prayer to God for the much-needed wisdom, and that I might here preach the Gospel in such a way that it might be understood and accepted by this people, the majority of whom had not as yet heard the glad tidings of salvation. Then I rose up and, addressing the chief, I said: "I have come at your request from across the great Winnipeg, to visit you and to meet you at your council fire. I will preach to you and discuss treaty matters with you, and will help you all I can with the Government. I want to find out your views about giving up your old paganism and becoming Christians. I also want to know how many children you have among you, and if you desire a school for them. So I am here for these reasons." When I sat down, the calumet, the pipe of peace, was gravely lit, and after the chief had puffed away at it, he handed it to me. As I have not as yet acquired the art of smoking, I adopted the plan of taking hold of the long stem, which is over a yard in length, by the middle. The result was that when my hand was near my mouth, the mouthpiece of the pipe was a foot or so behind my head. As previously arranged, one of my obliging Indians was always on hand to do my smoking. After the pipe ceremony was over, the chief began his address of welcome. He said a good many kind things, and told me of their anxieties as to their future and that of their children. The fire-canoe (the steamboat) was rushing through the waters, destroying their fisheries. The white hunters, with their fire guns and steel traps, were fast killing off the game. The surveyor was driving his lines of stakes into the ground, and the white people, more numerous than mosquitoes, were crowding in on the prairies. They had nothing but peace in their hearts, but still he could not help thinking that a treaty ought to be made with them before the fire canoe or the surveyor came. They were powerless themselves to speak before the Queen's representative, the Governor. They had heard of the Missionary's love for the Indian, and so they had sent across the great Winnipeg for him, and their hearts were glad that he had come. With their right hands they had fired off their guns, which all said, "Welcome!" With his left hand he had handed the pipe of peace, which also from the heart again said, "Welcome!" Their hearts were all glad that with their eyes they saw the Missionary among them. Their ears were now open to hear what he had to say about their future, and what he thought the Queen's men would do for them. Then he sat down on his mat, and I rose up and in reply said: "Before I dare talk to you about treaties, and lands, and your future for this life, and that of your children, I must speak about something more important." This seemed to astonish them, and they said: "What has he got to talk about that is more important than the treaty?" "Yes," I answered, "I have something more important than the treaty, and something to say about One greater than the Queen, or the Governor she sends; for I must first talk about our great God, Whom the Queen and we all must love if we would be happy. The Great Spirit, our good Father in heaven, wants to make a treaty with us; and if we will be willing to comply with His conditions, it will be the best treaty ever made, for it will bring us joy and happiness for this life and the life to come." Loud were their words of approval that I should thus speak to them; and so I preached to them, making use of my trusted and careful interpreter, Timothy Bear, who is as thorough a master of the Saulteaux language as he is of the Cree. Considering that it was the first sermon they had ever heard, and that their ideas of our worship were very crude, they behaved remarkably well, seeing they were a crowd of plumed and painted savages, and Saulteaux besides. They kept up a constant smoking through all the service, except when we were singing or at prayer. Men, women, and children were all at it, and it seemed as though they were always at it. Before I got through my sermon I was almost suffocated by the smoke. The cloud, not that for which we had prayed, overwhelmed us, blinded us, and nearly smothered us. It was the cloud of their vile weeds and tobacco. As well as I could I talked to them of God and his love, and of the way of salvation, and the blessings which would come to them if they would cheerfully and heartily accept Him. We then sang the Jubilee hymn,-- "Blow ye the trumpet, blow." This hymn has been translated into their language. The tune we used was "Lennox," and I urged them to help us to sing. I gave out the hymn verse by verse, and said, "Sing as well as you can." Some followed very well, and others, while trying to follow the words, seemed to have substituted for the tune one of their Indian lilts. After the religious service was over, we hastily boiled our kettles, made tea, and had our suppers, for we had travelled far, and were very hungry. The Indians had nothing themselves but tea, fish, and tobacco. I never saw such smokers. Even little unweaned children were adepts in the use of the pipe. After tea the ceremonious speeches were delivered. The head chief was of course the first to speak again. His address was very complimentary. He said he had been gazing all day long across the great lake watching for my coming. Although it was several moons since, I had promised that in this one, if possible, I would be on hand. My coming just at the time I did, showed that I was a man of my word, and could be depended upon. "We feel," he said, "that we Indians are but children in the presence of the whites. Great changes are taking place. The buffalo and deer once so abundant are fast disappearing. Our fathers told us long ago that the buffalo was the special gift of the Great Spirit to the Indian, and that when it disappeared the Indian must go also. But in your words you tell us good things about the Great Spirit, and we are thankful that you have come. We wish you could live among us and thus talk to us." Thus he and others talked for a long time. We went over the business of the approaching treaty, and I told them all I knew about the matter, and assured them that they need have no fear or alarm. The Dominion Government would treat them honourably and fairly. More tobacco was smoked, and extra kettles of tea were made and drunk, and then I was told that as an additional mark of their thankfulness to me for thus coming with these assuring and quieting words, they now wished to give me the tribal ceremony of the greatest welcome, which was only given at rare intervals, and then only when the best of news came to them. The room was quickly rearranged for the ceremony. The crowd in the centre of the room was moved back, much to the discomfort of the women and girls, some of whom were roughly ejected to make room for their tyrants and masters. Then some drums were brought in, and between twenty and thirty of the most active and agile young men, dressed, or rather undressed, in their picturesque way, seated themselves closely around the men who were to act as drummers. The first part of the ceremony was supposed to be a kind of a concert, part musical and part pantomime. To describe it with its monotonous drumming and shrill songs, which they said were words of welcome, is altogether beyond my powers. At certain places in the songs, ten or twenty of the young men would spring up in their places, and without moving their feet from the ground would go through such strong, undulating, graceful motions, and yet all in such perfect unison with each other and with the music, that I was almost fascinated by the strange weird beauty of the scene. Then their programme changed, and rapidly they glided around in simple and intricate movements, but all in perfect time to the songs and drums. Not satisfied with giving me the welcome of their own tribe, they also gave me the still more exciting Sioux welcome, and also that of the wild Crees in the Saskatchewan. Until long after midnight these scenes were being enacted. Then word was passed round that the supply of tobacco devoted to the welcome ceremonies was exhausted, for through all of these scenes the pipes were only out of the mouths of the performers. All the rest of the crowd smoked without apparent cessation. This intimation of the exhaustion of the supply of tobacco abruptly closed the ceremony. Such is their custom. Some more tea was made and drunk by the chiefs. Then the Missionary's hand was shaken, and the people quickly flitted away to their wigwams. A supper, consisting of beautiful fish, called "gold eyes," which are caught by the young Indians in the rapid river at the foot of the Rude Water Slide, was then much enjoyed. One of my faithful Indians brought in my camp bed, and unrolled it near the council fire. I rolled myself up in a blanket and buffalo robe, and there on the ground I soon fell asleep, for I was very weary. At daybreak we arose, and had our breakfast cooked at the council fire. While eating it, many of the Indians crowded in to see us ere we left for our home across Lake Winnipeg. With them we held another religious service. I talked kindly and faithfully to them, and urged them to decide speedily to forsake their old pagan habits and become Christians; telling them that now, as they were making treaties and entering upon a new way of obtaining a living, they should adopt the religion of the great Book. With them we sang a hymn, and then kneeled down and prayed. Devoutly and reverently did they bow with us at the Mercy-seat. When we rose up from our knees, a young man spoke up on behalf of the young people. He said they were glad I had come, and hoped I would come again. Their minds were dark; would I soon come back and bring in the light? I said all I could to encourage them to seek after the great Light, and promised to come again. We harnessed up our dogs, and, in company with my attendant Indians, I started for home. A wild blizzard storm came down upon us from the north when we were far out from land. We toiled on through it as well as we could, although at times unable to see a dozen feet ahead of us. Often we got bewildered by its fury, as it seemed to circle and eddy around us; but Jack was in the foremost train, and so we safely reached the other shore, and did not for many a day cease to think about some of the strange features of this adventurous trip, in which in after years we found much real good had been done. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ As we have been referring to treaties and the excitement there was in the minds of the Indians in reference to the new relationship in which they would stand to the Government, it may be well here to put upon record the noble spirit of one of our Indians, on whom honours were desired to be conferred by his people. When the Dominion Government of Canada took possession of the territories so long held by the Hudson's Bay Company, they began to make arrangements for treaties with all the Indian tribes. Word came out to us at Rossville Mission House, that the Government wished the Indians to elect one of their number as chief, with whom they could make a treaty, and whom they could confer with if difficulties arose in the future. They wished the people to select a wise, judicious man, in whom all confidence could be placed. Naturally the Indians were very much excited at this new order of things, and so there were many councils and much speech-making. A good deal of curiosity was expressed to know what benefits would result, and how much money would be received by each of them. While there was still much uncertainty about these things, it had become well known that the one selected to be chief would fare very well. He would have more money and presents than any other. He would be presented with a silver medal with the face of the "Great Mother," the Queen, upon it, and would be honoured with the personal friendship of the Governor, and with other honours naturally dear to the Indian. After many councils the people came to the almost unanimous conclusion that Big Tom should be their chief. In a full council, with much ceremony, they offered him the position. Instead of seizing the proffered honours with avidity, his face became very grave, and it was evident he was full of suppressed emotion. When he arose, as all supposed, to indicate his acceptance of the position, and to express his thanks, they were very much surprised to hear him quietly say that he could not answer fully now, but desired a day to think it over. So he asked the council to adjourn until the following morning. Of course this request was complied with, and, full of curiosity, the people thronged the building the next day. I had naturally taken a deep interest in the matter, as, next to their spiritual interests, I was anxious to do all I could for their temporal welfare. So I attended many of their meetings. The council was opened in due form, and then Big Tom arose to give his answer. He began quietly and slowly, but warmed up a good deal before he ended. He spoke, in substance, as follows:-- "Long ago, when the Missionaries came and preached to us, for a time we refused to listen to them, and would not become Christians. Then, after a while, many of us who had been in the darkness began to feel in our hearts that what they told us was for our good; and so we accepted of these things, and they have done us good. When I got the assurance in my heart that I was a child of God, and had a soul that should live for ever, I found that in working out its salvation I had something great to live for. To do this was the great object of my life. By-and-by I married, and then, as my family increased and began to grow up around me, I found I had another object for which to live. To help them along in the way to heaven, as well as to work for their comfort here, was my second great work. Then, after a while, the Missionary gave me the charge of a class. I was to meet with them, and we were to talk together about our souls and God's love to us, and to do all we could to help each other on to the better land. To do my duty as the leader was a great and important work. While attending to these duties, I found I had another object for which to live. These three things,--1. My own soul's salvation; 2. The salvation of my family; and 3. To do all I can to help and encourage the members of my class to be true and faithful to Him Who died for us, that we may see him by-and-by,--are the uppermost things in my heart. "I am thankful for your confidence in me in asking me to be your chief. I know it is a great honour, but I see it will have many responsibilities, and that whoever has the position will have to attend to many other things than those which I have my mind set upon. So you must appoint some one else, for with those three things I cannot let anything else interfere. I thank you, my brothers, and love you all." In this strain he went on for a long while, and then sat down. No one thought any the less of the noble Christian man; and David Bundle, who was appointed, ever found in Big Tom a wise and judicious counsellor and friend. I was thrilled by the address and the spirit manifested. How few white men in like circumstances would have had grace and self-denial enough to have acted in a similar manner! CHAPTER NINETEEN. THE MISSION AMONG THE SAULTEAUX ESTABLISHED--NELLY'S DEATH--MISSIONARY ANNIVERSARIES ATTENDED--REVEREND THOMAS CROSBY--TRAVELLING ADVENTURES-- MORE WORKING WITH DOGS--OUR NEW HOME--VISIT FROM A CHIEFTAINESS--CLOSING WORDS. After a great deal of correspondence it was decided that I should begin the work at Beren's River among the Saulteaux Indians who lived there, and in little bands scattered along the eastern shores of that great lake, and in the interior, most of them in extreme poverty and superstitious degradation. A few of them, as the result of acquaintance with our Christian Indians of other places, were groping after the great Light, and trying to lift themselves up socially in life. The Reverend John H Ruttan was appointed to Norway House, the Reverend Orrin German to Oxford House, and I was put down for Beren's River. As it was advisable that I should remain at Norway House until my successor, Brother Ruttan, arrived, and as there was only one opportunity for a long time for Mrs Young and the children to return to Red River, they availed themselves of it, poor and miserable as it was. With loving "farewells" I wished them success on their journey, and saw them off. Sandy Harte, our adopted Indian lad, and I sailed down to the old Norway House, about twenty miles from our home, and there saying "Good-bye," we returned to our lonely home. Mrs Young had with her our three darling children, Eddie, Lilian, and Nelly. All were well and full of the best of spirits as the sail was hoisted, and we saw them glide away before the favouring gale. Precious Nelly we never saw again. So terrible was the heat, and so miserable were the accommodations in that little open boat, without deck or awning or cabin, that the child sickened and died. As we have referred to this sad event in an earlier chapter, we need not dwell upon it here. What the poor mother felt and suffered as, sick herself, she saw her beautiful child attacked by brain fever, and then droop and die amidst surroundings so sad and trying, can be realised by but few. God knows all about it. As mentioned, the venerable Archdeacon Cowley's sympathy did much to raise up Mrs Young's crushed spirits and dry her bitter tears. I remained at Norway House until Brothers Ruttan and German arrived; and then, after having spent a Sabbath with them, and seen Mr Ruttan and his noble young wife cheerfully and hopefully entered upon their blessed work among the people, to whom I had become very much attached, I started off for Beren's River. Sandy Harte, the Nelson River lad, went with me as far as my first camping place, and spent the night with me. We read the sacred Word together, and then, after singing a Hymn, we bowed in prayer. We lay down together, but we had so much to say, that hours passed away ere we slept. Early the next morning we were aroused from our slumbers by the cry of "Fair wind," and so no time must be lost. I was very much surprised to find that during the night some scores of Indians had come on in their canoes from the Mission, although it was many miles away, to shake hands with their Missionary once more, and say a final "Farewell." After a hasty breakfast we assembled on the shore for prayers. We sang in Cree a favourite hymn:-- "Jesus, my All, to heaven is gone, He Whom I fix my hopes upon. His path I see, and I'll pursue The narrow way till Him I view." We closed by singing the Doxology, and then, after prayers, I sadly said "Good-bye," and shook hands again with them all. I found it hard to break away from them. Many of them were in tears, who seldom wept before. Coming to my beloved Sandy last, I put my arm around his neck and kissed him as there he stood, weeping as though his heart would break. With a "God bless you all," I sprang into the boat, which was quickly pushed off from the shore, and then the long journey to the land of the Saulteaux was begun. After some of the usual incidents of travel I reached Beren's River, and was most enthusiastically received by the Indians. The man who had said, "Our eyes were dim from long watching," now said that they were dim with tears of joy that he had lived to see the day when a Missionary of their own lived among them. As I was to leave before the lake froze up, every day was precious. I pitched a canvas tent, and in it lived for several weeks. All assembled once every week-day for religious worship, and then, when that was over, the Missionary and men took off their coats and went to work. The spot for the Mission was decided upon, and then acre after acre of the forest from this place, and also from where each Indian had decided to build, was rapidly being cleared of the forest trees. We held three services every Lord's day, and saw that the school for the children was faithfully kept up. Getting everything in good shape, and leaving Martin Papanekis, a devout and trusty Christian Indian from the Norway House Mission, in charge, I started in a birch canoe, with Big Tom as principal canoe-man, for Red River. Of our adventures and dangers I need not write, although there were several on that long journey in such a frail craft. One complete upset chilled me most thoroughly, as the water was about down to freezing point. At one place, where we tried to push on all night, we were tantalised by some most brilliant "Will-o'-the-wisp" lights, which our experienced Indians thought were decoy signals put out by wicked Indians to bewilder or injure us. Canoe travelling on this great lake is risky business. The storms come up with surprising rapidity, and the waves rise up like those of the ocean. However, we had a good canoe, and Big Tom was in charge; and He Who holds the winds and the waves in His fists was our Father and our Friend. At Red River I called on the Reverend Archdeacon Cowley at his Indian Mission home. Very cordial and sympathetic was he, as I introduced myself, and told him I had come to accept of his kind offer, and seek in some part of the quiet graveyard of his Mission Church a little place where I could bury the body of my darling child. He at once went with me and showed me all kindness and help, as also did Mr Flett and his family, of the Hudson's Bay Company's Service. As we laid away the beautiful child, and the solemn words, "Earth to earth, dust to dust," were uttered, we felt that there was now an additional tie holding us to that country and work. In due time I reached Toronto, and there met the Missionary Secretaries, and obtained from them an outline of the work before me. Here it was my great joy to meet for the first time the Reverend Thomas Crosby, the energetic and successful Missionary from British Columbia, who has been wonderfully owned of God in his glorious work. Uncalled by any Church, but impelled by the good Spirit, shortly after his conversion he made his way to British Columbia at his own expense, and offered himself to one of the Missionaries there as a volunteer teacher among the poor, neglected Indians, who, uncared for by any one, were prowling around the cities and towns of that new Province, living lives of shame and sin. Great indeed was his success. He has also established flourishing Missions at Fort Simpson and elsewhere in the north of that land, and through his labours a blessed work began among the Indians in Alaska. Some of them, hearing wonderful stories about the black-coated man and his mysterious Book, came hundreds of miles, that they might have their curiosity satisfied. They returned with more than they anticipated. They reached the Mission, and from Mr Crosby, and also from some of their own tribes who lived there, they heard the "old, old story" for the first time in their lives. It was indeed wonderful news to them, but they accepted it with a simple faith that was pleasing to God, and brought into their hearts the consciousness of His smile and benediction. Rejoicing in this new-found treasure they returned to their own land, and there they published the glad tidings of God's love, and added the testimony of their own personal experience that they had a new joy in their hearts, the result of their having accepted this Saviour. Great indeed was the excitement among the people. Some mocked, and some opposed and tried to persecute, but many were affected by what their companions had brought them, and believing their testimony entered into their joy. Of course the new converts could give but little instruction; and so, as the work proceeded, it was decided that a deputation must go for the Missionary and bring him into their land. Mr Crosby responded, and went over to Alaska, and spent some time among them. God blessed his labours, and many of the Indians gave up their paganism and became Christians. Convinced that a grand opening was here for Missionary triumph, Mr Crosby wrote to the Methodist Episcopal Mission Rooms, New York, urging the officials there to enter this open door and begin work here. The answer was that it was impossible; that their other fields absorbed all their income, and so there was no prospect of their being able to respond to his appeal. Not to be discouraged very easily, Mr Crosby next wrote to the Presbyterian Board at Philadelphia, and told of these poor sheep in the wilderness; and here, thank God, he met with success, and there was a glad response; and the successful Presbyterian Missions and Indian Schools in that land to-day are the outgrowth of that work. In company with this heroic Brother Crosby, who had so much to tell, I spent several months in attending Missionary Meetings. We had blessed times. Immense crowds came out to hear us, and, if I am not mistaken, the increase in the Missionary income that year was the greatest in its history. In all, we attended eighty-nine Missionary Anniversary Services in different Canadian towns and cities between Sarnia and Quebec. A very happy week was spent with my family at "Oaklands," Toronto, the beautiful residence of the Honourable Senator Macdonald, the Lay Treasurer of our Missionary Society. Of Senator Macdonald's great kindness, and tangible evidences of sympathy, neither few nor slight, if I should here write, I should only be mentioning what scores of Ministers and Missionaries could say had been their own fortunate experiences with this large-hearted philanthropist. Eternity alone will be able to reveal the full measure of what, with a glad heart, he has been constantly and unostentatiously doing for many of Christ's ambassadors, and among the different Churches. As soon as the season for holding Missionary Meetings ended, I returned to my Indian work. I left the Province of Ontario on the 6th of April, and reached Beren's River after twenty-three days of continuous travelling. On the railroads in Minnesota and Dacota we were detained by snowdrifts, which so blocked up our way that we had some very unpleasant experiences. After leaving the railroad I had to travel two hundred and fifty miles in a stage on runners over the snowy prairies. We had some blizzards to encounter, and one night, when we were fortunate enough to have reached one of the stopping places, the storm raged like a hurricane. The house was built of logs, and not well finished, and the snow sifted in through the wide cracks between these logs and on to our beds. My experiences in wintry camps served me a good purpose now, and so pulling up the hood of my overcoat, and then completely covering myself up under the bedclothes, I slept soundly through the raging storm and driving snow. When we were called up to eat a hasty breakfast and resume our journey, I found several inches of snow on the top of my bed, but I had suffered no inconvenience from it. With my travelling companions in the other beds it was very different. The upper storey, in which our beds were placed, was all one room, and so the snow had equally assailed us all. But, not being able to sleep with their heads completely covered up, they had suffered much, and were in anything but an amiable mood when we resumed our journey. At Winnipeg I was cordially welcomed by my beloved Chairman, the Reverend George Young, who had ever taken the deepest interest in my work, and done all he could to add to our comfort and efficiency in its prosecution. Fortunate indeed were we, poor Missionaries in the interior, whether it was north or west, that we had such a man to look after our supplies, and see that we were not cheated or swindled by those who once a year sent them out to the poor toilers in their lonely fields. For years we had no money in our northern Missions. Our plan was, once a year to receive from Winnipeg all that our salary would purchase for us in the shape of supplies that were needed in our own home, and also with which to pay teacher, interpreter, guides, canoe- men, dog-drivers, and others who might be employed in the prosecution of the work. As all the work of purchasing and packing these things depended very much upon the Chairman, fortunate indeed did all of us, who had Dr Young as our Chairman, consider ourselves to be. My dogs and Indians were waiting for me, having come down from the north to meet me, as arranged months before. We purchased our supplies, loaded our sleds, and away we started by dog-train on the last part of the long journey. We had left Toronto in a splendid railroad carriage; we ended the trip of over twenty days' duration with dog sleds. Very quickly did I come back to the wild life of the North after the six months of incessant pleading the cause of the Indians before the large and enthusiastic audiences in our towns and cities. The days of hard and rapid travelling over the frozen surface of Lake Winnipeg,--the bitter cold that often made us shiver in spite of the violent exercise of running,--the intense and almost unbearable pain caused by the reflection of the brilliant rays of the sun upon the snowy waste,--the bed in the hole in the snow with no roof above us but the star-decked vault of heaven,--were all cheerfully endured again and successfully passed through. Very cordial was my welcome by the Saulteaux at my new field. I was very much gratified to find that they had had a successful winter, and that those left in charge had worked faithfully and well. A little log house, twelve by twenty-four feet, had been put up, and in one end of it I was installed as my present home. My apartment was just twelve feet square, but to me it was all-sufficient. It was kitchen, bedroom, dining-room, study, reception-room, and everything else. Two of my grandest dogs, Jack and Cuffy, shared it with me for months, and we had a happy and busy time. With several hard-working Indians, two of them being Big Tom and Martin Papanekis from Norway House, we toiled hard at getting out the timber and logs for our new church, school-house, and parsonage. We had to go a distance of twelve or fourteen miles over the frozen lake ere we reached the large island on which we found timber sufficiently large for our purpose. Here we worked as hard as possible. Often we had to go in miles from the shore to find what we wanted. To make our work more difficult, we found but few large trees growing close together. So, for nearly every large stick of timber, we had to make a new trail through the deep snow to the lake. The snow was from three to four feet deep. The under-brush was thick, and the fallen trees were numerous. Yet under these discouragements we worked. We cut down the trees, measured them, squared them, and got them ready for their places. Then we hitched one end on a strong dog sled, and attached one dog to this heavy load. How four dogs could drag these heavy sticks of timber was indeed surprising. The principal pieces were thirty-six feet long and ten inches square. Yet my gallant St. Bernards and Newfoundlands would take these heavy loads along at a rate that was astounding. We had thirty-two dogs at work, and rapidly did our piles of timber and logs accumulate. Dressed as one of the natives, with them I toiled incessantly for the material upbuilding of the Mission. We had delightful services every Sabbath. Nearly every Indian within some miles of the place attended, and good results were continually cheering our hearts. Although it was so late in the season when I arrived, yet there was not, for weeks after, any sign of the spring, except in the lengthening days and increasingly brilliant sun. For a long time the vast snowy wastes remained crisp and hard. Very glorious was the atmosphere, for there were no fogs, no mists, no damps. The sky seemed always cloudless, the air was always clear. Nearly every morning during those weeks of hard toil we were treated to the strange sights which the beautiful and vivid mirage brought to us. Islands and headlands, scores of miles away, were lifted up from below the horizon, and shown to us as distinctly as though close at hand. With but few exceptions our nights also were very glorious, especially when the Northern Lights, taking this vast Lake Winnipeg as their field of action, held one of their grand carnivals. Generally beginning in the far north, with majestic sweep they came marching on, filling the very heavens with their coloured bars, or flashing, ever-changing, yet always beautiful clouds of brightness and glory. Sometimes they would form a magnificent corona at the zenith, and from its dazzling splendour would shoot out long columns of different coloured lights, which rested upon the far-off frozen shores. Often have I seen a cloud of light flit swiftly across these tinted bars, as if a hand were sweeping the strings of some grand harp. So startling was the resemblance, that there was an instinctive listening for the sound that we used to think ought to come. Sometimes I have suddenly stopped my dogs and men, when we have been travelling amidst these fascinating and almost bewildering glories of the heavens above us, and we have listened for that rustling sound of celestial harmony which some Arctic travellers have affirmed they have heard, and which it seemed to me so evident that we ought to hear. But although for years I have watched and listened, amidst the death stillness of these snowy wastes, no sounds have I ever heard. Amidst all their flashing and changing glories these resplendent beauties ever seemed to me as voiceless as the stars above them. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ When spring arrived, and with its open water came our first boats, we brought out from Red River a quantity of building material and two experienced carpenters. Then actively went on the work of building a Mission House, and also a large school-house, which for a time was to serve as a church also. We called it "the Tabernacle," and for a good while it served its double purpose admirably. Leaving the carpenters and Indians at work, I went into the then small village of Winnipeg for Mrs Young and our two little children, who were now returning from Ontario, where they had remained among friends, until I, who had so long preceded them, should have some kind of a habitation prepared for them in the wilderness. For weeks we had to live in my little twelve-by-twelve log-cabin. It was all right in cold or dry weather, but as its construction was peculiar, it failed us most signally in times of rain and wet. The roof was made of poplar logs, laid up against the roof pole, and then covered very thickly with clay. When this hardened and dried, it was a capital roof against the cold; but when incessant rains softened it, and the mud in great pieces fell through upon bed, or table, or stove, or floor, it was not luxurious or even comfortable living. One morning we found that during the night a mass, weighing over five pounds, had fallen at the feet of our youngest child, as she, unconscious of danger, slept in a little bed near us. However, after a while, we got into our new house, and great were our rejoicings to find ourselves comfortably settled, and ready for undivided attention to the blessed work of evangelisation. While there was a measure of prosperity, yet the Mission did not advance as rapidly as I had hoped it would. My hopes had been that the surplus population at Norway House would have settled there, and that many from the interior directly east would, as they had stated, come out and help to build up the Mission. Opposition in various quarters arose, and the Norway House Crees preferred to go farther south; and finally seventy families preferred that place, and there they have formed a flourishing additional Mission. Thus the work advanced, although not all along the lines which some of us had marked out. With patient endurance my noble wife and I toiled on. There was room for the exercise of the graces of courage, and hope, and faith, and patience; but a measure of success was ever ours, and we saw signs of progress, and had every now and then some clear and remarkable cases of conversion from the vilest degradation and superstition into a clear and conscious assurance of Heaven's favour and smile. One summer there came from the east to visit us a chieftainess with several of her followers. Her husband had been the chief of his people, and when he died she assumed his position, and maintained it well. Her home was several days' journey away in the interior, but she had heard of the Missionary who had come to live among the Saulteaux and teach them out of the great Book. Was not she a Saulteaux, and had not she a right to know of this new way, about which so much was being said? With these thoughts in her mind she came to see us. When she came to the Mission, we saw very quickly that here was an interesting woman. We had several interviews, and Mrs Young and myself did all we could to lead this candid, inquiring mind into the right way. Before she left I gave her a sheet of foolscap paper, and a long lead pencil, and showed her how to keep her reckoning as to the Sabbath day. I had, among many other lessons, described the Sabbath as one day in seven for rest and worship; and she had become very much interested, and promised to try to keep it. As she pushed out in her canoe from our shore, her last importunate request was, that as soon as possible I would visit her and her people in their own land. So many were my engagements that I could not take up this additional one until about the middle of the winter following. When, with a couple of Indian attendants, with our dog-trains, we dashed into her village, great indeed was her joy at seeing us, and very demonstrative was the welcome given. She had put up on a staging outside in the cold a couple of reindeer heads, keeping them there preserved by the frost until I should arrive. Very quickly were they taken down to cook. The hair was singed off, and then they were cut up with an axe into pieces weighing about two pounds each. Soon they were in the pot, boiling for our dinner. I furnished some tea, and while everything was being got ready by a few, the rest of us sat down and talked. They were indeed anxious for instruction in spiritual things. I read and, through my interpreter, explained truth after truth, to which they gave the most earnest attention. Then we stopped a little while, that we might have dinner. As I and my men were the guests of this chieftainess I did not get out my tin plates, and cups, and knives and forks, but sat down beside her in her wigwam with the rest of the people, completing a circle around the big wooden dish, in which the large pieces of cooked reindeer heads had been thrown. I asked a blessing on the food, and then dinner began. The plan was for each person to help himself or herself to a piece of the meat, holding it in the hand, and using hunting knife or teeth, or both together, to get off the pieces and eat them. I am sorry to say my lady friend on the right, this chieftainess, had very dirty-looking hands, and long, strong, brilliant teeth. She took her piece of meat, and, turning it over and over in her hands, began tearing and cutting at it in a way that was not very dainty, but extremely otherwise. After biting off a few mouthfuls, she threw it down on the dirty ground of the wigwam before her, and, inserting one of her greasy hands in the bosom of her dress, she pulled out a large piece of soiled paper, and, unfolding it before me, she began in excited tones to tell me how she had kept the tally of the "praying days," for thus they style the Sabbath. Greatly interested in her story, and in her wild joyous way of describing her efforts to keep her record correct, I stopped eating and looked over her paper, as she talked away. Imagine my great delight to find that through the long months which had passed since I had given her that paper and pencil, she had not once missed her record. This day was Thursday, and thus she had marked it. Her plan had been to make six short marks, and then a longer one for Sunday. "Missionary," she said very earnestly, "sometimes it seemed as though I would fail. There were times when the ducks or geese came very near, and I felt like taking my gun and firing. Then I remembered that it was the praying day, and so I only put down the long mark and rested. I have not set a net, or caught a fish, or fired a gun, on the praying day since I heard about it at your house so far away." Of course I was delighted at all this, and said some kind words of encouragement. Then we resumed our dinner. I had my piece of meat in one hand, and with the knife in the other was endeavouring to cut off the pieces and eat them. The good woman replaced the precious paper and pencil in her bosom, and then picked up her piece of meat from the dirty ground, and, after turning it over and over in her hands, began with her strong teeth to tear off the large mouthfuls. All at once she stopped eating, and, looking intently at my piece, she said, "Your piece is not a very good one, mine is very fine," and before I could protest, or say a word, she quickly exchanged the pieces; and from her portion, which she put in my hand, I had to finish my dinner. As what she did is considered an act of great kindness, of course I would not grieve her by showing any annoyance. So I quietly smothered any little squeamishness that might naturally have arisen, and finished my dinner, and then resumed the religious service. Soon after, she became a decided Christian. The following extracts are from the last letter which I sent to the Mission Rooms, ere, owing to the failure of Mrs Young's health, we left the land of the Saulteaux for work in the Master's Vineyard elsewhere. The Mission had now been fully established, a comfortable parsonage built and well furnished. A large school-house had been erected, which answered also for the religious services until the church should be finished. Many had been our trials and hardships, and there had been a great deal of opposition, much of it from places not expected. But to be enabled to send such tidings from such a place, where I had gone as the first Missionary, and among such a wicked and degraded tribe as were these Saulteaux, so different from the more peaceful Crees, caused my heart to rejoice, that He Who had permitted me to go and sow the seed had also given me the honour of seeing some golden sheaves gathered in for the heavenly garner:-- "Last Sabbath was perhaps the most interesting and encouraging one we have spent on the Mission. Our place of worship was crowded, and many had to remain outside. Some of the old Indians who, in spite of our pleadings, had clung to their paganism, renounced it on that day in a most emphatic manner. Seven of them, after being questioned as to their thorough renunciation of their old superstitions, and as to their present faith in Christ, were then and there baptized. "At the afternoon service several more were baptized; among them an old man, perhaps seventy years of age, with his wife and grandchild. He had never been inside a Christian sanctuary before. He had just arrived from the vast interior eastward of this place, the country I visited under so many difficulties last April. "The old man brought down with him the Bible and hymn-book which I had given him months ago. He stated that although he could not read them very well, yet he kept them close to him by day, and under his pillow by night, and tried to keep in his memory all he had heard of what was written in them, as I had told him. "I have been teaching the school myself for months, as my faithful teacher, Timothy Bear, is poorly. Among the scholars I have none more attentive than the old man and his wife. Seated on the ground with the Reverend James Evans' Syllabic Characters marked out with a pen on a piece of paper in their hands, and the open Bible on the grass before them, they are striving hard to read fluently in their own language the wonderful works of God. "If this old man had presented himself for baptism a little better clothed, we should have been pleased. All he had on was a dirty cotton shirt and a pair of deer-skin leggings. However, as such fashions occur here, his appearance created no remark, but all were deeply moved at his coming forward and so emphatically renouncing his old paganism. "The Sacrament of the Lord's Supper on the same day was also a service of great interest, as several new members, baptized a few months ago, were admitted to the Lord's Table for the first time. In two instances the decided stand for Christ taken by the women has led to the conversion of their husbands. Until lately they were careless, reckless men; but they have now come and declared that they are convinced that the religion of their wives is better than the old, and they desire to have it too. Thus the work goes on; but how slowly! When shall the time arrive when `nations shall be born in a day'? Haste, happy day!" "We are toiling through the darkness, but our eyes behold the light That is mounting up the eastern sky and beating back the night. Soon with joy we'll hail the morning when our Lord will come in might, For Truth is marching on. "He will come in glorious majesty to sweep away all wrong; He will heal the broken-hearted and will make His people strong; He will teach our souls His righteousness, our hearts a glad new song, For Truth is marching on. "He is calling on His people to be faithful, prompt, and brave, To uplift again the fallen, and to help from sin to save, To devote themselves for others, as Himself for them He gave, For Truth is marching on. "Let us fight against the evils with our faces towards the light; God is looking through the darkness, and He watches o'er the fight And His joy will be our recompense, His triumph crown the right, For Truth is marching on." 
22220	----	Proofreading Team [Illustration: MOUNTED POLICE ROUNDING UP HORSE THIEVES. _From painting by C. W. Russell, Montana._ _Courtesy of the Osborne Coy., Toronto._] POLICING THE PLAINS BEING THE REAL LIFE RECORD OF THE FAMOUS ROYAL NORTH-WEST MOUNTED POLICE By R. G. MACBETH, M.A., Author of "The Romance of Western Canada." WITH ILLUSTRATIONS HODDER AND STOUGHTON, LTD. LONDON NEW YORK TORONTO MCMXXI CONTENTS I A GREAT TRADITION 7 II ENTER THE MOUNTED POLICE 25 III MOBILIZING 33 IV THE AMAZING MARCH 48 V BUSINESS IN THE LAND OF INDIANS 57 VI HANDLING AMERICAN INDIANS 78 VII THE IRON HORSES 93 VIII RIEL AGAIN 106 IX RECONSTRUCTION 126 X CHANGING SCENERY 141 XI IN THE GOLD COUNTRY 153 XII STIRRING DAYS ABROAD AND AT HOME 175 XIII MODESTY AND EFFECTIVENESS 206 XIV ON LAND AND SEA 233 XV GLORY AND TRAGEDY IN THE NORTH 255 XVI STRIKING INCIDENTS 266 XVII THE GREAT WAR PERIOD 281 XVIII GREAT TRADITIONS UPHELD 297 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS Mounted Police Rounding Up Horse Thieves (_Frontispiece_) Sir John A. Macdonald 16 Hon. Alexander Mackenzie 16 Hudson Bay: R.N.W.M. Police with Dogs 17 Major-General Sir A. C. Macdonnell, K.C.B., C.M.G., D.S.O. 32 Major-General Sir Samuel B. Steele, K.C.B., etc. 32 Superintendent A. H. Griesbach 33 Inspector J. M. Walsh 33 Commissioner A. G. Irvine 48 Commissioner George A. French 48 Commissioner James F. Macleod 49 Commissioner Lawrence W. Herchmer 49 Sitting Bull 64 Colonel James Walker 65 Colonel T. A. Wroughton 112 Lieut.-Col. Aylesworth Bowen Perry, C.M.G. 112 Colonel Cortlandt Starnes 113 R.N.W.M. Police Wood Camp, Churchill River 113 Indian Tepee 128 Dog-Train 129 Yukon Rush: Summit, Chilcoot Pass 144 Group of Indian Children on Prairie 145 Chilcoot Pass: R.N.W.M. Police and Custom House 160 Klondyke Rush: Squaw Rapids, between Canyon and 161 White Horse Rapids, 1898 Supt. Constantine in Winter Uniform on the Yukon 176 Piegan Indians at Sun-Dance 177 Rev. R. G. Macbeth, M.A. 192 Group, R.N.W.M. Police, Tagish Post, Yukon 193 Fort Selkirk, Yukon 208 Esquimaux Family 209 Coronation Contingent, London, 1911 224 Indians Receiving Treaty Payment on Prairie 224 Fort Fitzgerald, Athabasca 225 Ice-bound Government Schooner 225 Herschell Island, Yukon Territory 240 Esquimaux Visiting R.N.W.M. Police Tent 240 Barracks at Fort Fitzgerald, Great Slave River 241 R.N.W.M. Police Shelter, Great Slave Lake 241 Cabin of Rev. Fathers Le Roux and Rouvier 241 R.N.W.M. Police Barracks, Churchill, Hudson Bay 256 Police with Dogs and Equipment on Split Lake, N.W.T. 257 Inspector Fitzgerald 272 Supt. Charles Constantine 272 Inspector La Nauze 273 CHAPTER I A GREAT TRADITION A few years ago I was away north of Edmonton on the trail of Alexander Mackenzie, fur trader and explorer, who a century and a quarter before had made the amazing journey from the prairies over the mountains to the Pacific Coast. We looked with something like awe and wonder at the site of the old fort near the famous Peace River Crossing, from which, after wintering there in 1792, he had started out on that unprecedented expedition, and we followed up the majestic Peace to Fort Dunvegan, past whose present location Mackenzie had gone his adventurous way. And during our trip we came across a little frontier encampment building itself into a primitive wooden town in view of the advent of a railway that was heading that way. It was a characteristic outfit with lax ideas in regard to laws which touched upon personal desires as to gambling, strong drink, Sunday trading and the rest. These men were out to make money as their type has been on most of the frontiers of civilization, and the unwary traveller or the lonely settler who ventured unduly was promptly fleeced of his possessions and turned out amidst a good deal of revelry in the hours of night. And then one day there rode into that shack-town a young athlete in a uniform of scarlet and gold, the rough-rider hat, the tunic of red, the wide gold stripe to the top of the riding boots and the shining spurs. He rode in alone from the nearest post some 60 miles away and, when he dismounted, threw off the heavy saddle and picketed his horse, a sudden air of orderliness settled on the locality. The young man, going around with that characteristic cavalry swing, issued a few warnings, tacked up a notice or two and then saddling his rested steed rode away at a canter over the plain. But the air of orderliness remained in that region after the horseman had disappeared over the horizon just as if he were still present. This was puzzling to a newcomer who was along, and he asked me what manner of man this young rider was that he was received with such deference and that his orders, so quietly given, were so instantly and so continuously obeyed. The answer was made out of a life-long acquaintance with the history and the real life of Western Canada: "Well, it is not the young constable himself that counts so mightily, though he is a likely looking fellow enough who could be cool anywhere and who could give ample evidence of possessing those muscles of steel which count in a hand-to-hand encounter. But you see he is one of that widely known body of men called the Royal North-West Mounted Police. They have patrolled and guarded and guided this whole North-West Country for the last forty years and more. During that period they have built up a great tradition which rests on a solid foundation of achievement. Their reputation for courage is unchallenged, their record for giving every man of whatever race or colour a square deal is unique, their inflexible determination to see that law is enforced is well known and their refusal to count the odds against them when duty is to be done has been absolutely proven again and again. All these elements and others have created the Mounted Police tradition to such an extent that the one constable you saw is looked on as the embodiment of the Empire which plays no favourites but which at the same time will stand no nonsense from anyone. And perhaps most wonderful of all is that part of their record which shows that they have done all this and more without any violence or repression, except as a last resort. They were always more ready and anxious to save human life than to destroy it." "All that is very interesting," said my friend; "I would like to hear more about these men, and would be glad if you would tell me something of their history." And out there under the open sky of the North Country, with the stars sparkling above us and the Aurora Borealis dancing and swishing over our heads in a wonderful panorama of colour and movement, we talked long into the night about the men in scarlet and gold. Their whole story could not be told in a night, but the eager interest of the listener and the creation of a new pride in things Canadian in his heart, led me to resolve that the history he was seeking should some day be published to the world. Many requests for the story have come since that night in the Peace River country, and now that one period of Police history is closing through the extension of the jurisdiction of the Force over the whole Dominion, East as well as West, accompanied by the word "Canadian" in their title instead of "North West," the time seems opportune for a real-life record of what these men throughout the years have meant to Canada. Such a record should cause every Royal Canadian Mounted Police recruit to realize that he has to be worthy of the tradition built up by the achievements of nearly half a century through valorous men, many of whom have now passed over the Great Divide. It will deepen in all men of sincerity a respect for authority in a restless age. And it will bring into the light facts hitherto unrevealed that will fill all men with pride in their country. I know that the men of the Mounted Police have been averse to saying anything about themselves. They have the usual British characteristic of reticence intensified. But though I have been brigaded with them on active service, I have not been a member of the corps, and hence do not feel bound by their policy of silence. Let the plain truth, which is always stranger than fiction, be told about these gallant riders as an inspiration to young Canadians and to men of the blood everywhere. With this purpose in view I am now keeping the resolution made that night in the North, as I am in this book extending and telling to a larger audience the story then unfolded to an individual. My humble hope is that the larger audience may be equally interested. THE WIDE WESTLAND In the year of Grace 1920, we, in the West, celebrated with enthusiasm the birthday anniversary of the Hudson's Bay Company, which has attained to the ripe old age of 250 years. Yet the eye of this ancient organization is not dimmed by time, nor does its power show signs of impairment. As it is around this old and honourable commercial and colonizing concern that the early history of Western Canada principally revolves, a few paragraphs on this subject seem to be necessary as we begin our story. We must have proper historical setting for the entrance of our famous police force on the stage of Western Canadian history. About the end of the first decade of the seventeenth century, Henry Hudson, the intrepid navigator who was looking for a North-West Passage by water through the North-American Continent to the Western Sea, discovered the great Bay which bears his name to this day. Marooned by a mutinous crew, he paid for the discovery with his life, after the manner of many pathfinders, but he had unlocked a new Empire for the human family. Then for years there was silence around the Bay which Hudson had opened at such great cost to himself. Away in the East, following the early explorations along the banks of the St. Lawrence in old Canada, adventurous hunters and trappers began to push their way westward and northward, past the Great Lakes to the prairie land beyond. This was about the middle of the seventeenth century, and at that period the New World was full of opportunity for the daring who saw visions beyond the sky-line. And so it came to pass about half a century after Hudson's time that two French adventurers, Radisson and Groseilliers, reaching out from the St. Lawrence to the wide north-west, came into contact with Indian tribes who told about the great bay to the north and the vast riches of the region in furs and skins. These adventurers went to see for themselves and they found that the half had not been told. And because, despite many theories, no one has ever discovered a way to carry on a big enterprise without capital, these hardy pioneers returned to the East and endeavoured to organize a trading company from amongst their French compatriots. But the enthusiasm of the men who had seen could not awaken response in the men who had not seen. The faculty of faith was not very highly developed in these French habitants by the St. Lawrence. But the zeal of Radisson and Groseilliers was unquenchable. They tried Boston in vain, and then betook themselves to France, where they were not any more successful, except that they got a letter of introduction to some men of leading in England. The Englishman generally loves a sporting chance for exploration and discovery, and so Prince Rupert, more or less a soldier of fortune who had lent his name and his sword to almost anything that offered a possibility of adventure or substance, took up the matter of the fur trade and was instrumental in sending out vessels with Radisson and Groseilliers to prospect on the shores of Hudson Bay. Once again the men who went and saw came back, not only with tales of an El Dorado in fur, but with the furs themselves, and the dashing Prince forthwith secured from the easy-going Charles II a monopolistic charter to trade and generally to control the whole vast region drained by rivers that emptied into Hudson Bay. The territory thus granted, with more added later by licences, extended generally speaking from the Great Lakes to the Pacific and from mid-continent to the North Pole. It was as large as half a dozen European Kingdoms and has become one of the greatest adjuncts of the British Empire, but King Charles did not know nor care much more about it than the French king who later on gave up Canada with a light heart, saying it was only "a few hundred acres of snow." It is not our duty in this book to follow the fortunes of "the Governor and Company of the Adventurers of England trading into Hudson Bay" as the Royal Charter described this little band of less than a score of men to whom had been handed over the control of half a continent. It is enough to say that the Hudson's Bay Company, as the popular habit of shortening long titles rendered it, held this vast region for two whole centuries. During that time the immense resources of the country tempted others to disregard the monopolistic provisions of the Royal Charter and to venture in upon forbidden ground. Companies such as the North-West Fur Company, formed by the Scottish merchants of Montreal, rushed to secure part of the rich harvest in trade that was being reaped by the English Company, whose employees, it may be said, were largely the hardy Scots from the Highlands and Islands. But the leaders of the Hudson's Bay Company, "stabbed broad awake" by this opposition and strengthened by the trustworthiness and endurance of their employees, held their ground and extended their operations till they by degrees absorbed all opponents and became in 1821 monarchs of all they surveyed. Meanwhile in the Old Land many things of world-wide interest and influence had been transpiring. The years around the opening of the nineteenth century were made stormy by the Napoleonic effort to subjugate Europe and while their men of military age were away fighting for the liberty of Europe against "the little giant of Corsica," certain areas in the north of Scotland were "cleared" of their inhabitants by heartless landlords who felt that sheep were more profitable for the owner of estates than human tenants. To these evicted crofters in the Highlands came that noble altruist and philanthropic colonizer, the Earl of Selkirk, who, having obtained from the Hudson's Bay Company an immense district principally in what is now Manitoba, offered the outcasts of a tyrannous land system homes in the great free spaces of Rupert's Land, as the Hudson Bay territory was called. The offer was accepted thankfully, and in the years from 1812 to 1815 these Selkirk colonists came to the Red River of the North. It is not part of this story to follow the fortunes of these famous colonists of whom I have written more particularly in _The Romance of Western Canada_. They encountered unaccustomed climatic obstacles, they were persecuted and hunted by the fur-trading opponents of their benefactor, they were tried by the disasters of floods and by plagues of devouring locusts, but with the dogged and stern determination of their race and creed they held on and demonstrated to the world the possibilities of a country which is now the granary of the Empire. And the world got to hearing of this Arcadian Colony of Scots in the new North-West. So when the old Provinces of the East were brought together under the name of the Dominion of Canada in 1867, the men of light and leading at Ottawa lost no time in looking westward to secure the vast western domain for the new Confederation. Despite the difficulty of travel, settlers had already begun to percolate from Eastern Canada through the States or the wilderness spaces west of the Great Lakes, into the Red River country made famous by the Selkirk Colony. And it had been becoming more and more apparent to the Hudson's Bay Company itself as well as to others that the great fur-trading and mercantile organization could no longer adequately administer an area which was soon to overflow with the human sea of an incoming population. For many years previous to Confederation the Hudson's Bay monopoly in trade had been more or less of a figment of the imagination and no one knew that better than the Company itself. It still retained its monopoly nominally, but it made very little effort to restrain the half-breed and other "free traders" who opened up stores and bartered for furs with the Indians. In any case in one form or other all the trade of the country practically came, in the last analysis, through the Hudson's Bay Company, who controlled the money market by having their own bills in circulation. But the wise old Company saw what was coming and began to get ready to let go its monopolistic fur-trading charter and adjust itself to the new conditions. Hence it was not a difficult matter to persuade the Company to give up its charter for a consideration. My father, who was a member of the Council of Assiniboia, a magistrate, and a close personal friend of Governor McTavish, who was in charge at Fort Garry on the Red River where settlement had begun, always used to say that the Hudson's Bay Company was glad to find a reasonable way of getting the responsibility for the government of the growing country off its hands. Accordingly, when the Canadian Government deemed the time was ripe, two members of that Government, the Hon. Sir George E. Cartier and the Hon. William McDougall, were sent to London to negotiate with the Imperial authorities for the transfer of the North-West to Canada. In view of the attitude taken by the Hudson's Bay Company, as stated above, the matter was not difficult to arrange. And after a brief discussion in London, the famous old fur-trading organization, which had held charter rights since the days of Charles II, relinquished those rights to the Imperial Government for £300,000 sterling, certain reservations around their trading posts, along with one-twentieth of the land in the fertile belt. Then, as previously understood, the Imperial Government was to transfer the vast North-West to Canada, which in turn undertook to respect and conserve the rights of the people in the area thus added to the Dominion. This arrangement was concluded in the spring of 1869, and it was then expected that the purchase money would be paid on the 1st of October following, and that probably on the 1st of December the Queen's Proclamation would issue, setting forth these facts and fixing the date of the actual transfer to Canada. So far all was well. The ideas leading up to the acquisition of this great domain were in every sense statesmanlike, and, if carefully carried out, were calculated to be of the greatest benefit to the people in the new territory and the Dominion as well. We should pay unstinted tribute to the men whose ideals were for an ever-widening horizon, and who felt that "no pent-up Utica should confine the powers" of the young nation just beginning to stretch out and exercise its potentially giant limbs. Once the older Provinces in the East were brought into Confederation it was wise to look forward to a Canada stretching from ocean to ocean, and to take the necessary legal steps to secure the broad acres of the West as part of the Dominion. But just when everything seemed to be going well a cog in the diplomatic equipment of the Canadian Government power-house slipped and taking advantage of the occasion, one Louis Riel, the son of the old hot-headed agitator on the Red River, threw a wrench into the machinery. The Canadian authorities who wisely carried through the negotiations with the Hudson's Bay Company and the Imperial Government seem to have blundered by overlooking the fact that the new territory had within its borders some 10,000 people, apart from the Indians, who ought to have been informed in some official way of the bargain that was being made, and of the steps that were being taken to conserve the rights and privileges of these early settlers. It is true that rumours of the transaction reached the Red River country through unauthoritative sources, but the main result was to produce a feeling of uneasiness amongst the people there. And especially was this the case when the rumours were given point by overt acts. Even before the transfer of the country had been legally completed men were sent out from the East to open roads from the Lakes into the settlements. Surveying parties entered the new territory and went hither and thither, driving their stakes and erecting their mounds, to the bewilderment of the people, and to cap all the indiscretions, a Governor, the Hon. William McDougall, was dispatched from Ottawa to the Red River before the Hudson's Bay regime was formally superseded and before a Queen's Proclamation, which would have been instantly recognized by all classes in the community, was issued. The Selkirk Settlers and other people of that class, however perplexed at the procedure, had the utmost confidence that the Canadian authorities would ultimately do substantial justice to all, and hence they awaited patiently though somewhat anxiously the developments of time. But the French half-breeds, more fiery and more easily excited, more turbulent of spirit and warlike in disposition, accustomed to more or less fighting on the plains, and withal, as a class, less well informed than their white brethren, were not content to wait. They felt that the course being followed by the Canadian authorities might lead to the loss of their rights, and so they rose in a revolt, that while accomplishing some of the objects that could have been reached by constitutional means, left its red stream across that early page of our history. But in the midst of all our statements let it be remembered, in mitigation of the attitude of the Canadian authorities, that communication between Ottawa and the West at that period was very difficult. There were no railways nor telegraphs and the mails were few and far apart. Though, on the other hand, that condition of things should have made all parties more tolerant and cautious. Strange that the two Louis Riels, father and son, should lead in agitations that were somewhat contradictory. The elder Riel was a famous antagonist of the Hudson's Bay Company regime with its apparent or alleged monopoly in trade, and the younger Riel, while no lover of the Company, opposed the Canadian Government which was to replace it. The truth seems that they were both temperamentally against authority and that they were both afflicted with a megalomania which led each to imagine that he was some great one. [Illustration: SIR JOHN A. MACDONALD. Who, while Premier, founded the Mounted Police. (_Photo, Pittaway Studios, Ottawa._)] [Illustration: HON. ALEXANDER MACKENZIE. Who, while Premier, organized the Mounted Police. (_Photo, Pittaway Studios, Ottawa._)] [Illustration: HUDSON BAY: R.N.W.M. POLICE WITH DOGS.] The younger Riel had the "bad eminence" of leading two rebellions in Western history before winding up his tragic career on the scaffold at Regina. He it was who opposed the entrance of Governor McDougall to the Red River in 1869. He it was who, after having stopped the Governor, rode down and captured Fort Garry in which he and his men fared sumptuously all that winter out of the Hudson's Bay Company store. He it was who imprisoned those who opposed him and ordered the shooting of Thomas Scott, a young Canadian prisoner--an act which estranged from the rebel chief the sympathy of many who believed that he had some grounds for protest against the incoming of authority without any guarantee of the settler's rights. But the reign of the rebel was not long. The Imperial authorities who have never forgotten the teaching of history in the loss of the American colonies, have more than once called the governments in free colonies to a sense of their duty and have followed up their advice with military backing if necessary. And both were forthcoming in this case. The hand of the good Queen Victoria is seen in the following dispatch from Earl Granville to Sir John Young, Governor-General of Canada: "The Queen has heard with surprise and regret that certain misguided persons have banded together to oppose by force the entry of our future Lieutenant-Governor into our territory in Red River. Her Majesty does not distrust the loyalty of her subjects in that settlement, and can only ascribe to misunderstanding and misrepresentation their opposition to a change planned for their advantage. "She relies on your Government to use every effort to explain whatever misunderstanding may have arisen--to ascertain the wants and conciliate the goodwill of the people of Red River Settlement. But in the meantime she authorizes you to signify to them the sorrow and displeasure with which she views the unreasonable and lawless proceedings which have taken place, and her expectation that if any parties have desires to express or complaints to make respecting their conditions and prospects, they will address themselves to the Governor-General of Canada. "The Queen expects from her representative that as he will be always ready to receive well-founded grievances, so will he exercise all the power and authority she entrusted to him in support of order and the suppression of unlawful disturbances." The closing paragraph of this fine message indicates the traditional British Empire position, that though grievances will be heard and remedied, there will be no quarter given to any nonsense on the part of rebels. And it was in keeping with this position that Colonel (later Field Marshal Sir Garnet) Wolseley was dispatched to the Red River country with regular troops, who arrived at their destination only to find that Riel and his forces had decamped before their arrival. Two regiments from Eastern Canada came later and remained on duty at Fort Garry for some time after the regulars under Wolseley had returned home. The Red River country was ushered into Confederation as the Province of Manitoba, and the Hon. Adams George Archibald, of Nova Scotia, was sent out from Ottawa in 1870 as Lieutenant-Governor. He took a rough census of the country and with the resultant crude voters' list the first regular Western Legislature was soon elected and at work. But west and north of this little Province of Manitoba, itself sparsely settled, lay an immense hinterland stretching nearly a thousand miles to the Rocky mountains and northward to the pole itself. This enormous area, then commonly called "The Saskatchewan," was unpeopled except for thousands of Indians, many groups of nomadic buffalo-hunters mostly half-breeds, a few scattered missions of various churches, and a large number of Hudson's Bay Company trading posts. Manitoba was under the oversight of a regularly constituted Government and Legislature. But out in the vast north-west hinterland it was a sort of interregnum time, in view of the fact that the Hudson's Bay Company, which had controlled the country for two centuries, had given up its charter and authority to the Dominion of Canada which had legally but not yet visibly taken possession. Or, to change the figure, the period was, governmentally speaking, a sort of "No man's land" with one party technically out of possession and the other not yet recognized by the traders or Indians as being in control. Such a situation gave a great deal of opportunity for lawlessness by warring tribes, horse-thieves, whisky peddlers, boot-leggers and all the rest of that ilk. And the proximity to the American boundary line making escape easy was an additional temptation to the lawlessly inclined. That this class did not allow the opportunity to go by unused soon became apparent to men who were upon the ground. Mr. Lawrence Clark, a noted Hudson's Bay officer, whom I remember in his later years, handsome, eager, alert and well-informed, said that both traders and Indians were learning the dangerous lesson that the Queen's orders could be disregarded with impunity. And it is now pretty well known that our good Queen and her advisers who had been shocked by the Riel outbreak in 1869 were concerned for the good government of the vast domain that had been recently handed over by the Imperial Government to Canada. It was not the British way to allow things to get out of hand, nor to permit wards of the nation, like the Indians, to become the victims of the lawless in trade and in morality. Hence the Governor-General of Canada received for himself and his responsible advisers more than one dispatch from the Headquarters of the Empire admonishing that steps should be taken to preserve peace in the vast new domain and to give all who would immigrate thither the proper British safeguards as to life and liberty and the pursuit of their lawful avocations. And, of course, the Canadian authorities, chagrined over the Riel outbreak and having some knowledge of the immense responsibilities they had assumed by taking over the North-West, were anxious to prevent anything that would make the new country unattractive to the people who were desirous of coming with their families to settle within its borders. As a result of all this, Governor Archibald, of Manitoba, within a few weeks after his arrival in Fort Garry, took steps to secure a report on conditions on "The Saskatchewan," outside the Province where he was the representative of the Crown. The fact that he did this so soon after assuming office and when matters in his own Province required special attention, indicates strongly the pressure that had been brought to bear upon the Canadian authorities by headquarters. And when a man was required for the special mission out over the far North-West he was there on the spot in the person of Lieutenant W. F. Butler of the 69th Regiment, afterwards famous as Sir William Butler, of South Africa. On account of his splendid powers of endurance, his great faculty for observation and his remarkable literary genius, he was a man with unique qualifications for the task--the difficult and delicate task--to which Governor Archibald called him. A person has to be sadly destitute in the religious sense to believe that Butler was on hand by accident. It is exceedingly interesting to find that another man, who afterwards became noted in South Africa, namely the bluff and valiant fighter, Redvers Buller, was in the Red River expedition with Wolseley and had been mentioned in connection with the mission to the North-West hinterland. Years afterwards in the Boer War time this same Redvers Buller, then commanding the British forces on the veld, said to Colonel Sam B. Steele, of Strathcona's Horse, who also had served under Wolseley: "I know Lord Strathcona very well: when I was at Fort Garry on the Red River Expedition he spoke to me about going out over the plains to investigate conditions, but I was recalled to my regiment and Governor Archibald sent Butler out instead, a good thing too; for he wrote a very good book on his journey which I could not have done." And this big-hearted, manly, generous reference by Buller properly indicated that he not only recognized his own limitations, but was glad to pay tribute to the literary genius who wrote that Classic _The Great Lone Land_ and the noble biography of General Gordon of Khartoum. But Butler had more than literary gifts. He had, as already stated, great powers of observation and that remarkable faculty for forecasting, which was exemplified, then, on Canadian prairies as it was later on the South African veld. In the book _The Great Lone Land_, to which allusion has been made, Butler tells us with manly frankness that in 1869 he had come to a standstill in his career as a soldier, because he had neither the means nor influence to secure any promotion in such a piping time of peace. And so, when news of the Riel Rebellion in the far West drifted to London, Butler cabled to Canada for an opportunity to serve in the Red River Expedition. He immediately followed his cablegram, but on his arrival found himself too late for a place. However he was given a special mission to go from Toronto to Fort Garry by way of the United States in order to find out how the people of that country along the boundary looked at matters on the Red River. Butler went on to Fort Garry, passed through the rebel zone, met Wolseley and with him entered Fort Garry, which had just been evacuated by Riel. As things quieted, Butler was going to leave for the East, when Governor Archibald got hold of him, as stated, and sent him out over the West to report on conditions and make recommendations. He left Fort Garry in October, 1870, treked 900 miles to the Rocky Mountains, then wheeled northward to Edmonton and down the Saskatchewan River to Lake Winnipeg, boxing the compass so far as the great hinterland of the plains was concerned. He heard much and saw more, witnessed the smallpox scourge lashing the Indian tribes, saw the general disquiet and disorder with no one in control. The steed of the far West was riderless, the reins had been thrown away and the country was running wild. Butler's report is graphic in the extreme and has many recommendations, but the one that mainly concerns us just now is that which advises the establishment of constituted authority with sufficient force to back it up, for it was that recommendation which led to the establishment, though delayed strangely for two years more, of the famous corps known originally to history as the North-West Mounted Police. The particular wisdom of Butler's recommendation lies in the fact that he advocated along with the civil government a material force which would be located "not at fixed points or forts." For he said that any force so located "would afford little protection outside the immediate circle of these points and would hold out no inducements to the establishment of new settlements." Wise man was Butler who saw that settlers must be secured to pour into this vast country and make it the granary of the Empire, and that a force movable enough to be readily at the call of scattered settlements would be absolutely necessary. The sequel has proven how well Butler forecasted events because settlers by the thousand soon desired to come and it was the presence of the Mounted Police that gave to these settlers the sense of security that made it possible for them to turn the vast plains into waving fields of grain and cause the wide areas of pasture land to shake under the tread of domestic herds. And the other special point in which Butler's wisdom in recommendation comes out in regard to the force to be established is where he states that such a force should be independent of any faction or party either in church or state. His wise hint in this regard was taken and followed, and hence all through their history the Mounted Police have gone their way, caring for nothing and for nobody in their intentness on doing their duty. It is quite well known to some of us that in many places on the plains, in the mountains and away in the land of the golden Yukon, the Police were often strongly urged to relax their vigilance in the interests of some political party or some business that was financially concerned. But all such temptations fell on deaf ears, and the scarlet-coated riders, looking on intimidation and efforts at bribery with contempt, pursued the even tenor of their way and gave every man a square deal according to his deserts no matter who he was or to what colour the sun and the wind had burned his skin. Such was the force which this wise recommendation of Butler called into existence. That such a force would have no sinecure and would have no room for "misfits or failures," Butler tells us in 1870 in that clause of his report in which he says, "As matters at present rest, the region of the Saskatchewan is without law, order or security for life or property; robbery and murder for years have gone unpunished; Indian massacres are unchecked even in the close vicinity of the Hudson's Bay Company posts and all civil and legal institutions are entirely unknown." It was high time for government control with an adequate material force to give it power. And because I have referred to Butler's foresightedness it would be unfair to his memory to close this section without quoting the magnificent paragraph with which he ended his report in March of 1871. It reads as follows: "Such, sir, are the views which I have formed upon the whole question of the existing state of affairs in the Saskatchewan country. They result from the thought and experience of many long days of travel through a large portion of the region to which they have reference. If I were asked from what point of view I have looked upon this question, I would answer--From that point which sees a vast country lying, as it were, silently awaiting the approach of the immense wave of human life which rolls unceasingly from Europe to America. Far off as lie the regions of the Saskatchewan from the Atlantic seaboard, on which that wave is thrown, remote as are the fertile glades which fringe the eastern slopes of the Rocky Mountains, still that wave of human life is destined to reach those beautiful solitudes, and to convert the wild luxuriance of their now useless vegetation into all the requirements of civilized existence. And if it be matter of desire that across this immense continent, resting on the two greatest oceans of the world, a powerful nation should arise with the strength and the manhood which race and climate and tradition would assign to it--a nation which would look with no evil eye upon the old motherland from whence it sprung; a nation which, having no bitter memories to recall, would have no idle prejudices to perpetuate--then surely it is worthy of all toil of hand and brain, on the part of those who to-day rule, that this great link in the chain of such a future nationality should no longer remain undeveloped, a prey to the conflict of savage races, at once the garden and the wilderness of the central continent." These great words were written nearly half a century ago. What has taken place in Western History within that time shows how this remarkable man "had his ear to the ground," as the Indians used to express it and that he was in effect saying, with Whittier: "I hear the tread of nations, Of Empires yet to be; The dull low wash of waves where yet Shall roll a human sea." CHAPTER II ENTER THE MOUNTED POLICE Great bodies are proverbially slow in their movements, and in this regard all governments seem to be great bodies. It may be that a healthy difference of opinion within a cabinet tends to cautious procedure, but that type of caution is rather trying on people whose nerves tingle for action. The first Government of Canada under that astute and tactful statesman, John A. Macdonald, was a sort of composite organization which needed careful handling to prevent explosions, and some vast new problems such as the construction of a transcontinental railway were in that day swinging into politics. So, despite Butler's urgent report in 1871 and the rumours more or less exaggerated of intertribal Indian fights with the accompaniments of massacre and scalping-knife torture, the Government took another year to think over it, and in 1872 sent Adjutant-General P. Robertson-Ross to make a general reconnaissance and bring back further expert opinion. And Colonel Ross, after many many months of travelling, brought in a quite pronounced series of suggestions pointing out the great need for such a force as Butler had suggested, and definitely advised the placing of detachments of "mounted riflemen" all the way from Manitoba to the Rockies, and for that matter from the boundary line to the Pole. It is interesting to note in this report of Colonel Robertson-Ross a reference to the matter of the uniform of the proposed force in the following paragraph: "During my inspection in the North-West, I ascertained that some prejudice existed amongst the Indians against the colour of the uniform worn by the men of the Rifles, for many of the Indians said, 'Who are these soldiers at Red River wearing dark clothes? Our old brothers who formerly lived there (meaning H.M.S. 6th Regiment) wore red coats,' adding, 'we know that the soldiers of our great mother wear red coats and are our friends.'" The Indians like the bright colour, but they also in this case connected it with the regular regiment that had come to the Red River to keep the peace. Referring to this same subject of uniform, Mr. Charles Mair, noted author and frontiersman, recently said: "There is a moral in colour as in other things, and the blind man who compared scarlet to the sound of a trumpet was instinctively right. It does carry with it the loud voice of law and authority so much needed in this disjointed time. It disconcerts the ill-affected and has no small bearing in other ways." The Hon. Frank Oliver, of Edmonton, who has known the West from the early days, wrote not long ago on this point: "For nearly half a century throughout Canada's great plains, the red coat of the Mounted Policeman was the visible and definite assurance that right was might. A red speck on the horizon was notice to both weak and strong, honest and dishonest, that the rule of law prevailed; while experience taught white men and red that 'Law' meant even-handed justice as between man and man without fear or favour." "The red coat was evidence that wherever the wearer was, he was there with authority. In any other colour he might have escaped hostile observation. Not so when clad in red." Following Colonel Ross' report in 1872 the Government at Ottawa was subjected to a sort of fusillade on the question from the floor of the House of Commons. Hon. Alexander MacKenzie (afterwards Premier), Hon. Dr. John Schultz (later Sir John, Governor of Manitoba, who had been imprisoned by Louis Riel and had escaped with a price on his head), an ardent Canadian, Hon. William Cunningham, a newspaper man from Winnipeg, Hon. Donald A. Smith, a Hudson's Bay Company man (who as Lord Strathcona was to have such a large share in the making of the West) and the Hon. Letellier de St. Just were some of the members who wanted to know what the Government was contemplating in view of all the reports received. Sir John A. Macdonald, who took special pride in the police in later years, and the Hon. Joseph Howe, whose office was to look after the West, said that the Government was fully alive to the situation and would act in due time. As a matter of fact the Government, especially Sir John, had been for some time in consultation with experienced service men, notably Major (later Colonel) Arthur Henry Griesbach, who was in Ottawa for many months advising in regard to the force of which he was afterwards to become one of the earliest and most honoured members. It also emerged later that Sir John and his associates had been making some study of such famous organizations as the Irish Constabulary, and that he had set his mind on having a force that would be distinguished for hardiness in service and readiness in response to calls of duty rather than for "fuss and feathers," as he expressed it in his favourite way. Finally, on May 3, 1873, the Premier moved for leave to introduce a bill dealing with the administration of justice and for the establishment of a police force in the North-West Territories. It was adopted by the House on May 20, and so the organization of the now famous corps was definitely on its way. An interesting fact was that this was to be a civil force in uniform, not a military organization subject to the Queen's regulations, but dependent for discipline upon the personality of the officers, the esprit de corps that would be generated and the _noblesse oblige_ idea that would emerge in the course of service. And all these things actually developed as we shall see in the process of this story. Having finally passed the Act, the legislators rested on their laurels a few months more, for it was not until September that actual enrolment of the new force began to take place. The process of enlistment was then hurried somewhat and later on some sifting was done in order to throw out any culls. But in the main the men measured up well to the demands of that most interesting and important clause in the Act, which says: "No person shall be appointed to the police force unless he be of sound constitution, able to ride, active and able-bodied, and between the ages of eighteen and forty years, nor unless he be able to read and write either the English or the French language." This was sane legislation, for these men were not going out on a picnic. They were going to patrol the widest and wildest frontier in the world. And that frontier has always said in the words of Robert Service: "Send not your foolish and feeble; send me your strong and your sane: Strong for the red rage of battle; sane, for I harry them sore. Send me men girt for the combat, men who are grit to the core. Them will I gild with my treasure; them will I feed with my meat; But the others--the misfits, the failures--I trample them under my feet." And in order that readers may have other testimony than that of the author on the question of the need for strong men, let me quote words written by the Hon. N. W. Rowell, who, as President of the Council and Governmental head of the force, had specially studied the history of the Police: "When the Canadian West first saw the scarlet jacket the prairies were in a transition stage which contained grave possibilities of danger. The old era, in which the Hudson's Bay Company and the Indians had dealt peaceably together, was breaking up, and the private trader, irresponsible and often not too scrupulous, was laying the seeds of trouble in a land where the Indians still were numerous and powerful. Tribe waged war against tribe, and formidable hosts, fresh from fighting against the American army, surged across the forty-ninth parallel." And the words also of the frontier statesman already mentioned, the Hon. Frank Oliver, of Edmonton: "Ordinarily speaking no more wildly impossible undertaking was ever staged than the establishment of Canadian authority and Canadian law throughout the Canadian prairies by a handful of Mounted Police. The population consisted chiefly of warring tribes of Indians, of whom the Blackfeet Confederacy was the most important, the most warlike and the most intractable. Next to the Indians in numbers were scattered settlements of half-breeds, who lived by the chase; no less warlike although more tractable than the Indian. Then a few white and half-breed traders and missionaries; and last and best, the commencement of white settlements at Prince Albert and Edmonton. An imaginary line separated Canada from the United States for a distance of 800 miles. South of that line, strategic points were garrisoned by thousands of United States soldiers; an almost continuous condition of Indian warfare prevailed; and the white population in large measure ran free of the restraints of established authority. There had been an overflow of 'bad men' from Montana into what is now Southern Alberta and South-Western Saskatchewan, who repeated in Canada the exploits by which they had made Montana infamous. In large measure, world opinion took for granted that lawlessness must accompany pioneer conditions. Canada's Mounted Police Force was the challenge to that idea." And as evidence of the way in which the police backed Canada's challenge nothing finer is written than the following in a letter to me some time ago from Governor Dr. R. G. Brett of Alberta, who has been on the frontiers for nearly forty years: "The manner in which so small a force kept down the liquor traffic, controlled the savage tribes of Indians, protected the lives and property of the settlers, affords an illustration of paternal administration that is probably without parallel in the world's history." These are tributes from men who know. And Governor Brett goes on to commend the idea of a history of the Police when he adds: "Every Canadian cannot but be a better citizen after reading the history of the lives of the modest heroes, whose devotion to duty and even-handed distribution of justice have commanded the admiration of the civilized world." From the beginning the officers of the force have been almost invariably of outstanding strength who won the respect of the men under their command by their willingness to share all the perils of the service and by being always ready to be in front of the troop when there was danger ahead. Not long ago a veteran hospital Sergeant of the Force, Dr. Braithwaite, of Edmonton, said finely, "I know of no officer in the force who would order any man to do any work at all, that the officer would not do himself. A man would not be asked to ride a refractory horse that his officer would not or could not ride. This is what has given the Force its reputation--the absolute confidence of the men in their leaders, and the complete esprit de corps that was always there." That the general spirit of the original legislation which insisted on good physique and respectable character in the men of the force was carried out in practice, those of us who have known these men in almost all circumstances and places can testify. To illustrate, I recall in Winnipeg seeing the men who were going over to form part of the Empire's tribute on the occasion of Queen Victoria's Diamond Jubilee. After a stop-over for a couple of hours they fell in to the bugle call on the railway platform. The men looked like models for the statue of Apollo, and with the clear eye, bronzed faces and alert movement born of their clean and healthful outdoor life on the plains, they were goodly to behold. And when I remarked to Major (now Commissioner) Perry, who was in command, that it was generally looked on as rather a dangerous thing to let a body of men loose amid the temptations of a strange city, Perry replied: "That has no bearing on these men, even though there was a saloon on every corner. Every man feels that the honour and good name of the force depend on his individual conduct, and so he can be trusted." And when in London, the Mounted Police won golden opinions, not only for their splendid appearance, but for their gentlemanly bearing. Still another general remark may be made here. It will be remembered that Butler had recommended that the force to be organized in support of constituted authority be independent of any party or faction either in Church or State. And here also Butler's advice has been borne in mind. Governments have come and gone in regular cycle of years according as they were thought worthy or otherwise of the people's support. And partisan politics have played a considerable, and not always a creditable, part in Canadian history. But the Mounted Police force has never been in the game. Mounted Policemen have always been strictly non-partisan in politics and no interference with them by politicians of any party would be tolerated for a moment. These law-enforcers have always been absolutely independent of any local or other influences except the commands of their officers in the line of duty, and to this in large measure is due the remarkable reputation of the force for giving every man a square deal, regardless of race or creed or colour. Mounted Policemen have never been respecters of persons. They treat every one alike. Referring to political parties, for instance, it is recalled that the corps was scarcely organized when Sir John Macdonald was retired by the Canadian electorate and the Hon. Alexander Mackenzie was elevated to the premiership. But this made no change in the matter of the force which from the beginning has been the servant not of any political party but of the nation. It is historically correct to say that Sir John Macdonald started the organization, but it fell to Mr. Mackenzie's lot to perfect the organization, and start it definitely on its Western career. Governments may come and governments may go, but the Police have kept on the even tenor of their way throughout all the years. [Illustration: MAJOR-GENERAL SIR A. C. MACDONNELL. K.C.B., C.M.G., D.S.O., KNIGHTED FOR SERVICES TO THE EMPIRE.] [Illustration: MAJOR-GENERAL SIR SAMUEL B. STEELE, K.C.B., etc., KNIGHTED FOR SERVICES TO THE EMPIRE. _Photo. Elliott & Fry._] [Illustration: SUPERINTENDENT A. H. GRIESBACH. The first man to enlist in the Mounted Police. "The Father of the Force."] [Illustration: INSPECTOR J. M. WALSH. Who handled the Sitting Bull situation. _Photo. Murray, Brockville._] CHAPTER III MOBILIZING Perhaps the startling story of "The Massacre Ground" at Cypress Hills, some 40 miles north of the boundary line, and kindred stories were the last straws which, added to the weight of evidence for the necessity of an armed force in the West, moved the Dominion Government to active organization work. This Cypress Hills event is a gruesome story enough, but it is part of the setting for the entrance of the Mounted Police on the stage of Western life. It appears that a party of men--we call them men by courtesy as they were human beings of the male persuasion--crossed over from Montana on a trading expedition. They were white men, but perhaps of various races, for they were mostly adventurers who had served in the American Civil War and had not much regard for human life. These men deluged an Assiniboine Indian Camp with deadly whisky in return for every valuable thing the Indians had to trade. And when the Indian Camp was ablaze with the light of campfires and was a mad whirl of dancing drunkenness the miscreant traders from the South, in a spirit of utter wanton devilry, got under cover of a cut bank by the creek where the camp was, and proceeded to shoot the Indians who were defenceless in their orgy. A volley or two accounted for two score killed and many wounded, only a few escaping to the hills. And this carnival of bloodshed was witnessed by an American trader, Abe Farwell, who, being alone, was helpless to prevent, but who testified as to the frightful occurrence. Nor was this very far from the general order of the day. Bloods, Piegans, Blackfeet, Crees, Assiniboines and the other tribes maddened with doped liquor from outlaw traders, fought each other whenever they met. And some cases were known where Blackfeet and Crees, implacable enemies, happening to meet at some trading post, struggled with fierce brutality, while the Hudson's Bay trader in the fort had to barricade his gate and let them fight it out amongst themselves. I have myself seen Indian braves with half a score of scalps dangling from their belts, and others with no end of nicks in their rifle stocks to indicate the number they had slain. Buffalo-hunters from the white and half-breed settlements by the Red and the Assiniboine Rivers only ventured westward in large companies heavily armed. Explorers ran great risks, and the famous Captain Palliser had to hunt one whole winter with Old Sun, the Chief of the Blackfeet, that he might become as one of that fighting tribe and get leave to draw his maps. Communication was difficult, but the news of these events of frightfulness percolated through to Ottawa and the order went out in September, 1873, that officers already appointed should proceed to recruit in the Eastern Provinces and rush some part of the force to the far West, so as to be on the ground by the next spring. The principal recruiting officer seems to have been Inspector James Morrow Walsh, who became one of the noted men of the Force in later years. It is a somewhat remarkable coincidence and a decided testimony to the directness with which the Mounted Police when organized struck at the very heart of the lawlessness in the West, that Fort Walsh, called after this recruiting Inspector, was built as a Police post not many months later practically on "The Massacre Ground" in the Cypress Hills country. That Fort was a direct and visible challenge to every outlaw, white or red, who expected to have his own way in British territory. We shall meet Walsh from time to time in this story and his name simply occurs here as one of the earliest recruiting officers. I knew him at different stages in his career, but most particularly when he had retired from the Force and entered the coal business in Winnipeg. Later on he was the Civil Governor of the Yukon Territory. Clean-cut in figure, athletic, wiry and always faultlessly dressed, Walsh was a good-looking type and bore in his carriage the unmistakable stamp of his cavalry training. In Winnipeg he was popularly known as the man who had tamed Sitting Bull, the redoubtable Sioux of Custer Massacre fame, but others of the Police also had a hand, as we shall see, in that extraordinary experience. There was no difficulty in getting men to enlist in the Mounted Police. This was clearly not due to any mercenary motives on the part of men enlisting. The remuneration for both officers and men was small, as it remains comparatively speaking to this day, when we remember that the work has always called for an unusual degree of endurance, initiative, reliability and courage. But the Government no doubt placed considerable reliance on the fact that the spirit of adventure is strong in the hearts of young men and that the lure of a new land would draw them with compelling magnetism. In this the authorities were not disappointed. In fact, Colonel George A. French, a Royal Artillery Officer, then at the head of the School of Gunnery at Kingston (who died recently after much distinguished service to the Empire during which he rose to a Major-Generalship and a Knighthood with many decorations), and who was early given command of the Mounted Police with the title of Commissioner, saw the danger of a rush for places in the new Force and took steps to weed out undesirables. More than once in Toronto and again at Dufferin in Manitoba when the great venture of the march out into the unknown began, Colonel French put the matter before the men in a sort of forlorn-hope admonition. They were to be one of the few forces in the world constantly on active service and neither Garibaldi nor Bruce of Bannockburn ever warned men more distinctly of what possibly lay ahead of them. And the picture, as after events proved, was not overdrawn. These men were to face cold and hunger and the perils of drought in the various seasons of the year; they were to leave the comforts of civilization and live under the canopy of the sky amidst the storms of summer and the blizzards of winter; they were to be called to root out nests of outlaws who had no scruples about taking human life, and they, a mere handful of men, were to control and guide Indians whose brethren to the south of the boundary were engaging attention of thousands of soldiers in the endeavour to keep them in order. All this and more did French tell the new recruits. But only a very few dropped out and throughout the years the force has attracted a fine class of men both from Canada and the British Isles. Young men from the towns and farms of the old Provinces, University Graduates and younger sons of the nobility in the Mother Land, men of birth and breeding and social advantage have always been in the ranks. But once in the force there were no social distinctions sought or recognized. Genuine manhood was the only hall-mark allowed as a standard. The fine democracy of Robert Burns,-- "The rank is but the guinea stamp; The man's the gold for a' that,-- has had right of way. There was an intangible but real atmosphere in the corps which in some quiet but quite definite fashion, eliminated any man who did not measure up to the mark which the members felt they ought to reach. Mr. Charles Mair, the author and frontiersman, already quoted, says finely, "The average Mounted Policeman was an idealist regarding the honour of his corps; and if, as sometimes happened, a hard character crept into it, physically fit, a good rider or a good shot, but coarse, cruel and immoral, he fared ill with his fellows, and speedily betook himself to other employment." The men who first enlisted in the East, mainly in Ontario, in September, 1873, were sent away westward by the Great Lakes and the difficult Dawson Route to the Red River country in order to be on the ground and get down to work preparatory to the trek towards the setting sun. The Dawson Route, so-called after the designer of it, was a trail which utilized the water-stretches and on the whole was more suited to amphibious animals than human beings. Some of the men now coming over it with the police had travelled it with Wolseley a few years previously and would have vivid recollections of the flies and mud and portages and the need of manufacturing skidways over the bogs, but they would also recall the irrepressible and uproarious spirit in which they used to sing of their additional accomplishments in the rollicking "Jolly Boys" chorus: "'Twas only as a volunteer that I left my abode, I never thought of coming here to work upon the road." The Police, however, were coming in the fall of the year and escaped some of the plagues of the earlier seasons. They duly landed at Lower Fort Garry, the old Hudson's Bay post still romantically standing on the banks of the Red River some 20 miles north of the present city of Winnipeg. They came in three troops or divisions, "A," "B," and "C," of fifty men each, which was the number of the Force which the law-makers at Ottawa thought would be sufficient to patrol 300,000 square miles of territory where lawlessness was beginning to be rampant. In the meantime it was not very pleasant for the Police to land at the Fort near the beginning of winter and to learn a few days afterwards that their winter clothing had been commandeered by the weather and frozen in somewhere on the Dawson Route. But this too was accepted with good grace by the men who had declined to be sifted out of the Force by the warnings given them as to hardships ahead. These men at Lower Fort Garry had been on the pay-roll since their enlistment in September, but they were not actually on service till the 3rd of November, 1873, when they were sworn in by Lieut.-Colonel Osborne Smith, who was then in command of the Western Military District with headquarters at Winnipeg. It is not generally known that Colonel Osborne Smith, who had seen service in the Crimea and the Fenian Raid in 1866, was really appointed Commissioner of the Police so as to give him full authority until a successor was invested with the command. But I have before me as I write the elaborate parchment which so appointed Colonel Smith. It is dated September 25, 1873, and bears the signature of J. C. Aikins (afterwards Governor of Manitoba) as Secretary of State as well as that of Sir John A. Macdonald. Colonel Osborne Smith, whom I knew well in later days and under whom I served in the Winnipeg Light Infantry, brigaded in 1885 with some of the Police of this original troop, was an ardent Canadian Imperialist, and I imagine it was he who drew up the enlistment oath that was subscribed before him that day at the old Fort. In view of the fact that the word "Canadian" has been substituted in the name of the Force for the word "North-West" and that the jurisdiction of the corps has now been extended over the whole Dominion, it is suggestive of prophetic vision that the original oath should have borne the heading "Mounted Police of Canada." It is also interesting to note in connection with this oath, which pledges faithful performance of duty and the protection and due care of their equipment and other public property, that the first signature is that of Arthur Henry Griesbach, who was then Regimental Sergeant-Major, but who later on became one of the ablest Superintendents. He has already been referred to as the special adviser of Sir John A. Macdonald in Ottawa for some months prior to the organization of the Police, and on this account shares with Sir John the designation of the "Father of the Force." Griesbach's signature was witnessed by Samuel B. Steele, who was then Troop Sergeant-Major, and who, after very notable service in the Police and the Militia, was promoted to a Major-Generalship and Knighted. Amongst other well-known signatures is that of John Henry McIllree, then a Sergeant who, with much excellent work in the Force to his credit, became Assistant Commissioner and is now retired with the rank of Colonel and the Imperial Service Order. The list of men on that first roll holds the signatures of many whose names became household words in Western Canada and whose contribution to the Empire was of far-reaching value. They were the real originals of a corps which was looked on by many as an experiment in the beginning. But their work set such a high standard for those who came after them that men who joined in later years felt the pressure of prestige to which they must live up if they were to hold their place in the organization. The result has been that the reputation of this remarkable corps has grown with the years and any writer of their history would be sadly lacking in the historical sense if he did not see how profoundly they have influenced for good the trend of life west of the Great Lakes. It is worth while at this point to emphasize and illustrate this statement for the sake of readers who may not know the history of the West as some of us do who have lived in the country all our days and have witnessed the developments throughout the passing years. Nothing could be a greater mistake than to look upon the Mounted Police as a body separate from the elements that have gone to the making of the Canadian West. As a body, it is true, they were aloof from partisan political strife, from class struggles in the social order and from the activities of commercial endeavour, but their influence was felt constantly on the pulse of the growing country which, like a boisterous growing boy, needed restraint and guidance in reaching the fullness of its powers. They were not party men, politically or socially, but they saw that every person and every organization that was sane and law-abiding and constructive, got fair play without interference from anyone. The Police did not as a body engage in commercial activities themselves, but they made it possible for the settler and the miner and the railroad-builder and others in all lawful occupations to go about their work in peace and develop the country under the shield of police protection. In brief, the record of this famous corps is woven into Western history to such a degree that without the fibre of that record the present great fabric of a new land, strong, sound and unbreakable, would have been impossible. Two things specifically might be said here in this regard. Butler, in the famous report already quoted, dwelt eloquently, it will be remembered, on the necessity for the organization of a force that would be a protector and guide to the settlers who would flow into the West. It is rather a curious coincidence that when the first of the Mounted Police contingent came over the Dawson Route they assisted families on the way to the Red River country who would probably never have got through without the help of these kindly giants. And that was just a prophecy of what was to be the rule. Settlers did not hesitate to go where there was Mounted Police protection and the occasional patrol to remote homesteaders to see whether there was anything required made the lot of many a lonely household much more carefree and happy than it would otherwise have been. There is absolutely no doubt that the tide of humanity flowed freely into the vast new frontier land by reason of the fact that the scarlet-coated riders had made the wilderness a safe abode and a place of opportunity for the law-abiding and the industrious. Thus did the Police fulfil the vision of Butler and make the settlement of the great areas not only possible but speedy. Another impressive way in which the Mounted Police made history was their extraordinary handling of the Indian tribes who were the original possessors of the soil. History, both ancient and modern, is full of the bitter tragedies created by the way in which incoming people have treated original inhabitants of the lands they were coming to possess. In our own day just across the border, owing to mishandling by some unfaithful Government agents and other causes, there was war for decades between the Government and the Indians, who looked upon the cavalry and other military bodies in that country as their enemies. This was never the case with our Western Country. The first business our Mounted Police did was to stand between the Indians and the vile creatures who would give them drink and rob them of all they possessed. So that some two years after the scarlet tunic had made its appearance in the foothill country, Crowfoot, the famous Chief of the warlike Blackfeet, referring to the Police, said in his beautiful imagery, "They have protected us as the feathers protect the bird from the frosts of winter." The Indians knew that they could not commit crime and go unpunished any more than the white man, but the Indians also knew that the Police would see that every man, whether red or white, got fair play. Hence the Indians recognized the Police as their friends and not as their enemies. With thousands of Indians, accustomed to almost constant war, thrown upon their hands, the Police never had any real revolt on the part of the Indians to deal with save only when the mad Riel inveigled a few of them on the war-path by cunning guile. And with some personal knowledge of that whole affair we venture to say that had the warning given by Superintendent Crozier and other Policemen months before the outbreak been taken, and had the Police Force been doubled and given a free hand, there would have been no rebellion and no bloodshed. But when the outbreak did come we are also ready to affirm, as amongst those who took part in its suppression, that but for the missionaries and the Police the rebellion would have been far more widely spread. And equally are we ready to declare that the Police were the backbone of every brigade in which they served, and this we say without any desire to minimize the arms of the service to which we belonged. It was the swearing in of the "originals" of the Mounted Police that led to the writing of these special reflections. For on looking back over the years of this West that I have known from childhood, it seems to me that the day of that first enlistment oath was a pivotal point around which much of the destiny of Western Canada would turn for the rest of recorded time. Hence it is at this stage of the story that the formative day at Lower Fort Garry should be noted. That winter in the old stone-walled fort was a busy one for the new recruits. After they were sworn in by Colonel Osborne Smith, that officer returned to his duties at Upper Fort Garry. He had done a good day's work, and if he addressed the men in the crisp, incisive style I have often heard him use on patriotic occasions, then he had made additional contribution to the considerations that inspired the Police to determined endeavour. On his leaving Superintendent W. D. Jarvis, who had seen service in Africa and became a very popular officer, took over the duties of Adjutant and Riding Master, Griesbach took charge of discipline and foot-drill, while S. B. Steele, popularly known in the West to the close of his days as Sam Steele, looked after the breaking of the broncos and gave instruction in riding, which latter proved to be highly necessary. There were no eight-hour days, the only limit being the daylight each way. Steele drilled five rides a day in the open, and the orders were that, unless the thermometer dropped beneath 36 degrees below zero, a rather cool temperature, the riding and breaking were to proceed. The broncos were of the usual exuberant type, given to every device to throw a rider, and falls on the frozen ground were not infrequent, but by spring the men knew how to handle broncos so as to become the pioneers of fine horsemanship amongst the riders of the plains. Lieut.-Colonel French came in November, 1873, and assumed his command. It did not take him long to see that a handful of 150 men, however gallant, would be totally inadequate for the gigantic undertaking ahead of them. The Force has always been too small in numbers, but at the outset the proposed strength was absurdly below the mark. Fortunately the news of the lawlessness that was abroad in the far West made it possible for Colonel French to get the proposed number doubled and brought up to the 300 which Constable T. A. Boys made famous in his well-known poem "The Riders of the Plains," from which we quote the following verses: "We muster but three hundred In all this Great Lone Land, Which stretches from Superior's shore To where the Rockies stand; But not one heart doth falter, No coward voice complains, Tho' all too few in numbers are The Riders of the Plains. "Our mission is to raise the Flag Of Britain's Empire here, Restrain the lawless savage, And protect the Pioneer; And 'tis a proud and daring trust, To hold these vast Domains, With but three hundred Mounted Men, The Riders of the Plains. "And though we win no fame or praise But struggle on alone To carry out good British rule, And plant old England's throne; Yet when our task is ended, And Law and Order reigns, The peaceful settler long will bless The Riders of the Plains." Meanwhile down in Eastern Canada the left wing of the Force was being recruited and, permission being obtained from the United States, three divisions, rather over strength, left Toronto on June 6, 1874, and came west via Chicago and St. Paul to the end of steel at Fargo in North Dakota. Colonel French had gone back East to come out with them. It was a motley outfit that dumped itself out of the train on that Dakota plain. The men were a carefully selected and fine appearing lot, and the horses were of the handsome Eastern type; but the wagons in pieces to be assembled, and the saddles shipped from England in parts, were strewn over the ground for acres. The Fargo people rather enjoyed the idea of these men with their interesting mission being amongst them for a week or so getting ready for the trail. But to the amazement of those townsfolk the Police starting at four o'clock in the morning and working in four-hour relays "hit the trail" within twenty-four hours and pulled out their cavalcade for the trip to Canadian Territory. It had taken two weeks from Toronto, including the rather testing experience for men of a day off in Chicago and St. Paul, so that we like Colonel French's note at this point saying, "I must say I felt a great load off my shoulders at again being on Canadian soil." But the Police had begun early to create a good impression, and he adds, "The conduct of the men had been most exemplary, their general appearance and conduct invariably attracting the favourable notice of the railway officials and others _en route_." In preparation for the march westward to the foothills of the Rockies the three divisions "A," "B," and "C" that had been quartered for the winter at Lower Fort Garry left that point on June 7, 1874, and were at the rendezvous at Dufferin near the boundary line to greet the Commissioner and the three divisions "D," "E," and "F," which had come through as related from Toronto. Just before leaving Lower Fort Garry with the original divisions, Inspector James Farquharson McLeod had been appointed Assistant Commissioner of the Force. Thus one of the noted figures in the after history of Western Canada came upon the scene of his future work and triumphs. McLeod had served as Assistant Brigade Major in Wolseley's Red River expedition and for his services then received the brevet rank of Lieut.-Colonel and the C.M.G. He was originally from Calgarry in Scotland (hence the name of the city of Calgary in Alberta in his honour) and had all the judicial faculty of the Scot coupled with the ardour of his Highland ancestry. His absolute reliability and fearless fairness gave him an influence over the Indians in later days that can only be described as extraordinary, and the time came when that commanding power over the warlike Blackfeet stood Canada in good stead. Commissioner French lost no time in getting his men into shape at the rendezvous. From the divisions he brought with him he drafted fifty men to bring the original divisions up to strength. He arranged the night camp with the Eastern horses inside the zariba of wagons, and the Western horses, mostly broncos, on the outside--an arrangement that turned out well in view of a stampede that took place. The occasion of the stampede (and there is nothing more fearful than a stampede of maddened animals) was a terrific thunderstorm, which transformed the prairie into a sea of electric flame and sent bolts crashing into the zariba amidst the horses that were tied to the wagons. Sergt.-Major Sam B. Steele (that was then his rank), who was riding near this enclosure, thus vividly described the scene: "A thunder-bolt fell in the midst of the horses. Terrified, they broke their fastenings, and made for the side of the corral. The six men on guard were trampled under foot as they tried to stop them. The maddened beasts overturned the huge wagons, dashed through a row of tents, scattered everything, and made for the gate of the large field in which we were encamped. In their mad efforts to pass they climbed over one another to the height of many feet. I had full view of the stampede, being not more than 50 yards from the horses as they rushed at the gate and attempted to pass it, scrambling and rolling over one another in one huge mass." Inspector (now Colonel) Walker leaped on a passing horse and went out with them into the night. He pursued the frightened animals for some 50 miles across the boundary, and helped to round them up and bring them back twenty-four hours after they had stampeded. Colonel Walker says: "The horses did not get over their fright all the summer, and had to be watched closely as any unusual noise would stampede them." This was truly an exciting introduction to prairie life. Commissioner French, who had been sworn into his office on December 16, 1873, was handling the situation with the thoroughness and ability of a trained soldier. He believed in discipline and showed independence by declining to tolerate any outside interference with the work of the Force. Perhaps it was French who laid the foundations for the non-partisan character of the Police by resisting anything which bore the resemblance of using political pull to secure place and promotion in the corps. He stood strongly for merit as the basis for preferment. Evidence is not lacking to show that Ottawa was rather too much disposed to run the Force by long-range activity on behalf of some favourites. Dispatches came from the seat of Government, showing pronounced lack of knowledge of local circumstances and requirements. To some of these French replied so forcibly that interference with the internal management of the Force largely ceased in time. In one case, amongst French's books of letters, I found this recently: "Sub-Constable ---- has not as yet shown the necessary qualification to justify his promotion to the position of Acting Constable, much less to that of a Commissioned Officer." In another case he wrote: "I beg to point out that if the members of this Force are encouraged to communicate with the Department direct, thereby ignoring all those supposed to be placed in authority over them, it will be very difficult to maintain anything like proper discipline in the Force." Wise man, who saw a dangerous tendency, and courageous man to point it out with frankness. At another time some wise person suggested to pay by cheque, to which French replied, "Who will cash them in the wilderness?" Similarly, he objected to members of the Force being encouraged to write of their grievances to the newspapers. That French looked carefully into details for the sake of the men's comfort is evidenced by letters in his book which protest against an inferior kind of tea being sent out for use in the Force, and that he was very watchful against the class of people who, on various pretexts, try to get some of the Government property, is attested by the following letter to a man whom I remember well to be of that shark type: "In answer to your letter of the 28th of August, I beg to say that I do not see the necessity of giving you a Government wagon, because, through some carelessness in your business arrangements, you have lost one of your own." There is wit as well as rebuke in that communication. On the whole we repeat that, though he had a task of unusual difficulty, French laid the foundation of the Force, and gave the superstructure a trend that affected for good the after history of the famous corps. It was this man who was now to lead his column on the longest march in history for a column carrying its own supplies. He was leading it "out into the unknown," but though many prophesied disaster, he was not to fail. CHAPTER IV THE AMAZING MARCH That thunderstorm, with the resultant stampede at Dufferin, along with some blood-curdling prophecies of attacks by the scalp-gathering Sioux Indians, had the good effect of weeding out the few non-adventurous spirits who, up to now, had thought that the hardships and dangers of the expedition had been painted in too lurid a colour. This suited Colonel French, as he had no desire to venture into the wilderness with any but the very best of men. A very necessary part of Police equipment, namely their revolvers, did not arrive from England till early in July, but once they had come French, who was impatient of delay in beginning so tremendous a trek, gave orders on July 8 for a "pull out," or what the old traders used to call "a Hudson's Bay start." The idea of a "pull out" before the real journey began was to shake the line of the caravan into shape, take out any kinks that might need straightening, and generally see that everything was working satisfactorily. With field guns and mortars, seventy-three wagons, and 114 of the wooden prairie conveyances, known as Red River carts, new harness and other equipment that needed testing, the "pull out" in this case was highly desirable, but every care had been taken, and after a 2-mile test, camp was pitched for a day or so till the real trip, across the 1,000-mile plain, was commenced on July 10, 1874, a red-letter day in Western history. The prairie had witnessed many a remarkable outfit striking out over the plains with dog-trains in winter and carts and buffalo-runners in summer, but it had never seen anything so business-like and highly picturesque as this Police marching-out state. The six divisions or troops of the mounted men, with the convenient alphabetical designation from "A" to "F," had been given horses of distinctive colour, so that in order there came for the start, dark bays, dark browns, light chestnuts with the guns, greys, blacks and light bays. After these came wagons, carts, cows and calves, beef cattle, and a general assortment of farming implements. Meat would be necessary when the buffalo were not available, and it would keep better "on the hoof." Posts would have to be supplied with food, and haying, ploughing and reaping would be necessary if men and horses were to live at some of the remote points. So they took the necessaries along as far as they could. Of course, the impressive order of march at the beginning could not be maintained throughout the gruelling expedition. A thousand miles across swamp and _coulées_ and rivers, over areas of waste and desolate prairie, where fires had swept every vestige of grass away, through sections where flies and drought and excessive heat, turning into cold as the autumn approached, played the inevitable havoc. All these elements combined to throw that ordered line into confusion at times. Here and there cattle died, oxen gave out and quit, horses broke down through lack of food and water, men, hardy as they were, took ill sometimes, but none succumbed, and as Colonel French observed in concluding his first report to Ottawa: "The broad fact is apparent that a Canadian force, hastily raised, armed and equipped, and not under martial law, in a few months marched vast distances through a country for the most part as unknown as it proved bare of pasture and scanty in the supply of water. Of such a march, under such adverse circumstances, all true Canadians may well be proud." And so say we all. [Illustration: COMMISSIONER A. G. IRVINE.] [Illustration: COMMISSIONER GEORGE A. FRENCH.] [Illustration: COMMISSIONER JAMES F. MACLEOD.] [Illustration: COMMISSIONER LAWRENCE W. HERCHMER.] It would be impossible to follow that amazing march in detail--that would take a whole volume, but the main outlines are within our reach. The officers who led in that remarkable episode in Canadian history deserve mention, for it has always been a Police tradition that officers would never ask men to go anywhere where they were not prepared to go themselves. Personally, or by reputation, at one time or another, I have known practically all of these officers, and they would all measure up to requirements, though some would excel others in initiative and activity. They were Lieut.-Colonel George A. French, Commissioner; Major James F. MacLeod, C.M.G., Assistant Commissioner; Staff-Dr. J. G. Kittson, Surgeon; Dr. R. B. Nevitt, Assistant Surgeon; W. G. Griffiths, Paymaster; G. Dalrymple Clark, Adjutant; John L. Poett, Veterinary Surgeon; Charles Nicolle, Quarter Master. Division "A": W. D. Jarvis, Inspector; Severe Gagnon, Sub-Inspector. Division "B": G. A. Brisebois, Inspector; J. B. Allan, Sub-Inspector. Division "C": W. Winder, Inspector; T. R. Jackson, Sub-Inspector. Division "D" (Staff Division): J. M. Walsh, Inspector; J. Walker and J. French, Sub-Inspectors. Division "E": J. Carvell, Inspector; J. H. McIllree and H. J. N. LeCaine, Sub-Inspectors. Division "F": L. F. N. Crozier, Inspector; V. Welsh and C. E. Denny, Sub-Inspectors. These were the originals amongst the officers, and the originals always attract our special notice. The Force has been as a whole, wonderfully fortunate in its officers. Here and there, as in the rank and file, there have been some throughout the years who were less strenuous and able than others, but their uniformly high character, and their incorruptibility at the hands of men who were ready to pay large sums if the Police would look the other way, have never been questioned. Many of these officers throughout the years might have become wealthy had they either neglected their duty to take business investments on the frontier, or had they been susceptible to anything like bribery. It stands to their credit that those of them who have passed on, died in comparative poverty, and that those who survive have nothing but their not too generous pay, or the still less generous pension allowance. The original officers above named set a high standard in that famous march across the wilds in 1874, and they were supported by as gallant and hardy a body of men as ever crossed the plains. Most of them were young men from the Eastern Provinces, who had no experience in the life of the prairies, and hardly any conception of the difficulties to be met and overcome, but they faced situations as they arose, and with the same initiative, resource and courage that have characterized Canadians on other fields of service, they persevered and won. Broadly speaking, the aim of the Police expedition was to strike at the lawlessness which was specially defiant and open in the foothills of the Rockies, where the proximity of the international boundary line made it easy for outlaws of all types to evade the consequences of their crimes and depredations on both sides in turn. Besides that it was proposed, by a sort of triangular distribution of the 300 Police, to cover the whole North-Western territory, and in that way give visibility to authority in all localities. To fulfil these aims and reach these objectives, the main body of the Police was to be sent on this march out to the Bow and Belly Rivers, near the Cypress Hills, made infamous by the massacre already described, and countless other criminalities. Another detachment, separating from the main body, was to go northward to Edmonton, by way of forts Ellice and Carlton, while a third, under the charge of the Commissioner, was to return to the proposed headquarters at Fort Pelly or Swan River, on the north-west boundary of Manitoba. These objectives were all reached after many serious hardships, the only modification in the places being in regard to the Swan River. On returning to that point in the beginning of winter, Colonel French found that the barracks were not ready for occupation, some wiseacre having started to build them amid granite boulders on a hill. Moreover, prairie fires had burned the hay intended for the Police, and the Hudson's Bay Company, having lost their supply also, could not assist. Consequently the Commissioner left only one division there, under that very competent officer, Inspector Carvell, and with the rest he pushed on to Winnipeg and the original starting-point at Dufferin, where he arrived in 30 degrees below zero, November weather, after a total march for his contingent of nearly 2,000 miles. We shall look at these three movements of the Force briefly. The whole column kept together as far as La Roche Percée, or the pierced rock, on the banks of the Souris, a distance of nearly 300 miles from the starting-point at Dufferin. Near here the Commissioner established what he called Cripple Camp for the maimed and halt, both of man and beast, for already the hardship of the route had begun to take its toll. But there was no time to lose, and French throughout was insistent on getting forward, for the way was long, and it was necessary to get out to the Cypress Hills country, get some shelters erected for the men and horses, and lay in some stores of provisions. By the end of August they were pretty well to their destination. In the meantime, Colonel French had gone over the line to Fort Benton, Montana, the nearest telegraphic point in those days, secured some stores and learned from Ottawa that after arrival at the foot-hill points, he was to leave Assistant Commissioner MacLeod in charge and return himself with "E" and "D" Divisions to Fort Pelly or Swan River, as the headquarters of the Force. While Colonel French was in Montana for a few days several half-breed buffalo-hunters visited the Police camp and told some ferocious stories about the desperadoes who were entrenched out in the cattle-stealing and boot-legging belt waiting to dispute possession with the new-comers. The scarlet-coated men took in all they said and smiled. Forts "Whoop-Up," "Stand-off" and the rest, with some of the outlaws in garrison, would have been a welcome diversion after the hardships they had experienced. Perhaps the leading incident of this particular part of the big trek was the discovery by the Commissioner of Jerry Potts, a short, heavy-set, taciturn man, half Scot and half Piegan, a wonderful plainsman, skilled in the language of the Indian tribes and a past-master in all the lore of the prairies. His father was an Edinburgh Scot, who was killed in Missouri by an Indian, and it is said that Jerry, though a mere boy, followed the Indian into camp and shot him. Anyway, Jerry Potts became a splendid help to the Police, a trainer of scouts, a matchless diplomat with the Indians, an incomparable interpreter, and a highly respected guide who, without consulting maps, seemed to know the way by instinct either in summer or winter. He began to be useful as soon as he took service with the Force in that fall of 1874. He guided them to the best feeding-places for the horses and cattle, and to the watering-places which were so constantly needed. And when, a few days after he came, the column struck herds of innumerable buffalo, it was Jerry Potts who warned against shooting at certain times, lest the bisons would stampede and trample the whole cavalcade under foot. Potts remained with the Police as interpreter till his death in 1906, making a long service of twenty-two years. We shall meet his name here and there in this story--a diamond in the rough, entitled to a niche in the hall of the men who helped to shape the early years of our history. Shortly after this trip to Montana, Colonel French, with the divisions above named, left the foothill country, and, coming back by way of Qu'Appelle, Fort Pelly and Swan River, he reached Dufferin, as already mentioned, in the 30 degrees below zero weather, he and the men with him having travelled about 2,000 miles since leaving there in July. The third party already mentioned as leaving La Roche Percée was a small detachment under Inspectors Jarvis and Gagnon. With sick and played-out horses, a lot of cattle, and not much general provision, and hardly enough men to keep up the rounds of duty, the lot of this detachment starting out on a march of 850 miles was not very enticing. The detachment left La Roche Percée on August 3, and reached Edmonton, by way of Fort Ellice and Carlton, on the 27th of October. Pasture was poor, water was scarce and, except where they struck Hudson's Bay posts or, as in one case, met a caravan of traders from whom some rations in the shape of pemmican were purchased, the outlook all the way was hazardous. When the weather began to get cold the weakened horses often had to be lifted in the morning and their joints rubbed, before they could proceed on the journey. During the last 25 miles it seemed as if the enterprise would collapse near the goal, as the cold had so stiffened the half-starved horses that they could not travel over the hard-frozen and icy ground. They had to be lifted and rubbed hour after hour. No wonder Inspector Jarvis said after reaching Edmonton, "Had these horses been my own property I should have killed them, as they were mere skeletons." However, the detachment got through finally, and were warmly welcomed by Mr. Hardistry, the Hudson's Bay factor, who, in addition to his own open-hearted nature, had joy in exercising to the full that generous hospitality for which the old Hudson's Bay men have been famous for two and a half centuries. They had ruled in a benevolently autocratic way throughout the years, and one would almost imagine that they would have looked askance at the scarlet-coated men who were representing the powers that were superseding them. But the Mounted Police had no more loyal friends and helpers than these grand men of the old Company, who were of enormous assistance to the Government and the Police in the critical days when there was a change of rulers taking place and the problem of the Indians had to be peaceably and satisfactorily settled. Inspector Jarvis, who was a gallant and popular officer, has this notable paragraph in his report to Colonel French: "In conclusion, I may state, on looking back over our journey, I wonder how we ever accomplished it with weak horses, little or no pasture, and for the last 500 miles with no grain, and the latter part of it over roads impassable. We made them, that is to say, I kept a party of men ahead with axes and, when practicable, felled trees and made corduroy over mudholes, sometimes 100 yards long, and also made a number of bridges and repaired the old ones. We must have laid down several miles of corduroy between Fort Pitt and here. Streams which last year when I crossed them were mere rivulets, are now rivers difficult to ford. _And had it not been for the perfect conduct of the men and real hard work_, much of the property must have been destroyed." Loyal men were those splendid pathfinders, who would do their utmost to conserve the equipment which belonged to their Sovereign. They had a keen sense of honour and a fine appreciation of the trust reposed in them. It is highly interesting to find emerging occasionally in these reports the names of men who afterwards became outstanding figures in the Force. Constable Labelle is especially singled out for mention by Inspector Jarvis, because of his special attention to the horses which were pulled through largely by his assiduous care. A man of that kind wins our respect and appreciation. A horse is perhaps the most sensitive animal in the world, and the West is full of stories of the positive attachment which grew up between the men on the frontier and the faithful animals to whose endurance and courage in storm and blizzard the troopers often owed their lives. And Inspector Jarvis mentions another in his first report from Edmonton when he says, "Sergt.-Major Steele has been undeviating in his efforts to assist me, and he has also done the manual labour of at least two men." That Steele, whom we shall meet more than once in this story, could do the manual labour of at least two men we can well believe. Years after the date on which this tribute was written by Jarvis I met Steele in the foothills of the Rockies, and in his tall, powerful figure, deep-chested proportions and massive shoulders, he suggested prodigious strength to the onlooker. And that Steele not only could but would do two men's work if it seemed his duty, goes without saying to those who knew him. Lieut.-Colonel J. B. Mitchell, of the 100th Grenadiers in Winnipeg, one of the original '73 men of the Mounted Police, tells us that when he went to Kingston to take an artillery course, before the Police Force was organized, he was told by Battery Sergt.-Major John Mortimer that some of the sergeants might try to take advantage of him, as he was new at the business but Mortimer added, "You can always rely on Sergeant Sam Steele." And the certificate of that grizzled old Sergt.-Major never had to be cancelled. And thus we have seen the Mounted Police come upon the stage and take their positions at the end of extraordinary marches. It will be our place and privilege to follow them as they play their large and serious part in nation-building in Western Canada. CHAPTER V BUSINESS IN THE LAND OF INDIANS Orders from Ottawa had disposed the Mounted Police into four different locations, although, as we have seen, the fourth had become only necessary at Dufferin, because there was neither shelter nor adequate provision for headquarters at Fort Pelly. But, when we look back into the situation, we can readily see that the Assistant Commissioner, Colonel MacLeod, had the most difficult and dangerous situation of all. They had all reached their destination after tremendous hardships, the Edmonton detachment perhaps most of all. But the three detachments, namely those at Edmonton under Jarvis, Fort Pelly under Garvell, and Dufferin under the Commissioner, had shelter and reasonable provision. But MacLeod was out in the open with the winter coming on and no shelter from the blizzards that blow at times even across that foothill country. He was hundreds of miles away from any possibility of help in men or substance from Canadian sources, and he had only three troops of fifty men each in the midst of a turbulent gang of outlaw whisky-peddlers and horse-thieves. He was completely surrounded by thousands of the most warlike of Western Indians, with some thousands still more warlike just over the line. Perhaps it was well that he hailed from the land where they say, "A stout heart to a stey brae," because, if a figure of speech from the sea is permissible on the prairie, he and his men knew that they had "burned their ship behind them," and that they must hold their ground or perish. They proved equal to their task, but a sketch or two from the reports of that period reveal the situation even to those who do not know the country. Colonel MacLeod decided that he could not hope to pull the horses and cattle through the winter in the locality where he was making his headquarters, so he dispatched Inspector Walsh and the weakest of the horses and cattle to Sun River, some 200 miles to the south. Walsh was evidently on the look out for service, for MacLeod says, "Walsh was anxious to be sent, and he deserves great credit for the way in which he is performing this service." In another place MacLeod says about November 1: "We had a severe snowstorm, with high wind and extreme cold, the thermometer going to 10 degrees below zero. When the storm broke I had all the horses driven into the shelter of the woods near by; every one blanketed and fed with oats and corn. Then I was extremely anxious about them, and glad they got through so well." The righteous man is merciful to his beast, even though the beast is Government property. And then we come across this fine human touch in which the emotional nature of the Highlander breaks through: "I hope soon to have ample accommodation for all if another storm breaks out. I have made up my mind that not a single log of men's quarters shall be laid until the horses are provided for, as well as a few sick men." If the dumb animals cannot speak for themselves, the Colonel speaks for them. If the men who are laid aside cannot plead their own cause they will not suffer, for the Colonel does not forget them. And MacLeod is early teaching his officers that he will have no "carpet knights," who claim immunity from hardship because of their rank, for he goes on to say, "Then the men's quarters will be proceeded with, and after that the officers'." We think the officers would all say amen to this, and that is why they always had the confidence of their men. By the time it was 20 degrees below zero they had got the men inside buildings with enough chimney to allow a fire to be kindled. But officers were still on the waiting list, for the report says in December, "Winder, Jackson and the doctor are in a tent in the woods." With officers and men of that stamp we hear no whining about being unable to enforce the laws of the country. And it was no easy place to enforce laws of certain kinds. The whole region around Fort MacLeod, as the necessarily crude outpost was called, being conveniently near the boundary line, had been for years the favourite stamping ground of the whisky-peddler. There had been no one to interfere with his activities. The Hudson's Bay Company regime, never very active in that locality, had been out of commission for four years, and nothing had taken its place. For Canadian authority, governing in a long-distance fashion, had not yet impressed itself visibly on the vast plains. Hence the outlaw trader had gone his riotous way, and as a result the poor Indian, who had an insatiable thirst for stimulant, had lived riotously to his own great detriment. And so, busy as the Police were in trying to build some shelter for their horses and themselves, Colonel MacLeod lost no time striking a body blow at the liquor traffic. Hearing from an Indian named Three Bulls that a coloured man was doing business in fire-water about 50 miles away, MacLeod sent Inspector Crozier and ten men, accompanied by the inimitable interpreter, Jerry Potts, to gather in the outfit. Two days afterwards Crozier returned, bringing in the coloured gentleman and four others with some wagon-loads of whisky, a small arsenal of rifles and revolvers, as well as many bales of buffalo robes, which the whisky-sellers had taken from the poor Indians in exchange for the drink that was so fatal to these children of the wild. The whisky was poured out in the snow, the robes were confiscated for the good of the country, and the culprits given the option of a fine or jail. This process revealed the headquarters of the traffic, for a sporting man, rejoicing in the sobriquet of "Wavey," came up from Fort Benton, in Montana, and paid the fines of the white men. There was an extra charge against the coloured man, whose name was Bond, and as "Wavey" would not intervene Mr. Bond had to go to jail. MacLeod would stand no nonsense. On one occasion, a gentleman from the same country as Bond, who was sent to jail without option, and who had in his own locality contracted the bad habit of talking back to judges, said to Colonel MacLeod, "When I get out of here, if you put me in, I will make them wires to Washington hum." "Let them hum," sad the Colonel; "in the meantime you go to jail, and if you say more you may have your sentence doubled." This was a Daniel come to judgment with a vengeance. To be more modern, it reminds one of Begbie, the great frontier judge on the west coast, who tamed the outlaw miners who tried to start rough-house in the gold-rush days. The dishonest extortioners on the prairie could do nothing to frighten or flatter or tamper with men like Colonel MacLeod and his red-coated patrols. Hence, we read the sequel in the Colonel's report in December, 1874: "I am happy to be able to report" (happy is a choice word--there are some things that make a good man happy)--"to be able to report _the complete stoppage of the whisky trade throughout the whole of this section of the country_, and that the drunken riots, which in former years were almost a daily occurrence, are now entirely at an end; in fact, a more peaceable community than this, with a very large number of Indians camped along the river, could not be found anywhere. Every one united in saying how wonderful the change is. People never lock their doors at night and have no fear of anything being stolen which is left lying about outside; whereas, just before our arrival, gates and doors were all fastened at night, and nothing could be left out of one's sight." And then Colonel MacLeod adds a testimony from the Rev. John McDougall, of Morley, at the edge of the mountains. He and his father, the Rev. George McDougall, who had been frozen to death on the plains, were widely known old-time missionaries. In later years I knew John McDougall well, missionary, scout and frontiersman, tall, full-bearded, handsome and keenly alive to everything that affected the welfare of the West land. And this competent witness said, "I am delighted with the change that has been effected. It is like a miracle wrought before our eyes." The Police were fulfilling their high, benevolent and patriotic mission. Colonel MacLeod felt that the first business of the Police was to thus protect the Indians who were the wards of the nation, and so it was that he had struck a decisive blow at the drink traffic, which was bidding fair to exterminate these children of the plains. Once that was done the Colonel set himself to get into touch with the various native tribes, which from the earliest days of the explorers and fur-traders had been looked upon as the most warlike and dangerous. It is well known that even the Hudson's Bay Company, despite the experience and the remarkable tact of their employees, had always found it difficult to establish satisfactory relations with the tribes, amongst which at this period Colonel MacLeod and his men were seeking a sphere of service for the good of all concerned. Accordingly, we find MacLeod reporting before the end of 1874 that he had interviewed the chiefs of the practically confederated tribes of the Bloods, Piegans and Blackfeet. He found them very intelligent men, and he described in some detail the stately ceremony with which these chiefs had conducted themselves in these interviews. They shake hands with Colonel MacLeod, and then, receiving the pipe of peace from the interpreter, Jerry Potts, they each smoke a few seconds and pass it around. MacLeod then explains to them the friendly attitude of the Canadian Government towards them, that the Police had come not to take the country from the Indians, but to protect these Indians against men who would despoil them and destroy them by sowing amongst them evil practices. And he adds that the Government would send soon some of the great men of the country to deal with the Indians and make treaty agreements with them. At these early interviews the chiefs gave unstinted praise to the Police, before whose coming there had been constant trouble. The Indians said they used to be robbed and ruined by the whisky-traders, that their horses, robes and women had been taken from them, that their young men were constantly engaged in drunken riots and many were killed, that their horses were stolen, so that they had no means of travelling or hunting. All this, the chiefs said, had been changed by the coming of the Police. One chief, in the graphic way by which they gesture in accord with what they are saying, crouched down and moved along with difficulty, and then stood up and walked. "Before you came," said this chief to the Colonel, "the Indian had to creep along, not knowing what would attack him, but now he is not afraid to walk erect." And so that first winter wore on with steady work on the part of the Police, who, while seeing that the Indians had every protection afforded them, also helped them to understand that they also had to observe the laws of the land. In view of the general situation amongst the Indians and the proximity of part of the North-West Territory to the boundary line, on the other side of which there was almost continuous warfare between the Government and the Indians there, posts were established now at several points all over the vast area that the Mounted Police had to control and guide. In some respects perhaps the most notable event in the spring of 1875, was the sending of Inspector Walsh with "B" Division to the Cypress Hills country, where a fort was built, named after this active and venturous Inspector. And this Fort Walsh became the centre around which for several years the Indian problem, in its various phases, surged backwards and forwards in varying force, but sometimes within dangerous possibility of becoming a tidal wave of destruction and death. There is no finer chapter in Canadian history than the one in which a mere handful of officers and men of the Mounted Police, with endless patience, unflinching courage and consummate skill in open diplomacy, kept the peace in an area larger than several European kingdoms, and within whose precincts thousands of warlike and well-armed Indians composed the reckless, restless and roving population. Years afterwards, when the first Canadian railway had crossed the continent away to the north, and conditions were entirely changed after treaties had been made with the Indians and reserves allotted to them, Fort Walsh was abandoned and dismantled, as it had served its purpose. A peaceful ranch now occupies the site, but though the debris of the old fort is strewed on the plain, the record of the men who made their headquarters there and in similar places is an imperishable bulwark and citadel in the life of our Dominion. Other posts were established about this period, such as Fort Calgary, Fort Saskatchewan, Battleford, Carlton, in what is now Northern Saskatchewan, Qu'Appelle in Saskatchewan and Swan River, an early post, Shoal Lake and Beautiful Plains in the northern section of Manitoba. All of these had their influence on the progress of the West, but none had in the pathfinding days the halo of romance that centred around Fort Walsh. In the year 1875 Major-General Sir E. Selby Smith, who commanded the Militia in Canada, made a tour of inspection throughout the Dominion and spent some months under escort of the Mounted Police travelling from Swan River to the far West. He was most favourably impressed by the physique and initiative of the men, commended the work that had been done, suggested the increase of the Force and the opening of some new posts, but there were many items in the report which revealed that a man cannot know the life and the needs of a country by making a trip through it. Perhaps the best thing in his report was where he said: "Too much value cannot be attached to the North-West Police, too much attention cannot be paid to their efficiency." The men on the ground knew the value of the Force and were taking good care that it would be efficient to the last degree. It was at the time of this tour that a fort projected by Colonel MacLeod to be erected somewhere midway between Fort MacLeod and the Red Deer River was built by "F" troop of the Mounted Police. It was erected near the Bow River and for a time was known as Fort Brisebois, after the officer commanding the division at the time. The name got into orders once or twice but without authority, and Colonel MacLeod put an end to any controversy over it by calling it Calgarry, after his birthplace in Scotland. Our Western mania for shortening names and thereby sometimes breaking with the historical past led to the cutting out of a letter and leaving the name in its present form. But the present city of Calgary, with its great buildings and its distinctive place within sight of the Rockies, has a definite background of early police history which has done much to shape her destiny. In the seventies changes were taking place in the system of government in the North-West Territories that had pronounced influence on the future of the country in ways closely associated with police history. Heretofore the vast territory over which the Police had oversight had been governed from Manitoba by the Lieutenant-Governor of that Province, assisted by a small body of men called the North-West Council. But government at long range is not more successful than diplomacy of the same variety, and it was becoming evident that some visibility should be given to control in the North-West Territories that stretched from Manitoba to the Mountains and from the boundary to the Pole. Accordingly, in 1876 the Hon. David Laird was appointed Lieutenant-Governor, with a small Council to assist him consisting of Colonel MacLeod of the Police and Matthew Ryan and Hugh Richardson, Stipendiary Magistrates. Ryan was a man of considerable literary power, and Richardson became prominent as one of the trial judges in the cases of Riel and the other rebel leaders some years later. [Illustration: SITTING BULL. Famous Sioux Indian Chief.] [Illustration: COLONEL JAMES WALKER (CALGARY) The oldest survivor of those who were commissioned officers during the great march of 1874.] David Laird was a Prince Edward Islander of great stature and gentlemanly bearing. He was of imposing appearance, and had the grace of easy speech with a good voice. Fearless in his general attitude, he had withal a fine genius for diplomacy, and came to have a remarkable insight into the Indian mind. The Indians, who prefer giving men names that describe some outstanding characteristic, christened Laird as "the man who talks straight," or, in other words, the man who tells the truth and sticks to it. Few people, perhaps, nowadays know the obligation this country owes to men like Governor Alexander Morris, of Manitoba, and Governor David Laird, of the Territories, for the extraordinary success with which they and their faithful native interpreters, backed and flanked by the fair-minded Mounted Police, dealt with the Indians. The impressive scarlet uniform of the Police somehow or other came to be recognized by the Indians as a sign royal of friendship. Once when Inspector Walsh with several men was riding into a camp of American Indians who had crossed to this side in the winter time, with his dark blue overcoat lightly buttoned and the men in their great coats, the Indians, thinking they were American cavalry, met them with levelled rifles and angry faces. Walsh was not the kind of man to halt for that, and would probably have paid the penalty for his devotion to duty, had not one of the troopers, catching the situation, thrown his overcoat open and disclosed the scarlet tunic. In a flash the Indians lowered their rifles--they recognized their friends. Little wonder that Morris and Laird and the other treaty-makers were grateful for the high standing of these stalwart riders of the plains. This matter of the Indian treaties deserved some special notice, because it is not well understood by people outside this country and because it is closely connected, as already intimated with the story of the Mounted Police. It is inevitable in the progress of human history that higher civilizations should supersede the lower. Wherever the contrary has been the case and a lower civilization overran the higher the movement of humanity was retrograde. Hence, if the Indian type of civilization in Western Canada was to be superseded by the British type and this change effected without injustice and hardship for the original dwellers in the country, the Government of the Dominion must proceed by process of treaty. By this we mean that the Government had at the same time to conserve the rights of the Indian and secure to them both a place of residence and means of subsistence by a system of reserves and money payments, and also had to so extinguish the Indian title to all lands outside their reserves as to enable incoming settlers to enter upon these lands and possess them on fulfilling certain conditions. That the Government of Canada, without regard to political party, has through all the years been more successful in these undertakings than the Government of any other country is generally conceded. This success has been due in part to the wise leadership of governors and commissioners and native interpreters. But we reiterate what every one knows who has studied the real history of this country at first hand, namely that this success was due in a very large degree to the presence of the Mounted Police who became from the first in the eyes of the Indians the embodiment of genuine friendship and British fair play. The earliest Indian treaty in what is now Western Canada was made by Lord Selkirk, whom the Salteaux Indians in the Red River Country called "The Silver Chief," because for sterling gifts he obtained from the Indians for his colonists a strip of land extending back as far as one could see a white horse on the prairie in a clear day. That was a primitive method of measurement and depended somewhat on the individual's power of vision, but with a vast unpeopled land stretching a thousand miles to the setting sun no one raised questions about a few acres more or less. Later, when the country was beginning to fill up, greater care had to be exercised. Indians, though apparently stoical and unemotional, are in reality very sensitive and keenly susceptible to anything that looks like oversight or slight of them and their rights. The year 1876 witnessed the retirement of Colonel French from the Commissionership of the Mounted Police. He had wrought hard in the critical tasks that fall to the lot of the foundation builder, but desired to return to his duty in the regular artillery service in England, where his eminent contributions to the Empire have been duly recognized. Colonel French, who retained to the end a warm interest in the Police, was succeeded in the Commissionership by Colonel James Farquharson MacLeod, who had already done such outstanding work during the long trek to the West and in getting to definite police duty at the key-position of the whole work in the foothill country. It was a tribute to MacLeod's work that he was appointed also to aid Governor Laird in the delicate work of making the treaty with the most difficult tribes in the North-West to handle. Treaties had been made with the Indians who had been most in contact with civilization in the more easterly districts of the Lake of the Woods, Lake Winnipeg and the Qu'Appelle Lakes. But the most imposing spectacles and the most difficult situation began to arise when the Governors, flanked by the brilliant scarlet of the Mounted Police, came to the farther North-West where the Indians retained much of their native dignity and barbaric splendour. This point was reached when Commissioners Governor Morris, Hon. W. J. Christie and the Hon. James McKay came to Fort Carlton to negotiate with Mistawasis, the great chief of the Crees, and his friend Ahtukahcoop. An interesting preface to this treaty was a threat made by a rascally Indian, Chief Beardy, of Duck Lake, who said that he would not allow the Commissioners to cross the south branch of the Saskatchewan River to come to Carlton. This information was imparted by Lawrence Clark, Hudson's Bay Factor at Carlton, to Inspector James Walker, who had arrived from Battleford with fifty Mounted Police the day before that on which the Commissioners were to arrive. Walker (now Colonel Walker, of Calgary), a man of commanding stature and strong determination, at once decided to take a hand in the proceedings. Initiative has always been characteristic of the Police. They were often miles away in distance from and worlds away in chance of communication with, any superior officer, and so they early developed the powers of resource which had to come into play in emergencies. Hence Walker, seeing the situation, swung out with his troop, in the small hours of next morning and hit the trail for Batoche. On the way he overtook the band of Indians with Chief Beardy. Walker paid no attention to them, but simply passed them and continued on the way. These Indians rarely indicate surprise, but this was the surprise of their lives, and they showed it in spite of themselves. They evidently did not calculate on the presence of the force in that part of the world, and to have these stalwart red-coated riders come up from the unexpected direction was too much even for their impassiveness. When Walker met the Commissioners farther on, he told Governor Morris of the situation and then, wheeling his men, formed a scarlet escort around the carriage. When they met Beardy he was in a repentant mood and shook hands with the Governor. But this disorderly Chief would only sign the treaty in his own camp. Not long afterwards Inspector Walker with two constables had to go to Duck Lake and face this same chief and a band of his insolent warriors and prevent them from looting a store at that point. Still later we shall find the incorrigible Beardy on the war-path with the rebels Riel and Gabriel Dumont. The treaty, known generally as "Number Six," was duly made at Carlton by Governor Morris and the other Commissioners, with a noted half-breed, Peter Erasmus, as the capable interpreter. Those present who had not been accustomed to the plains witnessed a spectacle of wild splendour, as preceding the treaty, over a thousand Indians, brilliantly and fantastically painted, chanting a weird song, firing rifles, exhibiting marvellous horsemanship, beating drums and giving strange yells, advanced in a semi-circle near to the Commissioner's tent. All this was preparatory to the famous dance of the stem, where the chiefs, councillors and medicine men seated themselves on buffalo robes and a beautifully decorated pipe with a long stem was produced. This was carried around the semi-circle, then raised towards the heavens and the stem pointed in turn north, south, east and west. With more stately motion the Indians moved towards the Council tent, where they were met by the Commissioners who took the pipe and one after the other stroked it gently to indicate that they reciprocated the peaceful approach of the Indians. The Commissioners present with Governor Morris at this treaty and others deserve special notice. The Hon. W. J. Christie was a famous Hudson's Bay Company Factor. When in January, 1873, the Ottawa Government appointed a North-West Council to act with Governor Morris in governing the far hinterland towards the mountains, Mr. Christie, who had a very wide knowledge of conditions and who had education and judgment, was one of the men chosen. An interesting fact in that connection was that when the first meeting of that Council was held, on March 8 in that year, Mr. Christie travelled 2,000 miles by dog-train from Fort Simpson to Winnipeg to attend it. It was a good opportunity for collecting mileage and perquisites, but the probability is that this public-spirited man and the great Company he served made the contribution to the country. His usefulness was so apparent at the meeting that he was asked to help the Government in the great task of treaty-making which had baffled so many other countries. The other Commissioner whose name is found to nearly all the treaties was the Hon. James McKay, one of the most picturesque figures the western plains, amid all their unique characters, ever saw. I remember him in his later years. His father was a Scot, who had been on one of the Arctic expeditions in search of Sir John Franklin and had married in the Saskatchewan country one of the tall, stately and handsome daughters of the land. Their sons were all of distinguished appearance. The following description given by the Earl of Southesk, who had come on a hunting tour and a search for health in the great out-of-doors of the North-West years ago, is true to the subject. He says: "James McKay met me in St. Paul. His appearance greatly interested me, both from his own personal advantages and because he was the first Red River man I had seen. Immensely broad-chested and muscular, though not tall, he weighed 18 stone: yet in spite of his stoutness, he was exceedingly hardy and active, and a wonderful horseman. His face is very handsome--short, aquiline, delicate nose; piercing dark grey eyes; skin tanned to red bronze by exposure to the weather. He was dressed in Red River style, a blue cloth capote (hooded frock coat) with brass buttons; red and black flannel shirt, which served for waistcoat; black belt around the waist; trousers of brown and white striped home-made stuff, buff leather moccasins on his feet. I had never come across a wearer of moccasins before, and it amused me to see this grand and massive man pacing the hotel corridors with noiseless footfall, while excitable little men in shiny boots creaked and stamped about like so many busy steam engines." It was this splendid man who was present to assist Governor Laird and Mr. Christie in making treaties with the Cree Indians at Carlton on August 23 and at Fort Pitt on September 9. The last time I saw James McKay was when a number of us schoolboys rode up to Silver Heights to see some western sports and buffalo running in honour of the Governor-General, Lord Dufferin. And as the magnificent frontiersman drove about with his famous cream horse and buckboard, the great Irish diplomat realized what such men had done to make the great North-West peacefully into being a part of Canada. Soon after these treaties, the headquarters of the Mounted Police were moved from Swan River, which had never been satisfactory, to Fort MacLeod, where they arrived on October 22. Apart from Swan River being unsuitable, it was evident that the centre of interest was gravitating towards that part of the territories where the names of Forts MacLeod and Walsh, Wood Mountain and Cypress Hills and other points were being printed indelibly on the map of Western history. This portion of the territory was close up against the international boundary line across which might be heard the roar of fighting between the Sioux Indians and the United States soldiery. To discuss that is not part of our story, but the Indians there vehemently declared that they had been for years robbed by swindling government agents and driven off their land by unscrupulous gold-hunters and lawless speculators. And, as in many other cases, soldiers who were themselves innocent of these things had to be called on to fight the Indians who had grown savage under a sense of wrong and who, savage-like, had taken revenge by killing whenever they could. That very year, only a few months before the headquarters of the Police were moved to Fort MacLeod, occurred the tragedy of the "Custer Massacre," when that gallant soldier and his no less gallant men, attempting the impossible, were wiped out completely by superior numbers of Sioux under the redoubtable chiefs Sitting Bull and Spotted Eagle. "The Long Hair," as General Custer was called by the Indians who always admired his dash and courage, fought desperately to the end, and was said to be the last man to fall. Only the arrival later of General Terry, with whom Custer was to have co-operated, prevented still greater disaster to the balance of the American force. All this had its effect on our side of the border. It made our Indians, Blackfeet, Bloods, Piegans and others, restless, and it became known that the Sioux on the south of the line were making overtures to the Indians on the Canadian side either to go over and fight the Americans or to join with the Indians in the United States to drive all the whites out of the country on both sides. Inspector Denny, who did much valuable work in those early days and who made an arrest in a Blackfoot camp, reported in August of 1876 that he had been consulted by the Blackfeet Council and told of the efforts made by the Sioux to get the Indians on this side with them. However, the Blackfeet remained loyal mainly because they had learned to trust the Mounted Police. But shortly afterwards, matters were complicated by bands of Sioux crossing over the line into Canadian territory. We shall deal with this Sioux invasion in the next chapter, but in the meantime, as this is a chapter on treaties, shall record how the Canadian Government, being fully aware of all these events, took special steps at once to make treaties with the warlike tribes which inhabited that vast area from the North Saskatchewan River towards the boundary line. For this purpose the Commissioners appointed were Governor David Laird and Colonel MacLeod, of the Mounted Police. No better men could be chosen to make this famous Treaty Number Seven with the Indians at a very critical hour. Accordingly, on September 19, 1877, at the Blackfeet Crossing of the Bow River, less than a 100 miles from Fort MacLeod, the Chiefs of the Blackfeet, Blood, Piegan, Stony and Sarcee tribes and some 5,000 of their men, women and children met to hear the Great Mother's chiefs. Mr. Laird's address was full of dignity and impressiveness, and couched in the picturesque language which, interpreted by the inimitable Jerry Potts, found its way to the hearts of his audience. Mr. Laird opened by saying, "The Great Spirit has made all things, the sun, the moon, the stars, the earth, the forests and the swift-running rivers. It is by the Great Spirit that the Queen rules over this great country and other great countries. The Great Spirit has made the white man and the red man brothers, and we should take each other by the hand. The Great Mother loves all her children, white men and red men alike. She wishes to do them all good." Then Mr. Laird made special reference to the Police which was good diplomacy, for the Indians had known the Police for three years and the wise Governor saw the advantage of linking up the Police with the Queen's government. He said, "When bad white men brought you whisky, robbed you and made you poor, and through whisky made you quarrel amongst yourselves, she sent the Mounted Police to put an end to it. You know how they stopped this and punished the offenders, and how much good this has done. I have to tell you how much pleased the Queen is that you have taken the Mounted Police by the hand and helped them and obeyed her laws since their arrival. She hopes you will continue to do so and you will always find the Mounted Police on your side if you keep the Queen's laws." Then Mr. Laird explained the terms of the treaty and asked the Indians to go to their Council tents if they wished to consider the matter. Next day the Commissioners again met the chiefs and made all the points clear, and on the third day the treaty was concluded amid great satisfaction on all sides. There were some remarkable tributes to the Police by the Chiefs. Crowfoot, the head chief, said, "The advice given to me and my people has proved to be good. If the Police had not come to this country where would we all be now? Bad men and whisky were indeed killing us so fast that very few of us indeed would have been left to-day. The Mounted Police have protected us as the feathers of the bird protect it from the frosts of winter. I wish them all good and trust that all our hearts will increase in goodness from this time forward. I am satisfied, I will sign the treaty." Red Crow, head chief of the Bloods, the most powerful tribe of the Blackfeet Confederacy, said, "Three years ago, when the Mounted Police came to this country, I met and shook hands with Stamix-oto-kan (Colonel MacLeod) at Belly River. Since that time he made me many promises, he kept them all; not one of them was broken. Everything that the Mounted Police have done has been good. I entirely trust Stamix-oto-kan (Colonel MacLeod) and will leave everything to him. I will sign with Crowfoot." Many others spoke in the same strain, and after this great treaty was signed, on September 21, 1877, there was a salute of guns and general jubilation. The point to be specially recalled in connection with this treaty is that it was practically accomplished upon the splendid record that Colonel MacLeod and his men had made amongst these powerful tribes in the most difficult part of the West. The annual money payment to the Indians under the treaties required careful and honest handling. And at the conclusion of his report to the Government in regard to this most famous of all the treaties, Governor Laird made this remarkable witness-bearing recommendation: "I would urge that the officers of the Mounted Police be entrusted to make the annual payments to the Indians under this treaty. The chiefs themselves requested this, and I said I believed the Government would gladly consent to the arrangement. The Indians have confidence in the Police, and it might be some time before they would acquire the same respect for strangers." That this suggestion was carried out, is attested the next year by that well-known officer, Superintendent Winder, who in his report says: "Inspector Macdonnell and party arrived from Fort Walsh with money for the Indian payments. Inspector McIllree paid the Bloods at MacLeod, Inspector Dickens the Piegans on their reserve, Inspector Frechette the Stoneys at Morley-ville, and I accompanied the agent to the Blackfeet Crossing to assist in paying the Indians there." All this requires no comment further than to say that when the fighting Sioux across the line tried to inveigle these warlike tribes into a war of extermination against the whites, and later when the fiercely magnetic Louis Riel sought to get them to join his revolt, the great work in the consummation of Treaty Number Seven stood Canada in good stead. One more great treaty had still to be made, and though it is anticipating a date twenty years after the famous Number Seven Treaty, we record it here before closing the chapter of treaties with the Indians of the North-West. A vast region away northward from Edmonton, known generally as the Athabasca, Peace River and Mackenzie River region, had so far not been brought under treaty conditions. This was mainly due to the fact that settlement had not been making its way into that region. It was considered the home of the fur-trader and the hunter more than that of the farmer or the stock-raiser. But the investigations brought about by the Senate Committee at Ottawa on the motion and under the leadership of Senator (Sir John) Schultz, had called so much attention to the great agricultural possibilities of the country that, despite the total absence of railways, settlers were percolating slowly into that great northern area. Then the gold-rush to the Klondike began midway in the nineties, and as some of this rush was either going through the Peace River country to the Yukon or scattering down the northern rivers, it became necessary, in the view of the Mounted Police, who made recommendations to the Government, to make a treaty as early as possible, in order to prevent trouble. Accordingly, the Hon. Clifford Sifton, then Superintendent-General of Indian affairs in the Laurier Government, began arrangements in 1898 which led to the appointment of a Commission and the making of Treaty Number Eight in 1899. Strangely enough, the Hon. David Laird, "the man who talked straight," who had as Governor of the Territories made the famous treaties with the Indians of the plains twenty years before, was called to head the new commission and make this final treaty with the Crees, Beavers, Chippewyans and other Indians of the far North. Mr. Laird, after the term of his office as Governor had expired, had retired to his home in Prince Edward Island, but later on was appointed to take charge of Indian affairs in the West, with headquarters in Winnipeg. Along with this Indian Treaty Commission was a half-breed commission, of which the frontiersman author, Mr. Charles Mair, was secretary. The expedition took months, and involved hard if picturesque travelling, all of which is graphically described in Mr. Mair's narrative _Through the Mackenzie Basin_. The treaty was made beginning first at Lesser Slave Lake, and continuing at other points. Mr. Mair, in his book, gives us the names of the party, describes the camp equipment and then makes the following fine reference to the Mounted Police: "Not the least important and effective constituent of the party was the detachment of the Royal North-West Mounted Police which joined us at Edmonton, minus their horses of course; picked men from a picked force; sterling fellows whose tenacity and hard work in the tracking harness did yeoman service in many a serious emergency. This detachment consisted of Inspector Snyder, Sergeant Anderson, Corporals Fitzgerald and McClelland, and Constables McLaren, Lett, Burman, Lelonde, Burke, Vernon and Kerr. The conduct of these men, it is needless to say, was the admiration of all, and assisted materially in the successful progress of the expedition." Thus did these nation-building Police set their seal to the great treaties which provided for the future of the Indian tribes and at the same time extinguished the title of the tribes in order to open up a new empire for higher civilization. CHAPTER VI HANDLING AMERICAN INDIANS Nothing in the history of Western Canada was more charged with dynamitic possibilities of serious trouble than the unexpected influx into our country of thousands of battle-scarred Indians from the other side of the boundary line. The whole period for five years, from 1876 onward, bristled with difficulties. These Indians themselves had to be more or less provided for while upon our soil--they had to be controlled according to British law, they had to be kept from interfering with the loyalty as well as the rights and reserves of our own Indians, and they had to be restrained from making this country the base of any operations against our friendly neighbour country south of the line. The whole situation was filled with dramatic incidents and dangerous possibilities of international complications. The honour of handling it with masterly, firm and yet conciliatory methods must be given not to Ottawa, which was too far away and which often misunderstood, but to the officers and men of the Mounted Police whose consummate skill, courage and initiative are the leading features of that serious period. And the amazing thing about it all is that in the midst of seething thousands of American and Canadian Indians on the wide and lonely frontier, we had a mere handful of these gallant red-coated guardians of the peace. The influx of American Indians began in December, 1876, when some 3,000 Indians, with large droves of horses and mules, crossed over and camped at Wood Mountain. They told the officers of the Mounted Police who visited them at once that "they had been driven out by the American and had come to look for peace; that they had been told by their grandfathers that they would find peace in the land of the British; that their brothers, the Santees, had found it years ago and they had now followed them; that they had not slept sound for years and were anxious to find a place where they could lie down and feel safe." It was not the British way to turn a deaf ear to that pathetic appeal, and so Inspector Walsh, then in charge at Fort Walsh, took charge of the situation, began at once to regulate the possession of arms and ammunition to what was necessary for hunting for subsistence and generally to keep in close touch with the Indian encampments. In the following May the famous and redoubtable Sitting Bull with quite a large force came over and joined the American Indian colony. They also were interviewed at once by the Mounted Police and promised to observe the laws of the Great Mother. In the following months bands of Nez Perces and others arrived in flight from the American soldiers. And so the situation became more involved. Efforts were made to persuade these Indians to return to their own country, but they declined to do so and of course no one would compel them. The Indians said they had been robbed and cheated by agents, and so they had lost faith in the American Government, for they assumed that the Government knew or ought to know of these things. It was matter of common knowledge throughout the Western country that some agents who were receiving a salary of $1500.00 a year retired with fortunes after a few years in office, and even the most unsuspecting and docile Indian would baulk at that after a while. Colonel McLeod, a very cautious man, in a report to the Hon. David Mills at Ottawa, said, "I think the principal cause of the difficulties which are continually embroiling the American Government in trouble with the Indians, is the manner in which these Indians are treated by the swarms of adventurers who have scattered themselves all over the Indian country in search of minerals before any treaty is made giving up the title. These men always look upon the Indians as their natural enemies, and it is their rule to shoot at them if they approach after being warned off. I was actually asked the other day by an American who has settled here, if we had the same law here as on the other side, and if he was justified in shooting any Indian who approached his camp after being warned not to advance. I am satisfied that such a rule is not necessary in dealing with the worst of Indians, and that any necessity there might be for its adoption arose from the illegal intrusion and wrongdoings of the Whites." Happy country was ours to have a MacLeod on the spot through these troublous years! Meanwhile the Police had occasional problems with our own Indians, not in relation to the Government, but in connection with ancient or modern feuds or ordinary quarrels between tribes. The Police generally got things early under control. Here is a case. On May 25, 1877, Little Child, a Salteaux Treaty Chief, came to Fort Walsh and reported that his people and a large number of Assiniboines under Chief Crow's Dance had been camped together. The Salteaux desired to leave, and so notified Crow's Dance. This individual for some reason refused permission to the Salteaux to leave camp. But Little Child, feeling that he and his people had a right to go where they pleased "so long as they kept the laws of the White Mother," ordered his people to move. Whereupon Crow's Dance, who had 250 warriors, set upon the Salteaux, killing not any of the people, but shooting nineteen valuable sled-dogs, cutting lodges, upsetting travois, knocking down men, and frightening the women and children by firing off guns and giving war-whoops. When warned by Little Child, who did not retaliate, that he would report the matter to the Police, Crow's Dance struck him and said, "When the Police come we will do the same." Crow's Dance, backed by several hundred warriors, talked boastfully, knowing that there was only a handful of Police at Fort Walsh. But the Police came, all told fifteen constables and a guide, under Inspector Walsh. They had also the surgeon, Dr. Kittson, along, because it looked as if his services would be required badly. Walsh and his handful of men struck that camp at three o'clock in the morning, after getting the report. He halted his men and inspected their arms and had all pistols ready. Then they rode swiftly into camp, and before anyone knew how it happened, he had "Crow's Dance" and "Rolling Thunder" and "Spider" and "The one who bends the wood" and the other leaders under arrest and out of camp to a butte near by. There Walsh ordered his men to breakfast, and sent word to the Assiniboine Chiefs still in camp that he would talk to them after breakfast. And so he did, making it very clear that no one had any right to interfere with others who desired to leave camp peaceably, and that he intended to take "Crow's Dance" and the others to Fort Walsh for trial. And they were taken accordingly. Some were sentenced to short terms, others were allowed to go, as they were not specially involved. In reporting this incident to Ottawa, Assistant-Commissioner A. G. Irvine said: "In conclusion I cannot too highly write of Inspector Walsh's prompt conduct in this matter, and it must be a matter of congratulation to feel that fifteen of our men can ride into an enormous camp of Indians and take out of it as prisoners thirteen of their head men. The action of this detachment will have great effect on all the Indians throughout the country." Right loyally spoken, Major Irvine! And Walsh in his report speaks of his men: "In conclusion I wish to say a few words for the men of my detachment. Before entering the camp I explained to them there were 200 warriors in the camp who had set the Police at defiance; that I intended to arrest the leaders; to do so perhaps would put them in a dangerous position, but that they would have to pay strict attention to all orders given by me, no matter how severe they might appear. From the replies and the way they acted during the whole time, I am of opinion that every man of this detachment would have boldly stood his ground if the Indians had made any resistance." A good testimony this from a keen leader of gallant men. And because a note of appreciation is always an encouragement, we quote the able Comptroller Fred White, who wrote Major Irvine on behalf of the Secretary of State, then the governmental head of the department: "The Secretary of State desires that you will convey to Inspector Walsh his appreciation of the courage and determination shown by him and the officers and men under his command in carrying out their duty." This incident occurred while the Sitting Bull invasion was still an unsolved problem, and so we take it up again. Inspector Walsh, as already recorded, met him on his arrival on Canadian soil, and Sitting Bull promised to obey the Queen's laws and report to the Police anything that happened. Not long afterwards three Americans, one a priest, the second General Miles' head scout, and an interpreter, arrived in Sitting Bull's camp to persuade him to go back south of the line. "The black-robe" would have been safe, but the other two would have been shot on sight but for Sitting Bull's promise to Walsh. The Chief sent word to the Police that three Americans were in his camp, and Assistant Commissioner Irvine, Inspector Walsh, Sub-Inspectors Clark and Allen went out to hold inquiry regarding the situation. Including the Yanktons, a branch of the Sioux, there were some 205 lodges. This was Irvine's first meeting with the famous Sioux Chief, and he gives us this pen picture: "I was particularly struck with Sitting Bull. He is a man of somewhat short stature, but with a pleasant face, a mouth showing great determination and a fine high forehead. When he smiled, which he often did, his face brightened up wonderfully. I should say he is a man of about forty-five years of age. The warriors who came with him were all of immense height and very muscular. When talking at the conference he spoke as a man who understands his subject well and who had thoroughly weighed it before speaking. He believes no one from the other side and said so. His speech showed him to be a man of wonderful capability." The conference referred to was between the police officers above mentioned and Sitting Bull and other chiefs of the Sioux, Pretty Bear, Bear's Cap, The Eagle Sitting Down, Spotted Eagle and others. Later on the three Americans were present. But the Sioux flatly refused to return to the South, Sitting Bull closing the conference with the words, "Once I was rich, plenty of money, but the Americans stole it all in the Black Hills. What should I return for? To have my horse and my arms taken away? I have come to remain with the White Mother's children." The next step taken by the American Government which seemed anxious to have the Indians return South and settle down on certain conditions, was to send special Commissioners in the persons of General Terry and General O'Neill, replaced by Lawrence, to visit Canada, hold conference with Sitting Bull and the other chiefs to that end. The Canadian Government adhered to its position of being willing to protect the Indians so long as they were on British soil. Hence no undue pressure to leave would be brought on those who had sought asylum under the British flag, but at the same time both the Ottawa authorities and the Police would have been glad to see them go voluntarily. Those who had knowledge of the situation and the outlook knew that Canada would not set aside land as reserves for American Indians, and they knew also that with the early disappearance of buffalo and other game in the presence of advancing civilization, the burden of feeding and caring for these aliens would be very heavy. Word was wired from Ottawa to Colonel MacLeod to meet the American Commissioners with an escort at the boundary and if possible to get the Sioux leaders to come to Fort Walsh to meet them and thus save the Commissioners the necessity for a long journey. Accordingly, MacLeod met the Americans at the line and escorted them to Fort Walsh, to which point Inspector Walsh brought Sitting Bull and the other chiefs in due course. Walsh had great difficulty in getting the Indians to come, as they said they did not trust the Americans and feared that the latter might bring soldiers across to attack them. The fact that the day Walsh was in the camp on his errand of persuasion a band of Nez Perces men, women and children, wounded and bleeding, after a fight across the line, had come there for refuge, did not make the Inspector's task any easier. But because they had received the assurance of both MacLeod and Walsh that no one could cross the line after them, the chiefs came--Sitting Bull, Bear's Cap, Spotted Eagle, Flying Bird, Whirlwind Bear, Iron Dog, The Crow, Bear that Scatters, Little Knife, Yellow Dog and some others of less importance. The conference was held on October 17, 1877. It is customary for all parties to shake hands before beginning these "talks," but on this occasion Sitting Bull, representing the Chiefs, entered and shook hands warmly with Colonel MacLeod, but passed the American Commissioners with the utmost disdain. General Terry delivered the message from the President of the United States. Terry was a distinguished soldier, hero of Fort Fisher in the Civil War, a man of magnificent appearance, standing some 6 ft. 6 in., built in proportion, a very gentlemanly officer with a kindly face and gracious manner. He made known the wishes of the President, told the Sioux that they were the only hostile band remaining out, offered them reserves and stock with farm implements and instructors, the only condition being that they would settle down on their reserves and surrender their arms and their horses. The General made appeal to them that, because too much blood had already been spilled, they should all henceforth live in peace, and the whole bearing and appearance of the distinguished speaker indicated his personal genuineness. But Sitting Bull and his friends would not be appeased. They were embittered by a long course of harsh and unfair treatment by unscrupulous agents and frontier exploiters. One after the other the chiefs rose and declined the offer because, as they said, they had no confidence that these fair promises would be carried out. Sitting Bull said, "For sixty-four years you have treated my people bad. Over there we could go nowhere, so we have taken refuge here. I shake hands with these people (the Police), you can go back home, that part of the country we came from belonged to us and you took it from us, now we live here." Some of the other chiefs spoke even more bitterly and even a squaw, though it was a most unusual thing for a woman to take part in a conference, added her hot protest against accepting the proposals of the Commissioners from the States. The burden of the Indian speeches was all to the effect that they had been given no rest on the other side of the line, but had been driven about from place to place. So the United States officers returned to their own country, having failed in their mission, to their own disappointment, and it may be added to the disappointment of the Canadian authorities who would have been glad to be relieved of the responsibility for the care of alien Indians, but who would not attempt in any way to drive out any who had sought refuge on our soil. But as the time passed the position of the Sioux became more and more difficult. They were kept under strict surveillance by the Police. On account of their warlike disposition, and their association with the massacres south of the line, their presence was prejudicial to settlement by white people. Superintendent James Walker, who was in charge at Battleford and who, having jurisdiction over a large area, showed marked judgment as well as firmness in dealing with Indians, has some very accurate forecasts in a report written at the end of 1879. He suggests that Police be stationed at Duck Lake and Fort Pitt as well as Prince Albert. Duck Lake was the home of Chief Beardy, with whom Walker had already taken some firm measures and who joined with the Riel-Dumont rebellion later. Fort Pitt was the home of Chief Big Bear, concerning whom Walker writes in that report: "I look upon Big Bear as one of the most troublesome Cree Indians we have in the territories." And this same Big Bear also became a rebel in Riel's day and, after the Frog Lake massacre, burned Fort Pitt as an extra in his exploits, as I witnessed with my own eyes. These items are quoted to show Walker's foresight as well as insight, for these give special weight to another sentence in that report concerning Indians of the Sitting Bull tribe. "The very name of Sioux," wrote Walker, "strikes terror into the hearts of many of the settlers." On this account the wanderings of Sitting Bull from Fort Walsh to Qu'Appelle and generally round about, was an unsettling influence. In a year or two, however, with the buffalo growing fewer and no land reserve in sight on the Canadian side, a good many of Sitting Bull's following began to drop away from him and go back over the line. One day, with about 1,200 or so of his people, he turned up at Fort Qu'Appelle and applied to Superintendent Sam B. Steele, who had come to that point from Fort Walsh, and asked that a reserve be given him and his band in Canada. Steele told him there was no chance, but sent a wire to Indian Commissioner (afterwards Governor) Dewdney that Sitting Bull was there. Mr. Dewdney came to Qu'Appelle and told Sitting Bull that the Canadian Government would not give him a reserve, as he had a reserve on the other side of the line which the United States would give him to occupy in peace if he would go there. Mr. Dewdney offered to ration Sitting Bull and his band as far as Wood Mountain, and Steele sent an escort with the Indians to ration them to that point. When they arrived there Sitting Bull was in a rather vicious temper and went to Inspector A. R. Macdonnell, the Mounted Police officer in charge there, with a few men. Sitting Bull asked for food and was refused by Macdonnell, who was widely known as a somewhat erratic but absolutely fearless and fair-minded man. The Sioux Chief then said he would take food by force, but he had mistaken his man. Macdonnell replied that he would ration the band with bullets if they tried that game. Then said Sitting Bull, "I am cast away." "No," said Macdonnell. "You are not cast away. I am speaking for your own good and the good of your people and giving you good advice. You have been promised pardon and food and land if you return to your own reservation in the United States. I advise you to go and I will help you and your people to travel if you accept the terms that have been offered you." Sitting Bull knew that Macdonnell would keep his word in either case, and so he concluded to take the Inspector's kindly meant advice. Accordingly, the next day Macdonnell personally accompanied Sitting Bull to Poplar River, where the Chief handed over his rifle to Major Brotherton of the United States Army in token of submission. Macdonnell then arranged that the Sitting Bull band should be supplied with transportation and food by Mr. Louis Legarre, a trader, at the expense of the American Government, and thus they all crossed over the line. A few years later there was some row on Sitting Bull's reserve over there in connection with arrests, and in the confusion the famous old chief was shot, it is claimed by mistake and unnecessarily. Thus ended the stormy career of a man who seems to have been honest according to his light in fighting for the rights of his people as he understood them. His methods in war were no doubt barbaric and cruel enough, but some civilized nations cannot throw stones at pagans in that regard. I have written Sitting Bull's story as far as it affected Canada in some detail, because it was in reality a series of events full of dangerous possibilities. Papers and persons in Eastern Canada were demanding that regiments should be raised and sent out to the West to cope with the situation that foreboded war with the Americans, who had thousands of picked soldiers on the border to keep the Indians down. But to the utter amazement of Eastern Canadians and to the more profound surprise of the Americans our handful of Mounted Police, with masterly diplomacy, endless patience and steady, cool courage were able to handle the whole situation and solve it without the loss of a single life on either side. There are few such chapters anywhere in the records of history. It is in keeping with the general attitude of the Police towards the Indians, whom they considered the wards of the nation which the men in the scarlet tunic represented, that we find many fine incidents scattered up and down throughout the years. At Qu'Appelle, about the time above noted, an epidemic of smallpox threatened in the winter time, when its deadly effects are most in evidence in the Indian camps. The Police never proceeded on the wretched maxim of some that "the only good Indian is a dead Indian," and so, when these children of the wild were attacked by plague or pestilence or other destroyer, the Police fought for the lives of the afflicted people with all the tenacity and the courage of their corps. On the occasion mentioned in this paragraph there was no doctor, but Acting Hospital Steward Holmes, who had studied medicine, though he had no graduation standing, threw himself into the struggle against this dread disease. He vaccinated the Indians on all the reserves, many white people and all the half-breeds in the district. This meant travelling incessantly in the dead of winter and sleeping without tent in the snow-drifts with the thermometer down to 30 degrees below zero and more. He was only drawing the usual constable pay of 75 cents a day, and Steele, who was in command, recommended him for a small bonus allowance and a promotion. For it was not only vaccination and treatment of smallpox that had engaged Holmes' efforts, but constant attendance upon hundreds of Indians who had been so worn down that it was only by his devoted efforts that they were pulled through that hard winter. To Steele's amazement neither of his recommendations as to this toiler for others was acted upon. But I do not suppose Holmes cared. He had done his duty and was not working for reward. But the ways of men who could pigeon-hole a recommendation like that are difficult to understand. A somewhat similar case was away in another direction, where one Corporal D. B. Smith held the post all alone at the famous old Hudson's Bay Fort at Norway House on Lake Winnipeg. Scarlet fever and diphtheria in the most deadly form broke out amongst the Indians and half-breeds, who were being mowed down like corn before the scythe. Corporal Smith, though stationed there for ordinary duty, did not hesitate a moment in facing the situation and going into a fight against these violent twin epidemics. He looked after the sick with the tenderness of a nurse, he comforted the dying, he buried the dead when even relatives shrank from the duty, and by strong disinfectants he sought to clean the huts and tents of the poisonous germs. There was no glamour of war to lure him on, no crashing of music, no cheers of comrades, for he was alone. It was just a grim, determined, silent fight, in which he knew he might fall at any moment himself, and there was no one to tell of deeds that were worthy of the Victoria Cross. But he fought the plagues to a finish. And it is good to know that when the story of it all leaked out and got to the ears of the authorities the Corporal got an additional stripe in recognition of his valorous work. Or take a later case, where one Sergeant Field away in the bitter North at Fort Chippewyan received word that an Indian had gone insane and dangerous some 300 miles away at another post. Field had just returned from a hard patrol and his dogs were fagged. Field was an experienced man and knew the danger, as he was tired out himself. But he hired a fresh team of dogs and started out. The Indian madman was hard to handle, for he was violent and strong. Field had to tie him on the sleigh, but of course had to release him at times for fear he would freeze. On these occasions the lunatic would fight like a wolf and make attempts to get away. It would have been easy to let him get away and be lost in some night blizzard in the wilderness. But that was not the Police way, and in due course the unfortunate creature was landed safely at Fort Saskatchewan and given a chance to recover under new conditions. When occasion required, the red-coated men could be firm enough, as all law-breakers found to their sorrow, but there is something amazing in the way in which these policemen risked and lost their lives at times in making arrests rather than shoot the Indians they were sent to bring in. In a most marked degree the police kept to the faith that they were come to save human lives rather than destroy them. In this connection and throwing in some incidents as above to illustrate our points, we think of the case of Sergeant Wilde, of Pincher Creek, who trailed a murderous Indian generally known as Charcoal into the foothills. When the murderer was sighted, Wilde, whose horse was one of the best, spurred away ahead of his men. Charcoal was riding deliberately along with a rifle slung across in front of him in plain sight of Wilde, who, however, would not fire upon him, but pressed on to make the arrest and leave the disposal of him to the law of the land. When Wilde rode up to him, the Indian wheeled in his saddle and shot him, following this up a few minutes after by putting another bullet in the body of the policeman as he lay on the ground. Wilde was one of the finest men who had ever worn the uniform--one of the men who had built up the great tradition of the Force. He was greatly beloved at Pincher Creek, where the citizens erected a monument to his memory. A pathetic incident took place on the day of his funeral, when a faithful and favourite hound that had always kept guard over Wilde refused to allow the pallbearers to remove the body and had to be shot before the funeral cortège could proceed. It was a pity to have to do this drastic thing, but the loyal and devoted dog would no doubt have died in any case of a broken heart. And then there was the case of that other gallant young man, Sergeant Colebrook, up in the Prince Albert district, who was killed while proceeding to arrest a notorious Indian called Almighty Voice. Colebrook knew the character of the Indian because he had arrested him once before for cattle-stealing. This time Colebrook was trailing him for killing cattle and for breaking jail, and in company with an interpreter guide caught up to him on the open prairie. The Indian unslung his gun and called to the guide to tell the policeman to halt or he would shoot. But halting was not the Police way, and Colebrook, with the warrant to arrest, not to kill, as he said to the guide, went steadily forward and received a fatal bullet through the heart. It was the price he paid for his devotion to orders, but it maintained the Police tradition. Almighty Voice, of course, was not allowed to escape. He and two other Indians took up a stand in a clump of bushes, where they fought like rats in a hole against the Police and civilians, of whom they killed several before the bush was shelled and the Indians found dead when Assistant Commissioner McIllree with several men rushed the position from the open plain. It was the willingness of the Police, even at great risk to themselves, to allow the alleged wrong-doer to get the benefit of a fair British trial after his arrest, that gradually gave the Indians a new sense of obligation to the men of the scarlet tunic. This splendid part of the Police tradition won its way steadily till great war camps came to realize that the Police stood for the square deal, and that if men the Police wished to arrest were innocent, they would not be punished. And with that lesson came also into the heart of the Indian the conviction that if any of their number did wrong they should, as westerners used to say, take their medicine and reap the due reward of their deeds. In either case the Police approved themselves to the Indians as their friends, not their enemies, and thus the famous corps became a very great asset to Canada in the interests of law and order. CHAPTER VII THE IRON HORSES For some ten stirring and formative years the Mounted Police had been riding their gallant steeds over the virgin sod of the untracked prairie before the iron horses, crossing the Red River, hit the steel trail for the mountains and the Western Sea. It is quite certain that the presence of the men in scarlet and gold on western plains was an element in the situation which encouraged the promoters of the Canadian Pacific Railway, our first transcontinental, to undertake their tremendous project with more assured confidence. For these shrewd students of human nature knew quite well that people would look in various ways upon the coming of the railway. There would be some who, like Thoreau, the hermit sage of Walden, would resent, though perhaps for a less æsthetic reason, the intrusion of this noisy and energetic sign of a new era. It was he who cried, "We do not ride on the railway, it rides on us." For, while there were some in our West who actually did feel regret at the passing of the quiet day of their pioneer life, most of those who had the aggressive spirit of the white race in them, were glad to see the vision of the earliest colonists being fulfilled by the opening up of the country. But there were others who had lived on the frontiers, and had been a law unto themselves, who said, like a trader who saw three wooden shacks built where Calgary now stands, "I am going to move back--this is getting too civilized for me," and the man who said that represented a class that had to be made to realize the presence of government. Then there were the Indians, who saw in the advent of the railway the necessary disappearance of big game from the plains, which would become the habitat of the settler. More than once there were Indians who would have blocked the way of the railway builders or would even have swooped down in the night and torn up the rails, but for the restraining presence of authority. And besides all these, there were some amongst the huge gangs of navvies and general track-makers who had alien tastes and habits, who required to be, on occasion, reminded that, while in a British country no law-abiding man should be coerced into working against his will if he was not satisfied with conditions, he must respect the rights of human life and must not destroy the property of others. All these cases and conditions became actualities in the West, and with all these the Mounted Police dealt as occasions arose, in such a way as to enable the march of civilization to proceed unchecked and unafraid. For the settlers who made the continuance of the railway possible, the Mounted Policeman was a sort of guardian angel, and the well-known painting by Paul Wickson which hangs in the Premier's office at Ottawa shows how the patrol went about asking the homesteader if he had any complaints. Only those perhaps who have lived on these far-sundered homesteads know how much this meant to these lonely men and their isolated families. Fighting prairie fires, when the mad battalions of flame wheeled with the gale and charged at the humble dwelling or the precious hay or wheat-stacks of the settler, was the willingly assumed duty of many a rider of the plains. One recalls the case of Constable Conradi, who, while on patrol one fall day when the dry grass was as inflammable as tinder, asked a settler if there was any homesteader living in the direction where a fire was rushing. The settler said yes, that there was a man named Young, his wife and children, that way, but it would be impossible to reach them through the fiery wall that was so plainly visible. "Impossible or not," says the constable, "I am going to try," and putting spurs to his horse he was soon lost to sight in the rolling smoke. The horse was so badly burned that he had to be shot, but Conradi saved the family. He found Mr. Young, the settler, exhausted. They both fought the fierce blaze, and when hope of saving the home was gone, the constable, plunging through the fire, found Mrs. Young and the children standing in the water of a slough. He saw that they would be suffocated when the fire encircled it, and so he plunged and carried the children to the burnt ground, the mother following. From the settler's grateful letter to headquarters we make this extract: "His pluck and endurance I cannot praise too highly, fighting till he was nearly suffocated, his hat burned off his head, hair singed and vest on fire. My wife and family owe their lives to him, and I feel with them we shall never be able to repay him for his brave conduct." Thus did the Police make the settlers' work possible, that they in turn might make the railway a reasonably safe investment. Then, when the Indians became awkward and threatened to stop the progress of the transcontinental railway across the prairie, it was the Mounted Police that stepped in to see that the road was not blocked. Eastern contractors and workmen, who had not been used to seeing war-paint, were somewhat alarmed when a band of Indians would swoop down with the air of people who owned the earth, and in all such cases the Police were quickly called by wire or otherwise. Superintendent Shurtcliffe tells of a rather odd case in which an Indian chief with the appropriate name of "Front Man" stopped a railway contractor from getting out ties and caused the whole outfit to leave the bush in a good deal of panic. Shurtcliffe, a capable officer, immediately sent for "Front Man" and told him how dangerous a thing it was to interfere with the progress of work authorized by Canada. "Front Man" realized that he had rushed in where he had no business, and on his promising Shurtcliffe that he would behave himself, the contractor and his men went back to their peaceable but very important tie business. Then there was the case of Pie-a-Pot, who from the earliest days of treaty-making was crochety and rather defiantly opposed to the incoming of anything or anybody that would interfere with his nomadic habits and general inclination to please himself. He showed a disagreeable tendency to leave his reserve and wander with his camp following and general entourage, much to the discomfort of others who were not desirous of his presence. One day this chief took it into his head that he would wander on to the right-of-way being mapped out for the Canadian Pacific, and by spreading his camp across it put a damper on the enterprise. And he succeeded up to a certain point. The engineers worked up to his camp and politely asked him to move, but he laughed at them, enjoyed their discomfiture, while his braves circled around with their ponies and kept up a rifle fire to indicate what they could do to the engineers in case of emergency. Of course, the engineers were glad to retire as gracefully as possible, but they wired the Lieutenant-Governor that they were at a standstill. The Governor sent word to Police headquarters, whence a telegram went to the nearest Police post: "Trouble on railway. Tell Indians to move on." There were only two men there, a sergeant and a constable. They rode off at once, and when they arrived at the camp of the Indians and delivered the order, Pie-a-Pot and his chief men, who had not been much in contact with the Police, only laughed, while the braves performed their usual firearm feats and the squaws jeered. Then the sergeant indicated by showing his watch that he would give fifteen minutes for them to start moving. At this the braves on signal circled closer, backed their ponies against the troop-horses and made every effort to get the Police to start trouble, the idea being to let them take the offensive and be wiped out. But the Police were never to be drawn that way. In this case the two scarlet tuniced men sat coolly on their horses, which stood at the door of Pie-a-Pot's tent. And when the time was up the sergeant, throwing the lines to the constable, sprang off his horse, leaped past the surly Chief, entered the tepee and kicked out the centre pole, thus bringing the wigwam down nearly on the head of the defiant Indian. Without waiting, the sergeant moved to the next tent and repeated the operation with great precision, and then said to the chief and his men, "Now move and move quick." The chief was very angry, but he was no fool, and so in a very short time he and his whole outfit were on the trek to their reserve. The engineers went on with the transcontinental, and the two athletes in scarlet and gold, whose names were not even given out, rode back to their post, having made one more unadvertised contribution from the Police to the making of the West. Now let us instance a case in which the Police had to deal with turbulent navvies on the railway who went on strike and threatened to destroy the company's property. The Police have never acted in any sense as strike-breakers, nor have they interfered between the parties. They simply saw fair play, took care that the country's lawful business was carried on and provided against destruction of human life and property. This was the position for instance at the Beaver in the mountains while the Canadian Pacific was under construction. For the time being it was a terminus, and all manner of lawless, desperate and disorderly characters were there to prey upon the navvies, many of whom were foreigners and a good many of whom were just as reckless and offensive as could be imagined. To keep these rough men in order, and there were several hundreds of them mostly armed, there were only eight Mounted Police, but they were under the leadership of the redoubtable Superintendent, Sam B. Steele, who had as his non-commissioned assistant Sergeant Fury, a short, heavy set, bull-dog type of a man, whom I remember well, quiet, determined and undemonstrative, but who could, while keeping cool, at the same time be everything his name suggested if occasion required. When the strike was starting, Steele did not interfere, but warned the strikers that they must keep the peace and not commit any acts of violence or he would punish them to the full extent of the law. When the strike did start, Steele was in bed with mountain fever and Sergeant Fury had only six men. One of them, Constable Kerr, who had gone for a bottle of medicine for the Inspector, found on his way back a riotous crowd with a desperate character, well known to the Police, inciting the mob to violence and especially to an attack on the barracks. Kerr, who was not a man to stand nonsense, promptly arrested the man, but a score of men overpowered him and released the prisoner. Sergeant Fury at once reported to Steele, who said, "It will never do to let the gang think they can play with us." Then Fury and another man tried to make the arrest without resorting to using weapons, but in a little while returned, with their uniforms torn, to report that once again the rioters had taken the prisoner from them by force. Steele said, "This is too bad. Go back armed and shoot any man who interferes with the arrest." He started off again with Constables Fane, Craig and Walters, while the other four constables with their Winchesters stood ready to guard the barracks, which were slated for attack by the mob. Johnston, a magistrate, was there to read the Riot Act if necessary. In a few minutes there was a shot. Steele got up and went to the window. Craig and Walters were dragging the prisoner across the bridge, the desperado fighting like a demon, and a scarlet woman following them with cries and curses. Fury and Fane were in the rear trying to hold back the gang of some three hundred men. Steele called on Johnston to come with him to read the Riot Act and then rushed out, got a rifle from one of the guard, and ignoring his fevered condition ran across the bridge, covering the crowd with the rifle and saying he would shoot the first man who dared to cross. The crowd could hardly believe their eyes when they saw Steele and shouted, "Even his death-bed does not scare him." In the meantime the desperate prisoner was struggling fiercely with the men who had him, but when on the bridge Walters raised his powerful fist and struck him over the temple, and with Craig trailed him like a rag into the barracks. As the woman passed screaming, "You red-coated devil," Steele shouted, "Take her along too." Then Johnston read the Riot Act and Steele made a straight statement that the Police, though few, would not flinch and that if he saw more than twelve rioters together he would open fire and mow them down. And the eight Mounted Police stood there under Sergeant Fury with magazines charged, ready to act when ordered. The riot collapsed right there, the ringleaders were sentenced next day and there was no more trouble. The roughs at the Beaver had tried the game of rioting with the wrong men. And in order to show that the Police took no sides, but sought to hold the balance level in these matters, we might recall an instance related by Superintendent J. H. McIlree, where men had been hired by contractors on the understanding that when a section of the railway was finished to Calgary, these men would be paid off and sent back to their homes in the East. However, the contractors, when they came to that point, would not provide transportation to the East, but wished to send them farther West. The men refused, and after a few days took possession of a train of empty cars going eastward. The Police could not allow this commandeering of the property of the railway company for the failure of certain contractors, and so they caused the men to leave the train, but these same Police, once they discovered the real situation, made it so hot for those contractors that they were glad to yield and give the men what they had agreed. So all along the line, from the time it crossed the Red River in 1881 till it reached the Pacific five years later, the Mounted Police stood guard over the railway which was the first to link together with steel the scattered Provinces of the new Confederation and the construction of which within a given time was required to get British Columbia to become part of Canada. Thus were these red-coated men nation-builders, in that it was under their protection that the vast enterprise was carried forward to completion. It is not unexpectedly then that we come across two special letters from the builders of the great railway expressing their warm appreciation of the work of the Police. The first is from that remarkable man, Mr. W. C. Van Horne, who was afterwards President of the Railway, and who was knighted for his distinguished services to the Empire as a builder of railways. Van Horne was a somewhat extraordinary composite. I recall having the privilege of being under his guidance around the fine art gallery of Lord Strathcona in Montreal, and had evidence not only of his genial companionship, but of his being an art connoisseur as well as a skilled user of the brush himself. Socially and in his home he was full of comradeship and bright joviality, but as a railroader he was as inflexible and apparently unemotional as the material with which he worked. He was not given to gushing letters, so that the following from him from his office as General Manager of date January 1, 1883, is noteworthy: "DEAR SIR,--Our work of construction for the year 1882 has just closed, and I cannot permit the occasion to pass without acknowledging the obligations of the company to the North-West Mounted Police, whose zeal and industry in preventing traffic in liquor and preserving order along the line of construction have contributed so much to the successful prosecution of the work. Indeed, without the assistance of the officers and men of the splendid Force under your command it would have been impossible to have accomplished as much as we did. On no great work within my knowledge, where so many men have been employed, has such perfect order prevailed. On behalf of the company and of all their officers, I wish to return thanks and to acknowledge particularly our obligations to yourself and Major Walsh. "I am, sir, "Yours very truly, "W. C. VAN HORNE, "_General Manager_." "Lieutenant-Colonel A. G. IRVINE, "Commissioner, "North-West Mounted Police, "Regina." And at the close of the year 1884 the General Superintendent of the Western Line, Mr. John M. Egan, who was even less than Van Horne given to incursions into the sentimental, wrote the following: "MY DEAR COLONEL,--Gratitude would be wanting did the present year close without my conveying, on behalf of the Canadian Pacific Railway, to you and those under your charge most sincere thanks for the manner in which their several duties in connection with the railway have been attended to during the past season. "Prompt obedience to your orders, faithful carrying out of your instructions, contribute in no small degree to the rapid construction of the line. The services of your men during recent troubles among a certain class of our employees prevented destruction to property and preserved obedience to law and order in a manner highly commendable. Justice has been meted out to them without fear or favour, and I have yet to hear any person, who respects same, say aught against your command. "Wishing you the season's compliments, "I remain, "Yours very truly, "JNO. M. EGAN." Taken together these letters, with tributes from two such men, more than substantiate the claims we have made for the part played by the Police in that critical era of Western Canadian history. It is anticipating in order of time, but this is our railway chapter, and so we note here another service of enormous value rendered the railway by the men in scarlet and gold. The road was completed in 1886 from Montreal to the West Coast, and people used to wonder how this railway, traversing some 3,000 miles across lonely prairie and lonelier mountains, escaped having its trains held up by robbers, as was so frequently the case in other countries. The reason emerged in a report given by Superintendent Deane, of Calgary, and that reason was the preventive power of the presence and prestige of the Mounted Police. Deane, in his annual report for 1906, refers to the only effort that had ever been made to rob a train, and starts with the following revealing statement: "It has for years been an open secret that the train-robbing fraternity in the United States had seriously considered the propriety of trying conclusions with the Mounted Police, but had decided that the risks were too great and the game not worth the candle. After the object lesson they received last May, it may be reasonably hoped that railway passengers will be spared further anxiety during the life of the present generation at least." And Deane's hope has been justified. The special event of May to which he refers was a train robbery at Kamloops in British Columbia by a notorious train-robbing expert, Bill Miner, _alias_ Edwards, etc., assisted by two gunmen, William Dunn and Louis, _alias_ "Shorty" Colquhoun. A robbery had been committed by the same parties before nearer the coast, but it had been dealt with by local authorities and no trace of the robbers was found. However, the railway authorities were now thoroughly alarmed and, though the Provincial Police, one of whom, Fernie of Kamloops, did good work, were on the trail, were not inclined to take any chances. Accordingly, a wire was sent by C.P.R. Superintendent Marpole to General Manager Mr. (later Sir) William Whyte, of Winnipeg, who in turn telegraphed to Commissioner Perry, of the Mounted Police, asking that a detachment of his men be put on the work of hunting the robbers who had escaped into the difficult country south of Kamloops. Perry wired Calgary for two detachments to be in readiness, and left to take charge of the arrangements. From Calgary Inspector Church, with Sergeant Fletcher and ten men left for Penticton, so as to cut off the escape of the robbers over the boundary line. The Commissioner left for Kamloops, accompanied by Staff-Sergeant J. J. Wilson, Sergeants Thomas and Shoebotham, Corporals Peters and Stewart, Constables Browing and Tabateau, Wilson being in charge of the detachment. The weather was bad, the horses they secured at Kamloops were poor, but despite these handicaps this posse came on the robbers within forty-eight hours. The outlaws were armed to the teeth, but when they were discovered off guard were in the bush at dinner. Wilson reported what happened as follows: "We all dismounted, leaving the horses standing, went into the bush and found three men eating dinner. I asked them where they came from. The eldest man, who afterwards gave the name of Edwards, said, 'Across the river.' I asked them where they were before that. Edwards said, 'From over there' (pointing towards Campbell meadows). I asked how long since they had left there. Edwards said, 'Two days.' I then asked them what they were doing. The one who afterwards gave the name of Dunn, answered, 'Prospecting a little.' I then said, 'You answer the description given of the train-robbers and we arrest you for that crime.' Edwards said, 'We do not look much like train-robbers.' Just then Dunn rolled over and said, 'Look out, boys, it is all up,' and commenced to fire his revolver. I immediately covered Edwards. Corporal Peters was standing close to Colquhoun, who was reaching for his revolver, and he covered him and ordered him to put up his hands, at the same time snatching away Colquhoun's revolver. Sergeant Shoebotham, Corporal Stewart and Constable Browning ran after Dunn, firing as they went, he returning the fire as he ran. After some twenty shots had been exchanged Dunn fell into a ditch and threw up his hands, saying, 'I am shot.' The men ceased firing and took two revolvers from Dunn. On taking him out of the ditch it was found he had been shot in the calf of the leg, the bullet going right through." The Mounted Men brought the whole gang into Kamloops, refusing to give them up to anyone till they landed these desperadoes in jail, whence they were taken to serve sentences in the penitentiary. It is interesting to note that at that time Mr. Marpole, in a statement issued to the press, strongly advocated the extension of the Mounted Police Force to other parts of Canada in addition to the Middle West. In recent years that has been done, and the result has been enormously beneficial, as we shall later consider. And so Deane's expectation, as we indicated, was fulfilled, for, except for the clumsy efforts of a couple of foreigners, the train-robbers have evidently concluded to give a wide berth to any region where the Mounted Police stand for British Law. And it is not inappropriate at the close of this railway chapter to quote Steele's account of the ride given him out of compliment to his work and that of the Police generally, on the train which was the first to go through to the coast after Donald A. Smith had driven at Craigellachie in November, 1885, the spike which united the two oceans across Canada. Steele was back on duty in the mountains again and, as he knew some of the party, was invited to go through from Kamloops on a private car with Mr. Dickey, the government engineer, and the manager of construction on the coast end of the huge undertaking. And Steele writes in his most interesting book, _Forty Years in Canada_, "Dickey knew the Manager well, which was sufficient to ensure a warm welcome, and the train rushed along at the rate of 57 miles an hour, roaring in and out of the numerous tunnels, our short car whirling round the short curves like the tail of a kite, the sensation being such that when dinner was served Dickey, the manager and I were the only men in the car who were not suffering from train sickness. I think this was one of the wildest rides by train any of us ever took. Many years have passed since that memorable ride, and to-day one goes through the mountains in the most modern and palatial observation cars, but the recollection of that journey to the coast on the first train through is far sweeter to me than any trips taken since. It was the exultant moment of pioneer work, and we were all pioneers on that excursion." And we add again all due honour to the famous corps that had watched over the destinies of the long steel trail. CHAPTER VIII RIEL AGAIN Some years ago a well-known Senator told me that he was at a dinner party in Sir John Macdonald's house in Ottawa, when a telegram was delivered to the Premier at the table. He read it and put it under his plate. Nothing could be gained by throwing that bombshell in the midst of his guests. But in a few minutes, as the friends were saying good-night, Sir John came to the door with the Senator and said, "Mac, there's the very mischief to pay in the North-West." The wire had communicated the news of the Duck Lake fight, by which the rebellion, under that mad egoist, Louis Riel, was publicly staged in its opening act. And the Senator told me he recalled for all the years that followed the look on the Premier's face as one of pained surprise and unexpected shock. If the Senator was a good reader of faces and read that expressive countenance aright, he could doubtless see indications of pain, for Sir John was a tender-hearted man. But, if he saw surprise on the face of the Premier, it is proof positive that official pigeon-holes in the West had not divulged their secrets to Ottawa, or that his subordinates were hoping to quell the discontent of the half-breeds on the Saskatchewan without worrying the "old chieftain" unduly. And this we say because the outbreak of rebellion was a surprise to Western residents only in the sense that the resort to arms was considered unlikely. But every one knew something of the discontent. The Mounted Police saw it coming to a head, and Superintendent Crozier, who was in command at Fort Carleton, on the North Saskatchewan, has reported in July, 1884, some eight months before the outbreak, that Riel had been brought from Montana to champion the "rights" of the half-breeds. Superintendent Gagnon, who understood their language well, reported as to Riel's presence and the discontent of the half-breeds more than once. The causes of the discontent were not far to seek. Many of the half-breeds on the South Saskatchewan were the same who had taken part in Riel's first rebellion on the Red River fifteen years before. They were not people of a settled temperament. They did not take naturally to the farm. There was enough of the Indian blood in them to make them nomadic hunters rather than settlers, and enough of the fiery volatility of French blood to make them susceptible to the appeals of aggressive agitation. And Riel, though not specially anxious to fight himself, was a past master in stirring others up to get into conflicts. And when Superintendent Crozier notified the Government that this hot-headed, vain but magnetic agitator had come amongst his old compatriots, steps should have been taken to deport him, or otherwise put him where he could do no harm. Gagnon was quite right when he stated later that the main cause of the discontent amongst the half-breeds was the introduction by the Government of the rectangular survey of land on the prairie. Under this system settlers had to hold their farms in square blocks of 160 acres or more, and in consequence such settlers would be necessarily some distance apart. This was not to the mind of the half-breeds, who were more given to social gatherings than to agriculture, and who preferred the old survey that they knew on the Red River and the Assiniboine, where their holdings were in narrow strips fronting on the river and running two miles back. To introduce this on the prairie, the Government contended, would lead to confusion, and so it was easy for the agitator to stir up discontent amongst these inflammable people who had always been accustomed to the freedom of the plains. It was easy for the orator to say that the Government was trying to break up their old social customs, and when such a statement was followed up by saying that their patents giving them title to land were being long delayed, and that possibly they would never be granted at all, a live coal had fallen on material as combustible as the dry grass on the prairie. And once the half-breeds began to consider revolt it was not hard for them to stir up certain bad Indians with the proposal that by combining they could drive out the whites and have the country to themselves again. In any case our main interest in this book is the story of the Mounted Police, and we repeat that they did their duty in warning the authorities a long distance ahead. When their warning was not heeded and the flame of rebellion broke out, they, as this story will show, did more than their share in putting out the fire where it had started, and in preventing it from spreading, as it might have done, over the whole country. We have quoted Superintendent Crozier's warning. Let us notice also the testimony of another experienced officer, Superintendent Sam B. Steele. It appears that in 1884, when Steele was still in command at Calgary, Mr. Magnus Begg, Indian agent of the Blackfeet, reported that the former friendly attitude of those Indians seemed to be changing to one of sulkiness and hostility. Steele asked him about a certain half-breed who had been with Riel in Montana, and Begg, on being given the description, said he was in the camp with Chief Crowfoot. Steele sent and had this half-breed arrested, but he escaped by making a leap from the train. And when next day Colonel Irvine and Superintendent Herchmer came to Calgary to take over the command from Steele, who was under orders for duty in the mountains, he reported the facts to them with his conviction that the half-breed was one of Riel's runners trying to stir up the Indians. They asked Steele to stay over and arrest him in Crowfoot's camp, and taking two men with him, Walters and Kerr, well known for their strength and reliability, he went to the camp, and, through L'Hereux, the interpreter there, demanded the half-breed, whom he found in Crowfoot's tent. Crowfoot, with the half-breed beside him and his chief men around him, had evidently been imposed upon by sinister Riel propaganda, and seemed to be quite hostile. He sprang up and faced Steele threateningly as he entered the tent, but the giant policeman waved him back and told him it would be the worse for him if he started anything, because he had come for the half-breed and that he was going to take him, as the Police always did when they started after a man. Then Steele, suiting the action to the word, seized the half-breed by the back of the collar, whirled him round, and, dragging him out of the tent door, handed him over to the two stalwart constables, who lifted him into the buckboard and drove away. Steele remained behind for a while, and told Crowfoot that he had been misled by the half-breed, and addressing also the hostile-looking band of Indians present, the Superintendent told them that the half-breed had spoken to them with a forked tongue, and that it would be sensible for them to remain friendly with the Government and the Police. Steele told Superintendent Herchmer, when he came back to Calgary, that he was sure Riel was going to make serious trouble, and that he had runners like this half-breed in other places amongst the Indians, and the sooner the Government knew it the better. So the Police were doing their part to forewarn the authorities, but the men at Regina and Ottawa either did not get all these warnings, or else they treated them too lightly. And, accordingly, Riel, down at Batoche on the South Saskatchewan, kept up the agitation, and in the atmosphere of the adulation of his half-breed admirers his characteristic vanity asserted itself till, refusing to acknowledge the authority of either Church or State, he looked on himself as a sort of Divinely ordained leader. Rattle-brained as he was, he possessed elements of strength and magnetism enough to get a large following in a short time, and, assuming the name of "Louis 'David' Riel, Exovede," he took the aggressive by plundering some stores, arresting the Indian agent and others, and sending a flamboyant message to Superintendent Crozier to come with his men and surrender to the rebel chief. Crozier, who had done splendid service at Wood Mountain, Cypress Hills and elsewhere, was not the kind of man to surrender, but with the hope that he might avert trouble and incidentally give the Government time to mobilize the long-delayed reinforcements, he offered personally to meet Riel and discuss the whole matter with him. Riel, however, would not venture out, and so Crozier sent Mr. Thomas McKay, a well-known Prince Albert man and native of the country, to see him at his headquarters. When McKay reached Riel's council room at Batoche he found things at white heat. Riel told him excitedly that there was to be a war of extermination, during which the "two curses," the Government and the Hudson's Bay Company, and all who sympathized with them were to be driven out of the country. "You don't know what we are after," shouted Riel to McKay; "we want blood, blood--it's blood we want." McKay had a cool head and so sparred for time, till the rebel sobered down somewhat and then McKay left and returned to Carlton, where he reported to Crozier. Next day, in answer to a request from Riel, McKay and Mitchell, a merchant of Duck Lake, with Crozier's consent, met two of Riel's men, Nolin and Maxime Lepine (a brother of Riel's adjutant in the Red River revolt), who demanded again the surrender of Fort Carlton. This, of course, was refused, and in a few days rebellion was rampant, with this man, half-knave, half-madman at its head. The first clash came on March 26, 1885, when Crozier sent out a small detachment of Police with a few civilian volunteers from Prince Albert, under the general direction of that experienced and fearless frontiersman, Thomas McKay, above named, to bring in to Fort Carlton some Government stores from Mitchell's trading place above mentioned. This little detachment, of some twenty all told, were met when near Duck Lake by that mischievous Indian, Chief Beardy, with his warriors and Riel's fighting Lieutenant, a famous half-breed plainsman, Gabriel Dumont, this rebel force being estimated by Duck Lake residents at between 300 and 400 men, all well armed, though all did not appear then on the field. A confab took place, Beardy and Dumont being very insolent, and endeavouring evidently to get Crozier's men to begin hostilities so that the rebels might wipe them out. But McKay, though boldly standing his ground, would not be drawn, and after a somewhat stormy interview, retired to Carlton, daring the rebels to follow. In the meantime, the Commissioner, Colonel A. G. Irvine, a careful and conscientious officer, who had succeeded MacLeod in command of the Police in 1880, wired from Regina to Ottawa and got orders to take all available men, less than 100, and proceed to Prince Albert, as that whole section of country was exposed to the utmost danger. Irvine made a record march through slush and snow, outwitted Riel's forces at South Saskatchewan by going through their zone, and arriving at Prince Albert with horses so used up by the spring roads that a day had to be taken to get them able to go further. He had received word from Carlton that there was no immediate likelihood of trouble, but he lost no time in pressing on to that point, reaching there in the afternoon of March 26, only to find that Crozier had gone out that day to Duck Lake with his handful of police and civilian volunteers and had just returned after experiencing a reverse. At that time, and later in his formal report, Irvine expressed keen regret that Crozier, knowing the Commissioner to be within 50 miles with reinforcements, had not waited. But Crozier had been true to the Police record of not counting odds when duty seemed clear. And so, when his first small detachment, under Thomas McKay, had come back, the Superintendent doubtless felt that unless he acted at once, the rebels would say that the Police could be bluffed, and would thus be able to call to the cause of the revolt hundreds of half-breeds and Indians, who would take courage from the apparent apathy or weakness of the Government forces. Besides this, it became known later that the volunteers from Prince Albert were anxious to settle the rebels, as their homes were menaced by the uprising. So the Duck Lake fight took place between Crozier, Inspector Howe, with Surgeon Miller and fifty-three men of the Mounted Police, aided by forty-one civilian volunteers from Prince Albert, under Captains Moore and Morton, a total of ninety-nine on the one side against Gabriel Dumont, Chief Beardy and a force of nearly 400 half-breeds and Indians on the other. The rebels first used a flag of truce, and under cover of conference partially outflanked our men on the one side, while the rest of their forces were well concealed under cover of log buildings and brush. The thing was too unequal, and our men, after fighting in the open with the utmost coolness and courage against a practically hidden enemy, gathered up their nine dead and five wounded, who needed care, and retired in good order to Carlton. The loss of the rebels, who concealed their dead, was not known, but Gabriel Dumont was wounded by a bullet which plowed along his head and felled him to the ground. A few years later Mr. Roger Goulet, a famous loyalist French half-breed land-surveyor in Winnipeg, who was on the Commission to inquire into the question of half-breed rights, said to me: "The Duck Lake fight was worth while, because Gabriel Dumont's wound, which I saw later when he took off his hat to make an affidavit, cooled his ardour to such an extent that he was timid for the rest of the campaign, or the rebellion might have lasted much longer." Goulet's theory possibly accounts for the fact that Dumont, whose judgment was for a night attack on Middleton's camp at Fish Creek, gave up the idea rather swiftly when Riel did not seem to see its advisability. When Colonel Irvine reached Carlton, as related, and found out how things stood, the immediate thing to settle was as to whether he should hold that post or not. This was not hard to decide. Carlton was simply a Hudson's Bay post without population, while Prince Albert was the largest white community in the whole region. The people there must be protected as a first duty, and it was only fair to the Prince Albert volunteers, who had left their homes and came so splendidly to the aid of the little body of Police, that the latter in turn should not leave those homes exposed to the barbarities of the rebels now intoxicated by a certain success. Accordingly, Fort Carlton was abandoned. It took fire from a hospital mattress and an over-heated stove, just as the Police were leaving, and burned to the ground. Irvine and his men, with their wounded, arrived in due course at Prince Albert, which they found full of refugees from surrounding homesteads as well as the town. Most of these refugees were in the church there, which they had surrounded with a wall of cordwood in dread of attack. The women and children were wild with apprehension of possibly falling into the hands of Beardy's tribe. And there was a band of Sioux to the north that it was feared might at any moment assert their traditional love of the warpath. [Illustration: COL. T. A. WROUGHTON. Asst.-Commissioner in command at Vancouver, B.C. _Photo. Steffens-Colmer, Vancouver._] [Illustration: LIEUT.-COL. AYLESWORTH BOWEN PERRY, C.M.G. Commissioner since 1900. _Photo. Rossie, Regina._] [Illustration: COL. CORTLANDT STARNES. Senr. Asst.-Commissioner, Ottawa. _Photo. Topley, Ottawa._] HEADQUARTERS STAFF, 1921. [Illustration: R.N.W.M.P. WOOD CAMP. CHURCHILL RIVER.] The Duck Lake fight, with its balance in favour of the rebels, encouraged Big Bear up near Fort Pitt to rebel and do all the damage he could, starting in with the massacre of nine white men, Government agents, etc., on the reserve and imprisoning the rest, including the Hudson's Bay factor and his family, who gave themselves up to the Indians at Fort Pitt. It stirred up the powerful Cree element under Poundmaker at Battleford, where depredations were committed, and where the white people barricaded behind stockades suffered siege and the imminent danger of famine and attack for many weeks. It sent its echoes down into the south-west part of the territories where the warlike Blackfeet confederacy had its centre. At each of these points, as at Prince Albert, the few Mounted Police that were on duty became a literal tower of strength. At Battleford, Inspector Morris, with his few men, organizing also a home guard, guarded nearly 400 women and children who sought refuge inside the stockade. And Constable Storer, riding out alone from that stockade, when all the wires were cut, though pursued for 60 miles, carried the dispatch to the relieving column at Swift Current. At Fort Pitt, in the Big Bear country, Inspector Francis Dickens, son of the famous novelist, with a mere handful of men, one of whom, young Cowan, was killed by the Indians, and another, Loasby, was wounded, held that Hudson's Bay post until the factor and his family and employees gave themselves up to the Indians, when Dickens, having no farther object in staying there, dropped down the river to Battleford and took part in the fight against Poundmaker. And away in the south-west, where the whole region was charged with the electricity of revolt, the masterly hand of Superintendent Cotton, a cool, courageous and diplomatic officer, ably assisted by Inspector Antrobus and Surgeon Kennedy, was able to restrain the most dangerous of the Indian tribes in the West. Superintendent McIllree commanded at Maple Creek and Medicine Hat, and kept a constant eye by scouting parties on the Cypress Hills region, and Inspector McDonnell's services at Wood Mountain were of much value. Superintendent Deane was in charge at headquarters in Regina, and did a great deal of important work in recruiting men and using his influence for peace amongst Indians, such as Chief Pie-a-Pot and others. Northward, in the Edmonton country, where there were great numbers of Indians, amongst whom Riel and Big Bear had runners, that experienced soldier, Inspector A. H. Griesbach, "the father of the Police Force," as he was often called, accomplished tasks of first importance by holding Fort Saskatchewan, where many settlers took refuge, and by assisting with the organization of the Edmonton Home Guards, as well as patrolling the whole region round about. No one who knew the situation as it really existed at that critical hour, could ever dream of apportioning honours differently to men who were actually in action and those who stood guard over helpless settlers, or prevented by determined diplomacy the uprising of the Indians in their localities. Some who did not know the situation--arm-chair critics at a safe distance--levelled some darts of fault-finding at Colonel Irvine at Prince Albert, and I write a paragraph or two in reply, because I know whereof I speak. I have some reasons for claiming to know Prince Albert, which was founded as a mission and named by some of my relatives in 1866. At the time of the rebellion there were two brothers and a sister, as well as many other relations there whom I saw on my way down the Saskatchewan after the rebellion was over. They knew that some people in the East had raised the question as to Irvine remaining at Prince Albert during the rebellion. But they spoke with indignation in regard to all such critics, and said if these people who were talking in that way only knew what panic would have ensued if the Police had been withdrawn, and how likely it was that the whole settlement would have been pillaged and probably wiped out, the criticism would cease. If the British way is "women and children first," then the duty of protecting them against death or worse comes before the desire to save oneself from possible criticism. The Mounted Police, in over ten years' previous service on the plains, had established an unprecedented reputation for courage under all circumstances, and wherever in the rebellion time they had opportunity in the field, they shone out conspicuously as men who had no thought of self when fighting was the duty of the hour. In proportion to the numbers engaged, more men of the Mounted Police were killed or wounded than any other military body in the field. But when savages were on the warpath, and defenceless people, principally women and children, rushed for refuge to Prince Albert, Battleford or any other point, nothing could be so un-British, not to say inhuman, as to abandon them for the more exciting life on the field. Not only on Western plains, but in India and other such portions of the Empire, has this been exemplified. This much is said from the viewpoint of the ordinary sensible and chivalrous onlooker. But more can be stated. When the rebellion started with the fight at Duck Lake, the Government dispatched General Middleton from Ottawa to the West. The plan of campaign outlined had three objectives. General Middleton was to attack Riel at Batoche, where the rebel headquarters were; Colonel Otter was to march from Swift Current to the relief of Battleford, where Poundmaker's band was in arms; and General Strange, a veteran of many years' service, was to mobilize at Calgary whatever forces he could muster and go northward into the Big Bear country, to relieve the Edmonton district, settle with Big Bear and release the prisoners he had taken at Frog Lake and Fort Pitt. Middleton, a good soldier and a brave man personally, was in the supreme command of all the forces in the field, including the Police, and it is not too much to say that he asserted that fact very strongly all through the campaign, partly because of natural disposition and partly because he under-estimated the value of the "raw soldiers" of Canada, as he called them in a famous dispatch. Withal, while he was totally unaccustomed to the kind of warfare he was facing, he was not given to receive counsel from those who did know, and from close personal contact with the situation at the time, as well as from careful study since, I feel that General Middleton rather resented the dominant place of the Mounted Police in the mind of the West, and was more ready to make some slighting remarks about them than to take their counsel. And this I say without seeking to disparage the general quality or the personal valour of the officer in supreme command. Hence it was that General Middleton never intimated in any way to Colonel Irvine that he or any of his men should leave Prince Albert and come to the seat of war at Batoche. On the contrary, Majors Bedson and Macdowell, who made their way to Prince Albert from Middleton's camp by way of Carrot River, told Irvine that the General wished the Police to stay where they were and look out for the scattered half-breeds. And one day, when things were quieted around Prince Albert and Irvine made a reconnaissance in force to the south as far as Scott's, some 14 miles out, he was met by one of Middleton's scouts with a message to return to Prince Albert. That the above represents General Middleton's general attitude is further attested by the fact that when Riel's stronghold fell and Middleton was on his way by Prince Albert to close the campaign by proceeding against Chiefs Poundmaker and Big Bear, he declined Irvine's offer to go with him with his men, who knew the country and the Indians at first hand. Irvine offered to take his men, carrying their own rations, and go a day ahead of the General, or to go on the other side of the river, but was refused. Yet orders came back to Irvine a few hours later to go to Carlton, which he did, arriving there before Middleton, and sending out scouting parties in search of Big Bear's band that, as we shall see in a later page, had been scattered by Strange's column. It was not long before one of these Police scouting parties had captured Big Bear with some others and landed them in the jail at Prince Albert. And it is rather interesting to recall that it was big Tom Hourie, a Police interpreter, accompanied by two Police scouts, Armstrong and Diehl, who captured Riel and took him into Middleton's tent at Batoche. It is also interesting at this point to reproduce an overlooked extract from a letter written by the Earl of Minto, who, as Lord Melgund, was chief of General Middleton's staff, and who, therefore, wrote out of personal knowledge of the situation. After speaking of our three main columns, this fine soldier, who was wounded on duty, says: "Besides these three columns there was another force in the field--the North-West Mounted Police detachment, under Colonel Irvine, the value of which has always seemed to me underrated. The fact of Colonel's Irvine's force being at Prince Albert afforded a safe refuge to many outlying settlers, and, if it had not been there, the task General Middleton had to solve would have been quite a different one. Hampered, as Colonel Irvine was, by the civilian population of the settlement and by a difficult country, the possibility of successful junction with Middleton must always have been doubtful, whilst the moral effect of the force at Prince Albert was certain." I have gone ahead of the history in mentioning the capture of Big Bear, the pursuit of whom is the record of General Strange's column which, as already noted, mobilized at Calgary. In addition to the 65th Rifles of Montreal, the Winnipeg Light Infantry, with whom I served, and some irregular scouts under Major Hattin and Osborne, we had two Mounted Police detachments, one from the mountains under Inspector Sam B. Steele, and the other from Fort MacLeod under Inspector A. Bowen Perry, the present able Commissioner of the Force. Both these officers, coming at that time under the command of General Strange in the Militia, were given the Militia rank of Major. Steele enlisted a number of men, mostly ex-Mounted Policemen, as scouts, his whole corps, thus augmented, being generally called Steele's scouts. Perry, who was selected by Superintendent Cotton on account of special fitness, brought with him a nine-pounder gun, which did unique service in demoralizing and scattering Big Bear's murderous and pillaging band, to whose outrages we have already referred. These two Police detachments became the tentacles of our column and the mainspring of its ultimate success. Of the two officers Steele was the senior in years and in length of service. He had been in the Red River Expedition, and was in the School of Gunnery at Kingston, when he enlisted in the Mounted Police at its organization and worked his way up from the ranks. Powerfully built, he had all the appearance and carriage of a frontier soldier, accustomed to unexpected situations and always ready for any action that might be necessary. Perry attracted me first by his stalwart appearance and fine horsemanship. Even in a country where riding was a fine art, Perry was a distinguished figure on a horse, and later on I discovered that he made a point of doing everything well. He was a graduate of the Royal Military College, and had served with the Royal Engineers before joining up with the Mounted Police, where his genius for thorough administration and his general popularity raised him to the highest position in the Force. The news from the North coming to us at Calgary, indicated that the whole country north of the Red Deer River to Edmonton and beyond was full of rather surly and hostile Indians, who would rise at any moment if they thought there were any chances of success. Hence, General Strange, a thorough-going soldier greatly beloved by all of us, determined to push on to Edmonton with all speed accompanied by Steele. We of the Winnipeg Light Infantry waited a few days till Perry could reach us from MacLeod, and then we also started north under his guidance. We forded the Bow River, but when we got to the Red Deer we found it flooded by the spring freshets into what our Adjutant Constantine, who later did such splendid service with the Mounted Police, called, in warning the men, "a wide, swift-flowing and treacherous stream." Strange had crossed before the river rose, but how we were to get over was a problem. Our chances of getting on to the north looked slim. It was well that Perry, whose service with the Royal Engineers meant something, was along in command of the column. He decided to throw a rope across with the little skiff, which was the only thing in sight and then construct and cross by a swinging raft. The raft was constructed under his direction, and his own detachment of Police, with the gun and ammunition and harness put on board. Of course, he went himself, as he never asked his men to go anywhere without him. Things went fairly till near the other side, when the rope made out of the picketing lines of the horses broke by binding round the tree, from which it was being paid out, and the raft began to go down the raging current. At the risk of their lives Perry and Constable Diamond, grasping another rope, plunged into the torrent and managed to reach the shore and fasten it to a tree. But the current was too strong and this rope gave way. The boat went down a mile or so and, being caught in an eddy, was beached, and the stuff on board dragged up a steep cut bank. Then Perry commandeered lumber from a primitive saw-mill down the river, and built a ferry on which, in a day or two, we crossed. In the meanwhile, as we were in the hostile Indian country, Perry had accomplished the difficult task of crossing the 65th Regiment in the little skiff, taking a whole dark night to do it. He kept our regiment on the south side till the ferry was built. He thus had both sides guarded against any attack. Once over the river, we made a quick march 100 miles to Edmonton, where General Strange paid a high compliment publicly to Major Perry for the splendid way in which he had overcome obstacles and got our relief column through in such good time. The people of Edmonton gave us a hearty welcome, as their position in the midst of a big Indian country was very serious for a time. Big Bear, with the prisoners, was now treking away to the north, and it was our business to overtake him. The Infantry went down the river, while the Mounted Men went by trail near the river bank, or our clumsy, open flatboats might have come under fire. Forced marching, from Fort Victoria by Frog Lake to Fort Pitt, brought us to the scene of the Big Bear's atrocities, as we saw from the Sun-dance Lodge, the mutilated body of Constable Cowan and the charred remains of the nine white people who had been massacred at Frog Lake reserve. Fort Pitt was burning, but we saved two buildings. Big Bear and his marauding band in large force had kept up their retreat and vanished, but whether it was on the north side of the river, or the south side where they would effect a junction with Poundmaker could only be ascertained by scouting parties. Accordingly, General Strange at this point detailed Major Perry and seventeen men of his detachment (keeping the rest for the nine-pounder gun) to cross the river to the south side and move towards Battleford. It was not an enviable duty, and as the men crossed the river in the darkness and started their ride through a region that was supposed to be infested with hundreds on the warpath, it looked rather like a last patrol. However, after a hard ride they made Battleford to find that Poundmaker had surrendered, Middleton having just then arrived. Perry reported to Middleton with the information that Big Bear must be on the north side, arranged for a steamer to go up with supplies, which we needed very badly, and got on the steamer to return with his men. When part of the way back he got word that we were engaged with Big Bear, and so he landed his men and sent the steamer back to Battleford for reinforcements. After one of the most severe and risky rides of the campaign, Perry and his men rejoined us to find that his gunners under Sergeant O'Connor, and the nine-pounder, had made fine gun practice, and had been mainly instrumental in demoralizing the forces of Big Bear, with whom we had been in contact for two hot days. General Strange was much pleased with the way in which Major Perry had carried out the difficult reconnaissance with a handful of men. Meanwhile, after our fight with Big Bear and his flight from Frenchman's Butte, where he had a strong and well-fortified position, Major Steele, with his mounted detachment, had made a rush to Loon Lake, where, in a rattling encounter during which Sergeant Fury was severely wounded, he completed the defeat of Big Bear. Two days or so afterwards our scouts crossed Gold Lake in birch canoes and secured the release of the remaining prisoners of Big Bear, the others having come in to our lines after the fight at Frenchman's Butte, where Constable Donald McRae, still happily surviving, was wounded, but refused to leave the field till he had exhausted his ammunition. On the disbanding of the Alberta Field Force General Strange, who had served ever since the Mutiny, warmly commended the Infantry, and expressed the opinion that he had never commanded better soldiers than were in the Mounted Police detachments, ready for all kinds of duty. Preceding the surrender of Poundmaker, already mentioned, at Battleford, the fight at Cut Knife Hill had occurred. Colonel Otter had made a swift march from Swift Current to Battleford and relieved the beleaguered garrison and civilians there. With Otter came Superintendents W. M. Herchmer and Neale with a few Mounted Police. And when Otter decided to go out and attack Poundmaker these, with the few who had been at Battleford, and those who had come from Fort Pitt under Inspector Dickens, made up seventy-five Police, who went on that errand with Otter, and some 200 of his infantry and artillery. Just why Otter went out has never been very clear, except that he possibly wished to punish the band of Indians and prevent a possible junction of Poundmaker and Big Bear. Anyway, the Police were under his command, and they went in obedience to orders, as was their fashion. And the Police, being the advance guard to Cutknife, and both the advance and rear guard on the return, as well as in the hottest part of the fight for seven hours, where they behaved with great gallantry, lost heavily in killed and wounded in proportion to their numbers. It is not any reflection on the gallantry of the other corps, who were totally unused to Indian warfare, to say that it was the masterly tactics of the Police which extricated the column from the ravine after Colonel Otter saw that it was not advisable to continue the conflict against the large force of Indians who had every advantage in position. A few days after this Poundmaker, who was a very splendid-looking Indian, and who had given the order to cease fire when Otter was retiring, came in and surrendered to General Middleton, and the rebellion was practically over, though it was still a few days before Big Bear was captured, as already related. Perhaps there is no finer summing up of the services of the Mounted Police during the rebellion than that given by Dr. A. Jukes, Senior Surgeon of the Force, in his report at the end of that year. He says, "While I must leave to those whose duty as combatant officers it more especially becomes to record with sorrow, not unmingled with pride, the names and services of the gallant men who have fallen unflinchingly in the path of duty, I cannot withhold my humble tribute to the courage and fortitude of the mere handful of Mounted Police who, fewer in numbers than any battalion engaged in active operations, and generally far over-matched by enemies wherever it was their privilege to meet them, have left beneath the bosom of the prairie of their dead, 'killed in action,' a number greater than that of any battalion in the field, save one whose record, at least, they have equalled." And one cannot close this chapter without emphasizing what has often been overlooked by those who do not know Western affairs at first hand. Looking back now over the years, one is not surprised to have to see that the collapse of the rebellion, instead of leaving the Mounted Police Force carefree, actually added to their burdens and ushered them into a period of pronounced and continuous strain. The Militia, which was made up of several thousands of men--infantry, artillery, cavalry--all were withdrawn and scattered to their homes in various parts of Canada. The Mounted Police stayed at their posts or moved from place to place, as required in a readjustment period. The defeated rebels and many of the Indians were in a sullen mood, the year had been wasted from the standpoint of producing anything for food, the Indians were off their reservations in some cases, in others the reservations had been laid waste, and the buildings that had been erected for their comfort had been burned or wrecked by themselves when the spirit of destruction arose as they went on the warpath. Yet the officers and men of this remarkable corps, without any cessation or furlough, took up the ravelled skein of human life around them, and with great patience, skill and tact, soon had things running smoothly again. It was a wonderful piece of reconstructive statesman-like work and, as it proceeded, both the half-breeds and Indians who had been disaffected began to regret deeply the action they had been misled by agitators into taking contrary to the advice of the men in the scarlet tunic, who had always been their friends, and who always had stood for the square deal for every one. It was not only not the fault of the Mounted Police, but largely through ignoring their long-repeated warnings to the Government that the rebellion had taken place. While it lasted these Police did their duty like men at great cost without ever saying, "We told you so." And when it was over they so comported themselves in the midst of a distracted population that it could never occur again. CHAPTER IX RECONSTRUCTION In writing these chapters it is necessary to throw in a story or incident here and there out of the regular sequence in time, so as to relate cognate subjects to each other. Hence, as their names have all been already mentioned, it may be well here to indicate the terms of office occupied by the several Commissioners who have directed the destinies of the famous corps. With all of these, except Colonel French, who was the first in order, I have had some personal contact. The office of Commissioner has been held by Colonel G. A. (later Sir George) French from 1873 to 1876, by Colonel James F. McLeod from 1876 to 1880, by Lieut.-Colonel A. G. Irvine from 1880 to 1886, by Colonel Lawrence W. Herchmer from 1886 to 1900, and from 1900 up to date by the present Officer Commanding in the person of Colonel A. Bowen Perry, C.M.G. These all had their distinctive traits of character and each had his own speciality--foundation building, discipline, organization and so on--but they all meet on a common plane as soldiers and gentlemen without fear and without reproach. Of Colonel French we have already written--he was the layer of the corner-stone--and the after-history of the Police as a spirit level proves that it was well and truly laid. Colonel McLeod came into the command when the Indians, under changing conditions at home and amidst perplexing problems born of the Indian situation south of the boundary, had to be handled with unusual discreetness and care. And MacLeod was distinctly the man for such a period, of wide human sympathies, absolutely impartial and even-handed in his magisterial decisions and inflexibly courageous, he became to Indian and white man alike a sort of embodiment of the highest ideals of British administration. Colonel Irvine had served with credit under Wolseley and was highly esteemed by his men. His commissionership fell within the stormy time of the second Riel rebellion, and despite the fact that he was not generously treated by the Commander of the Militia forces during that period, he emerged from it with an enhanced reputation and with the respect not only of his own men, but of all who knew how difficult and important his task had been. Colonel Lawrence W. Herchmer, besides some service with Imperial forces, had been through some especially important work in connection with the Frontier Boundary Commission. This experience proved of much value to the Force and the country when he became Commissioner. Coming in the restless period succeeding the rebellion, Colonel Herchmer's contribution to Police history was his extension of the patrol system all over the vast territory under his oversight. A man of fine appearance and courteous bearing he was well liked and popular with the men and the community during his term of office. Colonel Perry, the present Commissioner, has had the longest term of service in the supreme command. As his name will come up frequently in the remaining chapters of this story, we need not make special note of his work here. But it is not too much to say that owing to his outstanding ability and his wide range of general knowledge, as well as his keen perception, he has during his long term of office practically recreated the Force in many particulars. He has unusual power for getting to the heart of a situation by a sort of intuitive insight. He has the reputation of being able to grasp and analyse the contents of documents almost at a glance and seize their salient points for action. His decisions are thus made after rapid assimilation of the facts, and he expects his orders to be carried out with exactness and dispatch. In this he is not disappointed, as the officers and men under his command have such confidence in his judgment that they work out his plans with enthusiasm. He is fair to all classes, but will not tolerate movements that make for the subversion of the constitution or the wanton disturbance of law and order. Intensely Canadian, he is not insular, for few men in his line have read more extensively in the fields of history. Having made these notes on the men who have guided the Force, we can take up the story again where we ended the last chapter with the close of the second Riel rebellion. As intimated at that point, the Militia Forces were withdrawn and the Mounted Police were left alone to deal with the problems of reconstruction and peace. Certain of the rebels who had been specially seditious and murderous had to be rounded up and dealt with by process of law in order that such unseemly doings should not again menace the safety of the settler and the march of civilization. It fell to the lot of the Police to gather the evidence, to secure the presence of witnesses, to furnish guards, and at headquarters in Regina the duties were very heavy. But these trained men worked with steady precision, for the lesson had to be taught that insurrection and murder were not to be tolerated under our flag. The men in the scarlet would see that whatever had been true of other frontiers, Canada was not to have a wild west or a wild north either. So the rebels suffered the due reward of their deeds. Louis Riel was tried and, despite the efforts of his lawyers, Lemieux and Fitzpatrick, brilliant men who came from Quebec to defend him and whose conflict with the Crown lawyers, B. B. Osler and Christopher Robinson, afforded a consummate spectacle of dialectic sword-play, this leader of two rebellions was executed at Regina. Several Indians, notably Wandering Spirit, who was the evil genius of the Big Bear revolt, were also visited with capital punishment. Big Bear himself, who had become decrepit, and the lordly Poundmaker, who sturdily maintained that he had only defended himself when attacked at Cutknife, were confined to the Stony Mountain penitentiary for a time, but released when a medical board decided that the change from out of doors would soon end their lives. Poundmaker was a splendid-looking man, stately and grave in manner, and his chivalry at Cutknife, where he ordered the "cease firing" when Otter was withdrawing, entitled him to consideration. I recall his pride in the long pleats of glossy black hair that adorned his handsome head. It was a graceful recognition of his gallantry that the authorities at the penitentiary, at the instance of the Department, left the fine locks of their captive unshorn during his prison term. At the suggestion of the Mounted Police officers many of the chiefs who had remained loyal were taken on a tour of the east, where they received many tokens of the kindly attitude of Canadians towards them. [Illustration: INDIAN TEPEE.] [Illustration: DOG-TRAIN.] I recall a story in that connection--a missionary story. It is in place here because no one knew so well as the Police what a large part in preserving peace in the rebellion time was played by missionaries like John McKay, of the Mistawasis Reserve near Carlton, John McDougall, of Morley, George McKay, of Prince Albert, Père Lacombe and others. In the partnership of the Police and the missionaries the law and the gospel wrought together for good ends. The story was told a group of us by John McKay, to whose influence over Chief Mistawasis was largely due the fact that that powerful Cree chief, whose reserve was almost within sound of the guns of Duck Lake, did not join in with Chief Beardy and Dumont. After the rebellion, Mistawasis was one of the chiefs taken east as a reward for his loyalty. I recall seeing some of them being driven around eastern cities in cabs to see the sights. They preserved the usual stoical silence and evinced no surprise, but they missed nothing and when they got back home their tongues were loosed and for many a day they recited their experiences and told the story of the white man's great cities and manifest power. Mistawasis, on his way home, met John McKay on the plains, and they sat around the camp fire late that night as the chief poured out his recollections of what he had seen. One thing had puzzled the Indian, though he had thought much over it. "The strangest thing that happened," said Mistawasis, "was in Ottawa, where some good people had a missionary meeting at a house, and they were singing songs, and a lady played on the singing machine (piano). At last they asked me and Star Blanket to sing. We both were ashamed, because we could not sing much. But I told Star Blanket I would sing what the missionary taught us out on the plains and I began, and all of a sudden the lady ran to the singing machine and began to play and then they all joined in and I was leading the whole band." "Now," continued the Chief, "how did they know in Ottawa the same thing you taught us out at the reserve in Saskatchewan?" And then John McKay told him the tune was "Old Hundred," which all good people knew, and that the company sang it in English words while he sang in Cree, but that they were singing the same thing. This delighted Mistawasis, who felt that he and the white people there were really one in the deep experiences of life. And that meant brotherhood to him. But all the Indians were not like "Big Child," as this chief's name meant, and so the Mounted Police had strenuous work for some years after the rebellion, when scarcely a thousand of them had to patrol and guard a territory twenty times as large as some European kingdoms. From the ably written and graphic Police reports for the years following the rebellion, one can visualize the changing conditions of the country. The outbreak had undesignedly advertised the wide West. The thousands of men who had come out on military duty, having spied out the wondrous fatness of the land, had gone back to the east to become unofficial immigration agents by telling what they had beheld. And so the tide of humanity began to flow over the plains towards the setting sun. This means that the buffalo were gone for all time and that game generally would become a precarious means of existence, that the ranch and the farm would supersede the open plain, that settlers would need much guidance as well as protection, that the Indians would have to be taught to stay on their reserves and make a living there, and that the half-breeds, who were no lovers of agriculture, would have to be weaned from their nomadic inclinations. In some parts of the vast country, as at Prince Albert, Superintendent A. B. Perry, who took charge there after the rebellion, states, "The general attitude of the half-breeds and Indians was one of regret for what had happened." All was going well, but in some other quarters there was a sort of sullenly defiant spirit abroad which took all the tact and the courage of the Police to overcome. It was fortunate that the officers and men of the Police had from the beginning so commended themselves to the Indians and half-breeds as exponents of fair play that these natives of the country never seemed to hold the Police responsible for the errors, delays or mistakes of any government. In speaking of Police reports I would like the reader to bear in mind that, in addition to the reports furnished by the combatant officers generally so classified, commissioners, superintendents, inspectors and others, some of the most remarkable and important documents sent forward to the proper authorities, through the usual channels, were written by the surgeons and their assistants, and also by the veterinary surgeons. Men and their troop horses were companions on the long trails, and they both had to be cared for by sympathetic experts in each line. It was vastly important that both should be kept fit if the work was to be done, and of the two the men themselves were always more anxious about their horses than about their own comfort. Hence these health-preserving specialists were of peculiar value for the efficiency of the corps. And as they were men of education as well as keen observers, their reports bore the evidences of research, which made them treasuries of information. As an indication of the way in which the Police showed that they were in the country not only to preserve law and order but to guide settlers in the interests of the country's development as well as for their own welfare, I quote from one of Commissioner Lawrence Herchmer's annual reports this valuable statement in 1886: "As a rule too little fall ploughing is done in the North-West, and there is consequently too much hurry amongst the farmers in the spring and large tracts of land are sown, but not sufficiently worked--nearly all the farmers work too much land for their strength. Very few of them made any use of the manure from their farmyards, and although at nearly all Police posts, farms are quite close, I am not aware that any manure is drawn from our stables by any farmers." This statement was amply justified and very much needed, as those of us who knew the country then can affirm. Many had rushed west with the idea of getting rich "quick." They spread themselves over too much land, they neglected fall ploughing and ran the risk of getting caught with frost next season, and they thought they could save themselves time and money by doing without a fertilizer and taking all they could get out of the land. No doubt Herchmer and his thousand men preached the gospel of good farming with effect, for not many years passed before the flagrant mistakes he pointed out were remedied, to the great benefit of the country which has become in large measure the granary of the Empire. In patrol work the following from Superintendent Neale throws a little side-light on some of the frequent experiences of the Force in that period. The reference is to the "Old Man's River" in the foothill country in December. Neale says: "I had gone ahead to try the ice and found it unsafe. The saddle horses were then crossed, followed by the wagons, one of which, the hospital spring wagon, came to grief by the horses refusing to face the wind, trying to get on the ice and breaking the pole. Both men and horses were covered with ice, as the wind was very strong and bitterly cold. The stopping place at Kipp being only in course of erection, there was no place to go into, and the raising of a tent was an impossibility. However, the horses were placed in the shelter afforded by some haystacks, and after being dried and fed the men managed to get a cup of tea and then turned in with their horses." There is not much detail here, but one who knows that country at that season reads between the lines and shivers. And that the conditions might crop up at other dates is evident by a line in the same report which says that "Inspector Sanders travelled the whole distance from Lethbridge to Bull's Head _coulée_ in a driving snowstorm." That would be a dangerous outing. That others of the Police were taking note of new conditions for the benefit of the country, as Lawrence Herchmer did in his remarks on farming above quoted, is evidenced by a recommendation by Superintendent Steele, who says in 1886: "I wish to call your attention to the quality of wood used last winter for fuel, causing large fatigues, much waste and consequently great expense. This could be avoided by entering into coal contracts with people residing near the coal beds on the North Saskatchewan, who would be able to supply at low rates." Thus were these guardians of the peace keeping their eyes open and urging forward the proper industrial development of the country. There is a striking and characteristic passage in a later report from Superintendent Perry, the general truth of which is just as vital to the well-being of the State to-day as it was when written not long after the rebellion. It appears that Perry and his men had traced and brought for trial a good many cattle-killers, mail-robbers and others, but found much difficulty in getting convictions in local court where jurymen and others seemed to have more sympathy with the accused than necessary. Perry sees the far-reaching danger of this attitude, and refers to it as follows: "I regret that convictions for the serious crimes were not secured against the guilty parties. Evidence was produced for the defence which could well be doubted. Not only has this case produced sympathy for crime, but in other cases, it has been plainly manifested. Petitions have been forwarded to lessen the penalties where laws of the country have wilfully and knowingly been broken. So notorious has this become, that it has disheartened us in attempting to secure criminal convictions. There seems to be an absurd idea that the dismissal of a charge means a snub to the Mounted Police, whereas it strikes home at the root of society and threatens the lives and property of the very men who jeer and flaunt." The frontier was fortunate in having men who saw and pointed out this tendency in time. There is the ring of a statesman in that declaration. But Perry and his men were by no means deterred, even if feeling disheartened by that state of apparent sympathy with law-breakers. This is attested by the fact that when the first stage robbery ever accomplished in the territories took place by the holding up of the Prince Albert mail near Humboldt, Perry and his detachments under Inspectors Begin and Guthbert so combed the whole country in search of the perpetrators that this attempt to introduce the Jesse-James programme into Canadian territory was effectually discouraged. It took some time to land the robber, a man named Garnett, in the north country, who was given a long term sentence in the penitentiary. The Police were always on active service, but the service was very varied in character. It is interesting to find this note in one of the reports of that period written by Superintendent Deane, then in command of the Headquarters District at Regina. "On the 15th of August it was reported to me that a child about two and a half years old, the daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Pringle, of Regina, had strayed from her mother, who was on a visit to Pense. A Police party was dispatched to search the neighbourhood. The child was lost on the evening of the 15th, but the loss was not reported to me till the following afternoon. The child was found on the evening of the 17th in some bushes a mile or two away from the house from which it had strayed, and beyond being somewhat frightened, was little the worse for the exposure." One can quite imagine the concern of these red-coated knights of the saddle for the lost child. They would not say much, but thoughts of food and sleep would be put aside till the child was found. What plan they employed is not stated, but I have seen men under similar conditions, mounted or dismounted, holding hands and swinging in compass circles on the plain so as not to leave a foot of ground unsearched. Deane's report is as above, but again those who know the country and the men will read between the lines and see these uniformed athletes quieting the fears of the little one and then going away to some other duty glad with the remembrance of the child and the rejoicing parents. For a few years after the Riel outbreak there was a lot of unrest amongst the Blood Indians down to the south, where the proximity of the boundary line gave much opportunity to horse-thieves, cattle-killers and smugglers of whisky, but the watchfulness of Superintendents Neale and MacDonnell, Inspectors Howe, Sanders, Wattam, Sergt.-Major Lake and others checkmated every effort at lawlessness. Inspector Sanders made a clever capture of two Bloods, "The Dog" and "Big Rib," who were tried and sentenced, but who escaped to the other side of the line from the sheriff. This escape led some of the Bloods to think they could get ahead of the Police. In fact one of the chiefs, "Calf Shirt," brought in liquor from Montana and said he would defy the Police, while another Indian, "Good Rider," tried cattle-killing on the Cochrane Ranch. But the Police took a hand at this point. Superintendent Neale wired Superintendent MacDonnell for a detachment of officers and men, and MacDonnell sent Inspector Howe with twenty men to meet Neale with a like number at Stand Off. The result was that both "Calf Shirt" and "Good Rider" were arrested at two different camps, and each was duly tried and sentenced to a term with hard labour. This nipped the law-breaking in the bud. That was the Mounted Police way. After this experience it is not surprising to read in Commissioner Herchmer's report for 1888, "There has been a remarkable absence of crime during the past year and, outside arrests of criminals from the United States, we have made no important arrests in our territory." This was the gratifying result of the thoroughness of the Police patrol system, and the natural sequence to the fact that there was not much use or profit in trying to thwart the law when these red-coated guardians of the peace were around, and as the Indians found that law-breaking did not pay, they turned to more profitable pursuits, in which they were encouraged and helped by the Government and the Police. Hence this observant Commissioner is able to say that "in all quarters of the territories the Indians are making rapid strides towards self-support." The day was coming when, under the same paternal encouragement, the Indians would be the prize-winners at the fairs on the plains where they had once hunted buffalo--a very remarkable transformation. In the same year Herchmer calls attention to the highly pleasing fact that the introduction of the telephone would lead to an enormous saving of men and horses, and notes the able and diplomatic way in which Superintendent Steele, assisted by Inspectors Wood, Huot and Surgeon Powell, had quieted matters in the Kootenay country where Chief Isadore's attitude had discouraged settlement. With his usual social insight, Herchmer indicates that the Mormon settlement in southern Alberta, with its possible polygamy, will be the better of some oversight in the interests of British law. This latter was a wise decision, and led at least to the practical abandonment of a doctrine that had brought much odium upon that sect. It is interesting to find in that period of the late eighties a letter to Superintendent Deane, at Lethbridge, from the Montana Stock Growers' Association conveying a resolution of "thanks to the officers and men of the North-West Mounted Police and also to the Canadian authorities generally for assistance given to many of the citizens of Montana in recovering horses stolen from our territory." And that the Police were just as ready and willing to see the Indians got their dues either way is evidenced by another entry in which Deane pithily says, "A Blood Indian named 'Mike' laid an information against a Blackfoot for stealing his horse. 'Mike' recovered his horse and the Blackfoot is now serving three months' imprisonment here." Touching on the question of smuggling near the boundary, Deane tells of a patrol consisting of Constables Campbell and Chapman who, between Pendant d'Oreille (evidently a place where people should step lively, for the Superintendent says it "bristles with rattlesnakes") and Writing-on-Stone. These constables came across a man named Berube with five horses and a wagon. His story did not sound well to them, and so they asked him to come to camp. He agreed with evident reluctance, and when he said he was hungry and his team tired, the Police told him to unhitch the team, mount one of them and come along to camp for breakfast. Then Berube wished to get his pocket-book out of the wagon, but instead he fished out a revolver and galloped away saying he would riddle them if they followed. Of course they followed. With the usual Police restraint they forbore to shoot. Campbell overtook the smuggler, but just as he ranged alongside the policeman's horse stumbled and fell, Campbell, leaping off as the horse fell and grabbing at the halter of Berube's horse, but failing to hold him owing to the speed. Berube again threatened the riddling process, but the constables chased him to a slough, where the smuggler's horse got mired, but Berube tried to lead him out. Campbell fired in the air, but Berube kept going, whereupon Campbell shot the smuggler's horse, and the patrol took Berube and his four horses into camp. Deane says that as the horses appeared to be glandered, he wired for Veterinary Surgeon Wroughton (now the able Assistant Commissioner), who declared the case virulent, and ordered everything destroyed. This was done, and Deane adds, "The slaughter and destruction were carried out by the Police, some of whose clothes suffered destruction in the process for which they, not unreasonably, look for some compensation." And we hope they got it. Handling glanders was almost as dangerous as either the bullets or the rattlesnakes. Superintendent Perry, who with the good assistance of Inspector Cuthbert commanded in the Prince Albert district in 1888, made some specially valuable recommendations as to the future care of the Indians, and praised the work of the missionaries amongst them. He said, "The hope of improvement in the Indian lies in the training of the rising generation, and it is to be hoped that before long the children will be taken in hand." And Perry's recommendation then made as to Industrial Schools bore fruit not many years later to the great advantage of the Indian and the country as well. Thus were the Police doing social service work as their duties proceeded. An interesting side-light is thrown on the changing conditions of the West by our finding that in the late eighties a detachment of Police was sent by request from that Province into southern Manitoba. This detachment, under Inspector J. A. McGibbon (recently Assistant Commissioner at Regina, now retired), who had done important work at Moose Mountain and other far western points, had headquarters at Morden. The business of this detachment was to patrol the whole country near the boundary line, to grant special "Let Passes" to people who were entitled to cross backwards and forwards, to prevent wood being taken from the Canadian side by Dakota settlers, and generally to stand for law and order. In connection with other work I was up and down that region a good deal in those days, and recall the sense of general security the scattered settlers had because of the presence of McGibbon and his men. After five years in command of the Prince Albert district, which had been the critical storm centre around which the winds of the Riel rebellion had beaten fiercely, Inspector A. B. Perry, before changing to another command, makes another valuable contribution to the development of Western history when he writes some special paragraphs in regard to the future of the half-breeds. Game was disappearing and the occupation of freighting on the prairie was being rendered useless by the incoming of railways. Perry says, "The mass of the half-breed population must therefore turn their attention to other methods of making a living. They have no alternative: farming must become their occupation in earnest. The English and Scotch half-breeds have already done this successfully; but very few of French descent have yet made any real attempt at it." Perry was right. These people had the blood of the nomad and the volatile in their veins. Perry continues, "As farming is the inevitable pursuit of the French half-breeds, all who are friendly to them should agree in urging and encouraging them to remain on their present holdings, so that they may at once face their destiny and ultimately obtain the position of a self-supporting people. They should be treated with patience and aided generously, remembering that it is not easy for white men possessing all the advantages of education and civilization to change their occupation. Can the half-breed hunter or freighter be expected to be more apt in adapting himself to change? It would be an astonishing thing if they quietly and quickly adapted themselves to the work of a farm on which success is only obtained by hard, patient and continuous labour." And Perry goes on to advise special instruction for these people. And he concludes, "There is a tendency on the part of some to regard the problem of the future of these people as insolvable. Knowing their many sterling qualities I cannot despair, but believe their descendants will be prosperous and desirable citizens of our North-West Territory." Words like these could not be written by a man who contented himself with the routine duty of a policeman, but by a wide-awake Canadian who was anxious for the future of his country and his fellow-citizens, and it is because there were so many in the Force who saw these questions in the light of Canada's future that we have always placed the Mounted Police amongst the real nation-builders of this new Dominion. And the decade which ended with 1890 finds one of the new pages in the story of the Police in the patrol by Inspector J. V. Begin across the stormy waters of Lake Winnipeg up to the bleak shores of Hudson Bay at the famous old post of York Factory. This patrol involved much hardship and danger, but it stabilized conditions in that remote Keewatin area. In this regard Inspector Begin's trip was successful, but during his absence in the north there occurred the wreck of the Police boat on Lake Winnipeg, taking down with it Corporal Morphy and Constable Beaujeu, to both of whom the Inspector was warmly attached. They were splendid young men, full of gallantry and courage, but they answered the last roll-call while in the discharge of duty in a Force that has always been on active service. CHAPTER X CHANGING SCENERY The decade from 1890 to 1900 witnessed changes and incidents that were fully up to the Police history record for matters of thrilling importance. In 1891 Sir John A. Macdonald, who was the originator of the Force, and who had always taken great pride in its splendid efficiency, passed away after a brief illness at the historic homestead, Earnscliffe, in Ottawa. Not even Sir John's most rabidly partisan friends had ever claimed perfection for their political idol, but I did hear one man say that he was so devoted to "The old Chieftain," that he was quite prepared to support him whether he was right or wrong. This was probably an extreme case, but it illustrates the extraordinary magnetism of the remarkable man who had been the chief pilot in taking the country through the shoals and rocks that threatened to wreck Confederation at its launching. Sir John's Canadianism was intense and so was his Imperialism, for was it not he who said, "A British subject I was born and a British subject I will die"? The undoubted political lapses in his career seemed to proceed from his being possessed with the idea that his presence at the head of affairs was so necessary for the well-being of the country that he should get there and stay there at any cost. His two great achievements in connection with Western Canada were his inauguration of the Canadian Pacific Railway, and his organization of the Mounted Police. This does not mean that in these two projects he had not the aid of others, for in some measure he had the support of even his political opponents, who differed from him in considerable degree on the railway policy, but who supported him in his proposal to organize the Mounted Police. When I last heard this Disraeli-looking man speak, it was in Winnipeg, when he was making his first and last trip across Canada on the railway for which he had done and ventured so much. In his semi-humorous and semi-serious way he said, "I used to state that I never expected to live long enough to see the road completed, but that when my friends would be crossing the continent upon it, I would be looking down upon them from another and better sphere; my opponents said I would be looking up, but in reality to the surprise of both, I am doing it on the horizontal." On that same trip the veteran took great delight in seeing the scarlet and gold uniforms of his favourite corps on their "native heath" in the great prairie land of the West. Such was Sir John's interest in the Force that, despite his heavy duties, he retained the headship of the corps to the end of his days. In later years Sir Wilfred Laurier, Sir Robert Bordon, and the Hon. N. W. Rowell were outstanding also in their high opinion of, and their great interest in, the riders of the plains. In fact all public men who really understood the Western situation and the wide-reaching influence of the Police on Western history have always been ready to estimate highly the great services rendered by these remarkable men. During that same decade which rounded out the century Colonel MacLeod, who had been appointed to the Bench and whose fine character had endeared him to the Police and the country, crossed the Great Divide amid the grief of all who knew him. The Assistant Commissioner, W. M. Herchmer, who had throughout nearly thirty years served with distinction in the Militia and the Police, died much regretted, and was succeeded by Superintendent John H. McIlree, who retired in 1911 after thirty-eight years of most valuable service. It was in that decade also that the gold-rush into the Yukon took place, as we shall see, and furnished a new occasion for one of the most remarkable periods in the history of the Police, replete with incidents of adventure and tales of endurance along with a devotion to duty and a triumphant enforcement of law which added immensely to the already great prestige of the Force, and made a record that not only astonished but won the admiration of the world. We will, however, review some notable events of that decade before coming to the Yukon. Tragic but glorious was the fate of a young constable near Pendant d'Oreille, who was out on special duty when a blinding snow-storm gathered to the height of a blizzard across his path. Losing the way, the troop-horse stumbled into a ravine and broke his neck. But the athletic young policeman, who had developed muscle as well as mind in his university, extricated himself and struggled on in his determination to carry out his commission. The odds of blizzard and cold were too heavy, and the gallant lad succumbed in the unequal contest. But he would bring no discredit on the Police tradition, and when his body was discovered by a search party the following words, scribbled with freezing fingers, were found on a paper in his dispatch bag, "Lost. Horse dead. Am trying to push on. Have done my best." In the long roll of honour there are few more remarkable incidents than this of the young policeman battling with the relentless elements which some of us have witnessed raging on these Western plains. But he did not fail. From his numbing hands he had passed on to others the supreme duty of upholding the great tradition. And then we can swing to another and lighter, but still very important phase of Police life. In the nineties Superintendent Steele, who was at Fort MacLeod, gives us some vivid and interesting pictures of social evenings in the winter, and out-door sports in the summer. The Police were leaders in these gatherings, but all the country-side turned out, and the barrack hall was thrown open on occasion for winter gatherings. There was wisdom in all this, for to teach people to enjoy proper recreation and play is to make them better citizens and more cordial one to the other. In the summer the Bloods and Piegans with their ponies and dogs attended the sports, and took active part under the general oversight of that incomparable scout and interpreter Jerry Potts. In the roping of the huge wild steers there was much opportunity for the display of skill and nerve. When these big steers had been run out and had passed the line the cowboy on his trained pony followed at racing speed. His pony seemed dowered with full knowledge of the methods, and so watched the lasso thrown over the steer's head, when the wary pony, with all four feet braced to meet the strain, came to a sudden halt. This swift stop caused the steer to go heels over head and fall on his back, the pony holding the rope tight till the rider dismounted and tied the steer up in orthodox fashion, the pony watching every movement till the task was finished. Bronco-breaking was a regular industry, and every meet of the kind just described had its bucking contents, but not after the manner of circuses with a few dispirited animals that go through a programme without springing any surprises on the rider. A real prairie bronco five or six years old, that had never been ridden or even handled since he was branded when a foal had no set programme. The rider never could tell what that bronco would do next. The animal might start away quietly, as if he was wondering what had gotten on his back when he was blindfolded. Then suddenly he would leap right up into the air, "swap ends," so the cowboys said, and come down facing the opposite way Then he might rear up and fall backwards, or throw himself down and roll over, but the rider was always on the bronco's back before he could get going again. This went on for some time, varied by a swift race out over the plain, from which the return would be made with the froth down over the hooves of the horse. Then the cowboys pronounced the bronco broken, but woe betide the unsuspecting tenderfoot who was tempted to get on the hurricane deck of what these men called a broken horse. [Illustration: YUKON RUSH: SUMMIT. CHILCOOT PASS] [Illustration: GROUP OF INDIAN CHILDREN ON PRAIRIE.] The Police were good riders and each Division had several constables who made a speciality of breaking refractory broncos. And the work was necessary because for months after the horse was first broken he would break out again on occasion. One day on our line of march to the north from Calgary, a constable after the noon hour stop found on mounting his horse that the bronco spirit was still existent, and that bucking was evidently the order of the day. But the policeman was ready. He banged the horse over the head with his hat and used the spur till the unruly animal made a few kangaroo-like leaps and came to a sudden halt at the edge of the hole where the camp fire had left a bed of hot coals. The rider was not disturbed by the shock, but the buckle of his cartridge belt gave way under the strain and the whole thing dropped over the horse's head into the fire. Those of us who were looking on lost no time in taking cover when the fire got at those cartridges. Steele tells us in this same connection of an extraordinary feat of horsemanship he witnessed by Mr. Charles Sharples, of the Winder Ranch. Sharples had brought some horses to MacLeod to sell to the Mounted Police, and had them in a stable near the Old Man's River, where there was a perpendicular bank about 30 feet high. He started out to show one of the horses to the Commissioner at the Fort, but the brute bucked fiercely towards the cut-bank, sidling and fighting against its rider until at last there seemed to be nothing for it but to go over the bank side-on. That did not suit Sharples. He turned the brute sharply towards the precipice, gave it the spur and went out into space. Everybody rushed to the top to see what had become of this bold horseman, and were amazed to see him still firm in the saddle with the horse swimming towards the opposite bank, none the worse for his wild leap. Steele does not tell us whether Sharples made a sale of that horse, but he deserved to succeed in so doing. A horse like that would come in handy. Perhaps the races and other sports inaugurated by the Police had their effect in discouraging the Indians from the barbaric Sun-dance which the Government sought to end as soon as possible, although not desiring to repress them by force. The Sun-dance was a semi-religious, semi-tribal festival for the purpose of enabling young braves to prove that they had courage and stamina enough to go on the war-path. While we were engaged in the Riel rebellion campaign we saw several Sun-dance lodges along the line of our march after Big Bear, these lodges being left standing with a view to frightening our men from pursuing braves who could demonstrate their courage in the way the lodge indicated. The Sun-dance lodge was a circular wooden structure of poles with rafters coming together to a point above. From these rafters hooks were suspended by thongs of tough leather. The prospective braves danced around furiously within the structure in a frenzy of excitement, fastening the hooks in their skin and thus lacerating themselves till they sometimes fainted away. This performance was an annual affair on the general principle that they should be always ready for war. There was nothing in the festival that would justify a forcible suppression of it, which would offend the Indians by interference with an ancient custom. But the Mounted Police used their persuasive influence against it and showed the younger Indians how foolish and useless it was. Accordingly, we find Superintendent Steele, who was in command at Fort MacLeod, saying in 1891, "This year both Bloods and Piegans indulged in the time-honoured Sun-dance. From personal observation and careful inquiry I am convinced that this festival has almost entirely ceased to have any significance except to the old people. The vanity of the ancient warrior is no doubt gratified when he recounts his scalps, but there seemed very little interest and no enthusiasm on the part of his audience. The young Indians of both sides seem to look on the whole thing as an excuse for a picnic. Many Indians on the reserves did not take sufficient interest in the festival to attend it. Two braves were made at the Blood dance and none at the Piegans'." So this pagan custom was vanishing. It is now a thing of the past, but we must credit the Police with gradually ending it. About this period there were still some rumblings of discontent amongst the Sioux Indians south of the boundary line in the region of Manitoba. There were recurrent "scares" and many rumours of "Ghost dances" on our side of the line, in expectation, it was said, of an incursion by the Sioux, who were reported to be stirring up our Indians to commit depredations on the settlers. But the presence and the constant patrols of Inspector J. A. McGibbon and his men in the scarlet tunic soon restored the equilibrium of things and calmed the fears of the settlers so that they went peacefully on with their work. A literary outcome of the situation was the widely quoted and beneficially humorous utterance of a punster on the staff of the Winnipeg Free Press, who asserted that the Sioux (sue) scare was seizing a lot of fellows who owed money. The relations existing between the Mounted Police and the American soldiery south of the line were always of the most cordial and fraternal type. Superintendent A. W. Jarvis, who was in charge at Lethbridge in the nineties, refers to this in one of his reports. He says, "Several deserters from the American army arrived here in the spring, but only one of them brought a horse. This was taken from him and was sent back to the officer commanding at Fort Assiniboine. This was the only opportunity I had to reciprocate the courtesy so freely extended to us under similar circumstances by the American officers at that post. These gentlemen have always shown themselves ready and willing to assist the Mounted Police by any means in their power." Speaking of desertions it was generally felt that a man who would desert was not really worth a search. So far as the Mounted Police were concerned, there were not many desertions, but there was probably more relief than otherwise when some unworthy man took French leave and escaped. Such a man was not wanted. The standing of the Force was to be maintained, and so the statement once made by Commissioner Lawrence Herchmer became a classic: "I want to see the Mounted Police Force to be the hardest to get into and the easiest to get out of in the world." There is a fine human picture in another clause of Superintendent A. W. Jarvis' report already mentioned. He says: "On November 20 two boys, aged 16 and 10 years respectively, sons of leading citizens of Medicine Hat, were caught in a blizzard a few miles south of that town and frozen to death. Two days later the Police Patrol from Bull's Head found the bodies. Sergeant Mathewson remained alone all night on the open prairie to watch them and protect them from the cayotes, till the Police team came next day to take them to town." Mathewson had a lonely and dangerous vigil on the blizzard-swept plain, but it was characteristic of these big men to stand guard in such pathetic cases. The same fine touch comes out in a brief medical import in 1892 from that able man Senior Surgeon Jukes at the Regina headquarters. It had been a time of stress in the hospital work, and Dr. Haultain, the assistant surgeon, had been laid completely aside by illness. So Dr. Jukes cut out the office work and let reports go in order to devote himself to the sick. Then Assistant Surgeon Fraser arrived from Calgary to help, and Dr. Jukes has time to send in a brief note before the time for having reports in the printer's hands expires. And he says at the end of it, "I am assured by the comptroller that in consideration of the enormous amount of work which has been thrown on me for the last three months, no censure can possibly be passed on me for having devoted the whole of my time to the sick under my charge and other professional duties, in preference to the writing of an annual report." Well spoken, Dr. Jukes, and the authorities saw the point at once. Reports could wait, but the sick had to be looked after at once. That, too, is a police tradition. Take care of the casualties now and report later. That the Mounted Police Force was continuously progressive to ever higher efficiency was due in no small measure to the fact that officers and men were encouraged to be on the look out for improved methods and to feel free to suggest these to those in command. Superintendent Perry had been the means of bringing about a system of districts and sub-districts with constables scattered over many points rather than concentrated at headquarters, qualified only by the suggestion that changes be often made so as to keep all in touch with regimental duties. And I find that Inspector Constantine, a man of quite unusual gifts and powers, as we shall see later, makes a striking recommendation in his report from Moosomin in 1893. He says that the farther division of districts into groups in charge of a non-commissioned officer has increased the self-respect of these men and developed their interest and initiative. He says men are more to be trusted than regulations. "Get good men forward, give more power to individuals, create a confidence through all ranks one with the other and things will work harmoniously in maintaining the peace of the country." And because all the men cannot be experienced from the outset Constantine suggests that a special instruction book should be issued to every recruit, a necessary part of his equipment, and to be produced at kit inspection or whenever called for by the officer commanding. And this keen Inspector adds that young men who had this book would be in a better position to carry out their duty "besides having the confidence inspired by a knowledge that they were right and not being in an agony of indecision caused by being advised by parties having different interests." Happy the Force that had leaders able and free to suggest new departures to greater efficiency. That the officers were always careful about minor details with a view to the comfort of the men and economy at the same time as far as possible is evidenced by some suggestions from Inspector A. C. Macdonnell, who was in charge at Wood Mountain in 1893. Macdonnell (now Sir Archibald, Commandant at Kingston Military College and the wearer of many war decorations) says that he had the old mud-roofs removed and replaced by shingles and painted, and makes the recommendation which those who know the country will understand, "that next year all the log-buildings be chinked with mortar. It would last five years and be much cleaner and neater in appearance than mud, and save the cost of the annual mudding." These officers kept their eyes on everything. It is in keeping with what was said above as to deserters that Macdonnell reports a desertion and adds, "As this constable was the possessor of an exceedingly bad defaulter's sheet, the Force sustains no loss." Let the Force be made easy for undesirables to leave, as Herchmer said some years before. In 1893 Superintendent Perry, in referring to the reports he was transmitting from Superintendent F. Norman, of Wood Mountain, Inspectors McGibbon, of Saltcoats, J. O. Wilson, of Estevan, C. Constantine, of Moosomin, and W. H. Routledge, in Manitoba, says these reports show "how varied and multifarious are the duties which are demanded of us--at Wood Mountain our men are found acting as cowboys, rounding up and driving back across the boundary vast herds of wild American ranch cattle which again and again wander northward in search of better feed and more water. At Estevan and Gretna they are seen in charge of large herds of quarantined cattle, attending sick animals, milch cows, and at the expiration of their term in quarantine driving them long distances by trail, loading on trains and conveying them to their different destinations; in Manitoba they are engaged in enforcing the customs laws, aiding the regular customs officials, whose duties they at times perform, and executing the Crown Timber and Dominion Land regulations; and, in addition to this work of a special nature, everywhere carrying out their regular duties of detecting crime, aiding the administration of justice, acting as prairie fire and game guardians, and maintaining a patrol system which covers weekly some 1,200 miles." No wonder Perry adds, "Such extended duties test the capacities of the Force and their successful performance illustrates the diversity of attainments in the personnel of the North-West Mounted Police." And those of us who have seen them under many circumstances can vouch for their being not stereotyped officials, but all-round adaptable men. There are flashes of humour all through the reports of Police Officers. Sometimes they may have been unintentional, but humour is a saving grace and men who were facing tragedies almost every day would have given way under the strain if they had not put a little comedy into life even in their reports. Here, for instance, is an item from a report by Inspector Z. T. Wood, who later on did such splendid work in the Yukon. Writing from Calgary in 1894 he reports a case by saying, "On the night of July 5 a man named Wilson took his effects from a C.P. Railway car and started north without going through the usual form of paying the freight thereon. He was caught, brought back and committed for trial." Superintendent Deane exposes one of the peculiar technicalities of law when he says, "On the 15th of August a traveller had a pair of field glasses stolen from his buckboard at a ranch about 12 miles from Lethbridge. We know who took them, but the one witness who could convict the thief had disappeared." The same officer elsewhere observes, "On the 15th of September last, in the Pot Hole country, a saddle was stolen from the back of a piqueted horse whose rider had dismounted to shoot some ducks. We know who is responsible for this piece of impudence, but shall be lucky if we succeed in recovering the saddle." Deane saw humour in the situation, but was evidently rather sceptical about the ways of law. These examples of wit could be multiplied readily from what to the casual student seem to be dry annual reports. In reality these same reports pulsate with life. But it is often only found between the lines by the reader who knows the history of the land. Nearly midway in that last decade of the last century the golden Yukon swung out of solitude into the vision of the world and there as elsewhere in the vast north-land the Mounted Police were to play a large and brilliantly useful part. To some study of that part we shall come in succeeding pages. CHAPTER XI IN THE GOLD COUNTRY Away on the banks of the Red River hard by where the City of Winnipeg with its aggressive business marts and its surging polyglot population now stands, there is the old Kildonan Church, which the original Selkirk Settlers, pioneers of the West, built for themselves and their children. These early colonists, unmindful of worldly gain, had the traditional hospitality of the Highland race to which they belonged, and the proverbial absence of class distinction which always obtains on a frontier: "No bolts had they to their doors Nor bars to their windows, But their houses were open as day And the hearts of the owners." It was natural that to such a place should come on frequent visits the Hudson's Bay men, the explorers and pathfinders, most of whom were of the same race and creed as the pioneers. And it was natural too, that when these pathfinders came to the end of the long trail their bodies should be brought back to rest in the God's acre around that old church, the famous cemetery where "Each in his narrow cell forever laid, The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep." There were other lines of Gray's immortal poem that could be applied with great appropriateness to that churchyard that lay in the midst of a settlement in which were men of undoubted talent and power had their lot been cast in other surroundings. Such lines, for instance, as these: "Some village Hampden, who, with dauntless breast, The little tyrant of his fields withstood: Some mute, inglorious Milton here may rest: Some Cromwell guiltless of his country's blood." But there are many resting there who became known far beyond their early circle. Most of them are not connected with our present story, but one monument in that ancient churchyard bears the name of a man whose record shines out with splendour in the history of the Yukon, which region was afterwards the scene of one of the most brilliant, successful and grandly tragic chapters in the record of the Mounted Police. The name is that of Robert Campbell, the famous Hudson's Bay Company explorer, who threescore years before the famous gold-rush which required the guardian presence of the Police had discovered the Yukon River, and had travelled for years in the regions which later on became known as one of the great gold-fields of the world. Campbell was not looking for gold or caring for it. He was opening out a new Empire for trade with the usual self-forgetful devotion of its employees to the interests of the great Fur Company. I remember Campbell, guest often in my father's house on the Red River in my boyhood, and later, for he lived to a great age. A Highlander too was he, from Glenlyon in Perthshire, tall, stately, handsome, with black hair and beard, his whole bearing suggestive of power. A modest man withal, for he refused to call after himself the great river he had discovered, and he left no material out of which a real biography could be written. But it was because he had blazed the way and because another Hudson's Bay man, Hunter Murray, had built Fort Yukon, that others throughout the years began to penetrate into the wild until, in the nineties, there came the discovery of acres of gold which attracted the wildest rush in the history of mining. There have been many wild rushes in different parts of the world, but those who went on the Yukon rush faced climatic conditions in blizzards, bottomless snow drifts and desperate cold, as well as on torrential streams and treacherous rapids, which, from the standpoint of hardship and privation, dwarf all other mining expeditions into insignificance. Of all this burden and exposure and hardship the Mounted Police, in the simple discharge of their duties, bore the lion's share, and that without any financial compensation such as others expected who were drawn to the north by the lure of gold. The Police had nothing beyond their small pay, and they kept themselves strictly and sternly aloof from opportunities to enrich themselves either in the way of business or in the way of allowing any offers to be made them as a price for shielding law-breakers. They did not make any money, though it was being made by thousands all around them. But they did their duty so valiantly and so uncompromisingly that they added to their already great prestige and showed the world a new record in keeping potentially dangerous frontier camps almost entirely free from crime. There was hardly any gun play. There were only two or three homicides, and there were no failures in justice and no lynchings. When in 1894 the first rumours of a probable rush into the region came to the outside, the Dominion Government felt that it was imperative that, in order to prevent lawlessness as well as to protect the interests of Canada in respect to the area within her boundary, the famous corps that had policed all the western frontiers should be represented immediately in the gold regions of the far north. And it was vitally important that a man should be sent in as officer commanding who would be specially fitted for such an unprecedented and extraordinary task. That man was found in the person of Inspector Charles Constantine, and he, taking with him other picked men in Inspector D. A. E. Strickland, Assistant Surgeon A. E. Wells, Staff-Sergeant Brown and twenty non-commissioned officers and constables, left for their distant field of action in the month of June. Strickland, who had done fine service on the plains, was to be of great value in the north on account of his knowledge of woodcraft logging, building and such like, in addition to his regular police duties. Wells was to have his hands full, since for some time he was, as some one said, the only doctor in a region as large as France and had, with sometimes inadequate means, to fight scourges of scurvy and the other diseases incident to food and climate. The men in the detachments were experienced and hardy enough to face anything that might turn up either in the shape of man or beast or difficult atmospheric conditions. Constantine had served in the Red River expedition, and then, on account of special qualifications, had been made chief of the Provincial Police in Manitoba, where he was a terror to evil-doers. When the second Riel rebellion broke out and a volunteer regiment was being hurriedly raised in Winnipeg for service in the Big Bear country, Constantine, to the great delight of all of us who joined up with that regiment, became Adjutant. During that campaign he was always to the fore in every crisis and showed particular skill in rooting out men who were inciting the Indians to revolt. One morning of dense fog away beyond Fort Pitt our outside picket was fired on when I had charge of the guard. Calling out the guard and getting them under arms I went over to notify the officer commanding in the camp, but met Constantine with his forty-five ready for action. He had scented the alarm and did not wait for notice before getting out to see what was doing. A less keen-sighted or an excitable man would probably have shot anyone looming up through the fog, as I did from the direction of the shooting, but Constantine, though as quick as a flash, always had himself in hand. After the rebellion he became an Inspector in the Mounted Police, and had so approved himself as a wide-awake, intelligent and courageous officer that when the Yukon sprang up with its special demand he was appointed to be the pioneer in that far region of the north. Of medium height but very compactly built, Constantine was immensely strong, quick in his movements and capable of enduring tremendous strain. If it came to a rough and tumble he was as hard a man to handle as anyone would care to find. These qualities, along with his mental alertness and judicial training, made him a good man to send to a region where he had to exercise many functions until fuller government could be established. Constantine first of all made an investigating and exploratory trip accompanied by Staff-Sergeant Charles Brown. Leaving Moosomin in May in obedience to orders to report in Ottawa for special duty, Constantine received instructions to proceed to the Yukon and make recommendations as to general administration. He accordingly left for the north and by crossing over by the Lewes-Yukon he reached Fort Cudahy on August 7, where he remained about a month before returning by St. Michaels and arriving at Victoria in October. He reported elaborately on the resources, climate and possibilities of the whole country. This was in 1894, and in consequence of Constantine's grasp of the situation and his talent for organization he was sent back next year with the officers and men above indicated, arriving at Fort Cudahy on July 24. It was well that Strickland was a practical logger and builder, for quarters had to be provided. It was a land of extremes, with intense cold in the winter and equally intense heat in the summer. Constantine speaks of an occasional 75 degrees below zero in the winter and the heat as high as 120 degrees. In another report he writes, "The miners have a simple method of determining when it is too cold to work by hanging a bottle containing mercury outside the house. When it freezes it is time to remain inside." We should rather think so. Albeit, the climate is dry and healthy when people are prepared for it and are not found fasting after prolonged exposure. It was in the hot weather that Strickland and his picked men went up the Yukon amid the heat and flies, cut down the logs and floated them to where Fort Constantine was built before the extreme cold struck the region. The men who stayed with Constantine had cleared the ground of moss and brush with great effort. The moss varied from one to three feet in depth. Below it was ice, so that the report says the men worked a good part of the time up to their knees in water. "If it was not 90 degrees in the shade it was pouring rain." Up the river Strickland and his men were getting out the logs as stated, but without any appliances except their own physical strength and energy. Only men of the finest type could have stood it, and the Inspector gives them unstinted praise. The buildings were rushed up as stated before the winter. They were chinked with moss and the roof covered with earth, there being no time to saw boards to cover. All this was not so bad for the winter, but when the spring came the men who had fought the intense cold were subjected to another kind of hardship. Constantine says in a later report, "During the heavy rains the roofs leaked so badly that oil sheets and tarpaulins had to be put up over all the beds to keep them dry. The earth roofs of this country will only absorb a certain amount of moisture and when the limit is reached, a deluge of very dirty water is the result." Evidently the men were not having a picnic. However, Constantine and his detachment keep the country in order, administer justice, collect customs due to the Dominion and generally make conditions civilized and British. There was a time when it was generally believed that most of the gold-bearing creeks were on the American side of the line, but a survey made under direction of the Police revealed the opposite to be the case and Constantine notified the miners on Miller, Glacier and other creeks that they were on Canadian territory, subject to British law and amenable to regulations as to mining fees, Constantine's modesty and determination are illustrated in one quiet paragraph, which some of us who knew him will find luminous between the lines. He says, "A few miners denied Canada's jurisdiction and right to collect fees on the ground that there was a possibility of error in the survey. However, I went up to Miller and Glacier Creeks and all dues were paid without any trouble except that of a hard trip, but as all trips in this country are of that nature, it was part of the bargain. On Glacier Creek a number of miners undertook to run matters in accordance with their own ideas of justice and set themselves up as the law of the land. The trouble ended, however, by the Canadian law being carried out." Constantine was clearly serving notice on all and sundry that the Mounted Police were on hand to live up to their reputation of seeing justice done and playing no favourites. The authorities had made no mistake when they sent him in as the pioneer. Then he speaks in 1896 of new discoveries which began to cause the mad rush from all parts of the world as the news percolated through to the outside. "In August of this year a rich discovery of coarse gravel was made by one George Carmack on Bonanza Creek, a tributary to the Klondike. His prospect showed $3.00 to the pan." Not bad picking for George, who became wealthy. But George's shovel and pick and pan, clattering as he worked, awakened echoes to far distances and the wild stampede of all kinds of people, prominently the adventurous and the get-rich-quick class, began with a vengeance. Constantine got ready for it, strongly recommending the establishment of civil courts, the appointment of an administrator and law-officer and the reinforcing of the Police so that they could be scattered up and down the new mining areas as required. A post called Fort Herchmer, after the Commissioner, was built at Dawson which was to become the big centre shortly, and the Police Force was augmented by the arrival of two small detachments under command respectively of two well-known officers, Inspectors Scarth and Harper. And not any too soon were these precautions taken, for Constantine lets light in on the kind of people who began to head for the diggings when he says in his graphic way, "A considerable number of people coming in from the Sound cities appear to be the sweepings of the slums and the result of a general jail delivery. Heretofore goods could be cached on the side of the trails and they would be perfectly safe, now a man has to sit on his cache with a shotgun to ensure the safety of his goods. Cabins in out-of-the-way places are broken into and everything cleaned out." That was before the newcomers realized that the Mounted Police were to the fore. Constantine and his men kept on their track and perpetrators of ordinary offences were astonished when they were run out of the country in order to save food for the decent people who were willing to work without preying on others. And the Inspector gives parting salute to the deported individuals by saying, "Many of them could well be spared in any community, for the rush had brought in toughs, gamblers, lewd women and criminals of almost every type, from the petty thief to the murderer." But Constantine gave them no quarter, and so it was that by the time the big stampede took place into Dawson and the Creeks it had become known far and wide that the Mounted Police would stand no nonsense. So the way was made simpler, though not at any time a sinecure, for those who followed the intrepid pioneers in the scarlet tunic. But coming at the summit of an active and strenuous life, the exposure, responsibility and general wear and tear of his Yukon years undermined the once rugged strength of Constantine. He was transferred to the prairie after nearly four years in the Yukon, but never fully recovered his vigour. His leaving the Yukon had a very human side. The miners showed their appreciation of his manly, straightforward character by crowding in and presenting him and his wife and boy with nuggets of gold and indicating in their diffident but genuine way that if ever any of them needed help they could count on their Yukon friends for anything required. Which reminds us that tribute should be paid to the wives of these policemen who braved the wilderness places of the west and north to be helpers to their husbands and to make their homes centres of social refining influence where such influences were of untold value. [Illustration: CHILCOOT PASS: N.W.M. POLICE AND CUSTOM HOUSE.] [Illustration: KLONDYKE RUSH: SQUAW RAPIDS, BETWEEN CANYON AND WHITE HORSE RAPIDS. 1898] Inspector Cortlandt Starnes, the present efficient Assistant-Commissioner at Ottawa Headquarters and who has done valuable service all the way across the country from Hudson Bay to the Yukon as well as on the plains, took over the command from Constantine and remained in charge till the arrival of Superintendent Steele, a period extending from June to September, 1898. Starnes, who is a short, heavily built and powerful man, capable of enduring much hardship, had come through in the previous winter, staying some months at Lake LaBarge and Little Salmon, accumulating stores of goods from the coast to be taken through in the spring to Dawson, where a shortage was impending. He had no easy time getting over the route, he and his men only saving themselves from wreck on Lake Bennett by throwing overboard some of their freight. With forty below zero and everything frozen up, Starnes had to build winter quarters at Little Salmon, and with the true democracy of the frontier we find the officials he was escorting into the Yukon giving a hand--Judge McGuire, Mr. F. O. Wade, Crown Prosecutor, Dr. Bonnar and others. But early in the spring Starnes moved on to Dawson. The rush was setting in and with Inspector F. Harper and a few men he had to hold the place for law and order during a sort of interregnum period. No civil courts were established till Judge McGuire came, and to administer the law under such conditions was always trying. But it was done. Offenders were given no rest. "Gunmen" were made impossible and gamblers found no city of refuge in the gold country. In three months Starnes and Harper, principally the former, tried 215 cases, these being all the way from dog-stealing (dogs were dogs in the north), drunkenness, keeping or frequenting disorderly houses to vagrancy, using vile language and refusing to work. If men would not work when free they were sentenced to jail with hard labour, because these experienced men knew that idleness is the prolific progenitor of crime. In consequence crime never got a start in the most quickly crowded mining camp in the world. It had been held down from the beginning. The place had its saloons and dance hall and fools were fleeced there as they are in older centres, but the superb strength and incorruptibility of the Mounted Police proved too much for the lawless element, and the whole period makes one of the proudest records in the history of this wonderful force. The big stampede for Dawson started in 1897-98, and to cope with the incidentals and probably accompaniments of it, there was a whirlwind series of movements by the Mounted Police which seemed to anticipate every contingency, head off all manner of calamities, make provision for protecting the boundary line against infractions of the customs regulations, and generally see that law and order should prevail all over the wide area that was soon teeming with a nondescript heterogeneous population of excited gold-hunters. Two of the big men of the Force, Superintendents A. B. Perry, a masterly organizer, and S. B. Steele, a determined enforcer of law, were called on to go up to the north and meet the unprecedented situation. That these two superior officers did not shirk any of the hardships could be demonstrated from many an instance like the following related casually by Steele as to an incident at the outset. "At Dyea I met Perry and together we returned to Skagway in a small sailing boat. The weather was very cold and as the tide was out we were obliged to wade through the pools in our moccasins. When we embarked we were soaked to the hip and our clothes were frozen like boards." And they came that way the whole distance to Skagway, where they got no time to change as Perry had to leave for Vancouver that night in regard to further arrangements. With these two from the beginning, indeed some were in the country ahead of them, was a group of very able officers, Superintendent Z. T. Wood, Inspectors P. C. H. Primrose, C. Starnes, F. Harper, W. H. Scarth, A. E. Strickland, R. Belcher, A. M. Jarvis, F. L. Cartwright, Surgeons W. E. Thompson and S. M. Fraser. Non-commissioned officers like Tucker, Macdonnell, Barker, Bates, Graham, Hyles, Corneil and Raven were amongst those in charge of early detachments or attached to hospital bases in the first year of the big rush, and these with the help of as able and resolute a body of men as ever wore uniform led the way to a new world record for policing a country in a paternal method of oversight which guided and controlled but never resorted to shooting. The use of the word paternal calls to mind the way they threw a cordon around the country to prevent at the threshold the entrance of men who were unprepared for the hardships with either clothing or supplies or physique. And the manner in which the Police interposed against the madness of inexpert men who were anxious to run the White Horse Rapids and the Miles Canyon in crazy boats on the way to Dawson was admirable in its quiet forcefulness. A good many of these people were men and women from offices and stores in American cities who knew boats only by hearsay. So when Steele arrived at the Rapids he gathered the stampeders together and said: "There are many of your countrymen who have said that the Mounted Police make the laws as they go along, and I am going to do so now for your own good, therefore the directions that I give shall be carried out strictly and they are these: Corporal Dixon, who thoroughly understands this work, will be in charge here and be responsible to me for the proper management of the passage of the Canyon and White Horse Rapids. No women or children will be taken in the boats. If they are strong enough to come to the Klondike they can walk the five miles of the bank to the foot of the White Horse and there is no danger for them here. No boat will be permitted to go through the Canyon until the corporal is satisfied that it has sufficient free board to enable it to ride the waves in safety. No boat will be allowed to pass with human beings in it unless it is steered by competent men, and of that the corporal will be the judge. There will be a number of pilots selected, whose names will be on the roll in the Mounted Police Barracks here, and when a crew needs a man to steer them through the Canyon to the foot of the rapids, pilots will be taken in turn from that list. In the event of the men not being able to pay, the Corporal will be permitted to arrange that the boats are run without charge." Some of the impetuous who were willing to risk everything for the glitter of gold rather demurred at this strong paternalism, but when it was all over they thanked their stars that the Mounted Police had been on hand to head off the folly of fools. We have anticipated in the last paragraph in order to illustrate how the Mounted Police guided the wild stampede. But let us get back and find Superintendent Perry on the ground just as the rush was starting for the passes. He made a swift trip and placed detachments of police on the Chilcoot and White Passes, putting those reliable officers Inspectors Belcher and Strickland in command. Up to a certain date it had almost been taken for granted that the whole country was on the American side as the names of Miles, the Indian fighter, and Gordon Bennett had been given by enthusiasts to the Canyon and the lake. But when Perry put Belcher on the Chilcoot and Strickland on the White Pass to hoist the British flag and collect customs levies, intimation was given that the great gold country was on the Canadian side of the line and that all who wished to pass that way must contribute to the Dominion exchequer and thus swell the revenue of Canada. Weather conditions were nothing less than awful. Steele, who, with Constable Skirving, went up the Chilcoot from Dyea where they had come on a craft which was covered from stem to stern with six inches of ice, says, "As we proceeded up the pass we faced a wind so cutting that we had often to make a rush for the shelter of a tree or walk in a crouching position behind the tailboard of a sleigh for a few minutes' respite. We overtook some on the trail next day out of a notorious tent town known as Sheep Camp. Many of them were staggering blindly along, with heavy loads on their backs, some of them off the trail and groping for it with their feet. These we assisted or they would have fallen by the way." The same writer goes sympathetically into the following vivid description: "It would be difficult to describe the hardships gone through by the Mounted Police stationed at the passes. The camp at the Chilcoot under Inspector Belcher was pitched on the summit, where it is bounded by high mountains. A wooden cabin was erected in a couple of days. The place where it was in the pass was only about 100 yards wide. Below the summit, on the Canadian side, was Crater Lake, named after an extinct volcano. On its icy surface the men were forced to camp when they arrived. In the night of February 18 the water rose to the depth of six inches. Blankets and bedding were wet, the temperature being below zero with a blizzard. The tents could not be moved and the sleds had to be taken into them to enable the men to keep above the water at night. The storm blew for days with great violence, but on the 21st abated sufficiently to admit of the tents being moved to the top of the hill, where, although the cold was intense, it was better than in the water-covered ice of Crater Lake." "The nearest firewood was seven miles away and the men who went after it often returned badly frost-bitten. "Belcher, collecting customs, performing military as well as police duty on the summit, lived in the shack, which had all the discomforts of a shower-bath. Snow fell so thickly and so constantly that everything was damp and paper became mildewed. For some weeks the weather was very cold without storm, but on the 3rd of March there was a terrific day when the snow buried the cabin and the tents on the summit, the snowfall for the day being six feet on the level." The occupants had to shovel constantly to keep from being suffocated. On the White Pass Inspector Strickland and his men had to pitch tents on the ice at first, no timber for cabins or firewood being nearer than 12 miles. Logs were cut and hauled in by horses. There were raging blizzards and great danger constantly threatened the men, who had to be on the alert to avoid being lost or frozen. However, on February 27 the Union Jack flew to the breeze and collection of customs began. A strong guard kept the trail and men were told off to examine the goods of the stampeders. There was a tremendous rush, and Strickland, overworked and suffering from severe bronchitis, struggled along, ably assisted by his splendid men. An enormous amount was gathered from those who were rushing in by thousands from the other side of the line bringing their supplies with them. About this time Inspector Cartwright arrived from Regina with twenty men, and Steele, going up the White Pass with him, put him in charge, sending Strickland to Tagish, where the dry air soon restored him to health. It is an illuminating comment on Steele's disposition to look after others and forget himself that he was also, as Dr. Grant said, suffering from bronchitis which he had contracted weeks before when wading through icy waters to a boat. But as there was no one around to order him off duty he just kept right on, trusting that his strong constitution would see him through. If physical conditions were bad with storm and cold, moral conditions from the coast to the summits were worse. The authorities on the American side seemed to accept as a sort of axiom the statement that a frontier had to be lawless. Anyway "Soapy Smith," a notorious gunman and gambler, who was eventually killed by a United States Marshal who was going to arrest him and who was killed by "Soapy" at the same time, both firing at one moment, had, with a big gang like himself, terrorized Skagway and the trails for months. Murders, robberies, shell games and the rest were practised without cessation up to the Mounted Police line on the summits, where they suddenly ceased because things of that sort would not be tolerated for a moment. At that point the incomers put their "guns" away and went quietly about their business. One finds it difficult to account for this difference unless by the assumption that immigrants into the American Republic had taken advantage of her wide proclamation of the ideal of liberty and had abused the ideal by turning it into licence. In this way nests of law-breakers and anarchists were allowed too much opportunity by local officials, where in a similar case a compact force like our Mounted Police with no local strings on them and with intense sentiment for the honour of the whole force, never permitted a situation to get out of hand in any locality however remote from the centre of government. In a preceding paragraph I mentioned the name of Dr. Grant. He is the Rev. Dr. A. S. Grant, a Presbyterian Missionary who went in over that White Pass trail with a pack on his back. He could stand it better than most men, for he was a broad-shouldered and powerfully built man. Going as a missionary he was a man of peace, but he would not allow anyone to be imposed on in the difficult road. Hence one day when a bully elbowed a grey-haired man roughly into the snow, Grant interposed and receiving only insult, taught that bully a lesson he did not forget. To the credit of the bully be it recorded he took his medicine and shook hands with the man of peace who believed in protecting the weak. Grant had taken a course in medicine which proved of immense value on the trail and during the early days in Dawson. Steele says of him, "Dr. Grant, a clergyman as well as physician, treats hundreds of sick without remuneration. Our force owes him a heavy debt of gratitude for the way he saved our men. More than half of those at the summit and Lake Bennett had pneumonia but were so well treated that we lost none. I have never seen men in such a dangerous state and it seemed impossible that they should recover, but they were pulled through." This same Grant when he got into Dawson started the Good Samaritan Hospital with his own funds and became a large factor for the physical and moral well-being of the place. And his tribute to the Mounted Police is unstinted, for once he wrote me saying, "Canada owes to these men a debt of lasting gratitude. A true history of the West will say much about the self-sacrifice and heroism of this body of men. Many of their noblest deeds will remain unknown but they will be registered in a higher type of civilization expressed in a truer type of citizenship. Many of these deeds will find register only in the writing of the recording angel." The official reports of the officers of that period as of others are full of self-suppression. For instance, that able and unassuming officer Superintendent Z. T. Wood, says in one place, "I received orders to take the money of the Government in customs, licences, fees, etc., to be deposited in the bank at Victoria. I accordingly left Bennett going out by the Chilcoot and Dyea and took $150,000 in gold and bills. I reached Victoria in due course and handed over the money." That is all, but in fact it was a very dangerous journey. He had the stuff in police kitbags, but those were the days of "Soapy Smith's" gang of ruffians. Going from Dyea to Skagway, Wood had to threaten to fire on a boat that was following. Soapy Smith and his toughs were on the wharf at Skagway, but the determined bearing of Wood and his few men, together with the presence of the crew of the C.P.R. boat _Tartar_, got them through. It was a ticklish situation. A word should be added here as to the famous gold escorts. The practice was to turn the gold into ingots and send these to the coast under care of the Mounted Police in small detachments of from two to six men. The amounts thus carried often ran into tens of thousands and the care of these valuable loads of gold could only be given to men of the highest trustworthiness such as these guardians of law and order had always proven themselves to be. Not a mite ever went missing. It is a fine thing to quote this as a testimony that strengthens our faith in humanity. And this splendid incorruptibility was shown by men serving amidst difficult conditions in trails and rivers in all sorts of weather for a mere pittance a day. Inspector A. M. Jarvis speaks about the "continuous roar of the snow-slides" which one would imagine to be rather disturbing music. He relates that when he started to collect customs at Dalton cache the first man to pay was a doctor from St. Thomas, Ontario, who had been living in the Western States for over twenty years. "The doctor came over, saluted the flag by taking off his hat, and said it was the first time he had seen it on British soil in that period." Of a trip taken with Constables Shook and Cameron on snow-shoes Jarvis says, "The snow was soft, and despite the snow-shoes we sank deep at every step. The following afternoon we returned to camp, having been travelling forty-six hours without blankets and only one meal." Inspector Cartwright, who relieved Strickland at the White Pass, gives us a little insight into the problem of keeping warm in rather porous canvas tents by remarking that wood cost as high as $110.00 a cord. It was a case of supply and demand. And so in the manner recorded in this chapter did these pioneer policemen in the Yukon possess the land in gallantry under the Union Jack. Meanwhile back on the prairie, the Mounted Police were alive to every movement and much was done to save people from their own overweening desire to get into the gold country by any route that might show possibility of success. Thousands had gone in by the front door of the coast and then over the passes, but a good many tried to enter by the back door, going by Edmonton and then over the routes that had been trodden years before by great explorers like Alexander Mackenzie and Robert Campbell. Hence Commissioner Herchmer thought it wise to send patrols out over this vast region of the Peace, Athabasca and Mackenzie rivers in order to prevent the loss of any of these more or less inexperienced gold-seekers. The big patrol of that period was made by Inspector J. D. Moodie, who was sent out from Edmonton on September 4, 1897, to discover the best route for those who intended to get to the Yukon by the way of the Peace River and then over the Mountains. Moodie was accompanied by Constable F. J. Fitzgerald, Lafferty, Tobin and a French half-breed guide Pepin. They went part of the way with horses, part with dogs and part with boats. There was endless hardship through difficulty as to supplies and transportation and this long patrol to Fort Yukon took a year and two months. Moodie made a detailed report and his complete diary was published. Some idea of what the patrol involved may be gathered from the following paragraph in the report: "We arrived at Fort Graham on January 18, and were then entirely out of supplies for men and dogs. There was no dog-feed here and very limited supplies in the Hudson's Bay Store. Hearing that fish could be secured from some lakes about 25 miles away I next day sent out some of the men to fish with nets through the ice while others tried their luck after moose. Neither, however, were successful. I sent out in different directions to find Indian camps which were supposed to be somewhere within 50 miles of the post. These, however, could not be located. The dogs were almost starving, the snow was five feet deep in the bush and no guides to be had. I had therefore reluctantly to give up all idea of going farther till spring." In spring a start was again made and Fort Yukon reached as stated in about fourteen months after leaving Edmonton. Moodie's description of the route and the difficulties was not such as to encourage anyone else to try it. In that way the patrol did good service. For the rest of it, the collapse of the gold rush after 1898 made it practically unnecessary. But it demonstrated again the endurance, judgment and reliability of the police in carrying out any duty assigned to them. To show the thoroughness with which the country was covered by the police in order to prevent danger and catastrophe to the rather improvident gold-seekers, a patrol was made by Inspector (later Assistant Commissioner) W. H. Routledge a distance of 1,100 miles or so from Fort Saskatchewan away north to Fort Simpson. This patrol was of value in getting into touch with many groups of "Klondikers," taking in their mail and bringing it out and also in making known at remote points the laws that were specially applicable to their situation. And there was also a patrol under Inspector A. E. Snyder undertaken with a view to seeing whether Inspector Moodie had been successful in getting forward towards the Yukon. This patrol under Snyder went as far as Fort St. John up near the sources of the Peace River and returned to report that Inspector Moodie and his men had gone on to Fort Graham, whence their way would be clear in the spring for the last lap of the long patrol as above related. While the Yukon was being opened up the members of the Force on the plains and in the mountains were steadily doing their duty. They were perhaps less in the limelight for the time being since the attention of a good part of the world was centred on the gold country, but their presence was equally necessary as a terror to evil-doers and an encouragement to those that did well. The construction of the Crows Nest Branch of the Canadian Pacific Railway entailed a very heavy amount of work on the Mounted Police. This came under the oversight of Inspector G. E. Sanders, who in turn was under the nominal direction of Superintendent Deane, then in command at Fort MacLeod. Deane had a busy time, as he had to cover about 400 miles of front with less than 200 men, of whom as many as fifty at a time had to be at certain construction points in British Columbia. Referring especially to the railway part of the work Deane says, "Inspector Sanders' report which I enclose will give a good idea of the amount of duty devolving upon him and his men, and I beg leave to record my opinion that it was well done. The effect of even a single mounted policeman's personality upon a lawless mob requires to be seen to be fully appreciated, and there were countless occasions where the qualities of tact and readiness of resource were required to supplement the prestige which is begotten of discipline alone." "It would be impossible to estimate the thousands of men that have passed hither and thither along the line during its construction. A considerable proportion of them were entirely unsuited to the work. The construction authorities claim that by the operation of the Alien Labour Act they were deprived of the services of the professional railroader, the man who travels with his outfit all over the continent from railway to railway, and who would have made light of the difficulties of which so much has been said. It is undeniable that many men have suffered great hardships, but it is equally true that many of them should never have turned their attention to railway construction. Some have never done a day's work on the railway in their lives, and some have never done it at all." There was a good deal of wage dispute on the line, but Inspector Sanders says, "As to the amount of wages received by the men and their not having any money to send to their families in the east, it was very noticeable to me that the men who complained most drank most." This needs no comment. It is interesting to note here the outside opinion of the "Fort Steele Prospecter" as contained in an editorial in that paper in February, 1898. After giving a general description of the mixed class of men on the road it says, "The crimes along the road, however, are surprisingly small, considering the vicious element which comprises the contingent of camp followers" in the way of whisky sellers, gamblers and disorderly characters. "This happy state of affairs is due to the innate fear of Canadian justice and the scrupulous surveillance of the efficient corps of the North-West Mounted Police into whose hands the enforcement of law is committed. No one can travel over the line without a feeling of admiration for the system which can produce such excellent results, the absolute security of life and property in a region infested by rogues and adventurers from every clime." Sanders agrees that hosts of men had taken up work to which they were wholly unaccustomed. A lot of men were happy when handling an axe, but the pick and shovel had a saddening effect on them. And Sanders is in keeping with the general habit of the Police when he says, "We tried our utmost to have the real grievances of the men settled, and my representations to the general manager of construction always met with prompt attention." So they should, for they would be fair and just. Inspector Howe, who was in charge in 1898 at Regina, had a wire from Boston about a man who had robbed the merchants of that æsthetic city of large sums of money. The man was supposed then on the train heading towards Regina. Howe sent a sergeant to Qu'Appelle, who boarded the suspected train and located his quarry in a Pullman compartment, which was locked. The man within, who was accompanied by a lady, would not open the door. At next station a Mounted Police constable got on board and the two men in scarlet uniform smashed the door. The woman threatened to blow their brains out, but failed. The runaway couple had the money and bonds, and after due process went back to Boston to serve a term. Inspector Howe tells rather a rich story of a Police Inspector in Montana who apologized profusely to Howe for not answering by wire a telegram in which Howe had notified the said Montana Inspector of the whereabouts of a man much desired by the Police in that State. The Montana Inspector writes, "I handed my deputy a telegram and told him to send it off to you at once. He went out to send it but was shot dead, and this morning the coroner handed the telegram to me. It had never been sent, so you will see I am not altogether to blame." Howe considered the excuse valid, but the estimate of the value of human life in Montana it disclosed did not suit the ideas of a Mounted Policeman. CHAPTER XII STIRRING DAYS ABROAD AND AT HOME In the report of Superintendent Cotton for the year of the big Yukon stampede there is related one of the many incidents which indicated that on the plains the Mounted Police were keeping up to their record for initiative and daring, even though their work was less in the limelight than the spectacular world rush to the Yukon furnished. It seems that some months before the date of the report a prisoner named Nelson, sentenced to a term of imprisonment for a serious offence, escaped by jumping from a train on the way to the Manitoba Penitentiary from Regina. Constable Clisby, who was on duty at Saskatoon, was notified by wire from Dundurn station, and at once took up the recapture. The Saskatoon ferry was out of order, so he could not use it. But he was not to be deterred from the pursuit of a criminal by a trifle like that, or he would not have been up to the Mounted Police standard in resource and inventive capacity. So, as the river was impassable in the ordinary way, Clisby commandeered a railway hand-car, and possibly nailed an extra plank or two upon it. Then he got his troop-horse to climb up and stand upon it, while this strong-armed constable took hold of the "pump-handle" and worked his way across the trestle railway bridge many feet above the surging river. One can easily see what a desperate risk this was to take in cold blood. The big bronco had been broken enough for use on the solid earth by an expert. But to venture into the air with a semi-wild horse, which by any movement of fright at the unusual experience might upset the whole outfit into the river, was about as daring an experiment as anyone could try. But the strange transport got safely over, and Clisby, shaking out that bronco into a long gallop, found his man in the home of a settler, engaged in filing off the leg-iron in order to be able to get away more swiftly. Of course the prisoner was gathered in, as was also the settler who had loaned the file and was standing by watching the interesting process. The peculiar thing was that when the settler, who had given the escaping prisoner the file and stood by to see him use it to make his escape more certain, was brought up before two magistrates for helping a prisoner to elude his sentence, these sapient administrators of law dismissed the charge. This miscarriage of justice so disgusted both the constable and his superintendent that in, contemplation of it they seemed to forget the astonishing feat with the hand-car. But we dig it up proudly from the old report. It is in keeping with this desire on the part of the Mounted Police to see justice meted out to the guilty for the protection of society that we find them impatient with legal technicalities which freed the guilty, or the views of any legally constituted body which headed off further investigation into what was possibly serious crime. And this remark is made at this point, because I come across a report in which a Mounted Police Superintendent, while not openly complaining, thinks it worth while to call attention to a Coroner's jury which, after inquest in the case of a man who had been found dead with his neck broken, brings in the unexpected verdict that the man died by the visitation of God. The fact that the Superintendent simply states the matter without note or comment indicates pretty clearly his opinion of the intelligence of that jury. It recalls the case of the famous frontier judge, Sir Mathew Begbie, of British Columbia, who is said to have been much disgusted and amazed when a jury acquitted a prisoner whom the evidence clearly indicated had sand-bagged an innocent citizen. The judge had no option but to discharge the notorious character whom the jury of his peers had exonerated. "You may go," said the indignant judge, "but it seems to me that you would be doing good service to this country if you sand-bagged every man on that jury." [Illustration: SUPT. CONSTANTINE IN WINTER UNIFORM ON THE YUKON.] [Illustration: PIEGAN INDIANS AT SUN-DANCE.] While the gold-rush of which we have been writing was at its height in the Yukon there were rumblings of conflict on the dark continent where Paul Kruger, the grim old President of the Boer Republic, was getting ready to launch a war which he said would "stagger humanity." The trouble had been brewing for some years. Many thousands of British men were in the Transvaal, developing its resources, adding to its wealth and doing everything for its upbuilding but without the privileges of citizenship. And these British men were agitating for representation in addition to the taxation they already enjoyed for the benefit of the Boers. It is doubtful whether Canadians generally took much trouble to investigate these questions of franchise and suzerainty, which have always had two sides up for discussion. Canada was willing to trust the judgment of British statesmen on the subject, and when Britain is at war Canada is not disposed to stand back. Conan Doyle probably sensed the situation when he wrote the stirring lines: "Who's that calling? The old sea-mother calls In her pride at the children that she bore 'Oh, noble hearts and true There is work for us to do, And we'll do it as we've done it oft before Under the flag, Under the flag our fathers bore.'" There had been a swift sting, too, in a certain telegram sent by the Kaiser of Germany congratulating Kruger on the failure of the raid under Doctor Jamieson, for "Doctor Jim" was a popular idol. And the rather crude but strong lines of a music-hall song had percolated to the outposts of Empire: "Hands off, Germany; hands off, all. Kruger boasts and Kaiser brags. Britons, hear the call. It's back to back around the world And answer with a will; It's England for her own, my boys, And Rule Britannia still." So the "sons of the Blood" began to foregather from the ends of the earth. And when cavalry units were desired from Canada the Mounted Police got a certain degree of opportunity. We put it in that way because for reasons known to the Dominion Government there was always necessity for keeping the larger part of the corps in Canada. They could not be allowed to enlist in a body for any war, and men who had special grasp of the problems at home could not be spared to go abroad. Nothing can be gained for the Empire through losing ground at home in efforts to gain it abroad. And this applied to both the Boer War and the recent Great War, in so far as the Mounted Police were concerned. At the Boer War period, we had the Yukon rush, which meant an extraordinary mob of desperate characters to deal with, in addition to the problems ensuing from large immigration into the Middle West. And at the period of the Great War, there was a singularly elusive but definitely pronounced tendency to destructive revolution in various parts of Canada, which only a corps with the great prestige of the Mounted Police could successfully meet with firmness and tact. The undisciplined violence which raw forces might use in such a restless, mutinous period, would work positive harm to the whole Dominion. Hence we could not on either occasion let the whole Force go abroad. But on both occasions some opportunity was given to a certain number of officers and men, the main difficulty being, as the Commissioner said, "not who would go, but who _must_ stay at home." However, in the Boer War the Mounted Police furnished, most being on the active roll, but some ex-members, nearly 300 officers and men to the Canadian Mounted Rifles, Strathcona's Horse, South African Constabulary, and other corps. Their identity was lost by merging them with various units, but, nevertheless, they did conspicuous and distinctive service. It is no reflection on those with whom they were merged to say that the special qualities which came from years of discipline and esprit de corps, as well as the decided initiative which their training on the frontier always developed, gave the Police a place of peculiar influence and prominence on the veld. And this was true of ex-members of the Force who served in various corps. There was "Charlie" Ross, for instance, whom I recall meeting at Battleford in Riel's day as the Mounted Police scout who seemed to bear a charmed life, and who did much to save the situation in the fight with Poundmaker at Cutknife Hill. Ross went to South Africa as a sort of free lance, but he joined up with a scout body, and so distinguished himself that he was permitted to form a corps of his own which, as Ross's Scouts, did some dashing service. All the Western Canadians gave a good account of themselves. They were not strong on the fine points of military etiquette, and sometimes offended by failing to recognize and salute officers in strange uniforms. They were rather restive in barracks, and did not take kindly to the life in Cape Town, but they were at home when in the saddle on really active duty, and got their full share of it before the war was over. Their presence on the veld and their effective work won high praise from such high-class officers as Sir Redvers Buller, Lord Dundonald, Lord Kitchener and, later on, in London, "the first gentleman of Europe," King Edward himself. A thoroughly characteristic story is told by several writers about a C.M.R. man who had been a cowboy and "bronco-buster" in Alberta. An Imperial Regiment, under General Hutton, was bewailing the fact that they had a magnificent black Australian horse, a regular outlaw so vicious and powerful that none of their men could handle, much less ride him, and they were quite sure that no one else could, so that the animal might as well be shot. One of the C.M.R. officers who was present said some men in his troop could ride, and he would ask them about it. He went over and several of them volunteered, but they settled amongst themselves that Billy should tackle the situation. Next morning was the time fixed, and Billy, in cowboy costume, carrying his own trusty saddle and a quirt, sauntered over to the spot careless-like, and not knowing the insignia of rank very well, walked up to an Imperial officer in gold lace, and prodding him jocularly with the quirt, said, "Where is the black son of a gun that you say can't be rid?" The officer looked amazed at being so accosted, but, like a good sport, laughed and ordered the horse to be turned loose. Billy's friends promptly lassoed the "waler," hogtied and saddled him in a hurry. Billy was in the saddle when the snorting animal was on his feet. The horse put up a game fight, bucking, kicking, biting, "swapping ends," and doing everything else that a thinking bronco can indulge in to get rid of his rider. But Billy enjoyed it. He banged the horse over the head with his big hat, smote him with the quirt, and used the spurs, till the mad animal raced in fury a mile or two, only to come back with froth down to the hooves. But Billy had him under thorough control, quiet enough to eat out of his hand. And when Billy pulled off the saddle he remarked casually to the astonished officers who had expected an inquest over him, "Out in my country that hoss would cut no figure, for out there we can ride anything with legs under it, even if it is a consarned centipede." The Canadian Mounted Rifles 1st, 2nd and 5th, had some 220 officers and men of the Mounted Police, while Strathcona's Horse had only some forty or so, though the rest were men accustomed to the kind of irregular warfare they found on the veld. The fact that Strathcona's Horse was raised, equipped and wholly paid for out of the private purse of Lord Strathcona, the only case in the Empire during the war, gave that corps a unique place in the public eye. Lord Strathcona, who was a member of the House of Lords and High Commissioner for Canada, placed it in command of Superintendent Sam B. Steele, a widely known officer, entertained the corps lavishly both before and after the war, fitted it out as no other regiment was equipped, brought the officers and men into contact with Royalty, kept it more or less in touch with the Associated Press--and all of this tended to put this regiment more in the limelight than others from Canada. This, of course, did not make their task any easier, but rather the contrary, since any failure on their part would have been quickly known. As a matter of history they did their part in such a way as to bring the utmost credit to all concerned. The corps was officered by highly capable men. The Mounted Police officers, serving in Strathcona's Horse were: Superintendent S. B. Steele (in command), Inspectors R. Belcher, A. E. Snyder, A. M. Jarvis, D. M. Howard, F. L. Cartwright and F. Harper: included also were, Ex-Inspector M. H. White-Fraser, Sergt.-Major W. Parker and Staff-Sergt. H. D. B. Ketchen. The two last named were granted commissions in the Army and Colonial Forces. The commissions of the other officers of this corps were all in the Imperial service. Strathcona's Horse took part in many major engagements, did much scout and patrol work, and one of the Mounted Police serving in it, Sergeant A. H. L. Richardson, on July 5, 1900, won the highest of all the decorations for valour, the Victoria Cross. At a hot engagement in the village of Wolvespruit the odds were so heavy against our men that they were given the order to retire. One of our dismounted men, wounded in two places, lay on the field, and Sergeant Richardson, seeing his plight, rode back and brought him in, although exposed to a warm cross-fire at close range, and despite the fact that Richardson's horse was so badly wounded that he could only go at a slow pace. It was a very gallant action. When at the close of the main part of the war the South African Constabulary was formed, Steele, of the Strathcona's, was appointed its Colonel, and much "mopping up" was done in the pursuit of irregular Boer bands. Inspector Scarth, Constables C. P. Ermatinger, and J. G. French were given commissions. For their service with the 2nd and 5th C.M.R., Inspectors John Taylor, Demers, Sergt.-Major J. Richards, Sergt.-Major F. Church, Sergeant Hillian, Sergeant H. R. Skirving, Constables A. N. Bredin and J. A. Ballantyne were also granted commissions. I have mentioned certain circumstances which set Strathcona's Horse more in the public eye than the Canadian Mounted Rifles, in which the majority of the North-West Mounted Police served, but the latter took a part in the war which involved much hard fighting, and did much to enhance the prestige of Canadian soldiers, whose service abroad up to that time had not been in military units. The North-West Mounted Police officers who joined the various units of the C.M.R. and received commissions in the Militia were: (2nd C.M.R.) Lieut.-Colonel L. W. Herchmer (the then Commissioner of the Police, who commanded the battalion), Superintendent J. Howe, Inspector A. G. Macdonnell (afterwards in command of 5th C.M.R.), Inspector J. D. Moodie, Inspector J. V. Begin, Inspector T. A. Wroughton, Superintendent G. E. Sanders, Inspector A. E. R. Cuthbert, Inspector H. J. A. Davidson, Inspector F. L. Cosby (Adjutant), Inspector M. Baker (Quartermaster), Inspector J. B. Allan, and Veterinary Officer Lieut. R. Riddell. These officers and the men they commanded were intent upon their duties, and such able soldiers as General Hutton, General Lord Methuen, and others, gave them unstinted praise for their work in the Orange Free State and their advance guard work on the march to Pretoria, under Lord Roberts, who was greatly impressed by their ability in scouting and patrol work. It fell to the lot of that able and popular officer, Superintendent (Major) G. E. Sanders, to show on two special occasions, with small detachments against large odds, the mettle of the North-West Mounted Police. Near Middleburg, when Sanders with 125 men was guarding the railway, he was attacked by a considerable force of the enemy with artillery. A hurry call for reinforcements was issued, but before they came the Canadians had beaten the Boers back, Major Sanders and Lieutenant Moodie, as well as some of their men, being wounded in the determined resistant fight. Two months later, Sanders, with a handful of sixty men, formed the advance guard for General Smith-Dorien's column, but his guide missed the way and all of a sudden Sanders and his men, completely out of touch with the General's column, came in contact with a larger force of the enemy. The rifle fire of the enemy was very heavy, but the handful of Canadians held on till orders came from the General to retire. While they were retiring Corporal Schell's horse was killed, and the corporal was hurt by the horse falling on him. Sergeant Tryon most gallantly gave his own horse to Schell and himself continued on foot. And then Major Sanders, taking in the situation at a glance, galloped to the assistance of Tryon, whom he endeavoured to take before him on the saddle. It was a splendid effort, but, as Sanders endeavoured to lift Tyron, the saddle cinch slipped, the saddle turned to the side of the horse, and both men fell heavily to the ground. Sanders was stunned somewhat by the fall, but pulling himself together ordered the Sergeant to make for cover and he would follow. But a Boer sharpshooter dropped Sanders wounded in his tracks. Then another fine thing took place. Lieutenant Chalmers, a former Mounted Policeman also, who had led one wing of the advance guard, wheeled his horse and spurred to the help of Sanders, but he was unable to move him alone, and started for the firing line. The Boer sharpshooter was still abroad and, turning his attention to Chalmers, shot that brave officer, who fell mortally wounded from his horse. Major Sanders and Tryon were both rescued by a rush of reinforcements, and the Major is still doing effective service for the country as Magistrate in Calgary. It would seem to an onlooker that the decoration "for valour" should have been awarded to Sanders for his gallant and dangerous endeavour to rescue Tryon, and in a posthumous way to Chalmers, who sacrificed his life in the effort he made to save his superior officer. One recalls in this connection the similar action of former Inspector Jack French, whom I recall well as a stranger to fear, who at Batoche rushed in on foot and carried the wounded body of Constable Cook in his powerful arms from the fire zone to a place of safety. Many of the sacrificial deeds of men are unheralded. Officially, the officers and men of the North-West Mounted Police who served in the Boer War, were noted as on leave from their own corps, and therefore their services to the Empire are not recorded in the Police reports. But Commissioner Perry, in this particular case, gives in his annual report an extract from Militia orders, in which Lord Roberts wires the War Office: "Smith-Dorien stated Major Sanders, Captain Chalmers, behaved with great gallantry rear-guard action, November 2." To this the Commissioner adds: "I greatly lament the untimely but glorious death of the gallant Chalmers, with whom I had not only served as an officer in this corps, but also as a cadet in the Royal Military College." And then the Commissioner expresses this well-grounded opinion: "I regret much that the identity of the Force was lost in South Africa. The North-West Mounted Police are well known beyond the bounds of Canada. And I would like that it had been known to the world as one of the corps which had taken part in the South African War. With but few exceptions all ranks were willing to go, and it was not a question of who would go, but who must stay at home." This is well and wisely expressed. If ever there should be another war, which we hope not, unless absolutely unavoidable, Canada should strive to have her units kept intact. Destruction of identity leads to destruction of great traditions to which men should be true, and to the loss of the esprit de corps and _noblesse oblige_ elements, which go so far to creating unconquerable regiments. At the end of the war, in addition to the Victoria Cross won by Sergeant Richardson, as already related, the following honours, gained by members of the North-West Mounted Police while on service in South Africa, were announced in general orders: _To be Companion of the Bath and Member of the Victoria Order, 4th Class:_ Superintendent S. B. Steele, Lieut.-Colonel commanding Lord Strathcona's Horse. _To be Companions of the Order of St. Michael and St. George:_ Inspector R. Belcher, Major 2nd in command, Canadian Mounted Rifles. Inspector A. C. Macdonnell, Captain Canadian Mounted Rifles. Inspector F. L. Cartwright, Captain Lord Strathcona's Horse. _Awarded the Distinguished Conduct Medal:_ Sergeant J. Hynes, Sergt.-Major Lord Strathcona's Horse. Sergt.-Major Richards, Sqd. Sergt.-Major Lord Strathcona's Horse. Constable A. S. Waite, Private Canadian Mounted Rifles. The conclusion of the Boer War, with the additional service in the South African Constabulary, marked the transference of Colonel Sam B. Steele from the North-West Mounted Police to the Militia service of Canada, as he was appointed to the command of Military District No. 13, with headquarters at Calgary, though later he took over Military District No. 10, with headquarters at Winnipeg. He was one of the "originals" of the Police, joining up in 1873, and became one of the distinctive and picturesque figures in the famous Frontier Force. Capable of an enormous amount of work in a given time, he had never spared himself in efforts for the country and for the Force. He had large gifts as an administrator, as well as a fighter and enforcer of law, and these he placed unstintedly at the disposal of his generation. When he left the Police Force and accepted service in the Canadian Militia, he did much to recognize existing work and establish new units. When the Great War broke out he offered his services at once, and while waiting for overseas service he was intent on recruiting all over Canada. He went over in command of the Second Contingent from Canada, but the tremendous strain of his forty years of service began to tell on his once powerful physique, and to his deep disappointment he was prevented from leading his men in the field. In recognition of his services to the Empire he received Knighthood and a Major-Generalship, which represented a long and strenuous road travelled up from the ranks. He died in England while the war was still raging, and a funeral service in London was attended by a great number of people prominent in the world of affairs. But his body was brought back to Canada, the land he loved so well, and was buried with full military honours in Winnipeg, the city to which he had come long years before as a soldier under Wolseley. It is not generally known that, though he had not been in the Force for nearly twenty years, one of his last acts was the writing of an earnestly worded and, under the circumstances, a pathetic letter, to Sir Robert Borden, Premier of Canada, then in London, pleading for the full recognition of the military standing of the Mounted Police in Canada. In that letter he recounts out of his own recollection the history of the corps in which he had served from the outset for some thirty years. He recalls the work they had done as a military force on what was really active service all through the years, points out the high military qualifications of the men who were officers in the corps, as well as the uniformly high type of men in all ranks, to the large contributions the Mounted Police had made to the Empire in wars abroad, and spoke of the heavy responsibility resting upon the Force in the Dominion. He said: "I question whether the present command of Canadians overseas in England is equal to the great responsibility held by the Commissioner of the Mounted Police and his Assistant in Canada." The letter asks the Premier to do certain things for the officers and men, the effect of which would be to give them equal rights with members of the permanent Militia Force in respect of titles, decorations and general standing. And the result of the requests, if granted, would be to place the Mounted Police in the same position as the Militia in regard to medals, pensions and land grants, a matter of great interest and importance to the members of the Force. There is something very fine in this personal endeavour of "Sam" Steele, who, with many anxieties and responsibilities of his own at the time, made a serious appeal to obtain what he considered the rights of the comrades with whom he had shared hardships and dangers all over the vast North-West of Canada. A copy of this letter of Steele's, which was occasioned by changes then taking place in the Police organization, came into my possession from a private source, but it is not a confidential document, and is published here in recognition of the enduring loyalty of this sturdy old soldier to his companions, the veteran riders of the plains. They richly deserve the recognition for which he pleaded. And we cannot turn over the page of the Boer War and leave it in history without recalling that a few pages above reference was made to the fact that Canada had gone into the war more because she had faith in the judgment of the statesmen of Britain, whose life-long training and world-vision inspire confidence in their decisions, than because she had studied out the situation at first hand. British statesmen have made mistakes here and there, but since the tragic day when through ignorance of the situation they failed to recognize the rights of British colonists on the American continent to have a voice in the government of the country, they have not erred by refusing their Dominions overseas the privilege of governing themselves where they have proved their capacity for so doing. But there was a bold and world-startling faith manifested when they granted self-government to the Boers within a short time after the war ended. True, these same statesmen had led up to it by the ministry of reconciliation exercised by the high-souled Kitchener with a Canadian Mounted Policeman, Colonel Steele, a noted administrator, as Chief of the South African Constabulary. And these and others who worked with them to remove bitterness and misunderstanding from the minds of the conquered Boers had supporting evidence of good-will on the part of the conquerors in the fact that our soldiers had acted chivalrously in the enemy's country during the years of war, so that no woman or child in all that region was ever knowingly hurt or molested. All this with the gift of responsibility transformed our gallant enemies into loyal friends who stood by us splendidly in the recent war, and who contributed to the councils of the Empire in a critical hour the magnificent ability and statesmanship of Botha, Smuts and others. Meanwhile, in the homeland here in Canada, the steadfast, unflinching and imperturbable Mounted Police were doing their duty just as pronouncedly as their comrades on the veld. They had practically all wanted to go if required, but the Government had interposed and, as we have already quoted, it was not a question of who should go, but who _must_ stay at home. And they were greatly needed here, for nothing is gained by consolidating the Empire abroad if we allow it to disintegrate right under our eyes and around our own threshold. The Pax Britannica--the orderliness of British rule--had to be preserved in the vast spaces of the North and West of Canada. Thousands of potentially lawless men were surging through our mining country in the Yukon, challenging Canadian administration with the dictum that huge frontier mining camps had necessarily to be outlaw regions where every man did that which was right in his own eyes. And it became the duty of the Mounted Police to back the administration of law, to answer the challenge of lawless men, and to prove to them and to the world that the dictum above quoted was a lie in so far as Canada was concerned. And these intrepid men in the scarlet tunic did their duty so well that the world learned a new lesson by seeing policemen preserving order without killing anyone where it could be avoided, even at the cost of their own lives. The Mounted Police know how to use their "guns," but they never in all their history degenerated into "gun-men." And, in addition to policing the Yukon mining country, these few hundred men had to guard human life and property in the immense stretches of the Middle West where, into a country larger than several European kingdoms, tens of thousands were pouring in a tidal wave of immigration. From the ends of the earth these immigrants were coming, hosts of them, alien in race and tongue, as well as in religion and morals--people who had lax ideas as to the sacredness of human life and the sanctity of home. They, too, must be taught to keep the peace, and to become loyal to the institutions of the free land where they had sought asylum from despotism and oppression. And nothing but consummate tact, endless patience along with unvarying coolness and courage, enabled the men of the old corps successfully to meet this unprecedented situation. Besides, all that great north country had to be patrolled hither and thither into the circle under the shadow of the Pole itself. Wherever the flag flew, Indians and Esquimaux, as wards of the nation, had to be protected against the dangers of famine, the inroads of sickness, as well as from the exploitation of unscrupulous men. And they, too, had to be taught the sacredness of human life, as well as the rights of private ownership, in order that no loose ideas about property should prevail in the land. Few things, if any, in the history of the Empire equal the hardiness, the courage and endurance manifested in the great patrols of the Police into the ice-bound regions of the Arctic and sub-Arctic areas of Canada. For years the explorers who have searched for the Poles have been the heroes of many a story of thrilling influence on the minds of readers. One would not detract an iota from the achievements of these gallant adventurers. But for the most part they were equipped and outfitted abundantly with everything that money could buy in order that all requirements and emergencies could be met as they arose, and their expeditions were few throughout the years. The Mounted Police, on the other hand, were incessantly at this work, not in parties and highly equipped, but in twos and threes and sometimes singly, with nothing beyond their winter and summer uniforms and dependent largely on their own efforts for food, as they were not possessed of the means of carrying any large quantity. Many of these men probably said, as Inspector F. H. French recorded in his diary during the famous Bathurst Inlet patrol, of which we shall read later: "Have had no solid food for two days, and every one is getting weak; dogs are dropping in their harness from weakness. This looks like our last patrol." Only a brave man could write down words like that, and it detracts nothing from the splendid courage of him and his men that the words were not long written when providentially some deer were sent across their path and saved these men for future work. These men who went out on patrol only gave the barest outline of their experience in the reports which they had to make to their superior officers, and through them to Ottawa, but those who know the country could read between the lines and feel the thrill of admiration and wonder. And these same officers, when not on the particular patrol they were commenting upon, paid unstinted praise to their men in their own reports, but even these reports were buried in the mass of material in the Department, so that the public did not see them. But once in a while we get hold of some comment, as when Superintendent Perry referred to one patrol and said "nothing greater had been done in the annals of Arctic exploration." Or when Inspector Sanders referred to the leader of another patrol and said his action "was in keeping with his brave and manly character." And I like the way in which Superintendent A. E. C. Macdonnell, with some manifest diffidence, introduced into a report from Athabasca Landing the following quotation from the _Toronto Star_: "The world takes a lively interest in Polar expeditions, but Canada supports a Northern Police patrol of which very little is heard, and the journeyings of some of these men is quite as daring as anything connected with searches for the North or South Pole. They contend with the same conditions, are inexpensively equipped, and, as a rule, succeed in all that they undertake. A sheet or two of foolscap, giving to the Department at Ottawa an official report of their travels and observations, is the only record that survives. And very few ever read these records, although they sometimes thrill those who do read them." One other important duty fell to the lot of these Policemen in the home country, and reference has been made to it in the earlier pages, namely, the self-imposed duty of becoming builders of the country by making known the resources of all its various parts. And when they made known the resources of the country they, without any gain therefrom themselves, protected those who came in to develop them. Sometimes they had to protect these people against themselves. In the Yukon gold rush the Police threw a cordon around the entrances to the mining country and prevented foolhardy, unfit and unequipped men and women, crazed with the gold lust, from venturing a journey which would have meant their falling frozen by the wayside or being lost in the angry rapids, which even the inexperienced were ready in their ignorance to essay. These gold-seekers were allowed to go in when they were prepared or when they were under the care of men of experience. Similarly, at the time of this writing, the Police in the Athabasca, Peace and Mackenzie areas are guarding the ways to the reported oil fields of the North, so that the unfit in their wild desire for reaching oilfields may not perish in the midwinter, whose rigours they do not understand. Yes, the Mounted Police, few and scattered in detachments, from the Great Lakes to the Yukon, and from the boundary line to the Pole, had enormous responsibilities at home, while many of their fellow-citizens were abroad in the Boer War. And the man who was Commissioner of the Police during that period had a burden to carry which only those who knew the situation can estimate. That man was Superintendent A. Bowen Perry, who succeeded Colonel Lawrence Herchmer in August, 1900, but who, from the time of the big gold stampede into the Yukon, had largely the direction of things there, and had taken over the command personally at Dawson City when Steele left there in the fall of 1899. Colonel Herchmer, who had been Commissioner from 1886, was an able and conscientious officer. He had gone over to the Boer War in command of the 2nd Canadian Mounted Rifles, but had to come back on sick leave, when he retired also from the Commissionership. From the date of Herchmer's appointment to the Canadian Mounted Rifles to Perry's accession to the Commissionership of the Police, the command of the latter body had been ably held and administered by Assistant Commissioner McIlree. Colonel McIlree, who retired from the Force a few years ago, and whose services won the recognition of the Imperial Service Order, was one of the original men of the corps, having joined at the outset in 1873. He had, therefore, a long record of highly important and creditable service when he retired in 1911, after thirty-seven years on the frontier. [Illustration: REV. R.G. MACBETH, M.A.] [Illustration: GROUP, N.W.M.P., TAGISH POST. YUKON.] When Perry returned from the Yukon (where he was succeeded by that fine officer, Superintendent, later Assistant Commissioner, Z. T. Wood) and assumed the Commissionership he faced an exceedingly difficult situation. The Force was seriously depleted both in men and horses by the inroads made upon it by the war. And at the same time the work, as above outlined, was growing by leaps and bounds. True, recruits were being obtained and new horses were being purchased, but every one knows that it takes time and training to get a depleted force up to proper strength again. But the new Commissioner had a genius for organizing and handling men, and, as he had been away in the Yukon for a period, one of the first things he now did was to visit the prairie detachments, study the whole and map out a policy for the future. Conditions in the country with rapidly changing development as well as in the Force, owing to demands upon it, required a sort of re-creating of the famous corps, as well as a new disposition of it to meet the new times. And Commissioner Perry, with a great faculty for swift, decisive action, and a gift for attracting the cooperative efforts of his officers and men, was the type to undertake the task and succeed. Now, for a score of years he has directed the movements of the Force, meeting the extraordinary and unexpected situations which arise in a country that is a sort of melting-pot of the nations. A polyglot population, a babel not only of tongues but of ideals, the rise of new social conditions, the presence of agitators and mischief-makers who are experts in setting men against each other in opposing classes, the coming of destructive agents whose theories have made some old world countries into ramshackle wrecks, the persistence of the elements of lawlessness with outbreaks here and there--all these and much more have marked the unprecedented history of these years in this last new country in the world. And Canada, perhaps, will never fully realize the debt she owes to this quiet, gentlemanly, resolute man, who is a student as well as a soldier, and whose strong hand has been in constant evidence in controlling, guiding and guarding the interests of a country larger than half a dozen European kingdoms. When Perry took charge, the Force, outside those at the war, numbered some 750 men. These were distributed so as to give about 500 to the oversight of the vast Middle West and the balance to the Yukon. The men in the Middle West prairie section were scattered in over seventy detachments all the way from Southern Manitoba to Fort Chipewyan in the far North, a distance of over 2,000 miles, while in the Yukon the distance between the most southerly outposts and the farthest North was over 500 miles. Anyone who knows the country can realize the task of men who had to look after such an enormous area, when their number meant that one or two men would sometimes have to exercise control over districts many miles in extent. These men had to be constantly in the saddle or on the trail with dog-train. Verily Captain Butler's early suggestion as to organization of the Police, that the men sent out should be a "mobile force," was being amply vindicated as a good one to meet the necessities of a new land. And that the new Commissioner was looking ahead is evidenced by such clauses in his first report as "The great countries of the Peace, Mackenzie and Athabasca Rivers are constantly requiring more men. I am sending an officer to Fort Saskatchewan to take command of that portion of the territory." Later he says: "The operation of foreign whalers at the mouth of the Mackenzie will ere long require a detachment to control their improper dealings with the natives and control the revenue." And in due course they were there. In that first report Perry indicates that "the Force should be entirely re-armed." A lot of the men had obsolete arms, and the Commissioner insists that "if the corps is to be armed it ought to be well armed." He suggests a change from the heavy stock saddle and accoutrements thereof, claiming that with some 46 lbs. on his back before the rider mounted, the horse had a right to ask: "Why this heavy burden?" And he speaks of necessary changes in harness, transports and uniforms. He discusses the question of the kind of horses required, even to the colour, and indicates ranges of country where horses can be bred that are "strong in the hindquarters." Quite evidently the new Commissioner had his eye on everything, and intended to have the corps equipped up to the limit of efficiency and comfort. He was going to speak out in the interests of his men and horses, too. For a mounted corps must have regard to both if the maximum of usefulness is to be attained. The reports of officers in the Middle West for that year, Superintendents Deane of MacLeod, Griesbach of Fort Saskatchewan, Moffatt of Maple Creek, Inspector Wilson of Calgary, Strickland of Prince Albert, and Demers of Battleford, all indicate a good deal of cattle-stealing, the most of which, of course, was near the American boundary line, where outlaws from both sides dodged backwards and forwards in efforts to escape the authorities on either side, who co-operated and generally got these robbers in hold, But Deane felt that the ranchers themselves should exercise a little more intelligent interest, instead of leaving everything to the Police, who were few in numbers, and none of whom could be in more than one place at a time. Referring to the case of a man who had bought some cattle and had left them unbranded and unwatched in the pasture whence they disappeared in the night, Deane says, "Daly became very indignant, and has talked freely about bringing an action against the Mounted Police, but whether for allowing him to lose his beasts or for failing to find them I know not." However, Mr. Daly evidently concluded that he had no case against the Police, for he is not heard from again. Up in the Yukon that year, as already mentioned, Superintendent Z. T. Wood was in command of the territory, with Inspector Courtlandt Starnes in charge at Dawson, and Superintendent P. C. H. Primrose at White Horse, and Assistant Surgeon Fraser on Dalton Trail. Besides these officers there were Inspectors J. A. McGibbon, W. H. Routledge, W. H. Scarth, A. E. C. McDonnell, as well as Assistant Surgeons Pare, Madore and Hurdman. It was a time of general and reasonably stable prosperity, as evidenced by the fact that the men in Starnes' Division collected well up to a million dollars in royalties in the mining areas, the banner section being Grand Forks, including Eldorado, Bonanza and tributaries where Staff-Sergeant (later Inspector) Raven gathered nearly $520,000. The Government was spending freely for the oversight of the Yukon, but was getting back big dividends. It is interesting to note in Starnes' report this significant clause: "To the early resident of Dawson the present sanitary condition of the town must be a source of congratulation and a matter of satisfaction." For thereby hangs a tale redolent with a record of hard work. In the spring of 1899 a Board of Health had been formed, under the general oversight of the Mounted Police, for Superintendent Steele (later succeeded by Superintendent Perry) was chairman, Corporal Wilson (though not on the Board) Sanitary Inspector, H. Grotchie and Dr. J. W. Good succeeding Dr. Thompson, who was the first medical officer, but had gone on leave. The year 1898 had been fever-scourged and haunted by a plague of scurvy, due largely to the lack of vegetables and fruit it was said. Dr. Good determined that this condition, resulting from the rush of thousands of people to camp on a frozen swamp, would not recur, and when Dr. Good made his mind up and contracted those heavy black brows of his something had to be done or he would know the reason why. Dr. Good was a noted specialist in Winnipeg from the early days--a man of powerful physique, wide general education, and a grim kind of manner, which was redeemed from dourness by the constant bubbling up of the irrepressible humour which made him a most entertaining companion. He went into Dawson over the passes in the big trek principally from sheer love of the adventure, as most would say (and he had the adventurous spirit), but largely, I imagine, to be of service in what, to his practised understanding, might become a death camp. He had no need of seeking wealth, as his practice had always brought large revenue from the well-to-do, though a lot of poor people got no bills for his services. Dr. Good was and is (for he is still happily with us) a distinct type, and I say this out of personal acquaintance through many years. His battle for the health of the people of Dawson and districts was great and successful. He gives a semi-humorous report of it in a formal report to the Mounted Police Department. From it we make an extract: The Doctor says, "The duties of the Medical Health Officer were somewhat varied. I will give you a summary of them. Firstly, to inspect hospitals from time to time; secondly, to see indigents at his office or their homes, if necessary, and to examine them and see if they could be admitted to hospital. Thirdly, to inspect the water supply. Fourthly, to inspect the food and aid in the prosecution of those selling food unfit for use. Fifthly, to visit all vessels arriving, and when fish, cattle or food were on board, inspect everything before it can be landed. Sixthly, to inspect all cattle, sheep and hogs before they could be slaughtered to see if they were healthy, from which it must be inferred that the Medical Health Officer had studied veterinary medicine as well. I regret to say this was not the case." (This was the Doctor's modesty, but Steele says the knowledge of veterinary science he displayed was remarkable.) And then the Doctor adds in his humorous way: "Now, from the above, it must be plain that the Medical Health Officer led an exceedingly active and useful life." And we agree with him. And the Doctor goes on to give us a vivid picture of conditions in Dawson City when he took hold: "We found practically one vast swamp, which is usually navigable in the early spring, still in almost a primitive condition, or even worse, cesspools and filth of all kinds occupying irregular positions, typhoid fever and scurvy rife in the land. We immediately went to work to put the house in order, getting out all the garbage and refuse on the ice in the early spring, so that it might be carried down the river at the break up. We then specified places at which garbage, etc., should be dumped. We had the streets cleaned, by prison and other labour, had offensive material removed and rubbish burnt, while the Governor, with great vigour, inaugurated a system of drainage, so that in a short time the change excited the wonder and admiration of the people." The doctor is evidently fond of Scriptural phrases, for above he has spoken about "putting the house in order," and now he adds: "We had, of course, some difficulties to contend with, the fact that people to a large extent were 'strangers and pilgrims,' and unaccustomed to any restrictions unless those of a primitive order." But the Doctor, with the aid of the Mounted Police officers already named, as well as Corporals Wilson, McPhail and the men generally, triumphed and made the place healthy. Perhaps there is nothing more remarkable in the record of the Police than the way in which, wherever they were stationed, they always fought epidemics and disease amongst Indians or whites or Esquimaux to the utter disregard of their own safety, though it was not necessarily part of their ordinary duty. How close an oversight was kept by the Mounted Police as to the movements of people in that wild country is evidenced by the fact that men could not "disappear" between the Police posts or elsewhere without their case giving rise to swift inquiry. If they left one point for another and did not arrive in a reasonable time the fact was in the knowledge of the Police, and they immediately started to trace the missing parties to see whether they had gone lost through missing the trail or had vanished off the earth by the hands of murderous characters. All this comes out in the famous case of one O'Brien who was tried and executed at Dawson for one of the most cold-blooded crimes imaginable. As I was writing, at this point a letter came from Mr. H. P. Hansen, of Winnipeg, who said he had stayed at Fossal's road-house in the Upper Yukon about two weeks before O'Brien committed his triple murder. He and O'Brien were the only guests and had started out on the trail together. Hansen says, "No doubt this man had murder in his heart at the time," but as he had no knowledge of the fact that Hansen carried money carefully concealed, O'Brien, probably with some disgust, did nothing. That O'Brien "had murder in his heart" is more than likely, because when his trial came off a "Bowery tough" who had been in prison with him in Dawson for some other offence testified that O'Brien had proposed that they should, when freed, go along the river and find a lonely spot. Here they should camp, shoot men who were coming out from Dawson with money, put their bodies under the ice, and thus cover their tracks. This was too much of a programme for even the "Bowery tough," but it shows O'Brien's disposition. O'Brien, however, seems to have decided to haunt that trail till he could make a killing, and so he seems to have doubled back after leaving Hansen and landed at Fossal's road-house again, whence he started out with three men on Christmas Day of 1899. The three men were Olsen, a Swede, who was a telegraph line repairer, and two men from Dawson, F. Clayson, of Seattle, and L. Relphe, who had been a "caller-off" in a Dawson dance-hall. Clayson was known to have a large sum of money on him, and he became the particular object of O'Brien's attention, but because "dead men tell no tales" the others had to share in the disaster, and O'Brien, at an opportune time in a camping-place, as afterwards transpired, shot all three men first through the body and then through the head to make sure. There was no human witness to the event. But when these men did not turn up at the next point on the trail, and O'Brien did, the Police began rapid investigation. If there were no eye-witnesses in the case a web of circumstantial evidence would have to be woven around the figure of the fourth man of the party if the facts that would emerge justified it. This was done with consummate skill but with absolute fairness by the Mounted Police, Inspector Scarth, officer commanding at Fort Selkirk, being the directing hand, Corporal Ryan doing some important parts and Constable Pennycuick being the "Sherlock Holmes" genius whose keen detective instincts and arduous persistent work won high praise from the judge at the trial, being those mainly instrumental in bringing this cold-blooded and cruel murderer to justice. The Police have always had a free hand as to expense in the enforcement of law, and the O'Brien case ran up a bill of over $100,000. But the reputation built up throughout the years by these guardians of public safety, that they would get a criminal if they had to follow him to the ends of the earth, saved the Dominions uncounted expenditure in other ways, and established Canada in the opinion of the world as a country where desirable citizens could come, build homes, rear their families and pursue their avocations freer from molestation than in any other similarly situated place on the face of earth. And that was an enormous gain for a new land which needed immigrants to populate its vast territory and develop its immense latent resources. Somewhat briefly, the way the Police got O'Brien was in this fashion. The Police, as above mentioned, kept close "tab" on travellers by trail or river for the sake of their safety, and a few days after Olsen, Relphe, Clayson and O'Brien left Fossal's road-house at Minto, Sergeant Barker, who was in charge at Five Fingers, and who had been notified of their departure, wired to White Horse that the party had not been heard of since. And the wires were kept hot in all directions, while patrols also were sent out to locate the men who had not turned up at the usual points. At that time murder was not necessarily a theory connected with their disappearance. Nearly ten days after Christmas the alert Police at Tagish post saw a man with horse and sleigh making a detour of the trail on passing their quarters. This aroused their suspicion, and they gathered in the man and his outfit, after pulling them out of a hole in the ice to which the detour had brought them. The man said his name was O'Brien, but he was sullen and would say no more. They took no chances, but brought him before the commanding officer, who sentenced him to "six months" for vagrancy. Several big bank notes were found on his person, also packed in crevices on the sleigh, and also a strange nugget of gold, shaped like a human hand holding a smaller nugget. It was found out that O'Brien had displayed this nugget as a curiosity at a road-house a few nights before, and later on it was found that Relphe, one of the men who had vanished, had a penchant for curios, and amongst them had this nugget and a specially odd coin. Things were beginning to look interesting and, as Inspector Scarth wanted a man who answered O'Brien's description for robbing the cache of Mr. Hansen at Wolf's Island, O'Brien was sent up to Fort Selkirk and held on that charge. Then Sergeant Holmes (rather a curious coincidence in detective names) was sent on detachment to Fossal's road-house with Constable Pennecuick to see if there were any traces of the lost men. Pennecuick proved himself a veritable sleuth. In a short time he discovered a place on the river bank where some one had climbed, although snow had fallen plentifully since. He also found to his surprise a clear view of the river up and down for miles. This was unusual in such a place, and on investigation he found that trees had been cut down so that a look-out could be kept. He examined the tree stumps closely, and found they had all been cut with an axe which had three flaws in it, one at one end and two near together. He kept portions of the wood, and later on discovered that when O'Brien had been released from jail in Dawson, some months before, he had been given his stuff back, and the police-sergeant testified at the trial that he had furnished O'Brien with an axe (a very necessary thing for travellers on the northern trails) in place of one that had been lost. The sergeant said, "It was a spare axe and I sharpened it for him, and gave it to him with a sort of apology because it still had three rather large nicks in it, one at the top and two close together at the bottom." Of course, Pennecuick did not know about this axe when he found the trees chopped down, but his examination of the stumps shows that he omitted nothing in his scrutiny. When Pennecuick noted that, he hunted for traces of a trail, and found such traces leading to the river. He got a broom and swept the whole way down. Klondikers recall Christmas '98 as soft in the morning and freezing at night. So marks made that morning would stay, and Pennecuick found that some heavy body or bodies had been dragged down to a place in the ice where, though now frozen over, these bodies had been put in the river. Pennecuick reasoned that if O'Brien was going to kill these men he would not do it on the river where he might be seen. So the sleuth went back up into the bush and swept away till he came to some evidences of blood, then he found three .32 revolver bullets, and one in the earth from a .45 rifle. Next day, as Pennecuick came back to work he met a dog on the river. Dogs crop up all over the Northern history, and many times they were important links in the chains of evidence. Pennecuick recognized the dog as O'Brien's, which had been kept in barracks at Dawson by the Police and fed and petted when O'Brien was in jail there before. The dog recognized the uniform, fawned on the wearer of it, and when Pennecuick said "Go home, sir, go home," the dog turned and trotted up the bank and then turned aside where some slight trail showed. Pennecuick, of course, followed, and came to a tent cabin in which he found the .45-calibre rifle. Raking in the snow, he discovered that clothing had been burned, for he found some buttons with the name of a Seattle firm. Then he went in and searched the stove and found more relics. But he felt that probably O'Brien had emptied the pockets of his victims' clothes before he burned them, and likely had thrown the things away from the fire that might lead to his identification with the murder if he kept them. So Pennecuick did the same thing with articles out of his own pocket, watching where they fell. Then he carefully swept again, and found not only his own things, but a key that fitted Clayson's safe in Seattle and the strange coin that Relphe had carried. When the spring came the bodies were found on sand-bars and were easily identified, even by the fitting of some fragments of teeth that Pennecuick had found where the men had been shot in the head by the revolver after they had fallen before the rifle. And at the trial also the large bills that had been found in possession of O'Brien were identified as having been the property of Clayson, as the nugget and coin were shown to have been Relphe's. There were other items of evidence, the exhibits nearly exhausted the alphabet, and there was a very long list of witnesses brought from many quarters. The Crown Prosecutor was Mr. Fred O. Wade, K.C. (now Agent-General for British Columbia in London), and he handled the case with consummate ability. His address to the jury was a marvel of logical, irresistible emphasis on every point of evidence. Inspector Scarth gave Mr. Wade most valuable assistance during the long trial. The prisoner O'Brien was ably defended, but there is no evidence so strong as circumstantial evidence when it is compactly pieced together, and the jury took only half an hour to reach the verdict of "Guilty." O'Brien received the death sentence, and spent a lot of time before his execution in cursing the Mounted Police who, as another outlaw once said, "would give a gunman no chance in this blamed Canada country." It was a long and costly effort on their part, extending nearly two years in the case of O'Brien, but it gave notice to the world that Canadians would not tolerate lax views on the sacredness of human life. It seems appropriate that in that same year, 1900, an injustice to the Mounted Police should be at length removed by the granting of medals to the men of the Force who had served in the North-West Rebellion of 1885. At the conclusion of that rebellion, medals had been granted to all others who had been on military duty against Louis Riel's revolt, but they were only given to the Mounted Police who had been actually under fire in an engagement. We do not care to know who was responsible for this extraordinary piece of invidious distinction. The Mounted Police have practically always been on active service and always liable to be under fire at any moment. Those who know the history know that all the members of the Force rendered service of enormous value to Canada and the Empire during that war time, whether in an engagement or not. They policed the vast plains and, with endless patience and cool courage, held at peace the thousands of Indians who might have swept the defenceless settlements with destruction. These men deserved the medal and should have had it at the outset, but better late than never. It is anticipating a little in one respect, but in another it is looking backwards. During the years since their organization the Mounted Police had furnished escorts and convoys for the successive Governors-General in their official tours over the vast North-West. Before the railway era this involved long journeys and much extra duty, cheerfully undertaken and chivalrously as well as skilfully carried out for the comfort of these distinguished travellers, amongst whom were our present good King and his much-loved son, the Prince of Wales. In recognition of these services the Commissioner has received for himself and his men warm thanks, as well as expressions of high admiration for the courtesies and services rendered by the Police, as well as for their fine bearing as soldierly men. And all these find fitting climax in the fact that His Majesty King Edward, "First Gentleman of Europe," gave his personal recognition of all the splendid services rendered to the Empire by the Police by conferring on the Force the title "Royal." This intimation was made in the Canada Gazette in 1904 in this manner: "His Majesty the King has been graciously pleased to confer the title of 'Royal' upon the North-West Mounted Police Force." Referring to this honour, Commissioner Perry said in his report of that year: "The force is deeply sensible of the high honour conferred upon it, and I trust it will continue by loyalty, integrity and devotion to duty to merit the great distinction which His Majesty has been so graciously pleased to bestow upon it." The Commissioner has always trusted and believed in his men, and he has not been disappointed. CHAPTER XIII MODESTY AND EFFECTIVENESS "The population of the Territories has doubled in ten years and the strength of the Force has been reduced by half. Our detachments have increased from 49 to 79." This was one of the striking and illuminating statements made by Commissioner Perry in his Annual Report for 1901. The Commissioner was looking around and ahead and did not intend that the Government should be left ignorant of the rapid changes which were taking place. The reduction of the Force was a tribute to the extraordinary efficiency of its members in establishing peace and order throughout a vast domain. But it is not fair or human "to ride a willing horse to death," and with increased population and widening areas to oversee, the strain being put upon the men in the corps was too great. In even the organized portions of the Territories there was only an average of one constable to every 500 square miles. It was highly important that with half the population foreign born, alien to our laws, unacquainted with our institutions and disposed to bring with them a sort of a hatred of authority born of experience under old-world despotisms, there should be present the educative and restraining influence of an adequate number of the riders in scarlet and gold. Without that influence the newly-found liberty of these European immigrants would soon degenerate into licence. Those of us who recall those critical formative days agree with the statement that the constables took a large view of their duties and that their tact and discretion led these strange people not only to obey the laws but to look upon the Police as friends willing to aid and assist them in every way. The Commissioner therefore strongly urged not only the maintenance of a sufficiently large force to meet the situation, but pressed for the adoption of his particular policy to have a reserve of at least fifty men always in training at headquarters who would be qualified for detachment duty whenever occasion arose. He gives adequate reason for this policy when he says, "The men on detached duty are in responsible positions; they have to act on their own initiative, often on matters of considerable public concern; their advice is sought by new settlers. To carry out their important duties satisfactorily they must be well trained, have experience, and be of good character. It is therefore unwise, contrary to the interests of the public and the good reputation of the force, to send on detached duty men who have not the proper qualifications, necessary experience, and who have not yet established a reputation for reliability and sobriety; in other words who have not been tested and proved." There was an old song, written perhaps in the days of the Peninsular War, to attract men to sign up for service in the possible hope that some one of them might be instrumental in putting the tyrant out of commission: "A raw recruit Might chance to shoot Great General Buonaparte." But the Mounted Police Force was not built on those lines. Their business was to keep avoidable shooting off the programme altogether either by themselves or others, and to effect that desirable end they must be self-controlled, disciplined and tactful men. In order to be of that type every man must get thorough groundwork training in the depôt division before he goes out with the possibility of being on detached duty at any moment. Successful insistence on these points of policy was one of Commissioner Perry's early achievements. It was in the best interests of the country and the Force that such things should be recognized by the authorities. How necessary it was that the Police should be wise and at the same time firm is evidenced that very year when Superintendent Charles Constantine was in command at Fort Saskatchewan. Amongst the Rutherian or Galician people there arose a religious controversy, and a religious controversy is a hard thing for civil authority to tackle. But Constantine was a very discreet officer. He saw how easily a serious conflict on the subject might be precipitated amongst an excitable people. "Religion," writes Constantine, "is a very real thing to the Galician and on this matter he feels very strongly." Constantine made special study of the situation. There were three different branches of the church amongst these people, the Roman and Greek Catholic and the Orthodox Russian or Uniate Church, which was in creed and ritual a sort of half-way between the other two. The Russian church people had put up a church building near Star, but having no pastor of their own, they divided on which of the two others, the Roman Catholic or the Greek Catholic priest, should conduct services. The discussion became quite warm and threats of violence were common. Constantine would not interfere as between the controversialists, but he kept his eye on the situation and gave special direction to certain of his men. Matters came to a climax on Easter Sunday, when the two rival priests, each accompanied by some 200 followers, came to hold service in the church. Constantine knew of the situation beforehand, and he had sent a sergeant and two constables, prudent men, to see that there was no breach of the peace. Both parties claimed the right to hold services in the church and neither would yield nor would they hold a joint service. So the Police held the balance level by locking the door and then asking the parties to go one to each side of the church outside and hold their own services. This was done and there was no ill-will. After the services they dispersed to their homes and the danger passed. Constantine thought well of people who could be earnest about religion and law-abiding. And he makes this general remark about them: "On the whole my observation leads me to believe that the Galician immigration has brought a very desirable class of settler to the North-West and one which will in a short time be of material assistance to the productiveness and prosperity of the Dominion." And the record of these people during the years since this wise officer wrote these words has amply borne out his opinion. In the earlier years the excitable character of the Galicians, and the absence of instruction in their old haunts as to rights of life and property, led them into the commission of a good many offences against our laws, but no alien race has been more anxious to become Canadian and especially, amongst the young people who have grown up in this country, we have met many who are a large asset to the Dominion. As a rule they are industrious, and Constantine's vision of their future has become a reality. [Illustration: FORT SELKIRK, YUKON.] [Illustration: ESQUIMAUX FAMILY.] Up in the Yukon that year there were continued echoes of the famous O'Brien murder case detailed in our preceding chapter, the leading note being that the capture and execution of this desperate criminal had attracted world-wide attention to the efficiency of the Police and had made the Klondike country safer for everybody. For instance, Superintendent A. E. Snyder, who took over the command at White Horse from Superintendent Primrose, says, "I am very pleased to be able to state that there were no very serious cases of crime during the year. I am satisfied that it was not for want of material that we were indebted for such a happy state of affairs, as among the class of people continually on the move coming in and going out there are quite a few that would be capable of attempting anything if they were certain of escaping detection. I can only attribute the lack or comparative utter absence of serious crime to the extreme watchfulness of our men which renders it well nigh impossible for loose characters to engage in doubtful enterprises and stay in the country. The (under the circumstances) speedy and condign punishment meted out to O'Brien elicited favourable comment from citizens generally irrespective of nationality, the Americans especially commenting favourably on it and contrasting it with their experience of similar incidents in mining regions of the Western States." Referring to the same case Inspector Starnes, then in charge at Dawson, says, "This case has cost the Government a great deal of money, but I am sure it had a very salutary effect on the bad element, as it has shown them that nothing will be left undone and no expense will be spared to prevent crime and bring the guilty ones to justice." Starnes has a reference to the verdict of a coroner's jury in the case of one Dr. Bettinger which indicates that he thinks the jury "played safe." It appears that the doctor had started from Dawson for the coast on foot and that he was not clad well enough for such a trek. When he did not turn up at points he ought to have reached, Inspector McDonnell was put on the trail and all the detachment men along the river took up the search. In a few days the body of the unfortunate man was found seven miles off the Yukon trail up the White River. Inspector Wroughton, who was out on an inspection trip, held an inquest in order to have the body properly identified, so that any matters connected with the estate might not be confused. And this jury concluded that the body was that of Dr. Joseph Bettinger and that the said Bettinger "came to his death from some cause or causes unknown to the jury, but are of the opinion that death was caused by exposure during extreme cold weather." The opinion of the jury was no doubt correct, though they expressed it with proverbial caution. Starnes refers with proper sarcasm to the cases in which people imagine the Police ought to save them from the results of their own carelessness. He says, "There have been a number of sluice box robberies on some of the creeks, and we have been fortunate in securing one or two convictions, but in many instances it was impossible to find the thieves. This class of crime is one of the hardest to detect, owing to a great number of miners leaving their sluice boxes unprotected when there is a lot of gold in them, and another reason being that it is impossible to identify gold dust. We may have our suspicions in many cases, and in some feel sure of our man to a moral certainty, but it is almost impossible to prove the guilt unless we catch the man in the act. The distances being so great, it is out of the question for us to place guards on every claim, and the miners who wish to keep their gold must take proper precautions. It would be just as well for a farmer in the East to leave ten dollar bank notes in his stable yard with no one to watch them, as to leave gold in the sluice boxes the way some of the miners do." Starnes here hits at the all too common assumption of people who, with sense enough to be responsible for their acts, think that some one else is under obligation in matters of health and property to save them from the consequences of their own practices. And he delicately suggests to the careless miners that they have missed the fact of contributory negligence when they have thus led others into temptation. These policemen were making a constant study of the unveneered humanity on the frontier and developed a keen perception of right and wrong, and had a rugged conviction that every one should get a square deal, but should realize that he must bear his own burden of responsibility. A fine instance of the Police opinion that men should get fair play is found in the report of Inspector A. M. Jarvis, who in 1901 was in command of the Dalton trail post in the Yukon country. He says, "The Dalton trail, which is the pioneer route to the 'inside,' is much in need of repairs. A vast area is tributary to this trail. From the Yukon River to the 141st parallel and as far north as the White River the Dalton trail is the main artery. Three years before the Klondike was heard of, Mr. Dalton blazed his route into the interior, acting as guide to the explorers into the country where he had done important work or trading in furs. When the rush into the gold-fields took place, he spent large sums in bridges and corduroy, especially between Dalton House and Five Fingers, which, now that the Yukon has the monopoly in freight and passengers, brings him no return. While the construction of this trail was a business venture, yet it remains a benefit to the country, and is of great value to the prospector. I should like to see Mr. Dalton recompensed for his unprofitable outlay." What came of this suggestion history does not record. The world is under immense obligation to adventurers who have blazed new trails to hidden natural resources. But the world is not always as fair as this Police Inspector in recognizing its obligation. In his report in 1902 Commissioner Perry, in view perhaps of comments made by some who were ignorant of conditions, and such are occasionally found in public bodies, frankly says that the expenditure on the Mounted Police is large, but that when it is looked upon as a factor in the peaceful settlement of a vast territory, such expenditure is a splendid investment which will pay big dividends to the country for generations in the form of a contented, happy and prosperous population. The Commissioner's words are that "the benefits will be reaped by posterity when the Force has disappeared and its work is forgotten." It is hard to get these policemen to estimate their work highly enough. They have the usual British reticence intensified by definite practise of it, and that is why no man who has been a member of the Force will ever give a true history of its achievements. He is afraid to give the Force its due lest he should seem to be boastful when he records deeds that are stranger than fiction. And so when the Commissioner speaks of the Force disappearing and its work being forgotten we must enter a protest against this being read except in the light of the well-known habit of these men to keep religiously far away from the braggart spirit. The Force has undergone changes and may ultimately disappear in so far as the present form of organization is concerned, but those of us who have known the country and the men all through the years affirm without reservation that it can never be forgotten. The work of the corps has been so indelibly stamped upon the history of Canada that the record can never be erased as long as this country endures. How, for instance, can any country forget a Force concerning one of whose members this same Commissioner Perry, proud always of his men, writes in the very next paragraph, "To one who is unacquainted with the country it is difficult to convey any adequate idea of the labour involved in policing such a vast region and carrying out the multifarious duties imposed on us. As an instance of this I may mention the work done by Corporal Field last winter. He is stationed at Fort Chippewyan, Athabasca. He was informed that a man had gone violently insane at Hay River, 350 miles from his post. He proceeded there with dog train, accompanied by the interpreter only and brought the unfortunate man, who was a raving maniac, back to Fort Chippewyan, and thence escorted him to Fort Saskatchewan, travelling a distance of 1,300 miles with dogs and occupying forty-four days on the journey. This is not an isolated instance. It represents the work of Inspector West and his men in the Northern Country." All this is written by the Commissioner with the most admirable and characteristic police restraint. He gives the facts in outline and leaves the rest to the imagination of those who know the country. He says nothing about Corporal (later Inspector) Field having just come in from a long patrol, tired and entitled to a rest, albeit he was a noted trail-maker. Nor does he relate any details of the trip after the insane unfortunate. But those who have travelled the broken plain can see much between the lines of the simply worded report. We can see the vast white expanse of snow and ice wind swept at times by the fierce blizzards out of the north. We can see the return journey when the violent man would have to be watched day and night and yet given liberty enough at times to keep him from being chloroformed with the cold. A fine humane act was this and one that could only be done by a man who embodied in himself the coolness, courage and gentleness that form so splendid a combination. This and countless deeds of a like kind ensure the Mounted Police an enduring place in our Canadian temple of Fame. It appears that there were always some people who believed that all they had to do when any mishap occurred in their experience was to sit back and get the Police to put things right. This was a tribute to the way in which the Force had exercised paternal oversight in their districts. But it was carrying things rather too far and forgetting that the best help comes to those who help themselves. There was a good deal of horse-stealing and horse-straying in progress in 1902 and when their horse got out of sight some settlers imagined they were stolen when in reality they had only strayed. These people thought the Police should assume the task of securing the return of their herds and droves. This calls a mild protest from Inspector J. O. Wilson, when at Regina. Wilson says, "Settlers are still prone to report a horse stolen when it is missing without making any special effort to find it themselves. There is a case on record where a settler named Hansen, who for the past seven years has lost horses, now expects the Police to find them for him. Much time has been spent in fully investigating his complaints, but this gentleman is not yet satisfied and has written to say that he considers it the duty of the Police to hunt up lost horses." And then the Inspector indicates the lines along which the efforts of the Force are properly directed. "In connection with this," he says, "I beg to state that when horses are reported lost, descriptions are forwarded to all detachments and instructions issued that should they be seen or heard the owners are to be notified. A large number of horses have been returned to their owners in this way." But to leave their police duties and hunt the stray horses of careless settlers was a little too much to ask. Up in the Yukon that year there were contrasting pictures of events in a country that could always be counted on for happenings of interest. There is a fine touch in a report from that tender-hearted officer, the late Inspector Horrigan. Two gallant Police Constables, Campbell and Heathcote, were drowned at the mouth of the Stickine River, where they were crossing in an old boat as no other was at hand. Campbell's body was not found, but Heathcote's was recovered and brought to the nearest point, Wrangel, in the United States, for interment. "I am informed that the funeral was one of the largest and most impressive ever held in Wrangel. The service was conducted by the Rev. Mr. Reirdon, of the Presbyterian Church, with a full choir. The edifice was crowded to the doors, and the majority followed the remains to the last resting place. I chanced to be in Wrangel on June 30, Memorial Day, and noticing a procession of children clothed in white, several veterans of the Civil War and a number of citizens, I followed them to the cemetery and witnessed a very touching sight. To my surprise I noticed that Constable Heathcote's was the first grave decorated with bouquets and sweet-smelling flowers by kind and loving hands. It mattered not to them what altar he knelt at or what flag he had served under. They knew him in life as a policeman, proud of his uniform and his country. In death they honoured his memory." This is well put by Horrigan, and the whole incident indicated the deep-seated attachment existing between the two great branches of the English-speaking race. Incidents like this go far to destroy the "ancient grudge" which some Americans have against Britain because a century and a half ago a foolish British King and a still more foolish set of advisers treated British subjects overseas in an absolutely un-British way. And then in the same northern area we have in the report of that exact and capable Inspector, W. H. Routledge, another side of life in the account of a murder case which, in cold-blooded deliberateness and treachery, perhaps puts the O'Brien case into the shade. O'Brien was a very inhuman and brutal murderer, but he, though on the look-out for prey, seems to have somewhat accidentally fallen in at Fossal's road-house with the three men he murdered a few miles farther along the way. But there is no particular evidence that he had made special efforts to be their ostensibly friendly companion beyond the usual comradeship of mutual helpfulness on the trail. But in the case Routledge reports two men, La Belle and Fournier, seem to have gone to White Horse with the deliberate intention of ingratiating themselves with some of their fellow-countrymen by the use of their French mother tongue, joining them on the way down to Dawson, and then murdering them when they arrived at a convenient place. And so these two creatures found at White Horse, Leon Bouthilette, Guy Beaudien, and Alphonse Constantin from Beauce County, Quebec, who had recently come from the East, going to Dawson. La Belle and Fournier got passage with these men on a small boat, travelled with them, camped, ate, and slept with them till one night in camp on an island near Stewart River they murdered their three hosts, probably in sleep, and after rifling their pockets, and to hide their crime, they tied the bodies up, weighted with stones, and threw them in the river. Then they burned up all evidences of their crime, got in the boat and went to Dawson, from which place they proceeded farther, found another compatriot named Guilbault and murdered him on the way to Circle City, Alaska. Once again it was a case where the murderers left no possible witness to testify and considered they were safe. But they forgot they were in the Mounted Police country--in the land of the men in scarlet and gold who never let go till justice is done. The Police at White Horse had the number of the boat, 3744, and the names of all the men in it. Other boats, starting from White Horse about the same time, arrived in Dawson. But boat 3744 and its occupants, though seen by several on the way, dropped out of sight at Stewart River and was not seen again till Constable Egan discovered it empty at Klondike city. The body of a man who had been killed by bullets was found in the river, and there was a small key tag with the name "Bouthilette, Beauce, P.Q." on it. This gave the Police a clue, and it was followed with characteristic energy and skill. A web of circumstantial evidence had again to be woven. Later on another body was found and Surgeons Madore and Thompson were satisfied that another death by violence had occurred. The body corresponded with the description given of Guy Beaudien. Constable Burns, of the Dawson Division, who could speak French like a native, haunted the mines and creeks in plain clothes, unearthed Fournier, who was identified by one Mack, who had seen him at White Horse, as one of the men in boat 3744. Detective Constable Welsh, Sergeant Smith, Corporal Piper, Constables Burke and Falconer with others were on the scent. Welsh went to Skagway and found the sailing list of the boat _Amur_ on which the murdered men had come from Seattle. To that point and others he went, and then acting on information from Constable Burns, who had combed the French Colony for evidence, Welsh went on through six different States and finally caught and arrested La Belle in Nevada. La Belle said enough to indicate the whereabouts of the murder event and Welsh wired this information. Corporal Piper and Constable Woodill and the Dawson photographer went, located the "Murder Island," gathered some incriminating articles and took photographs from every angle. Then the work went on and the Police accumulated such an unbreakable chain-mail web of evidence starting with a man who had come with the murdered men from Montreal to White Horse, continuing with others who had seen all the parties on boat 3744 and then with men who had seen articles and money on La Belle and Fournier which they knew to have been the property of the murdered parties, that these cold-blooded monsters practically confessed, each throwing the blame on the other. They were committed for trial, found guilty by judge and jury, and paid the extreme penalty for their horrible crime. Down on the prairie the Police were equally intent on duty and equally successful in serving notice on all and sundry that tampering with human life and prosperity would not be tolerated. And every one who came into the Canadian West was wise if he governed himself accordingly. An accomplished young forger and potentially worse, by the name of Ernest Cashel, barely twenty-two, drifted up to Calgary from the State of Wyoming and proceeded to test the calibre of Canadian authority. He was arrested, but escaped from the city authorities. Then the Mounted Police, whose officer commanding at Calgary was Superintendent Sanders, D.S.O., were called upon and discovered that Cashel had stolen a pony at Lacombe to help in his escape. Shortly afterwards D. A. Thomas, north of Red Deer, notified the Police that a relative, J. R. Belt, had disappeared from the latter's ranch east of Lacombe. Constable McLeod investigated and discovered that when Belt was last seen a young man, who gave himself the name of Elseworth, was staying with him. The description indicated that Elseworth and Cashel were one and the same. Belt's horse, saddle, shot gun, clothes and money, including a $50.00 gold bill, had vanished. It looked like a murder case, and so Superintendent Sanders put our old friend Constable Pennycuick, who had unearthed O'Brien in the Yukon, on the trail of Cashel. Every detachment of the Police was put on the scent. In a while a man, answering Cashel's description, stole a diamond ring up in the edge of the mountains and, despite great cunning, was arrested by Constable Blyth at Anthracite. He was wearing some clothes like Belt's and had the diamond ring. Then Constable Pennycuick, hearing that Cashel had been staying at a half-breed camp near Calgary, went there and got some clothing Cashel had left there. Part of it was the rest of Belt's corduroy suit. Pennycuick also got track of the $50.00 gold bill which had been seen by some of the half-breeds with Cashel. Pennycuick traced Cashel's route from Belt's to near Calgary with Belt's clothes, horse, saddle and the aforesaid $50.00 gold certificate. But thus far there was no evidence that Belt was not alive somewhere, and so Cashel was tried for stealing and sentenced to the penitentiary. Two months later the river gave up its dead, and the body was identified by certain marks and by an iron clamp on the heel of the boot. Bullet holes in the body of the same calibre as the revolver and rifle carried by Cashel completed the evidence. He was brought back from the penitentiary, charged with murder, and after a trial in which he was brilliantly defended by Mr. Nolan of Calgary, was sentenced to be hanged. But the end was not yet. John Cashel, a brother from Wyoming, had come up and was given permission to see Ernest in the cell. As he entered the chaplain was leaving and the guard being relieved. Taking advantage of the situation, John Cashel slipped his brother two loaded revolvers with which that evening Ernest held up the unarmed Constables and made his escape. It was a dark night, with heavy snow falling, and this clever and daring criminal well armed got clear away. Then the alarm was sent out, detachments were notified and Commissioner Perry, accompanied by Inspector Knight, went up to Calgary to take personal direction of the search. Evidently, as happens in such cases this outlaw had friends, who, supplied him with information, telling him what was being done and to add to the confusion, people all over the country became nervously excited and began "seeing things," so that several supposed Cashels were reported from a dozen directions. A drunken half-breed in Calgary caused excitement by telling that he had Cashel tied up in his camp, but the cool-headed Sanders saw through his yarn and locked up the half-breed for being drunk and disorderly. Superintendents Primrose and Begin, on the Commissioner's orders, sent patrols out through the ranches. Here they came across ranchers who had been held up for food and money by a man whose description tallied with that of Cashel. As the Police could not cover the whole country, some civilian volunteers were called for and these were placed along with police detachments. Finally Sanders mapped out the country, got detachments together to the number of five under Major Barwis, Inspector Knight, Inspector Duffus, Sergeant-Major Belcher and himself, and the order was to search every building, cellar, root house and haystack with instructions that if they found Cashel they were, if human life was to be saved thereby, to set fire to the building or stack where he was and smoke him out. The detachment under Inspector Duffus, consisting of Constables Rogers, Peters, Biggs, Stark and McConnell, while searching Pittman's ranch 6 miles from Calgary, came across Cashel in the cellar. He was found by Constable Biggs, who was fired at by Cashel out of the dark hole. Biggs returned the fire and backed up the steps to tell the rest. Constable Rogers then ordered the men to surround the house and sent word to Inspector Duffus, who came and called on Cashel to surrender. But he would not answer and the building, a mere shack, was set on fire. When the smoke started, Cashel agreed to come out and was arrested. This was the close of an arduous hunt, a great many of the Police having been almost continuously in the saddle day and night in cold weather for weeks. They were determined that no one should boast of eluding the Police by making a clear "get away." This time there was no escape, and the daring murderer was hanged in Calgary, first confessing his crime to the Rev. Dr. Kirby, his spiritual adviser. Once more the unbreakable net of the famous riders of the plains had been thrown out to show that the whole country became a prison for anyone who offended against its laws. It was perhaps the recurrence of cases of this kind where the Police were proving the enormous value of the Force to the country that caused Superintendent Primrose in 1903 to make a plea for some increased recognition of his men. In his report he says, "In nearly every walk of life in the past twenty years wages have gone on increasing, but, I regret to state, the same scale of wages still obtains in the Police Force. For instance, I am at present employing a constable on detective work whose pay is seventy-five cents a day for which we have to pay a Pinkerton man eight dollars a day." And it is no disparagement to the Pinkertons to say that the Police could give them some "pointers" when it came to work on the frontiers. The question of pay for their men was a constant anxiety for the officers, who were themselves receiving a mere pittance in comparison with the salaries paid to men of equal education and experience in other departments of the civil service. So we find, in 1904, that fine officer, Superintendent Wood, in the Yukon making reference to the fact that though an increase of pay had been granted to others the pay of the Police had remained practically the same since their organization. Wood feels that it is humiliating for the men. "A constable's life," he writes, "is not altogether an enviable one. He is liable to be exposed to the inclemencies of the weather at all seasons of the year, and is at times called upon to risk his life in the performance of his duty. He is under much closer and severer restraint than private individuals." This is putting it all very mildly, as was the manner of the Police when they were speaking of themselves. Then Wood goes on to say, "It is of importance that a member of the Force should be made to feel that his position is an honourable one, and that he is entitled by virtue of his office or calling to the respect of the community at large. This state of things could be arrived at if he felt that his position was equal to those in other walks of life, and that his services were rated equally as high. But the mere fact of his receiving 50 cents to 75 cents a day with his food and clothes while carpenters, blacksmiths and labourers on the outside receive five times as much and in the Yukon ten times as much, is enough to instill a feeling of inferiority so far as his calling is concerned." This is an important view. And Wood in the same report emphasizes his argument, though he does not refer to it in that connection, that the Police are expected to do work as mail-carriers, postmasters and such like, outside proper police duty, because the country could not get civilians to do it at the remuneration offered. The whole thing troubles Wood, who was of a sensitive temperament and very anxious to retain high-class men in the Force. And so he refers to it again in the following year and says that a constable who was a skilled mechanic and was saving the country great expense by looking after the manufacture of stove pipes, tinware, etc., had been offered as much an hour by town merchants as he was getting in a day in the corps on the scale allowed by the Police Act. And Wood, who feels keenly for the men, says, "Our poor circumstances are so generally known that it has become usual to send members of the Force complimentary tickets for entertainments and reduce the fees in clubs and societies for them." Probably what was in the minds of those who sent tickets and reduced fees was that it was an honour to have with them the men in scarlet and gold who made human life and property safe on the frontier and whose standards of manners and education made them most desirable company. But the comparative poverty was there amidst abounding chances to be rich in the gold country and elsewhere in a new land. Men who served through the dangerous formative periods of Western history died poor in worldly goods. It is a fine thing to know that all through the years these men out of the sheer love of adventure and their high ideals of devotion to duty did such service, but the facts should not be lost sight of when the pensions of the "old guard" survivors are being considered from time to time. The quality of the non-commissioned officers and men is often brought out in their detachment reports. These reports reveal not only men of ability and insight, but throw light on the kind of people these Police in the north had to guide. Sergeant Frank Thorne, for instance, was in charge at a place called Tantalus. The man who gave that name to the elusive mining prospects of the region had a sense of humour and the fitness of things. Thorne says, "Hundreds of people landed at Tantalus en route to the new White Horse diggings. Most of these people had been misinformed as to the best place to start from. I informed some of them, but found that a person with gold fever is very unreasonable and stubborn. Those that returned this way wore a very dilapidated and sorry appearance." But the Police, I suppose, helped them out of their troubles, for these red-coated giants did not lose their humanitarian disposition even amidst the follies of the foolish. And the Police knew well the strain under which these deluded and disappointed people often found themselves, for Wood tells us of the Police at Dawson and White Horse having as many as forty lunatics committed to their care in a single year. This involved heavy and anxious work, and the Superintendent shows the spirit in which it was done when he laments the lack of suitable accommodation and fears lest some of these unfortunates may hurt themselves in the unsuitable quarters provided. Speaking of the humanitarian disposition of the Police, one finds many incidents to show how they resented offences against the helpless, and how relentlessly they brought the perpetrators of such offences to book. In the same year, 1904, of which we have been writing, Sergeant Field, of Fort Chippewyan, to whose rescue of a lunatic we have already referred, got word that an Indian had, at Black Lake, 250 miles away from the Fort, deserted two little children, two and three years of age and that these two children according to the testimony of other Indians had been devoured by wolves. Part of the clothing had been found and all around the blood-stained ground was trampled by wolves. The Indian was at Fond-du-Lac, but could not be advantageously arrested unless Field could get some evidence from others who were not there. So Field bided his time till all the Indians were at Fond-du-Lac in the summer. Some eight months had gone by, but Field did not forget. Fond-du-Lac was several hundred miles from Fort Chippewyan, but Field got there at the proper moment, arrested the Indian, took the witnesses along and started for Edmonton, where the Indian was tried and given a term in the penitentiary. It had cost Sergeant Field a strenuous trip by trail, river and train of nearly eighteen hundred miles, but he had by his action told the Indians of the whole region to deal properly with their children and their old people. A very remarkable case in 1904 was that in which after an extraordinary display of mastery over difficulties, the Police under Staff-Sergeant K. F. Anderson (now Inspector) brought one Charles King to justice for the murder of his partner Edward Hayward, near Lesser Slave Lake in Northern Alberta. The case was not only a portrayal of the persistent methods of the Police, but it threw a fine sidelight on the way in which the Police had won the friendship of the Indians through guarding the Indians against exploitation by white men. It moreover gave a good exposition of the Indians' unique powers of observation. [Illustration: CORONATION CONTINGENT. LONDON. 1911.] [Illustration: CORONATION CONTINGENT. LONDON. 1911.] [Illustration: INDIANS RECEIVING TREATY PAYMENT ON PRAIRIE.] [Illustration: FORT FITZGERALD, ATHABASCA.] [Illustration: ICE-BOUND GOVERNMENT SCHOONER.] In October, Moos Toos, the headman of the Indian Reserve at Sucker Creek, came to Sergeant Anderson and told him that white men were cutting rails on his Reserve. Anderson immediately went over with the Chief and found men employed by a very prominent firm of contractors cutting rails. The Sergeant stopped them at once and made them pay the Indian for what they had already cut. This, of course, was pleasing to Moos Toos, who, on returning home with Anderson told the Sergeant that some days before, two white men with four pack-horses had come from Edmonton and camped on the Reserve near a slough. They had stayed there some three days or so and then one of them left, but there was no sign of the other. An Indian boy had noticed that the dog that had come with the white men would not follow the one that left. This was observation number one. Then some Indian women, as their custom is, went over to the place where the men had camped to see if anything was left that might be of service. One Indian woman noticed that the camp fire-place was much larger than required for ordinary use. Another Indian woman stood at the edge of the fire-place and looking up noticed, on the underside of the leaves of a poplar tree, globules of fat where the thick smoke had struck the cool leaves and the evaporating fat had condensed. She said, "He was burning flesh in this fire." These two things, added to the fact that a shot had been heard by other Indians in the direction of the white men's camp, made them suspicious. They told Moos Toos, their headman, and he, in recognition of the goodness of the Police to him, told Anderson about it, and added that he thought something was wrong. Anderson thought so too, and with Constable Lowe went down to the place. They raked in the ashes and found fragments of bone and other substances which they carefully sealed up and kept for analysis. Moos Toos, who was on hand with some of his Indians to help, found a large needle with the eye broken, then by going barefooted into the slough where the water was four feet deep, discovered a camp-kettle which some of the Indians had seen with the white men. Later on Moos Toos and Lowe found in the slough a pair of boots in one of which was stuffed a rag with various articles, including the other part of the broken needle. In the meantime, Anderson had got into touch with the surviving white man at the home of a trader some distance away and asked for his story. This man, who gave his name as King, said that his companion was a man he had overtaken on the trail over the Swan Hills. His name, he said, was Lyman, and he had been on the way on foot. King said Lyman had left the camp on foot for Sturgeon Lake and that he supposed he was on the way there. Anderson sent out in that direction, but there was no trace of such a man at any point, and a Hudson's Bay employee who had just come from Sturgeon Lake met no one on foot and there was no trace on the trail of anyone so travelling. Anderson and Lowe then arrested King on suspicion and held him while they pursued further investigations. Anderson was convinced that the bed of that slough, if uncovered, could unfold a tale. And so he hired the Indians to divert it by digging a ditch that would drain it into Sucker Creek a half-mile away. It was quite an undertaking, but the Indians, who have lots of time on their hands in the summer and fall, offered to do the work for a hundred dollars. The work was well done and Anderson's expectations were not disappointed. He found amongst some minor articles a sovereign-case which was fairly conclusive evidence that the man who had vanished from the earth was probably an Englishman. The sovereign-case was traced back to the manufacturer in England and to the man who had sold that number to a certain Mr. Hayward, a man up in years, then deceased. The clue was followed up and a son of Mr. Hayward was found who recalled that his father had presented a sovereign-case to another son when that son left for Canada. The son who had gone to Canada was known to be in the Edmonton and Northern country, but the people at home had not heard from him for some time. Regardless of expense and without delay, the Police brought Hayward all the way from England to Edmonton for the trial. He identified the sovereign-case as the one given by his father to the missing man Edward Hayward. A specialist in analysing had been brought from Eastern Canada who pronounced the blood, brains and bones found in the ashes of the camp fire to be human elements. There were some twenty witnesses in the case, those outside the Police being Messrs. J. K. Cornwall, George Moran and the rest half-breeds and Indians. Once more the police had the chain of circumstantial evidence welded solidly link by link. King was declared guilty, but on a legal technicality a new trial was ordered. By this time the witnesses were all back home. But they were brought back, including the brother of the missing man from England. The verdict again was guilty and King paid on the scaffold the penalty for his mean and cold-blooded murder of a travelling companion. A very curious thing in this trial was the sworn statement of Hayward, the witness from England, that his sister had told him there, the morning after the shot was heard by the Indians near the Lesser Slave Lake, that she had dreamed that their brother Edward had died by violence in Canada. This was not offered or accepted as evidence, but was mentioned incidentally as at least an extraordinary coincidence. The Mounted Police were evidently determined not to allow crime to make any headway because if the impression ever got abroad that men could play fast and loose with law and go unrebuked, there would be no end to it. So we find Superintendent Sanders saying again that the Force should have more men to cope with the demands of the immigration movement. "It is only natural," he says, "to expect that a percentage of criminals should accompany a large migration into a new country. A malefactor who finds it necessary to lose his identity for a while cannot choose a more convenient location than a country just filling with new settlers and where one stranger more or less is not likely to be noticed." This is sound reasoning, and Sanders is looking into the future when he is asking for men enough to deal with the new order of things so as to prevent trouble in the future. "Once," says he, "get the new-comers within our gates imbued with the proper respect for British law and British justice, and prevent the criminal element getting a foothold, and a work will be accomplished of inestimable value hereafter." And up in the Yukon, Assistant-Commissioner Wood, out of wide experience, says, "It is a well-known saying that prevention is better than cure, and any innovation in our system tending to the prevention of crime in Canada, and more particularly in the North-West and the Yukon Territories, is to be welcomed." And then Wood goes on to advocate the adoption of certain methods for the detection of criminals which for that period showed that these men were keeping a little more than abreast of their times though they were on duty in the wilderness places of the earth. He advises the establishment of a Criminal Identification Bureau at Ottawa with branches in all the cities and at the headquarters of each division of the Mounted Police Force. He goes on to define methods by photographs of every one arrested, measurements under the Bertillon system and the use of the finger-print method, which he quite properly declares, as we now know, to be the most infallible means of identification. That Wood had made a special study of the subject is evidenced by the fact that he backs his argument by appeal to history. He says the finger-print system had been in use in Korea for 1,200 years as a means of identifying slaves and was adopted in India in 1897 as a way of preventing impersonation amongst the natives. The Scotland Yard authorities accepted the system in 1898, which was the year of the Yukon Gold Rush, and it is very interesting to find the Officer-Commanding on that frontier being so forehanded as to be amongst the first in Canada to advocate the use of methods now generally adopted. These men of the Mounted Police were wide awake and were determined, we repeat, to prevent the criminal class from getting a foothold in this country. It is interesting to find in the same period that the Police never seemed to forget. As related above, Fournier and LaBelle had been executed in January, 1903, for the murder of Beaudien and Bouthilette. A third man of the same party had vanished at the same time, but no body had been found. Two years afterwards a body was found in the river, taken to Dawson, the clothes removed and washed by Sergeant Smith and the body identified by these clothes and a paper dried out, as the body of the third man, Alphonse Constantin. Thus was the fact of his death established in the interests of relatives and estate--a matter of vital importance for the satisfaction of all concerned. And thus did the curtain fall on the final act in a dark tragedy of the North. But all these incidents were making for the future peace of the country. It was the establishment of the "Pax Britannica," as Commissioner Perry said with justifiable pride in the record the Police had made throughout the years. He quotes the words of a famous Indian Chief to which we have already called attention in the chapter on Indian treaties when that Chief, referring to the Police, said, "Before you came the Indian crept along. Now he is not afraid to walk erect." "For thirty-one years," said Perry in 1905, "neither white man nor Indian has been afraid to walk erect, whether in the great plains, the far North or the distant Yukon." And even at the time he was writing those words Corporal Mapley was on patrol over an unknown route from Dawson to the Peel River, Inspector Genereux of Prince Albert was away on a 1,750-mile trip North, of 132 days by canoe and dog-train to investigate a case of alleged murder, Sergeant Fitzgerald was on patrol to the mouth of the Mackenzie River and Inspector Moodie was establishing new posts around the Hudson Bay--all having a reassuring and stabilizing effect on the vast uncivilized North land. And again turning to another side of their work there were many cases that were charged full of a Victoria Cross type of valour which went unnoticed except as things done in the ordinary course of duty unless some tragic element intervened to call special attention to it. Constable Pedley, of Fort Chippewyan, for instance, a noted trailmaker, had made many a trip (as others did) fraught with tremendous hardship. But it was not till one day when he broke for a while under the tremendous strain that his extraordinary efforts got into the light of public notice. Here is part of his modest report when he was detailed to escort a lunatic from Fort Chippewyan to Fort Saskatchewan: "I left Chippewyan in charge of the lunatic on December 17, 1904, with the interpreter and two dog-trains. After travelling for five days through slush and water up to our knees, we arrived at Fort McKay on December 22. Owing to the extreme cold, the prisoner's feet were frost-bitten. I did all I could to relieve him, and purchased some large moccasins to allow more wrappings for his feet. I travelled without accident until the 27th, reaching Weechume Lake. Here I had to lay off a day to procure a guide as there was no trail." This is put with great suppression of anything like telling what a difficult time he was having, but again we read between the lines. The trip is "without accident" but there was "extreme cold." Pedley was nurse and doctor as well as guard over the unfortunate madman who raved as they travelled along almost impossible roads. Then Pedley goes on: "I arrived at Lake La Biche on the 31st, and secured a team of horses to carry me to Fort Saskatchewan. I arrived on January 7, 1905, and handed over my prisoner." Pedley had spent his Christmas and New Year not in a happy social circle, but in the company of the unhappy victim of insanity. And he ends his report by saying, "During the earlier part of the trip the prisoner was very weak and refused to eat, but during the latter part of the trip he developed a good appetite and got stronger." Pedley's care was improving the madman's condition, but it was taking it out of himself. The unfortunate was transferred to Calgary guardroom, and that Pedley's nursing had worked a change is evident because Assistant-Surgeon Rouleau reports that it was "a remarkable case." He was taken to hospital and discharged in February. Says Rouleau, "His mind and speech were as good as ever. His life was saved." But the sequel is told in Commissioner Perry's report, "Constable Pedley began his return trip to Fort Chippewyan. When he left Fort Saskatchewan he was apparently in good health, but at Lake La Biche he went violently insane as a result of the hardships of his trip and _his anxiety_ for the safety of his charge. He was brought back to Fort Saskatchewan and then transferred to Brandon Asylum." But we rejoice that this is not the end. Perry goes on, "I am glad to say that after spending six months there he recovered his mind and returned to headquarters. He was granted three months' leave and is now at duty as well as ever." And that this gallant man who was not conquered by cold and danger was not going to be conquered by the recollection of the breaking of a cord that had been subjected to too great a tension is attested by Perry's closing reference: "In spite of all, he has recently engaged for a further term of service." Comment on this is unnecessary. It is like a flash which dispels the night in a prairie thunderstorm. CHAPTER XIV ON LAND AND SEA Reference has been made several times to the studied and determined reticence of Mounted Policemen concerning their own achievements. That characteristic is stamped on all their reports and probably accounts for the fact that no member of the corps would ever attempt writing a full record of its work as a nation-builder. And any outsider who knows the country's history, the manner of life on the frontier and who has also been in contact with these scarlet-coated riders, not only finds it necessary to read between the lines for the facts but will enjoy the ingenious efforts of these men to avoid anything savouring of egoism. Without being so intended some of these reports are positively humorous on account of this determination to keep "display" in the background. Here is a gem of that type. It is a report written by Corporal C. Hogg, who was stationed at North Portal on the Soo Line near the international boundary. Such localities are often a sort of "No Man's Land" where would-be desperadoes think they can set law to defiance. Corporal Hogg's report of an evening's proceeding in that region, with a foot-note by his superior officer who had received it, makes interesting reading. We quote them in regular order as follows: "On the 17th instant I, Corporal Hogg, was called to the hotel to quiet a disturbance." Hogg put the state of disorder mildly. He proceeds: "I found the room full of cowboys and one, Monaghan or 'Cowboy Jack,' was carrying a gun and pointed it at me, against sections 105 and 109 of the Criminal Code." It was taking long chances, but the Mounted Police generally waited for the other man to start things. In this case they were started right there and then. For the Corporal goes on to say, "We struggled." This is terse, but it involved much more than was said, as will later appear. "Finally," proceeds the Corporal, "I got him handcuffed behind and put him inside. His head being in bad shape I had to engage the services of a doctor who dressed his wound and pronounced it as nothing serious. To the doctor Monaghan said that if I hadn't grabbed his gun there would have been another death in Canadian history. All of which I have the honour to report. "(S.) C. HOGG, Corporal." The Officer who received this report puts on the finishing touch by a memorandum upon it to this effect: "During the arrest of Monaghan the following property was damaged: Door broken, screen smashed up, chair broken, field jacket belonging to Corporal Hogg damaged, wall bespattered." It looks as if Monaghan's ancestors may have hailed from Donnybrook, and it must be admitted that he lived up to the traditions of Fair day in that region. But he had never met a North-West Mounted Policeman before and would probably be wiser in the future in regard to raising a "disturbance" when one of them was at hand. Another evening a "bad man" from Idaho "blew in" to Weyburn. He was a sort of travelling arsenal and got very bold when he got into an unarmed Canadian town. He began shooting holes in verandahs, and if any one went to look out of a window the Idaho desperado threatened to "make him into a sieve." A prominent citizen was made to hold out his hat as a target for this pistol artist. This citizen remonstrated and warned the Idaho man that there was a Mounted Policeman not many miles away who would probably hear of the situation and come over. This enraged the "gun-man," who offered to bet that no Mounted Policeman could arrest him, adding, "if he comes to butt in to my game I will eat his liver cold." A telephone message was sent to Corporal Lett. It took some time to ride in, but Lett located the Idaho citizen terrorizing a bar-room. Lett walked in and the Idaho man had his gun up in a second. No one knew just how it happened, but Lett sprang at the desperado. There was a grapple and a fall, but when they got up Lett had the Idaho "gun" in his hand. The rest was simple. The gun-man had to hold out his hands for the "bracelets." Whether he paid the bet or not no one has recorded, but Lett got an extra stripe for his daring. This recalls another real incident which my friend, Robert Stead, the well-known writer, has put into verse under the title, "A Squad of One," though he gives fictitious names. A certain Sergeant Blue of the Mounted Police who was alone at a prairie post got a letter from a United States Marshal asking him to find and arrest two men who had committed murder and escaped to our side of the line. There was always cordial reciprocity between the police officials along the boundary, and so the Marshal warns the Sergeant to send out his strongest squad of men to make the arrest of these fellows, for he said: "They's as full of sin as a barrel of booze and as quick as a cat, with a gun, So if you happen to hit their trail be sure to start the fun." The Sergeant was alone, but started out next morning clad as a farm labourer, called at the farm suspected, found the men with shooting-irons, but got them talking and then got them separated and bagged them both at "the nose of a forty-four." And when he got back to his lonely post he wrote and mailed the following note: "To U.S. Marshal of County Blank, Greetings I give to you: My squad has just brought in your men and the squad was, Sergeant Blue." Of a different variety but with the same brand of cool courage is an old friend Donald McRae, still speaking with the Gaelic accent and now living in Vancouver, who when I saw him first wore the scarlet and gold in Steele's command. We were in action and McRae was shot rather severely in the advanced skirmish line. The ambulance men were on hand in a few minutes, but McRae refused to leave his position. He said he had half his cartridges left and would not budge till he used them. He stayed there till he used them, and years afterwards our gallant old Commander, General Strange, grizzled soldier of the Mutiny, met McRae on the coast and said jocularly to some in the company, that he had seen lots of service but that this Mounted Policeman was "the stubbornest man he had ever met." General Strange had Scottish ancestors and while quite stern about it at the time of the incident probably rejoiced in secret at McRae's tenacity. These stories have been thrown in to indicate that all over the country the Police in their determination not to allow lawlessness of any kind to get a hold on the country, were doing remarkable exploits without advertising. But we exhume them from old documents to show how these things were done. And so as we resume our story we find Superintendent Wood in 1905 up in Dawson busy with the finger-print system in which he, as before mentioned, was a pioneer believer. Thus when a cabin had been robbed of a gold watch and other valuables, Wood was satisfied, without any other clue to the thief, when he found a finger-print on a lamp-chimney which the man had to light in order to see what he could annex. Then Wood proceeded to hunt for a criminal of the thief class, for he says, "It is well known that the criminal class at large are segregated into groups according to the line to which their abilities are applied." By following this idea he settled on a group of five who would likely do that sort of thing. Four of them did not answer to the finger-print test, but the fifth showed a facsimile of the print on the lamp-chimney. He was the man. So the Police were making it daily more impossible for criminals to ply their trade even in the remotest points. In those days in quite another direction and with the purpose of inquiring into the possibilities of the Hudson Bay and Arctic regions, Inspector J. D. Moodie was engaging in his explorations, and his reports, with those of Starnes, Beyts, Pelletier, Howard, French, Sellers, Rowley and others, are being consulted anew in view of the project of railways to the great bays of the North. Some of these famous patrols we shall discuss later. But speaking of railways it is interesting to find statements from that observant officer, Superintendent Constantine, who despite the fact that his health had been undermined by the hardships of the Yukon was still on duty in the Peace and Athabasca regions. In 1907 he discusses the development of the Peace River country from an agricultural standpoint. He covers very carefully the great areas that include the Grande Prairie, Spirit River, Fort Vermilion and the rest and makes careful analysis of their agricultural capabilities. He sees great possibilities, but places forcibly in his report the absolute need of railway communication with the eastern centres before much can be expected. His forecast has proven correct in every particular. These regions now have railway and river transportation and are prospering accordingly. One wonders now why extracts from the reports of these men on the ground were not put before the people in general instead of being allowed to suffer from being buried alive in the departments of Government. All through these official reports from the Mounted Police officers and men, we find statements and suggestions that might have influenced the progress of the country greatly had they been given wider publicity throughout the years. The Yukon country was undergoing a good many changes. The mad rush of miners into the Mining areas had dwindled away and big companies with new hydraulic processes were crowding out the individual miners and causing them to seek new fields for exploitation. But the vultures and vampires of human society were slow in letting go their victims, and the Mounted Police had to be constantly on the watch to prevent the unwary and the foolish from being caught in their dens. That reliable officer, Inspector Wroughton, who was in command at Dawson City in 1907, says, "Dance-halls and their accompanying evils have been more or less accountable for a good deal of the existing crime. But for these institutions the wanton and the sneak-thief and the confidence man and woman would find their opportunities seriously curtailed. During the last session of the Yukon Council, I am glad to state, the ordinance licensing these places was repealed after a hard and bitter struggle. This does not mean that the evils are entirely eradicated. Our great difficulty is to get evidence. It is, however, more difficult now to carry on evil businesses." The law in the Yukon as elsewhere was fulfilling the function assigned to it in the famous words of Gladstone, "A good law is intended to make it easier for people to do right and harder for them to do wrong." That great mining frontier, with its money-mad and heterogeneous population (albeit there were many splendid people there), was at the same time the problem and the glory of the men in scarlet and gold. It was their problem because the criminal class which always makes a dead set on a frontier was determined from the outset to make the Klondike country a sort of hell on earth, and it was their glory because they prevented the thug and the outlaw from getting a foothold where the old flag flew. There also the lawless individual sought to get away to some other clime, for he said there as he said in the mountains, "These blamed Mounted Police won't give a man a chance." That was one of the biggest testimonials ever given to guardians of the law in any country. It is not at all generally known that a real "red" revolution that aimed at seizing the banks and mines with the hope of dividing the spoil amongst the "revolutionists" was planned in the Yukon a decade or more before the Bolshevistic terror was let loose in Europe. "Soapy Smith" the unsavoury but reckless gunman of Skagway, had developed a school of imitators. There were probably a couple of thousand or so of these tough characters scattered all through the north country camps, and the idea was to rally them to a centre, overpower the few policemen, establish a sort of "liberty" government, seize the money and anything else that could be carried, divide it up and then scatter to the outside before any reinforcements could come to the aid of the Mounted Police from the East. It was an ambitious programme and the "revolutionists" had gone some distance in their preparations. They had arms stored in certain localities, they had a seal for the temporary government (which seal I have personally seen), they had maps prepared indicating the centres to be attacked as well as a record of the Mounted Police posts with the number of men in each. But these same Mounted Police were not asleep. They never hunted after publicity for themselves. They never thought of the grandstand. It would have been often more spectacular to have allowed things to come out into the open and then fight them in a dramatic way. But the preventive power was what they preferred to exercise. It brought them less advertisement and public notice, but it was best for the country and that was the main thing with the scarlet and gold men. So Superintendent A. E. Snyder, who was in command at White Horse, where the principal leaders of the plot had, unfortunately for themselves, located, discovered the half-hatched conspiracy. A knock-about kind of fellow who had a wholesome fear of the police gave Snyder a hint about some meetings in a stable loft. Snyder got his men to search the stables and they discovered some incriminating literature as well as the White Horse seal of the "republic," which latter Snyder still has in his possession. Then he wired to Superintendent Primrose at Dawson and to Comptroller Fred Whyte in Ottawa, at the same time dispatching Inspector Horrigan to Skagway to put the matter before the American officials. This energetic type of action frightened the conspirators. They scattered to the four winds and most of them rushed out of the country. It was "good riddance of bad rubbish" and the Canadian authorities decided to let it drop at that point. But the incident, which hardly anyone outside the police officers above mentioned knew anything about till some years had passed, is another proof of the statement that the Mounted Police have headed off more crime without killing than any other body of men in the world. In his report for 1908 Commissioner Perry quotes with justifiable pride from a judgment given in an extradition case by Mr. Justice Hunt of the United States Federal Court. Counsel for one Johnson who was fighting extradition put up the plea that Johnson would not get a fair trial in Canada and the Judge answers that plea very squarely in his pronouncement. He felt that a strong case had been made out against Johnson, and he practically ridiculed the suggestion that Johnson would not get fair play north of the line. The Judge said in part, "The fact that the officer (Mounted Police) who made the arrest of this defendant promptly notified him that whatever he said would be used against him, is a powerful bit of testimony, tending to show the care with which officers of the law proceed under British systems of government. Extraditing a prisoner for trial in Canada is not like returning him to a country where the institutions and laws are so at variance with our own that the courts might be apprehensive that he might not be protected, but in ordering that he be returned to Canada, certainly the courts in the United States will proceed on the well-founded belief, justified by the light of experience, that he will be afforded ample protection and that no injustice will be done him. The testimony of the defendant regarding a conspiracy against him, and his statement that he cannot get a fair trial, do not appeal a particle to a Judge sitting in a proceeding of this kind. He will get a fair trial up there." [Illustration: HERSCHELL ISLAND. YUKON TERRITORY.] [Illustration: ESQUIMAUX VISITING R.N.W.M. POLICE TENT.] [Illustration: BARRACKS AT FORT FITZGERALD, GREAT SLAVE RIVER.] [Illustration: R.N.W.M. POLICE SHELTER, GREAT SLAVE LAKE.] [Illustration: CABIN OF REV. FATHERS LE ROUX AND ROUVIER. Murdered by Esquimaux, as found by Mounted Police, September, 1915.] And it is very interesting to find in the same year Superintendent Wood, who was in command of the Yukon country with headquarters at Dawson, standing up against reports in Eastern papers which stated that the enforcement of law is lax in that country and morals at a low ebb. Wood heaps up testimony to the contrary. He quotes from two Judges, Dugas and Craig, both widely known and respected, who affirm that law is enforced there as well as anywhere else, and that there are few cities where men and women can go about at any hour as freely and safely as in Dawson. The minister of a prominent church wrote to the London _Times_ and said, "Regarding Dawson, our city is most orderly and seldom is a drunken man seen on the streets. The Mounted Police rule with a firm hand, and life and property are safer in Dawson than in London." A gentleman who spent eleven years in Dawson, interviewed in 1907 in an Eastern city said, "I have seen more trouble and immorality here in a week than I saw all the years I was in Dawson." And Wood winds up by the strong admonition of a man who will not allow his corps to be slandered for laxity in law enforcement: "Let those who are so anxious to redeem the people of this Territory commence their crusade in their own city or town. Judging from the outside Press there are few if any places in Canada that can presume to give Dawson a lecture on morals." But the Yukon service where the Police were at the beck and call of every case of need or distress or danger, no matter how much hardship and exposure they involved, was taking its toll. The men of the corps were paying the price for the proud privilege of preserving the Pax Britannica in a remote region inhabited by a mixed population and showing a record for justice and law-enforcement such as no area of a similar character in any part of the world had ever seen. For in that year 1908 Inspector D'Arcy Strickland, an officer of kindly generous nature, who had gone into the Yukon with Constantine at the very beginning, died at Fort Saskatchewan, the report stating that he had never recovered from the effects of that pioneer service in the North. In the same year Inspector Robert Belcher, C.M.G., who had won that decoration in the Boer War, retired after thirty-four years' strenuous service. It was Belcher and Strickland who had first flown the flag and established custom-houses amid the snow and blizzards and tremendous cold of those deadly summits of the White and the Chilcoot passes in the days of the gold rush. Wood himself, and Constantine the pathfinder, never threw off the effects of the Yukon days, though the former moved back as Assistant Commissioner to the prairie and the latter did much strenuous work in the Athabasca district where conditions were almost as severe as in the Klondike country. Many others there were, gallant officers, and no less gallant men, who bore the mark of their northern vigils and patrols to the end of their days. And this applies not only to the men of the Yukon but to those who in the Hudson Bay, Peace, Mackenzie and Athabasca areas were abroad in polar seas or on land that for months was hidden deep by snow and ice. The year 1908 witnessed some notable trips and patrols. In order to wind up all matters connected with the Peace-Yukon trail Inspector A. E. C. Macdonnell was instructed by the Commissioner to proceed from Fort MacLeod via Calgary, Vancouver and the Skeena River to Hazelton in British Columbia to dispose of stores that were there and bring the horses back to Fort Saskatchewan. The Peace-Yukon trail was begun in order to have a road to the Yukon mines over British territory, and during its construction a great deal of valuable information as to the country was acquired and given out in reports by the Mounted Police. But the dwindling down of the rush to the mines rendered the trail practically unnecessary. The British Columbia Government did not desire to assist and police detachments could not be spared, hence Macdonnell's trip. It involved a route by saddle horse and pack train of over 1,200 miles, but it was carried out in perfect order. Inspector J. D. Moodie, a noted sea and land patrolling officer, was asserting the jurisdiction of Canada in the regions of the Hudson Bay where there was much trading by people from the outside. Sergeant McArthur, who held a lonely post at Cape Fullerton, receiving word that the natives were being urged by traders to kill musk-ox contrary to law, undertook on his own initiative, in the Arctic midwinter, a patrol which lasted fifty days. Sergeant Donaldson, soldier and sailor too, who was to meet a tragic death the next year, made a dangerous voyage from Fort Churchill to Fullerton and return. A patrol with mail went from Regina to Churchill, Assistant Surgeon LeCroix being sent with this patrol. Staff-Sergeant Fitzgerald, hero of many trails, and who also was to find a tragic end in the "white death" frosts of the Yukon, made that 1908 winter a patrol in a whaling ship to Baillie for the purpose of ascertaining the condition of the natives and asserting Canadian jurisdiction. Superintendent Routledge, going from Regina to Smith's Landing, some 1,100 miles, looked into the matter of wild buffalo herds, as did Sergeant Field and Sergeant McLeod, who went from Fort Vermilion to Hay River on a similar errand. The most extensive patrol of that year was the one undertaken by Inspector E. A. Pelletier, who, accompanied by Corporal Joyce, Constable Walker and Constable Conway and at a later stage by Sergeant McArthur, Corporal Reeves and Constables Travers, McMillan, Walker, McDiarmid and Special Constable Ford, left Fort Saskatchewan on the 1st of June for Athabasca Landing on the way to Hudson Bay via Great Slave Lake, which latter point they left on the 1st of July. They in due time reached Chesterfield Inlet on the Hudson Bay. They were met at that point by Superintendent J. D. Moodie with the Hudson's Bay steamer _MacTavish_ (called after a famous Hudson's Bay Company family). By this boat Pelletier and his men started for Churchill, but the _MacTavish_ in a storm was driven on a reef and totally wrecked. The men all escaped and went to Corporal Joyce's lonely post at Fullerton. Pelletier was anxious to go on to Churchill, but had difficulty in persuading even the natives to go, for they said, "No one travels in December and January--the days are too cold." But the Inspector was thinking of others and writes in his report: "I knew what a lot of anxiety the delay of this patrol would cause and we hurried preparations." The trip was fraught with constant danger from cold and privation, but they made Churchill on January 11. Pelletier modestly says they did not suffer and shows how well off they were when he can state that their dogs were never without food for more than four days at a time! The men ran out of sugar and coffee, but he makes light of that, though both are a great help on a cold journey. They met no natives from whom their stocks of deer and other skins could be replenished, and so when they were stormbound for a day here and there they darned and patched so as to prolong the life of their shoes. The Inspector lets in some light on the general situation when he writes: "The worst feature of a long journey like this in a country where no fuel is to be procured, is the absolute impossibility of drying clothing, bedding, etc. The moisture from the body accumulates and there are no means to dry clothing to get rid of it in any way, and every day sees it harder to put on in the morning and the beds harder to get into at night, until both clothing and bedding become as stiff as a board from the ice. It is a very uninviting task and disagreeable procedure getting into an icy bed at night and in the morning getting into icy clothes." When both clothes and food were frozen and even the prospect of getting an occasional piece of driftwood was dim, one can imagine the situation and wonder at the endurance as well as the daring of these men. And when this state of affairs is realized one can appreciate the action of Constable Ford as related by Corporal Reeves and forwarded in the usual way by Superintendent J. D. Moodie, from Fort Churchill. Some driftwood had been secured, and clothes dried when the party, consisting of Sergeant Donaldson (in charge), Constables Reeves and Ford with two natives, were off Marble Island and anchoring their boat, the _MacTavish_ (which was wrecked later, as mentioned). Ford went over to another island in a small boat to get some walrus meat, as they sighted some walrus there. He came back and reported having killed some, and the three constables went over to cut off their heads and bring these over. As they were engaged in this task it began to get dark, so Donaldson and Reeves left for the _MacTavish_ with some heads, leaving Ford on the island to cut up the rest of the meat and one of the natives would come back for him later. On the way to the _MacTavish_ a walrus struck the boat and Donaldson was drowned, but Reeves, who had done his best to help Donaldson, managed to swim back to the island where Ford had been left. Reeves was completely numb with cold and weak with his struggles. There was no means of getting a fire on that island, but gathering all his strength he shouted in the darkness and Ford, who had not seen the wreck, came to his help. Reeves writes vividly of an act of sacrifice on the part of his companion: "By this time I was very numb and helpless through being in the water so long and getting into the night air, which was very cold. My clothing being soaked through, I would certainly have perished had it not been for Constable Ford, who took off my wet clothes and gave me his dry ones--wringing out as much water from my clothes as he could he put them on himself." Then, in this icy suit, Ford searched all night for Donaldson in vain. It was running a most desperate risk of losing his own life, and if done under the eyes of others would have been declared as valorous as the deed of any man who ever rode back to rescue a wounded comrade under fire of the enemy. Inspector Pelletier's patrol returned to Regina after nearly a year's absence, during which they travelled by trail and water about 3,500 miles, a most extraordinary feat. The report of the patrol decided some important points as to the nature of the country, the conditions of the natives and the places where detachments of Police should be located. Up in the sub-Arctic regions in the other directions, the Mounted Police were keeping their lonely vigils and making their hazardous journeys. Staff-Sergeant (later Inspector) Fitzgerald, who after several years in charge at Herschell Island was relieved in 1909 by Inspector Jennings, gives a little pen-picture of the place when he says, "Herschell Island is one of the most lonely places when there are no whaling ships. There is no place one can go except to visit a few hungry natives, and there is no white man to visit nearer than 180 miles." After speaking highly of his comrades, Constables Carter and Kinny, he refers to one journey incidentally and says, "The heavy ice between Kay and King points formed large pools of water and we struggled with the large sleds all day, sometimes up to our waists in water." One wonders how these men stood it. The Commissioner was right when he indicated that service in the north required men of robust health and hopeful temperament. Inspector A. M. Jarvis says the sailors regard Herschell Island as a "blowhole." The wind blows one way or the other constantly, and he quotes the captains as saying that "a nor'-easter never dies in debt to a sou'-wester." But Jarvis introduces a fine human touch when he says of the inhabitants, "They are quite religious, holding services on Sunday and doing no work on that day. They neither beg nor steal, and slander is unknown amongst them. They are as near 'God's chosen people' as any I have ever seen. After my experience of this world I could almost wish that I had been born an Esquimaux. They are very fond of their children and take the greatest care of them. The children never require to be chastised and are very obedient. One never sees any quarrelling or bickering amongst them. They show the true sport in their games of football and baseball. The other day I noticed a crowd of little tots, in their skin clothes, playing on the snow for several hours as though they were in a bed of roses." This is a delightful picture and in rather painful contrast to our more artificial life, so that one can understand Jarvis' wish. These policemen had a fine regard to the human side of the world's work, and often indicate their keen desire for the things that they deem in the highest moral interest of their districts. In the year we have been discussing, Inspector Horrigan went from Dawson to the Upper Pelly River to look into the matter of a supposed murder and to bring about a reconciliation between two groups of Indians that had fallen out about something. He found that the Blind Creek Indians were in the wrong and effected a better understanding all around. Of the Indians on the Upper Pelly, he writes in his report, "The Pelly Indians are sober, honest and provident. Morally their standard is very high. It seems too bad that so far no provision has been made for a school for the children, as they are a very bright, clever-looking crowd. I see a great field here for good, active Christian work." This is finely spoken--a good admonition both to Church and State--but incidentally also a rebuke to certain phases of a so-called higher civilization which often gives to the unspoiled children of nature its worst rather than its best features. And up in the Mackenzie River district where we left Inspector Jennings in charge we find that able officer also engaged in prescribing certain rules regarding the conduct of visiting ships which tend to ward off from the unsuspecting natives some practices which would not be for the good of these innocent people. Down in the Middle West the Mounted Police were having difficulty with people whose type of religion, being unmixed with intelligence, led them into fanatical excesses. The Doukhobors, or "Spirit Wrestlers" as their name means, were a body of people who had come from Southern Russia, where they had not enjoyed anything like liberty. When they arrived in Winnipeg, where I recall speaking to the first band through an interpreter, they sent back a cablegram to their friends, which was shown me at the time by Mr. McCreary, Commissioner of Immigration at that point. The cable read, "Arrived Canada safe are free." The change was a little too much for them, and they did not realize that they were not free to become nuisances to others. They were ignorant, illiterate, but had the merit of being conscientious and being willing to suffer for conscience' sake. This latter characteristic always prevented me from condemning them wholly. Once their ignorance was removed they would become industrious and orderly citizens. But in the early stages they were fanatics and used to go on pilgrimages, they said in search of Christ. Inspector Junget, Sergeant (now Inspector) Spalding and others of the Police had a lot of trouble in rounding them up, giving them food and preventing them from shocking communities by their parades. The Police used great tact and in the end succeeded in impressing these strange people with some sense of responsibility. In the midst of the difficulty a half-crazed man named Sharpe crossed from the States with some others. He said he was "Christ" going to "God's people, the Doukhobors," but as he was heavily armed and threatened to shoot anyone who tried to stop him, his claim was naturally rejected. Inspector Tucker and a detachment went to see Sharpe and reported that an arrest could not be made without shooting, so it was decided to wait and watch. Sharpe sent the following letter to Tucker: "To save bloodshed use some judgment. I will not give up alive, so some of us would be shot. If I have to continue amongst sinful men I had rather die. No one can say that Jesus is the Christ only by the Holy Ghost. The spirit came to Christ in the form of a dove. It came to me in the form of a lion. When the Doukhobors receive me, then the Lord will prove me and your eyes can open wide." But the Doukhobors were getting their eyes open and the Police, rather than kill anyone, pursued a waiting policy with close supervision. Finally Peter Veregen, the czaristic leader of the Doukhobors, warned the Doukhobors not to receive Sharpe. This nonplussed the fanatic, who had come possibly with an eye to business. He expressed disgust at the way the Doukhobors were in subjection to Veregen, "But they must be the people of God," he said, "or they would not be in such subservience. Veregen has a fine graft and I would like to run the spiritual side of the business for him." However, the redoubtable Peter wanted no partner, so Sharpe and his following crossed back to the States, informing Constable King, who saw them safely across, that "they would be back next spring." However, they came not. The Doukhobors, particularly the new generation, have made much progress and have prospered in establishing some useful industries. But for several years they were a source of a good deal of anxiety to the red-coated riders, who wished to guide them to better conditions without harshness. Events have justified the attitude of the Police. Of course, these law-enforcers still had the ordinary class of offenders to deal with, for crimes like horse-stealing and "cattle-rustling" die hard. For instance, a man named Marker, then south of the line in North Dakota, who, having been allowed out on bail by the Canadian authorities, when he was under a charge of horse-stealing, lost no time in going across beyond the reach of the Mounted Police. Corporal Church, on detachment work, kept his eye on the border for a sight of Marker, who might come over to replenish his stock of horses. Church got word of his intention at a given time, and taking a man named Kelly with him he rode all night, and finding a companion of Marker's, he got the information that the horse-stealer would likely cross over some 20 miles westward. Their horses were pretty tired, but Church and his men kept on, and concealed themselves near a trail crossing the boundary about that distance away. In a few hours Marker and another man rode over and Corporal Church, galloping up to him, ordered him to halt. Marker wheeled, drew his revolver and made for the line. Kelly headed him off and Marker shot at him, but missed. Kelly then charged, knocking both Marker and his horse over. He quickly remounted and rode on, but Church intercepted him, telling him he would shoot if he did not stop. Marker attempted to shoot the constable, but his revolver missed fire. Church then shot Marker's horse and captured the horse-stealer before he got to the line. Church then hired a team to take the prisoner to the detachment headquarters. But when the wagon on a winding road seemed to be on the American side of the line, Marker threw himself from the conveyance and reaching a house at the spot, rushed in and slammed the door. Church reports: "I forced the door open and was met by a blow in the eye from Marker, who had taken his spurs off and used same as a weapon. I grappled with him and threw him on the floor, and with assistance tied his hands and feet after a good rough and tumble scrap." Church had done his duty surely, but whether lawyers and surveyors would prove that the arrest was made a few feet over the line or not we cannot say. The lads of the scarlet tunic always got their man, but the courts sometimes let him go again. In support of the position taken by Superintendent Wood, already quoted in regard to the orderliness of the Yukon, it is interesting to quote from Inspector Wroughton, who was in command of the Dawson Division. He says, looking back over 1908, "I am pleased to report that there has been very little crime in this district during the last eleven months and, I might say, none of a serious nature." In the list of cases for gambling and such like one can gather from the names that the Mounted Police did not confine their efforts to suppressing gambling amongst aliens as some have done elsewhere. The majority of names mentioned are of our own race. The Mounted Police played no favourites. In his report for 1910, Commissioner Perry makes the almost incredible statement that twenty-five new detachments have been established during the past year without any increase in the strength of the Force. The corps seems to have had all through the years an extraordinary elasticity. It seemed to be able to stretch itself over constantly growing areas of settlement and to meet the situation created by the increasing tide of immigration that was flowing over the great new West. That could only be effected because of the superior quality of the individual men, their ability to act separately and upon individual initiative. They did not require to have mass formation to keep their courage up to the necessary pitch. And still better they had the training that would make them reliable in judgment when sudden and unexpected conditions arose. Perry's policy to have a goodly number of men always in training at headquarters so that unready recruits should not have to go out to face emergencies, was being approved by events as highly statesman-like. But he was right in constantly keeping before the Government the need for increasing the numbers of the Force, because, although the men were wonderfully efficient and could be trusted even in "detachments of one," the fact was that burdens were laid upon one man that should have been borne by two or three. To many a man the increase in the number of detachments meant doubling his hours in the saddle and lessening his hours for recuperation. One wonders that more men did not break down under the strain. But for their invariable high calibre this would have been the result. An indication of the way in which the arduous labours of the Police were appreciated is found in the 1909 report of the Commissioner of Agriculture in Saskatchewan, who speaks of the "invaluable assistance given by the officers and men in enforcing the various ordinances of the department. In particular I refer to the Horse-breeders Ordinance, the Fire and Game Ordinances and the Public Health Act, the latter calling for vigilant work in patrolling foreign settlements quarantined for outbreaks of infectious and contagious diseases. Had it not been for the excellent service rendered to the department by this hard-working and highly-trained force of men, the spread of disease would probably have reached epidemic proportions." Speaking of the kind of men required to keep up the reputation of the Force, Commissioner Perry has this illuminating statement: "We require sober, trustworthy men; those who are not, only remain in the Force until they are found out." During the year 1910, there were some notable changes in the Force. Wood, who had served for thirteen years in the Yukon, ten of which as the highly efficient Officer Commanding, was promoted to be Assistant Commissioner; Starnes, who had done difficult work in many places, latterly in the Hudson's Bay district, was promoted to the rank of Superintendent; Sergeants Sweetapple, Raven, Fitzgerald and Hertzog became Inspectors; while two excellent officers, Inspector John Taylor, son of Sir Thomas Taylor, Chief Justice of Manitoba, and Inspector Church, the famous riding master, were called by death. Superintendent Cortlandt Starnes gives a rather chilling picture of the Mounted Police surroundings at Fort Churchill where the weather indicator was for months hitting the bottom of the thermometer bulb, and where there was a general monotony in surroundings. He says, "The place is a dreary one, and there is nothing in the way of recreation for the men except reading and no place to go except the Hudson's Bay post and the English Church mission on a Sunday." This is a good tribute to the self-sacrifice of the missionary. Starnes goes on to say, "There was a gramophone, but it is broken and out of order. The mess-room is a cold and forbidding place." Starnes has a good appreciation of the value of some cheerful environment for his men, for he says, "I have had some chairs put up instead of the long benches, and I have requisitioned for a few pictures to put on the walls. I would also like to have the tin plates and cups replaced by the ordinary white crockery, or crockery of a cheap standard pattern." Starnes is not extravagant in his requisition. Canada is a rich country, and these men holding her lonely outposts deserve consideration, but some picayune arm-chair censor may cut things out, and so the Superintendent goes warily, but he will not desist altogether because he knows the place better than the censor, and he knows that his men should have some reasonable comforts. "A small billiard table," he says, "and some additional books and magazines would be acceptable. The library is well patronized, but in a year's time the most of its books will have been read." A year is quite a while to wait for a mail. It was at a post something like this one that one early Hudson's Bay Company official heard of the Battle of Waterloo a year after it happened. But he held a celebration even then, for were not these grim old traders men of British stock who were holding a new Empire for the British Crown? Of course, things were improving since the advent of the Mounted Police, for they had instituted what Inspector Jennings facetiously called a "rural mail delivery" through regions near the Pole. Jennings himself and his men had patrolled through snow and ice very extensively that year, and the sense of humour that could speak of this white wilderness as a "rural route" would be a saving make-believe in the midst of Arctic blizzards. And the thought of bearing a loving missive to solitary men from friends thousands of miles distant, might well thrill the imagination of these knights of the modern day. CHAPTER XV GLORY AND TRAGEDY IN THE NORTH In the recent Great War a somewhat casual visitor was present when a vagrant shell smashed the refreshment dug-out where a young Red Cross man was handling some comforts for the khaki-clad boys near the front line. And when the alarmed visitor explained to the dispenser of refreshments, "I would not stay here for a hundred dollars a day," the answer came back swiftly but kindly, "Neither would I." He was not there for the hope of gain, but out of a sense of duty and adventure so strong that both danger and remuneration were forgotten. There was a good deal of this spirit manifest in Mounted Police history from the beginning. Not the pittance in the way of pay drew men to the corps, but the love of the adventurous and the desire to do work in the out-of-the-way places, where new trails had to be blazed beyond the accustomed sky-line. This was especially true of the men who served and volunteered to serve again in the vast spaces of the white and frozen North. Not for a hundred a day would they have so risked their lives, as others risk them still in that region. It was because the jurisdiction of their country's flag had to be asserted, and because lonely outposts and scattered groups of sometimes starving natives challenged the best that was in them, that these uniformed crusaders went out again and again on their hazardous patrols. And so, when in 1911 Inspector Fitzgerald, Constables Kinney, Taylor and Special Constable Carter, four men of the finest type and the most thorough experience in those desperate, trackless and frozen areas, men cast in so fine a mould that some of them were to be selected for the King's Coronation, perished on a patrol from Herschell Island to Fort Macpherson and Dawson City, Canada was stabbed broad awake to what the men of the Force had been doing for their country in those Arctic lands. It seems as if such catastrophes are periodically required to make a selfish world aware of what some men are enduring in order that others may live in comfort and ease. But the world does not always receive such lessons in the right spirit. The tendency is rather to raise a protest against the authorities who permit men so to sacrifice themselves. Thus, when those four gallant men fell in the Northern wilderness, the first note from the press seemed to indicate that this patrol was an exceptional occurrence, and that it should not have been allowed to take place in view of the possible sacrifice it might involve. This gave Commissioner Perry, than whom no one was more deeply distressed and grieved at the tragic event, an opportunity to remind the country that such patrols had been for years a common and every-day event in the work of his men in the North. From year to year, under the Polar sky, in scores of different directions, the Police had carried on this work, performing definite duties, carrying mails, visiting camps of Indians and Esquimaux who were the wards of the nation, maintaining law and order beyond the confines of civilization and generally exercising a wholesome oversight in the loneliest spaces in the world. "This is dangerous work," wrote the Commissioner; "in our rigorous winter climate and in spite of every precaution, a tragedy may occur at any time. It does not deter our men from seeking service there, and it is to the North many prefer to go." The spirit of adventure was in the blood of these men, and the tragic possibilities which no one foresaw as well as they did themselves erected no barrier which could discourage them in their endeavours. If there was the constant looming up of danger through the "white death" fog, there was also the glory of adventure under the flashing splendour of the aurora borealis. [Illustration: R.N.W.M.P. BARRACKS, CHURCHILL, HUDSON BAY.] [Illustration: POLICE WITH DOGS AND EQUIPMENT ON SPLIT LAKE. N.W.T.] And when Commissioner Perry wrote in his report as above quoted, he was able to support his statement by actual facts from that very same year. He said: "All over the North-land members of this Force are carrying out these difficult journeys. Attached to this report you will find many reports of equally dangerous patrols. Sergeant Hayter, 700 miles return journey from Fullerton along the West Coast of Hudson Bay to Rankin Inlet, to meet Sergeant Borden, who went up from Fort Churchill, carrying mail and taking a census of the Esquimaux; Sergeant Walker from Fort Churchill to York Factory and return; Sergeant Nicholls from Norway House to Fort Churchill and return to Gimli; Sergeant Edgenton from Split Lake to Fort Churchill, arriving with dogs abandoned by the way, and three days without food; Sergeant Munday from the Pas to Lac de Brochet and return, 900 miles in fifty-one days; and Sergeant MacLeod from Fort Vermilion across the Caribou Mountains to Great Slave Lake." This is a most formidable list, and to anyone who knows the country and the climate it affords the imagination a moving panorama, in which constant danger and almost incredible endurance are portrayed. All this forcibly reminded Canada of the devotion of her sons in the Northern hinterland, and that was the purpose of it being definitely stated. And it gives us a sort of veneration for the memory of the four men of the Fitzgerald patrol whose magnificent strength, after having been tried and proven on many similar journeys for years, succumbed before a combination of intolerable cold, blizzard-swept trails, unfamiliar river passes, shortage of provisions and starving train-dogs. For it was the death of these men that brought home to the people the astonishing achievements and heroisms of Canadian chivalry on the frontiers. Fitzgerald himself, as we have already seen, had been famous for years as an intrepid patrol man, and had been promoted to the rank of Inspector for his services. All the others, Kinney, Taylor and ex-Constable Carter, had been more than once mentioned in dispatches. This is a legitimate expression, because in reality the Mounted Police were always on active service, and their merits were made known in the reports of their superior officers. Strangely enough, from the human viewpoint, it was at Fitzgerald's own request that he was selected by the Commissioner in 1910 to take command of the Mackenzie River district. It was only the year before that he, then a staff-sergeant, had handed over that district to Inspector Jennings, but after receiving his promotion, Fitzgerald heard the insistent call of the great familiar North so overwhelmingly that he asked to be sent back into the white wastes again. And further, to vindicate some divine purpose running through it all, he suggested the patrol in that direction himself. The patrol had always been from "Dawson to Fort Macpherson and Herschell," but Fitzgerald asked to have its order reversed, and offered to go from Herschell Island to Macpherson and Dawson, from which latter point he could get into touch by wire with headquarters at Regina and report on his district. To this the Commissioner agreed, and so notified the Comptroller at Ottawa, as well as the officer commanding at Dawson, who was told to expect the patrol from Macpherson about the end of January. When the patrol started from Fort Macpherson everything seemed favourable for a mid-winter trip. The men were all in fit condition, thoroughly acquainted with conditions of winter travel, and so keen to make a record journey that they did not burden themselves with more food than necessary for themselves and their dogs, of which they had fifteen for their three trains. The sequel proved that had they been able to keep the route they would have made Dawson in good shape. The trouble came upon them when neither map nor compass or any previous knowledge availed them in the maze of rivers and mountains that lay in their way. Taylor and Kinney had never been over the route, Fitzgerald had been over it once on another trail from the Dawson end. Carter had been over the new trail once a few years previously, but he, too, had come over it from Dawson to Macpherson, and a route with its piloting marks of bluffs and trees or banks by the way-side looks quite different when traversed the opposite way. Carter was a powerful, experienced and thoroughly reliable man, who had seen much service in the Force. Though not in the corps at the time of the patrol, he had been confident of his ability to guide the party to Dawson, and Fitzgerald had taken him on in that capacity. The weather was intensely cold, and the going heavy, with here and there the rivers bursting up through the broken ice and creating very difficult trails. But they were all used to that, and did not mind it. Over a portage at a certain point they secured the services of an Indian, named Esau, to break trail and guide them to a certain point from which Carter was sure he knew the way. There the Indian was discharged and returned to his camp, Fitzgerald probably feeling that extra expenditure of Government funds for a guide was not justified when Carter was along. The scene changes to Dawson. The patrol did not arrive when expected, and Superintendent A. E. Snyder, an experienced officer, who was in command there, began to get anxious, and when some Indians arrived from the Fort Macpherson direction he got in touch with them at once. From them he learned that Esau, who had been discharged at a certain point, expected the patrol to be in Dawson many days before the day of Snyder's inquiry. Snyder, fearing the worst, became alarmed. He wired the Commissioner as to the situation, and at the same time called Corporal Dempster from Forty Mile and instructed him to get ready a party to go in search of the lost patrol. The Commissioner flashed back instructions to send out a search party, and it went without delay. It is evident from his telegram that the Commissioner, who knew the perils of the trail and had his hand on every part of the country, thought the trouble was with the failure of the guide, because he asks why the Indian, who was mentioned by Snyder, was discharged, and in order that no undue risks be taken he says, "Send a well-outfitted party." The party sent out was fully up to requirements. Corporal Dempster was a noted traveller of those Yukon trails, and at the date of this writing is out on the same difficult route, his strength unbroken by the intervening years. For his party in search of Fitzgerald he chose Constable Fyfe, ex-Constable Turner, and an Indian, Charles Stewart. They had all been over the country again and again, and so knew it well. They were all eager to go in the hope of reaching their missing comrades. The broad outline of their duty was given them by Superintendent Snyder, with the Spartan simplicity and directness characteristic of the Mounted Police. It ran thus: "Corporal Dempster. You will leave to-morrow for a patrol over the Fort Macpherson trail to locate the whereabouts of Inspector Fitzgerald's party. Indians from Macpherson reported him on New Year's Day at Mountain Creek. Fair travelling from Mountain Creek is about twenty days to Dawson. I understand that at Hart, no matter which route he took, he would have to cross the divide. I think it would be advisable to make for this point and take up his trail from there. I cannot give you any specific instructions; you will have to be guided by circumstances and your own judgment, _bearing in mind that nothing is to stand in your way until you have got into touch with this party_." Dempster and his men made a record trip, both going to Macpherson and coming back. And this they did despite the fact that they had to face high winds, blinding snowstorms and flooded ice, besides searching the rivers that branched off the main route. They arrived back in Dawson on April 17, 1911, gaunt and haggard. "It's the hardest patrol I ever made," said Dempster, and that not by the perils of the way, which he was well able to meet, but because, as had already been told to the world, he had found the dead bodies of his four gallant comrades, where they had perished of cold and hunger on the way. The first two bodies, those of Kinney and Taylor, were found some 35 miles from Macpherson, and those of Carter and Fitzgerald within a score of miles of that place. Only a short day's run from Macpherson. If those who were there had only known, how speedily they would have gone to the rescue! It appears clear from what Fitzgerald had written in his diary, the first date in which was December 21, 1910, and the last February 5, 1911, that not many days after Indian Esau had left, it became apparent that Carter had over-estimated his ability to remember the route which he had only passed over once a few years before, and that the reverse way. Many landmarks may have been removed by fire and otherwise since that time. Poor Carter! I sometimes feel he suffered more than any of them when he found that he could not find the way he thought he knew. How hard he tried day after day, leaving camp with one or other of his companions and going up one river after the other, only to find that they ended as "blind alleys," along which they could proceed no farther. And so Fitzgerald has to write on January 17: "Carter is hopelessly lost and does not know one river from another. We have only 10 lbs. of flour, 8 lbs. of bacon and some dried fish. My last hope is gone, and the only thing I can do is to return and kill some of the dogs to feed the others and ourselves. We have now been a week looking for a river to take us over the divide, but there are dozens of rivers and I am at a loss." One asks why they had not turned back days before, and as soon as they found the route uncertain. The answer is that it was not the Police way to turn back when they were out on a definite errand. These men were of the same calibre as the young constable in the foothill country who was caught in a blizzard while out on duty, and on whose body, as already quoted, was found a paper with the words: "Lost. Horse dead. Am trying to push ahead. Have done my best." But Fitzgerald was not alone, and had to save his men if he could. Kinney and Taylor, less strong than the others, suffered from cold and severe pains, the results perhaps of the dog meat and dog liver diet. The dogs would not eat this food, and so the men gave them the fish they had for their own use. So, in a last effort to save his men, Fitzgerald ordered the return, in the hope of making Fort Macpherson, from which they had travelled over 300 miles. He and Carter could have made it had they not been hampered by the other two, who were sick. But they would not leave them, as shown by the fact that Dempster found the camps each night were only a few miles apart. Finally, it appears that in the hope of reaching Macpherson and getting help Fitzgerald and Carter gave all the food, such as it was, and all the warm sleeping-bags to their comrades, and tried to reach Macpherson, which was only 35 miles away. They made 10 miles and then gave out and fell. Carter was evidently the first to go, for his body was laid out, his hands crossed, and a handkerchief put over his face. Then the gallant Fitzgerald succumbed, first having written with a charred stick on a paper found in his pocket his will in the fine words: "All money in dispatch bag and bank, clothes, etc., I leave to my dearly beloved Mother, Mrs. John Fitzgerald, of Halifax. God bless all. F. J. Fitzgerald, R.N.W.M.P." Many times have the initials of the old corps been written in important and honourable connections, but never with greater honour to the Force than when they were thus set down with the thought of his mother and a benediction for all by the numbed fingers of the heroic Inspector who was faithful unto death. When Dempster and his men found the emaciated bodies and the mail which the dead men had carefully guarded they covered the bodies over reverently with brush, for their dogs were too far spent by the hard, swift trip to draw them, and went on to Fort Macpherson with the sad news. Those at Macpherson never dreamed but that the four strong, splendid men who had left them weeks before had long ere the date of Dempster's arrival reached Dawson City. The news that now came blanched all faces and cast a great gloom over that little company in the far North. Next morning, March 23, Corporal Somers and Constable Blake got together three fresh dog-teams with which, accompanied by two Indians, Somers started out at noon and returned on the 25th with the bodies of the men who had given up their lives in the line of their duty. A grave was prepared, the only one of its kind in the Northland, where the four bodies were buried side by side, in coffins made and covered with black by Somers and Dempster. The funeral was held in the Anglican Church, that devoted missionary, Rev. C. E. Whittaker, conducting the service in the presence of Mrs. Whittaker, nine white men and the native residents. Dempster says finely here: "Even though the funeral was held in the most northerly part of the Empire, away in the Arctic Circle, hundreds of miles from civilization, I am glad to be able to assure you that everything was done in connection with the last sad rites that could possibly be done under the circumstances, and I am sure that the relatives and friends of the deceased will be glad to know that it was possible to have Christian burial services read by an ordained minister of the Gospel over the bodies of their loved ones." The honours were duly paid also by their comrades, for there was a firing party of five, Somers, Blake, Dempster, Fyfe and Turner, to give the farewell salute at the graveside. In the solitude of the vast Northland the rattle of that musketry would not carry far in one sense, but it awaked echoes in hearts that understood in far places of the Empire. When Commissioner Perry sent his final report on the matter he voiced the feelings of all when he wrote: "Their loss has been felt most keenly by every member of the Force, but we cannot but feel a thrill of pride at the endeavour they made to carry out their duty. I cannot express it better than in the following extract from a letter addressed to me by His Honour the Lieutenant-Governor of Saskatchewan: 'While the occurrence brings deepest sadness to all, we feel that such an event gives greater lustre and enduring remembrance to the splendid Force.'" And Inspector Sanders, then at Athabasca Landing, who knew the men well and had received a report from Corporal Somers, wrote a statement to the Commissioner, in which these fine sentences occur: "It would appear that Inspector Fitzgerald was the last to succumb, and that he and Carter would probably have made Fort Macpherson had they not heroically stood by their stricken and weary companions. The pathetic attention evidently paid by Inspector Fitzgerald to his dead companions was in keeping with his brave and manly character." Memorial services were held in Dawson and other places, and at the service in Dawson Governor Alexander Henderson said: "They did not fall in the shock of battle, but, none the less, they all died nobly in the discharge of their duty and in the service of their country." The members of the Mounted Police Force raised a large amount for the purpose of a memorial tablet, but perhaps the most eloquent, if humble, testimonies were in the wide North, where the men and their achievements were so well known for years. Corporal Somers, at Fort Macpherson, cut a copper camp kettle into strips and engraved upon them the names of the brave departed, while more recently the famous old name of Smith's Landing at the end of the Athabasca River navigation was changed to Fitzgerald as a tribute to the memory of the gallant Policeman whose name was a household word in all that country. The fatal ending of the Fitzgerald patrol remains as the most tragic happening in the long and remarkable history of the Mounted Police. But, as already suggested, it startled our people into a fuller realization of what the men of the Force were and are doing so unobtrusively for the country at such constant risk to themselves. The passing of Fitzgerald and his companions on that frozen way will not have been in vain if our Canadian lads learn new lessons from the men whose silent tents are, at the end of the trail, pitched on the eternal camping ground of Fame. If these lessons of heroism and devotion to duty are learned and practised by the young men of to-day, then that lonely fourfold grave under the Arctic sky will prove to be one of the bulwarks of the nation. CHAPTER XVI STRIKING INCIDENTS The White North was taking its toll of the men who were at the outposts of Empire as exponents of British administration. When Fitzgerald left Herschell Island on his last patrol, Sergeant Selig and Constable Wissenden remained in charge of that remote and lonely point, but in January, despite the efforts of his solitary white companion Wissenden, Selig, after much suffering, passed over the Great Divide. Wissenden, with the help of the natives, made a coffin and placed the body in a storehouse to await Fitzgerald's expected return. Corporal Somers and Constable Blake at Fort Macpherson heard through Hudson's Bay Company men that Selig had died in January, and before they could take any steps to go to Herschell Island, Dempster came from Dawson with the news of the death of Fitzgerald and his comrades. One can imagine the strain upon these men Somers and Blake at Macpherson, and Wissenden alone on Herschell Island, where, besides suffering loss by the death of his companion, he was so isolated from the civilized world that he did not see the face of a white man from November, 1910, till March, 1911. But as soon as Dempster's patrol left Macpherson for Dawson, Somers, who throughout acted with a thorough sense of what was necessary and fitting, left Macpherson for Herschell Island, where he arrived in April. The body of Selig, as above stated, was awaiting the expected return of Inspector Fitzgerald. Instead of that Wissenden received now the news of the death of the members of that patrol, and not only he but the natives of the Island were greatly shocked and grieved. Then the funeral of Selig was held, Somers bringing Mr. Fry, of the Church of England Mission, from Escape Reef for the service. The mourners were the two Policemen and every Esquimaux on the Island, all following behind the dog sled which carried the coffin to the bleak burial ground. "Sergeant Selig," said Superintendent Sanders in his report of the district, "was one of the best N.C.O.'s in the Force." And Fitzgerald, who knew men in that country at first hand, said in his previous year's report: "Sergeant Selig, S.E.A., is a most efficient N.C.O., and has done excellent work in the North. Since he has been in this country he has been on every patrol, both summer and winter. He is a most capable man for any kind of work in the Northern country." He, too, fell like a good soldier, dying at his post, in the swift illness brought on by the terrific exposure of years in the Arctic. The passing of Selig at Herschell Island and in Dawson of Sergeant E. Smith, who had done notable work in the Yukon, as well as the Fitzgerald patrol, showed a heavy casualty list in 1911 as the price of holding the North and protecting its inhabitants. In some other ways that 1910-11 period was quite notable. The years were beginning to tell upon the Force, which was always popularly considered as a corps of young men. But in reality it had travelled through time for wellnigh two score of years, and men who had joined up while scarcely out of their teens had given a long day's work and were entitled to go on the pension list. Most prominent of these was Assistant Commissioner John H. McIlree, who was one of the original group. He joined up when organization was first mooted in the autumn of 1873, coming West over the difficult mud-and-water Dawson Route to the historic Lower Fort Garry, where these pioneers who were to lay the foundation of a famous corps were sworn in by Lieut.-Colonel Osborne Smith, as already related. McIlree was then Sergeant, but in the coming years, by reliable and distinguished service, worked his way up to the Assistant-Commissionership. Before his retirement he received the decoration of the Imperial Service Order in recognition of the contribution he had made to the welfare of the country. Surgeon Pare, Inspector Camies and Inspector A. M. Jarvis, who had won his C.M.G. in the South African War, also retired to pension, as did a number of well-known non-commissioned officers and men, Flintoff, McClelland, Haslett, Nicholson, Butler, Smith, Thompson, Aylesworth and Carter. On the other hand, several non-commissioned officers moved up to the Inspectorship rank; Shoebotham, Telford and Newson, who had done good service on the plains and the Northland; and Beyts, Field and French, whose remarkable patrols on the Hudson's Bay, Athabasca and Mackenzie River areas had attracted wide attention. In that period, also, a detachment consisting of seven officers and seventy-five non-commissioned officers and men, selected from all the divisions of the Force, including the Hudson's Bay and Yukon areas, went over to the King's Coronation. Commissioner Perry accompanied them, and was given a very prominent place in connection with the Coronation ceremonies. The whole contingent formed a special guard of honour on different occasions, and won high appreciation for their splendid bearing and gentlemanly character. For this highly creditable bearing and reputation which reflected honour on Canada they were specially thanked in London by Sir Wilfrid Laurier, who took great pride in the corps all through his public life. And all the time, at the far-flung outposts of the King's Empire, the Mounted Police at home in Canada were keeping the British peace and looking after the administration of British law where the banner of Britain flew. That versatile officer, Superintendent Deane, then in command at Calgary, tells us of a peculiar case which arose out of the disappearance of an eccentric old-time rancher, named Tucker Peach. He had been known for years as "Old Tucker," and it is said that only the postmaster at Gladys, where he got his mail, and an implement agent and rancher, named Jack Fisk, knew the Peach part of it. But Peach had a big roll of money, which had been seen by one or two when he was making purchases, and this old recluse kept it about the shack he occupied, as in his eccentricity he had no use for banks. No kith or kin had he in the country, and he had mentioned to a neighbour that he was going to sell his ranch and go back to England. One day he was absent from his accustomed haunts, but as no one expected that he would say good-bye to anyone his disappearance was not considered in any way odd, and it was not reported to the Police. Some young fellow came to live on the ranch, and he was supposed to be the purchaser or his agent. And as no one on the frontier in those days cared whether his neighbour was a "duke's son or a cook's son," as long as he "played fair," nothing unusual was suspected and things resumed the even tenor of their way. The young man on the ranch later said he was tenant in charge of the place for Mitchell Robertson, who owned it, but who was then working on the train as a brakesman out of Calgary. Robertson had left word with the postmaster at Gladys that any mail coming for Peach should be forwarded to Robertson's address in Calgary. Some months later a body, headless, was found in the river, but it was so decomposed that the Coroner, Dr. Revell, finding no trace of foul play, ordered it buried. It might have been a drowning. Later still, a skull was found near by with a hole in the centre, batting in one ear and a dent on the forehead to one side of the centre. Then Dr. Revell had the body exhumed and called an inquest. The Mounted Police took a hand and Inspector Duffus watched the case. In the meantime, Robertson vanished suddenly off the train, but was caught at MacLeod by the Mounted Police there and brought back to the inquest at Okatoks. Meanwhile, Inspector Duffus got hold of some strong evidence. Ranchers had expressed the opinion that the skull was "Old Tucker's" by its shape and by the batting, and one "old-timer" was found who said the dent in the skull near the side was from a kick by a horse years before, and that he knew it because he had helped "Old Tucker" bind up the wound at the time. Robertson was called to give evidence, and became so mixed in his testimony that Inspector Duffus called his attention to the discrepancies. Robertson would say nothing more and Duffus, with the Coroner's permission, took him into another room, and after warning him asked him if he had anything to say. The result was a full confession of the murder. It appears that Fisk, who was disposed to terrorize people, had told Robertson that he was going to do away with "Old Tucker," and that Robertson must come with him. After it was over Robertson was to have the land and Fisk the horses in the place. They went to Tucker's shack early one morning and, knocking at the door, Robertson told who he was. The old rancher got up and admitted them, and as he was dressing Fisk shot him through the forehead, and putting the revolver into Robertson's hand said, "Now you shoot also," which Robertson did. Then they got the money, hitched up the team and drove to the river, where they dumped the body. But the river again gave up its dead. When the confession got this far word was wired to Calgary, from where three Mounted Police went out in a motor in the night and arrested Fisk, who was taken off guard or he might have made a fight. Both Fisk and Robertson were convicted. Fisk was hanged, but Robertson, who had turned "King's evidence," was given imprisonment for life. The community breathed easier when Fisk was out of the way. A curious and interesting sequel was furnished by a handsome dog, which had belonged to Fisk, and was with him when he murdered Peach. When Fisk was arrested the human-hearted men of the scarlet tunic, who had pursued the inhuman murderer, adopted his innocent dog and called him "Fisk." The dog attached himself to Constable Davis, and was with him when he was shot by "Running Wolf," a desperate Indian whom he was arresting. Then the dog became attached to Corporal Watts, accompanied him for four years on special duty, and was with him at Exshaw, when Watts narrowly escaped death at the hands of a desperado there. Finally, when Watts (now Sergeant, and a man who has seen much service) was moving to Vancouver with the Division, "Fisk," who had become infirm and old, was run over by a street car in Calgary. This star-witness of many crimes, concerning which he could not speak, thus closed an exciting and adventurous career. Back further in the years another case of a somewhat similar type occurred, and all these cases indicate not only the certain and deadly precision of the Mounted Police methods in relation to the capture of criminals, but they also suggest to the imagination what the lonely prairie would have been to settlers without the presence of this watchful corps. The case to which I now refer was one in which the body of an evidently murdered man was found near Lacombe, in Alberta. There was no clue to the murderer, but Superintendent Constantine, himself a keen detective, put Sergeant Hetherington on the trail. Hetherington proved to be a persistent sleuth. All he had to start on was a buckle on the vest of the victim, indicating Kalamazoo as its place of origin. It was a far cry from Michigan, but by process of investigation one James Smith from that State came and identified the body as that of his stepson, whose name was Leon Stainton. The young man, who had some money, had left Kalamazoo, in company with a more or less chance acquaintance, generally called "Bud" Bullock, though his right name was Charles B. Bullock. But Bullock had disappeared, leaving not a trace behind. He was known to be a miner, and Hetherington got on the track of mining areas. He first went to Kalamazoo and got a sample of Bullock's writing from an hotel register. Hetherington did not expect to find Bullock's name on hotel registers after the date of the murder, but the Sergeant studied handwriting and the formation of the letters in the name. Then he came back to Calgary and searched the hotel registers till he got a name where the same letters looked alike. Bullock had changed his name, but he could not get away from the alphabet. Then Hetherington haunted the mining districts all the way from Michigan to the mountains, and searched hotel registers and pay rolls for three long months. That took a lot of dogged determination, but though he was getting new names all along the way the Sergeant detected similarity in letters, and by mingling with the miners, found out where the man had gone from place to place. Then the handwriting would be compared in that new locality. Finally, in Montana, Hetherington found on a pay roll a new name where similar letters corresponded, and the man was at work there. The Sergeant went amongst the miners, recognized Bullock, and putting his hand on his shoulder said, "Hello, Bullock." The man started and said, "My name is not Bullock." "Oh yes, it is," said the Mounted Policeman, "it is Charles B. Bullock, _alias_ Bud Bullock, and I am here to arrest you for the murder of Leon Stainton, near Ponoka, in Alberta." Then the man caved in and said, "I always felt that the red-coats would get me, even if it took years." He owned up, and as it was useless to fight extradition he came back with Hetherington and after trial paid the penalty for his crime. But think of the endless patience and doggedness of Hetherington, who, with only a scrap of handwriting on a fragment of paper, searched for months, day and night, over half a continent for similar letter formations till he landed his man. It was the Mounted Police way. [Illustration: INSPECTOR FITZGERALD. Died on Yukon Patrol. _Photo. Rossie, Regina._] [Illustration: SUPT. CHARLES CONSTANTINE. Pioneer Policeman in the Yukon. _Photo. Steele & Co., Winnipeg._] [Illustration: INSPECTOR LA NAUZE. With prisoners "Sinnisiak" and "Uluksak," at Bernhard Harbour. June, 1916.] In 1912 we find Commissioner Perry still battling to the end that the services of all ranks in his command should receive recognition in the form of higher remuneration for the good reasons that the cost of living was going up; that men in civil life were getting much more for less important and dangerous work, and that the enormously increasing population of the West made ever larger calls upon the efforts and the initiative powers of the officers and men. And the Commissioner, who is always intent on keeping the Force on a high level, said that if the increased pay was granted there would possibly be more applications than vacancies. In such a case he would aim at constantly improving the personnel of the corps by accepting recruits on probation only, by discharging those lacking in energy, intelligence and character, and by making dismissal the most severe punishment that could be handed out to any member of the Force. The Commissioner's far-sighted policy in this and other regards has always told favourably on the high prestige of the Corps. That year 1912 witnessed an unusual number of changes in the Force. Chief amongst these changes was the loss sustained by the death, in California, of Superintendent Charles Constantine, who had served in the Force for twenty-six years, after having seen active duty in the suppression of the two Riel Rebellions. I have already made special reference to the work of this officer, with whom I served when he was Adjutant of the Winnipeg Light Infantry. He never advertised or pushed himself forward, but by sheer force of character his merits became known increasingly throughout the years. His death was widely mourned, not only by his comrades, but by the people of the vast country where he had done so much foundation work. At the time of his passing out, Commissioner Perry, who knew the Force so well, wrote: "Because of his strength of character, sound judgment and physical strength, he was selected for much of the pioneer work of the Force. He was the first to command in the Yukon Territory, and in the early days of the gold rush his tact and firmness established the reputation of that gold camp as the most orderly in the world. Subsequently he was employed in the far North, and in the strenuous work of the Peace-Yukon road-making, contracted the disease which eventually caused his death." Constantine had taken a large share in Western history, and his name will not be forgotten on the roll of the makers of the country. In that same year also two prominent officers who, as this record shows, had done splendid service in very difficult places all over the frontiers, and who had served with distinction in the Boer War, Superintendents G. E. Sanders, D.S.O., and A. E. Snyder, retired to pension. Others in recognition of merit were moved up to fill vacancies, Inspectors T. A. Wroughton, F. J. A. Demers, F. J. Horrigan, all tried men, becoming Superintendents, and such well-known non-commissioned officers as F. A. Gordon, A. E. Acland, J. W. Spalding, T. Dann, and G. W. Currie being promoted to the rank of Inspectors. Dr. S. M. Fraser was raised to the full rank of Surgeon, and Drs. W. H. Mewburn and E. A. Braithwaite, all of whom had been prominent on the frontiers, were made honorary Surgeons. Thus were men coming and going. That year, over 200 recruits were added to the Force, which even then was less than 700 to patrol a territory larger than half-a-dozen European kingdoms. To illustrate how the Mounted Police always sprang in to help in emergencies we recall at that time that a disastrous cyclone hit the City of Regina, where the Mounted Police Headquarters were at that time. Cyclones are rare occurrences in Canada, but after one sultry day this black tempest arose on the prairie and tore through the city, leaving death and destruction in its wake. The whole resources of the Mounted Police were placed at the disposal of the city. Officers and men worked with a will, unresting in their efforts to rescue the injured and make the city safe for the living. Every night till the trouble was over they kept guard over life and property, always in danger at such times, and the following, in a letter from the Mayor of Regina to Commissioner Perry, is a fine testimony. Referring to the work of the various organizations that had been at work during that time of trial, Mayor McAra says: "We have had so much reason to be satisfied with the working of the various organizations that had in charge the different features of the work in connection with this storm that it is difficult to express oneself adequately as to the services rendered by these several organizations. We believe, however, that the services of the various organizations have only been made possible by the service rendered by your Force. I believe that perhaps more was done to establish a sane understanding of the situation by the officers and men of your patrol than in any other way and, appreciating this, it is difficult for me on behalf of the Committee in charge, to properly express the feeling of gratitude we have." Herein did Mayor McAra, who knew the Force well, express a truth that had application not only to the situation after the Regina cyclone, but to the history of the West, namely, that the presence of the Mounted Police made the country safe for those who desired to develop its resources in the ways of industrious peace. As another piece of evidence for the truth of this general statement, let me instance several letters of thanks and appreciation from officials, engineers and contractors on the Hudson's Bay Railway in 1913 to Inspector French, who was in command of the Mounted Police in the district. Vice-President Boyd wrote: "The services of the R.N.W.M.P. have been most satisfactory, the conduct of the Force stationed here and along our works being a credit to the honoured institution of which they are members." Assistant Chief Engineer Garrow: "In my opinion the general good conduct of the men in our employ and the prevention of trouble usually caused by illicit whisky-peddling has been obtained by the systematic campaign that you waged on the opening of this construction. In my personal dealings with yourself, Sergeant Munday and staff I found all courteous, always willing to co-operate and to take prompt action in case of emergency." Mr. M. McMillan, the Chief Sub-contractor, wrote: "I wish to compliment you and the members of the Force under your command on the very efficient manner in which you and they have policed the line of construction of the Hudson's Bay railway. I have never had a gang of men on any contract where there was less friction and less whisky on the work than on this job, and I realize that it is to you and your Force that we owe this state of affairs. I trust we shall all be together on the Nelson end of the steel." This, we repeat, is another instance of the way in which the men in scarlet and gold provided an environment and an atmosphere in which the industrial development of the country could be carried on under conditions that made for success. While never taking part with either employer or employed, the firm, impartial and tactful Mounted Police Force often became a living windbreak against social tempests, which without it might, at times, have thrown both sides into confusion and have wrecked projects that were vital to the progress of the Dominion. While going through old annual reports of the work of the Police one is struck by the frequency with which one comes across deeds of heroism, which were only noted formally in a few lines at the time, and which have lain buried out of sight ever since. But if they had been done on other fields they would have won wide publicity and many decorations. There is not much of a thrill playing on the surface of a report given by Constable Wight, who was the whole detachment at a village in Alberta. But one cannot read it in a short paragraph without finding between the lines a lot of danger in small compass. A man named Winning, who perhaps presumed on his name, decided at 1 a.m. that he did not like the room the night clerk had given him at the hotel, and wanted it changed. Rooms were not plentiful in these small places, and there was no other to be had, on finding out which, Mr. Winning, after raising a general disturbance to the discomfort of the other guests, went away and came back shortly with several sticks of dynamite. He said he was going to blow up the hotel, and this declaration did not add to the peace of mind of the hotel clerk and the guests. The town constable was on hand, but the gentleman with the sticks of dynamite flourished them, and said he would blow the constable to fragments if he interfered. Mounted Police-Constable Wight, who was some distance away, was awakened and told of the situation. Meantime, Mr. Winning, who had not committed any overt act, had retired to a camp near by with his high explosives. But Constable Wight got an information sworn out against him for having an explosive in his possession with intent to endanger life, which was putting it mildly enough when he was in fact dealing with a man running amuck with dynamite playthings. However, this served the purpose of Constable Wight, who rode out to the camp and arrested the man, explosives and all. It was not a very pleasant undertaking, but that did not count for anything with a wearer of the scarlet tunic out on duty. Several times in this book has come the necessity for expressing regret that there is no decoration for valour in time of peace corresponding to the Victoria Cross in times of war. Of the two we have good ground for thinking that a gallant deed done in peace time in cold blood and with a full sense of the danger, is at least as great as the same kind of deed done when the blood is hot with battle and the risk is unknown or unconsidered. Take, for instance, the case of Constable Moorehead, as related not by himself (the Mounted Policeman's eleventh commandment is not to talk), but in a letter to Superintendent Primrose from Dr. Nyblett, the coroner near Nanton, Alberta, where was a reducing plant of the Natural Gas Company. The letter says, "It was reported to Constable Moorehead that some men were suffocating in the high-pressure station and he immediately rode over." He had no orders to go except from his own conscience, but there was no hesitation, though he knew the supreme danger. The letter goes on. "There was a disconnected four-inch pipe, with a pressure of 125 pounds to the inch, in the building, and Constable Moorehead could see one of the bodies moving and he thought there was life." It was probably being moved by the terrific gas pressure. "Moorehead placed his hat over his mouth and went in; on getting near the bodies the jet of gas struck him and blew him to the other side of the building; there he groped for the door, but was too nearly unconscious to find it. Another man who had come up saw him and was able to reach in and pull Moorehead out. When Moorehead recovered consciousness he found a bar and prised off some of the corrugated iron near the bodies. He then crawled in through the hole with the other man holding his feet, and pulled out one of the bodies; he then went in again and got another. He was so weak and exhausted by this time that he had not strength to pull the third out, but crawled in and tied a rope to it, and after it was pulled out did the same with the fourth." "Unless one was actually there," says the coroner, "it would be very difficult to realize just how plucky this act was. The pressure of the escaping gas was so great that the caps of the men were held up against the roof of the building, and the poisoning by this gas in large quantities is instantaneous." We have not read anywhere in the annals of war a finer tale of gallantry. Constable Moorehead got another stripe for "conspicuous bravery" and became Corporal, received a small grant from the fine fund, and at a full-dress parade of the Division was presented by Judge McNeill with the bronze medal of the Royal Canadian Humane Association. All this was very suitable, but I still think there is room for a peace-time decoration up to the level of the Victoria Cross. During the year 1912 there was constant oversight exercised in the Hudson's Bay and Mackenzie River districts, as well as in the Yukon. All this involved much dangerous patrol work, but it was carried out without any untoward happening. Superintendent Demers, Inspectors Beyts and French were in the former districts with a small but excellent body of men; Superintendent Moodie and Inspector Acland were in the Yukon and White Horse districts. In the Yukon there was a serious case of dynamiting dredges which Sergeant Mapley handled with great ability. Patrols and general oversight by these non-commissioned officers and constables may, to the superficial onlooker or reader, seem of no great value, but these men, by tact and firm, friendly dealing with the natives and traders, really introduced a new code of ethics in the Northland. The questions at stake may not have been very large ones from our standpoint, but the ownership of a sled-dog or the fairness of values in exchange of furs, were as important to the children of the wild as the possession of a province might be to people in Europe. And in these local matters these patrolmen became recognized as fair and impartial adjudicators whose word was law. Thus were new ideals as to the rights of property and the sacredness of life being inculcated in the vast spaces of the Arctic. And these sturdy, courageous Policemen became so greatly interested in their strenuous work that they were always ready for a larger venture. It is interesting to find Corporal C. D. LaNauze, after returning from a patrol of some fifty-two days and over 1,000 miles, writing: "I cannot speak too highly of my dogs. I would like to see how far I could go with this train." Well, he was to get his opportunity to find out shortly. Whether with that train of dogs or not we cannot say, but when the opportunity came he used it to the limit. There were some lonely places. Sergeant Edgenton, a noted patrolman in the Arctic, writes as to Cape Fullerton on Hudson Bay: "Fullerton during the winter has been very lonely. Constable Conway and myself and two natives were the only persons there." And it is rather a striking instance of Police methods to find Edgenton putting in the usual detachment report and, under the head of discipline, speaking highly of Conway: "I have had to leave him alone during my patrols, and always found everything in good order on returning. He is a good man for duty in the North, and has made several patrols in very cold weather." Other men well known in that district were non-commissioned officers like Sergeants Handcock, Belcher, Currie, Mellor, LaNauze, Jones and several Constables. And, like the army of Sparta, which was the wall around that country, "every man was a brick." CHAPTER XVII THE GREAT WAR PERIOD The year 1914 gave us in history the spectacle of world-wide sword play, the rattle of machine-guns, and the roar of heavy artillery, along with an unprecedented loss of human life. It saw the British Empire, taken unprepared save for the Grand Fleet, hurling itself against the most colossal war machinery the world had ever seen assembled by one nation. And it saw this because Britain, pledged by a "scrap of paper," ordinarily called a treaty, to preserve the undamaged neutrality of Belgium against Germany or any one else, counted no cost too great for the maintenance of her sacred honour. But that fateful year saw our men not only on the field of struggle, but witnessed our people, whom the necessities of the case forced to remain behind, steadily keeping the wheels of industry turning at the base of supply, preventing internal discord and maintaining the integrity of the country unbroken, despite hostile influences that were at work. It is a common expression that when the Empire is at war Canada is at war. That saying has been proven again and again till it has become an undisputed axiom. It had been demonstrated before 1914, and then demonstrated again, till it needs no further proof. It is part of the Empire's history that the far-flung colonies of Britain are at her side when danger threatens their mother. Hence, at the sound of the war trumpet, Canadians rushed to the Colours. Amongst the first who desired to be sent to the Front after the general call had gone out were the Royal North-West Mounted Police, who hoped to go as a unit. The request was made at the outset, renewed in 1917 and 1918. But the Canadian Government, fully aware of certain conditions in the country, not only refused this request, but ordered that the Mounted Police should be reinforced by the enlistment of 500 more men for important duty in Canada. What those duties were could easily be gathered from the general situation. At the beginning, the United States did not go into the war, and the authorities there, who have always worked in friendly co-operation with our Police, intimated that there was a good deal of pro-enemy activity amongst alien elements south of the line. The American authorities would not knowingly allow their country to become the base of hostile operations against us, but, as in the case of the Fenian raids into Canada, it was possible for enemies along a 3,000-mile border to elude them and cross over to make serious trouble for us. Hence it was necessary that an experienced body of men should patrol the boundary region, and the riders of the plains were the only men who could carry out that task. Later on, when the United States entered the war, this work became unnecessary, but there was still special need for the vigilance of this famous corps, whose great record and prestige gave such unique authority to their presence in any locality that nothing more was necessary. There were 175,000 German and Austrian settlers in the prairie sections of Canada, a quite formidable army if mobilized. It was specially necessary that the Government of the country, backed by visible authority, should see that this large number of people was prevented from making any hostile demonstrations against the flag under whose shelter they had sought new homes. And it was equally desirable and British to see that these immigrants, as long as they observed and respected the laws and institutions of the country whose citizens they had become, should not be irritated or persecuted by perfervid and unthinking loyalists. An immigrant cannot help his racial origin, and if the country has thrown open its doors to his coming to help in its development, and if he becomes a law-abiding Canadian, he is entitled to protection. To the credit of all concerned, it is good to be able to say that there was no trouble worth noting. There were some tried and convicted for seditious utterances, but, generally speaking, they were not of alien race. Doubtless the German in the middle west of Canada was glad to be away from the cast-iron military system of his Fatherland, and the Austrian was pleased to be out of the "ramshackle Empire"; while at the same time, the Canadians around, like true British men, were willing to let these immigrants make good in this land of the second chance. But both were helped in their good intentions by the tact and firmness of the riders in scarlet and gold. Besides all that, the Government knew perfectly well that a time of war is fruitful in opportunity for the man who wishes to upset human society by revolutionary methods. Hosts of the cool-headed thinking men are away at such a time, and in the general confusion the faddist and the anarchist get a chance to put their theories into practice. But, as Thomas Carlyle said, "It costs too much to have a revolution strike on the horologe of time to tell the world what o'clock it is"; and so it was important that destructive movements should be held in check. And, accordingly, the Dominion authorities felt that the Mounted Police should be on the ground. Further, in order that the Mounted Police could have an oversight of conditions and situations which, though more pronounced at some points, were in reality nation-wide, the Dominion Government decided that absorbing the Dominion Police, the famous Royal North-West Mounted Police should have their jurisdiction extended over the whole of Canada, from the Yukon and the Arctic clear across to the Atlantic coast. This involved the moving of headquarters from Regina to the seat of Government at Ottawa, the placing of detachments all over Canada, and the substitution of the word "Canadian" for the words "North-West" in the title of the corps. This change in the title gave to the "old-timers" who had served in the Force, and to us who had known it under the old name, a sort of sentimental shock, and was the subject of several protests, but it soon became apparent that the change of name was the necessary accompaniment of the extension of jurisdiction. It would be manifestly improper to retain the limited territorial designation of "North-West" when the territory to be covered by the Force was from sea to sea. In fact, the changes as to title and jurisdiction now commend themselves to all who study the whole situation, and credit in this connection is due to the Hon. N. W. Rowell, who, as the governmental head of the Force and a great admirer of its work, brought these changes to pass. There was some discussion in the House of Commons when the changes above mentioned were proposed. But in answer to questions as to the necessity for the change being made in extending the jurisdiction of the Mounted Police and placing detachments all over the country East as well as West, Mr. Rowell gave clear and cogent reasons. It was pointed out by him that there had been for years a Dominion Police Force, under Sir Percy Sherwood, and that, as this Dominion Force was now absorbed by the Mounted Police, there was no duplication of law administration agencies. Broadly speaking, the Mounted Police have to discharge most important duties all over Canada for all branches of the Federal Government in seeing the laws observed in which the Federal Government is particularly interested, because these laws relate to the public revenue or to special Departments of Dominion administration. Thus, for instance, the Mounted Police have to investigate all matters in which Federal property is lost or misappropriated; they have to assist the Customs Department in preventing the all-too-common crime of smuggling, and the Department of Inland Revenue in regard to illicit liquor traffic. They have to co-operate with the Department of Indian affairs, and the Department of Colonization and Immigration in regard to the admission of citizens who may or may not be desirable, and also look into all matters connected with the nationalization of aliens. And more than once of late the Dominion Department of Agriculture has asked the assistance of the Mounted Police in stamping out epidemics amongst stock. And that the placing of the Mounted Police all over Canada was opportune is evidenced by the fact that, under the guise of legitimate strikes, movements were begun which led to a sort of reign of terror in some communities, and in connection with which the real motive of some who manipulated them was shown, by evidence convincing to Judges and Juries, to be nothing short of seditious conspiracy to overthrow the constitutional government of this country. Incriminating papers were found in many Canadian cities in the possession of many who were suspected of sedition. And a curious thing arose when these suspected men raised their voices in appeal to the very law of the land which they had been denouncing to protect them from prosecution. Or, as Commissioner Perry, who gave very special and serious study to the whole situation, says: "Appeal is made by these men to British fair play to protect them in their efforts to destroy British fair play." Winnipeg was chosen by the agitators as the storm centre of their movement, and it began in the shape of a strike by the metal-workers, led by radicals of a pronounced type, who used the strike idea to further their revolutionary aims, and who devoted themselves to bringing about a general sympathetic strike in order to paralyse the business of the city and thus help their enterprise. The radicals succeeded in securing a general strike even to the post office staff and mail clerks, and this led to similar sympathetic movements in Brandon, Saskatoon, Edmonton, Calgary and Vancouver. No doubt a great many in the various organizations going on strike acted honestly with the idea in their minds that the Winnipeg movement was of a genuine type and for usual and legitimate purposes. But the leaders at that point showed their real aim plainly when they started to take the control of the city out of the hands of the Mayor and Council, and indicated by printed cards that the only industries that would be allowed to continue were those that would run "by permission of the Strike Committee." Winnipeg was about the last city that would stand dictation from any other than their own elected representatives, and so citizens organized themselves to withstand the methods of the radicals and to uphold properly constituted authority. It was a critical hour in the history of that city and the whole of Canada. The Mounted Police that were in Winnipeg in pursuance of the policy of distribution over the whole Dominion were under the competent command of Superintendent Starnes, who, as we have seen, had done important work in the Yukon, Hudson's Bay and prairie districts, and was known as a man of experience and sound judgment in emergencies. The Mounted Police did not interfere in the "strike," except by taking steps to protect life and property, and to see that public services, such as the carrying and distribution of His Majesty's mails, were not hindered. But on the 21st of June, 1919, the Mayor, being unable to cope with the situation, called for the assistance of the Mounted Police to prevent a parade of thousands who were defying the city authorities. Thereupon fifty-four mounted men, under Inspectors Proby and Mead, with thirty-six men in trucks, under Sergt.-Major Griffin, were sent out from barracks, Commissioner Perry, as well as Superintendent Starnes, being present with the Attorney-General of Manitoba. A reserve was held in barracks, under Sergt.-Major Greenway, but it was not required. It did not take the mounted men of the old corps long to get control of the situation, though they were only a handful. When they arrived on the scene near the City Hall, they were received with showers of stones, shots and other missiles. But they maintained their reputation for restraint, and it was not till two of the men were in danger, through their horses falling and through a charge from the mob, that the officer commanding the Mounted Force gave the order to draw their revolvers and use them. This had the desired effect of clearing the street and of dispersing the rioters. Some sixteen of the Mounted Police were wounded with missiles, while on the other side one foreigner was killed, one fatally wounded, and several others hurt. This shows that the Mounted Police preserved their reputation for refraining from taking the aggressive until there was no other course open. But from that day the "strike" lost its strength. Hundreds of the strikers began to see through the real aims of their radical leaders and returned to work. A few days later the "strike" was officially called "off," and the sympathetic movements in the other cities died at the same time, to the general relief of all concerned. Events of a somewhat similar kind were happening sporadically here and there during the war period, and they still appear occasionally. We may get to a stage where government is not required in an angelic state of human society. But so long as there remains a proportion of human beings who glory in disorder and revolt against lawful authority in a democratic country like ours, where people through their elected representatives really make their own laws, there will be need for the men in scarlet and gold to preserve the peace, to prevent wanton damage to necessary industries, to protect human life, and generally to prevent society from sliding into the abyss of chaos. We have emphasized at several points in this story the efforts made by the Mounted Police to get into the war from the outset. And we have indicated the grounds on which the Government declined to allow them to go abroad, when the situation at home demanded their presence. Of course, many of the Police, probably not less than a thousand, in various ways, by resigning individually or buying discharge, or by virtue of their term of enlistment lapsing, had managed to get away to the war during the years before a unit from the Force was permitted to go overseas. These men served with great distinction on many fields of the colossal conflict. In the House of Commons, the Hon. N. W. Rowell, in speaking on the subject, said: "I wish I had time to tell the House of some of the deeds of those gallant men. I will only mention two. The famous Michael O'Leary, V.C., was one of the North-West Mounted Police, and he set a standard for courage and bravery during the early days of the war which many other gallant soldiers have since emulated. The other, a constable in the ranks for two years--Constable Parkes, a young man now twenty-seven years of age. In 1915 he purchased his discharge to go to the front; he rose to the command of the 116th Battalion, C.E.F., and won the V.C., the D.S.O., and La Croix de Guerre. He proved himself an officer of the highest efficiency, and has been selected by the Canadian Corps to attend the staff college. I might mention other members of the Force and the gallant service they have rendered, but time does not permit. I should also mention that ex-members of the Force--that is, men who had served on the Force--provided our Canadian Army overseas with two major-generals, four brigade-generals, and colonels, majors and captains by the score. It shows the type of men who are serving in our Royal North-West Mounted Police." And one thinks at once in this connection of such men as that old campaigner and ex-Policeman, the late Sir Samuel B. Steele, who went over in command of the Second Division, but whose health, undermined by an injury on the way, did not permit him to lead his men in the field; of that dashing and distinguished Cavalry Officer, Sir Archibald Macdonnell, now Commandant at Kingston, and of Brigadier-General Ketchen, who came up from the ranks, and of many others. And then Mr. Rowell went on to say: "All the sons, of military age, of the present and past officers have served overseas, and no less than ten officers' sons died on the battlefield. The son of the first man who joined the Force in 1873 is an honourable and gallant member of this House--Brigadier-General Griesbach (of Edmonton), who has rendered such distinguished service in this war. He is one of the many gallant officers, sons of members of the Force who have served overseas." One would like to place special stress on the way in which the sons and even the daughters of the first generation of the Mounted Police kept up the great tradition of their fathers, who had instilled into them that devotion to duty and that desire to maintain the right which made the old Force so well known in every part of the world. The names of these gallant young men and women are found in practically every unit of service in the Great War as combatants, nurses and so on, all showing that blood tells, and that the theory of heredity can find in such cases a real and indisputable demonstration. And, while touching upon this phase, let me also mention that another unique tribute to the way in which the Force got hold of the imagination and enlisted the devotion of those who served in its ranks, is the fact that ex-members all over Canada organized in evidence of their desire to support the parent body in any crisis that may arise. Several hundred of these men, experienced in every detail of the work and trained to the minute, left their occupations and put themselves at the disposal of the Commissioner during the war, when the Force was depleted by enlistments for the front. Any organization that can thus count on the assistance of its former members in the hour of need, must have had elements in it that appealed to the best qualities of real men. Hence we find that the war and the social unrest called into being Police Veterans' Associations, whose aim is to continue the traditions of the corps, and whose members hold themselves at the service of the Government of Canada whenever required. In other words, anyone who tries to play "rough house" where these veterans' associations exist will have to reckon with the "old boys," who once wore the unforgettable scarlet and gold. And what is here said of the men is equally true of the wives and mothers and sisters of the riders of the Western plains. But one of the most conclusive pieces of evidence as to the real quality of the men of the Mounted Police was given when, in those dark and deadly-looking days near the close of the war, the British Government let it be known that another cavalry unit from Canada would be acceptable. A call was placed before the Mounted Police to provide reinforcements for the Canadian Cavalry Brigade, which had suffered serious losses, and also to furnish a squadron to add as a distinct Police unit to the Cavalry Corps. In one sense it was not a good time to appeal for recruits. The allied army was fighting with its back to the wall. Our cavalry brigade had been decimated and all along the line our men were falling-- "Grimly dying, still unconquered With their faces to the foe." But every man in the Mounted Police wanted to go and help hold that line. Five hundred men were desired, but there was a rush, and before word could be got out by wire to stop recruiting, over 700, including some ex-members, had enlisted and had to be accepted. This contingent was divided into four squadrons, the whole coming, of course, under orders of the Militia Department as part of the C.E.F., and on May 19, 1918, the following order was issued from Militia Headquarters at Ottawa: "The following provisional appointments of Officers in the C.E.F. are authorized: To be Major, Inspector G. L. Jennings; to be Captain, Inspector H. M. Newson; to be Lieutenants, Inspectors A. B. Allard, A. E. Acland, Thomas Dann, S. T. Wood, J. McD. Tupper, W. C. Proby, C. H. King, Denis Ryan, C. D. La Nauze, H. Townsend, Sergts.-Major T. H. Irvine, F. J. Mead, R. H. L. MacDowell." These were all Officers and Sergts.-Major in the R.N.W.M. Police, and were recommended by the Commissioner for the positions named. Inspectors Jennings, Allard and Newson have since been promoted Superintendents, and Sergts.-Major Irvine and Mead have been granted commissions in the Force. Putting the draft into regular military form as a provisional Regiment, it was composed of four Squadrons and Headquarters Staff as follows:--To command the overseas Cavalry Draft and special Squadron, Major G. L. Jennings; to be second in command, Captain H. M. Newson; to be Acting Adjutant, Lieutenant R. H. L. MacDowell; to be Acting Regimental Sergt.-Major, Sergt.-Major G. F. Griffin; to be Acting Regimental Quartermaster-Sergeant, Staff-Sergeant A. H. L. Mellor (since promoted Inspector). Squadron Officers: "A" Squadron--Lieutenants A. B. Allard (in command), H. Townsend and F. J. Mead. "B" Squadron--Lieutenants T. Dann (in command), S. T. Wood and D. Ryan. "C" Squadron--Lieutenants W. C. Proby (in command), C. D. La Nauze, and J. McD. Tupper. "D" Squadron--Lieutenants C. H. King (in command), A. E. Acland and T. H. Irvine. Also to be Acting Sergts.-Major of the above Squadrons in order named, the following Mounted Police N.C.O.'s, viz.:--Sergts.-Major W. A. Edgenton, C. R. Peters, C. F. Fletcher and F. E. Spriggs. The whole draft was taken on the strength of the Canadian Expeditionary Force, and all members who were actively connected with the Mounted Police were on leave of absence from their corps until they would be demobilized on return to Canada. On reaching England the men of the contingent were pretty well scattered by being assigned for duty with various units, but, finally, the Mounted Police Squadron to be attached to the Canadian Light Horse was sent over to France, arriving, to their disappointment, too late to take part in the Battle of Cambrai, where cavalry played a conspicuous part. But Major Jennings was requested to detail some of his men for "Dispatch Riding" in the 2nd and 3rd Canadian Divisions. Lieutenant Dann with 2nd Troop was sent to the 2nd Canadian Division, and Lieutenant Wood with 3rd Troop was sent to the 3rd Canadian Division, and remained there till the Armistice was signed. This was dangerous and difficult front-line work, and was done to the entire satisfaction of the Division Commanders, as was to be expected when the riders of the plains were on duty. The Squadron also furnished every day N.C.O.'s and men to go to different points immediately back of the front line to collect prisoners of war, and escort them to the different camps. And one who knows the record of the Mounted Police needs not to be told that not one prisoner escaped from their custody in France, Belgium and Germany. On October 28, probably in recognition of the thoroughness with which these trained and disciplined men from the Canadian plains had carried out every duty that had been assigned them, orders were issued that the Mounted Police were to be detached from the Canadian Light Horse and become an independent unit, to be known as the Royal North-West Mounted Police Squadron. This was the situation up to the Armistice, when the dispatch-riding troops, under Lieutenants Dann and Wood, rejoined the Squadron. Instructions came to have a troop sent to Mons, to be there at the triumphal entry, but this was found impossible. The horses of the dispatch-riding troops were completely fagged out with their strenuous work, another troop was on prisoners-of-war service, while the horses of the fourth were unshod and could not make the 32 kilos. over the paved road to Mons. Later, Acland's troop went on duty to a point near Bonn, in Germany, and Lieutenants King and Allard were sent on special service into Belgium. Things were in much confusion, and the presence of the scarlet riders seemed to give the people satisfaction. The whole Squadron was kept busy at various points till December, when the Canadian Government, realizing that conditions at home demanded the presence of these recognized champions of law and order, sent a cable recalling the Mounted Police to duty in Canada. There was much to be done in the way of detail arrangements, gathering up the scattered members out of other units, re-enlisting for service in Canada, but in due course, after having added another highly creditable page to the history of the corps, the Squadron reached Winnipeg. It was rather a striking coincidence that at the very time when Winnipeg was boiling over with red radicalism, this Canadian Mounted Police unit, that had been on service at the Front, arrived in that city. Things being as they were at that point, the Commissioner had Jenning's command detrain there. For some days they were held in reserve in the barracks, and no doubt the presence of these seasoned and disciplined men had a reassuring influence on good citizens, and a very deterrent effect upon the lawless advocates of violence and sedition. Their active participation was not necessary, and so they continued out into the various detachments all over the West and North. It is interesting to know that at the time of this writing Major (Superintendent) Jennings, who knows the vast North-land and its perils well, is in command of the Mounted Police at Edmonton, the front gateway to the new oil-fields. These men will see that human life and property are as safe there as in any part of Canada. The "gunman" and the disorderly and the lewd exploiter of camps and frontiers will not get into the country at all, and the unfit and unprepared and unequipped, however respectable, will be saved from the reckless folly that would send them on a wild rush into a country whose perils they do not know. In summing up his report of the Overseas Squadron, Major Jennings indicates that the fine reputation for good behaviour made by the Mounted Police when in the Old Land, at Coronation or Jubilee celebrations, was fully maintained amid the temptations incident to war. He says, "The moral conduct of the men was most satisfactory." In regard to matters of discipline he states: "To my knowledge there was not one member of the Overseas Cavalry Draft brought before a Court Martial. The offences were few and of a minor character, mostly due to ignorance in new surroundings, but the principal reason for the small number of offences was without doubt due to the discipline enforced by the old N.C.O.'s of the Force." "Sergeant What's-his-name" has always been one of the mainstays of the Army. And the Major adds: "No charge was ever brought against an officer." A good record in war. In noting men's services, Major Jennings says: "Where all ranks showed such a spirit of loyalty to the unit and to the Force and such determination to do their duty, it is difficult to single out individual cases." This is fine, but there are some always who have special opportunities for service come their way, and so the Major specially mentions Captain H. M. Newson, Lieutenants Acland, Allard, Dann, Wood and MacDowell; and amongst the N.C.O.'s, Mellor, Darling, Edgenton, Peters, Fletcher, Spriggs and Hogan. The Major recommends for decoration Sergeant C. A. James, a highly efficient man who, while on dispatch-riding duty, captured single-handed five of the enemy and brought them into camp. Also Constable A. Brooker, a dispatch rider, who took a pack horse with telephone wire through heavy shell and machine-gun fire to advance Headquarters, thus enabling them to send back valuable information. Finally, Major Jennings expresses his own obligation for having been given the command, but his heart is with the corps, and he says: "No officer would ask to command a finer body of men. The high standard of discipline inculcated through years in the Force was adhered to throughout." It will be recalled that shortly before the Armistice date it was thought that Canada ought to be represented, as well as the Americans and the Japanese, up in that perplexing land of Russia. Accordingly, a squadron of cavalry, to be known as "B" Squadron R.N.W.P., Siberia, was authorized. The officers were all of well-known names in Mounted Police annals, being: Major in Command: George Stanley Worsley. Captain, Second in Command: Arthur William Duffus. Lieutenants: Richard Young Douglas, Thomas Mulock Belcher (now Superintendent), Frank Henry French, Thomas Caulkin. Of these French, of the famous Bathurst Inlet patrol, related in the next chapter, was prevented by illness from going, and was replaced by Sergt.-Major Wilcox. Caulkin, whom we met before in this story in the vast spaces of the Arctic, was awarded about this time the King's Police Medal for service in that white North-land. This Siberian Squadron passed through some trying experience by reason of epidemics, and by reason also of the unsettled conditions in Vladivostok and other points where they were quartered. They passed through train wrecks at the hands of Bolshevists, and various other exciting experiences. And Constable Pilkington, who penetrated into the interior of the country, gives some vivid stories of Bolshevik exploits. The Squadron did its whole duty, and did it well, but in a few months the Canadian Government decided to withdraw from the Russian situation, and so recalled the Force to duty in the Dominion, after an absence of several months in the enigmatic land. Thus, whether amid the puzzling problems of the war period in the homeland, or in the face of new situations abroad, did the riders of the plains, to the full extent of their opportunity, make their usual thorough-going contribution to Canada's part in the making of human history. East, West, North or South, they have always answered the call to duty. In a word, they have always been on active service. CHAPTER XVIII GREAT TRADITIONS UPHELD In the foregoing chapter I have, in order to preserve the continuity of the Police story through the war period, gone a little ahead of the chronological order of general events in the history of the corps. But history was being made all the time by these remarkable men, whether they were serving at home or abroad. They were always and everywhere on active duty, and "peace hath her victories no less renowned than war." Riding with dispatches in France was not more active and dangerous service than patrolling over the immense areas of trackless snow and ice in the Arctic Circle or facing overwhelmingly superior numbers where mobs were surging restlessly and riotously in our own country. Here and there on the plains or in the mountains little detachments were without display or advertisement carrying out tasks that were onerous and disagreeable in the extreme. For instance, we have the story of a great mine disaster at Hill Crest, Alberta, where by a terrific explosion 188 men out of the 237 who had entered the mine on a June morning in 1914 lost their lives. The Mounted Police as usual rushed to the scene to see what they could do to relieve the situation, Inspector Junget taking charge. Experienced miners were at work bringing out the bodies, it being evident from the first that none but the few men who had come up in an exhausted condition were alive. The detachment of Mounted Police only numbered six, but they took effective oversight at once, first closing the bar of the local hotel in order to head off the danger of drunkenness breaking out in the camp. Corporal Searle and Constable Kistruck, from Pincher Creek, and Constable Wilson, from MacLeod, were posted at the entrance to the two mines to keep the crowd back and preserve order generally, while Corporals Mead and Grant and Constable Hancock looked after the mutilated bodies as they were brought out of the mine. Mead and Grant kept the check numbers of the bodies where they could be found, kept an inventory of the money or other property found on each, then washed the bodies, and wrapped them in cotton sheets. Then these bodies were taken to the Mine-Union Hall, where Constable Hancock looked after them, placing them in rows upon the floor. Handling 188 mutilated and grimy bodies in the warmth of June weather was a gruesome, depressing and difficult task, but these men, assisted by relays of miners, did this work for four days and nights until funeral services were held over the mangled remains of these unfortunate victims of the disaster. Mead, Grant and Hancock especially had a terrible undertaking, and they won the praise not only of the citizens of Hill Crest, but that of the miners also, many of the latter, though extreme radical Socialists who resented the very existence of the Force, saying, "We have no use for the Police, but we cannot help respecting its members when we see them working under such trying conditions." Thus were these gallant men winning the applause of revolutionists who hated them because they stood for law and order in the country. And I think it well to say here, after knowing the Mounted Police throughout the years of their history, that the only enemies they have had have been the elements that resented the fearless and impartial enforcement of law. Sometimes these elements were found amongst the reckless promoters and denizens of the underworld. Sometimes amongst those who would fan the embers of social discontent into a blaze that would destroy society and not infrequently in the ranks of those who would not scruple to plunder the public treasury. It has always been annoying and disconcerting to such elements to find that they could neither cajole nor frighten nor bribe these inflexible men in the uniform of scarlet and gold who stood for the administration of British law in a British country. _Noblesse oblige._ If the recruits of to-day measure up as they have been doing to the established reputation of the Force, that reputation will become increasingly one of the saving assets of Canada and the Empire. Up in the Arctic areas during those days of war when some were on duty in France and across our own plains and mountains, the Police were battling against hostile climatic conditions that the sacredness of human life might be impressed on the inhabitants of the most remote regions under the flag. And sometimes their equipment was not very ample. One laughs when he sees attacks made upon Mounted Police expenditure. A country vaster than several European Kingdoms cannot be kept in peace and quietness for a trifle. If the Mounted Police were withdrawn and lawlessness was allowed to run riot in the country, people would soon realize that it is not the proper administration of law, but the absence of it which bankrupts a country. As a matter of fact, as this story has shown again and again, these men of the Police were constantly practising economies in regard to the very necessaries of life in case they should be considered as asking for too much. Here, for instance, in that war year when millions were being poured out elsewhere, we find Superintendent Demers, who with his men had to patrol the dangerous northern coasts in the Hudson's Bay region where wrecks and drownings are frequent, asking apologetically for six life-belts, as "patrols by water have to be made without any precaution against possible accident." We hope he got them. These men were not playing on a mill-pond, but were fighting storms in the fields of ice and reefs with bull walrus thrown in as an extra peril to guard against. War echoes are heard during that period, but for the most part alien enemies soon recognized the wisdom of pursuing their work quietly, and in such cases they were not molested. And amidst it all we find the record of quiet heroisms as these Mounted Policemen who were not allowed to go to the Front pursued the steady round of their duty at home. Here, for instance, in 1915 we find Superintendent West, who was in charge at Battleford on the Saskatchewan, telling us of a piece of work whose fine courageous quality those who know the country can especially appreciate. West says, "Typhoid fever broke out amongst the Indians on the Island Lake Reserve and Constable Rose was sent from here to see that quarantine was enforced." Typhoid is a serious business in the dry season, and the constable would have done his regular duty if he had just put the place under quarantine and kept anyone from going or coming. But that was not the police way, and so Rose went beyond his duty. West goes on, "One man, Patrice Dumont, a half-breed, living close to the reserve, fell ill, as did the members of his family. Dumont, who was the sole support of the family, died. The rest of the family became hysterical and Rose had to be there continually. He dressed the body of Dumont for burial and made a coffin fastened with wooden pegs in the absence of nails, and as the flies were bad he buried the body next day with the help of some Indians. The circumstances under which Constable Rose worked were most trying, as he had to sleep in the same room with the dead man, while Dumont's children kept crying and clinging round his neck all night." The children, half-crazed with grief and delirium, recognized that the big policeman was a friend and very human in his practical sympathy. It is evident that the Dominion Government feared that at one time the whole Mounted Police Force, if allowed, would have enlisted for service overseas unless their attention was very specially called to the vital necessity for their presence at home. Accordingly, in 1916, when many of the Force were renewing the efforts to go overseas, the Premier of Canada, Hon. Sir Robert L. Borden, than whom there was no one who understood the world situation better, sent the following special communication to the Mounted Police Force, "The Prime Minister desires to express to officers, non-commissioned officers and constables his very deep appreciation of the patriotic and devoted service which they have rendered, and of the faithful and efficient manner in which they are performing their important duties. "He fully realizes the great desire of the members of the Force to enlist for overseas service, and he is aware that practically the whole Force would offer their services at the Front if permission could be given. This patriotic spirit is entirely commendable; but all members of the Force must remember that the service they are now rendering to the Dominion and to the Empire is not less important than that which they would perform if serving at the Front. Further, it is a service which can only be efficiently performed by a force which has been trained in the discharge of the duties it is called upon to undertake. For these reasons the Prime Minister has found himself unable to consent to the retirement from the Force of many officers and men who have asked that permission for the purpose of enlistment." Sir Robert is especially wise when he mentions how only the trained men of the Mounted Police could do certain duties. Men with less tact, firmness, fairness and discipline would have had the whole country in a turmoil a dozen times over during these recent decades. For during this period the West has been seething with an inrushing tide of polyglot people who have been naturally disposed to consider that the liberty of a new land gave them unrestrained licence to do what they pleased. Under proper oversight they have found their feet without losing their heads. That year, 1916, Commissioner Perry reported that the Mounted Police had subscribed $30,000 to the Canadian Patriotic Fund. This later reached $50,000.00. These men were serving on a small wage, but if they could not get away to the Front they were going to help the cause to the limit and when the opportunity would be given they would show their readiness to go themselves wherever needed. That year also the Commissioner reported the death of Assistant Commissioner A. E. R. Cuthbert, to be followed a few years later by the sudden demise of one of his successors, Assistant Commissioner W. H. Routledge. Both had given splendid service. Cuthbert had been thirty-one years with the Force and had served with distinction in South Africa. Routledge had served in all parts of the West, including the Yukon. He was a master of detail and system, and did work of unique value in arranging the reports and working out orderly methods in the use of documents. In the same report the Commissioner expressed the regret of himself and the Force at the retirement of Mr. Lawrence Fortescue, who had joined the corps at the very beginning, had made the trek to the West and then was recalled to Ottawa to assist with the work of the Department there. At the time of his retirement he was Comptroller of the Force. The corps has been fortunate in its Comptrollers, the men who are official administrative heads and have the general oversight of expenditures. Lieut.-Colonel Frederick White, who for long and faithful service was given the C.M.G., was the first Comptroller--a man of great ability and indefatigable disposition. The present popular and able Comptroller is Mr. A. A. McLean, a sturdy Highland type from Prince Edward Island, who was a prominent lawyer and legislator for years. Much of the steady frictionless movement of the whole department depends on the administrative talent of the Comptroller. When we have heard arm-chair critics attack police expenditure, we have thought not only of the practice of economy as already indicated in the case of reports from officers at many points, but of the amount saved to Canada by the devoted and self-sacrificing efforts of these men to head off lawless movements and to create in the remotest points of the country a wholesome respect for constituted authority. There were many wonderful patrols in the Arctic circle, but those which had to do with the detection of crime or the unravelling of mysteries connected with the disappearance of explorers and traders or others naturally attracted most attention. There were not many of these particular patrols, for the Esquimaux were not by any means murderously inclined. The cases investigated showed that they had been moved by provocation. One of these cases resulted in the famous Bathurst Inlet patrol. In 1911 two men, Mr. H. V. Radford, an American, and Mr. T. G. Street, a Canadian, went on an exploring and specimen collecting journey into the North. They reached Bathurst Inlet in 1912, having wintered at Schultz Lake. In May, 1913, that well-known northern patrol man, Sergeant W. G. Edgenton, of the Mounted Police, who was in command of the post at Fullerton, reported that a rumour had come to him through Eskimo that Radford and Street had been killed by the Eskimos in June, 1912. A few days later one of the Eskimos, by name Akulack, who had travelled part of the way with the explorers, came to Chesterfield Inlet and gave Mr. H. H. Hall, the Hudson's Bay Company officer there, an account of what he had heard. It appeared that the wife of one of the Eskimos who was travelling with the explorers had fallen on the ice and was seriously hurt. So the Eskimo refused quite properly to leave her in that condition, upon which Radford tried to enforce obedience by repeatedly striking the Eskimo till a general row started and the two explorers, or whatever they were, suffered death. It took three years or so to get at the facts, with the final decision that, the murder having been traced to the perpetrators, the whole evidence showed that it was a case where the Eskimo had acted in self-defence and that, while in imminent fear of being killed by the white men, they had taken the lives of the latter. But the Mounted Police had to travel many a long and dangerous mile through many a weary month before these facts were discovered. We give an outline of the process in the following pages. Superintendents Starnes and Demers recommended that an expedition be equipped for two or three years and sent out to investigate, but the wrecks of schooners and other untoward incidents interfered. But in July, 1914, over two years from the date of the alleged crime, Inspector W. J. Beyts, an officer of much experience in the North, left on a Government schooner from Halifax with a sergeant and two constables. The weather was so bad that they did not reach the Hudson's Bay Coast till it was too late to establish a post at Baker Lake. The next year, after enormous difficulties, he succeeded in planting the post, but the winter of 1915-16 was such that two brave attempts to get to Bathurst Inlet failed. Game on which they had to rely for dog-feed was so scarce that supply could not be secured. Dogs died by the score also amongst the Eskimo that year, and Beyts reports one case where there were only six dogs amongst ten families, and another case where the sleigh was being pulled by one man, two women and a dog. In the summer of 1916 Beyts, by previous arrangement, returned to headquarters, and his place was taken by Inspector F. H. French, who arrived at Baker Lake in September. This was more than four years after the murder, but the Police never let go their hold once they started on a case. Commissioner Perry's instructions to Inspector French were these: "It will be your duty to get in touch at the earliest possible moment with the tribes said to be responsible for the deaths. You will make inquiries and take such statutory declarations as may seem necessary in order to obtain a full and accurate account of the occurrence. From information received, it is assumed that there was provocation. If this is found to be the case, it is not the intention of the Government to proceed with prosecution. If, however, there was found to be no provocation, the Government will consider what further action is to be taken." French was "to the manner born" in the Police service. He was a son of that gallant officer, Inspector "Jack" French, leader of "French's Scouts" in the second Rebellion, who was killed by a half-breed sniper after having driven Riel's men from their coverts in one section of the fight at Batoche. And he was also the nephew of Colonel Sir George French, the first Commissioner of Mounted Police after their organization, although Colonel Osborne Smith, as already stated, was Commissioner for the purpose of swearing in the men. And this younger French was evidently a "chip of the old block," because he does not contemplate failure. In January, 1917, he wrote: "I hope to make a successful trip, commencing in March next," but he knows it will be a fight against the elements and against want, for he adds: "my only difficulty will be the inevitable dog-feed question, which rises at every point where a man moves in this country." He will have to depend on game and game is always uncertain. French was fortunate in his party having with him Sergt.-Major T. B. Caulkin (later Inspector), a most reliable and persevering man who knew the Eskimo country, and he had also police natives, Joe and "Bye and Bye," with two other natives to assist. They were absent from their base at Baker Lake about ten months of almost incessant travel amongst the Eskimo, to whom on all occasions of meeting French explained the law of the country in relation to human life and property. In that regard it was a kind of missionary tour and did lasting good. Getting into contact with the Eskimo tribe at Bathurst Inlet, French secured many statutory declarations which established beyond all doubt that two Eskimos who were known to be quiet and inoffensive men, had been goaded by ill-treatment into turning on their tormentors and putting an end to them. French had fulfilled his mission and did not consider it necessary to arrest these men. But the patrol had impressed upon these "ends of the earth" the lessons desired. French's return was attended by great hardship. Game was scarce and wild. So food for both men and dogs ran out again and again. Dogs were shot as they became exhausted and fed to the other dogs. Deerskins were chopped up and made into soup. Fuel oil became exhausted and sleds had to be burned. As one of the party, French himself said, "It looked like their last patrol," but they struck some deer and got food, which toned them and their dogs up so that "they made the grade." But it was a close call and every member of the party deserved the eulogy expressed by French in which all who know the history include as chief the Inspector himself. He had done good service throughout the years, but the Bathurst Inlet patrol will always remain as an outstanding mark to his credit. Similarly will the Bear Lake patrol go to the credit of Inspector C. D. La Nauze, who also was fortunate in having splendid support from his men. The occasion of the Patrol was the disappearance of two priests, Fathers Rouvier and Le Roux, who in 1913 had left Fort Norman on the Mackenzie River for a two years' absence in establishing missions amongst the Eskimo of the far North. When the two years were well on and no news had been received from them, their friends began to get anxious, and of course appeal was made to the Mounted Police, who were expected to unravel all mysteries and solve all perplexing problems. And it is to their credit that they never turned a deaf ear to such appeals. It took nearly two years and a half to get the solution of the mystery. There were others in the patrol when it started, but Inspector La Nauze, Constable Wight, Special Native Constable Ilavinik and Corporal W. V. Bruce were those who were in at the end when two Eskimo men, Sinninsiak and Uluksak, were arrested by them at Coronation Gulf as the self-confessed murderers of the two priests. Leaving Great Bear Lake in April, 1916, La Nauze, Wight and Ilavinik reached Coronation Gulf a month later and here they met Corporal Bruce, who had been sent out by Inspector Phillips from Herschell Island to gather information that would help to locate the priests, if alive, and if they were not found to discover the cause of their disappearance. Bruce knew the whole region and knew many of the Eskimos personally. Without exciting their suspicion he had found amongst them and purchased several articles of priests' wear which strongly indicated that the priests had perished. Ilavinik proved a treasure. The party found two of the explorer Steffanson's men and they had heard of Ilavinik, so that the way became easier. Finally La Nauze and Ilavinik began to talk to the people in their igloos, and inquire if any white men had been that way at any time. They said Yes, and then La Nauze sat back and let Ilavinik do the talking. In a little while he turned, trembling with the excitement of it, to the Inspector and said, "I have got on the track. These men know who murdered the priests and they are very, very sorry that any of the Eskimos should have done it." This led very soon to the arrest of Sinnisiak, who was said to be the chief instigator of the crime, his companion being of a milder type. After examination of the prisoner and witnesses, the Inspector formally committed Sinnisiak for trial by a competent court. Then La Nauze left the prisoner in charge of Constable Bruce, while he, accompanied by Constable Wight and a bright young Eskimo "Patsy" who was attached to the Canadian Arctic Expedition, went to South Victoria Land and arrested Uluksak. He was of a gentler type. Sinnisiak had rather demurred to being arrested and had indicated his power to make medicine that would sink the white man's ship if they tried to take him away. But Uluksak came forward at once and gave himself up. La Nauze asked him if he knew what they had come for and the Eskimo said, "Yes, to kill me by striking me on the head as the other white men did." He was formally arrested by Wight and committed for trial by the Inspector. From the evidence it seemed clear that the priests in their eagerness to get ahead had attempted to force the two men to go along with them. Uluksak said one of them put his hand on the Eskimo's mouth and would not let him say anything. Generally speaking the priests showed their lack of understanding of the Eskimo nature and fell victims to their own impetuosity in dealing with them. The prisoners were brought all the way to Edmonton and then to Calgary, where they were finally tried. They seemed to be as guileless and simple as children, and gave absolutely no trouble from the day they were arrested. They became much attached to their captors and cried when they had to leave them. But they had told their story with clearness, and the jury brought in a verdict of "Guilty with the strongest recommendation to mercy a jury can make." They were sentenced to be hanged, but this was commuted to imprisonment for life, and they were finally sent back amongst their own people in the far North. It was felt that justice had been vindicated and that their story to their own people would be of great value to prevent any such event occurring again. These two patrols of French and La Nauze, along with a recent arrest of an Eskimo in another part of the Arctic Circle by Sergeant Douglas, revealed again to the world that the long arm of the Mounted Police was unavoidable once anyone had transgressed laws in regard to human welfare. And thus are the men of this famous corps patrolling the vast white North in all directions at the time of this writing. That such patrolling is excessively difficult and dangerous may be gathered from such a report as that sent in by Inspector J. W. Phillips, who was in command of the Herschell Island detachment in 1918. He, with Constables Cornelius and Doak, was wrecked 8 miles off Herschell Island, when their whale boat was crushed to pieces in the ice. They had to jump on the floating ice. The cakes were small and were churning round and up-ending. At times the piece on which one would be standing would up-end and then it was a case of jumping or being crushed to death. Finally they reached the shore ice. Then they started for Herschell Island, but found great cracks or leads in the ice too wide to cross. They changed their course and made for the nearest land. They found the leads narrower. By joining their belts and suspenders together a line was made. One of them would swim the lead and then assist the others over by this life-line. They crossed over more than a score of leads in this way before reaching the nearest land. We read this over and then think of men in comfortable armchairs finding fault with police expenditure. But the remaining part of the report in this connection is still more amazing. Let me quote it. "The time spent by us from the wrecking of the boat on the ice to our reaching the land was ten hours. A gale from the north-east had been blowing all the time and in our soaking wet condition we suffered severely from the cold." One would imagine they would when he reads on. Phillips says, "The only clothing we wore at this time was our under garments, trousers and muckluks. Our Artiggies we threw away, as we found they hampered us too much when getting across the leads. Herschell Island post was still 12 miles away. We started to walk it. After travelling about a mile I noticed that Constable Doak was delirious. Constable Cornelius and I helped him to walk, but owing to cramps in the legs we could not manage. Constable Cornelius at this stage offered to go to Herschell Island for assistance, food and matches, and I permitted him to go. After he left I built a windbreak of driftwood. Constable Doak and I crawled into it. Here we remained till 11 p.m. the following day. Then we were rescued by a whale boat and taken to Herschell Island. We kept a sharp look out for Constable Cornelius, but saw nothing of him, and on arrival found he had not reached the post. I at once started out Constable Brockie and two natives with a whale boat, and found him on a sand-spit 10 miles away. He was brought in safely. I am sorry to say that at the present time (the day after the event) the two constables and myself are laid up with swollen feet and legs due to exposure." They must have had tremendous endurance to get through at all. And one gathers that the Inspector is not thinking of his own and the Constable's personal losses and exposure, but is rather concerned that some government property had to be noted as missing in the wreck. For he adds: "I must say that I am exceedingly sorry to have to give you a report of this nature, but I think you will agree that this occurred under circumstances over which I had no control. I am happy to be able to report no loss of life. As soon as I am able to send a patrol to the vicinity of the wreck I will do so, with the idea that there may be some government stores blown up on the coast." But most of us are willing to declare our readiness to let government stores go so long as men of this stamp are saved to continue their contribution to the great traditions of a corps that has done so much for Canada and the Empire. Commissioner Perry's report for 1920 has just come to hand and is specially notable because it is the first presented under the new name of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police, and therefore the first since the jurisdiction of the Force was extended to all parts of Canada. It relates the change of name, the absorption of the Dominion Police by the Mounted Police Force, and removal of headquarters from Regina to Ottawa, all of which changes were made in pursuance of the policy adopted by the Government to have one Federal Force controlled by a single head and exercising authority in every part of Canada. A section of the amendment of the Mounted Police Act may be quoted here. It says, "Every member of the Force shall be a constable in every part of Canada for the purpose of carrying out the criminal and other laws of Canada and in the North-West Territories, and the Yukon Territory for carrying out any laws and ordinances in force therein." This legislation, as already intimated, involved the absorption of the Dominion Police, which in various forms had existed in older Canada from as far back as 1839. Its duties were mainly concerned with the protection of public buildings, though also with the general preservation of law and order. This Dominion Police Force came into more special prominence under the Commissionership of Colonel Sir Percy Sherwood, who was knighted for his services and under whom the Force grew to the number of some 150 men, who were scattered over Canada singly or in small groups guarding buildings, Navy yards and enforcing specific laws, as well as engaging in effective secret service work in relation to enemy aliens in war-time. After a long and highly creditable career in this service, Sir Percy Sherwood retired on account of ill-health in 1919. The absorption of the Dominion Police into the Mounted Police was not free from difficulty, as the organizations differed fundamentally, the former being on the lines of a civil municipal force, while the latter was on military lines and engagement was for a fixed term. However, conditions of engagement were offered to the members of the Dominion Police and practically all of them enlisted in the Mounted Police, their service already given in their own Force to count towards pension under Mounted Police regulations. The Royal Canadian Mounted Police is now the sole federal Force, and is under Commissioner Perry, subject of course to the Minister of the Dominion Government in whose department it comes, that minister at present being the Hon. James A. Calder, President of the Council. The duties of the Force may be summarized as follows: (A) The enforcement, or assistance in enforcement, of all laws where the Government of Canada is directly interested or responsible. (B) The protection of public buildings of the Dominion. (C) The protection of Navy yards. (D) The Intelligence Service. (E) The maintenance of law and order in all territories and Dominion parks. (F) Maintenance of finger-print bureaus. (G) Paroled prisoners' record. The Commissioner says, "The Force is distributed in the way best suited to perform its many duties. It is found along the international boundary, where it aids in protecting the revenue and preventing the entrance into Canada of undesirables. It is located on or in the vicinity of Indian Reserves to maintain good order, and to aid in enforcement of the laws pertaining to our Indian population. It occupies many lonely posts in the North-West Territories and Yukon Territory, and along the Arctic and Hudson's Bay Coasts. It is found in centres of population, and at points where industrial activities are vital to the welfare of the nation." New outposts were established in the far North: one at Port Burwell on the Hudson Straits, to act for the Department of Customs and collect duties on foreign vessels entering the waters of Hudson Bay, and the other at Tree River, on Coronation Gulf, for ordinary duty. The latter is the most remote outpost and the fact of its existence there indicates the far-flung character of the operations of this ubiquitous corps. When the Commissioner says the force is Found at centres of population he visualizes for us the fact that our modern social life has created vast cities which have eaten up the green fields and turned them into asphalt pavements. These cities become the hardest problem for the administrator of law. Into them drift the derelicts of human society, and even these are drawn down to deeper degradation by the undertow of vice and crime. More mean in their lawlessness and much less open than the dwellers in frontiers and camps, the vicious elements in cities require from the State the oversight of an adequate force of fearless men. The illegal traffic in narcotic drugs, for instance, is carried on by the most degraded and the lowest criminals of the underworld, aided and abetted too frequently by dishonourable members of honourable professions. The gambler and the "bootlegger" and the white slave dealer find their habitat in large centres of population. And no force can keep these lawless elements in check like a force free from local influences, especially when that force is the Mounted Corps which for nearly half a century has built up a reputation for a fair and fearless administration of law. The prestige of the corps that has been proof against all attempts at intimidation or bribery on the part of the lawless classes makes it a unique power for good in the cities as on the plains. And when the Commissioner says that detachments of the Mounted Police are found at points "where industrial activities are vital to the welfare of the nation" he strikes a chord that will find grateful response from every industrious citizen, whether employer or employed, who understands that "trade is the calm health of nations." There is nothing in this world of material things more to be feared than the wanton destruction of industries that have been built up by laborious endeavour and the unstinted expenditure of energy in brain and hand. Such destruction leads to endless suffering amongst the innocent and to the business stagnation which brings calamity in its wake. To guard against these dread contingencies the Mounted Police are on hand. They have never interfered in a partisan way when strikes and lock outs are abroad, but they stand by to preserve law and order and to prevent any destruction of human life and property which might take place at the instigation of irresponsible extremists. In this difficult and ofttimes dangerous duty the men who stand for constitutional order in society will always have the support of decent intelligent citizens. Not only in the centres of population but away up in the Arctic regions beyond the sky-line of civilization have the Mounted Police in 1920 as always been doing their duty in their usual unobtrusive but extremely effective way. Amongst the Eskimos there were several cases of murder of adults and of infanticide, every one of which was followed up by the closest investigation even though it took months of work and patrolling amidst the rigours of Polar weather to do it. In these cases of murder there seemed to be a complete absence of that malice aforethought which constitutes the essence of the crime in the eyes of the law. The cases were very few, but occasionally an infant was put out of the misery of starvation when there was no food in sight and a man who became a moral nuisance to the tribe and was therefore considered insane (a fairly good inference) was quietly removed by the unanimous vote of the community. But the Police taught a different code of ethics, followed and investigated every case until the Eskimos have begun to see things in a more humane light. It is of great interest to find that in these recent endeavours to get the Eskimos to see these matters aright the Mounted Police had the aid of the two Eskimos Sinnisiak and Uluksak who had been convicted of the murder of Fathers Le Roux and Rouvier, as already related, but who had been finally pardoned and sent back to tell their people of the sacredness of human life. In fact, Sinnisiak entered the service as a special constable and did useful work as a guide and hunter, thus showing, as Staff-Sergeant S. G. Clay said, that "his now rather long acquaintance with the Police has had its advantages." Two other Eskimos who had been tried and acquitted were also taken back by the Police to their own tribes to preach the gospel of the value of human life. In connection with these recent Northern patrols Sergeant W. O. Douglas with Constable Eyre and two natives left Fullerton for Chesterfield to look into rumours of a murder near Baker Lake. After a difficult patrol and serious risk Douglas arrested the alleged murderer, On-aug-wak, and brought him back to the Pas in Northern Manitoba after several thousands of miles of patrol for trial. The Eskimo made a statement as to taking the lives of two men, but there were many elements to be considered, and as the prisoner is deemed entitled to all the protection that British law affords, the Police with the accused are leaving for Baker Lake by the Hudson's Bay Company steamship _Nascopie_. A court will be constituted at Chesterfield Inlet with a jury from the crew of the steamship and the dozen or more Eskimo witnesses will be on hand to tell their story. This shows how carefully the Police work is done with due regard to every one's rights, no matter what his race or colour. But whatever the outcome of the trial the moral effect on the natives will be highly beneficial. Similarly Inspector J. W. Phillips and Sergeant A. H. Joy made a patrol from Haileybury in Northern Ontario to the Belcher Islands in the sub-Arctic, taking seventy-five days and covering nearly two thousand miles, arrested an Eskimo named Tukatauk for killing a man named Ketanshauk, but the coroner's jury were unanimous in saying that Ketanshauk was "killed for the common good and safety of the tribe." Phillips saw the force of this verdict as reasonable from the point of view of the Eskimos and was satisfied with the opportunity to give them some appropriate instruction in law and morals. One other case was followed up by Phillips at the same time with somewhat the same result. In 1920 Staff-Sergeant S. G. Clay, Constable E. H. Cornelius and Constable J. Brockie left Herschell Island and established the most northerly outpost of the Force 65 miles east of the mouth of the Coppermine River. The isolation of this post may be judged by the fact that the nearest post office is at Fort Macpherson over 600 miles away as the crow flies and the nearest telegraph office is at Dawson, over 1,000 miles distant. Here the Union Jack flies in the Arctic breeze and here revenue is collected for the Dominion from traders and trappers who venture north in schooners to ply their occupation. Sergeant Clay and his men made constant patrols to the Coppermine, to Bernard Harbour and Victoria Land, to Bathurst Inlet and Kent Peninsula with their dogs. The question of supplies of food for themselves and dogs was always pressing and at Fort Norman on the return journey there was such a shortage that the whole party had to go to Willow Lake for a month's fishing and hunting to lay in a safe supply. About 20 miles east of Cape Barrow this patrol found a tribe whom the police had not yet met. This gave the opportunity for more instruction, and Clay opines "that with the advent of the missionary and other aids to civilization" the wrongs done in ignorance by these people will cease. I have already spoken of the oilfields in the Fort Norman district, to which at the time of this writing there is a rush of people who see in their own imaginations such roads to wealth that they miss seeing the dangers of the way through these remote regions. But the Mounted Police, under the general charge of Superintendent G. L. Jennings, an experienced northerner himself, have made stringent regulations as to entry into the district which will protect the foolhardy from their own folly. And then, swinging away in our story to the old cities of the East, we find the Mounted Police at the ports of Montreal and Halifax, engaging the services of such experienced social-service workers as the Rev. John Chisholm and Mrs. Bessie Egan to meet unaccompanied women and girls who land in Canada, to see to their requirements and to attend them on board their trains, so that they may not be misled or enticed in wrong directions by the unscrupulous individuals who fatten on the wreckage of human lives. Social-service workers have always found difficulty in this work because of the brazenness and the threatening attitude of some of the evildoers, but when the stalwart men in scarlet and gold are at the call of these life-saving crews at the ports of entry to this country the harpies who prey on the innocent have to keep out of the way. A right royal task is this, also, for the old corps that has headed off more crime than any similar body in the world. And for all the work in Canada we have sketched, the total strength of the Force is about 1,700 of all ranks. There are some few people who so lack the power to sense nation-wide conditions that they gird at the expense of maintaining the corps. But men of vision know that the Mounted Police save Canada annually from moral and material losses that make expenditure upon this famous old law-and-order corps pale into insignificance by comparison. In the past year there were many changes in the way of promotions. Amongst the names our readers who have followed the story of the Force will meet many of the men who gave such ample proof of their fitness that their moving up a step came as it has generally come in the Force, as a spontaneous recognition of merit. The promotions were as follows: Promoted Assistant Commissioners: Superintendents C. Starnes, T. A. Wroughton. Promoted Superintendents: Inspectors R. E. Tucker, J. Ritchie, A. B. Allard, T. S. Belcher, G. L. Jennings and H. M. Newson. Promoted Inspectors: Sergt.-Major Fletcher, A./Sergt.-Major Trundle, Staff-Sergeant Mellor, Staff-Sergeant Forde, Staff-Sergeant Reames, Sergeants Bruce, Thomas, Moorhead, Kemp, Frere, Eames and Fraser. And these men, who had won their spurs, are with their comrades carrying on in a way worthy of the great traditions to which they are heirs. Thus has the story of the famous Mounted Police of Canada been brought down to date. An encyclopedia might be compiled on the subject by writing minute records and dry details, but an encyclopedia was not desired. It would be prohibitive in cost to the people in general and would be lacking in the personal element and the personal human touch so characteristic of the history of the corps. The aim was to bring the records of nearly fifty years into a single volume without squeezing the life out of them. Incidents and names could not all be included, but nothing has been omitted intentionally that bore upon the general trend of Western Canadian history with which the work of the Mounted Police is inseparably connected. Two years ago the Dominion Government, as already intimated, extended the jurisdiction of the Force to the whole of Canada, so that in towns and cities as well as on the frontiers of the far North and West the influence of the Force will henceforth be felt, backed by its great prestige. Referring to this the Duke of Devonshire, who as Governor-General of Canada was so close a student of its history and affairs, said recently, "The Force is now taking over a wider jurisdiction and increased duties. It will carry with it a great tradition and a great name, and we who appreciate and value its work can be assured that its record will be as successful in the future as in the past." And our gallant Prince of Wales, who captivated all Canada during his recent tour across the Dominion, graciously expressed his approval and appreciation of the Force by speaking at Regina Headquarters after inspection in the following words: "It is not only a real pleasure, but a great privilege to me to inspect you on parade this morning, and to visit the depôt of the Royal North-West Mounted Police, though this is by no means my first introduction to the Force, which I have seen a great deal of throughout my travels in the West, and I have been very impressed by it, particularly by the mounted escorts and guards that it has furnished for me in all the big cities. "I am interested in the history of the Force, how it was organized forty-six years ago, at a time when treaties were being made with the Indians, whereby the lands of the North-West were made available for settlement by the white people. So well has it administered justice between all parties that it has won for itself respect and the confidence of both white people and Indians, and no new country has ever been opened up with less crime and violence than this North-West Territory. "Up in the Klondike, when wild and lawless men thronged the Yukon gold diggings, life and property were as safe in the care of the Royal North-West Mounted Police as in any other part of the Dominion, and the splendid police work which they have done and continue to do in the frozen wastes of the North, under the most trying conditions of hardship and privation, is recognized and appreciated everywhere to-day. "I know that at the declaration of war, the whole Force wanted to join up, though that was naturally impossible. The first to be allowed to go were many Imperial reservists, who have always constituted a large percentage of its members. Then, by degrees, men could he spared, and served in the Canadian cavalry, infantry and other units, and I know many of the last joined men are war veterans. "I was with Sir Arthur Currie, Canadian Corps Commander, when he inspected the Royal North-West Mounted Police squadron when they arrived in France a year ago, so that the war records of the Force have been of the same high standard as its records in the past. "The Royal North-West Mounted Police is a splendid Force with magnificent traditions, whose fame is as wide as that of the Dominion itself. "I know the men of the Force of to-day are proving themselves worthy of those traditions and will ever uphold them." It was appropriate that the heir apparent to the British throne should thus address the Mounted Police of Canada, for their record is part of that British tradition and British sentiment which, delicate and intangible as gossamer, but strong as steel, bind our far-flung Empire into one triumphant unity. And now, as a fitting climax to the history of the corps at the time when it was undergoing changes that meant larger opportunities and increased usefulness in the years ahead, there comes this note in Commissioner Perry's report for 1920 just off the press: "On March 8 last, Sir George Perley, High Commissioner for Canada, cabled as follows: 'With His Majesty's approval Prince of Wales has graciously consented accept position Honorary Commandant Royal Canadian Mounted Police and His Royal Highness asks me tell you how pleased he is to be associated with Force in this way.' "On May 3, an Order in Council was passed making the appointment. "The Force has been signally honoured by His Royal Highness, and it keenly appreciates the distinction conferred upon it." This needs no comment beyond saying that the Prince of Wales knows Canada and knows the Mounted Police record in peace and in war. The Prince, who came to the overseas Dominions to represent our beloved King, has always shown his splendid capacity for thus appreciating the service of men who have stood and will continue to stand unconquered for the Flag "That may float or sink o'er a shot-torn wreck, But will never float over a slave." _Printed in Great Britain by_ Butler & Tanner, _Frome and London_. 
22254	----	generously made available by the Canadian Institute for Historical Microreproductions (www.canadiana.org)) A JOURNAL. PRINTED BY L. B. SEELEY, WESTON GREEN, THAMES DITTON. THE SUBSTANCE OF A JOURNAL DURING A RESIDENCE AT THE RED RIVER COLONY, British North America; AND FREQUENT EXCURSIONS AMONG THE NORTH-WEST AMERICAN INDIANS, IN THE YEARS 1820, 1821, 1822, 1823. By JOHN WEST, M. A. LATE CHAPLAIN TO THE HON. THE HUDSON'S BAY COMPANY. PRINTED FOR L. B. SEELEY AND SON, FLEET STREET, LONDON. MDCCCXXIV. TO THE REV. HENRY BUDD, M. A. CHAPLAIN TO BRIDEWELL HOSPITAL, MINISTER OF BRIDEWELL PRECINCT, AND RECTOR OF WHITE ROOTHING, ESSEX, AS A TESTIMONY OF GRATITUDE FOR HIS KINDNESS AND FRIENDSHIP, AND OF HIGH ESTEEM FOR HIS UNWEARIED EXERTIONS IN EVERY CAUSE OF BENEVOLENCE AND ENLIGHTENED ENDEAVOUR TO PROMOTE THE BEST INTERESTS OF MAN, THE FOLLOWING PAGES ARE RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED BY THE AUTHOR. Transcriber's Notes: Variant spellings have been retained. The Errata have been moved to the beginning of the text. To improve readability, dashes between entries in the Table of Contents and in chapter subheadings have been converted to periods. ERRATA. Page 1, line 7, _for_ Salteaux, _read_ Saulteaux. 21, line 6, _for_ 1820, _read_ 1817. 36, line 2 from bottom, _for_ spiritous, _read_ spirituous. 57, line 24, _for_ forty, _read_ sixty. 70, bottom of the page, _for_ Heritics, _read_ Heretics. 131, line 24, _for_ Loom, _read_ Loon. 156, line 3, _for_ a, _read_ no. 180, line 3, _for_ intrepedity, _read_ intrepidity. 204, line 19, _for_ intention it, _read_ intention of it. PREFACE. We live in a day when the most distant parts of the earth are opening as the sphere of Missionary labours. The state of the heathen world is becoming better known, and the sympathy of British Christians has been awakened, in zealous endeavours to evangelize and soothe its sorrows. In these encouraging signs of the times, the Author is induced to give the following pages to the public, from having traversed some of the dreary wilds of North America, and felt deeply interested in the religious instruction and amelioration of the condition of the natives. They are wandering, in unnumbered tribes, through vast wildernesses, where generation after generation have passed away, in gross ignorance and almost brutal degradation. Should any information he is enabled to give excite a further Christian sympathy, and more active benevolence in their behalf, it will truly rejoice his heart: and his prayer to God, is, that the Aborigines of a British Territory, may not remain as outcasts from British Missionary exertions; but may be raised through their instrumentality, to what they are capable of enjoying, the advantages of civilized and social life, with the blessings of Christianity. September, 1824. CONTENTS. PAGE. CHAPTER I.--Departure from England. Arrival at the Orkney Isles. Enter Hudson's Straits. Icebergs. Esquimaux. Killing a Polar Bear. York Factory. Embarked for the Red River Colony. Difficulties of the Navigation. Lake Winipeg. Muskeggowuck, or Swamp Indians. Pigewis, a chief of the Chipewyans, or Saulteaux Tribe. Arrival at the Red River. Colonists. School established. Wolf dogs. Indians visit Fort Douglas. Design of a Building for Divine Worship 1 CHAPTER II.--Visit the School. Leave the Forks for Qu'appelle. Arrival at Brandon House. Indian Corpse staged. Marriages at Company's Posts. Distribution of the Scriptures. Departure from Brandon House. Encampment. Arrival at Qu'appelle. Character and Customs of Stone Indians. Stop at some Hunter's Tents on return to the Colony. Visit Pembina. Hunting Buffaloes. Indian address. Canadian Voyageurs. Indian Marriages. Burial Ground. Pemican. Indian Hunter sends his son to be educated. Mosquitoes. Locusts 28 CHAPTER III.--Norway House. Baptisms. Arrival at York Factory. Swiss Emigrants. Auxiliary Bible Society formed. Boat wrecked. Catholic Priests. Sioux Indians killed at the Colony. Circulation of the Scriptures among the Colonists. Scarcity of Provisions. Fishing under the Ice. Wild Fowl. Meet the Sioux Indians at Pembina. They scalp an Assiniboine. War dance. Cruelly put to death a Captive Boy. Indian expression of gratitude for the Education of his Child. Sturgeon 64 CHAPTER IV.--Arrival of Canoe from Montreal. Liberal Provision for Missionary Establishment. Manitobah Lake. Indian Gardens. Meet Captain Franklin and Officers of the Arctic Expedition at York Factory. First Anniversary of the Auxiliary Bible Society. Half-Caste Children. Aurora Borealis. Conversation with Pigewis. Good Harvest at the Settlement, and arrival of Cattle from United States. Massacre of Hunters. Produce of Grain at Colony 94 CHAPTER V.--Climate of Red River. Thermometer. Pigewis's Nephew. Wolves. Remarks of General Washington. Indian Woman shot by her son. Sufferings of Indians. Their notions of the Deluge. No visible object of adoration. Acknowledge a Future Life. Left the Colony for Bas la Rivière. Lost on Winipeg Lake. Recover the Track, and meet an intoxicated Indian. Apparent facilities for establishing Schools West of Rocky Mountains. Russians affording Religious instruction on the North West Coast of North America. Rumours of War among the surrounding Tribes with the Sioux Indians 110 CHAPTER VI.--Progress of Indian Children in reading. Building for Divine Worship. Left the Colony. Arrival at York Fort. Departure for Churchill Factory. Bears. Indian Hieroglyphics. Arrival at Churchill. Interview with Esquimaux. Return to York Factory. Embark for England. Moravian Missionaries. Greenland. Arrival in the Thames 150 DIRECTIONS TO THE BINDER. 1. The engraving of meeting the Indians, to face the title page. 2. Scalping the Indians to face page 85. 3. The Protestant Church, to face page 155. THE RED RIVER COLONY; AND THE NORTH-WEST-AMERICAN INDIANS. CHAPTER I. DEPARTURE FROM ENGLAND. ARRIVAL AT THE ORKNEY ISLES. ENTER HUDSON'S STRAITS. ICEBERGS. ESQUIMAUX. KILLING A POLAR BEAR. YORK FACTORY. EMBARKED FOR THE RED RIVER COLONY. DIFFICULTIES OF THE NAVIGATION. LAKE WINIPEG. MUSKEGGOWUCK, OR SWAMP INDIANS. PIGEWIS, A CHIEF OF THE CHIPPEWAYS OR SALTEAUX TRIBE. ARRIVAL AT THE RED RIVER. COLONISTS. SCHOOL ESTABLISHED. WOLF-DOGS. INDIANS VISIT FORT DOUGLAS. DESIGN OF A BUILDING FOR DIVINE WORSHIP. On the 27th of May, 1820, I embarked at Gravesend, on board the Honourable Hudson's Bay Company's ship, the Eddystone; accompanied by the ship, Prince of Wales, and the Luna brig, for Hudson's Bay. In my appointment as Chaplain to the Company, my instructions were, to reside at the Red River Settlement, and under the encouragement and aid of the Church Missionary Society, I was to seek the instruction, and endeavour to meliorate the condition of the native Indians. The anchor was weighed early on the following morning, and sailing with a fine breeze, the sea soon opened to our view. The thought that I was now leaving all that was dear to me upon earth, to encounter the perils of the ocean, and the wilderness, sensibly affected me at times; but my feelings were relieved in the sanguine hope that I was borne on my way under the guidance of a kind protecting Providence, and that the circumstances of the country whither I was bound, would soon admit of my being surrounded with my family. With these sentiments, I saw point after point sink in the horizon, as we passed the shores of England and Scotland for the Orkneys. We bore up for these Isles on the 10th of June, after experiencing faint and variable winds for several days: and a more dreary scene can scarcely be imagined than they present to the eye, in general. No tree or shrub is visible; and all is barren except a few spots of cultivated ground in the vales, which form a striking contrast with the barren heath-covered hills that surround them. These cultivated spots mark the residence of the hardy Orkneyman in a wretched looking habitation with scarcely any other light, (as I found upon landing on one of the islands) than from a smoke hole, or from an aperture in the wall, closed at night with a tuft of grass. The calf and pig were seen as inmates, while the little furniture that appeared, was either festooned with strings of dried fish, or crossed with a perch for the fowls to roost on. A different scene, however, presented itself, as we anchored the next day in the commodious harbour of Stromness. The view of the town, with the surrounding cultivated parts of the country, and the Hoy Hill, is striking and romantic, and as our stay here was for a few days, I accepted an invitation to the Manse, from the kind and worthy minister of Hoy, and ascended with him the hill, of about 1620 feet high. The sabbath we spent at sea was a delight to me, from the arrangement made by the captain for the attendance of the passengers and part of the crew on divine worship, both morning and afternoon. Another sabbath had now returned, and the weather being fair, all were summoned to attend on the quarter deck. We commenced the service by singing the Old Hundredth Psalm, and our voices being heard by the crews of several ships, lying near to us at anchor, they were seen hurrying on deck from below, so as to present to us a most interesting and gratifying sight-- "We stood, and under open sky adored The God, that made both 'seas,' air, earth, and heaven." There appeared to be a solemn impression; and I trust that religion was felt among us as a divine reality. JUNE 22.--The ships got under weigh to proceed on our voyage; and as we passed the rugged and broken rocks of Hoy Head, we were reminded of the fury of a tempestuous ocean, in forming some of them into detached pillars, and vast caverns; while they left an impression upon the mind, of desolation and danger. We had not sailed more than one hundred miles on the Atlantic before it blew a strong head wind, and several on board with myself were greatly affected by the motion of the ship. It threw me into such a state of languor, that I felt as though I could have willingly yielded to have been cast overboard, and it was nearly a week before I was relieved from this painful sensation and nausea, peculiar to sea sickness. Without any occurrence worthy of notice we arrived in Davis's Straits on the 19th of July, where Greenland ships are sometimes met with, returning from the whale fishery, but we saw not a single whaler in this solitary part of the ocean. The Mallemuk, found in great numbers off Greenland, and the "Larus crepidatus," or black toed gull, frequently visited us; and for nearly a whole day, a large shoal of the "Delphinus deductor," or leading whale, was observed following the ship. The captain ordered the harpoons and lances to be in readiness in case we fell in with the great Greenland whale, but nothing was seen of this monster of the deep. In approaching Hudson's straits, we first saw one of those beautiful features in the scenery of the North, an Iceberg, which being driven with vast masses of ice off Cape Farewell, South Greenland, are soon destroyed by means of the solar heat, and tempestuous force of the sea. The thermometer was at 27° on the night of the 22nd, with ice in the boat; and in the afternoon we saw an iceblink, a beautiful effulgence or reflection of light over the floating ice, to the extent of forty or fifty miles. The next day we passed Resolution Island, Lat. 61° 25', Long. 65° 2' and all was desolate and inhospitable in the view over black barren rocks, and in the aspect of the shore. This being Sunday, I preached in the morning, catechized the young people in the afternoon, and had divine service again in the evening, as was our custom every sabbath in crossing the Atlantic, when the weather would permit: and it afforded me much pleasure to witness the sailors at times in groups reading the life of Newton, or some religious tracts which I put into their hands. The Scotch I found generally well and scripturally informed, and several of them joined the young people in reading to me the New Testatament, and answering the catechetical questions. In our passage through the Straits, our progress was impeded by vast fields of ice, and icebergs floating past us in every form of desolate magnificence. The scene was truly grand and impressive, and mocks imagination to describe. There is a solemn and an overwhelming sensation produced in the mind, by these enormous masses of snow and ice, not to be conveyed in words. They floated by us from one to two hundred feet above the water, and sometimes of great length, resembling huge mountains, with deep vallies between, lofty cliffs, and all the imposing objects in nature, passing in silent grandeur, except at intervals, when the fall of one was heard, or the crashing of the ice struck the ear like the noise of distant thunder. When nearly off Saddle Back, with a light favourable breeze, and about ten miles from the shore, the Esquimaux who, visit the Straits during summer, were observed with their one man skin canoes, followed by women in some of a larger size, paddling towards the ship. No sooner was the sail shortened than we were surrounded by nearly two hundred of them: the men raising their paddles as they approached us, shouting with much exultation, 'chimo! chimo! pillattaa! pillattaa!' expressions probably of friendship, or trade. They were particularly eager to exchange all that they apparently possessed, and hastily bartered with the Eddystone, blubber, whalebone, and seahorse teeth, for axes, saws, knives, tin kettles, and bits of old iron hoop. The women presented image toys, made from the bones and teeth of animals, models of canoes, and various articles of dress, made of seal skins, and the membranes of the abdomen of the whale, all of which displayed considerable ingenuity and neatness, and for which they received in exchange, needles, knives, and beads. It was very clear that European deception had reached them, from the manner in which they _tenaciously_ held their articles till they _grasped_ what was offered in barter for them; and immediately they got the merchandise in possession, they licked it with their tongues, in satisfaction that it was their own. The tribe appeared to be well-conditioned in their savage state, and remarkably healthy. Some of the children, I observed, were eating raw flesh, from the bones of animals that had been killed, and given them by their mothers, who appeared to have a strong natural affection for their offspring. I threw one of them a halfpenny, which she caught; and pointing to the child she immediately gave it to him with much apparent fondness. It has been supposed that in holding up their children, as is sometimes the case, it is for barter, but I should rather conclude that it is for the purpose of exciting commiseration, and to obtain some European article for them. A few of the men were permitted to come on board, and the good humour of the captain invited one to dance with him: he took the step with much agility and quickness, and imitated every gesture of his lively partner. The breeze freshening, we soon parted with this barbarous people, and when at a short distance from the ship, they assembled in their canoes, each taking hold of the adjoining one, in apparent consultation, as to what bargains they had made, and what articles they possessed, till a canoe was observed to break off from the group, which they all followed for their haunts along the shores of Terra Neiva, and the Savage Islands. Having a copy of the Esquimaux Gospels from the British and Foreign Bible Society, it was my wish to have read part of a chapter to them, with a view to ascertain, if possible, whether they knew of the Moravian Missionary establishment at Nain, on the Labrador coast; but such was the haste, bustle, and noise of their intercourse with us, that I lost the opportunity. Though they have exchanged articles in barter for many years, it is not known whether they are from the Labrador shore on a summer excursion for killing seals, and the whale fishery, or from the East main coast, where they return and winter. The highest point of latitude we reached in our course, was 62° 44'--longitude 74° 16', and when off Cape Digges we parted company with the Prince of Wales, as bound to James's Bay. We stood on direct for York Factory, and when about fifty miles from Cary Swan's Nest, the chief mate pointed out to me a polar bear, with her two cubs swimming towards the ship. He immediately ordered the jolly-boat to be lowered, and asked me to accompany him in the attempt to kill her. Some axes were put into the boat, in case the ferocious animal should approach us in the attack; and the sailors pulled away in the direction she was swimming. At the first shot, when within about one hundred yards, she growled tremendously, and immediately made for the boat; but having the advantage in rowing faster than she could swim, our guns were reloaded till she was killed, and one of the cubs also accidentally, from swimming close to the mother; the other got upon the floating carcase, and was towed to the side of the ship, when a noose was put around its neck, and it was hauled on board for the captain to take with him alive, on his return to England. AUGUST 3.--We fell in with a great deal of floating ice, the weather was very foggy, and the thermometer at freezing point. The ship occasionally received some heavy blows, and with difficulty made way along a vein of water. On the 5th we were completely blocked in with ice, and nothing was to be seen in every part of the horizon, but one vast mass, as a barrier to our proceeding. It was a terrific, and sublime spectacle; and the human mind cannot conceive any thing more awful, than the destruction of a ship, by the meeting of two enormous fields of ice, advancing against each other at the rate of several miles an hour. "It may easily be imagined," says Captain Scoresby, "that the strongest ship can no more withstand the shock of the contact of two fields, than a sheet of paper can stop a musket-ball. Numbers of vessels since the establishment of the Whale Fishery have been thus destroyed. Some have been thrown upon the ice. Some have had their hulls completely thrown open, and others have been buried beneath the heaped fragments of the ice."-- Sunday, the 6th.--Text in the morning 1st book Samuel, 30th chapter, latter part of the 6th verse. The weather was very variable, with much thunder and lightening; which was awful and impressive. On the 12th the thermometer was below freezing point, and the rigging of the ship was covered with large icicles. Intense fogs often prevailed, but of very inconsiderable height. They would sometimes obscure the hull of the ship, when the mast head was seen, and the sun was visible and effulgent. In the evening of the 13th, the sailors gave three cheers, as we got under weigh on the opening of the ice by a strong northerly wind, and left the vast mass which had jammed us in for many days. The next day we saw the land, and came to the anchorage at York Flatts the following morning, with sentiments of gratitude to God for his protecting Providence through the perils of the ice and of the sea, and for the little interruption in the duties of my profession from the state of the weather, during the voyage. I was kindly received by the Governor at the Factory, the principal depôt of the Hudson's Bay Company, and on the sabbath, every arrangement was made for the attendance of the Company's servants on divine worship, both parts of the day. Observing a number of half-breed children running about, growing up in ignorance and idleness; and being informed that they were a numerous offspring of Europeans by Indian women, and found at all the Company's Posts; I drew up a plan, which I submitted to the Governor, for collecting a certain number of them, to be maintained, clothed, and educated upon a regularly organized system. It was transmitted by him to the Committee of the Hudson's Bay Company, whose benevolent feelings towards this neglected race, had induced them to send several schoolmasters to the country, fifteen or sixteen years ago; but who were unhappily diverted from their original purpose, and became engaged as fur traders. During my stay at this post, I visited several Indian families, and no sooner saw them crowded together in their miserable-looking tents, than I felt a lively interest (as I anticipated) in their behalf. Unlike the Esquimaux I had seen in Hudson's Straits, with their flat, fat, greasy faces, these '_Swampy Crees_' presented a way-worn countenance, which depicted "Suffering without comfort, while they sunk without hope." The contrast was striking, and forcibly impressed my mind with the idea, that Indians who knew not the corrupt influence and barter of spirituous liquors at a Trading Post, were far happier, than the wretched-looking group around me. The duty devolved upon me, to seek to meliorate their sad condition, as degraded and emaciated, wandering in ignorance, and wearing away a short existence in one continued succession of hardships in procuring food. I was told of difficulties, and some spoke of impossibilities in the way of teaching them Christianity or the first rudiments of settled and civilized life; but with a combination of opposing circumstances, I determined not to be intimidated, nor to "confer with flesh and blood," but to put my hand immediately to the plough, in the attempt to break in upon this heathen wilderness. If little hope could be cherished of the adult Indian in his wandering and unsettled habits of life, it appeared to me, that a _wide_ and _most extensive field_, presented itself for cultivation in the instruction of the native children. With the aid of an interpreter, I spoke to an Indian, called Withaweecapo, about taking two of his boys to the Red River Colony with me to educate and maintain. He yielded to my request; and I shall never forget the affectionate manner in which he brought the eldest boy in his arms, and placed him in the canoe on the morning of my departure from York Factory. His two wives, sisters, accompanied him to the water's edge, and while they stood gazing on us, as the canoe was paddled from the shore, I considered that I bore a pledge from the Indian that many more children might be found, if an establishment were formed in British Christian sympathy, and British liberality for their education and support. I had to establish the principle, that the North-American Indian of these regions would part with his children, to be educated in white man's knowledge and religion. The above circumstance therefore afforded us no small encouragement, in embarking for the colony. We overtook the boats going thither on the 7th of September, slowly proceeding through a most difficult and laborious navigation. The men were harnessed to a line, as they walked along the steep declivity of a high bank, dragging them against a strong current. In many places, as we proceeded, the water was very shoal, and opposed us with so much force in the rapids, that the men were frequently obliged to get out, and lift the boats over the stones; at other times to unload, and launch them over the rocks, and carry the goods upon their backs, or rather suspended in slings from their heads, a considerable distance, over some of the portages. The weather was frequently very cold, with snow and rain; and our progress was so slow and mortifying, particularly up Hill River, that the boats' crews were heard to execrate the man who first found out such a way into the interior. The blasphemy of the men, in the difficulties they had to encounter, was truly painful to me. I had hoped better things of the Scotch, from their known moral and enlightened education; but their horrid imprecations proved a degeneracy of character in an Indian country. This I lamented to find was too generally the case with Europeans, particularly so in their barbarous treatment of women. They do not admit them as their companions, nor do they allow them to eat at their tables, but degrade them _merely_ as slaves to their arbitrary inclinations; while the children grow up wild and uncultivated as the heathen. The scenery throughout the passage is dull and monotonous (excepting a few points in some of the small lakes, which are picturesque), till you reach the Company's post, Norway House; when a fine body of water bursts upon your view in Lake Winipeg. We found the voyage, from the Factory to this point, so sombre and dreary, that the sight of a horse grazing on the bank greatly exhilarated us, in the association of the idea that we were approaching some human habitation. Our provisions being short, we recruited our stock at this post; and I obtained another boy for education, reported to me as the orphan son of a deceased Indian and a half-caste woman; and taught him the prayer which the other used morning and evening, and which he soon learned:--"_Great Father, bless me, through Jesus Christ._" May a gracious God hear their cry, and raise them up as heralds of his salvation in this truly benighted and barbarous part of the world. It often grieved me, in our hurried passage, to see the men employed in taking the goods over the carrying places, or in rowing, during the Sabbath. I contemplated the delight with which thousands in England enjoyed the privileges of this sacred day, and welcomed divine ordinances. In reading, meditation, and prayer, however, my soul was not forsaken of God, and I gladly embraced an opportunity of calling those more immediately around me to join in reading the scriptures, and in prayer in my tent. October the 6th. The ground was covered with snow, and the weather most winterly, when we embarked in our open boats to cross the lake for the Red River. Its length, from north to south, is about three hundred miles; and it abounds with sunken rocks, which are very dangerous to boats sailing in a fresh breeze. It is usual to run along shore, for the sake of an encampment at night, and of getting into a creek for shelter, in ease of storms and tempestuous weather. We had run about half the lake, when the boat, under a press of sail, struck upon one of these rocks, with so much violence as to threaten our immediate destruction. The idea of never more seeing my family upon earth, rushed upon my mind; but the pang of thought was alleviated by the recollection that life at best was short, and that they would soon meet me in 'brighter worlds,' whither I expected to be hurried, through the supposed hasty death of drowning. Providentially however we escaped being wrecked; and I could not but bless the God of my salvation, for the anchor of hope afforded me amidst all dangers and difficulties and possible privations of life. As I sat at the door of my tent near a fire one evening, an Indian joined me, and gave me to understand that he knew a little English. He told me that he was taken prisoner when very young, and subsequently fell into the hands of an American gentleman, who took him to England, where he was very much frightened lest the houses should fall upon him. He further added that he knew a little of Jesus Christ, and hoped that I would teach him to read, when he came to the Red River, which he intended to do after he had been on a visit to his relations. He has a most interesting intelligent countenance, and expressed much delight at my coming over to his country to teach the Indians. We saw but few of them in our route along the courses of the river, and on the banks of the Winipeg. These are called Muskeggouck, or Swamp Indians, and are considered a distinct tribe, between the Nahathaway or Cree and Saulteaux. They subsist on fish, and occasionally the moose deer or elk, with the rein deer or caribou, vast numbers of which, as they swim the river in spring and in the fall of the year, the Indians spear in their canoes. In times of extremity they gather moss from the rocks, that is called by the Canadians 'tripe de roche,' which boils into a clammy substance, and has something of a nutritious quality. The general appearance of these Indians is that of wretchedness and want, and excited in my mind much sympathy towards them. I shook hands with them, in the hope that ere the rising generation at least had passed away, the light of Christianity, like the _aurora borealis_ relieving the gloom of their winter night, would shed around them its heavenly lustre, and cheer their suffering existence with a scriptural hope of immortality. In crossing the Winipeg, we saw almost daily large flocks of wild fowl, geese, ducks, and swans, flying to the south; which was a sure indication to us that winter was setting in with severity to the north. In fact it had already visited us, and inflicted much suffering from cold; and it was with no small delight that we entered the mouth of Red River, soon after the sun rose in majestic splendour over the lake, on the morning of the 13th of October. We proceeded to Netley Creek to breakfast, where we met Pigewis the chief of a tribe of Saulteaux Indians, who live principally along the banks of the river. This chief breakfasted with the party, and shaking hands with me most cordially, expressed a wish that "more of the stumps and brushwood were cleared away for my feet, in coming to see his country." On our apprising him of the Earl of Selkirk's death, he expressed much sorrow, and appeared to feel deeply the loss which he and the colony had sustained in his Lordship's decease. He shewed me the following high testimony of his character, given him by the late Earl when at Red River. "The bearer, Pigewis, one of the principal chiefs of the Chipewyans, or Saulteaux of Red River, has been a steady friend of the settlement ever since its first establishment, and has never deserted its cause in its greatest reverses. He has often exerted his influence to restore peace; and having rendered most essential services to the settlers in their distress, deserves to be treated with favour and distinction by the officers of the Hudson's Bay Company, and by all the friends of peace and good order." (Signed.) SELKIRK. Fort Douglas, July 17, 1820. As we proceeded, the banks were covered with oak, elm, ash, poplar, and maple, and rose gradually higher as we approached the Colony, when the praries, or open grassy plains, presented to the eye an agreeable contrast with the almost continued forest of pine we were accustomed to in the route from York Factory. On the 14th of October we reached the settlement, consisting of a number of huts widely scattered along the margin of the river; in vain did I look for a cluster of cottages, where the hum of a small population at least might be heard as in a village. I saw but few marks of human industry in the cultivation of the soil. Almost every inhabitant we passed bore a gun upon his shoulder and all appeared in a wild and hunter-like state. The colonists were a compound of individuals of various countries. They were principally Canadians, and Germans of the Meuron regiment; who were discharged in Canada at the conclusion of the American war, and were mostly Catholics. There was a large population of Scotch emigrants also, who with some retired servants of the Hudson's Bay Company were chiefly Protestants, and by far the most industrious in agricultural pursuits. There was an unfinished building as a Catholic church, and a small house adjoining, the residence of the Priest; but no Protestant manse, church, or school house, which obliged me to take up my abode at the Colony Fort, (Fort Douglas,) where the 'Chargè d'Affaires' of the settlement resided; and who kindly afforded the accommodation of a room for divine worship on the sabbath. My ministry was generally well attended by the settlers; and soon after my arrival I got a log-house repaired about three miles below the Fort, among the Scotch population, where the schoolmaster took up his abode, and began teaching from twenty to twenty-five of the children. Nov. the 8th.--The river was frozen over, and the winter set in with severity. Many were harnessing and trying their dogs in sledges, with a view to _trip_ to Pembina, a distance of about seventy miles, or to the Hunters' tents, on the plains, for buffaloe meat. The journey generally takes them a fortnight, or sometimes more, before they return to the settlement with provisions; and this rambling and uncertain mode of obtaining subsistence in their necessity, (the locusts having then destroyed their crops,) has given the settlers a fondness for _tripping_, to the neglect of improving their dwellings and their farms. The dogs used on these occasions, and for travelling in carioles over the snow, strongly resemble the wolf in size, and frequently in colour. They have pointed noses, small sharp ears, long bushy tails, and a savage aspect. They never bark, but set up a fierce growl, and when numerous about a Fort, their howling is truly melancholy. A doubt can no longer exist, that the dogs brought to the interior of these wilds by Europeans, engendered with the wolf, and produced these dogs in common use. They have no attachment, and destroy all domestic animals. They are lashed to a sledge, and are often _brutally_ driven to travel thirty or forty miles a day, dragging after them a load of three and four hundred pounds weight. When fat, they are eaten by the Canadians as a great delicacy; and are generally presented by the Indians at their feasts. Many Indian families came frequently to the Fort, and as is common, I believe, to all the aborigines were of a copper colour complexion, with black coarse hair. Whenever they dressed for any particular occasion, they anointed themselves all over with charcoal and grease, and painted their eyebrows, lips and forehead, or cheeks, with vermillion. Some had their noses perforated through the cartilage, in which was fixed part of a goose quill, or a piece of tin, worn as an ornament, while others strutted with the skin of a raven ingeniously folded as a head dress, to present the beak over the forehead, and the tail spreading over the back of the neck. Their clothing consisted principally of a blanket, a buffaloe skin, and leggings, with a cap, which hung down their back, and was fastened to a belt round the waist. _Scoutaywaubo_, or fire water, (rum) was their principal request; to obtain which they appeared ready to barter any thing, or every thing they possessed. The children ran about almost naked, and were treated by their parents with all the instinctive fondness of animals. They know of no restraint, and as they grow up into life, they are left at full liberty to be absolute masters of their own actions. They were very lively, and several of them had pleasing countenances which indicated a capacity for much intellectual improvement. Most of their ears were cut in large holes, to which were suspended various ornaments, but principally those of beads. Their mothers were in the practice of some disgusting habits towards them particularly that of devouring the vermin which were engendered from their dirty heads. They put into their mouths all that they happen to find, and will sometimes reserve a quantity, and present the choice collection as a _bonne bouche_ to their husbands. After a short stay at the settlement, they left us to roam through the forests, like animals, without any fixed residence, in search of provisions, till the rivers open in the following spring, when they return to the Company's Post, and trade with the skins and furs which they have taken in hunting. December the 6th. My residence was now removed to the farm belonging to the late Earl of Selkirk, about three miles from Fort Douglas, and six from the school. Though more comfortable in my quarters, than at the Fort, the distance put me to much inconvenience in my professional duties. We continued, however, to have divine service regularly on the Sabbath; and having frequently enforced the moral, and social obligation of marriage upon those who were living with, and had families by Indian, or half caste women, I had the happiness to perform the ceremony for several of the most respectable of the settlers, under the conviction, that _the institution of marriage, and the security of property, were the fundamental laws of society_. I had also many baptisms; and with infants, some adult half-breeds were brought to be baptized. I endeavoured to explain to them simply and faithfully the nature and object of that Divine ordinance; but found great difficulty in conveying to their minds any just and true ideas of the Saviour, who gave the commission, on his ascension into heaven "To go and teach all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost." This difficulty produced in me a strong desire to extend the blessing of education to them: and from this period it became a leading object with me, to erect in a central situation, a substantial building, which should contain apartments for the school-master, afford accommodation for Indian children, be a day-school for the children of the settlers, enable us to establish a Sunday school for the half-caste adult population who would attend, and fully answer the purpose of a church for the present, till a brighter prospect arose in the colony, and its inhabitants were more congregated. I became anxious to see such a building arise as a Protestant land-mark of Christianity in a vast field of heathenism and general depravity of manners, and cheerfully gave my hand and my heart to perfect the work. I expected a willing co-operation from the Scotch settlers; but was disappointed in my sanguine hopes of their cheerful and persevering assistance, through their prejudices against the English Liturgy, and the simple rites of our communion. I visited them however in their affliction, and performed all ministerial duties as their Pastor; while my motto, was--Perseverance. CHAPTER II. VISIT THE SCHOOL. LEAVE THE FORKS FOR QU'APPELLE. ARRIVAL AT BRANDON HOUSE. INDIAN CORPSE STAGED. MARRIAGES AT COMPANY'S POST. BAPTISMS. DISTRIBUTION OF THE SCRIPTURES. DEPARTURE FROM BRANDON HOUSE. ENCAMPMENT. ARRIVAL AT QU'APPELLE. CHARACTER AND CUSTOMS OF STONE INDIANS. STOP AT SOME HUNTERS' TENTS ON RETURN TO THE COLONY. VISIT PEMBINA. HUNTING BUFFALOES. INDIAN ADDRESS. CANADIAN VOYAGEURS. INDIAN MARRIAGES. BURIAL GROUND. PEMICAN. INDIAN HUNTER SENDS HIS SON TO BE EDUCATED. MOSQUITOES. LOCUSTS. JANUARY 1, 1821.--I went to the school this morning, a distance of about six miles from my residence, to examine the children, and was much pleased at the progress which they had already made in reading. Having addressed them, and prayed for a divine blessing on their instruction: I distributed to those who could read a little book, as a reward for their general good conduct in the school. In returning to the farm, my mind was filled with sentiments of gratitude and love to a divine Saviour for his providential protection, and gracious favour towards me during the past year. He has shielded me in the shadow of his hand through the perils of the sea and of the wilderness from whence I may derive motives of devotion and activity in my profession. Thousands are involved in worse than Egyptian darkness around me, wandering in ignorance and perishing through lack of knowledge. When will this wide waste howling wilderness blossom as the rose, and the desert become as a fruitful field! Generations _may_ first pass away; and the seed of instruction that is now sown, may lie buried, waiting for the early and the latter rain, yet, the sure word of Prophecy, will ever animate Christian liberality and exertion, in the bright prospect of that glorious period, when Christianity shall burst upon the gloomy scene of heathenism, and dispel every cloud of ignorance and superstition, till _the very ends of the earth_ shall see the salvation of the Lord. As I returned from divine service at the Fort, to the farm, on the 7th, it rained hard for nearly two hours, which is a very unusual thing during winter in this northern latitude. We have seldom any rain for nearly six months, but a continued hard frost the greater part of this period. The sky is generally clear, and the snow lies about fifteen, or at the utmost eighteen inches deep. As the climate of a country is not known by merely measuring its distance from the equator, but is affected differently in the same parallel of latitude by its locality, and a variety of circumstances, we find that of Red River, though situated in the same parallel, far different from, and intensely more cold than, that of England. The thermometer is frequently at 30° and 40° below zero, when it is only about freezing point in the latter place. This difference is probably occasioned by the prevailing north-westerly wind, that blows with piercing keenness over the rocky mountains, or Andes, which run from north to south through the whole Continent, and over a country which is buried in ice and snow. As my instructions were to afford religious instruction and consolation to the servants in the active employment of the Hudson's Bay Company, as well as to the Company's retired servants, and other inhabitants of the settlement, upon such occasions as the nature of the country and other circumstances would permit; I left the Forks[1] in a cariole drawn by three dogs, accompanied by a sledge with two dogs, to carry the luggage and provisions, and two men as drivers, on the 15th of January, for Brandon House, and Qu'appelle, on the Assiniboine River. After we had travelled about fifteen miles, we stopped on the edge of a wood, and _bivouacked_ on the snow for the night. A large fire was soon kindled, and a supply of wood cut to keep it up; when supper being prepared and finished, I wrapped myself in my blankets and buffaloe robe, and laid down with a few twigs under me in place of a bed, with my feet towards the fire, and slept soundly under the open canopy of heaven. The next morning we left our encampment before sunrise; and the country as we passed presented some beautiful points and bluffs of wood. We started again early the following morning, which was intensely cold; and I had much difficulty in keeping my face from freezing, on my way to the encampment rather late in the evening, at the '_Portage de Prairè_.' In crossing the plain the next morning, with a sharp head wind, my nose and part of my face were frozen quite hard and white. I was not conscious of it, till it was perceived by the driver, who immediately rubbed the parts affected well with snow, and restored the circulation, so that I suffered no inconvenience from the circumstance, but was obliged to keep my face covered with a blanket as I lay in the cariole the remaining part of the day. [1] So called from the junction of the Assiniboine River with the Red River. On the 19th we were on the march as early as half past four, and had a sharp piercing wind in our faces, which drifted the snow, and made the track very bad for the dogs. This greatly impeded our progress; and our provisions being short, I shot some ptarmigans, which were frequently seen on our route. We perceived some traces of the buffaloe, and the wolf was frequently seen following our track, or crossing in the line we were travelling. Jan. 20. We started at sunrise, with a very cold head wind; and my favourite English watch dog, Neptune, left the encampment, to follow us, with great reluctance. I was apprehensive that he might turn back, on account of the severity of the morning; and being obliged to put my head under the blanket in the cariole, I requested the driver to encourage him along. We had not pursued our journey however more than an hour, before I was grieved to find that the piercing keenness of the wind had forced him to return; and the poor animal was probably soon after devoured by the wolves. We arrived at Brandon House, the Company's provision post, about three o'clock; and the next day, being Sunday, the servants were all assembled for divine worship at eleven o'clock: and we met again in the evening at six, when I married the officer of the post, and baptized his two children. On the following morning, I saw an Indian corpse staged, or put upon a few cross sticks, about ten feet from the ground, at a short distance from the fort. The property of the dead, which may consist of a kettle, axe, and a few additional articles, is generally put into the case, or wrapped in the buffaloe skin with the body, under the idea that the deceased will want them, or that the spirit of these articles will accompany the departed spirit in travelling to another world. And whenever they visit the stage or burying-place, which they frequently do for years afterwards, they will encircle it, smoke their pipes, weep bitterly, and, in their sorrow, cut themselves with knives, or pierce themselves with the points of sharp instruments. I could not but reflect that theirs is a sorrow without hope: all is _gross darkness_ with them as to futurity; and they wander through life without the consolatory and cheering influence of that gospel which has brought life and immortality to light. Before I left this post, I married two of the Company's servants, and baptized ten or twelve children. As their parents could read, I distributed some Bibles and Testaments, with some Religious Tracts among them. On the 24th, we set off for Qu'appelle, but not without the kind attention of the officer, in adding two armed servants to our party, from the expectation that we might fall in with a tribe of Stone Indians, who had been threatening him, and had acted in a turbulent manner at the post a few days before. In the course of the afternoon, we saw a band of buffaloes, which fled from us with considerable rapidity. Though an animal apparently of a very unwieldy make, and as large as a Devonshire ox, they were soon out of our sight in a laboured canter. In the evening our encampment was surrounded by wolves, which serenaded us with their melancholy howling throughout the night: and when I first put my head from under the buffaloe robe in the morning, our encampment presented a truly wild and striking scene;--the guns were resting against a tree, and pistols with powder horns were hanging on its branches; one of the men had just recruited the fire, and was cooking a small piece of buffaloe meat on the point of a stick, while the others were lying around it in every direction. Intermingled with the party were the dogs, lying in holes which they had scratched in the snow for shelter, but from which they were soon dragged, and harnessed that we might recommence our journey. We had not proceeded far before we met one of the Company's servants going to the fort which we had left, who told us that the Indians we were apprehensive of meeting had gone from their track considerably to the north of our direction. In consequence of this information we sent back the two armed servants who had accompanied us. In the course of the day we saw vast numbers of buffaloes; some rambling through the plains, while others in sheltered spots were scraping the snow away with their feet to graze. In the evening we encamped among some dwarf willows; and some time after we had kindled the fire, we were considerably alarmed by hearing the Indians drumming, shouting, and dancing, at a short distance from us in the woods. We immediately almost extinguished the fire, and lay down with our guns under our heads, fully expecting that they had seen our fire, and would visit us in the course of the night. We dreaded this from the known character of the Stone Indians, they being great thieves; and it having been represented to us, that they murdered individuals, or small parties of white people, for plunder; or stripped them, leaving them to travel to the posts without clothing, in the most severe weather. We had little sleep, and started before break of day, without having been observed by them. We stopped to breakfast at the _Standing Stone_, where the Indians had deposited bits of tobacco, small pieces of cloth, &c. as a sacrifice, in superstitious expectation that it would influence their manitou to give them buffaloes and a good hunt. Jan. 27th. soon after midnight, we were disturbed by the buffaloes passing close to our encampment: we rose early, and arrived at Qu'appelle about three o'clock. Nearly about the same time, a large band of Indians came to the fort from the plains with provisions. Many of them rode good horses, caparisoned with a saddle or pad of dressed skin, stuffed with buffaloe wool, from which were suspended wooden stirrups; and a leathern thong, tied at both ends to the under jaw of the animal, formed the bridle. When they had delivered their loads, they paraded the fort with an air of independence. It was not long however before they became clamorous for spiritous liquors; and the evening presented such a bacchanalia, including the women and the children, as I never before witnessed. Drinking made them quarrelsome, and one of the men became so infuriated, that he would have killed another with his bow, had not the master of the post immediately rushed in and taken it from him. The following day, being Sunday, the servants were all assembled for divine worship, and again in the evening. Before I left the fort, I married several of the Company's servants, who had been living with, and had families by, Indian or half-caste women, and baptized their children. I explained to them the nature and obligations of marriage and baptism; and distributed among them some Bibles and Testaments, and Religious Tracts. With the Indians who were at the Fort, there was one of the Company's servants who had been with the tribe nearly a year and a half, to learn their language as an interpreter. They were very partial to him, and treated him with great kindness and hospitality. He usually lived with their chief, and upon informing him who I was, and the object for which I came to the country, he welcomed me by a hearty shake of the hand; while others came round me, and stroked me on the head, as a fond father would his favourite boy. On one occasion, when I particularly noticed one of their children, the boy's father was so affected with the attention, that with tears he exclaimed, "See! the God takes notice of my child." Many of these Indians were strong, athletic men, and generally well-proportioned; their countenances were pleasing, with aquiline noses, and beautifully white and regular teeth. The buffaloe supplies them with food, and also with clothing. The skin was the principal, and almost the only article of dress they wore, and was wrapped round them, or worn tastefully over the shoulder like the Highland plaid. The leggins of some of them were fringed with human hair, taken from the scalps of their enemies; and their moccassins, or shoes, were neatly ornamented with porcupine quills. They are notorious horse-stealers, and often make predatory excursions to the Mandan villages on the banks of the Missouri, to steal them. They sometimes visit the Red River for this purpose, and have swept off, at times, nearly the whole of our horses from the settlement. Such indeed is their propensity for this species of theft, that they have fired upon, and killed the Company's servants, close to the forts for these useful animals. They run the buffaloe with them in the summer, and fasten them to sledges which they drag over the snow when they travel in the winter; while the dogs carry burdens upon their backs, like packs upon the pack-horse. It does not appear that chastity is much regarded among them. They take as many wives as they please, and part with them for a season, or permit others to cohabit with them in their own lodges for a time, for a gun, a horse, or some article they may wish to possess. They are known, however, to kill the woman, or cut off her ears or nose, if she be unfaithful without their knowledge or permission. All the lowest and most laborious drudgery is imposed upon her, and she is not permitted to eat till after her lord has finished his meal, who amidst the burdensome toil of life, and a desultory and precarious existence, will only condescend to carry his gun, take care of his horse, and hunt as want may compel him. During the time the interpreter was with these Indians the measles prevailed, and carried off great numbers of them, in different tribes. They often expressed to him a very low opinion of the white people who introduced this disease amongst them, and threatened to kill them all, at the same time observing, that they would not hurt him, but send him home down the Missouri. When their relations, or children of whom they are passionately fond, were sick, they were almost constantly addressing their manitou drumming, and making a great noise; and at the same time they sprinkled them with water where they complained of pain. And when the interpreter was sick, they were perpetually wanting to drum and conjure him well. He spoke to them of that God and Saviour whom white people adore; but they called him a fool, saying that he never came to their country, or did any thing for them, "_So vain were they in their imaginations, and their foolish heart was darkened._" JAN. 30.--We left Qu'appelle to return to the colony, and stopped for the night at an encampment of Indians, some of whom were engaged as hunters for the company. They welcomed me with much cordiality to their wigwams. We smoked the calumet as a token of friendship; and a plentiful supply of buffaloe tongues was prepared for supper. I slept in one of their tents, wrapt in a buffaloe robe, before a small fire in the centre, but the wind drawing under it, I suffered more from cold than when I slept in an open encampment. As we were starting the next morning I observed a fine looking little boy standing by the side of the cariole, and told his father that if he would send him to me at the Settlement by the first opportunity, I would be as a parent to him, clothe him, and feed him, and teach him what I knew would be for his happiness, with the Indian boys I had already under my care. We proceeded, and after we had travelled about three hours, the whole scene around us was animated with buffaloes; so numerous, that there could not be less, I apprehend, than ten thousand, in different bands, at one time in our view. It took us nearly the whole day to cross the plain, before we came to any wood for the night. We resumed our journey at the dawn of the following morning, and after travelling about three hours we stopped at a small creek to breakfast: as soon as we had kindled the fire, two Indians made their appearance, and pointing to the willows, shewed me a buffaloe that they had just shot. They were very expert in cutting up the animal, and ate some of the fat, I observed, with a few choice pieces, in a raw state. Soon afterwards I saw another Indian peeping over an eminence, whose head-dress at first gave him the appearance of a wolf: and, fearing some treachery, we hurried our breakfast and started. FEB. 2.--The night was so intensely cold that I had but little sleep, and we hurried from our encampment at break of day. The air was filled with small icy particles; and some snow having fallen the evening before, one of the men was obliged to walk in snow shoes, to make a track for the dogs to follow. Our progress was slow, but we persevered, and arrived at Brandon house about four o'clock. We saw some persons at this post, who had just come from the Mandan villages: they informed us of the custom that prevails among these Indians, as with many others, of presenting females to strangers; the husband his wife or daughter, and the brother his sister, as a mark of hospitality: and parents are known to lend their daughters of tender age for a few beads or a little tobacco! During our stay, a Sunday intervened, when all met for divine worship in the morning and evening, and I had an opportunity of baptizing several more children, whose parents had come in from the hunting grounds, since my arrival at the Post, in my way to Qu'appelle. On the 5th we left the fort, and returning by the same track that we came, I searched for traces of my favourite lost dog, but found none. The next morning I got into the cariole very early, and the rising sun gradually opened to my view a beautiful and striking scenery. All nature appeared silently and impressively to proclaim the goodness and wisdom of God. Day unto day, in the revolutions of that glorious orb, which shed a flood of light over the impenetrable forests and wild wastes that surrounded me, uttereth speech. Yet His voice is not heard among the heathen, nor His name known throughout these vast territories by Europeans in general, but to swear by.----Oh! for wisdom, truly Christian faith, integrity and zeal in my labours as a minister, in this heathen and _moral desert_. FEB. 9.--The wind drifted the snow this morning like a thick fog, that at times we could scarcely see twenty yards from the cariole. It did not stop us however in our way, and I reached the farm about five o'clock, with grateful thanks to God, for protecting me through a perilous journey, drawn by dogs over the snow a distance of between five and six hundred miles among some of the most treacherous tribes of Indians in this northern wilderness. MARCH 4.--The weather continues very cold, so as to prevent the women and the children from attending regularly divine service on the Sabbath. The sun however is seldom obscured with clouds, but shines with a sickly face; without softening at all at present, the piercing north-westerly wind that prevails throughout the winter. A wish having been expressed to me, that I would attend a general meeting of the principal settlers at Pembina, I set off in a cariole for this point of the Settlement, a distance of nearly eighty miles, on the 12th. We stopped a few hours at the Salt Springs, and then proceeded on our journey so as to reach Fort Daer the next morning to breakfast; so expeditiously will the dogs drag the cariole in a good track, and with a good driver. We met for the purpose of considering the best means of protection, and of resisting any attack that might be made by the Sioux Indians, who were reported to have hostile intentions against this part of the colony, in the Spring. They had frequently killed the hunters upon the plains; and a war party from the Mississippi, scalped a boy last summer within a short distance of the fort where we were assembled; leaving a painted stick upon the mangled body, as a supposed indication that they would return for slaughter. The 18th being the Sabbath, I preached to a considerable number of persons assembled at the Fort. They heard me with great attention; but I was often depressed in mind, on the general view of character, and at the spectacle of human depravity and barbarism I was called to witness. During my stay, I went to some hunter's tents on the plains, and saw them kill the buffaloe, by crawling on the snow, and pushing their guns before them, and this for a considerable distance till they got very near the band. Their approach to the animals was like the appearance of wolves, which generally hover round them to devour the leg-wearied and the wounded; and they killed three before the herd fled. But in hunting the buffaloes for provisions it affords great diversion to pursue them on horseback. I once accompanied two expert hunters to witness this mode of killing them. It was in the spring: at this season the bulls follow the bands of cows in the rear on their return to the south, whereas in the beginning of the winter, in their migration to the north, they preceded them and led the way. We fell in with a herd of about forty, on an extensive prarie. They were covering the retreat of the cows. As soon as our horses espied them they shewed great spirit, and became as eager to chase them as I have understood the old English hunter is to follow the fox-hounds in breaking cover. The buffaloes were grazing, and did not start till we approached within about half a mile of them, when they all cantered off in nearly a compact body. We immediately threw the reins upon the horses' necks, and in a short time were intermingled with several of them. Pulling up my horse I then witnessed the interesting sight of the hunters continuing the chase, till they had separated one of the bulls from the rest, and after driving it some distance, they gallopped alongside and fired upon the animal, with the gun resting upon the front of the saddle. Immediately it was wounded, it gave chase in the most furious manner, and the horses aware of their danger, turned and cantered away at the same pace as the buffaloe. While the bull was pursuing them, the men reloaded their guns, which they do in a most expeditious manner, by pouring the charge of powder into the palm of their hand half closed, from a horn hung over the shoulder, and taking a ball from the pouch that is fastened to their side, and then suddenly breaking out of the line, they shot the animal through the heart as it came opposite to them. It was of a very large size, with long shaggy hair on the head and shoulders, and the head when separated from the carcase was nearly as much as I could lift from the ground. The Indians have another mode of pursuing the buffaloes for subsistence, by driving them into a pound. They make the inclosure of a circular form with trees felled on the spot, to the extent of one or two hundred yards in diameter, and raise the entrance with snow, so as to prevent the retreat of the animals when they have once entered. As soon as a herd is seen in the horizon coming in the direction of the pound, a party of Indians arrange themselves singly in two opposite lines, branching out gradually on each side to a considerable distance, that the buffaloes may advance between them. In taking their station at the distance of twenty or thirty yards from each other, they lie down, while another party manoeuvre on horseback, to get in rear of the band. Immediately they have succeeded they give chace, and the party in ambush rising up as the buffaloes come opposite to them, they all halloo, and shout, and fire their guns, so as to drive them, trampling upon each other, into the snare, where they are soon slaughtered by the arrow or the gun. The buffaloe tongue, when well cured, is of excellent flavour, and is much esteemed, together with the _bos_, or hump of the animal, that is formed on the point of the shoulders. The meat is much easier of digestion than English beef; and many pounds of it are often taken by the hungry traveller just before he wraps himself in his buffaloe robe for the night without the least inconvenience. On my return to the Fort, I had an opportunity of hearing from a chief of a small tribe of Chipewyans, surrounded by a party of his young men, a most pathetic account, and a powerful declaration of revenge against the Sioux Indians, who had tomahawked and scalped his son. Laying his hand upon his heart as he related the tragical circumstance, he emphatically exclaimed, 'It is _here_ I am affected, and _feel_ my loss;' then raising his hand above his head, he said, 'the spirit of my son cries for vengeance. It must be appeased. His bones lie on the ground uncovered. We want ammunition: give us powder and ball, and we will go and revenge his death upon our enemies.' Their public speeches are full of bold metaphor, energy and pathos. "No Greek or Roman orator ever spoke perhaps with more strength and sublimity than one of their chiefs when asked to remove with his tribe to a distance from their native soil." 'We were born,' said he, 'on this ground, our fathers lie buried in it, shall we say to the bones of our fathers, arise, and come with us into a foreign land?' One of the Indians left his wampum, or belt, at the Fort as a pledge that he would return and pay the value of an article which was given to him at his request. They consider this deposit sacred and inviolable, and as giving a sanction to their words, their promises and their treaties. They are seldom known to fail in redeeming the pledge; and they ratify their agreements with each other by a mutual exchange of the wampum, regarding it with the smoking of tobacco, as the great test of sincerity. In conducting their war excursions, they act upon the same principle as in hunting. They are vigilant in espying out the track of those whom they pursue, and will follow them over the praries, and through the forests, till they have discovered where they halt; when they wait with the greatest patience, under every privation, either lurking in the grass, or concealing themselves in the bushes, till an opportunity offers to rush upon their prey, at a time when they are least able to resist them. These tribes are strangers to open warfare, and laugh at Europeans as fools for standing out, as they say, in the plains, to be shot at. On the 22nd I reached the Farm, and from the expeditious mode of travelling over the snow, I began to think, as is common among the Indians, that one hundred miles was little more than a step, or in fact but a short distance. It often astonished me to see with what an unwearied pace, the drivers hurry along their dogs in a cariole, or sledge, day after day in a journey of two and three hundred miles. I have seen some of the English half-breeds greatly excel in this respect. Many of the Canadians however are very expert drivers, as they are excellent _voyageurs_ in the canoe. There is a native gaiety, and vivacity of character, which impel them forward, and particularly so, under the individual and encouraging appellation of '_bon homme_.' When tripping, they are commonly all life, using the whip, or more commonly a thick stick, barbarously upon their dogs, vociferating as they go "_Sacres Crapeaux_," "_Sacrée Marne_," "_Saintes Diables_," and uttering expressions of the most appalling blasphemy. In the rivers, their canoe songs, as sung to a lively air and chorus with the paddle, are very cheerful and pleasing. They smoke immediately and almost incessantly, when the paddle is from their hands; and none exceed them in skill, in running the rapids, passing the portages with pieces of eighty and ninety pounds weight upon their backs, and expeditiously performing a journey of one thousand miles. APRIL 1.--Last Friday I married several couples, at the Company's Post; nearly all the English half-breeds were assembled on the occasion, and so passionately fond are they of dancing, that they continued to dance almost incessantly from two o'clock on Friday afternoon, till late on Saturday night. This morning the Colony Fort was nearly thronged with them to attend divine service; and it was my endeavour to address them, with plainness, simplicity, and fidelity. There was much attention; but, I fear, from their talking, principally, their mother tongue, the Indian language, that they did not comprehend a great deal of my discourse. This is the case also, with a few of the Scotch Highland settlers, who speak generally the Gaelic language. Marriage, I would enforce upon all, who are living with, and have children by half-caste, or Indian women. The apostolic injunction is clear and decisive against the too common practice of the country, in putting them away, after enjoying the morning of their days; or deserting them to be taken by the Indians with their children, when the parties, who have cohabited with them, leave the Hudson's Bay Company's territories.[2] And if a colony is to be organized, and established in the wilderness, the moral obligation of marriage must be felt. It is "the _parent_," said Sir William Scott, "not the _child_ of civil society." Some _form_, or religious rite in marriage is also requisite, and has generally been observed by enlightened and civilized nations. It is a civil contract in civil society, but the sanction of religion should be superadded. The ancients considered it as a religious ceremony. They consulted their imaginary gods, before the marriage was solemnized, and implored their assistance by prayers, and sacrifices; the gall was taken out of the victim, as the seat of anger and malice, and thrown behind the altar, as hateful to the deities who presided over the nuptial ceremonies. Marriage, by its original institution[3] is the nearest of all earthly relations, and as involving each other's happiness through life, it surely ought to be entered upon by professing Christians, with religious rites, invoking heaven as a party to it, while the consent of the individuals is pledged to each other, ratified and confirmed by a vow. [2] 1 Corin. vii. 12. [3] Gen. ii. 24. Incestuous cohabitation is common with the Indians, and in some instances, they will espouse several sisters at the same time; but so far from adopting the custom of others in presenting their wives, or daughters as a mark of hospitality due to a stranger, the Chipewyans or Saulteaux tribe of Red River, appear very jealous of them towards Europeans. There is something patriarchal in their manner of first choosing their wives. When a young man wishes to take a young woman to live with him; he may perhaps mention his wishes to her, but generally, he speaks to the father, or those who have authority over her. If his proposal be accepted, he is admitted into the tent, and lives with the family, generally a year, bringing in the produce of his hunting for the general mess. He then separates to a tent of his own, and adds to the number of wives, according to his success and character as a hunter. The Indians have been greatly corrupted in their simple and barbarous manners, by their intercourse with Europeans, many of whom have borne scarcely any other mark of the Christian character than the name; and who have not only fallen into the habits of an Indian life, but have frequently exceeded the savage in their savage customs. When a female is taken by them, it does not appear that her wishes are at all consulted, but she is obtained from the lodge as an inmate at the Fort, for the prime of her days generally, through that irresistible bribe to Indians, rum. Childbirth, is considered by them, as an event of a trifling nature; and it is not an uncommon case for a woman to be taken in labour, step aside from the party she is travelling with, and overtake them in the evening at their encampment, with a new-born infant on her back. It has been confidently stated that Indian women suffer more from parturition with half-breed children than when the father is an Indian. If this account be true, it can only be in consequence of their approach to the habits of civilized life, exerting an injurious influence over their general constitution. When taken to live with white men, they have larger families, and at the same time are liable to more disease consequent upon it, than in their wild and wandering state. They have customs, such as separation for forty days at the birth of a child, setting apart the female in a separate lodge at peculiar seasons, and forbidding her to touch any articles in common use, which bear a strong resemblance to the laws of uncleanness, and separation commanded to be observed towards Jewish females. These strongly corroborate the idea, that they are of Asiatic origin; descended from some of the scattered tribes of the children of Israel: and through some ancient transmigration, came over by Kamtchatka into these wild and extensive territories. When they name their children, it is common for them to make a feast, smoke the calumet, and address the Master of life, asking him to protect the child, whom they call after some animal, place, or object in nature, and make him a good hunter. The Stone Indians add to the request, a good horse-stealer. The women suckle their children generally, till the one supplants the other, and it is not an uncommon circumstance to see them of three or four years old running to take the breast. They have a burial ground at the Settlement, and usually put the property of the deceased into the grave with the corpse. If any remains, it is given away from an aversion they have to use any thing that belonged to their relations who have died. Some of the graves are very neatly covered over with short sticks and bark as a kind of canopy, and a few scalps are affixed to poles that are stuck in the ground at the head of several of them. You see also occasionally at the grave, a piece of wood on which is either carved or painted the symbols of the tribe the deceased belonged to, and which are taken from the different animals of the country. APRIL 6.--One of the principal settlers informed me this morning, that an Indian had stabbed one of his wives in a fit of intoxication at an encampment near his house. I immediately went to the Lodge to inquire into the circumstance, and found that the poor woman had been stabbed in wanton cruelty, through the shoulder and the arm, but not mortally. The Indians were still drunk, and some of them having knives in their hands, I thought it most prudent to withdraw from their tents, without offering any assistance. The Indians appear to me to be generally of an inoffensive and hospitable disposition; but spirituous liquors, like war, infuriate them with the most revengeful and barbarous feelings. They are so conscious of this effect of drinking, that they generally deliver up their guns, bows and arrows, and knives, to the officers, before they begin to drink at the Company's Post; and when at their tents, it is the first care of the women to conceal them, during the season of riot and intoxication. A considerable quantity of snow fell on the night of the 12th, and the weather continuing very cold, it is not practicable yet to begin any operations in farming. Though I see not as yet any striking effects of my ministry among the settlers, yet, I trust, some little outward reformation has taken place, in the better observance of the Sabbath. MAY 2.--The rivers have broken up this spring unusually late, and the ice is now floating down in large masses. The settlers, who went to Pembina and the plains, for buffaloe meat in the Fall, are returning upon rafts, or in canoes formed by hollowing the large trunks of trees: many of them are as improvident of to-morrow as the Indians, and have brought with them no dried provisions for the summer. This is not the case however with the Scotch, who have been provident enough to bring with them a supply of dried meat and pemican for a future day. The dried meat is prepared by cutting the flesh of the buffaloe thin, and hanging it on stages of wood to dry by the fire; and is generally tied in bundles of fifty or forty pounds weight. It is very rough, and tasteless, except a strong flavour of the smoke. Pemican is made by pounding the dried meat, and mixing it with boiled fat, and is then put into bags made of buffaloe skin, which weigh about eighty and a hundred pounds each. It is a species of food well adapted to travelling in the country; but so strongly cemented in the bag, that when it is used, it is necessary to apply the axe; and very much resembles in appearance tallow-chandler's grease. The 10th.--The plains have been on fire to a considerable extent for several days past, and the awful spectacle is seen this evening, through the whole of the northern, and western horizon. Idle rumours prevail that the Sioux Indians will attack the Settlement; which unhappily unsettle the minds, and interrupt the industry of the colonists. But none of these things move me, in carrying on my plans, and making arrangements to erect a substantial building, sixty feet by twenty. The Red River appears to me, a most desirable spot for a Missionary establishment, and the formation of schools; from whence Christianity may arise, and be propagated among the numerous tribes of the north. The settlers are now actively employed in preparing to sow the small lots of land which they have cleared: but this season is short from the great length of the winter.--The 20th being Sunday more than one hundred of them assembled at the Fort for divine service; and their children from the school were present for public examination. They gave general satisfaction in their answers to questions from the "Chief Truths of the Christian Religion, and Lewis's Catechism."--Text Proverbs iii. 17. By the arrival of the boats from Qu'appelle, on the 25th, I received the little Indian boy, I noticed, when leaving the Hunter's Tents, during my excursion to that quarter in January last. Soon after my departure, the father of the boy observed, that "as I had asked for his son, and stood between the Great Spirit and the Indians, he would send him to me;" and just before the boats left the Post for the Red River, he brought the boy, and requested that he might be delivered to my care. Thus was I encouraged in the idea, that native Indian children might be collected from the wandering tribes of the north, and educated in "the knowledge of the true God, and Jesus Christ whom he hath sent." Every additional Indian child I obtained for this purpose, together with the great inconvenience of having no place appropriated for public worship, gave a fresh stimulus to exertion in erecting the proposed building. There was but little willing assistance however, towards this desirable object; as few possessed any active spirit of public improvement; and the general habits of the people being those of lounging and smoking, were but little favourable to voluntary exertions. Sturgeon are caught at this period, from sixty to one hundred pounds weight and more, in great abundance at the Settlement; and also for about a month in the fall of the year, a little below the rapids towards the mouth of the river. The oil of this fish is sometimes used as lamp oil by the settlers; and the sound, when carefully and quickly dried in the shade, by hanging it upon a line in a good breeze, forms isinglass, the simple solution of which in water makes a good jelly, and may be seasoned by the addition of syrup and wine, or of the expressed juices of any ripe fruit. The roe is often cooked immediately it is taken from the fish; but, when salted and placed under a considerable pressure until dry, it forms the very nutritious article of food named _caviare_. They generally afford us an abundant supply of provisions for about a month or five weeks; and when they leave the river, we have usually a good supply of cat fish, weighing about seven or eight pounds each, and which are taken in greater or less quantities for the most part of the summer months. June the 20th. The canoes arrived from Montreal, _via_ Lake Superior, and brought me the gratifying intelligence, in letters from England, that my family were all well. It was my intention that they should have embarked with me in my mission to this country, but circumstances prevented it; and now that I was surrounded with unexpected difficulties, situated in the very heart of an Indian territory, most difficult of access, and without military protection, I deemed it most advisable that they should defer the voyage, in the hope that another year might lessen these difficulties, and bring a better arrangement for the prosperity of the colony. I could undergo privations, and enter upon any arduous official duties, for the best interests of the natives and the settlers; but I could not subject Mrs. West (and infant children) to the known existing trials of the country, whose useful talents would otherwise have greatly aided me in the formation and superintendence of schools. July 2nd. An agreeable change has taken place in the scenery around us; the trees are breaking into leaves, and many plants are in blossom, where, but a short time ago, everything bore the aspect of winter. But this almost sudden and pleasing change has brought an unceasing torment: night and day we are perpetually persecuted with the mosquitoes, that swarm around us, and afford no rest but in the annoying respiration of a smoky room. They hover in clouds about the domestic cattle, and drive them (almost irritated to madness) to the smoke of fires lighted with tufts of grass for their relief. The trial of this ever busy and tormenting insect is inconceivable, but to those who have endured it. We retire to rest, enveloped in clothes almost to suffocation, but the musquitoe finds its way under the blankets, piercing with its envenomed trunk, till we often rise in a fever. Nor are we relieved from this painful scourge until the return of a slight frost, in the beginning of September. 20th. The weather is extremely hot, the thermometer more than 90° above zero. Vegetation is making an astonishingly rapid progress, and the grain in its luxuriant growth upon a rich soil, presents to the eye the fairest prospects of a good harvest. But the locust, an insect very like the large grasshopper, is beginning to make sad ravages, by destroying the crops, as it has done for the last three years, at the Settlement. These insects multiply so rapidly, that they soon overspread the land, or rather the whole country; and had not a wise Providence limited their existence to a year, they would no doubt (if permitted to increase) soon destroy the whole vegetative produce of the world. They seem to devour, not so much from a ravenous appetite, as from the rage of destroying every vegetable substance that lies in the way; and their work of destruction is frequently so regular in a field of corn, as to have the appearance of being cut with a scythe. Where they are bred, from eggs that are deposited in the earth the autumn before, they stop during the months of April, May, and June; towards the latter end of July, they get strong, and have wings, when they rise together, sometimes so numerous as to form a black cloud, which darkens the rays of the sun. Their first direction is against the wind, but afterwards they appear to be driven by its course, and fall, as a scourge, as they become exhausted by flight. "_The land may be as the garden of Eden before them, but behind them it is a desolate wilderness._" CHAPTER III. NORWAY HOUSE. BAPTISMS. ARRIVAL AT YORK FACTORY. SWISS EMIGRANTS. AUXILIARY BIBLE SOCIETY FORMED. BOAT WRECKED. CATHOLIC PRIESTS. SIOUX INDIANS KILLED AT THE COLONY. CIRCULATION OF THE SCRIPTURES AMONG THE COLONISTS. SCARCITY OF PROVISIONS. FISHING UNDER THE ICE. WILD FOWL. MEET THE INDIANS AT PEMBINA. THEY SCALP AN ASSINIBOINE. WAR DANCE. CRUELLY PUT TO DEATH A CAPTIVE BOY. INDIAN EXPRESSION OF GRATITUDE FOR THE EDUCATION OF HIS CHILD. STURGEON. The late Earl of Selkirk having suggested that, "In the course of each summer, it would be proper that the minister should visit the Hudson's Bay Company's factory at Norway House, and also at York Fort, as a great number of their servants are assembled at these places, for a few weeks in summer, and have no other opportunity for any public religious instruction;" I left the settlement on the first of August, and met, at Norway House, one of the Directors of the Hudson's Bay Company, and a gentleman of the North West, on their route from Montreal to York Fort, to make arrangements for the future trade of the country, in consequence of a coalition between the two Companies. This was a circumstance which I could not but hail, as highly encouraging in the attempt to better the condition of the native Indians, and likely to remove many of the evils that prevailed during the ardour of opposition. The 12th of August, being Sunday, we had divine service; after which I baptized between twenty and thirty children, and married two of the Company's officers. On the 14th, we left this Post, and arrived at York Factory, the 27th, where we found a considerable number of Swiss families, who had left their country, as emigrants to the Red River Colony. They shewed me a prospectus, which had been circulated in the Swiss Cantons, by a gentleman who had been in Canada, but had never seen the Settlement; and were anxious in their inquiries whether it was rising to prosperity. They appeared to me to be a different description of settlers, from what the colony, in its infancy of improvement, was prepared to receive; as consisting principally of watchmakers and mechanics. The hardy husbandman was the character we wanted; who would work his persevering way through the thickets, clear the surface, and spread cultivation around us; and not easily repine if a storm overtook him in the wilderness. During my stay at the Factory, several marriages and baptisms took place; and it was no small encouragement to me, in my ministerial labours, to have the patronage and cordial co-operation of the Director I had the pleasure of meeting, in establishing an Auxiliary Bible Society, for "Prince Rupert's Land and the Red River Settlement." It was formed with great liberality on the part of the Company's officers, who met on the occasion; and more than one hundred and twenty pounds were immediately subscribed, in aid of an institution, (the British and Foreign Bible Society,) which justly challenges the admiration of the world. Pure in its principle, and simple yet mighty in operation, it is diffusing blessings through the four quarters of the globe: Europe, Asia, Africa, and America, are partakers of its bounty; and the tide of its beneficent liberality is flowing towards all nations, kindreds, tongues, and complexions of our fellow men, that they may read in their own tongues the wonderful works of God. We cheered the Director, with the most cordial feelings of regard, as he stepped into the boat, on the morning of the 13th of September, to embark in the Prince of Wales, on his return to England; and immediately afterwards, I set off on my return to the Red River. We overtook the second division of boats, with the Swiss emigrants, on the 20th, slowly proceeding, and greatly harassed with the difficulties of the navigation. They informed us, that one of their party was accidentally drowned, soon after they left the Factory; and that several of their children had died on the passage. We were late on our return to the colony, and under considerable apprehensions that the rivers would be frozen over before our arrival. We experienced very cold weather the beginning of October; and our encampment at night was frequently covered with snow. One of the Swiss got his feet dreadfully frozen, from the careless neglect of not taking off his shoes and socks to dry, before he lay down to rest. In crossing Winipeg Lake, one of the boats was wrecked, but providentially no lives were lost. This accident, however, detained us in an encampment for six or seven days; and having scarcely any other subsistence than a little boiled barley, I experienced at times the most pressing hunger. Every one rambled in pursuit of game, but generally returned unsuccessful. One evening, a servant brought in from his day's hunt a large horned owl, which was immediately cooked, and eagerly despatched. The next day, I was walking along the shore with my gun, when the waves cast at my feet a dead jack-fish; I took it up, and felt, from the keenness of my appetite for animal food, as though I could have immediately devoured it, notwithstanding it bore the marks of having been dead a considerable time. At this moment, I heard the croaking of a raven, and placing the fish upon the bank, as a bait, I shot it from behind a willow, where I had concealed myself, as it lighted upon the ground; and the success afforded me a welcome repast at night. We reached the mouth of the Red River on the 2nd of November, and found our friend Pigewis, the Indian chief, at his old encampment. He received us most hospitably, giving us a good supply of dried sturgeon. Our hungry party put the liberality of the Indians to the test, but it did not fail; as I believe it seldom does, in their improvidence of tomorrow. I landed at Fort Douglas on the 4th, and could not but recount the mercies of God in my safe return. They have followed me through many a perilous, and trying scene of life; and I would that a sense of a continual protecting Providence in the mercy of Redemption, may ever actuate me in whatsoever things may tend to the promotion of the happiness, and of the _best interests_ of my fellow men, in the journeyings of my life, through a disordered and distracted world. No sooner had the Swiss emigrants arrived, than many of the Germans, who had come to the Settlement a few years ago from Canada, and had houses, presented themselves 'in search of a wife,' and having fixed their attachment with acceptance, they received those families, in which was their choice, into their habitations. Those who had no daughters to afford this introduction, were obliged to pitch their tents along the banks of the river, and outside the stockades of the Fort, till they removed to Pembina in the better prospect of provisions for the winter. Those of the Germans, who were Catholics, applied to the Canadian Catholic Priests to solemnize their marriage; but they refused, because their intended wives were Protestants; and such was their bigotry in this matter, in refusing to marry a Catholic to a Protestant, that they expressed an opinion, that a Catholic could not be present, even as a witness, "_sine culpa_"[4] when I performed the marriage ceremony, "_inter Catholicos et Hæreticos_."[5] [4] Without blame. [5] Between Catholics and Heritics. The locusts which had begun the work of destruction at my leaving the Colony for York Factory, had completely destroyed the crops; and during my absence, a party of Sioux Indians, came to Fort Douglas, in expectation, it was said, of receiving presents from the stores. It was thought advisable to promise them some goods, on their returning peaceably to their own country, and they manifested no other than a peaceable disposition to all parties. The Saulteaux Indians, however, of Red River, between whom and the Sioux nation, a hostile feeling has existed from time immemorial, became very irritable; and a small party of them fired upon a straggling party of the Sioux, in a garden on the Point below the Colony Fort; they killed two, and wounded a third; and fled with such precipitation by swimming the river, and running through the willows, as to escape the vengeance, and almost the view of those who survived. It is the glory of the North American Indian to steal upon his enemies like a fox, to attack like a tiger, and flee after the attack like a bird. The Indians were not seen any more till after the Sioux had left the settlement, who went away murmuring, that powder and ball had been given, as they said, at the Fort, to the Saulteaux, to kill them. In fact they had formed a deep laid scheme to scalp the person in charge of Fort Douglas, in the absence of the 'Chargè d'Affaires' of the Colony, and were only prevented carrying it into execution by one of the party giving information to a person at the Farm, as to their intentions. They buried those who were shot near the Stockades of the Fort, and for more than a week after they were gone, the Saulteaux, in their savage fondness to exhibit the scalp in their war-dance, and obtain possession of the toes and fingers of the slain, made several attempts by night to disturb the graves, but were prevented getting these trophies, by a watch that was kept. NOVEMBER 11.--The winter is again set in with severity, and I have been greatly disappointed in not having the building so far finished, as to have accommodated the schoolmaster with a residence, as well as to have afforded a place for divine worship before this period. He is now resident with the Indian boys, at the Post which formerly belonged to the North West Company: but being so far distant from the body of the Protestant settlers his number of scholars is not so large as it was, nor have we so many on the Sabbath, for divine worship as formerly. The difficulties which we have hitherto met with in obtaining provisions, and the mode of procuring them, have formed the character of the Colonists principally into that of hunters and fishermen; so that labourers are not obtained but at a high remunerating price, or at a dollar a day each. A circulating medium would no doubt reduce the price of labour. It has frequently been requested by the settlers, and would relieve them from many unpleasant circumstances arising from barter and payment by bills. I found the Scriptures at some of the Company's Posts I visited, most of the copies of which had been sent into the country, together with the Book of Common Prayer, by one of the Directors, who ever expressed to me a lively interest for its moral improvement: and the liberal supply which I had received from the British and Foreign Bible Society, in several different languages, enabled me to circulate many copies of the Bible among the colonists, in _English_, _Gaelic_, _German_, _Danish_, _Italian_, and _French_. They were gratefully received by them in general, and by none more so than the Highlanders, one of whom on receiving a Gaelic Bible well remarked, "that one word in the heart was worth more than the whole volume in the pocket neglected." The Catholic priests, however, opposed this circulation, and one of them called on a Catholic, to whom I had given a Bible at his own particular request, and after anathematizing our great reformer, asked him to give it up. The man refused with this pointed and pertinent question, "From whence, Sir, do you get your knowledge of religion?" In this refusal, he acted upon the enlightened principle, that we derive all true sentiments in religious subjects from the Bible, and the Bible alone; and that the exercise of private judgment in the possession of the Bible, was the birth-right privilege of every man. Therein is contained the great charter of salvation, and the awful code of divine communication to the human race. "A Bible then to every man in the world," is the sentiment we would encourage, in opposition to such a priestly objection, that is contrary to the liberal conduct of more enlightened Catholics, and manifestly opposed to scriptural examples, and the divine command of the Founder of Christianity himself. The Eunuch was _reading the scriptures_, searching for, and inquiring after divine truth, when Philip received a commission from heaven to "join himself to his chariot." The Saviour gave an authoritative command to the Jews to "_search the scriptures_," and it is recorded of Timothy that "_from a child he had known the Holy Scriptures_." They are the means of affording that instruction which man's wisdom cannot teach, while they bear every mark of a divine revelation, in a manner worthy of God, and plain to the meanest capacity. I had given a French Testament to one of the Canadians, whom I married to a Swiss Protestant, which excited the farther active prejudice of the Catholic priest. He called on him, and requested that he might have it, but the Canadian objected, saying, that as his wife was a Protestant, she wished to read it. He then asked to borrow it, promising to return the Testament in a few days, and took it home with him. I had written on the inside of the cover-- The man's name. From the British and Foreign Bible Society. "Sondez les Ecritures." St. Jean, v. 39. A short time after it was returned, the Canadian shewed me the remarks which the priest had written, and gave me the Testament, at my request, in exchange for a Bible. Over the above text, the Catholic priest wrote, "Lisez avee soin les Ecritures, mais ne les explicuez point d'apres vos lumieres," and immediately following my name, which I had put at the bottom of the cover: "Si _quelquun_ nécoute pas l'Eglise regardez le comme un Paién, et un Publicain." Matth. xviii. 17; adding the following observations: "Dans ce livre, on ne dit pas un mot de la penitence qui afflige le corps. Cependant il est de foi qu'elle est absolument necessaire au salut aprés le péché, c'est a l'Eglise de J. C. qu'il appartient de determiner le sens des Ecritures." The prejudices which the Canadian priests at the Colony express against Catholics marrying Protestants must tend to weaken the religious and moral obligation of the marriage contract, as entered into between them. I have known the priests refuse to marry the parties of the above different persuasions, at the time that they were co-habiting together, as though it were better for them to live in fornication, than that they should violate the rigid statutes of the Papal see. I married a couple a short time ago, and afterwards found that the priest had been unwearied in calling upon the woman who was a professed Protestant, and never ceased to repeat to her their opinions of heretics, till, with the persuasion of her husband, they prevailed upon her to be re-baptized, and re-married by them in the _nominal_ profession of the Catholic faith. And I was assured by a Swiss gentleman at the Settlement, who had married a Catholic from Montreal, that some months after their marriage, one of the priests called upon his wife, and told her that it would have been better for her to have married a heathen, than a Protestant. A heathen, he said, might be converted to the Catholic faith, and be saved, but little hope could be entertained of a Protestant. These circumstances prove that Popery, as it now exists, at least in this quarter of the globe, is not contrary to what it was in the days of the Reformation. Christmas is again returned, and appears to be generally known amongst us, as in Europe, only as a season of intoxication. Will not the very heathen rise up in judgment, at the last day, and condemn such a gross perversion of the supposed period of the Redeemer's birth; the knowledge of whose name, they have hitherto been unacquainted with. We had divine service at the Fort:--text, Luke ii. 8-11. The Indian boys repeated some hymns, and joined in the singing Hallelujah! to the "Emmanuel, which being interpreted, is, God with us." I meet with many discouraging circumstances in my ministerial labours; but my path is sometimes cheered with the pleasing hope, that they are not altogether in vain; and that the light of Christianity will break in upon the heathen darkness that surrounds me. _The promises of God are sure_; and when cast down, I am not disheartened. JANUARY 1, 1822.--Oh thou God of mercy, as thou hast brought me hitherto, be pleased to support and direct me in the wilderness; order my footsteps, and make my path acceptable to thyself--"Hoping all things, may I endure all things," in the desire of usefulness, as I proceed in the journey of life, and be endued with a Spirit of Love, and of a sound mind, as year after year revolves over my head. The 16th. We are suffering great privations at the Settlement. Very little buffaloe meat has been obtained from the plains, and our principal subsistence is from grain boiled into soup. Few have either pepper, salt, flour, or vegetables. One of the Swiss was lately frozen to death on the plains; and a Meuron settler returning to the colony with a horse sledge of provisions perished also from the severity of the winter. FEB. 14.--Times do not yet wear a more favourable aspect, and most of the settlers are upon an allowance of a pint of wheat each a day. Sometimes a few fish are taken with nets, from under the ice, which are put down by making holes at the distance of about fifteen or twenty feet from each other, and affixing the net line to a pole of this length, by which the net is drawn in the water from one opening to the other, till it is easily set. The fish that are caught, are pike, perch, and a species of herring, called gold-eyes, and for which an exorbitant price is frequently paid. The northern Indians angle for fish in winter, by cutting round holes in the ice about a foot or two in diameter, and letting down a baited hook. This is always kept in motion to prevent the water from freezing, and to attract the fish to the spot. Immediately they take a fish, they scoop out the eyes and swallow them, thinking them as great a delicacy as the European does the oyster. My professional duties calling me to Pembina, I left the Farm in a cariole on the 20th, and was sorry to find on my arrival many Swiss families suffering from the want of a regular supply of provisions from the plains. This was occasioned in a great measure from the irregularity and eagerness with which the hunters pursued the buffaloes immediately they made their appearance. Had they suffered some of the leading bands to have passed in the direction they were going towards the Settlement, instead of pursuing and turning them as soon as they were seen in the horizon, others would probably have followed, and plenty of provisions had been obtained. But the fugitive supplies of the chase are generally a poor dependance; and the colony will be greatly encouraged should the domestic cattle that have been purchased arrive from the United States. The difficulties which the Swiss emigrants have had to encounter, and the severity of the climate have disheartened many of them from settling in the country, and they have determined on going to a settlement on the Ohio in the Spring. They attended divine service on the Sabbath during my stay, and expressed much gratitude for my reading to them the French Testament and the ministerial duties I performed among them. I returned to the Farm, where a report reached me, which was in circulation, upon strong grounds of suspicion, that a most deliberate and barbarous murder had been committed by one of the half-breeds on a Canadian freeman. He was supposed to have been instigated to the bloody deed by a woman he lived with, and whom he received from the Canadian for so many buffaloes as provision. Evidence however was wanting, it was thought, that would justify his being sent down to Montreal, or to England for trial, to convict him there; as there was no criminal jurisdiction established within the territories of the Hudson's Bay Company. MARCH 25.--The thaw has come on unexpectedly early, and caused many of the hunters to return from the plains with scarcely any provisions. There were a few tame buffaloes that had been reared in the colony, which have been slaughtered, and to save as much seed corn as possible, the allowance of grain is given out to the settlers with the most rigid economy by the Chargè d'Affaires. There was a general shout to day in the Settlement at the sight of some swans and geese, as the sure harbingers of Spring, and of immense flocks of wild fowl, that bend their course in the Spring to the north, as in the fall of the year they fly to the south. It was indeed a cheerful sight, as nearly all the feathered tribe leave us during a long and severe winter. In this season, we hear only, and that but very seldom the croaking of the raven, the chattering of the magpie, or the tapping of the woodpecker. But as summer bursts upon us, the call of the whip-poor-will is heard in the dusk of the evening, and the solitude of the woods is enlivened with a rich variety of birds, some of which dazzle the eye with the beauty of their colours. They have no notes however in their gay plumage, or melody of sound, which catch, and delight the ear. The wild fowl are mere birds of passage at the Red River, and but few were shot, as they passed over the colony, for our relief, in the want of provisions. Our numbers increased almost daily, from the return of the settlers from the plains, and it was the general opinion that it would be far better to kill all the horses and dogs in the Settlement for food, than distribute the whole of the grain, so as to be without seed corn. APRIL 5.--One of the chief officers of the Hudson's Bay Company arrived, and gave us the welcome promise, (before we were actually driven to the above extremity,) that the Colony should receive some wheat to sow from the Company's Post at _Bas la Rivière_, on Lake Winepeg, where there is a good farm, and the crops had escaped the ravages of the locusts. When cheered by this prospect, the information reached us, that a party of Sioux Indians were on their way to the Settlement. As their intentions in visiting us were not known, and being apprehensive that more blood would be shed by the Saulteaux if they came down to Fort Douglas, it was resolved that two boats should be manned to prevent if possible their proceeding any farther than Pembina. It was far better to present an imposing force to them on the borders of the colony, than to suffer them to come down amongst us, where we should have been completely in their power, in our scattered habitations. At the request of the chief officer I accompanied the boats, and set off with him for the Company's Post at Pembina, about the middle of May. We arrived on the Friday, and soon after divine service on the Sunday morning the Sioux Indians were seen marching over the plains, with several colours flying, towards the Colony Fort, which was immediately opposite to that of the Company. When at the distance of about five hundred yards from us, they halted, and a Saulteaux Indian who happened to be at Pembina, immediately stripped himself naked, and rushed towards them as a proof of his courage. They received him with a cold reserve, while some of them pointed their guns close to his body. He then mingled with the party, and we conducted them to the Colony Fort, as is customary when Indians are supposed to visit with peaceable and friendly intentions. As soon as they had entered the Fort they placed two sentinels at the gate, one with a bow and arrows, and the other with a gun. There was something like military discipline among them, which they had probably learned during the late American war, in which they were engaged by the English; many of them were of a remarkably fine stature, and well-proportioned, but more formed for agility than strength. Their countenances were stamped with a fierce and barbarous expression, and being all armed with either long knives, tomahawks, guns, or bows, they soon encircled and formed a guard for the Chief of their party. After a short time, they became very restless, and searched every corner and outhouse of the Fort, under the suspicion that some treacherous attack might be made upon them. A few of them then crossed over to the Company's Post, and no idea was entertained but that they would conduct themselves peaceably. Liquor was given them at both posts; and as I was standing within the stockades of that of the Company, at eight o'clock in the evening, a Chief of the party named Wanatou, came in apparently intoxicated, and snatching a gun from an Indian who stood near him, he fired it with ball in a manner that indicated some evil design. Leaving the Fort he wrestled with another for his gun which he fired in the air, and went immediately to the other post, where it was supposed they had taken up their quarters for the night. A guard being mounted, we retired to rest, but were disturbed about eleven o'clock with the cry, that the Sioux Indians had shot and scalped an Assiniboine, who with two others had travelled a considerable distance to smoke the calumet with them at Pembina. The bloody and unsuspected deed was committed by Wanatou, whose intention was to have killed the other two had they not immediately fled, because some one, or a party of their nation had stolen a horse from him about a year before. As soon as the scalp was taken they all started for the plains with this notorious Chief, who had shed the blood of ten or twelve Indians and Americans before; and who bore the marks of having been several times pierced with balls by his enemies. It was formerly the custom to cut off the heads of those whom they slew in war, and to carry them away as trophies; but these were found cumbersome in the hasty retreat which they always make as soon as they have killed their enemy; they are now satisfied with only tearing off the scalp. This is usually taken from the crown of the head, of a small circular size; sometimes however they take the whole integuments of the skull, with which they ornament their war jackets and leggins, or twist into a brush for the purpose of keeping off the mosquitoes. The scalp is their glory and triumph, and is often carried by women stretched upon a stick, and hung with various articles so as to make a jingle to men when they perform the war-dance. This is very animated and striking, as they generally dance completely armed, and with gestures to represent their mode of going to war, their attack upon their enemy, the scalping of those who are slain, and their triumphant return as conquerors. They go through these evolutions in such a wild and savage manner as frequently to excite the fears of the European, who witnesses the war dance, lest it should terminate, in a bloody conflict, and the death of most of the party. We returned to the Forks, after having seen a party of half-breeds set off with their horses and carts for buffaloe meat, in the same direction the Sioux Indians were gone. They were advised not to follow their track so immediately; but the want of provisions led them to neglect this advice; and in about a fortnight afterwards we were informed, that they had been fired upon in their encampment in the dawn of the morning (the time when Indians generally make their attack) that two of them were killed, a third mortally wounded, and that all their horses were stolen. It was strongly suspected though never ascertained as a fact, that this savage deed was committed by the Indians who had so recently left Pembina; as well as the scalping of one of the Company's servants who was killed a short time afterwards within a mile of the Fort. The Sioux are a great nation, spread over a vast tract of country, between the Missisippi and Pembina; along the banks of the Missouri, and towards the Saskashawan. They are divided into numerous tribes, called Sisatoones, Yanktoons, Wapatoones, and others, with the Assiniboines or Stone Indians, who are recognized as descendents or seceders, by a similarity of language and customs. On the banks of the Mississippi and Missouri rivers they have small villages, where they grow Indian corn, pumpkins, and water melons; but they live principally on the plains in the chase of the buffaloe. Their language is very guttural and difficult, and superstitious ceremonies and customs prevail amongst them which are similar to those observed by the Tartars. The Sioux, like the Tartars, sometimes offer water as a symbol of peace and safety to a stranger, or of pardon to an offender, which strongly corroborates the idea that they were originally from Asia. Some time ago I was informed by an officer, who had numbers of them under his influence in the American war, that a Sioux Indian was doomed to die for an offence which he had committed, and taking his station before the tribe, and drawing his blanket over his face, in expectation of the fatal shot, the Chief stepped forward and presented some water to him, as a token of pardon, when he was permitted again to join the party. They consider it also as a very bad omen in common with the Tartars, to cut a stick that has been burnt by fire, and with them they consign every thing to destruction, though it be their canoe, as polluted, if it be sprinkled with the water of animals. And it is a remarkable fact, that the laws of separation and uncleanness, being forty days for a male child and eighty for a female, observed by these Indians, exactly correspond with the Levitical law imposed upon the Jews in the birth of their children. They are truly barbarous, like the Indians in general, towards their captive enemies. The following circumstance, as related to me by an Indian woman, whom I married to one of the principal settlers, and who was a near relation of one of the women who was tomahawked by a war party of Sioux Indians, some time ago, is calculated to fill the mind with horror. They fell upon four lodges belonging to the Saulteaux, who had encamped near _Fond du Lac_, Lake Superior, and which contained the wives and children of about twelve men, who were at that time absent a hunting; and immediately killed and scalped the whole party, except one woman and two or three of the children. With the most wanton and savage cruelty, they proceeded to put one of these little ones to death, by first turning him for a short time close before a fire, when they cut off one of his arms, and told him to run; and afterwards cruelly tortured him, with the other children, till he died. It is almost incredible the torture to which they will sometimes put their prisoners; and the adult captives will endure it without a tear or a groan. In spite of all their sufferings, which the love of cruelty and revenge can invent and inflict upon them, they continue to chaunt their death song with a firm voice; considering that to die like a man, courting pain rather than flinching from it, is the noblest triumph of the warrior. In going to war, some time ago, a Sioux chief cut a piece of flesh from his thigh, and holding it up with a view to animate and encourage the party who were to accompany him to the ferocious conflict, told them to see how little he regarded pain, and that, despising torture and the scalping knife and tomahawk of their enemies, they should rush upon them, and pursue them till they were exterminated; and thereby console the spirits of the dead whom they had slain. It does not appear that cannibalism is practised by any of the North American Indians; on the contrary, the eating of human flesh is held in great abhorrence by them: and when they are driven to eat it, through dire necessity, they are generally shunned by other Indians who know it, and who often take their lives secretly. It is not an uncommon practice, however, for them to cut flesh from their captives, and, when cooked to eat small bits of it, as well as to give some to their children, with a little of their blood, no doubt under the idea that it will give them courage, and a spirit of hatred and revenge against their enemies. What can calm these ferocious feelings, and curb this savage fury of the passions in the torturous destruction of defenceless women and sucking infants? what, but the introduction and influence of Christianity, the best civilizer of the wandering natives of these dreary wilds, and the most probable means of fixing them in the pursuit of agriculture, and of those social advantages and privileges to which they are at present strangers. MAY 24.--By the arrival of the boats from Qu'appelle, I received another little Indian boy for admission into the school; and felt encouraged in the persuasion, that should we extend our travels among the Indians, and make known to them our simple object in visiting them as Missionaries, many probably among the different tribes who traded at the Company's Posts, would be gradually led to give up their children for education. I had now several under my care, who could converse pretty freely in English, and were beginning to read tolerably well, repeating the Lord's prayer correctly. The _primary_ object in teaching them, was to give them a _religious_ education; but the use of the bow was not to be forgotten, and they were hereafter to be engaged in hunting, as opportunities and circumstances might allow. As agriculture was an important branch in the system of instruction, I had given them some small portions of ground to cultivate; and I never saw European schoolboys more delighted than they were, in hoeing and planting their separate gardens. Nor were the parents of these boys insensible to the care and kindness that were shewn to them. I was told by one of the Company's officers, that before he left Qu'appelle for the colony, he saw the father of the boy I had received from the Indian tents, after my visit to that quarter, and asked him to part with a fine horse that he was riding, which he refused to do, saying that he kept it for the "Black Robe," a name by which they distinguished me from the Catholic priests, whom they call the "Long Robe," for taking care of his boy. He repeated his application for the horse, with the tempting offer of some rum; but the Indian was firm in his intention of keeping it, as a present for kindness shewn to his child. This was gratitude; and I left directions, in my absence from the Settlement, that should he bring it down, he should be treated with all possible kindness; and amply repaid with blankets, or any useful European articles that he might want and which could be procured, in return for the gift of his horse. It was now hinted to me, that the interest I was taking in the education of the native children, had already excited the fears of some of the chief factors and traders, as to the extent to which it might be carried. Though a few conversed liberally with me on the subject, there were others who were apprehensive that the extension of knowledge among the natives, and the locating them in agricultural pursuits, where practicable, would operate as an injury to the fur trade. My reply on the contrary was, that if Christian knowledge were gradually diffused among the natives throughout the vast territory of the Hudson's Bay Company, from the shores of the Atlantic to those of the North Pacific, it would best promote the honour and advantages of all parties concerned in the fur trade, and which I was persuaded was the general enlightened opinion of the Directors in London. The 28th. The Settlers have been busily employed of late in getting in their seed corn, and much more has been sown than was expected a short time ago, from the prudent management of the grain, by the Chargè d'Affaires of the Colony, in the dearth of provisions; and from the supply which we have received from _Bas la Rivière_. The sturgeon season also has been very successful, which has in some measure brightened the countenances of a people, who have passed a long and severe winter, without "_the sound of the mill stones, and the light of the candle_." CHAPTER IV. ARRIVAL OF CANOE FROM MONTREAL. LIBERAL PROVISION FOR MISSIONARY ESTABLISHMENT. MANITOBAH LAKE. INDIAN GARDENS. MEET CAPTAIN FRANKLIN AND OFFICERS OF THE ARCTIC EXPEDITION, AT YORK FACTORY. FIRST ANNIVERSARY OF THE AUXILIARY BIBLE SOCIETY. HALF-CASTE CHILDREN. AURORA BOREALIS. CONVERSATION WITH PIGEWIS. GOOD HARVEST AT THE SETTLEMENT, AND ARRIVAL OF CATTLE FROM UNITED STATES MASSACRE OF HUNTERS. PRODUCE OF GRAIN AT THE COLONY. On the 20th of June, the light canoe arrived from Montreal, which brought me letters from England; and no one ever received news from a far country, which gladdened the heart more than these letters did mine. My family were all well; and a liberal provision had been made, for a Missionary establishment at the Red River, for the maintenance and education of native Indian children, by the Church Missionary Society. In conveying this information to me, an active friend to the communication of Christianity to the Indians, observes, "I hope a foundation is now laid to extend the blessings of Christianity, religion, morals, and education, wherever the representative of the Company may set his foot." God grant that if may! and that the Light which first sprang up in Judea, may break forth upon every part of these vast territories, dissipate the present darkness of the natives, and lead them to the enjoyment of "_the fulness of the blessings of the gospel of Christ_." All, all, is encouraging to proceed: yet I will not conceal my fears, that expectations may be raised too high, as to the progress that may be made in that vast field of labour which presents itself.--"There are a great many willows to cut down, and roots to remove," as an Indian chief said to me, when he welcomed me to the country, "before the path will be clear to walk in." The axe, however, is laid to the root of the tree, in the establishment of schools, as the means of instruction and of diffusing Christian knowledge in this moral wilderness; and we may anticipate the hope that numbers will arise to enjoy what they are capable of feeling, the endearments of social life, as well as of moral and religious education. Soon after the express canoe arrived, a Director of the Hudson's Bay Company and an executor of the late Earl of Selkirk, came to the Settlement, via Montreal. I accompanied him to Pembina; and he acted upon the opinion, that the inhabitants of this distant and extreme point of the colony, who were principally hunters, were living too near the supposed line of demarcation, between the British territories and the United States; and that it would be far better for them to remove down to the Forks; where, if the industry of the colonists was more concentrated, it would tend more to their protection and prosperity. Many promised to comply with this suggestion. On our return, I took the opportunity of opening, with divine service, the building (though it was not finished) which was intended as a school-house, and a temporary place for divine worship; and, at the same time, baptized two of the boys who had been under my charge, one as James Hope, and the other as Henry Budd; they being able to read the New Testament, repeat the Church Catechism, and to understand the chief truths of the Christian Religion. JULY 18.--We have the satisfaction of seeing the new sown grain promise well for a crop; and great hopes are entertained that it will this year escape the ravages of the locusts. Under this sanguine expectation, I left the colony, with the Director, on the 22d, on my annual visit to York Factory, taking the route of Manitobah Lake. As we passed this fine and extensive sheet of water, we saw occasionally some beautiful points, or bluffs of wood and the most striking and romantic scenery that can be presented to the eye. The waters abound with fish; and the alluvial soil of some parts, near the banks of the lake, promises every encouragement to the active industry of the agriculturist. A tribe of Indians, who traverse this part of the country, have gardens, in which they grow potatoes and pumpkins; and were encouragement given them, by the presence and superintendence of a Missionary, in the cultivation of the soil, and the assistance of a plough and seed corn, afforded them from the Colony, with the view to establish them in a village, there is little doubt, that they would gradually, or indeed soon, become so far civilized, as to promote the formation of a school among them for the education of their children. We proceeded on our way, through the Dauphin River, into Lake Winipeg, and arrived at Norway House, in about a week after we left the Settlement. When within about fifty miles of York Fort, two Indians paddled their canoe to the side of the boat, and requested that I would take a little boy, who was with them, under my charge. This I consented to do, if they would bring him to me on my return to the Colony; and I threw him a blanket, as he was almost naked, and suffering apparently from cold. In landing at the Factory, I had the pleasure of meeting Captain Franklin, and the gentlemen of the Northern Land Expedition, recently returned from their arduous journey to the mouth of the Coppermine River, and waiting for the return of the Company's ship to England. An Esquimaux Indian, who accompanied the expedition as one of the guides, named Augustus, and who survived the supposed fate of his companion, Junius,[6] often came to my room, and interested me with his conversation in English, which was tolerably well understood by him, from the instructions he had received during his travels. He belongs to a tribe that annually visits Churchill Factory, from the northward; and often assures me, that "Esquimaux want white man to come and teach them;" and tells me, that they would "make snow house, good, properly, for him in winter; and bring plenty of musk oxen and deer for him to eat." Captain Franklin expressed much interest for this harmless race of Indians: and having spoken to the Governor of this northern district, I have resolved upon visiting Churchill, next July, in the hope of meeting the tribe on their visit to that Factory, and to obtain information, as to the practicability of sending a schoolmaster amongst them, or forming a school for the education of their children. [6] See Captain Franklin's Journey to the Coppermine River, Vol. II. p. 270, second edition. During my stay at the Factory, we held the first anniversary meeting of the Auxiliary Bible Society, and were warmly assisted by Captain Franklin and the gentlemen of the expedition. It appeared that the amount of donations and annual subscriptions for the past year, i.e. from Sept. 2nd, 1821, when the Society was first formed, to Sept. 2nd, 1822, was 200_l._ 0_s._ 6_d._ the whole of which sum was remitted to the parent institution in London; and the very encouraging sum of sixty pounds was subscribed at the meeting, towards the collection for the second year. There were but few persons who came out by the ship for the Colony this year, as the succession of difficulties we had met with, had lessened the encouragement to emigrate to this quarter. Among those who came, however, was a young woman, as the intended wife of the schoolmaster, who was appointed by the Church Missionary Society, to assist in teaching at the Mission Establishment at Red River. I obtained a little boy and girl from an Indian tent at the Factory, to accompany her, in addition to those who were already there. The features of the boy bore a strong resemblance to those of the Esquimaux: but there was a shade of difference between the little girl, and Indians of entire blood, which was particularly seen in the colour of her hair. It was not of that jet black, which is common with the Indians in general, and which is the case with many of the children belonging to the tribes, or individual families who visit, or are much about the different Factories. I often met with half-caste children, whose parents had died or deserted them; who are growing up with numbers at the different posts in great depravity. Should their education be neglected, as it has hitherto been, and should they be led to "_find their grounds_," with the Indians, it cannot be a matter of surprise, if at any time hereafter they should collectively or in parties, threaten the peace of the country, and the safety of the trading Posts. SEPT. 4.--The Indians who brought the boy in the canoe to the boat on my way to the Factory met me on my return, and he is taking his passage with the other two children to the Settlement. Though I have now made the voyage several times from York Fort to the Colony, I do not find that the labour and difficulty of the way are at all relieved. Some parts of the tracking ground might evidently be improved by cutting away the willows at the edges of the river; and the track over a few of the portages might also be made better; some of the large stones likewise might be removed when the water is low, which is expeditiously done by digging a large hole by the side and undermining them; when they are rolled over and buried. But to improve the passage materially, appears to me to be impracticable, from the shallowness of the water, and the rapidity of the current in many of the rivers. We saw that beautiful phenomenon called the '_Aurora Borealis_,' or the northern lights, on most clear evenings, consisting of long columns of clear white light, shooting across the heavens with a tremulous motion, and altering slowly to a variety of shapes. At times they were very brilliant, and appeared suddenly in different parts of the sky, where none had been seen before. It has been observed, that this phenomenon is not vivid in very high latitudes, and that its seat appears to be about the latitude of 60°. Many of the Indians have a pleasing and romantic idea of this meteor. They believe the northern lights to be the spirits of their departed friends dancing in the clouds, and when they are remarkably bright, at which time they vary most in form and situation, they say that their deceased friends are making merry. The northern Indians call the Aurora Borealis "Edthin, i.e. Deer, from having found that when a hairy deer-skin is briskly stroked with the hand in a dark night, it will emit many sparks of electrical fire as the back of a cat will." On the 5th of October we reached the encampment of Pigewis, the chief of the Red River Indians; and on pitching our tents for the night a little way farther up on the banks of the river, he came with his eldest son and another Indian and drank tea with me in the evening. It was the first time that I had met with him, since I received the encouraging information from the Church Missionary Society, relative to the Mission School at the Colony, and I was glad of the opportunity of assuring him, through the aid of an interpreter, who was of our party, "that many, very many in my country wished the Indians to be taught white man's knowledge of the Great Spirit, and as a proof of their love to them, my countrymen had told me to provide for the clothing, maintenance, and education of many of their children; and had sent out the young person whom he then saw to teach the little girls who might be sent to the school for instruction." Though not easily persuaded that you act from benevolent motives; he said _it was good!_ and promised to tell all his tribe what I said about the children, and that I should have two of his boys to instruct in the Spring, but added, that 'the Indians like to have time to consider about these matters.' We smoked the calumet, and after pausing a short time, he shrewdly asked me what I would do with the children after they were taught what I wished them to know. I told him they might return to their parents if they wished it, but my hope was that they would see the advantage of making gardens, and cultivating the soil, so as not to be exposed to hunger and starvation, as the Indians generally were, who had to wander and hunt for their provisions. The little girls, I observed, would be taught to knit, and make articles of clothing to wear, like those which white people wore; and all would be led to read the Book that the Great Spirit had given to them, which the Indians had not yet known, and which would teach them how to live well and to die happy. I added, that it was the will of the Great Spirit, which he had declared in His Book, 'that a man should have but one wife, and a woman but one husband.' He smiled at this information, and said that 'he thought that there was no more harm in Indians having two wives than one of the settlers,' whom he named. I grieved for the depravity of Europeans as noticed by the heathen, and as raising a stumbling block in the way of their receiving instruction, and our conversation closed upon the subject by my observing, that 'there were some very bad white people, as there were some very bad Indians, but that the good book condemned the practice.' We had an unusually fine passage from the Factory; and in our approach to Fort Douglas, we were cheered with the sight of several stacks of corn standing near to some of the settlers houses, and were informed, not only of a good harvest, but also of more than a hundred and fifty head of cattle having arrived at the colony, from the Illinois territory. These were encouraging circumstances, and I saw with peculiar pleasure, a stack of wheat near the Mission School, which had been raised, with nearly two hundred bushels of potatoes, from the ground that we had cultivated near it; and having purchased two cows for the establishment, our minds were relieved from anxiety as to provisions for the children during the winter, as well as from the quantity of grain that might be collected, till another harvest. Our fears were kept alive however, as to the safety of the Settlement, by being informed of another horrid massacre of four hunters, a woman, and a little girl, on the plains near Pembina, by the Sioux Indians. Their bodies were dreadfully mangled, and the death of the little girl was attended with atrocious barbarity. When the Indians first approached and made their attack on the party, she concealed herself under one of the carts; but hearing the screams of her friends as the savages were butchering them, she ran from the place of her concealment, and was shot through with an arrow as she was running to escape. The frequent massacre of the hunters by the Sioux Indians, and the constant alarm excited at the Settlement, by reports that they would come down with the savage intention of scalping us call for some military protection. A small party stationed at the Colony, would not only be the means of enforcing any civil process in the punishment of delinquents among the Colonists, but afford that security in their habitations, which would stimulate them to make improvements, and to a more active industry upon the soil, while it would have the best effect upon the minds of the Indians at large. NOV. 4.--A party of hunters have just returned, bringing in some venison of the red deer, or stag, which is sometimes killed at the distance of about ten or twelve miles from the Colony. It is astonishing with what keenness of observation they pursue these animals: their eye is so very acute, that they will often discern a path, and trace the deer over the rocks and the withered leaves, which an European passes without noticing, or being at all aware, that any human being or game have directed their course before him. They distinguish the cardinal points by the terms, sun-rise, sun-set, cold country, and warm country; and reach any destined point over the most extensive plains with great accuracy, or travel through the thickest woods with certainty, when they have nothing to direct them but the moss that grows on the north side of the trunks of the trees, and their tops bending towards the rising sun. The 18th. The attendance on divine worship is much improved on the Sabbath, from the accommodation the building affords, and I hope to complete it in the ensuing spring. We have a considerable number of half-caste children, and some adult Indian women, married to Europeans, who attend a Sunday-school, for gratuitous instruction; and I have no doubt that their numbers will increase considerably in the spring. These children have capacity, and would rival Europeans, with the like instruction, in the developement of their mental faculties. Extensive plans might be devised, and carried into effect, if patronized by an active co-operation, which would ultimately result in producing great benefits to the half-caste population, and the Indians in general. There is an opening for schools on the banks of the Saskashawan, where the soil is good for cultivation, as well as on the banks of the Athabasca river; and frequent applications reached me to forward their establishment in those quarters, under the prospect of their being supported through the produce that might be raised from the soil, and the supplies to be obtained from the waters and the chase. The winter has again set in, and many of the settlers are threshing out their crops; and from the best information I can obtain, the return of wheat has been from twenty to twenty-five bushels per acre. Barley, may be stated at the same produce: but where sown in small quantities, and under particular cultivation, I have heard of thirty, forty, and fifty fold being reaped. Taking the average of the general crop, however, I think it may be fairly stated at the above increase, without the trouble of manuring. That useful article of food, the potatoe thrives well, and returns upon an average thirty bushels for one. Indian corn is grown; and every kind of garden vegetable, with water melons, and pumpkins, comes to great perfection, when spared by the locusts. Some have raised the tobacco plant, but it has not yet met with a fair trial, any more than the sowing of hemp and flax. I failed in the experiment of sowing some winter wheat, which I brought with me from England; but I attribute this failure, to its being sown in an exposed situation, and too early in the autumn, the plant having been of too luxuriant a growth, before the severe frosts came on.--If sown in sheltered spots, and later in the season, there is every probability of its surviving the winter, which would be of great advantage in agriculture, from the short period we have for preparing the land and sowing it in spring. We have no fruit trees, but if introduced, they would no doubt thrive at the Colony. We get a few raspberries in the woods, and strawberries from the plains in summer; and on the route to York Factory, we meet with black and red currants, gooseberries, and cranberries. There is a root which is found in large quantities, and generally called by the settlers, the Indian potatoe. It strongly resembles the Jerusalem artichoke, and is eaten by the natives in a raw state; but when boiled it is not badly flavoured. The characteristic improvidence of the Indians, and their precarious means of subsistence, will often reduce them to extreme want, and I have seen them collecting small roots in the swamps, and eating the inner rind of the poplar tree, and having recourse to a variety of berries, which are found in abundance in many parts of the country. CHAPTER V. CLIMATE OF RED RIVER. THERMOMETER. PIGEWIS'S NEPHEW. WOLVES. REMARKS OF GENERAL WASHINGTON. INDIAN WOMAN SHOT BY HER SON. SUFFERINGS OF INDIANS. THEIR NOTIONS OF THE DELUGE. NO VISIBLE OBJECT OF ADORATION. ACKNOWLEDGE A FUTURE LIFE. LEFT THE COLONY FOR BAS LA RIVIRÈE. LOST ON WINIPEG LAKE. RECOVER THE TRACK, AND MEET AN INTOXICATED INDIAN. APPARENT FACILITIES FOR ESTABLISHING SCHOOLS WEST OF ROCKY MOUNTAINS. RUSSIANS AFFORDING RELIGIOUS INSTRUCTION ON THE NORTH WEST COAST OF NORTH AMERICA. RUMOURS OF WAR AMONG THE SURROUNDING TRIBES WITH THE SIOUX INDIANS. JANUARY 1, 1823.--Once more I have to record the goodness of God in preserving my life, and granting me the invaluable blessing of health throughout the past year. "God of my life! to thee belong The thankful heart, the grateful song." May my days be spent with renewed ardour and watchfulness in my Christian profession; never yielding to supineness and discouragements in my Ministerial labours, and toils in the wilderness. Of all men, the Missionary most needs strong faith, with a simple reliance upon the providence and promises of God in the trials that await him. His path is indeed an arduous one. Many unexpected circumstances will oppose his conscientious endeavours to fulfil his calling; and difficulties will surround him in every shape, so as to put his patience, his hopes of usefulness and steady perseverance severely to the test. He will often exclaim in the deep conviction of his mind, who is sufficient for the great undertaking?--Experience in the Missionary field has convinced me, that there are indeed but _few among a thousand_ qualified for the difficult and exalted work. If that eminent Missionary, St. Paul, abounding in zeal, and in all the graces of the Spirit, thought it needful to solicit the prayers of the Churches that "the word of the Lord might run, and have free course," how earnest ought our entreaties to be of all friends of missions to "pray for us," who, _if we feel aright_, must feel our own insignificance, in our labours among the heathen, and in our services to the Christian church, when compared with the labours of the Apostles, or with those of a Swartz, a Brainerd, or a Martyn. The climate of Red River is found to be remarkably healthy, and the state of the weather may be pretty accurately ascertained from the following table for the last two years. We know of no epidemic, nor is a cough scarcely ever heard amongst us. The only cry of affliction, in breathing a sharp pure air, that creates a keen appetite, has been, '_Je n'ai rien pour manger_,' and death has rarely taken place amongst the inhabitants, except by accident and extreme old age. It is far otherwise, however with the natives of the country, who from the hardships and incessant toil they undergo in seeking provisions, look old at forty, and the women at a much earlier age: while numbers die, at an early stage of their suffering existence, of pulmonary consumptions. These are so common, that they may be considered as the unavoidable consequence of privations and immoderate fatigue, which they endure in hunting and in war; and of being continually exposed to the inclemency of the seasons. CLIMATE OF RED RIVER THERMOMETER. +---------+-----+------+------+------+------+------+------+------+------+ | | | | | | | | | Aver-| Aver-| | Month | | A.M. | A.M. | M. | M. | P.M. | P.M. | age | age | | and | |Below |Above |Below |Above |Below |Above |Below |Above | | Year |Date | ° | ° | ° | ° | ° | ° | ° | ° | +---------+-----+------+------+------+------+------+------+------+------+ |1821. | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | |January | 23 | 24 | .. | 16 | .. | 26 | .. | 22 | .. | |February | 2 | 30 | .. | 25 | .. | 28 | .. | 28 | .. | |March | 17 | 5 | .. | .. | 13 | 5 | .. | .. | 1 | |April | 9 | .. | 10 | .. | 18 | .. | 17 | .. | 15 | | | | | | | | | | | | |May | 8 | .. | 50 | .. | 77 | .. | 77 | .. | 68 | |June | 3 | .. | 72 | .. | 84 | .. | 88 | .. | 81 | |July | 28 | .. | 76 | .. | 91 | .. | 90 | .. | 85 | |August | 3 | .. | 70 | .. | 84 | .. | 88 | .. | 84 | |September| 4 | .. | 58 | .. | 68 | .. | 70 | .. | 65 | |October | 25 | .. | 45 | .. | 62 | .. | 65 | .. | 27 | | | | | | | | | | | | |November | 26 | 5 | .. | 16 | .. | 16 | .. | 12 | .. | |December | 17 | 38 | .. | 15 | .. | 16 | .. | 23 | .. | |---------+-----+------+------+------+------+------+------+------+------| |1822. | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | |January | 28 | 34 | .. | 25 | .. | 25 | .. | 28 | .. | |February | 3 | 32 | .. | 19 | .. | 23 | .. | 25 | .. | |March | 13 | .. | 7 | .. | 25 | .. | 10 | .. | 14 | |April | 8 | .. | 5 | .. | 18 | .. | 21 | .. | 15 | | | | | | | | | | | | |May | 28 | .. | 65 | .. | 77 | .. | 78 | .. | 73 | |June | 9 | .. | 68 | .. | 76 | .. | 76 | .. | 73 | |July | 21 | .. | 75 | .. | 87 | .. | 81 | .. | 81 | |August | 8 | .. | 74 | .. | 83 | .. | 84 | .. | 80 | |September| 13 | .. | 59 | .. | 79 | .. | 78 | .. | 72 | |October | 4 | .. | 54 | .. | 72 | .. | 71 | .. | 66 | | | | | | | | | | | | |November | 29 | 24 | .. | 2 | .. | 15 | .. | 14 | .. | |December | 14 | 49 | .. | 25 | .. | 28 | .. | 34 | .. | +---------+-----+------+------+------+------+------+------+------+------+ I have selected the day in each month of the year, when the thermometer was at the lowest and highest degree of Zero; which will give a general idea of the change of the state of the air. Though I have been informed of the thermometer having been several degrees higher and lower at the Colony, than here stated, the winter is nearly the same, as to the time it sets in and breaks up, as that of Montreal; but the frost is rather more intense, with less snow, and a clearer air. During the winter months, a north-westerly wind, which is synonymous in this quarter of the globe, with excessive cold, generally prevails; and even in sultry weather, the moment that the wind veers from the south to that quarter, its chilling influence is immediately felt in the sudden transition from heat to cold. In summer, a southerly wind blows commonly with considerable heat, and often in heavy gales, is accompanied with violent torrents of rain, and much thunder. The 4th.--The Indians around us generally divide into small parties for the better support of their families during the winter months; and in their rambling existence in search of animals for provisions. Pigewis and a few others, occupying two lodges, called on me to-day, saying that they were starving. The woods which they generally hunted were burnt to a great extent during the last autumn, and they had only killed a bear, and a few martins, with occasionally a rabbit, as a subsistence for the last two months. This was their report, though they often deceive in their lounging habits of begging at your residence. I assisted them with a little Indian rice and some potatoes, on their promise to strike their tents, and proceed to some other hunting grounds on the following day. When they visit under these destitute circumstances, they are often exceedingly troublesome, acknowledging no right of restraint in being shut out from your presence; they enter your dwelling without ceremony, and covet almost every thing that they see. With a view, therefore, to keep them from my room in the evening, I sent some tea and sugar with a little flour, for the purpose of taking my tea with them in one of their tents. I was accompanied by one of the Indian boys from the school as an interpreter, who now acted well in that capacity, from the great progress he had made in speaking English, and found them all encircling a small fire, by the side of which they had placed a buffaloe robe for me to sit down upon. The pipe was immediately lighted by an Indian whom we generally call 'Pigewis's Aid-de-Camp;' and having pointed the stem to the heavens and then to the earth, he gave the first whiff to the Master of Life, and afterwards handed it to me. Pigewis then delivered what I understood to be an address to the Great Spirit, and the party seated around him used an expression, apparently of assent, in the middle and conclusion of his speech. Though addressing an unknown God, what a reflection does his conduct, in returning thanks for his short and precarious supplies, to the Master of Life, cast upon multitudes who profess Christianity and the knowledge of the true God, and yet daily partake of the bounties of his providence, without any expression of gratitude, or whose only return, is to live in the known violation of his laws, and to blaspheme his holy name, in the midst of his goodness towards them! Pigewis breakfasted with me on the following morning; and his general remarks in conversation gave me, as they had done before, a favourable opinion of his penetration and mental ability. The active efforts of his mind, however, are confined principally to those objects which immediately affect his present wants or enjoyments. Savages talk of the animals that they have killed, and boast of the scalps that they have taken in their war excursions; but they form no arrangement, nor enter into calculation for futurity. They have no settled place of abode, or property, or acquired wants and appetites, like those which rouse men to activity in civilized life, and stimulate them to persevering industry, while they keep the mind in perpetual exercise and ingenious invention. Their simple wants are few, and when satisfied they waste their time in listless indolence; and are often seen lying on the ground for whole days together, without raising their heads from under the blanket, or uttering a single word. The cravings of hunger rouse them; and the scarcity of animals that now prevails in many parts of the country, is a favourable circumstance towards leading them to the cultivation of the soil; which would expand their minds, and prove of vast advantage, among other means, in aiding their comprehension of Christianity. It must, not be expected, however, that the Indians will easily forsake a mode of life that is so congenial to man, in his natural love of ease and indolence and licentious freedom. Necessity, in a measure, must compel them to do this; _but the children may be educated, and trained to industry upon the soil_, in the hope that they may be recovered from their savage habits and customs, to see and enjoy the blessings of civilization and Christianity. This object is highly important, and no means should be spared in attempting its accomplishment, where practicable. Where is our humanity and Christian sympathy, and how do we fulfil the obligations which Christianity has enforced, if we do not seek to raise these wandering heathen, who, with us, are immortal in their destiny, from a mere animal existence to the partaking of the privileges and hopes of the Christian religion? Before Pigewis left me, his sister arrived, who was then living with a very lazy bad Indian, and asked me to take her eldest boy, whose father was dead, into the school. Though much above the usual age of admission upon the establishment, I consented to receive him; and they both took an affectionate leave of him, remarking that they were sure I should keep him well. The whole party then set off towards some fresh hunting grounds, and it was my hope and expectation that I should see nothing more of them till the spring. The boy was comfortably clothed, and he appeared to be well satisfied with the rest at the school, and had begun to learn the English alphabet, when, to my surprise, I found the mother, with the Indian, in my room, in about a week after they had left the Settlement with Pigewis, saying that they had parted from him in consequence of their not being able to obtain any provision; and that "they thought it long" since they had seen the boy. He was permitted to go from the school-house to their tent, which they had pitched near me in the woods, almost daily without restraint, till at length he refused to return. I repeated my request for him without effect; and having my suspicion excited, that they would take him away for the sake of the clothing and blankets which I had given him, I determined upon having them again, as an example to deter others from practising the like imposition. The parties were angry at my determination, and looking upon the medicine bag that was suspended on the willows near the tent, and which is carried by most of the Indians, as a sacred depository for a few pounded roots, some choice bits of earth, or a variety of articles which they only know how to appreciate with superstitious regard, they told me that "they had bad medicine for those who displeased them." I insisted, however, on the return of the articles I had given to the boy, and obtained them; at the same time promising that if he would go back to the school-house, he should have his clothes again; but added, that "it would never be allowed for Indians to bring their children to the school, which was established to teach them what was for their happiness, merely for the purpose of getting them clothed and provided with blankets, and then to entice them to leave it." JAN. 20.--The severity of the winter has driven a number of wolves to hover about the Settlement in search of provisions; they are perfectly harmless however, as they are met singly, and skulk away like a dog conscious of having committed a theft. But in packs, they kill the horses, and are formidable to encounter. In the pursuit of buffaloes and the deer on the plains, they are known to form a crescent, and to hurry their prey over precipices, or upon the steep muddy banks of a river, where they devour them. No instance has occurred of their having seized any of the children of the settlers, though they sometimes kill and eat the carcases of the dogs close to their houses. FEBRUARY 3.--It appears that I have given great offence to one of the remaining Swiss emigrants, for refusing to baptize, at his immediate request, the child of his daughter, born of fornication, and cast away by her, as living in adultery. I deeply lamented the circumstance, but felt the obligation to defer the administration of the sacrament, from the conviction that the profligacy of the case called for an example which might deter others among the Swiss from acting in the like manner; and at the same time be a public expression of disapprobation, on my part, of such unblushing depravity, in the eyes of a numerous young people growing up at the Colony. Unless chastity be considered as a virtue, what hope can be entertained of forming any organized society? and if the Colonists fearlessly commit crimes, because they have stepped over a certain line of latitude; and live in a wild profligacy, without the curb of civil restraint, the Settlement can hold out but faint hopes of answering in any way the expectations of its patrons. Till morality and religion form its basis, disappointment must follow. Nor can I imagine that the system taught by the Canadian Catholic priests will avail any thing materially in benefitting the morals of the people; they are bigotted to opinions which are calculated to fetter the human mind, to cramp human exertion, and to keep their dependants in perpetual leading-strings. Their doctrine is-- "Extra Ecclesiam Romanam, salus non esse potest."[7] [7] There is no salvation beyond the pale of the Roman Church. They appear to me to teach Christianity only as a dry system of ecclesiastical statutes, without a shadow of spirituality. While they multiply holidays, to the interruption of human industry, as generally complained of by those who employ Canadians, they lightly regard the Sabbath; and sanction the practice of spending the evenings of this sacred day at cards, or in the dance. In their tinkling service of worshipping the elevated host as the very God himself, they fall down also in adoration to the Virgin Mary, addressing her, as-- "Reine des Cieux! Intercedez pour nous, Mère de Dieu!" and proudly arrogate to the Church of Rome, the absolute interpretation of Scripture; forbidding the people to examine whether she does it rightly or not. I thank God that I am a Protestant against such idolatry and ecclesiastical tyranny! The able and enlightened remarks of that renowned general and eminent statesman, Washington, in his farewell address to the people of the United States, relative to the well-being of a nation, are equally applicable to the existence and prosperity of a Colony: "Of all the dispositions and habits which lead to political prosperity (he observed), religion and morality are indispensable supports. In vain would that man claim the tribute of patriotism, who should labour to subvert these great pillars of human happiness, these firmest props of men and citizens. The mere politician, equally with the pious man, ought to respect and cherish them. A volume would not trace all their connexions with private and public felicity. Let it be simply asked, Where is the security for property, for reputation, for life, if the sense of religious obligation desert the oaths which are the instruments of investigation in the courts of justice? And let us with caution indulge the supposition, that morality can be maintained without religion. Whatever be conceded to the influence of refined education, or minds of a peculiar structure; reason and experience forbid us to expect that national morality can prevail in exclusion of religious principle." A daughter has driven her aged Indian father, lashed, in his buffaloe robe, on a sledge, to the Colony. He appeared to be in a very weak and dying state, and has suffered much from the want of provisions. I was much pleased with this instance of filial affection and care. Sometimes the aged and infirm are abandoned or destroyed; and however shocking it may be to those sentiments of tenderness and affection, which in civilized life we regard as inherent in our common nature, it is practised by savages in their hardships and extreme difficulty of procuring subsistence for the parties who suffer, without being considered as an act of cruelty, but as a deed of mercy. This shocking custom, however, is seldom heard of among the Indians of this neighbourhood; but is said to prevail with the Chipewyan or Northern Indians, who are no sooner burdened with their relations, broken with years and infirmities, and incapable of following the camp, than they leave them to their fate. Instead of repining they are reconciled to this dreadful termination of their existence, from the known custom of their nation, and being conscious that they can no longer endure the various distresses and fatigue of savage life, or assist in hunting for provisions. A little meat, with an axe, and a small portion of tobacco, are generally left with them by their _nearest relations_, who in taking leave of them, say, that it is time for them to go into the other world, which they suppose lies just beyond the spot where the sun goes down, where they will be better taken care of than with them, and then they walk away weeping. On the banks of the Saskashawan, an aged woman prevailed on her son to shoot her through the head, instead of adopting this sad extremity. She addressed him in a most pathetic manner, reminding him of the care and toil with which she bore him on her back from camp to camp in his infancy; with what incessant labour she brought him up till he could use the bow and the gun; and having seen him a great warrior, she requested that he would shew her kindness, and give a proof of his courage, in shooting her, that she might go home to her relations. "I have seen many winters, she added, and am now become a burden, in not being able to assist in getting provisions; and dragging me through the country, as I am unable to walk, is a toil, and brings much distress:--take your gun." She then drew her blanket over her head, and her son immediately deprived her of life: in the apparent consciousness of having done an act of filial duty and of mercy. The old man who was brought to the Settlement, by his daughter for relief soon recovered, so as to become exceedingly troublesome by coming almost daily to my room. I succeeded at length in starting them for some hunters' tents on the plains, where they expressed a wish to go, if supplied with provisions to carry them there, by killing a small dog, and giving it to them for food. An ox would not have been more acceptable to a distressed European family than this animal was to these Indians. But on leaving me two more families came to my residence in a state of starvation. Necessity had compelled them to eat their dogs, and they themselves were harnessed to their sledges, dragging them in a most wretched and emaciated condition. One of the men appeared to be reduced to the last stage of existence, and upon giving him a fish and a few cooked potatoes, such was his natural affection for his children, that, instead of voraciously devouring the small portion of food, he divided it into morsels, and gave it to them in the most affectionate manner. His children from their appearance had partaken of by far the largest share of that scanty supply which he had lately been able to obtain in hunting. They pitched their tents at a short distance below in the woods, and the poor man came to me next morning with the request that I would bleed him for a violent pain which he complained of in his side. This I refused to do, and gave him a note to the medical gentleman of the Colony, promising to call on him the next day. When I saw him I found that he had not delivered the note, but had bled himself in the foot with the flint from his gun, and spoke of having experienced considerable relief. The party were dreadfully distressed for provisions, and had actually collected at their tents the remains of a dog which had died, with part of the head of a horse, that had been starved to death in the severity of the winter, and which was the only part of the animal that was left by the wolves. The head of the dog was boiling in the kettle, and that of the horse was suspended over it, to receive the smoke of the fire in the preparation for cooking; while the children were busily employed in breaking some bones which they had picked up, with an axe, and which they were sucking in their raw state for their moisture. This was the suffering extremity not of lazy bad Indians, but of those who bore the character of good hunters, and were particularly careful of their families; and I fear it is the case of many more from the exhausted state of animals in the neighbourhood of Red River: and from the frequent fires that occur in the plains, which extend also to the destruction of the woods. Towards the conclusion of the month we had another melancholy proof of the Indians suffering extreme want from the few animals that were to be met with during the winter. An Indian with his wife on their arrival gave me to understand that they had been without food for twenty days, and had lost their three children by starvation. Their appearance was that of a melancholy dejection, and I had my suspicions excited at the time that they had eaten them. This was confirmed afterwards by the bones and hands of one of the children being found near some ashes at a place where they said they had encamped, and suffered their misery. It appears that two of their children died from want, whom they cooked and eat, and that they afterwards killed the other for a subsistence in their dire necessity. I asked this Indian, as I did the other, whether from having suffered so much, it was not far better to do as the white people did and cultivate the ground; he said, "Yes;" and expressed a desire to do so if he could obtain tools, seed wheat and potatoes to plant. Though it is the character of the savage to tell you what he will do in future at your suggestion, to prevent the calamity which he may be suffering from want of food or the inclemency of the weather, and as soon as the season becomes mild, and the rivers yield him fish, or the woods and plains provisions, to forget all his sufferings, and to be as thoughtless and improvident as ever as to futurity; yet, I think that a successful attempt might be made by a proper superintendance, and a due encouragement to induce some of the Indians of this quarter to settle in villages, and to cultivate the soil. The voice of humanity claims this attention to them, under their almost incredible privations at times: but prejudices may exist in the country which prevent this desirable object being carried into effect. There was a time when the Indians themselves had begun to collect into a kind of village towards the mouth of the Red River, had cultivated spots of ground, and had even erected something of a lodge for the purpose of performing some of their unmeaning ceremonies of ignorance and heathenism, and to which the Indians of all the surrounding country were accustomed at certain seasons to repair; but fears were entertained that the natives would be diverted from hunting furs to idle ceremonies, and an effectual stop was put to all further improvement, by the spirit of opposition that then existed in the country between the two rival Fur Companies. MARCH 10.--The ringing of the Sabbath bell now collects an encouraging congregation; and some of us, I trust, could experimentally adopt the language of the Psalmist, in saying, "I was glad when they said unto us, let us go into the house of the Lord."--My earnest prayer to God is, that I may exercise a _spiritual_ ministry; and faithfully preach those truths which give no hope to fallen man, but that which is founded on God's mercy in Christ. I often felt rejoiced in spirit in the prospect of doing good amidst the wild profligacy of manners that surrounded me, and of making known the doctrines and precepts of Christianity, where Christ had never before been named. Several adult married Indian women attended the Sunday School, with many half-caste children to be taught to read, and to receive religious instruction, which gave me an opportunity of ascertaining what the notions of the Indians were concerning the flood and the creation of the world. They appeared either to be ignorant, or unwilling to relate any traditionary stories that they might have as to the original formation of the world, but spoke of an universal deluge, which they said was commonly believed by all Indians. When the flood came and destroyed the world, they say that a very great man, called Wæsackoochack, made a large raft, and embarked with otters, beavers, deer, and other kinds of animals. After it had floated upon the waters for some time, he put out an otter, with a long piece of shagganappy or leathern cord tied to its leg, and it dived very deep without finding any bottom, and was drowned. He then put out a beaver, which was equally unsuccessful, and shared the same fate. At length he threw out a musk-rat, that dived and brought up a little mud in its mouth, which Wæsackoochack took, and placing in the palm of his hand, he blew upon it, till it greatly enlarged itself, and formed a good piece of the earth. He then turned out a deer that soon returned, which led him to suppose that the earth was not large enough, and blowing upon it again its size was greatly increased, so that a loom which he then sent out never returned. The new earth being now of a sufficient size, he turned adrift all the animals that he had preserved. He is supposed still to have some intercourse with and power over them as well as over the Indians, who pray to him to protect them and keep them alive. Sir Alexander Mackenzie, in speaking of the Chipewyan or Northern Indians, who traverse an immense track of country, to the north of the Athabasca lake, says, "that the notions which these people entertain of the creation are of a singular nature. They believe that the globe was at first one vast and entire ocean, inhabited by no living creature except a mighty bird, whose eyes were fire, whose glances were lightning, and the clapping of whose wings was thunder. On his descending to the ocean, and touching it, the earth instantly arose, and remained on the surface of the waters. They have also a tradition amongst them, that they originally came from another country, inhabited by very wicked people, and had traversed a great lake, where they suffered much misery, it being always winter, with ice and deep snow. At the Copper-Mine River, where they made the first land, the ground was covered with copper. They believe also that in ancient times their ancestors lived till their feet were worn out with walking, and their throats with eating. They describe a deluge, when the waters spread over the whole earth, except the highest mountains, on the tops of which they preserved themselves." There appears to be a general belief of a flood among all the tribes of this vast continent; and the Bible shews me from whence spring all those fables, and wild notions which they entertain; and which prevail in other parts of the heathen world upon these subjects. They are founded upon those events which the sacred scriptures record, and which have been corrupted by different nations, scattered and wandering through the globe as the descendants of Noah, without a written language. The Hindoo therefore in his belief that the earth was actually drawn up at the flood, by the tusks of a boar, and that it rests at this hour on the back of a tortoise: and the North American Indian in his wild supposition that Wæsackoochack, whose reputed father was a snake, formed the present beautiful order of creation after the deluge, by the help of a musk-rat, afford no inconsiderable proof that the Bible is of far greater antiquity than any other record extant in the world, and that it is indeed of divine origin. While its sacred page therefore informs and decides my judgment by the earliest historic information, may its principles influence my life in all Christian practice, and joyful expectation of the world to come, through faith in Him, whom it records as the Redeemer of mankind; and in whom believing "there is neither barbarian, Scythian, bond, nor free." 'One song employs all nations, and all sing, Worthy the Lamb! for he was slain for us. The dwellers in the vales and on the rocks Shout to each other; and the mountain-tops, From distant mountains catch the flying joy; Till, nation after nation taught the strain, Earth rolls the rapturous hosannah round.' I could never discover that the Indians among whom I travelled had any thing like a visible object of adoration. Neither sun, moon, nor stars, appear to catch their attention as objects of worship. There is an impression upon their minds, of a Divine Being, whom they call the _Great Spirit_, whom they ignorantly address, and suppose to be too good even to punish them. Their general idea is, that they are more immediately under the influence of a powerful _Evil Spirit_. Experience has taught them this melancholy fact, in the trials, sufferings, afflictions, and multiform death which they undergo; and therefore their prayers are directed to him, when any severe calamity befalls them. To avert his displeasure, they often have recourse to superstitious practices, with the most childish credulity; and will drum and dance throughout a whole night, in the hope of bringing relief to the sick and dying. They know not that the great enemy of man's happiness and salvation, is a chained enemy, and a captive to Him who triumphed in his resurrection and ascension to glory, and under the control and permissive will of Him, whom they denominate Keetchee Manitou, or Great Spirit; and, consequently they are enslaved to all that is pitiable in ignorance and superstition. Acknowledging the being of a God, the uncultivated minds of these savages have led them to shrink from the thoughts of annihilation, and to look forward with hope to a future life. They have no idea however of intellectual enjoyments; but a notion prevails among them, that at death they arrive at a large river, on which they embark in a stone canoe; and that a gentle current bears them on to an extensive lake, in the centre of which is a most beautiful island, in the sight of which they receive their judgment. If they have died courageously in war, they are particularly welcomed in landing upon the island, where they, with skilful hunters, enjoy perpetual spring and plenty, and live with all the good in an eternal enjoyment of sensual pleasures. If they die with their hands imbrued with the blood of their countrymen, and are lazy bad characters, the stone canoe sinks with them, leaving them up to their chins in water, that they may for ever behold the happiness of the good, and struggle in vain to reach the island of bliss. The 17th. I left the Colony in a cariole, to visit the Company's Post at Bas la Rivière; we stopped the night, near the mouth of the Red River, and crossed the point of Lake Winipeg, on the ice, the following day, in time to reach the Fort the same evening. It is pleasantly situated by a fine sheet of water; and is the way the canoes take their route to Fort William, Lake Superior, and Montreal. During my stay, the officer of the Post gave me the much admired fish of the country, called by the Indians, _tittameg_, and by the Americans, _white-fish_. Its usual weight is about three or four pounds; but it is caught in some of the lakes of a much larger size; and, with the sturgeon, is a principal article of food, and almost the only support of some of the establishments. Before I left, the officer was married to one of the best informed and most improved half-caste women I had seen. She was the daughter of one of the chief factors, who was particularly fond of his family; and afforded an instance of superiority of character among this class of people, from the care and instruction which she had received. The Mètifs, or, as they are sometimes called, Bois brulés, have displayed the most striking ability as steersmen of boats, through the most difficult rapids, and in the navigation of the rivers; and if advantages were given them in education, they have capacities of usefulness which might adorn the highest stations of civilized life. Of the moral degradation, however, of these people, in common with that of the Canadian voyageurs, it is difficult to exhibit an accurate picture. Suffice it to say, that it is a degradation which, in some respects, exceeds even that of the native Indian himself. In starting from the Company's Post, on my return to the Colony, it was my hope that we should cross the point of Winipeg Lake to the mouth of the Red River, in one day, as we had done in our way thither; but about two o'clock in the afternoon, I perceived, as I was in the cariole, that the driver had mistaken his way. I told him of his error, but he persisted in the opinion that he was right, and drove on till the evening closed upon us, without his finding the entrance to the Red River. Night came on, and the dogs were exhausted with fatigue, which obliged us to stop, though not before one of them contrived to slip his head out of the collar. It happened that we were near some wood on the edge of the lake, but in reaching it we sank in soft drift snow up to the middle; and it was a considerable time before we could make our preparations for the night, under the spreading branches of a pine tree. We got but little rest from the small fire that we were able to make, and from our bad encampment. The next morning, I found that the driver was greatly embarrassed in his idea of our exact situation, and he led me throughout the day from one point of wood to another, over the ice, on the borders of the lake, in a directly contrary way to that in which we ought to have gone. We had no food for our dogs, and on coming to our encampment for the night, the animals were completely worn out with fatigue; and what added to our trials, was the loss of the flint, which the man dropped in the snow, the first time he attempted to strike the steel to kindle a fire. After some difficulty we succeeded, with a small gun-flint, which I found in my pocket, and we bivouacked upon the snow, before an insufficient fire, from the scanty wood we were able to collect. It was my wish to have divided the little provision that remained with the dogs, as they had eaten nothing for two days, and I considered them scarcely able to move with the cariole the next morning, at the same time intending to kill one of them the following evening, to meet our wants, should we not succeed in recovering our track. The driver assured me, however, that they would go another day without giving up. From the conversation I had with him, before we started on the following morning, I found that he had no knowledge of our situation on the extensive lake before us, and supposed that the Red River lay to the north, while I thought, from the course of the sun, that it was to the south, and insisted upon his taking that direction, which we did accordingly; and after a laborious and rather anxious day's toil, we saw some points of small and scattered willow bushes, like those which I knew to be near the entrance of the river. This providentially proved to be the case, otherwise our trials must have been great; the driver having become nearly snow-blind, and incapable of driving the dogs, and the weather becoming more intensely cold and stormy. It may easily be conceived what our feelings were, in recovering a right track, after wandering for several days upon an icy lake, among the intricate and similar appearances of numerous and small islands of pine. They were those, I trust, of sincere gratitude to God; and I often thought what a wretched wanderer was man in a guilty world, without the light of Christianity to guide, and its principle to direct his steps. Infidelity draws a veil around him, and shrouds all in darkness as to a future life. All, all is uncertainty before him, as the tempest-tossed mariner without a compass, and the wearied wandering traveller without a chart or guide. Let me then prize the scriptures more, which have "God for their author, truth unmingled with error for their subject, and salvation for their end." They are the fountains of interminable happiness, where he who hungers and thirsts after righteousness, may be satisfied; and when received in principle and in love, are a sure and unerring guide, through a wilderness of toil and suffering, to the habitations of the blessed, "not made with hands, eternal in the heavens." As we passed along the river towards the Settlement, we met an intoxicated Indian, who had been drinking at the grave of his child, whom he had buried in the fall of the year. In going to the spot, I found that all the snow and the grass had been removed, and that a number of Indians, with Pigewis, had encircled the place where the body had been deposited; and, as is their custom, they smoked the calumet, wept, and sacrificed a little of what they possessed to the departed spirit of the child. They do this, under the idea that the deceased may want these articles in the world whither they are gone; and it is very affecting occasionally to hear the plaintive and mournful lamentations of the mother at the grave of her child, uttering in pitiful accents, "Ah! my child, why did you leave me! Why go out of my sight so early! Who will nurse you and feed you in the long journey you have undertaken!" The strength of natural affection will sometimes lead them to commit suicide, under the idea that they shall accompany the spirit, and nurse their departed child in the other world. This persuasion, that the spirits of the deceased want the same attendance in their new station as in the present life, is so deeply rooted in the minds of the Indians, that the _Carriers_, west of the Rocky Mountains, sometimes burn the widow; and a chief, on the North-West coast of America, sacrificed a human victim, who was a slave, on the death of his son. In some provinces of America, historians have mentioned that, upon the death of a Chief, a certain number of his wives, and of his slaves who had been taken in war, were put to death, and interred together with him, that he might appear with the same dignity in the world of spirits, and be waited upon by the same attendants. Some have solicited the honour to die, while others have fled, as marked for victims, under this cruel and superstitious practice. APRIL 4.--On my arrival at the Church Mission House for divine worship, a poor Indian widow with five children, asked me to admit two of the boys into the schools, which I immediately did, and particularly wished her to leave the two girls also, one about six, and the other eight years of age; but she would not comply with my request. The boys were very wild and troublesome, and often ran away from the school to their mother, who was generally living about the Settlement. They were getting at length however better reconciled, and had begun to be attached to the schoolmaster, when I was informed the Catholics were prejudicing her mind against the school; and that some of the women of that persuasion had told her, that I was collecting children from the Indians with the intention of taking them away to my country. This idea was spread amongst them, and an Indian calling at my residence told me that he would give his boy to the school, if I would not leave them, as he understood I intended to do. In vain did I tell him, that in going home to see my wife and children I should be glad to return and bring them with me, to assist me in teaching those of his country; and that on my going away, my brother Minister would come, and love, and take care of the Indian children as I did. He was not satisfied, and took his boy away with him, saying he must wait, and see what was to be done. The Saulteaux woman took her two boys away clandestinely, saying, as I was afterwards informed, that "they would be all the same as dead to her, if what she had heard was true," and though I had not an opportunity of seeing her afterwards, she had the honesty to return the children's clothes which I had given to them. These circumstances with others that had occurred, convinced me that it would be far better to obtain children for the school, from a distance than from the Indians in the immediate neighbourhood of the Colony, as all those children who were under our charge, and whose parents were more remote, soon became reconciled to restraint, and were happy on the establishment. This desirable object might soon be obtained by visiting the different tribes of Indians, more especially were there a powerful interest excited in favour of the Native School Establishment at Red River, by the officers at the different Trading Posts. In the attempt however to spread the knowledge of Christianity among the natives, it appears that the least expensive mode of proceeding and of ensuring the most extensive success for the Missionary is, to visit those parts of the country where they are stationary, and live in villages during the greater part of the year. He should direct his way and persevering attention towards the rocky mountains, and the Columbia. He may meet with difficulties and obstacles such as have tried the faith and patience of Missionaries in other parts of the heathen world, but let him persevere through the aid of the Company's officers, who may introduce him to the Indians trading at their respective Posts. Near to the foot of the rocky mountains the Indians are known to dwell in their villages nearly nine months of the year. During these months they live on salmon, either dried or taken fresh from the rivers. They are not ferocious, but very indolent, and where this is the case, are generally very licentious; but as they are stationary for so long a period, an attempt might be made through the co-operation of the Company's Officer, to lead them to cultivate the soil, which at certain points will grow turnips, cabbages, and barley: this produce, with the natural resources of the country would greatly encourage an establishment for the education of their children throughout the year: to the support of which the Indians themselves might greatly contribute, and which would be attended with the most beneficial results. In following the track towards the North Pacific Ocean, the climate is much milder than to the East of the mountains, and a vast encouragement would be found in seeking to benefit the natives, from their being strangers to the intoxicating draught of spirituous liquors, in barter for their articles of trade. So little acquainted with the effects of intoxication are some of the Indians in this quarter, that the following circumstance was related to me by an Officer from the mouth of the Columbia. A Chief who had traded but little with Europeans came to the Fort with two of his sons, and two young men of his tribe. During their stay the servants made one of his sons drunk. When the old man saw him foaming at the mouth, uttering the most incoherent expressions, and staggering under the power of the intoxicating draught, he immediately concluded that he was mad, and exclaimed, 'Let him be shot.' It was some time before he could be pacified, which was only effected in a measure by his being assured, that he would see his son recovered from the disorder of his faculties. And when the aged Chief saw him again restored to his right mind, and found him capable of conversing, he manifested the greatest joy. The Columbia presents every advantage in forming a settlement for the natives or others, particularly so to the south of its entrance to the sea, on the banks of the Willammette River. The soil is excellent; fish and wild fowl are found in abundance, and a good supply of indigenous animals is met with from the praries, or natural meadows. The summer months are very pleasant, but those of winter are frequently rainy, and subject to heavy fogs, which may occasionally render it unhealthy. The Chinnook Indians are six months in villages in the neighbourhood of the Company's Post, Fort George, at the mouth of the Columbia, and afford facilities, with other surrounding tribes for the benevolent attempt of introducing the knowledge of Christianity among them. In their war excursions they adopt a different mode of warfare to that of the Red River Indians, and those towards the Atlantic coast, by openly taking the field against their enemies; and keeping their prisoners alive for slaves. These are numerous among some of the tribes; and many might be obtained, without purchasing them, for religious instruction. In fact there appear to be many points in this vast territory where there is a prospect of establishing well-conducted missions to the great and lasting benefit of the natives. But the object should be pursued upon a regular and persevering system, and while the Missionary needs the active co-operation of the resident Officer in his arduous engagement with the Indians; no idle prejudice should ever prevent his endeavours to civilize and fix them in the cultivation of the soil where it may be effected. The Russians it appears are affording religious instruction in the establishment of schools for the education of half-caste children, with those of the natives in their Factories on the North-west coast of North America. A gentleman informed me that he saw, at their Establishment at Norfolk Sound, a priest and a schoolmaster, who were teaching the children, and instructing the natives, not as the Spanish priests do, at Fort St. Francisco, in South America, by taking them by force, and compelling them to go through the forms and ceremonies of _their_ religion, but by mild persuasion and conviction; and the report of their success in general is, that a considerable number of savages of the Polar Regions have been converted to Christianity.[8] [8] Since my return to England I have been favoured with the following communication from a gentleman, who travelled in Siberia, to promote the object of the British and Foreign Bible Society, in the general circulation of the Scriptures; and which-corroborates the above report. "The Russians have made many proselytes to the Greek Church, (he observes,) from among the natives of the North-West coast of North America, and two different supplies of copies of the Scriptures in the Slavonian and modern Russ languages have been forwarded to that quarter, for the use of their settlements there, by the Russian Bible Society." MAY 23.--The Settlers have been very industrious in getting in their seed corn; but the weather has been, and continues to be very cold, with a strong north and north-easterly wind, which has cheeked vegetation; and the woods around us still wear the dark hue of winter. We now take a plentiful supply of sturgeon, and with the return of the feathered tribe we are much annoyed by myriads of blackbirds that destroy a good deal of the new sown grain, as well as when it is ripe for harvest. Multitudes of pigeons also now appear, and unless they are continually shot at, they devour the fruits of husbandry. They fly by millions, and are often seen extending to a vast distance like a cloud; when one flock has passed another succeeds, and we often profit by this kind gift of Providence, by shooting them in their migrations, as excellent food. There is a general talk among the surrounding tribes of Indians, of going to war against the Sioux nation. A strong band of the Assiniboines are directing their course towards Pembina; and Pigewis, who is by no means a war Chief, is setting off in that direction to join them. Their rage of vengeance towards the Sioux Indians appears to know no bounds; but the scalp of some poor solitary individuals among them will probably terminate the campaign. They cannot keep long together in numerous parties from the want of foresight to provide for their subsistence; and accordingly a little more than a week's absence brought Pigewis back again, with his party, without their having seen an enemy, and in the destitute condition of being without food and moccassins. CHAPTER VI. PROGRESS OF INDIAN CHILDREN IN READING. BUILDING FOR DIVINE WORSHIP. LEFT THE COLONY. ARRIVAL AT YORK FORT. DEPARTURE TOR CHURCHILL FACTORY. BEARS. INDIAN HIEROGLYPHICS. ARRIVAL AT CHURCHILL. INTERVIEW WITH ESQUIMAUX. RETURN TO YORK FACTORY. EMBARK FOR ENGLAND. MORAVIAN MISSIONARIES. GREENLAND. ARRIVAL IN THE THAMES. JUNE 2.--I have been adding two small houses to the Church Mission School, as separate sleeping apartments for the Indian children, who have already made most encouraging progress in reading, and a few of them in writing. In forming this Establishment for their religious education, it is of the greatest importance that they should be gradually inured to the cultivation of the soil, and instructed in the knowledge of agriculture. For this purpose I have allotted a small piece of ground for each child, and divided the different compartments with a wicker frame. We often dig and hoe with our little charge in the sweat of our brow as an example and encouragement for them to labour; and promising them the produce of their own industry, we find that they take great delight in their gardens. Necessity may compel the adult Indian to take up the spade and submit to manual labour, but a child brought up in the love of cultivating a garden will be naturally led to the culture of the field as a means of subsistence: and educated in the principles of Christianity, he will become stationary to partake of the advantages and privileges of civilization. It is through these means of instruction that a change will be gradually effected in the character of the North American Indian, who in his present savage state thinks it beneath the dignity of his independence to till the ground. What we value in property, and all those customs which separate us from them in a state of nature, they think lightly of, while they conclude that our crossing the seas to see their country is more the effect of poverty than of industry. To be a _man_, or what is synonymous with them, to be a great and distinguished character, is to be expert in surprising, torturing, and scalping an enemy; to be capable of enduring severe privations; to make a good hunter, and traverse the woods with geographical accuracy, without any other guide than the tops of the trees, and the course of the sun. These are exploits which, in their estimation, form the hero, and to which the expansion of their mind is confined. Their intellectual powers are very limited, as they enter into no abstruse meditations, or abstract ideas; but what they know in the narrow range of supplying their wants, and combating with their fellow men, they know thoroughly, and are thereby led to consider themselves the standard of excellence. In their fancied superior knowledge they are often heard to remark, when conversing with the European, "You are almost as clever as an Indian." They must be educated before they can be led to comprehend the benefits to be received from civilization, or ere a hope can be cherished that their characters will be changed under the mild influence of the Christian religion. Man is as his principles are, and wandering under the influence of those savage-taught habits, in which he has been nurtured, which tend to harden the heart, and narrow all the sources of sympathy, the character of the North American Indian is bold, fierce, unrelenting, sanguinary, and cruel; in fact, a man-devil in war, rejoicing in blood, exulting in the torments he is inflicting on his victim, and then most pleased when his inflictions are most exquisite. We should not be astonished at this character, so repugnant to the sympathies of our nature, nor should we conclude too hastily against him,--he also has his sympathies, and those of no common order. He also loves his parent that begat him, and his child whom he has begotten, with intense affection; he is not without affection from nature; but perverted principle has perverted nature; and as his principle is, so is his practice. Our surprise ceases when we learn that he is trained up in blood, that he is catechized in cruelty, and that he is instructed not in slaughter only, but in torment. Nothing that has life without the pale of his own immediate circle not only does not escape destruction, but is visited with torment also inflicted by his infant hand. If his eye in passing by the lake observes the frog moving in the rushes he instantly seizes his victim, and does not merely destroy it, but often ingeniously torments it by pulling limb from limb. If the duck be but wounded with the gun, his prey is not instantly despatched to spare all future pain, but feather is plucked out after feather, and the hapless creature is tormented on principle. I have frequently witnessed the cruelty with which parents will sometimes amuse their children, by catching young birds or animals, that they may disjoint their limbs to make them struggle in a lingering death. And a child is often seen twisting the neck of a young duck or goose, under the laughing encouragements of the mother for hours together, before it is strangled. At one moment he satisfies the cravings of nature from the breast of his mother, and instantly rewards the boon with a violent blow perhaps on the very breast on which he has been hanging. Nor does the mother dare resent the injury by an appeal to the father. He would at once say that punishment would daunt the spirit of the boy. Hence the Indian never suffers his child to be corrected. We see then the secret spring of his character. He is a murderer by habit, engendered from his earliest age; and the scalping knife and the tomahawk, and the unforgiving pursuit of his own enemy, or his father's enemy, till he has drenched his hands in, and satiated his revenge with his blood, is but the necessary issue of a principle on which his education has been formed. The training of the child forms the maturity of the man. Our Sunday school is generally attended by nearly fifty scholars, including adults, independent of the Indian children; and the congregation consists upon an average of from one hundred to one hundred and thirty persons. It is a most gratifying sight to see the Colonists, in groups, direct their steps on the Sabbath morning towards the Mission house, at the ringing of the bell, which is now elevated in a spire that is attached to the building. And it is no small satisfaction to have accomplished the wish so feelingly expressed by a deceased officer of the Company. "_I must confess_, (he observed) _that I am anxious to see the first little Christian church and steeple of wood, slowly rising among the wilds, to hear the sound of the first sabbath bell that has tolled here since the creation._" I never witnessed the Establishment but with peculiar feelings of delight, and contemplated it as the dawn of a brighter day in the dark interior of a moral wilderness. The lengthened shadows of the setting sun cast upon the buildings, as I returned from calling upon some of the Settlers a few evenings ago; and the consideration that there was now a landmark of Christianity in this wild waste of heathenism, raised in my mind a pleasing train of thought, with the sanguine hope that this Protestant Establishment might be the means of raising a _spiritual_ temple to the Lord, to whom "the heathen are given as an inheritance, and the utmost parts of the earth as a possession." I considered it as a small point gained, to have a public building dedicated to religious purposes, whose spire should catch the eye, both of the wandering natives, and the stationary Colonists. It would have its effect on the population generally. The people of England look with a degree of veneration to the ancient tower and lofty spire of the Establishment; and they are bound in habitual attachment to her constitution, which protects the monument and turf graves of their ancestors. And where the lamp of spiritual Christianity burns but dimly around her altar, it cannot be denied, that even her established rites and outward form have some moral effect on the population at large. On the 10th, I addressed a crowded congregation, in a farewell discourse, from the pulpit, previous to my leaving the Colony for the Factory: and having administered the sacrament to those who joined cordially with me in prayer, that the Missionary who was on his way to officiate in my absence, might be tenfold, yea a hundred fold, more blessed in his ministry than I had been, I parted with those upon the Church Mission Establishment with tears. It had been a long, and anxious, and arduous scene of labour to me; and my hope was, as about to embark for England, that I might return to the Settlement, and be the means of effecting a better order of things. The weather was favourable on the morning of our departure; and stepping into the boat the current soon bore us down the river towards Lake Winipeg. As the spire of the church receded from my view, and we passed several of the houses of the Settlers, they hailed me with their cordial wishes for a safe voyage, and expressed a hope of better times for the Colony. Then it was that my heart renewed its supplications to that God, --'who is ever present, ever felt, In the void waste, as in the city full,' for the welfare of the Settlement, as affording a resting place for numbers, after the toils of the wilderness in the Company's service, where they might dwell, through the divine blessing, in the broad day-light of Christianity; and being bound to the country from having families by native women, might find the protection and advantages of civilized life. With light favourable winds we soon crossed the Lake and arrived at Norway House, and such is generally the quickness of the passage from this point to York Factory, that in the rapid stream of the rivers, a loaded boat will reach the depot in a few days, which will take three or four weeks to return with excessive toil, from the strength of the opposing current. It appears dangerous to the inexperienced traveller to run the rapids in the passage to the Factory, but it is seldom attended with any serious accident. The men who have charge of the boats are generally experienced steersmen, and it is an interesting sight to see them take the rush of water with their boats, and with cool intrepidity and skill direct the sweep, or steer-oar to their arrival in safety at the bottom of a rapid of almost a perpendicular fall of many feet, or through a torrent of water of a quarter of a mile or more in length. Sometimes, however the boats strike in the violence of their descent, so as to cause a fracture, and hurry the crew to pull ashore to save the cargo from damage. This accident befel us several times in our passage down, but a kind Providence protected us, and we arrived in safety at York Factory. Immediately on my arrival, I made arrangements for fulfilling my Missionary engagement to visit the Esquimaux at Churchill, the Company's most northern Post on the Bay. It was the advice of Captain Franklin, that I should walk the distance of about one hundred and eighty miles, from York Fort to that Factory, as I might be delayed in a canoe, by the vast quantities of floating ice in the Bay, so as not to meet these Indians in time. I followed this advice, and having engaged one of the Company's servants, with an Indian who was an excellent hunter, we set off on our expedition, on the morning of the 11th of July, accompanied by two Indians, who had come express from Churchill, and were returning thither. It was necessary that we should embark in a boat, to cross the North River; and in rowing round the Point of Marsh, we perceived a brightness in the northern horizon, like that reflected from ice, usually called the _blink_, and which led us to suppose that vast fields of it were floating along the coast in the direction that we were going. It happened to be low water when we crossed the mouth of the river, so that the boat could not approach nearer than about a mile from the shore, which obliged us to walk this distance through the mud and water, to the place where we made our encampment for the night, and where the mosquitoes inflicted their torments upon us. We were dreadfully annoyed by them, from the swampy country we had to traverse, and I was glad to start with the dawn of the following morning, from a spot where they literally blackened a small canvass tent that was pitched, and hovered around us in clouds so as to render life itself burdensome. The day, however, afforded us very little relief, while walking, nearly ancle deep in water, through the marshes; and such was their torture upon the poor animals, that we frequently saw the deer coming out of the woods, apparently almost blinded and distracted with their numbers, to rush into the water on the shore for relief. This gave an opportunity to the hunter to kill two of them in the course of the afternoon, so that we had plenty of venison, and a good supply of wild fowl, which he had shot for our evening repast. We started at sunrise the next morning, after having had but little sleep, as I had been wrapped in my blanket almost to suffocation, to escape in a degree the misery of our unceasing torment. Towards noon, we had much better walking than we had before met with, and were relieved from the mosquitoes by a change of wind blowing cold from off the ice, which was now seen from the horizon to the shores of the bay. The relief to us was like a cessation from an agony of pain; and as the hunter had just killed another deer, and the wild fowl flew around us in abundance, we pitched the tent, and halted for several hours, and refreshed ourselves with sleep, after the irritation and almost sleepless nights that we had endured. We were on the march again at five o'clock; and after we had forded Stoney River, we came upon the track of a polar bear. The Indian hunter was very keen in his desire to fall in with it, and I lamented that I had not an opportunity of seeing him engage the ferocious animal, which seemed to have taken a survey of the party, and to have gone into the wood a short distance from us. The bears are now coming off the ice in the Bay, on which they have been for several months past, to live upon seals, which they catch as they lie sleeping by the sides of the holes in the drift ice, when it dissolves or is driven far from shore. They seek their food among the sea-weed and every trash that is washed up along the coast, or go upon the rocks, or to the woods, for berries, during the summer months. Savage, however, as this animal is, it is not so much dreaded by the Indians as the grizzly bear, which is more ferocious and forward in his attack. These are found towards the Rocky Mountains, and none but very expert hunters like to attack them. A gentleman who was travelling to a distance on the plains to the West of the Red River Colony, told me of a narrow escape he once had, with his servant boy, in meeting a grizzly bear. They were riding slowly along, near the close of the day, when they espied the animal coming from the verge of a wood in the direction towards them. They immediately quickened the pace of their horses, but being jaded with the day's journey, the bear was soon seen to gain upon them. In this emergency, he hit upon an expedient, which was probably the means of saving their lives. He took the boy, who was screaming with terror, behind him, and abandoned the horse that he rode. When the ferocious animal came up to it, the gentleman, who stopped at some distance, expected to see the bear rend it immediately with his paws; but to his surprise, after having walked round and smelt at the horse, as it stood motionless with fear, the bear returned to the wood, and the horse was afterwards recovered without injury. The morning of the 14th was very cold, from the wind blowing off the ice in the Bay; and when we stopped to breakfast, I was obliged to put a blanket over my shoulders, as I stood by the fire, for warmth. The comfortable sensation however was, that we were free from the annoyance and misery of the mosquitoes; cold, hunger, and thirst, are not to be compared with the incessant suffering which they inflict. We waded knee-deep through Owl River, in the afternoon of the 15th. The weather was cold, and nothing was to be seen in the Bay but floating ice. It was rather late before we pitched the tent, and we met with some difficulty in collecting a sufficient quantity of drift wood on the shore, to kindle a fire large enough to boil the kettle, and cook the wild fowl that we had shot. The next day we forded Broad River, on the banks of which we saw several dens, which the bears had scratched for shelter: and seeing the smoke of an Indian tent at some distance before us, in the direction we were going, we quickened our step, and reached it before we stopped to breakfast. We found the whole family clothed in deer-skins, and upon a hunting excursion from Churchill. The Indian, or rather a half-breed, was very communicative, and told me that though he was leading an Indian life, his father was formerly a master at one of the Company's Posts, and proposed accompanying our party to the Factory. He had two sons, he said, who were gone in the pursuit of a deer; and, on quitting the encampment to travel with us, he would leave some signs for them to follow us on their return. They were the following, and drawn upon a broad piece of wood, which he prepared with an axe. [Illustration: 6 5 4 3 2 1 1. To intimate that the family was gone forward. 2. That there was a Chief of the party. 3. That he was accompanied by a European servant. 4. And also by an Indian. 5. That there were two Indians in company. 6. That they should follow.] It is a common custom with the Indians to paint hieroglyphic characters on dressed buffaloe skins or robes; and a variety of figures are drawn on many of those which they barter at the Company's Posts. In the representation of a victory achieved over an enemy, the picture of the Chief is given, with the mark of his nation, and those of the warriors who accompanied him. A number of little images point out how many prisoners were taken; while so many human figures without heads shew the number who were slain. Such are the expressive signs of a barbarous people, in recording their war exploits, and communicating information without the knowledge of letters and the art of printing. We proceeded, after the wife had put some kettles upon the back of a miserable looking dog, and had taken her accustomed burden, the tent with other articles, on her own. The little ones were also severally laden with a knapsack, and the whole had the appearance of a camp of gypsies moving through the country. The 17th. Before we struck our tents this morning, the signs which the old man left upon the piece of wood yesterday, brought his two sons, whom he had left hunting, and who had walked nearly the whole of the night to overtake us. We had now no provisions but what we shot on our journey, and the addition to our party made every one active in the pursuit of game as it appeared. The next day we passed Cape Churchill, and came to a tent of Chipewyan or Northern Indians. The question was not asked if we were hungry, but immediately on our arrival the women were busily employed in cooking venison for us; and the men proposed to go with us to Churchill. As soon as we had finished eating, the tent was struck, and the whole party proceeded, with the old man a-head, with a long staff in his hand, followed by his five sons and two daughters, and the rest of us in the train, which suggested to my mind the patriarchal mode of travelling. The 19th, our progress was slow, from being again annoyed with mosquitoes, in a bad track, through a wet swampy ground. As soon as we had passed the beacon, which was erected as a landmark to the shipping that formerly sailed to Churchill, as the Company's principal depôt, before its destruction by Pérouse, two of the Indians left us, to take a circuit through some islands by the sea, to hunt for provision. We pitched our tents early, in expectation that they would join us, but we saw nothing of them that evening. It is customary, as we were then travelling, to take only one blanket, in which you roll yourself for the night, without undressing. On laying down, upon a few willow twigs, I soon afterwards felt so extremely cold, from the wind blowing strong off a large field of ice drifted on the shore, that I was obliged to call the servant to take down the tent, and wrap it round me, before I could get any sleep. The sudden variation of the weather, however, gave me no cold, nor did it interrupt a good appetite, which the traveller in these regions usually enjoys. Had we not been delayed by the absence of the Indians a hunting we might have reached the Factory to-day, the 20th. They came in from their excursion at the time we were taking our breakfast, but without much success. They had killed an Arctic fox that supplied them with a meal, and a few ducks which they brought to our encampment, among which was the Eider duck, so remarkable for the beautiful softness of its down. In the evening one of the Chipewyan Indians, sent me some dried venison; and the next morning early we arrived at Churchill. The Esquimaux, Augustus, who accompanied Captain Franklin to the shores of the Polar Sea, came out to meet us, and expressed much delight at my coming to see his tribe, who were expected to arrive at the Factory every day. He had not seen his countrymen since he acted as one of the guides in that arduous expedition, and intended to return with them to his wife and children, laden with presents and rewards for his tried and faithful services. JULY 25.--The servants, with the Officers, assembled for divine service, and laborious as is the office of a Missionary, I felt delighted with its engagements; and thought it a high privilege to _visit even_ the wild inhabitants of the rocks with the _simple design_ of extending the Redeemer's kingdom among them; and that in a remote quarter of the globe, where probably no Protestant Minister had ever placed his foot before. The next day a northern Indian leader, came to the Fort with his family; and upon making known to him the object of my journey to meet the Esquimaux, he cheerfully promised to give up one of his boys, a lively active little fellow, to be educated at the Native School Establishment at the Red River. He appeared very desirous of having his boy taught more than the Indians knew; and assisted me in obtaining an orphan boy from a widow woman, who was in a tent at a short distance, to accompany his son. I told him that they must go a long way, (Churchill being about a thousand miles distant from the Colony) but that they would be taken great care of. He made no objection, but said that they should go, and might return when they had learnt enough. This was a striking instance of the confidence of an Indian, and confirmed the opinion that they would part with their children to those in whom they thought they could justly confide, and to whose kind tuition they were persuaded they could safely entrust them. The Company's boats were going to York Factory, and would take them there; where, on my return, I expected to meet my successor as a Minister to the Settlement, on his arrival from England by the ship; and who would take them under his care in continuing the voyage to the school. "Religion, (says Hearne) has not as yet began to dawn among the Northern Indians; for, though their conjurors do indeed sing songs and make long speeches to some beasts and birds of prey, as also to imaginary beings, which they say assist them in performing cures on the sick, yet they, as well as their credulous neighbours, are utterly destitute of every idea of practical religion." The Company's present Establishment is about five miles up the river, from the point of rock at its entrance where the ruins of the old Factory are seen; which was the point Hearne started from on his journey to the Coppermine River, in the year 1770; and which was blown up by Pèrouse about the year 1784. It appears to have been strongly fortified, and from its situation must have been capable of making a formidable resistance to an enemy; and it can never cease to be a matter of surprise that it should have been surrendered without firing a shot. The walls and bastions are still remaining, which are strewed with a considerable number of cannon, spiked, and of a large calibre. Augustus used to visit this point every morning, in anxious expectation that his countrymen would arrive by the way of the coast, in their seal skin canoes. One day he returned to the Factory evidently much agitated; and upon inquiry I found that there was an Esquimaux family in a tent by the shore, under one of the rocks, one of whom had greatly alarmed him with the information, that soon after he left his tribe with Junius, (who is supposed to have perished as a guide in the Arctic Expedition,) one of Junius's brothers took his wife, and thinking that Augustus was displeased with him, and that he possessed the art of conjuring, had determined upon his death, and that this superstitious notion had so preyed upon his spirits as to terminate his existence. This circumstance, he added, had led a surviving brother to threaten revenge, and supposing that he might come to the Factory with the Esquimaux who were expected, he advised him to be on his guard. The next day, July the 29th, Augustus returned to the point of rock on the look out, but not without having first requested a brace of pistols, loaded his musket, and fixed his bayonet, yet nothing was seen of his countrymen. The next morning I accompanied him to the Esquimaux tent, with an interpreter, under the idea that I might obtain some interesting information; and was much pleased to find the family living in the apparent exercise of social affection. The Esquimaux treated his wife with kindness; she was seated in the circle who were smoking the pipe, and there was a constant smile upon her countenance, so opposite to that oppressed dejected look of the Indian women in general. I asked the Esquimaux of his country: he said it was good, though there was plenty of cold and snow; but that there was plenty of musk oxen and deer; and the corpulency of the party suggested the idea that there was seldom a want of food amongst them. I told him that mine was better, as growing what made the biscuit, of which they were very fond, and that there was much less cold, and that we saw the water much longer than they did. Observing that the woman was tattooed, I asked him when these marks were made, on the chin, particularly, and on the hands. His reply was, when the girls were marriageable, and espoused to their husbands; who had generally but one wife, though good hunters had sometimes two. Wishing to know whether they ever abandoned the aged and the infirm to perish like the Northern Indians, he said, never; assuring me that they always dragged them on sledges with them in winter to the different points where they had laid up provisions in the autumn, 'en cache;' and that they took them in their canoes in summer till they died. Knowing that some Indians west of the rocky mountains burn their dead, I asked him if this custom prevailed with the Esquimaux, he said, no; and that they always buried theirs. The name of this Esquimaux was _Achshannook_, and as Augustus could write a little, which he had been taught during the time he was with the expedition, I gave him my pencil, that the other might see what I wished to teach the Esquimaux children, as well as to read white man's book, which told us true of the Great Spirit, whom the Esquimaux did not know, and how they were to live and die happy. The woman immediately caught up her little girl about five years of age, and holding her towards me manifested the greatest delight, with Achshannook, at the wish I had expressed of having the Esquimaux children taught to write and read the book. They often pointed in the direction the others were coming, and gave me to understand that they would soon arrive. We returned to the Fort, and walking by the side of the river we saw numbers of white whales which frequent it at this season of the year, and many of which are harpooned from a boat that is employed, and usually carries three or four of the Company's servants. The harpooner killed one to-day, which measured fourteen feet long, and eight in girth, and weighed it was supposed a ton weight. The blubber is boiled at the Fort, and the oil sent to England as an article of the Company's trade. When the Esquimaux visit us from the tent, they generally go to the spot where the carcases of the whales are left to rot after the blubber is taken, and carry away a part, but generally from the fin or the tail; they have been known, however, to take the maggots from the putrid carcase, and to boil them with train oil as a rich repast. They are extremely filthy in their mode of living. The Esquimaux who was engaged at the Fort as an interpreter, used to eat the fish raw as he took them out of the net, and devour the head and entrails of those that were cooked by the Company's servants. And it is their constant custom, when their noses bleed by any accident to lick their blood into their mouths and swallow it. Though the beaver, which furnishes the staple fur of the country, is not common in this immediate neighbourhood, an Indian was successful enough to kill one at a short distance down the river, which he brought to the Fort. It was roasted for dinner, and proved of excellent flavour, though I could not agree that the tail, which was served up in a separate dish, was of that superior taste it is generally considered to be. The sagacity of this animal has often been described; and I have frequently been surprised at the singular construction of their houses, the care with which they lay up their provision of wood, and the mode in which they dam up the water near their habitations. They cut with their teeth sticks of a considerable size, and when larger than they are able to drag, they contrive to fell them on the bank, so that they may fall and float down the stream to the place where they design to make the dam; and then entwine them with willow twigs, which they plaster with mud, so as effectually to obtain a head of water. We met again on the Sabbath for divine worship on both parts of the day, as we had done on the previous Sunday. As the Esquimaux did not make their appearance, we began to think that the ice in the Bay might have prevented their coming to the Factory. We were relieved from our doubts however, on the 2nd of August, by Augustus running to the Fort with the information that his countrymen were seen coming along in their canoes. He waited till he ascertained that Junius's brother, who was said to have threatened his life, was not of the party, and then went to meet them. Some of them came over the rocks with the canoes upon their heads, as being a much nearer way to the Company's Post from the spot where they left the Bay, than following the course of the river. Their number, with a small party that came soon afterwards, was forty-two men, who brought with them a considerable quantity of the Arctic fox skins, musk-ox, and deer skins, with those of the wolf and wolverine, together with sea-horse teeth, and the horn of a sea-unicorn about six feet long for barter at the Company's Post. In appearance they strongly resembled each other, and were all clothed with deer-skin jackets and lower garments of far larger than usually Dutch size, made of the same material. Their stature was low, like that of the wife of the Esquimaux at the tent who was not five feet in height. They were all very broad set, with remarkably small eyes, low foreheads, and of a very fine bronze complexion. A few of the men however were nearly six feet in stature, and of a strong robust make. As soon as they had bartered the articles which they brought with them for those they requested in return, which were guns, ammunition, beads, and blankets principally, they were informed that I had travelled a long way to see them, and to have some talk with them. The next day, they gathered round me, and with Augustus and an interpreter, I was enabled to make the object of my visit to them well understood. I told them that I came very far across the great lake, because I loved the Esquimaux; that there were very many in my country who loved them also, and would be pleased to hear that I had seen them. I spoke true. I did not come to their country, thinking it was better than mine, nor to make house and trade with them, but to enquire, and they must speak true, if they would like white man to make house and live amongst them, to teach their children white man's knowledge, and of the Great and Good Spirit who made the world. The sun was then shining in his glory, and the scenery in the full tide of the water before us was striking and beautiful; when I asked them, if they knew who made the heavens, the waters, and the earth, and all things that surrounded us, so pleasing to our sight? their reply was, 'We do not know whether the Person who made these things is dead or alive.' On assuring them that I knew, and that it was my real wish that they and their children should know also the Divine Being, who was the Creator of all things; and on repeating the question, whether they wished that white man should come and give them this knowledge, they all simultaneously expressed a great desire that he should, laughing and shouting, "heigh! heigh! augh! augh!" One of them afterwards gave me a map of the coast which they traversed, including Chesterfield Inlet, and which he drew with a pencil that I lent him, with great accuracy, pointing out to me the particular rivers where the women speared salmon in the rapids in summer, while the men were employed in killing the deer, as they crossed in the water some points of the Inlet; or were hunting on the coast, catching seals. Being provident, and not so regardless of the morrow as the Indians in general, they lay up provisions at these different places for the winter, and probably seldom suffer from want of food; nor are they long in summer without their favourite dish of the flesh and fat of the seal, mixed with train oil as a sauce, which they prefer to salmon; and when not mixed with their food, they drink the oil as a cordial. The Esquimaux often surrounded me in groups, during their stay at the Factory, and cordially shaking hands, were fond of saying, that the Northern Indians, or Chipewyans, sprang from dogs, but that they were formerly as white men. I encouraged them in the idea that we were originally of the same parents, but that they being scattered, we knew now a great deal more than they did, and therefore came to see if it were possible to teach their children our knowledge, for their happiness, and also themselves, if it were their desire. They appeared to be quite overjoyed at this conversation, and laughed heartily, shouting, "Heigh! heigh!" saying, (as the interpreter expressed it,) "We want to know the Grand God." I told them that there were stones on the edge of the water, in their country, and that with a little wood, a house might be made like what they saw at the Fort. Should I, or any other person, ever come from across the great lake, to build this house, where their children might live, and be taught what I had told them; I asked if they would assist to bring the stones, and help to raise the building. They signified their willingness by shouting again in their usual manner. I mentioned the above circumstance, as conceiving it to be practicable and advisable, from the best information I could obtain, that the first attempt to form an establishment on the shores of the Bay, to educate the children of the Esquimaux, should be made at Knapp's Bay, or, as called by the Esquimaux, Aughlinatook. Augustus's tribe traverse this part of the coast, which is about two hundred miles north of Churchill; from whence the frame of the building and some dry provisions in casks might be taken in boats, to maintain the party, at first making the settlement, independent of the common resources of the country, and of the Esquimaux; and a communication kept up with the Company's Post, which might easily be done, both in summer and winter. It is said that the word, difficulty, is not known in the English Military dictionary, and surely ought not to be found in that of the Missionary; and a mission undertaken to the Esquimaux, upon the plan suggested, conducted with prudence, intrepedity, and perseverance, can leave little doubt as to its ultimate success. They tied knots upon a sinew thread, tieing a knot for each child as it was named, to inform me, at my request, of the number of children they had belonging to their tribe, and which they would bring to the school for instruction. The number on the sinew thread was sixty-two boys and sixty-four girls. Whenever I spoke to them about provisions, they uniformly said that they would bring plenty; but should the establishment be made, a small number of children would at first of course be taken, and increased in proportion as the resources of the country, and the supplies afforded by the Esquimaux towards the support of their children, were pretty accurately ascertained. It is true that they live in a country, as those do on the Labrador coast, of hopeless barrenness, and endure almost a perpetual winter's blast; but the success of the faithful devoted Moravian Missionaries, on the coast of Labrador, and on that of Greenland, in their labours, privations, and perseverance, to impart the knowledge of Christianity, which has been blessed of God to the salvation of the Esquimaux, holds out every encouragement to the intrepid Missionary, in his attempts to benefit, with Christian instruction, those on the shores of Hudson's Bay. 'Cold is the clime, the winds are bleak, And wastes of trackless snow, Ye friends of our incarnate God! Obscure the paths ye go. 'But hearts more cold, and lusts more fierce, And wider wastes of sin, Ye Preachers of redeeming love! Obscure the soul within. 'Yet go: and though both poles combine, To freeze the sinner's soul, The sinner's soul shall yield to grace, For grace can melt the pole. 'Then blow ye winds, and roll ye waves, Your task assigned perform: The God of grace is nature's God, And rides upon the storm. 'Nature and Providence obey The dictates of his grace; Go! for each drop subserves his cause Each atom has its place.' A few of the Esquimaux who came to the Fort, were from Chesterfield Inlet, and proposed to return, before the other party left us for Knapp's Bay. Before they started, Augustus was very desirous that I should see his countrymen conjure; and bringing a blanket and a large knife, he assured me that one of them would swallow the knife, and not die; or fire a ball through his body, leaning upon a gun, without being injured. I understood that he was to perform this jugglery with the blanket round him, which I objected to, if I saw it; but told him that I had great objections to such deceptions and art, by which they imposed on each other; and observed, that if his countrymen could really conjure, they should conjure the whales to the shore, which were then sporting in the river before us. He was not pleased, however, with my refusal, and it was with difficulty that I prevented the exhibition. When the party left us, they encircled me, and said that they would tell all of their tribe what had been mentioned about teaching the Esquimaux children white man's knowledge of the Great Spirit. They informed me that a great many of the Esquimaux meet in summer about Chesterfield Inlet; that some come down from the great lake to the north, and that they had met some, who had seen two very large canoes when there was no ice; and when one of these canoes stood in towards the shore where they were, they were so alarmed as to run off over the rocks, and that they did not return till the big canoes were out of sight towards where the sun rises. This information led me to suppose that they were the Discovery Ships, under the command of Captain Parry; and to conjecture that the ice had been a barrier to his progress in search of a North-West Passage, and that he was returning down the Bay to England. The object of the Esquimaux in meeting from different tribes at Chesterfield Inlet every year, is to barter with those principally who trade at Churchill Factory, and also with some Northern Indians, who exchange what European articles they may have for fish-hooks made of bone, and sinew lines, and skins. I then shook hands with them, and gave to each individual a clasp-knife, some tobacco, and a few beads, to take with them to their wives, with which they were much pleased, telling me, not to be afraid to come to their country, as Esquimaux would treat me well. AUGUST 7.--When the remaining party returned to Knapp's Bay, it was proposed by the Master of the Company's Posts, that they should stop for a few days at Seal River, about fifty miles north of Churchill, and spear white whales for the blubber. This they readily assented to, and the day after they started, I accompanied the officer in a boat to the point where they were to be employed. We pitched our tents near the place where they rested at night, and were much amused at their dexterity in spearing a number of whales on the following day. In the course of two days they harpooned about forty, so numerous were these animals in the Bay at the mouth of the river. These Esquimaux were not unacquainted with habits of cleanliness, for they were no sooner ashore from spearing whales, than they changed their dirty skin dress for one of a newer and cleaner character; and in seating themselves in a circle, around a small fire they had made, I observed that while they boiled the skin of the whale, and some partook of it, others were eating the tail and the fin in a raw state. I never knew natives more orderly and less troublesome; we were in their power, but so far from annoying us, they never even came to our tents, importuning for tobacco and other articles, as is generally the case with Indians when near their own encampment. Wishing to talk with them again on the subject of teaching their children, I invited to my tent seven of the oldest men among them; and repeated to them the questions which I had put to the whole of them before. They expressed the same feelings in favour of instruction, and a hope that I was not afraid to come to their country, promising, when white man came, not to steal from him, a vice which they are sometimes guilty of at the Factory. I found that they believed in a future state; and acknowledged that there was a bad Spirit, who made them suffer, and to whom they prayed that he would not hurt them. They thought that when a bad man died, the bad Spirit took him, and put him in a hole under ground, where there was always fire, but this idea they might have got from their intercourse with Europeans at the Fort: and when a good man died, they believed that the moon took him up, where he lived as he had done below, only that he had always plenty to enjoy, and less paddling to do. In parting with these Indians, as with the others who returned to Chesterfield Inlet, I gave to each individual a clasp knife, some tobacco, and a few beads to take to their wives; and my prayer to God was, that some effectual step might be taken to communicate to these heathen, that knowledge which they appeared desirous of receiving, and which would ameliorate their condition through a scriptural hope of a future life. We returned to the Factory, along a coast the most dangerous to navigate that can possibly be conceived, from fragments of rocks being studded in the water for miles from the shore, and which are only visible at the reflux of the tide. The safest course to take is to run out to sea, and sail along out of sight of land; but this is hazardous in an open boat, if the weather be stormy, or the water is much ruffled by the wind. The Company lost a boat's crew last fall, as they were returning to Churchill, from one of the points of rock where they had been to collect geese, which the Indians had shot, and which are salted as part of the winter supply of provisions at the Establishment. At first it was supposed that the boat had been driven out to sea, and all had perished in a most painful manner; but during our stay, an Indian came to the Fort, to inform the officer that the empty boat was lying on the beach, about six or seven miles to the south of Churchill River. He immediately sent men to the spot, and to search along the coast for some remains at least of the bodies of the crew, but not the least appearance of them could be found. The boat filled and went down, with the sail set and fastened to the mast, which was the state in which it was found; but whether she struck upon the point of a sunken rock, or swamped at the conflux of the waters off the mouth of the river at the return of the tide, not a man survived to tell the melancholy tale. The 10th.--I began to make preparations for my return to York Factory, in the supply of ammunition and a couple of days' provisions for our journey. As every thing we took was borne on the back of the men, we deemed this sufficient, with the supply we were likely to obtain in our walk through a country which at this season of the year generally abounds with wildfowl. It was painful to see several Indian women in an infirm state of health and lame, continually begging for a little oatmeal, or picking _tripe de roche_ for a subsistence, being unable to follow the tribe they belonged to; and, upon inquiry, I found that it was a common custom among the Chipewyans, to leave the aged, the infirm, and the sick, when supposed incapable of recovery, to perish for want! and that one-half of the aged probably die in this miserable condition! The common feelings of humanity suggest the question,--Could not some establishment be formed, as a hospital for the reception of a certain number at least of the aged and infirm; towards the maintenance of which, the Indians themselves, in bringing their relations, might be induced to contribute, were it only the tenth skin from the produce of their hunting? If this establishment could not be formed near the coast, might not one be made as an experiment on the borders of their country in the Athabasca? where grain and Indian corn might be raised towards its support. The subject at least challenges inquiry, and is fraught with deep interest, as calling forth the best feelings of benevolence; for a more deplorable situation in existence cannot be conceived, than for persons to be deserted in afflictive old age, suffering infirmity, and left at the last stage of life to expire in want, when, of all other periods in our mortal career, we most need attention, and sympathy, and kindness. These Indians have a singular custom of wrestling for any woman to whom they are attached; and she has to witness the contest, which consists in hauling each other about by the hair of the head, without kicking or striking, till the strongest party carries her off as his prize. And instead of stabbing one another in their quarrels, as is frequently the case with the Southern Indians, these generally decide them by wrestling. They may permit a weak man, if he be a good hunter, to keep the object of his choice; but otherwise he is obliged to yield his wife to a stronger man, who may think her worth his notice. This barbarous custom I should suppose prevails among the Esquimaux who visit Churchill Factory, as they pointed out to me, at the time I saw them, a weakly looking man, who they said had his wife taken from him by another of superior strength. They shewed me also how they decided their quarrels, by each party alternately bending the body in a horizontal position, and receiving from each other a blow of the fist on the temple or side of the face. On the 12th, we left Churchill Factory, and in our track killed plenty of wild-fowl, and were again tortured with the mosquitoes, till after the second day's march, when we waded through a low swampy ground, frequently half-leg deep in water, to some dry ridges of land. The wind blew again off the ice in the bay, which enabled us to walk without much annoyance; and in our progress, we often passed large holes, which the bears had scratched in these ridges to lie in, and which, from the impression of their paws on the sand, several had recently left. On the 17th, we came to a tent of Indians, who were encamped on the shore, for the purpose of killing them, in the front of which was the head of one that they had lately shot, stuck upon some painted sticks, in expression of some superstitious notions respecting the animal. They have a great dread of bears, and are very fond of wearing their claws round their necks, ornamented as a necklace, under the idea that they shall be preserved from their ferocious attacks. A short time before I left the Red River Colony, a Saulteaux Indian came to my residence with a necklace strung with some large claws; and prevailing upon him to part with it for some tobacco, he addressed it in a very grave speech, when he took it from his neck, and laid it for me on the table, in language to the following effect:--"My grandfather! you and I have been together some time--we must now part. Go to that Chief; and in leaving me, be not angry, but let me kill buffaloe when I am hungry, and another bear when I meet with it, and then I will make another necklace of the claws." I smiled at this address, when, looking at me very seriously, he said, "If you offend the bear," (I supposed he meant the spirit of the bear, whose claws he had given me,) "the bears will be sure to eat you." On the 18th, some Indians whom we met, told us that they had heard the great guns of the ship, on her arrival from England, though they had not seen her at anchor. The next day convinced us of the fact; and we reached York Factory early the following morning, after having walked on our return from Churchill, the supposed distance of one hundred and eighty miles, through a trackless path in swamps and long grass, in less than seven days. Here I had the happiness of meeting the Rev. Mr. Jones, arrived by the ship, on his way to the Red River Settlement, my fellow-labourer in that situation; to whom I committed the two Chipewyan Indian boys. After a few days, he proceeded with his little charge to his destination. And may God, whom we serve in the gospel of his Son, abundantly bless his exertions, on entering upon a field of anxious and laborious toil, which I have just left, to visit the land of my nativity and affection, after an absence of more than three years. York Factory, as the principal depôt, is rapidly improving in appearance, and in the extent of its buildings. A number of the chief Factors and Traders meet here every summer, and a council is held for the management of the _Northern Factory_; while another is also annually held at Moose, in St. James's Bay, for the direction of the _Southern Factory_. This division of the Company's territory, comprises the whole of the country, from the furthest known point to the north to the boundary line of the United States, and from the waters of the Pacific to those of the Atlantic. In carrying into effect the moral improvement of the country, which has long been contemplated, it would be very desirable that schools should be established at the Company's chief depôts; where it is presumed provisions might be obtained, for the support at least of a limited number of the half-caste children. And the most beneficial results might follow the regular performance of divine worship on the Sabbath, by a Clergyman, throughout the summer months at least, in a building erected and appropriated as a chapel. These are arrangements, which every benevolent mind, truly desirous of promoting the best interests of the country, where the progress of moral and religious instruction would be but slow, would rejoice to see practically entered upon. It may be stated with pleasure that directions have been given to lessen the quantity of spirituous liquors in barter with the natives. The baneful effects of such a medium of trade have long been deplored by all who have regarded the amelioration of their state, and sought to improve their wandering condition. Cruelty, disease, and premature decay have for centuries past been generated wherever Europeans have introduced the exchange of ardent spirits with the Indians. No act therefore can be more beneficial and humane than that of gradually altering a system which is at once so prejudicial to the native, and injurious to the morals of the trader. It is to be hoped that the benevolent intentions of the Honourable Committee will be carried into full effect, together with the resolutions passed in council at York Factory, July 1823, for the purpose of improving the moral state, both of the Indians and of the European inhabitants of the Company's territory; an event highly interesting to every friend of humanity and religion. SEPT. 10.--We embarked on board the ship Prince of Wales on her return to England, and left the anchorage next day with a favourable wind. The weather being moderate, on Sunday the 14th we enjoyed the privilege of having two full services. The 16th.--The wind continues light and favourable, and I have been much interested in reading Mr. Wilberforce's pamphlet, entitled, "An Appeal in behalf of the Negro Slaves." When will men regard each other as brethren, connected by the common ties of humanity, and as generally responsible to God, the Judge of all. Sunday, 21st.--When off Cape Charles at the entrance of Hudson's straits, the Thermometer I observed was as low as 24°; and the land as we passed along was covered with snow. The prospect was most chilling and dreary. Though it blew fresh, there was not however a heavy swell of the sea, which gave us the opportunity of having divine service both morning and afternoon. I felt humbled in going through the Ministerial duties of the day; and the experience of my heart imposes on me the obligation of labouring more and more after humiliation. What a consolation is it to _know_ that we are saved by hope, even in Him, who sitteth upon the circle of the heavens, directing the course of the elements--who commandeth the waters and they obey Him. On the 23d we encountered a heavy gale of wind, with a short and angry sea, insomuch that the ship was covered with waves, and all on board were reeling to and fro, and staggering like a drunken man. Towards evening it blew a hurricane; the heavens were black with tempest, and all around us appeared awfully dangerous. Self-examination is at all times profitable and incumbent on the Christian, but when dangers press around him in a tumultuous scene of waters, it is peculiarly consolatory for him to find upon examination, that the sheet anchor of his hope is well grounded; and that he has laboured in the cause of his divine Lord with a conscious integrity, though with a conscious imperfection of character. It was _well_ said by the wife of a Missionary, in her last moments, when it was observed to her that she was dying a sacrifice in the cause of missions, "_I would rather_ (said she) _die a penitent sinner at the cross of Christ._" Every day, in the smooth unruffled calm of life, or on the tempestuous ocean of its existence, would I _feel_ the sentiment so expressive of the Christian's security, and simple reliance upon the omnipotent arm of the Saviour, as uttered by St. Peter, when ready to sink amidst the threatening waves, "Lord save us, we perish." During the 25th we were becalmed off the Upper Savage Islands, amidst several large icebergs, some of which were stranded on the shore, and would receive the accumulation of another winter's fall of snow, from not being driven out of the Straits into the Atlantic Ocean, where they are dissolved. The winter was again setting in with a cold frosty air, and frequent snow storms. The next morning the wind freshened, and on the 27th, when we were off Saddle Back, we experienced another heavy gale of wind, which was so violent about eight o'clock in the evening, that it broke the mizen top sail yard, while nine of the sailors were furling the sail. Providentially the broken part of the yard slung with the ropes, or every soul must inevitably have perished, from the violent rolling of the ship. A more rough and stormy night could not well be experienced, with the aggravated danger of sailing among a number of large isles of floating ice; the running foul of one of which would be immediate destruction, as upon a rock. The next day the wind moderated, and was favourable, but from the rolling of the ship I could only read the morning and evening prayers, and that with some difficulty, when we met for divine worship. In the evening we approached Resolution Island, and the waters of the Atlantic opened to us with the encouraging prospect of having more sea room to encounter any storms that we might afterwards meet with. As we left the barren rugged shores of the Straits, and the chain of rocks terminating in ragged points on the coast of Labrador, there was a general spirit of congratulation; and the prospect of crossing the great Western Ocean in safety raised in my mind the ascription of praise uttered by the Psalmist, "Praise the Lord, O my soul, and forget not all his benefits." OCT. 4.--We were off Cape Farewell, South Greenland, with strong gales of wind. This point called to my mind the labours of the Moravian Missionaries who had formed several settlements, the most southern of which I believe is Lichterau, among the Greenlanders, under far greater difficulties, than are likely to assail the Missionary, in his attempt to form an establishment for the instruction of the same race of people in the principles of divine truth on the shores of Hudson's Bay, with the aid and co-operation of the Hudson's Bay Company. These pious, simple, devoted Missionaries, have proved that missions to the heathen on the most inhospitable and barren shores are not visionary schemes, but succeed effectually under the blessing of heaven to the conversion of the natives; and they have established the principle, that wherever the waters roll, and however barren the rock on which man is to be found, there man may be benefitted with the saving knowledge and blessings of Christianity. The account given of the first Missionaries of the United Brethren, whose entrance upon the inhospitable and icy coasts of Greenland was in 1733, among whom was that eminent servant of the mission, Matthew Stach, is truly interesting. Leaving Hernnhutt, they first proceeded to the Danish capital, as Greenland was under that government, to obtain the sanction of the King, in their intended mission. Their first audience with the Chamberlain was not a little discouraging, but being convinced, by a closer acquaintance of the solidity of their faith, and the rectitude of their intentions, this Minister became their firm friend, and willingly presented their memorial to the King, who was pleased to approve of their design, and wrote a letter with his own hand, recommending them to the notice of the Danish Missionary, Egede, who had undertaken a mission to Greenland in 1721, but had hitherto accomplished very little in the way of success, notwithstanding his indefatigable exertions. The Chamberlain also introduced them to several persons distinguished by rank and piety, who liberally contributed toward the expense of their voyage and intended settlement. Being asked one day by his Excellency, how they proposed to maintain themselves in Greenland, they answered, that they depended on the labour of their own hands and God's blessing; and that not to be burdensome to any one, they would build themselves a house and cultivate the ground. It being objected that they would find no wood to build with, as the country presented little but a face of barren rock. "Then," replied they in a true Missionary spirit, "we will dig into the earth and lodge there." "No," said the Minister, "to that necessity you shall not be reduced; you shall take timber with you for building a house; accept of these fifty dollars for that purpose." With this and other donations, they purchased poles, planks and laths; instruments for agriculture, and carpenter's work, together with several sorts of seeds and roots, with provisions. Thus equipped, says Crantz, they took an affectionate leave of the Court where they had been so hospitably entertained, and embarked on the 10th of April, on board the King's ship, Caritas, Capt. Hildebrand. The congregation at Hernhutt had already adopted the custom of annually compiling a collection of scripture texts for every day in the year, each illustrated or applied by a short verse from some hymn. This text was called the "daily word," it supplied a profitable subject for private meditation, and a theme for the public discourses. The daily word on the morning of their embarkation on a mission which so often appeared to baffle all hope, was, '_Faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen._' "We view Him, whom no eye can see, With faith's keen vision stedfastly." In this confidence they set sail; nor did they suffer themselves to be confounded by any of the unspeakable difficulties of the following years, till they and we at last beheld the completion of what they hoped for in faith. They sailed by Shetland, April 22nd; and, after an expeditious and agreeable voyage, entered Davis's Straits in the beginning of May. Here they encountered a field of floating ice, while enveloped in a thick fog; but the next day a terrible storm arose, which dispersed the ice and freed them at the same time from their fears. On the 13th they came in sight of the coast of Greenland, when a violent tempest of four days' continuance, preceded by a total eclipse of the sun, drove them back more than sixty leagues. May 20th, they cast anchor in Ball's River, after a voyage of six weeks; and joyfully welcomed the snowy cliffs and savage inhabitants of a country which had so long been the chief object of their wishes. The word of the day was, _The peace of God, which passeth all understanding, shall keep your hearts and minds through Jesus Christ._ By this they were frequently encouraged to a peaceful and believing perseverance, during the first ensuing years, amidst all the oppositions which they met with, and the slender prospect they entertained of the conversion of the heathen. The sight of the first Greenlanders, though they could not speak a word to them, was accompanied with sensations of lively pleasure; their pitiable condition pierced them to the heart, and they prayed the Lord, _the Light to enlighten the gentiles_, that he would grant them grace, wisdom, and power, to bring some of them at least out of darkness into His marvellous light. Immediately on their landing they repaired to Mr. Egede. He gave them a cordial reception, congratulated them on their undertaking, and promised them his assistance in learning the language. They next fixed on a spot for their building, on the nearest habitable part of the coast, to which they afterward gave the name of New Hernnhutt; and having consecrated it with prayer began to run up a Greenland hut of stones and sods, in which they might find shelter, until they had erected a wooden house. At first the natives regarded them with contempt, concluding from the readiness with which they engaged in every kind of manual labour, that they were the Factor's servants; and being scattered among the islands and hills to fish, catch seals, and hunt deer, while in winter they made journies on sledges to their acquaintance upwards of a hundred leagues North or South; the Brethren had little access to them, and but faint hopes of making any permanent impression on their minds in their wandering mode of existence. Some of the natives, however, paid a visit to them, but it was only from curiosity to see their buildings, or to beg needles, fish hooks, knives, and other such articles, if not to steal; and no proffered advantages could tempt them to remain for a short time at the Settlement. Till at length when they understood that the object of these faithful, tried, and persevering Missionaries was not to trade with them, but to make them acquainted with their Creator; and when they observed their modest and gentle carriage, so different from that of other Europeans, they paid them more attention, pressed them to come to their huts, and promised to return the visit themselves. A more frequent intercourse gradually commenced, and the Greenlanders would sometimes spend a night with the Brethren. The motives of their visits were, indeed, glaringly selfish. They wanted either food and shelter, or presents of needles and other things. They even bluntly declared, that if the Missionaries would give them no stock-fish, they would no longer listen to what they had to say: and during the winter, which was intensely cold, the Brethren could not refuse their request for provisions. They did not altogether discontinue their visits in summer, but they generally came after spending the night in feasting and revelling, too drowsy to support a conversation, or intent only upon hearing some news, or on begging or purloining whatever might strike their fancy. Their pilfering habits made their visits not a little troublesome to the Brethren, but the latter did not wish to frighten them away; and were content for the present, that they came at all, especially as a few of them discovered a satisfaction in being present at the evening meetings, though held in German, and made inquiries into the design of them. After a series of trying hardships; and after enduring privations for years, they were encouraged in their mission, established in much long-suffering and patience, by one of the natives visiting them, and desiring to "see their things." They showed him what they had, supposing that he wished to barter some Greenland food for their iron ware. But after remaining quite silent for some time, he at last said that he had been with the Minister, (Mr. Egede) who had told him wonderful things of _One_, who was said to have created heaven and earth, and was called God. Did they know any thing about it? If they did, they should tell him something more, as he had forgotten a good deal. This discourse made a deep impression on their minds. They told him of the creation of man, and the intention it; of the fall and consequent corruption of the human race; of the redemption through Christ; of the resurrection; and of eternal happiness and damnation. The poor Greenlander listened very attentively, was present at their evening meeting, and slept all night in their tent. Further inquiries were afterwards made among the natives, till the Brethren had their two Greenland houses completely filled, and a native congregation collected. The word of the gospel was eventually propagated by the Missionaries through a vast extent of country, and its glad tidings spread still farther by the savages themselves, so that a numerous company of Greenlanders have been gathered to Jesus Christ by the preaching of his word--moulded into a spiritual congregation by the operation of the Holy Ghost (says the above historian,) and furnished with such provisions for its good discipline, both within and without, that amidst all defects, it might in truth be called a living, flourishing, fruit-bearing plant of the heavenly Father's planting. Such an example of success in Missionary exertions, in the frozen and uncultivated regions of Greenland and of Labrador, as the United Brethren have set, holds out every encouragement to hope that a mission would succeed among the Esquimaux at Hudson's Bay. They resemble the Greenlanders in their aspect, dress, and mode of living; and speaking the same language, it would greatly aid the mission to them, if one or two Christian natives could be obtained and prevailed upon to join it from the coast of Greenland. They are shouting from their native rocks for instruction, and have appealed to the Christian sympathy and benevolence of every friend of missions, in language of the same import as the call of Macedonia,--"We want to know the grand God." "Shall we, whose souls are lighted With wisdom from on high, Shall we to men benighted The lamp of life deny? Salvation! oh, salvation! The joyful sound proclaim, Till each remotest nation Has learn'd Messiah's name. Waft, waft, ye winds, his story, And you, ye waters, roll, Till, like a sea of glory, It spreads from pole to pole; Till o'er our ransomed nature, The Lamb for sinners slain, Redeemer, King, Creator! In bliss returns to reign." BISHOP OF CALCUTTA. The 5th.--Sunday. The wind has blown hard all day, so as to permit, from the rolling of the ship, of my only reading the Morning and Evening Prayers, for divine worship. I know that God, who made heaven, earth, and seas, is not confined to forms of prayer, how ever excellent, any more than to temples made with hands. But as a formulary, how full and comprehensive is that of the Church of England! and how well adapted to express the feelings of the mind, humbled, and penitentially exercised, yet exalted in hope at the throne of a covenant God in Christ Jesus. When the prayers are _prayed_, and not merely read in the cold formality of office, instead of wearying the mind by repetition, how often are they the means of arresting our wandering thoughts, and awakening a devotional feeling! This effect, I trust, was produced in our minds, as we met together, for the public services of the day, in the cabin of the ship. From the 5th to the 9th, we had stiff gales of wind from the same quarter, which caused the sea to roll with a majesty and grandeur that I never before witnessed. I stood on the quarterdeck, in admiration of the scene, and of the wonders of God in the deep, as wave rolled after wave, occasionally breaking on its _mountainous_ top into a roaring and foaming surge. But while the waves roar and the winds howl around me, I am borne in safety through the mighty waters towards the desired haven. What a fit emblem is this experience of the spiritual and eternal safety of the Christian, in the ark of the covenant, amidst the foaming billows of affliction, the wind of temptation, and every storm of trial raised by man in a fallen and disordered world, branded with so many marks of its Creator's displeasure. We were prevented from meeting in the cabin, for divine service, on Sunday the 12th, from its blowing a hard gale, and the violent tossing of the ship. We now experienced a sensible alteration in the weather, as being much milder; and a couple of black wolves and a bear, which we had on board, were evidently affected by the change of the atmosphere, as we were bearing up for the Orkney Isles. On the 15th, we anchored in Stromness harbour, and, leaving this anchorage on the 17th, we reached Yarmouth Roads, October the 23d; and through a kind protecting Providence, I landed, on the following day, from the ship, in the Thames. Since my departure from England, in May 1820, to this period of my return, not one accident have I met with, nor have I been called to experience a single day's illness. Though in perils oft by land and by sea, and exposed to threatened dangers of the ice, and of the desert, still my life has been preserved. * * * * * Praised be the Lord God of my salvation! In sending this volume to the press, I feel that I am discharging a duty which I owe to the natives of the rocks and of the wilderness, whom I have seen in the darkness and misery of heathenism; and I ardently desire that the Mission already entered upon, may become the means of widely extending the knowledge of Christianity among them. I have no higher wish in life, than to spend and be spent in the service of Christ, for the salvation of the North American Indians. Not my will, however, but His be done, who alone can direct and control all Missions successfully, to the fulfilment of His prophetic word, when "The wilderness shall become a fruitful field," and "the desert shall rejoice and blossom as the rose." * * * * * Since the foregoing sheets were sent to the Printer, very gratifying intelligence has been received of the improved state of the Colony; and a sanguine hope is entertained that several native Indian children from different nations will be added to the number of those already upon the Church Mission School establishment at the Red River. * * * * * THE END. 
30377	----	Online Distributed Proofreading Canada Team (http://www.pgdpcanada.net) from page images generously made available by Our Roots (http://www.ourroots.ca/) Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this file which includes the original illustrations. See 30377-h.htm or 30377-h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30377/30377-h/30377-h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30377/30377-h.zip) Images of the original pages are available through Our Roots. See http://www.ourroots.ca/toc.aspx?id=11729&qryID=e57cc7f6-4616-4b18-ad49-5dab00cac663 THE 'ADVENTURERS OF ENGLAND' ON HUDSON BAY * * * * * Chronicles of Canada Series Thirty-Two Volumes Illustrated Edited by George M. Wrong and H. H. Langton Chronicles of Canada Series PART I THE FIRST EUROPEAN VISITORS 1. THE DAWN OF CANADIAN HISTORY By Stephen Leacock. 2. THE MARINER OF ST MALO By Stephen Leacock. PART II THE RISE OF NEW FRANCE 3. THE FOUNDER OF NEW FRANCE* By Charles W. Colby. 4. THE BLACKROBES* By J. Edgar Middleton. 5. THE SEIGNEURS OF OLD CANADA By W. Bennett Munro. 6. THE GREAT INTENDANT By Thomas Chapais. 7. THE FIGHTING GOVERNOR* By Charles W. Colby. PART III THE ENGLISH INVASION 8. THE GREAT FORTRESS* By William Wood. 9. THE ACADIAN EXILES* By Arthur G. Doughty. 10. THE PASSING OF NEW FRANCE By William Wood. 11. THE WINNING OF CANADA By William Wood. PART IV THE AMERICAN INVASIONS 12. THE INVASION OF 1775* By C. Frederick Hamilton. 13. BATTLEFIELDS OF 1812-14* By William Wood. PART V THE RED MAN IN CANADA 14. PONTIAC: THE WAR CHIEF OF THE OTTAWAS* By Thomas Guthrie Marquis. 15. BRANT: THE WAR CHIEF OF THE SIX NATIONS By Louis Aubrey Wood. 16. TECUMSEH: THE LAST GREAT LEADER OF HIS PEOPLE* By Ethel T. Raymond. PART VI PATHFINDERS AND PIONEERS 17. THE 'ADVENTURERS OF ENGLAND' ON HUDSON BAY By Agnes C. Laut. 18. PATHFINDERS OF THE GREAT PLAINS By Lawrence J. Burpee. 19. PIONEERS OF THE PACIFIC COAST* By Agnes C. Laut. 20. ADVENTURERS OF THE FAR NORTH By Stephen Leacock. 21. THE UNITED EMPIRE LOYALISTS By W. Stewart Wallace. 22. THE RED RIVER COLONY* By Louis Aubrey Wood. 23. THE CARIBOO TRAIL* By Agnes C. Laut. PART VII POLITICAL FREEDOM AND NATIONALITY 24. THE 'FAMILY COMPACT'* By W. Stewart Wallace. 25. THE REBELLION IN LOWER CANADA* By A. D. DeCelles. 26. THE TRIBUNE OF NOVA SCOTIA* By William L. Grant. 27. THE WINNING OF POPULAR GOVERNMENT* By Archibald MacMechan. 28. THE FATHERS OF CONFEDERATION* By Sir Joseph Pope. 29. THE DAY OF SIR JOHN MACDONALD* By Sir Joseph Pope. 30. THE DAY OF SIR WILFRED LAURIER* By Oscar D. Skelton. PART VIII NATIONAL HIGHWAYS 31. ALL AFLOAT By William Wood. 32. THE RAILROAD BUILDERS* By Oscar D. Skelton. TORONTO: GLASGOW, BROOK & COMPANY Note: The volumes marked with an asterisk are in preparation. The others are published. * * * * * [Illustration: PRINCE RUPERT From the painting in the National Portrait Gallery] THE 'ADVENTURERS OF ENGLAND' ON HUDSON BAY A Chronicle of the Fur Trade in the North by Agnes C. Laut [Illustration: Printers mark] Toronto Glasgow, Brook & Company 1914 Copyright in all Countries subscribing to the Berne Convention CONTENTS Page I. THE FUR HUNTERS 1 II. THE TRAGEDY OF HENRY HUDSON 9 III. OTHER EXPLORERS ON THE BAY 23 IV. THE 'ADVENTURERS OF ENGLAND' 34 V. FRENCH AND ENGLISH ON THE BAY 51 VI. THE GREAT OVERLAND RAID 73 VII. YEARS OF DISASTER 89 VIII. EXPANSION AND EXPLORATION 103 BIBLIOGRAPHICAL NOTE 125 INDEX 129 ILLUSTRATIONS PRINCE RUPERT _Frontispiece_ From the painting in the National Portrait Gallery. _Page_ A VIEW OF THE INTERIOR OF OLD FORT 2 GARRY Drawn by H. A. Strong. TRACK SURVEY OF THE SASKATCHEWAN 4 BETWEEN CEDAR LAKE AND LAKE WINNIPEG THE PRINCIPAL POSTS OF THE HUDSON'S 6 BAY COMPANY Map by Bartholomew. THE ROUTES OF HUDSON AND MUNCK 10 Map by Bartholomew. THE LAST HOURS OF HUDSON 18 From the painting by Collier. JOHN CHURCHILL, FIRST DUKE OF MARLBOROUGH 42 From the painting in the National Portrait Gallery. ON THE HAYES RIVER 58 From photograph by R. W. Brock. ENTRANCE TO THE NELSON AND HAYES 60 RIVERS Map by Bartholomew. A CAMP IN THE SWAMP COUNTRY 120 From a photograph. CHAPTER I THE FUR HUNTERS Thirty or more years ago, one who stood at the foot of Main Street, Winnipeg, in front of the stone gate leading to the inner court of Fort Garry, and looked up across the river flats, would have seen a procession as picturesque as ever graced the streets of old Quebec--the dog brigades of the Hudson's Bay Company coming in from the winter's hunt. Against the rolling snowdrifts appeared a line, at first grotesquely dwarfed under the mock suns of the eastern sky veiled in a soft frost fog. Then a husky-dog in bells and harness bounced up over the drifts, followed by another and yet another--eight or ten dogs to each long, low toboggan that slid along loaded and heaped with peltry. Beside each sleigh emerged out of the haze the form of the driver--a swarthy fellow, on snow-shoes, with hair bound back by a red scarf, and corduroy trousers belted in by another red scarf, and fur gauntlets to his elbows--flourishing his whip and yelling, in a high, snarling falsetto, 'marche! marche!'--the rallying-cry of the French wood-runner since first he set out from Quebec in the sixteen-hundreds to thread his way westward through the wilds of the continent. Behind at a sort of dog-trot came women, clothed in skirts and shawls made of red and green blankets; papooses in moss bags on their mothers' backs, their little heads wobbling under the fur flaps and capotes. Then, as the dog teams sped from a trot to a gallop with whoops and jingling of bells, there whipped past a long, low, toboggan-shaped sleigh with the fastest dogs and the finest robes--the equipage of the chief factor or trader. Before the spectator could take in any more of the scene, dogs and sleighs, runners and women, had swept inside the gate. [Illustration: A VIEW OF THE INTERIOR OF OLD FORT GARRY Drawn by H. A. Strong] At a still earlier period, say in the seventies, one who in summer chanced to be on Lake Winnipeg at the mouth of the great Saskatchewan river--which, by countless portages and interlinking lakes, is connected with all the vast water systems of the North--would have seen the fur traders sweeping down in huge flotillas of canoes and flat-bottomed Mackinaw boats--exultant after running the Grand Rapids, where the waters of the Great Plains converge to a width of some hundred rods and rush nine miles over rocks the size of a house in a furious cataract. Summer or winter, it was a life of wild adventure and daily romance. Here on the Saskatchewan every paddle-dip, every twist and turn of the supple canoes, revealed some new caprice of the river's moods. In places the current would be shallow and the canoes would lag. Then the paddlers must catch the veer of the flow or they would presently be out waist-deep shoving cargo and craft off sand bars. Again, as at Grand Rapids, where the banks were rock-faced and sheer, the canoes would run merrily in swift-flowing waters. No wonder the Indian voyageurs regarded all rivers as living personalities and made the River Goddess offerings of tobacco for fair wind and good voyage. And it is to be kept in mind that no river like the Saskatchewan can be permanently mapped. No map or chart of such a river could serve its purpose for more than a year. Chart it to-day, and perhaps to-morrow it jumps its river bed; and where was a current is now a swampy lake in which the paddlemen may lose their way. When the waters chanced to be low at Grand Rapids, showing huge rocks through the white spray, cargoes would be unloaded and the peltry sent across the nine-mile portage by tramway; but when the river was high--as in June after the melting of the mountain snows--the voyageurs were always keen for the excitement of making the descent by canoe. Lestang, M'Kay, Mackenzie, a dozen famous guides, could boast two trips a day down the rapids, without so much as grazing a paddle on the rocks. Indeed, the different crews would race each other into the very vortex of the wildest water; and woe betide the old voyageur whose crew failed of the strong pull into the right current just when the craft took the plunge! Here, where the waters of the vast prairie region are descending over huge boulders and rocky islets between banks not a third of a mile apart, there is a wild river scene. Far ahead the paddlers can hear the roar of the swirl. Now the surface of the river rounds and rises in the eddies of an undertow, and the canoe leaps forward; then, a swifter plunge through the middle of a furious overfall. The steersman rises at the stern and leans forward like a runner. [Illustration: TRACK SURVEY of the SASKATCHEWAN between CEDAR LAKE & LAKE WINNIPEG] 'Pull!' shouts the steersman; and the canoe shoots past one rock to catch the current that will whirl it past the next, every man bending to his paddle and almost lifted to his feet. The canoe catches the right current and is catapulted past the roaring place where rocks make the water white. Instantly all but the steersman drop down, flat in the bottom of the canoe, paddles rigid athwart. No need to pull now! The waters do the work; and motion on the part of the men would be fatal. Here the strongest swimmer would be as a chip on a cataract. The task now is not to paddle, but to steer--to keep the craft away from the rocks. This is the part of the steersman, who stands braced to his paddle used rudder-wise astern; and the canoe rides the wildest plunge like a sea-gull. One after another the brigades disappear in a white trough of spray and roaring waters. They are gone! No human power can bring them out of that maelstrom! But look! like corks on a wave, mounting and climbing and riding the highest billows, there they are again, one after another, sidling and lifting and falling and finally gliding out to calm water, where the men fall to their paddles and strike up one of their lusty voyageur songs! The Company would not venture its peltry on the lower rapid where the river rushes down almost like a waterfall. Above this the cargoes were transferred to the portage, and prosaically sent over the hill on a tram-car pulled by a horse. The men, however, would not be robbed of the glee of running that last rapid, and, with just enough weight for ballast in their canoes and boats, they would make the furious descent. At the head of the tramway on the Grand Rapids portage stands the Great House, facing old warehouses through which have passed millions of dollars' worth of furs. The Great House is gambrel-roofed and is built of heavily timbered logs whitewashed. Round it is a picket fence; below are wine cellars. It is dismantled and empty now; but here no doubt good wines abounded and big oaths rolled in the days when the lords of an unmapped empire held sway. [Illustration: THE PRINCIPAL POSTS OF THE HUDSON'S BAY COMPANY Map by Bartholomew.] A glance at the map of the Hudson's Bay Company's posts will show the extent of the fur traders' empire. To the Athabaska warehouses at Fort Chipewyan came the furs of Mackenzie river and the Arctic; to Fort Edmonton came the furs of the Athabaska and of the Rockies; to Fort Pitt came the peltry of the Barren Lands; and all passed down the broad highway of the Saskatchewan to Lake Winnipeg, whence they were sent out to York Factory on Hudson Bay, there to be loaded on ships and taken to the Company's warehouses in London. * * * * * Incidentally, the fur hunters were explorers who had blazed a trail across a continent and penetrated to the uttermost reaches of a northern empire the size of Europe. But it was fur these explorers were seeking when they pushed their canoes up the Saskatchewan, crossed the Rocky Mountains, went down the Columbia. Fur, not glory, was the quest when the dog bells went ringing over the wintry wastes from Saskatchewan to Athabaska, across the Barren Lands, and north to the Arctic. Beaver, not empire, was the object in view when the horse brigades of one hundred and two hundred and three hundred hunters, led by Ogden, or Ross, or M'Kay or Ermatinger went winding south over the mountains from New Caledonia through the country that now comprises the states of Washington and Oregon and Idaho, across the deserts of Utah and Nevada, to the Spanish forts at San Francisco and Monterey. It is a question whether La Salle could have found his way to the Mississippi, or Radisson to the North Sea, or Mackenzie to the Pacific, if the little beaver had not inspired the search and paid the toll. CHAPTER II THE TRAGEDY OF HENRY HUDSON Though the adventurers to Hudson Bay turned to fur trading and won wealth, and discovered an empire while pursuing the little beaver across a continent, the beginning of all this was not the beaver, but a myth--the North-West Passage--a short way round the world to bring back the spices and silks and teas of India and Japan. It was this quest, not the lure of the beaver, that first brought men into the heart of New World wilds by way of Hudson Bay. In this search Henry Hudson led the way when he sent his little high-decked oak craft, the _Discovery_, butting through the ice-drive of Hudson Strait in July of 1610; 'worming a way' through the floes by anchor out to the fore and a pull on the rope from behind. Smith, Wolstenholme, and Digges, the English merchant adventurers who had supplied him with money for his brig and crew, cared for nothing but the short route to those spices and silks of the orient. They thought, since Hudson's progress had been blocked the year before in the same search up the bay of Chesapeake and up the Hudson river, that the only remaining way must lie through these northern straits. So now thought Hudson, as the ice jams closed behind him and a clear way opened before him to the west on a great inland sea that rocked to an ocean tide. Was that tide from the Pacific? How easily does a wish become father to the thought! Ice lay north, open water south and west; and so south-west steered Hudson, standing by the wheel, though Juet, the old mate, raged in open mutiny because not enough provisions remained to warrant further voyaging, much less the wintering of a crew of twenty in an ice-locked world. Henry Greene, a gutter-snipe picked off the streets of London, as the most of the sailors of that day were, went whispering from man to man of the crew that the master's commands to go on ought not to be obeyed. But we must not forget two things when we sit in judgment on Henry Hudson's crew. First, nearly all sailors of that period were unwilling men seized forcibly and put on board. Secondly, in those days nearly all seamen, masters as well as men, were apt to turn pirate at the sight of an alien sail. The ships of all foreign nations were considered lawful prey to the mariner with the stronger crew or fleeter sail. [Illustration: THE ROUTES OF HUDSON AND MUNCK Map by Bartholomew.] The waters that we know to-day as the Pacific were known to Hudson as the South Sea. And now the tide rolled south over shelving, sandy shores, past countless islands yellowing to the touch of September frosts, and silent as death but for the cries of gull, tern, bittern, the hooting piebald loon, match-legged phalaropes, and geese and ducks of every hue, collected for the autumnal flight south. It was a yellowish sea under a sky blue as turquoise; and it may be that Hudson recalled sailor yarns of China's seas, lying yellow under skies blue as a robin's egg. At any rate he continued to steer south in spite of the old mate's mutterings. Men in unwilling service at a few shillings a month do not court death for the sake of glory. The shore line of rocks and pine turned westward. So did Hudson, sounding the ship's line as he crept forward one sail up, the others rattling against the bare masts in the autumn wind--doleful music to the thoughts of the coward crew. The shore line at the south end of Hudson Bay, as the world now knows, is cut sharply by a ridge of swampy land that shoals to muddy flats in what is known as Hannah Bay. Hudson's hopes must have been dimmed if not dashed as he saw the western shore turn north and bar his way. He must suddenly have understood the force of the fear that his provisions would not last him to England if this course did not open towards China. It was now October; and the furious equinoctial gales lashed the shallow sea to mountainous waves that swept clear over the decks of the _Discovery_, knocking the sailors from the capstan bars and setting all the lee scuppers spouting. In a rage Juet threw down his pole and declared that he would serve no longer. Hudson was compelled to arrest his old mate for mutiny and depose him with loss of wages. The trial brought out the fact that the crew had been plotting to break open the lockers and seize firearms. It must be remembered that most of Hudson's sailors were ragged, under-fed, under-clothed fellows, ill fitted for the rigorous climate of the north and unmoved by the glorious aims that, like a star of hope, led Hudson on. They saw no star of hope, and felt only hunger and cold and that dislike of the hardships of life which is the birthright of the weakling, as well as his Nemesis. What with the north wind driving water back up the shallows, and with tamarac swamps on the landward side, Hudson deemed it unwise to anchor for the winter in the western corner of the Bay, and came back to the waters that, from the description of the hills, may now be identified as Rupert Bay, in the south-east corner. The furious autumn winds bobbled the little high-decked ship about on the water like a chip in a maelstrom, and finally, with a ripping crash that tore timbers asunder, sent her on the rocks, in the blackness of a November night. The starving crew dashed up the hatchway to decks glassed with ice and wrapped in the gloom of a snow-storm thick as wool. To any who have been on that shore in a storm it is quite unnecessary to explain why it was impossible to seek safety ashore by lowering a boat. Shallow seas always beat to wilder turbulence in storm than do the great deeps. Even so do shallow natures, and one can guess how the mutinous crew, stung into unwonted fury by cold and despair, railed at Hudson with the rage of panic-stricken hysteria. But in daylight and calm, presumably on the morning of November 11, drenched and cold, they reached shore safely, and knocked together, out of the tamarac and pines and rocks, some semblance of winter cabins. Of game there was abundance then, as now--rabbit and deer and grouse enough to provision an army; and Hudson offered reward for all provisions brought in. But the leaven of rebellion had worked its mischief. The men would not hunt. Probably they did not know how. Certainly none of them had ever before felt such cold as this--cold that left the naked hand sticking to any metal that it touched, that filled the air with frost fog and mock suns, that set the wet ship's timbers crackling every night like musket shots, that left a lining of hoar-frost and snow on the under side of the berth-beds, that burst the great pines and fir trees ashore in loud nightly explosions, and set the air whipping in lights of unearthly splendour that passed them moving and rustling in curtains of blood and fire.[1] As anyone who has lived in the region knows, the cowardly incompetents should have been up and out hunting and wresting from nature the one means of protection against northern cold--fur clothing. That is the one demand the North makes of man--that he shall fight and strive for mastery; but these whimpering weaklings, convulsed with the poison of self-pity, sat inside shivering over the little pans and braziers of coal, cursing and cursing Hudson. In the midst of the smouldering mutiny the ship's gunner died, and probably because the gutter boy, Greene, was the most poorly clad of all, Hudson gave the dead man's overcoat to the London lad. Instantly there was wild outcry from the other men. It was customary to auction a dead seaman's clothes from the mainmast. Why had the commander shown favour? In disgust Hudson turned the coat over to the new mate--thereby adding fresh fuel to the crew's wrath and making Greene a real source of danger. Greene was, to be sure, only a youth, but small snakes sometimes secrete deadly venom. How the winter passed there is no record, except that it was 'void of hope'; and one may guess the tension of the sulky atmosphere. The old captain, with his young son, stood his ground against the mutineers, like a bear baited by snapping curs. If they had hunted half as diligently as they snarled and complained, there would have been ample provisions and absolute security; and this statement holds good of more complainants against life than Henry Hudson's mutinous crew. It holds good of nearly all mutineers against life. Spring came, as it always comes in that snow-washed northern land, with a ramp of the ice loosening its grip from the turbulent waters, and a whirr of the birds winging north in long, high, wedge-shaped lines, and a crunching of the icefloes riding turbulently out to sea, and a piping of the odorous spring winds through the resinous balsam-scented woods. Hudson and the loyal members of the crew attempted to replenish provisions by fishing. Then a brilliant thought penetrated the wooden brains of the idle and incompetent crew--a thought that still works its poison in like brains of to-day--namely, if there were half as many people there would be twice as much provisions for each. Ice out, anchor up, the gulls and wild geese winging northward again--all was ready for sail on June 18, 1611. With the tattered canvas and the seams tarred and the mends in the hull caulked, Hudson handed out all the bread that was left--a pound to each man. He had failed to find the North-West Passage. He was going home a failure, balked, beaten, thrown back by the waves that had been beating the icefloes to the mournful call of the desolate wind all winter. There were tears in the eyes of the old captain as he handed out the last of the bread. Any one who has watched what snapping mongrels do when the big dog goes down, need not be told what happened now. There were whisperings that night as the ship slipped before the wind, whisperings and tale-bearings from berth to berth, threats uttered in shrill scared falsetto 'to end it or to mend it; better hang at home for mutiny than starve at sea.' Prickett, the agent for the merchant adventurers, pleaded for Hudson's life; the mutineers, led by Juet and Greene, roughly bade him look to his own. Prickett was ill in bed with scurvy, and the tremor of self-fear came into his plea. Then the mutineers swore on the Bible that what they planned was to sacrifice the lives of the few to save the many. When the destroyer profanes the Cross with unclean perjury, 'tis well to use the Cross for firewood and unsheath a sword. Peevish with sickness, Prickett punily acquiesced. When Hudson stepped from the wheel-house or cabin next morning, they leaped upon him like a pack of wolves. No oaths on Scripture and Holy Cross this break of day! Oaths of another sort--oaths and blows and railings--all pretence of clean motives thrown off--malice with its teeth out snapping! Somewhere north of Rupert, probably off Charlton Island, Hudson, his son, and eight loyal members of the crew were thrown into one of the boats on the davits. The boat was lowered on its pulleys and touched sea. The _Discovery_ then spread sail and sped through open water to the wind. The little boat with the marooned crew came climbing after. Somebody threw into it some implements and ammunition, and some one cut the painter. The abandoned boat slacked and fell back in the wave wash; and that is all we know of the end of Henry Hudson, who had discovered a northern sea, the size of a Mediterranean, that was to be a future arena of nations warring for an empire, and who had before discovered a river that was to be a path of world commerce. [Illustration: THE LAST HOURS OF HUDSON From the painting by Collier] What became of Hudson? A famous painting represents him, with his little son and the castaway crew, huddling among the engulfing icebergs. That may have been; but it is improbable that the dauntless old pathfinder would have succumbed so supinely. Three traditions, more or less reasonable, exist about his end. When Captain James came out twenty years later seeking the North-West Passage he found on a little island (Danby), south-east from Charlton Island, a number of sticks standing in the ground, with the chip marks of a steel blade. Did the old timbers mark some winter house of Hudson and his castaways? When Radisson came cruising among these islands fifty years later, he discovered an old house 'all marked and battered with bullets'; and the Indians told Radisson stories of 'canoes with sails' having come to the Bay. Had Indians, supplied with firearms overland from Quebec traders, assailed that house where nine white men, standing at bay between starvation and their enemies, took their last stand? The third tradition is of a later day. A few years ago a resident of Fort Frances, who had spent the summer at the foot of James Bay, and who understood the Indian language, wrote that the Indians had told him legends of white men who had come to the Bay long long ago, before ever 'the Big Company came,' and who had been cast away by their fellows, and who came ashore and lived among the Indians and took Indian wives and left red-haired descendants. It is probable that fur traders had told the Indians the story of Hudson; and this would explain the origin of this tradition. On the other hand, in a race utterly isolated from the outside world, among whom neither printing nor telegraph ever existed, traditions handed down from father to son acquire peculiar value; and in them we can often find a germ of truth. The legends are given for what they are worth. There is no need to relate the fate of the mutineers. The fate of mutineers is the same the world over. They quarrelled among themselves. They lost themselves among the icefloes. When they found their way back through the straits all provisions were exhausted. While they were prisoners in the icefloes, scurvy assailed the crew. Landing to gather sorrel grass as an antidote to scurvy, they were attacked by Eskimos. Only four men were left to man the ship home, and they were reduced to a diet of sea moss and offal before reaching Ireland. Greene perished miserably among the Indians, and his body was thrown into the sea. Old Juet died of starvation in sight of Ireland, raving impotent curses. But however dire Nemesis may be, or however deep may be repentance, neither undoes the wrong; and Hudson had gone to his unknown grave, sent thither by imbeciles, who would not work that they might eat, nor strive that they might win, but sat crouching, as their prototypes sit, ready to spring at the throat of Endeavour. Thomas Button, afterwards knighted for his effort, came out the very next year at the expense of the merchant adventurers--Walstenholme, Smith, and Digges--to search for Hudson. He wintered (1612-13) at Port Nelson, which he explored and named after his mate, who died there of scurvy; but the sea gave up no secret of its dead. Prickett and Bylot, of Hudson's former crew, were there also with the old ship _Discovery_ and a large frigate called _Resolution_, an appropriate name. Button's crew became infected with scurvy, and Port Nelson a camp for the dead. Then came Captain Gibbon in 1614; but the ice caught him at Labrador and turned him back. The merchant adventurers then fitted out Bylot, Hudson's second mate, and in 1615-16 he searched the desolate, lonely northern waters. He found no trace of Hudson, nor a passage to the South Sea; but he gave his mate's name--Baffin--to the lonely land that lines the northern side of the straits. Novelists are frequently accused of sensationalism and exaggeration, but if, as tradition seems to suggest, Hudson were still alive seven hundred miles south at the lower end of the Bay, straining vain eyes for a sail at sea, like Alexander Selkirk of a later day--with a Button and a Gibbon and a Bylot and a Baffin searching for him with echoing cannon roll and useless call in the north--then the life and death of the old pathfinder are more like a tale from Defoe than a story of real life. The English merchant adventurers then gave up--possibly for the very good reason that they had emptied their purses. This brings us to the year 1617 with no North-West Passage discovered, and very little other reward for the toll of life and heroism during seven years. Superficially, when we contemplate such failure, it looks like the broken arc of a circle; but when we find the whole circle we see that it is made up very largely of broken endeavour, and that Destiny has shaped the wheel to roll to undreamed ends. There was no practicable North-West Passage, as we know; but the search for such a passage gave to the world a new empire. CHAPTER III OTHER EXPLORERS ON THE BAY Little Denmark, whose conquering Vikings on their 'sea horses' had scoured the coasts of Europe, now comes on the scene. Hudson, an Englishman, had discovered the Bay, but the port of Churchill, later to become an important post of the fur trade, was discovered by Jens Munck, the Dane. In the autumn of 1619 Munck came across the Bay with two vessels--the UNICORN, a warship with sea horses on its carved prow, and the LAMPREY, a companion sloop--scudding before an equinoctial squall. Through a hurricane of sleet he saw what appeared to be an inlet between breakers lashing against the rocky west shore. Steering the UNICORN for the opening, he found himself in a land-locked haven, protected from the tidal bore by a ridge of sunken rock. The LAMPREY had fallen behind, but fires of driftwood built on the shore guided her into the harbour, and Munck constructed an ice-break round the keels of his ships. Piles of rocks sunk as a coffer-dam protected the boats from the indrive of tidal ice; and the Danes prepared to winter in the new harbour. To-day there are no forests within miles of Churchill, but at that time pine woods crowded to the water's edge, and the crews laid up a great store of firewood. With rocks, they built fireplaces on the decks--a paltry protection against the northern cold. Later explorers wintering at Churchill boarded up their decks completely and against the boarding banked snow, but this method of preparation against an Arctic winter was evidently unknown to the Danes. By November every glass vessel on the ships had been broken to splinters by the frost. In the lurid mock suns and mock moons of the frost fog the superstitious sailors fancied that they saw the ominous sign of the Cross, portending disaster. One of the surgeons died of exposure, and within a month all the crew were prostrate with scurvy. With the exception, perhaps, of Bering's voyage a hundred years later, the record of Munck's wintering is one of the most lamentable in all American exploration. 'Died this day my Nephew, Eric Munck,' wrote the captain on April 1 of 1620, 'and was buried in the same grave as my second mate. Great difficulty to get coffins made. May 6--The bodies of the dead lie uncovered because none of us has strength to bury them.' By June the ships had become charnel-houses. Two men only, besides Munck, had survived the winter. When the ice went out with a rush and a grinding, and the ebb tide left the flats bare, wolves came nightly, sniffing the air and prowling round the ships' exposed keels. 'As I have no more hope of life in this world,' wrote Jens Munck, 'herewith good-night to all the world and my soul to God.' His two companions had managed to crawl down the ship's ladder and across the flats, where they fell ravenously on the green sprouting sorrel grass and sea nettles. As all northerners know, they could have eaten nothing better for scurvy. Forthwith their malady was allayed. In a few days they came back for their commander. By June 26 all three had recovered. The putrid dead were thrown into the river. Ballast and cargo were then cast out. It thus happened that when the tide came in, the little sloop _Lamprey_ lifted and floated out to sea. Munck had drilled holes in the hull of the _Unicorn_ and sunk her with all her freight till he could come back with an adequate crew; but he never returned. War broke out in Europe, and Munck went to his place in the Danish Navy. Meanwhile Indians had come down to what they henceforth called the River of the Strangers. When the tide went out they mounted the _Unicorn_ and plundered her of all the water-soaked cargo. In the cargo were quantities of powder. A fire was kindled to dry the booty. At once a consuming flame shot into the air, followed by a terrific explosion; and when the smoke cleared neither plunder nor plunderers nor ship remained. Eighty years afterwards the fur traders dug from these river flats a sunken cannon stamped C 4--Christian IV--and thus established the identity of Munck's winter quarters as Churchill harbour. Munck was not the last soldier of fortune to essay passage to China through the ice-bound North Sea. Captain Fox of Hull and Captain James of Bristol came out in 1631 on separate expeditions, 'itching,' as Fox expressed it, to find the North-West Passage. Private individuals had fitted out both expeditions. Fox claimed the immediate patronage of the king; James came out under the auspices of the city of Bristol. Sailing the same week, they did not again meet till they were south of Port Nelson in the autumn, when Fox dined with James and chaffed him about his hopes to 'meet the Emperor of Japan.' But there was no need of rivalry; both went back disappointed men. James wintered on Charlton Island, and towards the end of 1632, after a summer's futile cruising, returned to England with a terrible tale of bootless suffering. * * * * * While England sought a short route to China by Hudson Bay, and the Spaniards were still hoping to find a way to the orient by the Gulf of Mexico and California, New France had been founded, and, as we may learn from other narratives in this series, her explorers had not been idle. In the year 1660 two French pathfinders and fur traders, Medard Chouart des Groseilliers and Pierre Esprit Radisson, men of Three Rivers, came back from the region west of Lake Superior telling wondrous tales of a tribe of Indians they had met--a Cree nation that passed each summer on the salt waters of the Sea of the North. The two fur traders were related, Radisson's sister having married Groseilliers, who was a veteran of one of the Jesuit missions on Lake Huron. Radisson himself, although the hero of many exploits, was not yet twenty-six years of age. Did that Sea of the North of which they had heard find western outlet by the long-sought passage? So ran rumour and conjecture concerning the two explorers in Three Rivers and Quebec; but Radisson himself writes: 'We considered whether to reveal what we had learned, for we had not yet been to the Bay of the North, knowing only what the Crees told us. We wished to discover it ourselves before revealing anything.' In the execution of their bold design to journey to the North Sea, Radisson and Groseilliers had to meet the opposition of the Jesuits and the governor--the two most powerful influences in New France. The Jesuits were themselves preparing for an expedition overland to Hudson Bay and had invited Radisson to join their company going by way of the Saguenay; but he declined, and they left without him. In June 1661 the Jesuits--Fathers Dreuilletes and Dablon--ascended the Saguenay, but they penetrated no farther than a short distance north of Lake St John, where they established a mission. The fur trade of New France was strictly regulated, and severe punishments were meted out to those who traded without a licence. Radisson and Groseilliers made formal application to the governor for permission to trade on the Sea of the North. The governor's answer was that he would give the explorers a licence if they would take with them two of his servants and give them half the profits of the undertaking. The two explorers were not content with this proposal and were forbidden to depart; but in defiance of the governor's orders they slipped out from the gates of Three Rivers by night and joined a band of Indians bound for the northern wilds. The two Frenchmen spent the summer and winter of 1661-62 in hunting with the Crees west of Lake Superior, where they met another tribe of Indians--the Stone Boilers, or Assiniboines--who also told them of the great salt water, or Sea of the North. In the spring of 1662, with some Crees of the hinterland, they set out in canoes down one of the rivers--Moose or Abitibi--leading to Hudson Bay. Radisson had sprained his ankle; and the long portages by the banks of the ice-laden, rain-swollen rivers were terrible. The rocks were slippery as glass with ice and moss. The forests of this region are full of dank heavy windfall that obstructs the streams and causes an endless succession of swamps. In these the paddlers had to wade to mid-waist, 'tracking' their canoes through perilous passage-way, where the rip of an upturned branch might tear the birch from the bottom of the canoe. When the swamps finally narrowed to swift rivers, blankets were hoisted as sails, and the brigade of canoes swept out to the sandy sea of Hudson Bay. 'We were in danger to perish a thousand times from the ice,' Radisson writes, 'but at last we came full sail from a deep bay to the seaside, where we found an old house all demolished and battered with bullets. The Crees told us about Europeans. We went from isle to isle all that summer in the Bay of the North. We passed the summer coasting the seaside.' Had Radisson found Hudson Bay? Some historians dispute his claims; but even if his assertion that he sailed 'from isle to isle' during the summer of 1662 be challenged, the fact that his companion, Groseilliers, knew enough of the Bay to enable him six years later to guide a ship round by sea to 'a rendezvous' on the Rupert river must be accepted. The only immediate results of the discovery to Radisson and Groseilliers were condign punishment, disgrace, and almost utter ruin. When they came back to the St Lawrence in the summer of 1663 with several hundred Indians and a flotilla of canoes swarming over the surface of the river below the heights of Quebec, and conveying a great cargo of beaver skins, the avaricious old governor affected furious rage because the two traders had broken the law by going to the woods without his permission. The explorers were heavily fined, and a large quantity of their beaver was seized to satisfy the revenue tax. Of the immense cargo brought down, Radisson and Groseilliers were permitted to keep only a small remainder. Groseilliers sailed for France to appeal to the home authorities for redress, but the friends of the governor at the French court proved too strong for him and nothing was done. He then tried to interest merchants of Rochelle in an expedition to Hudson Bay by sea, and from one of them he obtained a vague promise of a ship for the following year. It was agreed that in the following spring Radisson and Groseilliers should join this ship at Isle Percé at the mouth of the St Lawrence. So it happened that, in the spring of 1664, the two explorers, having returned to Three Rivers, secretly took passage in a fishing schooner bound for Anticosti, whence they went south to Isle Percé to meet the ship they expected from Rochelle. But again they were to be disappointed; a Jesuit just out from France informed them that no ship would come. What now should the explorers do? They could not go back to Three Rivers, for their attempt to make another journey without a licence rendered them liable to punishment. They went to Cape Breton, and from there to the English at Port Royal in Nova Scotia. At Port Royal they found a Boston captain, Zachariah Gillam, who plied in vessels to and fro from the American Plantations to England. Gillam offered his vessel for a voyage to Hudson Bay; but the season was late, and when the vessel reached the rocky walls of Labrador the captain lost heart and refused to enter the driving straits. The ship returned and landed the explorers in Boston. They then clubbed the last of their fortunes together and entered into an agreement with shipowners of Boston to take two ships to Hudson Bay on their own account in the following spring. But, while fishing to obtain provisions for the voyage, one of the vessels was wrecked, and, instead of sailing for the North Sea, Radisson and Groseilliers found themselves in Boston involved in a lawsuit for the value of the lost ship. When they emerged from this they were destitute. CHAPTER IV THE 'ADVENTURERS OF ENGLAND' In Boston the commissioners of His Majesty King Charles II were reviewing the affairs of the American Plantations. One of the commissioners was Sir George Carteret, and when he sailed for England in August 1665 he was accompanied by the two French explorers. It gives one a curiously graphic insight into the conditions of ocean travel in those days to learn that the royal commissioner's ship was attacked, boarded, and sunk by a Dutch filibuster. Carteret and his two companions landed penniless in Spain, but, by pawning clothes and showing letters of credit, they reached England early in 1666. At this time London was in the ravages of the Great Plague, and King Charles had sought safety from infection at Oxford. Thither Radisson and Groseilliers were taken and presented to the king; and we may imagine how their amazing stories of adventure beguiled his weary hours. The jaded king listened and marvelled, and ordered that forty shillings a week should be paid to the two explorers during that year. As soon as it was safe to return to London--some time in the winter of 1667-68--a group of courtiers became interested in the two Frenchmen, and forgathered with them frequently at the Goldsmiths' hall, or at Whitehall, or over a sumptuous feast at the Tun tavern or the Sun coffee-house. John Portman, a goldsmith and alderman, is ordered to pay Radisson and Groseilliers £2 to £4 a month for maintenance from December 1667. When Portman is absent the money is paid by Sir John Robinson, governor of the Tower, or Sir John Kirke--with whose family young Radisson seems to have resided and whose daughter Mary he married a few years later--or Sir Robert Viner, the lord mayor, or Mr Young, a fashionable man about town. No formal organization or charter yet exists, but it is evident that the gentlemen are bent on some enterprise, for Peter Romulus is engaged as surgeon and Thomas Gorst as secretary. Gillam of Boston is hired as captain, along with a Captain Stannard. At a merry dinner of the gay gentlemen at the Exchange, Captain Gillam presents a bill of five shillings for 'a rat-catcher' for the ships. Wages of seamen are set down at £20 per voyage; and His Most Gracious Majesty, King Charles, gives a gold chain and medal to the two Frenchmen and recommends them to 'the Gentlemen Adventurers of Hudson's Bay.' Moreover, there is a stock-book dated this year showing amounts paid in by or credited to sundry persons, among whom are: Prince Rupert, James, Duke of York, the Duke of Albemarle, the Earl of Craven, the Earl of Arlington, the Earl of Shaftesbury, Sir John Robinson, Sir Robert Viner, Sir Peter Colleton, Sir James Hayes, Sir John Kirke, and Lady Margaret Drax. Who was the fair and adventurous Lady Margaret Drax? Did she sip wines with the gay adventurers over 'the roasted pullets' of the Tun tavern, or at the banquet table at Whitehall? Then His Majesty the King writes to his 'trusty and Well Beloved Brother,' James, Duke of York, recommending the loan of the Admiralty ship, the _Eaglet_, to the two Frenchmen to search for a North-West Passage by way of Hudson Bay, the ship 'to be rigged and victualled' at the charge of 'Dear Cousin Rupert' and his friends Carteret and Albemarle and Craven _et al_. The 'Well Beloved Brother' passes the order on to Prince Rupert, 'our Dear Cousin'; and the 'Dear Cousin' transmits instructions to Sir James Hayes, his secretary. Sir James badgers the Admiralty Board, and in due time the _Eaglet_ is handed over to Captain Stannard, acting under Radisson. Gillam takes his own plantation ship, the _Nonsuch_, under orders from Groseilliers. The instructions to the captains are signed by Prince Rupert, Craven, Hayes, Albemarle, Carteret, Colleton, and Portman. These instructions bid the captains convey the vessels to the place where 'the rendezvous was set up as Mr Gooseberry and Mr Radisson direct, there to raise fortifications,' having 'in thought the discovery of a passage to the South Sea under direction of Mr Gooseberry and Radisson,' and to prosecute trade always under directions of Mr Gooseberry and Mr Radisson, and to have 'a particular [_sic_] respect unto them with all manner of civility and courtesy.' Dear old Company! From its very origin it conformed to the canons of gentlemanly conduct and laid more emphasis on courtesy than on spelling. Those curious instructions were indicative of its character in later times. But we quite understand that there was other object in that voyage than the North-West Passage. The two ships sailed for Hudson Bay in the spring of 1668. In mid-ocean they were driven apart by storms. Gillam's _Nonsuch_ with Groseilliers went on, but the _Eaglet_ with Radisson was disabled and forced to return, and the season was now too late to permit Radisson to set sail again until the following spring. During the interval of enforced idleness Radisson seems to have diligently courted Mary Kirke, the daughter of Sir John, and to have written the account of his journeys through the wilds of America. It is possible that Radisson was inspired to write these journals by Pepys, the celebrated diarist, who was at this time chief clerk of the Admiralty, and who lived next door to the Kirkes on Tower Hill. At any rate it is clear that the journals fell into Pepys' hands, for they were found two hundred years later in the Pepys collection at the Bodleian Library. In the spring of 1669, on the recommendation of the king, the Admiralty lent the ship _Wavero_ to the adventurers that Radisson might sail to Hudson Bay. In his eagerness Radisson set out too early. For a second time he was driven back by storm, but, on coming in to harbour at Gravesend, what was his delight to find the _Nonsuch_ back from Hudson Bay with Groseilliers and Gillam and such a cargo of furs from the Rupert river as English merchants had never before dreamed! The _Nonsuch_ had reached Hudson Strait in August of the year before, and the captain, guided by Groseilliers, had steered south for 'the rendezvous' at the lower end of the Bay, where the two French explorers had set up their marks six years before. There, at the mouth of the river named Rupert in honour of their patron prince, the traders cast anchor on September 25. At high tide they beached the ship and piled logs round her to protect her timbers from ice jams. Then they built a fort, consisting of two or three log huts for winter quarters, enclosed in a log palisade. This they named Fort Charles. The winter that followed must have been full of hardship for the Englishmen, but a winter on the Bay had no terrors for Groseilliers. While Gillam and the Englishmen kept house at the fort, he coursed the woods on snow-shoes, found the Indian camps, and persuaded the hunters to bring down their furs to trade with him in the spring. Then, when the wild geese darkened the sky and the ice went out with a rush, preparations were made for the homeward voyage. In June the ship sailed out of the Bay and, as we have seen, had docked at Gravesend on the Thames while the _Wavero_ with Radisson was coming back. The adventurers lost no time. That winter they applied for a charter, and in May 1670 the charter was granted by King Charles to '_The Governor and Company of Adventurers of England trading into Hudson's Bay_.' The ostensible object was to find the North-West Passage; and to defray the cost of that finding a monopoly in trade for all time was given. Whereas, declares the old charter, these have at their own great cost and charge undertaken an expedition to Hudson Bay for the discovery of a new passage to the South Sea and for trade, and have humbly besought the king to grant them and their successors the whole trade and commerce of all those seas, straits, bays, rivers, creeks, and sounds in whatever latitude that lie within the entrance of the straits, together with all the lands, countries, and territories upon the coasts and confines of the seas, straits, bays, lakes, rivers, creeks, and sounds not now actually possessed by any other Christian state, be it known by these presents that the king has given, granted, ratified, and confirmed the said grant. The adventurers are free to build forts, employ a navy, use firearms, pass and enforce laws, hold power of life and death over their subjects. They are granted, not only the whole, entire, and only liberty of trade to and from the territories aforesaid, but also the whole and entire trade to and from nations adjacent to the said territories, and entrance by water or land in and out of the said territories. The monopoly could hardly have been made more sweeping. If the adventurers found other territory westward, such territory was to be theirs. Other traders were forbidden to encroach on the region. People were forbidden to inhabit the countries without the consent of the Company. The Company was empowered to make war for the benefit of trade. The charter meant, in a word, the establishment of pure feudalism over a vast region in America. But in the light of the Company's record it may be questioned whether feudalism was not, after all, the best system for dealing with the Indian races. For two centuries under the Company's rule the Indians were peaceable; while in other parts of America, under a system the opposite of feudalism--the come-who-may-and-take-who-can policy of the United States--every step forward taken by the white race was marked by 'bloody ground.' Absolutism, pomp, formality, and, let it be added, a sense of personal responsibility for retainers--all characteristics of feudalism--marked the rule of the Hudson's Bay Company from the beginning. The adventurers were not merely merchants and traders; they were courtiers and princes as well. Rupert, a prince of royal blood, was the first governor; James, Duke of York, afterwards king, was the second, and Lord Churchill, afterwards the Duke of Marlborough, the third. The annual meetings of shareholders in November and the periodic meetings of the Governing Committee were held at Whitehall, or at the Tower, or wherever the court chanced to be residing. All shareholders had to take an oath of fidelity and secrecy: _'I doe sweare to bee True and faithful to ye Comp'y of Adventurers: ye secrets of ye said Comp'y I will not disclose, nor trade to ye limitts of ye said Comp'y's charter. So help me God.'_ Oaths of fidelity and bonds were required from all captains, traders, and servants. Presents of 'catt skin counterpanes for his bedd,' 'pairs of beaver stockings for ye King.' 'gold in a faire embroidered purse,' 'silver tankards,' 'a hogshead of claret,' were presented to courtiers and friends who did the Company a good turn. Servants were treated with a paternal care. Did a man lose a toe on some frosty snow-shoe tramp, the Governing Committee solemnly voted him '£4 smart money,' or '£1 for a periwig,' or '£10 a year pension for life.' No matter to what desperate straits the Company was reduced, it never forgot a captain who had saved a cargo from raid, or the hero of a fight, or a wood-runner who had carried trade inland. For those who died in harness, 'funeral by torch-light and linkmen [torchbearers] to St Paul's, Company and crew marching in procession, cost not to exceed £20'; and though the cost might run up higher, it was duly paid, as in one instance on record when the good gentlemen at the funeral had '2 pullets and a dozen bottles of sack' over it at the Three Tuns. [Illustration: JOHN CHURCHILL, FIRST DUKE OF MARLBOROUGH From the painting in the National Portrait Gallery] Perhaps the gay gentlemen of the Governing Committee made merry too long at times, for it appears to have been necessary to impose a fine on all committee men who did not attend 'yt one hour after ye deputy-governor turns up ye hour glass,' the fines to go to the Poor Box as 'token of gratitude for God's so great a blessing to ye Comp'y.' In February the Governing Committee was always in a great bustle chartering or buying frigates for the year's voyages. Then the goods for trade, to be exchanged with the Indians for furs, were chosen and stored. In the list for 1672 are found '200 fowling pieces and 400 powder horns and 500 hatchets.' Gewgaws, beads, ribbons, and blankets innumerable were taken on the voyages, and always more or less liquor; but the latter, it should be remarked, was not traded to the Indians except in times of keen competition, when the Company had to fight rivals who used it in trade. Secret orders were given to the captains before sailing. These orders contained the harbour signals. Ships not displaying these signals were to be fired on by the forts of Hudson Bay or lured to wreck by false lights. The sailing orders were always signed 'a God speede, a good wind, a faire saile, y'r loving friends'; and the gentlemen of the Committee usually went down to the docks at Gravesend to search lockers for illicit trade, to shake hands and toss a sovereign and quaff drinks. From the point where a returning ship was 'bespoken' the chief trader would take horse and ride post-haste to London with the bills and journals of the voyage. These would be used to check unlading. Next, the sorting of the furs, the payment of the seamen's wages--about £20 per year to each man; then the public auction of the furs. A pin would be stuck in a lighted candle and bids received till the light burnt below the pin. Sack and canary and claret were served freely at the sales. Money accruing from sales was kept in an iron box at the Goldsmiths' exchange, and later in the warehouse in Fenchurch Street. Trading in the early days was conducted with a ceremony such as kings might have practised in international treaty. Dressed in regimentals, with coloured velvet capes lined with silk, swords clanking, buglers and drummers rattling a tattoo, the white trader walked out to meet the Indian chief. The Indian prostrated himself and presented the kingly white man with priceless furs. The white man kneeled and whiffed pipes and thanked the Sun for the privilege of meeting so great warriors, and through his interpreters begged to present the Great Chief with what would render him invincible among all foes--firearms. Then with much parleying the little furs such as rabbit and muskrat were exchanged for the gewgaws. Later, the coming of rival traders compelled the Company to change its methods and to fix a standard of trade. This standard varied with the supply of furs and the caprice of fashion; but at first in respect to beaver it stood thus: 1/2 lb. beads 1 beaver. 1 kettle 1 " 1 lb. shot 1 " 5 lbs. sugar 1 " 1 lb. tobacco 1 " 1 gal. brandy 4 " 2 awls 1 " 12 buttons 1 " 20 fish-hooks 1 " 20 flints 1 " 1 gun 12 " 1 pistol 4 " 8 balls 1 " A wicket would be opened at the side of the main gate of the fort. Up to this wicket the Indians would file with their furs and exchange them according to the standard. Tally was kept at first with wampum shells or little sticks; then with bits of lead melted from teachests and stamped with the initials of the fort. Finally these devices were supplanted by modern money. We may suppose that the red man was amply able to take care of himself in the trade, especially when rivals at other points were bidding for the furs. If the white man's terms were exorbitant and no rival trader was within reach, the Indian's remedy was a scalping foray. Oftener than not the Indian was in debt for provisions advanced before the hunt. If the Indian forgot his debt or carried his fur to a competitor, as he often did in whole flotillas, the white man would have his revenge some season when food was scarce; or, if his physical prowess permitted, he would take his revenge on the spot by administering a sound thrashing to the transgressor. It is on record that one trader, in the early days of Moose Factory, broke an oar while chastising an Indian who had failed in his duty. Many of the lonely bachelors at the forts contracted marriage with native women. These marriages were entered on the books of the Company, and were considered as valid as if bound by clergy. Sometimes they led to unhappy results. When men returned from the service, the Indian wife, transplanted to England, lived in wretched loneliness; and the children--'les petits,' as they are entered in the books--were still less at home amid English civilization. Gradually it became customary to leave the Indian women in their native land and to support them with a pension deducted from the wages of the retired husband and father. This pension was assured by the Company's system of holding back one-third of its servants' wages for a retiring fund. If a servant had left any 'petits' behind him, a sum of money was withheld from his wages to provide a pension for them, and a record of it was kept on the books. This rule applied even to men who were distinguished in the service. * * * * * In June 1670, one month after the charter was granted, three ships--the _Wavero_, the _Shaftesbury Pink_, and the _Prince Rupert_--conveying forty men and a cargo of supplies, sailed for Hudson Bay. Gillam commanded the _Prince Rupert_, Radisson went as general superintendent of trade, and Charles Bayly as governor of the fort at the Rupert river. Gorst the secretary, Romulus the surgeon, and Groseilliers accompanied the expedition. The ships duly arrived at Fort Charles, and, while Bayly and his men prepared the fort for residence and Groseilliers plied trade with the Indians, Radisson cruised the west coast of the Bay on the _Wavero_. He made observations at Moose and Albany rivers, and passed north to Nelson harbour, where Button had wintered half a century before. Here, on the projection of land between two great rivers--the future site of York Factory--Radisson erected the arms of the English king. The southern river he named Hayes, after Sir James Hayes, Prince Rupert's secretary. The mouth of this river was a good place to get furs, for down its broad tide came the canoes of the Assiniboines, the 'Stone Boilers' whom Radisson had met near Lake Superior long ago, and of the Crees, who had first told him of the Sea of the North. Radisson returned to England with Gillam on the _Prince Rupert_, while Groseilliers wintered on the Bay; and it appears that, during the next three years, Radisson spent the winters in London advising the Company, and the summers on the Bay, cruising and trading on the west coast. In 1672 he married Mary Kirke. Sir James Hayes said afterwards that he 'misled her into marrying him,' but there is nothing to show that the wife herself ever thought so. Perhaps Radisson hoped that his marriage to the daughter of one of the leading directors of the Company would strengthen his position. He received £100 a year for his services, but, although his efforts had turned a visionary search for the North-West Passage into a prosperous trading enterprise, he was not a shareholder in the Company. CHAPTER V FRENCH AND ENGLISH ON THE BAY Every year three ships were sailing to the Bay and returning to England laden with peltry; but in 1672 it was observed by the traders at the fort that fewer Indians than usual came down the river with furs. In the next year there were still fewer. For some reason the trade was falling off. Radisson urged Bayly to establish new forts on the west coast, and at length the governor consented to go with him on his regular summer cruise to Nelson. When they came back to Rupert in August they were surprised to find the fort tenanted by a Jesuit from Quebec, Father Albanel, who handed letters to Radisson and Groseilliers, and passports from the governor of New France to Bayly. The sudden decrease of trade was explained. French traders coming overland from the St Lawrence had been intercepting the Indians. But France and England were at peace and bound in closest amity by secret treaty, and Bayly was compelled to receive the passports and to welcome the Jesuit, as the representative of a friendly nation, to the hospitality of Fort Charles. What the letters to Radisson and Groseilliers contained we can only guess, but we do know that their contents, made the French explorers thoroughly dissatisfied with their position in the Hudson's Bay Company. Bayly accused the two Frenchmen of being in collusion with the Company's rivals. A quarrel followed and at this juncture Captain Gillam arrived on one of the Company's ships. The Frenchmen were suspected of treachery, and Gillam suggested that they should return to England and explain what seemed to need explaining. The Admiralty records for 1674 contain mention of Captain Gillam's arrival from Hudson Bay on the _Shaftesbury Pink_ with 'a French Jesuit, a little ould man, and an Indian, a very lusty man.' This Jesuit could not have been Albanel, for in the French archives is conclusive proof that Albanel returned to Quebec. The 'little ould man' must have been another Jesuit found by Gillam at the Bay. The winter of 1673-74 found Radisson and Groseilliers back in England pressing the directors of the Company for better terms. The Governing Committee first required oaths of fealty. Conferences were multiplied and prolonged; but still Radisson and Groseilliers refused to go back to the Bay until something was done. On June 29, 1674, the Governing Committee unanimously voted that 'there be allowed to Mr Radisson £100 per annum in consideration of services, out of which shall be deducted what hath already been paid him; and if it pleases God to bless the Company with good success, hereafter that they come to be in a prosperous condition, then they will reassume consideration.' 'Prosperous condition!' At this time the shareholders were receiving dividends of fifty and one hundred per cent. Now, in Radisson's pockets were offers from Colbert, the great minister at the French Court, for service in the French Navy at three times this salary. Abruptly, in the fall of 1674, the two Frenchmen left London and took service under Colbert. But now another difficulty blocked Radisson's advance. Colbert insisted that Radisson's wife should come to France to live. He thought that as long as Madame Radisson remained in England her husband's loyalty could not be trusted. Besides, her father, Sir John Kirke, was a claimant against France for £40,000 damages arising out of the capture of Quebec in 1629 by his relatives and its restoration to France in 1632 without recognition of the family's rights. If Sir John's daughter was residing in Paris as the wife of a French naval officer, the minister saw that this dispute might be more easily adjusted; and so he declined to promote the two Frenchmen until Madame Radisson came to France. In 1679, during shore leave from the navy, Radisson met one of his old cronies of Quebec--Aubert de la Chesnaye, a fur trader. 'He proposed to me,' Radisson says, 'to undertake to establish the beaver trade in the great Bay where I had been some years before on account of the English.' It may be supposed that naval discipline ill-suited these wild wood-wanderers, and after this it is not surprising that we find Radisson and Groseilliers again in New France at a conference of fur traders and explorers, among whom were La Salle, Jolliet, Charles Le Moyne, the soldier with the famous sons, and La Chesnaye. No doubt Radisson told those couriers of the wilderness tales of profit on the sea in the north that brought great curses down on the authorities of New France who forbade the people of the colony free access to that rich fur field. La Chesnaye had introduced the brothers-in-law to Frontenac, the governor of New France, and had laid before him their plans for a trading company to operate on the great bay; but Frontenac 'did not approve the business.' He could not give a commission to invade the territory of a friendly power; still, if La Chesnaye and his associates chose to assume risks, he could wink at an invasion of rival traders' domains. A bargain was made. La Chesnaye would find the capital and equip two ships, and Radisson and Groseilliers would make the voyage. The brothers-in-law would sail at once for Acadia, there to spend the winter, and in the spring they would come with the fishing fleets to Isle Percé, where La Chesnaye would send their ships. During the winter of 1681-82 La Chesnaye persuaded some of his friends to advance money for provisions and ships to go to the North Sea. Among these friends were Jean Chouart, Groseilliers' son, and a Dame Sorrel, who, like the English Lady Drax, was prepared to give solid support to a venture that promised profit. Thus was begun the Company of the North[2] (_la Compagnie du Nord_) that was to be a thorn in the side of the 'Adventurers of England' for over thirty years. Frontenac granted permission for two unseaworthy vessels, the _St Anne_ and the _St Pierre_, to fish off Isle Percé. Strange bait for cod lay in the lockers. [2] While there are earlier records referring to the Company of the North, this year (1682) is generally given as the date of its founding. Similarly 1670 is taken as the date of the founding of the Hudson's Bay Company, although, as we have seen, it was practically begun three years earlier. With profound disappointment Radisson and Groseilliers saw at Isle Percé in July the boats which they were to have. The _St Pierre_, outfitted for Radisson, was a craft of only fifty tons and boasted a crew of only twelve men. Groseilliers' vessel, the _St Anne_, which carried his son, Jean Chouart, was still smaller and had fifteen men. Both crews consisted of freshwater sailors who tossed with woe and threatened mutiny when the boats rolled past the tidal bore of Belle Isle Strait and began threading their way in and out of the 'tickles' and fiords of the ribbed, desolate, rocky coast of Labrador. Indeed, when the ships stopped to take on water at a lonely 'hole in the wall' on the Labrador coast, the mutiny would have flamed into open revolt but for the sail of a pirate ship that appeared on the horizon. Thereupon Radisson's ships crowded sail to the wind and sped on up the coast. What pirate ship this was may be guessed from what happened three weeks later. Early in September the two vessels reached the Hayes river, which Radisson had named twelve years before and where he had set up the arms of the English king. Advancing fifteen miles up-stream, they chose a winter harbour. Leaving Groseilliers to beach the boats and erect cabins, Radisson and young Jean Chouart canoed farther up to the rendezvous of the Cree and Assiniboine Indians. The Indians were overjoyed to meet their trader friend of long past years. The white man's coming meant firearms, and firearms ensured invincible might over all foes. 'Ho, young men, be not afraid. The Sun is favourable to us. Our enemies shall fear us. This is the man we have wished for since the days of our fathers,' shouted the chief of the Assiniboines as he danced and tossed arrows of thanks to the gods. When the voyageurs glided back down-stream on the glassy current, other sounds than those of Indian chants greeted them. The Hayes river, as we have seen, is divided from the Nelson on the north by a swampy stretch of brushwood. Across the swamp boomed and rolled to their astonished ears the reverberation of cannon. Was it the pirate ship seen off Labrador? or was it the coming of the English Company's traders? Radisson's canoe slipped past the crude fort that Groseilliers had erected and entered the open Bay. Nothing was visible but the yellow sea, chopped to white caps by the autumn wind. When he returned to the fort he learned that cannonading had been heard from farther inland. Evidently the ships had sailed up the Nelson river. Now, across the marsh between the two rivers lay a creek by which Indian canoes from time immemorial had crossed. Taking a canoe and three of his best men, Radisson paddled and portaged over this route to the Nelson. There, on what is now known as Seal or Gillam Island, stood a crude new fort; and anchored by the island lay a stout ship--the _Bachelor's Delight_--cannons pointing from every porthole. Was it the pirate ship seen off Labrador? It took very little parleying to ascertain that the ship was a poacher, commanded by young Ben Gillam of Boston, son of the Company's captain, come here on illicit trade, with John Outlaw and Mike Grimmington, who later became famed seamen, as first and second mates. Radisson took fate by the beard, introduced himself to young Gillam, went on board the ship--not, however, without first seeing that two New Englanders remained as hostages with his three Frenchmen--quaffed drinks, observed that the ship was stout and well manned, advised Ben not to risk his men too far from the fort among the Indians, and laughed with joyous contempt when Ben fired cannon by way of testing the Frenchman's courage. [Illustration: ON THE HAYES RIVER From a photograph by R. W. Brock] There was enough to try Radisson's courage the very next day. While gliding leisurely down the current of the Nelson, he saw at a bend in the river the Hudson's Bay Company's ship _Prince Rupert_, commanded by his quondam enemy, Captain Gillam, sailing straight for the rendezvous already occupied by Ben Gillam. At any cost the two English ships must be kept apart; and at once! Singly, perhaps they could be mastered by the French. Together, they would surely overpower Radisson. It was nightfall. Landing and concealing his comrades, Radisson kindled such a bonfire as Indians used to signal trade. The ship immediately anchored. There was a comical meeting on the _Prince Rupert_ the next morning, at which Radisson represented to the new governor, John Bridgar, who was on the ship with Gillam, that each of his three paddlers was a captain of large ambushed forces. Charity will, perhaps, excuse Radisson for his fabulous tales of a powerful French fort on the Nelson and his disinterested observation that this river had a dangerous current higher up. It appears that Radisson succeeded completely in deceiving the Englishmen. Had they known how helpless he was, with only a few rude 'shacks' on the Hayes river garrisoned by twenty or thirty mutinous sailors, surely they would have clapped him under hatches. But he was permitted to leave the ship, and Bridgar began the preparation of his winter quarters on the shore. Some days later Radisson came back. His old enemy Gillam was suspicious and ordered him away; but Radisson came again, and this time he brought with him the captain's son, young Ben, dressed as a wood-runner. This was enough to intimidate the old captain, for he knew that if his son was caught poaching on the Bay both father and son would be ruined. One day two of Bridgar's men who had been ranging for game dashed in with the news that they had seen a strange fort up the Nelson a few miles away. This, of course, Bridgar thought, was Radisson's fort, and Captain Gillam did not dare to undeceive him. Then a calamity befell the English winterers. A storm rose and set the tidal ice driving against the _Prince Rupert_. The ship was jammed and sunk with loss of provisions and fourteen men, including the captain himself. So perished Captain Zachariah Gillam, whom we first met as master of the _Nonsuch_, the pioneer of all the ships that have since sailed into the Bay in the service of the Hudson's Bay Company. [Illustration: ENTRANCE TO NELSON and HAYES RIVERS Map by Bartholomew] The wreck of the ship left Bridgar helpless in his rude fort without either food or ammunition, and he at once began to console himself for loss of ship and provisions by deep drinking. Then Radisson knew that he had nothing further to fear from that quarter and he sent food to the starving Englishmen. Ben Gillam was outwitted through defiantly accepting an invitation to visit the French fort. Gillam visited his rivals to spy on their weakness, and openly taunted them at the banquet table about their helpless condition. When he tried to depart he was coolly told that he was a prisoner, and that, with the aid of any nine Frenchmen Ben chose to pick out from 'the helpless French,' Radisson purposed capturing the poacher's fort and ship. The young captain had fallen into a trap. Radisson had left French hostages at Gillam's fort for his safe return, but these had been instructed to place firearms at convenient places and to post themselves so that they could prevent the sudden closing of the gates. Such precautions proved unnecessary. Radisson walked into the New England poacher's fort and quietly took possession. A few days later Bridgar, who had learned too late that the fort on the Nelson was not French but English, marched his men up-stream to contrive a junction with young Gillam's forces. When the Hudson's Bay men knocked on the gate of the New Englanders' fort for admission, the sentinel opened without question. The gates clapped shut with a slamming of bolts, and the Englishmen found themselves quietly and bloodlessly captured by the intrepid Radisson. Meanwhile Groseilliers and his son, Jean Chouart, had been plying a thriving trade. To be sure, the ice jam of spring in the Hayes river had made Radisson's two cockle-shell craft look more like staved-in barrels than merchant ships. But in the spring, when the Assiniboines and Crees came riding down the river flood in vast brigades of birch canoes laden to the waterline with peltry, the Frenchmen had in store goods to barter with them and carried on a profitable trade. Radisson now had more prisoners than he could conveniently carry to Quebec. Rigging up the remnants of his rickety ships for a convoy, he placed in them the majority of the Hudson's Bay Company and New England crews and sent them south to Rupert and Moose. Taking possession of Ben Gillam's ship, the _Bachelor's Delight_, he loaded it with a cargo of precious furs, and set out for Quebec with Bridgar and young Gillam as prisoners. Jean Chouart and a dozen Frenchmen remained on the Hayes river to trade. Twenty miles out from port, Bridgar and young Gillam were caught conspiring to cut the throats of the Frenchmen, and henceforth both Englishmen were kept under lock and key in their cabins. But once again Radisson had to encounter the governing bodies of Quebec. The authorities of New France were enraged when they learned that La Chesnaye had sent an expedition to the North Sea. In the meantime Frontenac had been replaced by another governor, La Barre. Tax collectors beset the ships like rats long before Quebec was sighted, and practically confiscated the cargo in fines and charges. La Barre no doubt supposed that the treaty of peace existing between England and France gave him an excuse for seizing the cargo of furs. At all events he ordered Radisson and Groseilliers to report at once to Colbert in France. He restored the _Bachelor's Delight_ forthwith to Ben Gillam and gave him full clearance papers. He released Bridgar, the Company's trader. His stroke of statesmanship left the two French explorers literally beggared, and when they reached Paris in January 1684 Colbert was dead. But, though Ben Gillam secured his release from the governor of New France, he did not escape the long hand of the Hudson's Bay Company, who had written from London to Mr Randolph of the American Plantations to effect the arrest of Ben Gillam at any cost. At the same time they sent Randolph a £10 present of silver plate. On reaching Boston, Ben Gillam was duly arrested. He afterwards became a pirate, and his ultimate fate was involved with that of the famous Captain Kidd. Both were sent to England to be tried for crimes on the high seas; and it is supposed that, like Kidd, Ben suffered execution. Bridgar, suddenly freed from all danger, as suddenly regained a sense of his own importance. He made drafts on the Company and set out from Quebec in such state as befitted his dignity, with secretary and interpreter and valet. He rode hurriedly along the old post-road between Boston and New York, filling the countryside with the story of his adventures. Then he took ship to England; but there his valour suffered a sudden chill. The Company had refused to honour his bills. They repudiated his drafts, reprimanded him severely, and suspended him from service for several years. Mike Grimmington and Outlaw and the others, who had been shipped down from Nelson to Moose and Rupert, promptly took passage home to England on the Company's yearly ship. By the time Radisson and Groseilliers reached Paris, Europe was ringing with the outrage involved in their exploits. Radisson found small comfort in Paris. Possibly Colbert's death had deprived him of a sympathetic protector, and the French court was as reluctant now to interfere with the actions of the colonial authorities at Quebec as it had been twenty years before. After petitioning vainly for consideration, Groseilliers seems to have given up the contest and retired for the remainder of his life to a small patrimony near Three Rivers. Not so Radisson! He was bound to the Old World by marriage; and now international complications came to bind him yet more completely. 'It is impossible,' wrote Louis XIV to Governor La Barre, 'to imagine what you mean by releasing Gillam's boat and relinquishing claim to the North Sea,' At the same time Louis was in a quandary. He would not relinquish the French claim to the North Sea; but he dared not risk a rupture of his secret treaty with England by openly countenancing Radisson's exploit on the Nelson river. Radisson was secretly ordered to go back to the Bay and, unofficially, in his private capacity, restore the Nelson river fur posts to the Hudson's Bay Company. The words of the order in part are: 'To put an end to the differences between the two Nations touching the settlements made by Messrs Groseilliers and Radisson on Hudson's Bay, the said Groseilliers and Radisson shall return and withdraw the French with all effects belonging to them and shall restore to the English Company the Habitation by them settled to be enjoyed by the English without molestation.' At the very same time that these royal orders sent Radisson to restore the forts, a privateering frigate was dispatched from France to Quebec with equally secret orders to attack and sink English vessels on the Bay. The 'Adventurers of England,' too, were involved in a game of international duplicity. While Mr Young, the fashionable man about town, wrote letters imploring Radisson to come back to England, Sir James Hayes bombarded the French court with demands that the Frenchman be punished. 'I am confirmed,' he wrote, 'in our worst fears. M. Radisson, who was at the head of the action at Port Nelson, is arrived in France the 8th of this month and is in all post haste to undermine us on the Bay. Nothing can mend but to cause ye French King to have exemplary justice done on ye said Radisson.' On May 10, 1684, Radisson arrived in London. He was met by Mr Young and Sir James Hayes and welcomed and forthwith carried to Windsor, where he took the oath of fidelity as a British subject. The Company, sunk a month before in the depths of despair, were transported with joy and generous rejoicings, and the Governing Committee voted Mr Young thanks for bringing Mr Radisson from France. Two days after Radisson's arrival, Sir James Hayes and Mr Young reported to the Company that Mr Radisson had tendered his services to the Company, that they 'have presented him to our Governor, His Royal Highness, who was pleased to advise he should again be received in service, under wage of £50 per annum and benefit of dividends on £200 capital stock during life, to receive £25 to set him out for this present expedition.' On May 21 Sir James Hayes reported that he had presented Mr Radisson with 'a silver tankard, charged to the Company at £10 14. 0.' Radisson returned to the Bay on the _Happy Return_, sailed by Captain Bond. On the same ship went the new governor, William Phipps, who had been appointed to succeed Bridgar, and a boy named Henry Kelsey, of whom we shall hear more later. Outlaw, who had been with Ben Gillam, had a commission for the Company and sailed the _Success_. His mate was Mike Grimmington, also of the old poacher crew. There was a sloop, too, the _Adventure_--Captain Geyer--for inland waters. When Radisson arrived at the Hayes river and told Jean Chouart--who, as we have seen, had been left in charge of the French trade there--of the looting of the fur cargoes at Quebec and of the order from the French king to transfer everything to the English, the young Frenchman's rage may be imagined. He had risked his entire fortune on the expedition from Quebec; but what account did this back-stairs trick of courtiers take of his ruin? Radisson told him that he had been commissioned to offer him £100 a year for service under the English, and £50 each to his underling traders. Jean listened in sullen silence. The furs gathered by the Frenchmen were transferred to the holds of the English vessels, but Jean and his companions evinced no eagerness to go aboard for England. On September 4, just as the sailors were heaving up anchors to the sing-song of a running chant, Phipps, the governor, summoned the French to a final council on board the _Happy Return_. Young Jean looked out through the ports of the captain's cabin. The sea was slipping past. The _Happy Return_ had set sail. The Frenchmen were trapped and were being carried to England. In an instant, hands were on swords and the ship was in an uproar. Radisson besought his countrymen to bethink themselves before striking. What could five men do against an armed English crew? Once in England, they could listen to what the Company had to offer: meanwhile they were suffering no harm. The Frenchmen sullenly put back their swords. The boat reached Portsmouth in the last week of October. Radisson took horse and rode furiously for London. If the adventurers had been exultant over his return from France, they were doubly jubilant at his victorious return from the Bay. He was publicly thanked, presented with a hundred guineas, and became the lion of the hour. The Governing Committee on November 14, 1684, three weeks after Radisson's return, voted that he had 'done extraordinary service to the great liking and satisfaction of the Company...the committee are resolved to bestow some mark of respect to the son of Mr Groseilliers and order 20s. a week paid him beginning October 30.' A present of seven musquash skins was now given Mr Young for having induced Radisson to resume his services. Radisson was requested to make terms with the young Frenchman, but this was not such an easy matter. Some one suggested that Jean Chouart should follow the example of his uncle and marry an English wife. Jean shrugged his shoulders. In a letter to his mother at Three Rivers he wrote: 'I am offered proposals of marriage to which I will not listen. I would leave, but they hold back my pay, and orders have been given to arrest me in case I try. Cause it to be well known that I never intended to follow the English. I have been forced to this by my uncle's subterfuge. Assure M. Du Lhut of my humble services. I will have the honour of seeing him as soon as I can. Tell the same to M. Péré and all our good friends.' To M. Comporte he writes: 'I will be at the place you desire me to go, or perish.' As M. Du Lhut had been dispatched by the Company of the North with the knowledge of the governor of Quebec to intercept Indians going down to the English on Hudson Bay, and M. Péré and M. Comporte were suave diplomats and spies in his service, it may be guessed that the French passed secret messages into the hands of young Jean Chouart in London, and that he passed messages back to them. At all events, from being doggedly resistant to all overtures, he suddenly became complaisant in March of 1685, and took out papers of 'deninization,' or naturalization, in preference to the oath of fidelity, and engaged with the English Company at £100 a year. He was given another £100 to fit him out, and his four comrades were engaged at from £45 to £80 a year. How could the gentlemen of the Company guess that young Jean was betraying them to the Company of the North in Canada, where a mine was being laid to blow up their prosperity? The Hudson's Bay Company declared dividends of fifty per cent, and chartered seven vessels for the season of 1685--some from a goldsmith, Sir Stephen Evance; and bespoke my Lord Churchill as next governor in place of James, Duke of York, who had become King James II. CHAPTER VI THE GREAT OVERLAND RAID The Company now had permanent forts at Rupert, Albany, and Moose rivers on James Bay, and at the mouth of the Hayes river on the west coast. The very year that Churchill was appointed governor and took his place at the board of the Governing Committee, a small sloop had sailed as far north as Churchill, or the River of the Strangers, to reconnoitre and fix a site for a post. The fleet of trading vessels had increased even faster than the forts. Seven ships--four frigates and three sloops--were dispatched for the Bay in 1685. Radisson, young Jean, and the four Frenchmen went on the _Happy Return_ with Captain Bond bound for Nelson. Richard Lucas commanded the _Owner's Good Will_. Captain Outlaw, with Mike Grimmington as mate, took the big ship _Success_, destined for Albany. Captain Hume, with Smithsend for mate, took his cargo boat, the _Merchant Perpetuana_. The Company did not own any of these vessels. They were chartered from Sir Stephen Evance and others, for sums running from £400 to £600 for the voyage, with £100 extra for the impress money. The large vessels carried crews of twenty men; the smaller, of twelve; and each craft boasted at least six great guns. In March, after violent debate over old Bridgar's case, the Committee reinstated him at £100 a year as governor at Rupert. Phipps went as governor to Port Nelson. One Nixon was already stationed at Moose. Bluff old Henry Sargeant, as true a Viking as ever rode the north seas, had been at Albany for a year with his family--the first white family known to have resided on the Bay. Radisson had been reappointed superintendent of trade over the entire Bay; and he recommended for this year 20,500 extra flints, 500 extra ice-chisels for trapping beaver above the waterfalls, and several thousand extra yards of tobacco--thereby showing the judgment of an experienced trader. This spring the curious oaths of secrecy, already mentioned, were administered to all servants. It may be inferred that the _Happy Return_ and the _Perpetuana_ were the heaviest laden, for they fell behind the rest of the fleet on the way out, and were embayed, along with Outlaw's _Success_, in the icefields off Digges Island in July. It was the realm of almost continuous light in summer; but there must have been fogs or thick weather, for candles were lighted in the binnacles and cabins, and the gloom outside was so heavy that it was impossible to see ten feet away from the decks in the woolly night mist. Meanwhile the governor at Albany, Henry Sargeant, awaited the coming of the yearly ships. It may be guessed that he waited chuckling. He and Nixon, who seem to have been the only governors resident on the Bay that summer, must have felt great satisfaction. They had out-tricked the French interlopers. One La Martinière of the Company of the North had sailed into the Bay with two ships laden with cargo from Quebec for the fur trade; and the two Hudson's Bay traders had manipulated matters so craftily that not an Indian could the French find. Not a pelt did La Martinière obtain. The French captain then inquired very particularly for his compatriot--M. Radisson. M. Radisson was safe in England. One can see old Sargeant's eyes twinkle beneath his shaggy brows. La Martinière swears softly; a price is on M. Radisson's head. The French king had sent orders to M. de Denonville, the governor of New France, to arrest Radisson and 'to pay fifty pistoles' to anyone who seized him. Has His Excellency, M. Sargeant, seen one Jean Péré, or one M. Comporte? No, M. Sargeant has seen neither 'Parry'--as his report has it--nor 'a Comporte.' La Martinière sailed away, and old Sargeant sent his sentinel to the crow's nest--a sort of loft or lighthouse built on a high hill behind the fort--to hoist the signals for incoming boats and to run up the flag. He had dispatched Sandford or 'Red Cap,' one of his men, a little way up the Albany to bring him word of the coming of the Indian canoes; but this was not Sandford coming back, and these were not Indian canoes coming down the Albany river from the Up-Country. This was the long slow dip of white voyageurs, not the quick choppy stroke of the Indian; and before Sargeant could rub the amazement out of his eyes, three white men, with a blanket for sail, came swirling down the current, beached their canoe, and, doffing caps in a debonair manner, presented themselves before the Hudson's Bay man dourly sitting on a cannon in the gateway. The nonchalant gentleman who introduced the others was Jean Péré, dressed as a wood-runner, voyaging and hunting in this back-of-beyond for pleasure. A long way to come for pleasure, thought Sargeant--all the leagues and leagues from French camps on Lake Superior. But England and France were at peace. The gentlemen bore passports. They were welcomed to a fort breakfast and passed pretty compliments to Madame Sargeant, and asked blandly after M. Radisson's health, and had the honour to express their most affectionate regard for friend Jean Chouart. Now where might Jean Chouart be? Sargeant did not satisfy their curiosity, nor did he urge them to stay overnight. They sailed gaily on down-stream to hunt in the cedar swamps south of Albany. That night while they slept the tide carried off their canoe. Back they had to come to the fort. But meanwhile some one else had arrived there. With a fluttering of the ensign above the mainmast and a clatter as the big sails came flopping down, Captain Outlaw had come to anchor on the _Success_; and the tale that he told--one can see the anger mount to old Sargeant's eyes and the fear to Jean Péré's--was that the _Merchant Perpetuana_, off Digges Island, had been boarded and scuttled in the midnight gloom of July 27 by two French ships. Hume and Smithsend had been overpowered, fettered, and carried off prisoners to Quebec. Mike Grimmington too, who seems to have been on Hume's ship, was a prisoner. Fourteen of the crew had been bayoneted to death and thrown overboard. Outlaw did not know the later details of the raid--how Hume was to be sent home to France for ransom, and Mike Grimmington was to be tortured to betray the secret signals of the Bay, and Smithsend and the other English seamen to be sold into slavery in Martinique. Ultimately, all three were ransomed or escaped back to England; but they heard strange threats of raid and overland foray as they lay imprisoned beneath the Château St Louis in Quebec. Fortunately Radisson and the five Frenchmen, being on board the _Happy Return_, had succeeded in escaping from the ice jam and were safe in Nelson. What Jean Péré remarked on hearing this recital is not known--possibly something not very complimentary about the plans of the French raiders going awry; but the next thing is that Mr Jan Parry--as Sargeant persists in describing him--finds himself in 'the butter vat' or prison of Albany with fetters on his feet and handcuffs on his wrists. On October 29 he is sent prisoner to England on the home-bound ships of Bond and Lucas. His two companion spies are marooned for the winter on Charlton Island. As well try, however, to maroon a bird on the wing as a French wood-runner. The men fished and snared game so diligently that by September they had full store of provisions for escape. Then they made themselves a raft or canoe and crossed to the mainland. By Christmas they had reached the French camps of Michilimackinac. In another month they were in Quebec with wild tales of Péré, held prisoner in the dungeons of Albany. France and England were at peace; but the Chevalier de Troyes, a French army officer, and the brothers Le Moyne, dare-devil young adventurers of New France, asked permission of the governor of Quebec to lead a band of wood-runners overland to rescue Péré on the Bay, fire the English forts, and massacre the English. Rumours of these raids Smithsend heard in his dungeon below Château St Louis; and he contrived to send a secret letter to England, warning the Company. In England the adventurers had lodged 'Parry' in jail on a charge of having 'damnified the Company.' Smithsend's letter of warning had come; but how could the Company reach their forts before the ice cleared? Meanwhile they hired twenty extra men for each fort. They presented Radisson with a hogshead of claret. At the same time they had him and his wife, 'dwelling at the end of Seething Lane on Tower Hill,' sign a bond for £2000 by way of ensuring fidelity. 'Ye two journals of Mr Radisson's last expedition to ye Bay' were delivered into the hands of the Company, where they have rested to this day. The ransom demanded for Hume was paid by the Company at secret sessions of the Governing Committee, and the captain came post-haste from France with word of La Martinière's raid. My Lord Churchill being England's champion against 'those varmint' the French, 'My Lord Churchill was presented with a catt skin counter pane for his bedd' and was asked to bespeak the favour of the king that France should make restitution. My Lord Churchill brought back word that the king said: 'Gentlemen, I understand your business! On my honour, I assure you I will take particular care on it to see that you are righted.' In all, eighty-nine men were on the Bay at this time. It proved not easy to charter ships that year. Sir Stephen Evance advanced his price on the _Happy Return_ from £400 to £750. Knight, of whom we shall hear anon, and Red Cap Sandford, of whom the minutes do not tell enough to inform us whether the name refers to his hair or his hat, urged the Governing Committee to send at least eighteen more men to Albany, twelve more to Moose, six more to Rupert, and to open a trading post at Severn between Nelson and Albany. They advised against attempting to go up the rivers while French interlopers were active. Radisson bought nine hundred muskets for Nelson, and ordered two great guns to be mounted on the walls. When Smithsend arrived from imprisonment in Quebec, war fever against the French rose to white-heat. But, while all this preparation was in course at home, sixty-six swarthy Indians and thirty-three French wood-runners, led by the Chevalier de Troyes, the Le Moyne brothers, and La Chesnaye, the fur trader, were threading the deeply-forested, wild hinterland between Quebec and Hudson Bay. On June 18, 1686, Moose Fort had shut all its gates; but the sleepy sentry, lying in his blanket across the entrance, had not troubled to load the cannon. He slept heavily outside the high palisade made of pickets eighteen feet long, secure in the thought that twelve soldiers lay in one of the corner bastions and that three thousand pounds of powder were stored in another. With all lights out and seemingly in absolute security, the chief factor's store and house, built of whitewashed stone, stood in the centre of the inner courtyard. Two white men dressed as Indians--the young Le Moyne brothers, not yet twenty-six years of age--slipped noiselessly from the woods behind the fort, careful not to crunch their moccasins on dead branches, took a look at the sleeping sentry and the plugged mouths of the unloaded cannon, and as noiselessly slipped back to their comrades in hiding. Each man was armed with musket, sword, dagger, and pistol. He carried no haversack, but a single blanket rolled on his back with dried meat and biscuit enclosed. The raiders slipped off their blankets and coats, and knelt and prayed for blessing on their raid. The next time the Le Moynes came back to the sentinel sleeping heavily at the fort gate, one quick, sure sabre-stroke cleft the sluggard's head to the collar-bone. A moment later the whole hundred raiders were sweeping over the walls. A gunner sprang up with a shout from his sleep. A single blow on the head, and one of the Le Moynes had put the fellow to sleep for ever. In less than five minutes the French were masters of Moose Fort at a cost of only two lives, with booty of twelve cannon and three thousand pounds of powder and with a dozen prisoners. While the old Chevalier de Troyes paused to rig up a sailing sloop for the voyage across the bottom of James Bay to the Rupert river, Pierre Le Moyne--known in history as d'Iberville--with eight men, set out in canoes on June 27 for the Hudson's Bay fort on the south-east corner of the inland sea. Crossing the first gulf or Hannah Bay, he portaged with his men across the swampy flats into Rupert Bay, thus saving a day's detour, and came on poor old Bridgar's sloop near the fort at Rupert, sails reefed, anchor out, rocking gently to the night tide. D'Iberville was up the hull and over the deck with the quiet stealth and quickness of a cat. One sword-blow severed the sleeping sentinel's head from his body. Then, with a stamp of his moccasined feet and a ramp of the butt of his musket, d'Iberville awakened the sleeping crew below decks. By way of putting the fear of God and of France into English hearts, he sabred the first three sailors who came floundering up the hatches. Poor old Bridgar came up in his nightshirt, hardly awake, both hands up in surrender--his second surrender in four years. To wake up to bloody decks, with the heads of dead men rolling to the scuppers, was enough to excuse any man's surrender. The noise on the ship had forewarned the fort, and the French had to gain entrance thereto by ladders. With these they ascended to the roofs of the houses and hurled down bombs--hand-grenades--through the chimneys, 'with,' says the historian of the occasion, 'an effect most admirable.' Most admirable, indeed! for an Englishwoman, hiding in a room closet, fell screaming with a broken hip. The fort surrendered, and the French were masters of Rupert with thirty prisoners and a ship to the good. What all this had to do with the rescue of Jean Péré would puzzle any one but a raiding fur trader. With prisoners, ship, cannon, and ammunition, but with few provisions for food, the French now set sail westward across the Bay for Albany, La Chesnaye no doubt bearing in mind that a large quantity of beaver stored there would compensate him for his losses at Nelson two years before when the furs collected by Jean Chouart on behalf of the Company of the North had been seized by the English. The wind proved perverse. Icefloes, driving towards the south end of the Bay, delayed the sloops. Again Pierre Le Moyne d'Iberville could not constrain patience to await the favour of wind and weather. With crews of voyageurs he pushed off from the ship in two canoes. Fog fell. The ice proved brashy, soft to each step, and the men slithered through the water up to the armpits as they carried the canoes. D'Iberville could keep his men together only by firing guns through the fog and holding hands in a chain as the two crews portaged across the soft ice. By August 1 the French voyageurs were in camp before Albany, and a few days later de Troyes arrived with the prisoners and the big sloop. Before Albany, Captain Outlaw's ship, the _Success_, stood anchored; but the ship seemed deserted, and the fort was fast sealed, like an oyster in a shell. Indians had evidently carried warning of the raid to Sargeant, and Captain Outlaw had withdrawn his crew inside the fort. The Le Moynes, acting as scouts, soon discovered that Albany boasted forty-three guns. If Jean Péré were prisoner here in durance vile, his rescue would be a harder matter than the capture of Moose or Rupert. If the French had but known it, bedlam reigned inside the fort. While the English had guns, they had very little ammunition. Gunners threw down their fuses and refused to stand up behind the cannon till old Sargeant drove them back with his sword hilt. Men on the walls threw down muskets and declared that while they had signed to serve, they had not signed to fight, 'and if any of us lost a leg, the Company could not make it good.' The Chevalier de Troyes, with banner flying and fifes shrilling, marched forward, and under flag of truce pompously demanded, in the name of the Most Christian Monarch, Louis XIV, King of France, the instant release of Monsieur Jean Péré. Old Sargeant sent out word that Mister Parry had long since sailed for France by way of England. This, however, did not abate the demands of the Most Christian King of France. Bombs began to sing overhead. Bridgar came under flag of truce to Sargeant and told him the French were desperate. It was a matter of life and death. They must take the fort to obtain provisions for the return to Quebec. If it were surrendered, mercy would be exercised. If taken forcibly, no power could restrain the Indians from massacre. Sargeant, as has been explained before, had his family in the fort. Just at this moment one of the gunners committed suicide from sheer terror, and Captain Outlaw came from the powder magazine with the report that there was not another ball to fire. Before Sargeant could prevent it, an underling had waved a white sheet from one of the upper windows in surrender. The old trader took two bottles of port, opened the fort gates, walked out and sat down on a French cannon while he parleyed with de Troyes for the best terms obtainable. The English officers and their families were allowed to retire on one of the small ships to Charlton Island to await the coming of the Company's yearly boats. When the hungry French rushed into the fort, they found small store of food, but an enormous loot of furs. The season was advancing. The Chevalier de Troyes bade his men disband and find their way as best they could to Quebec. Only enough English prisoners were retained to carry the loot of furs back overland. The rest were turned adrift in the woods. Of fifty prisoners, only twenty survived the winter of 1686-87. Some perished while trying to tramp northward to Nelson, and some died in the woods, after a vain endeavour to save their miserable lives by cannibalism. The English flag still flew at Nelson; but the French were masters of every other post on the Bay. CHAPTER VII YEARS OF DISASTER In spite of French raid and foray, the Governing Committee in London pursued the even tenor of its way. Strict measures were enforced to stop illicit and clandestine trading on the part of the Company's servants. In a minute of November 2, 1687, the Committee 'taking notice that several of the officers and servants have brought home in their coats and other garments severall pieces of furrs to the great prejudice of the Co'y, do order that such as have any garments lined with furrs shall forthwith bring the same to the warehouse and there leave all the same furrs, or in default shall forfeit and loose all salary and be liable to such prosecution as the Co'y think fitt.' Silent anger and resentment grew against Radisson; for was it not he who had revealed the secrets of the great Bay to marauding Frenchmen? Sargeant was sued in £20,000 damages for surrendering Albany; but on second thought, the case was settled by arbitration, and the doughty old trader was awarded £350. Jean Chouart and the other Frenchmen came back to London in 1689, and Jean was awarded £202 for all arrears. Also, about this time, the Company began trade with North Russia in whale blubber, which, like the furs, was auctioned by light of candle. William of Orange was welcomed to the throne, in 1688, with an address from the adventurers that would have put Henry VIII's parliament to the blush: 'that in all yr. undertakings Yr. Majesty may bee as victorious as Caesar, as beloved as Titus, and have the glorious long reign and peaceful end of His Majesty Augustus.' Three hundred guineas were presented along with this address in 'a faire embroidered purse by the Hon. the Deputy Gov'r. upon his humble knees.' For pushing claims of damages against France, Sir Edward Dering, the deputy-governor, was voted two hundred guineas. Stock forfeited for breaking oaths of secrecy was voted to a fund for the wounded and widows of the service. The Company's servants were put on the same pensions as soldiers in the national service. Henceforth 'one pipe of brandy' was to go on each vessel for use during war; but, in spite of 'pipes of brandy,' the seamen were now very mutinous about going aboard, and demanded pay in advance, which with 'faire words doth allay anger.' It was a difficult matter now to charter ships. The Company had to buy vessels; and it seems there was a scarcity of ready money, for one minute records that 'the tradesmen are very importunate for their bills.' Many new shareholders had come into the Company, and 'Esquire Young' had great ado to convince them that Radisson had any rightful claim on them at all. Radisson, for his part, went to law; and the arrears of dividends were ordered to be paid. But when the war waxed hotter there were no dividends. Then Esquire Young's petitions set forth that 'M. Radisson is living in a mean and poor condition.' When the Frenchman came asking for consideration, he was not invited into the committee room, but was left cooling his heels in the outer hall. But the years rolled on, and when, during the negotiation of the Treaty of Ryswick in 1697, the Company pressed a claim of £200,000 damages against France, 'the Committee considering Mr Peter Radisson may be very useful at this time, as to affairs between the French and this Co'y, the Sec. is ordered to take coach and fetch him to the Committee'; 'on wh. the Committee had discourse with him till dinner.' The discourse--given in full in the minutes--was the setting forth, on affidavit, of that secret royal order from the king of France in 1684 to restore the forts on the Bay to England. Meanwhile amounts of £250 were voted widows of captains killed in the war; and the deputy-governor went to Hamburg and Amsterdam to borrow money; for the governor, Sir Stephen Evance, was wellnigh bankrupt. A treaty of neutrality, in 1686, had provided that the Bay should be held in common by France and England, but the fur traders of New France were not content to honour such an ambiguous arrangement. D'Iberville came overland again to Rupert river in 1687, promptly seized the English sloop there, and sent four men across to Charlton Island to spy on Captain Bond, who was wintering on the ship _Churchill_. Bond clapped the French spies under hatches; but in the spring one was permitted above decks to help the English sailors launch the _Churchill_ from her skids. The Frenchman waited till six of the English were up the masts. Then, seizing an ax, he brained two sailors near by, opened the hatches, called up his comrades, and, keeping the other Englishmen up the mast poles at pistol point, steered the vessel across to d'Iberville at Rupert. The English on their side, like the French, were not disposed to remain inert under the terms of the treaty. Captain Moon sailed down from Nelson, with two strongly-manned ships, to attempt the recapture of Albany. At the moment when he had loaded a cargo of furs from the half-abandoned fort on one of his vessels, d'Iberville came paddling across the open sea with a force of painted Indian warriors. The English dashed for hiding inside the fort, and d'Iberville gaily mounted to the decks of the fur-laden ship, raised sail, and steered off for Quebec. Meeting the incoming fleet of English vessels, he threw them off guard by hoisting an English flag, and sailed on in safety. When France and England were again openly at war, Le Moyne d'Iberville was occupied with raids on New England; and during his absence from the Bay, Mike Grimmington, who had been promoted to a captaincy, came sailing down from Nelson to find Albany in the possession of four Frenchmen under Captain Le Meux. He sacked the fort, clapped Le Meux and his men in the hold of his English vessel, carried them off to England, and presented them before the Governing Committee. Captain Mike was given a tankard valued at £36 for his services. At the same time Captain Edgecombe brought home a cargo of 22,000 beavers from Nelson, and was rewarded with £20 worth of silver plate and £100 in cash. Meanwhile our friend Jean Péré, who had escaped to France, was writing letters to Radisson, trying to tempt him to leave England, or perhaps to involve him in a parley that would undermine his standing with the English. Grimmington's successful foray encouraged the 'Adventurers of England' to make a desperate effort to recapture all the forts on the Bay. James Knight, who had started as an apprentice under Sargeant, was sent to Albany as governor, and three trusted men, Walsh, Bailey, and Kelsey, were sent to Nelson, whence came the largest cargoes of furs. But d'Iberville was not the man to let his winnings slip. Once more he turned his attention to Hudson Bay, and on September 24, 1694, the French frigates _Poli_ and _Salamander_ were unloading cannon, under his direction, beneath the ramparts of Nelson. For three weeks, without ceasing day or night, bombs were singing over the eighteen-foot palisades of the fort. From within Walsh, Kelsey, and Bailey made a brave defence. They poured scalding water on the heads of the Frenchmen and Indians who ventured too near the walls. From the sugar-loaf tower roofs of the corner bastions their sharpshooters were able to pick off the French assailants, while keeping in safety themselves. They killed Chateauguay, d'Iberville's brother, as he tried to force his way into the fort through a rear wall. But the wooden towers could not withstand the bombs, and at length both sides were ready to parley for terms. With the hope that they might save their furs, the English hung out a tablecloth as a flag of truce, and the exhausted fighters seized the opportunity to eat and sleep. The weather had turned bitterly cold. No ship could come from England till spring. Under these conditions, Walsh made the best bargain he could. It was agreed that the English officers should be lodged in the fort and should share the provisions during the winter. D'Iberville took possession; and again, only one post on the Bay--Albany, in charge of James Knight--remained in English hands. On the miseries of the English prisoners that winter there is no time to dwell. D'Iberville had departed, leaving La Forest, one of his men, in command. The terms of the surrender were ignored. Only four officers were maintained in the fort and given provisions. The rest of the English were driven to the woods. Those who hung round the fort were treated as slaves. Out of the fifty-three only twenty-five survived. No English ship came to Nelson in the following summer--1695. The ship that anchored there that summer was a French privateer, and in her hold some of the English survivors were stowed and carried to France for ransom. In August 1696, however, two English warships--the _Bonaventure_ and the _Seaforth_--commanded by Captain Allen, anchored before Nelson. La Forest capitulated almost on demand; and, again, the English with Nelson in their hands were virtually in possession of the Bay. Allen made prisoners of the whole garrison and seized twenty thousand beaver pelts. While the _Bonaventure_ and the _Seaforth_ lay in front of the fort, two ships of France, in command of Serigny, one of d'Iberville's brothers, with provisions for La Forest, sailed in, and on sight of the English ships sailed out again to the open sea--so hurriedly, indeed, that one of the craft struck an icefloe, split, and sank. As Allen's two English vessels, on their return journey, passed into the straits during a fog, a volley of shot poured across the deck and laid the captain dead on the spot. The ship whence this volley came was not seen; there is no further record of the incident, and we can only surmise that the shot came from Serigny's remaining ship. What is certain is that Allen was killed and that the English ships arrived in England with an immense cargo of furs, which went to the Company's warehouse, and with French captives from Nelson, who were lodged in prison at Portsmouth. The French prisoners were finally set free and made their way to France, where the story of their wrongs aroused great indignation. D'Iberville, who was now in Newfoundland, carrying havoc from hamlet to hamlet, was the man best fitted to revenge the outrage. Five French warships were made ready--the _Pelican_, the _Palmier_, the _Profond_, the _Violent_, and the _Wasp_. In April 1697 these were dispatched from France to Placentia, Newfoundland, there to be taken in command by d'Iberville, with orders to proceed to Hudson Bay and leave not a vestige remaining of the English fur trade in the North. Meanwhile preparations were being made in England to dispatch a mighty fleet to drive the French for ever from the Bay. Three frigates were bought and fitted out--the _Dering_, Captain Grimmington; the _Hudson's Bay_, Captain Smithsend; and the _Hampshire_, Captain Fletcher--each with guns and sixty fighting men in addition to the regular crew. These ships were to meet the enemy sooner than was expected. In the last week of August 1697 the English fleet lay at the west end of Hudson Strait, befogged and surrounded by ice. Suddenly the fog lifted and revealed to the astonished Englishmen d'Iberville's fleet of five French warships: the _Palmier_ to the rear, back in the straits; the _Wasp_ and the _Violent_, out in open water to the west; the _Pelican_, flying the flag of the Admiral, to the fore and free from the ice; and the _Profond_, ice-jammed and within easy shooting range. The Hudson's Bay ships at once opened fire on the _Profond_, but this only loosened the ice and let the French ship escape. D'Iberville's aim was not to fight a naval battle but to secure the fort at Nelson. Accordingly, spreading the _Pelican's_ sails to the wind, he steered south-west, leaving the other ships to follow his example. Ice must have obstructed him, for he did not anchor before Nelson till September 3. The place was held by the English and he could find no sign of his other ships. He waited two days, loading cannon, furbishing muskets, drilling his men, of whom a great many were French wood-runners sick with scurvy. On the morning of the 5th the lookout called down 'A sail.' Never doubting but that the sail belonged to one of his own ships, d'Iberville hoisted anchor and fired cannon in welcome. No answering shot signalled back. There were sails of three ships now, and d'Iberville saw three English men-of-war racing over the waves to meet him, while shouts of wild welcome came thundering from the hostile fort to his rear. D'Iberville did not swerve in his course, nor waste ammunition by firing shots at targets out of range. Forty of his soldiers lay in their berths disabled by scurvy; but he quickly mustered one hundred and fifty able-bodied men and ordered ropes to be stretched, for hand hold, across the slippery decks. The gunners below stripped naked behind the great cannon. Men were marshalled ready to board and rush the enemy when the ships locked. The _Hampshire_, under Captain Fletcher, with fifty-two guns and sixty fighting men, first came up within range and sent two roaring cannonades that mowed the masts and wheel-house from the _Pelican_ down to bare decks. At the same time Grimmington's _Dering_ and Smithsend's _Hudson's Bay_ circled to the other side of the French ship and poured forth a pepper of musketry. D'Iberville shouted orders to the gunners to fire straight into the _Hampshire's_ hull; sharpshooters were to rake the decks of the two off-standing English ships, and the Indians were to stand ready to board. Two hours passed in sidling and shifting; then the death grapple began. Ninety dead and wounded Frenchmen rolled on the _Pelican's_ blood-stained decks. The fallen sails were blazing. The mast poles were splintered. Railings went smashing into the sea. The bridge crumbled. The _Pelican's_ prow had been shop away. D'Iberville was still shouting to his gunners to fire low, when suddenly the _Hampshire_ ceased firing and tilted. D'Iberville had barely time to unlock the _Pelican_ from the death grapple, when the English frigate lurched and, amid hiss and roar of flame in a wild sea, sank like a stone, engulfing her panic-stricken crew almost before the French could realize what had happened. Smithsend at once surrendered the _Hudson's Bay_, and Mike Grimmington fled for Nelson on the _Dering_. A fierce hurricane now rose and the English garrison at Nelson had one hope left--that the wild storm might wreck d'Iberville's ship and its absent convoys. Smashing billows and ice completed the wreck of the _Pelican_; nevertheless the French commander succeeded in landing his men. When the storm cleared, his other ships came limping to his aid. Nelson stood back four miles from the sea, but by September 11 the French had their cannon placed under the walls. A messenger was sent to demand surrender, and he was conveyed with bandaged eyes into the fort. Grimmington,[3] Smithsend, Bailey, Kelsey--all were for holding out; but d'Iberville's brother, Serigny, came in under flag of truce and bade them think well what would happen if the hundred Indians were turned loose on the fort. Finally the English surrendered and marched out with the honours of war. Grimmington sailed for England with as many of the refugees as his ship, the _Dering_, could convey. The rest, led by Bailey and Smithsend, marched overland south to the fort at Albany. [3] Grimmington, with the _Dering_, had reached the fort in safety. Smithsend's captive ship, the _Hudson's Bay_, had been wrecked with the _Pelican_, but he himself had escaped to the fort. The loss of Nelson fell heavily on the Hudson's Bay Company. Their ships were not paid for; dividends stopped; stock dropped in value. But still they borrowed money to pay £20 each to the sailors. The Treaty of Ryswick, which halted the war with France, provided that possession on the Bay should remain as at the time of the treaty, and England held only Albany. CHAPTER VIII EXPANSION AND EXPLORATION When the House of Orange came to the throne, it was deemed necessary that the Company's monopoly, originally granted by the Stuarts, should be confirmed. Nearly all the old shareholders, who had been friends of the Stuarts, sold out, and in 1697, the year of the disaster related in the last chapter, the Company applied for an extension of its royal charter by act of parliament. The fur buyers of London opposed the application on the grounds that: (1) The charter conferred arbitrary powers to which a private company had no right; (2) The Company was a mere stock-jobbing concern of no benefit to the public; (3) Beaver was sold at an extortionate advance; bought at 6d. and sold for 6s. (4) The English claim to a monopoly drove the Indians to the French; (5) Nothing was done to carry out the terms of the charter in finding a North-West Passage. All this, however, did not answer the great question: if the Company retired from the Bay, who or what was to resist the encroachments of the French? This consideration saved the situation for the adventurers. Their charter was confirmed. The opposition to the extension of the charter compelled the Company to show what it had been doing in the way of exploration; and the journey of Henry Kelsey, the London apprentice boy, to the country of the Assiniboines, was put on file in the Company records. Kelsey had not at first fitted in very well with the martinet rules of fort life at Nelson, and in 1690, after a switching for some breach of discipline, he had jumped over the walls and run away with the Indians. Where he went on this first trip is not known. Some time before the spring of the next year an Indian runner brought word back to the fort from Kelsey: on condition of pardon he was willing to make a journey of exploration inland. The pardon was readily granted and the youth was supplied with equipment. Accordingly, on July 15, 1691, Kelsey left the camping-place of the Assiniboines--thought to be the modern Split Lake--and with some Indian hunters set off overland on foot. It is difficult to follow his itinerary, for he employs only Indian names in his narrative. He travelled five hundred miles west of Split Lake presumably without touching on the Saskatchewan or the Churchill, for his journal gives not the remotest hint of these rivers. We are therefore led to believe that he must have traversed the semi-barren country west of Lac du Brochet, or Reindeer Lake as it is called on the map. He encountered vast herds of what he called buffalo, though his description reminds us more of the musk ox of the barren lands than of the buffalo. He describes the summer as very dry and game as very scarce, on the first part of the trip; and this also applies to the half-barren lands west of Reindeer Lake. Hairbreadth escapes were not lacking on the trip of the boy explorer. Once, completely exhausted from a swift march, Kelsey fell asleep on the trail. When he awoke, there was not a sign of the straggling hunters. Kelsey waited for nightfall and by the reflection of the fires in the sky found his way back to the camp of his companions. At another time he awoke to find the high dry grass all about him in flames and his musket stock blazing. Once he met two grizzly bears at close quarters. The bears had no acquired instinct of danger from powder and stood ground. The Indians dashed for trees. Kelsey fired twice from behind bunch willows, wounded both brutes, and won for himself the name of honour--Little Giant. Joining the main camp of Assiniboines at the end of August, Kelsey presented the Indian chief with a lace coat, a cap, guns, knives, and powder, and invited the tribe to go down to the Bay. The expedition won Kelsey instant promotion. Our old friend Radisson, from the time we last saw him--when 'the Committee had discourse with him till dinner'--lived on in London, receiving a quarterly allowance of £12 10s. from the Company; occasional gratuities for his services, and presents of furs to Madame Radisson are also recorded. The last entry of the payment of his quarterly allowance is dated March 29, 1710. Then, on July 12, comes a momentous entry: 'the Sec. is ordered to pay Mr Radisson's widow as charity the sum of £6.' At some time between March 29 and July 12 the old pathfinder had set out on his last journey. Small profit his heirs reaped for his labours. Nineteen years later, September 24, 1729, the secretary was again ordered to pay 'the widow of Peter Radisson £10 as charity, she being very ill and in great want.' Meanwhile hostilities had been resumed between France and England; but the Treaty of Utrecht in 1713 brought the game of war again to a pause and restored Hudson Bay to England. The Company received back all its forts on the Bay; but the treaty did not define the boundaries to be observed between the fur traders of Quebec pressing north and the fur traders of the Bay pressing south, and this unsettled point proved a source of friction in after years. After the treaty the adventurers deemed it wise to strengthen all their forts. Moose, Albany, and Nelson, and two other forts recently established--Henley House and East Main--were equipped with stone bastions; and when Churchill was built later, where Munck the Dane had wintered, its walls of solid stone were made stronger than Quebec's, and it was mounted with enough large guns to withstand a siege of European fleets of that day. The Company now regularly sent ships to Russia; and from Russia the adventurers must have heard of Peter the Great's plan to find the North Passage. The finding of the Passage had been one of the reasons for the granting of the charter, and the fur buyers' petition against the charter had set forth that small effort had been made in that direction. Now, at Churchill, Richard Norton and his son Moses, servants of the Company, had heard strange rumours from the Indians of a region of rare metals north-west inland. All these things the governor on the Bay, James Knight, pondered, as he cruised up and down from Albany to Churchill. Then the gold fever beset the Company. They sent for Knight. He was commissioned on June 3, 1719, to seek the North-West Passage, and, incidentally, to look for rare minerals. Four ships were in the fleet that sailed for Hudson Bay this year. Knight went on the _Albany_ with Captain Barlow and fifty men. He waited only long enough at Churchill to leave provisions. Then, with the _Discovery_, Captain Vaughan, as convoy, he sailed north on the _Albany_. On his ship were iron-bound caskets to carry back the precious metals of which he dreamed, and the framework for houses to be erected for wintering on the South Sea. With him went iron-forgers to work in the metals, and whalers from Dundee to chase the silver-bottoms of the Pacific, and a surgeon, to whom was paid the extraordinary salary of £50 on account of the unusual peril of the voyage. What became of Knight? From the time he left Churchill, his journal ceases. Another threescore lives paid in toll to the insatiable sea! No word came back in the summer of 1720, and the adventurers had begun to look for him to return by way of Asia. Then three years passed, and no word of Knight or his precious metals. Kelsey cruised north on the _Prosperous_ in 1719, and Hancock on the _Success_ in 1720; Napper and Scroggs and Crow on other ships on to 1736, but never a trace did they find of the argonauts. Norton, whaling in the north in 1726, heard disquieting rumours from the Indians, but it was not till Hearne went among the Eskimos almost fifty years later that Knight's fate became known. His ships had been totally wrecked on the east point of Marble Island, that white block of granite bare as a gravestone. Out of the wave-beaten wreckage the Eskimos saw a house arise as if by magic. The savages fled in terror from such a mystery, and winter--the terrible, hard, cutting cold of hyperborean storm--raged on the bare, unsheltered island. When the Eskimos came back in the summer of 1720, a great many graves had been scooped among the drift sand and boulders. The survivors were plainly starving, for they fell ravenously on the Eskimos' putrid whale meat. The next summer only two demented men were alive. They were clad in rabbit and fox skins. Their hair and beards had grown unkempt, and they acted like maniacs. Again the superstitious Eskimos fled in terror. Next summer when the savages came down to the coast no white men were alive. The wolves had scraped open a score of graves. It may be stated here that before 1759 the books of the Hudson's Bay Company show £100,000 spent in bootless searching and voyaging for the mythical North-West Passage. Nevertheless study-chair explorers who journeyed round the world on a map, continued to accuse the Company of purposely refusing to search for the Passage, for fear of disturbing its monopoly. So violent did the pamphleteers grow that they forced a parliamentary inquiry in 1749 into the Company's charter and the Company's record, and what saved the Company then, as in 1713, was the fact that the adventurers were the great bulwark against French aggression from Quebec. Arthur Dobbs, a gentleman and a scholar, had roused the Admiralty to send two expeditions to search for the North-West Passage. It is unnecessary for history to concern itself with the 'tempest in a teapot' that raged round these expeditions. Perhaps the Company did not behave at all too well when their own captain, Middleton, resigned to conduct the first one on the _Furnace Bomb_ and the _Discovery_ to the Bay. Perhaps wrong signals in the harbours did lead the searchers' ships to bad anchorage. At any rate Arthur Dobbs announced in hysterical fury that the Company had bribed Middleton with £5000 not to find the Passage. Middleton had come back in 1742 saying bluntly, in sailor fashion, that 'there was no passage and never would be.' At once the Dobbs faction went into a frenzy. Baseless charges were hurled about with the freedom of bombs in a battle. Parliament was roused to offer a reward of £20,000 for the discovery of the Passage, and the indefatigable Dobbs organized an opposition trading company--with a capital of £10,000--and petitioned parliament for the exclusive trade. The _Dobbs Galley_, Captain Moon, and the _California_, Captain Smith, with the _Shark_, under Middleton, as convoy for part of the way, went out in 1746 with Henry Ellis, agent for Dobbs, aboard. The result of the voyage need not be told. There was the usual struggle with the ice jam in the north off Chesterfield Inlet, the usual suffering from scurvy. Something was accomplished on the exploration of Fox Channel, but no North-West Passage was found, a fact that told in favour of the Company when the parliamentary inquiry of 1749 came on. In the end, an influence stronger than the puerile frenzy of Arthur Dobbs forced the Company to unwonted activity in inland exploration. La Vérendrye, the French Canadian, and his sons had come from the St Lawrence inland and before 1750 had established trading-posts on the Red river, on the Assiniboine, and on the Saskatchewan. After this fewer furs came down to the Bay. It was now clear that if the Indians would not come to the adventurers, the adventurers must go to the Indians. As a beginning one Anthony Hendry, a boy outlawed from the Isle of Wight for smuggling, was permitted to go back with the Assiniboines from Nelson in June 1754. Hendry's itinerary is not difficult to follow. The Indian place-names used by him are the Indian place-names used to-day by the Assiniboines. Four hundred paddlers manned the big brigade of canoes which he accompanied inland to the modern Oxford Lake and from Oxford to Cross Lake. The latter name explains itself. Voyageurs could reach the Saskatchewan by coming on down westward through Playgreen Lake to Lake Winnipeg, or they could save the long detour round the north end of Lake Winnipeg--a hundred miles at least, and a dangerous stretch because of the rocky nature of the coast and the big waves of the shallow lake--by portaging across to that chain of swamps and nameless lakes, leading down to the expansion of the Saskatchewan, known under the modern name of the Pas. It is quite plain from Hendry's narrative that the second course was followed, for he came to 'the river on which the French have two forts' without touching Lake Winnipeg; and he gave his distance as five hundred miles from York,[4] which would bring him by way of Oxford and Cross Lakes precisely at the Pas. [4] Nelson. Throughout this narrative Nelson, the name of the port and river, is generally used instead of York, the name of the fort or factory. The Saskatchewan is here best described as an elongated swamp three hundred miles by seventy, for the current of the river proper loses itself in countless channels through reed-grown swamps and turquoise lakes, where the white pelicans stand motionless as rocks and the wild birds gather together in flocks that darken the sky and have no fear of man. Between Lake Winnipeg and Cumberland Lake one can literally paddle for a week and barely find a dry spot big enough for a tent among the myriad lakes and swamps and river channels overwashing the dank goose grass. Through these swamps runs the limestone cliff known as the Pasquia Hills--a blue lift of the swampy sky-line in a wooded ridge. On this ridge is the Pas fort. All the romance of the most romantic era in the West clings to the banks of the Saskatchewan--'Kis-sis-kat-chewan Sepie'--swift angrily-flowing waters, as the Indians call it, with its countless unmapped lakes and its countless unmapped islands. Up and down its broad current from time immemorial flitted the war canoes of the Cree, like birds of prey, to plunder the Blackfeet, or 'Horse Indians.' Between these high, steep banks came the voyageurs of the old fur companies--'ti-aing-ti-aing' in monotonous sing-song day and night, tracking the clumsy York boats up-stream all the way from tide water to within sight of the Rocky Mountains. Up these waters, with rapids so numerous that one loses count of them, came doughty traders of the Company with the swiftest paddlers the West has ever known. The gentleman in cocked hat and silk-lined overcape, with knee-buckled breeches and ruffles at wrist and throat, had a habit of tucking his sleeves up and dipping his hand in the water over the gunnels. If the ripple did not rise from knuckles to elbows, he forced speed with a shout of 'Up-up, my men! Up-up!' and gave orders for the regale to go round, or for the crews to shift, or for the Highland piper to set the bagpipes skirling. Hither, then, came Hendry from the Bay, the first Englishman to ascend the Saskatchewan. 'The mosquitoes are intolerable,' he writes. 'We came to the French house. Two Frenchmen came to the water side and invited me into their house. One told me his master and men had gone down to Montreal with furs and that he must detain me till his return; but Little Bear, my Indian leader, only smiled and said, "They dare not."' Somewhere between the north and south branches of the Saskatchewan, Hendry's Assiniboines met Indians on horseback, the Blackfeet, or 'Archithinues,' as he calls them. The Blackfeet Indians tell us to-day that the Assiniboines and Crees used to meet the Blackfeet to exchange the trade of the Bay at Wetaskiwin, 'the Hills of Peace.' This exactly agrees with the itinerary, described by Hendry, after they crossed the south branch in September and struck up into the Eagle Hills. Winter was passed in hunting between the points where Calgary and Edmonton now stand. Hendry remarks on the outcropping of coal on the north branch. The same outcroppings can be seen to-day in the high banks below Edmonton. It was on October 14 that Hendry was conveyed to the main Blackfeet camp. The leader's tent was large enough to contain fifty persons. He received us seated on a buffalo skin, attended by twenty elderly men. He made signs for me to sit down on his right hand, which I did. Our leaders [the Assiniboines] set several great pipes going the rounds and we smoked according to their custom. Not one word was spoken. Smoking over, boiled buffalo flesh was served in baskets of bent wood. I was presented with ten buffalo tongues. My guide informed the leader I was sent by the grand leader who lives on the Great Waters to invite his young men down with their furs. They would receive in return powder, shot, guns and cloth. He made little answer; said it was far off, and his people could not paddle. We were then ordered to depart to our tents, which we pitched a quarter of a mile outside their lines. The chief told me his tribe never wanted food, as they followed the buffalo, but he was informed the natives who frequented the settlements often starved on their journey, which was exceedingly true. Hendry gave his position for the winter as eight hundred and ten miles west of York, or between the sites of modern Edmonton and Battleford. Everywhere he presented gifts to the Indians to induce them to go down to the Bay. On the way back to York, the explorers canoed all the way down the Saskatchewan, and Hendry paused at Fort La Corne, half-way down to Lake Winnipeg. The banks were high, high as the Hudson river ramparts, and like those of the Hudson, heavily wooded. Trees and hills were intensest green, and everywhere through the high banks for a hundred miles below what is now Edmonton bulged great seams of coal. The river gradually widened until it was as broad as the Hudson at New York or the St Lawrence at Quebec. Hawks shrieked from the topmost boughs of black poplars ashore. Whole colonies of black eagles nodded and babbled and screamed from the long sand-bars. Wolf tracks dotted the soft mud of the shore, and sometimes what looked like a group of dogs came down to the bank, watched the boatmen land, and loped off. These were coyotes of the prairie. Again and again as the brigades drew in for nooning to the lee side of some willow-grown island, black-tailed deer leaped out of the brush almost over their heads, and at one bound were in the midst of a tangled thicket that opened a magic way for their flight. From Hendry's winter camp to Lake Winnipeg, a distance of almost a thousand miles, a good hunter could then, as now, keep himself in food summer and winter with but small labour. Most people have a mental picture of the plains country as flat prairie, with sluggish, winding rivers. Such a picture would not be true of the Saskatchewan. From end to end of the river, for only one interval is the course straight enough and are the banks low enough to enable the traveller to see in a line for eight miles. The river is a continual succession of half-circles, hills to the right, with the stream curving into a shadowy lake, or swerving out again in a bend to the low left; or high-walled sandstone bluffs to the left sending the water wandering out to the low silt shore on the right. Not river of the Thousand Islands, like the St Lawrence, but river of Countless Islands, the Saskatchewan should be called. More ideal hunting ground could not be found. The hills here are partly wooded and in the valleys nestle lakes literally black with wild-fowl--bittern that rise heavy-winged and furry with a boo-m-m; grey geese holding political caucus with raucous screeching of the honking ganders; black duck and mallard and teal; inland gulls white as snow and fearless of hunters; little match-legged phalaropes fishing gnats from the wet sand. The wildest of the buffalo hunts used to take place along this section of the river, or between what are now known as Pitt and Battleford. It was a common trick of the eternally warring Blackfeet and Cree to lie in hiding among the woods here and stampede all horses, or for the Blackfeet to set canoes adrift down the river or scuttle the teepees of the frightened Cree squaws who waited at this point for their lords' return from the Bay. Round that three-hundred mile bend in the river known as 'the Elbow' the water is wide and shallow, with such numbers of sand-bars and shallows and islands that one is lost trying to keep the main current. Shallow water sounds safe and easy for canoeing, but duststorms and wind make the Elbow the most trying stretch of water in the whole length of the river. Beyond this great bend, still called the Elbow, the Saskatchewan takes a swing north-east through the true wilderness primeval. The rough waters below the Elbow are the first of twenty-two rapids round the same number of sharp turns in the river. Some are a mere rippling of the current, more noisy than dangerous; others run swift and strong for sixteen miles. First are the Squaw Rapids, where the Indian women used to wait while the men went on down-stream with the furs. Next are the Cold Rapids, and boats are barely into calm water out of these when a roar gives warning of more to come, and a tall tree stripped of all branches but a tufted crest on top--known among Indians as a 'lob-stick,--marks two more rippling rapids. The Crooked Rapids send canoes twisting round point after point almost to the forks of the South Saskatchewan. Here, five miles below the modern fur post, at a bend in the river commanding a great sweep of approach, a gay courtier of France built Fort La Corne. Who called the bold sand-walls to the right Heart Hills? And how comes it that here are Cadotte Rapids, named after the famous voyageur family of Cadottes, whose ancestor gave his life and his name to one section of the Ottawa? [Illustration: A CAMP IN THE SWAMP COUNTRY From a photograph] Forty miles below La Corne is Nepawin, the 'looking-out-place' of the Indians for the coming trader, where the French had another post. And still the river widens and widens. Though the country is flat, the level of the river is ten feet below a crumbling shore worn sheer as a wall, with not the width of a hand for camping-place below. On a spit of the north shore was the camping-place known as Devil's Point, where no voyageur would ever stay because the long point was inhabited by demons. The bank is steep here, flanked by a swamp of huge spruce trees criss-crossed by the log-jam of centuries. The reason for the ill omen of the place is plain enough--a long point running out with three sides exposed to a bellowing wind. East of Devil's Point, the Saskatchewan breaks from its river bed and is lost for a hundred and fifty miles through a country of pure muskeg, quaking silt soft as sponge, overgrown with reed and goose grass. Here are not even low banks; there are no banks at all. Canoes are on a level with the land, and reeds sixteen feet high line the aisled water channels. One can stand on prow or stern and far as eye can see is naught but reeds and waterways, waterways and reeds. Below the muskeg country lies Cumberland Lake. At its widest the lake is some forty miles across, but by skirting from island to island boatmen could make a crossing of only twenty-three miles. Far to the south is the blue rim of the Pas mountain, named from the Indian word Pasquia, meaning open country. Hendry's canoes were literally loaded with peltry when he drew in at the Pas. There he learned a bitter lesson on the meaning of a rival's suavity. The French plied his Indians with brandy, then picked out a thousand of his best skins, a trick that cost the Hudson's Bay Company some of its profit. On June 1 the canoes once more set out for York. With the rain-swollen current the paddlers easily made fast time and reached York on June 20. James Isham, the governor of the fort, realized that his men had brought down a good cargo of furs, but when Hendry began to talk of Indians on horseback, he was laughed out of the service. Who had ever heard of Indians on horseback? The Company voted Hendry £20 reward, and Isham by discrediting Hendry's report probably thought to save himself the trouble of going inland. But the unseen destiny of world movement rudely disturbed the lazy trader's indolent dream. In four years French power fell at Quebec, and the wildwood rovers of the St Lawrence, unrestricted by the new government and soon organized under the leadership of Scottish merchants at Montreal, invaded the sacred precincts of the Company's inmost preserve. In other volumes of this Series we shall learn more of the fur lords and explorers in the great West and North of Canada; of the fierce warfare between the rival traders; of the opening up of great rivers to commerce, and of the founding of colonies that were to grow into commonwealths. We shall witness the gradual, stubborn, and unwilling retreat of the fur trade before the onmarching settler, until at last the Dominion government took over the vast domain known as Rupert's Land, and the Company, founded by the courtiers of King Charles and given absolute sway over an empire, fell to the status of an ordinary commercial organization. BIBLIOGRAPHICAL NOTE On the era prior to the Cession (1763) very few printed records of the Hudson's Bay Company exist. Most books on the later period--in which the conflict with the North-West Company took place--have cursory sketches of the early era, founded chiefly on data handed down by word of mouth among the servants and officers of the Company. On this early period the documents in Hudson's Bay House, London, must always be the prime authority. These documents consist in the main of the Minute Books of some two hundred years, the Letter Books, the Stock Books, the Memorial Books, and the Daily Journals kept from 1670 onwards by chief traders at every post and forwarded to London. There is also a great mass of unpublished material bearing on the adventurers in the Public Record Office, London. Transcripts of a few of these documents are to be found in the Canadian Archives, Ottawa, and in the Newberry Library, Chicago. Transcripts of four of the Radisson Journals--copied from the originals in the Bodleian Library, Oxford--are possessed by the Prince Society, Boston. Of modern histories dealing with the early era Beckles Willson's _The Great Company_ (1899), George Bryce's _Remarkable History of the Hudson's Bay Company_ (1900), and Laut's _Conquest of the Great North-West_ (1899) are the only works to be taken seriously. Willson's is marred by many errors due to a lack of local knowledge of the West. Bryce's work is free of these errors, but, having been issued before the Archives of Hudson's Bay House were open for more than a few weeks at a time, it lacks first-hand data from headquarters; though to Bryce must be given the honour of unearthing much of the early history of Radisson. Laut's _Conquest of the Great North-West_ contains more of the early period from first-hand sources than the other two works, and, indeed, follows up Bryce as pupil to master, but the author perhaps attempted to cover too vast a territory in too brief a space. Data on Hudson's tragic voyages come from _Purchas His Pilgrimes_ and the Hakluyt Society Publications for 1860 edited by Asher. Jens Munck's voyage is best related in the Hakluyt Publications for 1897. Laut's _Pathfinders of the West_ gives fullest details of Radisson's various voyages. The French State Papers for 1670-1700 in the Canadian Archives give full details of the international quarrels over Radisson's activities. On the d'Iberville raids, the French State Papers are again the ultimate authorities, though supplemented by the Jesuit Relations of those years. The Colonial Documents of New York State (16 vols.), edited by O'Callaghan, give details of French raids on Hudson Bay. Radisson's various petitions will be found in Laut's _Conquest of the Great North-West_. These are taken from the Public Records, London, and from the Hudson's Bay Company's Archives. Chouart's letters are found in the Documents de la Nouvelle France, Tome I--1492-1712. Father Sylvie, a Jesuit who accompanied the de Troyes expedition, gives the fullest account of the overland raids. These are supplemented by the affidavits of the captured Englishmen (State Papers, Public Records, London), by La Potherie's _Histoire de l'Amérique_, by Jeremie's account in the Bernard Collection of Amsterdam, and by the Relations of Abbé Belmont and Dollier de Casson. The reprint of the Radisson Journals by the Prince Society of Boston deserves commendation as a first effort to draw attention to Radisson's achievements; but the work is marred by the errors of an English copyist, who evidently knew nothing of Western Indian names and places, and very plainly mixed his pages so badly that national events of 1660 are confused with events of 1664, errors ascribed to Radisson's inaccuracy. Benjamin Sulte, the French-Canadian historian, in a series of papers for the Royal Society of Canada has untangled this confusion. Robson's _Hudson's Bay_ gives details of the 1754 period; but Robson was a dismissed employee of the Company, and his Relation is so full of bitterness that it is not to be trusted. The events of the search for a North-West Passage and the Middleton Controversy are to be found in Ellis's _Voyage of the Dobbs and California_ (1748) and the Parliamentary Report of 1749. Later works by fur traders on the spot or descendants of fur traders--such as Gunn, Hargreaves, Ross--refer casually to this early era and are valuable for local identification, but quite worthless for authentic data on the period preceding their own lives. This does not impair the value of their records of the time in which they lived. It simply means that they had no data but hearsay on the early period. See also in this Series: _The Blackrobes; The Great Intendant; The Fighting Governor; Pathfinders of the Great Plains; Pioneers of the Pacific; Adventurers of the Far North; The Red River Colony._ INDEX Albanel, Father, at Rupert, 51. Albemarle, Duke of, member of Hudson's Bay Company, 36. Allen, Captain, take Port Nelson from French, 96; killed, 97. Arlington, Earl of, 36. Assiniboines, or Stone Boilers, tribe of Indians, 29, 104, 106, 112, 115. Baffin Bay, named after mate of Bylot's ship, 21. Bailey, Captain, sent to Nelson, 94; defends fort, 95; surrenders, 101-2. Bayley, Charles, governor of Rupert, 48; on cruise with Radisson, 51; accuses Radisson and Groseilliers of duplicity, 52. Blackfeet Indians, 115, 116. Bond, Captain, 68; sails for Hudson Bay, 73; captured by d'Iberville, 92. Boston, Radisson and Groseilliers at, 32. Bridgar, John, governor of Rupert, 60; taken prisoner by Radisson, 63; released by La Barre, 64; again governor, 74; ship captured by d'Iberville, 83-4. Button, Thomas, sent to search for Hudson, 21. Bylot, Robert, his search for Hudson, 21. Cadotte Rapids, 120. Carteret, Sir George, commissioner, takes Radisson and Groseilliers to England, 34. Charles II receives Radisson and Groseilliers, 34, 36. Charlton Island, where Hudson probably set adrift, 18; Captain James winters at, 27; spies marooned, 79. Chateauguay, d'Iberville's brother, killed at Nelson, 95. Chesnaye, Aubert de la, fur trader, 54; fits out expedition, 55. Chouart, Jean, helps La Chesnaye's expedition, 55; tricked on board 'Happy Return,' 69; joins Hudson's Bay Company with the intention of betraying it, 70-2. Churchill, Lord, Duke of Marlborough, governor of Hudson's Bay Company, 42, 73, 80. Churchill, port, discovery of, 23; Danes winter at, 24; fur traders at, 26; strength of fort at, 107. Colbert, minister of France, 53-4. Cold Rapids, 120. Colleton, Sir Peter, 36. Columbia river, explorers on, 7. Company of the North, 55-6, 72. Craven, Earl of, 36. Crooked Rapids, 120. Dablon, Father, ascends the Saguenay, 28. Danby Island, 19. Denonville, M. de, governor of New France, 76. Dering, Sir Edward, rewarded for pushing claim against France, 90. Digges, English merchant adventurer, 9; finances search for Hudson, 21, 22. Dobbs, Arthur, and the North-West Passage, 110-12. Drax, Lady Margaret, 36. Drueilletes, father, ascends the Saguenay, 28. Evance, Sir Stephen, governor of Hudson's Bay Company, 74, 81, 92. Fletcher, Captain, 98, 100-1. Fort Albany, 74, 75, 107; Péré imprisoned in, 79. Fort Charles, established by Groseilliers, 39, 49. Fort Chipewyan, 6. Fort Edmonton, 7. Fort Frances, story of a resident of, 19. Fort Garry, 1. Fort La Corne, 120. Fort Moose, 47, 81, 83, 107. Fox, Captain, 26, 27. Frontenac, governor of New France, 51; meets Radisson and Groseilliers, 55. Geyer, Captain, 68. Gibbon, Captain, 21. Gillam, Ben, 58; arrested in Boston, 64; becomes a pirate and is executed, 64. Gillam Island, 58. Gillam, Zachariah, Boston sea captain, 32; in the service of the Hudson's Bay Company, 35, 37, 39, 48; at Fort Charles, 52; perishes, 61. Gorst, Thomas, secretary of the Hudson's Bay Company, 35; sails for Hudson Bay, 48. Grand Rapids, 3, 4; portage, 6. Greene, Henry, with Hudson, 10, 15; mutiny, 17; death, 20. Grimmington, Mike, with Ben Gillam, 59; with the Hudson's Bay Company, 68, 73; taken prisoner, 78; re-captures Albany, 93; sent to Hudson Bay, 98, 100; flees to Nelson, 101; sails for England with refugees, 102. Groseilliers, Medard Chouart des, French pathfinder, 27; veteran of Jesuit missions, 28; goes to Hudson Bay with Radisson, 29, 30; goes to France for redress for seizure of furs, 31; returns to Three Rivers, 32; goes to Anticosti, Port Royal, and Boston, 32; presented to Charles II, 34; receives gold chain and medal, 36; explores Hudson Bay country, 39; with 1670 expedition, 48; back in England demanding better terms, 53; goes to New France, 54; on fur-trading expedition, 56; returns to Quebec and to France, 64, 65; retires to home near Three Rivers, 66. Hannah Bay, 12, d'Iberville crosses, 83. Hayes river, named by Radisson, 49, 57. Hayes, Sir James, secretary to Prince Rupert, 36, 37; meets Radisson, 67. Hearne, hears fate of Knight's party, 109. Hendry, Anthony, his inland journey on behalf of the Company, 112-22. Henley House, 107. Hudson, Henry, his search for North-West Passage, 9-13; shipwrecked, 13; his hard time on shore with mutinous crew, 13-16; cast adrift, 18; traditions as to end, 18, 19. Hudson's Bay Company, dog brigades of, 1-2; extent of empire, 6-7; origin and formation of, 34-50; engages Radisson, 67; dividends and vessels of, 72-5, 102; disastrous conflicts with the French, 75-88, 92-102; activities of in council, 89-90; claims damages against France, 91; their charter confirmed, 103-4; forts restored by Treaty of Utrecht, 107; commissions James Knight to find North-West Passage, 108-10; parliamentary inquiry into charter and record of, 110. Hume, Captain, 73; taken prisoner to Quebec, 78; ransomed, 80. Iberville, Pierre Le Moyne d', his raids in Hudson Bay, 83-4, 92-3; attacks and takes Port Nelson, 94-5; in command of five French warships, 97-8; naval battle on Hudson Bay, 99-101; again takes Nelson, 101-2. Isham, James, governor of York, 122. James, Captain, 18; searches for North-West Passage, 26; meets Captain Fox and winters on Charlton Island, 27. James, Duke of York (James II), 36, 42. Jesuits, their expedition overland to Hudson Bay, 28. Juet, mate of 'Discovery,' 10; mutinies, 12, 17; death, 20. Kelsey, Henry, 68; sent to Nelson, 94; defends fort, 95, 101; his journey of exploration, 104-6; searches for Knight, 109. Kirke, Sir John, 35, 36; his claim against France, 54. Knight, James, 81; governor of Albany, 94; commissioned to find North-West Passage, 108; his fate, 109. La Barre, governor of New France, 63-4. La Chesnaye, fur trader, in attack on Hudson Bay posts, 81, 84-7. La Forest, surrenders at Nelson, 96. La Martinière, 75, 76, 80. La Vérendrye, establishes fur-trading posts on Red river, 112. Le Meux, Captain, surrenders at Fort Albany, 93. Le Moyne brothers, adventurers of New France, 79, 81-3. See Iberville, Serigny, and Chateauguay. Middleton, Captain, and the North-West Passage, 111. Moon, Captain, 93, 111. Munck, Jens, winters with ship at Churchill, 23-4; record of voyage, 24-6. Nelson, Port, Button's crew encamped at, 21; fur post, 81; captured, 101; restored, 107. See York Factory. Nepawin, 121. New France, explorers of, 27; Jesuits in, 28; fur trade of, 29. Nixon, governor at Moose, 74, 75. Northern Lights, 14 note. North-West Passage, 9, 22, 40, 107, 108, 110, 111. Norton, Moses, 108. Norton, Richard, 108. Outlaw, Captain John, 58, 68, 73, 77. Pepys, Samuel, 38. Péré, Jean, taken prisoner, 78, 79, 84; his release demanded, 86. Phipps, William, governor of Port Nelson, 68, 74. Portman, John, 35. Radisson, Pierre Esprit, explorer, 8, 19; hears of Sea of the North, 27; refused permission to trade, 29; leaves Three Rivers by night, 29; goes to Hudson Bay, 29, 30; furs seized by governor at Quebec, 31; goes to Port Royal and Boston, 32; presented to Charles II in England, 34; receives gold chain and medal, 36; and the Hudson's Bay Company, 40; made general superintendent of trade, 48; returns to England, 49, marries Mary Kirke, 49; suspected of treachery at Rupert, 51-2; returns to England, 53; joins French Navy, 53; goes again to New France, 54; leads French expedition to Bay, 55-7; explores Hayes river, 57; captures Ben Gillam's fort, 61; captures Bridgar, 62; sets out for Quebec with prisoners and booty, 63; La Barre strips him of ship and booty 64; returns to Paris, 65; ordered by France to return fur posts to Hudson's Bay Company, 66; takes oath of allegiance to England, 67; returns to the Bay, 68; returns to England, 70; goes again to Hudson Bay, 73; reappointed superintendent of trade, 74; price set on his head by France, 76; his claims for services repudiated, 91; assists Company in claim for damages, 91-2; death, 106. Randolph, Mr, of the American Plantations, 64. Robinson, Sir John, 35, 36. Romulus, Peter, surgeon, 35, 48. Rupert, 81; captured by French, 84. Rupert, Prince, 36, 42. Rupert's Land, taken over by Dominion Government, 123. Ryswick, Treaty of, 91, 102. St John, Lake, Jesuit mission near, 28. Sandford, Red Cap, 76, 81. Sargeant, Henry, Governor at Albany, 74, 75; attacked by French 86; surrenders, 87. Saskatchewan river, 2, 7; description, 113-15, 118-21. Serigny, d'Iberville's brother, 96, 101. Shaftsbury, Earl of, 36. Smithsend, Captain, 73; taken prisoner, 78; from a dungeon in Quebec sends a letter of warning to England, 79; reaches England, 81; sails for Hudson Bay, 98, 100; surrenders ship to d'Iberville, 101; escapes to Nelson, 101 note; goes to Albany, 102. Sorrel, Dame, helps to finance French expedition to Hudson Bay, 55. Squaw Rapids, 120. Stannard, Captain, 37. Strangers, River of, 26. Three Rivers, Radisson and Groseilliers return to, 27, 28, 66. Troyes, Chevalier de, 79, 81, 83, 85. Utrecht, Treaty of, 107. Vaughan, Captain, 108. Viner, Sir Robert, 35, 36. William of Orange, 90. Winnipeg, 1. Wolstenholme, English merchant, 9; financed search for Hudson, 21, 22. York Factory, 113 and note 117. See Nelson. Young, Mr, 35, 67, 91. Footnotes: [1] The Northern Lights. Printed by T. and A. Constable, Printers to His Majesty at the Edinburgh University Press * * * * * Transcriber's note: The page numbers of illustrations have been changed to reflect their new positions following transcription, and they are now indicated in the illustration list by 'Page' instead of 'Facing Page'. 
32236	----	http://www.fadedpage.net [Illustration: With eye and ear alert the man paddles silently on. (_See page 105._)] _THE STORY OF THE WEST SERIES_ _EDITED BY RIPLEY HITCHCOCK_ THE STORY OF THE TRAPPER * * * * * The Story of the West Series. EDITED BY RIPLEY HITCHCOCK. Each Illustrated, 12mo, Cloth. +The Story of the Railroad.+ By CY WARMAN, Author of "The Express Messenger." $1.50. +The Story of the Cowboy.+ By E. HOUGH. Illustrated by William L. Wells and C. M. Russell. $1.50. +The Story of the Mine.+ Illustrated by the Great Comstock Lode of Nevada. By CHARLES HOWARD SHINN. $1.50. +The Story of the Indian.+ By GEORGE BIRD GRINNELL, Author of "Pawnee Hero Stories," "Blackfoot Lodge Tales," etc. $1.50. +The Story of the Soldier.+ By Brevet Brigadier-General GEORGE A. FORSYTH, U. S. A. (retired). Illustrated by R. F. Zogbaum. $1.50. +The Story of the Trapper.+ By A. C. LAUT, Author of "Heralds of Empire." Illustrated by Hemment. $1.25 net; postage, 12 cents additional. D. APPLETON AND COMPANY, NEW YORK. * * * * * THE STORY OF THE TRAPPER BY A. C. LAUT AUTHOR OF HERALDS OF EMPIRE AND LORDS OF THE NORTH _ILLUSTRATED BY ARTHUR HEMING AND OTHERS_ [Illustration] NEW YORK AND LONDON D. APPLETON AND COMPANY 1916 COPYRIGHT, 1902 BY D. APPLETON AND COMPANY Printed in the United States of America * * * * * TO ALL WHO KNOW THE GIPSY YEARNING FOR THE WILDS * * * * * EDITOR'S PREFACE The picturesque figure of the trapper follows close behind the Indian in the unfolding of the panorama of the West. There is the explorer, but the trapper himself preceded the explorers--witness Lewis's and Clark's meetings with trappers on their journey. The trapper's hard-earned knowledge of the vast empire lying beyond the Missouri was utilized by later comers, or in a large part died with him, leaving occasional records in the documents of fur companies, or reports of military expeditions, or here and there in the name of a pass, a stream, a mountain, or a fort. His adventurous warfare upon the wild things of the woods and streams was the expression of a primitive instinct old as the history of mankind. The development of the motives which led the first pioneer trappers afield from the days of the first Eastern settlements, the industrial organizations which followed, the commanding commercial results which were evolved from the trafficking of Radisson and Groseillers in the North, the rise of the great Hudson's Bay Company, and the American enterprise which led, among other results, to the foundation of the Astor fortunes, would form no inconsiderable part of a history of North America. The present volume aims simply to show the type-character of the Western trapper, and to sketch in a series of pictures the checkered life of this adventurer of the wilderness. The trapper of the early West was a composite figure. From the Northeast came a splendid succession of French explorers like La Vérendrye, with _coureurs des bois_, and a multitude of daring trappers and traders pushing west and south. From the south the Spaniard, illustrated in figures like Garces and others, held out hands which rarely grasped the waiting commerce. From the north and northeast there was the steady advance of the sturdy Scotch and English, typified in the deeds of the Henrys, Thompson, MacKenzie, and the leaders of the organized fur trade, explorers, traders, captains of industry, carrying the flags of the Hudson's Bay and North-West Fur companies across Northern America to the Pacific. On the far Northwestern coast the Russian appeared as fur trader in the middle of the eighteenth century, and the close of the century saw the merchants of Boston claiming their share of the fur traffic of that coast. The American trapper becomes a conspicuous figure in the early years of the nineteenth century. The emporium of his traffic was St. Louis, and the period of its greatest importance and prosperity began soon after the Louisiana Purchase and continued for forty years. The complete history of the American fur trade of the far West has been written by Captain H. M. Chittenden in volumes which will be included among the classics of early Western history. Although his history is a publication designed for limited circulation, no student or specialist in this field can fail to appreciate the value of his faithful and comprehensive work. In The Story of the Trapper there is presented for the general reader a vivid picture of an adventurous figure, which is painted with a singleness of purpose and a distinctness impossible of realization in the large and detailed histories of the American fur trade and the Hudson's Bay and North-West companies, or the various special relations and journals and narratives. The author's wilderness lore and her knowledge of the life, added to her acquaintance with its literature, have borne fruit in a personification of the Western and Northern trappers who live in her pages. It is the man whom we follow not merely in the evolution of the Western fur traffic, but also in the course of his strange life in the wilds, his adventures, and the contest of his craft against the cunning of his quarry. It is a most picturesque figure which is sketched in these pages with the etcher's art that selects essentials while boldly disregarding details. This figure as it is outlined here will be new and strange to the majority of readers, and the relish of its piquant flavour will make its own appeal. A strange chapter in history is outlined for those who would gain an insight into the factors which had to do with the building of the West. Woodcraft, exemplified in the calling of its most skilful devotees, is painted in pictures which breathe the very atmosphere of that life of stream and forest which has not lost its appeal even in these days of urban centralization. The flash of the paddle, the crack of the rifle, the stealthy tracking of wild beasts, the fearless contest of man against brute and savage, may be followed throughout a narrative which is constant in its fresh and personal interest. The Hudson's Bay Company still flourishes, and there is still an American fur trade; but the golden days are past, and the heroic age of the American trapper in the West belongs to a bygone time. Even more than the cowboy, his is a fading figure, dimly realized by his successors. It is time to tell his story, to show what manner of man he was, and to preserve for a different age the adventurous character of a Romany of the wilderness, fascinating in the picturesqueness and daring of his primeval life, and also, judged by more practical standards, a figure of serious historical import in his relations to exploration and commerce, and even affairs of politics and state. If, therefore, we take the trapper as a typical figure in the early exploitation of an empire, his larger significance may be held of far more consequence to us than the excesses and lawlessness so frequent in his life. He was often an adventurer pure and simple. The record of his dealings with the red man and with white competitors is darkened by many stains. His return from his lonely journeys afield brought an outbreak of license like that of the cowboy fresh from the range, but with all this the stern life of the old frontier bred a race of men who did their work. That work was the development of the only natural resources of vast regions in this country and to the Northward, which were utilized for long periods. There was also the task of exploration, the breaking the way for others, and as pioneer and as builder of commerce the trapper's part in our early history has a significance which cloaks the frailties characteristic of restraintless life in untrodden wilds. CONTENTS CHAPTER PAGE I.--GAMESTERS OF THE WILDERNESS 1 II.--THREE COMPANIES IN CONFLICT 8 III.--THE NOR' WESTERS' COUP 22 IV.--THE ANCIENT HUDSON'S BAY COMPANY WAKENS UP 28 V.--MR. ASTOR'S COMPANY ENCOUNTERS NEW OPPONENTS 38 VI.--THE FRENCH TRAPPER 50 VII.--THE BUFFALO-RUNNERS 65 VIII.--THE MOUNTAINEERS 81 IX.--THE TAKING OF THE BEAVER 102 X.--THE MAKING OF THE MOCCASINS 117 XI.--THE INDIAN TRAPPER 128 XII.--BA'TISTE, THE BEAR HUNTER 144 XIII.--JOHN COLTER--FREE TRAPPER 160 XIV.--THE GREATEST FUR COMPANY OF THE WORLD 181 XV.--KOOT AND THE BOB-CAT 206 XVI.--OTHER LITTLE ANIMALS BESIDES WAHBOOS THE RABBIT 222 XVII.--THE RARE FURS--HOW THE TRAPPER TAKES THEM 240 XVIII.--UNDER THE NORTH STAR--WHERE FOX AND ERMINE RUN 258 XIX.--WHAT THE TRAPPER STANDS FOR 275 APPENDIX 281 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS FACING PAGE WITH EYE AND EAR ALERT THE MAN PADDLES SILENTLY ON _Frontispiece_ INDIAN _VOYAGEURS_ "PACKING" OVER LONG _PORTAGE_ 30 TRADERS RUNNING A MACKINAW OR KEEL-BOAT DOWN THE RAPIDS 57 THE BUFFALO-HUNT 78 THEY DODGE THE COMING SWEEP OF THE UPLIFTED ARM 143 CARRYING GOODS OVER LONG _PORTAGE_ WITH THE OLD-FASHIONED RED RIVER OX-CARTS 198 FORT MACPHERSON, THE MOST NORTHERLY POST OF THE HUDSON'S BAY COMPANY 228 TYPES OF FUR PRESSES 250 THE STORY OF THE TRAPPER PART I CHAPTER I GAMESTERS OF THE WILDERNESS Fearing nothing, stopping at nothing, knowing no law, ruling his stronghold of the wilds like a despot, checkmating rivals with a deviltry that beggars parallel, wassailing with a shamelessness that might have put Rome's worst deeds to the blush, fighting--fighting--fighting, always fighting with a courage that knew no truce but victory, the American trapper must ever stand as a type of the worst and the best in the militant heroes of mankind. Each with an army at his back, Wolfe and Napoleon won victories that upset the geography of earth. The fur traders never at any time exceeded a few thousands in number, faced enemies unbacked by armies and sallied out singly or in pairs; yet they won a continent that has bred a new race. Like John Colter,[1] whom Manuel Lisa met coming from the wilds a hundred years ago, the trapper strapped a pack to his back, slung a rifle over his shoulder, and, without any fanfare of trumpets, stepped into the pathless shade of the great forests. Or else, like Williams of the Arkansas, the trapper left the moorings of civilization in a canoe, hunted at night, hid himself by day, evaded hostile Indians by sliding down-stream with muffled paddles, slept in mid-current screened by the branches of driftwood, and if a sudden halloo of marauders came from the distance, cut the strap that held his craft to the shore and got away under cover of the floating tree. Hunters crossing the Cimarron desert set out with pack-horses, and, like Captain Becknell's party, were often compelled to kill horses and dogs to keep from dying of thirst. Frequently their fate was that of Rocky Mountain Smith, killed by the Indians as he stooped to scoop out a drinking-hole in the sand. Men who brought down their pelts to the mountain _rendezvous_ of Pierre's Hole, or went over the divide like Fraser and Thompson of the North-West Fur Company, had to abandon both horses and canoes, scaling cañon walls where the current was too turbulent for a canoe and the precipice too sheer for a horse, with the aid of their hunting-knives stuck in to the haft.[2] Where the difficulties were too great for a few men, the fur traders clubbed together under a master-mind like John Jacob Astor of the Pacific Company, or Sir Alexander MacKenzie of the Nor' Westers. Banded together, they thought no more of coasting round the sheeted antarctics, or slipping down the ice-jammed current of the MacKenzie River under the midnight sun of the arctic circle, than people to-day think of running from New York to Newport. When the conflict of 1812 cut off communication between western fur posts and New York by the overland route, Farnham, the Green Mountain boy, didn't think himself a hero at all for sailing to Kamtchatka and crossing the whole width of Asia, Europe, and the Atlantic, to reach Mr. Astor. The American fur trader knew only one rule of existence--to go ahead without any heroics, whether the going cost his own or some other man's life. That is the way the wilderness was won; and the winning is one of the most thrilling pages in history. * * * * * About the middle of the seventeenth century Pierre Radisson and Chouart Groseillers, two French adventurers from Three Rivers, Quebec, followed the chain of waterways from the Ottawa and Lake Superior northwestward to the region of Hudson Bay.[3] Returning with tales of fabulous wealth to be had in the fur trade of the north, they were taken in hand by members of the British Commission then in Boston, whose influence secured the Hudson's Bay Company charter in 1670; and that ancient and honourable body--as the company was called--reaped enormous profits from the bartering of pelts. But the bartering went on in a prosy, half-alive way, the traders sitting snugly in their forts on Rupert and Severn Rivers, or at York Factory (Port Nelson) and Churchill (Prince of Wales). The French governor down in Quebec issued only a limited number of licenses for the fur trade in Canada; and the old English company had no fear of rivalry in the north. It never sought inland tribes, but waited with serene apathy for the Indians to come down to its fur posts on the bay. Young Le Moyne d'Iberville[4] might march overland from Quebec to the bay, catch the English company nodding, scale the stockades, capture its forts, batter down a wall or two, and sail off like a pirate with ship-loads of booty for Quebec. What did the ancient company care? European treaties restored its forts, and the honourable adventurers presented a bill of damages to their government for lost furs. But came a sudden change. Great movements westward began simultaneously in all parts of the east. This resulted from two events--England's victory over France at Quebec, and the American colonies' Declaration of Independence. The downfall of French ascendency in America meant an end to that license system which limited the fur trade to favourites of the governor. That threw an army of some two thousand men--_voyageurs, coureurs des bois, mangeurs de lard_,[5] famous hunters, traders, and trappers--on their own resources. The MacDonalds and MacKenzies and MacGillivrays and Frobishers and MacTavishes--Scotch merchants of Quebec and Montreal--were quick to seize the opportunity. Uniting under the names of North-West Fur Company and X. Y. Fur Company, they re-engaged the entire retinue of cast-off Frenchmen, woodcraftsmen who knew every path and stream from Labrador to the Rocky Mountains. Giving higher pay and better fare than the old French traders, the Scotch merchants prepared to hold the field against all comers in the Canadas. And when the X. Y. amalgamated with the larger company before the opening of the nineteenth century, the Nor' Westers became as famous for their daring success as their unscrupulous ubiquity. But at that stage came the other factor--American Independence. Locked in conflict with England, what deadlier blow to British power could France deal than to turn over Louisiana with its million square miles and ninety thousand inhabitants to the American Republic? The Lewis and Clark exploration up the Missouri, over the mountains, and down the Columbia to the Pacific was a natural sequel to the Louisiana Purchase, and proved that the United States had gained a world of wealth for its fifteen million dollars. Before Lewis and Clark's feat, vague rumours had come to the New England colonies of the riches to be had in the west. The Russian Government had organized a strong company to trade for furs with the natives of the Pacific coast. Captain Vancouver's report of the north-west coast was corroborated by Captain Grey, who had stumbled into the mouth of the Columbia; and before 1800 nearly thirty Boston vessels yearly sailed to the Northern Pacific for the fur trade. Eager to forestall the Hudson's Bay Company, now beginning to rub its eyes and send explorers westward to bring Indians down to the bay,[6] Alexander MacKenzie of the Nor' Westers pushed down the great river named after him,[7] and forced his way across the northern Rockies to the Pacific. Flotillas of North-West canoes quickly followed MacKenzie's lead north to the arctics, south-west down the Columbia. At Michilimackinac--one of the most lawless and roaring of the fur posts--was an association known as the Mackinaw Company, made up of old French hunters under English management, trading westward from the Lakes to the Mississippi. Hudson Bay, Nor' Wester, and Mackinaw were daily pressing closer and closer to that vast unoccupied Eldorado--the fur country between the Missouri and the Saskatchewan, bounded eastward by the Mississippi, west by the Pacific. Possession is nine points out of ten. The question was who would get possession first. Unfortunately that question presented itself to three alert rivals at the same time and in the same light. And the war began. The Mackinaw traders had all they could handle from the Lakes to the Mississippi. Therefore they did little but try to keep other traders out of the western preserve. The Hudson's Bay remained in its somnolent state till the very extremity of outrage brought such a mighty awakening that it put its rivals to an eternal sleep. But the Nor' Westers were not asleep. And John Jacob Astor of New York, who had accumulated what was a gigantic fortune in those days as a purchaser of furs from America and a seller to Europe, was not asleep. And Manual Lisa, a Spaniard, of New Orleans, engaged at St. Louis in fur trade with the Osage tribes, was not asleep. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 1: Whom Bradbury and Irving and Chittenden have all conspired to make immortal.] [Footnote 2: While Lewis and Clark were on the Upper Missouri, the former had reached a safe footing along a narrow pass, when he heard a voice shout, "Good God, captain, what shall I do?" Turning, Lewis saw Windsor had slipped to the verge of a precipice, where he lay with right arm and leg over it, the other arm clinging for dear life to the bluff. With his hunting-knife he cut a hole for his right foot, ripped off his moccasins so that his toes could have the prehensile freedom of a monkey's tail, and thus crawled to safety like a fly on a wall.] [Footnote 3: Whether they actually reached the shores of the bay on this trip is still a dispute among French-Canadian savants.] [Footnote 4: 1685-'87; the same Le Moyne d'Iberville who died in Havana after spending his strength trying to colonize the Mississippi for France--one instance which shows how completely the influence of the fur trade connected every part of America, from the Gulf to the pole, as in a network irrespective of flag.] [Footnote 5: The men employed in mere rafting and barge work in contradistinction to the trappers and _voyageurs_.] [Footnote 6: This was probably the real motive of the Hudson's Bay Company sending Hearne to explore the Coppermine in 1769-'71. Hearne, unfortunately, has never reaped the glory for this, owing to his too-ready surrender of Prince of Wales Fort to the French in La Perouse's campaign of 1782.] [Footnote 7: To the mouth of the MacKenzie River in 1789, across the Rockies in 1793, for which feats he was knighted.] CHAPTER II THREE COMPANIES IN CONFLICT If only one company had attempted to take possession of the vast fur country west of the Mississippi, the fur trade would not have become international history; but three companies were at strife for possession of territory richer than Spanish Eldorado, albeit the coin was "beaver"--not gold. Each of three companies was determined to use all means fair or foul to exclude its rivals from the field; and a fourth company was drawn into the strife because the conflict menaced its own existence. From their Canadian headquarters at Fort William on Lake Superior, the Nor' Westers had yearly moved farther down the Columbia towards the mouth, where Lewis and Clark had wintered on the Pacific. In New York, Mr. Astor was formulating schemes to add to his fur empire the territory west of the Mississippi. At St. Louis was Manuel Lisa, the Spanish fur trader, already reaching out for the furs of the Missouri. And leagues to the north on the remote waters of Hudson Bay, the old English company lazily blinked its eyes open to the fact that competition was telling heavily on its returns, and that it would be compelled to take a hand in the merry game of a fur traders' war, though the real awakening had not yet come. Lisa was the first to act on the information brought back by Lewis and Clark. Forming a partnership with Morrison and Menard of Kaskaskia, Ill., and engaging Drouillard, one of Lewis and Clark's men, as interpreter, he left St. Louis with a heavily laden keel-boat in the spring of 1807. Against the turbulent current of the Missouri in the full flood-tide of spring this unwieldy craft was slowly hauled or "cordelled," twenty men along the shore pulling the clumsy barge by means of a line fastened high enough on the mast to be above brushwood. Where the water was shallow the _voyageurs_ poled single file, facing the stern and pushing with full chest strength. In deeper current oars were used. Launched for the wilderness, with no certain knowledge but that the wilderness was peopled by hostiles, poor Bissonette deserted when they were only at the Osage River. Lisa issued orders for Drouillard to bring the deserter back dead or alive--orders that were filled to the letter, for the poor fellow was brought back shot, to die at St. Charles. Passing the mouth of the Platte, the company descried a solitary white man drifting down-stream in a dugout. When it was discovered that this lone trapper was John Colter, who had left Lewis and Clark on their return trip and remained to hunt on the Upper Missouri, one can imagine the shouts that welcomed him. Having now been in the upper country for three years, he was the one man fitted to guide Lisa's party, and was promptly persuaded to turn back with the treasure-seekers. Past Blackbird's grave, where the great chief of the Omahas had been buried astride his war-horse high on the crest of a hill that his spirit might see the canoes of the French _voyageurs_ going up and down the river; past the lonely grave of Floyd,[8] whose death, like that of many a New World hero marked another milestone in the westward progress of empire; past the Aricaras, with their three hundred warriors gorgeous in vermilion, firing volleys across the keel-boat with fusees got from rival traders;[9] past the Mandans, threatening death to the intruders; past five thousand Assiniboine hostiles massed on the bank with weapons ready; up the Yellowstone to the mouth of the Bighorn--went Lisa, stopping in the very heart of the Crow tribe, those thieves and pirates and marauders of the western wilderness. Stockades were hastily stuck in the ground, banked up with a miniature parapet, flanked with the two usual bastions that could send a raking fire along all four walls; and Lisa was ready for trade. In 1808 the keel-boat returned to St. Louis, loaded to the water-line with furs. The Missouri Company was formally organized,[10] and yearly expeditions were sent not only to the Bighorn, but to the Three Forks of the Missouri, among the ferocious Blackfeet. Of the two hundred and fifty men employed, fifty were trained riflemen for the defence of the trappers; but this did not prevent more than thirty men losing their lives at the hands of the Blackfeet within two years. Among the victims was Drouillard, struck down wheeling his horse round and round as a shield, literally torn to pieces by the exasperated savages and eaten according to the hideous superstition that the flesh of a brave man imparts bravery. All the plundered clothing, ammunition, and peltries were carried to the Nor' Westers' trading posts north of the boundary.[11] Not if the West were to be baptized in blood would the traders retreat. Crippled, but not beaten, the Missouri men under Andrew Henry's leadership moved south-west over the mountains into the region that was to become famous as Pierre's Hole. * * * * * Meanwhile neither the Nor' Westers nor Mr. Astor remained idle. The same year that Lisa organized his Missouri Fur Company Mr. Astor obtained a charter from the State of New York for the American Fur Company. To lessen competition in the great scheme gradually framing itself in his mind, he bought out that half of the Mackinaw Company's trade[12] which was within the United States, the posts in the British dominions falling into the hands of the all-powerful Nor' Westers. Intimate with the leading partners of the Nor' Westers, Mr. Astor proposed to avoid rivalry on the Pacific coast by giving the Canadians a third interest in his plans for the capture of the Pacific trade. Lords of their own field, the Nor' Westers rejected Mr. Astor's proposal with a scorn born of unshaken confidence, and at once prepared to anticipate American possession of the Pacific coast. Mr. Astor countered by engaging the best of the dissatisfied Nor' Westers for his Pacific Fur Company. Duncan MacDougall, a little pepper-box of a Scotchman, with a bumptious idea of authority which was always making other eyes smart, was to be Mr. Astor's proxy on the ship to round the Horn and at the headquarters of the company on the Pacific. Donald MacKenzie was a relative of Sir Alexander of the Nor' Westers, and must have left the northern traders from some momentary pique; for he soon went back to the Canadian companies, became chief factor at Fort Garry,[13] the headquarters of the Hudson's Bay Company, and was for a time governor of Red River. Alexander MacKay had accompanied Sir Alexander MacKenzie on his famous northern trips, and was one Nor' Wester who served Mr. Astor with fidelity to the death. The elder Stuart was a rollicking winterer from The Labrador, with the hail-fellow-well-met-air of an equal among the mercurial French-Canadians. The younger Stuart was of the game, independent spirit that made Nor' Westers famous. Of the Tonquin's voyage round the Horn--with its crew of twenty, and choleric Captain Thorn, and four[14] partners headed by the fussy little MacDougall in mutiny against the captain's discipline, and twelve clerks always getting their landlubber clumsiness in the sailors' way, and thirteen _voyageurs_ ever grumbling at the ocean swell that gave them qualms unknown on inland waters--little need be said. Washington Irving has told this story; and what Washington Irving leaves untold, Captain Chittenden has recently unearthed from the files of the Missouri archives. The Tonquin sailed from New York, September 6, 1810. The captain had been a naval officer, and cursed the partners for their easy familiarity with the men before the mast, and the note-writing clerks for a lot of scribbling blockheads, and the sea-sick _voyageurs_ for a set of fresh-water braggarts. And the captain's amiable feelings were reciprocated by every Nor' Wester on board. Cape Horn was doubled on Christmas Day, Hawaii sighted in February, some thirty Sandwich Islanders engaged for service in the new company, and the Columbia entered at the end of March, 1811. Eight lives were lost attempting to run small boats against the turbulent swell of tide and current. The place to land, the site to build, details of the new fort, Astoria--all were subjects for the jangling that went on between the fuming little Scotchman MacDougall and Captain Thorn, till the Tonquin weighed anchor on the 1st of June and sailed away to trade on the north coast, accompanied by only one partner, Alexander MacKay, and one clerk, James Lewis. The obstinacy that had dominated Captain Thorn continued to dictate a wrong-headed course. In spite of Mr. Astor's injunction to keep Indians off the ship and MacKay's warning that the Nootka tribes were treacherous, the captain allowed natives to swarm over his decks. Once, when MacKay was on shore, Thorn lost his temper, struck an impertinent chief in the face with a bundle of furs, and expelled the Indian from the ship. When MacKay came back and learned what had happened, he warned the captain of Indian vengeance and urged him to leave the harbour. These warnings the captain scorned, welcoming back the Indians, and no doubt exulting to see that they had become almost servile. One morning, when Thorn, and MacKay were yet asleep, a pirogue with twenty Indians approached the ship. The Indians were unarmed, and held up furs to trade. They were welcomed on deck. Another canoe glided near and another band mounted the ship's ladder. Soon the vessel was completely surrounded with canoes, the braves coming aboard with furs, the squaws laughing and chatting and rocking their crafts at the ship's side. This day the Indians were neither pertinacious nor impertinent in their trade. Matters went swimmingly till some of the Tonquin's crew noticed with alarm that all the Indians were taking knives and other weapons in exchange for their furs and that groups were casually stationing themselves at positions of wonderful advantage on the deck. MacKay and Thorn were quickly called. This is probably what the Indians were awaiting. MacKay grasped the fearful danger of the situation and again warned the captain. Again Thorn slighted the warning. But anchors were hoisted. The Indians thronged closer, as if in the confusion of hasty trade. Then the dour-headed Thorn understood. With a shout he ordered the decks cleared. His shout was answered by a counter-shout--the wild, shrill shriekings of the Indian war-cry! All the newly-bought weapons flashed in the morning sun. Lewis, the clerk, fell first, bending over a pile of goods, and rolled down the companion-way with a mortal stab in his back. MacKay was knocked from his seat on the taffrail by a war-club and pitched overboard to the canoes, where the squaws received him on their knives. Thorn had been roused so suddenly that he had no weapon but his pocket-knife. With this he was trying to fight his way to the firearms of the cabin, when he was driven, faint from loss of blood, to the wheel-house. A tomahawk clubbed down, and he, too, was pitched overboard to the knives of the squaws. While the officers were falling on the quarter-deck, sailors and Sandwich Islanders were fighting to the death elsewhere. The seven men who had been sent up the ratlins to rig sails came shinning down ropes and masts to gain the cabin. Two were instantly killed. A third fell down the main hatch fatally wounded; and the other four got into the cabin, where they broke holes and let fly with musket and rifle. This sent the savages scattering overboard to the waiting canoes. The survivors then fired charge after charge from the deck cannon, which drove the Indians to land with tremendous loss of life. All day the Indians watched the Tonquin's sails flapping to the wind; but none of the ship's crew appeared on the deck. The next morning the Tonquin still lay rocking to the tide; but no white men emerged from below. Eager to plunder the apparently deserted ship, the Indians launched their canoes and cautiously paddled near. A white man--one of those who had fallen down the hatch wounded--staggered up to the deck, waved for the natives to come on board, and dropped below. Gluttonous of booty, the savages beset the sides of the Tonquin like flocks of carrion-birds. Barely were they on deck when sea and air were rent with a terrific explosion as of ten thousand cannon! The ship was blown to atoms, bodies torn asunder, and the sea scattered with bloody remnants of what had been living men but a moment before. The mortally wounded man, thought to be Lewis, the clerk,[15] had determined to effect the death of his enemies on his own pyre. Unable to escape with the other four refugees under cover of night, he had put a match to four tons of powder in the hold. But the refugees might better have perished with the Tonquin; for head-winds drove them ashore, where they were captured and tortured to death with all the prolonged cruelty that savages practise. Between twenty and thirty lives were lost in this disaster to the Pacific Fur Company; and MacDougall was left at Astoria with but a handful of men and a weakly-built fort to wait the coming of the overland traders whom Mr. Astor was sending by way of the Missouri and Columbia. Indian runners brought vague rumours of thirty white men building a fort on the Upper Columbia. If these had been the overland party, they would have come on to Astoria. Who they were, MacDougall, who had himself been a Nor' Wester, could easily guess. As a countercheck, Stuart of Labrador was preparing to go up-stream and build a fur post for the Pacific Company; but Astoria was suddenly electrified by the apparition of nine white men in a canoe flying a British flag. The North-West Company arrived just three months too late! David Thompson, the partner at the head of the newcomers, had been delayed in the mountains by the desertion of his guides. Much to the disgust of Labrador Stuart, who might change masters often but was loyal to only one master at a time, MacDougall and Thompson hailed each other as old friends. Every respect is due Mr. Thompson as an explorer, but to the Astorians living under the ruthless code of fur-trading rivalry, he should have been nothing more than a North-West spy, to be guardedly received in a Pacific Company fort. As a matter of fact, he was welcomed with open arms, saw everything, and set out again with a supply of Astoria provisions. History is not permitted to jump at conclusions, but unanswered questions will always cling round Thompson's visit. Did he bear some message from the Nor' Westers to MacDougall? Why was Stuart, an honourable, fair-minded man, in such high dudgeon that he shook free of Thompson's company on their way back up the Columbia? Why did MacDougall lose his tone of courage with such surprising swiftness? How could the next party of Nor' Westers take him back into the fold and grant him a partnership _ostensibly_ without the knowledge of the North-West annual council, held in Fort William on Lake Superior? Early in August wandering tribes brought news of the Tonquin's destruction, and Astoria bestirred itself to strengthen pickets, erect bastions, mount four-pounders, and drill for war. MacDougall's North-West training now came out, and he entered on a policy of conciliation with the Indians that culminated in his marrying Comcomly's daughter. He also perpetrated the world-famous threat of letting small-pox out of a bottle exhibited to the chiefs unless they maintained good behaviour. Traders established inland posts, the schooner Dolly was built, and New Year's Day of 1812 ushered in with a firing of cannon and festive allowance of rum. On January 18th arrived the forerunners of the overland party, ragged, wasted, starving, with a tale of blundering and mismanagement that must have been gall to MacKenzie, the old Nor' Wester accompanying them. The main body under Hunt reached Astoria in February, and two other detachments later. The management of the overlanders had been intrusted to Wilson Price Hunt of New Jersey, who at once proceeded to Montreal with Donald MacKenzie, the Nor' Wester. Here the fine hand of the North-West Company was first felt. Rum, threats, promises, and sudden orders whisking them away prevented capable _voyageurs_ from enlisting under the Pacific Company. Only worthless fellows could be engaged, which explains in part why these empty braggarts so often failed Mr. Hunt. Pushing up the Ottawa in a birch canoe, Hunt and MacKenzie crossed the lake to Michilimackinac. Here the hand of the North-West Company was again felt. Tattlers went from man to man telling yarns of terror to frighten _engagés_ back. Did a man enlist? Sudden debts were remembered or manufactured, and the bill presented to Hunt. Was a _voyageur_ on the point of embarking? A swarm of naked brats with a frouzy Indian wife set up a howl of woe. Hunt finally got off with thirty men, accompanied by Mr. Ramsay Crooks, a distinguished Nor' Wester, who afterward became famous as the president of the American Fur Company. Going south by way of Green Bay and the Mississippi, Hunt reached St. Louis, where the machinations of another rival were put to work. Having rejected Mr. Astor's suggestion to take part in the Pacific Company, Mr. Manuel Lisa of the Missouri traders did not propose to see his field invaded. The same difficulties were encountered at St. Louis in engaging men as at Montreal, and when Hunt was finally ready in March, 1811, to set out with his sixty men up the Missouri, Lisa resurrected a liquor debt against Pierre Dorion, Hunt's interpreter, with the fluid that cheers a French-Canadian charged at ten dollars a quart. Pierre slipped Lisa's coil by going overland through the woods and meeting Hunt's party farther up-stream, beyond the law. Whatever his motive, Lisa at once organized a search party of twenty picked _voyageurs_ to go up the Missouri to the rescue of that Andrew Henry who had fled from the Blackfeet over the mountains to Snake River. Traders too often secured safe passage through hostile territory in those lawless days by giving the savages muskets enough to blow out the brains of the next comers. Lisa himself was charged with this by Crooks and MacLellan.[16] Perhaps that was his reason for pushing ahead at all speed to overtake Hunt before either party had reached Sioux territory. Hunt got wind of the pursuit. The faster Lisa came, the harder Hunt fled. This curious race lasted for a thousand miles and ended in Lisa coming up with the Astorians on June 2d. For a second time the Spaniard tampered with Dorion. Had not two English travellers intervened, Hunt and Lisa would have settled their quarrel with pistols for two. Thereafter the rival parties proceeded in friendly fashion, Lisa helping to gather horses for Hunt's party to cross the mountains. That overland journey was one of the most pitiful, fatuous, mismanaged expeditions in the fur trade. Why a party of sixty-four well-armed, well-provisioned men failed in doing what any two _voyageurs_ or trappers were doing every day, can only be explained by comparison to a bronco in a blizzard. Give the half-wild prairie creature the bit, and it will carry its rider through any storm. Jerk it to right, to left, east, and west till it loses its confidence, and the bronco is as helpless as the rider. So with the _voyageur_. Crossing the mountains alone in his own way, he could evade famine and danger and attack by lifting a brother trader's cache--hidden provisions--or tarrying in Indian lodges till game crossed his path, or marrying the daughter of a hostile chief, or creeping so quietly through the woods neither game nor Indian scout could detect his presence. With a noisy cavalcade of sixty-four all this was impossible. Broken into detachments, weak, emaciated, stripped naked, on the verge of dementia and cannibalism, now shouting to each other across a roaring cañon, now sinking in despair before a blind wall, the overlanders finally reached Astoria after nearly a year's wanderings. Mr. Astor's second ship, the Beaver, arrived with re-enforcements of men and provisions. More posts were established inland. After several futile attempts, despatches were sent overland to St. Louis. Under direction of Mr. Hunt, the Beaver sailed for Alaska to trade with the Russians. Word came from the North-West forts on the Upper Columbia of war with England. Mr. Astor's third ship, the Lark, was wrecked. Astoria was now altogether in the hands of men who had been Nor' Westers. And what was the alert North-West Company doing?[17] FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 8: Of the Lewis and Clark expedition.] [Footnote 9: Either the Nor' Westers or the Mackinaws, for the H. B. C. were not yet so far south.] [Footnote 10: In it were the two original partners, Clark, the Chouteaus of Missouri fame, Andrew Henry, the first trader to cross the northern continental divide, and others of whom Chittenden gives full particulars.] [Footnote 11: This on the testimony of a North-West partner, Alexander Henry, a copy of whose diary is in the Parliamentary Library, Ottawa. Both Coues and Chittenden, the American historians, note the corroborative testimony of Henry's journal.] [Footnote 12: Henceforth known as the South-West Company, in distinction to the North-West.] [Footnote 13: The modern Winnipeg.] [Footnote 14: MacKay, MacDougall, and the two Stuarts.] [Footnote 15: Franchère, one of the scribbling clerks whom Thorn so detested, says this man was Weekes, who almost lost his life entering the Columbia. Irving, who drew much of his material from Franchère, says Lewis, and may have had special information from Mr. Astor; but all accounts--Franchère's, and Ross Cox's, and Alexander Ross's--are from the same source, the Indian interpreter, who, in the confusion of the massacre, sprang overboard into the canoes of the squaws, who spared him on account of his race. Franchère became prominent in Montreal, Cox in British Columbia, and Ross in Red River Settlement of Winnipeg, where the story of the fur company conflict became folk-lore to the old settlers. There is scarcely a family but has some ancestor who took part in the contest among the fur companies at the opening of the nineteenth century, and the tale is part of the settlement's traditions.] [Footnote 16: A partner in trade with Crooks, both of whom lost everything going up the Missouri in Lisa's wake.] [Footnote 17: Doings in the North-West camp have only become known of late from the daily journals of two North-West partners--MacDonald of Garth, whose papers were made public by a descendant of the MacKenzies, and Alexander Henry, whose account is in the Ottawa Library.] CHAPTER III THE NOR' WESTERS' COUP "_It had been decided in council at Fort William that the company should send the Isaac Todd to the Columbia River, where the Americans had established Astoria, and that a party should proceed from Fort William (overland) to meet the ship on the coast_," wrote MacDonald of Garth, a North-West partner, for the perusal of his children. This was decided at the North-West council of 1812, held annually on the shores of Lake Superior. It was just a year from the time that Thompson had discovered the American fort in the hands of former Nor' Westers. At this meeting Thompson's report must have been read. The overland party was to be led by the two partners, John George MacTavish and Alexander Henry, the sea expedition on the Isaac Todd by Donald MacTavish, who had actually been appointed governor of the American fort in anticipation of victory. On the Isaac Todd also went MacDonald of Garth.[18] The overland expedition was to thread that labyrinth of water-ways connecting Lake Superior and the Saskatchewan, thence across the plains to Athabasca, over the northern Rockies, past Jasper House, through Yellow Head Pass, and down half the length of the Columbia through Kootenay plains to Astoria. One has only to recall the roaring cañons of the northern Rockies, with their sheer cataracts and bottomless precipices, to realize how much more hazardous this route was than that followed by Hunt from St. Louis to Astoria. Hunt had to cross only the plains and the width of the Rockies. The Nor' Westers not only did this, but passed down the middle of the Rockies for nearly a thousand miles. Before doubling the Horn the Isaac Todd was to sail from Quebec to England for convoy of a war-ship. The Nor' Westers naïve assurance of victory was only exceeded by their utter indifference to danger, difficulty, and distance in the attainment of an end. In view of the terror which the Isaac Todd was alleged to have inspired in MacDougall's mind, it is interesting to know what the Nor' Westers thought of their ship. "_A twenty-gun letter of marque with a mongrel crew_," writes MacDonald of Garth, "_a miserable sailor with a miserable commander and a rascally crew_." On the way out MacDonald transferred to the British convoy Raccoon, leaving the frisky old Governor MacTavish with his gay barmaid Jane[19] drinking pottle deep on the Isaac Todd, where the rightly disgusted captain was not on speaking terms with his Excellency. "_We were nearly six weeks before we could double Cape Horn, and were driven half-way to the Cape of Good Hope; ... at last doubled the cape under topsails, ... the deck one sheet of ice for six weeks, ... our sails one frozen sheet; ... lost sight of the Isaac Todd in a gale_," wrote MacDonald on the Raccoon. It will be remembered that Hunt's overlanders arrived at Astoria months after the Pacific Company's ship. Such swift coasters of the wilderness were the Nor' Westers, this overland party came sweeping down the Columbia, ten canoes strong, hale, hearty, singing as they paddled, a month before the Raccoon had come, six months before their own ship, the Isaac Todd. And what did MacDougall do? Threw open his gates in welcome, let an army of eighty rivals camp under shelter of his fort guns, demeaned himself into a pusillanimous, little, running fetch-and-carry at the beck of the Nor' Westers, instead of keeping sternly inside his fort, starving rivals into surrender, or training his cannon upon them if they did not decamp. Alexander Henry, the partner at the head of these dauntless Nor' Westers, says their provisions were "nearly all gone." But, oh! the bragging _voyageurs_ told those quaking Astorians terrible things of what the Isaac Todd would do. There were to be British convoys and captures and prize-money and prisoners of war carried off to Sainte Anne alone knew where. The American-born scorned these exaggerated yarns, knowing their purpose, but not so MacDougall. All his pot-valiant courage sank at the thought of the Isaac Todd, and when the campers ran up a British flag he forbade the display of American colours above Astoria. The end of it was that he sold out Mr. Astor's interests at forty cents on the dollar, probably salving his conscience with the excuse that he had saved that percentage of property from capture by the Raccoon. At the end of November a large ship was sighted standing in over the bar with all sails spread but no ensign out. Three shots were fired from Astoria. There was no answer. What if this were the long-lost Mr. Hunt coming back from Alaskan trade on the Beaver? The doughty Nor' Westers hastily packed their furs, ninety-two bales in all, and sent their _voyageurs_ scampering up-stream to hide and await a signal. But MacDougall was equal to the emergency. He launched out for the ship, prepared to be an American if it were the Beaver with Mr. Hunt, a Nor' Wester if it were the Raccoon with a company partner. It was the Raccoon, and the British captain addressed the Astorians in words that have become historic: "_Is this the fort I've heard so much about? D---- me, I could batter it down in two hours with a four-pounder!_" Two weeks later the Union Jack was hoisted above Astoria, with traders and marines drawn up under arms to fire a volley. A bottle of Madeira was broken against the flagstaff, the country pronounced a British possession by the captain, cheers given, and eleven guns fired from the bastions. At this stage all accounts, particularly American accounts, have rung down the curtain on the catastrophe, leaving the Nor' Westers intoxicated with success. But another act was to complete the disasters of Astoria, for the very excess of intoxication brought swift judgment on the revelling Nor' Westers. The Raccoon left on the last day of 1813. MacDougall had been appointed partner in the North-West Company, and the other Canadians re-engaged under their own flag. When Hunt at last arrived in the Pedler, which he had chartered after the wreck of Mr. Astor's third vessel, the Lark, it was too late to do more than carry away those Americans still loyal to Mr. Astor. Farnham was left at Kamtchatka, whence he made his way to Europe. The others were captured off California and they afterward scattered to all parts of the world. Early in April, 1814, a brigade of Nor' Westers, led by MacDonald of Garth and the younger MacTavish, set out for the long journey across the mountains and prairie to the company's headquarters at Port William. In the flotilla of ten canoes went many of the old Astorians. Two weeks afterward came the belated Isaac Todd with the Nor' Westers' white flag at its foretop and the dissolute old Governor MacTavish holding a high carnival of riot in the cabin. No darker picture exists than that of Astoria--or Fort George, as the British called it--under Governor MacTavish's _régime_. The picture is from the hand of a North-West partner himself. _"Not in bed till 2 A. M.; ... the gentlemen and the crew all drunk; ... famous fellows for grog they are; ... diced for articles belonging to Mr. M.,"_ Alexander Henry had written when the Raccoon was in port; and now under Governor MacTavish's vicious example every pretence to decency was discarded. "_Avec les loups il faut hurler_" was a common saying among Nor' Westers, and perhaps that very assimilation to the native races which contributed so much to success also contributed to the trader's undoing. White men and Indians vied with each other in mutual debasement. Chinook and Saxon and Frenchmen alike lay on the sand sodden with corruption; and if one died from carousals, companions weighted neck and feet with stones and pushed the corpse into the river. Quarrels broke out between the wassailing governor and the other partners. Emboldened, the underlings and hangers-on indulged in all sorts of theft. "All the gentlemen were intoxicated," writes one who was present; _seven hours rowing one mile_, innocently states the record of another day, _the tide running seven feet high past the fort_. The spring rains had ceased. Mountain peaks emerged from the empurpled horizon in domes of opal above the clouds, and the Columbia was running its annual mill-race of spring floods, waters milky from the silt of countless glaciers and turbulent from the rush of a thousand cataracts. Governor MacTavish[20] and Alexander Henry had embarked with six _voyageurs_ to cross the river. A blustering wind caught the sail. A tidal wave pitched amidships. The craft filled and sank within sight of the fort. So perished the conquerors of Astoria! FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 18: A son of the English officer of the Eighty-fourth Regiment in the American War of Independence.] [Footnote 19: Jane Barnes, an adventuress from Portsmouth, the first white woman on the Columbia.] [Footnote 20: In justice to the many descendants of the numerous clan MacTavish in the service of the fur companies, this MacTavish should be distinguished from others of blameless lives.] CHAPTER IV THE ANCIENT HUDSON'S BAY COMPANY WAKENS UP Those eighty[21] Astorians and Nor' Westers who set inland with their ten canoes and boats under protection of two swivels encountered as many dangers on the long trip across the continent as they had left at Fort George. Following the wandering course of the Columbia, the traders soon passed the international boundary northward into the Arrow Lakes with their towering sky-line of rampart walls, on to the great bend of the Columbia where the river becomes a tumultuous torrent milky with glacial sediment, now raving through a narrow cañon, now teased into a white whirlpool by obstructing rocks, now tumbling through vast shadowy forests, now foaming round the green icy masses of some great glacier, and always mountain-girt by the tent-like peaks of the eternal snows. "_A plain, unvarnished tale, my dear Bellefeuille_," wrote the mighty MacDonald of Garth in his eighty-sixth year for a son; but the old trader's tale needed no varnish of rhetoric. "_Nearing the mountains we got scarce of provisions; ... bought horses for beef.... Here_ (at the Great Bend) _we left canoes and began a mountain pass_ (Yellow Head Pass).... _The river meanders much, ... and we cut across, ... holding by one another's hands, ... wading to the hips in water, dashing in, frozen at one point, thawed at the next, ... frozen before we dashed in, ... our men carrying blankets and provisions on their heads; ... four days' hard work before we got to Jasper House at the source of the Athabasca, sometimes camping on snow twenty feet deep, so that the fires we made in the evening were fifteen or twenty feet below us in the morning."_ They had now crossed the mountains, and taking to canoes again paddled down-stream to the _portage_ between Athabasca River and the Saskatchewan. Tramping sixty miles, they reached Fort Augustus (Edmonton) on the Saskatchewan, where canoes were made on the spot, and the _voyageurs_ launched down-stream a trifling distance of two thousand miles by the windings of the river, past Lake Winnipeg southward to Fort William, the Nor' Westers' headquarters on Lake Superior. Here the capture of Astoria was reported, and bales to the value of a million dollars in modern money sent east in fifty canoes with an armed guard of three hundred men.[22] Coasting along the north shore of Lake Superior, the _voyageurs_ came to the Sault and found Mr. Johnston's establishment a scene of smoking ruins. It was necessary to use the greatest caution not to attract the notice of warring parties on the Lakes. "_Overhauled a canoe going eastward, ... a Mackinaw trader and four Indians with a dozen fresh American scalps_," writes MacDonald, showing to what a pass things had come. Two days later a couple of boats were overtaken and compelled to halt by a shot from MacDonald's swivels. The strangers proved to be the escaping crew of a British ship which had been captured by two American schooners, and the British officer bore bad news. The American schooners were now on the lookout for the rich prize of furs being taken east in the North-West canoes. Slipping under the nose of these schooners in the dark, the officer hurried to Mackinac, leaving the Nor' Westers hidden in the mouth of French River. William MacKay, a Nor' West partner, at once sallied out to the defence of the furs. Determined to catch the brigade, one schooner was hovering about the Sault, the other cruising into the countless recesses of the north shore. Against the latter the Mackinaw traders directed their forces, boarding her, and, as MacDonald tells with brutal frankness, "_pinning the crew with fixed bayonets to the deck_." Lying snugly at anchor, the victors awaited the coming of the other unsuspecting schooner, let her cast anchor, bore down upon her, poured in a broadside, and took both schooners to Mackinac. Freed from all apprehension of capture, the North-West brigade proceeded eastward to the Ottawa River, and without further adventure came to Montreal, where all was wild confusion from another cause. At the very time when war endangered the entire route of the Nor' Westers from Montreal to the Pacific, the Hudson's Bay Company awakened from its long sleep. While Mr. Astor was pushing his schemes in the United States, Lord Selkirk was formulating plans for the control of all Canada's fur trade. Like Mr. Astor, he too had been the guest at the North-West banquets in the Beaver Club, Montreal, and had heard fabulous things from those magnates of the north about wealth made in the fur trade. Returning to England, Lord Selkirk bought up enough stock of the Hudson's Bay Company to give him full control, and secured from the shareholders an enormous grant of land surrounding the mouths of the Red and Assiniboine rivers. Where the Assiniboine joins the northern Red were situated Fort Douglas (later Fort Garry, now Winnipeg), the headquarters of the Hudson's Bay Company, and Fort Gibraltar, the North-West post whence supplies were sent all the way from the Mandans on the Missouri to the Eskimo in the arctics. Not satisfied with this _coup_, Lord Selkirk engaged Colin Robertson, an old Nor' Wester, to gather a brigade of _voyageurs_ two hundred strong at Montreal and proceed up the Nor' Westers' route to Athabasca, MacKenzie River, and the Rockies. This was the noisy, blustering, bragging company of gaily-bedizened fellows that had turned the streets of Montreal into a roistering booth when the Astorians came to the end of their long eastward journey. Poor, fool-happy revellers! Eighteen of them died of starvation in the far, cold north, owing to the conflict between Fort Douglas and Gibraltar, which delayed supplies. Beginning in 1811, Lord Selkirk poured a stream of colonists to his newly-acquired territory by way of Churchill and York Factory on Hudson Bay. These people were given lands, and in return expected to defend the Hudson's Bay Company from Nor' Westers. The Nor' Westers struck back by discouraging the colonists, shipping them free out of the country, and getting possession of their arms. Miles MacDonell, formerly of the King's Royal Regiment, New York, governor of the Hudson's Bay Company at Fort Douglas, at once issued proclamations forbidding Indians to trade furs with Nor' Westers and ordering Nor' Westers from the country. On the strength of these proclamations two or three outlying North-West forts were destroyed and North-West fur brigades rifled. Duncan Cameron,[23] the North-West partner at Fort Gibraltar, countered by letting his _Bois-Brûlés_, a ragged half-breed army of wild plain rangers under Cuthbert Grant, canter across the two miles that separated the rival forts, and pour a volley of musketry into the Hudson Bay houses. To save the post for the Hudson's Bay Company, Miles MacDonell gave himself up and was shipped out of the country. But the Hudson's Bay fort was only biding its time till the valiant North-West defenders had scattered to their winter posts. Then an armed party seized Duncan Cameron not far from the North-West fort, and with pistol cocked by one man, publicly horsewhipped the Nor' Wester. Afterward, when Semple, the new Hudson's Bay governor, was absent from Fort Douglas and could not therefore be held responsible for consequences, the Hudson's Bay men, led by the same Colin Robertson who had brought the large brigade from Montreal, marched across the prairie to Fort Gibraltar, captured Mr. Cameron, plundered all the Nor' Westers' stores, and burned the fort to the ground. By way of retaliation for MacDonell's expulsion, the North-West partner was shipped down to Hudson Bay, where he might as well have been on Devil's Island for all the chance of escape. One company at fault as often as the other, similar outrages were perpetrated in all parts of the north fur country, the blood of rival traders being spilt without a qualm of conscience or thought of results. The effect of this conflict among white men on the bloodthirsty red-skins one may guess. The _Bois-Brûlés_ were clamouring for Cuthbert Grant's permission to wipe the English--meaning the Hudson's Bay men--off the earth; and the Swampy Crees and Saulteaux under Chief Peguis were urging Governor Semple to let them defend the Hudson's Bay--meaning kill the Nor' Westers. The crisis followed sharp on the destruction of Fort Gibraltar. That post had sent all supplies to North-West forts. If Fort Douglas of the Hudson's Bay Company, past which North-West canoes must paddle to turn westward to the plains, should intercept the incoming brigade of Nor' Westers' supplies, what would become of the two thousand North-West traders and _voyageurs_ and _engagés_ inland? Whether the Hudson's Bay had such intentions or not, the Nor' Westers were determined to prevent the possibility. Like the red cross that called ancient clans to arms, scouts went scouring across the plains to rally the _Bois-Brûlés_ from Portage la Prairie and Souris and Qu'Appelle.[24] Led by Cuthbert Grant, they skirted north of the Hudson's Bay post to meet and disembark supplies above Fort Douglas. It was but natural for the settlers to mistake this armed cavalcade, red with paint and chanting war-songs, for hostiles. Rushing to Fort Douglas, the settlers gave the alarm. Ordering a field-piece to follow, Governor Semple marched out with a little army of twenty-eight Hudson's Bay men. The Nor' Westers thought that he meant to obstruct their way till his other forces had captured their coming canoes. The Hudson's Bay thought that Cuthbert Grant meant to attack the Selkirk settlers. It was in the evening of June 19, 1816. The two parties met at the edge of a swamp beside a cluster of trees, since called Seven Oaks. Nor' Westers say that Governor Semple caught the bridle of their scout and tried to throw him from his horse. The Hudson's Bay say that the governor had no sooner got within range than the half-breed scout leaped down and fired from the shelter of his horse, breaking Semple's thigh. It is well known how the first blood of battle has the same effect on all men of whatever race. The human is eclipsed by that brute savagery which comes down from ages when man was a creature of prey. In a trice twenty-one of the Hudson's Bay men lay dead. While Grant had turned to obtain carriers to bear the wounded governor off the field, poor Semple was brutally murdered by one of the Deschamps family, who ran from body to body, perpetrating the crimes of ghouls. It was in vain for Grant to expostulate. The wild blood of a savage race had been roused. The soft velvet night of the summer prairie, with the winds crooning the sad monotone of a limitless sea, closed over a scene of savages drunk with slaughter, of men gone mad with the madness of murder, of warriors thinking to gain courage by drinking the blood of the slain. Grant saved the settlers' lives by sending them down-stream to Lake Winnipeg, where dwelt the friendly Chief Peguis. On the river they met the indomitable Miles MacDonell, posting back to resume authority. He brought news that must have been good cheer. Moved by the expelled governor's account of disorders, Lord Selkirk was hastening north, armed with the authority of a justice of the peace, escorted by soldiers in full regalia as became his station, with cannon mounted on his barges and stores of munition that ill agreed with the professions of a peaceful justice. The time has gone past for quibbling as to the earl's motives in pushing north armed like a lord of war. MacDonell hastened back and met him with his army of Des Meurons[25] at the Sault. In August Lord Selkirk appeared before Port William with uniformed soldiers in eleven boats. The justice of the peace set his soldiers digging trenches opposite the Nor' Westers' fort. As for the Nor' Westers, they had had enough of blood. They capitulated without one blow. Selkirk took full possession. Six months later (1817), when ice had closed the rivers, he sent Captain d'Orsennens overland westward to Red River, where Fort Douglas was captured back one stormy winter night by the soldiers scaling the fort walls during a heavy snowfall. The conflict had been just as ruthless on the Saskatchewan. Nor' Westers were captured as they disembarked to pass Grand Rapids and shipped down to York Factory, where Franklin the explorer saw four Nor' Westers maltreated. One of them was the same John George MacTavish who had helped to capture Astoria; another, Frobisher, a partner, was ultimately done to death by the abuse. The Deschamps murderers of Seven Oaks fled south, where their crimes brought terrible vengeance from American traders. Victorious all along the line, the Hudson's Bay Company were in a curious quandary. Suits enough were pressing in the courts to ruin both companies; and for the most natural reason in the world, neither Hudson Bay nor Nor' Wester could afford to have the truth told and the crimes probed. There was only one way out of the dilemma. In March, 1821, the companies amalgamated under the old title of Hudson's Bay. In April, 1822, a new fort was built half-way between the sites of Gibraltar and Fort Douglas, and given the new name of Fort Garry by Sir George Simpson, the governor, to remove all feeling of resentment. The thousand men thrown out of employment by the union at once crossed the line and enlisted with American traders. The Hudson's Bay was now strong with the strength that comes from victorious conflict--so strong, indeed, that it not only held the Canadian field, but in spite of the American law[26] forbidding British traders in the United States, reached as far south as Utah and the Missouri, where it once more had a sharp brush with lusty rivals. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 21: Some say seventy-four.] [Footnote 22: The enormous returns made up largely of the Astoria capture. The unusually large guard was no doubt owing to the War of 1812.] [Footnote 23: An antecedent of the late Sir Roderick Cameron of New York.] [Footnote 24: More of the _voyageurs'_ romance; named because of a voice heard calling and calling across the lake as _voyageurs_ entered the valley--said to be the spirit of an Indian girl calling her lover, though prosaic sense explains it was the echo of the _voyageurs'_ song among the hills.] [Footnote 25: Continental soldiers disbanded after the Napoleonic wars.] [Footnote 26: A law that could not, of course, be enforced, except as to the building of permanent forts, in regions beyond the reach of law's enforcement.] CHAPTER V MR. ASTOR'S COMPANY ENCOUNTERS NEW OPPONENTS That Andrew Henry whom Lisa had sought when he pursued the Astorians up the Missouri continued to be dogged by misfortune on the west side of the mountains. Game was scarce and his half-starving followers were scattered, some to the British posts in the north, some to the Spaniards in the south, and some to the nameless graves of the mountains. Henry forced his way back over the divide and met Lisa in the Aricara country. The British war broke out and the Missouri Company were compelled to abandon the dangerous territory of the Blackfeet, who could purchase arms from the British traders, raid the Americans, and scurry back to Canada. When Lisa died in 1820 more than three hundred Missouri men were again in the mountains; but they suffered the same ill luck. Jones and Immel's party were annihilated by the Blackfeet; and Pilcher, who succeeded to Lisa's position and dauntlessly crossed over to the Columbia, had all his supplies stolen, reaching the Hudson's Bay post, Fort Colville, almost destitute. The British rivals received him with that hospitality for which they were renowned when trade was not involved, and gave him escort up the Columbia, down the Athabasca and Saskatchewan to Red River, thence overland to the Mandan country and St. Louis. These two disasters marked the wane of the Missouri Company. But like the shipwrecked sailor, no sooner safe on land than he must to sea again, the indomitable Andrew Henry linked his fortunes with General Ashley of St. Louis. Gathering to the new standard Campbell, Bridger, Fitzpatrick, Beckworth, Smith, and the Sublettes--men who made the Rocky Mountain trade famous--Ashley and Henry led one hundred men to the mountains the first year and two hundred the next. In that time not less than twenty-five lives were lost among Aricaras and Blackfeet. Few pelts were obtained and the expeditions were a loss. But in 1824 came a change. Smith met Hudson's Bay trappers loaded with beaver pelts in the Columbia basin, west of the Rockies. They had become separated from their leader, Alexander Ross, an old Astorian. Details of this bargain will never be known; but when Smith came east he had the Hudson's Bay furs. This was the first brush between Rocky Mountain men and the Hudson's Bay, and the mountain trappers scored. Henceforth, to save time, the active trappers met their supplies annually at a _rendezvous_ in the mountains, in Pierre's Hole, a broad valley below the Tetons, or Jackson's Hole, east of the former, or Ogden's Hole at Salt Lake. Seventeen Rocky Mountain men had been massacred by the Snake Indians in the Columbia basin; but that did not deter General Ashley himself from going up the Platte, across the divide to Salt Lake. Here he found Peter Ogden, a Hudson's Bay trapper, with an enormous prize of beaver pelts. When the Hudson's Bay man left Salt Lake, he had no furs; and when General Ashley came away, his packers were laden with a quarter of a million dollars worth of pelts. This was the second brush between Rocky Mountain and Hudson's Bay, and again the mountaineers scored. The third encounter was more to the credit of both companies. After three years' wanderings, Smith found himself stranded and destitute at the British post of Fort Vancouver. Fifteen of his men had been killed, his horses taken and peltries stolen. The Hudson's Bay sent a punitive force to recover his property, gave him a $20,000 draft for the full value of the recovered furs, and sent him up the Columbia. Thenceforth Rocky Mountain trappers and Hudson's Bay respected each other's rights in the valley of the Columbia, but southward the old code prevailed. Fitzpatrick, a Rocky Mountain trader, came on the same poor Peter Ogden at Salt Lake trading with the Indians, and at once plied the argument of whisky so actively that the furs destined for Red River went over the mountains to St. Louis. The trapper probably never heard of a Nemesis; but a curious retribution seemed to follow on the heels of outrage. Lisa had tried to balk the Astorians, and the Missouri Company went down before Indian hostility. The Nor' Westers jockeyed the Astorians out of their possessions and were in league with murderers at the massacre of Seven Oaks; but the Nor' Westers were jockeyed out of existence by the Hudson's Bay under Lord Selkirk. The Hudson's Bay had been guilty of rank outrage--particularly on the Saskatchewan, where North-West partners were seized, manacled, and sent to a wilderness--and now the Hudson's Bay were cheated, cajoled, overreached by the Rocky Mountain trappers. And the Rocky Mountain trappers, in their turn, met a rival that could outcheat their cheatery. In 1831 the mountains were overrun with trappers from all parts of America. Men from every State in the Union, those restless spirits who have pioneered every great movement of the race, turned their faces to the wilderness for furs as a later generation was to scramble for gold. In the summer of 1832, when the hunters came down to Pierre's Hole for their supplies, there were trappers who had never before summered away from Detroit and Mackinaw and Hudson Bay.[27] There were half-wild Frenchmen from Quebec who had married Indian wives and cast off civilization as an ill-fitting garment. There were Indian hunters with the mellow, rhythmic tones that always betray native blood. There were lank New Englanders under Wyeth of Boston, erect as a mast pole, strong of jaw, angular of motion, taking clumsily to buckskins. There were the Rocky Mountain men in tattered clothes, with unkempt hair and long beards, and a trick of peering from their bushy brows like an enemy from ambush. There were probably odd detachments from Captain Bonneville's adventurers on the Platte, where a gay army adventurer was trying his luck as fur trader and explorer. And there was a new set of men, not yet weather-worn by the wilderness, alert, watchful, ubiquitous, scattering themselves among all groups where they could hear everything, see all, tell nothing, always shadowing the Rocky Mountain men who knew every trail of the wilds and should be good pilots to the best hunting-grounds. By the middle of July all business had been completed, and the trappers spent a last night round camp-fires, spinning yarns of the hunt. Early in the morning when the Rocky Mountain men were sallying from the valley, they met a cavalcade of one hundred and fifty Blackfeet. Each party halted to survey its opponent. In less than ten years the Rocky Mountain men had lost more than seventy comrades among hostiles. Even now the Indians were flourishing a flag captured from murdered Hudson's Bay hunters. The number of whites disconcerted the Indians. Their warlike advance gave place to friendliness. One chief came forward with the hand of comity extended. The whites were not deceived. Many a time had Rocky Mountain trappers been lured to their death by such overtures. No excuse is offered for the hunters. The code of the wilderness never lays the unction of a hypocritical excuse to conscience. The trappers sent two scouts to parley with the detested enemy. One trapper, with Indian blood in his veins and Indian thirst for the avengement of a kinsman's death in his heart, grasped the chief's extended hand with the clasp of a steel trap. On the instant the other scout fired. The powerless chief fell dead; and using their horses as a breastwork, the Blackfeet hastily threw themselves behind some timber, cast up trenches, and shot from cover. All the trappers at the _rendezvous_ spurred to the fight, priming guns, casting off valuables, making their wills as they rode. The battle lasted all day; and when under cover of night the Indians withdrew, twelve men lay dead on the trappers' side, as many more were wounded; and the Blackfeet's loss was twice as great. For years this tribe exacted heavy atonement for the death of warriors behind the trenches of Pierre's Hole. Leaving Pierre's Hole the mountaineers scattered to their rocky fastnesses, but no sooner had they pitched camp on good hunting-grounds than the strangers who had shadowed them at the _rendezvous_ came up. Breaking camp, the Rocky Mountain men would steal away by new and unknown passes to another valley. A day or two later, having followed by tent-poles dragging the ground, or brushwood broken by the passing packers, the pertinacious rivals would reappear. This went on persistently for three months. Infuriated by such tactics, the mountaineers planned to lead the spies a dance. Plunging into the territory of hostiles they gave their pursuers the slip. Neither party probably intended that matters should become serious; but that is always the fault of the white man when he plays the dangerous game of war with Indians. The spying party was ambushed, the leader slain, his flesh torn from his body and his skeleton thrown into the river. A few months later the Rocky Mountain traders paid for this escapade. Fitzpatrick, the same trapper who had "lifted" Ogden's furs and led this game against the spies, was robbed among Indians instigated by white men of the American Fur Company. This marked the beginning of the end with the Rocky Mountain trappers. The American Fur Company, which Mr. Astor had organized and stuck to through good repute and evil repute, was now officered by Ramsay Crooks and Farnham and Robert Stuart, who had remained loyal to Mr. Astor in Astoria and been schooled in a discipline that offered no quarter to enemies. The purchase of the Mackinaw Company gave the American Company all those posts between the Great Lakes and the height of land dividing the Mississippi and Missouri. When Congress excluded foreign traders in 1816, all the Nor' Westers' posts south of the boundary fell to the American Fur Company; and sturdy old Nor' Westers, who had been thrown out by the amalgamation with the Hudson's Bay, also added to the Americans' strength. Kenneth MacKenzie, with Laidlaw, Lament, and Kipp, had a line of posts from Green Bay to the Missouri held by an American to evade the law, but known as the Columbia Company. This organization[28] the American Fur Company bought out, placing MacKenzie at the mouth of the Yellowstone, where he built Fort Union and became the Pooh-Bah of the whole region, living in regal style like his ancestral Scottish chiefs. "King of the Missouri" white men called him, "big Indian me" the Blackfeet said; and "big Indian me" he was to them, for he was the first trader to win both their friendship and the Crows'. Here MacKenzie entertained Prince Maximilian of Wied and Catlin the artist and Audubon the naturalist, and had as his constant companion Hamilton, an English nobleman living in disguise and working for the fur company. Many an unmeant melodrama was enacted under the walls of Union in MacKenzie's reign. Once a free trapper came floating down the Missouri with his canoe full of beaver-pelts, which he quickly exchanged for the gay attire to be obtained at Fort Union. Oddly enough, though the fellow was a French-Canadian, he had long, flaxen hair, of which he was inordinately vain. Strutting about the court-yard, feeling himself a very prince of importance, he saw MacKenzie's pretty young Indian wife. Each paid the other the tribute of adoration that was warmer than it was wise. The _dénouement_ was a vision of the flaxen-haired Siegfried sprinting at the top of his speed through the fort gate, with the irate MacKenzie flourishing a flail to the rear. The matter did not end here. The outraged Frenchman swore to kill MacKenzie on sight, and haunted the fort gates with a loaded rifle till MacKenzie was obliged to hire a mulatto servant to "wing" the fellow with a shot in the shoulder, when he was brought into the fort, nursed back to health, and sent away. At another time two Rocky Mountain trappers built an opposition fort just below Union and lay in wait for the coming of the Blackfeet to trade with the American Fur Company. MacKenzie posted a lookout on his bastion. The moment the Indians were descried, out sallied from Fort Union a band in full regalia, with drum and trumpet and piccolo and fife--wonders that would have lured the astonished Indians to perdition. Behind the band came gaudy presents for the savages, and what was not supposed to be in the Indian country--liquor. When these methods failed to outbuy rivals, MacKenzie did not hesitate to pay twelve dollars for a beaver-skin not worth two. The Rocky Mountain trappers were forced to capitulate, and their post passed over to the American Fur Company. In the ruins of their post was enacted a fitting _finale_ to the turbulent conflicts of the American traders. The Deschamps family, who had perpetrated the worst butcheries on the field of Seven Oaks, in the fight between Hudson's Bay and Nor' Westers, had acted as interpreters for the Rocky Mountain trappers. Boastful of their murderous record in Canada, the father, mother, and eight grown children were usually so violent in their carousals that Hamilton, the English gentleman, used to quiet their outrage and prevent trouble by dropping laudanum in their cups. Once they slept so heavily that the whole fort was in a panic lest their sleep lasted to eternity; but the revellers came to life defiant as ever. At Union was a very handsome young half-breed fellow by the name of Gardepie, whose life the Deschamps harpies attempted to take from sheer jealousy and love of crime. Joined by two free trappers, Gardepie killed the elder Deschamps one morning at breakfast with all the gruesome mutilation of Indian custom. He at the same time wounded a younger son. Spurred by the hag-like mother and nerved to the deed with alcohol, the Deschamps undertook to avenge their father's death by killing all the whites of the fur post. One man had fallen when the alarm was carried to Fort Union. Twice had the Deschamps robbed Fort Union. Many trappers had been assassinated by a Deschamps. Indians had been flogged by them for no other purpose than to inflict torture. Beating on the doors of Fort Union, the wife of their last victim called out that the Deschamps were on the war-path. The traders of Fort Union solemnly raised hands and took an oath to exterminate the murderous clan. The affair had gone beyond MacKenzie's control. Seizing cannon and ammunition, the traders crossed the prairie to the abandoned fort of the Rocky Mountain trappers, where the murderers were intrenched. All valuables were removed from the fort. Time was given for the family to prepare for death. Then the guns were turned on the house. Suddenly that old harpy of crime, the mother, rushed out, holding forward the Indian pipe of peace and begging for mercy. She got all the mercy that she had ever given, and fell shot through the heart. At last the return firing ceased. Who would enter and learn if the Deschamps were all dead? Treachery was feared. The assailants set fire to the fort. In the light of the flames one man was espied crouching in the bastion. A trader rushed forward exultant to shoot the last of the Deschamps; but a shot from the bastion sent him leaping five feet into the air to fall back dead, and a yell of fiendish victory burst from the burning tower.[29] Again the assailants fired a volley. No answering shot came from the fort. Rushing through the smoke the traders found François Deschamps backed up in a corner like a beast at bay, one wrist broken and all ammunition gone. A dozen rifle-shots cracked sharp. The fellow fell and his body was thrown into the flames. The old mother was buried without shroud or coffin in the clay bank of the river. A young boy mortally wounded was carried from the ruins to die in Union. This dark act marked the last important episode in the long conflict among traders. A decline of values followed the civil war. Settlers were rushing overland to Oregon, and Fort Union went into the control of the militia. To-day St. Louis is still a centre of trade in manufactured furs, and St. Paul yet receives raw pelts from trappers who wander through the forests of Minnesota and Idaho and the mountains. Only a year ago the writer employed as guides in the mountains three trappers who have spent their lives ranging the northern wilds and the Upper Missouri; but outside the mountain and forest wastes, the vast hunting-grounds of the famous old trappers have been chalked off by the fences of settlers. In Canada, too, bloodshed marked the last of the conflict--once in the seventies when Louis Riel, a half-breed demagogue, roused the Metis against the surveyors sent to prepare Red River for settlement, and again in 1885 when this unhanged rascal incited the half-breeds of the Saskatchewan to rebellion over title-deeds to their lands. Though the Hudson's Bay Company had nothing to do with either complaint, the conflict waged round their forts. In the first affair the ragged army of rebels took possession of Fort Garry, and for no other reason than the love of killing that riots in savage blood as in a wolf's, shot down Scott outside the fort gates. In the second rebellion Riel's allies came down on the far-isolated Fort Pitt three hundred strong, captured the fort, and took the factor, Mr. MacLean, and his family to northern wastes, marching them through swamps breast-high with spring floods, where General Middleton's troops could not follow. The children of the family had been in the habit of bribing old Indian gossips into telling stories by gifts of tobacco; and the friendship now stood the white family in good stead. Day and night in all the weeks of captivity the friendly Indians never left the side of the trader's family, slipping between the hostiles and the young children, standing guard at the tepee door, giving them weapons of defence till all were safely back among the whites. This time Riel was hanged, and the Hudson's Bay Company resumed its sway of all that realm between Labrador and the Pacific north of the Saskatchewan. Traders' lives are like a white paper with a black spot. The world looks only at the black spot. In spite of his faults when in conflict with rivals, it has been the trader living alone, unprotected and unfearing, one voice among a thousand, who has restrained the Indian tribes from massacres that would have rolled back the progress of the West a quarter of a century. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 27: For example, the Deschamps of Red River.] [Footnote 28: Chittenden.] [Footnote 29: Larpenteur, who was there, has given even a more circumstantial account of this terrible tragedy.] CHAPTER VI THE FRENCH TRAPPER To live hard and die hard, king in the wilderness and pauper in the town, lavish to-day and penniless to-morrow--such was the life of the most picturesque figure in America's history. Take a map of America. Put your finger on any point between the Gulf of Mexico and Hudson Bay, or the Great Lakes and the Rockies. Ask who was the first man to blaze a trail into this wilderness; and wherever you may point, the answer is the same--the French trapper. Impoverished English noblemen of the seventeenth century took to freebooting, Spanish dons to piracy and search for gold; but for the young French _noblesse_ the way to fortune was by the fur trade. Freedom from restraint, quick wealth, lavish spending, and adventurous living all appealed to a class that hated the menial and slow industry of the farm. The only capital required for the fur trade was dauntless courage. Merchants were keen to supply money enough to stock canoes with provisions for trade in the wilderness. What would be equivalent to $5,000 of modern money was sufficient to stock four trappers with trade enough for two years. At the end of that time the sponsors looked for returns in furs to the value of eight hundred per cent on their capital. The original investment would be deducted, and the enormous profit divided among the trappers and their outfitters. In the heyday of the fur trade, when twenty beaver-skins were got for an axe, it was no unusual thing to see a trapper receive what would be equivalent to $3,000 of our money as his share of two years' trapping. But in the days when the French were only beginning to advance up the Missouri from Louisiana and across from Michilimackinac to the Mississippi vastly larger fortunes were made. Two partners[30] have brought out as much as $200,000 worth of furs from the great game preserve between Lake Superior and the head waters of the Missouri after eighteen months' absence from St. Louis or from Montreal. The fur country was to the young French nobility what a treasure-ship was to a pirate. In vain France tried to keep her colonists on the land by forbidding trade without a license. Fines, the galleys for life, even death for repeated offence, were the punishments held over the head of the illicit trader. The French trapper evaded all these by staying in the wilds till he amassed fortune enough to buy off punishment, or till he had lost taste for civilized life and remained in the wilderness, _coureur des bois_, _voyageur_, or leader of a band of half-wild retainers whom he ruled like a feudal baron, becoming a curious connecting link between the savagery of the New World and the _noblesse_ of the Old. Duluth, of the Lakes region; La Salle, of the Mississippi; Le Moyne d'Iberville, ranging from Louisiana to Hudson Bay; La Mothe Cadillac in Michilimackinac, Detroit, and Louisiana; La Vérendrye exploring from Lake Superior to the Rockies; Radisson on Hudson Bay--all won their fame as explorers and discoverers in pursuit of the fur trade. A hundred years before any English mind knew of the Missouri, French _voyageurs_ had gone beyond the Yellowstone. Before the regions now called Minnesota, Dakota, and Wisconsin were known to New Englanders, the French were trapping about the head waters of the Mississippi; and two centuries ago a company of daring French hunters went to New Mexico to spy on Spanish trade. East of the Mississippi were two neighbours whom the French trapper shunned--the English colonists and the Iroquois. North of the St. Lawrence was a power that he shunned still more--the French governor, who had legal right to plunder the peltries of all who traded and trapped without license. But between St. Louis and MacKenzie River was a great unclaimed wilderness, whence came the best furs. Naturally, this became the hunting-ground of the French trapper. There were four ways by which he entered his hunting-ground: (1) Sailing from Quebec to the mouth of the Mississippi, he ascended the river in pirogue or dugout, but this route was only possible for a man with means to pay for the ocean voyage. (2) From Detroit overland to the Illinois, or Ohio, which he rafted down to the Mississippi, and then taking to canoe turned north. (3) From Michilimackinac, which was always a grand _rendezvous_ for the French and Indian hunters, to Green Bay on Lake Michigan, thence up-stream to Fox River, overland to the Wisconsin, and down-stream to the Mississippi. (4) Up the Ottawa through "the Soo" to Lake Superior and westward to the hunting-ground. Whichever way he went his course was mainly up-stream and north: hence the name _Pays d'en Haut_ vaguely designated the vast hunting-ground that lay between the Missouri and the MacKenzie River. * * * * * The French trapper was and is to-day as different from the English as the gamester is from the merchant. Of all the fortunes brought from the Missouri to St. Louis, or from the _Pays d'en Haut_ to Montreal, few escaped the gaming-table and dram-shop. Where the English trader saves his returns, Pierre lives high and plays high, and lords it about the fur post till he must pawn the gay clothing he has bought for means to exist to the opening of the next hunting season. It is now that he goes back to some birch tree marked by him during the preceding winter's hunt, peels the bark off in a great seamless rind, whittles out ribs for a canoe from cedar, ash, or pine, and shapes the green bark to the curve of a canoe by means of stakes and stones down each side. Lying on his back in the sun spinning yarns of the great things he has done and will do, he lets the birch harden and dry to the proper form, when he fits the gunwales to the ragged edge, lines the inside of the keel with thin pine boards, and tars the seams where the bark has crinkled and split at the junction with the gunwale. It is in the idle summer season that he and his squaw--for the Pierre adapts, or rather adopts, himself to the native tribes by taking an Indian wife--design the wonderfully bizarre costumes in which the French trapper appears: the beaded toque for festive occasions, the gay moccasins, the buckskin suit fringed with horse-hair and leather in lieu of the Indian scalp-locks, the white caribou capote with horned head-gear to deceive game on the hunter's approach, the powder-case made of a buffalo-horn, the bullet bag of a young otter-skin, the musk-rat or musquash cap, and great gantlets coming to the elbow. None of these things does the English trader do. If he falls a victim to the temptations awaiting the man from the wilderness in the dram-shop of the trading-post, he takes good care not to spend his all on the spree. He does not affect the hunter's decoy dress, for the simple reason that he prefers to let the Indians do the hunting of the difficult game, while he attends to the trapping that is _gain_ rather than _game_. For clothes, he is satisfied with cheap material from the shops. And if, like Pierre, the Englishman marries an Indian wife, he either promptly deserts her when he leaves the fur country for the trading-post or sends her to a convent to be educated up to his own level. With Pierre the marriage means that he has cast off the last vestige of civilization and henceforth identifies himself with the life of the savage. After the British conquest of Canada and the American Declaration of Independence came a change in the status of the French trapper. Before, he had been lord of the wilderness without a rival. Now, powerful English companies poured their agents into his hunting-grounds. Before, he had been a partner in the fur trade. Now, he must either be pushed out or enlist as servant to the newcomer. He who had once come to Montreal and St. Louis with a fortune of peltries on his rafts and canoes, now signed with the great English companies for a paltry one, two, and three hundred dollars a year. It was but natural in the new state of things that the French trapper, with all his knowledge of forest and stream, should become _coureur des bois_ and _voyageur_, while the Englishman remained the barterer. In the Mississippi basin the French trappers mainly enlisted with four companies: the Mackinaw Company, radiating from Michilimackinac to the Mississippi; the American Company, up the Missouri; the Missouri Company, officered by St. Louis merchants, westward to the Rockies; and the South-West Company, which was John Jacob Astor's amalgamation of the American and Mackinaw. In Canada the French sided with the Nor' Westers and X. Y.'s, who had sprung up in opposition to the great English Hudson's Bay Company. * * * * * Though he had become a burden-carrier for his quondam enemies, the French trapper still saw life through the glamour of _la gloire_ and _noblesse_, still lived hard and died game, still feasted to-day and starved to-morrow, gambled the clothes off his back and laughed at hardship; courted danger and trolled off one of his _chansons_ brought over to America by ancestors of Normandy, uttered an oath in one breath at the whirlpool ahead and in the next crossed himself reverently with a prayer to Sainte Anne, the _voyageurs'_ saint, just before his canoe took the plunge. Your Spanish grandee of the Missouri Company, like Manuel Lisa of St. Louis, might sit in a counting-house or fur post adding up rows of figures, and your Scotch merchant chaffer with Indians over the value of a beaver-skin. As for Pierre, give him a canoe sliding past wooded banks with a throb of the keel to the current and the whistle of wild-fowl overhead; clear sky above with a feathering of wind clouds, clear sky below with a feathering of wind clouds, and the canoe between like a bird at poise. Sometimes a fair wind livens the pace; for the _voyageurs_ hoist a blanket sail, and the canoe skims before the breeze like a seagull. Where the stream gathers force and whirls forward in sharp eddies and racing leaps each _voyageur_ knows what to expect. No man asks questions. The bowman stands up with his eyes to the fore and steel-shod pole ready. Every eye is on that pole. Presently comes a roar, and the green banks begin to race. The canoe no longer glides. It vaults--springs--bounds, with a shiver of live waters under the keel and a buoyant rise to her prow that mounts the crest of each wave fast as wave pursues wave. A fanged rock thrusts up in mid-stream. One deft push of the pole. Each paddler takes the cue; and the canoe shoots past the danger straight as an arrow, righting herself to a new course by another lightning sweep of the pole and paddles. [Illustration: Traders running a mackinaw or keel-boat down the rapids of Slave River without unloading.] But the waters gather as if to throw themselves forward. The roar becomes a crash. As if moved by one mind the paddlers brace back. The lightened bow lifts. A white dash of spray. She mounts as she plunges; and the _voyageurs_ are whirling down-stream below a small waterfall. Not a word is spoken to indicate that it is anything unusual to _sauter les rapides_, as the _voyageurs_ say. The men are soaked. Now, perhaps, some one laughs; for Jean, or Ba'tiste, or the dandy of the crew, got his moccasins wet when the canoe took water. They all settle forward. One paddler pauses to bail out water with his hat. Thus the lowest waterfalls are run without a _portage_. Coming back this way with canoes loaded to the water-line, there must be a disembarking. If the rapids be short, with water enough to carry the loaded canoe high above rocks that might graze the bark, all hands spring out in the water, but one man who remains to steady the craft; and the canoe is "tracked" up-stream, hauled along by ropes. If the rapids be at all dangerous, each _voyageur_ lands, with pack on his back and pack-straps across his forehead, and runs along the shore. A long _portage_ is measured by the number of pipes the _voyageur_ smokes, each lighting up meaning a brief rest; and a _portage_ of many "pipes" will be taken at a running gait on the hottest days without one word of complaint. Nine miles is the length of one famous _portage_ opposite the Chaudière Falls on the Ottawa. In winter the _voyageur_ becomes _coureur des bois_ to his new masters. Then for six months endless reaches, white, snow-padded, silent; forests wreathed and bossed with snow; nights in camp on a couch of pines or rolled in robes with a roaring fire to keep the wolves off, melting snow steaming to the heat, meat sputtering at the end of a skewered stick; sometimes to the _marche donc! marche donc!_ of the driver, with crisp tinkling of dog-bells in frosty air, a long journey overland by dog-sled to the trading-post; sometimes that blinding fury which sweeps over the northland, turning earth and air to a white darkness; sometimes a belated traveller cowering under a snow-drift for warmth and wrapping his blanket about him to cross life's Last Divide. These things were the every-day life of the French trapper. At present there is only one of the great fur companies remaining--the Hudson's Bay of Canada. In the United States there are only two important centres of trade in furs which are not imported--St. Paul and St. Louis. For both the Hudson's Bay Company and the fur traders of the Upper Missouri the French trapper still works as his ancestors did for the great companies a hundred years ago. The roadside tramp of to-day is a poor representative of Robin Hoods and Rob Roys; and the French trapper of shambling gait and baggy clothes seen at the fur posts of the north to-day is a poor type of the class who used to stalk through the baronial halls[31] of Montreal's governor like a lord and set the rafters of Fort William's council chamber ringing, and make the wine and the money and the brawls of St. Louis a by-word. And yet, with all his degeneracy, the French trapper retains a something of his old traditions. A few years ago I was on a northern river steamer going to one of the Hudson's Bay trading-posts. A brawl seemed to sound from the steerage passengers. What was the matter? "Oh," said the captain, "the French trappers going out north for the winter, drunk as usual!" As he spoke, a voice struck up one of those _chansons populaires_, which have been sung by every generation of _voyageurs_ since Frenchmen came to America, _A La Claire Fontaine_, a song which the French trappers' ancestors brought from Normandy hundreds of years ago, about the fickle lady and the faded roses and the vain regrets. Then--was it possible?--these grizzled fellows, dressed in tinkers' tatters, were singing--what? A song of the _Grand Monarque_ which has led armies to battle, but not a song which one would expect to hear in northern wilds-- "Malbrouck s'on va-t-en guerre Mais quand reviendra a-t-il?" Three foes assailed the trapper alone in the wilds. The first danger was from the wolf-pack. The second was the Indian hostile egged on by rival traders. This danger the French trapper minimized by identifying himself more completely with the savage than any other fur trader succeeded in doing. The third foe was the most perverse and persevering thief known outside the range of human criminals. Perhaps the day after the trapper had shot his first deer he discovered fine footprints like a child's hand on the snow around the carcass. He recognises the trail of otter or pekan or mink. It would be useless to bait a deadfall with meat when an unpolluted feast lies on the snow. The man takes one of his small traps and places it across the line of approach. This trap is buried beneath snow or brush. Every trace of man-smell is obliterated. The fresh hide of a deer may be dragged across the snow. Pomatum or castoreum may be daubed on everything touched. He may even handle the trap with deer-hide. Pekan travel in pairs. Besides, the dead deer will be likely to attract more than one forager; so the man sets a circle of traps round the carcass. The next morning he comes back with high hope. Very little of the deer remains. All the flesh-eaters of the forest, big and little, have been there. Why, then, is there no capture? One trap has been pulled up, sprung, and partly broken. Another carried a little distance off and dumped into a hollow. A third had caught a pekan; but the prisoner had been worried and torn to atoms. Another was tampered with from behind and exposed for very deviltry. Some have disappeared altogether. Among forest creatures few are mean enough to kill when they have full stomachs, or to eat a trapped brother with untrapped meat a nose-length away. The French trapper rumbles out some maledictions on _le sacré carcajou_. Taking a piece of steel like a cheese-tester's instrument, he pokes grains of strychnine into the remaining meat. He might have saved himself the trouble. The next day he finds the poisoned meat mauled and spoiled so that no animal will touch it. There is nothing of the deer but picked bones. So the trapper tries a deadfall for the thief. Again he might have spared himself the trouble. His next visit shows the deadfall torn from behind and robbed without danger to the thief. Several signs tell the trapper that the marauder is the carcajou or wolverine. All the stealing was done at night; and the wolverine is nocturnal. All the traps had been approached from behind. The wolverine will not cross man's track. The poison in the meat had been scented. Whether the wolverine knows poison, he is too wary to experiment on doubtful diet. The exposing of the traps tells of the curiosity which characterizes the wolverine. Other creatures would have had too much fear. The tracks run back to cover, and not across country like the badger's or the fox's. Fearless, curious, gluttonous, wary, and suspicious, the mischief-maker and the freebooter and the criminal of the animal world, a scavenger to save the northland from pollution of carrion, and a scourge to destroy wounded, weaklings, and laggards--the wolverine has the nose of a fox, with long, uneven, tusk-like teeth that seem to be expressly made for tearing. The eyes are well set back, greenish, alert with almost human intelligence of the type that preys. Out of the fulness of his wrath one trapper gave a perfect description of the wolverine. He didn't object, he said, to being outrun by a wolf, or beaten by a respectable Indian, but to be outwitted by a little beast the size of a pig with the snout of a fox, the claws of a bear, and the fur of a porcupine's quills, was more than he could stand. In the economy of nature the wolverine seems to have but one design--destruction. Beaver-dams two feet thick and frozen like rock yield to the ripping onslaught of its claws. He robs everything: the musk-rats' haycock houses; the gopher burrows; the cached elk and buffalo calves under hiding of some shrub while the mothers go off to the watering-place; the traps of his greatest foe, man; the cached provisions of the forest ranger; the graves of the dead; the very tepees and lodges and houses of Indian, half-breed, and white man. While the wolverine is averse to crossing man's track, he will follow it for days, like a shark behind a ship; for he knows as well as the man knows there will be food in the traps when the man is in his lodge, and food in the lodge when the man is at the traps. But the wolverine has two characteristics by which he may be snared--gluttony and curiosity. After the deer has disappeared the trapper finds that the wolverine has been making as regular rounds of the traps as he has himself. It is then a question whether the man or the wolverine is to hold the hunting-ground. A case is on record at Moose Factory, on James Bay, of an Indian hunter and his wife who were literally brought to the verge of starvation by a wolverine that nightly destroyed their traps. The contest ended by the starving Indians travelling a hundred miles from the haunts of that "bad devil--oh--he--bad devil--carcajou!" Remembering the curiosity and gluttony of his enemy, the man sets out his strongest steel-traps. He takes some strong-smelling meat, bacon or fish, and places it where the wolverine tracks run. Around this he sets a circle of his traps, tying them securely to poles and saplings and stakes. In all likelihood he has waited his chance for a snowfall which will cover traces of the man-smell. Night passes. In the morning the man comes to his traps. The meat has been taken. All else is as before. Not a track marks the snow; but in midwinter meat does not walk off by itself. The man warily feels for the hidden traps. Then he notices that one of the stakes has been pulled up and carried off. That is a sign. He prods the ground expectantly. It is as he thought. One trap is gone. It had caught the wolverine; but the cunning beast had pulled with all his strength, snapped the attached sapling, and escaped. A fox or beaver would have gnawed the imprisoned limb off. The wolverine picks the trap up in his teeth and hobbles as hard as three legs will carry him to the hiding of a bush, or better still, to the frozen surface of a river, hidden by high banks, with glare ice which will not reveal a trail. But on the river the man finds only a trap wrenched out of all semblance to its proper shape, with the spring opened to release the imprisoned leg. The wolverine had been caught, and had gone to the river to study out the problem of unclinching the spring. One more device remains to the man. It is a gun trick. The loaded weapon is hidden full-cock under leaves or brush. Directly opposite the barrel is the bait, attached by a concealed string to the trigger. The first pull will blow the thief's head off. The trap experience would have frightened any other animals a week's run from man's tracks; but the wolverine grows bolder, and the trapper knows he will find his snares robbed until carcajou has been killed. Perhaps he has tried the gun trick before, to have the cord gnawed through and the bait stolen. A wolverine is not to be easily tricked; but its gluttony and curiosity bring it within man's reach. The man watches until he knows the part of the woods where the wolverine nightly gallops. He then procures a savoury piece of meat heavy enough to balance a cocked trigger, not heavy enough to send it off. The gun is suspended from some dense evergreen, which will hide the weapon. The bait hangs from the trigger above the wolverine's reach. Then a curious game begins. One morning the trapper sees the wolverine tracks round and round the tree as if determined to ferret out the mystery of the meat in mid-air. The next morning the tracks have come to a stand below the meat. If the wolverine could only get up to the bait, one whiff would tell him whether the man-smell was there. He sits studying the puzzle till his mark is deep printed in the snow. The trapper smiles. He has only to wait. The rascal may become so bold in his predatory visits that the man may be tempted to chance a shot without waiting. But if the man waits Nemesis hangs at the end of the cord. There comes a night when the wolverine's curiosity is as rampant as his gluttony. A quick clutch of the ripping claws and a blare of fire-smoke blows the robber's head into space. The trapper will hold those hunting-grounds. He has got rid of the most unwelcome visitor a solitary man ever had; but for the consolation of those whose sympathies are keener for the animal than the man, it may be said that in the majority of such contests it is the wolverine and not the man that wins. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 30: Radisson and Groseillers, from regions westward of Duluth.] [Footnote 31: Especially the Château de Ramezay, where great underground vaults were built for the storing of pelts in case of attack from New Englander and Iroquois. These vaults may still be seen under Château de Ramezay.] CHAPTER VII THE BUFFALO-RUNNERS If the trapper had a crest like the knights of the wilderness who lived lives of daredoing in olden times, it should represent a canoe, a snow-shoe, a musket, a beaver, and a buffalo. While the beaver was his quest and the coin of the fur-trading realm, the buffalo was the great staple on which the very existence of the trapper depended. Bed and blankets and clothing, shields for wartime, sinew for bows, bone for the shaping of rude lance-heads, kettles and bull-boats and saddles, roof and rug and curtain wall for the hunting lodge, and, most important of all, food that could be kept in any climate for any length of time and combined the lightest weight with the greatest nourishment--all these were supplied by the buffalo. From the Gulf of Mexico to the Saskatchewan and from the Alleghanies to the Rockies the buffalo was to the hunter what wheat is to the farmer. Moose and antelope and deer were plentiful in the limited area of a favoured habitat. Provided with water and grass the buffalo could thrive in any latitude south of the sixties, with a preference for the open ground of the great central plains except when storms and heat drove the herds to the shelter of woods and valleys. Besides, in that keen struggle for existence which goes on in the animal world, the buffalo had strength to defy all enemies. Of all the creatures that prey, only the full-grown grisly was a match against the buffalo; and according to old hunting legends, even the grisly held back from attacking a beast in the prime of its power and sneaked in the wake of the roving herds, like the coyotes and timber-wolves, for the chance of hamstringing a calf, or breaking a young cow's neck, or tackling some poor old king worsted in battle and deposed from the leadership of the herd, or snapping up some lost buffalo staggering blind on the trail of a prairie fire. The buffalo, like the range cattle, had a quality that made for the persistence of the species. When attacked by a beast of prey, they would line up for defence, charge upon the assailant, and trample life out. Adaptability to environment, strength excelling all foes, wonderful sagacity against attack--these were factors that partly explained the vastness of the buffalo herds once roaming this continent. Proofs enough remain to show that the size of the herds simply could not be exaggerated. In two great areas their multitude exceeded anything in the known world. These were: (1) between the Arkansas and the Missouri, fenced in, as it were, by the Mississippi and the Rockies; (2) between the Missouri and the Saskatchewan, bounded by the Rockies on the west and on the east, that depression where lie Lakes Winnipeg, Manitoba, and Winnipegoosis. In both regions the prairie is scarred by trails where the buffalo have marched single file to their watering-places--trails trampled by such a multitude of hoofs that the groove sinks to the depth of a rider's stirrup or the hub of a wagon-wheel. At fording-places on the Qu'Appelle and Saskatchewan in Canada, and on the Upper Missouri, Yellowstone, and Arkansas in the Western States, carcasses of buffalo have been found where the stampeding herd trampled the weak under foot, virtually building a bridge of the dead over which the vast host rushed. Then there were "the fairy rings," ruts like the water trail, only running in a perfect circle, with the hoofprints of countless multitudes in and outside the ring. Two explanations were given of these. When the calves were yet little, and the wild animals ravenous with spring hunger, the bucks and old leaders formed a cordon round the mothers and their young. The late Colonel Bedson of Stony Mountain, Manitoba, who had the finest private collection of buffalo in America until his death ten years ago, when the herd was shipped to Texas, observed another occasion when the buffalo formed a circle. Of an ordinary winter storm the herd took small notice except to turn backs to the wind; but if to a howling blizzard were added a biting north wind, with the thermometer forty degrees below zero, the buffalo lay down in a crescent as a wind-break to the young. Besides the "fairy rings" and the fording-places, evidences of the buffaloes' numbers are found at the salt-licks, alkali depressions on the prairie, soggy as paste in spring, dried hard as rock in midsummer and retaining footprints like a plaster cast; while at the wallows, where the buffalo have been taking mud-baths as a refuge from vermin and summer heat, the ground is scarred and ploughed as if for ramparts. The comparison of the buffalo herds to the northland caribou has become almost commonplace; but it is the sheerest nonsense. From Hearne, two hundred years ago, to Mr. Tyrrel or Mr. Whitney in the Barren Lands in 1894-'96, no mention is ever made of a caribou herd exceeding ten thousand. Few herds of one thousand have ever been seen. What are the facts regarding the buffalo? In the thirties, when the American Fur Company was in the heyday of its power, there were sent from St. Louis alone in a single year one hundred thousand robes. The company bought only the perfect robes. The hunter usually kept an ample supply for his own needs; so that for every robe bought by the company, three times as many were taken from the plains. St. Louis was only one port of shipment. Equal quantities of robes were being sent from Mackinaw, Detroit, Montreal, and Hudson Bay. A million would not cover the number of robes sent east each year in the thirties and forties. In 1868 Inman, Sheridan, and Custer rode continuously for three days through one herd in the Arkansas region. In 1869 trains on the Kansas Pacific were held from nine in the morning till six at night to permit the passage of one herd across the tracks. Army officers related that in 1862 a herd moved north from the Arkansas to the Yellowstone that covered an area of seventy by thirty miles. Catlin and Inman and army men and employees of the fur companies considered a drove of one hundred thousand buffalo a common sight along the line of the Santa Fé trail. Inman computes that from St. Louis alone the bones of thirty-one million buffalo were shipped between 1868 and 1881. Northward the testimony is the same. John MacDonell, a partner of the North-West Company, tells how at the beginning of the last century a herd stampeded across the ice of the Qu'Appelle valley. In some places the ice broke. When the thaw came, a continuous line of drowned buffalo drifted past the fur post for three days. Mr. MacDonell counted up to seven thousand three hundred and sixty: there his patience gave out. And the number of the drowned was only a fringe of the travelling herd. To-day where are the buffalo? A few in the public parks of the United States and Canada. A few of Colonel Bedson's old herd on Lord Strathcona's farm in Manitoba and the rest on a ranch in Texas. The railway more than the pot-hunter was the power that exterminated the buffalo. The railway brought the settlers; and the settlers fenced in the great ranges where the buffalo could have galloped away from all the pot-hunters of earth combined. Without the railway the buffalo could have resisted the hunter as they resisted Indian hunters from time immemorial; but when the iron line cut athwart the continent the herds only stampeded from one quarter to rush into the fresh dangers of another. Much has been said about man's part in the destruction of the buffalo; and too much could not be said against those monomaniacs of slaughter who went into the buffalo-hunt from sheer love of killing, hiring the Indians to drive a herd over an embankment or into soft snow, while the valiant hunters sat in some sheltered spot, picking off the helpless quarry. This was not hunting. It was butchery, which none but hungry savages and white barbarians practised. The plains-man--who is the true type of the buffalo-runner--entered the lists on a fair field with the odds a hundred to one against himself, and the only advantages over brute strength the dexterity of his own aim. Man was the least cruel of the buffalo's foes. Far crueler havoc was worked by the prairie fire and the fights for supremacy in the leadership of the herd and the sleuths of the trail and the wild stampedes often started by nothing more than the shadow of a cloud on the prairie. Natural history tells of nothing sadder than a buffalo herd overtaken by a prairie fire. Flee as they might, the fiery hurricane was fleeter; and when the flame swept past, the buffalo were left staggering over blackened wastes, blind from the fire, singed of fur to the raw, and mad with a thirst they were helpless to quench. In the fights for leadership of the herd old age went down before youth. Colonel Bedson's daughter has often told the writer of her sheer terror as a child when these battles took place among the buffalo. The first intimation of trouble was usually a boldness among the young fellows of maturing strength. On the rove for the first year or two of their existence these youngsters were hooked and butted back into place as a rear-guard; and woe to the fellow whose vanity tempted him within range of the leader's sharp, pruning-hook horns! Just as the wolf aimed for the throat or leg sinews of a victim, so the irate buffalo struck at the point most vulnerable to his sharp, curved horn--the soft flank where a quick rip meant torture and death. Comes a day when the young fellows refuse to be hooked and hectored to the rear! Then one of the boldest braces himself, circling and guarding and wheeling and keeping his lowered horns in line with the head of the older rival. That is the buffalo challenge! And there presently follows a bellowing like the rumbling of distant thunder, each keeping his eye on the other, circling and guarding and countering each other's moves, like fencers with foils. When one charges, the other wheels to meet the charge straight in front; and with a crash the horns are locked. It is then a contest of strength against strength, dexterity against dexterity. Not unusually the older brute goes into a fury from sheer amazement at the younger's presumption. His guarded charges become blind rushes, and he soon finds himself on the end of a pair of piercing horns. As soon as the rumbling and pawing began, Colonel Bedson used to send his herders out on the fleetest buffalo ponies to part the contestants; for, like the king of beasts that he is, the buffalo does not know how to surrender. He fights till he can fight no more; and if he is not killed, is likely to be mangled, a deposed king, whipped and broken-spirited and relegated to the fag-end of the trail, where he drags lamely after the subjects he once ruled. Some day the barking of a prairie-dog, the rustle of a leaf, the shadow of a cloud, startles a giddy young cow. She throws up her head and is off. There is a stampede--myriad forms lumbering over the earth till the ground rocks and nothing remains of the buffalo herd but the smoking dust of the far horizon--nothing but the poor, old, deposed king, too weak to keep up the pace, feeble with fear, trembling at his own shadow, leaping in terror at a leaf blown by the wind. After that the end is near, and the old buffalo must realize that fact as plainly as a human being would. Has he roamed the plains and guarded the calves from sleuths of the trail and seen the devourers leap on a fallen comrade before death has come, and yet does not know what those vague, gray forms are, always hovering behind him, always sneaking to the crest of a hill when he hides in the valley, always skulking through the prairie grass when he goes to a lookout on the crest of the hill, always stopping when he stops, creeping closer when he lies down, scuttling when he wheels, snapping at his heels when he stoops for a drink? If the buffalo did not know what these creatures meant, he would not have spent his entire life from calfhood guarding against them. But he does know; and therein lies the tragedy of the old king's end. He invariably seeks out some steep background where he can take his last stand against the wolves with a face to the foe. But the end is inevitable. While the main pack baits him to the fore, skulkers dart to the rear; and when, after a struggle that lasts for days, his hind legs sink powerless under him, hamstrung by the snap of some vicious coyote, he still keeps his face to the foe. But in sheer horror of the tragedy the rest is untellable; for the hungry creatures that prey do not wait till death comes to the victim. Poor old king! Is anything that man has ever done to the buffalo herd half as tragically pitiful as nature's process of deposing a buffalo leader? Catlin and Inman and every traveller familiar with the great plains region between the Arkansas and Saskatchewan testify that the quick death of the bullet was, indeed, the mercy stroke compared to nature's end of her wild creatures. In Colonel Bedson's herd the fighters were always parted before either was disabled; but it was always at the sacrifice of two or three ponies' lives. In the park specimens of buffalo a curious deterioration is apparent. On Lord Strathcona's farm in Manitoba, where the buffalo still have several hundred acres of ranging-ground and are nearer to their wild state than elsewhere, they still retain their leonine splendour of strength in shoulders and head; but at Banff only the older ones have this appearance, the younger generation, like those of the various city parks, gradually assuming more dwarfed proportions about the shoulders, with a suggestion of a big, round-headed, clumsy sheep. * * * * * Between the Arkansas and the Saskatchewan buffalo were always plentiful enough for an amateur's hunt; but the trapper of the plains, to whom the hunt meant food and clothing and a roof for the coming year, favoured two seasons: (1) the end of June, when he had brought in his packs to the fur post and the winter's trapping was over and the fort full of idle hunters keen for the excitement of the chase; (2) in midwinter, when that curious lull came over animal life, before the autumn stores had been exhausted and before the spring forage began. In both seasons the buffalo-robes were prime: sleek and glossy in June before the shedding of the fleece, with the fur at its greatest length; fresh and clean and thick in midwinter. But in midwinter the hunters were scattered, the herds broken in small battalions, the climate perilous for a lonely man who might be tempted to track fleeing herds many miles from a known course. South of the Yellowstone the individual hunter pursued the buffalo as he pursued deer--by still-hunting; for though the buffalo was keen of scent, he was dull of sight, except sideways on the level, and was not easily disturbed by a noise as long as he did not see its cause. Behind the shelter of a mound and to leeward of the herd the trapper might succeed in bringing down what would be a creditable showing in a moose or deer hunt; but the trapper was hunting buffalo for their robes. Two or three robes were not enough from a large herd; and before he could get more there was likely to be a stampede. Decoy work was too slow for the trapper who was buffalo-hunting. So was tracking on snow-shoes, the way the Indians hunted north of the Yellowstone. A wounded buffalo at close range was quite as vicious as a wounded grisly; and it did not pay the trapper to risk his life getting a pelt for which the trader would give him only four or five dollars' worth of goods. The Indians hunted buffalo by driving them over a precipice where hunters were stationed on each side below, or by luring the herd into a pound or pit by means of an Indian decoy masking under a buffalo-hide. But the precipice and pit destroyed too many hides; and if the pound were a sort of _cheval-de-frise_ or corral converging at the inner end, it required more hunters than were ever together except at the incoming of the spring brigades. When there were many hunters and countless buffalo, the white blood of the plains' trapper preferred a fair fight in an open field--not the indiscriminate carnage of the Indian hunt; so that the greatest buffalo-runs took place after the opening of spring. The greatest of these were on the Upper Missouri. This was the Mandan country, where hunters of the Mackinaw from Michilimackinac, of the Missouri from St. Louis, of the Nor' Westers from Montreal, of the Hudson Bay from Fort Douglas (Winnipeg), used to congregate before the War of 1812, which barred out Canadian traders. At a later date the famous, loud-screeching Red River ox-carts were used to transport supplies to the scene of the hunt; but at the opening of the last century all hunters, whites, Indians, and squaws, rode to field on cayuse ponies or broncos, with no more supplies than could be stowed away in a saddle-pack, and no other escort than the old-fashioned muskets over each white man's shoulder or attached to his holster. The Indians were armed with bow and arrow only. The course usually led north and westward, for the reason that at this season the herds were on their great migrations north, and the course of the rivers headed them westward. From the first day out the hunter best fitted for the captainship was recognised as leader, and such discipline maintained as prevented unruly spirits stampeding the buffalo before the cavalcade had closed near enough for the wild rush. At night the hunters slept under open sky with horses picketed to saddles, saddles as pillows, and musket in hand. When the course led through the country of hostiles, sentinels kept guard; but midnight usually saw all hunters in the deep sleep of outdoor life, bare faces upturned to the stars, a little tenuous stream of uprising smoke where the camp-fire still glowed red, and on the far, shadowy horizon, with the moonlit skyline meeting the billowing prairie in perfect circle, vague, whitish forms--the coyotes keeping watch, stealthy and shunless as death. The northward movement of the buffalo began with the spring. Odd scattered herds might have roamed the valleys in the winter; but as the grass grew deeper and lush with spring rains, the reaches of the prairie land became literally covered with the humpback, furry forms of the roving herds. Indian legend ascribed their coming directly to the spirits. The more prosaic white man explained that the buffalo were only emerging from winter shelter, and their migration was a search for fresh feeding-ground. Be that as it may, northward they came, in straggling herds that covered the prairie like a flock of locusts; in close-formed battalions, with leaders and scouts and flank guards protecting the cows and the young; in long lines, single file, leaving the ground, soft from spring rains, marked with a rut like a ditch; in a mad stampede at a lumbering gallop that roared like an ocean tide up hills and down steep ravines, sure-footed as a mountain-goat, thrashing through the swollen water-course of river and slough, up embankments with long beards and fringed dewlaps dripping--on and on and on--till the tidal wave of life had hulked over the sky-line beyond the heaving horizon. Here and there in the brownish-black mass were white and gray forms, light-coloured buffalo, freaks in the animal world. The age of the calves in each year's herd varied. The writer remembers a sturdy little buffalo that arrived on the scene of this troublous life one freezing night in January, with a howling blizzard and the thermometer at forty below--a combination that is sufficient to set the teeth of the most mendacious northerner chattering. The young buffalo spent the first three days of his life in this gale and was none the worse, which seems to prove that climatic apology, "though it is cold, you don't feel it." Another spindly-legged, clumsy bundle of fawn and fur in the same herd counted its natal day from a sweltering afternoon in August. * * * * * Many signs told the buffalo-runners which way to ride for the herd. There was the trail to the watering-place. There were the salt-licks and the wallows and the crushed grass where two young fellows had been smashing each other's horns in a trial of strength. There were the bones of the poor old deposed king, picked clear by the coyotes, or, perhaps, the lonely outcast himself, standing at bay, feeble and frightened, a picture of dumb woe! To such the hunter's shot was a mercy stroke. Or, most interesting of all signs and surest proof that the herd was near--a little bundle of fawn-coloured fur lying out flat as a door-mat under hiding of sage-brush, or against a clay mound, precisely the colour of its own hide. Poke it! An ear blinks, or a big ox-like eye opens! It is a buffalo calf left cached by the mother, who has gone to the watering-place or is pasturing with the drove. Lift it up! It is inert as a sack of wool. Let it go! It drops to earth flat and lifeless as a door-mat. The mother has told it how to escape the coyotes and wolverines; and the little rascal is "playing dead." But if you fondle it and warm it--the Indians say, breathe into its face--it forgets all about the mother's warning and follows like a pup. At the first signs of the herd's proximity the squaws parted from the cavalcade and all impedimenta remained behind. The best-equipped man was the man with the best horse, a horse that picked out the largest buffalo from one touch of the rider's hand or foot, that galloped swift as wind in pursuit, that jerked to a stop directly opposite the brute's shoulders and leaped from the sideward sweep of the charging horns. No sound came from the hunters till all were within close range. Then the captain gave the signal, dropped a flag, waved his hand, or fired a shot, and the hunters charged. Arrows whistled through the air, shots clattered with the fusillade of artillery volleys. Bullets fell to earth with the dull ping of an aim glanced aside by the adamant head bones or the heaving shoulder fur of the buffalo. The Indians shouted their war-cry of "Ah--oh, ah--oh!" Here and there French voices screamed "Voilà! Les boeufs! Les boeufs! Sacré! Tonnerre! Tir--tir--tir--donc! By Gar!" And Missouri traders called out plain and less picturesque but more forcible English. Sometimes the suddenness of the attack dazed the herd; but the second volley with the smell of powder and smoke and men started the stampede. Then followed such a wild rush as is unknown in the annals of any other kind of hunting, up hills, down embankments, over cliffs, through sloughs, across rivers, hard and fast and far as horses had strength to carry riders in a boundless land! [Illustration: The buffalo-hunt. After a contemporary print.] Riders were unseated and went down in the _mêlée_; horses caught on the horns of charging bulls and ripped from shoulder to flank; men thrown high in mid-air to alight on the back of a buffalo; Indians with dexterous aim bringing down the great brutes with one arrow; unwary hunters trampled to death under a multitude of hoofs; wounded buffalo turning with fury on their assailants till the pursuer became pursued and only the fleetness of the pony saved the hunter's life. A retired officer of the North-West mounted police, who took part in a Missouri buffalo-run forty years ago, described the impression at the time as of an earthquake. The galloping horses, the rocking mass of fleeing buffalo, the rumbling and quaking of the ground under the thunderous pounding, were all like a violent earthquake. The same gentleman tells how he once saw a wounded buffalo turn on an Indian hunter. The man's horse took fright. Instead of darting sideways to give him a chance to send a last finishing shot home, the horse became wildly unmanageable and fled. The buffalo pursued. Off they raced, rider and buffalo, the Indian craning over his horse's neck, the horse blown and fagged and unable to gain one pace ahead of the buffalo, the great beast covered with foam, his eyes like fire, pounding and pounding--closer and closer to the horse till rider and buffalo disappeared over the horizon. "To this day I have wondered what became of that Indian," said the officer, "for the horse was losing and the buffalo gaining when they went over the bluff." The incident illustrates a trait seldom found in wild animals--a persistent vindictiveness. In a word, buffalo-hunting was not all boys' play. After the hunt came the gathering of skins and meat. The tongue was first taken as a delicacy for the great feast that celebrated every buffalo-hunt. To this was sometimes added the fleece fat or hump. White hunters have been accused of waste, because they used only the skin, tongue, and hump of the buffalo. But what the white hunter left the Indian took, making pemmican by pounding the meat with tallow, drying thinly-shaved slices into "jerked" meat, getting thread from the buffalo sinews and implements of the chase from the bones. The gathering of the spoils was not the least dangerous part of the buffalo-hunt. Many an apparently lifeless buffalo has lunged up in a death-throe that has cost the hunter dear. The mounted police officer of whom mention has been made was once camping with a patrol party along the international line between Idaho and Canada. Among the hunting stories told over the camp-fire was that of the Indian pursued by the wounded buffalo. Scarcely had the colonel finished his anecdote when a great hulking buffalo rose to the crest of a hillock not a gunshot away. "Come on, men! Let us all have a shot," cried the colonel, grasping his rifle. The buffalo dropped at the first rifle-crack, and the men scrambled pell-mell up the hill to see whose bullet had struck vital. Just as they stooped over the fallen buffalo it lunged up with an angry snort. The story of the pursued Indian was still fresh in all minds. The colonel is the only man of the party honest enough to tell what happened next. He declares if breath had not given out every man would have run till he dropped over the horizon, like the Indian and the buffalo. And when they plucked up courage to go back, the buffalo was dead as a stone. CHAPTER VIII THE MOUNTAINEERS It was in the Rocky Mountains that American trapping attained its climax of heroism and dauntless daring and knavery that out-herods comparison. The War of 1812 had demoralized the American fur trade. Indians from both sides of the international boundary committed every depredation, and evaded punishment by scampering across the line to the protection of another flag. Alexander MacKenzie of the North-West Company had been the first of the Canadian traders to cross the Rockies, reaching the Pacific in 1793. The result was that in less than fifteen years the fur posts of the North-West and Hudson's Bay Companies were dotted like beads on a rosary down the course of the mountain rivers to the boundary. Of the American traders, the first to follow up Lewis and Clark's lead from the Missouri to the Columbia were Manuel Lisa the Spaniard and Major Andrew Henry, the two leading spirits of the Missouri Company. John Jacob Astor sent his Astorians of the Pacific Company across the continent in 1811, and a host of St. Louis firms had prepared to send free trappers to the mountains when the war broke out. The end of the war saw Astoria captured by the Nor' Westers, the Astorians scattered to all parts of the world, Lisa driven down the Missouri to Council Bluffs, Andrew Henry a fugitive from the Blackfeet of the Yellowstone, and all the free trappers like an idle army waiting for a captain. Their captain came. Mr. Astor's influence secured the passage of a law barring out British fur traders from the United States. That threw all the old Hudson's Bay and North-West posts south of the boundary into the hands of Mr. Astor's American Fur Company. He had already bought out the American part of the Mackinaw Company's posts, stretching west from Michilimackinac beyond the Mississippi towards the head waters of the Missouri. And now to his force came a tremendous accession--all those dissatisfied Nor' Westers thrown out of employment when their company amalgamated with the Hudson's Bay. If Mr. Astor alone had held the American fur trade, there would have been none of that rivalry which ended in so much bloodshed. But St. Louis, lying like a gateway to the mountain trade, had always been jealous of those fur traders with headquarters in New York. Lisa had refused to join Mr. Astor's Pacific Company, and doubtless the Spaniard chuckled over his own wisdom when that venture failed with a loss of nearly half a million to its founder. When Lisa died the St. Louis traders still held back from the American Fur Company. Henry and Ashley and the Sublettes and Campbell and Fitzpatrick and Bridger--subsequently known as the Rocky Mountain traders--swept up the Missouri with brigades of one hundred, two hundred, and three hundred men, and were overrunning the mountains five years before the American Company's slowly extending line of forts had reached as far west as the Yellowstone. A clash was bound to ensue when these two sets of rivals met on a hunting-field which the Rocky Mountain men regarded as pre-empted by themselves. The clash came from the peculiarities of the hunting-ground. It was two thousand miles by trappers' trail from the reach of law. It was too remote from the fur posts for trappers to go down annually for supplies. Supplies were sent up by the fur companies to a mountain _rendezvous_, to Pierre's Hole under the Tetons, or Jackson's Hole farther east, or Ogden's Hole at Salt Lake, sheltered valleys with plenty of water for men and horses when hunters and traders and Indians met at the annual camp. Elsewhere the hunter had only to follow the windings of a river to be carried to his hunting-ground. Here, streams were too turbulent for canoes; and boats were abandoned for horses; and mountain cañons with sides sheer as a wall drove the trapper back from the river-bed to interminable forests, where windfall and underbrush and rockslide obstructed every foot of progress. The valley might be shut in by a blind wall which cooped the hunter up where was neither game nor food. Out of this valley, then, he must find a way for himself and his horses, noting every peak so that he might know this region again, noting especially the peaks with the black rock walls; for where the rock is black snow has not clung, and the mountain face will not change; and where snow cannot stick, a man cannot climb; and the peak is a good one for the trapper to shun. One, two, three seasons have often slipped away before the mountaineers found good hunting-ground. Ten years is a short enough time to learn the lie of the land in even a small section of mountains. It was twenty years from the time Lewis and Clark first crossed the mountains before the traders of St. Louis could be sure that the trappers sent into the Rockies would find their way out. Seventy lives were lost in the first two years of mountain trapping, some at the hands of the hostile Blackfeet guarding the entrance to the mountains at the head waters of the Missouri, some at the hands of the Snakes on the Upper Columbia, others between the Platte and Salt Lake. Time and money and life it cost to learn the hunting-grounds of the Rockies; and the mountaineers would not see knowledge won at such a cost wrested away by a spying rival. * * * * * Then, too, the mountains had bred a new type of trapper, a new style of trapping. Only the most daring hunters would sign contracts for the "Up-Country," or _Pays d'en Haut_ as the French called it. The French trappers, for the most part, kept to the river valleys and plains; and if one went to the mountains for a term of years, when he came out he was no longer the smug, indolent, laughing, chattering _voyageur_. The great silences of a life hard as the iron age had worked a change. To begin with, the man had become a horseman, a climber, a scout, a fighter of Indians and elements, lank and thin and lithe, silent and dogged and relentless. In other regions hunters could go out safely in pairs or even alone, carrying supplies enough for the season in a canoe, and drifting down-stream with a canoe-load of pelts to the fur post. But the mountains were so distant and inaccessible, great quantities of supplies had to be taken. That meant long cavalcades of pack-horses, which Blackfeet were ever on the alert to stampede. Armed guards had to accompany the pack-train. Out of a party of a hundred trappers sent to the mountains by the Rock Mountain Company, thirty were always crack rifle-shots for the protection of the company's property. One such party, properly officered and kept from crossing the animal's tracks, might not drive game from a valley. Two such bands of rival traders keen to pilfer each other's traps would result in ruin to both. That is the way the clash came in the early thirties of the last century. * * * * * All winter bands of Rocky Mountain trappers under Fitzpatrick and Bridger and Sublette had been sweeping, two hundred strong, like foraging bandits, from the head waters of the Missouri, where was one mountain pass to the head waters of the Platte, where was a second pass much used by the mountaineers. Summer came with the heat that wakens all the mountain silences to a roar of rampant life. Summer came with the fresh-loosened rocks clattering down the mountain slopes in a landslide, and the avalanches booming over the precipices in a Niagara of snow, and the swollen torrents shouting to each other in a thousand voices till the valleys vibrated to that grandest of all music--the voice of many waters. Summer came with the heat that drives the game up to the cool heights of the wind-swept peaks; and the hunters of the game began retracing their way from valley to valley, gathering the furs cached during the winter hunt. Then the cavalcade set out for the _rendezvous_: grizzled men in tattered buckskins, with long hair and unkempt beards and bronzed skin, men who rode as if they were part of the saddle, easy and careless but always with eyes alert and one hand near the thing in their holsters; long lines of pack-horses laden with furs climbing the mountains in a zigzag trail like a spiral stair, crawling along the face of cliffs barely wide enough to give a horse footing, skirting the sky-line between lofty peaks in order to avoid the detour round the broadened bases, frequently swimming raging torrents whose force carried them half a mile off their trail; always following the long slopes, for the long slopes were most easily climbed; seldom following a water-course, for mountain torrents take short cuts over precipices; packers scattering to right and left at the fording-places, to be rounded back by the collie-dog and the shouting drivers, and the old bell-mare darting after the bolters with her ears laid flat. Not a sign by the way escaped the mountaineer's eye. Here the tumbling torrent is clear and sparkling and cold as champagne. He knows that stream comes from snow. A glacial stream would be milky blue or milky green from glacial silts; and while game seeks the cool heights in summer, the animals prefer the snow-line and avoid the chill of the iced masses in a glacier. There will be game coming down from the source of that stream when he passes back this way in the fall. Ah! what is that little indurated line running up the side of the cliff--just a displacement of the rock chips here, a hardening of the earth that winds in and out among the devil's-club and painter's-brush and mountain laurel and rock crop and heather? "Something has been going up and down here to a drinking-place," says the mountaineer. Punky yellow logs lie ripped open and scratched where bruin has been enjoying a dainty morsel of ants' eggs; but the bear did not make that track. It is too dainty, and has been used too regularly. Neither has the bighorn made it; for the mountain-sheep seldom stay longer above tree-line, resting in the high, meadowed Alpine valleys with the long grasses and sunny reaches and larch shade. Presently the belled leader tinkles her way round an elbow of rock where a stream trickles down. This is the drinking-place. In the soft mould is a little cleft footprint like the ace of hearts, the trail of the mountain-goat feeding far up at the snow-line where the stream rises. Then the little cleft mark unlocks a world of hunter's yarns: how at such a ledge, where the cataract falls like wind-blown mist, one trapper saw a mother goat teaching her little kid to take the leap, and how when she scented human presence she went jump--jump--jump--up and up and up the rock wall, where the man could not follow, bleating and calling the kid; and how the kid leaped and fell back and leaped, and cried as pitifully as a child, till the man, having no canned milk to bring it up, out of very sympathy went away. Then another tells how he tried to shoot a goat running up a gulch, but as fast as he sighted his rifle--"drew the bead"--the thing jumped from side to side, criss-crossing up the gulch till she got above danger and away. And some taciturn oracle comes out with the dictum that "men hadn't ought to try to shoot goat except from above or in front." Every pack-horse of the mountains knows the trick of planting legs like stanchions and blowing his sides out in a balloon when the men are tightening cinches. No matter how tight girths may be, before every climb and at the foot of every slope there must be re-tightening. And at every stop the horses come shouldering up for the packs to be righted, or try to scrape the things off under some low-branched tree. Night falls swiftly in the mountains, the long, peaked shadows etching themselves across the valleys. Shafts of sunlight slant through the mountain gaps gold against the endless reaches of matted forest, red as wine across the snowy heights. With the purpling shadows comes a sudden chill, silencing the roar of mountain torrents to an all-pervading ceaseless prolonged h--u--s--h--! Mountaineers take no chances on the ledges after dark. It is dangerous enough work to skirt narrow precipices in daylight; and sunset is often followed by a thick mist rolling across the heights in billows of fog. These are the clouds that one sees across the peaks at nightfall like banners. How does it feel benighted among those clouds? A few years ago I was saving a long detour round the base of a mountain by riding along the saddle of rock between two peaks. The sky-line rounded the convex edge of a sheer precipice for three miles. Midway the inner wall rose straight, the outer edge above blackness--seven thousand feet the mountaineer guiding us said it was, though I think it was nearer five. The guide's horse displaced a stone the size of a pail from the path. If a man had slipped in the same way he would have fallen to the depths; but when one foot slips, a horse has three others to regain himself; and with a rear-end flounder the horse got his footing. But down--down--down went the stone, bouncing and knocking and echoing as it struck against the precipice wall--down--down--down till it was no larger than a spool--then out of sight--and silence! The mountaineer looked back over his shoulder. "Always throw both your feet over the saddle to the inner side of the trail in a place like this," he directed, with a curious meaning in his words. "What do you do when the clouds catch you on this sort of a ledge?" "Get off--knock ahead with your rifle to feel where the edge is--throw bits of rock through the fog so you can tell where you are by the sound." "And when no sound comes back?" "Sit still," said he. Then to add emphasis, "You bet you sit still! People can say what they like, but when no sound comes back, or when the sound's muffled as if it came from water below, you bet it gives you chills!" So the mountaineers take no chances on the ledges after dark. The moon riding among the peaks rises over pack-horses standing hobbled on the lee side of a roaring camp-fire that will drive the sand-flies and mosquitoes away, on pelts and saddle-trees piled carefully together, on men sleeping with no pillow but a pack, no covering but the sky. If a sharp crash breaks the awful stillness of a mountain night, the trapper is unalarmed. He knows it is only some great rock loosened by the day's thaw rolling down with a landslide. If a shrill, fiendish laugh shrieks through the dark, he pays no heed. It is only the cougar prowling cattishly through the under-brush perhaps still-hunting the hunter. The lonely call overhead is not the prairie-hawk, but the eagle lilting and wheeling in a sort of dreary enjoyment of utter loneliness. Long before the sunrise has drawn the tented shadows across the valley the mountaineers are astir, with the pack-horses snatching mouthfuls of bunch-grass as they travel off in a way that sets the old leader's bell tinkling. The mountaineers usually left their hunting-grounds early in May. They seldom reached their _rendezvous_ before July or August. Three months travelling a thousand miles! Three hundred miles a month! Ten miles a day! It is not a record that shows well beside our modern sixty miles an hour--a thousand miles a day. And yet it is a better record; for if our latter-day fliers had to build the road as they went along, they would make slower time than the mountaineers of a century ago. Rivers too swift to swim were rafted on pine logs, cut and braced together while the cavalcade waited. Muskegs where the industrious little beaver had flooded a valley by damming up the central stream often mired the horses till all hands were called to haul out the unfortunate; and where the mire was very treacherous and the surrounding mountains too steep for foothold, choppers went to work and corduroyed a trail across, throwing the logs on branches that kept them afloat, and overlaying with moss to save the horses' feet. But the greatest cause of delay was the windfall, pines and spruce of enormous girth pitched down by landslide and storm into an impassable _cheval-de-frise_. Turn to the right! A matted tangle of underbrush higher than the horses' head bars the way! Turn to the left! A muskeg where horses sink through quaking moss to saddle-girths! If the horses could not be driven around the barrier, the mountaineers would try to force a high jump. The high jump failing except at risk of broken legs, there was nothing to do but chop a passage through. And were the men carving a way through the wilderness only the bushwhackers who have pioneered other forest lands? Of the prominent men leading mountaineers in 1831, Vanderburgh of the American Fur Company was a son of a Fifth New York Regiment officer in the Revolutionary War, and himself a graduate of West Point. One of the Rocky Mountain leaders was a graduate from a blacksmith-shop. Another leader was a descendant of the royal blood of France. All grades of life supplied material for the mountaineer; but it was the mountains that bred the heroism, that created a new type of trapper--the most purely American type, because produced by purely American conditions. Green River was the _rendezvous_ for the mountaineers in 1831; and to Green River came trappers of the Columbia, of the Three Forks, of the Missouri, of the Bighorn and Yellowstone and Platte. From St. Louis came the traders to exchange supplies for pelts; and from every habitable valley of the mountains native tribes to barter furs, sell horses for transport, carouse at the merry meeting and spy on what the white hunters were doing. For a month all was the confusion of a gipsy camp or Oriental fair. French-Canadian _voyageurs_ who had come up to raft the season's cargo down-stream to St. Louis jostled shoulders with mountaineers from the Spanish settlements to the south and American trappers from the Columbia to the north and free trappers who had ranged every forest of America from Labrador to Mexico.[32] Merchants from St. Louis, like General Ashley, the foremost leader of Rocky Mountain trappers, descendants from Scottish nobility like Kenneth MacKenzie of Fort Union, miscellaneous gentlemen of adventure like Captain Bonneville, or Wyeth of Boston, or Baron Stuart--all with retinues of followers like mediæval lords--found themselves hobnobbing at the _rendezvous_ with mighty Indian sachems, Crows or Pend d'Oreilles or Flat Heads, clad in little else than moccasins, a buffalo-skin blanket, and a pompous dignity. Among the underlings was a time of wild revel, drinking daylight out and daylight in, decking themselves in tawdry finery for the one dress occasion of the year, and gambling sober or drunk till all the season's earnings, pelts and clothing and horses and traps, were gone. The partners--as the Rocky Mountain men called themselves in distinction to the _bourgeois_ of the French, the factors of the Hudson's Bay, the partisans of the American Fur Company--held confabs over crumpled maps, planning the next season's hunt, drawing in roughly the fresh information brought down each year of new regions, and plotting out all sections of the mountains for the different brigades. This year a new set of faces appeared at the _rendezvous_, from thirty to fifty men with full quota of saddle-horses, pack-mules, and traps. On the traps were letters that afterward became magical in all the Up-Country--A. F. C.--American Fur Company. Leading these men were Vanderburgh, who had already become a successful trader among the Aricaras and had to his credit one victory over the Blackfeet; and Drips, who had been a member of the old Missouri Fur Company and knew the Upper Platte well. But the Rocky Mountain men, who knew the cost of life and time and money it had taken to learn the hunting-grounds of the Rockies, doubtless smiled at these tenderfeet who thought to trap as successfully in the hills as they had on the plains. Two things counselled caution. Vanderburgh would stop at nothing. Drips had married a native woman of the Platte, whose tribe might know the hunting-grounds as well as the mountaineers. Hunters fraternize in friendship at holidaying; but they no more tell each other secrets than rival editors at a banquet. Mountaineers knowing the field like Bridger who had been to the Columbia with Henry as early as 1822 and had swept over the ranges as far south as the Platte, or Fitzpatrick[33] who had made the Salt Lake region his stamping-ground, might smile at the newcomers; but they took good care to give their rivals the slip when hunters left the _rendezvous_ for the hills. When the mountaineers scattered, Fitzpatrick led his brigade to the region between the Black Hills on the east and the Bighorn Mountains on the west. The first snowfall was powdering the hills. Beaver were beginning to house up for the winter. Big game was moving down to the valley. The hunters had pitched a central camp on the banks of Powder River, gathered in the supply of winter meat, and dispersed in pairs to trap all through the valley. But forest rangers like Vanderburgh and Drips were not to be so easily foiled. Every axe-mark on windfall, every camp-fire, every footprint in the spongy mould, told which way the mountaineers had gone. Fitzpatrick's hunters wakened one morning to find traps marked A. F. C. beside their own in the valley. The trick was too plain to be misunderstood. The American Fur Company might not know the hunting-grounds of the Rockies, but they were deliberately dogging the mountaineers to their secret retreats. Armed conflict would only bring ruin in lawsuits. Gathering his hunters together under cover of snowfall or night, Fitzpatrick broke camp, slipped stealthily out of the valley, over the Bighorn range, across the Bighorn River, now almost impassable in winter, into the pathless foldings of the Wind River Mountains, with their rampart walls and endless snowfields, westward to Snake River Valley, three hundred miles away from the spies. Instead of trapping from east to west, as he had intended to do so that the return to the _rendezvous_ would lead past the caches, Fitzpatrick thought to baffle the spies by trapping from west to east. Having wintered on the Snake, he moved gradually up-stream. Crossing southward over a divide, they unexpectedly came on the very rivals whom they were avoiding, Vanderburgh and Drips, evidently working northward on the mountaineers' trail. By a quick reverse they swept back north in time for the summer _rendezvous_ at Pierre's Hole. Who had told Vanderburgh and Drips that the mountaineers were to meet at Pierre's Hole in 1832? Possibly Indians and fur trappers who had been notified to come down to Pierre's Hole by the Rocky Mountain men; possibly, too, paid spies in the employment of the American Fur Company. Before supplies had come up from St. Louis for the mountaineers Vanderburgh and Drips were at the _rendezvous_. Neither of the rivals could flee away to the mountains till the supplies came. Could the mountaineers but get away first, Vanderburgh and Drips could no longer dog a fresh trail. Fitzpatrick at once set out with all speed to hasten the coming convoy. Four hundred miles eastward he met the supplies, explained the need to hasten provisions, and with one swift horse under him and another swift one as a relay, galloped back to the _rendezvous_. But the Blackfeet were ever on guard at the mountain passes like cats at a mouse-hole. Fitzpatrick had ridden into a band of hostiles before he knew the danger. Vaulting to the saddle of the fresh horse, he fled to the hills, where he lay concealed for three days. Then he ventured out. The Indians still guarded the passes. They must have come upon him at a night camp when his horse was picketed, for Fitzpatrick escaped to the defiles of the mountains with nothing but the clothes on his back and a single ball in his rifle. By creeping from shelter to shelter of rugged declivities where the Indian ponies could not follow, he at last got across the divide, living wholly on roots and berries. Swimming one of the swollen mountain rivers, he lost his rifle. Hatless--for his hat had been cut up to bind his bleeding feet and protect them from the rocks--and starving, he at last fell in with some Iroquois hunters also bound for the _rendezvous_. The convoy under Sublette had already arrived at Pierre's Hole. The famous battle between white men and hostile Blackfeet at Pierre's Hole, which is told elsewhere, does not concern the story of rivalry between mountaineers and the American Fur Company. The Rocky Mountain men now realized that the magical A. F. C. was a rival to be feared and not to be lightly shaken. Some overtures were made by the mountaineers for an equal division of the hunting-ground between the two great companies. These Vanderburgh and Drips rejected with the scorn of utter confidence. Meanwhile provisions had not come for the American Fur Company. The mountaineers not only captured all trade with the friendly Indians, but in spite of the delay from the fight with the Blackfeet got away to their hunting-grounds two weeks in advance of the American Company. What the Rocky Mountain men decided when the American Company rejected the offer to divide the hunting-ground can only be inferred from what was done. Vanderburgh and Drips knew that Fitzpatrick and Bridger had led a picked body of horsemen northward from Pierre's Hole. If the mountaineers had gone east of the lofty Tetons, their hunting-ground would be somewhere between the Yellowstone and the Bighorn. If they had gone south, one could guess they would round-up somewhere about Salt Lake where the Hudson's Bay[34] had been so often "relieved" of their furs by the mountaineers. If they had gone west, their destination must be on the Columbia or the Snake. If they went north, they would trap on the Three Forks of the Upper Missouri. Therefore Vanderburgh and Drips cached all impedimenta that might hamper swift marching, smiled to themselves, and headed their horses for the Three Forks of the Missouri. There were Blackfeet, to be sure, in that region; and Blackfeet hated Vanderburgh with deadly venom because he had once defeated them and slain a great warrior. Also, the Blackfeet were smarting from the fearful losses of Pierre's Hole. But if the Rocky Mountain men could go unscathed among the Blackfeet, why, so could the American Fur Company! And Vanderburgh and Drips went! Rival traders might not commit murder. That led to the fearful ruin of the lawsuits that overtook Nor' Westers and Hudson's Bay in Canada only fifteen years before. But the mountaineers knew that the Blackfeet hated Henry Vanderburgh! Corduroyed muskeg where the mountaineers' long file of pack-horses had passed, fresh-chopped logs to make a way through blockades of fallen pine, the green moss that hangs festooned among the spruce at cloudline broken and swinging free as if a rider had passed that way, grazed bark where the pack-saddle had brushed a tree-trunk, muddy hoof-marks where the young packers had balked at fording an icy stream, scratchings on rotten logs where a mountaineer's pegged boot had stepped--all these told which way Fitzpatrick and Bridger had led their brigade. Oh, it was an easy matter to scent so hot a trail! Here the ashes of a camp-fire! There a pile of rock placed a deal too carefully for nature's work--the cached furs of the fleeing rivals! Besides, what with cañon and whirlpool, there are so very few ways by which a cavalcade can pass through mountains that the simplest novice could have trailed Fitzpatrick and Bridger. Doubtless between the middle of August when Vanderburgh and Drips set out on the chase and the middle of September when they ran down the fugitives the American Fur Company leaders had many a laugh at their own cleverness. They succeeded in overtaking the mountaineers in the valley of the Jefferson, splendid hunting-grounds with game enough for two lines of traps, which Vanderburgh and Drips at once set out. No swift flight by forced marches this time! The mountaineers sat still for almost a week. Then they casually moved down the Jefferson towards the main Missouri. The hunting-ground was still good. Weren't the mountaineers leaving a trifle too soon? Should the Americans follow or stay? Vanderburgh remained, moving over into the adjacent valley and spreading his traps along the Madison. Drips followed the mountaineers. Two weeks' chase over utterly gameless ground probably suggested to Drips that even an animal will lead off on a false scent to draw the enemy away from the true trail. At the Missouri he turned back up the Jefferson. Wheeling right about, the mountaineers at once turned back too, up the farthest valley, the Gallatin, then on the way to the first hunting-ground westward over a divide to the Madison, where--ill luck!--they again met their ubiquitous rival, Vanderburgh! How Vanderburgh laughed at these antics one may guess! Post-haste up the Madison went the mountaineers! Should Vanderburgh stay or follow? Certainly the enemy had been bound back for the good hunting-grounds when they had turned to retrace their way up the Madison. If they meant to try the Jefferson, Vanderburgh would forestall the move. He crossed over to the valley where he had first found them. Sure enough there were camp-fires on the old hunting-grounds, a dead buffalo, from which the hunters had just fled to avoid Vanderburgh! If Vanderburgh laughed, his laugh was short; for there were signs that the buffalo had been slain by an Indian. The trappers refused to hunt where there were Blackfeet about. Vanderburgh refused to believe there was any danger of Blackfeet. Calling for volunteers, he rode forward with six men. First they found a fire. The marauders must be very near. Then a dead buffalo was seen, then fresh tracks, unmistakably the tracks of Indians. But buffalo were pasturing all around undisturbed. There could not be many Indians. Determined to quiet the fears of his men, Vanderburgh pushed on, entered a heavily wooded gulch, paused at the steep bank of a dried torrent, descried nothing, and jumped his horse across the bank, followed by the six volunteers. Instantly the valley rang with rifle-shots. A hundred hostiles sprang from ambush. Vanderburgh's horse went down. Three others cleared the ditch at a bound and fled; but Vanderburgh was to his feet, aiming his gun, and coolly calling out: "Don't run! Don't run!" Two men sent their horses back over the ditch to his call, a third was thrown to be slain on the spot, and Vanderburgh's first shot had killed the nearest Indian, when another volley from the Blackfeet exacted deadly vengeance for the warrior Vanderburgh had slain years before. Panic-stricken riders carried the news to the waiting brigade. Refuge was taken in the woods, where sentinels kept guard all night. The next morning, with scouts to the fore, the brigade retreated cautiously towards some of their caches. A second night was passed behind barriers of logs; and the third day a band of friendly Indians was encountered, who were sent to bury the dead. The Frenchman they buried. Vanderburgh had been torn to pieces and his bones thrown into the river. So ended the merry game of spying on the mountaineers. As for the mountaineers, they fell into the meshes of their own snares; for on the way to Snake River, when parleying with friendly Blackfeet, the accidental discharge of Bridger's gun brought a volley of arrows from the Indians, one hooked barb lodging in Bridger's shoulder-blade, which he carried around for three years as a memento of his own trickery. Fitzpatrick fared as badly. Instigated by the American Fur Company, the Crows attacked him within a year, stealing everything that he possessed. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 32: This is no exaggeration. Smith's trappers, who were scattered from Fort Vancouver to Monterey, the Astorians, Major Andrew Henry's party--had all been such wide-ranging foresters.] [Footnote 33: Fitzpatrick was late in reaching the hunting-ground this year, owing to a disaster with Smith on the way back from Santa Fé.] [Footnote 34: By law the Hudson's Bay had no right in this region from the passing of the act forbidding British traders in the United States. But, then, no man had a right to steal half a million of another's furs, which was the record of the Rocky Mountain men.] PART II CHAPTER IX THE TAKING OF THE BEAVER All summer long he had hung about the fur company trading-posts waiting for the signs. And now the signs had come. Foliage crimson to the touch of night-frosts. Crisp autumn days, spicy with the smell of nuts and dead leaves. Birds flying away southward, leaving the woods silent as the snow-padded surface of a frozen pond. Hoar-frost heavier every morning; and thin ice edged round stagnant pools like layers of mica. Then he knew it was time to go. And through the Northern forests moved a new presence--the trapper. Of the tawdry, flash clothing in which popular fancy is wont to dress him he has none. Bright colours would be a danger-signal to game. If his costume has any colour, it is a waist-belt or neck-scarf, a toque or bright handkerchief round his head to keep distant hunters from mistaking him for a moose. For the rest, his clothes are as ragged as any old, weather-worn garments. Sleeping on balsam boughs or cooking over a smoky fire will reduce the newness of blanket coat and buckskin jacket to the dun shades of the grizzled forest. A few days in the open and the trapper has the complexion of a bronzed tree-trunk. Like other wild creatures, this foster-child of the forest gradually takes on the appearance and habits of woodland life. Nature protects the ermine by turning his russet coat of the grass season to spotless white for midwinter--except the jet tail-tip left to lure hungry enemies and thus, perhaps, to prevent the little stoat degenerating into a sloth. And the forest looks after her foster-child by transforming the smartest suit that ever stepped out of the clothier's bandbox to the dull tints of winter woods. This is the seasoning of the man for the work. But the trapper's training does not stop here. When the birds have gone south the silence of a winter forest on a windless day becomes tense enough to be snapped by either a man's breathing or the breaking of a small twig; and the trapper acquires a habit of moving through the brush with noiseless stealth. He must learn to see better than the caribou can hear or the wolf smell--which means that in keenness and accuracy his sight outdistances the average field-glass. Besides, the trapper has learned how to look, how to see, and seeing--discern; which the average man cannot do even through a field-glass. Then animals have a trick of deceiving the enemy into mistaking them for inanimate things by suddenly standing stock-still in closest peril, unflinching as stone; and to match himself against them the trapper must also get the knack of instantaneously becoming a statue, though he feel the clutch of bruin's five-inch claws. And these things are only the _a b c_ of the trapper's woodcraft. One of the best hunters in America confessed that the longer he trapped the more he thought every animal different enough from the fellows of its kind to be a species by itself. Each day was a fresh page in the book of forest-lore. It is in the month of May-goosey-geezee, the Ojibways' trout month, corresponding to the late October and early November of the white man, that the trapper sets out through the illimitable stretches of the forest land and waste prairie south of Hudson Bay, between Labrador and the Upper Missouri. His birch canoe has been made during the summer. Now, splits and seams, where the bark crinkles at the gunwale, must be filled with rosin and pitch. A light sled, with only runners and cross frame, is made to haul the canoe over still water, where the ice first forms. Sled, provisions, blanket, and fish-net are put in the canoe, not forgetting the most important part of his kit--the trapper's tools. Whether he hunts from point to point all winter, travelling light and taking nothing but absolute necessaries, or builds a central lodge, where he leaves full store and radiates out to the hunting-grounds, at least four things must be in his tool-bag: a woodman's axe; a gimlet to bore holes in his snow-shoe frame; a crooked knife--not the sheathed dagger of fiction, but a blade crooked hook-shape, somewhat like a farrier's knife, at one end--to smooth without splintering, as a carpenter's plane; and a small chisel to use on the snow-shoe frames and wooden contrivances that stretch the pelts. If accompanied by a boy, who carries half the pack, the hunter may take more tools; but the old trapper prefers to travel light. Fire-arms, ammunition, a common hunting-knife, steel-traps, a cotton-factory tepee, a large sheet of canvas, locally known as _abuckwan_, for a shed tent, complete the trapper's equipment. His dog is not part of the equipment: it is fellow-hunter and companion. From the moose must come the heavy filling for the snow-shoes; but the snow-shoes will not be needed for a month, and there is no haste about shooting an unfound moose while mink and musk-rat and otter and beaver are waiting to be trapped. With the dog showing his wisdom by sitting motionless as an Indian bowman, the trapper steps into his canoe and pushes out. Eye and ear alert for sign of game or feeding-place, where traps would be effective, the man paddles silently on. If he travels after nightfall, the chances are his craft will steal unawares close to a black head above a swimming body. With both wind and current meeting the canoe, no suspicion of his presence catches the scent of the sharp-nosed swimmer. Otter or beaver, it is shot from the canoe. With a leap over bow or stern--over his master's shoulder if necessary, but never sideways, lest the rebound cause an upset--the dog brings back his quarry. But this is only an aside, the hap-hazard shot of an amateur hunter, not the sort of trapping that fills the company's lofts with fur bales. While ranging the forest the former season the trapper picked out a large birch-tree, free of knots and underbranching, with the full girth to make the body of a canoe from gunwale to gunwale without any gussets and seams. But birch-bark does not peel well in winter. The trapper scratched the trunk with a mark of "first-finder-first-owner," honoured by all hunters; and came back in the summer for the bark. Perhaps it was while taking the bark from this tree that he first noticed the traces of beaver. Channels, broader than runnels, hardly as wide as a ditch, have been cut connecting pool with pool, marsh with lake. Here are runways through the grass, where beaver have dragged young saplings five times their own length to a winter storehouse near the dam. Trees lie felled miles away from any chopper. Chips are scattered about marked by teeth which the trapper knows--knows, perhaps, from having seen his dog's tail taken off at a nip, or his own finger amputated almost before he felt it. If the bark of a tree has been nibbled around, like the line a chopper might make before cutting, the trapper guesses whether his coming has not interrupted a beaver in the very act. All these are signs which spell out the presence of a beaver-dam within one night's travelling distance; for the timid beaver frequently works at night, and will not go so far away that forage cannot be brought in before daylight. In which of the hundred water-ways in the labyrinth of pond and stream where beavers roam is this particular family to be found? Realizing that his own life depends on the life of the game, no true trapper will destroy wild creatures when the mothers are caring for their young. Besides, furs are not at their prime when birch-bark is peeled, and the trapper notes the place, so that he may come back when the fall hunt begins. Beaver kittens stay under the parental roof for three years, but at the end of the first summer are amply able to look after their own skins. Free from nursery duties, the old ones can now use all the ingenuity and craft which nature gave them for self-protection. When cold weather comes the beaver is fair game to the trapper. It is wit against wit. To be sure, the man has superior strength, a gun, and a treacherous thing called a trap. But his eyes are not equal to the beaver's nose. And he hasn't that familiarity with the woods to enable him to pursue, which the beaver has to enable it to escape. And he can't swim long enough under water to throw enemies off the scent, the way the beaver does. Now, as he paddles along the network of streams which interlace Northern forests, he will hardly be likely to stumble on the beaver-dam of last summer. Beavers do not build their houses, where passers-by will stumble upon them. But all the streams have been swollen by fall rains; and the trapper notices the markings on every chip and pole floating down the full current. A chip swirls past white and fresh cut. He knows that the rains have floated it over the beaver-dam. Beavers never cut below their houses, but always above, so that the current will carry the poles down-stream to the dam. Leaving his canoe-load behind, the trapper guardedly advances within sight of the dam. If any old beaver sentinel be swimming about, he quickly scents the man-smell, upends and dives with a spanking blow of his trowel tail on the water, which heliographs danger to the whole community. He swims with his webbed hind feet, the little fore paws being used as carriers or hanging limply, the flat tail acting the faintest bit in the world like a rudder; but that is a mooted question. The only definitely ascertained function of that bat-shaped appendage is to telegraph danger to comrades. The beaver neither carries things on his tail, nor plasters houses with it; for the simple reason that the joints of his caudal appurtenance admit of only slight sidelong wigglings and a forward sweep between his hind legs, as if he might use it as a tray for food while he sat back spooning up mouthfuls with his fore paws. Having found the wattled homes of the beaver, the trapper may proceed in different ways. He may, after the fashion of the Indian hunter, stake the stream across above the dam, cut away the obstruction lowering the water, break the conical crowns of the houses on the south side, which is thinnest, and slaughter the beavers indiscriminately as they rush out. But such hunting kills the goose that lays the golden egg; and explains why it was necessary to prohibit the killing of beaver for some years. In the confusion of a wild scramble to escape and a blind clubbing of heads there was bootless destruction. Old and young, poor and in prime, suffered the same fate. The house had been destroyed; and if one beaver chanced to escape into some of the bank-holes under water or up the side channels, he could be depended upon to warn all beaver from that country. Only the degenerate white man practises bad hunting. The skilled hunter has other methods. If unstripped saplings be yet about the bank of the stream, the beavers have not finished laying up their winter stores in adjacent pools. The trapper gets one of his steel-traps. Attaching the ring of this to a loose trunk heavy enough to hold the beaver down and drown him, he places the trap a few inches under water at the end of a runway or in one of the channels. He then takes out a bottle of castoreum. This is a substance from the glands of a beaver which destroys all traces of the man-smell. For it the beavers have a curious infatuation, licking everything touched by it, and said, by some hunters, to be drugged into a crazy stupidity by the very smell. The hunter daubs this on his own foot-tracks. Or, if he finds tracks of the beaver in the grass back from the bank, he may build an old-fashioned deadfall, with which the beaver is still taken in Labrador. This is the small lean-to, with a roof of branches and bark--usually covered with snow--slanting to the ground on one side, the ends either posts or logs, and the front an opening between two logs wide enough to admit half the animal's body. Inside, at the back, on a rectangular stick, one part of which bolsters up the front log, is the bait. All traces of the hunter are smeared over with the elusive castoreum. One tug at the bait usually brings the front log crashing down across the animal's back, killing it instantly. But neither the steel-trap nor the deadfall is wholly satisfactory. When the poor beaver comes sniffing along the castoreum trail to the steel-trap and on the first splash into the water feels a pair of iron jaws close on his feet, he dives below to try and gain the shelter of his house. The log plunges after him, holding him down and back till he drowns; and his whereabouts are revealed by the upend of the tree. But several chances are in the beaver's favour. With the castoreum licks, which tell them of some other beaver, perhaps looking for a mate or lost cub, they may become so exhilarated as to jump clear of the trap. Or, instead of diving down with the trap, they may retreat back up the bank and amputate the imprisoned foot with one nip, leaving only a mutilated paw for the hunter. With the deadfall a small beaver may have gone entirely inside the snare before the front log falls; and an animal whose teeth saw through logs eighteen inches in diameter in less than half an hour can easily eat a way of escape from a wooden trap. Other things are against the hunter. A wolverine may arrive on the scene before the trapper and eat the finest beaver ever taken; or the trapper may discover that his victim is a poor little beaver with worthless, ragged fur, who should have been left to forage for three or four years. * * * * * All these risks can be avoided by waiting till the ice is thick enough for the trapper to cut trenches. Then he returns with a woodman's axe and his dog. By sounding the ice, he can usually find where holes have been hollowed out of the banks. Here he drives stakes to prevent the beaver taking refuge in the shore vaults. The runways and channels, where the beaver have dragged trees, may be hidden in snow and iced over; but the man and his dog will presently find them. The beaver always chooses a stream deep enough not to be frozen solid, and shallow enough for it to make a mud foundation for the house without too much work. Besides, in a deep, swift stream, rains would carry away any house the beaver could build. A trench across the upper stream or stakes through the ice prevent escape that way. The trapper then cuts a hole in the dam. Falling water warns the terrified colony that an enemy is near. It may be their greatest foe, the wolverine, whose claws will rip through the frost-hard wall as easily as a bear delves for gophers; but their land enemies cannot pursue them into water; so the panic-stricken family--the old parents, wise from many such alarms; the young three-year-olds, who were to go out and rear families for themselves in the spring; the two-year-old cubbies, big enough to be saucy, young enough to be silly; and the baby kittens, just able to forage for themselves and know the soft alder rind from the tough old bark unpalatable as mud--pop pell-mell from the high platform of their houses into the water. The water is still falling. They will presently be high and dry. No use trying to escape up-stream. They see that in the first minute's wild scurry through the shallows. Besides, what's this across the creek? Stakes, not put there by any beaver; for there is no bark on. If they only had time now they might cut a passage through; but no--this wretched enemy, whatever it is, has ditched the ice across. They sniff and listen. A terrible sound comes from above--a low, exultant, devilish whining. The man has left his dog on guard above the dam. At that the little beavers--always trembling, timid fellows--tumble over each other in a panic of fear to escape by way of the flowing water below the dam. But there a new terror assails them. A shadow is above the ice, a wraith of destruction--the figure of a man standing at the dam with his axe and club--waiting. Where to go now? They can't find their bank shelters, for the man has staked them up. The little fellows lose their presence of mind and their heads and their courage, and with a blind scramble dash up the remaining open runway. It is a _cul-de-sac_. But what does that matter? They run almost to the end. They can crouch there till the awful shadow goes away. Exactly. That is what the man has been counting on. He will come to them afterward. The old beavers make no such mistake. They have tried the hollow-log trick with an enemy pursuing them to the blind end, and have escaped only because some other beaver was eaten. The old ones know that water alone is safety. That is the first and last law of beaver life. They, too, see that phantom destroyer above the ice; but a dash past is the last chance. How many of the beaver escape past the cut in the dam to the water below, depends on the dexterity of the trapper's aim. But certainly, for the most, one blow is the end; and that one blow is less cruel to them than the ravages of the wolf or wolverine in spring, for these begin to eat before they kill. A signal, and the dog ceases to keep guard above the dam. Where is the runway in which the others are hiding? The dog scampers round aimlessly, but begins to sniff and run in a line and scratch and whimper. The man sees that the dog is on the trail of sagging snow, and the sag betrays ice settling down where a channel has run dry. The trapper cuts a hole across the river end of the runway and drives down stakes. The young beavers are now prisoners. The human mind can't help wondering why the foolish youngsters didn't crouch below the ice above the dam and lie there in safe hiding till the monster went away. This may be done by the hermit beavers--fellows who have lost their mates and go through life inconsolable; or sick creatures, infested by parasites and turned off to house in the river holes; or fat, selfish ladies, who don't want the trouble of training a family. Whatever these solitaries are--naturalists and hunters differ--they have the wit to keep alive; but the poor little beavers rush right into the jaws of death. Why do they? For the same reason probably, if they could answer, that people trample each other to death when there is an alarm in a crowd. * * * * * They cower in the terrible pen, knowing nothing at all about their hides being valued all the way from fifty cents to three dollars, according to the quality; nothing about the dignity of being a coin of the realm in the Northern wilderness, where one beaver-skin sets the value for mink, otter, marten, bear, and all other skins, one pound of tobacco, one kettle, five pounds of shot, a pint of brandy, and half a yard of cloth; nothing about the rascally Indians long ago bartering forty of their hides for a scrap of iron and a great company sending one hundred thousand beaver-skins in a single year to make hats and cloaks for the courtiers of Europe; nothing about the laws of man forbidding the killing of beaver till their number increase. All the little beaver remembers is that it opened its eyes to daylight in the time of soft, green grasses; and that as soon as it got strong enough on a milk diet to travel, the mother led the whole family of kittens--usually three or four--down the slanting doorway of their dim house for a swim; and that she taught them how to nibble the dainty, green shrubs along the bank; and then the entire colony went for the most glorious, pell-mell splash up-stream to fresh ponds. No more sleeping in that stifling lodge; but beds in soft grass like a goose-nest all night, and tumbling in the water all day, diving for the roots of the lily-pads. But the old mother is always on guard, for the wolves and bears are ravenous in spring. Soon the cubs can cut the hardening bark of alder and willow as well as their two-year-old brothers; and the wonderful thing is--if a tooth breaks, it grows into perfect shape inside of a week. By August the little fellows are great swimmers, and the colony begins the descent of the stream for their winter home. If unmolested, the old dam is chosen; but if the hated man-smell is there, new waterways are sought. Burrows and washes and channels and retreats are cleaned out. Trees are cut and a great supply of branches laid up for winter store near the lodge, not a chip of edible bark being wasted. Just before the frost they begin building or repairing the dam. Each night's frost hardens the plastered clay till the conical wattled roof--never more than two feet thick--will support the weight of a moose. All work is done with mouth and fore paws, and not the tail. This has been finally determined by observing the Marquis of Bute's colony of beavers. If the family--the old parents and three seasons' offspring--be too large for the house, new chambers are added. In height the house is seldom more than five feet from the base, and the width varies. In building a new dam they begin under water, scooping out clay, mixing this with stones and sticks for the walls, and hollowing out the dome as it rises, like a coffer-dam, except that man pumps out water and the beaver scoops out mud. The domed roof is given layer after layer of clay till it is cold-proof. Whether the houses have one door or two is disputed; but the door is always at the end of a sloping incline away from the land side, with a shelf running round above, which serves as the living-room. Differences in the houses, breaks below water, two doors instead of one, platforms like an oven instead of a shelf, are probably explained by the continual abrasion of the current. By the time the ice forms the beavers have retired to their houses for the winter, only coming out to feed on their winter stores and get an airing. But this terrible thing has happened; and the young beavers huddle together under the ice of the canal, bleating with the cry of a child. They are afraid to run back; for the crunch of feet can be heard. They are afraid to go forward; for the dog is whining with a glee that is fiendish to the little beavers. Then a gust of cold air comes from the rear and a pole prods forward. The man has opened a hole to feel where the hiding beavers are, and with little terrified yelps they scuttle to the very end of the runway. By this time the dog is emitting howls of triumph. For hours he has been boxing up his wolfish ferocity, and now he gives vent by scratching with a zeal that would burrow to the middle of earth. The trapper drives in more stakes close to the blind end of the channel, and cuts a hole above the prison of the beaver. He puts down his arm. One by one they are dragged out by the tail; and that finishes the little beaver--sacrificed, like the guinea-pigs and rabbits of bacteriological laboratories, to the necessities of man. Only, this death is swifter and less painful. A prolonged death-struggle with the beaver would probably rob the trapper of half his fingers. Very often the little beavers with poor fur are let go. If the dog attempts to capture the frightened runaways by catching at the conspicuous appendage to the rear, that dog is likely to emerge from the struggle minus a tail, while the beaver runs off with two. Trappers have curious experiences with beaver kittens which they take home as pets. When young they are as easily domesticated as a cat, and become a nuisance with their love of fondling. But to them, as to the hunter, comes what the Indians call "the-sickness-of-long-thinking," the gipsy yearning for the wilds. Then extraordinary things happen. The beaver are apt to avenge their comrades' death. One old beaver trapper of New Brunswick related that by June the beavers became so restless, he feared their escape and put them in cages. They bit their way out with absurd ease. He then tried log pens. They had eaten a hole through in a night. Thinking to get wire caging, he took them into his lodge, and they seemed contented enough while he was about; but one morning he wakened to find a hole eaten through the door, and the entire round of birch-bark, which he had staked out ready for the gunwales and ribbing of his canoe--bark for which he had travelled forty miles--chewed into shreds. The beavers had then gone up-stream, which is their habit in spring. CHAPTER X THE MAKING OF THE MOCCASINS It is a grim joke of the animal world that the lazy moose is the moose that gives wings to the feet of the pursuer. When snow comes the trapper must have snow-shoes and moccasins. For both, moose supplies the best material. Bees have their drones, beaver their hermits, and moose a ladified epicure who draws off from the feeding-yards of the common herd, picks out the sweetest browse of the forest, and gorges herself till fat as a gouty voluptuary. While getting the filling for his snow-shoes, the trapper also stocks his larder; and if he can find a spinster moose, he will have something better than shredded venison and more delicately flavoured than finest teal. Sledding his canoe across shallow lakelets, now frozen like rock, still paddling where there is open way, the trapper continues to guide his course up the waterways. Big game, he knows, comes out to drink at sunrise and sunset; and nearly all the small game frequents the banks of streams either to fish or to prey on the fisher. Each night he sleeps in the open with his dog on guard; or else puts up the cotton tepee, the dog curling outside the tent flap, one ear awake. And each night a net is set for the white-fish that are to supply breakfast, feed the dog, and provide heads for the traps placed among rocks in mid-stream, or along banks where dainty footprints were in the morning's hoar-frost. Brook trout can still be got in the pools below waterfalls; but the trapper seldom takes time now to use the line, depending on his gun and fish-net. During the Indian's white-fish month--the white man's November--the weather has become colder and colder; but the trapper never indulges in the big log fire that delights the heart of the amateur hunter. That would drive game a week's tracking from his course. Unless he wants to frighten away nocturnal prowlers, a little, chip fire, such as the fishermen of the Banks use in their dories, is all the trapper allows himself. First snow silences the rustling leaves. First frost quiets the flow of waters. Except for the occasional splitting of a sap-frozen tree, or the far howl of a wolf-pack, there is the stillness of death. And of all quiet things in the quiet forest, the trapper is the quietest. As winter closes in the ice-skim of the large lakes cuts the bark canoe like a knife. The canoe is abandoned for snow-shoes and the cotton tepee for more substantial shelter. If the trapper is a white man he now builds a lodge near the best hunting-ground he has found. Around this he sets a wide circle of traps at such distances their circuit requires an entire day, and leads the trapper out in one direction and back in another, without retracing the way. Sometimes such lodges run from valley to valley. Each cabin is stocked; and the hunter sleeps where night overtakes him. But this plan needs two men; for if the traps are not closely watched, the wolverine will rifle away a priceless fox as readily as he eats a worthless musk-rat. The stone fire-place stands at one end. Moss, clay, and snow chink up the logs. Parchment across a hole serves as window. Poles and brush make the roof, or perhaps the remains of the cotton tent stretched at a steep angle to slide off the accumulating weight of snow. But if the trapper is an Indian, or the white man has a messenger to carry the pelts marked with his name to a friendly trading-post, he may not build a lodge; but move from hunt to hunt as the game changes feeding-ground. In this case he uses the _abuckwan_--canvas--for a shed tent, with one side sloping to the ground, banked by brush and snow, the other facing the fire, both tent and fire on such a slope that the smoke drifts out while the heat reflects in. Pine and balsam boughs, with the wood end pointing out like sheaves in a stook, the foliage converging to a soft centre, form the trapper's bed. The snow is now too deep to travel without snow-shoes. The frames for these the trapper makes of ash, birch, or best of all, the _mackikwatick_--tamarack--curving the easily bent green wood up at one end, canoe shape, and smoothing the barked wood at the bend, like a sleigh runner, by means of the awkward _couteau croche_, as the French hunter calls his crooked knife. In style, the snow-shoe varies with the hunting-ground. On forested, rocky, hummocky land, the shoe is short to permit short turns without entanglement. Oval and broad, rather than long and slim, it makes up in width what it lacks in length to support the hunter's weight above the snow. And the toe curve is slight; for speed is impossible on bad ground. To save the instep from jars, the slip noose may be padded like a cowboy's stirrup. On the prairie, where the snowy reaches are unbroken as air, snow-shoes are wings to the hunter's heels. They are long, and curved, and narrow, and smooth enough on the runners for the hunter to sit on their rear ends and coast downhill as on a toboggan. If a snag is struck midway, the racquets may bounce safely over and glissade to the bottom; or the toe may catch, heels fly over head, and the hunter land with his feet noosed in frames sticking upright higher than his neck. Any trapper can read the story of a hunt from snow-shoes. Bound and short: east of the Great Lakes. Slim and long: from the prairie. Padding for the instep: either rock ground or long runs. Filling of hide strips with broad enough interspaces for a small foot to slip through: from the wet, heavily packed, snow region of the Atlantic coast, for trapping only, never the chase, small game, not large. Lace ties, instead of a noose to hold the foot: the amateur hunter. _Atibisc_, a fine filling taken from deer or caribou for the heel and toe; with _askimoneiab_, heavy, closely interlaced, membraneous filling from the moose across the centre to bear the brunt of wear; long enough for speed, short enough to turn short: the trapper knows he is looking at the snow-shoe of the craftsman. This is the sort he must have for himself. The first thing, then--a moose for the heavy filling; preferably a spinster moose; for she is too lazy to run from a hunter who is not yet a Mercury; and she will furnish him with a banquet fit for kings. * * * * * Neither moose call nor birch horn, of which wonders are told, will avail now. The mating season is well past. Even if an old moose responded to the call, the chances are his flesh would be unfit for food. It would be a wasted kill, contrary to the principles of the true trapper. Every animal has a sign language as plain as print. The trapper has hardly entered the forest before he begins to read this language. Broad hoof-marks are on the muskeg--quaking bog, covered with moss--over which the moose can skim as if on snow-shoes, where a horse would sink to the saddle. Park-like glades at the heads of streams, where the moose have spent the summer browsing on twigs and wallowing in water holes to get rid of sand flies, show trampled brush and stripped twigs and rubbed bark. Coming suddenly on a grove of quaking aspens, a saucy jay has fluttered up with a noisy call--an alarm note; and something is bounding off to hiding in a thicket on the far side of the grove. The _wis-kat-jan_, or whisky jack, as the white men call it, who always hangs about the moose herds, has seen the trapper and sounded the alarm. In August, when the great, palmated horns, which budded out on the male in July, are yet in the velvet, the trapper finds scraps of furry hair sticking to young saplings. The vain moose has been polishing his antlers, preparatory to mating. Later, there is a great whacking of horns among the branches. The moose, spoiling for a fight, in moose language is challenging his rivals to battle. Wood-choppers have been interrupted by the apparition of a huge, palmated head through a thicket. Mistaking the axe for his rival's defiance, the moose arrives on the scene in a mood of blind rage that sends the chopper up a tree, or back to the shanty for his rifle. But the trapper allows these opportunities to pass. He is not ready for his moose until winter compels the abandoning of the canoe. Then the moose herds are yarding up in some sheltered feeding-ground. It is not hard for the trapper to find a moose yard. There is the tell-tale cleft footprint in the snow. There are the cast-off antlers after the battles have been fought--the female moose being without horns and entirely dependent on speed and hearing and smell for protection. There is the stripped, overhead twig, where a moose has reared on hind legs and nibbled a branch above. There is the bent or broken sapling which a moose pulled down with his mouth and then held down with his feet while he browsed. This and more sign language of the woods--too fine for the language of man--lead the trapper close on the haunts of a moose herd. But he does not want an ordinary moose. He is keen for the solitary track of a haughty spinster. And he probably comes on the print when he has almost made up his mind to chance a shot at one of the herd below the hill, where he hides. He knows the trail is that of a spinster. It is unusually heavy; and she is always fat. It drags clumsily over the snow; for she is lazy. And it doesn't travel straight away in a line like that of the roving moose; for she loiters to feed and dawdle out of pure indolence. And now the trapper knows how a hound on a hot scent feels. He may win his prize with the ease of putting out his hand and taking it--sighting his rifle and touching the trigger. Or, by the blunder of a hair's breadth, he may daily track twenty weary miles for a week and come back empty at his cartridge-belt, empty below his cartridge-belt, empty of hand, and full, full of rage at himself, though his words curse the moose. He may win his prize in one of two ways: (1) by running the game to earth from sheer exhaustion; (2) or by a still hunt. The straightaway hunt is more dangerous to the man than the moose. Even a fat spinster can outdistance a man with no snow-shoes. And if his perseverance lasts longer than her strength--for though a moose swings out in a long-stepping, swift trot, it is easily tired--the exhausted moose is a moose at bay; and a moose at bay rears on her hind legs and does defter things with the flattening blow of her fore feet than an exhausted man can do with a gun. The blow of a cleft hoof means something sharply split, wherever that spreading hoof lands. And if the something wriggles on the snow in death-throes, the moose pounds upon it with all four feet till the thing is still. Then she goes on her way with eyes ablaze and every shaggy hair bristling. The contest was even and the moose won. Apart from the hazard, there is a barbarism about this straightaway chase, which repels the trapper. It usually succeeds by bogging the moose in crusted snow, or a waterhole--and then, Indian fashion, a slaughter; and no trapper kills for the sake of killing, for the simple practical reason that his own life depends on the preservation of game. A slight snowfall and the wind in his face are ideal conditions for a still hunt. One conceals him. The other carries the man-smell from the game. Which way does the newly-discovered footprint run? More flakes are in one hole than the other. He follows the trail till he has an idea of the direction the moose is taking; for the moose runs straightaway, not circling and doubling back on cold tracks like the deer, but marching direct to the objective point, where it turns, circles slightly--a loop at the end of a line--and lies down a little off the trail. When the pursuer, following the cold scent, runs past, the moose gets wind and is off in the opposite direction like a vanishing streak. Having ascertained the lie of the land, the trapper leaves the line of direct trail and follows in a circling detour. Here, he finds the print fresher, not an hour old. The moose had stopped to browse and the markings are moist on a twig. The trapper leaves the trail, advancing always by a detour to leeward. He is sure, now, that it is a spinster. If it had been any other, the moose would not have been alone. The rest would be tracking into the leader's steps; and by the fresh trail he knows for a certainty there is only one. But his very nearness increases the risk. The wind may shift. The snowfall is thinning. This time, when he comes back to the trail, it is fresher still. The hunter now gets his rifle ready. He dare not put his foot down without testing the snow, lest a twig snap. He parts a way through the brush with his hand and replaces every branch. And when next he comes back to the line of the moose's travel, there is no trail. This is what he expected. He takes off his coat; his leggings, if they are loose enough to rub with a leathery swish; his musk-rat fur cap, if it has any conspicuous colour; his boots, if they are noisy and given to crunching. If only he aim true, he will have moccasins soon enough. Leaving all impedimenta, he follows back on his own steps to the place where he last saw the trail. Perhaps the saucy jay cries with a shrill, scolding shriek that sends cold shivers down the trapper's spine. He wishes he could get his hands on its wretched little neck; and turning himself to a statue, he stands stone-still till the troublesome bird settles down. Then he goes on. Here is the moose trail! He dare not follow direct. That would lead past her hiding-place and she would bolt. He resorts to artifice; but, for that matter, so has the moose resorted to artifice. The trapper, too, circles forward, cutting the moose's magic guard with transverse zigzags. But he no longer walks. He crouches, or creeps, or glides noiselessly from shelter to shelter, very much the way a cat advances on an unwary mouse. He sinks to his knees and feels forward for snow-pads every pace. Then he is on all-fours, still circling. His detour has narrowed and narrowed till he knows she must be in that aspen thicket. The brush is sparser. She has chosen her resting-ground wisely. The man falls forward on his face, closing in, closing in, wiggling and watching till--he makes a horrible discovery. That jay is perched on the topmost bough of the grove; and the man has caught a glimpse of something buff-coloured behind the aspens. It may be a moose, or only a log. The untried hunter would fire. Not so the trapper. Hap-hazard aim means fighting a wounded moose, or letting the creature drag its agony off to inaccessible haunts. The man worms his way round the thicket, sighting the game with the noiseless circling of a hawk before the drop. An ear blinks. But at that instant the jay perks his head to one side with a curious look at this strange object on the ground. In another second it will be off with a call and the moose up. His rifle is aimed! A blinding swish of aspen leaves and snow and smoke! The jay is off with a noisy whistle. And the trapper has leather for moccasins, and heavy filling for his snow-shoes, and meat for his larder. * * * * * But he must still get the fine filling for heel and toe; and this comes from caribou or deer. The deer, he will still hunt as he has still hunted the moose, with this difference: that the deer runs in circles, jumping back in his own tracks leaving the hunter to follow a cold scent, while it, by a sheer bound--five--eight--twenty feet off at a new angle, makes for the hiding of dense woods. No one but a barbarian would attempt to run down a caribou; for it can only be done by the shameless trick of snaring in crusted snow, or intercepting while swimming, and then--butchery. The caribou doesn't run. It doesn't bound. It floats away into space. One moment a sandy-coloured form, with black nose, black feet, and a glory of white statuary above its head, is seen against the far reaches of snow. The next, the form has shrunk--and shrunk--and shrunk, antlers laid back against its neck, till there is a vanishing speck on the horizon. The caribou has not been standing at all. It has skimmed out of sight; and if there is any clear ice across the marshes, it literally glides beyond vision from very speed. But, provided no man-smell crosses its course, the caribou is vulnerable in its habits. Morning and evening, it comes back to the same watering-place; and it returns to the same bed for the night. If the trapper can conceal himself without crossing its trail, he easily obtains the fine filling for his snow-shoes. * * * * * Moccasins must now be made. The trapper shears off the coarse hair with a sharp knife. The hide is soaked; and a blunter blade tears away the remaining hairs till the skin is white and clean. The flesh side is similarly cleaned and the skin rubbed with all the soap and grease it will absorb. A process of beating follows till the hide is limber. Carelessness at this stage makes buckskin soak up water like a sponge and dry to a shapeless board. The skin must be stretched and pulled till it will stretch no more. Frost helps the tanning, drying all moisture out; and the skin becomes as soft as down, without a crease. The smoke of punk from a rotten tree gives the dark yellow colour to the hide and prevents hardening. The skin is now ready for the needle; and all odd bits are hoarded away. Equipped with moccasins and snow-shoes, the trapper is now the winged messenger of the tragic fates to the forest world. CHAPTER XI THE INDIAN TRAPPER It is dawn when the Indian trapper leaves his lodge. In midwinter of the Far North, dawn comes late. Stars, which shine with a hard, clear, crystal radiance only seen in northern skies, pale in the gray morning gloom; and the sun comes over the horizon dim through mists of frost-smoke. In an hour the frost-mist, lying thick to the touch like clouds of steam, will have cleared; and there will be nothing from sky-line to sky-line but blinding sunlight and snowglare. The Indian trapper must be far afield before mid-day. Then the sun casts no man-shadow to scare game from his snares. Black is the flag of betrayal in northern midwinter. It is by the big liquid eye, glistening on the snow like a black marble, that the trapper detects the white hare; and a jet tail-tip streaking over the white wastes in dots and dashes tells him the little ermine, whose coat must line some emperor's coronation robe, is alternately scudding over the drifts and diving below the snow with the forward wriggling of a snake under cover. But the moving man-shadow is bigger and plainer on the snow than the hare's eye or the ermine's jet tip; so the Indian trapper sets out in the gray darkness of morning and must reach his hunting-grounds before high noon. With long snow-shoes, that carry him over the drifts in swift, coasting strides, he swings out in that easy, ambling, Indian trot, which gives never a jar to the runner, nor rests long enough for the snows to crunch beneath his tread. The old musket, which he got in trade from the fur post, is over his shoulder, or swinging lightly in one hand. A hunter's knife and short-handled woodman's axe hang through the beaded scarf, belting in his loose, caribou capote. Powder-horn and heavy musk-rat gantlets are attached to the cord about his neck; so without losing either he can fight bare-handed, free and in motion, at a moment's notice. And somewhere, in side pockets or hanging down his back, is his _skipertogan_--a skin bag with amulet against evil, matches, touchwood, and a scrap of pemmican. As he grows hot, he throws back his hood, running bareheaded and loose about the chest. Each breath clouds to frost against his face till hair and brows and lashes are fringed with frozen moisture. The white man would hugger his face up with scarf and collar the more for this; but the Indian knows better. Suddenly chilled breath would soak scarf and collar wet to his skin; and his face would be frozen before he could go five paces. But with dry skin and quickened blood, he can defy the keenest cold; so he loosens his coat and runs the faster. As the light grows, dim forms shape themselves in the gray haze. Pine groves emerge from the dark, wreathed and festooned in snow. Cones and domes and cornices of snow heap the underbrush and spreading larch boughs. Evergreens are edged with white. Naked trees stand like limned statuary with an antlered crest etched against the white glare. The snow stretches away in a sea of billowed, white drifts that seem to heave and fall to the motions of the runner, mounting and coasting and skimming over the unbroken waste like a bird winging the ocean. And against this endless stretch of drifts billowing away to a boundless circle, of which the man is the centre, his form is dwarfed out of all proportion, till he looks no larger than a bird above the sea. When the sun rises, strange colour effects are caused by the frost haze. Every shrub takes fire; for the ice drops are a prism, and the result is the same as if there had been a star shower or rainfall of brilliants. Does the Indian trapper see all this? The white man with white man arrogance doubts whether his tawny brother of the wilds sees the beauty about him, because the Indian has no white man's terms of expression. But ask the bronzed trapper the time of day; and he tells you by the length of shadow the sun casts, or the degree of light on the snow. Inquire the season of the year; and he knows by the slant sunlight coming up through the frost smoke of the southern horizon. And get him talking about his Happy Hunting-Grounds; and after he has filled it with the implements and creatures and people of the chase, he will describe it in the metaphor of what he has seen at sunrise and sunset and under the Northern Lights. He does not _see_ these things with the gabbling exclamatories of a tourist. He sees them because they sink into his nature and become part of his mental furniture. The most brilliant description the writer ever heard of the Hereafter was from an old Cree squaw, toothless, wrinkled like leather, belted at the waist like a sack of wool, with hands of dried parchment, and moccasins some five months too odoriferous. Her version ran that Heaven would be full of the music of running waters and south winds; that there would always be warm gold sunlight like a midsummer afternoon, with purple shadows, where tired women could rest; that the trees would be covered with blossoms, and all the pebbles of the shore like dewdrops. Pushed from the Atlantic seaboard back over the mountains, from the mountains to the Mississippi, west to the Rockies, north to the Great Lakes, all that was to be seen of nature in America the Indian trapper has seen; though he has not understood. But now he holds only a fringe of hunting-grounds, in the timber lands of the Great Lakes, in the cañons of the Rockies, and across that northern land which converges to Hudson Bay, reaching west to Athabasca, east to Labrador. It is in the basin of Hudson Bay regions that the Indian trapper will find his last hunting-grounds. Here climate excludes the white man, and game is plentiful. Here Indian trappers were snaring before Columbus opened the doors of the New World to the hordes of the Old; and here Indian trappers will hunt as long as the race lasts. When there is no more game, the Indian's doom is sealed; but that day is far distant for the Hudson Bay region. * * * * * The Indian trapper has set few large traps. It is midwinter; and by December there is a curious lull in the hunting. All the streams are frozen like rock; but the otter and pekan and mink and marten have not yet begun to forage at random across open field. Some foolish fish always dilly-dally up-stream till the ice shuts them in. Then a strange thing is seen--a kettle of living fish; fish gasping and panting in ice-hemmed water that is gradually lessening as each day's frost freezes another layer to the ice walls of their prison. The banks of such a pond hole are haunted by the otter and his fisher friends. By-and-bye, when the pond is exhausted, these lazy fishers must leave their safe bank and forage across country. Meanwhile, they are quiet. The bear, too, is still. After much wandering and fastidious choosing--for in trapper vernacular the bear takes a long time to please himself--bruin found an upturned stump. Into the hollow below he clawed grasses. Then he curled up with his nose on his toes and went to sleep under a snow blanket of gathering depth. Deer, moose, and caribou, too, have gone off to their feeding-grounds. Unless they are scattered by a wolf-pack or a hunter's gun, they will not be likely to move till this ground is eaten over. Nor are many beaver seen now. They have long since snuggled into their warm houses, where they will stay till their winter store is all used; and their houses are now hidden under great depths of deepening snow. But the fox and the hare and the ermine are at run; and as long as they are astir, so are their rampant enemies, the lynx and the wolverine and the wolf-pack, all ravenous from the scarcity of other game and greedy as spring crows. That thought gives wings to the Indian trapper's heels. The pelt of a coyote--or prairie wolf--would scarcely be worth the taking. Even the big, gray timber-wolf would hardly be worth the cost of the shot, except for service as a tepee mat. The white arctic wolf would bring better price. The enormous black or brown arctic wolf would be more valuable; but the value would not repay the risk of the hunt. But all these worthless, ravening rascals are watching the traps as keenly as the trapper does; and would eat up a silver fox, that would be the fortune of any hunter. The Indian comes to the brush where he has set his rabbit snares across a runway. His dog sniffs the ground, whining. The crust of the snow is broken by a heavy tread. The twigs are all trampled and rabbit fur is fluffed about. The game has been rifled away. The Indian notices several things. The rabbit has been devoured on the spot. That is unlike the wolverine. He would have carried snare, rabbit and all off for a guzzle in his own lair. The footprints have the appearance of having been brushed over; so the thief had a bushy tail. It is not the lynx. There is no trail away from the snare. The marauder has come with a long leap and gone with a long leap. The Indian and his dog make a circuit of the snare till they come on the trail of the intruder; and its size tells the Indian whether his enemy be fox or wolf. He sets no more snares across that runway, for the rabbits have had their alarm. Going through the brush he finds a fresh runway and sets a new snare. Then his snow-shoes are winging him over the drifts to the next trap. It is a deadfall. Nothing is in it. The bait is untouched and the trap left undisturbed. A wolverine would have torn the thing to atoms from very wickedness, chewed the bait in two, and spat it out lest there should be poison. The fox would have gone in and had his back broken by the front log. And there is the same brush work over the trampled snow, as if the visitor had tried to sweep out his own trail; and the same long leap away, clearing obstruction of log and drift, to throw a pursuer off the scent. This time the Indian makes two or three circuits; but the snow is so crusted it is impossible to tell whether the scratchings lead out to the open or back to the border of snow-drifted woods. If the animal had followed the line of the traps by running just inside the brush, the Indian would know. But the midwinter day is short, and he has no time to explore the border of the thicket. Perhaps he has a circle of thirty traps. Of that number he hardly expects game in more than a dozen. If six have a prize, he has done well. Each time he stops to examine a trap he must pause to cover all trace of the man-smell, daubing his own tracks with castoreum, or pomatum, or bears' grease; sweeping the snow over every spot touched by his hand; dragging the flesh side of a fresh pelt across his own trail. Mid-day comes, the time of the short shadow; and the Indian trapper has found not a thing in his traps. He only knows that some daring enemy has dogged the circle of his snares. That means he must kill the marauder, or find new hunting-grounds. If he had doubt about swift vengeance for the loss of a rabbit, he has none when he comes to the next trap. He sees what is too much for words: what entails as great loss to the poor Indian trapper as an exchange crash to the white man. One of his best steel-traps lies a little distance from the pole to which it was attached. It has been jerked up with a great wrench and pulled as far as the chain would go. The snow is trampled and stained and covered with gray fur as soft and silvery as chinchilla. In the trap is a little paw, fresh cut, scarcely frozen. He had caught a silver fox, the fortune of which hunters dream, as prospectors of gold, and speculators of stocks, and actors of fame. But the wolves, the great, black wolves of the Far North, with eyes full of a treacherous green fire and teeth like tusks, had torn the fur to scraps and devoured the fox not an hour before the trapper came. He knows now what his enemy is; for he has come so suddenly on their trail he can count four different footprints, and claw-marks of different length. They have fought about the little fox; and some of the smaller wolves have lost fur over it. Then, by the blood-marks, he can tell they have got under cover of the shrub growth to the right. The Indian says none of the words which the white man might say; but that is nothing to his credit; for just now no words are adequate. But he takes prompt resolution. After the fashion of the old Mosaic law, which somehow is written on the very face of the wilderness as one of its necessities, he decides that only life for life will compensate such loss. The danger of hunting the big, brown wolf--he knows too well to attempt it without help. He will bait his small traps with poison; take out his big, steel wolf traps to-morrow; then with a band of young braves follow the wolf-pack's trail during this lull in the hunting season. But the animal world knows that old trick of drawing a herring scent across the trail of wise intentions; and of all the animal world, none knows it better than the brown arctic wolf. He carries himself with less of a hang-dog air than his brother wolves, with the same pricking forward of sharp, erect ears, the same crouching trot, the same sneaking, watchful green eyes; but his tail, which is bushy enough to brush out every trace of his tracks, has not the skulking droop of the gray wolf's; and in size he is a giant among wolves. * * * * * The trapper shoulders his musket again, and keeping to the open, where he can travel fast on the long snow-shoes, sets out for the next trap. The man-shadow grows longer. It is late in the afternoon. Then all the shadows merge into the purple gloom of early evening; but the Indian travels on; for the circuit of traps leads back to his lodge. The wolf thief may not be far off; so the man takes his musket from the case. He may chance a shot at the enemy. Where there are woods, wolves run under cover, keeping behind a fringe of brush to windward. The wind carries scent of danger from the open, and the brush forms an ambuscade. Man tracks, where man's dog might scent the trail of a wolf, the wolf clears at a long bound. He leaps over open spaces, if he can; and if he can't, crouches low till he has passed the exposure. The trapper swings forward in long, straight strides, wasting not an inch of ground, deviating neither to right nor left by as much space as a white man takes to turn on his heels. Suddenly the trapper's dog utters a low whine and stops with ears pricked forward towards the brush. At the same moment the Indian, who has been keeping his eyes on the woods, sees a form rise out of the earth among the shadows. He is not surprised; for he knows the way the wolf travels, and the fox trap could not have been robbed more than an hour ago. The man thinks he has come on the thieves going to the next trap. That is what the wolf means him to think. And the man, too, dissembles; for as he looks the form fades into the gloom, and he decides to run on parallel to the brushwood, with his gun ready. Just ahead is a break in the shrubbery. At the clearing he can see how many wolves there are, and as he is heading home there is little danger. But at the clearing nothing crosses. The dog dashes off to the woods with wild barking, and the trapper scans the long, white stretch leading back between the bushes to a horizon that is already dim in the steel grays of twilight. Half a mile down this openway, off the homeward route of his traps, a wolfish figure looms black against the snow--and stands! The dog prances round and round as if he would hold the creature for his master's shot; and the Indian calculates--" After all, there is only one." What a chance to approach it under cover, as it has approached his traps! The stars are already pricking the blue darkness in cold, steel points; and the Northern Lights are swinging through the gloom like mystic censers to an invisible Spirit, the Spirit of the still, white, wide, northern wastes. It is as clear as day. One thought of his loss at the fox trap sends the Indian flitting through the underwoods like a hunted partridge. The sharp barkings of the dog increase in fury, and when the trapper emerges in the open, he finds the wolf has straggled a hundred yards farther. That was the meaning of the dog's alarm. Going back to cover, the hunter again advances. But the wolf keeps moving leisurely, and each time the man sights his game it is still out of range for the old-fashioned musket. The man runs faster now, determined to get abreast of the wolf and utterly heedless of the increasing danger, as each step puts greater distance between him and his lodge. He will pass the wolf, come out in front and shoot. But when he comes to the edge of the woods to get his aim, there is no wolf, and the dog is barking furiously at his own moonlit shadow. The wolf, after the fashion of his kind, has apparently disappeared into the ground, just as he always seems to rise from the earth. The trapper thinks of the "loup-garou," but no wolf-demon of native legend devoured the very real substance of that fox. The dog stops barking, gives a whine and skulks to his master's feet, while the trapper becomes suddenly aware of low-crouching forms gliding through the underbrush. Eyes look out of the dark in the flash of green lights from a prism. The figures are in hiding, but the moon is shining with a silvery clearness that throws moving wolf shadows on the snow to the trapper's very feet. Then the man knows that he has been tricked. The Indian knows the wolf-pack too well to attempt flight from these sleuths of the forest. He knows, too, one thing that wolves of forest and prairie hold in deadly fear--fire. Two or three shots ring into the darkness followed by a yelping howl, which tells him there is one wolf less, and the others will hold off at a safe distance. Contrary to the woodman's traditions of chopping only on a windy day, the Indian whips out his axe and chops with all his might till he has wood enough for a roaring fire. That will keep the rascals away till the pack goes off in full cry, or daylight comes. Whittling a limber branch from a sapling, the Indian hastily makes a bow, and shoots arrow after arrow with the tip in flame to high mid-air, hoping to signal the far-off lodges. But the night is too clear. The sky is silver with stars, and moonlight and reflected snowglare, and the Northern Lights flicker and wane and fade and flame with a brilliancy that dims the tiny blaze of the arrow signal. The smoke rising from his fire in a straight column falls at the height of the trees, for the frost lies on the land heavy, palpable, impenetrable. And for all the frost is thick to the touch, the night is as clear as burnished steel. That is the peculiarity of northern cold. The air seems to become absolutely compressed with the cold; but that same cold freezes out and precipitates every particle of floating moisture till earth and sky, moon and stars shine with the glistening of polished metal. A curious crackling, like the rustling of a flag in a gale, comes through the tightening silence. The intelligent half-breed says this is from the Northern Lights. The white man says it is electric activity in compressed air. The Indian says it is a spirit, and he may mutter the words of the braves in death chant: "If I die, I die valiant, I go to death fearless. I die a brave man. I go to those heroes who died without fear." Hours pass. The trapper gives over shooting fire arrows into the air. He heaps his fire and watches, musket in hand. The light of the moon is white like statuary. The snow is pure as statuary. The snow-edged trees are chiselled clear like statuary; and the silence is of stone. Only the snap of the blaze, the crackling of the frosted air, the break of a twig back among the brush, where something has moved, and the little, low, smothered barkings of the dog on guard. * * * * * By-and-bye the rustling through the brush ceases; and the dog at last lowers his ears and lies quiet. The trapper throws a stick into the woods and sends the dog after it. The dog comes back without any barkings of alarm. The man knows that the wolves have drawn off. Will he wait out that long Northern night? He has had nothing to eat but the piece of pemmican. The heavy frost drowsiness will come presently; and if he falls asleep the fire will go out. An hour's run will carry him home; but to make speed with the snow-shoes he must run in the open, exposed to all watchers. When an Indian balances motives, the motive of hunger invariably prevails. Pulling up his hood, belting in the caribou coat and kicking up the dog, the trapper strikes out for the open way leading back to the line of his traps, and the hollow where the lodges have been built for shelter against wind. There is another reason for building lodges in a hollow. Sound of the hunter will not carry to the game; but neither will sound of the game carry to the hunter. And if the game should turn hunter and the man turn hunted! The trapper speeds down the snowy slope, striding, sliding, coasting, vaulting over hummocks of snow, glissading down the drifts, leaping rather than running. The frosty air acts as a conductor to sound, and the frost films come in stings against the face of the man whose eye, ear, and touch are strained for danger. It is the dog that catches the first breath of peril, uttering a smothered "_woo! woo!_" The trapper tries to persuade himself the alarm was only the far scream of a wolf-hunted lynx; but it comes again, deep and faint, like an echo in a dome. One glance over his shoulder shows him black forms on the snow-crest against the sky. He has been tricked again, and knows how the fox feels before the dogs in full cry. The trapper is no longer a man. He is a hunted thing with terror crazing his blood and the sleuth-hounds of the wilds on his trail. Something goes wrong with his snow-shoe. Stooping to right the slip-strings, he sees that the dog's feet have been cut by the snow crust and are bleeding. It is life for life now; the old, hard, inexorable Mosaic law, that has no new dispensation in the northern wilderness, and demands that a beast's life shall not sacrifice a man's. One blow of his gun and the dog is dead. The far, faint howl has deepened to a loud, exultant bay. The wolf-pack are in full cry. The man has rounded the open alley between the trees and is speeding down the hillside winged with fear. He hears the pack pause where the dog fell. That gives him respite. The moon is behind, and the man-shadow flits before on the snow like an enemy heading him back. The deep bay comes again, hard, metallic, resonant, nearer! He feels the snow-shoe slipping, but dare not pause. A great drift thrusts across his way and the shadow in front runs slower. They are gaining on him. He hardly knows whether the crunch of snow and pantings for breath are his own or his pursuers'. At the crest of the drift he braces himself and goes to the bottom with the swiftness of a sled on a slide. The slant moonlight throws another shadow on the snow at his heels. It is the leader of the pack. The man turns, and tosses up his arms--an Indian trick to stop pursuit. Then he fires. The ravening hunter of man that has been ambushing him half the day rolls over with a piercing howl. The man is off and away. If he only had the quick rifle, with which white men and a body-guard of guides hunt down a single quarry, he would be safe enough now. But the old musket is slow loading, and speed will serve him better than another shot. Then the snow-shoe noose slips completely over his instep to his ankle, throwing the racquet on edge and clogging him back. Before he can right it they are upon him. There is nothing for it now but to face and fight to the last breath. His hood falls back, and he wheels with the moonlight full in his eyes and the Northern Lights waving their mystic flames high overhead. On one side, far away, are the tepee peaks of the lodges; on the other, the solemn, shadowy, snow-wreathed trees, like funeral watchers--watchers of how many brave deaths in a desolate, lonely land where no man raises a cross to him who fought well and died without fear! The wolf-pack attacks in two ways. In front, by burying the red-gummed fangs in the victim's throat; in the rear, by snapping at sinews of the runner's legs--called hamstringing. Who taught them this devilish ingenuity of attack? The same hard master who teaches the Indian to be as merciless as he is brave--hunger! [Illustration: They dodge the coming sweep of the uplifted arm.] Catching the muzzle of his gun, he beats back the snapping red mouths with the butt of his weapon; and the foremost beasts roll under. But the wolves are fighting from zest of the chase now, as much as from hunger. Leaping over their dead fellows, they dodge the coming sweep of the uplifted arm, and crouch to spring. A great brute is reaching for the forward bound; but a mean, small wolf sneaks to the rear of the hunter's fighting shadow. When the man swings his arm and draws back to strike, this miserable cur, that could not have worried the trapper's dog, makes a quick snap at the bend of his knees. Then the trapper's feet give below him. The wolf has bitten the knee sinews to the bone. The pack leap up, and the man goes down. * * * * * And when the spring thaw came, to carry away the heavy snow that fell over the northland that night, the Indians travelling to their summer hunting-grounds found the skeleton of a man. Around it were the bones of three dead wolves; and farther up the hill were the bleaching remains of a fourth.[35] FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 35: A death almost similar to that on the shores of Hudson Bay occurred in the forests of the Boundary, west of Lake Superior, a few years ago. In this case eight wolves were found round the body of the dead trapper, and eight holes were empty in his cartridge-belt--which tells its own story.] CHAPTER XII BA'TISTE, THE BEAR HUNTER The city man, who goes bear-hunting with a body-guard of armed guides in a field where the hunted have been on the run from the hunter for a century, gets a very tame idea of the natural bear in its natural state. Bears that have had the fear of man inculcated with longe-range repeaters lose confidence in the prowess of an aggressive onset against invisible foes. The city man comes back from the wilds with a legend of how harmless bears have become. In fact, he doesn't believe a wild animal ever attacks unless it is attacked. He doubts whether the bear would go on its life-long career of rapine and death, if hunger did not compel it, or if repeated assault and battery from other animals did not teach the poor bear the art of self-defence. Grisly old trappers coming down to the frontier towns of the Western States once a year for provisions, or hanging round the forts of the Hudson's Bay Company in Canada for the summer, tell a different tale. Their hunting is done in a field where human presence is still so rare that it is unknown and the bear treats mankind precisely as he treats all other living beings from the moose and the musk-ox to mice and ants--as fair game for his own insatiable maw. Old hunters may be great spinners of yarns--"liars" the city man calls them--but Montagnais, who squats on his heels round the fur company forts on Peace River, carries ocular evidence in the artificial ridge of a deformed nose that the bear which he slew was a real one with an epicurean relish for that part of Indian anatomy which the Indian considers to be the most choice bit of a moose.[36] And the Kootenay hunter who was sent through the forests of Idaho to follow up the track of a lost brave brought back proof of an actual bear; for he found a dead man lying across a pile of logs with his skull crushed in like an eggshell by something that had risen swift and silent from a lair on the other side of the logs and dealt the climbing brave one quick terrible blow. And little blind Ba'tiste, wizened and old, who spent the last twenty years of his life weaving grass mats and carving curious little wooden animals for the children of the chief factor, could convince you that the bears he slew in his young days were very real bears, altogether different from the clumsy bruins that gambol with boys and girls through fairy books. That is, he could convince you if he would; for he usually sat weaving and weaving at the grasses--weaving bitter thoughts into the woof of his mat--without a word. Round his white helmet, such as British soldiers wear in hot lands, he always hung a heavy thick linen thing like the frill of a sun-bonnet, coming over the face as well as the neck--"to keep de sun off," he would mumble out if you asked him why. More than that of the mysterious frill worn on dark days as well as sunny, he would never vouch unless some town-bred man patronizingly pooh-poohed the dangers of bear-hunting. Then the grass strands would tremble with excitement and the little French hunter's body would quiver and he would begin pouring forth a jumble, half habitant half Indian with a mixture of all the oaths from both languages, pointing and pointing at his hidden face and bidding you look what the bear had done to him, but never lifting the thick frill. * * * * * It was somewhere between the tributary waters that flow north to the Saskatchewan and the rivers that start near the Saskatchewan to flow south to the Missouri. Ba'tiste and the three trappers who were with him did not know which side of the boundary they were on. By slow travel, stopping one day to trap beaver, pausing on the way to forage for meat, building their canoes where they needed them and abandoning the boats when they made a long overland _portage_, they were three weeks north of the American fur post on the banks of the Missouri. The hunters were travelling light-handed. That is, they were carrying only a little salt and tea and tobacco. For the rest, they were depending on their muskets. Game had not been plentiful. Between the prairie and "the Mountains of the Setting Sun"--as the Indians call the Rockies--a long line of tortuous, snaky red crawled sinuously over the crests of the foothills; and all game--bird and beast--will shun a prairie fire. There was no wind. It was the dead hazy calm of Indian summer in the late autumn with the sun swimming in the purplish smoke like a blood-red shield all day and the serpent line of flame flickering and darting little tongues of vermilion against the deep blue horizon all night, days filled with the crisp smell of withered grasses, nights as clear and cold as the echo of a bell. On a windless plain there is no danger from a prairie fire. One may travel for weeks without nearing or distancing the waving tide of fire against a far sky; and the four trappers, running short of rations, decided to try to flank the fire coming around far enough ahead to intercept the game that must be moving away from the fire line. Nearly all hunters, through some dexterity of natural endowment, unconsciously become specialists. One man sees beaver signs where another sees only deer. For Ba'tiste, the page of nature spelled _B-E-A-R_! Fifteen bear in a winter is a wonderfully good season's work for any trapper. Ba'tiste's record for one lucky winter was fifty-four. After that he was known as the bear hunter. Such a reputation affects keen hunters differently. The Indian grows cautious almost to cowardice. Ba'tiste grew rash. He would follow a wounded grisly to cover. He would afterward laugh at the episode as a joke if the wounded brute had treed him. "For sure, good t'ing dat was not de prairie dat tam," he would say, flinging down the pelt of his foe. The other trappers with Indian blood in their veins might laugh, but they shook their heads when his back was turned. Flanking the fire by some of the great gullies that cut the foothills like trenches, the hunters began to find the signs they had been seeking. For Ba'tiste, the many different signs had but one meaning. Where some summer rain pool had dried almost to a soft mud hole, the other trappers saw little cleft foot-marks that meant deer, and prints like a baby's fingers that spelled out the visit of some member of the weasel family, and broad splay-hoof impressions that had spread under the weight as some giant moose had gone shambling over the quaking mud bottom. But Ba'tiste looked only at a long shuffling foot-mark the length of a man's fore-arm with padded ball-like pressures as of monster toes. The French hunter would at once examine which way that great foot had pointed. Were there other impressions dimmer on the dry mud? Did the crushed spear-grass tell any tales of what had passed that mud hole? If it did, Ba'tiste would be seen wandering apparently aimlessly out on the prairie, carrying his uncased rifle carefully that the sunlight should not glint from the barrel, zigzagging up a foothill where perhaps wild plums or shrub berries hung rotting with frost ripeness. Ba'tiste did not stand full height at the top of the hill. He dropped face down, took off his hat, or scarlet "safety" handkerchief, and peered warily over the crest of the hill. If he went on over into the next valley, the other men would say they "guessed he smelt bear." If he came back, they knew he had been on a cold scent that had faded indistinguishably as the grasses thinned. Southern slopes of prairie and foothill are often matted tangles of a raspberry patch. Here Ba'tiste read many things--stories of many bears, of families, of cubs, of old cross fellows wandering alone. Great slabs of stone had been clawed up by mighty hands. Worms and snails and all the damp clammy things that cling to the cold dark between stone and earth had been gobbled up by some greedy forager. In the trenched ravines crossed by the trappers lay many a hidden forest of cottonwood or poplar or willow. Here was refuge, indeed, for the wandering creatures of the treeless prairie that rolled away from the tops of the cliffs. Many secrets could be read from the clustered woods of the ravines. The other hunters might look for the fresh nibbled alder bush where a busy beaver had been laying up store for winter, or detect the blink of a russet ear among the seared foliage betraying a deer, or wonder what flesh-eater had caught the poor jack rabbit just outside his shelter of thorny brush. The hawk soaring and dropping--lilting and falling and lifting again--might mean that a little mink was "playing dead" to induce the bird to swoop down so that the vampire beast could suck the hawk's blood, or that the hawk was watching for an unguarded moment to plunge down with his talons in a poor "fool-hen's" feathers. These things might interest the others. They did not interest Ba'tiste. Ba'tiste's eyes were for lairs of grass crushed so recently that the spear leaves were even now rising; for holes in the black mould where great ripping claws had been tearing up roots; for hollow logs and rotted stumps where a black bear might have crawled to take his afternoon siesta; for punky trees which a grisly might have torn open to gobble ants' eggs; for scratchings down the bole of poplar or cottonwood where some languid bear had been sharpening his claws in midsummer as a cat will scratch chair-legs; for great pits deep in the clay banks, where some silly badger or gopher ran down to the depths of his burrow in sheer terror only to have old bruin come ripping and tearing to the innermost recesses, with scattered fur left that told what had happened. Some soft oozy moss-padded lair, deep in the marsh with the reeds of the brittle cat-tails lifting as if a sleeper had just risen, sets Ba'tiste's pulse hopping--jumping--marking time in thrills like the lithe bounds of a pouncing mountain-cat. With tread soft as the velvet paw of a panther, he steals through the cane-brake parting the reeds before each pace, brushing aside softly--silently what might crush!--snap!--sound ever so slight an alarm to the little pricked ears of a shaggy head tossing from side to side--jerk--jerk--from right to left--from left to right--always on the listen!--on the listen!--for prey!--for prey! "Oh, for sure, that Ba'tiste, he was but a fool-hunter," as his comrades afterward said (it is always so very plain afterward); "that Ba'tiste, he was a fool! What man else go step--step--into the marsh after a bear!" But the truth was that Ba'tiste, the cunning rascal, always succeeded in coming out of the marsh, out of the bush, out of the windfall, sound as a top, safe and unscratched, with a bear-skin over his shoulder, the head swinging pendant to show what sort of fellow he had mastered. "Dat wan!--ah!--diable!--he has long sharp nose--he was thin--thin as a barrel all gone but de hoops--ah!--voilà!--he was wan ugly garçon, was dat bear!" Where the hunters found tufts of fur on the sage brush, bits of skin on the spined cactus, the others might vow coyotes had worried a badger. Ba'tiste would have it that the badger had been slain by a bear. The cached carcass of fawn or doe, of course, meant bear; for the bear is an epicure that would have meat gamey. To that the others would agree. And so the shortening autumn days with the shimmering heat of a crisp noon and the noiseless chill of starry twilights found the trappers canoeing leisurely up-stream from the northern tributaries of the Missouri nearing the long overland trail that led to the hunting-fields in Canada. One evening they came to a place bounded by high cliff banks with the flats heavily wooded by poplar and willow. Ba'tiste had found signs that were hot--oh! so hot! The mould of an uprooted gopher hole was so fresh that it had not yet dried. This was not a region of timber-wolves. What had dug that hole? Not the small, skulking coyote--the vagrant of prairie life! Oh!--no!--the coyote like other vagrants earns his living without work, by skulking in the wake of the business-like badger; and when the badger goes down in the gopher hole, Master Coyote stands nearby and gobbles up all the stray gophers that bolt to escape the invading badger.[37] What had dug the hole? Ba'tiste thinks that he knows. That was on open prairie. Just below the cliff is another kind of hole--a roundish pit dug between moss-covered logs and earth wall, a pit with grass clawed down into it, snug and hidden and sheltered as a bird's nest. If the pit is what Ba'tiste thinks, somewhere on the banks of the stream should be a watering-place. He proposes that they beach the canoes and camp here. Twilight is not a good time to still hunt an unseen bear. Twilight is the time when the bear himself goes still hunting. Ba'tiste will go out in the early morning. Meantime if he stumbles on what looks like a trail to the watering-place, he will set a trap. Camp is not for the regular trapper what it is for the amateur hunter--a time of rest and waiting while others skin the game and prepare supper. One hunter whittles the willow sticks that are to make the camp fire. Another gathers moss or boughs for a bed. If fish can be got, some one has out a line. The kettle hisses from the cross-bar between notched sticks above the fire, and the meat sizzling at the end of a forked twig sends up a flavour that whets every appetite. Over the upturned canoes bend a couple of men gumming afresh all the splits and seams against to-morrow's voyage. Then with a flip-flop that tells of the other side of the flap-jacks being browned, the cook yodels in crescendo that "Sup--per!--'s--read--ee!" Supper over, a trap or two may be set in likely places. The men may take a plunge; for in spite of their tawny skins, these earth-coloured fellows have closer acquaintance with water than their appearance would indicate. The man-smell is as acute to the beast's nose as the rank fur-animal-smell is to the man's nose; and the first thing that an Indian who has had a long run of ill-luck does is to get a native "sweating-bath" and make himself clean. On the ripple of the flowing river are the red bars of the camp fire. Among the willows, perhaps, the bole of some birch stands out white and spectral. Though there is no wind, the poplars shiver with a fall of wan, faded leaves like snow-flakes on the grave of summer. Red bills and whisky-jacks and lonely phoebe-birds came fluttering and pecking at the crumbs. Out from the gray thicket bounds a cottontail to jerk up on his hind legs with surprise at the camp fire. A blink of his long ear, and he has bounded back to tell the news to his rabbit family. Overhead, with shrill clangour, single file and in long wavering <big>V</big> lines, wing geese migrating southward for the season. The children's hour, has a great poet called a certain time of day? Then this is the hour of the wilderness hunter, the hour when "the Mountains of the Setting Sun" are flooded in fiery lights from zone to zenith with the snowy heights overtopping the far rolling prairie like clouds of opal at poise in mid-heaven, the hour when the camp fire lies on the russet autumn-tinged earth like a red jewel, and the far line of the prairie fire billows against the darkening east in a tide of vermilion flame. Unless it is raining, the _voyageurs_ do not erect their tent; for they will sleep in the open, feet to the fire, or under the canoes, close to the great earth, into whose very fibre their beings seem to be rooted. And now is the time when the hunters spin their yarns and exchange notes of all they have seen in the long silent day. There was the prairie chicken with a late brood of half-grown clumsy clucking chicks amply able to take care of themselves, but still clinging to the old mother's care. When the hunter came suddenly on them, over the old hen went, flopping broken-winged to decoy the trapper till her children could run for shelter--when--lo!--of a sudden, the broken wing is mended and away she darts on both wings before he has uncased his gun! There are the stories of bear hunters like Ba'tiste sitting on the other side of the fire there, who have been caught in their own bear traps and held till they died of starvation and their bones bleached in the rusted steel. That story has such small relish for Ba'tiste that he hitches farther away from the others and lies back flat on the ground close to the willow under-tangle with his head on his hand. "For sure," says Ba'tiste contemptuously, "nobody doesn't need no tree to climb here! Sacré!--cry wolf!--wolf!--and for sure!--diable!--de beeg loup-garou will eat you yet!" Down somewhere from those stars overhead drops a call silvery as a flute, clear as a piccolo--some night bird lilting like a mote on the far oceans of air. The trappers look up with a movement that in other men would be a nervous start; for any shrill cry pierces the silence of the prairie in almost a stab. Then the men go on with their yarn telling of how the Blackfeet murdered some traders on this very ground not long ago till the gloom gathering over willow thicket and encircling cliffs seems peopled with those marauding warriors. One man rises, saying that he is "goin' to turn in" and is taking a step through the dark to his canoe when there is a dull pouncing thud. For an instant the trappers thought that their comrade had stumbled over his boat. But a heavy groan--a low guttural cry--a shout of "Help--help--help Ba'tiste!" and the man who had risen plunged into the crashing cane-brake, calling out incoherently for them to "help--help Ba'tiste!" In the confusion of cries and darkness, it was impossible for the other two trappers to know what had happened. Their first thought was of the Indians whose crimes they had been telling. Their second was for their rifles--and they had both sprung over the fire where they saw the third man striking--striking--striking wildly at something in the dark. A low worrying growl--and they descried the Frenchman rolling over and over, clutched by or clutching a huge furry form--hitting--plunging with his knife--struggling--screaming with agony. "It's Ba'tiste! It's a bear!" shouted the third man, who was attempting to drive the brute off by raining blows on its head. Man and bear were an indistinguishable struggling mass. Should they shoot in the half-dark? Then the Frenchman uttered the scream of one in death-throes: "Shoot!--shoot!--shoot quick! She's striking my face!--she's striking my face----" And before the words had died, sharp flashes of light cleft the dark--the great beast rolled over with a coughing growl, and the trappers raised their comrade from the ground. The bear had had him on his back between her teeth by the thick chest piece of his double-breasted buckskin. Except for his face, he seemed uninjured; but down that face the great brute had drawn the claws of her fore paw. Ba'tiste raised his hands to his face. "Mon dieu!" he asked thickly, fumbling with both hands, "what is done to my eyes? Is the fire out? I cannot see!" Then the man who had fought like a demon armed with only a hunting-knife fainted because of what his hands felt. * * * * * Traitors there are among trappers as among all other classes, men like those who deserted Glass on the Missouri, and Scott on the Platte, and how many others whose treachery will never be known. But Ba'tiste's comrades stayed with him on the banks of the river that flows into the Missouri. One cared for the blind man. The other two foraged for game. When the wounded hunter could be moved, they put him in a canoe and hurried down-stream to the fur post before the freezing of the rivers. At the fur post, the doctor did what he could; but a doctor cannot restore what has been torn away. The next spring, Ba'tiste was put on a pack horse and sent to his relatives at the Canadian fur post. Here his sisters made him the curtain to hang round his helmet and set him to weaving grass mats that the days might not drag so wearily. Ask Ba'tiste whether he agrees with the amateur hunter that bears never attack unless they are attacked, that they would never become ravening creatures of prey unless the assaults of other creatures taught them ferocity, ask Ba'tiste this and something resembling the snarl of a baited beast breaks from the lipless face under the veil: "S--s--sz!--" with a quiver of inexpressible rage. "The bear--it is an animal!--the bear!--it is a beast!--toujours!--the bear!--it is a beast!--always--always!" And his hands clinch. Then he falls to carving of the little wooden animals and weaving of sad, sad, bitter thoughts into the warp of the Indian mat. Are such onslaughts common among bears, or are they the mad freaks of the bear's nature? President Roosevelt tells of two soldiers bitten to death in the South-West; and M. L'Abbé Dugast, of St. Boniface, Manitoba, incidentally relates an experience almost similar to that of Ba'tiste which occurred in the North-West. Lest Ba'tiste's case seem overdrawn, I quote the Abbé's words: "At a little distance Madame Lajimoniere and the other women were preparing the tents for the night, when all at once Bouvier gave a cry of distress and called to his companions to help him. At the first shout, each hunter seized his gun and prepared to defend himself against the attack of an enemy; they hurried to the other side of the ditch to see what was the matter with Bouvier, and what he was struggling with. They had no idea that a wild animal would come near the fire to attack a man even under cover of night; for fire usually has the effect of frightening wild beasts. However, almost before the four hunters knew what had happened, they saw their unfortunate companion dragged into the woods by a bear followed by her two cubs. She held Bouvier in her claws and struck him savagely in the face to stun him. As soon as she saw the four men in pursuit, she redoubled her fury against her prey, tearing his face with her claws. M. Lajimoniere, who was an intrepid hunter, baited her with the butt end of his gun to make her let go her hold, as he dared not shoot for fear of killing the man while trying to save him, but Bouvier, who felt himself being choked, cried with all his strength: 'Shoot; I would rather be shot than eaten alive!' M. Lajimoniere pulled the trigger as close to the bear as possible, wounding her mortally. She let go Bouvier and before her strength was exhausted made a wild attack upon M. Lajimoniere, who expected this and as his gun had only one barrel loaded, he ran towards the canoe, where he had a second gun fully charged. He had hardly seized it before the bear reached the shore and tried to climb into the canoe, but fearing no longer to wound his friend, M. Lajimoniere aimed full at her breast and this time she was killed instantly. As soon as the bear was no longer to be feared, Madame Lajimoniere, who had been trembling with fear during the tumult, went to raise the unfortunate Bouvier, who was covered with wounds and nearly dead. The bear had torn the skin from his face with her nails from the roots of his hair to the lower part of his chin. His eyes and nose were gone--in fact his features were indiscernible--but he was not mortally injured. His wounds were dressed as well as the circumstances would permit, and thus crippled he was carried to the Fort of the Prairies, Madame Lajimoniere taking care of him all through the journey. In time his wounds were successfully healed, but he was blind and infirm to the end of his life. He dwelt at the Fort of the Prairies for many years, but when the first missionaries reached Red River in 1818, he persuaded his friends to send him to St. Boniface to meet the priests and ended his days in M. Provencher's house. He employed his time during the last years of his life in making crosses and crucifixes blind as he was, but he never made any _chefs d'oeuvre_." Such is bear-hunting and such is the nature of the bear. And these things are not of the past. Wherever long-range repeaters have not put the fear of man in the animal heart, the bear is the aggressor. Even as I write comes word from a little frontier fur post which I visited in 1901, of a seven-year-old boy being waylaid and devoured by a grisly only four miles back from a transcontinental railway. This is the second death from the unprovoked attacks of bears within a month in that country--and that month, the month of August, 1902, when sentimental ladies and gentlemen many miles away from danger are sagely discussing whether the bear is naturally ferocious or not--whether, in a word, it is altogether _humane to hunt bears_. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 36: In further confirmation of Montagnais's bear, the chief factor's daughter, who told me the story, was standing in the fort gate when the Indian came running back with a grisly pelt over his shoulder. When he saw her his hands went up to conceal the price he had paid for the pelt.] [Footnote 37: This phase of prairie life must not be set down to writer's license. It is something that every rider of the plains can see any time he has patience to rein up and sit like a statue within field-glass distance of the gopher burrows about nightfall when the badgers are running.] CHAPTER XIII JOHN COLTER--FREE TRAPPER Long before sunrise hunters were astir in the mountains. The Crows were robbers, the Blackfeet murderers; and scouts of both tribes haunted every mountain defile where a white hunter might pass with provisions and peltries which these rascals could plunder. The trappers circumvented their foes by setting the traps after nightfall and lifting the game before daybreak. Night in the mountains was full of a mystery that the imagination of the Indians peopled with terrors enough to frighten them away. The sudden stilling of mountain torrent and noisy leaping cataract at sundown when the thaw of the upper snows ceased, the smothered roar of rivers under ice, the rush of whirlpools through the blackness of some far cañon, the crashing of rocks thrown down by unknown forces, the shivering echo that multiplied itself a thousandfold and ran "rocketing" from peak to peak startling the silences--these things filled the Indian with superstitious fears. The gnomes, called in trapper's vernacular "hoodoos"--great pillars of sandstone higher than a house, left standing in valleys by prehistoric floods--were to the Crows and Blackfeet petrified giants that only awakened at night to hurl down rocks on intruding mortals. And often the quiver of a shadow in the night wind gave reality to the Indian's fears. The purr of streams over rocky bed was whispering, the queer quaking echoes of falling rocks were giants at war, and the mists rising from swaying waterfalls, spirit-forms portending death. Morning came more ghostly among the peaks. Thick white clouds banked the mountains from peak to base, blotting out every scar and tor as a sponge might wash a slate. Valleys lay blanketed in smoking mist. As the sun came gradually up to the horizon far away east behind the mountains, scarp and pinnacle butted through the fog, stood out bodily from the mist, seemed to move like living giants from the cloud banks. "How could they do that if they were not alive?" asked the Indian. Elsewhere, shadows came from sun, moon, starlight, or camp-fire. But in these valleys were pencilled shadows of peaks upside down, shadows all the colours of the rainbow pointing to the bottom of the green Alpine lakes, hours and hours before any sun had risen to cause the shadows. All this meant "bad medicine" to the Indian, or, in white man's language, mystery. Unless they were foraging in large bands, Crows and Blackfeet shunned the mountains after nightfall. That gave the white man a chance to trap in safety. Early one morning two white men slipped out of their sequestered cabin built in hiding of the hills at the head waters of the Missouri. Under covert of brushwood lay a long odd-shaped canoe, sharp enough at the prow to cleave the narrowest waters between rocks, so sharp that French _voyageurs_ gave this queer craft the name "_canot à bec d'esturgeon_"--that is, a canoe like the nose of a sturgeon. This American adaptation of the Frenchman's craft was not of birch-bark. That would be too frail to essay the rock-ribbed cañons of the mountain streams. It was usually a common dugout, hollowed from a cottonwood or other light timber, with such an angular narrow prow that it could take the sheerest dip and mount the steepest wave-crest where a rounder boat would fill and swamp. Dragging this from cover, the two white men pushed out on the Jefferson Fork, dipping now on this side, now on that, using the reversible double-bladed paddles which only an amphibious boatman can manage. The two men shot out in mid-stream, where the mists would hide them from each shore; a moment later the white fog had enfolded them, and there was no trace of human presence but the trail of dimpling ripples in the wake of the canoe. No talking, no whistling, not a sound to betray them. And there were good reasons why these men did not wish their presence known. One was Potts, the other John Colter. Both had been with the Lewis and Clark exploring party of 1804-'05, when a Blackfoot brave had been slain for horse-thieving by the first white men to cross the Upper Missouri. Besides, the year before coming to the Jefferson, Colter had been with the Missouri Company's fur brigade under Manuel Lisa, and had gone to the Crows as an emissary from the fur company. While with the Crows, a battle had taken place against the Blackfeet, in which they suffered heavy loss owing to Colter's prowess. That made the Blackfeet sworn enemies to Colter. Turning off the Jefferson, the trappers headed their canoe up a side stream, probably one of those marshy reaches where beavers have formed a swamp by damming up the current of a sluggish stream. Such quiet waters are favourite resorts for beaver and mink and marten and pekan. Setting their traps only after nightfall, the two men could not possibly have put out more than forty or fifty. Thirty traps are a heavy day's work for one man. Six prizes out of thirty are considered a wonderful run of luck; but the empty traps must be examined as carefully as the successful ones. Many that have been mauled, "scented" by a beaver scout and left, must be replaced. Others must have fresh bait; others, again, carried to better grounds where there are more game signs. Either this was a very lucky morning and the men were detained taking fresh pelts, or it was a very unlucky morning and the men had decided to trap farther up-stream; for when the mists began to rise, the hunters were still in their canoe. Leaving the beaver meadow, they continued paddling up-stream away from the Jefferson. A more hidden water-course they could hardly have found. The swampy beaver-runs narrowed, the shores rose higher and higher into rampart walls, and the dark-shadowed waters came leaping down in the lumpy, uneven runnels of a small cañon. You can always tell whether the waters of a cañon are compressed or not, whether they come from broad, swampy meadows or clear snow streams smaller than the cañon. The marsh waters roll down swift and black and turbid, raging against the crowding walls; the snow streams leap clear and foaming as champagne, and are in too great a hurry to stop and quarrel with the rocks. It is altogether likely these men recognised swampy water, and were ascending the cañon in search of a fresh beaver-marsh; or they would not have continued paddling six miles above the Jefferson with daylight growing plainer at every mile. First the mist rose like a smoky exhalation from the river; then it flaunted across the rampart walls in banners; then the far mountain peaks took form against the sky, islands in a sea of fog; then the cloud banks were floating in mid-heaven blindingly white from a sun that painted each cañon wall in the depths of the water. How much farther would the cañon lead? Should they go higher up or not? Was it wooded or clear plain above the walls? The man paused. What was that noise? "Like buffalo," said Potts. "Might be Blackfeet," answered Colter. No. What would Blackfeet be doing, riding at a pace to make such thunder so close to a cañon? It was only a buffalo herd stampeding on the annual southern run. Again Colter urged that the noise _might_ be from Indians. It would be safer for them to retreat at once. At which Potts wanted to know if Colter were afraid, using a stronger word--"coward." Afraid? Colter afraid? Colter who had remained behind Lewis and Clark's men to trap alone in the wilds for nearly two years, who had left Manuel Lisa's brigade to go alone among the thieving Crows, whose leadership had helped the Crows to defeat the Blackfeet? Anyway, it would now be as dangerous to go back as forward. They plainly couldn't land here. Let them go ahead where the walls seemed to slope down to shore. Two or three strokes sent the canoe round an elbow of rock into the narrow course of a creek. Instantly out sprang five or six hundred Blackfeet warriors with weapons levelled guarding both sides of the stream. An Indian scout had discovered the trail of the white men and sent the whole band scouring ahead to intercept them at this narrow pass. The chief stepped forward, and with signals that were a command beckoned the hunters ashore. As is nearly always the case, the rash man was the one to lose his head, the cautious man the one to keep his presence of mind. Potts was for an attempt at flight, when every bow on both sides of the river would have let fly a shot. Colter was for accepting the situation, trusting to his own wit for subsequent escape. Colter, who was acting as steersman, sent the canoe ashore. Bottom had not grated before a savage snatched Potts's rifle from his hands. Springing ashore, Colter forcibly wrested the weapon back and coolly handed it to Potts. But Potts had lost all the rash courage of a moment before, and with one push sent the canoe into mid-stream. Colter shouted at him to come back--come back! Indians have more effective arguments. A bow-string twanged, and Potts screamed out, "Colter, I am wounded!" Again Colter urged him to land. The wound turned Pott's momentary fright to a paroxysm of rage. Aiming his rifle, he shot his Indian assailant dead. If it was torture that he feared, that act assured him at least a quick death; for, in Colter's language, man and boat were instantaneously "made a riddle of." No man admires courage more than the Indian; and the Blackfeet recognised in their captive one who had been ready to defend his comrade against them all, and who had led the Crows to victory against their own band. The prisoner surrendered his weapons. He was stripped naked, but neither showed sign of fear nor made a move to escape. Evidently the Blackfeet could have rare sport with this game white man. His life in the Indian country had taught him a few words of the Blackfoot language. He heard them conferring as to how he should be tortured to atone for all that the Blackfeet had suffered at white men's hands. One warrior suggested that the hunter be set up as a target and shot at. Would he then be so brave? But the chief shook his head. That was not game enough sport for Blackfeet warriors. That would be letting a man die passively. And how this man could fight if he had an opportunity! How he could resist torture if he had any chance of escaping the torture! But Colter stood impassive and listened. Doubtless he regretted having left the well-defended brigades of the fur companies to hunt alone in the wilderness. But the fascination of the wild life is as a gambler's vice--the more a man has, the more he wants. Had not Colter crossed the Rockies with Lewis and Clark and spent two years in the mountain fastnesses? Yet when he reached the Mandans on the way home, the revulsion against all the trammels of civilization moved him so strongly that he asked permission to return to the wilderness, where he spent two more years. Had he not set out for St. Louis a second time, met Lisa coming up the Missouri with a brigade of hunters, and for the third time turned his face to the wilderness? Had he not wandered with the Crows, fought the Blackfeet, gone down to St. Louis, and been impelled by that strange impulse of adventure which was to the hunter what the instinct of migration is to bird and fish and buffalo and all wild things--to go yet again to the wilderness? Such was the passion for the wilds that ruled the life of all free trappers. * * * * * The free trappers formed a class by themselves. Other trappers either hunted on a salary of $200, $300, $400 a year, or on shares, like fishermen of the Grand Banks outfitted by "planters," or like western prospectors outfitted by companies that supply provisions, boats, and horses, expecting in return the major share of profits. The free trappers fitted themselves out, owed allegiance to no man, hunted where and how they chose, and refused to carry their furs to any fort but the one that paid the highest prices. For the _mangeurs de lard_, as they called the fur company raftsmen, they had a supreme contempt. For the methods of the fur companies, putting rivals to sleep with laudanum or bullet and ever stirring the savages up to warfare, the free trappers had a rough and emphatically expressed loathing. The crime of corrupting natives can never be laid to the free trapper. He carried neither poison, nor what was worse than poison to the Indian--whisky--among the native tribes. The free trapper lived on good terms with the Indian, because his safety depended on the Indian. Renegades like Bird, the deserter from the Hudson's Bay Company, or Rose, who abandoned the Astorians, or Beckwourth of apocryphal fame, might cast off civilization and become Indian chiefs; but, after all, these men were not guilty of half so hideous crimes as the great fur companies of boasted respectability. Wyeth of Boston, and Captain Bonneville of the army, whose underlings caused such murderous slaughter among the Root Diggers, were not free trappers in the true sense of the term. Wyeth was an enthusiast who caught the fever of the wilds; and Captain Bonneville, a gay adventurer, whose men shot down more Indians in one trip than all the free trappers of America shot in a century. As for the desperado Harvey, whom Larpenteur reports shooting Indians like dogs, his crimes were committed under the walls of the American Fur Company's fort. MacLellan and Crooks and John Day--before they joined the Astorians--and Boone and Carson and Colter, are names that stand for the true type of free trapper. The free trapper went among the Indians with no defence but good behaviour and the keenness of his wit. Whatever crimes the free trapper might be guilty of towards white men, he was guilty of few towards the Indians. Consequently, free trappers were all through Minnesota and the region westward of the Mississippi forty years before the fur companies dared to venture among the Sioux. Fisher and Fraser and Woods knew the Upper Missouri before 1806; and Brugiere had been on the Columbia many years before the Astorians came in 1811. One crime the free trappers may be charged with--a reckless waste of precious furs. The great companies always encouraged the Indians not to hunt more game than they needed for the season's support. And no Indian hunter, uncorrupted by white men, would molest game while the mothers were with their young. Famine had taught them the punishment that follows reckless hunting. But the free trappers were here to-day and away to-morrow, like a Chinaman, to take all they could get regardless of results; and the results were the rapid extinction of fur-bearing game. Always there were more free trappers in the United States than in Canada. Before the union of Hudson's Bay and Nor' Wester in Canada, all classes of trappers were absorbed by one of the two great companies. After the union, when the monopoly enjoyed by the Hudson's Bay did not permit it literally to drive a free trapper out, it could always "freeze" him out by withholding supplies in its great white northern wildernesses, or by refusing to give him transport. When the monopoly passed away in 1871, free trappers pressed north from the Missouri, where their methods had exterminated game, and carried on the same ruthless warfare on the Saskatchewan. North of the Saskatchewan, where very remoteness barred strangers out, the Hudson's Bay Company still held undisputed sway; and Lord Strathcona, the governor of the company, was able to say only two years ago, "the fur trade is quite as large as ever it was." Among free hunters, Canada had only one commanding figure--John Johnston of the Soo, who settled at La Pointe on Lake Superior in 1792, formed league with Wabogish, "the White Fisher," and became the most famous trader of the Lakes. His life, too, was almost as eventful as Colter's. A member of the Irish nobility, some secret which he never chose to reveal drove him to the wilds. Wabogish, the "White Fisher," had a daughter who refused the wooings of all her tribe's warriors. In vain Johnston sued for her hand. Old Wabogish bade the white man go sell his Irish estates and prove his devotion by buying as vast estates in America. Johnston took the old chief at his word, and married the haughty princess of the Lake. When the War of 1812 set all the tribes by the ears, Johnston and his wife had as thrilling adventures as ever Colter knew among the Blackfeet. Many a free trapper, and partner of the fur companies as well, secured his own safety by marrying the daughter of a chief, as Johnston had. These were not the lightly-come, lightly-go affairs of the vagrant adventurer. If the husband had not cast off civilization like a garment, the wife had to put it on like a garment; and not an ill-fitting garment either, when one considers that the convents of the quiet nuns dotted the wilderness like oases in a desert almost contemporaneous with the fur trade. If the trapper had not sunk to the level of the savages, the little daughter of the chief was educated by the nuns for her new position. I recall several cases where the child was sent across the Atlantic to an English governess so that the equality would be literal and not a sentimental fiction. And yet, on no subject has the western fur trader received more persistent and unjust condemnation. The heroism that culminated in the union of Pocahontas with a noted Virginian won applause, and almost similar circumstances dictated the union of fur traders with the daughters of Indian chiefs; but because the fur trader has not posed as a sentimentalist, he has become more or less of a target for the index finger of the Pharisee.[38] North of the boundary the free trapper had small chance against the Hudson's Bay Company. As long as the slow-going Mackinaw Company, itself chiefly recruited from free trappers, ruled at the junction of the Lakes, the free trappers held the hunting-grounds of the Mississippi; but after the Mackinaw was absorbed by the aggressive American Fur Company, the free hunters were pushed westward. On the Lower Missouri competition raged from 1810, so that circumstances drove the free trapper westward to the mountains, where he is hunting in the twentieth century as his prototype hunted two hundred years ago. In Canada--of course after 1870--he entered the mountains chiefly by three passes: (1) Yellow Head Pass southward of the Athabasca; (2) the narrow gap where the Bow emerges to the plains--that is, the river where the Indians found the best wood for the making of bows; (3) north of the boundary, through that narrow defile overtowered by the lonely flat-crowned peak called Crows Nest Mountain--that is, where the fugitive Crows took refuge from the pursuing Blackfeet. In the United States, the free hunters also approached the mountains by three main routes: (1) Up the Platte; (2) westward from the Missouri across the plains; (3) by the Three Forks of the Missouri. For instance, it was coming down the Platte that poor Scott's canoe was overturned, his powder lost, and his rifles rendered useless. Game had retreated to the mountains with spring's advance. Berries were not ripe by the time trappers were descending with their winter's hunt. Scott and his famishing men could not find edible roots. Each day Scott weakened. There was no food. Finally, Scott had strength to go no farther. His men had found tracks of some other hunting party far to the fore. They thought that, in any case, he could not live. What ought they to do? Hang back and starve with him, or hasten forward while they had strength, to the party whose track they had espied? On pretence of seeking roots, they deserted the helpless man. Perhaps they did not come up with the advance party till they were sure that Scott must have died; for they did not go back to his aid. The next spring when these same hunters went up the Platte, they found the skeleton of poor Scott sixty miles from the place where they had left him. The terror that spurred the emaciated man to drag himself all this weary distance can barely be conceived; but such were the fearful odds taken by every free trapper who went up the Platte, across the parched plains, or to the head waters of the Missouri. The time for the free trappers to go out was, in Indian language, "when the leaves began to fall." If a mighty hunter like Colter, the trapper was to the savage "big Indian me"; if only an ordinary vagrant of woods and streams, the white man was "big knife you," in distinction to the red man carrying only primitive weapons. Very often the free trapper slipped away from the fur post secretly, or at night; for there were questions of licenses which he disregarded, knowing well that the buyer of his furs would not inform for fear of losing the pelts. Also and more important in counseling caution, the powerful fur companies had spies on the watch to dog the free trapper to his hunting-grounds; and rival hunters would not hesitate to bribe the natives with a keg of rum for all the peltries which the free trapper had already bought by advancing provisions to Indian hunters. Indeed, rival hunters have not hesitated to bribe the savages to pillage and murder the free trapper; for there was no law in the fur trading country, and no one to ask what became of the free hunter who went alone into the wilderness and never returned. Going out alone, or with only one partner, the free hunter encumbered himself with few provisions. Two dollars worth of tobacco would buy a thousand pounds of "jerked" buffalo meat, and a few gaudy trinkets for a squaw all the pemmican white men could use. Going by the river routes, four days out from St. Louis brought the trapper into regions of danger. Indian scouts hung on the watch among the sedge of the river bank. One thin line of upcurling smoke, or a piece of string--_babiche_ (leather cord, called by the Indians _assapapish_)--fluttering from a shrub, or little sticks casually dropped on the river bank pointing one way, all were signs that told of marauding bands. Some birch tree was notched with an Indian cipher--a hunter had passed that way and claimed the bark for his next year's canoe. Or the mark might be on a cottonwood--some man wanted this tree for a dugout. Perhaps a stake stood with a mark at the entrance to a beaver-marsh--some hunter had found this ground first and warned all other trappers off by the code of wilderness honour. Notched tree-trunks told of some runner gone across country, blazing a trail by which he could return. Had a piece of fungus been torn from a hemlock log? There were Indians near, and the squaw had taken the thing to whiten leather. If a sudden puff of black smoke spread out in a cone above some distant tree, it was an ominous sign to the trapper. The Indians had set fire to the inside of a punky trunk and the shooting flames were a rallying call. In the most perilous regions the trapper travelled only after nightfall with muffled paddles--that is, muffled where the handle might strike the gunwale. Camp-fires warned him which side of the river to avoid; and often a trapper slipping past under the shadow of one bank saw hobgoblin figures dancing round the flames of the other bank--Indians celebrating their scalp dance. In these places the white hunter ate cold meals to avoid lighting a fire; or if he lighted a fire, after cooking his meal he withdrew at once and slept at a distance from the light that might betray him. The greatest risk of travelling after dark during the spring floods arose from what the _voyageurs_ called _embarras_--trees torn from the banks sticking in the soft bottom like derelicts with branches to entangle the trapper's craft; but the _embarras_ often befriended the solitary white man. Usually he slept on shore rolled in a buffalo-robe; but if Indian signs were fresh, he moored his canoe in mid-current and slept under hiding of the driftwood. Friendly Indians did not conceal themselves, but came to the river bank waving a buffalo-robe and spreading it out to signal a welcome to the white man; when the trapper would go ashore, whiff pipes with the chiefs and perhaps spend the night listening to the tales of exploits which each notch on the calumet typified. Incidents that meant nothing to other men were full of significance to the lone _voyageur_ through hostile lands. Always the spring floods drifted down numbers of dead buffalo; and the carrion birds sat on the trees of the shore with their wings spread out to dry in the sun. The sudden flacker of a rising flock betrayed something prowling in ambush on the bank; so did the splash of a snake from overhanging branches into the water. Different sorts of dangers beset the free trapper crossing the plains to the mountains. The fur company brigades always had escort of armed guard and provision packers. The free trappers went alone or in pairs, picketing horses to the saddle overlaid with a buffalo-robe for a pillow, cooking meals on chip fires, using a slow-burning wormwood bark for matches, and trusting their horses or dog to give the alarm if the bands of coyotes hovering through the night dusk approached too near. On the high rolling plains, hostiles could be descried at a distance, coming over the horizon head and top first like the peak of a sail, or emerging from the "coolies"--dried sloughs--like wolves from the earth. Enemies could be seen soon enough; but where could the trapper hide on bare prairie? He didn't attempt to hide. He simply set fire to the prairie and took refuge on the lee side. That device failing, he was at his enemies' mercy. On the plains, the greatest danger was from lack of water. At one season the trapper might know where to find good camping streams. The next year when he came to those streams they were dry. "After leaving the buffalo meadows a dreadful scarcity of water ensued," wrote Charles MacKenzie, of the famous MacKenzie clan. He was journeying north from the Missouri. "We had to alter our course and steer to a distant lake. When we got there we found the lake dry. However, we dug a pit which produced a kind of stinking liquid which we all drank. It was salt and bitter, caused an inflammation of the mouth, left a disagreeable roughness of the throat, and seemed to increase our thirst.... We passed the night under great uneasiness. Next day we continued our journey, but not a drop of water was to be found, ... and our distress became insupportable.... All at once our horses became so unruly that we could not manage them. We observed that they showed an inclination towards a hill which was close by. It struck me that they might have scented water.... I ascended to the top, where, to my great joy, I discovered a small pool.... My horse plunged in before I could prevent him, ... and all the horses drank to excess." "_The plains across_"--which was a western expression meaning the end of that part of the trip--there rose on the west rolling foothills and dark peaked profiles against the sky scarcely to be distinguished from gray cloud banks. These were the mountains; and the real hazards of free trapping began. No use to follow the easiest passes to the most frequented valleys. The fur company brigades marched through these, sweeping up game like a forest fire; so the free trappers sought out the hidden, inaccessible valleys, going where neither pack horse nor _canot à bec d'esturgeon_ could follow. How did they do it? Very much the way Simon Fraser's hunters crawled down the river-course named after him. "Our shoes," said one trapper, "did not last a single day." "We had to plunge our daggers into the ground, ... otherwise we would slide into the river," wrote Fraser. "We cut steps into the declivity, fastened a line to the front of the canoe, with which some of the men ascended in order to haul it up. .. Our lives hung, as it were, upon a thread, as the failure of the line or the false step of the man might have hurled us into eternity.... We had to pass where no human being should venture.... Steps were formed like a ladder on the shrouds of a ship, by poles hanging to one another and crossed at certain distances with twigs, the whole suspended from the top to the foot of immense precipices, and fastened at both extremities to stones and trees." He speaks of the worst places being where these frail swaying ladders led up to the overhanging ledge of a shelving precipice. * * * * * Such were the very real adventures of the trapper's life, a life whose fascinations lured John Colter from civilization to the wilds again and again till he came back once too often and found himself stripped, helpless, captive, in the hands of the Blackfeet. It would be poor sport torturing a prisoner who showed no more fear than this impassive white man coolly listening and waiting for them to compass his death. So the chief dismissed the suggestion to shoot at their captive as a target. Suddenly the Blackfoot leader turned to Colter. "Could the white man run fast?" he asked. In a flash Colter guessed what was to be his fate. He, the hunter, was to be hunted. No, he cunningly signalled, he was only a poor runner. Bidding his warriors stand still, the chief roughly led Colter out three hundred yards. Then he set his captive free, and the exultant shriek of the running warriors told what manner of sport this was to be. It was a race for life. The white man shot out with all the power of muscles hard as iron-wood and tense as a bent bow. Fear winged the man running for his life to outrace the winged arrows coming from the shouting warriors three hundred yards behind. Before him stretched a plain six miles wide, the distance he had so thoughtlessly paddled between the rampart walls of the cañon but a few hours ago. At the Jefferson was a thick forest growth where a fugitive might escape. Somewhere along the Jefferson was his own hidden cabin. Across this plain sped Colter, pursued by a band of six hundred shrieking demons. Not one breath did he waste looking back over his shoulder till he was more than half-way across the plain, and could tell from the fading uproar that he was outdistancing his hunters. Perhaps it was the last look of despair; but it spurred the jaded racer to redoubled efforts. All the Indians had been left to the rear but one, who was only a hundred yards behind. There was, then, a racing chance of escape! Colter let out in a burst of renewed speed that brought blood gushing over his face, while the cactus spines cut his naked feet like knives. The river was in sight. A mile more, he would be in the wood! But the Indian behind was gaining at every step. Another backward look! The savage was not thirty yards away! He had poised his spear to launch it in Colter's back, when the white man turned fagged and beaten, threw up his arms and stopped! This is an Indian _ruse_ to arrest the pursuit of a wild beast. By force of habit it stopped the Indian too, and disconcerted him so that instead of launching his spear, he fell flat on his face, breaking the shaft in his hand. With a leap, Colter had snatched up the broken point and pinned the savage through the body to the earth. That intercepted the foremost of the other warriors, who stopped to rescue their brave and gave Colter time to reach the river. In he plunged, fainting and dazed, swimming for an island in mid-current where driftwood had formed a sheltered raft. Under this he dived, coming up with his head among branches of trees. * * * * * All that day the Blackfeet searched the island for Colter, running from log to log of the drift; but the close-grown brushwood hid the white man. At night he swam down-stream like any other hunted animal that wants to throw pursuers off the trail, went ashore and struck across country, seven days' journey for the Missouri Company's fort on the Bighorn River. Naked and unarmed, he succeeded in reaching the distant fur post, having subsisted entirely on roots and berries. * * * * * Chittenden says that poor Colter's adventure only won for him in St. Louis the reputation of a colossal liar. But traditions of his escape were current among all hunters and Indian tribes on the Missouri, so that when Bradbury, the English scientist, went west with the Astorians in 1811, he sifted the matter, accepted it as truth, and preserved the episode for history in a small-type foot-note to his book published in London in 1817. Two other adventures are on record similar to Colter's: one of Oskononton's escape by diving under a raft, told in Ross's Fur Hunters; the other of a poor Indian fleeing up the Ottawa from pursuing Iroquois of the Five Nations and diving under the broken bottom of an old beaver-dam, told in the original Jesuit Relations. And yet when the Astorians went up the Missouri a few years later, Colter could scarcely resist the impulse to go a fourth time to the wilds. But fascinations stronger than the wooings of the wilds had come to his life--he had taken to himself a bride. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 38: Would not such critics think twice before passing judgment if they recalled that General Parker was a full-blood Indian; that if Johnston had not married Wabogish's daughter and if Johnston's daughter had not preferred to marry Schoolcraft instead of going to her relatives of the Irish nobility, Longfellow would have written no Hiawatha? Would they not hesitate before slurring men like Premier Norquay of Manitoba and the famous MacKenzies, those princes of fur trade from St. Louis to the Arctic, and David Thompson, the great explorer? Do they forget that Lord Strathcona, one of the foremost peers of Britain, is related to the proudest race of plain-rangers that ever scoured the West, the _Bois-Brûlés_? The writer knows the West from only fifteen years of life and travel there; yet with that imperfect knowledge cannot recall a single fur post without some tradition of an unfamed Pocahontas.] CHAPTER XIV THE GREATEST FUR COMPANY OF THE WORLD In the history of the world only one corporate company has maintained empire over an area as large as Europe. Only one corporate company has lived up to its constitution for nearly three centuries. Only one corporate company's sway has been so beneficent that its profits have stood in exact proportion to the well-being of its subjects. Indeed, few armies can boast a rank and file of men who never once retreated in three hundred years, whose lives, generation after generation, were one long bivouac of hardship, of danger, of ambushed death, of grim purpose, of silent achievement. Such was the company of "Adventurers of England Trading into Hudson's Bay," as the charter of 1670 designated them.[39] Such is the Hudson's Bay Company to-day still trading with savages in the white wilderness of the north as it was when Charles II granted a royal charter for the fur trade to his cousin Prince Rupert. Governors and chief factors have changed with the changing centuries; but the character of the company's personnel has never changed. Prince Rupert, the first governor, was succeeded by the Duke of York (James II); and the royal governor by a long line of distinguished public men down to Lord Strathcona, the present governor, and C. C. Chipman, the chief commissioner or executive officer. All have been men of noted achievement, often in touch with the Crown, always with that passion for executive and mastery of difficulty which exults most when the conflict is keenest. Pioneers face the unknown when circumstances push them into it. Adventurers rush into the unknown for the zest of conquering it. It has been to the adventuring class that fur traders have belonged. Radisson and Groseillers, the two Frenchmen who first brought back word of the great wealth in furs round the far northern sea, had been gentlemen adventurers--"rascals" their enemies called them. Prince Rupert, who leagued himself with the Frenchmen to obtain a charter for his fur trade, had been an adventurer of the high seas--"pirate" we would say--long before he became first governor of the Hudson's Bay Company. And the Duke of Marlborough, the company's third governor, was as great an adventurer as he was a general. Latterly the word "adventurer" has fallen in such evil repute, it may scarcely be applied to living actors. But using it in the old-time sense of militant hero, what cavalier of gold braid and spurs could be more of an adventurer than young Donald Smith who traded in the desolate wastes of Labrador, spending seventeen years in the hardest field of the fur company, tramping on snow-shoes half the width of a continent, camping where night overtook him under blanketing of snow-drifts, who rose step by step from trader on the east coast to commissioner in the west? And this Donald Smith became Lord Strathcona, the governor of the Hudson's Bay Company. Men bold in action and conservative in traditions have ruled the company. The governor resident in England is now represented by the chief commissioner, who in turn is represented at each of the many inland forts by a chief factor of the district. Nominally, the fur-trader's northern realm is governed by the Parliament of Canada. Virtually, the chief factor rules as autocratically to-day as he did before the Canadian Government took over the proprietary rights of the fur company. How did these rulers of the wilds, these princes of the fur trade, live in lonely forts and mountain fastnesses? Visit one of the northern forts as it exists to-day. The colder the climate, the finer the fur. The farther north the fort, the more typical it is of the fur-trader's realm. For six, seven, eight months of the year, the fur-trader's world is a white wilderness of snow; snow water-waved by winds that sweep from the pole; snow drifted into ramparts round the fort stockades till the highest picket sinks beneath the white flood and the corner bastions are almost submerged and the entrance to the central gate resembles the cutting of a railway tunnel; snow that billows to the unbroken reaches of the circling sky-line like a white sea. East, frost-mist hides the low horizon in clouds of smoke, for the sun which rises from the east in other climes rises from the south-east here; and until the spring equinox, bringing summer with a flood-tide of thaw, gray darkness hangs in the east like a fog. South, the sun moves across the snowy levels in a wheel of fire, for it has scarcely risen full sphered above the sky-line before it sinks again etching drift and tip of half-buried brush in long lonely fading shadows. The west shimmers in warm purplish grays, for the moist Chinook winds come over the mountains melting the snow by magic. North, is the cold steel of ice by day; and at night Northern Lights darting through the polar dark like burnished spears. Christmas day is welcomed at the northern fur posts by a firing of cannon from the snow-muffled bastions. Before the stars have faded, chapel services begin. Frequently on either Christmas or New Year's day, a grand feast is given the tawny-skinned _habitués_ of the fort, who come shuffling to the main mess-room with no other announcement than the lifting of the latch, and billet themselves on the hospitality of a host that has never turned hungry Indians from its doors. For reasons well-known to the woodcraftsman, a sudden lull falls on winter hunting in December, and all the trappers within a week's journey from the fort, all the half-breed guides who add to the instinct of native craft the reasoning of the white, all the Indian hunters ranging river-course and mountain have come by snow-shoes and dog train to spend festive days at the fort. A great jangling of bells announces the huskies (dog trains) scampering over the crusted snow-drifts. A babel of barks and curses follows, for the huskies celebrate their arrival by tangling themselves up in their harness and enjoying a free fight. Dogs unharnessed, in troop the trappers to the banquet-hall, flinging packs of tightly roped peltries down promiscuously, to be sorted next day. One Indian enters just as he has left the hunting-field, clad from head to heel in white caribou with the antlers left on the capote as a decoy. His squaw has togged out for the occasion in a comical medley of brass bracelets and finger-rings, with a bear's claw necklace and ermine ruff which no city connoisseur could possibly mistake for rabbit. If a daughter yet remain unappropriated she will display the gayest attire--red flannel galore, red shawl, red scarf, with perhaps an apron of white fox-skin and moccasins garnished in coloured grasses. The braves outdo even a vain young squaw. Whole fox, mink, or otter skins have been braided to the end of their hair, and hang down in two plaits to the floor. Whitest of buckskin has been ornamented with brightest of beads, and over all hangs the gaudiest of blankets, it may be a musk-ox-skin with the feats of the warrior set forth in rude drawings on the smooth side. Children and old people, too, come to the feast, for the Indian's stomach is the magnet that draws his soul. Grotesque little figures the children are, with men's trousers shambling past their heels, rabbit-skin coats with the fur turned in, and on top of all some old stovepipe hat or discarded busby coming half-way down to the urchin's neck. The old people have more resemblance to parchment on gnarled sticks than to human beings. They shiver under dirty blankets with every sort of cast-off rag tied about their limbs, hobbling lame from frozen feet or rheumatism, mumbling toothless requests for something to eat or something to wear, for tobacco, the solace of Indian woes, or what is next best--tea. Among so many guests are many needs. One half-breed from a far wintering outpost, where perhaps a white man and this guide are living in a chinked shack awaiting a hunting party's return, arrives at the fort with frozen feet. Little Labree's feet must be thawed out, and sometimes little Labree dies under the process, leaving as a legacy to the chief factor the death-bed pledge that the corpse be taken to a distant tribal burying-ground. And no matter how inclement the winter, the chief factor keeps his pledge, for the integrity of a promise is the only law in the fur-trader's realm. Special attentions, too, must be paid those old retainers who have acted as mentors of the fort in times of trouble. A few years ago it would not have been safe to give this treat inside the fort walls. Rations would have been served through loop-holes and the feast held outside the gates; but so faithfully have the Indians become bound to the Hudson's Bay Company there are not three forts in the fur territory where Indians must be excluded. Of the feast little need be said. Like the camel, the Indian lays up store for the morrow, judging from his capacity for weeks of morrows. His benefactor no more dines with him than a plantation master of the South would have dined with feasting slaves. Elsewhere a bell calls the company officers to breakfast at 7.30, dinner at 1, supper at 7. Officers dine first, white hunters and trappers second, that difference between master and servant being maintained which is part of the company's almost military discipline. In the large forts are libraries, whither resort the officers for the long winter nights. But over the feast wild hilarity reigns. A French-Canadian fiddler strikes up a tuneless jig that sets the Indians pounding the floor in figureless dances with moccasined heels till midday glides into midnight and midnight to morning. I remember hearing of one such midday feast in Red River settlement that prolonged itself past four of the second morning. Against the walls sit old folks spinning yarns of the past. There is a print of Sir George Simpson behind one _raconteur's_ head. Ah! yes, the oldest guides all remember Sir George, though half a century has passed since his day. He was the governor who travelled with flags flying from every prow, and cannon firing when he left the forts, and men drawn up in procession like soldiers guarding an emperor when he entered the fur posts with _coureurs_ and all the flourish of royal state. Then some story-teller recalls how he has heard the old guides tell of the imperious governor once provoking personal conflict with an equally imperious steersman, who first ducked the governor into a lake they were traversing and then ducked into the lake himself to rescue the governor. And there is a crucifix high on the wall left by Père Lacomb the last time the famous missionary to the red men of the Far North passed this way; and every Indian calls up some kindness done, some sacrifice by Father Lacomb. On the gun-rack are old muskets and Indian masks and scalp-locks, bringing back the days when Russian traders instigated a massacre at this fort and when white traders flew at each other's throats as Nor' Westers struggled with Hudson's Bay for supremacy in the fur trade. "Ah, oui, those white men, they were brave fighters, they did not know how to stop. Mais, sacré, they were fools, those white men after all! Instead of hiding in ambush to catch the foe, those white men measured off paces, stood up face to face and fired blank--oui--fired blank! Ugh! Of course, one fool he was kill' and the other fool, most like, he was wound'! Ugh, by Gar! What Indian would have so little sense?"[40] Of hunting tales, the Indian store is exhaustless. That enormous bear-skin stretched to four pegs on the wall brings up Montagnais, the Noseless One, who still lives on Peace River and once slew the largest bear ever killed in the Rockies, returning to this very fort with one hand dragging the enormous skin and the other holding the place which his nose no longer graced. "Montagnais? Ah, bien messieur! Montagnais, he brave man! Venez ici--bien--so--I tole you 'bout heem," begins some French-Canadian trapper with a strong tinge of Indian blood in his swarthy skin. "Bigosh! He brave man! I tole you 'bout dat happen! Montagnais, he go stumble t'rough snow--how you call dat?--hill, steep--steep! Oui, by Gar! dat vas steep hill! de snow, she go slide, slide, lak' de--de gran' rapeed, see?" emphasizing the snow-slide with illustrative gesture. "Bien, donc! Mais, Montagnais, he stick gun-stock in de snow stop heem fall--so--see? Tonnerre! Bigosh! for sure she go off wan beeg bang! Sacré! She make so much noise she wake wan beeg ol' bear sleep in snow. Montagnais, he tumble on hees back! Mais, messieur, de bear--diable! 'fore Montagnais wink hees eye de bear jump on top lak' wan beeg loup-garou! Montagnais, he brave man--he not scare--he say wan leetle prayer, wan han' he cover his eyes! Odder han'--sacré--dat grab hees knife out hees belt--sz-sz-sz, messieur. For sure he feel her breat'--diable!--for sure he fin' de place her heart beat--Tonnerre! Vite! he stick dat knife in straight up hees wrist, into de heart dat bear! Dat bes' t'ing do--for sure de leetle prayer dat tole him best t'ing do! De bear she roll over--over--dead's wan stone--c'est vrai! she no mor' jump top Montagnais! Bien, ma frien'! Montagnais, he roll over too--leetle bit scare! Mais, hees nose! Ah! bigosh! de bear she got dat; dat all nose he ever haf no mor'! C'est vrai messieur, bien!" And with a finishing flourish the story-teller takes to himself all the credit of Montagnais's heroism. But in all the feasting, trade has not been forgotten; and as soon as the Indians recover from post-prandial torpor bartering begins. In one of the warehouses stands a trader. An Indian approaches with a pack of peltries weighing from eighty to a hundred pounds. Throwing it down, he spreads out the contents. Of otter and mink and pekan there will be plenty, for these fish-eaters are most easily taken before midwinter frost has frozen the streams solid. In recent years there have been few beaver-skins, a closed season of several years giving the little rodents a chance to multiply. By treaty the Indian may hunt all creatures of the chase as long as "the sun rises and the rivers flow"; but the fur-trader can enforce a closed season by refusing to barter for the pelts. Of musk-rat-skins, hundreds of thousands are carried to the forts every season. The little haycock houses of musk-rats offer the trapper easy prey when frost freezes the sloughs, shutting off retreat below, and heavy snow-fall has not yet hidden the little creatures' winter home. The trading is done in several ways. Among the Eskimo, whose arithmetical powers seldom exceed a few units, the trader holds up his hand with one, two, three fingers raised, signifying that he offers for the skin before him equivalents in value to one, two, three prime beaver. If satisfied, the Indian passes over the furs and the trader gives flannel, beads, powder, knives, tea, or tobacco to the value of the beaver-skins indicated by the raised fingers. If the Indian demands more, hunter and trader wrangle in pantomime till compromise is effected. But always beaver-skin is the unit of coin. Beaver are the Indian's dollars and cents, his shillings and pence, his tokens of currency. South of the Arctics, where native intelligence is of higher grade, the beaver values are represented by goose-quills, small sticks, bits of shell, or, most common of all, disks of lead, tea-chests melted down, stamped on one side with the company arms, on the other with the figures 1, 2, 1/2, 1/4, representing so much value in beaver. First of all, then, furs in the pack must be sorted, silver fox worth five hundred dollars separated from cross fox and blue and white worth from ten dollars down, according to quality, and from common red fox worth less. Twenty years ago it was no unusual thing for the Hudson's Bay Company to send to England yearly 10,000 cross fox-skins, 7,000 blue, 100,000 red, half a dozen silver. Few wolf-skins are in the trapper's pack unless particularly fine specimens of brown arctic and white arctic, bought as a curiosity and not for value as skins. Against the wolf, the trapper wages war as against a pest that destroys other game, and not for its skin. Next to musk-rat the most plentiful fur taken by the Indian, though not highly esteemed by the trader, will be that of the rabbit or varying hare. Buffalo was once the staple of the hunter. What the buffalo was the white rabbit is to-day. From it the Indian gets clothing, tepee, covers, blankets, thongs, food. From it the white man who is a manufacturer of furs gets gray fox and chinchilla and seal in imitation. Except one year in seven, when a rabbit plague spares the land by cutting down their prolific numbers, the varying hare is plentiful enough to sustain the Indian. Having received so many bits of lead for his furs, the Indian goes to the store counter where begins interminable dickering. Montagnais's squaw has only fifty "beaver" coin, and her desires are a hundredfold what those will buy. Besides, the copper-skinned lady enjoys beating down prices and driving a bargain so well that she would think the clerk a cheat if he asked a fixed price from the first. She expects him to have a sliding scale of prices for his goods as she has for her furs. At the termination of each bargain, so many coins pass across the counter. Frequently an Indian presents himself at the counter without beaver enough to buy necessaries. What then? I doubt if in all the years of Hudson's Bay Company rule one needy Indian has ever been turned away. The trader advances what the Indian needs and chalks up so many "beaver" against the trapper's next hunt. Long ago, when rival traders strove for the furs, whisky played a disgracefully prominent part in all bartering, the drunk Indian being an easier victim than the sober, and the Indian mad with thirst for liquor the most easily cajoled of all. But to-day when there is no competition, whisky plays no part whatever. Whisky is in the fort, so is pain killer, for which the Indian has as keen an appetite, both for the exigencies of hazardous life in an unsparing climate beyond medical aid; but the first thing Hudson's Bay traders did in 1885, when rebel Indians surrounded the Saskatchewan forts, was to split the casks and spill all alcohol. The second thing was to bury ammunition--showing which influence they considered the more dangerous. Ermine is at its best when the cold is most intense, the tawny weasel coat turning from fawn to yellow, from yellow to cream and snow-white, according to the latitude north and the season. Unless it is the pelt of the baby ermine, soft as swan's down, tail-tip jet as onyx, the best ermine is not likely to be in a pack brought to the fort as early as Christmas. Fox, lynx, mink, marten, otter, and bear, the trapper can take with steel-traps of a size varying with the game, or even with the clumsily constructed deadfall, the log suspended above the bait being heavy or light, according to the hunter's expectation of large or small intruder; but the ermine with fur as easily damaged as finest gauze must be handled differently. Going the rounds of his traps, the hunter has noted curious tiny tracks like the dots and dashes of a telegraphic code. Here are little prints slurring into one another in a dash; there, a dead stop, where the quick-eared stoat has paused with beady eyes alert for snowbird or rabbit. Here, again, a clear blank on the snow where the crafty little forager has dived below the light surface and wriggled forward like a snake to dart up with a plunge of fangs into the heart-blood of the unwary snow-bunting. From the length of the leaps, the trapper judges the age of the ermine; fourteen inches from nose to tail-tip means a full-grown ermine with hair too coarse to be damaged by a snare. The man suspends the noose of a looped twine across the runway from a twig bent down so that the weight of the ermine on the string sends the twig springing back with a jerk that lifts the ermine off the ground, strangling it instantly. Perhaps on one side of the twine he has left bait--smeared grease, or a bit of meat. If the tracks are like the prints of a baby's fingers, close and small, the trapper hopes to capture a pelt fit for a throne cloak, the skin for which the Louis of France used to pay, in modern money, from a hundred dollars to a hundred and fifty dollars. The full-grown ermines will be worth only some few "beaver" at the fort. Perfect fur would be marred by the twine snare, so the trapper devises as cunning a death for the ermine as the ermine devises when it darts up through the snow with its spear-teeth clutched in the throat of a poor rabbit. Smearing his hunting-knife with grease, he lays it across the track. The little ermine comes trotting in dots and dashes and gallops and dives to the knife. It smells the grease, and all the curiosity which has been teaching it to forage for food since it was born urges it to put out its tongue and taste. That greasy smell of meat it knows; but that frost-silvered bit of steel is something new. The knife is frosted like ice. Ice the ermine has licked, so he licks the knife. But alas for the resemblance between ice and steel! Ice turns to water under the warm tongue; steel turns to fire that blisters and holds the foolish little stoat by his inquisitive tongue a hopeless prisoner till the trapper comes. And lest marauding wolverine or lynx should come first and gobble up priceless ermine, the trapper comes soon. And that is the end for the ermine. Before settlers invaded the valley of the Saskatchewan the furs taken at a leading fort would amount to: Bear of all varieties 400 Ermine, medium 200 Blue fox 4 Red fox 91 Silver fox 3 Marten 2,000 Musk-rat 200,000 Mink 8,000 Otter 500 Skunk 6 Wolf 100 Beaver 5,000 Pekan (fisher) 50 Cross fox 30 White fox 400 Lynx 400 Wolverine 200 The value of these furs in "beaver" currency varied with the fashions of the civilized world, with the scarcity or plenty of the furs, with the locality of the fort. Before beaver became so scarce, 100 beaver equalled 40 marten or 10 otter or 300 musk-rat; 25 beaver equalled 500 rabbit; 1 beaver equalled 2 white fox; and so on down the scale. But no set table of values can be given other than the prices realized at the annual sale of Hudson's Bay furs, held publicly in London. To understand the values of these furs to the Indian, "beaver" currency must be compared to merchandise, one beaver buying such a red handkerchief as trappers wear around their brows to notify other hunters not to shoot; one beaver buys a hunting-knife, two an axe, from eight to twenty a gun or rifle, according to its quality. And in one old trading list I found--vanity of vanities--"one beaver equals looking-glass." Trading over, the trappers disperse to their winter hunting-grounds, which the main body of hunters never leaves from October, when they go on the fall hunt, to June, when the long straggling brigades of canoes and keel boats and pack horses and jolting ox-carts come back to the fort with the harvest of winter furs. Signs unnoted by the denizens of city serve to guide the trappers over trackless wastes of illimitable snow. A whitish haze of frost may hide the sun, or continuous snow-fall-blur every land-mark. What heeds the trapper? The slope of the rolling hills, the lie of the frozen river-beds, the branches of underbrush protruding through billowed drifts are hands that point the trapper's compass. For those hunters who have gone westward to the mountains, the task of threading pathless forest stillness is more difficult. At a certain altitude in the mountains, much frequented by game because undisturbed by storms, snow falls--falls--falls, without ceasing, heaping the pines with snow mushrooms, blotting out the sun, cloaking in heavy white flakes the notched bark blazed as a trail, transforming the rustling green forests to a silent spectral world without a mark to direct the hunter. Here the woodcraftsman's lore comes to his aid. He looks to the snow-coned tops of the pine trees. The tops of pine trees lean ever so slightly towards the rising sun. With his snow-shoes he digs away the snow at the roots of trees to get down to the moss. Moss grows from the roots of trees on the shady side--that is, the north. And simplest of all, demanding only that a wanderer use his eyes--which the white man seldom does--the limbs of the northern trees are most numerous on the south. The trapper may be waylaid by storms, or starved by sudden migration of game from the grounds to which he has come, or run to earth by the ravenous timber-wolves that pursue the dog teams for leagues; but the trapper with Indian blood in his veins will not be lost. One imminent danger is of accident beyond aid. A young Indian hunter of Moose Factory set out with his wife and two children for the winter hunting-grounds in the forest south of James Bay. To save the daily allowance of a fish for each dog, they did not take the dog teams. When chopping, the hunter injured his leg. The wound proved stubborn. Game was scarce, and they had not enough food to remain in the lodge. Wrapping her husband in robes on the long toboggan sleigh, the squaw placed the younger child beside him and with the other began tramping through the forest drawing the sleigh behind. The drifts were not deep enough for swift snow-shoeing over underbrush, and their speed was not half so speedy as the hunger that pursues northern hunters like the Fenris Wolf of Norse myth. The woman sank exhausted on the snow and the older boy, nerved with fear, pushed on to Moose Factory for help. Guided by the boy back through the forests, the fort people found the hunter dead in the sleigh, the mother crouched forward unconscious from cold, stripped of the clothing which she had wrapped round the child taken in her arms to warm with her own body. The child was alive and well. The fur traders nursed the woman back to life, though she looked more like a withered creature of eighty than a woman barely in her twenties. She explained with a simple unconsciousness of heroism that the ground had been too hard for her to bury her husband, and she was afraid to leave the body and go on to the fort lest the wolves should molest the dead.[41] The arrival of the mail packet is one of the most welcome breaks in the monotony of life at the fur post. When the mail comes, all white habitants of the fort take a week's holidays to read letters and news of the outside world. Railways run from Lake Superior to the Pacific; but off the line of railways mail is carried as of old. In summer-time overland runners, canoe, and company steamers bear the mail to the forts of Hudson Bay, of the Saskatchewan, of the Rockies, and the MacKenzie. In winter, scampering huskies with a running postman winged with snow-shoes dash across the snowy wastes through silent forests to the lonely forts of the bay, or slide over the prairie drifts with the music of tinkling bells and soft crunch-crunch of sleigh runners through the snow crust to the leagueless world of the Far North. Forty miles a day, a couch of spruce boughs where the racquets have dug a hole in the snow, sleighs placed on edge as a wind break, dogs crouched on the buffalo-robes snarling over the frozen fish, deep bayings from the running wolf-pack, and before the stars have faded from the frosty sky, the mail-carrier has risen and is coasting away fast as the huskies can gallop. Another picturesque feature of the fur trade was the long caravan of ox-carts that used to screech and creak and jolt over the rutted prairie roads between Winnipeg and St. Paul. More than 1,500 Hudson's Bay Company carts manned by 500 traders with tawny spouses and black-eyed impish children, squatted on top of the load, left Canada for St. Paul in August and returned in October. The carts were made without a rivet of iron. Bent wood formed the tires of the two wheels. Hardwood axles told their woes to the world in the scream of shrill bagpipes. Wooden racks took the place of cart box. In the shafts trod a staid old ox guided from the horns or with a halter, drawing the load with collar instead of a yoke. The harness was of skin thongs. In place of the ox sometimes was a "shagganippy" pony, raw and unkempt, which the imps lashed without mercy or the slightest inconvenience to the horse. A red flag with the letters H. B. C. in white decorated the leading cart. During the Sioux massacres the fur caravans were unmolested, for the Indians recognised the flags and wished to remain on good terms with the fur traders. Ox-carts still bring furs to Hudson's Bay Company posts, and screech over the corduroyed swamps of the MacKenzie; but the railway has replaced the caravan as a carrier of freight. [Illustration: Carrying goods over long _portage_ in MacKenzie River region with the old-fashioned Red River ox-carts.] Hudson's Bay Company steamers now ply on the largest of the inland rivers with long lines of fur-laden barges in tow; but the canoe brigades still bring the winter's hunt to the forts in spring. Five to eight craft make a brigade, each manned by eight paddlers with an experienced steersman, who is usually also guide. But the one ranking first in importance is the bowman, whose quick eye must detect signs of nearing rapids, whose steel-shod pole gives the cue to the other paddlers and steers the craft past foamy reefs. The bowman it is who leaps out first when there is "tracking"--pulling the craft up-stream by tow-line--who stands waist high in ice water steadying the rocking bark lest a sudden swirl spill furs to the bottom, who hands out the packs to the others when the waters are too turbulent for "tracking" and there must be a "_portage_," and who leads the brigade on a run--half trot, half amble--overland to the calmer currents. "Pipes" are the measure of a _portage_--that is, the pipes smoked while the _voyageurs_ are on the run. The bowman it is who can thread a network of water-ways by day or dark, past rapids or whirlpools, with the certainty of an arrow to the mark. On all long trips by dog train or canoe, pemmican made of buffalo meat and marrow put in air-tight bags was the standard food. The pemmican now used is of moose or caribou beef. The only way to get an accurate idea of the size of the kingdom ruled by these monarchs of the lonely wastes is by comparison. Take a map of North America. On the east is Labrador, a peninsula as vast as Germany and Holland and Belgium and half of France. On the coast and across the unknown interior are the magical letters H. B. C., meaning Hudson's Bay Company fort (past or present), a little whitewashed square with eighteen-foot posts planted picket-wise for a wall, match-box bastions loopholed for musketry, a barracks-like structure across the court-yard with a high lookout of some sort near the gate. Here some trader with wife and children and staff of Indian servants has held his own against savagery and desolating loneliness. In one of these forts Lord Strathcona passed his youth. Once more to the map. With one prong of a compass in the centre of Hudson Bay, describe a circle. The northern half embraces the baffling arctics; but on the line of the southern circumference like beads on a string are Churchill high on the left, York below in black capitals as befits the importance of the great fur emporium of the bay, Severn and Albany and Moose and Rupert and Fort George round the south, and to the right, larger and more strongly built forts than in Labrador, with the ruins of stone walls at Churchill that have a depth of fifteen feet. Six-pounders once mounted these bastions. The remnants of galleries for soldiery run round the inside walls. A flag floats over each fort with the letters H. B. C.[42] Officers' dwellings occupy the centre of the court-yard. Banked against the walls are the men's quarters, fur presses, stables, storerooms. Always there is a chapel, at one fort a hospital, at others the relics of stoutly built old powder magazines made to withstand the siege of hand grenades tossed in by French assailants from the bay, who knew that the loot of a fur post was better harvest than a treasure ship. Elsewhere two small bastions situated diagonally across from each other were sufficient to protect the fur post by sending a raking fire along the walls; but here there was danger of the French fleet, and the walls were built with bastion and trench and rampart. Again to the map. Between Hudson Bay and the Rocky Mountains stretches an American Siberia--the Barren Lands. Here, too, on every important waterway, Athabasca and the Liard and the MacKenzie into the land of winter night and midnight sun, extend Hudson's Bay Company posts. We think of these northern streams as ice-jammed, sluggish currents, with mean log villages on their banks. The fur posts of the sub-arctics are not imposing with picket fences in place of stockades, for no French foe was feared here. But the MacKenzie River is one of the longest in the world, with two tributaries each more than 1,000 miles in length. It has a width of a mile, and a succession of rapids that rival the St. Lawrence, and palisaded banks higher than the Hudson River's, and half a dozen lakes into one of which you could drop two New England States without raising a sand bar. The map again. Between the prairie and the Pacific Ocean is a wilderness of peaks, a Switzerland stretched into half the length of a continent. Here, too, like eagle nests in rocky fastnesses are fur posts. Such is the realm of the Hudson's Bay Company to-day. Before 1812 there was no international boundary in the fur trade. But after the war Congress barred out Canadian companies. The next curtailment of hunting-ground came in 1869-'70, when the company surrendered proprietary rights to the Canadian Government, retaining only the right to trade in the vast north land. The formation of new Canadian provinces took place south of the Saskatchewan; but north the company barters pelts undisturbed as of old. Yearly the staffs are shifted from post to post as the fortunes of the hunt vary; but the principal posts not including winter quarters for a special hunt have probably not exceeded two hundred in number, nor fallen below one hundred for the last century. Of these the greater numbers are of course in the Far North. When the Hudson's Bay Company was fighting rivals, Nor' Westers from Montreal, Americans from St. Louis, it must have employed as traders, packers, _coureurs_, canoe men, hunters, and guides, at least 5,000 men; for its rival employed that number, and "The Old Lady," as the enemy called it, always held her own. Over this wilderness army were from 250 to 300 officers, each with the power of life and death in his hands. To the honour of the company, be it said, this power was seldom abused.[43] Occasionally a brutal sea-captain might use lash and triangle and branding along the northern coast; but officers defenceless among savage hordes must of necessity have lived on terms of justice with their men. The Canadian Government now exercises judicial functions; but where less than 700 mounted police patrol a territory as large as Siberia, the company's factor is still the chief representative of the law's power. Times without number under the old _régime_ has a Hudson's Bay officer set out alone and tracked an Indian murderer to hidden fastness, there to arrest him or shoot him dead on the spot; because if murder went unpunished that mysterious impulse to kill which is as rife in the savage heart as in the wolf's would work its havoc unchecked. Just as surely as "the sun rises and the rivers flow" the savage knows when the hunt fails he will receive help from the Hudson's Bay officer. But just as surely he knows if he commits any crime that same unbending, fearless white man will pursue--and pursue--and pursue guilt to the death. One case is on record of a trader thrashing an Indian within an inch of his life for impudence to officers two or three years before. Of course, the vendetta may cut both ways, the Indian treasuring vengeance in his heart till he can wreak it. That is an added reason why the white man's justice must be unimpeachable. "_Pro pelle cutem_," says the motto of the company arms. Without flippancy it might be said "An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth," as well as "A skin for a skin"--which explains the freedom from crime among northern Indians. And who are the subjects living under this Mosaic paternalism? Stunted Eskimo of the Far North, creatures as amphibious as the seals whose coats they wear, with the lustreless eyes of dwarfed intelligence and the agility of seal flippers as they whisk double-bladed paddles from side to side of the darting kyacks; wandering Montagnais from the domed hills of Labrador, lonely and sad and silent as the naked desolation of their rugged land; Ojibways soft-voiced as the forest glooms in that vast land of spruce tangle north of the Great Lakes; Crees and Sioux from the plains, cunning with the stealth of creatures that have hunted and been hunted on the shelterless prairie; Blackfeet and Crows, game birds of the foothills that have harried all other tribes for tribute, keen-eyed as the eagles on the mountains behind them, glorying in war as the finest kind of hunting; mountain tribes--Stonies, Kootenais, Shoshonies--splendid types of manhood because only the fittest can survive the hardships of the mountains; coast Indians, Chinook and Chilcoot--low and lazy because the great rivers feed them with salmon and they have no need to work. Over these lawless Arabs of the New World wilderness the Hudson's Bay Company has ruled for two and a half centuries with smaller loss of life in the aggregate than the railways of the United States cause in a single year. Hunters have been lost in the wilds. White trappers have been assassinated by Indians. Forts have been wiped out of existence. Ten, twenty, thirty traders have been massacred at different times. But, then, the loss of life on railways totals up to thousands in a single year. When fighting rivals long ago, it is true that the Hudson's Bay Company recognised neither human nor divine law. Grant the charge and weigh it against the benefits of the company's rule. When Hearne visited Chippewyans two centuries ago he found the Indians in a state uncontaminated by the trader; and that state will give the ordinary reader cold shivers of horror at the details of massacre and degradation. Every visitor since has reported the same tribe improved in standard of living under Hudson's Bay rule. Recently a well-known Canadian governor making an itinerary of the territory round the bay found the Indians such devout Christians that they put his white retinue to shame. Returning to civilization, the governor was observed attending the services of his own denomination with a greater fury than was his wont. Asked the reason, he confided to a club friend that he would be _blanked_ if he could allow heathen Indians to be better Christians than he was. Some of the shiftless Indians may be hopelessly in debt to the company for advanced provisions, but if the company had not made these advances the Indians would have starved, and the debt is never exacted by seizure of the hunt that should go to feed a family. Of how many other creditors may that be said? Of how many companies that it has cared for the sick, sought the lost, fed the starving, housed the homeless? With all its faults, that is the record of the Hudson's Bay Company. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 39: The spelling of the name with an apostrophe in the charter seems to be the only reason for the company's name always having the apostrophe, whereas the waters are now known simply as Hudson Bay.] [Footnote 40: To the Indian mind the hand-to-hand duels between white traders were incomprehensible pieces of folly.] [Footnote 41: It need hardly be explained that it is the prairie Indian and not the forest Ojibway who places the body on high scaffolding above the ground; hence the woman's dilemma.] [Footnote 42: The flag was hoisted on Sundays to notify the Indians there would be no trade.] [Footnote 43: Governor Norton will, of course, be recalled as the most conspicuous for his brutality.] CHAPTER XV KOOT AND THE BOB-CAT Old whaling ships, that tumble round the world and back again from coast to coast over strange seas, hardly ever suffer any of the terrible disasters that are always overtaking the proud men-of-war and swift liners equipped with all that science can do for them against misfortune. Ask an old salt why this is, and he will probably tell you that he _feels_ his way forward or else that he steers by the same chart as _that_--jerking his thumb sideways from the wheel towards some sea gull careening over the billows. A something, that is akin to the instinct of wild creatures warning them when to go north for the summer, when to go south for the winter, when to scud for shelter from coming storm, guides the old whaler across chartless seas. So it is with the trapper. He may be caught in one of his great steel-traps and perish on the prairie. He may run short of water and die of thirst on the desert. He may get his pack horses tangled up in a valley where there is no game and be reduced to the alternative of destroying what will carry him back to safety or starving with a horse still under him, before he can get over the mountains into another valley--but the true trapper will literally never lose himself. Lewis and Clark rightly merit the fame of having first _explored_ the Missouri-Columbia route; but years before the Louisiana purchase, free trappers were already on the Columbia. David Thompson of the North-West Company was the first Canadian to _explore_ the lower Columbia; but before Thompson had crossed the Rockies, French hunters were already ranging the forests of the Pacific slope. How did these coasters of the wilds guide themselves over prairies that were a chartless sea and mountains that were a wilderness? How does the wavey know where to find the rush-grown inland pools? Who tells the caribou mother to seek refuge on islands where the water will cut off the wolves that would prey on her young? Something, which may be the result of generations of accumulated observation, guides the wavey and the caribou. Something, which may be the result of unconscious inference from a life-time of observation, guides the man. In the animal we call it instinct, in the man, reason; and in the case of the trapper tracking pathless wilds, the conscious reason of the man seems almost merged in the automatic instinct of the brute. It is not sharp-sightedness--though no man is sharper of sight than the trapper. It is not acuteness of hearing--though the trapper learns to listen with the noiseless stealth of the pencil-eared lynx. It is not touch--in the sense of tactile contact--any more than it is touch that tells a suddenly awakened sleeper of an unexpected noiseless presence in a dark room. It is something deeper than the tabulated five senses, a sixth sense--a sense of _feel_, without contact--a sense on which the whole sensate world writes its records as on a palimpsest. This palimpsest is the trapper's chart, this sense of _feel_, his weapon against the instinct of the brute. What part it plays in the life of every ranger of the wilds can best be illustrated by telling how Koot found his way to the fur post after the rabbit-hunt. * * * * * When the midwinter lull falls on the hunt, there is little use in the trapper going far afield. Moose have "yarded up." Bear have "holed up" and the beaver are housed till dwindling stores compel them to come out from their snow-hidden domes. There are no longer any buffalo for the trapper to hunt during the lull; but what buffalo formerly were to the hunter, rabbit are to-day. Shields and tepee covers, moccasins, caps and coats, thongs and meat, the buffalo used to supply. These are now supplied by "wahboos--little white chap," which is the Indian name for rabbit. And there is no midwinter lull for "wahboos." While the "little white chap" runs, the long-haired, owlish-eyed lynx of the Northern forest runs too. So do all the lynx's feline cousins, the big yellowish cougar of the mountains slouching along with his head down and his tail lashing and a footstep as light and sinuous and silent as the motion of a snake; the short-haired lucifee gorging himself full of "little white chaps" and stretching out to sleep on a limb in a dapple of sunshine and shadow so much like the lucifee's skin not even a wolf would detect the sleeper; the bunchy bob-cat bounding and skimming over the snow for all the world like a bouncing football done up in gray fur--all members of the cat tribe running wherever the "little white chaps" run. So when the lull fell on the hunt and the mink trapping was well over and marten had not yet begun, Koot gathered up his traps, and getting a supply of provisions at the fur post, crossed the white wastes of prairie to lonely swamp ground where dwarf alder and willow and cottonwood and poplar and pine grew in a tangle. A few old logs dovetailed into a square made the wall of a cabin. Over these he stretched the canvas of his tepee for a roof at a sharp enough angle to let the heavy snow-fall slide off from its own weight. Moss chinked up the logs. Snow banked out the wind. Pine boughs made the floor, two logs with pine boughs, a bed. An odd-shaped stump served as chair or table; and on the logs of the inner walls hung wedge-shaped slabs of cedar to stretch the skins. A caribou curtain or bear-skin across the entrance completed Koot's winter quarters for the rabbit-hunt. Koot's genealogy was as vague as that of all old trappers hanging round fur posts. Part of him--that part which served best when he was on the hunting-field--was Ojibway. The other part, which made him improvise logs into chair and table and bed, was white man; and that served him best when he came to bargain with the chief factor over the pelts. At the fur post he attended the Catholic mission. On the hunting-field, when suddenly menaced by some great danger, he would cry out in the Indian tongue words that meant "O Great Spirit!" And it is altogether probable that at the mission and on the hunting-field, Koot was worshipping the same Being. When he swore--strange commentary on civilization--he always used white man's oaths, French _patois_ or straight English. Though old hermits may be found hunting alone through the Rockies, Idaho, Washington, and Minnesota, trappers do not usually go to the wilds alone; but there was so little danger in rabbit-snaring, that Koot had gone out accompanied by only the mongrel dog that had drawn his provisions from the fort on a sort of toboggan sleigh. The snow is a white page on which the wild creatures write their daily record for those who can read. All over the white swamp were little deep tracks; here, holes as if the runner had sunk; there, padded marks as from the bound--bound--bound of something soft; then, again, where the thicket was like a hedge with only one breach through, the footprints had beaten a little hard rut walled by the soft snow. Koot's dog might have detected a motionless form under the thicket of spiney shrubs, a form that was gray almost to whiteness and scarcely to be distinguished from the snowy underbrush but for the blink of a prism light--the rabbit's eye. If the dog did catch that one tell-tale glimpse of an eye which a cunning rabbit would have shut, true to the training of his trapper master he would give no sign of the discovery except perhaps the pricking forward of both ears. Koot himself preserved as stolid a countenance as the rabbit playing dead or simulating a block of wood. Where the footprints ran through the breached hedge, Koot stooped down and planted little sticks across the runway till there was barely room for a weasel to pass. Across the open he suspended a looped string hung from a twig bent so that the slightest weight in the loop would send it up with a death jerk for anything caught in the tightening twine. All day long, Koot goes from hedge to hedge, from runway to runway, choosing always the places where natural barriers compel the rabbit to take this path and no other, travelling if he can in a circle from his cabin so that the last snare set will bring him back with many a zigzag to the first snare made. If rabbits were plentiful--as they always were in the fur country of the North except during one year in seven when an epidemic spared the land from a rabbit pest--Koot's circuit of snares would run for miles through the swamp. Traps for large game would be set out so that the circuit would require only a day; but where rabbits are numerous, the foragers that prey--wolf and wolverine and lynx and bob-cat--will be numerous, too; and the trapper will not set out more snares than he can visit twice a day. Noon--the Indian's hour of the short shadow--is the best time for the first visit, nightfall, the time of no shadow at all, for the second. If the trapper has no wooden door to his cabin, and in it--instead of caching in a tree--keeps fish or bacon that may attract marauding wolverine, he will very probably leave his dogs on guard while he makes the round of the snares. Finding tracks about the shack when he came back for his noonday meal, Koot shouted sundry instructions into the mongrel's ear, emphasized them with a moccasin kick, picked up the sack in which he carried bait, twine, and traps, and set out in the evening to make the round of his snares, unaccompanied by the dog. Rabbit after rabbit he found, gray and white, hanging stiff and stark, dead from their own weight, strangled in the twine snares. Snares were set anew, the game strung over his shoulder, and Koot was walking through the gray gloaming for the cabin when that strange sense of _feel_ told him that he was being followed. What was it? Could it be the dog? He whistled--he called it by name. In all the world, there is nothing so ghostly silent, so deathly quiet as the swamp woods, muffled in the snow of midwinter, just at nightfall. By day, the grouse may utter a lonely cluck-cluck, or the snowbuntings chirrup and twitter and flutter from drift to hedge-top, or the saucy jay shriek some scolding impudence. A squirrel may chatter out his noisy protest at some thief for approaching the nuts which lie cached under the rotten leaves at the foot of the tree, or the sun-warmth may set the melting snow showering from the swan's-down branches with a patter like rain. But at nightfall the frost has stilled the drip of thaw. Squirrel and bird are wrapped in the utter quiet of a gray darkness. And the marauders that fill midnight with sharp bark, shrill trembling scream, deep baying over the snow are not yet abroad in the woods. All is shadowless--stillness--a quiet that is audible. Koot turned sharply and whistled and called his dog. There wasn't a sound. Later when the frost began to tighten, sap-frozen twigs would snap. The ice of the swamp, frozen like rock, would by-and-bye crackle with the loud echo of a pistol-shot--crackle--and strike--and break as if artillery were firing a fusillade and infantry shooters answering sharp. By-and-bye, moon and stars and Northern Lights would set the shadows dancing; and the wail of the cougar would be echoed by the lifting scream of its mate. But now, was not a sound, not a motion, not a shadow, only the noiseless stillness, the shadowless quiet, and the _feel_, the _feel_ of something back where the darkness was gathering like a curtain in the bush. It might, of course, be only a silly long-ears loping under cover parallel to the man, looking with rabbit curiosity at this strange newcomer to the swamp home of the animal world. Koot's sense of _feel_ told him that it wasn't a rabbit; but he tried to persuade himself that it was, the way a timid listener persuades herself that creaking floors are burglars. Thinking of his many snares, Koot smiled and walked on. Then it came again, that _feel_ of something coursing behind the underbrush in the gloom of the gathering darkness. Koot stopped short--and listened--and listened--listened to a snow-muffled silence, to a desolating solitude that pressed in on the lonely hunter like the waves of a limitless sea round a drowning man. The sense of _feel_ that is akin to brute instinct gave him the impression of a presence. Reason that is man's told him what it might be and what to do. Was he not carrying the snared rabbits over his shoulder? Some hungry flesh-eater, more bloodthirsty than courageous, was still hunting him for the food on his back and only lacked the courage to attack. Koot drew a steel-trap from his bag. He did not wish to waste a rabbit-skin, so he baited the spring with a piece of fat bacon, smeared the trap, the snow, everything that he had touched with a rabbit-skin, and walked home through the deepening dark to the little log cabin where a sharp "woof-woof" of welcome awaited him. That night, in addition to the skins across the doorway, Koot jammed logs athwart; "to keep the cold out" he told himself. Then he kindled a fire on the rough stone hearth built at one end of the cabin and with the little clay pipe beneath his teeth sat down on the stump chair to broil rabbit. The waste of the rabbit he had placed in traps outside the lodge. Once his dog sprang alert with pricked ears. Man and dog heard the sniff--sniff--sniff of some creature attracted to the cabin by the smell of broiling meat, and now rummaging at its own risk among the traps. And once when Koot was stretched out on a bear-skin before the fire puffing at his pipe-stem, drying his moccasins and listening to the fusillade of frost rending ice and earth, a long low piercing wail rose and fell and died away. Instantly from the forest of the swamp came the answering scream--a lifting tumbling eldritch shriek. "I should have set two traps," says Koot. "They are out in pairs." * * * * * Black is the flag of danger to the rabbit world. The antlered shadows of the naked poplar or the tossing arms of the restless pines, the rabbit knows to be harmless shadows unless their dapple of sun and shade conceals a brindled cat. But a shadow that walks and runs means to the rabbit a foe; so the wary trapper prefers to visit his snares at the hour of the short shadow. It did not surprise the trapper after he had heard the lifting wail from the swamp woods the night before that the bacon in the trap lay untouched. The still hunter that had crawled through the underbrush lured by the dead rabbits over Koot's shoulder wanted rabbit, not bacon. But at the nearest rabbit snare, where a poor dead prisoner had been torn from the twine, were queer padded prints in the snow, not of the rabbit's making. Koot stood looking at the tell-tale mark. The dog's ears were all aprick. So was Koot's sense of _feel_, but he couldn't make this thing out. There was no trail of approach or retreat. The padded print of the thief was in the snow as if the animal had dropped from the sky and gone back to the sky. Koot measured off ten strides from the rifled snare and made a complete circuit round it. The rabbit runway cut athwart the snow circle, but no mark like that shuffling padded print. "It isn't a wolverine, and it isn't a fisher, and it isn't a coyote," Koot told himself. The dog emitted stupid little sharp barks looking everywhere and nowhere as if he felt what he could neither see nor hear. Koot measured off ten strides more from this circuit and again walked completely round the snare. Not even the rabbit runways cut this circle. The white man grows indignant when baffled, the Indian superstitious. The part that was white man in Koot sent him back to the scene in quick jerky steps to scatter poisoned rabbit meat over the snow and set a trap in which he readily sacrificed a full-grown bunny. The part that was Indian set a world of old memories echoing, memories that were as much Koot's nature as the swarth of his skin, memories that Koot's mother and his mother's ancestors held of the fabulous man-eating wolf called the loup-garou, and the great white beaver father of all beavers and all Indians that glided through the swamp mists at night like a ghost, and the monster grisly that stalked with uncouth gambols through the dark devouring benighted hunters. This time when the mongrel uttered his little sharp barkings that said as plainly as a dog could speak, "Something's somewhere! Be careful there--oh!--I'll be _on_ to you in just one minute!" Koot kicked the dog hard with plain anger; and his anger was at himself because his eyes and his ears failed to localize, to _real_-ize, to visualize what those little pricks and shivers tingling down to his finger-tips meant. Then the civilized man came uppermost in Koot and he marched off very matter of fact to the next snare. But if Koot's vision had been as acute as his sense of _feel_ and he had glanced up to the topmost spreading bough of a pine just above the snare, he might have detected lying in a dapple of sun and shade something with large owl eyes, something whose pencilled ear-tufts caught the first crisp of the man's moccasins over the snow-crust. Then the ear-tufts were laid flat back against a furry form hardly differing from the dapple of sun and shade. The big owl eyes closed to a tiny blinking slit that let out never a ray of tell-tale light. The big round body mottled gray and white like the snowy tree widened--stretched---flattened till it was almost a part of the tossing pine bough. Only when the man and dog below the tree had passed far beyond did the pencilled ears blink forward and the owl eyes open and the big body bunch out like a cat with elevated haunches ready to spring. But by-and-bye the man's snares began to tell on the rabbits. They grew scarce and timid. And the thing that had rifled the rabbit snares grew hunger-bold. One day when Koot and the dog were skimming across the billowy drifts, something black far ahead bounced up, caught a bunting on the wing, and with another bounce disappeared among the trees. Koot said one word--"Cat!"--and the dog was off full cry. Ever since he had heard that wailing call from the swamp woods, he had known that there were rival hunters, the keenest of all still hunters among the rabbits. Every day he came upon the trail of their ravages, rifled snares, dead squirrels, torn feathers, even the remains of a fox or a coon. And sometimes he could tell from the printings on the white page that the still hunter had been hunted full cry by coyote or timber-wolf. Against these wolfish foes the cat had one sure refuge always--a tree. The hungry coyote might try to starve the bob-cat into surrender; but just as often, the bob-cat could starve the coyote into retreat; for if a foolish rabbit darted past, what hungry coyote could help giving chase? The tree had even defeated both dog and man that first week when Koot could not find the cat. But a dog in full chase could follow the trail to a tree, and a man could shoot into the tree. As the rabbits decreased, Koot set out many traps for the bob-cats now reckless with hunger, steel-traps and deadfalls and pits and log pens with a live grouse clucking inside. The midwinter lull was a busy season for Koot. Towards March, the sun-glare has produced a crust on the snow that is almost like glass. For Koot on his snow-shoes this had no danger; but for the mongrel that was to draw the pelts back to the fort, the snow crust was more troublesome than glass. Where the crust was thick, with Koot leading the way snow-shoes and dog and toboggan glided over the drifts as if on steel runners. But in midday the crust was soft and the dog went floundering through as if on thin ice, the sharp edge cutting his feet. Koot tied little buckskin sacks round the dog's feet and made a few more rounds of the swamp; but the crust was a sign that warned him it was time to prepare for the marten-hunt. To leave his furs at the fort, he must cross the prairie while it was yet good travelling for the dog. Dismantling the little cabin, Koot packed the pelts on the toboggan, roped all tightly so there could be no spill from an upset, and putting the mongrel in the traces, led the way for the fort one night when the snow-crust was hard as ice. * * * * * The moon came up over the white fields in a great silver disk. Between the running man and the silver moon moved black skulking forms--the foragers on their night hunt. Sometimes a fox loped over a drift, or a coyote rose ghostly from the snow, or timber-wolves dashed from wooded ravines and stopped to look till Koot fired a shot that sent them galloping. In the dark that precedes daylight, Koot camped beside a grove of poplars--that is, he fed the dog a fish, whittled chips to make a fire and boil some tea for himself, then digging a hole in the drift with his snow-shoe, laid the sleigh to windward and cuddled down between bear-skins with the dog across his feet. Daylight came in a blinding glare of sunshine and white snow. The way was untrodden. Koot led at an ambling run, followed by the dog at a fast trot, so that the trees were presently left far on the offing and the runners were out on the bare white prairie with never a mark, tree or shrub, to break the dazzling reaches of sunshine and snow from horizon to horizon. A man who is breaking the way must keep his eyes on the ground; and the ground was so blindingly bright that Koot began to see purple and yellow and red patches dancing wherever he looked on the snow. He drew his capote over his face to shade his eyes; but the pace and the sun grew so hot that he was soon running again unprotected from the blistering light. Towards the afternoon, Koot knew that something had gone wrong. Some distance ahead, he saw a black object against the snow. On the unbroken white, it looked almost as big as a barrel and seemed at least a mile away. Lowering his eyes, Koot let out a spurt of speed, and the next thing he knew he had tripped his snow-shoe and tumbled. Scrambling up, he saw that a stick had caught the web of his snow-shoe; but where was the barrel for which he had been steering? There wasn't any barrel at all--the barrel was this black stick which hadn't been fifty yards away. Koot rubbed his eyes and noticed that black and red and purple patches were all over the snow. The drifts were heaving and racing after each other like waves on an angry sea. He did not go much farther that day; for every glint of snow scorched his eyes like a hot iron. He camped at the first bluff and made a poultice of cold tea leaves which he laid across his blistered face for the night. Any one who knows the tortures of snow-blindness will understand why Koot did not sleep that night. It was a long night to the trapper, such a very long night that the sun had been up for two hours before its heat burned through the layers of his capote into his eyes and roused him from sheer pain. Then he sprang up, put up an ungantled hand and knew from the heat of the sun that it was broad day. But when he took the bandage off his eyes, all he saw was a black curtain one moment, rockets and wheels and dancing patches of purple fire the next. Koot was no fool to become panicky and feeble from sudden peril. He knew that he was snow-blind on a pathless prairie at least two days away from the fort. To wait until the snow-blindness had healed would risk the few provisions that he had and perhaps expose him to a blizzard. The one rule of the trapper's life is to go ahead, let the going cost what it may; and drawing his capote over his face, Koot went on. The heat of the sun told him the directions; and when the sun went down, the crooning west wind, bringing thaw and snow-crust, was his compass. And when the wind fell, the tufts of shrub-growth sticking through the snow pointed to the warm south. Now he tied himself to his dog; and when he camped beside trees into which he had gone full crash before he knew they were there, he laid his gun beside the dog and sleigh. Going out the full length of his cord, he whittled the chips for his fire and found his way back by the cord. On the second day of his blindness, no sun came up; nor could he guide himself by the feel of the air, for there was no wind. It was one of the dull dead gray days that precedes storms. How would he get his directions to set out? Memory of last night's travel might only lead him on the endless circling of the lost. Koot dug his snow-shoe to the base of a tree, found moss, felt it growing on only one side of the tree, knew that side must be the shady cold side, and so took his bearings from what he thought was the north. Koot said the only time that he knew any fear was on the evening of the last day. The atmosphere boded storm. The fort lay in a valley. Somewhere between Koot and that valley ran a trail. What if he had crossed the trail? What if the storm came and wiped out the trail before he could reach the fort? All day, whisky-jack and snow-bunting and fox scurried from his presence; but this night in the dusk when he felt forward on his hands and knees for the expected trail, the wild creatures seemed to grow bolder. He imagined that he felt the coyotes closer than on the other nights. And then the fearful thought came that he might have passed the trail unheeding. Should he turn back? Afraid to go forward or back, Koot sank on the ground, unhooded his face and tried to _force_ his eyes to see. The pain brought biting salty tears. It was quite useless. Either the night was very dark, or the eyes were very blind. And then white man or Indian--who shall say which came uppermost?--Koot cried out to the Great Spirit. In mockery back came the saucy scold of a jay. But that was enough for Koot--it was prompt answer to his prayer; for where do the jays quarrel and fight and flutter but on the trail? Running eagerly forward, the trapper felt the ground. The rutted marks of a "jumper" sleigh cut the hard crust. With a shout, Koot headed down the sloping path to the valley where lay the fur post, the low hanging smoke of whose chimneys his eager nostrils had already sniffed. CHAPTER XVI OTHER LITTLE ANIMALS BESIDES WAHBOOS THE RABBIT--BEING AN ACCOUNT OF MUSQUASH THE MUSK-RAT, SIKAK THE SKUNK, WENUSK THE BADGER, AND OTHERS I _Musquash the Musk-rat_ Every chapter in the trapper's life is not a "stunt." There are the uneventful days when the trapper seems to do nothing but wander aimlessly through the woods over the prairie along the margin of rush-grown marshy ravines where the stagnant waters lap lazily among the flags, though a feathering of ice begins to rim the quiet pools early in autumn. Unless he is duck-shooting down there in the hidden slough where is a great "quack-quack" of young teals, the trapper may not uncase his gun. For a whole morning he lies idly in the sunlight beside some river where a roundish black head occasionally bobs up only to dive under when it sees the man. Or else he sits by the hour still as a statue on the mossy log of a swamp where a long wriggling--wriggling trail marks the snaky motion of some creature below the amber depths. To the city man whose days are regulated by clockwork and electric trams with the ceaseless iteration of gongs and "step fast there!" such a life seems the type of utter laziness. But the best-learned lessons are those imbibed unconsciously and the keenest pleasures come unsought. Perhaps when the great profit-and-loss account of the hereafter is cast up, the trapper may be found to have a greater sum total of happiness, of usefulness, of real knowledge than the multi-millionaire whose life was one buzzing round of drive and worry and grind. Usually the busy city man has spent nine or ten of the most precious years of his youth in study and travel to learn other men's thoughts for his own life's work. The trapper spends an idle month or two of each year wandering through a wild world learning the technic of his craft at first hand. And the trapper's learning is all done leisurely, calmly, without bluster or drive, just as nature herself carries on the work of her realm. On one of these idle days when the trapper seems to be slouching so lazily over the prarie comes a whiff of dank growth on the crisp autumn air. Like all wild creatures travelling up-wind, the trapper at once heads a windward course. It comes again, just a whiff as if the light green musk-plant were growing somewhere on a dank bank. But ravines are not dank in the clear fall days; and by October the musk-plant has wilted dry. This is a fresh living odour with all the difference between it and dead leaves that there is between June roses and the dried dust of a rose jar. The wind falls. He may not catch the faintest odour of swamp growth again, but he knows there must be stagnant water somewhere in these prairie ravines; and a sense that is part _feel_, part intuition, part inference from what the wind told of the marsh smell, leads his footsteps down the browned hillside to the soggy bottom of a slough. A covey of teals--very young, or they would not be so bold--flackers up, wings about with a clatter, then settles again a space farther ahead when the ducks see that the intruder remains so still. The man parts the flags, sits down on a log motionless as the log itself--and watches! Something else had taken alarm from the crunch of the hunter's moccasins through the dry reeds; for a wriggling trail is there, showing where a creature has dived below and is running among the wet under-tangle. Not far off on another log deep in the shade of the highest flags solemnly perches a small prairie-owl. It is almost the russet shade of the dead log. It hunches up and blinks stupidly at all this noise in the swamp. "Oho," thinks the trapper, "so I've disturbed a still hunt," and he sits if anything stiller than ever, only stooping to lay his gun down and pick up a stone. At first there is nothing but the quacking of the ducks at the far end of the swamp. A lapping of the water against the brittle flags and a water-snake has splashed away to some dark haunt. The whisky-jack calls out officious note from a topmost bough, as much as to say: "It's all right! Me--me!--I'm always there!--I've investigated!--it's all right!--he's quite harmless!" And away goes the jay on business of state among the gopher mounds. Then the interrupted activity of the swamp is resumed, scolding mother ducks reading the riot act to young teals, old geese coming craning and craning their long necks to drink at the water's edge, lizards and water-snakes splashing down the banks, midgets and gnats sunning themselves in clouds during the warmth of the short autumn days, with a feel in the air as of crisp ripeness, drying fruit, the harvest-home of the year. In all the prairie region north and west of Minnesota--the Indian land of "sky-coloured water"--the sloughs lie on the prairie under a crystal sky that turns pools to silver. On this almost motionless surface are mirrored as if by an etcher's needle the sky above, feathered wind clouds, flag stems, surrounding cliffs, even the flight of birds on wing. As the mountains stand for majesty, the prairies for infinity, so the marsh lands are types of repose. But it is not a lifeless repose. Barely has the trapper settled himself when a little sharp black nose pokes up through the water at the fore end of the wriggling trail. A round rat-shaped head follows this twitching proboscis. Then a brownish earth-coloured body swims with a wriggling sidelong movement for the log, where roosts the blinking owlet. A little noiseless leap! and a dripping musk-rat with long flat tail and webbed feet scrabbles up the moss-covered tree towards the stupid bird. Another moment, and the owl would have toppled into the water with a pair of sharp teeth clutched to its throat. Then the man shies a well-aimed stone! Splash! Flop! The owl is flapping blindly through the flags to another hiding-place, while the wriggle-wriggle of the waters tells where the marsh-rat has darted away under the tangled growth. From other idle days like these, the trapper has learned that musk-rats are not solitary but always to be found in colonies. Now if the musk-rat were as wise as the beaver to whom the Indians say he is closely akin, that alarmed marauder would carry the news of the man-intruder to the whole swamp. Perhaps if the others remembered from the prod of a spear or the flash of a gun what man's coming meant, that news would cause terrified flight of every musk-rat from the marsh. But musquash--little beaver, as the Indians call him--is not so wise, not so timid, not so easily frightened from his home as _amisk_,[44] the beaver. In fact, nature's provision for the musk-rat's protection seems to have emboldened the little rodent almost to the point of stupidity. His skin is of that burnt umber shade hardly to be distinguished from the earth. At one moment his sharp nose cuts the water, at the next he is completely hidden in the soft clay of the under-tangle; and while you are straining for a sight of him through the pool, he has scurried across a mud bank to his burrow. Hunt him as they may, men and boys and ragged squaws wading through swamps knee-high, yet after a century of hunting from the Chesapeake and the Hackensack to the swamps of "sky-coloured water" on the far prairie, little musquash still yields 6,000,000 pelts a year with never a sign of diminishing. A hundred years ago, in 1788, so little was musk-rat held in esteem as a fur, the great North-West Company of Canada sent out only 17,000 or 20,000 skins a year. So rapidly did musk-rat grow in favour as a lining and imitation fur that in 1888 it was no unusual thing for 200,000 musk-rat-skins to be brought to a single Hudson's Bay Company fort. In Canada the climate compels the use of heavier furs than in the United States, so that the all-fur coat is in greater demand than the fur-lined; but in Canada, not less than 2,000,000 musk-rat furs are taken every year. In the United States the total is close on 4,000,000. In one city alone, St. Paul, 50,000 musk-rat-skins are cured every year. A single stretch of good marsh ground has yielded that number of skins year after year without a sign of the hunt telling on the prolific little musquash. Multiply 50,000 by prices varying from 7 cents to 75 cents and the value of the musk-rat-hunt becomes apparent. What is the secret of the musk-rat's survival while the strong creatures of the chase like buffalo and timber-wolf have been almost exterminated? In the first place, settlers can't farm swamps; so the musk-rat thrives just as well in the swamps of New Jersey to-day as when the first white hunter set foot in America. Then musquash lives as heartily on owls and frogs and snakes as on water mussels and lily-pads. If one sort of food fails, the musk-rat has as omnivorous powers of digestion as the bear and changes his diet. Then he can hide as well in water as on land. And most important of all, musk-rat's family is as numerous as a cat's, five to nine rats in a litter, and two or three litters a year. These are the points that make for little musquash's continuance in spite of all that shot and trap can do. Having discovered what the dank whiff, half animal, half vegetable, signified, the trapper sets about finding the colony. He knows there is no risk of the little still-hunter carrying alarm to the other musk-rats. If he waits, it is altogether probable that the fleeing musk-rat will come up and swim straight for the colony. On the other hand, the musk-rat may have scurried overland through the rushes. Besides, the trapper observed tracks, tiny leaf-like tracks as of little webbed feet, over the soft clay of the marsh bank. These will lead to the colony, so the trapper rises and parting the rushes not too noisily, follows the little footprint along the margin of the swamp. Here the track is lost at the narrow ford of an inflowing stream, but across the creek lies a fallen poplar littered with--what? The feathers and bones of a dead owlet. Balancing himself--how much better the moccasins cling than boots!--the trapper crosses the log and takes up the trail through the rushes. But here musquash has dived off into the water for the express purpose of throwing a possible pursuer off the scent. But the tracks betrayed which way musquash was travelling; so the trapper goes on, knowing if he does not find the little haycock houses on this side, he can cross to the other. [Illustration: Fort MacPherson, now the most northerly post of the Hudson's Bay Company, beyond tree line; hence the houses are built of imported timber, with thatch roofs.] Presently, he almost stumbles over what sent the musk-rat diving just at this place. It is the wreck of a wolverine's ravage--a little wattled dome-shaped house exposed to that arch-destroyer by the shrinking of the swamp. So shallow has the water become, that a wolverine has easily waded and leaped clear across to the roof of the musk-rat's house. A beaver-dam two feet thick cannot resist the onslaught of the wolverine's claws; how much less will this round nest of reeds and grass and mosses cemented together with soft clay? The roof has been torn from the domed house, leaving the inside bare and showing plainly the domestic economy of the musk-rat home, smooth round walls inside, a floor or gallery of sticks and grasses, where the family had lived in an air chamber above the water, rough walls below the water-line and two or three little openings that must have been safely under water before the swamp receded. Perhaps a mussel or lily bulb has been left in the deserted larder. From the oozy slime below the mid-floor to the topmost wall will not measure more than two or three feet. If the swamp had not dried here, the stupid little musk-rats that escaped the ravager's claws would probably have come back to the wrecked house, built up the torn roof, and gone on living in danger till another wolverine came. But a water doorway the musk-rat must have. That he has learned by countless assaults on his house-top, so when the marsh retreated the musk-rats abandoned their house. All about the deserted house are runways, tiny channels across oozy peninsulas and islands of the musk-rat's diminutive world such as a very small beaver might make. The trapper jumps across to a dry patch or mound in the midst of the slimy bottom and prods an earth bank with a stick. It is as he thought--hollow; a musk-rat burrow or gallery in the clay wall where the refugees from this house had scuttled from the wolverine. But now all is deserted. The water has shrunk--that was the danger signal to the musk-rat; and there had been a grand moving to a deeper part of the swamp. Perhaps, after all, this is a very old house not used since last winter. Going back to the bank, the trapper skirts through the crush of brittle rushes round the swamp. Coming sharply on deeper water, a dank, stagnant bayou, heavy with the smell of furry life, the trapper pushes aside the flags, peers out and sees what resembles a prairie-dog town on water--such a number of wattled houses that they had shut in the water as with a dam. Too many flags and willows lie over the colony for a glimpse of the tell-tale wriggling trail across the water; but from the wet tangle of grass and moss comes an oozy pattering. If it were winter, the trapper could proceed as he would against a beaver colony, staking up the outlet from the swamp, trenching the ice round the different houses, breaking open the roofs and penning up any fugitives in their own bank burrows till he and his dog and a spear could clear out the gallery. But in winter there is more important work than hunting musk-rat. Musk-rat-trapping is for odd days before the regular hunt. Opening the sack which he usually carries on his back, the trapper draws out three dozen small traps no larger than a rat or mouse trap. Some of these he places across the runways without any bait; for the musk-rat must pass this way. Some he smears with strong-smelling pomatum. Some he baits with carrot or apple. Others he does not bait at all, simply laying them on old logs where he knows the owlets roost by day. But each of the traps--bait or no bait--he attaches to a stake driven into the water so that the prisoner will be held under when he plunges to escape till he is drowned. Otherwise, he would gnaw his foot free of the trap and disappear in a burrow. If the marsh is large, there will be more than one musk-rat colony. Having exhausted his traps on the first, the trapper lies in wait at the second. When the moon comes up over the water, there is a great splashing about the musk-rat nests; for autumn is the time for house-building and the musk-rats work at night. If the trapper is an Eastern man, he will wade in as they do in New Jersey; but if he is a type of the Western hunter, he lies on the log among the rushes, popping a shot at every head that appears in the moonlit water. His dog swims and dives for the quarry. By the time the stupid little musk-rats have taken alarm and hidden, the man has twenty or thirty on the bank. Going home, he empties and resets the traps. Thirty marten traps that yield six martens do well. Thirty musk-rat traps are expected to give thirty musk-rats. Add to that the twenty shot, and what does the day's work represent? Here are thirty skins of a coarse light reddish hair, such as lines the poor man's overcoat. These will sell for from 7 to 15 cents each. They may go roughly for $3 at the fur post. Here are ten of the deeper brown shades, with long soft fur that lines a lady's cloak. They are fine enough to pass for mink with a little dyeing, or imitation seal if they are properly plucked. These will bring 25 or 30 cents--say $2.50 in all. But here are ten skins, deep, silky, almost black, for which a Russian officer will pay high prices, skins that will go to England, and from England to Paris, and from Paris to St. Petersburg with accelerating cost mark till the Russian grandee is paying $1 or more for each pelt. The trapper will ask 30, 40, 50 cents for these, making perhaps $3.50 in all. Then this idle fellow's day has totaled up to $9, not a bad day's work, considering he did not go to the university for ten years to learn his craft, did not know what wear and tear and drive meant as he worked, did not spend more than a few cents' worth of shot. But for his musk-rat-pelts the man will not get $9 in coin unless he lives very near the great fur markets. He will get powder and clothing and food and tobacco whose first cost has been increased a hundredfold by ship rates and railroad rates, by keel-boat freight and pack-horse expenses and _portage_ charges past countless rapids. But he will get all that he needs, all that he wants, all that his labour is worth, this "lazy vagabond" who spends half his time idling in the sun. Of how many other men can that be said? But what of the ruthless slaughter among the little musk-rats? Does humanity not revolt at the thought? Is this trapping not after all brutal butchery? Animal kindliness--if such a thing exists among musk-rats--could hardly protest against the slaughter, seeing the musk-rats themselves wage as ruthless a war against water-worm and owlet as man wages against musk-rats. It is the old question, should animal life be sacrificed to preserve human life? To that question there is only one answer. Linings for coats are more important life-savers than all the humane societies of the world put together. It is probable that the first thing the prehistoric man did to preserve his own life when he realized himself was to slay some destructive animal and appropriate its coat. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 44: _Amisk_, the Chippewyan, _umisk_, the Cree, with much the same sound. A well-known trader told the writer that he considered the variation in Indian language more a matter of dialect than difference in meaning, and that while he could speak only Ojibway he never had any difficulty in understanding and being understood by Cree, Chippewyan, and Assiniboine. For instance, rabbit, "the little white chap," is _wahboos_ on the Upper Ottawa, _wapus_ on the Saskatchewan, _wapauce_ on the MacKenzie.] II _Sikak the Skunk_ Sikak the skunk it is who supplies the best imitations of sable. But cleanse the fur never so well, on a damp day it still emits the heavy sickening odour that betrays its real nature. That odour is sikak's invincible defence against the white trapper. The hunter may follow the little four-abreast galloping footprints that lead to a hole among stones or to rotten logs, but long before he has reached the nesting-place of his quarry comes a stench against which white blood is powerless. Or the trapper may find an unexpected visitor in one of the pens which he has dug for other animals--a little black creature the shape of a squirrel and the size of a cat with white stripings down his back and a bushy tail. It is then a case of a quick deadly shot, or the man will be put to rout by an odour that will pollute the air for miles around and drive him off that section of the hunting-field. The cuttlefish is the only other creature that possesses as powerful means of defence of a similar nature, one drop of the inky fluid which it throws out to hide it from pursuers burning the fisherman's eyes like scalding acid. As far as white trappers are concerned, sikak is only taken by the chance shots of idle days. Yet the Indian hunts the skunk apparently utterly oblivious of the smell. Traps, poison, deadfalls, pens are the Indian weapons against the skunk; and a Cree will deliberately skin and stretch a pelt in an atmosphere that is blue with what is poison to the white man. The only case I ever knew of white trappers hunting the skunk was of three men on the North Saskatchewan. One was an Englishman who had been long in the service of the Hudson's Bay Company and knew all the animals of the north. The second was the guide, a French-Canadian, and the third a Sandy, fresh "frae oot the land o' heather." The men were wakened one night by the noise of some animal scrambling through the window into their cabin and rummaging in the dark among the provisions. The Frenchman sprang for a light and Sandy got hold of his gun. "Losh, mon, it's a wee bit beastie a' strip't black and white wi' a tail like a so'dier's cocade!" That information brought the Englishman to his feet howling, "Don't shoot it! Don't shoot it! Leave that thing alone, I tell you!" But Sandy being a true son of Scotia with a Presbyterian love of argument wished to debate the question. "An' what for wu'd a leave it eating a' the oatmeal? I'll no leave it rampagin' th' eatables--I wull be pokin' it oot!--shoo!--shoo!" At that the Frenchman flung down the light and bolted for the door, followed by the English trader cursing between set teeth that before "that blundering blockhead had argued the matter" something would happen. Something did happen. Sandy came through the door with such precipitate haste that the topmost beam brought his head a mighty thwack, roaring out at the top of his voice that the deil was after him for a' the sins that iver he had committed since he was born. III _Wenusk the Badger_ Badger, too, is one of the furs taken by the trapper on idle days. East of St. Paul and Winnipeg, the fur is comparatively unknown, or if known, so badly prepared that it is scarcely recognisable for badger. This is probably owing to differences in climate. Badger in its perfect state is a long soft fur, resembling wood marten, with deep overhairs almost the length of one's hand and as dark as marten, with underhairs as thick and soft and yielding as swan's-down, shading in colour from fawn to grayish white. East of the Mississippi, there is too much damp in the atmosphere for such a long soft fur. Consequently specimens of badger seen in the East must either be sheared of the long overhairs or left to mat and tangle on the first rainy day. In New York, Quebec, Montreal, and Toronto--places where the finest furs should be on sale if anywhere--I have again and again asked for badger, only to be shown a dull matted short fawnish fur not much superior to cheap dyed furs. It is not surprising there is no demand for such a fur and Eastern dealers have stopped ordering it. In the North-West the most common mist during the winter is a frost mist that is more a snow than a rain, so there is little injury to furs from moisture. Here the badger is prime, long, thick, and silky, almost as attractive as ermine if only it were enhanced by as high a price. Whether badger will ever grow in favour like musk-rat or 'coon, and play an important part in the returns of the fur exporters, is doubtful. The world takes its fashions from European capitals; and European capitals are too damp for badger to be in fashion with them. Certainly, with the private dealers of the North and West, badger is yearly becoming more important. Like the musk-rat, badger is prime in the autumn. Wherever the hunting-grounds of the animals are, there will the hunting-grounds of the trapper be. Badgers run most where gophers sit sunning themselves on the clay mounds, ready to bolt down to their subterranean burrows on the first approach of an enemy. Eternal enemies these two are, gopher and badger, though they both live in ground holes, nest their lairs with grasses, run all summer and sleep all winter, and alike prey on the creatures smaller than themselves--mice, moles, and birds. The gopher, or ground squirrel, is smaller than the wood squirrel, while the badger is larger than a Manx cat, with a shape that varies according to the exigencies of the situation. Normally, he is a flattish, fawn-coloured beast, with a turtle-shaped body, little round head, and small legs with unusually strong claws. Ride after the badger across the prairie and he stretches out in long, lithe shape, resembling a baby cougar, turning at every pace or two to snap at your horse, then off again at a hulking scramble of astonishing speed. Pour water down his burrow to compel him to come up or down, and he swells out his body, completely filling the passage, so that his head, which is downward, is in dry air, while his hind quarters alone are in the water. In captivity the badger is a business-like little body, with very sharp teeth, of which his keeper must beware, and some of the tricks of the skunk, but inclined, on the whole, to mind his affairs if you will mind yours. Once a day regularly every afternoon out of his lair he emerges for the most comical sorts of athletic exercises. Hour after hour he will trot diagonally--because that gives him the longest run--from corner to corner of his pen, rearing up on his hind legs as he reaches one corner, rubbing the back of his head, then down again and across to the other corner, where he repeats the performance. There can be no reason for the badger doing this, unless it was his habit in the wilds when he trotted about leaving dumb signs on mud banks and brushwood by which others of his kind might know where to find him at stated times. Sunset is the time when he is almost sure to be among the gopher burrows. In vain the saucy jay shrieks out a warning to the gophers. Of all the prairie creatures, they are the stupidest, the most beset with curiosity to know what that jay's shriek may mean. Sunning themselves in the last rays of daylight, the gophers perch on their hind legs to wait developments of what the jay announced. But the badger's fur and the gopher mounds are almost the same colour. He has pounced on some playful youngsters before the rest see him. Then there is a wild scuttling down to the depths of the burrows. That, too, is vain; for the badger begins ripping up the clay bank like a grisly, down--down--in pursuit, two, three, five feet, even twelve. Then is seen one of the most curious freaks in all the animal life of the prairie. The underground galleries of the gophers connect and lead up to different exits. As the furious badger comes closer and closer on the cowering gophers, the little cowards lose heart, dart up the galleries to open doors, and try to escape through the grass of the prairie. But no sooner is the badger hard at work than a gray form seems to rise out of the earth, a coyote who had been slinking to the rear all the while; and as the terrified gophers scurry here, scurry there, coyote's white teeth snap!--snap! He is here--there--everywhere--pouncing--jumping--having the fun of his life, gobbling gophers as cats catch mice. Down in the bottom of the burrow, the badger may get half a dozen poor cooped huddling prisoners; but the coyote up on the prairie has devoured a whole colony. Do these two, badger and coyote, consciously hunt together? Some old trappers vow they do--others just as vehemently that they don't. The fact remains that wherever the badger goes gopher-hunting on an unsettled prairie, there the coyote skulks reaping reward of all the badger's work. The coincidence is no stranger than the well-known fact that sword-fish and thrasher--two different fish--always league together to attack the whale. One thing only can save the gopher colony, and that is the gun barrel across yon earth mound where a trapper lies in wait for the coming of the badger. IV _The 'Coon_ Sir Alexander MacKenzie reported that in 1798 the North-West Company sent out only 100 raccoon from the fur country. Last year the city of St. Paul alone cured 115,000 'coon-skins. What brought about the change? Simply an appreciation of the qualities of 'coon, which combines the greatest warmth with the lightest weight and is especially adapted for a cold climate and constant wear. What was said of badger applies with greater force to 'coon. The 'coon in the East is associated in one's mind with cabbies, in the West with fashionably dressed men and women. And there is just as wide a difference in the quality of the fur as in the quality of the people. The cabbies' 'coon coat is a rough yellow fur with red stripes. The Westerner's 'coon is a silky brown fur with black stripes. One represents the fall hunt of men and boys round hollow logs, the other the midwinter hunt of a professional trapper in the Far North. A dog usually bays the 'coon out of hiding in the East. Tiny tracks, like a child's hand, tell the Northern hunter where to set his traps. Wahboos the rabbit, musquash the musk-rat, sikak the skunk, wenusk the badger, and the common 'coon--these are the little chaps whose hunt fills the idle days of the trapper's busy life. At night, before the rough stone hearth which he has built in his cabin, he is still busy by fire-light preparing their pelts. Each skin must be stretched and cured. Turning the skin fur side in, the trapper pushes into the pelt a wedge-shaped slab of spliced cedar. Into the splice he shoves another wedge of wood which he hammers in, each blow widening the space and stretching the skin. All pelts are stretched fur in but the fox. Tacking the stretched skin on a flat board, the trapper hangs it to dry till he carries all to the fort; unless, indeed, he should need a garment for himself--cap, coat, or gantlets--in which case he takes out a square needle and passes his evenings like a tailor, sewing. CHAPTER XVII THE RARE FURS--HOW THE TRAPPER TAKES SAKWASEW THE MINK, NEKIK THE OTTER, WUCHAK THE FISHER, AND WAPISTAN THE MARTEN I _Sakwasew the Mink_ There are other little chaps with more valuable fur than musquash, whose skin seldom attains higher honour than inside linings, and wahboos, whose snowy coat is put to the indignity of imitating ermine with a dotting of black cat for the ermine's jet tip. There are mink and otter and fisher and fox and ermine and sable, all little fellows with pelts worth their weight in coin of the realm. On one of those idle days when the trapper seems to be doing nothing but lying on his back in the sun, he has witnessed a curious, but common, battle in pantomime between bird and beast. A prairie-hawk circles and drops, lifts and wheels again with monotonous silent persistence above the swamp. What quarry does he seek, this lawless forager of the upper airs still hunting a hidden nook of the low prairie? If he were out purely for exercise, like the little badger when it goes rubbing the back of its head from post to post, there would be a buzzing of wings and shrill lonely callings to an unseen mate. But the circling hawk is as silent as the very personification of death. Apparently he can't make up his mind for the death-drop on some rat or frog down there in the swamp. The trapper notices that the hawk keeps circling directly above the place where the waters of the swamp tumble from the ravine in a small cataract to join a lower river. He knows, too, from the rich orange of the plumage that the hawk is young. An older fellow would not be advertising his intentions in this fashion. Besides, an older hawk would have russet-gray feathering. Is the rascally young hawk meditating a clutch of talons round some of the unsuspecting trout that usually frequent the quiet pools below a waterfall. Or does he aim at bigger game? A young hawk is bold with the courage that has not yet learned the wisdom of caution. That is why there are so many more of the brilliant young red hawks in our museums than old grizzled gray veterans whose craft circumvents the specimen hunter's cunning. Now the trapper comes to have as keen a sense of _feel_ for all the creatures of the wilds as the creatures of the wilds have for man; so he shifts his position that he may find what is attracting the hawk. Down on the pebbled beach below the waterfalls lies an auburn bundle of fur, about the size of a very long, slim, short-legged cat, still as a stone--some member of the weasel family gorged torpid with fish, stretched out full length to sleep in the sun. To sleep, ah, yes, and as the Danish prince said, "perchance to dream"; for all the little fellows of river and prairie take good care never to sleep where they are exposed to their countless enemies. This sleep of the weasel arouses the man's suspicion. The trapper draws out his field-glass. The sleeper is a mink, and its sleep is a sham with beady, red eyes blinking a deal too lively for real death. Why does it lie on its back rigid and straight as if it were dead with all four tiny paws clutched out stiff? The trapper scans the surface of the swamp to see if some foolish musk-rat is swimming dangerously near the sleeping mink. Presently the hawk circles lower--lower!--Drop, straight as a stone! Its talons are almost in the mink's body, when of a sudden the sleeper awakens--awakens--with a leap of the four stiff little feet and a darting spear-thrust of snapping teeth deep in the neck of the hawk! At first the hawk rises tearing furiously at the clinging mink with its claws. The wings sag. Down bird and beast fall. Over they roll on the sandy beach, hawk and mink, over and over with a thrashing of the hawk's wings to beat the treacherous little vampire off. Now the blood-sucker is on top clutching--clutching! Now the bird flounders up craning his neck from the death-grip. Then the hawk falls on his back. His wings are prone. They cease to flutter. Running to the bank the trapper is surprised to see the little blood-sucker making off with the prey instead of deserting it as all creatures akin to the weasel family usually do. That means a family of mink somewhere near, to be given their first lesson in bird-hunting, in mink-hawking by the body of this poor, dead, foolish gyrfalcon. By a red mark here, by a feather there, crushed grass as of something dragged, a little webbed footprint on the wet clay, a tiny marking of double dots where the feet have crossed a dry stone, the trapper slowly takes up the trail of the mink. Mink are not prime till the late fall. Then the reddish fur assumes the shades of the russet grasses where they run until the white of winter covers the land. Then--as if nature were to exact avengement for all the red slaughter the mink has wrought during the rest of the year--his coat becomes dark brown, almost black, the very shade that renders him most conspicuous above snow to all the enemies of the mink world. But while the trapper has no intention of destroying what would be worthless now but will be valuable in the winter, it is not every day that even a trapper has a chance to trail a mink back to its nest and see the young family. But suddenly the trail stops. Here is a sandy patch with some tumbled stones under a tangle of grasses and a rivulet not a foot away. Ah--there it is--a nest or lair, a tiny hole almost hidden by the rushes! But the nest seems empty. Fast as the trapper has come, the mink came faster and hid her family. To one side, the hawk had been dropped among the rushes. The man pokes a stick in the lair but finds nothing. Putting in his hand, he is dragging out bones, feathers, skeleton musk-rats, putrid frogs, promiscuous remnants of other quarries brought to the burrow by the mink, when a little cattish _s-p-i-t!_ almost touches his hand. His palm closes over something warm, squirming, smaller than a kitten with very downy fur, on a soft mouse-like skin, eyes that are still blind and a tiny mouth that neither meows nor squeaks, just _spits!--spits!--spits!_--in impotent viperish fury. All the other minklets, the mother had succeeded in hiding under the grasses, but somehow this one had been left. Will he take it home and try the experiment of rearing a young mink with a family of kittens? The trapper calls to mind other experiments. There was the little beaver that chewed up his canoe and gnawed a hole of escape through the door. There were the three little bob-cats left in the woods behind his cabin last year when he refrained from setting out traps and tied up his dog to see if he could not catch the whole family, mother and kittens, for an Eastern museum. Furtively at first, the mother had come to feed her kittens. Then the man had put out rugs to keep the kittens warm and lain in wait for the mother; but no sooner did she see her offspring comfortably cared for, than she deserted them entirely, evidently acting on the proverb that the most gracious enemy is the most dangerous, or else deciding that the kits were so well off that she was not needed. Adopting the three little wild-cats, the trapper had reared them past blind-eyes, past colic and dumps and all the youthful ills to which live kittens are heirs, when trouble began. The longing for the wilds came. Even catnip green and senna tea boiled can't cure that. So keenly did the gipsy longing come to one little bob that he perished escaping to the woods by way of the chimney flue. The second little bob succeeded in escaping through a parchment stop-gap that served the trapper as a window. And the third bobby dealt such an ill-tempered gash to the dog's nose that the combat ended in instant death for the cat. Thinking over these experiments, the trapper wisely puts the mink back in the nest with words which it would have been well for that litle ball of down to have understood. He told it he would come back for it next winter and to be sure to have its best black coat on. For the little first-year minks wear dark coats, almost as fine as Russian sable. Yes--he reflects, poking it back to the hole and retreating quickly so that the mother will return--better leave it till the winter; for wasn't it Koot who put a mink among his kittens, only to have the little viper set on them with tooth and claw as soon as its eyes opened? Also mink are bad neighbours to a poultry-yard. Forty chickens in a single night will the little mink destroy, not for food but--to quote man's words--for the zest of the sport. The mink, you must remember, like other pot-hunters, can boast of a big bag. The trapper did come back next fall. It was when he was ranging all the swamp-lands for beaver-dams. Swamp lands often mean beaver-dams; and trappers always note what stops the current of a sluggish stream. Frequently it is a beaver colony built across a valley in the mountains, or stopping up the outlet of a slough. The trapper was sleeping under his canoe on the banks of the river where the swamp tumbled out from the ravine. Before retiring to what was a boat by day and a bed by night, he had set out a fish net and some loose lines--which the flow of the current would keep in motion--below the waterfall. Carelessly, next day, he threw the fish-heads among the stones. The second morning he found such a multitude of little tracks dotting the rime of the hoar frost that he erected a tent back from the waterfalls, and decided to stay trapping there till the winter. The fish-heads were no longer thrown away. They were left among the stones in small steel-traps weighted with other stones, or attached to a loose stick that would impede flight. And if the poor gyrfalcon could have seen the mink held by the jaws of a steel-trap, hissing, snarling, breaking its teeth on the iron, spitting out all the rage of its wicked nature, the bird would have been avenged. And as winter deepened, the quality of minks taken from the traps became darker, silkier, crisper, almost brown black in some of the young, but for light fur on the under lip. The Indians say that sakwasew the mink would sell his family for a fish, and as long as fish lay among the stones, the trapper gathered his harvest of fur: reddish mink that would be made into little neck ruffs and collar pieces, reddish brown mink that would be sewed into costly coats and cloaks, rare brownish black mink that would be put into the beautiful flat scarf collars almost as costly as a full coat. And so the mink-hunt went on merrily for the man till the midwinter lull came at Christmas. For that year the mink-hunt was over. II _Nekik the Otter_ Sakwasew was not the only fisher at the pool below the falls. On one of those idle days when the trapper sat lazily by the river side, a round head slightly sunburned from black to russet had hobbled up to the surface of the water, peered sharply at the man sitting so still, paddled little flipper-like feet about, then ducked down again. Motionless as the mossed log under him sits the man; and in a moment up comes the little black head again, round as a golf ball, about the size of a very large cat, followed by three other little bobbing heads--a mother otter teaching her babies to dive and swim and duck from the river surface to the burrows below the water along the river bank. Perhaps the trapper has found a dead fish along this very bank with only the choice portions of the body eaten--a sure sign that nekik the otter, the little epicure of the water world, has been fishing at this river. With a scarcely perceptible motion, the man turns his head to watch the swimmers. Instantly, down they plunge, mother and babies, to come to the surface again higher up-stream, evidently working up-current like the beaver in spring for a glorious frolic in the cold clear waters of the upper sources. At one place on the sandy beach they all wade ashore. The man utters a slight "Hiss!" Away they scamper, the foolish youngsters, landward instead of to the safe water as the hesitating mother would have them do, all the little feet scrambling over the sand with the funny short steps of a Chinese lady in tight boots. Maternal care proves stronger than fear. The frightened mother follows the young otter and will no doubt read them a sound lecture on land dangers when she has rounded them back to the safe water higher up-stream. Of all wild creatures, none is so crafty in concealing its lairs as the otter. Where did this family come from? They had not been swimming up-stream; for the man had been watching on the river bank long before they appeared on the surface. Stripping, the trapper dives in mid-stream, then half wades, half swims along the steepest bank, running his arm against the clay cliff to find a burrow. On land he could not do this at the lair of the otter; for the smell of the man-touch would be left on his trail, and the otter, keener of scent and fear than the mink, would take alarm. But for the same reason that the river is the safest refuge for the otter, it is the surest hunting for the man--water does not keep the scent of a trail. So the man runs his arm along the bank. The river is the surest hunting for the man, but not the safest. If an old male were in the bank burrow now, or happened to be emerging from grass-lined subterranean air chambers above the bank gallery, it might be serious enough for the exploring trapper. One bite of nekik the otter has crippled many an Indian. Knowing from the remnants of half-eaten fish and from the holes in the bank that he has found an otter runway, the man goes home as well satisfied as if he had done a good day's work. And so that winter when he had camped below the swamp for the mink-hunt, the trapper was not surprised one morning to find a half-eaten fish on the river bank. Sakwasew the mink takes good care to leave no remnants of his greedy meal. What he cannot eat he caches. Even if he has strangled a dozen water-rats in one hunt, they will be dragged in a heap and covered. The half-eaten fish left exposed is not mink's work. Otter has been here and otter will come back; for as the frost hardens, only those pools below the falls keep free from ice. No use setting traps with fish-heads as long as fresh fish are to be had for the taking. Besides, the man has done nothing to conceal his tracks; and each morning the half-eaten fish lie farther off the line of the man-trail. By-and-bye the man notices that no more half-eaten fish are on his side of the river. Little tracks of webbed feet furrowing a deep rut in the soft snow of the frozen river tell that nekik has taken alarm and is fishing from the other side. And when Christmas comes with a dwindling of the mink-hunt, the man, too, crosses to the other side. Here he finds that the otter tracks have worn a path that is almost a toboggan slide down the crusted snow bank to the iced edge of the pool. By this time nekik's pelt is prime, almost black, and as glossy as floss. By this time, too, the fish are scarce and the epicure has become ravenous as a pauper. One night when the trapper was reconnoitring the fish hole, he had approached the snow bank so noiselessly that he came on a whole colony of otters without their knowledge of his presence. Down the snow bank they tumbled, head-first, tail-first, slithering through the snow with their little paws braced, rolling down on their backs like lads upset from a toboggan, otter after otter, till the man learned that the little beasts were not fishing at all, but coasting the snow bank like youngsters on a night frolic. No sooner did one reach the bottom than up he scampered to repeat the fun; and sometimes two or three went down in a rolling bunch mixed up at the foot of a slide as badly as a couple of toboggans that were unpremeditatedly changing their occupants. Bears wrestle. The kittens of all the cat tribe play hide and seek. Little badger finds it fun to run round rubbing the back of his head on things; and here was nekik the otter at the favourite amusement of his kind--coasting down a snow bank. If the trapper were an Indian, he would lie in wait at the landing-place and spear the otter as they came from the water. But the white man's craft is deeper. He does not wish to frighten the otter till the last had been taken. Coming to the slide by day, he baits a steel-trap with fish and buries it in the snow just where the otter will be coming down the hill or up from the pool. Perhaps he places a dozen such traps around the hole with nothing visible but the frozen fish lying on the surface. If he sets his traps during a snow-fall, so much the better. His own tracks will be obliterated and the otter's nose will discover the fish. Then he takes a bag filled with some substance of animal odour, pomatum, fresh meat, pork, or he may use the flesh side of a fresh deer-hide. This he drags over the snow where he has stepped. He may even use a fresh hide to handle the traps, as a waiter uses a serviette to pass plates. There must be no man-smell, no man-track near the otter traps. While the mink-hunt is fairly over by midwinter, otter-trapping lasts from October to May. The value of all rare furs, mink, otter, marten, ermine, varies with two things: (1) the latitude of the hunting-field; (2) the season of the hunt. For instance, ask a trapper of Minnesota or Lake Superior what he thinks of the ermine, and he will tell you that it is a miserable sort of weasel of a dirty drab brown not worth twenty-five cents a skin. Ask a trapper of the North Saskatchewan what he thinks of ermine; and he will tell you it is a pretty little whitish creature good for fur if trapped late enough in the winter and always useful as a lining. But ask a trapper of the Arctic about the ermine, and he describes it as the finest fur that is taken except the silver fox, white and soft as swan's-down, with a tail-tip like black onyx. This difference in the fur of the animal explains the wide variety of prices paid. Ermine not worth twenty-five cents in Wisconsin might be worth ten times as much on the Saskatchewan. [Illustration: Fur press in use at Fort Good Hope, at the extreme north of Hudson's Bay Company's territory. Old wedge press in use at Fort Resolution, of the sub-Arctics. Types of Fur Presses.] So it is with the otter. All trapped between latitude thirty-five and sixty is good fur; and the best is that taken toward the end of winter when scarcely a russet hair should be found in the long over-fur of nekik's coat. III _Wuchak the Fisher, or Pekan_ Wherever the waste of fish or deer is thrown, there will be found lines of double tracks not so large as the wild-cat's, not so small as the otter's, and without the same webbing as the mink's. This is wuchak the fisher, or pekan, commonly called "the black cat"--who, in spite of his fishy name, hates water as cats hate it. And the tracks are double because pekan travel in pairs. He is found along the banks of streams because he preys on fish and fisher, on mink and otter and musk-rat, on frogs and birds and creatures that come to drink. He is, after all, a very greedy fellow, not at all particular about his diet, and, like all gluttons, easily snared. While mink and otter are about, the trapper will waste no steel-traps on pekan. A deadfall will act just as effectively; but there is one point requiring care. Pekan has a sharp nose. It is his nose that brings him to all carrion just as surely as hawks come to pick dead bones. But that same nose will tell him of man's presence. So when the trapper has built his pen of logs so that the front log or deadfall will crush down on the back of an intruder tugging at the bait inside, he overlays all with leaves and brush to quiet the pekan's suspicions. Besides, the pekan has many tricks akin to the wolverine. He is an inveterate thief. There is a well-known instance of Hudson's Bay trappers having a line of one hundred and fifty marten traps stretching for fifty miles robbed of their bait by pekan. The men shortened the line to thirty miles and for six times in succession did pekan destroy the traps. Then the men set themselves to trap the robber. He will rifle a deadfall from the slanting back roof where there is no danger; so the trapper overlays the back with heavy brush. Pekan do not yield a rare fur; but they are always at run where the trapper is hunting the rare furs, and for that reason are usually snared at the same time as mink and otter. IV _Wapistan the Marten_ When Koot went blind on his way home from the rabbit-hunt, he had intended to set out for the pine woods. Though blizzards still howl over the prairie, by March the warm sun of midday has set the sap of the forests stirring and all the woodland life awakens from its long winter sleep. Cougar and lynx and bear rove through the forest ravenous with spring hunger. Otter, too, may be found where the ice mounds of a waterfall are beginning to thaw. But it is not any of these that the trapper seeks. If they cross his path, good--they, too, will swell his account at the fur post. It is another of the little chaps that he seeks, a little, long, low-set animal whose fur is now glistening bright on the deep dark overhairs, soft as down in the thick fawn underhairs, wapistan the marten. When the forest begins to stir with the coming of spring, wapistan stirs too, crawling out from the hollow of some rotten pine log, restless with the same blood-thirst that set the little mink playing his tricks on the hawk. And yet the marten is not such a little viper as the mink. Wapistan will eat leaves and nuts and roots if he can get vegetable food, but failing these, that ravenous spring hunger of his must be appeased with something else. And out he goes from his log hole hunger-bold as the biggest of all other spring ravagers. That boldness gives the trapper his chance at the very time when wapistan's fur is best. All winter the trapper may have taken marten; but the end of winter is the time when wapistan wanders freely from cover. Thus the trapper's calendar would have months of musk-rat first, then beaver and mink and pekan and bear and fox and ermine and rabbit and lynx and marten, with a long idle midsummer space when he goes to the fort for the year's provisions and gathers the lore of his craft. Wapistan is not hard to track. Being much longer and heavier than a cat with very short legs and small feet, his body almost drags the ground and his tracks sink deep, clear, and sharp. His feet are smaller than otter's and mink's, but easily distinguishable from those two fishers. The water animal leaves a spreading footprint, the mark of the webbed toes without any fur on the padding of the toe-balls. The land animal of the same size has clear cut, narrower, heavier marks. By March, these dotting foot-tracks thread the snow everywhere. Coming on marten tracks at a pine log, the trapper sends in his dog or prods with a stick. Finding nothing, he baits a steel-trap with pomatum, covers it deftly with snow, drags the decoy skin about to conceal his own tracks, and goes away in the hope that the marten will come back to this log to guzzle on his prey and sleep. If the track is much frequented, or the forest over-run with marten tracks, the trapper builds deadfalls, many of them running from tree to tree for miles through the forest in a circle whose circuit brings him back to his cabin. Remnants of these log traps may be seen through all parts of the Rocky Mountain forests. Thirty to forty traps are considered a day's work for one man, six or ten marten all that he expects to take in one round; but when marten are plentiful, the unused traps of to-day may bring a prize to-morrow. The Indian trapper would use still another kind of trap. Where the tracks are plainly frequently used runways to watering-places or lair in hollow tree, the Indian digs a pit across the marten's trail. On this he spreads brush in such roof fashion that though the marten is a good climber, if once he falls in, it is almost impossible for him to scramble out. If a poor cackling grouse or "fool-hen" be thrust into the pit, the Indian is almost sure to find a prisoner. This seems to the white man a barbarous kind of trapping; but the poor "fool-hen," hunted by all the creatures of the forest, never seems to learn wisdom, but invites disaster by popping out of the brush to stare at every living thing that passes. If she did not fall a victim in the pit, she certainly would to her own curiosity above ground. To the steel-trap the hunter attaches a piece of log to entangle the prisoner's flight as he rushes through the underbush. Once caught in the steel jaws, little wapistan must wait--wait for what? For the same thing that comes to the poor "fool-hen" when wapistan goes crashing through the brush after her; for the same thing that comes to the baby squirrels when wapistan climbs a tree to rob the squirrel's nest, eat the young, and live in the rifled house; for the same thing that comes to the hoary marmot whistling his spring tune just outside his rocky den when wapistan, who has climbed up, pounces down from above. Little death-dealer he has been all his life; and now death comes to him for a nobler cause than the stuffing of a greedy maw--for the clothing of a creature nobler than himself--man. The otter can protect himself by diving, even diving under snow. The mink has craft to hide himself under leaves so that the sharpest eyes cannot detect him. Both mink and otter furs have very little of that animal smell which enables the foragers to follow their trail. What gift has wapistan, the marten, to protect himself against all the powers that prey? His strength and his wisdom lie in the little stubby feet. These can climb. A trapper's dog had stumbled on a marten in a stump hole. A snap of the marten's teeth sent the dog back with a jump. Wapistan will hang on to the nose of a dog to the death; and trappers' dogs grow cautious. Before the dog gathered courage to make another rush, the marten escaped by a rear knot-hole, getting the start of his enemy by fifty yards. Off they raced, the dog spending himself in fury, the marten keeping under the thorny brush where his enemy could not follow, then across open snow where the dog gained, then into the pine woods where the trail ended on the snow. Where had the fugitive gone? When the man came up, he first searched for log holes. There were none. Then he lifted some of the rocks. There was no trace of wapistan. But the dog kept baying a special tree, a blasted trunk, bare as a mast pole and seemingly impossible for any animal but a squirrel to climb. Knowing the trick by which creatures like the bob-cat can flatten their body into a resemblance of a tree trunk, the trapper searched carefully all round the bare trunk. It was not till many months afterward when a wind storm had broken the tree that he discovered the upper part had been hollow. Into this eerie nook the pursued marten had scrambled and waited in safety till dog and man retired. In one of his traps the man finds a peculiarly short specimen of the marten. In the vernacular of the craft this marten's bushy tail will not reach as far back as his hind legs can stretch. Widely different from the mink's scarcely visible ears, this fellow's ears are sharply upright, keenly alert. He is like a fox, where the mink resembles a furred serpent. Marten moves, springs, jumps like an animal. Mink glides like a snake. Marten has the strong neck of an animal fighter. Mink has the long, thin, twisting neck which reptiles need to give them striking power for their fangs. Mink's under lip has a mere rim of white or yellow. Marten's breast is patched sulphur. But this short marten with a tail shorter than other marten differs from his kind as to fur. Both mink and marten fur are reddish brown; but this short marten's fur is almost black, of great depth, of great thickness, and of three qualities: (1) There are the long dark overhairs the same as the ordinary marten, only darker, thicker, deeper; (2) there is the soft under fur of the ordinary marten, usually fawn, in this fellow deep brown; (3) there is the skin fur resembling chicken-down, of which this little marten has such a wealth--to use a technical expression--you cannot find his scalp. Without going into the old quarrel about species, when a marten has these peculiarities, he is known to the trapper as sable. Whether he is the American counterpart to the Russia sable is a disputed point. Whether his superior qualities are owing to age, climate, species, it is enough for the trapper to know that short, dark marten yields the trade--sable. CHAPTER XVIII UNDER THE NORTH STAR--WHERE FOX AND ERMINE RUN I _Of Foxes, Many and Various--Red, Cross, Silver, Black, Prairie, Kit or Swift, Arctic, Blue, and Gray_ Wherever grouse and rabbit abound, there will foxes run and there will the hunter set steel-traps. But however beautiful a fox-skin may be as a specimen, it has value as a fur only when it belongs to one of three varieties--Arctic, black, and silver. Other foxes--red, cross, prairie, swift, and gray--the trapper will take when they cross his path and sell them in the gross at the fur post, as he used to barter buffalo-hides. But the hunter who traps the fox for its own sake, and not as an uncalculated extra to the mink-hunt or the beaver total, must go to the Far North, to the land of winter night and midnight sun, to obtain the best fox-skins. It matters not to the trapper that the little kit fox or swift at run among the hills between the Missouri and Saskatchewan is the most shapely of all the fox kind, with as finely pointed a nose as a spitz dog, ears alert as a terrier's and a brush, more like a lady's gray feather boa than fur, curled round his dainty toes. Little kit's fur is a grizzled gray shading to mottled fawn. The hairs are coarse, horsey, indistinctly marked, and the fur is of small value to the trader; so dainty little swift, who looks as if nature made him for a pet dog instead of a fox, is slighted by the hunter, unless kit persists in tempting a trap. Rufus the red fellow, with his grizzled gray head and black ears and whitish throat and flaunting purplish tinges down his sides like a prince royal, may make a handsome mat; but as a fur he is of little worth. His cousin with the black fore feet, the prairie fox, who is the largest and strongest and scientifically finest of all his kind, has more value as a fur. The colour of the prairie fox shades rather to pale ochre and yellow that the nondescript grizzled gray that is of so little value as a fur. Of the silver-gray fox little need be said. He lives too far south--California and Texas and Mexico--to acquire either energy or gloss. He is the one indolent member of the fox tribe, and his fur lacks the sheen that only winter cold can give. The value of the cross fox depends on the markings that give him his name. If the bands, running diagonally over his shoulders in the shape of a cross, shade to grayish blue he is a prize, if to reddish russet, he is only a curiosity. The Arctic and black and silver foxes have the pelts that at their worst equal the other rare furs, at their best exceed the value of all other furs by so much that the lucky trapper who takes a silver fox has made his fortune. These, then, are the foxes that the trapper seeks and these are to be found only on the white wastes of the polar zone. That brings up the question--what is a silver fox? Strange as it may seem, neither scientist nor hunter can answer that question. Nor will study of all the park specimens in the world tell the secret, for the simple reason that only an Arctic climate can produce a silver fox; and parks are not established in the Arctics yet. It is quite plain that the prairie fox is in a class by himself. The uniformity of his size, his strength, his habits, his appearance, distinguish him from other foxes. It is quite plain that the little kit fox or swift is of a kind distinct from other foxes. His smallness, the shape of his bones, the cast of his face, the trick of sitting rather than lying, that wonderful big bushy soft tail of which a peacock might be vain--all differentiate him from other foxes. The same may be said of the Arctic fox with a pelt that is more like white wool than hairs of fur. He is much smaller than the red. His tail is bushier and larger than the swift, and like all Arctic creatures, he has the soles of his feet heavily furred. All this is plain and simple classification. But how about Mr. Blue Fox of the same size and habit as the white Arctic? Is he the Arctic fox in summer clothing? Yes, say some trappers; and they show their pelts of an Arctic fox taken in summer of a rusty white. But no, vow other trappers--that is impossible, for here are blue fox-skins captured in the depths of midwinter with not a white hair among them. Look closely at the skins. The ears of one blue fox are long, perfect, unbitten by frost or foe--he was a young fellow; and he is blue. Here is another with ears almost worn to stubs by fights and many winters' frosts--he is an old fellow; and he, too, is blue. Well, then, the blue fox may sometimes be the white Arctic fox in summer dress; but the blue fox who is blue all the year round, varying only in the shades of blue with the seasons, is certainly not the white Arctic fox. The same difficulty besets distinction of silver fox from black. The old scientists classified these as one and the same creature. Trappers know better. So do the later scientists who almost agree with the unlearned trapper's verdict--there are as many species as there are foxes. Black fox is at its best in midwinter, deep, brilliantly glossy, soft as floss, and yet almost impenetrable--the very type of perfection of its kind. But with the coming of the tardy Arctic spring comes a change. The snows are barely melted in May when the sheen leaves the fur. By June, the black hairs are streaked with gray; and the black fox is a gray fox. Is it at some period of the transition that the black fox becomes a silver fox, with the gray hairs as sheeny as the black and each gray hair delicately tipped with black? That question, too, remains unanswered; for certainly the black fox trapped when in his gray summer coat is not the splendid silver fox of priceless value. Black fox turning to a dull gray of midsummer may not be silver fox; but what about gray fox turning to the beautiful glossy black of midwinter? Is that what makes silver fox? Is silver fox simply a fine specimen of black caught at the very period when he is blooming into his greatest beauty? The distinctive difference between gray fox and silver is that gray fox has gray hairs among hairs of other colour, while silver fox has silver hair tipped with glossiest black on a foundation of downy gray black. Even greater confusion surrounds the origin of cross and red and gray. Trappers find all these different cubs in one burrow; but as the cubs grow, those pronounced cross turn out to be red, or the red becomes cross; and what they become at maturity, that they remain, varying only with the seasons.[45] It takes many centuries to make one perfect rose. Is it the same with the silver fox? Is he a freak or a climax or the regular product of yearly climatic changes caught in the nick of time by some lucky trapper? Ask the scientist that question, and he theorizes. Ask the trapper, and he tells you if he could only catch enough silver foxes to study that question, he would quit trapping. In all the maze of ignorance and speculation, there is one anchored fact. While animals turn a grizzled gray with age, the fine gray coats are not caused by age. Young animals of the rarest furs--fox and ermine--are born in ashy colour that turns to gray while they are still in their first nest. To say that silver fox is costly solely because it is rare is sheerest nonsense. It would be just as sensible to say that labradorite, which is rare, should be as costly as diamonds. It is the intrinsic beauty of the fur, as of the diamonds, that constitutes its first value. The facts that the taking of a silver fox is always pure luck, that the luck comes seldom, that the trapper must have travelled countless leagues by snow-shoe and dog train over the white wastes of the North, that trappers in polar regions are exposed to more dangers and hardships than elsewhere and that the fur must have been carried a long distance to market--add to the first high value of silver fox till it is not surprising that little pelts barely two feet long have sold for prices ranging from $500 to $5,000. For the trapper the way to the fortune of a silver fox is the same as the road to fortune for all other men--by the homely trail of every-day work. Cheers from the fort gates bid trappers setting out for far Northern fields God-speed. Long ago there would have been a firing of cannon when the Northern hunters left for their distant camping-grounds; but the cannon of Churchill lie rusting to-day and the hunters who go to the sub-Arctics and the Arctics no longer set out from Churchill on the bay, but from one of the little inland MacKenzie River posts. If the fine powdery snow-drifts are glossed with the ice of unbroken sun-glare, the runners strap iron crampets to their snow-shoes, and with a great jingling of the dog-bells, barking of the huskies, and yelling of the drivers, coast away for the leagueless levels of the desolate North. Frozen river-beds are the only path followed, for the high cliffs--almost like ramparts on the lower MacKenzie--shut off the drifting east winds that heap barricades of snow in one place and at another sweep the ground so clear that the sleighs pull heavy as stone. Does a husky fag? A flourish of whips and off the laggard scampers, keeping pace with the others in the traces, a pace that is set for forty miles a day with only one feeding time, nightfall when the sleighs are piled as a wind-break and the frozen fish are doled out to the ravenous dogs. Gun signals herald the hunter's approach to a chance camp; and no matter how small and mean the tepee, the door is always open for whatever visitor, the meat pot set simmering for hungry travellers. When the snow crust cuts the dogs' feet, buckskin shoes are tied on the huskies; and when an occasional dog fags entirely, he is turned adrift from the traces to die. Relentless as death is Northern cold; and wherever these long midwinter journeys are made, gruesome traditions are current of hunter and husky. I remember hearing of one old husky that fell hopelessly lame during the north trip. Often the drivers are utter brutes to their dogs, speaking in curses which they say is the only language a husky can understand, emphasized with the blows of a club. Too often, as well, the huskies are vicious curs ready to skulk or snap or bolt or fight, anything but work. But in this case the dog was an old reliable that kept the whole train in line, and the driver had such an affection for the veteran husky that when rheumatism crippled the dog's legs the man had not the heart to shoot such a faithful servant. The dog was turned loose from the traces and hobbled lamely behind the scampering teams. At last he fell behind altogether, but at night limped into camp whining his joy and asking dumbly for the usual fish. In the morning when the other teams set out, the old husky was powerless to follow. But he could still whine and wag his tail. He did both with all his might, so that when the departing driver looked back over his shoulder, he saw a pair of eyes pleading, a head with raised alert ears, shoulders straining to lift legs that refused to follow, and a bushy tail thwacking--thwacking--thwacking the snow! "You ought to shoot him," advised one driver. "You do it--you're a dead sure aim," returned the man who had owned the dog. But the other drivers were already coasting over the white wastes. The owner looked at his sleighs as if wondering whether they would stand an additional burden. Then probably reflecting that old age is not desirable for a suffering dog in a bitingly keen frost, he turned towards the husky with his hand in his belt. Thwack--thwack went the tail as much as to say: "Of course he wouldn't desert me after I've hauled his sleigh all my life! Thwack--thwack! I'd get up and jump all around him if I could; there isn't a dog-gone husky in all polar land with half as good a master as I have!" The man stopped. Instead of going to the dog he ran back to his sleigh, loaded his arms full of frozen fish and threw them down before the dog. Then he put one caribou-skin under the old dog, spread another over him and ran away with his train while the husky was still guzzling. The fish had been poisoned to be thrown out to the wolves that so often pursue Northern dog trains. Once a party of hunters crossing the Northern Rockies came on a dog train stark and stiff. Where was the master who had bidden them stand while he felt his way blindly through the white whirl of a blizzard for the lost path? In the middle of the last century, one of that famous family of fur traders, a MacKenzie, left Georgetown to go north to Red River in Canada. He never went back to Georgetown and he never reached Red River; but his coat was found fluttering from a tree, a death signal to attract the first passer-by, and the body of the lost trader was discovered not far off in the snow. Unless it is the year of the rabbit pest and the rabbit ravagers are bold with hunger, the pursuing wolves seldom give full chase. They skulk far to the rear of the dog trains, licking up the stains of the bleeding feet, or hanging spectrally on the dim frosty horizon all night long. Hunger drives them on; but they seem to lack the courage to attack. I know of one case where the wolves followed the dog trains bringing out a trader's family from the North down the river-bed for nearly five hundred miles. What man hunter would follow so far? The farther north the fox hunter goes, the shorter grow the days, till at last the sun, which has rolled across the south in a wheel of fire, dwindles to a disk, the disk to a rim--then no rim at all comes up, and it is midwinter night, night but not darkness. The white of endless unbroken snow, the glint of icy particles filling the air, the starlight brilliant as diamond points, the Aurora Borealis in curtains and shafts and billows of tenuous impalpable rose-coloured fire--all brighten the polar night so that the sun is unmissed. This is the region chiefly hunted by the Eskimo, with a few white men and Chippewyan half-breeds. The regular Northern hunters do not go as far as the Arctics, but choose their hunting-ground somewhere in the region of "little sticks," meaning the land where timber growth is succeeded by dwarf scrubs. The hunting-ground is chosen always from the signs written across the white page of the snow. If there are claw-marks, bird signs of Northern grouse or white ptarmigan or snow-bunting, ermine will be plentiful; for the Northern birds with their clogged stockings of feet feathers have a habit of floundering under the powdery snow; and up through that powdery snow darts the snaky neck of stoat, the white weasel-hunter of birds. If there are the deep plunges of the white hare, lynx and fox and mink and marten and pekan will be plentiful; for the poor white hare feeds all the creatures of the Northern wastes, man and beast. If there are little dainty tracks--oh, such dainty tracks that none but a high-stepping, clear-cut, clean-limbed, little thoroughbred could make them!--tracks of four toes and a thumb claw much shorter than the rest, with a padding of five basal foot-bones behind the toes, tracks that show a fluff on the snow as of furred foot-soles, tracks that go in clean, neat, clear long leaps and bounds--the hunter knows that he has found the signs of the Northern fox. Here, then, he will camp for the winter. Camping in the Far North means something different from the hastily pitched tent of the prairie. The north wind blows biting, keen, unbroken in its sweep. The hunter must camp where that wind will not carry scent of his tent to the animal world. For his own sake, he must camp under shelter from that wind, behind a cairn of stones, below a cliff, in a ravine. Poles have been brought from the land of trees on the dog sleigh. These are put up, criss-crossed at top, and over them is laid, not the canvas tent, but a tent of skins, caribou, wolf, moose, at a sharp enough angle to let the snow slide off. Then snow is banked deep, completely round the tent. For fire, the Eskimo depends on whale-oil and animal grease. The white man or half-breed from the South hoards up chips and sticks. But mainly he depends on exercise and animal food for warmth. At night he sleeps in a fur bag. In the morning that bag is frozen stiff as boards by the moisture of his own breath. Need one ask why the rarest furs, which can only be produced by the coldest of climates, are so costly? Having found the tracks of the fox, the hunter sets out his traps baited with fish or rabbit or a bird-head. If the snow be powdery enough, and the trapper keen in wild lore, he may even know what sort of a fox to expect. In the depths of midwinter, the white Arctic fox has a wool fur to his feet like a brahma chicken. This leaves its mark in the fluffy snow. A ravenous fellow he always is, this white fox of the hungry North, bold from ignorance of man, but hard to distinguish from the snow because of his spotless coat. The blue fox being slightly smaller than the full-grown Arctic, lopes along with shorter leaps by which the trapper may know the quarry; but the blue fox is just as hard to distinguish from the snow as his white brother. The gray frost haze is almost the same shade as his steel-blue coat; and when spring comes, blue fox is the same colour as the tawny moss growth. Colour is blue fox's defence. Consequently blue foxes show more signs of age than white--stubby ears frozen low, battle-worn teeth, dulled claws. The chances are that the trapper will see the black fox himself almost as soon as he sees his tracks; for the sheeny coat that is black fox's beauty betrays him above the snow. Bushy tail standing straight out, every black hair bristling erect with life, the white tail-tip flaunting a defiance, head up, ears alert, fore feet cleaving the air with the swift ease of some airy bird--on he comes, jump--jump--jump--more of a leap than a lope, galloping like a wolf, altogether different from the skulking run of little foxes, openly exulting in his beauty and his strength and his speed! There is no mistaking black fox. If the trapper does not see the black fox scurrying over the snow, the tell-tale characteristics of the footprints are the length and strength of the leaps. Across these leaps the hunter leaves his traps. Does he hope for a silver fox? Does every prospector expect to find gold nuggets? In the heyday of fur company prosperity, not half a dozen true silver foxes would be sent out in a year. To-day I doubt if more than one good silver fox is sent out in half a dozen years. But good white fox and black and blue are prizes enough in themselves, netting as much to the trapper as mink or beaver or sable. II _The White Ermine_ All that was said of the mystery of fox life applies equally to ermine. Why is the ermine of Wisconsin and Minnesota and Dakota a dirty little weasel noted for killing forty chickens in a night, wearing a mahogany-coloured coat with a sulphur strip down his throat, while the ermine of the Arctics is as white as snow, noted for his courage, wearing a spotless coat which kings envy, yes, and take from him? For a long time the learned men who study animal life from museums held that the ermine's coat turned white from the same cause as human hair, from senility and debility and the depleting effect of an intensely trying climate. But the trappers told a different story. They told of baby ermine born in Arctic burrows, in March, April, May, June, while the mother was still in white coat, babies born in an ashy coat something like a mouse-skin that turned to fleecy white within ten days. They told of ermine shedding his brown coat in autumn to display a fresh layer of iron-gray fur that turned sulphur white within a few days. They told of the youngest and smallest and strongest ermine with the softest and whitest coats. That disposed of the senility theory. All the trapper knows is that the whitest ermine is taken when the cold is most intense and most continuous, that just as the cold slackens the ermine coat assumes the sulphur tinges, deepening to russet and brown, and that the whitest ermine instead of showing senility, always displays the most active and courageous sort of deviltry. Summer or winter, the Northern trapper is constantly surrounded by ermine and signs of ermine. There are the tiny claw-tracks almost like frost tracery across the snow. There is the rifled nest of a poor grouse--eggs sucked, or chickens murdered, the nest fouled so that it emits the stench of a skunk, or the mother hen lying dead from a wound in her throat. There is the frightened rabbit loping across the fields in the wildest, wobbliest, most woe-begone leaps, trying to shake something off that is clinging to his throat till over he tumbles--the prey of a hunter that is barely the size of rabbit's paw. There is the water-rat flitting across the rocks in blind terror, regardless of the watching trapper, caring only to reach safety--water--water! Behind comes the pursuer--this is no still hunt but a straight open chase--a little creature about the length of a man's hand, with a tail almost as long, a body scarcely the thickness of two fingers, a mouth the size of a bird's beak, and claws as small as a sparrow's. It gallops in lithe bounds with its long neck straight up and its beady eyes fastened on the flying water-rat. Splash--dive--into the water goes the rat! Splash--dive--into the water goes the ermine! There is a great stirring up of the muddy bottom. The water-rat has tried to hide in the under-tangle; and the ermine has not only dived in pursuit but headed the water-rat back from the safe retreat of his house. Up comes a black nose to the surface of the water. The rat is foolishly going to try a land race. Up comes a long neck like a snake's, the head erect, the beady eyes on the fleeing water-rat--then with a splash they race overland. The water-rat makes for a hole among the rocks. Ermine sees and with a spurt of speed is almost abreast when the rat at bay turns with a snap at his pursuer. But quick as flash, the ermine has pirouetted into the air. The long writhing neck strikes like a serpent's fangs and the sharp fore teeth have pierced the brain of the rat. The victim dies without a cry, without a struggle, without a pain. That long neck was not given the ermine for nothing. Neither were those muscles massed on either side of his jaws like bulging cheeks. In winter the ermine's murderous depredations are more apparent. Now the ermine, too, sets itself to reading the signs of the snow. Now the ermine becomes as keen a still hunter as the man. Sometimes a whirling snow-fall catches a family of grouse out from furze cover. The trapper, too, is abroad in the snow-storm; for that is the time when he can set his traps undetected. The white whirl confuses the birds. They run here, there, everywhere, circling about, burying themselves in the snow till the storm passes over. The next day when the hunter is going the rounds of these traps, along comes an ermine. It does not see him. It is following a scent, head down, body close to ground, nose here, there, threading the maze which the crazy grouse had run. But stop, thinks the trapper, the snow-fall covered the trail. Exactly--that is why the little ermine dives under snow just as it would under water, running along with serpentine wavings of the white powdery surface till up it comes again where the wind has blown the snow-fall clear. Along it runs, still intent, quartering back where it loses the scent--along again till suddenly the head lifts--that motion of the snake before it strikes! The trapper looks. Tail feathers, head feathers, stupid blinking eyes poke through the fluffy snow-drift. And now the ermine no longer runs openly. There are too many victims this time--it may get all the foolish hidden grouse; so it dives and if the man had not alarmed the stupid grouse, ermine would have darted up through the snow with a finishing stab for each bird. By still hunt and open hunt, by nose and eye, relentless as doom, it follows its victims to the death. Does the bird perch on a tree? Up goes the ermine, too, on the side away from the bird's head. Does the mouse thread a hundred mazes and hide in a hole? The ermine threads every maze, marches into the hidden nest and takes murderous possession. Does the rat hide under rock? Under the rock goes the ermine. Should the trapper follow to see the outcome of the contest, the ermine will probably sit at the mouth of the rat-hole, blinking its beady eyes at him. If he attacks, down it bolts out of reach. If he retires, out it comes looking at this strange big helpless creature with bold contempt. The keen scent, the keen eyes, the keen ears warn it of an enemy's approach. Summer and winter, its changing coat conceals it. The furze where it runs protects it from fox and lynx and wolverine. Its size admits it to the tiniest of hiding-places. All that the ermine can do to hunt down a victim, it can do to hide from an enemy. These qualities make it almost invincible to other beasts of the chase. Two joints in the armour of its defence has the little ermine. Its black tail-tip moving across snow betrays it to enemies in winter: the very intentness on prey, its excess of self-confidence, leads it into danger; for instance, little ermine is royally contemptuous of man's tracks. If the man does not molest it, it will follow a scent and quarter and circle under his feet; so the man has no difficulty in taking the little beast whose fur is second only to that of the silver fox. So bold are the little creatures that the man may discover their burrows under brush, in rock, in sand holes, and take the whole litter before the game mother will attempt to escape. Indeed, the plucky little ermine will follow the captor of her brood. Steel rat traps, tiny deadfalls, frosted bits of iron smeared with grease to tempt the ermine's tongue which the frost will hold like a vice till the trapper comes, and, most common of all, twine snares such as entrap the rabbit, are the means by which the ermine comes to his appointed end at the hands of men. The quality of the pelt shows as wide variety as the skin of the fox; and for as mysterious reasons. Why an ermine a year old should have a coat like sulphur and another of the same age a coat like swan's-down, neither trapper nor scientist has yet discovered. The price of the perfect ermine-pelt is higher than any other of the rare furs taken in North America except silver fox; but it no longer commands the fabulous prices that were certainly paid for specimen ermine-skins in the days of the Georges in England and the later Louis in France. How were those fabulously costly skins prepared? Old trappers say no perfectly downy pelt is ever taken from an ermine, that the downy effect is produced by a trick of the trade--scraping the flesh side so deftly that all the coarse hairs will fall out, leaving only the soft under-fur. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 45: That is, as far as trappers yet know.] CHAPTER XIX WHAT THE TRAPPER STANDS FOR Waging ceaseless war against beaver and moose, types of nature's most harmless creatures, against wolf and wolverine, types of nature's most destructive agents, against traders who were rivals and Indians who were hostiles, the trapper would almost seem to be himself a type of nature's arch-destroyer. Beautiful as a dream is the silent world of forest and prairie and mountain where the trapper moves with noiseless stealth of the most skilful of all the creatures that prey. In that world, the crack of the trapper's rifle, the snap of the cruel steel jaws in his trap, seem the only harsh discords in the harmony of an existence that riots with a very fulness of life. But such a world is only a dream. The reality is cruel as death. Of all the creatures that prey, man is the most merciful. Ordinarily, knowledge of animal life is drawn from three sources. There are park specimens, stuffed to the utmost of their eating capacity and penned off from the possibility of harming anything weaker than themselves. There are the private pets fed equally well, pampered and chained safely from harming or being harmed. There are the wild creatures roaming natural haunts, some two or three days' travel from civilization, whose natures have been gradually modified generation by generation from being constantly hunted with long-range repeaters. Judging from these sorts of wild animals, it certainly seems that the brute creation has been sadly maligned. The bear cubs lick each other's paws with an amatory singing that is something between the purr of a cat and the grunt of a pig. The old polars wrestle like boys out of school, flounder in grotesque gambols that are laughably clumsy, good-naturedly dance on their hind legs, and even eat from their keeper's hand. And all the deer family can be seen nosing one another with the affection of turtle-doves. Surely the worst that can be said of these animals is that they shun the presence of man. Perhaps some kindly sentimentalist wonders if things hadn't gone so badly out of gear in a certain historic garden long ago, whether mankind would not be on as friendly relations with the animal world as little boys and girls are with bears and baboons in the fairy books. And the scientist goes a step further, and soberly asks whether these wild things of the woods are not kindred of man after all; for have not man and beast ascended the same scale of life? Across the centuries, modern evolution shakes hands with old-fashioned transmigration. To be sure, members of the deer family sometimes kill their mates in fits of blind rage, and the innocent bear cubs fall to mauling their keeper, and the old bears have been known to eat their young. These things are set down as freaks in the animal world, and in nowise allowed to upset the influences drawn from animals living in unnatural surroundings, behind iron bars, or in haunts where long-range rifles have put the fear of man in the animal heart. Now the trapper studies animal life where there is neither a pen to keep the animal from doing what it wants to do, nor any rifle but his own to teach wild creatures fear. Knowing nothing of science and sentiment, he never clips facts to suit his theory. On the truthfulness of his eyes depends his own life, so that he never blinks his eyes to disagreeable facts. Looking out on the life of the wilds clear-visioned as his mountain air, the trapper sees a world beautiful as a dream but cruel as death. He sees a world where to be weak, to be stupid, to be dull, to be slow, to be simple, to be rash are the unpardonable crimes; where the weak must grow strong, keen of eye and ear and instinct, sharp, wary, swift, wise, and cautious; where in a word the weak must grow fit to survive or--perish! The slow worm fills the hungry maw of the gaping bird. Into the soft fur of the rabbit that has strayed too far from cover clutch the swooping talons of an eagle. The beaver that exposes himself overland risks bringing lynx or wolverine or wolf on his home colony. Bird preys on worm, mink on bird, lynx on mink, wolf on lynx, and bear on all creatures that live from men and moose down to the ant and the embryo life in the ant's egg. But the vision of ravening destruction does not lead the trapper to morbid conclusions on life as it leads so many housed thinkers in the walled cities; for the same world that reveals to him such ravening slaughter shows him that every creature, the weakest and the strongest, has some faculty, some instinct, some endowment of cunning, or dexterity or caution, some gift of concealment, of flight, of semblance, of death--that will defend it from all enemies. The ermine is one of the smallest of all hunters, but it can throw an enemy off the scent by diving under snow. The rabbit is one of the most helpless of all hunted things, but it can take cover from foes of the air under thorny brush, and run fast enough to outwind the breath of a pursuer, and double back quick enough to send a harrying eagle flopping head over heels on the ground, and simulate the stillness of inanimate objects surrounding it so truly that the passer-by can scarcely distinguish the balls of fawn fur from the russet bark of a log. And the rabbit's big eyes and ears are not given it for nothing. Poet and trapper alike see the same world, and for the same reason. Both seek only to know the truth, to see the world as it is; and the world that they see is red in tooth and claw. But neither grows morbid from his vision; for that same vision shows each that the ravening destruction is only a weeding out of the unfit. There is too much sunlight in the trapper's world, too much fresh air in his lungs, too much red blood in his veins for the morbid miasmas that bring bilious fumes across the mental vision of the housed city man. And what place in the scale of destruction does the trapper occupy? Modern sentiment has almost painted him as a red-dyed monster, excusable, perhaps, because necessity compels the hunter to slay, but after all only the most highly developed of the creatures that prey. Is this true? Arch-destroyer he may be; but it should be remembered that he is the destroyer of destroyers. Animals kill young and old, male and female. The true trapper does not kill the young; for that would destroy his next year's hunt. He does not kill the mother while she is with the young. He kills the grown males which--it can be safely said--have killed more of each other than man has killed in all the history of trapping. Wherever regions have been hunted by the pot-hunter, whether the sportsman for amusement or the settler supplying his larder, game has been exterminated. This is illustrated by all the stretch of country between the Platte and the Saskatchewan. Wherever regions have been hunted only by the trapper, game is as plentiful as it has ever been. This is illustrated by the forests of the Rockies, by the No-Man's Land south of Hudson Bay and by the Arctics. Wherever the trapper has come destroying grisly and coyote and wolverine, the prong horn and mountain-sheep and mountain-goat and wapiti and moose have increased. But the trapper stands for something more than a game warden, something more than the most merciful of destroyers. He destroys _animal_ life--a life which is red in tooth and claw with murder and rapine and cruelty--in order that _human_ life may be preserved, may be rendered independent of the elemental powers that wage war against it. It is a war as old as the human race, this struggle of man against the elements, a struggle alike reflected in Viking song of warriors conquering the sea, and in the Scandinavian myth of pursuing Fenris wolf, and in the Finnish epic of the man-hero wresting secrets of life-bread from the earth, and in Indian folk-lore of a Hiawatha hunting beast and treacherous wind. It is a war in which the trapper stands forth as a conqueror, a creature sprung of earth, trampling all the obstacles that earth can offer to human will under his feet, finding paths through the wilderness for the explorer who was to come after him, opening doors of escape from stifled life in crowded centres of population, preparing a highway for the civilization that was to follow his own wandering trail through the wilds. APPENDIX When in Labrador and Newfoundland a few years ago, the writer copied the entries of an old half-breed woman trapper's daily journal of her life. It is fragmentary and incoherent, but gives a glimpse of the Indian mind. It is written in English. She was seventy-five years old when the diary opened in December, 1893. Her name was Lydia Campbell and she lived at Hamilton Inlet. Having related how she shot a deer, skinning it herself, made her snow-shoes and set her rabbit snares, she closes her first entry with: "Well, as I sed, I can't write much at a time now, for i am getting blind and some mist rises up before me if i sew, read or write a little while." Lydia Campbell's mother was captured by Eskimo. She ran away when she had grown up, to quote her own terse diary, "crossed a river on drift sticks, wading in shallows, through woods, meeting bears, sleeping under trees--seventy miles flight--saw a French boat--took off skirt and waved it to them--came--took my mother on board--worked for them--with the sealers--camped on the ice. "As there was no other kind of women to marrie hear, the few English men each took a wife of that sort and they never was sorry that they took them, for they was great workers and so it came to pass that I was one of the youngest of them." [Meaning, of course, that she was the daughter of one of these marriages.] * * * * * "Our young man pretended to spark the two daughters of Tomas. He was a one-armed man, for he had shot away one arm firing at a large bird.... He double-loaded his gun in his fright, so the por man lost one of his armes,... he was so smart with his gun that he could bring down a bird flying past him, or a deer running past he would be the first to bring it down." * * * * * "They was holden me hand and telling me that I must be his mother now as his own mother is dead and she was a great friend of mine although we could not understand each other's language sometimes, still we could make it out with sins and wonders." * * * * * "April 7, 1894.--Since I last wrote on this book, I have been what people call cruising about here. I have been visiting some of my friends, though scattered far apart, with my snow-shoes and axe on my shoulders. The nearest house to this place is about five miles up a beautiful river, and then through woods, what the french calls a portage--it is what I call pretty. Many is the time that I have been going with dogs and komatick 40 or 50 years ago with my husband and family to N. W. River, to the Hon. Donald A. Smith and family to keep N. Year or Easter." * * * * * "My dear old sister Hannah Mishlin who is now going on for 80 years old and she is smart yet, she hunts fresh meat and chops holes in the 3 foot ice this very winter and catches trout with her hook, enough for her household, her husband not able to work, he has a bad complaint." * * * * * "You must please excuse my writing and spelling for I have never been to school, neither had I a spelling book in my young day--me a native of this country, Labrador, Hamilton's Inlet, Esquimaux Bay--if you wish to know who I am, I am old Lydia Campbell, formerly Lydia Brooks, then Blake, after Blake, now Campbell. So you see ups and downs has been my life all through, and now I am what I am--prais the Lord." "I have been hunting most every day since Easter, and to some of my rabbit snares and still traps, cat traps and mink traps. I caught 7 rabbits and 1 marten and I got a fix and 4 partridges, about 500 trout besides household duties--never leave out morning and Evening prayers and cooking and baking and washing for 5 people--3 motherless little children--with so much to make for sale out of seal skin and deer skin shoes, bags and pouches and what not.... You can say well done old half-breed woman in Hamilton's Inlet. Good night, God bless us all and send us prosperity. "Yours ever true, "LYDIA CAMPBELL." * * * * * "We are going to have an evening worship, my poor old man is tired, he has been a long way to-day and he shot 2 beautyful white partridges. Our boy heer shot once spruce partridge." * * * * * "Caplin so plentiful boats were stopped, whales, walrusses and white bears." * * * * * "Muligan River, May 24, 1894.--They say that once upon a time the world was drowned and that all the Esquimaux were drownded but one family and he took his family and dogs and chattels and his seal-skin boat and Kiak and Komaticks and went on the highest hill that they could see, and stayed there till the rain was over and when the water dried up they descended down the river and got down to the plains and when they could not see any more people, they took off the bottoms of their boots and took some little white [seal] pups and sent the poor little things off to sea and they drifted to some islands far away and became white people. Then they done the same as the others did and the people spread all over the world. Such was my poor father's thought.... There is up the main river a large fall, the same that the American and English gentlemen have been up to see. [Referring to Mr. Bryant, of Philadelphia, who visited Grand Falls.] Well there is a large whirlpool or hole at the bottom of the fall. The Indians that frequent the place say that there is three women--Indians--that lives under that place or near to it I am told, and at times they can hear them speaking to each other louder than the roar of the falls." [The Indians always think the mist of a waterfall signifies the presence of ghosts.] "I have been the cook of that great Sir D. D. Smith that is in Canada at this time. [In the days when Lord Strathcona was chief trader at Hamilton Inlet.] He was then at Rigolet Post, a chief trader only, now what is he so great! He was seen last winter by one of the women that belong to this bay. She went up to Canada ... and he is gray headed and bended, that is Sir D. D. Smith." * * * * * "August 1, 1894.--My dear friends, you will please excuse my writing and spelling--the paper sweems by me, my eyesight is dim now----" THE END 
21478	----	Snow Shoes and Canoes; The Early Days of a Fur-Trader in the Hudson Bay Territory, by William H G Kingston. ________________________________________________________________________ The basic story-line is that there is a fort in the Hudson Bay Territory that needs some stores and materials to be sent to it from another fort about 150 miles away. The journey could be done by canoe, but there are none available at this time. So a party of people are sent overland to fetch what is required. There are encounters with bears and other dangerous animals; there are times when they are very hungry and very tired. They encounter both friendly and unfriendly Indians. They borrow canoes at one stage, and have wrecks in the mighty rapids. There are strong overtones indicating that Kingston has read the authentic books by Ballantyne, who had worked in the Hudson Bay Company, and whose letters home had set off his literary career. But Kingston has a unique style of his own, and he was good at research, so he can be forgiven for using valuable authentic material to help him get his facts right, and make his story credible. About 10.5 hours to read aloud. ________________________________________________________________________ SNOW SHOES AND CANOES, THE EARLY DAYS OF A FUR-TRADER IN THE HUDSON BAY TERRITORY, BY WILLIAM H G KINGSTON. CHAPTER ONE. BLACK FORT--THE PACK-HORSE TRAIN SETS OUT--SANDY MCTAVISH'S SAGACITY-- THE NIGHT-WATCH--THE TWO REDSKIN HORSE-THIEVES--A SNOWSTORM--AN UNCOMFORTABLE BED AND A TERRIBLE NIGHT--MY DELIGHT AT FINDING MY HORSE ALIVE--WE OBTAIN SHELTER IN A WOOD--DESPERATE ENCOUNTER BETWEEN A LYNX AND AN EAGLE FOR THE POSSESSION OF A HARE--THE HARE BECOMES MY PRIZE-- THE UNTIMELY APPEARANCE OF A WOLF. The short summer of the North-West Territory of British America, the region in which the events I am about to describe took place, was rapidly drawing to a close. I had been sent from Black Fort, of which my elder brother Alick had charge, with Sandy McTavish, an old follower of our father's, and two other men, to bring up ammunition and other stores as a winter supply from Fort Ross, about 150 miles off--a distance, however, of which we did not think much. The stores ought to have been brought up the greater part of the way by the Saskatchewan, but a canoe had been lost in ascending the rapids, and no other was at that time to be procured to replace her. It became necessary, therefore, at all costs to transport the required stores by land. We had eight pack-horses, besides the four animals my companions and I rode. We were all well armed, for though the Crees and other Indian tribes in the northern part of the territory were generally friendly, we might possibly encounter a party of Blackfeet on the war-trail who, should they find us unprepared, would to a certainty attack us, and endeavour to steal our horses and goods. We were but few in number for such an undertaking, but no more men could be spared. Sandy, however, was a host in himself. He thoroughly knew all the Indian ways, and from his long experience was well able to counteract them. Many an evening, while seated at our camp-fire or at the stove in the fort, during winter, has he beguiled the time with accounts of his hairbreadth escapes and desperate encounters with the redskins. He had no enmity towards them, notwithstanding the attempts they had made on his life. "They were but following the instincts of their savage natures," he used to observe; "and they were not ower weel pleased with the white men for hunting in the country which they call theirs, though it must be allowed they dinna make gude use of it." Sandy was as humane as he was brave, and I am very sure he never took the life of an Indian if he could avoid doing so with due regard to his own safety. He had come out from Scotland when a mere boy with our father, who was at that time a clerk in the Hudson's Bay Company, but who had ultimately risen to be a chief factor, and was the leader in many of the adventurous expeditions which were made in those days. He was noted for being a dead shot, and a first-rate hunter whether of buffalo, elk, or grizzly bear. Sandy had followed him in all his expeditions, and took the greatest delight in describing them to us. Having remained at Fort Ross a couple of days, to rest our beasts and prepare the packages for transport, we set out, Sandy and I leading, and the two men, Pat Casey and Pierre Lacrosse, following in the rear with the baggage animals. We travelled at the rate of about twenty-five miles each day. That distance being accomplished, we encamped at night under shelter of a grove of poplars or willows, we being glad of the protection they afforded; for although the weather was fine, the wind had begun to blow somewhat cold. Our beasts having been unloaded were hobbled near at hand, the goods being piled up so as to form a breastwork in case of an attack. Fuel to last the night had then to be collected, when the fire was lighted, and the pot put on to boil. Supper being ready, we sat round our fire to discuss it, with good appetites. We then, after a chat for half an hour or so, drawing our buffalo-robes over us, with our saddles for pillows, lay down to rest, our feet turned towards the fire. One of us, however, always remained on guard, to watch the horses, and to give warning should any Blackfeet Indians or prowling wolves draw near our encampment. We did not believe that we had much to fear from either one or the other. The Blackfeet seldom ventured so far north into the territory of their hereditary enemies the Crees; and should any wolves approach, the horses would be sure to make their way up to the camp for protection. The two hours watch which each of us took in turn made us sleep the sounder for the remainder of the time. We were all too well inured to the sort of life to think it any hardship. Just before dawn the last man on watch roused up the rest of us. The ashes were raked together, fresh sticks put on, the water boiled for the tea, and a breakfast of slices of bacon or dried buffalo meat, with flour cakes, prepared us for the toils of the day. The country over which we travelled was seldom traversed by white men. The grass-covered prairie extended often as far as the eye could reach, here and there hills rising in the distance, or long lines of trees marking the course of some stream falling into the main river. We had to cross several of these streams, but at that time of the year were able to ford them without difficulty, the drought of summer having greatly diminished their depth. Sandy and I were jogging along at the head of our party when, as we reached the summit of a slight hill from which we could obtain an extensive view over the surrounding country, he stopped and gazed, I thought somewhat anxiously, around the horizon. "We must push on faster than we have been going, if we are to reach Black Fort before bad weather comes on," he observed. "I see no change in the appearance of the sky," I answered. "There's not a cloud in any direction, and the wind is as moderate as it was when we started." "The sky is blue and cloudless, I'll allow, but it's whiter away in the nor'ard than I like to see it. There will be wind from that quarter before long, and the wind won't come alone," said Sandy. "It may not reach us to-morrow or the next day, and we may be safe within the fort before it is down upon us." Though I had a high opinion of Sandy's sagacity, I thought that in this instance he might be mistaken. It was very important for us to reach the fort before the snow should cover the ground to any depth. The stores we were bringing were much required, and the heavily-laden animals would have great difficulty in making their way through it. Of course I agreed, as Sandy advised it, that we should push on that day as long as the light would allow, and that we should make a forced march on the following day, so that we might reach the fort on the next before nightfall, which we calculated we should thus be able to do. Waiting till the two men with the loaded beasts came up, we told them of our intentions, and ordered them to push on as fast as they could. We had not gone far, however, when Sandy's horse stumbled, a very unusual thing for the animal to do. It continued to walk lame, evidently in pain. We dismounted and examined its feet, when we found that a sharp stone had wounded its hoof. We extricated it with considerable difficulty, and when we again moved on the animal walked with as much pain as before. Nothing could make it move on. We were therefore compelled to encamp at the first suitable spot we reached. The weather remained fine, and we hoped in the morning that Sandy's horse would have recovered, and that we should be able to make a long day's journey. According to our intention, our camp was formed as usual under shelter of a wood, but there was scarcely any good grass in the immediate neighbourhood, and we were compelled to let the animals roam much further than we liked in search of it. We agreed that, in order to keep a proper lookout, two of us should remain on the watch at a time, one in the camp, and the other in the direction the animals had taken. Sandy had Pierre for his mate; I, Pat. Sandy and Pierre took the first watch. The latter went off with his rifle and a brace of pistols in his belt, to walk backwards and forwards near where the horses were feeding. Pat and I then lay down with our feet to the fire. "We'll sleep as fast as we can, Mister David, to make up for the shortness of time we've got to do it in," observed Pat, as he rolled himself up in his buffalo-robe. I endeavoured to follow his advice, but somehow or other the presentiment that danger threatened us kept me awake longer than was usual. It seemed that I had scarcely closed my eyes when Sandy aroused me, and springing to my feet I examined the priming of my rifle and pistols, and prepared to relieve Pierre, who was to wait near the horses till I arrived. I had to walk nearly a quarter of a mile before I found him in a grassy valley, between two slight hills running in the direction of the river. Had there been any trees thereabouts it would have been a better place than the one we had chosen for our encampment. Pierre reported all right, and went back to camp. By walking to the top of one of the hills I could get a view all round, and watch the horses feeding below me. I counted them and found that all were there, and then went down again to find some shelter from the wind behind a small clump of low bushes. I could watch from this most of the horses, but some of them would wander up the valley out of my sight. At last I saw by the movements of those near me that they were becoming somewhat uneasy, and presently two which had got to a distance came up as fast as their hobbles would allow them, the whole heading towards the camp. I rushed forward to cut the hobbles as fast as I could get up to the animals, when they all set off in the direction they had before been going. I had just set the last free when, looking up, I saw two dark figures which I knew were those of Indians, who had been endeavouring to get up to the horses before I could set them at liberty. The moment they found that they were discovered they stopped short. I pointed my gun, they hesitated, and then once more began to move towards me, their scalping knives gleaming in the moonlight. Anxious not to shed blood, I again shouted to them to stop; but perhaps seeing, by my voice and slight figure, that I was but a youth, they fancied that they could intimidate me, and uttering terrific shrieks they continued to approach. My life depended, I knew, on the steadiness of my aim, and pulling the trigger I sent a bullet into the body of one of the strangers. He staggered and fell, when drawing a pistol I prepared to receive his companion, who, however, stopped, and lifting the wounded man to his feet, the two made off faster than I should have supposed possible. I thought it prudent not to follow, as I felt sure that other Indians were in the neighbourhood. The sound of my shot would have aroused my friends, and from the appearance of the horses they would understand what had happened. As the Indians made off in one direction, I ran as fast as my legs could carry me towards the camp. Before I reached it, I met Sandy and the other men coming out to my assistance. They expressed their satisfaction at finding me safe. Pierre and Pat wanted to set off in pursuit of the enemy, but Sandy would not allow them. "Na! na! laddies; we'll gain nothing even if we were to shoot a score of redskins. We shall want our ammunition to defend ourselves when we are attacked. Let's count the horses, and see if all have come in," he said. On doing so, we discovered that one was missing. The animal had evidently been carried off by some Blackfeet. The loss was a serious one, as we should have either to add to the weight of the loads of the others, or place the packages on one of the saddle-horses, taking it by turns to walk. One thing was certain, that even if not attacked, our journey, which we were anxious to finish as soon as possible, would be prolonged. As may be supposed, we got no more sleep that night. We had to hobble the horses, and keep a bright lookout on every side, lest the treacherous Indians might steal upon us and catch us unprepared. They must have guessed from the number of horses that our party consisted of several men, well armed, and from the experience they had had of my rifle they knew that they could not come openly upon us without the certainty of some of their number being laid low. As the sky remained clear, and the moon was bright, we could see objects at a considerable distance; our enemies could not therefore get near without being discovered. Our chief fear was that they might, if they were resolved on our destruction, make a wide circuit, and getting into the wood attack us in the rear. To prevent the risk of this, Pierre made his way among the trees and watched on that side; on hands and knees he crept cautiously from place to place, as the panther does watching for its prey. Wary as the Indians were, it was not likely that they would surprise him. There is an excitement in an adventure of the sort we were engaged in which affords actual pleasure, and for my part I enjoyed it greatly, caring neither for being deprived of sleep, nor for the danger to be apprehended. We let our fire remain in, though we kept it low, with plenty of sticks at hand which we could throw on and make it blaze up, should we find it necessary. At last dawn appeared in the eastern sky, and we believed that, as the Indians had not attacked us at night, they would not molest us during our journey. Having collected our horses and distributed the load of the animal which had been stolen among them, after a hasty breakfast we set off. We were much disappointed at finding that Sandy's animal was as lame as on the previous day, and as it could not move out of a walk, he dismounted and proceeded on foot. Our progress was therefore slower even than usual. The country as we advanced became much rougher than that which we had hitherto passed over. When the greater part of the day had been spent, we reached the foot of an excessively steep hill, on the top of which was a wide extending plain. We all here dismounted, and allowed our horses to scramble on as best they could. To climb up with more ease I disencumbered myself of my cloak, which together with my gun I fastened on to one of the pack-horses. We had provided ourselves with thick sticks, which helped us along. Sandy's poor horse had great difficulty in making its way, and dropped behind the rest. There was no fear of its straying; the animals being accustomed to keep together, it was sure to follow. "I wish that we had been able to make our way as fast as we had intended," said Sandy. "We shall have more difficulties on this journey than we looked for; however, there's no use sighing about what cannot be helped. Just do you go on, David, to the top of the hill, and take a look round to see if you can catch sight of any Indians. You are more active than I am, and will be at the top before I can reach it; I'll wait and bring up the rest of the horses. If the Indians were to come upon us at this moment they might take us at a disadvantage." From the way Sandy spoke I saw that he was not like himself. It struck me that he was ill; or, had he expected that we should have been attacked by the Indians during our ascent of the hill, he would have made preparations beforehand. I, however, did not hesitate to do as he wished, and springing forward soon climbed up among the rocks and shrubs to the top. Before me, stretching to the westward, was a perfectly level plain, on the edge of which I looked down on the other side over the lower country, across which we had passed. I could see our horses toiling upwards among the rocks and shrubs to the top, followed by Sandy and the two other men, he having stopped to speak to them. The sky overhead and on three sides was clear, but on looking to the northward I observed a dense black mass which came sweeping along at a tremendous rate towards me. Though the air had just before been perfectly serene, on a sudden a keen cutting wind struck me with a force which almost took me off my feet. The next instant I was in the midst of a fearful snowstorm. The sun in a moment became obscured, and the wind increasing rose to a perfect hurricane. I could dimly discern two of the horses which just then had reached the plateau. I ran towards one of them to secure it, hoping that it was my own, but I found that it was one of the loaded animals, and unfortunately not the one on which I had laid my coat and gun. In a few seconds of time, so fearful had become the darkness that I could not see three feet ahead of my nose. I shouted at the top of my voice to the rest of the men who were, I knew, not far from me to mount their horses and come on, allowing the others to shift for themselves. We should all be frozen to death if we were to remain where we were. Our only hope of safety was to reach a thick grove of trees at the farther end, and I hoped that we might get to it before the snow became too deep to allow the animals to move rapidly over the ground. In vain I looked for my own horse. I could faintly hear Sandy and the other men shouting in return to my cries, but whereabouts they were I could not tell. I fully believed that they would all follow the course I proposed, and as I could not discover my own animal I cut the tyings and threw off the load from the pack-horse I had caught, then mounting on the pack-saddle I rode off at full speed through the deep snow, in the hope of reaching the wood. So rapidly did the snow come down that in a few moments it was several inches deep. Every instant it was increasing and rendering my progress more difficult. I urged on the poor animal, which seemed to know its danger and did its utmost, but thicker and thicker fell the snow, and in a short time, night coming on, it became so dark that I was literally unable to see my hand held close to my face; except judging by the wind, I could not tell in what direction we were going. I could only hope that the instinct of the animal might guide it towards the wood in which shelter could be obtained. As to seeking my companions, that was out of the question. I shouted to them every now and then, but no voice answered my calls. I knew, however, that they all, being well acquainted with the country, would endeavour to reach the shelter for which I was aiming, and I hoped at length to meet them there. The cold was intense; even had I possessed my overcoat it would have been bad enough to bear, but with only moderately thick clothing on, I felt the wind pierce to my very bones. I rode on, however, as long as I was able to sit my horse, but at length my limbs became so benumbed by the cold that I could ride no further. The poor beast also was almost exhausted with his exertions in plunging on through the deep snow. Hoping to keep somewhat warm by walking I dismounted, and leading him by the bridle tried to get along. At every step I made I sank halfway up to my knees, and could scarcely lift my feet high enough to make another step forward; still, it would be death to stay where I was. I went on, hoping that I was approaching the wood. Now and then I stopped and shouted; still there was no reply. I became at length convinced that I must have either passed the wood or been going in another direction. No sound reached my ears but that of the thick-falling snow, which seemed to come down in a mass upon the earth, so rapidly did it accumulate. Sandy, I knew, would be very anxious about me, and would take every means to discover where I had gone; but even in daylight he could not have followed my track, as the snow must instantly have obliterated it. I resolved as long as I had strength to push on, though I had missed the wood for which I was aiming. I might, I hoped, in time reach another which would afford me protection. The storm instead of abating only seemed to increase in violence. As the night wore on I found my poor horse advancing at a slower and slower pace, showing how fatigued it had become, while I had scarcely strength left to move forward; still I was afraid to halt. At last it stopped altogether, and I myself felt utterly exhausted. Further it was impossible to go, but how to endure the cold and keep the blood circulating in my veins was the question. It seemed to me that I must inevitably perish; still I resolved to make an effort to preserve my life. My horse was standing stock-still, with its back to the wind. I bethought me that the only chance I had of retaining existence was to dig a hole in the snow, in which I might crouch down, and wait till the storm was over. I set desperately to work. While so employed, the drift eddying around my head nearly suffocated me; still I persevered. Having dug down to the ground, I took off the pack-saddle from the horse's back, which I placed as a cushion below me, and then putting the saddle-cloth over my shoulders I crouched down in the hole I had made, which I could not help dreading was more likely to prove my grave than to afford any efficient shelter. I knew for certain that, should I fall asleep, death would ensue, and that I must exert all my energies to keep awake. I had not been long seated, doubled up in my burrow like a mummy, before I felt the cold begin to steal over me. My feet were the first to suffer. I tried to keep them warm by moving them about, but it was of no use. At last I took off my frozen shoes, and tucked my feet under me on the pack-saddle; then I rubbed them as hard as I could. I was tempted at last to take the horsecloth off my shoulders, and to wrap my feet up in it, but all was of no use. They appeared to me to be frozen, while my whole body seemed changing into ice. At last I had scarcely strength to move either my hands or feet. During this time the inclination to sleep almost overcame me. I struggled against it with all the resolution I possessed. I was perfectly well aware that, should I give way to it, death would be the consequence. I took every means I could think of to keep awake. I shouted; I even sang, or rather I tried to sing; but the most melancholy strains were the only results of my efforts, my voice sounding as hollow as that from a skull--if voices ever do come out of skulls, on which subject I venture to be sceptical. I kept moving from side to side, and up and down, filled with the dread that, should I stop, I should fall asleep. The snow all the time was gathering round my head, forming an arch over me, and I had frequently to make a hole in front, so as to obtain sufficient air for breathing. How I lived through that dreadful night I cannot tell. Morning came at last; the snow had ceased to fall as thickly as before, allowing the light to penetrate through the veil drawn over the earth. Faint as was the light, it gave me a glimpse of hope. I might still reach the wood, and by obtaining a fire thaw my benumbed limbs. My first efforts were directed towards breaking out of my icy prison; but the hole in front of me was so small that it was not till I had made several attempts that I could force my body through it. I at length managed to get up on my feet, when I took a look round. There stood my poor horse, where I had left it, rigid as a statue, and, as I believed, frozen to death. On every side I could see nothing but one vast expanse of snow. I could not, however, remain where I was. Either on horseback or on foot I must try to reach a place of shelter and to find my companions. I now remembered that I had taken my shoes off. How to get them on again was the difficulty, for when I felt them, I found that they were frozen as hard as iron. I made several attempts to thrust in my feet, for I knew that they would be dreadfully cut should I attempt to walk without shoes. The exertion contributed somewhat, perhaps, to restore the circulation in my veins, and at last, after many efforts, I got on my shoes. Having accomplished this I broke entirely out of my burrow, and staggered towards my poor steed. To my great relief the animal moved its head and looked at me, giving evidence that it was still alive. I accordingly returned to the hole and dug out my saddle, when, after great exertion, I managed to reach the horse and put it on. Then, digging round the poor beast's front feet, and patting it on the neck, I induced it to move forward a few paces. It seemed surprising that, after the fearful night it had endured, it should still be alive and could move its legs apparently without much difficulty. I now tried to mount, but could not bend my frozen limbs sufficiently to get into the saddle. I therefore, taking the bridle in my hand, led forward my horse, stumbling at every step. I hoped, however, that the exercise would restore circulation, and that I should be able at last to get on horseback. I looked round, but could nowhere see the wood of which I was in search; though the snow was not falling as thickly as it had done during the night, the weather still looked very threatening. Dark masses of snow-clouds obscured the sky like a canopy but a few feet, it seemed, above my head. The wind was still piercingly cold, and at any moment the snow might again come down and overwhelm me. The rough training I had gone through, however, had taught me never to despair, but to struggle on to the last. I had no thoughts of doing otherwise, though every limb ached, and I had scarcely strength to draw one leg after the other. At last, finding that I could walk no longer, I made another effort to mount, and succeeded, though not without great pain, in climbing into the saddle; when I was there, however, my poor horse showed his utter inability to carry me, and refused to lift a leg; indeed, his strength was insufficient for the task. In vain I patted his neck and tried to make him go forward. The only movement he made was to sink down on his knees. To prevent him from falling altogether, when I might not have been able to get him up again, I threw myself off his back. At the same moment the storm burst forth with greater fury than before. I began to believe that I should perish; but still I had some strength left in me, and resolved to exert it to the utmost. As to facing the storm, that was impossible, so all I could do was to turn my back to it and move forward. I might be going further and further from the wood, but I trusted that Providence, which had hitherto preserved me, would direct my steps towards some other shelter. Still I in vain looked out for any object rising above the apparently interminable plain of snow. The saddle-cloth drawn tightly over my shoulders somewhat protected my back, but the wind whistled past my ears, which had now lost all sensation. On and on I went, I knew not for how long. I could scarcely think, indeed I could scarcely feel, except that I was suffering all over from pain. The storm sent me along, in what direction I could not tell, though I supposed that it was towards the south. The thick-falling snow hid all objects, if any there were, from sight. My companions might be in the neighbourhood, but I was not likely to see them, nor they me. I tried occasionally to shout out, but I had not power to send my voice to any distance. Still I went on, like a hawker crying his wares in a town, but I had lost all hopes of hearing an answer to my calls. At last so great became my exhaustion that I thought of killing my horse, opening him, and getting into his body, fancying that I might thus save my life. I drew my hunting-knife, and was about to plunge it into the poor brute's chest, though even then I felt a great repugnance to kill the faithful creature; when it occurred to me, should I get inside, that, after the heat had left the body, it would freeze, and I might be unable to extricate myself. I should thus be immured in a tomb of my own making. The idea was too dreadful to contemplate for an instant. I sheathed my knife, and again walked on. Shortly after this the storm sensibly abated. The snow ceased, the wind fell; and as the atmosphere became clear I found that I was on the edge of the plateau, and I saw before me in the far distance a thick wood extending away to the south. It bordered a stream flowing, I concluded, into the Saskatchewan. I could find shelter within the wood should the storm again come on, and I might be able to kill some creature or other to satisfy the cravings of my appetite. The hope that I might still preserve my life raised my spirits. My horse, too, appeared to be somewhat recovered; so I again climbed up on the saddle, and this time the animal consented to move forward, its instinct telling it that food was to be found in the direction we were going. Had I possessed my gun I should have been better satisfied, as I could thus, without difficulty, be able to obtain provisions and defend myself against any wild beasts or Indians I might encounter. My impatience made me fancy that my horse was moving at a very slow pace. He seemed to gather strength as he advanced, or rather his muscles became more pliable, and he moved with less pain. I was still, I calculated, at least two days' journey from the fort. It would be impossible for either my steed or me to perform the distance in our present condition. About the animal I had no fear, as it would be able to pick up grass from under the snow, even should that not disappear; but my chance of obtaining food was far more problematical. At last the sun shone forth and warmed my well-nigh frozen body. Its bright rays cheered my spirits, and I could look more hopefully to the prospect of getting back to the fort. I had not given up all expectation of falling in with some of my companions. It occurred to me that they might at once have put before the wind, as sailors say, and steered for the wood towards which I was directing my course. I looked out, almost expecting to see a wreath of white smoke curling up from amidst the trees. No signs of human beings, however, could I discover. As we advanced my horse increased its pace, and at last the wood was reached, but on the weather side the snow was piled up more thickly than even in the open ground. I had, therefore, to make a circuit, till I could get to the lee side. In course of time, however, I reached it, and found a deep bay or hollow formed by the trees. Here the snow was comparatively shallow. As I threw myself from my horse and took off the bridle, the sagacious animal immediately began to grub away with its nose in the snow, and soon got down to the green grass which grew there abundantly. I was very sure that my steed would not stray away, so that there was no necessity for hobbling it. Fastening the bridle over my shoulder, I hurried into the wood to collect sticks to light a fire, at which I might thaw my shoes and warm myself thoroughly. I was satisfied that, in spite of the cold I had endured, I was nowhere severely frostbitten. As I came along I had rubbed my ears with snow, which had restored circulation. Even my feet and fingers, though bitterly cold, had escaped. Having collected a number of sticks, I scraped away the snow at a short distance from the trees, and piled them up. I then felt in my pocket for my flint and steel and tinder box. I at once found the latter, but to my dismay I could not discover the flint and steel. I remembered giving it, the last time we encamped, to Pat Casey, but I could not recollect whether he had returned it. I was almost in despair. I feared that, should I attempt to pass another night without fire, I must perish, even were the cold less intense than it had been previously. Pat Casey was bound to give them back to me. He must have done so. I remembered that I had pockets in my waistcoat. I unbuttoned my coat, and there at the bottom in the left-hand pocket of my waistcoat I found my flint and steel. They were of more value to me just then than a purse of gold. I quickly struck a light, and going down on my knees, by the aid of some dried moss and leaves, and by dint of careful blowing, I soon had a fire started, as we say in the Far West. Eagerly I bent over it. Its genial warmth imparted new life to my chilled limbs and body. Then, sitting down with my feet so close that I almost singed my stockings, I gradually thawed my shoes. How comfortable they felt when I again put them on! I now began to feel the pangs of hunger, for I had taken nothing since the previous morning. Food I must have at all costs. I even glanced at my poor horse with wolfish eyes. "I must eat it, if I can get nothing else," I said to myself; but then again I thought, "By what means shall I reach the fort? I cannot trudge on foot all the distance through the deep snow. I must let my horse live. It would sorely grieve me to have to kill him." Thoroughly warmed, I got up with the intention of pushing into the wood and trying to knock over some bird or small beast. There were few young birds at that season not well able to fly out of my way, and the animals of the forest were likely to have been driven under shelter by the snowstorm. I still had the stick which had served me to mount the hill and make my way over the snow. I had left my pistols in my holsters. I mention this to account for my not now having them. My only weapons, therefore, were my long hunting-knife and this stout stick. I was, I knew, more likely to find some animals deep in the wood than on the borders, as they would have gone there for shelter. As I went along I anxiously examined every tree I passed in search of birds or the traces of squirrels or any other of the smaller inhabitants of the woods. Now and then a squirrel would look out of its hole, and on seeing me would be off to the tree-top. Birds were rare, and being perfectly silent at this season, their notes did not betray their whereabouts. The evening was drawing on. I considered whether I could manage to set any traps. It would take time to construct them, and I was starving. As I wandered along, I found myself again near the borders of the wood with a thick bush near me. At that moment I caught sight of an animal of nearly three feet in length, which I at once recognised as a "peeshoo," as the French Canadians call it, though properly denominated the Canadian lynx. Its fur was of a dark grey, freckled with black. It had powerful limbs, and thick, heavily-made feet. It was still when I first caught sight of it, but presently it commenced a succession of bounds with its back slightly arched, all the feet coming to the ground at the same moment. Instead of moving forward in a direct line, I observed that it was making a large circle, which it gradually decreased. I concealed myself behind the bush, hoping that it would come near enough to give me a chance of rushing out and striking it a blow on the back, when I could at once have killed it. With intense interest, therefore, I watched its proceedings. I now observed a small animal which I saw was a hare in the centre of the circle it was forming. The little creature, terror-stricken, seemed unable to run off, though, being a fleeter animal than the lynx, it might easily have escaped. The lynx approached nearer and nearer the hare, keeping one of its sharp eyes fixed on it all the time, when, having got sufficiently near to reach its prey, it made two bounds, and the hare the next moment was dead. I was on the point of rushing out to secure, as I hoped, both the lynx and the hare, when I saw a dark shadow cast on the ground, and, looking up, I caught sight of a golden eagle, which must have come from the far-off Rocky Mountains, in the act of pouncing down on the lynx; the latter, seeing its enemy, dropped the hare and prepared to defend itself and prevent its prey being carried off. In spite of the large size of the lynx, the eagle swooped downwards to the attack, striking with its powerful beak the quick-sighted animal on the back, into which it fixed its sharp talons. The eagle had, however, not so firm a hold as to prevent the lynx from freeing itself; then with its formidable claws it sprang at the bird, tearing some of the feathers from its breast. On this the eagle rose into the air, and circling several times round, a short distance above the earth, prepared undauntedly again to descend and renew the combat. The lynx, watching every movement, as it saw the bird coming made a tremendous leap, trying to seize it by the neck; but the eagle, striking its antagonist's body with its talons, threw it on its back, and again attempted to plunge its beak into the throat of the lynx. So furiously did the two creatures struggle, and so thickly was the snow sent flying round them, while the air was so filled with the eagle's feathers, that I could scarcely distinguish what was taking place. I should have rushed forward to destroy both the combatants, had I not feared that seeing me coming the eagle might fly off, and the lynx scamper away out of my reach, and I was too weak to follow it to any distance. I therefore let the fight proceed, hoping that I might benefit by the utter exhaustion of the two parties, as is often the case when nations go to war, and a third interferes to reap an advantage from the folly of the others. I had to restrain my impatience for some minutes while the furious struggle continued. The bird now made an attempt to rise, but it seemed to me that the lynx held it fast. I could restrain myself no longer, and, grasping my stick, I rushed forward. Both creatures saw me coming. The lynx got on its feet, but before it could make a single bound a well-directed blow on its back laid it dead on the snow. The eagle, to my surprise, did not fly off, and I now saw that one of its wings was broken. It still presented too formidable a front to be approached unless with due caution, for its beak might inflict a serious wound. Holding my stick ready, I swung it with all my force against its head, and the bird rolled over stunned. As it might quickly come to, I immediately drew my knife and severed the head from the body. I was too hungry, however, to stop and examine either the eagle or the lynx, except to ascertain that the latter was perfectly dead. A few cuts of my knife soon settled that point, and then eagerly taking up the hare, I hurried with it back to the fire. I did not stop to skin it very artistically, but running a spit through the body, I at once placed it to roast--camp fashion--on two forked sticks. I watched it eagerly for a few minutes, when, unable longer to resist the cravings of hunger, I cut off one of the legs, which I devoured nearly raw. The keenness of my appetite being satisfied, I felt that I could wait till the rest was more properly cooked. I now bethought me that it would be wise, while the hare was roasting, to bring in the lynx, at all events; for though not dainty food, I had seen Indians eat the flesh of the animal, and it was very possible that wolves might be attracted to the spot and deprive me of it. I might have to wait a long time before my larder was supplied in so curious a manner as it had been on this occasion. I therefore hastened back to where I had left the lynx. As I got up to it, I saw in the distance an animal which I felt nearly sure was a wolf. I must get back to the fire with my game, or the wolf might deprive me of it. Shouldering the lynx, the weight of which was as much as I could carry, I struggled along with it towards my camp. Every moment I expected to hear the wolf behind me, but as I at once struck into the wood I kept out of the creature's sight. I was thankful when I saw the bright blaze of my fire between the trunks of the trees. Hurrying forward, to my infinite satisfaction I found the hare safe on the spit and almost done. I threw down my burden close to the fire, having made up my mind to fight for my prize should the wolf attempt to take it from me. I might have to do battle also, I knew, not only for myself, but for my horse, which, should the wolf discover, it would very probably attack. The hare, which was now sufficiently cooked to be eaten, wonderfully restored my strength and spirits. A portion remained for my breakfast next morning, and I must then commence on the flesh of the lynx. I had been so far preserved, and I was under no apprehension as to what might happen. I reflected, however, that it would be necessary to prepare some defence both for myself and my horse during the night against the attack of wolves, and I considered how that might best be done. As I had still a few minutes of daylight, I employed them in cutting some stout sticks, which I fixed in the snow at a short distance from the fire; others I fastened with withes to the top as rafters, on which I laid some branches, covering the whole with snow. I also formed the walls of my hut with snow. There was fortunately a moon in the sky, which enabled me to continue my labours long after sunset. Having completed my hut, I collected a further supply of sticks, and made up my fire to last, as I hoped, for two or three hours. I then went out, intending to bring my horse close to the hut. I found him still at his supper, and he seemed very unwilling to leave the spot where he had cleared away the snow. On my speaking to him, with a little coaxing he, however, followed me, and I led him to the side of the hut, where I secured him to a stake which I managed to drive into the ground, for though covered with snow, it was soft below it. I then cleared away the snow sufficiently to enable him to get at the grass. This seemed to content him, and I hoped that he would remain quiet and get rested for the journey which I expected to commence the next morning. On examining my pile of sticks, I thought it would be prudent to get a further supply, so that I might keep the fire blazing till daylight, and be able to cook some of the lynx for breakfast, as also a sufficient quantity to take with me. For this object I was going along the edge of the wood, when suddenly a large animal rushed out from a thick copse a short distance before me, planting itself in a threatening attitude as if determined to dispute my progress. It was scarcely twenty feet off, and I knew that in a moment its fangs might be fixed in my throat. My situation appeared desperate, for I felt sure that should I show the least symptom of fear the creature would attack me. I prayed for the courage and firmness I so much needed. Should I retreat, the monster would to a certainty follow. Holding the bundle of sticks I had already collected in front of me as a shield, I flourished my stick, shouting as loud as my weak voice would permit. The wolf appeared somewhat startled and retreated a few steps, still keeping its piercing eyes fixed firmly on me. The creature's retreat, though it was but for a short distance, encouraged me. I advanced. On seeing this it set up a most fearful howl, which I concluded it did for the purpose of collecting some of its fellows to assist it in its meditated attack on me. I redoubled my cries, shouting out, "Sandy! Pat! Pierre! Come along!" with the idea that the wolf would suppose I had companions at hand, who would come at my call. As I advanced it kept retreating, but still continued its appalling howls. It occurred to me that it was the wolf I had before seen, and that it must have its lair in the neighbourhood. This was not a pleasant thought, but still I hoped that if I could frighten it off I should not be further molested. The wolf continued howling and I shouting for nearly a quarter of an hour. At length finding that no other wolves came to join it, and that I was determined not to flinch, it turned round, and in a few seconds was lost to view in the surrounding gloom. I learnt an important lesson from the adventure. It showed me that by an exhibition of courage and determination even enemies of far superior force may be deterred from making an attack, and be put ignominiously to flight. Having satisfied myself that the wolf had really gone off, I returned to my hut, looking back, however, every instant to ascertain whether or not it was following me. I found my horse still cropping the grass. He welcomed me with a neigh as I approached, to show his gratitude. It was a sign also that he was regaining his strength. I felt very thankful that I had not killed him, as I had contemplated doing. Having deposited my bundle of wood on the pile previously formed, I crept into my hut. I then placed some sticks across the entrance as a protection against any sudden attack, and lay down on the pack-saddle, covering my feet with the horse-rug. Though the cold was sufficiently severe under other circumstances to have kept me awake, before many minutes were over I was fast asleep. CHAPTER TWO. FIRST NIGHT IN MY SOLITARY CAMP--PAT CASEY RESCUED--LYNX BROTH--THE WOLF'S SECOND APPEARANCE--PAT'S "DHRAMEING"--THE WOLF AGAIN APPEARS--PAT RECOVERS AND SHOOTS THE "BASTE"--PAT'S NOVEL METHOD OF MAKING A FIRE BURN--LOSS OF OUR POWDER--WE CONSTRUCT HUNTING-SPEARS, AND COMMENCE OUR JOURNEY--OUR HORSES MYSTERIOUSLY DISAPPEAR--MARCHING WITHOUT FOOD--THE INFURIATED ELK--HAVING TAKEN REFUGE IN A TREE, MY SPEAR PROVES USEFUL-- DEER'S FLESH A GOOD PREVENTIVE AGAINST STARVATION--SMOKED VENISON-- MISKWANDIB IS STARVING, AND SO ARE HIS SQUAW AND CHILDREN--OUR NARROW ESCAPE FROM BEING POISONED BY ROOTS. I had remembered before closing my eyes the importance of awaking in a couple of hours. It was the last thought that had occupied my mind. I recollect starting up and seeing the fire blazing brightly, which showed me that I could not have slept half the time I had intended. The next time, however, I awoke but a few embers were still burning. I sprang to my feet, and rushing out threw on some sticks. I was compelled to blow pretty hard to make them blaze up. I was afraid that before they would do so the wolf might pay me a visit. Perhaps he might appear with several companions. I was greatly relieved when the flames once more blazed up, and on looking round beyond them I could see no animal in the neighbourhood. I therefore again retired within my hut, hoping that I might now rest securely till daylight. The appalling howls of the wolf still rung in my ears; and though I slept on, it was under the impression that the monster was about to attack me. I believe that the howlings were only in my own fancy, for when I once more awoke and looked out it was broad daylight. My horse was standing quietly cropping the remainder of the grass, though there was little enough he could manage to reach. Having moved the stake to a little distance, and cleared away the snow, so that he might get at the grass without difficulty, I made up the fire, and put some of the lynx flesh to roast before it. It would not, I expected, prove very palatable, but it would enable me to support existence. While the flesh was cooking I sat down inside my hut and devoured the remainder of the hare. It was but a small animal, and what I had left from the previous evening was not sufficient to satisfy my hunger, which was somewhat ravenous after the many hours I had gone without food. I found in the morning, when attempting to move about, that my limbs were very stiff, while my strength had greatly diminished, and I began to doubt whether I should be able to accomplish the journey I proposed without taking longer time to recruit. I was, however very unwilling to delay longer than I could help, Alick would be anxiously looking for me. I hoped that Sandy and the other men had escaped, for I knew that they also, if they had strength sufficient, would not return home without endeavouring to discover what had become of me. I, however, still suffered a good deal of pain, and when I walked about my legs felt stiff, and scarcely able to support my body; still, I hoped that after I had breakfasted I should be sufficiently recovered to commence my journey. The lynx flesh being cooked, I ate a portion, but it was tough and unsavoury, and I was not sorry to finish my meal. I then got up, with the intention, before starting, of watering my horse at the stream, which I knew would not yet be frozen over, in spite of the cold. Putting on the saddle and bridle, I led him along the edge of the wood in search of some narrow part through which we could make our way, for the wood, as far as I could see, bordered the stream for its whole length. I went on for some distance in the direction from which I had come, when I caught sight afar off of a dark object rising out of the plain of snow. On examining it carefully between my hands, placed on either side of my head, I saw that it was a horse standing stock-still, and it appeared to me that there was another small body at its feet. It naturally occurred to me that the horse must be that of one of my companions, and immediately throwing myself into the saddle I rode towards it. In a short time I was convinced that I had not been mistaken--that the object I saw was a horse, and that at its feet lay the body of a man. Every moment was precious, for if he was still alive he must be in an almost dying state, and would require instant attention. As I got near I saw that the horse was held by the bridle, which the man on the ground was still grasping in his hand. This gave me some hope that the person was still alive. I urged on my poor steed, who could scarcely move through the thick snow. At length, on reaching the man and horse, a glance showed me that the man was Pat Casey! Throwing myself out of my saddle, and kneeling down by his side, I had the satisfaction of discovering that he still breathed, though he was apparently perfectly unconscious. His horse was almost as far gone, and I saw was unable to carry him. My first thought was to get poor Pat to the fire and give him some food. Exerting all my strength, I accordingly lifted him on to my saddle, and, holding him there as well as I could, I set off to return to my camp. His horse followed mine, so that there was no necessity to lead it. Though the distance was not great, it took me a long time to perform it, and I was greatly afraid that he would expire before I could give him some food, and restore the circulation in his veins. Hurrying on as fast as I could make my horse move, we at last reached the hut, before which the fire was still burning. I brought my horse close to the entrance, when, lowering Pat down off the saddle, I dragged him inside, for I had not sufficient strength to carry him; indeed, I had found it a hard matter to get him into the saddle. The first thing I did was to examine his brandy flask, but found it empty. I would have given much for a small portion just then. I next took some of the roasted lynx meat, which I applied to his mouth, and squeezed all the juice out of it down his throat. The slight quantity of nourishment he thus swallowed, with the warmth of the hut, had a beneficial effect, and he, opening his eyes, seemed to recognise me, though he could not speak. This encouraged me to persevere in my efforts to restore him. I got off his shoes and stockings and rubbed his feet; then warming the stockings at the fire, I again put them on. I applied friction also to the palms of his hands and to his chest. While I was thus employed, I saw his horse, which had followed us, approach the hut. It struck me that there was something very like a pot hanging from the saddle. I rushed out and caught the animal, when, to my delight, I discovered our saucepan, with a tin mug, which Pat at our last encampment had probably forgotten to fasten to the baggage-mule, and had consequently secured to his own saddle. Making up the fire, I instantly put on some of the lynx meat to concoct some broth, which would, I knew, prove more efficacious than anything else I could give to my suffering companion, while I myself should be very glad of it. Fortunately his gun was fastened to his saddle, and he had on his thick coat. A brace of pistols were also in his holsters. Whatever might befall him, I should thus have the means of defending myself and of procuring game, for he had on his ammunition-belt, which was well supplied with powder and shot. The coat, with the aid of the horse-cloths, would contribute greatly to our warmth at night, though I could dispense with it during the daytime. While the broth was boiling, I continued to feed him with as much juice as I could press from the meat, for he was not in a fit state to eat solid food. While I was attending to Pat, I allowed the horses to remain loose, as I was sure that they would not wander far. I had given up all idea of travelling that day, for Pat was utterly unable to move, and I felt myself scarcely in a fit state to ride any distance. As soon as the soup was ready I took some in the cup, and having cooled it in the snow, poured it slowly down Pat's throat. His eyes seemed to be regaining their usual brightness, but yet he did not speak. Waiting a little I gave him some more, when I heard him say in a low voice, "Arrah! now, but that's foine! Blessings on you, Masther David." "I am glad to hear you speak, Pat," I said; "you'll get all to rights in time." I next took some of the soup myself, but I cannot say that I admired its flavour, though it warmed up my inside, and contributed much to restore my strength. I kept the pot on boiling, that I might give Pat more soup. Thus the day wore on, Pat gradually recovering, though as yet he was unable to give any account of himself. The expenditure of the lynx flesh was considerable in making the soup, but I hoped to be able with Pat's gun to shoot some birds, or some other animal, and did not begrudge it. Leaving Pat asleep, I took his gun and went out to see how the horses were getting on, and to gather more sticks for our fire. I brought in several bundles, and was returning for some more when, almost at the spot where I had encountered the wolf on the previous evening, it again made its appearance, snarling savagely at me. I should have shouted to frighten it away, but I did not wish to awake Pat, as he could not have come to my help; so holding the gun ready to fire, I advanced slowly, with the same success as before. When I stood still, so did the wolf. When I moved forward, it retreated. I was unwilling to fire lest I should miss it, and I thought it best to refrain from doing so till it should come nearer to me. At last, to my great satisfaction, it turned round and bolted off. So rapidly did it retreat that I had no time to take a steady aim at its shoulder, though I lifted my gun for the purpose of doing so. "I will not let you go another time, my fine fellow," I said to myself. "If you show your ugly face here again, look out for the consequences." The wolf could not have been very hungry, or it would, I suspected, have attacked the horses; though I have since heard that a single wolf will seldom attempt to kill a horse, a pair of heels proving more formidable weapons than its fangs. Having collected enough wood, I returned to the hut. Pat was in the same semi-conscious state as before, still he appeared to me to be getting better, and I hoped that by the next day he would be sufficiently recovered to set off with me towards the fort. I watched him anxiously for some time, wishing, should he awake, to give him some more broth. Finding that he slept on, I was compelled by sheer drowsiness and fatigue to lie down, when I myself was soon fast asleep. When I awoke, I found him sitting up and scratching his head. "Arrah! now, what's it all about?" he muttered. "Shure I've been dhrameing. I thought I was out riding along in the snow." "I hope you feel better, Pat," I said. "For the matter of that, I'm mighty ager after some mate, for I do not know when I last put some between my grinders," he answered. "If you wait a bit, you shall soon have some broth," I said, seeing that he was still weak and scarcely himself. "Lie down, and I'll get it ready for you." I quickly warmed some broth, as I had promised, and brought it to him. He eagerly swallowed it, and asked for more. This I had not to give him, but I promised if he would go to sleep again that I would get some ready for the morning. I accordingly cut off some more meat, and putting it into the pot, filled it up with snow. I then put the pot on the fire, and sat inside the hut watching it while it was boiling. The occupation kept me awake. As I was looking out into the darkness beyond the fire, I fancied that I saw a shadowy form gliding by. It was, I suspected, that of the wolf, which had been attracted by the scent of the boiling meat. The creature was afraid of approaching the fire, or I should soon have had the contents of my pot carried off. I got Pat's gun, and having withdrawn the charge and carefully reloaded it, I placed it by my side, to be ready for use. Now and then the wolf got near enough to show me its glaring eyeballs, and several times I was greatly tempted to fire, to try to kill it, but I did not wish to throw a shot away; and, should I miss, the bullet might find its way towards one of our horses, which were feeding at some distance beyond. At last, on my throwing some more sticks on the fire, which made it blaze up brightly, the wolf scampered off. My cooking kept me awake the remainder of the night, and I had some strong broth ready for Pat in the morning. It had a flavour of its own which would have been much better for some salt and pepper, not to speak of a few vegetables; but as they were not to be procured, we had to take it as it was. Pat, as before, pronounced it "mighty foine." Though it evidently did him good, he showed no inclination to get up and exert himself. To my regret, indeed, I found that he was still very weak, and had not entirely recovered his senses. I had, therefore, to make up my mind to stay in the hut another day. To leave him in that state was impossible, and I was scarcely in a fit condition to set out alone, though I should have done so had I not found him. The weather was tolerably warm, and the snow was diminishing in depth, though where it went to it was difficult to say. Pat, evidently getting better as the day drew on, I took his gun and went out in the hopes of finding some game to replenish our larder. The constant attack I made on the lynx to supply our broth-pot had greatly diminished the flesh on the body. The first night I had kept it inside the hut; but it becoming not over pleasant, I afterwards fastened it to a cross-piece between two high poles, out of the reach of wolves. I was not afraid of meeting my old enemy in the daytime, as by slipping a bullet into my gun I could quickly have disposed of him. I went sometimes into the wood, and at others kept along just outside it; but no animals of any description could I meet with, though I fancied I saw some deer in the distance. They did not, however, come near enough to enable me to be quite certain. It was possible that I might fall in with a buffalo--some solitary bull, perhaps--driven from the herd, but no traces of one could I see on the snow. At last, as I was becoming fatigued and the evening was drawing on, I unwillingly returned to the hut. Pat was sitting up, almost himself again. I fully expected that the next day we should be able to start. Having had some supper, I advised him to lie down; but he insisted on sitting up and watching while I took some sleep, which I confess I greatly required. On awaking, I saw that he was at the entrance of our hut, kneeling down with his gun at his shoulder. "Hist!" he said. "There's a baste looking in upon us, and I'm just going to make him wish that he hadn't come this way." Before I could advise him not to fire he pulled the trigger, and rushing out I saw my old enemy, the wolf, struggling in the agonies of death on the ground. "It will give us some mate, at all events, if not the pleasantest food in the world," exclaimed Pat; "but don't get near his jaws till you are sure he's dead intirely." Pat had taken good aim, and the animal's struggles were soon over. I went round, and dragged the carcass close to the fire, so that it was not likely to be carried off by any of its comrades during the night. It was a huge, savage-looking beast, and I thought that I must be very hard pressed before I could eat its flesh. No other adventure occurred during the night. Pat, whom I advised to lie down again, slept on soundly till the morning, when he appeared to have almost recovered. On looking out, I found that our fire had been extinguished. The weather was very much warmer, and a slight shower of rain had fallen, which had tended gradually to decrease the depth of the snow. We could not expect a more comfortable time for travelling, and I proposed that we should at once set out. Pat got up and tried to walk about. "Shure! it's mighty quare I feel," he said, "but if I can but climb on to the back of my baste, well be able to get along somehow." On observing Pat's weakness I felt rather doubtful about this, and saw that it was necessary at all events that he should have a good meal first, and that we should have enough to eat on our journey. The first thing to be done was to get the fire lighted. I set to work with some dried leaves and bark which I had kept inside; but the sticks, being wet and somewhat green, would not burn up. "Here, Pat! give me a little powder from your powder-horn," I cried out. It is customary, I should say, to use it in such cases. Pat crawled forward, while I stepped aside to look out for some drier sticks. What was my dismay to see him, instead of handing me the powder, or taking a little out in his hand, uncorking his horn and pouring out the contents on the burning leaves! Before I could cry out it exploded, blowing all before it, and sending Pat himself sprawling, six feet from where he had stood, and myself nearly as far. I lay stunned and senseless for some minutes. When I came to my senses, I was seized with the dread that Pat was killed. The fire, I saw, was completely extinguished, and at a distance lay Pat. I got up, and to my surprise ascertained that I had suffered no material injury, beyond having my clothes somewhat singed. On reaching Pat, I found that the horn, which he had held in his hand when the powder exploded, was blown to atoms; but, on examining him, I could not discover that he had received any wound, nor were his face and hands even blackened. While I was looking at him, he opened his eyes. "Arrah! now, what's become of the powder?" he exclaimed, lifting up his hand, which had held the horn, and gazing at it; "shure! it's blown to smithereens." "Indeed it is, and it's a mercy that you were not killed," I said. "What could make you do such a thing?" "Shure! just from not thinking of what I was about," he answered, endeavouring to get on his legs. I helping him, he was able to walk back into the hut. He soon completely recovered, and I sat by his side feeling anything but comfortable or happy. As it had turned out, the most serious result of his thoughtlessness was the loss of our powder, for not a grain more did we possess. Though we had a gun and shot, they were useless. "It's of no use mourning over our loss," I said at length. "I'll try again to light the fire, and after breakfast we will consider what is best to be done. There is a greater necessity than ever for pushing on." Pat agreed with me in this, and after several efforts I got the fire to blaze up, boiled some water, and cooked the remainder of our lynx flesh. Unpalatable as was our food we made a hearty meal, washing it down with warm water. We would have given much for a pinch of salt, and an ounce of tea, not to speak of sugar and milk. "As we cannot use the gun we must be afther making a weapon instead," observed Pat. "The best thing we can do is to fasten our hunting-knives to the end of long poles. They will serve as spears, and enable us with some chance of success to defend ourselves against either Indians or bears or wolves. We can at any time, if we want to use our knives, take them off the poles again." As Pat's idea was a good one, we immediately carried it out. While we were shaping the poles, I saw him eyeing the wolf. "We may get some more tasty mate than that baste will give us, but it's just possible that we may not, and shure it will be wise in us to take as much as we can carry," he said. I agreed with him, and before we bound our knives on to the poles we skinned and cut up the wolf, hanging the hide on to the cross-piece to which the skin of the lynx was suspended. Pat then chose what he considered the best portions of the animal, leaving the remainder of the carcass on the ground. It was time to take another meal before we were ready to start, so we cooked a piece of the wolf's flesh. It was tough and unsavoury, but our teeth being in good condition we managed to masticate a larger portion than I should have conceived possible. I then got the two horses, and, having saddled them, assisted Pat to get on to the back of his. "Forward!" I cried, and we moved on; but I saw that Pat sat his saddle as a sick man does, bending down, and occasionally swaying from side to side. I was afraid that he would fall off. "Never fear, Masther David," he said, "I'll catch hold of the mane before it comes to that, and shure I can stick on as well as Dan O'Rourke when he had got a skinful of the crayther." We both of us knew more or less the direction we were to take, but having got out of the route between the forts, the country immediately around was strange to us. We went on and on, keeping on the lower ground, and hoping in time to strike the right trail. Our horses making no objection, we concluded that we could not be far wrong. We had lost so much time before starting, however, that evening overtook us before we expected, and we were compelled to camp at the first suitable spot we reached. It was under shelter of a wood with a stream running near it, at which we at once watered our horses. We then, as customary, took off their saddles and bridles and turned them loose to feed. The weather being somewhat threatening, I thought it prudent to build a hut, both for Pat's sake and my own; and while he, having collected some sticks, prepared a fire, I set to work to cut the necessary stakes. It was very similar to the one I had before constructed, and as there was plenty of snow on the ground, I formed the walls of it. The hut would be thus much warmer than if formed merely of branches, which, though affording sufficient protection in summer weather, are not calculated to keep out the cold. The only difference between our present and former hut was that the one we had last built was somewhat larger, so as to afford accommodation to both of us. We had nothing but the wolf's flesh for supper, and though we tried it roasted and boiled, in neither state could I manage to eat more that a very small quantity. Pat munched away far more to his satisfaction, if not greedily. It was, perhaps, in consequence of this that he awoke in the night complaining of great pain. The only remedy I could think of was hot water. It somewhat alleviated his sufferings, but in the morning he was too ill to proceed. He urged me to go on to the fort, but this I refused to do. I might be three or four days reaching it, or longer, should any untoward circumstance occur, and he might be dead before I returned. This event made me feel very much out of spirits. I was anxious if possible to procure better food than the wolf's flesh afforded, so taking my spear I went out to try to kill some animal or other. In vain I searched in every direction. I was tantalised by the sight of birds. I caught glimpses of a racoon and a couple of squirrels, but I could not get at them. Had I possessed a charge of powder I might have killed something. At last hunger compelled me to return, and I set to work to cook more of the wolf's flesh. Detestable as I had thought it, I was thankful that we possessed even that on which to sustain life. I was too tired to go out again; indeed Pat was so ill that I did not like to leave him. Having led the two horses to the stream to drink, I returned with our pot full of water to the hut; then making up the fire, I lay down to sleep. On awaking at night I heard the sound of falling snow. Our fire was out, and as it would be a hard matter to relight it, and to keep it in when alight, I did not make the attempt. Next morning, when I looked out, the whole country was a foot or more deep in snow. I turned my eyes in the direction I expected to see the horses. They were nowhere visible. Still, I hoped that they had only gone round to the other side of the wood, and would soon return. Pat was rather better. When I told him that the horses were missing, he looked much aghast, and acknowledged that having awakened in the night, he had seen several figures like shadowy forms passing in the distance before the hut; but fancying he was dreaming, he had again dropped off to sleep. "I hope you were dreaming," I observed, "but I shall be more satisfied when I see the horses again." Immediately after breakfast, taking my trusty spear, I sallied out in search of our steeds, with very little doubt that I should soon find them. Great was my disappointment, therefore, on reaching the place to which I supposed they had gone, not to see them. I went completely round the wood and looked up the stream, but not a trace of them could I discover. Our condition had been bad before; it was now much worse. I was convinced that Pat had really seen some Indians, who had carried them off. We had cause to be thankful that they had not attacked us; perhaps they were deterred from the belief that we possessed firearms. They knew also that they would not be pursued, as the snow would have completely obliterated their trail? Here we then were, several days' journey distant from the fort, without firearms, and my companion too ill to walk. I looked at our store of wolf flesh, and calculated how many days that would last us. It would soon come to an end, and then what could we do? Our friends might, indeed, come in search of us, but the snow almost hid our low hut; and, unless we had a fire burning, they might pass by without discovering us. I pass over the next three days. Pat got better, but our store of meat came to an end. We had a few bones, which we pounded, and with some roots which I dug up in the wood I made a kind of broth. It was more palatable and nutritious than I could have supposed. I proposed going back to our former camp, to fetch the skins of the wolf and lynx, as they would cut into strips, and boiled, give us sufficient food to sustain life. Pat advised me not to make the attempt. In the first place he thought that the skins would probably have been carried off by the Indians, who were sure to have visited our camp; and they might be in the neighbourhood, and seeing me alone, might take my scalp as a trophy of their prowess. Notwithstanding the limited amount of unsavoury food we had eaten, I retained my strength, and Pat regained his. At last every particle we possessed was consumed. Notwithstanding the danger of marching without food, it was better than remaining where we were; and early one morning, with our spears in our hands, Pat carrying the saucepan and mug, we started forth. We had no great fear of Indians, for should those who stole our horses have wished to kill us, they would have done so at once. They could now track us easily in the snow; but this they were not likely to do. We had got to some little distance along the bank of the stream when Pat, who was rather in advance, stopped, and made a sign to me not to move, while he pointed ahead. There I saw several magnificent deer, which had come down to the water to drink. It would have been a sight to cheer our hearts had we possessed powder; but in spite of our want of it, I at once resolved at all hazards to try to kill one of the animals. There were several young ones with them. We were near a bush, behind which we slipped; then in low voices we arranged our plan of operation. It was important to keep to leeward of the deer, or they might have scented us. We at once crept forward, crouching down and keeping ourselves concealed by the brushwood. As we got nearer, we perceived that the animals were moose or elk, the largest of the deer tribe, with magnificent thick antlers. We well knew the danger of attacking such animals, which defend themselves both with these antlers and with their fore feet; with the latter they can strike the most terrific blows, sufficient to kill any assailant. Still, hunger made us daring. Besides the wood through which we were making our way, poplars and several other trees grew in the open ground. We would, if we could have approached them, have attacked one of the smaller animals, but they were feeding farther away from our cover, and their mothers would quickly have led them out of our reach. Close to the wood, however, stood a magnificent stag, feeding leisurely, as if unconscious of the approach of a foe. Our plan was to rush out and attack him; and we hoped mortally to wound him before he had time to take to flight. The attempt was a desperate one, but it was worth making. We crept on noiselessly in Indian fashion, stopping every now and then to be sure that the elk did not see us till we had got within eight or ten yards of him. "Now!" I whispered to Pat, and we both sprang up and dashed forward with our spears aimed at the elk's breast. So completely surprised was he that he did not even attempt to fly, but stood staring at us with his large lustrous eyes, till Pat's spear entered his chest, and I, who was more on the outside, had wounded him in the shoulder. Pat, instead of pressing home his spear, withdrew it with the intention of making another lunge, when the animal started back, and reared on its hind legs, as if about to strike Pat, who, seeing his danger, leaped back under cover, calling to me to follow him. I had no time to do this; but hoping that the wound which Pat had inflicted would prove mortal, ran off to a distance. The elk missed Pat but saw me, and immediately came bounding towards me. I had barely time to slip behind a thick poplar, when the elk's horns came crashing against it. The animal, apparently, in its fury had not seen the tree. Finding itself stopped, it retreated, when it again caught sight of me, and made another rush; but, as before, I avoided it by slipping round the tree. Now it rushed with its antlers against the trunk; now it reared, pawing with its feet, one blow from either of which would have laid me low. My life depended on my quickness of sight and agility. Each time long strips of bark were torn off the tree, showing how it would have treated my body. Again it retired, to charge in the same way as before. I hoped that it would soon get tired of these performances, but it seemed resolved on my destruction. To mount the tree was impossible, and I dared not turn round to ascertain what trees were behind me with branches sufficiently low to enable me to climb out of the way of the enraged animal. Pat did not come to my assistance. I hoped indeed that he would not, for the elk would probably have seen him, and would have pierced him with its antlers before he would have had a chance of retreating. I was, however, getting very weary of the fearful game I was playing. I wanted to ascertain what had become of Pat, but I dared not withdraw my eye for a moment from the movements of the elk. All my energies, all my senses were required to escape the dreadful charges it was making. Now it would rush to one side of the tree, now to the other, while I had to slip round and round to escape its blows. Not having my usual strength to begin with, I was becoming very tired. There seemed to be no likelihood that my antagonist would give in. At last, I determined at all hazards to carry out the plan I had formed, and to escape to some tree up which I could climb. I knew that should my foot slip, and I fall to the ground, the elk would in a moment be upon me. I shouted to Pat, telling him what I intended to do, and hoping that he might appear and attract, if even but for a few moments, the attention of the elk. Some time elapsed before I could get to the side from which I intended to take my flight. I waited for the moment that the deer should make his charge against the tree, when, as it would be some seconds before he discovered that he had not caught me, I might have the start of him. With a crash his antlers struck the trunk, and as I heard the sound I darted off. I did not dare to look round to see whether he was following. Almost breathless I reached a tree, but it was not one I could climb. As I ran round it, a glance I cast over my shoulder showed me the savage brute tearing across the open ground in the direction I had taken. On I went; another and another tree was passed. He was nearly up to me, when I saw one a short distance ahead with a branch projecting at a height which I could reach. The elk was close upon my heels when, grasping hold of the bough by an effort of which I scarcely supposed myself capable, I drew myself up beyond the reach of his antlers, which the next instant came crashing against the trunk just below my feet. I had no wish, however, to let my antagonist go, and having saved my spear I resolved to make effectual use of it; so, getting into a position between the branches where I could sit securely, I got my weapon ready for use. The elk having lost me retreated for a few paces, when again catching sight of me he dashed forward, rearing up on his hind feet. With all the strength I possessed, I darted down my sharp-pointed spear towards the top of its head. I knew that the skull was thick, but that if my knife would penetrate it, I should certainly kill the elk. The blow was more effectual than I had dared to hope for. The moment the moose was struck, down it sank to the ground, without giving a single struggle. I could then for the first time look out to ascertain what had become of Pat, shouting as I did so, and presently I saw him rushing out of the larger wood towards me. As he caught sight of the dead elk, he threw up his hat, exclaiming, "Hurrah! good luck to you, Masther David! Erin go bragh! We'll not be afther starving at any rate." On seeing him coming I descended from my perch. We greeted each other with a hearty shake of the hands, as if we had been long absent. We lost no time in skinning our game, cutting out the tongue, and as large a portion of the haunch as we could carry. Having prepared our loads, I was about to set off, when Pat exclaimed, "Stay, Masther David; before we are back, the wolves or vultures will have got hould of our mate. It's more than they desarve, the varmints." Saying this, he carefully cut away the inside of the animal, and drew forth a large bladder, which he emptied of its contents, and then blew into it till it was inflated to the full. He then secured it by a thin line drawn from the intestines, which he fastened to a branch overhead, so that it hung vibrating in the breeze over the carcass, glittering brightly as it slowly moved to and fro. "That will keep the bastes away till we come back," he observed. I rather doubted, however, the success of the experiment. We at once returned to our camp, where we left our pot and Pat's useless gun, and the few other articles we had brought with us. We soon got a fire lighted, and our venison cooked, and a very hearty meal we made. Having secured the meat inside the hut, before which we left the fire blazing, we returned for a further supply, as we intended to dry enough to last us for the time we should take to reach the fort. As we approached the spot we saw numerous birds seated on the branches of the surrounding trees, and at a short distance a dozen at least of the smaller prairie-wolves. Both one and the other were evidently scared by the glittering balloon. Our shouts prevented the wolves from approaching, and allowed us plenty of time to obtain a further supply of venison. More we could not have carried with us even when dried, so we left the remainder of the carcass to the birds and beasts of prey, who would certainly, after sunset, pounce upon it. Our first care on arriving at our camp was to cut the venison which we did not require for immediate use into thin strips. These we proposed drying in the sun and smoke, and then packing in as small a space as possible to carry on our backs. Thankful for our preservation, we lay down that night to sleep, hoping that nothing would prevent us from continuing our journey on the following morning. Eager as we were to proceed, we agreed that it would be wiser to spend another day in preparing our meat and recruiting our strength, for though both of us were much recovered, we were not fit for a long tramp, with the fatigue at the end of the day's journey of building a hut and collecting wood for our fire. We were very busy all day smoking the venison and drying it in the sun, the heat of which was still sufficient for our object. We could hear the wolves during the night wrangling over the carcass of the deer, but they did not pay us a visit. As they would have had sufficient food, we did not fear that they would attack us; should they do so, we were prepared to receive them with our sharp spears. The morning of our departure arrived. Breakfasting on the remainder of our fresh venison, we did up our provisions in two packs, including our other articles; and with our spear-handles as staffs, we set forward on our journey in good spirits. We had met with many dangers, and surmounted them all; and we hoped that, should we have more to encounter, we might be preserved by the same merciful Providence which had hitherto watched over us. My chief anxiety now was about what had happened to Sandy and Pierre; still, thoroughly well acquainted with the country as they were, and accustomed to emergencies of all sorts, I hoped that long before this they would have made their way home. Pat could give no account of them. He had been separated from them as I was in the snowstorm, and had ridden on, not knowing where he was going. Had I not found him, he would undoubtedly have perished. We trudged on manfully all day, stopping only for a short time about noon to eat a portion of the cold venison which we had cooked, so that there was no necessity for lighting a fire till we reached our camping-ground at night. Had we possessed more clothing we should have been saved the trouble of building a hut; but as we had only our horse-cloths to put over our shoulders, we were afraid of suffering from the cold should we sleep in the open air. We marched straight forward without even looking for game, as we had food enough, and were unwilling to lose any time. Our belief was that we were directing our course exactly for the fort, but, after marching on for four days, I began to have some uncomfortable misgivings on the subject. We might have kept too much to the south and passed it, for the snow covered up the slight trail which existed, and we had only the general appearance of the country to go by. I had never led a party, having trusted to Sandy or others, and therefore had not sufficiently noted the landmarks. I now bitterly regretted my carelessness, and resolved in future to note for myself, on every journey, the most remarkable points, so that I might, when alone, be able to find my way. "Shure! the fort's a mighty dale furder off than I thought for," observed Pat, as we were forming our camp on the evening of the fifth day. I then told him my own apprehensions. He looked somewhat uncomfortable. "But we have still got some venison in our packs, and must try back, I suppose," he said. "I can think of no other course to take." After we had fixed up our hut, we had a serious talk as to what was best to be done. I proposed going northward, and endeavouring to reach a branch of the Upper Saskatchewan, on the bank of which our fort was situated, as by following the stream up or down we must eventually come upon it. This was, indeed, our only safe plan, and we determined next morning to pursue it. Darkness had come on. We were engaged in cooking our supper--roasting a portion and boiling some of the dried venison to serve as a beverage. We had had no time to dig for roots during our journey, but as soon as we halted, while I was preparing the fire, Pat went into the wood to search for some. He brought in a large handkerchief full, but, as we were very hungry, we agreed that we would wait until the next morning to cook them for breakfast, as they would require a good deal of boiling. We therefore piled them up on one side, that we might peel and prepare them after supper. I was stirring the pot, when, looking beyond the flames, I caught sight of the figure of a man slowly approaching. The light falling on him showed me that he was an Indian. He held a bow in his hand, and a quiver of arrows was at his back. "Hillo! some one is coming," I exclaimed to Pat, who was lying down, and did not therefore see the Indian, and was probably not seen himself. Pat started up, and mechanically placed his hand on his gun, which was lying near him, forgetting that it was unloaded. The Indian must have observed the action, but without taking notice of it, he quickly came up and stood opposite to us on the other side of the fire. "Whaugh!" exclaimed the stranger, in a tone of surprise, looking at Pat and me. "I did not expect to find white men here, at this time of the year." "Who are you?" I asked. "I am Miskwandib, and wish to be your friend," answered the Indian. "At present I am hungry, and should be glad of food. Had I been an enemy I could have killed you both with my arrows at a distance, and taken what I require." "Much obliged to you, friend Miskwandib, for your kindness," said Pat. "Sit down, and make yourself at home, and you shall have some of our supper." Pat spoke partly in English and partly in the Cree language. The Indian understood him, and coming round to our side of the fire sat down next to Pat. We immediately handed him some of the venison, which he ate ravenously, while I put on a fresh piece to roast. It greatly diminished our stock of provisions, but we could not withhold it from the starving Indian. "Have you any friends in the neighbourhood, Misther Miskwandib?" asked Pat. "I have my squaw and children encamped at the farther end of the wood," he answered. "They, too, are starving and want food. They nearly perished in the snowstorm which occurred some time back, and since then I have been unable to kill any game for their support. You with your firearms will be able to obtain what you may require." We, of course, did not wish to say that we had no powder, or that I had not even a gun. Pat and I, after a short consultation, agreed that humanity demanded we should share our provisions with the starving Indians. While we were talking, the Indian's eye fell upon the roots by Pat's side. "What are these for?" he asked. "Shure! to cook and ate," answered Pat. "If you eat these roots, before many hours are over you will be dead men," exclaimed the Indian, taking them up one after another, and throwing them to a distance, reserving only four or five of a different species from the rest. "These are wholesome, if you boil them sufficiently; they are such as my family and I have lived on for many days past." Being assured that the Indian spoke the truth, we thanked him for the timely warning he had given us. We now did up the larger portion of what remained of our meat, reserving only enough for the following day, and giving it to him, asked if he knew Fort Black, and would agree to guide us to it. He seemed somewhat surprised at our liberality, and replied that if we would wait a day or two, till his family were fit to travel, he would show us the direct way to it. We understood from him that it was some distance off. I replied that, as our friends were expecting us, we wished to set off at once, and that if he would point out the direction of the fort we could find our way alone. "As such is your resolution, may the Good Spirit guide you! I cannot leave my family, and they will be unable to travel for two days at least." Saying this, he got up and drew a line on the ground pointing to the north-east. "That is the direction you must follow," he said. "In three days you will reach the fort." We knew by this that we had gone too far to the westward, and not sufficiently to the north. We hoped that now we should be able to make our way. We were thankful to think that we had only two nights more to stop out, and unless the weather changed very much for the worse we were not likely to suffer. The Indian having done up the meat we had given him, without expressing any gratitude took his departure, and was soon lost to sight in the gloom. "Miskwandib! that's the name of the `red head' or `copper-snake'," I observed. "What do you think of our friend, Pat?" "I don't altogether trust him," he answered. "He may be an honest man and have told us the truth; but he may be a rogue and mean us harm, notwithstanding all he said." "He might have shot us with his arrows had he been so inclined," I answered, "and at all events he did us a great service in warning us of the poisonous character of the roots you dug up. I feel pretty sure, too, that he pointed out the right direction to the fort." Still Pat was not convinced of the honesty of Miskwandib. He was never very friendly to the Indians, and certainly begrudged parting with so much of our venison, though ready to do as I wished. We sat up for some time, half expecting another visit from the Indian; but we did not see him, and at length lay down to sleep, Pat promising to keep one eye open, in case he should steal into our camp and help himself to the remainder of our venison. CHAPTER THREE. OUR LAST FRAGMENTS OF MEAT ARE CONSUMED--FORTUNATE DISCOVERY OF A FLASK OF POWDER--PAT'S LASSO--THE MADDENED BUFFALO BULL--PAT'S LASSO IS TURNED TO USEFUL ACCOUNT--BUFFALO TONGUES ROASTED--PAT'S "IRISH"--OUR BUFFALO MEAT BECOMING EXHAUSTED, WE ARE SADLY IN WANT OF FOOD--PAT'S STRANGE BEHAVIOUR--HIS MYSTERIOUS DISAPPEARANCE WITH THE GUN--I GO IN SEARCH OF HIM--FAILING TO FIND HIM, I AM OVERJOYED AT MEETING BOUNCER--THE "BULL BOAT," OR PARCHMENT CANOE--SHOOTING RAPIDS--BLACK FORT ONCE MORE--SANDY AND PIERRE'S ADVENTURES--OUR YOUNG-LADY VISITORS, ROSE AND LETTY--THE MEAT PIT. "Copper-Snake" did not return during the night, nor did we the next morning see anything of him; we therefore packed up, and began our tramp in the direction he had pointed out. The sky had hitherto been clear, but the clouds now began to spread over it, though there was scarcely a breath of air. In a short time the sun was so obscured that it no longer enabled us to steer our course. We had marked a hill, however, in the distance, and marched on guided by it. The hill was of less height and not so far off as we supposed, and when we had crossed it, we could fix on no object to serve as a mark. Notwithstanding this, we kept straight on till we came to a stream. We then had to make our way for some distance down it till we could find a ford. Though the water was very cold, by taking off our shoes and trousers we waded across without wetting our clothes. We were unable to decide in what direction the stream ran, and crossing it somewhat confused us. It might, Pat argued, be running north, or north-west, and still fall into the Saskatchewan, or be running east. Neither the appearance of the sky nor the wind served in any way to guide us. At last we were obliged to camp, as neither of us had strength to go farther. By the next evening we had exhausted, with the exception of a few mouthfuls, the whole of our stock of dried venison, but as we hoped during the next day to reach the fort, we agreed that we could manage to keep body and soul together with the little which remained; still, I did not feel very comfortable. The idea would intrude, that "Copper-Snake" might have misled us, or that we had wandered out of our course. If so, we should be very hard pressed for food, or death by starvation might after all be our fate. I remembered too the anxiety my brother Alick would be enduring about me. There were in the neighbourhood others who, should they hear that we were missing, would be greatly concerned about us. Some way off, farther to the westward, at the foot of the hills, was a missionary station, of which a Mr Crisp had charge. His two children, Martin and Rose, were great friends of ours. In the winter, when we could travel over the country on sleighs, we frequently paid them a visit at the missionary station, which, in the summer, when the river was full, we could reach in a canoe, by making three or four portages past the rapids. Martin was rather younger than I was, and Rose was somewhat older. She was a sensible, clever girl, and we were all much attached to her and her brother. Mr Meredith, who had charge of Fort Ross, had a daughter, Letty. I admired her very much. She was a fair, blue-eyed little girl, just a couple of years younger than me, and I would have gone through fire and water to serve her. I was much disappointed at not finding her at Fort Ross, for she had been spending the summer with Mr and Mrs Crisp, for the purpose of receiving instruction with Rose from Mrs Crisp, who was a highly educated lady. Mr Meredith looked a little more careworn than usual. Reports had been brought him that a large party of Sioux had made an incursion into our territory, and it was not known in what direction they had gone. He had advised us to keep constant watch, and to push forward as fast as our horses could move. Should Sandy and Pierre not have returned to Fort Black, I felt confident that Alick would send to Fort Ross to ascertain when we had set out, and to obtain assistance in searching for us. Remembering, however, that it was wrong to indulge in anticipations of evil when we had already been so mercifully taken care of, I succeeded in putting away my anxious thoughts. The next day was like the past. The sky was clouded; there was not a breath of air, and we had no certain means of knowing in what direction we were proceeding. We ate the last fragments of meat we possessed, before starting, to give us strength for the journey. On we went, but still I was unable to recognise any of the features of the country. Noon approached, and we were getting desperately hungry. After the danger we had run of being poisoned by the roots Pat had dug up, we were afraid of trying others, for neither of us was certain which were wholesome and which poisonous, they both looked so much alike. We were passing the border of a small wood, when Pat gave a shout. "It's my belafe there's the remains of a camp-fire," he exclaimed, pointing to a spot a little distance off. We hurried towards it. There was a black spot round which the snow had been scraped away, and near it was a pile of sticks, but none of the embers remained, the ashes having apparently been blown away by the wind. There were marks of several feet around, in all directions, which made us suppose that the party had been a numerous one. I was looking about when my eye fell on a small object, almost covered by the snow. I ran towards it. It was a powder-flask! Eagerly I pulled out the cork. It was almost full. "Here's a prize, Pat!" I exclaimed, holding it up. "Thank Heaven for it," cried Pat. "We shall now be able to shoot any bird or baste we catch sight of, but it is a bad lookout for whoever left it behind." "I think it tells a tale," I answered. "The party, whoever they were, must have hurried away--perhaps from the appearance of a body of Indians, or they might have gone off in chase of some deer or buffaloes." "If that was so, no one would have left his powder-horn behind," observed Pat. "It's my belafe they took to flight to escape from Indians. It must have been in the daytime, for there are no pieces of bark about, or any signs of a night encampment; but how the Indians came to miss the powder-flask is more than I can say. Let me look at it." He examined the flask carefully, as I had been doing. "It's my belafe," he said, "that it does not belong to any of the people of the fort. My idea is that a party of white men have come over the Rocky Mountains by Jasper House, and have stopped here on their way eastward, intending to reach Fort a la Corne, or Fort Pelly, farther south, though I doubt, unless they can procure sleighs, if they will get there this winter." "Be that as it may, the powder-flask is a God-send to us," I said; "and I hope that the owner will not be the worse without it. At all events, let us load your rifle to be ready for any animal which may come across our path." We searched about for any other treasure which might have been left behind, but could discover nothing in the immediate neighbourhood of the fire. It would be useless to stop where we were, so taking it for granted that the fugitives had gone eastward, we continued on at right-angles to their trail. We had not gone far when, crossing a piece of meadow, where from its exposure the snow had almost disappeared, Pat cried out, "There is something else worth having;" and, darting forward, he lifted up a long lasso composed of buffalo hide. One end had been cut, the other was fixed into the ground by an iron stake with a ring. "The owner of this must have mounted his horse in a desperate hurry, and cut him free," he observed. "If the Indians had taken him, they would have carried off the lasso and stake. We shall hear more about this some day; but I only hope the whites got safe off." Coiling up the lasso with the stake, Pat hung it over his shoulders. "If any buffalo are in the neighbourhood, they are likely to visit this meadow," he observed; "and if we see any, won't we--" And he made signs of biting away with his teeth so furiously that I could not help laughing at his grimaces. "Come! that's right, Masther David. It's a great thing to keep up one's spirits, especially on an empty stomach." We were proceeding along the edge of a wood which bordered the meadow, when we caught sight of several dark spots. By keeping close under the trees we got still nearer to them, when to our infinite satisfaction we discovered that they were buffaloes. So busily were they feeding that they did not see us, but they were still too far out from the cover to allow us to get a shot at one of them; starving as we were, it was a matter of the greatest importance not to allow them to escape. In summer, with proper precautions, when the grass was long, we might have managed to creep over the ground without being discovered by the animals, but with the white mantle which now lay on the ground we should be certain to be seen. We remained hid behind some bushes, Pat's mouth watering with the thoughts of the buffalo meat he hoped to obtain, and my hand trembling with anxiety. Though we could not approach the animals, they might draw nearer to us. We were still waiting in the expectation of their doing this, when another buffalo appeared on the scene, and bellowing loudly approached the herd. They retreated towards the wood, but still at a distance from where we were, when a bull advanced from among them to meet the newcomer. The latter bellowed still more loudly, and was answered by his antagonist. In another minute the horns of the two animals were crashing furiously together. "Now is our time," I cried, and rushing forward with Pat's gun in my hand, I approached the combatants. Pat followed, keeping somewhat to the right of me. I had got to within about thirty yards of the two animals, who were moving about now on one side and now on the other with the greatest rapidity, so that it would not be very easy, I knew, to hit a vital part. Dropping on my knee, that I might take a steadier aim, I raised my rifle and fired at one of the buffaloes, which at that moment presented its side to me. It was in the act of making a rush at its opponent, but fell before their horns met, when the other immediately rushed at it, leaping over the prostrate body of its foe. I was about to reload my rifle, when the victorious buffalo caught sight of Pat and me, and throwing up the snow with its hoofs, and bellowing with rage, it dashed towards us. "Run for a tree! run for a tree!" cried Pat, "or the baste will be upon us;" and suiting the action to the word, he made towards one at no great distance off. I, following his example, ran in the direction of one which appeared somewhat nearer to me. As I began to move, I felt something slip from my fingers. It was my powder-flask! Fortunately I had not yet withdrawn the cork. I had to run as fast as I had been compelled to do when escaping from the elk, with the bellowing buffalo close to my heels. I had barely time to swing myself into the tree, when the enraged animal was up to me. The buffalo dashed forward for some paces, when, not seeing me in front, it turned up its eyes and espied me a few feet only above its head; on this it made a furious charge at the tree, which shook so that I feared it would be uprooted or broken off by the force of its blows. I shouted to Pat to make a diversion in my favour. "I'll do it if I have the chance," he answered; "but why don't you shoot the baste?" I told him that I had lost my powder-horn, and that my rifle was unloaded. All this time the buffalo was going round and round the tree, charging at it, now on one side, now on the other. This it continued doing for what appeared to me a very long time. Sometimes it retired to a short distance, but it was to return again with its rage seemingly increased. The tree, which was but a large sapling, trembled to the very roots, and I had to hold on tightly to escape being shaken off. I entreated Pat to shout, and try to attract the attention of the savage brute. At last I saw him descending from his tree, and approaching cautiously, in an attitude which showed that he was ready at any moment to beat a rapid retreat. As he got nearer, he began to shout at the top of his voice, clapping his hands. Then he took out a red handkerchief and waved it. The buffalo did not at first observe him, but as soon as it caught sight of the red handkerchief, with a loud bellow it went charging my companion at headlong speed, with its horns close to the ground. Pat lost not a moment in scampering off, but he had only just time to reach the tree, and to climb up onto the bough from which he had descended, when the buffalo's horns struck the trunk just below his feet. "It will be all right now, Masther David," shouted Pat; "don't be afther throubling yourself more about the matter." As he said this I saw that he was uncoiling his lasso, and forming a noose at the end. He then took his seat on the bough in an attitude which would enable him to throw it with certainty. The buffalo, however, was not to be so easily caught. Again and again it retreated, charging up to the tree, and rushing round it, without affording Pat an opportunity of letting the noose drop over its head. At last the animal came close under where Pat was sitting. He dropped the noose, and giving the lasso a jerk, brought it over the animal's horns and completely round its neck. No sooner did the buffalo find itself adorned with this somewhat tight cravat--an article of dress to which it was not accustomed--than it began to pull away with all its might; but of course the harder it hauled the tighter became the noose, till, almost strangled, it rushed towards the tree with the idea, apparently, that it would thus be able to liberate itself. "Now's your time, Masther David," cried Pat; "you can pick up your powder-horn and soon settle with the baste." Slipping from the tree, I hurried towards where I had dropped the powder-horn, guided by the traces of my feet; and recovering it, immediately reloaded my rifle. Pat shouted to me to make haste, as he was afraid that the buffalo would break loose. I, of course, was not likely to delay longer than I could help. Stopping within a dozen paces of the buffalo, which eyed me as I approached, I lifted my rifle to my shoulder, and fired. The buffalo, a moment before bellowing with rage and exhibiting its mighty strength, at that instant sank down to the ground; and before Pat, who had slipped from the tree, had time to plunge his hunting-knife into its throat, the monster was dead. The remainder of the buffaloes had taken to flight, leaving us masters of the field and in possession of two fine animals. We had, therefore, only to cut off the humps and extract the tongues, which are considered the most delicate morsels, intending, however, to secure a larger portion as soon as we had satisfied our hunger. Choosing a spot close to the trees where we were completely sheltered from the wind, we speedily lighted a fire, and had one of the tongues roasting before it. The effect of a hearty meal was very satisfactory. Both of us found our strength restored and our spirits rise, as we now felt sure that we should have food enough to last us till we could reach the fort, even should it be farther off than we had supposed. Having cut off and packed up as much buffalo meat as we could carry, we proceeded on our journey, intending not to stop till nightfall. Though we had a good load on our backs we trudged along merrily. The air was pure, and though the cold was considerable we did not feel it while in exercise. At night, though we had not much to cover us, we were able to keep ourselves warm before a blazing fire. Had we enjoyed sufficient time, we might have skinned the buffaloes and made two robes which would have formed sufficient bed-covering, even during the hardest frost; but of course we could not delay for this purpose--besides which, we should have been unwilling to add them to our loads. From every height we reached we looked out eagerly, hoping to see the fort or a portion of the river which flowed by it. Twice we caught sight of Indian wigwams in the far distance, but we avoided them, not knowing whether the inhabitants might prove friends or foes. In either case they would be sure to deprive us of our buffalo meat and perhaps of our lives. Could we have been certain that they would prove friendly, it might have been worthwhile to sacrifice our provisions for the sake of being guided to the fort, with the road to which they would be well acquainted. We took care not to encamp till we had got to a good distance from the wigwams we had last seen, as the smoke of our fire might betray us. "Shure! before the sun sets this day we shall reach the fort," observed Pat, as we were preparing to start after our breakfast; but the sun did not appear in the sky, or rather the clouds obscured it, and we had no certain means of directing our course. As I said before, an Indian or an experienced white hunter would have been quite independent of the sun, being able to tell to a certainty the points of the compass by the appearance of the bark on the trees, or moss on rocks, or many other signs of which both Pat and I were ignorant. I had only lately returned from school in Canada, and Pat, though a capital follower, was not born to be a leader. He did not possess the gift of observation, and like many another Irishman was always making the most curious mistakes. I should never have been surprised when he was loading his gun had he put in the shot first and the powder afterwards; and a story was told of him that, having forgotten to put any powder in the pan of his lock, each time that his gun missed fire he added a fresh charge; and when at length he did prime his piece, and firing, it went off knocking him down, he jumped up exclaiming, "Hurrah! shure, that's only one charge! There's five more to come presently." Still Pat was a faithful fellow, and did his best; which must be allowed was much in his favour, so that he was a favourite with every one-- French voyageurs, English trappers, and half-breeds. "I do hope we shall reach the fort before to-night," I answered to his last remark. "Shure! if we do not, we've got mate enough to last us for a week. If our shoes don't give out, we will have no raison to complain at all at all," he exclaimed. I little thought at the time he spoke that a whole week would pass by, and that even then we should be as far as ever, for what we could tell, from the fort. Had the sky been clear we could have proceeded in a straight line, but obscured as it remained, we, I felt sure, made many a circuit, though we did not exactly hit on our former camp-fires. The snow at this period of the year, just before the early winter set in, rapidly disappeared, so that the marks of our footsteps were obliterated. Sometimes, as we trudged on, I felt as if I was in a troubled dream, aiming at a point and never able to reach it. The end of the week came; our buffalo meat was nearly exhausted, and we saw neither deer nor any other animals. Though for the past two days we had husbanded our store, it came to an end at last, and we were as badly off as we had been before. Our shoes were worn out, our clothes torn, though we still, with a sufficiency of food, should have had strength to go on. Even Pat lost his spirits, and he neither sang nor talked as before. I felt ashamed of myself at having been unable to find my way, when I thought that I should have no difficulty in doing so. Night was approaching, and we must encamp without a particle of food to restore our strength. Frost had set in that day, and the cold before morning might become very severe. Tired though we were, to prevent ourselves from perishing we must light a good fire. At last we reached a wood, and immediately setting to work, collected all the sticks we could find. We had no time to build a hut, and all we could do was to put up a few slabs of birch-bark close to the fire, creep in under them, and go supperless to bed. I could not sleep for thinking of our dreary prospects. Pat's manner too during the day had been very unusual, and caused me much anxiety: the hardships we were enduring were evidently beginning to tell on him. Strange to say, though I was so much younger, I bore them better than he did. Pat, I must confess, at times had been too fond of "the crayther," which had, I concluded, somewhat weakened his constitution. He frequently did not appear to know what we were doing or where we were going, and spoke as if we were out only on a day's shooting excursion. I had generally kept the gun in my own possession, as I was a better shot than he was, and had more chance of killing any game we might come across. Frequently he had declared that he saw buffalo and deer in the distance, and wanted the gun to go in chase of them; but as I was very sure that none were in sight, I had kept it till the idea wore off. Twice I rose to make up the fire, the flames of which I kept watching till they sank low. It was very important to keep it blazing, lest any wolves, or a still more terrible grizzly bear, should find us out. Finding myself at last dropping to sleep, I called Pat, and told him to keep an eye on the fire. "Of course," he answered; "don't be throubling yourself, Masther David." And I saw him sitting up and rubbing his eyes. Trusting that he would do as he promised, I lay back and quickly dropped off to sleep. It was bright daylight when I awoke. On looking round I found that Pat was not where I had last seen him. Supposing that he had awoke early, and, unwilling to arouse me, had gone to collect some sticks to make up the fire, I did not feel anxious. When, however, I got up and looked round on every side, I could nowhere see him. Still fancying that he could not have gone to any great distance, and would soon return, I occupied myself in scraping the embers of the fire together. At last, after waiting for some time, I became still more anxious. He had, I found, taken the gun with him, but, strange to say, had left the ammunition behind. This circumstance made me fear that he had lost his senses, and had gone off, not knowing what he was about. He might, however, have gone out, I thought, in search of game. "Well, if he has gone, I trust that he will bring back something for breakfast," I said to myself, "if he manages to hit with his first shot." Taking my spear in my hand, I at last set out, intending to track him. The snow, as I have before said, had nearly all disappeared; but still here and there I could trace his footsteps without much difficulty. I went on for some distance till I arrived at a wood. I entered it, and was soon utterly unable to discover in what direction he had gone. Again I felt my inferiority to an Indian under similar circumstances. I had left our pot and tin cup at the camp, and I feared that should I push on in the attempt to discover him, I might lose myself altogether, and not be able to make my way back. I accordingly returned to the camp, having still some hopes that Pat, making a circuit, might rejoin me. I waited, but waited in vain. At last I became ravenously hungry. I had the skin in which our meat had been packed, and singeing off the hair, I cut a portion of it into thin strips. After the skin had boiled for some time, I attempted to eat it, by cutting it up into very small pieces. I managed to chew them, and to drink the water in which they had been boiled. The food, such as it was, somewhat allayed the gnawings of hunger. I still kept a portion for Pat, should he appear without any game; but the day wore on, and he did not come. Though I frequently before during our disastrous expedition had been very miserable, I now felt more wretched than ever, beginning seriously to fear that I should perish with hunger. While I thought of myself, I at the same time thought of poor Pat, greatly dreading that some accident must have befallen him--either that he had met a grizzly bear, and had been squeezed to death, or been carried off and killed by Indians. If such had been his fate, the same might be mine. Still, I determined to struggle on, so long as I had life to do so. The day was already so far advanced that I thought it wiser to remain where I was, and not to start off till next morning, when I intended to push northward, in hopes of at last getting to the fort. I passed the night in attending to my fire, and taking short snatches of sleep. In the morning I boiled some more skin, and having eaten it, slung the pot over my back and commenced my solitary march. I walked on till nearly noon, when, utterly exhausted from want of sleep and food, I sank down under shelter of a copse which I had just reached. How long I had remained in a state of unconsciousness I could not tell, when I felt something licking my hand. I opened my eyes with the idea that a wolf or a grizzly bear was about to seize me. What was my astonishment to behold our dog Bouncer, a general favourite at the fort, but especially attached to me. "Bouncer, old fellow, where have you come from?" I exclaimed. As soon as he heard me speak, he began leaping round me, and barking for joy at finding me alive. "Where are the rest, Bouncer? Are they near at hand?" I asked; but the only reply Bouncer could make was to wag his tail and bark and attempt to lick me all over. The sight of the faithful dog greatly restored my spirits and even my strength, for I was able to get up and walk more steadily than I had been doing during the whole morning. I looked about in every direction, expecting to see some of my friends who had come in search of me; but no one appeared, nor did Bouncer show any intention of leaving my side. That he would know the way to the fort I felt very sure, and I now hoped that I should have no difficulty in reaching it. He looked in pretty good condition, so I judged that he could not have been very long on the search. I walked on as I had been going when I sank down, and as he did not attempt to lead me in any other direction, I concluded that I was taking the right course. Before long we came to a wood. As I suspected that I should be led a considerable distance out of the direct line of march should I attempt to go round the wood, I made my way through it, and found that it bordered a broad stream, too deep apparently in that place to ford. I therefore continued down the stream. Before I had gone far, what was my surprise to see lying on the bank a small canoe, known among us as a bull boat or parchment canoe. It was formed of buffalo hide with the hair scraped off, stretched over a framework. It contained a single paddle, but there was nothing else whatever in it. The canoe appeared to be in very good condition, and to require nothing whatever done to it to make it fit for a voyage down the stream. From its construction, I came to the conclusion that it was not a canoe belonging to our fort, though at first I supposed that it must have been left by some of the party who had come out in search of me. Of one thing I felt sure, that the stream would conduct me into the river Saskatchewan, and that I should now be able, without further fatigue, to arrive at the fort. Hunger made me anxious to get off as soon as possible. As I launched the canoe, Bouncer stood watching my proceedings with evident satisfaction, and convinced me that he knew I was right. Being well acquainted with the management of a canoe, I had no fears about making the voyage in safety. I stepped in, and Bouncer followed, sitting in front of me; then taking the paddle, I shoved off, and commenced my voyage down the stream. The current ran gently, and I paddled on, expecting to have an easy voyage. As I was not acquainted with the appearance of the banks, I did not know how far off the fort was; but I knew that I must have some distance to go. I could not possibly tell when I might reach my destination. Had poor Pat been with me, I should have been very happy, but his disappearance caused me much anxiety. I knew, of course, however, that as soon as I got to the fort a party would be sent out to look for him. I paddled eagerly on, expecting every moment to come to some part of the river with which I was acquainted. The stream became more rapid, and the banks were higher than at the spot at which I embarked. Occasionally there were low cliffs, and here and there rocks projected some way from the shore, compelling me to keep in the centre of the stream. Now and then wild-fowl rose up, and in their flight passed but a short distance from the sight of my longing eyes. Had I possessed a rifle, I would have stopped and shot one of them to satisfy my hunger. Now I proceeded a mile or two with scarcely any perceptible current; now I reached a part of the river with trees of considerable height growing on both banks, the wind, which was pretty strong, blowing amid their branches, and causing a loud murmuring sound. It contributed somewhat to drown another sound which now reached my ears. The sound I heard was that of rushing water, and I guessed that some rapids were near, but their exact distance off I could not tell. Eager to get to the end of my voyage, I paddled on. I fancied that I should without difficulty, should I find myself near the rapids, paddle to one bank or the other and land, so that I might examine them before attempting their descent. If I found them too dangerous, I could carry my canoe overland and launch it again below them. Suddenly, however, a loud roar burst on my ears, and I found the canoe drawn rapidly forward. Bouncer looked up and barked, gazing towards the shore. I attempted to turn the canoe and paddle in that direction, but the current was too strong to enable me to succeed. I at once saw that my only chance of safety was boldly to descend the rapids. I grasped my paddle tightly. In another moment the bow of my canoe was on the very edge of the cataract, and the next instant gliding downwards like an arrow, the water boiling and hissing on either side. I looked anxiously ahead, to ascertain if there were any rocks in the way. Should my frail canoe strike on one, she must in a moment be knocked to pieces; and in so rapid a current I might find it very difficult to reach the shore, though I knew that Bouncer would give me all the assistance in his power. I held my paddle in the water, my only aim being to keep the canoe with her head straight down the rapid. She floated buoyantly, though it seemed a wonder that she should not be overwhelmed by the tumultuous waters raging around her. Much depended on my retaining my presence of mind, and avoiding any rocks which might appear. On and on I went; now a dark rock rose on one side, now on the other, the spray as the water struck them from above being scattered far round, and often completely deluging me. Now the canoe seemed to be hurrying on to a rock, when by exerting all my strength I directed her course so as to avoid it, and the next moment was shooting by, almost touching as I passed. Thus the canoe rushed forward in its rapid descent. I had no time to think or to consider what I should do, if it were to strike. I could not tell how long a time was spent in shooting the rapid; I only know that at length I found myself at its foot, floating on the comparatively tranquil water. Striking now on one side, now on the other, I made the canoe dart forward and continued my course, thankful that I had escaped the danger, and earnestly hoping that I should not have to encounter another of a similar character; still I knew that very possibly there might be more rapids before the stream emptied itself into the broad Saskatchewan. Should I find myself much above the fort, I might have others to shoot in that river; but I was well acquainted with them, and had no fear about being able to guide my canoe in safety amid the rocks which rose up here and there across the stream. I was becoming almost faint with hunger when, to my great satisfaction, I recognised several spots along the banks I was passing, and I knew that I was not more than a couple of miles above the mouth of the stream. As the current was pretty strong, the distance was soon accomplished, and I found myself in the Saskatchewan, which even thus far, in the very heart of America, and only ten days' journey or so from the base of the Rocky Mountains, is a river of considerable width. Had I not known that there was a hearty welcome and abundance of food at the end of my journey, I could not have borne the hunger I was enduring, but hope cheered me on. At length my eyes were gladdened by the sight of the flag waving above the fort, and I could see the palisades which extended to the edge of the bank above the river. I renewed my efforts, and Bouncer set up a bark of delight to announce my coming, feeling, I have no doubt, very proud in the belief that he had brought me back. So he had; and he would, I am sure, had I not found the canoe, have led me overland, but his instinct had told him that the most speedy way of reaching the fort would be by water. Not till I was close to the bank was I discovered, when my brother Alick, followed closely by several other persons, hurried out of the gate to welcome me. "Why, David, you appear as one from the dead," he exclaimed, wringing my hand. "We had almost given you up as lost. We have sent out party after party to look for you, and Bouncer alone has the honour of bringing you back. Martin and Rose and Letty have been as unhappy as I have felt. They are all eager to know what has happened to you." "I cannot tell you until I have had something to eat," I answered. Just then looking up I saw the friends he mentioned, who I had no idea were at the fort. They all warmly shook hands, but forbore to put any further questions, for they saw how weak I was; indeed, had not Alick and Martin assisted me, short as was the distance, I could not have reached the fort. We were soon inside, and Rose and Letty hurried to the kitchen, to get some buffalo steaks and white-fish, which were fortunately cooking for supper. A good meal greatly restored me. My first inquiries were for Sandy and Pierre, whom I had not seen. I was greatly relieved to hear that they had found their way to the fort two days after the snowstorm, with all the baggage animals and my horse, and had since gone out on the expeditions to search for Pat and me. Sandy would not believe that I was lost, but had again set out only two days before. From the direction he had taken, I was in great hopes that he would fall in with poor Pat and bring him back safe. How Bouncer had come to find me, or to whom the canoe belonged, no one could tell. When the previous expeditions had set out, Bouncer had been chained up, as he had a peculiar antipathy for Indians; and it was feared that, should any be met, he would fly at them, and do mischief, or get killed himself. He had observed the several parties setting out, and had sagaciously surmised that they were going in search of me, without being able to understand why he should not have been allowed to accompany them. Soon after Sandy had last started from the fort he had managed to make his escape, and had either followed Sandy's trail or had taken an independent course by himself. Which he had done it would be impossible to ascertain, nor did it matter. I, at all events, felt deeply indebted to him, and we became more attached friends than ever. On the canoe being examined, Alick and the other people in the fort were decidedly of the opinion that it was built by Indians, and must have come down from the upper part of the stream, which rose a considerable way to the southward; they also believed from its appearance that it had not long been hauled up on the bank. It had very evidently belonged to a Plain Cree, as those people are hunters of buffalo, and when living in the neighbourhood of streams or lakes, construct these parchment canoes for the purpose of fishing. This they are compelled to do, as there are but few birch trees of any size in the part of the country they inhabit. Except in shape, it was very similar to the coracles still in use, as I have read, on the Wye and other rivers in England. The canoe was carried into the fort; Alick intending, should the owner appear at any time, to return it, and to pay him for its use. I now inquired how Martin and his sister Letty came to be at the fort. They had, I found, arrived a few days after we left it for Fort Ross. "My father and mother," said Martin, when Rose and Letty were out of the room, "wished us to come, as I am sorry to say that the Indians in our neighbourhood have lately been showing a bad disposition; and though the converts who live round us are faithful, and would defend us with their lives, they are but few in number compared with the heathen Indians. The latter have, during the summer, suffered greatly from smallpox, and their cunning medicine-men have persuaded them it is owing to the circumstance that some of their people have deserted their ancient customs, and that the complaint has been introduced by the pale-faces. They are not very clear about the matter, but regard my father with an evil eye, instead of treating him as before with respect, even when they declined listening to him. He is not alarmed about himself, but he thought it prudent to send Rose and Letty to a safer place, and directed me to take charge of them. Though very unwilling to leave him and my mother, I was, of course, obliged to obey his commands. We came down the river in a small canoe. It was so severely battered on the voyage that, though we escaped actual shipwreck, your brother Alick considered it would be highly imprudent to continue the voyage in it to Fort Ross. We therefore dispatched a messenger to Mr Meredith, requesting him to send us up an escort; but we greatly fear, as we have received no answer, that the man must have perished in the snowstorm which overtook you." Alick had the same fears about the messenger Jacques Allon, the only man who could be spared from the fort. Jacques wished himself to go, declaring that he could make his way without difficulty, even though a whole tribe of hostile Indians were on the watch for him. Whether he had been cut off by Indians or had perished in the snow remained doubtful. Though very sorry to lose poor Jacques, we were thankful that our friends were safe with us, and we promised to take very good care of them till Mr Meredith should hear of their being at Fort Black, and should come, as he probably would, to fetch them away. Alick and I would, at all events, in the meantime enjoy their society. Martin was a great friend of ours, and the young ladies added a brightness to the routine of our ordinary life at the fort; not that we were ever idle or found the time hang heavily on our hands. Each season had its various occupations. We were either out hunting buffalo, or deer, or smaller animals, or were fishing in some of the neighbouring lakes for white-fish, or were preparing them or pemmican for our winter stores or for travelling; or packing the skins we had obtained, or trading with the Indians. The buffaloes which we killed when ice could be obtained, either at the end of the winter or after the frost had set in, were preserved in a very easy though somewhat rough manner. We had a deep circular pit, like a well, dug in the fort. The sides were lined with ice, and a layer of ice was placed at the bottom. The carcass was then cut up, and a layer of meat pressed tightly down on the ice; another layer of ice was then thrown in and another layer of buffalo meat; and thus layer after layer of ice and meat was placed in the pit till it was full. It was then covered over with ice and boards and earth, so that we had always an ample supply of fresh buffalo meat at our command, even during the hottest time of the year. Fish we preserved in the same manner. Of course, during the winter there was no necessity for putting them into the pit. We had only to let them freeze, and they remained hard frozen till the return of spring. We had lately obtained a good supply of both meat and fish, so that we were well able to entertain our guests. On speaking to Alick privately, I found that he was not very well satisfied with the temper of some of the Indians in the neighbourhood who had hitherto professed to be our friends; while reports had reached him that the Blackfeet and other tribes of Sioux were threatening to drive the pale-faces out of the country. He, of course, laughed at the idea of their making the attempt. "Though they might attack small parties of travellers," he said, "or such forts as ours in advanced positions. However, if they do come, we shall be able to defend ourselves, and teach them that they would have been wiser to keep to their hunting-grounds. On the chance of their coming I have made every preparation for defence, and they will not capture Fort Black with as much ease as they may suppose." CHAPTER FOUR. HURRAH! PAT IS FOUND--SANDY MCTAVISH'S YARN--HIS DISCOVERY OF ROBIN GREY--TOBOGGANING--THE DOG-TRAIN--OUR SORROW AT THE DEPARTURE OF ROSE AND LETTY--WE START ON SNOW-SHOES--WOLVES OUT FORAGING--A RACE FOR LIFE--THE FORT IN SIGHT--SAFE AT LAST--ROBIN'S STORY--HIS CAPTURE BY THE INDIANS--WAMEGON--HIS POOR FEET--HIS IMPRISONMENT IN THE LOG--"NETNOKWA," HIS INDIAN MOTHER--THE INDIAN DANCE--WAMEGON PERSECUTES HIM--ROBIN'S NOVEL METHOD OF KILLING A DEER--WAMEGON PERSEVERES IN HIS CRUELTY. I had been two whole days at the fort, and no news had been received of Sandy and his party, who had gone in search of poor Pat and me. I was rapidly recovering my strength, and Rose and Letty by their kind attentions greatly contributed to raise my spirits. They had not been told of the danger Mr Crisp apprehended, and Rose only supposed that she was going to Fort Ross for the sake of being a companion to Letty. They were therefore perfectly happy, and laughed and joked as their natural tempers inclined them to do. We were, of course, rather anxious about Sandy and poor Pat. The latter I scarcely expected to see again, for ill as he was when he went away from me, I feared that if not at once found he would have been starved to death. I have not yet described our fort. It consisted of strong palisades, surrounding nearly half an acre of ground, with wooden towers at the four corners, projecting so as to enfilade each of the sides. The whole was surrounded by a trench, which would make it difficult for an enemy to approach the walls, if they were well defended with musketry. The interior was occupied by dwelling-houses and stores, and huts and wigwams for the accommodation of the hunters and canoe-men who might be detained during the winter. Though small, our fort was thus of considerable strength, and we had no fear, should it be attacked, of being able to defeat any number of Indians who might come against it. Evening was approaching when the lookout, who was always stationed at the top of the highest tower which faced the open country, gave notice that he saw several persons on horseback approaching. We hurried up the tower with our spy-glasses, and before long, greatly to our satisfaction, we distinguished Sandy at the head of the party. "Hurrah!" I exclaimed, "and there's Pat. I'm sure it must be him, and Pierre is riding alongside him, and supporting him on his horse." "I see a boy too," exclaimed Martin. "He looks to me very like an Indian, and yet I fancy he's got a white face. Who can he be?" As the party drew nearer, we were satisfied that we were right in our conjectures. We all hurried out to meet them. Sandy, as soon as he saw me, jumped off his horse, and nearly shook my hand off in his delight at finding I was safe. "I thought it was all right," he exclaimed, "as I'll tell you by-and-by. We found your last resting-place, and traced you to the canoe; and as I discovered that Bouncer had made his way to you, I felt sure that you had gone down the stream, though I was not so sure how you would have shot the rapids." "How do you know that I came down in a canoe?" I asked. "I have not been so long in the country, and accustomed to Indian ways, not to have seen that you had launched a canoe from the bank; besides which I had another proof, if any had been wanting, but I'll tell you all about it presently," he answered. "And how did you find Pat?" asked Alick. "And who is that boy in the Indian dress?" inquired Martin. "If you put one question at a time, young gentlemen, I'll tell you how it all happened," said Sandy. "But if you have no objection, we'll go into the fort and have some supper first; for as we have pushed on to get here before nightfall, we have had no opportunity of satisfying our hunger since noon." The horses of the party being taken by the other men, we entered the fort together, Martin regarding the young stranger with a look of curiosity. He appeared to be somewhat abashed at finding himself among so many white people, though it was very evident from his features and complexion that he was himself a white. Martin, who was always kind-hearted, seeing the unwillingness of the boy to advance, went towards him, and taking his hand said, "Come along; we want to hear all about you." The boy opened his large blue eyes, but made no answer, though he understood Martin's signs, and accompanied him willingly. Martin then led him up to Rose and Letty. "Perhaps he can understand you, but he makes no reply to anything I say to him," said Martin. Rose spoke to him first, and then Letty exclaimed, "Surely you can speak English?" The boy shook his head, though he tried to say something, but was unable to pronounce the words. "You understand what we say, though," remarked Letty; "I am sure you do by your looks!" The boy nodded, and a smile for a moment irradiated his features, though they quickly again assumed their former startled look. "He has spoken English, and I am very sure will be able to speak it again," said Martin. "He has evidently been living a long time among Indians, and it's my belief he has made his escape from them.--Is that the case, boy?" The young stranger considered for a moment, endeavouring to understand what Martin had said, and then he again nodded. "I knew it was so," exclaimed Martin. "We shall soon find out all about him, and in a few days he will be able to speak English as well as any of us.--Come along, boy; you are hungry, I'm sure, after your long ride, and we are all going in to supper." Martin taking possession of the young stranger, I did not interfere, but followed Pat, who had been led into the house. Though the poor fellow had apparently lost his senses, he certainly had not lost his appetite, and as soon as the food was placed before him he began to devour it eagerly. "Let him take his meat," observed Sandy. "It'll do the chiel gude. He hasna had muckle to put intil his inside, though we spared him all we could from our store." We asked Sandy no further questions till supper was over, when he gave us an account of his adventures. Pushing directly southward, he had come across the trail Pat and I had made in our wanderings several days before; when, following this up, he had reached our last camp a short time after I had quitted it. At first, misled by the trail I had formed when going in search of Pat, he had continued to follow that; but convinced at last that I had returned, he was on the point of coming back, when one of the men saw an object, which he was sure was a human being, lying on the ground under a tree. They soon discovered it to be Pat, who had fallen to the ground exhausted, and would very soon have died. By pouring some spirits-and-water down his throat he revived, and still further recovered when he had taken some food. Though able to speak, he could give no account of himself or me. Sandy, who had come across the trail I had formed when returning to the camp, now pursued it, and discovered that I had passed through the wood, towards the river. He had gone about half way, when he caught sight of a person endeavouring to conceal himself among the bushes. He at first supposed that an Indian was lying in ambush for some sinister object, and keeping his gun ready to fire he made his way towards the spot. His surprise was great when he discovered the young white stranger whom he had brought with him. The lad was much alarmed at first, but his confidence returned when he found that he had fallen into the hands of people of his own colour. He could speak but a few words of the dialect of the Plain Crees, though sufficient briefly to explain that he was making his escape from a tribe who had kept him in slavery, and that his intention was to descend the river, which he fancied fell into the ocean; and he said that he there hoped to meet with friends who would be glad to have him back. Sandy, on hearing this, accompanied him to the bank of the river, where, not finding his canoe, he expressed the most bitter disappointment. Sandy at length comforted him with the assurance that he would take him by a safer route to some white people, who would endeavour to discover the friends of whom he was in search. "More than this I was unable to learn," observed Sandy; "but it's vera clear that the boy was kidnapped by the redskins sometime or other, though not long enough ago to make him forget his relatives and friends. At the same time, not having spoken a word of English for three or four years, or perhaps more, he finds it almost impossible to express what he wishes to say." We all agreed that it would be better to let the young stranger become accustomed to us before we questioned him about his history. If then he had ever, as Sandy suspected, spoken English, he would probably recollect it. At present we had great difficulty in communicating with him, as he was chiefly accustomed to speak the language of the Sioux, with which we were unacquainted. Rose and Letty volunteered to take him in hand. "We shall soon find out all about him, if he has got a tongue in his head," said Rose, laughing; "he will trust us more readily than he will you boys, and I am very sure that we shall soon become friends." No event of importance occurred for some time at the fort. Our hunters went out, and were successful in killing several buffalo, which gave us an ample supply of meat for the winter. The frost had now set in, not to break up for several months, and snow covered the face of nature. When not engaged in our duties, we boys and girls amused ourselves by tobogganing, the sloping bank of the river affording us a capital place for sliding down. We each of us had manufactured a toboggan, which is a small sleigh composed of a long thin slip of willow wood turned up in front. Several of ours were large enough to carry two, and we each of us were eager to obtain the company of one of the young ladies, I especially that of Letty. I sat at the extreme after-end of the toboggan to steer it with my feet, while Letty sat just in front of me. The snow, which lay thickly on the sloping bank, was soon hardened. Placing the toboggan on the top, we took our seats, when a very slight shove was sufficient to send it off, and down we slid at a rapid rate, increasing our speed every instant, till we had gained sufficient impetus to glide right across the frozen surface of the river to the opposite bank, which also sloped at a convenient angle. Steps were cut upon one side of the slides, by which we ascended to the summit. Thus we were able to pass backwards and forwards, the rapidity of the motion and the risk of upsetting giving excitement to the amusement. Alick generally took charge of Rose, who was not at all unwilling to have him as her charioteer. The other boys had smaller toboggans, each having one to himself. Up and down the icy hills we went, and across the bright glassy river, laughing and shouting for hours together; indeed, I confess that we were never tired of the sport. Sometimes I must own that we were upset, and rolled down to the bottom; though we were never much the worse for the catastrophe, for of course we were all well wrapped up in warm clothing. The young stranger entered into this amusement with as much zest as any of us. He quickly recovered his spirits, and, under the tuition of Letty and Rose, soon found English words in which to express himself. His English name, he told us, was Robin, though he had been called Kishkanko by the Indians. "It is a very ugly name, and we don't intend to call you by it," said Letty. "Pray don't; I would rather be called Robin, as I used to be when I was a little boy by my father, and mother, and sister." "Then you had a father, and mother, and sister," said Rose. "Oh yes! and I love them so much, and they love me; and I wanted to go back to them, and thought I should have died when the cruel Indians would not let me," answered Robin. "We want very much to hear how it was that the Indians took you away from your family," said Rose; "you must tell Letty and me all about it." Robin passed his hand across his brow, as if trying to collect his thoughts. It was very evident that the circumstances were of a painful description. He was about to begin, when it was announced that several dog-sleighs were approaching the fort from the eastward. There was no doubt that they were coming from Fort Ross. We all hurried out to meet them, and in a short time we saw that Mr Meredith himself was leading the party, which consisted of two clerks and several hunters. He was on his road, he said, to Mr Crisp's missionary station, to bring away his daughter Letty, and Rose, if her parents would allow her to accompany him; and he was very happy to find that they were already with us. He had heard rumours of the disaffected state of the Indians in the neighbourhood of the station, and was unwilling to allow his daughter to remain longer there. He intended, indeed, to try to persuade Mr and Mrs Crisp to quit the place, at all events till the return of spring, when, even if they went there again, they might at any time make their escape down the river, should they be threatened with danger. Martin, however, assured Mr Meredith that his parents would not on any account be induced to quit their station; and that, though they were not blind to the danger, they were resolved to await whatever events might occur. On hearing this, Mr Meredith, who was anxious as soon as possible to return to Fort Ross, determined not to go farther, but said that he would spend two days with us to recruit his men and dogs, and then go back to his own fort. We were very sorry to part with Rose and Letty, though it was, of course, but right that they should be under the care of Mr Meredith. I was afraid that I should also lose Martin; but he had been so happy with us that he begged hard to be allowed to remain on, and Mr Meredith consented to let him spend the rest of the winter with us. Alick could give him some work to do, while at Fort Ross there were already as many clerks as could find employment. We were afraid also, that Robin would be taken away; but Alick, having discovered that his great wish was to be sent to the eastward, where he affirmed that he had friends living, it was determined to allow him to remain at Fort Black, as any travellers who might be coming from across the Rocky Mountains were more likely to visit us than they were Fort Ross, which was out of the road. It was settled that, should no one appear, Robin should be sent by water when the navigation was again opened in spring. Robin himself would gladly have accompanied Rose and Letty; but when he understood the object of our keeping him, he seemed perfectly reconciled to the arrangement. All matters having been settled, our friends prepared to set out. There were three sleighs drawn by dogs. Mr Meredith took charge of his daughter Letty, and Rose was driven by Mr Macmillan, the eldest of the two clerks, of whom I suspect Alick felt rather jealous. The third sleigh carried a small bell-tent, intended for the use of the young ladies, as they would have to encamp several nights on the journey. The rest of the men were to travel on snow-shoes by the side of the sleighs, with which they could very easily keep up. They were all well armed, for though Indians were not likely to be moving about at that season of the year, it was still possible that, should they have heard of Mr Meredith's journey, they might make an attempt to cut him off; at all events, it was wise to be on the safe side. We were very sorry indeed to part with them, but we kept up our spirits; and as they issued early one morning from the gate of the fort, we all sallied forth, cheering them on their way. We little thought at the time what events were to occur before we should again meet. Martin and I accompanied them for some distance on our snow-shoes. "Now, lads, you have gone far enough," said Mr Meredith. "It is not wise to make too long a journey at the commencement of winter, before your ankles are well accustomed to the straps of your snow-shoes. You will be getting the racquettes, and may knock up before you reach the fort." We were compelled to obey him, and wish him and our fair young friends good-bye. We stood watching them till the sleighs appeared like so many black ants in the far distance, while we could not even distinguish the men who ran by their sides. "Come," said Martin, "we must put our best feet foremost, and get back as soon as we can. There's no chance of losing the trail so long as we have daylight." It is extraordinary at what speed a person wearing snow-shoes can run over the hard snow. A snow-shoe consists of an elongated oblong framework of wood, with cross-pieces; the interior filled up with a strong network, on which the foot rests, with a hole for the play of the heel. This is secured to the feet and ankles by leathern thongs. It necessitates keeping the feet somewhat wide apart, to prevent the shoes being entangled with each other. A person not accustomed to their use is very apt to topple down and find some difficulty in getting up again. Martin and I, however, had had plenty of practice during the two previous winters, though we had not gone very far on our return before we felt our ankles pain us considerably. We stopped to rest, but could not venture to remain long, as the cold was already intense; and expecting to be constantly in exercise, we had not put on our warmest clothing. A short rest, however, greatly restored us, and we had made good half the distance back to the fort when Martin, who happened to look round to the southward, exclaimed that he saw some dark objects in the snow. "Whether they are wolves or Indians crouching down to try and get on us unawares is more than I can tell," he observed; "but whichever they are, we had better push forward, and endeavour to keep ahead of them." I of course agreed with him, and as we went along we looked to the primings of our rifles, so that we might be prepared to defend ourselves. "For my part, I would rather they should follow us than attack our friends," I observed. "Perhaps they are some of the tribe Mr Meredith heard of, and did not come up in time to see him pass; if so, we shall render him good service by leading them up to the fort." "You take it for granted that they are Indians," said Martin; "I am not quite so certain of the fact. I rather believe that they are a small pack of wolves; and if they were not so far off, we should hear them howling to their friends in the neighbourhood to join in the chase. However, we need not be afraid of them; for if they get within shot we can kill a couple, and the rest are sure to stop and devour their companions, and allow us to increase our distance." He made these remarks as we were running on over the snow at a rate which would cost even Indians or wolves a considerable amount of exertion to overtake us. Before, however, we had made good another mile, the objects we had seen were sufficiently near to assure us that they were wolves out on a foraging expedition. That they would, on seeing us run, pursue us there could be no doubt, and we occasionally looked back to determine when was the best time to stop, in order to take a steady aim at the leaders. "Now we must give it them," at length cried Martin, who had just looked round. We suddenly halted, and swinging our right feet round, confronted the pack; then, both of us taking deliberate aim, we fired. The two leading wolves fell, and, as we expected, the rest of the hungry pack immediately set on them, and tore their carcasses to pieces. Having reloaded, we again continued our course. We had got some distance when the pain in my ankles again came on. I asked Martin how he felt. He confessed that he was suffering in the same manner. "It won't do to stop, however," he observed; "for these brutes, when they have eaten up their friends, will again give chase, and we shall not be safe till we are inside the walls of the fort." We were still several miles from it, and I feared that I should be utterly unable before long to get over the ground. Martin encouraged me, and I persevered, though feeling inclined to drop at every step. We had almost lost sight of the wolves, and I proposed resting for a few minutes. "We shall be able to make better play afterwards," I said. "I think it would be wiser to go on," he answered; "but if you wish it, we'll sit down and loosen the thongs of our snow-shoes." We sat down, and I was induced to take mine off altogether and to rub my ankles, hoping thereby to relieve the pain. We had not been seated many minutes when the yelping of the wolves again reached our ears. Martin, fastening the thongs, rose to his feet. "They are coming on; I was afraid so," he exclaimed. "Quick! David, quick! or they'll overtake us." He assisted me in getting on my shoes--an operation which took some time. I again stood on my feet, but the pain appeared only slightly lessened. "No time to lose," cried Martin, looking back. "Now, away we go," and we ran on as before. Fast as we went, the brutes came on faster at our heels, and their horrible howls sounded louder in our ears. I felt as I have sometimes done in a fearful dream. I was scarcely able to move over the snow, the pain I was suffering making me fancy that I could not lift my feet; still we were really going at a good pace. Once more the wolves got within reach of our rifles. We acted precisely as we had done before, and each of us killed a wolf. Again we ran on, reloading our guns ready for another shot. We resolved, great as was the pain we were suffering, not again, on any account, to stop. The snarling, yelping sounds emitted by the brutes showed us that, as before, they were tearing to pieces the wolves we had shot. We knew that we could not hope for safety till we were inside the fort, for, from the experience we had had on other occasions, we were certain that the animals would follow us up to the very walls. Twice in the previous winter they had pursued our hunters till up to the fort itself. Again we had to stop and fire. On this occasion we only killed one wolf, which, of course, would take the brutes less time than two to devour. To our great relief we at length came in sight of the fort, by which time the wolves were again on our trail. We ran on faster than ever, though we were both so fatigued that we were afraid, should we again have to fire, that we might miss altogether. We shouted as we approached to call the attention of our friends. Fortunately the lookout on one of the towers saw us, and several of the men came hurrying out with firearms in their hands. Seeing the wolves they advanced shouting. The animals were, however, so directly behind us that not till we were up to them could they venture to fire. They then let fly a volley which killed several, and the rest, frightened by the shouts more than by the reports of the guns and the death of their companions, turned tail and scampered off. Once in safety, both of us sank down on the snow, and had to be carried into the fort. Even after our snow-shoes were taken off we suffered intense pain, and it was not for some days that either of us was able to walk. The experience we had had made us both resolved to practise with snow-shoes before we again attempted to make so long an excursion as we had just performed. The winter wore on. That season occupies, as most of my readers must be aware, a large portion of the year in that region. For months together--that is to say, from the middle of October till late in May--during the whole period, the ground is covered with snow; the rivers are frozen over; the trees are leafless; every drop of water exposed to the air congeals. The atmosphere is very clear, the air pure and exhilarating, the sun shines brightly from the unclouded sky, and when no wind is blowing existence out of doors is far from unpleasant. Parties from the fort were constantly out hunting, and buffalo frequently came up close to the very walls. We have often shot them from the towers. Robin was rapidly picking up his recollection of English, and could now speak quite fluently. He was also, from being well fed and clothed, gradually improving in appearance and strength. His manners and his tone of voice were also good. I had little doubt from the first that he was of gentle birth. He was not very communicative about his early life, some of his recollections, indeed, being painful. I picked up his history, however, by bits and scraps. He was born in the old country, and had come over when very young with his father and mother, Captain and Mrs Grey. He spoke of a sister Ella, somewhat older than himself; and a little brother Oliver, to whom he appeared to be greatly attached. His parents had removed from either Boston or New York to one of the western cities, where they lived, I suspect, with somewhat straitened means. Mrs Grey must have been an energetic woman, and had endeavoured, from what I could learn, to support her family by teaching music and other accomplishments. Captain Grey, who had been an officer in the army, did not appear to have conformed willingly to his changed circumstances, or to have sought for any employment. His great delight was shooting and fishing, and he frequently took out Robin on his excursions, for the sake, notwithstanding his youth, of his companionship. Mrs Grey appears to have expostulated with her husband, wishing to keep Robin at home for the purpose of educating him. Captain Grey on one occasion, however, insisted on carrying off his boy, promising to bring him back safe. He had bought a small fowling-piece for him, and wished to teach him how to use it. It was natural that Robin should have no objection to go, though he was sorry to leave his mother, and brother, and sister. "Now, my boy, that we are away, we'll make a long trip, and I hope to come back with skins enough to pay all our expenses and have a good many dollars over," said the captain, as they started from home. They pushed away westward, crossing several rivers, till they reached the very outskirts of the settled districts. The captain then bought horses for Robin and himself, and for their two guides, as also a couple of baggage animals to carry the skins he expected to obtain. They reached the region frequented by buffalo, and succeeded in killing several, as also some deer and other animals. Robin said he liked the life well enough, though they had to go through a good deal of hard work. He became a good horseman, and expert in the use of his fowling-piece, so that his father expressed himself highly proud of him. Robin could not now remember the names of the places they visited; indeed, as he had no map of the country, his geographical knowledge was, as may be supposed, very imperfect. His idea was that all the rivers he saw ran into the ocean. After hunting for some time, the captain sent his horses with the produce of the chase back to a certain place to wait for him, while he took it into his head to descend a river in a canoe, manned by three half-breeds, for the sake of shooting wild-fowl. They had gone some distance down, and were steering north or south, Robin could not recollect which, when they went on shore in the afternoon to form a camp, where Captain Grey intended to spend the night. Having landed all their stores and put up a wigwam, the captain, observing that there was time to shoot some birds, left Robin, who was not very well, at the camp with one of the men, while he proceeded some way farther down the river. Robin, having a great wish to obtain some raspberries or bilberries, which were ripe at the time, or some other fruit, while his companion was engaged in cooking the supper, wandered away from the camp in search of them. It will be better to give Robin's narrative in his own words. "I had filled my hat with fruit of various sorts, thinking how pleased my father would be to have some for supper. The priming had fallen out of the pan of my gun, which I had taken with me to shoot any birds I might see, as also to protect myself from bears or wolves, and I was in the act of refilling it when I heard a rustling behind me, and presently three Indians sprang out of the bushes, and snatching away my weapon before I had finished the operation, two of them seized me by the hands. "I felt dreadfully alarmed, for they were to my eyes ferocious-looking fellows, dressed in skins and feathers, with their faces painted all over in different colours. I was about to cry out for help, hoping that my father might have returned to the camp and would hear me, when the third Indian, who had possession of my gun, raising his tomahawk, threatened to cut me down if I made any noise. Without more ado they dragged me along, but finding that I no longer resisted, did not offer me any further violence. "These Indians were, I afterwards found, unacquainted with the use of firearms. They allowed me to retain my powder-flask and shot-belt, looking upon my weapon, however, with evident respect. They therefore did not injure it, though they took good care not to let me again get it into my possession, which, as may be supposed, I was constantly attempting to do. One of them carried my hat with the fruit in it for some distance, when he emptied the contents out on the ground and replaced it on my head. What their object was in carrying me away I could not tell, and it was not till long afterwards that I discovered it. Had I known it at the time I should not have been so much frightened, for I fully believed that their intention was to kill me. "It appeared that one of them, who was an old man, had a wife with several children by a former husband. The youngest of these had recently died, and she had told her husband that unless he would bring her back another son to replace the one she had lost, she could not live, intimating that she should prefer a white son to a red one. "The old man, whose name was Wamegon--at least that was the first part of his name, for it was really much longer--had associated with himself several younger men, who had promised to assist him in carrying out the strange commands of his wife. "They were on their way eastward for this purpose when they caught sight of our canoe descending the river, and observing that I was in her, resolved to take me prisoner. They had followed the canoe down the bank till they saw us land, when they formed the resolution of attacking our camp during the night, killing all who opposed them, and carrying me off. Fortunately for my father and his companions, I had given the Indians an opportunity of capturing me without executing the former part of their intentions. "They dragged me along in no very gentle way, threatening me with instant death if I did not keep moving as fast as they wished to go. It was getting rapidly dark, and I hoped that they would be compelled to stop, for I was sure that my father would come after me. "Had my hands been at liberty, I would have dropped all the articles I had in my pocket to assist him in tracing me. As it was, all I could do was to jerk off my hat; but one of the Indians immediately picked it up, and replaced it on my head. Whenever we passed any soft ground I stamped with my feet to leave a deeper impression; but my captors on perceiving this took off my shoes, perhaps supposing that I could move faster without them, and hurried on. "Frightened as I was, I did not altogether lose heart, and resolved to make every effort to escape. We must have gone several miles when two of the Indians, without taking any supper, lay down, placing me between them, with a blanket thrown over all three of us, while the other walked about on the watch, to give timely notice should we be pursued. "I was so tired that I soon fell asleep, and did not awaken till dawn next morning, when the Indians, holding me tight as before, proceeded on their journey. They stopped at last and gave me a little dried venison, mixed with bear's fat, but I could scarcely eat it. "Thus for four days we hurried on due west. Every night I hoped that I might have an opportunity of escaping, but was night after night completely overpowered by sleep. My bare feet were so wounded and swollen that at length I could not walk. Old Wamegon on perceiving this examined my feet, and took out a number of thorns and splinters. He then gave me a pair of moccasins, which afforded me some relief. "I now thought that I might perhaps escape. One night when my companions were asleep I got up, and, snatching my gun, ran off with noiseless steps in the direction from which we had come. I stopped to prime my piece, intending to fight for my life, as I heard them all scampering after me; but before I could pour the powder into the pan I was overtaken and brought back. They did not in consequence, however, offer me any violence, though I expected at least to be well beaten. "The next day we reached a broad river which was too deep to wade across. The old man took me on his shoulders and carried me over, the water being high above his waist. As I knew that I should be unable to recross it by myself, I almost gave up all hope of immediately escaping. "It was not till now that I burst into tears; for, thinking that I should never again see my father and mother or Ella, or my dear brother Oliver, I felt very sad at heart. "We still continued our journey westward. One afternoon the Indians stopped at an earlier hour than usual in a wood. I saw them looking about, when presently they found a large hollow log open at one end. Into this they put their blankets and bottle and other articles. They then made me crawl in, and closed up the end with logs so firmly that I could not possibly break out. A few minutes only had passed after I had been thus unpleasantly imprisoned, when from the perfect silence which reigned around I was convinced that they had all gone away. Had it not been that they had deposited their valuables with me in the log, I should have supposed that they intended leaving me to die of starvation. Though I first entertained this idea, I soon banished it, and after a time fell asleep. "When I awoke I was in perfect darkness, and no sounds reached my ears. At last I heard the tramp of horses' hoofs. Immediately the idea occurred to me that my father had set out on horseback and had traced me thus far. I shouted out at the top of my voice, fearing that he might pass the log, ignorant that I was shut up within it. "Presently the pieces of wood which closed the entrance were removed, and bitter was my disappointment to hear my captors' voices. Dawn was already breaking when they dragged me out. "I found that they had brought a horse a-piece, with another for me to ride on. Old Wamegon making signs to me to mount, which I did, we set off at a rapid rate in the same direction as before. "We went on for several days, till we reached an Indian village consisting of buffalo-skin wigwams. Out of one of these an oldish woman appeared, who, after a short consultation with Wamegon, bade me get off my horse, and then, taking me in her arms, covered me with kisses, which I would very thankfully have avoided. She was, I found, Netnokwa, my new mother. "I felt--and looked, I dare say--very melancholy, and though she intended to be kind, nothing she said or did raised my spirits. She then took me to her hut and gave me some food, of which I stood greatly in need. I slept in the hut during the night. Next morning after breakfast she led me forth to a spot at some distance from the village. Here all her own people and several strangers from other tribes had assembled. "It was, I found, the grave of her son, which was enclosed with stakes, and on each side of it there was a smooth open space. Here all the people took their seats, the family and friends of Netnokwa on one side and the strangers on the other. "The friends had come provided with presents--pots of sugar, sacks of corn, beads, tobacco, and bottles of fire-water. "Some speeches having been made, Netnokwa's friends began to dance round the grave, when one of them came up, and taking my hand insisted that I should join them. "The dance was very like the usual scalp-dance. From time to time one of them came up and presented me with some of the articles they had brought; but as I neared the party on the opposite side they were all snatched from me, and I was left in the end without anything. Thus they continued to dance till near nightfall, when, almost dead with fatigue, I returned with my new mother to the village. "After this we moved further west, the tents and other property of the tribe being carried partly on horseback and partly by the women, while the men rode on ahead without troubling themselves about the fatigue their squaws were suffering. I was compelled to walk by the side of Netnokwa. She was generally very kind, as were her daughters; but the men treated me with great harshness, often beating me because I did not understand what they wanted me to do. I had all sorts of tasks--cutting wood and bringing water to the camp. "Old Wamegon one day put a bridle into my hand, and pointing in a certain direction motioned me to go. I guessed that he desired me to bring him a horse, so I caught the first I could find, and to my satisfaction discovered that I had done what he intended. "I remembered the words he had used, as I tried to do whenever I was spoken to, and thus by degrees picked up the language of the people. "Sometimes I accompanied the men out hunting, and had to return to the camp with as heavy a load of meat as I could carry. Though I was almost starved, I dared not touch a morsel. "My Indian mother, who showed some compassion for me, would lay by a little food, and give it when the old man was not in the way. Another day I felt a blow on the head from behind, and immediately fell senseless to the ground. It was not till many hours afterwards that I returned to consciousness, when I saw Netnokwa bathing my head with cold water. "The old man coming in exclaimed, `What! is he there? I thought that I had killed him. He'll not come to life again the next time!' "This remark made me in future carefully avoid the old tyrant. "On reaching a place where deer abounded, the Indians built up a long screen of bushes, behind which they concealed themselves, and when any deer came near they shot the animals with their arrows. This was, however, an uncertain mode of obtaining venison. "Some of their more active hunters would go out into the plain, and creep up to leeward of any deer they might see, till they could get near enough to shoot them. Sometimes when the grass was short they were unable to conceal themselves. On such occasions they would lie down flat on their backs, lifting their legs up in the air so as to resemble the branches of a tree. "The deer, who had much curiosity in their nature, would then frequently approach, now stopping, now drawing nearer, till the hunter would suddenly lift his bow, drawing his arrow to let it fly at the nearest animal, which would in most instances suffer the penalty of its inquisitiveness. Still they often missed. "At one time, when the camp was in great want of venison, I offered to go out and shoot some deer. The young men laughed at me; but I persuaded the old man to let me have my gun. At first he refused; but induced by Netnokwa, he at last consented, threatening me with severe punishment if I did not bring back some meat. It was the first time that I had experienced anything like pleasure after being captured by the Indians. When I once more got my weapon into my hand, I resolved to make good use of it, and hoped that the time would come when it would assist me in making my escape. "My Indian mother charged me to be very careful when she saw me setting out, telling me that she was sure that old Wamegon would carry out his threats should I fail to kill a deer. "Withdrawing the charge, I carefully reloaded my gun, and started off. I had been some hours in the prairie when I caught sight of a herd of branch-horned antelopes, which I knew were likely to be attracted by the device I intended to practise. "Creeping on as I had seen the Indians do as far as I could venture, I lay down on my back, and then slowly lifted my legs in a perpendicular position, stretching them out so that I could watch the deer between them, while I held my gun ready for instant use." Robin made us all laugh by going down on his back as he spoke, and putting himself in the curious attitude he described. He remained in it while he continued his description:-- "The antelopes drew nearer and nearer. Every moment I was afraid that they would grow suspicious and bound away, for they were far more difficult to kill, on account of their speed, than other descriptions of deer or the buffalo. They were evidently attracted, however, by the unusual object they saw on the ground, and advanced towards me. "They were soon within shot, and selecting a fine-looking buck which led the way, I fired, and the animal rolled over. The instant I had pulled the trigger I jumped up and began reloading my piece, being thus able to send another shot after the herd, which at the report immediately took to flight. Fortunately for me the shot took effect on another antelope, and the animal dropped after going a few paces. "I rushed forward, and with my hunting--knife quickly dispatched both of them. I then took out their tongues, and having partially flayed them, cut off a haunch from each, and loaded with meat I returned to the camp in triumph. "The Indians on seeing it could not doubt of my success, and a large party instantly set out to bring in the remainder. After this I was treated with much respect by the young men; but old Wamegon seemed still to have a spite against me, and one morning he even went so far as to drag me out by the hair of the head, and, beating me cruelly, threw me into some bushes, shouting as he went away that he had finished me at last. I had not, however, lost my senses, and returning to the tent told my Indian mother how I had been treated. I cannot, indeed, describe half the cruelties which that terrible man inflicted on me. "Ofttimes, after the snow had fallen, I was compelled to follow the hunters, and to drag home to the lodge a whole deer, though they might have employed their dogs for the purpose, and it was with the greatest difficulty that I could move along. I had some relief when old Wamegon was away. He was only preparing, however, to cause me greater grief than before. "When he came back he exhibited a hat which I recognised as that worn by my father. "`We have killed him,' he said, with a horrible laugh. `You will have no one now to whom to go should you run away.' "I fully believed that my father was dead, and shed bitter tears at his loss. I discovered, however, that what the old man said was false. My father had, as I suspected, pursued me; but while riding on ahead of his party, he had been surprised in the wood by Wamegon and the warriors who had accompanied him. They had secured my father to his horse, and brought him to their camp. Here they bound him to a tree, intending to kill him the next morning. "Though his hands and arms were tied behind him, and there were cords round his breast and neck, he managed to bite off some of the latter, when he was able to get at a penknife which was in his pocket. With this he cut himself loose, and finding his horse, which was feeding near at hand, he mounted, and though pursued by the Indians, rode off. "They saw him no more, and he, probably thinking that I was killed, abandoned the pursuit. This, however, as I said, I did not learn till long afterwards. Two years passed away, and I still remained in captivity, though never abandoning my intention to try and escape, however little hope I had of succeeding." CHAPTER FIVE. "ARRAH! NOW, MR. INJUN"--COPPER-SNAKE BRINGS VALUABLE INFORMATION-- DANGER AHEAD--ROBIN CONTINUES HIS NARRATIVE--SHEGAW'S OFFER--HIS NEW MOTHER KEZHA--INDIAN GAMBLING--ROBIN KILLS A BEAR--MUSKGO--SAD PLIGHT OF ROBIN AND MUSKGO--PESHAUBA SUCCEEDS IN PURCHASING ROBIN WITH FIRE-WATER--ROBIN SHOOTS AN ELK--HE IS CHASED BY A GRIZZLY, WHICH TURNED OUT TO BE OLD PESHAUBA--ROBIN ESCAPES FROM THE INDIANS--HE FINDS A CANOE--HIS DESPAIR ON MISSING THE CANOE--HE IS DISCOVERED BY SANDY--JACK PIPE--OUR MEETING WITH OPOIHGUN--SANDY STARTS AFTER MR. JACK PIPE--THE FUGITIVE PARTY--BLACKFEET ON THE WAR-PATH--THE FORT IS BESIEGED--ROBIN'S COURAGEOUS PROPOSAL--HE STARTS TO WARN SANDY. Some time after Robin had arrived, one evening an Indian was seen approaching the fort. The gate, as was our custom at that time of day, had just been closed, to prevent the risk of surprise, as there was sufficient cover in the neighbourhood to conceal a body of enemies, who might have taken it into their heads to try to possess themselves of our property. As the stranger, however, came boldly up to the gate, it was supposed by Pat Casey, who was on watch, that he could have no sinister intentions; still, Pat, wishing to be on the safe side, shouted out, "Arrah! now, Mr Injun, whoever you may be, halt now, and tell us your name and business." Though the Indian could not have understood a word Pat said, he guessed the meaning of the hail. I, hearing Pat shout, joined him, when the stranger replied in his own language, "I am Miskwandib. I received a kindness from a young pale-face some time back, and come to return it." On hearing what the stranger said, I recognised him as "Copper-Snake," to whom I had given a portion of food when Pat and I had lost ourselves. I immediately went down with Pat to admit him. He knew me at once, and entering the gate without hesitation, took my hand. "I am glad to find that you have got safe back to your friends," he said. "I knew that you had, for I tracked your footsteps, that I might be able to guard you from danger. My people never forget a kindness received, and wishing to show my gratitude, I now come to warn you that there are those on the war-path who will before long attempt to take your fort, and possess themselves of the arms and powder and shot, and the rest of your property in it. They are cunning as the foxes, and it may be soon or it may be some moons hence before they appear, and they'll take good care not to give you warning. Miskwandib has spoken the truth." "I feel very sure that you have, my friend," I observed; "and I'll get you to repeat your account to my brother." Copper-Snake willingly accompanied me, and I introduced him to Alick, who, after he had offered him some food and a pipe, requested him to repeat all he had said to me. He gave also further particulars which induced us fully to believe that he spoke the truth. Alick invited him to remain during the night, as he looked thin and fatigued. He gladly accepted the invitation, and was greatly delighted when Alick presented him with a musket and some ammunition. "I shall have no more fear of starving," he exclaimed, as he eyed the weapon. "I can now kill buffalo and deer, and defend myself too against all my enemies." Altogether, Alick was satisfied that the Copper-Snake, though his name was not significant of good qualities, was an honest man, and he consequently advised him to come with his family and settle near the fort. The Indian replied "that he would think about the matter, but that though some of the pale-faces he had met with were good men, there were among them many bad ones, and that he had hitherto preferred keeping at a distance from them." He showed, however, no suspicion of us, and lay down to sleep in a corner of the hall, making himself perfectly at home. The next morning at daybreak, after he had received as much as he could carry, with his newly-acquired gun in his hand he took his departure. Alick and I considered that Copper-Snake's warning should be attended too, and that every necessary precaution should be taken to avoid surprise. Sandy, however, was of opinion that he had come with a cock-and-bull story for the sake of gaining credit for the information, and thus getting something out of us, as he had succeeded in doing. Some days passed by, and as no enemy appeared, nor did we hear of one being in the neighbourhood, we began to think that Sandy was right, and gradually our vigilance decreased, till we no longer took any unusual precautions against a sudden attack. I must continue Robin's narrative, though, as I said, I only picked it up piecemeal, as he was in the humour to talk about past events. He had not been so long among the Indians without acquiring somewhat of their manner and reticence. I had, indeed, to pump him to draw out what I wanted to know. He was more communicative generally to Martin, to whom he had taken a great liking from the first. "Did you ever expect to become like an Indian, and to be contented with your lot?" I asked. "No," he answered, "I did not. I always remembered that I was an Englishman, and resolved to make my escape if I could. I had won the confidence of Netnokwa, and the young men respected me for my skill in hunting. At length my powder and shot came to an end, and I could no longer use my gun. I tried to shoot with a bow and arrows, but it was long before I attained anything like the skill possessed by the Indians, who are accustomed to practise with a bow from their earliest days. I sank, consequently, in the estimation of the tribe. My great wish was to obtain some more ammunition; but the Indians always prevented me from communicating with any white men, from whom alone I could have got it. "We continued moving farther and farther west, till we met a tribe of Indians with whom we had never before come in contact. They were far better mounted than our people, and looked much more savage. They were Sioux, and from several articles I saw among them I knew that they must have been in communication with the fur-traders. "They appeared to be on friendly terms, however, with Netnokwa's people. I had soon cause to be sorry for this, as I found that one of their chiefs, Shegaw by name, was bargaining to purchase me for his wife, who had lost a son, as Netnokwa had done. He offered some blankets, tobacco, beads, and knives; but Netnokwa would not accept them. "`No,' I heard her say; `I have lost one son, but I will not willingly lose another.' "Shegaw, however, persevered, and at length appeared at our wigwam followed by several men carrying a ten-gallon keg of whisky, besides the blankets and other things he had offered. This was more than Netnokwa could withstand, especially when old Wamegon came in and declared that he would kill me if she refused it. "The exchange was at once made. I was handed over to Shegaw, and the whole of Wamegon's tribe set to work to drink up the spirits. They were not long in doing that. When last I saw my Indian mother and tyrannical old father, they both lay on the ground helplessly tipsy. It was not a very edifying spectacle, but I was very well aware that my new owners would, should an opportunity occur, reduce themselves to the same condition. "I made all the inquiries I could respecting the country and the rivers running through it, that I might know in what direction to go should I effect my escape. "How my new mother would treat me it was impossible to say, but I thought from Shegaw's appearance that I should not be much better off under him than I had been while living with old Wamegon. "The tribes now separated, my new owners moving westward, while the others returned towards the east. It was considered a wonderful thing that they should have met without coming to blows. The farther west they went, the less hope I had of making my escape, because, even should I get away from my present masters, I should in all probability fall into the hands of those who had sold me. "After travelling several days we reached Shegaw's lodges. Making me dismount, he led me by the hand to his own dwelling, where he presented me in due form to his wife, Kezha. She was much younger and better-looking than my former mother, and, I thought, had a more amiable expression of countenance. Thus far I had changed for the better. "I soon found, however, that I was not to eat the bread of idleness; for I was employed in cutting wood, attending to the fires, and bringing water to the camp. Though Kezha herself did not beat me, she could not prevent others from doing so. "The tribe with whom I was now living were great hunters; as they were constantly engaged in the sport, food was plentiful among us, and we did not suffer from the extremes of famine which many others are doomed to bear, in consequence of their neglecting to cultivate the ground. They also preserved and laid by a store of provisions for the time when deer or buffalo might become scarce. "The abundance in which they lived made them despise other people and indulge in many vices. Whenever liquor could be procured, they took it to excess, and I had good reason to be afraid that in some of their drunken fits they would take it into their heads to kill me. They were also greatly addicted to gambling. They had a variety of games; one was that of the moccasin. It is played by a number of persons, divided into two parties. In one of four moccasins a little stick or small piece of cloth is concealed. The moccasins are then laid down by the side of each other in a row, and one of the adverse party touches two of the moccasins. "If the one he first touches has the thing hidden in it, the player loses eight to the opposite party; if it is not in the second, but in one of the two passed over, he loses two; if it is not in the one he touches first, and is in the last, he wins eight. The articles staked are valued by agreement. A beaver-skin or a blanket is valued at ten; sometimes a horse at one hundred. "There is another game played with circular counters, one side of them being plain, while the other is painted black. Generally nine are used, but never fewer. They are put together on a large wooden bowl, which is placed upon a blanket, when the two parties playing, numbering perhaps thirty people, sit down in a circle. The game consists in striking the edge of the bowl so as to throw all the counters into the air, and on the manner in which they fall upon the blanket or into the bowl depends the player's gain or loss. If the player is fortunate in the first instance, he strikes again and again until he misses, when it is passed on to the next. So excited do the Indians become that they often quarrel desperately. They will play on at this game for hours together, till they have staked everything they possess. "On one occasion Shegaw, who considered me as one of his goods and chattels, staked me, and I was lost to a Cree chief. "My Indian mother, on hearing that I had been staked and lost with other property, cried very much, and declared that she would not agree to my being given up. On this Shegaw, who was afraid of offending her, agreed to challenge the other Indians to a fresh game, and to stake several packs of peltries, the whole of our remaining property. "I stood by, watching the game with some anxiety; not that it signified very much to me who became my master. Our party won, and I was restored to Kezha. It was only for a short time, however. She was as fond of the fire-water as are many other Indian women, and when once she began to drink she would give everything she possessed to obtain more liquor. For a short time she made more of me than she had hitherto done. "I managed to regain, too, my credit with the young men of the tribe. I had obtained a bow and arrows, and by constantly practising, became tolerably expert. During the winter I was allowed to go out by myself, for the Indians could always trace me, and they knew well that I could not travel far should I attempt to make my escape. "I was one day crossing a small meadow, an open space encircled by trees, when I unexpectedly fell up to the middle into the snow. I easily extricated myself and walked on; but remembering that I had heard the Indians speak of killing bears in their holes, it occurred to me that it might be a bear's hole into which I had fallen. I accordingly returned, and looking down into it, I saw the head of a bear lying close to the bottom of the hole. Had I gone down farther I should have fallen into his very jaws. "He did not appear to be inclined to move, so fixing an arrow in my bow, I shot it with all my force into the animal's head between the eyes. Immediately I had done so I got another arrow ready, but on looking down I saw that the bear did not move. I ran to the wood and cut a long stick, and returning with it thrust it into the bear's eyes. As the creature still remained perfectly quiet, I was convinced that it was dead, and stooping down, endeavoured to lift it out of the hole. "Being unable to do this, I returned home, following the track I had made in coming out. As I neared the tent I saw a fire burning and a pot boiling on it. "`Here, my son, is some beaver meat which we have obtained since you went out in the morning,' said my mother. "Having eaten some, for I was very hungry, I whispered to Kezha, `I have killed a bear.' "`What do you say, my son?' she asked. "`I have killed a bear,' I replied. "`Are you sure that it is dead?' "`Yes,' I answered, `it is quite dead.' "On this my so-called mother seized me in her arms, and began hugging and kissing me. "The bear was sent for, and as it was the first I had killed, it was cooked, and the hunters of the whole band invited to feast with us, according to Indian custom. "The next day another bear and a moose were killed, and for some time we had an abundance of food. Old Kezha had another adopted son, Muskgo. He and I used to go out hunting together. I suspect that he was set to watch over me, though we were on very friendly terms. "We frequently hunted two or three days' distance from the camp, but were very often unsuccessful, when we were almost starved. On one of our hunting-paths we had formed a hut of cedar boughs, in which we had kindled fire so often that at length it became very dry. We were lying down at night, after an unsuccessful day's hunt, when we lighted a fire to keep ourselves warm, for the weather was intensely cold. We had just dropped off to sleep when some of the sparks blown by the wind caught the cedar, which immediately flew up like powder. Happily we scampered out without suffering much, but we were left till daylight without any protection. "At dawn we set off towards the camp, hoping that some of the other hunters would have been more successful than we were. So intense was the cold that the trees as we passed were constantly cracking with frost. We had soon to cross a river which appeared to be frozen over hard, but when we had got a little distance from the shore the ice gave way, and I fell in. At the same moment Muskgo broke through in the same manner. "I kept upright, and only wetted my feet and legs; but he threw himself down, and was wetted nearly all over. Our hands being benumbed with the cold, it was some time before we could get off our snow-shoes, and we were no sooner out of the water than our moccasins and leggings were frozen stiff. Our spunk wood got wetted by the water, and when we at last reached the shore we were unable to light a fire. Our clothes also were so completely frozen that we could scarcely move. "Muskgo was in such pain that he at once gave in and declared that he should die. I held out, for though I had no enjoyment in the existence I was enduring, I still hoped some day to make my escape. I therefore kept moving about as well as I was able, and at length reaching the forest, found some rotten wood which I used as a substitute for spunk, and was able, greatly to my satisfaction, to raise a fire. "We immediately set to work to thaw and dry our moccasins, and having put them on, we had strength to collect more fuel for a larger fire. Lying close to this, we completely dried our clothes; and though we had nothing to eat we did not complain, since we had the enjoyment of warmth. "Next morning again setting out we proceeded towards the lodges. We were still some way from them when we met old Kezha bringing us some food and dry clothes. She said that `knowing we should have the river to cross, as we did not appear she was convinced that we had fallen through the ice.' It will thus be seen that the old woman had a kind heart, though her temper was very uncertain. "Sometimes we had an abundance of food in the camp; at others for many days together we were almost starved, and had only nuts or berries to feed on. I cannot describe one-tenth part of the incidents of my life at this period. "We had again accumulated several packages of peltries, which it was intended to exchange with the fur-traders for blankets and numerous other articles of which the tribe were in want. "One day, however, another party of Indians, under a chief called `Peshauba,' or the `Crooked Lightning,' came and encamped near us. He had been trading successfully with the white men, and had a large supply of blankets, beads, knives, and several casks of fire-water. "He came into our camp bringing with him a bottle full of the fire-water. He offered some to Kezha. She at first refused, but at length was induced to take a cupful. I watched her as she swallowed it, when her eyes began to roll, and, stretching out her hand with the cup, she begged to have it refilled. This Peshauba willingly did, and cup after cup was swallowed till not a drop remained. She begged to have some more; but Peshauba replied that he could not give it without payment, and that he would only sell a whole cask. She at once offered him all the beaver-skins and a large quantity of buffalo-robes. "Still he was not content, and insisted on having me and several other articles. She cried with vexation, but at last, finding she could not obtain the fire-water, she exclaimed, `Take them all, but only bring me the rum.' "Peshauba got up and, without saying a word, returned to his own camp. He was not long absent, and came back with a party of his young men, who carried the cask of rum. On depositing it they lifted up the bales and other property which they had taken in exchange, and walked off with them, Peshauba leading me by the hand. I knew that there was no use in making any resistance, though I felt very indignant at being thus bought and sold. "I was sorry, too, at leaving old Kezha, who, although now presenting a very melancholy spectacle as she lay rolling helplessly on the ground, had yet been kind to me on many occasions, and I was not likely to be better treated by any one else. "It is not the custom of the Indians, however, to trade in slaves; indeed, I was not looked upon as one exactly, but rather as a new member of the family. The idea of making slaves of their fellow-creatures is entirely contrary to the nature of the Indians. They will either kill their enemies or let them go, or, if they wish it, receive them into their tribe on equal terms. I had to obey Peshauba as a son obeys his father. He and his wife treated me with considerable kindness. "We moved away westward when my former friends turned back towards the Red River. I was allowed as much freedom as before, and as I had become a tolerably good hunter, was sent out by myself. On one occasion Peshauba sent me out to bring in the meat of an elk which he had killed, accompanied by two girls. Finding the animal large and fat, they determined on remaining to dry the meat, that they might have the less weight to carry. I, knowing it would be wiser to obey the order I had received, took up my load and started for home. "Observing several elk as I went along, I resolved to try and kill one of them. Hiding myself in a bush, therefore, I imitated the call of the female elk. Presently a large buck came bounding so furiously towards the spot where I was concealed that, seeing he would break through the bush, I dropped my load and took to flight. No sooner did he observe me, however, than he turned round and fled in the opposite direction. "As I should have been laughed at for my fright, I returned, wishing to kill an elk. I again imitated the cry, and after some time another animal came towards me, so cautiously that I was able to shoot him dead. As I could now make my appearance at the camp with some credit, I took up my load and proceeded homewards, intending to return with others for the flesh of the elk I had killed. "I had gone some distance when I saw what I took to be a bear. At first I believed it to be a common black bear, and prepared to try and shoot it. When, however, the creature continued to advance, I supposed that it must be a grizzly, as a common bear would have fled. I therefore turned, and began to run from the beast; but the more swiftly I ran, the more closely it followed. "Though much frightened, I remembered the advice Peshauba had given me-- never to attempt shooting one of these animals unless trees were near into which I could climb; also, in case of being pursued, never to shoot until the creature was close to me. "Three times I turned and prepared to let fly an arrow, but each time the bear was still too far off, so I again turned and ran on. Thus I continued till I got close to the lodges, when what was my surprise, on looking back, to see old Peshauba himself! He had on a bearskin cloak, the hood of which he had thrown over his head, thus making himself, aided by the dusk and my fright, resemble a real bear. He laughed heartily at my alarm, but commended me for having obeyed his instructions. My conduct, though I had not exhibited any great amount of bravery, greatly raised me in his estimation. Supposing that I had become reconciled to my lot, he allowed me even greater liberty than at first, and many months passed by spent in hunting, and sometimes by the young warriors in going on the war-path against their enemies. We had moved a long way to the westward, when, being encamped on the plain, I went out with several companions on a hunting expedition towards the north. At the extreme limit of our excursion we found a stream which I learned ran down into a larger river, and I was told that that river flowed on for hundreds of miles towards the ocean. "On hearing this, the thought seized me that I might possibly by its means make my escape. We had several times been encamped in the neighbourhood of rivers and lakes, on which I had learned how to manage a canoe. "A long time elapsed, however, before I could carry my plan into execution. Though I several times visited the river on my hunting excursions, I could not find a canoe; though I might have built one, I should to a certainty have been overtaken before I could finish it. I cannot describe all the events which occurred in the meantime. I was often ill-treated, both by Peshauba and other members of the tribe, and often, when game was scarce, almost starved. "At last I managed to get away from the camp with a small supply of meat which I had secreted, and making a wide circuit, proceeded towards the river. I hoped that I was not pursued, and that it would be supposed I had only gone out with the intention of hunting. Reaching the stream, I continued down it, examining both banks in the hopes of finding a canoe of some description. "I cannot express the delight I felt when I discovered a small one hauled up on the shore. It belonged, I concluded, to some Crees we had met with. As I could find no traces of the owners, I at once launched it, and seizing the paddle, shoved off from the bank. The current carried me swiftly along. I had got to some distance when I heard a voice calling to me; but I could not have returned against the current, even had I wished it. I continued my course, therefore, till darkness came on, when I landed, and, hauling up my canoe, slipped under it. "The next morning, as soon as there was a gleam of light, I started off again, stopping only to eat some of the small supply of food I had brought with me. I had my bow and arrows, and I hoped to replenish the stock on my way. "Not wishing to exhaust all the food I possessed before I had obtained some to supply its place, I one day landed, with the intention of trying to shoot some birds or animals. Seeing no signs of any one having visited the spot, I hauled up the canoe on the bank, and went off into the wood. "What was my dismay, on returning, to find my canoe gone! I saw tracks on the ground which puzzled me exceedingly, as I was nearly certain that they were not those of an Indian, though I could not surmise who had formed them. I was almost in despair, believing that I should have perhaps hundreds of miles to travel on foot, and might be unable to kill sufficient game to support existence; still, plucking up courage, I resolved to persevere, and was making my way, as far as I could calculate, to the north-east, when I saw a person approaching the spot in which I was hiding myself. "I could see through the bushes, and great was my joy to discover that he was a white man. On this I immediately showed myself. Though I had great difficulty in understanding what he said, so long a time had passed since I had heard English spoken, yet I quickly made out that he wished to conduct me to a place where I should find my own countrymen. "As you may have guessed, my new friend was Sandy McTavish." Such is a brief outline of Robin's narrative. He told us several other events of his life, and observed that there were many more which he had not mentioned, and which we only heard at intervals afterwards. He became very much attached to us all, and he himself was a great favourite with every one in the fort; indeed Alick and I looked upon Martin and him as brothers, and few brothers could have regarded each other with greater affection than we did. Still Robin was anxious to set out, in the hopes of rejoining his parents and assuring them of his existence. They might have supposed that he had been killed, or perhaps, as was the case, that he had merely been kept in captivity. His great fear was that his father might have lost his life in attempting his recovery, and should such have happened, he thought of all the sorrow his poor mother must have endured for their sakes. Still some time went by, but no opportunity occurred of sending him on to Fort Garry, the nearest place from which he would be able to make his way in safety to the States. As he did not remember the name of the town in which his mother was living, he would still have great difficulty in finding her. "I must beg my way through the country till I can do so, but while I live I will not abandon the search," he exclaimed. "You shall not have to do that," observed Alick. "All the means I possess shall be at your disposal, and I feel sure that others when they hear your history will gladly subscribe to assist you." "But I may never be able to repay you," said Robin. "I shall not expect repayment," answered Alick. "What I have shall be freely yours, and if you ever have the power of returning the money, and I happen to want it, I will trust to you to do so." The spring was advancing; the snow disappeared as the sun got hotter and hotter, and the ice broke up in the river and went rushing downwards, huge masses tumbling over each other, grinding together till they became small pieces and quickly melted away. The grass grew up, the wild flowers bloomed--no others are to be seen in that region--the leaves burst forth, and the forests once more assumed their mantle of green. We were all actively engaged--some in cultivating a field of Indian corn, another of potatoes, and a kitchen garden in a sheltered spot near the fort. Our chief business, however, was hunting; for though some animals are killed in the winter, many more are shot in the spring and summer. We have a spring, though vegetation proceeds so rapidly, when once the winter has taken its departure, that it is a very short one, and rushes, as it were, rapidly into summer. The trappers were away with their traps to catch beaver. Nearly all other animals are of value--bears, badgers, squirrels, foxes, hares, rabbits, opossums, otters, minks, martens, raccoons, skunks, musk rats, and weasels--but the beaver is one of the most valuable. We one evening had returned after a shooting excursion to the fort, when an Indian, followed by two squaws carrying a couple of packs of skins, was seen approaching. Alick went out to meet him, and invited him in, with the intention of purchasing the peltries, supposing that his object in coming was to sell them. He declined allowing the squaws to enter the fort, but when invited came willingly himself. Though he spoke the Cree language, he had more the appearance of a Sioux. Sandy, who was within at the time, warned Alick not to trust him. He set a high price on his peltries, and said that he would only sell them for arms and ammunition, as he had blankets and cloth enough in his lodge for all his wants; he required six muskets and a large stock of powder and shot. We were not absolutely prohibited from selling muskets to the Indians, but our instructions were to try to induce them to take blankets, cloth, tobacco, beads, and cutlery. "But you are alone, my friend, and can require but one gun for yourself," said Alick. On this the Indian got up and made a long speech. I should have said that he had announced himself as Opoihgun, "a pipe;" on hearing which Sandy at once dubbed him "Jack Pipe." "Opoihgun is not alone," he began; "he has many young men who follow him, who desire guns to supply themselves and their squaws and children with buffalo meat and venison. They know how to clothe themselves with the skins of the animals they kill, and despise those people who wear blankets and cloth garments. What Opoihgun has said he intends to keep to. If his pale-face friends have no guns or ammunition, they cannot hope to obtain his peltries. He has spoken, and is like those mountains in the far west, not to be moved. Lift them up and bring them here, and he will part with his skins for nothing." He went on talking for some time in the same strain. "Well, Mr Pipe, but suppose you take three guns and the remainder of the price either in blankets or in tobacco, will that not content you?" asked Alick. Opoihgun, who was smoking, puffed a cloud from his mouth, and pointing to the west said, "Bring those mountains here." We knew by this that he did not intend to change his mind. Had Alick consented to do what is done too often--produce some bottles of whisky-- he would very probably have obtained the peltries on his own terms. To do this was entirely contrary to his principles. We had some whisky in the fort, but it was dealt out in small quantities only to those who required it. Though the company instructed their factors not on any account to sell whisky to the Indians, it somehow or other found its way into the forts, and by the same unaccountable means the Indians very frequently got drunk, and parted with the produce of their long days and nights of hunting, receiving very small value in return. Mr Meredith and Alick had never fallen into the abominable practice of making those with whom they were about to trade drunk, but always gave fair value for the peltries they received; consequently the more soberly disposed Indians resorted to our fort in preference to others which they might in many cases have more easily reached. Mr Pipe, though he first only asked for the guns and ammunition, now increased his demands, and begged to have some tobacco, and ornaments for his squaws. Alick promised the latter, and advised him to trust to his generosity about other things. At length the bargain was concluded, and the packs being brought in and found to contain the skins the Indian had stated, the guns, powder, and shot were handed to him. Doing them up into two packages, he placed them on the backs of the two women, and ordered them to march, promising soon to overtake them. Alick suggested that it was imprudent to send them without protection. On this Mr Pipe laughed, grimly observing "that they knew how to take care of themselves, and that no one would venture to molest them." He then returned into the fort, and after smoking another pipe, got up and went round the place, carefully examining every portion, looking into the stores and the huts and round the walls. We had at the time no suspicion of his object, but thought that he was only prompted by curiosity. At length, as evening was approaching, he bade us farewell, saying that he should overtake his squaws by the time they had encamped for the night. The next morning Martin, Robin, and I had agreed to go out on a shooting expedition! in order to obtain some wild-fowl, which had assembled in great numbers on a lagoon, a short distance from the fort, near the river. We had concealed ourselves in some bushes, hoping that the wild-fowl would come in the course of their flight sufficiently near to enable us to shoot them. We had remained in ambush for some time, and were feeling somewhat disappointed at our want of success, when who should we see but Opoihgun stealing by out of a wood. He had taken off most of his clothes, and his black hair was streaming over his back. He looked about cautiously, as if he expected some one to meet him. Just at that moment up flew a covey of wild-fowl, when Martin, forgetting that it might be of importance to ascertain what Mr Pipe was about, fired at one of the birds, which, however, flew off uninjured. The Indian looked round with a startled expression of countenance, supposing apparently that the shot was fired at him, and ran off fleet as a deer towards the narrow part of the lagoon, across which it was evident he intended to make his way. We started up from our ambush; but though he again looked round, and saw us, he only fled the faster. "I say, David, I believe that fellow came here with no good intentions," observed Martin. "I vote we give chase and make him tell us what he was about." "You know more about the Indian customs than I do, Robin. What do you say?" I asked. "He was here for some bad purpose," answered Robin; "but I would advise you not to follow him. He has friends in the neighbourhood. We may depend on that, and they may set upon us if we go far from the fort. As I was watching his countenance yesterday, it struck me that I had seen him before, and I am nearly certain that he's a friend of Peshauba's from whom I made my escape. As I saw him again to-day I felt more certain than ever, and I suspect that one of his objects was to get me back, though, as I do not think he recognised me yesterday, perhaps he fancied that I was not at the fort." Robin was so positive on the matter that we thought it advisable not to follow the Indian. We accordingly retreated towards the fort, though very unwilling to return without some ducks for dinner. When we told Alick what had occurred, he approved of our conduct. "There was something not altogether canny about Mr Pipe," observed Sandy, "and I am very glad no harm happened to you boys." "I didn't like the man's countenance, and suspected his intentions from the first," said Alick; "however, I could not refuse to trade with him, though it's more than probable that he stole the peltries he brought us. We'll send out and try to find out more about him." Besides the old Scotchman there were fortunately six hunters at the fort, who were immediately dispatched, well armed, under Sandy's command, to follow the trail of Opoihgun, and to ascertain where he had gone and what he was about. Alick would not let any of us accompany the party, considering that it would be useless to expose us to the danger we might have to encounter. While they were away we caught sight of a small band of men in the distance coming towards the fort from the south-west. As they got nearer we saw that there were six persons. "They are Indians, and seem in a great hurry from the way they come along," observed Martin, who was with Robin and me on the top of the tower. "They do not appear to me to be Indians from the way they run," said Robin. "I should say that most of them are half-breeds, though there is one of them who looks like an Indian." I thought that they were all Indians, though they had no war-plumes, and I saw no ornaments glittering in the sun. "Whatever they are, they seem very anxious to reach the fort," said Martin. "We'll soon know the truth of the matter, for they must be here before long." As the strangers approached, we caught sight in the far distance of another party far more numerous, who appeared to be coming on as fast as the others were; still the latter were certain to reach the fort some time before them. Upon informing Alick, who was in his room, he said at once that the smaller party were flying from the others, evidently hoping to obtain refuge within the fort. "We must give it them, whoever they are, whether Indians or half-breeds," he added; and immediately calling the few men who remained in the fort under arms, he and I, with four or five others, went to the gate to receive the fugitives. They soon got up to us, and we found that Robin was right--five of them being half-breeds, with one Chippewa Indian. They were all panting for breath, having evidently had a long run. As soon as they could speak, they told us that they had been out hunting buffalo, and had already collected a large quantity of meat, with which they intended to load their horses, when they were surprised by a body of Sioux, far outnumbering them, who had carried off their horses. Believing that to attempt the recovery of their animals would be hopeless, they had been compelled to leave their property behind them, and make their escape from their camp, which they expected would be attacked the next morning. It was not till daylight, they supposed, that the Sioux had discovered their flight. They had already made good a considerable distance before, from the top of a hill they were crossing, they saw their enemies in the far distance coming after them. They now discovered, from the number of those who were following, that if they wished to save their lives they must increase their speed, and not stop till they had got safe into the fort. Alick bade them banish their fears, and promised to protect them. Though our garrison was greatly reduced by the absence of Sandy and the men who had accompanied him, we lost no time in making preparations for the expected attack. Unless the wily Indians were very numerous, they would scarcely venture, we concluded, to assault the fort in the daytime, and would probably, on discovering that those they were chasing had got safe within the walls, halt at a distance till they could form their plans. Our first care was to send out Pat with the other men to bring in the horses and cattle feeding in the neighbourhood, which the Indians to a certainty would otherwise have taken the liberty of lifting, as would be said in Scotland. There was time to do this--at all events to save the greater number. Those at a distance would have to take care of themselves, and their sagacity would induce them to scamper off on perceiving the approach of the Indians. We had a well to supply us with water, and abundance of provisions, with arms sufficient for six times the number of our present garrison. These we had loaded, and placed some in each of the four towers, and others at different spots near the walls, so that one man might fire several in succession. A lookout was also stationed at the top of each of the towers, to give due notice of the approach of the enemy, as we could not tell on which side they might attack us. We were well aware of the cunning they would exercise, and that they would employ every trick and stratagem to take us by surprise. Possibly they would creep along the bank of the river during the hours of darkness and try to scale the walls on that side, or one party might come boldly to the fort to attract our attention, while another might be stealthily approaching from an opposite direction. We had at all events, we knew, to keep very wide awake. The hunters who had been pursued, overcome with fatigue, were not likely to be of much use in keeping guard, so Alick told them to lie down and rest till they were wanted for the protection of the fort. We anxiously looked out for the return of Sandy and his party, and our fear was that they might be discovered before they could reach us, and be attacked by the Sioux. The enemy were now seen drawing nearer and nearer, coming over the hill in the distance. We could distinguish even the war-plumes of the chiefs waving in the wind, and the glitter of their arms and ornaments. They formed a large band; indeed, we knew that no Sioux, except in considerable numbers, would venture to cross the Cree country--feeling themselves strong enough to fight their way back, should they be attacked, as they might expect to be, by their hereditary enemies. There is no peace between the Sioux and the Crees. These we knew from their plumes and war-paint to be Blackfeet, the most savage and warlike of the northern tribes. They approached till they reached a spot just beyond musket range. They there began forming a camp, so that we knew they intended regularly to besiege the fort. None of our little garrison, however, were in the slightest degree daunted. We had all the requisites for standing a siege--water, provisions, and an abundance of arms and ammunition. A few small field-pieces in our towers would have been of use, but it had not been thought fit to provide the fort with them, and we had our muskets alone to depend on, with some pikes and swords. Night now came on, and hid the enemy from view, and a short time afterwards their camp-fires blazed up, and we could see dark figures moving about in considerable numbers. Still, Alick suspected that they might have dispatched a party to come round and try to surprise us on the opposite side. When Robin heard this he offered to go out and watch the camp, so that he might track any body of men who might have set out with this purpose in view. "I cannot let you do that," answered Alick. "You may know the Indian ways very well, but were you to be caught they would to a certainty kill you, and we can spare no one from the fort at present." "But I will, if you'll allow me, try to find Sandy, and warn him that the Sioux are in the neighbourhood," said Robin. "I want to prove to you how grateful I am for all the kindness you have shown me. I might be the means of saving Sandy from falling into the hands of the enemy." Alick did not answer immediately. "Your proposal to warn Sandy is an important one," he said at length; "still I am very unwilling to accede to it. You would run a very great risk of being tracked and discovered by the Sioux, and I should never forgive myself if any harm were to happen to you." "Let me go then," I said; "I would rather run the risk than expose Robin to it. As I am older and stronger, and know the country better than he does, there will be less danger of my being caught." "I cannot agree that you know the country better than I do," said Robin. "During the different excursions we have made I noted every leading object we passed, in the mode I learned to do while I was with the Indians; and though I do not wish to disparage your knowledge, I suspect that I could with more certainty find my way on a dark night than you could." I could not help acknowledging that Robin was right, for I had often remarked how perfectly he knew every spot he had but once passed, and that often he could find his way when the rest of us were in doubts about the matter. Alick was so convinced of the importance of warning Sandy that an enemy was near at hand, that he at last consented to allow Robin to set out on his proposed hazardous expedition. No one in the fort was so likely to succeed as he was. Martin did not know the country as well, and Pat would probably have made some mistake, and been caught by the enemy. The rest of the men were more accustomed to the river, or to conduct the sleighs or beasts of burden between the different posts. Robin having taken a good supper, and examined his gun and ammunition, declared himself ready to start. The night was dark, and unless any of the Sioux should have crept up to the fort for the purpose of watching us, he was not likely to be discovered on leaving it. Alick, Martin, and I accompanied him to the gate, and each of us warmly wrung his hand. "May Heaven protect you," said Alick. "Be cautious, my boy, and don't run any unnecessary risk." We concealed our lanterns, lest the enemy might perceive the light as the gate was opened, and suspect that some one was leaving the fort. We stood for some moments watching our young friend till he disappeared in the darkness, when the gate was again carefully closed. I believed that Alick half repented allowing him to go now he had set out, for he had endeared himself to us all, and we felt how deeply we should grieve should any harm happen to him. CHAPTER SIX. EXTREME VIGILANCE IN THE FORT--FIRE!--THE CHARGE OF THE BLACKFEET--THEIR TERRIFIC WAR-WHOOP--THE BLACKFEET RETIRE--THE SECOND ATTACK--"DOWN WITH THE SPALPEENS"--A FRIENDLY WAR-WHOOP HEARD JUST AS AFFAIRS HAVE BECOME DESPERATE--THE BLACKFEET RETREAT--OUR INDIAN ALLIES ENJOY A SCALP-DANCE--HAVING EATEN ALL OUR PROVISIONS, THEY INVITE US TO ACCOMPANY THEM ON A HUNTING EXPEDITION--ROBIN'S BADGER--THE BUFFALO HUNT--THE HERD OF MOOSE--WATCHFULNESS OF THE MOOSE--THE "SUNJEGWUN"--THE CREE CHIEF'S WARNING--WE START FOR THE FORT. There was to be no sleep for us that night. Alick and I were continually going our rounds, to see that all the men were on the alert. As soon as Robin had set out I went to the tower nearest to the gate, and watched anxiously for any sign which would show that he had been discovered by the Sioux. I stayed as long as I could venture to do, but all remained perfectly quiet in the direction I supposed he had taken. So far this was satisfactory; I knew how well acquainted he was with the ways of the Indians, and that he was not likely to be surprised. His ear would be quick to detect the sound of their approach; his keen eye would be able to pierce far through the gloom of night. Should any parties, therefore, be moving about, I trusted that he would manage to avoid them. Midnight came at last, and so tranquil did all remain around that, had we not seen the Indian camp-fires blazing up in the distance, we should not have supposed that the enemy was near us. Our guests were still asleep with their arms by their sides, ready for instant use. For one thing I was glad that Rose and Letty were safe at Fort Ross, though I had no doubt that they would have behaved as courageously as any girls under the circumstances could have done, and if they had not fired the muskets, would have helped to load them, and would have tended any who were wounded. We showed no lights from the fort, which might have let the Indians know that we were on the watch. We spoke also in low voices, that, should any of them be skulking round the fort, they might not hear us. It was about two hours past midnight; though I confess that I was beginning to get somewhat tired, neither Alick nor I had relaxed in our vigilance. Martin was also doing his part in watching from the tower at the south-west angle. It was agreed that even should we see the Indians approaching we should give no sign that we were awake, so that our fire, when once we opened it, might have greater effect. If one side only was attacked, the whole garrison was to go over to defend it, leaving only a single man at the other angles to watch lest another party might assault it on that side. I had just gone into the tower where Martin was keeping watch, when, turning round as he heard me enter, he whispered, "They are coming!" and he drew me to a loophole. I looked through, and could distinguish a mass of dark forms just issuing from the gloom, crouching low down, and trailing their arms so as to escape observation. Having satisfied myself that they were really our enemies coming on to attack the fort, I hurried down to tell Alick, and to summon the men for the defence of the side on which I supposed the assault would be made. "Remember, lads," said Alick, "don't fire a shot till I tell you, and the moment you have fired get another musket ready for a second discharge." The men sprang to their posts at the loopholes, some going to the upper part of the tower, and some to the lower story. We were all at our posts, when suddenly a most terrific war-whoop burst upon our ears. I never heard so awful a noise, though I had fancied I knew what it was like. So fearful is the sound of the Indian war-whoop that even the most savage beasts have often been frightened out of their wits. Buffaloes have, it is said, been known to fall down on their knees, unable either to run or make any resistance; and the bear has been so terror-stricken as to quit his hold, and fall from the tree in utter amazement and helplessness. Again that fearful war-whoop arose, piercing our very brains; though neither Martin nor I had ever heard it before it did not intimidate us, nor did it the rest of the garrison. We waited, as ordered, till we heard Alick shout "Fire!" when each man discharged his musket, and immediately, as directed, grasped another. The Indians, supposing that some time would elapse before we had reloaded; sprang forward; but ere they could reach the walls another volley laid many of them low, and we were prepared to pour in a third upon them before they had again moved forward. The shrieks and cries of the wounded rang through the air, for they were so completely taken by surprise that for the time they forgot their usual stoicism, and gave way to the impulse of human nature to cry out with pain. "Reload!" cried Alick, who had watched all their movements. "Fire the moment one of them advances." Instead of approaching nearer, however, the whole band drew back, when several muskets were discharged from among them--the bullets being accompanied by a cloud of arrows; but striking the palisades or flying over our heads, they did no harm. "Those are the very arms we sold to the Indian the other day, I suspect," observed Martin. "Sandy at the time said he was sure Mr Pipe had some sinister object in view. He has managed to hand them over to these rascals." As soon as the Indians began to fire, Alick ordered us to fire in return, he himself setting the example. As we had managed to reload all the pieces we had already fired, and had several others still unused, our bullets produced a fearful effect among the Indians, who retreated farther and farther from the fort, till darkness hid them from view. We sent another volley after them, when Alick ordered us to cease firing, hoping that the enemy would not again venture to approach. Immediately silence reigned throughout the fort. Not a shout was raised, not a word above a whisper uttered, except when Alick in a stern voice exclaimed, "Fire!" The Indians had discovered that they could have no hope of taking us by surprise; but, at the same time, we knew that they might again venture to attack the fort, and that we must keep as much on the alert as before. We felt confident that as long as they should assault the fort in the same manner as at first we could drive them back, but should they change their tactics the case might be different. If the chiefs could restore the courage of their followers, they might completely surround the fort; and should they venture to climb over the palisades on all sides at once, we might have great difficulty in driving them back. Suspecting that they might make an attempt to get in in the way I have last mentioned, Alick sent men to each of the other angles to be ready should the Indians appear. The remainder of the night went by. It was one of the most anxious times I ever passed in my life. When morning dawned the Indians could be seen in the far distance in as great numbers as before, but none of their bands were visible near the fort. We had little fear of their renewing the attack during the daytime, and Alick gave orders to all the garrison, except a few men at a time required to keep watch, to lie down and get some sleep. He directed me to do the same, promising to summon me when he required to be relieved. After I had rested about three hours he called me up, and I was very glad to get some breakfast before going on watch. I spent all the morning in one of the towers, keeping a constant lookout on the enemy, who seemed in no way inclined to move, while I frequently turned an anxious eye in other directions, hoping to see Robin with Sandy and his companions returning to the fort. In vain, however, I looked. No human being could I distinguish, either on the more open prairie or among the trees in the distance. The day drew on; perhaps, if our friends had discovered the vicinity of the Indians, they might wait under cover till dark, but if they had not seen them they would make at once for the fort. Still they did not come, and darkness closed in upon us. We had another night before us of anxiety and watchfulness. The same arrangements were made as on the previous night, and Alick and I, assisted by Martin, were continually making the round of the fort. At any moment we might have the whole horde of savages upon us; yet, in the meantime, we could do nothing to defend ourselves, except to keep our muskets loaded and ready for action. Even though we could tell the direction in which the Indians had retreated, there was no use in firing into the empty air. The silence we maintained would, however, we knew, have greater effect on our enemies than the loudest shouts we could have raised. "I wish they would come on," exclaimed Martin; "the fellows, after all, are but arrant cowards. They make noise enough when they fancy that they are going to have things all their own way. I suspect they are far enough off by this time." "We must not depend too much upon that," I observed. "If they think that they can surprise us they will try again. Perhaps they fancy that we suppose we have driven them away, and will turn in and go to sleep, and they are waiting till our eyes are fast closed." "I wonder what o'clock it is," said Martin. "Not many minutes to dawn," I answered. "We shall ere long see the light breaking in the eastern sky." Scarcely had I uttered the words when Martin, who had gone back to his loophole, whispered, "There they are again, but coming on very differently to the first time." I looked out, and could see a dark line extending round the whole front and side of the fort. I hurried down to Alick, warning the men in a low voice to be on the alert. We went over to the opposite side. From this also we saw the same dark line slowly approaching nearer and nearer. It was very evident that the Indians had surrounded the fort, and intended to attack us simultaneously on every side. Alick immediately distributed the men in equal parties round the stockade, and directed them as before to await his order to fire. The war-whoop the enemy had before uttered was terrific enough. Suddenly the air was rent by the loudest and most fearful shrieks rising from every side of us, and the next instant showers of arrows, and a few bullets, came whistling above our heads, and directly afterwards the Indians appeared emerging from the gloom. Alick waited till they were near enough for every bullet to take effect. Most of our men were tolerable shots, but the Indians, instead of rushing straight forward, kept leaping from side to side, and thus many escaped. Though we had our second muskets in readiness, urged on by their former failure, they sprang forward at so rapid a rate that before we could fire a large number had reached the walls, against which they placed long pieces of light timber, with notches in them to serve as ladders. The most active of our people were engaged in throwing these down as fast as they were placed against the palisades, while the rest by Alick's orders kept firing rapidly away, taking up musket after musket. Active as we were, several of the enemy climbed to the top of the palisades, but were hurled backwards, or, being shot as they appeared, fell down into the fort. In spite of the fate which had overtaken their comrades, others made most daring attempts to get in. Should two or three succeed, they, with their tomahawks, might keep a space clear for a sufficient time to enable others to follow them, and the fort might be taken. Now they made a desperate assault on one side, now on another, but were each time repulsed. We had the advantage of possessing a platform on which we could run rapidly from place to place as we were required, while the enemy had the ditch to pass and the high palisade to climb before they could reach the top. This enabled us to defend ourselves in a way we could not otherwise have done; still the Indians vastly outnumbered us, and seemed determined not to abandon their enterprise. Several of our men had been wounded, but not severely, while numbers of the enemy had fallen. Pat Casey was among the most active of the garrison--now firing his musket, now pronging at an Indian who had climbed to the top of the palisade, now using a broadsword which he had secured to his side, all the time shouting out, "Erin go bragh! Down with the spalpeens. Arrah! now you're coming in, are you? Just take that thin, and find out that you've made a mistake." The last sentence he uttered as he ran an Indian through the shoulder and hurled him back into the ditch. Each man of our party knew that he was fighting for his life. No mercy could be expected should the fort be taken; still, in spite of the courage and activity displayed by our people, there seemed too much probability that the enemy would succeed. It was not thought likely that they would attack the towers, but Alick considered it necessary to keep a man in each, who was ordered to fire away, while he watched to give notice should the enemy attempt to attack that part of the fort. The darkness prevented us from observing the movements of the Indians, but I fancied as I was looking out that I saw a considerable number retreating, and I could hear no voices coming from that side; still the rest continued the attack, though perhaps with less energy than before. Some time elapsed without any effort being made to climb up the palisades. Flights of arrows were continually shot at us, and our ears were assailed with the most fearful shouts and shrieks. Presently, as I was looking out on the west side, I saw a dense mass appear out of the gloom, and to my dismay I discovered that it was composed of men carrying large fagots. I told Alick what I had seen, and he immediately summoned six of our best men to that side of the fort, for its defence. It was clearly the intention of our enemies to throw the fagots down against the walls, so as to fill up the ditch and form a path up which they could climb, or to set them on fire and burn down the stockades. Alick, supported by Pat with half a dozen men, stood ready to receive them; while others in the towers, which enfiladed the walls, kept up a hot fire which struck down several of the Indians as they rushed up to place their fagots. It being necessary, of course, to defend the walls on the other side, Martin and I were hurrying here and there as we saw the enemy approaching. "Here they come," I heard Alick shout out. At the same moment a terrific war-whoop sounded in our ears. "Fire steadily at them, my lads," cried Alick; "and if they get within reach of our bayonets, let them feel the points." "Shure! that's what we'll be afther doing," cried Pat.--"Won't we, boys? Erin go bragh!" and a well-directed volley drove back the first body of Indians who were attempting to mount. They had been sent apparently as a forlorn hope, for the next instant another party still more numerous appeared, while, as I hurried over to the other side, I saw a third band, advancing evidently with the intention of making a separate attack. At the same instant the entire body of our enemies, uniting their voices, uttered another of those dreadful war-whoops. Though we had hitherto kept up our courage, but few among us believed that we should be able to offer an effectual resistance. The next instant, however, ere the shrieks of our enemies had died away, they were answered by other cries which came from the forest. Could a fresh body of Indians be about to attack us? Should such be the case our doom was sealed. Such were the thoughts that passed through my mind. Again that war-whoop sounded through the night air. "Hurrah!" cried Pat, "those are friendly Indians. I know it by the sound." Pat's assertion was corroborated by several of the other men. Our well-nigh exhausted strength and courage were restored. The Indians had heard these cries, and the formidable party which had been mounting the fagots hurried back, while the last who had been seen approaching retreated. We plied them more rapidly than ever with our musketry. We could hear their chiefs issuing their orders, and in another minute the whole line scampered off and disappeared in the darkness. Not many minutes afterwards we heard Sandy's voice shouting out, "We have brought some Indian friends to your assistance." We now, without hesitation, threw open the gate, and the next instant Robin sprang forward and shook our hands, while Sandy with his six men appeared directly afterwards. "No time to stop," exclaimed Sandy. "The youngster found us, and we fell in with some friends in time of need, who agreed to come along with us. There they are; but they're afraid to come near, lest you should mistake them for the foe, and pepper them. They and we must be after the rascals who have been attacking you. Can't stop to ask questions; only hope you are all safe. Keep Robin fast, or he'll be running after us, and there is no need to let the lad run his nose into unnecessary danger. I hope you are all right, though?" "Yes, thank you; none of us hurt badly," answered Alick. "That's well," exclaimed Sandy; and without more ado he and his men hurried after the Indians, who were already cautiously moving on in the direction our late assailants had taken. "Don't pursue them too far, or you may fall in with fresh bands, and may have a hard matter to fight your way back," shouted Alick. "Ay, ay!" answered Sandy; "trust me and the Indians for that," and he and his men were soon lost to sight in the gloom. Several of our men eagerly begged for leave to go out and join Sandy's party. Alick would, however, only allow six of them, including three of the hunters to whom we had given refuge, to go. All being well armed, we had no doubt that they would drive back the Sioux, and probably kill or capture a number of them. Robin, as Sandy had supposed he would, wanted to go also; but Martin and I held him fast till the gate was closed. "Now go and lie down, my boy," said Alick. "You have been on your legs a good many hours, and have done us service enough for one day, or for many days for that matter." Robin somewhat unwillingly obeyed, having first taken some food, of which he stood in need; and as he dropped off to sleep immediately, it was evident that he was pretty well worn out. We had now to wait for the return of our friends. In the meantime we did our best to dress the hurts of the men who had been wounded. In many cases they could help each other, in their own rough fashion, for they were generally in so healthy a state that injuries which might have proved fatal to people living what is called a civilised life, compelled them scarcely to lay up for more than a day or two. Three of our guests had been wounded, but they made light of the matter, and declared that they should at once be able to proceed on their journey. Martin and I amused ourselves by collecting all the arrows which had been shot into the fort, and a fine number we had of them. We agreed to ornament the walls of one of the rooms with the arrows, and to send others to our friends. We could not find the bullets which had been fired, and concluded that they had all been shot over the fort, and often into the ground on the opposite side, perhaps killing our foes instead of us. Considering the vast number of the enemy, and the desperate courage they had displayed in attacking the fort, we had great reason to be thankful that we had been preserved. I believe, indeed, that we ought to be thankful every day of our existence, for we know not how many unseen dangers we escape in our walk through life. I know that I did not think so seriously of such matters as I do now; but I am sure that the earlier we begin to think of God's protecting providence, the more anxious we shall be to serve Him, and to refrain from offending One so kind and merciful. Another day broke, but still neither Sandy's party nor his Indian allies had reappeared, and Alick began to fear that they had followed the enemy further than was prudent. Should the Sioux have turned upon them with the same bravery they had displayed when attacking the fort, our friends would have run a fearful risk of being cut off, while we should probably be again attacked with less prospect than before of success. Though pretty well tired with our long watching and our desperate exertions in defence of the fort, we were in good spirits. Alick however who was prudent, had the arms reloaded, and made as much preparation for defence as he considered necessary. The Sioux, I should have said, when retreating, had carried off their dead and wounded, to save them from the ignominy of being scalped, which would to a certainty have been their fate had our Indian allies found them on the ground. We were thus saved the horror of witnessing the spectacle, as also the trouble of burying the dead. The Indians would probably also have killed all the wounded, in spite of the efforts we should have made to save them. At length, about noon the watchman in the tower shouted out that he saw a party approaching from the south-west--the direction the Sioux had probably taken. We were for some time in doubt whether they were friends or foes. At length Martin, who was on the lookout with me, exclaimed: "Hurrah! I'm sure that's old Sandy marching ahead, with an Indian chief by his side; and there come the men. They have thrashed the Sioux--no doubt about that--and it will be a long time before the rascals venture to pay us another visit." I was not quite certain that Martin was right, and feared that his imagination had deceived him. While we were discussing the matter, we were joined by Robin, whose eyes were sharper than either of ours. He had at once declared that Martin was not mistaken. We accordingly announced the fact to Alick and the few men who were awake. The sleepers were quickly roused by the shout of satisfaction which was uttered, and there being no longer any apprehension of danger, we hurried out to meet our friends, accompanied by Bouncer and a whole tribe of smaller dogs, which lived under his rule. "We've given the Sioux a lesson they'll not forget in a hurry," exclaimed Sandy, as we met. "We came upon them while they were encamped, not dreaming that we were near, and before they could stand to their arms we had shot down a dozen or more, including all the fellows who had muskets, which the others in their fright, as they jumped up to fly, left behind them. We took possession of the muskets, and followed up the enemy for an hour or more. How many were killed it would have been hard to say, as we did not stop to count those we shot down; but our redskin friends have got thirty scalps, which would be about the tally, as they looked out for all who fell. I don't approve of the custom, for they are not very particular in seeing whether a man's alive or dead before they lift the hair from the crown of his head." Alick would gladly have prevented the slaughter which had occurred. It struck us that probably the Sioux in their flight had thrown down the men who had been killed or wounded in the attack on the fort, and that these were included in the number Sandy spoke of. Our Indian allies, after enjoying a scalp-dance outside the fort--not a very edifying spectacle, but an amusement in which they seemed to take an especial delight--were invited to partake of a feast which had been in the meantime preparing. All our cooks had been engaged on it, and though not of a very refined description, it suited the taste of our guests. We had buffalo meat and venison, boiled, roasted, and stewed, with flour cakes, and potatoes the produce of our garden. A small amount of whisky was served out; but Alick was careful not to give the Indians enough to make them lose their wits. The chiefs, however, who asked for more, got sufficient to make them loquacious, and some wonderfully long speeches were uttered, expressing the affection they felt for us, their pale-face brothers. When night came on they encamped outside, as it was a rule never to allow any large body of Indians, whoever they were, to sleep inside the fort. As they were aware of this, they were not offended. The weather being warm they had no great hardship to endure, though unable to put up wigwams for their protection. Before lying down they had another scalp-dance, which they kept up to a late hour. We were in hopes that they would go the next day, but they showed no inclination to move as long as they could obtain an abundant supply of food. We, of course, were obliged to serve it out from our stores, and should have been considered very ungrateful had we given them a hint to take their departure. They thus consumed nearly the whole of the substantial provisions we had in the fort, including flour and potatoes; and not till Alick told them that we had but little more to offer did they express an intention of going away. Before doing so they invited us to accompany them on a hunting expedition, which they proposed making in a few days, after they had returned to their own lodges and obtained horses for the purpose. Martin and I were eager to go, as was Robin; and we persuaded Alick to accompany us, as he required a change after the arduous work he had gone through. At first he was very doubtful about the matter; but he consented at length to leave Sandy in charge, which he often had done when compelled to be absent from the fort. We started from home with our guns, intending to shoot on the way, directing our horses to be brought after us. We were accompanied by Bouncer, who was always our attendant on such occasions; and very useful he often made himself, being expert in attacking all animals, but especially cautious when he met with those with whose prowess he was well acquainted. We had bagged two or three small animals and a few birds, when, forgetting our usual custom of keeping together, we each took a different path, which led us to some distance apart. Martin was nearest to me; I could still see him between the trees, when I heard a shot. I looked towards him; but as I saw no smoke, I concluded that he had not fired. Directly afterwards he shouted, "Come on, David! I heard Robin cry out; something must have happened." I ran as fast as I could, shouting to Alick, who I hoped might hear me. The ground being tolerably open in the direction I had taken, I quickly overtook Martin. "It was there I heard his voice," he exclaimed. "Yes; he's still crying out. I can't understand it, but I hope nothing terrible has happened to him." Guided by Robin's voice, we at last got near him. At the same moment Alick appeared in another direction between the trees. Instead of being alarmed, we burst into a fit of laughter, for there was Robin holding on to the bushy tail of an animal which with might and main was making towards a hole near at hand. "Help me! help me!" cried Robin, "or the beast will get away." Robin pulled in one direction, and the beast, which I saw was an unusually large badger, was endeavouring to scramble off in another, dragging Robin after it. Before Bouncer, who had followed Alick, could spring forward to Robin's assistance the badger had reached its hole, down which it was struggling with might and main to descend; but Robin, who had now no fears of being bitten, held on stoutly, while Bouncer flew at the hinder quarters of the beast, of which he took a firm grip. "Pull away, Robin, pull away," I shouted. "You can have the honour of killing him yourself, with the help of Bouncer." Robin hauled away, and so did the dog; but for some time it seemed doubtful which party would gain the victory. At last Robin, by a desperate effort, hauled the unfortunate badger out of the hole; and as he did so he fell backwards, still holding on, and drawing the creature almost over him. On this Bouncer seized it by the neck, and Martin, taking up a thick stick which lay at hand, stunned it with a blow, when it was quickly dispatched. We took off the skin, as we had those of the other animals we had shot, and did them up to be sent back by the men who brought our horses. I mention the circumstance as it afforded us much amusement; and though it will not appear a very important one, it showed Robin's determination not to be defeated in anything he undertook. After that we used frequently to observe, "Stick to it as Robin did to the badger's tail, and you'll get it out of the hole at last." It is what I would advise others to do when they have difficulties to contend with, whether great or small. The horses overtook us in the afternoon, when we rode on and camped by ourselves for the night, intending to join our Indian friends the next day. We had brought with us a small supply of provisions, in addition to the game which we had shot on our way, expecting that the Indians would be able to furnish us with buffalo meat, on which we had no objection to live for a few days. Next morning, having breakfasted and caught our horses, we rode on; but it was not till nearly evening that we reached the Cree camp. We slept in a skin-covered wigwam which they appropriated to our use, and the following morning started for the southward in search of buffalo, which were supposed to be in considerable numbers in that direction. We rode on all day, stopping only to take a meal about noon, but not a buffalo did we see. We had exhausted all our provisions, and regretted that we had not brought more with us for our own private use. Small fires only were formed, around which we lay down to sleep. It was nearly dawn when the Cree chief, touching my arm, awoke me. "Listen!" he said, putting his head close down to the ground. I did so, and could hear a low, dull sound, as if numberless feet were beating the soil. "That is the tramp of buffaloes," he observed. When, however, I sat up I could hear nothing. The chief told me to call my brother and other friends, and proposed, as soon as we had had something to eat, that we should set off in the direction from whence the sounds we had heard proceeded. I roused up my companions, and when they put their ears down to the ground and listened, they also could hear the same tramping sound. I was not yet perfectly convinced that the chief was right, but he asserted that there was no mistake about the matter. When we told the chief that we had no food, he looked rather blank, and shortly returned with some dried venison, which we were fain to cook as best we could before the fire. We had a small supply of biscuit, and a stream at hand furnished us with water. Thus fortified, we mounted our horses and rode to the top of a hill near at hand, from which we could command an extensive view of the prairie. Not a sign, however, of a buffalo could be seen; still the chief was confident that he was not mistaken, and we pushed our horses in the direction of the sounds we had heard for at least ten miles. When we had gone about another ten miles we could just distinguish a black line crossing the prairie. "I told you so," said the chief; "there they are, and we shall in less than another hour be up to them." All we could as yet see was the mere margin of the herd, looking, as I have said, like a black line thrown along the edge of the sky, or a low shore just visible across a lake. We calculated that the place where we first heard the sounds of the animals' feet could not have been less than twenty miles off. As we drew near we observed that the herd was in the wildest state of commotion. The bulls every now and then rushing at each other and fighting desperately, the sounds produced by the knocking together of their hoofs as they raised their feet from the ground, their incessant tramping and loud and furious roars as they engaged in their terrific conflicts, created an uproar which it seemed surprising our horses took so quietly; but we had chosen animals well accustomed to hunting the buffalo, and they were as eager as we were for the chase. Under other circumstances it would have required great caution to approach the herd; but engaged as they now were they were not easily alarmed, and the Cree chief giving the word we rode directly at them. "Let the bulls alone," cried the chief, as we galloped forward. "Single out the cows; they alone are worth eating. Don't stop to ram down your charges after you have fired, but pour in the powder, and drop down the bullet upon it. 'Twill serve your purpose, for you must not draw trigger till you're close to the animal, or you will fail to bring it to the ground." We, of course, promised to follow his instructions, and dashed forward. As we got nearer we saw that the herd was so densely packed that we should have the greatest difficulty in making our way into their midst without having our horses injured by their horns; not that the buffaloes would have run at them, but in consequence of the rapid way in which they moved them about, in their frantic rage, in all directions. We therefore galloped along in front of the herd with the intention of getting on their flanks, or finding some opening through which we might reach the cows. At last the chief proposed that we should dismount, and, leaving the horses under the care of some of the men, try to make our way in on foot. I thought this a very hazardous experiment, and made some remark to that effect. "Not so hazardous as you may suppose," answered the chief. "The animals will not see you, and you have only to leap out of their way should any come rushing in the direction where you are standing." "I have often shot buffalo in that way," exclaimed Robin. "Keep with me, David, and we'll see what we can do." I preferred trusting him to the chief, whom Alick and Martin followed. Robin and I were soon in the midst of the surging sea of horns. His boldness gave me courage; but it was necessary to keep our eyes round us on all sides, and to be ready to leap here and there, to get out of the way of the animals, which were constantly on the move. The part we had entered was of course far more open than that where we first made the attempt. Robin's coolness was wonderful. He was the first to shoot a cow. "Let it alone," he said; "I see some more out there." As we made our way onwards and were trying to get at the cows, a whole mass of the bulls came surging around us, and presently several, putting their heads to the ground, dashed forward, directly towards the place where we were standing. "Here! here!" cried Robin; "we shall be safe," and he pointed to a deep hollow which in the rainy season had held water, but was now perfectly dry. We both leaped in; when the bulls came rushing by us but again stopped, and others joining them, the whole began to fight with the greatest desperation. The only chance we had of getting out of our disagreeable position was to kill the bulls and make our way through them. We fired and loaded as fast as we could, and seven lay stretched on the ground. "Now," cried Robin, "is our time to escape." We sprang up and dashed through the herd; but greatly to our disappointment, when we looked out for the cows, we found that our firing had alarmed them, and that they had all run off. Not quite liking this sort of work, we regained our horses and galloped on to where we saw a party of our Indian friends, who had just killed a cow. Most of the herd had moved away from the spot; but one enormous bull on seeing what had happened, bellowing furiously, came dashing towards us, ploughing up the ground with his horns. The Indians, unwilling to stand his charge, turned and fled; when the animal seeing me rushed forward, determined, it seemed, to wreak his vengeance on my steed. My well-trained animal, however, bounded out of the way, when I, having my gun loaded, fired at the bull, which was not three yards from me. The ball penetrating his chest, he fell dead. The Indians now returned, and began cutting up the cow. While they were so engaged, another cow, which they supposed to be the mother of the one they had killed, galloped towards us, bellowing loudly. They, not having their arms in their hands, took to flight, declaring that the cow was resolved on revenging herself for the slaughter of her daughter. I was much inclined to follow them; but Robin asking me to hold the horse, slipped from the saddle, and throwing himself by the body of the dead cow, rested his rifle so that he could take steady aim, and as the raging cow came near he fired. She turned, gave one or two jumps, and fell dead. We had now an ample supply of meat. Several other cows had been killed, and the Indians employed themselves in cutting them up into pieces fit for transporting to their lodges. We had crossed no rivers on our way, and when we came to encamp at night it was found that no water had been brought, nor were we likely to get any till we reached the encampment. We all suffered much from thirst. I do not recollect, indeed, having ever endured so much torture as I did during the next day's ride back. The Indians, perhaps, bore the want of water better than we did. It seemed as if we should drink the stream dry which bubbled up out of the hillside near the camp. It took us a whole day to recover. We had intended returning to the fort; but as we required a large supply of buffalo meat, Alick engaged the chief to hunt for us, and consented to accompany him on another excursion. Martin, Robin, and I were of course perfectly ready, and set out again with as much glee as at first. The buffaloes had, however, by this time retired a long way to the south, and it took us three days to come up with them. I need not describe another hunt. On this occasion the herd was more scattered. We galloped in among them, firing right and left. Each man, when he shot an animal, dropped some article upon the carcass to show by whose prowess it had been killed. Full thirty fat animals were killed, and as the meat in its present condition could not be carried so far, we formed a camp, and the Indians cut the flesh up in long strips, which were dried in the sun; a considerable portion also being beaten up into almost a paste, was mixed with the fat to form pemmican. This was then pressed into bags of skin, and done up into packages ready for transport. The process is a simple one, but much labour must be expended on it. All this time we had scouts out, not to look after the buffalo, but to watch lest any enemies might be in the neighbourhood. Several horses having been sent for, the pemmican and fresh meat were packed on them, and we set off on our return to the Cree camp. On our arrival there the chief informed us that he had notice of a large herd of moose being in the neighbourhood; and Alick was very anxious to obtain some, as the flesh is excellent. From their wary nature the moose are, however, very difficult to kill. We accordingly, having dispatched the laden animals with some of our own men, accompanied the chief with another party in the direction where we expected to fall in with the moose. The moose is also called the elk. It is the largest of all the deer tribe, sometimes attaining the height of seven feet at the shoulders, being thus as tall as many ordinary elephants; the horns are enormous, their extremities widely palmated, and so heavy are they that it seems a wonder how the animal can carry them. It has a large muzzle, extremely elongated, which gives it a curious expression of countenance which is far from attractive. When it moves it goes at a long, swinging trot, which enables it to get over the ground at great speed, and it is surprising how the creature with its enormous horns can manage to pass through the woods in the way it does. It then throws back its horns on its shoulders, and calculates the measurement exactly, as it rarely if ever is caught by them in the branches. It can swim capitally, and often takes to the water in the summer months for its own amusement. Over hard ground it is difficult to keep up with it. When the snow is deep the heavy feet of the moose sink into it at every step, so that it is easily captured during the winter. Its colour is a dark brown, with a yellowish hue thrown over parts of it. As it is as wary as most of the deer tribe, it is difficult to stalk. At the same time, if the hunter knows what he is about, and keeps well to leeward and under cover, he can frequently get near enough for a shot; but his powder must be strong and his gun true, or his bullet will not penetrate the animal's thick skin. We killed three elk in as many different ways: one by stalking up to it, another by lying hid behind some bushes till it came near enough to receive the fatal shot, and a third by following it up on horseback. The last chase was the most exciting, and had we not got on to some swampy ground, I believe that after all the elk would have escaped us; but heading it we got a fair shot at its chest, which brought it to the ground. The next day Robin and I again accompanied the Indian chief on foot, in chase of moose. We caught sight of a large animal feeding in the open, but could not for a long time get near it. At last it moved off, and we followed till it approached a small pond with a reedy island towards one end of it. The moose plunged into the pond and swam towards the reeds, among which it disappeared. There was apparently no firm footing for it, and it must have remained almost if not entirely under water. The chief declared that it was hiding itself beneath the surface, and that if we would wait patiently we should see it again come up, when we should to a certainty kill it. We, accordingly, moving cautiously round the pond, hid ourselves among the reeds in a spot from whence we could see the place where the moose disappeared. We must have remained upwards of an hour, when at length the moose rose to the surface, and, swimming a short distance, began to wade towards where we were concealed. We were afraid of moving, even to get our guns pointed at it, lest we should startle it--as these animals are very sharp of hearing--and it should swim off in the opposite direction. Nearer and nearer it came, till it was well within shot, when the chief made a sign with his head, and Robin and I fired. The moose made one desperate plunge, then fell over dead. The chief had reserved his fire, lest we should have missed. He now, giving us his gun, rushed into the water, and dragged the dead moose to shore. He was highly pleased at our success; for the Indians consider the moose more difficult to take than any other animal. It is more vigilant than either the buffalo or the caribou, more prudent and crafty than the antelope. In the most violent storm, when the wind and the thunder and the falling timber are making the loudest and the most incessant roar, if the hunter even with his foot or his hand breaks the smallest dry twig in the forest, the moose will hear it; and though it does not always run, it ceases eating, and bends its attention to all sounds. If in the course of an hour the hunter neither moves nor makes the least noise, the moose may possibly again begin to feed, but does not forget what he has heard, and for many hours afterwards is more vigilant even than before. Our friend told us that the moose is never found among the caribou, nor the latter among the former. The moose frequents the prairie where the buffalo feeds, while the caribou generally inhabits low and swampy regions. The chief begged us to remain by the animal we had killed, while he returned to the lodges, that he might send the horses to bring home the meat, with two others for us to ride. With the supplies our own hunters were likely to obtain, we calculated that we should have enough food for ourselves. We had now been much longer from the fort than we intended, so we at last bade our friends good-bye, and rode forward northward alone. We should have, we calculated, a couple of nights to pass in the open air; but we were all well accustomed to this sort of life, and thought it no hardship. Our Cree friends purposed moving southward, and told us that we should not be likely to see them again for some time. As it was impossible for us to carry our share of the moose flesh with us, we had arranged with the chief that he should build what is called a "sunjegwun," a high scaffold, on the top of which it was to be deposited and then securely covered over, so that no birds of prey could reach it, while, from its height, even bears would not be able to climb up to the top. This is an ordinary method employed by the Indians for preserving their provisions, when they have obtained more than they can transport at a time. Of course, it may possibly be stolen by their enemies, but they select such spots as are not likely to be discovered. Another risk they run is from those arrant thieves the wolverines, which, if they discover what is on the top of the scaffold, though they cannot climb up it, will set to work with their sharp teeth, and try to gnaw away the posts. As, however, they are likely to find the operation a long one, the owners may return before they have accomplished it, and shoot them for their pains. Our friends agreed not to place the meat "en cache" till they were on the point of starting, and we hoped to be able before that time to send our people to bring it into the fort. We should have taken some with us, but it required more smoking, and we could not wait till it was thoroughly cured. Alick had consulted the Cree chief as to what had become of the Sioux who had attacked us. "I am glad you have asked me," he answered: "though they may possibly have returned to their own country, they are very likely to come back, and endeavour to take the fort by surprise. They are cunning as they are daring, and if they can obtain the opportunity, they are very sure to take advantage of it. Perhaps they will wait till they can get reinforced, so that they may make sure another time of gaining the victory." "They may think that they are sure," answered Alick; "but they may find that they have made as great a mistake as before." "Well, my friend," answered the chief, "be ever on the watch, and don't trust them." Such were nearly the last words the chief had spoken to us. The heat was now considerable, and hardy as we were, we were glad to rest in the shade during the hotter hours of the day, notwithstanding we had a large fire burning during the night, to scare away the wolves and bears; while one of us invariably kept watch, both for our own sakes and that of our animals, which even many of the Crees would not scruple to steal if they could do so without fear of discovery. We had got within a few miles of the fort, when Alick, alongside whom I was riding, said to me, "I wish that I had not come on this expedition. I ought not to have left the fort so long, with only Sandy as commandant. He is cautious and cunning enough in the field, but I am afraid that inside the walls he may become less careful, and allow himself to be taken by surprise." I laughed at Alick's anxieties, for I had never seen him in such a humour before. "I hope you are not exercising the gift of second-sight," I said; "I didn't know you possessed it." "I trust that I do not," he answered. "Let us push forward, and we shall soon reach the fort, and know what has happened." CHAPTER SEVEN. RETURN TO THE FORT--FIND IT DESTROYED--POOR SANDY AND HONEST PAT MISSING--A WATCHFUL NIGHT--THE FISH-HAWKS--ROBIN'S SUSPICIONS--NO HORSES--"UP, BOYS, UP!"--WE BEGIN OUR TRAMP--TURKEY EGGS VERY NICE FOR HUNGRY MEN--THE SUNJEGWUN IS REACHED--BITTER DISAPPOINTMENT--THE BEAR AND ITS CUB--I KILL THEM--ROBIN'S SOUP-POT--CREES OF THE PLAIN--OUR NEW COMPANIONS--PICHETO--THE YOUNG CREE KILLS A BUFFALO--THE "POUND"--THE HUNTING PARTY--THE CHIEF IS WILLING TO TRADE--OFFERS US HORSES FOR OUR GUNS--THE FEAST. As we approached the fort towards the end of the day we looked out for the flag, which we expected to see floating over it, but it was not visible. "Can Sandy have forgotten to hoist it?" observed Alick. "It is yet too early for him to have hauled it down. Expecting us, he would certainly have kept it flying till dark." "Perhaps your prognostications of evil may have come true," I said, laughing, not at all thinking that such was the case. "I trust not," answered Alick, in a grave tone. "I shall never forgive myself if any misfortune has happened during my absence from the fort. I ought to have remained at my post; though Sandy is so cautious and vigilant that I considered he would take as good care of it as I could." Martin and Robin now trotted up to us. "What has become of the flag?" exclaimed Martin. "Robin says that he has seen suspicious signs of Indians having been in the neighbourhood, and see! I've picked up this arrow-head. It looks as if it had been only lately dropped." Robin confirmed what Martin had said, and expressed his fears that the fort had been again attacked. "We shall soon know the worst, at all events," said Alick; and putting our horses into a gallop, we dashed forward. We all uttered exclamations of dismay when, coming near where the fort had stood, we beheld only a blackened ruin. The towers had been burned to the ground, the palisades pulled down and destroyed, as was every wooden building inside the enclosure. "This has not happened by accident," observed Alick. "My worst apprehensions are fulfilled. The Indians must have attacked the fort, and having succeeded in capturing it, put the whole garrison to death." "Perhaps some may have escaped, and are hidden in the neighbourhood," said Martin; and before Alick could stop him, he shouted out at the top of his voice, "Hillo! any one hereabouts? Answer, friends." "Stay!" cried Alick; "our voices may be heard by foes as well as friends. Keep a look round; in case the former should appear, we may have to fly for our lives." We followed his injunctions. "Alas! alas! poor Sandy and honest Pat and the rest. What has been their fate?" I said to myself. We kept tight rein on our horses, ready to turn round and gallop off in the direction Alick might select; but not a human being appeared. We first made a circuit of the fort, and examined the only shelter near at hand in which an enemy might be concealed; but no one was discovered. We then rode into it, expecting to find some signs which might inform us what had become of the garrison. That the fort had been attacked by Indians was now clear, for several of our men lay dead among the ruins, their bodies fearfully charred, while they had all been scalped. We searched everywhere for Sandy and Pat, but could not discover the corpses of either of them. They might have escaped, or too probably, perhaps, fallen into the hands of the enemy, and been carried off to meet with a worse fate. It made us feel very sad indeed. Further examination showed us that the fort had been plundered of the stores, provisions, and ammunition; not a particle of food had been left behind. We had too much reason also to fear that the buffalo meat obtained in our late hunting expedition had been captured by the enemy, either before or after it had been brought into the fort. Darkness found us still occupied in the melancholy task of searching among the ruins. "What are we to do now?" I asked. "We must make the best of our way to Fort Ross, with the tidings of what has happened," answered Alick. "But our horses are knocked up, and we can go no distance to-night," I said. "That is indeed too true! We shall have to camp out in the most sheltered spot near at hand, and allow our horses time to feed, though we shall have to go without our suppers," said Alick. With heavy hearts we rode out of the fort towards the nearest spot which would afford a shelter during the night. We might have remained in the fort itself; but the dead bodies of the garrison emitted an odour which would have rendered that disagreeable in the extreme. Having turned our horses loose, we managed to collect some sticks for a fire, which soon burned up. We then lay down supperless, with our saddles as pillows, and endeavoured to recruit our strength by sleep. One of us in succession tried to remain awake to keep watch, but I am afraid that both Martin and I dozed considerably when we ought to have had our eyes open. We were unmolested during the night, but when daylight returned and we looked about for our horses, they were nowhere to be seen. They had, perhaps, found their way to their favourite pastures, where they were likely to meet with their former companions. "We shall have a long tramp in search of them, but I make no doubt shall find them at last," said Alick. Though my brother tried thus to reassure us, the disappearance of our horses was a serious matter. It was not pleasant to have to carry our saddles in addition to the knapsacks we each of us had at our backs. "The first thing we have to do is to try and get something for breakfast," observed Martin. "If we had but some fishing-lines or nets, we might easily get some fish which could quickly be cooked." "As we have neither one nor the other, we must be content with whatever we can obtain," I observed. Robin proposed that we should at once go down to the river, on the banks of which we might possibly obtain some wild-fowl; and as we were too hungry to discuss the pros and cons for any length of time, we immediately set out. Not far off a stream ran into the river, and we hoped that near its mouth we might meet with some wild ducks. We had not gone far when Martin exclaimed, "I see some birds; we shall have one of them before long." Great was our disappointment on going a little farther to discover that the birds whose wings had attracted Martin's attention were fish-hawks, whose flesh is anything but savoury; still, hungry as we were, we would gladly have shot one of them and breakfasted off it till better food could be procured. There were several of these birds congregated on a tree overhanging the stream. Presently one of them which had been perched on a branch pounced downwards into the water, and quickly returned with a large fish, with which it rose above the surface. It seemed wonderful that the bird could lift so heavy a weight. The fish struggled in the claws of its captor. "We must manage to have that fish," exclaimed Alick. And we ran on, intending to shoot the bird and rob it of its prey; but as it reached the branches, in its desperate efforts to lift so heavy a weight its wings struck them, and letting go its hold, the fish fell to the ground. "Shout! shout!" cried Alick, and shouting together we frightened the bird at the moment it was about to pounce down to recover its prey. We could see the fish leaping about, and just as it had almost succeeded in regaining the water, Robin caught it, and carried it again up the bank. "Here we've an ample breakfast," he exclaimed, as he held it up. "Providence has indeed been kind to us!" "I propose that we light a fire where we are and cook it at once," said Martin. "I suggest that we move farther from the tree, as the scent is anything but pleasant. These hawks have made nests here, and see! the ground is covered with the remains of their feasts," I observed. My advice was followed, and we quickly had a fire kindled, and the fish we had so unexpectedly obtained roasting before it. It was none the worse for having been in the claws of the hawk. We saw the birds return, and hoped that they would again act as fishermen for us; but after this they only caught small fish, which they swallowed or tore to pieces as soon as they brought them out of the water, and as it was important for us to husband our supply of ammunition, which was not too plentiful, we did not wish to throw a shot away. The ample breakfast which the fish afforded us greatly restored our strength and spirits, and enabled us to consider calmly what course it would be best to pursue. "The first thing we have to do is to find our horses," said Alick. "We will then return to obtain the meat which our Cree friends were to leave `en cache' for us. Having obtained as much provision as we can carry, we will then push on to Fort Ross, for it is obvious that we can do no good by remaining in this neighbourhood. When there, I hope that Mr Meredith will send notice to headquarters, and that a body of men may be collected to rebuild the fort before the fall, or, if not, early in the spring. It will not do to let the Indians suppose that they can drive us out of the country." Notwithstanding the weight we had to carry, consisting of our guns and ammunition, and a change of clothing with the few other articles in our knapsacks, and our saddles and bridles, we walked quickly on. About midday we reached the valley where we expected to find the horses, but not an animal was to be seen. Robin, on examining the ground, declared that Indians had been there lately, and we discovered before long indubitable signs that such was the case. It was too clear, therefore, that after the attack on the fort they had lifted all our cattle. What, however, could have become of our own horses was the question. They possibly might have followed the tracks of their companions. Alick thought not. "I am afraid," he said, "that our enemies may still be hovering about, and that they, either last night or early this morning, having fallen in with our steeds, have carried them off." As he was not very confident of this, we continued searching about in every direction, following the tracks which we supposed they might have made. We had also to be cautious, lest our enemies should really be near at hand; in which case they might suddenly attack us. Worn out with fatigue, we were at last obliged to sit down near a wood, in a very disconsolate condition. Had there been any wild fruits ripe, we might have satisfied our hunger, but there was nothing eatable we could obtain. "Are we to continue our search for the horses, or must we give it up?" I asked. "It's useless, I fear, to hunt for them further," said Alick. "I feel very sure that the Sioux have carried them off; and we too shall probably fall into their hands, unless we beat a rapid retreat from this part of the country." Having duly discussed the matter, it was at last agreed that we should at once make our way to the "cache"--that is to say, the high platform I have described--and supply ourselves with food. We might there, if the Indians had not left the neighbourhood, obtain horses and get some of them to escort us. "But if the Indians have left the neighbourhood, what are we to do?" asked Martin. "We must tramp it on foot," said Alick. "A couple of hundred miles is nothing; we can accomplish it in ten days, even though we may be pretty heavily-laden. I wish that we could get there sooner, and make more sure of having the fort rebuilt before the winter. I am thinking not only of ourselves, but of the poor Indians who are accustomed to obtain assistance from us when hard pressed for food, as also of the many white trappers who may come to the fort expecting to find shelter." "But how shall we ever reach the `cache' without provisions?" I asked. "We are sure to shoot something or other on the way, and we must not be particular what it is or how we obtain it," answered Alick. We had nothing to do but to get up and go on, with our saddles on our backs. Had we not hoped to obtain horses from our Cree friends, we should have left them behind us, fastened to the bough of a tree out of the way of bears. Still we sat on for some minutes, lost in our own reflections. "Up, boys, up! we'll begin our tramp," said Alick, setting the example and springing to his feet. We followed him, and he having laid the course, we pushed forward rapidly. We were fain to endure the pangs of hunger all that day, for nothing did we see to kill. We talked of the fate of our late companions. Martin thought it possible that some might have escaped. He could scarcely believe that Sandy had allowed himself to be taken, and he suggested that, when everything was lost, he might have slipped down to the side of the river and perhaps got off in a canoe. When he said this I regretted that we had not examined the river more narrowly. The canoes belonging to the fort were kept in a cave with a shed built in front of it which was not visible from the ground above, and any people escaping from the fort might have got down during the night, and, having launched a canoe, might have shoved off before being discovered by their enemies. Alick differed from us. He was sure that the Indians, when once they had obtained an entrance into the fort, would have kept too vigilant a watch to allow any one to get out without being perceived. It was now too late to go back to decide this point, but he agreed, should our Cree friends have already gone to the southward, to return, and instead of proceeding overland to Fort Ross, to try to make our way down the river in a canoe. This seemed altogether the most feasible plan. When once embarked, we should run less risk of meeting with hostile Indians; though, on the other hand, we should be unable to kill any buffalo or other wild animals except deer, which we might possibly meet when they came down to drink at the margin of the stream. I felt much happier when this plan was arranged. I knew what it was to trudge day after day over the prairie, and though we might be able to find our way in fine weather, should the sky become cloudy or rain come on we might have a difficulty in doing so. We marched on till near dark, in vain looking out for game, and at last were compelled to encamp. We chose the spot on account of a small stream from which we could obtain water. I suppose the cold draught assisted to keep away the pangs of hunger, though substantial food would have been more acceptable. We of course lighted a fire, and lay down to sleep by it. In the morning we all found that we had been dreaming of buffalo humps and deers' tongues, and only wished that we had the reality before us. Having no breakfast to cook, we were able to start immediately it was daylight. We, of course, kept our guns in readiness to shoot anything we might see, but we could not catch a glimpse of any of the inhabitants of the forest or the prairie. Martin was nearly sinking with fatigue, for he was less accustomed to the sort of life than we were; and even Robin, though much younger, from having been long habituated to it bore it better than he did. We were going through a wood when a bird flew out from a thick bush. It was a wild turkey; but before either of us could fire the bird had escaped. Bouncer ran off in the direction the wild turkey had taken, and Alick and I followed him, but were unable to catch sight of it again. On our return we heard Robin and Martin shouting. When we were near them we saw them each holding up an egg. "There are eight of them," cried out Robin--"two a-piece. We shan't starve to-day." They were indeed welcome, and we all expected a delicious meal off them. "Don't be too sure," observed Alick. "Till we have broken one of them, we don't know how long they may have been sat on." This remark somewhat abated our delight. However, we quickly settled the point by breaking one of the eggs, when, to our infinite satisfaction, it was found to be perfectly sweet. Probably the turkey had only just begun to sit. We, of course, therefore knew that the rest would be equally good. Without stopping to light a fire, we each of us ate an egg. Though they were somewhat strong-tasted, we agreed that we had never had a more delicious meal. We carried the others, intending to dine off them, should we not obtain more substantial fare. We walked on with the same want of success as before; and about noon, feeling the gnawings of hunger, we lighted a fire, and cooked the remainder of our eggs. We found them far more satisfactory than those we had eaten raw. The next day Alick shot a squirrel. That, besides the eggs, was the only food we obtained during the journey. We found our want of botanical knowledge a great disadvantage; for had we been acquainted with the various products of the soil, we might not only have stayed our hunger, but obtained wholesome vegetable diet. We were now approaching the "cache," where we expected to find an abundance of venison and buffalo flesh, on which we indulged ourselves in the thoughts of banqueting and soon restoring our somewhat reduced strength. "There it is," exclaimed Martin, who had run on ahead. "We must get a fire lighted, and we shall soon have a fine ham roasting. I feel as if my teeth were in it already." We reached the platform, and Alick and I climbed to the top. What was our dismay to find that not a particle of food remained on it. How thankful we should have been to find a single ham or a few buffalo steaks! but neither one nor the other gladdened our eyes. We had to descend with the sad intelligence. We looked blankly at each other. "What is to be done?" asked Martin. "We must try and kill a moose where we killed them before," said Robin. "We shall lose three days if we do, and perhaps not get one after all," observed Alick. "We cannot afford the time. We ought to get back at the river, and try to make our way down it as soon as possible." "But how are we to get along without food?" urged Martin. "We must do our best to obtain it, and trust to Providence," said Alick. "Though I managed to kill but one squirrel, we may possibly meet with more animals on our return." Notwithstanding what Alick said, I saw that he was very much disappointed, as we all were, at not finding the meat, as we had expected. We hunted about in every direction to ascertain whether the robbers had left any small portions behind them, but none could we discover. We came to the conclusion that the thieves, whoever they were, had been watching us and the Crees, and directly we had all left the cache, had hurried up and rifled it. Robin was of opinion that our friends had quitted their camp directly after we set off, and that, as they must be now at a considerable distance, it would be hopeless to try to overtake them. "All we can do is to turn our faces once more to the north," said Alick. "Come, boys, there is no use mourning over our disappointment. Let us push ahead and keep our eyes about us. Perhaps we shall even now get something for supper." We followed his advice, and without another murmur we commenced our march. We got over five or six miles before it grew dusk, when we camped near a pool of fresh water, numbers of which are found in that well-irrigated region. While Martin and Robin were engaged in cutting wood for a fire, Alick and I went out in different directions, in the hope, before it became perfectly dark, of obtaining something to eat. I had gone some distance, and as it was rapidly getting dusk, believing that it would be useless to continue out longer, I was on my return, when I saw a small animal, the character of which I could not make out, rapidly running between the trees. Before I could get a shot at it, it had disappeared. I went on in the direction in which I had last seen it, when it again appeared; but before I could fire, a large animal, which I knew at once must be a bear, seized it in its fore paws, and carried it, I felt sure, down a hole which was close at hand. I now knew that the small animal was a bear's cub, and that the large one must be its mother. I searched about in every direction, when I at last discovered the mouth of the hole. The darkness prevented me from seeing the bear clearly, but I was sure that it was at the bottom of the hole. I accordingly fired right into it, when, on the smoke clearing away, looking down I made out the bear lying, as I supposed, dead. I shouted to Alick to come to my assistance, but he was too far off to hear me. Hunger made me forget the danger I might be running. Having reloaded my gun--which Sandy had inculcated on me as the first duty of a sportsman shooting in the forest--I placed it on the ground, and stooping down, endeavoured to get hold of the bear to draw her out. The moment I put my hand on one of her paws I heard her jaws snap. I drew back as quickly as I could. It was providential that I did so, for the bear at the same moment turned and sprang upon me, and as I retreated she kept snapping her teeth so near me that I could feel her warm breath on my face. How it was that she failed to seize me I cannot tell. As I leaped out of the hole, I caught up my gun and took to flight, hoping to get behind a tree, from whence I could again take aim. Looking round, I saw the bear, followed by the cub, pursuing me. Should I fail to kill her, she might quickly tear me to pieces. I remembered the caution I had received--never to fire at a she-bear with a cub until the shot is sure to prove effectual. The bear was close upon me, when I slipped behind a tree. She stopped for a moment to ascertain what had become of me, thus giving me time to raise my piece, and the next instant firing, I shot her through the head. A blow from the butt end of my rifle stunned the cub, which I afterwards killed with my knife. Taking the small animal on my shoulder, I made the best of my way to the camp, cutting a notch every now and then with my knife in the trees, that we might return to the spot where I had left the big bear. Alick arrived at the camp just before me. Loud shouts welcomed me as I was seen coming in with the young bear. The little creature was skinned in a very few seconds; and having cut it up, we placed it to roast on forked sticks before the fire. As may be supposed, we did not wait till it was overdone, but as soon as the smaller pieces were tolerably cooked we set to upon them. It was remarkably fat and tender, and with the aid of Bouncer, who had the head as his share with other portions, the whole of it was speedily devoured. As we could not have found our way through the wood in the dark, we were compelled to let the carcass of the bear remain, hoping that the wolves would not find it out during the night. Next morning, accompanied by Bouncer, Alick, Martin, and I set off to cut up the bear and bring in as much of the meat as we could carry. Robin was left to make up the fire. "I will see what I can do besides," he said. "I think I can manufacture a pot in which we can boil some of the bear's flesh. It will be more satisfactory than having so much roast meat." We thought he was joking, as we did not see of what materials he could possibly form his proposed pot. The notches I had made in the trees enabled us without difficulty to find our way to the bear. The wolves had not discovered it, though we put to flight a couple of eagles which had scented it from afar and were about to plunge down and feast on the carcass. As we could not carry away the skin, we ripped it roughly away, and were not long in cutting off the best portions of the meat, including the paws, which would make, we knew, excellent soup, should Robin really have been able to manufacture a pot, as he had proposed. Martin and I carried the larger pieces between us on a long stick, while Alick followed with the rest on his shoulders. We were longer absent than we had expected. When we got back we found that Robin had actually formed a pot of birch-bark, the outside of which he had covered over with thick clay. It stood half full of water, by the side of a hole in which a fire was burning. Round the edge of our former fire was ranged a quantity of clean smooth stones. "I told you that I should have a pot ready. We shall soon have some soup if you will cut up the bear's paws," he said. "See, I have already put in those of the cub." "How will you make it boil?" asked Martin, lifting up the pot, and finding that the water was cold. "All you have to do," said Robin, who was sitting down close to the spot, "is to fill it with the hot stones. We will then rake the fire out of the hole, put the pot in and cover it up, and in a short time we shall have as good soup as you ever tasted." Bouncer, who seemed to take great interest in what was going on, drew near to examine the pot, and would have poked his nose in had not Martin given him a tap on the tip of it and sent him off somewhat ashamed of himself. While Robin's directions were being carried out, Alick and I prepared some of the bear's meat for roasting, and cut up the remainder into slices to dry in the sun, intending also to smoke them well before we commenced our journey. Though the flesh of the old bear was not so tender as that of her cub, we ate it with no little relish. "Leave some room for the soup," exclaimed Robin; "that will be ready in a few minutes, and will do us more good than the roast meat. It's a pity we cannot carry some with us." We accordingly stopped, and in a short time he produced the pot from the hole. In spite of the want of salt and vegetables, the soup was pronounced excellent. We fortunately had a couple of tin cups with which to ladle it out. We were on the point of starting, when Robin asserted that he heard the tramp of horses. Putting our ears to the ground, we were convinced that he was right, and that the sound came from the north-west, the direction from which the wind was blowing. To attempt to hide would be useless, as the fire which was still burning would have betrayed us, even had the sharp eyes of the Indians not discovered our tracks. We could only hope, therefore, that they would prove friends, who would allow us to proceed on our way, even should they refuse to supply us with horses. We therefore, having seen to our firearms, remained where we were, with our backs to the wood, so that we might present as formidable an appearance as possible should the newcomers venture to attack us. All hope of offering any effectual resistance, however, was dissipated when we saw coming round the edge of the wood a large band of half-naked warriors, armed with bows and arrows, their hair streaming over their backs--perfect savages in appearance. "They are Crees of the plain," exclaimed Robin, "and are, I think, on a hunting expedition. If we make friends with them they will not harm us, as they are generally well disposed towards the white men." The Crees saw us, and came galloping up, most of them flourishing their lances, while a chief who rode at their head held out his hand as a sign that he wished to be friends with us. The next minute we were almost surrounded by the wild-looking horsemen. The chief dismounted, and Alick advanced to shake hands. We all performed the same ceremony, and the chief then asked who we were and where we were going. Alick replied that our fort had been surprised and destroyed by the Blackfeet, and that we were on our way to Fort Ross to obtain a force for punishing the marauders. "They are far away ere this, and you will not overtake them," answered the chief. "It is a long journey too to perform on foot, and many days must pass before you can get there. Come with us. We will entertain you, and in the meantime will send out a band of warriors to learn the direction your foes and ours have taken." I remarked that while the chief was speaking he had been eyeing our packs of provisions. "We are somewhat hungry," he continued, "for we killed nothing yesterday; and if you will share your food with us, we will amply repay you." We knew by this that the chiefs offer was not altogether disinterested, and Alick saw that he must make a virtue of necessity. "You are welcome to our meat, though it will go no great way among so many warriors," he answered; "but we will show you where the carcass of the bear is to be found, and if the eagles have left any of the meat on the bones, there will be enough for you all." This answer seemed to please the chief greatly, and I at once volunteered to conduct some of the band through the wood to the spot where we had left the remains of the bear. Eight of the Crees immediately leaping from their horses, which they gave in charge to their companions, set off with me. We found two white-headed eagles banqueting on the bear; but as they had kept all other birds of prey at a distance, a considerable portion still remained. I shot one of the eagles, and the other flew off; and the Indians having cut up the bear and formed it into packages for carrying--one of them taking possession of the eagle, and another of the bear's hide--they returned with me to the camp. The flesh thus obtained was quickly roasted, or rather burned, in our fire, when it was rapidly consumed by the hungry horsemen; Bouncer, who at first showed his anger at the intrusion of the strangers, standing by and catching the scraps thrown to him. The chief condescended to eat some of our store, which was certainly more tempting than the meat just obtained. The eagle, which had been skinned and cut up, formed part of the feast. The Indians, who were put into good humour by the ample supply of food they had obtained so unexpectedly after their long fast, laughed and joked, and assured us of their friendship. Alick on this observed that we should prefer carrying out our previous intentions, for we had still food enough left for our journey; but the Cree chief had evidently made up his mind that we should accompany him. "I cannot permit you to encounter the risk you would run by making the journey on foot," he answered. "If you will come with us, you shall have horses, and perhaps some of our people will escort you." All the arguments Alick could use were of no avail. We found that, notwithstanding the fair speaking of the chief, we were in reality prisoners. As the band had no spare horses, we each of us had to mount behind a Cree; far from a pleasant position, as we had to hold on with one hand, while we carried our guns in the other, and had also our packs on our backs. Bouncer followed, keeping at a respectful distance from the heels of the horses, which showed a very unfriendly disposition to kick him when he came near. We rode on for some distance to the south-east, when we came in sight of the skin-covered tents forming a large Cree encampment. The women rushed out to welcome their husbands and brothers, staring at us and inquiring who we were. The chief, who by-the-bye was called Picheto, having informed them, they invited us into their tents. They had been busy collecting a quantity of the mesaskatomina berry, which they were drying for a winter store. They offered us some of the juicy fruit, which we found most refreshing, after having gone so long without any vegetable diet. They then placed before us pounded buffalo meat, with marrow fat, served up in birch-bark dishes. We followed the plan of the Indians, which was to dip a piece of the pounded meat into the soft marrow fat at each mouthful. At night we were invited to lie down to rest around the fire which was in the centre of the tent; but the heat and smoke, with the close air of so many human beings crowded together, snoring loudly, after the fresh atmosphere to which we had been accustomed, prevented us from sleeping till near morning. At dawn, after a hasty breakfast of more buffalo meat and marrow fat, washed down with a drink formed of the mesaskatomina berries, we each mounted a horse provided for us by the chief Picheto. Just before starting we witnessed the prowess of a young Cree, the son or nephew of the chief. A valley was in front of us, on the opposite side of which a buffalo bull appeared. Urging on his horse the young Cree dashed forward, armed with his bow from the "bois-d'arc," his arrows from the mesaskatomina tree, feathered with the plumes of the wild duck, and headed with a barb fashioned from a bit of iron hoop. He dismounted at the foot of the steep sides of the valley, which he quickly ascended; leaving his horse at liberty, and approaching a huge boulder, he crouched down behind it. The buffalo was at the time not forty yards from him. While slowly approaching, the animal leisurely cropped the tufts of the parched herbage. When about twenty yards nearer, the bull raised his head, sniffed the air, and began to paw the ground. Lying at full length, the Cree sent an arrow into the side of his huge antagonist. The bull shook his head and mane, planted his fore feet firmly in front of him, and looked from side to side in search of his unseen foe, who, after letting fly his arrow, had again crouched down behind the rock. The Indian, now observing the fixed attitude of the animal--a sure sign of its being severely wounded--stepped on one side and showed himself. The bull instantly charged, but when within five yards of his nimble enemy, the Cree sprang behind the rock, and the animal plunged headlong down the hill, receiving as he went a second arrow in his flanks. On reaching the bottom he fell on his knees, looking over his shoulder at the Indian, who was close behind him, and now observing the bull's helpless condition, sat down a short distance off, waiting for the death-gasp. After one or two efforts to rise, the huge beast dropped his head and fell over dead. Without a moment's pause, the Cree, knife in hand, springing forward, cut out the animal's tongue, caught his horse, which had been eagerly watching the conflict, and came galloping across the valley towards us, being received with loud shouts by his companions. "He's a fine youth," observed the chief Picheto; "before many years are over he will be able to count the scalps of the Blackfeet he has killed by hundreds." Towards evening we reached another Cree encampment, from which we could see some distance off, in a dale between low hills, a large pound formed for the purpose of capturing buffalo. We were hospitably entertained by the Crees, and the night was spent as our former one had been. The next morning we rode forward to visit the pound which I will briefly describe. It consisted of a large circle of stout stakes, driven into the ground perpendicularly, close together. There was one opening, at the entrance of which a strong tree trunk was placed about a foot from the ground, and at the inner side an excavation was made sufficiently deep to prevent the buffalo from leaping back when once in the pound. From this entrance, on either side, gradually widening, extended two rows of bushy posts, stuck into the ground about fifty feet apart. The extreme distance between the outer end of the rows, which stretched to about four miles into the prairie, was about a mile and a half. These bushy posts are called dead-men. Between each of them an Indian was stationed, their business being, should the buffalo attempt to break through the lines, to show themselves, furiously waving their robes and immediately again hiding. This effectually prevents the buffalo, when rushing on at full speed, from going out of the direct course. The chief invited us to take part in the sport; which of course we readily consented to do. All arrangements having been made, a part of the band, numbering some fifty or sixty men, armed with bows and arrows, with no other garments than their breech-clouts, set off on horseback in two divisions, followed by a number of men on foot, who concealed themselves as we went along in any holes or behind any hillocks they could find. The two parties gradually separated--the one keeping on one side, the other on the opposite side of a large herd of buffaloes, which we saw before us. They both galloped on till they reached the rear of the herd, leaving a few horsemen behind on the flanks. Having gained this position, the Indians set up a shout which was almost as terrific as the war-whoop we had lately heard, and then dashed forward, shouting as they went. The startled buffaloes looked round, and seeing no opening free of their enemies by which they could escape, except that in the direction of the pound, throwing up their tails and bending down their heads dashed madly forward towards it. The Indians renewed their shouts, closing in on the affrighted buffaloes, and every now and then, as a horseman got near the animals, he shot one of his arrows, which, though it failed to bring the creature to the ground, made it gallop on still more furiously than before, plunging its horns into the rear of its companions in front. Thus the herd was rapidly driven between the rows of dead-men I have described. When once here there was but little chance of their breaking through; for immediately they turned to one side or the other, up started several Indians, who had been concealed, shouting and shaking their robes. In this way the terror-stricken animals were kept within the narrowing limits of the two converging lines. Several had fallen, pierced by the arrows of the hunters. Now and then one would turn upon its pursuers, only to meet with certain death from their weapons. Thus on they went till they reached the trunk at the entrance of the pound, over which they madly sprang, and were now completely hemmed in by the stout palisades. We pursued them till the whole herd was inside. In vain the animals galloped round and round the pound, endeavouring to find an exit. The instant one of them appeared likely to charge the palisades, the Indians--men, women, and children--who were placed round it started up, shrieking lustily and shaking their robes or any cloths they had in their hands. The places of the women and children were soon taken by the huntsmen, who shot down with their arrows the bewildered animals, which were rapidly becoming frantic with rage and terror. Utterly unable to make their escape, conscious only that they were imprisoned, and not seeing their foes, they now rushed madly at each other, the strongest animals crushing and tossing the weaker. Dreadful indeed was the scene of confusion and slaughter--the noise almost appalling created by the shouts and screams of the excited Indians, the roaring of the bulls, the bellowing of the cows, and the piteous moaning of the calves. It was painful to watch the dying struggles of those powerful animals as they found themselves thus caged, and we would fain have avoided witnessing them. It was sad, too, to think that this waste of life was to benefit but slightly its authors, who would take only the tongues and the better portions of the meat, and leave the rest of the carcass to rot. "What do you think of it?" asked the chief. "That you would be wiser to kill only a few of the buffaloes at a time, sufficient to supply your immediate wants," said Alick. "The time may come when you will repent having slaughtered so many valuable animals." The chief laughed. "It is the way of our people," he answered, and Alick could get no other reply from him. A considerable portion of the meat, however, was taken off from the carcasses and carried to the tents, where the women were employed in cutting it up into slices, afterwards drying it in the sun or pounding it into pemmican, which was preserved in the fat of the animals. We now thanked the Cree chief for his hospitality, hoping that he would without demur now allow us to go. "I cannot let you take your departure yet," he said, smiling grimly. "We have plenty of good food now, and we will treat you hospitably. My young men will not like to leave the camp while the fresh meat lasts." "We should have been happy to have their company, but we are quite ready to set out alone," answered Alick. "If you will sell us horses, we will give you an order in payment on Fort Ross for blankets, or anything else you may desire." "You may purchase horses even now with your guns," answered the chief. "We will sell you four horses for your three guns, and leave you one with which to kill the game you will require for your support." Hearing what the chief said, we now guessed the object he had in capturing us. We were determined, of course, not to part with our guns, as without them we could neither kill game nor defend ourselves. Alick told the chief that he would think about the matter, but that at present we were not disposed to agree to his proposal. We all looked as little annoyed as we could, and let the matter drop. The Indians were preparing to make a great feast on the meat of the buffaloes they had so ruthlessly slain, and we hoped that when gorged with food they might be off their guard and give us an opportunity of escaping. The feast took place that night. The squaws had been busy for some hours in cooking the flesh in a variety of ways. We, of course, were invited, and sat down with the chief and some of his principal men. Though generally abstemious, it is extraordinary what an amount of food they consumed, washed down with whisky, of which they had shortly before obtained a supply from the traders. We took but little, pretending often to be eating while we let the meat drop down by our sides, under the mats on which we were sitting. The Indians feasted on till a late hour of the night, when they crawled into their tents and lay down. They, of course, might have deprived us of our guns by force, but from a sense of honour as we were their guests, though they carried us off against our will, they would not do this. We had therefore been allowed to retain them, and took good care not to let them out of our hands either night or day. Our packs had been left in the chief's tent, and we used them as pillows. In a few minutes the whole of the community were fast asleep; even the dogs, the watchful guardians of a Cree encampment, had so gorged themselves that they were unwilling to get up. Had a party of Blackfeet made a sudden onslaught, the whole of the inhabitants might have been slaughtered before they could have arisen to defend themselves. CHAPTER EIGHT. OUR ABRUPT DEPARTURE--QUICK TRAVELLING--THE FORTUNATE DISCOVERY OF THE CANOE--OUR PROVISIONS RUN SHORT--THE CHASE AFTER THE SWANS--BOUNCER IN TROUBLE--OUR CANOE IS DAMAGED--ROASTED SWAN RATHER STRONG--OUR WIGWAM--A MIDNIGHT VISITOR--THE MORNING START--DUCKS--FISH-SPEARS--OUR CANOE WRECKED--OUR DANGEROUS SITUATION--A ROPE MANUFACTURED--DRY LAND REACHED BY ITS MEANS--SWAN MEAT AGAIN. As soon as Alick was satisfied that the people were sound asleep, he sat up and made a sign to Martin, Robin, and me to follow him. We found Bouncer at the door. When I patted him on the head he opened his eyes, and seeing us got on his legs ready for a start. We waited for a few seconds to be certain that we were not observed. Had we been questioned, we had agreed to answer that we preferred the open air to the hot tent. To our great satisfaction, finding that no one had noticed us, we moved on, stepping as noiselessly as possible, till we were free of the tents. The night was starry, and we had noted well the way we had to go. Of course we might have stolen some of the Cree horses, and very little blame would have been attached to us for so doing even had we been overtaken; but some time would have been lost in catching them, and we hoped to get to a considerable distance from the camp before the Indians recovered from their debauch. As soon as we had got so far that there was no chance of our footsteps being heard, we began to run, keeping close together. The Crees, who always move about on horseback, were less likely than most of the Indians to discover our trail, and we felt sure that they would not follow us on foot. We were all in good wind, and might be twenty or even thirty miles away before they found out that we had escaped; for even when the chief awoke he would very likely turn to again and drink a further quantity of the fire-water. We went on till we had passed the Cree encampment we had before visited. We might have ventured into it, for the women who were alone there would not have known that we were escaping, and would have consequently allowed us to continue on our way. We thought it wiser, however, to avoid paying our friends a visit, as we had enough food to last us till we could reach the river. After the abundant meal we had taken on the previous evening, we could have gone on all day with very little food or rest. In crossing a small valley we found a number of the mesaskatomina bushes, from which we obtained a supply of fruit which greatly refreshed us. I am afraid that it will be scarcely believed that we accomplished, according to our calculation, upwards of fifty miles before we stopped to camp at night. Though nothing on a highroad, it was good going over the prairie grass, with occasionally to have to make our way through woods and across streams. We had the satisfaction of believing that the Crees would not take the trouble of coming after us, and we were thankful that we had not been tempted to make off with their horses, though we might have been justified in so doing. We supped off pemmican, refraining from lighting a fire lest it might betray our position. We kept, however, a pile of sticks ready to kindle, should it become necessary by the approach of wolves or of bears. As usual, of course, one of us kept watch, that we might have timely warning of danger. The night passed away without any event of importance, and the next morning, the moment the first streaks of dawn appeared in the eastern sky, we pushed forward at as rapid a rate as before. We at last got into the country we knew pretty well, and in the afternoon of the third day came in sight of the spot where Fort Black had stood. "It looks black enough now," observed Martin, as he surveyed the charred ruins. "I wish I knew where my poor father and mother are! Should the Sioux have paid them a visit, I fear that they will have had great difficulty in escaping." "I don't think the Sioux would have gone so far north," observed Alick. "They are probably better off than they would have been had they come to the fort, when they to a certainty would have been murdered with the rest of our poor people. Don't let us contemplate misfortunes, before we know that they have happened." Not a human being was seen in the neighbourhood of the fort; neither cattle nor horses were anywhere visible. The whole scene was one of perfect desolation. Without entering the ruins, we at once made our way down the bank to the spot where we hoped to find the canoes. The door of the shed was open. One canoe only out of three remained. "So far that is satisfactory," observed Alick. "I trust that the rest of the men had time to get down and embark before they were discovered by the Sioux. I wonder the rascals didn't search for them. Had they done so, they would have found this canoe and destroyed it." "It shows, however, that only a few could have escaped--eight or ten at the utmost. If more had got off they would have taken all the canoes," said Robin. Martin and I agreed with the conclusions at which Alick and Robin had arrived. We examined the canoe, and found it in good condition, only requiring to have the seams gummed. There was not time to do that and to make any progress on our way down the river, so we agreed to spend the night in the shed, and to commence our voyage the next morning. We had food remaining for only two scanty meals for ourselves and Bouncer, who had been almost starved during the journey, and it was settled that we should start the first thing in the morning and go in search of wild-fowl. As we had no fear of any enemies being in the neighbourhood, we lighted a good fire outside the hut, at which we cooked the remainder of our bear's flesh and ate it for supper. Martin, while hunting about in the shed, discovered a lump of the gum used for paying over the seams of canoes. This we melted in one of our tin pots, and very soon had the canoe in a fit state to launch. There were several pairs of paddles, and some cloth which could be used as a sail. "Perhaps we may find something else which may prove useful," observed Martin, and he twisted up a torch from the dry reeds which grew on the bank. With this we thoroughly examined the cave, and our search was rewarded by the discovery of a flask of powder, apparently dropped by one of the men who had escaped from the fort. We also found an axe and a long sheath-knife. Both were likely to prove very useful. Altogether we were very thankful that we had decided on returning to the fort. After our long and rapid journey we were all very tired, and as soon as we had finished our search we lay down to rest without any fear of interruption. We younger ones should have slept on, I suspect, till long after the sun was high in the heavens, had not Alick roused us up. "Come, boys," he exclaimed, "turn out; we must have breakfast and begin our voyage as soon as we can." "I thought you said that we were to look out for wild-fowl," observed Martin. "I suspect that if we don't in good time we shall have to go without our dinner." "We'll have breakfast, and then talk about that," said Alick. "I want to feel that we really have begun the voyage." Our breakfast was a very scanty one, though we had plenty of water to wash it down; the last few morsels being given to Bouncer, who sat wistfully looking up at us as we ate our food. The canoe was at last carefully lifted into the water; Alick took the steering-oar, and each of us three a paddle. "Away then we go, boys; and I pray that we may have a successful voyage," said Alick. As he spoke he gave a shove with his paddle, and we dipping ours into the water, the canoe was soon in the middle of the stream. We glided on rapidly with the current till we came to the mouth of a broad stream, which ran into it from the opposite side. As we looked up it we caught sight of some white objects. "They are swans," cried Alick, "and one of them will afford us an ample dinner." The difficulty, however, was to get near the birds, for they would take to flight the moment they saw the canoe paddling towards them. Fortunately the wind was up the stream. "We will hoist the sail," said Alick, "and it will assist to conceal us, while the canoe will glide noiselessly towards the swans." We had two sticks, which we fixed in the gunwale of the canoe, setting the sail between them. Though of a primitive nature, it had the advantage of being lowered in a moment. This was very necessary in so crank a craft as is a birch-bark canoe. We now allowed the canoe to glide on, while we got our guns ready and watched the birds from under the sail. They were mere specks of white in the distance, and as we glided towards them we had no doubt that they were swans. They must have seen the strange-looking object entering their river, for, turning their arched necks from us, they began to swim up the stream. A strong current was running down, which impeded our progress; while they avoided it by keeping close to the bank, where the water was altogether still, or was running with less force. This gave them a great advantage; still, having once begun the chase we felt no inclination to give it up, hunger urging us on. The trees in many places overhung the water, shutting out the rays of the sun. Here and there, however, penetrating through more open parts, they struck on the snowy plumage of the birds, enabling us clearly to keep them in view. "We are getting near them," whispered Robin, who was peering under the sail. "We shall soon be close enough to make our shot tell with effect." We had no intention on entering the stream of going so far out of our way. Now having begun we were led on and on, still hoping soon to come up with the chase. At last we reached a part where the branches of the trees so densely overhung the water that they cast a dark shadow below, which almost completely concealed the canoe. The swans, we concluded from their movements, no longer perceived us, for they began to swim about in an unconcerned fashion, some of them even allowing themselves to be carried down by the current. Four of them at length got quite close to us, when Martin and I, lifting our guns, fired, and two, immediately spreading out their wings for an instant, dropped their heads in the water. Their companions, on seeing their fate, darted off with loud screams; while we, lowering our sail, got out our paddles and propelled the canoe as fast as we could to secure our prey. One of the birds was quite dead; the other struggled violently as Robin seized it by the neck, and tried to dart its beak at him, very nearly upsetting the canoe. As soon as Martin and I had hauled the other bird on board, we went to his assistance, Martin holding the poor bird tight round the neck till its struggles ceased, when we also got it into the canoe. We might have been satisfied with our prizes, but we wished to obtain a supply of provisions sufficient to enable us to continue our voyage without stopping to hunt. We therefore rehoisted our sail, and made chase after the remainder of the swans. The appearance of the stream also tempted us to continue our course, as we thought it possible that we might fall in with some animals--perhaps deer coming down to drink, or beavers, or smaller creatures--which might give us a variety of food. Should we be successful our intention was to land and smoke them thoroughly, so that they might last us for the remainder of the voyage. It would take us several days we knew, at all events, to perform the voyage, for there were rapids to be passed; and though we might shoot them, the attempt, without being well acquainted with the navigation, would be hazardous, and it would be far wiser, Alick considered, to make a portage, or in other words to carry our canoe on our shoulders overland, till tranquil water should be reached. "If we had fishing-lines and hooks we need have no fear of wanting food," observed Martin. "I must try to manufacture some hooks and lines." "But where are you to find iron for the hooks or material for the lines?" I asked. "The first I'll form, as the Indians do, out of bone," answered Martin. "They use them in the upper Saskatchewan, and on the lakes in the neighbourhood. If we can shoot a deer, the skin and the inside will supply us with material for the lines." "But the deer must be shot first, and fitting bones found to make the hooks; and then, as to bait?" I observed. "We'll try various sorts. We may find grasshoppers or some other insects on the shore, at which I should think several fish would bite," answered Martin. "If not, we must dig for worms, or try the insides of the birds or beasts we may shoot." "If we do happen to shoot any; but so much depends on that little word `if,' that we must not be too sanguine," I remarked. "At all events, we have already killed two swans, and should not be doubting about our success for the future," answered Martin. "Just think, David, how remarkably we have been hitherto preserved! We are positively ungrateful to Heaven if we doubt that the same kind Providence will continue to watch over us." "Hush, boys!" said Alick. "We are again getting near the swans, and we may kill one or two more if we approach them carefully. Get your guns ready, but don't fire too soon. Stand by to lower the sail when I tell you. Do you, Martin and Robin, be prepared to get out your paddles the moment you have fired; while you, David, must reload in case the others miss." Soon after he spoke the wind failed us, and the canoe no longer stemmed the current. The greatest caution was now necessary to get up to the swans. Should we use our paddles, we should frighten them, and they might escape us. The birds, as before, kept swimming slowly up the stream. We waited in the hopes that the wind would again fill our sail. We found that the canoe was slowly drifting down with the current; still we thought that another puff of wind would come and send us along again, and that it would be a pity to risk lowering the sail and exhibiting ourselves to the birds. They appeared to have recovered from their former fright at the loss of their companions, though we saw their leader every now and then turning round his head to take a look at the suspicious object the canoe must have presented to them floating in the middle of the stream. Again the wind blew softly, and we once more stemmed the current. "We are gaining on them," whispered Robin. "We must try to get up before they reach yonder point. If they double it, we may lose sight of them." The swans were all this time within range of our shot, but had we fired it would not have penetrated their thick feathers, and Alick charged us on no account to pull a trigger. We were thus long tantalised by seeing the swans majestically gliding over the water ahead of us. "They will get round the point, after all, before we are up to them," said Robin. "Never mind if they do," answered Alick. "We'll then use our paddles, as they will not see us, and we shall very likely soon overtake them on the other side. There seems to be more breeze on the water out there. Be ready to hoist the sail again the moment we get off the point." Though we were still making way, Robin's anticipations were fulfilled, and the swans, one after another, disappeared behind the point. The instant they did so we lowered the sail and began paddling away with might and main, as we hoped to find ourselves much nearer to them than we had hitherto been. Bouncer had sat very quietly in the boat watching all our proceedings. He was too well-trained a dog to bark or show any signs of impatience; he probably knew from experience that had he, indeed, attempted to swim out and attack the swans, he might receive a blow from their wings which would make him repent his temerity, for such power does the swan possess that it has been known by a single blow of one of its wings to break a man's leg. We soon got up to the point, and immediately taking in our paddles and hoisting our sail, glided noiselessly round it. Great was our disappointment, however, to see only one swan still in the water. What had become of the others we could not tell. Possibly they had plunged into some tall reeds which in dense masses lined the right bank of the river. That bird, however, we resolved should become our prize, and again lowering our sail we all three fired. As the smoke cleared off, however, there swam the swan, stately as before, and apparently uninjured, making for the reeds I have mentioned. "We must have that fellow, at all events," cried Alick. "Paddle away, Robin and Martin; we shall be soon up to him." While they obeyed the order, I reloaded, determined not again to miss the swan. "Wait a moment," said Alick; "he's still rather far off." "If I wait, he'll get into the reeds. Do let me fire," I answered. But Alick did not give the word, and as we had all agreed to obey him implicitly, I, of course, would not set a bad example, though I felt sure that I could hit the swan. The bird turning round its long neck saw us coming, and immediately, aided by its wings as well as its feet, with a loud cry darted into an opening among the reeds. "We shall have him still," cried Alick; "paddle away! paddle away!" Laying down my gun, I seized a paddle, and in another minute we had reached the reeds where the swan had disappeared. "Now, Bouncer, see what you can do," cried Alick. The faithful old dog did not require to receive a second order, but plunging bravely overboard, dashed into the reeds, and struggled energetically forward amid them, with leaps and bounds, though he had no firm ground on which to place his feet. We watched eagerly for the bird, which we felt sure from Bouncer's movements could not be far off. A large tree grew close to the bank, its roots reaching the water. We urged the canoe forward, and presently up rose the swan, no longer presenting the same graceful appearance it did in the water. Though its wings were powerful enough to lift it in the air, its body had a remarkably heavy, awkward appearance. Bouncer would in another instant have seized it, and have had cause to repent doing so, but the bird rose just beyond reach of his jaws. I lifted my gun and fired, as did Robin. Neither Martin nor Alick, on account of the tree, could take aim. With a loud cry the swan flew off, its white body glittering in the sun; but it had not gone far when down it came with a heavy flop on the reeds. Bouncer dashed forward to seize it. We, finding that the water was deep enough to allow us to make our way through the reeds, pushed the canoe in between them, thoughtless of any snags or branches which might tear a hole in her thin coating. We had got some way when we guessed, by a white wing every now and then raised above the green herbage, that Bouncer was having a desperate struggle with the wounded swan, and this made us the more eager to advance, that we might hasten to his assistance. Finding at last that the canoe stuck fast, I stepped overboard, followed by Martin. Scarcely had we done so when we sank almost up to our middles in soft mud-and-water, mixed with dead branches. Being in for it, we determined to proceed, though we advised Alick and Robin to keep quiet, which, seeing the plight we were in, they had every inclination to do. We floundered on for some yards, when our feet reached firm ground. As we got up the bank, we saw that Bouncer had seized the swan by the neck, and that every moment its struggles were becoming less violent than before. Ere we got close up to the combatants the bird was dead; but Bouncer was bleeding at the nose, and moved with a limp. As we took the swan from him, he looked up in our faces as much as to say, "I have done it, masters; but it has cost me pretty dearly." We were not aware at that time what a price we had paid for that swan. Finding that it was quite dead, we dragged it along towards the canoe; into which we hauled it. Bouncer followed, though not without difficulty, and we had to help him on board. "We must get to some better place than this for landing," said Alick. "I don't know whether you are hungry, boys, but I know that I am, and the sooner we have one of these birds roasting before a good fire the better pleased I shall be. Shove off." We endeavoured to obey the order. "Very well to say shove off, but it's more than we can do," said Martin, turning round. "Then you must get into the water and lift her off. You are already wet through, so it will not signify." "Here goes then," I said; and Martin and I stepped into the water, on to what we found to be the sunken trunk of a tree, off which we quickly lifted the canoe, though we found an unexpected resistance. Scarcely had we done so than we saw the water running like a mill stream into the canoe. "We must get out of her, or she'll fill to the gunwale in a few minutes," exclaimed Alick. "We can't land here or haul her up if we do," I observed, as I still stood on the sunken trunk. "If we secure the sail under the bottom, we may keep the water from running in so fast till we can get to the opposite bank, where there must be a fit place for landing." Alick agreed to my proposal, and Martin and I stooping down managed to secure the piece of cloth, as I suggested might be done. Robin also shoved his handkerchief into the worst leak. The plan answered apparently better than we had expected; and Martin and I stepping on board again, we paddled the canoe as fast as we could in the direction of the opposite bank. We had got scarcely half across the stream, however, when the water began to rush in again more violently than at first. There seemed every probability of the canoe filling. We paddled away with all our force; still the water came in. "The only chance I see of reaching the shore is to swim for it," cried Alick, throwing off his heavier clothing. I did the same, and Martin imitated us. "Sit quiet, Robin," said Alick. "Take the paddle and steer the canoe." Poor Bouncer would have jumped overboard also, but one of his front legs pained him, and he stood quiet with the water rushing about his feet. Alick took the painter in his mouth and towed ahead, while Martin and I swam astern, pushing the canoe before us. Robin paddled, now on one side, now on the other. We thus proceeded towards the bank, being carried down, however, farther than we intended by the current. We were all three pretty well exhausted by the time we reached the shore, where, as soon as Robin had bailed her out, we hauled up the canoe, he and Bouncer jumping out of her. "We shall have to camp here," said Alick, "for it will be nearly dark before we can repair the canoe, and cook one of the swans, and get our clothes dried." "I suggest that we get our clothes dried first," said Martin. "We are hardy fellows, but we may catch cold notwithstanding if we remain in our wet garments." Agreeing with him, we all set to work to collect wood for a large fire, before which, as soon as it burned up brightly, he and I spread out our clothes, while we sat down wrapped in Alick's and Robin's thick coats, which had been kept dry. They meanwhile searched for some gum and birch-bark wherewith to repair our damaged canoe. Martin and I employed ourselves in plucking one of the swans and preparing it for cooking. I proposed cutting it into several portions, that it might cook the sooner; but he advocated cooking it whole, declaring that it would not take much longer to dress than if cut up, and be far better. We were still discussing that knotty point, when Alick came up and settled it in favour of Martin's proposal. "One long spit, which we can tend better than several small ones, will then serve the purpose," he observed. Being hung up close to the fire, our lower garments were soon dried, and while the swan was cooking we again examined our canoe. So extensive was the rent that we found it would be necessary to sew on a piece of birch-bark, and then to cover the seams over with gum. We fortunately found some fibre which would answer the purpose of thread. The operation of sewing in the piece was a long one, as every hole had to be carefully made and the fibre passed through it and secured; the only tool we had to work with being a small pricker from Alick's pocket-knife. Robin had remained by the fire to tend the roasting of the swan, and as we worked away we every now and then shouted to him to know how the swan was getting on. "Pretty well," he answered, "but it would be all the better for basting, as it seems to dry very fast, and has somewhat of a fishy odour." "We must not be particular," said Alick; "and the sooner you can manage to get it done the better, for I am sharp set, and so, I am sure, are Martin and David." "The scent has taken off my appetite," said Robin, as he continued to turn the spit. We at last got the piece of bark sewn on, and had then to heat the gum which Alick had collected. It required a good quantity, as it was not equal to what we had before obtained. We were rather afraid that it would fall out and allow the canoe to leak. By the time we had accomplished part of our task Robin announced that the swan was cooked, and as we found it difficult to labour by the light of the fire, we put off finishing the repairs of the canoe till the next morning. With appetites ravenous from long fasting we sat down round the fire to eat the swan. It had the advantage of being hot, but possessed no other commendable quality, being somewhat tough and of a strong flavour; still it completely satisfied our hunger, and Bouncer, at all events, made no objection to the portion we gave him. He had been much more quiet than usual, having stretched himself by Robin's side, and remained in that position till he got up to eat his supper. He seemed much better after it, though he still limped when he attempted to walk, and his nose showed the scars which the swan's beak had made on it. Had he been capable of any feeling of revenge, it would have afforded him infinite satisfaction to know that he was devouring his late antagonist; but such a thought did not enter his canine mind. There was the food; he ate it, and was grateful. By the time supper was over all our clothes were dry, and we put them on to prepare ourselves for the night. The air felt much cooler than usual, so we determined to build a wigwam in which to shelter ourselves. It would also give us some slight protection from bears or wolves. We did not expect to be annoyed by any of the latter on this side of the river, but it was very probable that a grizzly or black bear might pay us a visit; for they roam throughout the whole of the Hudson Bay Territory, the white bears taking their place in the more northern regions. The axe we had found enabled us quickly to cut down some long poles to form the framework of the wigwam. As there were numerous large birch trees about, we soon collected a sufficient number of slabs of bark to cover it. Some were of considerable size, and all we had to do was to place them on their ends against the conical framework of poles. In a few minutes we had a serviceable wigwam formed. As after our fatigues we were anxious to have comfortable couches, we cut down the tops of a number of small spruce firs, with which we covered the floor, using our knapsacks for pillows, and before long three of us were fast asleep. Alick, who was better able than any of us to endure fatigue, agreed to keep the first watch. I took the watch after him. Though I paced up and down before the fire, I had great difficulty in keeping my eyes open. The murmur of the stream as it flowed by, and the suppressed hum of insects with the occasional cry of some bird, had a very soporific effect. I kept walking about and stamping my feet, but every moment I stopped my head began to nod; and when I got a little distance from the fire and turned round to look at it, I could not make out whether it was the sun or the moon just rising. I pinched myself, and sang, and walked faster up and down. When I stopped for a moment the same overpowering drowsiness came over me. I had gone to the farthest extent of my beat, when I thought that I would just lean against a tree for a few seconds to rest, myself. It was an imprudent act, and the consequences might have been serious. I remember that I felt myself sinking down, but the movement fortunately aroused me. I just then heard the cracking of branches and a low growl. Turning round, the light from the fire revealed to me a huge hairy creature not ten paces off. It was a bear! but whether a black or a grizzly I could not make out. The latter would prove a formidable enemy, and I knew that if I ran towards the fire he would run after me. I therefore stood where I was, cocking my piece and shouting loudly to my companions, "A bear! a bear! Up, up, or he'll be upon us." In a moment they all three, awakened by my cries, started to their feet. "Don't fire," cried Alick, "till we are ready; or should you only wound him, he'll make a rush at you." Alick's advice was sound, though it lost us the bear; for the animal, seeing so many opponents ready to do battle with him, turned tail and ran off through the forest. We followed for a short distance, but he made his way amid the trees much faster than we could; and not knowing the nature of the locality, Alick thought it wiser to return. The glare of the fire enabled us to regain our camp without difficulty, or otherwise we might have lost ourselves in the gloom of the forest. This incident showed us the importance of being constantly on the watch; for the bear, if a grizzly, might have picked one of us up before we were aware of his vicinity. After this, during the remainder of my watch, I had no inclination to sleep; but the moment Martin relieved me, I was in the land of dreams, or rather forgetfulness, for neither bears nor swans, nor any of the events of the previous days, in the slightest degree troubled me. Next morning Robin's voice--he having taken the last watch--aroused us at daybreak; and making a hearty breakfast on the remainder of our swan, we set to work to continue the repairs of our canoe. It was a long job, but we hoped that it was effectually done. Some hours had passed since sunrise, and we could not hope to accomplish much of our voyage before nightfall. "I wish we had some of that bear," said Martin. "We must try to get some fish, or something better, for dinner. It won't be worth while to carry these swans with us; will it?" "Don't let us throw away what will keep body and soul together till we have procured something better," answered Alick, who wisely considered that many hours might pass before we could replace what had taken so much trouble to obtain. We put the birds into the canoe, and followed by Bouncer took our seats. The repairs on which we had bestowed so much labour were satisfactory, for not a drop of water came in. Plying our paddles, for the wind was up the stream, and we could not use our sail, we began to make our way down it. The current being moderate did not help us much, and it appeared as if we should never reach the mouth. In our eagerness when chasing the swans we were not aware how far we had gone up. Of course, we kept our guns ready to shoot any animals we might see on the banks; but though we caught sight of a few birds among the branches, they were too far off to afford us a fair chance of killing them. We saw no traces, either, of Indian encampments, though from the pleasant character of the country we thought it probable that wood Indians might have made it their abode. We had just rounded a point, and were passing under some trees which overshadowed the water, throwing a dark shade across it, when we saw ahead of us an object moving up against the current. The darkness prevented us from distinguishing what it was. Robin, who had been talking about the tricks of the redskins, and was, from having lived so long among them, inclined to be suspicious, declared that they were the plumes of Indians who were lying in wait to seize our canoe as we got near them. "They are more likely to have waited on the shore concealed among the bushes, and to have shot us with their arrows," observed Alick. "I don't think any Indians would venture to attack us in the water." Still Robin was not convinced, and Martin was inclined to agree with him. "Be ready, then, to fire if necessary," said Alick; "but not till I tell you. We can easily paddle out of their way, and they'll not venture to follow us; though I repeat that I feel nearly sure that those are not Indians. We will push quickly on, and if they are Indians, when they see that we approach them boldly and have guns ready, they'll keep out of our way." Soon after this a gleam of light coming through an opening in the wood fell on the objects we had been watching, when our apprehensions were completely dissipated; for we saw that they were coloured ducks, so busily engaged among a shoal of small fry that they did not observe us. "Paddle on gently, Robin," said Alick.--"Do you, Martin and David, be ready to fire at the birds in the water, and we will do so as soon as they rise." The current helping us, we rapidly neared the ducks. Martin and I hit two, and Alick and Robin brought down a brace. Hearing the report of our guns, the flock flew towards the wood for shelter. We soon picked up those we had shot; but the flock had got too far off to permit of our killing any others. Those we had obtained were fine fat fellows with rich plumage, and would afford us an ample feast, with some to spare for Bouncer. Our success encouraged us to hope that we should not want for provisions during our voyage. We at last got into the main river. Evening was approaching, and as we had eaten nothing since breakfast, and a convenient spot appearing on the left bank, we could not resist the temptation of landing to cook our ducks. It of course took time to collect sticks for our fire. While Martin and Robin were doing this, Alick and I prepared the ducks, which had not, it must be understood, nearly as much flesh on them as tame ducks, and would therefore, after all, not afford an overpoweringly large meal to each of us, considering that Bouncer was to have his share. We soon saw that by the time the ducks were cooked it would be too late to proceed on our voyage, and therefore agreed to camp during the night where we were. While Alick and I were engaged on our task, Robin arrived with a large bundle of wood sufficient to kindle the fire. We therefore at once set the ducks on to roast, hoping that Martin would soon come in with a further supply of fuel. As he did not appear, Robin and I set off to collect some more, lest our fire should burn out. We were hurrying back when we heard Martin's voice. He had only a small bundle of wood on his shoulders, while he carried under his arm a number of deer-horns. "I found these near an old Indian camp," he exclaimed, "and it struck me at once that we could manufacture out of them some heads for spears, with which we may manage to kill some fish." "I don't know what Alick will think about it, but I suspect that it will take too long a time," I said; "and where are the handles to be found?" "As I came along I saw some saplings, which we can soon cut down with our axe; besides which I found a quantity of deer sinews, which the Indians must have dropped. Though it is some time since the Indians were at the camp, the sinews are still in good condition." Alick was better pleased with Martin's idea than I had fancied he would be. Martin indeed was very ingenious, and could turn his hand to anything, as could Robin. As soon as we had eaten our ducks, as there was still some daylight remaining, Alick and I cut down four thin saplings for spear-handles, while our two friends were working away at the deer-horns, which they shaped into barbs. "We shall not have time to manufacture more than two," said Martin; "and those are as many as we can use, for two must paddle, while the others strike the fish." "How are we to get the fish to stop and be struck at?" I asked. "We must try fishing by night," answered Martin. "Still less likely we shall be to see them," I observed. "Not if we have a light on board, and I have been thinking about that," he answered. "We must fill our pot with resinous wood, and by placing it on the bows we shall have the means of attracting the fish. When they come up we must spear them. I have seen the Indians on the upper lakes catch fish in this way, and I know that they are caught in the same manner in many other countries." From Martin's description we all became eager to try to catch fish in the way he spoke of. We soon found the wood he mentioned, a species of fir which contained a large amount of resin, and split up into small pieces it emitted a bright light. While seated on the bank we had observed a number of fish leaping in the river, which here formed a bay with little or no current; and we agreed that as soon as the spears were ready we would go out and try our luck that night. As the deer-horns were hard, it took a long time to fashion even two spearheads, so that it must have been past ten o'clock when they were ready, though we all worked away diligently by the light of the fire. Alick proposed lying down and waiting till the following night; but we were all so eager to set out that we persuaded him to start at once, that we might try the sport for an hour or so, and then land again with our fish ready to cook for breakfast in the morning. We should have time enough for sleep, as, having to sit in the canoe all day, we could do very well with less than usual. All things being ready we started. We still had our two swans, which Alick observed might be useful should our spears not answer as well as we hoped. Martin and I undertook to use the spears while Alick and Robin paddled. As soon as we had got a short distance from the shore we lighted our fire, which as it blazed up cast a lurid glare over the waters. Though we looked eagerly for the fish none could we see. They had either swum away or were not to be attracted by the bright light. "Perhaps there may be more out in the stream," said Martin. "Let us paddle slowly down, and ten to one we see some." Alick consented, and proposed, moreover, that as we had embarked we might as well proceed on our voyage, as the light enabled us to see our way as well as in the daytime, while the air was cooler than when the hot sun beat down on the stream. We had gone some distance when Martin struck down his spear. "I hit a fish," he exclaimed, "but it got off. We may have better luck the next time." I shortly afterwards saw another fish, which I succeeded not only in striking but in securing, though it fell off the moment I got it into the canoe. It showed us that our spears were not as perfectly barbed or as sharp as was necessary. This success encouraged us to continue the sport, and we went on and on, though we did not succeed in securing any more fish. Our fire, however, had produced an effect we had not expected. As we were passing a low cliff, loud cries of wild-fowl saluted our ears. The birds, roused by the appearance of the light, flew off from their nests, and came circling around us; so we fired several shot at them, and brought three down. The rest, not aware of what had happened, continued pursuing us; their numbers increased from the other denizens of the banks. Alick, in his eagerness to shoot the birds, was using less caution than before. I fancied that I heard the rushing sound of water. "There must be rapids near us," I exclaimed. Just as I spoke Alick again fired, and two birds fell into the water ahead of us. Taking his paddle, he urged the canoe forward to pick them up. None of us could tell how it was, but all of a sudden we found ourselves whirled onwards by an unseen power. Though we got the paddles out, we had lost all control over our canoe. The next instant, her bow striking a rock, she was whirled round, when her stern came in contact with a snag also fixed in the crevices of another rock. "Jump out for your lives, lads!" cried Alick, setting us the example. The water, we found, was rushing over the ledge on to which he stepped. Martin and I followed, carrying our guns. Robin sprang after us, catching hold of the sail; while Bouncer, acting as a brave sailor does, was the last to quit the ship. I had just time to leap forward and catch hold of the iron pot when the canoe was whirled away down the rapids. On examining our position we found ourselves on a large rock nearly in the middle of the stream, which afforded us a resting-place, but how we were to reach the bank was the question. We sat down very disconsolate to discuss the matter. It did not do just then to think too much of the future. Our first business was to get on shore where food was to be obtained; though, fortunately, having had a good supper we were not hungry. As far as we could judge in the darkness, the way to the left bank was most practicable; but even in that direction there were broad places to be passed, across which we might be unable to wade. We had gone through many adventures, but this was the most trying and perhaps the most dangerous. The rapids below us boiled and foamed, and ran with great force. Should we lose our footing we might be carried away and dashed against the rocks. "Though this is not a pleasant place on which to pass the night, I think we shall do wisely to remain here till daylight will enable us better to see our way," observed Alick. Our position was too uncomfortable to allow us to sleep; indeed, had we done so we should have run the risk of slipping off into the water. We therefore discussed various plans for getting on shore. "If we had but a rope we might do it without danger," said Martin, "and I think we have materials enough to manufacture one. The sail cut up and twisted will form a good length." "You shall have my overcoat," said Alick. "We must try to kill a deer, the skin of which will make a covering for me at night. I can do very well without it in the daytime." I also had a coat, and imitating Alick offered to sacrifice it for the public good. "A shirt which I have in my knapsack will supply its place," I observed. "I have a strong linen shirt in mine," said Martin. Robin had a couple of handkerchiefs, besides which we had the straps of our knapsacks and pouch-belts. With these materials we considered that we could make a rope sufficiently strong for our purpose. It required considerable ingenuity to fasten all these together. The parcel of sinews which Martin had found were exceedingly useful; indeed, I don't know how we could have secured the straps without them. We had to wait, however, till daylight before we could perform the neater work, though there was light sufficient in the open river to enable us to cut up and twist some of the articles we had destined for the purpose. We had thus made a pretty strong bit of rope when day broke. We then began to secure the straps together. To do this we had to make holes in the ends with the prickers of our knives, through which to pass the threads--a long and tedious operation, as, of course, it was of vital importance that they should be firmly secured: a weak part might endanger our safety. As may be supposed, we worked very diligently, for we were getting hungry, and had no chance of obtaining food where we were. How long it might be after we reached the shore before we could fall in with game of some sort it was impossible to say. Our spears had been lost, so that even should we see any fish in the rapids we could not catch them. At last the rope was completed. It was sufficiently long, we calculated, to reach from one side to the other of the broadest passage we should have to cross, as there were several rocks which would serve as resting-places between us and the left or northern bank. Before using it, by Alick's advice we tried every part, hauling with all our might, two against two. It was fortunate it did not give way, for had it done so we all four might have fallen into the river on opposite sides of the rock. "Come, that will do," said Alick; "I'll go first, and you three hold on to the other end. If I miss my footing, haul me in; but if I succeed, you, David, remain behind, and let either Martin or Robin make their way across, holding on to the rope. When they are safe over, you fasten it round your waist, and we'll haul you after us." The plan seemed a good one, with every prospect of success. The water was apparently of no great depth, and did not run with nearly as much force on the north side of the rapids as it did on the south, towards which by a bend of the river the principal current was directed; still, as we looked at the foaming, hissing, roaring waters below us, we saw the fearful danger to which we should be exposed should we miss our footing and be carried away in them. Indeed, without a rope, the passage seemed to be altogether impossible. Alick, of course, ran the chief danger, as he had nothing to support him, and had, besides, the rope to drag and his rifle to carry. We scrambled over to the west side of the rock, or that which looked up the stream; then Alick fastened the rope round his waist, and offering up a short prayer for protection, he stepped carefully into the foaming water. At first it did not reach much above his ankles, but it soon began to rise higher and higher, until it reached his knees; and as we saw it foaming round him, we feared every instant that he would be carried off his legs. Though he stepped directly across the stream he kept looking upwards, so that, should he have to swim, he might strike out at once in the right direction. More than half the passage had been accomplished. There was ample length of rope, which we allowed occasionally to run out as it was required. Still the water got deeper. Alick stopped for a moment, as if hesitating whether he should proceed. Then again he stepped out, and the water surged up almost to his waist, as it seemed to us at that distance. A cry escaped us. We thought he had gone, but he recovered himself and sprang to a higher level. Again the water reached no higher than his knees. He went on with more confidence, till he stood safe on the rock for which he was making. "Hold on tightly to the rope," he shouted.--"Robin, you come next. Don't let go your grasp, though you may find yourself carried off your legs." "Ay, ay!" answered Robin. "I'll not do that; the rope is what I'm going to trust to." And without more ado he plunged in, not walking steadily as Alick had been compelled to do, but leaping like a dog in shallow water, so that he got across in much less time with apparently less risk. Martin followed his example, and was twice nearly carried off his legs. It was now my turn. The rope, should it not break, would haul me back should I lose my footing; but the danger was that it might break, as it would have to bear my weight with the current pressing against it, as also that of the articles I carried. There was a piece of rope to spare. I put the end into Bouncer's mouth, and patting him on the head told him to hold on and swim after me. He understood perfectly what was to be done. I did not for a moment hesitate, as there was no time to be lost; and springing in, instead of going directly across I waded diagonally up the stream, Bouncer holding tight on to the rope, and bravely breasting the current. By this means I found, as I expected, that I was in shallower water, and was able to get across almost as fast as the others had done with the aid of the rope. The next passage we had to make was shorter, but was quite as deep, and for a few seconds Alick was in great danger of being carried down the stream. Two other watery spaces had still to be crossed; the last looked the more dangerous, but Alick got over and stood safely on the bank. He then went up the stream some way, when Robin and Martin crossed as they had done at the other places. I followed, with Bouncer towing after me, though I had to put no small strain on the rope to enable myself to get over. Every moment I thought that it would give way, but it held fast, and most thankful we were to find ourselves at length safe on the northern bank of the river. We had kept our guns and ammunition dry, though of course our lower garments were perfectly wet. "My boys," said Alick, "we have reason every day to be thankful to God for His watchful care over us, but especially now we should return thanks for our preservation, for I tell you we have run a fearful risk of losing our lives. We might have been all drowned together when the canoe was destroyed, and at any moment in crossing above these rapids we might have been carried off our feet and swept down them." We all acknowledged the truth of his remarks, and together kneeling down on the grass, we lifted up our voices in a prayer of thanksgiving. We then hurried away to collect wood for a fire, that we might dry our drenched clothes and consider what was next to be done. "One thing is very clear," observed Alick, as we sat round the fire. "We have no food, and being hungry the sooner we can get some the better. Our way is down the stream, and we must set off as soon as possible in that direction." The sun and wind assisted the fire in drying our clothes, and we were soon ready to commence our journey. We kept our eyes about us as we went on, on the chance of any birds or animals appearing. Hunger, it is truly said, makes keen sportsmen, and we should not have let a mouse escape us if we had seen one. We kept close to the bank, and for a mile or more the rapids continued, though we saw that on the opposite side a canoe might descend without danger. Alick was constantly examining the bank. "I thought so," he exclaimed, when we had got about half a mile below the rapid. Running forward he picked up three of our paddles and one of the spears. The others could not be far off, unless they had struck in the crevice of a rock. This, perhaps, they had done, for we could not find them. Martin immediately took possession of the spear. "I may still have a chance of killing a fish, if we come to any deep little bay or bend of the river, where some are likely to be at rest," he observed. It was getting late, and unless we could kill something soon we should have to go supperless to bed. "Hillo! I see something," cried Robin, and rushing forward he held up one of the despised swans. The sight at all events gave pleasure to Bouncer, who began barking and leaping round it. "You shall have some directly, old fellow," cried Robin. As we saw a suitable spot for encamping a little distance from the bank, we agreed to stop for the night. The wind blowing somewhat colder than usual, a wigwam, or at all events a lean-to, was considered advisable. Martin and I set to work to collect the necessary materials, while Alick and Robin lighted the fire and spitted the swan for cooking. CHAPTER NINE. WOOD-PIGEONS AND SQUIRREL FOR SUPPER--BEAR'S MEAT--CANOE-BUILDING-- GRASSHOPPERS--SHE FLOATS EVEN--ROW, BROTHERS, ROW!--THE THUNDERSTORM-- OUR NARROW ESCAPE--OUR HUT--DEER--THE BUCK IS DEAD--VENISON IN PLENTY-- IMPROVIDENCE OF THE INDIANS--BREAKERS AHEAD. I cannot describe our adventures from day to day as I have been lately doing. While eating our somewhat unsavoury swan, we discussed how we should next proceed. We knew but little of the bank of the river on which we found ourselves, but at all events we should have a long journey on foot before us, and we did not fancy the tramp through the woods. "But if we do not go on foot how are we ever to get to Fort Ross?" exclaimed Robin. "We can scarcely expect to find another canoe." "Why, of course we must build one," said Martin. "I have never made one entirely myself, but I have seen them built frequently, and have helped sometimes, and I am very sure that we all together could manage to construct one which will carry us safely down the river." There were no dissentient voices. Martin warned us that it would take some time. We should have to shape out all the ribs, and search for birch trees of sufficient girth to afford large sheets of bark. The chief object for consideration was, that it would take us almost as long to build a canoe as to travel to Fort Ross, but then we should be saved the fatigue and dangers of the journey, and we should be more likely to fall in with any of the people whom our friends at the fort might have dispatched to look for us, in the hopes that we had escaped from the massacre at Fort Black. Another great reason for proceeding by water was the state of our shoes: getting so often wet and dry they had become completely rotten. Alick's were falling off his feet; mine were in a very little better condition; Martin had thrown his away as useless, and Robin had done the same, but as he had so long gone without shoes, his feet were hardened, and he cared very little about the matter. While the weather was warm it was not of much consequence, but we might expect frost soon to set in, and unless we could manufacture some moccasins we should suffer greatly. If we could kill a deer we might supply ourselves, but hitherto we had seen none along the banks of the river; still we hoped to fall in with some, as both skins and meat would be very acceptable. "Then I consider that the best thing we can do is to camp in an eligible spot, and commence building a canoe without delay," said Alick. We all agreed with him. "I have no doubt about being able to do it," said Martin; "but we must fix on some place where the white birch trees are abundant, that we may have a good selection of bark. Much depends on its perfect condition, and many of the trees we have passed are of insufficient size or have holes in the bark, which would render them useless for our purpose." We trudged on therefore, eagerly looking out for a spot which would answer all our requirements. Before long we found one with some cedar trees in the neighbourhood, and some young spruce firs not far off. On a hillside a little way from the river grew a number of pines; the pitch which exuded from them we wanted for covering the seams. The wood of the cedar was required for forming the frame of the canoe, while the slender and flexible roots of the young spruce trees would afford us what is called "wattap"--threads for sewing the bark on to the gunwale and securing it to the ribs. "As we shall be some days building our canoe, we may as well put up a hut and make ourselves comfortable in the meantime," observed Martin. "It won't take long to do that, and should a storm come on we should require shelter." "We shall want something of still more consequence," observed Alick. "We have no food, and you fellows will soon be crying out for it. While Martin and David get the camp ready, light a fire, cut some poles for a wigwam, and collect some rough sheets of bark to cover it with, Robin and I will go in search of game. We shall find something or other before dark, if we keep our eyes open and our wits awake, and I shall not feel inclined to return without food, so take care to have a good fire burning to roast it by." "But I say, don't go off with the axe," exclaimed Martin, as Alick was walking away with it stuck in his belt. "We cannot cut down the poles without it, or strip off the bark from the trees." Alick handed the axe to Martin, who, giving a flourish with it, observed, "We shall have work enough for this fellow to do, but I must take care to keep its edge sharp." Alick and Robin set off with their guns, while Martin and I commenced the work we had undertaken. We at first collected sticks and had a fire blazing in an open spot from which we had cleared off all the grass for fear of its igniting the surrounding herbage and producing a conflagration--no unusual occurrence in the woods. The feeling of hunger made us very active, for we hoped that Alick and Robin would soon return with some game. As they did not appear, we cut down a number of poles and fixed them up on a spot a little distance from the river, towards which the ground gradually sloped down. Having secured all together at the top, the framework of our hut was complete. We had then to obtain some slabs of birch-bark. Several lay on the ground stripped off by the wind. Many of these we found lying at the foot of the trees, and though unfitted for building a canoe, they were very well suited for our present purpose. We worked so diligently that we completely covered our wigwam. We now began to look out anxiously for the return of our companions, our hunger reminding us that it was high time for them to be back. While we were working we had not thought so much about it. I had thrown myself down on the grass, having finished my labours. "Come!" said Martin, who was always very active; "if game is not brought to us, I vote we go in search of it," and seizing his gun he made his way amid the trees. I followed him. Presently I heard him fire, and directly afterwards I caught sight of a squirrel on a high branch. Taking good aim, I brought it down, and was soon joined by Martin, who had shot a couple of wood-pigeons. We hurried back to the camp, stripped the birds of their feathers, skinned the squirrel, and soon had them roasting before the fire. "Our friends will be well pleased not to have to wait for their supper," said Martin, as he quickly turned round the wood-pigeons on the spit. They were soon cooked, and unable to resist the gnawings of hunger we divided one of them and ate it up. We then attacked the squirrel, but restraining our appetites, reserved half for Alick and Robin, for we thought it possible that they might after all return without any game. Having satisfied our hunger, we thought more seriously about them. What could have happened to delay them? At last I began to fear that some accident must have befallen them. It was getting dusk. Should darkness overtake them, they would be unable to find their way through the woods. We piled up more wood on the fire, and went some way from it in the direction we expected they would come, shouting loudly at the top of our voices to attract their attention. "I cannot fancy that they have lost themselves," observed Martin. "Robin, with his Indian training, would find his way anywhere; and Alick is not likely to have gone wrong, especially with the river to guide him." Still I grew more and more anxious, and pictured to myself all sorts of accidents. "We should never think of the worst till it happens," observed Martin. "They were probably tempted to go farther than they intended. Perhaps we shall see them come back loaded with venison or a few dozen wild ducks, which will supply our larder for many days to come. Hark! I think I hear a shout. Now!" and we again shouted out. A reply immediately came through the trees. "That's Alick's voice, and I heard Robin's shriller treble," said Martin. "They will be here anon, and will be highly delighted to sit down and munch the remainder of the squirrel and the wood-pigeon." We hurried forward to meet our friends, as far as the light of the fire would enable us to see our way, and presently they both appeared, carrying huge masses of something on their backs. "We have got food enough to last us till we reach Fort Ross," exclaimed Alick, as he limped along, and I observed that he had lost both his shoes. "It might have cost us dear, though. Robin was nearly getting an ugly grip. See! we have killed a bear, and brought as much of the meat as we could carry, and a part of the skin to form moccasins till we can kill some deer, which will afford us more comfortable covering for our feet." We relieved them of their loads, and were soon seated round the fire, Bouncer lying down complacently watching us, while they discussed the provisions we had cooked; he, having devoured as much of the bear as he could manage, was independent of other food. Alick then told us that they had come suddenly on Bruin, who was on the point of seizing Robin when he had shot at it, but had missed; the bear, instead of pursuing them, frightened by the report of the gun, had taken to flight, when they followed and finally killed it. In their chase, while passing over a piece of boggy ground, he had lost his shoes. The chase and the return to camp had occupied a considerable amount of time. "All's well that ends well," exclaimed Martin, "and now I propose that we smoke some of the bear's flesh." To this we all agreed, and thus employed ourselves till we turned in at night. "Up, up," cried Martin the next morning at daybreak. "We must turn to without loss of time, and begin building our canoe. We must first cut out the ribs, which will be the longest part of the operation, and those who like can accompany me to the cedar wood." We all did so; and Martin, selecting some young trees, cut them down; then, with his axe, he chopped them into lengths. This done, we all worked away with our knives to form them into thin strips. The wood is remarkably tough, hard, and white, and can be bent into any form. We were employed all day in this work, and it was not till the next that we had a sufficient quantity of strips to commence forming the frame. To form the gunwale we had to fasten a number together. The gunwale was kept apart by slender bars of the same wood, while the ribs were bent into the required shape, which they easily retained. There was no keel, and the bottom was nearly flat. The third bar was broader than the rest, and in it we cut a hole for stepping the mast, though unless with a very light and perfectly favourable wind we should be unable to carry sail. It took us several days to put the framework together. We had now to cut the bark from the white birch trees. To do this we formed two circles round a tree, about five or six feet apart, and then cut a perpendicular notch down from one to the other; next, putting pieces of wood under the bark at the notches, we without difficulty pulled it off. Martin having before taken his measurements, the bark exactly fitted the centre part of the canoe, being also very nearly of the required shape. We now sewed it on with the wattap. This was a long operation, as every hole had to be carefully bored. Another piece of somewhat less width formed the bows, easily conforming itself to the required shape. A single thickness of bark formed the sides, but at the bottom we placed some long strips to serve as bottom-boards, which rested on the ribs. The bark had to be sewn on also to all the ribs, though this did not require the same number of stitches as used at the gunwale. We all worked away at it till some progress had been made, when Robin took charge of the gum-pot, he having previously concocted a quantity of pitch from the pine trees. This had to be thickened by boiling, and the joinings were luted with it, thus rendering the canoe perfectly water-tight. The seats were formed by suspending strips of bark with cords from the gunwales in such a manner that they did not press against the sides of the canoe. Our canoe was only about twelve feet long, but was sufficiently large to carry us four. I have seen such canoes thirty-five feet in length, and six feet in width at the widest part, tapering gradually towards the bow and stern, which are brought to a wedge-like point, and turned over from the extremities towards the centre so as to resemble, in some degree, the head of a violin. These large canoes are calculated to carry sixty packages of skins weighing ninety pounds each, and provisions amounting to one thousand pounds' weight. They are paddled by eight men, each of whom has a bag weighing forty pounds. Every canoe also carries a quantity of bark, wattap, gum, and pine for heating the gum, an axe, and some small articles necessary for repairing her. The weight altogether is probably not under four tons. The eight men can paddle her across a lake, in calm weather, at the rate of about four miles an hour; and four can carry her across portages. Altogether, for making voyages in this region, no vessel has been constructed in any way to equal the birch-bark canoe, such as I have described. Ours was very different, being much smaller; and the work, though pretty strong, was not as neat as that performed by Indians. Robin, who was fond of quizzing--a trick he had learned from the redskins--declared that she would prove lopsided, at which Martin, her architect, was very indignant. "She'll swim as straight and steady as a duck," he answered. "We shall see," cried Robin; "the proof of the pudding will be in the eating. However, if she does float a little crooked she'll manage to get to the end of her voyage somehow or other, and we can lay her up at Fort Ross as a specimen of our ingenuity." While building our canoe, one or two of us were compelled to go out in search of game, as it was necessary to dry the bear's flesh as provision for our voyage, and we preferred fresh meat. We generally returned with two or three wood-pigeons or other birds. Just before the completion of the canoe, I accompanied Alick on an excursion which we intended should be longer than usual. We found the forest extending not more than a mile from the bank of the river, after which the country was open, with grassy land and hollows which had once been the beds of ponds. Here the grass grew especially long. We had not long started when I observed that the horizon wore an unearthly ashen hue, and it struck me at once that we were about to have a storm. Presently it seemed as if the whole air was filled with light silvery clouds, and what looked at first like flakes of snow falling, which we saw as they approached nearer to be numberless large insects with wings. They were, indeed, grasshoppers, as they are called in the North-West Territory, though they are really locusts. The number in the air in a short time became so great that at intervals they perceptibly lessened the light of the sun. I had seen them before in much smaller quantities; and I at once knew what they were. That I might watch them more conveniently, I threw myself on my back. When looking upwards, as near to the sun as the light would permit, I saw the sky continually change colour from blue to silvery white, ashy grey, and lead colour-- according to the density of the masses of insects. Opposite to the sun, the prevailing hue was a silvery white, perceptibly flashing. On one occasion the whole heavens towards the south-east and west appeared to irradiate a soft grey-tinted light with a quivering motion. As the day was calm, the hum produced by the vibration of so many millions of wings was quite indescribable, and was more like what people call a ringing in one's ears than any other sound that I can think of. Strange as it may seem, there was something peculiarly awe-producing to the mind as we watched these countless creatures, as it reminded us of those scourges sent by God on the land of Egypt as a punishment to its inhabitants. At first they took short flights, but as the day increased cloud after cloud rose from the prairie, and pursued their way in the direction of the wind. As the day advanced, they settled round us in countless multitudes, clinging to the leaves of shrubs and grass to rest after their long flight. The whole district where they had settled wore a curious appearance, for they had cut the grass uniformly to one inch from the ground. The surface was covered with their small round grey exuvia. Had they passed over any cultivated ground, as they do occasionally, the entire crops of the farms would have been destroyed. They leave nothing green behind them, and devour even such things as woollen garments, skins, and leather, with the most astonishing rapidity. Though they fly very high in the air when they are making their journeys, they pitch usually on the ground, not touching the forests, or one could easily conceive that they would in the course of a year or two strip the trees of their leaves, and leave them with a thoroughly wintry aspect. As, owing to the grasshoppers, we did not expect to obtain any game in the open country, we returned to the wood, and were fortunate in killing a number of wood-pigeons. On our arrival at the camp, Martin and Robin shouted out to us that the canoe was finished, and only required to have the seams gummed. This task was soon accomplished; and as we were in a hurry to try the canoe, Alick and I, lifting her up with the greatest ease, carried her down to the bank. Without hesitation we stepped in and placed her on the water, when she floated with perfect evenness. "Hurrah!" exclaimed Martin, who stood on the bank, throwing up his cap in his delight at the triumphant success of his undertaking; "I knew she'd do! I knew she'd do!" Bouncer, who had followed us down, apparently as much interested as any one, leaped up on his hind legs, barking loudly; while Robin, who had remained at the fire attending to the gum-pot, that we might stop any leaks which were discovered, echoed our shouts. We had indeed reason to congratulate ourselves, for though the canoe was not equal to the one we had lost, yet it would answer our purpose, and convey us safely, we hoped, to our destination. As it was too late to start that day, we lifted her up again, and employed ourselves in finishing off two fresh paddles, in lieu of those which had been lost. We were very merry that evening, as it appeared to us that our difficulties were well-nigh over. We had meat enough to last us for some days, and we might reasonably expect to obtain as much as we could want on the voyage by landing and spending a day or part of a day in hunting; still we were not altogether free from care. Martin was excessively anxious about his parents. He could not avoid recollecting the bad disposition shown by the Indians; and though his father and mother might not have been molested, or might have managed to escape, there was a fearful possibility of their having been attacked and murdered. We were still also doubtful whether Sandy and Pat had got away in safety from the fort, though we hoped that they had, and had arrived safely at Fort Ross. If so, we might, by keeping a lookout on the right bank of the river, see any expedition which, we felt sure, would be sent up to restore Fort Black. Having breakfasted, we again launched our canoe, but we found on putting her into the water that she leaked in two or three places, where the gum had been knocked off. We had to haul her up again, light our fire, and heat some more gum to stop the leaks. This occupied us for some time, but at length we were fairly under way; and singing "Row, brothers, row," we began paddling down the stream. We agreed not to attempt shooting any rapids we might meet with, but rather to land and make a portage with our canoe. Two of us could carry her on our shoulders without difficulty, and, as Robin remarked, she weighed scarcely a feather when four of us lifted her. Though we intended camping on the left bank, we kept over to the right side, that we might have a better chance of seeing any party travelling towards Fort Black. The morning had been fine, and we expected to be able to continue on all day; but before noon clouds gathered in the sky, from which a vivid flash of lightning darted towards us, followed by a tremendous peal of thunder; then came in quick succession another and another flash, with deafening peals. The wind began to blow up the river, and its hitherto calm surface was broken into angry waves. Down rushed the rain, half filling our canoe. "We must make for the shore, lads!" exclaimed Alick, as a heavy sea broke over our bows. "Paddle, lads, for your lives! This is no joke," he added; and he had good reason for saying what he did, for our light bark was tossed about in a way which rendered it difficult to steer her. We all energetically worked at our paddles. We had some way to go. The wind increased, the thunder roared, and the lightning flashed faster than ever. Alick kept the canoe with her head partly up the stream, so that we crossed diagonally, or the canoe would have been upset, as the increasing waves rolled against her. At length the northern bank was reached, but we had still the difficulty of landing. The waves were washing against it with considerable force, and should our canoe be driven against any projecting branches, a dangerous rent might be made in it in a moment, and before we could get safely on shore we might be carried away by the current. We had therefore to look out for some bay or creek up which we could run, so as to be sheltered from the waves. The wind blew now rather up the river than across it, and enabled us to stem the current. We had gone some little distance when we saw the place we were seeking. "Look out, and see that there are no snags or branches ahead of us," cried Alick to Robin, who had the bow paddle. "If you can find a clear space, we will run the canoe alongside the bank." "There is a spot that will do," answered Robin; "and I'll jump on shore and hold her while you get out." Gently paddling the canoe, the next moment we got her up to the bank and stepped on shore in safety. We then hauled her up, but we were not free of danger. Tall trees surrounded the place, their tops waving to and fro and bending to the gale. Every now and then fragments of branches were torn off and carried to a distance. There was a risk of one of them falling on us, or on the canoe, and crushing her; but it was impossible to shift our position, so we had to make the best of it and pray that we might be preserved. We at first ran for shelter under one of the tall trees, and Robin proposed that we should build a hut against it, with a fire in front at which we might dry our wet clothes. "That would do very well, if it were not for the lightning," observed Alick. "At any moment that tree might be struck, and we, if close to the trunk, might all be killed or severely injured." As he said this, Robin and I, who were leaning against it, sprang out into the open. The next instant a loud report was heard; a branch came crashing down, and the stout tree appeared riven to the very roots! Happily the branch fell on one side. "We may thank Providence that we have all escaped," said Alick. "It won't do to be standing out here exposed to the rain. The sooner we can get up a hut of some sort the better." The branch which had fallen afforded us the framework of a hut. Alick, taking the axe, cut off as many pieces as we required, pointing them so that we could run them deep into the earth. A little way off there was an abundance of bark, which, seizing, we quickly dragged up to the spot. Hurrying out of the wood again as fast as we could, in a short time we had a roughly-formed hut erected, sufficient to turn off the rain. The spot was almost completely sheltered from the wind, so that we had no fear about lighting a fire. At the same time the wood was already so wet that it cost us some trouble to ignite it. We succeeded at last, and, drawing it close up to the hut, it afforded us warmth and enabled us to dry our wet clothes. The rain soon ceased, but the wind held and whistled in the branches. The thunder roared, and flashes of lightning illumined the dark sky. We had reason to be thankful that we were so far protected, and hoped that we might escape any other falling branches or the effects of the lightning. Had we ventured to land in a more exposed situation, our canoe might at any moment have been blown off into the river, while we could neither have put up a hut nor have lighted a fire. We sat on hour after hour, hoping that the storm would cease. The ground was too damp to allow us to lie down with any prospect of comfort; but we had some pieces of bark which afforded us seats, and had we had time to get larger pieces we might have rested with more comfort. Thus the night passed away, but when daylight returned the storm was blowing with as much fury as before. Though we saw masses of leaves and branches flying over our heads, none of the latter fell into our sheltered little nook. We agreed that it would be wise to remain where we were. Alick employed himself, with Martin's assistance, in making a pair of moccasins, which, though rough and ugly, were calculated to protect his feet from the thorns and splinters he might step upon in the forest. I mended my shoes, patching them with small pieces of bearskin; but they would not have served for a long walk. Robin improved one of the paddles, which had been roughly cut out at first. Thus we passed the greater part of the morning seated before our fire, except when we were cooking and eating some bear's flesh to satisfy our hunger. We had formed also two lookout holes at the back of our hut, through which we could watch should any deer or other animals come near, which we thought it possible they might do for the sake of the shelter it afforded. Robin was continually jumping up to take a look out; but in that respect we were disappointed. Soon after noon the wind began to fall, as we knew by the decrease of its sound among the trees and the lessened agitation of the boughs overhead. "Come, boys, we may make a few miles good this evening," exclaimed Alick, jumping up. "If we find the river still too rough, we can but put back and spend the night here; but I suspect that in a short time the wind will drop altogether, and we shall be able to paddle on till dark. We are sure to find some place or other where we can land to camp for the night." We accordingly lost no time in lifting our canoe into the water and getting on board. Bouncer, observing the careful way in which we stepped into our canoe, imitated our example, his sagacity showing him that if he were to leap on the gunwale he might upset her. Once more we shoved off, and going down the creek were soon in the open river. By this time it was almost calm, and the water was perfectly smooth. We paddled on at a quick rate, the river being free of obstructions of any sort, while at the same time we kept a lookout on both sides for the appearance of either friends or foes, or of any game. The air after the storm was unusually pleasant, and our spirits rose. The banks on either side were wooded, and prevented us from seeing to any distance beyond them. Here and there, however, grassy points ran out into the stream, on which it was possible that deer might be found feeding, while in little bays and indentations of the banks tall reeds grew, likely to afford shelter to wild-fowl. We were just about to round one of these points when a duck flying up directed its course across the river. Putting in my paddle, I seized my gun, and was on the point of firing at it when Alick exclaimed, "Hold fast! see out there;" and as I looked ahead, I observed on a low, grassy point a herd of five or six deer, which had come down to the river to drink. Some of them, catching sight of the canoe, looked up and stood curiously watching us. Our great object was now to approach without frightening them. "Keep silence, all of you," whispered Alick. "Paddle cautiously on. Get ready your guns, so as to fire when I tell you." We did as he bade us. "We must have one of those fellows, at all events, and two if we can. It will be provoking to lose them altogether," said Alick. He steered first directly towards the opposite side of the stream, so as not to alarm the deer sooner than was necessary; then altering the course of the canoe, we made directly for the point where the animals were standing, their curiosity still inducing them to remain watching us. We had got almost within shot when they took the alarm, and turning round retreated into the wood. Exclamations of disappointment escaped from all of us, for we thought that we should see no more of them. "Don't think they are lost; we may still have them," cried Alick. "Paddle away as hard as you can go, and we'll land and give chase. We may get round them and drive them back towards the water." Instead of steering for the point where the deer had been standing, he directed the course of the canoe higher up the river, and as we neared the bank he cried out, "David, you and Martin remain on board, and Robin and I will make our way through the wood, and endeavour to turn the deer." As he said this, he tried the depth of the water, and finding that it was shallow, and the bottom hard, he stepped out, followed by Robin and Bouncer, when, soon getting on shore, all three hurried off through the wood, which was there considerably open. We watched them making their way amid the trees till they were lost to sight. I feared that there was little chance of their driving back the deer; still Martin and I kept a lookout along the shore, on the possibility of the animals returning, either driven by Alick and Robin, or, supposing all danger to have passed, to finish their evening's draught. Several wild-fowl got up and went flying across the stream, some within shot; but we were afraid of firing, lest we should alarm the nobler game. We kept our paddles ready to urge the canoe in any direction which might be necessary. Our patience was somewhat tried. It was possible, however, that Alick and Robin might get near enough to the deer to shoot one of them, and we listened eagerly for the report of their guns. We waited and waited, when we saw some way down the stream a magnificent buck burst forth from amid the trees and rush towards the water. Without hesitating a moment he plunged in and began to swim towards the opposite bank. "Paddle away," I cried out to Martin. "We may have him before he lands." We did paddle, with might and main, feeling almost sure of the prize; but the deer swam rapidly, and the current, which he did not attempt to stem, carried him down. It was, however, impelling our canoe, so that made no difference. As we advanced, we saw a low island of some extent about two-thirds of the way across the river. The deer was making for it. Should he land he would gain considerably on us. Martin proposed that we should steer for the southern side, so as to intercept him. We were close to the western end of the island, on which the deer was about to land, when I thought that I could hit him. I fired. My bullet took effect--of that I was sure; but the deer still continued his course. Martin now steered the canoe as we had proposed, and we saw the deer land and begin to make his way across the island. It was evident, however, that my shot had injured him, for he moved slowly, and by exerting ourselves to the utmost we were soon able again to get him within range. He stopped and gazed at us, apparently not expecting to see us again in front of him. Instead of taking to the water he moved on towards the east end of the island. Again he stopped, facing us, when raising my rifle I sent a shot directly at his breast. Lifting up his head, and vainly endeavouring to recover himself, he slowly sank down on his knees, and the next instant rolled over dead. Martin and I, uttering a shout of triumph, paddled towards the shore. "Shall we cut him up at once, or go back and take Alick and Robin on board, and then return for the purpose?" asked Martin. "It may probably be some time before they get back to the bank," I answered; "and I think it would be best to cut up the deer, and then we shall astonish them with the result of our exploit." Of course we felt not a little proud of our success. We accordingly landed, and set to work in a scientific manner--first skinning the deer, and then by means of our axe and long knives cutting it up into pieces. We took only the best portions, with bits for Bouncer's share, leaving the rest of the carcass with the head, excepting the tongue and the antlers, which might be useful for manufacturing spears and other articles. We extricated also some of the sinews, which we were sure to want. Having loaded our canoe, we shoved off and began to paddle back towards the place where Alick and Robin had landed, looking out for them, in case they should appear in any other part of the bank. We found it a very difficult matter, however, to get up the stream. When we went in chase of the deer we had the current with us, and the canoe was light. Now we had a cargo on board. Though we exerted ourselves to the utmost, we made but slow progress, till Martin proposed that we should pull up near the right bank, where the current appeared to run with less strength. Neither of our companions appearing, it did not seem that we need be in any great hurry until we observed that the sun had sunk low, and that, before long, darkness would come on; still, as we were doing our best, we could do no more. We at last got up some way above the spot where we had seen the deer, and after relaxing our efforts for a minute or two to regain strength, we directed the canoe straight across the stream. We hoped, as we drew near the left bank, that Alick and Robin would make their appearance, and we began to be somewhat anxious at not seeing them. "They were probably induced to follow the deer farther than they intended," observed Martin, "and perhaps, hearing our shots, may have gone down the river; and if so, we might have saved ourselves our fatiguing paddle." On looking along the bank, however, as we could nowhere see them we finally paddled in for the shore, and very glad we were to reach a spot where we could rest. Throwing the painter round the branch of a tree which projected over the water, we hung on to it to wait for our companions' return. We shouted to them to attract their attention, but no answer came, and we were unwilling to expend a charge of powder by firing a signal, as our stock was limited, and it was necessary to husband it as much as possible. The shades of evening were already extending across the river, the bright reflection from the clouds gradually giving place to a uniform grey tint, which soon spread over the whole surface. Martin proposed that we should land and light a fire to cook our venison, for neither of us fancied having to spend the night cramped up in a canoe. "Let us first give another shout. Perhaps they'll hear it, and know where we are," I said. We hailed two or three times. At last, as there was only just sufficient light to enable us to see our way, we paddled up to the bank, unloaded our canoe, and hauled her up. We then piled up the venison, covering it over with the deerskin, lighted a fire, and began cooking some steaks. We were thus engaged when we heard a rustling in the brushwood. We started up with our guns in our hands, expecting to see a deer or bear, when Bouncer came rushing towards us, leaping up and licking his jaws. Martin examined his mouth and sides. "Depend upon it he has had a good tuck-out, the rogue, and feels in a happy humour," observed Martin. "They have killed a deer, and we shall see them here before long." Martin was right, for in a few minutes Alick and Robin came trudging up to the camp, heavily-laden with venison. "We have brought you something to eat, boys," said Alick. "Thanks to Bouncer's guidance, we followed up one of the deer till we shot him, but we have had a heavy tramp back. We should have brought the deerskin, but the meat was of more consequence, and we must go back and get it to-morrow morning. Hillo! you seem to have got something!" "I think we have," I answered, exhibiting our pile of venison. We then described how we had shot the deer; still, as the deerskin would prove of value for many purposes, we settled to go for it at daylight. We had now an abundance of venison, in addition to some of the dried bear's flesh which still remained. Though the Indians often suffer from hunger in this region, so teeming with animal life, it is entirely in consequence of their own want of forethought, as most of them when they obtain food feast on it till it is gone, and few are wise enough to lay up a store for the future. Thousands of buffalo are slaughtered on the prairies, and their carcasses allowed to rot, which, if distributed among the people, would supply every native in the country with an abundance of wholesome food. We had never been without provisions, though sometimes we had run rather short. We had, therefore, no fear for the future. Next morning, Alick and Robin having obtained the skin of the deer they had shot, we proceeded on our voyage. We at first made good way, aided by the current; but as the day advanced, a strong wind arose which created a considerable amount of sea in the river. Our canoe being more deeply laden than usual, with the venison we had on board, the water began to wash over the bows. We had set Robin to work to bail it out; still there appeared to be no actual danger, and we continued our course. As we went on, however, the wind increased, and meeting the current, which here ran stronger than in other places, the canoe was half filled by a foaming wave into which she plunged. Robin bailed away with all his might. "This will never do," cried Alick. "If we meet another wave like that the canoe will be swamped. We must make for the shore. Paddle away, boys, as fast as you can!" We exerted ourselves to the utmost, for we saw the danger to which we were exposed. Martin proposed throwing some of the cargo overboard. "Not if we can help it," cried Alick. "It would be a pity to lose so much good meat. The water looks smoother towards the south bank, and we shall soon be out of danger." In this respect he was not mistaken, but we saw that had we continued on longer the canoe would to a certainty have been filled, for line after line of white breakers extended completely across the stream. We found a safe place for landing, with a sufficient number of trees and brushwood to afford us fuel for our fire, the place also being sheltered by a high bank from the wind. We landed our cargo, and hauling up the canoe, turned her over to empty out the water. It seemed a wonder from the quantity there was in her that she had not sunk. CHAPTER TEN. TANNING--THE PRAIRIE ON FIRE--"HILLO! PAT CASEY! WHAT! DON'T YOU REMEMBER US?"--PAT'S MARVELLOUS ADVENTURES AND HAIRBREADTH ESCAPES-- VEGETABLE DIET--PAT'S HUT--MARTIN'S DANGER--ALICK'S NOBLE CONDUCT--"HE IS STILL ALIVE," CRIED ALICK--OUR WIGWAM--TWO MEN SICK IN THE CAMP-- INDIAN SUMMER--SNOW AGAIN--WINTER HAS SET IN--WATTAP NETS--FISHING THROUGH THE ICE--ROAST FISH AND BOILED FISH. As the wind continued blowing with great force, we saw that there was no prospect of our continuing our voyage that day. We therefore made preparations for camping as usual. Martin suggested that we should employ the time in drying some of the venison, which could not possibly last till it was all consumed. He advised also that we should try to manufacture some pemmican, which, though not equal to that of buffalo, would make nutritious food. We were thus busily employed for the remainder of the day. Alick, too, who wished to prepare the deerskins, stretched them out with pegs on the bank. We then carefully scraped them over, and having boiled some wood ashes in water, we washed them thoroughly with it. This we did twice before dark, leaving them to dry during the night. "I hope no grasshoppers will come this way," observed Alick, laughing, while we were afterwards seated at supper. As I looked round on the river, my eye caught a bright glare reflected on it. "That light comes from a fire somewhere, and not far off," I exclaimed; and, springing to my feet, I made my way up to the top of the bank, which was somewhat higher than the country farther off. There were but few trees, so that I had an uninterrupted view to the southward. There was a fire indeed, and such a fire as I had never before seen. About half a mile off appeared what looked like a vast burning lake, about a mile in width, and extending to a much greater distance. Presently, beyond it, another began to blaze up, increasing with terrible rapidity; and, farther off, a third bright light was seen, which also began quickly to extend itself. I have never seen a volcano in full activity; but this, I think, must have surpassed in grandeur the most terrible eruption. The flames rose up to an extraordinary height, rushing over the ground at the speed of racehorses, and devouring every tree and shrub in their course. The wind being from the north-east blew it away from us; but we saw how fearful would have been our doom, had we been on foot travelling across that part of the country. We should have had no chance of escape, for the intervals which at first existed between these lakes of fire quickly filled up. The conflagration swept on to the westward, gradually also creeping up towards us. We continued watching it, unable to tear ourselves away from the spot. It was grand and awful in the extreme. To arrest its progress would have been utterly beyond the power of human beings. What might be able to stop it, we could not tell. As far as we could see, it might go on leaping over rivers and streams, destroying the woods and burning up the prairies to the very foot of the Rocky Mountains, or even making its fearful progress over the whole of the continent. We knew that prairie fires often took place, and we had seen some on a smaller scale; but this appeared to us more extensive than any we had heard of. Gradually it came creeping up towards us; still, however, at too slow a pace, in consequence of the power of the wind, to make us quit our post. "This, I have no doubt, has been `put out' by the Plain Crees, to prevent the buffalo from going to the eastward and benefiting the Ojibbeways, Wood Crees, and other natives in that direction," observed Alick, using a term common among the Indians--to "put out fire" signifying to set the prairie on fire. I could scarcely suppose that such would have been done on purpose; but he asserted that they very frequently committed this destructive act simply as a signal to let their friends know that they had found buffalo; and that in most instances the fire did not extend to any great distance, being stopped by marshes, or even narrow streams, when there was not much wind, and sometimes by a heavy fall of rain. Robin corroborated what Alick had stated. "I think the fire has got much nearer than when we first saw it," observed Martin. "Should the wind shift, we shall have to run for it, or the burning trees will be tumbling down upon us and our canoe, and we shall be very foolish to be thus caught." In the course of a few minutes after this the wind did shift, and the flames came leaping and crackling towards us. "We will follow Martin's advice," said Alick. "We shall have plenty of time though, I hope, to get our traps on board and shove off. We must look out for another camping-ground to spend the remainder of the night." We hastened down the bank, followed by Bouncer, who stood for some seconds barking furiously at the fire, as if indignant at its having put us to flight. We were not long in launching our canoe, reloading her, and tumbling in the skins; when, shoving off, we paddled to a safe distance from the shore. In a couple of minutes we saw the flames reach the base of the narrow line of trees which lined the bank; when, aided by the dry creepers which encircled them, it climbed up at a rapid rate, twisting and turning and springing from branch to branch till the whole wood presented a solid wall of fire. It could not injure us, as the wind, blowing in the opposite direction, carried the falling boughs away from the river. The valley a little to the eastward prevented the conflagration from extending in that direction, but it still gave forth sufficient light to enable us to select a sheltered bay, into which we steered the canoe. Here we again landed, hoping to remain unmolested for the rest of the night. As the wind was cold we lighted a fire, though we could find no bark with which to put up a lean-to. We had therefore to sleep as well as we could on the bare ground. Very frequently one or other of us climbed to the top of the bank to watch the progress of the flames. They were sweeping along to the west and south-west, leaving a space in their rear still glowing with the burning embers. Alick, who was anxious to get the skins dressed as soon as possible, again spread them out, and those of us who were unable to sleep employed ourselves in beating them with the paddles. As soon, also, as we could scrape a sufficient quantity of ashes from the fire we made a ley, with which we kept them moist, the effect being to render them soft and pliable. Before morning the fire had got to a considerable distance, but we could still see a thin line of flame extending from north to south. After all, I believe that it was not so destructive as we had supposed. At the same time, such fires constantly occurring on the prairies render them arid and sterile and prevent the growth of forest trees. Were any means taken to put a stop to their occurrence, willows and other trees would soon sprout up, and the prairies would be converted into humid tracts in which vegetable matter would accumulate, and a soil be formed adapted to promote the growth of fine trees. We were tempted to remain an hour or two after sunrise, for the sake of making progress with the dressing of our deerskins, and also to dry some more venison, as it was very evident that it would not keep fresh wetted as it had been, with the sun beating down upon it, though covered up by the skins. "We have plenty to eat and plenty to drink," observed Martin, as we were paddling along; "but I should very much like a variety, and unless we can get it I am afraid that we shall be attacked by scurvy, or fall ill in some other way." "To be sure, it will take us some time to drink up the water of the river, but I don't know that the venison will hold out quite as long," said Robin. "We might find some berries and roots if we were to search for them in any of the woods we may come to, or perhaps we might shoot some birds or catch some fish. I should like some fish amazingly. We have materials for lines, but I have not had time yet to manufacture some hooks, as I intended. If some of you like to search for berries and roots, or to shoot any birds you may meet, I'll undertake to stay by the canoe and work away at the hooks." "But if we delay, we shall not get to Fort Ross before the winter sets in," remarked Alick. "But it will be better to be delayed than to fall sick from want of wholesome food," observed Martin. "I have an extraordinary longing for vegetable diet, and would give anything just now for a dish of greens, or mashed potatoes, or strawberries and cream." While this conversation was going on, we came to the mouth of a pretty large stream, the banks of which were covered with wood of considerable growth, while here and there grassy spots offered tempting landing-places. My feelings were very like Martin's, and Robin joining us, we all begged Alick to steer up the stream, intending to land and search for what we were so eager to obtain. We kept a lookout, some of us on one side of the canoe and some on the other, for any animals or birds which might appear on the bank. Martin and I, who were in the bow, fancied we saw a deer on the right-hand side, and called Alick's attention to it. While we were looking out Robin, whose quick sight had been attracted by some movements in the foliage, exclaimed, "There's a man--an Indian. If he's an enemy, he'll have a shot at us;" and pulling in his paddle, he seized his gun, ready to take aim at our supposed foe. As he spoke we turned our heads round in the same direction, and we all saw among the trees a human being stooping and apparently intently watching us. "If he sees that we're all armed he won't fire, though he should have a musket," said Alick. "We'll wave to him, and try to make him understand that we have no wish to be foes to any one. Show your fowling-pieces, lads!" We all lifted up our guns, then laying them down, again took to our paddles. We now steered the canoe towards the shore, where we had seen the man. We soon reached a spot where we could land; but Alick desired us to sit still in the canoe, as possibly there might be other persons besides the one we saw. The gloom of the forest prevented our seeing his features, but on getting nearer, to our surprise we perceived that the seeming Indian was a white man, though clad from head to foot in skins. There he stood, in an attitude of astonishment, with his mouth wide open, unable apparently to utter a word. Though he was greatly altered, I felt sure that I knew the man before me. "Hillo! Pat Casey!" I exclaimed. "What! don't you remember us?" "Och! shure, is it yourself that's spaking to me?" exclaimed Pat, for Pat he was--of that I had no doubt. "I belaved that you were all murthered by the Injins months ago, and niver expected to see your faces again." "But you see that you were mistaken, Pat, and that we are all alive and well," I said. While I was speaking, Pat had been slowly approaching, still evidently greatly in doubt whether we were real beings of this world or spirits from another. When at length he was convinced that we were ourselves, he rushed forward towards us, and seizing me by the hand, exclaimed, "Shure, it's a reality, and you have escaped the redskins." The rest of the party also convinced him that we were alive by shaking him warmly by the hand, and inquiring how he came to be there. "Och! shure, but it's a sad story," he answered, "and I'll be afther telling you all about it. I need not ask you whether you know that the fort was surprised by the Sioux, and all who could not escape put to death, for if you have been to the place you would have been afther seeing the state those thafes of the world left it in. Sandy McTavish and I, with five others, managed to get away by leaping from the stockade on one side, as the redskins came in on the other; but short time we had to do it and hide ourselves. Making our way down to the canoe, we had just time to shove off before they discovered us and sent a shower of arrows whizzing round our heads. As it was dark, they did not take good aim, and though they came howling along on the top of the bank, we got over to the opposite side, and soon paddled out of their sight. We had no food and only a couple of muskets which Sandy and I carried off, for the other men had dropped theirs in their fright, and what was worse, we found that we had only a few charges of powder and shot. We got on very well, barring the want of food--for we could see nothing to shoot--till we came to the rapids, and faith! it would have been betther if we hadn't thried to shoot them, for though Sandy and the other man had gone up and down them several times, it was always in a large canoe. It was late in the day and getting dusk, and somehow or other Sandy, who was steering, let the canoe strike against a big rock. Over she went, with a hole knocked through her bows! Having no fancy to be drowned, I made a leap on to the rock, and shouting to my companions to follow, with many a hop, skip, and jump, managed to reach the shore; but when I looked out for the rest of us, I could nowhere see them. I shouted again and again, but they did not answer. My belafe is that they were all carried away and drowned. I sat down on the bank, and at last, as I had been awake for many a long hour, I fell fast asleep. When I awoke in the morning, not a sight was there of the canoe, and I thought to myself, What was I to do? I knew that Fort Ross was somewhere in the direction the sun was used to rise, and so thinks I, if I kape along in that direction I shall some day get there. I had only four charges of powder in my pouch, and as I might have been afther starving when I had shot it all away, I felt gloomy enough. However, there was no use sighing, so I got up and set forward. As ill-luck would have it, I missed the first two shots, but with the third I killed an aigle, or bird of that sort. It was not very good ateing, anyhow, but it kept body and soul together for a day or two. I had now got only one charge remaining, and thinks I to myself, I'll never be reaching Fort Ross with this, if I don't manage to kill a deer or some other big baste which would give me mate enough to last me all the way. I went on all day, eagerly looking out for a deer or a buffalo or a bear, and thinking how I could get up to it to make shure. At last, what should I see between the trees but a crayther with big horns cropping the grass all alone. Thinks I to myself, `If I can creep up and put a shot into his head, I'll have mate enough to last me for a month to come.' There was no time to be lost, so creeping along Indian fashion, I made towards him. I kept my gun all ready to fire, not knowing what moment he might start off. All the time I felt my heart beating pit-a-pat, for thinking what I should do if I missed. `Take it easy,' says I to myself, but that was no aisy matther. At last I got within twenty yards of the deer, who hadn't yet seen me. It may be if I thry to get nearer, he'll know there's danger near and will be off with a whisk of his tail, and my bullet will be flying nowhere; so, just praying that I might shoot straight, I raised my piece as he was lifting his head to look about him. I fired. He leaped into the air, and I thought he was going to be off; but instead of doing that same, over he fell. `Hurrah! good luck to ye, Pat Casey,' I cried out, making the forest ring with my shouts. I soon had some slices off the deer, and lighting a fire where I was, I quickly cooked them, for I had had nothing to eat since I had finished the aigle. I had now food enough to last me till I could reach the fort, but how to kape it swate till then was the question. I thried to smoke some, but I did not manage it altogether well. I was still considering what to do when, going into the wood to get some more sticks for my fire, I saw the river running directly in front of me. At first I thought it was the big sthrame itself, but when I looked down it and up it, I saw that it was neither, and that if I was going to reach Fort Ross I must cross it somehow or other, but how to get over was the throuble. I'd be dhrowned if I thried, and be no better off than poor Sandy and the rest, so at last I thought to myself, `I'll just squat where I am; maybe some canoes will be coming this way, or some friendly Indians will be finding me out.' Well, that's the long and short of my history." We agreed that Pat, perhaps, had acted wisely, knowing the difficulties he would have had to encounter, had he continued his journey overland. He took us to his hut, which was a short distance from the bank of the river. It was very well formed of birch-bark, and of good size. He had made himself a bed from the tops of spruce firs. Alongside it was a smaller hut in which he had hung up his venison. The top of this smaller wigwam was covered with the deer's skin. During the summer he might have done very well, but in the winter he would, I suspect, have perished from cold and hunger, as he would have had great difficulty in catching any animals. It was indeed fortunate for him that we had put into that river. We did not forget the object for which we had visited it, and we immediately set to work, under the guidance of Robin, to search for roots and berries. Of the latter, Pat had already collected a great quantity for present use, but remembering how nearly poisoned we had been, he was afraid to cook any roots. Robin, however, knew well what were good to eat and what were pernicious, and we had perfect confidence in his judgment. Altogether we added a considerable amount of what I may call vegetables to our stock. As we all had a peculiar longing for them, we at once cooked as many as we could eat, scarcely touching the venison, of which we had already begun to get tired. Pat, who appeared to consider himself at home, begged that we would occupy his hut for the night, remarking that it was already too late to make much progress before nightfall. We accordingly agreed to stay where we were till the following morning. His stock of venison added to ours would enable us to perform the voyage without having again to stop and hunt for game. Martin had been employing himself, as he had undertaken to do, in manufacturing some hooks and lines, aided by Robin, who had learned very ingenious arts from the Indians. The rest of us employed the evening in cutting out some moccasins, for not one of us had a pair of shoes to our feet, and should we have to make any portages we should seriously suffer in having to walk with our loads over the hard ground. We used but a small portion of our deerskins. We intended the remainder to serve as a covering for our provisions in the daytime, and for ourselves at night, should the weather become cold. Our intention, however, was to kill two or three bears, the skins of which might better answer the latter purpose. It was with evident regret that Pat the next morning left the hut in which he had made himself so completely at home; still, he had no wish to remain behind. "If I had but a few pigs and praties," he observed, with a sigh, "I'd soon be afther making a garden of this wilderness." Again we were paddling down the stream, with Pat on board. There was room for him, and though his weight brought the canoe much deeper in the water than before, as long as it remained calm we had no fear. We paddled along, and were speaking to Pat of the possibility that Sandy and the other men had escaped. He, however, declared that they must have been drowned, as he had seen them, he asserted, a long way below the rocks in the seething foam, through which it would be impossible for them to swim; still, we had some hopes--knowing the dangers from which some men manage to escape--that they had saved their lives. Martin had manufactured some hooks, and had greatly improved his fish-spear, of which he was very proud. We had not gone far when we came to a slight rapid, down which, however, Alick declared he should have no difficulty in steering the canoe; though the water ran swiftly and a few dark rocks appeared above the surface, as there were no waves of any size and but comparatively little foam, there did not appear to be much danger. Martin, who was seated in the bow, exclaimed, "I saw a sturgeon pass us just now; if I catch sight of any more, I must have one of them." Presently, before Alick could warn him of the danger he was running, he stood up and darted his spear. The next instant what was our horror to see him fall over headlong into the water, the line attached to the spear catching as he did so round his leg! I was sitting next to him, and attempted to catch hold of one of his feet, which hung for a moment on the gunwale. The canoe was nearly upset, the water rushing quickly in. At the same time, her bow being stopped she was brought broadside to the current. Before I could catch Martin's foot, it slipped off the gunwale, and he disappeared under the waves. "He's Rose's brother, and for his own sake I must save him!" exclaimed Alick, and without considering the fearful danger he was running of losing his own life, he threw himself over the stern, and swam towards the spot where Martin had disappeared. Robin, who was sitting next to him, seizing the steering-paddle, with great presence of mind brought the canoe with her bow down the stream. "Back, both of you!" he shouted out to Pat and me. We did as he advised, but the strong current drove the canoe downwards. Just below us a dark rock of some extent rose above the water, and we had to exert ourselves to the utmost to avoid drifting against it. With the deepest interest we watched Alick's progress. Presently down he dived, and to our joy returned holding Martin in one hand, and energetically treading water, while with the other hand he released him from the line which had got round his leg. The current was rapidly bearing them down towards the rock. I should have said that there was another rock, just above where the accident happened, and though it scarcely rose above the surface, it had the effect of deflecting the current, thus causing it to run with less violence than would otherwise have been the case against the larger rock. Lower down, a powerful swimmer such as Alick was could alone have borne up another person, and that person almost senseless, and at the same time have contrived to direct his course amid those furious waters. We were using all our efforts to get up to him. "Keep off!" he shouted. "You will upset the canoe if you attempt to take us on board. I'll make for the rock." That he would be able to do so, however, seemed very doubtful, and we trembled for his and Martin's safety, while we still plied our paddles to stem the current and at the same time to avoid the rock. "Go to the other side," shouted Alick; "and, Pat, you get on the rock and help me." Understanding his intentions, and seeing that it was the best course to pursue, we obeyed his order, and turning round into our usual position when paddling, we directed the canoe so as to round the southern end of the rock, and then, though drifted down some yards, we once more paddled up to it on its eastern or lower side. Here we could approach it without difficulty, and finding bottom with our paddles, Pat, as directed, stepped out, and clambered up to the top of the rock. A minute or more of intense anxiety had passed since we had last seen Alick and Martin; and Robin and I looked eagerly up at Pat to hear his report. Without uttering a word, however, we saw him slip down to the other side of the rock. "Can they have sunk!" exclaimed Robin. "He would have told us if he had seen them." "He would not have gone down the rock had they disappeared," I answered, but still I felt terribly anxious, and wished that Alick had told me to land instead of Pat; still, under such circumstances, it is always wise to obey orders, and I hoped for the best. To leave the canoe and go to their assistance would be dangerous in the extreme, as, should she drift away, Robin would be unable by himself to paddle her back. I could not, however, resist the temptation of sending Bouncer, and one pat on the back while I pointed to the top of the rock was sufficient to make him leap on to it and climb to the top. The loud bark he gave and the wag of his tail, as he looked down on the other side, convinced me that our companions were safe, and presently afterwards I saw Alick and Pat lifting Martin's apparently inanimate body to the summit. "He is still alive," cried Alick; "but we must reach the shore, and get a fire lighted as soon as possible." He said no more, except to direct us to bring the stern of the canoe closer to the rock. This we did, when, wading into the water, he placed Martin on board, he himself getting in, followed by Pat and Bouncer. We were now, we found, close to the foot of the rapid, and a few more strokes carried us into comparatively still water. A short distance off, on the left bank, was a wood of some size. The bank, which here formed a small bay, was sufficiently low to enable us to land; we paddled rapidly towards it, but when we got near the spot we found that the water was not of sufficient depth to allow the canoe, heavily-laden as she was, to get alongside. Pat therefore stepped out, and loading himself with a couple of packages of meat and all the skins, carried them on shore. The rest of us then getting into the water, we were able to drag the canoe much nearer to the bank. On this, Alick lifting Martin by the shoulders and I taking his legs, we carried him on shore. He made no movement, and as I looked into his face I certainly feared that he was dead. Robin must have thought the same, for, putting his hands before his eyes, he burst into tears. "Oh! he's gone, he's gone!" he murmured. We could say nothing to reassure our young friend. An open space being found, Pat spread out the skins, and without a moment's loss of time began to collect wood for a fire. As soon as Robin and I had unloaded the canoe and lifted her up the bank, we assisted him, while Alick, regardless of himself, was getting off Martin's wet garments. Having done so, he called and desired me to rub his feet and hands, while we wrapped him up in the skins. Our friend was still breathing, which gave us some encouragement, and we continued our exertions without ceasing. As soon as the fire was lighted we placed him as close to it as was prudent, while Pat and Robin cut some stakes and collected some bark to form a lean-to, that we might still further shelter him. He at length opened his eyes and recognised us, but was still unable to speak. We continued rubbing him, our hopes of his complete restoration being raised. Pat, also by Alick's directions, got water and put some venison on to boil, that we might have broth to pour down his throat as soon as he was able to swallow it. The improvement we looked for was, however, so gradual that I proposed--as it was impossible for us to continue our voyage till the next day--that it would be advisable to build a wigwam, which would afford better shelter than the lean-to during the night. "I agree with you," answered Alick, "and the sooner you set about it the better." "So we will," I said; "but I wish that you would get off your wet clothes, or, strong as you are, you may suffer from remaining in them so long." Alick laughed at this notion. "This fire will soon dry me," he answered, "and I'll stay by it and attend to Martin while you three collect the materials and build the wigwam." I in vain expostulated with my brother. Even though my clothes were dry, except my moccasins and the lower part of my trousers, I felt the wind very chilly. At last I was obliged to set off with Pat and Robin. We settled to put up a good large wigwam, which might hold us all; and we could then have a fire in the centre. This for Martin's sake would be very important. We accordingly cut down the largest saplings we could find, and we were fortunate in discovering numerous large sheets of bark, some in a sufficiently good condition to have formed a canoe, had we been compelled to build one. A very short time only is necessary to erect a birch-bark wigwam when materials are abundant, as they were in the present instance; and it is wonderful what a comfortable abode it affords, impervious alike to rain or wind or even to an ordinary amount of cold. When in a sheltered situation, the Indians pass most severe winters in these habitations, built in the recesses of cypress groves, through which the chilling blast fails to find an entrance. Having put up the wigwam, we cleared away the grass from the interior, and then dug a slight hole in the centre, which we surrounded with the largest stones we could find. This was to form our fireplace. Four little trenches around it, leading to the bottom, would enable a sufficient current of air to enter and keep it blazing. Our next care was to cut down a good supply of spruce fir tops to form couches. The wigwam was quite large enough for all of us, including Bouncer, and would have held another guest, leaving ample space between the feet of the sleepers and the fire. We little thought at the time how long we should require it. As soon as it was finished, we lifted Martin up on one of the skins, and carried him into it. He was aware of what we were doing, for as I bent over him I heard him whisper, "Thank you! thank you!" but he could say no more. The soup, which was now ready, greatly revived him, and we ourselves, after our exertions, were glad of a hearty meal. I observed Alick, while we were seated round our fire in the wigwam, shivering several times, while he looked unusually pale. "I am afraid you're ill," I said. "Oh, it is nothing; I shall be better after supper and some sleep," he answered. "My plunge into the cold water was somewhat trying, perhaps; and I wish I had followed your advice, and dried my clothes at once." I begged him to put on my coat, and to cover himself up with one of the deerskins, which was not required for Martin, while his clothes were more effectually dried. To this he at last consented, and we hung them up on the side of the fire opposite to that where Martin lay, so as not to deprive him of the warmth. On going out into the open air, we were sensible of the great difference of temperature which existed inside the hut and outside. We found it necessary to keep the entrance open, instead of closing it with a piece of bark which we had prepared for the purpose. Alick's clothes were soon quite dry, when, having put them on, he stretched himself on the bed we had prepared for him. As he did so, I saw him again shiver violently several times. This made me more than ever apprehensive that he had received a chill. He confessed, indeed, that his head ached terribly, and that he felt sometimes extremely hot, and then very cold. Even a mugful of hot soup, which we got him to swallow, did not seem to do him any good; and as he was now unable to attend to Martin, I took his place. The next morning, as I feared, though Martin was slightly better, Alick was very ill and utterly unfit to proceed on the voyage. We at once made up our minds to remain where we were for that day, or perhaps for longer if necessary. Alick, though very weak, was perfectly conscious. "Don't lose time," he whispered to me; "but do you and Robin go out and try and shoot some game. If our voyage is delayed we may be running short of provisions. Pat will remain with Martin and me, for as he is no shot, he would only be throwing the ammunition away." Pat, who was not vain of his powers as a sportsman, readily consented to this. "Shure, I'll be afther taking good care of the jintleman," he said. "If a bear or a wolf comes this way, faith, he'll be sorry for it to the end of his days." Bouncer accompanied us, and he was so well-trained that he would assist us greatly should we fall in with a deer. We were more successful even than we expected, for we killed a small deer and three squirrels, and on our return saw several other animals--another deer, a raccoon lodged comfortably high up between the branches of a tree, a black fox, and a wolverine; which showed us that, should we have to remain on the spot, we were not likely to run short of provisions. "If we have to remain out during the winter, we shall want skins of all sorts to make clothes and bed-coverings," observed Robin. "Why do you say that?" I asked. "Because I think that there is a great chance of our not getting to the fort before the winter sets in," he answered. "We have already been a long time about our voyage, and I fear, both from your brother's and Martin's state, that we may be detained here several days. Alick's fever is only just commencing, and Martin cannot recover in a hurry; though he's not worse to-day, he's very little better." I could not help agreeing with him, and when we got back to the camp we were both confirmed in the opinion he had expressed. Alick's fever had increased, and Martin was still so weak that he could only just open his eyes and utter a few words in a low voice. Pat had been very attentive in feeding him with small mouthfuls of soup at a time--the best thing he could do. Poor Alick could take nothing, though he was thankful to have his lips moistened with cold water. Robin and I felt very anxious about their condition, but we did not let them see this, and endeavoured to keep up their spirits and our own. The fresh meat we had brought was of great benefit to Martin, as Pat could make better soup with it than he had before been able to do with the dry venison. The next day we were all too much alarmed about Alick even to leave the wigwam; indeed, for several days he seemed to hang between life and death, till a turn came, and he began slowly to mend--so slowly, though, that we gave up all hopes of continuing our voyage. Martin got better rather more rapidly, and was at length able to assist in attending to Alick. He did so with the greatest care. He was aware of the gallant way, with the fearful risk of losing his own life, in which Alick had saved his. The Indian summer--that period between the first breaking up of the real summer weather and the setting in of the frost--lasted but a few days. The leaves of the trees changed from green to varied tints of red, brown, yellow, and purple, hanging but a short time, and the first icy winds brought them in showers to the ground. One morning, when we looked out of our wigwam, the whole face of nature was changed. The boughs of the trees were bending with the snow, and the country on every side was covered with a sheet of white. By closing the entrance of our wigwam, and keeping a fire constantly burning, we maintained a sufficient heat in the interior. The severe frost, however, of that northern region had not yet commenced; but come it would, we knew, and we talked earnestly of the means we must take to enable us to encounter it. Robin and I had been pretty successful with our guns, and we had kept our party well supplied with game. We had killed two more deer, and should have been glad to fall in with three or four bears for the sake of their skins; but, except that of the bear Alick had killed, we had no other. Still, we had reason to be thankful that we had deerskins sufficient to clothe all the party. As Martin got better he employed himself in making some small nets of wattap, of which we obtained a plentiful supply. He had also manufactured another spear, and he proposed, as soon as he was able to go out, to attempt catching some fish. During one of our excursions, Robin and I had reached the shore of a fine lake, in the clear water of which we had seen several large white-fish; and when we told Martin, he begged that we would take his net and spear and try to catch them. "But they are all under the ice now, for the lake must be frozen over," I observed. "So much the better; you will catch them the more easily," he answered. "All you have to do is to cut a hole in the ice, and let down the net, and the fish which will come to breathe at the open water are sure to be caught." As Martin himself was unable to go out, Robin and I undertook to follow his directions, at which he appeared greatly pleased. As both he and Alick seemed to wish for fish we set off at once, leaving Pat to take care of them. We found the lake completely frozen over, and though the ice was not yet very thick, it was sufficiently so to bear our weight. With our long sheath-knives we contrived after some labour to cut a hole in the ice; we then let down one of the nets, holding tight to the upper edge. We had not long to wait, when we felt by the violent agitation of the net that a fish had been caught. We hauled it carefully in, not knowing whether the fish might escape; but it was securely fastened by the gills, and we soon had it safe. It weighed, we calculated, between six and eight pounds. Our success encouraged us to proceed, and another fish, of a still larger size, was captured. "This is good fun," cried Robin. "We shall never want food while we can catch fish in this fashion." Again we put down the net; but though we waited long, no fish came into it. Losing patience, we agreed to cut another hole at some distance off, fancying that the fish might have been frightened at seeing their companions drawn so suspiciously out of the water. Having cut the hole, we, as before, let down the net, and shortly afterwards captured a third fish. I suspect that, had we remained at the first hole, we should have been equally successful. The fish at this early season of the year were probably swimming about freely under the water, and did not require the fresh air which afterwards would become so welcome to them. We cut two or three other holes, and altogether caught five fish--a pretty fair load to carry home. We had the advantage, at this season of the year, of being able to keep them fresh; for they froze soon after they were taken out of the water, and would remain thus perfectly stiff till the return of spring, or till put into water, when the frost would be drawn out of them. That evening, for supper, we had roasted fish and boiled fish, both of which Alick and Martin greatly relished. We made several trips after this to the lake, and the first day Martin was able to set out on an excursion he accompanied us. On that day we were more successful than ever, owing to his superior skill and practical experience. We each returned home heavily-laden. Alick was still too weak to go out, but he had sufficiently recovered to take an interest in all that was going forward, as also to consider our prospects for the future. "One thing is certain, boys: if we are to remain here, we must build a warmer abode than our present one," he observed. "This does very well to sleep in at present; but, as you all know, we shall presently have weather when we may be frozen in our beds, even if we should manage to keep up a fire all night. We must build a log hut with a chimney of stones and clay. I wish we had thought of it before, when the ground was soft, and we could have dug up the stones and found mud to stop the intervals between the logs. We may still manage it, but there is very little time to lose, I suspect, if we are to escape the fate of the gallant Willoughby and his brave men, who were all found frozen on board their ship to the north of Lapland." We were all eager to do as Alick proposed, but as we had but one axe between us, it must be a slow process, I knew; and the axe might break, and the work be stopped altogether. The next morning we commenced operations by marking a number of trees suited for the purpose. Taking the axe, I began chopping away at the first tree we intended to fell. No further progress was, however, made in the work. I had given but a few strokes when I was interrupted in my task. CHAPTER ELEVEN. INDIANS ABROAD--THE LOG CABIN IN THE WILDERNESS--THE SICK MAN--THE OLD IRON POT--THE LITTER--BOUNCER IS LEFT IN A BARGE--MISTICOOK'S SLEDGE-- RABUSHWAY'S ADVICE--ROBIN'S DELIGHT ON DISCOVERING HIS FATHER--PREPARING TO START--SNOW-SHOES AND FUR COATS--HONEST BOUNCER WORKS WELL IN HARNESS--TEA AND SUGAR A LUXURY--PAT'S UNLUCKY MISHAP--SNOW-BLINDNESS-- COYOTES--NO FOOD--THE DESERTED FORT--BEARS AND BEAR'S FLESH--WE START FOR TOUCHWOOD HILLS--WOLVES AND STARVATION--WE GO SUPPERLESS TO BED-- THONG SOUP--BOUNCER SAVES HIS BACON. "Whist! Mister David, whist!" exclaimed Pat, hurrying up to me. "There are Indians lurking about, and they will be sure to be afther discovering us before long. I caught sight of one of them not half an hour ago, away there down the river, as I was looking out for a bird or a baste to shoot for Mister Alick's supper, seeing it's fresh mate he wants more than anything else to set him up again. The redskin did not discover me, as his face was the other way; but I saw a wreath of smoke curling up among the trees on the opposite bank of the river, and it was towards it he was making his way." "The Indian you saw may be a friend quite as likely as a foe," I answered, not feeling much alarmed at Pat's report. "We must, however, find out who he is. I will consult my brother, and hear what he advises." "But if there are a whole band of Indians, they may come some night and take our scalps while we are aslape," said Pat, who, though brave as need be when it came to the pinch, held the Indians in especial dread. Shouldering the axe, I called Martin and Robin, who were selecting trees for our proposed hut at some little distance off. I told them of the information I had just received from Pat, and together we returned to the wigwam to consult Alick. He took the matter with perfect composure. "It is important to ascertain the position of their camp, and whether there are few or many Indians," he observed. "Pat says he has only seen one. If I were well enough I would go out myself; but as it is, I think it will be best for you, David, and Robin to accompany Pat, and to try and get a sight of the camp. As they must, if we remain here, discover us before long, it will be wise to try and get on friendly terms with them. It is possible that they may be well disposed towards the white men, and have been accustomed to trade at the forts. If you can get near their camp without being discovered as evening approaches, you will be able to ascertain how many there are of them, and to what tribe they belong. If you know them to be friends, you can at once go up to them and sit down at their fire. If you are doubtful, it may be better for Robin alone to make his appearance. You, Robin, can tell them that a party of white men, who wish to become their friends, are encamped near." "I am very ready to do whatever you propose," answered Robin. "I shall have no fear of going among them, whoever they may be, and I fully believe they are likely to prove friends." "Should such be the case, tell them that we shall be able to assist each other. If they have no firearms they can track out the game for us, and we can shoot it and share the meat; and say that we will reward them liberally for any aid they may render us," said Alick. Our plan of proceeding was soon arranged. Leaving Bouncer with Alick and Martin, Pat, Robin, and I set out towards the spot where the former had seen the Indian. We then crept forward in single file, carefully concealing ourselves among the bushes, and before long saw a wreath of smoke such as Pat had described curling up amid the trees at no great distance off. Though Alick had advised us to wait till sundown, as we saw no one moving about and the nature of the ground afforded us sufficient concealment, we advanced farther, when what was our surprise, as we got round a thickly wooded point, to see, not an Indian wigwam, but a substantially built log cabin, with a stone chimney, from which the smoke was ascending. "The inhabitants, whoever they are, are not likely to be unfriendly," exclaimed Robin. "Let us go across the river at once and announce ourselves." "The Indians may possibly have taken possession of the log hut, and we should follow Alick's directions," I observed. "Then, as it seems doubtful, let me go alone," said Robin. "That will be doing as Alick desired me, and I have no fear about the matter." While Robin was speaking, an Indian appeared at the door, whom we at once knew from his appearance to be an Ojibbeway, and therefore a friend to the English. He retired again into the hut. This settled all our doubts as to the reception we were likely to meet with. Crossing the river, which was here strongly frozen over, we made our way towards the hut. As we advanced we observed the remains of other buildings, and I now felt sure that it was a deserted missionary station of which I had heard but had never visited, as it lay out of the direct route between the forts. Who the inhabitants of the hut could be we could not surmise. Probably they were weatherbound travellers like ourselves. "If Sandy and the other men hadn't been drowned, bedad, I should be afther thinking it was themselves," observed Pat. I greatly hoped that our friend Sandy had escaped, and that we should find him occupying the hut. It stood a little way back from the river, on a piece of level ground, surrounded by trees whose branches were now weighed down with the snow. Climbing up the bank, we were approaching the door, when our footsteps must have been heard, for it opened, and the same Indian we had before seen appeared, gun in hand. On discovering that we were whites, he turned round and uttered a few words, as if addressing some other person within. "You friends!" he exclaimed; "glad see you." "Yes, indeed we are, and very glad to see you," I answered, advancing and putting out my hand. He took it, and then went through the same ceremony with Robin and Pat. "Come in; but not make much noise," he said, looking over his shoulder; "sick man in there--very sick; glad to see you; maybe you do him good." "I hope that we may," I said, as I advanced into the hut, followed by Robin and Pat. A fire was blazing on the hearth, and with his feet towards it lay a tall man on a low rough bunk covered over with a buffalo-robe. I saw that a number of things were piled up in the corner of the hut, but the scanty furniture was of the roughest description. The whole was comprised in a table formed of a slab of fir and a couple of three-legged stools. "Who are you, friends?" asked the sick man on the bunk, feebly raising his head to look at us. There was no window in the hut to admit light, but the fire showed a bright glare on the countenance of the speaker. It was thin and worn, and deadly pale; it seemed to me as I gazed at him that he could have but a few days to live. Drawing near and sitting down on one of the stools which he bade me take, I briefly told him of the capture of Fort Black, and of our several mishaps while endeavouring to make our way to Fort Ross. I added that my brother and a friend were at the camp a short distance off, but that the former was too ill to venture on the journey at this inclement season of the year, and that we were about to build a hut in which we might pass the winter. "You are welcome to share this hut with me, or rather you have as much right to it as I have, except that possession is said to be nine-tenths of the law," he answered. "However, I will not dispute your right, and should be very glad of your company, especially if you bring provisions; for though I have enough for myself and my faithful Ojibbeways, I could not undertake to feed five more mouths." I assured him that we should be very unwilling to exhaust his store; that we had sufficient meat to last us for some time. While I was speaking, I saw him looking at Robin and Pat, but he asked no questions about them. I told him that we must now return to the camp, or my brother would be growing anxious, and that I hoped we should be able to join him the next day, provided that Alick was well enough to bear the journey. "You should not delay," he remarked, "for we may expect the winter to set in shortly with far greater rigour than hitherto, and your brother might suffer from being exposed to it." "May I venture to ask how you came to be here?" I said, as I was preparing to go. "By a very simple accident," he answered. "I was on a hunting expedition with several followers when, while in the neighbourhood, I was suddenly seized with an illness. Most of my followers took it into their heads that it was the smallpox, and deserted me, with the exception of two Ojibbeways, who remained faithful and brought me to this hut, of the existence of which they were aware, having received instruction here when it was occupied by a missionary. We found it in a very dilapidated condition; but they repaired the roof and rendered it habitable. Had it not been for their care I should have died, and I am still, as you see, hovering between life and death. Don't let me detain you." The voice and language of the person whom we found in this deplorable state convinced me that he was a gentleman. I felt, however, unwilling to leave him longer under the care of the Indians, for I saw what he said about himself was too true, and I feared that even before we could return he might die. I proposed leaving Robin with him, and Robin himself said that he should very much like to remain; but then I recollected that we should require four persons to carry Alick, and that he could not be spared. The sick man's eyes were again turned towards Robin as I spoke. "Strange!" I heard him mutter to himself. "It must be but fancy, though." I again expressed my regret that none of us could remain. "I would not detain you," he answered. "Your companion requires probably more care than I do. I have only to lie here and suffer. My medicine-chest is well-nigh exhausted, and I must now trust to nature. Farewell! I hope to see you all to-morrow." He spoke in the tone of a gentleman inviting a party of guests to his house. We took our departure, and hurried back as fast as we could go. The shades of evening were rapidly increasing; the cold was becoming intense. We were not likely to lose our way, but that was possible, and the consequences might be serious. "There is something strange in the tone of his voice," observed Robin, as he walked by my side. "I could almost fancy that I had heard it before, and yet I don't remember ever seeing anybody like him." Before I could answer, Robin had to fall behind me to follow in my trail, and, indeed, we had to move too rapidly to allow of any conversation. It was becoming darker and darker, and I anxiously looked out for the camp-fire, which I felt sure Martin would keep up to guide us on our way. I should have been thankful could we have moved into warm quarters that night, for I feared that Alick would suffer from the cold. It was a great relief when I at length caught sight of a bright light between the trunks of the trees, as I knew that it must proceed from our camp-fire. We hurried on, and found Martin busily employed in cooking supper. He had made some soup for Alick. I don't know what we should have done without that old iron pot. He had also lighted a small fire in the centre of our wigwam, which of course required constant attention, lest any sparks should reach the inflammable materials of which our habitation was composed. "What news?" asked Martin, looking up from his occupation. "Don't stop to tell me here--it's wonderfully cold; but go inside, and I'll come and hear all about it. Pat, you carry the pot, and I'll bring in the roast. You'll want some food, I suspect, after your expedition." We followed his advice. Pat took off the pot, and we were all soon seated round our wigwam with the entrance carefully closed. Alick was of course much surprised to hear the account we gave him, and declared that he should be perfectly ready to set off the next morning; he would go on his own feet if he could, but if not he must ask us to carry him. "Shure, it's not on your own feet you're going, Mister Alick," observed Pat; "we'll build you an illigant litther, and carry you on our four shoulders." Alick felt conscious that the journey would surpass his powers, and thanked Pat for his good intentions. The Irishman, who was sincerely attached to my brother, proposed immediately setting to work to form a litter, and in spite of the cold, as soon as supper was over he went out with the axe on his shoulder; and, aided by the light of the fire, he cut two long saplings and several smaller pieces, with which he returned to the hut. Before they lay down to sleep, he and Martin put together a litter well suited for carrying Alick. I was thankful the next morning to find my brother so much better, and as soon as we had had some breakfast, having stretched one of the skins over the litter, we placed him on it, covering him up carefully with the others. Not till we were about to start did we think of the danger to which our camp would be exposed by being left without any protection. "Shure, Bouncer will look afther that," said Pat. "Here, Bouncer, see that not a wolf, or a grizzly, or an Indian, or any other brute comes to our camp till we are back again to carry off the things." The dog clearly understood him, and set himself down at the entrance of our wigwam. We then, taking up Alick, commenced our journey to the log hut. Considerable as was the cold, the excursion we had to make kept us warm, and Alick, being well covered up, did not suffer from it. We felt much anxiety as we approached our destination with regard to the sick stranger, and I was prepared as we got up to the door to hear the worst. I was greatly relieved when the Indian, appearing at the door, told us that the gentleman was no worse. Sitting up in his bunk, he welcomed us with a languid smile, and begged that we would place Alick by his side near the fire. We had brought the iron pot at Martin's request, that he might make some soup for the two invalids. "We want you to assist in bringing our provisions from the camp," I observed. "Oh! then let me attend to the soup," exclaimed Robin. "I don't want to shirk my duty." As Martin was now perfectly recovered, he agreed to Robin's proposal. "The lad will be able to attend to all our wants," remarked the sick man, who seemed pleased that Robin should remain. He then turned to the Ojibbeway, and desired him to accompany us, observing that Rabushway, the other Indian, had gone out hunting in the morning, and would probably not return till late. Misticook, the Indian we found at the hut, expressed his readiness to accompany us, and he, Martin, Pat, and I set off at once for our camp. In broad daylight the journey appeared much shorter than it had done the previous evening. As we got up to the camp, I examined it with no little anxiety, fearing that during our absence a prowling bear or band of more ferocious wolves might have broken into it, and carried off our provisions, though I knew that Bouncer would have fought to the death before he allowed them to approach. My fears were at an end when he came rushing out with a cheerful bark to welcome us, wagging his tail and leaping up to assure us that all was safe. Martin and I at once began making up the packages to carry on our backs. "That not do; I no carry these things," observed Misticook. "Arrah! thin, why in the name of wonder did you come?" exclaimed Pat. "You see, I show better way," answered the Indian, and forthwith taking his axe from his belt, he chopped two branches from a neighbouring tree, about ten feet long, turning up at the ends. He then adroitly secured several cross-pieces a little more than a foot long, and in a short time had manufactured a rough sledge. To this he lastly fastened some of the thongs which he had brought with him, to serve as traces. "Now what you carry?" he asked. We showed him the packages we had done up. Nearly as much again remained, for which we had intended to return. He placed the whole of it on the sledge, securing it firmly. "Now ready," he said, and started off. We took a look round, to see that nothing was left behind, and then followed, but found it difficult to keep up with Misticook, who glanced round every now and then in triumph at us. "I wish that we also had made a sledge," said Martin; "we might have saved ourselves a good deal of trouble." However, our pride would not allow us to give in, and we managed to reach the hut soon after the Indian. We found Robin seated by the side of the sick man, who had fallen asleep. Robin put up his finger as a sign to us not to make any noise. We placed our packages with the other things already there, against the walls, as well as those which had been brought on the sleigh. I then observed that there were a number of buffalo-robes and a small tent, and several other articles of traveller's gear. Alick seemed much better. "I shall be all to rights in a few days, I hope," he said; "but I fear that the days of the poor man there are numbered. He has spoken but little during your absence though I remarked that his eyes were continually falling upon Robin as he moved about the hut." "We shall see how he is when he awakes. In the meantime, as you must be hungry, I advise you to take the food Robin has prepared." We very gladly followed the advice, and then lay down to rest. In the evening Rabushway, the other Ojibbeway, returned with a ground-squirrel, the only animal he had shot; the previous day he had killed nothing; he reported that game was very scarce. Knowing that we were coming to the hut, he expressed no surprise at seeing us. He, however, did not look very well pleased. "If you wish to live, you must go out and shoot," he observed, "or else we all starve." "We will do what we can, depend on that," I answered; and Martin and I agreed to accompany him the next morning. The sick man slept on and on, till at last I began to fear that he would not awake. At length, greatly to my relief, I heard him speaking to Robin, and I went up to the side of his bunk to inquire how he felt. "As I have done for several days," he answered. Robin, who had gone to the fire, brought him some broth. "This will restore your strength, sir," he said, "for it has done Alick much good." The sick man took it with a faint smile, for he doubted whether anything would do him good. "Your elder brother will, I hope, soon be well," he observed. "He only requires food and rest." "He is not my brother," answered Robin; on which, thinking it might interest the sick man, he briefly described how he had been carried off by the Indians, and finally, having made his escape from them, been brought to Fort Black. The stranger was evidently listening with intense interest. "Tell me, boy," he exclaimed, interrupting him--"have you no recollection of your parents? What's your name?" "Oh yes, indeed I have. I remember them well--my father and mother, and my sister Ella, and little brother Oliver. My name is Robin Grey!" Almost before the words were out of his mouth, the sick man stretched out his arms, exclaiming-- "I thought it was so. Come here, my boy. I am your father. Long and almost hopelessly I have searched for you." Robin embraced his father. "O papa, I remember you now," he answered, "though you look so ill and sad; but you must get well, you must not die; and dear mamma and Ella and Oliver?" "They were quite well when I left them many months ago; though your poor mother has never ceased to mourn for your loss," answered Captain Grey. "I could not bear to see her suffering, and year after year, since you were lost, I have set off in search of you, returning home only when driven back by the winter. While I lay here I believed that I must abandon all hopes of restoring you to your mother's arms; and, ungrateful as I was, a merciful Providence has brought you to me." "O papa! papa! I am so happy," cried Robin. "You must get well, and we'll go back together to mamma and dear little Ella and Oliver." Captain Grey smiled faintly. "You must pray with me to God that He will restore me, for He alone has the power," he answered; "and we must never again mistrust His providence." This unexpected meeting between Robin and his father gave us all sincere pleasure, and made us acknowledge that our course had been directed by a Superior Power. I cannot but suppose that Robin's arrival at that very moment had the effect of giving a turn to his father's complaint; though, for several days, we perceived no change in him. All we could see was that he was not worse. Alick rapidly recovered, and in the course of a week was on foot and able to face the wintry cold. A heavy fall of snow prevented us from leaving the hut, so we employed the time in manufacturing snow-shoes, without which we saw that it would be impossible to go in search of game. On examining our store of provisions, we found that unless we could kill some large game--either a buffalo, a deer, or a bear--we should be compelled to trespass on Captain Grey's stock. Alick and I discussed the matter when we were out together. "I see no other alternative, should we fail to obtain an abundance of meat, than to push on at once to Fort Ross," he observed. "You and I and Martin and Pat must go. I shall be very sorry to part from Robin, but we must, of course, leave him with his father, and endeavour as soon as possible to send them assistance. I wish that we could find a doctor to send to them, for I fear that the captain will not recover without medical aid. As it is, should the two Ojibbeways be unsuccessful in hunting, they will be very hard pressed for food." I agreed in this with Alick, but I thought that Captain Grey would get well in the course of time, without a doctor. I hoped so, indeed, for there was but little prospect of our finding one. As soon as the weather cleared, Alick, Martin, and I set off on snow-shoes with our guns, but returned without having seen even the trace of an animal. For three days in succession we went out, but came back as unsuccessful as at first. We accordingly, as we had determined, told Captain Grey of our proposal to start forthwith for Fort Ross. He appeared to be very unwilling to let us go. "I don't wish to detain you on my own account, though I shall be sorry to lose your society," he said, "but Robin will be very solitary without your companionship; and should death overtake me, I dread to think of the situation the poor boy will be left in with these two Indians alone." We endeavoured to raise the captain's spirits by promising to send him aid, and pointing out to him that our plan was the best for all parties. We at length succeeded, and as he consented to our proposal, we made immediate preparations for our departure. We first set to work to manufacture fresh knapsacks, with one of which each of us was provided, as also fur coats and caps, that we might be enabled the better to withstand the cold, to which we must inevitably be exposed. Our snow-shoes were strengthened for the long tramp we had in prospect. Fortunately we found a sleigh in the hut, the wood of which was in good condition. It was simply a thin board, twelve feet long, twelve inches broad, and turned up at one end, from the top of which end to the hinder part, two thin poles were fixed on either side for the purpose of fastening the thongs by which the baggage carried on it was to be secured. We also manufactured some harness from buffalo thongs for Bouncer, who was destined to drag it. Pat undertook to drag the sledge which Misticook had made to bring the provisions from our camp. The captain insisted that we should take the tent, as it was but small, and would greatly contribute to our comfort; and he also gave us a further supply of powder and shot, of which we had run short. The morning we had arranged to start arrived. It was snowing, but not sufficiently heavy to delay us. We had tried Bouncer twice before, and he seemed fully to understand the duty required of him. Pat, who was less accustomed to snow-shoes than the rest of us, practised himself frequently, that he might perform the journey without any inconvenience. Robin had been too stoically brought up among the Indians to exhibit the sorrow he felt at seeing us depart, but he was satisfied that it was his duty to remain with his father. After shaking us all by the hand, he resumed his seat by the side of the captain, apparently being unwilling actually to witness our start. The two Indians came out of the hut to give us their final advice as to how, under various circumstances, we should act. While Alick was securing the cargo of Bouncer's sleigh, and I held the brave dog, who once having got on the harness, was eager to set out. Pat led the way with his sleigh to make a road, the direction we were to take having before been arranged. "Good-bye! good-bye!" we cried to the Indians, and away we started, Martin following Pat, while I went just ahead of Bouncer, and Alick brought up the rear, It continued to snow harder than we liked, though as there was but little wind, we did not in consequence suffer. Pat, whose sleigh was but lightly laden, went on bravely, he having wisely placed his knapsack and gun upon it. We, having heavier weights to carry, had at first some difficulty in keeping up with him; and as we were compelled to proceed in Indian file, we could hold but little conversation with each other. Bouncer needed no whip, but followed closely at my heels, assisted by Alick when any hill had to be surmounted. At first we kept along the margin of the river; then having ascended the bank, we found ourselves on level ground, covered by an almost unbroken sheet of snow, here and there only a line of trees showing themselves above the wide expanse of white. Captain Grey had given Alick a compass, which much assisted us in directing our course. The snow ceased about noon, and we halted in the open plain, to enjoy what was decidedly a cold collation, for there was no wood to light a fire, and we did not think it worth while to unpack our sleigh to put up the tent. We were more fortunate in the evening in reaching a thick grove, sheltered by which we encamped. On Pat's sleigh were three short poles, over which the little tent was stretched. It was large enough to allow us four, with Bouncer, to creep inside, while the sleighs were placed one on one side and one on the other, to prevent the canvas from being blown away. We made up our fire at a sufficient distance from the tent, to avoid the risk of the flames catching it. Captain Grey had supplied us with some tea and sugar, and I shall never forget how much we enjoyed the warm beverage, after our long tramp across the snow. Having taken a good meal, we all turned in, wrapped in our buffalo-robes, knowing that Bouncer would warn us should any enemy approach. The only enemies we had to dread were bears or wolves, and we should not have objected to be visited by one of the former, provided we had time to get a fair shot at it. Nothing occurred that night to disturb our repose, and we arose in good spirits, anticipating a successful termination to our journey. In the morning the sky was clear, and the sun glanced brightly over the glittering sheet of snow. It was perfectly calm, and we trudged on cheerfully, every now and then exchanging remarks with each other. We had been walking for some hours, and had agreed that it would soon be time to stop for dinner, when Martin complained of a peculiar pricking in the eyelids. "Shure, it's the same sort of thing I've been feeling," exclaimed Pat. "It's mighty unpleasant, but I thought I'd say nothing about it." It did not occur to me at the time that the symptoms were those which precede snow-blindness, and Alick was too far behind to hear what was said. I had found the glare of the sun unpleasant, and had drawn the front of my cap somewhat over my eyes, which I kept partially closed, fixing them only on Martin's dark coat, which served to guide me. It was owing to this that I did not experience the sensations of which my companions complained. Nothing more was said on the subject for some time, and Pat went forward at his usual pace. The ground became at length rather more uneven than before, but Pat manfully dragged forward his sleigh without complaining; and Alick, who, though coming last, was really directing us like a helmsman at the wheel, seemed to consider that we were going right. Presently I heard a cry, and looking over Martin's shoulder, I saw Pat's legs in the air, and the sleigh, the hinder part of which Martin had just caught hold of, tipping up, as if about to follow the Irishman down the hollow into which it was evident he had fallen. I sprang forward as fast as my snow-shoes would allow me, to catch hold of the sleigh, when what was my dismay to see Pat's feet disappear altogether beneath the snow, his stifled cries alone reaching my ears. "He has fallen into a deep pit, I fear," cried Martin. "He'll be smothered if we don't dig him out quickly," I said. Martin and I, going ahead of the sleigh, hauled away at the traces which were secured round Pat's body, but in our efforts to haul him out they broke. We became seriously alarmed, for the snow falling in completely concealed Pat from sight. Alick, seeing what had happened, came hurrying up ahead of Bouncer, who sagaciously halted. Every moment of delay was of consequence, but before we could do anything we had to take off our snow-shoes. Alick then holding on to the sledge, which we brought close to the side of the pit, plunged into it, feeling with his hands in the hopes of catching hold of one of Pat's feet, while we shovelled away, lying flat with our heads and shoulders over the hollow, endeavouring to throw out the snow. "I feel one of Pat's shoes!" cried Alick at length. "Here is a foot! Pass the broken trace down to me." We did as he directed. Presently we caught sight of another foot which was still moving about, showing that the owner was not yet altogether suffocated. I succeeded in getting hold of it. "Now, haul away!" cried Alick. "We mustn't mind how we get him out, provided he comes out." We pulled and pulled, the snow slipping in around us, and at length the Irishman's legs came into view, though, as Alick was on one side of the hole and I on the other, their owner must have suffered no little inconvenience and pain. As soon, however, as Alick could get on firmer ground, the body quickly followed, and at length we heard Pat's voice in smothered tones exclaiming, "Shure, if you pull my legs off, I'll niver be able to walk again at all, at all!" "Never mind your legs, if we can get your head out," answered Alick, laughing. We saw that Pat was not likely to be much the worse for the adventure, and in a few seconds we got him safe out of the hole, and in a few more he was all to rights, and we helped him put on his snow-shoes, which were fortunately not broken. His cap had stuck to his head, and he had not even lost his mitts. "Bedad! I thought I was niver going to stop till I got to the bottom of the airth! I'm mighty obliged to yese, for if ye hadn't caught me I should have been going on still," said Pat, shaking the snow from his fur dress. We again put on our snow-shoes, while Pat was knotting the traces. Making a circuit to avoid the pit, which was of considerable extent, we proceeded as before. We had gone two or three miles farther, and were near a wood, when Pat cried out, "For the life of me it's more than I can do to see the way," and Martin confessed that he also had almost lost his sight. I told Alick what they said. "It is snow-blindness," he answered--"a serious matter. We must camp without delay. Do you go on, David, ahead of Pat, and show the way." I told Pat, who was stumbling on, to stop while I took the lead of the train. He then easily followed, and Martin kept after his sledge. We went on in this way till we reached the wood for which I was steering. On getting under its shelter we lost no time in putting up the tent, in which we immediately placed our two now perfectly blind companions. Alick and I had cause to be thankful that we had not suffered in the same way. How dreadful would have been our fate had the whole party been struck by snow-blindness! Alick remembered to have heard that the only cure was to bathe the eyes in cold water, and to remain under shelter. We might thus be delayed for several days, but as we could not tell that we should not be attacked in the same way, we thought this better than attempting to reach Fort Ross without stopping. We lighted a fire, and put some snow into the pot to melt. We had abundance of food for the journey, so that the delay on that account was not of much consequence, though we might have to go on short commons at the end of it. Our blind companions found great relief from bathing their eyes. We had to take the pot again and again to the fire, as it rapidly cooled and began to freeze. All arrangements having been made, Alick took his gun, and went out in the hopes of finding some game in the wood. Late in the evening he returned without having shot anything. Another whole day passed, and on the third, as Martin began to see a little, leaving Bouncer to assist him in taking care of the camp, I accompanied Alick. We had been out some hours when we caught sight of a small deer, to which we gave chase. It kept a long way ahead of us, but we followed its trail, determined, at all costs, to have it. It stopped several times, and at last, we having got within range, Alick was tempted to fire. His shot took effect, but the deer bounded off, though we saw by the crimson stains on the snow that it was severely wounded; still it kept ahead of us, and disappeared behind a grove of larches. Feeling pretty sure that it would seek for shelter in the wood, and knowing that we could always trace it, as we were both weary of our long run, we sat down for a few minutes to rest. "Now," cried Alick, "well go and get the deer." Again we started off, but had not gone many paces when we heard the faint sounds of yelping and barking. The trail was clear enough, but the deer, though wounded, had evidently gone at a great pace. In a short time we discovered that the trail had been joined by that of several other animals coming from the right hand and the left, which we at once knew to be wolves. "We shall lose our venison, I fear, if we don't make haste," said Alick. The yelping and barking sounds increased in loudness, when we saw ahead of us, amid the snow, a flashing of tails and flying hair, and directly afterwards a dozen or more dark forms, all tugging and snarling and occasionally biting at each other, evidently employed in pulling away at a body on the ground. They were "coyotes," or small prairie-wolves; but though small, they exhibit wonderful activity and power of swallowing. By the time we got up to the brutes they had devoured every particle of the deer, and nothing remained but a well-picked skeleton, from which they slunk off when we were almost close enough to knock them over with the butts of our guns. They were not worth shooting, so we let them go, and, bitterly disappointed, set off to return to our camp. We had no difficulty in finding our way, but it was trying to have lost our game after so long a chase, especially as we greatly needed the venison both for ourselves and Bouncer, who required to be well fed. The next morning Pat, as well as Martin, had sufficiently recovered to set off again. By Alick's advice we fastened some dark handkerchiefs over our faces, with two minute holes in them through which we could look. We could, however, see only directly before us, unless, we turned our heads. We had been compelled to use up the greater portion of our food during these four days' delay. On the evening of the fifth day after leaving the camp at which we had so long remained, we found ourselves approaching Fort Ross. All our troubles, we hoped, would now be at an end. We had exhausted the remainder of our pemmican and dried meat at the last, meal we had taken at noon, having given Bouncer a larger portion than usual. That did not matter. We were about to be welcomed by our friends, and to enjoy an abundance. We all felt hungry, and could not help talking of the warm supper which would soon be placed before us. We therefore trudged cheerfully forward, Pat every now and then giving forth one of his merry Irish songs. At last the flanking towers of Fort Ross came into view through the dim twilight, but no flag was flying, nor did we see anybody moving about. "Of course they hauled down the flag at sunset," said Martin, "but I wonder they didn't see us. They would be sure to be keeping a lookout." Alick made no remark. I expected every instant to see Mr Meredith or some of the garrison come out to welcome us. The gate was reached, but no one appeared. We knocked and shouted, and Bouncer barked. No answer came, neither to his nor our calls. "The fort is deserted!" I exclaimed. "What dreadful event can have happened?" "Mr Meredith for some reason or other was ordered to retire. Had the Indians captured the fort, the gate would have been left open," observed Alick. "The sooner we get in and ascertain what has occurred, the better," said Martin. "Faix, thin, if you'll give me a lift I'll soon find out," said Pat, taking off his snow-shoes. The poles of the tent were placed against the gate, and with our help Pat climbed them till he could reach the top with his hands, when, drawing himself up, he got his head and shoulders over. "Sorra a man do I see," he cried out, "but, bedad, there's a black baste waddling along on the opposite side. There's another, and another. They're bears, and seem to be the only garrison left in the place. Just hand me up my gun, plase, for I should not like having them coming to turn me out without the manes of disputing the matther." We handed Pat up his gun, when he immediately slipped down inside and made haste to undo the fastenings of the gate. It was opened, and we hurried in, dragging the sledges after us. We loosened Bouncer, that he might be able to do battle should any of the bears venture to attack us. They, however, the very moment we had arrived, were, so it seemed to us, on the point of evacuating the fort, and the last of them must have climbed over the palisades while Pat was engaged in undoing the door. We conjectured that their object in coming to the fort was to search for food. Having entered, we again closed the door and took possession of one of the rooms, in which was a large stove. Fortunately there was a small store of wood remaining, with which we lighted a fire, and had there been food we should have been perfectly comfortable. Why our friends had deserted the fort it was difficult to determine. Martin thought that it was on account of want of provisions. Alick held to the opinion that they were required to strengthen the garrison of some more important fort. I suspected that Mr Meredith, having heard of the destruction of Fort Black, and believing that Fort Ross would be attacked, and that he possessed inadequate means of defending it, had thought it prudent to retire to another post. "Surely they would not have gone away without leaving some notice for us behind them, even although they were unable to spare any provisions, should we arrive here," I said. "They also probably believed that we were all destroyed," said Alick, "and would not have thought about us." "Whether or not, gintlemen, I'll just take the liberty of hunting about, and seeing if I cannot ferret out some food or other," exclaimed Pat. "If these bastes of bears haven't broken into the pantry, maybe there will be a scrap of something or other to stay our stomachs." Saying this, Pat lighted the end of a piece of pinewood, and set off on his search. Though we had but little hope of finding anything eatable, we followed his example, and searched in every nook and corner of the fort. Not a particle of food of any description could we find, which confirmed the opinion Martin had expressed that our friends had been compelled to desert the fort from the want of provisions. Indeed, when I came to think of the matter, I did not believe that Mr Meredith could have been frightened away by fear of an attack from Indians. As I was returning to the sitting-room across the square, the light from my torch showed me a dark form creeping along near the stockade. I felt sure that it was a bear which had not succeeded in making its escape. I hurried in for my gun, which I had left in the room where Bouncer was lying down by the fire. My companions were at the time in different parts of the fort. I was afraid of calling to them, for fear of frightening the bear; so, taking my gun in one hand and the torch in the other, I crept forward in the direction in which I had seen the animal. Again I caught sight of him attempting to climb up the palisade. I advanced a few steps. Whether or not he saw me I could not tell. Marking well the spot, I dropped my torch, and raising my gun to my shoulder, fired. By the faint light of the almost expiring torch I saw a huge body fall. The report of the gun of course quickly brought out the rest of the party, when, all of us hurrying forward, to our infinite satisfaction we saw the bear on the ground struggling to get up. My bullet had missed his head, but broken his shoulder. Alick and Martin immediately fired, and the bear's struggles ceased. "Be aisy, gintlemen; he may not be dead afther all," cried Pat, advancing cautiously with his torch. I reloaded my gun, in case Pat should be right in his conjecture; but the bear gave no signs of life, and getting up to him we found that he was quite dead. We lost no time in skinning him, and as soon as we had done so Martin cut a few choice pieces out of the carcass, and hastened back with them to the fire, while we finished the operation. He was a young animal, less active or sagacious than his companions. We at once carried the meat and skin into the house, where Martin had some steaks ready for us. We lay down after supper with thankful hearts that a supply of meat had been so providentially sent to us. Bouncer had his share, and then composed himself to sleep near the door, with one eye open ready to warn us of the approach of danger. Feeling sure that no unfriendly Indians were likely to be in the neighbourhood at that season of the year, we passed the night with a feeling of perfect security. We had now to determine what further course it would be best to pursue. The meat of the young bear would last us for several days, and perhaps some of its companions might return to the fort and allow themselves to be shot; but the probability was, however, slight. Finding that there was no food and that the fort was garrisoned, they were not likely again to climb over the palisades. Should they not do so we might, after all, be very hard pressed for food. "What do you say, lads, to pushing forward at once to the fort at Touchwood Hills? The journey is a long one, but we are likely to find game on the way; and if not, the flesh of this bear economised will last us till we get there," said Alick. There were no dissentient voices. We agreed, however, to rest that day and keep watch, on the possibility of another bear appearing. None came, and early in the morning we again plunged into the wilderness of snow. For two days we travelled on without any adventure, looking out for game as we had before done. The second day we encamped rather earlier than usual, as we saw traces of several deer, which we resolved if possible to run down. Having hurriedly pitched our tent near a small wood, Alick, Martin, and I started off, leaving Pat and Bouncer to guard the camp. Pat had his gun ready, observing that perhaps a deer would come that way, and if so he might hope to kill it. Though no deer were in sight, their tracks were unmistakable, and we were tempted to go on farther from the camp than we had intended. As the sun set, the wind began to blow colder than before, and clouds to gather in the sky. Alick exclaimed that we must return as fast as our legs could carry us. Before we had got far, down came the snow, and with good reason we began to fear that we should be unable to retrace our steps. As long as we had sufficient light Alick's compass guided us, and we had taken the last glance at it, and were scarcely able to distinguish in what direction the needle pointed, when we caught sight of the tent, and heard Pat's voice shouting loudly to us. We hurried on, thankful that we had not been benighted; but Pat, instead of welcoming us, as we expected, stood in front of the tent wringing his hands. "What's the matter, Pat?" asked Alick. "Shure! matther enough, Misther Alick dear," he answered. "Just afther you went away, Bouncer and I caught sight of a deer, far off over the snow. Says I to Bouncer, `We'll have that deer;' and off we set, making sure that we should come up to him before long. Instead of stopping to be shot, however, the baste took to its heels. To make a long story short, though we followed for many a mile, it got away afther all. Now comes the worst part of the business. As we drew near to the tent I heard a loud yelling, and what should I see but a pack of hungry wolves tearing away at my sledge with all the bear's mate on it, and by the time I got up not a scrap was left--bad luck to the bastes. Och! shure, shure, what shall we be afther doing?" We cast blank looks at each other, and Bouncer hung down his head, as if he had been the cause of our loss. Alick could not blame Pat, though he regretted that he did not give him a strict charge on no account to leave the camp. After our long chase we were desperately hungry, but had not a morsel to eat. There was no use repining, however, and we hoped that we might have better fortune the next day. Supperless we turned into our little tent, to try to overcome our hunger by sleep. An occasional growl from Bouncer showed us that the wolves were still near. As we had no breakfast to cook, the next morning we started as soon as there was daylight sufficient to enable us to pack up our tent. Not a trace of a deer did we see the next day; had any passed that way, the snow must have obliterated their footmarks. The second night was approaching, and we had no food. We came to some hills with a grove of trees near a stream at their foot, but the stream was frozen over, and the hills and trees covered thickly with snow. As we were looking round for a spot on which to pitch our tent, we heard Pat, who was at a little distance, shout out, "Here's an Injin wigwam; maybe the owner will give us some food." On reaching it, however, we found that the wigwam contained no inhabitants. There were, however, several articles within, the household goods of a native--a pot, wallet, basket, buffalo-robe, and other things. At first we thought that the owner had gone out hunting, and would soon return, but on a further examination we were satisfied that it had been deserted for several days, or perhaps weeks. Too probably, the unfortunate man had lost his life, either killed by a bear or a human enemy, or, unable to obtain game, had perished from hunger. Alick suggested that the occupants might have died of some disease, and that it would be prudent to pitch our tent and sleep in that, rather than in the wigwam. Having cut some wood, we lighted a fire and chopped up the thongs of Pat's sledge to make some soup. Though very unpalatable, it would serve to keep us alive; it, at all events, stopped the gnawings of hunger and enabled us to go to sleep. We were awakened towards the morning by the howling of the wind amid the leafless trees and the falling of the snow from the branches. Looking out of the tent, we could scarcely bear the chilling blast, which drove the particles of snow like pins and needles into our faces much as spoondrift is driven from off the waves of the ocean. To proceed on our journey was impossible. We dared not even light a fire near the tent, lest it might be destroyed by the flames driven against it by any sudden change of wind. All that day we sat helpless and disconsolate. Martin, who had held out bravely hitherto, began to give way. "Oh! I must have some food," he murmured, "or I shall die." He repeated this several times. Alick at length, seizing his gun, started up. I thought he was going out in spite of the bitter weather to search for game, but I saw him put his hand on Bouncer's head and lead him forth. He had got a short distance from the tent when we overtook him. "It must be done," he said; "Bouncer must die. I cannot sit by and see that poor boy perish. What should we say to his father and mother, should we again meet them, or to Rose?" I felt as he did, but, unwilling to see our noble and faithful dog put to death, I turned aside, expecting to hear the report of the gun, when Pat stepped up. "Shure, Misther Alick, you would not be afther killing the poor baste!" he exclaimed. "Let us trust to Providence as heretofore. We have not been deserted through all our throubles and dangers. See now! what's that there?" he suddenly exclaimed. "After it, Bouncer!" and he and the dog started off over the snow. I turned on hearing his voice, and saw a small animal followed by a larger, which I knew to be a fox. The cunning animal, catching sight of us just before I fired, gave a sudden turn, and though my bullet knocked off the top of his brush, he was far away, hidden by some low bushes, before even Alick had seen him. A "Hurrah!" from Pat at the same instant reached my ears, and he came running back with Bouncer, who had caught the smaller animal. The faithful dog at once surrendered his prize. It was a ground-squirrel which the fox had chased out of its winter nest. We should have been compelled to eat it raw had we not discovered a small open spot among the trees where we could light a fire. Skinning the squirrel, we cut it up and put it into the pot to boil, while Bouncer had the head and skin for his share. He looked very grateful at being first served, but licked his chaps, as if he would have been obliged to us for a larger meal. That squirrel, I believe, saved Martin's life, and perhaps the lives of all of us. We were sufficiently recovered the next morning, and the storm having abated we again set out; for all of us suffered more from hunger than we had ever before done during our adventures. CHAPTER TWELVE. "TRIPE DE ROCHE"--DESOLATION--PAT'S ENDURANCE--LEATHER SOUP--"IT'S A CARIOLE; THERE'S ANOTHER AND ANOTHER"--"ALICK MCCLELLAN! DAVID! CAN IT BE YOU?"--A GOOD SQUARE MEAL--SANDY'S ESCAPE--HONEST BOUNCER'S "RIGHTFUL POSITION"--THE CARIOLE--NIGHT ENCAMPMENT IN THE SNOW--BUFFALO-HUNTING-- WOLVES! WOLVES!--ROSE AND LETTY IN DANGER--I DEFEND THEM--THE FORT REACHED AT LAST--OUR START FOR THE LOG CABIN--CAPTAIN GREY RECOVERS--I ACCOMPANY ROBIN TO FORT GARRY--ELLEN AND OLIVER--CONCLUSION OF MY HISTORY--DESCRIPTION OF THE PRESENT STATE OF THE RED RIVER SETTLEMENT (NOW CALLED MANITOBA) AND OF THE "FERTILE BELT" BEYOND IT REACHING TO THE FOOT OF THE ROCKY MOUNTAINS. A moderate walk on snow-shoes on a fine winter's day, with agreeable companions, when the sky is blue, the air still, and the snow frozen hard, is a very pleasant thing; and so is a hunting expedition, with attendants carrying refreshments, and the certainty, even though game may not be shot, of a good meal after it at a cheerful camp-fire, with abundance of buffalo-robes for covering; but to go on, tramp, tramp, tramp, day after day over the icy plains, often with a sharp wind blowing, and but a scanty fire and imperfect shelter at the termination of the journey, is a very different matter. We found it to be so. Often the ground was uneven; sometimes we had hills to ascend, and precipitous elopes to slide down, not knowing what might be at the bottom; and then a wide plain to traverse, without a tree or a shrub to break its monotony or to assist us in directing our course. Soon after we set out in the morning our eyebrows became covered with frost, our caps froze to our brows, surrounded by a rim of icicles. The fronts of our coats were fringed with similar ornaments; even our eyelashes were covered with our congealed breath. On several occasions we had to camp that we might go in search of game; but after many hours' toil we returned--on one occasion with a fox, on another with a second ground-squirrel, and on two other days with a single hare. The fox, though the least palatable, from being larger, lasted us longer than the other animals, and afforded poor Bouncer an ample meal. We had reason to be thankful at obtaining these supplies, or we should otherwise have sunk down on the snow and perished; for even had we killed our poor dog, as he was nothing but skin and bones his body would not have long sustained us. For two whole days we feasted on _tripe de roche_, which, when boiled in our kettle, afforded us the only vegetable diet we had for a long time tasted. A high ridge had to be crossed, and it cost us much trouble to reach the summit. We had to take Bouncer out of the traces and drag up the sleigh ourselves. A dreary prospect met our view from thence. Before us was a wide extent of country covered with its wintry clothing, its undulations reminding us of the ocean when the troubled waves begin to subside after a storm. Here and there a few leafless trees partially diversified the chilling scene, resembling the shattered masts of vessels which had suffered in the conflict of waters. In vain did we strain our eyes to catch a glimpse of anything of human or animal shape. Neither did man, nor fowl, nor cattle, nor beast, nor creeping thing meet our gaze. Animated nature seemed to have abandoned the dreary solitude, and silent desolation reigned around. Yet this was the region we had to cross for many days before we could reach our destination. I could not avoid asking myself, should any of us be able to endure the fatigue we must first undergo, or should we even obtain food to support life? Already we were greatly weakened, while Martin especially looked a phantom of his former self. Alick, though only so lately recovered from his severe illness, held out the best. Pat never made a complaint, though his wan cheek showed that famine was telling on him. If I sucked in my cheeks, it felt as if my teeth would come through them, and my knees would often scarcely bear me. Hitherto, except the lichen we had scraped from the rocks, we had had no food that day, and we might be unable to obtain any before night. "Come, lads; we must push on," cried Alick. "It won't do to be stopping here doubting whether we shall be able to get over yonder country. It has to be done, and the sooner we do it the better." Allowing the sledge to go first, we all slid down the steep slope in a half-sitting posture, happily reaching the bottom without accident. Honest Bouncer then came up to be again harnessed, and we set off at our usual pace--trudge, trudge, trudge. Hour after hour the click of the snow-shoes sounded in our ears. "I wonder how long a man can go without eating?" asked Martin in a doleful tone. "It is possible to hold out for three days," answered Alick, "and perhaps longer, though it would not be pleasant. Don't you think of giving in yet, Martin. We shall have some fresh meat to-morrow, I dare say, if we don't get it to-night; and, at all events, we can have some leather soup before we turn in. We have a spare buffalo-robe or two to eat up before we cry die!" That night all we had to sustain nature was the leather soup Alick spoke of, with the addition of some _tripe de roche_. Next morning we breakfasted on the same unsatisfactory materials. We were still some days' journey from the fort, and for the last three days not an animal had we seen. Alick again began to turn, I thought, wolfish eyes at Bouncer. The poor dog walked on steadily dragging the sleigh, and looking up with an affectionate glance at our faces when any of us passed, happily unconscious of the fate threatening him. Even Pat was at length beginning to despair. Alick cheered us on. "You must not give in, boys; you must not give in," he exclaimed over and over again. I felt that his advice, though good, was impracticable. The evening was approaching. I could scarcely drag one foot after another. We yet had some distance to go before we could reach a valley which lay below us, with a stream in summer flowing through it, and a grove of trees by its side. Unable longer to support myself, I sank down on my knees, my gun dropping to the ground. My eyes were dimmed by my frozen eyelashes. Alick and Pat were assisting me to rise, when Martin, who was a little ahead, exclaimed, "I see something coming along the valley: it's a cariole. There's another and another." I passed the cuff of my coat over my eyes. My companions held up their hands and shouted at the top of their voices, Bouncer at the same time lifting up his head and barking with all his might, as if conscious of the importance of being heard. The carioles came on at full speed along the valley, their drivers running behind them. There were twenty or thirty of them, each drawn by eight or ten powerful dogs. I could now see them clearly. Then came a number of baggage-sledges with more men on snow-shoes, all keeping up the same steady pace. Our dread was that the travellers would pass without seeing us. Who they could be we could not tell, but they were evidently coming from the direction of the place to which we were bound. Again we shouted and waved our hands, and then Alick bethought him of firing off his gun. We all discharged ours, and presently we saw the leading sledge stop, the driver making a signal to the one behind him. It was passed along the line, and the whole train came to a halt. "We are saved! we are saved!" we cried in chorus. The knowledge of this restored our strength. I was helped up by my companions, and we all, straggling on, reached the bottom of the valley close to the leading sledge. A gentleman got out of it and came towards us. We at once saw that he was Mr Meredith, though he at first evidently did not recognise any of us. "What!" he exclaimed at length; "Alick McClellan!--David! can it be you?" He pressed our hands. "I little expected again to see you.--And Martin Crisp! can that be you? I know you now, though you look dreadfully pulled down. There are those behind to whom your appearance will give new life." "Then have my father and mother escaped?" exclaimed Martin, and he burst into tears. "Yes," answered Mr Meredith, "I am thankful to say that they have, and are now returning with us to Fort Ross, on their way to their former station." I cannot well describe the greetings we received from Rose and Letty, and indeed from all the party, with many of whom, besides Mr and Mrs Crisp, we were well acquainted. Fortunately the train was not far from the spot selected for camping that night, and several of the gentlemen insisted upon getting out of their carioles and letting us take their places, while they put on our snow-shoes and ran by our sides. Poor Pat was of course treated in the same manner, and I took Bouncer in between my legs--the first time in his life he had ever enjoyed the honour of being dragged by his fellow-creatures. The camp was soon reached. A party of men had gone on before to make preparations. Tents had been put up for the ladies, lean-to's near the fires to shelter the gentlemen. Abundance of food was soon placed before us--soft bread, hot tea and coffee. Far gone as we were, we were not so far gone that we could not enjoy it. The adventures of our friends were recounted. Mr Meredith, though he had heard that the Blackfeet intended to take the fort, would have remained to defend it had he not been compelled to quit it for want of provisions. He was now returning with reinforcements of men and an ample supply of food; besides which he had a party of hunters with him, and he hoped to obtain an abundance of buffalo meat and venison. So secure did he feel that he was bringing back Rose and Letty and Mr and Mrs Crisp. The two young ladies allowed Alick and me to sit near them; and I am compelled to confess, though I heard the sweet tones of their voices in my ear, it was not long after supper when I found my head nodding, and that the power to rouse myself had gone. I sunk back fast asleep, and remember nothing more till, opening my eyes, instead of the fair countenances of my young friends, I saw the well-bronzed visage of Sandy McTavish bending over me. "Vera glad to see you, faster David, though I am loath to rouse you from your sleep; but the sleighs are harnessing, and the train will presently be on the move." Sandy, taking my hand as he spoke, helped me to rise. I felt extremely stiff, and my joints ached considerably. While I was drinking a tin of hot coffee which he had brought me, he told me how he and one of his companions, after the canoe had been upset, had clung on under her with their heads just above water, as she floated down the river, till at length, by great exertions, they had managed to direct her with their feet towards the shore. Believing that Pat was lost, they did not look for him, but, as soon as they had recovered, pushed on for Fort Ross, which they reached almost dead with hunger, and were, of course, the first to announce the tidings of the destruction of Fort Black. Sandy had already found Pat, who had given him an account of our adventures. I told him how delighted I was, too, to find that he had escaped, as I had given him up for lost. He told me, almost with tears in his eyes, how he had mourned for us, cut off, as he fancied, in our prime. "But God is vera merciful," he said, "and He has preserved you, I hope, to be good and useful men." "He has indeed taught us to trust Him, for His arm alone could have saved us from the many dangers to which we were exposed," I answered. We had not much time, however, for conversation, and Sandy, who had undertaken to look after me, helped me into a sledge, which had been prepared, he said, for my use. Honest Bouncer, who had slept at the door of the tent, got in after me, seeming to consider that the place at my feet was his rightful position. There was just time before starting to exchange greetings with the rest of the party, who were already in their carioles. I found that during the night four fresh carioles had been formed, and by taking a dog from one team and one or more from others, a sufficient number of animals had been procured to drag us. Sandy, who drove my team, gave me an account of the various events which had occurred, and of the grief our supposed loss had caused our friends. "The young ladies," he said, "he feared would never again have recovered their spirits, and it was only when some hope was expressed that we might have escaped that they at all brightened up." Letty afterwards told me, indeed, that she had never altogether abandoned hope. "I could not have borne it had I done so," she added. After the fatiguing way in which we had been accustomed to travel, it was delightful to be drawn along at a rapid rate over the hard snow, well wrapped up in buffalo-robes; with a piece of crape drawn over the face to shelter it from the icy blast when the wind blew strong, or to shield the eyes when the sun shone too brightly on the glittering sheet of white. The cariole, such as I was now seated in, is a somewhat simple vehicle. It is formed of a very thin board ten feet long and fourteen inches broad, turned up at one end in the form of a half-circle. To this board a high cradle, like the body of a small carriage, is attached, about eighteen inches from the end of the floor-board. The framework is covered with buffalo-skin parchment, and painted according to the taste of the builder. The inside is lined with a blanket or buffalo-robe; and when the traveller is seated in it, with his legs stretched out at his ease, he is only separated from the snow by the before-mentioned floor-board. Eight, twelve, or even more dogs form the team of a cariole, dragging it by long traces attached to collars which are ornamented with bead-work and tassels, and a string of small bells, which emit a pleasant tinkling sound. The driver runs behind the cariole, guiding it by means of a line fastened to the floor which projects behind the seat. When he gets tired of running, he stands on this projecting board; or should there be any luggage, he sits on the top of it. When a new road is to be made--as was the case at the present--two or three men on snow-shoes go ahead and beat down the snow, making the road just wide enough for the passage of a cariole. The dogs seldom attempt to go off the track thus formed, though the first four or five teams have the hardest work; after which the road becomes hard, and the rest easily follow. It was curious to look forward and back at the long thin line, like some vast serpent moving over the snowy plain, following all the windings of the pioneers ahead; and it was cheering to hear the tinkling sound of the bells, and the voices of the drivers as they urged on the dogs. When we encamped for the night, a small tent for the ladies, and another for two or three of the superior officers who required the luxury, were pitched; fires were lighted as close to them as safety would allow, or sometimes one long fire at which the cooks at once commenced operations. Supper over, a short time was spent in conversation, and then all the party except those on guard betook themselves to repose. The greater number, who slept in the open air, rolled themselves up in their buffalo-robes in two lines, one on each side of the fire, with their feet towards it. Most of the dogs in the meantime had scraped out for themselves hollows in the snow, while others found out snug berths so close to the fire that they ran no little danger of burning their fur. Such was the scene which met my eyes just before I fell asleep, rolled up like the rest in buffalo-robes with a knapsack for my pillow, the snow my couch, and the sky glittering brightly with countless stars overhead; and such was the scene which our camp presented night after night. We had got within three days' journey of our destination, when numerous buffaloes were seen in the far distance; and as it was important to secure some fresh meat, Mr Meredith ordered a halt, that the hunters might go in chase of the animals. It was supposed that the buffaloes were moving away to the westward, and that another opportunity of hunting them might not occur during the winter. A convenient place for a camp, in a hollow surrounded by trees, was chosen, and wigwams were put up for those who wished to remain in camp. The larger number of the men, however, all of whom were accustomed to hunting, were eager to go in chase, so that comparatively few remained to guard the camp. I resolved to stay behind, both for the sake of enjoying the society of Rose and Letty, as also because I had had hunting enough, and had scarcely yet sufficiently recovered to undergo the fatigue of a long run in snow-shoes. Alick, though he had held out so well when leading our small party, had knocked up altogether when his responsibilities were over, and was unfit to exert himself in any way; all he could do, indeed, was to step into his cariole and be dragged along over the snow. Martin was very little better, and this was the first opportunity he had had of spending any time with his parents, who were anxious to hear his adventures. I had been seated with Rose and Letty before the camp-fire, when they proposed putting on their snow-shoes and walking to the top of a slight elevation some distance off, from whence we fancied that a view might be obtained of the herd of buffaloes. The air was perfectly calm, the sky bright, and as a hard crust had formed over the snow, we found walking especially pleasant. We went on and on, consequently, farther than we had intended, expecting every instant to come in sight of the hunters and the shaggy monsters of which they were in chase. The ridge on the top of which we were walking was of no great height, and others somewhat more elevated intervened, we found, between us and the plain on which the buffaloes had been seen. Rose--who had been leading, while Letty and I walked alongside each other--at last proposed going back. We--that is, Letty and I--had forgotten to watch the sun, which was already sinking rapidly towards the horizon. Just as we turned I caught sight of a number of dark objects, moving quickly over the snow. For a moment I thought they might be the huntsmen, but I was soon convinced that they were wolves. I did not at first apprehend that they were coming towards us, but still I knew that it would be well to make our way back to camp as fast as possible. I begged Rose and Letty to go forward while I kept watch on the proceedings of the wolves. We had not gone far when to my dismay I felt convinced that they were making towards us, and I could even hear the faint sounds of their yelping and barking coming up from the plain below us. I urged my companions to hasten on while I followed close behind them. I was in hopes that they were merely coyotes, which are cowardly creatures; but as they got nearer I saw that they were the larger species of prairie wolf, too probably rendered savage by hunger. I now bitterly regretted having allowed my young friends to go so far from the camp. We were still at too great a distance to make any signal for assistance. I knew that by running we should only encourage the wolves to pursue us, and therefore entreating the young ladies to stop, I placed myself between them and the yelping pack of brutes, who were now within twenty yards of us. The brave girls not only did not continue running, but came up close behind me--Rose placing herself directly in front of Letty, and holding her hands to her neck, knowing that they were too likely to spring at it. I felt that I must make every effort to drive the brutes away. Shouting at the top of my voice in order to scare them, I fired at the leader of the pack, and knocked it over; but before I could reload, the savage animals were close upon me. Taking my gun by the barrel, I used it as a club and struck with it right and left. My first blow beat down a wolf close to my feet, when its hungry companions immediately set upon it, and with fearful yelps and snarls began tearing it to pieces; but others still came on, gaunt, starving animals, barking savagely. Another wolf was on the point of springing at my throat, when I happily struck that down also; but several were at the same time making at Rose and Letty. My courage rose to desperation. I must save them even though I were myself to perish; but how could I hope to drive off the savage pack that came scampering on, eager to tear us to pieces? There must have been fifty or more of them. Again and again as I struck around me I shouted with all my might. A reply came from behind me. It was that of human voices. I heard a shot, and another wolf rolled over. I dared not for a second look round to ascertain who was coming to our relief. Presently I heard Bouncer's deep bark and the voices of several more people. Other shots followed, and as the wolves fell their companions as before set upon them, leaving only a few brutes for me to deal with; till Bouncer, seizing by the throat one of the most daring, who was in the act of leaping at Rose, pulled it down as a hound does a deer. Sandy, Pat, and several of the hunting party now came up, and clubbing their guns, quickly laid low many more of the wolves, the remainder, panic-stricken, turning tail and galloping off at full speed. Reloading, we fired at the retreating pack, a number more of which fell over killed or went yelping away. Thankful for our merciful deliverance, we returned to the camp accompanied by our friends. They had followed a buffalo, which they had killed just below the ridge along which we had been walking when the wolves attacked us. Messengers arrived from the remainder of the hunting party, and sledges were forthwith dispatched to bring in the meat of the animals they had killed. Another day was spent here, and the second hunting expedition which was sent out returned almost as successful as the first. We then again moved forward and reached Fort Ross, without any further adventure worth recording. The ladies performed the journey without having suffered any unusual fatigue. The fort was uninjured, and had evidently not been visited except by bears, who had managed to break into one of the storerooms, but had got nothing for their pains. We had not forgotten Captain Grey and our young friend Robin. Mr Crisp, who had a good knowledge of medicine and surgery, at once volunteered to go to his assistance; and Alick and I having organised a party with four dog-sleighs, we set off, accompanied by the excellent missionary. We of course felt very anxious, remembering the precarious state in which we had left Captain Grey. The first person we saw as we drew near the hut was Robin, who had heard the sound of our sleigh-bells, and came rushing out to meet us. "How is your father?" was the first question we asked. "He is still very low," answered Robin sadly; "but if he had a doctor who knew how to treat him, I think that he would soon get better." "The doctor is here," I answered, pointing to Mr Crisp. Robin grasped his hand, exclaiming, "Oh, do come and cure my father!" "God only can cure the ailments of the body, as He does those of the soul, my boy. I may prove, I trust, a humble instrument in His hands; but I will exert all the skill I possess, and pray to Him for a blessing on it." We remained several days at the hut; and the good missionary ministered not only, as he had promised, to the physical ailments of the sufferer, but to his spiritual necessities likewise, pointing out to him the great truth that though the all-pure God hates the sin He loves the sinner, and would have all men, though by nature His enemies, reconciled to Him, according to His own appointed way, through simple faith in the all-perfect, all-sufficient atonement for sin which His dear Son Jesus Christ offered up on Calvary. That truth, which I suspect had hitherto been rejected by Captain Grey, came home with force to his heart, and I heard him say as he took Mr Crisp's hand, "I believe! I believe! and I pray that He will help my unbelief." In a week from the time of our arrival Captain Grey was sufficiently recovered to accompany us on our return to Fort Ross, where he was hospitably received by Mr Meredith, and carefully tended by Mrs Crisp, Rose, and Letty. Robin won the affections of all our friends. Reinforcements having arrived, a strong party was formed which, under Alick's command, was to rebuild and garrison Fort Black on the return of spring. Before the snow had disappeared and sleigh-travelling had become impracticable, I was ordered to proceed to Fort Garry, when I was accompanied by my young friend Robin and his father, who was now perfectly restored to health. The governor, who was then residing at the fort, made Captain Grey an offer to join the company; which he gladly accepted, provided time was allowed him to return to his wife and family and bring them up. This request was willingly granted; and before I left Fort Garry, where I was engaged for some weeks, he returned, accompanied by his long-suffering wife and their three children. I found that Robin had not overpraised his sweet sister Ella or his little brother Oliver, who, however, by this time had grown into a fine handsome boy. Robin had told his mother of our kindness to him, and she expressed her gratitude in a way which could not fail to give me very sincere satisfaction. "And oh, how I long," she added, "to thank that good missionary, Mr Crisp, for the change he has been the means of working in my husband!" We all went back in the spring to Fort Ross, but Mr and Mrs Crisp had by that time returned to their distant station. Martin, however, remained, having been appointed to a clerkship. In a few years afterwards, when Alick married his sister, I became the husband of Letty Meredith. He proposed and was accepted by Ella Grey. Before white hairs sprinkled our brows we were all able to retire from the service, and to settle on adjacent farms in Canada, where we enjoyed the benefit of having Mr Crisp as minister of the district. We formed, I believe, as happy and prosperous a community as any in that truly magnificent colony of Great Britain, to the sovereign of which we have ever remained devotedly attached. We have never forgotten the trials and dangers we went through, or ceased, I trust, to be grateful to that merciful Being whose loving hand guided us safely through them; while we have ever striven to impress upon our children the importance of a loving obedience to our heavenly Father, a confidence in the justice of His laws, and a perfect trust in Him. THE END. 
27504	----	LORIMER OF THE NORTHWEST [Illustration: We Were in the Cañon, Shooting Down the Mad Rush of a Rapid toward Eternity.--Page 170.] LORIMER OF THE NORTHWEST By HAROLD BINDLOSS Author of By Right of Purchase, Etc. With Frontispiece By ALFRED JAMES DEWEY A. L. BURT COMPANY Publishers--New York Copyright, 1909, by FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY All rights reserved January, 1909 CONTENTS CHAPTER PAGE I. The First Sowing 7 II. The Church Parade 16 III. "The Land of Promise" 25 IV. An Unpleasant Apprenticeship 35 V. A Bid for Fortune 46 VI. The First Crop 56 VII. Harvest Home 66 VIII. Held Up 77 IX. A Reckoning 91 X. A Forward Policy 105 XI. On the Railroad 117 XII. The Unexpected 128 XIII. Advocates of Temperance 138 XIV. The Hired Teamster 151 XV. Under the Shadow of Death 163 XVI. When the Waters Rose 175 XVII. The Return 184 XVIII. The Opening of the Line 195 XIX. A Generous Offer 209 XX. The Return to the Prairie 220 XXI. The Stolen Cattle 231 XXII. A Race with Time 242 XXIII. On the Gold Trail 253 XXIV. The Brink of Eternity 267 XXV. Ormond's Last Journey 280 XXVI. The Trial 291 XXVII. The Road to Dakota 305 XXVIII. The Recall of Adam Lee 316 XXIX. Concerning the Day Spring Mine 326 XXXI. The Deposed Ruler 350 XXXII. The New Ruler of Carrington 362 XXXIII. A Bountiful Harvest 375 LORIMER OF THE NORTHWEST PROLOGUE Fairmead, Western Canada. It is a still, hot day in autumn, and there is a droning of mosquitoes where I sit by an open window, glancing alternately out across the Assiniboian prairie and somewhat blankly at the bundle of paper before me, ready to begin this story. Its telling will not be an easy matter, but one finds idle hours pass heavily after a life such as mine has been, and since the bronco blundering into a badger-hole fell and broke my leg the surgeon who rode forty miles to set it said that if I was to work at harvest I must not move before--and the harvest is already near. So I nibble the pen and look around the long match-boarded hall, waiting for the inspiration which is strangely slow in coming, while my wife, who was Grace Carrington, smiles over her sewing and suggests that it is high time to begin. There are many guns on the wall glistening like sardines with oil rubbed well in, and among them the old Winchester which once saved us from starvation in British Columbia. There are also long rows of painted butterflies and moths whose colors pleased Grace's fancy when I caught them in the sloos. Sometimes I wonder whether she really likes that kind of decoration, or merely pinned them to the wall because I caught them for her. Then, and this is my own fancy, the bit of the horse which once saved her life hangs in a place of its own under the heads of the antelopes and the forward half of a crane with which a Winnipeg taxidermist has travestied nature. There are also a few oil paintings and, of course, some furniture, but I am not learned in such matters, and know only that it cost me many dollars when I brought it from Toronto on one of Grace's birthdays, and I have never regretted the investment. No, there is nothing here that merits much comment, though Fairmead is one of the finest homesteads between the Saskatchewan and the Souris. Then as I gaze with half-closed eyes through the open window the memories awaken and crowd, as it were, upon one another. Far out on the rim of the prairie lies a silvery haze, through which the vault of azure melts into the dusty whiteness of the grasses. Then, level on level, with each slowly swelling rise growing sharper under that crystalline atmosphere the prairie rolls in, broken here by a willow copse and there by a straggling birch bluff, while a belt of cool neutral shadow marks the course of a deep-sunk ravine. At first sight it is all one glaring sweep of white and gray, but on looking closer with understanding eyes one sees the yellow and sage-green of tall reeds in a sloo, the glowing lights of sun-bleached buffalo bones, and a mingling of many colors where there is wild peppermint or flowers among the grass. Then, broad across the foreground, growing tall and green in a few moister places, and in others changing to ochre and coppery red, there ripples, acre after acre, a great sea of grain whose extent is beyond the comprehension of the insular Briton. That, at least, with its feathery oat tassels and stately heads of wheat, is a picture well worth looking upon, for there are few places in the world where one may see furrows of equal length. It was won hardly, by much privation, and in the sweat of the brow, as well as by the favor of Providence, as Grace would say, and she is right in most things, except when she attempts to instruct me in stock feeding, for we hold on the prairie that it is not fair to place all the burden on Providence. Therefore the settlers who succeed cut down rations and work double tides to help themselves in time of adversity. Yes, though better men have done more and failed, we worked hard enough for it, Harry Lorraine and I, stinting ourselves often to feed the stock and deal justly with the soil, until at last the ill-fortune turned and the kindly earth repaid us a hundred fold for our trust in it. Grace partly approves of the foregoing, for she laid by her sewing to read the loose sheets beside me, bending down until her hair, which is bronze-gold with the sun in it, just touched my own. It may be that my eyes are prejudiced, but I have never seen a woman who might compare with her. Neither has her comeliness faded. Instead, it has grown even more refined and stately, for Grace had always a queenly way, since the day when I first met her, the fairest maid--I think so now, though it is long ago--that ever trod the bleak moorlands of eastern Lancashire. Beyond the wheat and straggling birches I can see the shingled roofs of Harry's dwelling. We have long been partners--all the Winnipeg dealers know the firm of Lorimer & Lorraine, and how they send their wheat in by special freight train. Then there is a stretch of raw breaking, and the tinkle of the binders rises out of a hidden hollow, as tireless arms of wood and steel pile up the sheaves of Jasper's crop--Jasper takes a special pride in forestalling us. The dun smoke of a smudge-fire shows that Harry is in prairie fashion protecting our stock, and I see it drifting eastward across the dusty plain, with the cattle seeking shelter from the mosquitoes under it. The management of a farm like Fairmead is a serious task, even when there are two to do it, and Grace says there are weighty responsibilities attached. How many toilers in crowded Europe benefit by the cheap flour we send them I do not know, though last year we kept the Winnipeg millers busy; but when, in conjunction with a certain society, we opened new lands and homes for the homeless poor--it was Grace's pet project--all those who occupied them were not thankful. Some also stole their neighbors' chickens, and the said neighbors abused us. Others seemed more inclined to live on one another than to wrest a living from the soil, while once Macdonald of the Northwest Police lodged a solemn protest, "We'll hold ye baith responsible for the depredations o' the wastrels who're disturbing the harmony o' this peaceful prairie." Still, Harry and I were once poor enough ourselves, and with Grace's help we have done our best to weed out the worthless--Harry attends to this--and encourage the rest. Very many bushels of seed-wheat has Grace given them, and here as elsewhere there are considerably more good than bad, while already a certain society takes to itself the credit of the flourishing Fairmead colony. Harry, however, says that undeserved prosperity has made me an optimist. But the reader will wonder how I, Ralph Lorimer, who landed in Canada with one hundred pounds' capital, became owner of Fairmead and married Grace, only daughter and heiress of Colonel Carrington. Well, that is a long story, and looking back at the beginning of it instead of at the sunlit prairie I see a grimy smoke-blackened land where gaunt chimneys stand in rows, and behind it the bare moors of Lancashire. Then again the memories change like the glasses of a kaleidoscope, and I sigh as I remember comrades who helped us in our necessity and who now, forgotten by all save a few, sleep among the snow-bound ranges, under the bitter alkali dust, and deep in the smoking cañons through which we carried the new steel highway. Failures, probably their friends called them at home, but in this their friends were wrong. With light jest, or grim silent endurance, they played out the lost game to the bitter end, and laid the foundations of a great country's prosperity, while if fate or fortune has favors for but the few, those who receive them should remember with becoming humility what otherwise they might have been. So the past comes back, struggle, disappointment, and slow success, at last, until it is a relief when Harry Lorraine strides laughing in and Grace fills for him a great polished horn of cider. "Here's success to your story! Tell them simply how we live and work, and some of us, the best, have died in this land," he says. Then he raises the horn high toward the rafters and I know his meaning. It is a way the forerunners of civilization--axe-man, paddle-man, and railroad shoveler--had, and he did it in memory of one who lies far off among the northern snows. Taking up the weary pen as he and Grace go out together I prepare to follow his counsel, telling the story simply and as it happened from the beginning. LORIMER OF THE NORTHWEST CHAPTER I THE FIRST SOWING It was late in autumn, and the heather had faded into dingy brown, though long streaks of golden fern crept winding down, when Grace Carrington first talked with me of the Canadian Dominion on the bleak slopes of Starcross Moor. There was a hollow in the hillside where a few pale-stemmed birches and somber firs formed, as it were, a rampart between the poor, climbing meadows and the waste of gorse and fern, and we two beneath them seemed utterly alone in the moorland solitude. Grace sat on a lichened boulder with the sunlight upon her, gazing down across the levels of Lancashire. I was just twenty years old, and she seemed the incarnation of all that was fresh and good in early womanhood. Still, it was not only her beauty that attracted me, though she was the well-dowered daughter of a race which has long been famous for fair women, but a certain grave dignity that made her softly spoken wishes seem commands that it would be a pleasure to obey. Grace was nineteen then, and she lived in Western Canada with her widowed father, Colonel Carrington, who had made himself a power in that country. Yet she was English by birth and early training, of the fair-haired, gray-eyed, old Lancashire stock, and had lost nothing by her sojourn on the prairie as youthful mistress of Carrington Manor. The land which ran west before us was not a pleasant one. Across its horizon hung a pall of factory smoke; and unlovely hamlets, each with its gaunt pit-head gear and stark brick chimney, sprinkled the bare fields between, for hedgerows were scanty and fences of rusty colliery rope replaced them. Yet it was a wealthy country, and bred keen-witted, enterprising men, who, uncouth often in speech and exterior, possessed an energy that has spread their commerce to the far corners of the earth. That day the autumn haze wrapped a mellow dimness round its defects, but Grace Carrington sighed as she turned toward me. "I shall not be sorry to go home again," she said. "Perhaps I miss our clear sunshine, but here everyone looks careworn in your dingy towns, and there are so many poor. Besides, the monotony of those endless smoky streets oppresses me. No, I should not care to come back to Lancashire." Now, the words of a young and winsome woman seldom fall lightly on the ears of a young man, and Grace spoke without affectation as one accustomed to be listened to, which was hardly surprising in the heiress of Carrington. As it happened, they wakened an answering echo within me. The love of the open sky had been handed down to me through long generations of a yeoman ancestry, and yet fate had apparently decreed that I should earn my bread in the counting-house of a cotton-mill. It is probable that I should have been abashed and awkward before this patrician damsel in a drawing-room, but here, under the blue lift, with the brown double-barrel--it was my uncle's new hammerless--across my knees, and the speckled birds beneath, I felt in harmony with the surroundings, and accordingly at ease. I was born and bred under the other edge of the moor. "It does not always rain here, though this has been a wet season, and trade is bad," I said. "Will you tell me about Canada, Miss Carrington?" Her eyes brightened as she answered: "It is my adopted country, and I love it. Still it is no place for the weak and idle, for as they say out there, we have no room for any but live men and strong. Yet, I never saw a ragged woman nor heard of a hungry child. All summer the settlers work from dawn to dusk under the clear sunshine of the open prairie, paying rent to no one, for each tills his own land, and though there are drawbacks--drought, hail, and harvest-frost--they meet them lightly, for you see neither anxious faces nor bent shoulders there. Our people walk upright, as becomes free men. Then, through the long winter, when the snow lies firm and white, and the wheat crop has been hauled in, you can hear the jingling sleigh teams flit across the prairie from homestead to homestead under the cloudless blue. The settlers enjoy themselves when their work is done--and we have no drunkenness." She ceased, turning an eager face toward me, and I felt an old longing increase. It was the inborn love of a fertile soil--and that wide sunlit country seemed to call me, for my father had been the last of a long family to hold one of the extensive farms which with their crumbling feudal halls may yet be found in the remoter corners of Lancashire. Then, asking practical questions, I wondered as Grace Carrington answered, because, though she wore the stamp of refinement to her finger-tips, she knew all that concerned the feeding of stock, and the number of bushels that might be thrashed from an acre of wheat. I knew she spoke as one having experience, for I had been taught to till the soil, and only entered the cotton-mill when on my father's death it was found that his weakness for horses and his unlucky experiments had rendered it impossible that I should carry on the farm. So, while unobserved the sun sank low, I listened eagerly; until at last there was a sound of footsteps among the fern, and she ceased, after a glance at her watch. But, like the grain she spoke of, drilled into the black Assiniboian loam, the seed had been sown, and in due time the crop would ripen to maturity. A man came out from the birches, a handsome man, glancing about him with a look of indolent good humor on his face, and though for a moment Grace Carrington seemed displeased, she showed no sign of it as she rose leisurely to meet him. "I am sorry you had to come in search of me, Geoffrey," she said; "this is Mr. Lorimer--Captain Ormond. I think you have met before. I lost my way, and he kindly brought me across the moor. I have been telling him about Canada." The newcomer bowed with an easy indifference, for which, not knowing exactly why, I disliked him, as he said, "Don't remember that pleasure--meet so many people! Canada must be a very nice place; been thinking of going out there myself--drive oxen, grow potatoes, and that kind of thing, you know." He glanced at Grace, as though seeking her approval of such an act of self-sacrifice; but the girl laughed frankly as she answered, "I can't fancy you tramping behind the plow in a jacket patched with flour-bags, Geoffrey;" while, feeling myself overlooked, and not knowing what to say, I raised my cap and awkwardly turned away. Still, looking back, I caught the waft of a light dress among the fern, and frowned as the sound of laughter came down the wind. These people had been making merry, I thought, at my expense, though I had fancied Miss Carrington incapable of such ungenerous conduct. In this, however, I misjudged her, for long afterward I learned that Grace was laughing at the stories her companion told of his strange experiences with sundry recruits, until presently the latter said: "She stoops to conquer, even a raw Lancashire lad. I congratulate you on your judgment, Gracie. There is something in that untrained cub--could recognize it by the steady, disapproving way he looked at me; but I am some kind of a relative, which is presumably a warrant for impertinence." Now a saving sense of humor tempered Miss Carrington's seriousness, and Geoffrey Ormond joined in her merry laugh. In spite of his love of ease and frivolous badinage, he was, as I was to learn some day, considerably less of a good-natured fool than it occasionally pleased him to appear to be. Meantime, I strode homeward with the fierce longing growing stronger. I hated the dingy office where I sat under a gas-jet making up the count of yarn; and yet four weary years I had labored there, partly because I had to earn my bread and because my uncle and sole guardian greatly desired I should. It grew dark as I entered the valley which led to his house, for the cotton-spinner now lived ten miles by rail from his mill, and the sighing of the pine branches under a cold breeze served to increase my restlessness. So it was with a sense of relief that I found my cousin Alice waiting in a cosy corner of the fire-lit drawing-room. We had known each other from childhood, and, though for that very reason this is not always the case, we were the best of friends. She would be rich some day, so the men I met in her father's business said; but if Alice Lorimer ever remembered the fact, it made but little difference to her. She was delicate, slight, and homely, with a fund of shrewd common-sense and a very kindly heart, whose thoughts, however, she did not always reveal. Now she sat on a lounge before the fire, with the soft light of a colored lamp falling upon her, while a great embroidered screen shut off the rest of the partly-darkened room. "I have been waiting for you with the tea so patiently, Ralph," she said. "You look tired and moody--you have been out on the moors too long. See, here is a low chair ready just inside the screen, and here is the tea. Sit down and tell me what is troubling you." I settled myself in the corner, and answered, looking into the fire: "You were always kind to me, Alice, and one can talk to you. Something made me unsettled to-day, and I didn't care about the birds, though I got a plump brace for you. Alice, I can't help thinking that these brief holidays, though they are like a glimpse of Paradise after my dingy rooms in that sickening town, are not good for me. I am only a poor clerk in your father's mill, and such things as guns and horses are out of my sphere. They only stir up useless longings. So I return on Monday, and hardly think that I shall come back for a long time." Alice laughed softly, for she was a shrewd young person, then she laid her little hand restrainingly on my arm, before she said: "And who has a better right to the bay horse and the new hammerless ejector than the nephew of the man who never uses them? Now, I'm guessing at a secret, but it's probable that your uncle bought that gun especially for you. Ralph, you are getting morbid--and you have not been shooting all day. Did you meet Miss Carrington on the moor again?" Now in such matters I was generally a blunderer; yet something warned me that my answer would displease her. I could, however, see no way of avoiding it, and when I said as unconcernedly as I could, "Yes, and talked to her about Canada!" Alice for no particular reason stooped and dropped a thread into the fire. Then lifting her head she looked at me steadily when I continued, with some hesitation: "You know how I was always taught that in due time I should work the lands of Lindale Hall, and how, when we found on my father's death that there was nothing left, I tried the cotton-mill. Well, after four years' trial I like it worse than I did at the beginning, and now I feel that I must give it up. I am going back to the soil again, even if it is across the sea." Alice made no answer for a few moments; then she said slowly: "Ralph you will not be rash; think it over well. Now tell me if you have any definite plans--you know how I always used to advise you?" I felt I needed sympathy, and Alice was a faithful confidant, so I opened my heart to her, and she listened with patient interest. It seemed to me that my cousin had never looked so winsome as she sat close beside me with a slight flush of color in her usually pale face where the soft lamplight touched it. So we sat and talked until Martin Lorimer entered unobserved, and when, on hearing a footstep, I looked up I saw that he was smiling with what seemed grim approval as his eyes rested on us, and this puzzled me. Then his daughter started almost guiltily as he said, "I wondered where you two were. Dinner has been waiting, and you never heard the bell." I retired early that night, and, being young, forgot my perplexities in heavy slumber. The next morning I noticed that Alice's eyes seemed heavy, and I wondered what could be the reason. In after years I mentioned it when Grace and I were talking about old times together, but she only smiled gravely, and said, "I sometimes think your cousin was too good for this world." The next day was one of those wet Sundays which it is hard to forget. The bleak moor was lost in vapor, and a pitiless drizzle came slanting down the valley, while the raw air seemed filled with falling leaves. A prosperous man with a good conscience may make light of such things, but they leave their own impression on the poor and anxious; so, divided between two courses, I wandered up and down, finding rest nowhere until I chanced upon a large new atlas in my uncle's library. Martin Lorimer was proud of his library. He was a well-read man, though like others of his kind he made no pretense at scholarship, and used the broad, burring dialect when he spoke in his mill. Here I found occupation studying the Dominion of Canada, especially the prairie territories, and lost myself in dreams of half-mile furrows and a day's ride straight as the crow flies across a cattle run, all of which, though I scarcely dared hope it then, came true in its own appointed time. My uncle had ridden out early, for he was to take part in the new mayor's state visit to church in the manufacturing town, and even Alice seemed out of spirits, so when I left the library there was the weary afternoon to be dragged through somehow. It passed very slowly, and then as I stood by the stables a man from the house at the further end of the valley, where Colonel Carrington was staying, said to our stable lad: "I mun hurry back. Our folks are wantin' t' horses; maister an' t' Colonel's daughter's going to the church parade. They're sayin' it's a grand turnout, wi' t' firemen, bands, an' t' volunteers, in big brass helmets!" Neither of them saw me, and presently calling the lad I bade him put the bay horse into the dog-cart. "He's in a gradely bad temper," said the lad doubtfully. "Not done nothink but eat for a long time now, an' he nearly bit a piece out of me; I wish t' maister would shoot him." I laughed at the warning, though I had occasion to remember it, and looking for Alice I said, "I am driving in to church to-night. Would you like to come with me?" Now Alice Lorimer possessed her father's keen perception, and when he kept his temper he was perhaps the shrewdest man I ever met; so when she looked me straight in the face I dropped my eyes, because I really was not anxious for her company, and should not have gone except in the hope of seeing Grace Carrington. "Have you turned religious suddenly, Ralph?" she asked. "Or have you forgotten you told me yesterday that you did not care to go?" I made some awkward answer, but Alice smiled dryly, and with a solemn courtesy said: "Two are company, three are none. Cousin Ralph, I will not go with you. But don't leave the dog-cart behind and come back with the shafts." I went out with a flushed face, and a sense of relief, angry, nevertheless, that she should read my inmost thoughts, having fancied that my invitation was a stroke of diplomacy. I learned afterward that diplomacy is a mistake for the simple man. With a straightforward "Yes" or "No" he can often turn aside the schemes of the cunning, but on forsaking these he generally finds the other side considerably too clever for him--all of which is a wanton digression from the story. CHAPTER II THE CHURCH PARADE It was raining hard when I climbed into the dog-cart and rattled away into the darkness, while somewhat to my surprise Robert the Devil, or Devilish Bob, as those who had the care of him called the bay horse, played no antics on the outward journey, which was safely accomplished. So leaving him at the venerable "Swan," I hurried through the miry streets toward the church. They were thronged with pale-faced men and women who had sweated out their vigor in the glare of red furnace, dye-shop, and humming mill, but there was no lack of enthusiasm. I do not think there are any cities in the world with the same public spirit and pride in local customs that one may find in the grimy towns of Lancashire. The enthusiasm is, however, part of their inhabitants' nature, and has nothing to do with the dismal surroundings. A haze of smoke had mingled with the rain; yellow gas jets blinked through it, though it would not be dark for an hour or so yet; and the grim, smoke-blackened houses seemed trickling with water. Still every one laughed and chattered with good-humored expectancy, even the many who had no umbrellas. It was hard work to reach the church, though I opined that all the multitude did not intend to venture within, and when once I saw my uncle with a wand in his hand I carefully avoided him. Martin Lorimer was a power and well liked in that town, but I had not driven ten miles to assist him. Then I waited among the jostling crowd in a fever of impatience, wondering whether Miss Carrington had yet gone in, until at last I saw the Colonel marching through the throng, which--and knowing the temperament of our people I wondered at it--made way for him. There were others of the party behind, and my heart leaped at the sight of Grace. She was walking beside Captain Ormond, who smiled down at her. Then, just as the Colonel passed within, a burst of cheering broke out, and in the mad scramble for the entrance Grace, who turned a moment to recover the cloak she dropped, was separated from her companion. He was driven forward in the thickest part of the stream of excited human beings, and fortune had signally favored me. Squeezing through from behind a pillar I reached her side, and grew hot with pride when she slipped her arm through mine, and we were borne forward irresistibly by the surging crowd. Once I saw Ormond vainly trying to make his way back in search of his companion, and I stood so that he could not see her. Half-way down the aisle we met an official who recognized me as a nephew of Martin Lorimer. "I'll find you and the lady seats in the chancel. It will be the only good place left," he said. I did not care where we went, as long as Grace went with me, and when he ensconced us under an oaken canopy among the ancient carved stalls I longed that the service might last a century, while Grace's quiet "Thank you, I am so interested," filled me with ecstasy. The church was interesting. There are many cathedrals that could not compare with it; and it was very old. The damp haze had entered the building, and obscuring half the clearstory it enhanced its stateliness, for the great carved pillars and arches led the wandering eye aloft and lost it in a mystery, while far up at the western end above the organ a gilded Gloria caught a stray shaft of light and blazed out of the gloom. I saw Grace's eyes rest on it, and then I followed them down across the sea of faces, along the quaint escutcheons, and over two marble tombs, until she fixed them on her father, who with his party sat in a high-backed pew. The crash of music outside ceased, and with a steady tramp of feet, file by file, men in scarlet uniform moved up the aisle; while before them, led by the sword and gilded mace, came a little homely man, who seemed burdened by his glittering chain, and most uncomfortable. As I knew, he commenced his business career with ten pounds' capital, and could hardly speak plain English, while now his goods were known in every bazaar from Cairo to Singapore. This knowledge fostered a vague but daring hope within me. I remember little of the service beyond Grace's voice ringing high and clear in the "Magnificat," while for perhaps the first time I caught a glimmer of its full significance, and her face, clean-cut against the shadow where a fretted pinnacle allowed one shaft of light to pass it, looking, I thought, like that of a haloed saint. The rest was all a blurred impression of rolling music, half-seen faces, and gay uniforms, until a tall old man of commanding personality stood high aloft in the carved pulpit, and proclaimed a doctrine that seemed strangely out of place in the busy town. Honest labor brought its own reward in the joy of diligent toil, he said, and the prize of fame or money was a much slighter thing. I could not quite understand this then, for there were many in that district whose daily toil wore body and soul away, so that none of them might hope to live out half of man's allotted span, while a prize for which I would have given my life sat close beside me, and twice that evening the calm proud eyes had smiled gratefully into mine. Still, there was one drawback. As chance would have it, Minnie Lee, who operated the typewriter in the mill offices, sat just opposite, and would cast mischievous glances toward me. We were good friends in a way, for during two years I had talked to her on business matters every day, and sometimes also indulged in innocent badinage. She was fair-haired and delicately pretty, and was said to be aware of it; but now of all times I did not want those playful smiles directed toward me. However, I hoped that Grace did not see them; and not knowing what else to do, for I could not frown at her, I sought refuge in what proved to be a bewildering chapter of genealogy, until the building trembled as the vast assembly joined in the closing hymn. Long afterward, out on the lone prairie when the stars shone down through the bitter frost, I could hear in fancy Grace's voice rising beside me through the great waves of sound. Then I would remember the song of the speckled thrush singing at sunset after a showery April day through the shadow of a copse. We reached the street safely, though in that press there was no hope of finding Colonel Carrington, even if I wished it, which I certainly did not, so after some demur and the discussing of other expedients, Grace accepted my offer to drive her home. "I am afraid it can't be helped," she said, I thought with quite unnecessary cruelty. The dog-cart was ready, and Robert the Devil went well. The long streets rolled behind us, and were lost in the rain; then with a rhythmic drumming of hoofs and a constant splashing from under the whirring wheels, we swept out into the blackness of a treeless plain. I knew the road and did not take the shortest one; and it was rapture to draw the rugs and apron round Grace's waist, and feel the soft furs she wore brushing against me. The ten miles passed in what seemed to be scarcely as many minutes, and the rush through the damp air--for the rain had ceased at last--raised my companion's spirits, and she chatted merrily; then, just as we reached the crest of a steep dip into the Starcross valley, the Devil must take fright at a colored railway light that he had often seen before. I knew we were in for a struggle, and got both hands on the reins; but two men would hardly have held him. The next moment, with a mad rattle of wheels and red sparks flashing under the battering hoofs, we went flying into the long dark hollow, while I think I prayed that the Devil might keep his footing on the loose stones of a very bad road. One lurch flung Grace against the guard-rail, the next against my shoulder, and I remember feeling when the little hand fastened on my arm, that I would gladly have done battle with ten wild horses were she also not in jeopardy. Fresh drizzle lashed our faces, the wind screamed past, the wheels seemed to leave the ground alternately, and a light rushed up toward us from below, while with my teeth hard set I wondered what would happen when we reached the sharp bend at the bottom. I got the Devil around it somehow, and then breathed easier, for the steep slope of Starcross Brow rose close ahead, and I knew no horse was ever foaled which could run away up that. So, trusting to one hand, I slipped my arm round Grace's waist, and, thrilled at the touch of her damp hair on my neck, "I'll hold you safe; we are near the end, and the danger will soon be past," I said. It turned out so, for though Robert the Devil charged the hill gallantly, Starcross Brow proved too much for him, and, with a sigh of relief, Grace drew herself away. "I must thank you, Mr. Lorimer. You drive well," she said. Then I thought that if she had been like Minnie, or even cousin Alice, I might have ventured to replace the protecting arm, but there was something about Grace Carrington that made one treat her, as it were, with reverence. When we drew up in front of Starcross House a carriage with flashing lamps stood in the drive; I had seen those lights coming down the opposite side of the valley. After Grace had thanked me with a quiet friendliness as I helped her down, a group turned to meet us at the door. The first was a tall, thin-faced man of commanding presence with a long gray moustache, and he stared hard at me with a haughtiness that I fancied was tinctured with contempt, while Captain Ormond stood behind him, smiling languidly and lifted a warning finger unobserved to Grace. There was something forbidding about Colonel Carrington, and to the last few men liked him. I remember Harry Lorraine once comparing him to Coriolanus--"Steeped in pride to the backbone," said Harry, "but it's a clean pride, and there's a good deal of backbone about him." "I am glad to see you safe, Grace," he commenced. "We were rather anxious about you. But where have you been, and how did we pass you?" I never saw Grace either confused or taken by surprise, and when she explained quietly her father looked down at me from the top step as he said, "I thank you, sir, but I did not catch the name. May I ask who it is to whom we are so much indebted? Neither do I quite understand yet how we got here before you." There was nothing in the words, but the glance and tone conveyed the idea that he regretted the debt, while the whimsical look on Ormond's face aided in stirring me, for we had democratic notions in that part of Lancashire. "Ralph Lorimer, assistant cashier in the Orb Mill," I said. "It was a slight service, and I did not consider the shortest way best;" while before the Colonel could answer I raised my hat to Grace, and, taking Robert the Devil's head, turned him sharply around. Still, as I climbed into the dog-cart I saw that the burly master of Starcross House was chuckling at something, and I drove away feeling strangely satisfied with myself, until I began to wonder whether after all to walk twice off the field defiantly before the enemy was not another form of cowardice. Alice met me on the threshold--for she heard the wheels--with a query as to why the Satanic Robert was in such a state; but for several reasons I did not fully enlighten her. My uncle did not return that night, and I left for town the next morning. In the afternoon I sought an interview with him in his private office. It was with some trepidation that I entered, because Martin Lorimer was frank of speech and quick in temper, and I knew he was then busy with the details of a scheme that might double the output of his mill. He thrust the papers away and leaned forward on his desk, a characteristic specimen of his race, square in jaw and shoulder, with keenness and power stamped on his wrinkled face. "Well, Ralph, what is it now?" he asked. "Johnson of Starcross has been telling me some tale about your running away with an heiress and giving his answer to Colonel Carrington. I'm not altogether sorry. I do not like that man. There is also a reason why he doesn't like me." "It has nothing to do with that, sir," I answered awkwardly. "You know I have never asked questions about the family money; and you have been very kind to me. But the fact is I can't stand the mill, and I'm thinking of asking for whatever remains of my share and going out to Canada." Martin Lorimer smote the desk suddenly with his fist, and there was angry bewilderment in his eyes. "Hast gone mad altogether, lad?" he asked. I met his gaze steadily. "No," I answered. "I can't help longing for a life in the open air; and there is room in Canada for poor people like me." Then, thrusting his square jaw forward, he said: "Thy father left four hundred pounds in all. It is now five, under my stewardship. Shall I ask the cashier to make out a statement? Thy father had whims and fancies, or it would have been four thousand. Tom Lorimer could never see which side of his bread was buttered. He was born a fool, like thee." Flinging back my head I rose facing him. But he thundered, "Stop! You ought to know my meaning. He was an open-handed gentleman, and my well-loved brother. If you take your share of the five hundred, what is going to educate your brother Reggie and your sister Aline? I presume you know the fees they charge at both those schools? And did you ever ask whether I had plans for thee?" I was silent a moment. For the first time it struck me with sudden shame that Martin Lorimer had already most generously done his best to start his brother's orphans well in life. Then I answered slowly: "I beg your pardon. I recognize your goodness; but I know I should never be successful in the mill. I'm sorry, but that is only the simple truth. Let Reggie and Aline keep all, except enough for a third-class passage to Winnipeg. This is not a rash whim. It has taken me three years to make up my mind." "Then there's an end of the matter," said Martin Lorimer. "Stubbornness is in the family, and you are your father's son. An archangel would hardly have moved poor Tom! Well, lad, you shall not go penniless, nor third-class, if it's only for the credit of the name; and you can't go until spring. I thank thee for telling me; but I'm busy, and we'll talk again. Hast told thy cousin Alice about it?" His eyes had lost their angry flash before I went out, and something in his change of tone revealed the hard bargain-maker's inner self. Minnie Lee smiled over the typewriter as I passed her room, and I went in to tell her about it. I felt I must talk to some one; and, if not gifted with much sense, she was a sympathetic girl. She listened with a pretty air of dismay, and said petulantly, "So I shall lose my only friend in this dreary mill! Don't they pay high wages for my work in Montreal and Winnipeg? Well, if you hear of a situation you can send straight back for me." Then a door slammed, and I saw a frown on my uncle's face as, perhaps attracted by the sound of voices, he glanced into the room on passing. Still, it was some time afterward before I learned that he had heard the last words; and, remembering them eventually when recalled by events, Minnie's careless speech proved an unfortunate one for both of us. CHAPTER III "THE LAND OF PROMISE" It was a dismal afternoon in early spring when I lounged disconsolately about the streets of Winnipeg. The prairie metropolis had not then attained its present magnitude, but it was busy and muddy enough; for when the thaw comes the mire of a Western town is indescribable. Also odd showers of wet snow came down, and I shivered under my new skin coat, envying the busy citizens who, with fur caps drawn low down, hurried to and fro. One and all wore the stamp of prosperity, and their voices had a cheerful ring that grated on me, for I of all that bustling crowd seemed idle and without a purpose. So, feeling utterly forlorn, a stranger in a very strange and, at first sight, a forbidding land, I trudged up and down, waiting for the evening train which was to bear me west, and pondering over all that had happened during the past few weeks. There was the parting with my uncle, who laid a strong hand on my shoulder and lapsed into the speech of the country as he said, "I need not tell thee to set thy teeth and hang on through the first few years, lad. Thy father played out a losing game only too staunchly; and it's stey work at the beginning. I mind when I started the mill--but that's an old story. It's the man who can grin and bear it, coming up smiling after each fall, who wins in the end. And thou hast all the world before thee. Still, remember there are staunch friends behind thee here in Lancashire." I think his fingers shook a little, but Martin Lorimer was not addicted to much display of sentiment, and with a cough he hurried away; though I remember that the old cashier, who had served him since he started, putting a sealed envelope in my hand, said: "It's a draft for one hundred pounds on the Bank of Montreal, and it's a secret; but I'm not debiting the estate with it. Thou'rt a gradely fool for thy trouble, Ralph Lorimer. But I knew thy father, and, like him, thou mun go thy own way. Well, maybe it's for the best; and good luck go with thee." Next came my farewell from cousin Alice, who blushed as, laying before me a fine Winchester repeating rifle, which must have cost her some trouble to obtain in England then, she said: "It's only a little keepsake, but I thought you would like it--and you will remember your cousin when you use it. Ralph, you have chosen to work out your own destiny, and for many a night your uncle fumed over it until at last he said that the child who fought for scraps in the gutter grew to be worth any two of the spoon-fed. You know how fond he is of forcible simile, and he frowned when I suggested that Canada was not a gutter. Still, it is too late to consider whether you did well, and I ask, as a last favor, if you are ever unfortunate, if only for the sake of old times, you will let us know. And now I wish you all prosperity. Good-bye, Ralph dear, and God bless you." Her eyes were dim, and she looked so small and fragile that I stooped and kissed her, while though she drew herself suddenly away with the crimson mantling upward from her neck, I felt that whatever happened I had a friend for life in Alice Lorimer. Now all of that had faded into the past that I had left behind across the sea, and henceforward I knew there must be no more glancing back. I had chosen my own path, and must press forward with eyes turned steadfastly ahead, although at present I could see no further than the prairie station that I would reach some time before dawn the next day. A wheat-grower's dwelling thirty miles back from the railroad was registered as wanting assistance, the immigration officer said. Slowly, with more snow and a freshening of the bitter wind, the afternoon wore itself away, and I was glad when that evening I boarded the west-bound train. It was thronged with emigrants of many nationalities, and among them were Scandinavian maidens, tow-haired and red-cheeked, each going out to the West to be married. Their courtship would be brief and unromantic, but, as I was afterward to learn, three-fourths of the marriages so made turned out an unqualified success. Still, I found a corner in the smoking end of a long Colonist car, and, with the big bell clanging and a storm of voices exchanging farewells in many tongues, the great locomotive hauled us out into the whirling snow. Thick flakes beat on the windows, and icy draughts swept through the car, while the big stove in a boxed-in corner hummed with a drowsy roar. With half-closed eyes I leaned back against the hard maple while the preceding scenes of the long journey rolled like a panorama before me. Twelve days it took the ancient steamer, which swarmed like a hive, to thrash through mist and screaming gale across the Atlantic, while fifteen hundred emigrants below wished themselves dead. Then there followed an apparently endless transit in the lurching cars, where we slept as best we could on uncushioned seats and floor, through dark pine forests, with only an occasional tin-roofed hamlet to break the monotony. After that there were wooden cities in Ontario very much like the hamlets of a larger growth; and when at last sickened by the vibration, we sped out on to the long-expected prairie, the prospect was by no means inviting. Spring, I was told, was very late that year, and the plains rolled before us to the horizon a dreary white wilderness streaked by willow-swale, with at first many lonely lakes rippling a bitter steely-blue under the blasts, while crackling ice fringed their shores. Then several of my companions, who were young and romantic Britons with big revolvers strapped about them under their jackets, grew suspiciously quiet, and said no more about the strange adventures they had looked for in the West. There was nothing romantic about this land, which lacked even the clear skies Grace Carrington spoke of. It looked a hard country, out of which only a man with the power of stubborn endurance could wrest a living. So with a rhythmic beat of whirring wheels, and now and again a clash of couplings as we slid down some hollow of the track, we rolled on through the night, while the scream of wind grew louder outside the rattling cars. I was nearly asleep when there came a sudden shock, and the conductor's voice rang out warning us to leave the train. At slackened speed we had run into a snow block, and the wedge-headed plow was going, so he said, to plug the drifts under a full pressure, and butt her right straight through. Shivering to the backbone, I dropped from the platform into two feet of snow, and after floundering through it I halted among a group of excited men behind the two huge locomotives. For a newcomer it was a striking scene. The snow had ceased, and watery moonlight lit up the great white plain, in the midst of which, with the black smoke of the engines drifting across under a double column of roaring steam, stood the illuminated train. There was nothing else to show that man had ever been there before, except the spectral row of telegraph posts that dwindled in long perspective to the horizon. Ahead a billowy drift which filled a hollow rose level with the wedge-shape framing on the snow-plow front. They run both better plows and more luxurious Colonist cars now. "Will they get through?" I asked a tall man in fur robes with whom I had chatted. "Oh, yes, you just bet they will," he answered cheerfully. "Jim Grant and Number Sixty are a very bad pair to beat; he'll either jump the track or rush her through it. He's backing her out now for the first lead." With a clang of the bell to warn us off the line, the coupled engines slowly shoved the long train back the way they had come. Then the roar of blown-off steam grew still, and with loud blasts from the funnels that rapidly quickened they swept again down the slight grade like snorting giants, the huge head-lamp casting a blaze of radiance before them. It went out suddenly; I heard the thud of a soft but heavy shock, and long waves of whiteness curled up, while above it there was a hurling aloft of red sparks from the twin funnels. Then the tail-light glimmered more brightly as it returned again, and we looked into the steep hollow with rammed-back slopes out of which the engines backed slowly. "She'll do it sure next time," said the passenger. "Grant's going right back to Winnipeg to get on speed enough;" and under an eddying blast of steam the massive locomotives charged past us once more, while I felt a thrill as I watched them, and envied Grant, the engineer. It was something to hold that power in the hollow of one's hand. Thick white powder whirled aloft like smoke before them, a filmy wavy mass that seemed alive rolled aside, while presently the whistle boomed in triumph, and there was an exultant shout from the passengers, for steam had vanquished the snow, and the road lay open before us. Blundering down the gap they had made I climbed on board the train, colder than ever. As my new friend seemed a native of the neighborhood, I asked him whether he knew the farmer to whom I was going to offer my services. He laughed as he answered: "I ought to. Beat me badly over a deal in stock he did. Old Coombs is a Britisher, and a precious low-grade specimen. Dare say he'll take you, but stick him for half as much again as he offers you, and bargain _ex_ harvest--you'll get double wages anywhere then--see? How does this great country strike you--don't think much of it?--well, go slow and steady and it will grow on you. It's good enough for me, and I was raised on the best land in Ontario." This was not encouraging, but I knew that most beginnings are unpleasant, and I went shivering to sleep until in the gray twilight of what might have been a mid-winter dawn a blast of the whistle awakened me and the brakes began to scream. The train ran slowly past an edifice resembling a sod stable with one light in it, stopped, and the conductor strode into the car. Even now the Western railroad conductor is a personage, but he might have been an emperor then, and this particular specimen had lorded it over the Colonist passengers in a manner that for several days had made me long to rebuke him. It was foolish, of course, but I was as yet new to the ways of the country, and I fear we were always a somewhat combative family. "Any one for Elktail? Jump off; we can't wait all night with the west-bound mail," he said. "Say you," looking at me, "you had an Elktail ticket. Why aren't you getting off?" "It's Vermont I am bound for," I answered sleepily. "You will see it on my ticket if you look in your wallet;" but this, of course, the magnate refused to do, and when another hoot of the whistle announced the engineer's impatience he called a brakeman, saying: "You are bound for Elktail, and we've no time for fooling. Won't get off? Well, we'll soon put you," and, grasping my shoulder, he hustled me toward the platform of the car. Now, though Martin Lorimer sometimes gave way to outbreaks of indignation, he was fond of impressing the fact on me that if forced into a quarrel one should take the first steps deliberately. Also, even then I remembered that Coombs' homestead lay almost as near Elktail, and a happy thought struck me. So I offered but little resistance until, as we stood on the platform, the brakeman or some one waved a lantern; then, while with a shock of couplings the cars commenced to move, I gripped the guard-rail with one hand and held the other ready, for I had determined if I left that train before I reached Vermont the conductor should certainly leave it too. "Off with you!" he shouted, and shook me by the shoulder; but I seized him by the waist--the cars were moving faster now--and then flung myself off backward into the snow. I fell softly for as it happened the conductor fell under me, and, profiting by experience hardly earned in several colliery disputes, I took the precaution of sitting on him before he could get up. "It won't be my fault if you get hurt because you don't keep still," I said. Then there was a roar of laughter close by, and staring breathless down the track I saw the tail-light of the train grow dimmer across the prairie until it stopped and came swinging toward us again. "I'd rather have lost five dollars than missed that," said my new friend, rubbing his hands. "Not bad for a raw Britisher--put the boss conductor off his own train and held up the Vancouver mail! Say, what are you going to do with him, sonny?" "He can get up, and learn to be civil," I answered grimly; and when the man did so, sullenly, the other said: "Well, I don't want any mess-up with the brakeman, so we may as well walk out now that they're coming back for him. Only one man in this shanty, and he wouldn't turn out unless it were a director. Leave your baggage where they dumped it--can't move it until daylight--and come along with me!" I did so somewhat regretfully, for I felt just then that if this was the way they welcomed the emigrant in that country it would be a relief to do battle with the whole of them. Afterward I learned that when one understands his ways, which is difficult to do at first, there are many good qualities in the Western railroad-man. Still, I always wondered why the friendless newcomer should be considered a fair mark for petty hostility, especially by those who formerly were poor themselves--all of which applies only to city-bred men who hold some small office, for those who live by hard labor in forest and prairie would share their last crust with the stranger. We trudged away from the station, with a square block of wooden houses rising nakedly in front of us from the prairie, and two gaunt elevators flanking it to left and right beside the track, which is one's usual first impression of a Western town. The rambling wooden building which combined the callings of general store and hotel was all in darkness, for the owner expected no guests just then, and would not have got up for any one but my companion if he had. So, after pounding long on the door, a drowsy voice demanded, with many and vivid expletives, who was there, and then added: "Oh, it's you, Jasper; what in the name of thunder are you making all that row about? And what are you doing waking up a man this time o' night! Hold on! You're an obstinate man, and I guess you'll bust my door unless I let you in." The speaker did so, and when he had ushered us into a long bare room with a stove still twinkling in the midst of it, he explained that his subordinates would not serve an ambassador before the regulation breakfast hour, and lighting a kerosene lamp immediately withdrew. Jasper, however, took it all as a matter of course, and when, rolled in his long coat, he stretched himself on a settee and went to sleep, I followed suit. Still they gave us a good breakfast--porridge, steak, potatoes, corn-cakes and molasses--at which I wondered, because I had not discovered as yet that there is no difference on the prairie between any of the three meals of the day. When it was finished, my companion, who gave me directions as to how to find Coombs' homestead, added: "Remember what I told you about harvest, and, if you strike nothing better, when the wheat is ripe come straight back to me. I'm Long Jasper of Willow Creek, and every one knows me. I like your looks, and I'll give you double whatever Coombs pays you. Guess he'll have taught you something, and I'm not speculating much when I stake on that. You'll fetch Jackson's crossing on the flat; go in and borrow a horse from him. Tell him Jasper sent you. Your baggage? When the station agent feels energetic he'll dump it into his shed, but I guess there's nothing that would hurry him until he does. Now strike out; it's only thirty miles, and if you go on as you've begun you'll soon feel at home in this great country!" I thanked him sincerely and departed; and, as I passed the station, I saw that the agent evidently had not felt energetic yet, for my two boxes lay just where they had been flung out beside the track. As a preliminary experience it was all somewhat daunting, and the country forbidding, raw, even more unfinished than smoke-blackened Lancashire, and very cold; but I had found that every one seemed contented, and many of them proud of that new land, and I could see no reason why I too should not grow fond of it. At least I had not seen a hungry or a ragged person since I landed in Canada. Besides, Carrington Manor was less than fifty miles away, though it was evident now that a great gulf lay between Ralph Lorimer, the emigrant seeking an opportunity to learn his business as farm-servant, and the heiress of Carrington. CHAPTER IV AN UNPLEASANT APPRENTICESHIP By this time the sun was high, and, fastening the skin coat round my shoulders with a piece of string, I trudged on, rejoicing in the first warmth and brightness I had so far found in Canada. But it had its disadvantages, for the snow became unpleasantly soft, and it was a relief to find that the breeze had stripped the much thinner covering from the first of the swelling rises that rolled back toward the north. Here I halted a few minutes and surveyed my adopted country. Behind lay the roofs of Elktail, some of them tin-covered and flashing like a heliograph; in front a desolate wilderness where the gray-white of frost-bleached grasses was streaked by the incandescent brightness of sloppy snow. There was neither smoke nor sign of human presence in all its borders--only a few dusky patches of willows to break the vast monotony of white and blue. And somewhere out on those endless levels, thirty miles to the north, lay the homestead of the man who might not give me employment even if I could find the place, which, remembering Jasper's directions, seemed by no means certain. However, the first landmark at least was visible, a sinuous line of dwarfed trees low down on the horizon; and gathering my sinking courage I struck out for it. Slowly the miles were left behind--straggling copse, white plateau, and winding ravine--until it was a relief to find an erection of sod and birch-poles nestling in a hollow. The man who greeted me in the doorway was bronzed to coffee color by the sun-blink on snow, and his first words were: "Walk right in, and make yourself at home!" He was thin, hard, and wiry; the gray slouch hat and tattered deerskin jacket became him; while, if he had not the solidity of our field laborers, he evidently had nothing of their slowness, and with natural curiosity I surveyed him. There were many in Lancashire and Yorkshire who might beat him at a heavy lift, but few who could do so in a steady race against time from dawn to dusk, I thought. Then somewhat awkwardly I explained my business, and, mentioning Jasper, asked if he would lend me a horse, whereupon he called to the cheerful, neatly-dressed woman bustling about the stove: "Hurry on that dinner, Jess!" Next, turning to me, he added: "You're welcome to the horse, but it will be supper-time before you fetch Coombs' homestead, and you mayn't get much then. So lie right back where you are until dinner's ready, and tell us the best news of the Old Country. Jess was born there." It was characteristic treatment, and though the meal was frugal--potatoes, pork, green tea, flapjacks and drips, which is probably glucose flavored with essences--they gave me of their best, as even the poorest settlers do. One might travel the wide world over to find their equal in kindly hospitality. Perhaps the woman noticed my bashfulness, for she laughed as she said: "You're very welcome to anything we have. New out from England, I see, and maybe we're rough to look at. Still, you'll learn to like us presently." In this, however, she was wrong. They were not rough to look at, for though it was plain to see that both toiled hard for a bare living there was a light-hearted contentment about them, and a curious something that seemed akin to refinement. It was not educational polish, but rather a natural courtesy and self-respect, though the words do not adequately express it, which seems born of freedom, and an instinctive realization of the brotherhood of man expressed in kindly action. Hard-handed and weather-beaten, younger son of good English family or plowman born, as I was afterward to find, the breakers of the prairie are rarely barbaric in manners or speech, and, in the sense of its inner meaning, most of them are essentially gentlemen. It was with a lighter heart and many good wishes that I rode out again, and eventually reached Coombs' homestead, where a welcome of a different kind awaited me. The house was well built of sawn lumber, and backed by a thin birch bluff, while there was no difficulty in setting down its owner as an Englishman of a kind that fortunately is not common. He was stout and flabby in face, with a smug, self-satisfied air I did not like. Leaning against a paddock rail, he looked me over while I told him what had brought me there. Then he said, with no trace of Western accent, which, it afterward appeared, he affected to despise: "You should not have borrowed that horse, because if we come to terms I shall have to feed him a day or two. Of course you would be useless for several months at least, and with the last one I got a premium. However, as a favor I'll take you until after harvest for your board." "What are the duties?" I asked cautiously. And he answered: "Rise at dawn, feed the working cattle, and plow until the dinner-hour--when you learn how. Then you could water the stock while you're resting; plow, harrow, or chop wood until supper; after that, wash up supper dishes, and--it's standing order--attend family prayers. In summer you'll continue hay cutting until it's dark." Now the inhabitants of eastern Lancashire and the West Riding are seldom born foolish, and Jasper had cautioned me. So it may have been native shrewdness that led to my leaving the draft for one hundred pounds intact at the Winnipeg office of the Bank of Montreal and determining to earn experience and a living at the same time as promptly as possible. Also, though I did not discover it until later, this is the one safe procedure for the would-be colonist. There is not the slightest reason why he should pay a premium, because the work is the same in either case; and as, there being no caste distinction, all men are equal, hired hand and farmer living and eating together, he will find no difference in the treatment. In any case, I had no intention of working for nothing, and answered shortly: "I'll come for ten dollars a month until harvest. I shall no doubt find some one to give me twenty then." Coombs stared, surveyed me ironically from head to heel again, and, after offering five dollars, said very reluctantly: "Seven-fifty, and it's sinful extravagance. Put the horse in that stable and don't give him too much chop. Then carry in those stove billets, and see if Mrs. Coombs wants anything to get supper ready." I was tired and sleepy; but Coombs evidently intended to get the value of his seven-fifty out of me--he had a way of exacting the utmost farthing--and after feeding the horse, liberally, I carried fourteen buckets of water to fill a tank from the well before at last supper was ready. We ate it together silently in a long match-boarded room--Coombs, his wife, Marvin the big Manitoban hired man, and a curly-haired brown-eyed stripling with a look of good breeding about him. Mrs. Coombs was thin and angular, with a pink-tipped nose; and in their dwelling--the only place I ever saw it on the prairie--she and her husband always sat with several feet of blank table between themselves and those who worked for them. They were also, I thought, representatives of an unpleasant type--the petty professional or suddenly promoted clerk, who, lacking equally the operative's sturdiness and the polish of those born in a higher station, apes the latter, and, sacrificing everything for appearance, becomes a poor burlesque on humanity. Even here, on the lone, wide prairie, they could not shake off the small pretense of superiority. When supper was finished--and Coombs' suppers were the worst I ever ate in Canada--the working contingent adjourned after washing dishes to the sod stable, where I asked questions about our employer. "Meaner than pizon!" said Marvin. "Down East, on the 'lantic shore, is where he ought to be. Guess he wore them out in the old country, and so they sent him here." Then the young lad stretched out his hand with frank good-nature. "I'm Harry Lorraine, premium pupil on this most delectable homestead. You're clearly fresh out from England, and I'm sure we'll be good friends," he said. "Coombs? Well, Jim Marvin is right. I've set him down in my own mind as a defaulting deacon, or something of the kind. Did my guardian out of a hundred and fifty as premium, with duck, brant-goose, and prairie-chicken shooting thrown in--and he sees I've never time to touch a gun. However, I'm learning the business; and in spite of his quite superfluous piety he can farm, in a get-all-you-can-for-nothing kind of way." "He can't, just because of that same," broke in the prairie-born. "I'm sick of this talking religion, but you'll see it written plain on furrow and stock that when the Almighty gives the good soil freely He expects something back, and not a stinting of dumb beasts and land to roll up money in the bank. Take all and give nothing don't pan out worth the washing, and that man will get let down of a sudden some cold day. Hallo! here's the blamed old reprobate coming." Coombs slid through the stable with a cat-like gait and little eyes that noticed everything, while Harry leaned against a stall defiantly sucking at his pipe, and I wondered whether I was expected to be working at something. "Idleness does not pay in this country, Lorimer," he said, with a beatific air. "Diligence is the one road to success. There is a truss of hay waiting to go through the cutter. Harry, I notice more oats than need be mixed with that chop." He went out, and Harry laughed as he said, "Always the same! Weighs out the week's sugar to the teaspoonful. But you look tired. If you feed I'll work the infernal chopper." So for a time I fed in the hay, while Harry swung up and down at the wheel, slender and debonair in spite of his coarse blue garments, with merry brown eyes. He was younger than I, and evidently inferior in muscle; but, as I know now, he had inherited a spirit which is greater than mere bodily strength. No man had a truer comrade than I in Harry Lorraine, and the friendship which commenced in the sod stable that night when I was travel-worn and he cut the hay for me will last while we two remain on this earth, and after, hallowed in the survivor's memory, until--but, remembering Coombs, I know that silence is often reverence, and so leave Grace's clean lips to voice the eternal hope. We went back for family prayers, when Coombs read a chapter of Scripture; and he read passably well, though, for some reason, his tone jarred on me, while Harry fidgeted uneasily. Now I think it would jar even more forcibly. A hard life face to face with wild nature, among fearless, honest men, either by land or sea, induces, among other things, a becoming humility. There are times, out on the vast prairie, when, through glories of pearl and crimson, night melts into day, or up in the northern muskegs, where the great Aurora blazes down through the bitter frost, when one stands, as it were, abashed and awe-stricken under a dim perception of the majesty upholding this universe. Then, and because of this, the man with understanding eyes will never be deceived by complacent harangues on sacred things from such as Coombs who never lend a luckless neighbor seed-wheat, and oppress the hireling. Much better seemed Jasper's answer when Harry once asked him for twenty acres' seed: "Take half that's in the granary, if you want it. Damnation! why didn't you come before?" We retired early, Harry and I, to sleep in the same room, with the rusty stove-pipe running through it; and we rose, I think, at four o'clock; while an hour later the feet of the big plow-oxen were trampling the rich loam where the frost had mellowed the fall back-setting. We worked until nine that night, and I had words with Coombs when he gave me directions about plowing. We do not get our land for nothing in Lancashire, and so learn to work the utmost out of every foot of it. However, I do not purpose to dilate upon either disc-harrows or breaking prairie, nor even the cutting of wild hay--which harsh and wiry product is excellent feeding--for all these matters will be mentioned again. Still, as spring and summer rolled away, I gathered experience that saved me a good deal of money, and I felt at least an inch less round the waist and another broader round the shoulders. Then one Saturday evening, when the northwest blazed with orange and saffron flame, I lay among the tussocks of whispering grass reading for the third or fourth time a few well-worn letters from Cousin Alice. Acre by acre the tall wheat, changing from green to ochre, rippled before me; and, had its owner's hand been more open, it would have been a splendid crop. Marvin, Harry, and I had plowed for and sown it, because Coombs despised manual labor, and confined himself chiefly to fault-finding. It struck me that if we could do this for another we could do even more for ourselves. My agreement expired at harvest, and already the first oats were yellowing. Coombs' voice roused me from a pleasant reverie, wherein I sat once more with Alice beside the hearth in England. "It's not dark yet, and there's the wire waiting for the paddock fence," he said. "I regret to see you addicted to loafing. And Mrs. Coombs has no water left for the kitchen." Saying nothing, I smiled a little bitterly as I marched away to carry in water, and then the lady, whose thin face seemed sourer than usual that evening, set me to wash the supper dishes. All went well until I had the misfortune to break a stove-cracked plate, when looking at me contemptuously she said: "How very clumsy! Do you know you have cost me two dollars already by your breakages? No--the handle always toward a lady! But what could be expected? You were never brought up." Now the frying-pan or spider I held out had stood with its handle over an open lid of the range, so, though nettled, I still held it turned from her, and answered shortly: "Not to wash dishes, madam, though my up-bringing has nothing to do with the case." With an impatient gesture she reached over and grasped the hot handle, then dropped it with a cry just as the door opened and Coombs came in. This did not displease me, for if a quarrel must come it comes best quickly, and I listened unmoved while the mistress of the homestead said: "Walter, I think you had better get rid of this man. He not only breaks my crockery, but set a cruel trap to burn my fingers, and I do not choose to be insulted by a hired hand." "Have you anything to say before I turn you out on the prairie?" asked Coombs pompously; and remembering many an old grievance I answered with cheerful readiness: "Nothing of much moment, beyond that I warned Mrs. Coombs, and it was an accident. But it is cooler without, and we can discuss it better there." He followed in evident surprise, and I chuckled when he even walked after me into the stable, for already I guessed that if I left before the harvest I might have trouble about my wages. So far, in spite of several requests, Coombs had paid me nothing. It is also possible that a penniless newcomer of peaceful disposition might have been victimized, but I had learned in several industrial disputes, argued out with clog and brickbat as well as upon barrelhead platforms, that there are occasions when ethical justice may well be assisted by physical force. Besides, I was a Lingdale Lorimer, and would have faced annihilation rather than let any man rob me of my right. "I am afraid Mrs. Coombs is prejudiced against me, and it might save unpleasantness if you paid me my wages and I left this place to-night," I said; and read in Coombs' face that this was by no means what he desired. Wages are high at harvest and labor scarce, while any one with a knowledge of working land was a god-send at seven dollars a month. But Coombs was equal to the emergency. "I regret to see so much dishonesty in one so young," he said. "Our bargain was until after harvest, and I'll neither pay you a dollar nor give up your boxes if you go before. Let this be a lesson, if I overlook it, to confine yourself to the truth." I forget what I answered--we were always a hot-blooded race--but I fancy that several adjectives and the word hypocrite figured therein; while Coombs, shaken out of his usual assumption of ironical courtesy, made a serious mistake when he tried bullying. As he strode toward me, fuming like an irate turkey cock, in an absurdly helpless attitude, I grasped his shoulder and backed him violently against a stall. Then, and whether this was justifiable I do not know, though I know that otherwise not a cent would I ever have got, I took out his wallet, which, as he had been selling stock in Brandon, contained a roll of dollar bills, and counted out the covenanted hire. "Now I'm going to borrow your spare horse to carry my box," I said. "It will be sent back from Jasper's to-morrow, and if you venture to interfere I shall be compelled to hurt you. Let this also be a lesson to you--never try to bluff an angry man and put your hands up like that." I think he swore, I am sure he groaned distressfully when I went out with what was due to me. Meeting Harry I told him the story. "I don't think my guardians care much about me, and I'm coming with you," he said. "Good evening, Mrs. Coombs, you may make dusters of any old clothes I leave. I am going away with Mr. Lorimer, and henceforward I am afraid you will have to trust Marvin, who'll certainly eat the sugar, or do your own plate washing." So twenty minutes later, while Marvin stood chuckling on the threshold and waved his hat to us, we marched out in triumph, leading Coombs' steed which made an efficient pack-horse. It was dawn the next day when aching and footsore we limped into Jasper's. He lay back in his hide chair laughing until there were tears in his eyes when we told him the tale at breakfast, then smote me on the back as he said: "I'd have given a good deal to see it--the cunning old rascal! Got your full wages out of him?--well, I guess you broke the record. What shall you do now?--stay right where you are. It's a bonanza harvest, and I'll keep my promise; fifteen dollars a month, isn't it? Mr. Lorraine! oh yes, I know him--offer you the same. Then when harvest's over we'll talk again." Needless to say, we gladly accepted the offer. CHAPTER V A BID FOR FORTUNE We returned the horse with a note of sarcastic thanks, and flattered ourselves that we had heard the last of the matter. Several days later, however, when, grimed with oil and rust, I was overhauling a binder, a weather-beaten man wearing a serviceable cavalry uniform rode in, and explaining that he was a sergeant of the Northwest Police added that he had come in the first case to investigate a charge of assault and robbery brought against one Ralph Lorimer by Coombs. I told him as clearly as I could just what had happened, and I fancied that his face relaxed, while his eyes twinkled suspiciously as he patted the fidgeting horse, which did not like the binder. Then sitting rigidly erect, the same man who afterward rode through an ambush of cattle-stealing rustlers who were determined to kill him, he said, "I'm thinking ye acted imprudently--maist imprudently, but I'm not saying ye could have got your wages otherwise oot o' Coombs. Weel, I'll take Jasper's security for it that ye'll be here, and away back to report to my superior. Don't think ye'll be wanted at Regina, Mr. Lorimer. Good-morning til ye, Jasper." "Get down, Sergeant Angus," said Jasper, grasping his rein. "If you have run all decent whiskey off the face of the prairie, I've still got some hard cider to offer you. Say, don't you think you had better ride round and lock up that blamed old Coombs?" There was less hard cider in the homestead when Sergeant Angus Macfarlane rode out again, and our presence was never requested by the Northwest Police. Nevertheless, it became evident that either Coombs or his wife was of inquiring as well as revengeful disposition, and had read some of the letters I left about, for some time later, when the snowdrifts raced across the prairie I received the following epistle from Martin Lorimer: * * * * * "I return the last letter sent your cousin, and until the present cloud is lifted from your name I must forbid your writing her. Neither do I desire any more communications from you. We all have our failings, and there is much I could have forgiven you, but that you should have used your position in the mill to ruin that foolish girl Minnie Lee is more than I can overlook. The story has roused a very bitter feeling, even among my own hands, who are not particularly virtuous, and now that we are on the eve of the elections some of the other side's pettifoggers are using it freely. Still, I should gladly have faced all that, but for my own shame, knowing it is true. Her father is a half-mad religious fanatic of some sort; he came in to call down vengeance upon me, and I laughed at him, as I insulted the first man who told me, for his trouble. Then I remembered how by chance I once heard her arrange to meet you in Winnipeg. I understand the father is going out especially to look for you, and you had better beware of him. Further, I have a letter from a man called Coombs who brings a charge of robbery against you, saying it appeared his duty to advise me. This I returned endorsed, 'A lie,' because none of the Lingdale Lorimers ever stole anything back to the time of Hilary, who was hanged like a Jacobite gentleman for taking despatches sword in hand from two of Cumberland's dragoons. If you are ever actually in want you can let me know. If not, I am sorry to say it, I do not wish to hear from you." Hot with rage I flung down the letter, and, though how it got there never transpired, a tiny slip of paper fluttered out from it, on which I read the words, "There is a shameful story told about you, Ralph, but even in spite of my dislike at mentioning it I must tell you that I do not believe a word of it. Go on, trust in a clean conscience, and the truth will all come out some day." "God bless her for her sweet charity," I said; then sat staring moodily across the frozen prairie until Harry touched me on the arm. "I hope you have no bad news from home," he said. I have suffered at times from speaking too frankly, but I had full trust in Harry, and told him all, adding as I held out the letter: "He ought to know me better; it's cruel and unjust. I'll write by the next mail to Winnipeg and send back the confounded money he gave me when I came out. Read that!" Harry did so leisurely, wrinkling his brows; then he said: "I think I sympathize with your uncle--no, wait a little. That letter was written by a man who would much more gladly have defended you--you can recognize regret running through every line of it--forced to believe against his wish by apparently conclusive evidence. Otherwise, he would have ended with the first sentences. I should like him from this letter, and should be pleased to meet your cousin. In any case, apart from the discourtesy, you can't send the money back; from what you told me you are not certain even that it was a present. Better write and explain the whole thing, then if he doesn't answer leave it to time." I can still see Harry standing wrapped in his long fur coat looking down at me with kindly eyes. In due time I learned that he gave me very good counsel, though it was much against my wishes that I followed it. We worked hard for Jasper that harvest from the clear cold dawning until long after the broad red moon swung up above the prairie. Day by day the tinkling knives of the binders rasped through the flinty stems, and the tossing wooden arms caught up the tall wheat that went down before them and piled it in golden sheaves upon the prairie. This one machine has done great things for the Western Dominion, for without it when wheat is cheap and labor dear many a crop that would not pay for the cutting would rot where it grew. Jasper, however, possessed one of the antiquated kind which bound the sheaves with wire, and occasionally led to wild language when a length of springy steel got mixed up with the thrasher. Every joint and sinew ached, there were times when we were almost too tired to sleep, but--and this was never the case with Coombs--wherever the work was hardest the master of the homestead did two men's share, and his cheery encouragement put heart into the rest. Then, drawn by many sturdy oxen, the big thrasher rolled in, and the pace grew faster still. The engine, like others in use thereabout, shed steam and hot water round it from every leaky joint, and kept Harry busy feeding it with birch billets and liquid from the well. There were sheaves to pitch to the separator, grain bags to be filled and hauled to the straw-pile granary, while between times we drove wagon-loads of chaff and straw bouncing behind the bronco teams to complete that altogether western structure. Its erection is simple. You drive stout birch poles into the sod, wattle them with willow branches, and lash on whatever comes handiest for rafters; then pile the straw all over it several fathoms thick, and leave the wind and snow to do the rest. When it has settled into shape and solidity it is both frost and rain proof, and often requires a hay-knife to get into it. So, under a blue cloud of wood smoke, and amid blinding fibrous dust, panting men, jolting wagons, and the musical whir of the separator, the work went on, until the thrashers departed, taking their pay with them. Then, in the light box-wagons which first rolled across the uneven prairie on groaning wheels, and then slid in swift silence on runners over the snow, we hauled the grain to the railroad forty miles away. It was done at last, and Harry and I sat by the stove one bitter night considering our next move, when Jasper came in shaking the white crystals from his furs. He saw we were plotting something, and laughed as he said: "Making up your bill? We'll square it at the fifteen dollars to the day you hauled in the last load. Now I heard you talking of taking up land, and I've been thinking some. Nothing to earn a dollar at before the spring, and it will cost you considerable to board at Regina or Brandon. Is there anything the matter with stopping here? If you are particular we'll make it a deal and cut in three the grocery bill. Meantime you can chop building lumber ready to start your house in spring. No, it isn't any favor; I'll be mighty glad of your company." It was a frank offer; we accepted it as frankly, and lived like three brothers while the prairie lay white and silent month after month under the Arctic frost. Also we found that a young Englishman who lived twenty miles to the west was anxious to dispose of his homestead and one hundred and sixty acres of partly broken land at a bargain. We rode over to make inquiries, and learned that he had lost several successive crops. Jasper, however, said this was because he spent most of his time in shooting, while the man who wished to succeed in that region must start his work in grim earnest and stay right with it. Now he was going out to a berth in India, and would take the equivalent of four hundred pounds sterling for the buildings and land, with the implements and a team of oxen thrown in--at least one hundred and fifty pounds down, and the rest to run at eight per cent. on mortgage. It was dirt cheap at the money, but there was no one to buy it, he said, and Jasper, who acted as our adviser, agreed with this. "Got to make a plunge some time, and risking nothin' you never win," he said. "Figuring all round, it will fit you better than breaking virgin prairie, and you'll pay a pile of that mortgage off if you get a good crop next fall. Then one of you can take up the next quarter-section free land. More working beasts? I'll trade you my kicking third team at a valuation, and you can pay me after harvest. If the crop fails? Well, I'll take my chances." We spent one night in calculations beside the glowing stove while the shingles crackled above us under the bitter cold, and found that by staking everything we could just manage it. "I dare say I could raise a last hundred from my admiring relatives by hinting that without it I had serious thoughts of returning home," said Harry. "I don't know why, but they're particularly anxious to keep me away." There was a ring of bitterness in his tone, and when in due time Harry got money he did not seem by any means grateful for it. It was long afterward before he told me much about his affairs, and even then I did not understand them fully, though it seemed probable that somebody had robbed him of his patrimony. Nobody, however, troubles about his comrade's antecedents in the West, where many men have a somewhat vivid history. The new land accepts them for what they are in the present, leaving the past to the mother country. So a bargain was made, and the vendor received his first instalments; and as that winter sped I looked forward, half-fearful, half-exultant, to what the coming year should bring. Our feet at least were set on the long road which leads to success, and it was well that we could not see the flints and thorns that should wound them cruelly. It was a clear spring morning, one of those mornings which on the wide grass-lands fill one's heart with hope and stir the frost-chilled blood, when Harry and I stood beside our teams ready to drive the first furrow. A warm breeze from the Pacific, crossing the snow-barred Rockies, set the dry grasses rippling; and the prairie running northward league after league was dappled with moving shadow by the white cloudlets that scudded across the great vault of blue. Behind us straggling silver-stemmed birches sheltered the little log-house of Fairmead, which nestled snugly among them, with its low sod-built stable further among the slender branches behind. Trees are scarce in that region, and the settlers make the most of them. The white prairie was broken by a space of ashes and black loam, with a fire still crackling in crimson tongues among the stubble at the further end of it. Straw is worth nothing there, so a little is cut with the ear, and the rest burned off in spring, while the grasses growing and rotting for countless centuries have added to the rich alluvial left by some inland sea which covered all the prairie when the world was young. Nature, as those who love her know, is never in a hurry, and very slowly, little by little, working on through forgotten ages, she had stored her latent wealth under the matted sod against the time when the plowshare should convert it into food for man and beast. There is no wheat soil on the surface of the earth to beat that of Assiniboia and Manitoba. Harry leaned on the plow-stilts with a smile on his handsome sun-bronzed face, and I smiled at him, for we were young and hope was strong within us. "Ralph, I feel a hankering after some old heathen ceremonial, a pouring of wine upon it, or a garlanded priest to bless the fruitful earth," he said, "but we put our trust in science and automatic binders now, and disregard the powers of infinity until they smite the crop down with devastating hail. Well, here's the first stroke for fortune. Get up! Aw there, Stonewall!" He tapped the big red ox with a pointed stick, the two beasts settled their massive shoulders to the collar, and with a soft greasy swish and a crackle of half-burnt stubble the moldboard rolled aside the loam. I too felt that this was a great occasion. At last I was working my own land; with the plowshare I was opening the gate of an unknown future; and my fingers tingled as I jerked the lines. Then while the coulter sheared its guiding line, and the trampling of hoofs mingled with the soft curl of clods, they seemed by some trick of memory to hammer out words I had last heard far away in the little weathered church under Starcross Moor, "And preserve to our use the kindly fruits of the earth so as in due time we may enjoy them." There was a two-hours' rest at noonday, when we fared frugally on fried potatoes and the usual reistit pork, while Harry's oxen waded deep into a sloo, which is a lake formed by melting snow. Neither would they come out for either threats or blandishments until he went in too, with a pike; while Jasper's broncos, which were considerably less than half-tamed, backed round and round in rings when I attempted to re-harness them. Still, with laughter and banter we started again, and worked on until daylight faded and the stars twinkled out one by one above the dewy prairie. The scent of wild peppermint hung heavy in the cool air, which came out of the north exhilarating like wine, while the birch twigs sang strange songs to us as we drove the teams to the stable through the litter of withered leaves. An hour's work followed before we had made all straight there, and it was with a proud feeling of possession that at last I patted the neck of one of the horses, while the nervous creature looking up at me with understanding eyes rubbed its head against my shoulder. When the stove was lighted we drank green tea and ate more flapjacks which Harry had badly burned. I remember that when he handed me the first cup he said, "We haven't got champagne, and we don't want whiskey, but this is a great day for both of us. Well, here's luck to the plowing and increase to the seed, and, whether it's success or failure, what we have started we'll see through together!" Half ashamed of display of sentiment, I clinked the cracked cup against his own, and Harry leaned forward toward me with a smile that could not hide the light of youthful enthusiasm in his eyes, graceful, in spite of the mold of the plowing on his fretted garments. Then he choked and spluttered, for the hot fluid scalded him, and a roar of laughter saved the situation. Made as it was over a cup of very smoky tea, that compact was carried out faithfully under parching heat and bitter cold, in the biting dust of alkali and under the silence of the primeval bush. For an hour we lounged smoking and chatting in ox-hide chairs, watching the red glow from the range door flicker upon the guns and axes on the wall, or the moonlight broaden across the silent grass outside each time it faded, until the mournful coyotes began to wail along the rim of the prairie and we crawled up a ladder into the little upper room, where in ten minutes we were fast asleep on hard wooden couches covered with skins. I remember that just before I sank into oblivion a vision of a half-mile length of golden wheat floated before my heavy eyes, with Grace Carrington standing, sickle in hand, beside it. Her dress was of the color of the ear-bent stems, her eyes as the clear ether above, and the sickle was brighter than any crescent moon. Then it all changed. Powdery snow eddied through the withered stubble, and, against a background of somber firs that loomed above it, there was only the tall forbidding figure of Colonel Carrington. Afterward I often remembered that dream. CHAPTER VI THE FIRST CROP Each day brought much the same tasks at Fairmead until the disc-harrows had rent up the clods, and with a seeder borrowed from a neighbor ten miles away we drilled in the grain. While we worked the air above us was filled with the beat of wings, as in skeins, wedges, and crescents the wild fowl, varying from the tiny butter-duck to the brant goose and stately crane, went by on their long journey from the bayous by the sunny gulf to the newly thawn tundra mosses beside the Polar Sea. Legion by legion they came up from the south and passed, though some folded their weary pinions to rest on the way, and for a few short weeks every sloo was dotted with their plumage. Then they went on, and we knew we should see no more of them until the first blasts of winter brought them south again. All this appealed to our sporting instincts, but time was precious then, and though I glanced longingly at Harry's double-barrel, I did not lift it from the wall. Every moment had its duties, and the thought of the mortgage held us to our task. Then there followed an interlude of building and well-digging, when we sank down some thirty feet or so, and rammed the shaft sides with nigger-head stones, while occasionally some of our scattered neighbors rode twenty miles to lend us assistance. Meantime, a tender flush of emerald crept across the crackling sod, and the birches unfolded their tiny leaves until the bluff shimmered with tender verdure silver inlaid, while the jack-rabbits, which had not as yet wholly put off their winter robes of ermine, scurried, piebald and mottled, through its shadows. Then, while the wheat grew taller, and the air warmer every day, the prairie assumed an evanescent beauty which it presently put off again, for the flush faded from the grasses, and only the birch bluff remained for a refuge filled with cool neutral shadow in a sun-parched land. It was now time for the hay cutting, and we drove the rusty mower here and there across the dazzling plain, upon which willow grove and bluff stood cut off from the levels beneath by glancing vapor, like islands rising out of a shimmering sea. On much of it the grasses grew only to a few inches in length, and we had therefore to seek winter food for our beasts in each dried-up sloo, where they stood sometimes waist-high and even higher. No making was needed; the sun already had done that better than we could, and we merely drove the mower through, after which I went back with the loaded wagon, while Harry rode further out on to the prairie in search of another sloo. The mosquitoes came down in legions and bit us grievously, until it was necessary to anoint our hair with kerosene. Our dwelling was stifling, so that as a matter of necessity we always cooked outside; but the temperature changed at sundown, and, lying full length on the peppermint-scented hay, we rode home content across the darkening prairie, which faded under the starlight into the semblance of a limitless dusky sea, while the very stillness voiced its own message of infinity. Neither of us would speak at such times. Harry had a turn for emotional sentiment, I knew, but I too could feel that it was good to lie there motionless and silent, and try to grasp its meaning. Then the strained sense of expectancy would fade at the sight of the approaching homestead, or a bronco blundering into a badger-hole would call us back to a work-a-day world. Harvest came, and that year there was neither drought nor untimely frost, and our hearts grew light when the binders piled up a splendid crop. Still, when we proposed to prepare a thanksgiving feast for all our neighbors, Jasper, who had ridden over, grinned as he said, "Better lie low and pay off that mortgage. You're only starting, and they wouldn't expect it of you. Besides, you'll have had your fill of cooking before you have finished with the thrashers." This proved correct enough, for when the men came in with the thrasher and the homestead vibrated to its hum, others whose harvests were garnered came too, out of good-will, and Harry was cooking and baking all day long. Sometimes for hours together they kept me busy beheading and plucking fowls--we turned a steam jet on them from the engine to make the feathers come off; and it amused me to wonder what Alice would think if she saw me sitting, flecked all over with down, among the feathers, or Harry standing grimed with dust and soot, peeling potatoes by the bucketful beside his field kitchen. When the thrashers departed our larder and our henhouse were empty, and the grocery bill long; but we were only sorry that we could not entertain them more royally, for the men who worked for money at so much the bushel and the men who worked for friendship vied with one another in their labor, and there was no one among them but rejoiced at our success. Wheat was in good demand at remunerative prices that year, and I remember the day we hauled the last load to the elevators. Winter had set in early, and wrapped in long skin coats we tramped beside the wagons across the waste of crackling sod, while the steam from the horses rose like smoke into the nipping air. We started long before the wondrous green and crimson dawn, for it was nearly a twelve hours' journey to the railway town. We reached it finally, after a tiresome ride; and then for two hours we waited shivering among kicking and biting teams under the gaunt elevators before we could haul in our wagons, and for perhaps fifteen minutes there was a great whirring of wheels. Then they were drawn forth empty, and presently we came out of the office with sundry signed papers readily convertible into coin at Winnipeg, and marched exultant to the hotel, scarcely feeling the frozen earth beneath us in spite of our weariness. No spirituous liquor might be sold there, but for once we meant to enjoy an ample meal which we had not cooked ourselves, served on clean plates and a real white tablecloth. It was a simple banquet, but we felt like feasting kings, and though since then we have both sat at meat among railroad magnates, deputations from Ottawa, and others great in the land, we never enjoyed one like it. Harry, forgetting he was in Western Canada, tried to slip a silver half-dollar into the waitress' hand, who dropped it on the floor, perhaps because in that region wages are such that the hireling is neither dependent on nor looks for a stranger's generosity. I stooped to raise the coin and hand it her, and then started as for the first time our eyes met, while a wave of color suffused the face of the girl who stepped backward, for it was Minnie Lee. "Harry," I said, stretching out my hand to her. "This is the lady I told you about. You remember the letter. Now go along, and settle matters with the proprietor. Sit down, Minnie, I want to talk to you. Tell me how you came here, and why you left England, won't you?" The girl had lost her pink-and-white prettiness. Her face was pale, and she was thinner than before, while there was a hard, defiant look in her eyes. Besides, she seemed ill at ease and startled when I drew out a chair for her, and I too was singularly ill at ease. We had the long room to ourselves, however, for on the prairie meals are served at a definite hour, and usually despatched in ten minutes or so. Few men there waste time lounging over the table. "I hardly knew you, Ralph--you have changed so much," she said, and I only nodded, for I was impatient to hear her story; and she had surely changed far more than I. The Minnie I used to know was characterized by a love of mischief and childish vanity, but the present one wore rather the air of a woman with some knowledge of life's tragedy. "It's almost an old story now," she said bitterly. "Father had a craze for religion, mother was always sighing, and there was no peace at home for me. Then I met Tom Fletcher again--you remember him--and when he took me to concerts and dances I felt at last that I had begun to live. The endless drudgery in the mill, the little house in the smoky street, and the weary chapel three times each Sunday, were crushing the life out of me. You understand--you once told me you felt it all, and you went out in search of fortune; but what can a woman do? Still, I dare not tell father. All gaiety was an invention of the devil, according to him. We were married before the registrar--Tom had reasons. I cannot tell you them; but we were married," and she held up a thin finger adorned by a wedding-ring. I remembered Fletcher as a good-looking clerk with a taste for betting and fanciful dress, who had been discharged from the Orb mill for inattention to his duties, and I wondered that Minnie should have chosen him from among her many other admirers of more sterling character. "I said nothing to any one," she continued. "Tom was disappointed about something on which he had counted. He'd got into trouble over his accounts, too. There had been a scene with father, who said I was a child of the devil, and when Tom told me there was false accusation against him, and nobody must know we were going, we slipped away quietly. I was too angered to write to father, and it might have put the police on Tom. Tom was innocent, he said. We had very little money, work was hardly to be had--and our child died soon after we settled in Winnipeg." "Go on," I said gently, and she clenched her hands with a gesture that expressed fierce resentment as well as sorrow as she added: "The poor little innocent thing had no chance for its life--we were short of even bare necessities, for Tom could pick up only a few dollars now and then--and I think that all that was good in me died with it. So when he found work watching the heater of a store a few hours each night, and the wages would not keep two, I had to go out and earn my bread here--and I sometimes wish I had never been born." I made no answer for a space. There was nothing I could say that might soften such trouble as was stamped on her face; although I remembered having heard Jasper say that a weight clerk was wanted at the new elevator further down the line. Then, blundering as usual, I said: "Do you know, Minnie, they blame me at home for bringing you out here, and I heard that your father had sworn to be revenged upon me?" There was sullen fury in the girl's eyes--she was very young after all--but she kept herself in hand, and answered bitterly: "It was like their lying tongues. Envy and malice, and always some one's character to be taken away. No; it was Tom--and Tom, God help us both, has lost his head and drinks too much when he can. But I must not keep you, Ralph Lorimer, and henceforward you have nothing to do with me." A voice called "Minnie," and I had only time to say, "Perhaps I can find some better work for him; and you will write home and tell them the truth for your own and my sake, won't you?" before she hurried away. Then Harry and I walked down to the freight-siding, where the big box cars hauled out ready from under the elevators were waiting. Two huge locomotives were presently coupled on, there followed a clanging of bells, and we watched the twinkling tail-lights grow dimmer across the prairie. Part of our harvest, we knew, was on board that train, starting on the first stage of its long journey to fill with finest flour the many hungry mouths that were waiting for it in the old land we had left behind. The lights died out in a hollow far away on the prairie's rim, and Harry slipped his arm through mine, perhaps because his heart was full. With much anxiety, ceaseless toil, and the denying ourselves of every petty luxury, we had called that good grain forth from the prairie, and the sale of it meant at least one year free from care. Before we turned away, straight as the crow flies a cavalcade came clattering up out of the silent prairie, while, after a jingle of harness, merry clear-pitched voices filled the station, and something within me stirred at the sound. There was no trace of Western accent here, though the prairie accent is rarely unpleasant, for these were riders from Carrington who spoke pure English, and were proud of it. Two, with a certain courtliness which also was foreign to that district, helped an elderly lady down from a light carriage luxuriously hung on springs, which must have been built specially at the cost of many dollars, and the rest led their well-groomed horses toward the store stables, or strolled beside the track jesting with one another. None of them wore the skin coats of the settlers. Some were robed in furs, and others in soft-lined deerskin, gaily fringed by Blackfoot squaws, which became them; but except for this they were of the British type most often met with gripping the hot double-barrel when the pheasants sweep clattering athwart the wood, or sitting intent and eager with tight hand on the rein outside the fox cover. Still, no one could say they had suffered by their translation to a new country, which was chiefly due to Colonel Carrington. He had been successful hitherto at wheat-growing on an extensive scale, and though few of the settlers liked him they could not help admiring the bold far-seeing way in which he speculated on the chances of the weather, or hedged against a risky wheat crop by purchasing western horses. Still, not content with building up the finest property thereabout, he aspired to rule over a British settlement, and each time that he visited the old country at regular intervals several young Englishmen of good family and apparently ample means returning with him commenced breaking virgin prairie. They were not all a success as farmers, the settlers said, and there were occasional rumors of revolt; but if they had their differences with the grim autocrat they kept them loyally to themselves, and never spoke in public of their leader save with respect. Now it was evident that his daughter was expected; they had come to escort her home in state, and no princess could have desired a finer bodyguard. They were the pick of the old country's well-born youth when they came out, and now they had grown to a splendid manhood in the wide spaces of the prairie. Though they answered our greetings with good fellowship, I am afraid we regarded them a little enviously, for the value of some of their horses would have sown us a crop, and even Harry seemed unkempt beside them. We lived and dressed very plainly at Fairmead that year. Then amid a grinding of brakes, with lights flashing, a long train rolled in, and the group stood, fur cap in hand, about the platform of a car from which a dainty figure looked down at them. It was Grace Carrington, and as I stood a little apart from the rest my heart leaped at the sight of her. Yet, either from bashfulness or foolish pride, I would not move a step nearer. "What a picture!" said Harry softly. "A princess of the prairie and her subjects doing homage to her! Ralph, I say, you must not stare at the girl like that. But, by Jove, she's smiling this way--yes, she is really beckoning you!" It was true, for a stripling who wore his deerskin jacket as though it were the dolman of a cavalry officer strode forward, and inclining his head said: "If you are Mr. Lorimer, Miss Carrington desires to speak with you." For some reason I drew Harry with me. It may have been that I felt the company of a comrade of my own kind would be comforting in that assembly; and then I forgot everything as, fixing her bright eyes on me, Grace held out her hand. "It was kind of you to meet me, and this is an unexpected pleasure," she said. "You must come over to Carrington and tell me where you have settled. Oh stay, Raymond, this is Mr. Lorimer--he was kind to me in England, and I want you to invite him to your approaching festivities. You will come, won't you, and bring your friend--very pleased to see you Mr. Lorraine, too; then I shall have an opportunity for talking with you." "Delighted, of course, to please you," said a tall bronzed man of maturer years, bowing. "Met Mr. Lorimer already; pulled my wagon up most kindly when the team was stalled in a ravine. If I'd known you were from the old country would have ridden over already to ask you." Further introductions followed, all effected in a queenly way, and with a last pleasant glance toward us Grace moved toward the carriage, while I fancied that some of the younger among her bodyguard regarded us jealously. Harry and I stood silent until the cavalcade vanished into the dimness, and then, while the last beat of hoofs died away, the blood surged through every artery as he said: "Wasn't she splendid! When she held out her hand to me I felt that I ought to go down on one knee and kiss it, and all that kind of thing, you know. Ralph, you stalked up like a bear; must have been dazed by too much brightness, because you never even raised your hat. Well, one can understand it; but I think some of the others would have liked to cut your big solid throat for you." Harry was both enthusiastic and impressionable, though I did not think so then, and the whole scene could scarcely have lasted five minutes, but it filled my mind for days afterward, and I can recall it clearly still. CHAPTER VII HARVEST HOME It was a bitter night when Harry and I rode into the red glow of light that beat out through the windows of Lone Hollow, the furthest outlying farm of the Carrington group, where, now that the last bushel of his wheat had been sold in Winnipeg, Raymond Lyle was celebrating a bounteous harvest. Round about it, drawn up in ranks, stood vehicles--or rigs, as we call them--of every kind, for it seemed as if the whole country-side had driven in. Most of them were of better make than those we and the majority of the poorer settlers used, and it was hard not to covet when we managed to find a stall for our beasts. When one has wasted precious time that in the whole season can scarcely be made up again, by riding behind oxen at the exhilarating pace of some two miles an hour, or hauling in grain with half-tamed horses which jib at every hill, it is easy to realize the advantages of an efficient team, and any of those we saw in the Lone Hollow stables would have saved us many dollars each year. Even in the West the poor man is handicapped from the beginning, and must trust to ready invention and lengthened hours of labor to make up for the shortcomings of indifferent tools. Lyle, who had heard the trampling of hoofs, met us at the door. "It was kind of you to come, and I hope you will enjoy yourselves," he said. "We have tried to make things homely, but, as you know, this isn't England." We shook off our wrappings and entered the long lamp-lit hall, partly dazed by the sudden glare and warmth after the intense cold. It certainly was different from anything I had seen at home, for here in place of paint and gilding the decoration was in harmony with the country, bizarre and bountiful, with a beauty that was distinctly its own. Few oat-heads grown from English furrows might compare with the pale golden tassels that drooped in graceful festoons from the wall, while among the ruddier wheat-ears and bearded barley, antelope heads peeped out beside the great horns of caribou which the owner of Lone Hollow had shot in the muskegs of the north. Rifles and bright double-bitted axes of much the same pattern as those with which our forbears hewed through Norman mail caught the light of the polished brass lamps and flashed upon the wainscot, while even an odd cross-cut saw had been skillfully impressed into the scheme of ornamentation. But there was nothing pinchbeck or tawdry about them. Whirled high by sinewy hands, or clenched in hard brown fingers while a steady eye stared down the barrel, that a bridge might span a ravine where no bridge had been, or venison help to cut down the grocery bill and leave the more for the breaking of virgin soil, that steel had played its part in the opening up of a wide country. Yet, the suggestion of strict utility even enhanced its effectiveness, and I remembered with a smile the trophies of weapons stamped out by the gross in Birmingham which I had seen adorning our suburban villas at home. The majority of the guests were English--one could see that at a glance, and the mother country had small reason to be ashamed of her outland sons. The clear skin showed through the snow-blink's tan, and the eyes were bright with a steadfastness that comes from gazing into wide distance. Sun, wind, and snow, the dust of parched earth and the stinging smoke of the drifts, had played their part in hardening them, but still, a little deeper in color, a little stronger in limb, they were the same men one finds dwelling in many an English home. Standing beside a great open hearth, on which to aid the stove a huge pile of birch logs crackled joyously, the representative of an alien race drew a cunning bow across the strings of a dingy violin. He sprang from Gallic stock, a descendant of the old _coureurs_ who for two centuries wandered in search of furs across the wilderness, even as far as the northern barrens, before the Briton came to farm. It was a waltz he played--at least, that was the time; but the music seemed filled with the sighing of limitless pines, and the air was probably known in France three hundred years ago. Still, weather-beaten men, and fair women who were considerably less numerous, swept light-heartedly round to it, and when, declining refreshment then, we found a corner, Harry and I sat staring with all our eyes at the scene before us. After the monotonous labor of the past two years the swish of light dresses and the rhythmic patter of feet, with the merry faces and joyous laughter, moved me strangely. All this seemed to belong to a different world from the one in which we had been living, and I wondered whether any of those dainty daughters of Carrington would deign to dance with me. They might have been transplanted like English roses from some walled garden at home, and their refined beauty had grown to a fuller blossom on the prairie. Still, I knew they would have faded in the dry heat of the dwellings in an Eastern town. "How do those French-Canadians learn to play like that?" said Harry. "No one taught them; inherited it, I suppose. I know that air; it's very old, and he's taking liberties with it masterfully; now it's like the cypress singing in the big coulée. Of course, it wasn't learned in one generation, but why does a waltz of that kind unsettle one so, with a suggestion of ancient sorrow sighing through its gladness? But I'm forgetting, and vaporing again. We are ox-drivers, you and I." I nodded silently, for I had not the gift of ready speech, and it was Harry who most often put my thoughts into words for me. Then I grew intent as he said: "There she is. Who!--Miss Carrington--is there any one else to look at when she is in the room?" Grace floated past us dressed as I had somewhere seen her before and could not recall it, though the memory puzzled me. Neither do I know what she wore, beyond that the fabric's color was of the ruddy gold one sees among the stems of ripening grain, while wheat ears nestled between her neck and shoulder, and rustled like barley rippling to the breeze, as with the music embodied in each movement of her form she whirled by us on Ormond's arm. He looked as he did when I last saw him, placidly good-humored, with the eyeglass dangling this time loosely by its cord. Then I drew in my breath as the music ceased, and Raymond Lyle approached us, saying: "As usual, men are at a discount, but you have not had a dance, and most of the others have. Come, and I'll find you partners. Ah, if you are not tired, Miss Carrington, will you take pity on an old friend of yours? I have many duties, and you will excuse me." He withdrew quickly, and Grace smiled. "One must never be too tired to dance with an old friend at a prairie feast," she said, running her pencil through the initials on a program which had traveled several hundred miles from Winnipeg. Then I felt uncomfortable, for I guessed the letters R. L. represented my host, who had good-naturedly made way for me. It was a kindly thought, but Raymond Lyle, who was a confirmed bachelor living under his self-willed sister's wing, had evidently guessed my interest and remembered the incident of the jibbing team. It was a square dance, and Harry with a laughing damsel formed my _vis-à-vis_, but having eyes only for my partner I saw little but a moving mixture of soft colors and embroidered deerskin, for some of the men were dressed in prairie fashion. I felt her warm breath on my neck, the shapely form yielding to my arm, and it was small wonder that I lost myself in the glamour of it, until with the crash of a final chord from the piano the music stopped. "And you have not danced for four years!" she said as I led her through the press. "Well, it has all come back to you, and out here there is so much more than dancing for a man to do. Yes, you may put down another, there toward the end, and fill in the next one two. I have been looking forward to a quiet talk with you." I was left alone with pulses throbbing. There was very little in what she said, but her face showed a kindly interest in our doings, and it was no small thing that the heiress of Carrington should place me on the level of an old friend. Harry was chatting merrily with his late partner, who seemed amused at him, and this was not surprising, for Harry's honest heart was somewhat strangely united with a silver tongue, and all women took kindly to him. I found other partners and he did the same, so it was some time before we met again, and I remember remarking that all this gaiety and brightness seemed unreal after our quarters at Fairmead, and ended somewhat lamely: "I suppose it's out of mere pity she danced with me. As you said, we are of the soil, earthy, and a princess of the prairie is far beyond our sphere. Yet she seemed genuinely pleased to see me. If it were even you, Harry!" He laughed as he pointed to a large mirror draped in cypress, saying, "Look into that. You are slow at understanding certain matters, Ralph. Not seen the whole of your noble self in a glass for two years? Neither have I. And it hasn't dawned upon you that you came out in the transition stage--a grub, or shall we say a chrysalis? No, don't wrinkle your forehead; it's only an allegory. Now you have come out of the chrysalis--see?" Part of this was certainly true, for at Coombs' we had the broken half of a hand-glass to make our simple toilet, and at Fairmead a whole one of some four inches diameter which cost two bits, tin-backed, at the store, and I remember saying that it was an extravagance. Now I stared into the long glass, standing erect in my one gala garment of fringed deerskin. "A little too bull-necked," Harry remarked smiling, "but, except for Raymond Lyle, the stiffest-framed man in the room. Solid and slow from shoulders to ankles; head--shall we say that of a gladiator, or a prize-fighter? Good gracious, Ralph, remember you're in a ball room, not trying on your trousseau." His remarks were not exactly flattering, but for the first time I felt glad to stand a strong man among those who had other advantages behind them, though I fumed inwardly when presently I heard Harry's partner say: "What a curious man your friend is! I saw him standing before the big glass actually admiring himself." And Harry had the mendacity to assure her that this was a favorite habit of mine. Afterward I chatted for a time with the giver of the feast. We had much in common, for he was a stalwart plainly spoken man whose chief concern was the improvement of his holding, and from what he said it was clear that taking season by season his bank account increased but little, while he mentioned that several of his neighbors lost a certain sum yearly. There are two ways of farming in the West, and it seemed that after all Harry and I had chosen the better, the creeping on from acre to acre, living frugally, and doing oneself whatever is needed, then investing each dollar hardly saved in better implements. Nevertheless, I saw that the men of Carrington who followed the other plan, spending and hiring freely, were doing a good work for the country, because even if they lost a small sum each year most of them could afford it, and their expenses would have been much greater at home. They helped to maintain a demand for good horses and the product of clever workmen's skill; they supported the storekeepers of the wooden towns; and the poorer settlers could always earn a few dollars by working for them. So it dawned upon me that it is well for the nation that some are content to take their pleasure, as these men did, in an occupation that brought them small profit, sinking their surplus funds for the benefit of those who will follow them. Neither does the mother country lose, because she reaps the fruit of their labors in the shape of cheap and wholesome food. At last the conversation drifted around to the founder of Carrington. "An austere man," said Lyle, "and he's somewhat different from the rest of us--ready to gather in wherever he can, very hard to get ahead of at a deal; but if he is keen it's all for the sake of his daughter. There are two things Carrington is proud of, one is this settlement, and the other his heiress. He's not exactly an attractive personage, but there are whispers that some painful incident in her mother's life soured him, and one learns to respect him. His word is better than most other men's bond, and if his will is like cast iron his very determination often saves trouble in the end." Silence succeeded, for bold chords of music held the assembly still, and I saw Harry seated at the piano, which apparently had escaped serious damage in its long transit across the prairie. This was a surprise, for I had not suspected Harry of musical proficiency. There was power in his fingers, hardened as they were, and when the ringing prelude to an English ballad filled the room more than his partner felt that he could call up a response to his own spirit from the soul of the instrument. The lad beside him also sang well, perhaps because he was young and sentiment was strong within him, but sturdy labor under the open heaven seems inimical to the development of hypercritical cynicism, and the men who at home would probably have applauded that song with an indulgent smile listened with kindling eyes and then made the long room ring with their bravos. Here, far away from the land that bred them, they were Britons still, and proud of their birthright. Then Grace Carrington sang, and I would have given years of my life for Harry's skill, which seemed a bond between them as she smiled gratefully upon him. The words were simple, as became the work of a master who loved the open, and the music flowed with them like the ripple of a glancing water; so a deeper silence settled upon all, and I was back in England where a sparkling beck leaped out from the furze of Lingdale and sped in flashing shallows under the yellow fern, while somewhere beyond the singer's voice I could almost hear the alders talking to the breeze. When it ceased the sound grew louder, but it was only a bitter blast that came from the icy Pole moaning about the homestead of Lone Hollow. Raymond Lyle stepped forward to express the wish of the rest, and Grace bent her fair head to confer with Harry, who nodded gravely, after which she stood still, while a stately prelude that was curiously familiar awoke old memories. Then the words came, and from the lips of others they might have seemed presumptuous or out of place, but Grace Carrington delivered them as though they were a message which must be hearkened to, and there was an expectant hush when the first line, "A sower went forth sowing," rang clearly forth. Later some of those about me breathed harder, and I saw that big Raymond's eyes were hazy, while one hard brown hand was clenched upon his knee, as in sinking cadence we heard again, "Within a hallowed acre He sows yet other grain." Then after the last note died away and there was only the moaning of the wind, he said simply, "Thank you, Miss Carrington. I am glad you sang it at the Lone Hollow harvest home." "I would never have played it here for any one else," said Harry presently. "These things are not to be undertaken casually, but she--well, I felt they had to listen, and I did the best that was in me. I think it was her clean-hearted simplicity." It was some time afterward when I led Grace out and spent a blissful ten minutes swinging through the mazes of a prairie dance, before we found a nook under dark spruce branches from the big coulée, where Grace listened with interest while I told her of our experiences in the Dominion. The background of somber sprays enhanced her fair beauty, and her dress, which, though there was azure about it, was of much the same color, melted into the festoon of wheat stalks below. The French-Canadian was playing another of his weird waltzes, and it may have been this that reminded me, for now I remembered how I had seen her so before. "You will not laugh, I hope, when I tell you that all this seems familiar," I said hesitatingly. "Sometimes in a strange country one comes upon a scene that one knows perfectly, and we feel that, perhaps in dreams, we have seen it all before. Why it is so, I cannot tell, but once in fancy I saw you with a dress exactly like the one you are wearing now, and the tall wheat behind you. Of course, it sounds ridiculous, but, as Harry says, we do not know everything, and you believe me, don't you?" Grace's face grew suddenly grave, and there was a heightened color in it as she answered: "Your friend is a philosopher, besides a fine musician, and I quite believe you. I have had such experiences--but I think these fancies, if fancies they are, are best forgotten. Still, tell me, did you dream or imagine anything more?" "Yes," I said, still puzzled as a dim memory came back, "I saw your father too. He seemed in trouble, and I was concerned in it. This I think was on the prairie, but there were tall pines too; while across the whole dream picture drove an alternate haze of dust and snow." Grace shivered as though the relation troubled her, and was silent until she said with a smile: "It must be that ghostly music. Louis of Sapin Rouge has missed his vocation. We will talk no more of it. You once did me a kindness; I wonder whether you would repeat it." "I would go to the world's end," I commenced hotly, but stopped abashed as she checked me with a gesture, though I fancied that she did not seem so displeased at my boldness as she might have been. Then she answered, smiling: "I thought you were too staid and sensible for such speeches, and they hardly become you, because of course you do not mean it. It is nothing very serious. There are signs of bad weather, and my aunt is not strong, so, as Miss Lyle presses us, we shall stay here until to-morrow noon, and I want you to ride over and tell my father. He might grow uneasy about me--and for some reason I feel uneasy about him, while, as he has been ailing lately, I should not like for him to venture across the prairie. It seems unfair to ask you, but you are young and strong; and I should like you to meet him. He has his peculiarities, so our neighbors say, but he has ever been a most indulgent parent to me, and he can be a very firm friend. You will do this, as a favor, won't you?" She gave me her hand as she rose, and, mastering a senseless desire to do more than this, I bowed over it and hurried away, feeling that hers was the favor granted, for Ormond and many others would gladly have ridden fifty miles through a blizzard to do her bidding. It was for this reason that I made my excuses to our host quietly, and Harry laughed as he said: "I'll ride over with the others for you when the dance is finished, but that won't be until nearly dawn. The length of these prairie festivities is equaled only by their rarity. But beware, Ralph. You are a poor wheat-grower, and too much of those bright eyes is not good for you." I was glad of the skin coat and fur cap before I even reached the stables, and Jasper's horse made trouble when I led him out. He knew the signs of the weather and desired to stay there, because they were not promising. Now, though winter is almost Arctic in that region, the snow-fall is capricious and generally much lighter than that further east, though it can come down in earnest now and then. Thus, swept by the wind, the grass was bare on the levels, or nearly so, and there was no passage for steel runners, while our poor wagon, which would have carried us much more snugly swathed in wrappings, had broken down, as when wanted it usually did. So, shivering to the backbone, I swung myself into the saddle and hardened my heart to face the bitter ride. CHAPTER VIII HELD UP It was very dark. The wind had the coldness of death in it, and when the lights of Lone Hollow had faded behind the obscurity closed round me like a thick curtain. Still, trusting to an instinctive sense of direction men acquire in that land, I pushed on for the big coulée--one of those deep ravines that fissure the prairie and much resemble a railway cutting. This one was larger than the rest, and Carrington Manor stood near one end of it. The horse evidently had little liking for the journey, and did his best to shorten it, while I had hard work to keep my mittened hands from freezing as we swept onward through the night. In places a thin carpet of snow-dust muffled the beat of hoofs, and there was no sound but the mournful shrilling of the wind, which emphasized the great emptiness and sense of desolation until I almost felt that I had ridden out of our busy life into primeval chaos. We are inclined to be superstitious on the prairie, which is not greatly to be wondered at. Fifty yards from the lighted homestead in wintertime there is only an overpowering loneliness, where Death with his ally the Frost King reigns supreme; while, living closer to nature, we learn that there are even yet many mysteries, and man plays but a small part in the business of the universe. Still, for a time the warmth within me kept out the frost; for Grace Carrington's hand had rested in mine, and I understood how the thought of service sustains the Northwest troopers in their lonely vigil. They served the nation, but I was serving Grace. Presently even this consolation grew fainter, and the spell of the white wilderness oppressed my spirits; for the air was filled with warning, and I knew that heavy snow was not far off. Sometimes very silently a dim shadow flitted past, and the horse started, snorting as he quickened his pace with the white steam whirling behind him. It may have been a coyote, or perhaps a timber wolf; for though the antelope had departed south, the settlers said that both from the bush of the Saskatchewan and beyond the Cypress hills the lean and grizzled beasts had come down into the prairie. Nevertheless, their noiseless passage harmonized with the surroundings; and at last I grew thankful for a slight drowsiness which blunted the imagination. But there were other riders out on the waste that night, and, with one hand on the slung rifle, I reined in the horse as three white-sprinkled figures came up at a gallop. Generally, as far as anything human is concerned, the prairie is as safe at midnight, if not safer, than a street in London town; but because game is plentiful there is generally a gun in the wagon, and when the settlers ride out they often carry a rifle at their back. "Halt!" cried a voice I recognized; and there was a jingle of steel as two skin-wrapped troopers of the Northwest Police wheeled their horses on either side of me, while another, who spoke with authority, grasped my bridle. Even in that darkness I could see the ready carbines, and, knowing what manner of men these riders were, I was glad I could meet them peaceably. "Your name and business," said the voice of Sergeant Macfarlane; and a disappointed laugh followed my reply as that worthy added, "Then if ye have no' been raiding Coombs lately ye can pass, friend. Seen no one on the prairie? I'm sorry. Four cattle-lifting rustlers held up Clearwater Creek, and we're going south for the next post to head them off from the boundary. Well, time is precious. A fair journey til ye. It's a very bitter night, and snowing beyond." With a faint clatter they vanished again; and I did not envy them their long ride to the next post, with a blizzard brewing. When his work is over or the snow comes down the settler may sleep snugly and sound, or lounge in tranquil contentment beside the twinkling stove, while, as the price of his security, the Northwest Police, snatching sometimes a few hours' rest under the gray cloud in a trench of snow, and sometimes riding a grim race with death, keep watch and ward over the vast territories. We do not rear desperadoes on the prairie, though some few are sent to us. Neither do they take root and flourish among us, because ours is a hard country and there are not many men in it worth robbing. However, there had been trouble over the border when the rich Cattle Barons strove to crowd out the poor man, and the hardest hit among the latter, with murderous Winchesters, lay in wait for the oppressor. I do not know the wrongs and rights of the whole question; neither were details of every skirmish published by the American press; but cruel things were done by each side, and it took a strong force of United States cavalry to restore order. Then broken men who had lost their livelihood, and some with a price upon their heads, made their name a terror on both sides of the frontier and kept the troopers busy. So I was glad that those particular outlaws had journeyed south, and was even more pleased when I reached the coulée, for the cold was increasing and the ride had grown inexpressibly dreary. It was warmer down in the hollow among the trees, but so black that it was the horse rather than I that avoided them, while now and then a branch lashed my forehead like a whip. There were cypress among them resembling solid masses of gloom, and the wind howled weirdly; but at last I blundered up the winding trail into sight of Carrington Manor. The big log-and-frame-built house was dark and silent, and though I knew that at least the majority of its inhabitants were at Lone Hollow the sight depressed me. Then, just as we drew clear of the trees, I checked the horse, for, silhouetted blackly against the sky, a single mounted figure kept watch over it. Perhaps it was instinctive caution, or it may have been that Grace's uneasiness had infected me, but I led Jasper's horse back into the coulée and hitched him to a tree, then, unslinging the rifle, stood still shivering as I watched the figure. There was something sinister about it, and it might have been frozen stiff but for a faint rattle as the horse moved its head, while once I caught a rigid line across the saddle which suspiciously resembled a rifle. Then, recalling what Sergeant Macfarlane had said, I knew that while the police rode hot-foot toward the boundary the rustlers had doubled on their tracks to hold up Carrington Manor. It also struck me that as the main trail ran straight across the prairie the watcher knew nothing about the bridle-path through the coulée. In any case, it was plainly my duty to reach the homestead and render assistance if I could. I made sure that the Winchester cylinder was filled with cartridges by pressing back the slide, and then I crept cautiously, with the dark trees for a background, toward the building, observing as I did so that the latter rendered the scout invisible to any one approaching by the direct trail. Then, stooping low, I crossed the bare space which divided me from the house, trusting that a humming bullet might not overtake me, and reached it safely with a heart that beat at twice its usual speed. It is one thing to face danger in hot blood, but it is quite another and much more unpleasant matter to slink through the darkness wondering whether a foe one cannot see is following each movement with a rifle. Neither is there any chance of hitting back in such cases; for it is my opinion, from watching a stricken deer, that at short ranges the blow comes almost simultaneously as the optic nerve records the flash and before the ear has caught the explosion. All this I considered as I flattened myself against the wall--for I was by no means braver than my fellows--and presently, yard by yard, wormed myself along it until I passed a corner. There a light shone out across the snow from a window, and I am perfectly willing to admit that I crawled toward it on hands and knees, for angry voices now reached me, and I knew that if I raised myself and the watcher had changed his position he could see me. I reached the sill at last with the rifle clenched in one mittened hand; and while I debated on my next procedure I heard Colonel Carrington say slowly and fiercely: "I will neither sign nor tell you!" Then, reflecting that while one can always see into a lighted room those inside it cannot see out, I determined to risk the scout's vigilance, and raised my head cautiously, for it was plain that something quite unusual went on inside. I looked into a kind of ante-room on one side of the entrance, which the ruler of Carrington used as an office or study. He sat in a basket chair with a frown on his face and disdain in his eyes, while a burly man muffled in wrappings leaned on the table opposite him, holding a rifle, the muzzle of which was turned toward the Colonel's breast. But there was no sign of fear about him, and I had heard the settlers say that nothing living could make Colonel Carrington flinch. An open check-book and some note-paper lay beside an inkstand on the table, and another armed ruffian stood near the stove. The door of the hall close by stood partly open, and their voices were audible through it. "I guess it's quite simple, but you make us tired," the latter said. "You'll tell us where the chest is, and just fill in that check, with a letter vouching for the bearer and explaining why you want so much in a hurry. Then, as I said before, you'll ride south with us a day or two while we arrange for cashing it, after which we'll let you go safely, on our honor." Colonel Carrington laughed sardonically, and I could fancy his thin lips curling under the gray mustache before he answered: "I hardly consider that a sufficient guarantee. Again, I will neither sign nor tell you where the chest is. Confusion to you!" "You're a hard man," said the other almost admiringly. "If we'd had you to head us we'd have bluffed off Uncle Sam's troopers at the Cypress range. Still, we've no time for fooling, and if Jim finds the chest without you we'll risk putting up the price a thousand dollars or so. Jim is tolerably handy at finding things. See here, you have got to sign it, and sign it now, before this Winchester makes a mess of you!" The Colonel glanced at the rifle coolly, as he answered: "I fail to see what good that would do. My handwriting is peculiar; you couldn't imitate it, while you would certainly be hanged when the troopers laid hands on you." This was incontrovertible logic, and the two outlaws drawing apart conferred with each other softly, while I debated what I should do. The casement was a double one, but I felt sure I could drive a bullet through one of them. Still, even in the circumstances it looked too much like murder, and to this day I have never taken the life of a man, though occasionally forced into handling one roughly. Before any decision could be arrived at a tramp of feet in the hall showed that somebody approached under a burden. "Keep the muzzle on him," said one. "I guess Jim has found the coffer, and we'll make sure of that. I'll help him to cinch it on the horse if we can't open it. Colonel, we'll have to fine you the further thousand dollars." I realized it was high time for me to vacate that position unless I wished the couple to discover me, and so I slipped back into the shadow, just in time, as they strode out carrying something. I watched them vanish into the blackness, heard the scout answer their hail, and then I crawled back swiftly--toward the door this time. A glance through the window in passing showed me that the remaining outlaw stood with his back toward the entrance, and his eyes fixed on the Colonel. The door was half closed when I reached it, and for a moment I stood there shortening my grip on the rifle and gathering my breath; then with a bound I drove it inward, and whirled aloft the butt of the Winchester. The outlaw twisted round on his heels; but he moved an instant too late, for even as his fingers tightened on the trigger the steel heel-plate descended in the center of his face, and I felt something crunch in under it. He staggered sideways, there was a crash as the rifle exploded harmlessly, and before he could recover I had him by the neck and hurled him half-choked through the door. I had the sense to slam it and slip the bolt home; then, while I stood panting, the Colonel prepared to improve our position. "Close those shutters and screw down the wing-nut hard," he said, hanging the lamp close beside the door. "Now, stand here in the shadow. I am much obliged to you, but you should have made certain of that fellow." It was only natural that he should feel resentment; but there was a cold vindictiveness in his tone which made me realize that it was as well for the outlaw that I had not left him in the room. Then he spoke again: "We have two good weapons; that rascal's cylinder is charged--I saw him fill it out of my own bandolier, and there is an armory in the other room. They took me by surprise--in Western parlance, got the drop on me. Of course they'll come back, but all the doors and windows are fast, and we could hear them breaking in, while in this kind of work the risk is with the aggressor." A pounding on the door cut him short, and a hoarse, partly muffled voice reached us: "We're about sick of fooling, and mean solid business now," it said. "Open, and be quick about it, before we smash that door down and try moral suasion by roasting both of you." "You should have stayed when you were in," was the ironical answer. "No doubt you have observed the light under the door. Well, the first man across the threshold will get a bullet through him before he even sees us. Haven't you realized yet that this undertaking is too big for you?" "Curse him; he's busted my best teeth in. Hunt round and find something for a battering ram," cried another voice, but though the assailants had possibly not caught all the answer, they evidently understood the strength of our position, for we heard them moving away. "Gone to open the chest in the stables; they won't find much in it," said Colonel Carrington. "They will try a fresh move next time. Mr. Lorimer, of Fairmead, are you not? I wish to express my obligations again." He took it very coolly, as it appeared he took everything, and smiled curiously as, glancing at his watch, he said half-aloud: "Well, there are worse things than a clean swift ending, and there was a time when I should not have stepped aside to let death pass. But I apologize, Mr. Lorimer, for inflicting such talk on you. Hope we shall be friends if we come out of this safely. The check?--yes, we'll put it away. It might have saved trouble to sign it, but you see it was her mother's money, and I only hold it in trust for my daughter. Neither are we as rich as some suppose us to be." His grim face relaxed, and his voice sounded different when he spoke of Grace, while a few moments passed before he added: "It cannot be far from dawn, and there's not a soul in Carrington except you and myself. Grace took all my people with her to help at Lone Hollow. So, unless you are inclined to stalk them, which I should hardly suggest, as they might be too clever for you, we must await our friends' arrival and make the best of it." I had no inclination whatever to try the stalking. To take a kneeling shot at an unsuspecting man seemed in any circumstances almost a crime; so we sat each with a rifle laid across his knees, and for the first time in two years I tasted excellent tobacco. But the vigil grew trying. The house seemed filled with whispers and mysterious noises. My throat grew dry, and the Colonel laughed when once I moved sharply as a rat scurried behind the wainscot. Neither of us felt inclined to talk, and our eyes were fixed steadfastly upon the door, until at last the lamp seemed to rise and fall with each respiration. Then the Colonel approached the window as though listening, after glancing once more at his watch. "It must be daybreak, and I hear something," he said. "There is probably one of them watching, but we must chance it," and he moved softly toward the door. When we stood outside the cold of the morning went through me like a knife. Still a rapid beat of horse hoofs rose out of the big coulée, and it was evident that the outlaws had heard them, for we saw two men busy with the horses at the stable door, while two more disappeared behind the bank of sods that walled off the vegetable garden. What their purpose was, unless they meant to check any accession to our strength while their comrades escaped with the coffer, was not apparent. It was blowing strongly now, and the air was thick with falling snow, but I made out two riders who resembled Harry and Ormond coming toward us at a gallop, with another horseman some distance behind. Then a hoarse shout reached us--"Stop right there, and wheel your horses before we plug you!" I could not see into the hollow beneath the wall because it was some distance off and the snow whirled about it, but I could imagine the Winchester barrel resting on the sods while a steady eye stared through the sights, and knew that neither Ormond nor Harry carried weapons. So I started at a flounder toward them, roaring as I went: "Go back--for your life, go back!" They evidently did not hear me, though we were afterwards to hear the reason for an apparent act of madness. Harry was always reckless, and Ormond coolly brave, while as I ran I saw the two horses flying at the wall. A streak of red flame blazed out low down in the snow, a mounted man passed me leading two horses, and I neither knew nor cared whether he noticed me, for I felt suddenly dizzy, wondering whether the bullet had gone home. Neither did I hear any report at all, for my whole attention was concentrated on the black shapes of the riders breast high beyond the wall. Then one beast rose into the air, and I saw Ormond swing a riding crop round backward as though for the sword cut from behind the shoulder. A soft thud followed, Harry's horse cleared the sods like a bird, and I blazed off my rifle at a venture toward the hollow as they thundered neck and neck past me. It was clear that empty-handed they had ridden either over or through the foe. After that events followed too rapidly to leave a clear impression. A pair of half-seen figures which appeared at the other end of the hollow scrambled for the empty saddles, and one seemed to help his companion. Then they vanished into the whirling haze, and Colonel Carrington's Winchester rapped as he emptied the magazine at the flying foe, while by the time the new arrivals had mastered their excited beasts there was only a narrow circle of prairie shut in by blinding snow. "Very glad to find you safe, sir," said Ormond. "We met the Blackfoot who peddles moccasins, and he told us he had seen four men he thought were Stevens' gang heading for Carrington, so we pushed on as fast as we could. Perhaps if we three went on with rifles we might overtake them." Harry looked eager, and I was willing, but Colonel Carrington was wisest: "You have done gallantly," he said, "but it would only be throwing lives away. The snow is coming in earnest, and it strikes me they have gone to their account unless they find shelter in a coulée." Then they dismounted, and a hired man, who had lagged behind through indifferent horseflesh and no fault of his own, was despatched to prepare breakfast, and it was a merry party that assembled round the table. Even the ruler of Carrington's grim face relaxed. "I am glad to make the acquaintance of both of you," he said. "You will make the best of Carrington I hope for a day or two." We were nothing loth, for twenty miles of deepening snow lay between us and our homestead, where we had little to do, while to complete my satisfaction Grace and her train arrived in the Lone Hollow sleigh early the next morning, and on hearing the story her eyes glistened as she thanked me. "I am so glad I sent you," she said, "and I feel I owe my father's safety, perhaps his life, to you. It is a debt I can never repay." It was late that afternoon when another sleigh drew up before the Carrington gate, and three white-sheeted troopers lifted a heavy burden out of it. The thing, which seemed a shapeless heap of snow and wrappings, hung limply between them as they carried it into the hall, while it was Sergeant Angus Macfarlane who explained their errand. "Lay him down there gently, boys," he said. "No, stand back, Miss Carrington, these kind o' sights are no for you. We found him in a coulée after yon Blackfoot peddler had told us Stevens had fooled us, and ye'll mind it's no that easy to fool the Northwest Police. He's one o' the gang, but the poor soul's got several ribs broken, an' after lying out through the blizzard I'm thinking he's near his end. It's a long ride to the outpost, forbye we have no comforts. Maybe ye'll take him--ay, I ken he's a robber, but ye cannot leave him to perish in the snow." He flung back the wrappings, and before I could stop her Grace bent down over the drawn white face with the red froth on the lips, while Ormond said quietly: "Very bad, poor devil! I fancied Robin's hoofs struck something that yielded when he made a landing. You will take him in if it's only to oblige me, sir." Grace stood upright with tender compassion shining in her wet eyes as she fixed them on the old man. "I am a woman now, father," she said, "and I should like to help to cure him if it can be done. We shall do everything possible for him, anyway. Bring him forward, Sergeant Angus. Geoffrey, you know something of surgery." "I don't make war on dying men. You will do whatever pleases you, Grace," the ruler of Carrington answered, indifferently. They carried their burden into another room, and I waited beside the stove, with two faces stamped on my memory. The one was that of the wounded man with its contraction of pain and glassy stare, and the other the countenance of Grace Carrington transfigured for a moment by a great pity that added to its loveliness. Still, the coming of this unexpected guest cast a gloom upon us, and we seldom saw Grace, while Ormond, who seemed to know a little of everything, once said on passing: "I have fixed him up as well as I could, but I think a broken rib has pierced his lung, and he's sinking rapidly. However, Miss Carrington is doing her best, and he could not have a more efficient nurse." It was late in the afternoon when, on tapping at the door in search of tidings, Ormond called me in. The daylight was fading, but I could see the limp, suffering shape on the bed, and Grace sitting near the window, leaning forward as though listening. "Light-headed at times!" said Ormond; "but he was asking for you. Do you feel any easier now? Here's another inquirer anxious to hear good news of you." The man turned his drawn face toward me, and tried to smile as he said: "I guess you're very good. Hope you don't bear malice. You oughtn't to anyhow--nearly broke my neck when you fired me through the doorway. All in the way of business, and I'm corralled now." I bent my head with a friendly gesture, for even I could read death in his face, and the outlaw, glancing toward Grace, added: "If I'd known you, Missy, we'd never have held up this homestead. White people all through, and you're a prairie daisy. What made me do it? Well, I guess that's a long story, and some of it might scare you. A big man froze me off my land, and some one rebranded my few head of stock. Law! we don't count much on that; it's often the biggest rascals corral the offices, and we just laid for them with the rifle. They were too many for us--and this is the end of it." Grace moved toward him whispering something I could not catch, but the man smiled feebly, and I heard the grim answer: "No; I guess it's rather too late for that. I lived my own way, and I can die that way too. Don't back down on one's partners; kind of mean, isn't it? And if it's true what you're saying I'll just accept my sentence. Going out before the morning; but I sent two of the men who robbed me to perdition first." Ormond raised his hand for silence, and again I could hear the shrilling of the bitter wind that was never still. Then he said softly: "You are only exciting him, and had better go," and with a last glance at Grace's slender figure stooping beside the bed I went out softly. It was nearly midnight and a cold creepiness pervaded everything when he joined the rest of us round the stove. "Gone!" he said simply. "Just clenched his hand and died. There was some fine material wasted in that man. Well, I think he was wronged somehow, and I'm sorry for him." We turned away in silence, for a shadow rested upon Carrington, while the outlaw lay in state in the homestead he had helped to rob, until the Northwest Police bore what was left of him away. But before that time we rode back to Fairmead. CHAPTER IX A RECKONING It was some time after the holding up of Carrington Manor before I was able, with Jasper's assistance, to fulfill my promise to Minnie Fletcher. Jasper knew everybody within fifty miles up and down the C. P. R. Line, and at least as far across the prairie, while they all had a good word for him. So when he heard the story he drove us over to Clearwater, where an elevator had been built beside the track, only to find that the agent in charge of it had already a sufficient staff. He, however, informed us that the manager of a new creamery wanted a handy man to drive round collecting milk from the scattered homesteads who could also help at the accounts and clerking. Such a combination might not have been usual in England, but in the Western Dominion one may find University graduates digging trenches and unfortunate barristers glad to earn a few dollars as railroad hands. "I guess we'll fix him up in that creamery," said Jasper. "The man who runs it was raised not far from the old folks' place in Ontario," and we started forthwith on an apparently endless ride across the frozen prairie. Some of our horses are not much to look at, and others are hard to drive, but the way they can haul the light wagons or even the humble ground sleigh along league after league would surprise those not used to them. We spent one night with a Highland crofter in a dwelling that resembled a burrow, for most of it was underground, but the rammed earth walls kept out the cold and the interior was both warm and clean. We spent another in somewhat grim conviviality at the creamery, for the men whose fathers hewed sites for what are now thriving towns out of the bush of Ontario are rather hard and staunch than sprightly. Still, the manager did his best for us, and said on parting, "Send him right along. I'll give any friend of yours a show if Jasper will vouch for him. Pay's no great thing as yet, but he can live on it, and if we flourish he'll sail ahead with us." So we brought Thomas Fletcher out from Winnipeg by joint subscription, and it cost us rather more than we cared about, for he came second class, while at that time Harry and I would have traveled "Colonist," or on opportunity would have earned our passage by tending stock. If we could spare a dollar in those days we wanted it for our land. The old jauntiness had gone out of Fletcher. He looked worn and thinner, with, I fancied, signs of indulgence in alcohol, but he professed his willingness to work hard at anything that would keep a roof over Minnie's head. We drove him across to the creamery, and the manager seemed disappointed when he saw him, while on the journey home Jasper said: "I've been sizing up that young man. Strikes me he's too much like the trash you British are over-fond of dumping on to us. Why can't your people understand that if a man's a dead failure over there we don't want him? Dare say he's honest, but he's got no sand. Let that fellow sit up and talk over a glass of rye whiskey and a bad cigar and he's right there; set him wrestling with a tough job and he'll double up." Jasper posed as a judge of character, and I felt inclined to agree with him. Fletcher had not the appearance of a vicious or dishonest man, but I fancied under pressure of circumstances he might become one. We built a new stable and barn that winter, hauling suitable logs--and they were very hard to find--ten miles across the prairie, while Harry nearly lost his hands by frost-bite bringing in one load. Nevertheless, and there is leisure in that season, we drove over now and then to Fletcher's humble dwelling beside the creamery, and were both embarrassed the first time Minnie thanked us with tears in her eyes. Already she was recovering her good looks and spirits, but as Fletcher's pay would be scanty until spring the odd bags of potatoes and flour we brought them were evidently acceptable. We had received help freely when we needed it, and it seemed only fitting that now we should help others in turn; so we did what little we could, and, as transpired later, it brought trouble on us. Also we managed to pay a few visits to other neighbors who lived at any distance within thirty miles, including a few farms of the Carrington group, where, perhaps especially for Harry's sake, they made us welcome, and we went twice to Carrington Manor. The second visit was a memorable one. It was a still, starlit night with an intense frost and a few pale green streamers shimmering in the north, but the big main room of the Manor with its open fireplace and central stove was very warm and snug. Our team was safely stabled, for owing to the distance we could not well return that night, and since the affair with the cattle thieves Colonel Carrington had so far as in him lay been cordial. He sat beside the glowing birch logs, silent and stern of aspect as usual, with a big shaggy hound which I had seen roll over a coyote with a broken spine curled up against his knee, while the firelight flickered redly across his lean, bronzed face. Opposite sat his sister, who partly resembled him, though in her case the Carrington dignity was softened by a winning sympathy. She was an old maid of a fine but perhaps not common type, white-haired and stately, and in all things gracious. Harry, who was a favorite of hers, knelt with one knee on a wolf-skin rug, turning over a collection of photographs on a low table that she might see, and she smiled at some of his comments. Ormond leaned against the wall behind them interposing whimsical sallies, and casting occasional glances toward Grace and myself. Resigning his commission, he had lately, we understood, purchased land near the Manor. One or two other of the Colonel's subjects also were present. Being lighted with shaded lamps that shed their soft radiance only where it was wanted, portions of the long room remained in shadow, so Grace and I, sitting near one window, could look out between the looped-back curtains across the prairie. High over the sweep of dimly glimmering snow hung a vault of fathomless indigo. It was not such a sky as one sees in England, but rather a clear transparency where the stars, ranged one behind the other, led the gaze back and lost it in infinity, while at intervals a steely scintillation flickered up from horizon to zenith and then back again. Feathery frost-flowers on the window framed the picture like a screen of delicate embroidery. I do not think either of us said much, but I felt that we had a kindred interest in the spectacle. Within there was warmth and light and life; outside, impressive silence reigned unbroken, with the coldness of the grave. Yet there was one man who, poorly nourished and still more poorly clad, had the courage to cross long leagues of frozen prairie on foot, for presently we heard a knocking at the door, and after an altercation with somebody outside a stranger walked with uneven steps into the room. White crystals sprinkled his old English coat, a most inadequate protection against such weather, while his breath was frozen about the collar, and the fur cap he could scarcely hold in one stiffened hand was of the cheap and rubbishly description that Jew peddlers retail to the new arrival in Winnipeg. His age might have been fifty, but he had been bent by toil or sickness, and his pinched face was a study in itself. Anxiety, suspense, and fierce determination seemed written on it. "I'm wanting Ralph Lorimer, who came out from England. They told me he was here," he said, and clutched at the table, for, as often happens, the change of temperature had been too much for him. Then I recollected what Jasper, who had been in to Winnipeg, told me a day or two before. "I looked in at the Tecumseh House, and the clerk mentioned that a wild man from the old country had been asking for you. Wouldn't answer any questions; a lunatic of some sort, the clerk reckoned." Nevertheless, as I stood up by the window I had no suspicion of the truth, though perhaps Harry had, for, drawing forward a chair, he said: "Feeling dizzy, are you not? Better sit down. But before we answer I should like to know who you are, and what you want with him." "What has that to do with thee?" was the fierce answer. "I'm wanting Ralph Lorimer, and if he's alive in Canada I'll find him!" I stepped out into the lamplight, saying: "You need not search far. With your permission, Miss Carrington! Now I am only a guest here. Will you follow me?" The drawn face twitched, his left hand was clenched, and the other fumbled inside the breast of the threadbare coat as the old man turned to meet me. "No; here before them all I'll ask thee," he said hoarsely. "I'm Adam Lee of Stoney Clough. Where's my daughter, Minnie Lee, that left her home to follow thee?" The words seemed to break in on the warmth and harmony like a blast of Arctic cold, and sudden silence followed them. Colonel Carrington leaned forward with an angry glitter in his eyes, Miss Carrington watched me in cold surprise, and Grace--well, I do not care to recall her face. Once afterward I saw her look the same, and was thankful that her scornful glance rested on another man. Then, while I stood bolt upright, staring at the speaker, and wondering how I could make the matter plain, others intervened, for Ormond, turning toward Colonel Carrington, said: "I fancy, sir, this is not the place for--er--such explanations. They might prove embarrassing." Colonel Carrington glanced at his sister, who followed by the rest had already risen from her chair, beckoning to Grace, but Harry broke in. "I agree with Captain Ormond in part," he said, "but this is a serious matter. We have all unfortunately heard the charge, and in fairness to Mr. Lorimer we should hear him refute it. It's either a cruel mistake, sir, or gratuitous malice, and I would stake my last dollar on his honor. A few words will suffice." It was a kindly thought of Harry's, and the Colonel nodded. "You will excuse us, Jessy," he said. "Geoffrey, as a matter of fairness he is perfectly right. Now, sir, for the space of two minutes will you restrain your impatience and follow us?" Adam Lee of Stoney Clough, however, thought differently. I had never seen him before, but I knew him well by reputation; for, though not born there, he was one of the erratic ultra-reformers one may find in many an English industrial town. They have left all regular creeds and parties behind, and look for the regeneration of an iniquitous world by some fantastic new religion, or the subversion of all existing authorities. Some, it is true, live lives of self-denial, and die, worn out by disappointment, of a broken heart, but the rest develop into fanatics of savage bigotry. "No! I've followed him weary and hungry for many days," he said. "He doesn't leave my sight until he has answered me. Stop! you that sit warm in luxury, pampering your sinful bodies and grinding the poor, you shall hear what one of your kind has done, and judge between us. The tale will be good for you. Shall the rich rob us of our children, as they rob us of our bread?" He flung out one arm as he spoke, and there was a rude power in voice and gesture that commanded attention. Neither was his accent now altogether that of Lancashire, for Lee, as is not uncommon, would sometimes speak a purer English than the local vernacular. Miss Carrington glanced past him toward the door, irresolute, and Grace leaned forward staring at him as though fascinated, while perhaps I of all the others found the sentiment familiar. It was the same spirit which, trammeled by poverty and ignorance, stirs many a man weary of a hopeless struggle for better things, and blazes into strange coruscations of eloquence in market-square orations and from the platforms of conventicles where men whose religion is a thing of terror worship the jealous God of the Hebrews. "Nay, sit still and hear." The words fell as though they were an order. "I am a poor man, a maker of shoes for the poor who could not always buy them, and I had one daughter. She was all I had, and I wrestled with the devil for her that she might escape perdition through the snare of beauty. But the nephew of a rich man cast desiring eyes upon her, and Satan helped him. He might well be strong and comely, for he fed on the finest, while when trade was bad half of us went cold and hungry in Stoney Clough; but he was filled with the wiles of the devil and the lusts of the flesh, so when there were plenty of his own kind to choose among he tempted the poor man's daughter who worked for a pittance in his uncle's mill. Her mother died; they mocked me at the chapel; and I have come four thousand miles to find him, but now and here he shall answer. Ralph Lorimer of Orb Mill, where is Minnie Lee?" His hand was clear of the threadbare coat now; something glinted in it, and I looked into the muzzle of a pistol. But Geoffrey Ormond, in spite of his surface languidness, was quick of thought and action, and with swift dexterity gripped his right arm from behind. Then, and we were never quite sure how it happened, though the weapon was evidently a cheap Belgian revolver, and perhaps the hammer shook down, there was a ringing crash, a cry from Grace, a tinkle of falling glass, and Adam Lee stood empty-handed, while Ormond, who flung down the smoking weapon, said coolly: "It is safer with me. These things are dangerous to people who don't understand them, and you may be thankful that, without perhaps intending it, you are not a murderer." "Thank you, Geoffrey," said Colonel Carrington. "Lee, sit down. I don't know what your religious or political crazes are, and it doesn't matter, but I have rather more power here than an English magistrate, and if you move again, by the Lord I'll send you in irons to Winnipeg for attempted murder. Mr. Lorimer, I am not inclined to thank you, but if you have any explanation you had better give it to him." Lee, I learned, was a fearless man, with the full courage of his somewhat curious convictions, but there were few who could withstand Colonel Carrington, and, half-dazed, half-savage, he did his bidding, while again every eye in the room was turned upon me. "Minnie Lee was certainly employed in my uncle's mill in Lancashire," I said slowly, "but on my word of honor nothing ever passed between us that all the world might not hear. She married a former clerk there, one Thomas Fletcher, secretly, and at present lives with him at the Willow Lake creamery. I met her for the first time in Canada at the Elktail hotel, where she was a waitress, and at her request helped to find her husband the situation. She promised to write home, but evidently did not do so." "It is perfectly true," said Harry. "I was present at that meeting. If our visitor has any doubts on the subject he has only to ride over there and see." Lee gasped for breath, recovered himself, and strode toward me with fingers trembling and his eyes blood-shot. "Is it true?" he said. "I know thy vain pride in an honor that can stoop to steal the honor of the poor; it is only women to whom thy kind tell lies. Here, before these witnesses, tell me again, is it Gospel true?" He seemed half-crazed by excitement and over-fatigue, while his relief was evidently tempered by a fear that we might yet be bent on duping him; but I pitied him in all sincerity, for whatever were his foibles it was evident that this broken-down wreck of humanity with the warped intellect loved his daughter, and as I wondered what would most quickly set his mind at rest Harry said stiffly: "We do not lie to any one, and we are poor men, too. At least we work for a bare living harder than many English poor. On his friend's word as--well, in deference to your prejudices, we'll say an honest man--Mr. Lorimer has told you nothing but the truth. You will find Mrs. Fletcher safe and well at the Willow Lake creamery." "Then I'm going there now," was the answer. "I thank thee for the story. No, I don't want the pistol. It was the devil tempted me to bring it, but it was only to force the truth from him, and it went off of itself." "You are somewhat premature," said Colonel Carrington. "We haven't quite done with you. As I said, I hold myself responsible for the peace of Carrington, and though I am inclined to believe it was an accident, you can't ride twenty miles hungry at midnight. You came here without my invitation, and you have customs of your own, but you'll certainly get lost and frozen on the prairie if you leave this house before to-morrow morning." They stood facing each other, a curious contrast, the pinched and bowed cobbler and the army officer, but there was the same stubborn pride in both; for with a quaint dignity, which in some measure covered its discourtesy, the former made answer in the tongue of the spinning country: "I thank thee, but I take no favors from the rich. Thou and the others like thee have all the smooth things in this life, though even they cannot escape the bitterness that is hidden under them. Well, maybe thou'lt find a difference in the next. Good night to thee." He marched out, and we heard the door crash to. "I dare say he is right," the Colonel said, with a curious smile. "At times I almost hope we will. An interesting character, slightly mad, I think; heard of such people, but I never met them." This was evidently true, for the lot of Colonel Carrington had not been cast among the alleys of a spinning town where the heavens are blackened by factory smoke, and as the silver value changes in the East there is hunger among the operatives. In such places the mind of many a thinking man, worn keen as it were by poor living, sickened by foulness and monotony, makes fantastic efforts to reach beyond its environment, and occasionally hurries its owner to the brink of what some call insanity, and perhaps is not so. Then one lonely and pathetic figure, with bent head and shambling gait, grew smaller down the great white waste of prairie. "I am very sorry for him," Grace said, "but the poor old man will never reach Willow Lake on foot, even if he could find the way. He must have walked many miles already, and he will be frozen before morning. Some one must go after him." "If you will allow us, Miss Carrington, I think we had better take our leave and drive him there on our homeward way. I am sorry that all this happened under your roof," I said. "Harry, we must hurry before we lose him;" and Colonel Carrington answered coldly. "I am inclined to agree with you." Brief leavetakings followed. Miss Carrington was cordial, but, and it may have been exaggeration of sentiment, I dare not look at Grace with the shadow of such a charge hanging over me. Neither, I think, did the Colonel shake hands with me; and when the sleigh sped hissing down the beaten trail Harry said: "Ralph, you almost make one angry. Of course, she is too high for you; but there was no reason you should look like a convicted felon when we took the trouble to demonstrate your innocence. Confusion to Thomas Fletcher and all his works, I say! Why should that invertebrate wastrel have turned up to plague us so?" Some time had elapsed before we got the horses harnessed, because they objected strenuously, and several branching trails crossed the prairie, so we spent a much longer time than I liked in driving through the bitter cold before we found my late accuser sitting under a copse of willows, and apparently awaiting his death. As the settlers say when it freezes on the prairie, you can't fool with that kind of cold. Harry for some reason swore profanely. "Get in, and we'll take you straight to Willow Lake," he said, lifting the unfortunate man, who already had almost lost the use of his limbs, and who answered with his teeth chattering: "You two are very good; I couldn't drag myself further; walked there from Elktail to-day, and I felt main drowsy. What brought thee after me? From one of thy sort I never expected it." "I don't care what you expected," said Harry briefly, "so you needn't trouble to tell me. Get into these furs here before you freeze to death; another half-hour would have made an end of you." The team already had traveled far that day, but they responded gallantly to Harry's encouragement. The cold bit deep, however, and I could scarcely move a limb when, toward midnight, with a hiss of runners and a jingle of bells, we came into sight of Fletcher's shanty by Willow Lake. As luck would have it a light still shone in the window, and he opened the door when Harry and I made shift to draw some wrappings over the team. It grieved me to leave the poor beasts waiting there, for I found it difficult even to speak. "It's Mr. Lorimer, Minnie," Fletcher shouted; and before I could intervene a woman's shape filled the lighted door, while Harry said softly, "Confound it! I hoped to have got out before the play commenced." "We have brought you a visitor, Minnie," I said. "You must not be surprised. There's nothing too strange to happen in a new country. Harry, help me with him;" and between us we half carried Lee inside, for all the strength had gone out of him. The hot room reeled about me, and there was a drumming in my head, but with an effort, I said, "It's your father, Minnie. You forgot the letter, and he came over to Carrington in search of me." She dropped the stove-iron in her hand with a startled cry. Fletcher blinked at us stupidly, and the old man sat down with one elbow on the table and his head drooping forward limply, while for a moment or two afterward no one moved, and the ticking of a nickeled clock almost maddened me. Then the woman came forward timidly with the word "Father" on her lips, and Lee, groaning as though in pain, checked her with a gesture. "Who is this man here, lass?" he said. "My husband, Thomas Fletcher; you ought to remember him. We were married before I left home," she said. Harry coughed, while Lee said hoarsely: "I thank the Lord for it; lass, thou hast acted cruelly, but we'll say no more of that. I've left all I had to find thee, and now I'm only glad." There were tears in Minnie's eyes as she leaned over him with one arm round his shoulder, but I fancied there was a flash of resentment in them too. "If you had listened that night before you said what you did, all might have been different," she answered. "But I'm so glad to see you, and hungry for news. How did you leave mother, and the shop? I don't care to hear about the chapel." "Thy mother is dead. The Lord took her," the old man answered solemnly, though as yet the warmth brought only pain to him. "I'll hear no word against the chapel. Nay," as the woman straightened herself with a cry, "she grieved sorely; but it was the typhoid, and to the last she would hear no ill of thee. The shop, I sold it; and maybe there's harness to mend, and saddles, that will earn my bread in this country. I'm an old broken man, and a little will content me. A weary time of struggle and black shame I've suffered for thee; but now there's nought that matters when I find thee so." "We must go," I said. "Our team is freezing and we can't afford to lose it;" and Minnie, touching her father, said, "You should thank Mr. Lorimer. Forty miles at least he has driven to-day, and there's another fifteen before him;" but ere he could turn I bundled Harry out of the door, and two minutes later we were flying across the prairie. "I'm sorry for the old man," said Harry. "Fletcher didn't look delighted, and perhaps it's not to be wondered at. As to Minnie, she'll probably cry over him all night; but I hardly fancy she has quite forgiven him. It's not a nice thing, either, when you think of it. And I suppose it cost the old fanatic a fearful wrench to give up what he considered his mission to reform that benighted town. Lord, what fools--it's true--we mortals are." I was too drowsy and cold to answer, and how we got the team into the stables or even found Fairmead I do not remember; but we probably did it by force of habit, and it was high noon the next day before we awakened. CHAPTER X A FORWARD POLICY Grace and I met often again before the thaw in spring put an end to all thoughts of amusement. Each time she seemed to place me on a more friendly footing, and I laid myself out to cultivate the good-will of the Carrington settlers, in the hope of meeting her at their gatherings, for they at least enjoyed themselves during the winter. Some of the younger gallants regarded me with evident hostility; but I could afford to smile at them, because, though the heiress of Carrington was gracious to all, she seemed to find more pleasure in my company than in their attentions. Still, at last even Harry grumbled when, half-frozen and with a worn-out team, I reached Fairmead at dawn. "We'll want another pair of horses if this is to continue," he said. "Ralph, it's not my business, but I'm afraid you are laying up trouble for yourself." There were, however, disappointments, for now and then I drove long leagues through whirling snow or bitter frost only to find that Grace was not present, and it was on one of these occasions that I betrayed my secret to her aunt, Miss Carrington. She had been visiting an outlying farm, and though there were others upon whom the duty devolved I insisted on driving her home. In my case it was an inestimable privilege, for by good fortune Grace might be waiting to welcome her. I had been silent all evening, and when with a hissing beneath the steel runners and a rhythmic beat of hoofs we swept on under radiant moonlight, Miss Carrington made some jesting comment upon it. Perhaps the exhilarating rush through the cold, still air had stirred me into undue frankness, for I answered: "Grace was not there, and nothing seems the same without her. She brings an atmosphere of brightness with her, and one learns to miss it. What would this prairie look like if a cloud obscured the moon?" Miss Carrington smiled a little, glancing at me keenly, as she said: "A pretty simile! It was more than I expected after your rueful looks to-night. But you are not singular. There are others in the Carrington settlement who think the same--young men with many rich acres and wealthy kinsfolk behind them at home." Her voice changed, and I think the last part was intended to have its meaning, but a sudden impulse overcame my reason, and I answered rashly: "That may well be, but there are none among them who would work or starve for her as I should. I am only a poor settler, but with one purpose always before him a determined man may accomplish much. However, I didn't mean to tell you or any one this until--my partner and I have accomplished something; and yet perhaps I have said too much not to finish." Miss Carrington moved in her wrappings so that she could meet my eyes, but when I returned her gaze steadily it was a relief to find sympathy rather than anger in her face. "I think you have," she said, with gentleness. So, tightening my grip on the reins, I continued doggedly: "Then, even at the risk of seeming a presumptuous fool, you shall hear it all. This new land is for the strong and enterprising, who will stake their best on success within it, and with the hope I have before me I must succeed. So while brain and sinew hold out neither drought, nor frost, nor hardship shall turn me aside until--until I am more equal in worldly possessions with Colonel Carrington. Others have risen from obscurity to hold many acres, and somehow I feel that I shall do so too. But if I owned half the Dominion it would be little to offer Miss Carrington, and without her my present holding would content me." Then I ended slowly, "I wonder whether, even in that case, there would be any chance for me?" My companion's face was grave under the moonlight, but she touched my arm with a friendly gesture, as she answered: "Those are a young man's words, and I suppose some would call them foolish; but though I am old I like the spirit in them. After all, even in these days, we have not done with romance, and a stout heart is often better than land and property. Grace is like you in many ways; she takes life seriously, and I fancy she sees, as I do, that some of us are spending our best on pleasure in Carrington. My brother is a stern, proud man, and yet, as you say, the good things come to those who can fight and wait for them. More I cannot tell you." "Thank you, Miss Carrington," I answered, feeling that for ever afterward she had made me her servant. "Now, please forget it all until some day I say the same thing to Colonel Carrington; and forgive me for ever telling you," but her eyes were troubled as she turned her face away. We reached the manor safely, but I caught no glimpse of Grace, and Colonel Carrington hardly troubled to thank me, while Harry pitied the team when I led it into our stable. A few days afterward, when we spent all of one afternoon discussing finances and our program for spring, he agreed with me when, contrary to my usual caution, I suggested that we should make a plunge that year by purchasing a gang-plow and hiring more horses, then, giving a bond on the homestead and expected crop, sink the last dollar we could raise in sowing the utmost acreage and breaking more sod on the free land we had pre-empted. There was a sporting instinct in Harry which made him willing to run risks that I generally should have avoided. Now, however, I was bent on playing a bold game, trusting in the axiom that those who nothing venture cannot expect to win. Also, on the prairie the credit system is universal, and though some abuse it, it has its advantages. For instance, the settler may obtain seed, implements, and provisions on a promise to pay with interest after harvest, and thus he is enabled to break an extra quantity of virgin soil. If the crop is good all benefit alike--dealer, maker of implements, and grower of wheat; while if the grain fails, instead of one man to bear it there are several to divide the loss. So we pledged our credit up to the hilt, and, though at times I grew grave as I wondered what would happen if there should be hail or frost, we commenced work in earnest with the first of the thaw, and drilled in grain enough to leave us an ample profit if all went well. Then we would double our sowing next year, and, so Harry said, in a few seasons rise to affluence. It was a simple program, and fortunes have been made in that way; but, as we were to find, it also leads occasionally to disaster. It was a gray day in spring, and a cold wind swept the grasses as I stood beside the double yoke of oxen and the great breaker-plow, when Colonel Carrington, who was passing that way, rode toward me across the prairie. While I wondered what his errand might be, I saw two mounted figures outlined against the somber sky on the crest of a distant rise, whom I recognized as Grace and Captain Ormond. The Colonel rode a splendid bay horse, and after the first greeting he sat looking down at me ironically awhile, erect, soldierly, and immaculately neat down to the burnished stirrups and the toes of his speckless boots. In no circumstances did the Colonel forget that he once commanded a famous regiment, and now ruled drastically over Carrington, while I must have appeared a sufficiently homely object, in battered slouch hat and torn blue overalls, with the mire clinging to my leggings. "You are staking heavily on the weather this year; I wonder what for," he said, glancing down the long furrows, and I felt there was a warning in it, for this man seldom wasted words. "The last time I passed it struck me that you had better, as they say here, go slow and not risk a surety on the chance of what you can never attain. It takes capital to farm on a large scale, you know. By the way, I came to tell you that we will not want the disc-harrows, so you can keep them until your work is finished, and as Miss Carrington--Miss Grace Carrington--is going to England shortly we shall be occupied with preparation for some time. This will save you from wasting precious hours riding over just now in the busy season. Well, I must join the others. Good-day to you." He wheeled his horse with a parting salutation, a slender figure waved a hand to me from the crest of the rise before it sank below the skyline, and that was the last I saw of Grace Carrington for many a day, while breathing hard I watched the horseman grow smaller across the prairie. Her father sometimes delighted to speak in metaphor, and I could not fail to recognize that it was a plain hint he had, perhaps in grim kindness, given me. For a moment I wondered whether I should have made him listen in turn, and I was glad I had not, for his words stung me like a whip, and it would not have helped matters if I had spoken my mind to him. Then, shaking myself together, I called to the oxen, reflecting that many a formerly poor man had married the daughter of even a greater man than Colonel Carrington, while if it were a matter of land and money that divided us, every extra furrow brought me so much nearer to her. Still, I was graver than usual, even until the plowing was done, and Harry, not knowing the reason, commented satirically upon it. The thaw came early that year, and the latter snow had been light, while steady dry weather followed it, and there were times when I felt that I should have given several years of my life for rain. It came, and, though there was not much of it, as if by magic tender grain stood a handbreadth above the black loam, while I watched it lengthen daily with my heart in my eyes, and I grew feverishly anxious about the weather. Many things depended on the success of that crop. Then suddenly it was summer, the hottest summer for ten seasons, our neighbors said, and I wondered how we would manage to cut hay for our own beasts, and the teams we had purchased conditionally, because long grass was scanty. Assistance was equally scarce, for, seeing us reach out toward prosperity, our friends evidently considered that we were now well able to help ourselves. It was done somehow, though often for a week together we worked all day and most of the night, until there was only an hour or two left before the dawn, and I lay wide awake, too overstrung and fatigued to sleep. Once, too, in the burning heat of noon I fell from the wagon in a state of limp collapse, and there were occasions when Harry, with a paler color than usual, lay for long spaces gasping in the shade. We could spare little time for cooking, or a tedious journey to bring in provisions, so when one thing ran out we made shift with the rest. Still, we observed Sunday, and once Harry laughed as he said: "I'm thankful there is a Fourth Commandment, for without it we should have caved in utterly. Do you know we've been living on potatoes, tea, and porridge every meal for the last ten days? It's doubtful whether we can hold out until harvest, and you'll remember it's then that the pace grows killing." For the first time I noticed that his face was very thin under the sun-burn, and perhaps he read my thoughts, for he laughed. "We have taken on too big a contract, Ralph," he said, "but once in we'll carry it through. Still, I wish I had been born with the frame of a bullock, like you." I lay in a hide chair ten hours together that Sunday, only moving to light the stove for Harry, or to consume another pint of strong green tea, which is generally our sole indulgence on the prairie. It might not, however, have suited fastidious palates, because the little squirrel-like gophers which abounded everywhere, burrowing near by, fell into the well by scores, and we had no leisure to fish them out. Neither is there any mistaking the flavor of gopher extract. Meantime it grew hotter and drier, and I had to admit to myself that the crop might have been better, while Harry, to hide his misgivings, talked cheerfully about higher prices, until at last the crisis came. I awoke one morning with an unusual feeling of chilliness, sprang upright, and saw that the first rays of the red sun scintillated upon something that was not dew among the grass. With a cry I strode over to Harry's berth. Even half-asleep he could read the fear in my face. "What is it?" he asked. I scarcely knew my own voice as I answered hoarsely: "Frost!" We ran out half-dressed, and when we stood by the edge of the tall wheat, which was already turning yellow, we knew that the destroyer had breathed upon our grain, and that every stately head contained its percentage of shriveled berries. Still, it might yet sell under a lower grading--if there were no more frost. But the frost came twice again--and on the third sunrise I stood staring across the blighted crop with despairing eyes, while my hands would tremble in spite of my will. Few men had labored as Harry and I had done; indeed, it was often only the hope of winning Grace Carrington that sustained me, while now I was poorer far than when first I landed in Canada. Neither dare I contemplate what the result of my folly would be to Harry. But Harry, who seldom thought of himself, laid his hand affectionately on my shoulder. "Poor old Ralph!" he said. "Well, we did our best, and there's room for us somewhere in this wide country. I suppose it is--hopeless--absolutely?" "Quite!" I answered, trying to steady my voice. "We can leave it with a clear conscience to the gophers. However, we might earn a little with the teams to feed us through the winter, and strike out next spring for British Columbia. The new railroad people are open to let track-grading contracts, you know. Lend me your double-barrel; I'm in no mood for talking, and an all-day tramp after prairie-chicken may help to steady me." I took down the old weapon--it was a muzzle-loader--and called our little English terrier Grip. He was rather a nuisance than otherwise when stalking prairie-fowl, but he was an affectionate beast, and I felt glad of his company. Then for several hours I strode on across the prairie, hardly seeing the clattering coveys at which Grip barked furiously, and I might have wandered on until midnight but that when skirting a grove of willows he must most foolishly follow the trail of a coyote. Now, the prairie-wolf, though timorous enough where a man is concerned, is generally willing to try conclusions with even a powerful dog, and when presently a great snarling commenced I burst at full speed through the willows. It was high time, for the coyote had pinned the terrier down, and there was barely opportunity to pitch up the gun and take a snapshot at its shoulder before my pet's struggles would have ended. Then I ran in through the smoke to find that the wounded beast still held the hapless dog, and as the other barrel was empty I swung the butt aloft and brought it down crashing on its head. However, the coyote was not quite vanquished yet, for I felt its teeth almost meet in my leg, and I stumbled head foremost over it, after which for a few moments there was a mixed-up scuffle, until with one hand closing on the hairy throat I got another chance to bring down the gun-butt. Then the beast lay still, flecked all over with blood and foam, while my hands and clothes were torn, and there were crimson patches about me. Grip whined and licked my bleeding fingers when I lifted all that seemed left of him, and he presented a sorry spectacle. Nevertheless, for some curious reason that struggle had done me good, and, carrying the dog, I limped home with a wound in my leg, considerably more cheerful than when I started out. I even laughed as Harry, meeting me in the doorway, said, "Good heavens, Ralph, what have you been doing? You look like a butcher." "It's a case of inherent savagery, a return to the instincts of barbaric days," I answered. "I've been killing a coyote with my hands, and I feel better for it. But don't ask questions; I'm almost famished." We fared well that evening, for there was no need of hurry now, and when the meal was over we sat talking long in the little room. Already the nights were closing in and the coolness outside invigorated like wine, but we felt that the sight of the blighted wheat would not improve our spirits. So I stated my views as clearly as I could, ending with forced cheerfulness, though I meant every syllable of it: "We are not beaten yet, and if we must go under we'll make at least another tough fight of it." Meanwhile Harry covered several sheets of paper with figures. "You are perfectly right," he said at last. "The homestead, stock, and implements will have to go; but I think we'll ask our largest creditors to give us time while we see what we can do at the track-grading. It's possible, but not likely, that we might earn enough to make some arrangement to commence again. However, to consider the probable, there'll be a meeting of creditors, and perhaps enough after the sale to buy us a Colonist ticket to British Columbia. Anyway, we'll ride out to-morrow and call on the road surveyor." It may have been because we were young, or the suspense had brought its own reaction, but a faint hope commenced to spring up within us, and now, when at least we knew the worst, we were both more tranquil than we had been for the last three days, while I slept peacefully until Harry roused me with the news that breakfast was ready. We started at noon, and before the sun crossed the meridian the next day we found the surveyor busy beside the new steel road which stretched out across the prairie from the trunk line so many fathoms daily. He was a native Canadian, emphatic in gesture, curt in speech, with, as we say here, a snap about him, and he looked us over critically as I explained that we were willing to work for him. I fancied there was satisfaction in his gaze, and this was not unlikely, for we were both lean, hard, and bronzed, while our old stained canvas garments told their own tale of sturdy toil. "Guess I could let you a track-grading contract," he said meditatively. "We find the scoops, you find the teams and take all risks, but it's pay up when you're through. We've no use on this road for the men who when they strike a hard streak just throw up their contract." "What we begin we'll finish," I answered with emphasis, while Harry smiled and raised a warning hand unseen by the surveyor. "Neither hard work nor hard luck is new to us, and if it weren't for the latter we shouldn't be here." "Glad to hear it," said the surveyor, dryly, "you look like that. Well, here's the schedule; glance through it; then you can come back to-morrow and we'll sign the agreement. You'll have to rustle, though, and keep the rail-bed ready; this road's going right through to Green Lake before the winter." I ran my eye down the list of stipulations respecting the work to be done at so much per rod, with allowance for extra depth scooped out through the rises per cubic ton, saw there should be a profit in it from what little I knew, and tossed the sheet to Harry, answering: "Our time is precious, and if my partner is willing we'll sign it now. As to what we look like, I'll thank you to remember that has nothing to do with you." "I apologize; meant it as a compliment," said our future employer, who was grimed thick with sweat and dust, and Harry answered lightly, "We are much obliged to you; my partner is quick in temper. However, you know that you can't get teams or men for love or money now when harvest's coming on, and so we're going to strike you for another two cents per measure." "Might stretch that far," said the other after more figuring, "but somehow we'll take it out of you. Here, fill your distinguished names into this, and if you like to take it there's another lot--it's hauling in birch logs for stump piles and fencing purposes." We signed both papers, and on leaving the surveyor we found a man in old blue overalls, whose appearance suggested the Briton, waiting for us near the construction train which had just come up with its load of rails and rail-layers. "Did you get the grading contract?" he asked; and, when Harry nodded, he continued: "Then as a preliminary I'll introduce myself, Ellsworthy Johnston, one-time barrister, and, as the surveyor classified me, general roustabout. Had a bush ranch in British Columbia and came to grief over it by fooling time away gold prospecting. Rode in and asked yonder eloquent autocrat for a contract, but he didn't see it. Said, and he explained it wasn't flattery, I looked too much of a gentleman, and in consequence if I liked I could shovel ballast at one dollar seventy-five daily. Now shoveling ballast grows monotonous, and one gets a confounded back-ache over it, so if you're agreeable I'll fling in a small sum and my services as junior partner." "We're not too rich," said Harry, "and we'll talk it over." "Get a move on there, Sam Johnsing, before the flies eat you! Guess the rails are growing rusty while you're resting," called somebody in authority, and with a smile of whimsical resignation our new acquaintance hurried away. We made a bargain with him that evening, to the satisfaction of all concerned, and the next morning Harry rode away to divide our few head of stock among our neighbors and hire if possible one or two among those whose crops had also suffered from frost. The latter, like the devastating hail, performs its work erratically, wiping out one man's grain and sparing his neighbors'. Meanwhile I found plenty to do making arrangements to commence our work on the track. CHAPTER XI ON THE RAILROAD It was a hot autumn morning when we prepared to commence our task of railroad building, the last forlorn hope between ourselves and ruin. Harry and I stood each beside our teams, which were harnessed to a great iron scoop or scraper designed to tear out a heavy load of soil at each traverse. This we would pile in the slight hollows, so that, sinking a few feet through the rises and raised slightly above each depression, the road-bed might run straight and level across the prairie. A group of sinewy, dusty men waited about the line of flat cars loaded with rails close behind, while a plume of black smoke curled aloft from the huge locomotive in a dingy column against the blue of the sky. This, with the cluster of tents and shanties, was all that broke the white grass-land's empty monotony. The surveyor, who was perhaps dustier than any, leaned against the engine's buffer-frame close beside me, mopping his face, which was also smeared with soot, and surveyed us complacently, for with our assistants we formed, as far as outward appearances went, a workmanlike if somewhat disreputable company. Water was scarce that season and too precious to waste in superfluous washing, while we had little leisure to spare on even much-needed repairs to our garments. Still, we were alert, hard and eager, while after the preceding anxiety it was with improved spirits that we found definite work before us, with, what was better still, definite pay at the end of it. "Well, they've finished the line posts; I guess you can start in," said the surveyor. "You look as if you could keep those scoops from rusting. Good luck go with you! Stir round and heave those rails down, boys!" Then with a crack of whips we started, and it was with satisfaction that I heard the trampling of hoofs bite into the sod and the bright steel edges rip through the matted roots. Soft earth and tangled grasses filled the iron scoop behind, the air vibrated with the strident clang of rails, and the locomotive engineer performed an inspiriting solo upon his whistle, while the rest of our party followed to finish the wake we left with their shovels. Somewhat improved appliances are used in railroad building now, but though it had limitations the scraper did excellent work in its day. All went well and smoothly for at least a month, and our hearts grew lighter every day, while each time the big locomotive came clattering up we had another length of road-bed ready for the rails, and the surveyor commented on our progress with frank approval. He also did so to some purpose in his reports to Winnipeg, as subsequently transpired, while occasionally, when we lounged languidly contented under the dew-damped canvas at nights, Harry would figure with the end of a pencil how much we had already placed to our credit. "We are doing well, Ralph," he said the last time it happened, with a smile that lighted his sunny face. "There's enough now to pay off those people in Brandon, and with luck we'll manage to settle with the worst of the rest before the frost comes. It's almost a pity we didn't try the railroad sooner, but"--and here he glanced at me with a twinkle in his eye--"we came out to work our own land, and it's your intention to add acre to acre until Fairmead's one of the biggest farms in the Territories, isn't it?" "Yes," I answered soberly. "God willing, if health and strength hold out," and in his own expressive way Harry shook hands with me. Harry's hand harmonized with the rest of him, and hands as well as faces are characteristic of their owners' temperament. It was small and shapely, one might call it almost feminine, but its touch conveyed the subtle impression of courage and nervous energy, while I wondered what the woman who reared him would think if she saw those toughened and ingrained fingers now. Neither were words needed, for Harry's actions had each their meaning, and that grasp seemed to say that in this I was leader and whatever happened he would loyally follow me. Then he added softly: "Yes--with your reservation--we will do it." Uninterrupted good fortune seldom lasts long, however, or at least it seldom did with us, and presently the line ran into a big coulée which wound through what we call hills on the prairie--that is to say, a ridge of slightly higher levels swelling into billowy rises. In the Western Dominion the rivers, instead of curving round the obstacles they encounter, generally go through, though whether they find the gorges or fret them out is beyond me. In the latter case, judging from what one sees in British Columbia, they must have worked hard for countless centuries. The hollow as usual was partly filled with birches and willows, which hampered us, for they must be cut down and the roots grubbed up; and when at last we had scooped a strip of road-bed out of the slanting side it seemed as if disaster again meant to overtake us. Autumn had melted into Indian summer, but it was still hot. With the perspiration dripping from me one afternoon, I whirled and drove the keen axe into a silver birch's side, seldom turning my eyes from the shower of white chips, because looking up between the slender stems one could see the black smoke of a thrasher streaking the prairie. The crops of the man who employed it had escaped damage, and as those of many had been spoiled by frost I knew he would reap a handsome profit on every bushel. I did not grudge it him, but the contrast with our failure troubled me. My throat was parched and dried up, for we had finished all the water they brought us in by train, and no man could drink of the shrunken creek, which was alkaline. It flowed down from one of those curious lakes to be found on the Western prairie, where clouds of biting dust which smarts one's eyes and nostrils intolerably rise up like smoke from the white crust about the margin of the waters, whose color is a vivid greenish blue. I stepped aside a moment to let the construction train with its load of rails roll past, and stood leaning on the axe wiping the perspiration out of my eyes until Harry's shout rang out warningly. Then through the strident scream of brakes and the roar of blown-off steam an ominous rumbling commenced round a bend; there was a rush of flying footsteps, and Harry shouted again. I ran forward down the newly-laid track, and when I halted breathless, my first sensation was one of thankfulness followed by dismay. Harry was struggling to hold an excited team not far away. It was evident that he and the rest were safe, but it was also equally plain that we must gather our courage to meet another blow. In no circumstances could much, if any, profit have been made on that portion of the line which traversed the coulée, but we took it with the rest; and now the road-bed we had painfully scooped out had been swept away and lay a chaotic mass of débris, some sixty yards below, for, loosened by the excavation, the side of the ravine had slipped down bodily. "I'm glad you and the teams are safe," was all I could find to say when Harry met me, for I struggled against an inclination to do either of two things. One was to sit down and groan despairingly, and the other to abuse everything on the Canadian prairie. Harry at first said nothing. He was panting heavily, but another man answered for him: "I guess you might be, and only for your partner's grit the teams wouldn't have been saved. When we saw the whole blame ravine tumbling in the only thing that struck us was to light out quick, and we did it in a hurry, not stopping to think. Something else struck your partner, too, a devastatin' load of dirt coming down on the teams, and he went back for them. Cut the traces of one scraper--you can see the blame thing busted in the bottom there; then there was a roar and she came down solid with a rush, while we did the shouting when he brought them safe at a gallop out of the dust." "That's a side issue," said Harry very gravely, "and the main one is serious. Ralph, if all this slope is going to slip down it means disaster to us. You see, after what was said when we took the contract, we couldn't well back out of it, even if we wanted to. Hallo, here's his majesty the surveyor on his trolley." With a clatter of wheels the light frame raced down the slight incline, and unloaded its occupants violently when it ran into the back of the construction train which they had stopped just in time. We did not, however, follow it, because we wanted time to think; and both our faces were anxious when the surveyor returned. "I'm afraid it's a hard case--one of those things no man can figure on ahead--give you my word we never expected this," he said. "That bank looked solid enough, but there's more of it just waiting to go, and the whole track will have to be set back several yards or so. Anyway, it's particularly hard on you. Remembering what I told you, have you settled yet what you are going to do?" "Yes," I answered slowly. "We made the agreement, and we mean to keep it. We'll hire more men and teams if what we have won't do. Somehow we've got to finish our bargain, and get our money back, and we'll come to the end of the ravine some day. Isn't that your view, Harry?" "Of course!" said Harry, as the surveyor turned in his direction. By this time we had fallen into our respective parts. When there was need of judicious speech or care in matters financial it was Harry's tact or calculations that solved the difficulty, while when it came to a hard grapple with natural difficulties I led the way. Again the surveyor glanced from one to the other before he said: "There's grit in both of you. After all, what you think does not affect the question; a contract's a contract, and we hold the whip hand over you, but I'm glad to see you take it that way." The surveyor, as we were to learn, was a man of discernment, and he may have been making an experiment, but my blood was up, and I answered stiffly: "The whip hand has nothing to do with it. We will carry out our agreement, because we pledged ourselves to do so; if we hadn't, ten railroad companies would not make us, and we're open to defy any man in the Dominion, director or surveyor, to force an injustice upon us." The autocrat was not in the least angry, and smiled dryly as he said: "I believe you. Well, I make no promises, but if you're not above all assistance I guess I might help you. You can lay off and rest your teams for two days anyway, while I turn loose the shovelers; then you'll want all the energy that's in you." In different circumstances we might have enjoyed that holiday. As it was, I lay still in the sunshine all day, disconsolately staring across the prairie down the track that was apparently going to complete our discomfiture, and smoking until my mouth was blistered. Where Harry went to I did not know. On the second evening, however, our new partner, who had been back to the main line for supplies, came in, and listened with apparent unconcern while we explained matters to him. Acting under impulse, I even suggested that we might release him from his unfortunate bargain, but he laughed as he answered: "You're generous, but it can't be done. Experiences of this kind are not new to me, and I'm a Jonah, as I warned you. Still, when bad luck follows one everywhere--floods on the Fraser, cattle-sickness, snow coming heavy just when one is finding signs of gold--you know there's no earthly use running away from it, and it's wisest to laugh at fortune and stay right where you are. Dare say we'll come out on the right side yet; and if we don't, in fifty years it won't make much difference. Now try to look less like guests at a funeral, and talk of something cheerful." I made some moody answer and envied him his way of taking things, while Harry tried to smile, and Johnston, lifting down a banjo, commenced a plantation ditty, which he sang with so much spirit that presently he had most of the shovel gang for an appreciative audience. Then there were roars of laughter when he stood in the entrance of the tent and, with the utmost solemnity, made them a ridiculous speech. After this they went away to their canvas dwellings, and I knew that Ellsworthy Johnston was one of those born soldiers of fortune who extract the utmost brightness from an arduous life, and, meeting each reverse with a smiling face, cheerfully bear their ill-rewarded share in the development of Greater Britain beyond the seas. One may find a good many of them on the Western prairie. We recommenced work the next morning, and, under the delicious still coolness of the Indian summer, we increased the strain on nerve and muscle and cut down the grocery bill, though I insisted on feeding the horses even better than before. It is never economy to stint one's working cattle, especially when one demands the utmost from them, besides being a procedure which is distasteful to any merciful man. However, though we had to hire more horses, wondering how we would ever pay for them when the contract was finished, the track crept on along the treacherous slope, where we scooped out a double width as basis, winding among the birches in glistening, sinuous curves, while the end of the valley grew nearer every day. Again Harry and I lapsed into the excitement of a race against adversity, because unless we were well out on the open prairie before winter bound the sod into the likeness of concrete there could be no hope of even partly recouping our loss. Even Johnston seemed infected with our spirit; but while we generally worked in dogged silence, he had ever a jest on his lips. One evening--and the days were shortening all too rapidly--when I sat tired and dejected on an empty provision case, a rail-layer brought in several letters, and, as usual, they were all for me. Harry stood bare-armed, with the dust still thick upon him, just outside the entrance of the tent, holding a spider over our little stove, and glanced half regretfully toward the budget. No one ever seemed to write to Harry. The first was from Jasper. He had visited Brandon and Winnipeg on business, and wrote in his usual off-hand style. "I've been in to see those dealers, taking my best broker along, to convince them that we only raised solid men in this section," it ran. "Thought I'd enlighten them about you, and the broker laid himself out to back me. He gets all my business--see?--while you can't beat a Winnipeg broker at real tall talking. I should say we impressed them considerably; or perhaps it was the big cigars and the spread at the hotel. Said they'd sense enough to know a straight man when they saw him, and they'd give you plenty time to pay in. So all you've got to do is to sail right on with the track-grading. The boys were saying down to Elktail that Fletcher and his father-in-law don't get on, and there's going to be trouble there presently. I think the old man started in to reform him, and Fletcher don't like unlimited reform." "Just like Jasper," said Harry. "A woman's heart, and the strength of three ordinary men. Still, when Jasper starts in with a rush no man can say where he'll finish, and we may hear next that he has been all round Winnipeg on our account borrowing money." Then the new partner, who was splitting firewood close by, laid down his axe as he said: "Hope you'll introduce me to Jasper some day. From what you say, he is a man worth knowing." There were two more letters, and the next--my fingers trembled as I opened it--was from Grace. It was dated from Starcross House, in Lancashire, and written in frank friendliness, expressing regret for our misfortune, which, it seemed, she had heard about, and ending: "But by this time you will have learned that there are ups and downs in every country, and I know you both have the courage to face the latter. So go on with a stout heart, believing that I and all your other friends look for your ultimate success." To this there was a postscript: "I met your cousin, Miss Lorimer, the other day, and was sorry to find her very pale and thin. She had just recovered from a serious illness, and seemed troubled when I told her how you had lost your harvest." I placed the thin sheets reverently in an inside pocket, and read them afterward over and over again, because I might not answer them. She had written out of kindly sympathy when the news of our trouble first reached her, and that was all; while I felt I could not write a mere formal note of thanks--and more than this was out of the question now. Nevertheless, I was thankful for her good wishes, and then I stood silent under the starlight, staring down the misty coulée and thinking of Cousin Alice as mechanically I stripped the envelope from the next letter. She had always been ailing, even in the days when we were almost as brother and sister; and now I longed that I might comfort her as in my periodical fits of restlessness she used to soothe me. That, however, was impossible, for my cousin was part of the sheltered life I had left behind across the sea, and I was in Western Canada with a very uncertain future before me. Then, moving back into the light of the lamp, I read the last letter. With a gasp of astonishment, I handed it to Harry, saying: "I can make nothing of this. Who in the wide world can have sent the money?" He laid down the spider, and, bending until the glow from the tent door fell on the paper, read: "Mr. Ralph Lorimer, of Fairmead. Sir,--We have received the sum of one thousand dollars, from a correspondent whose identity we are not at liberty to reveal, to place to your credit. If you prefer, you may regard this amount as an unsecured loan and repay it with current interest on opportunity. Otherwise it is unconditionally at your disposal, and we will have pleasure in honoring your drafts to that extent. -------- -------- Agent for the Bank of Montreal." "You are a lucky man," said Harry. "What will you do with it?" And I answered with some hesitation: "I don't exactly know. Tell them to send it back, most likely. We can both take care of ourselves without depending on other people's charity like remittance men. And what right has any unknown person to send money to me? My friends in England have apparently cast me off utterly, and in no case would I accept a favor from them. Still, I should like to discover who sent it." "It's some one who knows your little--we'll say peculiarities," answered Harry dryly. "I sometimes wonder, Ralph, what makes you so confoundedly proud of yourself. Can't you take it in the spirit it's evidently meant, and be thankful? You are not overburdened with worldly riches at present, anyway." To this I made no answer. We needed money badly enough--that at least was certain; and after our frugal repast I marched up and down the line, thinking it over, and then, chiefly for Harry's sake, I decided to accept the sum as a loan. It would materially help to lighten that other crushing load of debt; and though growing more and more puzzled, I felt, as Harry did, there was yet a great kindness behind it. CHAPTER XII THE UNEXPECTED On the first opportunity we paid off the most pressing of our creditors, and continued our labor with greater cheerfulness, working double tides when there was moonlight, scooping out the line along the sides of the coulée, though we lost more than I cared to calculate on every yard of it. As we did so the days grew shorter and shorter, and often in the mornings there was a keen frost in the air. It was a losing game, but we had given our bond and played it out stubbornly, while Johnston, who worked as hard as either now, cheered us with witty anecdote and quaint philosophy after each especially disappointing day. Then one evening when the surveyor sat with us, as he did occasionally, a man approached the tent. "There's a curious critter hunting round for you," he said, "looks most like a low-down played-out Britisher. He's wanting Contractor Lorimer, and won't lie down until he finds him." "Adam Lee of Stoney Clough for a dollar; I've been expecting him," said Harry, with a low whistle. "You needn't go, surveyor. Have you been fascinating any more young damsels, Ralph? Larry, will you be kind enough to show his reverence in." The man grinned as he went out, and presently Lee stood before us. He looked a little stronger than when I last saw him, but there was trouble in his face, and, when I explained to the rest who he was, he sat down and commenced his story. Life is generally hard to such as he, and living close packed together in the hive of a swarming town, with their few joys and many sorrows open for every eye to see, they lose the grace of reticence. "I set up a stitching shop in a shed against Tom Fletcher's house," he said. "There were none of my kin left in the wide world but Minnie, and, if I wasn't a burden, I wanted to live near her. They brought me saddles and harness to sew, and I earned a little, but I was main anxious for Thomas Fletcher. The lust of strong drink was in him, and he had sinful fits of temper, raging like one demented when I told him to cast out the devil. 'I'll cast out thee an' thy preaching into perdition,' he said. Then Minnie must tell me if I was too good for her husband, and only making trouble, they did not want me there, and I saw that sometimes Tom Fletcher scowled with angry eyes at her after I had spoken to him faithfully. So, because it is an ill thing to cause strife between man and wife, I left my daughter--and I had come half across the world to find her. They told me there were lots of men and horses working on the new railway, and I wondered if there was anything I could do that would keep me. They said Ralph Lorimer was a big contractor--an' there was doubt between us, but I have forgiven thee." "Very kind of you, I'm sure!" said Harry. "The question is, however, what can you do?" and the old man answered eagerly: "Anything, if it's saddles or harness or mending shoes. I can cut things in hardwood and sharpen saws too, and I'll work for a trial for nothing but my keep." I looked down at him compassionately, for he was old and broken in spirit, and would plainly starve if turned adrift on the prairie, while as I did so the surveyor broke in: "You had better take him!" Then, deciding that perhaps he could help us in some small degree, and that we might spare a few dollars to give him, even if he only kept us in whole shoes, I answered: "Well, well see what you can do, and you can camp in the other tent. There's a set of worn-out harness for a beginning to-morrow; and if you go right across you'll just be in time for supper." He thanked us with effusion, and when he went out Harry said lightly: "We have made a very bad bargain, of course, but I dare say we can manage to raise all he will cost us. Naturally, I feel inclined to do something for the old man, but that confounded Fletcher exasperates me. His shadow has been over you ever since you started in this country, and, I suppose it's foolish, but I feel that some day he'll do you a greater injury. However, at present I almost sympathize with his action. It isn't cheerful to have a future state of brimstone held up before one continually." "When I said you had better take him, I didn't mean at your own expense," interposed the surveyor, "but that in the circumstances it would come better so. I guess we'll squeeze him somehow on to the pay-roll of the Company. Heard all about the whole thing from some one. Who?--oh, General Jackson, how should I remember? Kind of religio-political crank, isn't he? Well, I've seen some inventive geniuses among the species, and while we're driving straight ahead we can find use for a man if he's honest and handy finicking round the chores. Still, that has nothing to do with what I'm coming to. We have room for straight live men on this road, and I've been watching you two. Guess you've been losing heavy, and you stuck right down to it. Now, this branch is going to be froze up presently, and they've sent for me to finish a mining loop among the mountains of British Columbia; when some one else has fooled a tough job they generally do. They listen at headquarters when I get up to talk, and the question is, will you bring along your outfit and haul rocks and lumber in the ranges for me? This time we'll try to make the deal a better one for you. We'll square up and pay off on what you've done so far; it will cut the loss, because there's more of the coulée, and there'll be hard frost before you're out on the prairie. Now, I've been talking straight--what have you to say?" I looked around at the others. Harry beamed approval, Johnston nodded indifferently, and I felt a thrill of satisfaction as I turned to the railroad autocrat. "We will come," I said simply. "That's good," was the laconic answer. "Don't think you'll regret it," and with a nod to each of us the man who in a few moments had made a great change in our destiny was gone. "On the up-grade now!" said Johnston, "but don't lose your heads. The great man paid you a tremendous compliment, Ralph, and that kind of thing isn't usual with him; but take it coolly. More people get badly busted, as they say in this benighted country, by sudden success than by hard luck!" It was good to lounge in the tent door that evening, and remember that there would be no more dreary awakenings to a day of profitless labor; but perhaps it was the cool night wind and the frosty glitter of the stars that helped to check the rush of hot, hopeful fancies through my brain. I had learned already to distrust any untested offer of prosperity. For another week nothing of moment happened, and then we spent an hour one morning with the surveyor and a gray-haired gentleman from Winnipeg. He differed from the former in many ways, and spoke with a deliberate urbanity, but I felt that he also spoke with authority and was quietly taking stock of us. We signed several papers, a receipt among them, and it was only then that I realized what that unfortunate coulée had cost us, while, when at last we went out, the surveyor said: "You have made a good impression, and that man's favorable opinion may mean great things to you. I shouldn't wonder if you cashed a good many big pay drafts before we have finished with you." "I hope so," I answered grimly. "At present we are rather poorer than when we commenced the work, and whomever the new railroad benefits it has done only harm to us. That, however, is in no way your fault, and having started we're going on to see the end of it." "Good man!" said the surveyor with a significant smile. "I shouldn't be too previous. You have six days to straighten up your business;" and after a brief conference with Harry I departed for Fairmead and Winnipeg. Our few cattle were thriving among the herds of our neighbors, to whom we made over our stock of prairie hay. The homestead would doubtless take care of itself until we were ready to return there, as prairie homesteads often have to do; while, whether it was owing to Jasper's eloquence or to other causes, I found our remaining creditors both reasonable and willing to meet us as far as they could. So I came back with a satisfactory report, and the same evening we gathered those who worked for us about the tent, and when we had handed each a roll of dollar bills Harry laid the position before them. "We sunk all that was left in this contract," he said, "and now when we are transferred to British Columbia we set out almost empty-handed, with the wrong kind of balance. It seems only fair I should tell you this frankly. If you decide to come with us we will, if all goes well, pay at present rates for the services of men and teams. On the other hand, if there is any unforeseen difficulty we may have nothing to pay with, and if any one wishes to go back to his holding I should only say he's sensible. We, however, shall hold on as long as we have a dollar left." "It's a toss-up," added Johnston. "You take your chances, and get what you can, facing the music pleasantly like the rest of us if you get nothing, which seems quite probable. Now don't jump over the edge of a ravine like the giddy antelope, but put your heads together and think about it." There was a laugh from one of the men, who conferred apart, and another said: "We're coming along. There's no work for men or horses here in winter, and we've neither money nor credit to sow in spring. Besides, we've taken your money, you have treated us fairly, and it strikes us as mean to back down on you now. So we're open to take the chances, and all we ask is that the chances should figure either way. If you're cleaned out, we get nothing; if you win we want to come in. No; we've no use for a sliding scale to fight each other on, and I guess we'll take Contractor Lorimer's word he'll do the square thing." "I give it," I said simply. "We thank you;" and when they went away I felt the weight of a double responsibility. "I congratulate you on your leadership of the hard-up company," said Johnston lightly. "This is the kind of thing that appeals to me--nothing to lose and all to win, and determined men who can do anything with axe and saw and horseflesh to back one. So it's loose guy, up peg, on saddle, and see what future waits us in the garden of the Pacific slope--in mid-winter." It was seven days later, and many things had been done, when with our working beasts and few other possessions lurching before us in a couple of cattle-cars, we went clattering through the Rockies at the tail of a big freight train. It was just breaking day, and Harry leaned beside me over the platform rails of a car hooked on for our accommodation, while Lee sat on the step close by wrapped in an old skin coat Harry had given him. A shrill whistle came ringing out of the stirred-up dust ahead, then the roar of wheels grew louder, rolling back repeated and magnified from the rocks above, while half-seen through the mist that rose from a river spectral pines reeled by, and an icy blast lashed my cheeks like a whip as, with throttle wide open and the long cars bouncing behind, the great mountain locomotive thundered down a declivity. "Steve's letting her go," said the surveyor, who came out from the car. "Got to rush her through for the side-track ahead of the west-bound mail. Say, the light is growing; stay just where you are, for presently there'll be unrolled the most gorgeous panorama that ever delighted a sinful mortal's eye, and you'll see the first of what some day is going to be of all lands on this wide green earth the greatest country." I looked up, and already the mist was rolling back like a curtain from the great slopes of rock above, sliding in smoky wreaths across the climbing pines, while as the brightness increased we could see the torrent, whose voice now almost drowned the clash of couplings and the clamor of wheels, frothing green and white-streaked among mighty boulders in the gorge below. Then as we swung giddily over a gossamer-like timber bridge, the walls of quartz and blue grit fell back on either hand; and, for the first time, I gazed in rapt silence upon the cold unsullied whiteness of eternal snow, undefiled from the beginning by any foot of man. It stretched in a glimmering saw-edge high above us athwart the brightening east, and, below, smooth-scarped slopes of rock polished to a steely luster by endless ages of grinding ice, slid down two, or it may have been four, thousand feet, to the stately pines on the hillsides below. There were peaks like castles, spires like the fretted stonework of Indian minarets, wrought by the hand of nature out of an awful cold purity, and mountains which resembled nothing I had ever seen or dreamed of, banded white with broken edges of green by winding glaciers; while sombered forests, every trunk in which the surveyor said exceeded two hundred feet in height, were wrapped about their knees. It was a scene of plutonic grandeur, weirdly impressive under the first of the light, with a stamp upon it of unearthly glory, and we drew in our breath when a great peak behind us glowed for a moment rosy red and then faded into saffron, just before a long shaft of radiance turned the whiteness on its shoulders into incandescence. "What do you think of that, Lee?" Harry asked. The old man, staring about him with a great wonder in his eyes, answered, with half-coherent solemnity: "It's the Almighty's handiwork made manifest;" and as we swept across a trestle and the trembling timber flung back the vibratory din, I caught the disjointed phrases, "The framing of the everlastin' hills; a sign an' a token while the earth shall last--an' there are many who will not see it." "Just so," said the surveyor, smiling across at me. "Now, I'm a mechanic, and look at it in a practical way. To me it's a tremendous display of power, which is irresistible, even though it works mighty slowly. Sun, wind, and frost, all doing their share in rubbing out broad valleys and wearing down the hills, and, with the débris, the rivers are spreading new lands for wheat and fruit west into the sea. 'Wild nature run riot, chaotic desolation!' it says in the guide. No, sir; this is a great scheme, and I guess there's neither waste nor riot. Well, that is not our business; it's our part to make a way to take out ore and produce, and bring in men--this is going to be an almighty great country. Timber for half the world, gold and silver, iron, lead, coal, and copper, rivers to give you power for nothing wherever you like to tap one with a dynamo, and a coast that's punctuated with ready-made harbors! All we want is men and railroads, and we mean to get them. I figure that if sometime our children--I'm thankful I've got none--move the greatest Empire's center West, they'll leave Montreal and Ottawa rusting, and locate it here between the Rockies and the sea. But I guess I'm talking nonsense, and there's a little in the flask--here's to the New Westminster, and blank all annexationists!" Harry nodded as he passed the flask on to me, while Lee groaned deprecatingly, and then, brushing the gray hair back from his forehead with thin crooked fingers, said: "An' by then there'll be no more cold homes and hunger for the poor in England. It's coming, the time we've been waiting, starving, and some of us praying for so long, an' if they get their own by law, or take it tramplin' through the blood of the oppressor, they'll live and speak free Englishmen, spread out on all the good lands the Almighty intended for them." I did not answer, though Harry said aside that he did not know the whole earth was made for Englishmen. There was occasionally much in what Lee said that commanded sympathy, but he had a habit of relapsing into vague prophetic utterance, which was perhaps acquired when he ran the Stoney Clough chapel. Still, as hour by hour we went clattering through solemn forests almost untouched by the axe, or rending apart the silence that hung over great lonely lakes, and past wide rivers, while the whole air was filled with the fragrance of pines and cedars, I wondered whether either his or the surveyor's forecast would come true, and decided if that were so England would have cause to be proud of this rich country. For the rest, Harry and I never found our interest slacken, and looked on in silence as that most gorgeous panorama of snow-peak, forest, and glacier unwound itself league after league before us, until at last amid a grinding of brakes the long freight train ran onto a side track. She was only just in time, for with the ballast trembling beneath, and red cinders flying from the funnel of the mammoth mountain engine ahead, the Atlantic mail went by. Then, as we stepped down on the track the same thought was evidently uppermost in each of us, for Harry said: "Ralph, this land approaches one's wildest fancies of a terrestrial paradise, and if in spite of our efforts we fail at Fairmead it's comforting to think we can always bring up here. If I had the choice I'd like to be buried in the heart of those forests. What do you say, Johnston?" Johnston smiled a little, but his tone was not the usual one as he answered: "I think I shall. You'll say it sounds like old woman's talk, but I fancy I'll never recross those Rockies. Anyway, it won't worry the rest of humanity very much if I don't, and I dare say we'll get some small excitement track-grading in the meantime. This country doesn't lay itself out to favor railroad building, especially in winter." CHAPTER XIII ADVOCATES OF TEMPERANCE It was a month later, and we had settled down to our new task, when Lee, who had managed to make himself generally useful, took a wholly unexpected step. Our camp stood beside the partly completed track, which after climbing through the passes wound along the edge of a precipice into a bowl-shaped hollow among the mountains. High above it on the one hand the hillsides sloped up toward the snow, which now crept lower to meet them every day. It was strewn with massy boulders and bare outcrops of rock, while the pines which managed to find a foothold here and there glittered with frost crystals every morning. Below, a wide blue lake filled half the hollow, and shingled roofs peeped out among the cedars that spread their rigid branches over its placid waters, while the roar of a frothing torrent rose hoarsely from the forest behind. Beyond this, and walled off by stupendous mountains from the outer world, lay an auriferous region, and a wooden town whose inhabitants had long struggled for an existence, hampered by the cost of bringing in stores and machinery by pack-horse train. Railroad-building in such a land is an arduous task, needing a bold conception and a reckless execution, while no line is ever driven that is not partly paid for with the adventurous legion's blood. Our share, however, was one of the safest, for it consisted in hewing logs out of the forest for framing the spidery trestles and snow-sheds, hauling sawn lumber into position, and doing general teamster's work. Risks there were of course--the rush of a charging boulder, or a sudden descent of shale, while occasionally a partly grubbed out trunk came thundering down before it was expected to. Comparatively few trained mechanics could be found among all the men about us, and, as usual, the hardest part of the struggle devolved upon the reckless free-lances--sailor-men deserters, unfortunate prospectors, forest ranchers whose possessions were mortgaged to the hilt, and others of the kind, who are always to the front when at the risk of life and limb a new way for civilization is hewn through the forests of the Pacific Slope. One morning, when I rested my team a few moments, talking to Harry and the surveyor after hauling a heavy log, Johnston came up chuckling, with a strip of cedar bark on which a notice was written. "We have an ardent reformer among our ranks, and, everything considered, I admire his pluck," he said. "You'll notice you're all invited if you listen to this--'A temperance meeting will be held outside the Magnolia saloon to-night, when Fanny Marvin and Adam Lee will turn the flash-light upon the evils of drink and gamblin'. Every sensible man is requested to step along.'" "I thought there was something brewing," said Harry. "Lee has lately foregathered with certain sober-faced individuals from Ontario, and they've been plotting mysteriously. Well, I suppose there will be trouble over it; but who is this Marvin?" "She's a rising religious reformer who has taken several towns on Puget Sound by storm," said the surveyor, "and it has cost somebody considerable to bring her here. That _protégé_ of yours is clearly a crank, but he's also more of a man than he looks, and, if it can be done unofficially, I'm inclined to back him. No, I'm not a teetotaler, and as a rule we're a sober people in Western Canada, but they're a tolerably hard crowd down at Cedar, and if once the man who runs the Magnolia takes hold with his tables we'll have chaos in this camp. I'm not prejudiced, but if they must have excitement I'd sooner see the boys whooping round a temperance meeting than a gaming bank." "Are you going, Ralph?" asked Harry. "I'm not altogether fond of the man, but in a measure we are responsible for him." I did not answer at first as I looked down upon the roofs of Cedar Crossing. The old trail, which would be useless presently, came winding down through the passes into it, and I knew that while the average British Columbian is a sturdy law-abiding citizen, a love of excitement characterizes the miner, and after being driven out of the central town site by an energetic reform committee, a few adventurers of both sexes and indifferent morals had foregathered at Cedar Crossing, with the Magnolia saloon as headquarters. Then I said, "Yes, I'm going"; and, as he departed, the surveyor observed dryly: "I'd take along a few picked men with axes. They might come in handy." Bright starlight shone coldly on the dim white peaks when Harry and I stumbled among the boulders by Cedar Lake, in whose clear depths it lay reflected with a silvery glitter. But it was warm down in the valley, and the drowsy breath of cedars filled the air, until a reek of kerosene replaced it, and presently a ruddy glare broke out among the giant trunks. When we halted under the blinking torches and two petroleum cressets outside the Magnolia, it seemed as if all the staff of the railroad had gathered there. "They're both here," said Harry, and I saw Lee standing beside a slender figure in unbecoming dress among a group of men in blue shirts and quaintly mended jackets; also that some planks had been laid across two barrels close by. "Don't crowd upon the lady!" said a voice. "Order! the circus is going to begin; we're only waiting for the chairman. What's that? Ain't got no such luxuries; well, he can take the barrel." After this, to our astonishment, Johnston, neatly attired, stood aloft upon an overturned barrel. "I'm glad to see so many of you, boys," he said. "Now I'm not a teetotaler myself, and this is the first time I've occupied such a platform; but we're all open to conviction, and I want you to remember we've a lady here who has traveled three hundred miles to talk to you. All we ask is that you will give her and the old man a fair show." He had struck the right note, for the British Columbian is a somewhat chivalrous person, and there was silence, through which the jingle of a piano in the saloon broke irritatingly, until Lee stood up. "I'm a sinful man like the rest of you," he began in the more formal English and high-pitched inflection I knew so well, though the effect was diminished because some one broke in with assumed wonder, "You don't say?" "I've the same passions in me," continued the orator, unheeding, "and once I came near murder, while for six long years I was a sodden slave to this awful drink." "Only awful when it's bad!" another voice said; and there was a cry, "He's getting ahead nicely! 'Rah for the next President! Give him a show!" "Sodden mind and body!" repeated Lee; "a-groveling on hands and knees in the pit of iniquity, and when I came out it left me what you see--a broken man who, if he'd saved his soul, was too late to save his body. That's what you'll remember--no one can wallow without paying for it, and you're strong men who were meant for better. It's all in the choice you make--health, happiness, prosperity--a jump down a precipice into eternity, or dying half-rotten in a Vancouver hospital." "The old thing, but he's taking hold," said Harry when the speaker paused a moment, and then a glow of light beat out while a tall figure stood in the doorway of the saloon. The man's face was scornful beneath the costly wide-brimmed hat; he wore a spotless white shirt instead of a blue one, while--and this was an unusual sight--a heavy revolver was strapped about his waist, and neatly polished boots reached to his knees. This I knew was Hemlock Jim, of evil repute, who had set up a gaming table, and was supposed to have purchased an interest in the Magnolia. "Won't you come in, boys, instead of fooling 'round outside there in the cold?" he asked derisively. "You can have as much water as you like, and we won't charge you nothin' for the room." I wondered what Johnston, who conferred with his companions, would do. "I think we will," said the chairman. "Much obliged to you. File in quietly, boys, and those who can't find room will sit on the veranda." Harry chuckled. "This is distinctly a new line for our partner," he commented, "and the whole trio have pluck enough. I fancy if the other side try any tricks they'll find their match in Johnston." Then, amid banter and laughter, the big bronzed men filed up the long bare room, after which all eyes were turned toward the three who sat on a little platform beside a piano. Facing them another group, who I fancied meant mischief, lounged against the bar, looking on sardonically. Then the proprietor, who wore a large diamond in his white shirt-front, came out. "This yere discussin' temperance is thirsty work," he said, "and it might improve the general harmony if before you begin in earnest you had a drink with me. Ask them what they're shouting for, Jim; and, Jess, for once you'll rustle round with the tray." There was a jingle of glasses, and a damsel with very pink cheeks and lemon-colored hair, who apparently presided over the piano, went round with a tray. It was emptied several times, and I began to foresee that the temperance demonstration would fail miserably, as it might have done but for Johnston's ready wit and the opposite party's imprudence. Grinning derisively, Hemlock Jim led the waitress straight up to the orators' platform, and, with the revolver showing significantly as he bent forward, he held out the tray saying: "It will help the good feelin' if you have a drink with me." This was a false step. A big man from the bush of Ontario, whose forebears had probably been Scottish Covenanters, stretched his long limbs out in front of Hemlock, while Johnston smiled as he answered: "Not at present. Unfortunately I'm a little particular as to whom I drink with. Boys, don't you think it would be fairer if you heard our guests first, and then paid for your own refreshment afterward if they didn't convince you?" Hemlock Jim deliberately set down his tray, the Ontario bushman seemed gathering himself together for some purpose, and there was an ominous glitter in Johnston's eyes, while just as I expected the fray to begin, the proprietor called out laughingly: "Sit right down, Jim. Pass on them glasses, Jess. I guess they won't refuse you." It was diplomatic, but Johnston's hint of fairness went further, and in spite of the frail beauty's smiles, a number of those who listened waved the tray aside with the words "I pass!" Then, when some one called out to ask what was the matter with the circus, and whether the clown were lost, while others demanded "The lady!" Johnston turned to Miss Marvin, and there was a hush as the slight girlish figure--and she seemed very young--stood upright before us. She thrust back the unlovely bonnet, and her thin face was flushed; but when, clenching nervous fingers upon the dowdy gown, she raised a high clear voice, every man in the assembly settled himself to listen. Perhaps it was a chivalrous respect for her womanhood, or mere admiration for personal courage, and she had most gallantly taken up the challenge; but I think she also spoke with force and sincerity, for my own pulse quickened in time to the rapid utterance. Then changing from the somewhat conventional tirade, she leaned forward speaking very gently, and one could hear the men breathe in the stillness, while, as far as I can remember, the plain words ran: "It's not only for you I'm pleading; there are the women, too--the sweethearts, wives and daughters waiting at home for you. Just where and how are they waiting? Shall I tell you? 'Way back up yonder tending the cattle in the lonely ranch, where the timber wolves howl along ranges on the moonlight nights; and I guess you know it's lonely up there in the bush. Then I can see others sewing with heavy eyes and backs that are aching in a Vancouver shack. You had no money to leave them, and they had to do the best they could. Have they no use for the money you would spend in liquor here--the women who never cried out when they let you go? Don't heart-break and black, black solitude count anything with you? You're building railroads, building up a great Dominion, but the waiting women are doing their part, too. And I'm thinking of others still, gilt-edged and dainty, 'way in the old country. I've seen a few. Where's the man from an English college that used to feel himself better after they talked to him? Is he here with the fire of bad whisky in him, betting against the banker to win a smile from Jess of Caribou?" This woman knew how to stir them, and there was an expressive murmur, while some fidgeted. Then the proprietor beckoned across the room, and Hemlock Jim spoke: "This is only high-tone sentiment. Most of us aren't married, and don't intend to. No, sir, we've no use for a missis rustling round with a long-handled broom on the track of us, and I'm going to move an amendment." "You can't do it," said Johnston. "You brought us in of your own will, and now you've got to hear us. This meeting is going on quietly to its conclusion if I hold the chair. Sit down, sir." "I'll be shot if I do!" said the other, and it became evident that trouble was near, for a group of the disaffected commenced to sidle toward the platform, calling on Caribou Jessy to give them a song. But Johnston was equal to the occasion. "If you're wanting music we've brought our own orchestra along. Mr. Harry Lorraine, the tenor, will oblige you." Harry promptly entered into the spirit of the thing, for he sat down good-humoredly, and, though I forget what he sang, it was a ballad with a catching refrain, which he rendered well, and hardly had the applause died away when the girl commenced again, while Lee, who followed, made a strong impression this time. Then, before the interest had slackened, Miss Marvin held up a little book, smiling sweetly as she said: "It was kind of you to listen so patiently, and now I'm asking a last favor. Won't you all walk along and write your names down here?" A number of the listeners did so, and when the rest refused jestingly, Johnston got up. "The meeting is over," he said, "but there's one thing yet to do--to pass a vote of thanks to the proprietor for the use of his saloon. Then I should like to ask him to lay out his best cigars on the bar for every one to help himself." There was acclamation, and the assembly would have dispersed peaceably but that just as we went out Hemlock Jim, who had gathered the disaffected round him, said to Johnston: "I'm glad to see the last of you. Now sail out into perdition, and take your shameless woman with you. But--I'm not particular--she's got to pay tribute first." He grasped the trembling girl's shoulder, dragged back the ample bonnet, but the next moment I had him by the throat, and he went reeling sideways among his comrades. Then, as by a signal the tumult began, for with a crash of splintered glass the nearest lamp went out, and a rush was made upon us. Something struck me heavily on the head; I saw Johnston stagger under a heavy blow; but I held myself before the girl as we were hustled through the doorway, and when a pistol-barrel glinted one of the railroad men whirled aloft an axe. We were outside now, but the pistol blazed before the blade came down, and a man beside me caught at a veranda pillar with a cry just as the door banged to. "It's Pete of the shovel gang!" somebody said. "It was Hemlock Jim who shot him. Where's the man with the axe to chop one of these pillars for a battering-ram? Roll round here, railroad builders!" A roar of angry voices broke out, and it was evident that popular sympathy was on the reformers' side, while my blood was up. Pete of the shovel gang, a quiet, inoffensive man, sat limply on the veranda, with the blood trickling from his shoulder, and there was the insult to the girl to be avenged; while, if more were needed, somebody hurled opprobrious epithets at us from an upper window. I wrenched the axe from its owner--and he resisted stubbornly--whirled it round my shoulder, and there was another roar when after a shower of splinters the stout post yielded. It was torn loose from the rafters, swung backward by sinewy arms, and driven crashing against the saloon door, one panel of which went in before it. Twice again, while another pistol-shot rang out, we plied the ram, and then followed it pell-mell across the threshold, where we went down in a heap amid the wreckage of the door, though I had sense enough left to remove Hemlock's smoking revolver which lay close by, just where he had dropped it on the floor. He evidently had not expected this kind of attack and suffered for his ignorance. We could not see him, but a breathless voice implored somebody to "Give them blame deadbeats socks!" and there was evidently need for prompt action, because the rest of our opponents had entrenched themselves behind the bar, which was freely strengthened by chairs and tables; also, as we picked ourselves up, an invisible man behind the barricade called out in warning: "Stop right there. Two of us have guns!" "Will you come out, and give up Hemlock Jim?" asked Johnston, while half a dozen men who had found strangely assorted weapons gathered alert and eager behind him, a little in advance of the rest, and Lee panted among them with the blood running down his face. "If you want him you've got to lick us first!" was the answer. "We don't back down on a partner. But I guess he's hardly worth the trouble, for he's looking very sick--your blank battering-ram took him in the stummick." "One minute in which to change your mind!" said Johnston, holding up his watch. "Bring along that log, boys, and get her on the swing;" and tightening my grip on the axe I watched the heavy beam oscillate as our partner called off the last few seconds. "Fifty-four! fifty-five! fifty-six!--" But he got no further. Swinging sideways from the waist, he was only just in time, for once more a pistol flashed among the chairs; and when another man loosed his hold Johnston roared, "Let her go!" The head of the beam went forward; we followed it with a yell. There was a crash of splintered redwood, and my axe clove a chair. Then shouting men were scrambling over the remnants of the bar, while just what happened during the next few moments I do not remember, except that there was a great destruction of property, and presently I halted breathless, while the leader of the vanquished, who were hemmed in a corner, raised his hand. "We're corralled, and give up," he said. "Here's Hemlock Jim--not much good to any one by the look of him. What are you going to do with us?" "Are those men badly hurt?" asked Johnston. "Not much," some one answered. "Pete's drilled clean through the upper arm; it missed the artery, and the ball just ripped my leg." "Well, we'll settle about Jim afterward; it's surgical assistance he wants first. As to the rest of you, he led you into this, and we'll let you go on two conditions--you subscribe a dollar each to Miss Marvin's society and sign the pledge." There was a burst of laughter, in which even some of the vanquished joined sheepishly; but as they filed past between a guard armed with shovels and empty bottles Johnston saw that they filled their names into the book, and duly handed each his ticket, while I regret to say that Harry's selection was daringly appropriate, as with full musical honors he played them out. "There's a hat at the door!" said Johnston, "you can put your dollars in. You have spent an exciting evening, and must pay for your fun." And presently that hat overflowed with money, while Lee, with his Ontario stalwarts, did huge execution with a shovel among such bottles as remained unwrecked behind the bar. We placed Hemlock Jim on a stretcher, groaning distressfully, while our two wounded declared themselves fit to walk, and before we marched off in triumph to the camp Johnston raised his hat as he placed a heavy package of silver in Miss Marvin's hand. "I've no doubt your organization can make a good use of this," he said. "It's also a tribute to your own bravery. I'll leave you half a dozen men who'll camp in the road opposite your lodgings, and see you safely back to the main line to-morrow. They're most sober Calvinists, with convictions of the Cromwellian kind, and I don't think any of our late disturbers will care to interfere with them." When we approached the tents, chanting weird songs of victory, the surveyor met us, and in answer to his questions Johnston laughed. "The temperance meeting was an unqualified success," he said. "We've broken up all the bottles in the Magnolia saloon--Lee reveled among them with a hammer. Then we made all the malcontents we could catch sign the pledge, and you'll find the chief dissenter behind there on the stretcher." "Glad to hear it," remarked the surveyor, dryly. "Judging by your appearance the proceedings must have been of the nature of an Irish fair." I remember that when we discussed the affair later Johnston said, "What did I do it for? Well, perhaps from a sense of fairness, or because that girl's courage got hold of me. Don't set up as a reformer--that's not me; but I've a weakness for downright if blundering sincerity, and I fancied I could indirectly help them a little." The next morning we were astonished to find that Hemlock Jim had gone. "Thought he was dyin' last night!" said the watcher, "and as that didn't matter I went to sleep; woke up, and there wasn't a trace of him." This was evidently true, and where he went to remained a mystery, for we heard no more of Hemlock Jim, though there was a marked improvement in the morals of Cedar Crossing, while, and this we hardly expected, some of those who signed that pledge honestly kept it. CHAPTER XIV THE HIRED TEAMSTER Speaking generally, winter is much less severe in British Columbia, especially near the coast, than it is on the prairie, though it is sufficiently trying high up among the mountains, where as a rule little work is done at that season. Still, though the number of the track-layers was largely reduced, the inhabitants of the mining region had waited long enough, and so, in spite of many hardships, slowly, fathom by fathom, we carried the rail-head on. Now and then for several days together we sat in our log-built shelter while a blinding snowstorm raged outside and the pines filled the valley with their roaring. Then there were weeks of bitter frost, when work was partly suspended, and both rock and soil defied our efforts. One of our best horses died and another fell over a precipice. Hay was hardly to be bought with money, provisions only at an exorbitant cost, and though we received a few interim payments it was, as Johnston said, even chances either way if we kept on top, because every day of enforced idleness cost us many dollars. However, floundering through snow-slush, swinging the axe in driving sleet and rain, or hauling the mossy logs through the mire of a sudden thaw, we persisted in our task, though often at nights we sat inside the shanty, which was filled with steaming garments, counting the cost, in a state of gloomy despondency. Except for the thought of Grace, there were moments when I might have yielded; but we were always an obstinate race, and seeing that I was steadfastly determined to hold out to the last, the others gallantly aided me. Now, when the time of stress is past, I know how much I owe to their loyalty. At length, however, the winter drew to an end, and the whole mountain region rejoiced at the coming of the spring. A warm wind from the Pacific set the cedars rustling, the sun shone bright and hot, and the open fringe of the forest was garlanded with flowers, while a torrent made wild music in every ravine. I was sitting outside our shanty one morning smoking a pet English briar, whose stem was bitten half-way, and reveling in the warmth and brightness, when the unexpected happened. By degrees, perhaps under the spell of some influence which stirs us when sleeping nature awakens once more to life, I lost myself in reverie, and recalled drowsily a certain deep, oak-shrouded hollow under the Lancashire hills, where at that season pale yellow stars of primroses peeped out among the fresh green of tender leaves. Then the bald heights of Starcross Moor rose up before me, and Grace came lightly across the heather chanting a song, with her hat flung back, and the west wind kissing her face into delicate color, until a tramp of footsteps drew nearer down the track. A man, who evidently was neither a bush-rancher nor a railroad hand, approached and said with a pure English accent: "I'm in a difficulty, and it was suggested that Contractor Lorimer might help me. I presume I have the pleasure of addressing him? My name is Calvert." "I will if I can," I answered, and the stranger continued: "It's my duty to escort two ladies from the main line into the Lonsdale valley. They have a quantity of baggage, and I have no confidence in the half-starved Cayuse ponies the Indians offered me. The trails are hardly safe just now, and the regular freighters hadn't a beast to spare. It would be a favor if you came with yours, and we should, of course, be glad to recoup you for the time you lose." His manner was pleasant, money was very scarce then, and as it happened we had been compelled to lay off for a day or two, awaiting material; so I arranged to start with him. "A little change will be good for you," Harry said, when the man departed. "You have been looking as grim as a hungry bear lately. Jim Lawrence, I dare say, would lend you his sisters' saddles." The outward journey, made partly under cover of darkness, was arduous, for each torrent came roaring down swollen by melting snow almost bank-full, and portions of the trail had been washed away; but we reached the station settlement in safety, and after a few hours' sleep there we turned out to meet the west-bound train. It came thundering down the valley presently with the sunlight flashing upon burnished metal and the long car windows, and when amid a roar of blown-off steam it rolled into the station, I wondered with mild curiosity what kind of women the new arrivals would be. The next moment my pulse quickened as a gray-haired lady stepped down from the platform of a car, for when my companion hurried forward with uplifted hat I saw that it was Miss Carrington, while fresh and dainty, as though she had not traveled at all, Grace followed her. Then I remembered that my place was that of hired teamster, and I stood waiting outside the baggage-car until Calvert gave me the brass checks, after which I assisted the man who came with me to cinch a surprisingly heavy load on our two pack-horses. The battered felt hat probably concealed my face, all I had on was homely and considerably the worse for wear, and it was scarcely surprising that they did not recognize me. Presently, leading Jasper's bay horse forward, I stooped and held out my hand for Grace to rest her little foot on, and when she swung herself lightly into the saddle, Calvert said: "The sooner we start the better, the trails are positively awful. Contractor Lorimer, you will no doubt take especial care of Miss Carrington." Swinging low the broad hat, I looked up and saw a faint tinge of crimson mantle in the face of the girl, while again a thrill went through me when she said simply, "Ralph!" for that name had never passed her lips before in my hearing. Then, while Calvert looked hard at me and the elder lady bowed, she patted the bay horse's neck, saying frankly: "It's an unexpected pleasure, and I have often been thinking about you, but never expected to meet you here. What a handsome beast you have brought me!" Grace seldom showed all her feelings, for a sweet serenity characterized her, but this time I fancied that our relative positions both puzzled and troubled her, and I regretted my own stupidity in not asking who the ladies were. Still, I managed to answer that Cæsar should be proud of his burden. That was a memorable journey in various ways. In places, beaten by the hoofs of many pack-horses, the trail was knee-deep in mire, and in others it was lost under beds of treacherous shale. But Cæsar was used to the mountains, and I strode beside his head, heeding neither slippery shingle nor plastic mud, for Grace chatted about her English visit, and with such a companion I should have floundered contentedly over leagues of ice and snow. The valleys were filled with freshness, and the air was balmy with scents, while every bird and beast rejoiced with the vigor of the spring. Now and then a blue grouse broke out drumming from the summit of a stately fir, white-headed eagles and fish-hawks wheeled screaming above the frothing shallows on slanted wing, and silently, like flitting shadows, the little wood-deer leaped across the trail, or amid a crash of undergrowth a startled black bear charged in blind panic through the dim recesses of the bush. Once, too, with a snarl, a panther sprang out from a thicket, and Calvert's rifle flashed; but the only result was that Cæsar tried to rear upright. With fear I clutched at his rein, and it was a pretty sight to see the big, rough-coated horse settle down as if ashamed of his fright when the fair rider spoke soothingly to him. All dumb creatures took kindly to Grace, and, though Cæsar could show a very pretty temper in ungentle hands, he yielded to the caressing touch of her soft fingers. Then he turned his eyes upon me with a look that seemed an apology for dividing his allegiance, while Grace smiled under lowered lashes, as though she did not wish to meet my gaze. It was a trifling incident, but inwardly I thanked the good horse for it. Later, when we came up out of a roaring ford, through which I carefully led Cæsar, with the stream boiling about my waist, into a dim avenue, she looked down at me as she said: "This is a dream-like country, and I never imagined anything so beautiful. And yet it is familiar. Do you remember what you once said to me at Lone Hollow?" The question was wholly unnecessary, for I could remember each moment of that night, and any one in touch with nature could understand her comment. It was a great forest temple through which we were marching, where the giant conifers were solemn with the antiquity of long ages, for it had taken probably a thousand years to raise the vaulted roof above us, with its groined arches of red branches and its mighty pillars of living wood. Nature does all things slowly, but her handiwork is very good. "Yes," Grace continued, "it seems familiar--as though you and I had ridden together through such a country once before; I even seem to know those great redwoods well. I--I think I dreamed it, but there is another intangible memory in which you figured too." "I could not be in better company," I answered, smiling, though my heart beat. "We are such stuff as dreams are made of, and our little life is rounded with a sleep, you know; and here among the mountains it seems borne in on one forcibly that, as I told you my partner said, man's intellect is feeble and we do not know everything." Grace sighed, and then, though she answered lightly, there was the same puzzled look on her face that I had seen for a moment at Cypress Hollow. It seemed as if her mind reached forward toward something that eluded its grasp, until we both broke into laughter as a willow-grouse disturbed by the horse's feet rose whirring to a redwood branch and perched there, close within reach, regarding us with an assurance that was ludicrous. "It thinks it is perfectly safe," I said. "You might shoot until you hit it, or knock it down with a stick, and yet there is no more timorous creature among the undergrowth, unless it has a brood of chicks, when it will attack any one." At noon we rested for luncheon in an open glade, where bright sunlight beat down upon the boulders of a stream which surged among them, stained green by the drainage from a glacier; and there was merry laughter over the viands Calvert produced from his pack. "I did my best, Miss Carrington," he said, "but as yet they're a primitive people among these mountains--and it's not to be wondered at, with that huge rampart between them and civilization. 'Something nice for a lady?' the storekeeper said. 'Guess I've just got it.' And he planked down a salmon-fed reistit ham and this bottle of ancient candy, with the dead flies thrown in. Still, one can't help admiring them for the way they've held on, growing stuff they cannot sell, building stores where few men come to buy, and piling up low-grade ore that won't pay its pack-freight to the smelter. Also I've seen work that three men spent a year over which a hydraulic monitor would have done in a few days, while the rocks seem bursting with riches and the valleys with fertility; but they can get neither produce out nor mining plant in. Their greatest hero now is a certain enterprising director, and they'd decline an angel's visit at any time for that of a railroad builder." "I sometimes wish I had been born a man, with work of that kind to do," said Grace, with a fire in her eyes. "We hear of the old romance and lost chivalry, but there was never more than in these modern days, only it has changed its guise. If we haven't the knight in armor or the roystering swashbuckler, we have the man with the axe and drill; and is it not a task for heroes to drive the level steel road through these tremendous mountains? You are smiling, Mr. Calvert. I read the papers--Colonial and British, all I can come across--and I know that some day England will need all her colonies. You cannot deny that this is a sensible question: Which is the better for an English gentleman, to use all the strength and valor that is entrusted him--we are taught there will be a reckoning when he must account for them--subduing savage Nature, that the hungry may eat cheaper bread, or lounging about a racecourse, shooting driven pheasants--I know it needs high skill--or wasting precious hours in the reeking smoke-room of his club? If I had a brother I should sooner see him working as a C. P. R. track-shoveler." "Grace has strong opinions," said the old lady. "I think she is right, in a measure." Calvert bowed. "It's in the Carrington blood. Miss Grace, I once heard one of your father's old comrades say that the Colonel could keep no officers because he wore them out, and he might have ended as General but that he reversed the positions and wanted to instruct the War Office. However, you mustn't be too hard on the poor loungers; they eat the things the other fellows grow, and some of them subscribe the money to make the new railroads go--they don't always get dividends on it either. Besides,"--and there was a twinkle in his eyes--"you are making my new friend uncomfortable. He is a railroad builder. Are you working for philanthropic notions, Mr. Lorimer?" "No," I answered soberly; and the rest of the party laughed as I added: "Only to pay back what I owe; and we are making slow progress in that direction. Still, the work has its fascination, and it will last and be useful after we are gone." Then, while Calvert spoke to Miss Carrington, Grace turned toward me with a sudden look of interest. "You are not exactly prospering, I gather," she said, "and I am very sorry. Please commence when you left Fairmead and tell me all the story." I did so--perhaps not very clearly, for she asked many questions during the course of the narrative; and her eyes sparkled at the story of our profitless struggle in the coulée. "Flour--poor thirds; whose brand?--local pork--and doubtless the cheapest tea, you lived on. I manage the affairs of the Manor, and may I ask what your grocery list came to? How much maize and oats for the horses? Thank you. It was just as one might have expected. No, I have never been disappointed in either Harry Lorraine or you." She dragged the particulars from me--and no one, much less Ralph Lorimer, could refuse to answer Grace Carrington--with a skill that came from practical knowledge of such details, before I even guessed what she wished to arrive at. Then she laughed at my confusion. "You have no need to blush. Starved yourselves and fed the cattle. It was well done. And didn't the new partner grumble?" "No," I answered, glad to change the subject. "Johnston never grumbled at anything in his life, I think. It was he who managed the commissariat." "Do you realize, Mr. Lorimer, that you are in many ways a lucky man?" she added. "I understand perfectly what it means to lose a crop and carry out an unprofitable contract. But it is in reference to your comrades I speak. Fearless, loyal partners are considerably better than the best of gear with half-hearted help, and it is evident that you have them." "Yes," I said. "No man ever had better; and it is quite true what you say. With a loyal partner a man may do very much, and, if he is sure of himself, with a higher mind to show him the way, he might reach out toward the heavens and--" Here I stopped abruptly. Wild thoughts were crystallizing into words I might not speak, and I grew hot with the struggle to check them, while I fancied that Grace blushed before she turned her face away. I know my brow was furrowed and my fingers trembled, so that it was a relief presently to hear her musical laugh. "You are not an orator," she said, turning around calmly; "and perhaps it is as well. It is not orators who are wanted in this country. Your eloquent beginning too suddenly breaks away. But don't you think we are in the meantime drifting into idle sentiment? And you have asked me neither where I am going nor about Colonel Carrington." It was true; the first would have seemed presumptuous and I did not care greatly about the redoubtable Colonel's health. "He has invested some money in a new mine in the Lonsdale district," she said; and there was a slight cloud on her brow as she continued: "The Manor farm has lately cost us, through bad seasons, more than we made from it. So, while Foster takes charge, we are going to live in a ranch up here this summer, in order that my father may assist in the development of the mine. He is practically the leading partner, and until your railroad is finished there will be serious transportation difficulties. I hope you will come to see us often." "Time is up!" said Calvert. I helped Grace into the saddle, and the rest of the perfect afternoon passed like a happy dream. Even if alone, at that season the mere sounds and scents of reawakening Nature would have elated me; but then I strode on, holding Cæsar's rein, lost in the golden glamour of it all, until snow peak and solemn forest seemed but a fitting background for the slender figure swaying to the horse's stride, while the pale, calm face brought into the shadowy aisles a charm of its own. Once--and I could not help myself--a few lines written by a master who loved Nature broke from me, and for a moment Grace seemed startled. It was a passage from the first home-coming of Queen Guinevere. "Shall we thank Providence for a good conceit of ourselves?" she said lightly, a little later. "You are hardly a Lancelot, Sir Railroad Builder; and she--is it a compliment to compare me with Arthur's faithless Queen?" Thereupon I lapsed into silence, feeling like one who has blundered on the edge of a precipice; and Grace was silent too, for the day drew toward its close, and a red glare of sunset came, slanting in among the massy trunks, striking strange glints of color from her hair, while winsome and graceful to the tiny foot in the stirrup, her lissom shape was outlined against it. Then for a while we left the woods, and rode down the hillside under the last of the afterglow, which blazed, orange, green and crimson, along the heights of eternal snow, calling up ruby flashes from the ragged edge of a glacier, while Grace seemed lost in wonder and awe. I do not think there are any sunsets in the world like those of British Columbia. "It is unearthly--majestic!" she said half to herself. "And once I almost felt inclined to sympathize with a Transatlantic scribbler, who compared the Revelation to what he termed a wholesale jewelry show. He was a townsman who had never crossed the Rockies--and if there are glories like this on earth, what must the everlasting city be?" The weird fires paled and faded, and the peaks were coldly solemn under their crown of snow, while a little breeze awoke strange harmonies among the cedars, and there was no more talking. Perhaps we were physically tired, though that day's march was a very slight task for me, but I felt that after what we had seen silence became me best. It was dark long before we rode into Cedar Crossing, and Grace was worn-out when I helped her from the saddle. Miss Carrington apparently found some difficulty in straightening herself, and when Calvert had installed them in the one second-rate hotel, after a visit to an acquaintance there, I sat smoking beneath a hemlock most of the night keeping guard over it. This was, of course, palpably absurd; but I was young, and from early ages many others have done much the same, while, though it seems the fashion to despise all sentiment now, it is probable that future generations will show traces of equal foolishness. We finished the journey on the third day, but I did not see Colonel Carrington. He was busy at the mine, and it was not worth while wasting precious time in the really comfortable ranch he had hired, awaiting his return for the mere pleasure of exchanging greetings with him, while Grace was far too tired to entertain anybody. Calvert looked awkward when he shook hands with me. "I don't quite know how to put it," he said, "but you will understand we can't take you away several days from your work gratuitously, and all transport is charged to the Syndicate. Being a trained engineer, I'm working manager, and, as a matter of business, what do I owe you?" "Nothing!" I answered shortly. "I could take no payment for assisting Miss Carrington. If you like, you can send five dollars to the Vancouver hospital." "I trust we'll be friends" said Calvert. "Hope I didn't offend you. Meant it in the best of faith. I'm coming round to see you, and whenever you have leisure you must look upon my quarters yonder as your own." I rode back wondering whether the work had suffered during my absence, though I knew my partners would not complain, and when I reached camp Harry said: "I hardly thought we'd set up as packers, but in the meantime all is fish that comes to our net. I'm getting quite a mercenary character. You had a long journey--how much did you get?" "Nothing," I answered, "except a gift of five dollars for the Vancouver hospital. It was Miss Carrington." Harry made no articulate comment at first, though his whistle, which from any one else would have been impertinence, was eloquent, while some moments elapsed before he spoke. "Then it's Colonel Carrington who is running the Day Spring mine. I've heard the free prospectors talking about the new Syndicate. They opine there's nothing in it, and that somebody is going to be hard hit." CHAPTER XV UNDER THE SHADOW OF DEATH In spite of the many new hands who flocked in with the spring, the line progressed slowly. This was quite comprehensible, and when I traveled over it afterward as a passenger I wondered how we had ever built it at all. Portions were hewn out of the solid rock, of a hardness that was often too much for our most carefully tempered drills; others were underpinned with timber against the mountain side, or carried across deep ravines on open trestles; while much of it had to be roofed in by massive sheds, so that the snow-slides might not hurl it into the valley. On several occasions we were almost checkmated in our efforts to supply and clear a way for the builders. There was, of course, no lack of timber, but the difficulty was to get it out of the forest and into position, for we often spent days building skidways or hewing roads to bring the great logs down, after which it cost us even a longer time rigging gear to lower them over dangerous ledges to those who worked below. Still, we made progress, and the free miners or forest ranchers who trudged behind their weary pack-horses down the trail that crossed the track encouraged us in their own fashion, which was at times slightly eccentric; while now and then a party of citizens from the struggling town rode over to inspect the new road they hoped would do so much for them. Sometimes they brought small presents with them, and I remember one who watched our efforts admiringly said: "You must be clearing your little pile by the way you're rustling," and looked blankly incredulous when I answered: "No; we're only trying to pay back other men their own." Nevertheless, on occasions when the work was suspended temporarily, I made a two days' journey to Colonel Carrington's ranch, and spent a few blissful hours there beneath the cedars with his sister and Grace. Both seemed pleased to see me, and I managed to console myself for the absence of the Colonel and Ormond. They returned at sunset, when I took my departure, and even Ormond was usually disreputable of aspect. Many difficulties were connected with the development of the Day Spring mine, and when there was need for it Ormond showed himself a capable man of action. Night and day the freighters met him riding along the heavy trails, hurrying in tools and supplies, and the shaft-sinkers said that he was always foremost when there was risky work to be done. Once also, when I sat smoking in Calvert's shanty, the latter, who was freely smeared with the green mountain clay, said: "We are none of us exactly idlers, but Geoffrey Ormond is tireless. In fact, I hardly recognize him as the same man, and it is just as well. We have sunk a good deal in this undertaking, and it will go hard with some of the Syndicate if we don't get out rich quartz. Ormond in particular invested, I think, almost recklessly. He's a distant connection of our leader's, you know, and it's probable he's hoping for Miss Carrington's hand. There's no doubt that the irascible Colonel would be glad to have him for a son-in-law, and he is really a very good fellow, but I'm not sure that Miss Carrington likes him--in that way." Here Calvert flicked the ash off his cigar, and looked at me before he continued: "It's not my business, and perhaps I'm gossiping, but Colonel Carrington is not addicted to changing his mind, and I anticipate a dramatic climax some day. In any case, she will never with his consent marry a poor man. You can take my word for it--I'm speaking feelingly." When, after exchanging a few words of cold politeness with the Colonel, I rode homeward the next morning I wondered whether Calvert, who certainly was not given to gossiping, had intended this as a friendly warning. Every one in their own manner seemed bent on warning me, and yet, as long as Grace remained Miss Carrington, I could not give up hope, and it was that very hope that added force to every stroke of the glinting axe or another hour of toil to the weary day. And so, while spring melted into summer, I worked and waited until fate intervened. Now between the mining town and Cedar the river loses itself in a gloomy cañon, one of those awful gorges which are common among the mountains of British Columbia. Two great rocks partly close the entrance, and beyond this the chasm is veiled in spray, while its roar when the floods race through it can be heard several miles away. Scarcely a ray of sunlight enters its shadowy depths, and looking up from beside the entrance one can see the great pines that crown the sheer fall of rock looming against the skyline in a slender lace-like filigree. Sometimes, when frost bound fast the feeding snows, the Siwash Indians ran their light canoes through, but I never heard of a white man attempting the passage, and one glance was sufficient to show the reason. I understood it better when as by a miracle I came alive out of the cañon. It was a still evening, and again the afterglow flamed behind the western pines, when, holding Cæsar's rein, I stood under a hemlock talking to Grace Carrington. We had been compelled to wait for more ironwork, and I made the long journey on the specious excuse of visiting a certain blacksmith who was skilled in sharpening tools. Calvert's offer of hospitality was now proving an inestimable boon. Harry pointed out that we had a man in camp who could do the work equally well, but I found a temporary deafness convenient then. "It was very kind of you to suggest it, and if you could get the things in by your supply train we should be very glad," she said. "I really do not know whom to write to, and the pack-horse freighters often wet or spoil them. Aunt and I intend to spend a few days at the Lawrences' ranch, and you could meet us with the package at the cañon crossing on Thursday morning." I glanced at the list she handed me, and wondered what Harry, who had to visit Vancouver, would say when he found I had pledged him to ransack the dry-goods stores for all kinds of fabrics. Still, I felt I should have faced much more than my comrades' remonstrances to please Grace Carrington then, as she stood beside me, glorified as it were by the garish sunset. "My aunt will be especially grateful," she added. "And now, good-bye. She will never forgive you if you damage her new dress." She spoke with a half-mocking and wholly bewitching air, for when Grace unbent she did it charmingly, holding out a shapely hand, while the light sparkled among the glossy clusters above her forehead. Grace's hair might have been intended for a net in which to catch stray sunshine. Then while I prepared to take up the challenge the slender fingers tightened on my own. "What was that?" she asked with a start, for a wild shrill cry rang suddenly out of the stillness, and the hillside returned the sound in a doleful wailing before it died away. "Only a loon, a water-bird!" I said, though the cry had also startled me. Grace shivered as she answered: "I have never heard it before, and it sounded so unearthly--almost like a warning of some evil. But it is growing late, and you have far to go. I shall expect you at the crossing." She turned back toward the house, and I laughed at my momentary confusion as I rode on through the deepening shadow, for though it is strangely mournful the loon's shrill call was nothing unusual in that land. Still, mere coincidence as it was, remembering Grace's shiver it troubled me, and I should have been more uneasy had I known how we were to keep that fateful tryst. It was a glorious morning when, with a package strapped to the saddle, I rode down between the pine trunks to the crossing. The river flashed like burnished silver below, and the sunlight made colored haloes in the filmy spray that drifted about the black mouth of the cañon, while rising and falling in thunderous cadence the voice of many waters rang forth from its gloomy depths. The package was a heavy one, for there were many domestic sundries as well as yards of dry-goods packed within it, and Harry assured me it had taken him a whole day to procure them, adding that he was doubtful even then whether he had satisfactorily filled the bill. I had loitered some time on the hillside until I could see the party winding down the opposite slope. Then the forest hid them, and it appeared that, perhaps because the waters were high, they were not going straight to the usual ford, but intended first to send the ladies across in a canoe which lay lower down near a slacker portion of the rapid stream. The slope on my own side was steep, but, picking my way cautiously, I was not far above the river, which boiled in a succession of white-ridged rapids, when I saw Grace seat herself in the stern of the canoe, which Ormond thrust off until it was nearly afloat. Then he returned for her aunt, while Colonel Carrington and rancher Lawrence led the horses toward the somewhat risky ford up-stream. The river was swollen by melting snow, and it struck me that they would have some difficulty in crossing. Then a hoarse shout rang out, "The canoe's adrift!" followed by another from the Colonel, "Get hold of the paddle, Grace!--for your life paddle!" It had all happened in a moment. Doubtless some slight movement on the girl's part had set the light Indian craft afloat, and for another second or two I stared aghast upon a scene that is indelibly impressed on my memory. There was Ormond scrambling madly among the boulders, tearing off his jacket as he ran, Colonel Carrington struggling with a startled horse, and his sister standing rigid and still, apparently horror-stricken, against the background of somber pines. Then forest and hillside melted away, and while my blood grew chill I saw only a slender white-robed figure in the stern of the canoe, which was sliding fast toward the head of the tossing rapid that raced in a mad seething into the cañon. Then I smote the horse, gripped the rein, and we were off at a flying gallop down the declivity. A branch lashed my forehead, sweeping my hat away; for an instant something warm dimmed my vision, and as I raised one hand to dash it away a cry that had a note of agony in it came ringing down the valley. "Make for the eddy, Grace! For heaven's sake, paddle!" How Cæsar kept his footing I do not know. The gravel was rattling behind us, the trunks reeled by, and the rushing water seemed flying upward toward me. Even now I do not think I had any definite plan, and it was only blind instinct that prompted me to head down-stream diagonally to cut off the approaching canoe; but I answered the Colonel's shout with an excited cry, and drove the horse headlong at a shelf of rock. I felt his hoofs slipping on its mossy covering, there was a strident clang of iron on stone, and then with a sudden splash we were in the torrent together. Cæsar must have felt the bottom beneath him a moment or two, for I had time to free my feet from the stirrups before he was swimming gallantly; but one cannot take a horse on board a birch-bark canoe, and the light shell shot down the green and white-streaked rush toward me even as I flung myself out of the saddle. And, staring forward with drawn-back lips and eyes wide open, I could see the white face in the stern. Thanking Providence that I could swim well, I swung my left arm forward with hollowed palm, and shot away from the beast with head half-buried under the side-stroke's impetus, making a fierce effort to gain the center of the flow in time. Something long and dark swept past me. With an inarticulate gasp of triumph I seized it, managed to fall in head foremost over the stem, which in a tender craft of that beam is a difficult thing to do, and then, snatching the second paddle, whirled it madly. I felt the stout redwood bend at every stroke, my lungs seemed bursting, and there was a mist before my eyes, but it was borne in on me that I had come too late, and that already no earthly power could snatch us from the cañon. Hemlock and boulder, stream-hammered reef and pine, flitted by, closing in on one another along the half-seen shore. The river frothed white about us in steep boiling ridges as it raced down the incline, and nearer and nearer ahead tossed the ghostly spray cloud that veiled the mouth of the chasm. As we lurched broadside to the rapid each steeper liquid upheaval broke into the canoe; for every foot I won shoreward the stream swept us sideways two; and when, grasping the pole, I thrust against a submerged boulder with all my strength, the treacherous redwood snapped in half. Then there was a bewildering roar, a blinding shower of spray, and we were out upon the short slide of glassy green water which divided the tail of the rapid from the mouth of the cañon. As I flung away the broken pole and groped for the paddle I saw with eyes that were clouded by blood and sweat Grace raise her hand as though in a last farewell, and then as she faced round once more our glances met. She said no word. I could not have heard if she had, for all sound was swallowed up in one great pulsating diapason; but she afterward said that she felt impelled to look at me, and knew that I would turn my head. And so for an instant, there where the barriers of caste and wealth had melted away before the presence of death, our two souls met in a bond that should never be broken. Now there are occasions when even the weakest seem endowed with a special strength, while a look of blind confidence from the woman he loves is capable of transforming almost any man, and I knew in the exaltation of that moment, for my own sake, I had no fear of death. If I could not save her, I felt it would be a good end to go down into the green depths attempting it. Then the canoe lurched forward half its length clear of the water, a white haze eddied about us, the sunlight went out, and we were in the cañon, shooting down the mad rush of a rapid toward eternity. I plied the paddle my hardest to keep the frail craft head on, that she might not roll over by sheering athwart the stream, not because I had any hope of escape, but that it seemed better to go under fighting. The work was severe enough, as, not having learned the back-feather under water, I must dip the blade on either side alternately, while each time that I dare turn my eyes backward a moment the sight of Grace kneeling with set white face in the stern further strengthened me. The pace grew a little easier as we drew out into a somewhat slacker flow, and I made shift with an empty fruit-can to free the craft of water, until Grace spoke, and her words reached me brokenly through the deeper growling of the river: "Do you think there is any chance of safety?" "Yes," I answered stoutly, though it is probable my voice belied me. It was so strained I could hardly recognize it. "The canoe may keep afloat until we reach the other end, or perhaps we can find a bar to land on and climb up somewhere." Then I felt glad that my shoulders were turned toward her as she said: "I am afraid it is a very small one. There is a fall and a whirlpool ahead, and no one could climb that awful precipice--look!" The canoe was shooting onward through dim shadow very fast but more steadily, and raising my eyes from the dull green water before us--these craft are always paddled with one's face toward the bow--I looked about me hopelessly. In these days of easy travel there are doubtless many who have from a securely railed-off platform gazed down into the black depths of a Pacific Slope cañon upon a river that seems a narrow thread in the great gulf below. These will have some idea of what I saw, but they may take the word of one who knows, which is easier than making the experiment, that such places look very much worse from the bottom. Those who have not may try to picture tremendous--and the word is used with its amplest significance--walls of slightly overhanging rock, through which aided by grinding boulders and scoring shingle, the river has widened as well as deepened its channel a little every century, while between the white welter at their feet lies a breadth of troubled green where the stream flows heaped up, as it were, in the center. In places it roared in filmy wreaths about a broken mass of stone that cumbered the channel, but elsewhere the hollowed sides, upon which the smallest clawed creature could not have found a foothold, had been worn down into a smooth slipperiness. "It is all so horrible," said Grace, bending back her head, so that as I glanced over my shoulder I could see her firm white neck through the laces as she stared upward at the streak of blue sky so far above. Then she turned her face toward me again, and it seemed to my excited fancy that it had grown ethereal. "We may pass the whirlpool, and--if not--death can come no harder here than in any other place," she added. I tried to answer, and failed miserably, feeling glad that an increasing tumult covered my silence, for I could not drive out a horrible picture of that fair face with the gold bronze hair swept in long wet wisps across it washing out, frozen still forever, into the sunlit valley, or the soft hands I should have given a life to kiss clutching in a last vain agony at the cruel stones which mocked them. Then I set my teeth, clenching the paddle until each muscle swelled as though it would burst the skin, and, with something that was divided between an incoherent prayer and an imprecation upon my lips, I determined that if human flesh and blood could save her she should not perish. The roar of water grew louder and louder, rolling in reverberations along the scarped rock's side, until it seemed as if the few dwarf pines which clung in odd crannies here and there trembled in unison, and once more the white smoke of a fall or rapid rose up close before us. Then I could see the smooth lip of the cataract held apart, as it were, by one curved glittering ripple from the tumult beneath, and I remembered having heard the Indian packers say that when shooting a low fall one has only to keep the craft straight before the current, which is not always easy, and let her go. "Sit quite still, Grace," I cried. "If the canoe upsets I will at once take hold of you. We shall know the worst in another few minutes now." Her lips moved a little, and though I heard no words I fancied it was a prayer, then I turned my head forward and prepared for the struggle. I had small skill in handling canoes, but I had more than average strength, and felt thankful for it as, lifting the light cedar at every wrenching stroke, I drove it toward the fall. Then a whirling mist shot up, there was a deep booming in my ears, the canoe leaped out as into mid-air, and I could feel her dropping bodily from beneath us. A heavy splash followed, water was flying everywhere, and a boiling wave lapped in, but the paddle bent under my hand, and breathless and half-blinded we shot out down the tail rush into daylight again. One swift glance over my shoulder showed the slanting spout of water behind Grace's pallid face. The fall apparently must have been more than a fathom in three yards or so, and I wondered how we had ever come down it alive. Then, with labored breathing and heart that thumped painfully, I plied the paddle, while the craft swung off at a tangent across the dark green whirling which, marked by white concentric rings, swung round and round a down-sucking hollow in the center. Twice we shot past the latter, and had time to notice how a battered log of driftwood tilted endways and went down, but as on the second revolution we swept toward a jutting fang of quartz I made a fierce effort, because here the stream had piled a few yards of shingle against the foot of the rock. The craft yielded to the impulse and drove lurching among the backwash. Then there followed a sickening crash. Water poured in deep over her depressed side as she swayed downward and over, and the next moment, with one hand on the ragged quartz and another gripping Grace's arm, I was struggling in the stream. Fortunately the dress fabric held, and my failing strength was equal to the strain, for I found a foothold, and crawled out upon the shingle, dragging her after me. Then rising, I lurched forward and went down headforemost with a clatter among the stones, where I lay fighting hard for breath and overcome by the revulsion of relief, though it may have been the mere physical overpressure on heart and lungs that had prostrated me. CHAPTER XVI WHEN THE WATERS ROSE Presently, while I lay upon the shingle panting, a wet hand touched my head, and looking up with dazzled eyes I saw Grace bending down beside me. The water drained from her garments, she was shivering, but at least she had suffered no injury. "Ralph! Ralph! tell me you are not hurt!" she said, and something in her voice and eyes thrilled me through, but, though I struggled to do so, I could not as yet overcome the weakness, and lay still, no doubt a ghastly half-drowned object, with the blood from the wound the branch made trickling down my forehead, until stooping further she laid her hand on my shoulder, and there was more than compassion in the eyes that regarded me so anxiously. Then, slowly, power and speech came back together, and covering the slender fingers with kisses I staggered to my feet. "Thank God, you are safe!" I said, "and whatever happens, I have saved you. You will forgive me this last folly, but all the rest was only a small price to pay for it." She did not answer, though for a moment the hot blood suffused her cheek, and I stood erect, still dazed and bewildered--for the quartz reef had cruelly bruised me--glancing round in search of the canoe. Failing to find it, I again broke out gratefully: "Thank heaven, you are safe!" Grace leaned against a boulder. "Sit down on that ledge. You have not quite recovered," she said; and I was glad to obey, for my limbs were shaky, and the power of command was born in her. Then with a sigh she added very slowly: "I fear you are premature. Still, I think you are a brave man, and no Carrington was ever a coward. Look around and notice the level, and remember the daily rise." Stupidly I blinked about me, trying to collect my scattered wits. The strip of shingle stood perhaps a foot above the river and was only a few yards wide. In front, the horrible eddy lapped upon the pebbles at each revolving swirl, and behind us rose a smooth wall of rock absolutely unclimbable, even if it had not overhung. That, however, was not the worst, for a numbing sense of dismay, colder far than the chilly snow-water, crept over me as I remembered that most mountain streams in British Columbia rise and fall several feet daily. They are lowest in early morning, because at night the frost holds fast the drainage of snow-field and glacier which feeds them on the peaks above; then, as the sun unchains the waters, they increase in volume, so that many a ford which a man might pass knee-deep at dawn is swept by roaring flood before the close of afternoon. "Watch that stone," said Grace with a stately calmness, though first she seemed to choke down some obstruction in her throat. "There! the last wash has buried it, and when we landed the one with the red veins--it is covered several inches now--was bare." A sudden fury seized me, and raising a clenched hand aloft I ground my heels into the shingle, while Grace looked on pityingly. "I was almost afraid to mention it at first," she said. "I--I hoped you would take it differently." Then at last I began to understand clearly. I flung back my head as I answered: "It is not for my own miserable safety that I care one atom. Neither if we had gone down together in the fall would it have seemed so hard; but after bringing you in safety so far it is horrible to be held helpless here while inch by inch the waters rise. Great God! is there nothing I can do? Grace, if I had ten lives I would gladly give them all to save you!" Again the tell-tale color flickered in her face; then it vanished, and her voice shook a little. "I believe you," she answered. "Indeed, it seems only too probable that you gave up one when you leaped the poor horse into the river. It was done very gallantly, and now you must wait as gallantly for what that great God sends." She seemed so young and winsome and beautiful that suddenly in place of rage a great pity came upon me, and I think my eyes grew dim, for Grace looked at me very gently as she added: "No; death comes to all of us some time, and you must not grieve for me." But because I was young and the full tide of lusty life pulsed within me, I could not bear to think of what must follow. Again, it seemed beyond human comprehension that she, the incarnation of all that was fair and lovable, must perish so miserably, and once more I had to struggle hard to restrain a fresh outbreak of impotent fury. Presently, however, her great fortitude infected me, and with the calmness it brought there came a feeling that I must tell her all now or never. Nevertheless, I felt that she knew it already, for one glance had made many things manifest when we first entered the cañon. "Grace," I said huskily, "I want you to listen while I answer a question which, without speaking, you asked me--Why should I, a rough railroad contractor, esteem it an inestimable privilege to freely lay down my life for you? It is only because I love you, and have done so from the day we talked together on Starcross Moor--it seems so long ago. Listen yet. I meant never to have told you until I had won the right to do so, and had something to offer the heiress of Carrington, and I fought hard for it, toiling late and early, with a dead weight of adverse fortune against me; but all that was little when every blow was struck for your sweet sake. And, if you had chosen another, I should have kept my secret, and prayed that you might be happy. Now when, so far as worldly rank goes, we stand as equals in the valley of death, I dare open all my heart to you; and, if it must be, I should ask no better end than to enter eternity here holding your hand." She trembled a little, great tears were brimming in her eyes, but again I read more than pity or sorrow in their liquid depths, and the next moment I had spread my wet arms about her and her head rested on my shoulder. There are some things that concern but two souls among all those on earth, and the low answer that came for the first time falteringly through her lips is to be numbered among them; but a little later, with my arm still about her, Grace smiled up at me wistfully as the remorseless waters lapped nearer. "I loved you because you were steadfast and fearless," she said. "Sweetheart, it will not be so hard to die together now. Do you know this is all a part of the strange memories, as though I had learned somewhere and somehow what was to be. Either in dreams or a mental phantasy I saw you riding across the prairie through the whirling snow. When you strode with bronzed face, and hard hand on my bridle through the forest, that was familiar too, and--you remember the passage about Lancelot--I knew you were my own true knight. But this is not the last of the dream forecasts or memories, and there was something brighter beyond it I could not grasp. Perhaps it may be the glories of the hereafter. I wonder whether the thought was born when that sunset flamed and flashed?" I listened, tightening my grasp about her and shivering a little. This may have been due to physical cold, or a suggestion of the supernatural; but Grace spoke without terror, reverently, and ended: "Ralph, have you ever thought about that other world? Shall we be permitted to walk hand in hand through the first thick darkness, darling?" "Don't!" I cried, choking. "You shall not die. Wait here while I try to climb round those boulders; there might be a branch that would float us, or a log of driftwood in a lower eddy," and leaving her I managed with much difficulty to scale a few great water-worn masses that had fallen from above and shut out the view of the lower river. Still, though I eagerly scanned the boulders scattered here and there along the opposite bank, there was only foam and battered stone, and at last I flung myself down dejectedly on a ledge. I dare not go back just then and tell her that the search was quite hopeless, and it may have been inherited obstinacy, but I would not own myself quite beaten yet. So I lay watching the cruel water slide past, while a host of impossible schemes flashed through my bewildered brain. They all needed at least a rope, or a few logs, though one might have been rendered feasible by a small crowbar. But I had none of these things. Meantime a few white cloudlets drifted across the rift of blue above, and a cool breadth of shadow darkened the pine on the great rocks. Something suggested a fringe of smaller firs along the edge of a moor in Lancashire, and for a moment my thoughts sped back to the little gray-stone church under the Ling Fell. Then a slow stately droning swelled into a measured boom and I wondered what it was, until it flashed on me that this was a funeral march I had once heard there on just such a day; and it was followed by a voice reading something faint and far away, snatches of which reached me brokenly, "In the sure and certain hope," and again, "Blessed are the dead." There was, perhaps, a reason for such fancies, though I did not know it at that time, for, as I found afterward by the deep score across the scalp, my head must have been driven against the stone with sufficient violence to destroy forever the balance of a less thickly covered brain. However, it could not have lasted more than a few moments before I knew that the funeral march was only the boom of the river, and if I would not have it as sole requiem for one who was dearer far than life to me I must summon all my powers of invention. The waters had risen several inches since I first flung myself down. Great events hang on very small ones, and we might well have left our bones in the cañon, but that when crawling over a boulder I slipped and fell heavily, and, when for a moment I lay with my head almost in the river, I could see from that level something in the eddy behind a rock on the further shore which had remained unnoticed before. It was a dark object, half-hidden among grinding fragments of driftwood and great flakes of spume, but I caught hard at my breath when a careful scrutiny showed that beyond all doubt it was the overturned canoe. Still, at first sight, it seemed beyond the power of flesh and blood to reach it. The rapid would apparently sweep the strongest swimmer down the cañon, while the revolving pool span suggestively in narrowing circles toward the deadly vortex where the main rush from the fall went down. Second thought, however, suggested there might be a very small chance that when swept round toward the opposite shore one could by a frantic struggle draw clear of the rotary swirl into the downward flow, which ran more slackly close under the bank. I came back and explained this to Grace, and then for the first time her courage gave way. "You must not go," she said. "No one could swim through that awful pool, and--I am only a woman, weak after all--I could not stay here and see you drown. Ralph, it was the thought of having you beside me that gave me courage--you must not leave me alone to the river." "It is our last chance, sweetheart," I said very slowly, "and we dare not neglect it, but I will make a promise. If I feel my strength failing, when I know I can do no more, I will come back to you. Standing here you could reach my hand as the eddying current sweeps me round. Now, wish me good fortune, darling." Grace stooped and kissed my forehead, for even as I spoke I knelt to strip off the long boots. This was no time for useless ceremony. Then with a faint ghost of a blush she added, "You must not be handicapped--fling away your jacket and whatever would hamper you," after which, standing beside me at the edge of the water, she said very solemnly, "God bless and keep you, Ralph." Then I whirled both hands above my head, leaped out from the quartz shelf, and felt the chilly flood part before me until, instead of dull green transparency, there was daylight about me again, and my left hand swept forward through the air with the side-stroke which in younger days I had taken much pains to cultivate. Now there was the hardness in muscles which comes from constant toil behind it, besides a force which I think was not born altogether of bodily strength, and even then I could almost rejoice to feel the water sweep past me a clear half-fathom as the palm drove backward hollowed to the hip, while the river boiled and bubbled under my partly submerged head. But I swung right around the eddy, and almost under the tail rush of the fall, while once for a moment I caught sight of Grace's intent face as, husbanding my strength for a few seconds, I passed tossed about on the confused welter close by the quartz shelf. Then, as the circling waters hurried me a second time round and outward toward the further shore, I made what I knew must be the last effort, made it with cracking sinews and bursting lungs, and drew clear by a foot or two of the eddy's circumference. A few more strokes and an easy paddling carried me down-stream, and a wild cry of triumph, which more resembled a hoarse cackle than a shout, went up when at last I drew myself out of the water beside the canoe. I lay on the cold stone breathing hard for several minutes; then I managed to drag the light shell out and empty her, after which I tore up a strip of the cedar flooring to form a paddle, and found that though one side was crushed the damage was mostly above flotation level. It would serve no purpose to narrate the return passage, and it was sufficiently arduous, but a man in the poorest craft with a paddle has four times the power of any swimmer, and at last I reached the shingle, which was almost covered now. Grace stood on the brink to meet me with a cry of heartfelt relief when I ran in the bows, then a momentary dizziness came upon me, as, all dripping as I was, I lifted her into the stern. After I thrust off the craft, and, struggling clear of the eddy, we shot away on the outgoing stream, she smiled as she said: "It was splendidly done! Ralph, is it foolish--I once supposed it would be so--that because you have the strength to do these things you make me proud of you?" There is little more to tell, and that passage through the cañon left behind it an unpleasant memory. Though it was rising all the time, the stream ran more evenly, there were no more cataracts or whirlpools, and while Grace was obliged to bail hard with--so closely does burlesque follow on tragedy--one of my long boots, she could keep the leaks under. I did my best with the paddle, for I could see the tension was telling on her, and at last the great rock walls fell back on either hand, and dwarf pines and juniper climbed the less precipitous slopes, until these too opened out into a wide valley, and we slid forth safely into clear sunlight. Never had brightness and warmth so rejoiced me as they did after the cold damp horror of that passage through the dark rift in the earth. CHAPTER XVII THE RETURN It was James Lawrence, the English rancher, and Miss Carrington who told me what happened to those we left behind after the fateful moment when the canoe first slipped clear of the shingle bank. Lawrence accompanied the party on their return journey, and it was he who suggested sending Grace and Miss Carrington across in the canoe. The river ran high that morning, and he felt dubious about the ford, because several pack-horses had already been drowned there. The first intimation he had of anything wrong was a cry from the girl, and he saw a strip of water widen between the canoe and the bank. He ran his hardest, but made little headway, for thorny bushes and fern formed thickets along the bank, while when he reached the boulders he felt that he had come too late, because no swimmer could then overtake the canoe, even if he escaped destruction in the first rapid immediately below. Nevertheless, after a glance at the drawn face of the girl, which haunted him long afterward, as with the first shock of terror on her she labored helplessly at the paddle, he would even have made the hopeless attempt but that Colonel Carrington, who of all the trio had retained his common sense, intervened. It was not without reason that the Colonel had earned the reputation of being a hard man. "Come back! Stop him! Geoffrey, are you mad?" he roared; and Lawrence, who had now recovered his wits, flung himself upon a man who, stripping himself to the waist as he ran, floundered at breakneck speed among the boulders. They went down together heavily, and the next moment the runner had him by the throat, hissing through his teeth, "Let go, you fool, before I murder you!" Lawrence was strong, however, and held fast half-choked for a moment or two, until the Colonel's cry reached them again: "Get up, Geoffrey, you lunatic! Follow, and head them off along the bank!" The shouts and the confusion had startled his restive horse, and by the time he had mounted the pair were on their feet again stumbling over the boulders or smashing through the undergrowth in a desperate race, with the horse blundering behind them and the canoe ahead. They might possibly have overtaken it except for the rapid, Lawrence said, but it swept like a toboggan down that seething rush, and, as realizing that it was almost hopeless, they held on, there was a clatter on the opposite slope, and they saw me break out at headlong gallop from the woods. They halted when I crawled into the canoe, for we were beyond all human help from that bank now; and, flinging himself from the saddle, Colonel Carrington stood with clenched hands and quivering lips, staring after us, so Lawrence said, out of awful eyes. "Bravo!" he gasped at length. "He'll reach the gravel-spit. Another two good strokes--they're almost in the eddy;" but the next words were frozen on his lips, for the backwash from a boulder swept away the bows of the canoe, and the words that followed came hoarse and brokenly, "My God--he's too late!" Colonel Carrington was right, for, as held still and spellbound they watched, the canoe leaped down the entrance rapid and was lost in the mist of the black cañon. The Colonel said nothing further, though he groaned aloud, and Lawrence did not care to look at him; but Ormond's face was ashy until a livid fury filled it as he turned upon the rancher. "Confusion to you! Why must you stop me then?" he demanded. "You would only have drowned yourself in the rapid and done nobody any good," Lawrence said. "I wish to heaven I had," answered Ormond, with cold deliberateness. "As it is, you have helped that man to rob me again, even at the last, and I would give all I have to change places now with him." Then, while Lawrence wondered what he meant, though when I heard the story I fully understood, the head of my horse rose for an instant out of the tumbling waters, sank, and rising, went down again, while a tremor ran through the Colonel's rigid frame, and he leaned against a hemlock with great beads of sweat on his forehead. The poor beast had doubtless been mangled against a boulder, and the sight was horribly suggestive. "A very grim man," said Lawrence, when he narrated what happened; "but I felt most cruelly sorry for him. Didn't say very much--his sort never do; but he was in mortal anguish, and I knew how he would miss the girl." Colonel Carrington was, nevertheless, the first to master his feelings, and his voice was steady once more when he turned to Ormond. "Geoffrey, you will go back and send my sister round with the Indian by Tomlinson's crossing. Then you will return and overtake us in the ravine yonder. We are going to follow the crest of the cañon to--to--see what we can find." It was a stiff climb up the ravine, trying in places to a mountaineer, but the old man held close behind his companion, and Lawrence wondered at him. He also felt sorry for Ormond, whose task it was to overtake them, but when at last they hurried breathless through the pinewoods toward the edge of the chasm above the fall, the latter, looking like a ghost, came panting up with them. Then, standing on the dizzy brink, Colonel Carrington gazed down at the spout of green water and the whirling spray, which were dwarfed by the distance. "That is the greatest danger, that and the whirlpool. Anything would swing round in the eddy, would it not?" he said. "Now, I want only the truth--you understand these rivers--could any white man take a canoe down there and through the pool safely?" and Lawrence, who dare not prevaricate with that gaze upon him, answered reluctantly, "I do not think so." The Colonel's thin face twitched. "I thank you. No other possible landing place or foothold, is there? And it would take a day to go back to Tomlinson's and portage a canoe. Well, we'll go on to the end in a last hope that they have got through." Now climbing is difficult in that region, because where the mountain slopes do not consist of almost precipitous snow-ground rock, they are clothed with forest and dense undergrowth, and it was therefore some time before the three had traversed the league or so that divided the summit from the outlet valley. Neither when they got there did they find the canoe, because when I helped Grace ashore I did not care where it went, and, once on terra firma she fainted suddenly, and then lay for a time sobbing on my shoulder in a state of nervous collapse. As she said, though a brave one, she was after all only a woman, and what had happened would have tested the endurance of many a man. At last, however, I managed to help her up a ravine leading down to the river, after which she leaned heavily on my arm as we plodded through the forest until we reached a small rancher's shanty, where, as the owner was absent, I took the liberty of lighting his stove and preparing hot tea. Then I left Grace to dry her garments. We must have spent several hours at the ranch, for Grace was badly shaken, and I felt that rest was needful for both of us, while, when I returned to the cabin after drying myself in the sun, she lay back in a hide-chair sleeping peacefully. So while the shadows of the firs lengthened across the clearing I sat very still, until with a light touch I ventured to rouse her. She woke with a gasp of horror, looked around with frightened eyes, then clung to me, and I knelt beside the chair with my arms about her, until at last with a happy little laugh she said: "Ralph, I have lost my character, and you know I am a coward at heart; but, and until to-day I should not have believed it, it is so comforting to know I have a--I have you to protect me." Then she laid her hand on my brow, adding gently, "Poor forehead that was wounded in my service! But it is getting late, Ralph, and my father will be feverishly anxious about me." Grace was right in this, because, long before we borrowed the rancher's Cayuse pony and set out again, Colonel Carrington and the others reached the bank of the river, and saw only a broad stretch of muddy current racing beneath the rigid branches of the firs. Then after they had searched the few shingle bars--the one we landed on was by this time covered deeply--the old man sat down on a boulder apart from the rest, and neither dare speak to him, though Lawrence heard him say softly to himself: "My daughter--my daughter! I would to God I might join her." They turned homeward in solemn silence, though perhaps a last spark of hope burned in the Colonel's breast that by some wholly unexpected chance we had reached it before they did, because Lawrence said he seemed to make a stern effort to restrain himself when they saw only Miss Carrington sitting dejectedly near the window. Thereupon Lawrence was glad to escape, and Ormond, who rode out to gather the miners for a systematic search, left them mercifully alone. Afterward the old man brokenly narrated what had passed, and then there was a heavy silence in the room, out of which the sunlight slowly faded, until, as Miss Carrington told me, the ticking of a nickeled clock grew maddening. At last she rose and flung the window open wide, and the sighing of the pines drifted in mournfully with a faint coolness that came down from the snow. Meantime, Colonel Carrington paced with a deadly regularity up and down, neither speaking nor glancing at her, until he started as a faint beat of horse hoofs came out of the shadows. "Only Geoffrey returning!" he said bitterly. "But I have been listening, listening every moment for the last hour. It is utterly hopeless, I know, and we must bear the last black sorrow that has fallen upon us; but yet I cannot quite believe her dead." The tramp of hoofs grew nearer, and the Colonel leaned out through the open casement with the hand that gripped its ledge quivering. "That is an Indian pony, not Geoffrey's horse, and a man on foot is leading it," he said. "They are coming this way; I will meet them." Miss Carrington, however, laid a restraining grasp upon him, and very slowly the clock ticked off the seconds until, when two figures came out through the thinning forest into the clearing, the Colonel's face grew white as death. For a moment he choked for breath, and his sister sobbed aloud when he recovered himself, for she too had seen. "I thank a merciful Providence--it is Grace," he said. I lifted Grace from the pony's back, led her toward the house, and saw the old man fold his arms about her. Then I heard her happy cry, and while for a time they forgot all about me, I stood holding the pony's rein and thinking. My first impulse was to go forward and claim her before them, but that was too much like taking advantage of her father's relief. Also, I felt that some things are sacred, and the presence of any stranger would be an intrusion then, while it seemed hardly fitting to forthwith demand such a reward for what any other should doubtless have done gladly. So, trusting that Grace would understand, I turned away, determined to call on the Colonel the next morning, and, though I am not sure that the result would otherwise have been different, I afterward regretted it. Now I know that any excess of delicacy or consideration for others which may cause unnecessary sorrow to those nearest us is only folly. No one called me back, or apparently noticed me, and though with much difficulty I reached the ranch, and was hospitably entertained there, I never closed my eyes all night. I returned to the Colonel's dwelling as early as possible the next morning, and was at once received by him. The events of the preceding day had left their impression even on him, and for once his eyes were kindly, while it was with perceptible emotion he grasped my hand. "I am indebted to you for life, and you acted with discernment as well as gallantry," he said. "You have an old man's fervent thanks, and if he can ever repay such a service you may rely on his gratitude." I do not know why, for they were evidently sincere enough, but the words struck me unpleasantly. They seemed to emphasize the difference between us, and there was only one favor I would ever ask of him. "You can return it now with the greatest honor it is in your power to grant any living man," I answered bluntly. "I ask the promise of Miss Carrington's hand." I feel sure now that there was pity in his eyes for a moment, though I scarcely noticed it then, and he answered gravely: "I am sorry. You have asked the one thing impossible. When Miss Carrington marries it will be in accordance with my wishes and an arrangement made with a dead kinsman long ago." I think he would have continued, but that I broke in: "But I love her, and she trusts me. Ever since I came to this country I have been fighting my way upward with this one object in view. We are both young, sir, and I shall not always be poor--" but here he stopped me with a gesture, repeating dryly, "I am sorry for you." He paced the long room twice before he again turned toward me, saying with a tone of authority, "Sit down there. I am not in the habit of explaining my motives, but I will make an exception now. My daughter has been brought up luxuriously, as far as circumstances permitted, and in her case they permitted it in a measure even on the prairie--I arranged it so. She has scarcely had a wish I could not gratify, and at Carrington Manor her word was law. I need hardly say she ordered wisely." I bent my head in token of comprehension and agreement as the speaker paused, and then, with a different and incisive inflection, he continued: "And what would her life be with you? A constant battle with hardship and penury on a little prairie farm, where with her own hands she must bake and wash and sew for you, or, even worse, a lonely waiting in some poor lodging while you were away months together railroad building. Is this the lot you would propose for her? Now, and there is no reason I should explain why, after my death there will be little left her besides an expensive and occasionally unprofitable farm, and so I have had otherwise to provide for her future!" "There are, however, two things you take for granted," I interposed again; "that I shall never have much to offer her--and in this I hope you may be wrong--and Miss Carrington's acquiescence in your plans." The old grim smile flickered in the Colonel's eyes as he answered: "Miss Carrington will respect her father's wishes--she has never failed to do so hitherto--and I do not know that there is much to be made out of such railroad contracts as your present one." This was certainly true enough, and I winced under the allusion before I made a last appeal. "Then suppose, sir, that after all fortune favored me, and there was some reason why what you look for failed to come about--all human expectation, human life itself, is uncertain--would you then withhold your consent?" He looked at me keenly a moment, saying nothing, and it was always unpleasant to withstand the semi-ironical gaze of Colonel Carrington, though I had noticed a slight movement when quite at random I alluded to the uncertainty of life. Then he answered slowly: "I think in that case we could discuss all this again, though it would be better far for you to consider my refusal as definite. Now I have such confidence in my daughter's obedience that on the one condition that you do not seek to prejudice her against me I do not absolutely forbid your seeing Miss Carrington--on occasion--but you must write no letters, and you may take it as a compliment that I should tell you I have acted only as seemed best in her interest. Neither should it be needful to inform you that she will never marry without my consent. And now, reiterating my thanks, I fail to see how anything would be gained by prolonging this interview." I knew from his face that this was so, and that further words might be a fatal mistake, and I went out hurriedly, forgetting, I am afraid, to return his salutation, though when I met his sister she glanced at me with sympathy as she pointed toward another door. When I entered this Grace rose to meet me. The time we spent in the cañon had drawn us closer together than many months of companionship might have done, and it was with no affectation of bashful diffidence that she beckoned me to a place beside her on the casement logs, saying simply, "You have bad news, sweetheart. Tell me everything." Her father had exacted no promise about secrecy. Indeed, if the arrangement mentioned compromised a prospective husband, as I thought it did, Grace was doubtless fully acquainted with it; and I told her what had passed. Then she drew herself away from me. "And is there nothing to be added? Have you lost your usual eloquence?" she said. "Yes," I continued, "I was coming to it. It is this: while I live I will never abandon the hope of winning you; and, with such a hope, whatever difficulty must be grappled with first, I know that some day I shall do it." "And," said Grace, with a heightened color, and her liquid eyes shining, "is there still nothing else?" And while I glanced at her in a bewildered fashion she continued, "Do you, like my father, take my consent for granted? Well, I will give it to you. Ralph, while you are living, and after, if you must go a little before I do, I will never look with favor upon any man. Meantime, sweetheart--for, as he said, I will not resist my father's will, save only in one matter--you must work and I must wait, trusting in what the future may bring. And so--you must leave me now; and it may be long before I see you. Go, and God bless you, taking my promise with you." She laid her little hand in mine, and I bent down until the flushed face was level with my own. When I found myself in the open air again, I strode through the scented shadows triumphantly. The Colonel's opposition counted as nothing then. I was sanguine and young, and I knew, because she had said it, that until I had worsted fortune Grace Carrington would wait for me. CHAPTER XVIII THE OPENING OF THE LINE During the weeks that followed I saw neither Grace nor Colonel Carrington--though the latter fact did not cause me unnecessary grief, and we heard much about his doings. From what the independent miners who strolled into our camp at intervals told us, the Day Spring shaft had proved a costly venture, and had so far failed to lay bare any traces of payable milling ore. Still, the redoubtable Colonel continued with his usual tenacity, and was now driving an adit into the range side to strike the quartz reef at another level. "There's a blamed sight more gold going into them diggings than they'll ever get out, and the man who is running them will make a big hole in somebody's bank account," said one informant meditatively. "However, there's no use wasting time trying to give him advice. I strolled round one morning promiscuous, and sat down in his office. 'See here, Colonel, you're ploughing a bad patch,' I says, 'and having a knowledge of good ones I might tell you something if I prowled through your workings.'" "What did he say?" asked Harry, smiling at me. And the narrator expectorated disgustedly as he answered: "Just turned round and stared--kind of combine between a ramrod and an icicle. 'Who the perdition are you?' he said--or he looked it, anyway. So, seeing him above a friendly warning, I lit out, feeling sheep-faced; and I've bluffed some hard men in my time. Since then I've been rooting round, and I'm concluding there is good ore in that mountain, if he could strike it." "Do you know the sheep-faced feeling, Ralph?" asked Harry mischievously. And probably my frown betrayed me, because I knew it well, though there was some consolation in the thought that this reckless wanderer of the ranges knew it also. In any case, I had small leisure just then to trouble about the affairs of Colonel Carrington. My duty to my partners and the men who worked for us was sufficiently onerous, for we had almost daily to grapple with some fresh natural difficulty. Twice a snow-slide awakened majestic thunders among the hills at night and piled the wreckage of the forests high upon the track. Massy boulders charged down the slopes and smashed the half-finished snow-shed framing into splinters; but, rod by rod, the line stretched on, and the surveyor's good-will increased toward us. So the short weeks passed, until at last the metals led into the mining town, and its inhabitants made preparations to provide a fitting reception for the first train, the arrival of which would mark a turning-point in the wooden city's history. I can remember each incident of that day perfectly, because it also marked the change from ebb to flood in the tide of our own affairs. We sat up late the previous night calculating the amount to our debit, which proved sufficiently discouraging, and endeavoring to value on the credit side work we had done in excess of contract; but this, Harry said, was reckoning without our host, as represented by the surveyor, who, when we approached him on the subject, displayed a becoming reticence. It was a glorious afternoon when we stood waiting beside the track, attired for once in comparatively decent garments. Harry and I had spent several hours in ingenious repairs, one result of which was that certain seams would project above the surface in spite of our efforts to restrain them. Beneath us the foaming river made wild music in its hidden gorge, and the roar of a fall drifted up with the scent of cedars across the climbing pines, while above the hill-slopes led the gaze upward into the empyrean. But there is no need for description; we were in the mountains of British Columbia, and it was summertime. Near at hand many banners fluttered over the timber city, and discordant strains announced the last rehearsal of the miner's band, while a throng of stalwart men laughed and jested as they gazed expectantly up the line. They had cause for satisfaction. All had waited long and patiently, paying treble value for what they used or ate, and struggling with indifferent implements to uncover the secret treasure of the ranges. Now their enterprise would not be handicapped by the lack of either plant or capital, for the promise given had been redeemed, and with the advent of the locomotive they looked for the commencement of a great prosperity. My face, however, was somber, for Harry made some jesting comparison between it and that of a mourner at a funeral. We, too, had done our share in the building of the road, but, as far as we could see, it had signally failed to bring us prosperity. "You can console yourself with the feeling that it's good to be a public benefactor, even if you don't get any money," said Harry cheerfully. "Did it ever strike you, Ralph, that the people who subscribe for statues make a bad choice of their models? Instead of the frock-coated director they should set up the man with the shovel--Ralph Lorimer, rampant, clad in flour bags, and heaving aloft the big axe, for instance, with the appropriate motto round the pedestal under him, 'Virtue is its own reward.' No, I'm in charge of the pulpit this afternoon, Lee." What the shoemaker intended to say did not appear, for he smilingly abandoned the opportunity for improving the occasion. He had put on flesh and vigor, and now, instead of regarding him as a flippant worldling, which was formerly his plainly expressed opinion, he even looked up in a curious way toward my partner, and once informed me that there was a gradely true soul in him under his nonsense. The spell of the mountains and the company of broad-minded cheerful toilers had between them done a good deal for Lee. Then up on the hillside a strip of bunting fluttered from the summit of a blighted pine, the cry "She's coming!" rolled from man to man, and there was a thunderous crash as some one fired a heavy blasting charge. A plume of white vapor rose at the end of the valley, and twinkling metal flashed athwart the pines, while a roar of voices broke out and my own heart beats faster in the succeeding stillness. Enthusiasm is contagious, and a feeling of elation grew upon me. Nearer and nearer came the cars, and when they lurched clattering up the last grade the snorting of the huge locomotive and the whir of flying wheels made very sweet music to those who heard them. Then as, with the red, quartered ensign fluttering above the head-lamp and each end platform crowded, the train passed the last construction camp, a swarm of blue-shirted toilers cast their hats into the air, and the scream of the brakes was drowned in a mighty cheer, while I found myself cheering vehemently among the rest. The blasts ceased at the funnel, and as the slackening couplings clashed while the cars rolled slowly through the eddying dust I started in amaze, for there were two faces at the unglazed windows of the decorated observation car which I knew well, but had never expected to see there. Martin Lorimer waved his hand toward me as the train stopped, my cousin Alice stood beside him smiling a greeting, and with shame I remembered how long it was since I had sent news to her. "Have you seen a ghost?" asked Harry. "You are a regular Don Juan. Who is that dainty damsel you are honoring with such marked attention, to the neglect of your lawful business. Don't you see the surveyor is beckoning you?" This was true, for, standing among a group of elderly men who I supposed were railway magnates or guests of importance, the surveyor, to my astonishment, called me by name. "I have been looking for you all along the track," he said. "Must present you to these gentlemen. We have been discussing your work." Several of the party shook hands with me frankly, while the names the surveyor mentioned were already well-known in Winnipeg and Montreal, and have since become famous throughout the Dominion. One with gray hair and an indefinable stamp of authority touched my shoulder with a friendly gesture. "I have had the pleasure of meeting Mr. Lorimer before," he said. "We have some business together, and expect you to join us in the opening ceremony. Meantime, you will excuse me--Jardine, I'm thankful it is your turn. There is evidently a deputation coming." Preceded by tossing banners, and a band which made up in vigor what it lacked in harmony, a procession approached the train, and its leader commenced reading something awkwardly from a written paper in time to an undercurrent of semi-ironical encouragement. I saw some of the visitors' eyes twinkle at his sentiments, but for the most part they listened with becoming gravity; and when a man with gold eyeglasses had suitably replied, there was a wild scuffle for even a foothold on the train. One musician smote another, who strove to oust him from a platform, with his cornet, which promptly doubled in; the big drum rolled down a declivity with its owner hurling back wild language in frantic chase of it; then the locomotive snorted, and, with the bell clanging, it hauled the first train into the wooden town amid the acclamations of the populace. After this I had an opportunity for greeting my uncle, and we looked at each other with mutual curiosity. Martin Lorimer seemed thinner and older. His hair was freely sprinkled with white now, but his eyes were as keen as ever, and I could read approval in them. Then as Alice came toward us from an adjoining car he laughed boisterously. "What do you think of your cousin, lass?" he said. "He left us an obstinate stripling, and this country has hammered him into a man. Thou art a credit to the land that bred thee, lad. Ralph, I wronged thee sorely, like the blundering fool I am, and first of all I ask thy forgiveness." Martin Lorimer could speak excellent modern English when he liked, and usually did so, but, and in this he resembled others of his kind, in times of excitement he used the older form which is still the tongue of Lancashire. I made some haphazard answer, but it seemed appropriate, for Alice smiled upon us as we shook hands heartily. When I turned toward her a feeling of pity came upon me--she looked so wan and frail. Still her eyes were bright with good-will, and her voice seemed to tremble a little as she said, "I am so glad to see you and your uncle good friends again. He was very stupid, and I told him so." "You did, lass," said Martin Lorimer, "many a time, and we had words upon it. We're a thick-headed people, Ralph, except for our womenkind, and if we're slow to think evil we're slow to change. The Lord forgive me for pig-headed folly." "May I show you this wonderful township?" interrupted one of the railroad magnates approaching with a bow. "Mr. Ralph Lorimer, I am desired to invite you to the celebration dinner. It's the chief's especial wish that you should be present," and he drew Alice away, leaving my uncle and myself alone. "We'll go and see the city, too," said the former. "Already the air of your mountains makes me young again. Never heard how I cheated the doctors, eh?--they badly wanted to bury me, but I'll tell you all about it another time. Now I feel like a school lad out for a holiday." He seemed in excellent spirits, and with me the bright sunshine, the uproarious rejoicings of the crowd, and the events of the past half-hour combined to banish all depression, while many an acquaintance smiled as he glanced at the grizzled man in tourist tweeds who chatted gaily and gazed about him with wondering eyes. "You breed fine men over here," he said. "Never saw a finer set anywhere. Bless me! look at that one striding toward us with the air of a general; stamp of blood about him; where did he get it? And yet by the look of him that fellow could do a hard day's work with any British navvy." "He can," I answered smiling, "and he was taught at a British university. Now he hews logs for a living, and sometimes works for me. Let me introduce you to my uncle from Lancashire, Martin Lorimer--Lance Chisholm." "Very glad to meet you, sir," said the latter. "I promised to look in on Morgan in the saloon; will you join us?" When we elbowed our way through the noisy room toward the bar Chisholm proffered the usual refreshment, and with a comprehensive wave of his hand bade the tender, "Set them up!" Martin Lorimer stared bewilderedly at the row of glasses deftly flung in front of him, and there was a roar of laughter when, glancing at me appealingly, he said, "It's a hospitable country; but, bless us, Ralph! are we expected to drink all of this? And I'm a churchwarden!" A bearded giant in blue jean smote him on the shoulder. "You've got the right grit in you, stranger," he said. "Start right in, and do the best you can," while the old man joined in the merriment when I explained that the invitation included all in the vicinity who cared to accept it. I left him with Harry and Johnston presently because one of the guests brought word that Alice desired to see me, and I found her on the veranda of the best house the citizens could place at the strangers' disposal. There were ladies among them. I drew two chairs into a corner where a flowering creeper screened half the trellis, and from where we sat a wonderful vista rolled away before us. Alice had changed but little, save that she seemed even more delicate. I had changed much, and now as we chatted with a resumption of ancient friendliness I wondered how it was that her innate goodness and wisdom had never impressed me more in the old days. Few would have called her handsome at first sight, but she was dowered with qualities that were greater than beauty. "You will wonder what brought us here," she said at length, "and your uncle forgot to tell you. Ever after that--unfortunate mistake--he talked constantly about our headstrong lad, but when he lay dangerously ill for weeks together I was unable to write you. The doctors had little hope most of the time, and one said he recovered chiefly because he had made his mind up he would not die, and when they forbade all thought of business and recommended travel he made me buy the latest map of Canada, and we are now staying at the new mountain chalet. My own health has not improved latterly, and that helped to decide him. We left the main line on the prairie and went south in search of you, and when we could only discover that you had gone to British Columbia I am sorry to say that my father expressed his disappointment very forcibly--but you know his way. Then while we stayed at the chalet we read about the opening of the new line, and he grew excited at a mention of your name. 'We'll go right down and see that opening, lass,' he said. 'I've a letter to one of the railroad leaders, and I'll make him invite us;' and so we came. When my father sets his heart on anything he generally obtains it. Now we will talk about Canada." The flowering creeper partly hid us, but it left openings between, framing the prospect of glittering peak and forest-filled valley with green tracery, while warm sunlight beat through. So, in contrast to the past, I found it comforting to lounge away the time there with a fair companion, while glancing down the glistening metals I told how we had built the line. Alice was a good listener, and the tale may have had its interest, while--and this is not wholly due to vanity--no man talks better than when he speaks to a sympathizing woman of the work that he is proud of. It was no disloyalty to Grace, but when once or twice she laid her thin hand on my arm I liked to have it there, and see the smile creep into her eyes when I told of Lee's doings. So the minutes fled, until at last a shadow fell upon us, and I saw Grace pass close by with her father. For an instant her eyes met mine, then I felt that they rested on my companion, whose head was turned toward me confidentially and away from Grace, and I fumed inwardly, for she spoke to the Colonel and passed on without a greeting. "That is surely Miss Carrington," said Alice looking up later with a faintly perceptible trace of resentment. "Why did she not speak to either of us?" It was a troublesome question, because I could not well explain what my exact relations were with Grace, nor how her father's presence might perhaps restrain her, so that I was glad when Martin Lorimer suddenly joined us. It seemed fated that circumstances should array themselves against me. The rest of the afternoon was spent in hilarious merriment, and, though as a rule the inhabitants of that region are a peaceful folk, a few among them celebrated the occasion by breaking windows with pistol shots and similar vagaries. Still, even those who owned the glass took it in good part; and, as darkness fell, considerably more of the populace than it was ever intended to hold squeezed themselves into the wooden building which served as city hall, while the rest sat in the dust outside it, and cheered for no particular reason at regular intervals. The best banquet the district could furnish was served in the hall, and I sat opposite the surveyor near the head of one table, with my uncle and Alice close by, and Grace and Colonel Carrington not far away. Cedar sprays and branches of balsam draped the pillars, the red folds of the beaver ensign hung above our heads, and as usual the assembly was democratic in character. Men in broadcloth and in blue jean sat side by side--rail-layer, speculator, and politician crowded on one another, with stalwart axe-men, some of whom were better taught than either, and perhaps a few city absconders, to keep them company; but there was only good-fellowship between them. The enthusiasm increased with each orator's efforts, until the surveyor made in his own brusque fashion, which was marked by true Western absence of bashfulness, the speech of the evening. Some one who had once served the English press sent a report to a Victoria journal, of which I have a copy, but no print could reproduce the essence of the man's vigorous personality which vibrated through it. "What built up the Western Dominion, called leagues of wheat from the prairie, and opened the gate of the mountains--opened it wide to all, with a welcome to the Pacific Slope paradise?" he said. "The conundrum's easy--just the railroad. Good markets and mills, say the city men, but where do the markets come in if you can't get at them? What is it that's binding London over the breadth of Canada with China and Japan--only the level steel road. You said, 'We've gold and silver and timber, but we're wanting bread, machines, and men.' We said, 'We'll send the locomotives; it will bring you them;' and this railroad keeps its promise--keeps it every time. So we cut down the forest, and we blew up the mighty rocks, we drove a smooth pathway through the heart of the ranges--and now its your part to fill the freight cars to the bursting. "We'll bring you good men in legions; we'll take out your high-grade ore, but you'll remember that the building of this railroad wasn't all luxury. Some of those who laid the ties sleep soundly beside them, some lost their money, and now when you have thanked the leaders in Ottawa, Montreal, and Victoria, there are others to whom your thanks are due--the men who stayed right there with their contracts in spite of fire and snow, staking dollar after dollar on a terribly risky game. There were considerable of them, but most of you know this one--I'm sharing my laurels with him--" and as a thunder of applause which followed the halt he made died away he turned toward me. "Stand right up, Contractor Lorimer--they're shouting for you." There was further clamor, but I scarcely heard it, and I longed that the floor of the hall might open beneath me. Still, there was clearly no escape, and I stood up under the lamplight, noticing, as one often notices trifles at such times, how like a navvy's my right hand was as it trembled a little on the white tablecloth. A sea of faces were turned toward me expectantly, and I pitied their owners' disappointment, but I saw only four persons plainly--my uncle, and Alice, who flashed an encouraging glance at me, Colonel Carrington looking up with a semi-ironical smile, and Grace. I could not tell what her expression meant. I should sooner have faced a forest fire than that assembly, but at least my remarks were brief, and I felt on firmer ground when memories of the rock-barred track and the lonely camps rose up before me, and there was a shout at the lame conclusion, "We gave our bond and we tried to keep it, as the rest did too. We were poor men, all of us, and we are poor men still; but every one owes something to the land that gives him bread. So we tried to pay back a little, and perhaps we failed; but at least the road is made, and we look forward hoping that a full tide of prosperity will flow into this country along the rails we laid." The applause swelled and deepened when Harry Lorraine stood up, silver-tongued, graceful, smiling, and called forth roars of laughter by his happy wit; and when he had finished Martin Lorimer, who was red in the face, stretched his arm across the table toward me, and held up a goblet, saying: "For the honor of the old country! Well done, both of you!" "The fun is nearly over. We can talk business," said the gray-haired man from Winnipeg, on my right side. "I may say that we are satisfied with the way you have served us, and, though a bargain is a bargain, we don't wish to take an unfair advantage of any one; so the surveyor will meet you over the extras. He is waiting with the schedule, and by his advice we're open to let you this contract for hewn lumber supplies. Here's a rough memo; the quantity is large, and that is our idea of a reasonable figure." I glanced at the paper with open pleasure, but the other checked me as I began to speak. "Glad you will take it! It's a commercial transaction, and not a matter of thanks," he said. "Settle details with the surveyor." I spent some time with the latter, who smiled dryly as he said, "Not quite cleaned out yet? Well, it's seldom wise to be too previous, and you can't well come to grief over the new deal. Wanted again, confound them! Sail in and prosper, Lorimer." He left a payment order which somewhat surprised me, and when I stood under the stars wondering whether all that had happened was not too good to be true, Harry came up in search of me. I grabbed him by the shoulder and shook the paper before him. "Our friend has acted more than fairly," I said. "We can pay off all debts, and I have just concluded a big new, profitable deal!" "That will keep," said Harry, laughing; "another matter won't. They're going to haul out the visitors' picnic straight away, and they show good judgment. A sleeper on the main line will form a much more peaceful resting-place than this elated hamlet to-night. Your uncle wants to see you, and Miss Carrington is waiting beside the cars." I found Alice and Martin Lorimer beside the track, the latter fuming impatiently, while the locomotive bell summoned the passengers; and as I joined them Grace walked into the group before she recognized us. Alice was the first to speak, and I saw the two faces plainly under the lighted car windows, as she said: "I am glad to meet you again, Miss Carrington, and am sorry I missed you this afternoon. I was too busy giving my cousin good advice--it's a privilege I have enjoyed from childhood--to recognize you at first." Grace's expression changed, and I thanked Alice in my heart for what I believe few women would have done. Then there was a shriek of the whistle, and a bustle about the train; and as Grace moved toward the car she said softly in passing: "It was a fitting consummation. Better times are coming, Ralph, and I am proud of you." "Am I never to speak to thee, lad?" said Martin. "There's nothing would please me better than to wait and see the fun out; but Alice, she won't hear of it. Come to see us, and stay a month if you can. Anyway, come to-morrow or the day after. I have lots to tell thee. Oh, hang them! they're starting. Alice, wouldn't that lady take charge of thee while I stay back?" "Get into the car, father," said the girl, with a laugh. "You mustn't forget you're the people's warden. Good-bye, Ralph, until we see you at the chalet." "All aboard!" called a loud voice; the couplings tightened; and I waved my hat as, followed by a last cheer, the train rolled away. "Is it true that all has been settled satisfactorily?" asked Harry, presently, and when I answered, he added: "Then we're going back to finish the evening. Johnston's to honor the company with stump speeches and all kinds of banjo eccentricities. You are getting too sober and serious, Ralph; come along." I refused laughingly, and spent at least an hour walking up and down through the cool dimness that hung over the track to dissipate the excitement of a day of varied emotions. Then I went back to our shanty and slept soundly, until about daybreak I was partly wakened by the feasters returning with discordant songs, though I promptly went to sleep again. I never heard exactly what happened in the wooden town that night, but there was wreckage in its streets the next morning, and when I opened my eyes the first thing I saw was our partner Johnston slumbering peacefully with his head among the fragments of his shattered banjo. CHAPTER XIX A GENEROUS OFFER It was late in the afternoon of the next day when Harry and I sat figuring in our shanty, while Johnston lay on a heap of cedar twigs sucking at his pipe and encouraging us languidly. "I never could stand figures, and that's perhaps why I'm poor," he said. "Go on, you are doing famously, and, though Ralph can't add up correctly to save his life, I'll take your word for it." He formed a characteristic picture of the free lance as he lay there, bronzed and blonde-bearded, with his massy limbs disposed in an attitude of easy grace, awaiting the result with a careless unconcern until Harry flung a long boot at him as a signal for silence. "As the surveyor told you, Ralph, we can't well lose money on this last venture, even if we wanted to," said Harry at length. "You'll observe I'm almost getting superstitious. Now, on cashing the order, we can repay your loan, keeping back sufficient to meet emergencies, while with the rest one of us could return to Fairmead and plough every available acre for next spring's sowing. Many things suggest that you are the one to go. Johnston and I with the others could get the timber out during the winter--we have worked in the snow before--and I would join you in the spring. That, however, again raises a point that must be settled once for all. Are we to hold on to our first ambition, or turn contractors?" Again there was a silence through which the roar of the river reached us brokenly, and for some minutes I breathed the smell of hot dust and resinous twigs that entered the open doorway. "I hold on to the first," I said finally. "And I stand by you," answered Harry. Simultaneously we glanced at Johnston, who looked up with the same gay indifference he had manifested when we floundered half-fed, knee-deep in slush of snow. "I'll save you unpleasant explanations," he said. "I'm a stormy petrel, and the monotonous life of a farmer would pall on me, so I'll see you through the railroad contract, and then--well, I'll thank you for a space of pleasant comradeship, and go on my way again. The mountain province is sufficiently good for me, and some day I'll find either a gold mine in it, or, more likely, a grave. If not, you can count on a visit whenever I am hard up and hungry." The words were typical of the man, though their undercurrent of melancholy troubled me; but, for we knew he spoke the truth in regard to the farming, the matter was settled so. I should much have preferred that Harry return to Fairmead, but it was clear that the task most suited me. Perhaps Johnston guessed my reluctance, for he said playfully: "Is not banishment worse than snow slides or the high peak's frost, and what are all the flowers of the prairie to the blood-red rose of the valley that was grafted from Lancastrian stock?" Thereupon Harry deftly dropped an almost-empty flour bag on his head, and the consultation broke up amid a cloud of white dust. "This," remarked Johnston, "is the beginning of riches. Two days ago, he would have carefully swept up the fragments to make flapjacks." Thus it came about that the next morning I boarded the main line express, and traveled first-class with a special pass, while as luck would have it the conductor, who evinced an unusual civility when he glanced at the autograph thereon, was the same man I had worsted the memorable night when I arrived a penniless stranger on the prairie. "If you want anything in these cars, just let me know," he said. "I will," I answered, thrusting back the wide-brimmed hat as I looked at him. "The last time we traveled together you were not so accommodating. We had a little dispute at Elktail one night in the snow." "General Jackson!" exclaimed the conductor. "But you didn't travel with that name on your ticket then. Say, it was all a mistake and in the way of business. You won't bear malice?" He vanished without awaiting an answer, and I leaned back on the cushions chuckling softly, after which, fishing out my pipe, I sank into a soothing reverie. There was no doubt that this kind of traveling had its advantages, and it appeared equally certain that I had earned a few days' luxurious holiday, while, as the blue wreaths curled up, the towering pines outside the windows changed into the gaunt chimneys of smoky Lancashire. Then they dwindled to wind-dwarfed birches, and I was lashing the frantic broncos as they raced the hail for the shelter of a bluff, until once more it seemed to be autumn and a breadth of yellow wheat stood high above the prairie, while the rhythmic beat of wheels changed to the rattle of the elevators lifting in the golden grain. Here, however, roused by a scream of the whistle as the long train swept by a little station, I found that the pipe lay among feathery ashes on my knee, and an hour had passed, while I knew that under the touch of sleep my thoughts had turned mechanically into the old channel. It was toward noon when I left the cars at a station looking down upon a broad reach of sunlit river which wound past maples, willows, and a few clearings through a deep valley. Martin Lorimer and Alice met me on the platform, and his greeting was hearty. "We have watched every train since we last saw you," he said. "Alice, though she won't own it, has been anxious, too. Never spent such an interesting time as I did up yonder, and we're going to make it pleasant for you here. Of course, you'll stay with us a week or two?" The old man's face fell as I answered that time was pressing, and I must return the following day, while for some reason Alice turned her face aside, but she laughed pleasantly. "Your uncle has been talking of nothing else the last two days," she said. "I am glad I did not leave him with those wild men in the rejoicing city. Some of them, however, seemed very nice. Meanwhile, I think lunch is waiting for us." We reached the pretty chalet hotel, which was hardly completed then, though it is a famous resort now, and it was a new experience, after faring hardly on doughy flapjacks and reistit pork of our own cooking, to sit at a well-ordered table covered with spotless linen. Still better did it seem to see Alice smiling upon me across the flowers in the glasses and sparkling silver, and Martin Lorimer's cheery face as, while he pressed the good things upon me, we chatted of old times and England. It is only through adversity and hardship that one learns to appreciate fully such an interlude. My uncle had, however, not yet recovered his strength, and when later his eyes grew heavy Alice whispered that he usually slept in the heat of the afternoon, and I was glad to follow her into a garden newly hewn out of the forest. We sat there in scented shadow under the branches of giant redwoods, with the song of rippling water in our ears, and I remember taking Alice into my confidence about the mysterious loan. She listened with interest, and once more I noticed how ill she looked. "You have more good friends than you think, Ralph; and it was of service to you, was it not?" "Yes," I answered with emphasis. "Of the greatest service! Perhaps it saved us from ruin, but at first I almost decided not to touch it." Alice laughed, a clear laugh that mingled musically with the call of a wood pigeon in the green dimness above. "You need hardly tell me that--all great men have their weaknesses; but seriously, Ralph, don't you think if the good friend desired to keep it a secret it is hardly fair to try to find him out? No, from what you tell me, I hardly think you will unravel the mystery while the donor--lender, I mean--lives. Besides, even if you never do, you can repay it by assisting some hard-pressed comrade in distress. Yes, I should fancy the person who lent it would prefer that way. However, I want to tell you about your sister Aline. She has grown into a handsome young woman, too handsome almost to fight her own way unprotected in the world, but she is like yourself in some respects, and will neither live with us nor let your uncle help her. She is teaching now--do you know what women are paid for teaching in some private schools? And I don't think she is happy. The last time I saw her I almost cried afterward, though she would only tell me that she was choking for sunlight and air. Even her dress was worn and shabby. Ralph, you know how old friends we are, and I have been wondering--you really must be sensible--whether I could help her through you?" Something stung me to the quick, and I clenched one hand savagely, for in the grim uphill battle I had nearly forgotten Aline. It was so long since I had seen her, and when each day's hard work was done we were almost too tired to think. Still, my brow was crimson with shame when I remembered that my sister went, it might be, scantily fed, while what plans I made were all for my own future and Grace. "That is my part," I answered hotly. "She should have written frankly to her brother." Alice stopped me. "You do not understand women, Ralph, and she knew that you too were struggling. Neither do I see how you can help her now, and it would be a favor to me. It is beyond the power of any vigorous man with a task for every moment to realize what it means to sit still weak and helpless and know that even wealth cannot bring respite from constant pain. Active pleasure, work and health have been denied me by fate, and my life cannot be a long one. It may be very short, though your uncle will not allow himself to believe it, and I long to do a little good while I can. Ralph, won't you help me?" With a shock, I realized that she spoke only the plain truth. Indeed, her thin eager face contracted then, and ever afterward I was glad that moved by some impulse I stooped and reverently kissed the fragile hand. "You were always somebody's good angel, cousin," I said; "but I am her brother, and this time I can help. I am going back to the farm at Fairmead, and, if she is longing for open air, do you think she would come and keep house for me?" Alice blushed as she drew away the white fingers, but she showed her practical bent by a cross-examination, and eventually she agreed that though there were objections the plan might be feasible. "You write to her by the next mail," she said, "and I will write too--no, it would be better if I waited a little. Why? You must trust my discretion--even your great mind cannot grasp everything. Now I want you to tell me all about Miss Carrington." Alice had a way with her that unlocked the secrets of many hearts, and the shadows had lengthened across the lawn before the narrative was finished. I can still picture her lying back on the lounge with hands clasped before her, a line of pain on her brow, and the humming birds flashing athwart the blossoms of the arrowhead that drooped above her. Then, glancing straight before her toward the ethereal snows, she said with a sigh: "I can see trouble in store for both of you, but I envy her. She has health and strength, and a purpose to help her to endure. Ralph, there is always an end to our trials if one can wait for it, and you both have something to wait for. Hold fast, and I think you will win her--and you know who will wish you the utmost happiness." Presently we went down together to the boulders of the river, and watched the steelhead salmon pass on in shadowy battalions as they forced their way inland against the green-stained current, while Alice, whose store of general knowledge was surprising, said meditatively: "Theirs is a weary journey inland from the sea, over shoal, against white rapid, and over spouting fall, toward the hidden valleys among the glaciers--and most of them die, don't they, when they get there? There's a symbol of life for you, but I sometimes think that, whether it's men or salmon, the fighters have the best of it." We talked of birds and fishes, and of many other things, while once a big blue grouse perched on a fir bough and looked down fearlessly within reach of her, though when the wrinkles of pain had vanished Alice seemed happy to sit still in the warm sunshine speaking of nothing at all. Still, even in the silence, the bond of friendship between us was drawn tighter than it ever had been, and I knew that I felt better and stronger for my cousin's company. It was some time after dinner, and the woods were darkening, when Martin Lorimer and I sat together on the carved veranda. There was wine on the table before us, and the old man raised his glass somewhat hurriedly, though his face betokened unmistakable surprise when again I mentioned the loan. Then he lit a very choice cigar, and when I had done the same he leaned forward looking at me through the smoke, as changing by degrees into the speech of the spinning country, he said: "You'll listen and heed well, Ralph. You went out to Canada against my will, lad, and I bided my time. 'He'll either be badly beaten or win his footing there, and either will do him good,' I said. If you had been beaten I should have seen to it that my only brother's son should never go wanting. Nay, wait 'til I have finished, but it would not have been the same. I had never a soft side for the beaten weakling, and I'm glad I bided. Now, when you've proved yourself what Tom's son should be, this is what I offer thee. There's the mill; I'm old and done, and while there's one of the old stock forward I would not turn it over to be moiled and muddled by a limited company. Saving, starving, scheming, I built it bit by bit, and to-day there's no cotton spun in Lancashire to beat the Orb brand. There'll be plenty of good men under thee, and I'm waiting to make thee acting partner. Ay, it's old and done I'm growing, and, Ralph Lorimer, I'm telling thee what none but her ever guessed before--I would have sold my soul for a kind word from thy mother." For a time, almost bewildered by the splendid offer, I stared blankly into the eddying smoke, while my thoughts refused to concentrate themselves, and I first wondered why he had made it to me. Now I know it was partly due to the staunch pride of race and family that once held the yeomen of the dales together in foray and feud, and partly to a fondness for myself that I had never wholly realized. Then it became apparent that I could not accept it. Grace would pine in smoke-blackened Lancashire, as she had told me, and I knew that the life of mill and office would grow intolerable, while the man who acted as Martin Lorimer's partner would have small respite from it. There was Harry also, who had linked his future with my great project. But the offer was tempting after the constant financial pressure, and for another minute the words failed me. "I am awaiting thy answer, lad," said Martin Lorimer. Then I stood up before him as I said slowly: "You are generous, uncle--more than generous, and it grieves me that the answer can only be--no. Give me a few moments to explain why this must be so. I could never settle down to the shut-in life; and half-hearted work would only be robbery. You would demand his best from your partner, wouldn't you?" "I should; brain and body," said the old man, grimly watching me with hawk-like eyes, for there was a steely underside to his character. I leaned one elbow on the back of a chair as I continued: "I could not give it. Besides, I have set my heart on winning my own fortune out of the prairie--I am in honor bound to my partner Lorraine in this, and--I can never leave Canada until the lady I hope to marry some day goes with me. You saw her at the opening ceremony--Miss Carrington." Martin Lorimer smote the table, which, when excited, was a favorite trick of his. "Thy wife!" he said stupidly. "Art pledged to marry Miss Carrington of all women, lad? And does she care for thee?" "I trust so," I answered slowly, as I watched the frown deepen on the old man's face. I dreaded the next question, which came promptly: "And what does the iron-fisted Colonel say as to thee for a son-in-law?" It took me at least five minutes to explain, and I felt my anomalous position keenly during the process, while, when the story was finished, Martin Lorimer laughed a harsh dry laugh. "Ralph, thou'rt rash and headstrong and a condemned fool besides," he said. "Thee would never have made a partner in the Orb mill. Thou'rt Tom's bairn all through, but I like thy spirit. Stand up there, straight and steady, so, while I look at thee. Never a son of my own, lad; thou'rt the last of the Lingdale folk, and I had set my heart on thee. Ay, I'm the successful spinner, and I paid for my success. It's hard to keep one's hands clean and be first in the business; but there's no one better knows the sign; and travel, and maybe Miss Carrington, has put that sign on thee. Once I hoped--it's past and done with, I'm foolish as well as old; but as that can never be, I'm only wishing the best of luck to thee." He gulped down a glass of the red wine and wiped his forehead, while his voice had a hard note in it as he continued: "Her father's a man of iron, but there's iron, too, in thee. I had my part in the people's struggle when Lancashire led the way, and then after a trick at the election I hated him and all his kind. I've a better reason since for hating him. We can beat them in brain and muscle, our courage is as good as theirs, and yet, if you weld the two kinds together, there's not their equal in the world. He's proud of his robber forbears, but there was one of thine drew a good bow with the archers at Crecy. Ralph, thy news has stirred me into vaporing, and the man who built the Orb mill is prating like a child. Ay, I'm grieved to the heart--and I'm glad. Fill up thy glass to the brim, lad--here's God bless her and thee." There followed a clink of glasses, and some of the wine was spilt. I could see the red drops widen on the snowy tablecloth, and then Martin Lorimer gripped my hand in a manner that showed no traces of senile decay, saying somewhat huskily as he turned away: "I want time to think it over, but I'll tell thee this. Hold fast with both hands to thy purpose, take the thrashings--and wait, and if ever thou'rt hard pressed, with thy back right on the wall, thou'lt remember Martin Lorimer--or damn thy mulishness." They gave me the same advice all round, and perhaps it was as well, for of all the hard things that fall to the lot of the man who strives with his eyes turned forward the hardest is to wait. Still, it was something to have won Martin Lorimer's approval, for I had hitherto found him an unsympathetic and critical man, who bore in his person traces of the battle he had fought. There were those who called him lucky; but these had lain softly and fared well while he starved and wrought, winning his way by inches until he built up out of nothing the splendid trade of the Orb mill. None of us was talkative that evening, but fervent good wishes followed me when I went out with the east-bound train the next day, and until the dusky pines hid her, closing round the track, I saw cousin Alice's slight figure with her face turned toward the departing train. CHAPTER XX THE RETURN TO THE PRAIRIE We were busy during the two days that followed my return, for there was much to be arranged; but at last all was settled satisfactorily. The surveyor had obtained me free transport back to the prairie for two teams that would not be needed, and Harry had promised to take charge of operations in my place. He was young for the position, or would have been considered so in England, but across the Atlantic much of the hard work is done by very young men, and I could trust his discretion, so only one thing remained to prevent my immediate return to Fairmead. I must see Grace before I went, and after considering the subject at length I determined to ride boldly up to the Colonel's ranch and demand an interview. Even if this were refused me I should not be worse off than before, and I had found that often in times of uncertainty fortune follows the boldest move. I rode out under the starlight from our camp, for if all went well I hoped to turn my back on the mountain province by sunset, and if Harry guessed how I proposed to spend the interval he made no direct reference, though he said with unusual emphasis at parting, "I wish you good luck, Ralph--in everything." "I'll second that," added Johnston, wringing my hand as I bent down from the saddle, for they had walked beside me down the trail; then I shook the bridle and they vanished into the gloom behind. It may have been mere coincidence, or a conceit of Johnston's playful fancy, for when I dipped into the valley his voice came ringing after me, "Oh, who will o'er the downs so free! Oh, who will with me ride?" The next line or two was lost in a clatter of hoofs on shingle, and then once more the words rose clearly above the dewy pines, "To win a blooming bride!" More of the ballad followed, for Johnston trolled it lustily as he strode back to the shanty, and the refrain haunted me as I swept on through the cool dimness under the conifers, for the lilt of it went fittingly with the clang of iron on quartz outcrop and the jingle of steel. It also chimed with my own thoughts the while, and the last lines broke from my lips triumphantly when we raced out of the dusky woods into the growing light under a giant rampart of mountains, behind whose peaks a red flush broadened in the east. The mists rolled back like a curtain, the shadows fled, and the snow, throwing off its deathly pallor, put on splendors of incandescence to greet the returning day. Nowhere does dawn come more grandly than in that ice-ribbed wilderness of crag and forest; but as I watched it then I accepted the wondrous spectacle merely as an augury of brighter days for Grace and myself, and for a last time the ballad echoed across the silent bush as I drove the good horse splashing through a ford. It was afternoon when, much more sedately, for the beast was tired and I had misgivings now, we splashed through another river into sight of Colonel Carrington's dwelling, whose shingled roof was faintly visible among the pines ahead; while once more it seemed that fortune or destiny had been kind to me. A white dress moved slowly among the rough-barked trunks, and because a thick carpet of withered needles deadened the sound of hoofs I came almost upon Grace before she saw me. She was gazing at the ground; the long lashes hid her eyes, but I fancied that a suspicious moisture glistened under them, and there was trouble stamped on her face. Then as I swung myself from the saddle she ran toward me with a startled cry and stopped irresolutely. But I had my arms about her even as she turned half-away, and I said eagerly: "Something has happened, sweetheart. You must tell me what it is." She sighed, and, trembling a little, clung more tightly to my arm when, after tethering the horse, we walked slowly side by side through the shadow of the great fir branches. "I was longing for you so," she said. "As you say, something has happened, and there is no one to whom I can tell my troubles. What I feared has happened, for this morning Geoffrey Ormond asked me to marry him." "Confusion to him!" I broke out, driving one heel deep into the fir needles; and when Grace checked me, laying both hands on her shoulders, I held her fast as I asked, "And what did you say?" She smiled faintly as she answered, "This is not the age of savagery, Ralph; your fingers are bruising me. What answer could I give him after my promise to you? I said, 'No.'" "Then the folly is done with, and there will be an end to his presumption," I answered hotly. But Grace sighed again as she said: "No, this is not the ending. You are fierce and stubborn and headstrong--and I like to have you so; Geoffrey is cool and quiet and slow, and, I must say it, a chivalrous gentleman. I could not tell him all; but he took my answer gracefully, saying he would respect it in the meantime, but would never give up hope. Ralph, I almost wonder whether you would have acted as becomingly." Perhaps it was said to gain time; and, if so, I took the bait and answered with bitterness: "He has been trained and polished and accustomed to the smooth side of life. Is it strange that he has learned a little courtesy? Again I say, confound him! I am of the people, stained with the soil, and roughened by a laborer's toil; but, Grace, you know I would gladly give my life to serve you." "You are as God and your work have made you," was the quiet answer; and, drawing closer to me, she added, "And I would not have you otherwise. Don't lapse into heroics, Ralph. What you did that day in the cañon will speak better than words for you. Instead you must listen while I tell you the whole story. As it was with you and your cousin, Geoffrey and I--we are distantly related too--were always good friends. He was older, and, as you say, polished, and in many ways I looked up to him, while my father was trustee for him under a will, and when he joined the army my father continued, I understand, to manage his property. Still--and I know now that I must have been blind--I never looked upon Geoffrey as--as a possible husband until twelve months ago. Since then my eyes have been opened, and I understand many things--most of all that my father wished it, for he has told me so, and that Geoffrey is heavily interested financially in his ventures. I know that he has sunk large sums of money in the mine, and they have found no ore, while I heard a chance whisper of a mortgage on Carrington. Yet Geoffrey has never even hinted to me that he was more than a small shareholder. My father has grown aged and worn lately, though only those who know him well could tell he was carrying a heavy load of anxiety. He has always been kind to me, and it hurt, horribly, to refuse to meet his wishes when he almost pleaded with me." The scent of summer seemed to have faded out of the air, the golden rays that beat in between the great trunks lost their brightness, and only one way of escape from the situation presented itself to me as again the refrain of the ballad jingled through my memory. It was also a way that suited me. If Grace and I could not be married with the Colonel's consent, we could without it; and I thanked Providence that she need suffer no actual hardships at Fairmead now, while with her advice and encouragement the future looked brilliant. We could reach the flag station in two hours if we started at once. And then, with a chill, I remembered my promise to the Colonel, and that I stood, as it were, on a parole of honor. Yet a rash promise seemed a small thing to wreck two lives; and, saying nothing, I set my teeth tightly as I remembered hearing my father once say long ago, "I am thankful that, if we have our failings, none of us has ever broken a solemn promise." Martin Lorimer too--and some called him keen, in distinction to scrupulous--I remembered, accepted a draft he had been clearly tricked into signing, and duly met it at maturity, though, when the affair was almost forgotten, he made the man who drew it suffer. And so the inward struggle went on, until there were beads of perspiration on my forehead and Grace said, "Ralph, you look deathly. Are you ill?" I did not answer, and was afterward thankful that perhaps fate intervened to save me, for I almost felt that Grace would have yielded to pressure then. There were footsteps in the forest, and, as instinctively we drew back behind a fir, Colonel Carrington walked savagely down an open glade. He passed close to us, and, believing himself alone in that solitude, had thrown off the mask. His face was drawn and haggard, his hands were clenched, and for once I read fear of something in his eyes; while Grace trembled again as she watched him, and neither of us spoke until he vanished among the firs. "Ralph," she said quietly, "twice I have seen him so when he did not know it. Perhaps it was meant that this should happen, for now I know that even were there no other obstacle I could not leave him. Sweetheart, could you expect the full duty to her husband from the woman who had signally failed in her duty to others?" "No," I answered with a groan. "But is there no hope in the present?--nothing that I can do?" She drew my face down toward her as she answered, "Only work and wait, sweetheart," and her voice sank to a low whisper. "Heaven forgive me if I wrong him in telling you. But there are no secrets between us, and you saw his face. I fear that inadvertently he has lost much of Geoffrey's money in rash ventures, as well as his own. Geoffrey would never trouble about finance, and insisted on leaving his property in his hands, while, though my father is fond of speculation and control, I am afraid he is a poor business man." She shivered all through, and said nothing for a few moments, while I tried to soothe her; then she added slowly: "I must stand beside him in this trouble; and if the worst comes I do not ask you to leave me--it would be wrong and foolish, and I know you too well. But, though I have read how many women have done such things, I will never marry Geoffrey. It would be a crime to myself and to him, and he is far too good for such treatment. Sweetheart, I must leave you, and it may be so very long before we meet again; but I hope brighter days will dawn for us yet. You will help me to do what I ought, dearest?" Ten minutes later I rode through the woods at a breakneck gallop, reviling fate and all things incoherently, until, as the horse reeled down an incline amid a mad clatter of sliding shale, Ormond, of all men, must come striding up the trail with an air of tranquil calm about him. There is a certain spice of barbarism, I suppose, in most of us, and in my frame of mind the mere sight of his untroubled face filled me with bitterness. It seemed that, in spite of her refusal, he felt sure of Grace; and something suggested that a trail hewn at Government expense was free to the wealthy well-born and the toiler alike, and I would not swerve a foot to give him passage. So only a quick spring saved him from being ridden down, while I laughed harshly over my shoulder when his voice followed me: "Why don't you look ahead, confound you?" It was possibly well that I had trouble with the teams in the stock car on the railroad journey, and that work in plenty awaited at Fairmead, for the steady tramp behind the plough stilts served to steady me. After three weeks' endurance, the man I had hired to help mutinied, and stated plainly that he had no intention of either wearing himself to skin and bone or unmercifully overworking dumb cattle, but I found satisfaction in toiling on alone, often until after the lingering darkness fell, for each fathom of rich black clod added to the long furrow seemed to lessen the distance that divided me from Grace. Then little by little a measure of cheerfulness returned, for sun, wind, and night dew had blended their healing with the smell of newly-turned earth, a smell I loved on the prairie, for it told that the plough had opened another channel into treasure locked fast for countless ages. So hope was springing up again when I waited one morning with my wagon beside the railroad track to welcome my sister Aline. I could scarcely believe my eyes when she stepped down from the car platform, for the somewhat gawky maiden, as I used to term her in our not altogether infrequent playful differences of opinion, when similar compliments were common, had grown into a handsome woman, fair-skinned, but ruddy of color, as all of us were, and I was embarrassed when to the envy of the loungers she embraced me effusively. The drive home across the prairie was a wonder to her, and it touched me to notice how she rejoiced in its breadth and freedom, for the returning luster in her eyes and the somewhat too hollow face told their own tale of adversity. "It is all so splendid," she said vaguely. "A poor lunch, you say; it is ever and ever so much better than my usual daily fare," and her voice had a vibration that suggested tearfulness. "This is almost too good to be true! I have always loved the open space and sun, and for two weary years I lived in a dismal room of a dismal house in a particularly dismal street, where there was nothing but mud and smoke, half-paid work, and sickening drudgery. Ralph, I should ten times over sooner wash milk-pans or drive cattle in a sunlit land like this." I laughed approvingly as she ceased for want of breath, realizing that Aline had much in common with myself; while the rest of the journey passed very cheerfully, and her face was eager with curiosity when I handed her down at the house. She looked around our living room with disdainful eyes. "It is comfortable enough, but, Ralph, did you ever brush it? I have never seen any place half so dirty." I had not noticed the fact before. Indeed, under pressure of work we had usually dispensed with small comforts, superfluous cleanliness I fear among them, and Fairmead was certainly very dirty, though it probably differed but little from most bachelors' quarters in that region. The stove-baked clods of the previous ploughing still littered the floor; the dust that was thick everywhere doubtless came in with our last thrashing; and the dishes I had used during the last few weeks reposed unwashed among it. But Aline was clearly a woman of action. "You shockingly untidy man!" she said severely. "Carry my trunk into my room, quick. I am going to put on an old dress, and make you help me clean up first thing. Tired?--after lounging on soft cushions--when I tramped miles of muddy streets carrying heavy books every day. You won't get out of it that way. Go away, and bring me some water--bring lots of it." When I came back from the well, with a filled cask in the wagon, she had already put on a calico wrapper and both doors and windows were open wide, and I hardly recognized the dwelling when we had finished what Aline said was only the first stage of the proceedings. Then I lighted the stove, and, returning after stabling the horses, found her waiting at the head of a neatly-set table covered with a clean white cloth, which she had doubtless brought with her, for such things were not included in the Fairmead inventory. The house seemed brighter for her presence, though I sighed as I pictured Grace in her place, and then reflected that many things must be added before Fairmead was fit for Grace. I had begun to learn a useful lesson in practical details. Aline noticed the sigh, and plied me with questions, until when, for the nights were getting chilly, we sat beside the twinkling stove, I told her as much as I thought it was desirable that she should know. Aline was two years my junior, and I had no great confidence as yet in her wisdom. She listened with close attention, and then said meditatively: "I hope that some day you will be happy. No, never mind explaining that you must be--marriage is a great lottery. But why, you foolish boy, must you fall in love with the daughter of that perfectly awful man! There was some one so much nicer at home, you know, and I feel sure she was very fond of you. Alice is a darling, even if she has not much judgment in such matters. Oh, dear me, what am I saying now!" "Good Lord!" I said, startled by an idea that hitherto had never for a moment occurred to me. "I beg your pardon; but you are only a young girl, Aline. Of course you must be mistaken, because--it couldn't be so. I am as poor as a gopher almost, and she is a heiress. Don't you realize that it's utterly unbecoming for any one of your years to talk so lightly of these matters." Aline laughed mischievously. "Are you so old and wise already, Ralph?" she asked. "Brotherly superiority won't go very far with a girl who has earned her own living. As you say, I should not have told you this, but you must have been blinder than a mole--even your uncle saw it, and I am quite right." She looked me over critically before she continued, as though puzzled: "I really cannot see why she should be so, and I begin to fancy that a little plain speaking will be good for my elder brother." I checked the exclamation just in time, and stared at her while I struggled with a feeling of shame and dismay. It was not that I had chosen Grace, but it was borne in on me forcibly that besides wounding the feelings of the two persons to whom I owed a heavy debt of gratitude, I must more than once, in mock heroic fashion, have made a stupendous fool of myself. Such knowledge was not pleasant, though perhaps the draught was beneficial, and if plain speaking of that kind were wholesome there was more in store, for hardship had not destroyed Aline's inquisitorial curiosity, nor her fondness for comments, which, if winged with mischief, had truth in them. Thus, to avoid dangerous subjects, I confined my conversation to my partners and railroad building. "That is really interesting," she vouchsafed at length. "Ralph, you haven't sense enough to understand women; but axes, horses, and engines, you know thoroughly. I'm quite anxious to see this Harry, and wonder whether I could tame him. Young men are always so proud of themselves, and one finds amusement in bringing them to a due sense of their shortcomings, though I am sorry to say they are not always grateful." Then I laughed as I fancied the keen swordplay of badinage that would follow before she overcame either Johnston or Harry, if they ever met, and I almost wondered at her. This slip of a girl--for after all, she was still little more--had faced what must have been with her tastes a sufficiently trying lot, but it had not abated one jot of her somewhat caustic natural gaiety, and there was clearly truth in my partner's saying: "One need not take everything too seriously." When with some misgivings I showed Aline her room she pointed out several radical defects that needed immediate remedy, and I left her wondering whether I must add the vocation of a carpenter to my already onerous task, and most of that night I lay wide awake thinking of what she had told me. When I rose early the next morning, however, my sister was already down and prepared an unusually good breakfast while I saw to the working beasts, though she unhesitatingly condemned the whole of the Fairmead domestic utensils and crockery. "I am breaking you in gently," she said with a patronizing air. "You have used those cracked plates since you came here? Then they have lasted quite long enough, and you cannot fry either pork or bacon in a frying-pan minus half the bottom. Before you can bring a wife here you will need further improvement; yes, ever and ever so much, and I hope she will be grateful to me for civilizing you." CHAPTER XXI THE STOLEN CATTLE I had broken a further strip of virgin prairie, besides ploughing, with hired assistance, part of the already cultivated land, before the Indian summer passed. All day pale golden sunlight flooded the whitened grass, which sometimes glittered with frostwork in early morning, while as the nights grew longer, the wild fowl came down from the north. Aline took a strange interest in watching them sail slowly in endless succession across the blue, and would often sit hidden beside me at twilight among the tall reeds of the creek until with a lucky shot from the Marlin I picked up a brant-goose, or, it might be, a mallard which had rested on its southward journey, somewhat badly shattered by the rifle ball. Then, when frost bound fast the sod and ploughing was done, she would ride with me toward a distant bluff, where I hewed stouter logs than grew near us for winter fuel. Already she had grown fuller in shape and brighter in color with the pure prairie air. Jasper paid us frequent visits, and seemed to enjoy being badly defeated in a verbal encounter with Aline, after which he would confine his talk to cattle-raising, which of late had commenced to command increased attention on the prairie. "This is too much a one-crop country. Stake all on your wheat yield, and when you lose it you're busted," he said, soon after my return. "Now what's the matter with running more cattle? They'll feed themselves in the summer; and isn't there hay enough in the sloos if you want to keep them?--while one can generally get a good fall profit in Winnipeg. I've been picking up cheap lots all year, and if you have any money to spare I'll let you in reasonably." "You speak like an oracle, Mr. Jasper," said Aline. "My brother is what you might call a single-crop man. One thing at one time is enough for him. Ralph, why don't you try a deal in cattle?" The same thing had been running through my own mind, and the result was that I wrote Harry, who, being of a speculative disposition, arranged for an interim payment, and sent me a remittance, which was duly invested in a joint transaction with Jasper, who had rather over-purchased. "I'm a little pressed for payments just now," he said. "Want to hold my wheat, and can't afford eight per cent. interest. The beasts are fattening all the time, and there'll be a high-class demand in Winnipeg presently for shipment to Europe." He was right; and I began to have a respect for Aline's judgment when the papers reported that prices were rising fast, and stock-salesman firms sent circulars to this effect into the districts. But, when I conferred with Jasper, he advised me to hold on. "The figures are climbing," he said, "and they'll reach high-water mark just before the ice closes direct shipment." At last the frost commenced in earnest, and I prepared to settle down for the winter. There were improvements to be made to the granary, implements, harness, and stables, in anticipation of the coming year's campaign, besides alterations in the house; for I felt that many things might happen before next autumn, and I desired that Fairmead should be more nearly ready if wanted to receive its new mistress. Again, however, fate intervened, for, instead of a round of monotonous work, many stirring events were crowded into that winter. The first happened, as usual, unexpectedly, and came nearly ruining our cattle-trade venture. To understand it satisfactorily it is necessary to commence the narrative at the beginning. It was a chilly night after a warm day. I sat beside the stove mending harness, while Aline criticized the workmanship and waxed the twine for me. The last mail had brought good news from Harry, and I felt in unusual spirits as I passed the awl through the leather, until there was a creak of wagon wheels outside, followed by a pounding on the door. "It's too bad," said Aline. "We are both tired after our ride, and I was looking forward to a chance for giving you good advice, and a cozy evening. Now some one is coming to upset it all." She was not mistaken, for when I opened the door a neighbor said, "I've brought you Mrs. Fletcher. Met her walking to Fairmead across the prairie. No; I guess I'm in a hurry, and won't get down." It was with no great feeling of pleasure that I led the visitor into the house; and it is curious that as I helped her down from the wagon something should recall Harry's warning: "That fellow Fletcher will bring more trouble on you some day." He had done enough in that direction already, and though I did not wish Aline to hear the story, I was glad she was there, for preceding events had taught me caution. So, making the best of it, I placed a chair beside the stove, for Minnie Fletcher explained who she was, and then, while Aline sat still looking at her with an apparent entire absence of curiosity which in no way deceived me I waited impatiently. Minnie had not improved since I last saw her. Her face was thin and anxious, her dress--and even in the remoter corners of the prairie this was unusual--was torn and shabby, and she twisted her fingers nervously before she commenced to speak. "I had expected to find you alone, Ralph," she said; and though I pitied her, I felt glad that she had been disappointed in this respect. "However, I must tell you; and it may be a warning to your sister. Tom has fallen into bad ways again. He is my husband, Miss Lorimer, and I am afraid not a very good one." I could not turn Aline out on the prairie, and could only answer, "I am very sorry. Please go on," though it would have relieved me to make my own comments on the general conduct of Thomas Fletcher. "It was not all his fault," she added. "The boys would give him whisky to tell them stories when he went to Brandon for the creamery, and at last he went there continually. He fell in with some men from Winnipeg who lent him money, and I think they gambled in town-lots, for Tom took the little I had saved, and used to come home rambling about a fortune. Then he would stay away for days together, until they dismissed him from the creamery, and all summer he had never a dollar to give me. But I worked at the butter-packing and managed to feed him when he did come home, until--Miss Lorimer, I am sorry you must hear this--he used to beat me when I had no more money to give him." Aline looked at her with a pity that was mingled with scorn: "I have heard of such things, and I have seen them too," she said. "But why did you let him? I think I should kill the man who struck me." Minnie sighed wearily. "You don't understand, and I hope you never will. Ralph, I have tried to bear it, but the life is killing me, and I have grown horribly afraid of him. Moran, a friend of the creamery manager, offered me a place at another station down the line, but I have no money to get there and I cannot go like this. Tom is coming back to-night, and I dare not tell him, so I wondered whether you would help me." "Of course he will," said Aline, "and if your husband comes here making inquiries I hope I shall have an opportunity for answering him." I had the strongest disinclination to be mixed up in such an affair, but I could see no escape from it. There were even marks of bruises on the poor woman's face, and when, promising assistance, I went out to see to the horses and think it over, Minnie Fletcher burst into hysterical sobbing as Aline placed an arm protectingly around her. She had retired before I returned, for I fancied that Aline could dispense with my presence and I found something to detain me. "Ralph, you are a genius," Aline said when I told her that I did not hurry back, "I have arranged to lend her enough to buy a few things, and to-morrow I'm going to drive her in to the store and the station. No, you need not come; I know the way. Oh, don't begin to ask questions; just try to think a little instead." I allowed her to have her own way. Indeed, Aline generally insisted on this, while with many protestations of gratitude Minnie Fletcher departed the next morning, and I hoped that the affair was ended. In this I was disappointed, for, returning with Jasper the next day from an outlying farm, I found Aline awaiting me in a state of suppressed excitement. She was paler than usual, and moved nervously, and the Marlin rifle lay on the table with the hammer drawn back. When Jasper volunteered to lead the horses in she dropped limply into a chair. "I have spent a terrible afternoon, Ralph. In fact, though I feel ashamed of myself, I have not got over it yet." I eased the spring of the rifle and inquired whether some wandering Blackfoot had frightened her. "No," Aline answered, "The Indians are in their own way gentlemen. It was an Englishman. Mr. Thomas Fletcher called to inquire for his wife, and--and--he didn't call sober." Aline choked back something between a laugh and a sob before she continued: "He came in a wagon with another little dark man with a cunning face, and walked into the room before I could stop him. 'I want my runaway wife, and I mean to find her. Who the deuce are you--another of them?' he said." I found it hard work to keep back the words that seemed most suitable, and perhaps I was not altogether successful, while Aline's forehead turned crimson and she clenched her hand viciously as she added: "I told him that I was your sister, and he laughed as he said--he didn't believe me. Then he swore horribly, and said--oh, I can't tell you what he said, but he intended to ruin you, and would either shoot his wife or thrash her to death, while the man in the wagon sat still, smiling wickedly, and I grew horribly frightened." The rattle of harness outside increased, and turning I saw Jasper striding away from the wagon, which stood near the open doorway, while Aline drew in her breath as she continued: "Then Fletcher said he would make me tell where his wife was, and I determined that he should kill me first. He came toward me like a wild beast, for there were little red veins in his eyes, and I moved backward round the table, feeling perfectly awful, because he reeked of liquor. Then I saw the rifle and edged away until I could reach it, and he stopped and said more fearful things, until the man jumped out of the wagon and dragged him away. I think Fletcher was afraid of the other man. So I just sat down and cried, and wondered whether I should have dared shoot him, until I found there wasn't a cartridge at all in the rifle." After this Aline wept copiously again and while, feeling both savage and helpless, I patted her shoulder, calling her a brave girl, Jasper looked in. "I won't stop and worry Miss Lorimer now," he said shortly. "I'm borrowing a saddle, and will see you to-morrow. Good evening." He kept his promise, for the next morning, when Aline was herself again, he rode up to the door and came in chuckling. "I guess I have a confession to make," he said, "Couldn't help hearing what your sister said, though I kept banging the harness to let you know I was there, so I figured as to their probable trail and lit out after them. Came up with the pair toward nightfall by the big sloo, and invited Mr. Fletcher to an interview. Fletcher didn't seem to see it. He said he wouldn't get down, but mentioned several things--they're not worth repeating--about his wife and you, with a word of your sister that settled me. "'I'm a friend of Miss Lorimer's. Are you coming down now,' says I. "'I'm not,' says Thomas Fletcher; so I just yanked him right out on to the prairie, and started in with the new whip to skin him. Asked the other man if he'd any objections, but if he had he didn't raise them. Then I hove all that was left of Fletcher right into the sloo, and rode home feeling considerably better." He laughed a big hearty laugh, and then started as Aline came out of an inner room. "I want to thank you, Mr. Jasper," she said. "There are people with whom one cannot argue, and I think that thrashing will do him good. I hope that you did it thoroughly." Jasper swung down his broad hat, fidgeted, and said awkwardly, "I didn't figure on telling you, but if ever that man comes round here again, or there's any one else scares you, you won't forget to let me know." Aline glanced straight into the eyes of the speaker, who actually blushed with pleasure as she said: "I will certainly promise, and I shouldn't desire a better champion, but there is at present no necessity to send you out spreading devastation upon the prairie." Jasper looked idiotically pleased at this, and for a time we heard no more of Thomas Fletcher, who nevertheless had not forgotten the incident. As the former had anticipated, the demand for shipping cattle still increased, and when it was announced that several large steamers were awaiting the last load before the St. Lawrence was frozen fast, Jasper rode west to try to pick up a few more head, and informed me that he would either telegraph or visit Winnipeg to arrange for the sale before returning. News travels in its own way on the prairie, and we afterward decided that Fletcher, who had returned to his deserted home, must have heard of this. Jasper had been gone several days when a man in city attire rode up to Fairmead with two assistants driving a band of stock. He showed me a cattle-salesman's card, and stated that he had agreed with Jasper to dispose of our beasts on commission, and as the latter was waiting in Winnipeg, he asked me to ride over to his homestead to obtain delivery. This I did, and afterward accompanied him to the railroad, where I saw the cattle put safely on board a stock train, and early the next morning I returned, feeling that I had done a good stroke of business. The same afternoon, while Aline prepared a meal, I sat writing a letter to Harry, telling him with much satisfaction how well our investment had resulted. Aline listened with a smile to my running comments, and then remarked dryly: "I think you have forgotten your usual caution for once, Ralph. You should have gone with them, and seen the sale. I didn't like that man, and once or twice I caught him looking at you in a way that struck me as suspicious. I suppose you are sure the firm he represented is good?" "It's as good as a bank," I answered, and then grew almost vexed with her, for Aline had an irritating way of damping one's enthusiasm. "Now try to say something pleasant, and I'll buy you a pair of the best fur mittens in Winnipeg when we get the money." "Then I hope you will get it," said Aline, "for I should like the gloves. Here is another cattleman going south." She placed more plates on the table, while, throwing down the pen, I looked out of the window. Here and there the dry grasses were buried in snow, and a glance at the aneroid suggested that we might have to accommodate the visitor all night, for the appearance of the weather was not promising. He came on at good pace, wrapped in a short fur coat, and I noticed that he did not ride altogether like the prairie-born. When he dismounted I led his horse into the stable before I ushered him into the room. The meal was almost ready, and we expected him to join us as a matter of course. He was a shrewd-looking young man with a pleasant face, and bowed gracefully to Aline as he said in a straightforward way: "I thank you for your kindness, madam, and must introduce myself--James Heysham, of Ross & Grant, high-class cattle-salesmen. Best market prices, immediate settlements guaranteed, reasonable commission, and all the rest of it. Glad to make your acquaintance, Mr. Lorimer; here's our card. I rode over from the railroad on the way to Jasper's, to see if I could make a deal with you. Now's the time to realize on your stock, and Ross & Grant the best firm to entrust them to. Don't want to accept your hospitality under false pretenses, and there are still a few prejudiced Englishmen who look down on the drummer. Once waited on a man called Carrington--and he wasn't even civil." "Sit down," I said, laughing. "This is my sister, and at least we can offer you a meal, but you are too late to sell our stock. I have just returned from shipping Jasper's as well as my own under charge of a new partner of Gardner's." Heysham looked puzzled. "It's a reliable firm--almost as good as our own," he said. "You must not smile, Miss Lorimer; when one earns a living by that talk it's hard to get out of it. But they're conservative, and never send drummers around. Besides, there's only Gardner and his brother--they haven't a partner. Now I wonder whether"--and the last words were unintelligible. An uneasy feeling commenced to grow on me, and our guest looked thoughtful. "You suspect something, Mr. Heysham," said Aline, "and you ought to tell us what it is. I want to know exactly what you meant when you added 'Confidence men.'" Then I started, and Heysham bowed as he answered: "You are evidently new to the wicked ways of this country, Miss Lorimer. I meant that some unprincipled person has, I fear, unfortunately taken your brother in. I have suspicions. Was he a little dark man, or perhaps it was another, rather stout and red-faced? Still I'm puzzled as to how they acquired the local knowledge and learned enough about your business to fool you." "No," I answered with a gleam of hope, "he was neither;" but Aline broke in: "The man you mention drove here in a wagon some weeks earlier, and I know how he got the local knowledge--the other, with the red face, was Thomas Fletcher. He lived on the prairie, Mr. Heysham, and there must have been three in the plot." I rose from the table, flinging back my chair, but Heysham nodded gravely. "Exactly; there are three of them. Your sister has made it all clear," he said. "I know the party--they've been engineering various shady deals in estate and produce, and now, when Winnipeg is getting uncomfortably warm, this is evidently a last coup before they light out across the boundary. The dark man was a clerk in the stock trade--turned out for embezzlement--once, you see. Still, they can't sell until to-morrow, and we might get the night train. No chance of trade hereabout, you say; then, for the credit of our market, if you'll lend me a fresh horse, I'm going right back to Winnipeg with you. Sit down, and finish your dinner; you'll want it before you're through." I looked at Aline, who was equal to the occasion. "You must certainly go," she said. "Even if there is a blizzard, I shall be safe enough." So presently she buttoned the skin coat about me, slipped a flask of spirits into the pocket; and just before we started kissed me, saying, "Take care of yourself, and do your utmost. There are all poor Jasper's cattle besides our own. Mr. Heysham, I thank you, and whenever you pass this way remember there's a hearty welcome for you at Fairmead." "I am repaid already, madam," said Heysham as we rode away. CHAPTER XXII A RACE WITH TIME A dreary ride lay before us, for already the afternoon drew toward its close, and the light drifts were eddying under a bitter wind. The pale sun was still in the heavens, but a gray dimness crept up from the grass-land's verge toward it, against which the patches of snow gleamed lividly. However, I thought little about the cold, for with careless stupidity I had allowed a swindler to rob my partner, and a succession of blizzards would not have stopped me then. Heysham, though uninterested, seemed equally determined, and rode well, so the long miles of grass rolled behind us. Now a copse of birches flitted past, now a clump of willows, or the tall reeds of a sloo went down with a great crackling before us, then there were more swelling levels, for our course was straight as the crow flies from horizon to horizon, and we turned aside for no obstacle. It was dusk when with lowered heads we charged through the scattered birches of a ravine bluff, and far down in the hollow beneath I caught the dull gleam of snow-sprinkled ice. "It's a mean-looking gully," gasped Heysham. "I guess that creek's not frozen hard, and it's pretty deep. Say, hadn't we better lead our horses?" and I flung an answer over my shoulder: "That will just make the difference between catching and missing the train. I'm going down in the saddle." "Then of course I'm going too," said Heysham breathlessly. "Your neck is worth as much as mine is anyway." For the next few moments I saw nothing at all but the shadowy lines of birch stems that went reeling past. A branch struck Heysham's horse, and swerving, it jammed his leg against a tree; then there was a crash as my own beast, blundering, charged through a thicket where the brittle stems snapped like pistol-shots, but the salesman was close behind me, and with a shout of "No bridge for miles. I'll show you the way over," I drove my horse at the creek. The quaggy banks were frozen hard now. They were also rough and ploughed up by the feet of cattle, which had come there to drink before the frost, and the leap looked horribly dangerous, for I dare not trust the ice; but the beast got safely off and came down with a great crackling amid thinly frozen mud and reeds. There was a splash and a flounder behind me, and then as we staggered forth Heysham came up abreast, with the water dripping from his horse, and I found breath to exclaim: "Well done! I never should have thought a city man could bring a horse down there." "Thanks!" said Heysham, with more than a suspicion of dryness. "In this enlightened country one must earn one's bread as one can, but I wasn't brought up to the drummer's calling. Used to ride with--but that has nothing to do with you, and I'm hoping you'll strike the railroad on the shortest possible line. It wouldn't be nice to spend to-night on the prairie." There could be no doubt on this point, for when we reached the levels darkness had closed down and the air was thick with uplifted snow which smarted our eyes and made breathing difficult, while, for the first time, I commenced to have misgivings. Heysham had understated the case, for unless we struck the railroad we might very well freeze to death on the prairie. I explained this to him, and gave him directions how he could find a farm by following the creek; but he laughed. "It's an exciting run," he said, "and even life in Winnipeg grows monotonous. Lead on, I'm anxious to be in at the finish." The snow came down in earnest before we had made two more leagues, and, steering partly by the wind and partly by instinct of direction, I held on half-choked and blinded, more and more slowly, until, when at last the case looked hopeless, Heysham shouted, for a telegraph post loomed up. "You have reached the railroad, anyway," he said. "The only question is--how far from the station are we?" We drew rein for a few moments beside the graded track, and shook the snow from our wrappings as we debated the simple question whose issues were momentous. The horses were worn out, we were nearly frozen, and the white flakes whirled more and more thickly about us. "We can only go and see, and the track at least will guide us," I said at last. "I don't think the station can be many miles away." The rest of the journey left but a blurred memory of an almost sightless struggle through a filmy haze, in which we occasionally lost each other and touch with the guiding poles, until at last, caked thick with wind-packed snow, we caught sight of a pale glimmer, and fell solidly, as it were, out of the saddle in the shelter of the station. Here, however, a crushing disappointment awaited us. "Stopping train passed two hours ago," said the station agent. "Won't be another until the Montreal express comes through. Heard the stock cars passed Brandon by daylight--they'll be in Winnipeg now." "You have one move left," said Heysham. "Hire a special! Comes high, of course, but it's cheaper than losing your cattle. They can't sell before to-morrow; and you won't be hard on a plundered man, agent? That locomotive ought to take us through." "Can't cut schedule prices," was the answer, after I had explained. "I haven't a single car, but I was saving Number Forty to haul in wheat, and if she doesn't strike a snow-block, and old Robertson's in the humor, she'll land you in Winnipeg before daylight to-morrow. It's cutting things fine, however." We put our horses in the hotel stable, managed as a special favor to obtain some food in a basket, and then climbed into the locomotive cab, where the Ontario mechanic stood rubbing his hands with waste while a grimy subordinate flung fuel into the roaring furnace. "She's the best machine for a hard run on this road," he said, as he clutched the lever with professional pride. "All you have to do is to sit tight, and I'll bring you in on time." Then, panting heavily, Number Forty rolled out from the station on to the lonely waste, and when, as we jolted over the switches, the lights died out behind, Robertson became intent as he shoved the lever home. For a moment the big drivers whirred on the snow-greased line, then the wheel-treads bit the metals, and the plates commenced to tremble beneath our feet. Staring out through a quivering glass I could see a white haze rising and falling ahead as the wild gusts came down, driving an icy coldness through the vibrating cab, while, when these passed, there was only the glare of the huge head-lamp flickering like a comet down the straight-ruled track. Robertson nodded to his fireman, for Heysham had told him the story, and presently the vibration grew yet sharper. The gaunt telegraph-posts no longer swept past in endless files, but reeled toward us under the fan-shaped blaze huddled all together in a fantastic dance, while willow bluffs leaped up out of the whiteness and vanished again as by magic into the dim prairie. The snow from above had ceased temporarily. Then a screaming blast struck the engine, wrapping it about in a dense white cloud that glittered before the lamp, the glasses rattled, and an impalpable powder, that seemed to burn the skin, drove in through every opening. Robertson glanced at his pressure-gauge. "She's doing her best," he said, "and she'll need to. I guess we'll find drifts in the hollows, and the snow will come down again presently. It's only coming up now." I ought to have known better, but, although a British custom is more honored in the breach than the observance in Western Canada, I had met men who could pocket their pride, and, after fumbling in my wallet, I held out a slip of paper, saying, "She's doing splendidly. I wish you would buy Mrs. Robertson something with this." "No, sir!" was the prompt answer. "You can keep your bill. If that fraud gets in ahead of you you'll probably want it. I get good pay, and I earn it, and you're not big enough to give presents to me." A new arrival might have been astonished. I only felt that I had deserved the rebuke, and was thankful that Aline had slipped the flask and some of Martin Lorimer's cigars into my pocket, while Robertson smiled broadly as in defiance of his orders he emptied the silver cup. It was a gift from my cousin Alice. "I apologize. Should have remembered it," I said bluntly. Then we were racing through stiller air again, with the driving cloud behind; for each of the curious rushes of wind that precedes a prairie storm keeps to a definite path of its own. Several times, with a roar of wheels flung back to us, we swept through a sleeping town, where thin frame houses went rocking past until the tall elevators shut them in, and again there was only a dim stretch of prairie that rolled up faster and faster under the front trailing-wheels. At last, when the lights of Brandon glimmered ahead, Heysham fell over the fireman as the locomotive jumped to the checking of the brake, and a colored flicker blinked beside the track. The glare of another head-lamp beat upon us as we rolled through the station, while amid the clash of shocking wheat-cars that swept past I caught the warning: "Look out for the snow-block east of Willow Lake! Freight-train on the single track; wires not working well!" "I guess we'll take our chances," said Robertson; and Number Forty panted louder, hurling red sparks aloft as he rushed her at an up-grade. Still, his brows contracted when, some time later, he beckoned me, and I saw a wide lake draw near with silky drifts racing across its black ice. They also flowed across the track ahead, while beyond it the loom of what might be a flag station was faintly visible against a driving bank of cloud. "Snow's coming off the ice," he said. "Hold fast! She may jump a little when I ram her through." The pace grew even faster. We were racing down an incline, and now, ice, station, and prairie alike were blotted out by a blinding whiteness; while presently I was flung backward off my feet, and would have fallen but that I clutched a guard-rail. The whole cab rattled, the great locomotive lurched, and a white smother hurtled under the lamp glare, until once more the motion grew even, and we could feel the well-braced frame of iron and steel leap forward beneath us. Engineer Robertson swayed easily to the oscillation as, with one side of his intent face toward me, he clutched the throttle lever, until he called hoarsely as his fingers moved along it. Then, even while the steam roared in blown-down wreaths from the lifting valve, the lever was straight at wide-open again, and I caught my breath as I made out another yellow halo with something that moved behind it in the snow ahead. "It's the freight pulling out of the siding. I can't hold Number Forty up before she's over the switches. I guess we've got to race for it," he said. The fireman did something, and, with a shower of half-burned cinders from her funnel and a mad blast of the whistle, Number Forty pounded on. Heysham's face was paler than before, and the disc of yellow radiance grew nearer and brighter. A faint flash appeared below it, a deeper whistle reached us brokenly, and I remembered two hoarse voices. "They're opening the switches! That's come on," one of them said. "Trying to check the freighter! There'll be an almighty smash if they don't!" The other was apparently Heysham's: "And two rascally confidence men will be skipping for the border with the proceeds of what should have been Ross & Grant's cattle." I said nothing. It did not seem that talking would do any good, and the engineer might not have welcomed my advice. The great light was very close. I could see the cars behind it and hear the grind of brakes, while a man was bent double over a lever where the blaze of our head-lamp ran along the ground. The engine rocked beneath us; there was a heavy lurch as the fore-wheels struck the points; then Robertson laughed exultantly and wiped his greasy face. In front lay only the open prairie and flying snow, while the black shape of the freight-train grew indistinct behind. "It was a pretty close call. Snow blurred the lights, and I guess the gale has broken a wire," he said. "Them folks never expected us, but they were smart with the switches. I'll say that for them." "Good man!" said Heysham. "She's a grand machine. Next to riding home first in a steeplechase I'd like to have the running of a lightning express. Used to do the former once, but now Fate she says to me, 'You stop right there in Winnipeg, and sell other men's cattle for the best price you can.' Lorimer, I think Number Forty has saved that stock for you." Then, shivering as the blasts struck the cab, we crouched, alternately frozen and roasted, in the most sheltered corner we could find, while, feeling the pulse of the great quivering machine with a grimy hand, Robertson hurled his engine along past Carberry and the slumbering Portage, until at last, just before the dawn, sheeted white from head-lamp to tank-rail and dripping below, she came pounding into Winnipeg. "We'll let that slide. I don't like a fuss," said Robertson, when I thanked him. "Glad to do our best for you, Forty and me; and I guess the Company haven't another machine short of the inter-ocean racers that would have brought you in the time." Then we interviewed the freight-traffic manager. "That stock consignment came in hours ago," he informed us. "We haven't unloaded them yet. Anyway, you'll have to hurry and see the police, for we're bound to deliver against shipping bill. Don't know how you would square things after that; and it's not my business. Still, I'll have those cars side-tracked where they can't be got at readily." Next we sought the police, and, after driving half across the city, obtained audience with a magistrate, the result of which was that a detective accompanied us to the station, and then round the hotels, inquiring for the conspirators under several different names. None of them, however, appeared on any hotel register, until we called at a certain well-known hostelry, where our companion was recognized by the clerk. "Yes, I guess we've got the men you want," he said, with unusual civility for a Western hotel clerk. "Just stood some big stock-buyers a high-class breakfast, and you'll find them upstairs. Say, if you want assistance send right down for me." "We'll probably fix them without you," was the smiling answer. "Only two doors to the place, haven't you? I'll leave this man here with you, sending two more to the other one. Walk straight in, Mr. Lorimer, and see the end of the play." We entered the bustling coffee-room, where, at the detective's suggestion, I ordered refreshment, and he placed us at a table behind two pillars. Heysham ate and chatted in high spirits; but, though hungry enough, I could scarcely eat at all, and sat still in irresolute impatience for what seemed an interminable time. I could not get Minnie's worn face out of my memory; and, though her husband's incarceration would probably be a boon to her, I knew she would not think so. Besides, this deliberate trapping of a man I had met on terms of friendship, even after what had happened, was repugnant; and the cattle were safe. There was, however, nothing to do but wait; for, alert and watchful, the representative of the law--who, nevertheless, made an excellent breakfast--kept his eyes fixed on the door, until I would have risen, but that he restrained me, as, followed by several others, Fletcher and a little dark man, besides the one who had cajoled the stock from me, came in. "Stock-buyers!" whispered the detective, thrusting me further back. "Go slow. In the interests of justice, I want to see just what they're going to do." The newcomers seated themselves not far from the other side of the pillar, and I waited feverishly, catching snatches of somewhat vivid general chatter, until one of the party said more loudly: "Now let us come down to business. I've seen the beasts--had to crawl over the cars to do it--and they're mostly trash, though there are some that would suit me, marked hoop L. & J. Say, come down two dollars a head all around, and I'll give you a demand draft on the bank below for the lot." What followed I did not hear, but by-and-by a voice broke through the confused murmuring: "It's a deal!" An individual scribbling in his pocket-book moved toward a writing table. Then the detective stepped forward, beckoning to me. "Sorry to spoil trade, but I've saved your check, gentlemen," he said. "That stock's stolen. Thomas Gorst and other names, Will Stephens, and Thomas Fletcher, would you like to glance at this warrant? No! well, it's no use looking ugly, there are men at either door waiting for you. This is a new trick, Stephens, and you haven't played it neatly." "Euchred!" gasped the little man, while the other scowled at me. "Confusion to you! In another hour I'd have been rustling for the Great Republic. Still, I guess the game's up. Don't be a mule, Fletcher; I'm going quietly." He held out his hands with a resigned air, but when, amid exclamations of wonder, another officer appeared mysteriously from somewhere to slip on the handcuffs, Fletcher hurled a decanter into his face and sprang wildly for the door. He passed within a yard of where I stood. I could have stopped him readily with an outstretched foot or hand, but I did neither, and there was an uproar as he plunged down the stairway with an officer close behind him. The detective saw his other prisoners handcuffed before he followed, and though he said nothing he gazed at me reproachfully. When we stood at the head of the stairs he chuckled as he pointed below. "Your friend hasn't got very far," he said dryly. It was true enough, for in the hall a stalwart constable sat on the chest of a fallen man who apparently strove to bite him, and I saw that the latter was Thomas Fletcher. I had clearly been guilty of a dereliction of the honest citizen's duty, but for all that I did not like the manner in which he said, "Your friend." We returned to the station, and later in the day I entertained Robertson and Heysham with the best luncheon I could procure, when for once we drank success to Number Forty in choice vintages. "I can't sufficiently thank you, Heysham," I said when we shook hands. "Now, advise me about those cattle; and is there anything I can do for you?" "Enjoyed the fun," was the answer, "and you gave me a free passage to Winnipeg. I didn't do it for that reason, but if you like to leave the disposal of those beasts to Ross & Grant, highest-class salesmen, promptest settlements, etc., I shall be pleased to trade with you. Sorry to intrude business, but after all I'm a drummer, and one must earn one's bread and butter--see?" I had much pleasure in agreeing, and Ross & Grant sold those beasts to my complete satisfaction and Jasper's as well, while that was but the beginning of a profitable connection with them, and an acquaintance with Heysham, who was from the first a friend of Aline's and is now sole partner in the firm. Still, though I returned to Fairmead with the proceeds, satisfied, it transpired that Thomas Fletcher was not yet past doing me a further injury. CHAPTER XXIII ON THE GOLD TRAIL Nothing further of moment happened for a time. Fletcher, protesting his innocence, lay awaiting trial with his accomplices, and I had been warned that I should be called on to give evidence, which I was unwilling to do; and, after consulting a solicitor, I endeavored in the meantime to forget the disagreeable affair. Then one morning, when the snow lay thick on the shingles, and the creek in the ravine was frozen almost to the bottom, the fur-wrapped postman brought me a letter from Harry. "I have only good news," it ran. "We have piled up beams and stringers ahead of contract, and sold a number of logs a snow-slide brought us at a good profit, ready for floating down to a new sawmill in the valley. That, however, is by the way. As you know, Johnston has quartz reefs on the brain, and now fancies he is really on the track of one. There have been rumors of rich gold west of the Fraser, and one of our prospecting friends came in almost snow-blind with promising specimens. Nothing will stop Johnston, and I'm bitten myself, so the fact is we're going up to find that gold. Of course, it's the wrong time; but there'll be a rush in spite of that. In short, we want you, and I managed to secure this railroad pass." I showed Aline the letter, and she said, "Why don't you go? I can stay with the Kenyons; they have often asked me. It would be splendid, wouldn't it, if you were to find a gold mine?" I nodded rather gravely. Gold mines worth developing are singularly hard to find, and when found generally need a large capital to work them, while the company financier gets the pickings. The steady following up of one consistent plan more commended itself to me, and prospecting in mid-winter would try the strength of a giant. Still, if my partners were bent on it they would naturally expect me to humor them in the matter, and there was a hope of seeing Grace, so I answered: "I wish they had never heard of it; but, if Mrs. Kenyon will take care of you for a few weeks, I must go." Aline was evidently prepared to bear my absence philosophically, and, perhaps because one of Mrs. Kenyon's sons was a handsome stripling, she spent all day sewing, while I gathered up my belongings and rode over to interview that lady, who had lately come out from Ontario, and professed herself delighted to receive my sister. Thus it happened that one morning before daybreak I stood beside a burdened pack-horse with a load of forty pounds strapped about my shoulders, outside a log shanty, ready to strike out into the snow-bound northern wilderness. Johnston, who was in high spirits, held the bridle of another horse, and Harry whistled gaily as with the assistance of a prospector he strapped a heavy collection of sundries upon its back, while the owner of the shanty watched us with a fine assumption of pity. "Lots of gold up yonder! Well, I guess there is," he said. "But maybe you'll get mighty tired before you find it, and this isn't quite the season to go sloshing round glaciers and snow-fields. Don't I wish I was coming? Can't say I do. Go slow and steady is my motto, and you'll turn more gold out of the earth with the plough than you ever will with the drill, and considerably easier, too. There's another outfit yonder ahead of you, and a third one coming along. Look in this way if you come back hungry." Johnston smote the pack-horse, and there was a clash of rifles, axes, tin pans and kettles as we moved off into the forest, which was free of undergrowth here. "That was a sensible man," I observed. "Harry, I can't help feeling that this gold hunting is not our business, and no good will come of it." "Then you needn't say so," Harry answered shortly. "If I were troubled with old women's presentiments I should keep them to myself. The man we have with us knows the country well, and from what the other half revealed we ought to find something. I'm wondering who got up the other expedition, unless it's Ormond. The Day Spring is doing even worse lately, and the Colonel has gone down to Vancouver to raise fresh funds or sell it to a company, which would be rough on the company. Your uncle and your cousin are wintering there." This gave me food for thought, and I trudged on, dreamily noticing how the tramp of feet and the clatter of metal broke through the ghostly silence, while half-seen figures of man and beast appeared and vanished among the trunks, and the still woods seemed listening to our march. I knew that in the old days the feet of a multitude had worn trails through these ranges as they pressed on toward the treasure of Cassiar and Caribou, and that the bones of many were strewn broadcast across the region into which we were venturing. Perhaps it was because of the old Lancashire folk-lore I once had greedily listened to, but I could not altogether disbelieve in presentiments, and my dislike to the journey deepened until Johnston's voice rose clearly through the frosty air: "There's shining gold in heaps, I'm told, by the banks of Sacramento." The rest was the usual forecastle gibberish, but, and it may have been that our partner being born with the wanderer's spirits could give meaning to the immemorial calling that speaks to the hearts of the English through the rude chanteys of the sea, something stirred me when the refrain rose up exultantly, "Blow, boys, blow, for Californio, for there's shining gold and wealth untold on the sunny Sacramento." "Where did he learn the trick of it?" said Harry. "There's certainly nothing in the words, and yet that song takes hold. I dare say many a poor deserter devil has marched to his death to it. The seamen came up with the vanguard when they found gold in Caribou. Wake up, and ring it out, Ralph. A tribute to the fallen. 'Hey ho, Sacramento!'" I have heard that chantey since. On certain occasions Harry brings out its final chords on the Fairmead piano with a triumphant crash that has yet a tremble in it, and each time it conjures up a vision of spectral pines towering through the shadow that veils the earth below, while above the mists the snow lies draped in stainless purity waiting for the dawn. Then I know that Harry, who is only a tiller of the soil, had learned in the book of nature to grasp the message of that scene, and interpret it through the close of a seaman's ballad. The full story of our journey would take long to tell, and a recital of how we struggled through choked forests, floundered amid the drifts in the passes, or crawled along the icy rock-slope's side, might prove monotonous. We left the ashes of our camp-fires in many a burnt brulée and among the boulders of lonely lakes, but though, after one pack-horse fell over a precipice, provisions ran out rapidly, we failed to find the gorge the prospector talked about; or rather, because the whole land was fissured by them, we found many gorges, but each in succession proved to be the wrong one. Then we held consultations, and the prospector suggested that we should return and try again in the spring, to which Harry agreed. Johnston, however, would not hear of this, and said with a strange assurance: "I suppose it's the gambler's spirit, but I've gone prospecting somewhat too often before, and if one only keeps on long enough the luck is bound to turn. This time I seem to know it's going to. Still, I'll fall in with the majority. Ralph, as head of the firm you have the casting vote." Then, and I always regretted it, I said: "We should never have come at all. No sensible person goes prospecting in mid-winter; but, being here, we had better spend three days more. That means further reduced rations, but if we find nothing by the third noon we'll turn back forthwith." The others agreed, and on the second night we lay in camp in a burnt forest. We were all tired and hungry, and--for Johnston was silent--a melancholy settled down upon the camp, while I lay nearly frozen under two blankets, watching a half-moon sail slowly above the fretted ridge of firs. At last Johnston spoke: "To-morrow is the fatal day. Ralph has the look of an unsatisfied wolf; you are hungry, Harry; we are all hungry, and such is mortal man that at this moment my soul longs more than all things for even the most cindery flapjack that ever came out of a camp cook's frying-pan. Still, I'm not going home 'returned empty' this time, and fragments of a forgotten verse keep jingling through my head. It's an encouraging stanza, to the effect that, though often one gets weary, the long, long road has a turning, and there's an end at last. It would be particularly nice if it ended up in a quartz reef that paid for the stamping, especially when one might square up some of one's youthful misdeeds with the proceeds. Ever heard me moralizing, Ralph? The question is whether one can ever square the reckoning of such foolishness." "I haven't thought about it," I answered, remembering how when Johnston harangued the railroaders' camp, banjo in hand, he would mix up the wildest nonsense with sentiment. "But it's an axiom, isn't it, that a man must pay for his fun, and if you will go looking for gold mines in winter you can't expect to be comfortable." "He hasn't thought about it," said Johnston. "Ralph, all things considered, you are a lucky individual. What can man want better than to win his way to fortune, and the love of a virtuous maid, tramping behind his oxen under clear sunshine down the half-mile furrow, looking only for the harvest, and sowing hope with the grain. There's a restfulness about it that appeals to me. Some men are born with a chronic desire for rest." "I don't think you were among them," I answered irritably; "and there's precious little rest in summer on the prairie;" but Johnston continued: "I too loved a virtuous maiden, and, stranger still, I fancy she loved me, but unfortunately there was one of the other kind too, and the result thereof was as usual--disaster. I've been trying to remedy that disaster--did you ever wonder where my dividends went to? Well, there is a reason why I'm anxious to find a mine. If we do, I'll tell you the sequel. Otherwise--and things do happen unexpectedly--there's a leather case in my pocket, and in case of accident I hope my partners will act on what they find in it. Perhaps some one in England would bless them if they did." He ceased, and some time later a vibratory monotone commenced far up under the stars, gathering strength and volume until it rolled in long pulsations down the steep ranges' side. "It's more common in spring," remarked the prospector, "but some ice bridge has busted under pressure, and the snow is coming down. There'll be most astonishing chaos in the next valley." I cannot say how long the great harmony lasted, for we listened spellbound, unheeding the passage of time, while the cedars trembled about us as the tremendous diapason leaped from peak to peak and the valleys flung back the echoes in majestic antiphones. There was the roar of sliding gravel, the crash of rent-down forest, and the rumble of ice and snow, each mingling its own note, softened by distance, in the supernatural orchestra, until the last echoes died away and there was a breathless hush. "We have heard great things," said Johnston; "what did the surveyor say? Not an ounce of the ruin is wasted; the lower Fraser wheat-lands are built that way. There's a theme for a master to write a Benedicite. Grinding ice chanting to the thunders of the snow, and the very cedars listening in the valleys. Well, I'll make him a free present of the fancy; we're merely gold miners, or we hope to be. Good-night, and remember the early start to-morrow." He was up long before the late dawn, and it was still early when we waded scarcely knee-deep among the boulders of a curiously shrunken stream. Smooth-ground rocks cumbered its bed, and the muddy water that gurgled among them was stained red instead of the usual glacial green, while, as I wondered where the rest had gone, the prospector remarked, "These blamed rivers are low in winter, but I never saw one quite so ashamed of itself as this. It's the snow-slide we heard last night damming the valley, and there'll be a rush worth seeing when it does break through." I had occasion afterward to learn that he was right, but meanwhile we followed the banks of the river up-stream, still looking for the gorge. Several times the prospector fancied that he identified a transverse opening, and then confessed that he was not even sure of the river, because, as he said, there were so everlasting many of them. Johnston grew more and more uneasy, until, when I called a halt as the sun bore south, he looked at me appealingly, and I agreed to continue until there was just time enough left to reach our previous camp by nightfall. So we held on, and finally he turned to me. "I've played the last game and lost it," he said. "Well, you kept your part of the bargain; I'll keep mine. It's take up the home-trail, boys, we're going back to camp." He said it lightly, but I could tell that he felt the disappointment bitterly, while even I, who had expected nothing, wheeled the pack-horse around with an angry growl. It was toward dusk when we neared the creek we had crossed in the morning, but it was no longer shrunken. Evidently the dam of débris had given way, for it roared in full flood now, and it was with anxiety that we quickened our pace. The hillsides loomed black out of chilly mist that wrapped the serried ranks of climbing pines in their smoky folds. It was not yet dark in the valley, but the light was dying fast, and a bitter breeze swept down a darkening gorge, bringing with it the moan of an unseen forest until presently this was lost in the voice of the frothing torrent before us. There was neither fuel nor shelter on that side, and we determined to attempt the crossing, for, as Harry said, "Hunger alone is bad, but hunger and cold together are worth an effort to avoid." The prospector waded in foremost, sounding with a long fir pole. The stream swirled in white wreaths about his waist, and Johnston turned to speak to me, standing a few yards nearer with the ripples at his knee; then I grasped the pack-horse's bridle and forced it into the water. The beast carried a heavy load, including most of our blankets, and almost the entire balance of our provisions. A rusty rifle was slung behind my shoulders, besides tools and utensils, and Johnston was similarly caparisoned, so I felt my way cautiously as the ice-cold waters frothed higher about me. Near by, the creek poured into the main river, which swept with a great black swirling into the gloom of the forest. All went well until we gained the center of the stream, and then a loose stone turned under the horse's hoof, or it sank into a deeper hollow, for there was a plunge and a flounder, and, jerked sideways by the bridle, I went down headforemost into the stream. This was a common enough accident, but the bridle slipped from my fingers, and when some seconds later I stood erect, gasping, with the torrent racing past me, the horse was swimming down-stream a dozen yards away, while Johnston struggled in that direction to intercept it. "Let it go!" I roared. "Water's deepening; you'll be sucked out into the main river," and caught the answer, "All our provisions there!" after which there was a confused shouting, which ended in the warning, "For the Lord's sake, Johnston, look out for yourself!" I could see that our best chance of rendering assistance would be to cross and try to overtake them from the further bank, and a few seconds later I was clattering over the shingle with the prospector close behind me. But we were already too late. When, waist-deep, I floundered down a shingle spit, the half-submerged beast, handicapped by its burden, swept past out of reach, and I caught a momentary glimpse of a wet white face and a man's uplifted arm before a tumbling ridge splashed up and hid them. "Couldn't never overtake them, but it's running slacker in the river," the prospector said. We smashed through a willow thicket which covered a little promontory, and then, staring wide-eyed under the branches, I saw an indistinct object lurch unevenly into the froth of a rapid, and so pass the next instant out of sight. Whether it was man or horse no one could say. "He's gone," said the grizzled prospector. "Many another has gone the same way. Find them! Of course, we'll search, but I guess it's hopeless. Don't think your partner was great on swimming, and he was loaded heavy. Come on, daylight's going." For a moment I felt limp and abject, then in savage fury I broke through barberry branches and thorny brakes, fell into the river, and blundered down a shoaler portion of its channel, until I brought up breathless on the verge of a deep boiling pool, while even as I stared across it the last of the day went out. "It sounds hard," said the prospector, "but you can't do nothin'. No man could make his way through this bush in the dark, and it wouldn't be any good. Your partner never got so far. We can only say we're sorry, and strike back for camp." He was right, though I think I cursed him for cowardice then. We struggled on through a horrible chaos of tangled forest, but each time when, peering out between the dark fir branches, I cried aloud, the blackness returned no answer save the boom of angry water. So, bruised, wet, and bleeding, I struggled back toward the fatal creek, and found that my lips would not frame words to answer when Harry said: "It was horrible, Ralph. I'd give all our hopes and prospects to have the poor fellow safe again. But there's no help for it, and somehow I fancy it was a release. You remember how he looked when he said that this was his last march?" We lighted a fire, dried our garments and the blankets that were left us, then Harry flung aside the battered camp spider, and drew out a flask. "Ten pounds of flour, five of reistit pork--and that's what he gave his life for. No, I don't think I could eat anything to-night. Here, empty half of this, Ralph, you're shaking all over," and Harry lifted his hat as he touched the metal cup with his lips: "Good rest to you, comrade," he said. I choked over the mouthful of spirits, which I needed badly enough, and then sat shivering wide awake beside the fire through the long bitter night, while when at daybreak I called the others, they both rose with a suspicious readiness. For hours we wandered along the river bank, but found nothing whatever beyond conclusive evidence that even the best swimmer could hardly have come out of that icy flood alive. Then dejectedly we strapped up our traps, and turned our backs on the dismal camp. We halted and looked back a moment on the crest of the divide. "The beast was badly played out," the guide said, "the man was loaded. Thirty pounds and a rifle--and he couldn't hardly swim. He's gone out on the lonely trail, but whether there's gold at the end of it no living man can say. Maybe you'll find out some day when you follow him." Then in mournful silence we turned away, and that night we ate our last mouthful in another valley, and forgot the gnawing hunger in broken sleep, through which a wet face persistently haunted me. When we arose there was not even a handful of caked flour in the damp bag, and during a discussion the miner, in reply to Harry's statement, said it did not follow that there were no deer or bear in the country because we had not seen them. Men tramping noisily behind shod horses do not generally chance upon the shy deer, he pointed out; while if two previous hunts had proved unsuccessful, we might do better on the third. It was at least four days' march to the nearest dwelling, and I agreed with his observation that no starving men could march for four days through such a country. So, to enhance our chances, the company divided, agreeing to meet again, if they killed nothing, at the same spot by sunset. It was with a heavy heart and my belt drawn tighter that I left the others, carrying a loaded rifle, which seemed to increase considerably in weight. Now, even well north in British Columbia, especially if near the Pacific, there are favored valleys sunk deep among the ranges and open to the west which escape the harder frost, and as this was one of them I determined to search the half-frozen muskegs for bear. The savage grizzly lives high under the ragged peaks, the even fiercer cinnamon haunts the thinly-covered slopes below, but I had no desire to encounter either of them, for the flesh of the little vegetable-feeding black bear is by no means unpalatable, especially to starving men. So I prowled from swamp to swamp, seeing nothing but the sickly trunks which grew up out of thinly frozen slime, while no sound made by either bird or beast broke the impressive silence of the primeval solitude. At last, when the day was nearly spent, I crawled toward a larger muskeg, which spread out from a running creek, and knelt in congealed mire behind a blighted spruce, listening intently, for a sound I recognized set my heart beating. All around, dwindling in gradations as the soil grew wetter, the firs gave place to willows, and there was mud and ice cake under them. Peering hard into the deepening shadows, I saw what I had expected--a patch of shaggy fur. This was one of the small black bears, and the creature was grubbing like a hog among the decaying weed for the roots of the wild cabbage, which flourishes in such places. Some of these bears hibernate in winter, I believe, but by no means all, for the bush settlers usually hunt them then for their fur. No summer peltry is worth much. I was only a fair shot with the rifle, and the strip of black, half seen between the branches, would prove a difficult mark in an uncertain light, while it was probable that three lives might answer for the bear's escape. So I waited, aching in every joint, while my hands grew stiffer on the rifle stock, but still the beast refrained from making a target of itself, until, knowing that it would soon be too dark to shoot, I had to force the crisis. A strange sound might lead the quarry to show himself an instant before taking flight, and so I moistened my blue lips and whistled shrilly. A plump rotund body rose from the weeds, sixty yards away, I guessed, and I pitched up the rifle, dropping my left elbow well over my knee and steadying the cold barrel against the tree. Sixty yards and a two-foot target, what need for such precautions? one hears the marksmen say, and when stalking sand-hill cranes in warm sunlight now I can agree with them. But I was nearly famished, stiff with cramp and cold, and shooting then for bare existence. With a half-articulate prayer I increased the pressure on the trigger as the fore-bead trembled--it would tremble--across the fur. The bear was clearly suspicious. He would be off the next moment, the trigger was yielding, and with a sudden stiffening of every muscle I added the final pressure as the notch in the rear-sight and the center of the body came for a moment in line. I heard no explosion--one rarely does when watching the result intently--but there was a red flash from the tilting muzzle, and the heel-plate jarred my shoulder. Then I growled with satisfaction as almost simultaneously I heard a sound there was no mistaking, the crunch of a forty-four bullet smashing through flesh and bone. The bear was down, straggling among the weed, and plunging straight through the muskeg I fell upon it, and, after burning another cartridge with the muzzle against the flesh, I drove the long knife in to the hilt. Next I rose stiffly upright, ensanguined, with wild gasps of thankfulness, and sent a hoarse cry ringing across the woods, after which I sat down on the fur and stabbed the lifeless brute twice again, for I was filled with a childish fear that even now it might escape me. This was needless, and even barbarous, but to one in my position it was natural. CHAPTER XXIV THE BRINK OF ETERNITY A shout came down from the range side, and when the others joined me even Harry surveyed the bear with wolfish eyes, while it did not take long to perform what the French-Canadians call the _éventrer_, and, smeared red all over, we bore the dismembered carcass into camp. We feasted like wild beasts--we were frankly animal then--and it was not until hunger was satisfied that we remembered the empty place. Then we drew closer together, and, though it was mere fancy, the gloom of the forest seemed to thicken round the circle of fading firelight, as Harry said: "He was the life of the party at either work or feast. Ralph, we shall miss him sorely; a sound sleep to him!" No one spoke again, and, drawing the two remaining blankets across the three, we sank into our couches of spruce twigs and slept soundly. It was after midnight, by the altitude of the moon, when the prospector roused me, and I sat up with chattering teeth, for there was a bitter wind. "Don't you hear it?--there--again!" he said. I was not quite awake, and, when a tramp of footsteps came faintly out of the obscurity, at first I felt only elation. Johnston had escaped and followed our trail, I thought. This was short-lived, and was replaced by superstitious dread, for there could be no human being within leagues of us, and yet the ghostly footsteps drew steadily nearer and nearer. Even the miner, who had spent half his life in the ranges seemed uneasy, for he stretched out his hand for the rifle, and Harry started upright as a challenge rang through the stillness. "Stop there, and call out what you want, whoever you are!" There was no answer from the silence, only the footsteps still approaching, and Harry looked at me curiously when the miner called again. "Keep back--tell us who you are before we fire on you!" Then a hoarse voice reached us: "If you have nothing to eat it won't matter much if you do. We are three starving men, and past doing anybody an injury." "Come forward," I shouted. "We have food here," and three figures staggered into the glow of the fire. The foremost seemed familiar, and I could not repress a start when the red blaze leaped up, for Geoffrey Ormond stood before us leaning heavily on a rifle. His face was thin and furrowed, his coat badly rent, and his very attitude spoke of utter weariness. "Lorimer, by all that's wonderful!" he exclaimed. "You were not exactly friendly the last time we met. In fact, I almost fancied you wished to ride over me. I hope we're not intruding, but we're most confoundedly hungry." The last words were unnecessary, for the way the men behind him glanced at the meat showed it plainly enough. "I must apologize for a fit of temper," I said, holding out my hand, "but it happened near the settlements, and old quarrels don't hold up here. We have food to give you, and we hope that you will consider yourselves welcome." They certainly did so, for more bear steaks were laid on the embers, and while one of the newcomers, stripping a cartridge, rubbed powder grains into the flesh another produced a few of the fern roots which in times of scarcity the Siwash Indians eat. When at last they had finished, one of the party, pushing back his fur cap, turned to me. "You ought to remember me, Lorimer," he said. "Of course I do, Calvert. Didn't you hire my horses, once?" I replied. "You must take my meaning the right way when I say that I'm pleased to see you here. But what brought you and the others into this desolation?" Calvert's eyes twinkled. "The same thing that brought you--stories of unlimited treasure. When I heard them I left my few machines--they were not working well, and humbly craved the autocratic president of the Day Spring mine's permission to join this expedition. The Day Spring was not prospering in such a degree that we could afford to ignore the rumors--eh, Geoffrey?" "You may put it so," said Ormond quietly. "But Colonel Carrington is your acknowledged chief, and you owe him due respect." "Well," the narrator continued, "we came up, six sanguine men and one despondent mule, which showed its wisdom by breaking its tether and deserting. I gather that these expeditions are generally rough on cattle. Then we lost our way, and, provisions growing scanty, divided the party, three returning and three holding on, Geoffrey and I, unfortunately, among the latter. We got lost worse than ever on the return journey, and were steering south, we hoped, at the last gasp, so to speak, when we found you. That's about all, but, if it's a fair question, did you find any sign of gold?" "Not a sign," I answered. "Yours was a triple combination," Ormond said. "Where's your cheerful partner; I liked him. Ah, excuse an unfortunate question--a difference of opinion most probably?" "No," I answered. "We never had a difference of opinion since poor Johnston joined us. He lies somewhere in a nameless river--we lost him crossing a treacherous ford two days ago." Ormond looked startled for a moment, then he bent his head and answered with a kindly glance toward me: "He was a good comrade, and you have my deep sympathy. May I say that sometimes I fancied your friend could tell a painful story, and in endeavoring to forget it made the most of the present." "You are probably right," said Harry. "He hinted as much, but no one will learn that story now. He took his secret with him, and the river guards it." "It's an old tale," said Ormond gravely. "The way into this country was opened by the nameless unfortunate. After all, where could a man rest better than among the ranges through which he had found a pathway. Are not these dark pines grander than any monument? Poor Johnston! Lorimer, I wonder, if we knew all, whether we should pity him?" His face grew somber as he spoke, but it was Ormond who presently dissipated the gloom by a humorous narrative of the doings of the vanished mule, after which we went to sleep again. A pale blink of sunshine shone down when we started south the next day, for we had agreed to march in company, but the weary leagues lengthened indefinitely, and there was still no sign of the eagerly expected trail leading to Macdonald's Crossing, until, when we almost despaired of finding it, one of the party assured us that we should reach it before the second nightfall. During the morning Ormond and I lagged behind the others as we wound with much precaution along the sides of an almost precipitous descent. He limped from some small injury to his foot, made worse by exposure, and as it happened a passing mention of Colonel Carrington stirred up the old bitterness. Why should this man enjoy so much while I had so little, I thought. I was handicapped by poverty, and his wealth lay like an impassable barrier between Grace and myself. Then, though I tried hard, I could not drive out the reflection that all would have been different if he had not found our camp. Our partner had gone down in the black pool; we could not save him, but chance had made it easy to succor the one man who could bring me sorrow in his necessity. Then, as I struggled to shake off the feeling of sullen resentment, Ormond perhaps noticed my preoccupation, for he remarked: "In other circumstances how we should enjoy this prospect, Lorimer!" We halted a few minutes, and I agreed with him as I glanced about me. A great slope of snow ran upward above us, and as far as eye could see there was a white confusion of glittering ranges. The footprints of our comrades wound in zig-zags among deep drifts and outcrops of ice-touched rock across the foreground, and perhaps twenty feet below the ledge on which we stood a smooth slide of frozen snow dropped steeply toward the edge of a precipice, through a gully in which we could see the tops of the climbing pines far beneath. A few small clumps of bushes and spruce rose out of this snow. "It's an awkward place for a lame man, but if we wait much longer we will lose the others," said Ormond, pointing to the distant figures struggling across the dazzling incline. He moved a few steps, then there was a stumble and a sudden cry. I saw him for a moment slipping down the slanted surface of the rock, and when I reached the edge he hung apparently with one foot on a slippery stone, and his left hand clawing wildly at the snow, which yielded under it. I think his other fingers were in a crevice. The fall might not be dangerous in itself, but it seemed impossible that anybody launched upon that declivity could escape a glissade over the precipice. This struck me in an instant and, grasping a shrub which grew in a crevice, I held out my right hand toward him. "Get hold, lift yourself with your foot, and I'll drag you up!" I said. He made a desperate effort, for I could see the veins swell on his forehead, but it was the injured foot which had found hold, and when his chest was level with the edge, still clawing at the treacherous covering, he commenced to slip back again. "Can't do it. Let go, before I pull you over too!" he gasped. One reads that in cases of imminent peril men's memories have been quickened and past events rise up before them, but nothing of this kind happened to me, for as far as recollection serves I was conscious only that I could not recover my own balance now, and that there were great beads of sweat on the forehead of the man struggling for his life below who stared up with starting eyes, while my right arm seemed slowly being drawn out of its socket. So I fought for breath, and held on, while I fancy Ormond choked out again: "You fool, let go!" and then, with slow rending, the roots of the shrub gave way, and we plunged downward together. Ormond was undermost, and he must have struck an uncovered rock heavily, for I heard a thudding shock, and the next moment, driving my heels into the snow, I swept down the incline at a speed which threatened to drive the little sense left in me completely away. Nevertheless, I noticed that Ormond rushed downward head foremost several yards away, and there was a loud crash when he charged through a juniper thicket, and then struck violently against a spruce, which brought him up almost on the verge of the gully. By good luck I slid into a clump of stout saplings, and presently rose to my knees, blinking about me in a dazed fashion. One thing, however, was evident--any rash move would launch me over the sheer fall. Ormond lay still against the slender trunk, and several minutes passed before he raised his head. There was a red stain on the snow beside him, and his voice was uneven. "You are not a judicious man, Lorimer," he said. "I'm infinitely obliged to you, but no one would have blamed you for letting go." "We'll let that pass," I answered shortly. "I'm glad I did not. We are in an awkward place, and the first thing is to decide how to get out of it." There was a wry smile on Ormond's face when he spoke again: "It's certainly a perilous position, and a somewhat unusual one. You and I--of all men--to be hung up here together on the brink of eternity. Still I, at least, am doubtful whether I'll ever get out again; there's something badly broken inside of me." The hot blood surged to my forehead, for I understood what he meant, but that was a side issue, and, answering nothing, I scanned the slope for some way of ascent. There was none, and nothing without wings could have gained the valley. Ormond, too, realized this. "All we can do, Lorimer," he said, "is to wait until our friends assist us. In the meantime you might fire your rifle to suggest that they hurry!" He spoke very thickly. I scraped the snow from the slung weapon's muzzle, for this will sometimes burst a gun, and then a red flash answered the ringing report from the opposite slope, and presently a cry reached us from the foremost of the clambering figures. "Hold on! We're coming to get you out!" it said. Now most luckily we had brought several stout hide ropes with us, which was a rather unusual procedure. The British Columbian mountaineer will carry a flour bag over moraine and glacier trusting only to the creeper spikes on his heels, and in objecting to the extra weight our guide said derisively: "We've quite enough to pack already, and I guess you don't want to dress us up with a green veil, a crooked club with a spike in the end of it, and fathoms of spun hemp, like them tourist fellows bring out to sit in the woods with." Nevertheless, I insisted, and now we were thankful for the coupled lariats. They could not lower them directly toward me because of a tree, and when the end lay resting on the snow several yards away I braced myself to attempt the risky traverse. The slope was pitched as steeply as the average roof, and there was ice beneath the frost-dried powder that slid along it. Leaving the rifle behind, I drove the long blade of my knife deep down for a hand-hold before the first move. "Lie flat and wriggle!" called a man above. "Jam the steel into the hard cake beneath!" and with the cold sweat oozing from my hair I proceeded to obey him. How long I took to cover the distance we could not afterward agree, but once I lay prone for minutes together, with both arms buried in the treacherous snow, which was slipping under me, and the end of the lariat a foot or two away. Then with a snake-like wriggle I grasped it, and there was a cry of relief from the watchers. I got a bight around Ormond's shoulders, and after some difficulty fastened it. One cannot use ordinary knots on hide. Ready hands gathered in the slack, and my rival was drawn up swiftly, while they guided him diagonally around instead of under the jutting shelf from which we had fallen. Then the end came down again, and with it fast about my shoulders I went back for the rifle, after which they hauled me up, filling my neck and both sleeves with snow in the process. Though Harry laughed, his voice trembled when, as I gained the platform, he exclaimed: "Well done, partner! You fought gamely, and if you had eaten another bear we should never have landed you." Harry, I think, had been at one time a trout fisher. Ormond, however, after making an effort to rise, lay limply in the snow. "I'm very sorry to trouble you, but I can't get up," he said. "Something gone wrong internally and my leg's broken. I'm much afraid you will have to carry me." It was an arduous undertaking, and even before starting it was necessary to lash his limbs together with a rifle between them by way of splint. After this we spent two hours traversing the next mile or so, and my shoulders ached when with intense satisfaction we found firm earth beneath our feet once more. Ormond was distinctly heavy, and that region is sufficiently difficult to traverse even by a wholly unburdened man, while, hampered by his weight, the two days' march to the crossing might be lengthened indefinitely. Still, we could not leave him there, and, framing two spruce poles with branches between them into a litter, we struggled forward under our burden. We were five partly fed and worn-out men in all, and we carried the litter alternately by twos and fours, finding the task a trying one either way. Probably we could never have accomplished it except under pressure of necessity. The bronze already had faded in the sufferer's face, his cheeks had fallen in, but though the jolting must have caused him severe pain at times he rarely complained. Instead, he would smile at us encouragingly, or make some pitiful attempt at a jest, and I think it was chiefly to please us that he choked down a few spoonfuls of the very untempting stew we forced on him. Once, too, when I tried to feed him his eyes twinkled, though his lips were blanched, as he said: "We are playing out our parts in a most unconventional fashion. Ralph Lorimer, are you sure that it is not poison you are giving me?" Perhaps he would have said more if I had followed his lead, but I did not do so, and these two veiled references were all that passed between us on the subject that most concerned us until almost the end. It was late one night, but there was a beaten trail beneath us and we knew we were running a race for Ormond's life, when at last a glimmer of light appeared among the trunks and the sound of hurrying water increased in volume. We quickened our dragging pace, and when Harry pounded violently on the door of a log building an old man with bent shoulders and long white hair stood before us. "Ye'll come in, and very welcome," he said. "I heard ye coming down the trail. Four men with a load between them--where are the lave o' ye? The best that's in Hector's shanty is waiting ye." There was an air of dignity about him which struck me, and I had heard prospectors and surveyors talk about mad Hector of the crossing. When we carried our burden in he knelt and laid back Ormond's under jacket of deerskin before he saw to the broken leg with a dexterity that evinced a knowledge of elementary surgery. "Is this going to be the end of me?" asked Ormond languidly, and the old man, turning his head, glanced toward me in warning as he answered: "That's as the Lord wills. Yere friends will need to be careful. The leg's no set that ill, but I'm suspecting trouble inside o' ye. With good guidance ye should get over it. Lay him gently yonder while I slip on a better lashing." He crammed the stove with fuel until the hot pipe trembled to the draught, and soon set a bounteous meal before us--fresh venison and smoked salmon with new bread and dried berries--while he also prepared a broth for Ormond, who drank a little greedily, and then lapsed into slumber. I was for pushing on after a brief rest, but Hector thought differently. "Neither man nor horse has been drowned while I kept this crossing," he said, "and by the help o' Providence no man will. Can ye no hear the river roaring to the boulders, and would ye have her wash ye out mangled out o' human image into the bottomless pool? Maybe ye'll no like the passage in the light o' dawn, but ye cannot cross till then." He spoke with a tone of certainty, and knowing that only those who live by them can predict the eccentric rise and fall of these torrents I was glad to defer to his judgment. It was only for Ormond's sake that we desired to press on at all, and Harry observed truthfully, "It wouldn't do the poor fellow any good to drown him." It was late, but we still loitered about the stove, and when once the old man stood in the open doorway glancing toward the foaming rush of the river that I could see beyond him, as though to gauge its force by the roar which now filled the room, one of the party remarked: "Old Hector's a curious critter, with a kink inside his brain, but there's many a free miner owes a big debt to him. He knows each trick of the river; the Siwash say it talks to him, and when he says clear passage I guess you can cross. I've heard that the Roads and Trails Authorities allow him a few dollars subsidy, but he doesn't stay here for that. He was mixed up in some ugly doings in the gold days, and reckons he's squaring it by keeping the crossing. And I guess he comes pretty near doing it, too, for there's a good many lives to his credit, if that counts for anything, and I'm figuring it does." He ceased as our host returned and said, "She's falling half-a-foot an hour, an' for the sake of the sick man I'll see ye over with the break of dawn. Got hurt on the gold trail--ye need not tell me. There's no a sand bar or gully from Fraser till Oominica Hector did not travel thirty years ago. They came up in their thousands then, an' only the wolf an' eagle ken where the maist o' them lie." "That's true," said the grizzled prospector. "I was in the last of it when Caribou was played out and we struck for the Peace country and Cassiar," and Hector stared past him through the smoke wreaths with vacant eyes that seemed to look far back into bygone years. "There was red gold to be had for the seeking then," he said. "We won it lightly, an' we spent it ill. Ay wine an' cards, an' riot' when they brought the painted women in, until the innocent blood was spilt, and Hector came down from Quesnelle with the widow's black curse upon him--but it was his partner shot Cassell in the back. The widow's curse; and that's maybe why Mary Macdonal' lies long years her lone among the hills o' Argyle." "Tell us how you cleaned out the Hydraulic Company, Hector," said the prospector, and added aside to me, "I'm switching him off onto another track. He's not cheerful on this one, and it's hardly fair play to listen while he gives himself away." Then we heard true stories of the old mad days, tales of grim burlesque and sordid tragedy, which have never been written, and would not be credited if they were, though their faint echoes may still be heard between the Willow River and Ashcroft on the Thompson. Long afterward when Harry and I discussed that experience he said, "Say little about Hector; one must know these mountains well to understand him. I never saw any one quite like him. He spoke like a Hebrew prophet, and we obeyed him as though he were an emperor." I slept in a splendid dry blanket under a bearskin which Hector spread over me, and a dim light was in the eastern sky when the old man roused me, saying, "If ye are stout at the paddle we'll try the river noo." The others were growling drowsily as they rose to their feet, and I saw that Ormond's gaze was fixed on me meaningly. "You'll take me over now won't you, Lorimer?" he said as I bent over him. "I feel that each hour is precious, and I'm longing above all things to see Miss Carrington before I go. It is for her own sake partly." I had forgotten our rivalry, and my voice was thick as I promised, while Ormond sighed before he answered faintly: "It might have been different, Lorimer. It's a pity we didn't know each other better three years ago." CHAPTER XXV ORMOND'S LAST JOURNEY "Launch her down handy. Bring the sick man along!" called some one outside; and when we carried Ormond out I saw the others running a big Siwash canoe down over the shingle, and the dark pines rising spires of solid blackness against the coming day. It was bitterly cold, and white mist hung about them, while huge masses of rock rose through the smoke of the river, whose clamor filled all the hollow. None of us quite liked the task before us, for man's vigor is never at its highest in the chilly dawn; but I remembered Ormond's eagerness to continue the journey. So we laid him gently on our blankets in the waist, and thrust out the long and beautifully modeled craft, which was of the type that the coastwise Siwash use when hunting the fur seals. I knelt grasping the forward paddle until Hector, who held the steering blade, said: "If ye'll follow my bidding I'll land ye safe across. Together! Lift her all!" The light shell surged forward to the sturdy stroke, for several of those behind me were masters of the paddle, and as I plied my blade I felt with a thrill that it was good to fight the might of the river in such a company. Snowy wreaths boiled high about the shearing prow, I could hear the others catch their breath with a hiss, and once more after a heavy thud the cedar floor seemed to raise itself beneath me and leap to the impulse, while, with a hardening of every muscle, I swept the leaf-shaped blade outward ready for the dip. There was spray in my eyes, and bearing down on us through it a boulder, with dim trunks opening and closing beyond; then I saw only the bird's head on the prow, for some one cried behind that my stroke was slow, and by the rush of foam and the shock of thudding blow I knew that the others' blades were whirling like flails. The rock loomed nearer, the river piled against its battered feet, and I hazarded a glance over my shoulder, which showed me a row of set faces turned toward the bow, with stout arms and the flats of redwood blades swung out before them, until with a swing of shoulders the heads went down, and a white wave burst apart before the stern. Looking forward the next instant I saw that the rock lay right athwart our way; but the others had blind confidence in our pilot. "Back ye on the up-stream; drive her yere hardest, down!" he called. Then the current strove to wrest my dipped blade away, as with the paddles on one side held fast by sinewy wrists the craft turned as on a pivot, and lurching on the backwash whirled past the stone, after which the cry was: "Drive her all!" and we shot away on the eddy with our faces turned slantwise up-stream. This was well, for close below the whole weight of the current hurled itself in fury upon a ragged barrier, and I understood that Hector had calculated our impetus to a quarter fathom. There was a fight to reach the landing, and with any other than the crew behind me the river might have won; but four of the lean hard men had fought many such battles, and though the trunks raced up-stream we closed with the shore until the shock of the bows on shingle flung me backward. Our next proceeding was to portage a smaller craft several hundred yards up the river, for Hector to make the return passage, and then, as we thanked him for the food and the small comforts for Ormond that he forced on us, the old man said: "Ye're very welcome, an' I'm not wanting yere dollars. Will I take payment for a bit of dried venison, when the Almighty freely gives me all the good fish in the river an' the deer in the woods? Go, an' haste ye; yon man is needing the aid of science." Then he turned away, and watched us from the shingle as we took up Ormond's litter, and the last that we ever saw of him was a tall lonely figure which vanished into the gray smoke of the river as we plodded up the climbing trail. Still, even now, that lonely figure rises up before me. "Old Hector tells strange things when the fit takes him. Used to speak our language--it's curious, he talks like some of them emigrants from the old country now," a man beside me said. "But you can stake your last dollar he isn't mad. No, sir, it's quaint he is. I've had my voyageur training in the frozen country under the H. B. C, but when it's dead knowledge of a rapid he'll beat me easy. Some day the river will get him, and then we'll miss him bad." In due time we reached a shingle-roofed settlement, where a man who had some local reputation for skill in healing horses examined our companion. "He's pretty well played out," he said. "Ship him straight down to Vancouver in a sleeping-car, and don't you let any of them bush-doctors get their claws on him. I know when a job's too big for me, and this is one. You'll fetch up in time for the Pacific mail if you start now in a wagon." "What did that fellow say?" asked Ormond, and when I judiciously modified the horse-doctor's verdict he smiled understandingly. "That's a wise man," he said, "and I can guess what he told you. Lorimer, I know I'm sinking fast, and if you leave me here I'll die before you can send a doctor up. Probably I'll also die in Vancouver, but every man is justified in making a fight for his life--and there's another reason why I should get there first." We hired a light wagon, for a passable trail led to the railroad, and perhaps because time was scanty, or the jolting of the wagon was more trying than the swing of the litter, our patient grew worse, and I was thankful at last to see him safe in a berth of the sleeper on the Pacific express. I had grown almost as impatient as Ormond, and I recollect nothing of the journey except that when the lights of Port Moody glittered across the forest-shrouded inlet he said: "Lorimer, I've a stupid prejudice against a hospital. Please take me to Wilson's instead. He lives alone, and I did him several services--you can tell him that it will not be for long." So when we reached the station Harry volunteered to find the best doctor in the timber city--for hewn stone had only begun to replace sawn lumber then--and arrange for transit to Wilson's house; because he said that it was my particular duty to tell Colonel Carrington and Grace. An hour passed before I traced them, and then I found them at a function given to celebrate the starting of some new public enterprise, and it was with hesitation that, followed by Calvert, I entered the vestibule of the brilliantly lighted hall. We gave a message to a bland Chinese attendant, and waited until returning he beckoned us through a crimson curtain, which swung to behind, and I found myself standing bewildered under a blaze of light in a ball-room. There was a crash of music, a swishing of colored dresses, and then, as the orchestra ceased, we stood before the astonished assembly just as we had left the bush, in tattered fur wrappings and torn deerskin, with the stains of leagues of travel on our leggings, while I recollect that a creeper-spike on my heel made holes in the polished marquetry. All eyes were turned toward us. "This is considerably more than I bargained for," growled Calvert. "I feel guiltily like the man who brought the news to Edinburgh after Flodden. What did you play this confounded trick upon us for, John?" "John savvy Miss Callington," said the unblushing Mongolian; and Calvert added savagely: "Then hide us somewhere, and tell her, before I twist your heathen neck for you." I noticed Martin Lorimer moving toward me; but before he reached us Grace came up, a dazzling vision of beauty. "I am thankful to see you back safe, Ralph, and hear you have news for me," she said. "Lawrence Calvert, the same applies to you." It was bravely done, for few women would have cared to link themselves publicly with such a gaunt and tattered scarecrow as I undoubtedly was then; but Grace was born with high courage and a manner which made all she did appear right. When Calvert said that he would send for Colonel Carrington, she calmly placed her hand within my arm, and added: "We will find quietness yonder in the empty supper-room. You have made me anxious." Then, doubtless to the wonder of many citizens' daughters and wives, we passed together, a sufficiently striking couple, across the hall; and when at length we escaped the curious eyes, Grace held me back at arm's length. "You look thin and haggard, Ralph," she said. "Something has happened. Now begin, and tell me clearly all about it." I did not know how to commence, and I proceeded awkwardly to temporize, though I really meant what I said. "It was the fault of that stupid Chinaman, Grace, and I am sorry. It was so courageous of you to come to me before them all." She looked at me with a curious mingling of pride and humor. "Am I, then, so little as to fear a few inquisitive women? And do you fancy that I loved you for your prepossessing exterior? Now, sir, before you offend me further, at once begin." I placed a lounge for her, and leaned over it as I said, "It is about Geoffrey. We went up prospecting, and found his party in difficulties. Geoffrey is--" "Not dead!" she said with a shudder, clutching the arms of the chair. And I laid my hand soothingly on one of hers as I answered: "No, but he is hurt, and he is longing to see you. He is in Vancouver now. Listen, I will tell you about it." "Poor Geoffrey!" she said when I had finished, while a tear glistened on her long lashes. "Geoffrey, my old playmate! I can hardly believe it. Ralph, there are very few like him. He is in all things a true-hearted gentleman. He stood between us; but how many others would have played their part so chivalrously when he had the power through my father to force me to his will. And--may I be forgiven for it--more than once I had hard thoughts of him. And now he is dying! Take me at once to see him." Shortly afterward a voice reached us through an open door. It was Calvert's, saying, "I want you to understand, sir, that if we had not struck Lorimer's camp we should have starved to death. I saw the accident from a distance, and again it's my firm opinion that he ran the utmost risk to extricate Ormond. If the latter were my own brother I should consider myself indebted to him for life." "I am glad to hear it," answered an unseen person, whom it was easy to recognize as the footsteps drew nearer. "Still, one must take precautions; and, as I observed, in the circumstances some people might have suspicions. I may say that, indirectly, Lorimer knew that he would profit by my partner's death." I started, and would have risen, burning with wrath, but Grace's clasp held me fast. The next moment her father and Calvert entered the room. The former glanced toward us in cold surprise; and then, in a hard, ringing tone, Grace said: "There is still, I hope, a little charity left in the world. The reference is hardly becoming. There are others beside Mr. Lorimer who would benefit, directly, by Geoffrey Ormond's death." I would have spoken, but she prevented me; and her father stood for a moment speechless with astonishment. Grace was a dutiful daughter, and, though he must have tried her patience hardly now and then, I fancied that this was the first time she had ever openly defied him; while I saw that the shaft had gone home. Colonel Carrington was not, however, to be shaken into any exhibition of feeling, for he turned to me with his usual chilliness: "I congratulate you on your lucky escape," he said. "Calvert has told me. If you are quite ready, Grace, and will get on your wrappings, we will drive over and visit the sick man immediately." So, seeing that my presence was by no means desired, I saluted the Colonel with stiffness, and hurried on foot in the direction of Wilson's house. He was a bachelor, it appeared, who dealt in mining gear, and during their business intercourse had made friends with Ormond. Now he was absent inland, but his housekeeper had placed the pretty wooden dwelling at our patient's disposal. What passed between the latter and Colonel Carrington I do not know, but when Grace met me on the stairway as I entered she said: "He told us how much you had done for him, and made my father believe it even against his will." Presently the surgeon came down. "I can do little for him," he said. "There are internal injuries--I needn't describe them--which practically leave no hope of recovery. You can't get a trained woman nurse for love or money, and it rests between yourselves and a Chinaman. I fancy that he would prefer you. I don't know how he stood the journey." "We did our best, and he was very patient," I said. And the surgeon answered: "I have no doubt you did, and it speaks well for your comrade's fortitude. You need not blame yourselves, however, for from the first he could not have got better." "I'll take first watch," said Harry, when, after giving us full instructions, the surgeon departed. "Miss Carrington has already insisted on helping. I've sampled Wilson's wardrobe, but his things would split up if you tried to get into them. Go out and borrow or buy some anywhere. You can't expect to meet Miss Carrington in that most fantastic disarray. I've taken quarters at the Burrard House, and it's not your turn until to-morrow. The Colonel has graciously signified his approval of our arrangements." When my watch commenced the next day Ormond seemed pleased to see me, and Grace, who was spreading southern flowers in the room, withdrew. Then Calvert and Colonel Carrington came in with a lawyer, and I raised Ormond so that he could see them. Outside, and not far below the window, bright sunlight beat down upon the sparkling inlet, and across it the mountains rose in a giant wall. Ormond glanced at them and sighed. Then he said with slow distinctness: "Put it down in your own fashion. This is the gist of it: I, Geoffrey Ormond, being now at least perfectly sound in mind, bequeath my gray horse at Day Spring, all my guns and rifles, with my silver harness and two pedigree hunters at Carrington, to Ralph Lorimer, in token of friendship and gratitude for a courageous attempt at my rescue when by accident I fell from a rock. I especially desire this inserted, Mr. Solicitor. You quite understand what I am saying, Colonel Carrington?" There was a significant smile in his eyes as they met mine, and something rose in my throat threatening to choke me when he added aside: "You will accept these things as a memento of our last march, I hope? With this exception, I bequeath my property in stocks and lands of all and every kind--I do not enumerate, or appoint other executor--to Colonel Carrington of Carrington Manor, the balance remaining after his death to revert to his daughter Grace. Set it all out in due form, and give me the paper to sign." Remembering what Grace once told me I fancied that an expression of unutterable relief smoothed out the wrinkles of anxiety on the legatee's brow, but I may have been mistaken in this. There was a curious look in Ormond's face, and I understood the depth of his loyalty to Grace. It struck me with a shock that Ormond, in spite of his apparent carelessness, realized how far matters had drifted, and hoped to spare her the painful discovery. Then he lay back struggling for breath, when, after the will was signed, at a signal from the doctor the others withdrew. Perhaps an hour passed while I kept watch alone before he spoke again, saying very faintly: "It's strange, Lorimer, that circumstances should constitute you my protector. It's not the usual ending of a very old story. A rich man and a poor man loved the same woman, and--this is where the strangeness happens, perhaps because of all women she was most worthy to be loved--she looked kindly upon the poorer man. The other had all that fortune could give him save what he most desired, and being older he waited patiently, trusting her heart would turn toward him, and when at last he learned the truth he had not courage to give her up, but waited still, hoping, he hardly knew for what, against hope. Then circumstances held them closer together in a bond that even for her sake he dare not break, until at last the knot was cut. Lorimer, we fought it out fairly, you and I. Now you have won, and I am dying. I only ask you to be good to her." I turned my head aside, for I could say nothing appropriate, and he added: "I should like you to keep those rifles, and when some day Grace receives the reversion she will find it but little. We made some heavy losses in joint ventures, her father and I--you will tell her to remember that. I think now all is settled. God bless her!" He slept or lay quite still for some time, and once more, knowing what I knew, I wondered at the greatness of his nature, for it was evident that, realizing that his love was hopeless, he had stood by her father only to serve her. Then he said feebly: "Lift me a little, Lorimer, so that I can see the moonrise on the snow. Before another nightfall I shall have followed your partner on the unknown trail." I raised him on the pillows, and then sat by the window, from which--because the lamp that tired his eyes had been turned very low--I could see the shimmer of stars on the dark breast of the inlet, which was wrapped in shadow, and a broad band of silver radiance grow wider across the heights of snow, until Grace came in softly with more blossoms from sunny Mexico. Ormond saw her, and he had probably forgotten me, for there was a great longing in his voice as he said huskily: "Will you kiss me, Grace, for the first and last time since we were innocent children?" She bent over him a compassionate figure, etherealized by the pale light that touched her through the eastern window, and I went out and waited on the stairway until, after the surgeon went in, she passed me, sobbing, and stilled an expression of sympathy with a lifted hand. That was the last I saw of Geoffrey Ormond in this life, for when next I looked at him he lay very white and still with the seal of death upon him, and I knew that a very clean and chivalrous soul had gone to its resting-place. I touched his cold forehead reverently, and then turned away, mourning him, heaven knows, sincerely, and feeling thankful that when tempted sorely I had kept my promise that day in the bush as I remembered his words, "We have fought it out fairly." CHAPTER XXVI THE TRIAL Geoffrey Ormond was duly laid to rest in Canadian soil, and it was long before the disastrous expedition was mentioned among us. After all, its painful record was not an unusual one, for even to-day, when wagon roads have been driven into the mountain-walled forests where only the bear and wood-deer roamed before, all who go out on the gold trail do not come home. I was anxious to return to Fairmead, so that as soon as decency permitted I called on Colonel Carrington, and though I longed to challenge what he had said to Calvert, I contented myself with formally renewing my previous request. He listened with cold patience, but I did not like his very quietness, and, though I believe that he sincerely regretted Ormond's death, I fancied that he was looking more hopeful. "I am afraid that you are again asking too much, and your request is characterized rather by assurance than by common sense," he said. "I need not recapitulate my former reasons, but, in addition to them, I wonder whether you have read this. As you do not allude to it, you probably have not." He produced a clipping from a Winnipeg paper, and because Western journalism is conducted in a refreshingly frank style of its own, I read with growing resentment the following paragraph, which, the cutting being still in my possession, is quoted verbatim. It commenced with the heading, "The prosecutor skipped by the light of the moon," and continued: "In connection with the recent arrest of three cattle thieves we have on good authority a romantic story. The case is meanwhile hanging fire and won't go off because of the mysterious absence of the prosecutor, one Lorimer of Fairmead, who has vanished from off the prairie, and will probably not appear again. Circumstances point to his being one of the frolicsome Lotharios who occasionally find the old country sultry, and he apparently developed a tenderness for the wife of one of the prisoners. As a result, there were complications, and she left her home. The husband went to seek her on the wide prairie, and some bad man, after trying to shoot him, threw him into a sloo. We don't know whether this was the prosecutor, but should think so. Then the husband swore vengeance, and it is supposed posted the cattle thieves so that they could clean out the wicked betrayer's stock. Now the lawyers are awaiting their witness, sorrowing, and can't find him, while the boys are saying that if he doesn't reappear the accused will get off." "That is hardly a desirable certificate of character for my daughter's suitor," said Colonel Carrington. "Do you believe this infamous libel?" I asked fiercely. And his thin lips curled as he answered: "Frankly, I do not--that is to say, not the whole of it. But there are others who will; and I can hardly congratulate you on your generally accepted reputation. That alone would be a sufficient barrier to an alliance with my family." "But you almost made a conditional promise," I said, mastering my wrath. And the Colonel answered lightly: "I merely said that we would discuss the affair again; and we have done so. Several things have transpired in the meantime, unfortunately for you." "Then there is nothing but open defiance," I said. "I made you a certain promise in return, and I kept it. But I warn you now that I will marry Miss Carrington in spite of you. As to that clipping, the prosecutor will be found, and if there is a law in Canada a full apology will be printed in the journal. I have nothing more to say." "You have said sufficient, and I think you are foolish. Any legal action will only make a hole in your scanty exchequer. I wish you good morning," and Colonel Carrington held the door wide open, while, boiling over with fury, I took myself away. I have often since then pondered over that interview, and could only guess at the reason for the Colonel's evident change of front. I do not think it was due to the paragraph; but if he had some fresh scheme in contemplation we never learned it, and Colonel Carrington is past all explanations now. When I had partly recovered I showed Harry the paper, and he frowned as he said: "I always anticipated something like this; but of course the present is not the time to tell you so. It rose out of the cattle deal; and you will take whatever steps you think best at our joint expense. In any case, we have only the one purse between us. The sooner you go back the better." It was good advice, and I proceeded to act on it by telegraphing up the line for a messenger to ride to Harry's camp and send down any letters that might be waiting, after which I sought an interview with Grace. She seemed filled with a wholly unusual bitterness against her father, but made me promise with some reluctance to wait a few months longer before deciding on anything definite. Harry returned forthwith to his post, but I waited until the mail brought me several letters, reforwarded from Fairmead. One was a request to call on the police authorities, on a date already passed, in connection with the cattle thieves' trial, and there were two from the Winnipeg solicitor, in the latter of which he said: "I cannot understand your reticence, and must state that your mysterious absence tends to confirm unpleasant rumors about your character. It may also involve you in legal difficulties, and I trust you will at once communicate with me." I ran to the telegraph office, and, after sending a message, "Expect me by first express," I found Martin Lorimer, to whom I had given an account of my interview with the Colonel, waiting in my quarters. He, too, possessed a copy of the wretched paper, and, flinging it down before me, said, "Hast seen this, lad? A lie, you needn't tell me--it's a black lie. But there's folks that will believe it, for the same story once deceived me. You'll go straight back and sue them. I'm coming too. We'll make them retract it or break them, if there's justice in the land. Alice has gone south to California with a big railroad man's wife, and I'm longing for something to do. There's another matter. Ralph, I've seen the Colonel." "Seen Colonel Carrington?" I said with dismay. And Martin Lorimer answered dryly: "Ay, I've seen him, and had a plain talk with him. Nay, I'm not going to tell thee now what I said; but it bit, and he didn't like it. Ralph, lad,"--and he nodded toward me with a chuckle--"his daughter's worth the winning. My own girl says so; and thou shalt have her." Martin Lorimer was hard to turn aside from any object on which he had set his mind--but so, as everybody knew, was Colonel Carrington--and I fear that I abused him inwardly for a meddling fool, and reflected on the necessity for deliverance from the blunders of well-meaning friends. The harm was done, however; and it was useless to attempt to draw particulars as to his intentions from my uncle, so I tried to forget the matter. All he would say was, "Wait and thee will see," or, again, with a wise shake of his head in the broad mill parlance, "Thou never knows." We boarded the next train for Winnipeg, and, after calling on the solicitor and the police authorities, who eventually accepted my explanations, the former accompanied us to the newspaper offices. The chief of the staff seemed surprised when the solicitor introduced me. "This is Mr. Ralph Lorimer to whom you referred to in a recently published paragraph," he said. "The other gentleman is his uncle, a British capitalist; and after he has given his version of the affair I have something to say. Will you state the main facts briefly, Mr. Lorimer?" I did so, and the newspaper man--who, I think, was an American by birth--made notes. Then, before the solicitor could intervene, Martin Lorimer, drawing down his bushy eyebrows, said, in the unaccented English he used when in a deliberately dangerous mood, "You have given out a false impression of an honest man's character. Now you're going to publish a true one, with a full apology, or we intend to make you suffer. There is law in Canada, I suppose; and if it costs me sufficient to buy up three papers, we'll carry the case on until we get our damages or smash you. Understand, I'm for liberty of the press, and in my young days I helped to fight for it; but this is libel; and I think you know my friend yonder." "I guess I do," said the other. "One of the smartest lawyers in the West. Oh, yes, I know him! See here, we're not great on libel actions in this country. It's mighty hard to get damages for that; and we like our news tasty. No, all things considered, you would make nothing of it if you did sue me. Why,"--and he smiled on the old man, who looked as if he were eager to assault him--"lots of the boys would take that kind of paragraph as a compliment. It would tickle their vanity. We admit the raciness--we are proud of it; but we stand for fair play too. Would you mind telling me what you expect to do?" "It doesn't appeal to my client," said the solicitor. "He has, as you would put it, British prejudices. I don't intend to display all our program, but it includes a visit to your rivals and the men who finance you. Still, though you sometimes lay the paint on too thick, I have hitherto found you well-informed and square; and we should rather you did the right thing of your own accord." The man, I thought, looked honest, and with a shrewd smile he said, "Now you're talking the right talk. This paper casts its egis over the innocent. It's the friend of the oppressed, besides all the other good things set down in the New Year's article. But I shouldn't like those other fellows to get hold of that story before we've done with it. The citizens are interested, and we haven't your superstitious fear of commenting on cases _sub judice_. No, sir, we're afraid of nothing, and don't let British capitalists walk over us with nails in their boots. Now I'm going to make reparation and tell that tale in style, showing up all your client's fine qualities. Want to revise the item? You couldn't do it for ten thousand dollars. We're 'way beyond dictation, and pride ourselves on knowing how our readers like their news." At a hint from the solicitor I contented myself with a more definite promise to do me justice. Then as we left the office, Martin Lorimer turned to the editor. "Keep a hand on your imagination," he said grimly, "or you'll see me here again." "Always glad to meet an interesting Britisher," the man of the pen answered with cheerfulness. "Come in peace, and we'll regale you on our special cigars; otherwise, my assistant will stand by with the politicians' club." "And that's the creature who libeled us!" said Martin Lorimer when we reached the street. "I've a good mind to go back and show him whether I'm an interesting Britisher--confound him!" whereupon the lawyer laughed heartily. "They're not all like him," he said. "This particular journal depends on its raciness, and he has to maintain the character. After all, he is an honest man, and he'll do you justice, though the item may contain specimens of what passes for local humor." This was apparently the case, for when we read it together Martin Lorimer grew very red in the face, and at first I was divided between vexation and amusement. It ran as follows: "We have unwittingly cast suspicion on an innocent man, and for once an unprincipled informant has fooled us. The cattle-thief prosecutor has appeared, and will shortly present himself blushing before the public gaze. We have seen him, and can testify that instead of a Don Juan he is a Joseph, for there is an air of ingenuous innocence about him which makes it certain that he would crawl into a badger-hole if he met a pretty woman on the prairie. If further proof were wanted, he goes about in charge of a highly respectable British Croesus, one of the full-crusted elderly models of virtue they raise in Lancashire. The class is not obsolete. We have seen one." Then, with whimsical directness, the following lines set forth the true state of the case, and I felt on the conclusion that the writer had not unskillfully reversed his previous unfavorable version. Martin Lorimer, however, signally failed to appreciate it, for the words obsolete and full-crusted stuck in his throat, and I had some difficulty in restraining him from returning forthwith to the newspaper offices. The journal eventually languished, and succumbed after some friction with the authorities when the editor left it to seek in the great republic a wider field for his talents, but before this happened he paid us several friendly visits at Fairmead. The trial, which excited public interest at the time, took place shortly afterward. It transpired that there were other charges of fraud against the pair of thieves, whose case was hopeless from the beginning, but the prosecution experienced some difficulty in obtaining evidence to connect Fletcher definitely with them, though several facts suggested that he had for some time acted as a tool in their hands. The court was crammed, and looking down on the sea of faces I could recognize a number of my neighbors from the Fairmead district and Carrington, and was not overjoyed to see them. An attempt to steal a large draft of cattle was an important event on the prairie. I should not have testified at all, could this have been avoided, which, however, was not the case, and I awaited with much anxiety the cross-examination for the defense, because my solicitor had warned me that as more latitude was generally allowed than in England an attempt would be made to arouse popular sympathy on behalf of Fletcher and shake my evidence by casting doubts on my character. "Have you any animus against the prisoner Fletcher?" was the first question. "No," I answered. "Indeed, I was always anxious to befriend him until he robbed and slandered me." "Or his wife?" added the inquisitor. "I think you knew her in England. Is it not true that you took her from the service of a railroad hotel and found a house for her on the prairie?" There was a murmur in the court, and objection was taken to this question by the prosecution, but I was directed to answer it, so I said as coolly as I could: "I did know her in England. She was clerk in my uncle's mill, where Thomas Fletcher assisted the cashier. He was not married then. I took her from the service of the railroad hotel." "It is a damaging admission," said my persecutor, and would have continued before I could finish the answer, but that there was a commotion below, which I hastened to profit by, adding, "But I brought her husband to meet her, and found him a situation in a creamery." "It is true, every word of it!" a shrill voice rose up, and the murmuring grew louder in the body of the court, while it pleased me to see that the riders of Carrington vied with our humbler neighbors in this sign of approval. Then some one sternly called "Silence!" and the examination commenced again. "I must protest against friends of the witness coming here to create a disturbance," said the barrister. "They are all owners of cattle, and accordingly filled with prejudice. This is a court of justice, and not a cow-boy's tribunal under the laws of Lynch." "That is my province," interposed the judge, "and if the disturbance is repeated I shall know how to deal with it." The barrister bowed as he rearranged his papers, and I felt murderously inclined toward him when, leaning on the rail in an impressive attitude, he continued: "I must next ask the witness whether Mrs. Fletcher did or did not visit him alone at his house, and remain for some time there? Also, when her husband most naturally came to inquire for her, whether he was not threatened with violence, and driven away at the muzzle of a loaded rifle? I want a direct answer. Yes or no." The prosecution challenged the necessity for such a question, but after some verbal fencing between the lawyers and the judge it was allowed. "In the first case I was not alone," I said, looking straight at my adversary. "In the second I was absent, and did not threaten him." "He was to your knowledge threatened?" "Yes." "Do you know that shortly after leaving your house he was murderously assaulted as a result of his visit?" "I believe that some one flung him into a muddy sloo, and I was not sorry to hear it." "That is sufficient," said the examiner, with a significant smile toward the jury. "He was threatened with a loaded rifle for inquiring as to his wife's whereabouts; then murderously assaulted. Next you work up this charge against him. You may sit down." I understood that the judge made some comments here, but I was too savage to hear clearly, and scarcely caught what followed next, until Jasper was placed on the witness stand, and stated that he had given no authority to any one except myself to sell the cattle, which he swore to, with other details which were not particularly interesting. There was no doubt that Fletcher was at least obstinately defended, for the lawyer once more strove skillfully to twist out answers confirming the theory that his client had no direct connection with the affair, and sought to show on my part a deliberate intention to ruin him. He may even have believed the romantic story, which was particularly calculated to appeal to a Western jury. Jasper's replies did not, however, help him much, for when, returning to the subject, he asked, "Did you not on several occasions drive the witness Lorimer over to Fletcher's dwelling with presents for his wife?" Jasper answered boldly, "I did, and I guess Mrs. Fletcher would have gone hungry if we hadn't. Fletcher's a low-grade wastrel, and anyway he ate most of them presents. Yes, sir; they were fowls and potatoes, and Lorimer never went over but Fletcher was there." There was a great laugh from the riders of Carrington, and the defendant's lawyer frowned. "Are you a friend of the witness Lorimer?" "I hope so," Jasper answered simply. "If ever I meet you on the prairie I'll endeavor to convince you." "Were you a friend of Thomas Fletcher's?" The answer was emphatic. "No. I guess the sight of the insect makes me sick." Again the lawyer smiled toward the jury, and the judge, censuring the witness, directed him to refrain from unnecessary details. The next question came: "Was it because you were a friend of Lorimer's, or had such a bitter dislike to Fletcher, that one night you attempted to murder him? Let me remind you that Fletcher, as has been admitted, came to bring back his wife from Fairmead, and was threatened with a rifle there. Then you rode after him, and overtook him on the prairie where it was lonely." "It was for neither reason," Jasper answered, straightening his burly form as he glared at his adversary. "A young girl bluffed off Fletcher and the other ruffian there, the prisoner Gorst. She was alone, but she scared the pair of them with an empty rifle. Suppose you left your sister alone, and came back to find a half-drunk hobo trying to murder her?" The lawyer, I fancied, had now heard rather more than he knew before, and it struck me that the prisoner's cunning had overreached itself in not posting him better, for he glanced at his papers before continuing: "Did you make a violent attack upon him?" "I did," said Jasper, cheerfully. "Oh, yes, and I'm coming to it in my own way. I rode right after him, took Fletcher out of the wagon, asked the other man if he felt inclined to assist him, and, when he didn't, laid into Fletcher with the whip and just hove him into the sloo. Why did I do it?--it's a poor conundrum. For the credit of the prairie. We've no room for woman-beaters, cattle thieves, slanderers, and dishonest lawyers down to our district. Bring along more questions--you hear me; I've lots more to say." The judge cut short his eloquence, but he had said enough, and there was wild approval from the prairie contingent, in which some of the citizens joined, and through it Jasper towered before the assembly, a stalwart figure, shaking a great fist and ejaculating something in the direction of his annoyer. The tumult was quelled with difficulty, and an official told me that never before had he seen so much excitement shown. It was due, he added, to the presence of those mad young riders of Carrington. I sat down breathing more easily, for I felt that as yet my honor was clear, and whether Fletcher escaped or not was of minor importance. From the beginning the main efforts of the other side had been directed toward saving him, while as the case proceeded I listened with decreasing interest, until at last the prosecutor said: "My opponent has done his utmost, even overstepping limits, to prove that the witness Lorimer has ended a long course of injury by supporting a false charge against the prisoner Fletcher. This is after all a side issue, but I think the jury will agree that he has furnished most reliable testimony, and that the prisoner mentioned took an unprincipled advantage of his perfectly well-intentioned kindness." There was considerably more which did not affect me, and another speech, though I woke to eager interest again when the judge, in making his final comments, said: "As regards the witness Lorimer, I entirely agree with the view taken by the prosecution. He has evidently suffered by well-meant efforts to aid the prisoner, and, though that is not connected with the case except in so far as it covers the reliability of his testimony, he has been shown to be an individual of unblemished character. We can accordingly accept his evidence." Again there was applause, which the judge checked severely, and proceeded: "You will notice that, while the prisoner Fletcher's record does not seem to be a creditable one, the evidence fails in some degree to connect him with the other two prisoners as an active participator in the robbery. I refer to--" and so on. The jury retired for a considerable time, and when the foreman reappeared he announced that they found two of the prisoners guilty, and Thomas Fletcher not guilty, the latter in a very doubtful tone. He also appeared desirous of adding some explanation, which was not permitted; while, as the court broke up, I noticed the detective watching Fletcher much as a cat watches a momentarily liberated mouse. Then I was surrounded by the men from the prairie, who insisted on escorting us to our hotel, and when I asked for Jasper somebody said he had seen him loitering beside one of the court-house doors. We found him partly hidden by a wagon, watching it intently. "Are you getting up another speech, or trying to freeze there?" one of the Carrington party asked. "No! I guess I'm laying for that lawyer. Couldn't get at him inside there for a barrier. Am I a low-grade perjurer--and my friend what he was working round to show? If you'll stand by for just two minutes I'll convince the insect--the blamed, vermilion, mosquito!" "You're too late," said the man from Carrington. "He went out the other way some time ago. Mr. Lorimer, one or two of us were at first--appearances were strongly against you, you know--inclined to doubt you, and we feel considerably ashamed of ourselves. We want you and your worthy uncle to join us at dinner. Got together the best company we could to meet you." It was honestly said, and we accepted with willingness, while I think my worthy uncle enjoyed himself even more than I did. He was a jealous insular Briton, and the sight of those sturdy handsome young Englishmen who well maintained the credit of the old land in the new delighted him. The appreciation seemed to be mutual. He complained of a headache the next morning; but that dinner had conferred on the Radical cotton-spinner the freedom of aristocratic Carrington, and an indefinite but valuable intimation that the colony had set its special endorsement upon his nephew. CHAPTER XXVII THE ROAD TO DAKOTA Martin Lorimer returned to Vancouver promptly, for he found the prairie cold trying, and by-and-by I received a letter from Harry still reporting profitable work, in which he said: "Your uncle seems to have developed a craze for real estate. Buying land on a rising town boom is a somewhat risky amusement, especially if, as they express it here, the bottom drops out of the boom; but I suppose he can afford it, and he has been trailing around lately with two surveyors behind him. Laid hands on the timber lots about the Day Spring, which is sending up very low-grade, ore. Perhaps you know, though he won't tell any one, why he is doing it." I showed the letter to Aline, and she looked remarkably wise; then, putting her head on one side, she nodded twice. "I've a great respect for Uncle Martin's sagacity," she said. "He's planning something for the benefit of Colonel Carrington, and I've a faint inkling of what it may be. But don't worry me with questions. He won't show a single person what he means to do until he is ready." I had no ideas at all on the subject, though I did not tell Aline so. For her age she was rather too vain of her superior perception, and it struck me as becoming that a younger sister should look up to her brother. I was proud of Aline, but she had her failings. It was not long afterward, when returning from Jasper's at night, I found the remains of a meal on the table, and my sister waiting with news for me. "I'm glad you didn't come home earlier, Ralph," she said. "I am quite ashamed of my inconsistency. It's nice to think oneself inflexible, isn't it? And then it's humiliating to resolve on a certain course and do the opposite." She paused, either to excite my curiosity or to afford an opportunity for considering the sentiment. "Never mind all that. Come to the point, Aline," I said. But she stirred the stove, and dusted some plates that did not require it, before she continued: "I had made up my mind to hate Mrs. Fletcher forever, and, do you know, I let her kiss me scarcely half an hour ago." "Minnie here again! Oh, confound her!" I said, banging back my chair. "It's wicked to lose your temper, Ralph," Aline answered sweetly, "and very unbecoming in an elder brother. It isn't poor Minnie's fault that her husband is what you call a bad egg, is it? Yes, she came here in a sleigh with two tired horses, and one was lame. She was going to meet her husband somewhere. He has become a teetotaler, and promises to turn out quite a virtuous character. She hinted at something which I didn't know about that happened at the trial--it was too bad of you to burn those papers--and said he was going to Dakota, across the border. She was almost frozen, had only fall clothes on, and she was very hungry. It wouldn't have been right to let her face an all-night drive in Arctic weather like that, and she put the horses into the stable, while I lent her all my wrappings, gave her food to take, and made her rest and eat. She said she felt she must call and tell me how very sorry she was. Then she cried on my head, and I let her kiss me. We should always be forgiving, Ralph, shouldn't we?" "Tom Fletcher reformed!" I said astonished. "Oh, how foolish you women are! I've only met one who is always sensible;" and then an idea struck me, and I added quickly: "Are you quite sure Fletcher wasn't in the sleigh?" "No, Fletcher wasn't there--at least, I'd had neuralgia, so I only looked out of the window. Minnie put up the horses." Then I flung open a cupboard door, and what I saw confirmed a growing suspicion. For legal reasons whisky is scarce on portions of the prairie, but a timely dose of alcohol has saved many a man's life in the Canadian frost, and we always kept some spirits in case of emergency. "Then Minnie is not a teetotaler," I said. "A bottle of whisky has gone." Leaving Aline to consider this, I ran to the stable, and found that one of the splendid horses poor Ormond had bequeathed me was also gone. In its place stood a sorry beast, evidently dead lame, and it did not need the scrap of paper pinned to the manger to explain the visit. "I am running a heavy risk, and you won't betray me," the pencil scrawl read. "Tetley of Coulée Rouge will send back the horse and robes. It is a last favor; we won't trouble you any more.--Minnie Fletcher." I was troubled, however. We should need every available beast in the spring, and Tetley was rather more than suspected of being concerned in smuggling whisky and certain contraband commerce, including the shipping of Chinamen over the United States border. It seemed like tempting Providence to leave a horse of that kind in his hands, and yet Coulée Rouge was twenty long miles away. I was also considerably puzzled as to why Minnie should have interfered to save her husband, for it was evident some fresh charge had been brought against him, and he was seeking safety in the republic. Extradition existed, but except in murder cases it was not often that a fugitive who had once crossed the boundary was ever brought back. It seemed impossible that she had not read the reports in the papers, and the charge Fletcher brought against her was a hard one to forgive. Still, papers were not plentiful on the prairie, and the people she lived with might out of kindness have concealed part of the news from her. However that might be, I determined to save the horse, and explained this to Aline, with a brotherly warning not to allow emotion to get the better of her judgment in future. She listened with a docility that promised future reprisals, and then, agreeing that it would be well to secure the horse, said that she should not mind being left alone. Indeed, unless something very unexpected happened, she would be as safe alone at Fairmead as in any town. So I saddled the next best horse, donned my warmest skin coat, and started for a cold ride across the prairie. The snow was thin and fairly hard--it seldom lies deep about Fairmead; but in view of the return journey I did not urge the horse, and our sleigh had lost a runner. So when perhaps half the distance had been traversed a beat of hoofs grew louder behind me, and four horsemen, riding hard, came up. By the jingle of accouterments I knew they were the wardens of the prairie, and half expected what was to follow. "Hold up!" the sharp summons came, while I recognized my old acquaintance, Sergeant Angus, as the speaker. "Lorimer o' Fairmead--good night to ye. Have ye seen a two-horse sleigh? We've news of it passing Green Hollow, south-bound, four hours ago!" "Whom are you wanting?" I asked. "Thomas Fletcher," the sergeant answered. "One of his late partners gave him away, and there's a warrant for him. They wired us on to watch the stations, and a message came from Elktail that he'd been seen heading south in a sleigh. He's no friend o' yours; have ye met that sleigh, and where are ye riding at this unholy hour?" "No," I said, "I haven't seen the sleigh; but a woman drove up to Fairmead, where my sister was alone, and borrowed my best horse. There are some business friends of yours on the trail to Dakota, and I'm going south in case they took a fancy to it." "Ye're wise," said Sergeant Angus. "A woman, are ye sure?" "My sister was sure, and she ought to know." "I'm not quite understanding this," he said, "but meantime Thomas Fletcher is skipping for the boundary. Ride ye, boys, ride!" I was thankful for the diversion, for I could not see my way clearly, and as we pressed on there was small opportunity for awkward questions. I wanted the horse and meant to get it, but that would have contented me, and I had no desire to assist in the capture of Fletcher. Another hour passed, and then far away on the edge of the white circle, which was lighted by the rays of a sinking moon, I saw a moving speck, and one of the troopers shouted. Thereupon the spurs went in, and when my beast shot forward I knew that the police horses were tired, and I could readily leave them behind. Still, I was not an officer of the law, and reflecting that my presence or absence would in no way affect the fugitives' chance of escape, while after recent events it was well to be careful, I held him in. We were gaining, however, for the distant object developed into a sleigh; but the moon was sinking fast, and the dark line on the horizon, with a fretted edge, betokened the birches fringing Coulée Rouge, where the party before us might well escape. "Ride ye, boys!" cried the sergeant; but the beasts were weary and the blundering gallop was a poor one, while I kept a firm hand on the good horse's rein, holding him behind the others and out of sight, lest Sergeant Angus should demand an exchange in the Queen's name. This was not easy, for Ormond had hunted coyotes on him with a very scratch pack of hounds, while one of the troopers kept dropping back toward me, and the beast seemed under the impression that I was wilfully throwing away my chance in the race. Meanwhile, the sleigh grew more and more visible, though I did not doubt that its occupants were doing their utmost to gain the shelter of the birches in the dark coulée, and that my other horse was suffering at their hands accordingly. Then there was a growl from the sergeant as the sleigh was lost on the edge of the fringe of trees, and presently we rode panting and more slowly beneath them, to the brink of the coulée, with the steam from the horses rising in white clouds about us. It was, of course, particularly steep, and as the moonlight only filtered through the matted branches dark shadow for the most part veiled the treacherous descent, which the troopers accomplished with many a stumble. They were excellent horsemen, but there is a limit to equine endurance, and their beasts had nearly reached it. Presently, as we neared the very rude log bridge which spanned the inevitable creek, the last silvery patch of radiance faded, and thick darkness filled the ravine. "Halt!" said the sergeant. "Confusion! It's pit dark!" and drawing rein we sat still a few moments, listening intently, but we heard only the branches moaning under the bitter breeze. "There are two trails," said Sergeant Angus. "Yon one up the other side leads south away for Dakota; this follows the coulée to Jake Tetley's. Tom, ye're proud o' your tracking, ride on to Tetley's, an', for Jake's good at lyin', look well for the scrape o' runners if he swears he has not seen them. Finding nothing, if ye strike southeast over the rises, ye'll head us off on the Dakota trail. I'm thinking they're hurrying that way for the border, and we'll wait for ye by the Blackfoot ridge." He rubbed a fizzing sulphur match into sickly flame; but, as the banks were steep, and that bridge formed a favorite crossing, the snow showed the recent passage of many runners, and there was nothing to be learned from them. The wood was thicker than usual, and from what we could see there was no way a sleigh could traverse it quickly except by the two trails. So the trooper departed for Tetley's dwelling, which lay some distance up the coulée, while we breasted the opposite slope and proceeded more slowly through the darkness across the plain. Half an hour later we waited a while on the crest of one of the gradual rises which are common thereabout, until presently a hail answered the sergeant's cry, and the trooper rejoined us. "They've not been near Tetley's," he said. "Must have pushed on straight ahead of us. I made him bring a lantern, and prospected down the trail, but nothing on four legs has come up it for a week at least." "Where do you think they have gone?" I asked, and the sergeant answered wearily: "The deil knows, but it will be south. Weel, we have our orders, an' their cattle are failing, while even if we miss them we'll strike their trail by daylight." "I hope you will," I answered. "I'm anxious about my horse, but I can't go any further to-night. He's a big chestnut, branded small O inside the Carrington C. You'll be careful with him, won't you?" "On with ye, boys," said the sergeant. "A fair passage home, Mr. Lorimer; I'm envying ye a warm seat by the stove to-night," and the mounted figures disappeared into the gloom, while more leisurely I headed back toward the coulée. Orders were orders with the Northwest Police, and though they had ridden under Arctic cold most of the day they must also spend the night in the saddle if the horses could keep their footing much longer, which, however, seemed doubtful. The search might last several days, and I could not leave Aline so long, while a Brandon man of business had arranged to call on me the next afternoon, and I knew that if the troopers came upon it the horse would be in good hands. Still, the police at least were strong men, and I rather pitied Minnie Fletcher slowly freezing in the bitter darkness under Aline's furs. I was glad now that she had lent them to her. Minnie evidently had not expected that the troopers, being warned by telegraph, would take up the trail so soon. Then for the first time I recollected that Tetley had been cutting building logs on a more level strip half-way up the side of the ravine, and had cleared a jumper trail toward it. The sergeant certainly did not know this, and it struck me that while his party searched the two forking trails Fletcher's sleigh might well have lain hidden in the blind one, and I turned the horse's head toward Tetley's dwelling. When I neared it my suspicions were confirmed, for a rough voice hailed me from under the trees: "What are you wanting, stranger? Stop there!" "I want Jim Tetley," I answered. "He's way down to Dakota, and you can't see him," the unseen person said. To this I replied at a venture: "I'm too cold for unnecessary fooling. Jim Tetley is inside there. Go right in, and tell him that Lorimer of Fairmead is waiting for his horse. He'll understand that message." "Now you're talking," said the man showing himself. "Stay where you are until I come back." And when he returned, he said: "You can have it on the promise you'll tell no one what you see. It's not healthy to break one's bargain, either, with Jim Tetley, while living in a wooden house with a straw-pile granary." "I'm a friend of Mrs. Fletcher, and I'm in a hurry," I answered boldly, and when he ushered me into the dwelling I saw what I had expected. Minnie lay back limp and colorless in a big chair by the stove. Fletcher knelt close beside her chafing her wrists, and the table was littered with wrappings, while Tetley frowned at me from one end of the room. "Fletcher," I said. "You and your advocate worked up a lying charge against me. Shall I ask your wife before you whether it's true? Do you know that in half an hour I could bring the police on you?" "I guess you won't," said Tetley, laying his hand significantly on the rifle behind him; while Fletcher answered sullenly, "You needn't. I know now it isn't true. But I was mad, and believed it at first, and afterward it was either that or five years. There were other counts against me; and what could a poor man do?" Minnie looked at him with disgust, and shivered as she snatched one of her hands from his grasp. "It was very good of your sister, Ralph," she said, "and I knew you would forgive me for borrowing the horse; he is there in the stable, and Tetley will find Tom another. It was an awful journey, even before we reached Fairmead, where I hid him in the bottom of the sleigh; and they brought me in here almost frozen stiff." "I thought she was gone, poor thing!" said Mrs. Tetley, who was cooking something on the stove; and her husband broke in: "She looked like it. Cuss them police! But we euchred them. A young trooper rides up to the door and drives me round prospecting with a lantern. Of course, he found nothing, and when he rode off I began to tumble. Found your friends in the log-trail and brought them in, knowing them blame troopers wouldn't come back again. Sergeant Angus is a smart man, but he doesn't know everything, and I'll see Fletcher and his missis safe in the hands of a friend who will slip them over the border." "I'm not going," said Minnie. "Ralph--and you all can listen--my husband came to me desperate and hopeless in fear of the law. Oh, it's no secret, all the prairie knows that he used me scandalously--but he was my husband--and I could not give him up. So I took the few dollars I had and hired the sleigh, and when the horse fell dead lame we came to Fairmead. I knew, though we had wronged you, I could trust you. Now he's in safe hands; I'm going no further with him. There are some things one cannot forget. I shall tell the story to the people who employed me; they are kind-hearted folk, but it doesn't matter if they give me up. I'm sick of this life, and nothing matters now." She broke out half-sobbing, half-laughing wildly, and though Fletcher growled something sullenly, hanging his head with the air of a whipped hound, I fancied that he seemed relieved at this decision, and was slightly surprised to see he had even the decency to appear ashamed of himself. Then, knowing that the people she worked for would do their best for Minnie, I determined to write to them, and I asked Tetley to bring out the horse. "Can't I give you a shakedown in the stable until morning?" he said. "The missis will look after Mrs. Fletcher, and see she gets back safe," and he added so that the others could not hear him, "Fletcher's meaner than poison, and I'd let the troopers have him and welcome, only for the sake of the woman, and because he knows enough about some friends of mine to make things lively if he talked." Tetley was of course a rascal, but there was a certain warped honesty in his dealings with brother rogues--at least so rumor said--and I knew if he had given his promise he could be trusted, while a few of his perfectly honest neighbors were sorry when not long afterward Sergeant Angus proved too sharp for him. "No, thanks," I answered. "My horse would be worth a great deal in Dakota, and I'll clear out while I'm sure of him." "Good-bye, Ralph," said Minnie, when I donned the fur cap and mittens. "I don't suppose I shall ever see you again--no, of course you won't be sorry; but you and Jasper were the only two who ever showed me kindness in this hard, hard country. I wish, oh, how I wish I had never seen it! Tell my father to forget me, the sooner the better. I have chosen my own way, and must follow it. It's leading me to prison now." She appeared about to relapse into hysterics, and knowing that I could not help her at the moment, and might only make matters worse, I stopped Fletcher with a threatening gesture as he prepared to address me, and hurried out with Tetley, who showed me the horse. "You'll strike Cranton's heading, due east by the chain sloos, in a league," he said. "He deals with us sometimes, and you needn't fear his talking. Don't trouble about Mrs. Fletcher. She's all right." I rode out leading one of the horses, and in due time reached Cranton's, though I nearly beat the door in before I roused him, and I left him the next morning with his curiosity unsatisfied. That was the last I ever saw of Thomas Fletcher. Neither did Sergeant Angus find his trail, for Tetley knew every foot of the prairie, and enjoyed the reputation of being unequaled in his own somewhat mysterious business, which I understood demanded a high proficiency in evading the watchfulness of the police. CHAPTER XXVIII THE RECALL OF ADAM LEE When I returned to Fairmead I wrote two letters. One was to Minnie's employer, who kept a flourishing implement store further down the line, to which he had lately added a somewhat primitive hotel, in whose management I understood Minnie assisted. He was an enterprising, good-natured Manitoban, and everybody spoke well of his wife, so, having had dealings with him, I requested an interview. In the other I told Harry all that had passed, asking him to transmit as much as he thought proper to Lee, and then awaited developments. The first result was a note from storekeeper Moran saying that as he was looking up orders for implements he would call on me, which he did presently, and proceeded to discuss the matter with frankness. "My wife has taken a fancy to Mrs. Fletcher," he said. "We just call her Minnie because there's no particular reason to handicap her with her husband's name. She's a mighty smart honest woman, and we knew that story about you was a lie from the beginning--did our best to keep it from her, but I think she knew. We were startled some when she lit out with the sleigh, but she came back half-dead, and we asked no questions until she told us. She's been sick and fretful since, but I guess there's nothing you can do. When we can't keep a sick woman who has done good work for us a while we'll give up the business. She'll be pert again directly." "You are a very kind man," said Aline, glancing at him critically. "Thank you, miss," Moran answered. "You just make your mind easy about Mrs. Fletcher; and now, Lorimer, we'll talk business. You'll want a new binder if you're putting in much of a crop, and I've got the latest machines coming in from Toronto." Aline burst into a hearty laugh, in which I joined her, for the speech was characteristic of the native prairie inhabitants' character. Frugal, but open-handed, hard to beat at a bargain, they are equally swift to seize upon all chances that lead to business and do the stranger an unostentatious kindness, though they have no false delicacy in forthwith establishing commercial relations with the man they benefit. "Don't see any joke!" said Moran. "You want a binder. I've seen the old one, and I've got lots to sell. Of course we'll look after Mrs. Fletcher, but that's no reason I should miss a deal." The result was that I ordered an expensive binder which I had hoped to do without, and presently Moran departed with the order in his pocket. "I think he was very sensible," said Aline, "and you know you said the old machine would hardly have lasted." Harry answered promptly, and said he expected I should see Lee very soon. He had been restless ever since he heard of Fletcher's blacksliding, and had, among other things, embarked upon two unpopular crusades. He even seemed disappointed, Harry added, because there was so little drunkenness and loose living for him to grapple with. "That is so like a man," said Aline when she read the letter. "Where is your boasted consistency? He ought to be thankful. But you have missed the postscript about Uncle Martin. This is what Harry says: 'I met him in long boots one day when I went up to see Calvert, trailing a survey chain not far from the Day Spring mine, and when I asked him what he was doing it for, and whether snow-slush was good for lumbago, he smiled and answered in the silver tongue of your native country something I failed to comprehend. For a respectable cotton-spinner, as I told him, he has developed curious ways.' "You will see by-and-by, and so will that arrogant Colonel," said Aline. "He has offended him bitterly, and I shouldn't like to be an enemy of Uncle Martin's." There was an interlude of quietness, and then, when at last the winter showed signs of relaxing its iron grip, and the snow grew soft at noon, events commenced to follow fast upon one another. Jasper drove up from the railroad one afternoon bringing Lee with him, and then departed with, I thought, undue precipitancy, leaving myself and the old man alone, for I had increased the accommodation at Fairmead, and Aline discreetly withdrew. He had of course read the papers, though not until some time after the trial, and was good enough to say he never doubted my innocence. Still, I had to repeat all the unpleasant details, until at last Aline returned to prepare supper. Then he sighed as he said: "It's a bad business, but I feared from the start this would be the end of it. And now I'm going to tell thee something. I've served thee and thy partner as well as I could, and I've saved some money doing it. It's a gradely life up yonder, in spite of the snow and cold--ay, I would ask no better than to end my days there, but it's over easy and peaceful in a world that's brimming with misery, and I've been feeling like Jonah when he fled with his message." Aline smiled at me over her shoulder, and I stared at him in amaze, saying, "I never found it either particularly easy or peaceful. I don't quite understand you." "No," said Lee, changing in a moment to his old pedantic style I had almost forgotten. "Thou hast not the message; it's thy work to till the soil, and I had thought to bide in this good land helping thee until my time came. But a voice kept on saying, 'Go back to them hopeless poor and drunkards thou left in Lancashire.' I would not listen. The devil whispered I was worn out and done, but when I talked with Harry, he, not having understanding, said: 'You're looking younger every day. If I heard those kind of things I should say it was liver.'" Aline no longer smiled, but sat watching him and listening gravely, and I began to catch a glimmer of his meaning. "The folks at chapel had not forgotten me," continued Lee, "and they were in trouble. There was another man took up the work I left, but he went off with t' brass they'd gathered for a new gallery, and they wrote they'd see I got back the old shop if I come home again. And because I was weak and fearful o' the grinding struggle over there, I did not go. They wrote another letter, but still I bided, until I read this paper." He spread out a soiled English journal, and, running a crooked finger across it, read out the headings, with extracts, at some of which, remembering Aline's presence, I frowned. It was only a plain record of what happens in the crowded cities of the older land--a murder, two suicides, and the inevitable destitution and drunkenness, but he looked up with kindling eyes. "I could not shut my ears. The call was, 'come an' help us,' an' I'm going. Going back out of the sunshine into the slums o' Lancashire." This, I reflected, was the man who had once attempted my life--ignorant, intolerant, and filled with prejudice, but at least faithful to the light within him; and I knew that even if he failed signally, the aim he set before himself was a great one. No suitable answer, however, suggested itself, and I was thankful when Aline said, "It is a very fine thing to do. But what about your daughter?" "Her place was by her husband," said Lee; "but her husband left her. Minnie is going back with me. Your brother will take me to see her to-morrow." I did so, at the risk of overtaxing the horses by a trying journey through softening snow; but I sent a telegram to Minnie, and when we left the cars she was there to meet us, looking weak and ill, with shadows in the hollows round her eyes. "It was very good of you to come, father," she said. "I was an undutiful daughter, and I suffered for it. Now I have broken the law, and the police troopers could take me to prison. But I am tired of it all, father, and if you will have me I am going home with you." "Thou'rt my own lass," said Lee; and I found something required my presence elsewhere, for Minnie was shaken by emotion as she clung to him. And yet this tearful woman had outwitted the tireless wardens of the prairie, and, in spite of the law's vigilance and deadly cold, smuggled her faithless husband safe across the border. We stayed at Moran's Hotel that night, and Mrs. Moran acted with unusual good-nature, in the circumstances, for she not only suffered Minnie to leave her at the commencement of the busy season, but bestowed many small presents upon her, and it was with difficulty that I avoided giving her husband an order for sufficient implements to till the whole of the Fairmead district. "Now that you're here you had better make sure of a bargain while you have a chance," he said. "Say, as a matter of friendship I'll put them in at five per cent. under your best offer from Winnipeg." Though I wished them both good fortune, satisfaction was largely mingled with my regret when the next day I stood in the little station looking after the train which bore Lee and his daughter back to his self-imposed task in smoky Stoney Clough. Neither of them ever crossed my path again; but still Harry and I discuss the old man's doings, and Aline says that there was a trace of the hero hidden under his most unheroic exterior. Not long after this Calvert called on us, and spent two days at Fairmead before he went east again. He explained his visit as follows: "The Day Spring will have to get on as best it can without my services. The fact is, I can't stand its owner any longer. I was never very fond of him--no one is, but I liked poor Ormond, and stayed for his sake. So, informing the Colonel that he could henceforward run the mine himself, I pulled out hoping to get a railroad appointment in Winnipeg. By the way, there is trouble brewing between him and your uncle." Aline nodded toward me meaningly, and Calvert continued: "Our tunnel leads out beside one boundary of the Day Spring claim. I must explain that of late we found signs that, in spite of a fault, the best of the reef stretched under adjoining soil, and it was only owing to disagreements with his men, and my refusal, that the Colonel neglected to jump the record of a poor fellow who couldn't put in the legal improvements. He had intended to do so; while I believe the miner, who fell sick, told your uncle. This will make clear a good deal; you should remember it. Well, to work our adit we had to make an ore and dirt dump on adjacent land; and we'd hardly started it than two men began felling timber right across our skidway, until, speaking as if he commanded the universe, the Colonel ordered them off. They didn't go, however; and I really thought he would have a fit when one of them said with a grin, 'Light out of this, and be quick. Don't you know you're trespassing?' "Colonel Carrington turned his back on them, and bade us run out the trolley along the wooden way; and I did so, against my judgment, for one of the men looked ugly, and my master wasn't exactly a favorite. The other fellow was busy with the axe, and when he gave me a warning to get out I proceeded to act upon it--which was fortunate, for a big hemlock came down on the trolley, and all that was left of it wasn't worth picking up. Colonel Carrington doesn't usually give himself away, but he swore vividly, and I went with him the next day into the timber city. It's getting a big place already. He stalked into the land agent's office with a patronizing air, and then said with his usual frigidity: "'Who owns the timber lots about the Day Spring? I'm going to buy them.' "'You can't do it,' said the agent. 'My client won't sell, and wants to give you warning that he doesn't like trespassing.' "'That means he wants a big price,' said the Colonel, looking at the map. 'What's his figure?' "And the agent grinned as he answered, 'For the piece you require for the ore-dump, ten thousand dollars.' "'He is mad,' said the Colonel, 'perfectly stark mad. Tell him I shall dump my refuse on it, if I have to finance somebody to locate a mineral claim. What is the name of this lunatic?' "'Martin Lorimer,' said the agent. 'The crown in that case gives you the minerals; but before you put a pick into the ground you must meet all demands for compensation--and they'll be mighty heavy ones. My client is also prepared to collect them by the best legal assistance that money can buy, and I guess you've given him a useful hint.' "My respected chief just walked out; but I think he was troubled at the name," said Calvert. "And after that there was some fresh difficulty every week, while his temper, which was never a good one, got perfectly awful, until I came away. He'll go off in a fit of apoplexy or paralytic seizure when his passion breaks loose some day." Calvert furnished other particulars before he resumed his eastward journey, leaving me with much to ponder. An actively worked mine is a public benefit, and its owners usually have free access and privilege upon the adjacent soil; but I knew that in such matters as cutting timber, water, and ore and refuse heaps a hostile neighbor could harass them considerably. "Uncle Martin is going to enjoy himself," said Aline, when I told her so. It was some weeks later when Harry and his assistants came home, bringing with him a heavy bank draft and a wallet stuffed with dollar bills. He looked more handsome and winning than ever when he greeted Aline, and--though it needed some experience of her ways to come to this conclusion--I could tell that she regarded him with approval. He had finished the railroad work, and when he had furnished full details about it, he showed that he had thoughtfully considered other matters, for he said: "Ralph, I guessed you would be busy altering Fairmead on opportunity, and now that your sister has turned it into a palace I should always be afraid of spoiling something; so I have arranged by mail to camp with Hudson, of the next preemption. His place is scarcely a mile away. Miss Lorimer, you don't realize the joys of living as a bachelor, or you would freely forgive me." "I think I do," said Aline. "Half-cooked food on plates that have not been washed for weeks and weeks, and a house like a pig-stye. Have I not seen my brother reveling in them? Mr. Harry Lorraine, from what Ralph has told me, there is no one I should more gladly welcome to Fairmead than its part-owner, and I am surprised that he should prefer the pig-stye. Still, in reference to the latter, is there not a warning about blindly casting?" "There is," laughed Harry. "I crave mercy. In token of submission I will help you to wash those dishes now." And, being perfectly satisfied to be for once relieved of the duty, I lounged in the ox-hide chair watching them through the blue tobacco smoke, and noting what a well-matched couple they were. An hour had sufficed to make them good friends; and I was quite aware that Harry had entered into the arrangement merely for our own sake, Hudson, as everybody knew, being neither an over-cleanly nor companionable person. When the last plate had been duly polished and placed in the rack that Aline had insisted on my making, Harry spread out a bundle of papers. "Now we will settle down to discuss the spring campaign, if your sister will excuse us," he said. "Aline is already longing to show me how to run a farm. Go on, and beware how you lay any weak points open to her criticism," I answered. "In the first place, there is the inevitable decision to make between two courses," said Harry; "the little-venture-little-win method or the running of heavy risks for a heavy prize. Personally I favor the latter, which we have adopted before, and, which I think you have already decided on." "I have," I said. "Then we will take it as settled that we put every possible acre under crop this spring, hiring assistance largely, which, based on your own figures, should leave us this balance. It's a pity to work poor Ormond's splendid beasts at the plough, but of course you wouldn't like to sell them, and they must earn their keep. The next question is the disposal of the balance." "I would not sell them for any price," I said. "My idea is to invest all the balance--except enough to purchase seed and feed us during winter if the crop fails--in cattle, buying a new mower, and hiring again to cut hay. It's locked-up money, but the profit should provide a handsome interest, and there's talk of a new creamery at Carrington, which promises a good market for milk. This brings us back to the old familiar position. We shall be prosperous men if all goes well, with just enough to pay our debts if it doesn't." "I look for the former," said Harry. "But with your permission we'll deduct this much for a building fund--half to be employed at the discretion of either. You will want to further extend this dwelling, and I may buy Hudson's place under mortgage. It would be well-sunk money, for at the worst we could get it back if we sold the property. You agree? Then the whole affair is settled, and it only remains for Miss Lorimer to wish us prosperity." "You are a very considerate partner, Mr. Lorraine, and if I were a wheat-grower I should be proud to trust you. May all and every success attend your efforts. Now put up those papers, and tell me about British Columbia." It was very late when Harry walked back to Hudson's, while I did not sleep all night, thinking over the tremendous difference that success or failure would make to myself and Grace. CHAPTER XXIX CONCERNING THE DAY SPRING MINE It was a perfect day when we commenced the ploughing, and we hailed it as a favorable augury that cloudless sunshine flooded the steaming prairie. Glittering snow still filled the hollows here and there, but already the flowers lifted their buds above the whitened sod, and the air vibrated to the beat of tired wings as the wild fowl returned like heralds of summer on their northward journey. We had three hired men to help us, in addition to the teams driven by myself and Harry; but, and this was his own fancy, it was Aline who commenced the work. "You will remember our hopes and fears the day we first put in the share. Many things have happened since," he said, "but once more the harvest means a great deal to both of us. Miss Lorimer--and we are now more fortunate, Ralph, than we were then--you will imagine yourself an ancient priestess, and bless the soil for us. That always struck me as an appropriate custom." The wind had freshened the roses in Aline's cheeks, and her eyes sparkled as she patted the brawny oxen. Then she grasped the plough-stilts, and, calling to the beasts, Harry strode beside her, with his brown hand laid close beside her white one. Theirs was the better furrow, for, tramping behind my own team not far away, I could hardly keep my eyes off the pair. Both had grown very dear to me, and they were worth the watching--the handsome strong man, and the eager bright-faced girl, whose merry laugh mingled with the soft sound of clods parting beneath the share. They stopped at the end of the furrow, and I wondered when Aline said with strange gentleness: "God bless the good soil, and give the seed increase, that we may use the same for Thy glory, the relief of those that are needy, and our own comfort." "Amen!" said Harry, bending his uncovered head, as, a sinewy, graceful figure in dusty canvas, with the white sod behind him, he helped her across a raw strip of steaming clod, while neither of us spoke again until we had completed another furrow. It was a glorious spring, and not for long years had there been such a seed time, the men who helped us said, while my hopes rose with every fresh acre we drilled with the good grain. I was sowing the best that was within me as well as the best hard wheat, and it seemed that the rest of my life depended on the result of it. There is no need to tell how we labored among the black clods of the breaking, or the dust that followed the harrows, under the cool of morning or the mid-day sun, for we were young and strong, fighting for our own hand, with a great reward before at least one of us. Still, at times I remembered Lee, who was in his own way fighting a harder battle against drunkenness and misery, the reward of which was only hardship and poverty. Once I said so to Aline, and she answered me: "It was his vocation; he could not help it. Yours, and I do not think you could help it either--you would have made a remarkably poor preacher, Ralph--is to break new wheat-lands out of the wilderness; for, you will remember--well, I'm not a preacher either, but not wholly for Grace or yourself." Women, I have since learned, not infrequently see, perhaps by instinct, deeper into primal causes than men, and there was more in her words than perhaps she realized, for though the immediate impulse may be trifling or unworthy, it is destiny that has set the task before us, and in spite of the doer's shortcomings it is for the good of many that all thorough work stands. Many a reckless English scrapegrace has driven the big breaker through new Canadian land because he dare not await the result of his folly at home, but nevertheless, if he ploughed well, has helped to fill the hungry in the land he left behind. It was during the sowing that Aline showed me a paragraph in a Victoria paper which said, among its mining news: "We hear that the Day Spring will probably close down pending negotiations for sale. For some time there has been friction with the owner of the neighboring property, who has also located a mineral claim, and, it is said, has exacted large sums for compensation. We understand there are indications of fair payable ore, but further capital is needed to get at it. We do not desire to emulate some newspapers in sensational stories, but there is a tale of a hard fight for this mine between two Englishmen, one of whom championed the cause of an oppressed colonist." "It seems cruel," said Aline. "I am afraid Uncle Martin is very revengeful, and I wish he had not done so much. However, from what I hear, Colonel Carrington almost deserves it, and he has evidently treated Uncle Martin badly. I suppose you have not heard what caused the quarrel?" "No," I answered, "and in all probability no one ever will. It is, however, an old one, and they only renewed it in Canada. Uncle Martin says little about his injuries, but he doesn't forget them." This was but the beginning, for we had news of further developments shortly, when Calvert paid us a second visit. "I'm going home to England for a holiday," he said. "Secured a very indifferent post in Winnipeg, and was delighted to hear of another mining opening in British Columbia. Now, you'll be surprised, too. It was to enter your uncle's service. I met him about the Day Spring sometimes, and he apparently took rather a fancy to me, while on my part I didn't dislike him." "Martin Lorimer turned mine-owner! This is news," I said, and Calvert laughed. "Yes, and of the Day Spring, too; I'm to manage it in his interest. Now you see the method in his madness. It appears that the Colonel had pretty well come to the end of his tether--he is by no means as well off as he used to be--and in his customary lordly way he told a financial agent to get from any one whatever he could over a fixed limit. It was, as a matter of necessity, a low limit. I warned Mr. Lorimer that though there was a prospect of fair milling ore we had found very little so far, but he's a remarkably keen old fellow, and had been talking to the miners, especially the unfortunate one who had been holding out against the Colonel's attempts to squeeze him off his claim. Mr. Lorimer agreed with him to let it lapse and re-record it. So I went with him and his agent to sign the agreement, and felt half-ashamed when Colonel Carrington came in. Of course, I had no need to. He always treated me with a contemptuous indifference that was galling, and a man must earn his bread. Still, I had taken his pay, and it hurt me to see him beaten down upon his knees. "He came near starting when he saw your uncle, but made no sign of recognition, as, turning to his broker, he asked in his usual haughty way, 'Will you tell me what this man's business is?' "'Mr. Lorimer takes over the Day Spring,' said the agent, and I fancy the ruler of Carrington swore softly between his teeth, after which he said: 'You told me it was Smithson you were negotiating with. Is there any means whatever by which I can annul the bargain?' "'Smithson bid beneath your limit, and then bought it acting as broker for Mr. Lorimer,' was the answer. 'I have applied for a record of conveyance, and the sale was made by your orders. It cannot be canceled now without the consent of the purchaser, and a new record.' "The two men looked at each other, your uncle drawing down his thick eyebrows, which is a trick he has, and the Colonel gnawed his lip. If it had happened in the early gold days there would have been pistol shots. Then my new employer said, 'I will not sell,' and Colonel Carrington flecked off a speck of dust with his gloves. "'You have bought it for less than a fourth of what I spent on the property,' he said very coolly, 'but if the mine yields as it has done hitherto I cannot congratulate you,' and he stalked out of the room. He was hard hit, but he went down the stairway as unconcernedly as if he had not come to the end of a fortune, while the new owner said nothing as he looked after him. That's about all, except that the Colonel goes back to Carrington, and my worthy employer to Mexico. He told me he had word your cousin was not well there. I wonder, Ralph, how this matter will affect you. Your relations with Miss Carrington are of course not altogether a secret." I did not enlighten him. In fact, I hardly cared to ask myself the question, for I could not see how the fact that he had lost a considerable portion of his property could increase the Colonel's good-will toward me. Nevertheless, if the difference in worldly possessions constituted one of the main obstacles, as he had said it did, there had been a partial leveling, and if we were favored with a bounteous harvest there might be a further adjustment. I should not have chosen the former method; indeed, I regretted it, but it was not my fault that he had quarreled with Martin Lorimer, who had beaten him in a mining deal. The latter could be hard and vindictive, but there was after all a depth of headstrong good-nature in him which was signally wanting in the cold-blooded Colonel. I disliked him bitterly, but now I almost pitied him. "Do you think there is any ore worth milling in the Day Spring, Calvert?" I asked presently. "Frankly, I do. It will cost further money to bring it up, but now that I have a free hand and unstinted material I am even sanguine. We start in earnest in two months or so, and then we will see--what we shall see." Calvert left us the next day, and it was a long time before I saw any more of him. The next news that I had was that Grace and Miss Carrington had returned to Carrington. I rode over to see them, and found a smaller number of teams plowing than there should have been, while even Miss Carrington, who received me without any token of displeasure, seemed unusually grave, and several things confirmed the impression that there was a shadow upon the Manor. I could ask no questions, and it was Grace who explained matters as I stood under the veranda holding the bridle of Ormond's hunter. "It's a strange world, Ralph," she said in a tone of sadness. "Rupert, as you will notice, knows me well, and I never thought that one time you would ride him. Poor Geoffrey! I cannot forget him. And now your uncle owns the mine my father hoped so much from. The star of Fairmead is in the ascendent and that of Carrington grows dim." "All that belongs to Fairmead lies at your feet," I said, "I value its prosperity only for your sake," and she sighed as she answered: "I know, but it is hard to see troubles gathering round one's own people, though I am glad the mine has gone. It was that and other such ventures that have clouded the brightness there used to be in Carrington. Still, Ralph," and here she looked at me fixedly, "I am a daughter of the house, and if I knew that you had played any part in the events which have brought disaster upon it I should never again speak to you." I could well believe her, for she had inherited a portion of her father's spirit, and I knew the ring in her voice, but I placed one arm round her shoulder as I answered: "You could hardly expect me to like him, but I have never done him or any man a wilful injury, and until the sale was completed I knew nothing about it. But now, sweetheart, how much longer must we wait and wait? Before the wheat is yellow Fairmead will be ready for its mistress, and with a good harvest we need not fear the future." "You must trust me still Ralph," she said wearily. "I am troubled, and often long for the wisdom to decide rightly what I ought to do, but when I feel I can do so I will come. Twice my father and I had words at Vancouver, and sometimes I blame myself bitterly for what I said. Wait still until the harvest; perhaps the difficulties may vanish then. Meanwhile, because I am Grace Carrington, and he would not receive you if he were here, you must come no more to the Manor while my father is away. Besides, each hour is precious in spring, and now you must spend it well for me." I had perforce to agree. Grace was always far above the petty duplicity which even some excellent women delight in, and she added gently: "Some day you will be glad, Ralph, that we acted in all things openly; but a fortnight to-morrow I intend riding to Lone Hollow, from which I return at noon. Then, as a reward of virtue, you may meet me." It was with buoyant spirits that I rode homeward under the starlight across the wide, dim plain, for the cool air stirred my blood, and the great stillness seemed filled with possibilities. The uncertainty had vanished, the time was drawing in, and something whispered that before another winter draped white the prairie Grace would redeem her promise. Counted days as a rule pass slowly, but that fortnight fled, for there was little opportunity to think of anything but the work in hand in the hurry of the spring campaign, and one night Raymond Lyle, of Lone Hollow, and another of the Carrington colonists spent an hour with us. Since Aline honored Fairmead with her presence we had frequent visits from the younger among them. Aline was generally piquant, and these visitors, who, even if a few were rather feather-brained, were for the most part honest young Englishmen, seemed to find much pleasure in her company. Lyle, however, was a somewhat silent and thoughtful man, for whom I had a great liking, and he had come to discuss business. "Listen to me, Lorimer, while I talk at length for once," he said. "A few of the older among us have been considering things lately, and it doesn't please us to recognize that while nearly every outsider can make money, or at least earn a living on the prairie, farming costs most of us an uncertain sum yearly. We are by no means all millionaires, and our idea is not to make this colony a pleasure ground for the remittance-man. We have the brains, the muscle, and some command of money; we were born of landowning stock; and we don't like to be beaten easily by the raw mechanic, the laborer, or even the dismissed clerk. Still, while these farm at a profit we farm at a loss." "I belong to the latter class," I said; "and here are a few reasons. We are plowing and grain-hauling while you shoot prairie-chicken or follow the coyote hounds. We work late and early, eat supper in dusty garments, and then go on again; while you take your hand at nap after a formal dinner, and--excuse me--you look on farming as an amusement, while the land demands the best that any man can give it--brain and body. Besides, you are lacking in what one might call commercial enterprise." "I agree with you," said Lyle, "especially the latter. Anyway, we have had almost sufficient of farming as a luxury, and mean to make it pay. Colonel Carrington's ideal of an exclusive semi-feudal Utopia is very pretty, but I fear it will have to go. Now I'm coming to the point. You and Jasper have shown us the way to make something out of buying young Western stock; but we're going one better. Breeding beef is only one item. What about the dairy? We couldn't well drink up all the milk, even if we liked it; and we have definitely decided on a Carrington creamery, with a Winnipeg agency for our cheese and butter." "Bravo!" said Harry. "Ralph, that should pay handsomely. Only one rival in all this district! I see big chances in it." Then Raymond chuckled as he continued: "Specifications have been got out for a wooden building, a location chosen, and, in short, we want you two to cut the timber and undertake the erection. We want a man we know, Lorimer, whom we can discuss things with in a friendly way. It can't be ready this summer, and you can take your own time doing it. The rest say they should prefer you to an outsider; and your railroad building is a sufficient guarantee." I lighted my pipe very deliberately, to gain time to think. Neither Harry nor I was a mechanic; but in the Western Dominion the man without money must turn his hand to many trades, and we had learned a good deal, railroad building. Neither need it interfere too much with the farming, for we could hire assistants, even if we brought them from Ontario; and here was another opening to increase our revenue. "Subject to approved terms, we'll take it--eh, Harry?--on the one condition that Colonel Carrington does not specifically object to me," I said. "Where is the site?" "Green Mountain," answered Raymond Lyle. "As to terms, look over the papers and send in an estimate. Payments, two-thirds cash, interim and on completion, and the balance in shares at your option. Several leading business men in Brandon and Winnipeg have applied for stock." "Green Mountain!" broke in Harry. "That's the Colonel's private property and pet preserve. Coyote, even timber wolves, antelope and other deer haunt it, don't they? He will never give you permission to plant a creamery there. Besides, I hardly fancy that any part of the scheme will commend itself to him." Lyle looked thoughtful. "I anticipate trouble with him," he said. "Indeed, the trouble has commenced already. But, with all due respect to Colonel Carrington, we intend to have the creamery. He came home yesterday, and rides over to see Willmot about it to-morrow." When he had gone Harry laughed with evident enjoyment of something. "The fat will be in the fire with a vengeance now," he said, "I didn't give them credit for having so much sense. It's one thing to speculate and run gold mines that don't pay in British Columbia, but quite another to turn one's pet and most exclusive territory into 'a condemned, dividend-earning, low-caste, industrial settlement, by Gad, sir!' Cut down the Green Mountain bluff, smoke out beast and bird, plant a workman's colony down in Carrington! Turn the ideal Utopia into a common, ordinary creamery!--and you will notice they mean to make it pay. The sun would stand still sooner than the Colonel consent." I was inclined to agree with Harry, but I also felt that if it were impossible to lessen Colonel Carrington's opposition to myself there was no use making further sacrifices hopelessly. Even his own people had shown signs of revolt, and Grace's long patience appeared exhausted. There are limits beyond which respectful obedience degenerates into weakness, and the ruler of Carrington had reached them. I met Grace at the time appointed, and her look of concern increased when I mentioned the creamery. "I am afraid it will lead to strife, and I am sorry that you are connected with it," she said. "My father, though I do not altogether agree with him, has a very strong objection to the project, while even his best friends appear determined upon it. It may even mean the breaking up of the Carrington colony. Since the last check at Vancouver he has been subject to fits of suppressed excitement, and my aunt dare scarcely approach him. Ralph, from every side disaster seems closing in upon us, and I almost fear to think what the end will be. It is my one comfort to know that you are near me and faithful." Her eyes were hazy as she looked past me across the prairie. Starry flowers spangled the sod, the grass was flushed with emerald, while the tender green of a willow copse formed a background for her lissom figure as she leaned forward to stroke the neck of the big gray horse, which pawed at the elastic turf. There was bright sunshine above us, dimming even the sweep of azure, and a glorious rush of breeze. All spoke of life and courage, and I strove to cheer her, until a horseman swept into sight across a rise, and my teeth closed together when I recognized the ruler of Carrington. He rode at a gallop, and his course would lead him well clear of where we stood, while by drawing back a few yards the willows would have hidden us. But I was in no mood to avoid him, even had Grace been so inclined, which was not the case; and so we waited until, turning, he came on at a breakneck pace. The black horse was gray with dust and lather when he reined him in, spattering the spume flakes upon me. After a stiff salutation, I looked at the Colonel steadily. "You are an obstinate and very ill-advised young man, Lorimer of Fairmead," he said, making an evident effort to restrain his fury--at which I took courage, for it was his cold malevolence that I disliked most. "Grace, you shall hear now once and for all what I tell him. Lorimer, you shall never marry Miss Carrington with my consent." It may not have been judicious, but I was seldom successful in choosing words, and expected nothing but his strongest opposition, so I answered stoutly, "I trust that you will even yet grant it, sir. If not--and Miss Carrington is of age--we must endeavor to do without it." He turned from me, striking the impatient horse, and when the beast stood fast, he fixed his eyes on his daughter. "Have you lost your reason as well as all sense of duty, Grace?" he stormed. "What is this beggarly farmer, the nephew of my bitterest enemy, that you should give up so much for him? Have you counted the cost--hardship, degrading drudgery, and your father's displeasure? And would you choose these instead of your natural position as mistress of Carrington?" "While I have strength to work for her she shall suffer none of them," I said. But neither, apparently, heeded me, and, rapidly growing fiercer, the old man added: "There will be no half-measures--you must make the choice. As that man's wife you will never enter the doors of the Manor. Remember who you are, girl, and shake off this foolishness." His mood changed in an instant. Colonel Carrington was clearly not himself that day, for there was an almost pleading tone in the concluding words, and he awaited her answer in a state of tense anxiety, while I could see that Grace was trembling. "It is too late, father. The choice is already made," she said. "There are worse things than poverty, and if it comes we can bear it together. We hope you will still yield your consent, even though we wait long for it, and had you asked anything but this I should have done it. Now I have given my promise--and I do not wish to break it." Her voice was strained and uneven, and with a thrill of pride, leaning sideways from the saddle, I caught her horse's bridle as by right of ownership. However, in spite of his enmity, I was sorry for Colonel Carrington. It must have been a trying moment, for he loved his daughter, but wounded pride gained the mastery, and his face grew livid. I made some protestation that we both regretted his displeasure, and that Grace should want nothing which I could give her, but again he utterly ignored me, and, wrenching on the curb, backed the horse a few paces. Then, and I shall never forget the bitterness of his tone, he said: "First those fools in British Columbia, then the men I settled in Carrington, and now my child to turn against me in my adversity. You have made your choice, girl, and you will rue it. I will humble you all before I die." He caught at his breath, his face twitched, and his left hand sank to his side, but he wheeled the black horse with his right and left us without another word, while Grace sat looking after him with a white face and tears in her eyes. "I cannot tell you what this has cost me, Ralph," she said. "No, you must not say anything just now. Give me time to think; I can hardly bear it." We did not resume our journey immediately, and when we passed the next rise Colonel Carrington was far off on the prairie. "We will wait until harvest," Grace said, in reply to my questions. "There will, I fear, be changes by then." Half an hour later we rode into sight of Carrington, and both instinctively drew rein; then Grace signified approval as without speaking we rode on again. Still her faint smile showed that she recognized my own feeling that we were riding boldly into the camp of the enemy. Miss Carrington met us at the entrance, and when I dismounted said to me aside: "My brother came in a little while since in an angry mood. I fancy he must have met you, and will not ask injudicious questions; but, to please me, you will go. He has been broken in health lately, and any further excitement is to be avoided just now." I took my leave accordingly, for as far as she could do so without offending her brother Miss Carrington sympathized with us, and as I rode back to Fairmead I could not forget the Colonel's curious manner when he concluded the interview. I also recollected how Calvert had said: "That man will end with a stroke, or in a fit, when he lets his passion master him some day." CHAPTER XXX CARRINGTON ASSERTS HIS AUTHORITY A week or two passed, and then when riding to Lone Hollow on business connected with the creamery scheme I chanced upon Jasper. I had seen very little of him since Harry returned, and taxed him with it, saying: "Have we frightened you away from Fairmead lately?" "No," he answered, with some confusion. "I guess there's no place in the Dominion where I should sooner go." "Well, then, why don't you come?" I asked; and the big man hesitated still, inspecting his boots, until, facing round toward me, he said: "I've been figuring it mightn't be good for me. I'm a plain man with a liking for straight talk, Ralph--so are you--and it might make things easier if I were to tell you. It's Miss Aline that scared me." I burst out laughing, but Jasper did not join; then I waited somewhat astonished until he continued: "She's the flower of this prairie, and she's got a mighty cute head of her own. I never could stand them foolish women. So I came, and I would have come every day, until Harry chipped in, and that set me thinking. I said, 'You stop there and consider, Jasper, before it's too late, and you're done for.'" I frowned at this, but Jasper added: "You don't get hold exactly--what I meant was this: I'm a big rough farmer, knowing the ways of wheat and the prairie, and knowing nothing else. She's wise, and good, and pretty, way up as high as the blue heaven above me. Even if she'd take me--which, being wise, she wouldn't--the deal wouldn't be fair to her. No; it couldn't anyway be fair to her. Then I saw Harry with his clever talk and pretty ways, and I said, 'That's the kind of man that must mate with her. Go home to your plowing, Jasper, before it becomes harder, and you make a most interesting fool of yourself.' So I went home, and I'm going to stop there, Ralph Lorimer, until the right man comes along. Then--well, I'll wish Miss Aline the happiness I could never have given her." "You are a very good fellow, Jasper," I said, and pitied my old friend as he departed ruefully. He had acted generously, and though I hardly fancy Aline would have accepted him, in any case, I knew that she might have chosen worse. There are qualities which count for more than the graces of polish and education, especially in new lands, but Harry possessed these equally, and, as Jasper had said, Aline and he had much more in common. Then it also occurred to me that there was some excuse for Colonel Carrington. The cases were almost parallel, and to use my friend's simile Grace Carrington was also as high as the blue heavens above her accepted lover. Still, if I had not the Ontario man's power of self-abnegation, and had forgotten what was due to her, she had said with her own lips that she could be happy with me, and I blessed her for it. What transpired at Lone Hollow also provided food for thought. Lyle and several of the supporters of the creamery scheme awaited me there. "We have practically decided to accept your estimates," Lyle said, "but it seems advisable to make one or two alterations, and we want you to ride over with us to Green Mountain to-morrow and make a survey of a fresh site that one of the others seems to think favorable. After we decide on a place for the buildings, and a few other details, we'll ask you to attend a meeting which we expect to hold at the Manor. The matter will have to be discussed with Colonel Carrington." "Then I should sooner you excuse me. I'm afraid that my presence might prejudice the Colonel," I replied, and several of the others laughed. "He's prejudiced already," said one. "Still, we are growing rather tired of the Colonel's opposition to whatever he does not suggest himself, and we mean to build the creamery. You will have to face your share of the unpleasantness with the rest of us." I almost regretted that I had furnished the estimates, but it was too late and I could not very well draw back now; so, promising to attend, I returned to Fairmead in a thoughtful mood. Aline bantered me about my absent-mindedness, and desired to learn the cause of it, but as Harry was there and it partly concerned Jasper's explanation I did not enlighten her. Strange to say, I had never pictured Harry as a suitor for my sister, but now I could see only advantages in the union for both of them, and, what was perhaps as much to the purpose, advantages for me. I expected to bring Grace to Fairmead sooner or later, and she and Aline were, I felt, too much alike in one or two respects to agree. On the following day I rode over to Green Mountain with Lyle and three or four of his friends. We had a measuring chain with us as well as one or two instruments that I had learned how to use when railroad building, and it was afternoon when we got to work plotting out the alternative site for the creamery that one of the others had considered more favorable on account of its convenience to running water. The term Mountain is used somewhat vaguely on the prairie, and Green Mountain could scarcely be called a hill. It was a plateau of no great height dotted with a dense growth of birches and seamed by ravines out of one of which a creek that would supply the creamery with power came swirling. We alighted on the birch bluff that stretched out some distance into the prairie from the foot of the plateau, and spent an hour or so before we decided that the new site was more favorable than the other. Then Lyle turned to me. "Hadn't we better run our line through and mark it off now that we're here?" he suggested. I agreed, and as one of the men had brought two or three saws and axes in a wagon we set about it. The men from Carrington, however, were not very proficient at the work and a good deal of the chopping fell to me. The bush was rather thick, and I spent an hour in tolerably arduous labor before our base line was clear. Then I sat down on a slender fallen birch while Lyle and the rest went back to the wagon for some provisions they had brought. It was evident that we could not get home for supper. It was a still afternoon, and the sound of the creek rang across the shadowy birches with an almost startling distinctness. That end of the line had, however, nearly reached the verge of the prairie. Presently another sound that rapidly grew louder reached my ears. It was the rhythmic beat of approaching hoofs, and for no very definite reason it brought me a trace of uneasiness. However, I sat still with my pipe in my hand until the drumming of hoofs that grew very close stopped suddenly, and then turning sharply I saw Colonel Carrington striding through the bush. He stopped near my side, and nobody would have supposed from his appearance that the sight of me or the fallen trees afforded him any pleasure. Three or four slender birches lay close at my feet, and here and there another was stretched across the line I had driven. Carrington's face grew hard, and a little portentous sparkle crept into his eyes as he looked at them. Then he turned to me. "Mr. Lorimer," he said, "will you be kind enough to explain why you are cutting my timber without permission?" "I have done it at Mr. Lyle's request, sir," I said. Now I do not know how Carrington had heard of what was going on, but his answer made it evident that he had. "Ah, I had partly expected this. Will you tell Lyle that I want him at once!" It was not a request but a command flung at me with a curt incisiveness that brought the blood to my face, and I was never quite sure afterward why I went. Still, it was usually difficult for even those who disliked him most to disobey Colonel Carrington. In any case, I found Lyle and the others, and came back with them outside the bluff which was the easier way. Carrington, however, had evidently grown impatient, and I saw Lyle's lips set tight when he and three or four of the younger men who I heard afterward were rather indebted to the Colonel rode out from the shadow of the bluff. One of my companions smiled expressively, but nothing was said until Carrington drew bridle a few yards away. He sat impassively still with one hand on his hip and a handful of young lads behind him, and there was silence for a few moments while the two parties looked at each other. It was not exactly my quarrel, but I could feel the tension. Lyle stood close beside me quietly resolute, but one or two of his comrades looked half-ashamed and as though they wished themselves anywhere else, while the lads who rode with Carrington were manifestly uneasy. Still, the grim, erect figure sitting almost statuesque on the splendid horse dominated the picture. At length Carrington indicated me with a glance which, though I was ashamed of the fact afterward, made me wince. "This man tells me that it is by your authority he is cutting down my timber," he said. "He is quite correct in that, sir," answered Lyle. "Ah," said Carrington, and his voice was very sharp, "you did not consider it necessary to ask my sanction?" Lyle looked at his companions, and it was evident that they realized that the time for decisive action had come. The Colonel clearly meant to assert his authority, and I fancied that he would not hesitate to overstep it if this appeared advisable. He had, however, ridden them on the curb too long, and his followers' patience was almost at an end. Still, it requires a good deal of courage suddenly to fling off a yoke to which one has grown accustomed, and I sometimes think that if Carrington had been a trifle less imperious and Lyle had not stood fast then his companions once more would have deferred to their ruler and the revolt would never have been made. Perhaps Lyle recognized this for his answer seemed intended to force the matter to an issue. "We were afraid it would be withheld, sir," he said. Carrington understood him, for I saw the blood creep into his face. "So you decided to dispense with it?" "I should have preferred to put it another way, but it amounts to that," said Lyle, and there was a murmur of concurrence from the rest which showed that their blood was up. "Then you may understand that it is refused once for all," said Carrington. "I will not have another birch felled on Green Mountain. Now that you know my views there is an end of it." He was wrong in this. The end which I think must have proved very different from what he could have expected had not yet come. He had taken the wrong way, for those whom he addressed were like himself mettlesome Englishmen of the ruling caste, and while they had long paid him due respect they were not to be trampled on. They stood fast, and losing his temper he turned to them in a sudden outbreak of fury. "Why don't you go?" he thundered, and pointed to the saws and axes. "Take those--things along with you." None of them moved except Lyle who stepped forward a pace or two. "There is a little more to be said, sir. You have refused your sanction, but bearing in mind a clause or two in the charter of the settlement I'm not quite sure it's necessary. In one sense Green Mountain is not exactly yours." "Not mine!" and Carrington stared at him in incredulous astonishment. Then he seemed to recover himself and smiled in an unpleasant fashion. "Ah," he said, "you have been reading the charter, but there are several points that evidently you have missed. For one thing, it vests practically complete authority in me, and my decision as to any changes or the disposal of any of the Carrington land can only be questioned by a three-fourths majority of a general assembly. I have not heard that you have submitted the matter to such a meeting." "I have not done so, sir," answered Lyle. There was, I thought, still a faint chance of a compromise, but Carrington flung it away. "Then," he said, "I choose to exert my authority, and I think that I have already told you to leave Green Mountain." Lyle apparently recognized that the Colonel had the best of it on what one might call a point of law, but the way the latter used the word "told" would, I think, have stirred most men to resistance. It was far more expressive than if he had said commanded. Lyle stood quite still a moment or two looking at the Colonel with wrinkled brows. "If you will listen to me for a few minutes, sir," he said at length. "No!" interrupted Carrington. "It would be a waste of time. You know my views. There is nothing more to be said." Then he committed the crowning act of folly as tightening his grasp on his bridle he turned to the lads behind him. "Drive them off!" he said. The half-contemptuous command was almost insufferably galling. Carrington might have been dealing with mutinous dusky troopers instead of free Englishmen who farmed their own land, and the lads who had at first appeared disposed to side with him hesitated. He swung around in the saddle and looked at them. "Must I speak twice?" he asked. He turned again raising the heavy riding crop he carried, and I expected to see the big horse driven straight at Lyle, but one of the lads seized his leader's bridle just in time. "Hold on, sir," he cried, and then while the big horse plunged he flung a few words at my companion. "Don't be a fool, Raymond. Get out of this--now!" he cried. Lyle's face was darkly flushed, and it appeared to cost him an effort to hold himself in hand. "We're going, sir," he said. "Loose his bridle, Charley." The lad did as he was bidden, and Lyle motioned us to withdraw, after which he once more addressed Carrington. "You have refused us permission to touch this timber, and I suppose we must yield to your wishes in this respect," he said. "I'm afraid it's more than likely, too, that you will object to our putting up the buildings we have in mind anywhere about Carrington?" "Your surmises are perfectly correct," replied the Colonel. "Well," said Lyle, "according to the charter we can overrule your objections by a three-fourths majority, and I have to give you notice that I'm going to call a meeting on Thursday next to consider the matter. We have generally met at the Manor to discuss anything of interest." Carrington who appeared to have recovered his composure raised his hand in sign of dismissal. "Any time you wish in the evening--say six o'clock," he said. We turned away and left him, but it seemed to me from his manner that he would not have agreed to the meeting so readily had he not been certain that it would cost him very little trouble to humiliate the men who called it. Lyle appeared very thoughtful as we rode away. "I'm sorry all this has happened, but it was bound to come," he said to one of his companions. "I may not have been particularly tactful, but, after all, unless I'd given way altogether I don't see that I could have handled the matter in any very different way." The man who rode beside him laughed somewhat ruefully. "No," he admitted, "you simply can't discuss a point with the Colonel. I'm rather afraid the thing's going to hurt a good many of us, and it may result in breaking up the settlement, but the fat's in the fire now, and we must stand fast." He broke off for a moment with a sigh. "If he only weren't so sickeningly obstinate! It's an abominably unpleasant situation." I could understand how the speaker shrank from the task in front of him. For years he and the others had rendered their leader unquestioning obedience, and the Colonel hitherto had ruled the settlement more or less in accordance with their wishes, though I fancy that this was due to the fact that their views had generally coincided and not to any willingness to defer to them. It was, perhaps, not unnatural that most of them should look coldly on innovations and hold by traditions, for Englishmen are proverbially averse to change. Still, they could recognize when a change was absolutely necessary, and setting aside their predilections and prejudices insist on it. I, however, had less of the latter, since my status was not theirs, and it seemed to me that the man who would be most hurt was Colonel Carrington. There was no doubt that he had the gift of command. Some men are unmistakably endued with it, and as a rule everybody defers to them even when they do not use it wisely. They come to regard it as their right, and by presuming on the good-nature or supineness of those with whom they come into contact, until at length the exception to the rule appears. Then being boldly faced they prove to be very much like other men. The air of authority disappears, and everybody wonders why he allowed himself to be overawed so long. Still, I sympathized with Lyle who rode slackly, as it were, gazing straight in front of him with thoughtful eyes. There was no doubt that what he meant to do was repugnant to him, especially as the Colonel was a distant kinsman of his. He was a quiet, honest, good-humored Englishman, but men of that kind now and then prove very grim adversaries when they are pushed too hard, and they stand for what they consider the interest of their fellows. Nothing further was said until we reached the spot where the trail to Fairmead branched off, and then Lyle turned to me. "I'll expect you at the Manor on Thursday," he said. Then they rode on to Carrington, and I turned off toward Fairmead. CHAPTER XXXI THE DEPOSED RULER The day of the meeting was never forgotten at Carrington, and distorted rumors of what had happened there traveled far across the prairie. One Mennonite settler compared it to the downfall of King Herod, but among Carrington's own people there were none who referred to the events of that evening without reluctance and regret. It was a glorious afternoon when I set out, and the prairie was fresh and green after a gentle rain that promised an early sprouting of the seed, but as I neared the Manor the faces of those I met were anxious and somber. They looked like men who after mature consideration had undertaken an unpleasant duty, and I could not help a fancy that some of them wished themselves well out of it. Saddled horses, buggies, and wagons stood in front of the house, and further mounted figures were approaching across the prairie, but the men who had already arrived seemed more inclined to wait for them than to enter the building, until its owner stood in the doorway. He looked at them with a little grim smile. "It is not the first time you have been here, and this difference appears a little unusual," he said. "Won't you come in?" I went in with the others, and was not pleased when Lyle placed me beside himself in a prominent position. Indeed, after a desultory conversation during which no one seemed quite at ease it was a relief to hear the last arrivals dismount and then to take our places at the long table upon which Lyle had deposited plans of the settlement. He with a few others of what was evidently the executive committee sat near me, and the rest stretched back toward the doorway. As we waited a few moments in a state of tense expectation the details of the scene impressed themselves on my memory. There were heads and skins, as well as Eastern weapons--trophies the Colonel had brought home from several of England's smaller wars--on the cedar wainscot. The prairie was flooded with sunlight outside, and an invigorating breeze that flowed in through the open windows brought with it the smell of the grass and stirred the heavy curtains. Carrington sat at the head of the table in a great oak chair which Grace once told me had come from a house that was famous in English history. There was an escutcheon which some of the settlers derided on the paneling above it, and the sunlight beating in through a window fell on him. He sat very erect, a lean, commanding figure with expressionless face and drooping white moustache, close to the great English pattern hearth which in winter assisted the much more useful stove, while both his manner and the surroundings suggested some scene in the feudal ages rather than an incident on the newly-opened prairie. "You asked me to meet you, and, as far as I can see, every man in Carrington is here," he said. "Raymond Lyle, you called this meeting. We are waiting for what you have to say." Lyle was not an orator, but he was filled with his subject, and the men listened to him that day. First he supplied them with details respecting the projected creamery, and then straightening himself a little he turned his quiet, honest eyes upon his host. "We desire to have your approval, sir, but we clearly recognize the necessity for more attention to the commercial side of the question if there is to be a lasting future for Carrington," he said. "We are proud of the colony, and we are all sportsmen, I think, but it seems to us that it is not wise to make it a mere playground and keep out all but people of our own station. On the contrary it would be better to welcome any well-educated Englishman and make it easier for him to earn a living here. In fact, we want an open-door policy, and a means of providing for the future of our children. It can be provided only by industrial enterprise, which is why I advocate the building of the creamery." For the first time a cynical smile flickered across Carrington's face. "Are you speaking for yourself, or for the rest?" he asked. "For myself certainly," said Lyle. "How far the rest agree with me will be seen if we appeal to them as an assembly with power to decide, which, unless we are forced to it, I think most of us should sooner avoid." "Then," remarked Carrington dryly, "in your case, at least, I quite fail to see any duty toward posterity. You have always lived among us as a bachelor, Lyle. I suspect your other arguments would appear equally foolish on examination. Will somebody else set out the precise advantages we may expect to derive from this creamery. I wish to see how far the crazy notion has laid hold of you." Lyle flushed. Some of the younger men laughed, and it is possible that had their leader shown any sign of faltering, the Colonel's sarcastic disapproval would even then have induced them to abandon the scheme. Most of the men of Carrington had, however, made up their minds, and several in succession explained in deferent but determined fashion why they considered it necessary to support Lyle. Carrington, I fancied, found it somewhat difficult to hide his astonishment. "We are going down to the root of the matter," said the last of them. "We wish to earn money, and not merely to spend it on half-hearted farming; and every desirable settler who takes up Carrington land increases the value of our possessions, and what is more important, our means of progress. We want more bridges, graded roads through the coulées, a stockyard on the railroad, and some day a branch line; and with all deference to you, we mean to get them. If this is impossible under present conditions, those conditions must be changed." There was a murmur of approval, but watching Colonel Carrington I knew that the man had said too much. In reply to a sharp question as to who was to undertake the building operations my name was mentioned. "Lorimer of Fairmead! I might have known it!" gasped the Colonel. Then there was silence as he gazed down the long rows of faces before answering. "I have listened with painful surprise," he said. "You wish to hear my views, and you shall have them, but first I want to read the agreement made by each one of you when you first settled in Carrington." He did so, and some of the men looked uncomfortable, for the land-settlement scheme practically made him supreme authority over all matters which the law of Canada did not affect. It also made it clear that he had borne the largest share of the cost of inaugurating the colony. He broke off, and it was a few moments before he went on again. "I founded this colony, and--I feel compelled to mention it--delivered some of you from difficulties, and brought you here. I have spent my time and money freely for the good of the Carrington district, and I have made it what it is, a place where an English gentleman can live economically if he will work a little, enjoying abundant sport and the society of his equals. That was my one object, and I have accomplished it, but further I will not go. Green Mountain is the finest cover for game on the prairie, and while I live no man shall cut timber, make roads, or put up a factory there. Neither will I in any way countenance the opening up of Carrington--my Carrington--to industrial exploitation for the influx of all and sundry. I will have no railroad nor any kind of factory within our limits if I can prevent it, and seeing in it the thin end of the wedge I must ask you to abandon the creamery scheme." He broke off abruptly, and then turned to Lyle again. "Have you lost your senses, Raymond. Would you make this clean, green land like Lancashire or parts of Pennsylvania?" One could see by the faces of the others that this shot had told. There was no great liking for commerce in any of those who heard him. They were sportsmen first of all, and they loved the open. Even had the thing been probable none of them would have wished to see Carrington defiled by the smoke of mills and factories. It seemed to me that the Colonel might have bent them to his will had he made some trifling concession or been willing to discuss the matter quietly. Most of them, I felt, would gladly have met him half-way. Still that was never a habit of Colonel Carrington's. He was an autocrat all through, and when he desired anything done he simply commanded it. In a moment or two Lyle answered him. "No sir," he said. "At least, not exactly, though Lancashire clothes half the people in the world with her cotton, and the roads that have opened up this continent are laid with Pennsylvania steel. Still, as we haven't iron or coal here there's very little probability of our doing what you seem afraid of with Carrington. We believe that the enterprise will prove a general benefit. We merely want good wagon roads, a creamery, and a few other similar things, and we respectfully ask you not to veto them." "I can't meet you," said Carrington. "As I said, my suggestion is that this preposterous scheme be abandoned forthwith." There was for a few moments a silence which seemed intensified by the soft rustle of the curtains as the breeze from the prairie flowed into the room. Then one of the men who had spoken in favor of the creamery rose and looked hard at Lyle who made a little sign. "Then as a matter of form and to take a vote I second that," he said. The others were very still, but I saw Carrington gaze at the speaker almost incredulously. Though, as one of them told me afterward, a vote had once before been asked for, it had only established their leader's authority more firmly, and I think this was the first time that any determined opposition had been offered to his will. "You mean to take a vote?" he asked. "Yes sir," said another man, and there was a little murmur of concurrence. "I'm afraid there is no other course left open to us." Again the Colonel stared at them incredulously, and it seemed to me that there was something almost pathetic about the old man's position. Grim and overbearing as he was, he stood alone, and for the first time I think he to some extent realized it. Still, it was evident that he could not bring himself to believe that they would go so far as to overrule his plainly expressed decision. "Then," he said, "you must proceed to take it. As stipulated in the charter it must be by ballot." A man who had not spoken yet, stood up. "To save time I move as an amendment that a committee be appointed to confer with Mr. Lorimer, who is here for the purpose, as to the construction of the creamery and to prepare a workable scheme which will if possible be submitted to this meeting." It was seconded, and Lyle moved down the long table with a handful of little papers. It was clear that the supporters of the scheme had everything ready, and for the first time a shadow of doubt seemed to creep into Carrington's eyes. "You are all supplied?" he said at length. "Then we will, as usual, take the amendment first." One or two of them borrowed a pencil from a neighbor, but it seemed very significant to me that most had one ready, and though I had no part in what was being done, I felt the tension when a man moved down the table collecting the little folded papers on a tray. Then the Colonel signed for him and another man to open them, and I think every eye was fixed on the two men who stood by the window tossing the papers upon a growing pile. There was only one pile, though three little slips were laid suggestively by themselves. Then in the midst of a very impressive silence through which the footsteps broke with a startling distinctness the two men moved toward the head of the table. The rest leaned forward watching their ruler who sat very still and grim in face. I fancied that though he was anxious he could not realize what awaited him. "They have all voted?" he asked. "Yes sir," said one of the men in a voice that sounded somewhat strained, and Carrington looked at him sharply. "The result?" he asked. "The amendment is carried, sir. There are only three dissentients." No one spoke, but I think a thrill ran through everybody in the room, and I know the blood rose to my face. Still, I fancy their own sensations troubled very few of my companions for every eye was fixed on their leader, as the stiffness seemed suddenly to melt out of him. He gasped, and for a moment or two seemed to be struggling to recover himself. Though I had not expected this I felt sorry for him. All but three of his followers had turned against him, and it was evident after what had been said that their decision implied the subversion of his authority. To a man of his temperament it must have been inexpressibly galling. Then he painfully straightened himself. He had in all probability never been beaten yet, and he had once, so his sister afterward told me, tamed a native levy of irregular cavalry and commanded them for two years in spite of the fact that a number of the dusky troopers had sworn to murder him on opportunity. "You cannot have the Green Mountain site, and I'll stop this thing yet," he said. The listeners' faces were a study. Indignation, regret, suppressed sympathy and a determination to maintain their rights, were stamped on them. They were Englishman born with a due respect for constituted authority who had loyally obeyed a leader of their own class, but they had also the average Englishman's respect for the liberty of the individual, and there were signs of approval when Lyle spoke again. "We have every respect for you, Colonel Carrington, and the course we have been compelled to take is a painful one, but I think there was no avoiding it," he said. "In regard to the charter, we have kept it faithfully even when you rather overstrained its meaning. Now we can no longer allow it to bar all progress, and we have resolved, if in agreement with one clause it can as I think be done, to entirely remodel it by a unanimous assembly. If not we will sell our holdings and move out in a body onto Government land." Lyle had faced the crisis. There was nothing left but open defiance, and he did not shrink from it. When he broke off, Carrington, who had listened with the veins swelling on his forehead, rose suddenly. It was evident that he had allowed his passion to master him. "Will you all turn against me, you dividend-hunting traitors?" he thundered. "You whom I brought here, and spent the best of my life for, squandering my daughter's patrimony on this colony until she too sets her will against me. Then listen to me. You shall do none of the things you say. By heaven, you shall not. There shall never be a factory in my settlement. In spite of you--I say--you shall not--do--one--of them!" His voice broke, and his jaw dropped. The hand he had swung up fell to his side, and I heard a faint cry as he sank limply into his chair. He lay there with his head on the carved back gazing at his rebellious followers with glassy eyes. I do not know who was the first to move, but in a moment I was standing near his side, and while a confused bustle commenced behind us I saw Lyle slip an arm beneath his neck. "Bring water, somebody! Ask Miss Carrington for brandy--don't tell her what it's for," he said. "Hurry, he's either in a fit or choking." A man brought the spirits, and Lyle mopped Carrington's forehead with a wetted handkerchief, which was probably of no great benefit, while when with the assistance of somebody I managed to open his clenched teeth and pour a little brandy down his throat a faint sign of returning sense crept into his eyes. He looked at us in a puzzled manner, saying in short gasps, "Lorimer and Lyle! You shall not--I tell you!" I believe this was the last time he ever recognized us. When his face grew expressionless, Lyle who laid him back again, turned to me. "Did you notice that he moved as though he had no power in his left side?" he said. "Foster and Broomfield, come here and help me. Armadale, you go and tell Miss Carrington tactfully." We left consternation behind us when after the return of the unwilling Armadale we carried the Colonel into his great bedroom where he lay breathing stertorously while Foster remained to assist his sister. Then the murmurs broke out as I returned, and each man looked at his neighbor in dismay, until there was once more stillness when dressed in some clinging white fabric Grace stood with a stern, cold face in the doorway. "You have spoken sufficient for one day," she said, and some of those who heard her afterward observed how like her voice was to her father's. "Enough to kill my father between you. May I ask you, now that you can do no more, to leave this house in quietness." The climax had filled them with consternation. They had acted in all honesty, and I cannot think they were to blame, but the riders of Carrington, stalwart, courageous men, slunk out like beaten dogs under the gaze of the girl. When they had gone, she beckoned me. "Ride hard to the railroad, and don't return without a doctor from Winnipeg. I wish to hear no excuses or explanations. Every moment is precious--go!" I went, much as did the others, and found Lyle who looked very shamefaced fumbling with his saddle cinch outside. "It's an unfortunate business, but of course we never expected such a sending--heaven forbid!" he said. "Well, if the wires will do it we'll bring out the best doctor they've got in Winnipeg. With all respect to them I shouldn't like to be Foster left behind to face those two women. Go home, and abuse me for making an unprecedented mess of it if you like, the rest of you!" It was a hard ride to the railroad, for we did not spare the beasts, and when the instrument clicked out a message that the doctor was ready but could not start before the next day's train Lyle wired back, "Come now in a special. We guarantee expense." Then he turned to me. "I think we were justified in what we said; but he was our chief, and a good one for a long time. Now I'd give up the whole scheme to set the thing straight again." In due time we brought a skillful surgeon to Carrington Manor, and waited very anxiously until he descended in search of us. "It is by no means a common case," he said. "Mental aberration and partial paralysis. Miss Carrington refers me to you for the possible cause of it. I gather that Colonel Carrington was a headstrong man who could brook no opposition to his will and was subjected to great excitement at a meeting you held." "Yes," replied Lyle. "Without going into unnecessary details, he strenuously resisted a project we had decided on, and the defeat of his wishes apparently came as a shock. He was speaking vehemently and collapsed in the middle of it." "What one might have anticipated," said the doctor. "I scarcely think the result will be fatal, but Colonel Carrington will never be the same man again. It is quite likely that he will not recover the use of his mental faculties, though it is rather premature to speak definitely yet, and I should not unduly alarm the two ladies." Then, perhaps noticing the genuine distress in Lyle's face, he added, "I don't think you need attribute too much to the incident you mentioned. It was only the last straw, so to speak, for I fancy the patient had been under a severe mental strain for a long time, and from what his sister tells me he was predisposed to attack, while some other cause would probably have precipitated the crisis." I sent word asking whether Grace would see me, and receiving an answer that she would see no one I rode moodily back to Fairmead. As Lyle had said, we were sorry, and should have given much to undo what had been done, but it was too late, and I felt that Colonel Carrington who could never have accepted a public defeat had, unyielding to the last, made a characteristic ending. CHAPTER XXXII THE NEW RULER OF CARRINGTON A month slipped by, and though I rode over often to the Manor it was seldom that I had speech with Grace, and never saw her father. The attack had left him with intellect clouded and limbs nearly powerless on one side, while he would hardly permit either his sister or daughter, who were the only persons he apparently recognized, to leave his sight. It was also with some trepidation that I awaited the first interview with Grace, but this vanished when she came in showing signs of an anxious vigil but only pleasure at my presence. "I am sorry that I spoke so to you, Ralph, that awful day," she said. "For hours together I have thought over all that happened, and though it was hard to overcome a feeling of resentment against the others, and even you at first, I tried to judge them fairly; and, if it is not disloyal to say so, I think they were right. Some day, when there will be many things to settle, I hope to tell them so; but I cannot do it yet." She would say nothing in the meantime as to her own plans, beyond that before she could consider herself there was much to be arranged that concerned her father and the Manor, and with this I had to be content. Lyle also showed his regret in a practical fashion by visiting the Manor constantly and supervising the farming, though I knew his own holding suffered in consequence, and by his advice young Foster had been appointed bailiff at a salary. Meanwhile, Harry and I were busy almost night and day, for when the sowing was finished I brought out carpenters and set them to work extending Fairmead, while with our own hands we hewed wind-felled timber where we could find it in the bluffs ready for them and the creamery. It was often necessary to ride long leagues for birches stout enough, and we frequently slept on the bare earth or in the wagon beside our work. To please a friend in Winnipeg I had accepted the services of a destitute British mechanic, who, when he arrived at Fairmead, with his fare advanced at our expense, demanded the highest wages paid in Canada, and then expressed grave doubts as to whether he could conscientiously undertake the more laborious parts of the framing, because he was a cabinet joiner, and this, so he said, was carpenter's work. We had met others of the kind before, who had made their employers' lives a burden in the old country, but they were the exception, after all. "You can please yourself," said Harry. "I'm a landowner and ploughman; but if I hadn't my hands full already I'd tackle anything, from making bricks to framing bridges, for the wages you're getting. However, to please you, we'll call the operation joinery." We had further trouble with this individual, who continually lamented he had ever come to a country wherein there was no beer, and derided his Ontario comrade for doing too much. The longer a job lasted the better for those employed on it and the rest of the profession, he said: to which, as we heard later, the Ontario man replied: "If the job lasts too long in this country they pretty well fire you out of it." At last, returning one morning wet with dew from a damp bed on a bluff, where we had slept after toiling late the night before, we decided to dispense with his services. "Good heavens, man! if you get on at that rate it will take you two years to finish," I said, when I found him tranquilly notching the ends of some beams with mallet and chisel. "How long do you spend over one? And didn't I tell you to use the axe?" "Half a day to make a good job! There's no man in Canada can teach me what tools to use," he said; and, being stiff all over, I turned to Harry. "There's a fair edge on that axe. You might show him," I suggested. Harry, who was in a hurry, flung off his jacket, badly tearing it; and for a while the heavy blade made flashes in the sunlight, while the white chips leaped up in showers, until, flinging down the axe, he pulled out his watch. "Ten minutes exactly--you can dress it another five," he said. "Now are you willing to do it in that way? No? I didn't suppose you would be. Well, we won't detain you. Give him his fare to Winnipeg and some breakfast, Ralph--it will pay you." I found Ormond's horses useful; for between timber-cutting, marking down growing hay, rides to purchase cattle, and visits to the Manor, we often covered fifty miles a day, with hard work besides; while, when we brought out Ontario bushmen, Fairmead and the creamery lumber piles increased rapidly in size, and our bank balance diminished as rapidly. Once, too, when I came home so weary that I could scarcely get out of the saddle, I found a black-edged letter awaiting me, and dropped heavily into a chair after opening it. "I hope there's no bad news," said Aline; "it has an American stamp. Who can it be?" "Cousin Alice! You might read it--the sun and the grass dust have almost blinded me." Martin Lorimer had written the letter from a little town in Southern California, and Aline read: "I am in sore distress, Ralph. Your poor cousin died here yesterday of an old sickness she had long greatly suffered from. She was my only child--all that was left me; and I'm going back to England a very lonely man. I'll ask you in a post or two to meet me." "I am very sorry, and yet it may have been a release," said Aline. "Hers was a very hard lot to bear, but she was always cheerful. Poor Uncle Martin! Of course you will go to meet him." I did so later when, as a special favor, a mounted man brought me a telegram from Elktail, and Martin Lorimer gripped my fingers hard when I boarded the east-bound train at that station. "I knew thee would come, Ralph, and I was longing for a face that I knew," he said. "Ay, to the last my poor girl remembered thee. I'm going home to England--stayed here too long; and Canada seems empty without her. Only time to catch the liner, or I'd have come to Fairmead, and I've much to tell thee on the road to Winnipeg." He looked sadly shaken, but glad to meet any kinsman in his trouble, and, asking few questions, I listened quietly while, ensconced in a corner of a first-class car, he relieved his soul with talk. He told me much that surprised me, but which is not connected with this story, until I started when he said: "Now I may tell thee that it was Alice sent that money. She did it main cleverly,--her own savings, poor girl; I'm glad I never stinted her in the matter of money. 'You can tell him when I'm gone, father; it pleased me well to know I had helped to make him happy,' she said. Then again, almost at the end, she whispered: 'Tell Ralph I wish him a long life, and the best this world can give him and Miss Carrington.'" Martin Lorimer coughed vigorously before he continued: "I never heard a word about that loan until I guessed from thy tale at the chalet that my girl, never suspecting it, had countered my plans. Well, well, it was all as it had to be; but if she had never helped thee maybe another Lorimer would be waiting instead of a stranger to carry on the Orb Mill when I've done with it." We were nearing the Red River, and the roofs of Winnipeg lifted themselves higher above the prairie, when he said, for Martin Lorimer, almost timidly, "Remembering our talk at the chalet, canst change thy mind, lad, or is it too late?" "It is too late, Uncle Martin," I answered with reluctance, for I longed to do something to comfort him. "As I told you, even if I were ready there are others to consider now." He sighed before he answered sadly: "Ay, thou'lt take thy own road; it's born in thee. Then follow it steadfastly, and God bless thee. Some day I'll come back to Fairmead, but I must have time to get over this blow." Ten minutes later we parted, and it was some hours after the Atlantic express pulled out of Winnipeg before I recovered my serenity. I could not forget the kindness of my dead cousin, who, in spite of sickness and physical suffering, had so cleverly aided me in my time of need. The next event of moment happened when Foster brought me a message from Grace requesting my presence at the Manor on the following day. Most of the men of Carrington were also expected, Foster said. I reached the Manor at the appointed time, and made the latter portion of the journey in company with several of the colonists, and it was with mingled curiosity and reluctance that we gathered in the great hall. Except that the air was warmer and there were flowers and feathery grasses in the tall vases, it looked much the same as it did on our last eventful visit, though there was now no grim figure in the carved oak chair. No one knew why we had been summoned except Lyle and myself, and I did not know wholly. So there was a buzz of curious whispers, until Lyle flung back the doors, and Grace, followed by Miss Carrington, appeared in the opening. They were dressed alike in some neutral-tinted fabric, and with one accord the riders of Carrington rose to their feet, and stood fast and motionless until with a queenly gesture Grace seated herself in the oaken chair. Grace was younger than myself by two full years, but there was no trace of diffidence about her as she looked down out of steady eyes at the men who, as it were, did homage before her. Then deep silence followed as she said with a perfect distinctness: "It was fitting after what has happened that I should send for you. My father founded this colony, and still nominally holds the greater portion of the land in it. As you know, he has been stricken--and has lost his reason; and accordingly the management of the estate devolves upon Miss Carrington and myself--principally, under his last will, on myself. It is a heavy responsibility for two women, to do the best, not only for Carrington Manor, but for the Carrington colony, until it shall please the Almighty to restore its founder--or grant him release. While the Manor lands remain intact and the agreement binding, all that affects our welfare affects that of the whole settlement." Grace paused, and a man rose upright at the further end of the hall. "We came here with a feeling of contrition, yet not wholly ashamed," he said. "On behalf of all I offer the new mistress of Carrington our deepest sympathy and an assurance of good-will," and again there was a deep murmur of chivalrous respect from the sun and wind-bronzed men. Grace's gaze was not so steady and her voice was lower as she answered, "I thank you. It is a barren heritage, weighted down by debt, but with the help of my kinsman Lyle we shall do our utmost to improve it. Still, it was not that that I wanted to tell you. How we last parted you know," and some of those I noticed showed a darker color in their cheeks, as though it were an unpleasant memory. "Since then I have tried to consider rightly all that led up to it, and I ask you to forgive me." "It was our own blind precipitancy. I am afraid you spoke the truth," a voice said; but raising her hand for silence Grace went on: "As I said, this estate entails a heavy responsibility, and I have been considering what I should do concerning the creamery. My father acted as seemed right according to his judgment, and I do not know all his reasons, but now that the decision devolves upon me I am impelled to act according to my own. No two people see the same thing under the same aspect, and--this is no disrespect to him--I dare not do otherwise. I think the creamery will enhance the settlement's prosperity, and though I cannot grant the Green Mountain site, in which you must bear with me, you may take the next best, the Willow Grove, with its timber and water, at an appraised value, to be represented by stock in the creamery. This is all I have to tell you, and until I resign this position to Miss Carrington I trust to enjoy your friendship and good-will. You will, I hope, decide, before you go when to start the work." "There is still a ruler of Carrington; we haven't a Salic law. We are all your servants, madam," a big man said, and when some one cried, "To the Princess of Carrington," the rafters rang to the thunderous cheer, while once more I wondered that Grace should ever have listened to me. Whether it was born in her, an hereditary dowry, or was the result of her father's influence and company, I do not know, but Grace, who could at other times be only womanly, spoke to the riders of Carrington with the air of a sovereign. And yet it appeared perfectly seemly that she should do so, for whether mirthful, commanding, or pitiful, Grace was in all things natural. Neither is this prejudice in her favor on my part, for it is well known on the Assiniboian prairie. Still, even after work had commenced on the creamery and the finances of the Manor were adjusted temporarily, Grace would give me no definite promise as to when she would leave it for Fairmead. As yet her first duty was toward the helpless old man and the charge he had left her, she said. By one of the striking coincidences that it is hard to believe are accidents, it happened that as we mounted outside the Manor a buggy came around one corner of the house, and with a feeling akin to consternation we turned to regard its occupant. A hired man held the reins, but beside him, wrapped in a fur coat although the day was warm, sat Colonel Carrington, a shivering, huddled object propped against the backboard. It was the first time we had seen him, and the sight troubled us, for the few weeks had made great changes in the ruler of Carrington. "I'm afraid I'm breaking orders," the driver explained. "Miss Grace said wait until you all had gone, but he would come, and I hadn't the heart to refuse him. He's not understanding much these days, but we take him out for an hour or two, when he's able for it, in the sun." Colonel Carrington regarded us as if we were strangers, as with a pitiful courtesy some raised their hats to him. He attempted with one hand to strike a match and dropped it, and after Lyle ignited another and held it to his cigar he nodded cordially. "I thank you, sir," he said with an entire absence of recognition. "I am not quite as strong as I used to be. Could you tell me how far it is to Lone Hollow? I seem to have forgotten the way, and the snow is soft and heavy." It was a relief to all of us when the buggy drove off, and the assembly broke up with a sudden chill upon its enthusiasm. One evening later I was walking home past Hudson's dwelling when I noticed a curious cloud of dust hanging over the house, and strange sounds proceeding from it. They suggested that somebody was vigorously brushing it, which was certainly unusual. Now Hudson, though he held a quarter-section of Government land, had really no legal claim to it, because he had neither broken sufficient virgin sod nor put the necessary acreage under cultivation. He freely admitted that he was prejudiced against hard work, and, when in need of a few dollars to purchase actual necessities that he could not borrow, he would drive away with his wagon and peddle German oleographs and patent medicines to the less-educated settlers, returning after several weeks' absence to settle down again to a period of loafing. Aline and her friend Lilian Kenyon, as well as the latter's brother were with me. "What on earth can they be doing inside there, and what a noise they are making," said Miss Kenyon. "It shows that my good counsel has not all fallen on stony soil," Aline answered laughingly. "Harry--that is Mr. Lorraine--is apparently seriously engaged in spring cleaning. I have been giving him lessons lately on the virtues of cleanliness." Understanding the process, I grinned at this, and fancied, though I could not be certain, that Aline's fair companion envied her the opportunity for giving Harry lessons on anything. When the next cloud of dust rolled out of the window an irate voice came with it: "I'm the biggest slouch on the prairie, eh; I'll pretty well show you nobody takes liberties with me. I'm almighty sick of this fooling already; there goes your confounded bucket, and the rest of the blamed caboodle after it." Lilian Kenyon started when a bucket fell clattering at her feet, a brush came hurtling toward us, and amid wild language a grimy figure appeared at the window, dropping chairs and other furniture wholesale out of it, while her brother, who strove to conceal his merriment, observed: "Say, hadn't you two better come on with me? It's getting late already, and Hudson is not as particular as he ought to be when he's angry." "I agree with you," said Aline in a tone of severity. "He is a very disgraceful man, and by no means a fit companion for Harry. Ralph, I am sorry there are occasions when both of you indulge in unwarranted expressions. Don't you think such conduct unbecoming in an elder brother, or any respectable landowner, Lily?" I laughed and Miss Kenyon looked indignant when I answered: "Then go along; you don't understand our trials, or you wouldn't condemn us. It can only be natural depravity that leads Harry to persist in living with such a companion when half the girls on the prairie are willing to provide him with a better one." They had hardly left me when, disheveled and dusty, Hudson strode forth in wrathful disgust. "It's almighty hard when a man can't live peacefully in his own home without your confounded partner brushing all over it," he muttered, "I guess it's your sister's doing--I knew there would be trouble when she came in, stepping like a gopher on wet ploughing, with her skirts held up. Anyway, I'm blamed well sick of Canada, and them Government land fellows are coming right down on me, so I'm just going to drop the whole thing and skip. I'm going to sell the place for an old song, or burn it, and light out for Dakota." I frowned, for this was the first time I had heard of Aline's visit, and it struck me that although I suffered from her craze for neatness at Fairmead she was overstepping the bounds in attempting to reform Hudson's homestead too; but Harry evidently overheard him, for he came out. "Try to talk sensible for once, Hudson," he said. "See here, I don't want to take advantage of your beastly temper, but if you are really bent on selling the place, and not vaporing as usual, I'm open to make you an offer." "I've been willing to sell it for two years," Hudson answered with a grin. "Haven't done half my legal breaking, and don't mean to, so it's not mine to sell, and would have to remain registered to me until the improvements were completed. Then, you see, I could come back, and jump you." "I don't think you could," said Harry. "You might hurt yourself trying it. How much do you call a fair thing for the holding as it stands, bearing in mind our risk in buying what is only the good-will with the owner absent?" They haggled over the terms for a while, and then Harry turned to me. "We can do it at a stretch, Ralph, by paying him so much after the crop's sold for the next two years. Of course, it's a big handful, but there's lots of sloo hay that would feed winter stock, and I want the house badly. Indeed, if I don't get it I'm going to build one. Don't you think we could take the risk?" I thought hard for a few minutes. We were speculating boldly, and already had undertaken rather more than we could manage; but the offer was tempting, and, noting Harry's eagerness, I agreed. "Yes; we will chance it," I said, "on his own terms of yearly payments, although heaven only knows how we're going to finance it if the crop dies off. Hudson, I'll give you a small check to-morrow if you are satisfied, but it's fair to tell you that if you stayed and completed the improvements you would get more for it when you held the patent." "That's all right," said Hudson. "I guess I'll take the check. You may have the building and the hundred and sixty blanked acres, scarcely ten of them broken. It's easier peddling pictures than farming, any day, and no one else would buy it in the circumstances. It's not even mine without the patent, and if I die in the meantime you'll get nothing." "We'll get the crop and the cattle feed; you don't suppose we've bought it to look at; and if you died the pay would stop," said Harry dryly, and turned toward me when Hudson, moving away contented, sat down to enjoy a peaceful smoke. "That settles it, Ralph," he said. "The deal ought to show a good result, and I wanted the house. Now that I have got it, it's time for me to ask you a question which would have to be answered presently in any case. I was waiting to see how things would go, out of fairness to her, but as we have bound ourselves hard and fast to Fairmead for several years at least, I'm going to ask you a great thing. Will you give me Aline?" "Will she have you?" I said smiling. "That's just what I don't know," Harry answered rather dismally. "Sometimes I hope so, and sometimes I've a cold fear that she won't. But now that I've told you, I'll ask her this very evening. You'll wish me Godspeed, won't you?" I looked at him with sympathy, for I knew the feeling, and I had some experience of Aline's moods. Then I laid my hand on his shoulder, "We have been as brothers for a long time, Harry, and it would be only good news if you strengthen the tie. If Aline has the wisdom I give her credit for, she won't say no, and there's no one in the Dominion I should sooner trust her to." "Then I'll make the plunge," said Harry. "Ralph, I'm very grateful for your good-will. Hudson, where did you fling that confounded bucket? Get up and straighten yourself, and go after Miss Kenyon. Take her anywhere away from Miss Lorimer, and, if you feel like it, make love to her. You're not bad-looking when you wash yourself, and I think she has a fancy for you." "Not much!" said Hudson grinning as he refilled his pipe. "I've had one experience in that line, and I don't want another. No, sir, henceforward I leave women alone." Harry went back to the house to shed his working attire, and I strode on toward Fairmead, leaving Hudson sitting among his furniture and kitchen utensils on the darkening prairie, smoking tranquilly. The stars shone out when Harry and Aline came in together. Harry looked exultant, Aline unusually subdued, and me first thing she did was, to my astonishment, to kiss me. "Aline has promised to marry me before the winter," said Harry. Wishing them every happiness I went out and left them. I was occupied two hours over some badly needed repairs to the granary, and then for a long time I stood under the stars thinking of Grace. CHAPTER XXXIII A BOUNTIFUL HARVEST Henceforward Harry's wooing, like my own, was conducted in an intermittent and fragmentary manner. But little time was left us for dalliance or soft speeches, and we paid our homage in practical fashion, with axe and saw and bridle, for there was truth in what Harry said: "The best compliment a man can pay a woman is to work for her comfort. Still, I don't know that more leisure for other things wouldn't be pleasant, too. There is more in life after all than an endless round of sowing and reaping." Jasper was among the first to congratulate him, which he did so heartily that I concluded that he had stopped his visits in time, and it was with a repetition of his former kindness that he added: "You'll need to rustle this season, for you've plainly bitten off more than you can chew. Still, you've friends on the prairie who'll see you through, and if it's horses or men or money you're stuck for, I guess you know where to find them." We borrowed oxen, we borrowed mowers, we hired help everywhere, and somehow paid for it, while by dint of endless planning we managed to avoid an overdraft at the bank. Still, I lamed Ormond's hunter, and dawn was often in the sky when I rode home from the Manor to begin the day's round again without resting. But our efforts prospered, and the weather favored us, while Jasper and other neighbors, including some from Carrington, helped us on opportunity, until one summer day I rode over to the Manor to press for a decision. I hesitated when I got there, for I was heavy from want of sleep and troubled about many small matters, and, when Grace greeted me, she looked so fresh and tranquil that it seemed unfair to bring the stains of turmoil and fierce hurry into her presence. "You are tired, poor Ralph," she said, laying a cool hand on my forehead when I drew her down beside me. "The sun has darkened you to the color of a Blackfoot. You are thin, and there are too many wrinkles on your brow--put them away immediately. I wonder whether any one would recognize in you the fresh-faced and somewhat callow stripling with whom I talked about the Dominion that day on Starcross Moor. It is not so very long ago, and yet life has greatly changed and taught us much since then. You must not be vain about it, but I really think I prefer you now." She strove to avoid my answer, which was an active one, and then settled to grave attention when I said: "You were always the same, Grace, unequaled among women. I was very raw and foolish, but you have helped me, and experience in these new lands teaches even fools. Now, however, I am chiefly lonely--and Fairmead is waiting for you." "I wish to know my duty," said Grace. "I still think and think until my brain grows tired, and yet I cannot see it clearly. As I told the others, the Manor is an undesirable inheritance; but I am its mistress, and it brings heavy charges with it, a load of debt among them, which it would seem cruel to leave my aunt to grapple with. If we sold it there would be nothing left for her, and even that might not be possible while my father lives. Ralph, dear, he was once very kind to me, and it is hard that I can do so little to help him." She sighed, and looking at me wearily made no answer to my further pleading, until, as it happened, Miss Carrington, preceded by a very awkward Scandinavian maid, entered the room with a tray on which was placed the Russian tea and dainties for which the house was famous. "You looked in need of refreshment, Ralph, when you came in," she said. "There have been changes at the Manor, but we have not forsaken all our ancient customs." She was, as Aline said, "a dear old lady," sweet of face, yet stately, though now she looked careworn too; and rising I bowed respectfully, as, acting under one of those sudden impulses which are sometimes better than judgment, I said: "I hope you will believe that no one regrets the changes more than I do, and it is only trusting in your kindness that I venture to look for a welcome here. There cannot be many who would so kindly receive one who even against his will has been indirectly connected with your troubles. Besides, I have been abusing your generosity further by trying to persuade Grace to desert you, and, strangest of all, I ask you to help me." Grace blushed, and her aunt sat silent for a while. "I am glad you told me," she then answered quietly, "for I have been thinking what she ought to do. I wondered now and then that my niece did not ask me, and I am going to tell my thoughts to both of you. There is a will extant leaving her this property, with a portion to me, but it will be a long struggle to free the land from its creditors, and my poor brother may live as he is for years. He has been mercifully spared all further anxiety, and I hope that he will. I am old, and my day has long gone by. Grace is young, with the world before her; and it is neither right nor necessary that she should put away all hope of happiness indefinitely. There is only one time when the joy of life is more real than its sorrows. With kinsman Lyle's counsel, and Foster to work the land, I can hold the Manor and care for my brother, and for both to remain here would be a useless sacrifice. So if you love her, as I believe you do, it is right that you should enjoy together what is sent you. Grace should go to you." I had passed my younger days among a homely people, and had been taught little except what I learned in the silence of the mountains and on the wide prairie, and yet I think it was without awkwardness that I bent over Miss Carrington's hand. Speech would hardly have expressed the gratitude and respect I felt, while I recognize now that the motive of the action was in her and not in me. Then I turned to her niece and waited with longing in my eyes until Grace, who had changed to her softest mood and was now only a blushing girl, said simply: "You have made it easy, Aunt. Ralph, I will come." "That is right," said Miss Carrington. "Ralph, you have waited patiently, and I can trust you to be kind to her." Then she smiled upon us as she added: "If not, I take my brother's place, and you shall answer for it. There is still a Carrington at the Manor holding authority. And so, to turn to the practical, if either of you can consider such prosaic things as tea, it is growing cold already, and it is a pity to waste the Carrington tea." The tea was not wasted. We are only creatures of flesh and blood, thankful, the wiser among us, for the transitory glimmer of romance that brightens our work-a-day lot, and gives some much-needed strength to grapple with it, and I had ridden far after a night spent in the open and a hard morning's work. So I accepted what was offered, and found it delicious to rest in that pretty room, where the last of the sunlight sparkled on the silver and lit up the sweet face of the lady who beamed upon us. Again it seemed almost too good to be true, and hard to believe, that victory had crowned the struggle, while even as I balanced the dainty China cup it reminded me of the battered kettle from which we filled the blackened cans in a British Columbian camp. There, instead of embroidered curtains, were festoons of cedar sprays, biting cold and acrid wood-smoke in place of warmth and artistic luxury, and I knew that I had been favored greatly--for though many strive, the victory is to the few. Still, from out of the shadows of the somber firs, I seemed to hear our partner who lay among the boulders say: "The long, long road has a turning, and there is rest at last." Before I left the Manor late that night all was settled, for when I pressed for an early conclusion Grace, yielding, said: "I am not afraid of poverty, Ralph; and if it comes we will lighten it by each bearing half. So we will take the risk of the harvest together, for if I share in your prosperity I must also take my share in the hardship." I did not get home to Fairmead until the next day, for I nodded in the saddle until I could not see the way, and several times nearly fell out of it, and when the tired horse stopped on a bluff I found a couch in withered fern and slept there soundly, to waken long after sunrise, wet with dew. That, however, was a trifling matter on the Western prairie, because the man who loves small comforts has no business there, and after the events of the previous day discomfort was nothing to me. Dreams seldom trouble the toiler in that land; and when I stood up refreshed under the early sunlight, and memory returned, the world seemed filled with light and beauty to reflect my own gladness. Ormond's horse was cropping the grasses not far away, and when I caught him the very birch leaves rustled joyfully under their tender shimmering green as we rode over the bluff, while once out on the prairie a flight of sand-hill cranes came up from the south, calling to one another, dazzling blurs of whiteness against the blue, and even their hoarse cry seemed to ring with triumph. Aline ran out to meet me when I dismounted, and my mood must have been infectious, for she smiled as she greeted me. "I sent Harry to scour the prairie in search of you, for I feared you must have been dead tired and the horse had fallen in a ravine. But you must have slept among the fairies, Ralph, and risen transfigured. You look too radiant for my serious brother." It was after hay-time, and the wheat was tall and green, when Grace and I were married in the little wooden church at Carrington, and every man in the settlement rode there in her train. Few princesses of royal blood ever had a finer escort than hers, and she came in state, as was due to her--for Grace was a prairie princess and the heiress of Carrington. Perhaps the memory of what had happened made her subjects doubly anxious to show their loyalty; while, remembering who I was, and how I landed in that country a poor emigrant, once more I found it hard to understand why of all men such a gift had been bestowed on me. The riders of Carrington also filled one room at the Manor with glittering tokens of their good-will from Toronto and Montreal, besides such useful things as tools and harness, while among the presents lay a plain letter with a black border which Grace and I read together. It was from Martin Lorimer. "I wish you both many blessings," it ran, "and knowing your foolish way of thinking, I could not send the present I wanted to; but you'll take this, with an old man's very good wishes. It's a certificate of paid-up stock in the new Day Spring Mining Company, of which Calvert is manager. Sell or hold as pleases you. You'll find a market--for already Calvert's sending up good ore. I also send you something else--your cousin valued it." Another paper fluttered out of the envelope, and my amusement died away as I recognized the letter I had given the bankers in Winnipeg when I drew upon the loan. "Of all the gifts I value this from poor Alice most," I said a little huskily. "We should have gone under without it, and perhaps it alone helped me to win you. Grace, to both of us, this is the strangest of wedding presents; but what shall we do with these shares in the Day Spring mine? They represent the principal portion of the paid-up capital." "You will keep them," Grace said. "I think I understand why he sent them. I had a very bitter feeling against your uncle, but I have conquered it. The past is never done with, and it may be that what my father toiled for and lost will come to his daughter in its own way. Ralph, there's a story of hope and struggle and sorrow written between every line on either paper." We rode, in accordance with prairie custom, straight home from the church, for Grace was no longer princess of Carrington, but the wife of a struggling farmer, and she said that until the harvest was gathered there must be no honeymoon. Fairmead, as all the inhabitants of the prairie know, was only a small holding hampered by lack of capital when she married its owner and forthwith commenced to live in strict accordance with her adopted station. We hoped to improve that station, but this depended on the crops and the weather, and the heavens continued to favor us that year. Seldom had there been such grass for cattle or such a yield of wheat. No acre returned less than its twenty bushels, and many nearer forty; while Grace, who drove the first binder into the tall yellow stems and worked on through the rush and dust of harvest and thrashing, rejoiced as she said she had never done when all was safely gathered in. Then Harry and Aline were married and settled in Hudson's dwelling; and one evening toward the close of the Indian summer, when our work was done at last we drove slowly down the long incline away from Fairmead. A maple flamed red on the bluff, the birch leaves were golden; but the prairie was lone and empty, save for a breadth of tall stubble, and there was neither a sack in the granary nor a beast in a stall. Harry had taken the working cattle, while the stock were traveling eastward across the ocean and the wheat lay piled in the elevators or had been ground already into finest flour. But the result of our labors was bearing interest, and would do so until spring, in the shape of a balance at the Bank of Montreal. Each venture had succeeded, and evidence was not wanting that at last we were being carried smoothly forward on the flood-tide of prosperity; and so with thankful hearts we prepared to enjoy a well-earned holiday in the older cities of eastern Canada. The garish light died out as we passed the last of the stubble, which grew dusky behind us, the stars that shone forth one by one glimmered frostily, and silence closed down on the prairie, while the jingle of harness and the groaning of wheels recalled the day I had first driven across it. Grace, too, seemed lost in reverie, for presently she said: "Another year's work ended, and the bounteous harvest in. Ralph, why is it that happiness brings with it a tinge of melancholy, and that out of our present brightness we look back to the shadows of other days? I have been thinking all day of curious things and people we knew--our first dance at Lone Hollow, of Geoffrey Ormond and your cousin. They all played their part in giving us what we now enjoy." I cracked the whip, stirring the horses into a quicker pace, and, slipping one arm around her, I said: "It is not those who work or suffer most who are always rewarded as they would hope to be; and, as Johnston once said, the fallen have done great things. But we will look forward. You made true forecasts that night at Lone Hollow, and no fairer witch ever came out of Lancashire. So look again deep into the future, and tell me what you see." Grace laughed, and nestled closer to me under the furs, for the nights were chilly, before she answered: "There are compensations, and one cannot have everything, so I lost the gift of prophecy when a better one came to me--and, Ralph, it came that very night at the Hollow, I think. Instead, I will tell you what I hope to see. First, you faithful to your task, as faithful to me, laying together acre on acre and adding crop to crop until the possessions of Fairmead are greater than Carrington. But even before this comes--and come, I think, it will--we will try to remember that we are but stewards, and that possession brings its duties. My father was a keen sportsman, and I, too, love a horse and gun, but we thought too much of pleasure at Carrington. We will fling our doors wide open to the English poor--there are no poor in the Dominion like the English poor--and share with the needy the harvests that are granted us. I have been thinking often of your helper, Lee, and as a beginning he could send you two families in the spring--we have room for them. And so, Ralph, if you will humor me in this I shall never be sorry to preside over Fairmead instead of Carrington." "I will," I answered simply; but she seemed content with the answer, and asked for no further assurance as we drove on through the night. No one could laugh more joyously than Grace, or cast about her flashes of brighter humor; but we had just completed an arduous task whose reward was greater almost than we dared hope, and our gladness was too great to find expression in merriment. On reaching the Elktail station I was handed a telegram from Calvert which had lain there some time awaiting an opportunity for delivery. It was brief, but reassuring. "Great news. Bottomed on rich ore at last. Day Spring stock cent. per cent. premium. Don't sell. Looking for surprising dividends." "This is the beginning," said Grace. "Some day all the rest will come." And then, with a blast of the whistle and the lighted cars clashing as they lurched up out of the prairie, the Atlantic express rolled in and bore us east to enjoy our belated honeymoon. Grace's prediction was fulfilled, for although we had reverses we prospered from that day, and there are now few farms anywhere on the wide grass-lands between Winnipeg and Regina, to compare, either in area or fertility, with Fairmead, while the flour made from our wheat is spread across the breadth of Europe. And better than lands and stock is the content and peace that came to me through Grace's companionship. THE END POPULAR COPYRIGHT BOOKS AT MODERATE PRICES Any of the following titles can be bought of your bookseller at the price you paid for this volume Circle, The. By Katherine Cecil Thurston (author of "The Masquerader," "The Gambler"). Colonial Free Lance, A. By Chauncey C. Hotchkiss. Conquest of Canaan, The. By Booth Tarkington. Courier of Fortune, A. By Arthur W. Marchmont. Darrow Enigma, The. By Melvin Severy. Deliverance, The. By Ellen Glasgow. Divine Fire, The. By May Sinclair. Empire Builders. By Francis Lynde. Exploits of Brigadier Gerard. By A. Conan Doyle. 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16864	----	+-----------------------------------------+ | Transcriber's note: Special characters | | are encoded thusly: [=a], [=e], and | | [=o] represent "a", "e", and "o" with | | superior macron. | +-----------------------------------------+ NOTES OF A TWENTY-FIVE YEARS' SERVICE IN THE HUDSON'S BAY TERRITORY. BY JOHN M'LEAN. IN TWO VOLUMES. VOL. II. LONDON: RICHARD BENTLEY, NEW BURLINGTON STREET, PUBLISHER IN ORDINARY TO HER MAJESTY. 1849. * * * * * CONTENTS OF THE SECOND VOLUME. CHAPTER I. Journey to Norway House 9 CHAPTER II. Arrival at York Factory--Its Situation--Climate--Natives--Rein-Deer--Voyage to Ungava--Incidents of the Voyage--Arrival at Ungava--Situation and Aspect 16 CHAPTER III. Exploring Expedition through the Interior of Labrador--Difficulties--Deer Hunt--Indian Gluttony--Description of the Country--Provisions run short--Influenza 32 CHAPTER IV. Distressing Bereavement--Exploring Party--their Report--Arrival at Esquimaux--Establish Posts--Pounding Rein-Deer--Expedition up George's River--Its Difficulties--Hamilton River--Discover a stupendous Cataract--Return by George's River to the Sea--Sudden Storm and miraculous Escape 60 CHAPTER V. Esquimaux arrive from the North Shore of Hudson's Strait on a Raft--Despatch from the Governor--Distress of the Esquimaux--Forward Provisions to Mr. E----. Return of the Party--Their deplorable Condition 81 CHAPTER VI. Trip to Esquimaux Bay--Governor's Instructions--My Report to the Committee--Recommend the Abandonment of Ungava Settlement--Success of the Arctic Expedition conducted by Messrs. Dease and Simpson--Return by Sea to Fort Chimo--Narrowly escape Shipwreck in the Ungava River--Impolitic Measure of the Governor--Consequent Distress at the Post 88 CHAPTER VII. Another exploring Expedition--My Promotion--Winter at Chimo--Obtain permission to visit Britain--Ungava abandoned 98 CHAPTER VIII. GENERAL REMARKS. Climate of Ungava--Aurora Borealis--Soil--Vegetable Productions--Animals--Birds--Fish--Geological Features 102 CHAPTER IX. The Nascopies--Their Religion--Manners and Customs--Clothing--Marriage--Community of Goods 118 CHAPTER X. The Esquimaux--Probable Origin--Identity of Language from Labrador to Behring's Straits--Their Amours--Marriages--Religion--Treatment of Parents--Anecdote--Mode of Preserving Meat--Amusements--Dress--The Igloe, or Snow-House--Their Cuisine--Dogs--The Sledge--Caiak, or Canoe--Ouimiàk, or Boat--Implements--Stature 131 CHAPTER XI. Labrador--Esquimaux Half-Breeds--Moravian Brethren--European Inhabitants--Their Virtues--Climate--Anecdote 155 CHAPTER XII. Voyage to England--Arrival at Plymouth--Reflections--Arrive at the place of my Nativity--Changes--Depopulation--London--The Thames--Liverpool--Embark for New York--Arrival--The Americans--English and American Tourists--England and America--New York 167 CHAPTER XIII. Passage from New York to Albany by Steamer--The Passengers--Arrival at Albany--Journey to Montreal 187 CHAPTER XIV. Embark for the North--Passengers--Arrive at Fort William--Despatch from Governor--Appointed to McKenzie's River District--Portage La Loche--Adventure on Great Slave Lake--Arrive at Fort Simpson--Productions of the Post 193 CHAPTER XV. Statements in the Edinburgh Cabinet Library--Alleged Kindness of the Hudson's Bay Company to the Indians--And Generosity--Support of Missionaries--Support withdrawn--Preference of Roman Catholics--The North-West Company--Conduct of a British Peer--Rivalry of the Companies--Coalition--Charges against the North-West Company refuted 207 CHAPTER XVI. Arrival of Mr. Lefroy--Voyage to the Lower Posts of the McKenzie--Avalanche--Incidents of the Voyage--Voyage to Portage La Loche--Arbitrary and unjust Conduct of the Governor--Despotism--My Reply to the Governor 228 CHAPTER XVII. Situation of Fort Simpson--Climate--The Liard--Effects of the Spring Floods--Tribes inhabiting McKenzie's River District--Peculiarities--Distress through Famine--Cannibalism--Anecdote--Fort Good Hope saved by the Intrepidity of M. Dechambault--Discoveries of Mr. Campbell 241 CHAPTER XVIII. Mr. McPherson assumes the Command--I am appointed to Fort Liard, but exchange for Great Slave Lake--The Indians--Resolve to quit the Service--Phenomena of the Lake 255 CHAPTER XIX. Reflections--Prospects in the Service--Decrease of the Game--Company's Policy in consequence--Appeal of the Indians--Means of Preserving them, and improving their Condition--Abolition of the Charter--Objections answered 260 CHAPTER XX. Wesleyan Mission--Mr. Evans--Encouragement given by the Company--Mr. Evans' Exertions among the Indians--Causes of the Withdrawal of the Company's Support--Calumnious Charges against Mr. E.--Mr. E. goes to England--His sudden Death 278 CHAPTER XXI. SKETCH OF RED RIVER SETTLEMENT. Red River--Soils--Climate--Productions--Settlement of Red River through Lord Selkirk by Highlanders--Collision between the North-West and Hudson's Bay Companies--Inundation--Its Effects--French Half-Breeds--Buffalo Hunting--English Half-Breeds--Indians--Churches--Schools--Stores--Market for Produce--Communication by Lakes 289 CHAPTER XXII. Sir G. Simpson--His Administration 311 * * * * * VOCABULARY of the PRINCIPAL INDIAN DIALECTS in use among the Tribes in the Hudson's Bay Territory 323 * * * * * NOTES OF A TWENTY-FIVE YEARS' SERVICE IN THE HUDSON'S BAY TERRITORY. * * * * * CHAPTER I. JOURNEY TO NORWAY HOUSE. I started from Stuart's Lake on the 22d of February, and arrived at Fort Alexandria on the 8th of March. Although the upper parts of the district were yet buried in snow, it had disappeared in the immediate neighbourhood of the establishment, and everything wore the pleasing aspect of spring. Mr. F---- was about to remove to a new post he had erected on the west bank of the river. Horses were provided for us to perform the journey overland to Okanagan. We left on the 13th; on the 15th we encamped on the borders of Lac Vert, having experienced a violent snow-storm in the early part of the day. The lake and circumjacent country presented a beautiful scene; the spurs of the Rocky Mountains bounding the horizon and presenting a rugged outline enveloped in snow--the intervening space of wooded hill and dale clothed in the fresh verdure of the season; and the innumerable low points and islands in the lake contributing to the variety of the landscape. Hitherto we had found much snow on the ground, and our progress in consequence was very slow. Our tardy horses subsisting on whatever they could pick during the night, or when we halted for our meals, began to falter, so that we were under the necessity of stopping to allow them to feed wherever any bare ground appeared. On the evening of the 18th we came in sight of Kamloops' Lake, which, to my great surprise, was not only clear of ice, but the valley in which it is situated appeared clothed with verdure, while the heights on the other side were still covered with snow. The valley looks to the south, and is protected from the cold winds by the neighbouring high grounds. On arriving at Kamloops' post we found two Canadians in charge, Mr. B---- having set off a few days before for the dépôt at Fort Vancouver. We met with a cordial reception from his men, who entertained us with horse-flesh and potatoes for supper; and next day we bountifully partook of the same delicacies, my prejudice against this fare having completely vanished. Fort Kamloops is situated at the confluence of Thompson's River and its north branch; the Indians attached to it are a tribe of the Atnahs. Their lands are now destitute of fur-bearing animals, nor are there many animals of the larger kind to be found; they however find subsistence in the variety of edible roots which the country affords. They have the character of being honest, quiet, and well-disposed towards the whites. As soon as the young women attain the age of puberty, they paint their faces after a fashion which the young men understand without explanation. They also dig holes in the ground, which they inlay with grass or branches, as a proof of their industry; and when they are in a certain state they separate from the community and live in small huts, which they build for themselves. Should any one unwittingly touch them, or an article belonging to them, during their indisposition, he is considered unclean; and must purify himself by fasting for a day, and then jumping over a fire prepared by _pure_ hands. We left Kamloops on the 20th, and after travelling about twenty miles found the ground covered with snow, which increased in depth as we advanced. The track left by Mr. B----'s party was of great service to us. We encamped at the extremity of Okanagan Lake, where we found a small camp of natives nearly starved to death; the unfortunate creatures passed the night in our encampment, and we distributed as much of our provisions amongst them as we could possibly spare. This encampment afforded me as miserable a night's lodging as I had ever met with; a snow-storm raged without intermission till daylight, when we set out so completely benumbed that we could not mount our horses till we had put the blood in circulation by walking. We overtook Mr. B---- on the 25th, his horses completely jaded and worn out by the fatigues of the journey; the great depth of the snow indeed would have utterly precluded travelling had he not adopted the precaution of driving a number of young horses before the loaded horses to make a track. The country through which we have travelled for the last few days is exceedingly rugged, and possesses few features to interest the traveller. We arrived at the post of Okanagan on the 28th, situated on the left bank of the Columbia River. The ground was still covered with snow to the depth of two feet, and had been five feet deep in the course of the winter--an extraordinary circumstance, as there generally falls so little snow in this quarter, that the cattle graze in the plain nearly all winter. The Indians are designated Okanagans, and speak a dialect of the Atnah. Their lands are very poor, yielding only cats, foxes, &c.; they subsist on salmon and roots. Messrs. F---- and D---- arrived from Fort Vancouver on the 7th of April, and we embarked on the 8th in three boats manned by retiring servants. Mr. B---- accompanied us, having obtained permission to cross the Rocky Mountains. We arrived at Colville on the 12th, where we met with a most friendly reception from a warmhearted Gael, (Mr. McD.) The gentlemen proceeding to the dépôt in charge of the accounts of the Columbia department generally remain here a few days to put a finishing hand to these accounts--an operation which occupied us till the 22d, when we re-embarked, leaving Messrs. D---- and B---- behind; the former being remanded to Fort Vancouver; and the latter, having changed his mind, in an evil hour for himself, returned to his old quarters; where he was murdered sometime afterwards by an Indian who had lost his father, and thought that the company of his old trader would solace him for the absence of his children. CHAPTER II. ARRIVAL AT YORK FACTORY--ITS SITUATION--CLIMATE--NATIVES--REIN-DEER--VOYAGE TO UNGAVA--INCIDENTS OF THE VOYAGE--ARRIVAL AT UNGAVA--SITUATION AND ASPECT. I arrived at York Factory, the dépôt of the Northern department, early in July. This establishment presents a more respectable appearance than any other that I have seen in Rupert's Land, and reflects no small credit on the talents and taste of him who planned, and partly executed, the existing improvements, all which have been effected since the coalition. When Mr. McT. first assumed the command, the buildings were of the most wretched description--the apartments had more the appearance of cells for criminals, than of rooms for gentlemen. The yielding nature of the swampy ground on which the buildings were to be erected rendering it necessary to lay a solid foundation, the object was accomplished in the face of every difficulty, and at a great expense; and the present commodious buildings were commenced, but not finished by the projector. Other improvements have been made since then, so that they afford every comfort and convenience that could be expected in so unfavourable a situation. The dépôt is at present under the charge of a chief factor, assisted by a chief trader, a surgeon, and two clerks. Here there is always a sufficient supply of goods and provisions on hand to meet the demand of the trade for two years--a wise precaution, as in the event of any accident happening to prevent the vessel from reaching her destination, the trade would not be interrupted. The very emergency thus provided for occurred last autumn; the ship, after dropping anchor in her usual mooring ground, was compelled by stress of weather to bear away for England, after loosing her anchors, and sustaining other serious damages. Yet notwithstanding this untoward event, the gentlemen in charge of the different districts set off for the interior with their outfits complete. The climate, although extremely disagreeable, is not considered unhealthy. In summer the extremes of heat and cold are experienced in the course of a few hours; in the morning you may be wearing nankeen, and before noon, duffle. Were the heat to continue for a sufficient length of time to thaw the ground thoroughly, the establishment could not be kept up save at a great sacrifice of life, through the mephitic exhalations from the surrounding swamps. The ground, however, seldom thaws more than eighteen inches, and the climate therefore is never affected by them to such a degree as to become unhealthy. One of Mr. McT----'s most beneficial improvements was to clear the swamps surrounding the factory of the brushwood with which they were thickly covered; and the inmates are now in a great measure relieved from the torture to which they were formerly exposed from the mosquitoes. These vampires are not so troublesome in the cleared ground, but whoever dares to intrude on their domain pays dearly for his temerity. Every exposed part of the body is immediately covered with them; defence is out of the question; the death of one is avenged by the stings of a thousand equally bloodthirsty; and the unequal contest is soon ended by the flight of the tormented party to his quarters, whither he is pursued to his very door. There seems to be no foundation for the opinion generally entertained that the natives do not suffer from the stings of these insects. The incrustation of filth with which their bodies are covered undoubtedly affords some protection, the skin not being so easily pierced; but no incrustation, however thick, can be a defence against the attacks of myriads; and in fact, the natives complain as loudly of the mosquitoes as the whites. The Indians of this quarter are denominated Swampies, a tribe of the Cree nation, whose language they speak with but little variation, and in their manners and customs there is a great similarity. But the Swampies are a degenerate race, reduced by famine and disease to a few families; and these have been still farther reduced by an epidemic which raged among them this summer. They were attacked by it immediately on their return from the interior with the produce of their winter hunts, and remained in hopes of being benefited by medical advice and attendance. Their hopes, however, were not realized; they were left entirely in charge of a young man without experience and without humanity; and the disease was unchecked. Every day the death of some poor wretch was made known to us by the firing of guns, by which the survivors fancied the evil spirit was frightened away from the souls of their departed friends. Not many years ago this part of the country was periodically visited by immense herds of rein-deer; at present there is scarcely one to be found. Whether their disappearance is owing to their having changed the course of their migrations, or to their destruction by the natives, who waylaid them on their passage, and killed them by hundreds, is a question not easily determined. It may be they have only forsaken this part of the country for a time, and may yet return in as great numbers as ever: be that as it may, the present want to which the Indians are subject, arises from the extreme scarcity of those animals, whose flesh and skins afforded them food and clothing. Their subsistence is now very precarious; derived principally from snaring rabbits and fishing; and rabbits also fail periodically. Their fare during summer, however, soon obliterates the remembrance of the privations of winter: fish is then found in every lake, and wild-fowl during the moulting season become an easy prey; while young ducks and geese are approached in canoes, and are destroyed with arrows in great numbers, ere they have acquired the use of their wings. The white man similarly situated would undoubtedly think of the long winter he had passed in want, and would provide for the next while he could;--so much foresight, however, does not belong to the Indian character. Fishing and hunting for the establishment affords employment to a few Indians during summer, and is an object of competition among them, on account of the incomparable gratification it affords--grog drinking--to which no earthly bliss can be compared in the Indian's estimation. To find the Company serving out rum to the natives as payment for their services in this remote quarter, created the utmost surprise in my mind: no excuse can be advanced which can justify the unhallowed practice, when the management of the native population is left entirely to themselves. Why then is it continued? Strange to say, while Indians were to be seen rolling drunk about the establishment, an order of Council appeared, prohibiting the sale of ardent spirits in any quantity exceeding two gallons to the Company's officers of whatever rank, with the view of preventing the demoralization of the natives! Most of the natives have a smattering of English, and are said to be a quiet, harmless race, addicted to few bad habits. Their remote situation, and impoverished country protect them from the hostile inroads of neighbouring tribes; hence the tame and pacific demeanour by which they are distinguished. The poor Swampy often retires to rest without a morsel to eat for himself or family, and that for days together; yet he is under no apprehension from his enemies, and enjoys his night's rest undisturbed; whereas, the warrior of the plain, while he revels in abundance, seldom retires to rest without apprehension; the hostile yell may, in fact, rouse him from his midnight slumber, either to be butchered himself, or to hear the dying groans of his family while he escapes. Thus chequered is the life of man with good and evil in every condition, whether civilized or savage. Every preparation for our departure being now completed, I took leave of Fort York, its fogs, and bogs, and mosquitoes, with little regret. We embarked on the 22d of August, in a brig that had fortunately escaped the mishaps of the other vessels last autumn; and after being delayed in port by adverse winds till the 26th, we finally stood out to sea, having spoken the Prince Rupert just come in. The fields of ice, that had been observed a few days previously, having now entirely disappeared, the captain concluded that the passage was clear for him, and accordingly steered for the south. He had not proceeded far in this direction, however, when we fell in with such quantities of ice as to interrupt our passage; but we still continued to force our way through. Convinced at length of the futility of the attempt, we altered our course to a directly opposite point, standing to the north, until we came abreast of Churchill, and then bore away for the strait, making Mansfield Island on the 7th of September. We encountered much stream ice on our passage, from which no material injury was sustained; although the continual knocking of our rather frail vessel against the ice created a good deal of alarm, from the effect the collision produced, shaking her violently from stem to stern. We were thus passing rapidly through the straits without experiencing any accident worthy of notice, when I inquired of our captain, one evening, how soon he expected to make the Island of Akpatok. He replied, "To-morrow morning about nine o'clock." We retired to rest about ten, P.M., and I had not yet fallen asleep, when I heard an unusual bustle on deck, and one of the men rushing down to the captain's room to call him up. I instantly dressed and went on deck, where I soon learned the cause;--a dark object, scarcely distinguishable through the fog and gloom of night, was pointed out to me on our lee beam, two cable-lengths distant, on which we had been rushing, propelled by wind and current, at the rate of thirteen knots an hour, when it was observed. A few moments more, and we had been launched into eternity. Had the vigilance of the look-out been relaxed for a minute, or had the slightest accident occurred to prevent the vessel from wearing at the very instant, our doom was certain. The western extremity of the Island of Akpatok, terminating in a high promontory seemingly cut down perpendicular to the water's edge, formed the danger we had so providentially escaped. Next day we saw the dismal spot in all its horrors. The island was still partially covered with snow, and no traces of vegetation were discernible; but a fresh breeze springing up we soon lost sight of this desolate spot, and made the mouth of the Ungava, or South River, about an hour after sunset. The captain was a perfect stranger on the coast, and had but a very imperfect chart to guide him; he nevertheless stood boldly in for the land, and fortunately discovered the mouth of the river, which we entered as darkness closed in upon us. By this time the breeze, that had carried us on so rapidly, increased to a gale, so that if we had not entered the river so opportunely, the consequences might have been serious. We were utterly unacquainted with the coast, which presented a thousand dangers in the shape of rocks and breakers, that were observable in every direction, as far as the eye could reach to seaward; we therefore congratulated ourselves on our fancied security--for it was only fancied, as will presently appear. We kept firing as we approached the land, with the view of apprizing the people of the post, who were directed to await us at the mouth of the river. No sound was heard in reply until we had advanced a few miles up the river, when we were gratified with hearing the report of muskets, and presently several torches were visible blazing a little ahead. The night was uncommonly dark, the banks of the river being scarcely perceptible; and although it appeared to me we were much nearer then than prudence would warrant, we still drew nearer, when our progress was suddenly arrested. The vessel struck violently on a sunken rock, and heeled over so much that she was nearly thrown on her beam-ends. Swinging round, however, with the force of the current, she soon got off again; and our captain, taking the hint, instantly dropped anchor. Soon after a couple of Esquimaux came alongside in their canoes, who gave us to understand by signs that they were sent to pilot us to the post. Next day, as soon as the tide proved favourable, our Esquimaux made signs to weigh anchor, which being done, one of them took his station by the side of the helmsman, and never moved a moment from the spot, pointing out the deep channel, with which he appeared well acquainted; although the utmost anxiety appeared depicted in his countenance, lest any accident should happen. Once or twice we touched slightly, when he expressed his dissatisfaction by a deep groan; he managed so well, however, that he brought us to good anchoring ground ere nightfall. From 10 A.M. until late in the evening we had only advanced twenty-five miles, although we pressed against the current with top-gallant sails set and a strong wind in our favour. Immediately we anchored, Captain Humphrey and myself determined on rowing up to the post, where we arrived about four, P.M. I need scarcely say with what joy our arrival was hailed by people so seldom visited by strangers, in a situation which had no regular communication as yet with any other part of the world. I was much gratified by the appearance of every thing about the establishment. The buildings had just been finished with materials sent out from England, through the considerate and kindly feeling of the Committee, whose compassion had been excited by the accounts they had heard of the miserable hovels in which the people were lodged when the place was first settled. After passing an hour or two examining the fort, (as it is called _par excellence_,) we returned to the ship, and weighing anchor at an early hour the next morning, (11th September,) we were soon brought up to the establishment, and landed without loss of time amid a violent snow-storm. It afforded us no small consolation, however, to reflect that we had no further cause to apprehend danger from icebergs or rocks, and that the post afforded us greater comfort as to living and accommodation than we had been led to expect. The vessel, having discharged cargo, dropped down with the stream on the 15th, leaving us to reflect in undisturbed solitude on the dreary prospects before us. The clank of the capstan, while the operation of weighing was being executed, echoing from the surrounding hills, suggested the question, "When shall that sound be heard again?" From the melancholy reverie which this idea suggested I was roused by the voice of my fellow exile, "the companion of my joys and sorrows," in whose society such gloomy thoughts could not long dwell. This post is situated in lat. 59° 28', standing on the east bank of South River, about thirty miles distant from the sea, surrounded by a country that presents as complete a picture of desolation as can be imagined; moss-covered rocks without vegetation and without verdure, constitute the cheerless landscape that greets the eye in every direction. A few stunted pines growing in the villages form the only exception; and at this season of the year, when they shed their leaves, contribute but little to the improvement of the scene. CHAPTER III. EXPLORING EXPEDITION THROUGH THE INTERIOR OF LABRADOR--DIFFICULTIES--DEER-HUNT--INDIAN GLUTTONY--DESCRIPTION OF THE COUNTRY--PROVISIONS RUN SHORT--INFLUENZA. The Company having learned, through a pamphlet published by the Moravian missionaries of Labrador, that the country produced excellent furs, were induced by the laudable desire of "ameliorating the condition of the natives," to settle it; and a party was accordingly sent overland from Moose Factory to take possession in the summer of 1831. The Moravians, finding their intention thus anticipated, left both the cure of souls and trade of furs to the Company. Whatever may have been the Company's real motives in forming a settlement in this quarter, the profits derived from it added but little to the dividends; the substance that glittered at a distance like gold proved to be but base metal. Beavers were nowhere to be found; and although the martens brought an extraordinary high price, they were far from plentiful; while the enormous expense of supplying the district by sea, and supporting it on imported provisions, rendered the "Ungava adventure" a subject of rather unpleasant discussion among the partners, most of whom were opposed to the measure from the first. Mr. Simpson was, in fact, the prime mover of the project, and aware of the discontent caused by its failure, determined on making every effort to reduce the expense, and, if possible, to increase the returns. Accordingly, I was directed to push outposts into the interior, to support my people on the resources of the country, and at the same time to open a communication with Esquimaux Bay, on the coast of Labrador, with the view of obtaining in future my supplies from thence by inland route; "there being no question of the practicability of the rivers." So said not he who had seen those rivers. Mr. Erlandson had traversed the country in the spring of 1834, and represented to me the utter impossibility of carrying my instructions into effect. Meantime, the Committee, having learned by despatches from York Factory that the vessel intended for the business of the district had been lost, and the other, in which I made my passage, placed in so critical a situation as to render her safety in spring a very doubtful matter, considered it advisable to provide for the worst by freighting a small schooner to carry us out our supplies. This vessel very unexpectedly made her appearance on the 22d of September, and we thus found ourselves supplied with goods and provisions for two years' consumption. Having, as above mentioned, learned from Mr. Erlandson the difficulties of the inland route, and also that a great number of the natives had gone to Esquimaux Bay, with the intention of remaining there, I considered it incumbent upon me to visit that quarter at an early period of the winter, and I accordingly set out from Fort Chimo on the 2d of January. I submit the following narrative of my journey to the reader. "_Tuesday, the 2d of January_, 1838.--I left Fort Chimo at eleven A.M., accompanied by the following men, _viz._:-- "Donald Henderson, Henry Hay, and two Indian guides, who are to accompany me throughout the journey; Pierre Neven and M. Ferguson go part of the way, each driving a sled of two dogs, loaded with provisions, the other men having sleds drawn by themselves. "_Wednesday, the 3d._--Left our encampment before dawn of day. Excessively cold--some of us got frost-bitten, but not severely. Our principal guide, finding his companion unable to keep up with us, set off to his lodge in quest of a substitute. Encamped early, having proceeded about nine miles. "_Thursday, the 4th._--Started at seven A.M. Reached High Fall Creek at nine A.M. Halted to wait for our guide, who soon joined us, alone, finding no person willing to accompany him. Resumed our march at half-past nine; had not proceeded far, when we perceived that our young guide, Pellican, was left considerably in the rear. We waited till he overtook us, and the miserable creature appearing completely exhausted with fatigue, we encamped at an early hour. Eight miles. "_Friday, the 5th._--Lightened Pellican's sled, and set off at five A.M.; fine weather, though sharp. Advanced sixteen miles. "_Saturday, the 6th._--As the ice was covered with water close to our encampment, it was deemed advisable to await the light of day. Set off at eight A.M., but found it impossible to move forward in consequence of the immense quantity of snow that had fallen during the night. It continuing still to snow, and blowing a violent gale at same time, I gave up the struggle. Advanced about a mile. "_Sunday, the 7th._--Got up about three A.M., literally buried in snow. Our blankets being wet, we waited in our encampment drying them till eight o'clock, when we started with only half loads, with which we intended to proceed to the first lake, and then return for the remainder; but to our great satisfaction we soon discovered that the tempest which had incommoded us so much last night had cleared the ice of snow; we therefore returned for the property we had left; then proceeding at a fine rate, having beautiful weather, we soon reached the lake; when my guides, discovering a herd of deer on an adjacent hill, immediately set off at a bound, followed by Pellican and my two _brules_. I saw at once my day's journey was at an end, and accordingly directed my encampment to be made. Our hunters joined us in the evening with the choice parts of three deer they had killed. Proceeded eight miles. "_Monday, the 8th._--Very cold, tempestuous weather. Our progress was much retarded by the great depth of snow in the woods through which our route lay. Thirteen miles. "_Tuesday, the 9th._--Blowing a hurricane; the cold being also intense, we could not venture out on the ice without incurring the risk of being frost-bitten; we therefore remained in our quarters, such as they were, until the weather should moderate. "_Wednesday, the 10th._--My guides appeared very unwilling to quit their encampment this morning, pretending indisposition. They might have been really ill; but the beastly manner in which they had been gorging themselves for the past two days being well known to be the cause of their illness, no one felt disposed to pity them. I therefore sprang into their encampment, and pitching the remainder of their choice morsels into the snow, drove them out before me. Travelled through woods the whole day. Encamped at half-past three. Eighteen miles. "_Thursday, the 11th._--Started at five, A.M. Soon fell on a large lake, on which we travelled till three, P.M., when we encamped. Thus far the lake extends S.E. and N.W., being about two miles in width. As Mr. Erlandson was the first European who had traversed these inhospitable wilds, I had the gratification of giving his name to the lake. It is reported by the natives to abound in fish of the best quality; rein-deer are also said to be numerous at certain seasons of the year. Proceeded fifteen miles. "_Friday, the 12th._--Being immoderately cold, and the wind blowing direct in our faces, we could not attempt travelling on the lake. "_Saturday, the 13th._--Weather fine. Left Erlandson's Lake about one, A.M.; it still stretched out before us as far as the eye could reach, and cannot be less than forty miles in length; its medium breadth, however, does not exceed two miles and a half. The circumjacent country is remarkably well wooded, even to the tops of the highest hills, and is reported by the natives to abound in martens. A few industrious Indians would not fail to turn such advantages to good account; but they can avail the Company very little, while the natives alone are in possession of them. Went on twenty-four miles. "_Sunday, the 14th._--Set off at five, A.M. Passed over several small lakes; the country well wooded. Entered upon a small river about noon, the banks covered with large pine. Encamped at three, P.M. Advanced sixteen miles. "_Monday, the 15th._--Took our departure at seven, A.M. Travelled without halting the whole day. Eighteen miles. "_Tuesday, the 16th._--Decamped at five, A.M.; the snow very deep in the woods. Fell on Whale River at ten, A.M. The face of the country presents scarcely any variety; from Erlandson's Lake to this river it is generally well wooded, but afterwards becomes extremely barren, nothing to be seen on both sides of the river but bare rocks. Proceeded sixteen miles. "_Wednesday, the 17th._--Started at five, A.M. Our route in the morning led us through a chain of small lakes, and brought us out again on Whale River, on which we travelled till four, P.M. The appearance of the country much the same as described yesterday. Proceeded eighteen miles. "_Thursday, the 18th._--P. Neven being unable to travel from indisposition, I resolved on passing the day to await the issue, deeming his malady to be of no very serious nature. In the meantime I took an exact account of my provisions which I found to be so far reduced, that no further assistance was required for its conveyance. I accordingly made the necessary arrangements to send the men back. "_Friday, the 19th._--Early in the morning, P. Neven (being now convalescent) and Mordoch Ferguson set off on their return, whilst I and my party proceeded on our onward route. I retained a sled of dogs, intending to drive them myself. We travelled eleven miles on Whale River, then struck across the country to the eastward. Encamped at four, P.M. Fourteen miles. "_Saturday, the 20th._--The moon affording no longer light to find our way in the night, we must now wait till daylight. Started at seven A.M.; crossed a point of wood, chiefly larch, of a miserably small growth; then came out on a large lake (comparatively speaking), on which we travelled till four, P.M. Thirteen miles. "_Sunday, the 21st._--Set off at seven A.M. About eleven, we fell on the fresh tracks of a large herd of deer, which my guides carefully examined; their experience not only enabling them to determine the precise time they had passed, but the very spot where they were likely to be found, which they affirmed was close to us. My dogs being very much reduced, and not having the means of increasing their present modicum of food, I determined on availing myself of an opportunity which might not again occur of procuring a supply. The Indians accordingly set off in quest of them, desiring us at their departure to make no fire until the sun had reached a certain position in the heavens which they pointed out to us. We made our encampment at the time appointed, and were soon joined by our hunters, dragging after them a fine doe; they had got only one shot at the herd, which immediately took to the bare hills, where pursuit was in vain. Our guides being encamped by themselves, I was curious to ascertain by ocular evidence the manner in which the first kettle would be disposed of, nor did I wait long till my curiosity was gratified. The cannibals fell upon the half-cooked flesh with a voracity which I could not have believed even savages capable of; and in an incredibly short space of time the kettle was disposed of;--and this, too, after their usual daily allowance, which is equal to, and sometimes exceeds, that of the other men, who say they have enough. Proceeded seven miles. "_Monday, the 22nd._--On examining the remains of the deer this morning, I found my quadrupeds would benefit but little by my good intentions and loss of time, our guides having applied themselves so sedulously to the doe during the night, as to leave but little for their canine brethren. We started at seven, A.M., the travelling very heavy in the woods. About noon we came upon a large lake, where we made better speed. Thirteen miles. "_Tuesday, the 23rd._--Travelled through woods the greater part of the day; encamped at four o'clock. Sixteen miles. "_Wednesday, the 24th._--Decamped at seven, A.M. Our route lay through swamps and small lakes, with strips of wood intervening. Martens appear to be numerous, but beavers must be extremely rare, for we have discovered no traces whatever of their existence anywhere along our route, though innumerable small lakes and rivers, such as beavers frequent, are to be met with in every direction; but the country produces no food for them. At ten A.M. we arrived at a considerable lake, where my guides told me we had reached the highest land. On asking them if this were the lake where we intended to build, they pointed to the south-west, saying it was four days' journey off in that direction!--so far had I been led from the route I intended to have followed, notwithstanding the perfect understanding I had with my perfidious guides prior to our departure from the establishment. Encamped at three, P.M. Twelve miles. "_Thursday, the 25th._--Immediately on leaving our encampment, we fell on a large river flowing to the north-east, which I took to be George's River. We followed it for a short distance, and then directed our course over bare hills. Encamped at three, P.M. Eleven miles. "_Friday, the 26th._--Having passed the night in a clump of small pines, which sheltered us from the inclemency of the weather, we were not aware of the violence of the storm which was raging round us, until, pursuing our route over a ridge of bare hills, we were completely exposed to its fury. We found the cold intense, the wind blowing in our faces, so that it was impossible to proceed. Observing a hummock of wood close to us, we shaped our course for it, where we were no sooner arrived, than it began to snow and drift. The few trees to which we had retreated being far apart, and the wind blowing with the utmost violence, we experienced the greatest difficulty in clearing an encampment. The storm continuing unabated, we passed a miserable day in our snow burrow. Two miles. "_Saturday, the 27th._--Arose from our comfortless _couché_ at half-past four. The snow having drifted over us, and being melted by the heat of the fire in the early part of the night, we found our blankets and capotes hard frozen in the morning. Thawing and drying them occupied us till nine A.M., when we set off. Snow very deep. Proceeded nine miles. "_Sunday, the 28th._--Set off at seven, A.M. Snow still increasing in depth, and our progress decreasing in proportion. At one, P.M., we came upon a large river flowing to the north, on which we travelled a short distance; then followed the course of a small stream running in an easterly direction. Leaving this stream, our route lay over marshes and small lakes; the country flat, yielding dwarf pine intermixed with larch. Encamped at half-past four; advanced eight miles. "_Monday, the 29th._--Started at seven. Appearance of the country much the same as yesterday. Fifteen miles. "_Tuesday, the 30th._--Decamped at seven. Weather mild, and walking heavy. Our principal guide appears rapidly declining in strength, which does not surprise me, considering the laborious duty he has had to perform; always beating the track a-head, without being once relieved by his worthless associate. Fourteen miles. "_Wednesday, the 31st._--Started at seven. Still very mild. Observed a few small birch trees. Encamped at four, P.M. Fifteen miles. "_Thursday, the 1st of February._--Started at the usual hour. We have been travelling through a very rough country for these two days past. The fact is, that our guides, having only passed here in summer, are unacquainted with the winter track. We are, therefore, evidently pursuing a circuitous course, which, with every other disadvantage, subjects us to the risk of running short of provisions,--a contingency which our reduced stock warns us to prepare for ere long. We can afford no more food to the dogs; their load is now transferred to the men's sleds. Fifteen miles. "_Friday, the 2d._--Decamped at seven, A.M. Pursued our route over extensive swamps and small lakes, where there is scarcely any wood to be seen. The face of the surrounding country being level, the least elevation commands a most extensive view; but the eye turns away in disgust from the cheerless prospect which the desolate flats present. I deemed it expedient to curtail our allowance of provisions this evening. Eighteen miles. "_Saturday, the 3d._--Set off at seven, A.M. Reached Michigama Lake at one, P.M.; on which we travelled till five o'clock, when we encamped on an island. Proceeded twenty miles. "_Sunday, the 4th._--Left our encampment at the usual hour. Halted for our scanty meal at ten, A.M. After an hour's delay we resumed our march, and encamped at four, P.M., on an island near the mainland on the east side of the lake, having performed about twenty miles. I here repeated to the Indians my earnest wish to proceed to Esquimaux Bay, by North River, which takes its rise in this lake. They replied that nothing could induce them to comply with my wishes, as inevitable starvation would be the consequence; no game could be found by the way, and we would have, therefore, to depend solely on our own provisions, which were barely sufficient for the shortest route. I had thus the mortification to find, that I should entirely fail in accomplishing the main object I had in view in crossing the country. "_Monday, the 5th._--Decamped at seven, A.M. Reached the mainland at half-past eight; then ascended a river flowing from the north-east, which discharges itself into Michigama Lake, Pellican taking the lead, being the only one acquainted with this part of the country. The Indians shot an otter. No wood to be seen, but miserably small pine, thinly scattered over the country. Encamped at Gull Lake. Fifteen miles. "_Tuesday, the 6th._--Left our encampment at seven. Our guide lost his way about noon, which after an hour's search, he succeeded in finding; when we resumed our slow march, Pellican proceeding at a snail's pace, which neither threats nor entreaties could in the least accelerate. Encamped at five, P.M. Eleven miles. "_Wednesday, the 7th._--Started at half-past six, A.M. Arrived at the site of an extensive Indian camp, which appeared to have been recently occupied. Our guides knowing the Indians to be their friends from Ungava, and their trail leading in the direction of our route, required no longer to be urged on. An immediate impulse was given to Pellican's sluggish motions, increasing his speed to such a degree, that it required our utmost exertions to keep up with him. Encamped near a high fall on North-West River, which is here walled in by inaccessible precipices on both sides. The view above the fall is interrupted by stupendous rocks; the natives say that the appearance of the river and surrounding country is the same from this fall to Michigama Lake; the river is deemed to be impracticable for any kind of craft. Eighteen miles. "_Thursday, the 8th._--Set off at seven, A.M. Fine travelling on the river. We passed two portages and rapids. Encamped at forty-five minutes past five. Twenty miles. "_Friday, the 9th._--Decamped at seven. Travelling good; the banks of the river high and precipitous, and almost destitute of wood. We observed, however, a few birches. Encamped at six, P.M. Twenty miles. "_Saturday, the 10th._--Started at eight, A.M. About noon we arrived at a wide expansion of the river, where it suddenly bends to the west. Here we again quitted the river, directing our course to the eastward. The navigation of this part of the river is represented by the natives to be impracticable, and similar to the upper part. Our snow-shoes being the worse for wear, we encamped at an early hour for the purpose of repairing them. Advanced fifteen miles. "_Sunday, the 11th._--Decamped at seven, A.M. Pursued our course through the roughest country I ever travelled. The appearance of it struck me as resembling the ocean when agitated by a storm, supposing its billows transformed into solid rock. We commenced ascending and descending in the morning, and kept at it till night. The men complained much of fatigue. Proceeded fourteen miles. "_Monday, the 12th._--The weather being so much overcast that we could not find our way, we remained in our encampment till eight, A.M. Encamped at a quarter past five. Fifteen miles. "_Tuesday, the 13th._--Set off at half-past seven, amidst a tremendous snow-storm, which continued without intermission the whole day; we sunk knee-deep in the snow, and found it not the most pleasant recreation in the world. About noon we passed a hut, which my guide told me had been the residence of a trader, two years ago. Late in the evening we arrived at another hut, on North West River, where we found two of Mr. McGillivray's people, who were stationed there for the purpose of trapping martens. Nine miles. "_Wednesday, the 14th._--The weather being unpropitious, and finding ourselves very snug in our present quarters, we passed the day enjoying the comfort of a roof. "_Thursday, the 15th._--Left our Canadian hosts at early dawn; the snow very deep on the river. Proceeded till ten, A.M., when D. Henderson was suddenly seized by a violent fit, which completely incapacitated him from travelling. Discovering a hut close by, a fire was immediately kindled in it, and a place prepared for our invalid to lie down; in our present circumstances nothing more could be done. I waited by him till two, P.M., then pursued my route, accompanied by the Indians, leaving H. Hay to take care of him. Accomplished fourteen miles. "_Friday, the 16th._--Set off at four, A.M. Arrived at dusk at Port Smith, where, although I was well known, my Esquimaux dress and long beard defied recognition, until I announced myself by name. "_Saturday, the 17th._--An Indian was despatched early in the morning, to meet my men with a supply of the north-west panacea, Turlington Balsam; and I was glad to see them arrive in the evening, more in want of food than medicine." Two days after our arrival, all the Nascopie or Ungava Indians, at present residing in this part of the country, numbering seventy or eighty souls, came to the establishment, with the produce of their winter hunts. Mr. McGillivray and myself having come to an understanding regarding them, we both addressed them, representing to them the advantages they would derive from having posts so conveniently situated on their lands, &c. After some deliberation among themselves, they expressed their intention to be guided by our advice, and to return forthwith to their lands. Having sent off my despatches by Indian couriers, for Mashquaro, on the 3d of March, to be forwarded thence to Canada, _via_ the Company's posts along the Gulf and River St. Lawrence, I sent H. Hay for my guides (who had gone to pay the _kettles_ of their friends a visit), preparatory to my departure hence, which has been deferred to a much later period than I had calculated upon, from the prevalence of excessively bad weather for a fortnight. Hay, having met the Indians on the way, returned the same evening; but they were so emaciated that I could scarcely recognise them, looking like so many spectres--a metamorphosis caused by the influenza, at that time prevalent in the country. My principal guide, however, declared himself able to proceed on the journey, with a light load; and it was arranged that Pellican should accompany his relative. Two young men, who came in with my guide, appearing not quite so much reduced as the others, I proposed to them to accompany me as far as Michigama Lake, to assist in hauling our provisions, which they consented to do; and they accordingly took their departure along with my guide, on the 4th of March. Myself and two men, along with my "husky" interpreter, followed next morning; but as we are to retrace our steps by the same way we came, it will be unnecessary to narrate the occurrences of each day. We arrived in the evening at the first Indian camp, where I found one of the young men I had hired, relapsed into his former malady, and unable to proceed further. This, although a disappointment, did not much affect me, as I had hopes my guide would be able to continue his route, from the circumstance of his having passed on to the farthest camp. When we arrived, about noon next day, and found, not only our guide, but every individual in the camp, suffering under the fatal malady,--this was the climax to my disappointment. I determined on returning to Fort Smith with my guide, where, by proper treatment, I hoped he might yet recover in time to admit of my returning before the end of the season. I accordingly returned, accompanied by H. Hay, who conducted the dog-sledge, on which I had placed my sick Indian, leaving D. Henderson in charge of the provisions, along with the Esquimaux. On the morning of the 9th, I despatched H. Hay to join Henderson, with directions to haul the provisions on to McGillivray's hut, there to await further orders. My guide, for a few days, appeared to be in a hopeless state, refusing sustenance of any kind, and became delirious. This was the crisis of the malady; for he soon began to take some food, and recovered strength daily. He at length proposed to attempt the journey, to which I joyfully assented; and once more took leave of Fort Smith, on the 19th of March, and joined my men next day. Remaining two days, to give the guide time to recruit his strength, I started on the morning of the 23d; the Indians had recovered strength enough to enable them to proceed towards their winter deposit of provisions, near Michigama Lake, leaving us an excellent track. We overtook them on the 26th. I found it impossible to separate my guide from his relatives while we pursued the same route. We arrived on the 30th at their last stage, and encamped together. Next morning as we were about to start, a message arrived from my guide, announcing his determination to proceed no farther, unless Pellican were permitted to accompany us. I sent for him immediately, and endeavoured to impress on his mind the unreasonableness of such a proposition, our provisions being scarcely sufficient for ourselves--that it would expose the whole party to the risk of starvation; but I addressed a thing without reason and without understanding, and was accordingly obliged, once more, to yield. We reached the highest land on the 2d of April, where, on examining our remaining stock of provisions, the alarming fact that it was altogether insufficient to carry us to the establishment, was but too apparent. It was therefore necessary to take immediate measures to avert, if possible, an evil that threatened so fearful consequences; and the only course that presented itself was to divide into two parties,--the one to proceed with all possible despatch to the fort, by the shortest route, and to send forward a supply to the other, which it was anticipated would reach them ere they were reduced to absolute want. Pursuant to this resolution I set off, accompanied by the guide and H. Hay; leaving D. Henderson to make the best of his way, with the Esquimaux and Pellican. Having taken but a very small share of the provisions with us, and meeting with no game on the way, we were soon reduced to the utmost extremity. One of our dogs being starved to death, we were ultimately obliged to knock the surviving one on the head, to supply ourselves with what we considered, in present circumstances, "food for the gods." Such as it was, it enabled us to keep soul and body together till we reached Fort Chimo, on the 20th of April, where we found all the Nascopies of this part of the country assembled to greet the arrival of their long-expected friends--our guides. I immediately selected a couple of smart-looking lads to go to meet my rear-guard,--the other servants about the establishment, who were accustomed to snow-shoes, being absent, watching the deer. On the third day after their departure the couriers returned, with Pellican. On inquiring of the latter what had become of my men, he replied that he had left them encamped at a lake about sixty miles distant, where the Esquimaux, abandoning himself to despair, could not be prevailed upon to go a step farther; and that he (Pellican) had been sent forward by Henderson to urge on the party whom they expected. They were within a day's journey of them; and yet the wretches returned immediately on meeting Pellican, leaving the others to their fate. No Indians I had ever known would have acted so basely; yet these are an "unsophisticated race" of aborigines, who have but little intercourse with the whites, and must, of course, be free from the contamination of their manners. Our hunters being now arrived, were sent off, without delay, in quest of the missing; and I had the satisfaction to see my famished _compagnons de voyage_ arrive, on the 26th of April. CHAPTER IV. DISTRESSING BEREAVEMENT--EXPLORING PARTY--THEIR REPORT--ARRIVAL OF ESQUIMAUX--ESTABLISH POSTS--POUNDING REIN-DEER--EXPEDITION UP GEORGE'S RIVER--ITS DIFFICULTIES--HAMILTON RIVER--DISCOVER A STUPENDOUS CATARACT--RETURN BY GEORGE'S RIVER TO THE SEA--SUDDEN STORM, AND MIRACULOUS ESCAPE. Having thus ascertained the impracticability of the inland communication, I transmitted the result of my observations to the Governor--a report which, I doubt not, proved rather unpalatable to his Excellency, unaccustomed as he is to have any of his movements checked by that impudent and uncompromising word--impossible. I was much gratified to find that the deer-hunt had proved uncommonly successful; so that I had now the means of carrying into effect the Governor's instructions on this point. On the approach of spring, preparations were made for establishing a post inland; guides were hired for the purpose, and every precaution taken to insure success. At this time I was visited by a very grievous affliction, in the loss of my beloved wife, whose untimely death left me in a more wretched condition than words can express. This was truly an eventful year for me;--within that space I became a husband, a father, and a widower;--I traversed the continent of America, performing a voyage of some 1,500 miles by sea, and a journey by land of fully 1,200 miles, on snow-shoes. As soon as the navigation became practicable (June 18), Mr. Erlandson set off for the interior, with his outfit, in three small canoes, and after much toil reached his destination on the 10th of July. On the return of the men who had assisted in the transport, I fitted out an expedition to explore the coast to the westward, with the view of ascertaining the capabilities of that quarter, for the extension of the business. The party was absent about a month; and their report was entirely unfavourable to the project of carrying our "ameliorating system" so far. The navigation of the coast is exceedingly dangerous, from the continual presence of ice, and the extraordinary force of the currents. While the coast proved so inaccessible, the interior of the country wears a still more dreary and sterile aspect; not a tree, nor shrub, nor plant of any land, is to be seen, save the lichens that cover the rocks, and a few willows. The native Esquimaux, whom our people had seen, evinced the same amicable disposition by which their whole race is distinguished. They received our people with open arms, and some of the young damsels seemed disposed to cultivate a closer intimacy with them than their ideas of propriety, or at least their olfactory nerves, would sanction. The effluvia that proceeds from their persons in the summer season is quite insufferable; it is as if you applied your nose to a cask of rancid oil. In the course of the summer, several Esquimaux arrived from the westward, with a considerable quantity of fox-skins,--the only fur this barren country yields. Some of these poor creatures had passed nearly two years on their journey hither, being obliged to hunt or fish for their living as they travelled. They set off on their return with a little tobacco, or a few strings of beads;--very few having the means of procuring guns and ammunition. Nothing worthy of notice occurred till the month of September, when I was gratified by the arrival of despatches from Canada, by a junior clerk appointed to the district. By him we received the first intelligence of the stirring events that had taken place in the colonies during the preceding year. The accounts of the triumphs of my countrymen's arms over French treachery and Yankee hatred, diverted my thoughts, for the first time, from the melancholy subject of my late bereavement; the thoughts of which my solitude served rather to cherish than dispel. Having learned from the natives that a river fell into the bay, about eighty miles to the eastward, that offered greater facilities for carrying on the business in the interior than our present communication, I ordered the men who had assisted Mr. Erlandson, to descend by this river,--an enterprise which was successfully accomplished. Their report confirming that of the natives, I forthwith determined on establishing a post there; and the season being now far advanced, I had no sooner decided on the step than I set about carrying it into execution. A party was despatched with every requisite for the purpose, about the 15th of September; and I received a communication from them in October, informing me that they had discovered a convenient situation for erecting the buildings. The materials being found on the spot, and the men aware of the approach of winter, and straining every nerve to secure themselves against its rigours, the buildings, such as they were, were raised and already occupied. In the early part of winter, being, I may say, entirely alone,--for there remained only one man and an interpreter with me,--I amused myself by shooting partridges, which abounded in the neighbourhood that season; but the cold became so excessive as the winter advanced, that I was compelled to forego that amusement, and confine myself to the four walls of my prison, with the few books I possessed as my only companions. My despatches for the civilized world being completed, I was altogether at a loss how to forward them, as none of the natives could be induced, even by a high reward, to undertake the journey. At length one was found who consented to accompany one of my men to Mr. Erlandson's post, but no farther. My couriers were absent six weeks, and I had the mortification to learn on their return that the packet remained at the outpost, owing to an accident that befel one of the Indian guides, and which incapacitated him for the trip. Our friends would thus remain in ignorance of our fate for nearly two years. The report received regarding the inland adventure proved very satisfactory as far as the trade was concerned; but the privations suffered by those engaged in it, it was painful to learn; their sole subsistence consisted of fish, rendered extremely unpalatable from the damage it had sustained from the heat of the sun, and a few rabbits and partridges. Who would not be an Indian trader? Early in the month of March the rein-deer made their appearance again, and every countenance brightened up at the thoughts of the approaching pastime. I fell on a plan, however, that divested the sport of much of its attractions, although calculated to ensure greater success. A favourable position being selected, a certain extent of ground was fenced in so as to form a "pound" of nearly a circular shape, a gap being left in it to admit the game from the river side. This done, I caused branches to be placed on the ice above and below the deer pass, which the animals observing, became alarmed, and running from side to side of the open space between the lines of branches, at length made a dash at the opposite side of the river, and entered the trap prepared for them at a gallop, continuing at the top of their speed until stopped by the upper part of the "pound," when they wheeled round, and making for the entrance, were received with a volley of balls from the huntsmen; a continual fire being kept up upon them in this manner until they all dropped. The scene presented by the slaughter was anything but agreeable, yet stern necessity compelled me to continue the butchery; and the success that attended my scheme far exceeded my expectations. The first herd that entered, in number about fifty, burst through the fence; but our works were immediately strengthened, so as to defy their efforts in future to escape. A herd of 300 was soon after entrapped, and in the course of two hours all were killed. Having thus obtained an ample stock of provisions, the different parties employed at the fishing and hunting stations were recalled, and preparations were begun for our summer campaign, in which I determined to take an active part. The favourable report of last summer respecting the East or George's River, combined with reports that had reached me since of another large river flowing a short distance to the south of Esquimaux Bay, suggested the possibility of carrying on our business on this line of communication. With the view, therefore, of carrying this design into effect, I had a boat built in the course of the winter, in which I embarked with a strong crew on the 25th of June, the river not being clear of ice at an earlier period; and sweeping down on the top of the current at railroad speed, reached the sea in about three hours. It being still early in the day, and no ice to be seen, we pulled for the opposite side of the bay, in the hope of reaching it ere dark. The weather being perfectly calm we advanced rapidly, and had proceeded about seven miles with every prospect of effecting our purpose, when lo! the tide was observed to be making against us; and the ice returning with it, apparently in a compact body, we were placed in rather a critical situation. The sun was declining, while the coast presented a solid wall of ice, which precluded the possibility of landing anywhere nearer than the mouth of South River. Towards that point, therefore, the head of the boat was directed, and the crew, seeing the imminence of the danger, rowed with all their might; and by dint of strenuous exertions, we made good our landing ere the ice closed in around us. A few minutes after not a speck of water could be descried. Next morning, the ice still covered the bay, leaving only a narrow strip of open water along the shore; into this channel we pushed our boat, and for some time made but little progress, being continually interrupted by pieces of ice, which the high tide detached from the shore. Our channel, however, soon widened, and in a short time not a particle of ice could be seen, disappearing as if by magic; for in a few minutes after it began to move, no traces of it could be discovered as far as the eye could reach to seaward. We reached East or George's River, without further interruption, on the 3d of July, where we were detained by unfavourable weather until the 5th. The post established here last autumn is situated in a still more cheerless spot than Fort Chimo, being surrounded by rugged hills, whose sides are covered with the _débris_ of rock, which appears to have been detached from the hills by the process of decay. The post stands at the foot of one of those frightful hills, while another rises immediately in front; the intervening valleys, or cavities, present nothing to enliven the scene, save a few stunted pines, and here and there a patch of snow. The few Esquimaux who inhabit this region of sterility and desolation, at first appeared delighted with the idea of having whites among them: finding, however, that our presence yielded them no advantage, they soon became indifferent about us, and proceeded to the Moravian settlement with the produce of their hunts, where they obtained their little wants at a far cheaper rate than our tariff allowed. My crew, leaving Fort Siviright, consisted of ten able men; and an Indian guide accompanied us in his canoe. As we ascended, our difficulties increased at every step, the water being much lower than last year. I found myself engaged in a more laborious work than I had ever yet undertaken--towing the boat day after day against a current flowing in a continuous rapid, so as to admit of not one moment's relaxation, unless during the short interval allowed for rest to such as could take it--no easy matter when myriads of sand-flies and mosquitoes filled the air and tortured us incessantly. We continued to advance in this manner, hauling, pulling, carrying, and even launching the boat for about fifteen days, when we reached an expansion of the river, without any perceptible current, and sufficiently deep to admit of the use of the oar. Our labour was now supposed to be at an end by those who had explored the river; no further doubts were entertained as to our soon reaching Esquimaux Bay, where letters from our friends and news from all quarters would reward us for all our toils. Let not him who knows not what it is to be shut out from his friends, society, and the great world, year after year, think lightly of the reward which the solitary trader, in his remote seclusion, values so highly. Our hopes, however, were soon dissipated. Having reached the upper extremity of the still water, we encountered difficulties that defied every attempt to surmount. The lake just referred to proved to be the source of the lower stream; the rivulet that flowed into it from above being so shallow as scarcely to admit of the passage of a small canoe. It was therefore impossible to proceed with the boat, a circumstance that placed me in a rather perplexing position; for I had the outfit for the interior in charge, without which the business, so lately established with every prospect of success, would fail. There was, however, no time to be lost in vain regrets; the advanced period of the season required instant decision, and our stock of provisions was diminishing rapidly. I therefore determined on proceeding to the outpost in the small canoe belonging to our guide, taking two of the men with me, and leaving the rest of the crew to erect a temporary post; and in the mean time sent my guide to apprize the Indians in the vicinity of the steps I had taken to supply their wants next winter. These arrangements completed, I embarked in an eggshell of a canoe, so small as not to admit of anything save the smallest possible supply of provisions,--tent, basket, &c. remaining behind. Soon after leaving our encampment, we came to a portage some ten miles in length, and struck the river again, where, from the report of the men, I expected no further difficulties would impede our progress. But the event did not answer my expectations; from the continual drought of the season the water proved so low that we had to drag along our canoe, wading in the water, where a boat would have passed with ease last year. In this manner we continued our toilsome voyage without relaxation for several days, carrying our canoe and baggage overland, or wading in the water from early dawn until late at night, when we threw ourselves down on the ground to pass the night without shelter from the weather or protection from the stings of our merciless persecutors the mosquitoes, who pursued their avocation with unwearied assiduity, so that our rest was small, and that little afforded us but scanty refreshment. Our progress, but slow, from the difficulties of the route, was rendered still slower by our frequent deviations from our course; my guides having paid but little attention to their instructions last year. We at length reached the post on the 16th of August, half starved, half naked, and half devoured. A friendly reception, and the good cheer the place afforded, soon restored our spirits, if not our "inexpressibles;" and although much annoyed that no Indians could be induced to guide us to Esquimaux Bay, I determined on making the attempt with such assistance as Mr. Erlandson could give me, who was well acquainted with the upper part of the river. After one day's rest, we embarked in a canoe sufficiently large to contain several conveniences, to which I had been for some time a stranger,--a tent to shelter us by night, and tea to cheer us by day; we fared, too, like princes, on the produce of "sea and land," procured by the net and the gun. We thus proceeded gaily on our downward course without meeting any interruption, or experiencing any difficulty in finding our way; when, one evening, the roar of a mighty cataract burst upon our ears, warning us that danger was at hand. We soon reached the spot, which presented to us one of the grandest spectacles in the world, but put an end to all hopes of success in our enterprise. About six miles above the fall the river suddenly contracts, from a width of from four hundred to six hundred yards, to about one hundred yards; then rushing along in a continuous foaming rapid, finally contracts to a breadth of about fifty yards, ere it precipitates itself over the rock which forms the fall; when, still roaring and foaming, it continues its maddened course for about a distance of thirty miles, pent up between walls of rock that rise sometimes to the height of three hundred feet on either side. This stupendous fall exceeds in height the Falls of Niagara, but bears no comparison to that sublime object in any other respect, being nearly hidden from the view by the abrupt angle which the rocks form immediately beneath it. If not seen, however, it is felt; such is the extraordinary force with which it tumbles into the abyss underneath, that we felt the solid rock shake under our feet, as we stood two hundred feet above the gulf. A dense cloud of vapour, which can be seen at a great distance in clear weather, hangs over the spot. From the fall to the foot of the rapid--a distance of thirty miles--the zigzag course of the river presents such sharp angles, that you see nothing of it until within a few yards of its banks. Might not this circumstance lead the geologist to the conclusion that the fall had receded this distance? The mind shrinks from the contemplation of a subject that carries it back to a period of time so very remote; for if the rock,--syenite, always possessed its present solidity and hardness, the action of the water alone might require millions of years to produce such a result! After carrying our canoe and baggage for a whole day through bogs, and swamps, and windfalls, in the hope of finding the river accessible, we at length gave up the attempt; and with heavy hearts and weary limbs retracing our steps, we reached the outpost, without accident, after an absence of fifteen days. Finding it impossible to remove either the returns, or the small quantity of goods remaining on hand, I determined on leaving a couple of the men to pass the winter here; and Mr. Erlandson accompanied me to assume the charge of the temporary post, where I had left his outfit. Here we arrived on the 1st of September, and I was delighted at finding my men living in the midst of abundance;--the surrounding country apparently abounding with rein-deer, and the lake affording fish of the best quality. I remained with the men two days to expedite the buildings which were yet unfinished; and in the meantime a party of Indians arrived, whom we persuaded to carry our despatches to Esquimaux Bay. After seeing my couriers off, I left Mr. Erlandson with two men to share his solitude, and reached the sea without experiencing any adventure worth notice. Proceeding along the coast, I was induced, one evening, by the flattering appearance of the weather, to attempt the passage of a deep bay; which being accomplished, there was little danger of being delayed afterwards by stress of weather. This step I soon had cause to repent. The sea hitherto presented a smooth surface; not a breath of wind was felt, and the stars shone out brightly. A few clouds began to appear on the horizon; and the boat began to rise and fall with the heaving of the sea. Understanding what these signs portended, we immediately pulled for the shore; but had scarcely altered our course when the stars disappeared, a tremendous noise struck upon our ears from seaward, and the storm was upon us. In the impenetrable obscurity of the night, not a trace of land could be discovered; but we continued to ply our oars, while each succeeding billow threatened immediate destruction. The horrors of our situation increased; the man on the out-look called out that he saw breakers a-head in every direction, and escape appeared to be next to impossible. My crew of Scottish Islanders, however, continued their painful exertions without evincing the apprehensions they must have felt, by a murmur. The crisis was now at hand. We approached so near to the breakers that it was impossible to avoid them; and the men lay on their oars, expecting the next moment would be their last. In such a situation the thoughts of even the most depraved naturally carry them beyond the limits of time; and by these thoughts, I believe, the soul of every one was absorbed; yet the men lost not their presence of mind. Suddenly, the voice of the look-out was heard amid the roar of the breakers, calling our attention to a dark breach in the line of foam that stretched out before us, which he fancied to be a channel between the rocks. A few desperate strokes brought us to the spot, when, to our unspeakable joy, we found it to answer the man's conjecture; but, so narrow was the passage, that the oars on both sides of the boat struck the rocks; a minute afterwards we found ourselves becalmed and in safety. The boat being moored, and the men ordered to watch by turns, we lay down to sleep, as we best could, supperless, and without having tasted food since early dawn. The wind still blew fresh on the ensuing morning; but we found, to our great satisfaction, that we had entered a kind of channel that lay along the shore, where we were protected from the storm by the innumerable rocky islets that stretched along the mainland. Regarding the labyrinth of islands through which we had effected a passage in the darkness, we were struck with wonder at our escape; and felt convinced that the hand of Providence alone could have guided us through such perils in safety. CHAPTER V. ESQUIMAUX ARRIVE FROM THE NORTH SHORE OF HUDSON'S STRAIT, ON A RAFT--DESPATCH FROM THE GOVERNOR--DISTRESS OF THE ESQUIMAUX--FORWARD PROVISIONS TO MR. E----. RETURN OF THE PARTY--THEIR DEPLORABLE CONDITION. We reached Fort Chimo on the 20th September. A greater number of Esquimaux were assembled about the post than I had yet seen; and among them I was astonished to find a family from the north side of the Strait, and still more astonished when I learned the way they had crossed--a raft formed of pieces of drift wood picked up along the shore, afforded the means of effecting the hazardous enterprise. On questioning them what was their object in risking their lives in so extraordinary an adventure, they replied, that they wanted wood to make canoes, and visit the Esquimaux on the south side of the Strait. "And what if you had been overtaken by a storm?" said I. "We should all have gone to the bottom," was the cool reply. In fact, they had made a very narrow escape, a storm having come on just as they landed on the first island. The fact of these people having crossed Hudson's Strait on so rude and frail a conveyance, strongly corroborates, I think, the opinion that America was originally peopled from Asia. The Asiatic side of Behring's Strait affording timber sufficiently large for the purpose of building boats or canoes, there seems nothing improbable in supposing that, when once in possession of that wonderful and useful invention--a boat, they might be induced, even by curiosity--that powerful stimulus to adventure--to visit the nearest island, and from thence proceed to the continent of America; and finding it, perhaps, possessed of superior advantages to the shores they had left, settle there. My voyageur was evidently induced as much by curiosity as by the desire of procuring a canoe, to visit the south side of Hudson's Strait, where the passage is as wide as between the island in Behring's Strait and the two continents. At an early period of the winter I was gratified by the arrival of despatches from the civilized world. The packet was found by the Indians at Esquimaux Bay, whither I had sent them, and forwarded to me by Mr. Erlandson's two men. By his letters I was grieved to learn that starvation stared him in the face; the fishing, that promised so well when I passed, having entirely failed, and no deer were to be found. He wrote me, however, that he would maintain his post while a piece of parchment remained to gnaw! The Governor's letters conveyed the thanks of the Governor and Committee for my "laudable exertions;" while his Excellency intimated, in language not to be misunderstood, that my promotion depended on my successful management of the affairs of Ungava, "which he regretted to find were still in an unpromising state." What effect this announcement had on my feelings need not be mentioned--after a painful servitude of eighteen years thus to be compelled to make renewed, and even impossible exertions ere I obtained the reward of my toil, while many others had reached the goal in a much shorter time without experiencing either hardship or privation,--the injustice I had suffered, or the deceit that had been practised on _me_. As a balm to my wounded feelings, my correspondents in the north informed me that seven clerks had been promoted since I left Norway House. Many of the Esquimaux referred to in a preceding page passed the winter in this quarter, not daring to return in consequence of an hostile rencontre they had had with some of their own tribes on their way hither. The quarrel, like most Indian quarrels, originated in an attempt to carry off women: both parties had recourse to arms, and a desperate struggle ensued, in which our visitors were completely defeated, with the loss of several lives. They remained about the post for a short time, admiring its wonderful novelties--wonderful to them--and then proceeded some distance up the river to waylay the deer that had already crossed unobserved by them. The poor creatures, unaware of this fact, remained on the ground until every article that afforded any kind of sustenance was consumed; when they started for the post, leaving the weaker of the party to follow as they best could. They all arrived the same day except two widows, who had lost their husbands in the fray. I sent off two young men with a supply of provisions to meet them, but the wretches, having devoured the food, returned without the women, although I had previously supplied their own wants. Next morning I sent off one of my own men, accompanied by an Esquimaux; but, as might have been expected, the women were found lying dead on the ice near each other. Although Mr. Erlandson did not particularly request any assistance from me, the report he communicated as to the failure of provisions was sufficient to induce me to use my best endeavours to relieve his wants. With this view I hired an Indian lad to act as guide to a party whom I despatched overland with the necessary supplies. The guide assured me they would perform the journey, going and coming, in a month. The appointed period passed, and no accounts of them; and week after week, until I at last despaired of ever seeing them in life. At the end of about two months they made their appearance, but in so deplorable a state of emaciation that we could scarcely recognise them. The roads proved so bad that they were nearly a month on their way going, and consequently they had consumed almost all the provisions they had for the whole trip. Mr. Erlandson's scanty supply not allowing him to afford them any assistance for their return, they commenced their journey homeward with one meal a day, which they continued until all was gone, when they fed on their dogs; and they finally arrived at the house without having tasted any kind of food for three days. Their spectre-like forms excited the greatest pity; the interpreter, who came to tell me of their arrival, was in tears. No time was lost in administering relief; but the greatest caution was necessary in administering it, or the consequences might have been fatal. I was mortified to find, on the approach of spring, that my stock of goods did not admit of supplying the interior; and I was consequently compelled to relinquish the advantages that had cost us so much to acquire. Without goods we could not, of course, maintain our position in that quarter. CHAPTER VI. TRIP TO ESQUIMAUX BAY--GOVERNOR'S INSTRUCTIONS--MY REPORT TO THE COMMITTEE--RECOMMEND THE ABANDONMENT OF UNGAVA SETTLEMENT--SUCCESS OF THE ARCTIC EXPEDITION, CONDUCTED BY MESSRS. DEASE AND SIMPSON--RETURN BY SEA TO FORT CHIMO--NARROWLY ESCAPE SHIPWRECK IN THE UNGAVA RIVER--INHUMAN AND IMPOLITIC MEASURE OF THE GOVERNOR--CONSEQUENT DISTRESS AT THE POST. Immediately on the opening of the navigation I started for Esquimaux Bay, with two Indians, in a small canoe, and without any of the usual conveniences. Mr. Erlandson having been ordered to the southern department, followed in another canoe. Arrived at the post, we were gratified by the receipt of despatches just come to hand by the ship. The Governor's letter apprized me that a vessel would be sent round to Ungava every alternate year; and strictly enjoined me to have no further communication with Esquimaux Bay _overland_, "as much unnecessary expense was incurred by these journeys." Thus were we consigned to our fate for a period of two years with as little feeling as if we had been so many cattle, and debarred from all communication with our friends, by word or letter, merely to save a trifling expense! Could the Honourable Company be swayed by so paltry a consideration in subjecting us to so grievous an inconvenience? Surely not; a body of men so respectable could neither have authorized nor sanctioned such sordid parsimony. The generous proposition originated with Mr. Simpson alone, and to him be the honour ascribed. Being fully persuaded in my own mind of the utter hopelessness of the Ungava adventure, I transmitted a report to the Governor and Committee on the subject; recommending the abandonment of the settlement altogether, as the enormous expense of supplying us by sea precluded the idea of any profit being ever realised; while it was quite evident the Company's benevolent views toward the Esquimaux could not be carried into effect. The extreme poverty and barrenness of their country, and their pertinacious adherence to their seal-skin dresses, which no argument of ours could induce them to exchange for the less comfortable articles of European clothing, were insurmountable obstacles. The Honourable Company, while they wished to supply the wants of the Esquimaux, still urged the expediency of securing the trade of the interior. A circumstance that came to my knowledge in the course of the winter promised the attainment of that object. I learned from an old Indian, that the fall and rapid I met with on my way to the sea the preceding season, could be avoided, by following a chain of small lakes. My informant had never seen those falls himself, and could, from the oral report he had heard, give but a very imperfect description of the route. Still, I determined on making another attempt to explore the whole river, knowing well, that if I succeeded in discovering the new route, there could be no further difficulty in supplying the interior. Meantime, I was gratified to learn, by letters from my friend Mr. Dease, that the expedition in which he had been engaged was crowned with success;--the long sought-after north-west passage being at length laid open to the _knowledge_ of mankind, and a question, that at one time excited the enterprise of the merchant and the curiosity of the learned, settled beyond a doubt. While on this subject, I cannot help expressing my surprise at the manner Mr. Dease's name is mentioned in the published narrative of the expedition, where he is represented as being employed merely as purveyor. It might have been said with equal propriety that Mr. Simpson was employed merely as astronomer. The fact is, the services of both gentlemen were equally necessary; and to the prudence, judgment, and experience of Mr. Dease, the successful issue of the enterprise may undoubtedly be ascribed, no less than to the astronomical science of Mr. Simpson. Having finished my correspondence, I embarked for Fort Chimo, on board a brig that had been recently built for the trade of this district and that of Esquimaux Bay. Our passage afforded no adventure worthy of notice; icebergs we saw in abundance, whose dimensions astonished us, but having no desire to form a close acquaintance with them, we kept at a respectful distance; and finally entered the Ungava River, on the 24th of August, at so early an hour of the day, that we expected to reach the post ere night-fall. We were doomed to disappointment. As we ascended the river, the breeze fell, and darkness set in upon us; yet we still pressed on. Presently, however, so dense a fog arose, that nothing could be seen a yard off. In this dilemma our safest course would have been to anchor, but unfortunately that part of the river was the most unfavourable possible for our purpose, from the extraordinary strength of the current, and the rocky nature of the bottom. Our skipper seemed quite at a loss, but accident decided. The vessel struck, altered her course a little, struck again, put about, and struck again and again. The anchor was dropped as the only chance of escaping the dangers in which we were involved. The anchor dragged a short time, and finally caught apparently in a cleft of the rocks. Soon after the tide began to flow, and we fancied our dangers over; but the crisis was not yet come. The ebb-tide returned, rushing down with the current of the river with such overwhelming velocity, that we expected the vessel would be torn from her moorings. Two men were placed at the helm to keep her steady, but, in spite of their utmost exertions, she was dashed from side to side like a feather, while the current pitched into her till the water entered the hawse-holes. Pitching, and swinging, and dashed about in this fearful manner for some time, the anchor was at length disengaged, and dragged along the bottom with a grating noise, which, with the roaring of the rapid, and the whistling of the wind through the rigging, formed a combination of sounds that would have appalled the most resolute. The fog having cleared away, we discovered a point projecting far into the river, some two hundred yards below, towards which we were drifting broadside, and rapidly nearing. The boats were got ready, to escape, if possible, the impending catastrophe, when the vessel was suddenly brought to with a tremendous jerk, and instantly swung round to the tide. By this time, however, its strength was considerably abated, and daylight soon appearing, I sent on an Esquimaux who had come on board, with a note to the post, requesting that a pilot should be sent us with the utmost despatch. Meantime, seeing our way clear before us, we weighed anchor, and advanced to within three miles of the establishment, when a boat was seen approaching, rowed by six stout islanders. On coming along-side, a rope was thrown to them, and made fast to the fore-stem. Four of the men had scrambled on board, when a sudden blast swelled our sails, and propelled us through the water with such force, that the fore-part of the boat was torn away, leaving one of the men floundering in the water, and the other clinging to the rope. The latter was dragged on board, severely bruised; but the former remained in the water for at least two hours, and would have perished before our eyes, had he not got hold of a couple of oars, by which he managed to keep himself afloat. We soon anchored opposite the post, and every exertion being made to expedite the departure of the vessel, we were in the course of a few days left to vegetate in quiet. On examining the quantity of provisions I had received, I was not a little alarmed to find it scarcely sufficient for the consumption of one year, his Excellency's communication having acquainted me that it was a supply for two years! Thus we were thrown on the precarious resources of the country for life or for death; for if those resources should fail us, we must either remain and starve on the spot, or, abandoning the settlement, endeavour to escape to Esquimaux Bay and run the risk of starving by the way. Economy so ill-timed argued as little in favour of the Governor's judgment as of his humanity. Admitting our lives were of so trifling a value, the abandonment of the settlement, with all the goods and furs in it, would have subjected the Company to a very serious loss. Every precaution, however, was taken to provide against a contingency which involved such serious consequences; the men were dispersed in every direction to shift for themselves, some being supplied with guns and ammunition, others with nets, a lake of considerable extent having been lately discovered, which the natives reported to abound with fish. Early in the month of December my fishermen came in with the mortifying intelligence of the entire failure of the fishery; and soon after a messenger arrived from the hunting party to beg a supply of provisions, which my limited means, alas! compelled me to deny. Not a deer had been seen, and the partridges had become so scarce of late that they barely afforded the means of sustaining life. All I could therefore do for my poor men was to supply them with more ammunition and send them off again. While their lot was thus wretched, mine was not enviable; one solitary meal a day was all I allowed myself and those who remained with me; and I must do them the justice to say, that they submitted to these privations without a murmur, being aware that it was only by exercising the most rigid economy that our provisions could hold out the allotted time; the arrival of the ship being an event too uncertain to be calculated upon. By stinting ourselves in this manner, we managed to eke out a miserable subsistence, without expending much of our imported provisions, until the arrival of the deer in the month of March, when we fared plentifully if not sumptuously. CHAPTER VII. ANOTHER EXPLORING EXPEDITION--MY PROMOTION--WINTER AT CHIMO--OBTAIN PERMISSION TO VISIT BRITAIN--UNGAVA ABANDONED. 1841.--On the opening of the navigation I set out on another exploring expedition. Without entering into particulars so devoid of interest, I would merely observe that, with patience and perseverance, we ultimately succeeded in making good our passage by the Hamilton, or Grand River, and found it to answer our expectations in every respect. On arriving at Esquimaux Bay, we found the vessel from Quebec riding at anchor--a joyful sight, since it gave assurance that we should hear from friends and relatives, and receive intelligence of the events that had occurred in the world for the last twelve months. The Governor's communication acquainted me with my promotion, and _sincerely_ congratulated me on the event. Whether I had reason or not to doubt his sincerity, let the reader judge who knows the treatment I had experienced at his hands. Fifteen years ago I was assured of being in the "direct road to preferment,"--twenty years of toil and misery have I served to obtain it. Considering myself, therefore, under no obligation to his Excellency, I addressed a letter to the Directors, expressing my thanks for the benefit they had conferred upon me, and requesting permission to visit the land of my nativity next year. I was fortunate enough to find a couple of canoes at Esquimaux Bay, sufficiently large to admit of conveying an outfit to the interior, and equally fortunate to find Mr. Davis, the gentleman in charge of the district, possessed the will and ability to promote my views. All my arrangements at this place being completed, I set off on my return, and was happy to find, on my arrival at the outpost, that the outfit was rendered in safety, not the slightest accident having occurred on the way. I arrived at Fort Chimo in the beginning of October. The dreary winter setting in immediately, we commenced the usual course of vegetative existence; and I consider it as unnecessary as it would be uninteresting to say anything further concerning it than that this season passed without our being subjected to such grievous privation as during the last. The greater part of the people being distributed among the outposts, reduced our expenditure of provisions so much, that I felt I had nothing now to fear on the score of starvation; and the precautions I had taken the preceding winter enabled us not only to indulge occasionally in the _luxuries_ of bread-and-butter, but also to contemplate the possibility of the non-arrival of the ship without much anxiety. 1842.--On the opening of the navigation I again set out for Esquimaux Bay, where I found letters from the Secretary, conveying the welcome intelligence that my request for permission to visit Britain had been granted, and that the Directors, agreeably to my recommendation, had determined on abandoning Ungava, the ship being ordered round this season to convey the people and property to Esquimaux Bay. CHAPTER VIII. GENERAL REMARKS. CLIMATE OF UNGAVA--AURORA BOREALIS--SOIL--VEGETABLE PRODUCTIONS--ANIMALS--BIRDS--FISH--GEOLOGICAL FEATURES. It need scarcely be observed that, in so high a latitude as that of Ungava, the climate presents the extremes of heat and cold; the moderate temperature of spring and autumn is unknown, the rigour of winter being immediately succeeded by the intense heat of summer, and _vice versá_. On the 12th of June, 1840, the thermometer was observed to rise from 10° below zero to 76° in the shade, the sky clear and the weather calm; this was, in fact, the first day of summer. For ten days previously the thermometer ranged from 15° below zero to 32° above, and the weather was as boisterous as in the month of January, snowing and blowing furiously all the time. The heat continued to increase, till the thermometer frequently exhibited from 85° to 100° in the shade. This intense heat may, no doubt, be owing in a considerable degree to the reflection of the solar rays from the rocky surface of the country, a great part of which is destitute of vegetation. When the wind blows from the sea the atmosphere is so much cooled as to become disagreeable. These vicissitudes are frequently experienced during summer, and are probably caused by the sea's being always encumbered by ice. It is remarkable that the severest cold in this quarter is invariably accompanied by stormy weather; whereas, in the interior of the continent, severe cold always produces calm. The winter may be said to commence in October; by the end of this month the ground is covered with snow, and the rivers and smaller lakes are frozen over; the actions of the tide, however, and the strength of the current, often keep Ungava River open till the month of January. At this period I have neither seen, read, nor heard of any locality under heaven that can offer a more cheerless abode to civilized man than Ungava. The rumbling noise created by the ice, when driven to and fro by the force of the tide, continually stuns the ear; while the light of heaven is hidden by the fog that hangs in the air, shrouding everything in the gloom of a dark twilight. If Pluto should leave his own gloomy mansion _in tenebris tartari_, he might take up his abode here, and gain or lose but little by the exchange. "The parched ground burns frore, and cold performs The effect of fire."--MILTON. When the river sets fast, the beauties of the winter scene are disclosed--one continuous surface of glaring snow, with here and there a clump of dwarf pine, of the bald summits of barren hills, from which the violence of the winter storms sweep away even the tenacious lichens. The winter storms are the most violent I ever experienced, sweeping every thing before them; and often prove fatal to the Indians when overtaken by them in places where no shelter can be found. The year previous to my arrival, a party of Indians ventured out to a barren island in the bay in quest of deer, taking their women along with them. While engaged in the chase, a sudden storm compelled them to make for the mainland with all possible speed. The women were soon exhausted by their exertions, and, unable to proceed farther, were at length covered by the snow, and left to their fate. As soon as the fury of the storm abated, the men went in search of them; but in vain; they were never found. During winter the sky is frequently illuminated by the Aurora Borealis even in the day-time; and I have observed that when the south wind, the coldest in this quarter, (traversing, as it does, the frost-bound regions of Canada and Labrador,) blows for any length of time, the sky becomes clear, and the aurora disappears. No sooner, however, does the east wind blow, which, being charged with the vapours of the Atlantic, induces mild weather even in midwinter, than they again dart forth their coruscations--more brightly at first, afterwards more faintly, till, if the wind continue, they again disappear. These phenomena seem to warrant the conclusion that the aurora is produced by the evolving of the electric fluid, through the collision of bodies of cold and warm air. The same phenomena are observable in New Caledonia; the east wind, passing over the glaciers of the Rocky Mountains, cools the atmosphere to such a degree as to cause frost every month in summer; the west wind, on the contrary, causes heat; and there, as in Ungava, the change of winds is followed by what may be termed the Mountain Aurora (_Aurora Montium_?) During my residence of five years at Ungava, the thermometer fell twice to 53° below zero; and frequently ranged from 38° to 48° for several days together; the extreme heat rose to 100° at noon in the shade. The soil of Ungava consists principally of decayed lichens, which form a substance resembling the peat moss of the Scottish moors. In this soil the lily-white "Cana" grows, a plant which I have not seen in any other part of the continent, although it may elsewhere be found in similar situations. In the low grounds along the banks of rivers, the soil is generally deep and fertile enough to produce timber of a large size; in the valleys are found clumps of wood, which become more and more stunted as they creep up the sides of the sterile hills, till at length they degenerate into lowly shrubs. The woods bordering on the sea-coast consist entirely of larch; which also predominates in the interior, intermixed with white pine, and a few poplars and birches. The hardy willow vegetates wherever it can find a particle of soil to take root in; and the plant denominated Labrador tea, flourishes luxuriantly in its native soil. In favourable seasons the country is covered with every variety of berries--blueberry, cranberry, gooseberry, red currant, strawberry, raspberry, ground raspberry (_rubus arcticus_), and the billberry (_rubus chamæmorus_), a delicious fruit produced in the swamps, and bearing some resemblance to the strawberry in shape, but different in flavour and colour, being yellow when ripe. Liquorice root is found on the banks of South River. To enumerate the varieties of animals is an easy task; the extremely barren nature of the country, and the severity of the climate, prove so unfavourable to the animal kingdom, that only a few of the more hardy species are to be found here: viz.-- Black, brown, grisly, and polar bears. Black, silver, cross, blue, red, and white foxes. Wolves, wolverines, martens, and the beaver (but extremely rare). Otters, minks, musk-rats, ermine. Arctic hares, rabbits, rein-deer; and the lemming, in some parts of the interior. When we consider the great extent of country that intervenes between Ungava and the plains of the "far west," it seems quite inexplicable that the grisly bear should be found in so insulated a situation, and none in the intermediate country: the fact of their being here, however, does not admit of a doubt, for I have traded and sent to England several of their skins. The information I have received from the natives induces me to think that the varieties of colour in bears mark them as distinct species, and not the produce of the same litter, as some writers affirm. Why, otherwise, do we not find the different varieties in Canada, where the grisly bear has never been seen? The sagacious animals seem to be well aware of their generic affinity, since they are often seen together, sharing the same carcass, and apparently on terms of the most intimate fellowship. It is a singular circumstance, that she-bears with young are seldom or never killed; at least it is so extraordinary a circumstance, that when it does happen, it is spoken of for years afterwards. She must, therefore, retire to her den immediately after impregnation; and cannot go above three months with young; as instances have occurred of their being found suckling their young in the month of January, at which period they are not larger than the common house-rat, presenting the appearance of animals in embryo, yet perfect in all their parts. Bruin prepares his hybernal dormitory with great care, lining it with hay, and stopping up the entrance with the same material; he enters it in October, and comes out in the month of April. He passes the winter alone, in a state of morbid drowsiness, from which he is roused with difficulty; and neither eats nor drinks, but seems to derive nourishment from sucking his paws. He makes his exit in spring apparently in as good condition as when he entered; but a few days' exposure to the air reduces him to skin and bone. The natives pay particular attention to the appearance presented by the unoccupied dens they may discover in summer: if bruin has removed his litter of the preceding winter, he intends to reoccupy the same quarters; if he allows it to remain, he never returns; and the hunter takes his measures accordingly. The black bear shuns the presence of man, and is by no means a dangerous animal; the grisly bear, on the contrary, commands considerable respect from the "lord of the creation," whom he attacks without hesitation. By the natives, the paw of a grisly bear is considered as honourable a trophy as the scalp of a human enemy. The reports I have had, both from natives and white trappers, confirm the opinion that certain varieties of the fox belong to the same species,--such as the black, silver, cross, and red; all of which have been found in the same nest, but never any of the white or blue. The former, too, are distinguished for their cunning and sagacity; while the latter are very stupid, and fall an easy prey to the trapper; a circumstance of itself sufficient to prove a difference of species. There are two varieties of the rein-deer,--the migratory, and the stationary or wood-deer: the latter is a much larger animal, but not abundant; the former are extremely numerous, migrating in herds at particular seasons, and observing certain laws on their march, from which they seldom deviate. The does make their appearance at Ungava River generally in the beginning of March, coming from the west, and directing their course over the barren grounds near the coast, until they reach George's River, where they halt to bring forth their young, in the month of June. Meantime the bucks, being divided into separate herds, pursue a direct course through the interior, for the same river, and remain scattered about on the upper parts of it until the month of September, when they assemble, and proceed slowly towards the coast. By this time the does move onward towards the interior, the fawns having now sufficient strength to accompany them, and follow the banks of George's River until they meet the bucks, when the rutting season commences, in the month of October; the whole then proceed together, through the interior, to the place whence they came. In the same manner, I have been informed, the deer perform their migratory circuits everywhere; observing the same order on their march, following nearly the same route unless prevented by accidental circumstances, and observing much the same periods of arrival and departure. The colour of the rein-deer is uniformly the same, presenting no variety of "spotted black and red." In summer it is a very dark grey, approaching to black, and light grey in winter. The colour of the doe is of a darker shade than that of the buck, whose breast is perfectly white in winter. Individuals are seen of a white colour at all seasons of the year. The bucks shed their antlers in the month of December; the does in the month of January. A few bucks are sometimes to be met with who roam about apart from the larger herds, and are in prime condition both in summer and winter. These _solitaires_ are said to be unsuccessful candidates for the favours of the does, who, having been worsted by their more powerful rivals in _contentione amoris_, withdraw from the community, and assuming the cowl, ever after eschew female society; an opinion which their good condition at all seasons seems to corroborate. The rein-deer is subject to greater annoyance from flies than any other animal in the creation; neither change of season nor situation exempts them from this torture. Their great persecutor is a species of gad-fly, (_oestries tarandi_,) that hovers around them in clouds during summer, and makes them the instruments of their own torture throughout the year. The fly, after piercing the skin of the deer, deposits its eggs between the outer and inner skin, where they are hatched by the heat of the animal's body. In the month of March, the chrysalides burst through the skin, and drop on the ground, when they may be seen crawling in immense numbers along the deer paths as they pass from west to east. The only birds observed in winter are grouse, ptarmigan, a small species of wood-pecker, butcher-bird, and the diminutive tomtit. We are visited in summer by swans, geese, ducks, eagles, hawks, ravens, owls, robins, and swallows. The eider-duck, so much prized for its down, is found in considerable numbers. The geese are of a most inferior kind, owing, I suppose, to the poor feeding the country affords; when they arrive in summer the ice is often still solid, when they betake themselves to the hills, and feed on berries. The lakes produce only white fish, trout and carp. We took now and then a few salmon in the river, and there is no doubt that this fish abounds on the coast. In the sea are found the black whale, porpoise, sea-horse, seal, and the narwal or sea unicorn; the horn of the latter, solid ivory, is a beautiful object. The largest I procured measured six feet and a half in length, four inches in diameter at the root, and a quarter of an inch at the point. It is of a spiral form, and projects from near the extremity of the snout; it presents a most singular appearance when seen moving along above the surface of the water, while the animal is concealed beneath. The geological features of the country present so little variety, that one versed in that interesting science would experience but little difficulty in describing them; a mere outline, however, is all I can venture to present. Along the sea-coast the formation is granitic syenite; then, proceeding about forty miles in the direction of South River, syenite occurs, which, about sixty miles higher up, runs into green stone: very fine slate succeeds. At the height of land dividing the waters that flow in different directions, into Esquimaux and Ungava Bays, the formation becomes syenitic schist, and continues so to within a short distance of the great fall on Hamilton River; when syenite succeeds; then gneiss; and along the shores of Esquimaux Bay syenitic gneiss, and pure quartz: lumps of black and red hornblend are met with everywhere. The country is covered with boulders rounded off by the action of water, most of which are different from the rocks _in situ_, and must have been transported from a great distance, some being of granite--a rock not to be found in this quarter. The rugged and precipitous banks of George's River are occasionally surmounted by hills; at the base of all these elevations, deep horizontal indentures appear running in parallel lines opposite each other on either side of the river,--a circumstance which indicates the action of tides and waves at a time when the other parts of the land were submerged, and the tops of those hills formed islands. Along certain parts of the coast of Labrador rows of boulders are perceived lying in horizontal lines; the lowest about two hundred yards distant from high-water mark, while the farthest extend to near the crest of the adjacent hills. Several deep cavities and embankments of sand are observed in the interior, bearing unequivocal marks of having been, at one time, subject to the influence of the sea. I shall conclude these few remarks by observing that, whatever conclusions the geologist may arrive at as to the remote or recent elevation of this country, the tops of the higher hills appear to have been formerly islands in the sea; and I doubt not but the same may be said of the higher lands on every part of the Arctic regions. Admitting this to have been the case, it contributes to confirm the theory of that distinguished philosopher, Sir Charles Lyell, as to the cause of the changes that have taken place in the climate of the northern regions. CHAPTER IX. THE NASCOPIES--THEIR RELIGION--MANNERS AND CUSTOMS--CLOTHING--MARRIAGE--COMMUNITY OF GOODS. The Indians inhabiting the interior of Ungava, or, it may be said with equal propriety, the interior of Labrador, are a tribe of the Cree nation designated Nascopies, and numbering about one hundred men able to bear arms. Their language, a dialect of the Cree or Cristeneau, exhibits a considerable mixture of Sauteux words, with a few peculiar to themselves. The Nascopies have the same religious belief as their kindred tribes in every other part of the continent. They believe in the existence of a Supreme Being, the Ruler of the universe, and the Author of all good. They believe, also, in the existence of a bad spirit, the author of all evil. Each is believed to be served by a number of subordinate spirits. Sacrifices are offered to each; to the good, by way of supplication and gratitude; to the evil, by way of conciliation and deprecation. Their local genii are also supposed to be possessed of the power of doing good, or inflicting evil, and are likewise propitiated by sacrifices; the "men of medicine" are viewed in nearly the same light. A few of them who visit the king's posts, have been baptized, and taught to mutter something they call prayers, and on this account are esteemed good Christians by their tutors; while every action of their lives proves them to be as much Pagans as ever; at least, to those who look for some _fruit_ of faith, and who may be ignorant of the miraculous efficacy of holy water, and can form no idea of its operation on the soul, they appear so. Of all the Indians I have seen, the Nascopies seem most averse to locomotion; many of them grow up to man's estate without once visiting a trading post. Previously to the establishment of this post they were wont to assemble at a certain rendezvous in the interior, and deliver their furs to some elderly man of the party, who proceeded with them to the King's posts, or Esquimaux Bay, and traded them for such articles as they required. So little intercourse have this people had with the whites, that they may be still considered as unsophisticated "children of nature," and possessed, of course, of all the virtues ascribed to such; yet I must say, that my acquaintance with them disclosed nothing that impressed me with a higher opinion of them than of my own race, corrupted as they are by the arts of civilized life. The Nascopie freely indulges all the grosser passions of his nature; he has no term in his language to express the sensation of shame; the feeling and the word are alike unknown. Many circumstances might be adduced in proof of this, but I have no desire to disgust the reader. Previously to our arrival here, there was not such an article of domestic utility known among them as a spoon; the unclean hand performed every office. They take their meals sitting in a circle round a kettle, and commence operations by skimming off the fat with their hands, and lapping it up like dogs; then every one helps himself to the solids, cutting, gnawing, and tearing until the whole is devoured, or until repletion precludes further exertions, when, like the gorged beast of prey, they lie down to sleep. The Nascopies practise polygamy more from motives of convenience than any other--the more wives, the more slaves. The poor creatures, in fact, are in a state of relentless slavery; every species of drudgery devolves upon them. When they remove from camp to camp in winter, the women set out first, dragging sledges loaded with their effects, and such of the children as are incapable of walking; meantime the men remain in the abandoned encampment smoking their pipes, until they suppose the women are sufficiently far advanced on the route to reach the new encampment ere they overtake them. Arrived at the spot, the women clear the ground of snow, erect the tents, and collect fuel; and when their arrangements are completed, their lords step in to enjoy themselves. The sole occupation of the men is hunting, and, in winter, fishing. They do not even carry home the game; that duty also falls to the lot of the female, unless when the family has been starving for some time, when the men condescend to carry home enough for immediate use. The horrid practice still obtains among the Nascopies of destroying their parents and relatives, when old age incapacitates them for further exertion. I must, however, do them the justice to say, that the parent himself expresses a wish to depart, otherwise the unnatural deed would probably never be committed; for they in general treat their old people with much care and tenderness. The son or nearest relative performs the office of executioner,--the self-devoted victim being disposed of by strangulation.[1] When any one dies in winter, the body is placed on a scaffold till summer, when it is interred. [Footnote 1: "Quidam parentes et propinquos, priusquam annis et macie conficiantur, velut hostias cædunt, _eorumque visceribus epulantur_." The Nascopies do not feast on the "viscera" of their victims, nor do I believe the inhabitants of India, or of any other country under heaven, ever did. Yet the coincidence is singular, in other respects, at such a distance of time and place.] The Nascopies depend principally on the rein-deer for subsistence,--a dependence which the erratic habits of these animals render extremely precarious. Should they happen to miss the deer on their passage through the country in autumn, they experience the most grievous inconvenience, and often privations, the succeeding winter; as they must then draw their living from the lakes, with unremitting toil,--boring the ice, which is sometimes from eight to nine feet thick, for the purpose of setting their hooks, and perhaps not taking a single fish after a day's hard work. Nevertheless, they must still continue their exertions till they succeed, shifting their hooks from one part of the lake to another, until every spot is searched. They understand the art of setting nets under the ice perfectly. Towards the latter end of December, however, the fish gain the deep water, and remain still to the latter end of March. Not a fish enters the net during this period. Partridges are very numerous in certain localities, but cannot be trusted to as a means of living, as every part of the country affords them food, and when much annoyed at one place they move off to another. It will be seen from the foregoing remarks, that the Nascopies, like all other erratic tribes, are subject to the vicissitudes their mode of life necessarily involves; at one time wallowing in abundance, at another dying of want. Fortunately for themselves, they are at present the most independent of the whites of any other Indians on this continent, the Esquimaux excepted. The few fur-bearing animals their barren country affords are so highly prized, that the least exertion enables them to procure their very limited wants; and the skin of the rein-deer affords them the most comfortable clothing they could possess. They have a particular art, too, of dressing this skin, so as to render it as soft and pliable as chamois, in which state it becomes a valuable article of trade. As trading posts, however, are now established on their lands, I doubt not but artificial wants will, in time, be created, that may become as indispensable to their comfort as their present real wants. All the arts of the trader are exercised to produce such a result, and those arts never fail of ultimate success. Even during the last two years of my management, the demand for certain articles of European manufacture had greatly increased. The winter dress of the Nascopie consists of a jacket of deer-skin, close all round, worn with the hair next the skin, and an over-coat of the same material reaching to his knees, the hair outside. This coat overlaps in front, and is secured by a belt, from which depends his knife and smoking-bag. A pair of leather breeches, and leggings, or stockings of cloth, protect his legs, though but imperfectly, from the cold; his hands, however, are well defended by a pair of gauntlets that reach his elbows; and on his head he wears a cap richly ornamented with bear's and eagle's claws. His long thick hair, however, renders the head-gear an article of superfluity,--but it is the fashion. The dress of the women consists of a square piece of dressed deer-skin, girt round them by a cloth or worsted belt, and fastened over their shoulders by leather straps; a jacket of leather, and cloth leggings. I have also observed some of them wearing a garment in imitation of a gown. The leather dresses, both of men and women, are generally painted; and often display more taste than one would be disposed to give them credit for. The travelling equipage of the Nascopies consists of a small leather tent, a deer-skin robe with the hair on, a leather bag with some down in it, and a kettle. When he lies down he divests himself of his upper garment, which he spreads under him; then, thrusting his limbs into the down bag, and rolling himself up in his robe, he draws his knees up close to his chin; and thus defended, the severest cold does not affect him. Considering the manner in which their women are treated, it can scarcely be supposed that their courtships are much influenced by sentiments of love; in fact, the tender passion seems unknown to the savage breast. When a young man attains a certain age, and considers himself able to provide for a wife--if the term may be so debased--he acquaints his parents with his wish, and gives himself no further concern about the matter, until they have concluded the matrimonial negotiations with the parents of _their_, not _his_ intended, whose sentiments are never consulted on the occasion. The youth then proceeds to his father-in-law's tent, and remains there for a twelvemonth; at the end of this period he may remain longer or depart, and he is considered ever after as an independent member of the community, subject to no control. Marriages are allowed between near relatives; cousins are considered as brothers and sisters, and are addressed by the same terms. It is not considered improper to marry two sisters, either in succession or both at the same time. The Nascopies have certain customs in hunting peculiar to themselves. If a wounded animal escape, even a short distance, ere he drops, he becomes the property of the person who first reaches him, and not of the person who shot him; or if the animal be mortally wounded and do not fall immediately, and another Indian fire and bring him down, the last shot gains the prize. In their intercourse with us the Nascopies evince a very different disposition from the other branches of the Cree family, being selfish and inhospitable in the extreme; exacting rigid payment for the smallest portion of food. Yet I do not know that we have any right to blame a practice in them, which they have undoubtedly learned from us. What do they obtain from us without payment? Nothing:--not a shot of powder,--not a ball,--not a flint. But whatever may be said of their conduct towards the whites, no people can exercise the laws of hospitality with greater generosity, or show less selfishness, towards each other, than the Nascopies. The only part of an animal the huntsman retains for himself is the head; every other part is given up for the common benefit. Fish, flesh, and fowl are distributed in the same liberal and impartial manner; and he who contributes most seems as contented with his share, however small it may be, as if he had had no share in procuring it. In fact, a community of goods seems almost established among them; the few articles they purchase from us shift from hand to hand, and seldom remain more than two or three days in the hands of the original purchaser. The Nascopies, surrounded by kindred tribes, are strangers to the calamities of war, and are consequently a peaceful, harmless people; yet they cherish the unprovoked enmity of their race towards the poor Esquimaux, whom they never fail to attack, when an opportunity offers of doing so with impunity. Our presence, however, has had the effect of establishing a more friendly intercourse between them; and to the fact that many of the Esquimaux have of late acquired fire-arms, and are not to be attacked without some risk, may be ascribed, in no small degree, the present forbearance of their enemies. CHAPTER X. THE ESQUIMAUX--PROBABLE ORIGIN--IDENTITY OF LANGUAGE FROM LABRADOR TO BEHRING'S STRAITS--THEIR AMOURS--MARRIAGES--RELIGION--TREATMENT OF PARENTS--ANECDOTE--MODE OF PRESERVING MEAT--AMUSEMENTS--DRESS--THE IGLOE, OR SNOW-HOUSE--THEIR CUISINE--DOGS--THE SLEDGE--CAIAK, OR CANOE--OUIMIAK, OR BOAT--IMPLEMENTS--STATURE. The Esquimaux are so totally different in physiognomy and person, in language, manners, and customs, from all the other natives of America, that there can be no doubt that they belong to a different branch of the human race. The conformation of their features, their stature, form, and complexion, approximate so closely to those of the northern inhabitants of Europe, as to indicate, with some degree of certainty, their identity of origin. In the accounts I have read of the maritime Laplanders, I find many characteristics common to both tribes: the Laplander is of a swarthy complexion,--so is the Esquimaux; the Laplander is distinguished by high cheek-bones, hollow cheeks, pointed chin, and large mouth,--so is the Esquimaux; the Laplander wears a thick beard,--so does the Esquimaux; the Laplander's hair is long and black,--so is that of the Esquimaux; the Laplanders are, for the most part, short of stature,--so are the Esquimaux; and the dress, food, and lodging of both peoples are nearly the same. The last coincidence may possibly arise from similarity of location and climate; and, taken by itself, would afford no certain proof of identity of origin; but taken in connexion with the aforementioned characteristics, I think the conclusion is irresistible that the Laplanders and Esquimaux are of the same race. That the Esquimaux and the natives of Greenland are also of a kindred race, is a fact ascertained beyond a doubt, from the reports of the Moravian Missionaries, who have settlements among both. The way in which they must have passed from the one continent to the other, must now be left to conjecture. There is nothing improbable in the supposition that some of them might have been drifted out to sea by stress of weather, and wafted to the shores of Greenland; whence some might, in course of time, remove to the opposite coast of America. From the southern extremity of Labrador to Behring's Straits, the Esquimaux language is the same, differing only in the pronunciation of a few words. We had a native of Hudson's Bay with us, who had accompanied Captain Franklin to the McKenzie and Coppermine Rivers, and who assured us that he understood the Esquimaux of that quarter, and those of Ungava, although some thousands of miles apart, as well as his own tribe. In manners, customs, and dress, there is a like similarity. The Esquimaux have ever remained a distinct people; the other natives of America seeming to consider them more as brutes than human beings, and never approaching them unless for the purpose of knocking them on the head. Every one's hand is against them. I have seen Esquimaux scalps, even among the timid _têtes des boules_ of Temiscamingue; yet no people seem more disposed to live at peace with their neighbours, if only they were allowed. Circumstanced as they are, however, they are likely to suffer hostile aggression for a long time. Even a coward, with a musket in his hand, is generally an overmatch for a brave man with only a bow or a sling; but once possessed of fire-arms, they will teach their enemies to respect them, for they will undoubtedly have the advantage of superior courage and resolution. The Esquimaux is not easily excited to anger; but his wrath once roused, he becomes furious: he foams like a wild boar, rolls his eyes, gnashes his teeth, and rushes on his antagonist with the fury of a beast of prey. In the winter of 1840, a quarrel arose between two individuals about the sex, which led to a fight; the struggle was continued for a time with tooth and nail; when one of the parties at length got hold of his knife, and stabbed his adversary in the belly. The bowels protruded, yet the wounded man never desisted, until loss of blood and repeated stabs compelled him to yield the contest and his life. Gallantry seems to be the main cause of quarrels among them. Strange! that this passion should exercise such an influence in a climate, and, as one would be led to suppose, on constitutions so cold; yet nothing is more certain than that the enamoured Esquimaux will risk life and limb in the pursuit of his object. With unmarried women there is no risk, as they are entirely free from control; not so with the married, who are under strict surveillance; but the husband's consent asked and obtained--which not seldom happens--saves the gallant's head, and the lady's reputation. Their courtships are conducted in much the same manner as among the inland Indians, the choice of partners being entirely left to the parents. Some are affianced in childhood, and become man and wife in early youth: I have seen a boy of fourteen living with his wife who was two years younger. There are no marriage festivals, and no ceremonies of any kind are observed at their nuptials. Polygamy is allowed, _ad libitum_; and the husband exercises his authority as husband, judge, or executioner; no one having any right to interfere. Should, however, the woman consider herself ill-treated, she flees to her parents, with whom she remains till an explanation takes place. If it lead to a reconciliation, the parties are reunited; if not, the woman may form a new connexion whenever she pleases. I know not whether the Esquimaux can be said to have any idea of religion, as the term is generally understood. The earth, say they, was in the beginning covered with water, which having subsided, man appeared--a spontaneous creation. Aglooktook is the name of the man who first created fish and animals: chopping a tree which overhung the sea, the chips that fell into that element became fish; those that fell on the land, animals. Their paradise is beneath the great deep; those who have lived a good life, proceed to a part of the sea abounding with whales and seals, where, free from care and toil, they fare sumptuously on raw flesh and blubber, _in secula_ _seculorum_. The wicked, on the contrary, are condemned to take up their abode in a "sea of troubles," where none of the delicacies enjoyed by the blessed are to be found; and even the commonest necessaries are procured with endless toil, and pain, and disappointment. Although the "tomakhs," or dead men, become the inhabitants of the sea, they indulge in the pleasures of the chase on their old element, whenever they please; and are often heard calling to each other while in pursuit of the deer. The Esquimaux have their "men of medicine," in whose preternatural powers they place the most implicit confidence; by working on the superstitious fears of the people, these impostors obtain much authority. They are allowed to take the lead in every affair of importance; and, in short, all their movements are, in a great measure, regulated by these harlequins, who appear to be the only chiefs among them. They dispose of their dead by placing them on the rocks, and covering them over with ice or stones; these tombs prove but feeble barriers against the wolves and other beasts of prey, who soon carry off the bodies. The property belonging to the deceased is placed by the side of his grave;--his caiak, or skin canoe, his bows, arrows, and spears. Thus equipped, the _emigrant_ spirit cannot find itself at a loss on arriving at a better country! It is said by some that the Esquimaux abandon their aged parents: from inquiry, as well as observation, I am led to believe there is no foundation for the charge. It is not reasonable to expect that the more refined feelings of humanity should be found in the breast of a savage, or that he should honour his father and mother in the same degree as he whose principles are moulded by the precepts of Christianity; yet I must do them the justice to say, that they appeared to me to treat their parents with as much kindness, at least, as any other savage nation I have met with. They do not deny, however, that old people no longer able to provide for themselves, and without any relative to care for them, are sometimes left to perish. No people suffer more from hunger than the Esquimaux who inhabit the shores of Ungava Bay; seals being extremely scarce in the winter season, and no fish to be found; so that the poor creatures are often reduced to the most revolting expedients to preserve life. An Esquimaux, who had been about the post for two years, proceeded, in the winter of 1839, to join some of his relatives along the coast. When he returned in the ensuing spring, I observed that his mother and one of his children were missing. On inquiring what had become of them, he replied, that they had been starved to death, and that he and the rest of his family would have shared their fate, had it not been for the sustenance the bodies afforded. The Esquimaux always pass the winter near the element that yields them their principal subsistence; and as they are unacquainted with the use of snow-shoes, they cannot follow the deer any distance from the coast. As soon as the rivers are free from ice in summer, they proceed inland and find abundance of food. Their manner of preserving their meat is quite characteristic. When an animal is killed the bowels are extracted, then the fore and hind quarters are cut off, and being placed inside the carcass, are secured by skewers of wood run through the flesh. The whole is then deposited under the nearest cleft of rock, and stones are built round so as to secure it from the depredations of wild animals until the hunters return to the coast; when the meat is in high flavour, and considered fit for the palate of an Esquimaux epicure. The Esquimaux do not share their provisions as the Nascopies do, although they relieve each other's wants when their means can afford it: each individual engaged in the chase retains his own game, his claim being ascertained by distinctive marks on the arrows. When a whale is killed a rigid fast is observed for twenty-four hours, not in gratitude to Providence, but in honour of the whale, which is highly displeased when this is neglected, studiously avoiding the harpoon afterwards, and even visiting the offender with sickness and other misfortunes. Should the summer and fall hunt prove successful, the Esquimaux is one of the happiest animals in the creation. He passes his dreary winter without one careful or anxious thought; he eats his fill and lies down to sleep, and then rises to eat again. In this manner they pass the greater part of their time; night and day are the same, eating and sleeping their chief enjoyments. When, however, they do rouse their dormant faculties to exertion, they seem to engage with great good-will in the few amusements they have, the principal of which is playing ball, men and women joining in the game. Two parties are opposed, the one driving the ball with sticks towards the goal, the other driving it in the opposite direction; in short, a game of shinty. They have dancing too,--ye gods! such dancing! Two rows of men and women, sometimes only of one sex, stand opposite to each other, exhibiting no other motion in their dancing than raising their shoulders with a peculiar jerk, bending their knees so as to give their whole bodies, from the knee upwards, the same motion, and grinning horribly at each other, while not a foot stirs. As to the music to which this _dance_ is performed, I know not well how to describe it. By inflating and depressing the lungs so as to create a convulsive heaving of the breast, a sound is produced, somewhat similar to the groans of a person suffering from suffocation; and it is to this sound they grin, and jerk their shoulders. The whole performance is quite in keeping; the music worthy of the dancing, the dancing worthy of the music. They have boxing too, but do not practise the art after the fashion of the Cribs and Coopers; they disdain to parry off the blow; each strikes in turn with clenched fist; the blow is given behind the ear, and, as soon as one of the parties acknowledges himself defeated, the combat ceases. They are also adepts at wrestling; I have witnessed frequent contests between them and the inland Indians, when the latter were invariably floored. No one enjoys a joke better than an Esquimaux, and when his risibility is excited he laughs with right good will, evincing in this, as in every other respect, the difference of disposition between them and the Indians, whose rigid features seldom betray their feelings. Much the same diversity of character and disposition is to be observed among the Esquimaux as among other barbarous tribes. Some instances of disinterested kindness and generosity fell under my notice while residing among them, that would have done honour to civilized man. An Esquimaux who had attached himself to the establishment from the time of our first arrival at Ungava, kept a poor widow and her three orphans with him for several years, and seemed to make no difference between them and the members of his own family. It must be acknowledged, however, that the unhappy widows seldom fall into so good hands; their fate is the most wretched that can be imagined, unless they have children that can provide for them. In years of scarcity they are rejected from the community, and hover about the encampments like starving wolves, picking up whatever chance may throw in their way, until hunger and cold terminate their wretched existence. Whatever may be said of the awkwardness of the Esquimaux dress, it must be allowed to be the best adapted to the climate that could be used: a pair of boots so skilfully sewed as to exclude the water, and lined with down, or the fine hair of the rein-deer, protects the feet from wet and cold; two pairs of trousers, the inner having the hair next the skin; and two coats or tunics of deer or seal skin, the outer having a large hood that is drawn over the head in stormy weather, and a pair of large mits, complete the dress. The women also "wear the breeks," their dress being similar to that of the men in every respect, with this difference, that the female has a long flap attached to the hind part of her coat, and falling down to her heels; a most extraordinary ornament, giving her the appearance of an enormous tadpole. This tail, however, has its use; when she has occasion to sit down on the cold rocks she folds it up and makes a seat of it. In the winter season the Esquimaux live in huts built of snow; and we may imagine what must have been the necessity and distress that could first have suggested to a human being the idea of using such a material as a means of protecting himself from cold. Be that as it may, the snow _igloe_ affords not only security from the inclemency of the weather, but more comfort than either stone or wooden building without fire. The operation requires considerable tact and experience, and is always performed by the men, two being required for it, one outside and the other inside. Blocks of snow are first cut out with some sharp instrument from the spot that is intended to form the floor of the dwelling, and raised on edge, inclining a little inward around the cavity. These blocks are generally about two feet in length, two feet in breadth, and eight inches thick, and are joined close together. In this manner the edifice is erected, contracting at each successive tier, until there only remains a small aperture at the top, which is filled by a slab of clear ice, that serves both as a keystone to the arch, and a window to light the dwelling. An embankment of snow is raised around the wall, and covered with skins, which answers the double purpose of beds and seats. The inside of the hut presents the figure of an arch or dome; the usual dimensions are ten or twelve feet in diameter, and about eight feet in height at the centre. Sometimes two or three families congregate under the same roof, having separate apartments communicating with the main building, that are used as bedrooms. The entrance to the igloe is effected through a winding covered passage, which stands open by day, but is closed up at night by placing slabs of ice at the angle of each bend, and thus the inmates are perfectly secured against the severest cold. The Esquimaux use no fuel in winter; their stone lamps afford sufficient heat to dry their boots and clothes, or warm their blubber and raw meat when they are so inclined. They are inured to cold by early habit; the children are carried about in the hoods of their mothers' jackets until three years of age; during this period they remain without a stitch of clothing, and the little things may be sometimes seen standing up in their nests, exposing themselves in the coldest weather, without appearing to suffer any inconvenience from it. The Esquimaux never sleep with their clothes on, not even when without any other shelter than the cleft of a rock. It is well known that they eat their food, whether fish or flesh, generally in a raw state; hence their appellation, "Ashkimai," in the Cree and Sauteux, means, eater of raw meat, and is doubtless the origin of the name Esquimaux first applied by the earlier French discoverers, and since then passed into general use. They sometimes, indeed, warm their food in a stone kettle over a stone lamp, but they seem to relish it equally well when cut warm from the carcase of an animal recently killed, which they may be seen devouring while yet quivering with life. In winter they prefer raw meat, especially fish, which is considered a great delicacy in a frozen state; the Esquimaux stomach, in fact, rejects nothing, raw or boiled, that affords sustenance. Like the inland Indians, they can bear hunger for an amazing length of time, and afterwards gorge themselves with more than brutal voracity without suffering inconvenience by it. The Esquimaux breed of dogs are wolves in a domesticated state, the same in every characteristic, save such differences as may be expected to result from their relative conditions; the dog howls, never barks. These animals are of the most essential service to their masters, and are maintained at no expense. How they manage to subsist appears inexplicable to me; not a morsel of food is ever offered to them at the camp, and when employed hauling sledges on a journey, a small piece of blubber given them in the evening enables them to perform the laborious work of the ensuing day. From ten to fifteen dogs are employed on a long journey. They are harnessed separately by a collar and a single trace passing over their back, and fastened to the fore-part of the sledge. The traces are so arranged that the dogs generally follow in a line, conducted by a leader, who is trained to obey the word of command in an instant; the least hesitation on his part brings the merciless whip about his ears. The lash is about fifteen feet in length, the handle eighteen inches; continual practice enables the Esquimaux to wield this instrument of torture with great dexterity. The sledges are about five feet in length and two in breadth; the runners generally shod with whalebone or ivory, and coated over with a plaster of earth and water, which becomes very smooth, and is renewed as often as it is worn out. The Esquimaux _caiak_, or canoe, is about twelve feet in length, and two feet in breadth, and tapers off from the centre to the bow and stern, almost to a mere point. The frame is of wood covered with seal-skin, having an aperture in the centre which barely admits of the stowage of the nether man. These canoes are calculated for the accommodation of one person only; yet it is possible for a passenger to embark upon them, if he can submit to the inconvenience--and risk--of lying at full length on his belly, without ever stirring hand or foot, as the least motion would upset the canoe. Instances, however, have been known of persons conveyed hundreds of miles in this manner. These canoes are used solely for hunting; and, by means of the double paddle, are propelled through the water with the velocity of the dolphin; no land animal can possibly escape when seen in the water; the least exertion is sufficient to keep up with the rein-deer when swimming at its utmost speed. When the animal is overtaken, it is driven towards the spot where the huntsman wishes to land, and there despatched by a thrust of the spear. The Esquimaux of this quarter have not the art of recovering their position, when they upset. An accident of this kind is, therefore, sure to prove fatal, unless aid be at hand. It is seldom, however, that aid is wanting, for these accidents never happen except in the excitement of the sport, especially harpooning whales, when there are always a number present. The _ouimiack_, or skin-boat, is a clumsy-looking contrivance, but not to be despised on that account; from the buoyancy of the materials of which it is built, the ouimiack stands a much heavier sea than our best sea-boat. This kind of craft is rowed by women, and used for the purpose of conveying families along the coast. The few implements these people use for hunting or fishing, display much taste and ingenuity. Their caiaks are proportioned with mathematical exactness, the paddles often tastefully inlaid with ivory; their spears are neatly carved, and their bows are far superior to any I have seen among the interior tribes, combining strength and elasticity in an eminent degree. Their mode of capturing the white whale is extremely ingenious. A large _dan_, or seal-skin inflated with wind, is attached to the harpoon by a thong some twenty feet in length. The moment the fish is struck the _dan_ is thrown overboard, and being dragged through the water, offers so great a resistance to the movement of the fish that it soon becomes exhausted by the exertion, and when it emerges lies exposed on the water, to take rest ere it dive again. The Esquimaux then approaches from behind, and often secures his game with one thrust of the spear. The Esquimaux also uses a javelin with considerable skill, and some are so dexterous in the use of the sling as to bring down wild fowl on the wing. The complexion of the Esquimaux is swarthy; I have seen some of their children, however, as fair as the children of the fairest people in Europe, yet these become as dark as their parents when advanced in years. This circumstance cannot be accounted for by filthiness or exposure to the weather; for I have observed, on the coast of Labrador, the descendants of an Esquimaux mother and a European father of the third generation as dark as the pure Esquimaux; and these, too, enjoyed the comforts of civilized life, were cleanly in their persons, and not more exposed to the weather than others. The Esquimaux are low of stature, but I do not think the epithet "dwarfish" applies to them with propriety. With the view of ascertaining this point, I once took five men promiscuously from a party of twenty, and found their average height to be 5 feet 5 inches. Some individuals of the remainder measured 5 feet 7 or 8 inches, and one exceeded 6 feet. The fact is, the Esquimaux are generally thicker than Europeans; their peculiar dress also adds greatly to their bulk, so that they appear shorter than they really are. They are so bound up in their seal-skin garments that their movements are necessarily much impeded by them, we can, therefore, form no idea of their agility; but I do not hesitate to say that their strength exceeds that of any other nation on the continent. The Esquimaux features are far from being disagreeable; some females I observed among them whose expression of countenance was extremely prepossessing, and who would pass for "bonnie lasses" even among the whites, if divested of their filth and uncouth dress, and rigged out in European habiliments. The women fasten their hair in a knot on the crown of the head, and anoint it with rancid oil in lieu of pomatum; they also tattoo their faces, with the view, no doubt, of enhancing their charms in the estimation of their blubber-eating lovers. Their teeth are remarkably white and regular; the eyes are black, and partake more of the circular than the oval form; the cheek-bones are prominent, forehead low, mouth large, and chin pointed. The Esquimaux generally enjoy good health, and no epidemic diseases, as far as I could learn, are known among them. CHAPTER XI. LABRADOR--ESQUIMAUX HALF-BREEDS--MORAVIAN BRETHREN--EUROPEAN INHABITANTS--THEIR VIRTUES--CLIMATE--ANECDOTE. The country denominated Labrador, extends from Esquimaux Bay, on the Straits of Belleisle, to the extremity of the continent, Cape Chudleigh, at the entrance of Hudson's Strait. The interior is inhabited by two tribes of Indians, Mountaineers and Nascopies, members of the Cree family. The coast was inhabited at one time by Esquimaux only, but the southern part is now peopled by a mongrel race of Esquimaux half-breeds, a few vagabond Esquimaux, and some English and Canadian fishermen and trappers, who are assimilated to the natives in manners and in mode of life. While the European inhabitants adopt from necessity some of the native customs, the natives have adopted so much of the European customs that their primitive characteristics are no longer distinguishable; they cook their victuals, drink rum, smoke and chew tobacco, and generally dress after the European manner, especially the females, who always wear gowns. They have also a smattering of French and English, and are great proficients in swearing in both languages; nor do they seem ignorant of the more refined arts of cheating, lying, and deceiving. Taking everything into account, however, we may be surprised that their manners are not more corrupt than they are. A number of small trading vessels from the United States hover about the coast during summer; the accursed "fire-water" constitutes a primary article in their outfit, and is bartered freely for such commodities as the natives may possess. These adventurers are generally men of loose principles, and are ever ready to take the advantage of their customers. The natives, however, are now so well instructed that they are more likely to cheat than be cheated. The Esquimaux inhabiting the northern parts of the coast differ in every respect from their neighbours of the south. They have acquired a knowledge of the Christian religion, together with some of the more useful arts of civilized life, without losing much of their primitive simplicity. The Moravian Brethren, those faithful "successors of the Apostles," after enduring inconceivable hardships and privations for many years, without the least prospect of success, at length succeeded in converting the heathens, collecting them in villages around them, and at the same time not only instructing them in things pertaining to their eternal salvation, but in everything else that could contribute to their comfort and happiness in the present life. There are four different stations of the Brethren; Hopedale, Nain, O'Kok, and Hebron. At each station there is a church, store, dwelling-house for the Missionaries, and workshops for native tradesmen. The natives are lodged in houses built after the model of their _igloes_, being the best adapted to the climate and circumstances of the country, where scarcely any fuel is to be had: the Missionaries warm their houses by means of stoves. The Brethren have much the same influence with their flocks as a father among his children. Whatever provisions the natives collect are placed at their disposal, and by them afterwards distributed in such a manner as to be of the most general benefit; by thus taking the management of this important matter into their own hands, the consequences of waste and improvidence are guarded against, and the means of subsistence secured. In years of great scarcity the Brethren open their own stores, having always an ample supply of provisions on hand, so that through their fostering care the natives never suffer absolute want. The Brethren have also goods for trading, which they dispose of at a moderate profit; the profits accruing from the business are thrown into the general funds of the institution. It is said they carry on trade in every part of the world where they have missions. Their object is not to acquire wealth for selfish purposes, but to extend the kingdom of Christ on earth; to enlighten the nations; and by instructing them in the knowledge of Divine truth, to "ameliorate their condition" in this life, and secure their eternal happiness in the life to come. From the paternal anxiety with which these good people watch over the morals of their flocks, they discourage as much as possible the visits of strangers; fearing that intercourse with them might open their eyes to the allurements of vice. In spite of all their vigilance, however, they have sometimes to deplore the loss of a stray sheep. It is an established rule, moreover, with them, never to allow a stranger to sleep within their gates; he is hospitably received and treated with kindness and attention, but on the approach of evening he is apprised that he must shift for himself: care is taken, however, to provide him with lodgings in one of the native huts, where he can pass the night in tolerable comfort. Should he not be pleased with his treatment, he is at liberty to depart when he pleases. The European inhabitants of Labrador are for the most part British sailors, who, preferring the freedom of a semi-barbarous life and the society of a brown squaw, to the severity of maritime discipline and the endearments of the civilized fair, take up their abode for life in this land of desolation. In course of time the gay frolicksome sailor settles down into the regular grave father of a family; and by sobriety and good conduct, may ultimately secure a comfortable home for his old age. Jack's characteristic thoughtlessness, however, sometimes adheres to him even when moored on dry land; and when this is the case, his situation is truly miserable. They pass the summer in situations favourable for catching salmon, which they barter on the spot with the stationary traders for such commodities as they are in want of. When the salmon fishing is at an end, they proceed to the coast for the purpose of fishing cod for their own consumption, and return late in autumn to the interior, where they pass the winter trapping fur animals. The planters, as they are designated, live in houses which they call "tilts," varying in shape and size according to the taste or circumstances of the owner. These buildings are generally formed of stakes driven into the ground, chinked with moss, and covered with bark; they are always warmed with stoves, otherwise the _igloe_ would afford more comfort. The half-breeds live in much the same way as their European progenitors; they are generally sober and industrious; and although unacquainted with any particular form of religious worship, they evince, in their general deportment, a greater regard to the precepts of Christianity than many who call themselves Christians. They are entirely free from the crimes that disgrace civilized life, and are guilty of few of its vices; should a frail fair, however, make a _faux pas_, it is no bar to her forming a matrimonial connexion afterwards. The women are much fewer than the men, and on this account a greater indulgence may be extended to their faults than otherwise would be. I was surprised to find them all able to read and write, although without schools or schoolmasters. The task of teaching devolves upon the mother; should she (what seldom happens) be unqualified, a neighbour is always ready to impart the desired instruction. The Esquimaux half-breeds are both industrious and ingenious; they are at a loss for nothing. The men make their own boats, and the women prepare everything required for domestic convenience; almost every man is his own blacksmith and carpenter, and every woman a tailor and shoemaker. They seem to possess all the virtues of the different races from which they are sprung--except courage; they are generally allowed to be more timid than the natives. But if not courageous, they possess virtues that render courage less necessary; they avoid giving offence, and are seldom, therefore, injured by others. The Hudson's Bay Company obtained a footing here a few years ago, by buying out some of the petty traders, whose operations extended to the interior, and consequently interfered with the hopeful Ungava scheme; independently, however, of this consideration, expectations were entertained that Labrador might become the seat of a profitable branch of the business, from its various resources in fish, oil, and furs. These expectations were not realized, owing to the strong competition the Company met with; while their interference in the trade subjected them to the charge of "grasping ambition," a charge which appears but too well founded, considering the monopoly they possess of the whole fur trade of the continent. "Plus le D----e a, plus il voudrait avoir," is an old adage; nor have we any reason to believe that any other mercantile body would be less ambitious of increasing their gains, than their _honours_ of Fenchurch-street. There are several establishments along the coast, belonging chiefly to merchants from Plymouth and Dartmouth, who carry on the salmon and cod fisheries on an extensive scale, and traffic also with the planters. This business was at one time considered very lucrative; of late years, however, competition has increased from all quarters, and prices in the European market have diminished, so that the profits are now greatly reduced. The climate of the southern section of Labrador is by no means severe; the thermometer, even in the coldest months of the year, seldom falling lower than 30° below zero. Along the shores of Esquimaux Bay, a few spots have been found favourable for agriculture, and potatoes and other culinary vegetables have been raised in abundance. Grain, especially oats and barley, would doubtless also thrive; it so happens, however, that the inhabitants are under the necessity of devoting their attention to other pursuits during the season of husbandry; so that the few that attempt "gardening," derive small benefit from it. They sow their seed before starting for the coast, and leave nature to do the rest. I shall close my description of Labrador by narrating a rather tragical event that occurred a few years ago. An old fisherman, formerly a sailor, and his only son by an Esquimaux squaw, lived together in the greatest amity and concord. The son, after the death of his mother, attended to domestic affairs, and also assisted his father at out-door's work. As the fishing season approached, however, it was considered expedient to hire a female, so that they might give their undivided attention to the fishing. The girl had not remained long with them, when her charms began to make an impression on Jack's still sensitive heart; the son also became enamoured; both paid their addresses, and, as a matter of course, the young man was preferred. The demon of jealousy now took possession of the father's breast; and his conduct became so violent and cruel, that his son determined on parting company with him and carrying off the girl. Seizing the only boat that belonged to his father, he slipped away under cover of night with his companion, and put ashore on the first island they found. A violent storm arose in the course of the night, and either dashed the boat to pieces on the rocks, or carried her out to sea; and thus the unfortunate lovers were left to their fate. This event happened late in autumn. The winter passed without any word being heard of the lovers; in the ensuing spring their bodies were found clasped in each other's arms, and the young man's gun close by with fifteen notches cut in the stock, supposed to mark the number of days they suffered ere relieved by death. CHAPTER XII. VOYAGE TO ENGLAND--ARRIVAL AT PLYMOUTH--REFLECTIONS--ARRIVE AT THE PLACE OF MY NATIVITY--CHANGES--DEPOPULATION--LONDON--THE THAMES--LIVERPOOL--EMBARK FOR NEW YORK--ARRIVAL--THE AMERICANS--ENGLISH AND AMERICAN TOURISTS--ENGLAND AND AMERICA--NEW YORK. 1842.--I embarked for England on the 18th of August, on board a small schooner of sixty tons, deeply laden with fish and oil. It is scarcely necessary to observe, that the accommodations the craft afforded were of the meanest kind; but the inconveniences weighed lightly in the scales, when compared with the anticipated delight of visiting one's native land. We had a very fine passage; a steady fair breeze carried us across the broad Atlantic in a fortnight. The green hills of Cornwall came in view on the 1st of September, and I had the satisfaction of treading the soil of England early on the 3d. I remained a few days at Plymouth, to feast my eyes on scenery such as I had long been a stranger to;--scenery, I may say, unrivalled by any I had ever beheld at home or abroad. What spot in the world, in fact, can present such varied charms, as the summit of Mount Edgecumb? where the most refined taste, aided by the amplest means, has been employed for a thousand years in beautifying the glorious landscape. To me, just arrived from _Ungava_, the beauties of the scene were undoubtedly heightened by the contrast; and one short visit to Mount Edgecumb effaced from my mind the dreary prospect of bleak rocks, snow banks, and icebergs, with which it had been so long and so sadly familiar, and inspired it with a rapture and delight to which it had long been a stranger. Yet this terrestrial paradise, I am informed, belongs to a noble lord, who is a miserable invalid. Alas, for poor humanity! neither wealth nor grandeur preserve their possessors from the ills that flesh is heir to: and this nobleman may, perhaps, envy the lot of the humblest individual that visits his enchanting domain. Bidding adieu to Plymouth, and its delightful environs, I set out for London on the 11th of September. The desire of home, however, now urged me forward; so that even the wonders of this wonderful city could not detain me. Passing over the uninteresting incidents of steamboat and railroad travelling, I arrived on the 20th of September at the spot from which I had started twenty-three years before. The meeting of a mother with an only son, after so long an absence, need not be described, nor the feelings the well-known scenes of youthful sports and youthful joys gave rise to. These scenes were still the same, as far as the hand of Nature was concerned:--there stood the lofty Benmore, casting his sombre shades over the glassy surface of Lochba, as in the days of yore; there were also the same heath-covered hills and wooded dells, well stocked with sheep and cattle; but the human inhabitants of the woods and dells--where were they?--far distant from their much-loved native land in the wilds of America, or toiling for a miserable existence in the crowded cities of the Lowlands,--a sad change! The bleating of sheep, and lowing of cattle, for the glad voices of a numerous population, happy and contented with their lot, loyal to their sovereign, and devotedly attached to their chiefs! But loyalty and attachment are but fancies, which, in these utilitarian and trading days, are flat and unprofitable; yet the aristocratical manufacturers of beef and mutton may live to feel the truth of the lines of Goldsmith:-- "But a bold peasantry, their country's pride, When once destroyed, can never be supplied." I remained about six weeks in my native country, and set out for London, where I arrived early in November,--"the beginning of the gay season;" but it appeared to me the reverse. The city was shrouded in a cloud of condensed smoke and fog, that shut out the light of heaven. During three whole days the obscurity was so great that the steamboats were prevented from plying on the Thames, and the gas-lights were seen glimmering through the windows at noon-day. How applicable is the description of the Roman historian to the Rome of our day:--"Caput orbis terrarum, urbis magnificentiam augebant fora, templa, porticas, aquæductus, theatra, horti denique, et ejus generis alia, ad quæ vel lecta animus stupet." My time was too limited, however, and the weather too unfavourable, to admit of my seeing all the "lions;" but who would think of leaving London without visiting that wonderful work--the Tunnel,--that lasting monument of the genius of a Brunell, and of the wealth and enterprise of British merchants! A Cockney may well boast of his great city, its wealth, its vast population, and its magnificent buildings; but with regard to the Thames, of which he is equally proud,--he that has seen the St. Lawrence, the Hudson, the McKenzie, and many others, compared to which the Thames is but a rivulet, may be excused if he cannot view its not very limpid waters with the same extravagant admiration as the Londoner, who calls the Serpentine a river, and dignifies a pond of a few roods in extent with the name of a lake. Yet there is one feature about the Thames, of which he can scarcely be too proud, and which is unparalleled perhaps in the world,--the often-noticed "forest of masts," extending farther than the eye can reach, and suggesting,--not the silence and solitude of the forests with which I have been familiar,--but the countless population, the wealth, and the grandeur of Britain; and the might and the majesty of civilized and industrious man. I took leave of London on the 12th of September, and set out for Liverpool by railroad, and reached it in six hours. I had sufficient time to visit its docks, crowded by the ships of every nation; its warehouses containing the produce of every clime; and, though last, not least in my estimation, the splendid monument erected to the memory of Nelson. No monument of stone or brass is necessary to perpetuate our hero's fame; he lives in the heart of every true Briton, and will ever live, till British oak and British prowess shall cease to "rule the waves." I embarked on the 15th of December on board a sailing-packet bound for New York. These vessels are so punctual to the hour of sailing advertised, that, if the wind proves contrary, and blows fresh, they are towed out to sea by steamboats. This proved to be our case, and we kept tacking about in the "chops" of the Channel for six days, when a fair wind sprung up that soon carried us out of sight of England. England! great and glorious country, adieu! I shall probably never see thee more; but in quitting thy white-cliffed shores, I quit not my ardent attachment and veneration for thee;--and now for _thy_ eldest daughter beyond the ocean! To me, who had spent so much of my lifetime in solitude, the tedium of the voyage so much complained of was gaiety itself; with three fellow-passengers besides the captain, the time passed very agreeably. On board these floating palaces a passenger, in fact, finds everything that can contribute to his comfort; the best of accommodation, the best of fare, and the best of attendance; so that there is nothing wanting but _stability_, to make him fancy himself in a first-class hotel on shore. The weather proved extremely favourable throughout the passage; not an incident occurred worthy of notice; and on the 17th of January, 1843, I landed safely at New York, and thus found myself for the first time in a foreign land; and, since fate has so decreed, among a foreign people. Yes! they are foreigners, if being called by another name, and living under a different form of government can make them so; yet in language, in laws, in religion, and in blood, we are the same. Their ancestors brought abroad with them the same sentiments of regard and attachment to their native land as we feel; they rejoiced in the prosperity of Britain; felt proud of her victories, and grieved at her misfortunes. Alas, how different the feelings of the present race! Britain may, in fact, reckon the Americans of the present day her most inveterate foes; those who are of our own kindred, and whom therefore we might expect to stand by us in our hour of need, regard us with more envy and hatred than the "hereditary foes" with whom we have been for centuries engaged in mortal strife. In resisting the arbitrary acts of a misguided government, the American people only proved themselves possessed of the same noble spirit that procured for their English progenitors the confirmation of Magna Charta, and that hurled a tyrant from his throne. The heroes of the American revolution nobly fought and conquered; they entered the arena with fearful odds against them; they continued the struggle under every disadvantage, save the sacredness of their cause; and finally won the prize for which they contended. Of that prize the Americans of the present day have undisputed possession; and nothing can be more certain than that the Britons of the present day have no wish to deprive them of it--even if they could. What cause, then, can there be for still cherishing those feelings of animosity which the unhappy disruption gave rise to? If our fathers quarrelled, cannot we be friends? But are not the British themselves to blame, in some measure, for the continuance of these irritated feelings? The mercenary pens of prejudiced, narrow-minded individuals contribute daily to add fuel to the flame. Our "Diaries," and our "Notes," replete with offensive remarks, are, from the cheapness of publication, disseminated through the length and breadth of the Union, and are in everybody's hands; and those foolish remarks are supposed to be the sentiments of the British nation; when they are in fact only the sentiments of individuals whose opinions are little valued at home, and ought to be less valued abroad. Circumstances taken into consideration, I think it very unfair to draw comparisons between the social condition of young America, just become a distinct nation, and of old England, whose empire has lasted a thousand years. The American people are still too much occupied with the necessaries of life to devote much of their time to its elegancies; they are still engaged in the pursuits that ultimately ensure wealth and real independence. Those results attained, what is there to prevent the American gentleman from becoming as polished and accomplished as his cousin in Britain? Can it be supposed, with the least shadow of reason, that the short period that has elapsed since the Revolution can have been sufficient to produce that alteration in the character and manners of the Americans, which our travellers love to exercise their wit upon? It is impossible. The Americans "guessed," and "calculated," and "speculated," while they were British subjects, just as they do now; nor have they learned to chew, and spit, and smoke tobacco since the 4th of July, 1782. As to the peculiar phrases the Americans use in conversation, I am convinced that their forefathers brought the greater part of them from Britain, as many of those phrases are to be found in the works of old English authors still extant. The English language as spoken in America, is elegance itself, compared to the provincial dialects of Britain, or even to the vile slang one hears in the streets of London. This is a fact that every unprejudiced person who has travelled in America must admit. It appears Americans find leisure, of late years, to travel and take notes, as well as their transatlantic brethren; and, in return for the polite attentions of our travellers, describe England and Englishmen in the bitter language of recrimination and retort; and thus the enmity between the mother and daughter is kept alive and perpetuated. A publication of this kind fell lately into my hands, entitled, "The Glory and Shame of England." The writer, said to be a _Christian minister_, with the malignity of baser minds, sinks and keeps in the background her "glories," and brings into relief and dwells upon her shameful parts; representing in the most sombre colours the misery of the "squalid" population of our cities. Would to God there were not so much truth in the picture! His reverence, however, seems to have lost sight of the clergyman; and in gratifying his resentment against England, and in his zeal to kindle the same unchristian feeling in the breasts of his countrymen, has not hesitated to sacrifice the truth;--and he a clergyman, whose office it is to "proclaim peace on earth, and good-will to men!" That there is much misery and wretchedness in England, none can deny; but will not the well-informed philanthropist consider it rather as our misfortune than our reproach?--consisting mainly, as that mass of wretchedness does, of those ills which neither "kings nor laws can cause or cure." What plan would this philanthropic divine recommend to remove those evils, which, while he affects to deplore, he yet glories over? Strip the nobility and land-owners of their possessions--convert our monarchy into a republic--and the church into a "meetin ouse?" These _reforms_ effected, would the people of England be permanently benefited by them? Supposing the whole arable soil of England were divided in equal portions among its crowded inhabitants, (passing by the injustice of robbing the present proprietors of their lawful possessions--many of them acquired by the same hard labour or skill by which an artisan gains his weekly wages,) would the equality of property long continue? Would not the sloth, improvidence, and imprudence, that ever distinguish a great proportion of mankind; and the industry, foresight, and ambition that characterise others, soon bring many of the equal lots into one, thus forming a great estate, the property of an individual,--when matters would just be at the point where his reverence found them? And then, of course, would follow another "equitable adjustment," to relieve the wants of the poor, whose progenitors had squandered their patrimony. Or, admitting that the lots remained in possession of the families to whom they were originally granted, would the produce be equal to the maintenance of their numerous descendants, when the property became divided and subdivided into fifty or a hundred shares? The present proprietors of the soil of England have, undoubtedly, large incomes; but what becomes of those incomes? Do they not flow back into the hands of the merchants, tradesmen, servants, &c.?--the greater proportion, at least; for the sums expended by our tourists on the continent form so inconsiderable a portion of those incomes, as not to be worth mentioning. The same may be said of the _alleged_ wealth of the clergy; for (admitting the allegation) it all flows back into the channels whence it issued; and, although neither belonging to the Church of England, nor approving of her forms of government, I do not think that her downfall would improve the _temporal_ condition of the people. If we wish to remain a Christian nation, we cannot dispense with the services of the clergy; and in order that those services may be efficient, they must be maintained in independence and respectability. As to a republican form of government, that experiment has been already tried in England, and failed; it may be tried again with no better success. The circumstances in which the American people found themselves after the Revolution, rendered the adoption of republican institutions both safe and beneficial. They had learned by experience that the remote position of their country secured their independence from the ambitious projects of any power in Europe; while they had nothing to fear from any power in America. Thus situated, any form of government, consistent with the due maintenance of good order at home, answered their purpose. The nascent republic might, at the period in question, have adopted as its motto, "Liberty and Equality," with the utmost propriety; for all enjoyed equal liberty, and nearly equal fortunes. Experience, however, shows that liberty and equality cannot long exist under any form of government; industry procures wealth, wealth induces ambition, and ambition sighs after distinction and power. While America feels secure from the aggression of her neighbours, Great Britain is surrounded by powerful states, some of whom afford her daily proofs of their envy of her greatness and their hatred of her power; and only want the ability, not the will, to annihilate both. Those states are, for the most part, ruled by absolute or despotic governments, who can call fleets and armies into action without losing a moment in debating the justice or injustice, policy or impolicy, of their movements. With such neighbours as these, would the Messenger of Peace recommend the "Britishers" to adopt a form of government which would necessitate them to debate and consult while their enemies were acting; and to remit to the people to discuss the question of peace or war, when they should be enlisting and drilling them? Columbia, happy land! the broad Atlantic intervenes between thee and the envy or hatred of Europe; thy wide domain, presenting millions of acres of untenanted land, stands open to the industry and enterprise of thy citizens. How thankful, then, ought they to be for the blessings they enjoy, compared with the condition of their brethren "beyond the water," confined as they are to the narrow limits of their sea-girt isle, whose soil is no longer sufficient for the support of its over-crowded inhabitants, and surrounded by hostile nations, who have long since pronounced the sentence, "_Delenda est Britannia!_" "Boz" has already told his countrymen all that is worth telling about New York, and something more. What the "Dickens" brought him to the "Five Points?" Did he never visit Wapping with the same views, whatever they might be? If he did, did he observe nothing in that sink of filth and wickedness equal to the scenes that shocked him so much in the outskirts of New York? One just arrived from England finds little in this city to excite wonder or admiration, unless it be the extraordinary width of some of the streets. Were those streets kept clean, and the liberty of the pigs a little restrained, the citizens might well boast of their superiority to most of the streets of our British cities; and as their taste improves, everything unsightly will be removed. Nature has done much for New York: she possesses one of the finest harbours in the world; her climate is pleasant and salubrious; and one of the noblest rivers of America gives her the command of the commercial resources of a country which equals in extent nearly all Europe. New York will undoubtedly become one of the first cities in the world; in commerce, in wealth, in population, she has advanced at a prodigious rate within the last fifty years, and her progress is not likely to be arrested. The aqueduct that supplies the town with water, pure, wholesome, and abundant, is well worth the notice of a stranger. This stupendous work was executed at a cost of nine millions of dollars, and conveys the water from a distance of forty miles!--the genius of the engineer and the power of money overcoming every obstacle. The two great reservoirs, near the city, present splendid specimens of that kind of architecture. Happening in company to express my opinion of this work, as reflecting the highest credit on the enterprise of the citizens, a gentleman present, evidently an American, in reply to the compliment, observed, "It is very much to their advantage, no doubt, and it will also be much to their credit, if they pay the debt they incurred in constructing it." The fact is, that this and many other public works in the United States, have been executed by British capital. Would to heaven that our _sympathising_ friends, who are so jealous in regard to the honour of America, where a few thousand acres of worthless land are concerned, were equally jealous in regard to it when, under the newly-invented name of _repudiation_, the honour of their country is tarnished by a vast system of unblushing robbery! Would to heaven that their _sympathies_ were extended to the thousands who are involved in misery and ruin by this audacious system of national perfidy! If the art or ingenuity of the good citizens of New York has not produced very many objects worthy of admiration, the faces of their lovely fair make ample amends for it. Among the crowds of charmers who throng the fashionable promenade of Broadway, scarcely an ordinary face is to be seen. I, in fact, saw more pretty faces there in one hour than in all my tour in Britain. I landed in New York without any prejudice against the Americans, and I now take leave of their commercial capital with feelings of esteem and regret. In the society I frequented I neither saw nor heard anything unworthy of, or unbecoming the descendants of Britons. Some little peculiarities, the natural result of circumstances, I certainly noticed; some differences also in their social life; but I shall leave it to those who are disposed to find fault to criticise these matters. CHAPTER XIII. PASSAGE FROM NEW YORK TO ALBANY BY STEAMER--THE PASSENGERS--ARRIVAL AT ALBANY--JOURNEY TO MONTREAL. The navigation of the Hudson not being yet interrupted by ice, I determined on proceeding to Albany by steamboat, in preference to the railroad, with the view of seeing the far-famed scenery of the country through which the river flows. I accordingly embarked on the 5th of February. We had not proceeded far, however, when we found the face of the country covered with snow; and thus the pleasure I had anticipated from my aquatic trip was in a great measure lost. Winter had set in in earnest, and the cold became so severe as we ascended, that the deck was abandoned, and the nearest seat to the stove was considered the best. The passengers being now all crowded below, the group presented a complete epitome of American society: here were members of the legislature proceeding to the capital on parliamentary duty; here also were congregated in the same cabin, merchants, mechanics, and farmers, messing at the same board, and at first mixed up promiscuously together. They did not, however, long continue so; the more respectable part, separating from the crowd, occupied one end of the cabin, the plebeians occupied the other. Thus the homogeneous ingredients of the mass having united, no further mixture took place during the passage. It is true, one of patrician rank might occasionally be observed stepping beyond the ideal boundary, and sitting down among the plebeians, probably some of his constituents,--would call for a pipe, and, stretching out his legs, commence to puff, spit, and debate, like one of themselves; and having by these means convinced them that he still considered them as his _equals_, would retire again _ad suos_. The Americans are accused by Europeans of being cold and reserved towards strangers; for my part, I found them sociable and communicative in the extreme. A few hours after I had embarked on board the steamboat I found myself quite at home. I was much pleased to observe the rational manner in which the passengers amused themselves. Little groups were formed, where religion, politics and business matters were discussed with excellent sense and judgment. These seemed to be the common topics of discourse in both ends of the cabin. I frequented both, and saw nothing indecorous or improper in either, save the spitting and the outrageous rush to the table; such a scene as the latter is only to be seen in America. The servants bawl out at the top of their lungs:-- "Time enough, gentlemen! time enough! No hurry, no hurry!" Onward they rush, however, crowding, pushing, elbowing, until they take their seats. I was, however, particularly struck with the attention shown to the ladies, the great sobriety of all classes, and the total absence of impure or profane expressions in conversation. How unlike the scenes one witnesses on board our steamboats in Britain, where the meaner sort of passengers seem to travel on purpose to indulge in drinking! I arrived at Albany late on the 7th, our progress having been much retarded by the quantity of ice drifting in the river. Finding that the mail was to start for Canada in the course of the night, I decided on going with it, without seeing the capital of New York. Owing to the mildness of the season up to the present time, the roads were in the worst possible condition, and the motion of the carriage passing rapidly over the rugged surface of the muddy roads recently frozen solid, was not only disagreeable, but even painful. We continued, however, to jolt on night and day, without rest, save during the short time necessary for changing or baiting cattle. The roads became worse, if possible, as we proceeded. A considerable quantity of snow had fallen lately, which rendered travelling in a wheeled carriage not only disagreeable in the extreme, but also dangerous. We broke down several times, but without serious inconvenience. On one of these occasions we picked ourselves up opposite a farm house, in which we took shelter while the driver was putting matters to rights. It being yet early, the inmates were still in bed; we nevertheless found a rousing fire blazing on the hearth, and seated ourselves around it. All of a sudden the door of a small apartment flew open, and a large black cat sprang in amongst us. "Ha! what do you think of that, now?" said one of the passengers, addressing himself to me. "What do you think of the ingenuity of our Yankee cats? Had Boz witnessed that feat, we should have had a page or two more to his notes; and I am sure it would have proved at least as interesting to the reader as the nigger driver's conversation with his cattle." "That's a fact," said I. After being jolted and pitched about until every bone in my body ached again, I reached St. John's on the 12th; and the snow being now sufficiently deep to admit of travelling with sleighs, the remainder of the journey to Montreal was accomplished in comparative comfort. CHAPTER XIV. EMBARK FOR THE NORTH--PASSENGERS ARRIVE AT FORT WILLIAM--DESPATCH FROM GOVERNOR--APPOINTED TO MACKENZIE'S RIVER DISTRICT--PORTAGE LA LOCHE--ADVENTURE ON GREAT SLAVE LAKE--ARRIVE AT FORT SIMPSON--PRODUCTIONS OF THE POST. I spent the remainder of the winter enjoying the good things of this life, and on the 28th of April received orders to proceed to Lachine, preparatory to embarking for the north. I embarked on the 29th, but the crews were so intoxicated that we were compelled to land on an island near by, to allow them to recover from the effects of their carousals. I was joined here by Captain Stalk of the 71st, and Lieutenant Lefroy of the Artillery; the former accompanying us on a jaunt of pleasure, the latter on a scientific expedition. There were also four junior clerks in the Company's service. Our brigade consisted of three large canoes manned by about fifty Canadians, and Iroquois Indians. We were detained in our insular encampment by stress of weather until the 2d of May, when we set out. Our crews being now perfectly sober, plied their paddles with the utmost good-will, singing and whooping, apparently delighted with their situation. Ignorance here was bliss; they little dreamed of the life that awaited them. I may here premise, that as I have already narrated the particulars of a similar voyage, I shall pass on to the different stages of our route without noticing the uninteresting incidents of our daily progress. We arrived at Fort William on the 28th of May, where we exchanged our large Montreal canoes for smaller. Here Captain S. remained to await his passage back to Canada; not much disposed to try such a jaunt of pleasure again, I suspect,--and Lieutenant L., taking a canoe for himself with a view of prosecuting his scientific researches more at leisure than our go-a-head mode of travelling admitted, left us also. We were detained a day at Fort William, repairing canoes, arranging crews, &c., and on the 30th, I took leave of my excellent _compagnons de voyage_ with sincere regret. On descending Lac la Pluie River, we landed at an extensive Sauteux camp, where we found a Protestant (Methodist) Missionary, with a native interpreter as his only companion. I learned with much regret, that this gentleman's exertions in his vocation had been attended with little or no success, although he had been two years engaged in it; while the Romish priests, in the same space of time, had converted numbers. The natives were occupied with the sturgeon fishing, and had apparently been tolerably successful. Having procured a supply for the use of our crews by barter, we set off, and without experiencing any accident, reached Bas de la Rivière on the 13th of June, where I found letters from the Governor, directing me to proceed with all possible speed to York Factory. Having learned on my way coming up, that one of the gentlemen in McKenzie's River district had resigned, and would quit the country this year,--I felt convinced I should be appointed his successor; that being one of the most wretched parts of the Indian country, it was quite a matter of course that I should be sent thither. Knowing from dear-bought experience, however, that my constitution could no longer bear the hardships and privations to which I had been so long subjected, I wrote the Governor on the subject, and requested that he would grant me an appointment where I might enjoy some degree of comfort--a favour which I humbly conceived my former services entitled me to--otherwise I should retire from the service. We had a fine passage across Lake Winnipeg, and I landed at Norway House with all my party safe and sound, on the 18th of June. I remained there till the 21st, and then set out for York Factory, where I had been about ten days, when an express arrived from Norway House with the Governor's final orders to me, and also his reply to my last communication, which I here insert at full length. "Red River Settlement, "_June_ 22, 1843. "DEAR SIR, "My eyes are so completely worn out, that I cannot give you a single private line under my own hand. I have perused with attention your private letter of the 14th instant, and should have been glad had it been in my power to have met your wishes in regard to an appointment; but from the few commissioned gentlemen disposable this season, it was quite impossible to consult wishes. You were, therefore, long before receipt of your letter, appointed to McKenzie's River. That is now one of the finest fields we have for extension of trade, and I count much on your activity for promoting our views in that quarter. But while directing your attention to the extension of _your district_, you must likewise use your best endeavours to curtail the indents, as they have of late been on a most alarming scale, comprehending nearly as many articles as appear in our Columbia requisition; if you look on my notes on the last requisition, you will find that I have been under the necessity of making some further curtailments. I am sorry the idea of retiring has entered your mind, as I was in hopes we could count upon some efficient services out of you while still young and vigorous. "The Company have of late declined making any purchases of retired interests; it would be therefore quite unnecessary to make any application on that head, as they have lost money by all the recent purchases they have made in that way. "I am at the Lower Fort, where Mr. Ross came in on me very unexpectedly, just as we were preparing to get on horseback for the upper part of the settlement, so that I am much pressed for time, which will account for the brevity of this communication. "Pray let me hear from you in Canada by the last canoes, as I shall not then have taken my departure from Montreal. "I remain, &c. &c. (Signed) "GEORGE SIMPSON." Judging, from the instructions contained in the above communication, that I was appointed to the charge of the district, I made up my mind to try how far my health could endure the hardships of which I already had had more than my share; and without a moment's delay, set out for Norway House in a light canoe, where I arrived on the 16th of July. My friend Mr. C---- arrived with his returns from Athabasca a few days afterwards, and his arrangements being completed on the 24th, I embarked as a passenger with him. We reached the small river Mithai on the 4th of September, when we found the water so low as barely to admit of the passage of the light boats. It happened most fortunately that there were a number of Chippewayan Indians encamped on the spot at the time, else we should have been completely at a nonplus. The crews, good souls! hired those Indians at their own expense, to carry the greater part of the property in their small canoes to the upper part of the river. At the portage we found a number of half-breeds, with their horses, from the Saskatchewan, awaiting our arrival, in the expectation of being employed to transport the goods. Nor were they disappointed; sooner than undergo the harassing toil of carrying the outfit across a portage of twelve miles, the men hired the half-breeds, parting with their most valuable articles in payment. Several propositions have been made, of late years, to the Governor, for sparing the men the inhuman labour of this portage, which they must either perform, or sacrifice a considerable part of their paltry wages to avoid it. It was suggested, for instance, that a sufficient number of horses should be stationed at a certain locality, with the requisite conveniences, near the portage, and a couple of men hired on purpose to take care of them, whose wages the winterers should pay out of their own pockets, which they readily assented to; as the transport, by this arrangement, would only cost them one-third of what it cost them to employ the half-breeds. His Excellency, however, was quite "sick" of the Portage La Loche subject; he knew as much about it as anybody, and felt quite assured that it was the easiest part of the men's duties throughout the voyage! While canoes were used, the duty at Portage la Loche was not nearly so severe as at present; a canoe carried only twenty-five pieces, and was manned by six men; a boat's crew consists only of seven men, while the cargo consists of from sixty to seventy pieces. The descent of the Clear Water and Athabasca rivers was effected without any accident, and we arrived at Athabasca on the 16th of September; whence I set out again, after a few days' delay, for Fort Resolution, on Great Slave Lake, where I was detained by stress of weather until the 29th. I left the post late in the evening, and intended to encamp on an island at a convenient distance; but the season being far advanced, I felt anxious to proceed, and inquired of my pilot whether he thought there would be any risk in travelling all night? "Not the least," was the reply; and we rowed on accordingly till morning; when lo! the only objects to be seen were sea and sky. In vain we strained the organs of vision to discover land; there we were, as if in the midst of the ocean, surrounded on all sides by the unbroken circle of the horizon. I do not know that I ever felt more seriously alarmed than at this moment, thus to find myself exposed on an unknown sea, as it might well be termed, in an open boat, and at such an advanced period of the season, without any means of ascertaining what course to steer for land. It would appear our steersman had been napping at the helm in the course of the night, and thus allowed the boat to deviate from her course without noticing it; hence the awkwardness and even the danger of our present situation. While considering with myself what was best to be done, a fine breeze sprang up; I ordered the sail to be hoisted immediately, determined on going before it until we made land, no matter where. Fortunately the wind continued steady all day, and we at length reached the land a little after sunset, having run at least forty miles. We put ashore at the first convenient landing we could find, and encamped for the night. Having consulted a map I had with me, and observing by the sun the direction in which we had crossed the lake, (for we had actually crossed it at its greatest width,) I could make out pretty clearly that we had turned our backs to our true course! We had, however, a good supply of provisions, and a voyageur is never discouraged while he has the provender before him. Having now learned, to my cost, what confidence my pilot was entitled to, I determined on keeping land in view for the future. We embarked early next morning, and, after a tedious and laborious passage of seven days, arrived at Big Island fishery at the outlet of the Lake on the 8th of October, where I found a boat ready to start with a cargo of fish, in which I embarked; and landing finally at Fort Simpson on the 16th, my long trip of five months _per mare et terram_, was brought to a close; and high time it should, for the weather was become excessively cold, and the ice was forming along the beach. I was much grieved to find Mr. Lewis confined to bed in consequence of a shocking accident he had lately met with, his right hand being blown off by the accidental discharge of his fowling-piece. Having perused the governor's official letter to Mr. Lewis, I found the following paragraph in it relating to myself:--"On retiring from the district next season, you will be pleased to invest Mr. McLean with the management, handing to that gentleman all correspondence, papers, &c., connected with the public business." This paragraph, taken in conjunction with the instructions I had previously received, confirmed both Mr. L. and myself in the opinion that I was to succeed him in the charge; and we took our measures accordingly. I was very agreeably surprised to find that the high latitude of this locality (61° north) did not prevent agricultural operations from being carried on with success. Although the season had been rather unfavourable, the farm yielded four hundred bushels of potatoes, and upwards of one hundred bushels of barley; the barnyard, with its stacks of barley and hay, and the number of horned cattle around it, had quite the air of a farm standing in the "old country." It is to be regretted that the gentlemen here should have paid so little attention to the cultivation of the soil in former times, as the produce would, ere now, not only have contributed to the support of the establishment, but have afforded assistance to the natives in years of scarcity. For these three years past the distress of the natives in this quarter has been without parallel; several hundreds having perished of want--in some instances, even at the gates of the trading post, whose inmates, far from having it in their power to relieve others, required relief themselves. Here, as in most other parts of the wooded country, rabbits form the principal subsistence of the natives, and when they fail, starvation is the sure and inevitable result; but no former period has been so productive of distress, to so fearful an extent, as the present. With the produce of the farm, Mr. L. was enabled to save the lives of all those who resorted to his own post; but at Forts Good Hope, Norman, and De Liard, no assistance could be given; as those posts, like most others in the Indian country, depend entirely on the means the country affords in fish, flesh, and fowl, for their subsistence. CHAPTER XV. STATEMENTS IN THE EDINBURGH CABINET LIBRARY--ALLEGED KINDNESS OF THE HUDSON'S BAY COMPANY TO THE INDIANS--AND GENEROSITY--SUPPORT OF MISSIONARIES--SUPPORT WITHDRAWN--PREFERENCE OF ROMAN CATHOLICS--THE NORTH-WEST COMPANY--CONDUCT OF A BRITISH PEER--RIVALRY OF THE COMPANIES--COALITION--CHARGES AGAINST THE NORTH-WEST COMPANY REFUTED. A volume of the Edinburgh Cabinet Library, in which the Company's territories are described, came lately into my hands. It is there remarked, that "the Company's posts serve as hospitals, to which the Indians resort during sickness, and are supplied with food and medicine; that when winter arrives, the diseased and infirm are frequently left there; that the Company have made the most laudable efforts to instruct and civilize them, employing, at a great expense, Missionaries and Teachers," &c. I am well aware that the author of this valuable production took it for granted that the information he had obtained, relative to our treatment of the Indians, and other matters, was correct, or he would not have permitted it to go forth to the world under the authority and sanction of his name. But without intending any disrespect to the author, I take leave to state that the above quotations have not the slightest foundation in fact. Our posts serve as hospitals! I have now passed twenty-four years of my life-time in the country; I have served in every quarter of it; and I own that I have never yet known a single instance of an Indian being retained at any inland post for medical treatment. The knowledge the natives possess of the medicinal virtues of roots and herbs, is generally equal to the cure of all their ailments; and we are, in fact, more frequently indebted to them, than they to us, for medical advice. I may mention, however, by way of exception to the general rule, that the dépôts along the coast are well supplied with medicines, and that there are medical men there who administer them to the natives when they apply for them. In the interior we are allowed to doctor ourselves as we best can. What with the salubrity of the climate, and our abstemious fare, we are enabled, with the aid of a little Turlington balsam, and a dose of salts, perhaps, to overcome all our ailments. Most of us also use the lancet, and can even "spread a plaster, or give a glister," when necessary; but the Indians seldom trouble us. As to the instruction the natives receive from us, I am at a loss to know what it is, where imparted, and by whom given. "A tale I could, unfold!" But let it pass: certain it is, that neither our example nor our precept has had the effect of improving the morals or principles of the natives;--they are neither more enlightened, nor more civilized, by our endeavours, than if we had never appeared among them. The native interpreters even grow old in our service as ignorant of Christianity as the rudest savages who have never seen the face of a white man. The Church Missionary Society has had two Missionaries stationed at Red River settlement for some years past, one of whom is designated the Company's Chaplain, and is allowed 100l. per annum; the Roman Catholic bishop, too, receives his 100l., and doubtless understands, without any inspiration, the Company's policy in granting the annuity. The gentleman who conducts the academy has also 100l. a-year; thus we have 300l., forming the sum total of the "great expenses" the Company are at. It is quite true there are thirteen schools at Red River; there are also eighteen windmills, and the Company furnishes just as much wind for the mills as funds for the support of the schools or teachers. Other teachers than those above specified I have neither seen nor heard of. Some years ago five Missionaries were sent out to the Hudson's Bay territory by the Wesleyan Missionary Society. After having laboured for some time in the territory, by a decision of the Council the rank of commissioned gentleman, together with the usual allowances attached to that rank, was conferred on them. The Missionaries had every reason to be grateful for these acts of kindness, and they both felt and expressed their gratitude. Their object, however, in coming to the country was to serve God, not the Hudson's Bay Company; and they proceeded to discharge their duty in the manner their conscience approved, instructing and enlightening the natives with the zeal and perseverance for which their sect is so eminently distinguished. The good fruits were soon apparent; in some parts of the country successful attempts were made to collect the natives: they were taught to cultivate the soil, to husband their produce, so as to render them less dependent on fortuitous circumstances for a living; they were taught to read and write, and to worship God "in spirit and in truth," and numbers "were daily added to the Church;" when, lo! it was discovered that the time devoted to religious exercises, and other duties arising out of the altered circumstances of the converts, was so much time lost to the fur-hunt; and from the moment this discovery was made, no further encouragement was given to the innovators. Their labours were strictly confined to the stations they originally occupied, and every obstacle was thrown in the way of extending their missions. Even after some of them had travelled into the remotest parts, and opened up an amicable intercourse with the natives, they were told that collecting the Indians into villages was a measure not to be thought of, as the habitual indolence of the natives precluded the idea of their being induced to cultivate the soil; that even if they were so inclined, the country presented few localities fit for the purpose, &c. Notwithstanding the high authority whence these allegations emanated, I think I can show the reader that they are in a great measure without foundation. Here (in lat. 61° north)[2] we raise crops of barley and potatoes--the former in abundance every year,--the latter, however, are sometimes cut off by the frosts; but this is no more than happens in Canada, and many parts of the United States. The fact is, that there are many favourable situations for agriculture to be found in every district of the Company's territories, except perhaps one or two on the shores of Hudson's Bay. The banks of the Athabasca, Peace, Slave, and McKenzie rivers present many localities fit for farming operations; and in the more southern districts they are, of course, far more frequent. [Footnote 2: On the banks of the McKenzie River.] Had the Protestant ministers been allowed a free scope, and the encouragement they at first received been continued, they would ere now have had Missions established in many districts; and there can hardly be a doubt that they would have succeeded here, as elsewhere, in overcoming the natural sloth of the natives. Their good intentions, however, have been frustrated, and they have now the additional mortification of finding themselves supplanted by Romish priests, who, no later than last year, were allowed a free passage in the Company's craft, even to a district where a Protestant Missionary had been settled for several years previously, and had made considerable progress in converting the natives. Not only was he allowed a passage to the district, but he was lodged and entertained in the Company's establishment. The consequences of this strange procedure are obvious: the poor ignorant natives, hearing such conflicting doctrines, are at a loss what to think or what to believe; and, naturally enough, conclude that both are alike impostors, and therefore in many cases decline their instructions. It must be acknowledged, however, that the Romish priest is often more successful than the Protestant missionary, and that for obvious reasons. With the former, the Indian needs only profess a desire to become a Christian, and he is forthwith baptized; whereas with the latter, a probationary course--a trial of the proselyte's sincerity--is deemed indispensable. The peculiar dress, moreover, of the Romish ministers, and their imposing ritual, make a great impression on the senses of a barbarous people. "_He_ indeed," say the Indians, when speaking of the priest, "he indeed looks like a great 'man of medicine;' but these others are just like our traders; we can see no difference." The fact, too, need not be disguised, that we ourselves find the priests far more accommodating than these meddling parsons. The priests, for instance, allow us to amuse ourselves in any manner we think fit, week-day or Sunday; and far from finding fault, ten to one if they don't join in the sport; the Protestant minister, on the contrary, never allows a violation of the sacred day to pass unnoticed, nor fails to warn the delinquent of the consequences. The priest connives at the Indian's hunting on Sunday--the minister strictly forbids it: the priests are single--the ministers are generally married, and their maintenance of course involves a far heavier expense. Considering these things, no reasonable person can surely find fault with us for preferring those who allow us to put what construction we please on the moral law, and at the same time oppose no obstacles to the advancement of our temporal interests. And here I cannot but express my regret that our Protestant churches should have so long neglected the cultivation of a field that promised such rich harvests as the interior of America. The superstitions of the aborigines scattered through the Hudson's Bay Company's territories are so gross, and so inconsistent with unsophisticated common sense; and their prejudices in favour of them have been so much shaken by their intercourse with the gentlemen of the trading posts and the other Europeans, whom they are accustomed to look up to as beings of a superior race, that there could be but little difficulty in removing what _remains_ of these prejudices; and thus one of the greatest obstacles to the success of a Missionary in other parts of the heathen world, can scarcely be said to exist among them. The Church of England, it is true, has done a little, but she might have done more--much more. Had the Missionaries at Red River exerted themselves, from the time of their first arrival in the country, in educating _natives_ as Missionaries, and sent them forth to preach the Word, the pure doctrines of Christianity would, ere now, have been widely disseminated through the land. But nothing of this kind has been attempted: nor could it be attempted--now that I think of it--the laying on of "the hands of a Bishop" being indispensable. As to the diseased and infirm being frequently left at our posts in winter, all I can say is, that I have never seen any such at any of the posts I wintered at, or at any of the posts I visited; nor is it likely that, when we ourselves depend on the natives for a considerable part of our subsistence, we can do much to support them. We support neither old nor young, diseased nor infirm--that is the truth. In the work above quoted I find the following paragraph relating to the North-West Company. "Although the rivalry of the North-West Company had the effect of inspiriting and extending the trade; it was carried by them in many respects beyond the legitimate limits, not scrupling at open violence and bloodshed, in which Europeans and natives were alike sufferers." The controversy between those rival companies has long since been forgotten; but the subject being again obtruded on the public notice, evidently in the spirit of prejudice, there can be nothing improper, I presume, in representing matters in their true and proper light. Many of the individuals thus calumniated are still alive and settled in the civilized world, where they are esteemed for qualities diametrically opposite to those ascribed to them by their slanderer. It is well known that the chief advantages the Hudson's Bay Company now possess, they owe to the adventurous North-West traders; by these traders the whole interior of the savage wilds was first explored; by them the water communications were first discovered and opened up to commercial enterprise; by them the first trading posts were established in the interior; by them the natives were first reconciled to the whites; and by them the trade was first reduced to the regular system which the Hudson's Bay Company still follows. When all this had been done by the North-West Company, and they had begun to reap the reward of their toils, and hardships, and dangers, and expenditure--then did the Honourable Hudson's Bay Company, led on by a British peer, step forward and claim, as British subjects, an equal right to share the trade. Their _noble_ leader appeared first in Montreal in the guise of a traveller, where he was received by the North-Westers with open arms, was kindly and hospitably entertained by them, his minutest inquiries regarding their system of trade were candidly and freely answered; and the information thus obtained in the character of a traveller, a guest, and a friend, he forthwith proceeded to use to effect their ruin. Had, however, the North-West Company continued true to themselves, all his arts and attempts would have failed. Had not dissension arisen in the ranks, it is clear that _they_--not the Hudson's Bay Company--would have granted the capitulation. Unfortunately for themselves, however, the partners in the interior, seeing the contest continue so long, and the expenses swallow up all the profits, despaired of the success that was almost within their grasp, and commencing a correspondence among themselves, finally determined on opening a negotiation with their rivals. Two of their number were accordingly sent home, invested with full powers to act for the general interest. Those gentlemen arrived just as the Directors of the North-West Company in London were about to conclude a most advantageous treaty--a few days more, and the articles had been ratified by the signatures of both parties. At this conjuncture the Delegates arrived, and instead of first communicating with their own Directors, went straight to the Hudson's Bay House, and presented their credentials. The Hudson's Bay Company saw their advantage, and instead of receiving, now dictated the terms; and thus the name of the North-West Company was merged in that of its rival, and the Canadian people were deprived of all interest in that trade which owed its origin to the courage and enterprise of their forefathers. Such were the relative circumstances of the Hudson's Bay and North-West Companies. From 1674 to 1813 the Hudson's Bay Company slumbered at its posts along the shores of Hudson's Bay, never attempting to penetrate beyond the banks of the Saskatchewan, until the North-Westers had led and cleared the way; and in this manner began their rivalry. That collisions should follow, marked by violence and outrage, need not be wondered at. But violence and outrage were not confined to one side; both parties exceeded the limits prescribed by law. Yet while stern justice alike condemns both, which is the more guilty party? or which has the greater claims on our sympathy? As to the North-West Company being guilty of the blood of innocent Indians,--the charge is as false as it is invidious. When the blood of their servants was shed without cause or provocation, as frequently happened when they first encountered the fierce savage, they punished the aggressors as the law of God allows, demanding "blood for blood." But while the author (or rather his informant, whose _ribbon_ I can plainly distinguish, although he strikes in the dark) so freely censures the North-West Company for avenging the murder of their people, does he mean to insinuate that nothing of the kind is done under the _humane_ and _gentle_ rule of the Hudson's Bay Company? What became of the Hannah Bay murderers? They were conveyed to Moose Factory, bound hand and foot, and there shot down by the orders of the Chief Factor. Did the murders committed by the natives at New Caledonia, Thompson's River, and the Columbia, pass unavenged? No! the penalty was fully paid in blood for blood. But since the author's informant seems disposed to "rake up the smouldering embers" of days bygone, I shall take the liberty of telling him of a tragedy that was enacted at the ancient date of 1836-7. In that winter, a party of men, led by two clerks, was sent to look for some horses that were grazing at a considerable distance from the post. As they approached the spot they perceived a band of Assineboine Indians, eight in number (if I remember aright), on an adjacent hill, who immediately joined them, and, delivering up their arms, encamped with them for the night. Next morning a _court martial_ was held by the two clerks and some of the men, to determine the punishment due to the Indians for having been found near the company's horses, with the _supposed_ intention of carrying them off. What was the decision of this mock court martial? I shudder to relate, that the whole band, after having given up their arms, and partaken of their hospitality, were condemned to death, and the sentence carried into execution on the spot,--all were butchered in cold blood! With the exception of the massacre of the Indians in McKenzie's River district in 1835, no such deed of blood had been heard of in the country. Yet our author's _impartial_ informant, perfectly acquainted as he was with all the circumstances of the case, and ready enough as he is to trumpet to the world the alleged crimes of the North-West Company, takes no notice of it! It may be said that the Company are not answerable for crimes committed by their servants without their knowledge. True; but when they are made fully acquainted with those misdeeds, and allow the perpetrators to escape with impunity, the guilt is transferred to their own head; "invitat culpam qui peccatum præterit." The proceedings of this court-martial were reported at head-quarters, and the punishment awarded to these murderers was--a reprimand! After this, what protection, or generosity, or justice, can the Indians he said to receive from the Hudson's Bay Company? The Indians to this day talk of their Northwest "fathers" with regret. "Our old traders, our fathers, did not serve us so," is a remark I have frequently heard in every part of the country where the North-West Company had established posts. Had their rule been distinguished by oppression or injustice, the natives would rather have expressed their satisfaction at its suppression; had it been tyrannical or oppressive, it would not have been long tolerated. The natives in those times were numerous and warlike; the trading-posts were isolated and far apart; and in the summer season, when the managers proceeded to the dépôts, with the greater part of their people, were entirely at the mercy of the natives, who would not have failed to take advantage of such opportunities to avenge their wrongs, had they suffered any. The posts, in fact, were left entirely to their protection, and depended on them for support during the absence of the traders, who, on their return in autumn, found themselves surrounded by hundreds of rejoicing Indians, greeting their "fathers" with every manifestation of delight;--he who had not a gun to fire strained his lungs with shouting. The native population has decreased at an extraordinary rate since those times. I do not mean to affirm that this decrease arises from the Hudson's Bay Company's treatment of them; but, from whatever cause arising, it is quite certain they have greatly decreased. Neither can it be denied, that the natives are no longer the manly, independent race they formerly were. On the contrary, we now find them gloomy and dispirited, unhappy and discontented. As to our vaunted "generosity" to the natives, I am at a loss to know in what it consists. When a band of Indians arrive at a trading post, each individual is presented with a few inches of tobacco; here (at Fort Simpson) in winter we add a fish to each. After their furs are traded, a few flints, awls, and hooks, and a trifle of ammunition is given them, in proportion to their hunts, and then--"Va-t-en." This is about the average amount of "generosity" they receive throughout the country; varied, however, by the differences of disposition observable in the Hudson's Bay Company's traders, as among all other mortals. Some of us would even withhold the awls and hooks, if we could; others, at the risk of being "hauled up" for extravagance, would add another hook to the number. Were the Company's standing rules and regulations acted upon, we might perhaps have some title to the generosity we boast of. In these rules we are directed to supply _poor_ Indians with ammunition and fishing tackle, gratis. This looks very well on paper; but are we allowed the means of bestowing these gratuities? Certainly not.[3] Our outfits, in many cases, are barely sufficient to meet the exigencies of the trade; they are continually reduced in proportion to the decrease in the returns; and the strictest economy is not only recommended, but enforced. On the due fulfilment of these commands our prospects in the service depend; and few indeed will think of violating them, or of sacrificing their own interests to benefit Indians. I repeat that, far from having it in our power to bestow anything gratuitously, we are happy when allowed sufficient means to barter for the furs the Indians bring us. [Footnote 3: When the Israelites were ordered to provide straw for their bricks, the material _could_ be procured in Egypt, although at the expense of great additional toil;--not so the supplies for the Indian trade; in the event of a deficiency, neither money nor labour can procure them.] The Company also make it appear by their standing rules, that we are directed to instruct the children, to teach the servants, &c.; but where are the means of doing so? A few books, I have been told, were sent out for this purpose, after the coalition; what became of them I know not. I never saw any. The history of commercial rule is well known to the world; the object of that rule, wherever established, or by whomsoever exercised, is gain. In our intercourse with the natives of America no other object is discernible, no other object is thought of, no other object is allowed. CHAPTER XVI. ARRIVAL OF MR. LEFROY--VOYAGE TO THE LOWER POSTS OF THE MACKENZIE--AVALANCHE--INCIDENTS OF THE VOYAGE--VOYAGE TO PORTAGE LA LOCHE--ARBITRARY AND UNJUST CONDUCT OF THE GOVERNOR--DESPOTISM--MY REPLY TO THE GOVERNOR. In the early part of this winter several Indians came in, complaining that they were starving for want of food; and their emaciated forms proved that they did not complain without cause. Our means, however, were too limited to afford them any effectual relief. We were glad to learn afterwards, that although many suffered, none died from actual want; and the rabbits soon afterwards appearing in greater numbers than had been seen for years past, relief was obtained. Towards the latter end of March, I was gratified by the arrival of Mr. Lefroy. This gentleman seems equal to all the hardships and privations of a voyageur's life, having performed the journey from Athabasca hither, a distance of at least six hundred miles, on snow-shoes, without appearing to have suffered any inconvenience from it; thus proving himself the ablest _mangeur de lard_ we have had in the country for a number of years: there are many of our old winterers who would have been glad to excuse themselves if required to undertake such a journey. The winter passed without any remarkable occurrence; and on the breaking up of the river, I set off for the lower posts, on the 23d of May, accompanied by Mr. Lefroy, whose zeal for scientific discovery neither cold, nor hunger, nor fatigue, seems to depress. We arrived at Fort Norman on the 27th of May; and after a few hours' delay, embarked, proceeding down stream, night and day. We reached Fort Good Hope on the 29th, late in the evening; but evening, morning, midnight, and noon-day, are much the same here: I wrote at midnight by the clear light of heaven. The scientific reader need not be informed, that within the arctic circle the sun is but a very short time beneath the horizon, during the summer solstice. The people of Fort Good Hope see him rising and setting behind the same hill; and in clear weather his rays shed a light above the horizon even after he is set; while during the winter solstice the same hill nearly conceals him from view. Yet the gentleman in charge of this post has passed two years without an inch of candle to light himself to bed; and his predecessor did the same; so that he has no reason to complain. On our way down we observed a land-slip, or avalanche of earth, that had just tumbled into the river. Mr. Lefroy examined the bank whence it had been detached, and found, by measurement, that the frozen ground was forty-six feet in depth! Our short sojourn at Fort Good Hope was rendered very unpleasant by the dismal weather; it continued snowing the whole time we remained. The storm abating, we embarked at an early hour, on the 31st of May, and had not proceeded above a few leagues, when a fair breeze sprang up, greatly to the satisfaction of all, but especially of the poor fellows whose toil it relieved. It continued increasing; reef after reef was taken in, till our sheet was finally reduced to a few feet in depth; yet so furious was the gale that we ascended the strongest current with nearly the same velocity we had descended; while the snow fell so thick, and the spray from the river was driven about so violently by the wind, that we could scarce see our way, and only escaped being dashed against the beach by keeping in the centre of the stream. It was also extremely cold; so that our situation in an open boat was not the most enviable. We arrived at Fort Norman on the 2d of June, about five, A.M., and remained until eleven, A.M., when we embarked, the gale still continuing with unabated violence. Immediately after leaving the Fort the gale carried away our mast; fortunate it was for us that it gave way, else the boat must have capsized. We soon got another mast from the Fort, and sped on our way night and day, if it can be said there is any night here, when the light is so powerful as to throw the stars into the shade. Without experiencing much change in wind or weather, we arrived at Fort Simpson on the 8th of June; having thus performed a voyage of about 1,400 miles (going and coming) in eleven days, including stoppages. I found Mr. Lewis so far recovered from the effects of his wound as to be able to take the same active part in the management of affairs as formerly. The returns from the different posts being now received, we found them to amount to upwards of 15,000l. in value, according to the tariff of last year. Everything being ready for our departure, we left Fort Simpson on the 15th of June, Mr. Lefroy embarking with us. We proceeded to Great Slave Lake without interruption, the weather extremely fine. Within a day's rowing of Fort Resolution we encountered a field of ice that arrested our progress, till a change of wind carried it out to sea. The moment a passage opened we observed a large canoe making for our encampment. It proved to be Mr. Lefroy's, which he had left with the most of his people at Athabasca. Mr. Lefroy embarked in his own craft, and we proceeded to Fort Resolution in company; and as he had determined on following a different route to Athabasca, we parted here, most probably never to meet again in this life. Few gentlemen ever visited this country who acquired so general esteem as Mr. Lefroy; his gentlemanly bearing and affable manners endeared him to us all. We arrived at Athabasca on the 5th of July, and at Portage La Loche on the 25th, where we found an increased number of half-breeds waiting our arrival. The brigade from York Factory arrived with the outfit on the 2d of August, and we exchanged cargoes with the utmost expedition, they receiving the returns of the district, and we the outfit brought by them. By this conveyance I received letters from the Governor, acquainting me "that another gentleman was appointed to the charge of McKenzie's River District, and that he (the Governor) could not conceive on what grounds I fancied myself to be the person so appointed, as he was certain I could not have arrived at such a conclusion from perusing the instructions I had received from him last year!" Until now I thought I understood the English language as well as most people; but the Governor makes it appear plainly enough that I ought still to confine myself to the old Celtic. The instructions above referred to being given in the foregoing pages, I shall leave the reader to form his own opinion of one who, in the high and honourable position of a Governor, could treat so ungenerously one whom he admitted to be a faithful and meritorious servant, and whom he had acknowledged to be deserving of preferment: and that not on the present only, but on several former occasions. This last insult I consider the climax to the wrongs I have so long suffered. First I am appointed in the usual terms to the charge of a district. I am allowed to continue in that opinion for a twelvemonth; I enter into correspondence with the gentlemen of the district as their future superintendent, and make my arrangements with them as such; and, _au bout du compte_, am ordered back to the same district to mix with the crowd, and submit to another master. I leave it to the reader to judge whether such a Governor could possibly have the interests of the Company at heart; even supposing for a moment there were no _injustice_ in the case; I leave it to him to consider what effect a conduct and measures so vacillating, unsteady and arbitrary, are likely to have on the service and interests of the Company. This last act of the Governor made me completely disgusted with a service where such acts could be tolerated. In no colony subject to the British Crown is there to be found an authority so despotic as is at this day exercised in the mercantile Colony of Rupert's Land; an authority combining the despotism of military rule with the strict surveillance and mean parsimony of the avaricious trader. From Labrador to Nootka Sound the unchecked, uncontrolled will of a single individual gives law to the land. As to the nominal Council which is yearly convoked for form's sake, the few individuals who compose it know better than to offer advice where none would be accepted; they know full well that the Governor has already determined on his own measures before one of them appears in his presence. Their assent is all that is expected of them, and that they never hesitate to give. Many years pass without such a thing as a legally constituted Council being held. A legal Council ought to consist of seven members besides the Governor; three chief factors and four chief traders. The Council, however, seldom consists of more than five members and the Governor. Some years ago, I happened to be at an establishment where a "Council" was about to be held. On inquiring of his Excellency's Secretary what subject of moment he thought would first engage their attention-- "Engage their attention!" he replied; "bless your heart, man! the minutes of Council were all drawn out before we arrived here; I have them in my pocket." Clothed with a power so unlimited, it is not to be wondered at that a man who rose from a humble situation should in the end forget what he was and play the tyrant. Let others, if they will, submit to be so ruled with a rod of iron. I at least shall not. In reply to his favour, I addressed the following letter to his Excellency, a transcript of which I transmitted to the Committee. "Portage La Loche, "_August_ 3, 1844. "To SIR GEORGE SIMPSON, Governor of Rupert's Land:-- "SIR--I have the honour to acknowledge your several favours from Lachine and Red River, and am mortified to learn by them you should think me so stupid as not to understand your letters on the subject of my appointment to the charge of the district; your language being so clear, in fact, as to admit of no other construction than the one I put upon it. By referring to the minutes of Council for 1843, I find myself appointed to Fort Good Hope for that year; but you wrote me subsequently to the breaking up of the Council, and used these words: 'That is now the finest field we have for the extension of trade, and I count much on your activity for promoting our views in that quarter. But while directing your attention to the extension of _your district_, you must also use your best endeavours to curtail the indents.' "Your letter to Mr. C.F. Lewis states, in nearly these words, that I 'am appointed to succeed him;' and you beg of him 'to deliver into my hands all the documents that refer to the affairs of the district.' Mr. Lewis understood your letters in the same sense as myself, and so did every other person who perused them. What your object may have been in altering this arrangement afterwards, is best known to yourself; and whether such conduct can be reconciled with the principles of honour and integrity which you so strongly recommend in others, and which are so necessary to the well-being of society, is a question which I shall leave for the present to your own decision; while I cannot avoid remarking, that the treatment I have experienced from you on this and on many other occasions, is as unworthy of yourself and as unworthy of the high station you fill, as I am undeserving of it. "When in 1837, I was congratulated by every member of Council then present at Norway House on the prospect of my immediate promotion, (having all voted for me,) your authority was interposed, and I was, as a matter of course, rejected. You were then candid enough to tell me that I should not have your interest until the two candidates you then had in view were provided for, and that it would then be my turn. With this assurance from you I cheerfully prepared for my _exile_ to _Ungava_. _My turn_ only came, however, after _seven_ other promotions had been made, and I found myself the last on the list of three gentlemen who were promoted at the same time. "You are pleased to jest with the hardships I experienced while battling the watch with opposition in the Montreal department, and the privations I afterwards endured in New Caledonia. Surely, Sir, you ought to have considered it sufficient to have made me your dupe, and not add insult to oppression. While in the Montreal department I have your handwriting to show your approval of my 'meritorious conduct,' the course I was pursuing being 'the direct road to preferment;' and your intention, even then, 'to recommend me to the favourable notice of the Governor and Committee;'--promises in which I placed implicit confidence at the time, being as yet a stranger to the ways of the world.--The result of these promises, however, was that the moment opposition had ceased, I was ordered to resign my situation to another, and march to enjoy the 'delectable scenery' of New Caledonia; from thence you sent me to Ungava, where you say you are not aware I experienced any particular hardship or privation. "You are aware of the circumstances in which I found myself when I arrived there: that consideration was not allowed to interpose between me and my duty, however; and I accordingly traversed that desolate country in the depth of winter,--a journey that nearly cost myself and my companions our lives. I then continued to explore the country during the entire period of my command, and finally succeeded in discovering a practicable communication with Esquimaux Bay, and in determining the question so long involved in uncertainty as to the riches the interior possessed, and by so doing saved an enormous expense to the concern. The Hon. Committee are aware of my exertions in that quarter, themselves, as I had the honour of being in direct communication with them while there. "I have the honour, &c. (Signed) "JOHN MCLEAN." CHAPTER XVII. SITUATION OF FORT SIMPSON--CLIMATE--THE LIARD--EFFECTS OF THE SPRING FLOODS--TRIBES INHABITING MACKENZIE'S RIVER DISTRICT--PECULIARITIES--DISTRESS THROUGH FAMINE--CANNIBALISM--ANECDOTE--FORT GOOD HOPE SAVED BY THE INTREPIDITY OF M. DECHAMBAULT--DISCOVERIES OF MR. CAMPBELL. Mr. Lewis embarked for York Factory on the 4th of August. I set out on my return on the 6th, and arrived at Fort Simpson on the 22d. Having prepared and sent off the outfit for the different posts with all possible expedition, I found myself afterwards at leisure to note down whatever I thought worthy of being recorded with reference to this section of the country. There are seven posts in this district; three on the River Liard and its tributaries; three on the banks of McKenzie's River, and one on Peel's River. About two degrees to the north of Good Hope, Fort Simpson, the dépôt of the district, is situated at the confluence of the Liard and McKenzie, in lat. 61° north. Heat and cold are here felt in the extremes; the thermometer frequently falls to 50° minus in winter, and rises sometimes to 100° in the shade in summer. The River Liard has its source in the south among the Rocky Mountains: its current is remarkably strong; and in the early part of summer, when swollen by the melting of the snow, it rushes down in a foaming torrent, and pours into the McKenzie, still covered with solid ice, when a scene ensues terrific and grand:--the ice, resisting for some time the force of the flood, ultimately gives way with the noise of thunder, and clashing, roaring and tumbling, it rolls furiously along until it accumulates to such an extent as to dam the river across. This again presents, for a time, a solid barrier to the flood, which is stopped in its course; it then rises sometimes to the height of thirty and forty feet, overflowing the adjacent country for miles, and levelling the largest trees with the ground. The effects of this frightful conflict are visible in all the lower grounds along the river. The trading posts are situated on the higher grounds, yet they are not secure from danger. Fort Good Hope was swept clean away some years ago, and its inmates only saved themselves by getting into a boat that happened fortunately to be at hand. The McKenzie opens about the end of May, and is ice-bound in November. The tribes who inhabit the banks of the McKenzie, and the interior parts of the district, are members of the powerful and numerous Chippewayan family, and are known by the names of Slaves, Dogribs, Rabbitskins, and Gens des Montagnes. The Loucheux, or Squint-Eyes, frequent the post on Peel's River, and speak a different language; their hunting-grounds are within the Russian boundary, and are supposed to be rich in fur-bearing animals. The Loucheux have no affinity with the Chippewayan tribes, nor with their neighbours, the Esquimaux, with whom, however, they maintain constant intercourse, though not always of the most friendly kind, violent quarrels frequently occurring between them. The various dialects spoken by the other tribes are intelligible to all; in manners, customs, and personal appearance, there is also the closest similarity. In one point, however, these tribes differ, not only from the parent tribe, but from all the other tribes of America;--they treat their women with the utmost kindness, the men performing all the drudgery that usually falls to the women. Here the men are the hewers of wood and drawers of water; they even clear away the snow for the encampment; and, in short, perform every laborious service. This is indeed passing strange;--the Chippewayans, and all other Indians, treat their women with harshness and cruelty; while the women on the banks of the McKenzie--Scotticé--"wear the breeks!" The Rabbitskins and Slaves are in truth a mild, harmless, and even a timid race; could it be this softness of disposition that induced the weaker sex first to dispute, and finally to assume the supremacy?--or what cause can be assigned for a trait so peculiar in this remotely situated portion of the Indian race? These tribes clothe themselves with the skins of rabbits, and feed on their flesh; when the rabbits fail, they are reduced to the greatest distress both for food and raiment. I saw a child that remained naked for several days after its birth, its parents having devoured every inch of their miserable dress that could be spared from their bodies: it was at last swaddled in crow's skins! These two tribes generally live near the banks of the great rivers, and seem disposed to pass their pilgrimage on earth with as little toil, and as little regard to comfort, as any people in being. They pass summer and winter in the open air; they huddle together in an encampment, without any other shelter from the inclemency of the weather than what is afforded by the spreading branches of some friendly pine, and use no more fire than what is barely sufficient to keep them from freezing. Their wants are few, and easily provided for; when they have killed a few deer to afford them sinews for making rabbit-snares, they may be said to be independent for the remainder of the season. Their work consists in setting those snares, carrying home the game caught in them, eating them when cooked, and then lying down to sleep. A taste, however, for articles of European manufacture is gaining ground among them, and to obtain those articles a more active life is necessary, so that some tolerable fur-hunters are now to be found among them. The Dogribs occupy the barren grounds that are around Great Bear Lake, and extend to the Copper-mine River. That part of the country abounds in rein-deer, whose skin and flesh afford food and raiment to the natives. They are a strong, athletic, well-formed race of Indians, and are considered more warlike than their neighbours, who evidently dread them. None of the Indians who frequent the posts on McKenzie's River have hereditary chiefs; the dignity is conferred by the gentlemen in charge of posts on the best hunters. On these occasions a suit of clothes is bestowed, the most valued article of which is a coat of coarse red cloth, decorated with lace; and, as the reward of extraordinary merit, a felt hat is added, ornamented in the same manner, with a feather stuck in the side of it. Thus equipped, the new-made chief sallies forth to receive the gratulations of his admiring friends and relatives, among whom the coat is ultimately divided, and probably finishes its course in the shape of a tobacco-pouch. In course of time, the individuals thus distinguished obtain some weight in the councils of their people, but their influence is very limited; the whole of the Chippewayan tribes seem averse to superior rule. Like the Esquimaux and Carriers, they seem to have had no idea of religion prior to the settlement of Europeans among them; all the terms they at present use in reference to the subject seem of recent origin, and invented by the interpreters. They name the Deity, "Ya ga ta-that-hee-hee,"--"The Man who reclines on the sky;" angels are called "the birds of the Deity,"--"ya gat he-be e Yadzé;" the devil, "Ha is linee," or, "the sorcerer." The Slaves and Rabbitskins have also their magicians, whom alone they fear and reverence. Polygamy is not common, yet there are instances of one man having two _female masters_. In times of famine the cravings of hunger often drive these poor Indians to desperation, when the feelings of humanity and of nature seem utterly eradicated. During the fearful distress of the two past years, a band of Slaves came to Fort Simpson in a condition not to be described. Many of them had perished by the way; but the history of one family is the most shocking I ever heard. The husband first destroyed the wife, and packed her up as provision for the journey. The supply proving insufficient, one of the children was next sacrificed. The cannibal was finally left by the party he accompanied with only one child remaining--a boy of seven or eight years of age. Mr. Lewis immediately despatched two men with some pemmican, to meet him; the aid came too late,--they found the monster roasting a part of his last child at the fire. Horrified at the sight, they uttered not a word, but threw the provisions into the encampment, and retreated as fast as they could. A few days afterwards this brute arrived strong and hearty, and appeared as unconcerned as if all had gone on well with him and his family. Cannibalism is more frequently known among the Slaves and Rabbitskins than any other of the kindred tribes; and it is said that women are generally the perpetrators of the crime; it is also said, that when once they have tasted of this unhallowed food they prefer it to every other. All the Chippewayan tribes dispose of their dead by placing them in tombs made of wood, and sufficiently strong to resist the attacks of wild beasts. The body is laid in the tomb at full length, without any particular direction being observed as to the head or feet. Neither they, nor any other Indians I am acquainted with, place their dead in a sitting posture. It is affirmed by some writers that the Indians have a tradition among them of the migration of their progenitors from east to west. I have had every opportunity of investigating the question, and able interpreters wherever I wintered; but I never could learn that any such tradition existed. Even in their tales and legends there is never any reference to a distant land; when questioned in regard to this, their invariable answer is, "Our fathers and our fathers' fathers have hunted on these lands ever since the flood, and we never heard of any other country till the whites came among us." These tribes have the same tradition in regard to the flood, that I heard among the Algonquins at the gates of Montreal, some trifling incidents excepted. Unlike most other Indians, the Slaves have no fixed bounds to their hunting-grounds, but roam at large, and kill whatever game comes in their way, without fear of their neighbours. The hunter who first finds a beaver-lodge claims it as his property, but his claim is not always respected. Besides the Indians enumerated in the preceding pages, a number of stragglers, but little known to us, occasionally resort to the post. A band of these--nine in number--made their appearance at Fort Norman this summer; and, after trading their furs, set out for Fort Good Hope, with the avowed intention of plundering the establishment, and carrying off all the women they could find. On arriving at the post they rushed in, their naked bodies blackened and painted after the manner of warriors bent on shedding blood; each carrying a gun and dirk in his hands. The chief, on being presented with the usual gratuity--a piece of tobacco, rudely refused it; and commenced a violent harangue against the whites, charging them with the death of all the Indians who had perished by hunger during the last three years; and finally challenged M. Dechambault, the gentleman in charge of the post, to single combat. M. Dechambault, _dicto citius_, instantly sprung upon him, and twisting his arm into his long hair, laid him at his feet; and pointing his dagger at his throat, dared him to utter another word. So sudden and unexpected was this intrepid act, that the rest of the party looked on in silent astonishment, without power to assist their fallen chief, or revenge his disgrace. M. Dechambault was too generous to strike a prostrate foe, even although a savage, but allowed the crest-fallen chief to get on his legs again; and thus the affair ended. The Company owe the safety of the establishment to Mr. D.'s intrepidity: had he hesitated to act at the decisive moment, the game was up with him, for he had only two lads with him, on whose aid he could place but little reliance. Mr. D. has been thirty years in the Company's service, and is still a _clerk_; but he is himself to blame for his want of promotion, having been so inconsiderate as to allow himself to be born in Canada, a crime which admits of no expiation. This district is at present by far the richest in furs of any in the country; this is owing partly to the indolence of the natives, and partly to the circumstance of the beaver in some localities being, through the barrenness of the surrounding country, inaccessible to the hunter. When the haunts of the animal become overcrowded, they send forth colonies to other quarters. At the first arrival of the Europeans, large animals, especially moose and wood rein-deer, were abundant everywhere. In those times the resources of the district were adequate to the supply of provisions for every purpose; whereas, of late years, we have been under the necessity of applying for assistance to other districts. A new field has lately been laid open for the extension of the trade of this district. An enterprising individual--Mr. R. Campbell--having been for several years employed in exploring the interior, last summer succeeded in finding his way to the west side of the Rocky Mountain chain. The defile he followed led him to the banks of a very large river, on which he embarked with his party of hardy pioneers; and following its course for several days through a charming country, rich in game of every description--elk, rein-deer, and beaver, he eventually fell in with Indians, who received them kindly, although they had never seen Europeans before. From them he learned that a party of whites, Russians of course, had ascended the river in the course of the summer, had quarrelled with the natives, and killed several of them; and that the whites had returned forthwith to the coast. These friendly Indians entreated Mr. C. to proceed no farther, representing that he and his party were sure to fall victims to their revenge. This, however, could not shake his resolution; he had set out with the determination of proceeding to the sea at all hazards, and no prospect of danger could turn him from it; till his party refused to proceed farther on any conditions, when he was compelled to return. The returns of this district have, for years past, averaged 12,000l. per annum; the outfit, including supplies for officers and servants, has not exceeded as many hundreds. The affairs of the different posts are managed by seven or eight clerks and postmasters; and there are about forty hired servants--Europeans, Canadians, and half-breeds; Indians are hired for the trip to the portage. The living for some years past has not been such as Gil Blas describes, as "fit to tickle the palate of a bishop;" at Fort Simpson we had, for the most part of the season, fish and potatoes for breakfast, potatoes and fish for dinner, and cakes made of flour and grease for supper. The fish procured in this quarter is of a very inferior quality. CHAPTER XVIII. MR. MACPHERSON ASSUMES THE COMMAND--I AM APPOINTED TO FORT LIARD, BUT EXCHANGE FOR GREAT SLAVE LAKE--THE INDIANS--RESOLVE TO QUIT THE SERVICE--PHENOMENA OF THE LAKE. On the 2d of October Mr. McPherson arrived from Canada, and I forthwith demitted the charge. I was now appointed to Fort Liard, but the season being far advanced, it had been found necessary to appoint another previously, whose arrangements for the season being completed, it was deemed expedient that I should pass the winter at Great Slave Lake; and I embarked for that station accordingly on the 4th, and arrived on the 16th. This post formerly belonged to Athabasca, but is now transferred to McKenzie's River district. The natives consist of Chippewayans, properly so called, and Yellow Knives, a kindred tribe; the former inhabit the wooded parts of the country, extending along the northern and eastern shores of the lake; and the latter, the opposite side extending towards the Arctic regions, where there is no wood to be found; it abounds, however, in rein-deer and musk oxen. The Yellow Knives were at one time a powerful and numerous tribe; but their number has been greatly diminished by a certain disease that lately prevailed among them, and proved peculiarly fatal. They also waged a short but bloody war with the Dogribs, that cost many lives. They muster at present between sixty and eighty men able to bear arms. The Chippewayans in this quarter are a shrewd sensible people, and evince an eager readiness to imitate the whites. Some years ago a Methodist Missionary visited Athabasca; and although he remained but a short time, his instructions seemed to have made a deep impression. They observe the Sabbath with great strictness, never stirring from their lodges to hunt, nor even to fetch home the game when killed, on that day; and they carefully abstain from all the grosser vices to which they formerly were addicted. What might not be expected of a people so docile, if they possessed the advantages of regular instruction! Having fortunately a supply of books with me, and other means of amusement, I found the winter glide away without suffering much from ennui; my health, however, proved very indifferent; and that circumstance alone would have been sufficient to induce me to quit this wretched country, even if my earlier prospects had been realized, as they have not been. From the accompt current, I find my income as chief trader for 1841 amounts to no more than 120l.: "Sic vos non vobis mellificatis apes;" and since things are come to this pass, it is high time I should endeavour to make honey for myself, in some other sphere of life. I therefore transmitted my resignation to head-quarters. I cannot close this chapter without mentioning a singular phenomenon which the lake presents in the winter season. The ice is never less than five feet in thickness, frequently from eight to nine; yet the water under this enormous crust not only feels the changes in the atmosphere, but anticipates them. An approaching change of wind or weather is known twenty-four hours before it occurs. For instance, while the weather is perfectly calm, if a storm be at hand, the lake becomes violently agitated the day before; when calm weather is to succeed, it is indicated in like manner by the previous stillness of the lake, even when the gale is still raging in the air. In summer there is no perceptible current in the lake; in winter, however, a current always sets in the direction of the wind, and indicates a change of wind by running in a different direction. These curious points have been ascertained by the long observation of our fishermen, who, in the beginning of winter, bore holes in the ice for the purpose of setting their lines, and visit them every day, both in order to keep them open, and to take up what fish may be caught. In consequence of the frequent shifting of the current, they experience no little difficulty in adjusting their lines, the current being occasionally so strong as to raise them to an angle of forty degrees. Thus, if the lines were too long, and the current not very strong, they would drag on the bottom; if too short, and the current strong, they would be driven up upon the ice. The approach of a storm is indicated, not by any heaving of the ice, but by the strength of the current, and the roaring of the waves under the ice, which is distinctly heard at a considerable distance, and is occasionally increased by the collision of detached masses of broken ice, which, in the earlier part of the season, have been driven under the main crust. CHAPTER XIX. REFLECTIONS--PROSPECTS IN THE SERVICE--DECREASE OF THE GAME--COMPANY'S POLICY IN CONSEQUENCE--APPEAL OF THE INDIANS--MEANS OF PRESERVING THEM, AND IMPROVING THEIR CONDITION--ABOLITION OF THE CHARTER--OBJECTIONS ANSWERED. The history of my career may serve as a warning to those who may be disposed to enter the Hudson's Bay Company's service. They may learn that, from the moment they embark in the Company's canoes at Lachine, or in their ships at Gravesend, they bid adieu to all that civilized man most values on earth. They bid adieu to their family and friends, probably for ever; for if they should remain long enough to attain the promotion that allows them the privilege of revisiting their native land--a period of from twenty to twenty-five years--what changes does not this life exhibit in a much shorter time? They bid adieu to all the comforts and conveniences of civilized life, to vegetate at some desolate, solitary post, hundreds of miles, perhaps, from any other human habitation, save the wig-wam of the savage; without any other society than that of their own thoughts, or of the two or three humble individuals who share their exile. They bid adieu to all the refinement and cultivation of civilized life, not unfrequently becoming semi-barbarians,--so altered in habits and sentiments, that they not only become attached to savage life, but eventually lose all relish for any other. I can give good authority for this. The Governor, writing me last year regarding some of my acquaintances who had recently retired, observes--"They are comfortably settled, but apparently at a loss what to do with themselves; and sigh for the Indian country, the squaws, and skins, and savages." Such are the rewards the Indian trader may expect;--add to these, in a few cases, the acquisition of some thousands, which, after forty years' exile, he has neither health, nor strength, nor taste to enjoy. Few instances have occurred of gentlemen retiring with a competency under thirty-five or forty years' servitude, even in the best days of the trade; what period may be required to attain that object in these times, is a question not easily solved. Up to 1840, one eighty-fifth share had averaged 400l. per annum; since then, however, the dividends have been on the decline, nor are they ever likely to reach the same amount, for several reasons,--the chief of which is the destruction of the fur-bearing animals. In certain parts of the country, it is the Company's policy to destroy them along the whole frontier; and our general instructions recommend that every effort be made to lay waste the country, so as to offer no inducement to petty traders to encroach on the Company's limits. Those instructions have indeed had the effect of ruining the country, but not of protecting the Company's domains. Along the Canadian frontier, the Indians, finding no more game on their own lands, push beyond the boundary, and not only hunt on the Company's territory, but carry a supply of goods with them, which they trade with the natives. Their Honours' fiat has also nearly swept away the fur animals on the west side of the Rocky Mountains; yet I doubt whether all this precaution will ensure the integrity of their domains. The Americans have taken possession of the Columbia, and will speedily multiply and increase: ere many years their trappers will be found scouring the interior, from the banks of the Columbia to New Caledonia, and probably penetrating to the east side of the Rocky Mountains. Should they do so, that valuable part of the country embraced by the Peace and McKenzie Rivers would soon be ruined; for the white trapper makes a clean sweep wherever he goes. Taking all these circumstances into consideration, I do not see any great probability--to say the least--that the trade will ever attain the prosperity of days bygone. Even in such parts of the country as the Company endeavour to preserve, both the fur-bearing and larger animals have of late become so scarce, that some tribes are under the necessity of quitting their usual hunting-grounds. A certain gentleman, in charge of a district to which some of those Indians withdrew, on being censured for harbouring them in his vicinity, writes thus:--"Pray, is it surprising, that poor Indians, whose lives are in jeopardy, should relish a taste of buffalo meat? It is not the Chippewayans alone that leave their lands to go in search of food to preserve their lives; the Strongwood Crees and Assineboines are all out in the plains, because, as they affirm, their usual hunting-grounds are so exhausted that they cannot live upon them. It is no wish of mine that those Indians should visit us--we have trouble enough with our own,--but to turn a poor Indian out of doors, who arrives at the Company's establishment nearly dead with hunger, is what I am not able to do." In the work already quoted I find it stated "that the Company have carefully nursed the various animals, removing their stations from the various districts where they had become scarce, and taking particular care to preserve the female while pregnant! instead, therefore, of being in a state of diminution, as generally supposed, the produce is increasing throughout their domains." Fudge! It is unnecessary to say, that if this statement were correct, we should not hear such distressing accounts of starvation throughout the country. No people can be more attached to their native soil than the Indians; and it is only the most pressing necessity that ever compels them to remove. In 1842 the Governor and Committee issued positive orders that the beavers should be preserved, and every effort made to prevent the Indians from killing them for a period of three years. This was, in a great measure, "shutting the stable door after the steed was stolen." The beavers had already been exterminated in many parts of the country; and even where some were yet to be found, our injunctions to the natives to preserve them had but little weight. To appease their hunger they killed whatever game came in their way, and as we were not permitted to buy the beaver skins, they either converted them into articles of clothing for themselves or threw them away. Now (1845) the restriction is removed, and the beavers have sensibly increased; but mark the result: the natives are not only encouraged but strenuously urged to hunt, in order that the parties interested may indemnify themselves for their lost time; and ere three years more shall have elapsed, the beaver will be found scarcer than ever. It is thus evident that whatever steps their Honours may take to preserve the game, the attainment of that object, in the present exhausted state of the country, is no longer practicable. As to the Company's having ever issued orders, or recommended any particular measures for the preservation of the larger animals, male or female, the statement is positively untrue. The minutes of the Council are considered the statutes of the land, and in them the provision districts are directed to furnish so many bags of pemmican, so many bales of dry meat, and so many cwt. of grease, every year; and no reference whatever is made to restrictions of any kind in killing the animals. The fact is, the provisions must be forthcoming whatever be the consequence; our business cannot be carried on without them. That the natives wantonly destroy the game in years of deep snow is true enough; but the snow fell to as great a depth before the advent of the whites as after, and the Indians were as prone to slaughter the animals then as now; yet game of every description abounded and want was unknown. To what cause then are we to ascribe the present scarcity? There can be but one answer--to the destruction of the animals which the prosecution of the fur-trade involves. As the country becomes impoverished, the Company reduce their outfits so as to ensure the same amount of profit,--an object utterly beyond their reach, although economy is pushed to the extreme of parsimony; and thus, while the game becomes scarcer, and the poor natives require more ammunition to procure their living, their means of obtaining it, instead of being increased, are lessened. As an instance of the effects of this policy, I shall mention what recently occurred in the Athabasca district. Up to 1842 the transport of the outfit required four boats, when it was reduced to three. The reduction in the article of ammunition was felt so severely by the Chippewayans, that the poor creatures, in absolute despair, planned a conspiracy to carry off the gentleman at the head of affairs, and retain him until the Company should restore the usual outfit. Despair alone could have suggested such an idea to the Chippewayans, for they have ever been the friends of the white man. Mr. Campbell, however, who had passed his life among them, conducted himself with so much firmness and judgment, that, although the natives had assembled in his hall with the intention of carrying their design into execution, the affair passed over without any violence being attempted. The general outfit for the whole northern department amounted in 1835, to 31,000l.; now (1845) it is reduced to 15,000l., of which one-third at least is absorbed by the stores at Red River settlement, and a considerable portion of the remainder by the officers and servants of the Company throughout the country. I do not believe that more than one half of the outfit goes to the Indians. While the resources of the country are thus becoming yearly more and more exhausted, the question naturally suggests itself, What is to become of the natives when their lands can no longer furnish the means of subsistence? This is indeed a serious question, and well worthy of the earnest attention of the philanthropist. While Britain makes such strenuous exertions in favour of the sable bondsmen of Africa, and lavishes her millions to free them from the yoke, can nothing be done for the once noble, but now degraded, aborigines of America? Are they to be left to the tender mercies of the trader until famine and disease sweep them from the earth? People of Britain! the Red Men of America thus appeal to you;--from the depths of their forest they send forth their cry-- "Brethren! beyond the Great Salt Lake, we, the Red Men of America salute you:-- "Brethren! "We hear that you are a great and a generous people; that you are as valiant as generous; and that you freely shed your blood and scatter your gold in defence of the weak and oppressed; if it be so, you will open your ears to our plaints. "Brethren! Our ancients still remember when the Red Men were numerous and happy; they remember the time when our lands abounded with game; when the young men went forth to the chase with glad hearts and vigorous limbs, and never returned empty; in those days our camps resounded with mirth and merriment; our youth danced and enjoyed themselves; they anointed their bodies with fat; the sun never set on a foodless wigwam, and want was unknown. "Brethren! When your kinsmen came first to us with guns, and ammunition, and other good things the work of your hands, we were glad and received them joyfully; our lands were then rich, and yielded with little toil both furs and provisions to exchange for the good things they brought us. "Brethren! Your kinsmen are still amongst us; they still bring us goods, and now we cannot want them; without guns and ammunition we must die. Brethren! our fathers were urged by the white men to hunt; our fathers listened to them; they ranged wood and plain to gratify their wishes; and now our lands are ruined, our children perish with hunger. "Brethren! We hear that you have another Great Chief who rules over you, to whom even our great trading Chief must bow; we hear that this great and good Chief desires the welfare of all his children; we hear that to him the white man and the red are alike, and, wonderful to be told! that he asks neither furs nor game in return for his bounty. Brethren! we feel that we can no longer exist as once we did; we implore your Great Chief to shield us in our present distress; we desire to be placed under his immediate care, and to be delivered from the rule of the trading Chief who only wants our furs, and cares nothing for our welfare. "Brethren! Some of your kinsmen visited us lately; they asked neither our furs nor our flesh; their sojourn was short; but we could see they were good men; they advised us for our good, and we listened to them. Brethren! We humbly beseech your Great Chief that he would send some of those good men to live amongst us: we desire to be taught to worship the Great Spirit in the way most pleasing to him: without teachers among us we cannot learn. We wish to be taught to till the ground, to sow and plant, and to perform whatever the good white people counsel us to do to preserve the lives of our children. "Brethren! We could say much more, but we have said enough,--we wish not to weary you. "Brethren! We are all the children of the Great Spirit; the red man and the white man were formed by him. And although we are still in darkness and misery, we know that all good flows from him. May he turn your hearts to pity the distress of your Red Brethren! Thus have we spoken to you." Such are the groans of the Indians. Would to Heaven they were heard by my countrymen as I have heard them! Would to Heaven that the misery I have witnessed were seen by them! The poor Indians then would not appeal to them in vain. I can scarcely hope that the voice of a humble, unknown individual, can reach the ears, or make any impression on the minds of those who have the supreme rule in Britain; but if there are there men of rank, and fortune, and influence, whose hearts sympathise with the misery and distress of their fellow-men, whatever be their country or hue--and, thank God! there are not a few--it is to those true Britons that I would appeal in behalf of the much-wronged Indians; the true and rightful owners of the American soil. If I am asked what I would suggest as the most effective means for saving the Indians, I answer: Let the Company's charter be abolished, and the portals of the territory be thrown wide open to every individual of capital and enterprise, under certain restrictions; let the British Government take into its hands the executive power of the territory, and appoint a governor, judges, and magistrates; let Missionaries be sent forth among the Indians;--already the whole of the Chippewayan tribes, from English River to New Caledonia, are disposed to adopt our religion as well as our customs, so that the Missionaries' work is half done. Let those of them who manifest a disposition to steady industry be encouraged to cultivate the ground: let such as evince any aptitude for mechanics be taught some handicraft, and congregated in villages, wherever favourable situations can be found--and there is no want of them. Let schools be established and supported by Government--not mere _common_ schools, where reading, writing, arithmetic, and perhaps some of the higher branches may be taught; but _training_ and _industrial_ schools. Where the soil or climate is unfit for husbandry, other means of improving their condition might be resorted to. In the barren grounds, bordering on the Arctic regions, rein-deer still abound. Why should not the Indians succeed in domesticating these animals, and rendering them subservient to their wants, as the Laplanders do? I have been informed that the Yellow Knives, and some of the other tribes inhabiting these desert tracts, have the art of taming the fawns, which they take in great numbers while swimming after their dams, so that they follow them like dogs till they see fit to kill them. Such, in brief, are the measures which, after much experience, and long and serious consideration, I would venture to propose in behalf of the Indians; and most happy shall I be if anything I have said shall have the effect of awakening the public interest to their condition; or form the groundwork of any plan which, by the blessing of God, may have the effect of preserving and christianizing the remnants of these unhappy tribes. It may be objected, that the Company have had their charter renewed for a period of twenty-one years, which does not expire till 1863; and that Government is bound in honour to sustain the validity of the deed. But if Government is bound to protect the _interests_ of the Hudson's Bay Company, is it less bound to protect the _property_ and _lives_ of their weak, ignorant, and wronged subjects? The validity of the original charter, the foundation of the present, is, however, more than questioned: nay, it has been declared by high authority to be null and void. Admitting its validity, and admitting that the dictates of honour call for the fulfilment of the charter in guarding the _profits_ of the few individuals (and their dependants) who assemble weekly in the old house in Fenchurch Street; are we to turn a deaf ear to the still small voice of justice and humanity pleading in behalf of the numerous tribes of perishing Indians? Now, now is the time to apply the remedy; in 1863, where will the Indian be? If it is urged that the measures I propose violate the charter, deprive the Company of their sovereignty, and reduce them to the situation of subjects; still, I say, they will have vast advantages over every other competitor. Their ample resources, their long exclusive possession of the trade, their experience, the skill and activity of their agents, will long, perhaps permanently, secure to them the greatest portion of the trade; while the Indians will be greatly benefited by a free competition. If it be urged that the profits will be so much reduced by competition, that the trade will not be worth pursuing; I answer, that competition has certainly a natural tendency to reduce profits; but experience proves that it has also a tendency to reduce costs. A monopolist company never goes very economically to work; and, although much economy, or rather parsimony, of a very questionable and impolitic kind, has been of late years attempted to be introduced into the management of the Hudson's Bay Company's affairs, a free and fair competition will suggest economy of a sounder kind--the facilitating of transport, the improvement of portages, and the saving of labour. Where are the evils which interested alarmists predicted would follow the modification of the East India Company's charter? I have spoken of restrictions to be imposed on those who engage in the trade. These are;--that no one be allowed to engage in it without a licence from Government;--that these licensed traders should be confined to a certain locality, beyond which they should not move, on any pretext;--and that no spirituous liquors should be sold or given to the Indians under the severest penalties--such as the forfeiture of the offender's licence, and of their right to participate in the trade in all time coming. CHAPTER XX. WESLEYAN MISSION--MR. EVANS--ENCOURAGEMENT GIVEN BY THE COMPANY--MR. EVANS'S EXERTIONS AMONG THE INDIANS--CAUSES OF THE WITHDRAWAL OF THE COMPANY'S SUPPORT--CALUMNIOUS CHARGES AGAINST MR. EVANS--MR. E. GOES TO ENGLAND--HIS SUDDEN DEATH. Allusion has been made in a former chapter to the Company's encouragement of Missionaries; I shall now add a few facts by way of illustration. The Rev. Mr. Evans, a man no less remarkable for genuine piety than for energy and decision of character, had been present at several of the annual meetings of the Indians at Manitoulin Island, and had felt his sympathy deeply awakened by the sight of their degradation and spiritual destitution. While thus affected, he received an invitation from the American Episcopal Methodists to go as a Missionary among the Indians resident in the Union. Feeling, however, that his services were rather due to his fellow-subjects, he resolved to devote his labours and his life to the tribes residing in the Hudson's Bay territory. Having made known his intentions to this Canada Conference, he, together with Messrs. Thomas Hurlburt, and Peter Jacobs, was by them appointed a Missionary, and at their charges sent to that territory. No application was made to the Company, and neither encouragement nor support was expected from them. Mr. E. and his brother Missionaries began their operations by raising with their own hands, unassisted, a house at the Pic; themselves cutting and hauling the timber on the ice. They obtained, indeed, a temporary lodging at Fort Michipicoton, but they not only found their own provisions, but the comforts of the establishment were materially increased by Mr. E.'s and his interpreter's success in fishing and hunting. Late in the fall, accompanied by two Indian boys in a small canoe, Mr. E. made a voyage to Sault Ste. Marie for provisions: and on this expedition, rendered doubly hazardous by the lateness of the season, and the inexperience of his companions, he more than once narrowly escaped being lost. Returning next season to Canada for his family, he met Sir G. Simpson, on Lake Superior. Having learned that the Mission was already established, and likely to succeed, Sir George received him with the utmost urbanity, treating him not only with kindness but with distinction; he expressed the highest satisfaction at the establishment of the Mission, promised him his utmost support, and at length proposed that arrangement, which, however apparently auspicious for the infant Mission, was ultimately found to be very prejudicial to it. The caution of Mr. E. was completely lulled asleep by the apparent kindness of the Governor, and the hearty warmth with which he seemed to enter into his views. Sir George proposed that the Missionaries should hold the same rank and receive the same allowance as the wintering partners, or commissioned officers; and that canoes, or other means of conveyance, should be furnished to the Missionaries for their expeditions; nor did it seem unreasonable to stipulate that in return for these substantial benefits, they should say or do nothing prejudicial to the Company's interests either among the natives, or in their Reports to the Conference in England, to whose jurisdiction the Mission was transferred. The great evil of this arrangement was, that the Missionaries, from being the servants of God, accountable to Him alone, became the servants of the Hudson's Bay Company, dependent on, and amenable to them; and the Committee were of course to be the sole judges of what was, or was not, prejudicial to their interests. Still, it is impossible to blame very severely either Mr. E. or the Conference for accepting offers apparently so advantageous, or even for consenting to certain restrictions in publishing their Reports:--with the assistance and co-operation of the Company great good might be effected;--with the hostility of a Corporation all but omnipotent within its own domain, and among the Indians, the post might not be tenable. For some time matters went on smoothly: by the indefatigable exertions of Mr. E. and his fellow-workers, aided also by Mrs. E., who devoted much of her time and labour to the instruction of the females, a great reformation was effected in the habits and morals of the Indians. But Mr. Evans soon perceived that without books printed in the Indian language, little permanent good would be realized: he therefore wrote to the London Conference to send him a printing press and types, with characters of a simple phonetic kind, which he himself had invented, and of which he gave them a copy. The press was procured without delay, but was detained in London by the Governor and Committee; and though they were again and again petitioned to forward it, they flatly refused. Mr. E., however, was not a man to be turned aside from his purpose. With his characteristic energy he set to work, and having invented an alphabet of a more simple kind, he with his penknife cut the types, and formed the letters from musket bullets; he constructed a rude sort of press; and aided by Mrs. E. as compositor, he at length succeeded in printing prayers, and hymns, and passages of Scripture for the use of the Indians. Finding their object in detaining the press thus baffled, the Governor and Committee deemed it expedient to forward it; but with the express stipulation, that every thing printed should be sent to the commander of the post as _censor_, before it was published among the Indians. This was among the first causes of distrust and dissatisfaction. Another source of dissatisfaction was Mr. E.'s faithfulness in regard to the observance of the sabbath. As the Indians became more enlightened they ceased to hunt and fish, and even to carry home game on the sabbath day; and, as a matter of course, they would no longer work for the Company on that day. But Mr. E. was guilty of equal faithfulness in remonstrating with those gentlemen in the service with whom he was on terms of intimacy in regard to this point of the Divine law; and several gentlemen, convinced by his arguments, determined to cease from working and travelling on the sabbath. One of them, Mr. C----l, while on a distant expedition, acted in accordance with his convictions, and rested on the sabbath. The voyage turned out unusually stormy, and the water in the rivers was low, so that it occupied several days longer than it had formerly done; and the loss of time, which was really owing to the adverse weather, was charged on his keeping of the sabbath. From that day forth, the encouragement given to the Missionaries began to be withdrawn; obstacles were thrown in their way, and although nothing was openly done to injure the Missions already in operation, it would seem that it was determined that, if the Company could prevent it, no new stations should be occupied--at least by _Protestant_ Missionaries. Not long after, Mr. E., finding that the Missions he had hitherto superintended were in such a state of progress that he might safely leave them to the care of his fellow-labourers, resolved to proceed to Athabasca and establish a mission there. Having gone, as usual, to the Commander of the post to obtain the necessary provisions, and a canoe and boatmen, he was received with unusual coldness. He asked provisions,--none could be given; he offered to purchase them,--the commander refused to sell him any. He begged a canoe,--it was denied him; and finally, when he intreated that, if he should be able to procure those necessaries elsewhere, he might at least be allowed a couple of men to assist him on the voyage, he was answered that none would be allowed to go on that service. Deeply grieved, but nothing daunted, Mr. E. procured those necessaries from private resources, and proceeded on his voyage. But a sad calamity put a stop to it; in handing his gun to the interpreter it accidentally went off, and the charge lodging in his breast killed him instantaneously. He was thus compelled to return, in a state of mind bordering on distraction. Mr. E.'s zeal and piety promised the best results to the spiritual and eternal interests of his Indian brethren. His talents, energy, and fertility of resource, which seemed to rise with every obstacle, had the happiest effects on their temporal well-being; and his mild and winning manners greatly endeared him to all the Indians. But his useful and honourable career was drawing to a close. The mournful accident already alluded to had affected his health, and he now received his deathblow. Yet, obnoxious as he had become to the Company, and formidable to their interests as they might deem one of his talents and indomitable resolution to be, the blow was not struck by them. It was dealt by a _false_ brother; by one who had eaten of his bread: by a "familiar friend, with whom he had taken sweet counsel." Charges affecting his character, both as a man and a minister, of the foulest and blackest kind, were transmitted to the Conference by a brother Missionary. To answer these charges, as false as they were foul, he was compelled to leave the churches he had planted and watered, to bid adieu to the people whose salvation had been for years the sole object of his life, and to undertake a voyage of 5,000 miles to appear before his brethren as a _criminal_. As a criminal, indeed, he was received; yet after an investigation, begun and carried on in no very friendly spirit to him, truth prevailed. He was declared innocent, and the right hand of fellowship was again extended to him. He made a short tour through England, and was everywhere received with respect, and affection, and sympathy. But anxiety, and grief, and shame had done their work. Scarce three weeks had elapsed, when, having spent the evening along with Mrs. E. in the family of a friend, whose guest he was, with some of his wonted cheerfulness, Mrs. E. having retired but a few minutes, she was summoned to the room where she had left him in time to see him pass into that land where "the wicked cease from troubling." The cause of his death was an _affection of the heart_. And that man--the slanderer--the murderer of this martyred Missionary--what punishment was inflicted on him? He is to this day unpunished! and yet lives in the Hudson's Bay territory, the disgrace and opprobrium of his profession and his church. Such are a few facts connected with the establishment of the Wesleyan Mission in the Hudson's Bay territory, and illustrative of the sort of encouragement given by the Committee to Protestant Missionaries. By way of rider to these, I may just remind the reader that Roman Catholic Missionaries have since been freely permitted to plant churches wherever they pleased, even in districts where Protestant Missions were already established. After all, this is not much to be wondered at, since Sir G. Simpson openly avowed to Mr. Evans his preference of Roman Catholic Missionaries; one reason for this preference being, that these never interfered with the Company's servants, nor troubled them with any precise or puritanical notions about the moral law. CHAPTER XXI. SKETCH OF RED RIVER SETTLEMENT. RED RIVER--SOILS--CLIMATE--PRODUCTIONS--SETTLEMENT OF RED RIVER, THROUGH LORD SELKIRK, BY HIGHLANDERS--COLLISION BETWEEN THE NORTH-WEST AND HUDSON'S BAY COMPANIES--INUNDATION--ITS EFFECTS--FRENCH HALF-BREEDS--BUFFALO-HUNTING--ENGLISH HALF-BREEDS--INDIANS--CHURCHES--SCHOOLS--STORES--MARKET FOR PRODUCE--COMMUNICATION BY LAKES. Red River rises in swamps and small lakes in the distant plains of the south; and after receiving a number of tributary streams that serve to fertilize and beautify as fine a tract of land as the world possesses, discharges itself into the eastern extremity of Lake Winnipeg in lat. 50°. The climate is much the same as in the midland districts of Canada; the river is generally frozen across about the beginning of November, and open about the beginning of April. The soil along the banks of the river is of the richest vegetable mould, and of so great a depth that crops of wheat are produced for several years without the application of manure. The banks produce oak, elm, maple, and ash; the woods extend rather more than a mile inland. The farms of the first settlers are now nearly clear of wood; an open plain succeeds of from four to six miles in breadth, affording excellent pasture. Woods and plains alternate afterwards until you reach the boundless prairie. The woods produce a variety of delicious fruits, delighting the eye and gratifying the taste of the inhabitants; cherries, plums, gooseberries, currants, grapes, and sasgatum berries in great abundance. Coal has been discovered in several places, and also salt springs. Lord Selkirk having been made acquainted with the natural advantages of this favoured country by his North-West hosts in Montreal, determined forthwith on adopting such measures as might ensure to himself and heirs the possession of it for ever. Accordingly, on his return to England, he purchased Hudson's Bay Company's stock to an amount that enabled him to control the decisions of the Committee; and thus, covered by the shield of the charter, he could carry on his premeditated schemes of aggression against the North-West Company, with some appearance of justice on his side. With the view of carrying out these schemes, he proceeded to the North of Scotland, and prevailed on a body of Highlanders to emigrate to Red River. To induce them to quit their native land, the most flattering prospects were held out to them; the moment they set their foot in this land of promise, the hardships and privations to which they had hitherto been subject, would disappear; the poor man would exchange his "potato patch" for a fine estate; the gentleman would become a ruler and a judge in--Assineboine! Who could doubt the fulfilment of the promises of a British peer? His Lordship, therefore, soon collected the required number of emigrants--for the Highlander of the present day gladly embraces any opportunity of quitting a country that no longer affords him bread. At the period in question, Red River district furnished the principal part of the provisions required by the North-West Company, and was a wilderness, inhabited only by wandering Indians, and abounding in the larger animals--elk and rein-deer in the woods, and buffalo in the plains. As Red River flows into Lake Winnipeg, which discharges itself by Neilson's river into Hudson's Bay, and could therefore be included within the territory granted by the charter, our noble trader concluded that, by taking formal possession of the country, he would obtain the right of expelling other adventurers, merely by warning them off the Company's grounds; and that, if the warning were disregarded, he could claim the aid of Government to enforce his rights, and thus ruin the North-West Company at a blow. His Lordship's Governor was therefore instructed to issue a proclamation, prohibiting the North-West Company by name, and all others, from carrying on any species of trade within Red River district, and ordering such establishments as had been formed to be abandoned. The North-Westers read the proclamation, and--prosecuted their business as before. In such circumstances quarrels were unavoidable, but they were generally settled with _ink_; a collision ultimately took place that led to the shedding of blood. The North-Westers had collected a large supply of provisions at their dépôt, and were about to forward it to the place of embarkation, when they were informed--falsely, as it afterwards appeared,--that the Governor intended to waylay and seize the provisions. A report, equally false, was brought to the Governor, that the North-Westers had assembled a strong force of half-breeds to attack the fort. These lying rumours led to an unhappy catastrophe. The Governor sent out scouts to watch the North-West party; and ascertaining that they were on their march with an unusual force,--which they had brought in order to repel the attack which they supposed was to be made upon them,--he seized his arms, and marched with his whole party to meet them. The North-Westers seeing them approach, halted, and standing to their arms, sent forward one of their number to demand whether Mr. Semple and his party were for peace or war. During the interview a shot was fired--it is a matter in dispute to this day who fired it--the half-breeds immediately poured a volley into the ranks of their opponents, and brought down nearly all the gentlemen of the party, including the unfortunate Governor; the remainder fled to the fort, so closely pursued, that friend and foe entered together. Thus the poor settlers found themselves suddenly surrounded by all the horrors of war; their anticipated paradise converted into a field of blood; husbands and brothers killed; their little property pillaged, and their persons in the power of their enemies. An arrangement, however, was entered into by the rival Companies, that allowed the emigrants to take possession of the lands allotted to them, and in the course of a few years their labour had made a sensible impression on the forest. Cattle were sent out from England; pigs and poultry followed, and honest Donald was beginning to find himself at his ease, when, lo! all his dreams of future wealth and happiness vanished in a moment. Red River overflowed its banks, and inundated the whole settlement. This extraordinary flood caused immense loss; it overthrew houses, swept away the cattle, and utterly ruined the crops of the season. The buffaloes, however, proved abundant, and afforded a supply of provisions enough to prevent starvation, and the settlers soon recovered from the effects of this misfortune. Another calamity followed--the caterpillar appeared--at first in small numbers, afterwards in myriads, covering the whole land, and eating up "every green thing," and thus the crops were destroyed a second time; but the consequences were not so severely felt as formerly; the preceding season had proved extremely abundant, and a sufficient quantity remained to supply the failure of this year. Since that time the colony has advanced rapidly, enjoying undisturbed peace; industry has its sure reward in the abundance of all the necessaries of life which it procures. Since the coalition took place, Red River has become the favourite retreat of the Company's servants, especially of those who have families; here they obtain lands almost at a nominal price. A lot of one mile in length and six chains in breadth, costs only 18l.; and they find themselves surrounded by people of congenial habits with themselves, the companions of their youth, and fellow-adventurers; those with whom they tugged at the oar, and shared the toil of the winter march; and when they meet together to smoke the social pipe, and talk of the scenes of earlier days, "nor prince nor prelate" can enjoy more happiness. The last census, taken in 1836, gave the population at 5,000 souls; it may now (1845) amount to 7,000. Of this number a very small proportion is Scotch, about forty families, and perhaps 300 souls. The Scotch carried with them the frugal and industrious habits of their country; the same qualities characterise their children, who are far in advance of their neighbours in all that constitutes the comforts of life. These advantages they owe, under the blessing of Providence, to their own good management; yet, notwithstanding this, and notwithstanding that they are a quiet and a moral people, they are objects of envy and hatred to their hybrid neighbours; and thus my industrious and worthy countrymen, in the possession of almost every other blessing which they could desire, are still unhappy from the malice and ill-will they meet with on every side; and being so inferior in numbers, they must submit to the insults and abuse they are daily exposed to, while the blood boils in their veins to resent them. Thus situated, many of them have abandoned the settlement and gone to the United States, where they enjoy the fruits of their industry in peace. The French half-breeds and retired Canadian voyageurs occupy the upper part of the settlement. The half-breeds are strongly attached to the roving life of the hunter; the greater part of them depend entirely on the chase for a living, and even the few who attend to farming take a trip to the plains, to feast on buffalo humps and marrow fat. They sow their little patches of ground early in spring, and then set out for the chase, taking wives and children along with them, and leaving only the aged and infirm at home to attend to the crops. When they set out for the plains, they observe all the order and regularity of a military march; officers being chosen for the enforcement of discipline, who are subject to the orders of a chief, whom they style "M. le Commandant." They take their departure from the settlement about the latter end of June, to the number of from 1,200 to 1,500 souls; each hunter possesses at least six carts, and some twelve; the whole number may amount to 5,000 carts. Besides his riding nag and cart horses, he has also at least one buffalo runner, which he never mounts until he is about to charge the buffalo. The "runner" is tended with all the care which the cavalier of old bestowed on his war steed; his housing and trappings are garnished with beads and porcupine quills, exhibiting all the skill which the hunter's wife or belle can exercise; while head and tail display all the colours of the rainbow in the variety of ribbon attached to them. The "Commandant" directs the movements of the whole cavalcade: at a signal given in the morning by sound of trumpet--_alias_, by blowing a horn,--the hunters start together for their horses; while the women and servants strike the tents, and pack up and load the baggage. The horses being all collected, a second blast forms the order of march; the carts fall in, four abreast; the hunters mount; and dividing into their different bodies, one precedes the baggage, another closes the line, and a third divides in both flanks. The third blast is the signal for marching. They halt about two hours at noon, for the purpose of allowing their cattle time to feed; and the same order is observed as in starting in the morning. When they encamp at night, the carts are placed in a circle; and the tents are pitched within the enclosed space, so as to form regular streets; the horses are "hobbled" and turned loose to graze. All the arrangements for the night being completed, guards are appointed to watch over the safety of the camp, who are relieved at fixed hours. In this manner they proceed until they approach the buffalo grounds, when scouts are sent out to ascertain the spot where the herd may be found. The joyful discovery being made, the scouts apprise the main body by galloping backwards and forwards, when a halt is immediately ordered. The camp is pitched; the hunters mount their runners; and the whole being formed into an extended line, with the utmost regularity, they set forward at a hand gallop; not a soul advances an inch in front of the line, until within gun-shot of the herd, when they rein up for a moment. The whole body then, as if with one voice, shout the war whoop, and rush on the herd at full gallop; each hunter, singling out an animal, pursues it until he finds an opportunity of taking sure aim; the animal being dispatched, some article is dropped upon it that can be afterwards recognised. The hunter immediately sets off in chase of another, priming, loading, and taking aim at full speed. A first-rate runner not unfrequently secures ten buffaloes at a "course;" from four to eight is the usual number. He who draws the first blood claims the animal, and each individual hunter is allowed whatever he kills. The moment the firing commences, the women set out with the carts, and cut up and convey the meat to the camp; where it is dried by means of bones and fat. Two or three days are required for the operation, when they set out again; and the same herd, perhaps, yields a sufficient quantity to load all the carts, each carrying about one thousand pounds,--an enormous quantity in the aggregate; yet the herd is sometimes so numerous that all this slaughter does not seem to diminish it. The buffalo hunt affords much of the excitement, and some of the dangers, of the battle-field. The horses are often gored by the infuriated bulls, to the great peril--sometimes to the loss--of the rider's life; serious accidents too happen from falls. There are no better horsemen in the world than the Red River "brulés;" and so long as the horse keeps on his legs, the rider sticks to him. The falls are chiefly occasioned by the deep holes the badger digs all over the prairies; if the horse plunges into one of these, both horse and man roll on the ground. Fatal accidents, also, occasionally happen from gun shots in the _melée_; and it is said, I know not with what truth, that a wronged husband, or a supplanted lover, sometimes avails himself of the opportunity presented by the _melée_ to miss the buffalo, and hit a friend--by _accident_. A priest generally accompanies the camp, and mass is celebrated with becoming solemnity on Sundays. The "brulés" attend, looking very serious and grave until a herd of buffaloes appear; when the cry of "La vache! la vache!" scatters the congregation in an instant; away they scamper, old and young, leaving the priest to preach to the winds, or perhaps to a few women and children. Two trips in the year are generally made to the prairie; the latter in August. The buffalo hunter's life assimilates more to that of the savage than of the civilized man; it is a life of alternate plenty and want--a life also of danger and inquietude. The Indians of the plain view the encroachment of the strange race on their hunting grounds, with feelings of jealousy and enmity. They are, accordingly, continually on the alert; they attack detached parties and stragglers; they also set fire to the prairies about the time the "brulés" set out for the hunt, and by this means drive the game beyond their reach. Owing to this circumstance, the "brulés" have returned with empty carts for these two years past; and their only resource has been to betake themselves to the woods, and live after the manner of the Indians. Could they find a sure market for the produce of the soil, so as to remunerate their labour, there can be little doubt but that they might be gradually detached from the half-savage life they lead, and become as steady and industrious as their neighbours. The English half-breeds, as the mixed progeny of the British are designated, possess many of the characteristics of their fathers; they generally prefer the more certain pursuit of husbandry to the chase, and follow close on the heels of the Scotch in the path of industry and moral rectitude. Very few of them resort to the plains, unless for the purpose of trafficking the produce of their farms for the produce of the chase; and it is said that they frequently return home better supplied with meat than the hunters themselves. The Indians who have been converted to the Protestant religion, are settled around their respected pastor at the lower extremity of the settlement, within twenty miles of the mouth of the river. The Sauteux, of all other tribes, are the most tenacious of their own superstitions; and it would require all the zeal and patience and perseverance of the primitive teachers of Christianity to wean them from them. But when convinced of his errors, the Sauteux convert is the more steadfast in his faith; and his steadfastness and sincerity prove an ample reward to his spiritual father for his pains and anxiety on his behalf. The Indian converts are entirely guided by their Missionary in temporal as well as in spiritual things. When he first came among them, he found their habits of indolence so deep-rooted, that something more than advice was necessary to produce the desired change. Like Oberlin, therefore, he set before them the example of a laborious and industrious life; he tilled, he sowed, he planted, he reaped with his own hands, and afterwards shared his produce with them. By persevering in this, he succeeded in finally gaining them to his views; and, at the present moment, their settlement is in as forward a state of improvement as any of the neighbouring settlements. They have their mills, and barns, and dwelling-houses; their horses, and cattle, and well-cultivated fields:--a happy change! A few years ago, these same Indians were a wretched, vagabond race; "hewers of wood and drawers of water" for the other settlers, as their pagan brethren still are; they wandered about from house to house, half-starved, and half-naked; and even in this state of abject misery, preferring a glass of "fire-water" to food and raiment for themselves or their children. There are at present three ministers of the episcopal communion at Red River. The Scotch inhabitants attend the church regularly, although they sigh after the form of worship to which they had been accustomed in early youth; they, however, assemble afterwards in their own houses to read the Scriptures, and worship God after the manner of their fathers. There are also three Roman Catholic clergymen, including a bishop;--good, exemplary men, whose "constant care" is not "to increase their store," but to guide and direct their flocks in the paths of piety and virtue. But, alas! they have a stiff-necked people to deal with;--the French half-breed, who follows the hunter's life, possesses all the worst vices of his European and Indian progenitors, and is indifferent alike to the laws of God and man. There are, in all, seven places of worship, three Roman Catholic, and four Protestant, including two for the Indians. The education of the more respectable families, particularly those of the Company's officers, is well provided for at an institution of great merit; the gentleman who presides over it being every way qualified for the important trust. The different branches of mathematical and classical learning are taught in it; and the school has already produced some excellent scholars. In addition to the more useful branches of female education, the young ladies are taught music and drawing by a respectable person of their own sex. Thus we have, in the midst of this remote wilderness of the North-West, all the elements of civilized life; and there are there many young persons of both sexes, well educated and accomplished, who have never seen the civilized world. There are also thirteen schools for the children of the lower class, supported entirely by the parents themselves. The Company have here two shops (or stores), well supplied with every description of goods the inhabitants can require; there are besides several merchants scattered through the settlement, some of whom are said to be in easy circumstances. The Company's bills constitute the circulating medium, and are issued for the value of from one to twenty shillings. Of late years, a considerable amount of American specie has found its way into the settlement, probably in exchange for furs clandestinely disposed of by the merchants beyond the line. The petty merchants import their goods from England by the Company's ships; an _ad valorem_ duty is imposed on these goods, the proceeds of which are applied to the payment of the constabulary force of the colony. The Company's charter invests it with the entire jurisdiction, executive and judicial, of the colony. The local Governor and Council enact such simple statutes as the primitive condition of the settlement requires; and those enactments have hitherto proved equal to the maintenance of good order. A court of quarter sessions is regularly held for the administration of justice, and the Company have lately appointed a Recorder to preside over it. It is gratifying to learn, that this functionary has had occasion to pass judgment on no very flagitious crime since his appointment. In the work to which I have so frequently referred, it is mentioned, that a "certain market is secured to the inhabitants by the demand for provisions for the other settlements." If by "settlements" the miserable trading posts be meant, as it must be, I know not on what grounds such an affirmation is made. A sure market, forsooth! A single Scotch farmer could be found in the colony, able alone to supply the greater part of the produce the Company require; there is one, in fact, who offered to do it. If a sure market were secured to the colonists of Red River, they would speedily become the wealthiest yeomanry in the world. Their barns and granaries are always full to overflowing; so abundant are the crops, that many of the farmers could subsist for a period of two or even three years, without putting a grain of seed in the ground. The Company purchase from six to eight bushels of wheat from each farmer, at the rate of three shillings per bushel; and the sum total of their yearly purchases from the whole settlement amounts to-- 600 cwt. flour, first and second quality. 35 bushels rough barley. 10 half-firkins butter, 28 lbs. each. 10 bushels Indian corn. 200 cwt. best kiln-dried flour. 60 firkins butter, 56 lbs. each. 240 lbs. cheese. 60 hams. Thus it happens that the Red River farmer finds a "sure market" for six or eight bushels of wheat--and no more. Where he finds a sure market for the remainder of his produce, Heaven only knows--I do not. This much, however, I do know,--that the incomparable advantages this delightful country possesses are not only in a great measure lost to the inhabitants, but also to the world, so long as it remains under the domination of its fur-trading rulers. In the possession of, and subject to the immediate jurisdiction of the Crown, Assineboine would become a great and a flourishing colony--the centre of civilization and Christianity to the surrounding tribes, who would be converted from hostile barbarians into a civilized and loyal people;--and thus Great Britain would extend and establish her dominion in a portion of her empire that may be said to have been hitherto unknown to her, while she would open a new field for the enterprise and industry of her sons. In describing the advantages of this country, candour requires that I should also point out its disadvantages. The chief disadvantage is the difficulty of the communication with the sea, interrupted as it is by shoals, rapids, and falls, which in their present state can only be surmounted with incredible toil and labour. Yet there cannot be a doubt that the skill of the engineer could effect such improvements as would obviate the most, if not the whole, of this labour, and that at no very great cost. The distance from the mouth of Red River to York Factory is about 550 miles; 300 miles of this distance is formed of lakes--(Lake Winnipeg, 250 miles in length, is navigable for vessels of forty and fifty tons burden). The greater part of the river communication might be rendered passable by Durham boats, merely by damming up the rivers. Along the line of communication, many situations may be found suitable for farming operations. CHAPTER XXII. SIR G. SIMPSON--HIS ADMINISTRATION. Sir George Simpson commenced his career as a clerk in a respectable counting-house in London, where his talents soon advanced him to the first seat at the desk. He was in this situation when first introduced to the notice of a member of the Committee of the Hudson's Bay Company, who were at that time engaged in the ruinous competition with the North-West Company already referred to. While the contest was at its height, the Company sent out Mr. Simpson as Governor of the Northern department;--an appointment for which, by his abilities natural and acquired, he was well qualified. Mr. Simpson combined with the prepossessing manners of a gentleman all the craft and subtlety of an intriguing courtier; while his cold and callous heart was incapable of sympathising with the woes and pains of his fellow-men. On his first arrival, he carefully concealed from those whom he was about to supersede, the powers with which he was invested; he studied the characters of individuals, scrutinized in secret their mode of managing affairs, and when he had made himself fully acquainted with every particular he desired to know, he produced his commission;--a circumstance that proved as unexpected as it was unsatisfactory to those whose interests it affected. Making every allowance for Sir George's abilities, he is evidently one of those men whom the blind goddess "delighteth to honour." Soon after assuming the supreme command, the North-West wintering partners undertook the mission to England, already mentioned, which led to the coalition; and thus Sir George found himself, by a concurrence of circumstances quite independent of his merits, placed at the head of both parties; from being Governor of Rupert's Land his jurisdiction now included the whole of the Indian territory from Hudson's Bay to the shores of the Pacific Ocean; and the Southern department, at that time a separate command, was soon after added to his government. Here, then, was a field worthy of his talents; and that he did every manner of justice to it, no one can deny. Yet he owes much of his success to the valuable assistance rendered him by Mr. McTavish; at his suggestion, the whole business was re-organized, a thousand abuses in the management of affairs were reformed, and a strict system of economy was introduced where formerly boundless extravagance prevailed. To effect these salutary measures, however, much tact was required: and here Sir George's abilities shone conspicuous. The long-continued strife between the two companies had engendered feelings of envy and animosity, which could not subside in a day; and the steps that had been taken to bring about the coalition, created much ill-will even among the North-West partners themselves. Nor were the officers of the Hudson's Bay Company without their dissensions also. To harmonize these elements of discord, to reconcile the different parties thus brought so suddenly and unexpectedly together into one fold, was a task of the utmost difficulty to accomplish; but Sir George was equal to it. He soon discovered that the North-West partners possessed both the will and the ability to thwart and defeat such of his plans as were not satisfactory to themselves; that they were by far the most numerous in the Council--at that time an independent body--and the best acquainted with the trade of the Northern department, the most important in the territory; and finding, after some experience, that while those gentlemen continued united, their power was beyond his control, and that to resist them openly would only bring ruin on himself, without any benefit to the concern, he prudently gave way to their influence; and instead of forcing himself against the stream, allowed himself apparently to be carried along with it. For a time, he seemed to promote all the views of his late adversaries; he yielded a ready and gracious acquiescence in their wishes; he lavished his bows, and smiles, and honied words on them all; and played his part so well, that the North-Westers thought they had actually gained him over to their own side; while the gentlemen of the Hudson's Bay Company branded him as a traitor, who had abandoned his own party and gone over to the enemy. The Committee received several hints of the Governor's "strange management," but they only smiled at the insinuations, as they perfectly understood the policy. His well-digested schemes had, in due time, all the success he anticipated. Having thus completely gained the confidence of the North-West partners, his policy began gradually to unfold itself. One obstreperous North-Wester was sent to the Columbia; another to the Montreal department, where "their able services could not be dispensed with;" and thus in the course of a few years he got rid of all those refractory spirits who dared to tell him their minds. The North-West nonconformists being in this manner disposed of, Sir George deemed it no longer necessary to wear the mask. His old friends of the Hudson's Bay, or "sky-blue" party, were gradually received into favour; his power daily gained the ascendant, and at this moment Sir George Simpson's rule is more absolute than that of any governor under the British crown, as his influence with the Committee enables him to carry into effect any measure he may recommend. That one possessed of an authority so unbounded should often abuse his power is not to be wondered at; and that the abuse of power thus tolerated should degenerate into tyranny is but the natural consequence of human weakness and depravity. The question is--Is it consistent with prudence to allow an _individual_ to assume and retain such power? Most of the Company's officers enter the service while yet very young; none are so young, however, as not to be aware of the privileges to which they are entitled as British subjects, and that they have a right to enjoy those privileges while they tread on British soil. The oft repeated acts of tyranny of which the autocrat of "all Prince Rupert's Land and its dependencies" has lately been guilty, have accordingly created a feeling of discontent which, if it could be freely expressed, would be heard from the shores of the Pacific to Labrador. Unfortunately, the Company's servants are so situated, that they dare not express their sentiments freely. The clerk knows that if he is heard to utter a word of disapprobation, it is carried to the ears of his sovereign lord, and his prospects of advancement are marred for ever; he therefore submits to his grievances in silence. The chief trader has probably a large family to support, has been thirty or forty years in the service, and is daily looking forward to the other step: he too is silent. The chief factor has a situation of importance in which his vanity is gratified and his comfort secured; to express his opinion freely might risk the sacrifice of some of these advantages; so he also swallows the pill without daring to complain of its bitterness, and is silent. A very valuable piece of plate was, some years ago, presented to Sir George by the commissioned gentlemen in the service, as a mark of respect and esteem; and this circumstance may be adduced by Sir George's friends, with every appearance of reason, as a proof of his popularity; but the matter is easily explained. Some two or three persons who share Sir George's favour, determine among themselves to present him with some token of their gratitude. They address a circular on the subject to all the Company's officers, well knowing that none dare refuse in the face of the whole country to subscribe their name. The same cogent reasons that suppress the utterance of discontent compelled the Company's servants to subscribe to this testimonial; and the subscription list accordingly exhibits, with few exceptions, the names of every commissioned gentleman in the service; while two-thirds of them would much rather have withheld their signatures. Sir George owes his ribbon to the successful issue of the Arctic expedition conducted by Messrs. Dease and Simpson. His share of the merit consisted in drawing out instructions for those gentlemen, which occupied about half-an-hour of his time at the desk. It is quite certain that the expedition owed none of its success to those instructions. The chief of the party, Mr. Dease, was at least as well qualified to give as to receive instructions; and Sir George is well aware of the fact. He knows, too, that Mr. Dease was engaged in the Arctic expedition under Sir J. Franklin, where he acquired that experience which brought this important yet hazardous undertaking to a successful issue; he knows also that in an enterprise of this kind a thousand contingencies may arise, which must be left entirely to the judgment of those engaged in it to provide against. Sir George, nevertheless, obtained the chief honours; but the bauble perishes with him; while the courage, the energy and the perseverance of Mr. Dease and his colleague will ever be a subject of admiration to those who peruse the narrative of their adventures. Sir George's administration, it is granted, has been a successful one; yet his own friends will admit that much of this success must be ascribed to his good fortune rather than to his talents. The North-West Company had previously reduced the business to a perfect system, which he had only to follow. It is true he introduced great economy into every department; but the North-West Company had done so before him, and the wasteful extravagance which preceded his appointment was entirely the result of the rivalry between the two companies, and under any governor whatever would have ceased when the coalition was effected. Not a little, too, of Sir George's economy was of "the penny-wise and pound-foolish" kind. Thus it has been already observed, that the lives of the Company's servants, and the property of an entire district, were placed in extreme jeopardy by his false economy; and a contingency, which no prudent man would have calculated upon, alone prevented a catastrophe which involved the destruction of the Company's property to a large amount, as well as of the lives of its servants. But independently of this, he has committed several errors of a most serious kind. Of these the chief is the Ungava adventure, an enterprise which was begun in opposition to the opinion of every gentleman in the country whose experience enabled him to form a correct judgment in the matter; and this undertaking was persisted in, year after year, at an enormous loss to the Company. Finally, he has not even the merit of correcting his own blunders. It was not till after a mass of evidence of the strongest kind was laid before the Committee, that they, in his absence, gave orders for the abandonment of the hopeless project. His caprice, his favouritism, his disregard of merit in granting promotion, it will be allowed, could not have a favourable effect on the Company's interests. His want of feeling has been mentioned: a single example of this will close these remarks. A gentleman of high rank in the service, whose wife was dangerously ill, received orders to proceed on a journey of nearly 5,000 miles. Aware that his duty required a prompt obedience to these orders, he set off, taking her along with him. On arriving at the end of the first stage, she became worse; and medical assistance being procured, the physicians were of opinion that in all probability death would be the consequence if he continued his journey. A certificate to this effect was forwarded to Sir George. The answer was, that Madame's health must not interfere with the Company's service; and that he must continue his journey, or abide the consequences. In consequence of this delay, he only reached Montreal on the day when the boats were to leave Lachine for the interior. He hurried to the office, where he met Sir George, and was received by him with the cool remark-- "You are late, Sir; but if you use expedition you may yet be in time for the boats." He earnestly begged for some delay, but in vain. No regard was paid to his entreaties; and he was obliged to hurry his wife off to Lachine, and put her on board a common canoe, where there is no accommodation for a sick person, and where no assistance could be procured, even in the last extremity. VOCABULARY OF THE PRINCIPAL INDIAN DIALECTS IN USE AMONG THE TRIBES IN THE HUDSON'S BAY TERRITORY. ------------------------------------------------------------------------- | | SAUTEU, or | | BEAVER | | | ENGLISH. | OGIBOIS. | CREE. | INDIAN. | CHIPPEWAYAN. | |-----------|---------------|-------------|--------------|--------------| | One | Pejik | Pay ak | It la day | Ittla h[=e] | | Two | Neesh | Neesho | Onk shay day | Nank hay | | Three | Nisway | Nisto | Ta day | Ta he | | Four | Neowin | Neo | Dini day | Dunk he | | Five | N[=a] nan | Nay n[=a] | Tlat zoon e | Sa soot | | | | nan | de ay | la he | | Six | Ni got as way | Nigotwassik | Int zud ha | L'goot ha hé | | Seven | Nish was | Tay pa | Ta e wayt | Tluz ud | | | way | goop | zay | dunk he | | Eight | Shwas way | Ea naneo | Etzud een | L'goot dung | | | | | tay | he | | Nine | Sang | Kay gat me | Kala gay ne | Itla ud ha | | | | t[=a] tat | ad ay | | | Ten | Quaitch | Me ta tat | Kay nay day | Hona | | Eleven | Aji pay jik | Payak ai | Tlad ay | Itla, ja | | | | wak | may day | idel | | Twelve | Aji neesh | Neesh way | Ong shay day | Nank hay, | | | | ai wok | may day | ja idel | | Twenty | Neej ta na | Neesh | Ong ka gay | Ta he, ja | | | | tan ao | nay day | idel | | Thirty | Nisway | Neo | Tao gay | | | | mittana | meatanao | nay day | | | Forty | Neo mittana | &c. | Deo gay | | | | | | nay day | | | Fifty | Nanan mittana | &c. | | | | Sixty | Nigot asway | | | | | | mittana | | | | | Seventy | Nish was way | | | | | | mittana | | | | | Eighty | Shwas way | | | | | | mittana | | | | | Ninety | Sang mittana | | | | | One | Ni goot wack | Me ta tin | Kay nay tay | Itla honan | | hundred | | mittanao | | nanana. | | How often | Anin. tas | Tan mat | Tan ay tien | Itla hon | | | ink | ta to | | eeltay. | | How many | Anin ain | Tan ay | Tan ay | Itla elday. | | | tas ink | ta tik | tien | | | How long | Anapé apin | Ta ispi | A shay | Itla hon | | since | aijo | aspin | doo yay | il tao. | | When | Anapé | Ta is pi | Dee ad | Itlao. | | | | | doo yay | | | To-day | Nongum | Anootch kee | Doo jay | Deerd sin | | | kajigack | je gak | nee ay | o gay. | | To-morrow | Wabunk | Wa bakay | Ghad ay zay | Campay. | | Yesterday | Chen[=a]ngo | Ta goosh | Ghagh ganno | Hozud | | | | ick | | singay. | | This year | Nongum egee | Anootch | Doo la | Do uz sin e | | | wang | egee | | gay. | | | | kee wang | | | | This | Wà á. | Awa pee | Teeay tee | Dirius | | month | Ke[=e]sis | shum | za | a gay. | | A man | Ininé | N[=a] bay o | Taz eu | Dinnay you. | | A woman | Ikway | Isk way o | Iay quay | Tzay quay. | | A girl | Ikway says | Isk way | Id az oo | Ed dinna | | | | shish | | gay. | | A boy | Quee we says | Na bay | Taz yuz é | Dinnay yoo | | | | shish | | azay. | | Inter- | Oten way ta | On tway ta | Nao day ay | Dinnay tee | | preter | ma gay | ma gay o | | ghaltay. | | Trader | Ata way | Ataway | Meeoo tay | Ma kad ray. | | | ini niu | ininiu | | | | Moose- | Moze | Mozwa | Tlay tchin | Tunnehee | | Deer | | | tay | hee. | | Rein-Deer | Attick | Attick | May tzee | Ed hun. | | Beaver | Amick | Amisk | Tza | Tza. | | Dog | Ani moosh | Attim | Tlee | Tlee. | | Rabbit | Waboose | Waboose | Kagh | Kagh. | | Bear | Maqua | Masqua | Zus | Zus. | | Wolf | Ma ing an | Mahigan | Tshee o nay | Noo nee yay. | | Fox | Wa goosh | Ma kay | E. yay thay | Nag hee | | | | shish | | dthay. | | I hunt | Ni ge oz | Ni m[=a] | Na o zed | Naz uz ay. | | | ay | tchin | | | | Thou | Ki ge oz | Ki ma tchin | Nodzed | Nan ul zay. | | huntest | ay | | | | | He hunts | Ge oz ay | Ma tchio | Nazin zed | Nal zay. | | We hunt | Ni ge oz | Ni ma | Naze zedeo | Na il zay. | | | ay min | tchinan | | | | Ye hunt | Ki ge | Ki ma | Nazin zedeo | Nal zin | | | oz aim | tchinawao | | al day. | | They hunt | Ge oz ay | Matchiwog | Owadié tzed | Na hal zay. | | | wok | | | | | I kill | Ni ne ta | Ni mi na | Uz éay gha | Zil tir. | | | gay | hon | | | | Thou | Ki ne ta | Ki mi na | Uz éay ghan | Zil nil tir. | | killest | gay | hon | | | | He kills | Ne ta gay | Minaho | Ud zeay gha | Tla in il | | | | | | tir. | | We kill | Ni ne ta | Ni mina | Uz ugho-ghay | Tla in il | | | gay min | honan | uzin | dir. | | Ye kill | Ki ne ta | Kim in a | Uz ugho ghay | Zee ool dir. | | | gaim | honawa | uzin | | | They kill | Ne ta | Minahowog | Utza ghay | Tla in | | | gay wok | | agho | il tay. | | I laugh | Ni baap | Ni baap in | Utzay rad | Naz-lo. | | | | | lotsh | | | Thou | Ki baap | Ki baap in | Utlint lotsh | Na-id-lo. | | laughest | | | | | | He laughs | Baapé | Baapio | Utroz lotsh | Nad-lo. | | We laugh | Ni baap | Ni baap | Utlo wod | Tlo | | | imin | in an | lotshay | a-ee-el-tee.| | Ye laugh | Ki baapim | Ki baapin | Tlodzud | Tlo gha | | | | a wao | udzee | ee-ol-tee. | | They | Baap ewog | Baapiwog | Tlodzud | Tlo-gha- | | laugh | | | udzee | ee-el-tee. | | I trade | Ni da ta | Ni da d[=a] | Mata oz lay | Naz nee. | | | way | wan | | | | Thou | Ki da ta | Ki da d[=a] | Mata an | Na el nee. | | tradest | way | wan | eelay | | | He trades | Ataway | Atawayo | Kita od | Na el nee. | | | | | eenla | | | We trade | Ni da ta | Nin da t[=a]| Mata ad oz | Na-da-ell | | | way min | wan an | id la | nee. | | Ye trade | Ki da ta | Ki da t[=a] | Mata a la | Na ool nee. | | | way min | wan o wa | ozayo | | | They trade| A ta way | Ata way wok | Ma t[=a] a | Eghon a el | | | wok | | leeay la | nee. | | I fight | Ni me gaz | Ni no ti | Magad ay a | Din[=i] gun | | | | ni gan | | as tir. | | Thou | Ki me gaz | Ki no ti | Magad osee | Dini gun a | | fightest | | ni gan | ya la | ee dthir | | He fights | Mi gazo | No ti ni | -- | -- | | | | gay o | | | | We fight | Ni me | Nino ti ni | -- | -- | | | gazomin | g[=a]n an | | | | Ye fight | Ki me gazom | Ki no ti ni | -- | -- | | | | gan a wao | | | | They | Mi guz | Notini gay | -- | -- | | fight | o wog | wok | | | | I set | Ni bug-é | Ni bug-e | Zoo meet la | Tloo e | | a net | ta wa | ta wan | uz loo | kanistan. | | Thou | Ki bug-e | Ki bug-e | Too meet | Tloo é kan | | settest | ta wa | ta wan | lan itlo | e than. | | a net | | | | | | He sets | Bug-e ta wa | Bug-e ta | Ta eet loon | Tloo e kan | | a net | | wao | | ethan loay.| | We set | Ni bug-e ta | Ni bug-e ta | Ta ghoo loo | Tloo e kan | | a net | wa min | w[=a]nan | hoon | oodthan. | | Ye set | Ni bug-é | Ki bug-e | Ta ghoo loo | Tloo e kan | | a net | ta wam | ta-wan a | uz éo | eehtan. | | | | wao | | | | They set | Bug-e ta | Bug-e-ta-wa | Too milt at | -- | | a net | w[=a] wog | wog | la oozoon | | | I sail | Ni be mash | Ni be | -- | -- | | | | mashin | | | | Thou | Ki be mash | Ki be | -- | -- | | sailest | | mashin | | | | He sails | Bi mash é | Be mash eo | -- | -- | | We sail | Ni bi | Ni bi | -- | -- | | | mishimin | mashinan | | | | Ye sail | Ki bi | Ki bi mashin| -- | -- | | | mash im | a wao | | | | They sail | Bi mash | Be mash | -- | -- | | | i wog | i wog | | | | I sleep | Ni ni b[=a] | Ni ni ban | Zus tee ay | Thee id ghee.| | Thou | Ki ni ba | Ki ni ban | Zin tee ay | Theend ghee. | | sleepest| | | | | | He sleeps | Ni ba | Ni ba o | Na gho tee | Thad ghee. | | | | | azay | | | We sleep | Ni ni b[=a] | Ni ni b[=a]n| Zut ié tsho | Theed | | | min | an | | gh[=a]z | | Ye sleep | Ki ni bam | Ki ni ban | Tsuz ié | Thood ghaz | | | | [=a] wao | tsho | | | They | Ni ba wog | Ni ba wog | Tsugh ien | Hay ud | | sleep | | | tiez | ghaz | | I drink | Ni minik way | Ni minik wan| Uzto | Haysta | | Thou | Ki minik way | Ki minik | Nadho | Nad-ha | | drinkest | | wan | | | | He drinks | Minik way | Minik way o | Ughiehedo | Ee ed ha | | We drink | Ni minik | Ni minik | May ee ta | Heel tell | | | way min | w[=a]nan | | | | Ye drink | Ki mink waim | Ki minik | May lee | Hool tell | | | | wan[=a]wao| ta la | | | They | Minikway wog | Minikway wok| May atta | He el tell | | drink | | | | | | I want to | Ni we | Ni we | O ghoz to | Oz ta in | | drink | miniquay | miniquan | | is tan | | Drink | Minik quaine | Minik quay | Llhad ho | Ned ha | | Eat | Wiss in | Mee tisso | In tzits | Zinhud hee | | Sleep | Ni b[=a]n | Ni ba | Njuz ti ay | Dthin ghee | | Go away | Eko k[=a]n | Awiss tay | E yow é | E you | | | | | tshay | issay | | Come here | Undass is | Ass-tum | Tee ad zay | E youk | | | han | | | uz ay | | Tell him | Win da ma o | Wi da ma o | Tee ay tin | Hal in nee | | | | | day | | | Trade | At[=a]waine | Ataway | Tee ay gho | Na il nee | | | | | tsho | | | Whence | Andé | Tanté way | Tee ay ghay | Ed luzeet | | do you | wentchipai | to tay | dzin aghon | gho adzee | | come? | an | | dee ay | an adee | | Where | Andé aish | Tanté ay to | Tee ay ghay | Ed luzeet | | are you | [=a]e an | tay an | de [=a]za | hee hee | | going? | | | | ya | | Be quick | Wee weep é | Kee-ee pee | Dzag ghay | Ee-gha | | | tan | | | | | I shoot | Ni bas giss | Ni bas giss | A jes tee o | A yous | | | é gay | é gan | | kay | | Thou | Ki bas giss | Ki bas giss | A tee tshe | Ahil kay | | shootest| é gay | é gan | etsh | | | He shoots | B[=a]s giss | Bas giss | Agha tee et | Ahil guth | | | e gay | e gay-o | yetsh | | | We shoot | Ni bas gisse | Ni bas gisse| Ateed yetsh | Ahel keeth | | | gay min | g[=a]n an | | | | Ye | Ki bas gisse | Ki bas giss | Atad yetsh | Er. ool | | shoot | game | é gan [=a]| | keeth. | | | | wao | | | | They | B[=a]s gisse | Bas giss é | Aza du ghad | Tay ar el | | shoot | gay wog | gay wog | yetsh | keeth. | | A Gun | B[=a]s gisse | Bas giss é | Tié yaz o o | Tel git | | | gan | gan | | hay. | | Powder | Makatay | Kas. ki tay | Al aizay | Tel ge | | | | o | | gonna. | | Shot | She shep ass | Nisk ass in | Noo tay | Telt hay. | | | nin | ee a | ad-o o | | | Give me | Meesh ish in | Mee an | Tes yay | Daz ee. | | I give | Ki mee nin | Ki mee | Nan uz lay | Na gha on | | you | | ni tin | | in in nee. | | Look | In [=a] bin | Et[=a] bi | Ag gan eetha | Ghon el lee. | | Wait | Pee ton | Pay ho | Ad oog-a. | Gad day. | | Tobacco | Na say ma | Na stay mao | Aday ka yazé | Sel tooe. | | Pipe | Poagan | Os poagan | Tsee ay | Dthay. | | Net | Assup | A he apee | Too me | Dtka bill. | | Fish | Kee k[=o] | Kee no | Tloo | Tloo-ay. | | | | shay o | | | | Flesh | Wee-ass | Wee ass | Ad zun | Berr. | | River | See pé | See pé | Za ghay | D[=a]z. | | Lake | Sa ka i gan | Sa ka i gan | Meet hay | Nad koo al | | | | | | ta. | | Water | Nee pee | Nee pee | Too | Too. | | Summer | Nee been | Nee been |Ad o lay | Seen nay. | | Winter | Pay poon | Pay pun | Ealk hay ay | Gh[=a] e | | | | | | yay. | | Spring | See goan | Me as gamin | Do o | Tloo guth. | | Autumn | Tag w[=a] gin | Tag w[=a] | Edoo | Ghao ud | | | | gin | aidlosin | azay. | ------------------------------------------------------------------------- THE END. 
29266	----	[Illustration: Cover art] [Frontispiece: "The Slight Figure that Swayed to the Stride of a Galloping Horse"--_Chapter XXIX_] Thurston of Orchard Valley _By_ Harold Bindloss Author of "By Right of Purchase," "Lorimer of the Northwest," "Alton of Somasco," etc. with Frontispiece By W. HERBERT DUNTON A. L. BURT COMPANY Publishers ------ New York COPYRIGHT, 1910, BY FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY _All rights reserved_ _February, 1910_ CONTENTS CHAPTER I. "THURSTON'S FOLLY" II. A DISILLUSION III. GEOFFREY'S FIRST CONTRACT IV. GEOFFREY MAKES PROGRESS V. THE LEGENDS OF CROSBIE GHYLL VI. MILLICENT'S REWARD VII. THE BREAKING OF THE JAM VIII. A REST BY THE WAY IX. GEOFFREY STANDS FIRM X. SAVINE'S CONFIDENCE XI. AN INSPIRATION XII. GEOFFREY TESTS HIS FATE XIII. A TEST OF LOYALTY XIV. THE WORK OF AN ENEMY XV. A GREAT UNDERTAKING XVI. MILLICENT TURNS TRAITRESS XVII. THE INFATUATION OF ENGLISH JIM XVIII. THE BURSTING OF THE SLUICE XIX. THE ABDUCTION OF BLACK CHRISTY XX. UNDER THE STANLEY PINES XXI. REPARATION XXII. A REPRIEVE XXIII. THE ULTIMATUM XXIV. AN UNEXPECTED ALLY XXV. MILLICENT'S REVOLT XXVI. A RECKLESS JOURNEY XXVII. MRS. SAVINE SPEAKS HER MIND XXVIII. LESLIE STEPS OUT XXIX. A REVELATION Thurston of Orchard Valley CHAPTER I "THURSTON'S FOLLY" It was a pity that Geoffrey Thurston was following in his grandfather's footsteps, the sturdy dalefolk said, and several of them shook their heads solemnly as they repeated the observation when one morning the young man came striding down the steep street of a village in the North Country. The cluster of gray stone houses nestled beneath the scarred face of a crag, and, because mining operations had lately been suspended and work was scarce just then, pale-faced men in moleskin lounged about the slate-slab doorsteps. Above the village, and beyond the summit of the crag, the mouth of a tunnel formed a black blot on the sunlit slopes of sheep-cropped grass stretching up to the heather, which gave place in turn to rock out-crop on the shoulders of the fell. The loungers glanced at the tunnel regretfully, for that mine had furnished most of them with their daily bread. "It's in t' blood," said one, nodding toward the young man. "Ay, headstrong folly's bred in t' bone of them, an' it's safer to counter an angry bull than a Thurston of Crosbie Ghyll. It's like his grandfather--roughed out of the old hard whinstane he is." A murmur of approval followed, for the listeners knew there was a measure of truth in this; but it ceased when the pedestrian passed close to them with long, vigorous strides. Though several raised their hands half-way to their caps in grudging salute, Geoffrey Thurston, who appeared preoccupied, looked at none of them. Notwithstanding his youth, there were lines on his forehead and his brows were wrinkled over his eyes, while his carriage suggested strength of limb and energy. Tall in stature his frame looked wiry rather than heavily built. His face was resolute, for both square jaw and steady brown eyes suggested tenacity of purpose. The hands that swung at his sides had been roughened by labor with pick and drill. Yet in spite of the old clay-stained shooting suit and shapeless slouch hat with the grease on the front of it, where a candle had been set, there was a stamp of command, and even refinement, about him. He was a Thurston of Crosbie, one of a family the members of which had long worked their own diminishing lands among the rugged fells that stretch between the West Riding and the Solway. The Thurstons had been a reckless, hard-living race, with a stubborn, combative disposition. Most of them had found scope for their energies in wresting a few more barren acres from the grasp of moss and moor; but several times an eccentric genius had scattered to the winds what the rest had won, and Geoffrey seemed bent on playing the traditional _rôle_ of spendthrift. There were, however, excuses for him. He was an ambitious man, and had studied mechanical science under a famous engineer. Perhaps, because the surface of the earth yielded a sustenance so grudgingly, a love of burrowing was born in the family. Copper was dear and the speculative public well disposed towards British mines. When current prices permitted it, a little copper had been worked from time immemorial in the depths of Crosbie Fell, so Geoffrey, continuing where his grandfather had ceased, drove the ancient adit deeper into the hill, mortgaging field by field to pay for tools and men, until, when the little property had well-nigh gone, he came upon a fault or break in the strata, which made further progress almost impossible. When Thurston reached the mouth of the adit, he turned and looked down upon the poor climbing meadows under the great shoulder of the Fell. Beyond these, a few weatherbeaten buildings, forming a rude quadrangle pierced by one tall archway, stood beside a tarn that winked like polished steel. He sighed as his glance rested upon them. For many generations they had sheltered the Thurstons of Crosbie; but, unless he could stoop to soil his hands in a fashion revolting to his pride, a strange master would own them before many months had gone. An angry glitter came into his eyes, and his face grew set, as, placing a lighted candle in his hat, he moved forward into the black adit. Twenty minutes had passed when Thurston stood on the brink of a chasm where some movement of the earth's crust had rent the rocks asunder. Beside him was a mining engineer, whose fame for skill was greater than his reputation for integrity. Both men had donned coarse overalls, and Melhuish, the mining expert, held his candle so that its light fell upon his companion as well as upon the dripping surface of the rock. Moisture fell from the wet stone into the gloomy rift, and a faint monotonous splashing rose up from far below. Melhuish, however, was watching Thurston too intently to notice anything else. He was a middle-aged man, with a pale, puffy face and avaricious eyes. He was well-known to speculative financiers, who made much more than the shareholders of certain new mining companies. "It's interesting geologically--wholly abnormal considering the stratification, though very unfortunate for you," said Melhuish. "I give you my word of honor that when I advised you to push on the heading I never expected this. However, there it is, and unless you're willing to consider certain suggestions already made, I can't see much use in wasting any more money. As I said, my friends would, under the circumstances, treat you fairly." Thurston's face was impassive, and Melhuish, who thought that his companion bore himself with a curious equanimity for a ruined man, did not see that Thurston's hard fingers were clenched savagely on the handle of a pick. "I fancied you understood my opinions, and I haven't changed them," said Geoffrey. "I asked you to meet me here to-day to consider whether the ore already in sight would be worth reduction, and you say, 'No.' You can advise your friends, when you see them, that I'm not inclined to assist them in a deliberate fraud upon the public." Melhuish laughed. "You are exaggerating, and people seem perfectly willing to pay for their experience, whether they acquire it over copper, lead or tin. Besides, there's an average commercial probability that somebody will find good ore after going down far enough, and your part would be easy. You take a moderate price as vendor, we advancing enough to settle the mortgage. Sign the papers my friends will send you, and keep your mouth shut." "And their expert wouldn't see that fault?" asked Geoffrey. Melhuish smiled pityingly before he answered: "The gentlemen I speak of keep an expert who certainly wouldn't see any more than was necessary. The indications that deceived me are good enough for anybody. Human judgment is always liable to error, and there are ways of framing a report without committing the person who makes it. May I repeat that it's a fair business risk, and whoever takes this mine should strike the lead if sufficient capital is poured in. It would be desirable for you to act judiciously. My financial friends, I understand, have been in communication with the people who hold your mortgages." Geoffrey Thurston's temper, always fiery, had been sorely tried. Dropping his pick, he gripped the tempter by the shoulder with fingers that held him like a vice. He pressed Melhuish backward until they stood within a foot of the verge of the black rift. Melhuish's face was gray in the candle-light as he heard the dislodged pebbles splash sullenly into the water, fathoms beneath. He had heard stories of the vagaries of the Thurstons of Crosbie, and it was most unpleasant to stand on the brink of eternity, in the grasp of one of them. Suddenly Geoffrey dropped his hands. "You need better nerves in your business, Melhuish," he said quietly. "One would hardly have fancied you would be so startled at a harmless joke intended to test them for you. There have been several spendthrifts and highly successful drunkards in my family, but, with the exception of my namesake, who was hanged like a Jacobite gentleman for taking, sword in hand, their despatches from two of Cumberland's dragoons, we have hitherto drawn the line at stealing." "I'm not interested in genealogy, and I don't appreciate jests of the sort you have just tried," Melhuish answered somewhat shakily. "I'll take your word that you meant no harm, and I request further and careful consideration before you return a definite answer to my friends' suggestions." "You shall have it in a few days," Geoffrey promised; and Melhuish, who determined to receive the answer under the open sunlight, and, if possible, with assistance near at hand, turned toward the mouth of the adit. Because he thought it wiser, he walked behind Geoffrey. The afternoon was not yet past when Thurston stood leaning on the back of a stone seat outside a quaint old hall, which had once been a feudal fortalice and was now attached to an unprofitable farm. Because the impoverished gentleman, who held a long lease on the ancient building, had let one wing to certain sportsmen, several of Geoffrey's neighbors had gathered on the indifferently-kept lawn to enjoy a tennis match. Miss Millicent Austin sat in an angle of the stone seat. Her little feet, encased in white shoes, reposed upon a cushion that one of the sportsmen had insisted on bringing to her. Her hands lay idly folded in her lap. The delicate hands were characteristic, for Millicent Austin was slight and dainty. With pale gold hair and pink and white complexion, she was a perfect type of Saxon beauty, though some of her rivals said the color of her eyes was too light a blue. They also added that the blue eyes were very quick to notice where their owner's interests lay. An indefinite engagement had long existed between the girl and the man beside her, and at one time they had cherished a degree of affection for each other; but when the merry, high-spirited girl returned from London changed into a calculating woman, Geoffrey was bound up, mind and body, in his mine, and Millicent began to wonder whether, with her advantages, she might not do better than to marry a dalesman burdened by heavy debts. They formed a curious contrast, the man brown-haired, brown-eyed, hard-handed, rugged of feature, and sometimes rugged of speech; and the dainty woman who appeared born for a life of ease and luxury. "Beauty and the beast!" said one young woman to her companion as she laid by her racquet. "I suppose he has the money?" "Unless his mine proves successful I don't think either will have much; but if Miss Austin is a beauty in a mild way, he's a noble beast, one very likely to turn the tables upon a rash hunter," was the answer. "And yet he's stalking blindly into the snare. Alas, poor lion!" "You seem interested in him. I'm not partial to wild beasts myself," remarked her companion, and the other smiled as she answered: "Hardly that, but I know the family history, and they are a curious race with great capabilities for good or evil. It all depends upon how they are led, because nobody could drive a Thurston. It is rather, I must confess, an instinctive prejudice against the woman beside him. I do not like, and would not trust, Miss Austin, though, of course, except to you, my dear, I would not say so." The young speaker glanced a moment towards the pair, and then passed on with a slight frown upon her honest face, for Thurston bent over his companion with something that suggested deadly earnestness in his attitude, and the spectator assumed that Millicent Austin's head was turned away from him, because she possessed a fine profile and not because of excessive diffidence. Nor was the observer wrong, for Millicent did little without a purpose, and was just then thinking keenly as she said: "I am very sorry to hear about your misfortune, Geoffrey, but there is a way of escape from most disasters if one will look for it, you know, and if you came to terms with them I understand those London people would, at least, recoup you for your expenditure." "You have heard of that!" exclaimed Geoffrey sharply, displeased that his _fiancée_, who had been away, should betray so accurate a knowledge of all that concerned his business affairs. "Of course I did. I made Tom tell me. You will agree with them, will you not?" the girl replied. "So," said Geoffrey, with a slight huskiness. "I wish I could, but it is impossible, and I am not pleased that Tom should tell you what I was waiting to confide to you myself. Let that pass, for I want you to listen to me. The old holding will have to go, and there is little room for a poor man in this overcrowded country. As you know, certain property will revert to me eventually, but, remembering what is in our blood, I dare not trust myself to drag out a life of idleness or monotonous drudgery, waiting for the future here. The curse is a very real thing--and it would not be fair to you. Now I can save enough from the wreck to start us without positive hardship over seas, and George has written offering me a small share in his Australian cattle-run. You shall want for nothing, Millicent, that toil can win you, and I know that, with you to help me, I shall achieve at least a competence." Millicent, who glanced up at him as if she were carefully studying him, could see that the man spoke with conviction. She knew that his power of effort and dogged obstinacy would carry him far toward obtaining whatever his heart desired. She dropped her long lashes as he continued: "Hitherto, I have overcome the taint I spoke of--you knew what it was when you gave me your promise--and working hard, with you to cheer me, in a new land under the open sun, I shall crush it utterly. Semi-poverty, with an ill-paid task that demanded but half my energies, would try you, Millicent, and be dangerous to me. What I say sounds very selfish, doesn't it--but you will come?" There was an appeal in his voice which touched the listener. It was seldom a Thurston of Crosbie asked help from anyone; but she had no wish to encourage Geoffrey in what she considered his folly, and shook her head with a pretty assumption of petulance. "Don't be sensational," she said with a wave of her hand. "You are prone to exaggeration, and, of course, I will not go with you. How could I help you to chase wild cattle? Now, try to be sensible! Come to terms with these company people, and then you need not go." "Would you have me a thief?" asked Geoffrey, gazing down upon her with a fierce resentment in his look of reproach, and the girl shrank from him a little. "No, but, so far as I understand it, this is an ordinary business transaction, and if these people are willing to buy the mine, why should you refuse?" she returned in a temporizing tone. If Thurston was less in love with Millicent Austin than he had been, he hardly realized it then. He was disappointed, and his forehead contracted as he struggled with as heavy a temptation as could have assailed the honor of any man. Millicent was very fair to look upon, as she turned to him with entreaty and anxiety in her face. Nevertheless, he answered wearily: "It is not an ordinary business transaction. These people would pay me with the general public's money, and when the mine proves profitless, as it certainly will, they would turn the deluded shareholders loose on me." "There are always risks in mining," Millicent observed significantly. "The investing public understands that, doesn't it? Of course, I would not have you dishonest, but, Geoffrey----" Thurston was patient in action, but seldom in speech, and he broke out hotly: "Many a woman has sent a man to his damnation for a little luxury, but I expected help from you. Millicent, if I assist those swindlers and stay here dragging out the life of a gentleman pauper on a dole of stolen money, I shall go down and down, dragging you with me. If you will come out to a new country with me, I know you will never regret it. Whatever is best worth winning over there, I will win for you. Can't you see that we stand at the crossroads, and whichever way we choose there can be no turning back! Think, and for God's sake think well! The decision means everything to you and me." Again Millicent was aware of an unwilling admiration for the speaker, even though she had little for his sentiments. He stood erect, with a grim look on his face, his nostrils quivering, and his lips firmly set--stubborn, vindictive, powerful. Though his strength was untrained, she knew that he was a man to trust--great in his very failings, with no meanness in his composition, and clearly born for risky enterprise and hazardous toil. She was a little afraid of him, a fact which was not in itself unpleasant; but she dreaded poverty and hardship! With a shrug of the shoulder upon which he had laid his hand, she said: "I think you are absurd to-day; you are hurting me. This melodramatic pose approaches the ludicrous, and I have really no patience with your folly. A little period of calm reflection may prove beneficial, and I will leave you to it. Clara is beckoning me." She turned away, and Thurston, after vainly looking around for Clara, stalked sullenly into the hall, where he flung himself down in a chair beside an open window. It did not please him to see Millicent take her place before the net in the tennis court and to hear her laugh ring lightly across the lawn. A certain sportsman named Leslie, who had devoted himself to Miss Austin's service, watched him narrowly from a corner of the big hall. "You look badly hipped over something, Thurston," commented the sportsman presently. "I suppose it's the mine, and would like to offer my sympathy. Might I recommend a brandy-and-soda, one of those Cubanos, and confidence? Tom left the bottle handy for you." In spite of the family failing, or, perhaps, because it was the only thing he feared, Thurston had been an abstemious man. Now, however, he emptied one stiff tumbler at a gulp, and the soda frothed in the second, when he noticed a curious smile, for just a moment, in the eyes of his companion. The smile vanished immediately, but Thurston had seen and remembered. It was characteristic of him that, before two more seconds had passed, the glass crashed into splinters in the grate. "Quite right!" exclaimed Leslie, nodding. "When one feels as you evidently do, a little of that sort of consolation is considerably better than too much. You don't, however, appear to be in a companionable humor, and perhaps I had better not intrude on you." During the rest of the afternoon, Thurston saw little of Millicent and Leslie was much with her. The weather changed suddenly when at dusk Geoffrey rode home. In forecast of winter, a bitter breeze sighed across the heather and set the harsh grasses moaning eerily. The sky was somber overhead; scarred fell and towering pike had faded to blurs of dingy gray, and the ghostly whistling of curlew emphasized the emptiness of the darkening moor. The evening's mood suited Geoffrey's, and he rode slowly with loose bridle. The bouquet of the brandy had awakened within him a longing that he dreaded, and though, hitherto, he had been too intent upon his task to trouble about his character, it was borne in upon him that he must stand fast now or never. But it was not the thought of his own future which first appealed to him. Those who had gone before him had rarely counted consequences when tempted by either wine or women, and he would have risked that freely. Geoffrey was, however, in his own eccentric fashion, a just man, and he dared not risk bringing disaster upon Millicent. So he rode slowly, thinking hard, until the horse, which seemed affected by its master's restlessness, plunged as a dark figure rose out of the heather. "Hallo, is it you, Evans?" asked the rider, with a forced laugh. "I thought it was the devil. He's abroad to-night." "Thou'rt wrang, Mr. Geoffrey," answered the gamekeeper. "It's Thursday night he comes. Black Jim as broke thy head for thee is coming with t' quarrymen to poach t' covers. Got the office from yan with a grudge against t' gang, an' Captain Franklin, who's layin' for him, sends his compliments, thinkin' as maybe thee would like t' fun." Thurston rarely forgot either an injury or a friend, and, the preceding October, when tripping, he fell helpless, Black Jim twice, with murderous intent, had brought a gun-butt down upon his unprotected skull. Excitement was at all times as wine to him, so, promising to be at the rendezvous, he rode homeward faster than before, with a sense of anticipation which helped to dull the edge of his care. CHAPTER II A DISILLUSION It was a clear cold night when Geoffrey Thurston met Captain Franklin, who held certain sporting rights in the vicinity, at the place agreed upon. The captain had brought with him several amateur assistants and stablehands besides two stalwart keepers. Greeting Thurston he said: "Very good of you to help me! Our local constable is either afraid or powerless, and I must accordingly allow Black Jim's rascals to sweep my covers or take the law into my own hands. It is the pheasants he is after now, and he'll start early so as to get his plunder off from the junction by the night mail, and because the moon rises soon. We had better divide, and you might come with Evans and me to the beeches while the others search the fir spinney." Geoffrey, assenting, followed the officer across a dew-damped meadow and up a winding lane hung with gossamer-decked briars, until the party halted, ankle-deep among withered leaves, in a dry ditch just outside the wood. There were reasons why each detail of all that happened on that eventful night should impress itself upon Geoffrey's memory, and, long afterwards, when wandering far out in the shadow of limitless forests or the chill of eternal snow, he could recall every incident. Leaves that made crimson glories by day still clung low down about the wide-girthed trunks beyond the straggling hedge of ancient thorns, but the higher branches rose nakedly against faintly luminous sky. Spruce firs formed clumps of solid blackness, and here and there a delicate tracery of birch boughs filled gaps against the sky-line between. The meadows behind him were silent and empty, streaked with belts of spectral mist, and, because it was not very late, he could see a red glimmer of light in the windows of Barrow Hall. But if the grass told no story it was otherwise with the wood, for Geoffrey could hear the rabbits thumping in their burrows among the roots of the thorn. Twice a cock-pheasant uttered a drowsy, raucous crow, and there was a blundering of unseen feathery bodies among the spruce, while, when this ceased, he heard a water-hen flutter with feet splashing across a hidden pool. Then heavy stillness followed, intensified by the clamor of a beck which came foaming down the side of a fell until, clattering loudly, wood-pigeons, neither asleep nor wholly awake, drove out against the sky, wheeled and fell clumsily into the wood again. All this was a plain warning, and keeper Evans nodded agreement when Captain Franklin said: "There's somebody here, and, in order not to miss him, we'll divide our forces once more. If you'll go in by the Hall footpath, Thurston, and whistle on sight of anything suspicious, I'd be much obliged to you." A few minutes later Thurston halted on the topmost step of the lofty stile by which a footpath from the Hall entered the wood. Looking back across misty grass land and swelling ridges of heather, he could see a faint brightness behind the eastern rim of the moor; but, when he stepped down, it was very dark among the serried tree-trunks. The slender birches had faded utterly, the stately beeches resembled dim ghosts of trees and only the spruces retained, imperfectly, their shape and form. Thurston was country bred, and, lifting high his feet to clear bramble trailer and fallen twig, he walked by feeling instead of sight. The beck moaned a little more loudly, and there was a heavy astringent odor of damp earth and decaying leaves. When beast and bird were still again it seemed as if Nature, worn out by the productive effort of summer, were sinking under solemn silence into her winter sleep. The watcher knew the wood was a large one and unlawful visitants might well be hidden towards its farther end. He stood still at intervals, concentrating all his powers to listen, but his ears told him nothing until at last there was a rustle somewhere ahead. Puzzled by the sound, which reminded him of something curiously out of place in the lonely wood, he instantly sank down behind an ash tree. The sound certainly was not made by withered bracken or bramble leaves, and had nothing to do with the stealthy fall of a poacher's heavy boot. It came again more clearly, and Thurston was almost sure that it was the rustle of a woven fabric, such as a woman's dress. To confirm this opinion a soft laugh followed. He rose, deciding it could only be some assignation with a maid from the Hall, and no business of his. He had turned to retreat when he noticed the eastern side of a silver fir reflect a faint shimmer. Glancing along the beam of light that filtered through a fantastic fretwork of delicate birch twigs arching a drive, he saw a broad, bright disk hanging low above the edge of the moor. It struck him that perhaps the poachers had used the girl to coax information out of a young groom or keeper, and that she was now warning them. So he waited, debating, because he was a rudely chivalrous person, how he might secure the girl's companion without involving the girl's disgrace. Again a laugh rose from beyond a thicket. Then he heard the voice of a man. Geoffrey was puzzled, for the laugh was musical, unlike a rustic giggle; and, though the calling of the beck partly drowned it, the man's voice did not resemble that of a laborer. Thurston moved again, wondering whether it was not some affair of Leslie's from the Hall, and whether he ought not to slip away after all. The birch boughs sighed a little, there was a fluttering down of withered leaves, and he remained undecided, gripping his stout oak cudgel by the middle. Then the hot blood pulsed fiercely through every artery, for the voice rose once more, harsh and clear this time, with almost a threat in the tone, and there was no possibility of doubting that the speaker was Leslie. "This cannot continue, Millicent," the voice said. "It has gone on too long, and I will not be trifled with. You cannot have both of us, and my patience is exhausted. Leave the fool to his folly." Geoffrey raised the cudgel and dropped it to his side. Turning suddenly cold, he remained for a second or two almost without power of thought or motion. The disillusion was cruel. The woman's light answer filled him with returning fury and he hurled himself at a thicket from which, amid a crash of branches, he reeled out into the sight of the speakers. The moon was well clear of the moor now, and silver light and inky shadow checkered the mosses of the drive. With a little scream of terror Millicent sprang apart from her companion's side and stood for a space staring at the man who had appeared out of the rent-down undergrowth. The pale light beat upon Geoffrey's face, showing it was white with anger. Looking from Geoffrey, the girl glanced towards Leslie, who waited in the partial shadow of a hazel bush. Even had he desired to escape, which was possible, the bush would have cut off his retreat. Geoffrey turned fiercely from one to the other. The woman, who stood with one hand on a birch branch, was evidently struggling to regain her courage. Her lips were twitching and her pale blue eyes were very wide open. The man was shrinking back as far as possible in a manner which suggested physical fear; he had heard the dalesfolk say a savage devil, easily aroused, lurked in all the Thurstons, and the one before him looked distinctly dangerous just then. Leslie was weak in limb as well as moral fiber, and it was Geoffrey who broke the painful silence. "What are you doing here at such an hour with this man, Millicent?" he asked sternly. "No answer! It appears that some explanation is certainly due to me--and I mean to force it out of one of you." Millicent, saying nothing, gazed at her companion, as if conjuring him to speak plainly and to end an intolerable position. Geoffrey read her meaning, even though Leslie, who glanced longingly over his shoulder down the drive, refused to do so. Because there was spirit in her, and she had recovered from the first shock of surprise, Millicent ground one little heel into the mosses with a gesture of disgust and anger when the man made answer: "I resent your attitude and question. We came out to see the moon rise on the moor, and found the night breeze nipping." Geoffrey laughed harshly before he repeated: "You found the breeze nipping! There is scarcely an air astir. And you understand the relations existing between Miss Austin and me? I want a better reason. Millicent, you, at least, are not a coward--dare you give it me?" "I challenge your right to demand an account of my actions," said the girl. With an evident effort to defy Thurston, she added, after a pause, "But the explanation must have come sooner or later, and you shall have it now. I have grown--perhaps the brutal truth is best--tired of you and your folly. You would sacrifice my future to your fantastic pride--and this man would give up everything for me." The first heat of Geoffrey's passion was past, and he was now coldly savage because of the woman's treachery. "Including his conscience and honor, but not his personal safety!" he supplemented contemptuously. "Millicent, one could almost admire you." Turning to Leslie he asked: "But are you struck dumb that you let the woman speak? This was my promised wife to whom you have been making love, though, for delicacy would be superfluous, it is evident that she has not discouraged you. Until three days ago I could have trusted my life to her. Now, I presume, she has pledged herself to you?" "Yes," answered Leslie, recovering his equanimity as his fears grew less oppressive. He began to excuse himself but Geoffrey cut him short with a gesture. "Then, even if I desired to make them, my protests would be useless," said Geoffrey. "I am at least grateful for your frankness, Millicent; it prevented me from wringing the truth from your somewhat abject lover. Had you told me honestly, when this man first spoke to you, that you had grown tired of me, I would have released you, and I would have tried to wish you well. Now I can only say, that at least you know the worst of each other--and there will be less disappointment when, stripped of either mutual or self respect, you begin life together. But I was forgetting that Franklin's keepers are searching the wood. Some of them might talk. Go at once by the Hall path, as softly as you can." The man and the girl were plainly glad to hurry away, and Geoffrey waited until the sound of their footsteps became scarcely audible before he heeded a faint rustling which indicated that somebody with a knowledge of woodcraft was forcing a passage through the undergrowth. He broke a dry twig at intervals as he walked slowly for a little distance. Then he dropped on hands and knees to cross a strip of open sward at an angle to his previous course, and lay still in the black shadow of a spruce. It was evident that somebody was following his trail, and the pursuer, passing his hiding-place, followed it straight on. Geoffrey's was a curious character, and the very original cure for a disappointment in love, that of baffling a game watcher while his faithless mistress escaped, brought him relief; it left no time for reflection. Presently he dashed across a bare strip of velvet mosses and rabbit-cropped turf, slipped between the roots of the hedge, and, running silently beneath it, halted several score yards away face to face with the astonished keeper. "Weel, I'm clanged; this clean beats me," gasped that worthy. "Hello, behind there. It's only Mr. Geoffrey, sir. Didst see Black Jim slip out this way, or hear a scream a laal while gone by?" "I saw no one," answered Geoffrey, "but I heard the scream. It was not unlike a hare squealing in a snare. You and I must have been stalking each other, Evans, and Black Jim can't be here." The rest came up as they spoke, and Captain Franklin said, "You seem badly disappointed at missing your old enemy, Thurston. I never saw you look so savage. I expect Black Jim has tricked us, after all." "I've had several troubles lately, and don't find much amusement in hunting poachers who aren't there," said Geoffrey. "You will excuse me from going back with you." He departed across the meadows, at a swinging pace, and the keeper, who stared after him, commented: "Something gradely wrang with Mr. Geoffrey to-night. They're an ill folk to counter yon, and it's maybe as well for Black Jim as Mr. Geoffrey didn't get hold on him." Geoffrey saw no more of Millicent, but once he visited her younger sister, a gentle invalid, who, because of the friendship which had long existed between them, said: "You must try to believe I mean it in kindness when I say that I am not wholly sorry, Geoffrey. You and Millicent would never have gotten on well together, and while I wish the awakening could have happened in a more creditable way, you will realize--when somebody else makes you happy--that all has been for the best." "That day will be long in coming," declared the man, grimly, and the sick girl laid a thin white hand on his hard one as she answered him. "It is not a flattering speech, and you must not lose faith in all of us," the invalid went on. "Lying still here, helpless, I have often thought about both of you, and I feel that you have done well in choosing a new life in a new country. When you go out, Geoffrey, you will take my fervent wishes for your welfare with you." Janet Austin was frail and worn by pain. Her pale face flushed a little as the man suddenly stooped and touched her forehead with his lips. "God bless you for your kindly heart," he said. "A ruined man has very few friends, and many acquaintances are waiting to convince him that his downfall is the result of his own folly, but"--and he straightened his wiry frame, while his eyes glinted--"they have not seen the end, and even if beaten, there is satisfaction in a stubborn, single-handed struggle." Janet Austin, perhaps thinking of her own helplessness, sighed as she answered: "I do not think you will be beaten, Geoffrey, but if you will take advice from me, remember that over-confidence in your powers and the pride that goes with it may cost you many a minor victory. Good-by, and good luck, Geoffrey. You will remember me." That afternoon, while Thurston was in the midst of preparations to leave his native land, the mining engineer called upon him with a provincial newspaper in his hand. "I suppose this is your answer," he remarked, laying his finger on a paragraph. "Mr. G. Thurston, who has, in the face of many difficulties, attempted to exploit the copper vein in Crosbie Fell, has been compelled to close the mine," the printed lines ran. "We understand he came upon an unexpected break in the strata, coupled with a subsidence which practically precludes the possibility of following the lost lead with any hope of commercial success. He has, therefore, placed his affairs in the hands of Messrs. Lonsdale & Routh, solicitors, and, we understand, intends emigrating. His many friends and former employees wish him success." "Yes," Geoffrey answered dryly, "I sent them the information, also a copy to London financial papers. Considering the interest displayed just now in British mines, they should insert a paragraph. I've staked down your backers' game in return for your threats, and you may be thankful you have come off so easily. Your check is ready. It is the last you will ever get from me." The expert smiled almost good-naturedly. "You needn't have taken so much trouble, Thurston," he said. "The exploitation of your rabbit burrow would only have been another drop in the bucket to my correspondents, and it's almost a pity we can't be friends, for, with some training, your sledge-hammer style would make its mark in the ring." "Thanks!" replied Geoffrey. "I'm not fishing for compliments, and it's probably no use explaining my motives--you wouldn't understand them. Still, in future, don't set down every man commonly honest as an uncommon fool. If I ever had much money, which is hardly likely, I should fight extremely shy of any investments recommended by your friends!" CHAPTER III GEOFFREY'S FIRST CONTRACT It was springtime among the mountains which, glistening coldly white with mantles of eternal snow, towered above the deep-sunk valley, when, one morning, Geoffrey Thurston limped painfully out of a redwood forest of British Columbia. The boom of a hidden river set the pine sprays quivering. A blue grouse was drumming deliriously on the top of a stately fir, and the morning sun drew clean, healing odors from balsam and cedar. The scene was characteristic of what is now the grandest and wildest, as it will some day be the richest, province of the Canadian Dominion. The serene majesty of snow-clad heights and the grandeur of vast shadowy aisles, with groined roofs of red branches and mighty colonnades of living trunks, were partly lost upon the traveler who, most of the preceding night, had trudged wearily over rough railroad ballast. He had acquired Colonial experience of the hardest kind by working through the winter in an Ontario logging camp, which is a rough school. An hour earlier the man, to visit whom Thurston had undertaken an eight-league journey, had laughed in his face when he offered to drain a lake which flooded his ranch. Saying nothing, but looking grimmer than ever, Geoffrey had continued his weary journey in search of sustenance. He frowned as he flung himself down beneath a fir, for, shimmering like polished steel between the giant trees, the glint of water caught his eye, and the blue wood smoke curling over the house on a distant slope suggested the usual plentiful Colonial breakfast. Although Geoffrey's male forbears had been reckless men, his mother had transmitted him a strain of north-country canniness. The remnant of his poor possessions, converted into currency, lay in a Canadian bank to provide working capital and, finding no scope for his mental abilities, he had wandered here and there endeavoring to sell the strength of his body for daily bread. Sometimes he had been successful, more often he had failed, but always, when he would accept it, the kindly bush settlers gave him freely of their best. As he basked in the warmth and brightness, he took from his pocket a few cents' worth of crackers. When he had eaten, his face relaxed, for the love of wild nature was born in him, and the glorious freshness of the spring was free to the poorest as well as to the richest. He stooped to drink at a glacier-fed rill, and then producing a corn-cob pipe, sighed on finding that only the tin label remained of his cake of tobacco. Through the shadow of the firs two young women watched him with curiosity. The man looked worn and weary, his jean jacket was old and torn, and an essential portion of one boot was missing. The stranger's face had been almost blackened by the snow-reflected glare of the clear winter sun, and yet both girls decided that he was hardly a representative specimen of the wandering fraternity of tramps. Helen Savine was slender, tall, and dark. Though arrayed in a plain dress of light fabric, she carried herself with a dignity befitting the daughter of the famous engineering contractor, Julius Savine, and a descendant, through her mother, from Seigneurs of ancient French descent who had ruled in patriarchal fashion in old-world Quebec. Jean Graham, whose father owned the ranch on the slope behind them, was ruddy in face, with a solidity of frame that betokened Caledonian extraction, and true trans-Atlantic directness of speech. "He must be hungry," whispered Jean. "Quite good-looking, too, and it's queer he sits there munching those crackers, instead of walking straight up and striking us for a meal. I don't like to see a good-looking man hungry," she added, reflectively. "We will go down and speak to him," said Helen, and the suggestion that she should interview a wandering vagrant did not seem out of place in that country where men from many different walks of life turned their often ill-fitted hands to the rudest labor that promised them a livelihood. In any case, Helen possessed a somewhat imperious will, which was supplemented by a grace of manner which made whatever she did appear right. Geoffrey, looking round at the sound of approaching steps, stood suddenly upright, thrusting the more dilapidated boot behind the other, and wondering with what purpose the two girls had sought him. One he recognized as a type common enough throughout the Dominion--kindly, shrewd, somewhat hard-featured and caustic in speech; but the other, who looked down on him with thinly-veiled pity, more resembled the women of birth and education whom he had seen in England. "You are a stranger to this district. Looking for work, perhaps?" said Helen Savine. Geoffrey lifted his wide and battered felt hat as he answered, "I am." "There is work here," announced Helen. "I can offer you a dollar now--if you would care to earn it. Yonder rock, which I believe is a loose boulder, obstructs our wagon trail. If you are willing to remove it and will follow us to the ranch, you will find suitable tools." Geoffrey flushed a little under his tan. When seeking work he had grown used to being sworn at by foremen with Protectionist tendencies, but it galled him to be offered a woman's charity, and the words "If you would care to earn it," left a sting. Nevertheless, he reflected that any superfluous sensitiveness would be distinctly out of place in one of his position, and, considering the wages paid in that country, the man who rolled the boulder clear would well earn his dollar. Accordingly he answered: "I should be glad to remove the rock, if I can." The two young women turned back towards the ranch, and Thurston followed respectfully, as far as possible in the rear, that they might not observe the condition of his attire. This was an entirely superfluous precaution, for Helen's keen eyes had noticed. Reaching the ranch, Geoffrey possessed himself of a grub-hoe, which is a pick with an adz-shaped blade with an ax and shovel; also he returned with the girls to the boulder. For an hour or two he toiled hard, grubbing out hundredweights of soil and gravel from round about the rock. Then cutting a young fir he inserted the butt of it as a lever, and spent another thirty minutes focusing his full strength on the opposite end. The rock, however, refused to move an inch, and, because a few crackers are not much for a hungry man to work on after an all-night march, Thurston became conscious that he had a headache and a distressful stitch in his side. Still, being obstinate and filled with an unreasoning desire to prove his trustworthiness to his fair employer, he continued doggedly, and after another hour's digging found the stone still immovable. Then it happened that while, with the perspiration dripping from him, he tugged at the lever, the rancher who had rebuffed him that morning, drew rein close beside. "Hello! What are you after now? You're messing all this trail up if you're doing nothing else," he declared in a tone of challenge. "If you have come here to amuse yourself at my expense, take care. I'm not in the mood for baiting," answered Thurston, who still smarted under the recollection of the summary manner in which the speaker had rejected his proffered services. "There are, however, folks in this country more willing to give a stranger a chance than you, and I've taken a contract to remove that rock for a dollar. Now, if you are satisfied, ride on your way." "Then you've made a blame bad bargain," commented the rancher, with unruffled good humor. "I was figuring that I might help you. I thought you were a hobo after my chickens, or trying to bluff me into a free meal this morning. If you'd asked straight for it, I'd have given it you." Geoffrey hesitated, divided between an inclination to laugh or to assault the rancher, who perhaps guessed his thoughts, for, dismounting, he said: "If you're so mighty thin-skinned what are you doing here? Why don't you British dukes stop right back in your own country where folks touch their hats to you? Let me on to that lever." For at least twenty minutes, the two men tugged and panted. Then Bransome, the rancher, said: "The blame thing's either part of the out-crop or wedged fast there forever, and I've no more time to spare. Say, Graham's a hard man, and has been playing it low on you. What's the matter with turning his contract up and going over to fill oat bags for me?" "Thank, but having given my word to move that rock, I'm going to stay here until I do it," answered Geoffrey; and Bransome, nodding to him, rode on towards the ranch. When he reached it Bransome said to Jean Graham in the hearing of Miss Savine: "The old man has taken in yonder guileless stranger who has put two good dollars' worth of work into that job already, and the rock's rather faster than it was before." "Did he say Mr. Graham hired him?" asked Helen, and she drew her own inference when Bransome answered: "Why, no! I put it that way, and he didn't contradict me." It was afternoon when Thurston realized at last that even considerable faith in one's self is not sufficient, unaided, to move huge boulders. He felt faint and hungry, but the pride of the Insular Briton restrained him from begging for a meal. His own dislike to acknowledge defeat also prompted him to decide that where weary muscles failed, mechanical power might succeed, and he determined to tramp back a league to the settlement in the hope of perhaps obtaining a drill and some giant powder on credit. He had not studied mining theoretically as well as in a costly practical school for nothing. It was a rough trail to the settlement. The red dust lay thick upon it and the afternoon sun was hot. When at last, powdered all over with dust and very weary, Thurston came in sight of the little wooden store, he noticed Bransome's horse fastened outside it. He did not see the rancher, who sat on an empty box behind a sugar hogshead inside the counter. "I want two sticks of giant powder, a fathom or two of fuse, and several detonators," said Geoffrey as indifferently as he could. "I have only two bits at present to pay for them, but if they don't come to more than a dollar you shall have the rest to-morrow. I also want to borrow a drill." The storekeeper was used to giving much longer credit than Geoffrey wanted, but the glance he cast at the applicant was not reassuring, and it is possible he might have refused his request, but that, unseen by Thurston, Bransome signaled to him from behind the barrel. "We don't trade that way with strangers generally," the storekeeper answered. "Still, if you want them special, and will pay me what they're worth to-morrow, I'll oblige you, and even lend you a set of drills. But you'll come back sure, and not lose any of them drills?" he added dubiously. "I haven't come here to rob you. It's a business deal, and not a favor I'm asking," asserted Geoffrey grimly, and when he withdrew the storekeeper observed: "Why can't you do your own charity, Bransome, instead of taxing me? That's the crank who wanted to run your lake down, isn't he? I guess I'll never see either him or them drills again." "You will," the rancher assured him. "If that man's alive to-morrow you'll get your money; I'll go bail for him. He's just the man you mention, but I'm considerably less sure about the crankiness than I was this morning. There's a quantity of fine clean sand in him." Meanwhile, and soon after Geoffrey had set out for the store, the two girls strolled down the trail to ascertain how he was progressing. They looked at each other significantly when they came upon the litter of débris and tools. "Lit out!" announced Jean Graham. "The sight of all that work was too much for him. He'll be lying on his back now by the river thinking poetry. This country's just thick with reposeful Britishers nobody at home has any use for, and their kind friends ship off onto us. In a way I'm sorry. He lit out hungry, and he didn't look like a loafer." "I'm afraid we were a little hard upon him," said Helen, smiling. "Still, I am somewhat surprised he did not carry out his bargain." "You can never trust those gilt-edge Britishers," said Jean Graham with authority. "There was old man Peters who took one of them in, and he'd sit in the store nights making little songs to his banjo, and talking just wonderful. Said he was a baronet or something, if he had his rights, and made love to Sally. Old fool Peters believed him, and lent him three hundred dollars to start a lawsuit over his English property with. Dessay Peters thought red-haired Sally would look well trailing round as a countess in a gold-hemmed dress. The baronet took the money, but wanted some more, and lit out the same night with Lou of the Sapin Rouge saloon." "I should hardly expect all that from our acquaintance of this morning, but I am disappointed, though I'm sure I don't know why I should be," said Helen Savine. The sunlight had faded from the valley, though the peaks still shimmered orange and red, and the broken edge of a glacier flashed like a great rose diamond, when the two girls sat on the veranda encircling Graham's ranch-house. The rancher and his stalwart sons were away rounding up his cattle, but Jean was expecting both them and her mother and the delayed supper was ready. The evening was very still and cool. The life-giving air was heavy with the breath of dew-touched cedars, while the hoarse clamor of the river accentuated the hush of the mountain solitude. Strange to say, both of the girls were thinking about the vagrant, and Helen Savine, who considered herself a judge of character, had been more impressed by him than she would have cared to admit. There was no doubt, she reflected, that the man was tolerably good-looking and had enjoyed some training, though perhaps not the best, in England. He had also known adversity, she deduced from the gauntness of his face and a certain grimness of expression. She had noticed that his chin indicated a masterful expression and she was, therefore, the more surprised that he had allowed himself to be vanquished by the boulder. Suddenly a heavy crash broke through the musical jangle of cow bells that drew nearer up the valley, and a cloud of yellow smoke curling above the dark branches spread itself across the fir tops in filmy folds. "I guess that's our hobo blowing the rock up!" cried Jean. "I wonder where he stole the giant powder from. Well, daddy's found his cattle, and the swearing will have made him hungry. I'll start Kate on to the supper, and we'll bring the man in when he comes round for his dollar." Presently Thurston knocked at the door, and strode in at a summons to enter. Slightly abashed, he halted inside the threshold. Jean, looking ruddy and winsome in light print dress, with sleeves rolled clear of each plump fore-arm, was spreading great platefuls of hot cakes and desiccated fruits among the more solid viands on the snowy tablecloth. Geoffrey found it difficult to refrain from glancing wolfishly at the good things until his eyes rested upon Miss Savine, and then it cost him an effort to turn them away. Helen reclined on an ox-hide lounge. An early rose rested among the glossy clusters of her thick, dark hair. A faint tinge of crimson showed through the pale olive in her cheek, and he caught the glimmer of pearly teeth between the ripe red lips. In her presence he grew painfully conscious that he was ragged, toil-stained and dusty, though he had made the best toilet he could beside a stream. "I have removed the rock, and have brought the tools back," he said. "How much did the explosives cost you?" asked Helen, and Geoffrey smiled. "If you will excuse me, is not that beside the question? I engaged to remove the boulder, and I have done it," he answered. Ever since her mother's death, Helen Savine had ruled her father and most of the men with whom she came in contact. She had come to the ranch with Mr. Savine, who was interested in many enterprises in the neighborhood and she was prepared to be interested in whatever occurred. Few of her wishes ever had been thwarted, so, naturally, she was conscious of a faint displeasure that a disheveled wanderer should even respectfully slight her question. Placing two silver coins on the table, the said coldly: "Then here are your covenanted wages, and we are obliged to you." Geoffrey handed one of the coins back with a slight inclination of his head. "Our bargain was one dollar, madam, and I cannot take more. Perhaps you have forgotten," he replied. Helen was distinctly annoyed now. The color grew a little warmer in her cheek and her eyes brighter, but she uttered only a "Thank you," and took up the piece of silver. Jean Graham, prompted by the Westerner's generous hospitality, and a feeling that she had been overlooked, spoke: "You have earned a square meal any way, and you're going to get it," she declared. "Sit right down there and we'll have supper when the boys come in." Uneasily conscious that Helen was watching him, Thurston cast a swift hungry glance at the food. Then, remembering his frayed and tattered garments and the hole in his boot, he answered: "I thank you, but as I must be well on my way to-morrow I cannot stay." "Then you'll take these along, and eat them when it suits you," said the girl, deftly thrusting a plateful of hot cakes upon him. Divided between gratitude and annoyance, Geoffrey stood still, stupidly holding out the dainties at arm's length, while flavored syrup dripped from them. It was equally impossible to return them without flagrant discourtesy or to retire with any dignity. Finally, he moved out backwards still clutching the plate of cakes, and when he had disappeared Helen laughed softly, while Jean's merriment rang out in rippling tones. "You saved the situation," said Helen. "It was really getting embarrassing, and he made me ashamed. I ought to have known better than to play that trick with the dollar, but the poor man looked as if he needed it. He is certainly not a hobo, and I could wonder who he is, but that it does not matter, as we shall never see him again." Meanwhile, Geoffrey Thurston walked savagely down the trail. He felt greatly tempted to hurl the cakes away, but, on second thoughts, ate them instead. It was a trifling decision, but it led to important results, as trifles often do, because, if he had not satisfied his hunger, he would have limped back through the settlement towards the railroad and probably never would have re-entered the valley. As it was, when the edge of his hunger was blunted he felt drowsy, and, curling himself up among the roots of hemlock, sank into slumber under the open sky. Early next morning Bransome stopped him on the trail. "I've been thinking over what you told me about making a rock cutting to run the water clear of my meadows," said the rancher, "and if you're still keen on business I'm open to talk to you." "Why didn't you talk yesterday morning?" inquired Thurston, and Bransome answered frankly: "Well, just then I had my doubts about you; now I figure that if you say you can do a thing, you can. Come over to the ranch, and, if we can't make a deal, I'll give you a week's work, any way." "Thanks!" replied Thurston. "I should be glad to, but I have some business at the settlement first. Will you advance me a dollar, on account of wages, so that I can discharge a debt to the storekeeper?" "Why, yes!" agreed the rancher. "But didn't you get a dollar from Graham yesterday? Do you want two?" "Yes!" said Thurston. "I want two," and Bransome laughed. "You're in a greater hurry to pay your debts than other folks from your country I've met over here," he observed with a smile. "But come on to the ranch and breakfast; I'll square the storekeeper for you." Thurston accepted the chance that offered him a sustaining meal, but he did not explain that, owing to some faint trace of superstition in his nature, he intended to keep Helen Savine's dollar. It was the first coin that he had earned as his own master, in the Dominion, and he felt that the successfully-executed contract marked a turning point in his career. CHAPTER IV GEOFFREY MAKES PROGRESS Thurston did justice to his breakfast at Bransome's ranch, and he frankly informed his host that he had found it difficult to exist on two handfuls of crackers and one of hot corn cakes. When the meal was finished and pipes were lighted, the two men surveyed each other with mutual interest. They were not unlike in physique, for the Colonial, was, as is usual with his kind, lean and wiry. His quick, restless movements suggested nervous energy, but when advisable, he could assume the bovine stolidity which, though foreign to his real nature, the Canadian bushman occasionally adopts for diplomatic purposes. Thurston, however, still retained certain traits of the Insular Briton, including a curtness of speech and a judicious reserve. "That blame lake backs up on my meadows each time the creek rises," Bransome observed at length. "The snow melts fast in hay-time, and, more often than I like, a freshet harvests my timothy grass for me. Now cutting down three-hundred-foot redwoods is good as exercise, but it gets monotonous, and a big strip of natural prairie would be considerably more useful than a beaver's swimming bath. You said you could blow a channel through the rocks that hold up the outlet, didn't you?" "I can!" Geoffrey asserted confidently. "From some knowledge of mining I am inclined to think that a series of heavy charges fired simultaneously along the natural cleavage would reduce the lake's level at least a fathom. Have you got a pencil?" Here it was that the national idiosyncrasies of the men became apparent; for Thurston, leaning on one elbow, made an elaborate sketch and many calculations with Bransome's pencil. A humming-bird, resplendent in gold and purple, blundered in between the roses shrouding the open window, and hovered for a moment above him on invisible wings. Thurston did not notice the bird, but Bransome flung a crust at it as he smiled on his companion. "We'll take the figures for granted. Life is too short to worry over them," the rancher said. "Let's get down to business. How much are you asking, no cure no pay, I finding tools and material? I want your bottom price straight away." Thurston had never done business in so summary a fashion before, but he could adapt himself to circumstances, and he mentioned a moderate sum forthwith. "Can't come down?--then it's a deal!" Bransome announced. "Contract--this is the Pacific slope, and we've no time for such foolery. I'm figuring that I can trust you, and my word's good enough in this locality. Run that pond down a fathom and you'll get your money. Any particular reason why you shouldn't start in to-day? Don't know of any? Then put that pipe in your pocket, and we'll strike out for the store at the settlement now." So it came about that at sunset Geoffrey was deposited with several bags of provisions, a blanket, and a litter of tools, outside a ruined shack on the edge of the natural prairie surrounding Bransome's lake. He had elected to live beside his work. A tall forest of tremendous growth walled the lake, and then for a space rotting trees and willow swale showed where the intermittent rise of waters had set a limit to the all-encroaching bush. The wail of a loon rang eerily out of the shadow, and was answered by the howl of a distant wolf. A thin silver crescent sailed clear of the fretted minarets of towering firs clear cut against a pale pearl of the sky. "Carlton's prairie, we call it," said Bransome, leaning against his light wagon, which stood, near the deserted dwelling. "Land which isn't all rock or forest is mighty scarce, and Carlton figured he'd done great things when he bought this place. Five years he tried to drain it, working night and day, and pouring good money into it, and five times the freshets washed out his crops for him. The creek just laughed at his ditches. Then when he'd no more money he went out to help track-laying, and a big tree flattened him. The boys said he didn't seem very sorry. This prairie had broken his heart for him, and I've heard the Siwash say he still comes back and digs at nights when the moon is full." "Carlton made a mistake," said Geoffrey, who had been examining the surroundings rather than listening to the tale. "He began in what looked the easiest and was the hardest way. He should have cut the mother rock instead of trenching the forest." When Bransome drove away Thurston rolled himself in the thick brown blanket, and sank into slumber under the lee of the dead man's dwelling, through which a maple tree had grown from the inside, wrenching off the shingle roof. An owl that circled about the crumbling house, stooped now and then on muffled wing to inspect the sleeper. Once a stealthy panther, slipping through the willows, bared its fangs and passed the other way, and the pale green points of luminescence that twinkled in the surrounding bush, and were the eyes of timber wolves, faded again. Neither did the deer that panther and wolves sought, come down to feed on the swamp that night, for a man, holding dominion over the beasts of the forest, lay slumbering in the desolate clearing. Geoffrey began work early next day, and afterwards week by week toiled from dawn until nearly sunset, blasting clear minor reefs and ledges until he attacked the mother rock under the lip of a clashing fall. The fee promised was by no means large, and, because current wages prohibited assistance, he did all the work himself. So he shoveled débris and drilled holes in the hard blue grit; and drilling, single-handed, is a difficult operation, damaging to the knuckles of the man attempting it. He waded waist-deep in water, learned to carry heavy burdens on his shoulder, and found his interest in the task growing upon him. He felt that much depended upon the successful completion of his contract. It was not, however, all monotonous labor, and there were compensations, for, after each day's toil was done, he lay prone on scented pine twigs, and heard the voices of the bush break softly through the solemn hush as, through gradations of fading glories along the lofty snows, night closed in. He would watch the black bear grubbing hog-fashion among the tall wild cabbage, while the little butter duck, paddling before its brood, set divergent lines creeping across the steely lake until the shadows of the whitened driftwood broke and quivered. Sometimes he would call the chipmunks, which scurried up and down behind him, or tap on a rotten log until a crested woodpecker cried in answer, and by degrees the spell of the mountains gained upon him, until he forgot his troubles and became no more subject to fits of berserk rage. He was growing quiet and more patient, learning to wait, but his energy and determination still remained. But he was not wholly cut off from human intercourse, for at times some of the scattered ranchers would ride over to offer impracticable advice or to predict his failure, and Geoffrey listened quietly, answering that in time it would be proved which was right. Sometimes, he tramped through scented shadow to Graham's homestead and discussed crops and cattle with the rancher. On these occasions, he had long conversations with Helen Savine, who, finding no person of liberal education thereabouts, was pleased to talk to him. There was nothing incongruous in this, for petty class distinctions vanish in the bush, where, when his daily task is done, the hired man meets his master on terms of equality. At last the day on which Thurston's work was to be practically tested arrived, and most of the ranchers drove over to witness what they regarded as a reckless experiment. Jean Graham and Helen Savine stood a little apart from the rest on the edge of the forest looking down on the glancing water and talking with the experimenter. The rich wet meadows were heavy with flag and blossom to the edge of the driftwood frieze, and the splash of rising trout alone disturbed the reflection of the mighty trunks and branches crowning a promontory on the farther side. "It is very beautiful, and now you are going to spoil it all, Mr. Bransome," said Helen. The rancher glanced at her with admiration in his eyes. Helen was worthy of inspection. Her thin summer dress, with the cluster of crimson roses tucked into the waist of it, brought out her rich beauty which betokened a Latin ancestry. "Yes, it's mighty pretty; a picture worth looking at--all of it," he said, and there was a faint smile on Helen's lips as she recognized that the general tribute to the picturesque was as far as Bransome dared venture in the direction of a compliment. He was not a diffident person, but he felt a wholesome respect for Helen Savine. "Mighty pretty, but what's the good of it, and I'm not farming for my health," he continued. "It's just a beautiful wilderness, and what has a man brains given him for, unless it's to turn the wilderness into cheese and butter. It has broken one man's heart, and my thick-headed neighbors said a swamp it would remain forever, but a stranger with ideas came along, and I told him, 'Sail ahead.'" "I did hear you told him not to be a--perhaps I had better say--a simple fool," Helen answered mischievously; and Bransome coughed before he made reply. "Maybe!" he acknowledged. "I didn't know him then, but to-day I'm ready to back that man to put through just whatever he sets his mind upon." As Bransome spoke, the subject of this encomium came up from the little gorge by the lake outlet, and it struck Helen Savine that the rock worker had changed to advantage since she first saw him. His keen eyes, which she had noticed were quick to flash with anger, had grown more kindly and the bronzed face was more reposeful. The thin jean garments and great knee boots, which had no longer any rents in them, suited the well-proportioned frame. "I was disappointed about the electric firing gear ordered from Vancouver, but I think the coupled time-fuses should serve almost as well," said Thurston, acknowledging Helen's presence with a bow that was significant. "You appear interested, Miss Savine. We are trusting to the shock of a number of charges fired simultaneously, and perhaps you had better retire nearer the bush, for the blast will be powerful. I should like your good wishes, since you are in a measure responsible for this venture. You will remember you gave me my first commission." "You have them!" said Helen, with a frank sincerity, for though the man was a mere enterprising laborer, she was too proud to assume any air of condescension. She was Helen Savine, and considered that she had no need to maintain her dignity. Geoffrey returned a conventional answer, and there was a buzz of voices as he and Bransome walked back together towards the gorge. The rancher halted discreetly when his companion, taking a brand from a fire near it, clambered over the boulders. Geoffrey disappeared among the rocks, and the voices grew louder when he came into view again walking hurriedly. Several trails of thin blue vapor began to crawl in and out among the rocks. Bransome joined Thurston, and both men broke into a smart trot. They were heading for the bush until Geoffrey, halting near it, ran back at full speed towards the gorge. All who watched him were astonished, for they were already bracing themselves to face the heavy shock. "He's mad--stark mad!" roared Graham. "Come back for your life, Bransome. It's smashed into small pieces both of you will be," and the eyes of the spectators grew wide as they watched the two running figures, for the rancher also had turned, and the lines of vapor were creeping with ominous swiftness across the face of the stone. There was a roar as the behind man clutched at the other, missed him, and staggered several paces, leaving his hat behind him before he took up the chase again. Single cries sharper than the rest rose out of the clamor, "Blown to glory both of them! Two sticks of giant powder in most of the holes. All that's left of the Britisher won't be worth picking up!" The two men disappeared among the boulders almost under the white foam of the fall, and for a brief space there was heavy silence emphasized by the song of hurrying water and the drumming of a blue-grouse on the summit of a fir. Helen Savine fancied she could hear the assembly breathing unevenly, and felt a pricking among the roots of her hair, while she struggled with an impulse which prompted her to cry aloud or in any wild fashion to break the torturing suspense. Jean Graham, whose eyes were wide with apprehension, noted that her face was bloodless to the lips. Neither had as yet been rudely confronted with tragedy, and both felt held fast, spellbound, without the power to move. "The Lord have mercy on them," said the hoarse voice of a man somewhere behind the girls. Once more a murmur swelled into a roar, and Jean, twining her brown fingers together, cried, "There! They're coming. They may be in time!" A figure, apparently Bransome's, leaped down from a boulder close in front of one that climbed over the stone, and there followed harsh, breathless cries of encouragement as the two headed at mad speed for the sheltering forest, the rear runner, who came up with hands clenched and long swinging strides, gaining steadily on the one before him. They were near enough for those who watched to see that the fear of sudden death was stamped upon their perspiring faces. Then, as they passed a spur of rock out-crop, Thurston leaped upon the leader, hurled him forward so that he lost his balance and the pair went down out of sight among the rocks, while a shaft of radiance pale in the sunlight blazed aloft beside the outlet of the lake. Thick yellow-tinted vapor followed it, and hillside and forest rang to the shock of a stunning detonation. The smoke curling in filmy wreaths spread itself across the quaggy meadows, while the patter of falling fragments filled the quivering bush, and was mingled with a loud splashing, or a heavy crash as some piece of greater weight drove hurtling through the trees or plunged into the lake. Then for the last time the assembly gave voice, raising a tumultuous cheer of relief as the two men came forth uninjured out of the eddying smoke. Geoffrey, shaking the dust from his garments, turned to his companion with a somewhat nervous laugh: "We cut it rather fine," he said, "but I felt reasonably sure there would be just sufficient time, and it might have spoiled the whole blast if the two bad fuses had failed to fire their shots. Of course, I'm grateful for your company, but as it was my particular business I don't quite see why you turned back after me." Bransome, who mopped his forehead, stared at the speaker with some wonder and more admiration before he answered: "There's a good deal of cast iron about you, and I guess I'd a long way sooner have trusted the rest than have gone back to stir up those two charges. What took me?--well, I figured you had turned suddenly crazy, and I was in a way responsible for you. Made the best bargain for your time I could, but I didn't buy you up bones and body--see?" "I think I do," answered Geoffrey, and that was all, but it meant the recognition of a bond between them. Bransome, as if glad to change the subject, asked: "Say, after you had fired the fuse what did you waste precious seconds looking for? If I wasn't too scared to notice anything clearly I'd swear you found something and picked it up." "I did!" declared Geoffrey, smiling. "It was something I must have dropped before. Only a trifle, but I would not like to lose it, and--I had one eye on the fuses--there seemed a second or two to spare. However, for some reason my throat feels all stuck together. Have you any cider in your wagon?" Half-an-hour later, when most of the spectators stood watching the released waters thunder down the gorge, for the blast had been successful, Helen Savine said: "I don't quite understand what happened, Mr. Bransome." "It was this way!" answered the rancher, glad to profit by any opportunity of interesting the girl. "That Thurston is a hard, tough man. Two fuses that were to fire small charges petered out, and sooner than risk anything he must light them again. I don't quite understand all the rest of it, either, for he's not a mean man, and why he should stay fooling on top of a powder mine looking for one dollar when I've a hatful to pay him is away beyond me. Yet I'm sure he picked up a piece of silver just before we ran. Curious kind of creature, isn't he?" Helen thought the incident distinctly odd. She could not comprehend why a man should risk his life for the sake of a silver coin. She could not find a solution of the mystery until it was explained that evening. Geoffrey Thurston, attired in white shirt, black sash, and new store clothes, had tramped over to Graham's ranch and by degrees he and Miss Savine gravitated away from the others. They were interested in subjects that did not appeal to the rest, and, though Jean smiled mischievously at times, this excited no comment. Clear moonlight sparkled upon the untrodden snows above them, snows that had remained stainless since the giant peaks were framed when the world was young. The pines were black on their lower slopes, and white mists filled the valley, out of which the song of the river rose in long reverberations. Geoffrey and Helen leaned on the veranda balustrade, both silent, for the solemnity of the mountains impressed them, and speech seemed superfluous. After a while, the girl told Geoffrey that he ought to be glad to live after his narrow escape from death. "There was really no great risk, and, if there had been, the results would have justified it," Geoffrey replied. "The failure of two charges might have spoiled all my work for me. Since I left you the Roads and Trails Surveyor voluntarily offered me a rock work contract he had refused before, and I at once accepted it." "You have not been used to this laborious life. Have you no further ambition, and do you like it?" asked Helen, flashing a quick glance at him. "It is not exactly what I expected, but as there appears to be no great demand in this country for mental abilities, one is glad to earn a living as one can," he said. "I am afraid I am a somewhat ambitious person. I consider this only the beginning, and Miss Savine responsible for it. You will remember who it was offered me my first contract." "Don't!" commanded Helen, averting her eyes. "That is hardly fair or civil. You really looked so--and how was I to know?" Geoffrey's pulse beat faster, and the smile faded out of his eyes as he noticed, for the moon was high, the trace of faintly heightened color in the speaker's face. "I doubtless looked the hungry, worn-out tramp I was," he interposed gravely. "And out of gentle compassion, you offered me a dollar. Well, I earned that dollar, and I have it still. It has brought me good luck, and I will keep it as a talisman." Instinctively his fingers slid to one end of a thin gold chain, and for a moment a look of consternation came into his face, for the links hung loose; then as the hard hand dropped to his pocket, he looked relieved and Helen found it judicious to watch a gray blur of shadow moving across the snow. She had sometimes wondered what he wore at one end of that cross-pattern chain, for rock cutters do not usually adorn themselves with such trinkets, but, remembering Bransome's comments, she now understood what had happened just before the explosion. Geoffrey's quick eyes had noticed something unusual in her air, and his old reckless spirit, breaking through all restraint, prompted him to say: "It will, I fancy, still bring me good fortune. I come of a superstitious race, and nothing would tempt me to part with it. This, as I said, is only the beginning. It appeared impossible to move the boulder from your wagon trail, and I did it. The neighbors declared nobody could drain Bransome's prairie, and a number of goodly acres are drying now, while to-night I feel it may be possible to go on and on, until----" "Does not that sound somewhat egotistical?" interposed Helen. "Horribly," said Thurston, with a curious smile. "But you see I am trusting in the talisman, and some day I may ask you to admit that I have made it good. I'm not avaricious, and desire money only as means to an end. Dollars! If all goes well, the contract for the wagon road rock work should bring me in a good many of them." "You are refreshingly certain," averred Helen. "But will the end or dominant purpose justify all this?" Thurston answered quietly: "I may ask you to judge that, also, some day!" Helen was conscious of a chagrin quite unusual to her. Hitherto, she had experienced little difficulty in making the men she knew regret anything that resembled presumption, but with this man it was different. What he meant she would not at the moment ask herself, but, though she rather admired his quietly confident tone, it nettled her, and yet, without begging an awkward question she could not resent it. Geoffrey's reckless frankness was often more unassailable than wiser men's diplomacy--and she was certainly pleased that he had recovered the dollar. "The dew is getting heavy, and I promised Jean some instruction in netting," she told him rather unsteadily. She paused a second, and, with an assumed carelessness, added, "isn't it useless to forecast the future?" CHAPTER V THE LEGENDS OF CROSBIE GHYLL Helen Savine had passed two years in England, and, because her father was a prosperous man who humored her slightest wishes, she occasionally returned to take her pleasure in what she called the Old Country. It is a far cry from the snowy heights of the Pacific slope to the pleasant valleys of the North Country, but in these days of quadruple-expansion engines, distance counts but little when one has sufficient money. The Atlantic express had brought Helen and her aunt by marriage, Mrs. Thomas P. Savine, into Montreal, whence a fast train had conveyed them to New York in time to catch a big Southampton liner, but Mrs. Savine was a restless lady, and had grown tired of London within six weeks from the day she left Vancouver. She was an American, and took pains to impress the fact upon anybody who mistook her for a Canadian, and, finding a party of her countrymen and women, whom she had hoped to overtake in the metropolis, had departed northwards, she determined to follow them to the English lakes. "It's a big, hot, dusty wilderness, Tom, and we've seen all they've got to show us here before," she said to her long-suffering husband, as she stood in the vestibule of a fashionable hotel. "Say, we'll pull out to-day and catch the Schroeders' party meditating around Wordsworth's tomb. Young man, will you kindly get us a railroad schedule?" The silver-buttoned official, who watched the big plate-glass door, started at a smart rap on his shoulder, and blinked at the angular lady in a startling costume and a blue veil. Thomas Savine interposed meekly: "A time-table; and that's evidently not the man to ask, my dear." "Then he can tell the right one," Mrs. Savine answered airily, and presently halted before a row of resplendently-gilded books adorning one portion of the vestibule. She thereupon explained for the benefit of all listeners that it was hard to see the necessity for so many railways in so small a country, and finally, with a clerk's assistance, selected a train which would deposit her at Oxenholme, from which place the official suggested that she might find means of transport into the district in which, to the best of his belief, Coleridge and Wordsworth, or one of them, wrote what Mrs. Savine entitled charming little pieces. It proved good counsel, and two of the party passed a delightful week at Ambleside, where their sojourn was marred only by Mrs. Savine's laments that potatoes were not served at supper and breakfast. "I want some potatoes with my ham," she said, and when the attendant explained that the vegetables were never eaten in England at that meal, she inquired, "Don't you grow potatoes anywhere in this country?" The attendant said that very fine ones were produced in the immediate vicinity, and Mrs. Savine waved a jeweled hand majestically. "Then away you go and buy some. I'll sit right here until they're boiled," she said. "It really isn't the custom, and you know you never got them in London, and hardly ate them at home," said Thomas Savine, but Mrs. Savine remained superior to such reasoning. "That's quite outside the question. I want those potatoes, and I'm going to have them," she insisted. There was a whispering at the end of the breakfast hall, somebody whistled up a tube, and the hotel manager appeared to announce, with regrets, that it was unfortunately impossible in the busy season to upset the culinary arrangements for the benefit of a single guest. "Then we'll start again and follow the Schroeders' trail to that place in Cumberland," Mrs. Savine decided. "Tom, you go out and buy one of those twenty five cent guide-books which tell you all about everything. Hire some ponies and a man, and we'll drive a straight line across the mountains." The manager respectfully suggested it would be better to take the train, even though the railway went round, because the mountains were lofty, and the roads were indifferent in the region traversed. To this the lady answered with some truth that the highest peak in Britain was a pigmy to the lowest of the Selkirks, and that she had spent two summers camping among the fastnesses of the snow-clad Olympians. "Your aunt is a smart woman, but she can't help upsetting things," said Thomas Savine, when his niece went out with him to make arrangements for the trip. Helen smiled pleasantly, for she knew her aunt's good qualities, and also she was fond of adventurous wanderings. It was perfect weather, and the three tourists enjoyed their journey among the less frequented fells, during which they camped, so Thomas Savine termed it, each night in some high-perched hostelry or trout-fisher's haunt. Helen realized that never before had she fully appreciated the beauty of England. Quite apart from its wonders of industrial enterprise, tide of world-wide commerce, and treasury of literature and art, the old country was to be loved for its quiet, green restfulness, she thought. Suddenly there came a change. A south-wester drove thick rain-clouds scudding across peak and valley, and filled the passes with dank, white mists from the Irish Sea, and so, towards the close of a threatening day, Mrs. Savine's party came winding down in a hurry from a bare hill shoulder and under the gray crags of Crosbie Fell. The hollows beneath them were lost in a woolly vapor, low-flying scud raked the bare ridges above, and even as they passed a black rift in the hillside the first heavy drops of rain fell pattering. Helen Savine had seen many a mining adit in British Columbia, and, turning to glance at the mouth of the tunnel, she read, scratched on the rock beside it, "Thurston's Folly." That careless glance over her shoulder was to lead to important results. "There's wild weather brewing," said Thomas Savine. "Make those ponies rustle, and we'll get in somewhere before it comes along." When they reached the little wind-swept village, it became evident that no shelter for the night could be found there, for it was seldom that even an enterprising pedestrian tourist came down from the high moors behind Crosbie Fell. Still, one inhabitant informed their guide, in a tongue none of the others could comprehend, that if he was in an unusually good humor old Musker, the keeper, might take them in at Crosbie Ghyll. Thus it happened that just as the rain began in earnest, such a cavalcade as had probably never before passed its gloomy portals rode up to the gate of the dilapidated edifice. Some of the iron-bound barriers still lay moldering in the hollow of the arch, and Helen noticed slits for muskets in the stout walls above, for the owners had been a fighting race, and several times in bygone centuries the tide of battle had rolled about and then had ebbed away from the stubbornly-held stronghold. The observer had gathered so much from a paragraph in her guide-book. The romance of English history appealed to Helen as it does to the citizens of the wider Britain over seas, and she turned in her saddle to look about her. Framed by the weather-worn archway she could see the black rampart of the fells fading into the rain, and the bare sweep of moss and moor, which had once stretched unbroken to the feet of the great ranges above the Solway shore. Inside the quadrangle, for the place had during the past century served as farm instead of hall, barn, cart-shed and shippon were ruinous and empty, but she could fill the space in fancy with sturdy archer, man-at-arms, and corsleted rider, for that the present venerable edifice had been built into an older one the stump of a square tower remained to testify. Thomas Savine pounded on the oaken door at one end of the courtyard until it was opened by a bent-shouldered man with frosted hair and wrinkled visage. "We are unfortunate strangers with a guide who has lost his way, and it would be a favor if you could take us in to-night out of the storm," he said. The older man glanced at the party suspiciously. "If you ride straight on across the moor you'll find a road, and a brand new hotel in twelve miles, where you'll get whatever you have been used to," he said. "I once took some London folks in, and after the thanks they gave me I never will again." "We're not Londoners, only forlorn Canadians," explained Thomas Savine. "Never mind, Matilda; he'll find out that you're an American in due time. We have all learned to rough it in our own country, and would trouble you very little." "What part of Canada?" asked the forbidding figure in the doorway, and when Savine answered, "British Columbia," called "Margery!" A little weazened woman, with cheeks still ruddy from much lashing of the wind, appeared in the portal. "Strangers from British Columbia! Perhaps they know the master," said the man, and there was a whispering until the woman vanished, saying, "I'll ask Miss Gracie." She returned promptly, and, with a reserved courtesy, bade the party enter. Then she sent her husband and the guide to stable the ponies, and fifteen minutes later the travelers reassembled beside the deep-seated window of a great stone-flagged room, darkly wainscoted, which apparently once had been the hall, and was now kitchen. There were a spotless cloth and neat cutlery on the table by the window; trout and bacon, hacked from the sides hanging beneath the smoke-blackened beams, frizzled upon a peat fire; and, though she found neither wine nor potatoes, Mrs. Savine said that she had not enjoyed such a meal since she left Vancouver. "We can't give you a sitting-room to yourselves," apologized the withered dame as the removed the cloth. "What furniture there is above is covered up, and it will be ill finding you sleeping quarters even. Nobody lives here beside ourselves, except when Mr. Forsyth comes down for a few weeks' shooting. His wife was a Thurston, and he bought the old place to please her sooner than let it go out of the family." "A Thurston!" said Helen Savine. "We saw 'Thurston's Folly' written beside a mining tunnel on the fell. Was that one of the former owners? Being Colonials we are interested in all ancient buildings and their traditions." "Oh, yes!" broke in Mrs. Savine. "We just love to hear about wicked barons and witches and all those quaint folk of the olden time." Musker had drawn nearer meanwhile, and Thomas Savine held out the cigar case that lay upon his knee. "If we may smoke in the great hearth there, just help yourself," said he. "My wife is fond of antiquities, and if you have any to talk of, we should be glad of your company." Musker glanced keenly at his guests. Though, having lived elsewhere, he spoke easy colloquial English, he was a son of the North Country dogged and slow, intensely self-respecting, and, while loyal with feudal fealty to superiors he knew, quick to resent a stranger's assumption of authority. Thomas Savine, brown-faced, vigorous, a pleasant Colonial gentleman, smiled upon him good-naturedly, and Musker took a cigar awkwardly. Mrs. Savine surveyed the great bare hall with respectful curiosity and evident interest, while Helen, visibly interested, leaned back in her chair. "Maybe you met the master in British Columbia?" Musker hazarded with an eager look in his dim eyes. "What is his full name, and what is he like?" asked Helen, bending forward a little. The old woman, reaching over, lifted a faded photograph from the window seat. "Geoffrey Thurston!" she answered. "That was him when he was young. My husband yonder broke the pony in." Helen started as she gazed at the picture of the boy and the pony. The face was like, and yet unlike, that of the gaunt and hungry man whom she had first seen sitting upon the fallen fir. "Yes," she answered gravely; "I know him. I met Mr. Thurston in British Columbia." "We would take it very kindly if you would tell us how and where you found him, miss," said Musker in haste. "I found him in a great Canadian forest. He was looking very worn and tired," Helen answered, with a trace of color in her face. "I--I hired him to do some work for me, and it was hard work--much harder than I fancied--but he did it, and, as we afterwards discovered, spent all I paid him on the powder he found was necessary." "Ay," said the old man. "That was Mr. Geoffrey. They were all hard and ill to beat, the Thurstons of Crosbie. And you'll kindly tell us, miss, you saw him again?" "Yes," repeated Helen, "I saw him again. By good fortune the work he did for me procured him a contract he carried out daringly, and when I last saw him he was no longer hungry or ragged, but, I fancy, on the way to win success as an engineer." Musker straightened his bent shoulders and smiled a slow, almost reluctant smile of pride, while his wife's eyes were grateful as she fixed them on the speaker. "Ay! What Mr. Geoffrey sets his heart on he'll win or ruin himself over. It was the way of all of them; and this is gradely news," he told her. "Now," said Helen, nodding towards him graciously, "we don't wish to be unduly inquisitive, but--if you may tell us--why did Mr. Thurston emigrate to Canada?" Musker was evidently tempted to embark upon a favorite topic, and his wife went out hurriedly. But he hesitated, sitting silent for a minute or two. Savine, rising under the arch of the great hearth, flung his cigar into the fire, as a young woman, wearing what Helen noticed was a decidedly antiquated riding habit, came forward out of the shadows. "I hope we are not intruding here," said the Canadian. "We were tired out before the rain came down, and almost afraid to cross the moor." "You are very welcome," said the stranger. "I am not, however, mistress, only a relative of the old place's owner, and, therefore, a kinswoman of Geoffrey Thurston. I heard that you had shown him a passing kindness, and should like to thank you." There was no apparent reason why the two young women should scrutinize each other, and yet both did so by the fading daylight and red blaze of the fire. Helen saw that the stranger was ruddy and blonde--frank by nature and impulsive, she imagined. The stranger noted only that the Colonial was pale and dark and comely, with a slightly imperious presence, and a face that it was not easy to read. "I am Marian Thwaite of Barrow Hall, and regret I cannot stay any longer, having three miles to ride in the rain," she said. "Still, I may return to-morrow before you set out. Mrs. Forsyth will be pleased if she hears you have made these Canadian strangers comfortable, Musker, and I think you may tell them why Mr. Geoffrey left England. May I ask your names?" Helen told her, and after Miss Thwaite departed, Musker began the story of Thurston's Folly. It had grown quite dark. Driving rain lashed the windows. The ancient building was filled with strange rumblings and the wailing of the blast when the old man concluded: "Mr. Geoffrey was too proud to turn a swindler, and that was why he shook off his sweetheart, who tried to persuade him, though he knew old Anthony Thurston would have left him his money, if they married." "Some said it was the opposite," interposed his wife; but Musker answered angrily, "Then they didn't tell it right. No woman born could twist Geoffrey Thurston from his path, and when she gave him bad counsel he turned his back on her. A fool these dolts called him. He was a leal, hard man, and what was a light woman's greediness to him?" "And what became of the lady?" asked Helen, with a curious flash in her eyes. "She married a London man, who came here shooting, married him out of spite, and has rued it many times if the tales are true. She was down with him fishing, looking sour and pale, and the Hall maids were say----" "Just gossip and lies!" broke in his spouse; and Helen, who apparently had lapsed into a disdainful indifference, asked no further questions. Mrs. Savine, however, made many inquiries, and Musker, who became unusually communicative, presently offered to show the strangers what he called the armory. They followed him down a draughty corridor to the black-wainscoted gun-room at the base of the crumbling tower, and when he had lighted a lamp its glow revealed a modern collection of costly guns. There were also trout-rods hung upon the wall, and a few good sporting etchings, at all of which Musker glanced somewhat contemptuously. "These are Mr. Forsyth's, and I take care of them, but he only belongs to the place by purchase and marriage. Those belonged to the Thurstons--the old, dead Thurstons--and they hunted men," he said. He ran the lamp up higher by a tarnished brass chain, and pointed first to a big moldering bow. "A Thurston drew that in France long ago, and it has splitted many an Annandale cattle thief in the Solway mosses since. Red Geoffrey carried this long spear, and, so the story goes, won his wife with it, and brought her home on the crupper from beside the Nith. She pined away and died just above where we stand now in this very tower. That was another Geoffrey's sword; they hanged him high outside Lancaster jail. He was for Prince Charlie, and cut down single-handed two of King George's dragoons carrying a warrant for a friend's arrest when the Prince's cause was lost. His wife, she poisoned herself. Those are the spurs Mad Harry rode Hellfire on a wager down Crosbie Ghyll with, and broke his neck doing it, besides his young wife's heart. The women who married the Thurstons had an ill lot to grapple with. Even when they settled down to farming, the Thurstons were men who would walk unflinchingly into ruin sooner than lose their grip on their purpose, and Mr. Geoffrey favors them." "They must have been just lovely," sighed Mrs. Savine. "Say, I've taken a fancy to some of those old things. That rusty iron lamp can't be much use to anybody, but it's quaint, and I'd give it's weight in dollars for it. Can't you tell me where Mr. Forsyth lives?" Musker stared at her horrified, Thomas Savine laughed, and even Helen, who had appeared unusually thoughtful, smiled. Musker answered: "No money could buy one of them out of the family, and if any but a Thurston moves that lamp from where it hangs the dead men rise and come for it when midnight strikes. It is falling to pieces, but once when they took it to Kendal to be mended, the smith sent a man back with it on horseback before the day had broken." There was a few moments' silence when Musker concluded, and the ancient weapons glinted strangely as the lamp's flame wavered in the chilling draughts. A gale from the Irish Sea boomed about the crumbling tower, and all the lonely mosses seemed to swell it with their moaning. Helen shivered as she listened, for those clamorous voices of wind and rain carried her back in fancy to the old unhappy days of bloodshed and foray. The associations of the place oppressed her. She had acquired a horror of those grim dead men whose mementos hung above her, and whose spirits might well wander on such a night vainly seeking rest. Even Mrs. Savine became subdued, and her husband said: "We can't tell tales like these in our country, and I'm thankful we can't. Still, I daresay it was such men as these who bred in us the grit to chase the whales in the Arctic, build our railroads through the snow-barred passes, and master the primeval forest. Now we'll try to forget them, and go back out of this creepy place to the fire again." An hour later Mrs. Musker escorted Helen to her quarters. A bright fire glowed in the rusty grate, and two candles burned on the dressing-table. "It's Mrs. Forsyth's own room, and the best in the house," the old caretaker assured the girl. "Musker has been telling you about the old Thurstons. He's main proud of them, but you needn't fear them--it's long since the last one walked. You have a kind heart, and nothing evil dare hurt you. See! I've tried to make you comfortable. You were kind to the old place's real master--many a time I've nursed him--God bless you!" Helen was not in the least afraid of the dead Thurstons. She was filled with the common-sense courage which characterizes the inhabitants of her new country, but she had been affected by the stories, and she sat for a time with her feet on the hearth irons, gazing thoughtfully into the blaze. She had met a modern Thurston, and found the instincts of his forbears strong within him. She considered that strength, courage, and resolution well became a man, but that gentleness and chivalrous respect for women were desirable attributes, too. The Thurstons, however, had taken to bloodshed as a pastime, and broken most of their wives' hearts until it seemed that they had brought a curse upon their race. She suspected there was a measure of their brutality in the one she knew. Remembering something Geoffrey once had said, her face grew flushed and she clenched a little hand with an angry gesture, saying, "No man shall ever make a slave of me, and my husband, if I have one, must be my servant before he is my master." Thereupon she dismissed the subject, tried to blot the stories from her memory, and presently buried her ears in the pillow to shut out the clamor of the storm. After a sound night's slumber, and an interview with Miss Thwaite she resumed her journey next morning. Musker stood in the gate to watch the party ride away, and glancing at the coins in his hand said to Margery, "I wish they'd come often. Main interested in my stories they were all of them, and it's double what any of the shooting folks ever gave me. This one came from the young lady, and there's a way about her that puzzles me after seeing her." CHAPTER VI MILLICENT'S REWARD The late Autumn evening was closing in. Millicent Leslie stood out on the terrace of the old North Country hall, where, the year before, she had first met her husband. A pale moon had climbed above the high black ridge of moor, which shut in one end of the valley, and the big beech wood that rolled down the lower hillside had faded to a shadowy blur, but she could still see the dim, white road running straight between the hedgerows, and could catch the faint gleam of a winding river. Twilight and night were meeting and melting into each other, the dew lay heavy upon the last of the dahlias beneath the terrace wall, and there was a chill of frost in the air. It was very still, though now and then the harsh call of a pheasant came up faintly through the murmur of the river from the depths of the wood. Millicent could hear no other sound, though she strained her ears to listen and it seemed to her that the rattle of wheels should carry far down the silent valley. She was waiting somewhat anxiously for the return of her husband, who had set off that morning with three or four other men to walk certain distant stubble and turnip fields for partridges. They had passed a week at the hall, for, although Millicent would have preferred to avoid that particular place, Leslie had said he did not know of any other place where one could obtain rough shooting, as well as a more or less congenial company, in return for what was little more than a first-class hotel bill. He had also added that he needed a holiday, in which Millicent had agreed with him. There was no doubt that he had looked jaded and harassed. Millicent knew little about her husband's business, except that it was connected with stocks and shares, and the flotation of companies; but she was quite aware that he had met with a serious reverse soon after he married her, since it had been necessary for them to give up their town house and install themselves temporarily in a London flat. Leslie had informed her that reverses were not uncommon in his profession, and he had appeared quite convinced of his ability to recover his losses in a new venture which had something to do with South African gold or diamonds. Of late, however, he had grown dejected and moody. On the previous evening she had seen his face set hard, as he read a letter which bore the London postmark. He had not given her any information about the contents of the letter, for there had been no great measure of confidence between them; but there were one or two telegrams for him among those a groom had brought over from the nearest station during the day, and she felt a little uneasy as she thought of them. By and by, with a little shiver and a suppressed sigh, she glanced up at the highest part of the climbing wood. It was there she had had her last memorable interview with Geoffrey, almost a year ago. Though she had not cared to face the fact, she was troubled by a suspicion that she had made an unwise choice then. Leslie had changed since their marriage. He was harsh at times, and though he had, even in their more humble quarters, surrounded her with a certain amount of luxury, there was a laxity in his manners and conversation that jarred upon her. Geoffrey, she remembered, had not been addicted to mincing words, but, at least, he had lived in accordance with a Spartan moral code. Millicent was not a scrupulous woman, and her ideas of ethical justice were rudimentary, but she possessed in place of a conscience a delicate sense of refinement which her husband frequently offended. Feeling chilly at length, and seeing no sign of the shooter's return, Millicent went back into the house. She stopped when she reached the square entrance hall which served the purpose of a lounging-room. The hall had been rudely ceiled and paneled at a time when skilled craftsmen were scarce in the North Country, and in the daylight it was more or less dim and forbidding, but with the lamps lighted and a fire blazing in the wide, old-fashioned hearth, the place looked invitingly comfortable. When she entered, Millicent was not altogether pleased to see another woman there. Marian Thwaite, whom she knew but had not expected to meet, lay in a big chair near the fire. The glow of health which the keen air of the moors had brought there was in her face. She wore heavy boots and severely simple walking attire. Her features suggested a decided character, and she had unwavering blue eyes. "Mrs. Boone won't be down for some minutes, and I believe the rest are dressing," Marian said. "I haven't seen you since your marriage, and to tell the truth, you're not looking by any means as fresh as you did before you left us. I suppose it's one effect of living in London?" She studied Millicent with a steady contemplative gaze, and there was no doubt that her comment was justified. Millicent's face was pallid, there was a certain weariness in her eyes, and on the whole, her expression was languidly querulous. "I didn't know you were coming to-night," said Millicent, as she sank into a chair. "I didn't know it myself," Marian explained. "I was out on the fells, and I met Boone as I came down this way. He said somebody would drive me home, if I'd stay. You have been here a week, haven't you? How is it you haven't come over to see us yet?" "As a matter of fact, I didn't intend to call, and it was rather against my wishes that we came up here," said Millicent with the candor of an old acquaintance. "You were not very cordial when I last saw you, and I can't help a feeling that you are all of you prejudiced against me." Quite unembarrassed Marian looked at her with a reflective air. "Yes," she admitted, "to some extent that's true. We're closely connected with the Thurstons, and I've no doubt we make rather intolerant partisans. After all, it's only natural that we sympathize with Geoffrey. Besides--you can make what you like of it--he was always a favorite of mine. I suppose you haven't heard from him since he went to Canada?" "Would you have expected him to write?" Marian smiled. "Perhaps it would have been unreasonable, but taking it for granted that he hasn't been communicative, I've a piece of news for you. Some Canadian tourists stayed a night at the Ghyll, two or three months ago, and it seems they met him in British Columbia. I understand he is by no means prosperous, but at least getting a footing in the country, and the people apparently have rather a high opinion of him. Did I mention that one of the party was a girl?" She saw the quickened interest in Millicent's eyes. With assumed indifference in her voice Millicent asked: "What kind of people were they?" "The girl was handsome--well-finished, too. In fact, she struck me as rather an imperious young person of some consequence in the place she came from. She would pass in any circle that you or I are likely to get an entry to. I don't know whether it's significant, but I understand from Margery that she took some interest in Musker's stories of the Thurstons." There was nothing to show whether Millicent was pleased with this or not. She did not speak for a moment or two. "Did they mention what Geoffrey had been doing?" she inquired presently. "Chopping down trees for sawmills, or something of the kind. The man said Geoffrey had evidently been what they call 'up against it' until lately when he seems to have got upon his feet. It will probably convince you that you were perfectly right in not marrying him." This time Millicent laughed. "It wouldn't have counted for much with you?" Marian looked at her with unwavering eyes. "No," she replied, "if I'd had any particular tenderness for Geoffrey it certainly wouldn't have had the least effect beyond making me more sorry for him, but, as it happens, he never did anything to encourage vain ideas of the kind in me." She changed the subject with the abruptness which usually characterized her. "I suppose you haven't seen old Anthony Thurston since you married Leslie? He, at least, is openly bitter against you." "I haven't. In a way, I suppose he is right. Of course, he would take the stereotyped view that it was all my fault--that is to say, that I had discarded Geoffrey?" "I believe he did, but it struck me once or twice that Geoffrey proclaimed that view a little too loudly. Of course, with his rather primitive notions of delicacy and what is due to us, it's very much what one would have anticipated in his case. He naturally wouldn't want to leave room for any suspicion that he--wasn't altogether satisfied with you." Millicent's face clouded. "That is a point which concerns nobody except Geoffrey and myself," she declared. "And Anthony Thurston," Marian broke in. "Of course, it's an open secret that if you had married Geoffrey you would both have benefited by his will. As things have turned out, my own opinion is that the question whether either of you ever gets a penny of the property depends a great deal on the view he continues to take of the matter. Any way, that's not the least concern of mine, except that I'm sorry for Geoffrey. I wonder if I'm going too far in asking what it was you and he actually split upon. I'm referring to the immediate cause of the trouble." "I can tell you that," Millicent answered quickly, for she was glad to remove the ground for one suspicion, which was evidently in Marian's mind. "Geoffrey insisted on giving up the mine when he could have sold it, and going out to Australia or Canada. I wouldn't go with him. I think nobody could have reasonably expected me to." Marian smiled. "Well," she said, "I wonder if you know that your husband was one of the men who were willing to take the mine over. There are reasons for believing it was what brought him here in the first place." Millicent's start betrayed the fact that this was news to her, but just then there was a rattle of wheels outside, and Marian rose. A murmur of voices and laughter grew clearer when the outer door was opened, and the two could hear the returning shooters talking with their host, who had gone out another way to meet them. "The birds were scarce and very wild," announced one of them. "We had only two or three brace all morning, though we were a little more fortunate when we got up onto the higher land. It's my candid opinion that we should have done better there, but Leslie had all the luck in the turnips, and he made a shocking bad use of it." "That's a fact," assented Leslie with what struck Millicent as a rather strained laugh. "I was right off the mark. There are some days when you simply can't shoot." Several of the women guests now entered the hall, but the men did not come in. Judging from the sounds outside they seemed to be waiting while coats or cartridge bags were handed down to them from the dog-cart, and they were evidently bantering one another in the meanwhile. "It depends upon how long you sit up in the smoking-room on the previous night," said one of them, and another observed: "If you happen to be in business, the state of the markets has its effect." Millicent started again at this, for she remembered her husband's expression when he had read his letter on the preceding evening. A third speaker took up the conversation. "I don't think any variation in the price of Colonials or Kaffirs, or of wheat and cotton, for that matter, should prevent a man from telling the difference between a hare and a dog. I've a suspicion that if Tom cares to look he'll find one or two number six pellets in the hindquarters of the setter. It's a good thing our friend wasn't quite up to his usual form that time." A burst of laughter followed, and Leslie's voice broke through it rather sharply as he replied: "He should have kept the brute in hand. The difference isn't a big one when you can only see a liver-colored patch through a clump of bracken. Besides, there was a hare." "Undoubtedly," cried somebody. "Lawson got it." Then they came in one after another, and while some of them spoke to their hostess and the other women Leslie walked up to the little table where several letters were spread out. Millicent watched him as he did it, and there was no doubt that the very way he moved was suggestive of restrained eagerness. She saw him tear open a telegram and crumple it in his hand, after which he seized a second one and ripped it across the fold in his clumsy haste. Then as he put the pieces together his face grew suddenly pale and haggard. Nobody else, however, appeared to notice him, and he leaned with one hand upon the table for a moment or two with his head turned away from her. She felt her heart beat painfully fast, for it was clear that a disaster of some kind had befallen him, though a large part of her anxiety sprang from the question how far the fact was likely to affect herself. He moved away from the table, and went towards the stairway at the further end of the hall, and she followed him a few minutes later. He was sitting by an open window when she reached their room. A candle flickered beside him and a little bundle of papers was clenched in one hand. "What is it, Harry?" she asked. He looked up at her, and his voice sounded hoarse. "I'll try to tell you later," he answered. "There's a dinner to be got through, and it will be a big enough effort to sit it out. Slip away as soon as you can afterward without attracting attention. You'll find me on the terrace." He dismissed her with a wave of his hand, and she turned towards the little dressing-room. When she came out again he had gone, leaving his outdoor clothing scattered on the floor. The dinner that followed was an ordeal to Millicent, but she took her part in the conversation, and glanced towards her husband only now and then. He did not eat a great deal, and though he spoke when it seemed necessary, she noticed the trace of unsteadiness in his voice. At last, however, the meal, which seemed to drag on interminably, was finished and as soon as possible she slipped out upon the terrace where she found Leslie leaning against a seat. The moon which had risen higher was brighter now, and she could see his face. It showed set and somber in the pale silvery light. "Well?" she said impatiently. "Can't you speak?" "I'll try," he answered. "Winkleheim Reef Explorations went down to four and six pence to-day, and as there's 5 shillings a share not paid up, it's very probable that one wouldn't be able to give the stock away before the market closes to-morrow." "Ah," replied Millicent sharply, "didn't you tell me that they were worth sixteen shillings not very long ago? Why didn't you sell them then?" "Because, as it seems to me now, my greediness was greater than my judgment. I wanted twenty shillings, and I thought I saw how I could get it." He paused with a little jarring laugh. "As a matter of fact--strange as it may seem--I believed in the thing. That is why I let them send out their independent expert, and held on when the stock began to drop. At the worst, I'd good reasons for believing Walmer would let me see the cipher report in time to sell. As it happened, he and the other traitor sold their own stock instead and that must have started the panic. Now they've got their report. There's no ore that will pay for milling in the reef." It was not all clear to Millicent, but she understood from his manner that her husband was ruined. "Then what are we to do?" she asked. "Is there nobody who will give you a start again? You must be known in the business." "That is the precise trouble. I'm too well known. So long as a man is a winner at this particular game and can make it worth while for interested folks to applaud him, or, at least, to keep their mouths shut, he can find a field for his talents when he wants it, but once he makes a false move or comes down with a bang, they get their claws in him and keep him from getting up again. Nobody has any sympathy with a broken company exploiter, especially when he has for once been crazy enough to believe in his own venture." Leslie found it a small relief to run on with ironical bitterness, but Millicent, who was severely practical in some respects, checked him. "You haven't answered my other question." "Then I won't keep you waiting. In a few weeks we'll go out to the Pacific Slope of North America. I may save enough from the wreck to start me in the land-agency business somewhere in British Columbia." Millicent turned from him, and gazed down the moon-lit valley. Troubled as she was, its rugged beauty and its stillness appealed to her, and she knew it would be a wrench to leave the land which had hitherto safely sheltered her. She had known only the smoother side of life in it, and nobody could appreciate the ease and luxury it could offer some of its inhabitants better than she did. Now, it seemed, she must leave it, and go out to struggle for a mere living in some unlovely town in what she supposed must be a wild and semi-barbarous country. She felt bitter against the man who, as she thought of it, had dragged her down, but she hid her resentment. "But you know nothing about the land-agency business," she pointed out. Leslie laughed ironically. "I have a few ideas. Milligan--we had him over at dinner once--made a good deal of money that way, and from what he told me it doesn't seem very different from the business I have been engaged in. Success evidently depends upon one's ability to sell the confiding investor what he thinks he'd like to get. Somehow I fancy that, with moderately good luck, two or three years of it should set us on our feet." "But those two or three years. It's unthinkable!" Millicent broke out. "I'm afraid you will have to face them," said Leslie dryly. He turned and looked hard at her. "You can't reasonably rue your bargain. You knew when I married you that while I had the command of money my business was a risky one." Again Millicent stood silent a moment or two. She recognized that it was largely because Leslie enjoyed that command of money that she had discarded Geoffrey. Now his riches had apparently taken wings and vanished, but the man was bound to her still. One could fancy that there was something like retribution in the thing. "It's rather dreadful, but I suppose I shall not make it any better by complaining," she remarked after a long silence. Her husband's manner became embarrassed. "I understand that Anthony Thurston is well off and you were a favorite of his," he said. "Would it be of any use if you explained the trouble to him?" "No," was the answer, "it would be perfectly useless, and for other reasons that course is impossible. He meant me to marry Geoffrey and I've mortally offended him. He's a hard, determined man." Leslie made a sign of assent, though there was a suggestion of grim amusement in his manner. "I suppose you couldn't very well explain that it was Geoffrey who threw you over? That would, no doubt, be too much to expect of you, and, after all, when you get to the bottom of the matter it wouldn't be true. In reality you finished with Geoffrey when he decided to emigrate instead of selling the mine, didn't you?" Millicent flashed a swift glance at him, but he met it half-mockingly, and she turned her head away. "Why should you make yourself intolerable?" she returned. "I'm sorry for you--that is, I want to be, if you will let me." Leslie shrugged his shoulders as he lit a cigar. "Well," he said, "it can't be helped. We must face the thing! And now I don't want to set the others wondering why we have slipped away; we had better go in again." They walked back info the house. Leslie, with one or two of the other men, sat up late in the smoking-room. Leslie told a number of stories with force and point, and when at length two of his companions went up the stairway together, one of them looked at the other with a lifting of the eyebrows. "After what Leslie has got through to-night, I'll take the farthest place in the line from him to-morrow," he said. "If his nerves aren't unusually good it seems quite possible that there'll be more than a setter peppered." CHAPTER VII THE BREAKING OF THE JAM It was late one moonlight night when Geoffrey Thurston sat inside his double-skinned tent which was pitched above a river of British Columbia. A few good furs checkered the spruce twigs which served as a carpet, and the canvas dwelling was both commodious and comfortable. A bright brass lamp hung from the ridge pole, a nickeled clock ticked cheerily upon a hanging shelf behind the neat camp cot, while the rest of the well-made furniture betokened a degree of prosperity. One of Savine's junior assistants, sent up there in an emergency to replace an older man, sat close by, and, because he dwelt in a bark shanty, envied Thurston his tent. Geoffrey was studying a bridge-work tracing that lay unrolled upon his knees. "I can only repeat what I said months ago. The wing slide of the log pass is too short and the angle over sharp," he said, glancing at the jam. "An extra big log will jam there some day and imperil the whole bridge. Did you send a man down to keep watch to-night?" "The slide is in accordance with the Roads and Trails specification," answered the young man, airily. "There was no reason why we should do more work than they asked for. You're an uneasy man, Thurston, always looking for trouble, and I've had enough of late over the rascally hoboes who, when they feel inclined, condescend to work for me. Oh, yes! I posted the lookout as soon as I heard Davies was running his saw logs down." Thurston hitched his chair forward and threw the door-flap back so that he could look out into the night. The tent stood perched on the hillside. Long ranks of climbing pines stretched upwards from it to the scarped rocks which held up the snow-fields on the shoulders of the mighty peaks above. Thin white mist and the roar of water rose up from the shadowy gorge below, but in one place, where the rock walls which hemmed it in sloped down, a gossamer-like structure spanned the chasm. This was a wagon-road bridge Julius Savine, the contractor of large interests and well-known name, was building for the Provincial authorities, and on their surveyor's recommendation he had sub-let to Thurston the construction of a pass through which saw-logs and driftwood might slide without jamming between the piers. Savine, being pressed for time, had brought in a motley collection of workmen, picked up haphazard in the seaboard cities. After bargaining to work for certain wages, these workmen had demanded twenty per cent. more. Thurston, who had picked his own assistants carefully, among the sturdy ranchers, and had aided Savine's representative in resisting this demand, now surmised that the malcontents were meditating mischief. There were some mighty mean rascals among them, his foreman said. "You're looking worried again," observed his companion, presently, and Thurston answered, "Perhaps I am. I wish Davies would run his logs down by daylight, but presumably the stream is too fast for him when the waters rise. It might give some of your friends yonder an opportunity, Summers." "You don't figure they're capable of wrecking the bridge?" replied Summers, showing sudden uneasiness. "One or two among them, including the man I had to thrash, are capable of anything. Perhaps you had better hail your watchman," Thurston said. Summers blew a whistle, and an answer came back faintly through the fret of the river: "Plenty saw logs coming down. All of them handy sizes and sliding safely through." "That's good enough," declared Summers. "I'm not made of cast-iron, and need a little sleep at times, so good-night to you!" He departed with the cheerful confidence of the salaried man, and Thurston, who fought for his own interests, flung himself down on his trestle cot with all his clothes on. Neither the timber slide nor the bridge was quite finished, but because rivers in that region shrink at night when the frost checks the drainage from the feeding glaciers on the peaks above, the saw-miller had insisted on driving down his logs when there was less chance of their stranding on the shoals that cumbered the high-water channel. Thurston lay awake for some time, listening to the fret of the river, which vibrated far across the silence of the hills, and to the occasional crash of a mighty log smiting the slide. Hardly had his eyelids closed when he was aroused by a sound of hurried footsteps approaching the tent. He stood wide awake in the entrance before the newcomer reached it. "There's a mighty big pine caught its butt on one slide and jammed its thin end across the pier," said the man. "Logs piling up behind it already!" As he spoke somebody beat upon a suspended iron sheet down in the valley and drowsy voices rose up from among the clustered tents. Summers went by shouting, "Get a move on, before we lose the bridge!" Five minutes later Thurston, running across a bending plank, halted on the rock which served as foundation for the main bridge pier. Beside him Summers shouted confused orders to a group of struggling men. The moonlight beat down mistily through the haze that rose from the river, and Geoffrey could see the long wedge-headed timber framing that he had built, beside the wing on the shore-side, so that any trunk floating down would cannon off at an angle and shoot safely between the piers. But one huge fir had proved too long for the pass, and when its butt canted, the other end had driven athwart the point of the wedge, after which, because the river was black with drifting logs, other heavy trunks drove against it and jammed it fast. Panting men were hard at work with levers and pike-poles striving to wrench the massive trunk clear, and one lighted an air-blast flare, whose red glare flickered athwart the strip of water foaming between the piers. It showed that some of the logs forced up by the pressure were sliding out above the others, while, amid a horrible grinding, some sank. One side of the river was blocked by a mass of timber that was increasing every moment. Thurston feared that the unfinished piers could not long withstand the pressure, and he remembered that his own work would be paid for only on completion. Nevertheless, he passed several minutes in a critical survey, and then glanced towards certain groups of dark figures watching for the approaching ruin. "She'll go down inside an hour--that is certain, and Savine will lose thousands of dollars," said Summers, whose eyes were wide with apprehension. "I'm rattled completely. Can't you think of anything that might be done?" "Yes!" answered Thurston, coolly. "It is, however, almost too late now. It could have been done readily, if the man who should have seen to it had not turned traitor. Hello! Where's Mattawa Tom?" A big sinewy ax-man from the forests of Northern Ontario sprang up beside him, and Thurston said: "I'm going to try to chop through the king log that's keying them. It's rather more than you bargained for, but will you stand by me, Tom?" "Looks mighty like suicide!" was the dry answer. "But if you're ready to chance it, I'm coming right along." The workmen had divided into two hostile camps, but there was a growl of admiring wonder from friends and foes alike when two figures, balancing bright axes, stood high up on the pier slides ready to leap down upon the working logs. Then disjointed cries went up: "Too late!" "You'll be smashed flatter than a flapjack when the jam breaks up!" "Get hold of the fools, somebody!" "Take their axes away!" "I'll brain the first man who touches mine," threatened Thurston, turning savagely upon those who approached him with remonstrances, and there was a simultaneous murmur from all the assembly when the two adventurous men dropped upon the timber. The logs rolled, groaned, and heaved beneath them and Thurston, trusting to the creeper spikes upon his heels, sprang from one great tree trunk to another behind his companion, who had a longer experience of the perilous work of log-driving. Here a gap, filled with spouting foam, opened up before him; there a trunk upon which he was about to step rolled over and sank. But he worked his way forward towards the center of the fir which keyed the growing mass. This log was many feet in girth. Pressed down level with the water, it was already bending like a slackly-strung bow. The example proved inspiring. Thurston's assistants were sturdy, fearless men, who often risked their lives in wresting a living from the forest, so several among them prepared to follow. Two seamen deserters sprang out from the ranks of the mutineers. One stalwart forest rancher, however, tripped his comrade up, and sat upon his prostrate form shouting, "You'll stop just where you are, you blame idiot! You couldn't do nothing if you got there. Hardly room for them two fellows already where they can get at the log!" The remaining volunteers saw the force of this argument and when somebody increased the blast of the lamp so that the roaring column of flame leapt up higher, the men stood very still, staring at the two who had now gained the center of the partly submerged log. It requires considerable practice to acquire full mastery of the long-hafted ax, but Thurston, who was stout of arm and keen of eye, had managed to earn his bread with it one winter in an Ontario logging camp. When he swung aloft the heavy wedge of steel, it reflected the blast lamp's radiance, making red flashes as it circled round his head. It came down hissing close past his knee. Mattawa Tom's blade crossed it when it rose, and the first white chip leapt up. More chips followed in quick succession until they whirled in one continuous shower, and the razor-edged steel losing definite form became a confused circling brightness, in the center of which two supple figures swayed and heaved. The red light smiting the faces of the two showed great drops of sweat, the swell of toil-hardened muscles on the corded arms, and the rise of each straining chest. There was not a clash nor a falter, but, flash after flash, the blades came down chunking into the ever-widening notch. Summers had seen sword play in Montreal armories, and had heard the ax clang often on the side of Western firs, but--for Thurston was fighting to stave off ruin--this grim struggle in the face of a desperate risk surpassed any remembered exhibition of fencers' skill with the steel. The trunk was bending visibly beneath the hewers, the river frothed more at their feet, and the giant logs were rolling, creeping, shocking close behind, ready to plunge forward when the partly severed trunk should yield. Thurston felt as if his lungs were bursting, his heart throbbed painfully, and something drummed deafeningly inside his head. His vision grew hazy, and he could scarcely see the widening gap in the rough bark into which the trenchant steel cut. It was evident that the steadily increasing jam would rub the bridge piers out of existence long before any two men could hew half way through the great trunk, but, fortunately, the log was now bending like a fully-drawn bow, and the pressure would burst it asunder when a little more of its circumference had been chopped into. So, choking and blinded with perspiration, Geoffrey smote on mechanically, until the man from Mattawa said, "She's about busted." Just then there was a clamor from the watchers on the piers. Men shouted, "Come back." "Whole jam's starting!" "King log's yielding now!" "Jump for your lives before the wreckage breaks away with you!" Mattawa Tom leapt shorewards from moving log to log, but for a few moments Thurston, who scarcely noticed his absence, chopped on alone. Filled with the lust of conflict, he remembered only that it was necessary to make sure of victory before he relaxed an effort. Thrice more in succession he whirled the heavy ax above his head, while, with a sharp snapping of fibers, the fir trunk yielded beneath his feet. Flinging his ax into the river he stood erect, breathless, a moment too late. The logs behind the one which perilously supported him were creeping forward ready for the mad rush that must follow a few seconds later. There remained now but one poor chance of escape and he seized it instinctively. Springing along the sinking trunk, he threw himself clear of it into the river, while running men jostled each other as they surged toward the side of the timber when he sank. A wet head broke the surface, a swinging left hand followed it. The swimmer clutched the edge of a loosely-fitted beam, and held it until strong hands reached down to him. Some gripped his wet fingers, some the back of his coat, one even clutched his hair. There was a heave, then a scramble, and, amid hoarse cheers, the rescued man fell over backwards among his rescuers. Thurston, who stood up dripping, said, somewhat shakily: "Ah, you were only just in time! I'm vastly grateful to you all." The last words were lost in a deafening crash as the jam broke up, and the giant logs drove through the opening, thrashing the river into foam. The tree-trunks ground against one another, or smote the slide casing with a thunderous shock; but the stone-backed timber stood the strain, and when the clamor of the passage of the logs ceased, a heavy stillness brooded over the camp as the river grew empty again. Thurston sought out the man from Mattawa. Laying a wet hand upon his shoulder he said: "Thank you, Tom. I won't forget the assistance you rendered me." "That's all right," answered the brawny ax-man, awkwardly. "I get my wages safe and regular, and I've tackled as tough a contract for a worse master before." There was no chance for further speech. Davies, who owned the saw-mill lower down stream, reined in a lathered horse, close by. "Where have all my logs gone to?" he asked. "My foreman roused me to say only a few dozen had brought up in the boom, and as the boys were running them down by scores I figured they'd piled up against your bridge. I don't see any special chaos about here, though you look as if you had been in swimming; but what in the name of thunder have you done with the logs?" "They're on their way down river," Thurston replied, dryly. "We had some trouble with them which necessitated my taking a bath. But see here, what made you turn a two-hundred-foot red fir loose among them?" "I didn't," answered Davies, with a puzzled air. "The boys saw every log into standard lengths. We have no use for a two-hundred-footer and couldn't get her into the mill. Are you sure it wasn't a wind-blown log?" "I saw the butt had been freshly cross-cut," declared Thurston with an ominous glitter in his eyes. "I understand you are pretty slack just now. As a favor, would you hire your chopping gang to me for a few days? I'll tell you why I want them later." "I'll decide in a few minutes," he added, when Davies had told him what the cost would be. Turning towards Summers he said: "There may be several more big red firs growing handy beside the river, and I mean to prevent any more accidents of this kind in future. If your employer will not reimburse me, I will bear the cost myself. I would sooner spend my last dollar than allow any of these loafers to coerce me." The workmen stood still, all of them curious, and a few uneasy. Raising one hand to demand attention, Thurston said: "A red fir was felled by two or three among you to-day, and launched down stream after darkness fell. I want the men who did it to step forward and explain their reasons to me." "You're a mighty bold man," remarked Summers--who knew that, although few were actually dangerous, the malcontents outnumbered Thurston's loyal assistants. Among the listeners nobody moved, but there was a murmuring, and all eyes were fixed upon the speaker, who, either by design or accident, leaned upon the haft of a big ax. "I hardly expected an answer," he went on. "Accordingly, I'll proceed to name the men who I believe must know about this contemptible action, and notify them that they will be paid off to-morrow." A tumult of mingled wrath and applause started when Thurston coolly called aloud a dozen names. One voice broke through the others: "We're working for Julius Savine, an' don't count a bad two-bits on you," it declared defiantly. "We'll all fling our tools into the river before we let one of them fellows go." "In that case the value of the tools will be deducted from the wages due you," Thurston announced calmly. "After this notice, Julius Savine's representative won't pay any of the men I mention, whether they work or not; and nobody, who does not earn it, will get a single meal out of the cook shanty. I'll give you until to-morrow to make up your minds concerning what you will do." Aside to Davies he said: "I'll take your lumber gang in any case. Go back and send them in as soon as you can." The assembly broke up in a divided state of mind. Although it was very late, little groups lingered outside the tents, and at intervals angry voices were heard. Summers set out for the railroad to communicate by telegraph with his employer, and Thurston retired to his tent, where he went peacefully to sleep. Awakening later than usual, he listened with apparent unconcern to Mattawa Tom, who aroused him, with the warning: "It's time you were out. Them fellows are coming along for their money. The boys called up a big roll, as soon as the lumber gang marched in, and, though there was considerable wild talking, the sensible ones allowed it was no more use kicking." "That's all right," averred Thurston, who paid the departing malcontents and was glad to get rid of them, knowing that the lumbermen, who were mostly poor settlers, had small sympathy with the mutineers and that he would have at least a balance of power. He set the men to work immediately lengthening the wing of the log slide and the wedge guards of the piers. He himself toiled as hard as any two among them, and, to the astonishment of all, completed the big task before the week was past. "I hardly like to say what it has cost me, but no log of any length could jam itself in the new pass," he said to Summers. "You're an enterprising man," was the answer. "Savine is a bit of a rustler, too, and you'll have a chance of explaining things to him to-morrow. I have had word from him that he's coming through." CHAPTER VIII A REST BY THE WAY It was afternoon when Julius Savine, accompanied by Summers, had entered Thurston's tent. On the way from the railroad, Summers had explained to the contractor all that had happened. Geoffrey rose to greet Savine, glancing at his employer with some curiosity, for he had not met him before. Savine was a man of quick, restless movements and nervous disposition. The gray that tinged his long mustache, lightly sprinkled his hair, gave evidence of his fifty years of intense living. He was known to be not only a daring engineer, but a generally successful speculator in mining and industrial enterprises. Nevertheless, Geoffrey fancied that something in his face gave a hint of physical weakness. "I have heard one or two creditable things about you, and thought of asking you to run up to my offices, but I'm glad to meet you now," said Savine with a smile, adding when Thurston made a solemn bow, "There, I've been sufficiently civil, and I see you would rather I talked business. I'm considerably indebted to you for the way you tackled the late crisis, and approve of the log-guard's extension. How much did the extra work cost you?" "Here is the wages bill and a list of the iron work charged at cost," Thurston answered. "As I did the work without any orders you would be justified in declining to pay for it, and I have included no profit." "Ah!" said Savine, who glanced over the paper and scribbled across it. Looking up with a twinkle in his eye, he asked: "Have you been acquiring riches latterly? My cashier will pay that note whenever you hand it in at Vancouver. I'll also endorse your contract for payment if you will give it me. Further, I want to say that I've been to look at your work, and it pleases me. There are plenty of men in this province who would have done it as solidly, but it's the general design and ingenious fixings that take my fancy. May I ask where you got the ideas?" "In England," answered Geoffrey. "I spent some time in the drawing office of a man of some note." He mentioned a name, and Savine, who looked at him critically, nodded as if in recognition. The older man smiled when Thurston showed signs of resenting his inspection. "In that case I should say you ought to do," Savine observed, cheerfully. "I don't understand," said Thurston, and Savine answered: "No? Well, if you'll wait a few moments I'll try to make things plain to you. I want a live man with brains of his own, and some knowledge of mechanical science. There is no trouble about getting them by the car load from the East or the Old Country, but the man for me must know how to use his muscles, if necessary, and handle ax and drill as well. In short, I want one who has been right through the mill as you seem to have been, and, so long as he earns it, I'm not going to worry over his salary." "I'm afraid I would not suit you," said Geoffrey. "I'm rather too fond of my own way to make a good servant, and of late I have not done badly fighting for my own hand. Therefore, while I thank you, and should be glad to undertake any minor contracts you can give me, I prefer to continue as at present." "I should not fancy that you would be particularly easy to get on with," Savine observed with another shrewd glance, but with unabated good humor. "Still, what you suggest might suit me. I have rather more work at present than I can hold on to with both hands, and have tolerably good accounts of you. Come West with me and spend the week end at my house, where we could talk things over quietly." Geoffrey was gratified--for the speaker was famous in his profession--and he showed his feeling as he answered: "I consider myself fortunate that you should ask me." "I figured you were not fond of compliments, and I'm a plain man myself," declared Savine, with the humor apparent in his keen eyes again. "I will, however, give you one piece of advice before I forget it. My sister-in-law might be there, and if she wants to doctor you, don't let her. She has a weakness for physicking strangers, and the results are occasionally embarrassing." It happened accordingly that Thurston, who had overhauled his wardrobe in Vancouver, duly arrived at a pretty wooden villa which looked down upon a deep inlet. He knew the mountain valleys of the Cumberland, and had wandered, sometimes footsore and hungry, under the giant ramparts of the Selkirks and the Rockies, but he had never seen a fairer spot than the reft in the hills which sheltered Savine's villa, and was known by its Indian name, "The Place of the Hundred Springs." For a background somber cedars lifted their fretted spires against the skyline on the southern hand. Beneath the trees the hillsides closed in and the emerald green of maples and tawny tufts of oak rolled down to a breadth of milk-white pebbles and a stretch of silver sand, past which clear green water shoaling from shade to shade wound inland. Threads of glancing spray quivered in and out among the foliage, and high above, beyond a strip of sparkling sea and set apart by filmy cloud from all the earth below, stretched the giant saw-edge of the Coast Range's snow. The white-painted, red-roofed dwelling, with its green-latticed shutters, tasteful scroll work and ample, if indifferently swarded, lawns, was pleasant to look upon, but Thurston found more pleasure in the sight of its young mistress, who awaited him in a great cool room that was hung with deer-head trophies and floored with parquetry of native timber. Helen Savine wore a white dress and her favorite crimson roses nestled in the belt. Though she greeted Geoffrey with indifferent cordiality, the girl was surprised when her eyes rested upon him. Thurston was not a man of the conventional type one meets and straightway forgets, and she had often thought about him; but, since the night at Crosbie Ghyll, his image had presented itself as she first saw him--ragged, hungry, and grim, a worthy descendant of the wild Thurstons about whom Musker had discoursed. Now, in spite of his weather-beaten face and hardened hands, he appeared what he was, a man of education and some refinement, and his resolute expression, erect carriage, and muscular frame, rendered lithe and almost statuesque by much swinging of the ax, gave him an indefinite air of distinction. Again she decided that Geoffrey Thurston was a well-favored man, but remembering Musker's stories, she set herself to watch for some trace of inherent barbarity. This was unfortunate for Geoffrey, because in such cases observers generally discover what they search for. Geoffrey was placed beside Helen at dinner, and having roughed it since he left England, and even before that time, it seemed strange to him to be deftly waited upon at a table glittering with silver and gay with flowers. Mrs. Thomas Savine sat opposite him, between her husband and the host, and Helen found certain suspicions confirmed when Savine referred to the crushing of the strike. Previously, he had given his daughter a brief account of it. "It was daringly done," said Helen, "but I wonder, Mr. Thurston, if you and others who hold the power ever consider the opposite side of the question. It may be that those men, whose task is evidently highly dangerous, have wives and children depending upon them, and a few extra dollars, earned hardly enough, no doubt, might mean so much to them." "I am afraid I don't always do so," answered Geoffrey. "I have toiled tolerably hard as a workman myself. If any employé should consider that he was underpaid for the risk he ran, and should say so civilly, I should listen to him. On the other hand, if any combination strove by unfair means to coerce me, I should spare no effort to crush it!" Thurston generally was too much in earnest to make a pleasant dinner-table conversationalist. As he spoke, he shut one big brown hand. It was a trifling action, and he was, perhaps, unconscious of it, but Helen, who noticed the flicker in his eyes and the vindictive tightening of the hard fingers, shrank from him instinctively. "Is that not a cruel plan of action, and is there no room for a gentler policy in your profession? Must the weak always be trampled out of existence?" she replied, with a slight trace of indignation. Thurston turned towards her with a puzzled expression. Julius Savine smiled, but his sister-in-law, who had remained silent, but not unobservant, broke in: "You believe in the hereditary transmission of character, Mr. Thurston?" "I think most people do to some extent," answered Geoffrey. "But why do you ask me?" "It's quite simple," said Mrs. Savine, smiling. "Did my husband tell you that when we were in England, we were held up by a storm there one night in your ancestral home? There was a man there who ought to belong to the feudal ages. He was called Musker, and he told us quaint stories about some of you. I fancy Geoffrey, who robbed the king's dragoons, must have looked just like you when you shut your fingers so, a few minutes ago." "I am a little surprised," Geoffrey returned with a flush rising in his cheeks. "Musker used to talk a great deal of romantic nonsense. Crosbie Ghyll is no longer mine. I hope you passed a pleasant night there." Mrs. Savine became eloquent concerning the historic interest of the ancient house and her brother-in-law, who appeared interested, observed. "So far, you have not told me about that particular adventure." Again the incident was unfortunate for Geoffrey, because Helen, who had no great respect for her aunt's perceptions, decided that if the similitude had struck even that lady, she was right in her own estimation of Thurston's character. "We heard of several instances of reckless daring, and we Colonials consider all the historic romance of the land we sprang from belongs to us as well as you," Mrs. Savine said. "So, if it is not an intrusion, may I ask if any of those border warriors were remarkable for deeds of self-abnegation or charity?" "I am afraid not," admitted Geoffrey, rather grimly. "Neither did any of them ever do much towards the making of history. All of them were generally too busy protecting their property or seizing that of their neighbors! But, at least, when they fought, they seem to have fought for the losing side, and, according to tradition, paid for it dearly. However, to change the subject, is it fair to hold any man responsible for his ancestors' shortcomings? They have gone back to the dust long ago, and it is the present that concerns us." "Still, can anybody avoid the results of those shortcomings or virtues?" persisted Helen, and her father said: "I hardly think so. There is an instance beside you, Mr. Thurston. Miss Savine's grandfather ruled in paternally feudal fashion over a few dozen superstitious habitants way back in old-world Quebec, as his folks had done since the first French colonization. That explains my daughter's views on social matters and her weakness for playing the somewhat autocratic Lady Bountiful. The Seigneurs were benevolent village despots with very quaint ways." Savine spoke lightly, and one person only noticed that the face of his daughter was slightly less pale in coloring than before, but that one afterwards remembered her father's words and took them as a clue to the woman's character. He discovered also that Helen Savine was both generous and benevolent, but that she loved to rule, and to rule somewhat autocratically. The first day at the Savine villa passed like a pleasant dream to the man who had toiled for a bare living in the shadowy forests or knelt all day among hot rocks to hold the weary drill with bleeding fingers. Mr. Savine grew more and more interested in Geoffrey, who, during the second day, made great advances in the estimation of Mrs. Thomas Savine. Bicycles were not so common a woman's possession in Canada, or elsewhere, then. In fact, there were few roads in British Columbia fit to propel one on. An American friend had sent Miss Savine a wheel which, after a few journeys over a corduroy road, groaned most distressfully whenever she mounted it. Helen desired to ride in to the railroad, but the gaudy machine complained even more than usual, and when at last one of its wheels declined to revolve, Julius Savine called Geoffrey's attention to it. "If you are anxious for mild excitement, and want to earn my daughter's gratitude, you might tackle that confounded thing, Mr. Thurston," he said. "The local blacksmith shakes his head over it, and sent it back the last time worse than ever, with several necessary portions missing. After running many kinds of machines in my time, I'm willing to own that this particular specimen defies me." Thurston had stripped and fitted various intricate mining appliances, but he had never struggled with a bicycle. So, when Helen accepted his offer of assistance, he wheeled the machine out upon the lawn and proceeded light-heartedly to dismantle it, while the Savine brothers lounged in cane chairs, encouraging him over their cigars. The dismantling was comparatively simple, but when the time for reassembling came, Thurston, who found that certain cups could not by any legitimate means be induced to screw home into their places, was perforce obliged to rest the machine upon two chairs and wriggle underneath it, where he reclined upon his back with grimy oil dripping upon his forehead. Red in the face, he crawled out to breathe at intervals, and Helen made stern efforts to conceal her mingled alarm and merriment, when Thomas Savine said: "Will you take long odds, Thurston, that you never make that invention of his Satanic Majesty run straight again?" Mrs. Savine cautioned the operator about sunstroke and apoplexy. When Thomas Savine caught Helen's eye, both laughed outright, and Geoffrey, mistaking the reason, felt hurt; he determined to conquer the bicycle or remain beneath it all night. When at last he succeeded in putting the various parts together and straightened his aching back, he hoped that he did not look so disgusted, grimy and savage as he undoubtedly felt. "You must really let it alone," said Helen. "The sun is very hot, and perhaps, you might be more successful after luncheon. I have noticed that when mending bicycles a rest and refreshment sometimes prove beneficial." "That's so!" agreed Thomas Savine. "Young Harry was wont to tackle it on just those lines. He used up several of my best Cubanos and a bottle of claret each time, before he had finished; and then I was never convinced that the thing went any better." "You must beware of ruining your health," interposed Mrs. Savine. "Mending bicycles frequently leads to an accumulation of malevolent humors. Did I interrupt you, Mr. Thurston?" "I was only going to say that it is nearly finished, and that I should not like to be vanquished by an affair of this kind," said Geoffrey with emphasis. "Would it hurt the machine if I stood it upon its head, Miss Savine?" "Oh, no, and I am so grateful," Helen answered assuringly, noticing guiltily that there were oil and red dust, besides many somber smears, upon the operator's face and jacket, while the skin was missing from several of his knuckles. It was done at last, and Geoffrey sighed, while the rest of the party expressed surprise as well as admiration when the wheels revolved freely without click or groan. Julius Savine nodded, with more than casual approval, and Helen was gracious with her thanks. "You look quite faint," observed Mrs. Savine. "It was the hot sun on your forehead, and the mental excitement. Such things are often followed by dangerous consequences, and you must take a dose of my elixir. Helen, dear, you know where to find the bottle." Julius Savine was guilty of a slight gesture of impatience. His brother laughed, while Helen seemed anxious to slip away. Geoffrey answered: "I hardly think one should get very mentally excited over a bicycle. I feel perfectly well, and only somewhat greasy." "That is just one of the symptoms. Yes, you have hit it--greasy feeling!" broke in the amateur dispenser, who rarely relaxed her efforts until she had run down her victim. "Helen, why don't you hunt round for that bottle?" "I mean greasy externally," explained Geoffrey in desperation, and again Thomas Savine chuckled, while Helen, who ground one little boot-heel into the grasses, deliberately turned away. Mrs. Savine, however, cheerfully departed to find the bottle, and soon returned with it and a wine glass. She filled the glass with an inky fluid which smelt unpleasant, and said to Geoffrey: "You will be distinctly better the moment you have taken this!" Geoffrey took the goblet, walked apart a few paces, and, making a wry face, heroically swallowed the bitter draught, after which Mrs. Savine, who beamed upon him, said: "You feel quite differently, don't you?" "Yes!" asserted Geoffrey, truthfully, longing to add that he had felt perfectly well before and had now to make violent efforts to overcome his nausea. His heroism had its reward, however, for when Helen returned from her wheel ride, she said: "I was really ashamed when my aunt insisted on doctoring you, but you must take it as a compliment, because she only prescribes for the people she takes a fancy to. I hope the dose was not particularly nasty?" "Sorry for you, Thurston, from experience!" cried Thomas Savine. "When I see that bottle, I just vacate the locality. The taste isn't the worst of it by a long way." That night Julius Savine called Geoffrey into his study, and, spreading a roll of plans before him, offered terms, which were gladly accepted, for the construction of portions of several works. Savine said: "I won't worry much about references. Your work speaks for itself, and the Roads and Trails surveyor has been talking about you. I'll take you, as you'll have to take me, on trust. I keep my eye on rising young men, and I have been watching you. Besides, the man who could master an obstinate bicycle the first time he wrestled with one must have some sense of his own, and it isn't everybody who would have swallowed that physic." "I could not well avoid doing so," said Geoffrey, with a rueful smile. "I feel I owe you an apology, but it's my sister-in-law's one weakness, and you have won her favor for the rest of your natural life," Savine returned. "You have had several distinguished fellow-sufferers, including provincial representatives and railroad directors, for to my horror she physicked a very famous one the last time he came. He did not suffer with your equanimity. In fact, he was almost uncivil, and said to me, 'If the secretary hadn't sent off your trestle contract, I should urge the board to reconsider it. Did you ask me here that your relatives might poison me, Savine?'" Geoffrey laughed, and his host added: "I want to talk over a good many details with you, and dare say you deserve a holiday--I know I do--so I shall retain you here for a week, at least. I take your consent for granted; it's really necessary." CHAPTER IX GEOFFREY STANDS FIRM Geoffrey Thurston possessed a fine constitution, and, in spite of Mrs. Savine's treatment and her husband's predictions, rose refreshed and vigorous on the morning that followed his struggle with the bicycle. It was a glorious morning, and when breakfast was over he enjoyed the unusual luxury of lounging under the shadow of a cedar on the lawn, where he breathed in the cool breeze which rippled the sparkling straits. Hitherto, he had risen with the sun to begin a day of toil and anxiety and this brief glimpse of a life of ease, with the pleasures of congenial companionship, was as an oasis in the desert to him. "A few days will be as much as is good for me," he told himself with a sigh. "In the meantime hard work and short commons are considerably more appropriate, but I shall win the right to all these things some day, if my strength holds out." His forehead wrinkled, his eyes contracted, and he stared straight before him, seeing neither the luminous green of the maples nor the whispering cedars, but far off in the misty future a golden possibility, which, if well worth winning, must be painfully earned. His reverie was broken suddenly. "Are your thoughts very serious this morning, Mr. Thurston?" a clear voice inquired, and the most alluring of the visions he had conjured up stood before him, losing nothing by the translation into material flesh. Helen Savine had halted under the cedar. In soft clinging draperies of white and cream, she was a charming reality. "I'm afraid they were," Geoffrey answered, and Helen laughed musically. "One would fancy that you took life too much in earnest," she said. "It is fortunately impossible either to work or to pile up money forever, and a holiday is good for everybody. I am going down to White Rock Cove to see if my marine garden is as beautiful as it used to be. Would you care to inspect it and carry this basket for me?" Thurston showed his pleasure almost too openly. They chatted lightly on many subjects as they walked together, knee-deep, at times, among scarlet wine-berries, and the delicate green and ebony of maidenhair fern. The scents and essence of summer hung heavy in the air. Shafts of golden sunlight, piercing the somber canopy of the forest isles, touched, and, it seemed to Geoffrey, etherealized, his companion. The completeness of his enjoyment troubled the man, and presently he lapsed into silence. All this appeared too good, too pleasant, he feared, to last. "Do you know that you have not answered my last question, nor spoken a word for the last ten minutes?" inquired Helen with a smile, at length. "Have these woods no charm for you, or are you regretting the cigarbox beneath the cedar?" Geoffrey turned towards her, and there was a momentary flash in his eyes as he answered: "You must forgive me. Keen enjoyment often blunts the edge of speech, and I was wishing that this walk through the cool, green stillness might last forever." Afraid that he might have said too much, he ceased speaking abruptly, and then, after the fashion of one unskilled in tricks of speech, proceeded to remedy one blunder by committing another. "It reminds me of the evenings at Graham's ranch. There can surely be no sunsets in the world to equal those that flame along the snows of British Columbia, and you will remember how, together, we watched them burn and fade." It was an unfortunate reference, for now and then Helen had recalled that period with misgivings. Cut off from all association with persons of congenial tastes, she had not only found the man's society interesting, but she had allowed herself to sink into an indefinite state of companionship with him. In the mountain solitude, such camaraderie had seemed perfectly natural, but it was impossible under different circumstances. It was only on the last occasion that he had ever hinted at a continuance of this intimacy, but she had not forgotten the rash speech. Had the recollections been all upon her own side she might have permitted a partial renewal of the companionship, but she became forbidding at once when Geoffrey ventured to remind her of it. "Yes," she said reflectively. "The sunsets were often impressive, but we are all of us unstable, and what pleases us at one time may well prove tiresome at another. If that experience were repeated I should very possibly grow sadly discontented at Graham's ranch." Geoffrey was not only shrewd enough to comprehend that, if Miss Savine unbent during a summer holiday in the wilderness, it did not follow that she would always do so, but he felt that he deserved the rebuke. He had, however, learned patience in Canada, and was content to bide his time, so he answered good-humoredly that such a result might well be possible. They were silent until they halted where the hillside fell sharply to the verge of a cliff. Far down below Thurston could see the white pebbles shine through translucent water, and with professional instincts aroused, he dubiously surveyed the slope to the head of the crag. Julius Savine, or somebody under his orders, had constructed a zig-zag pathway which wound down between small maples and clusters of wine-berries shimmering like blood-drops among their glossy leaves. In places the pathway was underpinned with timber against the side of an almost sheer descent, and he noticed that one could have dropped a vertical line from the fish-hawk, which hung poised a few feet outside one angle, into the water. They descended cautiously to the first sharp bend, and here Geoffrey turned around in advance of his companion. "Do you mind telling me how long it is since you or anybody else has used this path, Miss Savine?" he inquired. "I came up this way last autumn, and think hardly any other person has used it since. But why do you ask?" was the reply. "I fancied so!" Geoffrey lapsed instinctively into his brusque, professional style of comment. "Poor system of underpinning, badly fixed yonder. I am afraid you must find some other way down to the beach this morning." It was long since Helen had heard anybody apply the word "must" to herself. As Julius Savine's only daughter, most of her wishes had been immediately gratified, while the men she met vied with one another in paying her homage. In addition to this, her father, in whose mechanical abilities she had supreme faith, had constructed that pathway especially for her pleasure. So for several reasons her pride took fire, and she answered coldly: "The path is perfectly safe. My father himself watched the greater portion of its building." "It was safe once, no doubt," answered Geoffrey, slightly puzzled as to how he had offended her, but still resolute. "The rains of last winter, however, have washed out much of the surface soil, leaving bare parts of the rock beneath, and the next angle yonder is positively dangerous. Can we not go around?" "Only by the head of the valley, two miles away at least," Helen's tone remained the reverse of cordial. "I have climbed both in the Selkirks and the Coast Range, and to anyone with a clear head, even in the most slippery places, there cannot be any real danger!" "I regret that I cannot agree with you. I devoutly wish I could," said Geoffrey, uneasily. "No! you must please go no further, Miss Savine." The girl's eyes glittered resentfully. A flush crept into the center of either cheek as she walked towards him. Though he did not intend it, there was perhaps too strong a suggestion of command in his attitude, and when Helen came abreast of him, he laid a hand restrainingly upon her arm. She shook it off, not with ill-humored petulance, for Helen was never ungraceful nor undignified, but with a disdain that hurt the man far more than anger. Nevertheless, knowing that he was right, he was determined that she should run no risk. Letting his hand swing at his side, he walked a few paces before her, and then turned in a narrow portion of the path where two people could not pass abreast. "Please listen to me, Miss Savine," he began. "I am an engineer, and I can see that the bend yonder is dangerous. I cannot, therefore, consent to allow you to venture upon it. How should I face your father if anything unfortunate happened?" "My father saw the path built," repeated Helen. "He also is an engineer, and is said to be one of the most skillful in the Dominion. I am not used to being thwarted for inadequate reasons. Let me pass." Geoffrey stood erect and immovable. "I am very sorry, Miss Savine, that, in this one instance, I cannot obey you," he said. There was an awkward silence, and while they looked at each other, Helen felt her breath come faster. Retreating a few paces she seated herself upon a boulder, thus leaving the task of terminating an unpleasant position to Geoffrey, who was puzzled for a time. Finally, an inspiration dawned upon Thurston, who said: "Perhaps you would feel the disappointment less if I convinced you by ocular demonstration." Walking cautiously forward to the dangerous angle, he grasped a broken edge of the rock outcrop about which the path twisted, and pressed hard with both feet upon the edge of the narrow causeway. It was a hazardous experiment, and the result of it startling, for there was a crash and a rattle, and Geoffrey remained clinging to the rock, with one foot in a cranny, while a mass of earth and timber slid down the steep-pitched slope and disappeared over the face of the crag. A hollow splashing rose suggestively from far beneath the rock. Helen, who had been too angry to notice the consideration for herself implied in the man's last speech, turned her eyes upon the ground and did not raise them until, after swinging himself carefully onto firmer soil, Geoffrey approached her. "I hope, after what you have seen, you will forgive me for preventing your descent," he said. "You used considerable violence, and I am still unconvinced," Helen declared, rising as she spoke. "In any case, you have at least made further progress impossible, and we may as well retrace our steps. No; I do not wish to hear any more upon the subject. It is really not worth further discussion." They turned back together. When the ascent grew steeper, Geoffrey held out his hand. Instead of accepting the proffered assistance as she had done when they descended, Helen apparently failed to notice the hand, and the homeward journey was not pleasant to either of them. Helen did not parade her displeasure, but Geoffrey was sensible of it, and, never being a fluent speaker upon casual subjects, he was not successful in his conversational efforts. When at last they reached the villa, he shook his shoulders disgustedly as he recalled some of his inane remarks. "It was hardly a wonder she was silent. Heavens, what prompted me to drivel in that style?" he reflected. "It was cruelly unfortunate, but I could not let her risk her precious safety over that confounded path!" At luncheon it happened that Mrs. Savine said: "I saw you going towards the White Rock Cove, Helen. Very interesting place, isn't it, Mr. Thurston? But you brought none of that lovely weed back with you." "Did you notice how I had the path graded as you went down?" asked Savine, and Thurston saw that Helen's eyes were fixed upon him. The expression of the eyes aroused his indignation because the glance was not a challenge, but a warning that whatever his answer might be, the result would be indifferent to her. He was hurt that she should suppose for a moment that he would profit by this opportunity. "We were not able to descend the whole way," he replied. "Last winter's rains have loosened the surface soil, and one angle of the path slipped bodily away. Very fortunately I was some distance in advance of Miss Savine, and there was not the slightest danger. Might I suggest socketed timbers? The occurrence reminds me of a curious accident to the railroad track in the Rockies." Helen did not glance at the speaker again, for Savine asked no awkward questions. But Thurston saw no more of her during the afternoon. That evening he sought Savine in his study. "You have all been very kind to me," he said. "In fact, so much so that I feel, if I stay any longer among you, I shall never be content to rough it when I go back to the bush. This is only too pleasant, but, being a poor man with a living to earn, it would be more consistent if I recommenced my work. Which of the operations should I undertake first?" Savine smiled on him whimsically, and answered with Western directness: "I don't know whether the Roads Surveyor was right or wrong when he said that you were not always over-civil. See here, Thurston, leaving all personal amenities out of the question, I'm inclined to figure that you will be of use to me, aid the connection also will help you considerably. My paid representatives are not always so energetic as they might be. So if you are tired of High Maples you can start in with the rock-cutting on the new wagon road. It is only a detail, but I want it finished, and, as the cars would bring you down in two hours' time, I'll expect you to put in the week-end here, talking over more important things with me." Thurston left the house next morning. He did not see Helen to say good-by to her, for she had ridden out into the forest before he departed from High Maples. Helen admitted to herself that she was interested in Thurston, the more so because he alone, of all the men whom she had met, had successfully resisted her will. But she shrank from him, and though convinced that his action in preventing her from going down the pathway had been justified, she could not quite forgive him. CHAPTER X SAVINE'S CONFIDENCE Despite his employer's invitation Thurston did not return to High Maples at the end of the week. The rock-cutting engrossed all his attention, and he was conscious that it might be desirable to allow Miss Savine's indignation to cool. He had thought of her often since the day that she gave him the dollar, and, at first still smarting under the memory of another woman's treachery, had tried to analyze his feelings regarding her. The result was not very definite, though he decided that he had never really loved Millicent, and was very certain now that she had wasted little affection upon him. One evening at Graham's ranch when they had stood silently together under the early stars, he had become suddenly conscious of the all-important fact, that his life would be empty without Helen Savine, and that of all the women whom he had met she alone could guide and raise him towards a higher plane. It was characteristic of Geoffrey Thurston that the determination to win her in spite of every barrier of wealth and rank came with the revelation, and that, at the same time counting the cost, he realized that he must first bid boldly for a name and station, and with all patience bide his time. A more cold-blooded man might have abandoned the quest as hopeless at the first, and one more impulsive might have ruined his chances by rashness, but Geoffrey united the characteristics of the reckless Thurstons with his mother's cool North Country canniness. It therefore happened that Savine, irritated by a journalistic reference to the tardiness of that season's road-making, went down to see how the work entrusted to Geoffrey was progressing. He was accompanied by his daughter, who desired to visit the wife of a prosperous rancher. It was towards noon of a hot day when they alighted from their horses in the mouth of a gorge that wound inland from the margin of a lake. No breath of wind ruffled the steely surface of the lake. White boulder and somber fir branch slept motionless, reflected in the crystal depths of the water, and lines of great black cedars, that kept watch from the ridge above, stood mute beneath the sun. As they picked their path carefully through the débris littering an ugly rent in the rock, where perspiring men were toiling hard with pick and drill, they came upon Thurston before he was aware of them. Geoffrey stood with a heavy hammer in his hand critically surveying a somewhat seedy man who was just then offering his services. Savine, who had a sense of humor, was interested in the scene, and said to his daughter: "Thurston's busy. We'll just wait until he's through with that fellow." Geoffrey, being ignorant of their presence, decided that the applicant, who said that he was an Englishman, and used to estimating quantities, would be of little service; but he seldom refused to assist a stranger in distress. "I do all the draughting and figuring work myself," he said. "However, if you are hard up you can earn two dollars a day wheeling broken rock until you find something better." The man turned away, apparently not delighted at the prospect of wheeling rock, and Geoffrey faced about to greet the spectators. "I don't fancy you'll get much work out of that fellow," observed Savine. "I did not expect to see you so soon, and am pleasantly surprised," said Geoffrey, who, warned by something in Helen's face, restrained the answer he was about to make. "You will be tired after your rough ride, and it is very hot out here. If you will come into my office tent I can offer you some slight refreshment." Helen noticed every appointment of the double tent which was singularly neat and trim. Its flooring of packed twigs gave out a pleasant aromatic odor. The instruments scattered among the papers on the maple desk were silver-mounted. The tall, dusty man in toil-stained jean produced thin glasses, into which he poured mineral waters and California wine. A tin of English biscuits was passed with the cooling drinks. Thurston was a curious combination, she fancied, for, having seen him covered with the grime of hard toil she now beheld him in a new _rôle_--that of host. They chatted for half-an-hour, and then there was an interruption, for the young Englishman, who had grown tired of wheeling the barrow, stood outside the tent demanding to see his employer. Geoffrey strode out into the sunshine. The stranger said that he had a backache, besides blisters on his hands, and that wheeling a heavy barrow did not agree with him. He added, with an easy assurance that drew a frown to the contractor's face, "It's a considerable come-down for me to have to work hard at all, and I was told you were generally good to a distressed countryman. Can't you really give me anything easier?" "I try to be helpful to my countrymen when they're worth it," answered Geoffrey, dryly. "Would you care to hold a rock drill, or swing a sledge instead?" "I hardly think so," he returned dubiously. "You see, I haven't been trained to manual labor, and I'm not so strong as you might think by looking at me." Geoffrey lost his temper. "The drill might blister your fingers, I dare say," he admitted. "I'm afraid you are too good for this rude country, and I have no use for you. I could afford to be decent? Perhaps so, but I earn my money with considerably more effort than you seem willing to make. The cook will give you dinner with the other men to-day; then you can resume your search for an easy billet. We have no room in this camp for idlers." Savine chuckled, but Helen, who had a weakness for philanthropy, and small practical experience of its economic aspect, flushed with indignation, pitying the stranger and resenting what she considered Thurston's brutality. Her father rose, when the contractor came in, to say that he wanted to look around the workings. He suggested that Helen should remain somewhere in the shade. When Thurston had placed a canvas lounge for her, outside the tent, the girl turned towards him a look of severe disapproval. "Why did you speak to that poor man so cruelly?" she asked. "Perhaps I am transgressing, but it seems to me that one living here in comfort, even comparative luxury, might be a little more considerate towards those less fortunate." "Please remember that I was once what you term 'less fortunate' myself," Geoffrey reminded Helen, who answered quickly, "One would almost fancy it was you who had forgotten." "On the contrary, I am not likely to forget how hard it was for me to earn my first fee here in this new country," he declared, looking straight at her. "I was glad to work up to my waist in ice-water to make, at first, scarcely a dollar and a half a day. One must exercise discretion, Miss Savine, and that man, so far as I could see, had no desire to work." It was a pity that Geoffrey did not explain that he meant Bransome's payment by the words "my first fee," for Helen had never forgotten how she had failed in the attempt to double the amount for which he had bargained. She had considered him destitute of all the gentler graces, but now she was surprised that he should apparently attempt to wound her. "Is it right to judge so hastily?" she inquired, mastering her indignation with difficulty. "The poor man may not be fit for hard work--I think he said so--and I cannot help growing wrathful at times when I hear the stories which reach me of commercial avarice and tyranny." Geoffrey blew a silver whistle, which summoned the foreman to whom he gave an order. "Your _protégé_ shall have an opportunity of proving his willingness to be useful by helping the cook," Thurston said with a smile at Helen. "Why did you do that--now?" she asked, uncertain whether to be gratified or angry, and Geoffrey answered, "Because I fancied it would meet with your approval." "Then," declared Helen looking past him, "if that was your only motive, you were mistaken." The conversation dragged after that, and they were glad when Savine returned to escort his daughter part of the way to the ranch. When he rode back into camp alone an hour later, he dismounted with difficulty, and his face was gray as he reeled into the tent. "Give me some wine, Thurston--brandy if you have it, and don't ask questions. I shall be better in five minutes--I hope," he gasped. Geoffrey had no brandy, but he broke the neck off a bottle of his best substitute, and Savine lay very still on a canvas lounge, gripping one of its rails hard for long, anxious minutes before he said, "It is over, and I am myself again. Hope I didn't scare you!" "I was uneasy," Thurston replied. "Dare I ask, sir, what the trouble was?" Savine, who evidently had not quite recovered, looked steadily at the speaker. "I'll tell you in confidence, but neither my daughter nor my rivals must hear of this," he said at length. "It is part of the price I paid for success. I have an affection of the heart, which may snuff me out at any moment, or leave me years of carefully-guarded life." "I don't quite understand you, but perhaps I ought to suggest that you sit still and keep quiet for a time," Geoffrey replied and Savine answered, "No. Save for a slight faintness I am as well as--I usually am. When one gets more than his due share of this world's good things, he must generally pay for it--see? If you don't, remember as an axiom that one can buy success too dearly. Meantime, and to come back to this question's every-day aspect, I want your promise to say nothing of what you have seen. Helen must be spared anxiety, and I must still pose as a man without a weakness, whatever it costs me." "You have my word, sir!" said Geoffrey, and Savine, who nodded, appeared satisfied. "As I said before, I can trust you, Thurston, and though I've many interested friends I'm a somewhat lonely man. I don't know why I should tell you this, it isn't quite like me, but the seizure shook me, and I just feel that way. Besides, in return for your promise, I owe you the confidence. Give me some more wine, and I'll try to tell you how I spent my strength in gaining what is called success." "I won by hard work; started life as a bridge carpenter, and starved myself to buy the best text-books," Savine began presently. "Bid always for something better than what I had, and generally got it; ran through a big bridge-building contract at twenty-five, and fell in love with my daughter's mother when I'd finished it. I had risen at a bound from working foreman--she was the daughter of one of the proudest poverty-stricken Frenchmen in old Quebec. Well, it would make a long story, but I married her, and she taught me much worth knowing, besides helping me on until, when I had all my savings locked up in apparently profitless schemes, I tried for a great bridge contract. I also got it, but there was political jobbery, and the opposition, learning from my rival how I was fixed, required a big deposit before the agreement was signed." Savine paused a full minute, and helped himself to more wine before he proceeded. "The deposit was to be paid in fourteen days from the time I got the notice, or the tender would be advertised for again, and I hadn't half the amount handy. I couldn't realize on my possessions without an appalling loss, but I swore I would hold on to that contract, and I did it. It was always my way to pick up any odd information I could, and I learned that a certain mining shaft was likely to strike high-pay ore. I got the information from a workman who left the mine to serve me, so I caught the first train, made a long journey, and rode over a bad pass to reach the shaft. How I dealt with the manager doesn't greatly matter, but though I neither bribed nor threatened him he showed me what I wanted to see. I rode back over pass and down moraine through blinding snow, went on without rest or sleep to the city, borrowed what I could--I wasn't so well known then, and it was mighty little--and bought up as much of that mine's stock on margins as the money would cover. The news was being held back, but other men were buying quietly. Still--well, they had to sleep and get their dinners, and I, who could do without either, came out ahead of them. Market went mad in a day or two over the news of the crushing. I sold out at a tremendous premium, and started to pay my deposit. I did it in person, came back with the sealed contract--hadn't eaten decently or slept more than a few hours in two anxious weeks--went home triumphant, and collapsed--as I did not long ago--while I told my wife." There was silence for several minutes inside the tent. Then Geoffrey said, "I thank you for your confidence, sir, and will respect it, but even yet I am not quite certain why, considering that you held my unconditional promise, you gave it me." "As I said before, I felt like it," answered Savine. "Still, there's generally a common-sense reason somewhere for what I do, and it may help you to understand me. I heard of you at your first beginning. I figured that you were taking hold as I had done before you and thought I might have some use for a man like you. Perhaps I'll tell you more, if we both live long enough, some day." It was in the cool of the evening that Savine and his daughter, who had been waiting at a house far down the trail, rode back towards the railroad, leaving Geoffrey puzzled at the uncertain ways of women. "What do you think of my new assistant, Helen?" asked Savine. "You generally have a quick judgment, and you haven't told me yet." "I hardly know," was the answer. "He is certainly a man of strong character, but there is something about him which repels one--something harsh, almost sinister, though this would, of course, in no way affect his business relations with you. For instance, you saw how he lives, and yet he turned away a countryman who appeared destitute and hungry." Savine laughed. "You did not see how he lived. The good things in his tent were part of his business property, handy when some mining manager, who may want work done, comes along--or perhaps brought in by mounted messenger for Miss Savine's special benefit. Thurston lives on pork and potatoes, and eats them with his men. The fellow you pitied was a lazy tramp. It mayn't greatly matter to you or me, but Thurston will do great things some day." "It is perhaps possible," assented Helen. "The men who are hard and cruel are usually successful. You have rather a weakness, father, for growing enthusiastic over what you call a live assistant. You have sometimes been mistaken, remember." CHAPTER XI AN INSPIRATION More than twelve months had passed since Thurston's first visit to High Maples, when he stood one morning gazing abstractedly down a misty valley. Below him a small army of men toiled upon the huge earth embankments, which, half-hidden by thin haze, divided the river from the broad swamps behind it. But Geoffrey scarcely saw the men. He was looking back upon the events of the past year, and was oblivious to the present. He had made rapid progress in his profession and had won the esteem of Julius Savine; but he felt uncertain as to how far he had succeeded in placating Miss Savine. On some of his brief visits to High Maples, Helen had treated him with a kindliness which sent him away exultant. At other times, however, she appeared to avoid his company. Presently dismissing the recollection of the girl with a sigh, Geoffrey glanced at the strip of paper in his hand. It was a telegraphic message from Savine, and ran: "Want you and all the ideas you can bring along at the chalet to-morrow. Expect deputation and interesting evening." Savine had undertaken the drainage of the wide valley, which the rising waters periodically turned into a morass, and had sublet to Geoffrey a part of the work. Each of the neighboring ranchers who would benefit by the undertaking had promised a pro-rata payment, and the Crown authorities had conditionally granted to Savine a percentage of all the unoccupied land he could reclaim. Previous operations had not, however, proved successful, for the snow-fed river breached the dykes, and the leaders of a syndicate with an opposition scheme were not only sowing distrust among Savine's supporters, but striving to stir up political controversy over the concession. Geoffrey did not agree with the contractor on several important points, but deferred to the older man's judgment. He had, however, already made his mark, and could have obtained profitable commissions from both mining companies and the smaller municipalities, had he desired them. While Geoffrey was meditating, the mists began to melt before a warm breeze from the Pacific. Sliding in filmy wisps athwart the climbing pines, they rolled clear of the river, leaving bare two huge parallel mounds, between which the turbid waters ran. Geoffrey, surveying the waste of tall marsh grasses stretching back to the forest, knew that a rich reward awaited the man who could reclaim the swamp. He was reminded of his first venture, which was insignificant compared to this greater one, and as suddenly as the mists had melted, the uncertainty in his own mind concerning Savine's plan vanished too, and he saw that the contractor was wrong. What he had done for Bransome on a minute scale must be done here on a gigantic one. A bold man, backed with capital, might blast a pathway for the waters through the converging rocks of the cañon, and, without the need of costly dykes, both swamp and the wide blue lake at the end of the valley would be left dry land. He stood rigidly still for ten minutes while his heart beat fast. Then he strode hurriedly towards the gap in the ranges. There was much to do before he could obey Savine's summons. It was towards the close of that afternoon when Julius Savine lounged on the veranda of a wooden hotel for tourists, which was built in a gorge of savage beauty. In spite of all that modern art could do, the building looked raw and new, out of place among the immemorial pines climbing towards snowy heights unsullied by the presence of man. Helen, who sat near her father, glanced at him keenly before she said: "You have not looked well all day. Is it the hot weather, or are you troubled about the conference to-night?" Savine at first made no reply. The furrows deepened on his forehead, and Helen felt a thrill of anxiety as she watched him. She had noticed that his shoulders were losing their squareness, and that his face had grown thin. "I must look worse than I feel," he declared after a little while, "but, though there is nothing to worry about, the reclamation scheme is a big one, and some of my rancher friends seem to have grown lukewarm latterly. If they went over to the opposition, the plea that my workings might damage their property, if encouraged by meddlesome politicians, would seriously hamper me. Still, I shall certainly convince them, and that is why I am receiving the deputation to-night. I wish Thurston had come in earlier; I want to consult with him." "What has happened to you?" asked Helen, laying her hand affectionately upon his arm. "You never used to listen to anybody's opinions, and now you are always consulting Thurston. Sometimes I fancy you ought to give up your business before it wears you out. After all, you have not known Thurston long." "Perhaps so," Savine admitted, and when he looked at her Helen became interested in an eagle, which hung poised on broad wings above the valley. "I feel older than I used to, and may quit business when I put this contract through. It is big enough to wind up with. If I'd known Thurston for ages I couldn't be more sure of him. I am a little disappointed that you don't like him." "You go too far." Helen still concentrated her attention upon the dusky speck against the blue. "I have no reason for disliking Mr. Thurston; indeed, I do not dislike him and my feeling may be mere jealousy. You give--him--most of your confidences now, and I should hate anybody who divided you from me." Savine lifted her little hand into his own, and patted it playfully as he answered: "You need never fear that. Helen, you are very like your mother as she was thirty years ago." There was a sparkle of indignation in Helen's eyes, and a suspicion of tell-tale color in her face. She remembered that, when he first met her mother, her father's position much resembled Thurston's, and the girl wondered if he desired to remind her of it. "The cars are in sight. Perhaps I had better see whether the hotel people are ready for your guests," she remarked with indifference. The hotel was famous for its cuisine, and the dinner which followed was, for various reasons, a memorable one, though some of the guests appeared distinctly puzzled by the sequence of viands and liquors. Still, even those who, appreciating the change from leathery venison and grindstone bread, had eaten too much at the first course, struggled manfully with the succeeding, and good fellowship reigned until the cloth was removed, and the party prepared to discuss business. Savine sat at the head of the table, the gray now showing thickly in his hair. His expression was, perhaps, too languid, for one of his guests whispered that the daring engineer was not what he used to be. The man glanced at Thurston, who sat, stalwart, keen, and determined of face, beside his chief, and added, "I know which I'd sooner run up against now; and it wouldn't be his deputy, sub-contractor, or whatever the fellow is." "Finding that our correspondence was using up no end of time and ink, I figured it would be better for us to talk things over together comfortably, and as some of you come from Vancouver, and some from round the lake, this place appeared a convenient center," began Savine. "Now, gentlemen, I'm ready to discuss either business or anything else you like." There was a murmur, and the guests looked at one another. They were a somewhat mixed company--several speculators from the cities, two credited with political influence; well-educated Englishmen, who had purchased land in the hope of combining sport with cattle raising; and wiry axemen, who lived in rough surroundings while they drove their clearings further into the forest, field by field. "Then I'll start right off with business," said a city man. "I bought land up yonder and signed papers backing you. I thought there would be a boom in the valley when you got through, but I've heard some talk lately to the effect that the river is going to beat you, and, in any case, you're making slow headway. What I, what we all, want to know is, when you're going to have the undertaking completed." Applause and a whispering followed, and another man said, "Our sentiments exactly! Guess you've seen _The Freespeaker's_ article!" "I have," Savine acknowledged coolly. "It suggested that I have no intention of carrying out my agreement, that I am hoodwinking the authorities for some indefinite purpose mysteriously connected with maintaining our present provincial rulers in power. The thing's absurd on the face of it, when I'm spending my money like water, and you ought to know me better. I won't even get the comparatively insignificant bonus until the work is finished." Several of the listeners rapped upon the table, one or two growled suspiciously, and a big sunburnt Englishman stood up. "We'll let the article in question pass," he said. "It is clearly written with personal animus. As you say, we know you better; but see here, Savine, this is going to be a serious business for us if you fail. We've helped you with free labor, hauled your timber in, lent you oxen, and, in fact, done almost everything, besides giving you our bonds for a good many dollars and signing full approval of your scheme. By doing this we have barred ourselves from encouraging the other fellows' plans." After similar but less complimentary speeches had been made, Thurston, who had been whispering to Savine, claimed attention. He cast a searching glance round the assembly. "Any sensible man could see that the opposition scheme is impracticable," he declared. "I am afraid some of you have been sent here well primed." His last remark was perhaps combatant rashness, or possibly a premeditated attempt to force the listeners to reveal their actual sentiments. If he wished to get at the truth, he was successful, for several men began to speak at once, and while disjointed words interloped his remarks, the loudest of them said: "You can't fool us, Savine. We're poor men with a living to earn, but we're mighty tough, and nobody walks over us with nails in their boots. If you can't hold up that river, where are we going to be? I'd sooner shove in the giant powder to blow them up, than stand by and see my crops and cattle washed out when your big dykes bust." "So would I," cried several voices, and there was a rapid cross-fire of question and comment. "Not the men to be fooled with." "Stand by our rights; appeal to legislation, and choke this thing right up!" "Can you make your dykes stand water at all?" "Give the man--a fair show." "How many years do you figure on keeping us waiting?" Savine rose somewhat stiffly from his chair, and Thurston noted an ominous grayness in either cheek. "There are just two things you can do," Savine said; "appeal to your legislators to get my grants canceled, or sit tight and trust me. For thirty-five years I've done my share in the development of the Dominion, and I never took a contract I didn't put through. This has proved a tough one, but if it costs me my last dollar----" The honest persons among the malcontents were mostly struggling men, who, having expected the operations would bring them swift prosperity, had been the more disappointed. Still, the speaker's sincerity inspired returning confidence, and, when he paused, there was a measure of sympathy for him, for he seemed haggard and ill, and was one against many. His guests began to wonder whether they had not been too impatient and suspicious, and one broke in apologetically, "That's good! We're not unreasonable. But we like straight talking--what if the dykes keep on bursting?" Then there was consternation, for Savine collapsed into his chair, after he had said, "Mr. Thurston will tell you. Remember he acts for me." To Geoffrey he whispered, "I don't feel well. Help me out, and then go back to them." "Sit still. Stand back! You have done rather too much already," Geoffrey declared, turning fiercely upon the men, who hurried forward, one with a water decanter, and another with a wine glass. The guests fell back before Thurston, as he led Savine, who leaned heavily upon him, from the banquet room. As they entered a broad hall Helen and her aunt passed along the veranda upon which it opened. "They must not know; keep them out!" gasped the contractor. "Get me some brandy and ring for the steward--quick. You have got to go back and convince those fellows, Thurston. Good Lord!--this is agony." Savine sank into a chair. His twitching face was livid, and great beads of moisture gathered upon his forehead. Thurston pressed a button, then strode swiftly towards the door hoping that Helen, who passed outside with a laugh upon her lips, might be spared the sight of her father's suffering. But Mrs. Savine, gazing in through a long window, started as she exclaimed, "Helen, your father's very sick! Run along and bring me the elixir out of my valise." Helen turned towards the window, and Geoffrey, who groaned inwardly, placed himself so that she could not see. There was a rustle of skirts, and swift, light footsteps approached. "What is the matter? Why do you stand there? Let me pass at once!" cried Helen in a voice trembling with fear. "Please wait a few moments," answered Geoffrey, standing between the suffering man and his daughter. "Your father will be better directly, and you must not excite him." There was no mistaking the color in Helen's face now. If her eyes were anxious the crimson in her cheeks and on her forehead was that of anger. Geoffrey felt compassionate, but he was still determined to spare her. "For your father's sake and your own, don't go to him just yet, Miss Savine," he pleaded, but, with little fingers whose grip felt steely, the girl wrenched away his detaining arm. "Is there no limit to your interference or presumption?" she asked, sweeping past him to fall with a low cry beside the big chair upon which her father was reclining. The cry pierced to Thurston's heart. Helen had seen little of either sickness or tragedy. Savine sat still as if he did not see her, his face contracted into a ghastly grin of pain. The attendant who came to them deftly aided Geoffrey to force a little cordial between the sufferer's teeth. Savine made no sign. Forgetting her indignation in her terror Helen glanced at Geoffrey in vague question, but he merely raised his hand with a restraining gesture. "We had better get him onto a sofa, sir," whispered the attendant, presently. "Not very heavy. Perhaps you and I could manage." It was when he was being lifted that Savine first showed signs of intelligence. He glanced at Geoffrey and attempted to beckon towards the room they had left. When he seemed slightly better, Thurston said: "I am going, sir. Stay here a few minutes, and then call somebody, waiter. I cannot stay any longer." Savine made an approving gesture, but Helen said with fear and evident surprise, "You will not leave us now, Mr. Thurston?" "I must," answered Geoffrey, restraining an intense longing to stay since she desired it, but loyal to his master's charge. "I believe your father is recovering, and it is his especial wish. I can do nothing, and he needs only quiet." Helen said nothing further. She began to chafe her father's hand, while Thurston went back, pale and grim, to the head of the long table. "Mr. Savine was seized by a passing faintness, but is recovering," he said. "Nevertheless, he may not be able to return, and, as I am interested with him in the drainage scheme he has appointed me his deputy. Therefore, in brief answer to your questions, I would say that if either of us lives you shall have good oat fields instead of swamp grass and muskeg. It is a solemn promise--we intend to redeem it." "I want to ask just two questions," announced a sun-bronzed man, in picturesque jacket of fringed deerskin. "Who are the--we; and how are you going to build dykes strong enough to stand the river when the lake's full of melting snow and sends the water down roaring under a twenty-foot head?" The speaker had touched the one weak spot in Savine's scheme, but Geoffrey rose to the occasion, and there was a wondering hush when he said, "In answer to the first question--Julius Savine and I are the 'we.' Secondly, we will, if necessary, obliterate the lake. It can be done." The boldness of the answer from a comparatively unknown man held the listeners still, until there were further questions and finally, amid acclamation, one of the party said: "Then it's a bargain, and we'll back you solid through thick and thin. Isn't that so, gentlemen? If the opposition try to make legal trouble, as the holders of the cleared land likely to be affected we've got the strongest pull. We came here doubting; you have convinced us." "I hardly think you will regret it," Geoffrey assured them. "Now, as I must see to Mr. Savine, you will excuse me." Savine lay breathing heavily when Geoffrey rejoined him, but he demanded what had happened, and nodded approval when told. Then Geoffrey withdrew, beckoning to Helen, who rose and followed him. "This is no time for useless recrimination, or I would ask how you could leave one who has been a generous friend, helpless and suffering," the girl said reproachfully. "My father is evidently seriously ill, and you are the only person I can turn to, for the hotel manager tells me there is no doctor within miles of us. So in my distress I must stoop to ask you, for his sake, what I can do?" "Will you believe not only that I sympathize, but that I would gladly have given all I possess to save you from this shock?" Thurston began, but Helen cut him short by an impatient wave of the hand, and stood close beside him with distress and displeasure in her eyes. "All that is outside the question--what can we do?" she asked imploringly. "Only one thing," answered Geoffrey. "Bring up the best doctor in Vancouver by special train. I'm going now to hold up the fast freight. Gather your courage. I will be back soon after daylight with skilled assistance." He went out before the girl could answer, and, comforted, Helen hurried back to her father's side. Whatever his failings might be, Thurston was at least a man to depend upon when there was need of action. There was a little platform near the hotel where trains might be flagged for the benefit of passengers, but the office was locked. Thurston, who knew that shortly a freight train would pass, broke in the window, borrowed a lantern, lighted it, and hurried up the track which here wound round a curve through the forest and over a trestle. It is not pleasant to cross a lofty trestle bridge on foot in broad daylight, for one must step from sleeper to sleeper over wide spaces with empty air beneath, and, as the ties are just wide enough to carry the single pair of rails, it would mean death to meet a train. Geoffrey nevertheless pressed on fast, the light of the blinking lantern dazzling his eyes and rendering it more difficult to judge the distances between the ties--until he halted for breath a moment in the center of the bridge. White mist and the roar of hurrying water rose out of the chasm beneath, but another sound broke through the noise of the swift stream. Geoffrey hear the vibratory rattle of freight cars racing down the valley, and he went on again at a reckless run, leaping across black gulfs of shadow. The sound had gained in volume when he reached firm earth and ran swiftly towards the end of the curve, from which, down a long declivity, the engineer could see his lantern. Panting, he held the light aloft as a great fan-shaped blaze of radiance came flaming like a comet down the track. Soon he could dimly discern the shape of two huge mountain engines, while the rails trembled beside him, and a wall of rock flung back the din of whirring wheels. The fast freight had started from the head of Atlantic navigation at Montreal, and would not stop until the huge cars rolled alongside the Empress liner at Vancouver, for part of their burden was being hurried West from England around half the world to China and the East again. The track led down-grade, and the engineers, who had nursed the great machines up the long climb to the summit, were now racing them down hill. Waving the lantern Geoffrey stood with a foot on one of the rails and every sense intent, until the first engine's cow-catcher was almost upon him. Then he leaped for his life and stood half-blinded amid whirling ballast and a rushing wind, as, veiled in thick dust, the great box cars clanged by. He was savage with dismay, for it seemed that the engineer had not seen his signal; then his heart bounded, a shrill hoot from two whistles was followed by the screaming of brakes. When he came up with the standing train at the end of the trestle, one engineer, leaning down from the rail of the cab, said: "I saw your light away back, but was too busy trying to stop without smashing something to answer. Say, has the trestle caved in, or what in the name of thunder is holding us up?" "The trestle is all right," answered Geoffrey, climbing into the cab. "I held you up, and I'm going on with you to bring out a doctor to my partner, who is dangerously ill." The engineer's comments were indignant and sulphurous, while the big fireman turned back his shirt sleeves as if preparing to chastise the man rash enough to interfere with express freight traffic. Geoffrey, reaching for a shovel, said: "When we get there, I'll go with you to your superintendent at Vancouver; but, if either of you try to put me off or to call assistance, I'll make good use of this. I tell you it's a question of life and death, and two at least of your directors are good friends of the man I want to help. They wouldn't thank you for destroying his last chance. Meantime you're wasting precious moments. Start the train." "Hold fast!" commanded the grizzled engineer, opening the throttle. "When she's under way, I'll talk to you, and unless you satisfy me, by the time we reach Vancouver there won't be much of you left for the police to take charge of." Then the two locomotives started the long cars on their inter-ocean race again. CHAPTER XII GEOFFREY TESTS HIS FATE It was a lowering afternoon in the Fall, when Thurston and Julius Savine stood talking together upon a spray-drenched ledge in the depths of a British Columbian cañon. On the crest of the smooth-scarped hillside, which stretched back from the sheer face of rock far overhead, stood what looked like a tiny fretwork in ebony, and consisted of two-hundred-foot conifers. Here and there a clamorous torrent had worn out a gully, and, with Thurston's assistance, Savine had accomplished the descent of one of the less precipitous. Elsewhere the rocks had been rubbed into smooth walls, between which the river had fretted out its channel during countless ages. The water was coming down in a mad green flood, for the higher snows had melted fast under the autumn sun, and the clay beneath the glaciers had stained it. Foam licked the ledges, a roaring white wake streamed behind each boulder's ugly head, and the whole gloomy cañon rang with the thunder of a rapid, whose filmy stream whirled in the chilly breeze. Savine gazed at the rapid and the whirlpool that fed it, distinguishing the roar of scoring gravel and grind of broken rock from its vibratory booming, and though he was a daring man, his heart almost failed him. "It looks ugly, horribly ugly, and I doubt if another man in the Dominion would have suggested tackling the river here, but you are right," he admitted. "Human judgment has its limits, and the constant bursts have proved that no dykes which wouldn't ruin me in the building could stand high-water pressure long. If you don't mind, Thurston, we'll move farther from the edge. I've been a little shaky since that last attack." "The climb down was awkward, but you have looked better lately," declared Geoffrey and Savine sighed. "I guess my best days are done, and that is one reason why I wish to end up with a big success," he said. "I got a plain warning from the Vancouver doctor you brought me in that morning. You managed it smartly." "I was lucky," said Thurston, laughing. "At first, I expected to be ignominiously locked up after the engineer and fireman had torn my clothes off me. But we did not climb down here to talk of that." "No!" and Savine looked straight at his companion. "This is a great scheme, Thurston, the biggest I have ever undertaken. There will be room for scores of ranches, herds of cattle, wheat fields and orchards, if we can put it through--and we have just got to put it through. Those confounded dykes have drained me heavily, and they'll keep right on costing money. Still, even to me, it looks almost beyond the power of mortal man to deepen the channel here. The risk will figure high in money, but higher in human life. You feel quite certain you can do it?" "Yes!" asserted Geoffrey. "I believe I can--in winter, when the frost binds the glaciers and the waters shrink. Once it is done, and the only hard rock barrier that holds the water up removed, the river will scour its own way through the alluvial deposits. I have asked a long price, but the work will be difficult." Savine nodded. He knew that it would be a task almost fit for demi-gods or giants to cut down the bed of what was a furious torrent, thick with grinding débris and scoring ice, and that only very strong bold men could grapple with the angry waters, amid blinding snow or under the bitter frost of the inland ranges in winter time. "The price is not too heavy, but I don't accept your terms," Savine said. "Hold on until I have finished and then begin your talking. I'll offer you a minor partnership in my business instead. Take time, and keep your answer until I explain things in my offices, in case you find the terms onerous; but there are many men in this country who would be glad of the chance you're getting." Geoffrey stood up, his lean brown face twitching. He walked twice along the slippery ledge, and then halted before Savine. "I will accept them whatever they are on one condition, which I hardly dare hope you will approve," he replied. "That is, regarding the partnership, for in any case, holding to my first suggestion, you can count on my best help down here. I don't forget that I owe you a heavy debt of gratitude, sir, though, as you know, I have had several good offers latterly." Savine, who had been abstractedly watching the mad rush of the stream, looked up as he inquired: "What is the condition? You seem unusually diffident to-day, Thurston." "It is a great thing I am going to ask." Geoffrey, standing on the treacherous ledge above the thundering river, scarcely looked like a suppliant as he put his fate to the test. "It is your permission to ask Miss Savine to marry me when the time seems opportune. It would not be surprising if you laughed at me, but even then I should only wait the more patiently. This is not a new ambition, for one day when I first came, a poor man, into this country I set my heart upon it, and working ever since to realize it, I have, so far at least as worldly prospects go, lessened the distance between us." Savine, who betrayed no surprise, was silent for a little while. Then he answered quietly: "I am, according to popular opinion, anything but a poor man, and though those dykes have bled me, such a match would, as you suggest, be unequal from a financial point of view, unless Helen marries against my wishes. Then she should marry without a dollar. Does that influence you?" Thurston spread out his hands with a contemptuous gesture, which his quiet earnestness redeemed from being theatrical. "For my own sake I should prefer it so. Dollars! How far would anyone count dollars in comparison with Miss Savine? But I do not fear being able to earn all she needs. When the time seems opportune the inequality may be less." "It is possible," continued Savine. "One notices that the man who knows exactly what he wants and doesn't fool his time away over other things not infrequently gets it. You have not really surprised me. Now--and I want a straight answer--why did you leave the Old Country?" "For several reasons. I lost my money mining. The lady whom I should have married, according to arrangements made for us, tired of me. It is a somewhat painful story, but I was bound up in the mine, and there were, no doubt, ample excuses for her. We were both of us almost too young to know our own minds when we fell in with our relatives' wishes, and, though I hardly care to say so, it was perhaps well we found out our mistake in time." "All!" said Savine. "Were there no openings for a live man in the Old Country, and have you told me all?" "I could not find any place for a man in my position," Geoffrey let the words fall slowly. "I come of a reckless, hard-living family, and I feared that some of their failings might repeat themselves in me. I had my warnings. Had I stayed over there, a disappointed man, they might have mastered me, and so, when there was nothing to keep me, I turned my back--and ran. Out here any man who hungers for it can find quite sufficient healthful excitement for his needs, and excitement is as wine to me. These, I know, seem very curious qualifications for a son-in-law, but it seemed just to tell you. Need I explain further?" "No," answered Savine, whose face had grown serious. "Thanks for your honesty. I guess I know the weaknesses you mean--the greatest of them is whiskey. I've had scores of brilliant men it has driven out from Europe to shovel dirt for me. It's not good news, Thurston. How long have you made head against your inherited failings?" "Since I could understand things clearly," was the steady answer. "I feared only what might happen, and would never have spoken had I not felt that this country had helped me to break the entail, and set me free. You know all, sir, and to my disadvantage I have put it before you tersely, but there is another aspect." Thurston's tone carried conviction with it, but Savine cut him short. "It is the practical aspect that appeals to me," he said. He stared down at the river for several minutes before he asked: "Have you any reason to believe that Helen reciprocates the attachment?" "No." Geoffrey's face fell. "Once or twice I ventured almost to hope so; more often I feared the opposite. All I ask is the right to wait until the time seems ripe, and know that I shall have your good will if it ever does. I could accept no further benefits from your hands until I had told you." "You have it now," Savine declared very gravely. "As you know, my life is uncertain, and I believe you faithful and strong enough to take care of Helen. After all, what more could I look for? Still, if she does not like you, there will be an end of the matter. It may be many would blame me for yielding, but I believe I could trust you, Thurston--and there are things they do not know." Savine sighed after the last words. His face clouded. Then he added abruptly: "Speak when it suits you, Thurston, and good luck to you. There are reasons besides the fact that I'm an old man why I should envy you." Had Geoffrey been less exultant he might have noticed something curious in Savine's expression, but he was too full of his heart's desire to be conscious of more than the one all-important fact that Helen's father wished him well. It was in a mood of high hopefulness he assisted Mr. Savine during the arduous scramble up out of the cañon. Later his elation was diminished by the recollection that he had yet to win the good will of Miss Savine. * * * * * Some time had passed after the interview in the cañon, when one afternoon Geoffrey walked out on the veranda at High Maples in search of Helen Savine. It was winter time, but the climate near the southwestern coast is mild. High Maples was sheltered, and the sun was faintly warm. There were a few hardy flowers in the borders fringing the smooth green lawn, a striking contrast to the snow-sheeted pines of the ice-bound wilderness in which Thurston toiled. Helen was not on the veranda, and not knowing where to search further, the young man sank somewhat heavily into a chair. Geoffrey had ridden all night through powdery snow-drifts which rose at times to the stirrup, and at others so high that his horse could scarcely flounder through them. He had made out lists of necessary stores as the jolting train sped on to Vancouver, and had been busy every moment until it was time to start for High Maples. Though he would have had it otherwise, he dare not neglect one item when time was very precious. He had not spared himself much leisure for either food or sleep of late, for by the short northern daylight, and flame of the roaring lucigen, through the long black nights, he and his company of carefully picked men had fought stubbornly with the icy river. The suns rays grew brighter, there was still no sign of Helen. Tired in mind and body Geoffrey sat still, lost in a reverie. He had left the camp in a state of nervous suspense, but overtaxed nature had conquered, and now he waited not less anxious than he had been, but with a physical languidness due to the reaction. When Helen Savine finally came out softly through a long window Geoffrey did not at first see her, and she had time to cast more than a passing glance at him as he sat with head resting gratefully on the back of the basket chair. His face, deeply tanned by the snow, had grown once more worn and thin. There were lines upon the forehead and wrinkles about his eyes; one bronzed hand lay above the other on his knee, as the complement of a pose that suggested the exhaustion of over-fatigue. The sight roused her pity, and she felt unusually sympathetic towards the tired man. Then Geoffrey started and rose quickly. Helen noticed how he seemed to fling off his weariness as he came towards her, hat in hand. "I have made a hurried journey to see you, Miss Savine," he said. "I have something to tell you, something concerning which I cannot keep silence any longer. If I am abrupt you will forgive me, but will you listen a few moments, and then answer me a question?" The man's tone was humble if his eyes were eager, and Helen, who was sensible of a tremor of emotion, leaned against the rails of the veranda. The winter sunlight shone full upon her, and either that or the cold breeze that she had met on the headland accounted for the color in her cheeks. She made a dainty picture in her fur cap and close-fitting jacket, whose rich fur trimming set off the curves of a shapely figure. The man's longing must have shown itself in his eyes, for Helen suddenly turned her glance away from him. Again she felt a curious thrill, almost of pleasure, and wondered at it. If she had guessed his meaning correctly she would have felt merely sorry for him, and yet there was no mistaking an indefinite sense of satisfaction. "Do you remember what I once told you at Graham's ranch?" he asked. "I was a needy adventurer then, and guilty of horrible presumption, but though the words came without my definite will I meant every one of them. I knew there could be only one woman in the world for me, and I solemnly determined to win her. It seemed madness--I was a poor, unknown man--but the thought of you drove me resistlessly on until at last the gulf between us has been narrowed, and may be narrower still. That is, I have striven to lessen it in the one way I can--in all others without your help it must remain impassable. Heaven knows how far I am beneath you, and the daring hope has but one excuse--I love you, and shall always do so. Is what I hope for quite impossible?" While Helen would have told herself ten minutes earlier that she almost disliked the pleader, she was conscious of a new emotion. She had regarded other suitors with something like contempt, but it was not so with Thurston. Even if he occasionally repelled her, it was impossible to despise him. "I am sorry," she said slowly. "Sorry that you should have told me this, because I can only answer that it is impossible." Geoffrey evinced no great surprise. His face became stern instead of expectant; his toil-hardened frame was more erect, as he answered with unusual gentleness: "I have endeavored to prepare myself for your reply. How could I hope to win you--as it were for the asking--easily? Still, though I am painfully conscious of many possible reasons, may I venture to ask why it is impossible, Miss Savine?" Helen answered: "I am sorry it is so--but why should I pain you? Can you not take my answer without the reasons?" "No; not if you will give them," persisted Geoffrey. "I have grown accustomed to unpleasant things, and it is to be hoped there is truth in the belief that they are good for one. The truth from your lips would hurt me less. Will you not tell me?" "I will try if you demand it." Helen, who could not help noticing how unflinchingly he had received what was really a needlessly cold rebuff, hoped she was lucid as she began: "I have a respect for you, Mr. Thurston, but--how shall I express it?--also a shrinking. You--please remember, you insisted--seem so hard and overbearing, and while power is a desirable attribute in a man---- But will you force me to go on?" "I beg you to go on," said Geoffrey, with a certain grimness. "In spite of a popular fallacy, I could not esteem a--a husband I was afraid of. A man should be gentle, pitiful and considerate to all women. Without mutual forbearance there could be no true companionship--and----" "You are right." Geoffrey's voice was humble without bitterness. "I have lived a hard life, and perhaps it has made me, compared with your standard, brutal. Still, I would ask again, are these all your reasons? Is the other difference between us too great--the distance dividing the man you gave the dollar to from the daughter of Julius Savine?" "No," answered Helen. "That difference is, after all, imaginary. We do not think over here quite as you do in England, and if we did, are you not a Thurston of Crosbie? But please believe that I am sorry, and--you insisted on the explanation--forgive me if I have said too much. There is a long future before you--and men change their minds." Geoffrey's face darkened, and Helen, who regretted the last hasty words which escaped her without reflection, watched him intently until he said: "Musker must have told you about something in my life. But I was not inconstant though the fault was doubtless mine. That is a story which cannot be mentioned again, Miss Savine." "I had never meant to refer to it," Helen apologized with some confusion, "but since you have mistaken me, I must add that another friend of yours--a lady--gave me a version that bore truth stamped upon the face of it. One could imagine that you would not take kindly to the fate others arranged for you. But how do you know you are not repeating the same mistake? The fancy which deceived you then may do the same again." "How do I know?" Geoffrey's voice rang convincingly as he turned upon the questioner, stretched out an arm towards her, and then dropped it swiftly. "I know what love is now, because you have taught me. Listen, Miss Savine, I am as the Almighty made me, a plain--and sometimes an ill-tempered man, who would gladly lay down his life to save you sorrow; but if what you say divides us is all there is, then, as long as you remain Helen Savine, I shall cling fast to my purpose and strive to prove myself worthy. Again, you were right--how could you be otherwise?--but I shall yet convince you that you need not shrink from me." "It would be wiser to take a definite 'no' for answer," said Helen. "Why should this fancy spoil your life for you?" "You cannot take all hope from me," Geoffrey declared. "Would you suspect me of exaggerated sentiment, if I said my life has been yours for a long time and is yours now, for it is true. I will go back to the work that is best for me, merely adding that, if ever there is either trouble or adversity in which I can aid you--though God forbid, for your sake, that should ever be so--you have only to send for me." "I can at least sincerely wish you success in your great undertaking." Helen offered him her hand, and was conscious of a faint disappointment, when, barely touching it, he turned hurriedly away. She watched him cross the lawn towards the stables, and then waited until a rapid thud of hoofs broke the silence of the woods. "Gone, and I let him carry that hope away!" she said, still looking towards the forest with troubled eyes. "Yesterday I could never have done so, but yesterday he was gone, and now----" Helen did not finish her sentence, but as the beat of hoofs died away, glanced at the hand which for a moment had rested in Geoffrey's. "What has happened to me, and is he learning quickly or growing strangely timid?" she asked herself. Thurston almost rode over Julius Savine near the railroad depot, and reined in his horse to say: "I have my answer, sir, but do not feel beaten yet. Some unholy luck insists that all my affairs must be mixed with my daily business, and, because of what was said in the cañon, I must ask you, now of all times, to let me hold the option of that partnership or acceptance of the offer I made you until we vanquish the river." He went off at a gallop as the cars rolled in, leaving Savine smiling dryly as he looked after him. CHAPTER XIII A TEST OF LOYALTY It was during a brief respite from his task, which had been suspended, waiting the arrival of certain tools and material, that Thurston accompanied Savine and Helen to a semi-public gathering at the house of a man who was a power in the Mountain Province just outside Vancouver. Politicians, land-speculators, railroad and shipping magnates were present with their wives and daughters, and most of them had a word for Savine or a glance of admiration for Helen. Savine moved among guests chatting with the brilliancy which occasionally characterized him, and always puzzled Thurston. Thurston was rarely troubled by petty jealousies, but the homage all men paid to Helen awoke an unpleasant apprehension within him. He did not know many of the men and women who laughed and talked in animated groups; and at length found himself seated alone in a quiet corner. The ground floor of the rambling house consisted of various rooms, some of which opened with archways into one another. He could see into the one most crowded, where Helen formed the center of an admiring circle. There was no doubt that Miss Savine owed much to the race from which she sprang on her mother's side. Dark beauty, grace of movement, and, when she chose to indulge in it, vivacious speech, all betokened a Latin extraction, while the slight haughtiness, which Thurston thought wonderfully became her, was the dowry of a line of autocratic landowners. That she was pleasant to look upon was proved by the convincing testimony of other men's admiration as well as by his own senses. Now, when the distance between them was in some respects diminishing, she seemed even further away from him. In her presence he felt himself a plain, unpolished man, and knew he would never shine in the light play of wit and satire which characterized the society for which she was fitted. He decided, also, that she had probably remained unmarried because she could find no one who came up to her standard, and feared that he himself would come very far beneath it. It appeared doubtful that he could ever acquire the gentler virtues Helen had described. Nevertheless, his face grew set as he determined that he could prove his loyalty in the manner that best suited him--by serving her father faithfully. A capitalist, for whom Geoffrey had undertaken several commissions, halted before him. "Hello! Quite alone, Thurston, and worrying over something as usual," he began, with Western brusqueness. "What has gone wrong? Have more of your dams burst, up yonder? One would fancy that floundering around through the ice and snow up there would be more congenial than these frivolities. I'm not great on them either, but it's a matter of dollars and cents with me. You perhaps know a little about this self-made--that's your British term, I think--company." "Not so much as you do," answered Geoffrey. "Still, I have been wondering how some of the men earned their money. I understand that they have sense enough to be proud of their small beginnings, but they do not furnish instructive details as to the precise manner in which they achieved their success." The capitalist, who was one of the class described, laughed good-humoredly, as he seated himself beside Thurston. "Well, how are you getting on up in the valley?" he inquired, and Geoffrey's eyes expressed faint amusement as he answered: "As well as we expected, and, if we had our difficulties, you would hardly expect me to tell them to a director of the Industrial Enterprise Company." "Perhaps not!" the capitalist smiled, for the Industrial Enterprise was the corporation which had opposed Savine's reclamation scheme. "Anyway, the company is a speculation with me; my colleagues manage it without much of my assistance. But say, what's the matter with your respected chief? He has come right out of his shell to-night." The speaker glanced towards Savine, who was surrounded by a group of well-known men. "I tell you, Thurston, there's something uncanny about that man of late," he continued. "However, knowing there's no use trying to fool you, I'll give you a fair warning and come straight to something I may as well say now as later. Savine will go down like a house of cards some day, and those who lean upon him will find it, in our language, frosty weather. Now, suppose we made you a fair offer, would you join us?" A curt refusal trembled upon Geoffrey's lips, when he reflected that, as soon as the work was finished, his relations with Savine would be drawn closer still. In the meantime, it was not advisable to give any hint to a possible enemy. "I couldn't say until I heard what the offer is," he answered cautiously. "You're a typical cold-blooded Britisher," asserted the other man. "I don't know either. I leave all details to the members of the company; but we've a secretary, who understands all about it, in this house to-night. We're half of us here on business, directly or indirectly, and not for pleasure, so it's possible he may talk to you. But I see our hostess eying us, and it's time we walked along." They moved forward together, and the woman whom they approached, beckoning Geoffrey, whom she had for some reason taken under her patronage, said: "There's a countrywoman of yours present, who doesn't know many of our people yet. I should like to present you to her. She comes, I understand, from the same wilds which sheltered you. Mrs. Leslie, this is a special _protégé_ of mine, Mr. Thurston, who could give you all information about the mountains in which your husband talks of banishing you." A handsome, tastefully-dressed woman turned more fully towards them, and for a moment Geoffrey stood still in blank astonishment. The average man would find it disconcerting to be brought, without warning, suddenly face to face in a strange country with a woman who had discarded him, and Thurston showed slight embarrassment. "Mrs. Henry Leslie! But you evidently know each other!" exclaimed the hostess, whose quick eyes had noticed his startled expression. Millicent had changed since the last time Geoffrey saw her. She had lost her fresh cream and rose prettiness, but had gained something in place of it, and though her pale blue eyes were too deeply sunk, her face had acquired strength and dignity. She was, as he had always found her, perfectly self-possessed. With a quick glance, which expressed appeal and warning, she said: "We are not quite strangers. I knew Mr. Thurston in England." The young Englishman and his countrywoman moved away together, and Geoffrey presently found himself standing in a broad corridor with Millicent's hand upon his arm. Through a long window which opened into a balcony the clear moonlight shone. A wide vista of forest and sparkling sea lured them out of doors. "A breath of fresh air would be delightful. It would be quiet out there, and I expect you have much to tell me." It was Millicent who spoke, with quiet composure, and her companion wondered at his own lack of feeling. After the first shock of the surprise he was sensible of no particular indignation or emotion. It seemed as if any tenderness that he had once felt for her had long since disappeared. There was little that he cared to tell her; but, prompted by some impulse which may have been mere curiosity, he drew the window open and they passed out upon the balcony. "This reminds one of other days," said the woman, with a sigh. "Had I known you were here, I should have dreaded to meet you, but it is very pleasant to see you again. You have surely altered, Geoffrey. I should hardly have expected to find you so friendly." "I am not in the least inclined to reproach you for the past," was the sober answer. Geoffrey was distinctly perplexed, for he had acquired a clearer perception of Millicent's character since he left England, and now he felt almost indignant with himself for wondering what she wanted. Glancing at her face he was conscious of a certain pity as well as a vague distrust, for it was evident that her life had not been altogether smooth or her health really robust. But the fact that she should recall the far-off days in England jarred upon him. "It is a relief to learn that you are not angry, at least. What are you doing over here, Geoffrey?" she asked. "Reclaiming a valley from a river. Living up among the mountains in the snow," was the answer. "And you like it? You can find happiness in the hard life?" "Better than anything I ever undertook before. Happiness is a somewhat indefinite term, and, perhaps because I have seldom found leisure to consider whether I am happy or not, the presumption is that I am at least contented." Millicent sighed and her face grew sad, while Thurston rebelled against an instinctive conviction that she knew a wistful expression was becoming to her and was calculated to appeal to a male observer. "One could envy you!" she said softly, and Geoffrey, rising superior to all critical thoughts, felt only sincere pity. "Have you not been happy in--Canada, Millicent?" he inquired, and if the woman noticed how nearly he had avoided a blunder, which is distinctly probable, she at least made no sign. "I can't resist the temptation to answer you frankly, Geoffrey," she replied. "I have had severe trials, and some, I fear, have left their mark on me. There are experiences after which one is never quite the same. You heard of the financial disaster which overtook us? Yes? Black days followed it, but Mr. Leslie has hopes of succeeding in this country, and that will brighten the future--indirectly even--for me." "Ah!" Geoffrey spoke with a peculiar inflection of the voice, for though he could forgive the woman now, he could not forget his resentment towards the man who had supplanted him. "For your sake, I hope he will." Millicent glanced at him sideways, and, as if anxious to change the subject, asked: "Is it the Orchard Valley you are endeavoring to reclaim? Yes. I might have guessed it. I have heard people say that the scheme of Mr. Savine, if that is his name, is impracticable. It is characteristic of you, Geoffrey, to play out a losing game, but, with one's future at stake, is it wise?" "I do not know that I was ever particularly remarkable for wisdom," Geoffrey answered with a shake of the head. "The scheme in question is, however, by no means so impracticable as some persons imagine it to be." "Then you still hope for success. Have you not failed in one or two of your efforts?" Millicent's voice was politely indifferent, but a certain keenness in her eyes, which did not escape Geoffrey's notice, betrayed more than a casual interest. Thurston afterwards decided that the shock of the unexpected meeting had the effect of rendering his perceptions unusually quick. "I have not been often successful," he admitted, with a laugh, "but my employer is, as you may have heard, a sanguine person, and has not hitherto been beaten." "I hope he will not be in this instance," said Millicent, and it occurred to Geoffrey that she was concealing a sense of disappointment. They talked a little longer and then she remarked: "I am afraid we have been shamefully neglecting our social duties, but as we shall, in all probability, meet now and then, I hope--in spite of all that has happened--it will be as good friends." Again the man felt that the meeting had not been brought about wholly by accident, but he bent his head as he answered: "If ever you should need a friend, you can, for the sake of old times, count on me." "One of the finest views in the province," said a voice behind them. "We are proud of the prospect from this balcony. If you stand here, Miss Helen, you can enjoy it, and tell me if you have anything better at High Maples. Most romantic spot on such a night for a quiet chat, and if I was only twenty years younger, my dear young lady----" Then the speaker evidently retired with some precipitation from the window, as he added, "No, never mind drawing the curtain, Savine. If she is not over tired I can show your daughter something interesting in the conservatory instead." "Romantic spot occupied already!" The laugh which accompanied the sound of retreating footsteps and the rustle of drapery, was unmistakably that of Julius Savine. Geoffrey, who fumed inwardly at the reflection that his attitude was distinctly liable to misconception, straightened himself with perhaps too great a suddenness, while the faint amusement in his companion's face heightened his displeasure. Millicent had managed to obtain a survey of the intruders, and when sure that they had moved away, she rose, saying, "So that is the beautiful Miss Savine! No doubt you have seen her, and, like all the rest, admire her?" "Yes," confessed Geoffrey. "I can honestly say I do." Millicent regarded him curiously. "You have heard that we women seldom praise one another, and therefore, while admitting that she is coldly handsome, I should imagine Miss Savine to be a trying person," she commented. "Now we must return to our social duties--in my case, at least, no one could call them pleasures." Some little time later Helen, whose eyes had kindled for a moment when her gray-haired escort led her towards the balcony, heard the bluff Canadian answer the question that had been in her mind. "Who was the lady? Can't exactly say. Her husband's Leslie, the Britisher, who started the land-agency offices, you will remember there was trouble about, and is now, I believe, secretary to the Industrial Enterprise. Frankly, I don't like the man--strikes me as a smart adventurer, and my wife does not take to Mrs. Leslie. The man on the balcony was Thurston, Savine's assistant, and a good fellow. He generally follows humbly in Miss Savine's train, and, considering Leslie's connection with the rival company, I don't quite see what he could be doing in that gallery." Helen was piqued. She was too proud to admit to herself that she was jealous, but she had not risen superior to all the characteristics of her sex; and, knowing something of her father's business affairs, she was also puzzled. Thurston's attitude towards his companion had not been that of a casual acquaintance, to say the least, and Helen could not help wondering what could be his connection with the wife of one whose interests, she gathered, must be diametrically opposed to her father's. Then, though endeavoring to decide that it did not matter, she determined to put Thurston to the test at the first opportunity. Meantime Geoffrey stood alone for a few minutes looking out into the moonlit night. "I am growing brutally suspicious, and poor Millicent has suffered--she can't well hide it," he told himself. "Well, we were fond of each other once, and, whether it's her husband or adversity, whenever I can help her, I must try to do so." It was the revolt of an open nature against the evidence of his senses, but even while Geoffrey framed this resolution something seemed to whisper, "Was she ever fond of you? There is that in the woman's voice which does not ring true." He had hardly turned back to rejoin the other members of his party when a business acquaintance met him. "I want you to spare a few minutes for a countryman who has been inquiring about you," said the man. "Mr. Leslie, this is Mr. Thurston--the secretary of the Industrial Enterprise!" The business acquaintance withdrew, and Geoffrey's lips set tight as he turned towards Leslie who betrayed a certain uneasiness in spite of his nonchalant manner. He was a dark-haired man with a pale face, which had grown more heavy and sensual than it was as Geoffrey remembered it. "I don't know whether I should say this is a pleasure," Leslie remarked lightly. "There is no use disguising the fact that we last met under somewhat unfortunate circumstances, but I give you my word that it was too late to suggest that my employers should choose another emissary when I discovered your identity. Where commercial interests are concerned, surely we can both rise superior to mere sentiment." "There are things which it is uncommonly hard to forget," Geoffrey replied coldly. "The question is, however-- What do you want with me?" He meant his tone and pose to be anything but conciliatory. "I want the favor of a business interview before you return," said Leslie, trying to hide his discomfiture, and Geoffrey answered: "That is hardly possible. I return early to-morrow." "Can you drive over to my quarters now?" "No. I desire to see my chief before I go." "It is confoundedly unfortunate," Leslie commented, apparently glad of some excuse for expressing his disgust. "Well, perhaps nobody will disturb us for a few minutes in yonder corridor. You can regard me as a servant of the Industrial Enterprise. Will you listen to what I have to say?" "I'm ready to listen to the great Company's secretary," said Geoffrey, with a bluntness under which the other winced, as he turned towards the corridor. "I'll be brief," began Leslie. "The fact is that we want a capable man accustomed to the planning and construction of irrigation works, and two of our directors rather fancy you. The right man would have full control of practical operations, and I have a tolerably free hand in respect to financial conditions. The main thing we wish to discover is, are you willing to consider an offer of the position?" It was on the surface a simple business proposition, but Thurston's nostrils dilated and his brows contracted, for he guessed what lay behind it. "I've heard Savine is a liberal man," continued Leslie, who mistook Thurston's hesitation. "Still, considering your valuable experience in the Orchard Valley, I have power to outbid him. You certainly will not lose financially by throwing in your lot with us." Then Thurston's anger mastered him, and he flung prudence to the winds. "Your employers have chosen a worthy messenger," he declared, so fiercely that Leslie recoiled. "Did you suppose that I would sell my benefactor, for that is what it amounts to? Confusion to you and the rogues behind you! There's another score between us, and I feel greatly tempted to----" He looked ready to yield to the unmentioned temptation. Leslie, glancing around anxiously, backed away from him, but restrained himself with an effort. Thurston stood panting with rage. There was a sound of approaching footsteps, and the secretary slipped away, leaving the irate engineer face to face with an amused elderly gentleman and Helen Savine. Geoffrey did not know how much or how little they had seen. Helen beckoned to him. "My father has looked tired during the last hour," she said aside. "I have been warned that excitement may prove dangerous, but hardly care to remind him of it. Would you, as a favor to me, persuade him to return home with you?" There was no doubt of Thurston's devotion, for Helen had eyes to see, and she sighed a little, but contentedly, when he hurried away. Nevertheless, she was still perplexed, for she had seen Mrs. Leslie looking at him pleadingly, and now Mr. Leslie shrank away from him. Mrs. Leslie was certainly attractive, and yet Helen thought that she knew Thurston's character. Geoffrey found Savine, who appeared to have suddenly collapsed as if the fire of brilliancy had burned itself out. With more tact than he usually possessed, Thurston persuaded the older man to take his leave. As they all stood on the broad wooden steps Helen stretched out her hand to Thurston. "Thank you, Geoffrey," she said softly. "Believe me, I am grateful." Standing bareheaded beside a pillar, Thurston looked after them as they drove away. It was the first time Helen had called him "Geoffrey," and he fancied that he had seen even more than kindness in her eyes. "And it is her father whom they tempted me to betray! Damn them!" he growled. "The only honest man among them included me among those who lean upon Savine! Savine will need a stay himself presently, and one, at least, will not fail him. Ah, again!--what the devil are you wanting?" The last words were spoken clearly, but Leslie, to whom they were addressed, smiled malevolently. "It would pay you to be civil," he threatened. "I have no particular reason to love you, and might prove a troublesome enemy. However, because my financial interests, which are bound up with my employers', come first, I warn you that you are foolish to hold on to an associate, who has strong men against him, a speculator whose best days are over. I'll give you time to cool down and think over my suggestion." "You and I can have no dealings," declared Geoffrey. "What's done cannot be undone--but keep clear of me. As sure as there's a justice, which will bring you to book, even without my help, we'll crush you, if you get in Savine's way, or mine." "I think this is hardly becoming to either of us, and the next time the Company wants your views it can send another envoy," asserted Leslie. "In the expressive Western idiom, it would save trouble if you keep on thinking in just that way," Geoffrey rejoined. The two men parted, Leslie to go back to where Millicent was holding a group of men interested by her forced gayety and Geoffrey to walk slowly out into the moonlight where he could think of Helen and wonder how confidently he might hope to win her love. CHAPTER XIV THE WORK OF AN ENEMY It was a bitter morning when a weary man, sprinkled white with powdery snow, came limping into Thurston's camp, which was then pitched in the cañon. A pitiless wind swept down from the range side across the thrashing pines, and filled the deep rift with its shrill moaning which sounded above the diapason of the shrunken river. A haze of frost-dried snow infinitesimally fine, which stung the unprotected skin like the prick of hot needles, whirled before the wind and then thinned, leaving bare the higher shoulders of the hills, though a rush of dingy vapor hid the ice-ribbed peaks above. The cañon was a scene of appalling desolation, but few of the long-booted men who hurried among the boulders had leisure to contemplate it. The men were working for Geoffrey Thurston, who did not encourage idleness. So the stranger came almost unnoticed into the center of the camp where Thurston saw him, and asked sharply, "Where do you come from, and what do you want?" "I'm a frame-carpenter," answered the new arrival. "Got fired from the Hastings saw-mill when work slacked down. Couldn't find anybody who wanted me at Vancouver, so I struck out for the mountains and mines. Found worse luck up here; spent all my money and wore my clothes out, but the boss of the Orchard Mill, who took me for a few days, said I might tell you he recommended me. I'm about played out with getting here, and I'm mighty hungry." Geoffrey looked the man over, and decided there was truth in the latter part of his story. "Take this spanner and wade across to the reef yonder," he said. "You can begin by giving aid to those men who are bolting the beams down." The stranger glanced dubiously at the rush of icy water, thick with jagged cakes of frozen snow, then at his dilapidated foot gear, and hesitated. "I'm not great at swimming. It looks deep," he objected. "You can walk, I suppose," Geoffrey answered. "If you do, it won't drown you." The man prepared to obey. He had reached the edge of the water when Geoffrey called him. "I see you're willing, and I'll take you for a few weeks any way," he said. "In the meantime a rest wouldn't do you much harm, and the cook might find you something to keep you from starving until supper, if you asked him civilly." "Thanks!" the man answered, with a curious expression in his face. "I am a bit used up, and I guess I'll see the cook." Work proceeded until the winter's dusk fell, when a bountiful supper was served. The stranger, who did full justice to the meal, showed himself a capable hand when work was resumed under the flaring light of several huge lamps. That night two of his new comrades sat in the cook-shed discussing the stranger. One was James Gillow, whom Geoffrey had first employed at Helen's suggestion, and now replaced the man he formerly assisted. He was apparently without ambition, and chiefly remarkable for an antipathy to physical effort. Although he had a good education, he found that cooking suited him. He sat upon an overturned bucket discoursing whimsically, while Mattawa Tom, who acted as Thurston's foreman, peeled potatoes for him. The cook-shanty was warm and snug, and Gillow made those to whom he granted the right of entry work for the privilege. "Strikes me as queer," said the big axeman, with a grin, when the cook halted to refill his pipe. "Strikes me as queer, it does, that some of you fellows who know so much kin do so little. Knowledge ain't worth a cent unless you've got the rustle. Now there's the boss. You talk the same talk, an' he can't well know more than you seem to do, but look where he is, while you stop right down at the bottom running a cook-shanty. Guess you were born tired, English Jim." "I dare say you're right," answered Gillow. "Other folks in the Old Country have said the same thing, though they didn't put it so neatly. The fact is, some men, like Thurston, are born to wear themselves out trying to manage things, while I was intended for philosophic contemplation. He's occasionally hard to get on with, but since I came here, I'm willing to acknowledge that men of his species are useful, and I have struck harder masters in this great Dominion." Mattawa Tom laughed hoarsely as he responded: "I should say! You found him hard the day you ran black lines all over his drawings and nearly burnt his shanty up, trying to prove he didn't know his business, when you was brim-full of Red Pine whiskey." "It was poison," said Gillow, with unruffled good humor. "Several bottles of genuine whiskey would not confuse me, but I have sworn off since the day you mention, partly to oblige Thurston, who seemed to desire it, and because I can't get any decent liquor. But what do you think of our latest acquisition?" "He kin work, which is more than you could, before the boss taught you," was the dry answer. "But there's something odd about him. You saw the outfit he came in with? Couldn't have swapped it with a Siwash Indian--well, the man has better clothes than you or I on underneath, and if he was so blame hard up, what did he offer Jake five dollars for his old gum boots for?" "Afraid of wetting his feet. Most sensible person, considering the weather," remarked Gillow, indifferently. "'Fraid of wetting his feet! This is just where horse sense beats knowledge. That fellow is scared of nothing around this camp. Hasn't it struck you the boss is going to put through a big contract in a way that's not been tried before, and that there are some folks who would put up a good many dollars to see him let down nicely?" "Well?" Gillow questioned with a show of interest, and the foreman nodded sagaciously as he answered: "Whoever busts the boss up will have to get both feet on the neck of Mattawa Tom first, and that's not going to be easy. I'll keep my eyes right on to that fellow." Tom went out, and Gillow, awakening at midnight, saw that his blankets were still empty. The same thing happened several times, and it was well for Thurston that he had the true leader's gift of inspiring his followers with loyalty, for one night a week later the foreman, who had kept his own counsel, shook Gillow out of his slumber. The sleepy man, who groped for a boot to fling at the disturber of his peace, abandoned the benevolent intention when he saw his comrade's face under the hanging lamp. "Don't ask no fool questions, but get your things on and come with me," Tom commanded. Five minutes later Gillow, shivering and reluctant, turned out into the frost. It was a bitter night, and his breath froze upon his mustache. The snow and froth of the river glimmered spectrally, and when they had left the camp some distance behind, there was light enough to see a black figure crawl up a ladder leading to a wire rope stretched tight in mid-air above the torrent. A trolley hung beneath it by means of which men and material were hauled across the chasm. "Get down here!" whispered Tom. "We'll watch him. If we should fall over any more of these blame rocks he'd see us certain." Gillow was glad to obey, for, though there was faint moonlight, he had already cut one knee cruelly. It was bitterly cold beneath the boulder where he crouched in the snow, and when the black object, which worked its way along the bending cable, had disappeared in the gloom of overhanging rocks on the opposite shore, there was nothing to see but the tossing spray of the river. The stream was still a formidable torrent, though now that the feeding snows were frozen fast, it was shrunken far below its summer level. A good many minutes had passed with painful slowness when Gillow, who regretted that he had left the snug cook-shed, said: "This is distinctly monotonous, and it's about time we struck back to camp. Guess that fellow has tackled too much Red Pine whiskey, and is just walking round to cool himself." In answer the foreman grasped the speaker's shoulder, and stretched out a pointing hand. The moonlight touched one angle of the rock upon the opposite shore which encroached upon the frothing water, and the dark figure showed sharply against it. The figure vanished, reappeared, and sank from sight again. When this had happened several times Gillow remarked: "Perhaps we had better go over. The man's clean gone mad." "No, sir!" objected Mattawa Tom. "No more mad than you. See what he's after? No! You don't remember, either, how mighty hard it was to wedge in the holdfasts for the chain guys stiffening the front of the dam, or how the keys work loose? There wouldn't be much of the boring machines or dam framing left if the chains pulled those wedges out. Catch on to the idee?" Gillow gasped. The huge timber framing, which held back the river so that the costly boring machines could work upon the reef, cumbering part of its bed, had been built only with the greatest difficulty, and when finished Thurston had found it necessary to strengthen it by heavy chains made fast in the rock above. The sockets to which these were secured had been wedged into deep-sunk holes, but more than once some of the hard wood keys had worked loose, and Gillow could guess what would happen if many were partially set free at the same time. "If he hammered three or four of those wedges clear it would only need a bang on another one to give the river its way," Gillow said excitedly. "Then it would take Thurston six months to fix up the damage, if he ever did, and nobody would know how it happened. The cold-blooded brute's in the maintenance gang?" "Just so. A blame smart man, too!" asserted Mattawa Tom. "I guess the boss wouldn't want everybody to know. Rustle back your hardest and bring him along." Fifteen minutes later Thurston took his place behind the boulder, and, because the light was clearer now, he could dimly see the man swinging a heavy hammer, against the rock. He knew that the miscreant, whose business was to prevent the possibility of such accidents, need only start a few more keys, which he would probably do when the dam was clear of men, and many thousand dollars' worth of property and the result of months of labor would be swallowed by the river. His face paled with fierce anger when he recognized this fact. "I want that man," he declared with shut teeth. "I want him so badly that I'd forfeit five hundred dollars sooner than miss him. Slip forward, Gillow, as much out of sight as you can, and hide yourself on the other side of the ladder. Mattawa and I will wait for him here, and among us three we ought to make sure of him." Gillow, who stole forward stooping, swore softly as he fell over many obstacles on the way. The man they wanted became visible, ascending another ladder across the river. Then, hanging in the suspended trolley, he moved, a black shape clear against the snow--along the wire which stretched high across the gulf. While the others watched him, his progress grew slower on reaching the hollow, where the cable bent slightly under the weight at its center. Suddenly the car's progress was checked altogether, and it began to move in the opposite direction more rapidly than before, while Thurston sprang to his feet. "Slack the setting up tackles, Gillow. Hurry for your life," he shouted. "He'll cast the cable loose and be off by the Indian trail into the ranges, if he once gets across." Gillow ran his best, where running of any kind was barely possible even by daylight. He knew that his master was slow to forgive those whose carelessness thwarted any plan, and that, while taking the easier way over instead of crawling round a ledge, he had probably alarmed the fugitive. He reached the foot of the ladder. Climbing up in a desperate hurry, he cast loose the end of the tackle by means of which the cable was set up taut, but neglected in his haste to take a turn with the hemp rope about a post, which would have eased him of most of the strain. "Got him safe!" cried Tom from Mattawa, scrambling to the top of the boulder, as the curve of the wire rope high above their heads increased. In spite of the fugitive's efforts, the trolley from which he was suspended ran back to the slackest part of the loop that sagged down nearer the river. Thurston, who watched him, nodded with a sense of savage satisfaction. He did not for a moment believe that, of his own initiative, any workman would have made a long journey or would have run considerable personal risk to do him an injury. That was why he was so anxious to secure the offender. The curve grew rapidly deeper, until the rope stretched into two diagonals between its fastenings on either shore. Then the trolley descended with a run towards the river, and Geoffrey ran forward, shouting, "The weight's too much for Gillow. Bring along the coil of line from the tool locker, Tom. Hurry, I don't want to drown the rascal." What had happened was simple. The cook, endeavoring to take a turn of the line too late, had failed, and the hemp ran through his half-frozen fingers, chafing the skin from them. Seeing Thurston floundering in his direction over the boulders, he valiantly strove to check it, regardless of the pain until it was whipped clear of his slackening grasp and the trolley rushed downwards towards the torrent. Thurston was abreast of it before it splashed in, and had just time to see its occupant, still clutching the rope, drawn under by the sinking wire, before he plunged recklessly into the foam. The water was horribly cold, and the first shock left him gasping and almost paralyzed. The stream was running fast, and rebounding in white foam from great stones and uneven ledges below. But the distance was short, and Thurston was a strong swimmer, so almost before the man had risen, he was within a few yards of the struggling figure. Hardly had Geoffrey clutched the man before Mattawa Tom, who had, meantime, run down stream, whirling a coil of line, loosed it, and the folds, well directed, shot through the air towards Geoffrey, uncoiling as they came. By good fortune Thurston was able to seize the end and to pass it around them both, when--for Gillow had by this time joined his companion--the two men blundered backwards up the contracted beach, and Thurston and the fugitive were drawn shorewards together, until their feet struck bottom. Breathless and dripping, they staggered out, and, because Geoffrey still clutched the stranger's jacket, the man said: "Mightily obliged to you! But you can let up now there's no more swimming. I couldn't run very far, if it was worth while trying to." "You needn't trouble to thank me," was the answer. "It wasn't because I thought the world would miss you that I went into the water; but I can't expect much sense from a half-drowned man. Do you think the rest of the boys have heard us, Tom?" The foreman glanced towards the tents clustered in the mouth of a ravine above, and seeing no sign of life there, shook his head, whereupon Geoffrey directed: "Take him quietly to the cook-shed, and give him some whiskey. I've no doubt that in spite of my orders you have some. Lend him dry clothes, and bring him along to my shanty as soon as he's ready. Meantime, rouse the maintenance foreman, and, if any wedges have worked loose, let him drive them home." "You're a nice man," commented Mattawa Tom, surveying the stranger disgustedly as the man stood with the water draining from him in the cook-shed. "Here, get into these things and keep them as a present. I wouldn't like the feel of them after they'd been on to you." "That's all right!" was the cool answer. "I expect the game's up, and I'm quite ready to buy them of you. By the way, partner, you helped your boss to pull me out, didn't you? As I said before, I'm not great on swimming." "I'm almost sorry I had to," said Mattawa Tom, who was a loyal partisan. "But don't call me 'partner,' or there'll be trouble." The stranger laughed, as, after a glass of hot liquor, he arrayed himself beside the banked-up stove, and presently marched under escort towards Thurston's wood and bark winter dwelling. Mattawa Tom followed close behind him with a big ax on his shoulder. "I might be a panther you'd corralled. How do you know I haven't a pistol in my pocket, if it was any use turning ugly?" the prisoner inquired. "I'm quite certain about you, because your pistol is in my pocket," was the dry answer, and Tom chuckled. "You weren't quite smart enough when you slipped off your jacket." From the door of his shanty, Thurston called them, and Mattawa, thrusting his prisoner in, proceeded to mount guard close outside until Thurston reappeared to ask angrily: "What are you doing there?" "I figured you might want me, sir. That man's not to be trusted," answered Tom, and Thurston laughed as he said: "Go back, see that the maintenance man has made a good job of the wedges, and if any of the boys should ask questions you'll tell them--nothing," Geoffrey commanded. "You don't suppose I've suddenly grown helpless, do you?" Mattawa Tom withdrew with much reluctance, and it was long before any person knew exactly what Geoffrey and the stranger said to each other, though Gillow informed his comrade that the captured man said to him, by way of explanation before sleeping: "Your boss is considerably too smart a man for me to bluff, and I've kind of decided to help him. Shouldn't wonder if he didn't beat my last one, who would have seen me roasted before he'd have gone into a river for me. I'm not fond of being left out in the rain with the losing side, either, see? It's not my tip to talk too much, and I guess that's about good enough for you." "You're going to help him!" commented Gillow, ironically. "All things considered, that's very kind of you." Next morning Thurston, who summoned the cook and foreman before him, said: "I want you two to keep what happened last night a close secret, and while I cannot tell you much, I may say that the man who will remain in camp was, as you have no doubt guessed, only the cat's paw of several speculators, whom it wouldn't suit to see our employer, Savine, successful." "But mightn't he try the same game again?" asked Mattawa, and Thurston answered: "He might, but I hardly think he will. I intend to keep him here under my own eyes until I want him. There's no particular reason why you shouldn't see that he earns his wages, Tom. Gillow, it's perhaps not wholly unfortunate you dropped him into the river." "Kind of trump ace up your sleeve!" suggested Mattawa, and his master answered with a smile: "Not exactly. The other side is quite smart enough to know who holds the aces; but I fancy the complete disappearance of this few-spot card will puzzle them. Now, forget all about it. I wouldn't have said so much, but that I know I can trust you two!" CHAPTER XV A GREAT UNDERTAKING Except for the wail of a wet breeze from the Pacific and the moaning of the pines outside, there was unusual quietness in the wood-built villa looking down upon the valley of the Hundred Springs on the night that the American specialist came up to consult with Savine's doctor from Vancouver. The master of High Maples had been brought home unconscious, some days earlier, and had lain for hours apparently on the point of death. During this time it was Thurston who took control of the panic-stricken household. It was he who telegraphed Thomas Savine to bring his wife. He had sent for the famous American physician and had allayed Helen's fears. When the girl's aunt arrived he had prevented that lady from undertaking the cure of the patient by her own prescription. Geoffrey's temper was never very patient, but he held it well in hand for Helen's sake. On the night in question, Geoffrey anxiously awaited the physician's verdict. He was in the library with Thomas Savine, and had made spasmodic attempts to divert the attention of the kindly, gray-haired gentleman from the illness of his brother. At last, when the tension grew almost unbearable, Thomas Savine said: "They cannot be much longer, and we'll hear their verdict soon. I'm trying to hope for the best, Thurston, knowing it can't be good all the time. This has been a blow to me. You see we were a one-man family, and it was Julius who started off all the rest of us. He must have been mighty sick of us several times after he married, but he never showed a sign of impatience. What a man he was--tireless, indefatigable, nothing too big for him--until his wife died. Then all the grit seemed to melt right out of him, and during the last few years I knew, what mighty few people besides yourself know now, that Julius was just a shadow of what he had been. He held all the wires in his own hands too long, and, as he hadn't an understudy with the grit to act by himself, I was glad when he took hold of you." "He has always been a generous and considerate employer," interposed Geoffrey. "But I had better leave you. I hear the doctors coming." Savine laid a detaining grasp upon his arm with the words: "I want you right here. It's your concern as well as mine." The two doctors entered, and the one from Vancouver said: "I will let my colleague express his opinion, and may say that our patient admitted to him a complicating weakness which I had suspected. I wish we had better news to give you, but while it was your brother's wish that Mr. Thurston should know, I should almost prefer first to communicate with his own family." "You can both speak right out; only be quick about it," Thomas Savine told him. "It is tolerably simple, and while I sympathize with you, I must not disguise the truth," said the keen-eyed, lean-faced American. "Though Mr. Savine will partly recover from this attack, his career as an active man is closed. His heart may hold out a few years longer, if you follow my instructions, or it may at any time fail him--if he worries over anything, it certainly will. In any case, he will never be strong again. Mental powers and physical vigor have been reduced to the lowest level by over-work and excessive, if intermittent, indulgence in what I may call a very devilish drug--a particular Chinese preparation of opium, not generally known even on this opium-consuming coast. Under its influence he may still be capable of spasmodic fits of energy, but while each dose will assist towards his dissolution, I dare not--at this stage--recommend complete deprivation. I have arranged with your own adviser as to the best treatment known to modern science, but fear it cannot prove very efficacious. That's about all I can tell you in general terms, gentlemen." "It is worse than I feared," said Thomas Savine, leaning forward in his chair, with his elbows on the table, and his chin in his hands. Before the two doctors withdrew, the Canadian said: "He is anxious to see Mr. Thurston, and in an hour or so it could do no harm. I will rejoin you shortly, Mr. Savine." The door closed behind them, and Thomas Savine looked straight at Thurston as he observed: "I know little about his business, but shall have to look into it for his daughter's sake. You will help me?" "Yes," replied Geoffrey. "It seems out of place now, but I cannot honestly co-operate with you without mentioning a conditional promise your brother made to me. Perhaps you can guess it." "I can," said Savine, stretching out his hand. "I won't say that I hadn't thought Helen might have chosen among the highest in the Dominion just because it wouldn't be true, but you'll have my good wishes if you will see my poor brother through his immediate difficulties at least. You had Mrs. Savine's approval long ago." After a pause, he added, "There is one part of Julius's trouble Helen must never know." The two men's fingers met in a grip that was more eloquent than many protestations, and Geoffrey went out into the moaning wind and, bareheaded, paced to and fro until he was summoned to the sick man's room. The few days that had passed since he had seen his employer had set their mark upon Savine. The sick man lay in his plainly-furnished room. With bloodless lips, drawn face, and curiously-glazed eyes, he was strangely different from his usual self, but he looked up with an attempt at his characteristic smile as Geoffrey approached. At a signal, the nurse slipped away. "I asked them to tell you, so you might know the kind of man I am," said Savine. "You have got to exercise that partnership option one way or another right now. It is not too late to back out, and I wouldn't blame you." "I should blame myself to my last day if I did, sir," answered Geoffrey, trying to hide the shock he felt, and Savine beckoned him nearer. "It's a big thing you are going into, but you'll do it with both eyes wide open," he declared. "For the past few years Julius Savine has been a shadow, and an empty name, and his affairs are mixed considerably. Reckless contracts taken with a muddled brain and speculation to make up the losses, have, between them, resulted in chaos. I'm too sick to value what I own, and no accountant can. I ran things myself too long, and no one was fit to take hold when I slackened my grip. But there's still the business, and there's still the name, and the one man in this province I can trust them to is you. I should have let go before, but I was greedy--greedy for my daughter's sake." "It is comprehensible." Geoffrey spoke with conviction. "So far as I can serve you, you can command me." "I know it," was the answer. "What's more, I feel it in me that you will not lose by it. Lord, how hard it is, but there's no use whining when brought up sharp by one's own folly. But see here, Geoffrey Thurston, if Helen will take you willingly I can trust her to you; but if, when I go under, she looks beyond you, and you attempt to trade upon her gratitude or her aunt's favor, my curse will follow you. Besides, if I know Helen Savine, she will be able to repay you full measure should you win her so." For just a moment the old flame of quick anger burned in Geoffrey's eyes. Then he responded. "I regret you even imagine I could take an dishonorable advantage of your daughter. God forbid that I should ever bring sorrow upon Miss Savine. All I ask is a fair field and the right to help her according to her need." "Forgive me!" returned Savine. "Of late I have grown scared about her future. I believe you, Thurston; I can't say more. I felt the more sure of you when you told me straight out about what was born in you. Lord, how I envied you! The man who can stand those devils off can do most anything. It was when my wife died they got their claws on me. I was trying to forget my troubles by doing three men's work, but you can't fool with nature, and I'd done it too long already. Anyway, when I couldn't eat or sleep, they had their opportunity. At first they made my brain work quicker, but soon after I fell in with you I knew that, unless he had a good man beside him, Savine's game was over. But I wouldn't be beaten. I was holding on for Helen's sake to leave her a fortune and a name. "All this is getting monotonous to you but let me finish when I can." Savine waited a moment to regain his breath. "I cheated the nurse and doctor to-day, and I'll be very like a dead man to-morrow. You must go down to my offices and overhaul everything; then come right back and we'll see if we can make a deal. I'll have my proposition fixed up straight and square, but this is the gist of it. While doing your best for your own advantage, hold Julius Savine's name clean before the world, win the most possible for Helen out of the wreck, and rush through the reclamation scheme--which is the key to all." "As you said--it's a big undertaking, but I'll do my best," began Geoffrey, but Savine checked him. "Go down and see what you make of things. Maybe the sight of them will choke you off. I'll take no other answer. Send Tom to me," he commanded. It was the next day when Geoffrey had an interview with Helen, who sent for him. She was standing beside a window when he came in. She looked tall in a long somber-tinted dress which emphasized the whiteness of her full round throat and the pallor of her face. The faint, olive coloring of her skin had faded; there were shadows about her eyes. At the first glance Geoffrey's heart went out towards her. It was evident the verdict of the physicians had been a heavy shock, but he fancied that she was ready to meet the inevitable with undiminished courage. Still, her fingers were cold when, for a moment, they touched his own. "Sit down, Geoffrey. I have a great deal to say to you, and don't know how to begin," she said. "But first I am sincerely grateful for all you have done." "We will not mention that. Neither, I hope, need I say that Miss Savine of all people could never be indebted to me. You must know it already." Helen thanked him with her eyes as she sank into the chair he wheeled out so that the light left her face in shadow. Geoffrey stood near the window framing and he did not look directly towards her. Helen appreciated the consideration which prompted the action and the respect implied by his attitude. "I am going to ask a great deal of you, and remind you of a promise you once made." There was a little tremor in her voice. "You will not think it ungracious if I say there is no one else who can do what seems so necessary, and ask you if you do not consider that you owe something to my father. It is hard for me, not because I doubt you, but because----" Geoffrey checked her with a half-raised hand. "Please don't, Miss Savine--I can understand. You find it difficult to receive, when, as yet, you have, you think, but little to give. Would that make any difference? The little--just to know that I had helped you--would be so much to me." Again Helen was grateful. The look of anxiety and distress returned as she went on. "I dare spare no effort for my father's sake. He has always been kindness itself to me, and it is only now that I know how much I love him. Hitherto I have taken life too easily, forgetting that sorrow and tragedy could overtake me. I have heard the physician's verdict, and know my father cannot be spared very long to me. I also know how his mind is set upon the completion of his last great scheme. That is why, and because of your promise, I have dared ask help of--you." "Will it make it easier if I say that, quite apart from his daughter's wishes, I am bound in honor to protect the interests of Julius Savine so far as I can?" interposed Geoffrey. "Your father found me much as you did, a struggling adventurer, and with unusual kindness helped me on the way to prosperity. All I have I owe to him, and perhaps, the more so because we have cunning enemies, my own mind is bent on the completion of the scheme. I believe that we shall triumph, Miss Savine, and I use the word advisedly, still expecting much from your father's skill." Helen gravely shook her head. "I recognize your kind intentions, but you must expect nothing. It is a hard thing for me to say, but the truth is always best, and again it is no small favor I ask from you,--to do the work for the credit of another's name--taking his task upon your shoulders, to make a broken man's last days easier. I want you to sign the new partnership agreement, and am glad you recognize that my father was a good friend to you." The girl's courage nearly deserted her, for Helen was young still, and had been severely tried. While Geoffrey, who felt that he would give his life for the right to comfort her, could only discreetly turn his face away. "I will do it all, Miss Savine," he said gravely. "I had already determined on as much, but you must try to believe that the future is not so hopeless as it looks. You will consider that I have given you a solemn pledge." "Then I can only say God speed you, for my thanks would be inadequate," Helen's voice trembled as she spoke. "But I must also ask your forgiveness for my presumption in judging you that day. I now know how far I was mistaken." Geoffrey knew to what she referred. The day had been a memorable one for him, and, with pulses throbbing, he moved forward a pace, his eyes fixed upon the speaker's face. For a moment, forgetting everything, his resolutions were flung to the winds, and he trembled with passion and hope. Then he remembered his promise to the sick man, and Helen's own warning, and recovered a partial mastery of himself. It was a mere sense of justice which prompted the girl's words, his reason warned him, but he felt, instinctively, that they implied more than this, though he did not know how much. He stood irresolute until Helen looked up, and, if it had ever existed, the time for speech was past. "I fear I have kept you too long, but there is still a question I must ask. You have seen my father in many of his moods, and there is something in the state of limp apathy he occasionally falls into which puzzles me. I cannot help thinking there is another danger of which I do not know. Can you not enlighten me?" Helen leaned forward, a strange fear stamped upon her face. Fresh from the previous struggle, Geoffrey, whose heart yearned to comfort her, felt his powers of resistance strained to the utmost. Still, it was a question that he could not answer. Remembering Savine's injunction--to hold her father's name clean--he said quickly: "There is nothing I can tell you. You must remember only that the physician admitted a cheering possibility." "I will try to believe in it." The trouble deepened in Helen's face, while her voice expressed bitter disappointment. "You have been very kind and I must not tax you too heavily." Geoffrey turned away, distressed, for her and inwardly anathematized his evil fortune in being asked that particular question. He had, he felt, faltered when almost within sight of victory, neglecting to press home an advantage which might have won success. "It is, perhaps, the first time I have willfully thrown away my chances--the man who wins is the one who sees nothing but the prize," he told himself. "But I could not have taken advantage of her anxiety for her father and gratitude to me, while, if I had, and won, there would be always between us the knowledge that I had not played the game fairly." Thomas Savine came into the room. "I was looking for you, and want to know when you'll go down to Vancouver with me to puzzle through everything before finally deciding just what you're going to do," he said. They talked a few moments. After the older man left him, Geoffrey found himself confronted by Mrs. Savine. "I have been worried about you," she asserted. "You're carrying too heavy a load, and it's wearing you thin. You look a very sick man to-day, and ought to remember that the main way to preserve one's health is to take life easily." "I have no doubt of it, madam," Thurston fidgeted, fearing what might follow; "but, unfortunately, one cannot always do so." Mrs. Savine held out a little phial as she explained: "A simple restorative is the next best thing, and you will find yourself braced in mind and body by a few doses of this. It is what I desired to fix up my poor brother-in-law with when you prevented me." "Then the least I can do is to take it myself," said Geoffrey, smiling to hide his uneasiness. "I presume you do not wish me to swallow it immediately?" Mrs. Savine beamed upon him. "You might hold out an hour or two longer, but delays are dangerous," she warned him. "Kindness! Well, there's a tolerable reason why we should be good to you, and, for I guess you're not a clever man all round, Geoffrey Thurston, you have piled up a considerable obligation in your favor in one direction." "May I ask you to speak more plainly, Mrs. Savine?" Geoffrey requested and she answered: "You may, but I can't do it. Still, what you did, because you thought it the fair thing, won't be lost to you. Now, don't ask any more fool questions, but go right away, take ten drops of the elixir, and don't worry. It will all come right some day." The speaker's meaning was discernible, and Geoffrey, having a higher opinion than many people of Mrs. Savine's sagacity, went out into the sunlight, satisfied. He held up the phial and was about to hurl it among the firs, but, either grateful for the donor's words, or softened by what he had heard and seen, he actually drank a little of it instead. Then came a revulsion from the strain of the last few days, and he burst into a laugh. "It would have been mean, and I dare say I haven't absorbed sufficient of the stuff to quite poison me," he said. CHAPTER XVI MILLICENT TURNS TRAITRESS It was with a heavy sense of responsibility that Geoffrey returned from a visit to Savine's offices in Vancouver, and yet there was satisfaction mingled with his anxiety. Thomas Savine, who knew little of engineering, was no fool at finance, and the week they spent together made the situation comparatively plain. It was fraught with peril and would have daunted many a man, but the very uncertainty and prospect of a struggle which would tax every energy appealed to Thurston. He felt also that here was an opportunity of proving his devotion to Helen in the way he could do it best. "I'm uncommonly thankful we didn't send for an accountant; the fewer folks who handle those books the better," declared Thomas Savine. "I was prepared for a surprise, Thurston, but never expected this. I suppose things can be straightened out, but when I'd fixed up that balance, it just took my breath away. More than half the assets are unmarketable stock and ventures no man could value, while whether they will ever realize anything goodness only knows. It's mighty certain Julius doesn't know himself what he has been doing the last two years. I can let my partners run our business down in Oregon and stay right here for a time, counting on you to do the outside work, if what you have seen hasn't clicked you off. You haven't signed the agreement yet. How does the whole thing strike you?" "As chaos that can and must be reduced to order," answered Geoffrey with a reckless laugh. "I intend to sign the agreement, and, foreseeing that you may have trouble about the money which I propose to spend freely, I am adding all my private savings to the working capital. It is, therefore, neck or nothing with me now, as I fear it is with the rest of you, and, in my opinion, we should let everything but the reclamation scheme go. It will either ruin us or pay us five-fold if we can put it through." "Just so!" and Savine nodded. "I leave that end to you, but I've got to explain things to Helen, and I don't like the thought of it. My niece has talents. As her future lies at stake, she has a right to know, but it will be another shock to her. Poor Julius brought her up in luxury, and I expect has been far too mixed of late to know that he was tottering towards the verge of bankruptcy. A smart outside accountant would have soon scented trouble, but I don't quite blame my brother's cashier, who is a clerk and nothing more, for taking everything at its book value." That afternoon Helen sat with the two men in the library at High Maples. A roll of papers was on the table before her. When Thomas Savine had made the condition of things as plain as possible, she leaned back in her chair with crossed hands for a time. "I thank you for telling me so much, and I can grasp the main issues," she said at length. "If my opinion is of value I would say I agree with you that the bold course is best. But you will need much money, and as it is evident money will not be plentiful, so I must do my part in helping you. Because this establishment and our mode of life here is expensive, while it will please my father to be near the scene of operations, we will let High Maples and retire to a mountain ranch. I fear we have maintained a style circumstances hardly justified too long." "It's a sensible plan all through. I must tell you Mr. Thurston has----" began Savine, and ceased abruptly, when Geoffrey, who frowned at him, broke in: "We have troubled Miss Savine with sufficient details, and I fancy the arrangement suggested would help to keep her father tranquil, especially as our progress will be slow. Spring is near, and, in spite of our efforts, we shall not be able to deepen the pass in the cañon before the waters rise. That means we can do nothing there until next winter, and must continue the dyking all summer. It is very brave of you, Miss Savine." Helen smiled upon him as she answered: "The compliment is doubtful. Did you suppose I could do nothing? But we must march out with banners flying, or, more prosaically, paragraphs in the papers, stating that Julius Savine will settle near the scene of his most important operations. While you are here you should show yourself in public as much as possible, Mr. Thurston. Whenever I can help you, you must tell me, and I shall demand a strict account of your stewardship from both of you." The two men went away satisfied. Savine said: "I guess some folks are mighty stupid when they consider that only the ugly women are clever. There's my niece--well, nobody could call her plain, and you can see how she's taking hold instead of weakening. Some women never show the grit that's in them until they're fighting for their children; but you can look out for trouble, Thurston, if you fool away any chances, while Helen Savine's behind you fighting for her father." A few days later Henry Leslie, confidential secretary to the Industrial Enterprise Company, sat, with a frown upon his puffy face, in his handsome office. He wore a silk-bound frock coat, a garment not then common in Vancouver, and a floral spray from Mexico in his button-hole; but he was evidently far from happy, and glanced with ill-concealed dismay at the irate specimen of muscular manhood standing before him. The man, who was a sturdy British agriculturalist, had forced his way in, defying the clerks specially instructed to intercept him. Leslie had first set up in business as a land agent, a calling which affords a promising field for talents of his particular description, and having taken the new arrival's money, had, by a little manipulation of the survey lines, transferred to him mostly barren rock and giant trees instead of land for hop culture. It was a game which had been often played before, but the particular rancher was a determined man and had announced his firm intention of obtaining his money back or wreaking summary vengeance on his betrayer. "Danged if thee hadn't more hiding holes than a rotten, but I've hunted thee from one to one, and now I've found thee I want my brass," shouted the brawny, loud-voiced Briton. Leslie answered truthfully: "I tell you I haven't got it, even if you had any claim on me, and it's not my fault you're disappointed, if you foolishly bought land before you could understand a Canadian survey plan." "Then thou'lt better get it," was the uncompromising answer. "Understand a plan! I've stuck to the marked one I got from thee, and there's lawyers in this country as can. It was good soil and maples I went up to see, and how the ---- can anybody raise crops off the big stones thou sold me? I'm going to have my rights, and, meantime, I'm trapesing round all the bars in this city talking about thee. There's a good many already as believe me." "Then you had better look out. Confound you!" threatened Leslie, taking a bold course in desperation. "There's a law which can stop that game in this country, and I'll set it in motion. Anyway, I can't have you making this noise in my private office. Go away before I call my clerks to throw you out." The effort at intimidation was a distinct failure, for the aggrieved agriculturalist, who was not quite sober, laughed uproariously as he seized a heavy ruler. "That's a good yan," he roared. "Thou darsen't for thy life go near a court with me, and the first clerk who tries to put me out, danged if I don't pound half the life out of him and thee. I'm stayin' here comf'able until I get my money." He pulled out a filthy pipe, and filled it with what, when he struck a match, turned out to be particularly vile tobacco, and Leslie, who fumed in his chair, said presently: "You are only wasting your time and mine--and for heaven's sake take a cigar and fling that pipe away. I haven't got the money by me, and it's the former owner's business, not mine, but if you'll call round, say the day after to-morrow, I'll see what we can do." He named the day, knowing that he would be absent then, and the stranger, heaving his heavy limbs out of an easy chair, helped himself to a handful of choice cigars before he prepared to depart, saying dubiously: "I'll be back on Wednesday bright and early, bringing several friends as will see fair play with me. One of them will be a lawyer, and if he's no good either, look out, mister, for I'll find another way of settling thee!" There are in Canada, as well as other British Colonies, capitalists, dealing in lands and financing mines, whose efforts make for the progress of civilization and the good of the community. There are also others, described by their victims as a curse to any country. Representatives of both descriptions were interested in the Industrial Enterprise. Therefore, the unfortunate secretary groaned when one of the latter class, who passed his visitor in the doorway, came in smiling in a curious manner. Leslie, who hoped he had not heard much, was rudely undeceived. "I'm hardly surprised at certain words I heard in the corridor," he commenced. "Your English friend was telling an interesting tale about you to all the loungers in the Rideau bar to-day. They seemed to believe him--he told it very creditably. When are you going to stop it, Leslie?" "When I can pay him the equivalent of five hundred sterling in blackmail. I am afraid it will be a long time," answered the secretary, ruefully. "Then I would advise you to beg, borrow or steal the money. A man of your abilities and practical experience oughtn't to find much difficulty in this part of the world," said the newcomer. "The tale may have been a fabrication, but it sounded true, and while I don't set up as a reformer I am a director of this Company, and can't have those rumors set going about its secretary. No, I don't want to hear your side of the case--it's probably highly creditable to you--but I know all about the kind of business you were running, and a good many other folks in this province do, too." "Who, in the name of perdition, would lend me the money? And it takes every cent I've got to live up to my post. You don't pay too liberally," sneered the unfortunate man, stung into brief fury by the reference to his character. "I will," was the answer. "That is to say, I'll fix things up with the plain-spoken Britisher, and take your acknowledgment in return for his written statement that he has no claim on you. I know how to handle that breed of cattle, and mayn't press you for the money until you can pay it comfortably." "What are you doing it for?" asked Leslie, dubiously. "For several reasons; I don't mind mentioning a few. I want more say in the running of this Company, and I could get at useful facts my colleagues didn't know through its secretary. I could also give him instructions without the authority of a board meeting, see? And I fancy I could put a spoke in Savine's wheel best by doing it quietly my own way. One live man can often get through more than a squabbling dozen, and the money is really nothing much to me." "I had better sue the Englishman for defamation, and prove my innocence, even if the legal expenses ruin me," said Leslie, and the other, who laughed aloud, checked him. "Pshaw! It is really useless trying that tone with me, especially as I have heard about another dispute of the kind you once had at Westminster. You're between the devil and the deep sea, but if you don't start kicking you'll get no hurt from me. Call it a deal--and, to change the subject, where's the man you sent up to worry Thurston?" "I don't know," said Leslie. "I gave him a round sum, part of it out of my own pocket, for I couldn't in the meantime think of a suitable entry--all the directors don't agree with you. I know he started, but he has never come back again." "Then you have got to find him," was the dry answer. "We'll have law-suits and land commissions before we're through, and if Thurston has corralled or bought that man over, and plays him at the right moment, it would certainly cost you your salary." "I can't find him; I've tried," asserted Leslie. "Then you had better try again and keep right on trying. Get at Thurston through his friends if you can't do it any other way. Your wife is already a figure in local society." That night Leslie leaned against the mantelpiece in his quarters talking to his wife. They had just returned from some entertainment and Millicent, in beautiful evening dress, lay in a lounge chair watching him keenly. "You would not like to be poor again, Millicent?" he said, fixing his glance, not upon her face but on her jeweled hands, and the woman smiled somewhat bitterly as she answered: "Poor again! That would seem to infer that we are prosperous now. Do you know how much I owe half the stores in this city, Harry?" "I don't want to!" said Leslie, with a gesture of impatience. "Your tastes were always extravagant, and I mean the kind of poverty which is always refused credit." "My tastes!" and Millicent's tone was indignant. "I suppose I am fond of money, or the things that it can buy, and you may remember you once promised me plenty. But why can't you be honest and own that the display we make is part of your programme? I have grown tired of this scheming and endeavoring to thrust ourselves upon people who don't want us, and if you will be content to stay at home and progress slowly, Harry, I will gladly do my share to help you." Millicent Leslie was ambitious, but the woman who endeavors to assist an impecunious husband's schemes by becoming a social influence usually suffers, even if successful, in the process, and Millicent had not been particularly successful. She was also subject to morbid fits of reflection, accompanied by the framing of good resolutions, which, for the moment at least, she meant to keep. It is possible that night might have marked a turning-point in her career had her husband listened to her, but before she could continue, his thin lips curled as he said: "Isn't it a little too late for either of us to practice the somewhat monotonous domestic virtues? You need not be afraid of hurting my feelings, Millicent, by veiling your meaning. But, in the first place, at the time you transferred your affections to me I had the money, and, in the second, I must either carry out what you call my programme or go down with a crash shortly. If luck favors me the prize I am striving for is, however, worth winning, but things are going most confoundedly badly just now. In fact, I shall be driven into a corner unless you can help me." Mrs. Leslie possessed no exalted code of honor, but, in her present frame of mind, her husband's words excited fear and suspicion, and she asked sharply, "What is it you want me to do?" "I will try to explain. You know something of my business. I sent up a clever rascal to--well, to pass as a workman seeking employment, and so enable us to forestall some of Savine's mechanical improvements. He took the money I gave him and started, but we have never seen him since, and it is particularly desirable that I should know whether he tried and failed or what has become of him. If the man made his exact commission known it would cost me my place. The very people who would applaud me if successful would be the first to make a scapegoat of me otherwise." "Your explanation is not quite lucid, but how could I get at the truth?" "Ingratiate yourself with Miss Savine, or get that crack-brained aunt of hers to cure your neuralgia. There are also two young premium pupils, sons of leading Montreal citizens, in Mr. Savine's service, who dance attendance upon the fair Helen continually. It shouldn't be difficult to flatter them a little and set them talking." "Do you think women are utterly foolish, or that they converse about dams and earthworks?" asked Millicent, trying to check her rising indignation. "No, but I know a good many of you have the devil's own cunning, and there can be but few much keener than you. Women in this country know a great deal more about their lawful protectors' affairs than they generally do at home, and Miss Savine is sufficiently proud not to care whose wife you were if she took a fancy to you." "It would be utterly useless!" Leslie looked his wife over with coolly critical approval, noting how the soft lamplight sparkled in the pale gold clusters of her hair, the beauty that still hung to her somewhat careworn face, and how the costly dress enhanced the symmetry of a finely-moulded frame. "Then why can't you confine your efforts to the men? You are pretty and clever enough to wheedle secrets out of Thurston's self even, now you have apparently become reconciled to him." For the first time since the revelations that followed Leslie's downfall a red brand of shame and anger flamed in Millicent's cheeks. She rose, facing the speaker with an almost breathless "How dare you? Is there no limit to the price I must pay for my folly? Thurston was----. But how could any woman compare him with you?" "Sit down again, Millicent," suggested Leslie with an uneasy laugh. "These heroics hardly become you--and nobody can extort a great deal in return for--nothing better than you. In any case, it's no use now debating whether one or both of us were foolish. I'm speaking no more than the painful truth when I say that if I can't get the man back into my hands I shall have to make a break without a dollar from British Columbia. Since you have offended your English friends past forgiveness, God knows what would become of you if that happened, while Thurston would marry Miss Savine and sail on to riches--confusion to him!" Millicent was never afterwards certain why she accepted the quest from which she shrank with loathing, at first. While her husband proceeded to substantiate the truth of his statement, she was conscious of rage and shame, as well as a profound contempt for him; and, because of it, she felt an illogical desire to inflict suffering upon the man whom she now considered had too readily accepted his rejection. Naturally, she disliked Miss Savine. She was possessed by an abject fear of poverty, and so, turning a troubled face towards the man, she said: "I don't know that I shall ever forgive you, and I feel that you will live to regret this night's work bitterly. However, as you say, it is over late for us to fear losing the self-respect we parted with long ago. Rest contented--I will try." "That is better. We are what ill-luck or the devil made us," replied Leslie, laying his hand on his wife's white shoulder, but in spite of her recent declaration Millicent shrank from his touch. "Your fingers burn me. Take them away. As I said, I will help you, but if there was any faint hope of happiness or better things left us, you have killed it," she declared in a decided tone. "I should say the chance was hardly worth counting on," answered Leslie, as he withdrew to soothe himself with a brandy-and-soda. Millicent sat still in her chair, with her hands clenched hard on the arms of it, staring straight before her. CHAPTER XVII THE INFATUATION OF ENGLISH JIM It was perhaps hardly wise of Geoffrey Thurston to suddenly promote English Jim from the position of camp cook to that of amanuensis. Geoffrey, however, found himself hard pressed when it became necessary to divide his time between Vancouver and the scene of practical operations, and he remembered that the man he had promoted had been Helen's _protégé_. James Gillow was a fair draughtsman, also, and, if not remarkable otherwise for mental capacity, wielded a facile pen, and Geoffrey found it a relief to turn his rapidly-increasing correspondence over to him. It was for this reason Gillow accompanied him on a business trip to Victoria. English Jim enjoyed the visit, the more so because he found one or two acquaintances who had achieved some degree of prosperity in that fair city. He was entertained so well that on the morning of Geoffrey's return he boarded the steamer contented with himself and the world in general. He was perfectly sober, so he afterwards decided, or on board a rolling vessel he could never have succeeded in working out quantities from rough sketches Thurston gave him. But he had breakfasted with his friends, just before sailing, and the valedictory potations had increased, instead of assuaging, his thirst. The steamer was a fast one. The day was pleasant with the first warmth of Spring, and Geoffrey sat under the lee of a deckhouse languidly enjoying a cigar and looking out across the sparkling sea. Gillow, who came up now and then for a breath of air, envied him each time he returned to pore over papers that rose and fell perplexingly on one end of the saloon table. It was hard to get his scale exactly on the lines of the drawings; the sunrays that beat in through the skylights dazzled his eyes, and his sight did not become much keener after each visit to the bar. Nevertheless, few persons would have suspected English Jim of alcoholic indulgence as he jotted down weights and quantities in his pocket-book. Meantime, Thurston began to find the view of the snow-clad Olympians grow monotonous. It is true that every pinnacle was silhouetted, a spire of unsullied whiteness, against softest azure. The peaks towered, a sight to entrance the vision--ethereally majestic above a cerulean sea--but Geoffrey had seen rather too much snow unpleasantly close at hand within the last few months. Therefore, he opened the newspaper beside him, and frowned to see certain rumors he had heard in Victoria embodied in an article on the Crown lands policy. Anyone with sufficient knowledge to read between the lines could identify the writer's instances of how gross injustice might be done the community with certain conditional grants made to Savine. "That man has been well posted. He may have been influenced by a mistaken public spirit or quite possibly by a less praiseworthy motive; but if we have any more bad breakdowns I can foresee trouble," Geoffrey said to himself. Then he turned his eyes towards the groups of passengers, and presently started at the sight of a lady carrying a camp chair, a book, and a bundle of wrappings along the heaving deck. It was Millicent Leslie, and there was no doubt that she had recognized him, for she had set down her burden and was waiting for his assistance. Geoffrey was at her side in a moment and presently ensconced her snugly under the lee of the deckhouse, where he waited, by no means wholly pleased at the meeting. He had spent most of the previous night with certain men interested in finance and provincial politics, and being new to the gentle art of wire-pulling had not quite recovered his serenity. He regretted the good cigar he had thrown away, and scarcely felt equal to sustaining the semi-sentimental trend of conversation Millicent had affected whenever he met her, but she was alone, and cut off all hope of escape by saying: "You will not desert me. One never feels solitude so much as when left to one's own resources among a crowd of strangers." "Certainly not, if you can put up with my company; but where is your husband?" Geoffrey responded. Millicent looked up at him with a chastened expression. "Enjoying himself. Some gentlemen, whose good-will is worth gaining, asked him to go inland for a few days' fishing, and he said it was necessary he should accept the invitation. Accordingly, I am as usual left to my own company while I make a solitary journey down the Sound. It is hardly pleasant, but I suppose all men are much the same, and we poor women must not complain." Millicent managed to convey a great deal more than she said, and her sigh suggested that she often suffered keenly from loneliness; but while Geoffrey felt sorry for her, he was occupied by another thought just then, and did not at first answer. "What are you puzzling over, Geoffrey?" she asked, and the man smiled as he answered: "I was wondering if the same errand which took your husband to Victoria, was the same that sent me there." "I cannot say." Millicent's gesture betokened weariness. "I know nothing of my husband's business, and must do him the justice to say that he seldom troubles me about it. I have little taste for details of intricate financial scheming, but practical operations, like your task among the mountains, would appeal to me. It must be both romantic and inspiring to pit one's self against the rude forces of Nature; but one grows tired of the prosaic struggle which is fought by eating one's enemies' dinners and patiently bearing the slights of lukewarm allies' wives. However, since the fear of poverty is always before me, I try to play my part in it." Helen Savine had erred strangely when she concluded that Geoffrey Thurston was without sympathy. Hard and painfully blunt as he could be, he was nevertheless compassionate towards women, though not always happy in expressing his feelings, and when Millicent folded her slender hands with a pathetic sigh, he was moved to sincere pity and indignation. He knew that some of the worthy Colonials' wives and daughters could be, on occasion, almost brutally frank, and that, in spite of his efforts, Leslie was not wholly popular. "I can quite understand! It must be a trying life for you, but there are always chances for an enterprising man in this country, and you must hope that your husband will shortly raise you above the necessity of enduring uncongenial social relations." "Please don't think I am complaining." Millicent read his sympathy in his eyes. "It was only because you looked so kind that I spoke so frankly. I fear that I have grown morbid and said too much. But one-sided confidence is hardly fair, and, to change the subject, tell me how fortune favors you." "Where shall I begin?" Millicent smiled, as most men would have fancied, bewitchingly. "You need not be bashful. Tell me about your adventures in the mountains, with all the hairbreadth escapes, fantastic coloring, and romantic medley of incidents that must be crowded into the life of anyone engaged in such work as yours." "I am afraid the romance wears thin, leaving only a monotonous, not to say sordid, reality, while details of cubic quantities would hardly interest you. Still, and remember you have brought it upon yourself, I will do my best." Geoffrey reluctantly began an account of his experiences, speaking in an indifferent manner at first, but warming to his subject, until he spoke eloquently at length. He was not a vain man, but Millicent had set the right chord vibrating when she chose the topic of his new-world experiences. He stopped at last abruptly, with an uneasy laugh. "There! I must have tired you, but you must blame yourself," he said. "No!" Millicent assured him. "I have rarely heard anything more interesting. It must be a very hard battle, well worth winning, but you are fortunate in one respect--having only the rock and river to contend against instead of human enemies." "I am afraid we have both," was the incautious answer, and Millicent looked out across the white-flecked waters as she commented indifferently, "But there can be nobody but simple cattle-raisers and forest-clearers in that region, and what could your enemies gain by following you there?" "They might interfere with my plans or thwart them. One of them nearly did so!" and Geoffrey, hesitating, glanced down at his companion just a second too late to notice the look of suspiciously-eager interest in her face, for Millicent had put on the mask again. She was a clever actress, quick to press into her service smile or sigh, where words might have been injudicious, and with feminine curiosity and love of unearthing a secret, was bent on drawing out the whole story. It did not necessarily follow that she should impart the secret to her husband, she said to herself. Geoffrey was, for the moment, off his guard, and victory seemed certain for the woman. "How did that happen?" she asked, outwardly with languid indifference, inwardly quivering with suspense, but, as luck would have it, the steamer, entering one of the tide races which sweep those narrow waters, rolled wildly just then, and Geoffrey held her chair fast while the book fell from her knee and went sliding down the slanted deck. Vexed and nervously anxious, Millicent bit one red lip while Thurston pursued the volume, and she could hardy conceal her chagrin when he returned with it. "It flew open and a page or two got wet in the scuppers. Still, it will soon dry in the sun, and because I did my best, you will excuse me being a few seconds too slow to save it," Geoffrey apologized. Millicent was willing to allow him to deceive himself as to the cause of her annoyance. "It was a borrowed book, and I can hardly return it in this condition. It is really vexatious," she replied, wondering how to lead the conversation back to the place where it was interrupted. She might have succeeded, but fate seemed against her. A passenger, who knew them both, strolled by and nodded to Geoffrey. "I have been looking for you, Thurston, and if Mrs. Leslie, accepting my excuses, can spare you for a few minutes, I have something important to tell you," said the man. "I wouldn't have disturbed you, but we'll be alongside Vancouver wharf very shortly." Millicent could only bow in answer, and after an apologetic glance in her direction, Geoffrey followed the passenger. "Mrs. Leslie's a handsome woman, though one would guess she had a temper of her own. Perhaps you didn't notice it, but she just looked daggers at you when you let that book get away," observed the companion, who smiled when Geoffrey answered: "Presumably, you didn't take all this trouble to acquaint me with that fact?" "No," admitted the man, with a whimsical gesture. "It was something much more interesting--about the agitation some folks are trying to whoop up against your partner." Geoffrey found the information of so much interest that the steamer was sweeping through the pine-shrouded Narrows which forms the gateway of Vancouver's land-locked harbor when he returned to Millicent, with English Jim following discreetly behind him. "I am sorry that, as we are half-an-hour late, I shall barely have time to keep an important business appointment," said Thurston. "However, as the Sound boat does not sail immediately, my assistant, Mr. Gillow, will be able to look after your baggage, and secure a good berth for you. You will get hold of the purser, and see Mrs. Leslie is made comfortable in every way before you follow me, Gillow. I shall not want you for an hour or two." Millicent smiled on the assistant, who took his place beside her, as the steamer ran alongside the wharf, and his employer hurried away. English Jim was a young, good-looking man of some education, and, since his promotion from the cook-shed, had indulged himself in a former weakness for tasteful apparel. He had also, though Thurston did not notice it, absorbed just sufficient alcoholic stimulant to render him vivacious in speech without betraying the reason for it, and Millicent, who found him considerably more amusing than Geoffrey, wondered whether, since she had failed with the one, she might not succeed with the other. English Jim no more connected her with the servant of the corporation whose interests were opposed to Savine's than he remembered the brass baggage checks in his pocket. His gratified vanity blinded him to everything besides the pleasure of being seen in his stylish companion's company. He found a sunny corner for her beside one of the big Sound steamer's paddle casings, from which she could look across the blue waters of the forest-girt inlet, brought up a chair and some English papers, and after Millicent had chatted with him graciously, was willing to satisfy her curiosity to the utmost when she said with a smile: "You are a confidential assistant of Mr. Thurston's? He is an old friend of mine, and knowing his energy, I dare say he works you very hard." "Hard is scarcely an adequate term, madam," answered English Jim. "Nothing can tire my respected chief, and unfortunately, he expects us all to equal him. He found me occupation--writing his letters--until 1 A.M. this morning; and, I believe, must have remained awake himself until it was almost light, making drawings which I have had the pleasure of poring over, all the way across. Don't you think, madam, that it is a mistake to work so hard, that one has never leisure for the serene contemplation which is one of the--one of the best things in life. Besides, people who do so, are also apt to deprive others of their opportunities." "Perhaps so, though I hardly think Mr. Thurston would agree with you. For instance?" asked Millicent, finding his humor infectious, for English Jim could gather all the men in camp about him, when half in jest and half in earnest he began one of his discourses. "These!" was the answer, and the speaker thrust his hand into his jacket pocket. "If Mr. Thurston had not been of such tireless nature, I might have found leisure to admire the beauty of this most entrancing coast scenery, instead of puzzling over weary figures in a particularly stuffy saloon." He held up a large handful of papers as he spoke, glanced at them disdainfully, and, pointing vaguely across the inlet, continued, "Is not an hour's contemplation of such a prospect better than many days' labor?" Millicent laughed outright, and, because, though English Jim's voice was even, and his accent crisp and clean, his fingers were not quite so steady as they might have been, one of the papers fluttered, unnoticed by either of them, to her feet. "I feel tempted to agree with you," Millicent rejoined, wishing that she need not press on to the main point, for English Jim promised to afford the sort of entertainment which she enjoyed. "But a man of your frame of mind must find scanty opportunity for considering such questions among the mountains." "That is so," was the rueful answer. "We commence our toil at daybreak, and too often continue until midnight. There are times when the monotony jars upon a sensitive mind, as the camp cooking does upon a sensitive palate. But our chief never expects more from us than he will do himself, and is generous in rewarding meritorious service." "So I should suppose," commented Millicent. "Knowing this, you will all be very loyal to him?" "Every one of us!" The loyalty of English Jim, who gracefully ignored the inference and fell into the trap, was evident enough. "Of course, we do not always approve of being tired to death, but where our chief considers it necessary, we are content to obey him. In fact, it would not make much difference if we were not," he added whimsically. "There was, however, one instance of a black sheep, or rather wolf of the contemptible coyote species in sheep's clothing, whom I played a minor part in catching. But, naturally, you will not care to hear about this?" "I should, exceedingly. Did I not say that I am one of Mr. Thurston's oldest friends? I should very much like to hear about the disguised coyote. I presume you do not mean a real one, and are speaking figuratively?" Gillow was flattered by the glance she cast upon him, and, remembering only that this gracious lady was one of his employer's friends, proceeded to gratify her by launching into a vivid description of what happened on the night when he dropped the prowler into the river. He had, however, sense enough to conclude with the capture of the man. "But you have not told me the sequel," said Millicent. "Did you lynch the miscreant in accordance with the traditional customs of the West, or how did Mr. Thurston punish him? He is not a man who lightly forgives an injury." "No," replied Gillow, rashly. "Against my advice, though my respected employer is difficult to reason with, he kept the rascal in camp, both feeding and paying him well." "You surprise me. I should have expected a more dramatic finale." Millicent's tone might have deceived a much more clever man who did not know her husband's position. "Why did he do so?" There were, however, limits to English Jim's communicativeness, and he answered: "Mr. Thurston did not explain his motives, and it is not always wise to ask him injudicious questions." Millicent, having learned what she desired to know, rested content with this, and chatted on other subjects until the big bell clanged, and the whistle shrieked out its warning. Then the dismissed Gillow with her thanks, and the last she saw of him he was being held back by a policeman as he struggled to scale a lofty railing while the steamer slid clear of the wharf. He waved an arm in the air shouting frantically, and through the thud of paddles she caught the disjointed sentences, "Very sorry. Forgot baggage checks--all your boxes here. Leave first steamer--sending checks by mail!" "It is impossible for us to turn back, madam," said the purser to whom Millicent appealed. "The baggage will, no doubt, follow the day after to-morrow." "But that gentleman has my ticket, and doesn't know my address!" protested the unfortunate passenger, and the purser answered: "I really cannot help it, but I will telegraph to any of your friends from the first way-port we call at, madam." When the steamer had vanished behind the stately pines shrouding the Narrows, English Jim sat down upon a timber-head and swore a little at what he called his luck, before he uneasily recounted the folded papers in his wallet. "A pretty mess I've made of it all, and there'll be no end of trouble if Thurston hears of this," he said aloud, so that a loafing porter heard and grinned. "I'll write a humble letter--but, confound it, I don't know where she's going to, and now here is one of those distressful tracings missing. It must have been that old sketch of Savine's, and Thurston will never want it, while nobody but a draughtsman could make head or tail of the thing. Anyway, I'll get some dinner before I decide what is best to be done." While Gillow endeavored to enjoy his dinner, and, being an easy-going man, partially succeeded, Millicent, who had picked up a folded paper, leaned upon the steamer's rail with it open in her hand. "This is Greek to me, but I suppose it is of value. I will keep it, and perhaps give it back to Geoffrey," she ruminated. "The game was amusing, but I feel horribly mean, and whether I shall tell Harry or not depends very much upon his behavior." CHAPTER XVIII THE BURSTING OF THE SLUICE One morning of early summer, Geoffrey Thurston lay neither asleep, nor wholly awake, inside his double tent. The canvas was partly drawn open, and from his camp-cot he could see a streak of golden sunlight grow broader across the valley, while rising in fantastic columns the night mists rolled away. The smell of dew-damped cedars mingled with the faint aromatic odors of wood smoke. The clamor of frothing water vibrated through the sweet cool air, for the river was swollen by melted snow. Geoffrey lay still, breathing in the glorious freshness, drowsily content. All had gone smoothly with the works, at least, during the last month or two. Each time that she rode down to camp with her father from the mountain ranch, Helen had spoken to him with unusual kindness. Savine would, when well enough, spend an hour in Geoffrey's tent. While some of the contractor's suggestions were characterized by his former genius, most betrayed a serious weakening of his mental powers, and it was apparent that he grew rapidly frailer, physically. On this particular morning Geoffrey found something very soothing in the river's song, and, yielding to temptation, he turned his head from the growing light to indulge in another half-hour's slumber. Suddenly, a discordant note, jarring through the deep-toned harmonies, struck his ears, which were quick to distinguish between the bass roar of the cañon and the higher-pitched calling of the rapid at its entrance. What had caused it he could not tell. He dressed with greatest haste and was striding down into the camp when Mattawa Tom and Gillow came running towards him. "Sluice number six has busted, and the water's going in over Hudson's ranch," shouted Tom. "I've started all the men there's room for heaving dirt in, but the river's going through in spite of them." Geoffrey asked no questions, but ran at full speed through the camp, shouting orders as he went, and presently stood breathless upon a tall bank of raw red earth. On one side the green-stained river went frothing past; on the other a muddy flood spouted through a breach, and already a shallow lake was spreading fast across the cleared land, licking up long rows of potato haulm and timothy grass. Men swarmed like bees about the sloping side of the bank, hurling down earth and shingle into the aperture, but a few moments' inspection convinced Geoffrey that more heroic measures were needed and that they labored in vain. Raising his hand, he called to the men to stop work and, when the clatter of shovels ceased, he quietly surveyed the few poor fields rancher Hudson had won from the swamp. His lips were pressed tight together, and his expression showed his deep concern. "There's only one thing to be done. Open two more sluice gates, Tom," he commanded. "You'll drown out the whole clearing," ventured the foreman, and Geoffrey nodded. "Exactly! Can't you see the river will tear all this part of the dyke away unless we equalize the pressure on both sides of it? Go ahead at once and get it done." The man from Mattawa wondered at the bold order, but his master demanded swift obedience and he proceeded to execute it, while Geoffrey stood fast watching two more huge sheets of froth leap out. He knew that very shortly rancher Hudson's low-level possessions would be buried under several feet of water. "It's done, sir, and a blamed bad job it is!" said the foreman, returning; and Geoffrey asked: "How did it happen?" "The sluice gate wasn't strong enough, river rose a foot yesterday, and she just busted. I was around bright and early and found her splitting. Got a line round the pieces--they're floating beneath you." "Heave them up!" ordered Geoffrey. He was obeyed, and for a few minutes glanced at the timber frame with a puzzled expression, then turning to Gillow, he said: "You know I condemned that mode of scarting, and the whole thing's too light. What carpenters made it?" "It's one of Mr. Savine's gates, sir. I've got the drawing for it somewhere," was the answer, and Geoffrey frowned. "Then you will keep that fact carefully to yourself," he replied. "It is particularly unfortunate. This is about the only gate I have not overhauled personally, but one cannot see to quite everything, and naturally the breakage takes place at that especial point." "Very good, sir," remarked Gillow. "Things generally do happen in just that way. Here's rancher Hudson coming, and he looks tolerably angry." The man who strode along the dyke was evidently infuriated, a fact which was hardly surprising, considering that he owned the flooded property. The workmen, who now leaned upon their shovels, waited for the meeting between him and their master in the expectation of amusement. "What in the name of thunder do you mean by turning your infernal river loose on my ranch?" inquired the newcomer. Thurston rejoined: "May I suggest that you try to master your temper and consider the case coolly before you ask any further questions." "Consider it coolly!" shouted Hudson. "Coolly! when the blame water's washing out my good potatoes by the hundred bushel, and slooshing mud and shingle all over my hay. Great Columbus! I'll make things red hot for you." "See here!" and there were signs that Thurston was losing his temper. "What we have done was most unfortunately necessary, but, while I regret it at least as much as you do, you will not be a loser financially. As soon as the river falls, we'll run off the water, measure up the flooded land, and pay you current price? for the crop at average acre yield. As you will thus sell it without gathering or hauling to market, it's a fair offer." Most of the forest ranchers in that region would have closed with the offer forthwith, but there were reasons why the one in question, who was, moreover, an obstinate, cantankerous man, should seize the opportunity to harass Thurston. "It's not half good enough for me," he said. "How'm I going to make sure you won't play the same trick again, while it's tolerably certain you can't keep on paying up for damage done forever. Then when you're cleaned out where'll I be? This scheme which you'll never put through's a menace to the whole valley, and----" "You'll be rich, I hope, by that time, but if you'll confine yourself to your legitimate grievance or come along to my tent I'll talk to you," said Geoffrey. "If, on the other hand, you cast doubt upon my financial position or predict my failure before my men, I'll take decided measures to stop you. You have my word that you will be repaid every cent's worth of damage done, and that should be enough for any reasonable person." "It's not--not enough for me by a long way," shouted the rancher. "I'll demand a Government inspection, I'll--I'll break you." "Will you show Mr. Hudson the quickest and safest way off this embankment, Tom," requested Geoffrey, coolly, and there was laughter mingled with growls of approval from the men, as the irate rancher, hurling threats over his shoulder, was solemnly escorted along the dyke by the stalwart foreman. He turned before descending, and shook his fist at those who watched him. "I think you can close the sluices," said Geoffrey, when the foreman returned. "Then set all hands filling in this hole. I want you, Gillow." "We are going to have trouble," he predicted, when English Jim stood before him in his tent. "Hudson unfortunately is either connected with our enemies, or in their clutches, and he'll try to persuade his neighbors to join him in an appeal to the authorities. Send a messenger off at once with this telegram to Vancouver, but stay--first find me the drawing of the defective gate." English Jim spent several minutes searching before he answered: "I'm sorry I can't quite lay my hands upon it. It may be in Vancouver, and I'll write a note to the folks down there." He did so, and when he went out shook his head ruefully. "That confounded sketch must have been the one I lost on board the steamer," he decided with a qualm of misgiving. "However, there is no use meeting trouble half-way by telling Thurston so, until I'm sure beyond a doubt." Some time had passed, and the greater portion of Hudson's ranch still lay under water when, in consequence of representations made by its owner and some of his friends, a Government official armed with full powers to investigate held an informal court of inquiry in the big store shed, at which most of the neighboring ranchers were present. Geoffrey and Thomas Savine, who brought a lawyer with him, awaited the proceedings with some impatience. "I have nothing to do with any claim for damages. If necessary, the sufferers can appeal to the civil courts," announced the official. "My business is to ascertain whether, as alleged, the way these operations are conducted endangers the occupied, and unappropriated Crown lands in this vicinity. I am willing to hear your opinions, gentlemen, beginning with the complainants." Rancher Hudson was the first to speak, and he said: "No sensible man would need much convincing that it's mighty bad for growing crops to have a full-bore flood turned loose on them. What's the use of raising hay and potatoes for the river to wash away? And it's plain that what has just happened is going to happen again. Before Savine began these dykes the river spread itself all over the lower swamp; now the walls hold it up, and each time it makes a hole in them, our property's most turned into a lake. I'm neither farming for pleasure nor running a salmon hatchery." There was a hum of approval from the speaker's supporters, whose possessions lay near the higher end of the valley, and dissenting growls from those whose boundaries lay below. After several of the ranchers from the lower valley had spoken the official said: "I hardly think you have cited sufficient to convince an unprejudiced person that the works are a public danger. You have certainly proved that two holdings have been temporarily flooded, but the first speaker pointed out that this was because the river was prevented from spreading all over the lower end of the valley, as it formerly did. Now a portion of the district is already under cultivation, and even the area under crop exceeds that of the damaged plots by at least five acres to one." There was applause from the men whose possessions had been converted into dry land, and Hudson rose, red-faced and indignant, to his feet again. "Has Savine bought up the whole province, Government and all? That's what I'm wanting to know," he rejoined indignantly. "What is it we pay taxes to keep you fellows for? To look the other way when the rich man winks, and stand by seeing nothing while he ruins poor settlers' hard-won holdings? I'm a law-abiding man, I am, but I'm going to let nobody tramp on me." A burst of laughter filled the rear of the building when one of Hudson's supporters pulled him down by main force, and held him fast, observing, "You just sit right there, and look wise instead of talking too much. I guess you've said enough already to mix everything up." The official raised his hand. "I am here to ask questions and not answer them," he said. "Any more speeches resembling the last would be likely to get the inquirer into trouble. I must also remind Mr. Hudson that, after one inundation, he signed a document signifying his approval of the scheme, and I desire to ask him what has caused the change in his opinions." Again there was laughter followed by a few derisive comments from the party favoring Thurston's cause, while one voice was audible above the rest, "Hudson's been buying horses. Some Vancouver speculator's check!" The rancher, shaking off his follower's grasp, bounded to his feet, and glared at the men behind him. "I'll get square with some of you fellows later on," he threatened. Turning towards the officer, he went on: "Just because I'm getting tired of being washed out I've changed my mind. When he's had two crops ruined, a man begins to get uneasy about the third one--see?" "It is a sufficient reason," answered the official. "Now, gentlemen, I gather that some of you have benefited by this scheme. If you have any information to give me, I shall be pleased to hear it." Several men told how they had added to their holdings many acres of fertile soil, which had once been swamp, and the Crown official said: "I am convinced that two small ranches have been temporarily inundated, and six or seven benefited. So much for that side of the question. I must now ascertain whether the work is carried out in the most efficient manner, and how many have suffered in minor ways by the contractors' willful neglect, as the petitioners allege." Hudson and his comrades testified at length, but each in turn, after making the most of the accidental upset of a barrow-load of earth among their crops, or the blundering of a steer into a trench, harked back to the broken sluice. When amid some laughter they concluded, others who favored Savine described the precautions Thurston had taken. Then the inquirer turned over his papers, and Thomas Savine whispered to Geoffrey: "It's all in our favor so far, but I'm anxious about that broken sluice. It's our weak point, and he's sure to tackle it." "Yes," agreed Geoffrey, whose face was strangely set. "I am anxious about it, too. Can you suggest anything I should do, Mr. Gray?" The Vancouver lawyer, who had a long experience in somewhat similar disputes, hitched forward his chair. "Not at present," he answered. "I think with Mr. Savine that the question of the sluice gate may be serious. Allowances are made for unpreventable accidents and force of circumstances, but a definite instance of a wholly inefficient appliance or defective workmanship might be most damaging. It is particularly unfortunate it was framed timber of insufficient strength that failed." Geoffrey made no answer, but Thomas Savine, who glanced at him keenly, fancied he set his teeth while the lawyer, turning to the official inquirer, said: "These gentlemen have given you all the information in their power, and if you have finished with them, I would venture to suggest that any technical details of the work concern only Mr. Thurston and yourself." There was a protest from the assembly, and the officer beckoned for silence before he answered: "You gentlemen seem determined between you to conduct the whole case your own way. I was about to dismiss with thanks the neighboring landholders who have assisted me to the best of their ability." With some commotion the store-shed was emptied of all but the official, his assistant, and Thurston's party. Beckoning to Geoffrey, the official held up before his astonished eyes a plan of the defective gate. "Do you consider the timbering specified here sufficient for the strain?" he asked. "I cannot press the question, but it would be judicious of you to answer it." "No!" replied Geoffrey, divided between surprise and dismay. The drawing was Savine's. He could recognize the figures upon it, but it had evidently been made when the contractor was suffering from a badly-clouded brain. The broken gate itself was damaging evidence, but this was worse, for a glance at the design showed him that the artificers who worked from it had, without orders even, slightly increased the dimensions. Any man with a knowledge of mechanical science would condemn it, but, while he had often seen Savine incapable of mental effort of late, this was the first serious blunder that he had discovered. The mistake, he knew, would be taken as evidence of sheer incapacity; if further inquiry followed, perhaps it would be published broadcast in the papers, and Geoffrey was above all things proud of his professional skill. Still, he had pledged his word to both his partner and his daughter, and there was only one course open to him, if the questions which would follow made it possible. The lawyer, leaning forward, whispered to Thomas Savine, and then said aloud, "If that drawing is what it purports to be, it must have been purloined. May we ask accordingly how it came into your possession?" "One of the complainants forwarded it to me. He said he--obtained--it," was the dry answer. "Under the circumstances, I hesitate to make direct use of it, but by the firm's stamp it appears genuine." "That Mr. Savine could personally be capable of such a mistake as this is impossible on the face of it," said the inquirer's professional assistant. "It is the work of a half-trained man, and suggests two questions, Do you repudiate the plan, and, if you do not, was it made by a responsible person? I presume you have a draughtsman?" "There is no use repudiating anything that bears our stamp," said Geoffrey, disregarding the lawyer's frown, and looking steadily into the bewildered face of Thomas Savine. "I work out all such calculations and make the sketches myself. My assistant sometimes checks them." The official, who had heard of the young contractor's reputation for daring skill, looked puzzled as he commented: "From what you say the only two persons who could have made the blunder are Mr. Savine and yourself. I am advised, and agree with the suggestion, that Mr. Savine could never have done so. From what I have heard, I should have concluded it would have been equally impossible with you; but I can't help saying that the inference is plain." "Is not all this beside the question?" interposed the lawyer. "The junior partner admits the plan was made in the firm's offices, and that should be sufficient." Geoffrey held himself stubbornly in hand while the officer answered that he desired to ascertain if it was the work of a responsible person. He knew that this blunder would be recorded against him, and would necessitate several brilliant successes before it could be obliterated, but his resolution never faltered, and when the legal adviser, laying a hand upon his arm, whispered something softly, he shook off the lawyer's grasp. "The only two persons responsible are Mr. Savine and myself--and you suggested the inference was plain," he asserted. Here Gillow, who had been fidgeting nervously, opened his lips as if about to say something, but closed them again when his employer, moving one foot beneath the table, trod hard upon his toe. "I am afraid I should hardly mend matters by saying I am sorry it is," said the official, dryly. "However, a mistake by a junior partner does not prove your firm incapable of high-class work, and I hardly think you will be troubled by further interference after my report is made. My superiors may warn you--but I must not anticipate. It is as well you answered frankly, as, otherwise, I should have concluded you were endeavoring to make your profits at the risk of the community; but I cannot help saying that the admission may be prejudicial to you, Mr. Thurston, if you ever apply individually for a Government contract. Here is the drawing. It is your property." Geoffrey stretched out his hand for it, but Savine was too quick for him, and when he thrust it into his pocket, the contractor, rising abruptly, stalked out of the room. Gillow, who followed and overtook him, said: "I can't understand this at all, sir. Mr. Savine made that drawing. I know his arrows on the measurement lines, and I was just going to say so when you stopped me. I have a confession to make. I believe I dropped that paper out of my wallet on board the steamer." "You have a very poor memory, Gillow," and Thurston stared the speaker out of countenance. "I fear your eyes deceive you at times as well. You must have lost it somewhere else. In any case, if you mention the fact to anybody else, or repeat that you recognise Mr. Savine's handiwork, I shall have to look for an assistant who does not lose the documents with which he is entrusted." Gillow went away growling to himself, but perfectly satisfied with both his eyesight and memory. Thurston had hardly dismissed him than Thomas Savine approached, holding out the sketch. "See here, Geoffrey," began the contractor's brother, and one glance at the speaker was sufficient for Thurston, who stopped him. "Are you coming to torment me about that confounded thing? Give it to me at once," he said. He snatched the drawing from Savine's hand, tore it into fragments, and stamped them into the mould. "Now that's done with at last!" he said. "No," was the answer. "There's no saying where a thing like this will end, if public mischief-makers get hold of it. You have your future, which means your professional reputation, to think of. In all human probability my poor brother can't last very long, and this may handicap you for years. I cannot----" "Damn my professional reputation! Can't you believe your ears?" Geoffrey broke in. "I'm not blind yet, and would sooner trust my eyes," was the dry answer. "Nobody shall persuade me that I don't know my own brother's figures. There are limits, Geoffrey, and neither Helen nor I would hold our peace about this." "Listen to me!" Geoffrey's face was as hard as flint. "I see I can't bluff you as easily as the Government man, but I give you fair warning that if you attempt to make use of your suspicions I'll find means of checkmating you. Just supposing you're not mistaken, a young man with any grit in him could live down a dozen similar blunders, and, if he couldn't, what is my confounded personal credit in comparison with what your brother has done for me and my promise to Miss Savine? So far as I can accomplish it, Julius Savine shall honorably wind up a successful career, and if you either reopen the subject or tell his daughter about the drawing, there will be war between you and me. That is the last word I have to say." "I wonder if Helen knows the grit there is in that man," pondered Savine, when, seeing all protests were useless, he turned away, divided between compunction and gratitude. Neither he nor the lawyer succeeded in finding out how the drawing fell into hostile hands, while, if Geoffrey had his suspicions, he decided that it might be better not to follow them up. CHAPTER XIX THE ABDUCTION OF BLACK CHRISTY These were weighty reasons why Christy Black, whose comrades reversed his name and called him Black Christy instead, remained in Thurston's camp as long as he did. Although a good mechanic, he was by no means fond of manual labor, and he had discovered that profitable occupations were open to an enterprising and not over-scrupulous man. On the memorable night when Thurston fished him out of the river, his rescuer had made it plain that he must earn the liberal wages that were promised to him. As a matter of fact, Black had made the most of his opportunities, and in doing so had brought himself under the ban of the law during an altercation over a disputed mineral claim. Black, who then called himself by another name, disappeared before an inquiry as to how the body of one of the owners of the claim came into a neighboring river. Only one comrade, and a mine-floating speculator, who stood behind the humbler disputants, knew or guessed at the events which led up the fatality. The comrade shortly afterwards vanished, too, but the richer man, who had connived at Black's disappearance, kept a close hand on him, forcing him as the price of freedom to act as cat's-paw in risky operations, until Black, tired of tyranny, had been glad to tell Thurston part of the truth and to accept his protection. The man from whose grip he hoped he had escaped was the one who had helped Leslie out of a difficulty. Black Christy found, however, that a life of virtuous toil grew distinctly monotonous, and one morning, when Mattawa Tom's vigilance was slack, he departed in search of diversion in the settlement of Red Pine, which lay beyond the range. He found congenial society there, and, unfortunately for himself, went on with a boon companion next morning to a larger settlement beside the railroad track. He intended to complete the orgie there, and then to return to camp. Accordingly it happened that, when afternoon was drawing towards a close, he sat under the veranda of a rickety wooden saloon, hurling drowsy encouragement at the freighter who was loading rock-boring tools into a big wagon. He wondered how far his remaining dollar would go towards assuaging a thirst which steadily increased, and two men, who leaned against the wagon, chuckled as they watched him. The hands of one of the men were busy about the brass cap which decorated the hub of the wheel, but neither Black nor the teamster noticed this fact. Black had seen one of the men before, for the two had loafed about the district, ostensibly prospecting for minerals, and had twice visited Thurston's camp. It was a pity Black had absorbed sufficient alcohol to confuse his memory, for when the men strolled towards him he might have recognized the one whose hat was drawn well down. As it was, he greeted them affably. "Nice weather for picnicking in the woods. Not found that galena yet? I guess somebody in the city is paying you by the week," he observed jocosely. "That's about the size of it!" The speaker laughed. "But we've pretty well found what we wanted, and we're pulling out with the Pacific express. There don't seem very much left in your glass. Anything the matter with filling it up with me?" "I'm not proud," was the answer. "I'm open to drink with any man who'll set them up for me." When the prospector called the bar-tender, Black proceeded to prove his willingness to be "treated." Nothing moved in the unpaved street of the sleepy settlement, when the slow-footed oxen and lurching wagon had lumbered away. The sun beat down upon it pitilessly, and the drowsy scent of cedars mingled with the odors of baking dust which eddied in little spirals and got into the loungers' throats. The bar-tender was liberal with his ice, however, and Black became confidential. When he had assured them of his undying friendship, one of the prospectors asked: "What's a smart man like you muling rocks around in a river-bed for, anyway? Can't you strike nothing better down to the cities?" "No," declared Black, thickly. "Couldn't strike a job nohow when I left them. British Columbia played out--and I had no money to take me to California." "Well," said the prospector, winking at his comrade, "there is something we might put you on to. The first question is, what kin you do?" According to Black's not over-coherent answer, there was little he could not do excellently. After he had enumerated his capabilities, the other man said: "I guess that's sufficient. Come right back with us to 'Frisco and we'll have a few off days before we start you. This is no country for a live man, anyway." Black nodded sagaciously and tried hard to think. He was afraid of Thurston, but more so of the other man connected with the Enterprise Company. In San Francisco he would be beyond the reach of either, and the city offered many delights to a person of his tastes with somebody else willing to pay expenses. "I'll come," he promised thickly. "So long as you've got the dollars I'll go right round the earth with either of you." "Good man!" commended the prospector. "Bring along another jugful, bar-tender." The attendant glanced at the three men admiringly, for the speaker was plainly sober, and he knew how much money Black had paid him. He went back to his bottles, and there was nobody to see the other prospector, who had kept himself in the background, pour something from a little phial beneath his hand, into Black's liquor. "Not quite so good as last one. I know 'Frisco. Great time at China Joe's, you an' me," murmured Black as he collapsed with his head upon the table. He was soon snoring heavily. "Your climate has been too much for him," one of the men declared, when the saloon-keeper came in. "Say, hadn't you better help us heave him in some place where he can sleep, unless you'd prefer to keep him as an advertisement?" Black was stored away with some difficulty, and two hours later he was wheeled on a baggage-truck into the station, where half the inhabitants of the settlement assembled to see him off. The big cars were already clanging down the track, when a tall man riding a lathered horse appeared among the scattered pines on the shoulder of the hill above the settlement. A bystander commented: "Thurston's foreman coming round for some of his packages. As usual he's in an almighty hurry. That place is 'most as steep as a roof, and he's coming down it at a gallop." The prospectors glanced at each other, and one of them said, "Lend me a hand, somebody, to heave our sick partner aboard." Black was unceremoniously deposited upon the platform of the nearest car, where he sat blinking vacantly at the assembly, while the conductor, leaning out from the door of the baggage-car, looked back towards the rider who was clattering through a dust cloud down the street, as he asked: "Anybody else besides the tired man? Is that fellow yonder coming?" "No," answered the prospector. "He's only wanting one of those cases you've just dumped out. Likes to fancy his time's precious. I know him." The conductor waved his hand, the big bell clanged, and the train had just rolled with a rattle over a trestle ahead, when Mattawa Tom, grimed with thick red dust, flung himself down beside the agent's office. "Has a dark-faced thief in a plug hat with two holes in the top of it, gone out on the cars?" he shouted, and the spectators admitted that such a person boarded the train. "Why didn't you come in two minutes earlier, Tom?" one of them inquired. "He lit out with two strangers. Has he been stealing something?" "He's been doing worse, and I'd have been in on time, but that I stopped ten minutes to help freighter Louis cut loose the two live oxen left him," said the foreman, breathlessly. "One wheel came off his wagon going down the Clearwater Trail, and the whole blame outfit pitched over into a ravine. There's several thousand dollars' worth of our boring machines smashed up, and Louis, who has pretty well split his head, is cussing the man who took the cotter out of his wheel hub." The two prospectors were heartily tired of their charge by the time they passed him off as the sick employé of an American firm, at the nearest station to the Washington border. When Black showed signs of waking up he was soothed with medicated liquor, and his guardians, who several times had high words with the conductor, at last unloaded him in a station hewn out of the forests encircling Puget Sound, where they managed to hoist him into a spring wagon. Black leaned against one of the men, for he was feeling distressfully ill. His head throbbed, his vision was hazy and his throat was dry. Blinking down at the rows of wooden houses among the firs, and the tall spars of vessels behind them, he said: "This isn't 'Frisco--not half big enough. Somebody made mistake somewhere. Say! Lemme out; I'm going back to the depot." "You're coming along with us," was the decided answer. "Sit down at once before we make you." Black slowly doubled up a still formidable fist, and grasping a rail, lurched to and fro unsteadily. "Lemme out 'fore I kill somebody. Claim rightsh of British citizensh," he said. "You'll get them if you're not careful," was the threat, and the speaker jerked Black's feet from under him. "I was told to remind you if you made trouble that a sheriff on this side of the frontier had some papers describing you. There's one or two patrolmen yonder handy." "It was an accident," temporized Black, endeavoring to pull his scattered wits together. "Juss so!" was the answer, given with a gesture of indifference. "I was only told a name for the patrolmen, and to remind you that a man, who knows all about it, has got his eye on you." Black leered upon him with drunken cunning, then his face grew stolid, and he said nothing further until the wagon drew up in a by-street, before a door, hung across with quaint signboards of Chinese characters. The door opened and closed behind him when his companions knocked, and Black, who recognized a curious sour smell, choked out, "Gimme long drink of ice watah!" He drained the cool draught that was brought him, then flinging himself on a pile of matting in a corner of a dim room, sank forthwith into slumber. He had intended to pretend to sleep, but to lie awake and think. His custodians, however, had arranged things differently, and Black's wits were not working up to their usual power. Whenever railroad extension or mining enterprise provided high wages for all strong enough to earn them and crews deserted wholesale, seamen were occasionally shipped in a very irregular fashion from the ports of the Pacific slope. At the time Black was brought into one of the seaboard cities, the purveying of drugged and kidnaped mariners had risen to be almost a recognized profession. It accordingly happened that when the unfortunate Black first became clearly conscious of anything again, he heard the gurgle of sliding water close beside his head, and, opening his eyes, caught sight of a smoky lamp that reeled to and fro, in very erratic fashion. Moisture dripped from the beams above him, and there was a sickly smell which seemed familiar. Black, who had been to sea before, decided that he caught the aroma of bilge water. Rows of wooden shelves tenanted by recumbent figures, became discernible, and he started with dismay to the full recognition of the fact that he was in a vessel's forecastle. Somebody or something was pounding upon the scuttle overhead. A black gap opened above him, a rush of cold night wind swept down, followed by a gruff order: "Turn out, watch below, and help get sail upon her. Stir round before I put a move on to you!" Men scrambled from the wooden shelves growling as they did so. Two lost their balance on the heaving floor, went down headlong, and lay where they fell. When a man in long boots floundered down the ladder, Black sat up in his bunk. "Now there's going to be trouble. Some blame rascals have run me off aboard a lumber ship," he said. "Correct!" observed a man who was struggling into an oilskin jacket. "You're blame well shanghaied like the rest of us, and as the mate's a rustler, you've got to make the best of it." "Hello! What's the matter with you? Not feeling spry this morning, or is it hot water you're waiting for?" the mate said, jerking Black out of his bunk as he spoke. "Great Columbus! What kind of a stiff do you call yourself? Up you go!" Black went, with all the expedition he was capable of, and, blundering out through the scuttle, stood shivering on a slant of wet and slippery deck. A brief survey showed him that he was on board a full-rigged ship, timber laden, about to be cast off by a tug. There was a fresh breeze abeam. Looking forward he could see dark figures hanging from the high-pointed bowsprit that rose and dipped, and beyond them the lights of a tug reeling athwart a strip of white-streaked sea. Mountains dimly discernible towered in the distance, and he fancied it was a little before daybreak. Bursts of spray came hurtling in through the foremast shrouds, and the whine and rattle of running wire and chain fell from the windy blackness overhead whence the banging of loosened canvas came to his ears. Glancing aloft he watched the great arches of the half-sheeted topsails swell blackly out and then collapse again with a thunderous flap. Somebody was shouting from the slanted top-gallant-yard that swung in a wide arc above them, but Black had no time for further inspection. "Lay aloft and loose maintopsails! Are you figuring we brought you here to admire the scenery?" a hoarse voice challenged. Half-dazed and sullenly savage Black had still sense enough to reflect that it would be little use to expect that the harassed mate would listen to reason then. Clawing his way up the ratlines he laid his chest upon the main-topsail-yard and worked his way out to the lower end of the long inclined spar. Here, still faint and dizzy, he hung with the footrope jammed against his heel, as he felt for the gasket that held the canvas to the yard. Swinging through the blackness across a space of tumbling foam he felt a horrible unsteadiness. There were other men behind him, for he could hear them swearing and coughing until a black wall of banging canvas sank beneath him when somebody roared: "Sheet her home!" Then a hail came down across the waters from the tug. There was a loud splash beneath the bows, while shadowy figures that howled a weird ditty as they hove the hawser in, rose and fell black against the foam-flecked sea on the dripping forecastle. Nobody had missed Black, who now sat astride the yard watching the tug, as the ship, listing over further and commencing to hurl the spray in clouds about her plunging bows, gathered way. The steamboat would slide past very close alongside, and he saw a last chance of escape. Moving out to the very yard-arm he clutched the lee-brace, which rope led diagonally downwards to the vessel's depressed rail. He looked below a moment, bracing himself for the perilous attempt. The tug was close abreast of the ship's forecastle now, evidently waiting with engines stopped until the vessel should pass her. The crew was still heaving in the cable or loosing the top-gallants, and froth boiled almost level with the depressed rail. Black was a poor swimmer, but he could keep his head above water for a considerable time. If the tug did not start her engines within the next few seconds she must drive close down on him. Otherwise--but filled with the hope of escape and the lust for revenge Black was willing to take the risk. He hooked one knee around the brace, gripped it between his ankles and slackened the grip of his hands. The topsails slid away from him, the spray rushed up below, his feet struck the rail, and the next moment he was down in utter blackness and conscious of a shock of icy cold water. He rose gasping and swung around, buffeted in the vessel's eddying wake. There was no shouting on board her, and, with a choking cry, he struck out for the black shape of the tug, now only a short distance away. Somebody heard and flung down a line. He clutched at it and, by good fortune, grasped it. Head downward he was drawn on board by the aid of a long boathook, and hauled, dripping, before the skipper. "Did you fall or jump in?" asked the skipper. "I jumped," confessed Black, putting a bold face on it, and the master of the towboat laughed. "Shanghaied, I guess!" he said. "Well, I don't blame you for showing your grit. The master of that lumber wagon is a blame avaricious insect! He beat us down until all we got out of him will hardly pay for the coal we used--that's what he did. So if you slip ashore quietly when we tie up, he'll think you pitched over making sail, and I'll keep my mouth shut." Accordingly it happened that next morning Black, who had left the wooden city before daylight to tramp back to the bush, sat down to consider his next move. "There's one thing tolerably certain, Black Christy's drowned, and he'll just stop drowned until it suits him," he decided. "Next, though he's not over fond of it, there's lots of work for a good carpenter in this country and newspapers are cheap. So when it's worth his while to strike in with the Thurston Company and get even with the other side he'll probably hear of it." He laughed a little as he once more read the message on a strip of pulpy paper somebody had slipped into his pocket. "You are going to China for your health, and you had better stop there if you want to keep clear of trouble." Black Christy got upon his feet again and departed into the bush, where he wandered for several weeks, building fences and splitting shingles for the ranchers in return for food and shelter, until he found work and wages at a saw-mill. Shortly after he was employed at the mill, the director who held Leslie's receipt sat in his handsome offices with the Englishman. A newspaper lay open on the table before him, and the director smiled as he read, "Ship, _Maria Carmony_, timber laden for China, meeting continuous headwinds after sailing from this port, put into Cosechas, Cal., for shelter, and her master reported the loss of a seaman when making sail in the Straits of San Juan. The man's name was T. Slater, and must have been a stranger, as nobody appears to have known him in this city." "Those fellows haven't managed it badly," he commented. "Anyway, there's an end of him." "They told me they had some trouble over it, and I gave them fifty dollars extra," said Leslie. "They used the hint you mentioned--said it worked well. But the two men are always likely to turn up, unfortunately." "It wouldn't count," the other answered confidently. "You will have to bluff them off if they do. Deny the whole thing--nobody would believe them--it's quite easy. It would have been different with that confounded Black, for he would have had Thurston's testimony. The joke of the whole thing is, that although he knew I held evidence which would likely hang him with a jury of miners, it's tolerably certain Black never did the thing he was wanted for." Thus, the two parties interested remained contented, and only Thurston was left bewildered and furious at the loss of a witness who might be valuable to him. Moreover, the destruction of machinery which, having been made specially for Thurston, in England, could not be replaced for months. And not once did it ever occur to his subordinate, English Jim, that he himself had furnished the clue which led to the abduction of the missing man. CHAPTER XX UNDER THE STANLEY PINES It was a pleasant afternoon when Millicent Leslie stood in the portico of her villa, which looked upon the inlet from a sunny ridge just outside Vancouver. Like the other residences scattered about, the dwelling quaintly suggested a doll's house--it was so diminutively pretty with its carved veranda, bright green lattices, and spotless white paint picked out with shades of paler green and yellow. Flowers filled tiny borders, and behind the house small firs, spared by the ax, stood rigid and somber. With clear sunshine heating upon it and the blue waters sparkling close below, the tiny villa was so daintily attractive that one might almost suppose its inhabitants could carry neither care nor evil humor across its threshold, but there was disgust and weariness in Millicent's eyes as she glanced from the little pony-carriage waiting at the gate to her husband leaning against a pillar. Leslie was evidently in a complacent frame of mind, and he did not notice his wife's expression. There was a smile upon his puffy face which suggested pride of possession. It was justifiable, for Mrs. Leslie was still a distinctly handsome woman, and she knew how to dress herself. "You will meet very few women who excel you, and the team is unique," he remarked exultantly. "Drive around by some of the big stores and let folks see you before you turn into the park. Since that affair of Thurston's I am almost beginning to grow proud of you." "Isn't it somewhat late in the day?" was the answer, and Millicent's tone was chilly. "If you had wished to pay me a compliment that was not intended ironically, it would have been wiser to omit all reference to the subject you mentioned. It is done now--and heaven knows why I told you--but I can't thank you for reminding me of a deed I am ashamed of. Further, I understood the ponies were for my pleasure, and I have stooped far enough in your interest without displaying myself as an advertisement of a prosperity which does not exist." Leslie laughed unpleasantly, noticing the flash in the speaker's eyes before he rejoined: "Perhaps it is tardy praise I give you, but regarding your last remark, to pretend you have achieved prosperity is, so far as I can see, the one way to attain it, and I have a promising scheme in view. It is not a particularly pleasant part to play, and there was a time when it appeared very improbable that either of us would be forced, as you say, to stoop to it. Neither was it my ambition which brought about the necessity. As to the ponies--I had fancied they might do their part, too, but they are a reward for services rendered in finding me a clue to the missing-man mystery. Nobody need know that they're not quite our own. Now you have got them, isn't it slightly unfair to blame me because you were willing to earn them?" "I suppose so," admitted Millicent. "Still, I can't help remarking that you take the man's usual part of blaming the woman for whatever happens. To-day I will not drive through the city, but straight into the park." Leslie said nothing further, but followed his wife to the gate. On his way to his office, he turned and looked after her with a frown as she rattled her team along the uneven road. She was a vain and covetous woman with a bias towards intrigue, but there had been times since her marriage when she despised herself, and as a natural consequence blamed her husband. Sometimes she hated Thurston, also, though more often she was sensible of vague regrets, and grew morbid thinking of what might have been. Now she flushed a little as she glanced at the ponies and remembered that they were the price of treachery. The animals were innocent, but she found satisfaction in making them feel the sting of the whip. She looked back at the city. It rose in terraces above the broad inlet--a maze of wooden buildings, giving place to stone. Over its streets hung a wire network, raised high on lofty poles, which would have destroyed the beauty of a much fairer city. Back of the city rose the somber forest over which at intervals towered the blasted skeleton of some gigantic pine. Millicent felt that she detested both the city, with its crude mingling of primitive simplicity and Western luxury, and the life she lived in it. It was a life of pretense and struggle, in which she suffered bitter mortifications daily. Presently she reined the team in to a walk as she drove under the cool shade of the primeval forest which, with a wisdom not common in the West, the inhabitants of Vancouver have left unspoiled as Nature. A few drives have been cut through the trees and between the long rows of giant trunks she could catch at intervals the silver shimmer of the Straits. In this park there was only restful shadow. Its silence was intensified by the soft thud of hoofs. A dim perspective of tremendous trees whose great branches interlocked, forming arches for the roof of somber green very far above, lured her on. Millicent felt the spell of the silence and sighed remembering how the lover whom she had discarded once pleaded that she would help him in a life of healthful labor. She regretted that she had not consented to flee with him to the new country. Now she was tied to a man she despised, and who had put her, so she considered, to open shame. She could not help comparing his weak, greedy, yet venomous nature, with the other's courage, clean purpose and transparent honesty. "I was a fool, ten times a fool; but it is too late," she told herself, and then tightening her grip on the reins she started with surprise. The man to whom her thoughts had strayed was leaning against a hemlock with his eyes fixed on her face. It was the first time they had met since she played the part of Delilah, and, in spite of her customary self-command, Millicent betrayed her agitation. A softer mood was upon her and she had the grace to be ashamed. Still, it appeared desirable to discover whether he suspected her. "I was quite startled to see you, Geoffrey, but I am very glad. It is almost too hot for walking. Won't you let me drive you?" she said with flurried haste. If Geoffrey hesitated Millicent noticed no sign of it beyond that he was slow in answering. He was conscious that Mrs. Leslie looked just then a singularly attractive companion, but she was the wife of another man, and, of late, he had felt a vague alarm at the confidences she seemed inclined to exchange with him. Nevertheless, he could find no excuse at the moment which would not suggest a desire to avoid her, and with a word of thanks he took his place at her side. "I came down to consult my friend, Mr. Thomas Savine, on business," he explained. "I had one or two other matters to attend to, and promised to overtake him and his wife during their stroll. I must have missed them. What a pretty team! Have you had the ponies long?" Millicent's well-gloved fingers closed somewhat viciously upon the whip, for the casual question was unfortunate, but she smiled as she answered and she chatted gayly until, in an interlude, Thurston felt prompted to say: "Coincidences are sometimes striking, are they not? You remember, the last time we met, suggesting that I was fortunate in having no enemies among the mountains?" "Yes," she replied, shrinking a little, "I do--but do you know that it makes one shiver to talk about glaciers and snow on such a perfect day." A man of keener perceptions, reading the speaker's face, would have changed the subject at once, and Millicent had earned his tactful consideration. It was a good impulse which prompted her to place herself beyond the reach of further temptation. Geoffrey, however, was unobservant that afternoon. "I am certainly tired of glaciers and snow and other unpleasant things myself, and was merely going to say that, shortly after I last talked with you, I discovered another instance of an unknown enemy's ingenuity," he went on. "A wagon we had chartered upset down a steep ravine, and several costly pieces of machinery I had brought out from England, and can hardly replace, were smashed to pieces." "Ah!" responded Millicent, staring straight before her. "What a pity! Still accidents of that description must be fairly common where the mountain roads are bad?" "They are; but this was not an accident. We found that somebody had pulled out the cotter or iron pin which held the wagon wheel on." "Did any of your own men do it?" Millicent inquired, concealing her eagerness, and Thurston answered with pride in his tone: "My own men risk their lives almost every day in my service. There is not one among them capable of treachery--now. We made tolerably certain it was the work of two strangers, who hung about the neighboring settlement and disappeared immediately after the accident." Millicent's eyes flashed, her white teeth were set together, and, filled with hot indignation against her husband, she lashed the ponies viciously. There were several reasons for what she had done, including a dislike to Miss Savine, but perhaps the greatest was the sordid fear of poverty. Now she saw that her husband had tricked her. She had stooped to save his position and not to enable him to work further injury for Thurston. The innocent ponies were Leslie's gift, and the smart of the lash she drew across their sleek backs appeared vicarious punishment. "Have I displeased you?" Geoffrey asked. "No," replied Millicent. "Displeased me! How could I resent anything you might either say or do? Have I not heaped injury upon you?" She turned to gaze straight at him with a curious glitter in her eyes. Thurston, bewildered by it and by the traces of ill-suppressed passion in her voice, grew distinctly uneasy. He was glad that one of the ponies showed signs of growing restive under its punishment. "Steady, Millicent! They're a handsome pair, but not far off bolting, and there's no parapet to yonder bridge," he cautioned. In place of an answer the woman again flicked one of the beasts viciously with the whip, and, next moment, the light vehicle lurched forward with a whir of gravel hurled up by the wheels. The team had certainly shied, and the road curved sharply to the unguarded bridge over a little creek. "This is my business," declared Geoffrey, wrenching the reins from her grasp. "Sit well back, throw the whip down and clutch the rail fast." Then he stood upright grasping the lines in his hard hands. It was, however, evident that he could not steer the ponies around the bend, and the fall to the rocks beneath the bridge might mean death. "Hold fast for your life," he shouted, and let the team run straight on. There was a heavy shock as the light wheels struck a fallen branch on leaving the graded road. The vehicle lurched, and Millicent, whose eyes were wide with terror, screamed faintly. Geoffrey still stood upright driving the team straight ahead down a more open glade of the forest. He knew that the stems of the fern and the soft ground beneath would soon bring them to a standstill if they did not strike a tree-trunk first. The going was heavy, and with a plunge or two, the ponies stopped on the edge of a thicket. Geoffrey, alighting, soothed the trembling creatures with some difficulty, led them back to the road, and, taking his place again, turned towards Millicent. It appeared necessary that he should soothe her, too, for, though generally a self-possessed person, the emotions of the last few minutes had proved too much for her. She had suffered from remorse, disgust with herself, rage against her husband, and to these there had also been added the fear of sudden death. "It ended better than it might have done," said Geoffrey, awkwardly. "Very sorry, but you must really be careful in using the whip to the ponies. Shall I get down and bring you some water, Millicent? You look faint. The fright has made you ill." "No," Millicent denied. "I am not ill; only startled a little--and very grateful." Instinctively, she moved a little nearer him when Geoffrey handed her the reins again. He bent his head and smiled reassuringly. Millicent was white in the face, and shivered a little--she was also very pretty, and it would have been unkind not to try to comfort her. Whether it was love of power, dislike to her husband, or perhaps something more than this, even the woman was not then sure, but she took full advantage of the position, and the ponies walked undirected, while Geoffrey essayed to chase away her fears. He bent his head lower towards her, and Millicent smiled at him with apparently shy gratitude. Lifting his eyes a moment, Geoffrey set his teeth as he met the coldly indifferent gaze of Helen, who came towards them in company with Mr. and Mrs. Thomas Savine. Millicent also saw the three Savines, and, either tempted by jealousy of the girl or by mere vanity, managed to convey a subtle expression of triumph in her smile of greeting. Possibly neither Thomas Savine nor Geoffrey would have understood the meaning of the smile had they seen it, but Helen read it, and it was with the very faintest bend of her head that she acknowledged Thurston's salutation. Geoffrey was silent after they had driven by, but Millicent, who seemed to recover her spirits, chatted gayly and even said flattering things of Miss Savine. Meantime Helen felt confused, hurt and angry. It was true that she had rejected Thurston's suit, but she had found his loyalty pleasant, and had believed implicitly in his rectitude. Now a hot color rose to her temples as she remembered that it was the second time she had seen him under circumstances which suggested that he had transferred the homage offered her to a married woman. She felt the insult as keenly as if he had struck her. The Dominion had not progressed so far in one direction as the great republic to the south of it, neither are friendships or flirtations of the kind looked upon as leniently as they are in tropical colonies, and there was a good deal of the Puritan in Helen Savine. "Well, I'm--just rattled. That's Mrs. Leslie!" remarked Thomas Savine. "Thurston goes straight and steady, but what in the name of----" Mrs. Savine, whose one weakness was medicine, flashed a warning glance at him, and hastened to answer, perhaps for the benefit of Helen who came up just then. "There is not a straighter man in the Dominion, and one could stake their last cent on the honor of Geoffrey Thurston," she declared. "From several things I've heard, I've settled that's just a dangerous woman." Helen heard, and, knowing her friendship for the young engineer, guessed her aunt's motive. The explanation, in any case, would not have improved the position much, for if the woman were utterly unprincipled, which she could well believe, why should the man who had, of his own will, pledged himself to her?--but she flushed again as she refused to follow that line of thought further. Nevertheless, she clenched a little hand in a manner that boded ill for Thurston when next he sought speech with her. Afterwards she endeavored to treat the incident with complete indifference, and succeeded in deceiving her uncle only, for in spite of her efforts, her face and carriage expressed outraged dignity. Her aunt was not in the least deceived, and her eyes twinkled now and then as she chattered on diverse topics, while the party drove leisurely towards the city. When Leslie returned home from his office he found his wife awaiting him with the disdainful look upon her face which he had learned to hate. "What's the matter now, Millicent? Has something upset your usually pacific temper?" he asked with a sneer. "Yes," was the direct answer. "When you last asked my assistance you, as usual, lied to me. I helped you to trace your--your confederate, because you told me it was the only way to escape ruin. For once I believed you, which was blindly foolish of me. I met Mr. Thurston and learned from him how somebody had plotted to destroy his machinery. He did not know it was you, and I very nearly told him." "Don't be a fool, Millicent," Leslie admonished. "I'm sick of these displays of temper--they don't become you. I tell you I plotted nothing except to get my man into my own hands again. The other rascals exceeded their orders on their own responsibility. Oh, you would wear out any poor man's patience! Folks in my position don't do such childish things as hire people to upset wagons loaded with machinery." "I do not believe you," replied Millicent, and Leslie laughed ironically. "I don't know that it greatly matters whether you do or not. Have you any more such dutiful things to say?" "Just this. One hears of honor among thieves, and it is evident you cannot rise even to that. You have once more tricked me, and henceforward I warn you that you must carry on your work in your own way. Further, if I hear of any more plotting to do Thurston injury, I shall at once inform him." "Then," Leslie gripped her arm until his fingers left their mark on the soft white flesh, "I warn you that it will be so much the worse for you. Good heavens, why don't you--but go, and don't tempt me to say what I feel greatly tempted to." Millicent shook off his grasp, moved slowly away, turning to fling back a bitter answer from the half-opened door. "Confound her!" said Leslie, refilling the glass upon the table. "Now, what the devil tempted me to ruin all my prospects by marrying that woman?" CHAPTER XXI REPARATION "You will have to go," said Henry Leslie, glancing sharply at his wife across the breakfast-table as he returned her an open letter which had lately arrived by the English mail. "I hardly know where to find the money for your passage out and home just now, and you will want new dresses--women always seem to. Still, we can't afford to miss an opportunity, and it may prove a good investment," he added, reflectively. Millicent sighed as she took the letter, and, ignoring her husband's words, read it through again. It had been written by a relative, a member of the legal profession, and requested her to return at once to England. The stern old man, who had reared her, was slowly dying, and had expressed an urgent wish to see her. "Isn't that the man who wanted you to marry Thurston, and when you disappointed him washed his hands of both of you?" Leslie inquired. "There were reasons why I hadn't the pleasure of duly making the acquaintance of your relatives, but I think you said he was tolerably wealthy, and, as he evidently desires a reconciliation, you must do your best to please him. Let me see. You might catch the next New York Cunarder or the Allan boat from Quebec." Millicent looked up at him angrily. She was not wholly heartless, and her kinsman had not only provided for her after her parents died in financial difficulties, but in his own austere fashion he had been kind to her. Accordingly, her husband's comments jarred upon her. "I should certainly go, even if I had to travel by Colonist car and steerage," she declared. "I should do so if there were no hope of financial benefit, which is, after all, very uncertain, for Anthony Thurston is not the man to change his mind when he has once come to a determination. The fact that he is dying and asks for me is sufficient--though it is perhaps useless to expect you to believe it." "We must all die some day," was the abstracted answer. "Hardly an original observation, is it? But it would be folly to let such a chance pass, and I must try to spare you. If you really feel it, I sympathize with you, and had no intention of wounding your sensibilities, but as, unfortunately, circumstances force us to consider these questions practically, you will--well, you will do your best with the old man, Millicent. To put it so, you owe a duty to me." Leslie and his wife had by this time learned to see each other's real self, naked and stripped of all disguise, and the sight was not calculated to inspire either with superfluous delicacy. The man, however, overlooked the fact that his partner in life still clung to a last grace of sentiment, and could, on occasion, deceive herself. "I owe you a duty! How have you discharged yours to me?" she said, reproachfully. "Do not force me to oppose you, Harry, but if you are wise, go around to the depot and find out when the steamers sail." "Yes, my dear," Leslie acquiesced with a smile, which he did not mean to be wholly ironical. "Would it be any use for me to say that I shall miss you?" "No," answered Millicent, though she returned his smile. "You really would not expect me to believe you. Still, if only because of the rareness of such civility, I rather like to hear you say so." Mrs. Leslie sailed in the first Cunarder, and duly arrived at a little station in the North of England where a dogcart was waiting to drive her to Crosbie Ghyll. She had known the man, who drove it long before, and he told her, with full details, how Anthony Thurston, having come down from an iron-working town to visit the owner of the dilapidated mansion had been wounded by a gun accident while shooting. The wound was not of itself serious, but the old man's health was failing, and he had not vitality enough to recover from the shock. Meantime, while Millicent Leslie was driven across the bleak brown moorlands, Anthony Thurston lay in the great bare guest-chamber at Crosbie Ghyll. He had been a hard, determined man, a younger son who had made money in business, while his brothers died poor, clinging to the land, and it was with characteristic grimness that he was quietly awaiting his end. The narrow, deep-sunk window in front of him was open wide, though the evening breeze blew chilly from the fells, which rose blackly against an orange glow. Though he manifested no impatience, the sunset light beating in showed an expectant look in his eyes. A much younger man sat at a table close by and laid down the pen he held, when the other said: "That will do, Halliday. Is there any sign of the dog-cart yet? You are sure she will come to-night?" "There is a vehicle of some kind behind the larches, but I cannot see it clearly," was the answer. "You can rest satisfied, sir, for if Mrs. Leslie has missed the train, she will arrive early to-morrow." "To-morrow may be too late," said the old man. "I do not feel well to-night. Yes, she will come. Millicent is like her father, and, though he ruined himself, it was not because he hadn't a keen eye for the main chance. Because I was a lonely man and because, in my struggling days her mother was kind to me, I was fond of her. You needn't be jealous, Halliday. You will have the winding up of my estate, and it won't affect your share." There was a vein of misanthropic irony in most of what Anthony Thurston said, but the other man had the same blood in him, and answered quickly: "My own business is flourishing, and I have tried to serve you hitherto because of the relationship. I have no other reason, sir." "No," assented Thurston, with something approaching a laugh. "There is no doubt you are genuine. Millicent took after her father and, in spite of it, I was fond of her. Tell me again. Did you consider her happy when you saw her in Canada?" "As I said before, it is a delicate question, but I did not think so. Her husband struck me as a particularly poor sample, sir." "Ah! She married the rascal suddenly out of pique, perhaps, when Geoffrey left her. I could never quite get at the truth of that story, which, of course, was framed in the conventional way, but even now, though he's nearer of kin than Millicent, I can't quite forgive Geoffrey. You saw him, you said, on your last visit to those mines." The speaker's tone was indifferent, but his eyes shoved keen interest, and Halliday answered: "If ever the whole truth came out I don't think you would blame Geoffrey, sir. Individually, I would take his word against--well, against any woman's solemn declaration. Yes, I saw him. He was making a pretty fight single-handed against almost overwhelming natural difficulties." "Why?" asked Anthony Thurston. "A woman out there, eh? Are you pleading his cause, Halliday? Remember, if you convince me, he may be another participant in the property." "He did not explain all his motives to me, and nobody ever gained much by attempting to force a Thurston's confidence. If you were not my kinsman and were in better health I should feel tempted to recommend you to place your affairs in other hands. Confound the property!" There was a curious cackle in the sick man's throat, and the flicker of a smile in his sunken eyes. "I can believe it. You are tarred with the same brush as Geoffrey. The obstinate fool must go out there with a couple of hundred pounds or so, when he knew he had only to humor me by marrying Millicent and wait for prosperity. And yet, in one way, I'm glad he did. He never wrote me to apologize or explain--still, that's hardly surprising either. I don't know that any of us ever troubled much about other folks' opinions or listened to advice. Here am I, who might have lived another ten years, dying, because, when an officious keeper warned me, I went the opposite way. I hear wheels, Halliday." "It is the dogcart," Halliday announced. "Yes--I see Mrs. Leslie." "Thank God!" said the sick man. "Bring her here as soon as she's ready. Meantime, send in the doctor. I feel worse to-night." The light was dying fast when Millicent Leslie came softly into the great bare room, and, for Anthony Thurston had paid for overtaxing his waning strength, her heart smote her as she looked upon him. She could recognize the stamp of fast approaching death. There was an unusual gentleness in his eyes, which brightened at her approach, and with the exception of Geoffrey, whose sympathy filled her with shame, it was long since anyone had looked upon her with genuine kindliness. So it was with real sorrow she knelt beside the bed and kissed him. "I was shocked to hear of your accident, but it was some time ago, and you are recovering," she remarked, trying to speak hopefully, but with a catch in her breath. "I am dying," was the answer, and Millicent sobbed when the withered fingers rested on her hair. "I wanted to see you before I went. I was fond of you, Milly, and you--you and Geoffrey angered me. It was not your fault," the somewhat strained voice added wistfully. "He--I don't wish to hurt you, or hear the stereotyped version he of course endorsed. He left you?" Millicent Leslie was not wholly evil. She had a softer side, and, in the moment of reconciliation, dreaded to inflict further pain upon one to whom she owed much. If the truth was not in her, there was one thing in her favor, so at least the afterwards tried to convince herself. Prompted by a desire to soothe a dying man's last hours, she voluntarily accepted a very unpleasant part. She was thankful her head was bent as she said: "It was perhaps my fault. I would not--I could not consent to humor him in what appeared a senseless project--and so Geoffrey went to Canada." She felt the old man's hand move caressingly across her hair. "Poor Millicent," he sympathized. "And you chose another husband. Are you happy with him out there? But stay, it is twilight and the old place is gloomy. If you would like them, ask for candles. Geoffrey--Geoffrey left you!" Millicent did not desire candles, but gently drew herself away. Anthony Thurston's tenderness had touched her, and, with sudden compunction, she remembered that she had deceived a dying man. He believed her, but she did not wish him to see her face. She drew a chair towards the bed, and for a moment looked about her, striving to collect her scattered thoughts. Framed by the stone-ribbed window, the afterglow still shimmered, a pale luminous green, and one star twinkled over the black shoulder of Crosbie Fell. Curlews called mournfully down in the misty mosses, and when she turned her head the sick man's face showed faintly livid against the darker coverings of the bed. For a moment she felt tempted to make full confession, or at least excuses for Geoffrey, but Anthony Thurston spoke again just then and the moment was lost. "I asked are you happy in Canada, Millicent," he repeated, and there was command as well as kindness in his tone. Anthony Thurston, mine owner and iron works director, was dying, but he had long been a ruler of stiff-necked men, and the habit of authority still remained with him. It struck Millicent that he was in many ways very like Geoffrey. "I am not," she admitted. "I would not have told you if you had not insisted. It is the result of my own folly, and there is no use complaining." Anthony Thurston stretched out a thin, claw-like hand and laid it on one of her own. "Tell me," he said. "We are poor. That is, my husband's position is precarious, and it is a constant struggle to live up to it." "Then why do you try?" Millicent sighed as she answered: "It is, I believe, necessary or he would lose it, while he aims at obtaining sufficient influence to win him a connection, if he resumed his former land business." "From what I know it is a rascally business; but there is more than this. My time is very short, Millicent, but it seems such a very little while since a bright-haired girl who atoned for another's injury sat upon my knee, and for the sake of those days I can still protect you. Your husband treats you ill?" There was a vibration in the strained voice which more strongly reminded the listener of Geoffrey's, and awoke her bitterness against the man she had married. It was so long since she had taken a living soul into her confidence, that she answered impulsively: "There is no use hiding the truth from you. He does not treat me well." Then she related the story of her married life, and Anthony Thurston listened gravely, comprehending more than she meant to tell him, for when she had finished he commented: "You have neither been over loyal nor over wise--too quick to see the present gain, blind to the greater one behind--but it is my part to help, not blame you, and I will try to do so. It is dark now. Please ask for my draught and the candles. Then I want you to tell me about Geoffrey. You have met him in Canada." Millicent, retiring, stood for a few minutes looking down from a narrow window in the bare stone corridor on to the moor. There was no moon, but the night was luminous, for the stars twinkled with a windy glitter that was flung back by a neighboring tarn. The call of the curlew seemed more mournful, the crying of lapwing rose from the meadow land, and she started at a hollow hoot as an owl swept by on muffled wing. The night voices filled her with an eerie sensation--there was, she recollected, always something creepy about Crosbie Ghyll, and, for Millicent was superstitious, she shivered again at the reflection that she had cheated a dying man. But she could make partial reparation to the living at least, and when she came back with the candles there was resolve in her face. "You asked me about Geoffrey. He has no reason to be ashamed of his record in Canada," she said. "I will tell you what I know from the beginning--and I hope I shall tell it well." It was a relief to do so, and the story of Geoffrey's struggle and prospective triumph was a stirring one as it fell from the lips of the woman who had thrice wronged him. She guessed how her husband's employers had plotted, having gathered much from the talk of his guests, and the old man listened eagerly, until he struck the coverlet when she concluded. Grim satisfaction was stamped upon his twitching face. "It is a brave story. I thank you, Millicent; you told it very well. Ay, the old blood tells--and I was proud of the lad. Went his own way in spite of me--he is my kinsman, what should I expect of him? Standing alone for a broken master, with cunning and wealth against him and his last dollar in the scheme! Quite in keeping with traditions, and there'll be broken crowns before they beat him down." The dying man, who had fought perhaps as stubbornly all his life long, gasped once or twice before he added, "You must go now, Millicent. Send Halliday to me." Millicent went out with a throbbing pulse and downcast eyes, and when the lawyer came in Thurston said: "Read over that partly completed will." "Had you not better rest until to-morrow, sir?" was the answer. "Dr. Maltby warned you----" "You ought to know by this time that I seldom take a warning, and to-morrow may be too late. Write, and write quickly. After payment of all bequests above, balance of real estate to yourself and Forsyth as trustees, to apply and use for the individual benefit of Millicent Leslie. If her husband lays hands upon it, I'll haunt you. You have power to nominate Geoffrey Thurston as your co-trustee. God knows what may happen, and her rascally husband may get himself shot by somebody he has swindled some day. What I wished for mightn't follow then? I'm paying you to make my will and not dictate to me. Repeat it as many times as may appear necessary to let my meaning show clearly through your legal phraseology." "I have got it down, sir," the writer told him presently. "Now, after deductions enumerated, all my floating investments in mines, stocks and shares to Geoffrey Thurston, to hold or sell as pleases him, unconditionally. Bequeathed in the hope that this will help him to confound his enemies." It was written, signed and witnessed by Musker and the surgeon, then Anthony Thurston asked once more and very faintly for Millicent. He drew her down beside him and took her hand in his thin, gnarled one before he said: "I have done my best for you, Milly--and again thank you for the story. After what Halliday said, it has helped to conquer an old bitterness, and--for my work is finished--I can die contented. I may be gone to-morrow, and my strength is spent. Good-by, Milly. God bless you!" Millicent stooped and kissed him with a sense of shame. Before morning all power of speech or volition left Anthony Thurston, and twelve hours later he was dead. CHAPTER XXII A REPRIEVE It was with a heavy heart that Geoffrey Thurston turned over the papers Thomas Savine spread out before him in the Vancouver offices. "I'm almost scared to do any more figuring," said Savine. "Money is going to be uncommonly tight with us, and, to make things worse, I can neither realize nor borrow. My brother's investments are way below par now, and the first sign of any weakness would raise up an opposition that would finish us. I can't stay here forever, and poor Julius is steadily getting worse instead of better. Are you still certain you can get the work done before the winter's through?" "Yes," asserted Geoffrey. "If I can get the machinery and sufficient men--which means money. There's a moderate fortune waiting us once we can run the water out of the valley, and it's worth a desperate effort to secure it." "We have made a good many daring moves since my brother gave me his power of attorney, and I have sunk more of my own money than my partners, who have backed me pluckily, care about. Still, I can't see how I'm going to meet your estimate, nohow." "You have just got to do it," Geoffrey insisted. "It is the part you chose. At my end, I'll stop for nothing short of manslaughter. We simply can't afford to be beaten, and we're not going to be." "I hope not," and Thomas Savine sighed dubiously. "Your assurance is refreshing, Geoffrey, but I own up I can't see--well, we've done enough for one day. Come round and spend the evening with me. Mrs. Savine is anxious to see you." Geoffrey hesitated for a few seconds, and Thomas Savine smiled at something which faintly amused him. Remembering Helen's freezing look and his occupation when she last saw him, Geoffrey felt that it might not be pleasant to meet her so soon. Then, because he was a proud man, he endeavored to accept the invitation with cordiality. "I am glad you will come," said Thomas Savine, with a trace of the dry humor which occasionally characterized him. Geoffrey, who felt that in this instance the pleasure was hardly mutual, and that Helen might not share it with her uncle, said nothing further on that subject, until Mrs. Savine met him in the hotel corridor. A friendship had grown up between them since the day Geoffrey endured the elixir, after mending the bicycle, and there was a mischievous amusement in the lady's eyes as she said; "My compliments, Geoffrey. You are a brave man." "I don't deserve them, madam. Wherein lies the bravery? Being at present in perfect health, I have no cause to fear you." Mrs. Savine laughed good-naturedly, then laid her hand upon his arm with a friendly gesture. "Sober earnest, I am glad you came. I believe in you, Geoffrey, and like to see a man show the grit that's in him." "I am honored," returned Geoffrey, with a little bow. There was a grateful look in his brown eyes, which did not quail in the slightest under the lady's scrutiny. In spite of her good-will, he, however, derived little pleasure from that evening of relaxation. Helen showed no open displeasure, but he was painfully conscious that what she had seen had been a shock to her. It was impossible for him to volunteer an explanation. He was glad to retire with Savine and a cigar-box to the veranda, and trying to console himself with the reflection that he had at least shown no weakness--he took his leave early. Helen was not present when he bade Mrs. Savine farewell, but she saw him stride away over the gravel. Though she would not ask herself why, she felt gratified that he had not stayed away. It was some time later when, one day of early winter, he sat in his wooden shanty, which at that season replaced the tent above the cañon. Close by English Jim was busy writing, and Geoffrey, gnawing an unlighted pipe, glanced alternately through the open door at his hurrying workmen and at the letter from Thomas Savine which he held in his hand. The letter expressed a fear that a financial crisis was imminent. "Tell him he must settle all local bills up to the minute," said Thurston, throwing it across to his amanuensis. "I daresay the English makers will wait a little for payment due on machinery. Did you find that the amount I mentioned would cover the wages through the winter?" "Only just," was the answer. "That is, unless you could cut some of them a little." "Not a cent," Geoffrey replied. "The poor devils who risk their lives daily fully earn their money." "Do you know their wages equal the figure the strikers demanded and you refused to pay? Summers told me about that dispute, sir," ventured English Jim. "The strikers were not prepared to earn higher pay--and that one word, 'demanded,' makes a big difference. Hello! who is the stranger?" Mattawa Tom was directing a horseman towards the shanty, and Geoffrey, who watched the newcomer with growing interest, found something familiar in his face and figure, until he rose up in astonishment when the man rode nearer. "Halliday, by all that's wonderful!" he cried. "Uncommonly glad to see you; but whatever brought you back to this far-off land again?" "Several things," was the answer, as Halliday, shaking the snow from his furs, dismounted stiffly. "Strain of overwork necessitated a change, my doctor told me. Trust estate I'm winding up comprised doubtful British Columbian mining interests, and last, but not least, to see you, Geoffrey." The man's fur coat was open now, and Geoffrey, who glanced at the black coat beneath it, said: "I'm glad you wanted to see me, anyway, but come in. Here, Jake, take the horse to the stable. Are my sympathies needed, Halliday--any of my new friends over yonder dead?" Halliday stared at him blankly. "Haven't you read the letter I sent you? Do you get no English papers?" he questioned. "No, to both. I fancy very few people over yonder trouble themselves as to whether I'm living. How did you address your letter?" "Orchard City, or was it Orchardville? Mrs. Leslie told me the name of the postoffice, and I looked it up on a map." Geoffrey thrust his guest into a chair. "That explains it. This is Orchard Valley; the other place is away across the province, a forlorn hamlet, and some ox-driving postmaster has no doubt returned your letter. Do you bring bad news? Don't keep me in suspense." "Anthony Thurston's dead. Died in your old place, partly the result of a gun accident," answered Halliday, and Geoffrey sat silent for a moment. "I'm sorry--yes, sincerely," he said at last. "I can say it freely, because, as I daresay you know, I disappointed him, and can in no way benefit by his death. In fact, he had the power to refuse me what was morally my right, and no doubt he exercised it. Still, now it's too late, I feel ashamed that I never tried to patch up the quarrel. Poor old Anthony!" Halliday smiled. "You are a better fellow than you often lead folks to suppose, Geoffrey--and I quite believe you. Such regrets are, however, generally useless, are they not? In this case especially so, for Anthony Thurston forgot the quarrel before he died, and sent you his very good wishes. I see I have a surprise in store. You are a beneficiary. He has bequeathed you considerably more than your moral share in the property." Thurston strode up and down the shanty before he halted. "I'm glad that, though perhaps I deserved it, he didn't carry the bitterness into the grave with him," he declared with earnestness. "We were too much like each other to get on well, but there was a time when he was a good friend to me. It's no use pretending I'm not pleased at what you tell me--it means a great deal to me. But you must be tired and hungry, and I want to talk by the hour to you." Halliday did full justice to the meal which the camp cook produced, and afterwards the two men sat talking until the short winter afternoon had drawn to a close and the first stars were blinking down on untrodden snows. Answering a question Halliday said: "Your share--I'll show you a complete list when I unpack my things--will, if left invested, provide you with a moderate income for a single man. Indeed, with your Spartan tastes, you might live in what you would consider luxury. As usual, however, in such cases, the securities are not readily marketable, and your interest in some ventures could hardly be summarily realized at any sacrifice. The whole is left to you unconditionally, but my advice is decidedly that you hold on." "I am sorry," Geoffrey replied, "because even at a sacrifice I intend to sell. If you're not too tired to listen a little longer, I'll try to explain why." Halliday listened gravely. Then he commented: "As Anthony Thurston said, it is characteristic of you, and it's possible that he would have approved of what on the surface looks like folly. He stated that he hoped the bequest would help you to confound your enemies. But you must act as a business man. You say that, if you go deeper, your firm might still wind up just solvent; then why not abandon the apparently hopeless project, and withdraw? Follow your profession if you must work, or live upon your income. This drainage scheme looks tolerably desperate on your own showing, and if, selling at a sacrifice you sink all your new possessions in it, you may be left utterly cleaned out, a beggar. You have no other relatives likely to leave you another competence, Geoffrey." "It can't be helped--or rather I don't want to help it. I've pledged my word and honor to see this undertaking through, and I mean to redeem it if it ruins me. Now what were you telling me about Mrs. Leslie?" Halliday explained for some minutes before he said: "You are on the spot, and it's your duty to join us. Anthony Thurston was always eccentric, and has left us a very troublesome charge. Her husband is not to get at the money, and this discrimination between man and wife is going to be confoundedly awkward. However, as I'm going to stay some little time, and if possible shoot a mountain sheep, we can discuss it at leisure." Thomas Savine, who came up in a day or two, speedily became good friends with Halliday. Geoffrey had his work to superintend, and was suspicious that Halliday seized the opportunity his absence afforded to explain what appeared to him a sacrifice of Anthony Thurston's legacy. One evening when Halliday was down in the cañon watching the workmen toiling in the river, under the lurid blaze of the lucigen, Thomas Savine said: "I'm going to talk straight, Geoffrey. Your friend told me the whole thing, and I agree with his opinion. See here, you are safe for life if you hold fast to what you have got now--and the Lord knows whether we will ever be successful in the cañon. Of course the money would help us, but it isn't sufficient to make victory dead certain, and it would be a drop in the bucket if we came down with a bang, as we may very well do. Even considering what's at stake, I couldn't let you make the plunge without protesting." "If I had ten times as much, or ten times as little, it would all go after the rest," replied Geoffrey. "I appreciate your good intentions, but you can't, and never will, convince me, so there's no use talking. You will, in the meantime, say not a word to Miss Savine on the subject." Next morning Geoffrey said to his guest: "I want you to write out a telegram to your partner in England. Yonder's a mounted messenger waiting for it. He's to sell everything bequeathed to me at the best price he can. You have done your best, Halliday, and I suppose I ought to be more grateful than I am, but you see I'm rather fond than otherwise of a big risk. We'll ride over with Mr. Savine and call upon my partner to-day." It was late in the afternoon when the two arrived at the ranch which Savine had rented. It was the nearest dwelling to the camp that could be rendered comfortable, but lay some distance from it, over a very bad trail. Helen was not cordial towards Geoffrey, who left her to entertain Halliday, and slipped away to the room looking down the valley, where his partner sat with a fur robe wrapped about his bent shoulders. Savine's face had grown very hollow and his eyes were curiously dim. "It was good of you to come, Geoffrey," he said; "How are you getting on in the cañon?" "Famously, sir. We are certainly going to beat the river," was the prompt answer, and remembering the accession of capital, Geoffrey's cheerfulness was real. "I'm hoping to ask Miss Savine to fire the final shot some time before the snows melt." Savine looked at him with a trace of his old keenness, and appeared satisfied that the speaker believed in his own prediction. Then he smiled as he answered: "You do me good, Geoffrey. Good news is better than gallons of medicine, and when you make such a promise I feel I can trust you. I'm grateful, but it's mighty trying to lie here helpless while another man plays out my last and boldest game for me. Lord! what wouldn't I give for just three months of my old vigor! Still, I'll never be fit again, and as I must lean on somebody, I'm glad it should be you." "Lean on me! You have given me the chance of my life, sir. You don't look quite comfortable there. Let me settle that rug for you," said Geoffrey, and as with clumsy gentleness he rearranged the sick man's wrappings, Helen came unobserved into the room. She read the pity beneath the smile on the younger man's bronze face and noticed how willingly his hard fingers did their unaccustomed work. Her heart grew soft towards Geoffrey as she heard her father's sigh of content. The sight touched, though, for a reason she was ashamed of, it also troubled her. Unwilling to disturb them, she merely smiled when Thurston saw her, and found herself a seat in a corner. "My brain's not so clear as it used to be. No use hiding things. Why," began Savine, and Geoffrey, who surmised that he had not seen his daughter, knocked over a medicine bottle with his elbow and spent some time noisily groping under the table for it. The action might have deceived one of his own sex, but Helen, who wondered what his motive was, grew piqued as well as curious. "I've been worrying over things lately," continued Savine. "There was one of the rancher's hired men in and he told our folks a mixed story about a sluice gate bursting. You never mentioned it to me. Now I have a hazy notion that I made a drawing for a gate one day, when I was--sick, we'll say. I looked for it afterwards and couldn't find it. I've been thinking over it considerable lately." "Then you are very foolish, sir," declared Geoffrey. "Of course, we have had one or two minor breakages, but nothing we were unable to remedy. Just now everything is going ahead in the most satisfactory manner." Helen, who watched the speaker, decided that he was concealing something, and also fancied her father did not seem quite satisfied. "I've been wondering whether it was that gate which burst. See here, Geoffrey, I feel you have had bad trouble; isn't it a little mean not to tell me? You will remember I'm still Julius Savine--and only a little while ago there was no man in the province who dared to try to fool me." A measure of the speaker's former spirit revealed itself in a clearer vibration of his voice, and, raising himself in his chair, Savine became for a moment almost the man he had been. Thurston had determined to hold his fallen leader's credit safe, not only before the eyes of others but even in his own, and was doing it to the best of his ability. "Of course, we have had trouble--lots of it, but nothing we could not overcome," he repeated. "If everything went smoothly it would grow monotonous. Still, you can rest perfectly contented, sir, and assist us with your judgment in the difficult cases. For instance, would you let me know what you think of these specifications?" Savine, who seemed to find a childish pleasure in being consulted, forgot his former anxiety, and Geoffrey, leaving him contented, slipped out of the ranch, and, finding a sheltered path among the redwoods, paced to and fro. He was presently surprised to see Helen move out from among the trees. She had a fur about her shoulders which set off the finely-chiselled face above it. Nevertheless, for once at least, he was by no means pleased to see her. "I wish to ask you a question," she said. "Of course, I have heard there was an inquiry into the breaking of the sluice, but neither you nor my uncle thought fit to give me any definite information on the subject. Unfortunately, my father heard distorted rumors of the accident, and has been fretting ever since. As you know, this is most detrimental to his failing health, and, so that I may be the better able to soothe him I want you to tell me all that happened." "There is absolutely no cause for uneasiness. As I said, we had one or two difficulties which may have been vanquished. Your uncle will bear me out in this," answered Geoffrey, who would have spoken more freely had he not feared the girl's keenness. Helen's face, which was at first scornful, grew anxious as she responded: "I have no doubt he would! In fact, when I asked him he explained with such readiness that I cannot help concluding you have both conspired to keep me in the dark. Can you not see that, situated as I am in caring for an invalid who will not let his mind rest, uncertainty is almost worse than the knowledge of disaster to me. Will you not tell me frankly what you fear?" "I would do anything to drive your fears away." Geoffrey, who felt helpless beneath the listener's searching eyes, spoke with sympathy in his voice. "But I can only say again there is very slight cause for anxiety." Helen turned half from him, angrily, then she faced round again. "You are not a good dissembler. If quick at making statements you are not prepared to substantiate them," she declared. "You would do anything to dispel my fears--but the one most necessary thing I ask. You have passed through, or are now facing, a crisis, and though some knowledge of it would be of great help to me you do not consider me worthy of your confidence." "Heaven forbid that I should think so. There is no one more worthy--but----" Helen checked him with a gesture. "I desire the simple truth and not indifferent compliments," she said. "You will not tell it to me, and I will plead with you no further, even for my father's sake. When will you men learn that a woman's discretion is at least equal to your own?" With a flash in her eyes, she added: "How dare you once offer what you did to a woman you had no trust in?" "You are almost cruel," Geoffrey answered, clenching his hand as he mastered his own anger. "Some day, perhaps, you will yet believe I tried to do what was best. Meantime, since I dare not presume to resent it, I must try to bear your displeasure patiently." He might have said more, but that Helen left him abruptly. "It is confoundedly hard. Once strike a certain vein of bad luck and you can neither get around nor under it, but there's no use groaning--and what on earth could I have done?" he said to the whispering firs. He went back presently to the ranch, and found Helen, who apparently did not notice his return, chatting with Halliday. When the two men bade their host farewell, Halliday, who lingered a few minutes, observed to Thomas Savine: "I always knew my friend was reckless, but when I spoke as I did I failed to comprehend what was at once his incentive and justification. I must thank you for your attempt to aid me, but even against the dictates of my judgment I can't help sympathizing with him now. If you don't mind my saying so--because I see you know--I think what he hopes to win is very well worth the risk." "I certainly know, and perhaps I am prejudiced in favor of my niece, but I feel tempted to agree with you," answered Savine. "There are few better women in the Dominion, but she is wayward, and whether Geoffrey will ever win her only Heaven knows. Meantime, though we depend so much upon him, I am often ashamed to let him take his chances with us. Believe me, I have endeavored to dissuade him." Halliday smiled. "I am a kinsman of his and know him well," he said. "It is quite in keeping with traditions that he should be perfectly willing to ruin himself for a woman, and I am at least thankful that the woman proves worthy. In this case, however, I venture to hope the end may be the achievement of prosperity. I generally speak my mind and hope I have not offended you." CHAPTER XXIII THE ULTIMATUM Winter creeping down from the high peaks held the whole valley fast in its icy grip when Mrs. Thomas Savine, who was seldom daunted by the elements, went up from Vancouver to persuade her niece to seek sheltered quarters on the sunny coast until spring. Her visit was, however, in this respect a failure, for Julius Savine insisted upon remaining within touch of the reclamation works. Though seldom able to reach them, he looked eagerly forward to Geoffrey's brief visits, which alone seemed to arouse him from his lethargy. Mrs. Savine and Helen sat in the general living-room at the ranch one day when her brother-in-law came in leaning heavily upon his partner's arm. Geoffrey had set his carpenters to build a sleigh, and from one hill shoulder bare of timber it was possible, with good glasses, to see what went on in the cañon. Savine was listening with evident satisfaction to the tall, frost-bronzed man who led him towards the room that he delighted to call his office, and Mrs. Savine, noticing it, smiled gratefully upon Geoffrey. Worn by anxious watching, Helen was possibly a little out of humor that afternoon, and the sight awoke within her a certain jealousy. She had done her best, and had done it very patiently, but she had failed to arouse her father to the animation he showed in Geoffrey's presence. "I haven't felt so well since I saw you last," observed Savine, oblivious for the moment of his daughter. "You won't fail to come back as soon as ever you can--say the day after to-morrow?" Geoffrey glanced towards Helen, who made no sign, and Mrs. Savine noticed that for a moment his face clouded. Then, as he turned towards his partner, he seemed to make an effort, and his expression was confident again. "I am afraid I cannot leave the works quite so often. Yes--we are progressing at least as well as anyone could expect," he said. "I will come and consult you whenever I can. In fact, there are several points I want your advice upon." "Come soon," urged Savine, with a sigh. "It does me good to talk to you--after the life I've lived, this everlasting loafing comes mighty hard to me. I believe once I knew we were victorious I could let go everything and die happy." Helen heard, and, overwrought as she was by nights of assiduous care, the speech both pained and angered her. Geoffrey's answer was not audible, as they passed on. He came back alone, off his guard for a moment, looking worn and weary, and Mrs. Savine said: "You are tired, Geoffrey, and if you don't appear more lively next time I will attend to you. No--don't get scared. It is not physic I'm going to prescribe now. Take this lounge and just sit here where it's cosy. Talk to Helen and me until supper's ready." Thurston had been crawling over ice-crusted rocks and wading knee-deep in water most of the preceding night. The chair stood temptingly between the two ladies and near the stove. He glanced towards it and Helen longingly. Some impulse tempted the girl to say: "Mr. Thurston has usually so little time to spare that it would be almost too much to hope that he could devote an hour to us." The tone was ironical, and Geoffrey, excusing himself, went out. He sighed as he floundered down the snow-cumbered trail. There was indignation in the elder lady's voice as she declared: "I am ashamed of you, Helen. The poor man came in too late, for dinner, and he must be starving. If you had just seen how he looked at you! You'd feel mean and sorry if they found him to-morrow frozen hard in the snow." Helen could not fancy Geoffrey overcome by such a journey because he had missed two meals, and she smiled at her aunt's dismal picture, answering her with a flippancy which increased the elder lady's indignation, "Mr. Thurston is not a cannibal, auntie." "I can't figure why you are fooling with that man if you don't want him," said Mrs. Savine. "Oh, yes; you're going to sit here and listen to some straight talking. Isn't he good enough for you?" Helen's face was flushed with angry color. "You speak with unpleasant frankness, but I will endeavor to answer you," she responded. "I have told Mr. Thurston--that is, I have tried to warn him that he was expecting the impossible, and what more could I do? He is my father's partner, and I cannot refuse to see him. I----" Mrs. Savine, leaning forward, took her niece's hands in her own, saying gravely, "Are you certain it is quite impossible?" For a moment Helen looked startled, and her eyes fell. Then, raising her head, she answered: "Have I not told you so? I have been anxious about my father lately and do not feel myself to-day. Surely you have no wish further to torment me." "No, but I mean to finish what I have to say. Do you know all that man is doing for you? He has----" But Mrs. Savine ceased abruptly, remembering she had in return for her husband's confidence promised secrecy. "Yes. I think I know everything," replied Helen, with something suspiciously like a sob, while her aunt broke her pledge to the extent of shaking her head with a gesture of negation. "It--it makes it worse for me. I dare not bid him go away, and I grow horribly ashamed because--because it hurts one to be conscious of so heavy a debt. Besides, he is consoling himself with Mrs. Leslie!" "Geoffrey Thurston would be the last man to consider you owed him anything, and as to Mrs. Leslie--pshaw! It's as sure as death, Geoffrey doesn't care two bits for her. He would never let you feel that debt, my dear, but the debt is there. From what Tom has told me he has declined offer after offer, and you know that, if he carries this last scheme through, the credit and most of the money will fall to your father." "I know." The moisture gathered in Helen's eyes. "I am grateful, very grateful--as I said, ashamed, too; but my father comes first. I tried to warn Geoffrey, but he would not take no. I feel almost frightened sometimes lest he will force me to yield against my will, but you know that would be a wrong to him--and what can I do?" Helen, unclasping her hands from her aunt's, looked straight before her, and Mrs. Savine answered gently: "Not that. No--if you can't like him it would not be fair to him. Only try to be kind, and make quite sure it is impossible. It might have been better for poor Geoffrey if he had never mixed himself up with us. You, with all your good points, are mighty proud, my dear, but I have seen proud women find out their mistake when it was too late to set things straight. Wait, and without the help of a meddlesome old woman, it will perhaps all come right some day." "Auntie," said Helen, looking down, some minutes later. "Though you meant it in kindness, I am almost vexed with you. I have never spoken of these things to anyone before, and though it has comforted me, you won't remind me--will you?" "No." The older woman smiled upon the girl. "Of course not! But you are pale and worried, and I believe that there is nothing that would fix you better than a few drops of the elixir. I think I sent you a new bottle." Then, though her eyes were misty, Helen laughed outright, as she replied: "It was very kind of you, but I fear I lost the bottle, and have wasted too much time over my troubles. What can I tempt my father with for supper?" When Geoffrey returned to camp, Halliday, who had arrived that day from Vancouver, had much to tell him. "I've sold your English property, and the value lies to your credit in the B. O. M. agency. All you have to do is to draw upon your account," he said. "As you intend to sink the money in these works I can only wish you the best of good luck. Now, I'm starting for home to-morrow, and there's the other question--how to protect the interests of Mrs. Leslie. Anthony Thurston made a just will, and her share, while enough to maintain her, is not a large one, but I don't see yet just how it's to be handled. It was the testator's special wish that you should join the trustees, and that her husband should not lay his hands upon a dollar. From careful inquiries made in Vancouver, I judge he's a distinctly bad lot. Anyway, you'll have to help us in the meantime, Geoffrey, and in opening a small bank account I made your signature necessary on every check." "It's a confoundedly unpleasant position under the circumstances. What on earth could my kinsman have been thinking of when he forced it upon me of all men?" Geoffrey responded with a rueful face. "Still, I owe him a good deal, and suppose that I must cheerfully acquiesce to his wishes." "I cannot take upon myself to determine what the testator thought," was the dry answer. "He said the estimable Mr. Leslie might either shoot or drink himself to death some day. The late Anthony Thurston was a tenacious person, and you must draw your own conclusions." "If there was one thing which more than another tempted me to refuse you every scrap of assistance it was the conclusion I arrived at," said Geoffrey. "However, I'll try to keep faith with the dead man, and Heaven send me sense sufficient to steer clear of difficulties." "I can trust your honesty any way," remarked Halliday. "There's a heavy load off my mind at last. You are a good fellow, Geoffrey, and, excuse the frankness, even in questions beyond your usual scope not so simple as you sometimes look." A day or two before this conversation took place, Henry Leslie, sitting at his writing-table in the villa above the inlet, laid down his pen and looked up gratefully at his wife, who placed a strip of stamped paper before him. Millicent both smiled and frowned as she noticed how greedily his fingers fastened upon it. "It is really very good of you. You don't know how much this draft means to me," he said. "I wish I needn't take it, but I am forced to. It's practically the whole of the first dole your skinflint trustee made you, isn't it?" "It is a large share," was the answer. "Almost a year's allowance, and I'm going to pay off our most pressing debts with the rest. But I am glad to give it to you, Harry, and we must try to be better friends, and keep on the safe side after this." "I hope we shall," replied the man, who was touched for once. "It's tolerably hard for folks like us, who must go when the devil drives, to be virtuous, but I got hold of a few mining shares, which promise to pay well now, for almost nothing; and if they turn up trumps, I'd feel greatly tempted to throw over the Company and start afresh." He hurriedly scribbled a little note, and Millicent turned away with a smile that was not far from a sigh. She had returned from England in a repentant mood, and her husband, whose affairs had gone smoothly, was almost considerate, so that, following a reconciliation, there were times when she cherished an uncertain hope that they might struggle back to their former level. It was on one of the occasions when their relations were not altogether inharmonious that she had promised to give him a draft to redeem the loan Director Shackleby held like a whip lash over him. Had Leslie been a bolder man, it is possible that his wife's aspirations might have been realized, for Millicent was not impervious to good influences. Unfortunately for her, however, a free-spoken man called Shackleby, who said that he had been sent by his colleagues who managed the Industrial Enterprise Company, called upon Thurston and Savine together in their city offices. He came straight to the point after the fashion of Western business men. "Julius Savine has rather too big a stake in the Orchard Valley for any one man," he said. "It's ancient history that if, as usual with such concerns as ours, we hadn't been a day or two too slow, we would have held the concessions instead of him. Neither need I tell you about the mineral indications in both the reefs and alluvial. Now we saw our way to rake a good many dollars out of that valley, but when Savine got in ahead we just sat tight and watched him, ready to act if he found the undertaking too big for him. It seems to me that has happened, which explains my visit to-day. We might be open to buy some of those conditional lands from you." "They may never be ours to sell, though I hope for the contrary," Geoffrey replied. "Exactly," said the other. "That is why we're only ready to offer you out-district virgin forest value for the portions colored blue in this plan. In other words, we speculate by advancing you money on very uncertain security." Geoffrey laughed after a glance at the plan. "You have a pretty taste! After giving you all the best for a tithe of its future value, where do we come in?" "On the rest," declared Shackleby, coolly. "We would pay down the money now, and advance you enough on interest to place you beyond all risks in completing operations. Though you might get more for the land, without this assistance, you might get nothing, and it will be a pretty heavy check. I suppose I needn't say it was not until lately that we decided to meet you this way." "By your leave!" broke in Thomas Savine, who had been scribbling figures on a scrap of paper, which he passed to Geoffrey. It bore a few lines scrawled across the foot of it: "Value absurdly low, but it might be a good way to hedge against total loss, and we could level up the average on the rest. What do you think?" Geoffrey grasped a pen, and the paper went back with the brief answer, "That it would be a willful sacrifice of Miss Savine's future." "Suppose we refuse?" he asked, and Shackleby stroked his mustache meditatively before he made answer: "Don't you think that would be foolish? You see, we were not unanimous by a long way on this policy, and several of our leaders agree with me that we had better stick to our former one. It's a big scheme, and accidents will happen, however careful one may be. Then there's the risk of new conditions being imposed upon you by the authorities. Besides, you have a time limit to finish in, and mightn't do it, especially without the assistance we could in several ways render you. You can't have a great many dollars left either--see?" "I do," said Geoffrey, with an ominous glitter in his eyes. "You needn't speak more plainly. Accidents, no doubt of the kind you refer to, have happened already. They have not, however, stopped us yet, and are not going to. I, of course, appreciate your delicate reference to your former policy; I conclude it was your policy individually. I don't like threats, even veiled ones, and nobody ever succeeded in coercing me. Accordingly, when we have drained it, we'll sell you all the land you want at its market value. You can't have an acre at anything like the price you offer now." "That's your ultimatum. Yes? Then I'm only wasting time, and hope you won't be sorry," returned Shackleby. When he went out Geoffrey turned to Thomas Savine. "A declared enemy is preferable to a treacherous ally," he observed dryly. "That man would never have kept faith with us." "I don't know," was the answer. "Of course, he's crooked, but he has his qualities. Anyway, I'd sooner trust him than the invertebrate crawler, Leslie." A day or two later Shackleby called upon Leslie in his offices and with evident surprise received the check Millicent had given to her husband. "I wasn't in any hurry. Have some of your titled relatives in the old country left you a fortune?" he inquired ironically. "No," was the answer. "My folks are mostly distinctly poor commoners. I, well--I have been rather fortunate lately." "Here's your receipt," said Shackleby, with an embarrassing stare, adding when Leslie, after examining it carefully, thrust the paper into the glowing stove, "Careful man! Nobody is going to get ahead of you, but can't you see that blame paper couldn't have made a cent's worth of difference between you and me. Well, if you still value your connection with the Company, I have something to tell you. That infernal idiot Thurston won't hear of making terms, and, as you know, there's a fortune waiting if we can corral the valley." "I can see the desirability, but not the means of accomplishing it," replied Leslie. "No!" and the speaker glanced at him scornfully. "Well, Thurston must finish by next summer, or his conditional grants are subject to revision, while it's quite plain he can only work in the cañon in winter. Something in the accident line has got to happen." "It failed before." Shackleby laughed. "What's the matter with trying again, and keeping on trying? I've got influence enough to double your salary if Thurston doesn't get through. It will be tolerably easy, for this time I don't count on trusting too much to you. I'll send you along a man and you'll just make a bet with him--we'll fix the odds presently and they'll be heavy against us--that Thurston successfully completes the job in the cañon. The other man bets he doesn't. When it appears judicious we'll contrive something to draw Thurston away for a night or two." "But if you know the man, and it's so easy, why not make the bet yourself?" Shackleby smiled pleasantly. "Because I'm not secretary hoping to get my salary doubled and a land bonus. There are other reasons, but I don't want to hurt your feelings any more than I wish to lacerate those of my worthy colleagues. They'll ask no questions and only pass a resolution thanking you for your zealous services. Nothing is going to slip up the wrong way, but if it did you could only lose your salary, and I'd see you safe on the way to Mexico with say enough to start a store, and you would be no worse off than before, because I figure you'd lose the berth unless you chip in with me." Leslie realized that this might well be so, but he made a last attempt. "Suppose in desperation I turned round on you?" "I'd strike you for defamation and conspiracy, publish certain facts in your previous record, and nobody would believe you, or dare to say so. Besides, you haven't got grit enough in you by a long way, and that's why I'm taking your consent for granted. By the way, I forgot to mention that confounded Britisher raked an extra hundred dollars out of me. Said I'd got to pay for his traveling and hotel expenses. I'm not charging you, Leslie, and you ought to feel grateful to me." CHAPTER XXIV AN UNEXPECTED ALLY Winter was drawing towards its close at last, when, on the evening of a day in which the result of a heavy blasting charge had exceeded his utmost expectations, Geoffrey Thurston stood beside his foreman in his workmen's mess shanty. Tin lamps hung from the beams blackened with smoke, and sturdy men were finishing their six o'clock supper beneath them. The men were the pick of the province, for, until tempted by the contractor's high wages, most of them had been engaged in laying the foundations of its future greatness by wresting new spaces for corn and cattle from the forest. They ate, as they worked, heroically. The supper was varied and bountiful, for Geoffrey, who was conscious of a thrill of pride as he glanced down the long rows of weather-beaten faces, fed his workmen well. They had served him faithfully through howling gale and long black night, under scorching sun and bitter frost, and now that the result of that day's operations had brought the end of the work in sight, there was satisfaction in the knowledge that he had led such men. "They're a fine crowd, Tom, and I'll be sorry to part with them," he said. "It's hard to believe, after all we have struggled with, that less than three weeks will see us through, but I'd give many dollars for every hour we can reduce the time by. Send for a keg of the hardest cider and I'll tell them so." There was applause when the keg was lifted to the table with its head knocked in. Geoffrey, who had filled a tin dipper, said: "Here's my best thanks for the way you have backed me, boys. Since they carried the railroad across Beaver Creek, few men in the province have grappled as you have with a task like this; but it's sometimes just possible to go a little better than what looks like one's best, and I'm asking as a favor from all of you that you will redouble your efforts. I estimate that we'll finish this tough section in eighteen days from now, but I want the work done in less time, and accordingly I'll promise a bonus to every man if we can fire the last big shot a fortnight from to-day." "Stan' by!" shouted a big section foreman, as he hove himself upright. "Fill every can up an' wait until I've finished. Now, Mr. Thurston, I'm talking for the rest. You've paid us good wages, an' we've earned them, every cent, though that wasn't much to our credit, for Tom from Mattawa saw we did. Still, even dollars won't buy everything, and what you can't pay us for we're ready to give. If flesh an' blood can do it, a fortnight will see us through, an' the next contract you take, if it's to wipe out the coast range or run off the Pacific, we're coming along with you. I've nailed you to the bargain, boys, an' here's--The Boss, victorious, an' to ---- with his bonus!" The long shanty rang to the roar that followed, and, when it died away, Geoffrey, who set down his can, turned to his foreman. "Who is the little man next to Walla Jake?" he asked. "An old partner of his from Oregon. Came in one day when you were away, and, as Jake allowed he was a square man, I took him on. Found him worth his money, and fancied I'd told you." "You did not," said Geoffrey. "Jake's quite trustworthy, but watch the stranger well. No doubt he's honest, but I'm getting nervous now we're so near the end." The foreman answered reassuringly, and Geoffrey, who turned away, rode beneath the snow-sprinkled firs to Savine's ranch. It was late when he reached it, but his partner and Helen were expecting him. Savine sighed with satisfaction when Geoffrey said: "In all probability we shall fire the decisive shot a fortnight from to-day." "It is great news," replied Julius Savine. "As I have said already, it was a lucky day for me--and mine--when I first fell in with you. Two more anxious weeks and then the suspense will be over and I can contentedly close my career. Lord! it will be well worth the living for--the consummation of the most daring scheme ever carried out in the Mountain Province. I won't see your next triumph, Geoffrey, but it can hardly be greater than this you have won for me." "You exaggerate, sir," said Geoffrey. "It was you who won the concession and overcame all the initial difficulties, while we would never have gone so far without your assistance. Such a task would have been far beyond me alone." "No--though it is good of you to say so. There were times when I tried to fancy I was running the contract, but that was just a sick man's craze. You have played out the game well and bravely, Geoffrey, as only a true man could. Perhaps Helen will thank you--just now I don't feel quite equal to it." Savine's voice broke a little, and he glanced at Helen, who sat very still with downcast eyes. Geoffrey also looked at her for a second, and his elation was tinged with bitterness. He could see that she was troubled, and, with a pang of sudden misgiving, he watched her anxiously. Without the one prize he had striven for, the victory would be barren to him. Still, he desired to save her embarrassment, and when she raised her head to obey her father, he broke in: "Miss Savine can place me under an obligation by firing the fateful charge instead. It was her first commission which brought good luck to me, and it is only fitting she should complete the result of it by turning the firing key." Helen's eyes expressed her gratitude, as, consenting, she turned them upon the speaker. Geoffrey rising to the occasion, said: "Did you ever hear the story of the first contract I undertook in British Columbia, sir? May I tell it to your father, Miss Savine?" Helen was quick to appreciate his motive, and allowed him to see it. While, seizing the opportunity to change the subject, Geoffrey told the story whimsically. Humor was not his strong point, but he was capable of brilliancy just then. Julius Savine laughed heartily, and when the tale was finished all had settled down to their normal manner. When Geoffrey took his leave, however, Helen followed him to the veranda, and held out her hand. She stood close to him with the moonlight full upon her, and it was only by an effort that the man who gripped the slender fingers, conquered his desire to draw her towards him. Helen never had looked so desirable. Then he dropped her hand, and stood impassively still, waiting for what she had to say. "I could not thank you before my father, but neither could I let you go without a word," she said, with a quiet composure which, because she must have guessed at the struggle within him, was the badge of courage. "You have won my undying gratitude, and----" "That is a great deal, very well worth the winning," he responded. "It will be one pleasant memory to carry away with me." "To carry with you! You are not going away?" asked Helen, with an illogical sense of dismay, which was not, however, in the least apparent. She knew that any sign of feeling would provoke the crisis from which she shrank. "Yes," declared Geoffrey. "Once this work is completed, I shall seek another field." "You must not!" Though her voice was strained, Helen, who dared not do otherwise, looked him steadily in the eyes. "You must not go. Now, when, if you stay in the Province, fame and prosperity lie within your grasp you will not overwhelm me by adding to the knowledge of all I have robbed you of. It is hard for me to express myself plainly--but I dare not take this from you, too." "Can you not guess how hard it all is for me?" He strode a few paces apart from her while the words fell from his lips. Then he halted again and turned towards her. "I had not meant to distress you--but how can I go on seeing you so near me, hearing your voice, when every word and smile stir up a longing that at times almost maddens me? What I have done I did for you, and did it gladly, but this new command I cannot obey. Fame and prosperity! What are either worth to me when the one thing I would sell my life for is, you have told me, not to be attained?" "I am sorry," faltered Helen, whose breath came faster. "More sorry than I can well express. I dare not ruin a bright future for you. Is there nothing I can say that will prevent you?" "Only one thing," Geoffrey moving nearer looked down upon her until his gaze impelled Helen to lift her eyes. There was no longer any trace of passion in his face, which in spite of its firm lines had grown gentle. "Only one thing," he repeated. "Please listen--it is necessary, even if it hurts you. I cannot blame you for my own folly, but my love is incurable. You are a dutiful daughter, with an almost exaggerated idea of justice, and I know the power circumstances give me. Still, I am so covetous that I must have all or nothing; I love you so that I dare not use the advantage chance has given me. Nevertheless, I will not despair even yet, and some day when, perhaps, absence has hidden some of my many shortcomings, I will come back and beg speech with you." "You are very generous." The words vibrated with sincerity. "Once--always--I have cruelly wronged you----" but here Geoffrey raised his hand and looked at the girl with a wry smile that had no mirth in it. "You have never wronged me, Miss Savine. Once you spoke with a marvelous accuracy, and I am not generous, only so unusually wise that you must have inspired me. I cannot be content with less than the best, and what that is--again, if I am brutal you must remember I cannot help my nature--I will tell you." He stooped, and, before she realized his intentions, deftly caught Helen's hands in each of his own, tightening his grip on them masterfully, until he forced her to look up at him. Helen trembled as she met his eyes. The man had spoken no more than the truth when he said he could not help his nature, and, suddenly transformed, it was the former Geoffrey Thurston she had shrunk from who held her fast. "Yes, I am wise. I know I could bend you to my will now, and that afterwards you would hate me for it," he told her. "I--I would not take you so, not if you came to me. Further, for we have dropped all disguises, and face the naked truth, I have striven, and starved, and suffered for you, risked my life often--and you shall not cheat me of my due, which alone is why, because my time is not come yet, I shall go away. The one reward that will satisfy me is this, that of your own will you will once more hold my hands and say, 'I love you, Geoffrey Thurston,' and I can wait with patience--for you will come to me thus some day." He bent his head; and Helen felt her heart leap; but it was only her fingers upon which his lips burned hot. The next moment he had gone, while leaning breathless against the balustrade she gazed after him. Geoffrey did not glance behind him until, when some distance from the ranch, he reined his horse in, and wiped his forehead. He had yielded at last to an uncontrollable impulse which was perhaps part of his inheritance from the old moss troopers, who had carried off their brides on the crupper. As he walked his horse, a muffled beat of hoofs came up the trail, and he fancied he heard a voice say: "The twentieth--I'll be ready." Then a mounted figure appearing for a moment, vanished among the firs. Geoffrey, turning back to camp, noticed that beside the hollows the hoofs had made, there was the print of human feet in the powdery snow. "There is nothing to bring any rancher down this way, and a man must have walked beside the rider," he speculated. "Who on earth could it be?" Dismissing the incident from his mind, he went on his way. It was only afterwards that the significance of the footprints became apparent. There was a light in Geoffrey's quarters when at last he approached them, and the foreman met him at the door. "That blame waster, Black, has come back. Rode in quietly after dark, and none of the boys have set eyes on him," he said; and, noting his master's surprise, he added with a chuckle, "I put him in there for safety, and waited right here to take care of him." Geoffrey went into the shanty, carefully closed the door, and turned somewhat sternly upon the visitor. Black's outer appearance suggested a degree of prosperity, but his face was anxious as he said, "I guess you're surprised to see me?" "I am," was the answer. "In view of the fact that it is my duty to hand you over to the nearest magistrate, my surprise is hardly astonishing." "No," agreed Black, "it is not. Still, I don't think you'll surrender me. Anyway, you've got to listen to a little story first. You didn't hear the whole of it last time. I figure I can trust you to do the square thing." "Be quick, then." Geoffrey leaned against the table while his visitor began: "You've heard of the Blue Bird mine, and how one of the men who relocated the lapsed claim was found in the river with a gash, which a rock might have made, in the back of his head? Of course you have. Well, it was me and Bob Morgan who located the Blue Bird. Morgan was a good prospector, but the indications were hazy, and he got drunk when he could. I knew mighty little of minerals, and we done nothing with it until the time to put in our legal improvements was nearly up. Then Morgan struck rich pay ore, and we worked night and day. But we weren't quite quick enough--one night two jumpers pulled our stakes up. Oh, yes, they had the law behind them, for says the Crown, 'Unless you've developed your claim within the legal limit, it lapses; and any free miner can relocate.'" "Come to the point," said Thurston. "I'm sleepy." "I'm coming," Black continued; "Morgan had no grit. He got on to the whiskey, and talked about shooting himself. I swore I'd shoot the first of the other crowd who set foot on the claim instead, and half the boys who started driving pegs all round us heard me. There was a doubt as to whether the jumpers had hit the time putting their stakes in, and the boys were most for me, but as usual the thieves had a man with money behind them. His name was Shackleby." "Ah! I begin to understand things now," said Geoffrey. "I was sitting alone in my tent at night when one of them jumpers came in," Black went on, unheeding. "All the rest were sleeping, and the bush was very still. He'd a roll of dollar bills to give me if I'd light out quietly. Said I'd nothing to stand on, but the man behind him didn't want to figure in the papers if it went to court. Well, I wouldn't take the money, and ran him out of my tent. When he touched his pistol, I had an ax in my hand, and it was a poor man's luck that one of the boys must come along. When he'd slouched off, I began to hanker for the money, went after the jumper to see if I could raise his price, missed him and came back again, but I struck his tracks in the mud beside a creek, with another man's hoof-marks behind them. Well, next morning that jumper was found in the river with no money in his wallet, and the boys looked black at me until I had an interview with Mr. Shackleby. He'd fixed the whole thing up good enough to hang me, and nailed me down to blame hard terms as the price of my liberty. You're getting tired--no? Shackleby got the Blue Bird, and kept his claws on me until his man, Leslie, sent me up to bust your machines; but Shackleby has worn me thin, until I'm ready to stand my trial sooner than run any more of his mean jobs for him; and now, to cut the long end off, do you believe me?" "I think I do," replied Geoffrey. "What made you bolt from here, and what do you want from me? Is it the same promise as before?" Black related the incidents of his abduction. He raised his right hand with a dramatic gesture as he concluded: "As I have been a liar, this is gospel truth, s'help me. Whoever killed that jumper--and I figure Shackleby knows--it wasn't me. The night you fished me out of the river I said, 'Here's a man with sand enough to stand right up to Shackleby,' and I'll make a deal with you." "The terms?" said Geoffrey. "Rather better than before. On your part, a smart lawyer to take my case if Shackleby sets the police on me. On mine--with you behind me, I can tell a story that will bring two Companies down on Shackleby. What brought me to the scratch now was, that I read in _The Colonist_ that you'd be through shortly, and I guessed Shackleby's insect, Leslie, would have another shot at you. I'm open to take my chances of hanging to get even with them." The mingled fear and hatred in the speaker's face was certainly genuine, and Geoffrey said briefly: "If I thought you guilty, I'd slip irons on to you. As it is, I'm willing to close that deal. You'll have to take my word and lie quiet, until you're wanted, where I hide you." "I guess that is good enough for me," Black declared exultantly. CHAPTER XXV MILLICENT'S REVOLT "I really feel mean over it, and, of course, I will pay you back, but unless I get the money to meet the call, I shall have to sacrifice the stock," said Henry Leslie, glancing furtively at his wife across the breakfast-table. Leslie was seldom at his best in the morning, but he seemed unusually nervous, and the coffee-cup shook in his fingers as he raised it. "It's the last I'll ask you for," he continued, "and if you press him, Thurston will sign the check. He said he was coming, did he not?" "Yes," was the answer. "Here is his note. It must be the last, Harry, for I have overdrawn my allowance already. You will notice that Geoffrey hesitates, and will not sign the check without seeing me. He will be here on Thursday." Leslie took the letter with an eagerness which did not escape his wife, while, as the sum in question was small, she could not quite understand the satisfaction in his face. It had grown soddened and coarse of late, and there were times when she looked upon her husband with positive disgust. Still, she had, in spite of occasional disputes, resumed her efforts to play the part of a dutiful wife, and it was easier to pay her husband money than respect, the more so because he had usually some specious excuse, which appealed both to her ambition and her gambling instinct. At times he handed her small amounts of money, said to be her share of the profits on speculations, for which he required the loans. "'Pressure of work, but must make an effort to see you as you suggest,'" Leslie read aloud. "H'm! 'Limit exceeded already. Will be in town, and try to call upon you on Thursday.'" "It is very good of him," remarked Millicent. "He evidently finds every minute precious, and I am very reluctant to bring him here. I gather that, except for my request, he would have deferred his other business. Still, I suppose you must have the money, Harry?" "I must," was the answer, and Leslie, who did not look up, busied himself with his plate. "Better write that you expect him, and I will post the note. By the way, I must remind you that we take the Eastern Fishery delegates on their steamer trip the day after to-morrow, and though there may be rather a mixed company, I want you to turn out smartly, and get hold of the best people. It would be well to see a mention of the handsome Mrs. Leslie in the newspaper report." Millicent frowned. She was a vain woman, but she had some genuine pride, and there were limits to her forbearance. By the time her husband had induced her to withdraw her refusal to accompany him, it was too late further to discuss Thurston's visit, which was exactly what Leslie desired. Accordingly, well pleased with himself, he set out for his office, with a letter in his hand. Mrs. Leslie had reason to remember the steamer excursion. A party of prominent persons had been invited to accompany the Fishery delegates on the maritime picnic, organized for the purpose of displaying the facilities that coast afforded for the prosecution of a new industry. It was difficult for the committee to draw a rigid line, and the company was decidedly mixed, more so than even Millicent at first surmised. Her husband, who acted as marshal, was kept busy most of the time, but she noticed a swift look of annoyance on his face when, before the steamer sailed, a tastefully-dressed young woman ascended the gangway, where he was receiving the guests. There was nothing dubious in the appearance of the lady or her elderly companion, and yet Millicent felt that Leslie was troubled by their presence, and hesitated to let them pass. The younger lady, however, smiled upon him in a manner that suggested they had met before, and Leslie stood aside when Shackleby beckoned him with what looked like an ironical grin. Then the gangway was run in, and the engines started. It was a mild day for the season, and Millicent, who found friends, dismissed the subject from her thoughts, when she saw her husband exchange no word with his latest guests. She was sitting with a young married lady, where the sun shone pleasantly in the shelter of the great white deck-house, when a sound of voices came out, with the odor of cigar smoke, from an open window. "You fixed it all right?" observed one voice which sounded familiar, and there was a laugh which, though muffled, was more familiar still. While, with curiosity excited, Millicent listened, a companion broke in: "Where's Mr. Leslie? I have scarcely seen him all morning." "Making himself useful as usual. Discoursing on fisheries and harbors, of which he knows nothing, to men who know a good deal, and no doubt doing it very neatly," said Millicent, smiling. "Why do you let him?" asked the other, with a little gesture of pride, which became her. "Now, my husband knows better than to stay away from me, even if he wanted to. Ah, here he is, bringing good things from the sunny South piled up on a tray." Perhaps it was the contrast, for Millicent felt both resentful and neglected when a young man approached carrying choice fruits and cakes upon a nickeled tray; but before he reached them a voice came through the window again: "You're quite certain? That man has eyes all over him, and it won't do to take any chances with him. He must be kept right here in Vancouver all night, and the game will be in our own hands before he gets back again." "I've done my best," was the answer, and Millicent fancied, but was not certain, that it was her husband who spoke. "I have fixed things so that he will come to Vancouver. The only worry is, can we depend upon the fellow I laid the odds with?" "Oh, yes," responded the second voice. "I guess he knows better than fail me. By the way, you nearly made a fool of yourself over Coralie." "Somebody inside there talking secrets," observed the younger lady. "I think it is Mr. Shackleby, and I don't like that man. Charley, set down that tray and carry my chair and Mrs. Leslie's at least a dozen yards away." Millicent, at the risk of being guilty of eavesdropping, would have greatly preferred to stay where she was; but when the man did his wife's bidding, she could only follow and thank him. Lifting a cluster of fruit from the tray, she asked one question. "Can you tell me, Mr. Nelson, who is Coralie?" Nelson looked startled for a moment, and found it necessary to place another folding chair under the tray. He did not answer until his wife said: "Didn't you hear Mrs. Leslie's question, Charley? Who is Coralie?" "Sounds like the name of a variety actress," answered the man, by no means glibly. "Why should you ask me? I really don't know. I'm not good at conundrums. Isn't this a beautiful view? I fancied you'd have a better appetite up here than amid the crowd below." Millicent's curiosity was further excited by the speaker's manner, but she could only possess her soul in patience, until presently it was satisfied on one point at least. She sat alone for a few minutes on the steamer's highest deck against the colored glass dome of the great white and gold saloon. Several of the brass-guarded lights were open wide, and, hearing a burst of laughter, she looked down. The young woman, who had spoken to Leslie at the gangway, sat at a corner table, partly hidden by two carved pillars below. She held a champagne glass in a lavishly jeweled hand, and there was no doubt that she was pretty, but there was that in her suggestive laugh and mocking curve of the full red lips, something which set Millicent's teeth on edge. If more were needed to increase the unpleasant impression, a rich mine promoter sat near the young woman, trying to whisper confidentially, and another man, whose name was notorious in the city, laughed as he watched them. But Millicent had seen sufficient, and turning her head, looked out to sea. There were, however, several men smoking on the opposite side of the dome, and one of them also must have looked down, for his comment was audible. "They're having what you call a good time down there! Who and what is she?" "Ma'mselle Coralie. Ostensibly a _clairvoyante_," was the dry reply. "_Clairvoyante_!" repeated the first unseen speaker, who, by his clean intonation, Millicent set down as a newly-arrived Englishman. "Do you mean a professional soothsayer?" "Something of the kind," said the other with a laugh. "We're a curious people marching in the forefront of progress, so we like to think, and yet we consult hypnotists and all kinds of fakirs, even about our business. Walk down ---- Street and you'll see half-a-dozen of their name-plates. When they're young and handsome they get plenty of customers, and it's suspected that Coralie, with assistance, runs a select gambling bank of evenings. The charlatan is not tied to one profession." "I catch on--correct phrase, isn't it?" rejoined the Englishman. "Of course, you're liberal minded and free from effete prejudice, but I hardly fancied the wives of your best citizens would care to meet such ladies." "They wouldn't if they knew it!" was the answer. "Coralie's a newcomer; such women are birds of passage, and before she grows too famous the police will move her on. In fact, I've been wondering how she got on board to-day." "Leslie passed her up the gangway," said another man, adding, with a suggestive laugh as he answered another question: "Why did he do it? Well, perhaps he's had his fortune told, or you can ask him. Anyway, although I think he wanted to, he dared not turn her back." Millicent, rising, slipped away. Trembling with rage, she was glad to lean upon the steamer's rail. She had discovered long ago that her husband was not a model of virtue, but the knowledge that his shortcomings were common property was particularly bitter to her. Of late she had dutifully endeavored to live on good terms with him, and it was galling to discover that he had only, it seemed, worked upon her softer mood for the purpose of extorting money to lavish upon illicit pleasures. She felt no man could sink lower than that, and determined there should be a reckoning that very night. "My dear Mrs. Leslie," said a voice beside her. "Why, you look quite ill. My husband brought a bottle of stuff guaranteed to cure steamboat malady. Run and get it, Charley," and Millicent turned to meet her young married friend. "Please don't trouble, Mr. Nelson. I am not in the least sea-sick," Millicent replied. "You might, however, spread out that deck chair for me. It is a passing faintness which will leave me directly." She remembered nothing about the rest of the voyage, except that, when the steamer reached the wharf, her husband, who helped her down the gangway, said: "I have promised to go to the conference and afterwards dine with the delegates, Millicent, so I dare say you will excuse me. I shall not be late if I can help it, and you might wait up for me." Millicent, who had intended to wait for him, in any case, merely nodded, and went home alone. She sat beside the English hearth all evening with an open book upside down upon her knee, and her eyes turned towards the clock, which very slowly ticked away the last hours she would spend beneath her husband's roof. There was spirit in her, and though she hardly knew why, she dressed herself for the interview carefully. When Leslie entered, his eyes expressed admiration as she rose with cold dignity and stood before him. Leslie was sober, but unfortunately for himself barely so, for the delegates had been treated with lavish Western hospitality, and there had been many toasts to honor during the dinner. He leaned against the wall with one hand on a carved bracket, looking down upon her with what seemed to be a leer of brutal pride upon his slightly-flushed face. "You excelled yourself to-day, Millicent. I saw no end of folks admiring you," he said. "Most satisfactory day! Everything went off famously! Enjoyed yourself, eh?" "I can hardly say I did, but that is not what you asked me to wait for," was the cold answer, and Millicent with native caution waited to hear what the man wanted before committing herself. "No. I meant it, but it wasn't. I couldn't help saying I was proud of you." Leslie paused, doubtless satisfied, his wife thought, that he had smoothed the way sufficiently by a clumsy compliment. His abilities were not at their best just then. Millicent's thin lips curled scornfully as she listened. "Thurston will be here on Thursday," he continued. "Never liked the man, but he has behaved decently as your trustee, and I want to be fair to him. Besides, he's a rising genius, and it's as well to be on good terms with him. Couldn't you get him to stay to dinner and talk over the way they've invested your legacy?" "Do you think he would care to meet you?" asked Millicent, cuttingly. "Perhaps he mightn't. You could have the Nelsons over, and press of business might detain me. Anyway, you'll have no time to settle all about that money and your English property if he goes out on the Atlantic train. You two seem to have got quite friendly again, and I'm tolerably sure he'd stay if you asked him." Millicent's anger was rising all the time; but, because her suspicions increased every moment, she kept herself in hand. Feeling certain this was part of some plot, and that her husband was not steady enough to carry out his _rôle_ cleverly, she desired to discover his exact intentions before denouncing him. "Why should I press him?" Had it been before the dinner Leslie might have acted more discreetly. As it was, he looked at the speaker somewhat blankly. "Why? Because I want you to. Now don't ask troublesome questions or put on your tragedy air, Millicent, but just promise to keep him here until after the east-bound train starts, anyway. I'm not asking for caprice--I--I particularly want a man to see him who will not be in the city until the following day." Then, remembering what she had heard outside the steamer's deck house, a light suddenly broke in upon the woman. The man whose keen eyes would interfere with Shackleby's plans must be Thurston, and it was evident there was a scheme on hand to wreck his work in his absence. Once she had half-willingly assisted her husband to Thurston's detriment; but much had changed since then, and remembering that she had already, without knowing it, played into the confederate's hands by writing to him, her indignation mastered her. "I could not persuade him against his wishes, and would not do so if I could," she declared, turning full upon her husband. "You can and must," replied Leslie, whose passion blazed up. "I'm about sick of your obstinacy and fondness for dramatic situations. You could do anything with any man you laid yourself out to inveigle, as I know to my cost, and in this case--by the Lord, I'll make you!" "I will not!" Millicent's face was white with anger as she fixed her eyes on him. "For a few moments you shall listen to me. What you and Shackleby are planning does not concern me; but I will not move a finger to help you. Once before you said--what you have done--and if I have never forgotten it I tried to do so. This time I shall do neither. I have borne very much from you already, but, sunk almost to your level as I am, there are things I cannot stoop to countenance. For instance, the draft I am to cajole from Thurston is not intended for a speculation in mining shares, but--for Coralie." The little carved bracket came down from the wall with a crash, and Leslie, whose face was swollen with fury, gripped the speaker's arm savagely. "After to-morrow you can do just what pleases you and go where you will," he responded in a voice shaking with rage and fear. "But in this I will make you obey me. As to Coralie, somebody has slandered me. The money is for what I told you, and nothing else." Millicent with an effort wrenched herself free. "It is useless to protest, for I would not believe your oath," she said, looking at him steadily with contempt showing in every line of her pose. "Obey--you! As the man I, with blind folly, abandoned for you warned me, you are too abject a thing. Liar, thief, have I not said sufficient?--adulterer!" "Quite!" cried Leslie, who yielded to the murderous fury which had been growing upon him, and leaning down struck her brutally upon the mouth. "What I am you have made me--and, by Heaven, it is time I repaid you in part." Millicent staggered a little under the blow, which had been a heavy one, but her wits were clear, and, moving swiftly to a bell button, the pressure of her finger was answered by a tinkle below. "I presume you do not wish to make a public scandal," she said thickly, for the lace handkerchief she removed from her smarting lips was stained with blood. Then, as their Chinese servant appeared in the doorway, "Your master wants you, John." Before Leslie could grasp her intentions she had vanished, there was a rustle of drapery on the stairway, followed by the jar of a lock, and he was left face to face was the stolid Asiatic. "Wantee someling, sah?" the Chinaman asked. Leslie glared at him speechless until, with a humble little nod, the servant said: "Linga linga bell; too much hullee, John quick come. Wantee someling. Linga linga bell." "Go the devil. Oh, get out before I throw you," roared Leslie, and John vanished with the waft of a blue gown, while Millicent's book crashed against the door close behind his head. CHAPTER XXVI A RECKLESS JOURNEY The rising moon hung low above the lofty pines behind the city, when Millicent sank shivering into a chair beside the window of her bedroom. Under the impact of the blow her teeth had gashed her upper lip, but she did not feel the pain as she sat with hands clenched, looking down on the blaze of silver that grew broader across the inlet. She was faint and dizzy, incapable as yet of definite thought; but confused memories flashed through her brain, one among them more clearly than the rest. Instead of land-locked water shimmering beneath the Western pines, she saw dim English beeches with the coppery disk of the rising moon behind, and she heard a tall man speak with stinging scorn to one who cowered before him among the shadows. "I was mad that night, and have paid for the madness ever since. Now when it is too late I know what I have lost!" she gasped with a catch of the breath that was a sob repressed. There was a heavy step on the stairway, and Millicent shrank with the nausea of disgust as somebody tried the door. She drew a deep breath of relief, when the steps passed on unevenly. The memories returned. They led her through a long succession of mistakes, falsehoods, slights and wrongs up to the present, and she shivered again, while a heavy drop of blood splashed warm upon her hand. Then she was mistress of herself once more, and a hazy purpose grew into definite shape. She could at least warn the man whom she had wronged, and so make partial reparation. It was not a wish for revenge upon her husband which prompted her to desire that amends might be made for her past treachery. Smarting with shame, she longed only to escape from him. After the day's revelations she could never forgive that blow. Millicent was a woman of action, and it was a relief to consider practical details. She decided that a telegram might lie for days at the station nearest the cañon, while what distance divided one from the other she did not know. There was no train before noon the next day, and she feared that the plot might be put into execution as soon as Geoffrey left his camp. Therefore, she must reach it before he did so. Afterwards--but she would not consider the future then, and, if she could but warn him, nothing mattered greatly, neither physical peril nor the risk of her good name. It was long before Millicent Leslie had thought all this out, but when once her way seemed clear, exhausted by conflicting emotions, she sank into heavy slumber, and the sun was high before she awakened. Leslie had gone to his office, and she ate a little, chose her thickest furs, and waited for noon in feverish suspense. Her husband might return and prevent her departure by force. She feared that, should he guess her intention, a special locomotive might be hired, even after the train had started. It was, therefore, necessary to slip away without word or sign, unless, indeed, she could mislead him, and, smiling mirthlessly, she laid an open letter inside her writing-case. At last the time came, and she went out carrying only a little hand-bag, passed along the unfrequented water side to the station by the wharf, and ensconced herself in the corner of the car nearest the locomotive, counting the seconds until it should start. Once she trembled when she saw Shackleby hurry along the platform, but she breathed again when he hailed a man leaning out from the vestibule of a car. At last, the big bell clanged, and the Atlantic express, rolling out of the station, began its race across the continent. It was nearly dusk when, with a scream of brakes, the cars lurched into a desolate mountain station, and Millicent shivered as she alighted in the frost-dried dust of snow. A nipping wind sighed down the valley. The tall firs on the hillside were fading into phantom battalions of climbing trees, and above them towered a dim chaos of giant peaks, weirdly awe-inspiring under the last faint glimmer of the dying day. A few lights blinked among the lower firs, and Millicent, hurrying towards them at the station agent's direction, was greeted by the odors of coarse tobacco as she pushed open the door of the New Eldorado saloon. A group of bronze-faced men, some in jackets of fringed deerskin and some in coarse blue jean, sat about the stove, and, though Millicent involuntarily shrank from them, there was no reason why she should feel any fear in their presence. They were rude of aspect--on occasion more rude of speech--but, in all the essentials that become a man, she would have found few to surpass them in either English or Western cities. There was dead silence as she entered, and the others copied him when one of the loungers, rising, took off his shapeless hat, not ungracefully. "I want a guide and good horse to take me to Thurston's camp in the Orchard River Cañon to-night," she said. The men looked at one another, and the one who rose first replied: "Sorry to disappoint you, ma'am, but it's clean impossible. We'll have snow by morning, and it's steep chances a man couldn't get through in the dark now the shelf on the wagon trail's down." "I must go. It is a matter of life and death, and I'm willing to pay whoever will guide me proportionate to the risk," insisted Millicent, shaking out on the table a roll of bills. Then, because she was a woman of quick perceptions, and noticed something in the big axeman's honest face, she added quickly, "I am in great distress, and disaster may follow every moment lost. Is there nobody in this settlement with courage enough to help me?" This time the listeners whispered as they glanced sympathetically at the speaker. The big man said: "If you're willing to face the risk I'll go with you. You can put back most of your money; but, because we're poor men you'll be responsible for the horses." Millicent felt the cold strike through her with the keenness of steel when the went out into the night. Somebody lifted her to the back of a snorting horse, and a man already mounted seized its bridle. There was a shout of "Good luck!" and they had started on their adventurous journey. Loose floury snow muffled the beat of hoofs, the lights of the settlement faded behind and the two were alone in a wilderness of awful white beauty, wherein it seemed no living thing had broken the frozen silence since the world was made. Staring vacantly before her Millicent saw the shoulders of the mighty peaks looming far above her through a haze of driving snow, which did not reach the lower slopes, where even the wind was still. The steam of the horses hung in white clouds about them as they climbed, apparently for hours, past scattered vedettes of dwindling pines. After a long pull on a steep trail the man checked the horses on the brink of a chasm filled with eddying mist. "That should have been our way, but the whole blame trail slipped down into the valley," the man said. "Let me take hold of your bridle and trust to me. We're going straight over the spur yonder until we strike the trail again." It was no longer a ride but a scramble. Even those sure-footed horses stumbled continually, and where the wind had swept the thin snow away, the iron on the sliding hoofs clanged on ice-streaked rock, or hundredweights of loose gravel rattled down the incline. Then there was juniper to be struggled through. They came to slopes almost precipitous up which the panting guide somehow dragged the horses, but, one strong with muscular vigor and the other sustained by sheer force of will, the two riders held stubbornly on. Millicent had risen superior to physical weakness that night. "Four hours to the big divide! We've pretty well equaled Thurston's record," said the guide, striking a match inside his hollowed palm to consult his watch. "It's all down grade now, but we'll meet the wind in the long pass and maybe the snow." Millicent's heart almost failed her when, as the match went out, she gazed down into the gulf of darkness that opened at her feet, but she answered steadily: "Press on. I must reach the camp by daylight, whatever happens." They went on. The pace, instead of a scramble, became in places a wild glissade, and no beast of burden but a mountain pack-horse could have kept its footing ten minutes. Dark pines rose up from beneath them and faded back of them, here and there a scarred rock or whitened boulder flitted by, and then Millicent's sight was dimmed by a whirling haze of snow. How long the descent lasted she did not know. She could see nothing through the maze of eddying flakes but that a figure, magnified by them to gigantic proportions, rode close beside her, until they left the cloud behind and wound along the face of a declivity, which dipped into empty blackness close beneath. Suddenly her horse stumbled; there was a flounder and a shock, and Millicent felt herself sliding very swiftly down a long slope of crusted snow. Hoarse with terror, she screamed once, then something seized and held her fast, and she rose, shaking in every limb, to cling breathless to the guide. "Hurt bad?" he gasped. "No!--I'm mighty glad. Snow slide must have gouged part of the trail out. Can you hold up a minute while I 'tend to the horse?" "I don't think I am much hurt," stammered Millicent, whose teeth were chattering, and the man floundering back a few paces, stooped over a dark object that struggled in the snow. She fancied that he fumbled at his belt, after which there was a horrible gurgle, and he returned rubbing his fingers suggestively with a handful of snow. "Poor brute's done for--I had to settle him," he explained. "It will cost you--but we can fix that when we get through. I'll have to change your saddle, and the sooner we get on the better. Won't keep you five minutes, ma'am." Millicent felt very cold and sick, for the unfortunate horse still struggled feebly, while the gurgle continued, and she was devoutly thankful when they continued their journey. The traveling was, if possible, more arduous than before. At times they forced a passage through climbing forest, and again over slopes of treacherous shale where a snow slide had plowed a great hollow in the breast of the hill. The puffs of snow which once more met them grew thicker until Millicent was sheeted white all over. At last the man said: "It can't be far off daylight and I'm mighty thankful. I've lost my bearings, but we're on a trail, which must lead to somewhere, at last. Stick tight to your saddle and I'll bring you through all right, ma'am." Millicent was too cold to answer. A blast that whirled the drifts up met her in the face, numbing all her faculties and rendering breathing difficult. The hand that held the bridle was stiffened into uselessness. Still, while life pulsed within her, she was going on, and swaying in the saddle, she fixed her eyes ahead. At last the trail grew level, the snow thinner. In the growing light of day a cluster of roofs loomed up before her, and she made some incoherent answer when her guide confessed: "I struck the wrong way at the forking of the trail. Here's a ranch, however, and the camp can't be far away. Horse is used up and so am I, but you could get somebody to take Thurston a message." Some minutes later he lifted Millicent from the saddle, and she leaned against him almost powerless as he pounded on the door. The loud knocking was answered by voices within, the door swung open, and Millicent reeled into a long hall. Two women rose from beside the stove, and, for it was broad daylight now, stared in bewilderment at the strangers. The guide leaned wearily against the wall, while Millicent, overcome by the change of temperature, stood clutching at the table and swaying to and fro. Then her failing strength deserted her. Somebody who helped her into a chair presently held a cup of warm liquid to her lips. She gulped down a little, and, recovering command of her senses, found herself confronted by Helen Savine. It was a curious meeting, and even then Millicent remembered under what circumstances they had last seen each other. It appeared probable that Helen remembered, too, for she showed no sign of welcome, and Mrs. Thomas Savine, who picked up the fallen cup, watched them intently. "I see you are surprised to find me here," said Millicent, with a gasp. "I left the railroad last night for Geoffrey Thurston's camp. We lost the trail and one of the horses in the snow, and just managed to reach this ranch. We can drag ourselves no further. I did not know the ranch belonged to you." "That's about it!" the guide broke in. "This lady has made a journey that would have killed some men--it has pretty well used me up, anyway. I'll sit down in the corner if you don't mind. Can't keep myself right end up much longer." "Please make yourself comfortable!" said Helen, with a compassionate glance in his direction. "I will tell our Chinaman to see to your horse." She turned towards Millicent, and her face was coldly impassive. "Anyone in distress is welcome to shelter here. You were going to Mr. Thurston's camp?" Even Mrs. Savine had started at Millicent's first statement, and now she read contemptuous indignation in Helen's eyes. It was certain her niece's voice, though even, was curiously strained. "Yes!" answered Millicent, rapidly. "I was going to Geoffrey Thurston's camp. It is only failing strength that hinders me from completing the journey. Somebody must warn him at once that he is on no account to leave for Vancouver as he promised me that he would. There is a plot to ruin him during his absence--a traitor among his workmen, I think. At any moment the warning may be too late. He was starting west to-day to call on me." Millicent was half-dazed and perhaps did not reflect that it was possible to draw a damaging inference from her words. Nevertheless, there was that in Helen's expression which awoke a desire for retaliation. Helen asked but one question, "You risked your life to tell him this?" and when Millicent bent her head the guide interposed, "You can bet she did, and nearly lost it." "Then," said the girl, "the warning must not be thrown away. Unfortunately, we have nobody I could send just now. Auntie, you must see to Mrs. Leslie; I will go myself." "I'm very sorry, miss. If you like I'll do my best, but can hardly promise that I won't fall over on the way," apologized the guide; but Helen hastened out of the room, and now that the strain was over, Millicent lay helpless in her chair. Still, she was conscious of a keen disappointment. After all she had dared and suffered, it was Helen who would deliver the warning. Thurston was standing knee-deep in ground-up stone and mire, inside a coffer dam about which the river frothed and roared, when a man brought him word that Miss Savine waited for him. He hurried to meet her, and presently halted beside her horse--a burly figure in shapeless slouch hat, with a muddy oilskin hanging from his shoulders above the stained overalls and long boots. Helen sat still in the saddle, a strange contrast to him, for she was neat and dainty down to the little foot in Indian dressed deerskin against the horse's flank. She showed no sign of pleasure as she returned his greeting, but watched him keenly as she said: "Mrs. Leslie arrived this morning almost frozen at the ranch. She left the railroad last night to reach your camp, but her guide lost the trail." The man was certainly startled, but his face betrayed no satisfaction. It's most visible expression was more akin to annoyance. "Could she not have waited?" he asked impatiently, adding somewhat awkwardly, "Did Mrs. Leslie explain why she wanted to see me so particularly?" "Yes," was the quick answer. "She has reason to believe that while you journeyed to Vancouver to visit her, an attempt would be made to wreck these workings. She bade me warn you that there is a traitor in your camp." "Ah," replied Geoffrey, a flush showing through the bronze on his forehead. He thought hastily of all his men and came back to the consciousness of Helen's presence with a start. "It was very good of you to face the rough cold journey, but you cannot return without rest and refreshment," he said with a look that spoke of something more than gratitude. "I will warn my foremen, and when it seems safe will ride back with you." If Helen had been gifted with a wider knowledge of life she might perhaps have noticed several circumstances that proved Thurston blameless. As it was she had a quick temper, and at first glance facts spoke eloquently against him. "You cannot," was the cold answer. "The warning was very plain, and considering all that is at stake you must not leave the workings a moment. Neither are any thanks due to me. I am an interested party, and the person who has earned your gratitude is Mrs. Leslie. The day is clear and fine, and I can dispense with an escort." "You shall not go alone," declared Thurston, doggedly. "You can choose between my company and that of my assistant. And you shall not go until you rest. Further, I must ask you a favor. Will you receive Mrs. Leslie until I have seen her and arranged for her return? There is no married rancher within some distance, and I cannot well bring her here." "You cannot," agreed Helen averting her eyes. "If only on account of the service she has rendered, Mrs. Leslie is entitled to such shelter as we can offer her, as long as it appears necessary." "Thanks!" said Thurston, gravely. "You relieve me of a difficulty." Then, stung by the girl's ill-concealed disdain into one of his former outbreaks, he gripped the horse's bridle, and backed the beast so that he and its rider were more fully face to face. "Am I not harassed sufficiently? Good Lord! do you think----" he began. "I have neither the right nor desire to inquire into your motives," responded Helen distantly. "We will, as I say, shelter Mrs. Leslie, and, since you insist, will you ask your assistant to accompany me?" Geoffrey, raising his hat a moment, swung round upon his heel, and blew a silver whistle. "Tom," he said to the man who came running up, "tell John to get some coffee and the nicest things he can in a hurry for Miss Savine. Straighten up my office room, and lay them out there. English Jim is to ride back with Miss Savine when she is ready. Send a mounted man to Allerton's to bring Black in, see that no man you wouldn't trust your last dollar to lay's hand on a machine. That would stop half the work in camp? It wouldn't--confound you--you know what I mean. Call in all explosives from the shot-firing gang. Nobody's to slip for a moment out of sight of his section foreman." Helen heard the crisp sharp orders as she rode up the hill, and glanced once over her shoulder. She had often noticed how the whole strength of Geoffrey's character could rise to face a crisis. Still, appearances were terribly against him. Geoffrey, taking breath for a moment, scowled savagely at the river. "If ever there was an unfortunate devil--but I suppose it can't be helped. Damn the luck that dogs me!" he ejaculated as he turned to issue more specific commands. CHAPTER XXVII MRS. SAVINE SPEAKS HER MIND Millicent slept brokenly while Helen carried her message, and awakening feverish, felt relieved to discover that the girl was still absent. Miss Savine was younger than herself, and of much less varied experience, but the look in the girl's eyes hurt her, nevertheless. "I am ashamed to force myself upon you," she said to Mrs. Savine, who had shown her many small courtesies, "but I am afraid I cannot manage the journey back to the railroad to-day. I must also see Mr. Thurston before I leave for England, and it would be a great favor if I could have the interview here." "We are glad to have you with us," said Mrs. Savine, who was of kindly nature and fancied she saw her opportunity. "Yes, I just mean it. The journey has tried you so much that you are not fit for another now. Besides, I have heard so much about you, that I want a talk with you." "You have probably heard nothing that makes this visit particularly welcome," answered Millicent, bitterly, and the elder lady smiled. "I guess folks are apt to make the most of the worst points in all of us," she observed. "But that is not what we are going to talk about. You are an old friend of a man we are indebted to, and, just because I believe there's no meanness in Geoffrey Thurston, you are very welcome to the best that we can do for you. I will ask him over to meet you." Millicent flushed. Under the circumstances she was touched by the speaker's sincerity, and grateful for the way she expressed herself. Perhaps it was this which prompted her to an almost involuntary outpouring of confidence. "I am the woman who should have married him," she said simply. Mrs. Savine merely nodded, and dipped her needle somewhat blindly into the embroidery on her knee before she replied: "I had guessed it already. You missed a very good husband, my dear. I don't want to force your confidence, but I imagine that you have some distress to bear, and I might help you. I have seen a good deal of trouble in my time." Millicent was unstable by nature. She was also excited and feverish. Afterwards she wondered why a kindly word from a woman she knew so slightly should excite in her such a desire for advice and sympathy. In spite of her occasional brusqueries, it was hard for anyone to say no to Mrs. Savine. So Millicent answered, with a sigh: "I know it now when it is too late--no one knows it better. You do well to believe in Geoffrey Thurston." Mrs. Savine looked at her very keenly, then nodded. "I believe in you, too. There! I guess you can trust me." Millicent bent her head, and her eyes were misty. A raw wound, which the frost had irritated, marred the delicate curve of her upper lip. It became painfully visible. "It is only fit that I should tell you, since I am your guest," she said, touching the scar with one finger. "That is the mark of my husband's hand, and I am leaving him forever because I would not connive at Geoffrey's ruin. Geoffrey is acting as trustee for my property, and I cannot leave for England without consulting him. So much is perhaps due to you, and--because of your kindness I should not like you to think too ill of me--I will tell you the rest. To begin with, Geoffrey has never shown me anything but kindness." Mrs. Savine gently patted the speaker's arm, and Millicent related what had led up to her journey, or part of it. When she had finished, the elder lady commented: "You are doing a risky thing; but I can't quite blame you, and if I could, I would not do it now. You will stay right here until Geoffrey has fixed up all plans for your journey, and you can trust me to be kind to you. Still, there's one favor I'm going to ask. I want you to let me tell my niece as much of what you have told me as I think desirable. Remember, Geoffrey has been good to you." For a moment Millicent's face grew hard, and her eyes defiant. She smiled sadly as she answered: "It is his due, and can make no difference now. Tell her what seems best." Meanwhile, Geoffrey was busy in the cañon camp. With Black and Mattawa Tom beside him, he stood holding as symbol, both of equality and authority, a bright ax in his hand, while driller, laborer, and machine-tender, wondering greatly, were passed in review before him. Black had been boarded with a trust rancher some distance from the camp. At last a certain rock driller passed in turn, and Tom from Mattawa explained: "He's a friend of Walla Jake, and as I told you, the last man we put on." "That's the blame reptile who backed up Shackleby's story at the Blue Bird mine," cried Black, excitedly. "If there's anyone up to mischief, you can bet all you've got he's the man." "Stop there, you!" Geoffrey's voice was sharp and stern. "Cut him down if he feels for a revolver or tries to make a break of it, section foreman. Come here, close in behind him, you two." After a swift glance over his shoulder the man who was summoned advanced, scowling darkly. He sullenly obeyed Geoffrey's second command, "Stand there--now a few steps aside," leaving his footprints clearly outlined in a patch of otherwise untrodden snow. "Good!" observed Geoffrey. "Lay your template [Transcriber's note: corrected from "templet"] on those marks, Tom." After the foreman had produced a paper pattern which fitted them, Thurston added: "We're going to make a prisoner of you, and jail you ourselves, until we can get a formal warrant. What for? Well, you're going to be tried for conspiracy among the other things. You see that pattern? It fits the foot of a man who went out one night with a spy Shackleby sent over to see how and when you would play the devil with our work in the cañon. It even shows the stump of the filed-off creeper-spike on your right boot. There's no use protesting--a friend of yours here will help us to trace your career back to the finding of the Blue Bird mine. Take him along and lock him into the galvanized store shed." The prisoner was taken away, and Geoffrey turned to his foreman. "He was in the drilling gang, Tom?" "Juss so! Working under the wall bed of the cañon." "That lets some light on to the subject. You can dismiss the others. Come with me, Tom." Twenty minutes later Geoffrey stood among the boulders that the shrunken river had left exposed near the foot of a giant cliff which, instead of overhanging, thrust forward a slanting spur into the rush of water, and so formed a bend. It was one of the main obstacles Geoffrey, who wondered at the formation, had determined to remove by the simultaneous shock of several heavy blasting charges. To that end a gang of men had long been drilling deep holes into the projecting spur, and on the preceding day charges of high explosives had been sunk in most of them with detonators and fuses ready coupled for connection to the igniting gear. Geoffrey stood upon a boulder and looked up at the tremendous face of rock which, rising above the spur, held up the hill slope above. The stratification was looser than usual, and several mighty masses had fallen from it into the river. There were also crannies at its feet. "You've seen all the drilled holes. Anything strike you yet?" inquired Mattawa Tom. "Yes," was the answer. "It occurs to me that French Louis said he couldn't tally out all the sticks of giant powder that he'd stowed away a week or two ago. I think you foolishly told him he couldn't count straight." "I did," admitted Tom from Mattawa. "Louis ain't great at counting, and he allowed he'd never let go of the key to the powder magazine." "I fancy a smart mechanic could make a key that would do as well," remarked Geoffrey. "It strikes me, also, after considering the strata yonder, that, if sufficient shots were fired in those crannies, they would bring the whole cliff and the hillside above it down on top of us--you'll remember I cautioned you to drill well clear of the rock face itself? Now, if coupled fuses were led from the shot holes we filled to those we didn't, so that both would fire simultaneously, nobody afterwards would find anything suspicious under several thousand tons of debris. I'm inclined to think there are such fuses. Take your shovel, and we'll look for them." They worked hard for half an hour, and then Geoffrey chuckled. Lifting what looked like a stout black cord from among the rubble where it was carefully hidden, Mattawa Tom said: "This time I guess you've struck it dead." "Follow the thing up," Geoffrey commanded. This was done, and further searching revealed the charges for which they were searching, skillfully concealed in the crannies. Geoffrey's face was grim as he said: "It was planned well. They would have piled half yonder shoulder of the range into the cañon if they had got their devilish will. Pull up every fuse, and fix fresh detonators to all the charges. Change every man in that gang, and never leave this spot except when the section boss replaces you, until we're ready for firing. Thank Heaven that will be in a few more days, and my nerves may hold out that long. I've hardly had an hour's sleep in the last week, Tom." While Geoffrey was acting in accordance with the warning she had delivered, Helen was on her way back to the ranch with his assistant as her escort. Helen had not forgotten that it was her remonstrance which had originally obtained a humble appointment for English Jim. He had several times visited the ranch with messages, and was accordingly invited to enter when they reached the house. He recognized Mrs. Leslie at once, but he could be discreet, and, warned by something in her manner, addressed no word to her until he found opportunity for a few moments' private speech before leaving. "You remember me, I see," Millicent said, and English Jim bowed. "I do; perhaps because I have reason to. Though most reluctant to say so, I lost a valuable paper the last time I was in your presence, and that paper was afterwards used against my employer. Pardon me for speaking so plainly; you said you were a friend of Mr. Thurston's." "You need not be diffident," replied Millicent, checking him with a wave of her hand. "Suppose it was I who found the drawing? You would be willing to keep silence in return for----" It was English Jim who interrupted now. "In return for your solemn promise to render no more assistance to our enemies. I do not forget your kindness, and hate the painful necessity of speaking so to you, but I am Thurston's man, soul and body." "I ask your pardon," said Millicent. "Will you believe me if I say that I lately ran some risk to bring Mr. Thurston a much-needed warning? I am going to England in a day or two, and shall never come back again. Therefore, you can rely upon my promise." "Implicitly," returned English Jim. "You must have had some reason I cannot guess for what you did. That sounds like presumption, doesn't it? But you can count upon my silence, madam." "You are a good man." Millicent impulsively held out her hand to him. "I have met very few so loyal or so charitable. May I wish you all prosperity in your career?" English Jim merely bowed as he went out, and Millicent's eyes grew dim as she thought of her treachery to Geoffrey. "There are good men in the world after all, though it has been my misfortune to chiefly come across the bad," she admitted to herself. Darkness had fallen when Thurston rode up to the ranch. He passed half an hour alone with Millicent and went away without speaking to anyone else. After he had gone Millicent said to Mrs. Savine: "I start for England as soon as possible, and Mr. Thurston is going to the railroad with me. I shall never return to Canada." Pleading fatigue, she retired early, and for a time Mrs. Savine and Helen sat silently in the glow of the great hearth upon which immense logs were burning. There was no other light in the room, and each flicker of the fire showed that Helen's face was more than usually serious. "Did you know that it was Mrs. Leslie Geoffrey should have married?" asked Mrs. Savine at length. "No," answered Helen, flushing. With feeling she added. "Perhaps I ought to have guessed it. She leaves shortly, does the not? It will be a relief. She must be a wicked woman, but please don't talk of her." "That is just what I'm going to do," declared her aunt, gravely. "I wouldn't guarantee that she is wholly good, but I blame her poison-mean husband more than her. Anyway, she is better than you suppose her." "I made no charge against her, and am only glad she is going," said Helen Savine. Mrs. Savine smiled shrewdly. "Well, I am going to show you there is nothing in that charge. Not quite logical, is it, but sit still there and listen to me." Helen listened, at first very much against her will, presently she grew half-convinced, and at last wholly so. She blushed crimson as she said: "May I be forgiven for thinking evil--but such things do happen, and though I several times made myself believe, even against, the evidence of my eyes, that I was wrong, appearances were horribly against her. I am tired and will say good-night, auntie." "Not yet," interposed Mrs. Savine, laying a detaining grasp upon her. "Sit still, my dear, I'm only beginning. Appearances don't always count for much. Now, there's Mrs. Christopher who started in to copy my elixir. Oh, yes, it was like it in smell and color, but she nearly killed poor Christopher with it." "She said it cured him completely," commented Helen, hoping to effect a diversion; but Mrs. Savine would not be put off. "We won't argue about that, though there'll be a coroner called in the next time she makes a foolish experiment. Now I'm going to give my husband's confidences away. Hardly fair to Tom, but I'll do it, because it seems necessary, and the last time I didn't go quite far enough. To begin with. Did you know the opposition wanted to buy Geoffrey over, paying him two dollars for every one he could have made out of your father?" "No," answered Helen, starting. "It was very loyal of him to refuse. Why did he do so?" Mrs. Savine smiled good-humoredly. "I guess you think that's due to your dignity, but you don't fool me. Look into your mirror, Helen, if you really want to know. Did you hear that he put every dollar he'd made in Canada into the scheme? Of course you didn't; he made Tom promise he would never tell you. Besides--but I forgot, I must not mention that." "Please spare me any more, auntie," pleaded Helen, who was overcome by a sudden realization of her own injustice and absolute selfishness. "No mercy this time," was the answer, given almost genially. "Like the elixir which doesn't taste pleasant, it's good for you. You didn't know, either, for the same reason, that not long ago Tom was badly scared for fear he'd have to let the whole thing go for lack of money. It would have been the end of Julius Savine if he had been forced to give up this great enterprise." "I never thought things were so bad, but how does it concern Mr. Thurston?" Helen questioned her aunt in a voice that was trembling. "Geoffrey straightened out all the financial affairs in just this way. A relative in England left an estate to be divided between him and Mrs. Leslie. There was enough to keep him safe for life, if he'd let it lie just where it was, but he didn't. No, he sold out all that would have earned him a life income for any price he could, and turned over every cent of it to help your father. Now I've about got through, but I've one question to ask you. Would the man who did all that--you can see why--be likely to fool with another man's wife, even if it was the handsome Mrs. Leslie?" "No," said Helen, whose cheeks, which had grown pallid, flushed like a blush rose. "I am glad you told me, auntie, but I feel I shall never have the courage to look that man in the face again." Mrs. Savine smiled, though her eyes glistened in the firelight as she laid a thin hand on one of Helen's, which felt burning hot as the fingers quivered within her grasp. "You will, or that will hurt him more than all," she replied. "It wasn't easy to tell you this, but I've seen too many lives ruined for the want of a little common-sense talking--and I figure Jacob wouldn't come near beating Geoffrey Thurston." Helen rose abruptly. "Auntie, you will see to father--he has been better lately--for just a little while, will not you?" she asked. "Mrs. Crighton has invited me so often to visit her, and I really need a change. This valley has grown oppressive, and I must have time to think." "Yes," assented Mrs. Savine. "But you must stand by your promise to fire the final shot." The door closed, and Mrs. Savine, removing her spectacles, wiped both them and her eyes as she remarked: "I hope the Almighty will forgive a meddlesome old woman for interfering, knowing she means well." CHAPTER XXVIII LESLIE STEPS OUT Henry Leslie did not return home at noon on the day following the altercation with his wife. Millicent had an ugly temper, but she would cool down if he gave her time, he said to himself. In the evening he fell in with two business acquaintances from a mining district, who were visiting the city for the purpose of finding diversion and they invited him to assist them in their search for amusement. Leslie, though unprincipled, lacked several qualities necessary for a successful rascal, and, oppressed by the fear of Shackleby's displeasure should Thurston return to the mountains prematurely, and uncertain what to do, was willing to try to forget his perplexities for an hour or two. The attempt was so far successful that he went home at midnight, somewhat unsteadily, a good many dollars poorer than when he set out. Trying the door of his wife's room, he found it locked. He did not suspect that it had been locked on the outside and that Millicent had thrown the key away. He was, however, rather relieved than otherwise by the discovery of the locked door, and, sleeping soundly, wakened later than usual next morning. Millicent, however, was neither at the breakfast-table nor in her own room when he pried the door open. He saw that some garments and a valise were missing, and decided that she had favored certain friends with her company, and, returning mollified, would make peace again, as had happened before. Still, he was uneasy until he espied her writing-case with the end of a letter protruding. Reading the letter, he discovered it to be an invitation to Victoria. He noticed on the blotter the reversed impression of an addressed envelope, which showed that she had answered the invitation. Two days passed, and, hearing nothing, he grew dissatisfied again, and drafted a diplomatic telegram to the friends in Victoria. It happened that Shackleby was in his office when the answer arrived. "Has Thurston come into town yet? You told me you saw your way to keep him here," said Shackleby. "Didn't you mention he had the handling of a small legacy left Mrs. Leslie?" "It is strange, but he has not arrived," was the answer. "My wife is an old friend of his, and I had counted on her help in detaining him, but, unfortunately, she considered it necessary to accept an invitation to Victoria somewhat suddenly." "I should hardly have fancied Thurston was an old friend of--yours," Shackleby remarked with a carelessness which almost blunted the sneer. "I'm also a little surprised at what you tell me, because I saw Mrs. Leslie hurrying along to the Atlantic express. She couldn't book that way to Victoria." "You must have been mistaken," said Leslie, who turned towards a clerk holding out a telegraphic envelope. He ripped it open and read the enclosure with a smothered ejaculation. "Can't understand your wire. Mrs. Leslie not here. Wrote saying she could not come." "Excuse the liberty. I believe I have a right to inspect all correspondence," observed Shackleby, coolly leaning over and picking up the message. Then he looked straight at Leslie, and there was a moment's silence before he asked, "How much does Mrs. Leslie know about your business?" "I don't know," answered the anxious man in desperation. "I had to tell her a little so that she could help me." "So I guessed!" commented Shackleby. "Now, I don't want to hurt your feelings, but you can't afford to quarrel with me if I do. You're coming straight with me to the depot to find out where Mrs. Leslie bought a ticket to." "I'll see you hanged first," broke out Leslie. "Isn't it enough that you presume to read my private correspondence? I'll suffer no interference with my domestic affairs." Shackleby laughed contemptuously. "You'll just come along instead of blustering--there's not an ounce of real grit in you. This is no time for sentiment, and you have admitted that Mrs. Leslie was on good terms with Thurston. If she has warned him, one of us at least will have to make a record break out of this country. If he doesn't it won't be the divorce court he'll figure in." Leslie went without further protest, and Shackleby looked at him significantly when the booking-clerk said, "If I remember right, Mrs. Leslie bought a ticket for Thompson's. It's a flag station at the head of the new road that's to be driven into the Orchard Valley." "I guess that's enough," remarked Shackleby. "You and I are going there by the first train too. Oh, yes, I'm coming with you whether you like it or not, for it strikes me our one chance is to bluff Thurston into a bargain for the cessation of hostilities. It's lucky he's supposed to be uncommonly short of money." Geoffrey Thurston, Mrs. Leslie, and Thomas Savine of course, could not know of this conversation, but the woman was anxious as they rode together into sight of the little flag station shortly before the Atlantic express was due. When the others dismounted, Thomas Savine, who had been summoned by telegram from Vancouver, remained discreetly behind. It was very cold, darkness was closing down on the deep hollow among the hills, and some little distance up the ascending line, a huge freight locomotive was waiting with a string of cars behind it in a side track. Thurston pointed to the fan-shaped blaze of the great head lamp. "We have timed it well. They're expecting your train now," he said. "I am glad," was Millicent's answer. "I shall feel easier when I am once upon the way, for all day I have been nervously afraid that Harry might arrive or something unexpected might happen to detain me. There will be only time to catch the Allan boat, you say, and once the train leaves this station nobody could overtake me?" "Of course not!" answered Geoffrey, reassuringly. "It is perhaps natural that you should be apprehensive, but there is no reason for it. Whether you are doing right or wrong I dare not presume to judge, and, under the circumstances, I wish there had been somebody else to counsel you; but if your husband has treated you cruelly and you are in fear of him, I cannot venture to dissuade you. You will write to me when you have settled your plans?" "Yes," she promised. After a moment's pause, she went on: "I have hardly been able to consider the position yet, but I will never go back to Harry. My trustees must either help me to fight him or bribe him not to molest me. It is a hateful position, but though I have suffered a great deal there are things I cannot countenance." The hoot of a whistle came ringing up the valley, the light of another head lamp, growing brighter, flickered among the firs, and Millicent looked up at her companion as she said: "I may never see you again, Geoffrey, but I cannot go without asking you to forgive me. You do not know, and I dare not tell you, in how many ways I have injured you. I would like to think that you do not cherish any ill-will against me." "You may be quite sure of it," was the answer, and Geoffrey smiled upon her. "What I shall remember most clearly is how much you risked to warn me, and that the safe completion of the work I have set my heart on is due to you. We will forget all the unpleasant things that have happened in the past and meet as good friends next time, Millicent." The woman's voice trembled a little as she replied: "I hope when one by one you hear of the unpleasant things you will be charitable. But a last favor--you will not tell Harry where I have gone until I am safely on my way to England?" "No," promised Geoffrey. "You can depend upon that. I have not forgiven your husband, but the train is coming in and it will only stop a few seconds." With couplings clashing the long cars lurched in. Geoffrey hurried Millicent into one of them. He felt his hand grasped fervently, and fancied he saw a tear glisten in Millicent's eyes by the light of the flashing lamps. Then the great engine snorted, and he sprang down from the vestibule footboard as the train rolled out. Turning back towards the station to join Thomas Savine, he found himself confronted by two men who had just alighted. Their surprise was mutual, but Thomas Savine, who stood beside a box just hurled out of the baggage car, had his wits about him. "Here's one case, Geoffrey. The conductor thinks that some fool must have labelled the others wrong, and they'll come on by first freight," he said. This was an accurate statement, and for Millicent's sake Geoffrey was grateful that his comrade should make it so opportunely. It accounted for his presence at the station. "It can't be helped," he said, and then turned stiffly towards Shackleby and Henry Leslie, who waited between him and the roadway. "We want a few words with you, but didn't expect to find you here," abruptly remarked Shackleby. "Is there any place fit to sit in at the saloon yonder?" "I really don't know," Geoffrey replied. "Having no time to waste in conversation, neither do I care. If you have anything to say to me you can say it--very briefly--here." Shackleby pinched the cigar he was smoking. Laying his hand on Leslie's shoulder warningly, he whispered, "Keep still, you fool." "I don't know that I can condense what I have to say," he answered airily, addressing Thurston. "Fact is, in the first place, and before Mr. Leslie asks a question, I want to know whether we--that is I--can still come to terms with you. It's tolerably well-known that my colleagues are, so to speak, men of straw, and individually I figure it might be better for both of us if we patched up a compromise. I can't sketch out the rest of my programme in the open air, but, as a general idea, what do you think, Mr. Savine?" "That your suggestion comes rather late in the day," was the answer. Shackleby was silent for a moment, though, for it was quite dark now that the train had gone. Savine could not be quite certain whether he moved against Leslie by accident or deliberately hustled him a few paces away. Geoffrey, however, felt certain that neither had seen Millicent, nor, thanks to Savine, suspected that she was on board the departing cars. Just then a deep-toned whistle vibrated across the pines, somebody waved a lantern between the rails, and the panting of the freight locomotive's pump became silent. The track led down grade past the station towards the coast. "Better late than never," said Shackleby. "My hand's a good one still. I'm not sure I won't call you." "To save time I'll show you mine a little sooner than I meant to do, and you'll see the game's up," replied Geoffrey, grimly. "It may prevent you from worrying me during the next week or two, and you can't well profit by it. I've got Black, who is quite ready to go into court at any time, where you can't get at him. I've got the nearest magistrate's warrant executed on the person of your other rascal, and Black will testify as to his record, which implies the throwing of a sidelight upon your own. No doubt, to save himself, the other man will turn against you. In addition, if it's necessary, which I hardly think possible, I have even more damaging testimony. I have sworn a statement before the said magistrate for the Crown-lands authorities, and purpose sending a copy to each of your directors individually. That ought to be sufficient, and I have no more time to waste with you." "But you have me to settle with, or I'll blast your name throughout the province if I drag my own in the mud. Where's my wife?" snarled Leslie, wrenching himself free from his confederate's restraining grasp. "If you're bent on making a fool of yourself, and I guess you can't help it, go on your own way," interposed Shackleby, with ironical contempt. "I have no intention of telling you where Mrs. Leslie is," asserted Geoffrey. "You will hear from her when she considers it advisable to write." A whir of driver wheels slipping on the rails came down the track, followed by a shock of couplings tightening and the snorting of a heavy locomotive, but none of the party noticed it. "She was here; you can't deny it," shouted Leslie, who had yielded to a fit of rabid fury. He was not a courageous man, and had been held in check by fear of Shackleby, but there was some spirit in him, and, perhaps because he had injured Thurston, had always hated him. Now when his case seemed desperate, with the boldness of a rat driven into a corner, he determined to tear the hand that crushed him. "I'll take action against you. I'll blazon it in the press. I'll close every decent house in the province against you," he continued, working himself up into a frenzy. "Where have you hidden my wife? By Heaven, I'll make you tell me." "Take care!" warned Geoffrey, straightening himself and thrusting one big hand behind his back. "It is desperately hard for me to keep my fingers off you now, but if you say another word against Mrs. Leslie, look to yourself. Shackleby, you have heard him; now for the woman's sake listen to me. I have never wronged your wife by thought or word, Leslie, and the greatest indiscretion she was ever guilty of was marrying you." "You have hidden her!" almost screamed the desperate man. "I'll have satisfaction one way if you're too strong for me another. Liar, traitor, sed----" Geoffrey strode forward before the last word was completed, Leslie flung up one hand, but Shackleby struck it aside in time, and something that fell from it clinked with a metallic sound. Exactly how what followed really happened was never quite certain. Leslie, blind with rage, either tripped over his confederate's outstretched foot, or lost his balance, for just as a blaze of light beat upon the group, he staggered, clutched at Thurston, and missing him, stepped over the edge of the platform and fell full length between the rails. There was a yell from a man with a lantern and a sudden hoot from the whistle of the big locomotive. Savine's face turned white under the glare of the headlight. With a reckless leap Geoffrey followed his enemy. Only conscious of the man's peril, he acted upon impulse without reflection. "Good God! They'll both be killed!" exclaimed Shackleby. Thurston was strong of limb and every muscle in him had been toughened by strenuous toil, but Leslie had struck his head on the rails and lay still, stunned and helpless. The lift was heavy for the man who strove to raise him, and though the brakes screamed along the line of cars the locomotive was almost upon them. Standing horrified, and, without power to move, the two spectators saw Geoffrey still gripping his enemy's shoulders, heave himself erect in a supreme effort, then the cow-catcher on the engine's front struck them both, and Savine felt, rather than heard, a sickening sound as the huge machine swept resistlessly on. Afterward he declared that the suspense which followed while the long box-cars rolled by was horrible, for nothing could be seen, and the two men shivered with the uncertainty as to what might be happening beneath the grinding wheels. When the last car passed both leapt down upon the track, and a man joined them holding a lantern aloft. Savine stooped over Thurston, who lay just clear of the rails, looking strangely limp. "Another second would have done it--did I heave him clear?" he gasped. He tried to raise himself by one hand but fell back with a groan. "I guess not," answered a railroad employé, holding the lantern higher, and while two others ran up the tracks, the light fell upon a shapeless, huddled heap. "That one has passed his checks in, certain," the holder of the lantern announced. Within ten minutes willing assistants from the tiny settlement were on the spot and stretchers were improvised. Savine had bidden the agent telegraph for a doctor, and the two victims were slowly carried towards the New Eldorado saloon. When they were gently laid down an elderly miner, familiar with accidents, pointing to Thurston after making a hasty examination said: "This one has got his arm broken, collar-bone gone, too, but if there's nothing busted inside he'll come round. The other one has been stone dead since the engine hit him." There were further proffers of help from several of his comrades, who, as usual with their kind, possessed some knowledge of rude surgery. When all that was possible had been done for the living, Savine was drawn aside by Shackleby. "This is what he dropped on the platform--I picked it up quietly," he said, holding out an ivory-handled revolver. "No use letting any ugly tales get round or raking up that other story, is it? I don't know whether Thurston induced Leslie's wife to run off or not--from what I have heard of him I hardly think he did--but one may as well let things simmer down gracefully." "I am grateful for your thoughtfulness," replied Savine. "Probably it is more than he would have done for you. This is hardly the time to discuss such questions, but what has happened can't affect our position. Still, personally, I may not feel inclined to push merely vindictive measures against you." "I didn't think it would change matters," said Shackleby, with a shrug. "If I should be wanted I'm open to describe the--accident--and let other details slide. The railroad fellows suspect nothing. Thurston has made your side a strong one, and in a way I don't blame him. If he had stood in with me, we'd have smashed up your brother completely." CHAPTER XXIX A REVELATION Two persons were strangely affected and stirred to unexpected action by the news of Thurston's injury, and the first of these was Julius Savine. It was late next night when his brother's messenger arrived at the ranch, for Thomas had thought of nothing but the sufferer's welfare at first, and Savine lay, a very frail, wasted figure, dozing by the stove. His sister-in-law sat busy over some netting close at hand. Both were startled when a man, who held out a soiled envelope, came in abruptly. Savine read the message and tossed the paper across to Mrs. Savine before he rose shakily to his feet. "I would sooner have heard anything than that Geoffrey was badly hurt," he exclaimed with a quaver in his voice. To the Chinaman, who brought the stranger in, he gave the order, "Get him some supper and tell Fontaine I want him at once." "Poor Geoffrey! We must hope it is not serious," cried Mrs. Savine with visible distress. "But sit down. You can't help him, and may bring on a seizure by exciting yourself, Julius." Savine, who did not answer her, remained standing until the hired hand whom he had summoned, entered. "Ride your hardest to the camp and tell Foreman Tom I'm coming over to take charge until Mr. Thurston, who has met with an accident, recovers," he said. "He's to send a spare horse and a couple of men to help the sleigh over the washed-out trail. Come back at your best pace. I must reach the cañon before morning." "Are you mad, Julius?" asked his sister-in-law when the men retired. "It's even chances the excitement or the journey will kill you." "Then I must take the chances," declared Savine. "While there was a man I could trust to handle things, I let this weakness master me. Now the poor fellow's helpless, somebody must take hold before chaos ensues, and I haven't quite forgotten everything. You'll have to nurse Geoffrey, and it's no use trying to scare me. Fill my big flask with the old brandy and get my furs out." Mrs. Savine saw further remonstrance would be useless. She considered her brother-in-law more fit for his grave than to complete a great undertaking, but he was clearly bent on having his way. When she hinted something of her thoughts, he answered that even so he would rather die at work in the cañon than tamely in his bed. So shivering under a load of furs he departed in the sleigh, and after several narrow escapes of an upset, reached the camp in the dusk of a nipping morning. "Help me out. Mr. Thurston, I am sorry to say, has met with a bad accident, and you and I have got to finish this work without him," he said to the anxious foreman. "From what he told me I can count upon your doing the best that's in you, Tom." "I won't go back on nothing Mr. Thurston said," was the quiet answer; but when Tom from Mattawa left Savine, whose nerveless fingers spilled half the contents of the silver cup he strove to fill, gasping beside the stove in Thurston's quarters, he gravely shook his head. Several days elapsed after Helen's departure for Vancouver before Mrs. Savine, who had gone at once to the scene of the accident, considered it judicious to inform her of Geoffrey's condition, and so it happened that one evening Helen accompanied her hostess to witness the performance of a Western dramatic company. Despite second-rate acting the play was a pretty one, and each time the curtain went down Helen found the combination of bright light, pretty dresses, laughter and merry voices strangely pleasant after her isolation. At times her thoughts would wander back to the ice-bound cañon and the man who had pitted himself against the thundering river in its gloomy depths. Perhaps the very contrast between this scene of brightness and luxury and the savage wilderness emphasized the self-abnegation he had shown. She knew now that he had toiled beyond most men's strength, when he might have rested, and casting away what would have insured him a life of ease, had voluntarily chosen an almost hopeless struggle for her sake. Few women had been wooed so, she reflected, and then she endeavored to confine her attention to the play, for as yet, though both proud and grateful, she could not admit that she had been won. Presently the son of her hostess, who joined the party between the acts, handed her a note. "I am sorry I could not get here before, but found this waiting, and thought I'd better bring it along. I hope it's not a summons of recall," he said. Helen opened the envelope, and the hurriedly-written lines grew blurred before her eyes as she read, "I am grieved to say that Geoffrey has been seriously injured by an accident. The doctor has, however, some hopes of his recovery, though he won't speak definitely yet. If you can find an intelligent woman in Vancouver you could trust to help me nurse him, send her along. Didn't write before because----" "What is it? No bad news of your father, I hope," her hostess asked, and the son, a fine type of the young Western citizen, noticed the dismay in Helen's face as she answered: "Nothing has happened to my father. His partner has been badly hurt. I must return to-morrow, and, as it is a tiresome journey, if you will excuse me, I would rather not sit out the play." The young man noticed that Helen seemed to shiver, while her voice was strained. He discreetly turned away his head, though he had seen sufficient to show him that certain lately-renewed hopes were vain. "Miss Savine has not been used to gayety of late, and I warned her she must take it quietly, especially with that ride through the ranges before her. This place is unsufferably hot, and you can trust me to see her safe home, mother," he said. Helen's grateful, "Thank you!" was reward enough, but it was in an unenviable humor that the young man returned to the theater when she sought refuge in her own room. Solitude appeared a vital necessity, for at last Helen understood. Ever since Thurston first limped, footsore and hungry, into her life she had been alternately attracted and repelled by him. His steadfast patience and generosity had almost melted her at times, but from the beginning, circumstances had seemed to conspire against the man, shadowing him with suspicion, and forcing him into opposition to her will. Mrs. Savine's story had made his unswerving loyalty plain, and Helen had begun to see that she would with all confidence trust her life to him; but she was proud, and knowing how she had misjudged him, hesitated still. As long as a word or a smile could bring him to her feet she could postpone the day of reckoning at least until his task was finished, and thus allow him to prove his devotion to the uttermost test. Now, however, fate had intervened, tearing away all disguise, and her eyes were opened. She knew that without him the future would be empty, and the revelation stirred every fiber of her being. Growing suddenly cold with a shock of fear she remembered that she had perhaps already lost him forever. It might be that another more solemn summons had preceded her own, and that she might call and Geoffrey Thurston would not hear! He had won his right to rest by work well done, but she--it now seemed that a lifetime would be too short to mourn him. Helen shivered at the thought, then she felt as if she were suffocating. Turning the light low, she flung the long window open. Beyond the electric glare of the city, with its shapeless pile of roofs and towering poles, the mountains rose, serenely majestic, in robes of awful purity. They were beckoning her she felt. The man whom she had learned to love too late lay among them, perhaps with the strong hands that had toiled for her folded in peace at last, and, living or dead, she must go to him. She remembered that the message said,--"Hire a capable woman in Vancouver," and it brought her a ray of comfort. If the time was not already past she would ask nothing better than to wait on him herself. Presently, when there was a hum of voices below, Helen, white of face but steady in nerves, descended to meet her hostess. "I must go back to-morrow, and as it is a fatiguing journey you will not mind my retiring early," she said to excuse her absence from the supper party that was assembled after the play. On reaching the railroad settlement Helen found the doctor in charge of Thurston willing to avail himself of her assistance. The physician had barely held his own in several encounters with her aunt, whom he suspected of endeavoring to administer unauthorized preparations to his patient, while on her part Mrs. Savine freely admitted that at her age she could not sit up all night forever. So Helen was installed, and it was midnight when she commenced her first watch. "You will call me at once if the patient wakes complaining of any pain," said the surgeon. "Do I think he is out of danger? Well, he is very weak yet, my dear young lady, but if you will carry out my orders, I fancy we may hope for the best. But you must remember that a nurse's chief qualifications are presence of mind and a perfect serenity." "I will not fail you," promised Helen, choking back a sob of relief; and, trusting that the doctor did not see her quivering face, she added softly, "Heaven is merciful!" She had been prepared for a change, but she was startled at the sight of Thurston. He lay with blanched patches in the paling bronze on his face, which had grown hollow and lined by pain. Still he was sleeping soundly, and did not move when she bent over him. She stooped further and touched his forehead with her lips, rose with the hot blood pulsing upwards from her neck, and stood trembling, while, either dreaming or stirred by some influence beyond man's knowledge, the sleeper smiled, murmuring, "Helen!" It was daylight when Thurston awakened, and stared as if doubtful of his senses at his new nurse, until, approaching the frame of canvas whereon he lay, Helen, with a gentle touch, caressingly brushed the hair from his forehead. "I have come to help you to get better. We cannot spare you, Geoffrey," she said simply. The sick man asked no question nor betrayed further astonishment. He looked up gratefully into the eyes which met his own for a moment and grew downcast again. "Then I shall certainly cheat the doctors yet," he declared. Under the circumstances his words were distinctly commonplace, but speech is not the sole means of communion between mind and mind, and for the present both were satisfied. Helen laughed and blushed happily when, as by an after thought, Geoffrey added, "It is really very kind of you." "You must not talk," she admonished with a half-shy assumption of authority, strangely at variance with her former demeanor. "I shall call in my aunt with the elixir if you do." Geoffrey smiled, but the brightness of his countenance was not accounted for by his answer: "I believe she has treated me with it once or twice already, and I still survive. In fact, I am inclined to think the doctor caught her red-handed on one occasion, and there was trouble." After that Geoffrey recovered vigor rapidly, and the days passed quickly for Helen as she watched over him in the dilapidated frame house to which he had been removed after the accident. No word of love passed between them, nor was any word necessary. The man, still weak and languid, appeared blissfully contented to enjoy the present, and Helen, who was glad to see him do so, abided her time. Meanwhile, supported by sheer force of will and a nervous exaltation, that would vanish utterly when the need for it ceased, Julius Savine, leaning on his foreman's arm, or sitting propped up in a rude jumper sleigh, directed operations in the cañon. He knew he was consuming the vitality that might purchase another few years' life in as many weeks of effort, but he desired only to see the work finished, and was satisfied to pay the price. He slept little and scarcely ate, holding on to his work with desperate purpose and living on cordials. Though progress was much slower than it would have been under Geoffrey's direction, he accomplished that purpose. One afternoon Thomas Savine entered the sick man's room in a state of complacent satisfaction. "Glad to see you getting ahead so fast, and you must hurry, for we'll want you soon," he said. "The great charge is to be fired the day after to-morrow. Shackleby, who was at the bottom of the whole opposition, has cleared out with considerable expedition. Sold all his stock in the Company, and if his colleagues knew much about his doings, which is quite possible, they emphatically disown them. As a result I've made one or two good provisional deals with them, and expect no more trouble. In short, everything points to a great success." When Savine went out Geoffrey beckoned Helen to him. "I am getting so well that you must leave me to your aunt to-morrow," he said. "You remember your promise to fire the decisive charge for me, and I hope when you see it you will approve of the electric firing key. Tell your father I owe more to him than the doctor, for I should have worried myself beyond the reach of physic if he had not been there to take charge instead of me--that is to say, before you came to cure me." "I will go," agreed Helen, with signs of suppressed agitation that puzzled Geoffrey. She knew that after that charge had been fired their present relations, pleasant as they were, could not continue. It appeared to her the climax to which all he had dared and suffered, and with a humility that was yet akin to pride she had determined, in reparation, voluntarily to offer him that which, whether victorious or defeated otherwise, he had with infinite patience and loyal service won. It was early one clear cold morning when Helen Savine stood on a little plank platform perched high in a hollow of the rock walls overhanging the river opposite Thurston's camp. Each detail of the scene burned itself into her memory as she gazed about her under a tense expectancy--the rift of blue sky between the filigree of dark pines high above, the rush of white-streaked water thundering down the gorge below and frothing high about the massive boulders, and one huge fang of promontory which a touch of her finger would, if all went well, reduce to chaotic débris. Groups of workmen waited on the opposite side of the flood, all staring towards her expectantly, and Thomas Savine stood close by holding an insignificant box with wires attached to it, in a hand that was not quite steady. Tom from Mattawa sat perched upon a spire of rock holding up a furled flag, and her father leaned heavily upon the rails of the staging. No one spoke or stirred, and in spite of the roar of hurrying water a deep oppressive silence seemed to brood over cañon and camp. "This is the key," said Thomas Savine. "It is some notion of Geoffrey's, and he had it made especially in Toronto. You fit it in here." Helen glanced at the diminutive object before she took the box. The finger grip had been fashioned out of a dollar cut clean across bearing two dates engraved upon it. The first, it flashed upon her, was the one on which she had given the worn-out man that very coin, while the other had evidently been added more recently, with less skill, by some camp artificer. "It's to-day," said Thomas Savine following her eyes, and Helen noticed that his voice was strained. "Geoffrey told me to get it done. Quaint idea; don't know what it means. But put us out of suspense. We're all waiting." Helen knew what the dates meant, and appreciated the delicate compliment. It was she who had started the daring contractor on his career who was to complete his triumph, and she drew a deep breath as she looked down into the thundering gorge realizing it was a great fight he had won. Human courage and dogged endurance, inspired by him, had mocked at the might of the river, and, blasting a new pathway for it through the adamantine heart of the hills, would roll back the barren waters from a good land that the stout of heart and arm might enter in. Swamps would give place to wheat fields, orchards blossom where willow swale had been, herds of cattle fatten on the levels of the lake, and the smoke of prosperous homesteads drift across dark forests where, for centuries, the wolf and deer had roamed undisturbed. That was one aspect only, but she knew the man who loved her had won a greater triumph over his own nature and others' passions and infirmities. It was with a thrill of pride that the girl realized all that he had done for her, and yet for a few seconds she almost shrank from the responsibility as high above the waiting men the stood with slender fingers tightening upon the key. The issues of what must follow its turning would be momentous, for it flashed upon her that the tiny combination of copper and silver might, with equal chance, open the way to a golden future or let in overwhelming disaster upon all she loved. Then the doubt appeared an injustice to Geoffrey Thurston and those who had followed him through frost and flood and whirling snow, and, with a color on her forehead, and a light in her eyes, she pressed home the key. Then there was bustle and hurry. Julius Savine raised his hand, and Tom from Mattawa whirled high the unfurled flag. Somebody beat upon an iron sheet invisible below and the strip of beach in the depths of the cañon became alive with running men. Next followed a deep stillness intensified by the clamor of the river which would never raise the same wild harmonies again, for the slender hand of a woman had bound it fast henceforward under man's dominion. The hush was ended suddenly. For a second the great hollow seemed filled with tongues of flame; then, while thick smoke quenched them and crag and boulder crumbled to fragments, a stunning detonation rang from rock to rock and rolled upwards into the frozen silence of untrodden hills. Huge masses which eddied and whirled, filling the gorge with the crash of their descent leaped out of the vapor; there was a ceaseless shock and patter of smaller fragments, and then, while long reverberations rolled among the hills, the roar of the tortured river drowned the mingled din. Rising, tremendous in its last revolt, its majestic diapason was deepened by the boom of grinding rock and the detonation of boulders reduced to powder. The draught caused by the water's passage fanned the smoke away, and the blue vapor, curling higher, drifted past the staging, so that Helen could only dimly see a great muddy wave foam down the cañon, bursting here and there into gigantic upheavals of spray. She watched it, held silent, awe-stricken, by the sound and sight. At last Mattawa Tom appeared again, and his voice was faintly audible through the dying clamors as he waved his hands: "Juss gorgeous. Gone way better than the best we hoped," he hailed. His comrades heard and answered. They were not mere hirelings toiling for a daily wage, but men who had a stake in that region's future, and would share its prosperity, and, had it been otherwise, they were human still. Toiling long with stubborn patience, often in imminent peril of life and limb; winning ground as it were by inches, and sometimes barely holding what they had won; fulfilling their race's destiny to subdue and people the waste places of the earth with the faith which, when aided by modern science, is greater than the mountains' immobility, they too rejoiced fervently over the consummation of the struggle. Twice a roar that was scarcely articulate filled the cañon, and then, growing into the expression of definite thought, it flung upward their leader's name. Helen listened, breathless, intoxicated as by wine. Julius Savine stood upright with no trace of weakness in his attitude. Then suddenly he seemed to shrink together, and, with the power gone out of him, caught at the rails as he turned to his daughter. "We have won! It is Geoffrey's doing, and my last task is done," he spoke in a voice that sounded faint and far-away. "Fast horses and bold riders I can trust you, too, are waiting. Tell him!" Helen noticed a strange wistfulness in her father's glance, but she asked no question and turned to Thomas Savine. "I leave him in your charge. I will go," she said. That afternoon passed very slowly for Geoffrey. He lay near a window, which he insisted should be opened, glancing alternately at his watch and the trail that wound down the hillside as the minutes crept by. He was hardly civil to the doctor, and almost abrupt with Mrs. Savine, who, knowing his anxiety, straightway forgave him. "You tell me I must avoid excitement and await the news with composure. For heaven's sake, man, be reasonable. You might as well recommend your next moribund victim to get up and take exercise," he grumbled to the physician. But the longest afternoon passes at length, and when the sunset glories flamed in the western sky, and the great peaks put on fading splendors of saffron and crimson, three black moving objects became visible on a hill-crest bare of the climbing firs. Geoffrey watched them with straining eyes, and it was a wonderful picture that he looked upon--black gorge, darkening forest, drifting haze in the hollows, and unearthly splendors above; but he regarded it only as a fit setting for the slight figure in the foreground that swayed to the stride of a galloping horse. He was not surprised--it seemed perfectly appropriate that Helen should bring him the news--though his fingers trembled and his lips twitched. "We shall know the best or worst in five minutes. You have done your utmost, doctor, but I'll get up and annihilate you with your own bottles if you give me good advice now," he said, and the surgeon, seeing protests were useless, laughed. Mrs. Savine said nothing. She was in a state of nervous tension, too, and merely laid her hand on the patient, restrainingly, as he strove with small success to raise himself a little. Meantime the horse came nearer, its bridle dripping with flakes of spume. Its rider was sprinkled with snow and her skirt was besmeared with lather, but she came on at a gallop until she reined in the panting horse beneath the window, and flinging one arm aloft sat in the saddle with her flushed face turned towards the watchers. No bearer of good tidings ever appeared more beautiful to an anxious man. "It is triumph!" she cried. "Thank God!" answered Mrs. Savine, who slipped quietly from the room. Little time elapsed before Helen entered the room where Geoffrey impatiently waited for her, but brief as it was, there was no sign of hurried travel about her. Her apparel was fresh and dainty, and there was even a flower from Mexico at her belt. She went straight to Geoffrey and bent over him. "All has gone well--better, I understand, than you even hoped for, and you have done a great thing, Geoffrey," she said. "You have saved me my inheritance--which is of small importance--and--I know all now--my father's honor. You have repaid him tenfold, and gratified his heart's desire." "Then I am thankful," answered Geoffrey very quietly. He lay still a moment looking at her with a great longing in his eyes. Helen was very beautiful, more beautiful even than usual, it seemed to him. He did not guess that she had an offering to make, and for the sake of the man at whose feet she would lay it, would not even so far as trifles went, depreciate the gift, hence her careful attire. Helen's eyes fell beneath his gaze. She discerned what he was thinking, and, though the words "heart's desire" were accidental, there was no mistaking the suggestion. She said slowly: "I have been unjust, proud and willful--and I am going to do full penance. You have surely the gift of prophecy. Do you remember your last bold prediction?" Geoffrey's lip twitched. He strove to raise himself that he might see the speaker more clearly, and, still almost helpless in his bandages, slipped back again. Helen slipped her hand into his. "I have come to beg you not to go away." "There is one thing that would prevent me." Geoffrey, bewildered, seemed to lose his usual crispness of speech, but Helen checked him. "Therefore," and Helen's voice was very low, while surging upwards from her neck a swift wave of color flushed cheek and brow. "I have come of my own will to say what you asked of me. You have loved and served me faithfully, and it is not gratitude--only--which prompts me now." There was a space in which Helen caught her breath. Then she lifted her head, and said proudly: "Geoffrey Thurston--I love you." Popular Copyright Books AT MODERATE PRICES Any of the following titles can be bought of your bookseller at the price you paid for this volume Alternative, The. By George Barr McCutcheon. Angel of Forgiveness, The. By Rosa N. Carey. Angel of Pain, The. By E. F. Benson. Annals of Ann, The. By Kate Trimble Sharber. Battle Ground, The. By Ellen Glasgow. Beau Brocade. By Baroness Orczy. Beechy. By Bettina Von Hutten. Bella Donna. By Robert Hichens. Betrayal, The. By E. Phillips Oppenheim, Bill Toppers, The. By Andre Castaigne. Butterfly Man, The. By George Barr McCutcheon. Cab No. 44. 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35208	----	Distributed Proofreading Canada Team at http://www.pgdpcanada.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries) ON CANADA'S FRONTIER Sketches OF HISTORY, SPORT, AND ADVENTURE AND OF THE INDIANS, MISSIONARIES FUR-TRADERS, AND NEWER SETTLERS OF WESTERN CANADA BY JULIAN RALPH ILLUSTRATED [Illustration] NEW YORK HARPER & BROTHERS, FRANKLIN SQUARE 1892 Copyright, 1892, by Harper & Brothers. _All rights reserved_. TO THE PEOPLE OF CANADA THIS BOOK IS GRATEFULLY DEDICATED BY THE AUTHOR WHO, DURING MANY LONG JOURNEYS IN THE CANADIAN WEST WAS ALWAYS AND EVERYWHERE TREATED WITH AN EXTREME FRIENDLINESS TO WHICH HE HERE TESTIFIES BUT WHICH HE CANNOT EASILY RETURN IN EQUAL MEASURE PREFACE If all those into whose hands this book may fall were as well informed upon the Dominion of Canada as are the people of the United States, there would not be needed a word of explanation of the title of this volume. Yet to those who might otherwise infer that what is here related applies equally to all parts of Canada, it is necessary to explain that the work deals solely with scenes and phases of life in the newer, and mainly the western, parts of that country. The great English colony which stirs the pages of more than two centuries of history has for its capitals such proud and notable cities as Montreal, Quebec, Toronto, Halifax, and many others, to distinguish the progressive civilization of the region east of Lake Huron--the older provinces. But the Canada of the geographies of to-day is a land of greater area than the United States; it is, in fact, the "British America" of old. A great trans-Canadian railway has joined the ambitious province of the Pacific slope to the provinces of old Canada with stitches of steel across the Plains. There the same mixed surplusage of Europe that settled our own West is elbowing the fur-trader and the Indian out of the way, and is laying out farms far north, in the smiling Peace River district, where it was only a little while ago supposed that there were but two seasons, winter and late spring. It is with that new part of Canada, between the ancient and well-populated provinces and the sturdy new cities of the Pacific Coast, that this book deals. Some references to the North are added in those chapters that treat of hunting and fishing and fur-trading. The chapters that compose this book originally formed a series of papers which recorded journeys and studies made in Canada during the past three years. The first one to be published was that which describes a settler's colony in which a few titled foreigners took the lead; the others were written so recently that they should possess the same interest and value as if they here first met the public eye. What that interest and value amount to is for the reader to judge, the author's position being such that he may only call attention to the fact that he had access to private papers and documents when he prepared the sketches of the Hudson Bay Company, and that, in pursuing information about the great province of British Columbia, he was not able to learn that a serious and extended study of its resources had ever been made. The principal studies and sketches were prepared for and published in Harper's Magazine. The spirit in which they were written was solely that of one who loves the open air and his fellow-men of every condition and color, and who has had the good-fortune to witness in newer Canada something of the old and almost departed life of the plainsmen and woodsmen, and of the newer forces of nation-building on our continent. CONTENTS PAGE I. Titled Pioneers 1 II. Chartering a Nation 11 III. A Famous Missionary 53 IV. Antoine's Moose-yard 66 V. Big Fishing 115 VI. "A Skin for a Skin" 134 VII. "Talking Musquash" 190 VIII. Canada's El Dorado 214 IX. Dan Dunn's Outfit 290 ILLUSTRATIONS PAGE _The Romantic Adventure of Old Sun's Wife_ Frontispiece _Dr. Rudolph Meyer's Place on the Pipestone_ 2 _Settler's Sod Cabin_ 3 _Whitewood, a Settlement on the Prairie_ 4 _Interior of Sod Cabin on the Frontier_ 5 _Prairie Sod Stable_ 7 _Trained Ox Team_ 9 _Indian Boys Running a Foot-race_ 31 _Indian Mother and Boy_ 36 _Opening of the Soldier Clan Dance_ 39 _Sketch in the Soldier Clan Dance_ 43 _A Fantasy from the Pony War-dance_ 47 _Throwing the Snow Snake_ 51 _Father Lacombe Heading the Indians_ 61 _The Hotel--Last Sign of Civilisation_ 69 _"Give me a light"_ 73 _Antoine, from Life_ 79 _The Portage Sleigh on a Lumber Road_ 83 _The Track in the Winter Forest_ 87 _Pierre from Life_ 91 _Antoine's Cabin_ 93 _The Camp at Night_ 97 _A Moose Bull Fight_ 101 _On the Moose Trail_ 103 _In sight of the Game--"Now Shoot"_ 105 _Success_ 109 _Hunting the Caribou--"Shoot! Shoot!"_ 111 _Indians Hunting Nets on Lake Nipigon_ 119 _Trout-fishing Through the Ice_ 127 _Rival Traders Racing to the Indian Camp_ 137 _The Bear-trap_ 143 _Huskie Dogs Fighting_ 147 _Painting the Robe_ 151 _Coureur du Bois_ 159 _A Fur-trader in the Council Tepee_ 163 _Buffalo Meat for the Post_ 167 _The Indian Hunter of 1750_ 171 _Indian Hunter Hanging Deer Out of the Reach of Wolves_ 173 _Making the Snow-shoe_ 177 _A Hudson Bay Man (Quarter-breed)_ 181 _The Coureur du Bois and the Savage_ 185 _Talking Musquash_ 193 _Indian Hunters Moving Camp_ 198 _Setting a Mink-trap_ 201 _Wood Indians Come to Trade_ 205 _A Voyageur, or Canoe-man, of Great Slave Lake_ 209 _In a Stiff Current_ 211 _Voyageur with Tumpline_ 217 _Voyageurs in Camp for the Night_ 221 _"Huskie" Dogs on the Frozen Highway_ 227 _The Factor's Fancy Toboggan_ 233 _Halt of a York Boat Brigade for the Night_ 239 _An Impression of Shuswap Lake, British Columbia_ 251 _The Tschummum, or Tool Used in Making Canoes_ 257 _The First of the Salmon Run, Fraser River_ 261 _Indian Salmon-fishing in the Thrasher_ 266 _Going to the Potlatch--Big Canoe, North-west Coast_ 269 _The Salmon Cache_ 275 _An Ideal of the Coast_ 279 _The Potlatch_ 283 _An Indian Canoe on the Columbia_ 293 _"You're setting your nerves to stand it"_ 297 _Jack Kirkup, the Mountain Sheriff_ 299 _Engineer on the Preliminary Survey_ 303 _Falling Monarchs_ 308 _Dan Dunn on His Works_ 311 _The Supply Train Over the Mountain_ 313 _A Sketch on the Work_ 317 _The Mess Tent at Night_ 319 _"They Gained Erectness by Slow Jolts"_ 322 ON CANADA'S FRONTIER I TITLED PIONEERS There is a very remarkable bit of this continent just north of our State of North Dakota, in what the Canadians call Assiniboia, one of the North-west Provinces. Here the plains reach away in an almost level, unbroken, brown ocean of grass. Here are some wonderful and some very peculiar phases of immigration and of human endeavor. Here is Major Bell's farm of nearly one hundred square miles, famous as the Bell Farm. Here Lady Cathcart, of England, has mercifully established a colony of crofters, rescued from poverty and oppression. Here Count Esterhazy has been experimenting with a large number of Hungarians, who form a colony which would do better if those foreigners were not all together, with only each other to imitate--and to commiserate. But, stranger than all these, here is a little band of distinguished Europeans, partly noble and partly scholarly, gathered together in as lonely a spot as can be found short of the Rockies or the far northern regions of this continent. [Illustration: DR. RUDOLPH MEYER'S PLACE ON THE PIPESTONE] These gentlemen are Dr. Rudolph Meyer, of Berlin, the Comte de Cazes and the Comte de Raffignac, of France, and M. Le Bidau de St. Mars, of that country also. They form, in all probability, the most distinguished and aristocratic little band of immigrants and farmers in the New World. Seventeen hundred miles west of Montreal, in a vast prairie where settlers every year go mad from loneliness, these polished Europeans till the soil, strive for prizes at the provincial fairs, fish, hunt, read the current literature of two continents, and are happy. The soil in that region is of remarkable depth and richness, and is so black that the roads and cattle-trails look like ink lines on brown paper. It is part of a vast territory of uniform appearance, in one portion of which are the richest wheat-lands of the continent. The Canadian Pacific Railway crosses Assiniboia, with stops about five miles apart--some mere stations and some small settlements. Here the best houses are little frame dwellings; but very many of the settlers live in shanties made of sods, with such thick walls and tight roofs, all of sod, that the awful winters, when the mercury falls to forty degrees below zero, are endured in them better than in the more costly frame dwellings. [Illustration: SETTLER'S SOD CABIN] I stopped off the cars at Whitewood, picking that four-year-old village out at hap-hazard as a likely point at which to see how the immigrants live in a brand-new country. I had no idea of the existence of any of the persons I found there. The most perfect hospitality is offered to strangers in such infant communities, and while enjoying the shelter of a merchant's house I obtained news of the distinguished settlers, all of whom live away from the railroad in solitude not to be conceived by those who think their homes the most isolated in the older parts of the country. I had only time to visit Dr. Rudolph Meyer, five miles from Whitewood, in the valley of the Pipestone. [Illustration: WHITEWOOD, A SETTLEMENT ON THE PRAIRIE] The way was across a level prairie, with here and there a bunch of young wolf-willows to break the monotonous scene, with tens of thousands of gophers sitting boldly on their haunches within reach of the wagon whip, with a sod house in sight in one direction at one time and a frame house in view at another. The talk of the driver was spiced with news of abundant wild-fowl, fewer deer, and marvellously numerous small quadrupeds, from wolves and foxes down. He talked of bachelors living here and there alone on that sea of grass, for all the world like men in small boats on the ocean; and I saw, contrariwise, a man and wife who blessed Heaven for an unheard-of number of children, especially prized because each new-comer lessened the loneliness. I heard of the long and dreadful winters when the snowfall is so light that horses and mules may always paw down to grass, though cattle stand and starve and freeze to death. I heard, too, of the way the snow comes in flurried squalls, in which men are lost within pistol-shot of their homes. In time the wagon came to a sort of coulee or hollow, in which some mechanics imported from Paris were putting up a fine cottage for the Comte de Raffignac. Ten paces farther, and I stood on the edge of the valley of the Pipestone, looking at a scene so poetic, pastoral, and beautiful that in the whole transcontinental journey there were few views to compare with it. [Illustration: INTERIOR OF SOD CABIN ON THE FRONTIER] Reaching away far below the level of the prairie was a bowl-like valley, a mile long and half as wide, with a crystal stream lying like a ribbon of silver midway between its sloping walls. Another valley, longer yet, served as an extension to this. On the one side the high grassy walls were broken with frequent gullies, while on the other side was a park-like growth of forest trees. Meadows and fields lay between, and nestling against the eastern or grassy wall was the quaint, old-fashioned German house of the learned doctor. Its windows looked out on those beautiful little valleys, the property of the doctor--a little world far below the great prairie out of which sportive and patient Time had hollowed it. Externally the long, low, steep-roofed house was German, ancient, and picturesque in appearance. Its main floor was all enclosed in the sash and glass frame of a covered porch, and outside of the walls of glass were heavy curtains of straw, to keep out the sun in summer and the cold in winter. In-doors the house is as comfortable as any in the world. Its framework is filled with brick, and its trimmings are all of pine, oiled and varnished. In the heart of the house is a great Russian stove--a huge box of brick-work, which is filled full of wood to make a fire that is made fresh every day, and that heats the house for twenty-four hours. A well-filled wine-cellar, a well-equipped library, where Harper's Weekly, and _Uber Land und Mer_, _Punch_, _Puck_, and _Die Fliegende Blätter_ lie side by side, a kindly wife, and a stumbling baby, tell of a combination of domestic joys that no man is too rich to envy. The library is the doctor's workshop. He is now engaged in compiling a digest of the economic laws of nations. He is already well known as the author of a _History of Socialism_ (in Germany, the United States, Scandinavia, Russia, France, Belgium, and elsewhere), and also for his _History of Socialism in Germany_. He writes in French and German, and his works are published in Germany. [Illustration: PRAIRIE SOD STABLE] Dr. Meyer is fifty-three years old. He is a political exile, having been forced from Prussia for connection with an unsuccessful opposition to Bismarck. It is because he is a scholar seeking rest from the turmoil of politics that one is able to comprehend his living in this overlooked corner of the world. Yet when that is understood, and one knows what an Arcadia his little valley is, and how complete are his comforts within-doors, the placidity with which he smokes his pipe, drinks his beer, and is waited upon by servants imported from Paris, becomes less a matter for wonder than for congratulation. He has shared part of one valley with the Comte de Raffignac, who thinks there is nothing to compare with it on earth. The count has had his house built near the abruptly-broken edge of the prairie, so that he may look down upon the calm and beautiful valley and enjoy it, as he could not had he built in the valley itself. He is a youth of very old French family, who loves hunting and horses. He was contemplating the raising of horses for a business when I was there. But the count mars the romance of his membership in this little band by going to Paris now and then, as a young man would be likely to. Out-of-doors one saw what untold good it does to the present and future settlers to have such men among them. The hot-houses, glazed vegetable beds, the plots of cultivated ground, the nurseries of young trees--all show at what cost of money and patience the Herr Doctor is experimenting with every tree and flower and vegetable and cereal to discover what can be grown with profit in that region of rich soil and short summers, and what cannot. He is in communication with the seedsmen, to say nothing of the savants, of Europe and this country, and whatever he plants is of the best. Near his quaint dwelling he has a house for his gardener, a smithy, a tool-house, a barn, and a cheese-factory, for he makes gruyere cheese in great quantities. He also raises horses and cattle. The Comte de Cazes has a sheltered, favored claim a few miles to the northward, near the Qu' Appele River. He lives in great comfort, and is so successful a farmer that he carries off nearly all the prizes for the province, especially those given for prime vegetables. He has his wife and daughter and one of his sons with him, and an abundance of means, as, indeed, these distinguished settlers all appear to have. [Illustration: TRAINED OX TEAM] These men have that faculty, developed in all educated and thinking souls, which enables them to banish loneliness and entertain themselves. Still, though Dr. Meyer laughs at the idea of danger, it must have been a little disquieting to live as he does during the Riel rebellion, especially as an Indian reservation is close by, and wandering red men are seen every day upon the prairie. Indeed, the Government thought fit to send men of the North-west Mounted Police to visit the doctor twice a week as lately as a year after the close of the half-breed uprising. II CHARTERING A NATION How it came about that we chartered the Blackfoot nation for two days had better not be told in straightforward fashion. There is more that is interesting in going around about the subject, just as in reality we did go around and about the neighborhood of the Indians before we determined to visit them. In the first place, the most interesting Indian I ever saw--among many kinds and many thousands--was the late Chief Crowfoot, of the Blackfoot people. More like a king than a chief he looked, as he strode upon the plains, in a magnificent robe of white bead-work as rich as ermine, with a gorgeous pattern illuminating its edges, a glorious sun worked into the front of it, and many artistic and chromatic figures sewed in gaudy beads upon its back. He wore an old white chimney-pot hat, bound around with eagle feathers, a splendid pair of _chaperajos_, all worked with beads at the bottoms and fringed along the sides, and bead-worked moccasins, for which any lover of the Indian or collector of his paraphernalia would have exchanged a new Winchester rifle without a second's hesitation. But though Crowfoot was so royally clothed, it was in himself that the kingly quality was most apparent. His face was extraordinarily like what portraits we have of Julius Cæsar, with the difference that Crowfoot had the complexion of an Egyptian mummy. The high forehead, the great aquiline nose, the thin lips, usually closed, the small, round, protruding chin, the strong jawbones, and the keen gray eyes composed a face in which every feature was finely moulded, and in which the warrior, the commander, and the counsellor were strongly suggested. And in each of these roles he played the highest part among the Indians of Canada from the moment that the whites and the red men contested the dominion of the plains until he died, a short time ago. He was born and lived a wild Indian, and though the good fathers of the nearest Roman Catholic mission believe that he died a Christian, I am constrained to see in the reason for their thinking so only another proof of the consummate shrewdness of Crowfoot's life-long policy. The old king lay on his death-bed in his great wig-a-wam, with twenty-seven of his medicine-men around him, and never once did he pretend that he despised or doubted their magic. When it was evident that he was about to die, the conjurers ceased their long-continued, exhausting formula of howling, drumming, and all the rest, and, Indian-like, left Death to take his own. Then it was that one of the watchful, zealous priests, whose lives have indeed been like those of fathers to the wild Indians, slipped into the great tepee and administered the last sacrament to the old pagan. "Do you believe?" the priest inquired. "Yes, I believe," old Crowfoot grunted. Then he whispered, "But don't tell my people." Among the last words of great men, those of Saponaxitaw (his Indian name) may never be recorded, but to the student of the American aborigine they betray more that is characteristic of the habitual attitude of mind of the wild red man towards civilizing influences than any words I ever knew one to utter. As the old chief crushed the bunch-grass beneath his gaudy moccasins at the time I saw him, and as his lesser chiefs and headmen strode behind him, we who looked on knew what a great part he was bearing and had taken in Canada. He had been chief of the most powerful and savage tribe in the North, and of several allied tribes as well, from the time when the region west of the Mississippi was _terra incognita_ to all except a few fur traders and priests. His warriors ruled the Canadian wilderness, keeping the Ojibbeways and Crees in the forests to the east and north, routing the Crows, the Stonies, and the Big-Bellies whenever they pleased, and yielding to no tribe they met except the Sioux to the southward in our territory. The first white man Crowfoot ever knew intimately was Father Lacombe, the noble old missionary, whose fame is now world-wide among scholars. The peaceful priest and the warrior chief became fast friends, and from the day when the white men first broke down the border and swarmed upon the plains, until at the last they ran what Crowfoot called their "fire-wagons" (locomotives) through his land, he followed the priest's counselling in most important matters. He treated with the authorities, and thereafter hindered his braves from murder, massacre, and warfare. Better than that, during the Riel rebellion he more than any other man, or twenty men, kept the red man of the plains at peace when the French half-breeds, led by their mentally irresponsible disturber, rebelled against the Dominion authorities. When Crowfoot talked, he made laws. While he spoke, his nation listened in silence. He had killed as many men as any Indian warrior alive; he was a mighty buffalo-slayer; he was torn, scarred, and mangled in skin, limb, and bone. He never would learn English or pretend to discard his religion. He was an Indian after the pattern of his ancestors. At eighty odd years of age there lived no red-skin who dared answer him back when he spoke his mind. But he was a shrewd man and an archdiplomatist. Because he had no quarrel with the whites, and because a grand old priest was his truest friend, he gave orders that his body should be buried in a coffin, Christian fashion, and as I rode over the plains in the summer of 1890 I saw his burial-place on top of a high hill, and knew that his bones were guarded night and day by watchers from among his people. Two or three days before he died his best horse was slaughtered for burial with him. He heard of it. "That was wrong," he said; "there was no sense in doing that; and besides, the horse was worth good money." But he was always at least as far as that in advance of his people, and it was natural that not only his horse, but his gun and blankets, his rich robes, and plenty of food to last him to the happy hunting-grounds, should have been buried with him. There are different ways of judging which is the best Indian, but from the stand-point of him who would examine that distinct product of nature, the Indian as the white man found him, the Canadian Blackfeet are among if not quite the best. They are almost as primitive and natural as any, nearly the most prosperous, physically very fine, the most free from white men's vices. They are the most reasonable in their attitude towards the whites of any who hold to the true Indian philosophy. The sum of that philosophy is that civilization gets men a great many comforts, but bundles them up with so many rules and responsibilities and so much hard work that, after all, the wild Indian has the greatest amount of pleasure and the least share of care that men can hope for. That man is the fairest judge of the red-skins who considers them as children, governed mainly by emotion, and acting upon undisciplined impulse; and I know of no more hearty, natural children than the careless, improvident, impulsive boys and girls of from five to eighty years of age whom Crowfoot turned over to the care of Three Bulls, his brother. The Blackfeet of Canada number about two thousand men, women, and children. They dwell upon a reserve of nearly five hundred square miles of plains land, watered by the beautiful Bow River, and almost within sight of the Rocky Mountains. It is in the province of Alberta, north of our Montana. There were three thousand and more of these Indians when the Canadian Pacific Railway was built across their hunting-ground, seven or eight years ago, but they are losing numbers at the rate of two hundred and fifty a year, roughly speaking. Their neighbors, the tribes called the Bloods and the Piegans, are of the same nation. The Sarcis, once a great tribe, became weakened by disease and war, and many years ago begged to be taken into the confederation. These tribes all have separate reserves near to one another, but all have heretofore acknowledged each Blackfoot chief as their supreme ruler. Their old men can remember when they used to roam as far south as Utah, and be gone twelve months on the war-path and on their foraging excursions for horses. They chased the Crees as far north as the Crees would run, and that was close to the arctic circle. They lived in their war-paint and by the chase. Now they are caged. They live unnaturally and die as unnaturally, precisely like other wild animals shut up in our parks. Within their park each gets a pound of meat with half a pound of flour every day. Not much comes to them besides, except now and then a little game, tobacco, and new blankets. They are so poorly lodged and so scantily fed that they are not fit to confront a Canadian winter, and lung troubles prey among them. It is a harsh way to put it (but it is true of our own government also) to say that one who has looked the subject over is apt to decide that the policy of the Canadian Government has been to make treaties with the dangerous tribes, and to let the peaceful ones starve. The latter do not need to starve in Canada, fortunately; they trust to the Hudson Bay Company for food and care, and not in vain. Having treated with the wilder Indians, the rest of the policy is to send the brightest of their boys to trade-schools, and to try to induce the men to till the soil. Those who do so are then treated more generously than the others. I have my own ideas with which to meet those who find nothing admirable in any except a dead Indian, and with which to discuss the treatment and policy the live Indian endures, but this is not the place for the discussion. Suffice it that it is not to be denied that between one hundred and fifty and two hundred Blackfeet are learning to maintain several plots of farming land planted with oats and potatoes. This they are doing with success, and with the further result of setting a good example to the rest. But most of the bucks are either sullenly or stupidly clinging to the shadow and the memory of the life that is gone. It was a recollection of that life which they portrayed for us. And they did so with a fervor, an abundance of detail and memento, and with a splendor few men have seen equalled in recent years--or ever may hope to witness again. We left the cars at Gleichen, a little border town which depends almost wholly upon the Blackfeet and their visitors for its maintenance. It has two stores--one where the Indians get credit and high prices (and at which the red men deal), and one at which they may buy at low rates for cash, wherefore they seldom go there. It has two hotels and a half-dozen railway men's dwellings, and, finally, it boasts a tiny little station or barracks of the North-west Mounted Police, wherein the lower of the two rooms is fitted with a desk, and hung with pistols, guns, handcuffs, and cartridge belts, while the upper room contains the cots for the men at night. We went to the store that the Indians favor--just such a store as you see at any cross-roads you drive past in a summer's outing in the country--and there were half a dozen Indians beautifying the door-way and the interior, like magnified majolica-ware in a crockery-shop. They were standing or sitting about with thoughtful expressions, as Indians always do when they go shopping; for your true Indian generates such a contemplative mood when he is about to spend a quarter that one would fancy he must be the most prudent and deliberate of men, instead of what he really is--the greatest prodigal alive except the negro. These bucks might easily have been mistaken for waxworks. Unnaturally erect, with arms folded beneath their blankets, they stood or sat without moving a limb or muscle. Only when a new-comer entered did they stir. Then they turned their heads deliberately and looked at the visitor fixedly, as eagles look at you from out their cages. They were strapping fine fellows, each bundled up in a colored blanket, flapping cloth leg-gear, and yellow moccasins. Each had the front locks of his hair tied in an upright bunch, like a natural plume, and several wore little brass rings, like baby finger-rings, around certain side locks down beside their ears. There they stood, motionless and speechless, waiting until the impulse should move them to buy what they wanted, with the same deliberation with which they had waited for the original impulse which sent them to the store. If Mr. Frenchman, who kept the store, had come from behind his counter, English fashion, and had said: "Come, come; what d'you want? Speak up now, and be quick about it. No lounging here. Buy or get out." If he had said that, or anything like it, those Indians would have stalked out of his place, not to enter it again for a very long time, if ever. Bartering is a serious and complex performance to an Indian, and you might as well try to hurry an elephant up a gang-plank as try to quicken an Indian's procedure in trading. We purchased of the Frenchman a chest of tea, a great bag of lump sugar, and a small case of plug tobacco for gifts to the chief. Then we hired a buck-board wagon, and made ready for the journey to the reserve. The road to the reserve lay several miles over the plains, and commanded a view of rolling grass land, like a brown sea whose waves were petrified, with here and there a group of sickly wind-blown trees to break the resemblance. The road was a mere wagon track and horse-trail through the grass, but it was criss-crossed with the once deep ruts that had been worn by countless herds of buffalo seeking water. Presently, as we journeyed, a little line of sand-hills came into view. They formed the Blackfoot cemetery. We saw the "tepees of the dead" here and there on the knolls, some new and perfect, some old and weather-stained, some showing mere tatters of cotton flapping on the poles, and still others only skeleton tents, the poles remaining and the cotton covering gone completely. We knew what we would see if we looked into those "dead tepees" (being careful to approach from the windward side). We would see, lying on the ground or raised upon a framework, a bundle that would be narrow at top and bottom, and broad in the middle--an Indian's body rolled up in a sheet of cotton, with his best bead-work and blanket and gun in the bundle, and near by a kettle and some dried meat and corn-meal against his feeling hungry on his long journey to the hereafter. As one or two of the tepees were new, we expected to see some family in mourning; and, sure enough, when we reached the great sheer-sided gutter which the Bow River has dug for its course through the plains, we halted our horse and looked down upon a lonely trio of tepees, with children playing around them and women squatted by the entrances. Three families had lost members, and were sequestered there in abject surrender to grief. Those tents of the mourners were at our feet as we rode southward, down in the river gully, where the grass was green and the trees were leafy and thriving; but when we turned our faces to the eastward, where the river bent around a great promontory, what a sight met our gaze! There stood a city of tepees, hundreds of them, showing white and yellow and brown and red against the clear blue sky. A silent and lifeless city it seemed, for we were too far off to see the people or to hear their noises. The great huddle of little pyramids rose abruptly from the level bare grass against the flawless sky, not like one of those melancholy new treeless towns that white men are building all over the prairie, but rather like a mosquito fleet becalmed at sea. There are two camps on the Blackfoot Reserve, the North Camp and the South Camp, and this town of tents was between the two, and was composed of more households than both together; for this was the assembling for the sun-dance, their greatest religious festival, and hither had come Bloods, Piegans, and Sarcis as well as Blackfeet. Only the mourners kept away; for here were to be echoed the greatest ceremonials of that dead past, wherein lives dedicated to war and to the chase inspired the deeds of valor which each would now celebrate anew in speech or song. This was to be the anniversary of the festival at which the young men fastened themselves by a strip of flesh in their chests to a sort of Maypole rope, and tore their flesh apart to demonstrate their fitness to be considered braves. At this feast husbands had the right to confess their women, and to cut their noses off if they had been untrue, and if they yet preferred life to the death they richly merited. At this gala-time sacrifices of fingers were made by brave men to the sun. Then every warrior boasted of his prowess, and the young beaus feasted their eyes on gayly-clad maidens the while they calculated for what number of horses they could be purchased of their parents. And at each recurrence of this wonderful holiday-time every night was spent in feasting, gorging, and gambling. In short, it was the great event of the Indian year, and so it remains. Even now you may see the young braves undergo the torture; and if you may not see the faithless wives disciplined, you may at least perceive a score who have been, as well as hear the mighty boasting, and witness the dancing, gaming, and carousing. We turned our backs towards the tented field, for we had not yet introduced ourselves to Mr. Magnus Begg, the Indian agent in charge of the reserve. We were soon within his official enclosure, where a pretty frame house, an office no bigger than a freight car, and a roomy barn and stable were all overtopped by a central flag-staff, and shaded by flourishing trees. Mr. Begg was at home, and, with his accomplished wife, welcomed us in such a hearty manner as one could hardly have expected, even where white folks were so "mighty unsartin" to appear as they are on the plains. The agent's house without is like any pretty village home in the East; and within, the only distinctive features are a number of ornamental mounted wild-beast's heads and a room whose walls are lined about with rare and beautiful Blackfoot curios in skin and stone and bead-work. But, to our joy, we found seated in that room the famous chief Old Sun. He is the husband of the most remarkable Indian squaw in America, and he would have been Crowfoot's successor were it not that he was eighty-seven years of age when the Blackfoot Cæsar died. As chief of the North Blackfeet, Old Sun boasts the largest personal following on the Canadian plains, having earned his popularity by his fighting record, his commanding manner, his eloquence, and by that generosity which leads him to give away his rations and his presents. No man north of Mexico can dress more gorgeously than he upon occasion, for he still owns a buckskin outfit beaded to the value of a Worth gown. Moreover, he owns a red coat, such as the Government used to give only to great chiefs. The old fellow had lost his vigor when we saw him, and as he sat wrapped in his blanket he looked like a half-emptied meal bag flung on a chair. He despises English, but in that marvellous Volapük of the plains called the sign language he told us that his teeth were gone, his hearing was bad, his eyes were weak, and his flesh was spare. He told his age also, and much else besides, and there is no one who reads this but could have readily understood his every statement and sentiment, conveyed solely by means of his hands and fingers. I noticed that he looked like an old woman, and it is a fact that old Indian men frequently look so. Yet no one ever saw a young brave whose face suggested a woman's, though their beardless countenances and long hair might easily create that appearance. Mr. Remington was anxious to paint Old Sun and his squaw, particularly the latter, and he easily obtained permission, although when the time for the mysterious ordeal arrived next day the old chief was greatly troubled in his superstitious old brain lest some mischief would befall him through the medium of the painting. To the Indian mind the sun, which they worship, has magical, even devilish, powers, and Old Sun developed a fear that the orb of day might "work on his picture" and cause him to die. Fortunately I found in Mr. L'Hereux, the interpreter, a person who had undergone the process without dire consequences, was willing to undergo it again, and who added that his father and mother had submitted to the operation, and yet had lived to a yellow old age. When Old Sun brought his wife to sit for her portrait I put all etiquette to shame in staring at her, as you will all the more readily believe when you know something of her history. Old Sun's wife sits in the council of her nation--the only woman, white, red, or black, of whom I have ever heard who enjoys such a prerogative on this continent. She earned her peculiar privileges, if any one ever earned anything. Forty or more years ago she was a Piegan maiden known only in her tribe, and there for nothing more than her good origin, her comeliness, and her consequent value in horses. She met with outrageous fortune, but she turned it to such good account that she was speedily ennobled. She was at home in a little camp on the plains one day, and had wandered away from the tents, when she was kidnapped. It was in this wise: other camps were scattered near there. On the night before the day of her adventure a band of Crows stole a number of horses from a camp of the Gros Ventres, and very artfully trailed their plunder towards and close to the Piegan camp before they turned and made their way to their own lodges. When the Gros Ventres discovered their loss, and followed the trail that seemed to lead to the Piegan camp, the girl and her father, an aged chief, were at a distance from their tepees, unarmed and unsuspecting. Down swooped the Gros Ventres. They killed and scalped the old man, and then their chief swung the young girl upon his horse behind him, and binding her to him with thongs of buckskin, clashed off triumphantly for his own village. That has happened to many another Indian maiden, most of whom have behaved as would a plaster image, saving a few days of weeping. Not such was Old Sun's wife. When she and her captor were in sight of the Gros Ventre village, she reached forward and stole the chief's scalping-knife out of its sheath at his side. With it, still wet with her father's blood, she cut him in the back through to the heart. Then she freed his body from hers, and tossed him from the horse's back. Leaping to the ground beside his body, she not only scalped him, but cut off his right arm and picked up his gun, and rode madly back to her people, chased most of the way, but bringing safely with her the three greatest trophies a warrior can wrest from a vanquished enemy. Two of them would have distinguished any brave, but this mere village maiden came with all three. From that day she has boasted the right to wear three eagle feathers. Old Sun was a young man then, and when he heard of this feat he came and hitched the requisite number of horses to her mother's travois poles beside her tent. I do not recall how many steeds she was valued at, but I have heard of very high-priced Indian girls who had nothing except their feminine qualities to recommend them. In one case I knew that a young man, who had been casting what are called "sheep's eyes" at a maiden, went one day and tied four horses to her father's tent. Then he stood around and waited, but there was no sign from the tent. Next day he took four more, and so he went on until he had tied sixteen horses to the tepee. At the least they were worth $20, perhaps $30, apiece. At that the maiden and her people came out, and received the young man so graciously that he knew he was "the young woman's choice," as we say in civilized circles, sometimes under very similar circumstances. At all events, Old Sun was rich and powerful, and easily got the savage heroine for his wife. She was admitted to the Blackfoot council without a protest, and has since proven that her valor was not sporadic, for she has taken the war-path upon occasion, and other scalps have gone to her credit. After a while we drove over to where the field lay littered with tepees. There seemed to be no order in the arrangement of the tents as we looked at the scene from a distance. Gradually the symptoms of a great stir and activity were observable, and we saw men and horses running about at one side of the nomad settlement, as well as hundreds of human figures moving in the camp. Then a nearer view brought out the fact that the tepees, which were of many sizes, were apt to be white at the base, reddish half-way up, and dark brown at the top. The smoke of the fires within, and the rain and sun without, paint all the cotton or canvas tepees like that, and very pretty is the effect. When closer still, we saw that each tepee was capped with a rude crown formed of pole ends--the ends of the ribs of each structure; that some of the tents were gayly ornamented with great geometric patterns in red, black, and yellow around the bottoms; and that others bore upon their sides rude but highly colored figures of animals--the clan sign of the family within. Against very many of the frail dwellings leaned a travois, the triangle of poles which forms the wagon of the Indians. There were three or four very large tents, the headquarters of the chiefs of the soldier bands and of the head chief of the nation; and there was one spotless new tent, with a pretty border painted around its base, and the figure of an animal on either side. It was the new establishment of a bride and groom. A hubbub filled the air as we drew still nearer; not any noise occasioned by our approach, but the ordinary uproar of the camp--the barking of dogs, the shouts of frolicking children, the yells of young men racing on horseback and of others driving in their ponies. When we drove between the first two tents we saw that the camp had been systematically arranged in the form of a rude circle, with the tents in bunches around a great central space, as large as Madison Square if its corners were rounded off. We were ushered into the presence of Three Bulls, in the biggest of all the tents. By common consent he was presiding as chief and successor to Crowfoot, pending the formal election, which was to take place at the feast of the sun-dance. European royalty could scarcely have managed to invest itself with more dignity or access to its presence with more formality than hedged about this blanketed king. He had assembled his chiefs and headmen to greet us, for we possessed the eminence of persons bearing gifts. He was in mourning for Crowfoot, who was his brother, and for a daughter besides, and the form of expression he gave to his grief caused him to wear nothing but a flannel shirt and a breech-cloth, in which he sat with his big brown legs bare and crossed beneath him. He is a powerful man, with an uncommonly large head, and his facial features, all generously moulded, indicate amiability, liberality, and considerable intelligence. Of middle age, smooth-skinned, and plump, there was little of the savage in his looks beyond what came of his long black hair. It was purposely wore unkempt and hanging in his eyes, and two locks of it were bound with many brass rings. When we came upon him our gifts had already been received and distributed, mainly to three or four relatives. But though the others sat about portionless, all were alike stolid and statuesque, and whatever feelings agitated their breasts, whether of satisfaction or disappointment, were equally hidden by all. When we entered the big tepee we saw twenty-one men seated in a circle against the wall and facing the open centre, where the ground was blackened by the ashes of former fires. Three Bulls sat exactly opposite the queer door, a horseshoe-shaped hole reaching two feet above the ground, and extended by the partly loosened lacing that held the edges of the tent-covering together. Mr. L'Hereux, the interpreter, made a long speech in introducing each of us. We stood in the middle of the ring, and the chief punctuated the interpreter's remarks with that queer Indian grunt which it has ever been the custom to spell "ugh," but which you may imitate exactly if you will try to say "Ha" through your nose while your mouth is closed. As Mr. L'Hereux is a great talker, and is of a poetic nature, there is no telling what wild fancy of his active brain he invented concerning us, but he made a friendly talk, and that was what we wanted. As each speech closed, Three Bulls lurched forward just enough to make the putting out of his hand a gracious act, yet not enough to disturb his dignity. After each salutation he pointed out a seat for the one with whom he had shaken hands. He announced to the council in their language that we were good men, whereat the council uttered a single "Ha" through its twenty-one noses. If you had seen the rigid stateliness of Three Bulls, and had felt the frigid self-possession of the twenty-one ramrod-mannered under-chiefs, as well as the deference which was in the tones of the other white men in our company, you would comprehend that we were made to feel at once honored and subordinate. Altogether we made an odd picture: a circle of men seated tailor fashion, and my own and Mr. Remington's black shoes marring the gaudy ring of yellow moccasins in front of the savages, as they sat in their colored blankets and fringed and befeathered gear, each with the calf of one leg crossed before the shin of the other. But L'Hereux's next act after introducing us was one that seemed to indicate perfect indifference to the feelings of this august body. No one but he, who had spent a quarter of a century with them in closest intimacy, could have acted as he proceeded to do. He cast his eyes on the ground, and saw the mounds of sugar, tobacco, and tea heaped before only a certain few Indians. "Now who has done dose t'ing?" he inquired. "Oh, dat vill nevaire do 'tall. You haf done dose t'ing, Mistaire Begg? No? Who den? Chief? Nevaire mind. I make him all rount again, vaire deeferent. You shall see somet'ing." With that, and yet without ceasing to talk for an instant, now in Indian and now in his English, he began to dump the tea back again into the chest, the sugar into the bag, and the plug tobacco in a heap by itself. Not an Indian moved a muscle--unless I was right in my suspicion that the corners of Three Bulls' mouth curved upward slightly, as if he were about to smile. "Vot kind of wa-a-y to do-o somet'ing is dat?" the interpreter continued, in his sing-song tone. "You moos' haf one maje-dome [major-domo] if you shall try satisfy dose Engine." He always called the Indians "dose Engine." "Dat chief gif all dose present to his broders und cousins, which are in his famille. Now you shall see me, vot I shall do." Taking his hat, he began filling it, now with sugar and now with tea, and emptying it before some six or seven chiefs. Finally, when a double share was left, he gave both bag and chest to Three Bulls, to whom he also gave all the tobacco. "Such tam-fool peezness," he went on, "I do not see in all my life. I make visitation to de t'ree soljier chief vhich shall make one grand darnce for dose gentlemen, und here is for dose soljier chief not anyt'ing 'tall, vhile everyt'ing was going to one lot of beggaire relation of T'ree Bull. Dat is what I call one tam-fool way to do some'ting." [Illustration: INDIAN BOYS RUNNING A FOOT-RACE] The redistribution accomplished, Three Bulls wore a grin of satisfaction, and one chief who had lost a great pile of presents, and who got nothing at all by the second division, stalked solemnly out of the tent, through not until Three Bulls had tossed the plugs of tobacco to all the men around the circle, precisely as he might have thrown bones to dogs, but always observing a certain order in making each round with the plugs. All were thus served according to their rank. Then Three Bulls rummaged with one hand behind him in the grass, and fetched forward a great pipe with a stone bowl and wooden handle--a sort of chopping-block of wood--and a large long-bladed knife. Taking a plug of tobacco in one hand and the knife in the other, he pared off enough tobacco to fill the pipe. Then he filled it, and passed it, stem foremost, to a young man on the left-hand side of the tepee. The superior chiefs all sat on the right-hand side. The young man knew that he had been chosen to perform the menial act of lighting the pipe, and he lighted it, pulling two or three whiffs of smoke to insure a good coal of fire in it before passing it back--though why it was not considered a more menial task to cut the tobacco and fill the pipe than to light it I don't know. Three Bulls puffed the pipe for a moment, and then turning the stem from him, pointed it at the chief next in importance, and to that personage the symbol of peace was passed from hand to hand. When that chief had drawn a few whiffs, he sent the pipe back to Three Bulls, who then indicated to whom it should go next. Thus it went dodging about the circle like a marble on a bagatelle board. When it came to me, I hesitated a moment whether or not to smoke it, but the desire to be polite outweighed any other prompting, and I sucked the pipe until some of the Indians cried out that I was "a good fellow." While all smoked and many talked, I noticed that Three Bulls sat upon a soft seat formed of his blanket, at one end of which was one of those wickerwork contrivances, like a chair back, upon which Indians lean when seated upon the ground. I noticed also that one harsh criticism passed upon Three Bulls was just; that was that when he spoke, others might interrupt him. It was said that even women "talked back" to him at times when he was haranguing his people. Since no one spoke when Crowfoot talked, the comparison between him and his predecessor was injurious to him; but it was Crowfoot who named Three Bulls for the chieftainship. Besides, Three Bulls had the largest following (under that of the too aged Old Sun), and was the most generous chief and ablest politician of all. Then, again, the Government supported him with whatever its influence amounted to. This was because Three Bulls favored agricultural employment for the tribe, and was himself cultivating a patch of potatoes. He was in many other ways the man to lead in the new era, as Crowfoot had been for the era that was past. When we retired from the presence of the chief, I asked Mr. L'Hereux how he had dared to take back the presents made to the Indians and then distribute them differently. The queer Frenchman said, in his indescribably confident, jaunty way: "Why, dat is how you mus' do wid dose Engine. Nevaire ask one of dose Engine anyt'ing, but do dose t'ing which are right, and at de same time make explanashion what you are doing. Den dose Engine can say no t'ing 'tall. But if you first make explanashion and den try to do somet'ng, you will find one grand trouble. Can you explain dis and dat to one hive of de bees? Well, de hive of de bee is like dose Engine if you shall talk widout de promp' action." He said, later on, "Dose Engine are children, and mus' not haf consideration like mans and women." The news of our generosity ran from tent to tent, and the Black Soldier band sent out a herald to cry the news that a war-dance was to be held immediately. As immediately means to the Indian mind an indefinite and very enduring period, I amused myself by poking about the village, in tents and among groups of men or women, wherever chance led me. The herald rode from side to side of the enclosure, yelling like a New York fruit peddler. He was mounted on a bay pony, and was fantastically costumed with feathers and war-paint. Of course every man, woman, and child who had been in-doors, so to speak, now came out of the tepees, and a mighty bustle enlivened the scene. The worst thing about the camp was the abundance of snarling cur-dogs. It was not safe to walk about the camp without a cane or whip, on account of these dogs. [Illustration: INDIAN MOTHER AND BOY] The Blackfeet are poor enough, in all conscience, from nearly every stand-point from which we judge civilized Communities, but their tribal possessions include several horses to each head of a family; and though the majority of their ponies would fetch no more than $20 apiece out there, even this gives them more wealth per capita than many civilized peoples can boast. They have managed, also, to keep much of the savage paraphernalia of other days in the form of buckskin clothes, elaborate bead-work, eagle headdresses, good guns, and the outlandish adornments of their chiefs and medicine-men. Hundreds of miles from any except such small and distant towns as Calgary and Medicine Hat, and kept on the reserve as much as possible, there has come to them less damage by whiskey and white men's vices than perhaps most other tribes have suffered. Therefore it was still possible for me to see in some tents the squaws at work painting the clan signs on stretched skins, and making bead-work for moccasins, pouches, "chaps," and the rest. And in one tepee I found a young and rather pretty girl wearing a suit of buckskin, such as Cooper and all the past historians of the Indian knew as the conventional every-day attire of the red-skin. I say I saw the girl in a tent, but, as a matter of fact, she passed me out-of-doors, and with true feminine art managed to allow her blanket to fall open for just the instant it took to disclose the precious dress beneath it. I asked to be taken into the tent to which she went, and there, at the interpreter's request, she threw off her blanket, and stood, with a little display of honest coyness, dressed like the traditional and the theatrical belle of the wilderness. The soft yellowish leather, the heavy fringe upon the arms, seams, and edges of the garment, her beautiful beaded leggings and moccasins, formed so many parts of a very charming picture. For herself, her face was comely, but her figure was--an Indian's. The figure of the typical Indian woman shows few graceful curves. The reader will inquire whether there was any real beauty, as we judge it, among these Indians. Yes, there was; at least there were good looks if there was not beauty. I saw perhaps a dozen fine-looking men, half a dozen attractive girls, and something like a hundred children of varying degrees of comeliness--pleasing, pretty, or beautiful. I had some jolly romps with the children, and so came to know that their faces and arms met my touch with the smoothness and softness of the flesh of our own little ones at home. I was surprised at this; indeed, the skin of the boys was of the texture of velvet. The madcap urchins, what riotous fun they were having! They flung arrows and darts, ran races and wrestled, and in some of their play they fairly swarmed all over one another, until at times one lad would be buried in the thick of a writhing mass of legs and arms several feet in depth. Some of the boys wore only "G-strings" (as, for some reason, the breech-clout is commonly called on the prairie), but others were wrapped in old blankets, and the larger ones were already wearing the Blackfoot plume-lock, or tuft of hair tied and trained to stand erect above the forehead. The babies within the tepees were clad only in their complexions. The result of an hour of waiting on our part and of yelling on the part of the herald resulted in a war-dance not very different in itself from the dances we have most of us seen at Wild West shows. An immense tomtom as big as the largest-sized bass-drum was set up between four poles, around which colored cloths were wrapped, and from the tops of which the same gay stuff floated on the wind in bunches of party-colored ribbons. Around this squatted four young braves, who pounded the drum-head and chanted a tune, which rose and fell between the shrillest and the deepest notes, but which consisted of simple monosyllabic sounds repeated thousands of times. The interpreter said that originally the Indians had words to their songs, but these were forgotten no man knows when, and only the so-called tunes (and the tradition that there once were words for them) are perpetuated. At all events, the four braves beat the drum and chanted, until presently a young warrior, hideous with war-paint, and carrying a shield and a tomahawk, came out of a tepee and began the dancing. It was the stiff-legged hopping, first on one foot and then on the other, which all savages appear to deem the highest form the terpsichorean art can take. In the course of a few circles around the tomtom he began shouting of valorous deeds he never had performed, for he was too young to have ridden after buffalo or into battle. Presently he pretended to see upon the ground something at once fascinating and awesome. It was the trail of the enemy. Then he danced furiously and more limberly, tossing his head back, shaking his hatchet and many-tailed shield high aloft, and yelling that he was following the foe, and would not rest while a skull and a scalp-lock remained in conjunction among them. He was joined by three others, and all danced and yelled like madmen. At the last the leader came to a sort of standard made of a stick and some cloth, tore it out from where it had been thrust in the ground, and holding it far above his head, pranced once around the circle, and thus ended the dance. [Illustration: OPENING OF THE SOLDIER CLAN DANCE] The novelty and interest in the celebration rested in the surroundings--the great circle of tepees; the braves in their blankets stalking hither and thither; the dogs, the horses, the intrepid riders, dashing across the view. More strange still was the solemn line of the medicine-men, who, for some reason not explained to me, sat in a row with their backs to the dancers a city block away, and crooned a low guttural accompaniment to the tomtom. But still more interesting were the boys, of all grades of childhood, who looked on, while not a woman remained in sight. The larger boys stood about in groups, watching the spectacle with eyes afire with admiration, but the little fellows had flung themselves on their stomachs in a row, and were supporting their chubby faces upon their little brown hands, while their elbows rested on the grass, forming a sort of orchestra row of Lilliputian spectators. We arranged for a great spectacle to be gotten up on the next afternoon, and were promised that it should be as notable for the numbers participating in it and for the trappings to be displayed as any the Blackfeet had ever given upon their reserve. The Indians spent the entire night in carousing over the gift of tea, and we knew that if they were true to most precedents they would brew and drink every drop of it. Possibly some took it with an admixture of tobacco and wild currant to make them drunk, or, in reality, very sick--which is much the same thing to a reservation Indian. The compounds which the average Indian will swallow in the hope of imitating the effects of whiskey are such as to tax the credulity of those who hear of them. A certain patent "painkiller" ranks almost as high as whiskey in their estimation; but Worcestershire sauce and gunpowder, or tea, tobacco, and wild currant, are not at all to be despised when alcohol, or the money to get it with, is wanting. I heard a characteristic story about these red men while I was visiting them. All who are familiar with them know that if medicine is given them to take in small portions at certain intervals they are morally sure to swallow it all at once, and that the sicker it makes them, the more they will value it. On the Blackfoot Reserve, only a short time ago, our gentle and insinuating Sedlitz-powders were classed as children's stuff, but now they have leaped to the front rank as powerful medicines. This is because some white man showed the Indian how to take the soda and magnesia first, and then swallow the tartaric acid. They do this, and when the explosion follows, and the gases burst from their mouths and noses, they pull themselves together and remark, "Ugh! him heap good." [Illustration: SKETCH IN THE SOLDIER CLAN DANCE] On the morning of the day of the great spectacle I rode with Mr. Begg over to the ration-house to see the meat distributed. The dust rose in clouds above all the trails as the cavalcade of men, women, children, travoises and dogs, approached the station. Men were few in the disjointed lines; most of them sent their women or children. All rode astraddle, some on saddles and some bareback. As all urged their horses in the Indian fashion, which is to whip them unceasingly, and prod them constantly with spurless heels, the bobbing movement of the riders' heads and the gymnastics of their legs produced a queer scene. Here and there a travois was trailed along by a horse or a dog, but the majority of the pensioners were content to carry their meat in bags or otherwise upon their horses. While the slaughtering went on, and after that, when the beef was being chopped up into junks, I sat in the meat-contractor's office, and saw the bucks, squaws, and children come, one after another, to beg. I could not help noticing that all were treated with marked and uniform kindness, and I learned that no one ever struck one of the Indians, or suffered himself to lose his temper with them. A few of the men asked for blankets, but the squaws and the children wanted soap. It was said that when they first made their acquaintance with this symbol of civilization they mistook it for an article of diet, but that now they use it properly and prize it. When it was announced that the meat was ready, the butchers threw open an aperture in the wall of the ration-house, and the Indians huddled before it as if they had flung themselves against the house in a mass. I have seen boys do the same thing at the opening of a ticket window for the sale of gallery seats in a theatre. There was no fighting or quarrelling, but every Indian pushed steadily and silently with all his or her might. When one got his share he tore himself away from the crowd as briers are pulled out of hairy cloth. They are a hungry and an economical people. They bring pails for the beef blood, and they carry home the hoofs for jelly. After a steer has been butchered and distributed, only his horns and his paunch remain. The sun blazed down on the great camp that afternoon and glorified the place so that it looked like a miniature Switzerland of snowy peaks. But it was hot, and blankets were stretched from the tent tops, and the women sat under them to catch the air and escape the heat. The salaried native policeman of the reserve, wearing a white stove-pipe hat with feathers, and a ridiculous blue coat, and Heaven alone knows what other absurdities, rode around, boasting of deeds he never performed, while a white cur made him all the more ridiculous by chasing him and yelping at his horse's tail. And then came the grand spectacle. The vast plain was forgotten, and the great campus within the circle of tents was transformed into a theatre. The scene was a setting of white and red tents that threw their clear-cut outlines against a matchless blue sky. The audience was composed of four white men and the Indian boys, who were flung about by the startled horses they were holding for us. The players were the gorgeous cavalrymen of nature, circling before their women and old men and children, themselves plumed like unheard-of tropical birds, the others displaying the minor splendor of the kaleidoscope. The play was "The Pony War-dance, or the Departure for Battle." The acting was fierce; not like the conduct of a mimic battle on our stage, but performed with the desperate zest of men who hope for distinction in war, and may not trifle about it. It had the earnestness of a challenged man who tries the foils with a tutor. It was impressive, inspiring, at times wildly exciting. [Illustration: A FANTASY FROM THE PONY WAR-DANCE] There were threescore young men in the brilliant cavalcade. They rode horses that were as wild as themselves. Their evolutions were rude, but magnificent. Now they dashed past us in single file, and next they came helter-skelter, like cattle stampeding. For a while they rode around and around, as on a race-course, but at times they deserted the enclosure, parted into small bands, and were hidden behind the curtains of their own dust, presently to reappear with a mad rush, yelling like maniacs, firing their pieces, and brandishing their arms and their finery wildly on high. The orchestra was composed of seven tomtoms that had been dried taut before a camp fire. The old men and the chiefs sat in a semicircle behind the drummers on the ground. All the tribal heirlooms were in the display, the cherished gewgaws, trinkets, arms, apparel, and finery they had saved from the fate of which they will not admit they are themselves the victims. I never saw an old-time picture of a type of savage red man or of an extravagance of their costuming that was not revived in this spectacle. It was as if the plates in my old school-books and novels and tales of adventure were all animated and passing before me. The traditional Indian with the eagle plumes from crown to heels was there; so was he with the buffalo horns growing out of his skull; so were the idyllic braves in yellow buckskin fringed at every point. The shining bodies of men, bare naked, and frescoed like a Bowery bar-room, were not lacking; neither were those who wore masses of splendid embroidery with colored beads. But there were as many peculiar costumes which I never had seen pictured. And not any two men or any two horses were alike. As barber poles are covered with paint, so were many of these choice steeds of the nation. Some were spotted all over with daubs of white, and some with every color obtainable. Some were branded fifty times with the white hand, the symbol of peace, but others bore the red hand and the white hand in alternate prints. There were horses painted with the figures of horses and of serpents and of foxes. To some saddles were affixed colored blankets or cloths that fell upon the ground or lashed the air, according as the horse cantered or raced. One horse was hung all round with great soft woolly tails of some white material. Sleigh-bells were upon several. Only half a dozen men wore hats--mainly cowboy hats decked with feathers. Many carried rifles, which they used with one hand. Others brought out bows and arrows, lances decked with feathers or ribbons, poles hung with colored cloths, great shields brilliantly painted and fringed. Every visible inch of each warrior was painted, the naked ones being ringed, streaked, and striped from head to foot. I would have to catalogue the possessions of the whole nation to tell all that they wore between the brass rings in their hair and the cartridge-belts at their waists, and thus down to their beautiful moccasins. Two strange features further distinguished their pageant. One was the appearance of two negro minstrels upon one horse. Both had blackened their faces and hands; both wore old stove-pipe hats and queer long-tailed white men's coats. One wore a huge false white mustache, and the other carried a coal-scuttle. The women and children roared with laughter at the sight. The two comedians got down from their horse, and began to make grimaces, and to pose this way and that, very comically. Such a performance had never been seen on the reserve before. No one there could explain where the men had seen negro minstrels. The other unexpected feature required time for development. At first we noticed that two little Indian boys kept getting in the way of the riders. As we were not able to find any fixed place of safety from the excited horsemen, we marvelled that these children were permitted to risk their necks. Suddenly a hideously-painted naked man on horseback chased the little boys, leaving the cavalcade, and circling around the children. He rode back into the ranks, and still they loitered in the way. Then around swept the horsemen once more, and this time the naked rider flung himself from his horse, and seizing one boy and then the other, bore each to the ground, and made as if he would brain them with his hatchet and lift their scalps with his knife. The sight was one to paralyze an on-looker. But it was only a theatrical performance arranged for the occasion. The man was acting over again the proudest of his achievements. The boys played the parts of two white men whose scalps now grace his tepee and gladden his memory. [Illustration: THROWING THE SNOW SNAKE] For ninety minutes we watched the glorious riding, the splendid horses, the brilliant trappings, and the paroxysmal fervor of the excited Indians. The earth trembled beneath the dashing of the riders; the air palpitated with the noise of their war-cries and bells. We could have stood the day out, but we knew the players were tired, and yet would not cease till we withdrew. Therefore we came away. We had enjoyed a never-to-be-forgotten privilege. It was if we had seen the ghosts of a dead people ride back to parody scenes in an era that had vanished. It was like the rising of the curtain, in response to an "encore," upon a drama that has been played. It was as if the sudden up-flashing of a smouldering fire lighted, once again and for an instant, the scene it had ceased to illumine. III A FAMOUS MISSIONARY The former chief of the Blackfeet--Crowfoot--and Father Lacombe, the Roman Catholic missionary to the tribe, were the most interesting and among the most influential public characters in the newer part of Canada. They had much to do with controlling the peace of a territory the size of a great empire. The chief was more than eighty years old; the priest is a dozen years younger; and yet they represented in their experiences the two great epochs of life on this continent--the barbaric and the progressive. In the chief's boyhood the red man held undisputed sway from the Lakes to the Rockies. In the priest's youth he led, like a scout, beyond the advancing hosts from Europe. But Father Lacombe came bearing the olive branch of religion, and he and the barbarian became fast friends, intimates in a companionship as picturesque and out of the common as any the world could produce. There is something very strange about the relations of the French and the French half-breeds with the wild men of the plains. It is not altogether necessary that the Frenchman should be a priest, for I have heard of French half-breeds in our Territories who showed again and again that they could make their way through bands of hostiles in perfect safety, though knowing nothing of the language of the tribes there in war-paint. It is most likely that their swarthy skins and black hair, and their knowledge of savage ways aided them. But when not even a French half-breed has dared to risk his life among angry Indians, the French missionaries went about their duty fearlessly and unscathed. There was one, just after the dreadful massacre of the Little Big Horn, who built a cross of rough wood, painted it white, fastened it to his buck-board, and drove through a country in which a white man with a pale face and blond hair would not have lived two hours. It must be remembered that in a vast region of country the French priest and _voyageur_ and _coureur des bois_ were the first white men the Indians saw, and while the explorers and traders seldom quarrelled with the red men or offered violence to them, the priests never did. They went about like women or children, or, rather, like nothing else than priests. They quickly learned the tongues of the savages, treated them fairly, showed the sublimest courage, and acted as counsellors, physicians, and friends. There is at least one brave Indian fighter in our army who will state it as his belief that if all the white men had done thus we would have had but little trouble with our Indians. Father Lacombe was one of the priests who threaded the trails of the North-western timber land and the Far Western prairie when white men were very few indeed in that country, and the only settlements were those that had grown around the frontier forts and the still earlier mission chapels. For instance, in 1849, at twenty-two years of age, he slept a night or two where St. Paul now weights the earth. It was then a village of twenty-five log-huts, and where the great building of the St. Paul _Pioneer Press_ now stands, then stood the village chapel. For two years he worked at his calling on either side of the American frontier, and then was sent to what is now Edmonton, in that magical region of long summers and great agricultural capacity known as the Peace River District, hundreds of miles north of Dakota and Idaho. There the Rockies are broken and lowered, and the warm Pacific winds have rendered the region warmer than the land far to the south of it. But Father Lacombe went farther--400 miles north to Lake Labiche. There he found what he calls a fine colony of half-breeds. These were dependants of the Hudson Bay Company--white men from England, France, and the Orkney Islands, and Indians and half-breeds and their children. The visits of priests were so infrequent that in the intervals between them the white men and Indian women married one another, not without formality and the sanction of the colony, but without waiting for the ceremony of the Church. Father Lacombe was called upon to bless and solemnize many such matches, to baptize many children, and to teach and preach what scores knew but vaguely or not at all. In time he was sent to Calgary in the province of Alberta. It is one of the most bustling towns in the Dominion, and the biggest place west of Winnipeg. Alberta is north of our Montana, and is all prairie-land; but from Father Lacombe's parsonage one sees the snow-capped Rockies, sixty miles away, lying above the horizon like a line of clouds tinged with the delicate hues of mother-of-pearl in the sunshine. Calgary was a mere post in the wilderness for years after the priest went there. The buffaloes roamed the prairie in fabulous numbers, the Indians used the bow and arrow in the chase, and the maps we studied at the time showed the whole region enclosed in a loop, and marked "Blackfoot Indians." But the other Indians were loath to accept this disposition of the territory as final, and the country thereabouts was an almost constant battle-ground between the Blackfoot nation of allied tribes and the Sioux, Crows, Flatheads, Crees, and others. The good priest--for if ever there was a good man Father Lacombe is one--saw fighting enough, as he roamed with one tribe and the other, or journeyed from tribe to tribe. His mission led him to ignore tribal differences, and to preach to all the Indians of the plains. He knew the chiefs and headmen among them all, and so justly did he deal with them that he was not only able to minister to all without attracting the enmity of any, but he came to wield, as he does to-day, a formidable power over all of them. He knew old Crowfoot in his prime, and as I saw them together they were like bosom friends. Together they had shared dreadful privation and survived frightful winters and storms. They had gone side by side through savage battles, and each respected and loved the other. I think I make no mistake in saying that all through his reign Crowfoot was the greatest Indian monarch in Canada; possibly no tribe in this country was stronger in numbers during the last decade or two. I have never seen a nobler-looking Indian or a more king-like man. He was tall and straight, as slim as a girl, and he had the face of an eagle or of an ancient Roman. He never troubled himself to learn the English language; he had little use for his own. His grunt or his "No" ran all through his tribe. He never shared his honors with a squaw. He died an old bachelor, saying, wittily, that no woman would take him. It must be remembered that the degradation of the Canadian Indian began a dozen or fifteen years later than that of our own red men. In both countries the railroads were indirectly the destructive agents, and Canada's great transcontinental line is a new institution. Until it belted the prairie the other day the Blackfoot Indians led very much the life of their fathers, hunting and trading for the whites, to be sure, but living like Indians, fighting like Indians, and dying like them. Now they don't fight, and they live and die like dogs. Amid the old conditions lived Crowfoot--a haughty, picturesque, grand old savage. He never rode or walked without his headmen in his retinue, and when he wished to exert his authority, his apparel was royal indeed. His coat of gaudy bead-work was a splendid garment, and weighed a dozen pounds. His leg-gear was just as fine; his moccasins would fetch fifty dollars in any city to-day. Doubtless he thought his hat was quite as impressive and king-like, but to a mere scion of effeminate civilization it looked remarkably like an extra tall plug hat, with no crown in the top and a lot of crows' plumes in the band. You may be sure his successor wears that same hat to-day, for the Indians revere the "state hat" of a brave chief, and look at it through superstitious eyes, so that those queer hats (older tiles than ever see the light of St. Patrick's Day) descend from chief to chief, and are hallowed. But Crowfoot died none too soon. The history of the conquest of the wilderness contains no more pathetic story than that of how the kind old priest, Father Lacombe, warned the chief and his lieutenants against the coming of the pale-faces. He went to the reservation and assembled the leaders before him in council. He told them that the white men were building a great railroad, and in a month their workmen would be in that virgin country. He told the wondering red men that among these laborers would be found many bad men seeking to sell whiskey, offering money for the ruin of the squaws. Reaching the greatest eloquence possible for him, because he loved the Indians and doubted their strength, he assured them that contact with these white men would result in death, in the destruction of the Indians, and by the most horrible processes of disease and misery. He thundered and he pleaded. The Indians smoked and reflected. Then they spoke through old Crowfoot: "We have listened. We will keep upon our reservation. We will not go to see the railroad." But Father Lacombe doubted still, and yet more profoundly was he convinced of the ruin of the tribe should the "children," as he sagely calls all Indians, disobey him. So once again he went to the reserve, and gathered the chief and the headmen, and warned them of the soulless, diabolical, selfish instincts of the white men. Again the grave warriors promised to obey him. The railroad laborers came with camps and money and liquors and numbers, and the prairie thundered the echoes of their sledge-hammer strokes. And one morning the old priest looked out of the window of his bare bedroom and saw curling wisps of gray smoke ascending from a score of tepees on the hill beside Calgary.[1] Angry, amazed, he went to his doorway and opened it, and there upon the ground sat some of the headmen and the old men, with bowed heads, ashamed. Fancy the priest's wrath and his questions! Note how wisely he chose the name of children for them, when I tell you that their spokesman at last answered with the excuse that the buffaloes were gone, and food was hard to get, and the white men brought money which the squaws could get. And what is the end? There are always tepees on the hills now beside every settlement near the Blackfoot reservation. And one old missionary lifted his trembling forefinger towards the sky, when I was there, and said: "Mark me. In fifteen years there will not be a full-blooded Indian alive on the Canadian prairie--not one." Through all that revolutionary railroad building and the rush of new settlers, Father Lacombe and Crowfoot kept the Indians from war, and even from depredations and from murder. When the half-breeds arose under Riel, and every Indian looked to his rifle and his knife, and when the mutterings that preface the war-cry sounded in every lodge, Father Lacombe made Crowfoot pledge his word that the Indians should not rise. The priest represented the Government on these occasions. The Canadian statesmen recognize the value of his services. He is the great authority on Indian matters beyond our border; the ambassador to and spokesman for the Indians. But Father Lacombe is more than that. He is the deepest student of the Indian languages that Canada possesses. The revised edition of Bishop Barager's _Grammar of the Ochipwe Language_ bears these words upon its title-page: "Revised by the Rev. Father Lacombe, Oblate Mary Immaculate, 1878." He is the author of the authoritative _Dictionnaire et Grammaire de la Langue Crise_, the dictionary of the Cree dialect published in 1874. He has compiled just such another monument to the Blackfoot language, and will soon publish it, if he has not done so already. He is in constant correspondence with our Smithsonian Institution; he is famous to all who study the Indian; he is beloved or admired throughout Canada. [Illustration: FATHER LACOMBE HEADING THE INDIANS] His work in these lines is labor of love. He is a student by nature. He began the study of the Algonquin language as a youth in older Canada, and the tongues of many of these tribes from Labrador to Athabasca are but dialects of the language of the great Algonquin nation--the Algic family. He told me that the white man's handling of Indian words in the nomenclature of our cities, provinces, and States is as brutal as anything charged against the savages. Saskatchewan, for instance, means nothing. "Kissiskatchewan" is the word that was intended. It means "rapid current." Manitoba is senseless, but "Manitowapa" (the mysterious strait) would have been full of local import. However, there is no need to sadden ourselves with this expert knowledge. Rather let us be grateful for every Indian name with which we have stamped individuality upon the map of the world be it rightly or wrong set forth. It is strange to think of a scholar and a priest amid the scenes that Father Lacombe has witnessed. It was one of the most fortunate happenings of my life that I chanced to be in Calgary and in the little mission beside the chapel when Chief Crowfoot came to pay his respects to his old black-habited friend. Anxious to pay the chief such a compliment as should present the old warrior to me in the light in which he would be most proud to be viewed, Father Lacombe remarked that he had known Crowfoot when he was a young man and a mighty warrior. The old copper-plated Roman smiled and swelled his chest when this was translated. He was so pleased that the priest was led to ask him if he remembered one night when a certain trouble about some horses, or a chance duel between the Blackfoot tribe and a band of its enemies, led to a midnight attack. If my memory serves me, it was the Bloods (an allied part of the Blackfoot nation) who picked this quarrel. The chief grinned and grunted wonderfully as the priest spoke. The priest asked if he remembered how the Bloods were routed. The chief grunted even more emphatically. Then the priest asked if the chief recalled what a pickle he, the priest, was in when he found himself in the thick of the fight. At that old Crowfoot actually laughed. After that Father Lacombe, in a few bold sentences, drew a picture of the quiet, sleep-enfolded camp of the Blackfoot band, of the silence and the darkness. Then he told of a sudden musket-shot; then of the screaming of the squaws, and the barking of the dogs, and the yelling of the children, of the general hubbub and confusion of the startled camp. The cry was everywhere "The Bloods! the Bloods!" The enemy shot a fusillade at close quarters into the Blackfoot camp, and the priest ran out towards the blazing muskets, crying that they must stop, for he, their priest, was in the camp. He shouted his own name, for he stood towards the Bloods precisely as he did towards the Blackfoot nation. But whether the Bloods heard him or not, they did not heed him. The blaze of their guns grew stronger and crept nearer. The bullets whistled by. It grew exceedingly unpleasant to be there. It was dangerous as well. Father Lacombe said that he did all he could to stop the fight, but when it was evident that his behavior would simply result in the massacre of his hosts and of himself in the bargain, he altered his cries into military commands. "Give it to 'em!" he screamed. He urged Crowfoot's braves to return two shots for every one from the enemy. He took command, and inspired the bucks with double valor. They drove the Bloods out of reach and hearing. All this was translated to Crowfoot--or Saponaxitaw, for that was his Indian name--and he chuckled and grinned, and poked the priest in the side with his knuckles. And good Father Lacombe felt the magnetism of his own words and memory, and clapped the chief on the shoulder, while both laughed heartily at the climax, with the accompanying mental picture of the discomfited Bloods running away, and the clergyman ordering their instant destruction. There may not be such another meeting and rehearsal on this continent again. Those two men represented the passing and the dominant races of America; and yet, in my view, the learned and brave and kindly missionary is as much a part of the dead past as is the royalty that Crowfoot was the last to represent. [Footnote 1: Since this was written Father Lacombe's work has been continued at Fort McLeod in the same province as Calgary. In this smaller place he finds more time for his literary pursuits.] IV ANTOINE'S MOOSE-YARD [Illustration] It was the night of a great dinner at the club. Whenever the door of the banqueting hall was opened, a burst of laughter or of applause disturbed the quiet talk of a few men who had gathered in the reading-room--men of the sort that extract the best enjoyment from a club by escaping its functions, or attending them only to draw to one side its choicest spirits for never-to-be-forgotten talks before an open fire, and over wine and cigars used sparingly. "I'm tired," an artist was saying--"so tired that I have a horror of my studio. My wife understands my condition and bids me go away and rest." "That is astonishing," said I; "for, as a rule, neither women nor men can comprehend the fatigue that seizes an artist or writer. At most of our homes there comes to be a reluctant recognition of the fact that we say we are tired, and that we persist in the assumption by knocking off work. But human fatigue is measured by the mile of walking, or the cords of firewood that have been cut, and the world will always hold that if we have not hewn wood or tramped all day, it is absurd for us to talk of feeling tired. We cannot alter this; we are too few." "Yes," said another of the little party. "The world shares the feeling of the Irishman who saw a very large, stout man at work at reporting in a courtroom. 'Faith!' said he, 'will ye look at the size of that man--to be airning his living wid a little pincil?' The world would acknowledge our right to feel tired if we used crow-bars to write or draw with; but pencils! pshaw! a hundred weigh less than a pound." "Well," said I, "all the same, I am so tired that my head feels like cork; so tired that for two days I have not been able to summon an idea or turn a sentence neatly. I have been sitting at my desk writing wretched stuff and tearing it up, or staring blankly out of the window." "Glorious!" said the artist, startling us all with his vehemence and inapt exclamation. "Why, it is providential that I came here to-night. If that's the way you feel, we are a pair, and you will go with me and rest. Do you hunt? Are you fond of it?" "I know all about it," said I, "but I have not definitely determined whether I am fond of it or not. I have been hunting only once. It was years ago, when I was a mere boy. I went after deer with a poet, an editor, and a railroad conductor. We journeyed to a lovely valley in Mifflin County, Pennsylvania, and put ourselves in the hands of a man seven feet high, who had a flintlock musket a foot taller than himself, and a wife who gave us saleratus bread and a bowl of pork fat for supper and breakfast. We were not there at dinner. The man stationed us a mile apart on what he said were the paths, or "runways," the deer would take. Then he went to stir the game up with his dogs. There he left us from sunrise till supper, or would have left us had we not with great difficulty found one another, and enjoyed the exquisite woodland quiet and light and shade together, mainly flat on our backs, with the white sails of the sky floating in an azure sea above the reaching fingers of the tree-tops. The editor marred the occasion with an unworthy suspicion that our hunter was at the village tavern picturing to his cronies what simple donkeys we were, standing a mile apart in the forsaken woods. But the poet said something so pregnant with philosophy that it always comes back to me with the mention of hunting. 'Where is your gun?' he was asked, when we came upon him, pacing the forest path, hands in pockets, and no weapon in sight. 'Oh, my gun?' he repeated. 'I don't know. Somewhere in among those trees. I covered it with leaves so as not to see it. After this, if I go hunting again, I shall not take a gun. It is very cold and heavy, and more or less dangerous in the bargain. You never use it, you know. I go hunting every few years, but I never yet have had to fire my gun, and I begin to see that it is only brought along in deference to a tradition descending from an era when men got something more than fresh air and scenery on a hunting trip.'" The others laughed at my story, but the artist regarded me with an expression of pity. He is a famous hunter--a genuine, devoted hunter--and one might almost as safely speak a light word of his relations as of his favorite mode of recreation. [Illustration: THE HOTEL--LAST SIGN OF CIVILIZATION] "Fresh air!" said he; "scenery! Humph! Your poet would not know which end of a gun to aim with. I see that you know nothing at all about hunting, but I will pay you the high compliment of saying that I can make a hunter of you. I have always insisted heretofore that a hunter must begin in boyhood; but never mind, I'll make a hunter of you at thirty-six. We will start to-morrow morning for Montreal, and in twenty-four hours you shall be in the greatest sporting region in America, incomparably the greatest hunting district. It is great because Americans do not know of it, and because it has all of British America to keep it supplied with game. Think of it! In twenty-four hours we shall be tracking moose near Hudson Bay, for Hudson Bay is not much farther from New York than Chicago--another fact that few persons are aware of." Environment is a positive force. We could feel that we were disturbing what the artist would call "the local tone," by rushing through the city's streets next morning with our guns slung upon our backs. It was just at the hour when the factory hands and the shop-girls were out in force, and the juxtaposition of those elements of society with two portly men bearing guns created a positive sensation. In the cars the artist held forth upon the terrors of the life upon which I was about to venture. He left upon my mind a blurred impression of sleeping out-of-doors like human cocoons, done up in blankets, while the savage mercury lurked in unknown depths below the zero mark. He said the camp-fire would have to be fed every two hours of each night, and he added, without contradiction from me, that he supposed he would have to perform this duty, as he was accustomed to it. Lest his forecast should raise my anticipation of pleasure extravagantly, he added that those hunters were fortunate who had fires to feed; for his part he had once walked around a tree stump a whole night to keep from freezing. He supposed that we would perform our main journeying on snow-shoes, but how we should enjoy that he could not say, as his knowledge of snow-shoeing was limited. At this point the inevitable offspring of fate, who is always at a traveller's elbow with a fund of alarming information, cleared his throat as he sat opposite us, and inquired whether he had overheard that we did not know much about snow-shoes. An interesting fact concerning them, he said, was that they seemed easy to walk with at first, but if the learner fell down with them on it usually needed a considerable portion of a tribe of Indians to put him back on his feet. Beginners only fell down, however, in attempting to cross a log or stump, but the forest where we were going was literally floored with such obstructions. The first day's effort to navigate with snow-shoes, he remarked, is usually accompanied by a terrible malady called _mal de raquette_, in which the cords of one's legs become knotted in great and excruciatingly painful bunches. The cure for this is to "walk it off the next day, when the agony is yet more intense than at first." As the stranger had reached his destination, he had little more than time to remark that the moose is an exceedingly vicious animal, invariably attacking all hunters who fail to kill him with the first shot. As the stranger stepped upon the car platform he let fall a simple but touching eulogy upon a dear friend who had recently lost his life by being literally cut in two, lengthwise, by a moose that struck him on the chest with its rigidly stiffened fore-legs. The artist protested that the stranger was a sensationalist, unsupported by either the camp-fire gossip or the literature of hunters. Yet one man that night found his slumber tangled with what the garrulous alarmist had been saying. In Montreal one may buy clothing not to be had in the United States: woollens thick as boards, hosiery that wards off the cold as armor resists missiles, gloves as heavy as shoes, yet soft as kid, fur caps and coats at prices and in a variety that interest poor and rich alike, blanket suits that are more picturesque than any other masculine garment worn north of the city of Mexico, tuques, and moccasins, and, indeed, so many sorts of clothing we Yankees know very little of (though many of us need them) that at a glance we say the Montrealers are foreigners. Montreal is the gayest city on this continent, and I have often thought that the clothing there is largely responsible for that condition. [Illustration: "GIVE ME A LIGHT"] A New Yorker disembarking in Montreal in mid-winter finds the place inhospitably cold, and wonders how, as well as why, any one lives there. I well remember standing years ago beside a toboggan-slide, with my teeth chattering and my very marrow slowly congealing, when my attention was called to the fact that a dozen ruddy-cheeked, bright-eyed, laughing girls were grouped in snow that reached their knees. I asked a Canadian lady how that could be possible, and she answered with a list of the principal garments those girls were wearing. They had two pairs of stockings under their shoes, and a pair of stockings over their shoes, with moccasins over them. They had so many woollen skirts that an American girl would not believe me if I gave the number. They wore heavy dresses and buckskin jackets, and blanket suits over all this. They had mittens over their gloves, and fur caps over their knitted hoods. It no longer seemed wonderful that they should not heed the cold; indeed, it occurred to me that their bravery amid the terrors of tobogganing was no bravery at all, since a girl buried deep in the heart of such a mass of woollens could scarcely expect damage if she fell from a steeple. When next I appeared out-of-doors I too was swathed in flannel, like a jewel in a box of plash, and from that time out Montreal seemed, what it really is, the merriest of American capitals. And there I had come again, and was filling my trunk with this wonderful armor of civilization, while the artist sought advice as to which point to enter the wilderness in order to secure the biggest game most quickly. Mr. W. C. Van Horne, the President of the Canadian Pacific Railroad, proved a friend in need. He dictated a few telegrams that agitated the people of a vast section of country between Ottawa and the Great Lakes. And in the afternoon the answers came flying back. These were from various points where Hudson Bay posts are situated. At one or two the Indian trappers and hunters were all away on their winter expeditions; from another a famous white hunter had just departed with a party of gentlemen. At Mattawa, in Ontario, moose were close at hand and plentiful, and two skilled Indian hunters were just in from a trapping expedition; but the post factor, Mr. Rankin, was sick in bed, and the Indians were on a spree. To Mattawa we decided to go. It is a twelve-hour journey from New York to Montreal, and an eleven-hour journey from Montreal to the heart of this hunters' paradise; so that, had we known at just what point to enter the forest, we could have taken the trail in twenty-four hours from the metropolis, as the artist had predicted. Our first taste of the frontier, at Peter O'Farrall's Ottawa Hotel, in Mattawa, was delicious in the extreme. O'Farrall used to be game-keeper to the Marquis of Waterford, and thus got "a taste of the quality" that prompted him to assume the position he has chosen as the most lordly hotel-keeper in Canada. We do not know what sort of men own our great New York and Chicago and San Francisco hotels, but certainly they cannot lead more leisurely, complacent lives than Mr. O'Farrall. He has a bartender to look after the male visitors and the bar, and a matronly relative to see to the women and the kitchen, so that the landlord arises when he likes to enjoy each succeeding day of ease and prosperity. He has been known to exert himself, as when he chased a man who spoke slightingly of his liquor. And he was momentarily ruffled at the trying conduct of the artist on this hunting trip. The artist could not find his overcoat, and had the temerity to refer the matter to Mr. O'Farrall. "Sir," said the artist, "what do you suppose has become of my overcoat? I cannot find it anywhere." "I don't know anything about your botheration overcoat," said Mr. O'Farrall. "Sure, I've throuble enough kaping thrack of me own." The reader may be sure that O'Farrall's was rightly recommended to us, and that it is a well-managed and popular place, with good beds and excellent fare, and with no extra charge for the delightful addition of the host himself, who is very tall and dignified and humourous, and who is the oddest and yet most picturesque-looking public character in the Dominion. Such an oddity is certain to attract queer characters to his side, and Mr. O'Farrall is no exception to the rule. One of the waiter-girls in the dining-room was found never by any chance to know anything that she was asked about. For instance, she had never heard of Mr. Rankin, the chief man of the place. To every question she made answer, "Sure, there does be a great dale goin' on here and I know nothin' of it." Of her the artist ventured the theory that "she could not know everything on a waiter-girl's salary." John, the bartender, was a delightful study. No matter what a visitor laid down in the smoking-room, John picked it up and carried it behind the bar. Every one was continually losing something and searching for it, always to observe that John was able to produce it with a smile and the wise remark that he had taken the lost article and put it away "for fear some one would pick it up." Finally, there was Mr. O'Farrall's dog--a ragged, time-worn, petulant terrier, no bigger than a pint-pot. Mr. O'Farrall nevertheless called him "Fairy," and said he kept him "to protect the village children against wild bears." I shall never be able to think of Mattawa as it is--a plain little lumbering town on the Ottawa River, with the wreck and ruin of once grand scenery hemming it in on all sides in the form of ragged mountains literally ravaged by fire and the axe. Hints of it come back to me in dismembered bits that prove it to have been interesting: vignettes of little school-boys in blanket suits and moccasins, of great-spirited horses forever racing ahead of fur-laden sleighs, and of troops of olive-skinned French-Canadian girls, bundled up from their feet to those mischievous features which shot roguish glances at the artist--the biggest man, the people said, who had ever been seen in Mattawa. But the place will ever yield back to my mind the impression I got of the wonderful preparations that were made for our adventure--preparations that seemed to busy or to interest nearly every one in the village. Our Indians had come in from the Indian village three miles away, and had said they had had enough drink. Mr. John De Sousa, accountant at the post, took charge of them and of us, and the work of loading a great portage sleigh went on apace. The men of sporting tastes came out and lounged in front of the post, and gave helpful advice; the Indians and clerks went to and from the sleigh laden with bags of necessaries; the harness-maker made for us belts such as the lumbermen use to preclude the possibility of incurable strains in the rough life in the wilderness. The help at O'Farrall's assisted in repacking what we needed so that our trunks and town clothing could be stored. Mr. De Sousa sent messengers hither and thither for essentials not in stock at the post. Some women, even, were set at work to make "neaps" for us, a neap being a sort of slipper or unlaced shoe made of heavy blanketing and worn outside one's stockings to give added warmth to the feet. "You see, this is no casual rabbit-hunt," said the artist. The remark will live in Mattawa many a year. The Hudson Bay Company's posts differ. In the wilderness they are forts surrounded by stockades, but within the boundaries of civilization they are stores. That at Winnipeg is a splendid emporium, while that at Mattawa is like a village store in the United States, except that the top story is laden with guns, traps, snow-shoes, and the skins of wild beasts; while an outbuilding in the rear is the repository of scores of birch-bark canoes--the carriages of British America. Mr. Rankin, the factor there, lay in a bed of suffering and could not see us. Yet it seemed difficult to believe that we could be made the recipients of greater or more kindly attentions than were lavished upon us by his accountant, Mr. De Sousa. He ordered our tobacco ground for us ready for our pipes; selected the finest from among those extraordinary blankets that have been made exclusively for this company for hundreds of years; picked out the largest snow-shoes in his stock; bade us lay aside the gloves we had brought, and take mittens such as he produced, and for which we thanked him in our hearts many times afterwards; planned our outfit of food with the wisdom of an old campaigner; bethought himself to send for baker's bread; ordered high legs sewed on our moccasins--in a word, he made it possible for us to say afterwards that absolutely nothing had been overlooked or slighted in fitting out our expedition. [Illustration: ANTOINE, FROM LIFE] As I sat in the sleigh, tucked in under heavy skins and leaning at royal ease against other furs that covered a bale of hay, it seemed to me that I had become part of one of such pictures as we all have seen, portraying historic expeditions in Russia or Siberia. We carried fifteen hundred pounds of traps and provisions for camping, stabling, and food for men and beasts. We were five in all--two hunters, two Indians, and a teamster. We set out with the two huge mettlesome horses ahead, the driver on a high seat formed of a second bale of hay, ourselves lolling back under our furs, and the two Indians striding along over the resonant cold snow behind us. It was beginning to be evident that a great deal of effort and machinery was needed to "make a hunter" of a city man, and that it was going to be done thoroughly--two thoughts of a highly flattering nature. We were now clad for arctic weather, and perhaps nothing except a mummy was ever "so dressed up" as we were. We each wore two pairs of the heaviest woollen stockings I ever saw, and over them ribbed bicycle stockings that came to our knees. Over these in turn were our "neaps," and then our moccasins, laced tightly around our ankles. We had on two suits of flannels of extra thickness, flannel shirts, reefing jackets, and "capeaux," as they call their long-hooded blanket coats, longer than snow-shoe coats. On our heads we had knitted tuques, and on our hands mittens and gloves. We were bound for Antoine's moose-yard, near Crooked Lake. The explanation of the term "moose-yard" made moose-hunting appear a simple operation (once we were started), for a moose-yard is the feeding-ground of a herd of moose, and our head Indian, Alexandre Antoine, knew where there was one. Each herd or family of these great wild cattle has two such feeding-grounds, and they are said to go alternately from one to the other, never herding in one place two years in succession. In this region of Canada they weigh between 600 and 1200 pounds, and the reader will help his comprehension of those figures by recalling the fact that a 1200-pound horse is a very large one. Whether they desert a yard for twelve months because of the damage they do to the supply of food it offers to them, or whether it is instinctive caution that directs their movements, no one can more than conjecture. Their yards are always where soft wood is plentiful and water is near, and during a winter they will feed over a region from half a mile to a mile square. The prospect of going directly to the fixed home of a herd of moose almost robbed the trip of that speculative element that gives the greatest zest to hunting. But we knew not what the future held for us. Not even the artist, with all his experience, conjectured what was in store for us. And what was to come began coming almost immediately. The journey began upon a good highway, over which we slid along as comfortably as any ladies in their carriages, and with the sleigh-bells flinging their cheery music out over a desolate valley, with a leaden river at the bottom, and with small mountains rolling all about. The timber was cut off them, except here and there a few red or white pines that reared their green, brush-like tops against the general blanket of snow. The dull sky hung sullenly above, and now and then a raven flew by, croaking hoarse disapproval of our intrusion. To warn us of what we were to expect, Antoine had made a shy Indian joke, one of the few I ever heard: "In small little while," said he, "we come to all sorts of a road. Me call it that 'cause you get every sort riding, then you sure be suited." At five miles out we came to this remarkable highway. It can no more be adequately described here than could the experiences of a man who goes over Niagara Falls in a barrel. The reader must try to imagine the most primitive sort of a highway conceivable--one that has been made by merely felling trees through a forest in a path wide enough for a team and wagon. All the tree stumps were left in their places, and every here and there were rocks; some no larger than a bale of cotton, and some as small as a bushel basket. To add to the other alluring qualities of the road, there were tree trunks now and then directly across it, and, as a further inducement to traffic, the highway was frequently interrupted by "pitch holes." Some of these would be called pitch holes anywhere. They were at points where a rill crossed the road, or the road crossed the corner of a marsh. But there were other pitch holes that any intelligent New Yorker would call ravines or gullies. These were at points where one hill ran down to the water-level and another immediately rose precipitately, there being a watercourse between the two. In all such places there was deep black mud and broken ice. However, these were mere features of the character of this road--a character too profound for me to hope to portray it. When the road was not inclined either straight down or straight up, it coursed along the slanting side of a steep hill, so that a vehicle could keep to it only by falling against the forest at the under side and carroming along from tree to tree. [Illustration: THE PORTAGE SLEIGH ON A LUMBER ROAD] Such was the road. The manner of travelling it was quite as astounding. For nothing short of what Alphonse, the teamster, did would I destroy a man's character; but Alphonse was the next thing to an idiot. He made that dreadful journey at a gallop! The first time he upset the sleigh and threw me with one leg thigh-deep between a stone and a tree trunk, besides sending the artist flying over my head like a shot from a sling, he reseated himself and remarked: "That makes tree time I upset in dat place. Hi, there! Get up!" It never occurred to him to stop because a giant tree had fallen across the trail. "Look out! Hold tight!" he would call out, and then he would take the obstruction at a jump. The horses were mammoth beasts, in the best fettle, and the sleigh was of the solidest, strongest pattern. There were places where even Alphonse was anxious to drive with caution. Such were the ravines and unbridged waterways. But one of the horses had cut himself badly in such a place a year before, and both now made it a rule to take all such places flying. Fancy the result! The leap in air, and then the crash of the sled as it landed, the snap of the harness chains, the snorts of the winded beasts, the yells of the driver, the anxiety and nervousness of the passengers! At one point we had an exciting adventure of a far different sort. There was a moderately good stretch of road ahead, and we invited the Indians to jump in and ride a while. We noticed that they took occasional draughts from a bottle. They finished a full pint, and presently Alexandre produced another and larger phial. Every one knows what a drunken Indian is, and so did we. We ordered the sleigh stopped and all hands out for "a talk." Firmly, but with both power and reason on our side; we demanded a promise that not another drink should be taken, or that the horses be turned towards Mattawa at once. The promise was freely given. "But what is that stuff? Let me see it," one of the hunters asked. "It is de 'igh wine," said Alexandre. "High wine? Alcohol?" exclaimed the hunter, and, impulse being quicker than reason sometimes, flung the bottle high in air into the bush. It was an injudicious action, but both of us at once prepared to defend and re-enforce it, of course. As it happened, the Indians saw that no unkindness or unfairness was intended, and neither sulked nor made trouble afterwards. We were now deep in the bush. Occasionally we passed "a brulè," or tract denuded of trees, and littered with trunks and tops of trunks rejected by the lumbermen. But every mile took us nearer to the undisturbed primeval forest, where the trees shoot up forty feet before the branches begin. There were no houses, teams, or men. In a week in the bush we saw no other sign of civilization than what we brought or made. All around us rose the motionless regiments of the forest, with the snow beneath them, and their branches and twigs printing lacework on the sky. The signs of game were numerous, and varied to an extent that I never heard of before. There were few spaces of the length of twenty-five feet in which the track of some wild beast or bird did not cross the road. The Indians read this writing in the snow, so that the forest was to them as a book would be to us. "What is that?" "And that?" "And that?" I kept inquiring. The answers told more eloquently than any man can describe it the story of the abundance of game in that easily accessible wilderness. "Dat red deer," Antoine replied. "Him fox." "Dat bear track; dat squirrel; dat rabbit." "Dat moose track; pass las' week." "Dat pa'tridge; dat wolf." Or perhaps it was the trail of a marten, or a beaver, or a weasel, or a fisher, mink, lynx, or otter that he pointed out, for all these "signs" were there, and nearly all were repeated again and again. Of the birds that are plentiful there the principal kinds are partridge, woodcock, crane, geese, duck, gull, loon, and owl. [Illustration: THE TRACK IN THE WINTER FOREST] When the sun set we prepared to camp, selecting a spot near a tiny rill. The horses were tethered to a tree, with their harness still on, and blankets thrown over them. We cleared a little space by the road-side, using our snow-shoes for shovels. The Indians, with their axes, turned up the moss and leaves, and levelled the small shoots and brushwood. Then one went off to cut balsam boughs for bedding, while the other set up two crotched sticks, with a pole upon them resting in the crotches, and throwing the canvas of an "A" tent over the frame, he looped the bottom of the tent to small pegs, and banked snow lightly all around it. The little aromatic branches of balsam were laid evenly upon the ground, a fur robe was thrown upon the leaves, our enormous blankets were spread half open side by side, and two coats were rolled up and thrown down for pillows. Pierre, the second Indian, made tiny slivers of some soft wood, and tried to start a fire. He failed. Then Alexandre Antoine brought two handfuls of bark, and lighting a small piece with a match, proceeded to build a fire in the most painstaking manner, and with an ingenuity that was most interesting. First he made a fire that could have been started in a teacup; then he built above and around it a skeleton tent of bits of soft wood, six to nine inches in length. This gave him a fire of the dimensions of a high hat. Next, he threw down two great bits of timber, one on either side of the fire, and a still larger back log, and upon these he heaped split soft wood. While this was being done, Pierre assailed one great tree after another, and brought them crashing down with noises that startled the forest quiet. Alphonse had opened the provision bags, and presently two tin pails filled with water swung from saplings over the fire, and a pan of fat salt pork was frizzling upon the blazing wood. The darkness grew dead black, and the dancing flames peopled the near forest with dodging shadows. Almost in the time it has taken me to write it, we were squatting on our heels around the fire, each with a massive cutting of bread, a slice of fried pork in a tin plate, and half a pint of tea, precisely as hot as molten lead, in a tin cup. Supper was a necessity, not a luxury, and was hurried out of the way accordingly. Then the men built their camp beside ours in front of the fire, and followed that by felling three or more monarchs of the bush. Nothing surprised me so much as the amount of wood consumed in these open-air fires. In five days at our permanent camp we made a great hole in the forest. But that first night in the open air, abed with nature, with British America for a bedroom! Only I can tell of it, for the others slept. The stillness was intense. There was no wind and not an animal or bird uttered a cry. The logs cracked and sputtered and popped, the horses shook their chains, the men all snored--white and red alike. The horses pounded the hollow earth; the logs broke and fell upon the cinders; one of the men talked in his sleep. But over and through it all the stillness grew. Then the fire sank low, the cold became intense, the light was lost, and the darkness swallowed everything. Some one got up awkwardly, with muttering, and flung wood upon the red ashes, and presently all that had passed was re-experienced. The ride next day was more exciting than the first stage. It was like the journey of a gun-carriage across country in a hot retreat. The sled was actually upset only once, but to prevent that happening fifty times the Indians kept springing at the uppermost side of the flying vehicle, and hanging to the side poles to pull the toppling construction down upon both runners. Often we were advised to leap out for safety's sake; at other times we wished we had leaped out. For seven hours we were flung about like cotton spools that are being polished in a revolving cylinder. And yet we were obliged to run long distances after the hurtling sleigh--long enough to tire us. The artist, who had spent years in rude scenes among rough men, said nothing at the time. What was the use? But afterwards, in New York, he remarked that this was the roughest travelling he had ever experienced. The signs of game increased. Deer and bear and wolf and fox and moose were evidently numerous around us. Once we stopped, and the Indians became excited. What they had taken for old moose tracks were the week-old footprints of a man. It seems strange, but they felt obliged to know what a man had gone into the bush for a week ago. They followed the signs, and came back smiling. He had gone in to cut hemlock boughs; we would find traces of a camp near by. We did. In a country where men are so few, they busy themselves about one another. Four or five days later, while we were hunting, these Indians came to the road and stopped suddenly, as horses do when lassoed. With a glance they read that two teams had passed during the night, going towards our camp. When we returned to camp the teams had been there, and our teamster had talked with the drivers. Therefore that load was lifted from the minds of our Indians. But their knowledge of the bush was marvellous. One point in the woods was precisely like another to us, yet the Indians would leap off the sleigh now and then and dive into the forest to return with a trap hidden there months before, or to find a great iron kettle. [Illustration: PIERRE, FROM LIFE] "Do you never get lost?" I asked Alexandre. "Me get los'? No, no get los'." "But how do you find your way?" "Me fin' way easy. Me know way me come, or me follow my tracks, or me know by de sun. If no sun, me look at trees. Trees grow more branches on side toward sun, and got rough bark on north side. At night me know by see de stars." We camped in a log-hut Alexandre had built for a hunting camp. It was very picturesque and substantial, built of huge logs, and caulked with moss. It had a great earthen bank in the middle for a fireplace, with an equally large opening in the roof, boarded several feet high at the sides to form a chimney. At one corner of the fire bank was an ingenious crane, capable of being raised and lowered, and projecting from a pivoted post, so that the long arm could be swung over or away from the fire. At one end of the single apartment were two roomy bunks built against the wall. With extraordinary skill and quickness the Indians whittled a spade out of a board, performing the task with an axe, an implement they can use as white men use a penknife, an implement they value more highly than a gun. They made a broom of balsam boughs, and dug and swept the dirt off the floor and walls, speedily making the cabin neat and clean. Two new bunks were put up for us, and bedded with balsam boughs and skins. Shelves were already up, and spread with pails and bottles, tin cups and plates, knives and forks, canned goods, etc. On them and on the floor were our stores. [Illustration: ANTOINE'S CABIN] We had a week's outfit, and we needed it, because for five days we could not hunt on account of the crust on the snow, which made such a noise when a human foot broke through it that we could not have approached any wild animal within half a mile. On the third day it rained, but without melting the crust. On the fourth day it snowed furiously, burying the crust under two inches of snow. On the fifth day we got our moose. In the mean time the log-cabin was our home. Alexandre and Pierre cut down trees every day for the fire, and Pierre disappeared for hours every now and then to look after traps set for otter, beaver, and marten. Alphonse attended his horses and served as cook. He could produce hotter tea than any other man in the world. I took mine for a walk in the arctic cold three times a day, the artist learned to pour his from one cup to another with amazing dexterity, and the Indians (who drank a quart each of green tea at each meal because it was stronger than our black tea) lifted their pans and threw the liquid fire down throats that had been inured to high wines. Whenever the fire was low, the cold was intense. Whenever it was heaped with logs, all the heat flew directly through the roof, and spiral blasts of cold air were sucked through every crack between logs in the cabin walls. Whenever the door opened, the cabin filled with smoke. Smoke clung to all we ate or wore. At night the fire kept burning out, and we arose with chattering teeth to build it anew. The Indians were then to be seen with their blankets pushed down to their knees, asleep in their shirts and trousers. At meal-times we had bacon or pork, speckled or lake trout, bread-and-butter, stewed tomatoes, and tea. There were two stools for the five men, but they only complicated the discomfort of those who got them; for it was found that if we put our tin plates on our knees, they fell off; if we held them in one hand, we could not cut the pork and hold the bread with the other hand; while if we put the plates on the floor beside the tea, we could not reach them. In a month we might have solved the problem. Life in that log shanty was precisely the life of the early settlers of this country. It was bound to produce great characters or early death. There could be no middle course with such an existence. [Illustration: THE CAMP AT NIGHT] Partridge fed in the brush impudently before us. Rabbits bobbed about in the clearing before the door. Squirrels sat upon the logs near by and gormandized and chattered. Great saucy birds, like mouse-colored robins, and known to the Indians as "meat-birds," stole our provender if we left it out-of-doors half an hour, and one day we saw a red deer jump in the bush a hundred yards away. Yet we got no game, because we knew there was a moose-yard within two miles on one side and within three miles on the other, and we dared not shoot our rifles lest we frighten the moose. Moose was all we were after. There was a lake near by, and the trout in those lakes up there attain remarkable size and numbers. We heard of 35-pound specked trout, of lake trout twice as large, and of enormous muskallonge. The most reliable persons told of lakes farther in the wilderness where the trout are thick as salmon in the British Columbia streams--so thick as to seem to fill the water. We were near a lake that was supposed to have been fished out by lumbermen a year before, yet it was no sport at all to fish there. With a short stick and two yards of line and a bass hook baited with pork, we brought up four-pound and five-pound beauties faster than we wanted them for food. Truly we were in a splendid hunting country, like the Adirondacks eighty years ago, but thousands of times as extensive. Finally we started for moose. Our Indians asked if they might take their guns. We gave the permission. Alexandre, a thin, wiry man of forty years, carried an old Henry rifle in a woollen case open at one end like a stocking. He wore a short blanket coat and tuque, and trousers tied tight below the knee, and let into his moccasin-tops. He and his brother François are famous Hudson Bay Company trappers, and are two-thirds Algonquin and one-third French. He has a typical swarthy, angular Indian face and a French mustache and goatee. Naturally, if not by rank, a leader among his men, his manner is commanding and his appearance grave. He talks bad French fluently, and makes wretched headway in English. Pierre is a short, thickset, walnut-stained man of thirty-five, almost pure Indian, and almost a perfect specimen of physical development. He seldom spoke while on this trip, but he impressed us with his strength, endurance, quickness, and knowledge of woodcraft. Poor fellow! he had only a shot-gun, which he loaded with buckshot. It had no case, and both men carried their pieces grasped by the barrels and shouldered with the butts behind them. We set out in Indian-file, plunging at once into the bush. Never was forest scenery more exquisitely beautiful than on that morning as the day broke, for we breakfasted at four o'clock, and started immediately afterwards. Everywhere the view was fairy-like. There was not snow enough for snow-shoeing. But the fresh fall of snow was immaculately white, and flecked the scene apparently from earth to sky, for there was not a branch or twig or limb or spray of evergreen, or wart or fungous growth upon any tree that did not bear its separate burden of snow. It was a bridal dress, not a winding-sheet, that Dame Nature was trying on that morning. And in the bright fresh green of the firs and pines we saw her complexion peeping out above her spotless gown, as one sees the rosy cheeks or black eyes of a girl wrapped in ermine. [Illustration: A MOOSE BULL FIGHT] Mile after mile we walked, up mountain and down dale, slapped in the faces by twigs, knocking snow down the backs of our necks, slipping knee-deep in bog mud, tumbling over loose stones, climbing across interlaced logs, dropping to the height of one thigh between tree trunks, sliding, falling, tight-rope walking on branches over thin ice, but forever following the cat-like tread of Alexandre, with his seven-league stride and long-winded persistence. Suddenly we came to a queer sort of clearing dotted with protuberances like the bubbles on molasses beginning to boil. It was a beaver meadow. The bumps in the snow covered stumps of trees the beavers had gnawed down. The Indians were looking at some trough like tracks in the snow, like the trail of a tired man who had dragged his heels. "Moose; going this way," said Alexandre; and we turned and walked in the tracks. Across the meadow and across a lake and up another mountain they led us. Then we came upon fresher prints. At each new track the Indians stooped, and making a scoop of one hand, brushed the new-fallen snow lightly out of the indentations. Thus they read the time at which the print was made. "Las' week," "Day 'fore yesterday," they whispered. Presently they bent over again, the light snow flew, and one whispered, "This morning." [Illustration: ON THE MOOSE TRAIL] Stealthily Alexandre swept ahead; very carefully we followed. We dared not break a twig, or speak, or slip, or stumble. As it was, the breaking of the crust was still far too audible. We followed a little stream, and approached a thick growth of tamarack. We had no means of knowing that a herd of moose was lying in that thicket, resting after feeding. We knew it afterwards. Alexandre motioned to us to get our guns ready. We each threw a cartridge from the cylinder into the barrel, making a "click, click" that was abominably loud. Alexandre forged ahead. In five minutes we heard him call aloud: "Moose gone. We los' him." We hastened to his side. He pointed at some tracks in which the prints were closer together than any we had seen. "See! he trot," Alexandre explained. In another five minutes we had all but completed a circle, and were on the other side of the tamarack thicket. And there were the prints of the bodies of the great beasts. We could see even the imprint of the hair of their coats. All around were broken twigs and balsam needles. The moose had left the branches ragged, and on every hand the young bark was chewed or rubbed raw. Loading our rifles had lost us a herd of moose. [Illustration: IN SIGHT OF THE GAME--"NOW SHOOT!"] Back once again at the beaver dam, Alexandre and Pierre studied the moose-tramped snow and talked earnestly. They agreed that a desperate battle had been fought there between two bull moose a week before, and that those bulls were not in the "yard" where we had blundered. They examined the tracks over an acre or more, and then strode off at an obtuse angle from our former trail. Pierre, apparently not quite satisfied, kept dropping behind or disappearing in the bush at one side of us. So magnificent was his skill at his work that I missed him at times, and at other times found him putting his feet down where mine were lifted up without ever hearing a sound of his step or of his contact with the undergrowth. Alexandre presently motioned us with a warning gesture. He slowed his pace to short steps, with long pauses between. He saw everything that moved, heard every sound; only a deer could throw more and keener faculties into play than this born hunter. He heard a twig snap. We heard nothing. Pierre was away on a side search. Alexandre motioned us to be ready. We crept close together, and I scarcely breathed. We moved cautiously, a step at a time, like chessmen. It was impossible to get an unobstructed view a hundred feet ahead, so thick was the soft-wood growth. It seemed out of the question to try to shoot that distance. We were descending a hill-side into marshy ground. We crossed a corner of a grove of young alders, and saw before us a gentle slope thickly grown with evergreen--tamarack, the artist called it. Suddenly Alexandre bent forward and raised his gun. Two steps forward gave us his view. Five moose were fifty yards away, alarmed and ready to run. A big bull in the front of the group had already thrown back his antlers. By impulse rather than through reason I took aim at a second bull. He was half a height lower down the slope, and to be seen through a web of thin foliage. Alexandre and the artist fired as with a single pull at one trigger. The foremost bull staggered and fell forward, as if his knees had been broken. He was hit twice--in the heart and in the neck. The second bull and two cows and a calf plunged into the bush and disappeared. Pierre found that bull a mile away, shot through the lungs. It had taken us a week to kill our moose in a country where they were common game. That was "hunter's luck" with a vengeance. But at another season such a delay could scarcely occur. The time to visit that district is in the autumn, before snow falls. Then in a week one ought to be able to bag a moose, and move into the region where caribou are plenty. Mr. Remington, in the picture called "Hunting the Caribou," depicts a scene at a critical moment in the experience of any man who has journeyed on westward of where we found our moose, to hunt the caribou. There is a precise moment for shooting in the chase of all animals of the deer kind, and when that moment has been allowed to pass, the chance of securing the animal diminishes with astonishing rapidity--with more than the rapidity with which the then startled animal is making his flight, because to his flight you must add the increasing ambush of the forest. What is true of caribou in this respect is true of moose and red deer, elk and musk-ox in America, and of all the horned animals of the forests of the other great hemisphere. Every hunter who sees Mr. Remington's realistic picture knows at a glance that the two men have stolen noiselessly to within easy rifle-shot of a caribou, and that suddenly, at the last moment, the animal has heard them. [Illustration: SUCCESS] Perhaps he has seen them, and is standing--still as a Barye bronze--with his great, soft, wondering eyes riveted upon theirs. That is a situation familiar to every hunter. His prey has been browsing in fancied security, and yet with that nervous prudence that causes these timid beasts to keep forever raising their heads, and sweeping the view around them with their exquisite sight, and analyzing the atmosphere with their magical sense of smell. In one of these cautious pauses the caribou has seen the hunters. Both hunters and hunted seem instantly to turn to stone. Neither moves a muscle or a hair. If the knee or the foot of one of the men presses too hard upon a twig and it snaps, the caribou is as certain to throw his head high up and dart into the ingulfing net-work of the forest trunks and brush as day is certain to follow night. But when no movement has been made and no mishap has alarmed the beast, it has often happened that the two or more parties to this strangely thrilling situation have held their places for minutes at a stretch--minutes that seemed like quarters of an hour. In such cases the deer or caribou has been known to lower his head and feed again, assured in its mind that the suspected hunter is inanimate and harmless. Nine times in ten, though, the first to move is the beast, which tosses up its head, and "Shoot! shoot!" is the instant command, for the upward throwing of the head is a movement made to put the beast's great antlers into position for flight through the forest. [Illustration: HUNTING THE CARIBOU--"SHOOT! SHOOT!"] The caribou has very wide, heavy horns, and they are almost always circular--that is, the main part or trunk of each horn curves outward from the skull and then inward towards the point, in an almost true semicircle. They are more or less branched, but both the general shape of the whole horns and of the branches is such that when the head is thrown up and back they aid the animal's flight by presenting what may be called the point of a wedge towards the saplings and limbs and small forest growths through which the beast runs, parting and spreading every pair of obstacles to either side, and bending every single one out of the way of his flying body. The caribou of North America is the reindeer of Greenland; the differences between the two are very slight. The animal's home is the arctic circle, but in America it feeds and roams farther south than in Europe and Asia. It is a large and clumsy-looking beast, with thick and rather short legs and bulky body, and, seen in repose, gives no hint of its capacity for flight. Yet the caribou can run "like a streak of wind," and makes its way through leaves and brush and brittle, sapless vegetation with a modicum of noise so slight as to seem inexplicable. Nature has ingeniously added to its armament, always one, and usually two, palmated spurs at the root of its horns, and these grow at an obtuse angle with the head, upward and outward towards the nose. With these spurs--like shovels used sideways--the caribou roots up the snow, or breaks its crust and disperses it, to get at his food on the ground. The caribou are very large deer, and their strength is attested by the weight of their horns. I have handled caribou horns in Canada that I could not hold out with both hands when seated in a chair. It seemed hard to believe that an animal of the size of a caribou could carry a burden apparently so disproportioned to his head and neck. But it is still more difficult to believe, as all the woodsmen say, that these horns are dropped and new ones grown every year. It is not the especial beauty of Frederic Remington's drawings and paintings that they are absolutely accurate in every detail, but it is one of their beauties, and gives them especial value apart from their artistic excellence. He draws what he knows, and he knows what he draws. This scene of the electrically exquisite moment in a hunter's life, when great game is before him, and the instant has come for claiming it as his own with a steadily held and wisely chosen aim, will give the reader a perfect knowledge of how the Indians and hunters dress and equip themselves beyond the Canadian border. The scene is in the wilderness north of the Great Lakes. The Indian is of one of those tribes that are offshoots of the great Algonquin nation. He carries in that load he bears that which the plainsmen call "the grub stake," or quota of provisions for himself and his employer, as well as blankets to sleep in, pots, pans, sugar, the inevitable tea of those latitudes, and much else besides. Those Indians are not as lazy or as physically degenerate as many of the tribes in our country. They turn themselves into wonderful beasts of burden, and go forever equipped with a long, broad strap that they call a "tomp line," and which they pass around their foreheads and around their packs, the latter resting high up on their backs. It seems incredible, but they can carry one hundred to one hundred and fifty pounds of necessaries all day long in the roughest regions. The Hudson Bay Company made their ancestors its wards and dependents two centuries ago, and taught them to work and to earn their livelihood. V BIG FISHING In October every year there are apt to be more fish upon the land in the Nepigon country than one would suppose could find life in the waters. Most families have laid in their full winter supply, the main exceptions being those semi-savage families which leave their fish out--in preference to laying them in--upon racks whereon they are to be seen in rows and by the thousands. Nepigon, the old Hudson Bay post which is the outfitting place for this region, is 928 miles west of Montreal, on the Canadian Pacific Railway, and on an arm of Lake Superior. The Nepigon River, which connects the greatest of lakes with Lake Nepigon, is the only roadway in all that country, and therefore its mouth, in an arm of the great lake, is the front door to that wonderful region. In travelling through British Columbia I found one district that is going to prove of greater interest to gentlemen sportsmen with the rod, but I know of no greater fishing country than the Nepigon. No single waterway or system of navigable inland waters in North America is likely to wrest the palm from this Nepigon district as the haunt of fish in the greatest plenty, unless we term the salmon a fresh-water fish, and thus call the Fraser, Columbia, and Skeena rivers into the rivalry. There is incessant fishing in this wilderness north of Lake Superior from New-year's Day, when the ice has to be cut to get at the water, all through the succeeding seasons, until again the ice fails to protect the game. And there is every sort of fishing between that which engages a navy of sailing vessels and men, down through all the methods of fish-taking--by nets, by spearing, still fishing, and fly-fishing. A half a dozen sorts of finny game succumb to these methods, and though the region has been famous and therefore much visited for nearly a dozen years, the field is so extensive, so well stocked, and so difficult of access except to persons of means, that even to-day almost the very largest known specimens of each class of fish are to be had there. If we could put on wings early in October, and could fly down from James's Bay over the dense forests and countless lakes and streams of western Ontario, we would see now and then an Indian or hunter in a canoe, here and there a lonely huddle of small houses forming a Hudson Bay post, and at even greater distances apart small bunches of the cotton or birch-bark tepees of pitiful little Cree or Ojibaway bands. But with the first glance at the majestic expanse of Lake Superior there would burst upon the view scores upon scores of white sails upon the water, and near by, upon the shore, a tent for nearly every sail. That is the time for the annual gathering for catching the big, chunky, red-fleshed fish they call the salmon-trout. They catch those that weigh from a dozen to twenty-five or thirty pounds, and at this time of the year their flesh is comparatively hard. Engaged in making this great catch are the boats of the Indians from far up the Nepigon and the neighboring streams; of the chance white men of the region, who depend upon nature for their sustenance; and of Finns, Norwegians, Swedes, and others who come from the United States side, or southern shore, to fish for their home markets. These fish come at this season to spawn, seeking the reefs, which are plentiful off the shore in this part of the lake. Gill nets are used to catch them, and are set within five fathoms of the surface by setting the inner buoy in water of that depth, and then paying the net out into deeper water and anchoring it. The run and the fishing continue throughout October. As a rule, among the Canadians and Canada Indians a family goes with each boat--the boats being sloops of twenty-seven to thirty feet in length, and capable of carrying fifteen pork barrels, which are at the outset filled with rock-salt. Sometimes the heads of two families are partners in the ownership of one of these sloops, but, however that may be, the custom is for the women and children to camp in tents along-shore, while the men (usually two men and a boy for each boat) work the nets. It is a stormy season of the year, and the work is rough and hazardous, especially for the nets, which are frequently lost. Whenever a haul is made the fish are split down the back and cleaned. Then they are washed, rolled in salt, and packed in the barrels. Three days later, when the bodies of the fish have thoroughly purged themselves, they are taken out, washed again, and are once more rolled in fresh salt and put back in the barrels, which are then filled to the top with water. The Indians subsist all winter upon this October catch, and, in addition, manage to exchange a few barrels for other provisions and for clothing. They demand an equivalent of six dollars a barrel in whatever they get in exchange, but do not sell for money, because, as I understand it, they are not obliged to pay the provincial license fee as fishermen, and therefore may not fish for the market. Even sportsmen who throw a fly for one day in the Nepigon country must pay the Government for the privilege. The Indians told me that eight barrels of these fish will last a family of six persons an entire winter. Such a demonstration of prudence and fore-thought as this, of a month's fishing at the threshold of winter, amounts to is a rare one for an Indian to make, and I imagine there is a strong admixture of white blood in most of those who make it. The full-bloods will not take the trouble. They trust to their guns and their traps against the coming of that wolf which they are not unused to facing. Up along the shores of Lake Nepigon, which is thirty miles by an air line north of Lake Superior, many of the Indians lay up white-fish for winter. They catch them in nets and cure them by frost. They do not clean them. They simply make a hole in the tail end of each fish, and string them, as if they were beads, upon sticks, which they set up into racks. They usually hang the fishes in rows of ten, and frequently store up thousands while they are at it. The Reverend Mr. Renison, who has had much to do with bettering the condition of these Indians, told me that he had caught 1020 pounds of white-fish in two nights with two gill nets in Lake Nepigon. It is unnecessary to add that he cleaned his. [Illustration: INDIANS HAULING NETS ON LAKE NEPIGON] Lake Nepigon is about seventy miles in length, and two-thirds as wide, at the points of its greatest measurement, and is a picturesque body of water, surrounded by forests and dotted with islands. It is a famous haunt for trout, and those fishermen who are lucky may at times see scores of great beauties lying upon the bottom; or, with a good guide and at the right season, may be taken to places where the water is fairly astir with them. Fishermen who are not lucky may get their customary experience without travelling so far, for the route is by canoe, on top of nearly a thousand miles of railroading; and one mode of locomotion consumes nearly as much time as the other, despite the difference between the respective distances travelled. The speckled trout in the lake are locally reported to weigh from three to nine pounds, but the average stranger will lift in more of three pounds' weight than he will of nine. Yet whatever they average, the catching of them is prime sport as you float upon the water in your picturesque birch-bark canoe, with your guide paddling you noiselessly along, and your spoon or artificial minnow rippling through the water or glinting in the sunlight. You need a stout bait-rod, for the gluttonous fish are game, and make a good fight every time. The local fishermen catch the speckled beauties with an unpoetic lump of pork. A lively French Canadian whom I met on the cars on my way to Nepigon described that region as "de mos' tareeble place for de fish in all over de worl'." And he added another remark which had at least the same amount of truth at the bottom of it. Said he: "You weel find dere dose Mees Nancy feeshermans from der Unite State, which got dose hunderd-dollar poles and dose leetle humbug flies, vhich dey t'row around and pull 'em back again, like dey was afraid some feesh would bite it. Dat is all one grand stupeedity. Dose man vhich belong dere put on de hook some pork, and catch one tareeble pile of fish. Dey don't give a ---- about style, only to catch dose feesh." To be sure, every fisherman who prides himself on the distance he can cast, and who owns a splendid outfit, will despise the spirit of that French Canadian's speech; yet up in that country many a scientific angler has endured a failure of "bites" for a long and weary time, while his guide was hauling in fish a-plenty, and has come to question "science" for the nonce, and follow the Indian custom. For gray trout (the namaycush, or lake trout) they bait with apparently anything edible that is handiest, preferring pork, rabbit, partridge, the meat of the trout itself, or of the sucker; and the last they take first, if possible. The suckers, by-the-way, are all too plenty, and as full of bones as any old-time frigate ever was with timbers. You may see the Indians eating them and discarding the bones at the same time; and they make the process resemble the action of a hay-cutter when the grass is going in long at one side, and coming out short, but in equal quantities, at the other. The namaycush of Nepigon weigh from nine to twenty-five pounds. The natives take a big hook and bait it, and then run the point into a piece of shiny, newly-scraped lead. They never "play" their bites, but give them a tight line and steady pull. These fish make a game struggle, leaping and diving and thrashing the water until the gaff ends the struggle. In winter there is as good sport with the namaycush, and it is managed peculiarly. The Indians cut into the ice over deep water, making holes at least eighteen inches in diameter. Across the hole they lay a stick, so that when they pull up a trout the line will run along the stick, and the fish will hit that obstruction instead of the resistant ice. If a fish struck the ice the chances are nine to one that it would tear off the hook. Having baited a hook with pork, and stuck the customary bit of lead upon it, they sound for bottom, and then measure the line so that it will reach to about a foot and a half above soundings--that is to say, off bottom. Then they begin fishing, and their plan is (it is the same all over the Canadian wilderness) to keep jerking the line up with a single, quick sudden bob at frequent intervals. The spring is the time to catch the big Nepigon jack-fish, or pike. They haunt the grassy places in little bogs and coves, and are caught by trolling. A jack-fish is what we call a pike, and John Watt, the famous guide in that country, tells of those fish of such size that when a man of ordinary height held the tail of one up to his shoulder, the head of the fish dragged on the ground. He must be responsible for the further assertion that he saw an Indian squaw drag a net, with meshes seven inches square, and catch two jack-fish, each of which weighed more than fifty pounds when cleaned. The story another local historian told of a surveyor who caught a big jack-fish that felt like a sunken log, and could only be dragged until its head came to the surface, when he shot it and it broke away--that narrative I will leave for the next New Yorker who goes to Nepigon. And yet it seems to me that such stories distinguish a fishing resort quite as much as the fish actually caught there. Men would not dare to romance like that at many places I have fished in, where the trout are scheduled and numbered, and where you have got to go to a certain rock on a fixed day of the month to catch one. The Indians are very clever at spearing the jack-fish. At night they use a bark torch, and slaughter the big fish with comparative ease; but their great skill with the spear is shown in the daytime, when the pike are sunning themselves in the grass and weeds along-shore. But when I made my trip up the river, I saw them using so many nets as to threaten the early reduction of the stream to the plane of the ordinary resort. The water was so clear that we could paddle beside the nets and see each one's catch--here a half-dozen suckers, there a jack-fish, and next a couple of beautiful trout. Finding a squaw attending to her net, we bought a trout from her before we had cast a line. The habit of buying fish under such circumstances becomes second nature to a New Yorker. We are a peculiar people. Our fishermen are modest away from the city, but at home they assume the confident tone which comes of knowing the way to Fulton fish-market. The Nepigon River is a trout's paradise, it is so full of rapids and saults. It is not at all a folly to fish there with a fly-rod. There are records of very large trout at the Hudson Bay post; but you may actually catch four-pound trout yourself, and what you catch yourself seems to me better than any one's else records. I have spoken of the Nepigon River as a roadway. It is one of the great trading trails to and from the far North. At the mouth of the river, opposite the Hudson Bay post, you will see a wreck of one of its noblest vehicles--an old York boat, such as carry the furs and the supplies to and fro. I fancy that Wolseley used precisely such boats to float his men to where he wanted them in 1870. Farther along, before you reach the first portage, you will be apt to see several of the sloops used by the natives for the Lake Superior fishing. They are distinguished for their ugliness, capacity, and strength; but the last two qualities are what they are built to obtain. Of course the prettiest vehicles are the canoes. As the bark and the labor are easily obtainable, these picturesque vessels are very numerous; but a change is coming over their shape, and the historic Ojibaway canoe, in which Hiawatha is supposed to have sailed into eternity, will soon be a thing found only in pictures. There is good sport with the rod wherever you please to go in "the bush," or wilderness, north of the Canadian Pacific Railway, in Ontario and the western part of Quebec. My first venture in fishing through the ice in that region was part of a hunting experience, when the conditions were such that hunting was out of the question, and our party feasted upon salt pork, tea, and tomatoes during day after day. At first, fried salt pork, taken three times a day in a hunter's camp, seems not to deserve the harsh things that have been said and written about it. The open-air life, the constant and tremendous exercise of hunting or chopping wood for the fire, the novel surroundings in the forest or the camp, all tend to make a man say as hearty a grace over salt pork as he ever did at home before a holiday dinner. Where we were, up the Ottawa in the Canadian wilderness, the pork was all fat, like whale blubber. At night the cook used to tilt up a pan of it, and put some twisted ravellings of a towel in it, and light one end, and thus produce a lamp that would have turned Alfred the Great green with envy, besides smoking his palace till it looked as venerable as Westminster Abbey does now. I ate my share seasoned with the comments of Mr. Frederic Remington, the artist, who asserted that he was never without it on his hunting trips, that it was pure carbonaceous food, that it fastened itself to one's ribs like a true friend, and that no man could freeze to death in the same country with this astonishing provender. We had canned tomatoes and baker's bread and plenty of tea, with salt pork as the _pièce de résistance_ at every meal. I know now--though I would not have confessed it at the time--that mixed with admiration of salt pork was a growing dread that in time, if no change offered itself, I should tire of that diet. I began to feel it sticking to me more like an Old Man of the Sea than a brother. The woodland atmosphere began to taste of it. When I came in-doors it seemed to me that the log shanty was gradually turning into fried salt pork. I could not say that I knew how it felt to eat quail a day for thirty days. One man cannot know everything. But I felt that I was learning. One day the cook put his hat on, and took his axe, and started out of the shanty door with an unwonted air of business. "Been goin' fish," said he, in broken Indian. "Good job if get trout." A good job? Why the thought was like a floating spar to a sailor overboard! I went with him. It was a cold day, but I was dressed in Canadian style--the style of a country where every one puts on everything he owns: all his stockings at once, all his flannel shirts and drawers, all his coats on top of one another, and when there is nothing else left, draws over it all a blanket suit, a pair of moccasins, a tuque, and whatever pairs of gloves he happens to be able to find or borrow. One gets a queer feeling with so many clothes on. They seem to separate you from yourself, and the person you feel inside your clothing might easily be mistaken for another individual. But you are warm, and that's the main thing. [Illustration: TROUT-FISHING THROUGH THE ICE] I rolled along the trail behind the Indian, through the deathly stillness of the snow-choked forest, and presently, from a knoll and through an opening, we saw a great woodland lake. As it lay beneath its unspotted quilt of snow, edged all around with balsam, and pine and other evergreens, it looked as though some mighty hand had squeezed a colossal tube of white paint into a tremendous emerald bowl. Never had I seen nature so perfectly unalloyed, so exquisitely pure and peaceful, so irresistibly beautiful. I think I should have hesitated to print my ham-like moccasin upon that virgin sheet had I been the guide, but "Brossy," the cook, stalked ahead, making the powdery flakes fly before and behind him, and I followed. Our tracks were white, and quickly faded from view behind us; and, moreover, we passed the signs of a fox and a deer that had crossed during the night, so that our profanation of the scene was neither serious nor exclusive. The Indian walked to an island near the farther shore, and using his axe with the light, easy freedom that a white man sometimes attains with a penknife, he cut two short sticks for fish-poles. He cut six yards of fish-line in two in the middle of the piece, and tied one end of each part to one end of each stick, making rude knots, as if any sort of a fastening would do. Equally clumsily he tied a bass hook to each fish-line, and on each hook he speared a little cube of pork fat which had gathered an envelope of granulated smoking-tobacco while at rest in his pocket. Next, he cut two holes in the ice, which was a foot thick, and over these we stood, sticks in hand, with the lines dangling through the holes. Hardly had I lowered my line (which had a bullet flattened around it for a sinker, by-the-way) when I felt it jerked to one side, and I pulled up a three-pound trout. It was a speckled trout. This surprised me, for I had no idea of catching anything but lake or gray trout in that water. I caught a gray trout next--a smaller one than the first--and in another minute I had landed another three-pound speckled beauty. My pork bait was still intact, and it may be of interest to fishermen to know that the original cubes of pork remained on those two hooks a week, and caught us many a mess of trout. There came a lull, which gave us time to philosophize on the contrast between this sort of fishing and the fashionable sport of using the most costly and delicate rods--like pieces of jewelry--and of calculating to a nicety what sort of flies to use in matching the changing weather of the varying tastes of trout in waters where even all these calculations and provisions would not yield a hatful of small fish in a day. Here I was, armed like an urchin beside a minnow brook, and catching bigger trout than I ever saw outside Fulton Market--trout of the choicest variety. But while I moralized my Indian grew impatient, and cut himself a new hole out over deep water. He caught a couple of two-and-a-half-pound brook trout and a four-pound gray trout, and I was as well rewarded. But he was still discontented, and moved to a strait opening into a little bay, where he cut two more holes. "Eas' wind," said he, "fish no bite." I found on that occasion that no quantity of clothing will keep a man warm in that almost arctic climate. First my hands became cold, and then my feet, and then my ears. A thin film of ice closed up the fishing holes if the water was not constantly disturbed. The thermometer must have registered ten or fifteen degrees below zero. Our lines became quadrupled in thickness at the lower ends by the ice that formed upon them. When they coiled for an instant upon the ice at the edge of a hole, they stuck to it, frozen fast. By stamping my feet and putting my free hand in my pocket as fast as I shifted my pole from one hand to the other, I managed to persist in fishing. I noticed many interesting things as I stood there, almost alone in that almost pathless wilderness. First I saw that the Indian was not cold, though not half so warmly dressed as I. The circulation or vitality of those scions of nature must be very remarkable, for no sort of weather seemed to trouble them at all. Wet feet, wet bodies, intense cold, whatever came, found and left them indifferent. Night after night, in camp, in the open air, or in our log shanty, we white men trembled with the cold when the log fire burned low, but the Indians never woke to rebuild it. Indeed, I did not see one have his blanket pulled over his chest at any time. Woodcocks were drumming in the forest now and then, and the shrill, bird-like chatter of the squirrels frequently rang out upon the forest quiet. My Indian knew every noise, no matter how faint, yet never raised his head to listen. "Dat squirrel," he would say, when I asked him. Or, "Woodcock, him calling rain," he ventured. Once I asked what a very queer, distant, muffled sound was. "You hear dat when you walk. Keep still, no hear dat," he said. It was the noise the ice made when I moved. As I stood there a squirrel came down upon a log jutting out over the edge of the lake, and looked me over. A white weasel ran about in the bushes so close to me that I could have hit him with a peanut shell. That morning some partridge had been seen feeding in the bush close to members of our party. It was a country where small game is not hunted, and does not always hide at a man's approach. We had left our fish lying on the ice near the various holes from which we pulled them, and I thought of them when a flock of ravens passed overhead, crying out in their hoarse tones. They were sure to see the fish dotting the snow like raisins in a bowl of rice. "Won't they steal the fish?" I asked. "T'ink not," said the Indian. "I don't know anything about ravens," I said, "but if they are even distantly related to a crow, they will steal whatever they can lift." We could not see our fish around the bend of the lake, so the Indian dropped his rod and walked stolidly after the birds. As soon as he passed out of sight I heard him scolding the great birds as if they were unruly children. "'Way, there!" he cried--"'way! Leave dat fish, you. What you do dere, you t'ief?" It was an outcropping of the French blood in his veins that made it possible for him to do such violence to Indian reticence. The birds had seen our fish, and were about to seize them. Only the foolish bird tradition that renders it necessary for everything with wings to circle precisely so many times over its prey before taking it saved us our game and lost them their dinner. They had not completed half their quota of circles when Brossy began to yell at them. When he returned his brain had awakened, and he began to remember that ravens were thieves. He said that the lumbermen in that country pack their dinners in canvas sacks and hide them in the snow. Often the ravens come, and, searching out this food, tear off the sacks and steal their contents. I bade good-bye to pork three times a day after that. At least twice a day we feasted upon trout. VI "A SKIN FOR A SKIN" The motto of the Hudson Bay Fur-trading Company Those who go to the newer parts of Canada to-day will find that several of those places which their school geographies displayed as Hudson Bay posts a few years ago are now towns and cities. In them they will find the trading stations of old now transformed into general stores. Alongside of the Canadian headquarters of the great corporation, where used to stand the walls of Fort Garry, they will see the principal store of the city of Winnipeg, an institution worthy of any city, and more nearly to be likened to Whiteley's Necessary Store in London than to any shopping-place in New York. As in Whiteley's you may buy a house, or anything belonging in or around a house, so you may in this great Manitoban establishment. The great retail emporium of Victoria, the capital of British Columbia, is the Hudson Bay store; and in Calgary, the metropolis of Alberta and the Canadian plains, the principal shopping-place in a territory beside which Texas dwindles to the proportions of a park is the Hudson Bay store. These and many other shops indicate a new development of the business of the last of England's great chartered monopolies, but instead of marking the manner in which civilization has forced it to abandon its original function, this merely demonstrates that the proprietors have taken advantage of new conditions while still pursuing their original trade. It is true that the huge corporation is becoming a great retail shop-keeping company. It is also true that by the surrender of its monopolistic privileges it got a consolation prize of money and of twenty millions of dollars' worth of land, so that its chief business may yet become that of developing and selling real estate. But to-day it is still, as it was two centuries ago, the greatest of fur-trading corporations, and fur-trading is to-day a principal source of its profits. Reminders of their old associations as forts still confront the visitor to the modern city shops of the company. The great shop in Victoria, for instance, which, as a fort, was the hub around which grew the wheel that is now the capital of the province, has its fur trade conducted in a sort of barn-like annex of the bazaar; but there it is, nevertheless, and busy among the great heaps of furs are men who can remember when the Hydahs and the T'linkets and the other neighboring tribes came down in their war canoes to trade their winter's catch of skins for guns and beads, vermilion, blankets, and the rest. Now this is the mere catch-all for the furs got at posts farther up the coast and in the interior. But upstairs, above the store, where the fashionable ladies are looking over laces and purchasing perfumes, you will see a collection of queer old guns of a pattern familiar to Daniel Boone. They are relics of the fur company's stock of those famous "trade-guns" which disappeared long before they had cleared the plains of buffalo, and which the Indians used to deck with brass nails and bright paint, and value as no man to-day values a watch. But close to the trade-guns of romantic memory is something yet more highly suggestive of the company's former position. This is a heap of unclaimed trunks, "left," the employés will tell you, "by travellers, hunters, and explorers who never came back to inquire for them." [Illustration: RIVAL TRADERS RACING TO THE INDIAN CAMP] It was not long ago that conditions existed such as in that region rendered the disappearance of a traveller more than a possibility. The wretched, squat, bow-legged, dirty laborers of that coast, who now dress as we do, and earn good wages in the salmon-fishing and canning industries, were not long ago very numerous, and still more villanous. They were not to be compared with the plains Indians as warriors or as men, but they were more treacherous, and wanting in high qualities. In the interior to-day are some Indians such as they were who are accused of cannibalism, and who have necessitated warlike defences at distant trading-posts. Travellers who escaped Indian treachery risked starvation, and stood their chances of losing their reckoning, of freezing to death, of encounters with grizzlies, of snow-slides, of canoe accidents in rapids, and of all the other casualties of life in a territory which to-day is not half explored. Those are not the trunks of Hudson Bay men, for such would have been sent home to English and Scottish mourners; they are the luggage of chance men who happened along, and outfitted at the old post before going farther. But the company's men were there before them, had penetrated the region farther and earlier, and there they are to-day, carrying on the fur trade under conditions strongly resembling those their predecessors once encountered at posts that are now towns in farming regions, and where now the locomotive and the steamer are familiar vehicles. Moreover, the status of the company in British Columbia is its status all the way across the North from the Pacific to the Atlantic. To me the most interesting and picturesque life to be found in North America, at least north of Mexico, is that which is occasioned by this principal phase of the company's operations. In and around the fur trade is found the most notable relic of the white man's earliest life on this continent. Our wild life in this country is, happily, gone. The frontiersman is more difficult to find than the frontier, the cowboy has become a laborer almost like any other, our Indians are as the animals in our parks, and there is little of our country that is not threaded by railroads or wagon-ways. But in new or western Canada this is not so. A vast extent of it north of the Canadian Pacific Railway, which hugs our border, has been explored only as to its waterways, its valleys, or its open plains, and where it has been traversed much of it remains as Nature and her near of kin, the red men, had it of old. On the streams canoes are the vehicles of travel and of commerce; in the forests "trails" lead from trading-post to trading-post, the people are Indians, half-breeds, and Esquimaux, who live by hunting and fishing as their forebears did; the Hudson Bay posts are the seats of white population; the post factors are the magistrates. All this is changing with a rapidity which history will liken to the sliding of scenes before the lens of a magic-lantern. Miners are crushing the foot-hills on either side of the Rocky Mountains, farmers and cattle-men have advanced far northward on the prairie and on the plains in narrow lines, and railroads are pushing hither and thither. Soon the limits of the inhospitable zone this side of the Arctic Sea, and of the marshy, weakly-wooded country on either side of Hudson Bay will circumscribe the fur-trader's field, except in so far as there may remain equally permanent hunting-grounds in Labrador and in the mountains of British Columbia. Therefore now, when the Hudson Bay Company is laying the foundations of widely different interests, is the time for halting the old original view that stood in the stereopticon for centuries, that we may see what it revealed, and will still show far longer than it takes for us to view it. The Hudson Bay Company's agents were not the first hunters and fur-traders in British America, ancient as was their foundation. The French, from the Canadas, preceded them no one knows how many years, though it is said that it was as early as 1627 that Louis XIII. chartered a company of the same sort and for the same aims as the English company. Whatever came of that corporation I do not know, but by the time the Englishmen established themselves on Hudson Bay, individual Frenchmen and half-breeds had penetrated the country still farther west. They were of hardy, adventurous stock, and they loved the free roving life of the trapper and hunter. Fitted out by the merchants of Canada, they would pursue the waterways which there cut up the wilderness in every direction, their canoes laden with goods to tempt the savages, and their guns or traps forming part of their burden. They would be gone the greater part of a year, and always returned with a store of furs to be converted into money, which was, in turn, dissipated in the cities with devil-may-care jollity. These were the _coureurs du bois_, and theirs was the stock from which came the _voyageurs_ of the next era, and the half-breeds, who joined the service of the rival fur companies, and who, by-the-way, reddened the history of the North-west territories with the little bloodshed that mars it. Charles II. of England was made to believe that wonders in the way of discovery and trade would result from a grant of the Hudson Bay territory to certain friends and petitioners. An experimental voyage was made with good results in 1668, and in 1670 the King granted the charter to what he styled "the Governor and Company of Adventurers of England trading into Hudson's Bay, one body corporate and politique, in deed and in name, really and fully forever, for Us, Our heirs, and Successors." It was indeed a royal and a wholesale charter, for the King declared, "We have given, granted, and confirmed unto said Governor and Company sole trade and commerce of those Seas, Streights, Bays, Rivers, Lakes, Creeks, and Sounds, in whatsoever latitude they shall be, that lie within the entrance of the Streights commonly called Hudson's, together with all the Lands, Countries, and Territories upon the coasts and confines of the Seas, etc., . . . not already actually possessed by or granted to any of our subjects, or possessed by the subjects of any other Christian Prince or State, with the fishing of all sorts of Fish, Whales, Sturgeons, and all other Royal Fishes, . . . . together with the Royalty of the Sea upon the Coasts within the limits aforesaid, and all Mines Royal, as well discovered as not discovered, of Gold, Silver, Gems, and Precious Stones, . . . . and that the said lands be henceforth reckoned and reputed as one of Our Plantations or Colonies in America called Rupert's Land." For this gift of an empire the corporation was to pay yearly to the king, his heirs and successors, two elks and two black beavers whenever and as often as he, his heirs, or his successors "shall happen to enter into the said countries." The company was empowered to man ships of war, to create an armed force for security and defence, to make peace or war with any people that were not Christians, and to seize any British or other subject who traded in their territory. The King named his cousin, Prince Rupert, Duke of Cumberland, to be first governor, and it was in his honor that the new territory got its name of Rupert's Land. In the company were the Duke of Albemarle, Earl Craven, Lords Arlington and Ashley, and several knights and baronets, Sir Philip Carteret among them. There were also five esquires, or gentlemen, and John Portman, "citizen and goldsmith." They adopted the witty sentence, "_Pro pelle cutem_" (A skin for a skin), as their motto, and established as their coat of arms a fox sejant as the crest, and a shield showing four beavers in the quarters, and the cross of St. George, the whole upheld by two stags. [Illustration: THE BEAR TRAP] The "adventurers" quickly established forts on the shores of Hudson Bay, and began trading with the Indians, with such success that it was rumored they made from twenty-five to fifty per cent. profit every year. But they exhibited all of that timidity which capital is ever said to possess. They were nothing like as enterprising as the French _coureurs du bois_. In a hundred years they were no deeper in the country then at first, excepting as they extended their little system of forts or "factories" up and down and on either side of Hudson and James bays. In view of their profits, perhaps this lack of enterprise is not to be wondered at. On the other hand, their charter was given as a reward for the efforts they had made, and were to make, to find "the Northwest passage to the Southern seas." In this quest they made less of a trial than in the getting of furs; how much less we shall see. But the company had no lack of brave and hardy followers. At first many of the men at the factories were from the Orkney Islands, and those islands remained until recent times the recruiting-source for this service. This was because the Orkney men were inured to a rigorous climate, and to a diet largely composed of fish. They were subject to less of a change in the company's service than must have been endured by men from almost any part of England. I am going, later, to ask the reader to visit Rupert's Land when the company had shaken off its timidity, overcome its obstacles, and dotted all British America with its posts and forts. Then we shall see the interiors of the forts, view the strange yet not always hard or uncouth life of the company's factors and clerks, and glance along the trails and watercourses, mainly unchanged to-day, to note the work and surroundings of the Indians, the _voyageurs_, and the rest who inhabit that region. But, fortunately, I can first show, at least roughly, much that is interesting about the company's growth and methods a century and a half ago. The information is gotten from some English Parliamentary papers forming a report of a committee of the House of Commons in 1749. Arthur Dobbs and others petitioned Parliament to give them either the rights of the Hudson Bay Company or a similar charter. It seems that England had offered £20,000 reward to whosoever should find the bothersome passage to the Southern seas _viâ_ this northern route, and that these petitioners had sent out two ships for that purpose. They said that when others had done no more than this in Charles II.'s time, that monarch had given them "the greatest privileges as lords proprietors" of the Hudson Bay territory, and that those recipients of royal favor were bounden to attempt the discovery of the desired passage. Instead of this, they not only failed to search effectually or in earnest for the passage, but they had rather endeavored to conceal the same, and to obstruct the discovery thereof by others. They had not possessed or occupied any of the lands granted to them, or extended their trade, or made any plantations or settlements, or permitted other British subjects to plant, settle, or trade there. They had established only four factories and one small trading-house; yet they had connived at or allowed the French to encroach, settle, and trade within their limits, to the great detriment and loss of Great Britain. The petitioners argued that the Hudson Bay charter was monopolistic, and therefore void, and at any rate it had been forfeited "by non-user or abuser." In the course of the hearing upon both sides, the "voyages upon discovery," according to the company's own showing, were not undertaken until the corporation had been in existence nearly fifty years, and then the search had only been prosecuted during eighteen years, and with only ten expeditions. Two ships sent out from England never reached the bay, but those which succeeded, and were then ready for adventurous cruising, made exploratory voyages that lasted only between one month and ten weeks, so that, as we are accustomed to judge such expeditions, they seem farcical and mere pretences. Yet their largest ship was only of 190 tons burden, and the others were a third smaller--vessels like our small coasting schooners. The most particular instructions to the captains were to trade with all natives, and persuade them to kill whales, sea-horses, and seals; and, subordinately and incidentally, "by God's permission," to find out the Strait of Annian, a fanciful sheet of water, with tales of which that irresponsible Greek sea-tramp, Juan de Fuca, had disturbed all Christendom, saying that it led between a great island in the Pacific (Vancouver) and the main-land into the inland lakes. To the factors at their forts the company sent such lukewarm messages as, "and if you can by any means find out any discovery or matter to the northward or elsewhere in the company's interest or advantage, do not fail to let us know every year." The attitude of the company towards discovery suggests a Dogberry at its head, bidding his servants to "comprehend" the North-west passage, but should they fail, to thank God they were rid of a villain. In truth, they were traders pure and simple, and were making great profits with little trouble and expense. [Illustration: HUSKIE DOGS FIGHTING] They brought from England about £4000 worth of powder, shot, guns, fire-steels, flints, gun-worms, powder-horns, pistols, hatchets, sword blades, awl blades, ice-chisels, files, kettles, fish-hooks, net-lines, burning-glasses, looking-glasses, tobacco, brandy, goggles, gloves, hats, lace, needles, thread, thimbles, breeches, vermilion, worsted sashes, blankets, flannels, red feathers, buttons, beads, and "shirts, shoes, and stockens." They spent, in keeping up their posts and ships, about £15,000, and in return they brought to England castorum, whale-fins, whale-oil, deer-horns, goose-quills, bed-feathers, and skins--in all of a value of about £26,000 per annum. I have taken the average for several years in that period of the company's history, and it is in our money as if they spent $90,000 and got back $130,000, and this is their own showing under such circumstances as to make it the course of wisdom not to boast of their profits. They had three times trebled their stock and otherwise increased it, so that having been 10,500 shares at the outset, it was now 103,950 shares. And now that we have seen how natural it was that they should not then bother with exploration and discovery, in view of the remuneration that came for simply sitting in their forts and buying furs, let me pause to repeat what one of their wisest men said casually, between the whiffs of a meditative cigar, last summer: "The search for the north pole must soon be taken up in earnest," said he. "Man has paused in the undertaking because other fields where his needs were more pressing, and where effort was more certain to be rewarded with success, had been neglected. This is no longer the fact, and geographers and other students of the subject all agree that the north pole must next be sought and found. Speaking only on my own account and from my knowledge, I assert that whenever any government is in earnest in this desire, it will employ the men of this fur service, and they will find the pole. The company has posts far within the arctic circle, and they are manned by men peculiarly and exactly fitted for the adventure. They are hardy, acutely intelligent, self-reliant, accustomed to the climate, and all that it engenders and demands. They are on the spot ready to start at the earliest moment in the season, and they have with them all that they will need on the expedition. They would do nothing hurriedly or rashly; they would know what they were about as no other white men would--and they would get there." I mention this not merely for the novelty of the suggestion and the interest it may excite, but because it contributes to the reader's understanding of the scope and character of the work of the company. It is not merely Western and among Indians, it is hyperborean and among Esquimaux. But would it not be passing strange if, beyond all that England has gained from the careless gift of an empire to a few favorites by Charles II., she should yet possess the honor and glory of a grand discovery due to the natural results of that action? To return to the Parliamentary inquiry into the company's affairs 140 years ago. If it served no other purpose, it drew for us of this day an outline picture of the first forts and their inmates and customs. Being printed in the form our language took in that day, when a gun was a "musquet" and a stockade was a "palisadoe," we fancy we can see the bumptious governors--as they then called the factors or agents--swelling about in knee-breeches and cocked hats and colored waistcoats, and relying, through their fear of the savages, upon the little putty-pipe cannon that they speak of as "swivels." These were ostentatiously planted before their quarters, and in front of these again were massive double doors, such as we still make of steel for our bank safes, but, when made of wood, use only for our refrigerators. The views we get of the company's "servants"--which is to say, mechanics and laborers--are all of trembling varlets, and the testimony is full of hints of petty sharp practice towards the red man, suggestive of the artful ways of our own Hollanders, who bought beaver-skins by the weight of their feet, and then pressed down upon the scales with all their might. [Illustration: PAINTING THE ROBE] The witnesses had mainly been at one time in the employ of the company, and they made the point against it that it imported all its bread (_i.e._, grain) from England, and neither encouraged planting nor cultivated the soil for itself. But there were several who said that even in August they found the soil still frozen at a depth of two and a half or three feet. Not a man in the service was allowed to trade with the natives outside the forts, or even to speak with them. One fellow was put in irons for going into an Indian's tent; and there was a witness who had "heard a Governor say he would whip a Man without Tryal; and that the severest Punishment is a Dozen of Lashes." Of course there was no instructing the savages in either English or the Christian religion; and we read that, though there were twenty-eight Europeans in one factory, "witness never heard Sermon or Prayers there, nor ever heard of any such Thing either before his Time or since." Hunters who offered their services got one-half what they shot or trapped, and the captains of vessels kept in the bay were allowed. "25 _l. per cent._" for all the whalebone they got. One witness said: "The method of trade is by a standard set by the Governors. They never lower it, but often double it, so that where the Standard directs 1 Skin to be taken they generally take Two." Another said he "had been ordered to shorten the measure for Powder, which ought to be a Pound, and that within these 10 Years had been reduced an Ounce or Two." "The Indians made a Noise sometimes, and the Company gave them their Furs again." A book-keeper lately in the service said that the company's measures for powder were short, and yet even such measures were not filled above half full. Profits thus made were distinguished as "the overplus trade," and signified what skins were got more than were paid for, but he could not say whether such gains went to the company or to the governor. (As a matter of fact, the factors or governors shared in the company's profits, and were interested in swelling them in every way they could.) There was much news of how the French traders got the small furs of martens, foxes, and cats, by intercepting the Indians, and leaving them to carry only the coarse furs to the company's forts. A witness "had seen the Indians come down in fine _French_ cloaths, with as much Lace as he ever saw upon any Cloaths whatsoever. He believed if the Company would give as much for the Furs as the _French_, the _Indians_ would bring them down;" but the French asked only thirty marten-skins for a gun, whereas the company's standard was from thirty-six to forty such skins. Then, again, the company's plan (unchanged to-day) was to take the Indian's furs, and then, being possessed of them, to begin the barter. This shouldering the common grief upon the French was not merely the result of the chronic English antipathy to their ancient and their lively foes. The French were swarming all around the outer limits of the company's field, taking first choice of the furs, and even beginning to set up posts of their own. Canada was French soil, and peopled by as hardy and adventurous a class as inhabited any part of America. The _coureurs du bois_ and the _bois-brûlés_ (half-breeds), whose success afterwards led to the formation of rival companies, had begun a mosquito warfare, by canoeing the waters that led to Hudson Bay, and had penetrated 1000 miles farther west than the English. One Thomas Barnett, a smith, said that the French intercepted the Indians, forcing them to trade, "when they take what they please, giving them Toys in Exchange; and fright them into Compliance by Tricks of Sleight of Hand; from whence the _Indians_ conclude them to be Conjurers; and if the _French_ did not compel the _Indians_ to trade, they would certainly bring all the Goods to the _English_." This must have seemed to the direct, practical English trading mind a wretched business, and worthy only of Johnny Crapeau, to worst the noble Briton by monkeyish acts of conjuring. It stirred the soul of one witness, who said that the way to meet it was "by sending some _English_ with a little Brandy." A gallon to certain chiefs and a gallon and a half to others would certainly induce the natives to come down and trade, he thought. But while the testimony of the English was valuable as far as it went, which was mainly concerning trade, it was as nothing regarding the life of the natives compared with that of one Joseph La France, of Missili-Mackinack (Mackinaw), a traveller, hunter, and trader. He had been sent as a child to Quebec to learn French, and in later years had been from Lake Nipissing to Lake Champlain and the Great Lakes, the Mississippi, the Missouri, the Ouinipigue (Winnipeg) or Red River, and to Hudson Bay. He told his tales to Arthur Dobbs, who made a book of them, and part of that became an appendix to the committee's report. La France said: "That the high price on _European_ Goods discourages the Natives so much, that if it were not that they are under a Necessity of having Guns, Powder, Shot, Hatchets, and other Iron Tools for their Hunting, and Tobacco, Brandy, and some Paint for Luxury, they would not go down to the Factory with what they now carry. They leave great numbers of Furs and Skins behind them. A good Hunter among the _Indians_ can kill 600 Beavers in a season, and carry down but 100" (because their canoes were small); "the rest he uses at home, or hangs them upon Branches of Trees upon the Death of their Children, as an Offering to them; or use them for Bedding and Coverings: they sometimes burn off the Fur, and roast the Beavers, like Pigs, upon any Entertainments; and they often let them rot, having no further Use of them. The Beavers, he says, are of Three Colours--the Brown-reddish Colour, the Black, and the White. The Black is most valued by the Company, and in _England_; the White, though most valued in _Canada_, is blown upon by the Company's Factors at the Bay, they not allowing so much for these as for the others; and therefore the _Indians_ use them at home, or burn off the Hair, when they roast the Beavers, like Pigs, at an Entertainment when they feast together. The Beavers are delicious Food, but the Tongue and Tail the most delicious Parts of the whole. They multiply very fast, and if they can empty a Pond, and take the whole Lodge, they generally leave a Pair to breed, so that they are fully stocked again in Two or Three Years. The _American_ Oxen, or Beeves, he says, have a large Bunch upon their backs, which is by far the most delicious Part of them for Food, it being all as sweet as Marrow, juicy and rich, and weighs several Pounds. "The Natives are so discouraged in their Trade with the Company that no Peltry is worth the Carriage; and the finest Furs are sold for very little. They gave but a Pound of Gunpowder for 4 Beavers, a Fathom of Tobacco for 7 Beavers, a Pound of Shot for 1, an Ell of coarse Cloth for 15, a Blanket for 12, Two Fish-hooks or Three Flints for 1; a Gun for 25, a Pistol for 10, a common Hat with white Lace, 7; an Ax, 4; a Billhook, 1; a Gallon of Brandy, 4; a chequer'd Shirt, 7; all of which are sold at a monstrous Profit, even to 2000 _per Cent_. Notwithstanding this discouragement, he computed that there were brought to the Factory in 1742, in all, 50,000 Beavers and above 9000 Martens. "The smaller Game, got by Traps or Snares, are generally the Employment of the Women and Children; such as the Martens, Squirrels, Cats, Ermines, &c. The Elks, Stags, Rein-Deer, Bears, Tygers, wild Beeves, Wolves, Foxes, Beavers, Otters, Corcajeu, &c., are the employment of the Men. The _Indians_, when they kill any Game for Food, leave it where they kill it, and send their wives next Day to carry it home. They go home in a direct Line, never missing their way, by observations they make of the Course they take upon their going out. The Trees all bend towards the South, and the Branches on that Side are larger and stronger than on the North Side; as also the Moss upon the Trees. To let their Wives know how to come at the killed Game, they from Place to Place break off Branches and lay them in the Road, pointing them the Way they should go, and sometimes Moss; so that they never miss finding it. "In Winter, when they go abroad, which they must do in all Weathers, before they dress, they rub themselves all over with Bears Greaze or Oil of Beavers, which does not freeze; and also rub all the Fur of their Beaver Coats, and then put them on; they have also a kind of Boots or Stockings of Beaver's Skin, well oiled, with the Fur inwards; and above them they have an oiled Skin laced about their Feet, which keeps out the Cold, and also Water; and by this means they never freeze, nor suffer anything by Cold. In Summer, also, when they go naked, they rub themselves with these Oils or Grease, and expose themselves to the Sun without being scorched, their Skins always being kept soft and supple by it; nor do any Flies, Bugs, or Musketoes, or any noxious Insect, ever molest them. When they want to get rid of it, they go into the Water, and rub themselves all over with Mud or Clay, and let it dry upon them, and then rub it off; but whenever they are free from the Oil, the Flies and Musketoes immediately attack them, and oblige them again to anoint themselves. They are much afraid of the wild Humble Bee, they going naked in Summer, that they avoid them as much as they can. They use no Milk from the time they are weaned, and they all hate to taste Cheese, having taken up an Opinion that it is made of Dead Men's Fat. They love Prunes and Raisins, and will give a Beaver-skin for Twelve of them, to carry to their Children; and also for a Trump or Jew's Harp. The Women have all fine Voices, but have never heard any Musical Instrument. They are very fond of all Kinds of Pictures or Prints, giving a Beaver for the least Print; and all Toys are like Jewels to them." He reported that "the _Indians_ west of Hudson's Bay live an erratic Life, and can have no Benefit by tame Fowl or Cattle. They seldom stay above a Fortnight in a Place, unless they find Plenty of Game. After having built their Hut, they disperse to get Game for their Food, and meet again at Night after having killed enough to maintain them for that Day. When they find Scarcity of Game, they remove a League or Two farther; and thus they traverse through woody Countries and Bogs, scarce missing One Day, Winter or Summer, fair or foul, in the greatest Storms of Snow." It has been often said that the great Peace River, which rises in British Columbia and flows through a pass in the Rocky Mountains into the northern plains, was named "the Unchaga," or Peace, "because" (to quote Captain W. F. Butler) "of the stubborn resistance offered by the all-conquering Crees, which induced that warlike tribe to make peace on the banks of the river, and leave at rest the beaver-hunters"--that is, the Beaver tribe--upon the river's banks. There is a sentence in La France's story that intimates a more probable and lasting reason for the name. He says that some Indians in the southern centre of Canada sent frequently to the Indians along some river near the mountains "with presents, to confirm the peace with them." The story is shadowy, of course, and yet La France, in the same narrative, gave other information which proved to be correct, and none which proved ridiculous. We know that there were "all-conquering" Crees, but there were also inferior ones called the Swampies, and there were others of only intermediate valor. As for the Beavers, Captain Butler himself offers other proof of their mettle besides their "stubborn resistance." He says that on one occasion a young Beaver chief shot the dog of another brave in the Beaver camp. A hundred bows were instantly drawn, and ere night eighty of the best men of the tribe lay dead. There was a parley, and it was resolved that the chief who slew the dog should leave the tribe, and take his friends with him. A century later a Beaver Indian, travelling with a white man, heard his own tongue spoken by men among the Blackfeet near our border. They were the Sarcis, descendants of the exiled band of Beavers. They had become the must reckless and valorous members of the warlike Blackfeet confederacy. [Illustration: COUREUR DU BOIS] La France said that the nations who "go up the river" with presents, to confirm the peace with certain Indians, were three months in going, and that the Indians in question live beyond a range of mountains beyond the Assiniboins (a plains tribe). Then he goes on to say that still farther beyond those Indians "are nations who have not the use of firearms, by which many of them are made slaves and sold"--to the Assiniboins and others. These are plainly the Pacific coast Indians. And even so long ago as that (about 1740), half a century before Mackenzie and Vancouver met on the Pacific coast, La France had told the story of an Indian who had gone at the head of a band of thirty braves and their families to make war on the Flatheads "on the Western Ocean of America." They were from autumn until the next April in making the journey, and they "saw many Black Fish spouting up in the sea." It was a case of what the Irish call "spoiling for a fight," for they had to journey 1500 miles to meet "enemies" whom they never had seen, and who were peaceful, and inhabited more or less permanent villages. The plainsmen got more than they sought. They attacked a village, were outnumbered, and lost half their force, besides having several of their men wounded. On the way back all except the man who told the story died of fatigue and famine. The journeys which Indians made in their wildest period were tremendous. Far up in the wilderness of British America there are legends of visits by the Iroquois. The Blackfeet believe that their progenitors roamed as far south as Mexico for horses, and the Crees of the plains evinced a correct knowledge of the country that lay beyond the Rocky Mountains in their conversations with the first whites who traded with them. Yet those white men, the founders of an organized fur trade, clung to the scene of their first operations for more than one hundred years, while the bravest of their more enterprising rivals in the Northwest Company only reached the Pacific, with the aid of eight Iroquois braves, 120 years after the English king chartered the senior company! The French were the true Yankees of that country. They and their half-breeds were always in the van as explorers and traders, and as early as 1731 M. Varennes de la Verandrye, licensed by the Canadian Government as a trader, penetrated the West as far as the Rockies, leading Sir Alexander Mackenzie to that extent by more than sixty years. But to return to the first serious trouble the Hudson Bay Company met. The investigation of its affairs by Parliament produced nothing more than the picture I have presented. The committee reported that if the original charter bred a monopoly, it would not help matters to give the same privileges to others. As the questioned legality of the charter was not competently adjudicated upon, they would not allow another company to invade the premises of the older one. At this time the great company still hugged the shores of the bay, fearing the Indians, the half-breeds, and the French. Their posts were only six in all, and were mainly fortified with palisaded enclosures, with howitzers and swivels, and with men trained to the use of guns. Moose Fort and the East Main factory were on either side of James Bay, Forts Albany, York, and Prince of Wales followed up the west coast, and Henley was the southernmost and most inland of all, being on Moose River, a tributary of James Bay. The French at first traded beyond the field of Hudson Bay operations, and their castles were their canoes. But when their great profits and familiarity with the trade tempted the thrifty French capitalists and enterprising Scotch merchants of Montreal into the formation of the rival Northwest Trading Company in 1783, fixed trading-posts began to be established all over the Prince Rupert's Land, and even beyond the Rocky Mountains in British Columbia. By 1818 there were about forty Northwest posts as against about two dozen Hudson Bay factories. The new company not only disputed but ignored the chartered rights of the old company, holding that the charter had not been sanctioned by Parliament, and was in every way unconstitutional as creative of a monopoly. Their French partners and _engagés_ shared this feeling, especially as the French crown had been first in the field with a royal charter. Growing bolder and bolder, the Northwest Company resolved to drive the Hudson Bay Company to a legal test of their rights, and so in 1803-4 they established a Northwest fort under the eyes of the old company on the shores of Hudson Bay, and fitted out ships to trade with the natives in the strait. But the Englishmen did not accept the challenge; for the truth was they had their own doubts of the strength of their charter. [Illustration: A FUR-TRADER IN THE COUNCIL TEPEE] They pursued a different and for them an equally bold course. That hard-headed old nobleman the fifth Earl of Selkirk came uppermost in the company as the engineer of a plan of colonization. There was plenty of land, and some wholesale evictions of Highlanders in Sutherlandshire, Scotland, had rendered a great force of hardy men homeless. Selkirk saw in this situation a chance to play a long but certainly triumphant game with his rivals. His plan was to plant a colony which should produce grain and horses and men for the old company, saving the importation of all three, and building up not only a nursery for men to match the _coureurs du bois_, but a stronghold and a seat of a future government in the Hudson Bay interest. Thus was ushered in a new and important era in Canadian history. It was the opening of that part of Canada; by a loop-hole rather than a door, to be sure. Lord Selkirk's was a practical soul. On one occasion in animadverting against the Northwest Company he spoke of them contemptuously as fur-traders, yet he was the chief of all fur-traders, and had been known to barter with an Indian himself at one of the forts for a fur. He held up the opposition to the scorn of the world as profiting upon the weakness of the Indians by giving them alcohol, yet he ordered distilleries set up in his colony afterwards, saying, "We grant the trade is iniquitous, but if we don't carry it on others will; so we may as well put the guineas in our own pockets." But he was the man of the moment, if not for it. His scheme of colonization was born of desperation on one side and distress on the other. It was pursued amid terrible hardship, and against incessant violence. It was consummated through bloodshed. The story is as interesting as it is important. The facts are obtained mainly from "Papers relating to the Red River Settlement, ordered to be printed by the House of Commons, July 12, 1819." Lord Selkirk owned 40,000 of the £105,000 (or shares) of the Hudson Bay Company; therefore, since 25,000 were held by women and children, he held half of all that carried votes. He got from the company a grant of a large tract around what is now Winnipeg, to form an agricultural settlement for supplying the company's posts with provisions. We have seen how little disposed its officers were to open the land to settlers, or to test its agricultural capacities. No one, therefore, will wonder that when this grant was made several members of the governing committee resigned. But a queer development of the moment was a strong opposition from holders of Hudson Bay stock who were also owners in that company's great rival, the Northwest Company. Since the enemy persisted in prospering at the expense of the old company, the moneyed men of the senior corporation had taken stock of their rivals. These doubly interested persons were also in London, so that the Northwest Company was no longer purely Canadian. The opponents within the Hudson Bay Company declared civilization to be at all times unfavorable to the fur trade, and the Northwest people argued that the colony would form a nursery for servants of the Bay Company, enabling them to oppose the Northwest Company more effectually, as well as affording such facilities for new-comers as must destroy their own monopoly. The Northwest Company denied the legality of the charter rights of the Hudson Bay Company because Parliament had not confirmed Charles II.'s charter. [Illustration: BUFFALO MEAT FOR THE POST] The colonists came, and were met by Miles McDonnell, an ex-captain of Canadian volunteers, as Lord Selkirk's agent. The immigrants landed on the shore of Hudson Bay, and passed a forlorn winter. They met some of the Northwest Company's people under Alexander McDonnell, a cousin and brother-in-law to Miles McDonnell. Although Captain Miles read the grant to Selkirk in token of his sole right to the land, the settlers were hospitably received and well treated by the Northwest people. The settlers reached the place of colonization in August, 1812. This place is what was known as Fort Garry until Winnipeg was built. It was at first called "the Forks of the Red River," because the Assiniboin there joined the Red. Lord Selkirk outlined his policy at the time in a letter in which he bade Miles McDonnell give the Northwest people solemn warning that the lands were Hudson Bay property, and they must remove from them; that they must not fish, and that if they did their nets were to be seized, their buildings were to be destroyed, and they were to be treated "as you would poachers in England." The trouble began at once. Miles accused Alexander of trying to inveigle colonists away from him. He trained his men in the use of guns, and uniformed a number of them. He forbade the exportation of any supplies from the country, and when some Northwest men came to get buffalo meat they had hung on racks in the open air, according to the custom of the country, he sent armed men to send the others away. He intercepted a band of Northwest canoe-men, stationing men with guns and with two field-pieces on the river; and he sent to a Northwest post lower down the river demanding the provisions stored there, which, when they were refused, were taken by force, the door being smashed in. For this a Hudson Bay clerk was arrested, and Captain Miles's men went to the rescue. Two armed forces met, but happily slaughter was averted. Miles McDonnell justified his course on the ground that the colonists were distressed by need of food. It transpired at the time that one of his men while making cartridges for a cannon remarked that he was making them "for those ---- Northwest rascals. They have run too long, and shall run no longer." After this Captain Miles ordered the stoppage of all buffalo-hunting on horseback, as the practice kept the buffalo at a distance, and drove them into the Sioux country, where the local Indians dared not go. But though Captain McDonnell was aggressive and vexatious, the Northwest Company's people, who had begun the mischief, even in London, were not now passive. They relied on setting the half-breeds and Indians against the colonists. They urged that the colonists had stolen Indian real estate in settling on the land, and that in time every Indian would starve as a consequence. At the forty-fifth annual meeting of the Northwest Company's officers, August, 1814, Alexander McDonnell said, "Nothing but the complete downfall of the colony will satisfy some, by fair or foul means--a most desirable object, if it can be accomplished; so here is at it with all my heart and energy." In October, 1814, Captain McDonnell ordered the Northwest Company to remove from the territory within six months. [Illustration: THE INDIAN HUNTER OF 1750] The Indians, first and last, were the friends of the colonists. They were befriended by the whites, and in turn they gave them succor when famine fell upon them. Many of Captain Miles McDonnell's orders were in their interest, and they knew it. Katawabetay, a chief, was tempted with a big prize to destroy the settlement. He refused. On the opening of navigation in 1815 chiefs were bidden from the country around to visit the Northwest factors, and were by them asked to destroy the colony. Not only did they decline, but they hastened to Captain Miles McDonnell to acquaint him with the plot. Duncan Cameron now appears foremost among the Northwest Company's agents, being in charge of that company's post on the Red River, in the Selkirk grant. He told the chiefs that if they took the part of the colonists "their camp-fires should be totally extinguished." When Cameron caught one of his own servants doing a trifling service for Captain Miles McDonnell, he sent him upon a journey for which every _engagé_ of the Northwest Company bound himself liable in joining the company; that was to make the trip to Montreal, a voyage held _in terrorem_ over every servant of the corporation. More than that, he confiscated four horses and a wagon belonging to this man, and charged him on the company's books with the sum of 800 livres for an Indian squaw, whom the man had been told he was to have as his slave for a present. [Illustration: INDIAN HUNTER HANGING DEER OUT OF THE REACH OF WOLVES] But though the Indians held aloof from the great and cruel conspiracy, the half-breeds readily joined in it. They treated Captain McDonnell's orders with contempt, and arrested one of the Hudson Bay men as a spy upon their hunting with horses. There lived along the Red River, near the colony, about thirty Canadians and seventy half-breeds, born of Indian squaws and the servants or officers of the Northwest Company. One-quarter of the number of "breeds" could read and write, and were fit to serve as clerks; the rest were literally half savage, and were employed as hunters, canoe-men, "packers" (freighters), and guides. They were naturally inclined to side with the Northwest Company, and in time that corporation sowed dissension among the colonists themselves, picturing to them exaggerated danger from the Indians, and offering them free passage to Canada. They paid at least one of the leading colonists £100 for furthering discontent in the settlement, and four deserters from the colony stole all the Hudson Bay field-pieces, iron swivels, and the howitzer. There was constant irritation and friction between the factions. In an affray far up at Isle-à-la-Crosse a man was killed on either side. Half-breeds came past the colony singing war-songs, and notices were posted around Fort Garry reading, "Peace with all the world except in Red River." The Northwest people demanded the surrender of Captain McDonnell that he might be tried on their charges, and on June 11, 1815, a band of men fired on the colonial buildings. The captain afterwards surrendered himself, and the remnant of the colony, thirteen families, went to the head of Lake Winnipeg. The half-breeds burned the buildings, and divided the horses and effects. But in the autumn all came back with Colin Robertson, of the Bay Company, and twenty clerks and servants. These were joined by Governor Robert Semple, who brought 160 settlers from Scotland. Semple was a man of consequence at home, a great traveller, and the author of a book on travels in Spain.[2] But he came in no conciliatory mood, and the foment was kept up. The Northwest Company tried to starve the colonists, and Governor Semple destroyed the enemy's fort below Fort Garry. Then came the end--a decisive battle and massacre. Sixty-five men on horses, and with some carts, were sent by Alexander McDonnell, of the Northwest Company, up the river towards the colony. They were led by Cuthbert Grant, and included six Canadians, four Indians, and fifty-four half-breeds. It was afterwards said they went on innocent business, but every man was armed, and the "breeds" were naked, and painted all over to look like Indians. They got their paint of the Northwest officers. Moreover, there had been rumors that the colonists were to be driven away, and that "the land was to be drenched with blood." It was on June 19, 1816, that runners notified the colony that the others were coming. Semple was at Fort Douglas, near Fort Garry. When apprised of the close approach of his assailants, the Governor seems not to have appreciated his danger, for he said, "We must go and meet those people; let twenty men follow me." He put on his cocked hat and sash, his pistols, and shouldered his double-barrelled fowling-piece. The others carried a wretched lot of guns--some with the locks gone, and many that were useless. It was marshy ground, and they straggled on in loose order. They met an old soldier who had served in the army at home, and who said the enemy was very numerous, and that the Governor had better bring along his two field-pieces. "No, no," said the Governor; "there is no occasion. I am only going to speak to them." Nevertheless, after a moment's reflection, he did send back for one of the great guns, saying it was well to have it in case of need. They halted a short time for the cannon, and then perceived the Northwest party pressing towards them on their horses. By a common impulse the Governor and his followers began a retreat, walking backwards, and at the same time spreading out a single line to present a longer front. The enemy continued to advance at a hand-gallop. From out among them rode a Canadian named Boucher, the rest forming a half-moon behind him. Waving his hand in an insolent way to the Governor, Boucher called out, "What do you want?" [Illustration: MAKING THE SNOW-SHOE] "What do _you_ want?" said Governor Semple. "We want our fort," said Boucher, meaning the fort Semple had destroyed. "Go to your fort," said the Governor. "Why did you destroy our fort, you rascal?" Boucher demanded. "Scoundrel, do you tell me so?" the Governor replied, and ordered the man's arrest. Some say he caught at Boucher's gun. But Boucher slipped off his horse, and on the instant a gun was fired, and a Hudson Bay clerk fell dead. Another shot wounded Governor Semple, and he called to his followers. "Do what you can to take care of yourselves." Then there was a volley from the Northwest force, and with the clearing of the smoke it looked as though all the Governor's party were killed or wounded. Instead of taking care of themselves, they had rallied around their wounded leader. Captain Rogers, of the Governor's party, who had fallen, rose to his feet, and ran towards the enemy crying for mercy in English and broken French, when Thomas McKay, a "breed" and Northwest clerk, shot him through the head, another cutting his body open with a knife. Cuthbert Grant (who, it was charged, had shot Governor Semple) now went to the Governor, while the others despatched the wounded. Semple said, "Are you not Mr. Grant?" "Yes," said the other. "I am not mortally wounded," said the Governor, "and if you could get me conveyed to the fort, I think I should live." But when Grant left his side an Indian named Ma-chi-ca-taou shot him, some say through the breast, and some have it that he put a pistol to the Governor's head. Grant could not stop the savages. The bloodshed had crazed them. They slaughtered all the wounded, and, worse yet, they terribly maltreated the bodies. Twenty-two Hudson Bay men were killed, and one on the other side was wounded. There is a story that Alexander McDonnell shouted for joy when he heard the news of the massacre. One witness, who did not hear him shout, reports that he exclaimed to his friends: "_Sacré nom de Dieu! Bonnes nouvelles; vingt-deux Anglais tués!_" (----! Good news; twenty-two English slain!) It was afterwards alleged that the slaughter was approved by every officer of the Northwest Company whose comments were recorded. It is a saying up in that country that twenty-six out of the sixty-five in the attacking party died violent deaths. The record is only valuable as indicating the nature and perils of the lives the hunters and half-breeds led. First, a Frenchman dropped dead while crossing the ice on the river, his son was stabbed by a comrade, his wife was shot, and his children were burned; "Big Head," his brother, was shot by an Indian; Coutonohais dropped dead at a dance; Battosh was mysteriously shot; Lavigne was drowned; Fraser was run through the body by a Frenchman in Paris; Baptiste Morallé, while drunk, was thrown into a fire by inebriated companions and burned to death; another died drunk on a roadway; another was wounded by the bursting of his gun; small-pox took the eleventh; Duplicis was empaled upon a hay-fork, on which he jumped from a hay-stack; Parisien was shot, by a person unknown, in a buffalo-hunt; another lost his arm by carelessness; Gardapie, "the brave," was scalped and shot by the Sioux; so was Vallée; Ka-te-tee-goose was scalped and cut in pieces by the Gros-Ventres; Pe-me-can-toss was thrown in a hole by his people; and another Indian and his wife and children were killed by lightning. Yet another was gored to death by a buffalo. The rest of the twenty-six died by being frozen, by drowning, by drunkenness, or by shameful disease. It is when things are at their worst that they begin to mend, says a silly old proverb; but when history is studied these desperate situations often seem part of the mending, not of themselves, but of the broken cause of progress. There was a little halt here in Canada, as we shall see, but the seed of settlement had been planted, and thenceforth continued to grow. Lord Selkirk came with all speed, reaching Canada in 1817. It was now an English colony, and when he asked for a body-guard, the Government gave him two sergeants and twelve soldiers of the Régiment de Meuron. He made these the nucleus of a considerable force of Swiss and Germans who had formerly served in that regiment, and he pursued a triumphal progress to what he called his territory of Assiniboin, capturing all the Northwest Company's forts on the route, imprisoning the officers, and sending to jail in Canada all the accessaries to the massacre, on charges of arson, murder, robbery, and "high misdemeanors." Such was the prejudice against the Hudson Bay Company and the regard for the home corporation that nearly all were acquitted, and suits for very heavy damages were lodged against him. [Illustration: A HUDSON BAY MAN (QUARTER-BREED)] Selkirk sought to treat with the Indians for his land, which they said belonged to the Chippeways and the Crees. Five chiefs were found whose right to treat was acknowledged by all. On July 18, 1817, they deeded the territory to the King, "for the benefit of Lord Selkirk," giving him a strip two miles wide on either side of the Red River from Lake Winnipeg to Red Lake, north of the United States boundary, and along the Assiniboin from Fort Garry to the Muskrat River, as well as within two circles of six miles radius around Fort Garry and Pembina, now in Dakota. Indians do not know what miles are; they measure distance by the movement of the sun while on a journey. They determined two miles in this case to be "as far as you can see daylight under a horse's belly on the level prairie." On account of Selkirk's liberality they dubbed him "the silver chief." He agreed to give them for the land 200 pounds of tobacco a year. He named his settlement Kildonan, after that place in Helmsdale, Sutherlandshire, Scotland. He died in 1821, and in 1836 the Hudson Bay Company bought the land back from his heirs for £84,000. The Swiss and Germans of his regiment remained, and many retired servants of the company bought and settled there, forming the aristocracy of the place--a queer aristocracy to our minds, for many of the women were Indian squaws, and the children were "breeds." Through the perseverance and tact of the Right Hon. Edward Ellice, to whom the Government had appealed, all differences between the two great fur-trading companies were adjusted, and in 1821 a coalition was formed. At Ellice's suggestion the giant combination then got from Parliament exclusive privileges beyond the waters that flow into Hudson Bay, over the Rocky Mountains and to the Pacific, for a term of twenty years. These extra privileges were surrendered in 1838, and were renewed for twenty-one years longer, to be revoked, so far as British Columbia (then New Caledonia) was concerned, in 1858. That territory then became a crown colony, and it and Vancouver Island, which had taken on a colonial character at the time of the California gold fever (1849), were united in 1866. The extra privileges of the fur-traders were therefore not again renewed. In 1868, after the establishment of the Canadian union, whatever presumptive rights the Hudson Bay Company got under Charles II.'s charter were vacated in consideration of a payment by Canada of $1,500,000 cash, one-twentieth of all surveyed lands within the fertile belt, and 50,000 acres surrounding the company's posts. It is estimated that the land grant amounts to 7,000,000 of acres, worth $20,000,000, exclusive of all town sites. Thus we reach the present condition of the company, more than 220 years old, maintaining 200 central posts and unnumbered dependent ones, and trading in Labrador on the Atlantic; at Massett, on Queen Charlotte Island, in the Pacific; and deep within the Arctic Circle in the north. The company was newly capitalized not long ago with 100,000 shares at £20 ($10,000,000), but, in addition to its dividends, it has paid back £7 in every £20, reducing its capital to £1,300,000. The stock, however, is quoted at its original value. The supreme control of the company is vested in a governor, deputy governor, and five directors, elected by the stockholders in London. They delegate their powers to an executive resident in this country, who was until lately called the "Governor of Rupert's Land," but now is styled the chief commissioner, and is in absolute charge of the company and all its operations. His term of office is unlimited. The present head of the corporation, or governor, is Sir Donald A. Smith, one of the foremost spirits in Canada, who worked his way up from a clerkship in the company. The business of the company is managed on the outfit system, the most old-fogyish, yet by its officers declared to be the most perfect, plan in use by any corporation. The method is to charge against each post all the supplies that are sent to it between June 1st and June 1st each year, and then to set against this the product of each post in furs and in cash received. It used to take seven years to arrive at the figures for a given year, but, owing to improved means of transportation, this is now done in two years. [Illustration: THE COUREUR DU BOIS AND THE SAVAGE] Almost wherever you go in the newly settled parts of the Hudson Bay territory you find at least one free-trader's shop set up in rivalry with the old company's post. These are sometimes mere storehouses for the furs, and sometimes they look like, and are partly, general country stores. There can be no doubt that this rivalry is very detrimental to the fur trade from the stand-point of the future. The great company can afford to miss a dividend, and can lose at some points while gaining at others, but the free-traders must profit in every district. The consequence is such a reckless destruction of game that the plan adopted by us for our seal-fisheries--the leasehold system--is envied and advocated in Canada. A greater proportion of trapping and an utter unconcern for the destruction of the game at all ages are now ravaging the wilderness. Many districts return as many furs as they ever yielded, but the quantity is kept up at fearful cost by the extermination of the game. On the other hand, the fortified wall of posts that opposed the development of Canada, and sent the surplus population of Europe to the United States, is rid of its palisades and field-pieces, and the main strongholds of the ancient company and its rivals have become cities. The old fort on Vancouver Island is now Victoria; Fort Edmonton is the seat of law and commerce in the Peace River region; old Fort William has seen Port Arthur rise by its side; Fort Garry is Winnipeg; Calgary, the chief city of Alberta, is on the site of another fort; and Sault Ste. Marie was once a Northwest post. But civilization is still so far off from most of the "factories," as the company's posts are called, that the day when they shall become cities is in no man's thought or ken. And the communication between the centres and outposts is, like the life of the traders, more nearly like what it was in the old, old days than most of my readers would imagine. My Indian guides were battling with their paddles against the mad current of the Nipigon, above Lake Superior, one day last summer, and I was only a few hours away from Factor Flanagan's post near the great lake, when we came to a portage, and might have imagined from what we saw that time had pushed the hands back on the dial of eternity at least a century. Some rapids in the river had to be avoided by the brigade that was being sent with supplies to a post far north at the head of Lake Nipigon. A cumbrous, big-timbered little schooner, like a surf-boat with a sail, and a square-cut bateau had brought the men and goods to the "carry." The men were half-breeds as of old, and had brought along their women and children to inhabit a camp of smoky tents that we espied on a bluff close by; a typical camp, with the blankets hung on the bushes, the slatternly women and half-naked children squatting or running about, and smudge fires smoking between the tents to drive off mosquitoes and flies. The men were in groups below on the trail, at the water-side end of which were the boats' cargoes of shingles and flour and bacon and shot and powder in kegs, wrapped, two at a time, in rawhide. They were dark-skinned, short, spare men, without a surplus pound of flesh in the crew, and with longish coarse black hair and straggling beards. Each man carried a tump-line, or long stout strap, which he tied in such a way around what he meant to carry that a broad part of the strap fitted over the crown of his head. Thus they "packed" the goods over the portage, their heads sustaining the loads, and their backs merely steadying them. When one had thrown his burden into place, he trotted off up the trail with springing feet, though the freight was packed so that 100 pounds should form a load. For bravado one carried 200 pounds, and then all the others tried to pack as much, and most succeeded. All agreed that one, the smallest and least muscular-looking one among them, could pack 400 pounds. As the men gathered around their "smudge" to talk with my party, it was seen that of all the parts of the picturesque costume of the _voyageur_ or _bois-brûlé_ of old--the capote, the striped shirt, the pipe-tomahawk, plumed hat, gay leggins, belt, and moccasins--only the red worsted belt and the moccasins have been retained. These men could recall the day when they had tallow and corn meal for rations, got no tents, and were obliged to carry 200 pounds, lifting one package, and then throwing a second one atop of it without assistance. Now they carry only 100 pounds at a time, and have tents and good food given to them. We will not follow them, nor meet, as they did, the York boat coming down from the north with last winter's furs. Instead, I will endeavor to lift the curtain from before the great fur country beyond them, to give a glimpse of the habits and conditions that prevail throughout a majestic territory where the rivers and lakes are the only roads, and canoes and dog-sleds are the only vehicles. [Footnote 2: I am indebted to Mr. Matthew Semple, of Philadelphia, a grandnephew of the murdered Governor, for further facts about that hero. He led a life of travel and adventure, spiced with almost romantic happenings. He wrote ten books: records at travel and one novel. His parents were passengers on an English vessel which was captured by the Americans in 1776, and brought to Boston, Mass., where he was born on February 26, 1777. He was therefore only 39 years of age when he was slain. His portrait, now in Philadelphia, shows him to have been a man of striking and handsome appearance.] VII "TALKING MUSQUASH" Concluding the sketch of the history and work of the Hudson Bay Company The most sensational bit of "musquash talk" in more than a quarter of a century among the Hudson Bay Company's employés was started the other day, when Sir Donald A. Smith, the governor of the great trading company, sent a type-written letter to Winnipeg. If a Cree squaw had gone to the trading-shop at Moose Factory and asked for a bustle and a box of face-powder in exchange for a beaver-skin, the suggestion of changing conditions in the fur trade would have been trifling compared with the sense of instability to which this appearance of machine-writing gave rise. The reader may imagine for himself what a wrench civilization would have gotten if the world had laid down its goose-quills and taken up the type-writer all in one day. And that is precisely what Sir Donald Smith had done. The quill that had served to convey the orders of Alexander Mackenzie had satisfied Sir George Simpson; and, in our own time, while men like Lord Iddesleigh, Lord Kimberley, and Mr. Goschen sat around the candle-lighted table in the board-room of the company in London, quill pens were the only ones at hand. But Sir Donald's letter was not only the product of a machine; it contained instructions for the use of the type-writer in the offices at Winnipeg, and there was in the letter a protest against illegible manual chirography such as had been received from many factories in the wilderness. Talking business in the fur trade has always been called "talking musquash" (musk-rat), and after that letter came the turn taken by that form of talk suggested a general fear that from the Arctic to our border and from Labrador to Queen Charlotte's Islands the canvassers for competing machines will be "racing" in all the posts, each to prove that his instrument can pound out more words in a minute than any other--in those posts where life has hitherto been taken so gently that when one day a factor heard that the battle of Waterloo had been fought and won by the English, he deliberately loaded the best trade gun in the storehouse and went out and fired it into the pulseless woods, although it was two years after the battle, and the disquieted Old World had long known the greater news that Napoleon was caged in St. Helena. The only reassuring note in the "musquash talk" to-day is sounded when the subject of candles is reached. The Governor and committee in London still pursue their deliberations by candlelight. But rebellion against their fate is idle, and it is of no avail for the old factors to make the point that Sir Donald found no greater trouble in reading their writing than they encountered when one of his missives had to be deciphered by them. The truth is that the tide of immigration which their ancient monopoly first shunted into the United States is now sweeping over their vast territory, and altering more than its face. Not only are the factors aware that the new rule confining them to share in the profits of the fur trade leaves to the mere stockholders far greater returns from land sales and storekeeping, but a great many of them now find village life around their old forts, and railroads close at hand, and Law setting up its officers at their doors, so that in a great part of the territory the romance of the old life, and their authority as well, has fled. [Illustration: TALKING MUSQUASH] Less than four years ago I had passed by Qu'Appelle without visiting it, but last summer I resolved not to make the mistake again, for it was the last stockaded fort that could be studied without a tiresome and costly journey into the far north. It is on the Fishing Lakes, just beyond Manitoba. But on my way a Hudson Bay officer told me that they had just taken down the stockade in the spring, and that he did not know of a remaining "palisadoe" in all the company's system except one, which, curiously enough, had just been ordered to be put up around Fort Hazleton, on the Skeena River, in northern British Columbia, where some turbulent Indians have been very troublesome, and where whatever civilization there may be in Saturn seems nearer than our own. This one example of the survival of original conditions is far more eloquent of their endurance than the thoughtless reader would imagine. It is true that there has come a tremendous change in the status and spirit of the company. It is true that its officers are but newly bending to external authority, and that settlers have poured into the south with such demands for food, clothes, tools, and weapons as to create within the old corporation one of the largest of shopkeeping companies. Yet to-day, as two centuries ago, the Hudson Bay Company remains the greatest fur-trading association that exists. The zone in which Fort Hazleton is situated reaches from ocean to ocean without suffering invasion by settlers, and far above it to the Arctic Sea is a grand belt wherein time has made no impress since the first factory was put up there. There and around it is a region, nearly two-thirds the size of the United States, which is as if our country were meagrely dotted with tiny villages at an average distance of five days apart, with no other means of communication than canoe or dog train, and with not above a thousand white men in it, and not as many pure-blooded white women as you will find registered at a first-class New York hotel on an ordinary day. The company employs between fifteen hundred and two thousand white men, and I am assuming that half of them are in the fur country. We know that for nearly a century the company clung to the shores of Hudson Bay. It will be interesting to peep into one of its forts as they were at that time; it will be amazing to see what a country that bay-shore territory was and is. There and over a vast territory three seasons come in four months--spring in June, summer in July and August, and autumn in September. During the long winter the earth is blanketed deep in snow, and the water is locked beneath ice. Geese, ducks, and smaller birds abound as probably they are not seen elsewhere in America, but they either give place to or share the summer with mosquitoes, black-flies, and "bull-dogs" (_tabanus_) without number, rest, or mercy. For the land around Hudson Bay is a vast level marsh, so wet that York Fort was built on piles, with elevated platforms around the buildings for the men to walk upon. Infrequent bunches of small pines and a litter of stunted swamp-willows dot the level waste, the only considerable timber being found upon the banks of the rivers. There is a wide belt called the Arctic Barrens all along the north, but below that, at some distance west of the bay, the great forests of Canada bridge across the region north of the prairie and the plains, and cross the Rocky Mountains to reach the Pacific. In the far north the musk-ox descends almost to meet the moose and deer, and on the near slope of the Rockies the wood-buffalo--larger, darker, and fiercer than the bison of the plains, but very like him--still roams as far south as where the buffalo ran highest in the days when he existed. Through all this northern country the cold in winter registers 40°, and even 50°, below zero, and the travel is by dogs and sleds. There men in camp may be said to dress to go to bed. They leave their winter's store of dried meat and frozen fish out-of-doors on racks all winter (and so they do down close to Lake Superior); they hear from civilization only twice a year at the utmost; and when supplies have run out at the posts, we have heard of their boiling the parchment sheets they use instead of glass in their windows, and of their cooking the fat out of beaver-skins to keep from starving, though beaver is so precious that such recourse could only be had when the horses and dogs had been eaten. As to the value of the beaver, the reader who never has purchased any for his wife may judge what it must be by knowing that the company has long imported buckskin from Labrador to sell to the Chippeways around Lake Nipigon in order that they may not be tempted, as of old, to make thongs and moccasins of the beaver; for their deer are poor, with skins full of worm-holes, whereas beaver leather is very tough and fine. But in spite of the severe cold winters, that are, in fact, common to all the fur territory, winter is the delightful season for the traders; around the bay it is the only endurable season. The winged pests of which I have spoken are by no means confined to the tide-soaked region close to the great inland sea. The whole country is as wet as that orange of which geographers speak when they tell us that the water on the earth's surface is proportioned as if we were to rub a rough orange with a wet cloth. Up in what we used to call British America the illustration is itself illustrated in the countless lakes of all sizes, the innumerable small streams, and the many great rivers that make waterways the roads, as canoes are the wagons, of the region. It is a vast paradise for mosquitoes, and I have been hunted out of fishing and hunting grounds by them as far south as the border. The "bull-dog" is a terror reserved for especial districts. He is the Sioux of the insect world, as pretty as a warrior in buckskin and beads, but carrying a red-hot sword blade, which, when sheathed in human flesh, will make the victim jump a foot from the ground, though there is no after-pain or itching or swelling from the thrust. [Illustration: INDIAN HUNTERS MOVING CAMP] Having seen the country, let us turn to the forts. Some of them really were forts, in so far as palisades and sentry towers and double doors and guns can make a fort, and one twenty miles below Winnipeg was a stone fort. It is still standing. When the company ruled the territory as its landlord, the defended posts were on the plains among the bad Indians, and on the Hudson Bay shore, where vessels of foreign nations might be expected. In the forests, on the lakes and rivers, the character and behavior of the fish-eating Indians did not warrant armament. The stockaded forts were nearly all alike. The stockade was of timber, of about such a height that a man might look over it on tiptoe. It had towers at the corners, and York Fort had a great "lookout" tower within the enclosure. Within the barricade were the company's buildings, making altogether such a picture as New York presented when the Dutch founded it and called it New Amsterdam, except that we had a church and a stadt-house in our enclosure. The Hudson Bay buildings were sometimes arranged in a hollow square, and sometimes in the shape of a letter H, with the factor's house connecting the two other parts of the character. The factor's house was the best dwelling, but there were many smaller ones for the laborers, mechanics, hunters, and other non-commissioned men. A long, low, whitewashed log-house was apt to be the clerks' house, and other large buildings were the stores where merchandise was kept, the fur-houses where the furs, skins, and pelts were stored, and the Indian trading-house, in which all the bartering was done. A powder-house, ice-house, oil-house, and either a stable or a boat-house for canoes completed the post. All the houses had double doors and windows, and wherever the men lived there was a tremendous stove set up to battle with the cold. The abode of jollity was the clerks' house, or bachelors' quarters. Each man had a little bedroom containing his chest, a chair, and a bed, with the walls covered with pictures cut from illustrated papers or not, according to each man's taste. The big room or hall, where all met in the long nights and on off days, was as bare as a baldpate so far as its whitewashed or timbered walls went, but the table in the middle was littered with pipes, tobacco, papers, books, and pens and ink, and all around stood (or rested on hooks overhead) guns, foils, and fishing-rods. On Wednesdays and Saturdays there was no work in at least one big factory. Breakfast was served at nine o'clock, dinner at one o'clock, and tea at six o'clock. The food varied in different places. All over the prairie and plains great stores of pemmican were kept, and men grew to like it very much, though it was nothing but dried buffalo beef pounded and mixed with melted fat. But where they had pemmican they also enjoyed buffalo hunch in the season, and that was the greatest delicacy, except moose muffle (the nose of the moose), in all the territory. In the woods and lake country there were venison and moose as well as beaver--which is very good eating--and many sorts of birds, but in that region dried fish (salmon in the west, and lake trout or white-fish nearer the bay) was the staple. The young fellows hunted and fished and smoked and drank and listened to the songs of the _voyageurs_ and the yarns of the "breeds" and Indians. For the rest there was plenty of work to do. They had a costume of their own, and, indeed, in that respect there has been a sad change, for all the people, white, red, and crossed, dressed picturesquely. You could always distinguish a Hudson Bay man by his capote of light blue cloth with brass buttons. In winter they wore as much as a Quebec carter. They wore leather coats lined with flannel, edged with fur, and double-breasted. A scarlet worsted belt went around their waists, their breeches were of smoked buckskin, reaching down to three pairs of blanket socks and moose moccasins, with blue cloth leggins up to the knee. Their buckskin mittens were hung from their necks by a cord, and usually they wrapped a shawl of Scotch plaid around their necks and shoulders, while on each one's head was a fur cap with ear-pieces. [Illustration: SETTING A MINK-TRAP] The French Canadians and "breeds," who were the _voyageurs_ and hunters, made a gay appearance. They used to wear the company's regulation light blue capotes, or coats, in winter, with flannel shirts, either red or blue, and corduroy trousers gartered at the knee with bead-work. They all wore gaudy worsted belts, long, heavy woollen stockings--covered with gayly-fringed leggins--fancy moccasins, and tuques, or feather-decked hats or caps bound with tinsel bands. In mild weather their costume was formed of a blue striped cotton shirt, corduroys, blue cloth leggins bound with orange ribbons, the inevitable sash or worsted belt, and moccasins. Every hunter carried a powder-horn slung from his neck, and in his belt a tomahawk, which often served also as a pipe. As late as 1862, Viscount Milton and W. B. Cheadle describe them in a book, _The North-west Passage by Land_, in the following graphic language: "The men appeared in gaudy array, with beaded fire-bag, gay sash, blue or scarlet leggings, girt below the knee with beaded garters, and moccasins elaborately embroidered. The (half-breed) women were in short, bright-colored skirts, showing richly embroidered leggings and white moccasins of cariboo-skin beautifully worked with flowery patterns in beads, silk, and moose hair." The trading-room at an open post was--and is now--like a cross-roads store, having its shelves laden with every imaginable article that Indians like and hunters need--clothes, blankets, files, scalp-knives, gun screws, flints, twine, fire-steels, awls, beads, needles, scissors, knives, pins, kitchen ware, guns, powder, and shot. An Indian who came in with furs threw them down, and when they were counted received the right number of castors--little pieces of wood which served as money--with which, after the hours of reflection an Indian spends at such a time, he bought what he wanted. But there was a wide difference between such a trading-room and one in the plains country, or where there were dangerous Indians--such as some of the Crees, and the Chippeways, Blackfeet, Bloods, Sarcis, Sioux, Sicanies, Stonies, and others. In such places the Indians were let in only one or two at a time, the goods were hidden so as not to excite their cupidity, and through a square hole grated with a cross of iron, whose spaces were only large enough to pass a blanket, what they wanted was given to them. That is all done away with now, except it be in northern British Columbia, where the Indians have been turbulent. Farther on we shall perhaps see a band of Indians on their way to trade at a post. Their custom is to wait until the first signs of spring, and then to pack up their winter's store of furs, and take advantage of the last of the snow and ice for the journey. They hunt from November to May; but the trapping and shooting of bears go on until the 15th of June, for those animals do not come from their winter dens until May begins. They come to the posts in their best attire, and in the old days that formed as strong a contrast to their present dress as their leather tepees of old did to the cotton ones of to-day. Ballantyne, who wrote a book about his service with the great fur company, says merely that they were painted, and with scalp-locks fringing their clothes; but in Lewis and Clarke's journal we read description after description of the brave costuming of these color-and-ornament-loving people. Take the Sioux, for instance. Their heads were shaved of all but a tuft of hair, and feathers hung from that. Instead of the universal blanket of to-day, their main garment was a robe of buffalo-skin with the fur left on, and the inner surface dressed white, painted gaudily with figures of beasts and queer designs, and fringed with porcupine quills. They wore the fur side out only in wet weather. Beneath the robe they wore a shirt of dressed skin, and under that a leather belt, under which the ends of a breech-clout of cloth, blanket stuff, or skin were tucked. They wore leggins of dressed antelope hide with scalp-locks fringing the seams, and prettily beaded moccasins for their feet. They had necklaces of the teeth or claws of wild beasts, and each carried a fire-bag, a quiver, and a brightly painted shield, giving up the quiver and shield when guns came into use. The Indians who came to trade were admitted to the store precisely as voters are to the polls under the Australian system--one by one. They had to leave their guns outside. When rum was given out, each Indian had to surrender his knife before he got his tin cup. [Illustration: WOOD INDIANS COME TO TRADE] The company made great use of the Iroquois, and considered them the best boatmen in Canada. Sir Alexander Mackenzie, of the Northwest Company, employed eight of them to paddle him to the Pacific Ocean by way of the Peace and Fraser rivers, and when the greatest of Hudson Bay executives, Sir George Simpson, travelled, Iroquois always propelled him. The company had a uniform for all its Indian employés--a blue, gray, or blanket capote, very loose, and reaching below the knee, with a red worsted belt around the waist, a cotton shirt, no trousers, but artfully beaded leggins with wide flaps at the seams, and moccasins over blanket socks. In winter they wore buckskin coats lined with flannel, and mittens were given to them. We have seen how the half-breeds were dressed. They were long employed at women's work in the forts, at making clothing and at mending. All the mittens, moccasins, fur caps, deer-skin coats, etc., were made by them. They were also the washer-women. Perhaps the factor had a good time in the old days, or thought he did. He had a wife and servants and babies, and when a visitor came, which was not as often as snow-drifts blew over the stockade, he entertained like a lord. At first the factors used to send to London, to the head office, for a wife, to be added to the annual consignment of goods, and there must have been a few who sent to the Orkneys for the sweethearts they left there. But in time the rule came to be that they married Indian squaws. In doing this, not even the first among them acted blindly, for their old rivals and subsequent companions of the Northwest and X. Y. companies began the custom, and the French _voyageurs_ and _coureurs du bois_ had mated with Indian women before there was a Hudson Bay Company. These rough and hardy woodsmen, and a large number of half-breeds born of just such alliances, began at an early day to settle near the trading-posts. Sometimes they established what might be called villages, but were really close imitations of Indian camps, composed of a cluster of skin tepees, racks of fish or meat, and a swarm of dogs, women, and children. In each tepee was the fireplace, beneath the flue formed by the open top of the habitation, and around it were the beds of brush, covered with soft hides, the inevitable copper kettle, the babies swaddled in blankets or moss bags, the women and dogs, the gun and paddle, and the junks and strips of raw meat hanging overhead in the smoke. This has not changed to-day; indeed, very little that I shall speak of has altered in the true or far fur country. The camps exist yet. They are not so clean (or, rather, they are more dirty), and the clothes and food are poorer and harder to get; that is all. [Illustration: A VOYAGEUR OR CANOE-MAN OF GREAT SLAVE LAKE] The Europeans saw that these women were docile, or were kept in order easily by floggings with the tent poles; that they were faithful and industrious, as a rule, and that they were not all unprepossessing--from their point of view, of course. Therefore it came to pass that these were the most frequent alliances in and out of the posts in all that country. The consequences of this custom were so peculiar and important that I must ask leave to pause and consider them. In Canada we see that the white man thus made his bow to the redskin as a brother in the truest sense. The old _coureurs_ of Norman and Breton stock, loving a wild, free life, and in complete sympathy with the Indian, bought or took the squaws to wife, learned the Indian dialects, and shared their food and adventures with the tribes. As more and more entered the wilderness, and at last came to be supported, in camps and at posts and as _voyageurs_, by the competing fur companies, there grew up a class of half-breeds who spoke English and French, married Indians, and were as much at home with the savages as with the whites. From this stock the Hudson Bay men have had a better choice of wives for more than a century. But when these "breeds" were turbulent and murderous--first in the attacks on Selkirk's colony, and next during the Riel rebellion--the Indians remained quiet. They defined their position when, in 1819, they were tempted with great bribes to massacre the Red River colonists. "No," said they; "the colonists are our friends." The men who sought to excite them to murder were the officers of the Northwest Company, who bought furs of them, to be sure, but the colonists had shared with the Indians in poverty and plenty, giving now and taking then. All were alike to the red men--friends, white men, and of the race that had taken so many of their women to wife. Therefore they went to the colonists to tell them what was being planned against them, and not from that day to this has an Indian band taken the war-path against the Canadians. I have read General Custer's theory that the United States had to do with meat-eating Indians, whereas the Canadian tribes are largely fish-eaters, and I have seen 10,000 references to the better Indian policy of Canada; but I can see no difference in the two policies, and between the Rockies and the Great Lakes I find that Canada had the Stonies, Blackfeet, and many other fierce tribes of buffalo-hunters. It is in the slow, close-growing acquaintance between the two races, and in the just policy of the Hudson Bay men towards the Indians, that I see the reason for Canada's enviable experience with her red men. [Illustration: IN A STIFF CURRENT] But even the Hudson Bay men have had trouble with the Indians in recent years, and one serious affair grew out of the relations between the company's servants and the squaws. There is etiquette even among savages, and this was ignored up at old Fort St. Johns, on the Peace River, with the result that the Indians slaughtered the people there and burned the fort. They were Sicanie Indians of that region, and after they had massacred the men in charge, they met a boat-load of white men coming up the river with goods. To them they turned their guns also, and only four escaped. It was up in that country likewise--just this side of the Rocky Mountains, where the plains begin to be forested--that a silly clerk in a post quarrelled with an Indian, and said to him, "Before you come back to this post again, your wife and child will be dead." He spoke hastily, and meant nothing, but squaw and pappoose happened to die that winter, and the Indian walked into the fort the next spring and shot the clerk without a word. To-day the posts are little village-like collections of buildings, usually showing white against a green background in the prettiest way imaginable; for, as a rule, they cluster on the lower bank of a river, or the lower near shore of a lake. There are not clerks enough in most of them to render a clerks' house necessary, for at the little posts half-breeds are seen to do as good service as Europeans. As a rule, there is now a store or trading-house and a fur-house and the factor's house, the canoe-house and the stable, with a barn where gardening is done, as is often the case when soil and climate permit. Often the fur-house and store are combined, the furs being laid in the upper story over the shop. There is always a flag-staff, of course. This and the flag, with the letters "H. B. C." on its field, led to the old hunters' saying that the initials stood for "Here before Christ," because, no matter how far away from the frontier a man might go, in regions he fancied no white man had been, that flag and those letters stared him in the face. You will often find that the factor, rid of all the ancient timidity that called for "palisadoes and swivels," lives on the high upper bank above the store. The usual half-breed or Indian village is seldom farther than a couple of miles away, on the same water. The factor is still, as he always has been, responsible only to himself for the discipline and management of his post, and therefore among the factories we will find all sorts of homes--homes where a piano and the magazines are prized, and daughters educated abroad shed the lustre of refinement upon their surroundings, homes where no woman rules, and homes of the French half-breed type, which we shall see is a very different mould from that of the two sorts of British half-breed that are numerous. There never was a rule by which to gauge a post. In one you found religion valued and missionaries welcomed, while in others there never was sermon or hymn. In some, Hudson Bay rum met the rum of the free-traders, and in others no rum was bartered away. To-day, in this latter respect, the Dominion law prevails, and rum may not be given or sold to the red man. When one thinks of the lives of these factors, hidden away in forest, mountain chain, or plain, or arctic barren, seeing the same very few faces year in and year out, with breaches of the monotonous routine once a year when the winter's furs are brought in, and once a year when the mail-packet arrives--when one thinks of their isolation, and lack of most of those influences which we in our walks prize the highest, the reason for their choosing that company's service seems almost mysterious. Yet they will tell you there is a fascination in it. This could be understood so far as the half-breeds and French Canadians were concerned, for they inherited the liking; and, after all, though most of them are only laborers, no other laborers are so free, and none spice life with so much of adventure. But the factors are mainly men of ability and good origin, well fitted to occupy responsible positions, and at better salaries. However, from the outset the rule has been that they have become as enamoured of the trader's life as soldiers and sailors always have of theirs. They have usually retired from it reluctantly, and some, having gone home to Europe, have begged leave to return. The company has always been managed upon something like a military basis. Perhaps the original necessity for forts and men trained to the use of arms suggested this. The uniforms were in keeping with the rest. The lowest rank in the service is that of the laborer, who may happen to fish or hunt at times, but is employed--or enlisted, as the fact is, for a term of years--to cut wood, shovel snow, act as a porter or gardener, and labor generally about the post. The interpreter was usually a promoted laborer, but long ago the men in the trade, Indians and whites alike, met each other half-way in the matter of language. The highest non-commissioned rank in early days was that of the postmaster at large posts. Men of that rank often got charge of small outposts, and we read that they were "on terms of equality with gentlemen." To-day the service has lost these fine points, and the laborers and commissioned officers are sharply separated. The so-called "gentleman" begins as a prentice clerk, and after a few years becomes a clerk. His next elevation is to the rank of a junior chief trader, and so on through the grades of chief trader, factor, and chief factor, to the office of chief commissioner, or resident American manager, chosen by the London board, and having full powers delegated to him. A clerk--or "clark," as the rank is called--may never touch a pen. He may be a trader. Then again he may be truly an accountant. With the rank he gets a commission, and that entitles him to a minimum guarantee, with a conditional extra income based on the profits of the fur trade. Men get promotions through the chief commissioner, and he has always made fitness, rather than seniority, the criterion. Retiring officers are salaried for a term of years, the original pension fund and system having been broken up. Sir Donald A. Smith, the present governor of the company, made his way to the highest post from the place of a prentice clerk. He came from Scotland as a youth, and after a time was so unfortunate as to be sent to the coast of Labrador, where a man is as much out of both the world and contact with the heart of the company as it is possible to be. The military system was felt in that instance; but every man who accepts a commission engages to hold himself in readiness to go cheerfully to the north pole, or anywhere between Labrador and the Queen Charlotte Islands. However, to a man of Sir Donald's parts no obstacle is more than a temporary impediment. Though he stayed something like seventeen years in Labrador, he worked faithfully when there was work to do, and in his own time he read and studied voraciously. When the Riel rebellion--the first one--disturbed the country's peace, he appeared on the scene as commissioner for the Government. Next he became chief commissioner for the Hudson Bay Company. After a time he resigned that office to go on the board in London, and thence he stepped easily to the governorship. His parents, whose home was in Morayshire, Scotland, gave him at his birth, in 1821, not only a constitution of iron, but that shrewdness which is only Scotch, and he afterwards developed remarkable fore-sight, and such a grasp of affairs and of complex situations as to amaze his associates. [Illustration: VOYAGEUR WITH TUMPLINE] Of course his career is almost as singular as his gifts, and the governorship can scarcely be said to be the goal of the general ambition, for it has been most apt to go to a London man. Even ordinary promotion in the company is very slow, and it follows that most men live out their existence between the rank of clerk and that of chief factor. There are 200 central posts, and innumerable dependent posts, and the officers are continually travelling from one to another, some in their districts, and the chief or supervising ones over vast reaches of country. In winter, when dogs and sleds are used, the men walk, as a rule, and it has been nothing for a man to trudge 1000 miles in that way on a winter's journey. Roderick Macfarlane, who was cut off from the world up in the Mackenzie district, became an indefatigable explorer, and made most of his journeys on snow-shoes. He explored the Peel, the Liard, and the Mackenzie, and their surrounding regions, and went far within the Arctic Circle, where he founded the most northerly post of the company. By the regular packet from Calgary, near our border, to the northernmost post is a 3000-mile journey. Macfarlane was fond of the study of ornithology, and classified and catalogued all the birds that reach the frozen regions. I heard of a factor far up on the east side of Hudson Bay who reads his daily newspaper every morning with his coffee--but of course such an instance is a rare one. He manages it by having a complete set of the London _Times_ sent to him by each winter's packet, and each morning the paper of that date in the preceding year is taken from the bundle by his servant and dampened, as it had been when it left the press, and spread by the factor's plate. Thus he gets for half an hour each day a taste of his old habit and life at home. There was another factor who developed artistic capacity, and spent his leisure at drawing and painting. He did so well that he ventured many sketches for the illustrated papers of London, some of which were published. The half-breed has developed with the age and growth of Canada. There are now half-breeds and half-breeds, and some of them are titled, and others hold high official places. It occurred to an English lord not long ago, while he was being entertained in a Government house in one of the parts of newer Canada, to inquire of his host, "What are these half-breeds I hear about? I should like to see what one looks like." His host took the nobleman's breath away by his reply. "I am one," said he. There is no one who has travelled much in western Canada who has not now and then been entertained in homes where either the man or woman of the household was of mixed blood, and in such homes I have found a high degree of refinement and the most polished manners. Usually one needs the information that such persons possess such blood. After that the peculiar black hair and certain facial features in the subject of such gossip attest the truthfulness of the assertion. There is no rule for measuring the character and quality of this plastic, receptive, and often very ambitious element in Canadian society, yet one may say broadly that the social position and attainments of these people have been greatly influenced by the nationality of their fathers. For instance, the French _habitants_ and woodsmen far, far too often sank to the level of their wives when they married Indian women. Light-hearted, careless, unambitious, and drifting to the wilderness because of the absence of restraint there; illiterate, of coarse origin, fond of whiskey and gambling--they threw off superiority to the Indian, and evaded responsibility and concern in home management. Of course this is not a rule, but a tendency. On the other hand, the Scotch and English forced their wives up to their own standards. Their own home training, respect for more than the forms of religion, their love of home and of a permanent patch of ground of their own--all these had their effect, and that has been to rear half-breed children in proud and comfortable homes, to send them to mix with the children of cultivated persons in old communities, and to fit them with pride and ambition and cultivation for an equal start in the journey of life. Possessing such foundation for it, the equality has happily never been denied to them in Canada. [Illustration: VOYAGEURS IN CAMP FOR THE NIGHT] To-day the service is very little more inviting than in the olden time. The loneliness and removal from the touch of civilization remain throughout a vast region; the arduous journeys by sled and canoe remain; the dangers of flood and frost are undiminished. Unfortunately, among the changes made by time, one is that which robs the present factor's surroundings of a great part of that which was most picturesque. Of all the prettinesses of the Indian costuming one sees now only a trace here and there in a few tribes, while in many the moccasin and tepee, and in some only the moccasin, remain. The birch-bark canoe and the snow-shoe are the main reliance of both races, but the steamboat has been impressed into parts of the service, and most of the descendants of the old-time _voyageur_ preserve only his worsted belt, his knife, and his cap and moccasins at the utmost. In places the _engagé_ has become a mere deck-hand. His scarlet paddle has rotted away; he no longer awakens the echoes of forest or cañon with _chansons_ that died in the throats of a generation that has gone. In return, the horrors of intertribal war and of a precarious foothold among fierce and turbulent bands have nearly vanished; but there was a spice in them that added to the fascination of the service. The dogs and sleds form a very interesting part of the Hudson Bay outfit. One does not need to go very deep into western Canada to meet with them. As close to our centre of population as Nipigon, on Lake Superior, the only roads into the north are the rivers and lakes, traversed by canoes in summer and sleds in winter. The dogs are of a peculiar breed, and are called "huskies"--undoubtedly a corruption of the word Esquimaux. They preserve a closer resemblance to the wolf than any of our domesticated dogs, and exhibit their kinship with that scavenger of the wilderness in their nature as well as their looks. To-day their females, if tied and left in the forest, will often attest companionship with its denizens by bringing forth litters of wolfish progeny. Moreover, it will not be necessary to feed all with whom the experiment is tried, for the wolves will be apt to bring food to them as long as they are thus neglected by man. They are often as large as the ordinary Newfoundland dog, but their legs are shorter, and even more hairy, and the hair along their necks, from their shoulders to their skulls, stands erect in a thick, bristling mass. They have the long snouts, sharp-pointed ears, and the tails of wolves, and their cry is a yelp rather than a bark. Like wolves they are apt to yelp in chorus at sunrise and at sunset. They delight in worrying peaceful animals, setting their own numbers against one, and they will kill cows, or even children, if they get the chance. They are disciplined only when at work, and are then so surprisingly obedient, tractable, and industrious as to plainly show that though their nature is savage and wolfish, they could be reclaimed by domestication. In isolated cases plenty of them are. As it is, in their packs, their battles among themselves are terrible, and they are dangerous when loose. In some districts it is the custom to turn them loose in summer on little islands in the lakes, leaving them to hunger or feast according as the supply of dead fish thrown upon the shore is small or plentiful. When they are kept in dog quarters they are simply penned up and fed during the summer, so that the savage side of their nature gets full play during long periods. Fish is their principal diet, and stores of dried fish are kept for their winter food. Corn meal is often fed to them also. Like a wolf or an Indian, a "husky" gets along without food when there is not any, and will eat his own weight of it when it is plenty. A typical dog-sled is very like a toboggan. It is formed of two thin pieces of oak or birch lashed together with buckskin thongs and turned up high in front. It is usually about nine feet in length by sixteen inches wide. A leather cord is run along the outer edges for fastening whatever may be put upon the sled. Varying numbers of dogs are harnessed to such sleds, but the usual number is four. Traces, collars, and backbands form the harness, and the dogs are hitched one before the other. Very often the collars are completed with sets of sleigh-bells, and sometimes the harness is otherwise ornamented with beads, tassels, fringes, or ribbons. The leader, or fore-goer, is always the best in the team. The dog next to him is called the steady dog, and the last is named the steer dog. As a rule, these faithful animals are treated harshly, if not brutally. It is a Hudson Bay axiom that no man who cannot curse in three languages is fit to drive them. The three profanities are, of course, English, French, and Indian, though whoever has heard the Northwest French knows that it ought to serve by itself, as it is half-soled with Anglo-Saxon oaths and heeled with Indian obscenity. The rule with whoever goes on a dog-sled journey is that the driver, or mock-passenger, runs behind the dogs. The main function of the sled is to carry the dead weight, the burdens of tent-covers, blankets, food, and the like. The men run along with or behind the dogs, on snow-shoes, and when the dogs make better time than horses are able to, and will carry between 200 and 300 pounds over daily distances of from 20 to 35 miles, according to the condition of the ice or snow, and that many a journey of 1000 miles has been performed in this way, and some of 2000 miles, the test of human endurance is as great as that of canine grit. Men travelling "light," with extra sleds for the freight, and men on short journeys often ride in the sleds, which in such cases are fitted up as "carioles" for the purpose. I have heard an unauthenticated account, by a Hudson Bay man, of men who drove themselves, disciplining refractory or lazy dogs by simply pulling them in beside or over the dash-board, and holding them down by the neck while they thrashed them. A story is told of a worthy bishop who complained of the slow progress his sled was making, and was told that it was useless to complain, as the dogs would not work unless they were roundly and incessantly cursed. After a time the bishop gave his driver absolution for the profanity needed for the remainder of the journey, and thenceforth sped over the snow at a gallop, every stroke of the half-breed's long and cruel whip being sent home with a volley of wicked words, emphasized at times with peltings with sharp-edged bits of ice. Kane, the explorer, made an average of 57 miles a day behind these shaggy little brutes. Milton and Cheadle, in their book, mention instances where the dogs made 140 miles in less than 48 hours, and the Bishop of Rupert's Land told me he had covered 20 miles in a forenoon and 20 in the afternoon of the same day, without causing his dogs to exhibit evidence of fatigue. The best time is made on hard snow and ice, of course, and when the conditions suit, the drivers whip off their snow-shoes to trot behind the dogs more easily. In view of what they do, it is no wonder that many of the Northern Indians, upon first seeing horses, named them simply "big dog." But to me the performances of the drivers are the more wonderful. It was a white youth, son of a factor, who ran behind the bishop's dogs in the spurt of 40 miles by daylight that I mention. The men who do such work explain that the "lope" of the dogs is peculiarly suited to the dog-trot of a human being. [Illustration: "HUSKIE" DOGS ON THE FROZEN HIGHWAY] A picture of a factor on a round of his outposts, or of a chief factor racing through a great district, will now be intelligible. If he is riding, he fancies that princes and lords would envy him could they see his luxurious comfort. Fancy him in a dog-cariole of the best pattern--a little suggestive of a burial casket, to be sure, in its shape, but gaudily painted, and so full of soft warm furs that the man within is enveloped like a chrysalis in a cocoon. Perhaps there are Russian bells on the collars of the dogs, and their harness is "Frenchified" with bead-work and tassels. The air, which fans only his face, is crisp and invigorating, and before him the lake or stream over which he rides is a sheet of virgin snow--not nature's winding-sheet, as those who cannot love nature have said, but rather a robe of beautiful ermine fringed and embroidered with dark evergreen, and that in turn flecked at every point with snow, as if bejewelled with pearls. If the factor chats with his driver, who falls behind at rough places to keep the sled from tipping over, their conversation is carried on at so high a tone as to startle the birds into flight, if there are any, and to shock the scene as by the greatest rudeness possible in that then vast, silent land. If silence is kept, the factor reads the prints of game in the snow, of foxes' pads and deer hoofs, of wolf splotches, and the queer hieroglyphics of birds, or the dots and troughs of rabbit-trailing. To him these are as legible as the Morse alphabet to telegraphers, and as important as stock quotations to the pallid men of Wall Street. Suddenly in the distance he sees a human figure. Time was that his predecessors would have stopped to discuss the situation and its dangers, for the sight of one Indian suggested the presence of more, and the question came, were these friendly or fierce? But now the sled hurries on. It is only an Indian or half-breed hunter minding his traps, of which he may have a sufficient number to give him a circuit of ten or more miles away from and back to his lodge or village. He is approached and hailed by the driver, and with some pretty name very often--one that may mean in English "hawk flying across the sky when the sun is setting," or "blazing sun," or whatever. On goes the sled, and perhaps a village is the next object of interest; not a village in our sense of the word, but now and then a tepee or a hut peeping above the brush beside the water, the eye being led to them by the signs of slothful disorder close by--the rotting canoe frame, the bones, the dirty tattered blankets, the twig-formed skeleton of a steam bath, such as Indians resort to when tired or sick or uncommonly dirty, the worn-out snow-shoes hung on a tree, and the racks of frozen fish or dried meat here and there. A dog rushes down to the water-side barking furiously--an Indian dog of the currish type of paupers' dogs the world around--and this stirs the village pack, and brings out the squaws, who are addressed, as the trapper up the stream was, by some poetic names, albeit poetic license is sometimes strained to form names not at all pretty to polite senses, "All Stomach" being that of one dusky princess, and serving to indicate the lengths to which poesy may lead the untrammelled mind. The sun sinks early, and if our traveller be journeying in the West and be a lover of nature, heaven send that his face be turned towards the sunset! Then, be the sky anything but completely storm-draped, he will see a sight so glorious that eloquence becomes a naked suppliant for alms beyond the gift of language when set to describe it. A few clouds are necessary to its perfection, and then they take on celestial dyes, and one sees, above the vanished sun, a blaze of golden yellow thinned into a tone that is luminous crystal. This is flanked by belts and breasts of salmon and ruby red, and all melt towards the zenith into a rose tone that has body at the base, but pales at top into a mere blush. This I have seen night after night on the lakes and the plains and on the mountains. But as the glory of it beckons the traveller ever towards itself, so the farther he follows, the more brilliant and gaudy will be his reward. Beyond the mountains the valleys and waters are more and more enriched, until, at the Pacific, even San Francisco's shabby sand-hills stir poetry and reverence in the soul by their borrowed magnificence. The travellers soon stop to camp for the night, and while the "breed" falls to at the laborious but quick and simple work, the factor either helps or smokes his pipe. A sight-seer or sportsman would have set his man to bobbing for jack-fish or lake trout, or would have stopped a while to bag a partridge, or might have bought whatever of this sort the trapper or Indian village boasted, but, ten to one, this meal would be of bacon and bread or dried meat, and perhaps some flapjacks, such as would bring coin to a doctor in the city, but which seem ethereal and delicious in the wilderness, particularly if made half an inch thick, saturated with grease, well browned, and eaten while at the temperature and consistency of molten lava. [Illustration: THE FACTOR'S FANCY TOBOGGAN] The sled is pulled up by the bank, the ground is cleared for a fire, wood and brush are cut, and the deft laborer starts the flame in a tent-like pyramid of kindlings no higher or broader than a teacup. This tiny fire he spreads by adding fuel until he has constructed and led up to a conflagration of logs as thick as his thighs, cleverly planned with a backlog and glowing fire bed, and a sapling bent over the hottest part to hold a pendent kettle on its tip. The dogs will have needed disciplining long before this, and if the driver be like many of his kind, and works himself into a fury, he will not hesitate to seize one and send his teeth together through its hide after he has beaten it until he is tired. The point of order having thus been raised and carried, the shaggy, often handsome, animals will be minded to forget their private grudges and quarrels, and, seated on their haunches, with their intelligent faces towards the fire, will watch the cooking intently. The pocket-knives or sheath-knives of the men will be apt to be the only table implement in use at the meal. Canada had reached the possession of seigniorial mansions of great character before any other knife was brought to table, though the ladies used costly blades set in precious and beautiful handles. To-day the axe ranks the knife in the wilderness, but he who has a knife can make and furnish his own table--and his house also, for that matter. Supper over, and a glass of grog having been put down, with water from the hole in the ice whence the liquid for the inevitable tea was gotten, the night's rest is begun. The method for this varies. As good men as ever walked have asked nothing more cosey than a snug warm trough in the snow and a blanket or a robe; but perhaps this traveller will call for a shake-down of balsam boughs, with all the furs out of the sled for his covering. If nicer yet, he may order a low hollow chamber of three sides of banked snow, and a superstructure of crotched sticks and cross-poles, with canvas thrown over it. Every man to his quality, of course, and that of the servant calls for simply a blanket. With that he sleeps as soundly as if he were Santa Claus and only stirred once a year. Then will fall upon what seems the whole world the mighty hush of the wilderness, broken only occasionally by the hoot of an owl, the cry of a wolf, the deep thug of the straining ice on the lake, or the snoring of the men and dogs. But if the earth seems asleep, not so the sky. The magic shuttle of the aurora borealis is ofttimes at work up over that North country, sending its shifting lights weaving across the firmament with a tremulous brilliancy and energy we in this country get but pale hints of when we see the phenomenon at all. Flashing and palpitating incessantly, the rose-tinted waves and luminous white bars leap across the sky or dart up and down it in manner so fantastic and so forceful, even despite their shadowy thinness, that travellers have fancied themselves deaf to some seraphic sound that they believed such commotion must produce. An incident of this typical journey I am describing would, at more than one season, be a meeting with some band of Indians going to a post with furs for barter. Though the bulk of these hunters fetch their quarry in the spring and early summer, some may come at any time. The procession may be only that of a family or of the two or more families that live together or as neighbors. The man, if there is but one group, is certain to be stalking ahead, carrying nothing but his gun. Then come the women, laden like pack-horses. They may have a sled packed with the furs and drawn by a dog or two, and an extra dog may bear a balanced load on his back, but the squaw is certain to have a spine-warping burden of meat and a battered kettle and a pappoose, and whatever personal property of any and every sort she and her liege lord own. Children who can walk have to do so, but it sometimes happens that a baby a year and a half or two years old is on her back, while a newborn infant, swaddled in blanket stuff, and bagged and tied like a Bologna sausage, surmounts the load on the sled. A more tatterdemalion outfit than a band of these pauperized savages form it would be difficult to imagine. On the plains they will have horses dragging travoises, dogs with travoises, women and children loaded with impedimenta, a colt or two running loose, the lordly men riding free, straggling curs a plenty, babies in arms, babies swaddled, and toddlers afoot, and the whole battalion presenting at its exposed points exhibits of torn blankets, raw meat, distorted pots and pans, tent, poles, and rusty traps, in all eloquently suggestive of an eviction in the slums of a great city. I speak thus of these people not willingly, but out of the necessity of truth-telling. The Indian east of the Rocky Mountains is to me the subject of an admiration which is the stronger the more nearly I find him as he was in his prime. It is not his fault that most of his race have degenerated. It is not our fault that we have better uses for the continent than those to which he put it. But it is our fault that he is, as I have seen him, shivering in a cotton tepee full of holes, and turning around and around before a fire of wet wood to keep from freezing to death; furnished meat if he has been fierce enough to make us fear him, left to starve if he has been docile; taught, aye, forced to beg, mocked at by a religion he cannot understand, from the mouths of men who apparently will not understand him; debauched with rum, despoiled by the lust of white men in every form that lust can take. Ah, it is a sickening story. Not in Canada, do you say? Why, in the northern wilds of Canada are districts peopled by beggars who have been in such pitiful stress for food and covering that the Hudson Bay Company has kept them alive with advances of provisions and blankets winter after winter. They are Indians who in their strength never gave the Government the concern it now fails to show for their weakness. The great fur company has thus added generosity to its long career of just dealing with these poor adult children; for it is a fact that though the company has made what profit it might, it has not, in a century at least, cheated the Indians, or made false representations to them, or lost their good-will and respect by any feature of its policy towards them. Its relation to them has been paternal, and they owe none of their degradation to it. [Illustration: HALT OF A YORK BOAT BRIGADE FOR THE NIGHT] I have spoken of the visits of the natives to the posts. There are two other arrivals of great consequence--the coming of the supplies, and of the winter mail or packet. I have seen the provisions and trade goods being put up in bales in the great mercantile storehouse of the company in Winnipeg--a store like a combination of a Sixth Avenue ladies' bazaar and one of our wholesale grocers' shops--and I have seen such weights of canned vegetables and canned plum-pudding and bottled ale and other luxuries that I am sure that in some posts there is good living on high days and holidays if not always. The stores are packed in parcels averaging sixty pounds (and sometimes one hundred), to make them convenient for handling on the portages--"for packing them over the carries," as our traders used to say. It is in following these supplies that we become most keenly sensible of the changes time has wrought in the methods of the company. The day was, away back in the era of the Northwest Company, that the goods for the posts went up the Ottawa from Montreal in great canoes manned by hardy _voyageurs_ in picturesque costumes, wielding scarlet paddles, and stirring the forests with their happy songs. The scene shifted, the companies blended, and the centre of the trade moved from old Fort William, close to where Port Arthur now is on Lake Superior, up to Winnipeg, on the Red River of the North. Then the Canadians and their cousins, the half-breeds, more picturesque than ever, and manning the great York boats of the Hudson Bay Company, swept in a long train through Lake Winnipeg to Norway House, and thence by a marvellous water route all the way to the Rockies and the Arctic, sending off freight for side districts at fixed points along the course. The main factories on this line, maintained as such for more than a century, bear names whose very mention stirs the blood of one who knows the romantic, picturesque, and poetic history and atmosphere of the old company when it was the landlord (in part, and in part monopolist) of a territory that cut into our Northwest and Alaska, and swept from Labrador to Vancouver Island. Northward and westward, by waters emptying into Hudson Bay, the brigade of great boats worked through a region embroidered with sheets and ways of water. The system that was next entered, and which bore more nearly due west, bends and bulges with lakes and straits like a ribbon all curved and knotted. Thus, at a great portage, the divide was reached and crossed; and so the waters flowing to the Arctic, and one--the Peace River--rising beyond the Rockies, were met and travelled. This was the way and the method until after the Canadian Pacific Railway was built, but now the Winnipeg route is of subordinate importance, and feeds only the region near the west side of Hudson Bay. The Northern supplies now go by rail from Calgary, in Alberta, over the plains by the new Edmonton railroad. From Edmonton the goods go by cart to Athabasca Landing, there to be laden on a steamboat, which takes them northward until some rapids are met, and avoided by the use of a singular combination of bateaux and tramway rails. After a slow progress of fifteen miles another steamboat is met, and thence they follow the Athabasca, through Athabasca Lake, and so on up to a second rapids, on the Great Slave River this time, where oxen and carts carry them across a sixteen-mile portage to a screw steamer, which finishes the 3000-mile journey to the North. Of course the shorter branch routes, distributing the goods on either side of the main track, are still traversed by canoes and hardy fellows in the old way, but with shabby accessories of costume and spirit. These boatmen, when they come to a portage, produce their tomplines, and "pack" the goods to the next waterway. By means of these "lines" they carry great weights, resting on their backs, but supported from their skulls, over which the strong straps are passed. The winter mail-packet, starting from Winnipeg in the depth of the season, goes to all the posts by dog train. The letters and papers are packed in great boxes and strapped to the sleds, beside or behind which the drivers trot along, cracking their lashes and pelting and cursing the dogs. A more direct course than the old Lake Winnipeg way has usually been followed by this packet; but it is thought that the route _via_ Edmonton and Athabasca Landing will serve better yet, so that another change may be made. This is a small exhibition as compared with the brigade that takes the supplies, or those others that come plashing down the streams and across the country with the furs every year. But only fancy how eagerly this solitary semi-annual mail is waited for! It is a little speck on the snow-wrapped upper end of all North America. It cuts a tiny trail, and here and there lesser black dots move off from it to cut still slenderer threads, zigzagging to the side factories and lesser posts; but we may be sure that if human eyes could see so far, all those of the white men in all that vast tangled system of trading centres would be watching the little caravan, until at last each pair fell upon the expected missives from the throbbing world this side of the border. VIII CANADA'S EL DORADO [Illustration] There is on this continent a territory of imperial extent which is one of the Canadian sisterhood of States, and yet of which small account has been taken by those who discuss either the most advantageous relations of trade or that closer intimacy so often referred to as a possibility in the future of our country and its northern neighbor. Although British Columbia is advancing in rank among the provinces of the Dominion by reason of its abundant natural resources, it is not remarkable that we read and hear little concerning it. The people in it are few, and the knowledge of it is even less in proportion. It is but partially explored, and for what can be learned of it one must catch up information piecemeal from blue-books, the pamphlets of scientists, from tales of adventure, and from the less trustworthy literature composed to attract travellers and settlers. It would severely strain the slender facts to make a sizable pamphlet of the history of British Columbia. A wandering and imaginative Greek called Juan de Fuca told his people that he had discovered a passage from ocean to ocean between this continent and a great island in the Pacific. Sent there to seize and fortify it, he disappeared--at least from history. This was about 1592. In 1778 Captain Cook roughly surveyed the coast, and in 1792 Captain Vancouver, who as a boy had been with Cook on two voyages, examined the sound between the island and the main-land with great care, hoping to find that it led to the main water system of the interior. He gave to the strait at the entrance the nickname of the Greek, and in the following year received the transfer of authority over the country from the Spanish commissioner Bodega of Quadra, then established there. The two put aside false modesty, and named the great island "the Island of Vancouver and Quadra." At the time the English sailor was there it chanced that he met that hardy old homespun baronet Sir Alexander Mackenzie, who was the first man to cross the continent, making the astonishing journey in a canoe manned by Iroquois Indians. The main-land became known as New Caledonia. It took its present name from the Columbia River, and that, in turn, got its name from the ship _Columbia_, of Boston, Captain Gray, which entered its mouth in 1792, long after the Spaniards had known the stream and called it the Oregon. The rest is quickly told. The region passed into the hands of the fur-traders. Vancouver Island became a crown colony in 1849, and British Columbia followed in 1858. They were united in 1866, and joined the Canadian confederation in 1871. Three years later the province exceeded both Manitoba and Prince Edward Island in the value of its exports, and also showed an excess of exports over imports. It has a Lieutenant-governor and Legislative assembly, and is represented at Ottawa in accordance with the Canadian system. Its people have been more closely related to ours in business than those of any other province, and they entertain a warm friendly feeling towards "the States." In the larger cities the Fourth of July is informally but generally observed as a holiday. British Columbia is of immense size. It is as extensive as the combination of New England, the Middle States and Maryland, the Virginias, the Carolinas, and Georgia, leaving Delaware out. It is larger than Texas, Colorado, Massachusetts, and New Hampshire joined together. Yet it has been all but overlooked by man, and may be said to be an empire with only one wagon road, and that is but a blind artery halting in the middle of the country. But whoever follows this necessarily incomplete survey of what man has found that region to be, and of what his yet puny hands have drawn from it, will dismiss the popular and natural suspicion that it is a wilderness worthy of its present fate. Until the whole globe is banded with steel rails and yields to the plough, we will continue to regard whatever region lies beyond our doors as waste-land, and to fancy that every line of latitude has its own unvarying climatic characteristics. There is an opulent civilization in what we once were taught was "the Great American Desert," and far up at Edmonton, on the Peace River, farming flourishes despite the fact that it is where our school-books located a zone of perpetual snow. Farther along we shall study a country crossed by the same parallels of latitude that dissect inhospitable Labrador, and we shall discover that as great a difference exists between the two shores of the continent on that zone as that which distinguishes California from Massachusetts. Upon the coast of this neglected corner of the world we shall see that a climate like that of England is produced, as England's is, by a warm current in the sea; in the southern half of the interior we shall discover valleys as inviting as those in our New England; and far north, at Port Simpson, just below the down reaching claw of our Alaska, we shall find such a climate as Halifax enjoys. British Columbia has a length of 800 miles, and averages 400 miles in width. To whoever crosses the country it seems the scene of a vast earth-disturbance, over which mountains are scattered without system. In fact, however, the Cordillera belt is there divided into four ranges, the Rockies forming the eastern boundary, then the Gold Range, then the Coast Range, and, last of all, that partially submerged chain whose upraised parts form Vancouver and the other mountainous islands near the main-land in the Pacific. A vast valley flanks the south-western side of the Rocky Mountains, accompanying them from where they leave our North-western States in a wide straight furrow for a distance of 700 miles. Such great rivers as the Columbia, the Fraser, the Parsnip, the Kootenay, and the Finlay are encountered in it. While it has a lesser agricultural value than other valleys in the province, its mineral possibilities are considered to be very great, and when, as must be the case, it is made the route of communication between one end of the territory and the other, a vast timber supply will be rendered marketable. The Gold Range, next to the westward, is not bald, like the Rockies, but, excepting the higher peaks, is timbered with a dense forest growth. Those busiest of all British Columbian explorers, the "prospectors," have found much of this system too difficult even for their pertinacity. But the character of the region is well understood. Here are high plateaus of rolling country, and in the mountains are glaciers and snow fields. Between this system and the Coast Range is what is called the Interior Plateau, averaging one hundred miles in width, and following the trend of that portion of the continent, with an elevation that grows less as the north is approached. This plateau is crossed and followed by valleys that take every direction, and these are the seats of rivers and watercourses. In the southern part of this plateau is the best grazing land in the province, and much fine agricultural country, while in the north, where the climate is more most, the timber increases, and parts of the land are thought to be convertible into farms. Next comes the Coast Range, whose western slopes are enriched by the milder climate of the coast; and beyond lies the remarkably tattered shore of the Pacific, lapped by a sheltered sea, verdant, indented by numberless inlets, which, in turn, are faced by uncounted islands, and receive the discharge of almost as many streams and rivers--a wondrously beautiful region, forested by giant trees, and resorted to by numbers of fish exceeding calculation and belief. Beyond the coast is the bold chain of mountains of which Vancouver Island and the Queen Charlotte Islands are parts. Here is a vast treasure in that coal which our naval experts have found to be the best on the Pacific coast, and here also are traces of metals, whose value industry has not yet established. It is a question whether this vast territory has yet 100,000 white inhabitants. Of Indians it has but 20,000, and of Chinese about 8000. It is a vast land of silence, a huge tract slowly changing from the field and pleasure-ground of the fur-trader and sportsman to the quarry of the miner. The Canadian Pacific Railway crosses it, revealing to the immigrant and the globe-trotter an unceasing panorama of grand, wild, and beautiful scenery unequalled on this continent. During a few hours the traveller sees, across the majestic cañon of the Fraser, the neglected remains of the old Cariboo stage road, built under pressure of the gold craze. It demonstrated surprising energy in the baby colony, for it connected Yale, at the head of short steam navigation on the Fraser, with Barkerville, in the distant Cariboo country, 400 miles away, and it cost $500,000. The traveller sees here and there an Indian village or a "mission," and now and then a tiny town; but for the most part his eye scans only the primeval forest, lofty mountains, valleys covered with trees as beasts are with fur, cascades, turbulent streams, and huge sheltered lakes. Except at the stations, he sees few men. Now he notes a group of Chinamen at work on the railway; anon he sees an Indian upon a clumsy perch and searching the Fraser for salmon, or in a canoe paddling towards the gorgeous sunset that confronts the daily west-bound train as it rolls by great Shuswap Lake. But were the same traveller out of the train, and gifted with the power to make himself ubiquitous, he would still be, for the most part, lonely. Down in the smiling bunch-grass valleys in the south he would see here and there the outfit of a farmer or the herds of a cattle-man. A burst of noise would astonish him near by, in the Kootenay country, where the new silver mines are being worked, where claims have been taken up by the thousand, and whither a railroad is hastening. Here and there, at points out of sight one from another, he would hear the crash of a lumberman's axe, the report of a hunter's rifle, or the crackle of an Indian's fire. On the Fraser he would find a little town called Yale, and on the coast the streets and ambitious buildings and busy wharves of Vancouver would astonish him. Victoria, across the strait, a town of larger size and remarkable beauty, would give him company, and near Vancouver and Victoria the little cities of New Westminster and Nanaimo (lumber and coal ports respectively) would rise before him. There, close together, he would see more than half the population of the province. [Illustration: AN IMPRESSION OF SHUSWAP LAKE, BRITISH COLOMBIA] Fancy his isolation as he looked around him in the northern half of the territory, where a few trails lead to fewer posts of the Hudson Bay Company, where the endless forests and multitudinous lakes and streams are cut by but infrequent paddles in the hands of a race that has lost one-third its numerical strength in the last ten years, where the only true homes are within the palisades or the unguarded log-cabin of the fur-trading agents, and where the only other white men are either washing sand in the river bars, driving the stages of the only line that penetrates a piece of the country, or are those queer devil-may-care but companionable Davy Crocketts of the day who are guides now and then, hunters half the time, placer-miners when they please, and whatever else there is a can for between-times! A very strange sight that my supposititious traveller would pause long to look at would be the herds of wild horses that defy the Queen, her laws, and her subjects in the Lillooet Valley. There are thousands of them there, and over in the Nicola and Chilcotin country, on either side of the Fraser, north of Washington State. They were originally of good stock, but now they not only defy capture, but eat valuable grass, and spoil every horse turned out to graze. The newspapers aver that the Government must soon be called upon to devise means for ridding the valleys of this nuisance. This is one of those sections which promise well for future stock-raising and agricultural operations. There are plenty such. The Nicola Valley has been settled twenty years, and there are many cattle there, on numerous ranches. It is good land, but rather high for grain, and needs irrigation. The snowfall varies greatly in all these valleys, but in ordinary winters horses and cattle manage well with four to six weeks' feeding. On the upper Kootenay, a valley eight to ten miles wide, ranching began a quarter of a century ago, during the gold excitement. The "cow-men" raise grain for themselves there. This valley is 3000 feet high. The Okanagon Valley is lower, and is only from two to five miles wide, but both are of similar character, of very great length, and are crossed and intersected by branch valleys. The greater part of the Okanagon does not need irrigating. A beautiful country is the Kettle River region, along the boundary between the Columbia and the Okanagon. It is narrow, but flat and smooth on the bottom, and the land is very fine. Bunch-grass covers the hills around it for a distance of from four hundred to five hundred feet, and there timber begins. It is only in occasional years that the Kettle River Valley needs water. In the Spallumcheen Valley one farmer had 500 acres in grain last summer, and the most modern agricultural machinery is in use there. These are mere notes of a few among almost innumerable valleys that are clothed with bunch-grass, and that often possess the characteristics of beautiful parks. In many wheat can be and is raised, possibly in most of them. I have notes of the successful growth of peaches, and of the growth of almond-trees to a height of fourteen feet in four years, both in the Okanagon country. The shooting in these valleys is most alluring to those who are fond of the sport. Caribou, deer, bear, prairie-chicken, and partridges abound in them. In all probability there is no similar extent of country that equals the valley of the Columbia, from which, in the winter of 1888, between six and eight tons of deer-skins were shipped by local traders, the result of legitimate hunting. But the forests and mountains are as they were when the white man first saw them, and though the beaver and sea-otter, the marten, and those foxes whose furs are coveted by the rich, are not as abundant as they once were, the rest of the game is most plentiful. On the Rockies and on the Coast Range the mountain-goat, most difficult of beasts to hunt, and still harder to get, is abundant yet. The "big-horn," or mountain-sheep, is not so common, but the hunting thereof is usually successful if good guides are obtained. The cougar, the grizzly, and the lynx are all plentiful, and black and brown bears are very numerous. Elk are going the way of the "big-horn"--are preceding that creature, in fact. Pheasants (imported), grouse, quail, and water-fowl are among the feathered game, and the river and lake fishing is such as is not approached in any other part of the Dominion. The province is a sportsman's Eden, but the hunting of big game there is not a venture to be lightly undertaken. It is not alone the distance or the cost that gives one pause, for, after the province is reached, the mountain-climbing is a task that no amount of wealth will lighten. And these are genuine mountains, by-the-way, wearing eternal caps of snow, and equally eternal deceit as to their distances, their heights, and as to all else concerning which a rarefied atmosphere can hocus-pocus a stranger. There is one animal, king of all the beasts, which the most unaspiring hunter may chance upon as well as the bravest, and that animal carries a perpetual chip upon its shoulder, and seldom turns from an encounter. It is the grizzly-bear. It is his presence that gives you either zest or pause, as you may decide, in hunting all the others that roam the mountains. Yet, in that hunter's dream-land it is the grizzly that attracts many sportsmen every year. From the headquarters of the Hudson Bay Company in Victoria I obtained the list of animals in whose skins that company trades at that station. It makes a formidable catalogue of zoological products, and is as follows: Bears (brown, black, grizzly), beaver, badger, foxes (silver, cross, and red), fishers, martens, minks, lynxes, musk-rat, otter (sea or land), panther, raccoon, wolves (black, gray, and coyote), black-tailed deer, stags (a true stag, growing to the size of an ox, and found on the hills of Vancouver Island), caribou or reindeer, hares, mountain-goat, big-horn (or mountain-sheep), moose (near the Rockies), wood-buffalo (found in the north, not greatly different from the bison, but larger), geese, swans, and duck. The British Columbian Indians are of such unprepossessing appearance that one hears with comparative equanimity of their numbering only 20,000 in all, and of their rapid shrinkage, owing principally to the vices of their women. They are, for the most part, canoe Indians, in the interior as well as on the coast, and they are (as one might suppose a nation of tailors would become) short-legged, and with those limbs small and inclined to bow. On the other hand, their exercise with the paddle has given them a disproportionate development of their shoulders and chests, so that, being too large above and too small below, their appearance is very peculiar. They are fish-eaters the year around; and though some, like the Hydahs upon the coast, have been warlike and turbulent, such is not the reputation of those in the interior. It was the meat-eating Indian who made war a vocation and self-torture a dissipation. The fish-eating Indian kept out of his way. These short squat British Columbian natives are very dark-skinned, and have physiognomies so different from those of the Indians east of the Rockies that the study of their faces has tempted the ethnologists into extraordinary guessing upon their origin, and into a contention which I prefer to avoid. It is not guessing to say that their high check-bones and flat faces make them resemble the Chinese. That is true to such a degree that in walking the streets of Victoria, and meeting alternate Chinamen and Siwash, it is not always easy to say which is which, unless one proceeds upon the assumption that if a man looks clean he is apt to be a Chinaman, whereas if he is dirty and ragged he is most likely to be a Siwash. You will find that seven in ten among the more intelligent British Columbians conclude these Indians to be of Japanese origin. The Japanese current is neighborly to the province, and it has drifted Japanese junks to these shores. When the first traders visited the neighborhood of the mouth of the Columbia they found beeswax in the sand near the vestiges of a wreck, and it is said that one wreck of a junk was met with, and 12,000 pounds of this wax was found on her. Whalers are said to have frequently encountered wrecked and drifting junks in the eastern Pacific, and a local legend has it that in 1834 remnants of a junk with three Japanese and a cargo of pottery were found on the coast south of Cape Flattery. Nothing less than all this should excuse even a rudderless ethnologist for so cruel a reflection upon the Japanese, for these Indians are so far from pretty that all who see them agree with Captain Butler, the traveller, who wrote that "if they are of the Mongolian type, the sooner the Mongolians change their type the better." [Illustration: THE TSCHUMMUM, OR TOOL USED IN MAKING CANOES] The coast Indians are splendid sailors, and their dugouts do not always come off second best in racing with the boats of white men. With a primitive yet ingeniously made tool, like an adze, in the construction of which a blade is tied fast to a bent handle of bone, these natives laboriously pick out the heart of a great cedar log, and shape its outer sides into the form of a boat. When the log is properly hollowed, they fill it with water, and then drop in stones which they have heated in a fire. Thus they steam the boat so that they may spread the sides and fit in the crossbars which keep it strong and preserve its shape. These dugouts are sometimes sixty feet long, and are used for whaling and long voyages in rough seas. They are capable of carrying tons of the salmon or oolachan or herring, of which these people, who live as their fathers did, catch sufficient in a few days for their maintenance throughout a whole year. One gets an idea of the swarms of fish that infest those waters by the knowledge that before nets were used the herring and the oolachan, or candle-fish were swept into these boats by an implement formed by studding a ten-foot pole with spikes or nails. This was swept among the fish in the water, and the boats were speedily filled with the creatures that were impaled upon the spikes. Salmon, sea-otter, otter, beaver, marten, bear, and deer (or caribou or moose) were and still are the chief resources of most of the Indians. Once they sold the fish and the peltry to the Hudson Bay Company, and ate what parts or surplus they did not sell. Now they work in the canneries or fish for them in summer, and hunt, trap, or loaf the rest of the time. However, while they still fish and sell furs, and while some are yet as their fathers were, nearly all the coast Indians are semi-civilized. They have at least the white man's clothes and hymns and vices. They have churches; they live in houses; they work in canneries. What little there was that was picturesque about them has vanished only a few degrees faster than their own extinction as a pure race, and they are now a lot of longshoremen. What Mr. Duncan did for them in Metlakahtla--especially in housing the families separately--has not been arrived at even in the reservation at Victoria, where one may still see one of the huge, low, shed-like houses they prefer, ornamented with totem poles, and arranged for eight families, and consequently for a laxity of morals for which no one can hold the white man responsible. They are a tractable people, and take as kindly to the rudiments of civilization, to work, and to co-operation with the whites as the plains Indian does to tea, tobacco, and whiskey. They are physically but not mentally inferior to the plainsman. They carve bowls and spoons of stone and bone, and their heraldic totem poles are cleverly shapen, however grotesque they may be. They still make them, but they oftener carve little ones for white people, just as they make more silver bracelets for sale than for wear. They are clever at weaving rushes and cedar bark into mats, baskets, floor-cloths, and cargo covers. In a word, they were more prone to work at the outset than most Indians, so that the present longshore career of most of them is not greatly to be wondered at. To anyone who threads the vast silent forests of the interior, or journeys upon the trafficless waterways, or, gun in hand, explores the mountains for game, the infrequency with which Indians are met becomes impressive. The province seems almost unpeopled. The reason is that the majority of the Indians were ever on the coast, where the water yielded food at all times and in plenty. The natives of the interior were not well fed or prosperous when the first white men found them, and since then small-pox, measles, vice, and starvation have thinned them terribly. Their graveyards are a feature of the scenery which all travellers in the province remember. From the railroad they may be seen along the Fraser, each grave apparently having a shed built over it, and a cross rising from the earth beneath the shed. They had various burial customs, but a majority buried their dead in this way, with queerly-carved or painted sticks above them, where the cross now testifies to the work at the "missions." Some Indians marked a man's burial-place with his canoe and his gun; some still box their dead and leave the boxes on top of the earth, while others bury the boxes. Among the southern tribes a man's horse was often killed, and its skin decked the man's grave; while in the far north it was the custom among the Stickeens to slaughter the personal attendants of a chief when he died. The Indians along the Skeena River cremated their dead, and sometimes hung the ashes in boxes to the family totem pole. The Hydahs, the fierce natives of certain of the islands, have given up cremation, but they used to believe that if they did not burn a man's body their enemies would make charms from it. Polygamy flourished on the coast, and monogamy in the interior, but the contrast was due to the difference in the worldly wealth of the Indians. Wives had to be bought and fed, and the woodsmen could only afford one apiece. To return to their canoes, which most distinguish them. When a dugout is hollowed and steamed, a prow and stern are added of separate wood. The prow is always a work of art, and greatly beautifies the boat. It is in form like the breast, neck, and bill of a bird, but the head is intended to represent that of a savage animal, and is so painted. A mouth is cut into it, ears are carved on it, and eyes are painted on the sides; bands of gay paint are put upon the neck, and the whole exterior of the boat is then painted red or black, with an ornamental line of another color along the edge or gunwale. The sailors sit upon the bottom of the boat, and propel it with paddles. Upon the water these swift vessels, with their fierce heads uplifted before their long, slender bodies, appear like great serpents or nondescript marine monsters, yet they are pretty and graceful withal. While still holding aloof from the ethnologists' contention, I yet may add that a bookseller in Victoria came into the possession of a packet of photographs taken by an amateur traveller in the interior of China, and on my first visit to the province, nearly four years ago, I found, in looking through these views, several Chinese boats which were strangely and remarkably like the dugouts of the provincial Indians. They were too small in the pictures for it to be possible to decide whether they were built up or dug out, but in general they were of the same external appearance, and each one bore the upraised animal-head prow, shaped and painted like those I could see one block away from the bookseller's shop in Victoria. But such are not the canoes used by the Indians of the interior. From the Kootenay near our border to the Cassiar in the far north, a cigar-shaped canoe seems to be the general native vehicle. These are sometimes made of a sort of scroll of bark, and sometimes they are dugouts made of cotton-wood logs. They are narrower than either the cedar dugouts of the coast or the birch-bark canoes of our Indians, but they are roomy, and fit for the most dangerous and deft work in threading the rapids which everywhere cut up the navigation of the streams of the province into separated reaches. The Rev. Dr. Gordon, in his notes upon a journey in this province, likens these canoes to horse-troughs, but those I saw in the Kootenay country were of the shape of those cigars that are pointed at both ends. [Illustration: THE FIRST OF THE SALMON RUN, FRASER RIVER] Whether these canoes are like any in Tartary or China or Japan, I do not know. My only quest for special information of that character proved disappointing. One man in a city of British Columbia is said to have studied such matters more deeply and to more purpose than all the others, but those who referred me to him cautioned me that he was eccentric. "You don't know where these Indians came from, eh?" the _savant_ replied to my first question. "Do you know how oyster-shells got on top of the Rocky Mountains? You don't, eh? Well, I know a woman who went to a dentist's yesterday to have eighteen teeth pulled. Do you know why women prefer artificial teeth to those which God has given them? You don't, eh? Why, man, you don't know anything." While we were--or he was--conversing, a laboring-man who carried a sickle came to the open door, and was asked what he wanted. "I wish to cut your thistles, sir," said he. "Thistles?" said the _savant_, disturbed at the interruption. "---- the thistles! We are talking about Indians." Nevertheless, when the laborer had gone, he had left the subject of thistles uppermost in the _savant's_ mind, and the conversation took so erratic a turn that it might well have been introduced hap-hazard into _Tristram Shandy_. "About thistles," said the _savant_, laying a gentle hand upon my knee. "Do you know that they are the Scotchmen's totems? Many years ago a Scotchman, sundered from his native land, must needs set up his totem, a thistle, here in this country; and now, sir, the thistle is such a curse that I am haled up twice a year and fined for having them in my yard." But nearly enough has been here said of the native population. Though the Indians boast dozens of tribal names, and almost every island on the coast and village in the interior seems the home of a separate tribe, they will be found much alike--dirty, greasy, sore-eyed, short-legged, and with their unkempt hair cut squarely off, as if a pot had been upturned over it to guide the operation. The British Columbians do not bother about their tribal divisions, but use the old traders' Chinook terms, and call every male a "siwash" and every woman a "klootchman." Since the highest Canadian authority upon the subject predicts that the northern half of the Cordilleran ranges will admit of as high a metalliferous development as that of the southern half in our Pacific States, it is important to review what has been done in mining, and what is thought of the future of that industry in the province. It may almost be said that the history of gold-mining there is the history of British Columbia. Victoria, the capital, was a Hudson Bay post established in 1843, and Vancouver, Queen Charlotte's, and the other islands, as well as the main-land, were of interest to only a few white men as parts of a great fur-trading field with a small Indian population. The first nugget of gold was found at what is now called Gold Harbor, on the west coast of the Queen Charlotte Islands, by an Indian woman, in 1851. A part of it, weighing four or five ounces, was taken by the Indians to Fort Simpson and sold. The Hudson Bay Company, which has done a little in every line of business in its day, sent a brigantine to the spot, and found a quartz vein traceable eighty feet, and yielding a high percentage of gold. Blasting was begun, and the vessel was loaded with ore; but she was lost on the return voyage. An American vessel, ashore at Esquimault, near Victoria, was purchased, renamed the _Recovery_, and sent to Gold Harbor with thirty miners, who worked the vein until the vessel was loaded and sent to England. News of the mine travelled, and in another year a small fleet of vessels came up from San Francisco; but the supply was seen to be very limited, and after $20,000 in all had been taken out, the field was abandoned. In 1855 gold was found by a Hudson Bay Company's employé at Fort Colville, now in Washington State, near the boundary. Some Thompson River (B. C.) Indians who went to Walla Walla spread a report there that gold, like that discovered at Colville, was to be found in the valley of the Thompson. A party of Canadians and half-breeds went to the region referred to, and found placers nine miles above the mouth of the river. By 1858 the news and the authentication of it stirred the miners of California, and an astonishing invasion of the virgin province began. It is said that in the spring of 1858 more than twenty thousand persons reached Victoria from San Francisco by sea, distending the little fur-trading post of a few hundred inhabitants into what would even now be called a considerable city; a city of canvas, however. Simultaneously a third as many miners made their way to the new province on land. But the land was covered with mountains and dense forests, the only route to its interior for them was the violent, almost boiling, Fraser River, and there was nothing on which the lives of this horde of men could be sustained. By the end of the year out of nearly thirty thousand adventurers only a tenth part remained. Those who did stay worked the river bars of the lower Fraser until in five months they had shipped from Victoria more than half a million dollars' worth of gold. From a historical point of view it is a peculiar coincidence that in 1859, when the attention of the world was thus first attracted to this new country, the charter of the Hudson Bay Company expired, and the territory passed from its control to become like any other crown colony. [Illustration: INDIAN SALMON-FISHING IN THE THRASHER] In 1860 the gold-miners, seeking the source of the "flour" gold they found in such abundance in the bed of the river, pursued their search into the heart and almost the centre of that forbidding and unbroken territory. The Quesnel River became the seat of their operations. Two years later came another extraordinary immigration. This was not surprising, for 1500 miners had in one year (1861) taken out $2,000,000 in gold-dust from certain creeks in what is called the Cariboo District, and one can imagine (if one does not remember) what fabulous tales were based upon this fact. The second stampede was of persons from all over the world, but chiefly from England, Canada, Australia, and New Zealand. After that there were new "finds" almost every year, and the miners worked gradually northward until, about 1874, they had travelled through the province, in at one end and out at the other, and were working the tributaries of the Yukon River in the north, beyond the 60th parallel. Mr. Dawson estimates that the total yield of gold between 1858 and 1888 was $54,108,804; the average number of miners employed each year was 2775, and the average earnings per man per year were $622. In his report, published by order of Parliament, Mr. Dawson says that while gold is so generally distributed over the province that scarcely a stream of any importance fails to show at least "colors" of the metal, the principal discoveries clearly indicate that the most important mining districts are in the systems of mountains and high plateaus lying to the south-west of the Rocky Mountains and parallel in direction with them. This mountain system next to and south-west of the Rockies is called, for convenience, the Gold Range, but it comprises a complex belt "of several more or less distinct and partly overlapping ranges"--the Purcell, Selkirk, and Columbia ranges in the south, and in the north the Cariboo, Omenica, and Cassiar ranges. "This series or system constitutes the most important metalliferous belt of the province. The richest gold fields are closely related to it, and discoveries of metalliferous lodes are reported in abundance from all parts of it which have been explored. The deposits already made known are very varied in character, including highly argentiferous galenas and other silver ores and auriferous quartz veins." This same authority asserts that the Gold Range is continued by the Cabinet, Coeur d'Alene, and Bitter Root mountains in our country. While there is no single well-developed gold field as in California, the extent of territory of a character to occasion a hopeful search for gold is greater in the province than in California. The average man of business to whom visitors speak of the mining prospects of the province is apt to declare that all that has been lacking is the discovery of one grand mine and the enlistment of capital (from the United States, they generally say) to work it. Mr. Dawson speaks to the same point, and incidentally accounts for the retarded development in his statement that one noteworthy difference between practically the entire area of the province and that of the Pacific States has been occasioned by the spread and movement of ice over the province during the glacial period. This produced changes in the distribution of surface materials and directions of drainage, concealed beneath "drifts" the indications to which prospectors farther south are used to trust, and by other means obscured the outcrops of veins which would otherwise be well marked. The dense woods, the broken navigation of the rivers, in detached reaches, the distance from the coast of the richest districts, and the cost of labor supplies and machinery--all these are additional and weighty reasons for the slowness of development. But this was true of the past and is not of the present, at least so far as southern British Columbia is concerned. Railroads are reaching up into it from our country and down from the transcontinental Canadian Railway, and capital, both Canadian and American, is rapidly swelling an already heavy investment in many new and promising mines. Here it is silver-mining that is achieving importance. [Illustration: GOING TO THE POTLATCH--BIG CANOE, NORTH-WEST COAST] Other ores are found in the province. The iron which has been located or worked is principally on the islands--Queen Charlotte, Vancouver, Texada, and the Walker group. Most of the ores are magnetites, and that which alone has been worked--on Texada Island--is of excellent quality. The output of copper from the province is likely soon to become considerable. Masses of it have been found from time to time in various parts of the province--in the Vancouver series of islands, on the main-land coast, and in the interior. Its constant and rich association with silver shows lead to be abundant in the country, but it needs the development of transport facilities to give it value. Platinum is more likely to attain importance as a product in this than in any other part of North America. On the coast the granites are of such quality and occur in such abundance as to lead to the belief that their quarrying will one day be an important source of income, and there are marbles, sandstones, and ornamental stones of which the same may be said. One of the most valuable products of the province is coal, the essential in which our Pacific coast States are the poorest. The white man's attention was first attracted to this coal in 1835 by some Indians who brought lumps of it from Vancouver Island to the Hudson Bay post on the main-land, at Milbank Sound. The _Beaver_, the first steamship that stirred the waters of the Pacific, reached the province in 1836, and used coal that was found in outcroppings on the island beach. Thirteen years later the great trading company brought out a Scotch coal-miner to look into the character and extent of the coal find, and he was followed by other miners and the necessary apparatus for prosecuting the inquiry. In the mean time the present chief source of supply at Nanaimo, seventy miles from Victoria and about opposite Vancouver, was discovered, and in 1852 mining was begun in earnest. From the very outset the chief market for the coal was found to be San Francisco. The original mines are now owned by the Vancouver Coal-mining and Land Company. Near them are the Wellington Mines, which began to be worked in 1871. Both have continued in active operation from their foundation, and with a constantly and rapidly growing output. A third source of supply has very recently been established with local and American capital in what is called the Comox District, back of Baynes Sound, farther north than Nanaimo, on the eastern side of Vancouver Island. These new works are called the Union Mines, and, if the predictions of my informants prove true, will produce an output equal to that of the older Nanaimo collieries combined. In 1884 the coal shipped from Nanaimo amounted to 1000 tons for every day of the year, and in 1889 the total shipment had reached 500,000 tons. As to the character of the coal, I quote again from Mr. Dawson's report on the minerals of British Columbia, published by the Dominion Government: "Rocks of cretaceous age are developed over a considerable area in British Columbia, often in very great thickness, and fuels occur in them in important quantity in at least two distinct stages, of which the lower and older includes the coal measures of the Queen Charlotte Islands and those of Quatsino Sound on Vancouver Island, with those of Crow Nest Pass in the Rocky Mountains; the upper, the coal measures of Nanaimo and Comox, and probably also those of Suquash and other localities. The lower rocks hold both anthracite and bituminous coal in the Queen Charlotte Islands, but elsewhere contain bituminous coal only. The upper have so far been found to yield bituminous coal only. The fuels of the tertiary rocks are, generally speaking, lignites, but include also various fuels intermediate between these and true coals, which in a few places become true bituminous coals." It is thought to be more than likely that the Comox District may prove far more productive than the Nanaimo region. It is estimated that productive measures underlie at least 300 square miles in the Comox District, exclusive of what may extend beyond the shore. The Nanaimo area is estimated at 200 square miles, and the product is no better than, if it equals, that of the Comox District. Specimens of good coal have been found on the main-land in the region of the upper Skeena River, on the British Columbia water-shed of the Rockies near Crow Nest Pass, and in the country adjacent to the Peace River in the eastern part of the province. Anthracite which compares favorably with that of Pennsylvania has been found at Cowgitz, Queen Charlotte Islands. In 1871 a mining company began work upon this coal, but abandoned it, owing to difficulties that were encountered. It is now believed that these miners did not prove the product to be of an unprofitable character, and that farther exploration is fully justified by what is known of the field. Of inferior forms of coal there is every indication of an abundance on the main-land of the province. "The tertiary or Laramie coal measures of Puget Sound and Bellingham Bay" (in the United States) "are continuous north of the international boundary, and must underlie nearly 18,000 square miles of the low country about the estuary of the Fraser and in the lower part of its valley." It is quite possible, since the better coals of Nanaimo and Comox are in demand in the San Francisco market, even at their high price and with the duty added, that these lignite fields may be worked for local consumption. Already the value of the fish caught in the British Columbian waters is estimated at $5,000,000 a year, and yet the industry is rather at its birth than in its infancy. All the waters in and near the province fairly swarm with fish. The rivers teem with them, the straits and fiords and gulfs abound with them, the ocean beyond is freighted with an incalculable weight of living food, which must soon be distributed among the homes of the civilized world. The principal varieties of fish are the salmon, cod, shad, white-fish, bass, flounder, skate, sole, halibut, sturgeon, oolachan, herring, trout, haddock, smelts, anchovies, dog-fish, perch, sardines, oysters, crayfish shrimps, crabs, and mussels. Of other denizens of the water, the whale, sea-otter, and seal prove rich prey for those who search for them. [Illustration: THE SALMON CACHE] The main salmon rivers are the Fraser, Skeena, and Nasse rivers, but the fish also swarm in the inlets into which smaller streams empty. The Nimkish, on Vancouver Island, is also a salmon stream. Setting aside the stories of water so thick with salmon that a man might walk upon their backs, as well as that tale of the stage-coach which was upset by salmon banking themselves against it when it was crossing a fording-place, there still exist absolutely trustworthy accounts of swarms which at their height cause the largest rivers to seem alive with these fish. In such cases the ripple of their back fins frets the entire surface of the stream. I have seen photographs that show the fish in incredible numbers, side by side, like logs in a raft, and I have the word of a responsible man for the statement that he has gotten all the salmon needed for a small camp, day after day, by walking to the edge of a river and jerking the fish out with a common poker. There are about sixteen canneries on the Fraser, six on the Skeena, three on the Nasse, and three scattered in other waters--River Inlet and Alert Bay. The total canning in 1889 was 414,294 cases, each of 48 one-pound tins. The fish are sold to Europe, Australia, and eastern Canada. The American market takes the Columbia River Salmon. Around $1,000,000 is invested in the vessels, nets, trawls, canneries, oil-factories, and freezing and salting stations used in this industry in British Columbia, and about 5500 men are employed. "There is no difficulty in catching the fish," says a local historian, "for in some streams they are so crowded that they can readily be picked out of the water by hand." However, gill-nets are found to be preferable, and the fish are caught in these, which are stretched across the streams, and handled by men in flat-bottomed boats. The fish are loaded into scows and transported to the canneries, usually frame structures built upon piles close to the shores of the rivers. In the canneries the tins are made, and, as a rule, saw-mills near by produce the wood for the manufacture of the packing-cases. The fish are cleaned, rid of their heads and tails, and then chopped up and loaded into the tins by Chinamen and Indian women. The tins are then boiled, soldered, tested, packed, and shipped away. The industry is rapidly extending, and fresh salmon are now being shipped, frozen, to the markets of eastern America and England. My figures for 1889 (obtained from the Victoria _Times_) are in all likelihood under the mark for the season of 1890. The coast is made ragged by inlets, and into nearly every one a watercourse empties. All the larger streams are the haven of salmon in the spawning season, and in time the principal ones will be the bases of canning operations. The Dominion Government has founded a salmon hatchery on the Fraser, above New Westminster. It is under the supervision of Thomas Mowat, Inspector of Fisheries, and millions of small fry are now annually turned into the great river. Whether the unexampled run of 1889 was in any part due to this process cannot be said, but certainly the salmon are not diminishing in numbers. It was feared that the refuse from the canneries would injure the "runs" of live fish, but it is now believed that there is a profit to be derived from treating the refuse for oil and guano, so that it is more likely to be saved than thrown back into the streams in the near future. The oolachan, or candle-fish, is a valuable product of these waters, chiefly of the Fraser and Nasse rivers. They are said to be delicious when fresh, smoked, or salted, and I have it on the authority of the little pamphlet "British Columbia," handed me by a government official, that "their oil is considered superior to cod-liver oil, or any other fish-oil known." It is said that this oil is whitish, and of the consistency of thin lard. It is used as food by the natives, and is an article of barter between the coast Indians and the tribes of the interior. There is so much of it in a candle-fish of ordinary size that when one of them is dried, it will burn like a candle. It is the custom of the natives on the coast to catch the fish in immense numbers in purse-nets. They then boil them in iron-bottomed bins, straining the product in willow baskets, and running the oil into cedar boxes holding fifteen gallons each. The Nasse River candle-fish are the best. They begin running in March, and continue to come by the million for a period of several weeks. Codfish are supposed to be very plentiful, and to frequent extensive banks at sea, but these shoals have not been explored or charted by the Government, and private enterprise will not attempt the work. Similar banks off the Alaska coast are already the resorts of California fishermen, who drive a prosperous trade in salting large catches there. The skil, or black cod, formerly known as the "coal-fish," is a splendid deep-water product. These cod weigh from eight to twenty pounds, and used to be caught by the Indians with hook and line. Already white men are driving the Indians out by superior methods. Trawls of 300 hooks are used, and the fish are found to be plentiful, especially off the west coast of the Queen Charlotte Islands. The fish is described as superior to the cod of Newfoundland in both oil and meat. The general market is not yet accustomed to it, but such a ready sale is found for what are caught that the number of vessels engaged in this fishing increases year by year. It is evident that the catch of skil will soon be an important source of revenue to the province. [Illustration: AN IDEAL OF THE COAST] Herring are said to be plentiful, but no fleet is yet fitted out for them. Halibut are numerous and common. They are often of very great size. Sturgeon are found in the Fraser, whither they chase the salmon. One weighing 1400 pounds was exhibited in Victoria a few years ago, and those that weigh more than half as much are not unfrequently captured. The following is a report of the yield and value of the fisheries of the province for 1889: +--------------------------+------------+-----------------+ | Kind of Fish. | Quantity. | Value. | | | | | +--------------------------+------------+-----------------+ | | | | | Salmon in cans lbs. | 20,122,128 | $2,414,655 36 | | " fresh lbs. | 2,187,000 | 218,700 00 | | " salted bbls. | 3,749 | 37,460 00 | | " smoked lbs. | 12,900 | 2,580 00 | | Sturgeon, fresh | 318,600 | 15,930 00 | | Halibut, " | 605,050 | 30,152 50 | | Herring, " | 190,000 | 9,500 00 | | " smoked | 33,000 | 3,300 00 | | Oolachans, " | 82,500 | 8,250 00 | | " fresh | 6,700 | 1,340 00 | | " salted bbls. | 380 | 3,800 00 | | Trout, fresh lbs. | 14,025 | 1,402 50 | | Fish, assorted | 322,725 | 16,136 25 | | Smelts, fresh | 52,100 | 3,126 00 | | Rock cod | 39,250 | 1,962 50 | | Skil, salted bbls. | 1,560 | 18,720 00 | | Fooshqua, fresh | 268,350 | 13,417 50 | | Fur seal-skins No. | 33,570 | 335,700 00 | | Hair " " | 7,000 | 5,250 00 | | Sea-otter skins " | 115 | 11,500 00 | | Fish oil gals. | 141,420 | 70,710 00 | | Oysters sacks | 3,000 | 5,250 00 | | Clams " | 3,500 | 6,125 00 | | Mussels " | 250 | 500 00 | | Crabs No. | 175,000 | 5,250 00 | | Abelones boxes | 100 | 500 00 | | Isinglass lbs. | 5,000 | 1,750 00 | +--------------------------+------------+ | | Estimated fish consumed in province | 100,000 00 | | Shrimps, prawns, etc. | 5,000 00 | | Estimated consumption by Indians-- | | | Salmon | 2,732,500 00 | | Halibut | 190,000 00 | | Sturgeon and other fish | 260,000 00 | | Fish oils | 75,000 00 | +---------------------------------------+-----------------+ | Approximate yield | $6,605,467 61 | +---------------------------------------+-----------------+ When it is considered that this is the showing of one of the newest communities on the continent, numbering only the population of what we would call a small city, suffering for want of capital and nearly all that capital brings with it, there is no longer occasion for surprise at the provincial boast that they possess far more extensive and richer fishing-fields than any on the Atlantic coast. Time and enterprise will surely test this assertion, but it is already evident that there is a vast revenue to be wrested from those waters. I have not spoken of the sealing, which yielded $236,000 in 1887, and may yet be decided to be exclusively an American and not a British Columbian source of profit. Nor have I touched upon the extraction of oil from herrings and from dog-fish and whales, all of which are small channels of revenue. I enjoyed the good-fortune to talk at length with a civil engineer of high repute who has explored the greater part of southern British Columbia--at least in so far as its main valleys, waterways, trails, and mountain passes are concerned. Having learned not to place too high a value upon the printed matter put forth in praise of any new country, I was especially pleased to obtain this man's practical impressions concerning the store and quality and kinds of timber the province contains. He said, not to use his own words, that timber is found all the way back from the coast to the Rockies, but it is in its most plentiful and majestic forms on the west slope of those mountains and on the west slope of the Coast Range. The very largest trees are between the Coast Range and the coast. The country between the Rocky Mountains and the Coast Range is dry by comparison with the parts where the timber thrives best, and, naturally, the forests are inferior. Between the Rockies and the Kootenay River cedar and tamaracks reach six and eight feet in diameter, and attain a height of 200 feet not infrequently. There are two or three kinds of fir and some pines (though not very many) in this region. There is very little leaf-wood, and no hard-wood. Maples are found, to be sure, but they are rather more like bushes than trees to the British Columbian mind. As one moves westward the same timber prevails, but it grows shorter and smaller until the low coast country is reached. There, as has been said, the giant forests occur again. This coast region is largely a flat country, but there are not many miles of it. To this rule, as here laid down, there are some notable exceptions. One particular tree, called there the bull-pine--it is the pine of Lake Superior and the East--grows to great size all over the province. It is a common thing to find the trunks of these trees measuring four feet in diameter, or nearly thirteen feet in circumference. It is not especially valuable for timber, because it is too sappy. It is short-lived when exposed to the weather, and is therefore not in demand for railroad work; but for the ordinary uses to which builders put timber it answers very well. [Illustration: THE POTLATCH] There is a maple which attains great size at the coast, and which, when dressed, closely resembles bird's-eye-maple. It is called locally the vine-maple. The trees are found with a diameter of two-and-a-half to three feet, but the trunks seldom rise above forty or fifty feet. The wood is crooked. It runs very badly. This, of course, is what gives it the beautiful grain it possesses, and which must, sooner or later, find a ready market for it. There is plenty of hemlock in the province, but it is nothing like so large as that which is found in the East, and its bark is not so thick. Its size renders it serviceable for nothing larger than railway ties, and the trees grow in such inaccessible places, half-way up the mountains, that it is for the most part unprofitable to handle it. The red cedars--the wood of which is consumed in the manufacture of pencils and cigar-boxes--are also small. On the other hand, the white cedar reaches enormous sizes, up to fifteen feet of thickness at the base, very often. It is not at all extraordinary to find these cedars reaching 200 feet above the ground, and one was cut at Port Moody, in clearing the way for the railroad, that had a length of 310 feet. When fire rages in the provincial forests, the wood of these trees is what is consumed, and usually the trunks, hollow and empty, stand grimly in their places after the fire would otherwise have been forgotten. These great tubes are often of such dimensions that men put windows and doors in them and use them for dwellings. In the valleys are immense numbers of poplars of the common and cottonwood species, white birch, alder, willow, and yew trees, but they are not estimated in the forest wealth of the province, because of the expense that marketing them would entail. This fact concerning the small timber indicates at once the primitive character of the country, and the vast wealth it possesses in what might be called heroic timber--that is, sufficiently valuable to force its way to market even from out that unopened wilderness. It was the opinion of the engineer to whom I have referred that timber land which does not attract the second glance of a prospector in British Columbia would be considered of the first importance in Maine and New Brunswick. To put it in another way, river-side timber land which in those countries would fetch fifty dollars the acre solely for its wood, in British Columbia would not be taken up. In time it may be cut, undoubtedly it must be, when new railroads alter its value, and therefore it is impossible even roughly to estimate the value of the provincial forests. A great business is carried on in the shipment of ninety-foot and one-hundred-foot Douglas fir sticks to the great car-building works of our country and Canada. They are used in the massive bottom frames of palace cars. The only limit that has yet been reached in this industry is not in the size of the logs, but in the capacities of the saw-mills, and in the possibilities of transportation by rail, for these logs require three cars to support their length. Except for the valleys, the whole vast country is enormously rich in this timber, the mountains (excepting the Rockies) being clothed with it from their bases to their tops. Vancouver Island is a heavily and valuably timbered country. It bears the same trees as the main-land, except that it has the oak-tree, and does not possess the tamarack. The Vancouver Island oaks do not exceed two or two-and-a-half feet in diameter. The Douglas fir (our Oregon pine) grows to tremendous proportions, especially on the north end of the island. In the old offices of the Canadian Pacific Railway at Vancouver are panels of this wood that are thirteen feet across, showing that they came from a tree whose trunk was forty feet in circumference. Tens of thousands of these firs are from eight to ten feet in diameter at the bottom. Other trees of the province are the great silver-fir, the wood of which is not very valuable; Englemann's spruce, which is very like white spruce, and is very abundant; balsam-spruce, often exceeding two feet in diameter; the yellow or pitch pine; white pine; yellow cypress; crab-apple, occurring as a small tree or shrub; western birch, common in the Columbia region; paper or canoe birch, found sparingly on Vancouver Island and on the lower Fraser, but in abundance and of large size in the Peace River and upper Fraser regions; dogwood, arbutus, and several minor trees. Among the shrubs which grow in abundance in various districts or all over the province are the following: hazel, red elder, willow, barberry, wild red cherry, blackberry, yellow plum, choke-cherry, raspberry, gooseberry, bearberry, currant, and snowberry, mooseberry, bilberry, cranberry, whortleberry, mulberry, and blueberry. I would have liked to write at length concerning the enterprising cities of the province, but, after all, they may be trusted to make themselves known. It is the region behind them which most interests mankind, and the Government has begun, none too promptly, a series of expeditions for exploiting it. As for the cities, the chief among them and the capital, Victoria, has an estimated population of 22,000. Its business district wears a prosperous, solid, and attractive appearance, and its detached dwellings--all of frame, and of the distinctive type which marks the houses of the California towns--are surrounded by gardens. It has a beautiful but inadequate harbor; yet in a few years it will have spread to Esquimault, now less than two miles distant. This is now the seat of a British admiralty station, and has a splendid haven, whose water is of a depth of from six to eight fathoms. At Esquimault are government offices, churches, schools, hotels, stores, a naval "canteen," and a dry-dock 450 feet long, 26 feet deep, and 65 feet wide at its entrance. The electric street railroad of Victoria was extended to Esquimault in the autumn of 1890. Of the climate of Victoria Lord Lorne said, "It is softer and more constant than that of the south of England." Vancouver, the principal city of the main-land, is slightly smaller than Victoria, but did not begin to displace the forest until 1886. After that every house except one was destroyed by fire. To-day it boasts a hotel comparable in most important respects with any in Canada, many noble business buildings of brick or stone, good schools, fine churches, a really great area of streets built up with dwellings, and a notable system of wharves, warehouses, etc. The Canadian Pacific Railway terminates here, and so does the line of steamers for China and Japan. The city is picturesquely and healthfully situated on an arm of Burrard Inlet, has gas, water, electric lights, and shows no sign of halting its hitherto rapid growth. Of New Westminster, Nanaimo, Yale, and the still smaller towns, there is not opportunity here for more than naming. In the original settlements in that territory a peculiar institution occasioned gala times for the red men now and then. This was the "potlatch," a thing to us so foreign, even in the impulse of which it is begotten, that we have no word or phrase to give its meaning. It is a feast and merrymaking at the expense of some man who has earned or saved what he deems considerable wealth, and who desires to distribute every iota of it at once in edibles and drinkables among the people of his tribe or village. He does this because he aspires to a chieftainship, or merely for the credit of a "potlatch"--a high distinction. Indians have been known to throw away such a sum of money that their "potlatch" has been given in a huge shed built for the feast, that hundreds have been both fed and made drunk, and that blankets and ornaments have been distributed in addition to the feast. The custom has a new significance now. It is the white man who is to enjoy a greater than all previous potlatches in that region. The treasure has been garnered during the ages by time or nature or whatsoever you may call the host, and the province itself is offered as the feast. IX DAN DUNN'S OUTFIT At Revelstoke, 380 miles from the Pacific Ocean, in British Columbia, a small white steamboat, built on the spot, and exposing a single great paddle-wheel at her stern, was waiting to make another of her still few trips through a wilderness that, but for her presence, would be as completely primitive as almost any in North America. Her route lay down the Columbia River a distance of about one hundred and thirty miles to a point called Sproat's Landing, where some rapids interrupt navigation. The main load upon the steamer's deck was of steel rails for a railroad that was building into a new mining region in what is called the Kootenay District, just north of our Washington and Idaho. The sister range to the Rockies, called the Selkirks, was to be crossed by the new highway, which would then connect the valley of the Columbia with the Kootenay River. There was a temptation beyond the mere chance to join the first throng that pushed open a gateway and began the breaking of a trail in a brand-new country. There was to be witnessed the propulsion of civilization beyond old confines by steam-power, and this required railroad building in the Rockies, where that science finds its most formidable problems. And around and through all that was being done pressed a new population, made up of many of the elements that produced our old-time border life, and gave birth to some of the most picturesque and exciting chapters in American History. It should be understood that here in the very heart of British Columbia only the watercourses have been travelled, and there was neither a settlement nor a house along the Columbia in that great reach of its valley between our border and the Canadian Pacific Railway, except at the landing at which this boat stopped. Over all the varying scene, as the boat ploughed along, hung a mighty silence; for almost the only life on the deep wooded sides of the mountains was that of stealthy game. At only two points were any human beings lodged, and these were wood-choppers who supplied the fuel for the steamer--a Chinaman in one place, and two or three white men farther on. In this part of its magnificent valley the Columbia broadens in two long loops, called the Arrow Lakes, each more than two miles wide and twenty to thirty miles in length. Their prodigious towering walls are densely wooded, and in places are snow-capped in midsummer. The forest growth is primeval, and its own luxuriance crowds it beyond the edge of the grand stream in the fretwork of fallen trunks and bushes, whose roots are bedded in the soft mass of centuries of forest débris. Early in the journey the clerk of the steamer told me that wild animals were frequently seen crossing the river ahead of the vessel; bear, he said, and deer and elk and porcupine. When I left him to go to my state-room and dress for the rough journey ahead of me, he came to my door, calling in excited tones for me to come out on the deck. "There's a big bear ahead!" he cried, and as he spoke I saw the black head of the animal cleaving the quiet water close to the nearer shore. Presently Bruin's feet touched the bottom, and he bounded into the bush and disappeared. The scenery was superb all the day, but at sundown nature began to revel in a series of the most splendid and spectacular effects. For an hour a haze had clothed the more distant mountains as with a transparent veil, rendering the view dream-like and soft beyond description. But as the sun sank to the summit of the uplifted horizon it began to lavish the most intense colors upon all the objects in view. The snowy peaks turned to gaudy prisms as of crystal, the wooded summits became impurpled, the nearer hills turned a deep green, and the tranquil lake assumed a bright pea-color. Above all else, the sky was gorgeous. Around its western edge it took on a rose-red blush that blended at the zenith with a deep blue, in which were floating little clouds of amber and of flame-lit pearl. A moonless night soon closed around the boat, and in the morning we were at Sproat's Landing, a place two months old. The village consisted of a tiny cluster of frame-houses and tents perched on the edge of the steep bank of the Columbia. One building was the office and storehouse of the projected railroad, two others were general trading stores, one was the hotel, and the other habitations were mainly tents. I firmly believe there never was a hotel like the hostlery there. In a general way its design was an adaptation of the plan of a hen-coop. Possibly a box made of gridirons suggests more clearly the principle of its construction. It was two stories high, and contained about a baker's dozen of rooms, the main one being the bar-room, of course. After the framework had been finished, there was perhaps half enough "slab" lumber to sheathe the outside of the house, and this had been made to serve for exterior and interior walls, and the floors and ceilings besides. The consequence was that a flock of gigantic canaries might have been kept in it with propriety, but as a place of abode for human beings it compared closely with the Brooklyn Bridge. [Illustration: AN INDIAN CANOE ON THE COLUMBIA] They have in our West many very frail hotels that the people call "telephone houses," because a tenant can hear in every room whatever is spoken in any part of the building; but in this house one could stand in any room and see into all the others. A clergyman and his wife stopped in it on the night before I arrived, and the good woman stayed up until nearly daylight, pinning papers on the walls and laying them on the floor until she covered a corner in which to prepare for bed. I hired a room and stored my traps in it, but I slept in one of the engineers' tents, and met with a very comical adventure. The tent contained two cots, and a bench on which the engineer, who occupied one of the beds, had heaped his clothing. Supposing him to be asleep, I undressed quietly, blew out the candle, and popped into my bed. As I did so one pair of its legs broke down, and it naturally occurred to me, at almost the same instant, that the bench was of about the proper height to raise the fallen end of the cot to the right level. "Broke down, eh?" said my companion--a man, by-the-way, whose face I have never yet seen. "Yes," I replied. "Can I put your clothing on the floor and make use of that bench?" "Aye, that you can." So out of bed I leaped, put his apparel in a heap on the floor, and ran the bench under my bed. It proved to be a neat substitute for the broken legs, and I was quickly under the covers again and ready for sleep. The engineer's voice roused me. "That's what I call the beauty of a head-piece," he said. Presently he repeated the remark. "Are you speaking to me?" I asked. "Yes; I'm saying that's what I call the beauty of a head-piece. It's wonderful; and many's the day and night I'll think of it, if I live. What do I mean? Why, I mean that that is what makes you Americans such a great people--it's the beauty of having head-pieces on your shoulders. It's so easy to think quick if you've got something to think with. Here you are, and your bed breaks down. What would I do? Probably nothing. I'd think what a beastly scrape it was, and I'd keep on thinking till I went to sleep. What do you do? Why, as quick as a flash you says, 'Hello, here's a go!' 'May I have the bench?' says you. 'Yes,' says I. Out of bed you go, and you clap the bench under the bed, and there you are, as right as a trivet. That's the beauty of a head-piece, and that's what makes America the wonderful country she is." Never was a more sincere compliment paid to my country, and I am glad I obtained it so easily. There was a barber pole in front of the house, set up by a "prospector" who had run out of funds (and everything else except hope), and who, like all his kind, had stopped to "make a few dollars" wherewith to outfit again and continue his search for gold. He noted the local need of a barber, and instantly became one by purchasing a razor on credit, and painting a pole while waiting for custom. He was a jocular fellow--a born New Yorker, by-the-way. "Don't shave me close," said I. "Close?" he repeated. "You'll be the luckiest victim I've slashed yet if I get off any of your beard at all. How's the razor?" "All right." "Oh no, it ain't," said he; "you're setting your nerves to stand it, so's not to be called a tender-foot. I'm no barber. I expected to 'tend bar when I bumped up agin this place. If you could see the blood streaming down your face you'd faint." In spite of his self-depreciation, he performed as artistic and painless an operation as I ever sat through. While I was being shaved the loungers in the barber-shop entered into a conversation that revealed, as nothing else could have disclosed it, the deadly monotony of life in that little town. A hen cackled out-of-doors, and the loungers fell to questioning one another as to which hen had laid an egg. "It must be the black one," said the barber. "Yet it don't exactly sound like old blacky's cackle," said a more deliberate and careful speaker. "'Pears to me 's though it might be the speckled un," ventured a third. "She ain't never laid no eggs," said the barber. "Could it be the bantam?" another inquired. Thus they discussed with earnestness this most interesting event of the morning, until a young man darted into the room with his eyes lighted by excitement. "Say, Bill," said he, almost breathlessly, "that's the speckled hen a-cackling, by thunder! She's laid an egg, I guess." [Illustration: "YOU'RE SETTING YOUR NERVES TO STAND IT"] In Sproat's Landing we saw the nucleus of a railroad terminal point. The queer hotel was but little more peculiar than many of the people who gathered on the single street on pay-day to spend their hard-earned money upon a great deal of illicit whiskey and a few rude necessaries from the limited stock on sale in the stores. There never had been any grave disorder there, yet the floating population was as motley a collection of the riffraff of the border as one could well imagine, and there was only one policeman to enforce the law in a territory the size of Rhode Island. He was quite as remarkable in his way as any other development of that embryotic civilization. His name was Jack Kirkup, and all who knew him spoke of him as being physically the most superb example of manhood in the Dominion. Six feet and three inches in height, with the chest, neck, and limbs of a giant, his three hundred pounds of weight were so exactly his complement as to give him the symmetry of an Apollo. He was good-looking, with the beauty of a round-faced, good-natured boy, and his thick hair fell in a cluster of ringlets over his forehead and upon his neck. No knight of Arthur's circle can have been more picturesque a figure in the forest than this "Jack." He was as neat as a dandy. He wore high boots and corduroy knickerbockers, a flannel shirt and a sack-coat, and rode his big bay horse with the ease and grace of a Skobeleff. He smoked like a fire of green brush, but had never tasted liquor in his life. In a dozen years he had slept more frequently in the open air, upon pebble beds or in trenches in the snow, than upon ordinary bedding, and he exhibited, in his graceful movements, his sparkling eyes and ruddy cheeks, his massive frame and his imperturbable good-nature, a degree of health and vigor that would seem insolent to the average New Yorker. Now that the railroad was building, he kept ever on the trail, along what was called "the right of way"--going from camp to camp to "jump" whiskey peddlers and gamblers and to quell disorder--except on pay-day, once a month, when he stayed at Sproat's Landing. [Illustration: JACK KIRKUP, THE MOUNTAIN SHERIFF] The echoes of his fearless behavior and lively adventures rang in every gathering. The general tenor of the stories was to the effect that he usually gave one warning to evil-doers, and if they did not heed that he "cleaned them out." He carried a revolver, but never had used it. Even when the most notorious gambler on our border had crossed over into "Jack's" bailiwick the policeman depended upon his fists. He had met the gambler and had "advised" him to take the cars next day. The gambler, in reply, had suggested that both would get along more quietly if each minded his own affairs, whereupon Kirkup had said, "You hear me: take the cars out of here to-morrow." The little community (it was Donald, B. C., a very rough place at the time) held its breathing for twenty-four hours, and at the approach of train-time was on tiptoe with strained anxiety. At twenty minutes before the hour the policeman, amiable and easy-going as ever in appearance, began a tour of the houses. It was in a tavern that he found the gambler. "You must take the train," said he. "You can't make me," replied the gambler. There were no more words. In two minutes the giant was carrying the limp body of the ruffian to a wagon, in which he drove him to the jail. There he washed the blood off the gambler's face and tidied his collar and scarf. From there the couple walked to the cars, where they parted amicably. "I had to be a little rough," said Kirkup to the loungers at the station, "because he was armed like a pin-cushion, and I didn't want to have to kill him." We made the journey from Sproat's Landing to the Kootenay River upon a sorry quartet of pack-horses that were at other times employed to carry provisions and material to the construction camps. They were of the kind of horses known all over the West as "cayuses." The word is the name of a once notable tribe of Indians in what is now the State of Washington. To these Indians is credited the introduction of this small and peculiar breed of horses, but many persons in the West think the horses get the nickname because of a humorous fancy begotten of their wildness, and suggesting that they are only part horses and part coyotes. But all the wildness and the characteristic "bucking" had long since been "packed" out of these poor creatures, and they needed the whip frequently to urge them upon a slow progress. Kirkup was going his rounds, and accompanied us on our journey of less than twenty miles to the Kootenay River. On the way one saw every stage in the construction of a railway. The process of development was reversed as we travelled, because the work had been pushed well along where we started, and was but at its commencement where we ended our trip. At the landing half a mile or more of the railroad had been completed, even to the addition of a locomotive and two gondola cars. Beyond the little strip of rails was a long reach of graded road-bed, and so the progress of the work dwindled, until at last there was little more than the trail-cutters' path to mark what had been determined as the "right of way." For the sake of clearness, I will first explain the steps that are taken at the outset in building a railroad, rather than tell what parts of the undertaking we came upon in passing over the various "contracts" that were being worked in what appeared a confusing and hap-hazard disorder. I have mentioned that one of the houses at the landing was the railroad company's storehouse, and that near by were the tents of the surveyors or civil engineers. The road was to be a branch of the Canadian Pacific system, and these engineers were the first men sent into the country, with instructions to survey a line to the new mining region, into which men were pouring from the older parts of Canada and from our country. It was understood by them that they were to hit upon the most direct and at the same time the least expensive route for the railroad to take. They went to the scene of their labors by canoes, and carried tents, blankets, instruments, and what they called their "grub stakes," which is to say, their food. Then they travelled over the ground between their two terminal points, and back by another route, and back again by still another route, and so back and forth perhaps four and possibly six times. In that way alone were they enabled to select the line which offered the shortest length and the least obstacles in number and degree for the workmen who were to come after them. [Illustration: ENGINEER ON THE PRELIMINARY SURVEY] At Sproat's Landing I met an engineer, Mr. B. C. Stewart, who is famous in his profession as the most tireless and intrepid exponent of its difficulties in the Dominion. The young men account it a misfortune to be detailed to go on one of his journeys with him. It is his custom to start out with a blanket, some bacon and meal, and a coffee-pot, and to be gone for weeks, and even for months. There scarcely can have been a hardier Scotchman, one of more simple tastes and requirements, or one possessing in any higher degree the quality called endurance. He has spent years in the mountains of British Columbia, finding and exploring the various passes, the most direct and feasible routes to and from them, the valleys between the ranges, and the characteristics of each section of the country. In a vast country that has not otherwise been one-third explored he has made himself familiar with the full southern half. He has not known what it was to enjoy a home, nor has he seen an apple growing upon a tree in many years. During his long and close-succeeding trips he has run the whole gamut of the adventures incident to the lives of hunters or explorers, suffering hunger, exposure, peril from wild beasts, and all the hair-breadth escapes from frost and storm and flood that Nature unvanquished visits upon those who first brave her depths. Such is the work and such are the men that figure in the foremost preliminaries to railroad building. Whoever has left the beaten path of travel or gone beyond a well-settled region can form a more or less just estimate of that which one of these professional pioneers encounters in prospecting for a railroad. I had several "tastes," as the Irish express it, of that very Kootenay Valley. I can say conscientiously that I never was in a wilder region. In going only a few yards from the railroad "right of way" the difficulties of an experienced pedestrianism like my own instantly became tremendous. There was a particularly choice spot for fishing at a distance of three-quarters of a mile from Dan Dunn's outfit, and I travelled the road to it half a dozen times. Bunyan would have strengthened the _Pilgrim's Progress_ had he known of such conditions with which to surround his hero. Between rocks the size of a city mansion and unsteady bowlders no larger than a man's head the ground was all but covered. Among this wreckage trees grew in wild abundance, and countless trunks of dead ones lay rotting between them. A jungle as dense as any I ever saw was formed of soft-wood saplings and bushes, so that it was next to impossible to move a yard in any direction. It was out of the question for anyone to see three yards ahead, and there was often no telling when a foot was put down whether it was going through a rotten trunk or upon a spinning bowlder, or whether the black shadows here and there were a foot deep or were the mouths of fissures that reached to China. I fished too long one night, and was obliged to make that journey after dark. After ten minutes crowded with falls and false steps, the task seemed so hopelessly impossible that I could easily have been induced to turn back and risk a night on the rocks at the edge of the tide. It was after a thorough knowledge of the natural conditions which the railroad men were overcoming that the gradual steps of their progress became most interesting. The first men to follow the engineers, after the specifications have been drawn up and the contracts signed, are the "right-of-way" men. These are partly trail-makers and partly laborers at the heavier work of actually clearing the wilderness for the road-bed. The trail-cutters are guided by the long line of stakes with which the engineers have marked the course the road is to take. The trail-men are sent out to cut what in general parlance would be called a path, over which supplies are to be thereafter carried to the workmen's camps. The path they cut must therefore be sufficiently wide for the passage along it of a mule and his load. As a mule's load will sometimes consist of the framework of a kitchen range, or the end boards of a bedstead, a five-foot swath through the forest is a trail of serviceable width. The trail-cutters fell the trees to right and left, and drag the fallen trunks out of the path as they go along, travelling and working between a mile and two miles each day, and moving their tents and provisions on pack-horses as they advance. They keep reasonably close to the projected line of the railway, but the path they cut is apt to be a winding one that avoids the larger rocks and the smaller ravines. Great distortions, such as hills or gullies, which the railroad must pass through or over, the trail men pay no heed to; neither do the pack-horses, whose tastes are not consulted, and who can cling to a rock at almost any angle, like flies of larger growth. This trail, when finished, leads from the company's storehouse all along the line, and from that storehouse, on the backs of the pack-animals, come all the food and tools and clothing, powder, dynamite, tents, and living utensils, to be used by the workmen, their bosses, and the engineers. Slowly, behind the trail-cutters, follow the "right-of-way" men. These are axemen also. All that they do is to cut the trees down and drag them out of the way. It is when the axemen have cleared the right of way that the first view of the railroad in embryo is obtainable. And very queer it looks. It is a wide avenue through the forest, to be sure, yet it is little like any forest drive that we are accustomed to in the realms of civilization. [Illustration: FALLING MONARCHS] Every succeeding stage of the work leads towards the production of an even and level thoroughfare, without protuberance or depression, and in the course of our ride to Dan Dunn's camp on the Kootenay we saw the rapidly developing railroad in each phase of its evolution from the rough surface of the wilderness. Now we would come upon a long reach of finished road-bed on comparatively level ground all ready for the rails, with carpenters at work in little gullies which they were spanning with timber trestles. Next we would see a battalion of men and dump-carts cutting into a hill of dirt and carting its substance to a neighboring valley, wherein they were slowly heaping a long and symmetrical wall of earth-work, with sloping sides and level top, to bridge the gap between hill and hill. Again, we came upon places where men ran towards us shouting that a "blast" was to be fired. Here was what was called "rockwork," where some granite rib of a mountain or huge rocky knoll was being blown to flinders with dynamite. And so, through all these scenes upon the pack-trail, we came at last to a white camp of tents hidden in the lush greenery of a luxuriant forest, and nestling beside a rushing mountain torrent of green water flecked with the foam from an eternal battle with a myriad of sunken rocks. It was Dunn's headquarters--the construction camp. Evening was falling, and the men were clambering down the hill-side trails from their work. There was no order in the disposition of the tents, nor had the forest been prepared for them. Their white sides rose here and there wherever there was a space between the trees, as if so many great white moths had settled in a garden. Huge trees had been felled and thrown across ravines to serve as aerial foot-paths from point to point, and at the river's edge two or three tents seemed to have been pushed over the steep bluff to find lodgement on the sandy beach beside the turbulent stream. There were other camps on the line of this work, and it is worth while to add a word about their management and the system under which they were maintained. In the first place, each camp is apt to be the outfit of a contractor. The whole work of building a railroad is let out in contracts for portions of five, ten, or fifteen miles. Even when great jobs of seventy or a hundred miles are contracted for in one piece, it is customary for the contractor to divide his task and sublet it. But a fairly representative bit of mountain work is that which I found Dan Dunn superintending, as the factotum of the contractor who undertook it. If a contractor acts as "boss" himself, he stays upon the ground; but in this case the contractor had other undertakings in hand. Hence the presence of Dan Dunn, his walking boss or general foreman. Dunn is a man of means, and is himself a contractor by profession, who has worked his way up from a start as a laborer. The camp to which we came was a portable city, complete except for its lack of women. It had its artisans, its professional men, its store and workshops, its seat of government and officers, and its policeman, its amusement hall, its work-a-day and social sides. Its main peculiarity was that its boss (for it was like an American city in the possession of that functionary also) had announced that he was going to move it a couple of miles away on the following Sunday. One tent was the stableman's, with a capacious "corral" fenced in near by for the keeping of the pack horses and mules. His corps of assistants was a large one; for, besides the pack-horses that connected the camp with the outer world, he had the keeping of all the "grade-horses," so called--those which draw the stone and dirt carts and the little dump-cars on the false tracks set up on the levels near where "filling" or "cutting" is to be done. Another tent was the blacksmith's. He had a "helper," and was a busy man, charged with all the tool-sharpening, the care of all the horses' feet, and the repairing of all the iron-work of the wagons, cars, and dirt-scrapers. Near by was the harness-man's tent, the shop of the leather-mender. In the centre of the camp, like a low citadel, rose a mound of logs and earth bearing on a sign the single word "Powder," but containing within its great sunken chamber a considerable store of various explosives--giant, black, and Judson powder, and dynamite. [Illustration: DAN DUNN ON HIS WORKS] More tremendous force is used in railroad blasting than most persons imagine. In order to perform a quick job of removing a section of solid mountain, the drill-men, after making a bore, say, twenty feet in depth, begin what they call "springing" it by exploding little cartridges in the bottom of the drill hole until they have produced a considerable chamber there. The average amount of explosive for which they thus prepare a place is 40 or 50 kegs of giant powder and 10 kegs of black powder; but Dunn told me he had seen 280 kegs of black powder and 500 pounds of dynamite used in a single blast in mountain work. Another tent was that of the time-keeper. He journeyed twice a day all over the work, five miles up and five down. On one journey he noted what men were at labor in the forenoon, and on his return he tallied those who were entitled to pay for the second half of the day. Such an official knows the name of every laborer, and, moreover, he knows the pecuniary rating of each man, so that when the workmen stop him to order shoes or trousers, blankets, shirts, tobacco, penknives, or what not, he decides upon his own responsibility whether they have sufficient money coming to them to meet the accommodation. The "store" was simply another tent. In it was kept a fair supply of the articles in constant demand--a supply brought from the headquarters store at the other end of the trail, and constantly replenished by the pack-horses. This trading-place was in charge of a man called "the book-keeper," and he had two or three clerks to assist him. The stock was precisely like that of a cross-roads country store in one of our older States. Its goods included simple medicines, boots, shoes, clothing, cutlery, tobacco, cigars, pipes, hats and caps, blankets, thread and needles, and several hundred others among the ten thousand necessaries of a modern laborer's life. The only legal tender received there took the shape of orders written by the time-keeper, for the man in charge of the store was not required to know the ratings of the men upon the pay-roll. [Illustration: THE SUPPLY TRAIN OVER THE MOUNTAIN] The doctor's tent was among the rest, but his office might aptly have been said to be "in the saddle." He was nominally employed by the company, but each man was "docked," or charged, seventy-five cents a month for medical services whether he ever needed a doctor or not. When I was in the camp there was only one sick man--a rheumatic. He had a tent all to himself, and his meals were regularly carried to him. Though he was a stranger to every man there, and had worked only one day before he surrendered to sickness, a purse of about forty dollars had been raised for him among the men, and he was to be "packed" to Sproat's Landing on a mule at the company's expense whenever the doctor decreed it wise to move him. Of course invalidism of a more serious nature is not infrequent where men work in the paths of sliding rocks, beneath caving earth, amid falling forest trees, around giant blasts, and with heavy tools. Another one of the tents was that of the "boss packer." He superintended the transportation of supplies on the pack-trail. This "job of 200 men," as Dunn styled his camp, employed thirty pack horses and mules. The pack-trains consisted of a "bell-horse" and boy, and six horses following. Each animal was rated to carry a burden of 400 pounds of dead weight, and to require three quarts of meal three times a day. Another official habitation was the "store-man's" tent. As a rule, there is a store-man to every ten miles of construction work; often every camp has one. The store-man keeps account of the distribution of the supplies of food. He issues requisitions upon the head storehouse of the company, and makes out orders for each day's rations from the camp store. The cooks are therefore under him, and this fact suggests a mention of the principal building in the camp--the mess hall, or "grub tent." This structure was of a size to accommodate two hundred men at once. Two tables ran the length of the unbroken interior--tables made roughly of the slabs or outside boards from a saw-mill. The benches were huge tree-trunks spiked fast upon stumps. There was a bench on either side of each table, and the places for the men were each set with a tin cup and a tin pie plate. The bread was heaped high on wooden platters, and all the condiments--catsup, vinegar, mustard, pepper, and salt--were in cans that had once held condensed milk. The cooks worked in an open-ended extension at the rear of the great room. The rule is to have one cook and two "cookees" to each sixty men. While I was a new arrival just undergoing introduction, the men, who had come in from work, and who had "washed up" in the little creeks and at the river bank, began to assemble in the "grub tent" for supper. They were especially interesting to me because there was every reason to believe that they formed an assembly as typical of the human flotsam of the border as ever was gathered on the continent. Very few were what might be called born laborers; on the contrary, they were mainly men of higher origin who had failed in older civilizations; outlaws from the States; men who had hoped for a gold-mine until hope was all but dead; men in the first flush of the gold fever; ne'er-do-wells; and here and there a working-man by training. They ate as a good many other sorts of men do, with great rapidity, little etiquette, and just enough unselfishness to pass each other the bread. It was noticeable that they seemed to have no time for talking. Certainly they had earned the right to be hungry, and the food was good and plentiful. [Illustration: A SKETCH ON THE WORK] Dan Dunn's tent was just in front of the mess tent, a few feet away on the edge of the river bluff. It was a little "A" tent, with a single cot on one side, a wooden chest on the other, and a small table between the two at the farther end, opposite the door. "Are ye looking at my wolverenes?" said he. "There's good men among them, and some that ain't so good, and many that's worse. But railroading is good enough for most of 'em. It ain't too rich for any man's blood, I assure ye." Over six feet in height, broad-chested, athletic, and carrying not an ounce of flesh that could be spared, Dan Dunn's was a striking figure even where physical strength was the most serviceable possession of every man. From never having given his personal appearance a thought--except during a brief period of courtship antecedent to the establishment of a home in old Ontario--he had so accustomed himself to unrestraint that his habitual attitude was that of a long-bladed jack-knife not fully opened. His long spare arms swung limberly before a long spare body set upon long spare legs. His costume was one that is never described in the advertisements of city clothiers. It consisted of a dust-coated slouch felt hat, which a dealer once sold for black, of a flannel shirt, of homespun trousers, of socks, and of heavy "brogans." In all, his dress was what the æsthetes of Mr. Wilde's day might have aptly termed a symphony in dust. His shoes and hat had acquired a mud-color, and his shirt and trousers were chosen because they originally possessed it. Yet Dan Dunn was distinctly a cleanly man, fond of frequent splashing in the camp toilet basins--the Kootenay River and its little rushing tributaries. He was not shaven. As a rule he is not, and yet at times he is, as it happens. I learned that on Sundays, when there was nothing to do except to go fishing, or to walk over to the engineer's camp for intellectual society, he felt the unconscious impulse of a forgotten training, and put on a coat. He even tied a black silk ribbon under his collar on such occasions, and if no one had given him a good cigar during the week, he took out his best pipe (which had been locked up, because whatever was not under lock and key was certain to be stolen in half an hour). Then he felt fitted, as he would say, "for a hard day's work at loafing." [Illustration: THE MESS TENT AT NIGHT] If you came upon Dan Dunn on Broadway, he would look as awkward as any other animal removed from its element; yet on a forest trail not even Davy Crockett was handsomer or more picturesque. His face is reddish-brown and as hard-skinned as the top of a drum, befitting a man who has lived out-of-doors all his life. But it is a finely moulded face, instinct with good-nature and some gentleness. The witchery of quick Irish humor lurks often in his eyes, but can quickly give place on occasion to a firm light, which is best read in connection with the broad, strong sweep of his massive under-jaw. There you see his fitness to command small armies, even of what he calls "wolverenes." He is willing to thrash any man who seems to need the operation, and yet he is equally noted for gathering a squad of rough laborers in every camp to make them his wards. He collects the money such men earn, and puts it in bank, or sends it to their families. "It does them as much good to let me take it as to chuck it over a gin-mill bar," he explained. As we stood looking into the crowded booth, where the men sat elbow to elbow, and all the knife blades were plying to and from all the plates and mouths, Dunn explained that his men were well fed. "The time has gone by," said he, "when you could keep an outfit on salt pork and bacon. It's as far gone as them days when they say the Hudson Bay Company fed its laborers on rabbit tracks and a stick. Did ye never hear of that? Why, sure, man, 'twas only fifty years ago that when meal hours came the bosses of the big trading company would give a workman a stick, and point out some rabbit tracks, and tell him he'd have an hour to catch his fill. But in railroading nowadays we give them the best that's going, and all they want of it--beef, ham, bacon, potatoes, mush, beans, oatmeal, the choicest fish, and game right out of the woods, and every sort of vegetable (canned, of course). Oh, they must be fed well, or they wouldn't stay." He said that the supplies of food are calculated on the basis of three-and-a-half pounds of provisions to a man--all the varieties of food being proportioned so that the total weight will be three-and-a-half pounds a day. The orders are given frequently and for small amounts, so as to economize in the number of horses required on the pack-trail. The amount to be consumed by the horses is, of course, included in the loads. The cost of "packing" food over long distances is more considerable than would be supposed. It was estimated that at Dunn's camp the freighting cost forty dollars a ton, but I heard of places farther in the mountains where the cost was double that. Indeed, a discussion of the subject brought to light the fact that in remote mining camps the cost of "packing" brought lager-beer in bottles up to the price of champagne. At one camp on the Kootenay bacon was selling at the time I was in the valley at thirty cents a pound, and dried peaches fetched forty cents under competition. As we looked on, the men were eating fresh beef and vegetables, with tea and coffee and pie. The head cook was a man trained in a lumber camp, and therefore ranked high in the scale of his profession. Every sort of cook drifts into camps like these, and that camp considers itself the most fortunate which happens to eat under the ministrations of a man who has cooked on a steamboat; but a cook from a lumber camp is rated almost as proudly. [Illustration: "THEY GAINED ERECTNESS BY SLOW JOLTS"] "Ye would not think it," said Dunn, "but some of them men has been bank clerks, and there's doctors and teachers among 'em--everything, in fact, except preachers. I never knew a preacher to get into a railroad gang. The men are always changing--coming and going. We don't have to advertise for new hands. The woods is full of men out of a job, and out of everything--pockets, elbows, and all. They drift in like peddlers on a pay-day. They come here with no more clothing than will wad a gun. The most of them will get nothing after two months' work. You see, they're mortgaged with their fares against them (thirty to forty dollars for them which the railroad brings from the East), and then they have their meals to pay for, at five dollars a week while they're here, and on top of that is all the clothing and shoes and blankets and tobacco, and everything they need--all charged agin them. It's just as well for them, for the most of them are too rich if they're a dollar ahead. There's few of them can stand the luxury of thirty dollars. When they get a stake of them dimensions, the most of them will stay no longer after pay-day than John Brown stayed in heaven. The most of them bang it all away for drink, and they are sure to come back again, but the 'prospectors' and chronic tramps only work to get clothes and a flirting acquaintance with food, as well as money enough to make an affidavit to, and they never come back again at all. Out of 8500 men we had in one big work in Canada, 1500 to 2000 knocked off every month. Ninety per cent. came back. They had just been away for an old-fashioned drunk." It would be difficult to draw a parallel between these laborers and any class or condition of men in the East. They were of every nationality where news of gold-mines, of free settlers' sections, or of quick fortunes in the New World had penetrated. I recognized Greeks, Finns, Hungarians, Danes, Scotch, English, Irish, and Italians among them. Not a man exhibited a coat, and all were tanned brown, and were as spare and slender as excessively hard work can make a man. There was not a superfluity or an ornament in sight as they walked past me; not a necktie, a finger-ring, nor a watch-chain. There were some very intelligent faces and one or two fine ones in the band. Two typical old-fashioned prospectors especially attracted me. They were evidently of gentle birth, but time and exposure had bent them, and silvered their long, unkempt locks. Worse than all, it had planted in their faces a blended expression of sadness and hope fatigued that was painful to see. It is the brand that is on every old prospector's face. A very few of the men were young fellows of thirty, or even within the twenties. Their youth impelled them to break away from the table earlier than the others, and, seizing their rods, to start off for the fishing in the river. But those who thought of active pleasure were few indeed. Theirs was killing work, the most severe kind, and performed under the broiling sun, that at high mountain altitudes sends the mercury above 100 on every summer's day, and makes itself felt as if the rarefied atmosphere was no atmosphere at all. After a long day at the drill or the pick or shovel in such a climate, it was only natural that the men should, with a common impulse, seek first the solace of their pipes, and then of the shake-downs in their tents. I did not know until the next morning how severely their systems were strained; but it happened at sunrise on that day that I was at my ablutions on the edge of the river when Dan Dunn's gong turned the silent forest into a bedlam. It was called the seven-o'clock alarum, and was rung two hours earlier than that hour, so that the men might take two hours after dinner out of the heat of the day, "else the sun would kill them," Dunn said. This was apparently his device, and he kept up the transparent deception by having every clock and watch in the camp set two hours out of time. With the sounding of the gong the men began to appear outside the little tents in which they slept in couples. They came stumbling down the bluff to wash in the river, and of all the pitiful sights I ever saw, they presented one of the worst; of all the straining and racking and exhaustion that ever hard labor gave to men, they exhibited the utmost. They were but half awakened, and they moved so painfully and stiffly that I imagined I could hear their bones creak. I have seen spavined work-horses turned out to die that moved precisely as these men did. It was shocking to see them hobble over the rough ground; it was pitiful to watch them as they attempted to straighten their stiffened bodies after they had been bent double over the water. They gained erectness by slow jolts, as if their joints were of iron that had rusted. Of course they soon regained whatever elasticity nature had left them, and were themselves for the day--an active, muscular force of men. But that early morning sight of them was not such a spectacle as a right-minded man enjoys seeing his fellows take part in. THE END Interesting Works of Travel and Exploration. =Allen's Blue-Grass Region=. The Blue-Grass Region of Kentucky, and other Kentucky Articles. By James Lane Allen. Illustrated. 8vo, Cloth, Ornamental, $2 50. =Miss Edwards's Egypt=. Pharaohs, Fellahs, and Explorers. By Amelia B. Edwards. Profusely Illustrated. 8vo, Cloth, $4 00. =Hearn's West Indies=. Two Years in the French West Indies. By Lafcadio Hearn. Illustrated. Post 8vo, Cloth, Ornamental, $2 00. =Miss Scidmore's Japan=. Jinrikisha Days in Japan. By Eliza Ruhamah Scidmore. Illustrated. Post 8vo, Cloth, Ornamental, $2 00. =Child's South America=. Spanish-American Republics. By Theodore Child. Profusely Illustrated. Square 8vo, Cloth, $3 50. =The Tsar and His People=. The Tsar and His People; or, Social Life in Russia. By Theodore Child, and Others. Profusely Illustrated. Square 8vo, Cloth, Uncut Edges and Gilt Top, $3 00. =Child's Summer Holidays=. Summer Holidays. Travelling Notes in Europe. By Theodore Child. Post 8vo, Cloth, $1 25. =Warner's Southern California=. Our Italy. An Exposition of the Climate and Resources of Southern California. By Charles Dudley Warner. Illustrated. 8vo, Cloth, Ornamental, $2 50. =Warner's South and West=. Studies in the South and West, with Comments on Canada. By Charles Dudley Warner. Post 8vo, Half Leather, $1 75. =Curtis's Spanish America=. The Capitals of Spanish America. By William Eleroy Curtis. With a Colored Map and 358 Illustrations. 8vo, Cloth, Extra, $3 50. =Bridgman's Algeria=. Winters in Algeria. Written and Illustrated by Frederick Arthur Bridgman. Square 8vo, Cloth, Ornamental, $2 50. =Pennells' Hebrides=. Our Journey to the Hebrides. By Joseph Pennell and Elizabeth Robins Pennell. Illustrated. Post 8vo, Cloth, Ornamental, $1 75. =Miss Bisland's Trip Around the World=. A Flying Trip Around the World. By Elizabeth Bisland. With Portrait. 16mo, Cloth, Ornamental, $1 25. =Mrs. Custer's Two Volumes=. Boots and Saddles; or, Life in Dakota with General Custer. With Portrait.--Following the Guidon. Illustrated.--By Mrs. Elizabeth B. Custer. Post 8vo, Cloth, $1 50 each. =Captain King's Campaigning with Crook=. Campaigning with Crook, and Stories of Army Life. By Captain Charles King, U.S.A. Illustrated. Post 8vo, Cloth, $1 25. =Mrs. Wallace's Travel Sketches=. The Storied Sea. By Susan E. Wallace. 18mo, Cloth, $1 00. =Meriwether's A Tramp Trip=. A Tramp Trip. How to See Europe on Fifty Cents a Day. By Lee Meriwether. With Portrait. 12mo, Cloth, Ornamental, $1 25. =Nordhoff's California=. Peninsular California. Some Account of the Climate, Soil, Productions, and Present Condition chiefly of the Northern Half of Lower California. By Charles Nordhoff. Maps and Illustrations. Square 8vo, Cloth, $1 00; Paper, 75 cents. * * * * * Published by HARPER & BROTHERS, New York. Harper & Brothers _will send any of the above works by mail, postage prepaid, to any part of the United States, Canada, or Mexico, on receipt of the price._ =Transcriber's Notes:= original hyphenation, spelling and grammar have been preserved as in the original Page 7, "doctor's workshop" changed to "doctor's workshop." Page 29, "he in vented concerning" changed to "he invented concerning" Page 33, "through why it was" changed to "though why it was" Page 110, "Nine times in-ten" changed to "Nine times in ten" Page 156, "mainland" changed to "main-land" [Ed. for consistency] Page 169, "to get baffalo meat" changed to "to get buffalo meat" Page 238, "that we be come" changed to "that we become" Page 282, "two-and-a half" changed to "two-and-a-half" 
35439	----	CANADA WEST 160 ACRE FARMS in WESTERN CANADA FREE ISSUED BY DIRECTION OF HON. W. J. ROCHE MINISTER OF THE INTERIOR, OTTAWA, CANADA. 1914 [Illustration] LAND REGULATIONS IN CANADA All public lands in Manitoba, Saskatchewan, and Alberta are controlled and administered by the Dominion Government through the Department of the Interior. The lands disposed of as free homesteads (Government grants) under certain conditions involving residence and improvements, are surveyed into square blocks, six miles long by six miles wide, called townships. When these improvements are completed and duties performed, a patent or crown deed is issued. THE FOLLOWING IS A PLAN OF A TOWNSHIP N SIX MILES SQUARE +-----------------------------------------------+ | | | | | | | | | | | | | +-----------------------------------------------+ | | | | | | | | | | | | | +-----------------------------------------------+ | | | | | | | | | | | | | +-----------------------------------------------+ | | | | | | | | | | | | | +-----------------------------------------------+ | | | | | | | | | | | | | +-----------------------------------------------+ W | | | | | | | | | | | | | E +-----------------------------------------------+ | | | | | | | | | | | | | +-----------------------------------------------+ | | | | | | | | | | | | | +-----------------------------------------------+ | | | | | | | | | | | | | +-----------------------------------------------+ | | | | | | | | | | | | | +-----------------------------------------------+ | | | | | | | | | | | | | +-----------------------------------------------+ | | | | | | | | | | | | | +-----------------------------------------------+ S [Illustration: Showing how the land is divided into square sections and square quarter-sections. Also showing how the sections in a township are numbered.] Each township is subdivided into 36 square blocks or sections one mile square and containing 640 acres and numbered from one to thirty-six. Each section is divided into four quarter-sections of 160 acres each. The four quarters of the section are described, as the northeast, the northwest, the southeast and the southwest quarter. =Who Is Eligible.= The sole head of a family or any male eighteen years of age or over, who is a British subject or who declares his intention to become a British subject; a widow having minor children of her own dependent upon her for support. =Acquiring Homestead.= To acquire a homestead applicant must make entry in person, either at the Dominion Lands Office for the district in which the land applied for is situate, or at a sub-agency authorized to transact business in such district. At the time of entry a fee of $10 must be paid. The certificate of entry which is then granted the applicant gives him authority to enter upon the land and maintain full possession of it as long as he complies with the homestead requirements. =Cattle Provision to Secure Homestead.= With certain restriction, stock may be substituted in lieu of cultivation. =Residence.= To earn patent for homestead, a person must reside in a habitable house upon the land for six months during each of three years. Such residence however, need not be commenced before six months after the date on which entry for the land was secured. =Improvement Duties.= Before being eligible to apply for patent, a homesteader must break (plough up) thirty acres of the homestead, of which twenty acres must be cropped. It is also required that a reasonable proportion of this cultivation must be done during each homestead year. =Application for Patent.= When a homesteader has completed his residence and cultivation duties he makes application for patent before the Agent of Dominion Lands for the district in which the homestead is situate, or before a sub-agent authorized to deal with lands in such district. If the duties have been satisfactorily performed patent issues to the homesteader shortly after without any further action on his part, and the land thus becomes his absolute property. =Timber and Fuel.= An occupant of a homestead quarter-section, having no suitable timber of his own, may obtain on payment of a 25-cent fee a permit to cut 3,000 lineal feet of building timber, 400 roof poles, 500 fence posts, 2,000 fence rails. Homesteaders and all bona fide settlers, without timber on their own farms, may also obtain permits to cut dry timber for their own use on their farms for fuel and fencing. CUSTOMS REGULATIONS A settler may bring into Canada, free of duty, live stock for the farm on the following basis, if he has actually owned such live stock abroad for at least six months before his removal to Canada, and has brought them into Canada within one year after his first arrival viz: If horses only are brought in, 16 allowed. If cattle are brought in, 16 allowed; if sheep are brought in 160 allowed; if swine are brought in, 160 allowed. If horses, cattle, sheep and swine are brought in together, or part of each, the same proportions as above are to be observed. Duty is to be paid on live stock in excess of the number above provided for. For customs entry purposes a mare with a colt under six months old is to be reckoned as one animal; a cow with a calf under six months old is also to be reckoned as one animal. Cattle and other live stock imported into Canada are subject to Quarantine Regulations. The following articles have free entry: Settler' effects, free viz: Wearing apparel, household furniture, books, implements and tools of trade, occupation, or employment: guns, musical instruments, domestic sewing machines, typewriters, live stock, bicycles, carts, and other vehicles, and agricultural implements in use by the settler for at least six months before his removal to Canada, not to include machinery or articles imported for use in any manufacturing establishment or for sale; also books, pictures, family plate or furniture, personal effects, and heirlooms left by bequest; provided, that any dutiable articles entered as settlers' effects may not be so entered unless brought with the settler on his first arrival, and shall not be sold or otherwise disposed of without payment of duty until after twelve months' actual use in Canada. The settler will be required to take oath that all of the articles have been owned by himself or herself for at least six months before removal to Canada; and that none have been imported as merchandise, for use in a manufacturing establishment or as a contractor's outfit, or for sale, and that he or she intend becoming a permanent settler within the Dominion of Canada, and that the "Live Stock" enumerated is intended for his or her own use on the farm which he or she is about to occupy (or cultivate), and not for sale or speculative purposes, nor for the use of any other person or persons. FREIGHT REGULATIONS 1. Carloads of Settlers' Effects, the property of the settler, may be made up of the following described property for the benefit of actual settlers, viz: Live stock, any number up to but not exceeding ten (10) head, all told, viz: Cattle, calves, sheep, hogs, mules, or horses (the customs will admit free of duty in numbers referred to in Customs paragraph above, but railway regulations only permit ten head in each car); Household Goods and personal property (second-hand); Wagons or other vehicles for personal use (second-hand); Farm Machinery, Implements, and Tools (all second-hand); Soft-wood Lumber (Pine, Hemlock, or Spruce--only) and Shingles, which must not exceed 2,000 feet in all, or the equivalent thereof; or in lieu of, not in addition to the lumber and shingles, a Portable House may be shipped; Seed Grain, small quantity of trees or shrubbery; small lot live poultry or pet animals; and sufficient feed for the live stock while on the journey. Settlers' Effects rates, however, will not apply on shipments of second-hand Wagons, Buggies, Farm Machinery, Implements, or Tools, unless accompanied by Household Goods. 2. Should the allotted number of live stock be exceeded, the additional animals will be charged for at proportionate rates over and above the carload rate for the Settlers' Effects, but the total charge for any one such car will not exceed the regular rate for a straight carload of Live Stock. 3. Passes--One man will be passed free in charge of live stock when forming part of carloads, to feed, water, and care for them in transit. Agents will use the usual form of Live Stock Contract. 4. Less than carloads will be understood to mean only Household Goods (second-hand), Wagons or other vehicles for personal use (second-hand), and (second-hand) Farm Machinery, Implements, and Tools. Less than carload lots must be plainly addressed. Minimum charge on any shipment will be 100 pounds at regular first-class rate. 5. Merchandise, such as groceries, provisions, hardware, etc., also implements, machinery, vehicles, etc., if new, will not be regarded as Settlers' Effects, and, if shipped, will be charged at the regular classified tariff rates. Agents, both at loading and delivering stations, therefore, give attention to the prevention of the loading of the contraband articles and see that the actual weights are way-billed when carloads exceed 24,000 lbs. on lines north of St. Paul. 6. Top Loads.--Agents do not permit, under any circumstances, any article to be loaded on the top of box or stock cars; such manner of loading is dangerous and absolutely forbidden. 7. Settlers' Effects, to be entitled to the carload rates, cannot be stopped at any point short of destination for the purpose of unloading part. The entire carload must go through to the station to which originally consigned. 8. The carload rates on Settlers' Effects apply on any shipment occupying a car weighing 24,000 pounds or less. If the carload weighs over 24,000 lbs. the additional weight will be charged for. North of St. Paul, Minn., 24,000 lbs. constitutes a carload, between Chicago and St. Paul and Kansas City or Omaha and St. Paul a carload is 20,000 lbs. From Chicago and Kansas City north to St. Paul any amount over this will be charged extra. From points South and East of Chicago, only five horses or heads of live stock are allowed in carloads, any over this will be charged extra; carload 12,000 lbs. minimum. 9. Minimum charge on any shipment will be 100 lbs. at first-class rate. QUARANTINE OF SETTLERS' CATTLE Settlers' cattle must be inspected at the boundary. Inspectors may subject any cattle showing symptoms of tuberculosis to the tuberculin test before allowing them to enter. Any cattle found tuberculous to be returned to the United States or killed without indemnity. Settlers' horses are admitted on inspection if accompanied by certificate of mallein test signed by a United States Inspector of Bureau of Animal Industries, without which they will be inspected at the boundary free of charge by a Canadian Officer. Settler should apply to Canadian Government Office for name of Inspector nearest him. Certificate of any other Veterinarian will not be accepted. Horses found to be affected with glanders within six months of entry are slaughtered without compensation. Sheep may be admitted subject to inspection at port of entry. If disease is discovered to exist in them, they may be returned or slaughtered. Swine may be admitted, when forming part of Settlers' Effects, but only after a quarantine of thirty days, and when accompanied by a certificate that swine plague or hog cholera has not existed in the district whence they came for six months preceding the date of shipment; when not accompanied by such certificate, they must be subject to inspection at port of entry. If diseased to be slaughtered, without compensation. UNITED STATES AGENTS. =M. V. MacINNES=, 176 Jefferson Ave., Detroit, Mich. =C. A. LAURIER=, Marquette, Mich. =J. S. CRAWFORD=, 301 E. Genesee St., Syracuse, N. Y. =W. S. NETHERY=, Room 82, Interurban Station Bldg., Columbus, Ohio. =G. W. AIRD=, 215 Traction-Terminal Bldg., Indianapolis, Ind. =C. J. BROUGHTON=, Room 412, 112 W. Adams St., Chicago, Ill. =GEORGE A. HALL=, 123 Second St., Milwaukee, Wis. =R. A. GARRETT=, 311 Jackson St., St. Paul, Minn. =FRANK H. HEWITT=, 5th St., Des Moines, Iowa. =W. E. BLACK=, Clifford Block, Grand Forks, N. D. =J. M. MacLACHLAN=, Drawer 197, Watertown, S. D. =W. V. BENNETT=, 220 17th St., Room 4, Bee Bldg., Omaha, Neb. =GEO. A. COOK=, 125 W. 9th St., Kansas City, Mo. =BENJ. DAVIES=, Boom 6, Dunn Block, Great Falls, Mont. =J. N. GRIEVE=, Cor. 1st and Post Sts., Spokane, Wash. =J. E. La FORCE=, 29 Weybrosset Street, Providence, R. I. =J. B. CARBONNEAU=, Jr., Biddeford, Me. =MAX A. BOWLBY=, 73 Tremont St., Boston, Mass. =J. A. LAFERRIERE=, 1139 Elm St., Manchester, N. H. =F. A. HARRISON=, 210 North 3d St., Harrisburg, Pa. [Illustration: THE LAST BEST WEST THE CANADA OF OPPORTUNITY] The present demand for food stuffs and the expense of their production on high-priced lands make it seem that Western Canada, with its opportunity for meeting this demand, came into notice at the crucial period. Its millions of acres of land, easily cultivable, highly productive, accessible to railways, and with unexcelled climatic conditions, offer something too great to be overlooked. The provinces of Manitoba, Saskatchewan, and Alberta have the largest area of desirable lands in North America, with but 8 per cent under the plough. Their cultivation has practically just begun. A few years ago the wheat crop amounted to only 71 million bushels. To-day, with only 4 per cent of the available area in wheat, the crop is over 209 million bushels. What, then, will 44 per cent produce? Then look at immigration. In 1901 it was 49,149, of which 17,000 were from the United States; in 1906 it was 189,064, of which 57,000 were Americans; in 1913 it was about 400,000, about 125,000 being Americans. Why did these Americans go to Canada? Because the American farmer, like his Canadian cousin, is a shrewd business man. When an American can sell his farm at from $100 to $200 per acre and homestead in Canada for himself and for each of his sons who are of age, 160 acres of fertile land, capable of producing several bushels more to the acre than he has ever known, he will be certain to make the change. And then, following the capital of brawn, muscle, and sinew, comes American capital, keeping in touch with the industrious farmer with whom it has had dealings for many years. These two, with farming experience, are no small factors in a country's upbuilding. Nothing is said of the great mineral and forest wealth, little of which has been touched. In so short a time, no country in the world's history has attracted to its borders so large a number of settlers prepared to go on the land, or so much wealth, as have the Canadian prairies. Never before has pioneering been accomplished under conditions so favourable as those in Western Canada to-day. It is not only into the prairie provinces that these people go, but many continue westward to the great trees and mountains, and fertile valleys, the glory of British Columbia, where can be grown agricultural products of almost every kind, and where fruit is of great importance. The vast expanse of the plains attracts hundreds of thousands who at once set to work to cultivate their large holdings. But man's work, even in the cities with their record-breaking building rush, is the smallest part of the great panorama that unfolds on a journey through the country. Nature is still supreme, and man is still the divine pigmy audaciously seeking to impose his will and stamp his mark upon an unconquered half continent. =THE HOMEMAKING SPIRIT.=--The most commendable feature in Western development to-day is the "homemaking spirit." The people are finding happiness in planting trees, making gardens, building schools, colleges, and universities, and producing an environment so homelike that the country cannot be regarded as a temporary abode in which to make a "pile" preparatory to returning East. [Illustration: Confiding to his better half what they will do with the proceeds of their crop of wheat, which yielded 41-1/2 bushels per acre.] =THOUSANDS OF AVAILABLE HOMESTEADS.=--The desire of the American people to procure land is strong. Agricultural lands of proved value have so advanced in price that for the man with moderate means, who wishes to farm, finding a suitable location has become a serious question. Fortunately, in Manitoba, Saskatchewan, and Alberta, there are yet thousands of free homesteads of 160 acres each, which may be had by the simple means of filing, paying a ten-dollar entrance fee, and living on the land for six months each year for three years. No long, preliminary journey, tedious, expensive, and hazardous, is necessary. This homesteading has been going on in Canada for several years, and hundreds of thousands of claims have been taken up, but much good land still is unoccupied. Many consider the remaining claims among the best. They comprise lands in the park districts of each of the three provinces, where natural groves give a beauty to the landscape. Here wheat, oats, barley, and flax can be grown successfully, and the districts are admirably adapted to mixed farming. Cattle fatten on the nutritious grasses; dairying can be carried on successfully; timber for building is within reach, and water easy to procure. In addition to the free grant lands, there are lands which may be purchased from railways and private companies and individuals. These lands have not increased in price as their productivity and location might warrant, and may still be had for reasonably low sums and on easy terms. Nowhere else in the world are there such splendid opportunities for indulgence in the land-passion as in Western Canada. Millions of rich acres beckon for occupation and cultivation. Varying soil and climate are suited to contrary requirements--grazing lands for the stock breeder; deep-tilling soils for the market gardener; rolling, partly wooded districts for the mixed-farming advocate; level prairie for the grain farmer; bench lands and hillsides for the cultivator of fruits. ANOTHER GOOD YEAR IN WESTERN CANADA Manitoba, Saskatchewan, and Alberta Have Splendid Crops. The grain crop of 1913 was harvested and threshed in perfect condition. Excepting flax, the average yield was excellent; wheat almost universally graded near the top. Wheat from many fields averaged forty bushels per acre, weighing sixty-five pounds to the measured bushel. Oats ran from fifty to one hundred and fifteen bushels to the acre, and barley kept up the reputation of Western Canada as a producer of that cereal. In many sections the yield of flax exceeded earlier expectations, although in places, winds which blew off the boll caused some loss. Hundreds of farmers of small means who have been in the country only three or four years, paid up all their indebtedness out of the crop of 1913 and put aside something for farm and home improvements. Not only for the farmer with limited means and small acreage has the year been prosperous; the man able to conduct farming on a large scale has been equally successful--and for such, Western Canada offers many opportunities. A farmer in southern Alberta raised 350,000 bushels of grain last year, and made a fortune out of it. In Saskatchewan and in Manitoba is heard the same story of the successful working of large areas. As was to be expected with its unprecedented development, the financial stress during 1913 was felt as keenly throughout Western Canada as anywhere in the country. The fact is that money could not keep pace with the natural demands of 400,000 new people a year. Towns and cities had to be built, farming operations were extensive, and capitalists had not made sufficient preparation. But last year's crop has restored conditions to a normal state, and natural and reasonable development will continue. Owing to a wet fall in 1912 and a heavy snowfall the succeeding winter, seeding in some districts was later than usual. But with the favourable weather of May, June, and July, wheat sown in May ripened early in August. Rains came at the right time, and throughout the season the best of weather prevailed. [Illustration: These cattle winter out in Western Canada and do well. Shelter and water are abundant.] =The Cities Reflect the Growth of the Country.=--Passing through Western Canada from Winnipeg, and observing the cities and towns along the network of railways in Manitoba, Saskatchewan, and Alberta, one feels there must be "something of a country" behind them all. Gaze in any direction and the same view is presented: field after field of waving grain; labourers at work converting the virgin prairie into more fields; wide pasture lands where cattle are fattening on grasses rich in both milk- and beef-producing properties. Here is the wealth that builds the cities. In thirty years Winnipeg has increased in population from 2,000 to 200,000; and become an important gateway of commerce. The wheat alone grown in the three prairie provinces in 1913 is sufficient to keep a steady stream of 1,000 bushels per minute continuously night and day going to the head of the lakes for three and a half months, and in addition to that, the oats and barley would supply this stream for another four months. The value of the grain crop alone would be sufficient to build any of our great transcontinental railroads and all their equipment, everything connected with them, from ocean to ocean. With only 10 per cent of the arable land under cultivation, what will the possibilities be when 288 million acres of the best land that the sun shines on is brought under the plough? Do you not see the portent of a great, vigorous, populous nation living under those sunny skies north of the 49th parallel? =New Railway Mileage Grows at Rapid Rate.=--Every year long stretches of new rails are extended into some hitherto untravelled domain, bringing into subjugation mountain, plain, and forest. Mighty rivers are being bridged, massive mountains are being tunnelled, and real zest is being given this work in the exciting race between the rival companies as they strive to outstrip each other in surmounting Nature's obstacles. During 1913, more than 4,000 miles of new road have been built in Canada, the bulk of this in Western Canada. The latest reports give the total railway mileage in Manitoba, Saskatchewan, and Alberta as 12,760 miles, the Canadian Pacific Railway having 5,534; the Canadian Northern, 4,187; the Grand Trunk Pacific, 1,476; the Great Northern Railway, 162. Manitoba has a total mileage of 4,014; Saskatchewan, 5,679; Alberta, 3,073. The gain over 1912 is about 3,400 miles. =Western Canada's Wheat.=--The quality of Western Canada wheat is recognized everywhere. Recently a U. S. senator said of the Canadian grain fields: "The wheat that Canada raises is the Northwestern hard spring wheat. The cost of raising is less in Canada than in the States, because the new lands there will produce larger crops than the older land on this side of the line, and the land is cheaper than in the United States." According to official figures the total estimated wheat production of Western Canada in 1913 was 209,262,000 bushels, an increase of more than 5 million bushels in 1912. Oats show a total yield of more than 242,413,000 bushels, barley more than 30 million bushels, rye more than 2,500,000 bushels, flax more than 14 million bushels, and mixed grains more than 17 million bushels. Wheat, oats, barley, and rye are above the average quality of the last two years, and potatoes and root crops show a good percentage of standard condition during growth. The value of the harvest is approximately 209 million dollars as compared with about 200 million in 1912. Winnipeg, the grain centre of Western Canada, has received and handled more wheat per day than Chicago, Minneapolis, and Duluth combined. Approximately 191 million bushels of grain were shipped from the elevators at Fort William and Port Arthur during the season of navigation; from the first of September, 1913, until December 20, 127 million bushels of grain were shipped to the east--52,000,000 bushels more than for the same period last year. =What Farmers Receive.=--The amount of grain marketed, and the estimated receipts, based on an average price for September, October, and November, are as follows: Bushels Price per bushel Wheat 97,000,000 .73 $70,000,000 Oats 30,000,000 .30 9,000,000 Barley 9,500,000 .40 3,800,000 Flax 6,500,000 $1.10 7,150,000 Total $89,950,000 =A Splendid Fall.=--The fall of 1913 was exceedingly favourable to the farmer of Western Canada. The weather made it possible to harvest and thresh in the minimum of time, and in some cases permitted a start on fall ploughing early in September, in many parts continuing until December 1st. Owners of traction engines took advantage of clear nights to plough, the powerful headlights throwing a brilliant light across the fields. The men worked in relays, and it was frequently midnight before the big outfits quit. [Illustration: Beginning a home in the prairie--house and table "lands" are built on cement foundation.] [Illustration: Sizing up quantity of hay per acre he would get from his hayfield.] [Illustration: Starting from town with loads of posts for pasture fence.] =Mixed Farming.=--Mixed farming is yielding large profits to those who work intelligently along the lines of intensive farming. In addition to wheat, oats, barley, and flax--alfalfa and other fodder crops are grown, and in some places corn. Every variety of vegetable grows abundantly and sugar beets are a moneymaker. Stock-raising is an important branch of mixed farming, and hogs and sheep are commanding high prices, the demand greatly exceeding the supply. =Sheep.=--The sheep industry in Western Canada pays exceedingly well. In the early days--but a few short years ago--a district south of the Canadian Pacific Railway from Swift Current to Maple Creek was stocked with sheep, and several large ranches made money, but with the onrush of settlement these ranches have been vacated and are now given up to successful grain growing. However, the farmers who now cross the boundary to purchase the best Montana breeds and take them to their farms, in every case report a success as great as that in grain growing. Although no country could be better fitted for sheep raising, and numerous successes have been made, Western Canada imports much of its mutton. =Profits in Horse Raising.=--The raising of horses is receiving increasing attention. Here also a rare opportunity for profit exists, for the market is woefully unsupplied. =Dairying= offers splendid opportunities for profit. In the rapidly growing cities and towns there is a demand for milk, cream, and butter. Creameries and cheese factories are established at accessible points. The feeding of cattle is nominal. =Poultry Products= can be readily marketed, and poultry raisers have done remarkably well. No one knows better than the farmer's wife the saving effected by having a flock of hens, some turkeys, geese and ducks, and the cost of feed is not noticed. =Hog Raising.=--Hog-raising has equal advantages with grain growing. A large quantity of pork that should be supplied at home is now shipped in. Barley, the best staple for hog raising, is easily grown and yields heavily. Alfalfa can be grown with little trouble, and with two crops in a season, and three tons to the acre to a crop, it will play an important part in the hog industry of the future. The Canadian field pea and the rape, also are good feed and produce the very best of pork. Chas. Reid, of Swift Current, who sold a thousand dollars' worth of pork last summer, and then had considerable on hand, has demonstrated that hogs pay better than straight grain raising. He has an income from his farm the whole year round. A farmer near Moose Jaw sold some hogs for $130.00. To the question, "What did they cost?" he answered: "Really nothing. I bought one sow; I have kept two, and I have three to kill for my own use. Of course we had skim milk and buttermilk, and I fed some chop, but what is left is worth all I paid out. I call the $130.00 clear profit." It is the same story in all parts of Manitoba, Saskatchewan, and Alberta. A little attention, plenty of such grain as would go to waste, some shelter, and that's all. Last year many farmers went into hog-raising extensively, and it saved many of them from financial embarrassment; for when money was not obtainable at the banks, farmers having marketable hogs sold them with handsome profit. Several made from $1.00 to $1.20 per bushel for wheat by feeding it to hogs. =Butter and Eggs.=--Large sums are spent regularly in United States markets for butter and eggs to supply the cities and towns of Western Canada, and large quantities of butter are imported from New Zealand. Not only is the demand in the towns, but many wheat-raisers purchase these commodities when they might produce them on their own farms at trifling cost. William Elliott, near Moose Jaw, has eight cows and eighty hens. In less than eight months, his butter and eggs sold for more than $500. All the groceries and the children's clothing and boots, are paid for with butter and egg money. W. H. Johnston, five miles south of Moose Jaw, has thirty cows and milks an average of twenty-five. His gross receipts last summer were from $600 to $700 per month, of which $300 was profit. He grows his own feed, principally oats and hay, and has no worries over harvesting or grain prices. =Truck Gardening.=--Long days of abundant sunshine from May to September, and adequate moisture in the spring and early summer permit of a wide variety of products. The soil is rich and warm, and easily worked. Close attention to cultivation has resulted in record yields of vegetables and small fruits, which bring good prices in the cities. A farmer within five miles of Moose Jaw, who sold vegetables at the city market last year realized more than $300 between August 1, and October 30. He had half an acre in carrots, cabbage, cauliflower, radishes, beans, lettuce and onions, and half an acre in potatoes and turnips. His own table was supplied all summer and enough vegetables were put in the cellar to supply him during the winter and seed potatoes in the spring. [Illustration: R. P. O. Uwell's old home, Clover Bar, Alberta. This old home is now replaced by one of more modern structure.] [Illustration: A comfortable modern home in Western Canada, the old home now used as a granary. William Hamilton--Pioneer.] [Illustration: Segar Wheeler's residence "Rosthern," Sask. is a fair type of many homes in the Canadians.] =Corn Can Be Grown on Canadian Prairies.=--Manitoba is producing corn, chiefly for feed. On September 28, corn nine feet high had developed to the dough stage, and the crop would easily exceed twenty tons to the acre. There are also scattered fields of corn in Saskatchewan and Alberta. Corn is successfully grown in the northern part of Minnesota in similar soil and under the same climatic condition, and there is no apparent reason why like results should not be secured in Western Canada. Many American farmers of experience believe the corn belt is extending northward. =Alfalfa= is an assured crop in many parts of Western Canada and is destined to be the leading forage crop. In a recent competition forty-three entries were made, and every field was one of which farmers of the older alfalfa countries might be proud. In southern Alberta alfalfa is a success; at Edmonton it grows abundantly. Battleford, Prince Albert, Regina, Indian Head, Lacombe, Brandon, and in many other districts alfalfa is grown. =Post Offices.=--Throughout the settled portions of Western Canada are found post offices at which mails are delivered regularly, thus bringing Eastern friends within a few days' reach of those who have gone forward to make homes under new but favourable conditions on the fertile lands of the West. Last year hundreds of new post offices were established, many of them at points remote from the railway, but all demanded by new settlements made during the year. =Roads and Bridges.=--It is said to be the policy of the Canadian Government to do everything possible for the welfare of the settler, whether in accessible new town or remote hamlet. This solicitude is shown in every branch dealing with the organizing of new districts. Bridges have been built, roads constructed, the district policed, and a dozen other conveniences provided. Is it any wonder that with the splendid, high-yielding land, free to the homesteader or open to purchase at reasonable prices from railway and land companies, the Canadian immigration records for 1913 were so high? =Land Laws=.--Canada's land laws were formed after the United States had applied its methods to the free lands of the West, and embody the best United States provisions. They are so framed as not to bear heavily on the settler, whose interests are carefully watched, and are liberally administered. After several years' trial they have proved satisfactory. Titles, or patents, come from the Crown, and on being registered in a Land Titles Office these patents secure a transfer. Taxes outside of cities, towns, and the larger municipalities, are merely nominal and are devoted entirely to the improvement of roads, to educational purposes, to the payment of salaries, and to the erection of public buildings. At least 50 per cent of these costs, and in small struggling communities, 60 per cent or more, is paid by the Government out of the fund produced by the sale of school lands, one-eighth of the country having been reserved for that purpose. =The Banks of Canada.=--The close of 1913 has brought the usual bank statements accompanied by the addresses of the presidents and general managers of these institutions. They deal with economic matters first hand, and show in striking manner the prosperity of the country. Those who know anything of Canadian banking methods know the stability of these institutions, and the high character of the men in charge of them. Mr. Coulson, of the Canadian Bank of Commerce says: "We have had a good harvest. The yield has been generally good, and the quality on the average has never been surpassed. This has been especially so in the Western Provinces, and the unusually favourable weather and abundant transportation facilities afforded by the railroads enabled the movement of grain to be made rapidly." =Canada's New Bank Act.=--During 1913 the decennial revision of the Bank Act took place. Among important changes were: The establishment of the Central Gold Reserves. Authority to lend to farmers on their threshed grain. The provision which enables a bank to lend to a farmer on the security of his threshed grain is extensively utilized. This class of loan is regarded as a moral risk, and banks still depend more upon the character of the borrower than upon the security. =What Bank Managers Have to Say.=--Mr. Balfour, manager of the Union Bank of Canada: "The railway companies have carried out the grain from the Western Provinces this year in a very satisfactory manner." Mr. John Galt, president of the Union Bank of Canada: "Speaking generally, the crop results have been satisfactory. In the three great wheat growing provinces this has been a banner year. Not only has the yield been large, but the average quality has never been equalled, and the cost of harvesting has been unusually low, owing to the magnificent weather. This has, to some extent, offset the low prices which prevailed. The railways have done splendid work in handling the crop. "There is a marked increase in the number of livestock. Farmers are becoming more fully alive to the advantages they derive from this source and are realizing that their borrowing credit is greatly enhanced if they can show a good proportion of cattle in their assets, and banks should look with favour on loans for the purchase and handling of livestock." Robert Campbell, general manager of the Northern Crown Bank, gives strong testimony of the wealth of Western Canada: "It is important at a time like the present for every business concern, financial or otherwise, to show by its statement that collections have been good. We may congratulate ourselves upon the showing we have made in this. Notwithstanding that we have made new loans amounting to millions of dollars since the crop was harvested, our old loans have been paid off so rapidly that our liquid assets were not reduced. "This state of affairs is attributable to the fine weather we have experienced in the West, which enabled the farmers to harvest their grain early and quickly and to the unusual rapidity with which the crop was moved by the railway companies." [Illustration: Corn is not generally grown in Western Canada, but this 320 acres shows a splendid yield, and considerable is now grown for fodder.] PROVINCIAL PREMIERS ARE OPTIMISTIC =Manitoba is Stronger.=--Sir Rodmond Roblin has no pessimism regarding the outlook in Manitoba. He says: "The improvements upon farm and field excite the admiration of those interested in agriculture, while our population has been very considerably increased by a healthy, intelligent, and industrious class of new-comers. Manitoba, is much stronger financially, numerically, commercially, industrially and educationally than she was in the year 1912. Her progress and development are rapid, healthy, and permanent." =Hope and Cheer in Saskatchewan.=--Hon. Walter Scott: "The sheet anchor of Saskatchewan is its soil, which (excluding, of course, the far north) comprises a larger proportion of land capable of sustaining a farming population than any area of similar vastness on the globe. Nothing but inconceivable recklessness and waste can prevent its remaining for all time a great agricultural province, and nothing can seriously check its steady forward movement." =Alberta on Sound Footing.=--Hon. A. L. Sifton: "Alberta was never on a sounder footing than it is to-day. It has reaped the best crop in her history, and stands in line for her share of the millions earned by the farmers of Western Canada for their wheat and other grains. Coarse grains for feeding purposes are beginning to predominate with the advent of mixed farming. A gratifying increase in the number of dairy cows and hogs is reported from every district, indicating a new source of wealth, a more constant revenue for the farmer and a new basis of credit for farming operations." =Splendid Outlook in British Columbia.=--Sir Richard McBride says: "That British Columbia, judged by the healthy growth in population and in general industries during the past year, and the splendid outlook, may confidently be expected to have increased prosperity in 1914. Mining will show a larger output for the current year and the same may be said of agriculture and other occupations. Generous and wise expenditure for adding to the already extensive road system, the building of necessary public works, as well as the enormous amount of railway construction all conduce to the opening up and settlement of immense areas, hitherto almost dormant." PANAMA CANAL AND CANADA =The London Times=, speaking of the Panama Canal, says: "Although there is considerable speculation in trade and political circles as to the effect of the opening of the Panama Canal, enthusiasts in the West predict that Western Canada generally will increase in population and wealth to an extent beyond conception. The Canal will have the effect of bringing the outposts of Empire inside the commercial arena. The new water route, combined with improved railway facilities, will certainly improve the position of Western Canada in the battle for the world's markets." WHAT HAS BEEN SAID ABOUT WESTERN CANADA =Mr. James J. Hill.=--"Within a few years the United States will not be exporting any wheat, but it will become a market for the wheat of Canada." =Dr. Wm. Saunders=, Director of the Canadian Government Experimental Farm at Ottawa, Canada: "The Canadian Northwest can supply not only sufficient wheat for a local population of thirty millions, but have left over for export three times as much as the total import of the British Isles. One-fourth of its arable land is devoted to wheat." =Professor Shaw.=--"The first foot of soil in the provinces of Manitoba, Saskatchewan and Alberta is worth more than all the mines from Alaska to Mexico, and more than all the forests from the boundary to the Arctic ocean. One acre of the average soil in Western Canada is worth more than ten acres of average land in the United States." =Professor Tanner.=--"The black earth of Central Russia, the richest soil in the world, has to yield its distinguished position to rich, deep, fertile soil of Western Canada. Here the most fertile soil of the world is to be found. These soils are rich vegetable humus or clay loam with good clay subsoil. To the high percentage of nitrogen is due the high percentage of gluten which gives the 'Canadian No. 1 Hard' the flouring qualities which have spread its fame abroad to the ends of the earth." =St. Paul Farmer.=--During a recent trip through Western Canada, the editor of the _St. Paul Farmer_, in referring to Government forces in agriculture, spoke of the interest that the Dominion and the Provincial Governments took in farming and farm education, as "complete and effective." =The General Manager= of a Canadian bank is reported to have said that, "owing to the speedy manner in which grain came forward in the fall of 1913, our farmer customers in the prairie provinces paid off about three million dollars of liabilities between September 20, and October 10." =Hon. W. T. White=, speaking at a New York meeting, said: "We used to give you good Canadians but now we are getting back good Americans. Ours came from the east, yours are going into our west. Some of the most practical citizens, the best Canada has to-day, are the Americans. We received last year no less than 140,000. Manitoba, Saskatchewan, Alberta, three provinces, have each a larger territory than modern Germany, less than ten per cent under cultivation. This year they had a crop of over 200 million bushels of wheat. You cannot get any country where contracts are more faithfully regarded or obligations more carefully safeguarded by law than in Canada." =Sir Thomas Shaughnessy.=--"Immigration into Canada cannot cease, for it is due to economic conditions which show no signs of changing." =David R. Forgan.=--"Nothing can check a country which can raise the amount of wheat which has been raised in Western Canada this year. Any checks which the country may have had as a result of the world-wide money conditions are entirely beneficial to the country. Numbers of young men, the sons of farmers in the States, are now coming to Canada, and are taking up land much cheaper and equally as good as they could get in the States." =Lord William Percy= of England: "The possibilities and opportunities offered by the West are infinitely greater than those which exist in England." =Colonel Donald Walter Cameron= of Lochiel, Scotland, Chief of the Cameron Clan: "We cannot blame our people for coming out here, where there are so many opportunities as compared with those afforded in Scotland. I thought possibly a trip through Canada would give us some plan as to how to stop the wholesale emigration from Scotland, but, after seeing this wonderful country and the opportunities on every side, where one man has as good chances as his neighbor, I have come to the conclusion that nothing more can be done." =Speaker Clark=.--In commenting on Speaker Clark's remarks expressing regret at the number of Americans who had gone to Canada in one week, the _Chicago News_ says: "The appropriate sentiment for the occasion would seem to be a God-speed to the emigrants. They are acting as the American pioneers did before them, and are taking what appears to them to be the most promising step for improving their fortunes. The bait is wild land, and it is not affected by national boundaries." =Mayor Deacon,= Winnipeg: "No man who sets foot in Canada is more entirely and heartily welcome than the agriculturist from the South." An eminent American writer after a recent visit to the Canadian West in speaking of the American immigration to Canada, says: "Any country that can draw our citizens to it on such a scale must have about it something above the ordinary, and that Canada has in many ways." [Illustration: Figuring out the result of the year's crop. The yield of which he estimates at over forty bushels per acre of wheat.] =Dean Curtiss= of Ames Agricultural College, Iowa, says: "We of the United States think we know how to get behind agriculture and push, but the Canadians dare to do even more than we do in some respects. They have wonderful faith in the future: they hesitate at no undertaking that offers prospects of results. More significant still is the wide co-operation for agricultural promotion, including the government, private individuals, and corporations and the railroads. "Manitoba has in the last two years provided about as much money for the building of an agricultural plant as Iowa has appropriated in half a century. It has given in two years $2,500,000 for buildings and grounds for its agricultural institutions. Saskatchewan is building a plant for its university and agricultural college on a broader and more substantial plan than has been applied to any similar institution in this country. Yet neither province has more than half a million population. "For public schools equally generous provision is made. They are being built up to give vocational and technical training as well as cultural. They fit the needs of the country excellently and should turn out fine types of boys and girls. They do this with a remarkable faith in the value of right education." Dean Curtiss was much interested in the many ways the Canadian Government aids agriculture, aside from appropriations for education. It is helping to solve marketing problems; encouraging better breeding of livestock by buying sires and reselling them at cost, and doing many other things of like character. He says: "I found that the Government is advancing from 50 to 85 per cent of the money necessary to build coöperative creameries and elevators. Where cattle need breeding up, the Government buys bulls of dairy, Shorthorn, or special dairy breeds, and sends them in at cost and long time payments." The words "Canadian wheat" are familiar to all, but many have not yet participated in the benefits derived by those who, within the past few years, have placed their capital in Canadian wheat lands. They, who, through foresight, so invested, they who broke the first furrow, have reaped bountifully. The development of the fertile plains and valleys of Western Canada is still in its infancy. The accomplishments of the past few years, while truly wonderful, have but proven the great resources and future capabilities of this vast country. The growth of to-day will be insignificant compared with the achievements of the next few years. The homestead shack is now giving place to the comfortable residence, large barns are being erected where the improvised log and mud stable sheltered a few head of cattle, fields are fenced, roads built, and great fields of grain and luxuriant pastures are always in evidence. =The Climate.=--Owing to the altitude, Western Canada is one of the finest and most healthful sections in the world. Speaking generally it is at least a thousand feet higher above sea level than the Middle Western States, thus giving a dry, bracing air, much like portions of Colorado. During a large part of the summer the days are hot and sunny, with more than twenty hours of daylight and consequently growing weather, in each day. The nights, however, are always cool and restful and are largely responsible for the splendid vitality of Western men. The winters are truly splendid. Usually farming operations on the land are stopped by frost from the 12th to the 15th of November although some years they have been continued into December. Usually late in November snow falls, and with the exception of those districts where Chinook winds are frequent, will remain until the following spring, disappearing early in March. During this time there is clear, bright, dry, sunny weather and an intensely invigorating atmosphere. The average winter temperature ranges from zero to twenty-two above zero, according to the district. Occasionally severe cold weather will occur, lasting for two or three days, but this is not unknown in the Middle Western States. One of the greatest advantages is the hard frost, during the winter. This freezes the ground to a depth of several feet. In the spring, thawing naturally commences at the top. As soon as the top soil is sufficiently thawed the land is sown, the cultivation forming a mulch which conserves the moisture in the frozen ground underneath. With the increasing warmth of early summer, the lower frost gradually thaws out and this moisture aids largely in the growth of the young crop. The heaviest rainfall occurs in June, when it is most needed and does the most good to the growing crops. The rainfall of western Canada varies from 16 to 28 inches. The farmers are usually working upon the land during the first week in April. This gives a long growing season and plenty of time to dispose of the crop and get the land prepared, ready for the next season's operation. METEOROLOGICAL RECORD FOR JANUARY, 1913 Precipi- Experimental Degrees of Temperature tation Hours of Farm or Highest Lowest Mean in Sunshine Station at Inches Possible Actual Brandon, Man 36.9 -37.6 24.60 .11 268 73.6 Indian Head, Sask 40.0 -45.0 -6.51 .80 266 57.9 Rosthern, Sask 38.6 -49.5 13.30 .55 252 73.9 Scott, Sask 38.8 -48.8 -9.47 .59 255 83.9 Lacombe, Alta 45.3 -35.6 .67 .93 257 63.3 Lethbridge, Alta 47.0 -30.0 7.49 .80 269 91.9 DECEMBER, 1912 Brandon, Man 39.9 27.2 9.30 1.00 254 61.1 Indian Head, Sask 39.0 19.0 13.19 1.23 248 53.2 Rosthern, Sask 38.8 23.2 8.15 .50 233 62.4 Scott, Sask 44.1 19.8 16.86 .27 238 91.3 Lacombe, Alta 58.6 10.6 21.98 .03 238 7.42 Lethbridge, Alta 50.1 0.9 27.16 .23 254 102.3 [Illustration: A scene showing farming on a large scale in the park districts of Western Canada. Water is good and plentiful in this district.] SWEEPSTAKE UPON SWEEPSTAKE A Manitoba Steer Carries Off Honors Similar to Those Won by a Half-brother in 1912. Saskatchewan wins and now owns the Colorado Silver Trophy for best oats in the world. When Glencarnock I, the Aberdeen-Angus steer, owned by Mr. McGregor of Brandon, Manitoba, carried off the Sweepstakes at the Chicago Live Stock Show in 1912, it was considered a great victory for barley, oats and grass, versus corn. That there might be no doubt as to the superiority of barley feeding, Manitoba climate, and judgment in selecting the animal, in 1913 Mr. McGregor entered another Aberdeen-Angus, a half-brother to the winner of 1912, and secured a second victory. In other classes also Mr. McGregor had excellent winnings. Glencarnock's victory proves not only the superiority of the new feeding, but that the climate of the prairie provinces of Western Canada, in combination with the rich foods possessed by that country, tends to make cattle raising a success at little cost. Other winnings at the Live Stock Show which placed Western Canada in the class of big victories were: three firsts, seven seconds, and five other prizes in Clydesdales. Among recent victories won by Western Canada within the past three years: In February, 1911, Hill & Sons, of Lloydminster, Saskatchewan, showed a peck of oats at the National Corn Exposition in Columbus, Ohio, and carried off the Colorado Silver Trophy, valued at $1,500.00. In February, 1913, they had a similar victory at Columbia, N. C., the third and final winning was at Dallas, Texas, on February 17, 1914, when Hill & Son's oats defeated all other entries. In 1911, Seager Wheeler, of Rosthern, won $1,000 in gold at the New York Land Show for best hundred pounds of wheat. In 1912, at the Dry Farming Congress, Lethbridge, Mr. Holmes of Cardston won an engine for best wheat in the world. In 1913, at Tulsa, Oklahoma, Mr. P. Gerlack, of Allan, Saskatchewan, carried off the honors and a threshing machine for the best bushel of wheat shown in a world competition. It was the Marquis variety and weighed 71 lbs. to the bushel. At this congress, Canada won a majority of the world's honours in individual classes, and seven out of the sixteen sweepstakes. Other first prizes taken at the same place were: Barley, Nicholas Tétinger, Claresholm, Alberta. Oats, E. J. Lanigan, Elfross, Saskatchewan. Flax, John Plews, Carnduff, Saskatchewan. Sheaf of barley, A. H. Crossman, Kindersley, Saskatchewan. Sheaf of flax, R. C. West, Kindersley, Saskatchewan. Sheaf of oats, Arthur Perry, Cardston, Alberta. In district exhibits, Swift Current, Saskatchewan, won the Board of Trade Award, with Maple Creek second. Red Fife Spring Wheat, E. A. Fredrick, Maple Creek. Other variety of Hard Spring Wheat, S. Englehart, Abernethy, Saskatchewan. Black Oats, Alex Wooley, Norton, Alberta. Oats, any other variety, Wm. S. Simpson, Pambrun, Saskatchewan. Western Rye Grass, W. S. Creighton, Stalwart, Saskatchewan. Sheaf of Red Fife Wheat, R. H. Carter, Fort Qu'Appelle, Saskatchewan. Sheaf of Marquis Wheat, G. H. Carney, Dysart, Saskatchewan. Two-Rowed Barley, R. H. Carter, Fort Qu'Appelle, Saskatchewan. Six-Rowed Barley, R. H. Carter, Fort Qu'Appelle, Saskatchewan. Western Rye Grass, Arthur Perry, Cardston, Alberta. Alsike Clover, Seager Wheeler, Rosthern, Saskatchewan. =Agricultural Education in Western Canada.=--Scientific farming probably can be pursued with more profit and advantage in Western Canada than in any other portion of the continent. What can be achieved may be judged by what has been accomplished by the thousands who with not even a theoretical knowledge have made it a success. The various governments have provided for the development of a class of farmers who, in the possession of the rich soil of the country, with its abundant humus, its phosphates, and large endowment of other properties will make of it the greatest farming region of the known world. AREAS OF LAND AND WATER According to the latest measurements the land and water areas of the three provinces, as at the Census of 1911, are as follows: -------------+-------------+------------+------------ Provinces | Land | Water | Total -------------+-------------+------------+------------ | acres | acres | acres Manitoba | 41,169,098 | 6,019,200 | 47,188,298 Saskatchewan | 155,764,480 | 5,323,520 | 161,088,000 Alberta | 161,872,000 | 1,510,400 | 163,382,400 Total | 358,805,578 | 12,853,120 | 371,658,698 -------------+-------------+------------+------------ Note--By the Extension of Boundaries Act, 1912, the area of Manitoba was increased by 113,984,000 acres, bringing the total to 161,172,298 acres, of which 12,739,600 acres are water. The areas of Manitoba in this article relate solely however to the province as constituted before the Act of 1912. Comparative Areas of wheat, oats, and barley in the three Western Provinces: [Transcriber's Note: This table was split into three parts for the text version] ==============+======================+===========+==========+ Provinces | 1900 | 1910 | | | | --------------+-----------+----------+-----------+----------+ | Bushels | Acres | Bushels | Acres | +-----------+----------+-----------+----------+ Manitoba-- | | | | | Wheat | 18,352,929| 1,965,193| 34,125,949| 2,760,371| Oats | 10,952,365| 573,848| 30,378,379| 1,209,173| Barley | 2,666,567| 139,660| 6,506,634| 416,016| Saskatchewan--| | | | | Wheat | 4,306,091| 487,170| 66,978,996| 4,228,222| Oats | 2,270,057| 141,517| 58,922,791| 1,888,359| Barley | 187,211| 11,798| 3,061,007| 129,621| Alberta-- | | | | | Wheat | 797,839| 43,103| 9,060,210| 879,301| Oats | 3,791,259| 118,025| 16,099,223| 783,072| Barley | 287,343| 11,099| 2,480,165| 121,435| ==============+===========+==========+===========+==========+ ==============+======================+======================+ Provinces | 1911 | 1912 | | | | --------------+-----------+----------+-----------+----------+ | Bushels | Acres | Bushels | Acres | +-----------+----------|-----------+----------+ Manitoba-- | | | | | Wheat | 62,689,000| 3,094,833| 63,017,000| 2,839,000| Oats | 60,037,000| 1,307,434| 57,154,000| 1,348,000| Barley | 14,949,000| 448,105| 15,826,000| 481,000| Saskatchewan--| | | | | Wheat |109,075,000| 5,256,474|106,960,000| 5,582,000| Oats |107,594,000| 2,332,912|117,537,000| 2,556,000| Barley | 8,661,000| 273,988| 9,595,000| 292,000| Alberta-- | | | | | Wheat | 36,602,000| 1,639,974| 34,303,000| 1,590,000| Oats | 59,034,000| 1,221,217| 67,630,000| 1,461,000| Barley | 4,356,000| 164,132| 6,179,000| 187,000| ==============+===========+==========+===========+==========+ ==============+=======================+=============== Provinces | 1913 |Average for 5 | |years 1908-1912 --------------+------------+----------+------+-------- | Bushels | Acres | Bush.| Price +------------+----------+------+-------- Manitoba-- | | | | Wheat | 53,331,000| 2,804,000| 18.17| $0.75 Oats | 56,759,000| 1,398,000| 37.40| 0.30 Barley | 14,305,000| 496,000| 27.54| 0.40 Saskatchewan--| | | | Wheat | 121,559,000| 5,720,000| 19.06| 0.65 Oats | 114,112,000| 2,755,000| 40.88| 0.27 Barley | 10,421,000| 332,000| 29.09| 0.38 Alberta-- | | | | Wheat | 34,372,000| 1,512,000| 20.22| 0.61 Oats | 71,542,000| 1,639,000| 41.18| 0.27 Barley | 6,334,000| 197,000| 28.98| 0.35 ==============+============+==========+======+======== [Illustration: Cattle on the uplands as well as the open plain do well in all parts of Western Canada.] [Illustration: Horses range most of the year in many parts of Saskatchewan and Alberta.] MANITOBA The most easterly of the three Central Provinces--lies in the centre of the North American continent--midway between the Pacific and Atlantic oceans, its southern boundary running down to the 49th parallel, which separates it from the United States, its northeasterly boundary being Hudson Bay. It may well be termed one of the Maritime Provinces of Canada. Manitoba is one-fourth larger than Germany, its area covering 252,000 square miles or about 161 million acres. If a family were placed on every half section of the surveyed land in Manitoba, more than 600,000 persons would be actually living in the Province. =Available Homesteads.=--One and a half million acres of land are open for free homesteading in Manitoba--east of the Red River, and between lakes Winnipeg and Manitoba, also west of Lake Manitoba and in the newly opened districts along the railway lines. The wooded areas of these districts will make a strong appeal to those who appreciate the picturesque. Where the timber is light scrub, it is easily removed, while the heavy forest richly repays the cost of clearing. Lakes, rivers, and creeks are numerous, and wells of moderate depth furnish water for domestic purposes. Homestead lands are easily reached and the value of land is steadily advancing. Two hundred and thirty-two homesteads were filed in Winnipeg in December, 1913--almost twice the number filed during December, 1912. =Available Farm Lands=, apart from homesteads, can be secured at $12 to $15 per acre for raw prairie, while improved farms command $35 to $40. =Improved Farms= may be secured in all parts of Manitoba from owners who have grown wealthy and are in a position to retire. =Soil and Surface.=--The surface of Manitoba is not a flat, bare stretch, a "bald-headed prairie." A large part of the land, especially in the south, is, indeed, the flat bed of a wide, prehistoric lake; but even in the southwest the land rises into wooded hills, and in the southeast, close to the Lake-of-the-Woods country, there is a genuine forest. In Western Manitoba are forested areas, and timbered districts exist on the Turtle Mountains and the Brandon Hills. The true forest persists in Central Manitoba as far as the Duck Mountains. From all these points quantities of lumber, fence posts, and firewood are sent to the prairie settlers. The rivers and lakes are skirted by a plentiful tree growth. Down through the heart of the Province stretch two great lake chains. Lake Winnipeg and lakes Winnipegosis and Manitoba, which receive the waters of the Saskatchewan and Assiniboine from the west, and discharge through the Nelson River to Hudson Bay. Sloping to the west from the Lake Manitoba plain is a range of gentle hills known as the Duck Mountains, Riding Mountains, and the Porcupine Hills. These hills in no way alter the fact that almost the whole land surface of Central and Southern Manitoba west of its great lakes is ready for cultivation. The northern portion of the Province, though not surveyed, is known to contain a large area of good agricultural land. Manitoba's soil is a deep rich loam, inexhaustible in its productiveness. There are 25-1/2 million acres of land surveyed, about one-fourth of which was under crop in 1913. =Grain Growing.=--Manitoba is noted for its wheat crops and has already an established prestige in yields of oats, rye, and flax; in some parts corn is being grown. In certain districts good yields of winter wheat are reported. The grain statistics for the Province reveal an interesting condition. In 1901 there were 1,965,200 acres of land under wheat, and in 1910 the area had grown to 3,094,833 acres. In 1913, this had increased to 3,141,218 acres. The land under oats, in 1913, amounted to 1,939,723 acres; barley, 1,153,834 acres, and flax, 115,054 acres. The average yield of wheat in 1913 was 20 bushels; oats, 42 bushels. The total grain crop in the Province for 1913 was 178,775,946 bushels, grown on 6,364,880 acres, compared with 182,357,494 for 1912, the decrease being due to a falling off in oats of nearly 7 million bushels and in flax of more than 1 million bushels. Of the 1913 grain crop spring and fall wheat together occupied an area of 3,141,218 acres and yielded 62,755,455 bushels. Oats occupied an area of 1,939,723 acres and yielded 81,410,174 bushels. Barley occupied an area of 1,153,834 acres and yielded 33,014,693 bushels. Flax, rye, and peas occupied an area of 130,105 acres and yielded 1,595,624 bushels. The above are Provincial Government returns. =Potatoes and Field Roots.=--The yield of potatoes for 1913 was 9,977,263 bushels from an area of 55,743 acres, and that of field roots 4,196,612 bushels from an area of 16,275 acres. The average yield of potatoes was about 180 bushels per acre; field roots 257 bushels. Total value, about $2,100,000. =Fodder Crops.=--Brome grass contributed 43,432 tons from an area of 24,912 acres. Rye grass 33,907 tons from an area of 21,197 acres. Timothy 181,407 from an area of 118,812 acres. Clover and alfalfa together contributed 20,454 tons from an area of 10,037 acres, and fodder corn 119,764 tons from an area of 20,223 acres. Total value about 2 million dollars. Alfalfa is largely grown at Gilbert Plains, Roblin, Swan River and Grand View. The figures given are from Provincial Government returns. =The Season.=--Although spring opened a few days earlier than usual, seeding was quite general on well drained land by April 15th. From that date until the end of the month the weather was exceptionally favourable, and by May 10th, on well prepared land, nearly all the seeding was over. During the first three weeks of May the weather was quite cool, and growth was slow; but with warmer weather the last week's growth was more rapid. There was an abundance of moisture from the previous fall, and despite the low temperature during May, wheat was well advanced by the end of the month. [Illustration: Putting up wild hay in Manitoba, which frequently yields from 1-1/2 to 2 tons per acre.] [Illustration: Central and Southern MANITOBA For Map of Northern Manitoba see pages 14 and 15] The early part of June was dry with high temperature; but in the latter part of this month rain was more plentiful, especially in the western part of the Province. The rainfall in July was below the average, and the temperature lower than usual. Harvesting was general by the middle of August. The excellent condition of the land at seeding time, the favourable weather during germination and growth, and the ideal harvesting and threshing weather, exercised the greatest influence in determining the high grade of all grains as well as materially reducing the cost of harvesting. =Mixed Farming= has become quite general in Manitoba, practically every farmer now having his herd of cattle or flock of sheep. His fattened hogs find a steadily increasing market at good prices, while poultry is a source of revenue. The vegetable crop is always a success; wonderful yields of potatoes and roots are regularly recorded. Many portions of the country, partially wooded and somewhat broken, which were formerly overlooked, are now proving desirable for mixed farming. These park districts have sufficient area for growing grain, hay, and grasses. The poplar groves scattered here afford excellent shelter for cattle and, in many cases, furnish valuable building material. The district lying east and southeast of Winnipeg is rapidly being settled. It is well served by the Canadian Pacific, Canadian Northern, and Grand Trunk Pacific Railways. Rainfall here as elsewhere throughout the Province is adequate, and well water easily secured. Much of this land is available for homesteads, while other portions may be purchased at a low price from the railway and land companies. This applies to Swan River and Dauphin districts. Hon. George Lawrence, Minister of Agriculture, says: "Conditions in Manitoba are excellent for livestock of all kinds, and the money-making possibilities in producing all manner of food are beyond question. "The output of the creameries last year was close to 4,000,000 pounds. They cannot, however, begin to meet the demand. It is the same with eggs, poultry, beef, pork, mutton, vegetables, and all foodstuffs. The opportunity for the man who will go in for mixed farming in this Province is consequently obvious." =Dairying= yielded about 3-1/2 million dollars in 1913 for butter, and then failed to supply local demand, a quantity of milk, cream, and butter being imported. Winnipeg alone used over three-quarters of a million dollars' worth of milk and cream in 1913. The demand is increasing with the growth of the cities throughout the west, and splendid opportunities exist in this field. Cheese sold in 1913 at 12-1/2 cents per pound, dairy butter at 23.4 cents, and creamery butter at 27.5 cents. Dairy schools, under control of the Agricultural College are well equipped and under the guidance of professors of high standing. =Businesslike Farming.=--Nowhere on the continent more than in Manitoba has farming advanced to the dignity of a thoroughly businesslike occupation. Here the farmer works, not merely for a living, but for a handsome profit. Instances are frequent where large areas under wheat have given a clear profit of over $12 an acre. All the labour of ploughing, seeding, harvesting, and marketing is included at $7.50 per acre with hired help. Even allowing $8, it is a poor year that will not yield a handsome margin. The greatest monopoly of the future will be land. Wheat is the greatest food cereal. Lands suitable to the growth of No. 1 hard wheat are extremely limited. While the demand for wheat is increasing, the wheat belt of the United States is decreasing yearly in acreage and yield, with the result that within a few years the United States will have to import and scramble for a lion's share of the wheat crops of the world. The following tables give the acreage, average and total yield of wheat oats, barley, and flax for the last seven years. Provincial government returns, WHEAT OATS Year Acreage Average Total Acreage Average Total Yield Yield Yield Yield 1907 2,789,553 14.22 39,688,266.6 1,213,596 34.8 42,140,744 1908 2,850,640 17.23 49,252,539 1,216,632 36.8 44,686,043 1909 2,642,111 17.33 45,774,707.7 1,373,683 37.1 50,983,056 1910 2,962,187 13.475 39,916,391.7 1,486,436 28.7 42,647,766 1911 3,350,000 18.29 61,058,786 1,625,000 45.3 73,786,683 1912 2,823,362 20.07 58,433,579 1,939,982 46.0 87,190,677 1913 3,141,218 19.30 62,755,455 1,939,723 42.0 81,410,174 BARLEY FLAX Year Acreage Average Total Acreage Average Total Yield Yield Yield Yield 1907 649,570 25.7 16,752,724.3 25,915 12.25 317,347 1908 658,441 27.54 18,135,757 50,187 11.18 502,206 1909 601,008 27.31 16,416,634 20,635 12.26 253,636 1910 624,644 20.75 12,960,038.7 41,002 9.97 410,928 1911 760,000 31.5 21,000,000 86,000 14.00 1,205,727 1912 962,928 35.0 33,795,191 191,315 13.06 2,671,729 1913 1,153,834 28.0 33,014,693 -- -- -- =Education.=--Manitobans expend a greater percentage of public funds for schools than for any other purpose. Private schools, business colleges and public libraries, as numerous and as well equipped as those in similar communities anywhere, are established in all important cities and towns and these with the excellent public schools afford educational facilities equal to those of any country. There are also a number of Catholic parochial schools. The Dominion Experimental Farm at Brandon is doing much to educate the farming population of the Province. Accurate records of all practical experiments are kept and the information is given to settlers free. Dairy schools, farmers' institutes, livestock, fruit growers, agricultural, and horticultural associations also furnish free instruction as to the most successful methods practised in their callings. =Railways= have anticipated the future, so that few farmers are more than eight or ten miles from a railway. Manitoba now has 3,895 miles of railway as compared with 1,470 miles in 1893. The Canadian Pacific has 1,620 miles, Canadian Northern 1,809, and the Grand Trunk 366, and extensions will be made by all lines this year. Railway lines being built to Hudson Bay will make large mineral deposits available. When this territory is surveyed there will be opened up a wonderfully rich area, capable of maintaining an immense population. This added territory gives a port on Hudson Bay, from which vessels can carry the farm produce of the West to old country markets. =Climate.=--Unlike some other provinces, Manitoba's climatic conditions are uniform throughout. There is much sunshine the year round. The summer is pleasant, warm, and conducive to rapid and successful growth. The long autumns are usually agreeable, ploughing weather sometimes extending to the end of November. The winters rarely last more than three or four months, and because of the dry atmosphere, the low temperature is not as much felt as in countries with more moisture. The snow is never deep, and travel in winter by team or rail is rarely impeded by drifts. The annual precipitation is 21.4 inches. The crop season in Manitoba extends from April to October, inclusive. Seeding frequently starts early in April, and threshing usually lasts through October. The mean temperature for the period, April 1 to September 30, in 1913 was 55 degrees Fahrenheit. The mean temperature in October was only 34.40 Fahrenheit, but threshing can be done in cold weather as readily as in warm, with no injurious effects. The total precipitation in the Province was smaller than usual--for the growing season 9.67 inches, but rain was well distributed: May 1.04 inches; June 2.34 inches; July 1.70 inches; August 3.56 inches, and September .68 inches. The average sunshine was 7.3 hours daily. The mean temperature of the country is 32.7; January 5.2; July 66.1. [Illustration: Here is a usual scene in Western Canada during the harvesting season.] [Illustration: The raising of hogs is a highly profitable industry in Western Canada. They are easily fattened on barley, oats and alfalfa.] =Picnicing on December 11, 1913.=--The mild weather of the past few months has been general throughout the Province of Manitoba. At Melita, on December 11th, the citizens suspended business and had a picnic at River Park on the outskirts of the town, and there was no discomfort from heat or cold. =Fruit.=--Small fruits did well in 1913. Apples are not grown extensively, but several orchards in the Province were well laden. The orchard of Mr. Stephenson, near Morden, was the most notable, and produced a crop of several hundred barrels of apples, as well as an abundance of crabs, cherries, and other fruits. At the recent Land and Apple Show in Winnipeg, native apples compared very favourably with those from Provinces which pride themselves on their horticultural possibilities. =Sugar Beets.=--In growing sugar beet, Manitoba has had success. Syrup produced from sugar beets grown at Morden was of good consistency and the colour indicated that good sugar could be manufactured from it. =Game and Fish.=--Manitoba's fishery output represents an annual value of over one million dollars. There is plenty of good fishing. Wild ducks, geese, and swans haunt the lakes and rivers, while on the prairies are flocks of prairie chicken. =Manitoba Farm Lands Year.=--In addition to circumstances which point to next year as an important one to farming interests, there is one great factor which will undoubtedly have much to do with the sale and development of farms. This is the fact that the people of Manitoba realize the necessity for mixed farming. This means the breaking up of large tracts of land into smaller farms and therefore a largely increased population. Even while the present year has been one of some financial stringency the demand for farm lands has steadily increased. WHAT SOME MANITOBA FARMERS HAVE DONE =Gladstone, Man.=, reports that the wheat crop of 1913 exceeded all expectations; 30 bushels per acre was the general yield. The grade was never better. One farmer had 400 acres in wheat, which weighed 66 pounds to the bushel. =Portage Plains, Man.=, showed some remarkable yields. Noah Elgert had 61 bushels of wheat per acre; the government farm, 61 bushels; Geo. E. Stacey, 54; T. J. Hall, John Ross and D. W. McCuaig, 50; W. Richardson, 51; M. Owens, 61-1/2; Anderson and Turnbull, 60; J. Lloyd, 48-1/2; Jas. Bell and Robt. Brown, 48; R. S. Tully, 52; J. Wishart, 49-1/4; Philip Page, 47; J. Stewart, 45; J. W. Brown, 30; Chester Johnson, 44; E. H. Muir, 42; L. A. Bradley, 43; W. Boddy, 40; Albert Davis, 43; E. McLenaghen, 37. After farming the same land for forty years, J. Wishart secured a crop of 49-1/2 bushels to the acre, the best he ever had. Mr. Bradley's yield was on land plowed this spring. =Marquette, Man.=, September 21. Splendid weather has enabled the farmers of this section to make good progress with the cutting and harvesting of this season's crop. Wheat is averaging 20 bushels to the acre, with barley 45 and oats going 70. There has been no damage of any description. =Binscarth, Man.=, says good reports are coming from the machines of high yields and good sample. The elevators are busy shipping cars every day. =Dauphin, Man.=, September 13. Threshing is general. The grain is in good shape and the weather is ideal. The samples are best ever grown here, grading No. 1 Northern. The returns are larger than expected in nearly every case. E. B. Armstrong's wheat went 34 bushels to the acre; others, 25 to 27. =Balmoral.=--John Simpson says: "Very prosperous has been our first year's farming in Canada. Shipped two carloads of wheat that graded No. 1 Northern and sold for eighty-five cents. Weather for the last two weeks was perfect--no snow and just enough frost to keep the roads from getting muddy." =Brandon.=--Hard wheats have long been the choice product of Manitoba soil, but nothing more significant is required to announce a new industry in the Province than that Glencarnock Victor, a Manitoba-finished steer, owned by Mr. J. D. McGregor, was last year grand champion of America, and his half-brother from the same stables, won like honours this year. Neither had ever been fed any corn, but fattened on prairie hay, alfalfa, and barley. CITIES AND TOWNS =Winnipeg=, with a population of about 200,000, is a natural distributing point for Western Canada, as well as the shipping point for the wonderful crops from the tributary prairie lands. The prosperity of Western Canada is here reflected in substantial buildings, wide boulevards, quarries, water works, street lighting systems, asphalt plants, and a park system of 29 parks, covering 500 acres. There are 40 modern school buildings with 378 teachers and 21,210 pupils. Winnipeg has four live daily papers and forty weekly and monthly publications. Twenty-four railway tracks radiate from the city, making Winnipeg the leading grain centre of the world. A photograph taken at any point in the financial centre of the city shows magnificent new buildings under construction, representing immense investment and indicating the confidence felt in the city's future. Municipal improvements are constantly being made. The city now has 466 miles of sidewalk, 112 miles of boulevard and 162 miles of street pavement. There are 115 churches. St. Boniface, the seat of the Roman Catholic archdiocese of St. Boniface, adjoins and is partly surrounded by the business district: 17,000 population. =Brandon=--With 18,000 population is the second city in the Province and is located on the main line of the Canadian Pacific Railway, with its seven branch railway lines. The Canadian Northern runs through the town and has erected a fine new modern hotel. The Great Northern entering from the south and the Grand Trunk Pacific completed, there is afforded excellent shipping facilities, necessary to the factories, flour mills, machine shops, and wholesale houses established here. There are fourteen branch banks here with clearings totalling $33,000,000. As an educational centre Brandon might be ranked with cities several times larger. The high school would be a credit to any city of first rank. A Dominion Experimental Farm is located here. =Portage la Prairie=--Enjoys splendid railway facilities at the junction of four lines of railway. This fortunate situation has brought a number of industries. The city owns its park and has a fine educational system, including a Collegiate Institute. Many churches and fraternal organizations are supported by this city of 7,000 population. Municipal improvements are constantly being made. =Selkirk= is a distributing point of supplies for points on Lake Winnipeg. =Carberry and Morden= are flourishing railway towns in the heart of fine wheat-growing sections, as are Minnedosa, Neepawa, Dauphin, Carman, Virden, and Souris. Scores of towns now developing afford openings for those desiring business opportunities; each has its mills and warehouses for wheat. Among these centres may be named Manitou, Birtle, Emerson, Gretna, Wawanesa, Rivers, Somerset, Baldur, Deloraine, Melita, Rapid City, Hamiota, Gladstone, Killarney, Hartney, Stonewall, Boissevain, Elkhorn, Gilbert Plains, Pilot Mound, Winkler and Plum Coulee. Provincial Government returns. POPULATION AND LIVESTOCK 1891 1908 1909 1911 1912 1913 Population 152,506 455,614 Horses 86,735 230,926 237,161 232,725 273,395 304,100 Milch cows 82,710 173,546 167,442 146,841 154,400 Other horned cattle 147,984 357,988 333,752 397,261 428,274 460,200 Sheep 35,838 29,265 29,074 32,223 42,087 112,500 Hogs 54,177 192,489 172,374 176,212 216,640 176,000 Cultivated farms 45,380 49,755 50,000 Increase in population in ten years was 78.52 per cent. The exhibit of grains, grasses, clover, fodder crops, vegetables, and natural products shown at the 1913 United States Land Show spoke well for the soil and climate of Manitoba. [Illustration: An ordinary threshing scene in Manitoba, where fields of wheat, oats and barley pay the farmer well.] [Illustration: NORTHERN MANITOBA] SASKATCHEWAN Saskatchewan, the central Prairie Province, is a huge rectangle extending from the 49th to the 60th parallel, with an area as large as France and twice the size of the British Isles. It comprises 155,092,480 acres, and extends 760 miles north and south and 390 miles east and west at the southern boundary bordering on the United States. The average altitude is about 1,500 feet above sea level. Saskatchewan claims to be without a rival in North America as a producer of wheat and small grains. Only physical and geographical conditions retard even a more phenomenal agricultural development. Its growth and acquisition of wealth has been phenomenal. There are four distinct zones extending north and south: (a) rolling prairie, (b) prairie and woodland, (c) forest, (d) sparsely timbered belt. All the land is suitable for cultivation and will yield the highest quality of cereals, though less than 13 million acres are now under the plough. The population of approximately 550,000 thriving, vigorous people will eventually be a million. The increase in ten years was 440 per cent. The Government forces in Saskatchewan are complete and effective. Every branch of agricultural work conducted by the Provincial Government is a part of the Department of Agriculture. =Soil and Surface.=--The soil in all of Saskatchewan is a rich loam, running from eight to twenty inches deep over a chocolate clay subsoil. Moisture is evaporated from this subsoil so gradually that the fertility is almost inexhaustible. With few exceptions the southern portion of the Province from a line east and west through Saskatoon is almost flat. In certain portions the surface is undulating, but in no case so hilly as to preclude ploughing every acre; near some of the rivers in the more hilly sections the soil becomes lighter with some stone and gravel. Five reasons may be given for the exceptionally favourable conditions awaiting the grower of wheat in Saskatchewan: 1. The soil is of almost inexhaustible fertility. 2. The climate brings the plant to fruition very quickly. 3. The northern latitude gives the wheat more sunshine during the growing period than is had in districts farther south. 4. Rust is of infrequent occurrence. 5. Insect foes are unknown. =Fuel and Water.=--The coal areas to the south, and the partially wooded areas in the north, provide an ample supply of fuel, while water can be secured anywhere at a reasonable depth. CENTRAL SASKATCHEWAN =The Available Homesteads= are principally in the northern portion of Central Saskatchewan which is watered east and west by the main Saskatchewan River and by its chief branch, the North Saskatchewan, a great part of whose navigable length lies within this section. The surface generally is rolling prairie interspersed with wooded bluffs of poplar, spruce, and pine, alternating with intruding portions of the great plain from the south. In soil and climate Central Saskatchewan is well adapted to the raising of cattle, also wheat and other grains. North of township Thirty there is unlimited grazing land, horses, cattle and sheep feeding in the open most of the year. There is the necessary shelter when extreme cold weather sets in and water is plentiful. Sheep do well. Many farmers have from 50 to 100 sheep and lambs. The district also possesses everything required for the growing of crops and there are satisfactory yields of all the smaller grains. The homesteader may add to his holdings by purchasing adjoining land from the Canadian Northern, Canadian Pacific Railway and other corporations. These unimproved lands range from $15 an acre upwards. Districts recently opened for settlement are Shellbrook, Beaver River, and Green Lake, into which the Canadian Northern Railway is projected. Other new districts are Jack Fish Lake and Turtle Lake, north of Battleford, into which the same road is built. These districts are favourable for grain and cattle raising. North of North Battleford are several townships which will not long be without transportation, and to the east of these there are available homesteads which can be reached through the Prince Albert gateway. SOUTHERN SASKATCHEWAN =Available Farm Land.=--There are but few homesteads available in Southeastern Saskatchewan. The land is occupied by an excellent class of farmers, and values range from $15 per acre to $25 for unimproved prairie, and from $40 to $50 per acre for improved farms. In the neighbourhood of Moose Jaw mixed farming and grain raising are carried on with success. North and northwest, towards the Saskatchewan, are large settlements; but to the south and southwest is a tract of land available for homesteading, and a land office at Moose Jaw makes it easy to inspect the land and secure speedy entry. These lands are easily reached from Moose Jaw, Mortlach, Herbert, Gull Lake, and Swift Current. Maple Creek district is an important stock centre. Some of the best sheep, cattle, and horses in Canada are raised on the succulent grass here but the wheat grower and mixed farmer are treading on the heels of the ranchman. West of Swift Current to the Alberta boundary herds of cattle roam and largely find for themselves. Snowfall is light and winters so mild that hardy animals graze through the whole year. The Chinook winds are felt as far east as Swift Current. Grain growing is successful. [Illustration: In many parts of Western Canada, large farms are operated by steam or gasoline power. This shows its use, and also discing, seeding and harrowing.] Farm land can be purchased from railway and other land companies in Southeastern Saskatchewan, which includes that section between Manitoba on the east and the third meridian on the west, extending some distance north of the main line of the Canadian Pacific Railway. It has more rainfall than portions farther west and less wood than the portion lying north. In character and productiveness of soil, Southeastern Saskatchewan is a continuation of Manitoba, but contains more prairie area. NORTHERN SASKATCHEWAN =Available Homesteads.=--Northern Saskatchewan has not yet been opened to any extent for settlement. There are approximately 80 million acres beyond the railway at Prince Albert which time, zeal, and railway enterprise will eventually make accessible. Furs, forest wealth, and fisheries are recognized as a national asset, but thousands of acres of fertile land lie beyond the existing lines of railway awaiting development. Northern Saskatchewan has natural resources sufficient to maintain a population equal to that of any European country in corresponding latitude. =Saskatchewan Crops.=--Saskatchewan leads all other provinces in wheat production, though only a comparatively small portion of its tillable area is under cultivation. In 1898 the area under wheat was 276,253 acres; 910,359 acres in 1905; 2,703,563 acres in 1908, and in 1913, five years' time, it had more than doubled, the area being 5,720,000 acres. On this there were grown approximately 121-1/2 million bushels of wheat, an average of about 21-1/4 bushels to the acre. The farmers realized about 124 million dollars for products apart from field and fodder crops, valued at 5 million dollars. The following figures are from Provincial Government returns. Saskatchewan has easily 50,000,000 acres of unbroken prairie to grow just such good crops, and another 25,000,000 acres on which to graze live stock. Acreage Yield Total Price per Total per Production Bushel Value Acre Wheat 5,760,249 19.5 112,369,405 At 63c $ 70,792,725.15 Oats 2,638,562 41.7 110,210,436 At 23c 25,348,400.28 Barley 307,177 30.2 9,279,263 At 26c 2,412,608.38 Flax 967,137 12.0 11,654,280 At $1.00 11,654,280.00 Province 9,673,125 243,513,384 110,208,013.81 While the average yield of wheat is shown to be 19.5 bushels per acre, thousands of farmers raised 35 bushels and some more than 40. Considerable was sown on stubble, and there were many low yields occasioned by indifferent farming, and anxiety to secure a crop from late seeding, without which the general average would have exceeded 30 bushels per acre. The same is true of other grains. On the Experimental Farm at Indian Head, Marquis wheat produced 48 bushels to the acre, and Red Fife on the stubble 28 bushels. Almost the entire wheat crop was within the contract grades, (none less than 3 Northern, the great bulk graded No. 1) and by the end of October 75 per cent of the crop was threshed. In many instances wheat weighed 64 and as high as 66 pounds to the bushel. Mr. Paul Gerlach of Allan, Saskatchewan, had 71 pounds per bushel, and carried off the honours at the International Dry Farming Congress at Tulsa last November. =Mixed Farming= is so successful in Saskatchewan that only passing comment is necessary. The Province is famous for its high-class horses, well-bred cattle, sheep, and hogs. At the Live Stock Show in Chicago in 1913, the Province carried off high premiums. The Department of Agriculture secures good breeding stock for the farmers and encourages the preservation of females. =Poultry Raising= is so profitable that many Saskatchewan farmers have gone into it extensively. Of 10,000 turkeys marketed at Moose Jaw there was not a single "cull." They brought an average of $2.80 each. Chickens provide a certain profit and constant income. =Dairying= is successful. An established market and excellent natural facilities favour this branch of mixed farming. 997,000 pounds of creamery butter yielded $271,185 in 1912 and private dairies realized $189,000 from 700,000 pounds, making a total increase of $177,376.69 over 1911. With the exception of cream delivery, a government superintendent supervises all business transactions of most creameries. =Fodder Corn.=--At Prince Albert fodder corn has reached a height of eight feet with not a poor sample in the lot and there are strong indications that before many years corn will be grown here for ensilage with general success. At the Experimental Farm, fodder corn yielded about 18 tons of green fodder per acre, which went into the silo in good condition. =Railways.=--About five hundred miles of new road opened in 1912 gives Saskatchewan a total mileage of about 5,000 miles as compared with 1,000 in 1905, of which 1,230 is main line and 3,700 branches. The Province is so well served by the Canadian Pacific, Canadian Northern, and Grand Trunk Pacific that few of the established settlements are more than 10 to 20 miles from transportation; new settlements do not have to wait long for railway advantages. The Hudson Bay Railway will afford a short haul to ocean shipping from Saskatchewan grain fields. One and a half million dollars have been appropriated by the local government for improvements and building highways. From 1905-13 the population has doubled, and whole districts which were practically uninhabited but a short time ago are now filled with farmers. =Rivers.=--The chief rivers are the North Saskatchewan, South Saskatchewan, Qu'Appelle, and Carrot. The North and South Saskatchewan rise in the Rockies and have a general easterly trend. The Red Deer flows into the South Saskatchewan, about 150 miles north of the United States boundary. The South Saskatchewan runs east nearly half way across the Province, then turns north and enters the North Saskatchewan a little east of Prince Albert. The South Saskatchewan, with the Qu'Appelle, intersects the Province from east to west. The Carrot rises south of Prince Albert and runs parallel to the North Saskatchewan, into which it flows near "The Pas," and the junction point of the Hudson Bay Railway, now under construction. =Lumbering.=--North and east of Prince Albert, the present centre of the lumber industry, lumbering is extensive. In the northern forest the timber is black and white spruce, larch or tamarack, jack pine, aspen or white poplar, balsam or black poplar, and white birch. =Game and Fish.=--In the north, furs are secured for the world's markets and fishing is carried on extensively. =Education.=--Schools are sustained by provincial aid and local rates. Except in special cases where qualified teachers cannot be obtained, the teacher must hold a certificate from the Department of Education. The university is supported and controlled by the Province, a department of which is a college of agriculture with some of Canada's best educators and agricultural specialists on the faculty. Nowhere do agricultural authorities give greater attention to the welfare and education of the farmer than in the newer districts of this Province. CITIES AND TOWNS =Regina.=--Capital of Saskatchewan, lies in the heart of a splendid agricultural section, and is distributing centre for a large district. With a population of about 45,000 it supports a dozen banks which had clearings of 116 million dollars in 1912. It has good hotels, is noted for its substantial public buildings, wide, well-paved streets, and metropolitan spirit. The Canadian Pacific, Canadian Northern and Grand Trunk Pacific unite to make it an important railway centre. The collegiate institute and provincial normal school add to its educational importance. The Northwest Mounted Police headquarters are located here, also the judiciary of Saskatchewan. [Illustration: The sheep industry in Western Canada is one of certain profit. There are many large flocks in all parts of the three Provinces.] [Illustration: SOUTHERN SASKATCHEWAN Surveyed lands shown in colour. For Map of Central Saskatchewan see pages 22 and 23.] =Saskatoon.=--The seat of the University of Saskatchewan, is a growing city beautifully situated on the South Saskatchewan River. It is well served by the Canadian Northern's Regina-Prince Albert line which passes through an extensive and productive farming district to the southwest and joins the main line at Warman, and is also on the route of the Canadian Pacific from Winnipeg to Edmonton. Population about 28,000; in 1903 it was about 100. There are four bridges crossing the South Saskatchewan River, with another in contemplation. =Moose Jaw= is a divisional point on the Canadian Pacific, is a terminus of the Soo Line and is also served by the Canadian Northern and Grand Trunk Pacific. Population approximately 23,000. It is noted for its schools and churches. Splendid street car facilities exist here. This district is well settled by progressive farmers. They have brought raw prairie land, which cost from $8 to $10 per acre, to a state of cultivation, that makes their farms worth from $25 to $40 per acre. =Prince Albert= is the northern terminus of the Canadian Northern and is delightfully situated on the North Saskatchewan River. It is served by a line of the Grand Trunk Pacific built from the main line at Young. The Canadian Northern Battleford-Prince Albert line will be completed this fall. It has four big sawmills, and several banks, churches, schools, and hotels. Population, 12,000. The three flour mills grind about 400 barrels a day. One mill ships its product largely to Scotland. =Swift Current= is a divisional point of the Canadian Pacific Railway and a busy railway centre. It is said to be the largest initial wheat market in America. Population about 2,500. A few years ago the district from a point twelve miles west of Moose Jaw to the western boundary of the Province, and south to the United States boundary was considered fit only for horse ranching, cattle and sheep grazing, but now the land is practically all homesteaded in every direction from Swift Current. Branch lines extended to the northwest and southeast enter fairly well settled districts; other lines are contemplated. It was incorporated as a city. =North Battleford= is wonderfully well situated agriculturally and picturesquely. It has a population of over 7,000, and is incorporated as a city. Several important industries and large wholesale places are established. The Canadian Northern Railway passes through the town, having its divisional headquarters here, and during the year will complete its line to Prince Albert. There is excellent passenger and freight service on the same company's line northwest, which is under construction to Athabaska Landing, Alberta. A traffic bridge connects North Battleford with Battleford. =Weyburn= is a prosperous city on the "Soo" Line between Moose Jaw and North Portal. Its railway connection with Stoughton furnishes a direct route to the east. The Lethbridge line of the Canadian Pacific starts here and will be completed this year. Building permits, 1912, $760,000. =Yorkton= within the last five years has more than doubled its population and ships annually over 2 million bushels of grain. It is an up-to-date town of about 2,500 inhabitants with creditable municipal buildings, eight grain elevators, water works, sewerage system, flour mill, saw mill, cement sidewalks, telephone, and a municipal gas plant. =Battleford.=--Population about 3,000. Has one of the most picturesque situations in the west, and was the first capital of the Old Territories. During the past year it has made remarkable growth owing to the agricultural possibilities of the surrounding country. The Grand Trunk Pacific reaches the town from Biggar on the south and is building a line west from Saskatoon. The Canadian Northern has a branch entering the town. The Canadian Pacific is expected to build from Asquith. A number of industries have embraced the encouraging opportunities offered by the town, and large wholesale houses have erected distributing depots. =Rosetown=, on the Canadian Northern Saskatoon-Calgary line, is progressive. It is of importance to-day, and marked for a good future. A splendid agricultural district peopled with excellent settlers surrounds it. =Zealandia=, on the same line of railway, has wonderful physical advantages. Although of only a few short years' existence, as the centre of a farming country where lands have increased from $8 to $30 per acre, its fame has spread and its citizens are warranted in anticipating a bright future. =Kindersley= has been on the map only four or five years. The surrounding fertile land that made the Goose Lake district famous in agriculture so soon after its discovery, gave to Kindersley a large portion of its glory and substance. It is growing rapidly, and confidence in what it will do is well bestowed. =Maple Creek=, for many years the centre of a ranching section, has a population of 1,000, and the large surrounding area of free homestead land is rapidly being settled. Excellent crops are reported. =Estevan= is noted for its coal mines and has rail connection with Winnipeg. =Rosthern=, on the Regina-Prince Albert branch of the Canadian Northern, is in the centre of a good agricultural district. =Wolsely=, three hundred miles west of Winnipeg, is the western terminus of the Wolsely-Reston branch of the Canadian Pacific Railway. =Indian Head=, the largest incorporated town in Saskatchewan, has more elevators than any other town in the province. For some time it was the largest initial wheat-shipping point in the world. The Dominion Government Experimental Farm is here. =Moosomin=, two hundred and twenty miles west of Winnipeg on the main line of the Canadian Pacific Railway, is a flourishing town surrounded by rolling prairie particularly adapted to mixed farming. Population 1,200. It has good churches, schools, banks, grain elevators and waterworks. =Qu'Appelle and Arcola= are enterprising towns. Among the largest incorporated villages are Broadview, a divisional point on the Canadian Pacific Railway main line, Grenfell, Duck Lake, Alameda, Balgonie, Lemberg, Lloydminster, Melfort, Rouleau, and Sintaluta. Portal is the point where the "Soo" Line enters Saskatchewan. Yellow Grass, Milestone and Drinkwater are newer towns--settled within the past few years by progressive farmers from the States. Important and growing towns on the Grand Trunk Pacific, are Melville, Watrous, Scott, Nokomis and Young. WHAT SASKATCHEWAN FARMERS ARE DOING =Regina.=--During the week ending Sept. 21, 5119 cars of No. 1 Northern Hard were shipped out of the Province, as compared with 1,497 cars of No. 2 Northern and 290 cars of No. 3 Northern in 1912. There were, in addition, 111 cars of No. 1 Manitoba Hard shipped during the week. =Moose Jaw, Saskatchewan, Nov. 30.=--Since Sept. 1, 19,850,000 bushels of grain have been shipped from the Moose Jaw district, against 32,000,000 for the previous entire crop year. Rouleau heads the list with 1,040,000 bushels, and Milestone comes second with 910,000 bushels. Vanguard, which led last year, is third, with 835,000 bushels. =Rutan.=--Arthur Brondson, inexperienced in farming, having lived in London until eight years ago, last year raised 36 acres of Red Fife wheat, of 49 bushels per acre, and 48 acres Marquis wheat, 52 bushels per acre. =Regina.=--James Cranston threshed 1,050 bushels oats from ten acres; James Hars's 60 acres yielded 106 bushels; W. J. Crawford's 60 acres produced 43 bushels Preston wheat; other yields of Marquis wheat show 40, 48, 50, and 63 bushels to the acre. =Esterhazy.=--Esterhazy shared in the abundant harvest of 1913. A conservative estimate for the yield is from 25 to 30 bushels per acre for wheat, and 40 to 45 for oats. Some fields yielded 40 to 45 bushels per acre in wheat. =Tisdale.=--D. McKibbon threshed 38 bushels wheat to the acre off 40 acres. =Wynyard.=--Eggert Bjornson threshed 176 acres, averaging 36 bushels No. 1 Northern wheat. =Moose Jaw.=--Chas. White's 80 acres wheat yielded 38 bushels to the acre. W. H. Johnston's 90 acres produced 35-1/2 bushels wheat per acre. [Illustration: A landscape view of Central Saskatchewan.] [Illustration: This man is sufficiently modest to start with oxen; in a year or two they will be replaced by horses. He now farms 320 acres.] =Pasqua.=--E. S. Patterson, on 230 acres summer-fallow, threshed 31 acres Marquis, with a yield of 40-2/3 bushels per acre; 199 acres Red Fyfe with a yield of 35-1/2 bushels per acre. =Caron.=--Archie Dalrymple, 100 acres, 40-1/2 bushels wheat per acre. Geo. Clemenshaw, 80 acres, 42-1/2 bushels wheat per acre. =Boharm.=--Geo. Campbell had 55 acres wheat that yielded 38 bushels per acre, and 100 acres that yielded 36 bushels. =Assiniboia.=--E. Lennard threshed 1200 bushels oats, from a ten-acre field. His summer-fallow yielded 40 bushels No. 1 Northern wheat per acre. =Canora.=--Mike Gabora had a yield of 120-1/2 bushels oats per acre. C. R. Graham, who has a 3,000 acre farm in this district, for a number of years has grown oats that averaged 60 bushels to the acre, and sometimes yielded 100 bushels: one year the average was 117 bushels. =Arcola.=--R. F. Harman, formerly of the County of Cork, Ireland, homesteaded in the North Battleford district in 1903, with $50.00 capital. He now owns 480 acres, clear of encumbrance, raises wheat, oats, barley, hay, and is a firm believer in mixed farming. In ten years his capital has increased from $50.00 to $25,000. =Swift Current.=--Ed. K. Leep, of Chicago, homesteaded north of Swift Current. He had 30 acres of land in potatoes in June and lifted new potatoes on August 15. In the Fall little more than half an acre yielded over one hundred bushels. Some had been used in the meantime. Fuel was plentiful 8 miles away and good water was reached at twenty-five feet. The climate was agreeable, and good crops assured. =Nokomis.=--J. Keys had oats in 1913 that went 110 bushels to the acre, and wheat, 40 bushels. He has paid off the mortgage on his farm, and now contemplates a trip to his old home in Denmark, to induce more of his people to settle in his neighbourhood. =W. E. Lewis= of Dayton, Ohio, went to Saskatchewan seven years ago with $1,800 in money, a carload of household effects and farm implements, four horses and three cows. The first year he got only feed from the crops, but the second year threshed over 2,800 bushels of wheat from 100 acres. He has not had a crop failure and now has 22 horses, 15 cattle, 35 hogs, and owns 1,120 acres of land, all under cultivation. He has been offered $35.00 an acre for his land. Should he care to sell, he could pay all his debts, and have $30,000 to the good, but, he says, "Where could I go to invest my money and get as good returns?" =A. T. Smith= of Southern Saskatchewan will grow alfalfa on 3,000 acres of land in 1914. =Mr. S. G. Cowan says=: "I usually thresh from 60 to 65 bushels of oats, 30 of wheat, and 60 of barley. Vegetables grow well, and it is no trouble at all to grow potatoes. My farm has been under crop nine years, and has never been frozen, snowed under, or hailed. I have kept 100 cattle and 100 hogs. I usually give them their growth on green feed, wheat, oats, and barley, and fatten them on grain. With a little to start on we have cleared $10,000 in a little over four years." =Chaplin.=--J. R. Lowe has matured two crops of fodder corn, and he says there is little difference between it and what he grew in Minnesota. =Industries.=--The remarkable growth of the several cities and towns is but one of many evidences of increasing agricultural prosperity. With the coal resources of the southeastern part of the Province utilized, and the opportunities in northern parts for getting cheap water, Saskatchewan's industrial opportunities are many. There is a great demand for help of all kinds. With seven cities, thirty or more towns, and five hundred villages, many men are constantly required for building trades and municipal work. The 90,000 farmers want help to put in and farm their crops. Boards of Trade in every city and town are ready to give information about openings for investment and assistance in locating men. The experimental stage is passed and people are developing beautiful homes surrounded by fertile fields. Cost of Farm Implements: Disc Drill (single to twenty double) $ 96.00 Mowers 53.50 Twelve in. Gang Plows 82.00 Binders, six-foot cut 145.00 Binders, seven-foot cut 158.00 Binders, eight-foot cut 165.00 Rakes 35.00 Gasoline Tractors (Case) 2,480.00 Gasoline Tractors (Nicols) 3,665.00 Gasoline Tractors (International) 1,800.00 Steam Tractors (Case) 2,272.00 Steam Tractors (Nicols) 2,895.00 Case Separator 1,202.00 Nicols Separator 1,150.00 International Separator 1,280.00 =Agricultural Cooperation.=--The Provincial Government has established co-operation in creameries, elevators, telephone, hail insurance, agricultural societies and live stock. Five million dollars have been set aside for road improvements. The new agricultural college, with its 1,300 acre farm, costing one million dollars, is an evidence of public activity. The college has 100 students. =Temperatures= and hours' sunshine in Saskatchewan ranged lower, and rainfall during the growing season higher, than the average for several years. The average temperatures and precipitation for each of the first nine months of 1913: Month Mean Maximum Minimum Precipitation January -7.85 37.5 -45.3 .70 February 2.64 37.7 -34.3 .64 March 8.9 44.9 -31.9 .65 April 41.7 78.5 13.4 .31 May 47.2 84.7 20.7 1.00 June 59.2 87.7 30.7 3.00 July 61.1 86.6 37.4 3.18 August 60.8 85.9 38.9 2.80 September 52.1 85.5 32.9 .88 January-September, 1913 36.2 69.8 5.9 Total 13.16 April-September, 1913 53.6 84.8 27.5 " 11.17 April-September, 1912 50.9 79.9 27.5 " 13.92 =Interior Storage Elevators.=--A great advantage and an immense relief for the hundreds of elevators of from thirty to forty thousand bushels' capacity, will be the two interior storage elevators now under construction at Saskatoon and Moose Jaw, each with a capacity of 3 million bushels. =Farm Help in 1913.=--Labourers work by the month, for $32 to $41. Servant girls were paid from $14 to $22 this year as compared with from $10 to $15 in 1907. =Population and Live Stock.=--(Dominion Census Bureau): 1909 1910 1911 1912 1913 Population 492,432 [1]540,000 Horses 279,063 332,922 507,400 551,645 580,386 Milch cows 124,186 138,455 181,146 184,896 194,843 Other cattle 391,789 431,164 452,466 461,244 468,255 Sheep 129,630 135,360 114,216 114,810 115,568 Swine 131,757 125,788 286,295 344,298 387,684 [1] Estimated. [Illustration: A healthy family from Nebraska, now living in Western Canada. Observe the height of the oats. The crop yielded 70 bushels per acre.] [Illustration: Mr. J. C. Hill & Sons, of Lloydminster, Saskatchewan, who recently became winners for the third time of the Colorado Silver Trophy, valued at $1500 for best peck of oats in the world. They now own the trophy.] [Illustration: CENTRAL SASKATCHEWAN Surveyed land shown in colour. For Map of Southern Saskatchewan see pages 18 and 19.] ALBERTA Alberta, the most westerly of the three Prairie Provinces, is twice the size of Great Britain and Ireland, much larger than either France or Germany, and has a greater area than the states of Maine, New Hampshire, Vermont, Massachusetts, Rhode Island, Connecticut, New York, New Jersey and Pennsylvania combined. The area of arable land alone in Alberta is estimated at 100 million acres, of which less than 3 million acres is under cultivation. This provincial empire, with its great wealth in agricultural lands, mines, forests, and fisheries, has less than 500,000 people. Alberta is a vast plateau from 2,000 to 3,000 feet above sea-level, hung by its western edge on the foothills of the Rocky Mountains. It slopes gently toward the east and north. Absolutely level plains form no great proportion of the surface. While open, treeless country characterizes the southern part of the Province, the greater part is undulating, diversified by forest, stream, hill and open country, not unlike Ontario or New York State. Beautiful lakes, fringed with forest and abounding in whitefish are scattered over its central and northern area. Luxuriant grasses cover the open country, which once formed the chief feeding grounds of herds of bison. The Province naturally falls into three divisions, exhibiting marked distinctions in climate and topography--Southern, Central and Northern Alberta. =Available Homesteads= are to be found west and north of Edmonton--territory made accessible by the Grand Trunk Pacific and the Canadian Northern Railways--in an immense stretch of splendid country. Wheat and oats are reliable crops. Rainfall is certain. Mixed farming is highly successful. The wild grasses and pea vine supply ample feed for stock; water is plentiful and easily secured. On into the foothills and the mountains are stretches of prairie land, through which the Grand Trunk Pacific and Canadian Northern Railways are now constructed. The northern and western portions of Central Alberta have some "brush" land with soil equal to that of the open prairie. The cost of clearing is slight, and there is the advantage of shelter for cattle, and an absolute assurance of splendid water. There is a good market for the fuel and timber obtained in clearing. Practically all of the land between Edmonton and Athabaska Landing--and between Edmonton and Lac la Biche to the northeast has been subdivided for homesteading. NORTHERN ALBERTA North of the end of steel extends 75 per cent of this rich Province, yet unexploited. When the railways push into the Athabaska and the Peace, it will be realized that Alberta owns an empire north of the Saskatchewan, a country set apart by nature to provide homes for millions of agrarian people. SOUTHERN ALBERTA =Southern Alberta= is open and rolling, and devoid of timber except along the streams and the Rocky Mountains' foothills. The soil is a fertile loam. The climate is ideal, with pleasing summers and mild winters. Stock pasture in the open air during winter, grazing on the nutritive sun-dried grasses. The absence of timber in Southern Alberta is compensated for by the supply of coal. [Illustration: Typical school in rural district in Western Canada, which will soon be replaced by consolidated school, picture of which appears elsewhere.] Ranching which once was predominant is fast being abandoned and settlers are dividing the limitless acres into small, productive holdings. As a grazing country, Southern Alberta has had few equals, for the hills and valleys, well watered, afford excellent pasturage. Winter wheat sown on new breaking, or summer-fallowed land, from the middle of July to the end of September is ready for harvest from the 1st to the 15th of August in the following year. Climate and soil make this an ideal wheat-growing district. Considerable spring wheat is grown, as well as oats, barley and flax. The production of sugar-beets compares favourably with that of Germany and the world. The average of winter wheat for the Province in 1913, was 21 bushels an acre. The greater portion was grown around Lethbridge, Taber, Grassy Lake, Cardston, Spring Coulee, Pincher Creek, Macleod, Stavely, Leavitt, Claresholm, Nanton, High River, Okotoks, Carmangay and Calgary. =Water Supply and Irrigation.=--Water for domestic and farm purposes is easily obtained at reasonable depth. In certain sections of the Canadian West, as in the American West, the soil is unexcelled for growing cereals, but the geographical location and relative position to the rain avenues is not advantageous, not only the requisite amount of rain but its conservation is essential to the growing of crops, and that is the meaning of "dry farming." This is being successfully followed in the southern portion of Southern Alberta. Some of the district can also be easily and successfully farmed by means of irrigation. Irrigation ditches have been constructed by the Canadian Pacific Railway and the Southern Alberta Land Company. [Illustration: Typical school, such as many towns are building in Western Canada, where the education of the children is carefully looked after.] A most valuable asset to Southern Alberta is the Lethbridge Experimental Station, operated by the Dominion Department of Agriculture. Reports from the farm show that on land broken and backset in 1912, spring wheat sown April 3, 1913, ripened between July 31 and August 17, and yielded from 22 to 41 bushels per acre; oats sown April 13, 1913, ripened from July 31 to August 4, and yielded from 54 to 84 bushels per acre; barley sown April 15, 1913, ripened from July 28 to Aug. 5, and yielded from 28 to 40 bushels per acre. On irrigated land the yield of spring wheat was from 30 to 54 bushels, and the period of ripening about the same; oats yielded from 102 to 132 bushels per acre, same period for ripening; barley yield on irrigated land was from 65 to 100 bushels per acre, harvested from July 28 to August 11. CENTRAL ALBERTA =Central Alberta= extends from the Red Deer River northward to the height of land between the Saskatchewan and the Athabaska. Its great wealth is its deep black humus varying in depth from ten inches to three feet, overlying a warm subsoil. =Mixed Farming.=--None of the three central provinces afford greater advantages for mixed farming than Alberta. In the south the great ranges of vacant area affords excellent pasturage. The central portion furnishes pasturage of equal quality, and the groves and park lands provide shelter, making it possible to raise cereals, as well as feed for cattle and hogs. Dairying and poultry raising meet with undoubted success. =Dairy Products= have an unlimited market; cattle can be pastured most of the year; every variety of grass including clover and alfalfa thrive; the climate is healthful and water abundant. More than a million head of cattle could have been fed on the wild hay that went to waste last year. Hundreds of thousands of acres are literally overrun with rich wild grasses and pea vine. The dairy yield approximated $1,250,000 in 1913, and 50,000 cows could be added without affecting the price of dairy products. The government operates a travelling dairy to instruct new settlers, and manages permanent creameries which produced over three million pounds of butter last year. Fattening hogs on milk adds to the revenue. =Poultry Raising.=--The winter price of fresh eggs ranges from 50 to 60 cents a dozen, the summer prices rarely falling below 25 cents. Extensive developments along this profitable line cannot be long delayed. =Crops of 1913.=--With an average rainfall of 10.92 inches during the growing season in that part of the Province including Edmonton and southward, an average daily sunshine record of 10 hours, and a mean temperature of 53 degrees Fahrenheit for the months April to September inclusive, good crops were certain. Spring seeding began early in April. The season was highly favourable and a big crop was harvested in excellent condition. Marquis wheat at one point went as high as 62.5 bushels per acre as a field crop, and oats and barley relatively as high. Yields of all kinds of grain and forage crops have been most excellent. The census bureau of the Dominion Government give the following returns: Area Area Average Total Total 1912 1913 1912 1913 1912 1913 Fall wheat 212,000 202,000 21.83 21.00 4,628,000 4,242,000 Spring wheat 1,378,000 1,310,000 21.54 23.00 29,675,000 30,130,000 Oats 1,461,000 1,639,000 46.30 43.65 67,630,000 71,542,000 Barley 187,000 197,000 33.05 32.15 6,179,000 6,334,000 Rye 15,000 16,000 25.56 24.89 377,000 398,000 Flax 132,000 105,000 12.83 11.00 1,693,000 1,155,000 The Provincial Department of Agriculture for Alberta placed the total yield of all grains at 81,500,000 bushels, but as the acreage is less, the average yields are about the same. The average yield per acre of potatoes from 25,000 acres was about 170 bushels; turnips and other roots about 250 bushels. Alfalfa yielded about 2.77 tons per acre and sugar beets about 9 tons per acre; hay and clover 1.56 tons, with a total value of all these products of $3,700,000. =Government and Other Telephones.=--The Government operates the telephone system, including about 7,000 miles of long distance wires, pursues an active policy of stimulating the organization of rural companies by giving as a bonus all poles required. These rural companies are connected with local exchanges and toll offices wherever possible. =Railways.=--During 1913 considerable was added to the railway mileage. Besides its main line the Canadian Pacific has two branches from Calgary--one north to Strathcona, the other south to Macleod. Two running eastward diverge at Lacombe and Wetaskiwin, the latter a through line via Saskatoon to Winnipeg. Another leaves the Canadian Pacific near Medicine Hat, passes through Lethbridge and Macleod and crosses the mountains by the Crow's Nest Pass, a branch connecting with the Great Northern at Coutts and extending to Cardston and west. Another branch will connect Lethbridge with Weyburn, on the "Soo" line. Provincial mileage 1,523. Other branches connecting the system are being built; as shown on the maps. The Canadian Northern enters Alberta from the east at Lloydminster on its way to Edmonton. From Edmonton lines are projected and partially constructed north and west. One starting at Vegreville connects the main line with Calgary, and then extends southeasterly toward Lethbridge and Macleod. From this line a branch is being built into the coal fields west of Lacombe and will form part of the transcontinental line of that system. Its extension from Saskatoon to Calgary is about completed. Mileage 593. The Grand Trunk Pacific serves the territory lying between the Canadian Northern and the Canadian Pacific, operating trains through productive territory and for some distance into British Columbia. This Company has completed its line south from Tofield to Calgary, a part of the transcontinental line of that system. Through trains now run from Edmonton to Toronto, Provincial mileage, 545. Another road is now under construction northward from the international boundary through Pincher Creek, with Calgary as a northern terminus. The Provincial government has outlined a policy of railway development throughout the Province, particularly in the north, opening vast agricultural lands which will attract settlers desirous of taking up free homestead. =Lakes and Rivers.=--The Saskatchewan and the Mackenzie rivers rise in the Province. The former is divided into two great arteries, one of which with its tributaries, the Bow, Belly, St. Mary's, Old Man and Red Deer, waters the south, while the north branch, with the Brazeau, Clearwater, Sturgeon, Battle, Blindman and Vermilion as tributaries, waters the great central plains. The Peace and the Athabaska drain the north. Lake Athabaska, 120 miles long, Lesser Slave, 60 miles long, and many smaller bodies of water are chiefly in the northern part. =Mineral Resources.=--Alberta has enormous coal and lignite areas. The production of coal in 1913 was over 3-1/2 million tons, valued at over 7-1/2 million dollars. The coal supply is practically inexhaustible, and underlies much of the whole Province in seams from four to twelve feet thick. It is found in all grades, lignite, bituminous and anthracite, on the banks of every stream, and in the shafts from 20 to 150 feet deep. The total formation contains 12,800 square miles; contents 71 billion tons. Natural gas has been found at Medicine Hat, Tofield, Dunmore Junction, and Bow Island on the South Saskatchewan, and at Pelican Rapids on the Athabaska. Recently considerable interest has been taken in the oil fields south of Calgary and north of Edmonton. Important commercial oil fields will soon be located. There is also petroleum, gypsum, salt and tar sands. Excellent brick and fireclay. =Fish and Furs.=--The Great Lakes of the North furnish yearly half a million pounds of incomparable whitefish, while the fur wealth of the north is important. [Illustration: This shows that it is not all work in Western Canada. There are many spots as beautiful as this, the resort of the sportsman and pleasure seeker.] [Illustration: Coal mining at Tofield, Alberta, where an excellent quality is obtained, and where natural gas is abundant.] [Illustration: SOUTHERN ALBERTA Lands within irregular line along railway in British Columbia are administered by the Dominion Government. Surveyed lands shown in colour. For Map of Central Alberta see pages 30 and 31.] =Education.=--The organization of free district schools is optional with settlers, the Government liberally supporting them. An expenditure of about $700,000 a year brings educational advantages within the reach of the most scattered community. One new school a day has been opened in Alberta during the last three or four years, an indication of the settlement that is going on. School population at end of 1912, over 70,000; number of schools 2,029. Two hundred and forty-five school buildings were erected in 1912. The dissemination of exact scientific knowledge is carried on by farmers' institutes, stock-judging schools, seed fairs and travelling dairies. The raising of pure-bred stock is assisted by Government grants. Experimental and demonstration farms have been established throughout the Province. Agricultural high schools will soon be started, and agriculture form part of the public school curriculum. =A Healthy Product.=--The air of Alberta insures the best of health. The whole of Alberta lies above mountain altitude, and the air is extraordinarily clear and bracing. Consequently there is comparatively little cloudy weather on normal days, either in summer or winter. Bright sunshine prevails. Striking testimony as to freedom from consumption is provided by Dr. T. H. Whitelaw of Edmonton, according to whose official report not one case of this disease has originated in Edmonton since the beginning of 1911. =Stock.=--Alberta's dry and invigorating atmosphere, short, mild winters, nutritious grasses, and abundant water supply, make it pre-eminently adapted to horse breeding. The Alberta animal is noted for its endurance, lung power, and freedom from hereditary and other diseases. It winters out at a nominal expense and without even hay or grain feeding. Four-year old steers, which have never been under a roof nor fed a pound of grain and have been given less than a ton of hay, weigh about 1,500 pounds by August 1 and will then gain until October from 2 to 3 pounds a day. Experiments made at the Demonstration Farm at Olds show that 100 steers weighed in November 1, at 127,540 pounds, weighed out May 20, less than 7 months later at 143,412 pounds, showing a net gain of $10.12 per head. At the Lacombe Experimental Station the gain per day in feeding cattle ranged from 1.8 to 1.72 lbs., showing a net profit when sold of $14.35 to $28.90. =Good Roads in the Province.=--One of the most important considerations in a new country is that of roads. The Alberta government has taken up this problem in an intelligent manner, that will eventually greatly enlarge the resources of the Province. The money expended on ferry service, maintenance of bridges, road construction, construction of bridges, and the construction of trunk roads, was essential to the opening up of vast tracts of fertile land. As a result, $100,000,000, or more than $200 per capita of the total population of the Province, is the estimated farm value of the 1913 crop in Alberta. =Sugar Beets and Alfalfa.=--Operations are now extending north as well as south of Lethbridge, where a large factory has been conducted for some years. An expert from Colorado has taken up irrigated land in the Bassano district to carry on the industry on a large scale. He says: "This is going to be a great beet-raising country. My crop averaged between 16 and 18 per cent sugar, which is a very high grade." He says his new farm produces as much alfalfa per acre as his former more expensive land in Colorado. =Fruit.=--It has not yet been demonstrated that the larger fruits, such as apples, can be made commercially attractive in Alberta. All the smaller fruits can be grown with little trouble, at a cost that makes their culture profitable. WHAT SOME ALBERTA FARMERS ARE DOING =Macleod.=--Weather conditions were excellent throughout the season. Ninety per cent of the wheat up to October 1 graded No. 1, the only No. 2 being fall wheat. The yield ranged from 20 to 40 bushels per acre, with an average of 28. Oats yielded well, and barley about 60 bushels. =Inverary= is a new district. Wheat graded No. 2 and some of it went 50 bushels to the acre, oats going about 75 bushels. =Monarch.=--The yield of wheat on summer-fallow averaged 35 bushels, a large percentage No. 1 Northern. =Milk River.=--All spring grains yielded better than expected. A 300-acre field of Marquis wheat gave 41-1/2 bushels. Experimental farm results on grain sown on irrigated land place "Red Fife" wheat in the banner position, with a yield of 59.40 bushels per acre. Oats yielded 13 bushels to the acre. =Calgary.=--The yield of grain was everywhere abnormal, with an increased acreage of about 23 per cent. =Bassano.=--September 25. Individual record crops grown in Alberta include a 1,300-acre field of spring wheat, near here, which went 35 bushels to the acre and weighed 66 pounds to the bushel. =Noble.=--Mr. C. S. Noble had 350,000 bushels of grain. The cost of production per acre was $9.10 on summer-fallow and the returns were $24.93 per acre. Oats averaged 90 bushels on 2,880 acres, wheat 38 on 300 acres, and barley 61 on 450 acres, all grading top. Mr. Harris Oium, came from South Dakota twelve years ago and homesteaded the first 160 acres in his township, dividing his land between grain and pasture. He earned sufficient money to buy a quarter section of railway land at $11 an acre. The half section netted proportionate profits and he gradually increased his holdings to 1,920 acres, which are devoted to mixed farming this year. He values his land at $50 an acre. He has 200 hogs, mostly pure bred Poland China, 25 head draft horses and 35 head of pure bred Hereford cattle. Feeding barley to hogs nets him 80 cents a bushel, twice the average market price when delivered to the warehouse. His barley averages 40 bushels to the acre; oats average 80 bushels. =Red Deer.=--John Lamont says that a man on a quarter-section, with a few cows, brood sows, and 100 hens, can be as sure of a good living for his family as if he were pensioned by the government. His 20 acres of Alberta red winter wheat yielded 985 bushels. Last year his wheat went a little over 40 bushels per acre, machine measure. He grows alfalfa. S. D. McConnell has carried on mixed farming for twelve years keeping a few cattle and some hogs; makes a dollar a bushel out of his barley by feeding it. His fall wheat has gone from 30 to 65 bushels to the acre; oats from 40 to 100 bushels, never weighing less than 42 lbs. to the bushel. H. S. Corrigan has averaged at least 30 bushels of spring wheat per acre, 40 bushels of barley, and 60 bushels of oats. Twenty-one acres of oats ran 90 bushels per acre, and weighed 48 pounds per bushel. Last winter he bought nine head of cattle for $420, fed them six weeks on hay, green feed, and chop and sold them for $579.60. Two steers, 26 months old weighed 2,440 lbs. One sow raised 58 pigs in 2-1/2 years, and when sold, weighed 550 pounds. Two of her pigs, now a year old, are raising 23 pigs. Timothy has yielded a ton and a half on an average, at $15 a ton. =Red Deer.=--J. Northrup has not missed a crop in nine years, and says: "This is the best country in the world for small grain, better than Iowa and that is good--I love old Iowa. Winter wheat yields as high as 45 bushels per acre. Potatoes yield 400 bushels per acre at times. Alfalfa is a good crop when the soil is inoculated." C. A. Sharman has the world's champion Jersey cow. He says: "A quarter section of land and 100 head of stock mean the maximum of growth from every square yard. Any man, woman, or child that uses Alberta rightly will be used rightly by Alberta. Farming in Alberta is no gold brick proposition, but an industry, which is the basis of all wealth." [Illustration: One of the comfortable homes in Western Canada, showing splendid surrounding of trees.] [Illustration: Alfalfa has become a recognized fodder crop in Western Canada. Large areas are already planted, and it produces abundant yields.] A. P. Olsen formerly of Minnesota has raised cattle, horses, hogs and also milked a few cows. His oats yield 45 bushels to the acre, spring wheat, 36 bushels, winter wheat and barley 40 bushels. He won first prize at the Calgary Exhibition for a collection of 32 varieties of grasses found on his own land. =Macleod.=--R. McNab has returns which show a yield of 45 bushels of No. 1 Northern wheat to the acre. =Gleichen.=--Forty-five bushels of No. 1 Northern wheat per acre was the yield on the Blackfoot Indian reserve in 1913. =Pincher Creek.=--Alfred Pelletier had 130 bushels oats per acre. =Cities and Towns.=--On the banks of the Saskatchewan and forming the portal alike to the Last West and the New North, the capital city of =Edmonton= has attractions for the capitalist, the tourist, the manufacturer, and the health seeker. At the centre of two great transcontinental highways, Edmonton will soon be rated among the world's great cities. Traffic from the Pacific to Hudson Bay will go through her portals, the south, north and west will contribute. Possessed of municipally-owned waterworks, electric-lighting and power systems, street railways and telephones, the city is modern, attractive and alive. The number of banks is evidence of prosperity. The coal output of the district is about 3,000 tons daily. Population, about 60,000. In 1901, it was 2,626. In 1911, the assessment was a trifle under 47 million dollars; in 1912, 123-1/2 million dollars. School attendance, 5,114. =Calgary= tells its own story in public buildings and in over one hundred wholesale establishments, 300 retail stores, 15 chartered banks, half a hundred manufacturing establishments, and a $150,000 normal school building. The principal streets are paved. There is municipal ownership of sewer system, waterworks and electric light and street railway. Directly bearing upon the future of Calgary is the irrigation project of the Bow River Valley, where 3 million acres are being colonized. One thousand two hundred miles of canals and laterals are completed. Population in 1911 was 43,736; now claimed 75,000. There are 36 schools, 146 teachers, and 7,000 pupils. The Canadian Pacific car shops here employ 3,000 men. It has the Canadian Pacific, Canadian Northern, and Grand Trunk Pacific. =Lethbridge=, with a population of about 13,000, the centre of a splendid agricultural district, is also a prosperous coal-mining and commercial city. The output of the mines, which in 1912 was about 4,300 tons daily and necessitated a monthly pay roll of $145,000, finds a ready market in British Columbia, in Montana, and as far east as Winnipeg. A Government Experimental Farm is nearby. The several branches of railway diverging here make it an important railway centre. It will shortly have the Grand Trunk Pacific, and direct Canadian Pacific and Canadian Northern lines eastward. The municipally-owned street car system affords excellent service. =Medicine Hat=, in the valley of the South Saskatchewan and the centre of a magnificent ranching and mixed-farming district, is a division point of the Canadian Pacific Railway, with extensive railway shops operated with natural gas for fuel. The light, heat, and power, derived from this gas are sold to manufacturers at 5 cents per thousand cubic feet, and for domestic purposes at 1 cent. The factories and industries now using natural gas pay out about 2-1/2 million dollars annually, which will be considerably augmented by factories in course of construction, and to be erected. When the new flouring mills are completed, Medicine Hat will be the largest milling centre on the continent. Population over 6,000. =Macleod= is one of the oldest towns in the Province. With the rapid settlement of the surrounding agricultural land, this town is showing wonderful progress; during 1913 a large amount was spent in new buildings. =Wetaskiwin= is a railway division point from which farms stretch in all directions. The city is beautifully located, and owns its electric light plant, waterworks, and sewerage system. =Red Deer= is situated on the Canadian Pacific, half way between Calgary and Edmonton. It has a large sawmill, two brick-yards, concrete works, creameries, wheat elevators, and a sash-and-door factory. Coal and wood are plentiful and cheap. The district has never had a crop failure. It showed considerable business activity in 1913. Lines of railway extend westward. =Lacombe=, on the direct line between Calgary and Edmonton, has a flour mill, foundry, planing mill, brick-yard, grain elevators, electric lights, and telephones. The surrounding country is noted for its pure-bred cattle and horses, and a Government Experimental Farm adjoins the town. =Raymond= enjoys a rapid growth, and has one of the largest sugar factories in the west. Sugar beets are a great success here. Mr. Henry Holmes, who won the big wheat prize at the Dry Farming Congress held at Lethbridge in 1912 resides here. Other prosperous towns are Claresholm, Didsbury, Fort Saskatchewan, High River, Innisfail, Olds, Okotoks, Pincher Creek, Ponoka, St. Albert, Vermilion, Vegreville, Carmangay, Stettler, Taber, Tofield, Camrose, Castor, Cardston, Bassano, Edson, Coronation, Empress, Magrath, Nanton, Strathmore, Gleichen, Leduc, Hardisty, Walsh, Daysland, Sedgewick, Grassy Lake and Wainwright. Much interest is being taken in Athabaska Landing, owing to its increasing agricultural settlement and the completion of the Canadian Northern. CONDITIONS IN ALBERTA, 1913 =Agricultural Conditions.=--From the agricultural standpoint the season of 1913 was perfectly normal. Spring opened favourably for seeding operations and at no time from seeding to threshing did unfavourable conditions threaten a successful harvest. Copious rains in the growing period, and bright dry weather in the cutting and threshing period kept the farmer confident from the beginning. It was a season made, as it were, to the farmers' order. The quality of grain was extra good. Wheat weighed from 61-1/2 to 68 pounds to the bushel, oats 40 to 46, and barley 52 to 58. Conditions were equally favourable to pasture and hay crops and live stock. The first and second cuttings of alfalfa were especially heavy and timothy made a good average yield. Abundant pasture continued throughout the season making both beef and dairy cattle profitable investments. Live stock, dairy products, poultry and eggs are worth four times the value of grain crops. The value of the former is nearly 120 millions, while the total value of the grain crop is about 30 millions. The income from the former reached 40 million dollars last year, that from the latter about 25 million dollars. =Public Works and Railways.=--About 600 miles of steel were laid last year, bringing the railway mileage of the province up to nearly 3,600 miles. Equal activity is assured for 1914. This year the Government made a step to provide transportation facilities for districts sidetracked by the railway companies. The means adopted is guaranteeing the interest on the securities of light railways up to one-half the estimated cost. =Financial.=--The income of the farming community exceeds that of all former years. It is estimated that the product of this year that will be converted into cash for the liquidation of debts, is nearly 65 million dollars. The farmer is therefore in a position to pay his machinery debts, store debts, and other obligations. Consequently the farmers are optimistic and are planning extended operations for the coming season. Measured by every economical standard, Alberta shows sound prosperity and justifies a continuance of the confidence of outside capitalists in her established business, and increased investments in the development of her vast resources of farms, mines and forests. =Population and Live Stock.=--(Dominion Census Bureau): 1909 1910 1911 1912 1913 Population ...... ...... 374,663 ...... [2]500,000 Horses 263,713 294,225 407,153 451,573 484,809 Milch cows 116,371 124,470 147,687 157,922 168,376 Other cattle 910,547 926,937 592,163 587,307 610,917 Sheep 171,422 179,067 133,592 135,075 178,015 Swine 139,270 143,560 237,510 278,747 350,692 [2] Estimated. [Illustration: One type of house built of logs in the park districts of Central Alberta.] [Illustration: Marketing the grain at one of the elevators that are essential at every station in Western Canada.] [Illustration: CENTRAL ALBERTA Surveyed lands shown in colour. For Map of Southern Alberta see pages 26 and 27.] BRITISH COLUMBIA Stretching from the Rockies to the sea and from the United States to the 60th parallel, British Columbia is the largest Province in the Dominion. It is big enough to enable one to place in it, side by side at the same time, two Englands, three Irelands, and four Scotlands. Looking across the water to the millions of British subjects in India, in Hong-Kong, in Australia, and the isles of the sea, one catches brief pathetic glimpses of the commercial greatness which the Pacific has begun to waft to these shores. Nature intended British Columbia to develop a great seaward commerce, and substantial trade relations are now established northward to the Yukon and southward to Mexico. Population, June, 1911, 392,480. British Columbia has natural wealth in her forests and her fish, in her whales and seals and fruit farms. But it is from her mines, more than from aught else, that she will derive her future wealth. The parallel chains of the Rockies, the Selkirks, and the Coast Ranges are a rich dower. They furnish scenery unrivalled in its majesty; they are nurseries of great rivers which pour tribute into three oceans; and in their rocky embrace they hold a mineral wealth second to none. British Columbia contains an aggregate of from 16 million to 20 million unoccupied arable acres. Sir William Dawson has estimated that in the British Columbia section of the Peace River Valley alone, the wheat-growing area will amount to 10 million acres. It is a country of big things. =How to get the Land.=--Crown lands in British Columbia are laid off and surveyed into townships, containing thirty-six sections of one square mile in each. The head of a family, a widow, or single man over the age of eighteen years, and a British subject (or any alien upon making a declaration of his intention to become a British subject) may for agricultural purposes record any tract of unoccupied and unreserved crown land (not being an Indian settlement), not exceeding 160 acres in extent. Free homesteads are not granted. The pre-emptor of land must pay $1 an acre for it, live upon it for two years, and improve it to the extent of $2.50 per acre. Particulars regarding crown lands of this Province, their location, and method of pre-emption can be obtained by communicating with the sub-joined government agencies for the respective districts, or from the Secretary, Bureau of Agriculture, Victoria, B. C.: Alberni, Nanaimo, New Westminster, Golden, Cranbrook, Kaslo, Nelson, Revelstoke, Bakersville, Telegraph Creek, Atlin, Prince Rupert, Hazleton, Kamloops, Nicola, Vernon, Fairview, Clinton, Ashcroft. =Agriculture.=--It is not so long ago that agriculture was regarded as a quite secondary consideration in British Columbia. The construction of railroads, and the settlement of the valleys in the wake of the miner and the lumberman, have entirely dissipated that idea. The agricultural possibilities of British Columbia are now fully appreciated locally, and the outside world is also beginning to realize that the Pacific Province has rich assets in its arable and pastoral lands. Professor Macoun says: "As far north as the fifty-fourth degree it has been practically demonstrated that apples will flourish, while in the southern belt the more delicate fruits, peaches, grapes, and apricots, are an assured crop." On a trip through the valley one sees apple orchards with the trees fairly groaning under their loads of fruit, and pear, plum, and prune trees in like manner. In many places between the trees there are rows of potatoes, cabbages, and other vegetables, showing that the land is really producing a double crop. Grapes, water melons, and musk melons also thrive in the valley, and large quantities of each are grown. Tomatoes, cherries, and berries of all kinds are grown extensively. Wheat, oats, and corn give excellent yields. As an instance, one man's wheat crop this season averages 48-1/2 bushels to the acre. Of prunes, one orchardist grew a crop of 7,000 boxes. The apples shipped find a ready market in Calgary, Regina, and in the other cities in the prairie provinces. Prices this year are considerably better than they were a year ago. Last year this valley produced 350 carloads of fruit and vegetables, and some of the farmers have made net profits of as high as $250 an acre. Those who have turned their attention to mixed farming are exceptionally well pleased with the result. A local company is being organized to build a cannery and this will be in operation next year. And besides this one, another cannery is being talked of. In the valleys, of which there are many, there are tracts of wonderfully rich and, largely of alluvial deposits, that give paying returns. The Columbia and Kootenay Valleys, comprising the districts of Cranbrook, Nelson, Windermere, Slocan, Golden and Revelstoke are very rich. The eastern portion requires irrigation; they are well suited to fruit farming and all kinds of roots and vegetables. Timber lands are said to be the best, when cleared. In the western portion of these valleys there are considerable areas of fertile land, suitable for fruit growing. The available land is largely held by private individuals. [Illustration: The fruit industry of British Columbia is making rapid development. Peaches, plums, pears, grapes, apples grow to the greatest perfection.] The valleys of the Okanagan, Nicola, Similkameen, Kettle, North and South Thompson, and the Boundary are immensely rich in possibilities. The advent of the small farmer and fruit grower has driven the cattle industry northward into the Central district of the Province. The ranges are now divided into small parcels, occupied by fruit growers and small farmers. Irrigation is necessary in most places, but water is easy to acquire. The Land Recording District of New Westminster is one of the richest agricultural districts of the Province and includes all the fertile valley of the Lower Fraser. The climate is mild, with much rain in winter. The timber is very heavy and the underbrush thick. Heavy crops of hay, grain, and roots are raised, and fruit growing is here brought to perfection. The natural precipitation is sufficient for all purposes. For about seventy miles along the Fraser River there are farms which yield their owners revenues from $4,000 to $7,000 a year; this land is now worth from $100 to $1,000 an acre. As much as 5 tons of hay, 120 bushels of oats, 20 tons of potatoes, and 50 tons of roots have been raised per acre. Vancouver Island, with its great wealth of natural resources and its commanding position, is fast becoming one of the richest and most prosperous portions of the Province. Its large area of agricultural land is heavily timbered and costly to clear by individual effort, but the railroad companies are clearing, to encourage agricultural development. Most farmers raise live stock, do some dairying and grow fruit. Grains, grasses, roots, and vegetables grow to perfection and yield heavily. Apples, pears, plums, prunes, and cherries grow luxuriantly, while the more tender fruits--peaches, apricots, nectarines, and grapes attain perfection in the southern districts when carefully cultivated. F. A. Starkey, Pres. of the Boards of Trade says that a clear profit of 66-2/3 per cent can be made in fruit growing. =Lillooet= is well adapted to dairying, cattle raising, and fruit growing. =Central British Columbia=, through which the Grand Trunk Pacific is now being constructed, comprises the valleys of the Bulkley, Endako, Nechaco, Fraser, and Stuart, where there is considerable land inviting to the settler. The soil and climate of the valleys extending westward to the Bulkley are adapted to grain growing and cattle raising, while further westward and to within fifty miles of the west coast belt apple culture as well is successful. Down the Fraser from Fort George there is active development in settlement, and wheat, oats, barley and hay are highly productive; the climate is good. The soil is a brown silt covered by a layer of vegetable mould, and the timber is light and easy to clear. Along the Nechaco, between Fort George and Fraser Lake, is same character of soil and a similar country, there being large tracts well fitted for general farming. Native grasses yield abundant food; there is ample rainfall, and the winter climate moderates as the coast is approached. North of Fort Fraser there is good grazing and farming land, somewhat timbered and covered with rich grasses. The prevailing price is $25 an acre; owners are not particularly anxious to sell. The Bulkley and Endako valleys have a lightly-timbered rich soil, and a well-watered country with mixed farming possibilities. There is no necessity for irrigation. It would be rash for the inexperienced to penetrate this district in search of land before the railway. The difficulties and cost are too great. To the hardy pioneer, who has knowledge of how to select good land in a timbered country, the future is at his feet. Most of the available land within a reasonable distance of the railroad is taken up, and the days of the pre-emptor, except in remoter parts, are past. Land can be secured at a reasonable figure from those who have purchased in large blocks from the Government. Central British Columbia is lightly timbered from end to end; natural open patches are not frequent, and occur mostly on river banks and at the ends of lakes. While railroad construction is under way and settlement in progress good prices will be obtained for all agricultural products. This portion of the Province can now be reached by way of Prince Rupert, by rail from Edmonton, or by trail from Ashcroft, B. C. =Highways.=--One-half million dollars was spent last year in opening up first-class wagon and motor roads throughout the Province. =Education.=--The school system is free and non-sectarian; equally as efficient as in any other Province of the Dominion. The Government builds a school-house, makes a grant for incidental expenses, and pays a teacher in every district where twenty children between the ages of six and sixteen can be gathered. High schools are also established in cities, where classics and higher mathematics are taught. =Chief Cities.=--Victoria, the capital, about 60,000; Vancouver, the commercial capital, 123,902; New Westminster, 13,199; Nelson, 4,476; Nanaimo, 8,168; Rossland, 2,826; Kamloops, 3,772; Grand Forks, 1,577, Revelstoke, 3,017; Fernie, 3,146; Cranbrook, 3,090; Ladysmith, 3,295; Prince Rupert, 4,184; Fort George and Fort Fraser on the Fraser and Nechaco rivers and Grand Trunk Pacific will be important towns in the near future. Hon. W. R. Ross, Provincial Minister of Lands, says that there is a total of 93,000,000 acres of land reserved for pre-emption within the confines of the Province at the present time. Of the 250,000,000 acres of ground estimated to be within the Province only 5,000,000 acres, or about 2 per cent, had been sold to date he said, even excluding reserve land, available for settlement. As a matter of fact, during the past few years between 9,000 and 11,000 pre-emptions had been issued by the Government to settlers, and during the last year 3,600 had been issued outside of the railway belt and about 1,200 within the area. The cities afford a splendid reflex of the trade of the country, and show the development in mining, fishing, lumbering, shipping, manufacturing and agriculture. =Climate.=--Near the coast the average number of days in the year below freezing is fifteen; rainfall varies from 40 to 100 inches. Farther inland the average number of days in the year below freezing is sixty-five. The northern districts of Hazleton, Pearl River, Cassiar, and Atlin are somewhat colder. Ocean currents and moisture laden winds from the Pacific exercise a moderating influence upon the climate of the coast. The westerly winds, arrested in their passage east by the Coast Range, create what is known as the "dry belt" east of the mountains; the higher air currents carry the moisture to the lofty peaks of the Selkirks, and the precipitation in the eastern portion of the Province is greater than in the central district, thus a series of alternate moist and dry belts is formed. The Province offers a choice of a dry or moist climate, an almost total absence of extremes of heat and cold, freedom from malaria, and conditions most favourable. =Mineral Resources.=--The precious and useful metals abound in British Columbia, and it was the discovery of placer gold in the Cariboo District that first attracted attention to the Province. Occurrences of copper, gold, silver, and lead ores are widespread, and mining is being carried on in those districts convenient to transportation facilities. Coal is extensively mined in Vancouver Island, in the Crow's Nest Pass district and more recently, in the Nicola Valley region. Miners' wages are high, and there is usually a constant demand for workmen. The value of the mineral production last year was 32 million dollars, of which coal contributed 9 million and copper 8 million dollars. Much successful prospecting is in progress in the region traversed by the Grand Trunk Pacific Railway, the completion of which will undoubtedly be followed by important mining development. Already many valuable finds of coal and metal ores have been made. The mineral resources are not confined to any one section, although the principal metalliferous operations have so far been confined to the southern portion of the Province. The various mining camps, employing large numbers of men, who are paid high wages, afford a fine home market for the products of the farms and orchards. [Illustration: There is no more profitable industry in British Columbia than that of raising cattle. Dairying is carried on extensively.] [Illustration: BRITISH COLUMBIA Dominion Electoral Divisions shown in Colour. Lands in Peace River Block, as well as those along the Canadian Pacific Railway within shaded line, are administered by the Dominion Government.] =Timber.=--Next in importance, at the present time, are the timber resources. It is admitted that the largest remaining areas of first-class building timbers in the world are in British Columbia. The lumber industry has increased enormously of recent years owing to the demand from the rapidly growing Prairie Provinces. For many years to come it will have to undergo constant expansion to keep pace with the ever-growing needs of the untimbered prairie regions. The principal woods are Douglas fir, cedar, spruce, tamarac, pine and hemlock. =Fisheries.=--This Province has risen to the rank of the greatest fish-producing Province in the Dominion. Besides its extensive salmon fisheries, it has, lying within easy distance of the northern part of its coast line, extremely rich halibut grounds, while herring are in great abundance all along its shores. These various branches of the fishing industry are being rapidly developed, but there is yet room for great expansion. The value of the fisheries of the Provinces for 1913 amounted to about 11 million dollars. =What Premier McBride says=: "Millions of British money is finding investment in British Columbia, and there is scope for millions more. One of the advantages of British Columbia is that all of its industrial and other enterprises are of a permanent character. There is room for millions of people. We have the resources, the geographical situation, and the climate that will appeal. "Our elementary school system is free and compulsory, and one of the most efficient in the world, making ample provision, as it does, for ambitious students to pass on to the universities of Canada, the United States, and England. But we are also to have our own University." Much attention has been attracted to the result of the opening of the Panama Canal on the shipping future of the ports at the coast. =Lakes and Rivers.=--The most important are the Columbia, which has a course of 600 miles in British Columbia; the Fraser, 750 miles long; the Skeena, 300 miles long; the Thompson, the Kootenay, the Stikine, the Liard, and the Peace. These with their tributaries drain an area of one-tenth of the whole of the North American continent. The lake area aggregates 1-1/2 million acres. On the lakes and rivers first-class steamers give accommodation to the settlements along the banks and in the valleys, and afford excellent transportation for tourists. There are lines of steamers in service between Vancouver, Japan, and China; between Vancouver and Australia; between Vancouver and Mexico, and between Vancouver and England via the Suez Canal. These ocean communications of British Columbia are highly important. Vancouver is the terminus of the shortest route from Liverpool to Yokohama and all important points of the Far East. The Province has a considerable coasting fleet, having direct connection with Yukon and Alaska. There is not as yet a large Pacific marine of Canadian registry. Although in the service of Canadian interests the tonnage is largely British. =A Rich Province.=--British Columbia coal measures are sufficient to supply the world for centuries. It possesses the greatest compact area of merchantable timber in the world. The mines are in the early stages of their development, and have already produced about 400 million dollars, of which coal contributed 122 million. The value of the mineral production in 1911 was 30 million dollars. The fisheries return an average annual yield of nearly 10 million dollars. British Columbia's trade, per head of population, is the largest in the world. The chief exports are salmon, coal, gold, silver, copper, lead, timber, masts and spars, furs and skins, whale-oil, sealskins, hops, and fruit. =Railways.=--The Canadian Pacific Railway has two main lines and several branches making connection with United States railway systems, as well as operating on Vancouver Island. With the exception of one or two small gaps the Grand Trunk Pacific will have its line completed through Central British Columbia this year. This will open up a very large area for settlement. At the Pacific terminus in Prince Rupert, splendid steamers connect with other portions of the Mainland and with Vancouver Island. The Canadian Northern has secured low grades across the Rockies and, making its way down the Fraser and North Thompson, finds an easy outlet at Port Mann near Vancouver. The Great Northern enters the Province at points in the boundary. The provincial railway mileage is 1,854 miles with 1,000 miles under construction. =Stock.=--Dairying pays handsomely in British Columbia. The local demand for butter is constantly increasing and the prices secured are higher than in Eastern Canada. The Province possesses many elements necessary to constitute it a great dairying country. There are extensive areas of pastoral land in the interior, while increased cultivation in the lower country will form the necessary feeding ground. With a plentiful supply of good water, and luxuriant and nutritious grasses, there is every required facility added. Cattle raising on a large scale was formerly one of the chief industries of the Province, and many of the large ranches are still making money, but the tendency of late has been for smaller herds and the improvement of the stock. Sheep raising is another branch of agriculture capable of great expansion. Hogs, in small farming, are probably the most profitable of live stock, owing to the general demand for pork, bacon, ham, and lard, and much attention is now being given to raising them. Over 1 million dollars of hog products are imported annually, and prices are always high. The demand for good horses, especially heavy draft and working animals, is always increasing, and prices are consequently high. =Dairy Products.=--In 1912 this industry reached a valuation of nearly 4 million dollars. Poultry raising is a branch of general farming which is beginning to receive special attention in British Columbia. The home market is nowhere nearly supplied either with eggs or poultry, large quantities being imported from Manitoba, Ontario, California, Washington, and elsewhere. Good prices prevail at all seasons of the year. Every portion of British Columbia is suitable for poultry raising. In the Coast districts, hens, ducks, and geese can be raised to great advantage, and the dry belts and uplands are particularly well adapted to turkeys. =Grain.=--Wheat is grown principally in the Fraser, Okanagan, and Spallumcheen Valleys and in the country around Kamloops. Barley of excellent quality is grown in many parts of the Province. Oats are the principal grain crop, the quality and yield being good, and the demand beyond the quantity grown. Potatoes, turnips, carrots, mangolds, and all other roots grow in profusion wherever their cultivation has been attempted. Hop culture is carried on in the Okanagan, Agassiz, and Chilliwak districts. British Columbia hops command a good price in England and recently Eastern Canada and Australia have bid for them. Some attention has been given to the cultivation of sugar-beets, tobacco, and celery, and in each case with the most gratifying results, ensuring an early expansion of operations in all of these lines. In 1912 there was a total agricultural production in the Province of about 14-1/2 million dollars, but there was imported another 15 million dollars' worth. British Columbia agriculturists and fruit growers are particularly fortunate in having a splendid home market for their products, and for their surplus there is the enormous present and illimitable future demand of the Prairie Provinces, assuring always good prices and ready sale for everything they produce. =Game.=--For big-game hunters there are moose, wapiti, sheep, caribou, goat, deer, grizzly, black, and brown bear, wolves, panthers, lynx, and wild cats; in the way of small game there is the best snipe shooting procurable anywhere, and duck and geese, prairie chicken, grouse, and quail abound. In addition to sport with rifle and shot gun, salmon fishing, unknown elsewhere, trout and grayling fishing, unsurpassed in any other country, may be enjoyed at a minimum of cost and inconvenience. [Illustration: In Central British Columbia there is an area of agricultural land that is unexcelled anywhere. Wonderful yields of all small grains are reported.] WHAT WINS IN CENTRAL CANADA The adaptable and friendly man going into Canada will find a welcome awaiting him. There is room for everybody. The man already established, the railways, and the Government are equally anxious to secure further immigration of the right kind. The new man is not looked upon as an intruder but as a producer of new wealth, an enricher of the commonwealth. The new man should buy his tools as he needs them. Until he has more than thirty acres under crop he can work with a neighbour, in exchange for the services of a binder. He may not need to build a granary for two or three years. A cow is a good investment, and a vegetable garden easily pays its own way. A few broad general suggestions might be made to the settlers who come in with varying capital at their command. =The Man Who Has Less Than $300.=--This man had better work for wages for the first year. He can either hire out to established farmers or find employment on railway construction work. During the year, opportunity may open up for him to take up his free grant or make the first payment on a quarter-section that he would like to purchase. =The Man Who Has $600.=--Get hold of your 160-acre free homestead at once, build your shack, and proceed with your homestead duties. During the six months that you are free to absent yourself from your homestead, hire out to some successful farmer and get enough to tide you over the other half of the year which you must spend in residence upon the land. When you have put in six months' residence during each of these years and have complied with the improvement conditions required by the Land Act, you become the absolute owner. =The Man Who Has $1,000.=--Either homestead a farm or purchase one on the installment plan, and get to work at once. A small house and out buildings will be required, with horses or oxen, a plough, a wagon, etc. Working out in the harvest season will be needed to bring in money to tide over the winter and get the crop sown in good condition. As the crop grows, opportunity is given to make the house comfortable, to look around and plan ahead. =What $1,500 Will Buy.=--No farmer should come expecting to make a homestead pay its own way the first year. He needs buildings, an equipment, and money for the maintenance of himself and family, until his first harvest can be garnered. After securing his land and putting up his buildings, $1,500 will give him a fairly good equipment to begin with. This will probably be expended as under: 1 team of good horses $450.00 1 harvester 165.00 4 milch cows at $65 260.00 1 seeder 113.00 1 strong wagon 94.00 4 hogs at $25 100.00 4 sheep at $8 32.00 1 set strong harness 35.00 1 rough sleigh 37.00 1 disc harrow 36.00 1 breaking plough 25.00 1 mowing machine 60.00 1 stubble plough 20.00 1 harrow 20.00 Other smaller tools 40.00 Barnyard fowls 40.00 Total $1527.00 If the settler locates early in the season he may get in a crop of potatoes or oats in May or early June. =Will a Quarter-Section Pay?=--"Will the tilling of a quarter of a section (160 acres) pay?" when asked of those who have tried it provokes the invariable answer that "It will and does pay." "We, or those following us, will make less than that pay," said one who had proved up on a homestead. Another pointed to the fact that many of those who commenced on homesteads are now owners of other quarters--and even larger areas, showing that they have progressed in obtaining more land, while others still have stuck to the homestead quarter and this year are marketing as much as $2,000 worth of grain and often nearer $3,000. =Shall You Buy, Rent or Homestead?=--The question is one that Canadian Government officials are frequently asked, especially in the homes of a family of boys who have become interested in Central Canada. If the young man has grit and inexperience let him homestead. Treating this subject in a newspaper article, a correspondent very tersely says, "He will survive the ordeal and gain his experience at less cost." Another has ample knowledge of farming practice, experience in farm management, but lacks pluck and staying power and the capacity to endure. The food for thought and opportunity for action provided by the management of an improved farm would be just the stimulus required to make him settle into harness and "work out his own salvation in fear and trembling." Many men make excellent, progressive, broad-gauge farmers, by renting, or buying an improved farm in a settled district and keeping in touch with more advanced thought and methods. Their immediate financial success may not be so great; their ultimate success will be much greater, for they have been saved from narrow-gauge ways and withering at the top. Let the boy take the route that appeals to him. Don't force him to homestead if he pines to rent. Don't try to keep him at home if homesteading looks good to him. The thing to remember is that success may be achieved by any one of the three routes. If the foundation is all right, hard work the method, and thoroughness the motto, it makes little difference what road is taken--whether homesteading, buying, or renting--Central Canada is big enough, and good farming profitable enough. [Illustration: Alfalfa is a crop that is now assured in any of the Provinces of Western Canada. The above is a Manitoba illustration, but will apply to the other Provinces.] YOUR OPPORTUNITY Contentment is not necessarily achieved by accomplishments that benefit the world--the world outside the small sphere in which we move; but when accompanied by such accomplishments how the satisfaction broadens! The genius whose inventions have been of service to mankind is in a plane far above that of the simple-minded individual who finds contentment in the little things of life affecting himself alone. Feeding the world is no mean accomplishment. Nor is it a vain or trifling boast to say that this is what the farmer of Western Canada has started out to do. He is sure to find contentment. Part of his contentment will be the consciousness of doing world-wide good; part of it will be the personal enjoyment of an inspiring liberty and independence. Afield and abroad his friends will learn what he is doing. Soon they too will become partners in a work that not only betters their own condition, but ministers to the needs of the whole world in the raising of products that go to "feed the world." It is to those who desire this broad contentment that the Canadian Government extends the heartiest welcome, and to such men it offers the vast opportunities of a country richer in possibilities than any other in the present century. To the man on the farm in other regions, whom success has followed with slow tread; to the farmer's son, who has watched with unsatisfied eye the unrequited efforts of his forbears, seeing the life that has made his mother a "drudge," noting the struggle which has stooped his father's shoulders, dimmed his vision, dwarfed his spirit, and returned nothing but existence and a meagre bank account--it is to these men, father and son, that the opportunities of Western Canada are presented. To them an invitation is extended to secure the contentment found in personal progress and world-wide benefaction. The possibilities of Western Canada are no longer new and untried. Twelve or fifteen years of cultivation have made it a vital, living land, and placed it on the level with the greatest of the food-producing countries. That same redundant energy will shortly make it the richly laden "bread basket" not of England only, but of the entire world. Here every condition is a health bringer as well as a wealth bringer. A few months in this "New World" to which you are invited and where rejuvenating physical and mental changes are wrought; where before hard work was drudgery, it is now a delight; where nothing but fresh trouble darkened the horizon, the outlook is now a rainbow of promise. Industry is seasoned with the compelling spirit of adventure, and the thought of the coming harvest constantly lightens the burden of labor. The crowded city dweller, curbing those natural desires for home-building that are as natural as breathing, will find in Western Canada a country where nothing is so plentiful as space. And in building his home here he is surely laying the foundation for a competence, and very often for a fortune. Along with prosperity there is abounding happiness and good fellowship in the farming communities. The homesteader, beginning in a modest way, rears his first habitation with practical and serviceable ends in view. His next-door neighbours are ready and willing to help him put a roof over his head. There is a splendid lend-a-hand sentiment mixed with the vigorous climate. The first harvest, like all succeeding harvests, comes quickly, because the soil is a lightning producer. All summer long the settler has dreamed of nothing but acres of waving grain; with the autumn the sight of hopes fulfilled compensates him for his months of toil. In due time the crop is harvested and marketed, the debts are wiped out, and the settler proudly opens his bank account. When he has turned the golden grain into the golden coin of the realm he realizes for the first time what it means to be liberally paid for the work of his hand and brain. The reward of the farmer in Western Canada is sure; and as the soil responds faithfully to his husbandry, year after year, he looks back upon the old conditions he has left with devout thankfulness that they are past. After the bumper harvest the happy young farmer can send for the wife or the bride-to-be whom he has left "back home." A few years ago "down on the farm" was an expression synonymous with isolation, loneliness and primitive living. Not so to-day. Whatever his previous outlook, the settler in Western Canada cannot go on raising large crops and selling his products for high prices without enlarging his view of life in general and bettering his material conditions. He needs to practice no rigid economy. He can afford to supply his wife and children with all the best the markets provide. An up-to-date farm house in Manitoba, Saskatchewan, or Alberta has very much the same conveniences as the average home of the well-to-do in any other part of the world. Nine times out of ten it is because he feels confident he can increase the comfort and happiness of his wife and children that the settler emigrates to Western Canada. Western Canada is no longer a land calling only to the hardy young adventurer; it calls to the settler and to his wife and children. And with its invitation goes the promise not only of larger financial returns, but of domestic happiness in a pure, wholesome environment. Railroads bring to the doors of the settler the fruits of all countries and here is to hand the use of every modern idea and invention. The climate is the most health-giving, all-year kind. There is latent riches in the soil, produced by centuries of accumulation of decayed vegetation, and the fat producing qualities of the native grasses are unexcelled in any part of the world. The soil produces the best qualities of wheat, oats, barley, flax, and all kinds of vegetables and roots in less time than many districts farther south in the states. There are inexhaustible coal deposits and natural gas and oil fields, as yet unknown in extent or production. The Canadian Rockies, forming a western boundary to the great agricultural area, supply the needed mineral and building materials. In the north and west there are immense forests. Lakes and rivers are capable of an enormous development for power purposes, besides supplying an abundance of food and game fishes, and forests and prairies are full of big and small game of all kinds. But all this is yet undeveloped and unused. All kinds of live stock can be raised here for less money than in the more thickly populated communities. One Western Canada farmer in 1912 secured a crop of Marquis wheat, yielding 76 bushels per acre. This is spoken of as a record yield, and this is doubtless true, but several cases have been brought to notice where yields almost as large have been produced, and in different parts of the country. During the past year there have been reported many yields of from 35 to 45 bushels of wheat to the acre. Oats, too, were a successful crop and so was the barley and oat crop. Wheat that would yield 40 bushels per acre, would bring on the market 70 cents (a fair figure) per bushel, a gross return of $28 per acre. Allow $12 per acre (an outside figure) there would be a balance of $16 per acre net profit. This figure should satisfy anyone having land that cost less than $100 per acre. GENERAL INFORMATION Owing to the number of questions asked daily, it has been deemed advisable to put in condensed form, such questions as most naturally occur, giving the answers which experience dictates as appropriate, conveying the information commonly asked for. If the reader does not find here the answer to his particular difficulty, a letter to the Superintendent, or to any Government Agent, will secure full particulars. =1. Where are the lands referred to?= In Manitoba, Saskatchewan, Alberta, and in British Columbia. =2. What kind of land is it?= The land is mostly prairie (except in British Columbia) and can be secured free from timber and stones, if desired, the soil being the very best alluvial black loam from one to two feet deep, with a clay subsoil. It is just rolling enough to give good drainage, and in places there is plenty of timber, while some is underlaid with good coal. =3. If the land is what you say, why is the Government giving it away?= The Government, knowing that agriculture is the foundation of a progressive country, and that large yields of farm produce insure prosperity in all other branches of business, is doing everything in its power to encourage settlement. It is much better for each man to own his own farm, therefore a free grant of 160 acres is given to every man who will reside upon and cultivate it. =4. Is it timber or prairie land?= The province of Manitoba has considerable open prairie, especially in the southwest; towards the centre it is parklike with some timber belts in parts. The southern parts of Saskatchewan and Alberta are chiefly open prairie with growths of timber along the streams. As you go north or northwest about 20 per cent of the country may be said to be timbered. =5. Then as to climate?= The summer days are warm and the nights cool. The fall and spring are most delightful, although it may be said that winter breaks almost into summer, and the latter lasts until October. Winters are pleasant and healthful. There are no pulmonary or other endemic complaints. Snow begins to fall about the middle of November and in March there is generally very little. Near the Rockies the snowfall is not as heavy as farther east, and the chinook winds have a tempering influence. The absence of the snowfall would be regretted by the farmer. Nature has generously provided for every mile of the country, and there is really very little choice with the exception that farther west the climate is somewhat milder. =6. Is there sufficient rainfall?= A sufficient supply can be relied upon. The most rain falls in May and June, when most needed. =7. What are the roads like?= Bridges and culverts are built where needed, and roadways are usually graded up; but not gravelled or macadamized. The natural prairie road is superior to most manufactured roads, and afford good travelling in ordinary seasons and every fall and winter. =8. What sort of people are settled there, and is English generally spoken?= Canadians, English, Scotch, Irish, French, and English-speaking Americans (who are going in, in large numbers), with Germans and Scandinavians. English is the language of the country, and is spoken everywhere. =9. Will I have to change my citizenship if I go to Canada?= An alien, before making entry for free homestead land, must declare his intention of becoming a British subject and become naturalized before obtaining patent for his land. In the meanwhile he can hold possession, and exercise right of ownership. If not a British subject he must reside three years to become naturalized. To become a British subject a settler of foreign birth should make application to anyone authorized to administer oaths in a Canadian Court. An alien may purchase land from any of the railway or land companies and hold title deed without changing his citizenship. =10. How about American money?= American money is taken everywhere in Central Canada at its face value. =11. Can a man who has used his homestead right in the United States take a homestead in Canada?= Yes. =12. If a British subject has taken out "citizen papers" in the United States how does he stand in Canada?= He must be "repatriated," i.e., take out a certificate of naturalization, which can be done after three months' residence in Canada. =13. What grains are raised in Central Canada?= Wheat (winter and spring), oats, barley, flax, speltz, rye and other small grains, and corn is grown chiefly for silo purposes. =14. How long does it take wheat to mature?= The average time is from 100 to 118 days. This short time in accounted for by the long hours of sunlight which during the growing and ripening season, will average 16 hours a day. =15. Can a man raise a crop on the first breaking of his land?= Yes, but it is not well to use the land for any other purpose the first year than for raising garden vegetables, or perhaps a crop of flax, as it is necessarily rough on account of the heavy sod not having had time to rot and become workable. Good yields of oats have been reported on breaking. =16. Is there plenty of hay available?= In many parts there is sufficient wild hay meadow on government or vacant land, which may be rented at a very low rental, if you have not enough on your own farm. Experience has proven that timothy, brome, clover and other cultivated grasses do well. Yields of brome have been reported from two to four tons per acre. Alfalfa under proper cultivation in many places gives successful yields. =17. Do vegetables thrive and what kinds are grown?= Potatoes, turnips, carrots, beets, onions, parsnips, cabbages, peas, beans, celery, pumpkins, tomatoes, squash, melons, etc., are unequalled anywhere. =18. Can fruit be raised and what varieties?= Small fruits grow wild. The cultivated are plums, cranberries, strawberries, gooseberries, raspberries, currants. In British Columbia fruit growing of all kinds is carried on very extensively and successfully. =19. About what time does seeding begin?= As a rule farmers begin their seeding from the first to the fifteenth of April, sometimes continuing well into May. The average yield of all grains in Central Canada would be largely increased, did not some farmers unwisely do seeding until the middle of June. =20. How is it for stock raising?= The country has no equal. In many parts cattle and horses are not housed throughout the winter, and so nutritious are the wild grasses that stock is marketed without having been fed any grain. =21. In what way can I secure land in Central Canada?= By homesteading, or purchasing from railway or land companies. The Dominion Government has no land for sale. The British Columbia Government sells land to actual settlers at low figures. =22. Can I get a map or list of lands vacant and open to homestead entry?= It has been found impracticable to keep a publication of that kind up to date, owing to the daily changes. An intending settler on reaching the district he selects should enquire of the Dominion Lands Agent what lands are vacant in that particular locality, finally narrowing down the enquiry to a township or two, diagrams of which, with the vacant lands marked, will be supplied free. A competent land guide can be had. =23. How far are homestead lands from lines of railway?= They vary, but at present the nearest will be from 15 to 20 miles. Railways are being built into the new districts. =24. In which districts are located the most and best available homesteads?= The character of homestead wanted by the settler will decide this. Very few homesteads are vacant in the southern districts; towards the centre and north portions of the provinces, homesteads are plentiful. They comprise a territory in which wood for building purposes and fuel are plentiful. =25. Is there any good land close to the Rocky Mountains?= The nearer you approach the mountains the more hilly it becomes, and the elevation is too great for grain raising. Cattle and horses do well. =26. If a man take his family there before he selects a homestead can he get temporary accommodation?= At the following places the Government maintains Immigration halls with free temporary accommodation for those desiring such and supplying their own provisions. It is always better for the head of the family, or such member of it as may be entitled to homestead, to select and make entry for lands before moving family: Biggar, Brandon, Calgary, Caster, Cereal, Edmonton, Edson, Emerson, Entwistle, Gravelburg, Herbert, Kerrobert, Lloydminster, Lethbridge, Moose Jaw, North Battleford, North Portal, Prince Albert, Regina, Saskatoon, Strathcona, South Battleford, Swift Current, Tisdale, Unity, Vegreville, Vermilion, Viking, Virden, Wainwright, Wilkie, Yonkers. =27. Where must I make my homestead entry?= At the Dominion Lands Office for the district. =28. Can homestead lands he reserved for a minor?= An agent of Dominion Lands may reserve a quarter-section for a minor over 17 years of age until he is 18, if his father, or other near relative live upon homestead or upon farming land owned, not less than 80 acres, within nine miles of reserved homestead. The minor must make entry in person within one month after becoming 18 years of age. =29. Can a person borrow money on a homestead before receiving patent?= No; contrary to Dominion Lands Act. =30. Would the time I was away working for a neighbour, or on the railway, or other work count as time on my homestead?= Only actual residence on your homestead will count, and you must reside on homestead six months in each of three years. =31. Is it permissible to reside with brother, who has filed on adjoining land?= A homesteader may reside with father, mother, son, daughter, brother, or sister on farming land owned solely by him or her, not less than 80 acres, or upon homestead entered for by him or her not more than nine miles from entrant's homestead. Fifty acres of homestead must be brought under cultivation, instead of 30 acres, as is the case when there is direct residence. =32. How shall I know what to do or where to go when I reach there?= Make a careful study of this pamphlet and decide in a general way on the district in which you wish to settle. Then put yourself in communication with your nearest Canadian Government Agent, whose name appears on the second page of cover. At Winnipeg, and in the offices of any of the Dominion Lands Agents in Central Canada, are maps showing vacant lands. Having decided on the district where you will make your home, the services of a competent land guide may be secured to assist in locating. =33. What is the best way to get there?= Write your nearest Canadian Government Agent for routes, and settlers' low railway rate certificate good from the Canadian boundary to destination for passengers and freight. =34. How much baggage will I be allowed on the Canadian railways?= 150 pounds for each full ticket. =35. Are settlers' effects bonded through to destination, or are they examined at the boundary?= If settler accompanies effects they will be examined at the boundary, without any trouble; if effects are unaccompanied they will go through to the nearest bonding (or customs) point to destination. =36. In case settler's family follow him what about railway rates?= On application to Canadian Government Agent, settlers' low railway rate certificate will be forwarded, and they will be given the settlers' privilege. =37. What is the duty on horses and cattle if a settler should want to take in more than the number allowed free into Canada?= When for the improvement of stock free; otherwise, over one year old, they will be valued at a minimum of $50 per head, and duty will be 25 per cent. =38. How much money must one have to start grain farming and how little can he do with if he goes ranching?= See Chapter "What wins in Central Canada," page 37. =39. How can I procure lands for ranching?= They may be leased from the Government at a low rental. Write for full particulars to Secretary of the Interior, Ottawa, Canada. =40. In those parts which are better for cattle and sheep than for grain, what does a man do if he has only 160 acres?= If a settler should desire to go into stock raising and his quarter-section of 160 acres should not prove sufficient to furnish pasture for his stock, he can make application to the Land Commissioner for a lease for grazing lands for a term of twenty-one years, at a very low cost. =41. Where is information to be had about British Columbia?= Apply to Secretary Provincial Bureau of Information, Victoria, B. C. =42. Is living expensive?= Sugar, granulated, 14 to 18 lbs. for $1, according to fluctuation of market. Tea, 30 to 50 cents a lb.; coffee, 30 to 45 cents a lb.; flour, $2.25 to $3.00 per 98 lbs. Dry goods about Eastern Canada prices. Cotton somewhat dearer than in United States, and woollen goods noticeably cheaper. Stoves and furniture somewhat higher than eastern prices, owing to freight charges. =43. Are the taxes high?= No. Having no expensive system of municipal or county organization, taxes are necessarily low. Each quarter-section of land, consisting of 160 acres, owned or occupied, is taxed very low. The only other taxes are for schools. In the locations where the settlers have formed school districts the total tax for all purposes on a quarter-section amounts to from $10 to $14.50 per annum. =44. Does the Government tax the settler if he lets his cattle run on Government lands? If they fence their land, is he obliged to fence his also?= The settler is not required to pay a tax for allowing his cattle to run on Government land, but it is advisable to lease land from the Government for haying or grazing purposes, when needed. If one fences his land, his adjoining neighbour has to stand a proportionate share of the cost of the fence adjoining his property, or build one-half of it himself. =45. Where can a settler sell what he raises? Is there any competition amongst buyers, or has he got to sell for anything he can get?= A system of elevators is established by railway companies and others throughout the entire West. Grain is bought at these and forwarded to the great markets in other parts of Canada, the United States, and Europe. Canadian flour mills, oatmeal mills, and breweries use millions of bushels of grain annually. To the west and northwest of Central Canada lie mining regions, which are dependent upon the prairies for supplies and will to a great extent continue to be. Beef is bought on the hoof at the home of the farmer or rancher. Buyers scour the country in quest of this product. =46. Where can material for a house and sheds be procured, and about what would it cost? What about fuel? Do people suffer from the cold?= Though there are large tracts of forest in the Canadian West there are localities where building timber and material is limited, but this has not proven any drawback as the Government has made provision that should a man settle on a quarter-section deprived of timber, he can, by making application to the Dominion Lands Agent, obtain a permit to cut on Government lands free of charge the following, viz.: 1. 3,000 lineal feet of building timber, measuring no more than 12 inches at the butt, or 9,250 feet board measure. 2. 400 roofing poles. 3. 2,000 fencing rails and 500 fence posts, 7 feet long, and not exceeding five (5) inches in diameter at the small end. 4. 30 cords of dry fuel wood for firewood. The settler has only the expense of the cutting and hauling to his homestead. The principal districts are within easy reach of firewood; the settlers of Alberta and Saskatchewan are particularly favoured, especially along the various streams, from some of which they get all the coal they require, at a trifling cost. No one in the country need suffer from the cold on account of scarcity of fuel. =47. Is it advisable to go into a new country during the winter months with uncertain weather conditions?= A few years ago, when settlement was sparse, settlers were advised to wait until March or April. Now that so many have friends in Western Canada there need be no hesitation when to start. Lines of railway penetrate most of the settled districts, and no one need go far from neighbours already settled. There is no longer the dread of pioneering, and it is robbed of the romance that once surrounded it. With farm already selected, it is perfectly safe, and to the prospective homesteader he can get some sort of occupation until early spring, when he will be on the ground ready for it. =48. What does lumber cost?= Spruce boards and dimensions, about $20 per thousand feet; shiplap, $23 to $28; flooring and siding, $25 up, according to quality; cedar shingles, from $3.50 to $4.25 per thousand. These prices fluctuate. =49. What chance is there for employment when a man first goes there and isn't working on his land?= There are different industries through the country, outside of farming and ranching, such as sawmills, flour mills, brick-yards, railroad building in the summer, and lumbering in the winter. The chances for employment are good as a large percentage of those going in and those already there farm so much that they must have help, and pay good wages. During the past two seasons from twenty to thirty thousand farm labourers have been brought in each year from the eastern Provinces and the United States to assist in caring for the large crops. The capable and willing worker is sure to succeed in Canada. =50. Can I get employment with a farmer so as to become acquainted with local conditions?= This can be done through the Commissioner of Immigration at Winnipeg, who is in a position to offer engagements with well established farmers. Men experienced in agriculture may expect to receive from $25 up per month with board and lodging, engagements, if desired, to extend for twelve months. Summer wages are from $30 to $35 per month; winter wages $10 to $15. During harvest wages are higher than this. =51. If I have had no experience and simply desire to learn farming in Central Canada before starting on my own account?= Young men and others unacquainted with farm life, willing to accept from $8 up per month, including board and lodging, will find positions through the Government officers at Winnipeg. Wages are dependent upon experience and qualification. After working for a year in this way, the knowledge acquired will be sufficient to justify you in securing and farming on your own account. =52. Are there any schools outside the towns?= School districts cannot exceed five miles in length or breadth, and must contain at least four actual residents, and twelve children between the ages of five and sixteen. In almost every locality, where these conditions exist, schools have been established. =53. Are churches numerous?= The various denominations are well represented and churches are being built rapidly even in the most remote districts. =54. Can water be secured at reasonable depth?= In most places it can be had at from fifteen to forty feet, while in other places wells have been sunk to fifty or sixty feet. =55. Where are free homesteads to-day, and how far from railway?= In some well settled districts it may be possible to secure one by cancelling, but such chances are few. Between the lakes in Manitoba as well as north and southeast of Winnipeg. In the central portions of Saskatchewan, Alberta and west of Moose Jaw and Swift Current. A splendid homestead area is that lying north of Battleford, and between Prince Albert and Edmonton north of the Canadian Northern railway. One will have to go at least twelve or fifteen miles from a line of railway at present, but extensions will soon make many homesteads available. VALUABLE HINTS FOR THE MAN ABOUT TO START The newcomer may start for Western Canada during any month in the year. Railroads carry him to a short distance of his new home, the country roads are good, and there is settlement in all parts, so that shelter is easily reached. Temporary provision is required for the family's arrival, when better may be made. If going in the winter months, it is well to have a pair of good strong sleds. As teams cost $5 a day take along your horses and do your own hauling. As they require care, write ahead to some livery barn for room. In shipping your horses have them loaded by the best shipper in your home town. For feeding on the way, put in two-by-four cleats breast high on the horses, and fix to fit the end of a stout trough which is dropped in, afterwards nailing on a top cleat. If they have been used to corn take along twenty bushels for each horse, if possible, not to feed alone along the way, but to use while breaking them in to an oat diet. You need both hay and oat straw on the cars. The new arrival may have to pay $7 a ton for hay and 40 cents per bushel for oats. Railroad construction consumes lots of both, and not half the farmers take time in the fall to put up plenty of hay. Bring all the horses you can. Five big horses can pull a twelve-inch gang through the sod, but six can do it easier, and you can use five on the harrow. You can hitch a team to a goat or scrubber, as they call them here, and lead them behind the drill, making your ground smooth and packing it lightly, as you put in the seed. If you have been intending to bring eight horses, bring twelve; if you were going to bring twelve, bring sixteen. The first two years on the new land is hard on horses, and you will need plenty. If you have any spare time or can get help, they bring in money. I know two men who cleared over $600 apiece doing outside work this last summer. They worked on the roads, in harvest and threshing, and received $5 per day for man and team. One can get all the outside breaking one's team can do at $4 per acre, so horse power is the main thing. Take a supply of meat along, also lard, canned goods, and other things for your cellar. One settler took a sugar barrel packed with canned fruit, and had not a single can broken or frozen, wrapping each in a whole newspaper and then packing in between with old rags, worn out underwear, old vests, and such goods as might otherwise be thrown away. Remember there is no old attic or store-room to go to on the new farm. The same settler says: "Cooked goods are also good. In the cold weather we kept and used beef that had been roasted two weeks before, and a bushel of cookies lasted well into the summer, keeping fresh in a tin box. Bring your cows and also your separator. The latter will not sell for much at the sale and is useful here, as you have no place to store quantities of milk. Bring at least your two best cows with you on the journey. We had milk all along the road and furnished the dining car cooks (we had a diner on our freight train) for favors they extended. Then when we landed we found that milk and cream were scarce, and butter of the farm variety out of range. "We packed two one-gallon jars before we moved and also some to use on the way. This lasted fresh and sweet until it was all used and saved us the trouble of churning or saving cream, hence we lived high on cream for the first few weeks. It came in handy making corn starch, as well as on our fruit and in a dozen other ways. We also had a nice big box of groceries handy and all selected for emergency. Corn starch, tapioca and similar packages are easy to handle while moving, and a big box of such things made cooking easy for the first few weeks. "Do not sell anything that can be used in your new farming. Old belts, singletrees, doubletrees, and such goods are worth far more away out on the prairies than on the old improved farm, and they will cost more here. We even brought our best big rugs and every carpet, even having more carpets than we had rooms. Your new home may not be as warm as the old one. We laid down a carpet and put a big rug right on top of that on the floor, and then we were comfortable in our rough house. Bring all sorts of tools and wagon gears with you; you will save money by doing so, anvil, drills, old bolts, and screws, etc., come in handy. We brought pieces of hardwood for doubletrees and unexpected uses. "Bring your stock remedies. You will be far from a veterinarian. Boracic acid comes in handy, so does a medicine cabinet for the household, with carbolic salve, liniments, etc. "One of the first things you will need is a hayrack, and you will not have time to build one before it is needed, so take the old one or build a new one and take it with you. It can be used for crating and for partitions and other purposes in loading the car. Make the sides of the rack quite close and have a solid bottom. "Bring along your base-burner. I am writing by a hard coal fire in a round oak stove, and it makes a splendid heat. Better soft coal than you ever burned can be had at $9.50 per ton, and hard coal is $13. Wood is plentiful in the parks, chiefly dry poplar and a species of willow. "So far from town one needs big supplies of kerosene, so bring a steel barrel that will not become leaky. You can buy oil cheaper by the barrel and it saves trouble. Also bring a good oil stove. It will do the baking and save hauling fuel in the long working season. "One thing we highly appreciated was a small tank we had made to carry water in the cars for the horses. It was made to hold two barrels, was about three feet in diameter and four high, and had the top soldered on, with a lid just large enough to get in a pail. This was the best arrangement on the train for hauling water. After we landed we had to haul water for our house use and the tank was very useful to draw up a couple of barrels and have a big supply on hand and no slopping when hauling." [Illustration: DOMINION OF CANADA AND NEWFOUNDLAND 1914] [Illustration] TRANSCRIBER'S NOTES Obvious printer's errors, including punctuation have been silently corrected. Hyphenated and accented words have been standardized. All other inconsistencies have been left as in the original, excepted below. Customs Regulations: Missing word added "... is also to _be_ reckoned as..." Freight Regulations: "If the carload _weigh_" changed to "If the carload _weighs_". Page 7: familar changed to familiar. Page 8: Allen, Saskatchewan changed to Allan, Saskatchewan. Verified at http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Allan,_Saskatchewan Two different spellings of Gerlack and Gerlach have been left as in the original. 
35658	----	VOYAGES from MONTREAL THROUGH THE CONTINENT of NORTH AMERICA TO THE FROZEN and PACIFIC OCEANS IN 1789 and 1793 WITH AN ACCOUNT OF THE RISE AND STATE OF THE FUR TRADE By ALEXANDER MACKENZIE WITH MAP IN TWO VOLUMES VOL. I. NEW YORK A. S. BARNES AND COMPANY 1903 Registered at the Library of Congress, August, 1902 A. S. BARNES & COMPANY Introduction. The exact date of Sir Alexander Mackenzie's birth is not accurately known, although it is supposed he was born at Inverness, Scotland, about 1755. He came to North America at an early age and obtained employment in the counting-house of Messrs. Gregory and Co., a connexion of the North-West Fur Company. It was while he was with this company that he obtained the experience and knowledge necessary to his profession of a fur-trader, long before he undertook his arduous and dangerous expeditions to the far North. He was soon to distinguish himself. His firm gave him a small venture to Detroit on condition that he penetrate to the back country, which was then almost entirely unexplored, and open up trade with the Indians. He carried out his task in his usual thorough manner, but not without a severe struggle with a party of European traders, who had already obtained a foothold on the margin of this district, and who resented any interference with their monopoly by outside parties. However, finally the intruders were permitted to remain and share in the trade with the first comers. For many years after this, Mr. Mackenzie was occupied in trading and exploring in various parts of the continent, but of these operations we have, unfortunately, little or no record. After the amalgamation of the North-West Company with the older Hudson's-Bay Company, Mr. Mackenzie appears to have resided in Canada, where he became a member of the provincial parliament, representing Huntingdon County. He married in 1812, and afterwards bought an estate at Avoch, Ross-shire, Scotland, where he resided until his death in March, 1820. It is as an explorer of the vast and lonely wilds of the North that Mackenzie's fame chiefly rests. The bravery and hardihood which carried him thousands of miles over the prairie and muskegs of the illimitable plains, down the rapids of great unknown rivers, over the ranges of almost impassable mountains, will always command the admiration of all who care for noble deeds. With a small party of Canadian _voyageurs_ and Indians, in birch-bark canoes, Mr. Mackenzie started to explore the unknown regions of the North. Skirting the Great Slave Lake, he finally entered the Mackenzie River, and then began that long, deep plunge into the wilderness, which lasted many months, until he finally emerged on the shores of the Arctic Ocean, in Latitude 69. North. Here he set up a post with his name and date of visit. The return voyage was fraught with many dangers and vicissitudes, but he finally arrived safely at Fort Chippewayan in September, 1789. Mr. Mackenzie's next expedition was even more dangerous and difficult than the former. He started from Fort Chippewayan on the 10th of July, 1792, with the object of reaching the Pacific Coast, an enterprise never before attempted by a European. After more than nine months of perilous travel he achieved his ambition and reached the Great Western Ocean near Cape Menzies on the 22nd June, 1793. He is said to have inscribed on the face of a rock the date of his visit, and here it was that he was nearly murdered by the natives before setting out on his return. The results of Mr. Mackenzie's voyages to the far North have not been meagre. The opening of the territory to the west of the Rocky Mountains, followed quickly after; and the great Hudson's-Bay Company immediately started to stud the whole northern country with small trading posts, whence have been drawn since incalculable riches in the furs of the North. All this is easy enough to write down, but the tale is still far from being told in full. What of the long days of gloom and loneliness, days of peril and uncertainty, days when hope had almost reached the vanishing point? Who shall speak? It is a fascinating record which has placed the name of this indomitable Scotchman beside the names of the world's greatest explorers. ROBERT WAITE. Preface. On presenting this Volume to my Country, it is not necessary to enter into a particular account of those voyages whose journals form the principal part of it, as they will be found, I trust, to explain themselves. It appears, however, to be a duty, which the Public have a right to expect from me, to state the reasons which have influenced me in delaying the publication of them. It has been asserted, that a misunderstanding between a person high in office and myself, was the cause of this procrastination. It has also been propagated, that it was occasioned by that precaution which the policy of commerce will sometimes suggest; but they are both equally devoid of foundation. The one is an idle tale; and there could be no solid reason for concealing the circumstances of discoveries, whose arrangements and prosecution were so honourable to my associates and myself, at whose expense they were undertaken. The delay actually arose from the very active and busy mode of life in which I was engaged since the voyages have been completed; and when, at length, the opportunity arrived, the apprehension of presenting myself to the Public in the character of an Author, for which the courses and occupations of my life have by no means qualified me, made me hesitate in committing my papers to the Press; being much better calculated to perform the voyages, arduous as they might be, than to write an account of them. However, they are now offered to the Public with the submission that becomes me. I was led, at an early period of life, by commercial views, to the country North-West of Lake Superior, in North America, and being endowed by Nature with an inquisitive mind and enterprising spirit; possessing also a constitution and frame of body equal to the most arduous undertakings, and being familiar with toilsome exertions in the prosecution of mercantile pursuits, I not only contemplated the practicability of penetrating across the continent of America, but was confident in the qualifications, as I was animated by the desire, to undertake the perilous enterprise. The general utility of such a discovery, has been universally acknowledged; while the wishes of my particular friends and commercial associates, that I should proceed in the pursuit of it, contributed to quicken the execution of this favourite project of my own ambition: and as the completion of it extends the boundaries of geographic science, and adds new countries to the realms of British commerce, the dangers I have encountered, and the toils I have suffered, have found their recompence; nor will the many tedious and weary days, or the gloomy and inclement nights which I have passed, have been passed in vain. The first voyage has settled the dubious point of a practicable North-West passage; and I trust it has set that long agitated question at rest, and extinguished the disputes respecting it for ever. An enlarged discussion of that subject will be found to occupy the concluding pages of this volume. In this voyage, I was not only without the necessary books and instruments, but also felt myself deficient in the sciences of astronomy and navigation; I did not hesitate, therefore, to undertake a winter's voyage to this country, in order to procure the one, and acquire the other. These objects being accomplished, I returned, to determine the practicability of a commercial communication through the continent of North America, between the Atlantic and Pacific Oceans, which is proved by my second journal. Nor do I hesitate to declare my decided opinion, that very great and essential advantages may be derived by extending our trade from one sea to the other. Some account of the fur trade of Canada from that country, of the native inhabitants, and of the extensive districts connected with it, forms a preliminary discourse, which will, I trust, prove interesting to a nation, whose general policy is blended with, and whose prosperity is supported by, the pursuits of commerce. It will also qualify the reader to pursue the succeeding voyages with superior intelligence and satisfaction. These voyages will not, I fear, afford the variety that may be expected from them; and that which they offered to the eye, is not of a nature to be effectually transferred to the page. Mountains and valleys, the dreary waste, and the wide-spreading forests, the lakes and rivers succeed each other in general description; and, except on the coasts of the Pacific Ocean, where the villages were permanent, and the inhabitants in a great measure stationary, small bands of wandering Indians are the only people whom I shall introduce to the acquaintance of my readers. The beaver and the buffalo, the moose-deer and the elk, which are the principal animals to be found in these countries, are already so familiar to the naturalists of Europe, and have been so often as well as correctly described in their works, that the bare mention of them, as they enlivened the landscape, or were hunted for food; with a cursory account of the soil, the course and navigation of lakes and rivers, and their various produce, is all that can be reasonably expected from me. I do not possess the science of the naturalist; and even if the qualifications of that character had been attained by me, its curious spirit would not have been gratified. I could not stop to dig into the earth, over whose surface I was compelled to pass with rapid steps; nor could I turn aside to collect the plants which nature might have scattered on the way, when my thoughts were anxiously employed in making provision for the day that was passing over me. I had to encounter perils by land and perils by water; to watch the savage who was our guide, or to guard against those of his tribe who might meditate our destruction. I had, also, the passions and fears of others to control and subdue. To-day, I had to assuage the rising discontents, and on the morrow, to cheer the fainting spirits of the people who accompanied me. The toil of our navigation was incessant, and oftentimes extreme; and in our progress over land, we had no protection from the severity of the elements, and possessed no accommodations or conveniences but such as could be contained in the burden on our shoulders, which aggravated the toils of our march, and added to the wearisomeness of our way. Though the events which compose my journals may have little in themselves to strike the imagination of those who love to be astonished, or to gratify the curiosity of such as are enamoured of romantic adventures; nevertheless, when it is considered, that I explored those waters which had never before borne any other vessel than the canoe of the savage; and traversed those deserts where an European had never before presented himself to the eye of its swarthy natives; when to these considerations are added the important objects which were pursued, with the dangers that were encountered, and the difficulties that were surmounted to attain them, this work will, I flatter myself, be found to excite an interest, and conciliate regard, in the minds of those who peruse it. The general map which illustrates this volume, is reduced by Mr. Arrowsmith from his three-sheet map of North America, with the latest discoveries, which he is about to republish. His professional abilities are well known, and no encomium of mine will advance the general and merited opinion of them. Before I conclude, I must beg leave to inform my readers, that they are not to expect the charms of embellished narrative, or animated description; the approbation due to simplicity and to truth, is all I presume to claim; and I am not without the hope that this claim will be allowed me. I have described whatever I saw with the impressions of the moment which presented it to me. The successive circumstances of my progress are related without exaggeration or display. I have seldom allowed myself to wander into conjecture; and whenever conjecture has been indulged, it will be found, I trust, to be accompanied with the temper of a man who is not disposed to think too highly of himself: and if, at any time, I have delivered myself with confidence, it will appear, I hope, to be on those subjects, which, from the habits and experience of my life, will justify an unreserved communication of my opinions. I am not a candidate for literary fame; at the same time, I cannot but indulge the hope that this volume, with all its imperfections, will not be thought unworthy the attention of the scientific geographer; and that, by unfolding countries hitherto unexplored, and which, I presume, may now be considered as a part of the British dominions, it will be received as a faithful tribute to the prosperity of my country. ALEXANDER MACKENZIE. London, November 30, 1801. Table of Contents. CHAPTER I. Embarked at Fort Chepewyan, on the Lake of the Hills, in company with M. Le Roux. Account of the party, provisions, etc. Direction of the course. Enter one of the branches of the Lake. Arrive in the Peace River. Appearance of the land. Navigation of the river. Arrive at the mouth of the Dog River. Successive description of several carrying places. A canoe lost in one of the Falls. Encamp on Point de Roche. Course continued. Set the nets, etc. Arrive at the Slave Lake. The weather extremely cold. Banks of the river described, with its trees, soil, etc. Account of the animal productions, and the fishery of the Lake. Obliged to wait till the moving of the ice. Three families of Indians arrive from Athabasca, Beavers, geese, and swans killed. The nets endangered by ice. Re-embark and land on a small island. Course continued along the shores, and across the bays of the Lake. Various successes of the hunters. Steer for an island where there was plenty of cranberries and small onions. Kill several reindeer. Land on an island named Isle a la Cache. Clouds of mosquitoes. CHAPTER II. Landed at some lodges of Red-Knife Indians: procure one of them to assist in navigating the bays Conference with the Indians. Take leave of M. Le Roux, and continue the voyage. Different appearances of the land; its vegetable produce. Visit an island where the wood had been felled. Further description of the coast. Plenty of rein and moose-deer, and white partridges. Enter a very deep bay. Interrupted by ice. Very blowing weather, Continue to cross the bay. Arrive at the mouth of a river. Great numbers of fish and wild-fowl. Description of the land on either side. Curious appearance of woods that had been burned. Came in sight of the Horn Mountain. Continue to kill geese and swans, etc. Violent storm. CHAPTER III. Continued our course. The river narrows. Lost the lead. Passed a small river. Violent rain. Land on a small island. Expect to arrive at the rapid. Conceal two bags of pemmican in an island. A view of mountains. Pass several encampments of the natives. Arrive among the islands. Ascend a high hill. Violence of the current. Ice seen along the banks of the river. Land at village of the natives. Their conduct and appearance. Their fabulous stories. The English chief and Indians discontented. Obtain a new guide. Singular customs of the natives. An account of their dances. Description of their persons, dress, ornaments, buildings, arms for war and hunting, canoes, etc. Passed on among islands. Encamped beneath a hill, and prevented from ascending by the mosquitoes. Landed at an encampment. Conduct of the inhabitants. They abound in fabulous accounts of dangers. Land at other encampments. Procure plenty of hares and partridges. Our guide anxious to return. Land and alarm the natives, called the Hare Indians, etc. Exchange our guide. State of the weather. CHAPTER IV. The new guide makes his escape. Compel another to supply his place. Land at an encampment of another tribe of Indians. Account of their manners, dress, weapons, etc. Traffic with them. Description of a beautiful fish. Engage another guide. His curious behaviour. Kill a fox and ground-hog. Land at an encampment of a tribe called the Deguthee Denees, or Quarrellers. Saw flax growing wild. The varying character of the river and its banks. Distant mountains. Perplexity from the numerous channels of the river. Determined to proceed. Land where there had been an encampment of the Esquimaux. Saw large flocks of wild-fowl. View of the sun at midnight. Description of a place lately deserted by the Indians. Houses of the natives described. Frequent showers. Saw a black fox. The discontents of our hunters renewed, and pacified. Face of the country. Land at a spot lately inhabited. Peculiar circumstances of it. Arrive at the entrance of the lake. Proceed to an island. Some account of it. CHAPTER V. The baggage removed from the rising of the water. One of the nets driven away by the wind and current. Whales are seen. Go in pursuit of them, but prevented from continuing it by the fog. Proceed to take a view of the ice. Canoe in danger from the swell. Examine the islands. Describe one of them. Erect a post to perpetuate our visit there. The rising of the water appears to be the tide. Successful fishing. Uncertain weather. Sail among the islands. Proceed to a river. Temperature of the air improves. Land on a small island, which is a place of sepulture. Description of it. See a great number of wild fowl. Fine view of the river from the high land. The hunters kill reindeer. Cranberries, etc., found in great plenty. The appearance and state of the country. Our guide deserts. Large flight of geese; kill many of them. Violent rain. Return up the river. Leave the channels for the main stream. Obliged to tow the canoe. Land among the natives. Circumstances concerning them. Their account of the Esquimaux Indians. Accompany the natives to their huts. Account of our provisions. CHAPTER VI. Employ the towing line. Description of a place where the Indians come to collect flint. Their shyness and suspicions. Current lessons. Appearance of the country. Abundance of hares. Violent storm. Land near three lodges. Alarm of the Indians. Supply of fish from them. Their fabulous accounts. Continue to see Indian lodges. Treatment of a disease. Misunderstanding with the natives. The interpreter harangues them. Their accounts similar to those we have already received. Their curious conduct. Purchase some beaver skins. Shoot one of their dogs. The consequence of that act. Apprehensions of the women. Large quantities of liquorice. Swallows' nests seen in the precipices. Fall in with a party of the natives killing geese. Circumstances concerning them. Hurricane. Variation of the weather. Kill great numbers of geese. Abundance of several kinds of berries. State of the river and its bank. CHAPTER VII. Voyage continued. Suspect the integrity of the interpreter. Stars visible. Springs of mineral water, and lumps of iron ore. Arrive at the river of the Bear Lake. Coal mine in a state of combustion. Water of the river diminished, Continue to see Indian encampments, and kill geese, etc. Hunting excursions. A canoe found on the edge of the wood. Attempt to ascend a mountain. Account of the passage to it. See a few of the natives. Kill a beaver and some hares. Design of the English chief. Kill a wolf. Changeable state of the weather. Recover the pemmican, which had been hidden in an island. Natives fly at our approach. Meet with dogs. Altercation with the English chief. Account of the articles left by the fugitives. Shoals of the river covered with saline matter. Encamp at the mouth of the river of the mountain. The ground on fire on each side of it. Continue to see encampments of the natives. Various kinds of berries. Kill geese, swans, etc., etc., etc. Corroding quality of the water. Weather changeable. Reach the entrance of the Slave Lake. Dangers encountered on entering it. Caught pike and trout. Met M. Le Roux on the lake. Further circumstances till our return to Fort Chepewyan. Conclusion of the voyage. CHAPTER VIII. Leave Fort Chepewyan. Proceed to the Peace River. State of the Lakes. Arrive at Peace Point. The reason assigned for its name. The weather cold. Arrive at the Falls. Description of the country. Land at the Fort, called The Old Establishment. The principal building destroyed by fire. Course of the river. Arrive at another fort. Some account of the natives. Depart from thence. Course of the river continued, It divides into two branches. Proceed along the principal one. Land at the place of our winter's residence. Account of its circumstances and inhabitants, etc. Preparations for erecting a fort, etc., etc. Table of the weather. Broke the thermometer. Frost sets in. Description of birds. A GENERAL HISTORY OF THE FUR TRADE FROM CANADA TO THE NORTH-WEST. The fur trade, from the earliest settlement of Canada, was considered of the first importance to that colony. The country was then so populous, that, in the vicinity of the establishments, the animals whose skins were precious, in a commercial view, soon became very scarce, if not altogether extinct. They were, it is true, hunted at former periods, but merely for food and clothing. The Indians, therefore, to procure the necessary supply, were encouraged, to penetrate into the country, and were generally accompanied by some of the Canadians, who found means to induce the remotest tribes of natives to bring the skins which were most in demand, to their settlements, in the way of trade. It is not necessary for me to examine the cause, but experience proves that it requires much less time for a civilized people to deviate into the manners and customs of savage life, than for savages to rise into a state of civilization. Such was the event with those who thus accompanied the natives on their hunting and trading excursions; for they became so attached to the Indian mode of life, that they lost all relish for their former habits and native homes. Hence they derived the title of _Coureurs des Bois_, became a kind of pedlars, and were extremely useful to the merchants engaged in the fur trade; who gave them the necessary credit to proceed on their commercial undertakings. Three or four of these people would join their stock, put their property into a birch-bark canoe, which they worked themselves, and either accompanied the natives in their excursions, or went at once to the country where they knew they were to hunt. At length, these voyages extended to twelve or fifteen months, when they returned with rich cargoes of furs, and followed by great numbers of the natives. During the short time requisite to settle their accounts with the merchants, and procure fresh credit, they generally contrived to squander away all their gains, when they returned to renew their favourite mode of life: their views being answered, and their labour sufficiently rewarded, by indulging themselves in extravagance and dissipation, during the short space of one month in twelve or fifteen. This indifference about amassing property, and the pleasure of living free from all restraint, soon brought on a licentiousness of manners which could not long escape the vigilant observation of the missionaries, who had much reason to complain of their being a disgrace to the Christian religion; by not only swerving from its duties themselves, but by thus bringing it into disrepute with those of the natives who had become converts to it; and, consequently, obstructing the great object to which those pious men had devoted their lives. They therefore exerted their influence to procure the suppression of these people, and accordingly, no one was allowed to go up the country to traffic with the Indians, without a license from the government. At first these permissions were, of course, granted only to those whose character was such as could give no alarm to the zeal of the missionaries: but they were afterwards bestowed as rewards for services, on officers, and their widows; and they, who were not willing or able to make use of them (which may be supposed to be always the case with those of the latter description), were allowed to sell them to the merchants, who necessarily employed the Coureurs des bois, in quality of their agents; and these people, as may be imagined, gave sufficient cause for the renewal of former complaints; so that the remedy proved, in fact, worse than the disease. At length, military posts were established at the confluence of the different large lakes of Canada, which, in a great measure checked the evil consequences that followed from the improper conduct of these foresters, and, at the same time, protected the trade. Besides, a number of able and respectable men, retired from the army, prosecuted the trade in person, under their respective licences, with great order and regularity, and extended it to such a distance, as, in those days, was considered to be an astonishing effort of commercial enterprize. These persons and the missionaries having combined their views at the same time, secured the respect of the natives, and the obedience of the people necessarily employed in the laborious parts of this undertaking. These gentlemen denominated themselves commanders, and not traders, though they were entitled to both those characters: and, as for the missionaries, if sufferings and hardships in the prosecution of the great work which they had undertaken, deserved applause and admiration, they had an undoubted claim to be admired and applauded: they spared no labour and avoided no danger in the execution of their important office; and it is to be seriously lamented, that their pious endeavours did not meet with the success which they deserved: for there is hardly a trace to be found beyond the cultivated parts, of their meritorious functions. The cause of this failure must be attributed to a want of due consideration in the mode employed by the missionaries, to propagate the religion of which they were the zealous ministers. They habituated themselves to the savage life, and naturalized themselves to the savage manners, and, by thus becoming dependent, as it were, on the natives, they acquired their contempt rather than their veneration. If they had been as well acquainted with human nature, as they were with the articles of their faith, they would have known that the uncultivated mind of an Indian must be disposed by much preparatory method and instruction to receive the revealed truths of Christianity, to act under its sanctions, and be impelled to good by the hope of its reward, or turned from evil by the fear of its punishments. They should have begun their work by teaching some of those useful arts which are the inlets of knowledge, and lead the mind by degrees to objects of higher comprehension. Agriculture, so formed to fix and combine society, and so preparatory to objects of superior consideration, should have been the first thing introduced among a savage people: it attaches the wandering tribe to that spot where it adds so much to their comforts; while it gives them a sense of property, and of lasting possession, instead of the uncertain hopes of the chase, and the fugitive produce of uncultivated wilds. Such were the means by which the forests of Paraguay were converted into a scene of abundant cultivation, and its savage inhabitants introduced to all the advantages of a civilized life. The Canadian missionaries should have been contented to improve the morals of their own countrymen, so that by meliorating their character and conduct, they would have given a striking example of the effect of religion in promoting the comforts of life to the surrounding savages; and might by degrees have extended its benign influence to the remotest regions of that country, which was the object, and intended to be the scene, of their evangelical labours. But by bearing the light of the Gospel at once to the distance of two thousand five hundred miles from the civilized part of the colonies, it was soon obscured by the cloud of ignorance that darkened the human mind in those distant regions. The whole of their long route I have often travelled, and the recollection of such a people as the missionaries having been there, was confined to a few superannuated Canadians, who had not left that country since the cession to the English, in 1763, and who particularly mentioned the death of some, and the distressing situation of them all. But if these religious men did not attain the objects of their persevering piety, they were, during their mission, of great service to the commanders who engaged in those distant expeditions, and spread the fur trade as far West as the banks of the Saskatchiwine river, in 53. North latitude, and longitude 102. West. At an early period of their intercourse with the savages, a custom was introduced of a very excellent tendency, but is now unfortunately discontinued, of not selling any spirituous liquor to the natives. This admirable regulation was for some time observed, with all the respect due to the religion by which it was sanctioned, and whose severest censures followed the violation of it. A painful penance could alone restore the offender to the suspended rites of the sacrament. The casuistry of trade, however, discovered a way to gratify the Indians with their favourite cordial without incurring the ecclesiastical penalties, by giving, instead of selling it to them. But notwithstanding all the restrictions with which commerce was oppressed under the French government, the fur trade was extended to the immense distance which has been already stated; and surmounted many most discouraging difficulties, which will be hereafter noticed; while, at the same time, no exertions were made from Hudson's Bay to obtain even a share of the trade of a country, which according to the charter of that company, belonged to it, and, from its proximity, is so much more accessible to the mercantile adventurer. Of these trading commanders, I understood, that two attempted to penetrate to the Pacific Ocean, but the utmost extent of their journey I could never learn; which may be attributed, indeed, to a failure of the undertaking. For some time after the conquest of Canada, this trade was suspended, which must have been very advantageous to the Hudson's-Bay Company, as all the inhabitants to the westward of Lake Superior were obliged to go to them for such articles as their habitual use had rendered necessary. Some of the Canadians who had lived long with them, and were become attached to a savage life, accompanied them thither annually, till mercantile adventurers again appeared from their own country, after an interval of several years, owing, as I suppose, to an ignorance of the country in the conquerors, and their want of commercial confidence in the conquered. There were, indeed, other discouragements, such as the immense length of the journey necessary to reach the limits beyond which this commerce must begin; the risk of property; the expenses attending such a long transport; and an ignorance of the language of those who, from their experience, must be necessarily employed as the intermediate agents between them and the natives. But, notwithstanding these difficulties, the trade, by degrees, began to spread over the different parts to which it had been carried by the French, though at a great risk of the lives, as well as the property of their new possessors, for the natives had been taught by their former allies to entertain hostile dispositions towards the English, from their having been in alliance with their natural enemies the Iroquois; and there were not wanting a sufficient number of discontented, disappointed people, to keep alive such a notion; so that for a long time they were considered and treated as objects of hostility. To prove this disposition of the Indians, we have only to refer to the conduct of Pontiac, at Detroit, and the surprise and taking of Michilimakinac, about this period. Hence it arose, that it was so late as the year 1766, before which, the trade I mean to consider, commenced from Michilimakinac. The first who attempted it were satisfied to go the length of the river Camenistiquia, about thirty miles to the Eastward of the Grande Portage, where the French had a principal establishment, and was the line of their communication with the interior country. It was once destroyed by fire. Here they went and returned successful in the following spring to Michilimakinac. Their success induced them to renew their journey, and incited others to follow their example. Some of them remained at Camenistiquia, while others proceeded to and beyond the Grande Portage, which, since that time has become the principal entrepot of that trade, and is situated in a bay, in latitude 48. North, and longitude 90. West. After passing the usual season there, they went back to Michilimakinac as before, and encouraged by the trade, returned in increased numbers. One of these, Thomas Curry, with a spirit of enterprize superior to that of his contemporaries, determined to penetrate to the furthest limits of the French discoveries in that country; or at least till the frost should stop him. For this purpose he procured guides and interpreters, who were acquainted with the country, and with four canoes arrived at Fort Bourbon, which was one of their posts, at the West end of the Cedar Lake, on the waters of the Saskatchiwine. His risk and toil were well recompensed, for he came back the following spring with his canoes filled with fine furs, with which he proceeded to Canada, and was satisfied never again to return to the Indian country. From this period, people began to spread over every part of the country, particularly where the French had established settlements. Mr. James Finlay was the first who followed Mr. Curry's example, and with the same number of canoes, arrived, in the course of the next season, at Nipawee, the last of the French settlements on the bank of the Saskatchiwine river, in latitude nearly 43½. North, and longitude 103. West: he found the good fortune, as he followed, in every respect, the example, of his predecessor. As may be supposed, there were now people enough ready to replace them, and the trade was pursued with such avidity, and irregularity, that in a few years it became the reverse of what it ought to have been. An animated competition prevailed, and the contending parties carried the trade beyond the French limits, though with no benefit to themselves or neighbours, the Hudson's-Bay Company; who in the year 1774, and not till then, thought proper to move from home to the East bank of Sturgeon Lake, in latitude 53. 56. North, and longitude 102. 15. West, and became more jealous of their fellow subjects; and, perhaps, with more cause, than they had been of those of France. From this period, to the present time, they have been following the Canadians to their different establishments, while, on the contrary, there is not a solitary instance that the Canadians have followed them; and there are many trading posts which they have not yet attained. This, however, will no longer be a mystery, when the nature and policy of the Hudson's-Bay Company is compared with that, which has been pursued by their rivals in this trade.--But to return to my subject. This competition, which has been already mentioned, gave a fatal blow to the trade from Canada, and, with other incidental causes, in my opinion, contributed to its ruin. This trade was carried on in a very distant country, out of the reach of legal restraint, and where there was a free scope given to any ways or means in attaining advantage. The consequence was not only the loss of commercial benefit to the persons engaged in it, but of the good opinion of the natives, and the respect of their men, who were inclined to follow their example; so that with drinking, carousing, and quarrelling with the Indians along their route, and among themselves, they seldom reached their winter quarters; and if they did, it was generally by dragging their property upon sledges, as the navigation was closed up by the frost. When at length they were arrived, the object of each was to injure his rival traders in the opinion of the natives as much as was in their power, by misrepresentation and presents, for which the agents employed were peculiarly calculated. They considered the command of their employer as binding on them, and however wrong or irregular the transaction, the responsibility rested with the principal who directed them. This is Indian law. Thus did they waste their credit and their property with the natives, till the first was past redemption, and the last was nearly exhausted; so that towards the spring in each year, the rival parties found it absolutely necessary to join, and make one common stock of what remained, for the purpose of trading with the natives, who could entertain no respect for persons who had conducted themselves with so much irregularity and deceit. The winter, therefore, was one continued scene of disagreements and quarrels, If any one had the precaution or good sense to keep clear of these proceedings, he derived a proportionable advantage from his good conduct, and frequently proved a peacemaker between the parties. To such an height had they carried this licentious conduct, that they were in a continual state of alarm, and were even frequently stopped to pay tribute on their route into the country; though they had adopted the plan of travelling together in parties of thirty or forty canoes, and keeping their men armed; which sometimes, indeed, proved necessary for their defence. Thus was the trade carried on for several years, and consequently becoming worse and worse, so that the partners, who met them at the Grande Portage, naturally complained of their ill success. But specious reasons were always ready to prove that it arose from circumstances which they could not at that time control; and encouragements were held forth to hope that a change would soon take place, which would make ample amends for past disappointments. It was about this time, that Mr. Joseph Frobisher, one of the gentlemen engaged in the trade, determined to penetrate into the country yet unexplored, to the North and Westward, and, in the spring of the year 1775, met the Indians from that quarter on their way to Fort Churchill, at Portage de Traite, so named from that circumstance, on the banks of the Missinipi, or Churchill river, latitude 55. 25. North, longitude 103½. West. It was indeed, with some difficulty that he could induce them to trade with him, but he at length procured as many furs as his canoes could carry. In this perilous expedition he sustained every kind of hardship incident to a journey through a wild and savage country, where his subsistence depended on what the woods and the waters produced. These difficulties, nevertheless, did not discourage him from returning in the following year, when he was equally successful. He then sent his brother to explore the country still further West, who penetrated as far as the lake of Isle a la Crosse, in latitude 55. 26. North, and longitude 108. West. He, however, never after wintered among the Indians, though he retained a large interest in the trade, and a principal share in the direction of it till the year 1798, when he retired to enjoy the fruits of his labours; and, by his hospitality, became known to every respectable stranger who visited Canada. The success of this gentleman induced others to follow his example, and in the spring of the year 1778, some of the traders on the Saskatchiwine river, finding they had a quantity of goods to spare, agreed to put them into a joint stock, and gave the charge and management of them to Mr. Peter Pond, who, in four canoes, was directed to enter the English River, so called by Mr. Frobisher, to follow his track, and proceed still further; if possible, to Athabasca, a country hitherto unknown but from Indian report. In this enterprise he at length succeeded and pitched his tent on the banks of the Elk river, by him erroneously called the Athabasca river, about forty miles from the Lake of the Hills, into which it empties itself. Here he passed the winter of 1778-9; saw a vast concourse of the Knisteneaux and Chepewyan tribes, who used to carry their furs annually to Churchill; the latter by the barren grounds, where they suffered innumerable hardships, and were sometimes even starved to death. The former followed the course of the lakes and rivers, through a country that abounded in animals, and where there was plenty of fish: but though they did not suffer from want of food, the intolerable fatigue of such a journey could not be easily repaid to an Indian: they were, therefore, highly gratified by seeing people come to their country to relieve them from such long, toilsome, and dangerous journeys; and were immediately reconciled to give an advanced price for the articles necessary to their comfort and convenience. Mr. Pond's reception and success was accordingly beyond his expectation; and he procured twice as many furs as his canoes would carry. They also supplied him with as much provision as he required during his residence among them, and sufficient for his homeward voyage. Such of the furs as he could not embark, he secured in one of his winter huts, and they were found the following season, in the same state in which he left them. These, however, were but partial advantages, and could not prevent the people of Canada from seeing the improper conduct of some of their associates, which rendered it dangerous to remain any longer among the natives. Most of them who passed the winter at the Saskatchiwine, got to the Eagle hills, where, in the spring of the year 1780, a few days previous to their intended departure, a large band of Indians being engaged in drinking about their houses, one of the traders, to ease himself of the troublesome importunities of a native, gave him a dose of laudanum in a glass of grog, which effectually prevented him from giving further trouble to any one, by setting him asleep for ever. This accident produced a fray, in which one of the traders, and several of the men were killed, while the rest had no other means to save themselves but by a precipitate flight, abandoning a considerable quantity of goods, and near half the furs which they had collected during the winter and the spring. About the same time, two of the establishments on the Assiniboin river, were attacked with less justice, when several white men, and a great number of Indians were killed. In short, it appeared, that the natives had formed a resolution to extirpate the traders; and, without entering into any further reasonings on the subject, it appears to be incontrovertible, that the irregularity pursued in carrying on the trade has brought it into its present forlorn situation; and nothing but the greatest calamity that could have befallen the natives, saved the traders from destruction: this was the small-pox, which spread its destructive and desolating power, as the fire consumes the dry grass of the field. The fatal infection spread around with a baneful rapidity which no flight could escape, and with a fatal effect that nothing could resist. It destroyed with its pestilential breath whole families and tribes; and the horrid scene presented to those who had the melancholy and afflicting opportunity of beholding it, a combination of the dead, the dying, and such as to avoid the horrid fate of their friends around them, prepared to disappoint the plague of its prey, by terminating their own existence. The habits and lives of these devoted people, which provided not to-day for the wants of to-morrow, must have heightened the pains of such an affliction, by leaving them not only without remedy, but even without alleviation. Naught was left them but to submit in agony and despair. To aggravate the picture, if aggravation were possible, may be added, the putrid carcases which the wolves, with a furious voracity, dragged forth from the huts, or which were mangled within them by the dogs, whose hunger was satisfied with the disfigured remains of their masters. Nor was it uncommon for the father of a family, whom the infection had not reached, to call them around him to represent the cruel sufferings and horrid fate of their relations, from the influence of some evil spirit who was preparing to extirpate their race; and to incite them to baffle death, with all its horrors, by their own poniards. At the same time, if their hearts failed them in this necessary act, he was himself ready to perform the deed of mercy with his own hand, as the last act of his affection, and instantly to follow them to the common place of rest and refuge from human evil. It was never satisfactorily ascertained by what means this malignant disorder was introduced, but it was generally supposed to be from the Missisouri, by a war party. The consequence of this melancholy event to the traders must be self-evident; the means of disposing of their goods were cut off; and no furs were obtained, but such as had been gathered from the habitations of the deceased Indians, which could not be very considerable: nor did they look from the losses of the present year, with any encouraging expectations to those which were to come. The only fortunate people consisted of a party who had again penetrated to the Northward and Westward in 1780, at some distance up the Missinipi, or English river, to Lake la Ronge. Two unfortunate circumstances, however, happened to them; which are as follow: Mr. Wadin, a Swiss gentleman, of strict probity and known sobriety, had gone there in the year 1779, and remained during the summer of 1780. His partners and others, engaged in an opposite interest, when at the Grande Portage, agreed to send a quantity of goods on their joint account, which was accepted, and Mr. Pond was proposed by them to be their representative to act in conjunction with Mr. Wadin. Two men, of more opposite characters, could not, perhaps, have been found. In short, from various causes, their situations became very uncomfortable to each other, and mutual ill-will was the natural consequence: without entering, therefore, into a minute history of these transactions, it will be sufficient to observe, that, about the end of the year 1780, or the beginning of 1781, Mr. Wadin had received Mr. Pond and one of his own clerks to dinner; and, in the course of the night, the former was shot through the lower part of the thigh, when it was said that he expired from the loss of blood, and was buried next morning at eight o'clock. Mr. Pond, and the clerk, were tried for this murder at Montreal, and acquitted: nevertheless, their innocence was not so apparent as to extinguish the original suspicion. The other circumstance was this. In the spring of the year, Mr. Pond sent the abovementioned clerk to meet the Indians from the Northward, who used to go annually to Hudson's Bay; when he easily persuaded them to trade with him, and return back, that they might not take the contagion which had depopulated the country to the Eastward of them: but most unfortunately they caught it here, and carried it with them, to the destruction of themselves and the neighbouring tribes. The country being thus depopulated, the traders and their friends from Canada, who, from various causes already mentioned, were very much reduced in number, became confined to two parties, who began seriously to think of making permanent establishments on the Missinipi river, and at Athabasca; for which purpose, in 1781-2, they selected their best canoe-men, being ignorant that the small-pox penetrated that way. The most expeditious party got only in time to the Portage la Loche, or Mithy-Ouinigam, which divides the waters of the Missinipi from those that fall into the Elk river, to despatch one canoe strong-handed, and light-loaded, to that country; but, on their arrival there, they found, in every direction, the ravages of the small-pox; so that, from the great diminution of the natives, they returned in the spring with no more than seven packages of beaver. The strong woods and mountainous countries afforded a refuge to those who fled from the contagion of the plains; but they were so alarmed at the surrounding destruction, that they avoided the traders, and were dispirited from hunting, except for their subsistence. The traders, however, who returned into the country in the year 1782-3, found the inhabitants in some sort of tranquillity, and more numerous than they had reason to expect, so that their success was proportionably better. During the winter of 1783-4, the merchants of Canada, engaged in this trade, formed a junction of interests, under the name of the North-West Company, and divided it into sixteen shares, without depositing any capital; each party furnishing a proportion or quota of such articles as were necessary to carry on the trade: the respective parties agreeing to satisfy the friends they had in the country, who were not provided for, according to this agreement, out of the proportions which they held. The management of the whole was accordingly entrusted to Messrs. Benjamin and Joseph Frobisher, and Mr. Simon M'Tavish, two distinct houses, who had the greatest interest and influence in the country, and for which they were to receive a stipulated commission in all transactions. In the spring, two of those gentlemen went to the Grande Portage with their credentials, which were confirmed and ratified by all the parties having an option, except Mr. Peter Pond, who was not satisfied with the share allotted him. Accordingly he, and another gentleman, Mr. Peter Pangman, who had a right to be a partner, but for whom no provision had been made, came to Canada, with a determination to return to the country, if they could find any persons to join them, and give their scheme a proper support. The traders in the country, and merchants at Montreal, thus entered into a co-partnership, which, by these means, was consolidated and directed by able men, who, from the powers with which they were entrusted, would carry on the trade to the utmost extent it would bear. The traders in the country, therefore, having every reason to expect that their past and future labours would be recompensed, forgot all their former animosities, and engaged with the utmost spirit and activity, to forward the general interest; so that, in the following year, they met their agents at the Grande Portage, with their canoes laden with rich furs from the different parts of that immense tract of country. But this satisfaction was not to be enjoyed without some interruption; and they were mortified to find that Mr. Pangman had prevailed on Messrs. Gregory and Macleod to join him, and give him their support in the business, though deserted by Mr. Pond, who accepted the terms offered by his former associates. In the counting-house of Mr. Gregory I had been five years; and at this period had left him, with a small adventure of goods, with which he had entrusted me, to seek my fortune at Detroit. He, without any solicitation on my part, had procured an insertion in the agreement, that I should be admitted a partner in this business, on condition that I would proceed to the Indian country in the following spring, 1785. His partner came to Detroit to make me such a proposition. I readily assented to it, and immediately proceeded to the Grande Portage, where I joined my associates. We now found that independent of the natural difficulties of the undertaking, we should have to encounter every other which they, who were already in possession of the trade of the country, could throw in our way, and which their circumstances enabled them to do. Nor did they doubt, from their own superior experience, as well as that of their clerks and men, with their local knowledge of the country and its inhabitants, that they should soon compel us to leave the country to them. The event, however, did not justify their expectations; for, after the severest struggle ever known in that part of the world, and suffering every oppression which a jealous and rival spirit could instigate; after the murder of one of our partners, the laming of another, and the narrow escape of one of our clerks, who received a bullet through his powder horn, in the execution of his duty, they were compelled to allow us a share of the trade. As we had already incurred a loss, this union was, in every respect, a desirable event to us, and was concluded in the month of July, 1787. This commercial establishment was now founded on a more solid basis than any hitherto known in the country; and it not only continued in full force, vigour, and prosperity, in spite of all interference from Canada, but maintained at least an equal share of advantage with the Hudson's-Bay Company, notwithstanding the superiority of their local situation. The following account of this self-erected concern will manifest the cause of its success. It assumed the title of the North-West Company, and was no more than an association of commercial men, agreeing among themselves to carry on the fur trade, unconnected with any other business, though many of the parties engaged had extensive concerns altogether foreign to it. It may be said to have been supported entirely upon credit; for, whether the capital belonged to the proprietor, or was borrowed, it equally bore interest, for which the association was annually accountable. It consisted of twenty shares, unequally divided among the persons concerned. Of these, a certain proportion was held by the people who managed the business in Canada, and were styled agents for the Company. Their duty was to import the necessary goods from England, store them at their own expense at Montreal, get them made up into articles suited to the trade, pack and forward them, and supply the cash that might be wanting for the outfits, for which they received, independent of the profit on their shares, a commission on the amount of the accounts, which they were obliged to make out annually, and keep the adventure of each year distinct. Two of them went annually to the Grande Portage, to manage and transact the business there, and on the communication at Detroit, Michilimakinac, St. Mary's, and at Montreal, where they received, stored, packed up, and shipped the company's furs for England, on which they had also a small commission. The remaining shares were held by the proprietors, who were obliged to winter and manage the business of the concern with the Indians, and their respective clerks, etc. They were not supposed to be under any obligation to furnish capital, or even credit. If they obtained any capital by the trade, it was to remain in the hands of the agents; for which they were allowed interest. Some of them, from their long services and influence, held double shares, and were allowed to retire from the business at any period of the existing concern, with one of those shares, naming any young man in the company's service to succeed him in the other. Seniority and merit were, however, considered as affording a claim to the succession, which, nevertheless, could not be disposed of without the concurrence of the majority of the concern; who, at the same time, relieved the seceding person from any responsibility respecting the share that he transferred, and accounted for it according to the annual value or rate of the property; so that the seller could have no advantage, but that of getting the share of stock which he retained realised, and receiving for the transferred share what was fairly determined to be the worth of it. The former was also discharged from all duty, and became a dormant partner. Thus, all the young men who were not provided for at the beginning of the contract, succeeded in succession to the character and advantages of partners. They entered into the Company's service for five or seven years, under such expectations, and their reasonable prospects were seldom disappointed: there were, indeed, instances when they succeeded to shares, before their apprenticeship was expired, and it frequently happened, that they were provided for while they were in a state of articled clerkship. Shares were transferable only to the concern at large, as no person could be admitted as a partner who had not served his time to the trade. The dormant partner indeed might dispose of his interest to any one he chose, but if the transaction was not acknowledged by his associates, the purchaser could only be considered as his agent or attorney. Every share had a vote, and two-thirds formed a majority. This regular and equitable mode of providing for the clerks of the company, excited a spirit of emulation in the discharge of their various duties, and in fact, made every agent a principal, who perceived his own prosperity to be immediately connected with that of his employers. Indeed, without such a spirit, such a trade could not have become so extended and advantageous, as it has been and now is. In 1788, the gross amount of the adventure for the year did not exceed forty thousand pounds,[1] but by the exertion, enterprise, and industry of the proprietors, it was brought, in eleven years, to triple that amount and upwards; yielding proportionate profits, and surpassing, in short, any thing known in America. Such, therefore, being the prosperous state of the company, it, very naturally, tempted others to interfere with the concern in a manner by no means beneficial to the company, and commonly ruinous to the undertakers. In 1798 the concern underwent a new form, the shares were increased to forty-six, new partners being admitted, and others retiring. This period was the termination of the company, which was not renewed by all the parties concerned in it, the majority continuing to act upon the old stock, and under the old firm; the others beginning a new one; and it now remains to be decided, whether two parties, under the same regulations and by the same exertions, though unequal in number, can continue to carry on the business to a successful issue. The contrary opinion has been held, which if verified, will make it the interest of the parties again to coalesce; for neither is deficient in capital to support their obstinacy in a losing trade, as it is not to be supposed that either will yield on any other terms than perpetual participation. It will not be superfluous in this place, to explain the general mode of carrying on the fur trade. The agents are obliged to order the necessary goods from England in the month of October, eighteen months before they can leave Montreal; that is, they are not shipped from London until the spring following, when they arrive in Canada in the summer. In the course of the following winter they are made up into such articles as are required for the savages; they are then packed into parcels of ninety pounds weight each, but cannot be sent from Montreal until the May following; so that they do not get to market until the ensuing winter, when they are exchanged for furs, which come to Montreal the next fall, and from thence are shipped, chiefly to London, where they are not sold or paid for before the succeeding spring, or even as late as June; which is forty-two months after the goods were ordered in Canada; thirty-six after they had been shipped from England, and twenty-four after they had been forwarded from Montreal; so that the merchant, allowing that he has twelve months' credit, does not receive a return to pay for those goods, and the necessary expenses attending them, which is about equal to the value of the goods themselves, till two years after they are considered as cash, which makes this a very heavy business. There is even a small proportion of it that requires twelve months longer to bring round the payment, going to, the immense distance it is carried, and from the shortness of the seasons, which prevents the furs, even after they are collected, from coming out of the country for that period.[2] The articles necessary for this trade, are coarse woollen cloths of different kinds; milled blankets of different sizes; arms and ammunition; twist and carrot tobacco; Manchester goods; linens, and coarse sheetings; thread, lines, and twine; common hardware; cutlery and ironmongery of several descriptions; kettles of brass and copper, and sheet-iron; silk and cotton handkerchiefs, hats, shoes, and hose; calicoes and printed cottons, etc., etc., etc. Spirituous liquors and provisions are purchased in Canada. These, and the expense of transport to and from the Indian country, including wages to clerks, interpreters, guides, and canoe-men, with the expense of making up the goods for the market, form about half the annual amount against the adventure. This expenditure in Canada ultimately tends to the encouragement of British manufactory, for those who are employed in the different branches of this business, are enabled by their gains to purchase such British articles as they must otherwise forego. The produce of the year of which I am now speaking, consisted of the following furs and peltries: 106,000 Beaver skins, 6,000 Lynx skins, 2,100 Bear skins, 600 Wolverine skins, 1,500 Fox skins, 1,650 Fisher skins, 4,000 Kitt Fox skins 100 Rackoon skins, 4,600 Otter skins, 8,800 Wolf skins, 17,000 Musquash skins, 700 Elk skins, 32,000 Marten skins, 750 Deer skins, 1,800 Mink skins, 1,200 Deer skins dressed, 500 Buffalo robes, and quantity of castorum. Of these were diverted from the British market, being sent through the United States to China, 13,364 skins, fine beaver, weighing 19,283 pounds; 1,250 fine otters, and 1,724 kitt foxes. They would have found their way to the China market at any rate, but this deviation from the British channel arose from the following circumstance: An adventure of this kind was undertaken by a respectable house in London, half concerned with the North-West Company, in the year 1792. The furs were of the best kind, and suitable to the market; and the adventurers continued this connexion for five successive years, to the annual amount of forty thousand pounds. At the winding up of the concern of 1792, 1793, 1794, 1795, in the year 1797 (the adventure of 1796 not being included, as the furs were not sent to China, but disposed of in London), the North-West Company experienced a loss of upwards of £40,000 (their half), which was principally owing to the difficulty of getting home the produce procured in return for the furs from China, in the East India Company's ships, together with the duty payable, and the various restrictions of that company. Whereas, from America there are no impediments; they get immediately to market, and the produce of them is brought back, and perhaps sold in the course of twelve months. From such advantages, the furs of Canada will no doubt find their way to China by America, which would not be the case if British subjects had the same privileges that are allowed to foreigners, as London would then be found the best and safest market. But to return to our principal subject. We shall now proceed to consider the number of men employed in the concern: viz., fifty clerks, seventy-one interpreters and clerks, one thousand one hundred and twenty canoe-men, and thirty-five guides. Of these, five clerks, eighteen guides, and three hundred and fifty canoe-men, were employed for the summer season in going from Montreal to the Grande Portage, in canoes, part of whom proceeded from thence to Rainy Lake, as will be hereafter explained, and are called Pork-eaters, or Goers and Comers. These were hired in Canada or Montreal, and were absent from the 1st of May till the latter end of September. For this trip the guides had from eight hundred to a thousand livres, and, a suitable equipment; the foreman and steersman from four to six hundred livres; the middle-men from two hundred and fifty to three hundred and fifty livres, with an equipment of one blanket, one shirt, and one pair of trowsers; and were maintained during that period at the expense of their employers. Independent of their wages, they were allowed to traffic, and many of them earned to the amount of their wages. About one-third of these went to winter, and had more than double the above wages and equipment. All the winterers were hired by the year, and sometimes for three years; and of the clerks many were apprentices, who were generally engaged for five or seven years, for which they had only one hundred pounds, provision and clothing. Such of them who could not be provided for as partners, at the expiration of this time, were allowed from one hundred pounds to three hundred pounds per annum, with all necessaries, till provision was made for them. Those who acted in the two-fold capacity of clerk and interpreter, or were so denominated, had no other expectation than the payment of wages to the amount of from one thousand to four thousand livres per annum, with clothing and provisions. The guides, who are a very useful set of men, acted also in the additional capacity of interpreters, and had a stated quantity of goods, considered as sufficient for their wants, their wages being from one to three thousand livres. The canoe-men are of two descriptions, foremen and steersmen, and middlemen. The two first were allowed annually one thousand two hundred, and the latter eight hundred, livres each. The first class had what is called an equipment, consisting of two blankets, two shirts, two pair of trowsers, two handkerchiefs, fourteen pounds of carrot tobacco, and some trifling articles. The latter had ten pounds of tobacco, and all the other articles: those are called North Men, or Winterers; and to the last class of people were attached upwards of seven hundred Indian women and children, victualled at the expence of the company. The first class of people are hired in Montreal five months before they set out, and receive their equipments, and one-third of their wages in advance; and an adequate idea of the labour they undergo, may be formed from the following account of the country through which they pass, and their manner of proceeding. The necessary number of canoes being purchased, at about three hundred livres each, the goods formed into packages, and the lakes and rivers free of ice, which they usually are in the beginning of May, they are then despatched from La Chine, eight miles above Montreal, with eight or ten men in each canoe, and their baggage; and sixty-five packages of goods, six hundred weight of biscuit, two hundred weight of pork, three bushels of pease, for the men's provision; two oil-cloths to cover the goods, a sail, etc., an axe, a towing-line, a kettle, and a sponge to bail out the water, with a quantity of gum, bark, and watape, to repair the vessel. An European on seeing one of these slender vessels thus laden, heaped up, and sunk with her gunwale within six inches of the water, would think his fate inevitable in such a boat, when he reflected on the nature of her voyage; but the Canadians are so expert that few accidents happen. Leaving La Chine, they proceed to St. Ann's, within two miles of the Western extremity of the island of Montreal, the lake of the two mountains being in sight, which may be termed the commencement of the Utawas river. At the rapid of St. Ann they are obliged to take out part, if not the whole of their lading. It is from this spot that the Canadians consider they take their departure, as it possesses the last church on the island, which is dedicated to the tutelar saint of voyages. The lake of the two mountains is about twenty miles long, but not more than three wide, and surrounded by cultivated fields, except the Seignory belonging to the clergy, though nominally in possession of the two tribes of Iroquois and Algonquins, whose village is situated on a delightful point of land under the hills, which, by the title of mountains, give a name to the lake. Near the extremity of the point their church is built, which divides the village in two parts, forming a regular angle along the water side. On the East is the station of the Algonquins, and on the West, one of the Iroquois, consisting in all of about five hundred warriors. Each party has its missionary, and divine worship is performed according to the rites of the Roman Catholic religion, in their respective languages in the same church: and so assiduous have their pastors been, that these people have been instructed in reading and writing in their own language, and are better instructed than the Canadian inhabitants of the country of the lower ranks: but notwithstanding these advantages, and though the establishment is nearly coeval with the colonization of the country, they do not advance towards a state of civilization, but retain their ancient habits, language, and customs, and are becoming every day more depraved, indigent, and insignificant. The country around them, though very capable of cultivation, presents only a few miserable patches of ground, sown by the women with maize and vegetables. During the winter season, they leave their habitations, and pious pastors, to follow the chase, according to the custom of their forefathers. Such is, indeed, the state of all the villages near the cultivated parts of Canada. But we shall now leave them to proceed on our voyage. At the end of the lake the water contracts into the Utawas river, which, after a course of fifteen miles, is interrupted by a succession of rapids and cascades for upwards of ten miles, at the foot of which the Canadian Seignories terminate; and all above them were waste land, till the conclusion of the American war, when they were surveyed by order of government, and granted to the officers and men of the eighty-fourth regiment, when reduced; but principally to the former, and consequently little inhabited, though very capable of cultivation. The voyagers are frequently obliged to unload their canoes, and carry the goods upon their backs, or rather suspended in slings from their heads. Each man's ordinary load is two packages, though some carry three. Here the canoe is towed by a strong line. There are some places where the ground will not admit of their carrying the whole; they then make two trips, that is, leave half their lading, and go and land it at the distance required; and then return for that which was left. In this distance are three carrying-places, the length of which depends in a great measure upon the state of the water, whether higher or lower; from the last of these the river is about a mile and a half wide, and has a regular current for about sixty miles, when it ends at the first Portage de Chaudiere, where the body of water falls twenty-five feet, over cragged, excavated rocks, in a most wild, romantic manner. At a small distance below, is the river Rideau on the left, falling over a perpendicular rock, near forty feet high, in one sheet, assuming the appearance of a curtain; and from which circumstance it derives its name. To this extent the lands have been surveyed, as before observed, and are very fit for culture. Many loyalists are settled upon the river Rideau, and have, I am told, thriving plantations. Some American families preferring the British territory, have also established themselves along a river on the opposite side, where the soil is excellent. Nor do I think the period is far distant, when the lands will become settled from this vicinity to Montreal. Over this portage, which is six hundred and forty-three paces long, the canoe and all the lading is carried. The rock is so steep and difficult of access, that it requires twelve men to take the canoe out of the water: it is then carried by six men, two at each end on the same side, and two under the opposite gunwale in the middle. From hence to the next is but a short distance, in which they make two trips to the second Portage de Chaudiere, which is seven hundred paces, to carry the loading alone. From hence to the next and last Chaudiere, or Portage des Chenes, is about six miles, with a very strong current, where the goods are carried seven hundred and forty paces; the canoe being towed up by the line, when the water is not very high. We now enter Lac des Chaudieres, which is computed to be thirty miles in length. Though it is called a lake, there is a strong draught downwards, and its breadth is from two to four miles. At the end of this is the Portage des Chats, over which the canoe and lading are carried two hundred and seventy-four paces; and very difficult it is for the former. The river is here barred by a ridge of black rock, rising in pinnacles and covered with wood, which, from the small quantity of soil that nourishes it, is low and stinted. The river finds its way over and through these rocks, in numerous channels, falling fifteen feet and upwards. From hence two trips are made through a serpentine channel, formed by the rocks, for several miles, when the current slackens, and is accordingly called the Lac des Chats. To the channels of the grand Calumet, which are computed to be at the distance of eighteen miles, the current recovers its strength, and proceeds to the Portage Dufort, which is two hundred and forty-five paces long; over which the canoe and baggage are transported. From hence the current becomes more rapid, and requires two trips to the Decharge des Sables,[3] where the goods are carried one hundred and thirty-five paces, and the canoe towed. Then follows the Mountain Portage, where the canoe and lading are also carried three hundred and eighty-five paces; then to the Decharge of the Derige, where the goods are carried two hundred and fifty paces; and thence to the grand Calumet. This is the longest carrying-place in this river, and is about two thousand and thirty-five paces. It is a high hill or mountain. From the upper part of this Portage the current is steady, and is only a branch of the Utawas river, which joins the main channel, that keeps a more Southern course, at the distance of twelve computed leagues. Six leagues further it forms Lake Coulonge, which is about four leagues in length; from thence it proceeds through the channels of the Allumettes to the decharge, where part of the lading is taken out, and carried three hundred and forty-two paces. Then succeeds the Portage des Allumettes, which is but twenty-five paces, over a rock difficult of access, and at a very short distance from Decharge. From Portage de Chenes to this spot, is a fine deer-hunting country, and the land in many places very fit for cultivation. From hence the river spreads wide, and is full of islands, with some current for seven leagues, to the beginning of _Riviere Creuse_, or Deep River, which runs in the form of a canal, about a mile and a half wide, for about thirty-six miles; bounded upon the North by very high rocks, with low land on the South, and sandy; it is intercepted again by falls and cataracts, so that the Portages of the two Joachins almost join. The first is nine hundred and twenty-six paces, the next seven hundred and twenty, and both very bad roads. From hence is a steady current of nine miles to the river du Moine, where there has generally been a trading house; the stream then becomes strong for four leagues, when a rapid succeeds, which requires two trips. A little way onward is the Decharge, and close to it, the Portage of the Roche Capitaine, seven hundred and ninety-seven paces in length. From hence two trips are made through a narrow channel of the Roche Capitaine, made by an island four miles in length. A strong current now succeeds, for about six leagues to the Portage of the two rivers, which is about eight hundred and twenty paces; from thence it is three leagues to the Decharge of the Trou, which is three hundred paces. Near adjoining is the rapid of Levellier; from whence, including the rapids of Matawoen, where there is no carrying-place, it is about thirty-six miles to the forks of the same name; in latitude 46. 45. North, and longitude 78. 45. West, and is at the computed distance of four hundred miles from Montreal. At this place the Petite Riviere falls into the Utawas. The latter river comes from a North-Westerly direction, forming several lakes in its course. The principal of them is Lake Temescamang, where there has always been a trading post, which may be said to continue, by a succession of rivers and lakes, upwards of fifty leagues from the Forks, passing near the waters of the Lake Abbitiby, in latitude 48½, which is received by the Moose River, that empties itself into James Bay. The Petite Riviere takes a South-West direction, is full of rapids and cataracts to its source, and is not more than fifteen leagues in length, in the course of which are the following interruptions--The Portage of Plein Champ, three hundred and nineteen paces; the Decharge of the Rose, one hundred and forty-five paces; the Decharge of Campion, one hundred and eighty-four paces; the Portage of the Grosse Roche, one hundred and fifty paces; the Portage of Paresseux, four hundred and two paces; the Portage of Prairie, two hundred and eighty-seven paces; the Portage of La Cave, one hundred paces; Portage of Talon, two hundred and seventy-five paces; which, for its length, is the worst on the communication; Portage Pin de Musique, four hundred and fifty-six paces; next to this, is mauvais de Musique, where many men have been crushed to death by the canoes, and others have received irrecoverable injuries. The last in this river is the Turtle Portage, eighty-three paces, on entering the lake of that name, where, indeed, the river may be said to take its source. At the first vase from whence to the great river, the country has the appearance of having been over-run by fire, and consists, in general, of huge rocky hills. The distance of this portage which is the height of land, between the waters of the St. Laurence and the Utawas, is one thousand five hundred and thirteen paces to a small canal in a plain, that is just sufficient to carry the loaded canoe about one mile to the next vase, which is seven hundred and twenty-five paces. It would be twice this distance, but the narrow creek is dammed in the beaver fashion, to float the canoes to this barrier, through which they pass, when the river is just sufficient to bear them through a swamp of two miles to the last vase, of one thousand and twenty-four paces in length. Though the river is increased in this part, some care is necessary to avoid rocks and stumps of trees. In about six miles is the lake Nepisingui, which is computed to be twelve leagues long, though the route of the canoes is something more: it is about fifteen miles wide in the widest part, and bound with rocks. Its inhabitants consist of the remainder of a numerous converted tribe, called Nepisinguis of the Algonquin nation. Out of it flows the Riviere des François, over rocks of a considerable height. In a bay to the East of this, the road leads over the Portage of the Chaudiere des François, five hundred and forty-four paces, to still water. It must have acquired the name of Kettle, from a great number of holes in the solid rock of a cylindrical form, and not unlike that culinary utensil. They are observable in many parts along strong bodies of water, and where, at certain seasons, and distinct periods, it is well known the water inundates; at the bottom of them are generally found a number of small stones and pebbles. This circumstance justifies the conclusion, that at some former period these rocks formed the bed of a branch of the discharge of this lake, although some of them are upwards of ten feet above the present level of the water at its greatest height. They are, indeed, to be seen along every great river throughout this wide extended country. The French river is very irregular, both as to its breadth and form, and is so interspersed with islands, that in the whole course of it the banks are seldom visible. Of its various channels, that which is generally followed by the canoes is obstructed by the following Portages, viz., des Pins, fifty-two paces; Feausille, thirty-six paces; Parisienne, one hundred paces; Recolet, forty-five paces; and the Petite Feausille, twenty-five paces. In several parts there are guts or channels, where the water flows with great velocity, which are not more than twice the breadth of a canoe. The distance to Lake Huron is estimated at twenty-five leagues, which this river enters in the latitude 45. 53. North, that is, at the point of land three or four miles within the lake. There is hardly a foot of soil to be seen from one end of the French river to the other, its banks consisting of hills of entire rock. The coast of the lake is the same, but lower, backed at some distance by high lands. The course runs through numerous islands to the North of West to the river Tessalon, computed to be about fifty leagues from the French river, and which I found to be in latitude 46. 12. 21. North; and from thence crossing, from island to island, the arm of the lake that receives the water of Lake Superior (which continues the same course), the route changes to the South of West ten leagues to the Detour, passing the end of the island of St. Joseph, within six miles of the former place. On that island there has been a military establishment since the upper posts were given up to the Americans in the year 1794; and is the Westernmost military position which we have in this country. It is a place of no trade, and the greater part, if not the whole of the Indians come here for no other purpose but to receive the presents which our government annually allows them. They are from the American territory (except about thirty families, who are the inhabitants of the lake from the French river, and of the Algonquin nation) and trade in their peltries, as they used formerly to do at Michilimakinac, but principally with British subjects. The Americans pay them very little attention, and tell them that they keep possession of their country by right of conquest: that, as their brothers, they will be friends with them while they deserve it; and that their traders will bring them every kind of goods they require, which they may procure by their industry. Our commanders treat them in a very different manner, and, under the character of the representative of their father (which parental title the natives give to his present Majesty, the common father of all his people) present them with such things as the actual state of their stores will allow. How far this conduct, if continued, may, at a future exigency, keep these people in our interest, if they are even worthy of it, is not an object of my present consideration: at the same time, I cannot avoid expressing my perfect conviction, that it would not be of the least advantage to our present or future commerce in that country, or to the people themselves; as it only tends to keep many of them in a state of idleness about our military establishments. The ammunition which they receive is employed to kill game, in order to procure rum in return, though their families may be in a starving condition: hence it is, that, in consequence of slothful and dissolute lives, their numbers are in a very perceptible state of diminution. From the Detour to the island of Michilimakinac, at the conference of the Lakes Huron and Michigan, in latitude 45. 54. North is about forty miles. To keep the direct course to Lake Superior, the North shore from the river Tessalon should be followed; crossing to the North-West end of St. Joseph, and passing between it and the adjacent islands, which makes a distance of fifty miles to the fall of St. Mary, at the foot of which, upon the South shore, there is a village, formerly a place of great resort for the inhabitants of Lake Superior, and consequently of considerable trade: it is now, however, dwindled to nothing, and reduced to about thirty families, of the Algonquin, nation, who are one half of the year starving, and the other half intoxicated, and ten or twelve Canadians, who have been in the Indian country from an early period of life, and intermarried with the natives, who have brought them families. Their inducements to settle there, was the great quantity of white fish that are to be taken in and about the falls, with very little trouble, particularly in the autumn, when that fish leave the lakes, and comes to the running and shallow waters to spawn. These, when salt can be procured, are pickled just as the frost sets in, and prove very good food with potatoes, which they have of late cultivated with success. The natives live chiefly on this fish, which they hang up by the tails, and preserve throughout the winter, or at least as long as they last; for whatever quantity they may have taken, it is never known that their economy is such as to make them last through the winter, which renders their situation very distressing; for if they had activity sufficient to pursue the labours of the chase, the woods are become so barren of game as to afford them no great prospect of relief. In the spring of the year, they and the other inhabitants make a quantity of sugar from the maple tree, which they exchange with the traders for necessary articles, or carry it to Michilimakinac, where they expect a better price. One of these traders was agent for the North-West Company, receiving, storing, and forwarding such articles as come by the way of the lakes upon their vessels: for it is to be observed, that a quantity of their goods are sent by that route from Montreal in boats to Kingston, at the entrance of Lake Ontario, and from thence in vessels to Niagara, then over land ten miles to a water communication by boats, to Lake Erie, where they are again received into vessels, and carried over that lake up the river Detroit, through the lake and river Sinclair to Lake Huron, and from thence to the Falls of St. Mary's, when they are again landed and carried for a mile above the falls, and shipped over Lake Superior to the Grande Portage. This is found to be a less expensive method than by canoes, but attended with more risk, and requiring more time, than one short season of this country will admit; for the goods are always sent from Montreal the preceding fall; and besides, the company get their provisions from Detroit, as flour and Indian corn; as also considerable supplies from Michilimakinac of maple sugar, tallow, gum, etc., etc. For the purpose of conveying all these things, they have two vessels upon the Lakes Erie and Huron, and one on Lake Superior, of from fifty to seventy tons burden. This being, therefore, the depot for transports, the Montreal canoes, on their arrival, were forwarded over Lake Superior, with only five men in each; the others were sent to Michilimakinac for additional canoes, which were required to prosecute the trade, and then taking a lading there, or at St. Mary's, and follow the others. At length they all arrive at the Grande Portage which is one hundred and sixty leagues from St. Mary's, coastways, and situated on a pleasant bay on the North side of the lake, in latitude 48. North, and longitude 90. West from Greenwich, where the compass has not above five degrees East variation. At the entrance of the bay is an island which screens the harbour from every wind except the South. The shallowness of the water, however, renders it necessary for the vessel to anchor near a mile from the shore, where there is not more than fourteen feet water. This lake justifies the name that has been given to it; the Falls of St. Mary, which is its Northern extremity, being in latitude 46. 31. North, and in longitude 84. West, where there is no variation of the compass whatever, while its Southern extremity, at the river St. Louis, is in latitude 46. 45. North, and longitude 92. 10. West: its greatest breadth is one hundred and twenty miles, and its circumference, including its various bays, is not less than one thousand two hundred miles. Along its North shore is the safest navigation, as it is a continued mountainous embankment of rock, from three hundred to one thousand five hundred feet in height. There are numerous coves and sandy bays to land, which are frequently sheltered by islands from the swell of the lake. This is particularly the case at the distance of one hundred miles to the Eastward of the Grande Portage, and is called the Pays Plat. This seems to have been caused by some convulsion of nature, for many of the islands display a composition of lava, intermixed with round stones of the size of a pigeon's egg. The surrounding rock is generally hard, and of a dark blue-grey, though it frequently has the appearance of iron and copper. The South side of the lake, from Point Shagoimigo East, is almost a continual straight line of sandy beach, interspersed with rocky precipices of lime-stones, sometimes rising to a hundred feet in height, without a bay. The embankments from that point Westward are, in general, of strong clay, mixed with stones, which renders the navigation irksome and dangerous. On the same side, at the river Tonnagan, is found a quantity of virgin copper. The Americans, soon after they got possession of that country, sent an engineer thither; and I should not be surprised to hear of their employing people to work the mine. Indeed, it might be well worthy the attention of the British subjects to work the mines on the North coast, though they are not supposed to be so rich as those on the South. Lake Superior is the largest and most magnificent body of fresh water in the world: it is clear and pellucid, of great depth, and abounding in a great variety of fish, which are the most excellent of their kind. There are trouts of three kinds, weighing from five to fifty pounds, sturgeon, pickerel, pike, red and white carp, black bass, herrings, etc., etc., and the last, and best of all, the Ticamang, or white fish, which weighs from four to sixteen pounds, and is of a superior quality in these waters. This lake may be denominated the grand reservoir of the River St. Laurence, as no considerable rivers discharge themselves into it. The principal ones are, the St. Louis, the Nipigon, the Pic, and the Michipicoten. Indeed, the extent of country from which any of them flow, or take their course, in any direction, cannot admit of it, in consequence of the ridge of land that separates them from the rivers that empty themselves into Hudson's-Bay, the gulf of Mexico, and the waters that fall in Lake Michigan, which afterward become a part of the St. Laurence. This vast collection of water is often covered with fog, particularly when the wind is from the East, which, driving against the high barren rocks on the North and West shore, dissolves in torrents of rain. It is very generally said, that the storms on this lake are denoted by a swell on the preceding day; but this circumstance did not appear from my observation to be a regular phenomenon, as the swells more regularly subsided without any subsequent wind. Along the surrounding rocks of this immense lake, evident marks appear of the decrease of its water, by the lines observable along them. The space, however, between the highest and the lowest, is not so great as in the smaller lakes, as it does not amount to more than six feet, the former being very faint. The inhabitants that are found along the coast of this water, are all of the Algonquin nation, the whole of which do not exceed 150 families.[4] These people live chiefly on fish; indeed, from what has been said of the country, it cannot be expected to abound in animals, as it is totally destitute of that shelter, which is so necessary to them. The rocks appear to have been over-run by fire, and the stinted timber which once grew there, is frequently seen lying along the surface of them: but it is not easy to be reconciled, that anything should grow where there is so little appearance of soil. Between the fallen trees there are briars, with hurtleberry and gooseberry bushes, raspberries, etc., which invite the bears in greater or lesser numbers, as they are a favourite food of that animal: beyond these rocky banks are found a few moose and fallow deer. The waters alone are abundantly inhabited. A very curious phenomenon was observed some years ago at the Grande Portage, for which no obvious cause could be assigned. The water withdrew with great precipitation, leaving the ground dry that had never before been visible, the fall being equal to four perpendicular feet, and rushing back with great velocity above the common mark. It continued thus falling and rising for several hours, gradually decreasing till it stopped at its usual height. There is frequently an irregular influx and deflux, which does not exceed ten inches, and is attributed to the wind. The bottom of the bay, which forms an amphitheatre, is cleared of wood and inclosed; and on the left corner of it, beneath an hill, three or four hundred feet in height, and crowned by others of a still greater altitude, is the fort, picketed in with cedar pallisadoes, and inclosing houses built with wood and covered with shingles. They are calculated for every convenience of trade, as well as to accommodate the proprietors and clerks during their short residence there. The north men live under tents: but the more frugal pork-eater lodges beneath his canoe. The soil immediately bordering on the lake has not proved very propitious, as nothing but potatoes have been found to answer the trouble of cultivation. This circumstance is probably owing to the cold damp fogs of the lake, and the moisture of the ground from the springs that issue from beneath the hills. There are meadows in the vicinity that yield abundance of hay for the cattle; but, as to agriculture, it has not hitherto been an object of serious consideration. I shall now leave these geographical notices, to give some further account of the people from Montreal.--When they are arrived at the Grande Portage, which is near nine miles over, each of them has to carry eight packages of such goods and provisions as are necessary for the interior country. This is a labour which cattle cannot conveniently perform in summer, as both horses and oxen were tried by the company without success. They are only useful for light, bulky articles; or for transporting upon sledges, during the winter, whatever goods may remain there, especially provision, of which it is usual to have a year's stock on hand. Having finished this toilsome part of their duty, if more goods are necessary to be transported, they are allowed a Spanish dollar for each package: and so inured are they to this kind of labour, that I have known some of them set off with two packages of ninety pounds each, and return with two others of the same weight, in the course of six hours, being a distance of eighteen miles over hills and mountains. This necessary part of the business being over, if the season be early they have some respite, but this depends upon the time the North men begin to arrive from their winter quarters, which they commonly do early in July. At this period, it is necessary to select from the pork-eaters, a number of men, among whom are the recruits, or winterers, sufficient to man the North canoes necessary to carry, to the river of the rainy lake, the goods and provision requisite for the Athabasca country; as the people of that country (owing to the shortness of the season and length of the road, can come no further), are equipped there, and exchange ladings with the people of whom we are speaking, and both return from whence they came. This voyage is performed in the course of a month, and they are allowed proportionable wages for their services. The North men being arrived at the Grande Portage, are regaled with bread, pork, butter, liquor, and tobacco, and such as have not entered into agreements during the winter, which is customary, are contracted with, to return and perform the voyage for one, two, or three years; their accounts are also settled, and such as choose to send any of their earnings to Canada, receive drafts to transmit to their relations or friends; and as soon as they can be got ready, which requires no more than a fortnight, they are again despatched to their respective departments. It is, indeed, very creditable to them as servants, that though they are sometimes assembled to the number of twelve hundred men, indulging themselves in the free use of liquor, and quarrelling with each other, they always show the greatest respect to their employers, who are comparatively but few in number, and beyond the aid of any legal power to enforce due obedience. In short, a degree of subordination can only be maintained by the good opinion these men entertain of their employers, which has been uniformly the case, since the trade has been formed and conducted on a regular system. The people being despatched to their respective winter-quarters, the agents from Montreal, assisted by their clerks, prepare to return there, by getting the furs across the portage, and re-making them into packages of one hundred pounds weight each, to send them to Montreal; where they commonly arrive in the month of September. The mode of living at the Grande Portage is as follows: The proprietors, clerks, guides, and interpreters, mess together, to the number of sometimes an hundred, at several tables, in one large hall, the provision consisting of bread, salt pork, beef, hams, fish, and venison, butter, peas, Indian corn, potatoes, tea, spirits, wine, etc., and plenty of milk, for which purpose several milch cows are constantly kept. The mechanics have rations of such provision, but the canoe-men, both from the North and Montreal, have no other allowance here, or in the voyage, than Indian corn and melted fat. The corn for this purpose is prepared before it leaves Detroit, by boiling it in a strong alkali, which takes off the outer husk: it is then well washed, and carefully dried upon stages, when it is fit for use. One quart of this is boiled for two hours, over a moderate fire, in a gallon of water; to which, when it has boiled a small time, are added two ounces of melted suet; this causes the corn to split, and in the time mentioned makes a pretty thick pudding. If to this is added a little salt, (but not before it is boiled, as it would interrupt the operation) it makes a wholesome, palatable food, and easy of digestion. This quantity is fully sufficient for a man's subsistence during twenty-four hours; though it is not sufficiently heartening to sustain the strength necessary for a state of active labour. The Americans call this dish hominy.[5] The trade from the Grande Portage is, in some particulars, carried on in a different manner with that from Montreal. The canoes used in the latter transport are now too large for the former, and some of about half the size are procured from the natives, and are navigated by four, five, or six men, according to the distance which they have to go. They carry a lading of about thirty-five packages, on an average; of these twenty-three are for the purpose of trade, and the rest are employed for provisions, stores, and baggage. In each of these canoes are a foreman and steersman; the one to be always on the look-out, and direct the passage of the vessel, and the other to attend the helm. They also carry her, whenever that office is necessary. The foreman has the command, and the middle-men obey both; the latter earn only two-thirds of the wages which are paid the two former. Independent of these, a conductor or pilot is appointed to every four or six of these canoes, whom they are all obliged to obey; and is, or at least is intended to be, a person of superior experience, for which he is proportionably paid. In these canoes, thus loaded, they embark at the North side of the portage, on the river Au Tourt, which is very inconsiderable; and after about two miles of a Westerly course, is obstructed by the Partridge Portage, six hundred paces long. In the spring this makes a considerable fall, when the water is high, over a perpendicular rock of one hundred and twenty feet. From, thence the river continues to be shallow, and requires great care to prevent the bottom of the canoe from being injured by sharp rocks, for a distance of three miles and an half to the Priarie, or Meadow, when half the lading is taken out, and carried by part of the crew, while two of them are conducting the canoe among the rocks, with the remainder, to the Carreboeuf Portage, three miles and a half more, when they unload, and come back two miles, and embark what was left for the other hands to carry, which they also land with the former; all of which is carried six hundred and eighty paces, and the canoe led up against the rapid. From hence the water is better calculated to carry canoes, and leads by a winding course to the North of West three miles to the Outard Portage, over which the canoe, and every thing in her, is carried for two thousand four hundred paces. At the further end is a very high hill to descend, over which hangs a rock upwards of seven hundred feet high. Then succeeds the Outard Lake, about six miles long, lying in a North-West course, and about two miles wide in the broadest place. After passing a very small rivulet, they come to the Elk Portage, over which the canoe and lading are again carried one thousand one hundred and twenty paces; when they enter the lake of the same name, which is an handsome piece of water, running North-West about four miles, and not more than one mile and an half wide.[6] They then land at the Portage de Cerise, over which, and in the face of a considerable hill, the canoe and cargo are again transported for one thousand and fifty paces. This is only separated from the second Portage de Cerise, by a mud-pond (where there is plenty of water lilies), of a quarter of a mile in length; and this is again separated by a similar pond, from the last Portage de Cerise, which is four hundred and ten paces. Here the same operation is to be performed for three hundred and eighty paces. They next enter on the Mountain Lake, running North-West by West six miles long, and about two miles in its greatest breadth. In the centre of this lake, and to the right is the Old Road, by which I never passed, but an adequate notion may be formed of it from the road I am going to describe, and which is universally preferred. This is first, the small new portage over which everything is carried for six hundred and twenty-six paces, over hills and gullies; the whole is then embarked on a narrow line of water, that meanders South-West about two miles and an half. It is necessary to unload here, for the length of the canoe, and then proceed West half a mile, to the new Grande Portage, which is three thousand one hundred paces in length, and over very rough ground, which requires the utmost exertions of the men, and frequently lames them: from hence they approach the Rose Lake, the portage of that name being opposite to the junction of the road from the Mountain Lake. They then embark on the Rose Lake, about one mile from the East end of it, and steer West by South, in an oblique course, across it two miles, then North-West passing the Petite Peche to the Marten Portage three miles. In this part of the lake the bottom is mud and slime, with about three or four feet of water over it; and here I frequently struck a canoe pole of twelve feet long, without meeting any other obstruction than if the whole were water: it has, however, a peculiar suction or attractive power, so that it is difficult to paddle a canoe over it. There is a small space along the South shore, where the water is deep, and this effect is not felt. In proportion to the distance from this part, the suction becomes more powerful: I have, indeed, been told that loaded canoes have been in danger of being swallowed up, and have only owed their preservation to other canoes, which were lighter. I have, myself, found it very difficult to get away from this attractive power, with six men, and great exertion, though we did not appear to be in any danger of sinking. Over against this is a very high, rocky ridge, on the South side, called Marten Portage, which is but twenty paces long, and separated from the Perche Portage, which is four hundred and eighty paces, by a mud pond, covered with white lilies. From hence the course is on the lake of the same name, West-South-West three miles to the height of land, where the waters of the Dove or Pigeon River terminate, and which is one of the sources of the great St. Laurence in this direction. Having carried the canoe and lading over it, six hundred and seventy-nine paces, they embark on the lake of Hauteur de Terre, which is in the shape of an horseshoe.[7] It is entered near the curve, and left at the extremity of the Western limb, through a very shallow channel, where the canoe passes half loaded for thirty paces with the current, which conducts these waters till they discharge themselves, through the succeeding lakes and rivers, and disembogues itself, by the river Nelson, into Hudson's Bay. The first of these is Lac de pierres a fusil, running West-South-West seven miles long, and two wide, and making an angle at North-West one mile more, becomes a river for half a mile, tumbling over a rock, and forming a fall and portage, called the Escalier, of fifty-five paces; but from hence it is neither lake or river, but possesses the character of both, and runs between large rocks, which cause a current or rapid for about two miles and an half, West-North-West, to the portage of the Cheval du Bois. Here the canoe and contents are carried three hundred and eighty paces, between rocks; and within a quarter of a mile is the Portage des Gros Pins, which is six hundred and forty paces over a high ridge. The opposite side of it is washed by a small lake three mile round; and the course is through the East end or side of it, three quarters of a mile North-East, where there is a rapid. An irregular meandering channel, between rocky banks, then succeeds, for seven miles and an half, to the Maraboeuf Lake, which extends North four miles, and is three-quarters of a mile wide, terminating by a rapid and decharge of one hundred and eighty paces, the rock of Saginaga being in sight, which causes a fall of about seven feet, and a portage of fifty-five paces. Lake Saginaga takes its name from its numerous islands. Its greatest length from East to West is about fourteen miles, with very irregular inlets, is nowhere more than three miles wide, and terminates at the small portage of Le Roche, of forty-three paces. From thence is a rocky, stony passage of one mile, to Priarie Portage, which is very improperly named, as there is no ground about it that answers to that description, except a small spot at the embarking place at the West end: to the East is an entire bog; and it is with great difficulty that the lading can be landed upon stages, formed by driving piles into the mud, and spreading branches of trees over them. The portage rises on a stony ridge, over which the canoe and cargo must be carried for six hundred and eleven paces. This is succeeded by an embarkation on a small bay, where the bottom is the same as has been described in the West end of Rose Lake, and it is with great difficulty that a laden canoe is worked over it, but it does not comprehend more than a distance of two hundred yards. From hence the progress continues through irregular channels, bounded by rocks, in a Westerly course for about five miles, to the little Portage des Couteaux, of one hundred and sixty-five paces, and the Lac des Couteaux, running about South-West by West twelve miles, and from a quarter to two miles wide. A deep bay runs East three miles from the West end, where it is discharged by a rapid river, and after running two miles West, it again becomes still water. In this river are two carrying-places, the one fifteen, and the other one hundred and ninety paces. From this to the Portage des Carpes is one mile North-West, leaving a narrow lake on the East that runs parallel with the Lac des Couteaux, half its length, where there is a carrying-place, which is used when the water in the river last mentioned is too low. The Portage des Carpes is three hundred and ninety paces, from whence the water spreads irregularly between rocks, five miles North-West and South-East to the Portage of Lac Bois Blanc, which is one hundred and eighty paces. Then follows the lake of that name, but I think improperly so called, as the natives name it the Lac Passeau Minac Sagaigan, or lake of Dry Berries. Before the small-pox ravaged this country, and completed, what the Nodowasis, in their warfare, had gone far to accomplish, the destruction of its inhabitants, the population was very numerous: this was also a favourite part, where they made their canoes, etc., the lake abounding in fish, the country round it being plentifully supplied with various kinds of game, and the rocky ridges, that form the boundaries of the water, covered with a variety of berries. When the French were in possession of this country, they had several trading establishments on the islands and banks of this lake. Since that period, the few people remaining, who were of the Algonquin nation, could hardly find subsistence; game having become so scarce, that they depended principally for food upon fish and wild rice, which grows spontaneously in these parts. This lake is irregular in its form, and its utmost extent from East to West is fifteen miles; a point of land, called Point au Pin, jutting into it, divides it in two parts: it then makes a second angle at the West end, to the lesser Portage de Bois Blanc, two hundred paces in length. This channel is not wide, and is intercepted by several rapids in the course of a mile: it runs West-North West to the Portage des Pins, over which the canoe and lading is again carried four hundred paces. From hence the channel is also intercepted by very dangerous rapids, for two miles Westerly, to the point of Pointe du Bois, which is two hundred and eighty paces. Then succeeds the portage of La Croche, one mile more, where the carrying-place is eighty paces, and is followed by an embarkation on that lake, which takes its name from its figure. It extends eighteen miles, in a meandering form, and in a westerly direction; it is in general very narrow, and at about two-thirds of its length becomes very contracted, with a strong current. Within three miles of the last Portage is a remarkable rock, with a smooth face, but split and cracked in different parts, which hang over the water. Into one of its horizontal chasms a great number of arrows have been shot, which is said to have been done by a war party of the Nadowasis or Sieux, who had done much mischief in this country, and left these weapons as a warning to the Chebois or natives, that, notwithstanding its lakes, rivers, and rocks, it was not inaccessible to their enemies. Lake Croche is terminated by the Portage de Rideau, four hundred paces long, and derives its name from the appearance of the water, falling over a rock of upwards of thirty feet. Several rapids succeed, with intervals of still water, for about three miles to the Flacon portage, which is very difficult, is four hundred paces long, and leads to the Lake of La Croix, so named from its shape. It runs about North-West eighteen miles to the Beaver Dam, and then sinks into a deep bay nearly East. The course to the Portage is West by North for sixteen miles more from the Beaver Dam, and into the East bay is a road which was frequented by the French, and followed through lakes and rivers until they came to Lake Superior by the river Caministiquia, thirty miles East of the Grande Portage. Portage la Croix is six hundred paces long: to the next portage is a quarter of a mile, and its length is forty paces; the river winding four miles to Vermillion Lake, which runs six or seven miles North-North-West, and by a narrow strait communicates with Lake Namaycan, which takes its name from a particular place at the foot of a fall, where the natives spear sturgeon: Its course is about North-North-West and South-South-East, with a bay running East, that gives it the form of a triangle: its length is about sixteen miles to the Nouvelle Portage. The discharge of the lake is from a bay on the left, and the portage one hundred eighty paces, to which succeeds a very small river, from whence there is but a short distance to the next Nouvelle Portage, three hundred and twenty paces long. It is then necessary to embark on a swamp, or overflowed country, where wild rice grows in great abundance. There is a channel or small river in the centre of this swamp, which is kept with difficulty, and runs South and North one mile and a half. With deepening water, the course continues North-North-West one mile to the Chaudiere Portage, which is caused by the discharge of the waters running on the left of the road from Lake Namaycan, which used to be the common route, but that which I have described is the safest as well as shortest. From hence there is some current though the water is wide spread, and its course about North by West three miles and an half to the Lac de la Pluie, which lies nearly East and West; from thence about fifteen miles is a narrow strait that divides the lake into two unequal parts, from whence to its discharge is a distance of twenty-four miles. There is a deep bay running North-West on the right, that is not included, and is remarkable for furnishing the natives with a kind of soft, red stone, of which they make their pipes; it also affords an excellent fishery both in the summer and winter; and from it is an easy, safe, and short road to the Lac du Bois, (which I shall mention presently) for the Indians to pass in their small canoes, through a small lake and on a small river, whose banks furnish abundance of wild rice. The discharge of this lake is called Lac de la Pluie River, at whose entrance there is a rapid, below which is a fine bay, where there had been an extensive picketed fort and building when possessed by the French: the site of it is at present a beautiful meadow, surrounded with groves of oaks. From hence there is a strong current for two miles, where the water falls over a rock twenty feet, and, from the consequent turbulence of the water, the carrying-place, which is three hundred and twenty paces long, derives the name of Chaudiere. Two miles onward is the present trading establishment, situated on an high bank on the North side of the river, in 48. 37. North latitude. Here the people from Montreal come to meet those who arrive from the Athabasca country, as has been already described, and exchange lading with them. This is also the residence of the first chief, or Sachem, of all the Algonquin tribes, inhabiting the different parts of this country. He is by distinction called Nectam, which implies personal preeminence. Here also the elders meet in council to treat of peace or war. This is one of the finest rivers in the North-West, and runs a course West and East one hundred and twenty computed miles; but in taking its course and distance minutely I make it only eighty. Its banks are covered with a rich soil, particularly to the North, which, in many parts, are clothed with fine open groves of oak, with the maple, the pine, and the cedar. The Southern bank is not so elevated, and displays the maple, the white birch, and the cedar, with the spruce, the alder, and various underwood. Its waters abound in fish, particularly the sturgeon, which the natives both spear and take with drag-nets. But notwithstanding the promise of this soil, the Indians do not attend to its cultivation, though they are not ignorant of the common process, and are fond of the Indian corn, when they can get it from us. Though the soil at the fort is a stiff clay, there is a garden, which, unassisted as it is by manure, or any particular attention, is tolerably productive. We now proceed to mention the Lac du Bois, into which this river discharges itself in latitude 49. North, and was formerly famous for the richness of its banks and waters, which abounded with whatever was necessary to a savage life. The French had several settlements in and about it; but it might be almost concluded, that some fatal circumstance had destroyed the game, as war and the small-pox had diminished the inhabitants, it having been very unproductive in animals since the British subjects have been engaged in travelling through it; though it now appears to be recovering its pristine state. The few Indians who inhabit it might live very comfortably, if they were not so immoderately fond of spirituous liquors. This lake is also rendered remarkable, in consequence of the Americans having named it as the spot, from which a line of boundary, between them and British America, was to run West, until it struck the Mississippi: which, however, can never happen, as the North-West part of the Lac du Bois is in latitude 49. 37. North, and longitude 94.31. West, and the Northernmost branch of the source of the Mississippi is in latitude 47. 38. North, and longitude 95. 6. West, ascertained by Mr. Thomson, astronomer to the North-West Company, who was sent expressly for that purpose in the spring of 1798. He, in the same year, determined the Northern bend of the Mississoury to be in latitude 47. 32. North, and longitude 101. 25. West; and, according to the Indian accounts, it runs to the south of West, so that if the Mississoury were even to be considered as the Mississippi, no Western line could strike it. It does not appear to me to be clearly determined what course the Line is to take, or from what part of Lake Superior it strikes through the country to the Lac du Bois: were it to follow the principal waters to their source, it ought to keep through Lake Superior to the River St. Louis, and follow that river to its source; close to which is the source of the waters falling into the river of Lac la Pluie, which is a common route of the Indians to the Lac du Bois; the St. Louis passes within a short distance of a branch of the Mississippi, where it becomes navigable for canoes. This will appear more evident from consulting the map: and if the navigation of the Mississippi is considered as of any consequence by this country, from that part of the globe, such is the nearest way to get at it. But to return to our narrative. The Lac du Bois is, as far as I could learn, nearly round, and the canoe course through the centre of it among a cluster of islands, some of which are so extensive that they may be taken for the mainland. The reduced course would be nearly South and North. But following the navigating course, I make the distance seventy-five miles, though in a direct line it would fall very short of that length. At about two-thirds of it there is a small carrying-place, when the water is low. The carrying-place out of the Lake is on the island and named Portage du Rat, in latitude 49. 37. North, and longitude 94. 15. West; it is about fifty paces long. The lake discharges itself at both ends of this island, and forms the River Winipic, which is a large body of water, interspersed with numerous islands, causing various channels and interruptions of portages and rapids. In some parts it has the appearance of lakes, with steady currents; I estimate its winding course to the Dalles eight miles; to the Grand Decharge twenty-five miles and an half, which is a long carrying-place for the goods; from thence to the little Decharge one mile and an half; to the Terre Jaune Portage two miles and an half; then to its galet seventy yards; two miles and three quarters to the Terre Blanche, near which is a fall of from four to five feet; three miles and an half to Portage de L'Isle, where there is a trading-post, and, about eleven miles, on the north shore, a trading establishment, which is the road in boats, to Albany River, and from thence to Hudson's-Bay. There is also a communication with Lake Superior, through what is called the Nipigan country, which enters that Lake about thirty-five leagues East of the Grande Portage. In short, the country is so broken by lakes and rivers, that people may find their way in canoes in any direction they please. It is now four miles to Portage de L'Isle, which is but short, though several canoes have been lost in attempting to run the rapid. From thence it is twenty-six miles to Jacob's Falls, which are about fifteen feet high; and six miles and an half to the woody point; forty yards from which is another Portage. They both form an high fall, but not perpendicular. From thence to another galet, or rock Portage, is about two miles, which is one continual rapid and cascade; and about two miles further is the Chute a l'Esclave, which is upward of thirty feet. The Portage is long, through a point covered with wood: it is six miles and an half more to the barrier, and ten miles to the Grand Rapid. From thence, on the North side, is a safe road, when the waters are high, through small rivers and lakes, to the Lake du Bonnet, called the Pinnawas, from the man who discovered it: to the White River, so called from its being, for a considerable length, a succession of falls and cataracts, is twelve miles. Here are seven portages, in so short a space, that the whole of them are discernible at the same moment. From this to Lake du Bonnet is fifteen miles more, and four miles across it to the rapid. Here the Pinnawas Road joins, and from thence it is two miles to the Galet du Lac du Bonnet; from this to the Galet du Bonnet one mile and an half; thence to the Portage of the same name is three miles. This portage is near half a league in length, and derives its name from the custom the Indians have of crowning stones, laid in a circle on the highest rock in the portage, with wreaths of herbage and branches. There have been examples of men taking seven packages of ninety pounds each, at one end of the portage, and putting them down at the other without stopping. To this another small portage immediately succeeds, over a rock producing a fall. From thence to the fall of Terre Blanche is two miles and an half; to the first portage Des Eaux qui Remuent is three miles; to the next, of the same name, is but a few yards distant; to the third and last, which is a Decharge, is three miles and an half; and from this to the last Portage of the river, one mile and an half; and to the establishment, or provision house, is two miles and an half. Here also the French had their principal inland depot, and got their canoes made. It is here that the present traders, going to great distances, and where provision is difficult to procure, receive a supply to carry them to the Rainy Lake, or Lake Superior. From the establishment to the entrance of Lake Winipic, is four miles and an half, latitude 50. 37. North. The country, soil, produce, and climate, from Lake Superior to this place, bear a general resemblance, with a predominance of rock and water: the former is of the granite kind. Where there is any soil it is well covered with wood, such as oak, elm, ash of different kinds, maple of two kinds, pines of various descriptions, among which are what I call the cypress, with the hickory, ironwood, laird, poplar, cedar, black and white birch, etc., etc. Vast quantities of wild rice are seen throughout the country, which the natives collect in the month of August for their winter stores.[8] To the North of fifty degrees it is hardly known, or at least does not come to maturity. Lake Winipic is the great reservoir of several large rivers, and discharges itself by the River Nelson into Hudson's Bay. The first in rotation, next to that I have just described, is the Assiniboin, or Red River, which at the distance of forty miles coastwise, disembogues on the south west side of the Lake Winipic. It alternately receives those two denominations from its dividing, at the distance of about thirty miles from the lake, into two large branches; The Eastern branch, called the Red River, runs in a Southern direction to near the head waters of the Mississippi. On this are two trading establishments. The country on either side is but partially supplied with wood, and consists of plains covered with herds of the buffalo and elk, especially on the Western side. On the Eastern side are lakes and rivers, and the whole country is well wooded, level, abounding in beaver, bears, moose-deer, fallow deer, etc., etc. The natives, who are of the Algonquin tribe, are not very numerous, and are considered as the natives of Lake Superior. This country being near the Mississippi, is also inhabited by the Nadowasis, who are the natural enemies of the former; the head of the water being the war-line, they are in a continual state of hostility; and though the Algonquins are equally brave, the others generally out-number them; it is very probable, therefore, that if the latter continue to venture out of the woods, which form their only protection, they will soon be extirpated. There is not, perhaps, a finer country in the world for the residence of uncivilised man, than that which occupies the space between this river and Lake Superior. It abounds in every thing necessary to the wants and comforts of such a people. Fish, venison, and fowl, with wild rice, are in great plenty; while, at the same time, their subsistence requires that bodily exercise so necessary to health and vigour. This great extent of country was formerly very populous, but from the information I received, the aggregate of its inhabitants does not exceed three hundred warriors; and, among the few whom I saw, it appeared to me that the widows were more numerous than the men. The raccoon is a native of this country, but is seldom found to the Northward of it. The other branch is called after the tribe of the Nadowasis, who here go by the name of Assiniboins, and are the principal inhabitants of it. It runs from the North-North-West, and in the latitude of 51. 15. West, and longitude 103. 20., rising in the same mountains as the river Dauphin, of which I shall speak in due order. They must have separated from their nation at a time beyond our knowledge, and live in peace with the Algonquins and Knisteneaux. The country between this and the Red River, is almost a continual plain to the Mississoury. The soil is sand and gravel, with a slight intermixture of earth, and produces a short grass. Trees are very rare; nor are there on the banks of the river sufficient, except in particular spots, to build houses and supply fire-wood for the trading establishments, of which there are four principal ones. Both these rivers are navigable for canoes to their source, without a fall; though in some parts there are rapids, caused by occasional beds of limestone, and gravel; but in general they have a sandy bottom. The Assiniboins, and some of the Fall or Big-bellied Indians, are the principal inhabitants of this country, and border on the river, occupying the centre part of it; that next Lake Winipic, and about its source, being the station of the Algonquins and Knisteneaux, who have chosen it in preference to their own country. They do not exceed five hundred families. They are not beaver hunters, which accounts for their allowing the division just mentioned, as the lower and upper parts of this river have those animals, which are not found in the intermediate district. They confine themselves to hunting the buffalo, and trapping wolves, which cover the country. What they do not want of the former for raiment and food, they sometimes make into pemmican, or pounded meat, while they melt the fat, and prepare the skins in their hair, for winter. The wolves they never eat, but produce a tallow from their fat, and prepare their skins; all which they bring to exchange for arms and ammunition, rum, tobacco, knives, and various baubles, with those who go to traffic in their country. The Algonquins, and the Knisteneaux, on the contrary, attend to the fur-hunting, so that they acquire the additional articles of cloth, blankets, etc., but their passion for rum often puts it out of their power to supply themselves with real necessaries. The next river of magnitude is the river Dauphin, which empties itself at the head of St. Martin's Bay, on the West side of the Lake Winipic, latitude nearly 52. 15. North, taking its source in the same mountains as the last-mentioned river, as well as the Swan and Red-Deer rivers, the latter passing through the lake of the same name, as well as the former, and both continuing their course through the Manitoba Lake, which, from thence, runs parallel with Lake Winipic, to within nine miles of the Red River, and by what is called the river Dauphin, disembogues its waters, as already described, into that lake. These rivers are very rapid, and interrupted by falls, etc., the bed being generally rocky. All this country, to the South branch of the Saskatchiwine, abounds in beaver, moose-deer, fallow-deer, elks, bears, buffaloes, etc. The soil is good, and wherever any attempts have been made to raise the esculent plants, etc., it has been found productive. On these waters are three principal forts for trade. Fort Dauphin, which was established by the French before the conquest. Red-Deer River, and Swan-River Forts, with occasional detached posts from these. The inhabitants are the Knisteneaux, from the North of Lake Winipic; and Algonquins from the country between the Red River and Lake Superior; and some from the Rainy Lake: but as they are not fixed inhabitants, their number cannot be determined: they do not, however, at any time exceed two hundred warriors. In general they are good hunters. There is no other considerable river except the Saskatchiwine, which I shall mention presently, that empties itself into the Lake Winipic. Those on the North side are inconsiderable, owing to the comparative vicinity of the high land that separates the waters coming this way, from those discharging into Hudson's Bay. The course of the lake is about West-North-West and South-South-East, and the East end of it is in 50. 37. North. It contracts at about a quarter of its length to a strait, in latitude 51. 45., and is no more than two miles broad, where the South shore is gained through islands, and crossing various bays to the discharge of the Saskatchiwine, in latitude 53. 15. This lake, in common with those of this country, is bounded on the North with banks of black and grey rock, and on the South by a low level country, occasionally interrupted with a ridge or bank of lime-stones, lying in stratas, and rising to the perpendicular height of from twenty to forty feet; these are covered with a small quantity of earth, forming a level surface, which bears timber, but of a moderate growth, and declines to a swamp. Where the banks are low, it is evident in many places that the waters are withdrawn, and never rise to those heights which were formerly washed by them. The inhabitants who are found along this lake are of the Knisteneaux and Algonquin tribes, and but few in number, though game is not scarce, and there is fish in great abundance. The black bass is found there, and no further West; and beyond it no maple trees are seen, either hard or soft. On entering the Saskatchiwine, in the course of a few miles, the great rapid interrupts the passage. It is about three miles long. Through the greatest part of it the canoe is towed, half or full laden, according to the state of the waters: the canoe and its contents are then carried one thousand one hundred paces. The channel here is near a mile wide, the waters tumbling over ridges of rocks that traverse the river. The South bank is very high, rising upwards of fifty feet, of the same rock as seen on the South side of the Lake Winipic, and the North is not more than a third of that height. There is an excellent sturgeon-fishery at the foot of this cascade, and vast numbers of pelicans, cormorants, etc., frequent it, where they watch to seize the fish that may be killed or disabled by the force of the waters. About two miles from this Portage the navigation is again interrupted by the Portage of the Roche Rouge, which is an hundred yards long; and a mile and an half from thence the river is barred by a range of islands, forming rapids between them; and through these it is the same distance to the rapid of Lake Travers, which is four miles right across, and eight miles in length. Then succeeds the Grande Decharge, and several rapids, for four miles to the Cedar Lake, which is entered through a small channel on the left, formed by an island, as going round it would occasion loss of time. In this distance banks of rocks (such as have already been described) appear at intervals on, either side; the rest of the country is low. This is the case along the South bank of the lake and the islands, while the North side, which is very uncommon, is level throughout. This lake runs first West four miles, then as much more West-South-West, across a deep bay on the right, then six miles to the Point de Lievre, and across another bay again on the right; then North-West eight miles, across a still deeper hay on the right; and seven miles parallel with the North coast, North-North-West through islands, five miles more to Fort Bourbon,[9] situated on a small island, dividing this from Mud Lake. The Cedar Lake is from four to twelve miles wide, exclusive, of the bays. Its banks are covered with wood, and abound in game, and its waters produce plenty of fish, particularly the sturgeon. The Mud Lake, and the neighbourhood of the Fort Bourbon, abound with geese, ducks, swans, etc., and was formerly remarkable for a vast number of martens, of which it cannot now boast but a very small proportion. The Mud Lake must have formerly been a part of the Cedar Lake, but the immense quantity of earth and sand, brought down by the Saskatchiwine, has filled up this part of it for a circumference whose diameter is at least fifteen or twenty miles: part of which space is still covered with a few feet of water, but the greatest proportion is shaded with large trees, such as the liard, the swamp-ash, and the willow. This land consists of many islands, which consequently form various channels, several of which are occasionally dry, and bearing young wood. It is, indeed, more than probable that this river will, in the course of time, convert the whole of the Cedar Lake into a forest. To the North-West the cedar is not to be found. From this lake the Saskatchiwine may be considered as navigable to near its source in the rocky mountains, for canoes, and without a carrying-place, making a great bend to Cumberland House, on Sturgeon Lake. From the confluence of its North and South branches its course is Westerly; spreading itself, it receives several tributary streams, and encompasses a large tract of country, which is level, particularly along the South branch, but is little known. Beaver, and other animals, whose furs are valuable, are amongst the inhabitants of the North-West branch, and the plains are covered with buffaloes, wolves, and small foxes; particularly about the South branch, which, however, has of late claimed some attention, as it is now understood, that where the plains terminate towards the rocky mountain, there is a space of hilly country clothed with wood, and inhabited also by animals of the fur kind. This has been actually determined to be the case towards the head of the North branch, where the trade has been carried to about the latitude 54. North, and longitude 114. 30. West. The bed and banks of the latter, in some few places, discover a stratum of free-stone; but, in general, they are composed of earth and sand. The plains are sand and gravel, covered with fine grass, and mixed with a small quantity of vegetable earth, This is particularly observable along the North branch, the West side of which is covered with wood. There are on this river five principal factories for the convenience of trade with the natives. Nepawi House, South-branch House, Fort-George House, Fort-Augustus House, and Upper Establishment. There have been many others, which, from various causes, have been changed for these, while there are occasionally others depending on each of them. The inhabitants, from the information I could obtain, are as follow: At Nepawi and South-Branch House, about thirty tents of Knisteneaux, or ninety warriors; and sixty tents of Stone Indians, or Assiniboins, who are their neighbours, and are equal to two hundred men: their hunting ground extends upwards to about the Eagle Hills. Next to them are those who trade at Forts George and Augustus, and are about eighty tents or upwards of Knisteneaux: on either side of the river, their number may be two hundred. In the same country are one hundred and forty tents of Stone Indians: not quite half of them inhabit the West woody country; the others never leave the plains, and their numbers cannot be less than four hundred and fifty men. At the Southern Head-waters of the North-branch dwells a tribe called Sarsees, consisting of about thirty-five tents, or one hundred and twenty men. Opposite to those Eastward, on the head-waters of the South Branch, are the Picaneaux, to the number of from twelve to fifteen hundred men. Next to them, on the same water, are the Blood-Indians, of the same nation as the last, to the number of about fifty tents, or two hundred and fifty men. From them downwards extend the Black-Feet Indians, of the same nation as the two last tribes: their number may be eight hundred men. Next to them, and who extend to the confluence of the South and North branch, are the Fall, or Big-bellied Indians, who may amount to about six hundred warriors. Of all these different tribes, those who inhabit the broken country on the North-West side, and the source of the North branch, are beaver-hunters; the others deal in provisions, wolf, buffalo, and fox skins; and many people on the South branch do not trouble themselves to come near the trading establishments. Those who do, choose such establishments as are next to their country. The Stone-Indians here, are the same people as the Stone-Indians, or Assiniboins, who inhabit the river of that name already described, and both are detached tribes from the Nadowasis, who inhabit the Western side of the Mississippi, and lower part of the Missisoury. The Fall, or Big-bellied Indians, are from the South-Eastward also, and of a people who inhabit the plains from the North bend of the last mentioned river, latitude 47. 32. North, longitude 101. 25. West, to the South bend of the Assiniboin River, to the number of seven hundred men. Some of them occasionally come to the latter river to exchange dressed buffalo robes and bad wolf-skins for articles of no great value. The Picaneaux, Black-Feet, and Blood-Indians, are a distinct people, speak a language of their own, and, I have reason to think, are travelling North-West, as well as the others just mentioned: nor have I heard of any Indians with whose language that which they speak has any affinity.--They are the people who deal in horses, and take them upon the war-parties towards Mexico; from which, it is evident, that the country to the South-East of them consists of plains, as those animals could not well be conducted through an hilly and woody country, intersected by waters. The Sarsees, who are but few in number, appear from their language, to come on the contrary from the North-West, and are of the same people as the Rocky-Mountain Indians described in my second journal, who are a tribe of the Chepewyans; and, as for the Knisteneaux, there is no question of their having been, and continuing to be, invaders of this country, from the Eastward. Formerly, they struck terror into all the other tribes whom they met; but now they have lost the respect that was paid them; as those whom they formerly considered as barbarians are now their allies, and consequently become better acquainted with them, and have acquired the use of fire-arms. The former are still proud without power, and affect to consider the others as their inferiors: those consequently are extremely jealous of them, and, depending upon their own superiority in numbers, will not submit tamely to their insults; so that the consequences often prove fatal, and the Knisteneaux are thereby decreasing both in power and number; spirituous liquors also tend to their diminution, as they are instigated thereby to engage in quarrels which frequently have the most disastrous termination among themselves. The Stone-Indians must not be considered in the same point of view respecting the Knisteneaux, for they have been generally obliged, from various causes, to court their alliance. They, however, are not without their disagreements, and it is sometimes very difficult to compose their differences. These quarrels occasionally take place with the traders, and sometimes have a tragical conclusion. They generally originate in consequence of stealing women and horses: they have great numbers of the latter throughout their plains, which are brought, as has been observed, from the Spanish settlements in Mexico; and many of them have been seen even in the back parts of this country, branded with the initials of their original owners' names. Those horses are distinctly employed as beasts of burden, and to chase the buffalo. The former are not considered as being of much value, as they may be purchased for a gun, which costs no more than twenty-one shillings in Great Britain. Many of the hunters cannot be purchased with ten, the comparative value of which exceeds the property of any native. Of these useful animals no care whatever is taken, as when they are no longer employed, they are turned loose winter and summer to provide for themselves. Here, it is to be observed, that the country, in general, on the West and North side of this great river, is broken by the lakes and rivers with small intervening plains, where the soil is good, and the grass grows to some length. To these the male buffaloes resort for the winter, and if it be very severe, the females also are obliged to leave the plains. But to return to the route by which the progress West and North is made through this continent. We leave the Saskatchiwine[10] by entering the river which forms the discharge of the Sturgeon Lake, on whose East bank is situated Cumberland house, in latitude 53. 56. North, longitude 102. 15. The distance between the entrance and Cumberland house is estimated at twenty miles. It is very evident that the mud which is carried down by the Saskatchiwine River, has formed the land that lies between it and the lake, for the distance of upwards of twenty miles in the line of the river, which is inundated during one half of the summer, though covered with wood. This lake forms an irregular horse-shoe, one side of which runs to the North-West, and bears the name of Pine-Island Lake, and the other, known by the name already mentioned, runs to the East of North, and is the largest: its length is about twenty-seven miles, and its greatest breadth about six miles. The North side of the latter is the same kind of rock as that described in Lake Winipic, on the West shore. In latitude 54. 16. North, the Sturgeon-Weir River discharges itself into this lake, and its bed appears to be of the same kind of rock, and is almost a continual rapid. Its direct course is about West by North, and with its windings, is about thirty miles. It takes its waters into the Beaver Lake the South-West side of which consists of the same rock lying in thin stratas: the route then proceeds from island to island for about twelve miles, and along the North shore, for four miles more, the whole being a North-West course to the entrance of a river, in latitude 54. 32. North. The lake, for this distance, is about four or five miles wide, and abounds with fish common to the country. The part of it upon the right of that which has been described, appears more considerable. The islands are rocky, and the lake itself surrounded by rocks. The communication from hence to the Bouleau Lake, alternately narrows into rivers and spreads into small lakes. The interruptions are, the Pente Portage, which is succeeded by the Grand Rapid, where there is a Decharge, the Carp Portage, the Bouleau Portage in latitude 54. 50. North, including a distance, together with the windings, of thirty-four miles, in a Westerly direction. The Lake de Bouleau then follows. This lake might with greater propriety be denominated a canal, as it is not more than a mile in breadth. Its course is rather to the East of North for twelve miles to Portage de L'Isle. From thence there is still water to Portage d'Epinettes, except an adjoining rapid. The distance is not more than four miles Westerly. After crossing this Portage, it is not more than two miles to Lake Miron, which is in latitude 55. 7. North. Its length is about twelve miles, and its breadth irregular, from two to ten miles. It is only separated from Lake du Chitique, or Pelican Lake, by a short, narrow, and small strait. That lake is not more than seven miles long, and its course about North-West. The Lake des Bois then succeeds, the passage to which is through small lakes, separated by falls and rapids. The first is a Decharge: then follow the three galets, in immediate succession. From hence Lake des Bois runs about twenty-one miles. Its course is South-South-East, and North-North-West, and is full of islands. The passage continues through an intricate, narrow, winding, and shallow channel for eight miles. The interruptions in this distance are frequent, but depend much on the state of the waters. Having passed them, it is necessary to cross the Portage de Traite, or, as it is called by the Indians, Athiquisipichigan Ouinigam, or the Portage of the Stretched Frog Skin, to the Missinipi. The waters already described discharge themselves into Lake Winipic, and augment those of the river Nelson. These which we are now entering are called the Missinipi, or great Churchill River. All the country to the South and East of this, within the line of the progress that has been described, is interspersed by lakes, hills, and rivers, and is full or animals, of the fur-kind, as well as the moose-deer. Its inhabitants are the Knisteneaux Indians, who are called by the servants of the Hudson's Bay Company, at York, their home-guards. The traders from Canada succeeded for several years in getting the largest proportion of their furs, till the year 1793, when the servants of that company thought proper to send people amongst them, (and why they did not do it before is best known to themselves), for the purpose of trade, and securing their credits, which the Indians were apt to forget. From the short distance they had to come, and the quantity of goods they supplied, the trade has, in a great measure, reverted to them, as the merchants from Canada could not meet them upon equal terms. What added to the loss of the latter, was the murder of one of their traders by the Indians, about this period. Of these people not above eighty men have been known to the traders from Canada, but they consist of a much greater number. The Portage de Traite, as has been already hinted, received its name from Mr. Joseph Frobisher, who penetrated into this part of the country from Canada, as early as the years 1774 and 1775, where he met with the Indians in the spring, on their way to Churchill, according to annual custom, with their canoes full of valuable furs. They traded with him for as many of them as his canoes could carry, and in consequence of this transaction, the Portage received and has since retained its present appellation. He also denominated these waters the English River. The Missinipi is the name which it received from the Knisteneaux, when they first came to this country, and either destroyed or drove back the natives, whom they held in great contempt, on many accounts, but particularly for their ignorance in hunting the beaver, as well as in preparing, stretching, and drying the skins of those animals. And as a sign of their derision, they stretched the skin of a frog, and hung it up at the Portage. This was, at that time, the utmost extent of their conquest or war-faring progress West, and is in latitude 55. 25. North, and longitude 103. 45. West. The river here, which bears the appearance of a lake, takes its name from the Portage, and is full of islands. It runs from East to West about sixteen miles, and is from four to five miles broad. Then succeed falls and cascades which form what is called the grand rapid. From thence there is a succession of small lakes and rivers, interrupted by rapids and falls, viz., the Portage de Bareel, the Portage de L'Isle, and that of the Rapid River. The course is twenty miles from East-South-East to North-North-West. The Rapid-River Lake then runs West five miles, and is of an oval form. The rapid river is the discharge of Lake la Ronge, where there has been an establishment for trade from the year 1782. Since the small-pox ravaged these parts, there have been but few inhabitants; these are of the Knisteneaux tribe, and do not exceed thirty men. The direct navigation continues to be through rivers and canals, interrupted by rapids; and the distance to the first Decharge is four miles, in a Westerly direction. Then follows Lake de la Montagne, which runs South-South-West three miles and an half, then North six miles, through narrow channels, formed by islands, and continues North-North-West five miles, to the portage of the same name, which is no sooner crossed, than another appears in sight, leading to the Otter Lake, from whence it is nine miles Westerly to the Otter Portage, in latitude 55. 39. Between this and the Portage du Diable, are several rapids, and the distance three miles and an half. Then succeeds the lake of the same name, running from South-East to North-West, five miles, and West four miles and an half. There is then a succession of small lakes, rapids, and falls, producing the Portage des Ecors, Portage du Galet, and Portage des Morts, the whole comprehending a distance of six miles, to the lake of the latter name. On the left side is a point covered with human bones, the relics of the small-pox; which circumstance gave the Portage and the lake this melancholy denomination. Its course is South-West fifteen miles, while its breadth does not exceed three miles. From thence a rapid river leads to Portage de Hallier, which is followed by Lake de Isle d'Ours: it is, however, improperly called a lake, as it contains frequent impediments amongst its islands, from rapids. There is a very dangerous one about the centre of it, which is named the Rapid qui ne parle point, or that never speaks, from its silent whirlpool-motion. In some of the whirlpools the suction is so powerful, that they are carefully avoided. At some distance from the silent rapid is a narrow strait, where the Indians have painted red figures on the face of a rock, and where it was their custom formerly to make an offering of some of the articles which they had with them, in their way to and from Churchill. The course of this lake, which is very meandering, may be estimated at thirty-eight miles, and is terminated by the Portage du Canot Tourner, from the danger to which those are subject who venture to run this rapid. From thence a river of one mile and an half North-West course leads to the Portage de Bouleau, and in about half a mile to Portage des Epingles, so called from the sharpness of its stones. Then follows the Lake des Souris, the direction across which is amongst islands, North-West by West six miles. In this traverse is an island, which is remarkable for a very large stone, in the form of a bear, on which the natives have painted the head and snout of that animal; and here they also were formerly accustomed to offer sacrifices. This lake is separated only by a narrow strait from the Lake du Serpent, which runs North-North-West seven miles, to a narrow channel, that connects it with another lake, bearing the same name, and running the same course for eleven miles, when the rapid of the same denomination is entered on the West side of the lake. It is to be remarked here, that for about three or four miles on the North-West side of this lake, there is an high bank of clay and sand, clothed with cypress trees, a circumstance which is not observable on any lakes hitherto mentioned, as they are bounded, particularly on the North, by black and grey rocks. It may also be considered as a most extraordinary circumstance, that the Chepewyans go North-West from hence to the barren grounds, which are their own country, without the assistance of canoes; as it is well known that in every other part which has been described, from Cumberland House, the country is broken on either side of the direction to a great extent: so that a traveller could not go at right angles with any of the waters already mentioned, without meeting with others in every eight or ten miles. This will also be found to be very much the case in proceeding to Portage la Loche. The last mentioned rapid is upwards of three miles long, North-West by West; there is, however, no carrying, as the line and poles are sufficient to drag and set the canoes against the current. Lake Croche is then crossed in a Westerly direction of six miles, though its whole length may be twice that distance: after which it contracts to a river that runs Westerly for ten miles, when it forms a bend, which is left to the South, and entering a portion of its waters called the Grass River, whose meandering course is about six miles, but in a direct line not more than half that length, where it receives its waters from the great river, which then runs Westerly eleven miles before it forms the Knee Lake, whose direction is to the North of West. It is full of islands for eighteen miles, and its greatest apparent breadth is not more than five miles. The portage of the same name is several hundred yards long, and over large stones. Its latitude is 55. 50. and longitude 106. 30. Two miles further North is the commencement of the Croche Rapid, which is a succession of cascades for about three miles, making a bend due South to the Lake du Primeau, whose course is various, and through islands, to the distance of about fifteen miles. The banks of this lake are low, stony, and marshy, whose grass and rushes afford shelter and food to great numbers of wild fowl. At its Western extremity is Portage la Puise, from whence the river takes a meandering course, widening and contracting at intervals, and is much interrupted by rapids. After a Westerly course of twenty miles, it reaches Portage Pellet. From hence, in the course of seven miles, are three rapids, to which succeeds the Shagoina Lake, which may be eighteen miles in circumference. Then Shagoina strait and rapid lead into the Lake of Isle a la Crosse, in which the course is South twenty miles, and South-South-West fourteen miles, to the Point au Sable; opposite to which is the discharge of the Beaver-River, bearing South six miles: the lake in the distance run, does not exceed twelve miles in its greatest breadth. It now turns West-South-West, the Isle a la Crosse being on the South, and the main land on the North; and it clears the one and the other in the distance of three miles, the water presenting an open horizon to right and left; that on the left formed by a deep narrow bay, about ten leagues in depth; and that to the right by what is called la Riviere Creuse, or Deep River, being a canal of still water, which is here four miles wide. On following the last course, Isle a la Crosse Fort appears on a low isthmus, at the distance of five miles, and is in latitude 55. 25. North, and longitude 107. 48. West. This lake and fort take their names from the island just mentioned, which, as has been already observed, received its denomination from the game of the cross, which forms a principal amusement among the natives. The situation of this lake, the abundance of the finest fish in the world to be found in its waters, the richness of its surrounding banks and forests, in moose and fallow deer, with the vast numbers of the smaller tribes of animals, whose skins are precious, and the numerous flocks of wild fowl that frequent it in the spring and fall, make it a most desirable spot for the constant residence of some, and the occasional rendezvous of others of the inhabitants of the country, particularly of the Knisteneaux. Who the original people were that were driven from it, when conquered by the Knisteneaux, is not now known, as not a single vestige remains of them. The latter, and the Chepewyans, are the only people that have been known here; and it is evident that the last-mentioned consider themselves as strangers, and seldom remain longer than three or four years, without visiting their relations and friends in the barren grounds, which they term their native country. They were for some time treated by the Knisteneaux as enemies; who now allow them to hunt to the North of the track which has been described, from Fort du Traite upwards, but when they occasionally meet them, they insist on contributions, and frequently punish resistance with their arms. This is sometimes done at the forts, or places of trade, but then it appears to be a voluntary gift. A treat of rum is expected on the occasion, which the Chepewyans on no other account ever purchase; and those only who have had frequent intercourse with the Knisteneaux have any inclination to drink it. When the Europeans first penetrated into this country, in 1777, the people of both tribes were numerous, but the small-pox was fatal to them all, so that there does not exist of the one, at present, more than forty resident families; and the other has been from about thirty to two hundred families. These numbers are applicable to the constant and less ambitious inhabitants, who are satisfied with the quiet possession of a country affording, without risk or much trouble, every thing necessary to their comfort; for since traders have spread themselves over it, it is no more the rendezvous of the errant Knisteneaux, part of whom used annually to return thither from the country of the Beaver River, which they had explored to its source in their war and hunting excursions, and as far as the Saskatchiwine, where they sometimes met people of their own nation, who had prosecuted similar conquests up that river. In that country they found abundance of fish and animals, such as have been already described, with the addition of the buffaloes, who range in the partial patches of meadow scattered along the rivers and lakes. From thence they returned in the spring to their friends whom they had left; and, at the same time met with others who had penetrated with the same designs into the Athabasca country, which will be described hereafter. The spring was the period of this joyful meeting, when their time was occupied in feasting, dancing, and other pastimes, which were occasionally suspended for sacrifice, and religious solemnity: while the narratives of their travels, and the history of their wars, amused and animated the festival. The time of rejoicing was but short, and was soon interrupted by the necessary preparations for their annual journey to Churchill, to exchange their furs for such European articles as were now become necessary to them. The shortness of the seasons, and the great length of their way requiring the utmost despatch, the most active men of the tribe, with their youngest women, and a few of their children undertook the voyage, under the direction of some of their chiefs, following the waters already described, to their discharge at Churchill Factory, which are called, as has already been observed, the Missinipi, or Great Waters. There they remained no longer than was sufficient to barter their commodities, with a supernumerary day or two to gratify themselves with the indulgence of spirituous liquors. At the same time the inconsiderable quantity they could purchase to carry away with them, for a regale with their friends, was held sacred, and reserved to heighten the enjoyment of their return home, when the amusements, festivity, and religious solemnities of the spring were repeated. The usual time appropriated to these convivialities being completed, they separated, to pursue their different objects; and if they were determined to go to war, they made the necessary arrangements for their future operations. But we must now renew the progress of the route. It is not more than two miles from Isle a la Crosse Fort, to a point of land which forms a cheek of that part of the lake called the Riviere Creuse, which preserves the breadth already mentioned for upwards of twenty miles; then contracts to about two, for the distance of ten miles more, when it opens to Lake Clear, which is very wide, and commands an open horizon, keeping the West shore for six miles. The whole of the distance mentioned is about North-West, when, by a narrow, crooked channel, turning to the South of West, the entry is made into Lake du Boeuf, which is contracted near the middle, by a projecting sandy point; independent of which it may be described as from six to twelve miles in breadth, thirty-six miles long, and in a North-West direction. At the North-West end, in latitude 56. 8. it receives the waters of the river la Loche, which, in the fall of the year, is very shallow, and navigated with difficulty even by half-laden canoes. Its water is not sufficient to form strong rapids, though from its rocky bottom the canoes are frequently in considerable danger. Including its meanders, the course of this river may be computed at twenty-four miles, and receives its first waters from the lake of the same name, which is about twenty miles long, and six wide; into which a small river flows, sufficient to bear loaded canoes, for about a mile and an half, where the navigation ceases; and the canoes, with their lading, are carried over the Portage la Loche for thirteen miles. This portage is the ridge that divides the waters which discharge themselves into Hudson's Bay, from those that flow into the Northern ocean, and is in the latitude 56. 20. and longitude 109. 15. West. It runs South-West until it loses its local height between the Saskatchiwine and Elk Rivers; close on the bank of the former, in latitude 53. 36. North, and longitude 113. 45. West, it may be traced in an Easterly direction toward latitude 58. 12. North, and longitude 103½. West, when it appears to take its course due North, and may probably reach the Frozen Seas. From Lake le Souris, the banks of the rivers and lakes display a smaller portion of solid rock. The land is low and stony, intermixed with a light, sandy soil, and clothed with wood. That of the Beaver River is of a more productive quality: but no part of it has ever been cultivated by the natives or Europeans, except a small garden at the Isle a la Crosse, which well repaid the labour bestowed upon it. The Portage la Loche is of a level surface, in some parts abounding with stones, but in general it is an entire sand, and covered with the cypress, the pine, the spruce fir, and other trees natural to its soil. Within three miles of the North-West termination, there is a small round lake, whose diameter does not exceed a mile, and which affords a trifling respite to the labour of carrying. Within a mile of the termination of the Portage is a very steep precipice, whose ascent and descent appears to be equally impracticable in any way, as it consists of a succession of eight hills, some of which are almost perpendicular; nevertheless, the Canadians contrive to surmount all these difficulties, even with their canoes and lading. This precipice, which rises upwards of a thousand feet above the plain beneath it, commands a most extensive, romantic, and ravishing prospect. From thence the eye looks down on the course of the little river, by some called the Swan river, and by others, the Clear-Water and Pelican river, beautifully meandering for upwards of thirty miles. The valley, which is at once refreshed and adorned by it, is about three miles in breadth, and is confined by two lofty ridges of equal height, displaying a most beautiful intermixture of wood and lawn, and stretching on till the blue mist obscures the prospect. Some parts of the inclining heights are covered with stately forests, relieved by promontories of the finest verdure, where the elk and buffalo find pasture. These are contrasted by spots where fire has destroyed the woods, and left a dreary void behind it. Nor, when I beheld this wonderful display of uncultivated nature, was the moving scenery of human occupation wanting to complete the picture. From this elevated situation, I beheld my people, diminished, as it were, to half their size, employed in pitching their tents in a charming meadow, and among the canoes, which, being turned upon their sides, presented their reddened bottoms in contrast with the surrounding verdure. At the same time, the process of gumming them produced numerous small spires of smoke, which, as they rose, enlivened the scene, and at length blended with the larger columns that ascended from the fires where the suppers were preparing. It was in the month of September when I enjoyed a scene, of which I do not presume to give an adequate description; and as it was the rutting season of the elk, the whistling of that animal was heard in all the variety which the echoes could afford it. This river, which waters and reflects such enchanting scenery, runs, including its windings, upwards of eighty miles, when it discharges itself in the Elk River, according to the denomination of the natives, but commonly called by the white people, the Athabasca River, in latitude 56. 42. North. At a small distance from Portage la Loche, several carrying-places interrupt the navigation of the river; about the middle of which are some mineral springs, whose margins are covered with sulphureous incrustations. At the junction or fork, the Elk River is about three quarters of a mile in breadth, and runs in a steady current, sometimes contracting, but never increasing its channel, till, after receiving several small streams, it discharges itself into the Lake of the Hills, in latitude 58. 36. North. At about twenty-four miles from the Fork, are some bituminous fountains, into which a pole of twenty feet long may be inserted without the least resistance. The bitumen is in a fluid state, and when mixed with gum, or the resinous substance collected from the spruce fir, serves to gum the canoes. In its heated state it emits a smell like that of sea-coal. The banks of the river, which are there very elevated, discover veins of the same bituminous quality. At a small distance from the Fork, houses have been erected for the convenience of trading with a party of the Knisteneaux, who visit the adjacent country for the purpose of hunting. At the distance of about forty miles from the lake, is the Old Establishment, which has been already mentioned, as formed by Mr. Pond in the year 1778-9, and which was the only one in this part of the world, till the year 1785. In the year 1788 it was transferred to the Lake of the Hills, and formed on a point on its Southern side, at about eight miles from the discharge of the river. It was named Fort Chepewyan, and is in latitude 58. 38. North, longitude 110. 26. West, and much better situated for trade and fishing as the people here have recourse to water for their support. This being the place which I made my headquarters for eight years, and from whence I took my departure, on both my expeditions, I shall give some account of it, with the manner of carrying on the trade there, and other circumstances connected with it. The laden canoes which leave Lake la Pluie about the first of August, do not arrive here till the latter end of September, or the beginning of October, when a necessary proportion of them is despatched up the Peace River to trade with the Beaver and Rocky-Mountain Indians. Others are sent to the Slave River and Lake, or beyond them, and traffic with the inhabitants of that country. A small part of them, if not left at the Fork of the Elk River, return thither for the Knisteneaux, while the rest of the people and merchandise remain here, to carry on trade with the Chepewyans. Here have I arrived with ninety or an hundred men without any provision for their sustenance; for whatever quantity might have been obtained from the natives during the summer, it could not be more than sufficient for the people despatched to their different posts; and even if there were a casual superfluity, it was absolutely necessary to preserve it untouched, for the demands of the spring. The whole dependence, therefore, of those who remained, was on the lake, and fishing implements for the means of our support. The nets are sixty fathom in length, when set, and contain fifteen meshes of five inches in depth. The manner of using them is as follows: A small stone and wooden buoy are fastened to the side-line opposite to each other, at about the distance of two fathoms; when the net is carefully thrown into the water, the stone sinks it to the bottom, while the buoy keeps it at its full extent, and it is secured in its situation by a stone at either end. The nets are visited every day, and taken out every other day to be cleaned and dried. This is a very ready operation when the waters are not frozen, but when the frost has set in, and the ice has acquired its greatest thickness, which is sometimes as much as five feet, holes are cut in it at the distance of thirty feet from each other, to the full length of the net; one of them is larger than the rest, being generally about four feet square, and is called the basin: by means of them, and poles of a proportionable length, the nets are placed in and drawn out of the water. The setting of hooks and lines is so simple an employment as to render a description unnecessary. The white fish are the principal object of pursuit: they spawn in the fall of the year, and, at about the setting in of the hard frost, crowd in shoals to the shallow water, when as many as possible are taken, in order that a portion of them may be laid by in the frost to provide against the scarcity of winter; as, during that season, the fish of every description decrease in the lakes, if they do not altogether disappear. Some have supposed that during this period they are stationary, or assume an inactive state. If there should be any intervals of warm weather during the fall, it is necessary to suspend the fish by the tail, though they are not so good as those which are altogether preserved by the frost. In this state they remain to the beginning of April, when they have been found as sweet as when they were caught.[11] Thus do these voyagers live, year after year, entirely upon fish, without even the quickening flavour of salt, or the variety of any farinaceous root or vegetable. Salt, however, if their habits had not rendered it unnecessary, might be obtained in this country to the Westward of the Peace River, where it loses its name in that of the Slave River, from the numerous salt-ponds and springs to be found there, which will supply in any quantity, in a state of concretion, and perfectly white and clean. When the Indians pass that way they bring a small quantity to the fort, with other articles of traffic. During a short period of the spring and fall, great numbers of wild fowl frequent this country, which prove a very gratifying food after such a long privation of flesh-meat. It is remarkable, however, that the Canadians who frequent the Peace, Saskatchiwine, and Assiniboin rivers, and live altogether on venison, have a less healthy appearance than those whose sustenance is obtained from the waters. At the same time the scurvy is wholly unknown among them. In the fall of the year the natives meet the traders at the forts, where they barter the furs or provisions which they may have procured; they then obtain credit, and proceed to hunt the beavers, and do not return till the beginning of the year; when they are again fitted out in the same manner and come back the latter end of March, or the beginning of April; They are now unwilling to repair to the beaver hunt until the waters, are clear of ice, that they may kill them with fire-arms, which the Chepewyans are averse to employ. The major part of the latter return to the barren grounds, and live during the summer with their relations and friends in the enjoyment of that plenty which is derived from numerous herds of deer. But those of that tribe who are most partial to these deserts, cannot remain there in winter, and they are obliged, with the deer, to take shelter in the woods during that rigorous season, when they contrive to kill a few beavers, and send them by young men, to exchange for iron utensils and ammunition. Till the year 1782, the people of Athabasca sent or carried their furs regularly to Fort Churchill, Hudson's Bay; and some of them have, since that time, repaired thither, notwithstanding they could have provided themselves with all the necessaries which they required. The difference of the price set on goods here and at the factory, made it an object with the Chepewyans to undertake a journey of five or six months, in the course of which they were reduced to the most painful extremities, and often lost their lives from hunger and fatigue, At present, however, this traffic is in a great measure discontinued, as they were obliged to expend in the course of their journey, that very ammunition which was its most alluring object. [1] This might be properly called the stock of the company, as it included, with the expenditure of the year, the amount of the property unexpended, which had been appropriated for the adventure of that year, and was carried on to the account of the following adventure. [2] This will be better illustrated by the following statement:--We will suppose the goods for 1798: The orders for the goods are sent to this country 25th October, 1796; they are shipped from London March, 1797; they arrive in Montreal June, 1797; they are made up in the course of that summer and winter; they are sent from Montreal May, 1798; they arrive in the Indian country, and are exchanged for furs the following winter, 1798-99; which furs come to Montreal September, 1799; and are shipped for London; where they are sold in March and April, and paid for in May or June, 1800. [3] The place where the goods alone are carried, is called a _Decharge_, and that where goods and canoes are both transported overland, is denominated a _Portage_. [4] In the year 1668, when the first missionaries visited the South of this lake, they found the country full of inhabitants. They relate, that about this time a band of the Nepisingues, who were converted, emigrated to the Nipigon country, which is to the North of Lake Superior. Few of their descendants are now remaining, and not a trace of the religion communicated to them is to be discovered. [5] Corn is the cheapest provision that can be procured, though from the expense of transport, the bushel costs about twenty shillings sterling, at the Grande Portage. A man's daily allowance does not exceed ten-pence. [6] Here is a most excellent fishery for white fish, which are exquisite. [7] The route which we have been travelling hitherto, leads along the high rocky land or bank of Lake Superior on the left. The face of the country offers a wild scene of huge hills and rocks, separated by stony valleys, lakes and ponds. Wherever there is the least soil, it is well covered with trees. [8] The fruits are, strawberries, hurtleberries, plums, and cherries, hazelnuts, gooseberries, currents, raspberries, poires, etc. [9] This was also a principal post of the French, who gave it its name. [10] It may be proper to observe, that the French had two settlements upon the Saskatchiwine, long before, and at the conquest of Canada; the first at the Pasquia, near Carrot River, and the other at Nipawi, where they had agricultural instruments and wheel carriages, marks of both being found about those establishments, where the soil is excellent. [11] This fishery requires the most unremitting attention, as the voyaging Canadians are equally indolent, extravagant, and improvident, when left to themselves, and rival the savages in a neglect of the morrow. SOME ACCOUNT OF THE KNISTENEAUX INDIANS. These people are spread over a vast extent of country. Their language is the same as that of the people who inhabit the coast of British America on the Atlantic, with the exception of the Esquimaux,[1] and continues along the coast of Labrador, and the gulf and banks of St. Laurence to Montreal. The line then follows the Utawas river to its source; and continues from thence nearly West along the highlands which divides the waters that fall into Lake Superior and Hudson's Bay. It then proceeds till it strikes the middle part of the river Winipic, following that water to the Lake Winipic, to the discharge of the Saskatchiwine into it; from thence it accompanies the latter to Fort George, when the line, striking by the head of the Beaver river to the Elk river, runs along its banks to its discharge in the Lake of the Hills; from which it may be carried back East, to the Isle a la Crosse, and so on to Churchill by the Missinipi, The whole of the tract between this line and Hudson's Bay and Straits (except that of the Esquimaux in the latter), may be said to be exclusively the country of the Knisteneaux. Some of them indeed, have penetrated further West and South to the Red River, to the South of Lake Winipic, and the South branch of the Saskatchiwine. They are of a moderate stature, well proportioned, and of great activity. Examples of deformity are seldom to be seen among them. Their complexion is of a copper colour, and their hair black, which is common to all the natives of North America. It is cut in various forms, according to the fancy of the several tribes, and by some is left in the long, lank, flow of nature. They very generally extract their beards, and both sexes manifest a disposition to pluck the hair from every part of their body and limbs. Their eyes are black, keen, and penetrating; their countenance open and agreeable, and it is a principal object of their vanity to give every possible decoration to their persons. A material article in their toilets is vermilion, which they contrast with their native blue, white, and brown earths, to which charcoal is frequently added. Their dress is at once simple and commodious. It consists of tight leggins, reaching near the hip: a strip of cloth or leather, called assian, about a foot wide, and five feet long, whose ends are drawn inwards and hang behind and before, over a belt tied round the waist for that purpose: a close vest or shirt reaching down to the former garment, and cinctured with a broad strip of parchment fastened with thongs behind; and a cap for the head, consisting of a piece of fur, or small skin, with the brush of the animal as a suspended ornament: a kind of robe is thrown occasionally over the whole of the dress, and serves both night and day. These articles, with the addition of shoes and mittens, constitute the variety of their apparel. The materials vary according to the season, and consist of dressed moose-skin, beaver prepared with the fur, or European woollens. The leather is neatly painted, and fancifully worked in some parts with porcupine quills, and moose-deer hair: the shirts and leggins are also adorned with fringe and tassels; nor are the shoes and mittens without somewhat of appropriate decoration, and worked with a considerable degree of skill and taste. These habiliments are put on, however, as fancy or convenience suggests; and they will sometimes proceed to the chase in the severest frost, covered only with the slightest of them. Their head-dresses are composed of the feathers of the swan, the eagle, and other birds. The teeth, horns, and claws of different animals, are also the occasional ornaments of the head and neck. Their hair, however arranged, is always besmeared with grease. The making of every article of dress is a female occupation; and the women, though by no means inattentive to the decoration of their own persons, appear to have a still greater degree of pride in attending to the appearance of the men, whose faces are painted with more care than those of the women. The female dress is formed of the same materials as those of the other sex, but of a different make and arrangement. Their shoes are commonly plain, and their leggins gartered beneath the knee. The coat, or body covering, falls down to the middle of the leg, and is fastened over the shoulders with cords, a flap or cape turning down about eight inches, both before and behind, and agreeably ornamented with quill-work and fringe; the bottom is also fringed, and fancifully painted as high as the knee. As it is very loose, it is enclosed round the waist with a stiff belt, decorated with tassels, and fastened behind. The arms are covered to the wrist, with detached sleeves, which are sewed as far as the bend of the arm; from thence they are drawn up to the neck, and the corners of them fall down behind, as low as the waist. The cap, when they wear one, consists of a certain quantity of leather or cloth, sewed at one end, by which means it is kept on the head, and, hanging down the back, is fastened to the belt, as well as under the chin. The upper garment is a robe like that worn by the men. Their hair is divided on the crown, and tied behind, or sometimes fastened in large knots over the ears. They are fond of European articles, and prefer them to their own native commodities. Their ornaments consist in common with all savages, in bracelets, rings, and similar baubles. Some of the women tattoo three perpendicular lines, which are sometimes double: one from the centre of the chin to that of the under lip, and one parallel on either side to the corner of the mouth. Of all the nations which I have seen on this continent, the Knisteneaux women are the most comely. Their figure is generally well proportioned, and the regularity of their features would be acknowledged by the more civilized people of Europe. Their complexion has less of that dark tinge which is common to those savages who have less cleanly habits. These people are, in general, subject to few disorders. The lues venera, however, is a common complaint, but cured by the application of simples, with whose virtues they appear to be well acquainted. They are also subject to fluxes, and pains in the breast, which some have attributed to the very keen and cold air which they inhale; but I should imagine that these complaints must frequently proceed from their immoderate indulgence in fat meat at their feasts, particularly when they have been preceded by long fasting. They are naturally mild and affable, as well as just in their dealings, not only among themselves, but with strangers.[2] They are also generous and hospitable, and good-natured in the extreme, except when their nature is perverted by the inflammatory influence of spirituous liquors. To their children they are indulgent to a fault. The father, though he assumes no command over them, is ever anxious to instruct them in all the preparatory qualifications for war and hunting; while the mother is equally attentive to her daughters in teaching them every thing that is considered as necessary to their character and situation. It does not appear that the husband makes any distinction between the children of his wife, though they may be the offspring of different fathers. Illegitimacy is only attached to those who are born before their mothers have cohabited with any man by the title of husband. It does not appear, that chastity is considered by them as a virtue; or that fidelity is believed to be essential to the happiness of wedded life, Though it sometimes happens that the infidelity of a wife is punished by the husband with the loss of her hair, nose, and perhaps life; such severity proceeds from its having been practised without his permission: for a temporary interchange of wives is not uncommon: and the offer of their persons is considered as a necessary part of the hospitality due to strangers. When a man loses his wife, it is considered as a duty to marry her sister, if she has one; or he may, if he pleases, have them both at the same time. It will appear from the fatal consequences I have repeatedly imputed to the use of spirituous liquors that I more particularly consider these people as having been, morally speaking, great sufferers from their communication with the subjects of civilized nations. At the same time they were not, in a state of nature, without their vices, and some of them of a kind which is the most abhorrent to cultivated and reflecting man. I shall only observe, that incest and bestiality are among them. When a young man marries, he immediately goes to live with the father and mother of his wife, who treat him, nevertheless, as a perfect stranger, till after the birth of his first child: he then attaches himself more to them than his own parents; and his wife no longer gives him any other denomination than that of the father of her child. The profession of the men is war and hunting, and the more active scene of their duty is the field of battle, and the chase in the woods. They also spear fish, but the management of the nets is left to the women. The females of this nation are in the same subordinate state with those of all other savage tribes, but the severity of their labour is much diminished by their situation on the banks of lakes and rivers, where they employ canoes. In the winter, when the waters are frozen, they make their journeys, which are never of any great length, with sledges drawn by dogs. They are, at the same time, subject to every kind of domestic drudgery; they dress the leather, make the clothes and shoes, weave the nets, collect wood, erect the tents, fetch water, and perform every culinary service; so that when the duties of maternal care are added, it will appear, that the life of these women is an uninterrupted succession of toil and pain. This, indeed, is the sense they entertain of their own situation; and under the influence of that sentiment, they are sometimes known to destroy their female children, to save them from the miseries which they themselves have suffered. They also have a ready way, by the use of certain simples, of procuring abortions, which they sometimes practise, from their hatred of the father, or to save themselves the trouble which children occasion: and, as I have been credibly informed, this unnatural act is repeated without any injury to the health of the women who perpetrate it. The funeral rites begin, like all other solemn ceremonials, with smoking, and are concluded by a feast. The body is dressed in the best habiliments possessed by the deceased, or his relations, and is then deposited in a grave lined with branches; some domestic utensils are place on it, and a kind of canopy erected over it. During this ceremony, great lamentations are made, and if the departed person is very much regretted, the near relations cut off their hair, pierce the fleshy part of their thighs and arms with arrows, knives, etc, and blacken their faces with charcoal. If they have distinguished themselves in war, they are sometimes laid on a kind of scaffolding; and I have been informed, that women, as in the East, have been known to sacrifice themselves to the manes of their husbands. The whole of the property belonging to the departed person is destroyed, and the relations take in exchange for the wearing apparel, any rags that will cover their nakedness. The feast bestowed on the occasion, which is, or at least used to be, repeated annually, is accompanied with eulogiums on the deceased, and without any acts of ferocity. On the tomb are carved or painted the symbols of his tribe, which are taken from the different animals of the country. Many and various are the motives which induce a savage to engage in war. To prove his courage, or to revenge the death of his relations, or some of his tribe, by the massacre of an enemy. If the tribe feel themselves called upon to go to war, the elders convene the people, in order to know the general opinion. If it be for war, the chief publishes his intention to smoke in the sacred stem at a certain period, to which solemnity, meditation and fasting are required as preparatory ceremonials. When the people are thus assembled, and the meeting sanctified by the custom of smoking, the chief enlarges on the causes which have called them together, and the necessity of the measures proposed on the occasion. He then invites those who are willing to follow him, to smoke out of the sacred stem, which is considered as the token of enrolment; and if it should be the general opinion that assistance is necessary, others are invited, with great formality, to join them. Every individual who attends these meetings, brings something with him as a token of his warlike intention, or as an object of sacrifice, which, when the assembly dissolves, is suspended from poles near the place of council. They have frequent feasts, and particular circumstances never fail to produce them, such as a tedious illness, long fasting, etc. On these occasions it is usual for the person who means to give the entertainment, to announce his design, on a certain day, of opening the medicine-bag, and smoking out of his sacred stem. This declaration is considered as a sacred vow that cannot be broken. There are also stated periods, such as the spring and autumn, when they engage in very long and solemn ceremonies. On these occasions dogs are offered as sacrifices, and those which are very fat, and milk-white, are preferred. They also make large offerings of their property, whatever it may be. The scene of these ceremonies is in an open inclosure on the bank of a river or lake, and in the most conspicuous situation, in order that such as are passing along or travelling, may be induced to make their offerings. There is also a particular custom among them, that, on these occasions, if any of the tribe, or even a stranger, should be passing by, and be in real want of any thing that is displayed as an offering, he has a right to take it, so that he replaces it with some article he can spare, though it be of far inferior value; but to take or touch any thing wantonly is considered as a sacrilegious act, and highly insulting to the great Master of Life, to use their own expression, who is the sacred object of their devotion. The scene of private sacrifice is the lodge of the person who performs it, which is prepared for that purpose, by removing every thing out of it, and spreading green branches in every part. The fire and ashes are also taken away. A new hearth is made of fresh, earth, and another fire is lighted. The owner of the dwelling remains alone in it; and he begins the ceremony by spreading a piece of new cloth, or a well-dressed moose-skin neatly painted, on which he opens his medicine-bag and exposes its contents, consisting of various articles. The principal of them is a kind of household god, which is a small carved image about eight inches long. Its first covering is of down, over which a piece of birch-bark is closely tied, and the whole is enveloped in several folds of red and blue cloth. This little figure is an object of the most pious regard. The next article is his war-cap, which is decorated with the feathers and plumes of scarce birds, beavers, and eagle's claws, etc. There is also suspended from it a quill or feather for every enemy whom the owner of it has slain in battle. The remaining contents of the bag are, a piece of Brazil tobacco, several roots and simples, which are in great estimation for their medicinal qualities, and a pipe. These articles being all exposed, and the stem resting upon two forks, as it must not touch the ground, the master of the lodge sends for the person he most esteems, who sits down opposite to him; the pipe is then filled and fixed to the stem. A pair of wooden pincers is provided to put the fire in the pipe, and a double-pointed pin, to empty it of the remnant of tobacco which is not consumed. This arrangement being made, the men assemble, and sometimes the women are allowed to be humble spectators, while the most religious awe and solemnity pervades the whole. The Michiniwais, or Assistant, takes up the pipe, lights it, and presents it to the officiating person, who receives it standing and holds it between both his hands. He then turns himself to the East, and draws a few whiffs, which he blows to that point. The same ceremony he observes to the other three quarters, with his eyes directed upwards during the whole of it. He holds the stem about the middle between the three first fingers of both hands, and raising them upon a line with his forehead, he swings it three times round from the East, with the sun, when, after pointing and balancing it in various directions, he reposes it on the forks: he then makes a speech to explain the design of their being called together, which concludes with an acknowledgment for past mercies, and a prayer for the continuance of them, from the Master of Life. He then sits down, and the whole company declare their approbation and thanks by uttering the word _ho!_ with an emphatic prolongation of the last letter. The Michiniwais then takes up the pipe and holds it to the mouth of the officiating person, who, after smoking three whiffs out of it, utters a short prayer, and then goes round with it, taking his course from East to West, to every person present, who individually says something to him on the occasion; and thus the pipe is generally smoked out; when, after turning it three or four times round his head, he drops it downwards, and replaces it in its original situation. He then returns the company thanks for their attendance, and wishes them, as well as the whole tribe, health and long life. These smoking rites precede every matter of great importance with more or less ceremony, but always with equal solemnity. The utility of them will appear from the following relation. If a chief is anxious to know the disposition of his people towards him, or if he wishes to settle any difference between them, he announces his intention of opening his medicine-bag and smoking in his sacred stem; and no man who entertains a grudge against any of the party thus assembled can smoke with the sacred stem; as that ceremony dissipates all differences, and is never violated. No one can avoid attending on these occasions; but a person may attend and be excused from assisting at the ceremonies, by acknowledging that he has not undergone the necessary purification. The having cohabited with his wife, or any other woman, within twenty-four hours preceding the ceremony, renders him unclean, and, consequently, disqualifies him from performing any part of it. If a contract is entered into and solemnised by the ceremony of smoking, it never fails of being faithfully fulfilled. If a person, previous to his going a journey, leaves the sacred stem as a pledge of his return, no consideration whatever will prevent him from executing his engagement.[3] The chief, when he proposes to make a feast, sends quills, or small pieces of wood, as tokens of invitation to such as he wishes to partake of it. At the appointed time the guests arrive, each bringing a dish or platter, and a knife, and take their seats on each side of the chief, who receives them sitting, according to their respective ages. The pipe is then lighted, and he makes an equal division of every thing that is provided. While the company are enjoying their meal, the chief sings, and accompanies his song with the tambourine, or shishiquoi, or rattle. The guest who has first eaten his portion is considered as the most distinguished person. If there should be any who cannot finish the whole of their mess, they endeavour to prevail on some of their friends to eat it for them, who are rewarded for their assistance with ammunition and tobacco. It is proper also to remark, that at these feasts a small quantity of meat or drink is sacrificed, before they begin to eat, by throwing it into the fire, or on the earth. These feasts differ according to circumstances; sometimes each man's allowance is no more than he can despatch in a couple of hours. At other times the quantity is sufficient to supply each of them with food for a week, though it must be devoured in a day. On these occasions it is very difficult to procure substitutes, and the whole must be eaten whatever time it may require. At some of these entertainments there is a more rational arrangement, when the guests are allowed to carry home with them the superfluous part of their portions. Great care is always taken that the bones may be burned, as it would be considered a profanation were the dogs permitted to touch them. The public feasts are conducted in the same manner, but with some additional ceremony. Several chiefs officiate at them, and procure the necessary provisions, as well as prepare a proper place of reception for the numerous company. Here the guests discourse upon public topics, repeat the heroic deeds of their forefathers, and excite the rising generation to follow their example. The entertainments on these occasions consist of dried meats, as it would not be practicable to dress a sufficient quantity of fresh meat for such a large assembly; though the women and children are excluded. Similar feasts used to be made at funerals, and annually, in honour of the dead; but they have been, for some time, growing into disuse, and I never had an opportunity of being present at any of them. The women, who are forbidden to enter the places sacred to these festivals, dance and sing around them, and sometimes beat time to the music within them; which forms an agreeable contrast. With respect to their divisions of time, they compute the length of their journeys by the number of nights passed in performing them; and they divide the year by the succession of moons. In this calculation, however, they are not altogether correct, as they cannot account for the odd days. The names which they give to the names are descriptive of the several seasons. May Atheiky o Pishim Frog Moon. June Oppinu o Pishim The Moon in which birds begin to lay their eggs. July Aupascen o Pishim The Moon when birds cast their feathers. August Aupahou o Pishim The Moon when the young birds begin to fly. September Waskiscon o Pishim The Moon when the moose deer cast their horns. October Wisac o Pishim The Rutting-Moon. November Thithigon Pewai Hoar-Frost Moon. o Pishim Kuskatinsyoui Ice Moon. o Pishim December Pawatchicananasis Whirlwind-Moon. o Pishim January Kushapawasticanum Extreme cold o Pishim Moon. February Kichi Pishim Big Moon; some say, Old Moon. March Mickysue Pishim Eagle Moon. April Niscaw o Pishim Goose Moon. These people know the medicinal virtues of many herbs and simples, and apply the roots of plants and the bark of trees with success. But the conjurers, who monopolize the medical science, find it necessary to blend mystery with their art, and do not communicate their knowledge. Their materia medica they administer in the form of purges and clysters, but the remedies and surgical operations are supposed to derive much of their effect from magic and incantation. When a blister rises in the foot from the frost, the chafing of the shoe, etc., they immediately open it, and apply the heated blade of a knife to the part, which, painful as it may be, is found to be efficacious. A sharp flint serves them as a lancet for letting blood, as well as for scarification in bruises and swellings. For sprains, the dung of an animal just killed is considered as the best remedy. They are very fond of European medicines, though they are ignorant of their application: and those articles form an inconsiderable part of the European traffic with them. Among their various superstitions, they believe that the vapour which is seen to hover over moist and swampy places, is the spirit of some person lately dead. They also fancy another spirit which appears, in the shape of a man, upon the trees near the lodge of a person deceased, whose property has not been interred with them. He is represented as bearing a gun in his hand, and it is believed that he does not return to his rest, till the property that has been withheld from the grave has been sacrificed to it. EXAMPLES OF THE KNISTENEAUX AND ALGONQUIN TONGUES. Knisteneaux. Algonquin. Good Spirit Ki jai Manitou Ki jai Manitou. Evil Spirit Matchi manitou Matchi-manitou. Man Ethini Inini Woman Esquois Ich-quois. Male Nap hew Aquoisi. Female Non-gense Non-gense. Infant A' wash ish Abi nont-chen. Head Us ti quoin O'chiti-goine. Forehead Es caatick O catick. Hair Wes ty-ky Winessis. Eyes Es kis och Oskingick. Nose Oskiwin O'chengewane. Nostrils Oo tith ee go mow Ni-de-ni-guom. Mouth O toune O tonne. My teeth Wip pit tah Nibit. Tongue Otaithani O-tai-na-ni. Beard Michitoune Omichitonn. Brain With i tip Aba-e winikan. Ears O tow ee gie O-ta wagane. Neck O qui ow O'quoi gan. Throat O koot tas gy Nigon dagane. Arms O nisk O nic. Fingers Che chee Ni nid gines. Nails Wos kos sia Os-kenge. Side O's spig gy Opikegan. My back No pis quan Ni-pi quoini. My belly Nattay Ni my sat. Thighs O povam Obouame. My knees No che quoin noh Ni gui tick. Legs Nos Ni gatte. Heart Ok thea Othai. My father Noo ta wie Nossai. My mother Nigah wei Nigah. My boy (son) Negousis Nigouisses. My girl (daughter) Netanis Nidaniss. My brother, elder Ni stess Nis-a-yen. My sister, elder Ne miss Nimisain. My grandfather Ne moo shum Ni-mi-chomiss. My grandmother N'o kum No-co-miss. My uncle N' o'ka miss Ni ni michomen. My nephew Ne too sim Ne do jim. My niece Ne too sim esquois Ni-do-jim equois My mother-in-law Nisigouse Ni sigousiss. My brother-in-law Nistah Nitah. My companion Ne wechi wagan Ni-wit-chi-wagan. My husband Ni nap pem Ni na bem. Blood Mith coo Misquoi. Old Man Shi nap Aki win se. I am angry Ne kis si wash en Nis Katissiwine. I fear Ne goos tow Nisest guse. Joy Ne hea tha tom Mamond gikisi. Hearing Pethom Oda wagan. Track Mis conna Pemi ka wois. Chief, great ruler Haukimah Kitchi onodis. Thief Kismouthesk Ke moutiske. Excrement Meyee Moui. Buffalo Moustouche Pichike. Ferret Sigous Shingouss. Polecat Shicak Shi kak. Elk Moustouche Michai woi. Rein deer Attick Atick. Fellow deer Attick Wa wasquesh. Beaver Amisk Amic. Wolverine Qui qua katch Quin quoagki. Squirrel Ennequachas Otchi ta mou. Minx Sa quasue Shaugouch. Otter Nekick Ni guick. Wolf Mayegan Maygan. Hare Wapouce Wapouce. Marten Wappistan Wabichinse. Moose Mouswah Monse. Bear Masqua Macqua. Fisher Wijask Od-jisck. Lynx Picheu Pechou. Porcupine Cau quah Kack. Fox Mikasew Wagouche. Musk Rat Wajask Wa-jack. Mouse Abicushiss Wai wa be gou noge. Cow Buffalo Noshi Moustouche Nochena pichik. Meat-flesh Wias Wi-ass. Dog Atim Ani-mouse. Eagle Makusue Me-guissis. Duck Sy Sip Shi-sip. Crow, Corbeau Ca Cawkeu Ka Kak. Swan Wapiseu Wa-pe-sy. Turkey Mee sei thew Mississay. Pheasants Okes kew Ajack. Bird Pethesew Pi-na-sy. Outard Niscag Nic kack. White Goose Wey Wois Woi wois. Grey Goose Pestasish Pos ta kisk. Partridge Pithew Pen ainse. Water Hen Chiquibish Che qui bis. Dove Omi Mee O mi-mis. Eggs We Wah Wa Weni. Pike or Jack Kenonge Kenonge. Carp Na may bin Na me bine. Sturgeon Na May Na Maiu. White fish Aticaming Aticaming. Pickerel Oc-chaw Oh-ga. Fish (in general) Kenonge Ki-cons. Spawn Waquon Wa quock. Fins Chi chi kan O nidj-igan. Trout Nay gouse Na Men Gouse. Craw Fish A shag gee A cha kens chacque. Frog Atahick O ma ka ki. Wasp Ah moo A mon. Turtle Mikinack Mi-ki-nack. Snake Kinibick Ki nai bick. Awl Oscajick Ma-gose. Needle Saboinigan Sha-bo nigan. Fire steel Appet Scoutecgan Fire wood Mich-tah Missane. Cradle Teckinigan Tickina-gan. Dagger Ta Comagau Na-ba-ke-gou-man. Arrow Augusk or Atouche Mettic ka nouins. Fish Hook Quosquipichican Maneton Miquiscan. Ax Shegaygan Wagagvette. Ear-bob Chi-kisebisoun Na be chi be soun Comb Sicahoun Pin ack wan. Net Athabe Assap. Tree Mistick Miti-coum. Wood Mistick Mitic. Paddle Aboi Aboui. Canoe Chiman S-chiman. Birch Rind Wasquoi Wig nass. Bark Wasquoi On-na-guege. Touch Wood Pousagan Sa-ga-tagan. Leaf Nepeshah Ni-biche. Grass Masquosi Masquosi. Raspberries Misqui-meinac Misqui meinac. Strawberries O'-tai-e minac O'-tai-e minac. Ashes Pecouch Pengoui. Fire Scou tay Scou tay. Grapes Shomenac Shomenac. Fog Pakishihow A Winni. Mud Asus ki A Shiski. Currant Kisijiwin Ki si chi woin. Road Mescanah Mickanan. Winter Pipoun Pipone. Island Ministick Miniss. Lake Sagayigan Sagayigan. Sun Pisim Kijis. Moon Tibisca pesim Dibic Kijis (the night Sun) Day Kigigah Kigi gatte. Night Tabisca Dibic kawte. Snow Counah So qui po. Rain Kimiwoin Ki mi woini Drift Pewan Pi-woine. Hail Shes eagan Me qua mensan. Ice Mesquaming Me quam. Frost Aquatin Gas-ga-tin. Mist Picasyow An-quo-et. Water Nepec Nipei. World Messeasky Missi achki. (all the earth) Mountain Wachee Watchive. Sea Kitchi kitchi gaming Kitchi kitchi gaming. Morning Kequishepe Ki-ki-jep. Mid-day Abetah quisheik Na ock quoi. Portage Unygam Ouni-gam. Spring Menouscaming Mino ka ming. River Sipee Sipi. Rapid Bawastick Ba wetick. Rivulet Sepeesis Sipi wes chin. Sand Thocaw Ne gawe. Earth Askee Ach ki. Star Attack Anang. Thunder Pithuseu Ni mi ki. Wind Thoutin No tine. Calm Athawostin A-no-a-tine. Heat Quishipoi Aboyce. Evening Ta kashike O'n-a-guche. North Kywoitin Ke woitinak. South Sawena woon Sha-wa-na-wang. East Coshawcastak Wa-ba-no-no-tine. West Paquisimow Panguis-chi-mo. Tomorrow Wabank Wa-bang. Bone Oskann Oc-kann. Broth Michim waboi Thaboub. Feast Ma qua see Wi con qui wine. Grease or oil Pimis Pimi-tais. Marrow fat Oscan pimis Oska-pimitais. Sinew Asstis Attiss. Lodge Wig-waum Wi-gui-wam. Bed Ne pa win Ne pai wine. Within Pendog ke Pendig. Door Squandam Scouandam. Dish Othagan O' na gann. Fort Wasgaigan Wa-kuigan. Sledge Tabanask Otabanac. Cincture Poquoatehoun Ketche pisou, Cap Astotin Pe matinang. Socks Ashican A chi-gan. Shirt Papackeweyan Pa pa ki weyan. Coat Papise-co-wagan Papise-co-wa-gan Blanket Wape weyang Wape weyan. Cloth Maneto weguin Maneto weguin. Thread Assabab Assabab. Garters Chi ki-bisoon Ni gaske-tase besoun. Mittens Astissack Medjica wine. Shoes Maskisin Makisin. Smoking bag Kusquepetagan Kasquepetagan. Portage sling Apisan Apican, Strait on Goi ask Goi-ack. Medicine Mas ki kee Macki-ki. Red Mes coh Mes-cowa. Blue Kasqutch (same O-jawes-cowa. as black) White Wabisca Wabisca. Yellow Saw waw O-jawa. Green Chibatiquare O'jawes-cowa. Brown O'jawes-cowa. Grey, etc. O'jawes-cowa. Ugly Mache na gouseu Mous-counu-gouse. Handsome Catawassiseu Nam bissa. Beautiful Kissi Sawenogan Quoi Natch. Deaf Nima petom Ka ki be chai. Good-natured Mithi washin Onichishin. Pregnant: Paawie And-jioko. Fat Outhineu Oui-ni-noe. Big Mushikitee Messha. Small or little Abisasheu Agu-chin. Short Chemasish Tackosi. Skin Wian Wian. Long Kinwain Kiniwa. Strong Mascawa |Mache-cawa. |Mas-cawise. Coward Sagatahaw Cha-goutai-ye. Weak Nitha missew Cha-gousi. Lean Mahta waw Ka wa ca tosa. Brave Nima Gustaw Son qui taige. Young man Osquineguish Oskinigui. Cold Kissin Kissinan. Hot Kichatai Kicha tai. Spring Minouscaming Minokaming. Summer Nibin Nibiqui. Fall Tagowagonk Tagowag. One Peyac Pecheik. Two Nisheu Nige. Three Nishtou Nis-wois. Four Neway Ne-au. Five Ni-annan Na-nan. Six Negoutawoesic Ni gouta was-wois. Seven Nish woisic Nigi-was-wois. Eight Jannanew She was wois. Nine Shack Shang was wois. Ten Mitatat Mit-asswois. Eleven Peyac osap Mitasswois, hachi pecheik. Twelve Nisheu osap Mitasswois, hachi, nige. Thirteen Nichtou osap Mitasswois, hachi, niswois. Fourteen Neway osap Mitasswois, hachi, ne-au. Fifteen Niannan osap Mitasswois, hachi, nanan. Sixteen Nigoutawoesic osap Mitasswois, hachi, negoutawaswois. Seventeen Nish woesic osap Mitasswois, hachi, nigi was-wois. Eighteen Jannenew osap Mitasgwois, hachi, shiwasswois. Nineteen Shack osap Mitasswois, hachi, shang as wois. Twenty Nisheu mitenah Nigeta-nan. Twenty-one Nishew mitenah Nigeta nan, hachi, pechic. peyac osap Twenty-two, etc. Nisheu mitenah nishew osap Thirty Nishtou mitenah Niswois mitanan. Forty Neway mitenah Neau mitanan. Fifty Niannan mitenah Nanan mitanen. Sixty Negoutawoisic Nigouta was wois mitanan. mitenah Seventy Nishwoisic mitenah Nigi was wois mitanan. Eighty Jannaeu mitenah She was wois mitanan. Ninety Shack mitenah Shang was wois mitanan. Hundred Mitana mitenan Ningoutwack. Two hundred Neshew mitena a Nige wack. mitenah One thousand Mitenah mitena Kitchi-wack. mitenah First Nican Nitam. Last Squayatch Shaquoiyanke. More Minah Awa-chi min. Better Athiwack mitha- A wachimin o washin nichi shen. Best Atniwack mitha- Kitchi o nichi shin. washin I. or me Nitha Nin. You, or thou Kitha Kin. They, or them Withawaw Win na wa. We Nithawaw Nina wa. My, or mine Nitayen Nida yam. Your's Kitayan Kitayem. Who Auoni. Whom Awoine Kegoi nin. What Wa His, or her's Otayan Otayim mis. All Kakithau Kakenan. Some, or some few Pey peyac Pe-pichic. The same Tabescoutch Mi ta yoche. All the world Missi acki wanque Mishiwai asky. All the men Kakithaw Ethi nyock Missi Inini wock. More Mina Mine wa. Now and then Nannigoutengue. Sometimes I as-cow-puco Seldom Wica-ac-ko. Arrive Ta couchin Ta-gouchin. Beat Otamaha Packit-ais. To burn Mistascasoo Icha-quiso. To sing Nagamoun Nagam. To cut Kisquishan Qui qui jan. To hide Catann Caso tawe. To cover Acquahoun A co na oune. To believe Taboitam Tai boitam. To sleep Nepan Ni pann. To dispute Ke ko mitowock Ki quaidiwine. To dance Nemaytow Nimic. To give Mith Mih. To do Ogitann O-gitoune. To eat Wissinee Wissiniwin. To die Nepew Ni po wen. To forget Winnekiskisew Woi ni mi kaw. To speak Athimetakcouse Aninntagousse. To cry (tears) Mantow Ma wi. To laugh Papew Pa-pe To set down Nematappe Na matape win. To walk Pimoutais Pemoussai. To fall Packisin Panguishin. To work Ah tus kew Anokeh. To kill Nipahaw Nishi-woes. To sell Attawoin Ata wois. To live Pimatise Pematis. To see Wabam Wab. To come Astamoteh Pitta-si-mouss. Enough Egothigog Mi mi nic. Cry (tears) Manteau Ambai ma wita. It hails Shisiagan Sai saigaun. There is | There is some | Aya wa Aya wan. It rains Quimiwoin Qui mi woin. After to-morrow Awis wabank Awas webang. To-day Anoutch Non gum. Thereaway Netoi Awoite. Much Michett Ni bi wa. Presently Pichisqua Pitchinac. Make, heart Quithipeh Wai we be. This morning Shebas Shai bas. This night Tibiscag De bi cong. Above Espiming O kitchiai. Below Tabassish Ana mai. Truly Taboiy Ne de wache Already Sashay Sha shaye. Yet more Minah Mina wa. Yesterday Tacoushick Pitchinago. Far Wathow Wassa. Near Quishiwoac Paishou. Never Nima wecatch Ka wi ka. No Nima Ke wine. Yes Ah In. By-and-bye Pa-nima Pa-nima. Always Ka-ki-kee Ka qui nick Make haste Quethepeh Niguim. It's long since Mewaisha Mon wisha. [1] The similarity between their language and that of the Algonquins is an unequivocal proof that they are the same people. Specimens of their respective tongues will be hereafter given. [2] They have been called thieves, but when that vice can with justice be attributed to them, it may be traced to their connexion with the civilized people who come into their country to traffic. [3] It is, however, to be lamented, that of late there is a relaxation of the duties originally attached to these festivals. SOME ACCOUNT OF THE CHEPEWYAN INDIANS. They are a numerous people, who consider the country between the parallels of latitude 60. and 65. North, and longitude 100. to 110. West, as their lands or home. They speak a copious language, which is very difficult to be attained, and furnishes dialects to the various emigrant tribes which inhabit the following immense track of country, whose boundary I shall describe.[1] It begins at Churchill, and runs along the line of separation between them and the Knisteneaux, up the Missinipi to the Isle a la Crosse, passing on through the Buffalo Lake, River Lake, and Portage la Loche: from thence it proceeds by the Elk River to the Lake of the Hills, and goes directly West to the Peace River; and up that river to its source and tributary waters; from whence it proceeds to the waters of the river Columbia; and follows that river to latitude 52. 24. North, and longitude 122. 54. West, where the Chepewyans have the Atnah or Chin Nation for their neighbours. It then takes a line due West to the seacoast, within which, the country is possessed by a people who speak their language[2] and are consequently descended from them: there can be no doubt, therefore, of their progress being to the Eastward. A tribe of them is even known at the upper establishments on the Saskatchiwine; and I do not pretend to ascertain how far they may follow the Rocky Mountains to the East. It is not possible to form any just estimate of their numbers, but it is apparent, nevertheless, that they are by no means proportionate to the vast extent of their territories, which may, in some degree, be attributed to the ravages of the small-pox, which are, more or less, evident throughout this part of the continent. The notion which these people entertain of the creation, is of a very singular nature. They believe that, at the first, the globe was one vast and entire ocean, inhabited by no living creature, except a mighty bird, whose eyes were fire, whose glances were lightning, and the clapping of whose wings were thunder. On his descent to the ocean, and touching it, the earth instantly arose, and remained on the surface of the waters. This omnipotent bird then called forth all the variety of animals from the earth, except the Chepewyans, who were produced from a dog; and this circumstance occasions their aversion to the flesh of that animal, as well as the people who eat it. This extraordinary tradition proceeds to relate, that the great bird, having finished his work, made an arrow, which was to be preserved with great care, and to remain untouched; but that the Chepewyans were so devoid of understanding, as to carry it away; and the sacrilege so enraged the great bird, that he has never since appeared. They have also a tradition amongst them, that they originally came from another country, inhabited by very wicked people, and had traversed a great lake, which was narrow, shallow, and full of islands, where they had suffered great misery, it being always winter, with ice and deep snow. At the Copper-Mine River, where they made the first land, the ground was covered with copper, over which a body of earth had since been collected, to the depth of a man's height. They believe, also, that in ancient times their ancestors lived till their feet were worn out with walking, and their throats with eating. They describe a deluge, when the waters spread over the whole earth, except the highest mountains, on the tops of which they preserved themselves. They believe, that immediately after their death, they pass into another world, where they arrive at a large river, on which they embark in a stone canoe, and that a gentle current bears them on to an extensive lake, in the centre of which is a most beautiful island; and that, in the view of this delightful abode, they receive that judgment for their conduct during life, which terminates their final state and unalterable allotment. If their good actions are declared to predominate, they are landed upon the island, where there is to be no end to-their happiness; which, however, according to their notions, consists in an eternal enjoyment of sensual pleasure, and carnal gratification. But if their bad actions weigh down the balance, the stone canoe sinks at once, and leaves them up to their chins in the water, to behold and regret the reward enjoyed by the good, and eternally struggling, but with unavailing endeavours, to reach the blissful island, from which they are excluded for ever. They have some faint notions of the transmigration of the soul; so that if a child be born with teeth, they instantly imagine, from its premature appearance, that it bears a resemblance to some person who had lived to an advanced period, and that he has assumed a renovated life, with these extraordinary tokens of maturity. The Chepewyans are sober, timorous, and vagrant, with a selfish disposition that has sometimes created suspicions of their integrity. Their stature has nothing remarkable in it; but though they are seldom corpulent, they are sometimes robust. Their complexion is swarthy; their features coarse, and their hair lank, but always of a dingy black; nor have they universally the piercing eye, which generally animates the Indian countenance. The women have a more agreeable aspect than the men, but their gait is awkward, which proceeds from their being accustomed, nine months in the year, to travel on snow-shoes and drag sledges of a weight from two to four hundred pounds. They are very submissive to their husbands, who have, however, their fits of jealousy; and, for very trifling causes, treat them with such cruelty as sometimes to occasion their death. They are frequently objects of traffic; and the father possesses the right of disposing of his daughter.[3] The men in general extract their beards, though some of them are seen to prefer a bushy black beard, to a smooth chin. They cut their hair in various forms, or leave it in a long, natural flow, according as their caprice or fancy suggests. The women always wear it in great length, and some of them are very attentive to its arrangement. If they at any time appear despoiled of their tresses, it is to be esteemed a proof of the husband's jealousy, and is considered as a severer punishment than manual correction. Both sexes have blue or black bars, or from one to four straight lines on their cheeks or forehead, to distinguish the tribe to which they belong. These marks are either tattooed, or made by drawing a thread, dipped in the necessary colour, beneath the skin. There are no people more attentive to the comforts of their dress, or less anxious respecting its exterior appearance. In the winter it is composed of the skins of deer, and their fawns, and dressed as fine as any chamois leather, in the hair. In the summer their apparel is the same, except that it is prepared without the hair. Their shoes and leggins are sewed together, the latter reaching upwards to the middle, and being supported by a belt, under which a small piece of leather is drawn to cover the private parts, the ends of which fall down both before and behind. In the shoes they put the hair of the moose or reindeer with additional pieces of leather as socks. The shirt or coat, when girted round the waist, reaches to the middle of the thigh, and the mittens are sewed to the sleeves, or are suspended by strings from the shoulders. A ruff or tippet surrounds the neck, and the skin of the head of the deer forms a curious kind of cap. A robe, made of several deer or fawn skins sewed together, covers the whole. This dress is worn single or double, but always in the winter, with the hair within and without. Thus arrayed a Chepewyan will lay himself down on the ice in the middle of a lake, and repose in comfort; though he will sometimes find a difficulty in the morning to disencumber himself from the snow drifted on him during the night. If in his passage he should be in want of provision, he cuts a hole in the ice, when he seldom fails of taking some trout or pike, whose eyes he instantly scoops out, and eats as a great delicacy; but if they should not be sufficient to satisfy his appetite, he will, in this necessity make his meal of the fish in its raw state; but, those whom I saw, preferred to dress their victuals when circumstances admitted the necessary preparation. When they are in that part of their country which does not produce a sufficient quantity of wood for fuel, they are reduced to the same exigency, though they generally dry their meat in the sun.[4] The dress of the women differs from that of the men. Their leggins are tied below the knee; and their coat or shift is wide, hanging down to the ankle, and is tucked up at pleasure by means of a belt, which is fastened round the waist. Those who have children have these garments made very full about the shoulders, as when they are travelling they carry their infants upon their backs, next their skin, in which situation they are perfectly comfortable and in a position convenient to be suckled. Nor do they discontinue to give their milk to them till they have another child. Childbirth is not the object of that tender care and serious attention among the savages as it is among civilized people. At this period no part of their usual occupation is omitted, and this continual and regular exercise must contribute to the welfare of the mother, both in the progress of parturition and in the moment of delivery. The women have a singular custom of cutting off a small piece of the navel string of the new-born children, and hang it about their necks: they are also curious in the covering they make for it, which they decorate with porcupine's quills and beads. Though the women are as much in the power of the men, as other articles of their property, they are always consulted, and possess a very considerable influence in the traffic with Europeans, and other important concerns. Plurality of wives is common among them, and the ceremony of marriage is of a very simple nature. The girls are betrothed at a very early period to those whom the parents think the best able to support them: nor is the inclination of the women considered. Whenever a separation takes place, which sometimes happens, it depends entirely on the will and pleasure of the husband. In common with the other Indians of this country, they have a custom respecting the periodical state of a woman, which is rigorously observed: at that time she must seclude herself from society. They are not even allowed in that situation to keep the same path as the men, when travelling: and it is considered a great breach of decency for a woman so circumstanced to touch any utensils of manly occupation. Such a circumstance is supposed to defile them, so that their subsequent use would be followed by certain mischief or misfortune. There are particular skins which the women never touch, as of the bear and wolf; and those animals the men are seldom known to kill. They are not remarkable for their activity as hunters, which is owing to the ease with which they snare deer and spear fish: and these occupations are not beyond the strength of their old men, women, and boys: so that they participate in those laborious occupations, which among their neighbours are confined to the women. They make war on the Esquimaux, who cannot resist their superior numbers, and put them to death, as it is a principle with them never to make prisoners. At the same time they tamely submit to the Knisteneaux, who are not so numerous as themselves, when they treat them as enemies. They do not affect that cold reserve at meeting, either among themselves or strangers, which is common with the Knisteneaux, but communicate mutually, and at once, all the information of which they are possessed. Nor are they roused like them from an apparent torpor to a state of great activity. They are consequently more uniform in this respect, though they are of a very persevering disposition when their interest is concerned. As these people are not addicted to spirituous liquors, they have a regular and uninterrupted use of their understanding, which is always directed to the advancement of their own interest; and this disposition, as may be readily imagined, sometimes occasions them to be charged with fraudulent habits. They will submit with patience to the severest treatment, when they are conscious that they deserve it, but will never forget or forgive any wanton or unnecessary rigour. A moderate conduct I never found to fail, nor do I hesitate to represent them, altogether, as the most peaceable tribe of Indians known in North America. There are conjurers and high-priests, but I was not present at any of their ceremonies; though they certainly operate in an extraordinary manner on the imaginations of the people in the cure of disorders. Their principal maladies are, rheumatic pains, the flux and consumption. The venereal complaint is very common; but though its progress is slow, it gradually undermines the constitution, and brings on premature decay. They have recourse to superstition for their cure, and charms are their only remedies, except the bark of the willow, which being burned and reduced to powder, is strewed upon green wounds and ulcers, and places contrived for promoting perspiration. Of the use of simples and plants they have no knowledge; nor can it be expected, as their country does not produce them. Though they have enjoyed so long an intercourse with Europeans, their country is so barren, as not to be capable of producing the ordinary necessaries naturally introduced by such a communication and they continue, in a great measure, their own inconvenient and awkward modes of taking their game and preparing it when taken. Sometimes they drive the deer into the small lakes, where they spear them, or force them into inclosures, where the bow and arrow are employed against them. These animals are also taken in snares made of skin. In the former instance the game is divided among those who have been engaged in the pursuit of it. In the latter it is considered as private property; nevertheless, any unsuccessful hunter passing by, may take a deer so caught, leaving the head, skin, and saddle for the owner. Thus, though they have no regular government, as every man is lord in his own family, they are influenced, more or less, by certain principles which condone to their general benefit. In their quarrels with each other, they very rarely proceed to a greater degree of violence than is occasioned by blows, wrestling, and pulling of the hair, while their abusive language consists in applying the name of the most offensive animal to the object of their displeasure, and adding the term ugly, and chiay, or still-born.[5] Their arms and domestic apparatus, in addition to the articles procured from Europeans, are spears, bows, and arrows, fishing nets, and lines made of green deer-skin thongs. They have also nets for taking the beaver as he endeavours to escape from his lodge when it is broken open. It is set in a particular manner for the purpose, and a man is employed to watch the moment when he enters the snare, or he would soon cut his way through it. He is then thrown upon the ice where he remains as if he had no life in him. The snow-shoes are of a very superior workmanship. The inner part of their frame is straight, the outer one is curved, and it is pointed at both ends, with that in front turned up. They are also laced with great neatness with thongs made of deer-skin. The sledges are formed of thin slips of board turned up also in front, and are highly polished with crooked knives, in order to slide along with facility. Close-grained wood is, on that account, the best; but theirs are made of the red or swamp spruce-fir tree. The country, which these people claim as their land, has a very small quantity of earth, and produces little or no wood or herbage. Its chief vegetable substance is the moss, on which the deer feed; and a kind of rock moss, which, in times of scarcity, preserves the lives of the natives. When boiled in water, it dissolves into a clammy, glutinous substance, that affords a very sufficient nourishment. But, notwithstanding the barren state of their country, with proper care and economy, these people might live in great comfort, for the lakes abound in fish, and the hills are covered with deer. Though, of all the Indian people of this continent they are considered as the most provident, they suffer severely at certain seasons, and particularly in the dead of winter, when they are under the necessity of retiring to their scanty, stinted woods. To the Westward of them the musk-ox may be found, but they have no dependence on it as an article of sustenance. There are also large hares, a few white wolves, peculiar to their country, and several kinds of foxes, with white and grey partridges, etc. The beaver and moose-deer they do not find till they come within 60 degrees North latitude; and the buffalo is still further South. That animal is known to frequent an higher latitude to the Westward of their country. These people bring pieces of beautiful variegated marble, which are found on the surface of the earth. It is easily worked, bears a fine polish, and hardens with time; it endures heat, and is manufactured into pipes or calumets, as they are very fond of smoking tobacco; a luxury which the Europeans communicated to them. Their amusements or recreations are but few. Their music is so inharmonious, and their dancing so awkward, that they might be supposed to be ashamed of both, as they very seldom practise either. They also shoot at marks, and play at the games common among them; but in fact they prefer sleeping to either; and the greater part of their time is passed in procuring food, and resting from the toil necessary to obtain it. They are also of a querulous disposition, and are continually making complaints; which they express by a constant repetition of the word eduiy, "it is hard," in a whining and plaintive tone of voice. They are superstitious in the extreme, and almost every action of their lives, however trivial, is more or less influenced by some whimsical notion. I never observed that they had any particular form of religious worship; but as they believe in a good and evil spirit, and a state of future rewards and punishments, they cannot be devoid of religious impressions. At the same time they manifest a decided unwillingness to make any communications on the subject. The Chepewyans have been accused of abandoning their aged and infirm people to perish, and of not burying their dead; but these are melancholy necessities, which proceed from their wandering way of life. They are by no means universal, for it is within my knowledge, that a man, rendered helpless by the palsy, was carried about for many years, with the greatest tenderness and attention, till he died a natural death. That they should not bury their dead in their own country, cannot be imputed to them as a custom arising from a savage insensibility, as they inhabit such high latitudes that the ground never thaws; but it is well known, that when they are in the woods, they cover their dead with trees. Besides, they manifest no common respect to the memory of their departed friends, by a long period of mourning, cutting off their hair, and never making use of the property of the deceased. Nay, they frequently destroy or sacrifice their own, as a token of regret and sorrow. If there be any people who, from the barren state of their country, might be supposed to be cannibals by nature, these people, from the difficulty they, at times, experience in procuring food, might be liable to that imputation. But, in all my knowledge of them, I never was acquainted with one instance of that disposition; nor among all the natives which I met with in a route of five thousand miles, did I see or hear of an example of cannibalism, but such as arose from that irresistible necessity, which has been known to impel even the most civilized people to eat each other. EXAMPLES OF THE CHEPEWYAN TONGUE Man Dinnie. Woman Chequois. Young man Quelaquis. Young woman Quelaquis chequoi. My son Zi azay. My daughter Zi lengai. My husband Zi dinnie. My wife Zi zayunai. My brother Zi raing. My father Zi tah. My mother Zi nah. My grandfather Zi unai. Me, or my See. I Ne. You Nun. They Be. Head Edthie. Hand Law. Leg Edthen. Foot Cuh. Eyes Nackhay. Teeth Goo. Side Kac-hey. Belly Bitt. Tongue Edthu. Hair Thiegah. Back Losseh. Blood Dell. The Knee Cha-gutt. Clothes or Blanket Etlunay. Coat Eeh. Leggin Thell. Shoes Kinchee. Robe or Blanket Thuth. Sleeves Bah. Mittens Geese. Cap Sah. Swan Kagouce. Duck Keth. Goose Gah. White partridge Cass bah. Grey partridge Deyee. Buffalo Giddy. Moose deer Dinyai. Rein deer Edthun. Beaver Zah. Bear Zass. Otter Gaby-ai. Martin Thah. Wolverine Naguiyai. Wolf Yess (Nouhoay). Fox Naguethey. Hare Cah. Dog Sliengh. Beaver-skin Zah thah. Otter skin Naby-ai thith. Moose-skin Deny-ai thith. Fat Icah. Grease Thless. Meet Bid. Pike Uldiah. White-fish Slouey. Trout Slouey zinai. Pickerel G'Gah. Fish-hook Ge-eth. Fish-line Clulez. One Slachy. Two Naghur. Three Tagh-y. Four Dengk-y. Five Sasoulachee. Six Alki tar-hy-y. Seven Eight Alki deing-hy. Nine Cakina hanoth-na. Ten Ca noth na. Twenty Na ghur cha noth na. Fire Coun. Water Toue. Wood Dethkin. Ice Thun. Snow Yath. Rain Thinnelsee. Lake Touey. River Tesse. Mountain Zeth. Stone Thaih. Berries Gui-eh. Hot Edowh. Cold Edzah. Island Nouey. Gun Telkithy, Powder Telkithy counna. Knife Bess. Axe Thynle. Sun Moon Sah. Red Deli couse. Black Dell zin. Trade, or barter Na-houn-ny. Good Leyzong. Not good Leyzong houlley. Stinking Geddey. Bad, ugly Slieney. Long since Galladinna. Now, today Ganneh. Tomorrow Gambeh. By-and-bye, or presently Garehoulleh. House, or lodge Cooen. Canoe Shaluzee. Door The o ball. Leather-lodge N'abalay. Chief Buchahudry. Mine Zidzy. His Bedzy. Yours Nuntzy. Large Unshaw. Small, or little Chautah, I love you Ba eioinichdinh. I hate you Bucnoinichadinh hillay. I am to be pitied Est-chounest-hinay. My relation Sy lod, innay. Give me water Too hanniltu. Give me meat Beds-hanniltu. Give me fish Sloeeh anneltu. Give me meat to eat Bid Barheether. Give me water to drink To Barhithen. It is far off Netha uzany, Is it not far Nilduay uzany. It is near Nitha-hillai. How many Nilduay. What call you him, or that Etlaneldey. Come here Etla houllia Pain, or suffering Yeu dessay. It's hard I-yah. You lie Untzee. What then Eldaw-gueh. [1] Those of them who come to trade with us, do not exceed eight hundred men, and have a smattering of the Knisteneau tongue, in which they carry on their dealings with us. [2] The coast is inhabited on the North-West by the Eskimaux, and on the Pacific Ocean by a people different from both. [3] They do not, however, sell them as slaves, but as companions to those who are supposed to live more comfortably than themselves. [4] The provision called pemmican, on which the Chepewyans, as well as the other savages of this country, chiefly subsist in their journeys, is prepared in the following manner: The lean parts of the flesh of the larger animals are cut in thin slices, and are placed on a wooden grate over a slow fire, or exposed to the sun, and sometimes to the frost. These operations dry it, and in that state it is pounded between two stones; it will then keep with care for several years. If, however, it is kept in large quantities, it is disposed to ferment in the spring of the year, when it must be exposed to the air, or it will soon decay. The inside fat, and that of the rump, which is much thicker in these wild than our domestic animals, is melted down and mixed, in a boiling state with the pounded meat, in equal proportions: it is then put in baskets or bags for the convenience of carrying it. Thus it becomes a nutritious food, and is eaten, without any further preparation, or the addition of spice, salt, or any vegetable or farinaceous substance. A little time reconciles it to the palate. There is another sort made with the addition of marrow and dried berries, which is of a superior quality. [5] This name is also applicable to the foetus of an animal, when killed, which is considered as one of the greatest delicacies. JOURNAL OF A VOYAGE, &c. CHAPTER I. JUNE, 1789. _Wednesday, 3._--We embarked at nine in the morning, at Fort Chepewyan, on the South side of the Lake of the Hills, in latitude 58. 40. North, and longitude 110. 30. West from Greenwich, and compass has sixteen degrees variation East, in a canoe made of birch bark. The crew consisted of four Canadians, two of whom were attended by their wives, and a German; we were accompanied also by an Indian, who had acquired the title of English Chief, and his two wives, in a small canoe, with two young Indians; his followers in another small canoe. These men were engaged to serve us in the twofold capacity of interpreters and hunters. This chief has been a principal leader of his countrymen who were in the habit of carrying furs to Churchill Factory, Hudson's Bay, and till of late very much attached to the interest of that company. These circumstances procured him the appellation of the English Chief. We were also accompanied by a canoe that I had equipped for the purpose of trade, and given the charge of it to M. Le Roux, one of the Company's clerks. In this I was obliged to ship part of our provision; which, with the clothing necessary for us on the voyage, a proper assortment of the articles of merchandise as presents, to ensure us a friendly reception among the Indians, and the ammunition and arms requisite for defence, as well as a supply for our hunters, were more than our own canoe could carry, but by the time we should part company, there was every reason to suppose that our expenditure would make sufficient room for the whole. We proceeded twenty-one miles to the West, and then took a course of nine miles to North-North-West, when we entered the river, or one of the branches of the lake, of which there are several. We then steered North five miles, when our course changed for two miles to North-North-East, and here at seven in the evening we landed and pitched our tents. One of the hunters killed a goose, and a couple of ducks: at the same time the canoe was taken out of the water, to be gummed, which necessary business was effectually performed. _Thursday, 4._--We embarked at four this morning, and proceeded North-North-East half a mile, North one mile and a half, West two miles, North-West two miles, West-North-West one mile and a half, North-North-West half a mile, and West-North-West two miles, when this branch loses itself in the Peace River. It is remarkable, that the currents of these various branches of the lake, when the Peace River is high, as in May and August, run into the lake, which, in the other months of the year returns its waters to them; whence, to this place, the branch is not more than two hundred yards wide, nor less than an hundred and twenty. The banks are rather low, except in one place, where an huge rock rises above them, The low land is covered with wood, such as white birch, pines of different kinds, with the poplar, three kinds of willow, and the liard. The Peace River is upwards of a mile broad at this spot, and its current is stronger than that of the channel which communicates with the lake. It here, indeed, assumes the name of the Slave River.[1] The course of this day was as follows:--North-West two miles, North-North-West, through islands, six miles, North four miles and a half, North by East two miles, West by North six miles, North one mile, North-East by East two miles, North one mile. We now descended a rapid, and proceeded North-West seven miles and a half, North-West nine miles, North by West six miles, North-West by West one mile and a half, North-West by North half a mile, North-North-West six miles, North one mile, North-West by West four miles, North-North-East one mile. Here we arrived at the mouth of the Dog River, where we landed, and unloaded our canoes, at half past seven in the evening, on the East side, and close by the rapids. At this station the river is near two leagues in breadth. _Friday, 5._--At three o'clock in the morning we embarked, but unloaded our canoes at the first rapid. When we had reloaded, we entered a small channel, which is formed by the islands, and, in about half an hour, we came to the carrying-place It is three hundred and eighty paces in length, and very commodious, except at the further end of it. We found some difficulty in reloading at this spot, from the large quantity of ice which had not yet thawed. From hence to the next carrying-place, called the _Portage d'Embarras_, is about six miles, and is occasioned by the drift wood filling up the small channel, which is one thousand and twenty paces in length; from hence to the next is one mile and a half, while the distance to that which succeeds, does not exceed one hundred and fifty yards. It is about the same length as the last; and from hence to the carrying-place called the Mountain, is about four miles further; when we entered the great river. The smaller one, or the channel, affords by far the best passage, as it is without hazard of any kind; though I believe a shorter course would be found on the outside of the islands, and without so many carrying-places. That called the Mountain is three hundred and thirty-five paces in length; from thence to the next, named the Pelican, there is about a mile of dangerous rapids. The landing is very steep, and close to the fall. The length of this carrying-place is eight hundred and twenty paces. The whole of the party were now employed in taking the baggage and the canoe up the hill. One of the Indian canoes went down the fall, and was dashed to pieces. The woman who had the management of it, by quitting it in time, preserved her life, though she lost the little property it contained. The course from the place we quitted in the morning is about North-West, and comprehends a distance of fifteen miles. From hence to the next and last carrying-place, is about nine miles; in which distance there are three rapids: course North-West by West. The carrying path is very bad, and five hundred and thirty-five paces in length. Our canoes being lightened, passed on the outside of the opposite island, which rendered the carrying of the baggage very short indeed, being not more than the length of a canoe. In the year 1786, five men were drowned, and two canoes and some packages lost, in the rapids on the other side of the river, which occasioned this place to be called the _Portage des Noyes_. They were proceeding to the Slave Lake, in the fall of that year, under the direction of Mr. Cuthbert Grant. We proceeded from hence six miles, and encamped on Point de Roche, at half past five in the afternoon. The men and Indians were very much fatigued; but the hunters had provided seven geese, a beaver, and four ducks. _Saturday, 6._--We embarked at half past two in the morning, and steered North-West by North twenty-one miles, North-West by West five miles, West-North-West four miles, West six miles, doubled a point North-North-East one mile, East five miles, North two miles, North-West by North one mile and a half, West-North-West three miles, North-East by East two miles; doubled a point one mile and a half, West by North nine miles, North-West by West six miles, North-North-West five miles; here we landed at six o'clock in the evening, unloaded, and encamped. Nets were also set in a small adjacent river. We had an head wind during the greater part of the day and the weather was become so cold that the Indians were obliged to make use of their mittens. In this day's progress we killed seven geese and six ducks. _Sunday, 7._--At half past three we renewed our voyage, and proceeded West-North-West one mile, round an island one mile, North-West two miles and a half, South by West three miles, West-South-West one mile, South-West by South half a mile, North-West three miles, West-North-West three miles and a half, North seven miles and a half, North-West by North four miles, North two miles and a half, North-West by North two miles. The rain, which had prevailed for some time, now came on with such violence, that we were obliged to land and unload, to prevent the goods and baggage from getting wet; the weather, however, soon cleared up, so that we reloaded the canoe, and got under way. We now continued our course North ten miles, West one mile and a half, and North one mile and a half, when the rain came on again, and rendered it absolutely necessary for us to get on shore for the night, at about half past three. We had a strong North-North-East wind throughout the day, which greatly impeded us; M. Le Roux, however, with his party, passed on in search of a landing place more agreeable to them. The Indians killed a couple of geese, and as many ducks. The rain continued through the remaining part of the day. _Monday, 8._--The night was very boisterous, and the rain did not cease till two in the afternoon of this day; but as the wind did not abate of its violence, we were prevented from proceeding till the morrow. _Tuesday, 9._--We embarked at half past two in the morning, the weather being calm and foggy. Soon after our two young men joined us, whom we had not seen for two days; but during their absence they had killed four beavers and ten geese. After a course of one mile North-West by North, we observed an opening on the right, which we took for a fork of the river, but it proved to be a lake. We returned and steered South-West by West one mile and a half, West-South-West one mile and a half, West one mile, when we entered a very small branch of the river on the East bank; at the mouth of which I was informed there had been a carrying-place, owing to the quantity of drift wood, which then filled up the passage, but has since been carried away. The course of this river is meandering, and tends to the North, and in about ten miles falls into the Slave Lake, where we arrived at nine in the morning, when we found a great change in the weather, as it was become extremely cold. The lake was entirely covered with ice, and did not seem in any degree to have given way, but near the shore. The gnats and mosquitoes, which were very troublesome during our passage along the river, did not venture to accompany us to this colder region. The banks of the river both above and below the rapids, were on both sides covered with the various kinds of wood common to this country, particularly the Western side; the land being lower and consisting of a rich black soil. This artificial ground is carried down by the stream, and rests upon drift wood, so as to be eight or ten feet deep. The eastern banks are more elevated, and the soil a yellow clay mixed with gravel; so that the trees are neither so large or numerous as on the opposite shore. The ground was not thawed above fourteen inches in depth; notwithstanding the leaf was at its full growth; while along the lake there was scarcely any appearance of verdure. The Indians informed me, that, at a very small distance from either bank of the river, are very extensive plains, frequented by large herds of buffaloes; while the moose and rein-deer keep in the woods that border on it. The beavers, which are in great numbers, build their habitations in the small lakes and rivers, as, in the larger streams, the ice carries every thing along with it, during the spring. The mud-banks in the river are covered with wild fowl; and we this morning killed two swans, ten geese, and one beaver, without suffering the delay of an hour; so that we might have soon filled the canoe with them, if that had been our object. From the small river we steered East, along the inside of a long sand-bank, covered with drift wood and enlivened by a few willows, which stretches on as far as the houses erected by Messrs. Grant and Le Roux, in 1786. We often ran aground, as for five successive miles the depth of the water nowhere exceeded three feet. There we found our people, who had arrived early in the morning, and whom we had not seen since the preceding Sunday. We now unloaded the canoe, and pitched our tents, as there was every appearance that we should be obliged to remain here for some time. I then ordered the nets to be set, as it was absolutely necessary that the stores provided for our future voyage should remain untouched. The fish we now caught were carp, poisson inconnu, white fish, and trout. _Wednesday, 10._--It rained during the greatest part of the preceding night, and the weather did not clear up till the afternoon of this day. This circumstance had very much weakened the ice, and I sent two of the Indians on an hunting party to a lake at the distance of nine miles, which, they informed me, was frequented by animals of various kinds. Our fishery this day was not so abundant as it had been on the preceding afternoon. _Thursday, 11._--The weather was fine and clear with a strong westerly wind. The women were employed in gathering berries of different sorts, of which there are a great plenty; and I accompanied one of my people to a small adjacent island, where we picked up some dozens of swan, geese, and duck-eggs; we also killed a couple of ducks and a goose. In the evening the Indians returned, without having seen any of the larger animals. A swan and a grey crane were the only fruits of their expedition. We caught no other fish but a small quantity of pike, which is too common to be a favourite food with the people of the country, The ice moved a little to the eastward. _Friday, 12._--The weather continued the same as yesterday, and the mosquitoes began to visit us in great numbers. The ice moved again in the same direction, and I ascended an hill, but could not perceive that it was broken in the middle of the lake. The hunters killed a goose and three ducks. _Saturday, 13._--The weather was cloudy, and the wind changeable till about sunset, when it settled in the North. It drove back the ice which was now very much broken along the shore, and covered our nets. One of the hunters who had been at the Slave River the preceding evening, returned with three beavers and fourteen geese. He was accompanied by three families of Indians, who left Athabasca the same day as myself: they did not bring me any fowl; and they pleaded in excuse, that they had travelled with so much expedition, as to prevent them from procuring sufficient provisions for themselves. By a meridian line, I found the variation of the compass to be about twenty degrees East. _Sunday, 14._--The weather was clear and the wind remained in the same quarter. The ice was much broken, and driven to the side of the lake, so that we were apprehensive for the loss of our nets, as they could not, at present, be extricated. At sunset there was an appearance of a violent gust of wind from the southward, as the sky became on a sudden, in that quarter, of a very dusky blue colour, and the lightning was very frequent. But instead of wind there came on a very heavy rain, which promised to diminish the quantity of broken ice. _Monday, 15._--In the morning, the bay still continued to be so full of ice, that we could not get at our nets. About noon, the wind veered to the Westward, and not only uncovered the nets, but cleared a passage to the opposite islands. When we raised the nets we found them very much shattered, and but few fish taken. We now struck our tents, and embarked at sunset, when we made the traverse, which was about eight miles North-East by North, in about two hours. At half-past eleven P. M. we landed on a small island and proceeded to gum the canoe. At this time the atmosphere was sufficiently clear to admit of reading or writing without the aid of artificial light. We had not seen a star since the second day after we left Athabasca. About twelve o'clock, the moon made its appearance above the tops of the trees, the lower horn being in a state of eclipse, which continued for about six minutes, in a cloudless sky. I took soundings three times in the course of the traverse, when I found six fathoms water, with a muddy bottom. _Tuesday, 16._--We were prevented from embarking this morning by a very strong wind from the North, and the vast quantity of floating ice. Some trout were caught with the hook and line, but the net was not so successful. I had an observation which gave 61. 28. North latitude. The wind becoming moderate, we embarked about one, taking a North-West course, through islands of ten miles, in which we took in a considerable quantity of water. After making several traverses, we landed at five P. M., and having pitched our tents, the hooks, lines, and nets were immediately set. During the course of the day there was occasional thunder. _Wednesday, 17._--We proceeded, and taking up our nets as we passed, we found no more than seventeen fish, and were stopped within a mile by the ice. The Indians, however, brought us back to a point where our fishery was very successful. They proceeded also on a hunting party, as well as to discover a passage among the islands; but at three in the afternoon they returned without having succeeded in either object. We were, however, in expectation, that, as the wind blew very strong, it would force a passage. About sunset, the weather became overcast, with thunder, lightning, and rain. _Thursday, 18._--The nets were taken up at four this morning with abundance of fish, and we steered North-West four miles, where the ice again prevented our progress. A South-East wind drove it among the islands, in such a manner as to impede our passage, and we could perceive at some distance ahead, that it was but little broken. We now set our nets in four fathom water. Two of our hunters had killed a rein-deer and its fawn. They had met with two Indian families, and in the evening, a man belonging to one of them, paid us a visit; he informed me, that the ice had not, stirred on the side of the island opposite to us. These people live entirely on fish, and were waiting to cross the lake as soon as it should be clear of ice. _Friday, 19._--This morning our nets were unproductive, as they yielded us no more than six fish, which were of a very bad kind. In the forenoon, the Indians proceeded to the large island opposite to us, in search of game. The weather was cloudy, and the wind changeable; at the same time, we were pestered by mosquitoes, though, in a great measure, surrounded with ice. _Saturday, 20._--We took up our nets, but without any fish. It rained very hard during the night and this morning: nevertheless, M. Le Roux and his people went back to the point which we had quitted on the 18th, but I did not think it prudent to move. As I was watching for a passage through the ice, I promised to send for them when I could obtain it. It rained at intervals till about five o'clock; when we loaded our canoe, and steered for the large island, West six miles. When we came to the point of it, we found a great quantity of ice; we, however, set our nets, and soon caught plenty of fish. In our way thither we met our hunters, but they had taken nothing. I took soundings at an hundred yards from the island, when we were in twenty-one fathom water. Here we found abundance of cranberries and small spring onions. I now despatched two men for M. Le Roux, and his people. _Sunday, 21._--A Southerly wind blew through the night, and drove the ice to the Northward. The two men whom I had sent to M. Le Roux, returned at eight this morning; they parted with him at a small distance from us, but the wind blew so hard, that he was obliged to put to shore. Having a glimpse of the sun, when it was twelve by my watch, I found the latitude 61. 34. North latitude. At two in the afternoon, M. Le Roux and his people arrived. At five, the ice being almost all driven past to the Northward, we accordingly embarked, and steered West fifteen miles, through much broken ice, and on the outside of the islands, though it appeared to be very solid to the North-East. I sounded three times in this distance, and found it seventy-five, forty-four, and sixty fathom water. We pitched our tents on one of a cluster of small islands that were within three miles of the main land, which we could not reach in consequence of the ice. We saw some rein-deer on one of these islands, and our hunters went in pursuit of them, when they killed five large and two small ones, which was easily accomplished, as the animals had no shelter to which they could run for protection. They had, without doubt, crossed the ice to this spot, and the thaw coming on had detained them there, and made them an easy prey to the pursuer. This island was accordingly named Isle de Carreboeuf. I sat up the whole of this night to observe the setting and rising of the sun. That orb was beneath the horizon four hours twenty-two minutes, and rose North 20. East by compass. It, however, froze so hard, that, during the sun's disappearance, the water was covered with ice half a quarter of an inch thick. _Monday, 22._--We embarked at half past three in the morning, and rounding the outside of the islands, steered North-West thirteen miles along the ice, edging in for the main land, the wind West, then West two miles; but it blew so hard as to oblige us to land on an island at half past nine, from whence we could just distinguish land to the South-East, at the distance of about twelve leagues; though we could not determine whether it was a continuation of the islands, or the shores of the lake.[2] I took an observation at noon, which gave me 61. 53. North, the variation of the compass being, at the same time, about two points. M. Le Roux's people having provided two bags of _pemmican_.[3] to be left in the island against their return; it was called _Isle a la Cache_. The wind being moderated, we proceeded again at half past two in the afternoon, and steering West by North among the islands, made as course of eighteen miles. We encamped at eight o'clock on a small island, and since eight in the morning had not passed any ice. Though the weather was far from being warm, we were tormented, and our rest interrupted, by the host of mosquitoes that accompanied us. [1] The Slave Indians, having been driven from their original country by their enemies, the Knisteneaux, along the borders of this part of the river, it received that title, though it by no means involves the idea of servitude, but was given to these fugitives as a term of reproach, that denoted more than common savageness. [2] Sometimes the land looms, so that there may be a great deception as to the distance; and I think this was the case at present. [3] Flesh dried in the sun, and afterwards pounded for the convenience of carriage. CHAPTER II. JUNE, 1789. _Tuesday, 23._--Towards morning, the Indians who had not been able to keep up with us the preceding day, now joined us, and brought two swans and a goose. At half past three we re-embarked, and steering West by North a mile and and half, with a Northerly wind, we came to the foot of a traverse across a deep bay, West five miles, which receives a considerable river at the bottom of it; the distance about twelve miles. The North-West side of the bay was covered with many small islands that were surrounded with ice; but the wind driving it a little off the land, we had a clear passage on the inside of them. We steered South-West nine miles under sail, then North-West nearly, through the islands, forming a course of sixteen miles. We landed on the main land at half past two in the afternoon at three lodges of Red-Knife Indians, so called from their copper knives. They informed us, that there were many more lodges of their friends at no great distance; and one of the Indians set off to fetch them: they also said, that we should see no more of them at present; as the Slave and Beaver Indians, as well as others of the tribe, would not be here till the time that the swans cast their feathers. In the afternoon it rained a torrent. _Wednesday, 24._--M. Le Roux purchased of these Indians upwards of eight packs of good beaver and marten skins; and there were not above twelve of them qualified to kill beaver. The English chief got upwards of an hundred skins on the score of debts due to him, of which he had many outstanding in this country. Forty of them he gave on account of debts due by him since the winters of 1786 and 1787, at the Slave Lake; the rest he exchanged for rum and other necessary articles; and I added a small quantity of that liquor as an encouraging present to him and his young men. I had several consultations with these Copper Indian people, but could obtain no information that was material to our expedition; nor were they acquainted with any part of the river, which was the object of my research, but the mouth of it. In order to save as much time as possible in circumnavigating the bays, I engaged one of the Indians to conduct us; and I accordingly equipped him with various articles of clothing, etc. I also purchased a large new canoe, that he might embark with the two young Indians in my service. This day, at noon, I took an observation, which gave me 62. 24. North latitude; the variation of the compass being about twenty-six or twenty-seven degrees to the East. In the afternoon I assembled the Indians, in order to inform them that I should take my departure on the following day; but that people would remain on the spot till their countrymen, whom they had mentioned, should arrive; and that, if they brought a sufficient quantity of skins to make it answer, the Canadians would return for more goods, with a view to winter here, and build a fort,[1] which would be continued as long as they should be found to deserve it. They assured me that it would be a great encouragement to them to have a settlement of ours in their country; and that they should exert themselves to the utmost to kill beaver, as they would then be certain of getting an adequate value for them. Hitherto, they said, the Chepewyans always pillaged them; or, at most, gave little or nothing for the fruits of their labour, which had greatly discouraged them; and that, in consequence of this treatment, they had no motive to pursue the beaver, but to obtain a sufficient quantity of food and raiment. I now wrote to Messrs. Macleod and Mackenzie, and addressed my papers to the former, at Athabasca. _Thursday, 25._--We left this place at three this morning, our canoe being deeply laden, as we had embarked some packages that had come in the canoes of M. Le Roux. We were saluted on our departure with some volleys of small arms, which we returned, and steered South by West straight across the bay, which is here no more than two miles and a half broad, but, from the accounts of the natives, it is fifteen leagues in depth, with a much greater breadth in several parts, and full of islands. I sounded in the course of the traverse and found six fathoms with a sandy bottom. Here, the land has a very different appearance from that on which we have been since we entered the lake. Till we arrived here there was one continued view of high hills and islands of solid rock, whose surface was occasionally enlivened with moss, shrubs, and a few scattered trees, of a very stinted growth, from an insufficiency of soil to nourish them. But, notwithstanding their barren appearance, almost every part of them produces berries of various kinds, such as cranberries, juniper berries, raspberries, partridge berries, gooseberries, and the pathegomenan, which is something like a raspberry; it grows on a small stalk about a foot and a half high, in wet, mossy spots. These fruits are in great abundance, though they are not to be found in the same places, but in situations and aspects suited to their peculiar natures. The land which borders the lake in this part is loose and sandy, but is well covered with wood, composed of trees of a larger growth: it gradually rises from the shore, and at some distance forms a ridge of high land running along the coast, thick with wood and a rocky summit rising above it. We steered South-South-East nine miles, when we were very much interrupted by drifting ice, and with some difficulty reached an island, where we landed at seven. I immediately proceeded to the further part of it, in order to discover if there was any probability of our being able to get from thence in the course of the day. It is about five miles in circumference, and I was very much surprised to find that the greater part of the wood with which it was formerly covered, had been cut down within twelve or fifteen years, and that the remaining stumps were become altogether rotten. On making inquiry concerning the cause of this extraordinary circumstance, the English chief informed me, that several winters ago, many of the Slave Indians inhabited the islands that were scattered over the bay, as the surrounding waters abound with fish throughout the year, but that they had been driven away by the Knisteneaux, who continually made war upon them. If an establishment is to be made in this country, it must be in the neighbourhood of this place, on account of the wood and fishery. At eleven we ventured to re-embark, as the wind had driven the greatest part of the ice past the island, though we still had to encounter some broken pieces of it, which threatened to damage our canoe. We steered South-East from point to point across five bays, twenty-one miles. We took soundings several times, and found from six to ten fathom water. I observed that the country gradually descended inland, and was still better covered with wood than in the higher parts.--Wherever we approached the land, we perceived deserted lodges, The hunters killed two swans and a beaver; and at length we landed at eight o'clock in the evening, when we unloaded and gummed our canoe. _Friday, 26._--We continued our route at five o'clock, steering South-East for ten miles across two deep bays; then South-South-East, with islands in sight to the Eastward. We then traversed another bay in a course of three miles, then South one mile to a point which we named the Detour, and South-South-West four miles and an half, when there was an heavy swell of the lake. Here I took an observation, when we were in 61. 40. North latitude We then proceeded South-West four miles, and West-South-West among islands: on one of which our Indians killed two rein-deer, but we lost three hours aft wind in going for them: this course was nine miles. About seven in the evening we were obliged to land for the night, as the wind became too strong from the South-East. We thought we could observe land in this direction when the wind was coming on from some distance. On the other side of the Detour, the land is low, and the shore is flat and dangerous, there being no safe place to land in bad weather, except in the islands which we had just passed. There seemed to be plenty of moose and rein-deer in this country, as we saw their tracks wherever we landed. There are also great numbers of white partridges, which were at this season of a grey colour, like that of the moor-fowl. There was some floating ice in the lake, and the Indians killed a couple of swans. _Saturday, 27._--At three this morning we were in the canoe, after having passed a very restless night from the persecution of the mosquitoes The weather was fine and calm, and our course West-South-West nine miles, when we came to the foot of a traverse, the opposite point in sight bearing South-West, distance twelve miles. The bay is at least eight miles deep, and this course two miles more, in all ten miles. It now became very foggy, and as the bays were so numerous, we landed for two hours, when the weather cleared up, and we took the advantage of steering South thirteen miles, and passed several small bays, when we came to the point of a very deep one, whose extremity was not discernible; the land bearing South from us, at the distance of about ten miles. Our guide not having been here for eight winters, was at a loss what course to take, though as well as he could recollect, this bay appeared to be the entrance of the river. Accordingly, we steered down it, about West-South-West, till we were involved in a field of broken ice. We still could not discover the bottom of the bay, and a fog coming on, made it very difficult for us to get to an island to the South-West, and it was nearly dark when we effected a landing. _Sunday, 28._--At a quarter past three we were again on the water, and as we could perceive no current setting into this bay, we made the best of our way to the point that bore South from us yesterday afternoon. We continued our course South three miles more, South by West seven miles, West fifteen miles, when by observation we were in 61 degrees North latitude; we then proceeded West-North-West two miles. Here we came to the foot of a traverse, the opposite land bearing South-West, distance fourteen miles, when we steered into a deep bay, about a westerly course; and though we had no land ahead in sight, we indulged the hope of finding a passage, which, according to the Indian, would conduct us to the entrance of the river. Having a strong wind aft, we lost sight of the Indians, nor could we put on shore to wait for them, without risking material damage to the canoe, till we ran to the bottom of the bay, and were forced among the rushes; when we discovered that there was no passage there. In about two or three hours they joined us, but would not approach our fire, as there was no good ground for an encampment: they emptied their canoe of the water which it had taken in, and continued their route, but did not encamp till sunset The English chief was very much irritated against the Red-Knife Indian, and even threatened to murder him, for having undertaken to guide us in a course of which he was ignorant, nor had we any reason to be satisfied with him, though he still continued to encourage us, by declaring that he recollected having passed from the river, through the woods, to the place where he had landed. In the blowing weather to-day, we were obliged to make use of our large kettle, to keep our canoe from filling, although we did not carry above three feet sail. The Indians very narrowly escaped. _Monday, 29._--We embarked at four this morning, and steered along the South-West side of the bay. At half past five we reached the extremity of the point, which we doubled, and found it to be the branch or passage that was the object of our search, and occasioned by a very long island, which separates it from the main channel of the river. It is about half a mile across, and not more than six feet in depth; the water appeared to abound in fish, and was covered with fowl, such as swans, geese, and several kinds of ducks, particularly black ducks, that were very numerous, but we could not get within gun shot of them. The current, though not very strong, set us South-West by West, and we followed this course fourteen miles, till we passed the point of the long island, where the Slave Lake discharges itself, and is ten miles in breadth. There is not more than from five to two fathom water, so that when the lake is low, it may be presumed the greatest part of this channel must be dry. The river now turns to the Westward, becoming gradually narrower for twenty-four miles, till it is not more than half a mile wide; the current, however, is then much stronger, and the sounding were three fathom and a half. The land on the North shore from the lake is low, and covered with trees; that to the South is much higher, and has also an abundance of wood. The current is very strong, and the banks are of an equal height on both sides, consisting of a yellow clay, mixed with small stones; they are covered with large quantities of burned wood, lying on the ground, and young poplar trees, that have sprung up since the fire that destroyed the larger wood. It is a very curious and extraordinary circumstance, that land covered with spruce pine, and white birch, when laid waste by fire, should subsequently produce nothing but poplars, where none of that species of tree were previously to be found. A stiff breeze from the Eastward drove us on at a great rate under sail, in the same course, though obliged to wind among the islands. We kept the North channel for about ten miles, whose current is much stronger than that of the South; so that the latter is consequently the better road to come up. Here the river widened, and the wind dying away, we had recourse to our paddles. We kept our course to the North-West, on the North side of the river, which is here much wider, and assumes the form of a small lake; we could not, however, discover an opening in any direction, so that we were at a loss what course to take, as our Red-Knife Indian had never explored beyond our present situation. He at the same time informed us that a river falls in from the North, which takes its rise in the Horn Mountain, now in sight, which is the country of the Beaver Indians; and that he and his relations frequently meet on that river. He also added, that there are very extensive plains on both sides of it, which abound in buffaloes and moose deer. By keeping this course, we got into shallows, so that we were forced to steer to the left, till we recovered deep water, which we followed till the channel of the river opened on us to the southward, we now made for the shore, and encamped soon after sunset. Our course ought to have been West fifteen miles, since we took to the paddle, the Horn Mountains bearing from us North-West, and running North-North-East and South-South West. Our soundings, which were frequent during the course of the day, were from three to six fathoms water. The hunters killed two geese and a swan: it appeared, indeed, that great numbers of fowls breed in the islands which we had passed. _Tuesday, 30._--At four this morning we got under way, the weather being fine and calm. Our course was South-West by South thirty-six miles. On the South side of the river is a ridge of low mountains, running East and West by compass. The Indians picked up a white goose, which appeared to have been lately shot with an arrow, and was quite fresh. We proceeded South-West by South six miles, and then came to a bay on our left, which is full of small islands, and appeared to be the entrance of a river from the South. Here the ridge of mountains terminates. This course was fifteen miles. At six in the afternoon there was an appearance of bad weather; we landed therefore, for the night; but before we could pitch our tents, a violent tempest came on, with thunder, lightning, and rain, which, however, soon ceased, but not before we had suffered the inconvenience of being drenched by it. The Indians were very much fatigued, having been employed in running after wild fowl, which had lately cast their feathers; they, however, caught five swans, and the same number of geese. I sounded several times in the course of the day, and found from four to six fathoms water. [1] Fort is the name given to any establishment in this country. CHAPTER III JULY, 1789. _Wednesday, 1._--At half past four in the morning we continued our voyage, and in a short time found the river narrowed to about half a mile. Our course was Westerly among islands, with a strong current. Though the land is high on both sides, the banks are not perpendicular. This course was twenty-one miles; and on sounding we found nine fathoms water. We then proceeded West-North-West nine miles, and passed a river upon the South-East side; we sounded, and found twelve fathoms; and then we went North-West by West three miles. Here I lost my lead, which had fastened at the bottom, with part of the line, the current running so strong that we could not clear it with eight paddles, and the strength of the line, which was equal to four paddles. Continued North by West five miles, and saw a high mountain, bearing South from us; we then proceeded North-West by North four miles. We now passed a small river on the North side, then doubled a point to West-South-West. At one o'clock there came on lightning and thunder, with wind and rain, which ceased in about half an hour, and left us almost deluged with wet, as we did not land. There were great quantities of ice along the banks of the river. We landed upon a small island, where there were the poles of four lodges standing, which we concluded to have belonged to the Knisteneaux, on their war excursions, six or seven years ago. This course was fifteen miles West, to where the river of the Mountain falls in from the Southward. It appears to be a very large river, whose mouth is half a mile broad. About six miles further a small river flows in the same direction; and our whole course was twenty-four miles. We landed opposite to an island, the mountains to the Southward being in sight. As our canoe was deeply laden, and being also in daily expectation of coming to the rapids or fall, which we had been taught to consider with apprehension, we concealed two bags of pemmican in the opposite island, in the hope that they would be of future service to us. The Indians were of a different opinion, as they entertained no expectation of returning that season, when the hidden provisions would be spoiled. Near us were two Indian encampments of the last year. By the manner in which these people cut their wood, it appears that they have no iron tools. The current was very strong during the whole of this day's voyage, and in the article of provisions two swans were all that the hunters were able to procure. _Thursday, 2._--The morning was very foggy: but at half past five we embarked; it cleared up, however, at seven, when we discovered that the water, from being very limpid and clear, was become dark and muddy. This alteration must have proceeded from the influx of some river to the Southward, but where these streams first blended their waters, the fog had prevented us from observing. At nine we perceived a very high mountain ahead, which appeared, on our nearer approach, to be rather a cluster of mountains, stretching as far as our view could reach to the Southward, and whose tops were lost in the clouds. At noon there was lightning, thunder, and rain, and at one, we came abreast of the mountains; their summits appeared to be barren and rocky, but their declivities were covered with wood; they appeared also to be sprinkled with white stones, which glistened in the sun, and were called by the Indians manetoe aseniak, or spirit stones. I suspected that they were Talc, though they possessed a more brilliant whiteness; on our return, however, these appearances were dissolved, as they were nothing more than patches of snow. Our course had been West-South-West thirty miles and we proceeded with great caution, as we continually expected to approach some great rapid or fall. This was such a prevalent idea, that all of us were occasionally persuaded that we heard those sounds which betokened a fall of water. Our course changed to West by North, along the mountains, twelve miles, North by West, twenty-one miles, and at eight o'clock in the evening, we went on shore for the night, on the North side of the river. We saw several encampments of the natives, some of which had been erected in the present spring, and others at some former period. The hunters killed only one swan and a beaver; the latter was the first of its kind which we had seen in this river. The Indians complained of the perseverance with which we pushed forward, and that they were not accustomed to such severe fatigue as it occasioned. _Friday, 3._--The rain was continual through the night, and did not subside till seven this morning, when we embarked and steered North-North-West for twelve miles, the river being enclosed by high mountains on either side. We had a strong head-wind, and the rain was so violent as to compel us to land at ten o' clock. According to my reckoning, since my last observation, we had run two hundred and seventeen miles West, and forty-four miles North. At a quarter past two the rain subsided, and we got again under way, our former course continuing for five miles. Here a river fell in from the North, and in a short time the current became strong and rapid, running with great rapidity among rocky islands, which were the first that we had seen in this river, and indicated our near approach to rapids and falls. Our present course was North-West by North ten miles, North-West three miles, West-North-West twelve miles, and North-West three miles, when we encamped at eight in the evening, at the foot of an high hill, on the North shore, which in some parts rose perpendicular from the river. I immediately ascended it, accompanied by two men and some Indians, and in about an hour and an half, with very hard walking, we gained the summit, when I was very much surprised to find it crowned by an encampment. The Indians informed me, that it is the custom of the people who have no arms to choose these elevated spots for the places of their residence, as they can render them inaccessible to their enemies, particularly the Knisteneaux, of whom they are in continual dread. The prospect from this height was not so extensive as we expected, as it was terminated by a circular range of hills, of the same elevation as that on which we stood. The intervals between the hills were covered with small lakes, which were inhabited by great numbers of swans. We, saw no trees but the pine and the birch, which were small in size and few in number. We were obliged to shorten our stay here, from the swarms of mosquitoes which attacked us on all sides and were, indeed, the only inhabitants of the place. We saw several encampments of the natives in the course of the day, but none of them were of this year's establishment. Since four in the afternoon the current had been so strong, that it was at length, in an actual ebullition, and produced an hissing noise like a kettle of water in a moderate state of boiling. The weather was now become extremely cold, which was the more sensibly felt, as it had been very sultry sometime before and since we had been in the river. _Saturday, 4._--At five in the morning, the wind and weather having undergone no alteration from yesterday, we proceeded North-West by West twenty-two miles, North-West six miles, North-West by North four miles and West-North-West five miles; we then passed the mouth of a small river from the North, and after doubling a point, South-West one mile, we passed the influx of an other river from the South. We then continued our course North-North-West, with a mountain ahead, fifteen miles, when the opening of two rivers appeared opposite to each other: we then proceeded West four miles, and North-West thirteen miles. At eight in the evening, we encamped on an island. The current was as strong through the whole of this day as it had been the preceding after-noon; nevertheless, a quantity of ice appeared along the banks of the river. The hunters killed a beaver and a goose, the former of which sunk before they could get to him: beavers, otters, bears, etc., if shot dead at once, remain like a bladder, but if there remains enough of life for them to struggle, they soon fill with water and go to the bottom. _Sunday, 5._--The sun set last night at fifty-three minutes past nine, by my watch, and rose at seven minutes before two this morning: we embarked soon after, steering North-North-West, through islands for five miles, and West four miles. The river then increased in breadth, and the current began to slacken in a small degree; after the continuation of our course, we perceived a ridge of high mountains before us, covered with snow. West-South-West ten miles, and at three-quarters past seven o'clock, we saw several smokes on the North shore, which we made every exertion to approach. As we drew nearer, we discovered the natives running about in great apparent confusion; some were making to the woods, and others hurrying to their canoes. Our hunters landed before us, and addressed the few that had not escaped, in the Chipewyan language, which, so great was their confusion and terror, they did not appear to understand. But when they perceived that it was impossible to avoid us, as we were all landed, they made us signs to keep at a distance, with which we complied, and not only unloaded our canoe, but pitched our tents, before we made any attempt to approach them. During this interval, the English chief and his young men were employed in reconciling them to our arrival; and when they had recovered from their alarm of hostile intention, it appeared that some of them perfectly comprehended the language of our Indians; so that they were at length persuaded, though not without evident signs of reluctance and apprehension, to come to us. Their reception, however, soon dissipated their fears, and they hastened to call their fugitive companions from their hiding places. There were five families, consisting of twenty-five or thirty persons, and of two different tribes, the Slave and Dog-rib Indians. We made them smoke, though it was evident they did not know the use of tobacco; we likewise supplied them with grog; but I am disposed to think, that they accepted our civilities rather from fear than inclination. We acquired a more effectual influence over them by the distribution of knives, beads, awls, rings, gartering, fire-steels, flints, and hatchets; so that they became more familiar even than we expected, for we could not keep them out of our tents: though I did not observe that they attempted to purloin any-thing. The information which they gave respecting the river, had so much of the fabulous, that I shall not detail it: it will be sufficient just to mention their attempts to persuade us that it would require several winters to get to the sea, and that old age would come upon us before the period of our return: we were also to encounter monsters of such horrid shapes and destructive powers as could only exist in their wild imaginations. They added, besides, that there were two impassable falls in the river, the first of which was about thirty days march from us. Though I placed no faith in these strange relations, they had a very different effect upon our Indians, who were already tired of the voyage. It was their opinion and anxious wish, that we should not hesitate to return. They said that, according to the information which they had received, there were very few animals in the country beyond us, and that as we proceeded, the scarcity would increase, and we should absolutely perish from hunger, if no other accident befel us. It was with no small trouble that they were convinced of the folly of these reasonings; and by my desire, they induced one of those Indians to accompany us, in consideration of a small kettle, an axe, a knife, and some other articles. Though it was now three o'clock in the afternoon, the canoe was ordered to be re-loaded, and as we were ready to embark our new recruit was desired to prepare himself for his departure, which he would have declined; but as none of his friends would take his place, we may be said, after the delay of an hour, to have compelled him to embark. Previous to his departure a ceremony took place, of which I could not learn the meaning; he cut off a lock of his hair, and having divided it into three parts, he fastened one of them to the hair on the upper part of his wife's head, blowing on it three times with the utmost violence in his power, and uttering certain words. The other two he fastened with the same formalities, on the heads of his two children. During our short stay with these people, they amused us with dancing, which they accompanied with their voices: but neither their song or their dance possessed much variety. The men and women formed a promiscuous ring. The former have a bone dagger or piece of stick between the fingers of the right hand, which they keep extended above the head, in continual motion: the left they seldom raise so high, but work it backwards and forwards in a horizontal direction; while they leap about and throw themselves into various antic postures, to the measure of their music, always bringing their heels close to each other at every pause. The men occasionally howl in imitation of some animal, and he who continues this violent exercise for the longest period, appears to be considered as the best performer. The women suffer their arms to hang as without the power of motion. They are a meagre, ugly, ill-made people, particularly about the legs, which are very clumsy and covered with scabs. The latter circumstance proceeds probably from their habitually roasting them before the fire. Many of them appeared to be in a very unhealthy state, which is owing, as I imagine, to their natural filthiness. They are of a moderate stature, and as far as could be discovered, through the coat of dirt and grease that covers them, are of a fairer complexion than the generality of Indians who are the natives of warmer climates. Some of them have their hair of a great length; while others suffer a long tress to fall behind, and the rest is cut so short as to expose their ears, but no other attention whatever is paid to it. The beards of some of the old men were long, and the rest had them pulled out by the roots so that not a hair could be seen on their chins. The men have two double lines, either black or blue, tattooed upon each cheek, from the ear to the nose. The gristle of the latter is perforated so as to admit a goose-quill or a small piece of wood to be passed through the orifice. Their clothing is made of the dressed skins of the rein or moose-deer, though more commonly of the former. These they prepare in the hair for winter, and make shirts of both, which reach to the middle of their thighs. Some of them are decorated with an embroidery of very neat workmanship with porcupine quills and the hair of the moose, coloured red, black, yellow, and white. Their upper garments are sufficiently large to cover the whole body, with a fringe round the bottom, and are used both sleeping and awake. Their leggins come half way up the thigh, and are sewed to their shoes: they are embroidered round the ancle, and upon every seam. The dress of the women is the same as that of the men. The former have no covering on their private parts, except a tassel of leather which dangles from a small cord, as it appears, to keep off the flies, which would otherwise be very troublesome. Whether circumcision be practised among them, I cannot pretend to say, but the appearance of it was general among those whom I saw. Their ornaments consist of gorgets, bracelets for the arms and wrists, made of wood, horn, or bone, belts, garters, and a kind of band to go round the head, composed of strips of leather of one inch and an half broad, embroidered with porcupine quills, and stuck round with the claws of bears or wild fowl inverted, to which are suspended a few short thongs of the skin of an animal that resembles the ermine, in the form of a tassel. Their cinctures and garters are formed of porcupine quills woven with sinews, in a style of peculiar skill and neatness: they have others of different materials, and more ordinary workmanship; and to both they attach a long fringe of strings of leather, worked round with hair of various colours. Their mittens are also suspended from the neck in a position convenient for the reception of the hands. Their lodges are of a very simple structure: a few poles supported by a fork, and forming a semicircle at the bottom, with some branches or a piece of bark as a covering, constitutes the whole of their native architecture. They build two of these huts facing each other, and make the fire between them. The furniture harmonises with the buildings: they have a few dishes of wood, bark, or horn; the vessels in which they cook their victuals are in the shape of a gourd, narrow at the top and wide at the bottom, and of watape,[1] fabricated in such a manner as to hold water, which is made to boil by putting a succession of red-hot stones into it. These vessels contain from two to six gallons. They have a number of small leather bags to hold their embroidered work, lines, and nets. They always keep an large quantity of the fibres of willow bark, which they work into thread on their thighs. Their nets are from three to forty fathoms in length, and from thirteen to thirty-six inches in depth. The short deep ones they set in the eddy current of rivers, and the long ones in the lakes. They likewise make lines of the sinews of the rein-deer, and manufacture their hooks from wood, horn, or bone. Their arms and weapons for hunting, are bows and arrows, spears, daggers, and pogamagans, or clubs. The bows are about five or six feet in length, and the strings are of sinews or raw skins. The arrows are two feet and an half long, including the barb, which is variously formed of bone, horn, flint, iron, or copper, and are winged with three feathers. The pole of the spears is about six feet in length, and pointed with a barbed bone of ten inches. With this weapon they strike the rein-deer in the water. The daggers are flat and sharp-pointed, about twelve inches long, and made of horn or bone. The pogamagon is made of the horn of the rein-deer, the branches being all cut off, except that which forms the extremity. This instrument is about two feet in length, and is employed to despatch their enemies in battle, and such animals as they catch in snares placed for that purpose. These are about three fathom long, and are made of the green skin of the rein or moose-deer, but in such small strips, that it requires from ten to thirty strands to make this cord, which is not thicker than a cod-line; and strong enough to resist any animal that can be entangled in it. Snares or nooses are also made of sinews to take lesser animals, such as hares and white partridges, which are very numerous. Their axes are manufactured of a piece of brown or grey stone from six to eight inches long, and two inches thick. The inside is flat, and the outside round and tapering to an edge, an inch wide. They are fastened by the middle with the flat side inwards to a handle two feet long, with a cord of green skin. This is the tool with which they split their wood, and we believe, the only one of its kind among them, They kindle fire, by striking together a piece of white or yellow pyrites and a flint stone, over a piece of touchwood. They are universally provided with a small bag containing these materials, so that they are in a continual state of preparation to produce fire. From the adjoining tribes, the Red-Knives and Chepewyans, they procure, in barter for marten skins and a few beaver, small pieces of iron, of which they manufacture knives, by fixing them at the end of a short stick, and with them and the beaver's teeth, they finish all their work. They keep them in a sheath hanging to their neck, which also contains their awls both of iron and horn. Their canoes are small, pointed at both ends, flat-bottomed and covered in the fore part. They are made of the bark of the birch-tree and fir-wood, but of so slight a construction, that the man whom one of these light vessels bears on the water, can, in return, carry it over land without any difficulty. It is very seldom that more than one person embarks in them, nor are they capable of receiving more than two. The paddles are six feet long, one half of which is occupied by a blade of about eight inches wide. These people informed us, that we had passed large bodies of Indians who inhabit the mountains on the east side of the river. At four in the afternoon we embarked, and our Indian acquaintance promised to remain on the bank of the river till the fall, in case we should return. Our course was West-South-West, and we soon passed the Great Bear Lake River, which is of a considerable depth and an hundred yards wide: its water is clear, and has the greenish hue of the sea. We had not proceeded more than six miles when we were obliged to land for the night, in consequence of an heavy gust of wind, accompanied with rain. We encamped beneath a rocky hill, on the top of which, according to the information of our guide, it blew a storm every day throughout the year. He found himself very uncomfortable in his new situation, and pretended that he was very ill, in order that he might be permitted to return to his relations. To prevent his escape, it became necessary to keep a strict watch over him during the night. _Monday, 6._--At three o'clock, in a very raw and cloudy morning, we embarked, and steered West-South-West four miles, West four miles, West-North-West five miles, West eight miles, West by South fifteen miles, West twenty-seven miles, South-West nine miles, then West six miles, and encamped at half past seven. We passed through numerous islands, and had a ridge of snowy mountains always in sight. Our conductor informed us that great numbers of bears and small white buffaloes, frequent those mountains, which are also inhabited by Indians. We encamped in a similar situation to that of the preceding evening, beneath another high rocky hill, which I attempted to ascend, in company with one of the hunters, but before we had got half way to the summit, we were almost suffocated by clouds of mosquitoes, and were obliged to return. I observed, however, that the mountains terminated here, and that a river flowed from the Westward: I also discovered a strong rippling current, or rapid, which ran close under a steep precipice of the hill. _Tuesday, 7._--We embarked at four in the morning and crossed to the opposite side of the river, in consequence of the rapid; but we might have spared ourselves this trouble, as there would have been no danger in continuing our course, without any circuitous deviation whatever. This circumstance convinced us of the erroneous account given by the natives of the great and approaching dangers of our navigation, as this rapid was stated to be one of them. Our course was now North-North-West three miles, West-North-West four miles, North-West ten miles, North two miles, when we came to a river that flowed from the Eastward. Here we landed at an encampment of four fires, all the inhabitants of which ran off with the utmost speed except and old man and an old woman. Our guide called aloud to the fugitives, and entreated them to stay, but without effect the old man, however, did not hesitate to approach us, and represented himself as too far advanced in life, and too indifferent about the short time he had to remain in the world, to be very anxious about escaping from any danger that threatened him; at the same time he pulled his grey hairs from his head by handfuls to distribute among us, and implored our favour for himself and his relations. Our guide, however, at length removed his fears, and persuaded him to recall the fugitives, who consisted of eighteen people; whom I reconciled to me on their return with presents of beads, knives, awls, &c., with which they appeared to be greatly delighted. They differed in no respect from those whom we had already seen; nor were they deficient in hospitable attentions; they provided us with fish, which was very well boiled, and cheerfully accepted by us. Our guide still sickened after his home, and was so anxious to return thither, that we were under the necessity of forcing him to embark. These people informed us that we were close to another great rapid, and that there were several lodges of their relations in its vicinity. Four canoes, with a man in each, followed us, to point out the particular channels we should follow for the secure passage of the rapid. They also abounded in discouraging stories concerning the dangers and difficulties which we were to encounter. From hence our course was North-North-East two miles, when the river appeared to be enclosed, as it were, with lofty, perpendicular, white rocks, which did not afford us a very agreeable prospect. We now went on shore, in order to examine the rapid, but did not perceive any signs of it, though the Indians still continued to magnify its dangers: however, as they ventured down it, in their small canoes, our apprehensions were consequently removed, and we followed them at some distance, but did not find any increase in the rapidity of the current; at length the Indians informed us that we should find no other rapid but that which was now bearing us along. The river at this place is not above three hundred yards in breadth, but on sounding I found fifty fathoms water. At the two rivulets that offer their tributary streams from either side, we found six families, consisting of about thirty-five persons, who gave us an ample quantity of excellent fish, which were, however, confined to white fish, the poisson inconnu, and another of a round form and greenish colour, which was about fourteen inches in length. We gratified them with a few presents, and continued our voyage. The men, however, followed us in fifteen canoes. This narrow channel is three miles long, and its course North-North-East. We then steered North three miles, and landed at an encampment of three or more families, containing twenty-two persons, which was situated on the bank of a river, of a considerable appearance, which came from the Eastward. We obtained hares and partridges from these people, and presented in return such articles as greatly delighted them. They very much regretted that they had no goods or merchandise to exchange with us, as they had left them at a lake, from whence the river issued, and in whose vicinity some of their people were employed in setting snares for rein-deer. They engaged to go for their articles of trade, and would wait our return, which we assumed them would be within two months. There was a youth among them in the capacity of a slave, whom our Indians understood much better than any of the natives of this country whom they had yet seen; he was invited to accompany us, but took the first opportunity to conceal himself, and we saw him no more. We now steered West five miles, when we again landed, and found two families, containing seven people, but had reason to believe that there were others hidden in the woods. We received from them two dozen of hares, and they were about to boil two more, which they also gave us. We were not ungrateful for their kindness, and left them. Our course was now North-West four miles, and at nine we landed and pitched our tents, when one of our people killed a grey crane. Our conductor renewed his complaints, not, as he assured us, from any apprehension of our ill treatment, but of the Esquimaux, whom he represented as a very wicked and malignant people; who would put us all to death. He added, also, that it was but two summers since a large party of them came up this river, and killed many of his relations. Two Indians followed us from the last lodges. _Wednesday, 8._--At half past two in the morning we embarked, and steered a Westerly course, and soon after put ashore at two lodges of nine Indians. We made them a few trifling presents, but without disembarking, and had proceeded but a small distance from thence, when we observed several smokes beneath a hill, on the North shore, and on our approach we perceived the natives climbing the ascent to gain the woods. The Indians, however, in the two small canoes which were ahead of us, having assured them of our friendly intentions, they returned to their fires, and we disembarked. Several of them were clad in hare-skins, but in every other circumstance they resembled those whom we had already seen. We were, however, informed that they were of a different tribe, called the Hare Indians, as hares and fish are their principal support, from the scarcity of rein-deer and beaver, which are the only animals of the larger kind that frequent this part of the country. They were twenty-five in number; and among them was a woman who was afflicted with an abscess in the belly, and reduced, in consequence, to a mere skeleton: at the same time several old women were singing and howling around her; but whether these noises were to operate as a charm for her cure, or merely to amuse and console her, I do not pretend to determine. A small quantity of our usual presents were received by them with the greatest satisfaction. Here we made an exchange of our guide, who had become so troublesome that we were obliged to watch him night and day, except when he was upon the water. The man, however, who had agreed to go in his place soon repented of his engagement, and endeavoured to persuade us that some of his relations further down the river, would readily accompany us, and were much better acquainted with the river than himself. But, as he had informed us ten minutes before that we should see no more of his tribe, we paid very little attention to his remonstrances, and compelled him to embark. In about three hours a man overtook us in a canoe, and we suspected that his object was to facilitate, in some way or other, the escape of our conductor. About twelve we also observed an Indian walking along the North-East shore, when the small canoes paddled towards him. We accordingly followed, and found three men, three women, and two children, who had been on an hunting expedition. They had some flesh of the rein-deer, which they offered to us, but it was so rotten, as well as offensive to the smell, that we excused ourselves from accepting it. They had also their wonderful stories of danger and terror, as well as their countrymen, whom we had already seen; and we were now informed, that behind the opposite island there was a Manitoe or spirit, in the river, which swallowed every person that approached it. As it would have employed half a day to have indulged our curiosity in proceeding to examine this phenomenon, we did not deviate from our course, but left these people with the usual presents, and proceeded on our voyage. Our course and distance this day were West twenty-eight miles, West-North-West twenty-three miles, West-South-West six miles, West by North five miles, South-West four miles, and encamped at eight o'clock. A fog prevailed the greater part of the day, with frequent showers of small rain. [1] Watape is the name given to the divided roots of the spruce fir, which the natives weave into a degree of compactness that renders it capable of containing a fluid. The different parts of the bark canoes are also sewed together with this kind of filament. CHAPTER IV. JULY, 1789. _Thursday, 9._--Thunder and rain prevailed during the night, and, in the course of it, our guide deserted; we therefore compelled another of these people, very much against his will, to supply the place of his fugitive countryman. We also took away the paddles of one of them who remained behind, that he might not follow us on any scheme of promoting the escape of his companion, who was not easily pacified. At length, however, we succeeded in the act of conciliation, and at half past three quitted our station. In a short time we saw a smoke on the East shore, and directed our course towards it. Our new guide began immediately to call to the people that belonged to it in a particular manner, which we did not comprehend. He informed us that they were not of his tribe, but were a very wicked, malignant people, who would beat us cruelly, pull our hair with great violence from our heads, and maltreat us in various other ways. The men waited our arrival, but the women and children took to the woods. There were but four of these people, and previous to our landing, they all harangued us at the same moment, and apparently with violent anger and resentment. Our hunters did not understand them, but no sooner had our guide addressed them, than they were appeased. I presented them with beads, awls, etc., and when the women and children returned from the woods, they were gratified with similar articles. There were fifteen of them; and of a more pleasing appearance than any which we had hitherto seen, as they were healthy, full of flesh, and clean in their persons. Their language was somewhat different, but I believe chiefly in the accent, for they and our guide conversed intelligibly with each other; and the English chief clearly comprehended one of them, though he was not himself understood. Their arms and utensils differ but little from those which have been described in a former chapter. The only iron they have is in small pieces, which serve them for knives. They obtain this metal from the Esquimaux Indians. Their arrows are made of very light wood, and are winged only with two feathers; their bows differed from any which we had seen, and we understood that they were furnished by the Esquimaux, who are their neighbours: they consist of two pieces, with a very strong cord of sinews along the back, which is tied in several places, to preserve its shape; when this cord becomes wet, it requires a strong bow-string, and a powerful arm to draw it. The vessel in which they prepare their food, is made of a thin frame of wood, and of an oblong shape; the bottom is fixed in a groove, in the same manner as a cask. Their shirts are not cut square at the bottom, but taper to a point, from the belt downwards as low as the knee, both before and behind, with a border, embellished with a short fringe. They use also another fringe, similar to that which has been already described, with the addition of the stone of a grey farinaceous berry, of the size and shape of a large barley-corn: it is of a brown colour, and fluted, and being bored is run on each string of the fringe; with this they decorate their shirts, by sewing it in a semicircle on the breast and back, and crossing over both shoulders; the sleeves are wide and short, but the mittens supply their deficiency, as they are long enough to reach over a part of the sleeve, and are commodiously suspended by a cord from the neck. If their leggins were made with waistbands, they might with great propriety be denominated trousers: they fasten them with a cord round the middle, so that they appear to have a sense of decency which their neighbours can not boast. Their shoes are sewed to their leggins, and decorated on every seam. One of the men was clad in a shirt made of the skins of the musk-rat. The dress of the women is the same as that of the men, except in their shirts, which are longer, and without the finishing of a fringe on their breast. Their peculiar mode of tying the hair is as follows:--that which grows on the temples, or the fore part of the skull, is formed into two queues, hanging down before the ears; that of the scalp or crown is fashioned in the same manner to the back of the neck, and is then tied with the rest of the hair, at some distance from the head. A thin cord is employed for these purposes, and very neatly worked with hair, artificially coloured. The women, and, indeed, some of the men, let their hair hang loose on their shoulders, whether it be long or short. We purchased a couple of very large moose skins from them, which were very well dressed; indeed we did not suppose that there were any of those animals in the country; and it appears from the accounts of the natives themselves, that they are very scarce. As for the beaver, the existence of such a creature does not seem to be known by them. Our people bought shirts of them, and many curious articles, &c. They presented us with a most delicious fish, which was less than a herring, and very beautifully spotted with black and yellow: its dorsal fin reached from the head to the tail; in its expanded state takes a triangular form, and is variegated with the colours that enliven the scales: the head is very small, and the mouth is armed with sharp-pointed teeth. We prevailed on the native, whose language was most intelligible, to accompany us. He informed us that we should sleep ten nights more before we arrived at the sea; that several of his relations resided in the immediate vicinity of this part of the river, and that in three nights we should meet with the Esquimaux, with whom they had formerly made war, but were now in a state of peace and amity. He mentioned the last Indians whom we had seen in terms of great derision; describing them as being no better than old women, and as abominable liars; which coincided with the notion we already entertained of them. As we pushed off, some of my men discharged their fowling pieces, that were only loaded with powder, at the report of which the Indians were very much alarmed, as they had not before heard the discharge of firearms. This circumstance had such an effect upon our guide, that we had reason to apprehend he would not fulfil his promise. When, however, he was informed that the noise which he had heard was a signal of friendship, he was persuaded to embark in his own small canoe, though he had been offered a seat in ours. Two of his companions, whom he represented as his brothers, followed us in their canoes; and they amused us not only with their native songs, but with others, in imitation of the Esquimaux; and our new guide was so enlivened by them, that the antics he performed, in keeping time to the singing, alarmed us with continual apprehension that his boat must upset: but he was not long content with his confined situation, and paddling up alongside our canoe, requested us to receive him in it, though but a short time before he had resolutely refused to accept our invitation. No sooner had he entered our canoe, than he began to perform an Esquimaux dance, to our no small alarm. He was, however, soon prevailed upon to be more tranquil; when he began to display various indecencies, according to the customs of the Esquimaux, of which he boasted an intimate acquaintance. On our putting to shore, in order to leave his canoe, he informed us, that on the opposite hill the Esquimaux, three winters before, killed his grandfather. We saw a fox, and a ground-hog on the hill, the latter of which the brother of our guide shot with his bow and arrow. About four in the afternoon we perceived a smoke on the West shore, when we traversed and landed. The natives made a most terrible uproar, talking with great vociferation, and running about as if they were deprived of their senses, while the greater part of the women, with the children, fled away. Perceiving the disorder which our appearance occasioned among these people, we had waited some time before we quitted the canoe; and I have no doubt, if we had been without people to introduce us, that they would have attempted some violence against us; for when the Indians send away their women and children, it is always with a hostile design. At length we pacified them with the usual presents, but they preferred beads to any of the articles that I offered them; particularly such as were of a blue colour; and one of them even requested to exchange a knife which I had given him for a small quantity of those ornamental baubles. I purchased of them two shirts for my hunters; and at the same time they presented me with some arrows, and dried fish. This party consisted of five families, to the amount, as I suppose, of forty men, women, and children; but I did not see them all, as several were afraid to venture from their hiding-places. They are called _Deguthee Dinees_, or the _Quarrellers_. Our guide, like his predecessors, now manifested his wish to leave us, and entertained similar apprehensions that we should not return by this passage. He had his alarms also respecting the Esquimaux, who might kill us and take away the women. Our Indians, however, assured him that we had no fears of any kind, and that he need not be alarmed for himself. They also convinced him that we should return by the way we were going, so that he consented to re-embark without giving us any further trouble; and eight small canoes followed us. Our courses this day were South-West by West six miles, South-West by South thirty miles, South-West three miles, West by South twelve miles, West by North two miles, and we encamped at eight in the evening on the Eastern bank of the river. The Indians whom I found here, informed me, that from the place where I this morning met the first of their tribe, the distance overland, on the East side, to the sea, was not long, and that from hence, by proceeding to the Westward, it was still shorter. They also represented the land on both sides as projecting to a point. These people do not appear to harbour any thievish dispositions; at least we did not perceive that they took, or wanted to take, anything from us by stealth or artifice. They enjoyed the amusements of dancing and jumping in common with those we had already seen; and, indeed, these exercises seem to be their favourite diversions. About mid-day the weather was sultry, but in the afternoon it became cold. There was a large quantity of wild flax, the growth of last year, laying on the ground, and the new plants were sprouting up through it. This circumstance I did not observe in any other part. _Friday, 10._--At four in the morning we embarked, at a small distance from the place of our encampment; the river, which here becomes narrower, flows between high rocks; and a meandering course took us North-West four miles. At this spot the banks became low; indeed, from the first rapid, the country does not wear a mountainous appearance; but the banks of the river are generally lofty, in some places perfectly naked, and in others well covered with small trees, such as the fir and the birch. We continued our last course for two miles, with mountains before us; whose tops were covered with snow. The land is low on both sides of the river, except these mountains, whose base is distant about ten miles: here the river widens, and runs through various channels, formed by islands, some of which are without a tree, and little more than banks of mud and sand; while others are covered with a kind of spruce fir, and trees of a larger size than we had seen for the last ten days. Their banks, which are about six feet above the surface of the water, display a face of solid ice, intermixed with veins of black earth, and as the heat of the sun melts the ice, the trees frequently fall into the river. So various were the channels of the river at this time, that we were at a loss which to take. Our guide preferred the Easternmost, on account of the Esquimaux, but I determined to take the middle channel, as it appeared to be a larger body of water, and running North and South: besides, as there was a greater chance of seeing them I concluded, that we could always go to the Eastward, whenever we might prefer it. Our course was now West by North six miles, North-West by West, the snowy mountains being West by South from us, and stretching to the Northward as far as we could see. According to the information of the Indians, they are part of the chain of mountains which we approached on the third of this month. I obtained an observation this day that gave me 67. 47. North latitude, which was farther North than I expected, according to the course I kept: but the difference was owing to the variation of the compass, which was more Easterly than I imagined. From hence it was evident that these waters emptied themselves into the Hyperborean Sea; and though it was probable that, from the want of provision, we could not return to Athabasca in the course of the season, I nevertheless, determined to penetrate to the discharge of them. My new conductor being very much discouraged and quite tired of his situation, used his influence to prevent our proceeding. He had never been, he said, at the _Benahullo Toe_, or White Man's Lake; and that when he went to the Esquimaux Lake, which is at no great distance, he passed over land from the place where we found him, and to that part where the Esquimaux pass the summer. In short, my hunters also became so disheartened from these accounts, and other circumstances, that I was confident they would have left me, if it had been in their power. I, however, satisfied them in some degree, by the assurance, that I would proceed onwards but seven days more, and if I did not then get to the sea, I would return. Indeed, the low state of our provisions, without any other consideration, formed a very sufficient security for the maintenance of my engagement. Our last course was thirty-two miles, with a stronger current than could be expected in such a low country. We now proceeded North-North-West four miles, North-West three miles, North-East two miles, North-West by West three miles, and North-East two miles. At half past eight in the evening we landed and pitched our tents, near to where there had been three encampments of the Esquimaux, since the breaking up of the ice. The natives, who followed us yesterday, left us at our station this morning. In the course of the day we saw large flocks of wild fowl. _Saturday, 11._--I sat up all night to observe the sun. At half past twelve I called up one of the men to view a spectacle which he had never before seen; when, on seeing the sun so high, he thought it was a signal to embark, and began to call the rest of his companions, who would scarcely be persuaded by me, that the sun had not descended nearer to the horizon, and that it was now but a short time past midnight. We reposed, however, till three quarters after three, when we entered the canoe, and steered about North-West, the river taking a very serpentine course. About seven we saw a ridge of high land; at twelve we landed at a spot where we observed that some of the natives had lately been. I counted thirty places where there had been fires; and some of the men who went further, saw as many more. They must have been here for a considerable time, though it does not appear that they had erected any huts. A great number of poles, however, were seen fixed in the river, to which they had attached their nets, and there seemed to be an excellent fishery. One of the fish, of the many which we saw leap out of the water, fell into our canoe; it was about ten inches long, and of a round shape. About the places where they had made their fires, were scattered pieces of whalebone, and thick burned leather, with parts of the frames of three canoes; we could also observe where they had spilled train oil; and there was the singular appearance of a spruce fir, stripped of its branches to the top like an English May-pole. The weather was cloudy, and the air cold and unpleasant. From this place for about five miles, the river widens, it then flows in a variety of narrow, meandering channels, amongst low islands, enlivened with no trees, but a few dwarf willows. At four, we landed, where there were three houses, or rather huts, belonging to the natives. The ground-plot is of an oval form, about fifteen feet long, ten feet wide in the middle, and eight feet at either end; the whole of it is dug about twelve inches below the surface of the ground, and one half of it is covered over with willow branches; which probably serves as a bed for the whole family. A space, in the middle of the other part, of about four feet wide, is deepened twelve inches more, and is the only spot in the house where a grown person can stand upright. One side of it is covered, as has been already described, and the other is the hearth or fireplace, of which, however, they do not make much use. Though it was close to the wall, the latter did not appear to be burned. The door or entrance is in the middle of one end of the house, and is about two feet and an half high, and two feet wide, and has a covered way or porch five feet in length; so that it is absolutely necessary to creep on all fours in order to get into, or out of, this curious habitation. There is a hole of about eighteen inches square on the top of it, which serves the threefold purpose of a window, an occasional door, and a chimney. The underground part of the floor is lined with split wood. Six or eight stumps of small trees driven into the earth, with the root upwards, on which are laid some cross pieces of timber, support the roof of the building, which is an oblong square of ten feet by six. The whole is made of drift-wood covered with branches and dry grass; over which is laid a foot deep of earth. On each side of these houses are a few square holes in the ground of about two feet in depth, which are covered with split wood and earth, except in the middle. These appeared to be contrived for the preservation of the winter stock of provisions. In and about the houses we found sledge runners and bones, pieces of whalebone, and poplar bark cut in circles, which are used as corks to buoy the nets, and are fixed to them by pieces of whalebone. Before each hut a great number of stumps of trees were fixed in the ground, upon which it appeared that they hung their fish to dry. We now continued our voyage, and encamped at eight o'clock. I calculated our course at about North-West, and, allowing for the windings, that we had made fifty-four miles. We expected, throughout the day, to meet with some of the natives. On several of the islands we perceived the print of their feet in the sand, as if they had been there but a few days before, to procure wild fowl. There were frequent showers of rain in the afternoon, and the weather was raw and disagreeable. We saw a black fox; but trees were now become very rare objects, except a few dwarf willows, of not more than three feet in height. The discontents of our hunters were now renewed by the accounts which our guide had been giving of that part of our voyage that was approaching. According to his information, we were to see a larger lake on the morrow. Neither he nor his relations, he said, knew any thing about it, except that part which is opposite to, and not far from, their country. The Esquimaux alone, he added, inhabit its shores, and kill a large fish that is found in it, which is a principal part of their food; this, we presumed, must; be the whale. He also mentioned white bears, and another large animal which was seen in those parts, but our hunters could not understand the description which he gave of it. He also represented their canoes as being of a large construction, which would commodiously contain four or five families. However, to reconcile the English chief to the necessary continuance in my service, I presented him with one of my capotes or travelling coats; at the same time, to satisfy the guide, and keep him, if possible, in good humour, I gave him a skin of the moose-deer, which, in his opinion, was a valuable present. _Sunday, 12._--It rained with violence throughout the night, and till two in the morning; the weather continuing very cold. We proceeded on the same meandering course as yesterday, the wind North-North-West, and the country so naked that scarce a shrub was to be seen. At ten in the morning, we landed where there were four huts, exactly the same as those which have been so lately described. The adjacent land is high and covered with short grass and flowers, though the earth was not thawed above four inches from the surface; beneath which was a solid body of ice. This beautiful appearance, however, was strangely contrasted with the ice and snow that are seen in the valleys. The soil, where there is any, is a yellow clay mixed with stones. These huts appear to have been inhabited during the last winter; and we had reason to think that some of the natives had been lately there, as the beach was covered with the track of their feet. Many of the runners and bars of their sledges were laid together, near the houses, in a manner that seemed to denote the return of the proprietors. There were also pieces of netting made of sinews, and some bark of the willow. The thread of the former was plaited, and no ordinary portion of time must have been employed in manufacturing so great a length of cord. A square stone kettle, with a flat bottom, also occupied our attention, which was capable of containing two gallons; and we were puzzled as to the means these people must have employed to have chiselled it out of a solid rock into its present form. To these articles may be added, small pieces of flint fixed into handles of wood, which probably serve as knives; several wooden dishes; the stern and part of a large canoe; pieces of very thick leather, which we conjectured to be the covering of a canoe; several bones of large fish, and two heads; but we could not determine the animal to which they belonged, though we conjectured that it must be the sea-horse. When we had satisfied our curiosity we re-embarked, but we were at a loss what course to steer, as our guide seemed to be as ignorant of this country as ourselves. Though the current was very strong, we appeared to have come to the entrance of the lake. The stream set to the West, and we went with it to an high point, at the distance of about eight miles, which we conjectured to be an island; but, on approaching it, we perceived it to be connected with the shore by a low neck of land. I now took an observation which gave 69. 1. North latitude. From the point that has been just mentioned, we continued the same course for the Westernmost point of an high island, and the Westernmost land in sight, at the distance of fifteen miles. The lake was quite open to us to the Westward, and out of the channel of the river there was not more than four feet water, and in some places the depth did not exceed one foot, From the shallowness of the water it was impossible to coast to the Westward. At five o'clock we arrived at the island, and during the last fifteen miles, five feet was the deepest water. The lake now appeared to be covered with ice, for about two leagues distance, and no land ahead, so that we were prevented from proceeding in this direction by the ice, and the shallowness of the water along the shore. We landed at the boundary of our voyage in this direction, and as soon as the tents were pitched I ordered the nets to be set, when I proceeded with the English chief to the highest part of the island, from which we discovered the solid ice, extending from the South-West by compass to the Eastward. As far as the eye could reach to the South-West-ward, we could dimly perceive a chain of mountains, stretching further to the North than the edge of the ice, at the distance of upwards of twenty leagues. To the Eastward we saw many islands, and in our progress we met with a considerable number of white partridges, now become brown. There were also flocks of very beautiful plovers, and I found the nest of one of them with four eggs. White owls, likewise, were among the inhabitants of the place: but the dead, as well as the living, demanded our attention, for we came to the grave of one of the natives, by which lay a bow, a paddle, and a spear., The Indians informed me that they landed on a small island, about four leagues from hence, where they had seen the tracks of two men, that were quite fresh; they had also found a secret store of train oil, and several bones of white bears were scattered about the place where it was hid. The wind was now so high that it was impracticable for us to visit the nets. My people could not, at this time, refrain from expressions of real concern, that they were obliged to return without reaching the sea: indeed, the hope of attaining this object encouraged them to bear, without repining, the hardships of our unremitting voyage. For some time past their spirits were animated by the expectation that another day would bring them to the _Mer d'ouest:_ and even in our present situation they declared their readiness to follow me wherever I should be pleased to lead them. We saw several large white gulls, and other birds, whose back, and upper feathers of the wing are brown; and whose belly, and under feathers of the wing are white. CHAPTER V. JULY, 1789. _Monday, 13._--We had no sooner retired to rest last night, if I may use that expression, in a country where the sun never sinks beneath the horizon, than some of the people were obliged to rise and remove the baggage, on account of the rising of the water. At eight in the morning the weather was fine and calm, which afforded an opportunity to examine the nets, one of which had been driven from its position by the wind and current. We caught seven poissons inconnus, which were unpalatable; a white fish, that proved delicious; and another about the size of an herring, which none of us had ever seen before, except the English chief, who recognized it as being of a kind that abounds in Hudson's Bay. About noon the wind blew hard from the Westward, when I took an observation, which gave 69. 14. North latitude, and the meridian variation of the compass was thirty-six degrees Eastward.[1] This afternoon I re-ascended the hill, but could not discover that the ice had been put in motion by the force of the wind. At the same time I could just distinguish two small islands in the ice, to the North-West by compass. I now thought it necessary to give a new net to my men to mount, in order to obtain as much provision as possible from the water, our stores being reduced to about five hundred weight, which, without any other supply, would not have sufficed for fifteen people above twelve days. One of the young Indians, however, was so fortunate as to find the net that had been missing, and which contained three of the poissons inconnus. _Tuesday, 14._--It blew very hard from the North-West since the preceding evening. Having sat up till three in the morning, I slept longer than usual; but about eight one of my men saw a great many animals in the water, which he at first supposed to be pieces of ice. About nine, however, I was awakened to resolve the doubts which had taken place respecting this extraordinary appearance. I immediately perceived that they were whales; and having ordered the canoe to be prepared, we embarked in pursuit of them. It was, indeed, a very wild and unreflecting enterprise, and it was a very fortunate circumstance that we failed in our attempt to overtake them, as a stroke from the tail of one of these enormous fish would have dashed the canoe to pieces. We may, perhaps, have been indebted to the foggy weather for our safety, as it prevented us from continuing our pursuit. Our guide informed us that they are the same kind of fish which are the principal food of the Esquimaux, and they were frequently seen as large as our canoe. The part of them which appeared above the water was altogether white, and they were much larger than the largest porpoise. About twelve the fog dispersed, and being curious to take a view of the ice, I gave orders for the canoe to be got in readiness. We accordingly embarked, and the Indians followed us. We had not, however, been an hour on the water, when the wind rose on a sudden from the North-East, and obliged us to tack about, and the return of the fog prevented us from ascertaining our distance from the ice; indeed, from this circumstance, the island which we had so lately left was but dimly seen. Though the wind was close, we ventured to hoist the sail, and from the violence of the swell it was by great exertions that two men could bale out the water from our canoe. We were in a state of actual danger, and felt every corresponding emotion of pleasure when we reached the land. The Indians had fortunately got more to windward, so that the swell in some measure drove them on shore, though their canoes were nearly filled with water: and had they been laden, we should have seen them no more. As I did not propose to satisfy my curiosity at the risk of similar dangers, we continued our course along, the islands, which screened us from the wind. I was now determined to take a more particular examination of the islands, in the hope of meeting with parties of the natives, from whom I might be able to obtain some interesting intelligence, though our conductor discouraged my expectations, by representing them as very shy and inaccessible people. At the same time he informed me, that we should probably find some of them, if we navigated the channel which he had originally recommended us to enter. At eight we encamped on the Eastern end of the island, which I had named the Whale Island. It is about seven leagues in length, East and West by compass; but not more than half a mile in breadth. We saw several red foxes, one of which was killed. There were also five or six very old huts on the point where we had taken our station. The nets were now set, and one of them in five fathom water, the current setting North-East by compass. This morning I ordered a post to be erected close to our tents, on which engraved the latitude of the place, my own name, the number of persons which I had with me, and the time we remained there. _Wednesday, 15._--Being awakened by some casual circumstance, at four this morning, I was surprised on perceiving that the water had flowed under our baggage. As the wind had not changed, and did not blow with greater violence than when we went to rest, we were all of opinion that this circumstance proceeded from the tide. We had, indeed, observed at the other end of the island, that the water rose and fell; but we then imagined that it must have been occasioned by the wind. The water continued to rise till about six, but I could not ascertain the time with the requisite precision, as the wind then began to blow with great violence; I therefore determined, at all events, to remain here till the next morning, though, as it happened, the state of the wind was such, as to render my stay here an act of necessity. Our nets were not very successful, as they presented us with only eight fish. From an observation which I obtained at noon we were in 69. 7. North latitude. As the evening approached, the wind increased, and the weather became cold. Two swans were the only provision which the hunters procured for us. _Thursday, 16._--The rain did not cease till seven this morning, the weather being at intervals very cold and unpleasant. Such was its inconstancy, that I could not make an accurate observation; but the tide appeared to rise sixteen or eighteen inches. We now embarked, and steered under sail among the islands, where I hoped to meet with some of the natives, but my expectation was not gratified. Our guide imagined that they were gone to their distant haunts, where they fish for whales and hunt the rein-deer, that are opposite to his country. His relations, he said, see them every year, but he did not encourage us to expect that we should find any of them, unless it were at a small river that falls into the great one, from the Eastward, at a considerable distance from our immediate situation. We accordingly made for the river, and stemmed the current. At two in the afternoon the water was quite shallow in every part of our course, and we could always find the bottom with the paddle. At seven we landed, encamped, and set the nets. Here the Indians killed two geese, two cranes, and a white owl. Since we entered the river, we experienced a very agreeable change in the temperature of the air; but this pleasant circumstance was not without its inconvenience, as it subjected us to the persecution of the mosquitoes. _Friday, 17._--On taking up the nets, they were found to contain but six fish. We embarked at four in the morning, and passed four encampments; which appeared to have been very lately inhabited. We then landed upon a small round island, close to the Eastern shore; which possessed somewhat of a sacred character, as the top of it seemed to be a place of sepulture, from the numerous graves which we observed there. We found the frame of a small canoe, with various dishes, troughs, and other utensils, which had been the living property of those who could now use them no more, and form the ordinary accompaniments of their last abodes. As no part of the skins that must have covered the canoe was remaining, we concluded that it had been eaten by wild animals that inhabit, or occasionally frequent, the island. The frame of the canoe, which was entire, was put together with whale-bone; it was sewed in some parts, and tied in others. The sledges were from four to eight feet long; the length of the bars was upwards of two feet; the runners were two inches thick and nine inches deep; the prow was two feet and an half high, and formed of two pieces, sewed with whalebone, to three other thin spars of wood, which were of the same height; and fixed in the runners by means of mortises, were sewed two thin broad bars lengthways, at a small distance from each other; these frames were fixed together with three or four cross bars, tied fast upon the runners, and on the lower edge of the latter, small pieces of horn were fastened by wooden pegs, that they might slide with greater facility. They are drawn by shafts, which I imagine are applied to any particular sledge as they are wanted as I saw no more than one pair of them. About half past one we came opposite to the first spruce-tree that we had seen for some time: there are but very few of them on the main land, and they are very small: those are larger which are found on the islands, where they grow in patches, and close together. It is, indeed, very extraordinary that there should be any wood whatever in a country where the ground never thaws above five inches from the surface. We landed at seven in the evening. The weather was now very pleasant, and in the course of the day we saw great numbers of wild fowl, with their young ones, but they were so shy that we could not approach them. The Indians were not very successful in their foraging party, as they killed only two grey cranes, and a grey goose. Two of them were employed on the high land to the Eastward, through the greater part of the day, in search of rein-deer, but they could discover nothing more than a few tracks of that animal. I also ascended the high land, from whence I had a delightful view of the river, divided into innumerable streams, meandering through islands, some of which were covered with wood and others with grass. The mountains, that formed the opposite horizon, were at the distance of forty miles. The inland view was neither so extensive nor agreeable, being terminated by a near range of bleak, barren hills, between which are small lakes or ponds, while the surrounding country is covered with tufts of moss, without the shade of a single tree. Along the hills is a kind of fence, made with branches, where the natives had set snares to catch white partridges. _Saturday, 18._--The nets did not produce a single fish, and at three o'clock in the morning we took our departure. The weather was fine and clear, and we passed several encampments. As the prints of human feet were very fresh in the sand, it could not have been long since the natives had visited the spot. We now proceeded in the hope of meeting with some of them at the river, whither our guide was conducting us with that expectation. We observed a great number of trees, in different places, whose branches had been lopped off to the tops. They denote the immediate abode of the natives, and probably serve for signals to direct each other to their respective winter quarters. Our hunters, in the course of the day, killed two rein-deer, which were the only large animals that we had seen since we had been in this river, and proved a very seasonable supply, as our pemmican had become mouldy for some time past; though in that situation we were under the necessity of eating it. In the valleys and low lands near the river, cranberries are found in great abundance, particularly in favourable aspects. It is a singular circumstance, that the fruit of two succeeding years may be gathered at the same time, from the same shrub. Here was also another berry, of a very pale yellow colour, that resembles a raspberry, and is of a very agreeable flavour. There is a great variety of other plants and herbs, whose names and properties are unknown to me. The weather became cold towards the afternoon, with the appearance of rain, and we landed for the night at seven in the evening. The Indians killed eight geese. During the greater part of the day I walked with the English chief, and found it very disagreeable and fatiguing. Though the country is so elevated, it was one continual morass, except on the summits of some barren hills. As I carried my hanger in my hand, I frequently examined if any part of the ground was in a state of thaw, but could never force the blade into it, beyond the depth of six or eight inches. The face of the high land, towards the river, is in some places rocky, and in others a mixture of sand and stone veined with a kind of red earth, with which the natives bedaub themselves. _Sunday, 19._--It rained, and blew hard from the North, till eight in the morning, when we discovered that our conductor had escaped. I was, indeed, surprised at his honesty, as he left the moose-skin which I had given him for a covering, and went off in his shirt, though the weather was very cold. I inquired of the Indians if they had given him any cause of offence, or had observed any recent disposition in him to desert us, but they assured me that they had not in any instance displeased him: at the same time they recollected that he had expressed his apprehensions of being taken away as a slave; and his alarms were probably increased on the preceding day, when he saw them kill the two rein-deer with so much readiness. In the afternoon the weather became fine and clear, when we saw large flights of geese with their young ones, and the hunters killed twenty-two of them. As they had at this time cast their feathers, they could not fly. They were of a small kind, and much inferior in size to those that frequent the vicinity of Athabasca. At eight, we took our station near an Indian encampment, and, as we had observed in similar situations, pieces of bone, rein-deer's horn, &c., were scattered about it. It also appeared, that the natives had been employed here in working wood into arms, utensils, &c. _Monday, 20._--We embarked at three this morning, when the weather was cloudy, with small rain and aft wind. About twelve the rain became so violent as to compel us to encamp at two in the afternoon. We saw great numbers of fowl, and killed among us fifteen geese and four swans. Had the weather been more favourable, we should have added considerably to our booty. We now passed the river, where we expected to meet some of the natives, but discovered no signs of them. The ground close to the river does not rise to any considerable height, and the hills, which are at a small distance, are covered with the spruce fir and small birch trees, to their very summits. _Tuesday, 21._--We embarked at half past one this morning, when the weather was cold and unpleasant, and the wind South-West. At ten, we left the channels formed by the islands for the uninterrupted channel of the river, where we found the current so strong, that it was absolutely necessary to tow the canoe with a line. The land on both sides was elevated, and almost perpendicular, and the shore beneath it, which is of no great breadth, was covered with a grey stone that falls from the precipice. We made much greater expedition with the line than we could have done with the paddles. The men in the canoe relieved two of those on shore every two hours, so that it was very hard and fatiguing duty, but it saved a great deal of that time which was so precious to us. At half past eight we landed at the same spot where we had already encamped on the ninth instant. In about an hour after our arrival, we were joined by eleven of the natives, who were stationed farther up the river, and there were some among them whom we had not seen during our former visit to this place. The brother of our late guide, however, was of the party, and was eager in his inquiries after him; but our account did not prove satisfactory. They all gave evident tokens of their suspicion, and each of them made a distinct harangue on the occasion. Our Indians, indeed, did not understand their eloquence, though they conjectured it to be very unfavourable to our assertions. The brother, nevertheless, proposed to barter his credulity for a small quantity of beads, and promised to believe every thing I should say, if I would gratify him with a few of those baubles; but he did not succeed in his proposition, and I contented myself with giving him the bow and arrows which our conductor had left with us. My people were now necessarily engaged in putting the fire-arms in order, after the violent rain of the preceding day; an employment which very much attracted the curiosity, and appeared in some degree, to awaken the apprehensions of the natives. To their inquiries concerning the motives of our preparation, we answered by showing a piece of meat and a goose, and informing them, that we were preparing our arms to procure similar provisions: at the same time we assured them, though it was our intention to kill any animals we might find, there was no intention to hurt or injure them. They, however, entreated us not to discharge our pieces in their presence. I requested the English chief to ask them some questions, which they either did not or would not understand; so that I failed in obtaining any information from them. All my people went to rest; but I thought it prudent to sit up, in order to watch the motions of the natives. This circumstance was a subject of their inquiry; and their curiosity was still more excited, when they saw me employed in writing. About twelve o'clock I perceived four of their women coming along the shore; and they were no sooner seen by their friends, than they ran hastily to meet them, and persuaded two of them, who, I suppose, were young, to return, while they brought the other two, who were very old, to enjoy the warmth of our fire; but, after staying there for about half an hour, they also retreated. Those who remained, immediately kindled a small fire, and laid themselves down to sleep round it, like so many whelps, having neither skins or garments of any kind to cover them, notwithstanding the cold that prevailed. My people having placed their kettle of meat on the fire, I was obliged to guard it from the natives, who made several attempts to possess themselves of its contents; and this was the only instance I had hitherto discovered, of their being influenced by a pilfering disposition. It might, perhaps, be a general opinion, that provisions were a common property. I now saw the sun set for the first time since I had been here before. During the preceding night, the weather was so cloudy, that I could not observe its descent to the horizon. The water had sunk, at this place, upward of three feet since we had passed down the river. _Wednesday, 22._--We began our march at half past three this morning, the men being employed to tow the canoe. I walked with the Indians to their huts, which were at a greater distance than I had any reason to expect, for it occupied three hours in hard walking to reach them. We passed a narrow, and deep river in our way, at the mouth of which the natives had set their nets. They had hid their effects, and sent their young women into the woods, as we saw but very few of the former, and none of the latter. They had large huts built with drift-wood on the declivity of the beach and in the inside the earth was dug away, so as to form a level floor. At each end was a stout fork, whereon was laid a strong ridge-pole, which formed a support to the whole structure, and at covering of spruce bark preserved it from the rain. Various spars of different heights were fixed within the hut, and covered with split fish that hung on them to dry; and fires were made in different parts to accelerate the operation. There were rails also on the outside of the building, which were hung around with fish, but in a fresher state than those within. The spawn is also carefully preserved and dried in the same manner. We obtained as many fish from them as the canoe could conveniently contain, and some strings of beads were the price paid for them, an article which they preferred to every other. Iron they held in little or no estimation. During the two hours that I remained here, I employed the English chief in a continual state of inquiry concerning these people. The information that resulted from this conference was as follows: This nation or tribe is very numerous, with whom the Esquimaux had been continually at variance, a people who take every advantage of attacking those who are not in a state to defend themselves; and though they had promised friendship, had lately, and in the most treacherous manner, butchered some of their people. As a proof of this circumstance, the relations of the deceased showed us, that they had cut off their hair on the occasion. They also declared their determination to withdraw all confidence in future from the Esquimaux, and to collect themselves in a formidable body, that they might be enabled to revenge the death of their friends. From their account, a strong party of Esquimaux occasionally ascends this river, in large canoes, in search of flint stones, which they employ to point their spears and arrows. They were now at their lake due East from the spot where we then were, which was at no great distance over land, where they kill the rein-deer, and that they would soon begin to catch big fish for the winter stock. We could not, however, obtain any information respecting the lake in the direction in which we were. To the Eastward and Westward where they saw it, the ice breaks up, but soon freezes again. The Esquimaux informed them that they saw large canoes full of white men to the Westward, eight or ten winters ago, from whom they obtained iron in exchange for leather. The lake where they met these canoes, is called by them _Belhoullay Toe_, or White Man's Lake. They also represented the Esquimaux as dressing like themselves. They wear their hair short, and have two holes perforated, one on each side of the mouth, in a line with the under lip, in which they place long beads that they find in the lake. Their bows are somewhat different from those used by the natives we had seen, and they employ slings from whence they throw stones with such dexterity that they prove very formidable weapons in the day of battle. We also learned in addition from the natives, that we should not see any more of their relations, as they had all left the river to go in pursuit of rein-deer for their provisions, and that they themselves should engage in a similar expedition in a few days. Rein-deer, bears, wolverines, martens, foxes, hares, and white buffaloes are the only quadrupeds in their country; and that the latter were only to be found in the mountains to the Westward. We proceeded with the line throughout the day, except two hours, when we employed the sail. We encamped at eight in the evening. From the place we quitted this morning, the banks of the river are well covered with small wood, spruce, firs, birch, and willow. We found it very warm during the whole of our progress. _Thursday, 23._--At five in the morning we proceeded on our voyage, but found it very difficult to travel along the beach. We observed several places where the natives had stationed themselves and set their nets since our passage downwards. We passed a small river, and at five o'clock our Indians put to shore in order to encamp, but we proceeded onwards, which displeased them very much, from the fatigue they suffered, and at eight we encamped at our position of the 8th instant. The day was very fine, and we employed the towing line throughout the course of it. At ten, our hunters returned, sullen and dissatisfied. We had not touched any of our provision stores for six days, in which time we had consumed two rein-deer, four swans, forty-five geese, and a considerable quantity of fish: but it is to be considered, that we were ten men, and four women. I have always observed, that the north men possessed very hearty appetites, but they were very much exceeded by those with me since we entered this river. I should really have thought it absolute gluttony in my people, if my own appetite had not increased in a similar proportion. [1] The longitude has since been discovered, by the dead reckoning, to be 135. West. CHAPTER VI. JULY, 1789. _Friday, 24._--At five we continued our course, but, in a very short time, were under the necessity of applying to the aid of the line, the stream being so strong as to render all our attempts unavailing to stem it with the paddles. We passed a small river, on each side of which the natives and Esquimaux collect flint. The bank is an high, steep, and soft rock, variegated with red, green, and yellow hues. From the continual dripping of water, parts of it frequently fall and break into small stony flakes like slate, but not so hard. Among them are found pieces of _Petrolium_, which bears a resemblance to yellow wax, but is more friable. The English chief informed me that rocks of a similar kind are scattered about the country at the back of the Slave Lake, where the Chepewyans collect copper. At ten, we had an aft wind, and the men who had been engaged in towing, re-embarked. At twelve, we observed a lodge on the side of the river, and its inhabitants running about in great confusion, or hurrying to the woods. Three men waited our arrival, though they remained at some distance from us, with their bows and arrows ready to be employed; or at least, that appeared to be the idea they wished to convey to us, by continually snapping the strings of the former, and the signs they made to forbid our approach. The English chief, whose language they, in some degree understood, endeavoured to remove their distrust of us; but till I went to them with a present of beads, they refused to have any communication with us. When they first perceived our sail, they took us for the Esquimaux Indians, who employ a sail in their canoes. They were suspicious of our designs, and questioned us with a view to obtain some knowledge of them. On seeing us in possession of some of the clothes, bows, etc., which must have belonged to some of the Deguthee Denees, or Quarrellers, they imagined that we had killed some of them, and were bearing away the fruits of our victory. They appeared, indeed, to be of the same tribe, though they were afraid of acknowledging it. From their questions, it was evident that they had not received any notice of our being in those parts. They would not acknowledge that they had any women with them, though we had seen them running to the woods; but pretended that they had been left at a considerable distance from the river, with some relations, who were engaged in killing rein-deer. These people had been here but a short time, and their lodge was not yet completed; nor had they any fish in a state of preparation for their provision. I gave them a knife and some beads for an horn-wedge or chisel, with which they split their canoe-wood. One of my Indians having broken his paddle, attempted to take one of theirs, which was immediately contested by its owner, and on my interfering to prevent this act of injustice, he manifested his gratitude to me on the occasion. We lost an hour and a half in this conference. The English chief was during the whole of the time in the woods, where some of the hidden property was discovered, but the women contrived to elude the search that was made after them. Some of these articles were purloined, but I was ignorant of this circumstance till we had taken our departure, or I should have given an ample remuneration. Our chief expressed his displeasure at their running away to conceal themselves, their property, and their young women, in very bitter terms. He said his heart was against those slaves; and complained aloud of his disappointment in coming so far without seeing the natives, and getting something from them. We employed the sail and the paddle since ten this morning, and pitched our tents at seven in the evening. We had no sooner encamped than we were visited by an Indian whom we had seen before, and whose family was at a small distance up the river: at nine he left us. The weather was clear and serene. _Saturday, 25._--We embarked this morning at a quarter past three, and at seven we passed the lodge of the Indian who had visited us the preceding evening. There appeared to have been more than one family, and we naturally concluded that our visitor had made such an unfavourable report of us, as to induce his companions to fly on our approach. Their fire was not extinguished, and they had left a considerable quantity of fish scattered about their dwelling. The weather was now very sultry; but the current had relaxed of its force, so that the paddle was sufficient for our progress during the greatest part of the day. The inland part of the country is mountainous and the banks of the river low, but covered with wood, among which is the poplar, but of small growth, and the first which we had seen on our return. A pigeon also flew by us, and hares appeared to be in great plenty. We passed many Indian encampments which we did not see in our passage down the river. About seven the sky, to the Westward, became of a steel blue colour, with lightning and thunder. We accordingly landed to prepare ourselves against the coming storm; but before we could erect our tents, it came on with such violence that we expected it to carry every thing before it. The ridgepole of my tent was broken in the middle, where it was sound, and nine inches and an half in circumference; and we were obliged to throw ourselves flat on the ground to escape being wounded by the stones that were hurled about in the air like sand. The violence of the storm, however, subsided in a short time, but left the sky overcast with the appearance of rain. _Sunday, 26._--It rained from the preceding evening to this morning, when we embarked at four o'clock. At eight we landed at three large Indian lodges. Their inhabitants, who were asleep, expressed uncommon alarm and agitation when they were awakened by us, though most of them had seen us before. Their habitations were crowded with fish, hanging to dry in every part; but as we wanted some for present use, we sent their young men to visit the nets, and they returned with abundance of large white fish, to which the name has been given of _poisson inconnu_; some of a round shape, and green colour; and a few white ones; all which were very agreeable food. Some beads, and a few other trifles, were gratefully received in return. These people are very fond of iron work of any kind, and my men purchased several of their articles for small pieces of tin. There were five or six persons whom we had not seen before; and among them was a Dog-rib Indian, whom some private quarrel had driven from his country. The English chief understood him as well as one of his own nation, and gave the following account of their conversation:-- He had been informed by the people with whom he now lives, the Hare Indians, that there is another river on the other side of the mountains to the South-West, which falls into the _Belhoullay Teo_, or White-man's Lake, in comparison of which that on whose banks we then were, was but a small stream; that the natives were very large, and very wicked, and kill common men with their eyes; that they make canoes larger than ours; that those who inhabit the entrance of it kill a kind of beaver, the skin of which is almost red; and that large canoes often frequent it. As there is no known communication by water with this river, the natives who saw it went over the mountains. As he mentioned that there were some beavers in this part of the country, I told him to hunt it, and desire the others to do the same, as well as the martens, foxes, beaver-eater or wolverine, &c., which they might carry to barter for iron with his own nation, who are supplied with goods by us, near their country. He was anxious to know whether `we should return that way; at the same time he informed us, that we should see but few of the natives along the river, as all the young men were engaged in killing rein-deer, near the Esquimaux Lake, which, he also said, was at no great distance. The latter he represented as very treacherous, and added, that they had killed one of his people. He told us likewise, that some plan of revenge was meditating, unless the offending party paid a sufficient price for the body of the murdered person. My Indians were very anxious to possess themselves of a woman that was with the natives, but as they were not willing to part with her, I interfered, to prevent her being taken by force; indeed, I was obliged to exercise the utmost vigilance, as the Indians who accompanied me were ever ready to take what they could from the natives, without making them any return. About twelve, we passed a river of some appearance, flowing from the Eastward. One of the natives who followed us, called it the Winter Road River. We did not find the stream strong to-day, along the shore, as there were many eddy currents; we therefore employed the sail during some hours of it, and went on shore for the night at half past seven. _Monday, 27._--The weather was now fine, and we renewed our voyage at half past two. At seven we landed where there were three families, situated close to the rapids. We found but few people; for as the Indian who followed us yesterday had arrived here before us, we supposed that the greater part had fled, on the intelligence which he gave of our approach. Some of these people we had seen before, when they told us that they had left their property at a lake in the neighbourhood, and had promised to fetch it before our return; but we now found them as unprovided as when we left them. They had plenty of fish, some of which was packed up in birch bark. During the time we remained with them, which was not more than two hours, I endeavoured to obtain some additional intelligence respecting the river which had been mentioned on the preceding day; when they declared their total ignorance of it, but from the reports of others, as they had never been beyond the mountains, on the opposite side of their own river; they had, however, been informed that it was larger than that which washed the banks whereon they lived, and that its course was towards the mid-day sun. They added, that there were people at a small distance up the river, who inhabited the opposite mountains, and had lately descended from them to obtain supplies of fish. These people, they suggested, must be well acquainted with the other river, which was the object of my inquiry. I engaged one of them, by a bribe of some beads, to describe the circumjacent country upon the sand. This singular map he immediately undertook to delineate, and accordingly traced out a very long point of land between the rivers, though without paying the least attention to their courses, which he represented as running into the great lake, at the extremity of which, as he had been told by Indians of other nations, there was a Belhoullay Couin, or White Man's Fort. This I took to be Unalascha Fort, and consequently the river to the West to be Cook's River; and that the body of water or sea into which this river discharges itself at Whale Island, communicates with Norton Sound. I made an advantageous proposition to this man to accompany me across the mountains to the other river, but he refused it. At the same time he recommended me to the people already mentioned, who were fishing in the neighbourhood, as better qualified to assist me in the undertaking which I had proposed. One of this small company of natives was grievously afflicted with ulcers in his back, and the only attention which was paid to his miserable condition, as far at least as we could discover, proceeded from a woman, who carefully employed a bunch of feathers in preventing the flies from settling upon his sores. At ten this morning we landed near the lodges which had already been mentioned to us, and I ordered my people to make preparation for passing the remaining part of the day here, in order to obtain that familiarity with the natives which might induce them to afford me, without reserve, the information that I should require from them. This object, however, was in danger of being altogether frustrated, by a misunderstanding that had taken place between the natives and my young Indians, who had already arrived there. Before the latter could disembark, the former seized the canoe, and dragged it on shore, and in this act of violence the boat was broken, from the weight of the persons in it. This insult was on the point of being seriously revenged, when I arrived, to prevent the consequences of such a disposition. The variation of the compass was about twenty-nine degrees to the East. At four in the afternoon I ordered my interpreter to harangue the natives, assembled in council; but his long discourse obtained little satisfactory intelligence from them. Their account of the river to the Westward, was similar to that which he had already received: and their description of the inhabitants of that country was still more absurd and ridiculous. They represented them as being of a gigantic stature, and adorned with wings; which, however, they never employed in flying. That they fed on large birds, which they killed with the greatest ease, though common men would be certain victims of their ferocity if they ventured to approach them. They also described the people that inhabited the mouth of the river as possessing the extraordinary power of killing with their eyes, and devouring a large beaver at a single meal. They added that canoes of very large dimensions visited that place. They did not, however, relate these strange circumstances from their own knowledge, but on the reports of other tribes, as they themselves never ventured to proceed beyond the first mountains, where they went in search of the small white buffaloes, as the inhabitants of the other side endeavour to kill them whenever they meet. They likewise mentioned that the sources of those streams which are tributary to both the great rivers are separated by the mountains. It appeared to us, however, that these people knew more about the country than they chose to communicate, or at least reached me, as the interpreter, who had long been tired of the voyage, might conceal such a part of their communications as, in his opinion, would induce me to follow new routes, or extend my excursions. No sooner was the conference concluded, than they began to dance, which is their favourite, and, except jumping, their only amusement. In this pastime old and young, male and female, continued their exertions, till their strength was exhausted. This exercise was accompanied by loud imitations of the various noises produced by the rein-deer, the bear, and the wolf. When they had finished their antics, I desired the English chief to renew the former subjects; which he did without success. I therefore assumed an angry air, expressed my suspicions that they withheld their information, and concluded with a menace, that if they did not give me all the satisfaction in their power, I would force one of them along with me to-morrow, to point out the other river. On this declaration, they all, at one and the same moment, became sick, and answered in a very faint tone, that they knew no more than they had already communicated, and that they should die if I took any of them away. They began to persuade my interpreter to remain with them, as they loved him as well as they did themselves, and that he would be killed if he continued with me. Nor did this proposition, aided as it was by the solicitation of his women, fail of producing a considerable effect upon him, though he endeavoured to conceal it from me. I now found that it would be fruitless for me to expect any accounts of the country, or the other great river, till I got to the river of the Bear Lake, where I expected to find some of the natives, who promised to wait for us there. These people had actually mentioned this river to me when we passed them, but I then paid no attention to that circumstance, as I imagined it to be either a misunderstanding of my interpreter, or that it was an invention which, with their other lies, might tend to prevent me from proceeding down their river. We were plentifully supplied with fish, as well dry as fresh, by these people; they also gathered as many hurtle-berries as we chose, for which we paid with the usual articles of beads, awls, knives, and tin. I purchased a few beaver-skins of them, which, according to their accounts, are not very numerous in this country; and that they do not abound in moose-deer and buffaloes. They were alarmed for some of their young men, who were killing geese higher up the river, and entreated us to do them no harm. About sunset I was under the necessity of shooting one of their dogs, as we could not keep those animals from our baggage. It was in vain that I had remonstrated on this subject, so that I was obliged to commit the act which has been just mentioned. When these people heard the report of the pistol, and saw the dog dead, they were seized with a very general alarm, and the women took their children on their backs and ran into the woods. I ordered the cause of this act of severity to be explained, with the assurance that no injury would be offered to themselves. The woman, however, to whom the dog belonged, was very much affected, and declared that the loss of five children, during the preceding winter, had not affected her so much as the death of this animal. But her grief was not of very long duration; and a few beads, &c., soon assuaged her sorrow. But as they can without difficulty get rid of their affliction, they can with equal ease assume it, and feign sickness if it be necessary with the same versatility. When we arrived this morning, we found the women in tears, from an apprehension that we were come to take them away. To the eye of an European they certainly were objects of disgust; but there were those among my party who observed some hidden charms in these females which rendered them objects of desire, and means were found, I believe, that very soon dissipated their alarms and subdued their coyness. On the upper part of the beach, liquorice grew in great abundance and it was now in blossom. I pulled up some of the roots, which were large and long; but the natives were ignorant of its qualities, and considered it as a weed of no use or value. _Tuesday, 28._--At four this morning I ordered my people to prepare for our departure; and while they were loading the canoe, I went with the English chief to visit the lodges, but the greater part of their inhabitants had quitted them during the night, and those that remained pretended sickness and refused to rise. When, however, they were convinced that we did not mean to take any of them with us, their sickness abandoned them, and when we had embarked, they came forth from their huts, to desire that we would visit their nets, which were at a small distance up the river, and take all the fish we might find in them. We accordingly availed ourselves of this permission, and took as many as were necessary for our own supply. We landed shortly after where there were two more lodges, which were full of fish, but without any inhabitants, who were probably with the natives whom we had just left. My Indians, in rummaging these places, found several articles which they proposed to take; I therefore gave beads and awls to be left as the purchase of them; but this act of justice they were not able to comprehend, as the people themselves were not present. I took up a net and left a large knife in the place of it. It was about four fathoms long, and thirty-two meshes in depth; these nets are much more convenient to set in the eddy current than our long ones. This is the place that the Indians call a rapid, though we went up it all the way with the paddle; so that the current could not be so strong here, as in many other parts of the river; indeed, if it were so, the difficulty of towing would be almost insuperable, as in many parts, the rocks, which are of a great height, and rather project over the water, leave no shore between them and the stream. These precipices abound in swallows' nests. The weather was now very sultry, and at eleven we were under the necessity of landing to gum our canoe. In about an hour we set forward, and at one in the afternoon, went on shore at a fire, which we supposed to have been kindled by the young men, who, as we had been already informed, were hunting geese. Our hunters found their canoe and the fowl they had got, secreted in the woods; and soon after, the people themselves, whom they brought to the water side. Out of two hundred geese, we picked thirty-six which were eatable; the rest were putrid, and emitted a horrid stench. They had been killed some time without having been gutted, and in this state of loathsome rottenness, we have every reason to suppose they are eaten by the natives. We paid for those which we had taken, and departed. At seven in the evening, the weather became cloudy and overcast; at eight we encamped; at nine it began to thunder with great violence; a heavy rain succeeded, accompanied with a hurricane, that blew down our tents, and threatened to carry away the canoe, which had been fastened to some trees with a cod-line. The storm lasted two hours, and deluged us with wet. _Wednesday, 29._--Yesterday the weather was cloudy, and the heat insupportable; and now we could not put on clothes enough to keep us warm. We embarked at a quarter past four with an aft wind, which drove us on at a great rate, though the current is very strong. At ten we came to the other rapid, which we got up with the line on the West side, where we found it much stronger than when we went down; the water had also fallen at least five feet since that time, so that several shoals appeared in the river which we had not seen before, One of my hunters narrowly escaped being drowned in crossing a river that falls in from the Westward, and is the most considerable, except the mountain river, that flows in this direction. We had strong Northerly and cold wind throughout the whole of the day, and took our station for the night at a quarter past eight. We killed a goose and caught some young ones. _Thursday, 30._--We renewed our voyage at four this morning, after a very rainy night. The weather was cloudy, but the cold had moderated, and the wind was North-West. We were enabled to employ the sail during part of the day, and encamped at about seven in the evening. We killed eleven old geese and forty young ones which had just begun to fly. The English chief was very much irritated against one of his young men: that jealousy occasioned this uneasiness, and that it was not without very sufficient cause, was all I could discover. For the last two or three days we had eaten the liquorice root, of which there is a great abundance on the banks of the river. We found it a powerful astringent. _Friday, 31._--The rain was continual throughout the night, and did not subside till nine this morning, when we renewed our progress. The wind and weather the same as yesterday. About three in the afternoon it cleared up and the wind died away, when it became warm. At five the wind veered to the East, and brought cold along with it. There were plenty of whortle berries, raspberries, and a berry called _poire_, which grows in the greatest abundance. We were very much impeded in our way by shoals of sand and small stones which render the water shallow at a distance from the shore. In other places the bank of the river is lofty: it is formed of black earth and sand, and, as it is continually falling, displayed to us, in some parts, a face of solid ice, to within a foot of the surface. We finished this day's voyage at a quarter before eight, and in the course of it killed seven geese. We now had recourse to our corn, for we had only consumed three days of our original provision since we began to mount the current. It was my intention to have ascended the river on the South side from the last rapid, to discover if there were any rivers of consequence that flow from the Westward; but the sand-banks were so numerous and the current so strong, that I was compelled to traverse to the opposite side, where the eddy currents are very frequent, which gave us an opportunity of setting our nets and making much more headway. CHAPTER VII. AUGUST, 1789. _Saturday, 1._--We embarked at three this morning, the weather being clear and cold, with the wind at South-East. At three in the afternoon we traversed and landed to take the canoe in tow: here was an encampment of the natives, which we had reason to suppose they had quitted the preceding day. At five we perceived a family, consisting of a man, two women, and as many children, stationed by the side of the water, whom we had not seen before. They informed us, that they had but few fish, and that none of their friends were in the neighbourhood, except the inhabitants of one lodge on the other side of the river, and a man who belonged to them, and who was now occupied in hunting. I now found my interpreter very unwilling to ask such questions as were dictated to him, from the apprehension, as I imagined, that I might obtain such intelligence as would prevent him from seeing Athabasca this season. We left him with the Indian, and pitched our tents at the same place where we had passed the night on the fifth of last month. The English chief came along with the Indian to our fire; and the latter informed us that the native who went down part of the river with us had passed there, and that we should meet with three lodges of his tribe above the river of the Bear Lake. Of the river to the Westward he knew nothing, but from the relation of others. This was the first night since our departure from Athabasca, when it was sufficiently dark to render the stars visible. _Sunday, 2._--We set off at three this morning with the towing-line. I walked with my Indians, as they went faster than the canoe, and particularly as I suspected that they wanted to arrive at the huts of the natives before me. In our way, I observed several small springs of mineral water running from the foot of the mountain, and along the beach I saw several lumps of iron ore. When we came to the river of the Bear Lake, I ordered one of the young Indians to wait for my canoe, and I took my place in their small canoe. This river is about two hundred and fifty yards broad at this place, the water clear and of a greenish colour. When I landed on the opposite shore, I discovered that the natives had been there very lately from the print of their feet in the sand. We continued walking till five in the afternoon, when we saw several smokes along the shore. As we naturally concluded, that these were certain indications where we should meet the natives who were the objects of our search we quickened our pace; but, in our progress, experienced a very sulphurous smell, and at length discovered that the whole bank was on fire for a very considerable distance. It proved to be a coal mine, to which the fire had communicated from an old Indian encampment. The beach was covered with coals, and the English chief gathered some of the softest he could find, as a black dye; it being the mineral, as he informed me, with which the natives render their quills black. Here we waited for the large canoe, which arrived an hour after us. At half past ten we saw several Indian marks, which consisted of pieces of bark fixed on poles, and pointing to the woods, opposite to which is an old beaten road, that bore the marks of being lately frequented; the beach also was covered with tracks. At a small distance were the poles of five lodges standing; where we landed and unloaded our canoe. I then despatched one of my men and two young Indians to see if they could find any natives within a day's march of us. I wanted the English chief to go, but he pleaded fatigue, and that it would be of no use. This was the first time he had refused to comply with my desire, and jealousy, I believe, was the cause of it in the present instance; though I had taken every precaution that he should not have cause to be jealous of the Canadians. There was not, at this time, the least appearance of snow on the opposite mountains, though they were almost covered with it, when we passed before. Set two nets, and at eleven o'clock at night the men and Indians returned. They had been to their first encampment, where there were four fires, and which had been quitted a short time before; so that they were obliged to make the circuit of several small lakes, which the natives cross with their canoes. This encampment was on the borders of a lake which was too large for them to venture round it, so that they did not proceed any further. They saw several beavers and beaver lodges in those small lakes. They killed one of these animals whose fur began to get long, a sure indication that the fall of the year approaches. They also saw many old tracks of the moose and reindeer. This is the time when the rein-deer leave the plains to come to the woods, as the mosquitoes begin to disappear; I, therefore, apprehended that we should not find a single Indian on the river side, as they would be in or about the mountains setting snares to take them. _Monday, 3._--We proceeded with a strong Westerly wind, at four this morning, the weather being cloudy and cold. At twelve it cleared up and became fine; the current also increased. The water had fallen so much since our passage down the river, that here, as in other places, we discovered many shoals which were not then visible. We killed several geese of a larger size than those which we had generally seen. Several Indian encampments were seen along the river, and we landed at eight for the night. _Tuesday, 4._--At four in the morning we renewed our course, when it was fine and calm. The night had been cold and a very heavy dew had fallen. At nine we were obliged to land in order to gum the canoe, when the weather became extremely warm. Numerous tracks of rein-deer appeared on the side of the river. At half past five we took our station for the night, and set the nets. The current was very strong all day, and we found it very difficult to walk along the beach, from the large stones which were scattered over it. _Wednesday, 5._--We raised our nets, but had not the good fortune to take a single fish. The water was now become so low that the eddy currents would not admit of setting them. The current had not relaxed its strength; and the difficulty of walking along the beach was continued. The air was now become so cold; that our exercise, violent as it was, scarce kept us warm. We passed several points which we should not have accomplished, if the canoe had been loaded. We were very much fatigued, and at six were glad to conclude our toilsome march. The Indians killed two geese. The women, who did not quit the canoe, were continually employed in making shoes of moose-skin, for the men, as a pair did not last more than a day. _Thursday, 6._--The rain prevented us from proceeding till half past six, when we had a strong aft wind, which, aided by the paddles, drove us on at a great rate. We encamped at six to wait for our Indians, whom we had not seen since the morning; and at half past seven they arrived very much dissatisfied with their day's journey. Two days had now elapsed since we had seen the least appearance of Indian habitations. _Friday, 7._--We embarked at half past three, and soon after perceived two rein-deer on the beach before us. We accordingly checked our course; but our Indians, in contending who should be the first to get near these animals, alarmed and lost them. We, however, killed a female rein-deer, and from the wounds in her hind legs, it was supposed that she had been pursued by wolves, who had devoured her young one: her udder was full of milk, and one of the young Indians poured it among some boiled corn, which he ate with great delight, esteeming it a very delicious food. At five in the afternoon we saw an animal running along the beach, but could not determine whether it was a grey fox or a dog. In a short time, we went ashore for the night, at the entrance of a small river, as I thought there might be some natives in the vicinity of the place. I ordered my hunters to put their fusees in order, and gave them ammunition to proceed on a hunting party the next day; they were also instructed to discover if there were any natives in the neighbouring mountains. I found a small canoe at the edge of the woods, which contained a paddle and a bow: it had been repaired this spring, and the workmanship of the bark excelled any that I had yet seen. We saw several encampments in the course of the day. The current of the river was very strong, and along the points equal to rapids. _Saturday, 8._--The rain was very violent throughout the night, and continued till the afternoon of this day, when the weather began to clear, with a strong, cold, and Westerly wind. At three the Indians proceeded on the hunting expedition, and at eight they returned without having met with the least success; though they saw numerous tracks of the rein-deer. They came to an old beaten road, which one of them followed for some time; but it did not appear to have been lately frequented. The rain now returned, and continued till the morning. _Sunday, 9._--We renewed our voyage at half past three, the weather being cold and cloudy; but at ten it became clear and moderate. We saw another canoe at the outside of the wood, and one of the Indians killed a dog, which was in a meagre, emaciated condition. We perceived various places where the natives had made their fires; for these people reside but a short time near the river, and remove from one bank to the other, as it suits their purposes. We saw a path which was connected with another on the opposite side of the river. The water had risen considerably since last night, and there had been a strong current throughout the day. At seven we made to the shore and encamped. _Monday, 10._--At three this morning we returned to our canoe; the weather fine and clear, with a light wind from the South-East. The Indians were before us in pursuit of game. At ten we landed opposite to the mountains which we had passed on the second of the last month, in order to ascertain the variation of the compass at this place: but this was accomplished in a very imperfect manner, as I could not depend on my watch. One of the hunters joined us here, fatigued and unsuccessful. As these mountains are the last of any considerable magnitude on the South-West side of the river, I ordered my men to cross to that side of it, that I might ascend one of them. It was near four in the afternoon when I landed, and I lost no time in proceeding to the attainment of my object. I was accompanied only by a young Indian, as the curiosity of my people was subdued by the fatigue they had undergone; and we soon had reason to believe that we should pay dearly for the indulgence of our own. The wood, which was chiefly of spruce firs, was so thick that it was with great difficulty we made our way through it. When we had walked upwards of an hour, the under-wood decreased, while the white birch and poplar were the largest and tallest of their kind that I had ever seen. The ground now began to rise, and was covered with small pines, and at length we got the first view of the mountains since we had left the canoe; as they appeared to be no nearer to us, though we had been walking for three hours, than when we had seen them from the river, my companion expressed a very great anxiety to return; his shoes and leggins were torn to pieces, and he was alarmed at the idea of passing through such bad roads during the night. I persisted, however, in proceeding, with a determination to pass the night on the mountains and return on the morrow. As we approached them, the ground was quite marshy, and we waded in water and grass up to the knees, till we came within a mile of them, when I suddenly sunk up to my arm-pits, and it was with some difficulty that I extricated myself from this disagreeable situation. I now found it impossible to proceed; to cross this marshy ground in a straight line was impracticable, and it extended so far to the right and left, that I could not attempt to make the circuit; I therefore determined to return to the canoe, and arrived there about midnight, very much fatigued with this fruitless journey. _Tuesday, 11._--We observed several tracks along the beach, and an encampment at the edge of the woods, which appeared to be five or six days old. We should have continued our route along this side of the river, but we had not seen our hunters since yesterday morning. We accordingly embarked before three, and at five traversed the river, when we saw two of them coming down in search of us. They had killed no other animals than one beaver, and a few hares. According to their account, the woods were so thick that it was impossible to follow the game through them. They had seen several of the natives' encampments, at no great distance from the river and it was their opinion that they had discovered us in our passage down it, and had taken care to avoid us; which accounted for the small number we had seen on our return. I requested the English chief to return with me to the other side of the river, in order that he might proceed to discover the natives, whose tracks and habitations we had seen there; but he was backward in complying with my desire, and proposed to send the young men; but I could not trust to them, and at the same time was become rather doubtful of him. They were still afraid lest I should obtain such accounts of the other river as would induce me to travel overland to it, and that they should be called upon to accompany me. I was, indeed, informed by one of my own people, that the English chief, his wives and companions, had determined to leave me on this side of the Slave Lake, in order to go to the country of the Beaver Indians, and that about the middle of the winter he would return to that lake, where he had appointed to meet some of his relations, who, during the last spring, had been engaged in war. We now traversed the river, and continued to track the Indians till past twelve, when we lost all traces of them; in consequence, as we imagined, of their having crossed to the Eastern side. We saw several dogs on both shores; and one of the young Indians killed a wolf, which the men ate with great satisfaction: we shot, also, fifteen young geese that were now beginning to fly. It was eight when we took our evening station, having lost four hours in making our traverses. There was no interruption of the fine weather during the course of this day. _Wednesday, 12._--We proceeded on our voyage at three this morning, and despatched the two young Indians across the river, that we might not miss any of the natives that should be on the banks of it. We saw many places where fires had been lately made along the beach, as well as fire running in the woods. At four we arrived at an encampment which had been left this morning. Their tracks were observable in several places in the woods, and as it might be presumed that they could not be at any great distance, it was proposed to the chief to accompany me in search of them. We accordingly, though with some hesitation on his part, penetrated several miles into the woods, but without discovering the objects of our research. The fire had spread all over the country, and had burned about three inches of the black, light soil, which covered a body of cold clay, that was so hard as not to receive the least impression of our feet. At ten we returned from our unsuccessful excursion. In the mean time the hunters had killed seven geese. There were several showers of rain, accompanied with gusts of wind and thunder. The nets had been set during our absence. _Thursday, 13._--The nets were taken up, but not one fish was found in them; and at half past three we continued our route, with very favourable weather. We passed several places, where fires had been made by the natives, and many tracks were perceptible along the beach. At seven we were opposite the island where our pemmican had been concealed: two of the Indians were accordingly despatched in search of it, and it proved very acceptable, as it rendered us more independent of the provisions which were to be obtained by our fowling pieces, and qualified us to get out of the river without that delay which our hunters would otherwise have required. In a short time we perceived a smoke on the shore to the South-West, at the distance of three leagues, which did not appear to proceed from any running fire. The Indians, who were a little way ahead of us, did not discover it, being engaged in the pursuit of a flock of geese, at which they fired several shots, when the smoke immediately disappeared; and in a short time we saw several of the natives run along the shore, some of whom entered their canoes. Though we were almost opposite to them, we could not cross the river without going further up it, from the strength of the current; I therefore ordered our Indians to make every possible exertion, in order to speak with them, and wait our arrival. But as soon as our small canoe struck off, we could perceive the poor affrighted people hasten to the shore, and after drawing their canoes on the beach, hurry into the woods. It was past ten before we landed at the place where they had deserted their canoes, which were four in number. They were so terrified that they had left several articles on the beach. I was very much displeased with my Indians, who instead of seeking the natives, were dividing their property. I rebuked the English chief with some severity for his conduct, and immediately ordered him, his young men, and my own people, to go in search of the fugitives, but their fears had made them too nimble for us, and we could not overtake them. We saw several dogs in the woods, and some of them followed us to our canoe. The English chief was very much displeased at my reproaches, and expressed himself to me in person to that effect. This was the very opportunity which I wanted, to make him acquainted with my dissatisfaction for some time past. I stated to him that I had come a great way, and at a very considerable expense, without having completed the object of my wishes, and that I suspected he had concealed from me a principal part of what the natives had told him respecting the country, lest he should be obliged to follow me: that his reason for not killing game, &c., was his jealousy, which likewise prevented him from looking after the natives as he ought; and that we had never given him any cause for any suspicions of us. These suggestions irritated him in a very high degree, and he accused me of speaking ill words to him; he denied the charge of jealousy, and declared that he did not conceal any thing from us; and that as to the ill success of their hunting, it arose from the nature of the country, and the scarcity, which had hitherto appeared, of animals in it. He concluded by informing me that he would not accompany me any further: that though he was without ammunition, he could live in the same manner as the slaves (the name given to the inhabitants of that part of the country), and that he would remain among them. His harangue was succeeded by a loud and bitter lamentation; and his relations assisted the vociferations of his grief; though they said that their tears flowed for their dead friends. I did not interrupt their grief for two hours, but as I could not well do without them, I was at length obliged to soothe it, and induce the chief to change his resolution, which he did, but with great apparent reluctance when we embarked as we had hitherto done. The articles which the fugitives had left behind them, on the present occasion, were bows, arrows, snares for moose and rein-deer, and for hares; to these may be added a few dishes, made of bark, some skins of the marten and the beaver, and old beaver robes, with a small robe made of the skin of the lynx. Their canoes were coarsely made of the bark of the spruce-fir, and will carry two or three people. I ordered my men to remove them to the shade, and gave most of the other articles to the young Indians. The English chief would not accept of any of them. In the place, and as the purchase of them, I left some cloth, some small knives, a file, two fire-steels, a comb, rings, with beads and awls. I also ordered a marten skin to be placed on a proper mould, and a beaver skin to be stretched on a frame, to which I tied a scraper. The Indians were of opinion that all these articles would be lost, as the natives were so much frightened that they would never return. Here we lost six hours; and on our quitting the place, three of the dogs which I have already mentioned followed us along the beach. We pitched our tents at half past eight, at the entrance of the river of the mountain; and while the people were unloading the canoe, I took a walk along the beach, and on the shoals, which being uncovered since we passed down, by the sinking of the waters, were now white with a saline substance. I sent for the English chief to sup with me, and a dram or two dispelled all his heart-burning and discontent. He informed me that it was a custom with the Chepewyan chiefs to go to war after they had shed tears, in order to wipe away the disgrace attached to such a feminine weakness, and that in the ensuing spring he should not fail to execute his design; at the same time he declared his intention to continue with us as long as I should want him. I took care that he should carry some liquid consolation to his lodge, to prevent the return of his chagrin. The weather was fine, and the Indians killed three geese. _Friday, 14._--At a quarter before four this morning, we returned to our canoe, and went about two miles up the river of the mountains. Fire was in the ground on each side of it. In traversing, I took soundings, and found five, four and an half, and three and an half fathoms water. Its stream was very muddy, and formed a cloudy streak along the water of the great river, on the West side to the Eastern rapid, where the waters of the two rivers at length blend in one. It was impossible not to consider it as an extraordinary circumstance, that the current of the former river should not incorporate with that of the latter, but flow, as it were, in distinct streams at so great a distance, and till the contracted state of the channel unites them. We passed several encampments of the natives, and a river which flowed in from the North, that had the appearance of being navigable. We concluded our voyage of this day at half past five in the afternoon. There were plenty of berries, which my people called _poires:_ they are of a purple hue, somewhat bigger than a pea, and of a luscious taste; there were also gooseberries, and a few strawberries. _Saturday, 15._--We continued our course from three in the morning till half past five in the afternoon. We saw several encampments along the beach, till it became too narrow to admit them; when the banks rose into a considerable degree of elevation, and there were more eddy currents. The Indians killed twelve geese, and berries were collected in great abundance. The weather was sultry throughout the day. _Sunday, 16._--We continued our voyage at a quarter before four, and in five hours passed the place where we had been stationed on the 13th of June. Here the river widened, and its shores became flat. The land on the North side is low, composed of a black soil, mixed with stones, but agreeably covered with the aspen, the poplar, the white birch, the spruce-fir, &c. The current was so moderate, that we proceeded upon it almost as fast as in dead water. At twelve we passed an encampment of three fires, which was the only one we saw in the course of the day. The weather was the same as yesterday. _Monday, 17._--We proceeded at half past three; and saw three successive encampments. From the peculiar structure of the huts, we imagined that some of the Red-Knife Indians had been in this part of the country, though it is not usual for them to come this way. I had last night ordered the young Indians to precede us, for the purpose of hunting, and at ten we overtook them. They had killed five young swans; and the English chief presented us with an eagle, three cranes, a small beaver, and two geese. We encamped at seven this evening on the same spot which had been our resting-place on the 29th of June. _Tuesday, 18._--At four this morning I equipped all the Indians for an hunting excursion, and sent them onward, as our stock of provision was nearly exhausted. We followed at half past six, and crossed over to the North shore, where the land is low and scarcely visible in the horizon. It was near twelve when we arrived. I now got an observation, when it was 61. 33. North latitude. We were near five miles to the North of the main channel of the river. The fresh tracks and beds of buffaloes were very perceptible. Near this place a river flowed in from the Horn Mountains, which are at no great distance. We landed at five in the afternoon, and before the canoe was unloaded, the English chief arrived with the tongue of a cow, or female buffalo, when four men and the Indians were despatched for the flesh; but they did not return till it was dark. They informed me, that they had seen several human tracks in the sand on the opposite island. The fine weather continued without interruption. _Wednesday, 19._--The Indians were again sent forward in pursuit of game; and some time being employed in gumming the canoe, we did not embark till half past five, and at nine we landed to wait the return of the hunters. I here found the variation of the compass to be about twenty degrees East. The people made themselves paddles and repaired the canoe. It is an extraordinary circumstance for which I do not pretend to account, that there is some peculiar quality in the water of this river, which corrodes wood, from the destructive effect it had on the paddles. The hunters arrived at a late hour, without having seen any large animals. Their booty consisted only of three swans and as many geese. The women were employed in gathering cranberries and crowberries, which were found in great abundance. _Thursday, 20._--We embarked at four o'clock, and took the North side of the channel, though the current was on that side much stronger, in order to take a view of the river, which had been mentioned to me in our passage downwards, as flowing from the country of the Beaver Indians, and which fell in hereabouts. We could not, however, discover it, and it is probable that the account was referable to the river which we had passed on Tuesday. The current was very strong, and we crossed over to an island opposite to us; here it was still more impetuous, and assumed the hurry of a rapid. We found an awl and a paddle on the side of the water; the former we knew to belong to the Knisteneaux: I supposed it to be the chief Merde-d'ours and his party, who went to war last spring, and had taken this route on their return to Athabasca. Nor is it improbable that they may have been the cause that we saw so few of the natives on the banks of this river. The weather was raw and cloudy, and formed a very unpleasant contrast to the warm, sunny days, which immediately preceded it. We took up our abode for the night at half past seven, on the Northern shore, where the adjacent country is both low and flat. The Indians killed live young swans, and a beaver. There was an appearance of rain. _Friday, 21._--The weather was cold, with a strong Easterly wind and frequent showers, so that we were detained in our station. In the afternoon the Indians got on the track of a moose-deer, but were not so fortunate as to overtake it. _Saturday, 22._--The wind veered round to the Westward, and continued to blow strong and cold. We, however, renewed our voyage, and in three hours reached the entrance of the Slave Lake, under half sail; with the paddle, it would have taken us at least eight hours. The Indians did not arrive till four hours after us; but the wind was so violent, that it was not expedient to venture into the lake; we therefore set a net, and encamped for the night. The women gathered large quantities of the fruit already mentioned, called Pathagomenan, and cranberries, crowberries, mooseberries, &c. The Indians killed two swans and three geese. _Sunday, 23._--The net produced but five small pike, and at five we embarked, and entered the lake by the same channel through which we had passed from it. The South-West side would have been the shortest, but we were not certain of there being plenty of fish along the coast, and we were sure of finding abundance of them in the course we preferred. Besides, I expected to find my people at the place where I left them, as they had received orders to remain there till the fall. We paddled a long way into a deep bay to get the wind, and having left our mast behind us, we landed to cut another. We then hoisted sail, and were driven on at a great rate. At twelve the wind and swell were augmented to such a degree, that our under yard broke, but luckily the mast thwart resisted, till we had time to fasten down the yard with a pole, without lowering sail. We took in a large quantity of water, and had our mast given way, in all probability, we should have filled and sunk. Our course continued to be very dangerous, along a flat lee-shore, without being able to land till three in the afternoon. Two men were continually employed in bailing out the water which we took in on all sides. We fortunately doubled a point that screened us from the wind and swell, and encamped for the night, in order to wait for our Indians. We then set our nets, made a yard and mast, and gummed the canoe. On visiting the nets, we found six white fish, and two pike. The women gathered cranberries and crowberries in great plenty; and as the night came on, the weather became more moderate. _Monday, 24._--Our nets this morning produced fourteen white fish, ten pikes, and a couple of trouts. At five we embarked with a light breeze from the South, when we hoisted sail, and proceeded slowly, as our Indians had not come up with us. At eleven we went on shore to prepare the kettle, and dry the nets; at one we were again on the water. At four in the afternoon, we perceived a large canoe with a sail, and two small ones ahead; we soon came up with them, when they proved to be M. Le Roux and an Indian, with his family, who were on a hunting party, and had been out twenty-five days. It was his intention to have gone as far as the river, to leave a letter for me, to inform me of his situation. He had seen no more Indians where I had left him; but had made a voyage to Lac la Marte, where he met eighteen small canoes of the Slave Indians, from whom he obtained five pack of skins, which were principally those of the marten. There were four Beaver Indians among them, who had bartered the greatest part of the above mentioned articles with them, before his arrival. They informed him that their relations had more skins, but that they were afraid to venture with them, though they had been informed that people were to come with goods to barter for them. He gave these people a pair of ice chisels each, and other articles, and sent them away to conduct their friends to the Slave Lake, where he was to remain during the succeeding winter. We set three nets and in a short time caught twenty fish of different kinds. In the dusk of the evening, the English chief arrived with a most pitiful account that he had like to have been drowned in trying to follow us; and that the other men had also a very narrow escape. Their canoe, he said, had broken on the swell, at some distance from the shore, but as it was flat, they had with his assistance been able to save themselves. He added, that he left them lamenting, lest they should not overtake me, if I did not wait for them; he also expressed his apprehensions that they would not be able to repair their canoe. This evening I gave my men some rum to cheer them after their fatigues. _Tuesday, 25._--We rose this morning at a late hour, when we visited the nets, which produced but few fish: my people, indeed, partook of the stores of M. Le Roux. At eleven, the young Indians arrived, and reproached me for having left them so far behind. They had killed two swans, and brought me one of them. The wind was Southerly throughout the day, and too strong for us to depart, as we were at the foot of a grand traverse. At noon I had an observation, which gave 61. 29. North latitude. Such was the state of the weather, that we could not visit our nets. In the afternoon, the sky darkened, and there was lightning, accompanied with loud claps of thunder. The wind also veered round to the Westward, and blew a hurricane. _Wednesday, 26._--It rained throughout the night, and till eight in the morning, without any alteration in the wind. The Indians went on a hunting excursion, but returned altogether without success in the evening. One of them was so unfortunate as to miss a moose-deer. In the afternoon there were heavy showers, with thunder, &c. _Thursday, 27._--We embarked before four, and hoisted sail. At nine we landed to dress victuals, and wait for M. Le Roux and the Indians. At eleven, we proceeded with fine and calm weather. At four in the afternoon, a light breeze sprang up to the Southward, to which we spread our sail, and at half past five in the afternoon, went on shore for the night. We then set our nets. The English chief and his people being quite exhausted with fatigue, he this morning expressed his desire to remain behind, in order to proceed to the country of the Beaver Indians, engaging at the same time, that he would return to Athabasca in the course of the winter. _Friday, 28._--It blew very hard throughout the night, and this morning, so that we found it a business of some difficulty to get to our nets; our trouble, however, was repaid by a considerable quantity of white fish, trout, &c. Towards the afternoon the wind increased. Two of the men who had been gathering berries saw two moose-deer, with the tracks of buffaloes and rein-deer. About sunset we heard two shots, and saw a fire on the opposite side of the bay; we accordingly made a large fire also, that our position might be determined. When we were all gone to bed, we heard the report of a gun very near us, and in a very short time the English chief presented himself drenched with wet, and in much apparent confusion informed me that the canoe with his companions was broken to pieces; and that they had lost their fowling pieces, and the flesh of a rein-deer, which they had killed this morning. They were, he said, at a very short distance from us; and at the same time requested that fire might be sent to them, as they were starving with cold. They and his women, however, soon joined us, and were immediately accommodated with dry clothes. _Saturday, 29._--I sent the Indians on an hunting party, but they returned without success; and they expressed their determination not to follow me any further, from their apprehension of being drowned. _Sunday, 30._--We embarked at one this morning, and took from the nets a large trout, and twenty white fish. At sunrise a smart aft breeze sprang up, which wafted us to M. Le Roux's house by two in the afternoon. It was late before he and our Indians arrived; when, according to a promise which I had made the latter, I gave them a plentiful equipment of iron ware, ammunition, tobacco, &c., as a recompense for the toil and inconvenience they had sustained with me. I proposed to the English chief to proceed to the country of the Beaver Indians, and bring them to dispose of their peltries to M. Le Roux, whom I intended to leave there the ensuing winter. He had already engaged to be at Athabasca, in the month of March next, with plenty of furs. _Monday, 31._--I sat up all night to make the necessary arrangements for the embarkation of this morning, and to prepare instructions for M. Le Roux. We obtained some provisions here, and parted from him at five, with fine calm weather. It soon, however, became necessary to land on a small island, to stop the leakage of the canoe, which had been occasioned by the shot of an arrow under the water mark, by some Indian children. While this business was proceeding, we took the opportunity of dressing some fish. At twelve, the wind sprang up from the South-East, which was in the teeth of our direction, so that our progress was greatly impeded. I had an observation, which gave 62. 15. North latitude. We landed at seven in the evening, and pitched our tents. _Tuesday, 1._--We continued our voyage at five in the morning, the weather calm and fine, and passed the Isle a la Cache about twelve, but could not perceive the land, which was seen in our former passage. On passing the Carreboeuf Islands, at five in the afternoon, we saw land to the South by West, which we thought was the opposite side of the lake, stretching away to a great distance. We landed at half past six in the evening, when there was thunder, and an appearance of change in the weather. _Wednesday, 2._--It rained and blew hard the latter part of the night. At half past five the rain subsided, when we made a traverse of twelve miles, and took in a good deal of water. At twelve it became calm, when I had an observation, which gave 61. 36. North latitude. At three in the afternoon, there was a slight breeze from the Westward which soon increased, when we hoisted sail, and took a traverse of twenty-four miles, for the point of the old Fort, where we arrived at seven, and stopped for the night. This traverse shortened our way three leagues; indeed we did not expect to have cleared the lake in such a short time. _Thursday, 3._--It blew with great violence throughout the night, and at four in the morning we embarked, when we did not make more than five miles three hours, without stopping; notwithstanding we were sheltered from the swell by a long bank. We now entered the small river, where the wind could have no effect upon us. There were frequent showers in the course of the day, and we encamped at six in the evening. _Friday, 4._--The morning was dark and cloudy, nevertheless we embarked at five; but at ten it cleared up. We saw a few fowl, and at seven in the evening, went on shore for the night. _Saturday, 5._--The weather continued to be cloudy. At five we proceeded, and at eight it began to rain very hard. In about half an hour we put to shore, and were detained for the remaining part of the day. _Sunday, 6._--It rained throughout the night, with a strong North wind. Numerous flocks of wild fowl passed to the Southward; at six in the afternoon, the rain, in some measure, subsided, and we embarked, but it soon returned with renewed violence; we, nevertheless took the advantage of an aft wind, though it cost us a complete drenching. The hunters killed seven, geese, and we pitched our tents at half past six in the evening. _Monday, 7._--We were on the water at five this morning, with a head wind, accompanied by successive showers. At three in the afternoon, we ran the canoe on a stump, and it filled with water before she could be got to land. Two hours were employed in repairing her, and at seven in the evening, we took our station for the night. _Tuesday, 8._--We renewed our voyage at half past four in a thick mist which lasted till nine, when it cleared away, and fine weather succeeded. At three in the afternoon we came to the first carrying-place, _Portage des Noyes_, and encamped at the upper end of it to dry our clothes, some of which were almost rotten. _Wednesday, 9._--We embarked at five in the morning, and our canoe was damaged on the men's shoulders, who were bearing it over the carrying-place, called _Portage du Chetique_. The guide repaired her, however, while the other men were employed in carrying the baggage. The canoe was `gummed at the carrying-place named the _Portage de la Montagne_. After having passed the carrying-places, we encamped at the Dog River, at half past four in the afternoon, in a state of great fatigue. The canoe was again gummed, and paddles were made to replace those that had been broken in ascending the rapids. A swan was the only animal we killed throughout the day. _Thursday, 10._--There was rain and violent wind during the night: in the morning the former subsided and the latter increased. At half past five we continued our course with a North-Westerly wind. At seven we hoisted sail: in the forenoon there were frequent showers of rain and hail, and in the afternoon two showers of snow: the wind was at this time very strong, and at six in the evening we landed at a lodge of Knisteneaux, consisting of three men and five women and children. They were on their return from war, and one of them was very sick: they separated from the rest of their party in the enemy's country, from absolute hunger. After this separation, they met with a family of the hostile tribe, whom they destroyed. They were entirely ignorant of the fate of their friends, but imagined that they had returned to the Peace River, or had perished for want of food. I gave medicine to the sick,[1] and a small portion of ammunition to the healthy; which, indeed, they very much wanted, as they had entirely lived for the last six months on the produce of their bows and arrows. They appeared to have been great sufferers by their expedition. _Friday, 11._--It froze hard during the night, and was very cold throughout the day, with an appearance of snow. We embarked at half past four in the morning, and continued our course till six in the evening, when we landed for the night at our encampment of the third of June. _Saturday, 12._--The weather was cloudy, and also very cold. At eight, we embarked with a North-East wind, and entered the Lake of the Hills. About ten, the wind veered to the West-ward, and was as strong as we could bear it with the high sail, so that we arrived at Chepewyan fort by three o'clock in the afternoon, where we found Mr. Macleod, with five men busily employed in building a new house. Here, then, we concluded this voyage, which had occupied the considerable space of one hundred and two days. [1] This man had conceived an idea, that the people with whom he had been at war, had thrown medicine at him, which had caused his present complaint, and that he despaired of recovery. The natives are so superstitious, that this idea alone was sufficient to kill him. Of this weakness I took advantage; and assured him, that if he would never more go to war with such poor defenceless people, I would cure him. To this proposition he readily consented, and on my giving him medicine, which consisted of Turlington's balsam, mixed in water, I declared that it would lose its effect, if he was not sincere in the promise that he made me. In short, he actually recovered, was true to his engagements, and on all occasions manifested his gratitude to me. CHAPTER VIII. OCTOBER 10, 1792. Having made every necessary preparation, I left Fort Chepewyan, to proceed up the Peace River, I had resolved to go as far as our most distant settlement, which would occupy the remaining part of the season, it being the route by which I proposed to attempt my next discovery, across the mountains from the source of that river; for whatever distance I could reach this fall, would be a proportionate advancement of my voyage. In consequence of this design, I left the establishment of Fort Chepewyan, in charge of Mr. Roderic Mackenzie, accompanied by two canoes laden with the necessary articles for trade: we accordingly steered West for one of the branches that communicates with the Peace River, called the Pine River; at the entrance of which we waited for the other canoes, in order to take some supplies from them, as I had reason to apprehend they would not be able to keep up with us. We entered the Peace River at seven in the morning of the 12th, taking a Westerly course. It is evident, that all the land between it and the Lake of the Hills, as far as the Elk River, is formed by the quantity of earth and mud, which is carried down by the streams of those two great rivers. In this space there are several lakes. The Lake Clear Water, which is the deepest, Lake Vassieu, and the Athabasca Lake, which is the largest of the three, and whose denomination in the Knisteneaux language implies, a flat, low, swampy country, subject to inundations. The two last lakes are now so shallow, that from the cause just mentioned, there is every reason to expect, that in a few years they will have exchanged their character, and become extensive forests. This country is so level, that, at some seasons, it is entirely overflowed, which accounts for the periodical influx and reflux of the waters between the Lake of the Hills and the Peace River. On the 13th at noon we came to the Peace Point; from which, according to the report of my interpreter, the river derives its name; it was the spot where the Knisteneaux and Beaver Indians settled their dispute; the real name of the river and point being that of the land which was the object of contention. When this country was formerly invaded by the Knisteneaux, they found the Beaver Indians inhabiting the land about Portage la Loche; and the adjoining tribe were those whom they called slaves. They drove both these tribes before them; when the latter proceeded down the river from the Lake of the Hills, in consequence of which that part of it obtained the name of the Slave River. The former proceeded up the river; and when the Knisteneaux made peace with them, this place was settled to be the boundary. We continued our voyage, and I did not find the current so strong in this river as I had been induced to believe, though this, perhaps, was not the period to form a correct notion of that circumstance, as well as of the breadth, the water being very low; so that the stream has not appeared to me to be in any part that I have seen, more than a quarter of a mile wide. The weather was cold and raw, so as to render our progress unpleasant; at the same time we did not relax in our expedition, and, at three on the afternoon of the 17th we arrived at the falls. The river at this place is about four hundred yards broad, and the fall about twenty feet high: the first carrying place is eight hundred paces in length, and the last, which is about a mile onwards, is something more than two-thirds of that distance. Here we found several fires, from which circumstance we concluded, that the canoes destined for this quarter, which left the fort some days before us, could not be far a-head. The weather continued to be very cold, and the snow that fell during the night was several inches deep. On the morning of the 18th, as soon as we got out of the draught of the fall, the wind being at North-East, and strong in our favour, we hoisted sail, which carried us on at a considerable rate against the current, and passed the Loon River before twelve o'clock; from thence we soon came along the Grande Isle, at the upper end of which we encamped for the night. It now froze very hard: indeed, it had so much the appearance of winter, that I began to entertain some alarm lest we might be stopped by the ice: we therefore set off at three o'clock in the morning of the 19th, and about eight we landed at the Old Establishment. The passage to this place from Athabasca having been surveyed by M. Vandrieul, formerly in the Company's service, I did not think it necessary to give any particular attention to it; I shall, however, just observe, that the course in general from the Lake of the Hills to the falls, is Westerly, and as much to the North as the South of it, from thence it is about West-South-West to this fort. The country in general is low from our entrance of the river to the falls, and with the exception of a few open parts covered with grass, it is clothed with wood. Where the banks are very low the soil is good, being composed of the sediment of the river and putrefied leaves and vegetables. Where they are more elevated, they display a face of yellowish clay, mixed with small stones. On a line with the falls, and on either side of the river, there are said to be very extensive plains, which afford pasture to numerous herds of buffaloes Our people a-head slept here last night, and, from their carelessness, the fire was communicated to and burned down, the large house, and was proceeding fast to the smaller buildings when we arrived to extinguish it. We continued our voyage, the course of the river being South-West by West one mile and a quarter, South by East one mile, South-West by South three miles, West by South one mile, South-South-West two miles, South four miles, South-West seven miles and a half, South by West one mile, North-North-West two miles and a half, South five miles and a quarter, South-West one mile and a half, North-East by East three miles and a half, and South-East by East one mile. We overtook Mr. Finlay, with his canoes, who was encamped near the fort of which he was going to take the charge, during the ensuing winter, and made every necessary preparative for a becoming appearance on our arrival the following morning. Although I had been since the year 1787, in the Athabasca country, I had never yet seen a single native of that part of it which we had now reached. At six o'clock in the morning of the 20th, we landed before the house amidst the rejoicing and firing of the people, who were animated with the prospect of again indulging themselves in the luxury of rum, of which they had been deprived since the beginning of May; as it is a practice throughout the North-West neither to sell or give any rum to the natives during the summer. There was at this time only one chief with his people, the other two being hourly expected with their bands; and on the 21st and 22d they all arrived except the war chief and fifteen men. As they very soon expressed their desire of the expected regale, I called them together, to the number of forty-two hunters, or men capable of bearing arms, to offer some advice, which would be equally advantageous to them and to us, and I strengthened my admonition with a nine gallon cask of reduced rum, and a quantity of tobacco. At the same time I observed, that as I should not often visit them, I had instanced a greater degree of liberality than they had been accustomed to. The number of people belonging to this establishment amounts to about three hundred, of which, sixty are hunters. Although they appear from their language to be of the same stock as the Chepewyans, they differ from them in appearance, manners, and customs, as they have adopted those of their former enemies, the Knisteneaux; they speak their language, as well as cut their hair, paint, and dress like them, and possess their immoderate fondness for liquor and tobacco. This description, however, can be applied only to the men, as the women are less adorned even than those of the Chepewyan tribes. We could not observe, without some degree of surprize, the contrast between the neat and decent appearance of the men, and the nastiness of the women. I am disposed, however, to think, that this circumstance is generally owing to the extreme submission and abasement of the latter: for I observed, that one of the chiefs allowed two of his wives more liberty and familiarity than were accorded to the others, as well as a more becoming exterior, and their appearance was proportionably pleasing; I shall, however, take a future opportunity to speak more at large on this subject. There were frequent changes of the weather in the course of the day, and it froze rather hard in the night. The thickness of the ice in the morning was a sufficient notice for me to proceed. I accordingly gave the natives such good counsel as might influence their behaviour, communicated my directions to Mr. Findlay for his future conduct, and took my leave under several vollies of musketry, on the morning of the 23d. I had already dispatched my loaded canoes two days before, with directions to continue their progress without waiting for me. Our course was South-South-East one mile and an half, South three quarters; East seven miles and a half, veering gradually to the West four miles and an half, South-East by South three miles, South-East three miles and an half, East-South-East to Long Point three miles, South-West one mile and a quarter, East by North four miles and three quarters, West three miles and an half, West-South-West one mile, East by South five miles and a half, South three miles and three quarters, South-East by South three miles, East-South-East three miles, East-North-East one mile, when there was a river that flowed in on the right, East two miles and an half, East-South-East half a mile, South-East by South seven miles and an half, South two miles, South-South-East three miles and an half; in the course of which we passed an island South by West, where a rivulet flowed in on the right, one mile, East one mile and an half, South five miles, South-East by South four miles and an half, South-West one mile, South-East by East four miles and an half, West-South-West half a mile, South-West six miles and three quarters, South-East by South one mile and an half, South one mile and an half; South-East by South two miles, South-West three quarters of a mile, South-East by South two miles and an half, East by South one mile and three quarters, South two miles, South-East one mile and an half, South-South-East half a mile, East by South two miles and an half, North-East three miles, South-West by West short distance to the establishment of last year, East-North-East four miles, South-South-East one mile and three quarters, South half a mile, South-East by South three quarters of a mile, North-East by East one mile, South three miles, South-South-East one mile and three quarters, South by East four miles and an half, South-West three miles, South by East two miles, South by West one mile and an half, South-West two miles, South by West four miles and an half, South-West one mile and an half, and South by East three miles. Here we arrived at the forks of the river; the Eastern branch appearing to be not more than half the size of the Western one. We pursued the latter, in a course South-West by West six miles, and landed on the first of November at the place which was designed to be my winter residence: indeed, the weather had been so cold and disagreeable, that I was more than once apprehensive of our being stopped by the ice, and, after all, it required the utmost exertions of which my men were capable to prevent it; so that on their arrival they were quite exhausted. Nor were their labours at an end, for there was not a single hut to receive us: it was, however, now in my power to feed and sustain them in a more comfortable manner. We found two men here who had been sent forward last spring, for the purpose of squaring timber for the erection of a house, and cutting pallisades, &c., to surround it. With them was the principal chief of the place, and about seventy men, who had been anxiously waiting for our arrival, and received us with every mark of satisfaction and regard which they could express. If we might judge from the quantity of powder that was wasted on our arrival, they certainly had not been in want of ammunition, at least during the summer. The banks of the river, from the falls, are in general lofty, except at low woody points, accidentally formed in the manner I have already mentioned: they also displayed, in all their broken parts, a face of clay, intermixed with stone; in some places there likewise appeared a black mould. In the summer of 1788, a small spot was cleared at the Old Establishment, which is situated on a bank thirty feet above the level of the river, and was sown with turnips, carrots, and parsnips. The first grew to a large size, and the others thrived very well. An experiment was also made with potatoes and cabbage, the former of which were successful; but for want of care the latter failed. The next winter the person who had undertaken this cultivation, suffered the potatoes which had been collected for seed, to catch the frost, and none had been since brought to this place. There is not the least doubt but the soil would be very productive, if a proper attention was given to its preparation. In the fall of the year 1787, when I first arrived at Athabasca, Mr. Pond was settled on the banks of the Elk River, where he remained for three years, and had formed as fine a kitchen garden as I ever saw in Canada. In addition to the wood which flourished below the fall, these banks produce the cypress tree, arrow-wood, and the thorn. On either side of the river, though invisible from it, are extensive plains, which abound in buffaloes, elks, wolves, foxes, and bears. At a considerable distance to the Westward, is an immense ridge of high land or mountains, which take an oblique direction from below the falls, and are inhabited by great numbers of deer, which are seldom disturbed, but when the Indians go to hunt the beaver in those parts; and, being tired with the flesh of the latter, vary their food with that of the former. This ridge bears the name of the Deer Mountain. Opposite to our present situation, are beautiful meadows, with various animals grazing on them, and groves of poplars irregularly scattered over them. My tent was no sooner pitched, than I summoned the Indians together, and gave each of them about four inches of Brazil tobacco, a dram of spirits, and lighted the pipe. As they had been very troublesome to my predecessor, I informed them that I had heard of their misconduct, and was come among them to inquire into the truth of it. I added also that it would be an established rule with me to treat them with kindness, if their behaviour should be such as to deserve it; but, at the same time, that I should be equally severe if they failed in those returns which I had a right to expect from them. I then presented them with a quantity of rum, which I recommended to be used with discretion; and added some tobacco, as a token of peace. They, in return, made me the fairest promises; and having expressed the pride they felt on beholding me in their country, took their leave. I now proceeded to examine my situation; and it was with great satisfaction I observed that the two men who had been sent hither some time before us, to cut and square timber for our future operations, had employed the intervening period with activity and skill. They had formed a sufficient quantity of pallisades of eighteen feet long, and seven inches in diameter, to inclose a square spot of an hundred and twenty feet; they had also dug a ditch of three feet deep to receive them; and had prepared timber, planks, &c., for the erection of a house. I was, however, so much occupied in settling matters with the Indians, and equipping them for their winter hunting, that I could not give my attention to any other object, till the 7th, when I set all hands at work to construct the fort, build the house, and form store houses. On the preceding day the river began to run with ice, which we call the last of the navigation. On the 11th we had a South-West wind, with snow. On the 16th, the ice stopped in the other fork, which was not above a league from us, across the intervening neck of land. The water in this branch continued to flow till the 22d, when it was arrested also by the frost, so that we had a passage across the river, which would last to the latter end of the succeeding April. This was a fortunate circumstance, as we depended for our support upon what the hunters could provide for us, and they had been prevented by the running of the ice from crossing the river. They now, however, very shortly procured us as much fresh meat as we required, though it was for some time a toilsome business to my people, for as there was not yet a sufficient quantity of snow to run sledges, they were under the necessity of loading themselves with the spoils of the chase. On the 27th the frost was so severe that the axes of the workmen became almost as brittle as glass. The weather was very various until the 2d of December, when my Farenheit's thermometer was injured by an accident, which rendered it altogether useless. The table on page 353, therefore, from the 16th of November, to this unfortunate circumstance, is the only correct account of the weather which I can offer. [Transcriber's Note: The table referenced in the preceding paragraph follows immediately below.] Month|Date|Hours|Below|Above|Wind|Weather||Hour|Below|Above|Wind|Weather||Hour|Below|Above|Wind|Weather|| and | |A.M. | 0 | 0 | | || | 0 | 0 | | ||P.M.| 0 | | | || year | | | | | | || | | | | || | | | | || --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 1792 | | | | | | || | | | | || | | | | || Nov. |16 | 8½ | ... | 10 |....| || 12 | 0 | 14 |....| || 6 | .. | 15 |....|Cloudy.|| |17 | 8½ | ... | 17 |....|Clear. || 12 | .. | 20 |... |Clear. || 6 | .. | 23 |....|ditto. || |18 | 9 | ... | 19 |ESE | || 12 | .. | 21 |ESE | || 6 | .. | 14 |ESE |Clear. || |19 | 8 | ... | 5 |NW | || 12 | .. | 12 |NW | || 6 | .. | 9 |NW |ditto. ||Strong wind |20 | 8½ | ... | 4 |... |ditto. || 12 | .. | 14 |....|ditto. || 6 | .. | 19 |....|Cloudy.||At 10 last night 1 below 0 |21 | 8 | ... | 19 |... | || 12 | .. | 25 |....| || 6 | .. | 23 |....|...... ||River stopped. |22 | 9 | ... | 27 |... |Cloudy.|| 12 | .. | 29 |....|Cloudy.|| 6 | .. | 28 |....|Cloudy ||Ice drove and water rises. |23 | 8½ | ... | 2 |N |Clear. || 12 | .. | 23 |....|Clear. || 6 | .. | 15 |N |...... ||Ice drove again. |24 | 8 | 3 | .. |... |ditto. || 12 | 0 | 0 |NE | || 6 | 1 | .. |NE |Cloudy.|| |25 | 8 | 14 | .. |... |ditto. || 12 | 4 | .. |....| || 6 | 2 | .. |....|Clear. ||Snowed last night 2 inches. |26 | 9 | 10 | .. |N |ditto. || 12 | .. | 2 |N | || 6 | 0 | 0 |N |ditto. || |27 | 8 | 2 | .. |... |ditto. || 12 | 3 | 2 |....| || 6 | .. | 1 |SW |ditto. || |28 | 8 | 16 | .. |... |ditto. || 12 | .. | .. |....| || 6 | 7 | .. |S |ditto. ||After dark, overcast. |29 | 7½ | ... | 4 |... |Cloudy.|| 12 | .. | 13 |....| || 6 | .. | 7 |....|ditto. ||Ditto, a little wind S. W. |30 | 9 | ... | 4 |S | || 12 | .. | 13 |S |Cloudy.|| 6 | .. | 16 |S |Cloudy.|| Dec.| 1 | 9 | ... | 0 |... | || 12 | | 19 |SE | || 5 | .. | 24 |SE |ditto. ||Fell 3 inches snow last night. | 2 | 9 | ... | 27 |E | || | | | | || 5 | | | | || In this situation, removed from all those ready aids which add so much to the comfort, and, indeed is a principal characteristic of civilized life, I was under the necessity of employing my judgment and experience in accessory circumstances by no means connected with the habits of my life, or the enterprise in which I was immediately engaged. I was now among the people who had no knowledge whatever of remediable application to those disorders and accidents to which man is liable in every part of the globe, in the distant wilderness, as in the peopled city. They had not the least acquaintance with that primitive medicine, which consists in an experience of the healing virtues of herbs and plants, and is frequently found among uncivilised and savage nations. This circumstance now obliged me to be their physician and surgeon, as a woman with a swelled breast, which had been lacerated with flint stones for the cure of it, presented herself to my attention, and by cleanliness, poultices, and healing salve, I succeeded in producing a cure. One of my people, also, who was at work in the woods, was attacked with a sudden pain near the first joint of his thumb, which disabled him from holding an axe. On examining his arm, I was astonished to find a narrow red stripe, about half an inch wide, from his thumb to his shoulder; the pain was violent, and accompanied with chilliness and shivering. This was a case that appeared to be beyond my skill, but it was necessary to do something towards relieving the mind of the patient, though I might be unsuccessful in removing his complaint. I accordingly prepared a kind of volatile liniment of rum and soap, with which I ordered his arm to be rubbed, but with little or no effect. He was in a raving state throughout the night, and the red stripe not only increased, but was also accompanied with the appearance of several blotches on his body, and pains in his stomach; the propriety of taking some blood from him now occurred to and I ventured, from absolute necessity, to perform that operation for the first time, and with an effect that justified the treatment. The following night afforded him rest, and in a short time he regained his former health and activity. I was very much surprised on walking in the woods at such an inclement period of the year, to be saluted with the singing of birds, while they seemed by their vivacity to be actuated by the invigorating power of a more genial season. Of these birds the male was something less than the robin; part of his body is of a delicate fawn colour, and his neck, breast, and belly, of a deep scarlet; the wings are black, edged with fawn colour, and two white stripes running across them; the tail is variegated, and the head crowned with a tuft. The female is smaller than the male, and of a fawn colour throughout, except on the neck, which is enlivened by an hue of glossy yellow. I have no doubt but they are constant inhabitants of this climate, as well as some other small birds which we saw, of a grey colour. 
36578	----	[Illustration: Cover art] [Frontispiece: "Boys, I allus carries my Guide-Book." (_Page 30._)] THE WARDEN OF THE PLAINS AND OTHER STORIES OF LIFE IN THE CANADIAN NORTH-WEST BY JOHN MACLEAN, M.A., PH.D., _Author of "Canadian Savage Folk," etc._ ILLUSTRATED BY J. E. LAUGHLIN TORONTO WILLIAM BRIGGS WESLEY BUILDINGS MONTREAL: C. W. COATES ------ HALIFAX: S. F. HUESTIS 1896 Entered according to Act of the Parliament of Canada, in the year one thousand eight hundred and ninety-six, by WILLIAM BRIGGS, at the Department of Agriculture. CONTENTS. THE WARDEN OF THE PLAINS ASOKOA, THE CHIEF'S DAUGHTER THE SKY PILOT THE LONE PINE THE WRITING STONE AKSPINE OLD GLAD THE SPIRIT GUIDE ALAHCASLA THE HIDDEN TREASURE THE WHITE MAN'S BRIDE THE COMING OF APAUAKAS THE WARDEN OF THE PLAINS. In the wide western plains at the base of the Rocky Mountains, where countless buffalo once found luxuriant feeding-grounds, the white man's cattle were roaming in tens of thousands. It was the time of the "round up." The cowboys had been scouring the plain for hundreds of miles gathering in the cattle and horses, banding them and driving them into the corral, there to be counted and the young branded. The "round up" party had camped for the night. Many of them were weary from the hard day's riding, and were sitting or lounging about in the tents or on the open prairie, waiting for the supper which others were preparing. "Hello, Jake!" shouted one of these, as a man who seemed to have sprung from the prairie, so suddenly had he appeared, rode into the camp. "All right, Bill," was the reply of the new-comer, uttered in a short but friendly tone. "The boys 'll be right glad t' see ye, Jake, fur we haven't had a sermon fur a long time. Ye're the only preacher we fellows have got, and ye're welcome." "Wall, Bill, ef ye wud follow the trail and no be straying frae the herd, ye wouldna get lost sae often, nur make it sae hard fur yerselves, and fur the Gospel cowboys t' find ye." Jake, or as he called himself, the "Gospel Cowboy," was a queer character but a true man, who felt himself called upon to go from ranch to ranch to tell in his own strange way the story of the Saviour's love. Before his conversion he was known as "Broncho Jake," but since then the pioneers on the prairie had called him "The Warden of the Plains." He was a daring fellow, fearless of danger in crossing the rapid rivers, a good rider and a splendid roper. Few of the cowboys could handle a lariat like Broncho Jake. He was always foremost in trials of skill and horsemanship. A few years before he had entered upon his new life of itinerating among the ranches, there was a contest between the cowboys to decide who among them was the most skilful rider. Jake was one of the competitors. A large circle was formed upon the prairie where the contest was to be held. The various riders were surrounded by friends who had come to witness the exhibition of skill. Many feats of daring were performed, until the contest lay finally between Bill Jones and Broncho Jake. Bill sprang lightly upon his horse, and riding rapidly around the circle, flung his hat to the ground; then increasing the animal's speed until it became a mad rush through space, he leaned downward on the right side, and holding on only by his left foot, picked up the hat, and, putting it on his head, threw himself back into the saddle. The crowd cheered him lustily as he sat his horse with easy grace and rode once more around the circle. The horse seemed to understand and feel that his master's reputation was at stake, and his nostrils quivered as he stretched his neck forward in the race. Still riding at full speed, Bill loosed his necktie and threw it on the ground. Surely he does not mean to attempt to pick it up! If he tries he will certainly break his neck. Bill rode once more round the ring; then throwing the reins on the neck of the sure-footed animal, while every eye was strained to catch his slightest movement, he bent forward, and with a sudden dash as he rode past where it lay, he grasped the necktie in his fingers and lifted it from the ground, waving it in the air as he rode onward to the starting-place. The cowboys were delighted. Many of them ran to him, seized his hands and expressed their hearty admiration of his skill. It was then Jake's turn to show what he could do, and although everyone was interested, they felt that the contest was ended, and many of them said so. "Bet yer life Jake can't beat that!" Jake took no notice of this expression of public opinion, but threw himself on his horse as indifferently as if such contests were of everyday occurrence. Riding easily around the ring two or three times as if to get himself into trim for his work, he threw his hat on the ground, and as he rode past picked it up. Taking off his necktie, he cast that on the prairie and picked it up as deftly as Bill had done. The crowd were surprised. They had not thought Jake capable of such a daring feat. But he had not exhausted his ability to astonish them. Riding around as before, Jake flung down both hat and tie, and as he passed them on his next round leaned forward and picked up first one and then the other with his teeth; then turning to the crowd, who were cheering him loudly, he waved his hand in acknowledgment of their praise, and rode quietly homeward. Broncho Jake was henceforward honored by the boys. When he joined the ranks of the "Gospel grinders" there were wry faces made and queer remarks uttered, for some of the boys thought he would be sentimental and sanctimonious; but there were others who knew him better and said, "Jake's a square fellow, and you bet he'll be a good un; none o' yer long faces nur yer long prayers when a fellow is in need of anything." Jake justified his friends' faith, and no one exerted a wider influence for good over the cowboys, or was given a heartier welcome when he came among them, than "The Warden of the Plains." On this evening as soon as supper was over, the boys gathered round Jake and were soon singing the hymns he had set to the rollicking airs all cowboys love. Jake had a grand supply of stories, and when the lads were in good spirits they would listen eagerly, unconsciously learning the lesson the story never failed to convey. Jake was too wise to draw the moral of his tales himself, thus treating his audience as children. He told his stories in a fascinating and suggestive manner, and left each listener to adapt their teaching to his own need or consciousness. Much, however, as they liked his stories, the great event of Jake's visit was his sermon. The boys loved to hear him preach. He talked to them in language and in a way that they could understand, and his genuine goodness of heart and interest in their welfare had taught them to love him. It was a rough kind of affection, and the boys would not have called it by that name, perhaps, but it was none the less a genuine love for the man. Taking a little book out of his pocket, Jake looked around on the men who sat about him, and smiling as he held it up, said: "Ye see, boys, I allus bring my brand Book wi' me to see to the strays and return them to the masters. I've got nearly all the brands by heart. The biggest cattle-bosses I've known--an' a good many I've met in my day--are the Lord Jesus Christ and the devil. I'm a wee bit afeard the devil's got the biggest herd, for his range is cropped off bare, and the cattle are pretty thin. He's no a bit partic'ler how he gets them, mavrocks, strays and sich like, he puts his brand on them all. Sich a lot of scrubs you never saw afore. Puir things, wi' a hummocky, stony range they get hardly anythin' to eat. "I've ridden over the range, an' I reckon I know what it's like. His herd is just like Slim Jim's, where the cattle feed on furze and rushes, thinkin' they're fine grass and vetches, but ye can tell when ye see their ribs they're no well herded. I reckon the cowboys are asleep, an' the puir things maun rustle fur themselves. Ah, ma lads, ye're among the strays the devil has stolen, an' he's put his brand on ye. Ye canna see his mark, fur he's put it pretty well on yer flanks. He's a cunnin' cattle-boss. He's afeard the owner might claim ye, for would ye believe it, ye belong to the herd of Christ, an' ye've strayed, and some of ye were mavrocks. It's easy to get lost on the prairie when ye take the wrong trail, an' some of ye hae jist shut yer eyes an' followed the ithers ahead o' ye. I reckon the Christ cowboys and the devil's cowboys hae pretty hard times when they meet on the prairie. It's none o' yer wee fights, but a strong tussle. They're just like the big cattle-bosses I wus a readin' about that got into trouble about their ranges. There wus Old Abe and Parson Lot. Wall, they had big herds, an' they got cropped bare, an' one day Abe, the cattle-boss, looked out o' his ranch and he sees Parson Lot, the other big cattle-boss, a comin' wi' his cowboys an' cattle, an' they was a singin' 'We're comin', Father Abraham, Wi' three hundred thousand more.' "Old Abe wasna pleased at Lot's puttin' on airs like that, and he says, 'Come in!' They sat down in the cattle-boss's shanty, and he says, 'See here, this is not going to do. If the cowboys get a fightin' the Injuns an' half-breeds will come an' drive us out, so ye see it wull pay us to be friends.' Lot turns to him and says, 'That's what's the matter.' "Wall, the two bosses rode over the country prospectin', an' Abe says, 'It's a big country; make your choice, Lot, fur I respec' ye, ye're an honest chap.' "Wall, Lot went to the prairies o' the Jordan, an' Abram went to the range o' Canaan. That ended their wee bit spat. An' that's the way to settle squabbles on the ranches. Jist separate them, an' that will save powder, an' none o' the cowboys will get scalped. If ye're no contented to herd for Lot, I guess Abram would give ye a job, an' he pays well, an' the grub is good. "I tell ye, the devil's a good roper, an' his boys are up to all kinds o' pranks. Get on his range an' he'll hae ye coralled an' his mark on ye afore ye know it. Christ is a fine boss, an' don't you forget it. His cattle are all slick an' fat, an' his cowboys allus engage again after their time's out. Stick to him, my lads. He disna say much, but ye get the best o' everything!" Jake fell upon his knees and prayed briefly: "Blessed Maister, we love you, an' we're not ashamed to tell everybody. We oughter be ashamed if we didna tell. Some of us are not on the right trail. We've lost it, and we canna find it. The snow must o' covered it, or else our eyesight is gettin' bad an' we canna see. Corral us, O Lord, afore we get lost in the storm. Brand us wi' yer ain mark, that ye'll ken yer ain. Keep us on yer ain range, an' if ever we stampede, throw yer rope an' lead us to yer ranch. Save us frae wand'rin' in the mountains or strayin' in the coulees when there's fine feed on the prairie. Help us to feed on grace an' truth, an' may we be prepared to walk in the trails o' heaven; no runnin' an' tossin' up the horns, but walkin' an' lyin' down, sae peaceful like. When we're faint in the winter, an' there's no room fur us in the herd, or in the stables at the ranch, take us quietly some night, when there's nobody lookin', an' when we get hame we'll thank ye oursels fur all yer kindness an' love. Amen!" Before sunrise the camp was astir, and Jake, bidding his friends good-bye, continued his journey after partaking of a hasty meal. Few were the houses on the prairie, and frequently did this "sky pilot," as he was sometimes called, travel from forty to fifty miles to visit some aged miner or sick cowboy. "An' yer lyin' there yet, Jim," said Jake, as he entered the shack of an old-timer who had been sick for a few weeks. "Ay, Jake, it's hard lines, but I might be worse." "That's true. Ye never looked on it that way afore, an' I'm glad to hear ye talk in that way." Jake threw off his coat and stepped outside without saying a word, and in a few moments the vigorous play of an axe was heard. It was Jake putting in a preface to his sermon. Oftentimes he would say, "Ye maun heed the Book, fur it tells ye afore ye eat ye maun work, an' a clean religion is to creep down quietly afore anyone sees ye to the widow's house, an' split wood an' carry water. Ye min' that publican? I reckon he must hae been a cowboy when he was young. Afore he prayed he struck his breast pretty hard, an' then he prayed; but that Pharisee was too lazy an' proud, fur he prayed first. Now, ye maun work afore ye preach or pray or eat. Ye see it means if ye dinna work ye'll get so fat ye'll no be healthy, an' if ye don't take exercise prayin' a bit, readin' the Book awhile, choppin' wood fur the widows an' sheerin' sheep fur the orphans, ye'll be lazy an' unco clumsy. An' if ye get fat the devil will soon get ye, fur he's allus on the lookout fur fat cattle. "The Maister didna think much o' them publicans, but I reckon He had a kind o hankerin' after that un that cried, 'God be merciful!' "Publicans! I should think yer Master wouldn't travel on the same trail with them, fur they're the fellows as sells ye bad whiskey fur a big price, an' when yer dimes are gone, turn ye out on the prairie," said Jim. "Ye're on the wrong trail, Jim; them publicans were Nor'-West lawyers, who charge ye thirty per cent. fur lendin' money, an' when ye borrow a hunner dollars gie ye sixty-four. I know them, fur I've been there. Some o' them fellers will hae to strike their breasts pretty hard afore the Maister 'll hear the crack." Jake had a roaring fire on, and was soon busy making pancakes, buns and tea, and frying some bacon. Jim was badly crippled with rheumatism, and seldom saw anyone except a cowboy or an Indian. He did not, however, feel lonely, as he had been accustomed to this mode of living for many years. The present year had been one of the hardest for him, he had suffered so much with rheumatism. Jim had been well brought up, his connections being numbered amongst some of the first families of Philadelphia. When quite a young man he had drifted westward, attracted by the report of the fortunes made at the mines. His life had been one of expectancy, always hoping for the fortune which seemed to others a long way off. He was not daunted in his pursuit of wealth. Several times he had made large sums and then squandered them freely, hoping to replace them by greater; but that happy day never came to him, and now he was almost a helpless cripple, crawling around his shanty, and glad to see the face of a stranger. There was none more welcome than Broncho Jake. Jim had known him before he became a "sky pilot," and so fully did he believe him, that no one dared to say a word against him in his hearing. "The slap-jacks are no the best, Jim, but I reckon they'll keep life in for a while." "They're fine, Jake, they're fine." "The Maister," said Jake, "must ha been a good one, for He wus worse off than our rabbits; He didna hae a hole to creep into out o' the sight o' His enemies; an' min', He had a lot o' them, fur He was the friend on the side o' the men who had their failings and had none to sympathize with them. When a cowboy went off on the wrong trail an' got lost,--wi' drink, I mean,--He wud come after him an' make signs like the Indians, an' shout, 'Come back, ye're on the wrong trail!' "He didn't trample ye down when ye fell, but waited till ye got yer breath, an' then takin' yer arm, He wud say, 'My friend, get up; ye'll soon be well. I'll gie ye a hand to put ye on yer horse, an' I'll help ye to find the trail.' He was a bonnie man, an' don't you forget it; none o' yer gentry, but a real man, wha, if He were here among us, win I dress in 'chapps' an' sombrero, an' ride a fine horse. I reckon He wud beat us a' at the ropin' an' ridin' an' sich like. I wud allus let Him beat me if I thought I could do better than Him." Jim was silent. He had finished his meal and drawn near to the stove. He had seldom thought of such things until Jake began to visit him, and then his mind was directed towards religion, but in the quaint way which was characteristic of these men of the western plains. Jim sat gazing intently into the fire, while Jake continued his talk as he cleared the dishes from the small table and began to wash them. As he scrubbed and cleaned he talked about the Master in such a familiar strain that Jim felt as if he were some relation, that he also had some claim upon His sympathies, and would work gladly for him. The dishes were cleaned and the room swept, and then Jake joined him beside the stove. "Ay, Jim, many a time I hae crossed these prairies thinking I was pretty smart, but I tell ye I found my match. I could ride faster and better'n any of the boys, 'n, thinks I, there's none can beat me, I'm boss o' the ranches. Wall, I wus a ridin' to the ranch one day, an' as I wus a crossin' the Belly River I thought I heard a voice out o' the bush calling my name. It wasna the same as the boys call me, but the voice cried, 'Johnnie!' Wall, it wasna the name that struck me so much as the voice. I says to mysel', 'I ken that voice.' When I got across the river I went into the bush, and agen I heard my name called out, 'n I says, 'Hullo!' but I heard nothin', till the third time I was a listening an' then fainter so I could hardly catch it, it said, 'Johnnie!' I turned my horse's head to go to the mountains, but, wud ye believe it, the beast wudna go. I got a kind o' skeered, 'n says I, 'There must be some ghosts here.' I dinna believe in such things, so I drove the spurs into my horse, but he wudna go; so, jest to see the end o' the thing, I let him take his own way, an' I gie him the lines an' let him go. He turned right to the river an' crossed back an' off as fast as he could go. 'The spirits hae got him sure,' says I. But as he went on, I began to think, an', puttin' the voice an' the horse's gait together, I says, 'I'll see the end o' this.' My horse took me right to the Missouri River, an' without thinkin' what I was doin', I put him in a herd an' stepped on a boat, an' off I went down the Big Muddy. I couldna tell ye all my queer journey, for I wasna mysel'. Wall, I landed at last in a wee bit of a town, an' as I wus goin' up the street, I thinks to myself, I hae seen some o' these things afore. I stopped at a door to pick up a wee thing that was cryin', an' when I was talkin' to it, an old man comes to me, an' holdin' out his hand, he says, 'I'm glad ye're come. She's been a lookin' fur ye, an' she'll be right glad to see ye, fur she canna last long.' I looked at him an' shook my head. 'Come in, John Fraser,' says he, and I looked. I didna ken what to say. That was the first time fur many long years that I'd heard my name. I had almost forgotten it mysel'. I went into the house. It was none o' yer shanties, but a fine big house; an', as I went in, the old man took me to the bed, an' he says, 'He's come! Didna I tell ye that yer dreams an' prayers would all come true?' "'Johnnie! Johnnie!'" Broncho Jake stopped. The tears were coursing down his cheeks, and his lips were quivering with intense emotion. "It was my mither, Jim. I hadna ben back since I ran away when I wus a wee fellow, an' I had forgotten all about them, an' I didna ken which way to find them, an' here I was at last! That voice at the river brought me to her bedside. She took my hands in hers an' says, "'Johnnie, He'll be a true friend to ye.' "'He's too old, mither, to be any use to me. He wouldna make a cowboy; he's too old.' "'Oh, Johnnie,' says she, 'dinna talk in that way. I hae trusted in Him since I wus a wee lassie, and He'll no leave me noo when I'm crossin' the Jordan.' "'Mither, I'll tak ye across the Jordan if it's no too deep. Mony a time I hae crossed the Kootenay an' the Saskatchewan, an' if the Jordan's no wider an' deeper an' them I can tak ye across. He's too old to tak ye o'er the water.' "'Johnnie, Johnnie! my laddie! hae ye forgotten all I taught ye at my knee?' says my mither to me. "Wall, Jim, she talked to me till I couldna see, fur my eyes were fu' of tears. The dear old body took me by the hand as she prayed for me wi' her dying breath, and afore she went away she says, 'Ye'll serve him, Johnnie?' an' I put my hand in hers, and I couldna say anything, but jest kissed her old cheek afore she died. 'Meet me yonder, Johnnie,' she said, and then she closed her eyes. "I got a fine stone an' put it at her grave, an' I got the fellow who made it to cut out on it a saddle and a pair o' spurs, and above them the words, 'Meet Me Yonder.' "Late one night I went to her grave an' got down beside it, an' wud ye believe it, I prayed and I says, 'Maister, Maister, I'll serve ye! I'm no happy here, an' I'll gang back to the ranch and serve ye.' "I went again next morning to take a last look at the grave, and then I said: 'I'm off to the mountains to serve Him." Jim was deeply interested. Jake had never opened his mind so freely to anyone. When he had finished there were tears in Jim's eyes. "Jake, I had a mother, and she wus a good un. Her prayers were short, but I tell ye they were to the point. She was what some o' the folks called a Gospel liver, not a Gospel talker. When I wus a boy there wus two kinds of religion--the livers and the talkers. The talkers had bigger churches an' bigger crowds, an' the folks said they wus fine on Sunday; but ye had to look out when you wus dealin' with them on Monday. The livers were fine folks all the week, an' ye could trust them." "Just like our bronchos," said Jake. "Christians are like bronchos, Jim. If they're well broken in when they're young they'll be steady, an' if ye break them to ride or drive it's all the same to them, if ye train them right. Now, there are some Christians that have never been broken in right. Sometimes they'll balk, an' it's no their fault, they were trained wrong. An' there are some kickers. Wall, the fellows that broke them in are to blame, not the kickin' Christians; they were na broken in right. There are some Christians that shy at a prayer because some fellow didna pray like them, or they shy at some Christian in their churches just like a horse at a piece of paper or an engine on a railroad. Then there are some Christians like our bucking horses, they won't work. Ye can't put a saddle or harness on 'em, an' they're fat, sleek an' strong. They all want to be bosses an' feed on the best without doing any work. Wall, they're not to blame. It's the fellows wha breaks 'em in that causes all the trouble. Gie me a steady Christian, a good stepper, sure-footed, well-built for saddle or to draw, not a genteel, high-spirited nervous thing, but one full of life, well broken in, willin' to work and wha kens his boss. I don't like yer dreachy Christian, allus going into his neighbor's field or corral, an' I don't want them that won't stay in their own band, but are allus runnin' on their neighbors. "I hae, like you, Jim, met some queer folks in my day, jest like the horses I hae handled. Once I wus boss of a ranch, an' I had some fine bands of horses, but there wus one band that beat me. I wus kept in the saddle most o' the time lookin' after them. I had a fine black horse called Scottie; he stood sixteen an' a half hands high, an' was as sober as a judge, but would ye believe me, I couldna keep him at hame. He would stray away every chance he got, an' I allus found him in a band called the Methodist band. They got the name frae the way in which they worked thegither. You never saw the like; wheniver they were hitched up thegither they would pull for all they wus worth. They would keep step and pull well. When they came to a hill they bent down their heads, and afore ye could get yer breath they had the load on the top o' the hill. Whenever they were put out on the range they wud run and toss up their heads, an' kick an' whinny. They were all so full of mischief, an' man, they seemed to like each ither that well you couldna part them. Once in a while they would stampede, and then for several days they wouldna look into each ither's faces, they seemed sae ashamed. There wus nothing in it; it wus purely good spirits. They wur sae full o' life they didna ken what to do. Wall, Scottie wud stray into the Methodist band, an' I wusna pleased, fur I saw that the boss o' the ranch wud like to get him, and whenever Scottie wus with the band the cowboys drove the whole band onto the finest pasture on the range. Fur a long time I couldna mak out what attractions wus there, fur I wus sure Scottie wus a sensible animal. I found out the secret from one o' the cowboys. This fellow wus a particular friend of mine, so he told me. There wus a fine mare in the band that Scottie had taken up wi', an' the two got to like each ither that much ye could hardly separate them. "'Buy her,' says my friend, 'she's a fine animal, then ye can keep Scottie at hame.' "Wall, it was hard work, as the Methodist boss didna like to part wi' the mare, but I paid him a big price, an' so I wus able after that to keep Scottie in his ain band." Jim was deeply interested in Jake's style of preaching. He seemed to understand him easily and it suited him well. "Yer mother was a good un," said Jim. "If we wus only as good as our mothers we'd be the pick o' the prairie." The two men sat talking together over matters pertaining to their welfare, temporal and eternal, and after Jake had attended to his horse he knelt in prayer, pouring out his heart for Jim and himself. It was a simple prayer, short and pointed: "O Lord, ye ken Jim and me. We're no strays, fur we belong to yer band, but we don't keep in the trails every day, an' we sometimes steal pretty close to the devil's range. It's no because there's good feed, but we get lazy, and afore we open our eyes to look up, we're right close on his boundary. Lord, keep us frae wanderin' in that way. It's no to our credit, fur ye're a kind Maister. O Lord, corral the cowboys an' make them yer ain. Some belong to the devil, fur I've seen his brand on them, an' some are mavrocks. They're kind, good-hearted lads, an' if ye'll be on the look-out ye can catch them, an' when they ken that ye're a good Maister, they'll stay on the range. Shelter the poor cattle on the prairie th' night. Poor things, they'll be tired an' hungry wi' the round-up. Be kind to them, an' no let any rain spoil their rest, or wolves touch their calves, an' incline the hearts o' the cowboys to be kind to them. Fur ye ken I love the cattle, an' I hope some day to meet them in heaven. I want to do what's right, but, O Lord, it would be a poor heaven to me if there wur no cattle there, an' no cowboys, fur I hae loved them all my life. Watch over Jim an' me. May we keep our spurs bright, our saddles in good shape, an' our horses well fed, an' when we're done servin' ye on the prairies, take Jim an' me to yer heavenly range. Amen." The two men then lay down side by side. Their couch was of the rudest and most primitive description and somewhat the worse from age and wear, but its occupants were soon fast asleep. Jake remained several days with his friend. Jim was ill and sadly needed all his friend's willing care. He intended staying until Jim was quite recovered and able to do for himself, but his plans were upset by the arrival of a messenger from Sam Burgoyne's shanty demanding his help there. Sam's babe was lying very nigh to death, and having learned that Broncho Jake was at Jim's shack, Sam sent a young Indian lad to fetch him. Questioning the lad, Jake gathered that the child was very ill. He saddled his horse and set out at once. He had only a few miles to ride, but when he reached the shanty and looked at the child, he saw that his knowledge was not sufficient to save it. It was beyond human aid. Jake sat down, and by kind, sympathetic words and prayer did his best to comfort the parents. The mother was a Blood Indian woman and the father a white man. She understood the English language, although she did not speak it well or frequently. Her husband understanding the Indian tongue, she talked to him in it while he conversed with her in English. In this way they understood each other perfectly, though practising little in the use of the tongue spoken by the other. As Jake sat beside the bed of the dying child and offered his simple prayers, asking that the blessing of the Father of men might rest on the wee lamb, he thought what a pretty babe it was, and realized something of the pride the mother felt in her darling, and his heart went out in sorrow for them as they watched the ebb tide in the life of the child they loved. As her eyes closed, Jake fell upon his knees. He could say nothing to the poor father and mother, his heart was too full; there were tears in his eyes as, taking their hands in his, he offered up the following short but touching prayer: "Lord, take the wee lamb to yer ain fold, where she'll be safe frae the wolves an' the winter's snow. Come yersel' an' comfort the hearts o' my comrades here who hae lost their lambie. Feed them wi' yer ain hand. Corral them in dangerous times. We are puir folk, but ye're our friend an' ye ken what we say. Dinna furget us an' pass us by, but brand us well an' then ye'll know yer ain. Amen." As Jake rose from his knees he said gently, "The lambie's gone!" and then with true refinement of feeling he turned aside that the bereaved parents might give way to their grief unwatched. The Indian mother wept bitterly when she saw that life had fled, but after the first paroxysm of grief had spent itself, she set to work to prepare her darling for its last resting-place. Jake beckoned to the father and led the way out of the room. After a few moments' consultation they went out on the prairie together to choose a spot not far from the shanty for the grave. Like the women of many of the Indian tribes, this poor mother had been accustomed to see her dead placed upon a platform supported by poles and raised upon the prairie some eight or ten feet from the ground: and knowing how hard it is to give up old customs, Jake was anxious to make the new mode of burial as attractive as possible to the feelings of the mother. He chose a beautiful spot, and, being a strong man, soon had a neat grave dug. He then returned to the shanty and found the woman had wrapped her babe in a fine blanket, and with it for a covering was going to have the child buried. Jake bade her wait a little while. In a few hours he had made a handsome coffin and placed the babe in it. The little funeral procession went to the grave, and after laying the coffin in it, Jake said a few words of love and faith--words that were listened to and understood by his hearers, who could live only up to the light they had been given. They put a fence around the grave, and Jake set up a board at the head of it, on which he wrote the name and age of the child. The little one had not lived long, but she had not lived in vain. As a beautiful flower of the prairie, she had come in the spring-time and bloomed through the glad summer, filling the home with sunshine and happiness until summer came again. Then the playthings were laid aside and the stricken child lay down to rest. Jake often visited the desolate home, and was able to lead the bereaved parents to thoughts of the higher life, from the perishable things of this earthly dwelling place to the eternal blessedness of the immortal land. * * * * * "He's a rum one, and don't ye forget it." "Wall, he's none o' yer dandy city preachers. A fellow can catch what he says, an' ye bet he's no fool." The speakers were in a group of cowboys and settlers, who had assembled in one of the new towns of the country, attracted by the rumor of a service to be held in the settlement. Many of them were strangers to each other, while others were strangers to the place. The assembling to attend a religious service where there were stores not only gave them an opportunity to meet and know each other, but also of doing business at the same time. Some of the men came to get their mail and to buy provisions, and when they heard of the "Gospel cowboy" and his eccentric ways, they were induced to remain. Broncho Jake had not arrived, and while they waited remarks about him and his deeds were bandied about from one to the other. They were still speaking of him when a solitary cowboy rode quickly up to the group and dismounted. He was a tall man and a good rider. Only a few of the old-timers in the group recognized him or guessed that he was the man they had waited to hear. Jake, still sitting his horse, spoke a few words in the peculiar phraseology of the West, and then prayed briefly. Drawing a small Bible from the canteen on his saddle, he opened it and began his sermon: "Boys, I allus carries my guide Book, an' it tells me the ranges an' brands an' sich like. I'm goin' to read what Paul says about backslidin' and backridin'. Paul wus a character. He had a mind o' his ain, an' he wasna afeard to speak. Wall, he says in the first Corinthens, in the tenth chapter and verse twelve, 'Let him that thinks he stands take heed lest he fall.' An' that means, don't think because ye're ridin' ye'll no get a tumble, fur the cowboy that rides wi' his head too high will sometimes get thrown in a badger hole." As he spoke, Jake turned upon his horse's back, his face toward the tail of the animal, and spoke to him to start. Suddenly, when touched by the spur, the horse bolted and Jake was thrown to the ground. As he struck it, he jerked the lariat, which he still held in his hand, and brought the horse to a stand. Turning to the audience, he said: "If ye're guilty o' backridin' ye'll get left every time. Backridin' is backslidin'. Seek the Lord, an' when ye're workin' on His range never ride wi' yer back to yer horse's head. Fur let him that thinks he's ridin' take heed or he'll fall." Mounting his horse, with a farewell wave of the hand to his hearers, Jake rode rapidly away over the prairie, leaving the listeners to his brief but pointed sermon visibly impressed. * * * * * Winter had returned with its short days and long, cold nights. The rivers were frozen, the buffalo were no longer seen, the antelope kept well to the sheltering woods and mountains; the wolves alone roamed the prairie in search of food, haunting the neighborhood of man. The snow was deep, and many storms swept over the country, making the travelling very difficult and often dangerous. The cowboys, devoted to their work and the care of the herds, remained on the ranges. These sailors of the prairies are daring fellows, and have large, true hearts. The ranchers cheered each other by frequent visits--visits which extended from a few days to two or three months. At night they gathered around the large stove, which is always the principal article of furniture in a rancher's shanty, and entertained themselves and each other by telling tales of adventure and repeating many an experience of their life on the prairie. Young though some of them were, they had gone through many a scene of temptation and trial, had been brought safely through many an hour of difficulty and danger. These experiences had hardened their sinews and muscles, developed the keen sense of sight and hearing, as well as the readiness of resource and rapidity of action peculiar to the cowboy. It was a life which made them true men, faithful to their work and courageous of heart. It was on a bitterly cold night--just how cold no one cared to say; the experience of that winter was sufficient for any tenderfoot on the prairie--that the cowboys at Oxley ranch were gathered around a roaring fire recounting their individual exploits. The mail-wagon had been detained somewhere by the deep snow; literature, always scanty, was thus scantier than ever, and the boys had no other source of entertainment. "Five years ago I wus working on a ranch in the Bitter Root valley, when I had a pretty close shave," said Tom Jones, an industrious, strong-limbed, strong-minded young man, who was as true and daring as he was strong. "Those wur the Indian times, and I wus green at the business. I didn't know when to shoot an Indian and when to let him alone. Wall, the boss was going away fur a month, an' he put me in charge, an' I was getting good pay, so I says to myself, I'm going to do my level best fur him, an' let him see that I can work better for him behind his back than when he's here allus a watchin' us. I wus in the saddle from mornin' to night, an' you bet I got pretty tired; but I wus a bit afeard the Indians would play sharp on me when the boss wus away. The cattle wur strayin' pretty hard, an' I got it into my head that there wus some mischief goin' on, fur after I had got them all bunched up an' on the range feedin' quiet an' contented, next day they wud all be scattered, an' I had to go after them again. "There wus five of us on the ranch, an' after talkin' the thing over we made up our minds that we wud get all the cattle in again an' then we'd keep a watch on them. We started out after layin' our plans, an' after a lot o' hard work we got them on the range. We wur used up, but we wur so angry at havin' to do so much that we determined to ketch the fellow that gave us the trouble. One o' the boys took the first part o' the night, an' at twelve o'clock it wus my turn to be on herd. Wall, I wus tired an' not in the best trim fur doin' any fightin', if there wus Indians about; but I wus in fur it, an' of course I couldn't back out; besides, I wus takin' the place o' the boss, an' I had to see that everythin' wus right. I had a good strong cup o' tea at the ranch an' rode out to take my partner's place. When I got up to the spot where we had agreed to watch, I saw him sittin' on horseback, never movin'. I called out low so as no one else wud hear, but he didn't answer. It was dark; I rode up near to him. My mare began to snort, and then she gave a terrible spring an' bolted. I held on fur a minute when, whiz! whiz! came two bullets after me. Had my partner turned traitor, or did he think that I was an Indian? In another minute an Indian came rushin' past me. He gave a wild warwhoop an' made a swoop at me with his big knife, but in the darkness he missed me. I kept a sharp lookout fur my partner, but I couldn't find him. I wus lookin' round with my sharpshooter in my hand, when I saw a tall object comin' toward me. I grasped my revolver firm an' kept my eye on the movin' figure--" Tom had reached this part of his story when the cowboys, who had been listening intently, started and turned their heads. There was an unusual noise outside. Still affected by the story and their minds full of Indians and enemies, they drew their revolvers and made for the door. After a momentary hesitation, the first one to reach it threw it wide open. It was no enemy, although the noise made by the new-comers was of so unusual a nature as to startle the cowboys almost as much as if it had been the discharge of half a dozen revolvers. Upon an Indian travaille, wrapped in a buffalo robe, lay a man apparently dead or dying. The sound of the travaille, as it was dragged over the frozen snow, and the loud voices and shouts of the two horsemen who accompanied it, was very different from the merry laugh or song of the cowboy and the swift rush of his horse's feet over the prairie to the door of a ranch. The three men had been out hunting cattle, and late that afternoon while passing some Indian lodges at the edge of the wood, several ugly curs rushed out and snapping at the heels of the horses had made them rear and plunge. The horse which Sam Lynch had ridden was frightened by the sudden onslaught of the dogs, had kicked and plunged, and, rearing, had fallen over backwards with his rider under him. Sam's companions thought at first that he was killed, and the Indians had rushed out to see the victim of the calamity. They carried him into one of the lodges and the medicine-men gave him some of their remedies; but his comrades, fearing that he might have sustained some internal injuries, thought it would be unwise to trust to the knowledge of the Indian doctor. As soon as he recovered consciousness, they secured the loan of a travaille and started, hoping to find better medical aid and care for him at one of the ranches. They travelled several weary miles and reached the Oxley ranch, as we have seen, after dark. The lads lifted the injured, apparently dying man, and carried him into the shanty. They laid him on the best couch they possessed, thinking only of making him as comfortable as their means and the accommodation at their command would permit. Although the storm was still severe, one of them set out in search of a doctor, riding fifty miles to reach one and procure his services. When Sam had been obliged to seek his straying cattle his wife was ill, and his only child, a little girl five years of age, had succeeded in finding an Indian woman to take care of them during his absence; but the boys, knowing how dependent they were upon Sam, felt that every effort must be made to restore him to the wife and child who needed his care and protection. When the doctor had examined Sam's injuries he shook his head, and told the men that though he would probably recover he would be a cripple for life. During the three or four weeks that Sam lay at the Oxley ranch he was well cared for by the rough but kindly cowboys, and when he was able to move they took him home. Sam was not able to ride, so a buckboard was called into requisition for his conveyance. He was very grateful to them for all their care, and when one of them put fifty dollars into his hand, telling him they had made it up among themselves to help him to keep hunger from his door until he was able to fight it himself, he knew not how to express his thanks. Rough, kindly lads, they proffered their gift in so unostentatious a manner that the value of it was enhanced tenfold both in the heart of the recipient and in the sight of the Giver of all good gifts. Sam found his wife very low, but she seemed to be comfortable. When he went round the house and into the out-buildings he was struck by the neatness and evidence of care and comfort he found everywhere. There were several cords of wood piled neatly in one place, and a quantity split up and laid in the yard. The stables were clean, the small storehouse had been repaired; there was an abundance of food provided, and there were several hand-made articles of furniture in the house Sam did not remember having seen before. Someone had certainly been taking a deep and helpful interest in his affairs during his absence. Who it was he could not tell. His wife was unable to answer any questions he might ask; she seemed to be at the point of death, and he needed no experienced eye to tell him that her hours were numbered. He was still so weak from the effects of his accident that the little exertion wearied him. Sitting down in a chair by the fire, unable to do anything except to watch the dying woman, he let his thoughts dwell upon his many troubles, while he wondered from whom the strange help had come. Presently his wife opened her eyes and beckoned him to her side. "Sam," she said feebly, "you have been a good husband to me. When you got hurt I thought I would die, and I was so anxious about you and Minnie. My heart was hard against God and I could not weep. I could not see why we should be compelled to suffer so much, but I can see it all now, and as I lie here at night praying I can say, 'Thy will be done!' I know it is hard to think what will become of you when I am gone, Minnie so young and you so crippled, but God has been good to us. You see how things have been provided for us while you were away, an' I'm sure you will not suffer after I'm gone. Never look to yourself, but trust in the wisdom of our Father in heaven," and she sank back on the pillow exhausted with the long speech. Sam looked at her with loving, sad eyes. He said nothing, but was thinking seriously of her words, and wondering what the end would be. The future was desolate to the poor man as he sat thinking, his face buried in his hands, no sound in the room but the labored breathing of the sick woman. The door opened and Sam raised his head. It was Broncho Jake with his arms laden with parcels. He had been away to the settlement, and was now returning with a supply of groceries for the house. Putting them down on the table he held out his hand to Sam. "Sam, my heart is sore fur ye," he said gently. "You an' me have been friends fur many years, an' I hae come to help ye. When ye wus hurt I wus a ridin' the range just doin' the work of a Gospel cowboy, an' one o' the lads told me about yer wife. I wus readin' the Guide Book an' I seed my brand, an' as I wus lookin' at it I could see the bulletin o' the Cowboys' Association had on it the words, 'Pure religion an' undefiled before God an' the Father is this, to visit the fatherless and widows in their affliction, an' to keep himself unspotted from the world.' Now that means when anybody is sick or poor there's no use singin' an' prayin' if there's no wood in the house. It means that if ye would serve the Maister ye're to chop wood fur the sick, mind the house, make a chair, carry in water, and get them som'at to eat. Singin' an' prayin' isna religion. The Maister healed the sick an' helped the poor, an' did all His singin' an' prayin' after. If ye havena anything to eat ye canna sing very well, an' if there's no wood fur the stove an' it's a cold day, ye canna pray very hard. Afore I start on a long trip I allus feed my horse well, an' that's how God does. He fills ye wi' the good things so ye can sing an' pray." The change in the surroundings on Sam's small ranch was thus due to Jake's kindly, practical Christianity. He had obeyed the instructions he had found in the bulletin of the Cowboys' Association, as he called it, and came to the aid of the wife of his friend, her helpless condition being sufficient reason to him for leaving the preaching for the doing of God's Word. The journey was a long one, but Jake was strong and happy. He sang as he rode over the prairie, his heart full of gratitude to God for giving him the health and strength by which he was able to come to the aid of the helpless. He was never so happy as when chopping wood, preparing or earning food for those who were unable to work for themselves. His place for the present time was in Sam's shanty. When work for the day or hour was done the two men sat by the stove and talked, speaking in subdued tones that they might not disturb the sick woman. She was very low, and they both felt the approach of the death-angel could not long be delayed. Sam's little daughter clung to her father's knee, her loving, questioning glances divided between his sad face and the bed where her mother lay. The Indian woman passed to and fro in her tender ministrations, proving herself a kind and capable nurse. Jake prepared all the meals, and with kind words of encouragement he persuaded Sam to eat, and by keeping up his slowly returning strength be more hopeful for the future. He had brought medicine and food for the invalid, too, and when she was awake and could understand him, he talked to her of the better land where she should ere long find rest and peace. Two days passed in anxious watching before the end came. Late in the evening while the Indian woman sat at the bedside, she noted a change in the sick woman. She called the family together that they might say the last words permitted them before her spirit departed on the long journey to its eternal home. As they waited her lips moved, and Sam, bending down, caught the words, "Meet me there"; then as he lifted the child Minnie to kiss her mother, a smile of joy passed over her face, and she closed her eyes as the spirit passed without a sigh to its rest. Sam wept bitterly when all was over. She had been a good wife, and now that she was dead he felt alone and desolate indeed. Sunset on the Rocky Mountains is a grand sight. Its loveliness once seen can never be forgotten. The lofty and varied mountains rear their majestic heads high into heavens that seem aglow with fire; clouds lined with silver and gold guard the topmost heights. The lines of light and shade deepen the glory of the sky, until the beholder stands entranced with the beauty of the scene. It was on such an evening, when the radiance of the heavens seemed more beautiful than ever, that the mourners laid their dead in her grave upon the prairie at the foot of the mountains. They placed the coffin on a travaille and drew it to the spot Jake and Sam had chosen for the grave. Jake knelt upon the ground and offered up one of his simple, manly prayers--a prayer for strength to be given to the mourners and of trust in the Almighty. After they had covered the grave they planted a few flowers in the upturned soil, and placed a small upright board at the head of the grave, inscribing on it the name and age of the deceased. On the Saturday morning following Jake bade his friend good-bye. He had to keep an engagement he had made to preach at Macleod, on Sunday. Jake often claimed the prairie as his church, though he sometimes called it his "range." His favorite pulpit was his horse, and he felt more at home on the back of this faithful friend than he would have done in a beautiful walnut pulpit such as the preachers have in the city churches. A large congregation had assembled in one of the billiard halls in Macleod on that Sunday morning to hear the "Gospel cowboy" preach. The majority of the men were drawn thither by the report of the strange style of his preaching, but there were many who had been helped at various times by Jake, and their gratitude and love constrained them to meet and hear again the man who had done so much for them. They were Jake's "boys," and he felt he had a claim upon them. The singing of the congregation was hearty in spite of the fact that there were only two or three women among them; but the old-timers and the cowboys could sing, and at this meeting they sang out lustily and seemed to enjoy themselves. A simple prayer was uttered, and then after the singing of another hymn Jake addressed his hearers. He would not call it a sermon, just a talk; yet if a sermon means talking with effect upon religious themes, Jake was an impressive preacher. He could describe in his western phraseology religious life as it ought to be on the prairie. He did not, however, always confine himself to the prairie, although he was so enamored of it, and understood it so well, that he felt more at home, and therefore talked more frequently on the subjects the cowboys could handle, and that he could spiritualize for their benefit. Christ was his "Maister" or "Boss," and to be a sinner was to be "lost on the prairie in a blizzard." Sometimes he took a text, but he often began with a story, and as the men listened more attentively he spiritualized it and directed them through it to the Gospel of Christ. Generally he had a definite aim in addressing the cowboys. He did not preach merely to explain a text; he had always a target to hit, or, as he expressed it, "I allus try to hit the mark when I point my talk at the boys." The men at Macleod listened attentively to Jake's discourse, seriously impressed when he closed with the following earnest words: "Boys, it's easy work to throw a steer, but ye canna tie him down alone. Ye maun get the boys to help ye. That's what the heathen parsons--missionaries, I think, they call them--are tryin' to do. They canna throw down sin themselves, and they hae to call upon the Christians to help them. They canna all run to their call, so they jist send some dollars an' let other folks go in their place. That's the way they throw down sin in Africa and China. I never wus there, but I heard the parsons who wur there tell the stories, an' they ought to know. Wall, boys, ye know Long Sam, wha got hurt in the winter. Wall, his wife has just faded away like a snowdrift in a Chinook wind, an' there's Sam an' the wee lass left. Sam's a cripple, an' now an' again poverty comes in at the back door, an' Sam tries to throw him an' tie him, but the rascal sits down in every room in the house, an' then the poor fellow lies down exhausted, and he says, 'I'm beaten.' Wall, boys, I want ye to lend us a hand in tethering the beast, an' if ye'll throw yer lariat ye can capture the animal an' corral him, so that he'll no' do any harm. So here's my hat, lads; pass it round an' drop in yer dollars fur Sam an' his wee lass. Ye a' ken him, an' he's worth more than ye a' kin gie him. The Maister will pay ye back wi' interest when ye go to the bank on the day ye want to draw out yer savin's." Jake's hat was passed around, and although no warning had been given, and therefore no opportunity to prepare themselves for it, still they carried about with them considerable sums of money, and when the hat was emptied on the billiard table and counted, there were over one hundred and twelve dollars. Jake thanked the boys, offered a brief prayer, and retired to the house of a friend to spend the evening. Early next morning he was seen crossing the river, well laden with supplies, starting northward, and singing a hymn as he rode. Upon the evening of the second day Jake reached his destination with the goods he had purchased as the result of his missionary sermon, and there was peace and plenty in Sam's home for a long time. That was an effective sermon, for Sam was never allowed to want after that day. He was able to do a few chores, but not sufficient to make a living. Minnie became the cowboys' favorite and Jake's _protégé_, and she was well provided for with so many benefactors. The mavrocks were given to her whenever any were found upon the round-up, and some of the boys occasionally brought her a lamb, so that in a short time she had quite a band of cattle and a goodly-sized flock of sheep. * * * * * One morning before sunrise, in the early autumn, a solitary traveller was seen riding hurriedly toward the mountains, apparently on some mission. He stopped to rest his horse and partake of some food, and then he continued his journey. As he rode he sang occasionally a few snatches of song. He was well laden, and seemed to be going a long distance. He entered one of the mountain passes, and when he had reached the top of a foot-hill from which he could command a wide view of the country below, he alighted, and took a survey of the plains. Having glanced around and feasted his soul upon the beauties of nature, he took off his hat, knelt upon the ground and prayed. What a manly countenance he wore, and how striking was the attitude of this noble man! It was Jake, the Warden of the Plains. At a gathering of cowboys where he had preached the day before, he bade them good-bye, saying that he was going west, as many settlers were now coming to the country, and they were getting parsons to take care of them. He felt constrained to seek out the cowboys and old-timers farther west, so he had decided to leave his old mission-field. Several of his friends protested, but Jake was firm. Lest there might be a demonstration in his favor he had left early in the morning. The last we heard of Jake was that he was doing pioneer work among the miners in the Kootenay country, and helping many toward a nobler life and deeper devotion to the truth. Upon the eastern slope of the Rocky Mountains there are many hearts that remember with joy the quaint sermons of the cowboy preacher, and some are living better lives to-day in the shanties because they cherish the teaching of the stalwart Warden of the Plains. ASOKOA, THE CHIEF'S DAUGHTER. Asokoa was the beautiful daughter of a chief of one of the tribes of the Blackfoot Confederacy. She was admired not only for her personal attractions, but quite as much for her gentle disposition and winning ways. The Fish Eater's band had gone south to hunt the buffalo, and were encamped on the bank of the muddy Missouri. These warriors were famous for their prowess, and though they were occasionally attacked by the Crow Indians, and had some of their horses stolen, they were not afraid of their enemies. They were well equipped with guns and cartridges, and felt that they could easily defeat any foe of equal numbers who molested them. It was during this hunting expedition that in a beautifully painted buffalo-skin lodge an Indian babe was born. The women flocked to the old chief's lodge when the medicine-woman announced that it had a new occupant, but when they were told the baby was a girl they grieved. The sad conditions of their own lives made them feel keenly for the child who, if her life were spared, must bear the same burdens and endure the same weary, monotonous existence of toil and misery as they. The beauty of the babe as it grew, however, pleased them so much that they forgot the sorrow of the future in the joy of the present. She was fairer than the other babes in the camp, and this sent a thrill to the hearts of the women. They loved the maidens who were fair, or hated them when they grew jealous of their charms. The babe thrived and grew lovelier day by day, its jet-black hair and eyes enhancing the beauty and fairness of the face. It was evening when the chief returned from his hunting expedition. The mother had prepared the choice pieces of buffalo meat for his meal, and waited anxiously for the moment when he should ask for the child; but he entered silently and without any greeting, as was the Indian custom. He was esteemed a great chief and had to maintain his dignity, therefore could not condescend to notice his wife and children even after a long absence. Taking his accustomed seat opposite the lodge door, the food was placed before him on the ground, and, as he lay half reclining he partook of it heartily, but without betraying hunger or haste. After supper the old men of the camp dropped in one by one to learn the success of his expedition, and to talk over matters that were interesting to them all. The little swinging hammock made of an old blanket thrown over two ropes that were fastened to the lodge poles--the ends of the blanket so placed inside that the weight of its occupant might hold it down--contained the tiny stranger. The babe was hidden snugly within a moss-bag. This moss-bag was richly ornamented, and embroidered with beads and colored porcupine quills. It was closed at the bottom, tapering to a point, and laced up after the babe was placed in the soft moss with which it was lined. The bag fitted closely about the head and neck, leaving only the face exposed. When the mother is tired carrying her child she rests the moss-bag upright against the wall, or hangs it up from the side of the lodge with the babe in it. When she goes to visit friends at a distance she rides on horseback in the same fashion as a man, and straps the moss-bag with its occupant to the horn of the saddle or slings it over her back. When she walks the invariable custom is to carry the babe on her back, well up on the shoulders. Some of these mossbags are very handsomely ornamented, the Indian mothers being as proud of them as the fair daughters of the civilized race are of the tasteful, dainty clothing of their children. This particular moss-bag was very often filled with dry, soft moss, that the child might be comfortable and happy in its dainty nest. On the night of the chief's return it had been more than usually well arranged and laid in the hammock. The large pipe was prepared, the tobacco and kinni-kinnick brought out, and after the chief had finished his meal the pipe was filled, lighted and passed around from left to right. Each member of the company took a few strong whiffs, some of the old men swallowing the last one and expelling the smoke through their nostrils. The evening was passed in animated conversation, the chief leading and the others listening patiently, adding to the general interest by uttering a few words of approval. When the conversation ended the guests retired quietly, and the old chief, after taking a peep at the sleeping babe, turned on his side and sought repose; but as he lay on his hard couch a smile of satisfaction played on his features--the stern countenance of the warrior had relaxed under the influence of an awakened love for the little child. The old man's heart had been steeled against sympathy and love; he had lived for so many years in the midst of war and crime, and had witnessed such acts of cruelty committed against his kindred by war parties from other tribes, or marauding bands of white men, that his heart was hardened. He seldom smiled; the joyous spirit of his youth had departed, and left him old and sad. When quite a youth he had resolved to devote his life to the service of the gods, and for a long time he enjoyed the satisfaction of knowing he was doing right. Then came a time of famine and sickness in the tribe, during which the people died in great numbers and food was very scarce. The people prayed, but no answer came to their prayers; then they plunged into all sorts of wickedness, heedless of the evil that was sure to follow. After he was elected a chief he had been subjected to many jealousies by those who had professed to be his dearest friends. He felt that hypocrisy was rampant and friendship hollow. The gods were angry with him, and they had leagued his friends and enemies in common warfare against him. Naturally slow of speech, he grew still more reserved and taciturn. He was, however, energetic in the discharge of the duties of his office as chief, and thus maintained his influence over the people. The quiet smile which now lingered on his features as he retired to rest after he had looked upon the face of the child, betrayed that there were depths of affection in his nature still untouched despite the many years of pain, warfare and jealousy. Nothing eventful occurred during the night. The morning sun rose bright and glorious; an hour later the camp was all astir, busy with the duties and occupations of the day. Amid the bustle around him the chief lay still, taking needed rest after the toil of the expedition. When he awoke late, his meal of buffalo meat and tea was set before him. After he had eaten heartily, the visitors of the night before returned to talk on matters affecting the camps and to relate the various events that had occurred during his absence. Time wore on; day after day was passed in the same dull routine. Now and then the monotony was enlivened by the report of strange Indians being in the vicinity and by the return of the young men from hunting or horse-stealing expeditions. The babe in the old chief's lodge grew and increased in beauty every day. They named her Asokoa, and the toddling prattler answered readily when they spoke her name. Asokoa's dress was a beautiful garment of soft antelope skin, made after the fashion of a cape reaching nearly to her feet, fringed at the edges and studded with several rows of bear's teeth and claws, so sacred in the eyes of the Indians. Her moccasins were soft and pliable, beautifully embroidered with dyed porcupine quills. A pair of heavy shells hung from her ears, around her neck a string of bear's claws, upon her wrists a number of bracelets made of rings of brass, and smaller rings of the same bright metal covered her fingers between the first and second joints. Her cheeks and the parting of her hair were painted with vermilion, and the long black tresses of the child were neatly combed and hung down her back. Twelve years passed quickly amid the merry laughter and free out-door life and sports of the camp, and the love and peace which dwelt in the lodge of the old chief. Asokoa was still the pet of the lodge and the pride of the old man's heart, but because of her sex she occupied an inferior position and had to submit to the customs of the people. Woman had not always been degraded, for in the early years of the history of the Indians she had held equal rights with the men, those of each sex performing their own duties and being honored by the other for the possession of sterling qualities essentially their own. But the circumstances of the Indians had changed, and with the change came a gradual revolution of the old customs. One day there came to the lodge of Asokoa's father an old man named Running Deer, who was held in great esteem by the people as a warrior. He would sit for hours smoking and recounting his many adventures, his hairbreadth escapes from war parties of the Crows, Sioux and Gros Ventres, the numerous scalp-locks he had taken and the horses he had stolen. Although he repeated his stories frequently, the same respect was shown and the same applause accorded as had greeted the first recital. Asokoa listened with the same attention as the others, and while she admired the old man's courage and enthusiasm, thought no more of him than any child of fourteen would of a man of sixty years of age. The chief and Running Deer had several private conversations, which invariably ended in some close bargain relative to camp affairs. Two or three weeks passed and one day a young man rode up to the lodge door and called out the chief's name. The latter rose and went out, and after carefully examining the four young horses the young man had brought, and being quite satisfied of their soundness, he bade him drive them into his band. The chief then returned to the lodge and the meal Asokoa had prepared for him. He was restless and evidently troubled in mind. Occasionally he would cast furtive glances about him, and seemed to be listening for the approach of someone. His wives and children noted this uneasiness, and remembered he had acted in the same manner when he had feared the approach of a large war party of Assiniboines. They feared another attack was threatened, but dare not ask any questions. Presently the sound of horses approaching the lodge was heard, and again the chief was called upon by name. He went out, but returned immediately and told Asokoa there was a beautiful horse and saddle waiting for her at the door. It was the gift of Running Deer, and he had come to take her to his lodge, for she was now his wife and must dwell with him for the future. Asokoa turned pale, and startled by the suddenness of the announcement, buried her face in her hands and wept. Then trembling from head to foot with grief and anger, she gathered her clothes and ornaments together and tore herself away from the home of her childhood where so many happy days had been spent. She had admired Running Deer when he visited her father's lodge, listened with interest to his adventures, but how could she love him? She was still a child, only fourteen, and she had been given in marriage without her knowledge to a man of sixty. For the consideration of four horses she had been sold into slavery, doomed to live secluded, to wait on the capricious humors of an old man, to be one of the favored in his Indian harem. It was the custom, and so it would be useless for her to speak a word of protest. Mounting the horse she rode away quietly in the company of her husband. After a ride of about three miles they reached the camp and the lodge which was to be her home. The women came out to meet her, and a few of her friends gathered around, but in silence she unsaddled the horse, put a pair of hobbles on his fore-feet, carried the saddle into the lodge, and took the place assigned to her beside its master. The lodge was a handsome one, capacious, and strongly built of buffalo hides. It was ornamented on the outside with pictures painted in many colors. Several scalp-locks which Running Deer had taken from the heads of the enemies he had slain in battle, hung down the side. Three other wives dwelt in the lodge, and Asokoa would be obliged to submit to the rule of the one who was the queen. A sumptuous feast was placed before her, but she could eat little, her heart was too full. The girl felt that she had been wronged, yet that there was no way of escaping her fate; custom was too strong to be altered for her. The previous wives of Running Deer were jealous of Asokoa and looked upon her as an intruder, but they said nothing, showing their dislike only by the sullen glances they cast at her as she flung herself down on the couch of furs, and took the place reserved for her. For several months Asokoa's lot was not altogether an unhappy one, presenting, as it did, a pleasant contrast to the lives of many of the other women in the camp. This was chiefly due to her own liveliness of disposition, which enabled her to retain her self-respect by attending carefully to her dress and keeping herself clean and neat. The women in the camps after marriage generally become careless and untidy, and in some instances filthy: but Asokoa had too much self-esteem to so forget herself, and this pride stood her in good stead, helping her to retain her dignity as a chief's daughter and meet successfully all the cavils of the jealous ones in the camp. Quarrels were frequent among the women, but as Asokoa took no part in these family brawls, she was saved much sorrow and daily annoyances. Running Deer was held in high respect by the young men of the tribe, many of whom paid long visits to the camp to listen to the wondrous tales he had to tell, and learn from him the ways of successful warfare. Among the visitors who always received a cordial welcome was Saotan, the gifted son of Eagle Rib, one of the most famous chiefs of the tribe. Saotan only desired to follow in his father's footsteps, and was glad to seize every opportunity to obtain a knowledge of the military and political affairs of his people. He was amiable and unassuming, tall and dignified, and had already won the esteem of the older men. As he grew older his prospects of promotion brightened. He had kept himself free from the escapades of the younger men about him, some of whom hated him for his reticence and apparent haughtiness of manner. He paid little attention, however, to their sarcastic remarks, but followed unmoved the path he had marked out for himself. As he listened to the animated narrations of Running Deer he imbibed his spirit of enthusiasm, and felt inspired to do and dare noble things for his race. During the long winter months, as the camp was moved from place to place, Saotan spent much of his time with the old man, and Running Deer became strongly attached to him. Asokoa was always with her husband, and his tales assumed a new interest to her in the presence of Saotan; and though she could not in words invite the young man to the lodge, she encouraged him to come by greeting him always with a pleasant smile. His visits relieved the tedium of her life and distracted her from the annoyance caused by the constant quarrelling between the other women. The first months of her married life had passed, and Running Deer's affection for his young bride had cooled. The degradation of her life made her heart heavy, and robbed her cheek of the bloom of health. Asokoa seldom paid a visit to her father's lodge, as it was now some distance from Running Deer's camp. Indian women are not allowed to travel alone or unaccompanied by their husbands. All unconscious that she was doing more than pleasing her husband she grew to look forward to Saotan's visits with increasing interest, and as he saw his presence was welcome he came more frequently. Life seemed to recover its brightness again, the charm of youth returned, and Asokoa felt for the first time the power of love. Saotan was soon drawn within the same influence, and the distance between his father's lodge and Running Deer's seemed short indeed. Saotan was in love, but dare not reveal it. The woods and valleys might be full of enchantment, his dreams be of happiness and joy, his waking hours full of light and life, yet they were also haunted by anxious fears for the future. He left his food untasted, ceased to visit the lodges of his young friends, and tried to restrain his steps from turning toward Running Deer's lodge, but all in vain. Important business affecting the tribe called her husband to attend frequent gatherings of the chiefs in council, and Asokoa was left at the lodge. The horses had to be looked after in his absence, and he entrusted the duty to Saotan. Thus Asokoa and Saotan met more frequently; from looks to words the transition was slight, and the story of their love was told. Cruel custom forbade their making any confession to the old man or seeking freedom from polygamous relationship, and they trembled for the result of the discovery of their passion. A more than usually long and important meeting of the council, at which a discussion on the question of war with the Gros Ventres had been prolonged to a late hour, had detained Running Deer so late that he accepted an invitation to remain the night at a friend's lodge. Early the next morning he returned to his home rejoicing in the consciousness of power. His voice had been heard and his arguments had prevailed at the council, winning him a signal victory over the chiefs who had opposed him. As he entered the lodge an expression of evil satisfaction beamed from the faces of his older wives. At first he took no notice, then suddenly his heart was filled with foreboding. He looked and saw that the place usually occupied by Asokoa was vacant. Inquiring the reason of her absence, he learned that on the previous evening she had gone to visit a woman in one of the adjoining lodges and had not returned. Running Deer turned and went out, quiet, dignified and sullen, determined to punish the delinquent for her unfaithfulness. Mounting his horse, which stood where he had left it a few moments before, he rode swiftly to the coulee where his band of horses were feeding, and found his wife's among them. Asokoa must be ill or something serious must have befallen her; her horse was still among the band, and she could not have left the camps. He went hurriedly from lodge to lodge making anxious inquiries, but could find no tidings of his missing wife. Then widening his circle of search, he went from camp to camp, yet found no trace of her until he reached the lodges of Eagle Rib. Two horses had been taken from the chief's band, and Saotan had not been seen since the previous day. Burning with indignation, his former love changed to bitter hatred, and vowing vengeance on the young man who had supplanted him in the affections of Asokoa, he strode to the chief and demanded his daughter, but Eagle Rib could give him no information of the whereabouts of the fugitive couple. Several months had passed, and Running Deer's anger had cooled. He had given up all search for the lost ones; he hated the names they bore, and would not permit them to be mentioned in his presence. He had apparently forgotten them when a messenger arrived to announce their discovery among the Piegan tribe, one of the same confederacy as the Bloods and Blackfeet. Weary of exile and anxious to dwell once more among their own people in their old home, Saotan and Asokoa had returned, preferring to risk the punishment which might be inflicted for their wrong-doing. They sought refuge in the lodge of Eagle Rib, where they hoped to be protected by the influence of the chief. But law and custom is stronger than the individual, and the demands of justice are more powerful among the savage tribes than in any other organization or race of men. The chief might retard the operations of the Indian laws, but he could not overcome them. Night had fallen upon the camp and the dwellers in the lodges were retired to rest, when three men entered and seized Asokoa. A band of men waited on horseback outside. These were the Black Soldiers, the policemen of the camp, enrolled to maintain order and execute justice. They had entered the camp so quietly that no one had heard their approach. Asokoa uttered no complaint or cry as they dragged her out, although in times of pain or trouble the Indian women are generally loud in their lamentations. Deceived by her quiet acquiescence, the men mounted her on one of the horses and allowed her to ride behind them on the way to the place of judgment. The night was dark, and as they passed a clump of bushes Asokoa slid off the horse, and, crouching down in the shadows till her guards were at some distance, fled back again to her father-in-law's lodge. The Black Soldiers rode on, unsuspecting any misfortune, and had almost reached their destination before they discovered that the Indian beauty had eluded them. They returned at once to recapture her, but as they once more entered the lodge and demanded her of the chief, she stooped down and made her escape by crawling under the leather flap of the lodge, which Eagle Rib had taken the precaution to leave unfastened. Then she sped away in the darkness until she was joined by Saotan, who mounted her on his horse, and together they crossed the river, and by hard riding reached the shelter of the home of a white friend before the early dawn broke. Negotiations were entered into between Eagle Rib and Running Deer for an amicable settlement of the matter. The angry husband had felt so embittered against the woman who had never loved him that he had himself sharpened the knife, determined to inflict the usual punishment for unfaithfulness, that of cutting off the nose. Many instances of such mutilation are in existence in the Indian camps. The two old men talked the matter over fully, and at last a settlement was agreed upon. Running Deer accepted five horses and a gun as compensation, and Saotan and Asokoa were free to return once more and live in peace among their own people. The days which followed the return of the lovers were very happy ones. Love dwelt in the lodge that was made beautiful by Asokoa; she lived for Saotan and adorned his home with every ornament and device that love could suggest. On his part, Saotan loved her so supremely that he never brought another woman to his lodge to share his love or supplant her in his loving attentions. A dark-eyed babe came to gladden their hearts, a beautiful boy who Asokoa said should grow up and be like his father. They rejoiced together in the possession of this treasure, and when a few months later the destroying angel came and snatched their darling from their arms they mourned together over their darkened home. Saotan and Asokoa had dwelt in perfect happiness for three years when a war expedition was organized to go southward and retaliate upon their enemies for the depredations the tribe had suffered at their hands. Two of these young men had been killed, and the desire was to kill their enemies, that the young men's spirits might rest in the happy spirit land. The war party had chosen Saotan as their leader, and he was obliged to bid Asokoa a reluctant farewell. The affectionate wife gazed long and sadly after his retreating form as he rode away over the plains. They were not going to wage open warfare, but secretly to return with scalps as compensation for the loss of some of their own young men, and Asokoa's heart was heavy with foreboding of evil. At the expiration of two weeks the Indians in the camps looked for the return of Saotan and his party. Four weeks had gone and there were no tidings. Two young men were sent out to trace them and learn the cause of delay. Meanwhile the sole topic of conversation in the lodges was the long absence of Saotan. Various rumors were circulated, but the truth concerning their fate could not be learned. Small parties of Piegans, Blackfeet and Sarcees called at the camps, but none brought any tidings of the missing men. After many days of anxious waiting, the search party returned. Long before they reached the camp the people descried them on the distant hills, riding slowly, and their horses appearing to be tired out. The people ran to meet them, the women anxious to hear what news they brought. They listened for the songs of exultation, but alas! heard only that wail of sorrow which strikes terror to the Indian woman's heart. The chiefs gathered in one of the lodges to listen to the story of the young men. They had ridden five nights on their journey, searching carefully for any trace of Saotan and his men. Not an Indian was to be seen anywhere; the country appeared to be deserted, and they thought it would be wise to return. A short consultation was held, and as they walked their horses slowly they came to the bank of a small stream where they noticed a branch was broken from a tree overhanging the water. Searching more closely, they found marks of horses' feet, and following the tracks, they came upon a spot where it was evident a battle had been fought, for near at hand lay the skeletons of Saotan and his men. The Indians who had slain them had taken their scalp-locks, their arms and ornaments, and the buzzard, coyote and wolf had stripped the bones; but there were enough fragments of clothing scattered about to enable the young men to recognize that the remains were those of Saotan and the party who had gone out so full of hope and confidence so short a time before. As the young men related their sorrowful tale, the chiefs' countenances betokened the direst anger, and while they muttered and plotted revenge, the women slipped away to carry the story of widowhood, pain and degradation to Asokoa. Overwhelmed with grief for her loss, the poor woman thought only that Saotan could never return to her again, and did not realize that the medicine-women were already on their way to perform the ceremonies of mourning for the dead. These women laid their hands upon her, and in a few moments the long black hair that had been her glory fell in masses to the ground. Her neatly embroidered garments were then removed and the oldest and most worn substituted; then, laying the bereaved woman's hand on a block of wood, one of the medicine-women took a knife, and using a deer's-horn scraper as a hammer, severed one of the fingers at the first joint. Her legs were next denuded of the handsome leggings, and the flesh gashed with a knife from the knees to the feet. The blood clotted as it trickled down and was allowed to remain. Asokoa submitted willingly to all these inflictions of pain and mutilation; it was the custom, and she felt that she was only doing as she should to prove the reality of her grief for the loss of her husband by enduring it all without a murmur. A few of the old women sat with her in the lodge as companions in her grief; then as the sun sank in the western sky, Asokoa wandered out over the prairie, weeping bitterly and uttering the wailing cry of bereavement, "Saotan, come back to me! Saotan, come back to me!" But no voice replied, as the wailing cadences floated on the evening air. When the darkness fell, the mourner returned, the people evading contact with her as she passed by the lodges. An hour or two of sleeplessness spent in the lodge and the early dawn found her repeating the same sad wail for the dead. The people mourned with her, but said little; young and old hung their heads as she passed them. Some of the women shed tears of sympathy and the men spoke often of the death of Saotan the brave, and murmured vengeance on the enemy who had slain him. The days of Asokoa's mourning were long, and at first there seemed nothing left for her but death; but time, that healer of many wounds, was here in the Indian camp as elsewhere. Asokoa was too handsome and young, of too good birth and pleasant a disposition, to remain long without a suitor. Sekimi, a dignified warrior, took her to his lodge to be his wife, and for a long time was contented and happy with her alone. He could not have had a better wife. Asokoa was devoted to her home, and kept the lodge well and comfortable for husband. Some months had passed when she noticed that Sekimi seemed to lose interest in his home, to be dull and restless. Asokoa did not despair, but sang her sweetest songs, cooked the daintiest morsels, prepared the choicest meals, and endeavored by every means within her reach to wean him from his melancholy and make him happy. Some burden rested heavily on his heart and blinded him to all the winning ways of his faithful and beautiful wife. Sekimi rose early on one bright summer day, and after taking his morning meal hastily went out. He turned his steps to where his band of horses were feeding, and selecting three of the best, rode away. Asokoa had a quiet day, no visitor coming to the lodge. When evening closed in she heard the sound of horsemen riding toward the camp, and as they drew near she heard the notes of a low, sweet song and readily distinguished her husband's voice among the others. Sekimi was returning happy; the burden laid upon his spirits was removed, and Asokoa, fully content, hastened to prepare some special dainty for his evening meal and be ready to welcome him. In a short time the horses stopped at the lodge door, and the tones of a woman chatting gaily made Asokoa's heart beat with apprehension. Sekimi entered, and speaking haughtily, bade Asokoa set food before them. Greater sorrow had never fallen upon Asokoa. Her love and pride were hurt by the knowledge that she had been superseded by another; love drew tears to her eyes, but pride forbade them to fall. The days which followed the arrival of the new wife were a dull round of drudgery and sorrow, but Asokoa went about her work in silence. She was left much alone, and in time grew accustomed to her sad lot. Always patient, she bore her trials with even greater patience and submission than ever, but the handsome Indian woman was not so erect as formerly and the glow of health had long fled from her cheeks. The old women watched her sadly and tried to cheer her; the children clung to her, and leaning against her knees as she sat beside the river, listened to the tales she loved to tell them. As health failed, when too weak to leave the lodge she would lie still for hours, suffering but never complaining. The long July and August days passed, and the cool air of autumn brought some relief to the dying woman. The medicine-men beat their drums and sang their songs for her with great energy, but Asokoa begged them to cease; she wished only for quiet and peace. The leaves were falling from the trees on the distant bluffs when the end came. The old chief, the father who had looked with such love and pride on the face of his child as it hung in the hammock, sat sorrowful at the door of the lodge waiting for the approach of the death-angel. As the sun sank behind the distant mountains, Asokoa raised her hand, and pointing to some object which seemed to hold the fixed gaze of her eyes, her lips moved. As if gathering her remaining strength for a last effort, she cried, "Saotan!" and with the name of her best-loved on her lips Asokoa's released spirit took its flight. THE SKY PILOT. Broadcloth and pemmican seldom met together in the far West during the old buffalo days. Occasionally, though, a "sky pilot" dressed in prairie garb found his way to the trading posts or the mining camps of the old-timers, where he was hospitably entertained and sometimes handsomely remunerated. There were few attractions for men of culture and refinement in such a life; only that to be found in a free and easy life on the western plains, strengthened by the desire to do good and the assurance of success which always accompanies every earnest toiler who obeys the behests of his Master. Parson Morris was a Methodist preacher of the old school, with few tastes, yet withal a man of culture and sterling worth. He had not only seen the inside of a college, but he was a good classical scholar. Few could handle the Greek Testament better than he, or were better versed in the standards of Methodist theology. When a lad he had found peace at the ancient "penitent bench," and the first prayer that fell from his lips was the simple but very expressive sentence, "Lord, make me a missionary!" This missionary zeal had been fed by reading the life of John Hunt of Fiji and current missionary literature. During his college course the keen eye of one of the church leaders recognized the fitness of the young man for the mission field, and a messenger was sent to request his consent to go into the work of bringing the heathen to Christ. His heart had been set upon going to Japan, but the voice of destiny sent him to the western plains of Canada, where under the shadow of the majestic mountains he unfurled the banner of the Prince of Peace. Parson Morris must, like all wise men, take a partner with him to his western home, one with whom to share his toil and his joy; for, although there were many who sought to deter him from engaging in such a fruitless task as striving to lead Indians or frontiersmen to the feet of Christ, he anticipated success, and his heart was therefore full of joy. It would have been needless for him to have gone forth upon his mission if he had not been buoyant in spirit and deeply impressed with the great work he had undertaken. The friends of the young missionary and his wife felt their departure keenly, and some kind-hearted souls deeply sympathized with them, and spoke to them as if they had been banished by some edict of the Almighty to dwell in lone banishment in some desert wilderness. The young parson received a handsome gift from his ministerial friends, and Nancy, the parson's bride, was made the recipient of several valuable presents from her college friends. While attending the session of Conference the Rev. John Boswell offered his congratulations to the missionary, adding: "It does seem a pity that a man possessed of such good talents as you should become a missionary to the Indians. You would do well on the best fields of the East." The simple answer was, "I feel that I ought to go!" Two days before starting upon the missionary journey an interesting though scarcely encouraging missive was received offering good-will, and containing a newspaper clipping detailing the hanging of a Cree Indian for the inhuman act of murdering, cooking and eating his own family! Some of these kind friends who sent this letter were numbered amongst the most generous contributors to the missionary cause, and prayed most earnestly for its success. The solemn moment of parting came, and many tears were shed, many words of regret spoken. The parson felt depressed when thus surrounded by so many gloomy countenances, but he naturally turned aside in search of one or two kindred spirits, and as he stood upon the railroad station platform there came a vision before his eyes, one which filled them with tears. It was that of the heathen waiting in thousands with outstretched arms calling for help, while not a soul appeared to hear the cry which ascended to heaven and arrested the angels in their mission of mercy and love. The great responsibility of helping men toward a nobler life rested heavily upon the heart of Parson Morris, and as he talked to his friends, hearing and answering their questions, his heart was far away on those distant plains. Their journey lay through the pleasant farms and shady woodlands in northern Ontario, then up the lakes of the north, across stormy Lake Superior, over the prairies of Minnesota and Dakota, until the Missouri was reached, when a halt was made to await the steamer. One week was spent in the city of Bismarck, at that time a small village characterized by all the roughness of western civilization. There were large ox-trains composed of three and four heavily laden wagons, drawn by eighteen or twenty head of oxen, on their way to the Black Hills, the land of mineral wealth and lawlessness. On Sunday the cowboys ran their horses wildly up and down the principal streets, firing their revolvers into the air. A theatre was in full progress, and all the stores were doing a thriving business. Parson Morris and his friends held a service in a public hall, and while the heads of the worshippers were bowed in devotion their souls were called to earth again by the sudden entrance of a man who shouted, "Is this a fire meeting?" Perceiving his mistake he retreated. Up the muddy Missouri the pilgrims continued their journey, past the extensive Cactus plains, winding in and out of the sand-bars and snags which filled the river, crawling slowly through the rapids, passing vast herds of buffalo and bands of Indians, until after ten days' sailing in the famous river steamer, the _Key West_, they landed at Benton, the head of navigation. Dirt, drink and depravity were the chief features of the village in the buffalo days. Money was abundant, and so were gamblers. The main street was lined with taverns and gambling-hells, and every morning the street was almost paved with playing cards. Here were men of quality and culture mingling with the scum of society around the tables. Brawls were common occurrences, and not infrequently were attended with the death of one or more of the participants. At Benton an outfit was purchased, and Parson Morris with his wife Nancy embarked in a "prairie schooner" for their home across the plains. Bidding farewell to the last evidences of civilization, they began their march. Alkali lands were abundant and water was scarce; indeed, water fit to drink was seldom found, and frequently the travellers had to seek a stagnant pool, containing not more than a pailful of slimy liquid. By filtering it through a handkerchief the water was strained and freed from most of its obnoxious ingredients. At times a tiny rain pool served to yield a small supply of water. Strong coffee was made with it in order to destroy the discoloration of the water and its nauseous properties. Mosquitoes and swollen rivers served not too pleasantly to relieve the monotony of the trip. There was excitement, too, as for instance when the wagon-box was lashed with a hide and made to serve as a boat, the occupants trembling for their safety as the rudely made craft was borne wildly down the turbulent stream. Arrived at their destination a very primitive log structure was sufficient to afford the parson and Nancy a place of rest and shelter from the inquisitiveness of the too neighborly Indians. It was a rude building, but there was joy in it arising from the consciousness of duty done for God and man. The field of operation, embracing an extent of territory larger than the whole of England, was extensive enough to engage all the young man's powers. The suit of broadcloth was discarded for one of buckskin, long top boots and a sombrero (a hat with a brim of very wide dimensions). Nancy was compelled sometimes to remain at home while her husband visited the lone and distant settlements. These visits often involved an absence of some weeks from his home, and brought trying times for Nancy; many an anxious hour was passed as she lay at night thinking of the parson asleep upon the prairie at a long distance from any habitation and having no companion save his faithful horse, while the savage dogs howled around her home and the Indians sang and shouted at their heathen feasts. When Parson Morris started out on a journey, his thoughtful wife made extra hard buns, put some tea in one small sack, a supply of sugar in another, a little butter in a can, the whole neatly arranged so that it could be equally divided and fastened on the back of the saddle. A small axe and an old kettle, a few books, a picket-pin and a rope completed the outfit. Dressed in his buckskin suit, the parson gave Nancy a kiss, breathed a prayer for their mutual protection, sprang into the saddle, dashed through the river and sped across the prairie at a rapid pace, for he must travel forty miles before night overtakes him. Half of his day's journey completed, he unsaddled his faithful animal, picketed her in a good spot where there was some choice buffalo grass, built a fire of such material as he could gather, and then hastily cooked his meal. [Illustration: "He built a fire and then hastily cooked his meal."] A rest of two hours was taken before his journey was continued. When night approached he sought some low lying spot where water might be obtained, and there, encouraged by a few shrubs or good feed for his mare, he encamped for the night. He picketed the mare at a short distance, so that if she became restless he could hear her, for she was apt to become fractious through the presence of Indians or wolves. His saddle was his pillow, the saddle-blanket a covering, and before lying down for the night he surveyed the prairie on every side, took care the fire he had kindled to cook his supper did not spread, and then breathing out a prayer for Nancy, he rolled himself in his saddle-blanket, laid his gun and revolver by his side, and was soon in a sound sleep. The parson was a brave man and always found ready access to the homes of the old-timers, sharing their beds and meals. He sympathized with them in their trials, and strove to present to them the noblest type of a masculine Christianity. He was to these men a "sky pilot" and a "gospel grinder," a man whom they loved because he could ride well, swim the rivers, endure the cold, sleep on the prairie or in a miner's shack, preach an honest sermon, was not afraid to tell them of their vices, and showed himself a faithful dispenser of "soul-grub." He could preach in a tent or Indian lodge, a wagon or an old shack. He was not averse to sitting down to listen to the tales of prairie life told by the rough settlers, and at such times their conversations were bereft of any vulgarisms--not an oath ever falling from their lips or an immoral allusion, although these might have originally formed part of the tale. Willingly did he write their letters home, and carry them a hundred miles or more as he journeyed eastward, that they might be sent safely on their way. The tears sometimes came to the eyes of the gamblers as they talked together of their childhood's early years and of the old folks at home. Two or three years of western life had passed when the parson, one Sunday evening, announced from his primitive-looking pulpit in the little log building which served as a school-house and church, that on the following Sunday he would preach a temperance sermon. A buzzing noise arose in the congregation, indicative of the tone of feeling on the question of whiskey and liberty. There was abundance of liquor among the white men, although the Indians were not allowed to receive any, an exception rigidly enforced by the vigilant efforts of the Mounted Police. Sunday evening came, and the little church was filled to overflowing. Indians and half-breeds stood around the door and looked in at the windows, their forms darkening the place. Within the building were Mounted Police officers and constables, whiskey traders, cowboys, gamblers, half-breeds and Indians, men from different countries, educated and ignorant, some who were graduates in arts from Oxford and Cambridge, and others who were trained at the horse ranches of Montana, Idaho and Mexico. There were two white ladies present, the only females in the congregation. Assembled together with bowed heads were men of various creeds and no creed, Protestants and Roman Catholics, Anglicans and Dissenters, Unitarians, Baptists, Presbyterians, Methodists, atheists, representatives of almost every known sect. The parson gave out the hymn and led the singing, every member of this strange congregation joining in the service by singing or assuming a reverent attitude, and then silently every head was bowed while prayer ascended to the throne of heaven. An able temperance sermon was preached, and was listened to with deep attention and gravity. When it was finished, and as the parson took up his hymn-book to announce the closing hymn, an aged Indian chief named Manistokos arose and addressed the congregation. As he stood up to speak, a half-breed who was employed as Government interpreter, drew near to interpret the speech of the Indian chief. With head erect and in a clear, distinct tone of voice, Manistokos spoke and the interpreter translated: "I am glad to hear the words of the praying man. Many years ago we had fine clothes, good buffalo-skin lodges, lots of food, and we were contented and happy. The white men came and brought whiskey with them, and then our people began to die. The buffalo went away. We had no food, our lodges became old and unfit for use, our clothes dropped off our bodies, and there was nothing left us but to go to our graves. We are now poor, depending upon the Government for food, having poor clothing and sad hearts. We are now so poor that we have no whiskey, for since the Mounted Police came they have drank all the whiskey and there is none left for us." The eyes of the Mounted Police flashed fire as the old chief sat down amid the laughter and applause of the audience. Parson Morris arose and said in dignified tones: "My friends, we are always glad to hear what anyone has to say, but when any white men have not the courage of their convictions, but must employ an Indian for their mouthpiece, we will not listen to what they may wish to say. If there are any here who think that upon choosing the side of intemperance they have truth and justice on their side, I will give them an opportunity to air their opinions. They can have the use of this church every alternate night this week, and I will kindle the fire and light the lamps myself, as I have to be sexton and preacher; but I reserve for myself the right of replying upon the alternate evenings of this week." There was no reply and the service closed. Upon investigation by the Mounted Police it was found that the interpreter had been employed by some of the members of the whiskey fraternity to interpret falsely, and the aged chief had been induced to be present to give his views on the temperance question, which were all in favor of the total suppression of the traffic. The Government authorities dismissed the interpreter, and the cause of temperance was strengthened by the brave words and manly attitude of the parson and the Indian chief. The little village of Mackleton, in which Parson Morris and Nancy took up their residence, consisted of a few log buildings with mud floor and mud roof, and with one street of various widths and very circuitous. Sunday was the most important day of all the week. It was then that the Mounted Police started on their long journeys, no doubt being better able to reckon from that day than any other. Sunday morning came, and the parson and Nancy paid their usual visits to the Indian lodges and homes of the half-breeds. As they went from house to house, they found it well-nigh impossible to cross the street, an ox-train having come to the village on Saturday and encamped in the middle of the thoroughfare. There stood the long trains of wagons, the yokes of oxen, and the camping outfit of the teamsters, who were at this time squatted on the ground eating their breakfast, which they had cooked by means of a fire made in the street. The men had slept in their wagons where they stood, and the oxen were grazing on the prairie, herded by one of the men belonging to the train. As soon as the meal was over, the train-boss proceeded to unload his goods, and the men entered heartily into the work, which kept them busily engaged for two days. The work of visitation was kept up all forenoon, save an hour for school, when there assembled the half-breed and Indian children belonging to the Sarcee, Blood, Piegan, and Blackfoot tribes. Amongst the number was an obstreperous boy of six years, whom the parson had to seize and carry on his back to school, and when once he had him there, was compelled to lock the door to keep him from retreating. During the afternoon the bowling-alley and billiard tables were well patronized, the stores were well filled with buyers of all kinds, the blacksmith busily plied his trade, and a more lively day was not to be found during the week. The day wore on, bereft of its sacredness and peace, no songs of Zion stealing upon the ears, and no worshippers in their best attire wending their way to the house of God. Four weeks had passed away and there had been no signs of the mail. Many wistful eyes scanned the prairie to catch, if they might, a glimpse of the long-expected wagon with its precious contents of joy and sorrow from friends in the far distant cities of the East. The old-timers became excited and climbed on the roofs of the houses with glasses in their hands to scan the horizon, hoping they might see the rig coming. "The mail! The mail!" shouted Kanrin and his friends as they stood upon the mud roof of the solitary hotel, and the shout was echoed from one end of the village to the other, each man as he heard the cry joining in the announcement till it had passed from mouth to mouth. The gamblers left their cards and the billiard tables were vacated as from every house and store the people rushed to gaze upon the wagon which held the mail. Every heart was agitated, and it was impossible to eat, drink, work, play or rest at such an important time. It was the hour of holding service and Parson Morris and Nancy repaired to the little church, but not a soul was there. They waited patiently until a single straggler entered to join in the worship of God. The preacher gave his best sermon to Nancy and her companion, who pronounced it very good and appropriate to the occasion. The congregation had deserted the church, the most frequent worshippers being found upon their knees at the principal store, where, the mail having been emptied on the floor, they were aiding in the assortment of the letters, papers and books. It was a feast day to many in the village as they read again and again the news from home; but there were some sad hearts among them--those who came expecting a letter and whose expectations were not fulfilled. Here stood a rough gambler with tears in his eyes as he held in his hand a sheet of paper written in a very trembling hand, and there upon a bale of buffalo robes sat young Hanna, deep in thought, as Indians chattered in their native tongue beside him. The letter he was reading, one from his aged mother in the old English rectory in his native Yorkshire, was evidently touching his heart, for the gay young man, cultured, kind and courtly, was nevertheless the most inveterate gambler in the town. His father was a clergyman of means who had allowed his son to emigrate with the hope of becoming wealthy and gaining a position there, which he could not hope for in England; and the young man, with the spirit of adventure, had eagerly grasped at the proposal and sought a home in the far West. Money was abundant, and as it was much easier to gamble than to farm or raise stock, he drifted with the tide and became an expert, winning thousands of dollars in a few days and as quickly losing all he had. He was a fair sample of many young men who in the early days sought wealth upon the plains of the West. Parson Morris became more intrepid in his work the longer he dwelt among the rough settlers. These men had warm, generous hearts, despite the usual roughness of their garb, manners and speech, and no one knew this better than the parson. He had proved it oftentimes when their comrades were sick, and had ever found them generous and kind. Seldom, therefore, did he call upon them for help, not being desirous of riding a willing horse to death, seeing that they gave so liberally to all his schemes and it seemed to be a pleasure to them to assist him. There were times, however, when in religious matters he felt it necessary to resort to the method which they called "raising the wind." Sometimes Nancy would visit the billiard rooms and settlers' shacks to ask their aid. At such times she always met with politeness and generous responses. One Sunday morning the parson went to the little log church to find his congregation again absent as before; the mail had arrived and every worshipper had gone to find news from home. Nothing daunted, he resolved in his mind that he was not going to be defeated. While thinking seriously what had best be done, he suddenly recollected the startling fact that there was a church account of fifty dollars which must be paid. What better service could he render to those men, than to entertain them by allowing them to preach a sermon on giving. No sooner thought of than the parson started for the billiard-hall and hotel of Kamusi. A veteran of the prairie whose civilized appellation was shrouded by his western cognomen, Kamusi was one of the parson's right-hand men. He would get drunk and swear, and he lived with an Indian woman, but nothing was thought of these things in those early days, when parsons were few and life was held to be of little value. Brave and kind, no hungry man was ever turned from his table because he had not the wherewithal to pay for his meal, and many times there could be found in one of his back rooms a sick stranger cared for and fed at the old veteran's expense. "I'm dead broke! I'll have to shut up shop. I've been losing money every day. The people are robbing me!" he grumbled repeatedly as he hobbled along about his work, coughing severely from an old asthmatic trouble, while sitting by his doorstep were two cripples who were being supplied with food and medicine by him, and for three months they had lived there. When the parson's small larder was nearly empty, which happened occasionally, if Kamusi had the least suspicion that such a thing existed, or if he had a rare dish or a choice dainty, part of it would find its way to the parson's table. Kamusi was the "Sky Pilot's" friend. Quietly the parson entered Kamusi's billiard-hall, where dazzling lights were burning in profusion. Men stood at the bar smoking and talking, and the billiard-tables were surrounded by a gay company of young and middle-aged men. As the parson stepped to the head of one of the tables every eye was turned upon him, the hum of conversation ceased, the cues dropped to the ground and every hat was removed. "Friends," said the parson, "I have not come here to preach a sermon, but I am on business, and, as you all know, I am not given to beating about the bush. I am come here to get some money. There is no man here can say that at any time I have ever asked him what denomination he belonged to, but have always treated you as men and brothers, and tried to help you in whatever way I could and whenever you needed it." "That's so, parson," said Paul Vrooman, a noted gambler, who stood with his cue in his hand. "When your comrades have been sick I have gone long distances to visit them, at any time of the day or night, and at any season of the year." "That's so," said another. "I have stood beside you in sickness and trouble. I have buried your comrades on the prairie and have tried to help you to lead better lives. Now, I have a church account to pay, and I am here to ask you to assist in paying it. You have never refused to help, and I know that you will help me now." "We will, parson," said Vrooman again. "There is Paul Vrooman, he will take the hat and go around, and receive what you are willing to give." Paul took his hat, and passing around the tables received a contribution from each which he handed to the parson, who thanked the men and departed. As the parson was closing the door they shouted after him, "Come again!" The words cheered his heart and made him long for the time when they would follow his teachings more closely, and forsake the haunts of sin. The good man spent the Sunday evening in going among the billiard saloons, and the next morning he went to the Mounted Police barracks, where he found the men sitting down to breakfast. He addressed a few words to the men, who heartily responded to the appeal, then returning home, and counting over the gains, he found that he had enough to settle his account. This he did with a very light heart. Such was one of the parson's methods of "raising the wind." He never failed in gaining the hearts of the men, as he spoke to them in a manly way, without any signs of effeminacy or peculiar sanctity unsuited to western life. Our "Sky Pilot" still retains his buckskin suit, and when he wears it again he feels the scent of the prairie air, and longs like the war-horse for another engagement on the plains of the West, where, unhampered by the petty forms of civilized life, he can talk to men who rejoice in and illustrate in their lives a noble type of Christianity. THE LONE PINE. CHAPTER I. Notable camping-place for Indians, half-breeds and white travellers was the Lone Pine. It stood like a monarch raising its head over a wide, unsurveyed territory--no other tree to keep it company or break the flat monotony of the sea of grass surrounding it on every side. Many strange stories were told of this tree. The gods had planted the seed and tended it with great care. They had protected the tiny shoots from the wintry blasts and severe frosts. They had caused the sun to shine upon it, the clouds to empty refreshing showers over it to encourage its growth; and as its tiny leaves unfolded under the genial influence of their care, they had assembled to rejoice over it. It had stood for many years a beacon to travellers, a sentinel on the plains, a pillar towering to the sky, a guiding landmark that was discernible for miles, known and recognized by all the tribes and traders to whom the great prairie was hunting ground and highway. A season of sickness fell upon the people, and the Lone Pine, too, in pitying sympathy with the nations who honored it, sickened and died. The people mourned as for a great chief, and as they bore their dead past its decaying trunk, fear of the coming of greater sorrow entered their hearts. One night a wild wind swept over the plain, and the Pine, unable to resist its force, fell to the ground. Then the spirits of the prairie held a secret conference at the spot, and it was decreed that a daily guard should be set over the tree, strict injunction being given that at the first sign of returning life the guard should report at once. The traveller who passed the broken stump of the old tree upon the plain might notice it and perhaps regret its fall, but the stately spirit keeping guard over it was invisible to his mortal eyes. Yet he might have noticed that the birds flitted more freely and sang more merrily than they had ever done before the death of the Lone Pine. The stately reign of the monarch was ended, and there appeared no hope of its being reinstated on its throne in the hearts of the people, no hope of it ever again being a guiding landmark to the travellers on the plains. But human foresight cannot pierce the shadows of the spirit land, and that which seems impossible is, after all, only an illusion. The man laughs at the impossibilities of his childhood, and the inhabitants of the spirit world are untrammelled by the clogs and chains that hinder and bind the denizens of the nether world. Within the decaying trunk of the old pine the guardian spirit ere long descried a tiny shoot, and with eager haste he sped away to the courts of the spirits to proclaim his discovery. There was joy among the assembled spirits. The Lone Pine was dead, yet lived. The hooting of the owl was heard that night more distinctly, and the wild birds sang in joyous concert until the prairie seemed alive with sounds of nature's glad rejoicing over the resurrection of the dead. It was a night long to be remembered, and was rightly given a place in the traditions of the people. The tiny shoot grew fast, and nourished by the richness of the past, cared for with tender pride by the spirits of the air, it soon lifted its branches in spreading beauty, and reared once more a stately head above the swelling prairie. Could human speech have been given it, it could not have spoken more forcibly of the joy of life than it did to the understanding of the people by its beauty and grace. What wonder, then, that the neighborhood of the Lone Pine was a sacred spot and a notable camping ground among the Indians, half-breeds and traders. What wonder that the horses did not stray far from it when turned free to feed after a long day's journey; that the Indian listened for the vesper-song of the spirits as they drew near the spot at nightfall, and rested more peacefully under its hallowed guardianship than at any other place upon the plains. The Indians fear the power of the spirits of the departed, but they were attracted with an irresistible force to the place where the spirits of the air kept watch and ward over the Lone Pine. The white traders saw or heard nothing and were wont to say that they pitched their camp at the Lone Pine only because it was a suitable spot--one possessing all the necessary facilities for a good camping ground. Throughout all that region the buffalo roamed in tens of thousands, seeking and finding good grazing ground. While they congregated near the Lone Pine they were unmolested by the Indian or half-breed hunter. This was sacred ground, and the wild herds fed in peace about its shade. But the hunters watched and waited. When the herds moved south or westward toward the mountains, they followed eagerly, and few who joined in the buffalo hunt from the vicinity of the Lone Pine returned without a bountiful supply of meat for the winter. Late in the autumn, many years ago, a large buffalo-skin lodge was pitched on the sacred spot. The lodge was of superior make; the skins were well tanned and neatly sewn together with sinews by the deft fingers of the women. Several scalp-locks hung against the sides, evidences of the prowess of the chief, proofs of the number of enemies he had slain in battle, and ghastly reminders of the ruthless nature of the warfare of the tribes. One evening a solitary horseman drew near, and after speaking to a group of children playing near the Red River carts standing in the neighborhood of the entrance, stopped. Leaning over the horn of his Mexican saddle, he called to the master of the lodge. A moment, and the call was answered, and a tall half-breed, pushing aside the door-flap, came out. A few words of welcome said and inquiry answered, and the stranger dismounted, unsaddled his horse, put hobbles on his feet, and turned him loose to graze. Donald Mackton had not been long in the country, but he had used his eyes and quick intelligence to some purpose; he had learned the ways and manners as well as the language of the natives very quickly, and was already well in touch with the ideas and many of the peculiarities of the Indians. A tall, broad-shouldered, manly-looking Scot, the buckskin suit, wide sombrero hat and long boots of the typical cowboy showed his fine figure to perfection. He was armed with a Winchester rifle, wore a belt well filled with cartridges, and carried a revolver in one of the many pockets of his jacket. A sheath fastened to his belt also held a sharp knife. Long exposure to the sun and wind had bronzed his skin, and his muscles were hardened by the constant open-air life. His keen, blue eyes were true, and the entire self-unconsciousness of his manner inspired all who came in contact with him with confidence. He was a man whose word could be trusted, whose love had never been betrayed. Jim Howsford, the half-breed master of the lodge, was as fine a specimen of his class and race, as honest as the best of them and a true man. His father was the son of an educated Englishman who had been in the employment of the Honorable Hudson's Bay Company, his mother a beauty among the dusky maidens of the Cree tribe. Jim had learned the language of both father and mother, and knew something of the customs of both nations and races. He was therefore almost as much at home among the white men as with the Indians. He, however, liked the latter better. His mother's nature was the stronger in him, and he spoke the Cree language more frequently and fluently than the English of the white men. He wore his hair cut straight and hanging half way to the shoulders, loose flannel shirt open at the throat, beautifully ornamented leggings fastened outside his trousers from the knee downwards, and moccasins on his feet. The belt round his waist carried the usual knife and cartridges, without which the dress of neither half-breed nor cowboy was complete. As the two men stood talking the children came nearer, shy but curious to know more of the stranger. They were seldom interrupted in their play by the arrival of a white visitor at the camp; indeed, so much were they kept to themselves on the prairie that they knew more of the ways and habits of the gopher, badger and beaver than they did of the ways of men. They had witnessed deadly conflicts between the Indians and half-breeds, and had crouched in fear as the bullets whistled about the lodge or the cries of the wounded fell upon their young ears. There was something about this stranger, however, that attracted them, and sheltered under the circle of carts that surrounded the lodge, they stared wide-eyed, curious to learn the object of his visit. Jim was too hospitable to keep his visitor long outside the lodge. They entered, and Donald was introduced to the queen of the lodge, a half-breed woman of fair complexion, pretty, and having the shy manner which belongs to women trained to believe that the master of the lodge is a superior being. She wore the ordinary dress of women of the settlements, but her way of wearing it lacked neatness and taste; the colors were bright, but without the harmony so noticeable in the work of the pure Indian women. The life of the half-breed women is a dull, monotonous one. Constantly on the move, freighting goods and furs from one Hudson's Bay post to another, or carrying for the small traders on the prairie, they have no incentive to make the lodge attractive or their personal appearance dainty. It is not, however, a hard life; neither men nor women seem ever in a hurry to reach their destination with the goods committed to their care. They travel along leisurely and in a gay mood from morning till evening, shooting any game that comes within their reach, or taking advantage of a broken axle to call a halt and hunt in a wider circle from their resting-place. The women as they go, gather the berries growing wild on the prairie slopes or bluffs, and the children play, happy and merry as the day is long. These people are at home on the prairie, free as the foxes--Canadian gypsies, full of the joy of to-day, heedless of the morrow, not even questioning the possibility of supper, but trusting to their guns and good luck to provide them with a deer, a beaver, a goose, or a few prairie chickens; or if these fail--a thing which seldom happens--a few gophers or a skunk can be made to provide a meal. When the day's journey is ended and the evening meal disposed of, the men sit and smoke in one of the lodges, or if the evening be fine, assemble near the carts and spend the time playing cards, gambling for almost every thing they possess. Horse-racing and foot-races are also favorite amusements, and a means of gambling, too. The boys sit in a circle round a peg driven into the ground, and throwing their knives in the air vie with each other in the skill to impale it with the falling blade. When Jim Howsford and Donald Mackton came into the lodge the woman who greeted them set about preparing the evening meal. The fire was already kindled in the centre, where it was kept in its place by a circle of stones; a small opening above, where the lodge poles intersected, being left for the egress of the smoke. Below this opening and over the heads of the occupants of the lodge were stretched pieces of shagginappi--half-tanned hides cut in strips--upon which were hung slices of buffalo to be dried and smoked. Reaching to these rows of dried meat Betty Howsford took several of the slices and cooked them. She was glad to serve the stranger generously while the food lasted, and to trust to the larder being replenished when necessary by a windfall of mercy bringing meat, flour, tea and tobacco. The supper consisted of slap-jacks, strong black tea and the buffalo meat. The slap-jacks were made quickly. Flour, salt and water were beaten rapidly together, and poured into hot grease, and the pan held over the fire until one side was well browned; then, with a quick turn of the wrist the cake was flung into the air. Turning over as it fell, the congealed mass came down flat into the pan. After being browned on both sides, the slap-jacks were set away on a dish until a sufficient number were cooked for all the members of the party. After their elders had eaten the children were handed their portion, then the dogs were fed and the dishes washed and put away until they were again required. Jim and Donald lighted their pipes and sat talking over life on the prairie and the events of their earlier days. Betty slipped away, and silence settled down upon the lodge. Soon the woman's low voice had called the lads together, and presently on the still night air their clear voices fell as the notes of the "Ave Maria" floated sweet and true, the boys' stronger tones joining with the thinner treble of the woman. In the far north, on one of the old missions, Betty had been taught by an aged member of the Oblat Fathers, a missionary who had come many years before from the old land to teach the red men the way of peace. He lived with them, travelled with them, shared their hardships and their hunting expeditions, and when they stayed in one place for a time, taught the women and children who gathered around him to listen. In his youth he had been ambitious to gain a high position in the Church, but as he read Thomas à Kempis' "Imitation of Christ" his heart was touched, and he determined to give up his ambitious desires for self and follow Christ. He joined the Order, and was sent to the distant West, to where, to those who knew little of mission work, his culture and refinement would seem to be of little service to him. But these gifts enabled him to exert great power over the natives, and drew them to the wise man with a loving heart. Betty had been thrown into many untoward circumstances since she had learned of him, but the sound of the old man's voice seemed ever in her ears; she never forgot the lessons she had learned from his lips and through his life. With her children gathered about her she knelt by the wheel of one of the carts, the prairie sod for a resting-place, the sky over head, and together they repeated the "Pater Noster," the "Our Father" of the Saviour of all men and of all creeds. What a scene! One for the contemplation of angels who looked from heaven on the half-breed woman and her children as they besought God for protection, guidance and grace. The men in the lodge had paused in their talk and smoked their pipes in silence while the petitions were ascending outside. The prayer finished, the children returned to the lodge, and removing their outer garments, curled themselves up on the skins spread on the ground in the lodge, and were soon fast asleep. Jim and Donald sat long narrating the various strange experiences of their lives, the half-breed exulting in his success as a hunter, and the white man rejoicing no less in the valor displayed among civilized people in times of danger, as well as in his superior knowledge of men and of the world. "Them wur fine times," said the half-breed, his eyes glistening as he recalled the past. "We had lots of game, and we never wanted for grub. I could kill more buffalo with my old flint-lock in a day than we get now with a Winchester rifle." "Had you ever any trouble with the Indians in those days?" asked Donald. "Ye bet yer life we did. Many's the time we had to fight for our lives. They'd get behind our carts before we'd know they wur there: but ye see, we knew how to fight, and though some of our folks got killed, we allus had the best of it." "You must have had some narrow escapes." "Yes, siree! I've had many a close shave in my younger days. I've fought with buffalo, bears and Indians, and I carry some wounds to show what a hard tussle I had many a time. There's no fun nowadays like we had in the old times. Now we never have a fight worth speaking of, and the white men are beginning to tell us that it'll be better to take the scalp-locks off our lodges; but I won mine in honest fights, and I dare any man to say that I didn't kill my enemy every time. Let me see," and Jim took a long draw of his pipe. "I think it was the year of the big snow, that'd be twelve years ago. I wus camped on the Big Saskatchewan with Bill Whitman and Sam Livingwood. We had gone out on a search party to see how the game wus, and intended to be away about ten days. We had gone east from our camp, and had seen lots o' buffalo. I tell you, stranger, it'd have made the heart of any man glad to see them. They wur fat and sleek, and there wur thousands of 'em. "Well, we were on our way back to our camp, and had settled down for the night on the banks of the Saskatchewan. We didn't start any fire that night fur fear o' Indians, but we just took what grub we had and eat it in quietness. As we three sat smoking I started to my feet suddenly and grabbed my gun. I don't know what made me do it, but I think it wus the old medicine-man, fur he charmed me the year before, and cured me when I was very sick. I listened, but could hear nothing, so I sat down again. I was sittin' a few minutes when again I jumped to my feet, but could see nothing. My companions looked at me and listened for the sound o' cracking branches, but they could see nothing, so we contented ourselves and smoked our pipes. Once again this happened, and I made up my mind that if it came again I wouldn't stay in that spot; but as it didn't return I lay down to rest, fur I was awful tired. I couldn't sleep, so I lay half skeered with my gun loaded and my hand on it. Bill and Sam lay beside me, and I wus in a sweat, fur Bill was a terrible snorer. It didn't matter what danger he wus in, he would snore, and it seemed as if he would try to snore loudest when there wur Indians about. "'Now, Bill,' said I, before he went off to sleep, 'don't ye snore to-night, fur I'm afeard we're in an uncanny place.' He was mad, and said he didn't snore only when he wus at home. I told him he did, but he only got madder, so I kept quiet and asked him to be still, fur I was afeard there wur some Indians near. "He said he would, then turned over and went to sleep, and soon was snoring as loud as ever. I am never afeard, but I tell ye, stranger, when I heard Bill snore that night I wus as weak as a woman, and I could have cleared out from the place only I couldn't leave my mates. As I lay on the ground I kept both ears and one eye open, fur I couldn't forget those three times that I jumped up and seized my gun. It wus gittin' on towards morning, the moon wus shining a little, but I could not see far. We wur in a snug spot among some trees, and I was beginning to feel safe, and thought I might take a short nap. We had a long ride before us, and we had to start at sunrise. I had dropped my head on the grass, and must have dozed off when the snapping of a rotten branch woke me; but I didn't stir, only waited fur another sound. I had not long to wait. In a few minutes a crawling sound seemed to come along the ground slow and very quiet like. I raised my head but saw nothing. I dropped my head again, but as I did so I raised my gun with my finger on the trigger and lay quiet until the sound returned. "Soon I saw a dark objec' lyin' on the grass like a log. It was only a few yards off, and it didn't move. I'd become sure there was danger, so I raised my gun and fired. The objec' giv a moan an' rolled over. My mates sprung to their feet at the sound of the gun, but I called to them sharp to lie down. Again we waited to see what'd follow. Nothing more happened for a while, and I was just risin' to go to the objec' when I saw two others lyin' near the first. They seemed to fall deep in the grass when I raised myself. Drawing my gun toward me I fired twice, quick. Each shot told, for the objec' gave a howl and rolled over. "There was no more sleep after that. We lay with our hands on our guns and close behind the cover of the trees until the light of the early morning helped us to see the animals on the grass, and we soon saw there wur no others there. Bill, Sam and me went with our guns raised toward them things on the grass, expectin' to find a bear or buffalo, but as we got near we saw they wur covered with Indian blankets. We turned 'em over with our feet, and as the blankets fell off found three naked Indians, each graspin' a knife, but they wur dead. My bullets had found a good place, so I took my scalpin' knife and soon had their scalps hangin' at my belt, and now, stranger, you can see them scalps hangin' outside my lodge." Jim raked the dying embers of the fire together as he finished his story, and Donald, seeing that Betty was already asleep, bade the genial half-breed "Good-night" and left them. He looked first to see that his horse was all right, then taking a couple of buffalo-skins from one of the carts he spread them on the ground underneath, lay down on them, and was soon fast asleep. The air was cold, but in the West it is quite common for travellers to sleep upon the prairie with a very small quantity of covering; and though the thermometer may register twenty below zero, they seldom take cold, but rise in the morning invigorated by the cool air and the refreshing sleep which can be had only by lying on the sod of the open prairie. Donald was up early, but he found Betty and Jim astir when he returned from looking after his horse, and in a short time breakfast was ready. A hasty repast, and then the lodge was taken down and packed with the bedding and cooking utensils on one of the carts. The horses were gathered in and harnessed one to each, and the long caravan was ready to set out. Each Indian pony drew a load of from five to eight hundred pounds. There were twenty carts well laden, and each pony was fastened to the back of the preceding cart. In the first sat Betty and the two younger children; the two older boys and their father rode ponies, and travelled up and down along the line urging the ponies onward. Before commencing their journey Donald had an exciting experience. They were about ready to set off when Jim called him over to look at a horse he had to sell. The beast was a heavily-built sorrel, and stood with head drooping and a watery eye. "He's a fine buffalo runner," said the half-breed. "You see that watery eye. One day I was huntin' buffalo, and a mate of mine rode this horse, and he was so excited he shot the horse through the eye." "How much do you want for him?" "One hundred and fifty dollars. He's a fine buffalo runner. He'll take you over the ground in good shape. Get up and try him." Donald removed the saddle from his own horse and put it on the buffalo runner. The animal stood quietly until the stranger sprang into the saddle, when, as if shot from a gun, he made a sudden bound and darted off. Out and away over the prairie he flew at a terrific rate, rider and horse apparently bent on some errand of life and death. Onward, past bluff and coulee, they ran, the horse snorting and galloping as if in hot chase after buffalo. His rider tried to stop him, clinging to the saddle lest he should buck him off, pulling at the bridle, but all in vain. The more he pulled the faster went the horse. There was fire in his eye; the water no longer coursed down his face. He held his head erect, and the old dreamy-looking animal was transformed into a wild, daring creature, bold and free as wolves on the prairie, and exultant in his strength and speed. The perspiration streamed down Donald's face, and it was not until many miles had been covered that the buffalo-runner slackened his speed or appeared to think he had done his duty. At last he gradually eased his pace, and no doubt in his mind's eye his rider had killed some buffalo, and a good day's work had been done into the bargain. Fortunately Donald did not turn the horse's head homeward, or he might have had a repetition of the same wild ride, from which he might not have escaped so well. Some hours afterwards Jim overtook him, and was glad to find both horse and rider safe. "Well, you had a hard ride." "Yes, I would not care for another like it to-day," replied Donald. "That's always like him. Every time I've tried to sell him he's cut up a trick like that. I don't know what gets into his head. Ye see, he seems to think he's always chasing buffalo, and away he goes." The two men sat down to wait until the train overtook them, and by the time it arrived they were quite ready for something to eat. As they were unharnessing the horses a flock of geese alighted on the edge of the lake near, and Jim, seizing his rifle and taking aim, brought down a goose at three hundred yards. One of the boys ran down and picked up the goose and brought it to his mother. Under her skilful hands it was soon plucked, and being cut in pieces was dropped into the pot of water they had hung from the tripod of willow over a fire of buffalo chips to boil. All had been done with such rapidity that within forty minutes of the moment when the goose had been killed the men were eating it with that hearty relish only healthy appetites can give. Every member of the party was grateful that the adventure of the morning had not terminated in an accident, as some had anticipated when the watery-eyed horse had bolted, and they were consequently in excellent spirits. The meal ended, the men smoked their pipes together while the women washed the dishes and repacked them in the wagon. Donald saddled his horse, and bidding his hospitable friends good-bye, mounted and rode away. CHAPTER II. The village of Latona was situated on the banks of a beautiful river which took its course in many winding curves and sharp turns from the foot-hills of the Rocky Mountains until it emptied its waters into one of the wider streams and broad water highways of the North-West. The river was navigable during the greater part of the year, but the limited population, as well as the long monopoly of the trade by the Honorable Hudson's Bay Company of Fur Traders, and its rival, the North-West Company, had delayed enterprise in that direction. The farms on which the French and English half-breed settlers lived had been surveyed upon the French system, with a narrow frontage on the bank of the river, and stretching back in a long strip until the required area was covered. This plan had the advantage of enabling the owners of the land to build their houses in closer proximity to each other. In a new and sparsely settled country, and to a people of the social disposition of the French, this advantage overbalanced the obvious disadvantages. The French prefer to share what they possess with their friends and neighbors in social intercourse and festivity rather than live comparatively alone until they have accumulated a sufficient patrimony to be able to entertain without depleting themselves of all they possess. The result of this social disposition at Latona was a general poverty and lack of all evidence of prosperity in the town. There was but one street, which ran its straggling length between the scattered houses, and culminated at the one store, owned and managed by the Hudson's Bay Company. This thoroughfare was not kept particularly clean; the inhabitants had not yet reached the stage of civilization which includes municipal officials, or the raising of taxes to defray the expenses of the paving of streets or making of roads. Children of almost every age and size, fat, naked and dirty, played and tumbled about the muddy roadway. No town of the like size in Her Majesty's dominions could boast of so large a juvenile population as Latona. They were not, however, all devoted to dirt and the muddy street; many had careful, tidy mothers, who kept their children as neat as their circumstances would permit. Latona had one chapel, in which the genial priest, Père le Sueur, ministered to his people. It was Sunday morning, the freighting season was over, and the people were at home in Latona. Père le Sueur expected a large attendance at mass, and he was not disappointed. The chapel bell rang clear and sweet, sounding far across the country and summoning the Indians who were camped in the vicinity to assemble in the chapel, and so soon as its pleasant tones had ceased to vibrate upon the morning air, employees of the Hudson's Bay Company's establishment marched out to attend the service and join their voices with the half-breeds and Indians in prayer. While the people were in the church no sound disturbed the quiet of the village street save the occasional bark of an angry cur, excited by the arrival of a horseman, who rode down the street looking to either side as if in search of someone whom he was disappointed at not finding. Judging by the absence of the people from their doors that they were all in the chapel, he dismounted, tied his horse to a post outside, and entered the sacred edifice. The congregation was kneeling and following with devout attention the prayers that were being offered up by the priest, as the stranger slipped quietly into the first vacant seat and on bended knees added his voice to their united responses. The service over, our old friend Donald Mackton was about to loose his horse and proceed on his journey when he was stayed by Jim Howsford's outstretched welcoming hand. "Come away to my shanty," said the hospitable half-breed, "I guess there's grub and a shake-down fur ye thar." Donald had intended putting up at the Company's post, but moved by the recollection of the night he had spent with Jim on the prairie by the Lone Pine, and the adventure of the morning ride, he decided to accept the proffered hospitality and stay at Jim's shack. The house, which its owner was wont to call his shanty or "shack," was situated some distance from the chapel, and the road to it lay along the river bank. The walls were of hewn logs, the plan a single room without any partitions to divide the sleeping from the living apartments. It was about twenty by thirty feet in size, and contained a table and stove in the centre and beds ranged as a sort of bunk around the sides. Betty greeted Donald with a smile, and busied herself at once in preparing dinner. The children were too shy to speak, but the smiles they exchanged with each other, as well as the furtive glances bestowed on the stranger, betrayed that they had not forgotten him. Dinner in the house was of a better description than the one served in the lodge under the Lone Pine. There was abundance of the staple of both, the delicious buffalo meat, together with venison, potatoes and cabbage, with bread, milk and tea. The healthy climate and constant out-door exercise give the people excellent appetites, and provide them with good digestions; the plainest food is eaten with a relish such as is not often experienced in cities and towns. Donald did full justice to Betty's cooking and providing, and could not help praising her skill in the art of cookery. Betty smiled; she was too shy to enter into any conversation, but was pleased at being praised. When Donald and Jim had finished their dinner, the children and a number of relatives who had assembled to share Jim's hospitality gathered around the table, a motley group, as hungry as famished bears. Needless to say, they soon devoured the remnants of the meal. Jim and Donald were joined presently by the neighbors, who dropped in one by one to see and hear what news the stranger had brought. Jim was a genial host and a great favorite in the village. The half-breeds are nearly all of English or Scotch parentage, with a small sprinkling of French, and it is a curious fact that the Irish and German are so seldom met with, that in a large community or colony of men of the mixed races, one might count them on the fingers of one hand. The men were all dressed alike, and presented a picturesque appearance,--fancy colored shirts, coats and vests trimmed with brass buttons, gaudy-colored sashes wound about their waists, a pair of dark pants, moccasins embroidered with beads or porcupine quills, leggings reaching from the knee downward, also ornamented with beads, and a fire-bag with fancy figures wrought upon it hung from the belt formed by the sash. A few wore rings in their ears, and all were armed with a large knife stuck in a leathern or beaded sheath. They were all peaceable men, with a vein of humor in their disposition, and prepared to take life easy. No concern for the morrow troubled them; they were happy in the enjoyment of the present. The older men among them gathered in a group about Donald and Jim to discuss the prospects of the freighting season, the results of the recent buffalo-hunt, or the latest rumors of the battle that had been fought between the Crees and the Blackfeet Indians. From such topics of general interest it was not long before they drifted into others of a more individual or personal nature, until they all in turn had related some adventure and narrow escape, some victory they had won, or incidents of the great dances they had attended when they were young. Meanwhile the younger members of the company had separated into various groups, and were sitting upon the floor engaged in other amusements. The one which had the greatest number of votaries was cards. From the serious expression of their faces it was not all amusement. Rings, tobacco, fire-bags and knives were deposited in a heap in their midst and it was evident that they were gambling. Donald inquired the cause of such desecration of the day, but the men looked at him in surprise and said that Sunday was over. Donald had been trained in the Puritan ways of his ancestors, and in spite of the rough life of the prairies, still clung to the teaching of his pious parents. It was not always easy to do so, but he often managed to enter a mild protest which had the effect of lessening the evil and increasing the respect in which he was held by the old-timers. Upon the approach of night the company departed, and Donald, stretching his saddle-blanket and bear-skin on the floor, made a very comfortable bed for himself. All the occupants of the house slept on the floor in the one-roomed house, a temporary partition being provided by a blanket hung on a rope and stretched across one portion of it. This was in consideration of the presence of the white stranger. Donald intended to return across the prairie the following day, and knowing there were hostile Indians about, many of them being just at that time in an unsettled state, he desired to secure companions for the journey. Jim Howsford, however, wished him to remain to a feast that he had announced his intention of giving. Donald refused, as he wished to get away as soon as possible, but when he found that the attractions of the feast would prevent any success in inducing the Indians or half-breeds to accompany him he was obliged to remain. Donald spent the day by the river shooting, and succeeded in bagging a goodly number of ducks, geese and prairie chickens. In the evening the half-breed guests arrived early to the feast: they had put on their holiday attire and were evidently prepared to enjoy themselves. While the men sat or lounged about and smoked, the women cooked. When at last supper was ready, and the well cooked and tempting dishes were set before them, they were hungry enough to eat with the zest and enjoyment of famished men who had reached a region of plenty after a season of dearth and starvation. When their appetites were satisfied, not by any means a speedy performance, the company cleared the floor, and the fiddles being called into requisition, the dance began. Seated on low stools against the wall these musicians lent all their energy to providing both time and tune to further the fun and encourage the dancers. The old people looked on while the younger ones danced, and applauded any especial performance with great appreciation and excitement. When any of the company manifested unusual skill they recounted similar feats of agility which they had witnessed in their early days. The dance continued for several hours, then the guests sat down to a repetition of the feast of good things. This gave them renewed strength for the dance, which was again indulged in with the same animation as at the beginning. Donald remarked with surprise the familiarity manifested among the men and women, and the apparent unconcern of the old people at the excessive gaiety of the younger members of the party. The women sat on their lovers' knees when they stopped to rest from the dance, and when his host introduced one of the young girls to Donald, she immediately implanted a kiss on his cheek. It was evidently the etiquette of the half-breed code of manners, and in their eyes no more familiar than the handshake of more reticent races. The dance showed no sign of abatement as the night reached far into the morning hours, and Donald lay down to rest. He slept soundly, and when he awoke some hours later he thought he must be dreaming, for the sound of music and dancing was still going on. He raised his head and found it was no dream. While many lay around and about him on the floor sleeping, others were still dancing with energy and excitement apparently unabated. The festivities were thus kept up in relays of votaries for a week without any cessation. While the exhausted ones slept those who had snatched a few hours' sleep returned to the dance and the feasting, and not until the last haunch of buffalo had been eaten did the company disperse to their own homes. No persuasions could induce any of the men to leave while the festivities lasted, and it was not until they were ended and some hours' rest had been taken that Donald secured the services of a Stoney Indian and a half-breed named Baptiste la Roche for the trip to Brisbane. Donald procured a good supply of pemmican, tea, sugar, flour and a few minor necessaries for their journey, thinking it wiser to take this precaution than to trust to being supplied by the way with the guns of the party. He had no desire to run the risk of starvation or of attracting the notice of hostile Indians. The party had three pack-horses beside the horses they rode, and these were likely to delay the speed of their journey to Brisbane to some extent. Jim was loud in his expression of thanks to Donald for staying at his house and taking part in the feast, and many invitations to come again to the village were given him by both the host and his guests. The whole village population turned out to see the travellers start and to wish them good luck, the curé adding his wishes for Donald's prosperity and safe keeping while crossing the prairie. The cultured priest had enjoyed some hours of conversation with Donald during his stay in the village, and parted with him with regret. There had been mutual esteem and pleasure in their short intercourse, each enjoying the rare opportunity of discussing topics belonging to the more literary, scientific and advanced civilized world. Père le Sueur was not an exception in devotion to the cause of missionary effort. In that distant field there were many like him who had received the most cultured training in the Roman Catholic and Protestant faith the universities of Canada, Great Britain or France were able to provide. Separated by many miles from men of their own nation and class, dwelling in camps, associating with half-breeds, travelling with Indians, teaching school in the lodges, nursing the sick, praying with the dying and counselling the maturer minds of hunters and warriors, these men of talent performed their duties cheered by the consciousness of duty done and the assurance that their toil would receive recognition in due time. They had no expectation of earthly reward; time and all the vanities of the world were to them unreal things, while the spiritual and eternal were esteemed all that were worth striving for in this life. Imbued with this spirit Père le Sueur was happy in his work and surroundings. Yet though content to dwell among the ignorance, idleness and filth of a half-breed and Indian settlement, he was grateful for every opportunity of hearing and talking of the latest inventions and discoveries made in a world from which he had been absent for eighteen years. Donald never forgot the tale of devotion manifested by the life of the priest of Latona. His men had set out before him and were some miles on the way before Donald overtook them. Baptiste la Roche, the half-breed, was a fine, handsome fellow, a good hunter and noted marksman. He had been loath to leave Latona so soon after the feast, and it was only by promising a liberal reward that Donald had been able to induce him to accompany him. He could speak French, English, Cree and Blackfoot, and seemed to be perfectly familiar with the idioms of each of these languages. The Indian was also a fair type of his race, the Stoneys, or, as they should be called, the Assiniboines,--the name signifying the people who cook their food on hot stones. The tribe is a branch of the Sioux. Bearspaw was true to those who employed and trusted him, and could be relied upon implicitly to serve their best interests. A man of light build and lithe, quick movements, he was brave and looked upon by his tribe as invincible. As leader of war parties he had never been defeated in battle, nor had he ever turned his back on a foe, and his warriors, animated by his ability and courage as a leader, had followed him to victory in all their skirmishes on the plains. The three men were well armed; each carried a Winchester rifle, a large knife, a revolver and a belt with cartridges. They were thus prepared for any emergency. It was late in the afternoon when the party started. They wished to reach a spot in a wood where there was a good camping ground, about twenty miles distant, before night. To accomplish this they had to ride fast, but were not able to make great speed owing to the necessity of attending to the pack-horses. Intent upon reaching their destination and the shelter of the wood before the sun went down, the party rode in silence. It was dusk when they at last drew rein, and after casting a sharp glance around to see that the ground was clear and no trace of enemies visible, they dismounted, loosened the packs, hobbled the horses and made a fire. Donald lay on his saddle-blanket while Baptiste and Bearspaw bustled about preparing the supper. There was no delay in arranging the table, and seated upon the grass the tired men ate heartily of the pemmican, slap-jacks and strong black tea. "Good evening, gentlemen!" said a bronzed-faced man who alighted from his horse as he spoke. He had approached so quietly that the greeting startled Donald, and he laid his hand on his revolver. The Indian's face betrayed no knowledge or surprise, although with the keen hearing of the native he must have known of the stranger's proximity. "Good evening," replied Donald. "Will you sit down and have some supper with us? We have enough and will be glad to have your company." "Thank ye, friends. Don't mind if I do. I'm hungry and I never refuse a kindness from a stranger." "Which way are you travelling?" asked Donald, presently, when the new-comer had shown by the way he devoured the food set before him that he had fasted some time. "You seem to be tired." "Well, yes, I was gone a good bit, an' I don't exactly know where I'll turn up before I'm done. Ye see, I have not had good luck with my trapping." "Which way have you been that you have been so unfortunate? Surely the game is not scarce at this time of the year." "Wall, no, I guess there's lots o' furs, but the Indians haven't been very civil this year, an' when I get ahead some o' the rascals steal my cache, an' then I have to begin all over again. I've been along the foot o' the mountains an' followed an old Stoney trail for a while, but ye see I'm gettin' old an' I guess some o' these days I'll have to pass in my checks, and then it'll be all over with Jim Carrafell." The old trapper's appearance did not belie his words, and Donald had not much difficulty in persuading him to join his party. They sat for some time around the fire, smoking and talking, Donald and Jim Carrafell exchanging experiences, Baptiste and Bearspaw talking in the monologues peculiar to the Indian. When the night fell thick about the camp the men rolled themselves in their blankets, turned their feet to the fire, and with their saddles for pillows were soon asleep. They knew that during the early part of the night no Indian would venture to attack them, yet they slept with hands on their revolvers and guns within reach, so that if molested they were ready to meet the foe. The sleepers, however, were not disturbed, and at the first break of dawn the Stoney was up and looking to see that the horses were safe. To cook and eat their breakfast, gather the stuff together and set out occupied little time. Nothing eventful occurred during the day, they met no Indians, saw but few buffalo. An odd timber wolf cast sinister glances at them as they rode past, or occasional coyotes slunk away with drooping tail at their approach, but nothing of more importance broke the monotony of the day's ride. The evening was but a repetition of the night before. When they reached the halting place and camped one evening about sixty miles from their destination, Donald learned with consternation that the provisions were exhausted. He had brought what he considered abundance for the trip, even when allowance was made for the addition to their number by the arrival of Jim Carrafell, and he was surprised that the supply should so soon be gone. It was a new experience to Donald, though not an uncommon one in the lives of many travellers with such parties. The half-breed had feasted, eating enough for three men, as if he believed that he should lay in a stock of food that would sustain him for a week. The Indian, with the instinct of his race, started ahead of the party the next morning to levy supplies from the prairies with his gun, and was successful in shooting enough duck, geese and rabbits to keep them from starving. It was dark when they rode into the village of Brisbane, but the half-breeds and Indians who formed the principal part of the population were abroad to welcome them. Donald paid his men and dismissed them, having decided to remain over a few days in the town. The half-breed went to the house of one of his relatives, where he was received with open arms. There he stayed for a week, enjoying his friend's hospitality, and without giving a thought to his home. Happy and careless, a true son of the soil, he was heedless of anything or anyone while he had enough to eat and drink, and was blessed with a fiddle and a friend. Bearspaw was of a more dignified nature and appearance. He rode slowly through the village to the lodge where one of his tribe lived, and entered quietly, assured of a welcome by the native courtesy and hospitality that ever are characteristic of the Indian races. He talked soberly, without any such demonstrative excitement as was noticeable in the demeanor of the half-breed; made inquiry after the welfare of the people and of the changes which had taken place among the families since he left them. When they told him of death in the camp he said nothing, and as they related the successes his people had met with in the hunting expeditions, he was silent. Bearspaw was sympathetic in both their sorrow and joy, but the training of camps had made him, like all the other members of his tribe and race, the master of his emotions. Then they told him that the messenger of death had come to his own lodge three nights before and stricken down his eldest son, a young lad and the pride of his father's heart; but Bearspaw still sat motionless, uttering no word. It would seem as if they had been speaking of another. Courage died out of their hearts; they had spoken, they now sat silent. Presently, with no sign of haste, the bereaved father rose from his place in the lodge, and without a word departed. His horse was still fastened to the pole at the entrance of the lodge, but Bearspaw seemed as if he saw him not. His heart bore too heavy a burden to think of aught but his sorrow. Looking neither to the right nor left he strode onward until he reached a dense wood outside the precincts of the village. He thought not of possible danger; his hand was not laid on his knife as it would have been at ordinary times. Why should he go thence? Why leave his friends? Upon what mission is he bent? Wearied with his long journey does he seek rest? Alas! no. His heart is very heavy with grief, and he must leave the haunts of men to seek relief for his wounded spirit. Converse with the gods alone can bring peace. Hidden from the eye of men he throws himself upon the ground in an agony of spirit. Hero of a hundred battles, his lodge decked with scalp-locks, the story of his valor written in pictures on the walls--valor that had never been exceeded by any that had been told before--the man who had never been defeated lay prone upon the ground, vanquished by this blow. He shed no tears, uttered no cry, but groaned in the bitterness of his grief. Then on the midnight air the plaintive notes of the wail for the departed fell soft and sad, the coranach of his race, the father wailing for his dead son, calling on his name, repeating it again and again in the curious pathetic monotone peculiar to the Indian. When the day dawned and the night of grief was passed, Bearspaw returned in sadness to his lodge, and the women with dishevelled hair, bare feet and torn and tattered garments, bewailed the dead until the season of mourning was expired. Life is sad in every clime; to every camp or home death comes. In the midst of peace, prosperity and joy sorrow falls, our loved ones are taken from us, and the world to us seems empty, valueless and of little worth. Bearspaw never mentioned his son's name; his grief was silent, but his hair grew whiter and deeper furrows marked his brow, telling better than any lamentations how great had been his loss. CHAPTER III. Donald Mackton had spent some days in Brisbane, and was preparing to leave and set out again on his travels when he met Peter Daniels. A new acquaintance in the far West was an event of some importance, and worth something in those days. Friends were few and far between, and the chance acquaintance of to-day might be the helpful friend of the morrow. Peter Daniels was a tall man, of an aristocratic appearance indicative of better days. He was dressed in the usual suit of buckskin, but his jacket was more elaborately ornamented with colored porcupine quills than was common; his pants were made of moose-skin and the leggings worn over them from the knee downward were very handsomely embroidered with beads; his moccasins were also richly worked by the deft hands of an Indian woman. The wide sombrero hat, such as is worn by the Mexican or Montana cowboy, completed his costume. He spoke the pure English of an educated man, yet his face betrayed unmistakable signs of a predilection for strong drink in the past, if not at the present time. Peter was a rare character. He posed as a literary man among his companions, and expressed his intention of one day writing a history of the country, one that would include an autobiography. Donald, as we have said, was something of a scholar, and the pleasure of meeting an educated man out in the wilds was sufficient attraction to induce him to prolong his stay in Brisbane. After a short chat in the store, Donald was easily persuaded to pay him a visit in his own house. He found the place an old log building, sadly in need of repair; but this did not seem to trouble its occupant at all. Donald went in and spent several hours in pleasant conversation with his host. "You have been several years in the country, Mr. Daniels, I understand?" said Donald, presently. "Well, yes; I have spent about twelve years in this particular district." "You evidently have been enamored of the people, the climate or the manner of life, that you have remained so long?" "Well, sir, I can hardly tell you why I have stayed, or what has been the particular attraction. I am hard to please, yet there is something in this country which induces a man to forego many of the benefits of civilization for the free and easy life possible on these western prairies." "You were not brought up to this kind of life, I can see very well," replied Donald. "No, I am an Englishman. I was educated at Eton and Oxford. After I left college, I took a fancy to see the world." "You have come a long way to see it." "Yes. And yet I have been well repaid. I have spent five or six thousand pounds since I came here, but that is nothing when you think of all the experience I have gained. If I had lived in England I should have spent much more and not have known half the things I do now. We have all to pay for our knowledge, and of course I am no exception to the rule. My rich friends at home would be shocked to see me in this shack or dressed in this fashion, but I am happy, and that is the chief thing in life. It matters little where you are or what you are doing if you are happy. I hope some day to relate my experiences and publish them, and that will be full compensation for all the hardships of this kind of life." "I hope so," replied Donald, slowly. "You appear to doubt it, my friend, but I have learned much, and as it has cost me a great deal, I think, and not without sufficient reason, that I ought to be able to recount my experiences in an entertaining manner. If I succeed, they are sure to bring me some compensation for the trouble." "I do not doubt that," said Donald; "what I thought was that the labor will be too great and the hardships too severe for the reward to be adequate. The isolation, the privations, the absence of all the luxuries of life, the loss of friends and the monotony of prairie life--is not this too much to give for all the wealth and fame the world is able to bestow in one short life?" "That is true to you, perhaps, but we are not all made alike, and nothing could please me more than to spend my life for the benefit of others, in relating to my fellowmen the adventures of the last few years." To write a book was evidently Mr. Daniels' highest ambition, as it has been the worthy desire of many nobler men. "Your life has been spent chiefly among the Indians, I suppose," said Donald. "Indians and half-breeds," replied Daniels. "Which of the two types of men do you find the better?" asked Donald. "Are not the former finer men than the latter?" "Just the opposite. I have spent most of my time while in the country among the half-breeds, and have gleaned so much of their history and entered so fully into their spirit that I look upon the race as one of the noblest on the face of the earth." "Your experience differs from mine, then." "Perhaps so, but you will pardon me if I say that possibly mine has been larger and more varied than yours, and that being the case, I am better able to speak authoritatively on the question. I do not often mention the facts of my own life in this relation, but it is sometimes necessary in order to throw light upon the matter, and I will tell you as briefly as possible the reasons for my belief in the nobility of character in the race." "Thank you; it will be a pleasure to me to listen to what you say," said Donald, smiling. "About fourteen years ago," began Daniels, "my father called me into his study and told me he had decided to send me out to America. He would give me a few thousand pounds to enable me to start life there well and make an independent living. I was very willing to fall in with his views, as nothing pleased me better than the thought of hunting in the far West. A few days later he placed a cheque for two thousand pounds in my hand and bade me make all necessary arrangements for my journey. There was nothing much to be seen in Montreal, so I cashed my cheque when I arrived there and pushed on to the West, which I reached in the course of some weeks in the company of several adventurers like myself. The first years were spent in the village of Latona, where I made the acquaintance of the half-breeds, and learned to respect them. I found many honest and plucky men among them. There was Jack Sutherland, a Scotch half-breed, true as steel; no prouder man than he ever stood in a mansion. Let me tell you of him; his story will serve as well as another to illustrate what I want to prove." "Go on," said Donald, "I'm all ears." "Jack was one of the employees of the Hudson's Bay Company, who had been sent from one of the northern posts to the Company's post at Latona. He was a quiet fellow, reserved and proud, conscious of his strength and superior skill with a rifle, but no boaster. He was as much at home in a canoe on the lake or river as on a horse on the prairie. He dined at the long table in the Fort, but lived in a small house by himself that was situated just within the walls of the Fort. There he had a small but well-chosen stock of books that had belonged to his father, an officer of the Company. These books were of the right sort, and what was better, were often read. "Jack was a very agreeable companion, full of information, and when among his particular friends was fond of a joke. He had all the canny disposition of the Scotch race, with the instincts of the Indian. He was daring and hardy, yet seldom did anything of an extraordinary nature, which may have arisen from his intense hatred of display. I knew the man well and learned to love him. "Late one afternoon we were apprised by some of the Cree Indians that there were Blackfoot Indians in the vicinity, and it would be well for us to be on our guard. We took all necessary precautions, but no Indian appeared. "Three or four days went by and we felt sure the Cree who brought the tidings of the proximity of the Blackfeet must have been mistaken. We did not hear of any misdeeds, so we settled down again to our old ways of living. "The villagers were retiring to rest when a man rode down the street, and called to a few stragglers who were still about that one of the children of the Factor at the Fort was missing. "The children had been playing together inside the walls of the Fort, and unconscious of any danger had gone outside to pluck some of the flowers growing there in rich profusion. One of them, a girl of about five years of age, lingered behind the others, and when they turned to call her she had disappeared. They searched for her, calling her repeatedly, but all their efforts were fruitless. Then they returned to inform their parents. All the employees were at once astir and searching in every direction, but without success. "The mother was distracted and the father wild with grief and apprehension. "The news spread quickly and the villagers joined in the search. They rode along the river bank and scoured the prairie in the darkness, but could find no trace of the missing child. For several days they continued to search the country hoping to find her, but without success. "Amongst those who had travelled far and near in prosecuting the search there was one who had not been numbered. About a month before this sad occurrence the Factor had used some strong language in talking to Jack Sutherland, and it was well known that the half-breed had been indignant and had felt the reprimand keenly. "Jack had not joined the party of searchers, and no one had seen him since the night on which little Annie MacKenzie had disappeared. Inquiries elicited the fact that he had been seen repairing his saddle upon the morning of the day in question, but no one remembered having seen him later. Had he taken revenge upon the chief of the Fort, done away with the child and then decamped? "Everyone knew the Scotch half-breed as an honest, kind-hearted man, and it was hard to believe that he could be guilty of such a crime; still the fact remained, he could not be found. His room was unswept, the door unlocked, articles of clothing left lying about, all evidence of a hurried departure. This seemed corroborative of the suspicion that he had either stolen the child or put it to death. "Factor MacKenzie offered a reward of ten of his best horses to anyone giving a clue by which the half-breed might be traced and the truth discovered. "Jack had too many friends at the Fort and in Latona for anyone to undertake this mission. Men and women were all anxious and willing to search for the child, but not one among them could be induced to start in pursuit of Jack Sutherland. Finding there was no response to his offer of reward the Factor determined to set out on the search himself. Two of the most trusted of the officials were to accompany him, well armed, lest they should meet with opposition in securing the fugitive. Their outfit was got ready and arrangements made for a lengthened absence from the Fort. "The Factor and his men were sitting late discussing their plans for the following day, when a knock at the door interrupted the conversation, and a stranger was introduced. "Pierre le Jeunne had heard of the Factor's loss, and had come a long distance that he might offer his services to search for the child. He professed to know the country well, and had not the least doubt that he would be successful in finding Jack Sutherland and bringing back his scalp to claim the reward. His eyes sparkled with an evil light as he uttered the name of the absent half-breed. "Pierre was a daring fellow, a native of the plains, a French half-breed with some Spanish blood in his veins. He lived in one of the native settlements, and as soon as he heard of the calamity at the Fort had at once started for Latona. "The Factor saw by the determined manner of the man that he was in earnest, and learning that he and Jack were old-time enemies, he felt that there was better chance of successful pursuit being made by him than by himself and his officers. They were not prepared by familiarity with the ways and tactics of the Indians, as this French half-breed was, to cope with the difficulties of encounter with hostile bands, and though very anxious to prosecute the search for the lost child they felt that it would be unwise to run into danger unnecessarily. "Long and anxiously they talked over their schemes and plans, the trails to be followed, the hope of gaining the object and the compensation to be given Pierre le Jeunne for his help. At last the terms were agreed upon, Pierre was given a good supply of food and tobacco, and it was agreed that the Factor should wait several days until sufficient time had been given the half-breed to let them know in some manner whether he had been successful in his undertaking. "Bidding them good morning, for the talk had lasted through the night, Pierre set out, and turned his horse's head toward the south. There was a determined, evil expression on the man's face as he rode along, while a faint smile of satisfaction long delayed lingered about his eyes and mouth. He was in quest of his enemy, and now supported by the strong arm of the law he was at last to have his revenge. "Keeping a sharp lookout for straggling parties of Indians he sped on, covering many miles but meeting with no adventure during the first day. "On the second day, after fording a river he crossed the plains until he came to a stone of a peculiar kind that was lying on the ground. Dismounting beside it he took some tobacco from his saddle-bag and threw it down near the stone. This was one of the massive meteorites which the Indians are in the habit of visiting and offering sacrifices to. The half-breed having made his offering stood awhile muttering his petitions, asking for protection on his journey and success in his mission. "After waiting a few minutes and receiving no response from the oracle, he remounted and continued his journey. Upon the fourth day he entered the country of the Blackfoot tribe, and turned aside to visit the Lone Pine. There were many offerings laid at its foot and strewn about on the ground. Pierre threw down his gifts of tobacco and waited for a response to his prayer. Presently a low murmur fell upon his ear, like the sound of distant thunder. He looked upward to the sky, but it was clear. He scanned the horizon and the low bushes growing near, but could discern nothing, neither human beings nor animals. In an anguish of superstition he threw himself upon the ground, hopeless of success, for there seemed to be opposition to him and his mission from some unknown quarter. "As he lay motionless the sounds increased. He pressed his ear close to the ground and listened. Fear took possession of the half-breed warrior's heart. He had oftentimes gone forth to battle without fear and had returned victorious; but now he was afraid, and not without reason. "The sound he heard was the dull thud of horses' hoofs upon the prairie. He was alone in an enemy's country, and unable to cope with them should they prove to be numerous. "Grasping the bridle he led his horse into the thickest part of the bush, and there, hidden from view, he lay and watched the advance of the horsemen. In a few moments a solitary rider dashed past, followed at some little distance by several Indians, who were yelling wildly and shooting at random. Pierre recognized some of his friends among the latter, and emerging from his hiding-place shouted to them, calling them by name. They turned a moment, sufficient to learn who he was, and then continued their pursuit of the solitary horseman. "As he dashed past the Lone Pine this rider flung his offering down, and as if inspired by fresh courage and hope, grasped more firmly a bundle which lay across his saddle before him. Maintaining an even, steady gait, yet one of great speed, he succeeded in keeping in advance of his pursuers." [Illustration: "He grasped mure firmly a bundle which lay across his saddle."] "As darkness fell the Indians slackened their pace, and at last ceased to follow, and the sound of their horses' feet being no longer heard, the man left the trail and sought a safe hiding-place for the night. Carefully depositing his burden he sat down to watch; he dare not sleep, although he was obliged to rest. "Before the sun rose in the morning he was again on his journey northward. He saw no sign of his pursuers, but he knew he was not safe, so pressed onward with all the haste his horse could accomplish. Through rivers and creeks he rode heedless of danger. He was nearing his journey's end faint with hunger, hard riding and loss of sleep. His horse, too, was jaded, yet conscious of danger, and hopeful at last of rest, pressed on without any urging from his master. "But a few miles and home is gained. Yonder, looming up on the prairie, are the Fort and houses of the village of Latona. "Whiz! whiz! Two bullets in rapid succession pass the rider, who, at the sound of their coming, has bent low, leaning forward to protect the bundle on his knee. "The Indians have followed, and are on his track. Madly they ride, fearful of losing their prize. The blood is trickling down the horse's side and his strength is well-nigh spent. "From the Fort their approach has been seen and eager eyes are watching the chase. The pursuers are gaining, the pursued is wounded, and evidently in sore straits. "But he wins, and as he dashes into the Fort the watchers see the bundle on his knee and shout: "'Pierre le Jeunne! Pierre le Jeunne! He has found the child! He has found the child!' "'Pierre!' cried the Factor, as he took his lost and now restored darling from the man's outstretched arms. "But the faltering words that met him were not spoken by the lips of the French half-breed. It was Jack Sutherland who reeled and would have fallen from his saddle had not ready hands caught him. They carried him into the Factor's room at the Fort, and every care was bestowed upon him, but he was wounded to the death. His lips move. What is he saying? They bend to listen. "'I have saved her! She is safe! Thank God!' "The Factor's eyes were dim. The man he had doubted, who he believed would revenge so cruelly the slight given him, had saved his child from a fate that was worse than death. And now he was dying, his life given for the life of the child. He had preserved the peace and happiness of the home of the man who had insulted him and believed evil of him. "Jack lingered a day or two before the end came. Meanwhile Pierre le Jeunne had returned. It was toward evening when, opening his eyes and seeing his old enemy standing sullen by the door, the stricken man held out his hand with a smile. "'She is safe!' he said faintly, and died. The great soul of the half-breed, the child of the plains, had gone to its reward." Donald left Brisbane a few days later. He never met Peter Daniels again, but in his eastern home, years after, when, surrounded by boys and girls, he told them tales of the West, the one most in favor among them was the story of the Lone Pine and the rescue of little Annie MacKenzie, the Factor's child, by brave Jack Sutherland. THE WRITING STONE. Under the shadow of the Rocky Mountains the wandering tribes of Bloods and Blackfeet roamed free and happy in the days of yore. The prairie gods looked down and smiled upon the dwellers in the painted lodges, and the smiles brought peace and plenty to their dusky wards. Over the prairie lay the huge stones, remnants of the mighty rock which in the distant past had chased the Old Man of the Mountains, determined to punish him for his cruel ways. The strangely-shaped trees that fringed the river, the lonely mounds that stood as sentinels on the prairie, and these large rocks were now the stopping-places of the prairie gods. To these sacred relics the pious natives oftentimes repaired, and with earnest supplications made sacrifices to their spirit friends. Mastwena, an aged warrior, on bended knee besought help for his kindred in a time of sorrow. As he laid his gifts upon the ground and prepared to depart, there came a voice that spoke of woe in the land of the south. Silently he arose and went toward the lodges, with downcast head and troubled breast. It was dark when he entered his lodge, and his friends saw not the sorrow that clouded his face. The moments were few which he spent in slumber. Long before the sun had risen Mastwena left his couch and sought again the sacred spot. As his lips parted once more in earnest prayer, the voice again was heard telling of desolation and woe. With a heavy heart he left the place of sacrifice and wandered out upon the prairie, dreaming of the coming sorrow that should visit the people of the plains. There came no messenger to relieve him of his grief. The day wore on, and evening found him again among his people. Four days he repeated his visit to the Stone of Sacrifice, only to hear the spirit prophet repeat the revelation so full of mystery and darkness to his soul. The lodge fires were burning brightly upon the evening of the fourth day, as with song and dance the hearts of both young and old were filled with joy. The quick beating of the medicine drums told that the young men were amusing themselves at some of their native games, and the gambler's laugh was occasionally heard as he gathered in the prizes he had won. In one of the lodges a band of men and women were celebrating a tea dance. Half intoxicated with the large quantities of tea which they drank, they were singing and shouting with savage glee. The old men were relating their war-like deeds, and the young men were passing jokes upon each other. The whole camp indeed was full of life, for they had abundance of food and clothing, and the prairie gods had smiled upon them, bringing health and peace to young and old. In the midst of this jollity a young man, haggard and weary, came running slowly into the camp. As he made toward the lodge where the aged Mastwena dwelt, he fell to the ground from sheer exhaustion. Mastwena was standing near, confidently waiting for the approach of some messenger who should unravel the mystery of the Stone of Sacrifice, and as the young man fell he knelt beside him, raised him gently in his strong arms, and carried him into his lodge. He bade his wife and daughter tend him, and as they nursed the young man back to life again, and beheld the strength and color of youth returning, they rejoiced exceedingly. Mastwena said little but gazed often upon the countenance of the young man, and his eye sparkled as some new thought flashed upon his mind. Anxiously he watched and waited to put questions to the invalid youth, but betrayed no signs of his uneasiness. One evening as the old man sat quietly in his lodge, conversing with his wife and daughters, the patient looked up as if desirous of speaking. "Speak, young man," said Mastwena, "our ears shall listen patiently to all you have to say." The young man, encouraged by the words, said: "I am a Cree Indian, and my name is Pekan." "Speak on, I am listening," said Mastwena, for the chief knew the Cree tongue and understood what the young man said. Pekan continued: "Three weeks ago I left my home in the north and came south intending to steal some horses from the Blackfoot camp. When I reached the Blackfoot country I found the camps so well guarded that there was no chance of getting what I sought. I kept journeying southward in the hope of finding some camp unprotected, but was disappointed, and so made up my mind to return home. I laid myself down to rest, praying to my guardian spirit for protection and guidance. The sun had risen when I prepared to depart, and as I looked over the prairie, I saw three young men in the distance riding toward the south. When they had ridden together for a little while I saw them get off their horses and kneel down upon the ground. In front of them was a large stone, and as I saw them kneel and bow their heads, I knew that they were praying to the gods. I watched them carefully, and soon perceived that they were young men belonging to the Blackfoot tribe. I dared not advance, for they were well armed, so I contented myself with remaining in my place of safety, sheltered by some brush in one of the coulees. "As the young men were performing their devotions a dark cloud passed over the sun, and strange noises broke out in the air. They arose terror-stricken, and attempted to flee, but found they were chained to the spot. They beat their horses, but could not make them stir. The cloud passed away, and then they turned their horses' heads toward the north, to return home; but an evil spirit had entered the animals, and they fled toward the south. The young men tried to throw themselves from their saddles, but they were held firmly upon them by some demon of the air. They prayed and cried for help, but no good spirits came to their assistance. Horses and riders rushed wildly into the country of the Crow, Gros Ventres and Sioux Indians. I followed them in haste, watching the frantic and useless efforts of the young men to return. A band of Crow Indians out hunting buffalo crossed their pathway, and as they saw them madly riding, they gazed for a moment with wild surprise, and then fled. The very animals that roamed the prairies stood enchanted with the wonderful vision, and forgot to flee. My heart beat quickly as I followed them at a distance and watched their mad flight. "Onward they sped, half drunk with frenzy, riding here and there among rocks, swamp and brush. Suddenly they returned and fell anew before the Stone of Sacrifice, praying earnestly for help, and studying the strangely written characters traced upon the rocks. I desired strongly to go and warn them of their danger, but was sore afraid. "Ofttimes had I heard old chiefs tell of the misdeeds of the prairie gods, their hatred toward the Indians, and the terrible injuries they were able to inflict, and I dreaded the results of this familiarity with the spirit-book. Many years ago a Cree chief held intercourse with the spirits, and was able to do many things that no other chief could do: but suddenly he disappeared from the camp and no one ever afterward learned where he had gone. These spirits are wonderful beings, flying where they will and doing what they choose. I like not their company or friendship. When I remembered the strange things performed by the spirits I trembled for the safety of the young men. One of their number, giving his horse to one of his comrades, advanced to the stone and traced with his finger the wonderful writing which the spirits had made thereon. Whilst thus engaged his whole body was seized with trembling, weird voices were heard in the air, the ground shook with a violent tremor, and a feeling of helplessness took possession of the group. Earth and air were alive with spirits, a grand assembly apparently having taken place. The horses tried to move, but the ground was enchanted, and the more earnestly they strove to detach their feet from the soil, the stronger were they held together. "Suddenly the sky was lighted up with a bright glow and the enchantment apparently was at an end. The riders knelt upon the ground and prayed, and then remounted and rode off leisurely southward. I followed them at a distance, anxious to learn what would be the result of this conference with the prairie spirits and the visit to the Writing Stones. Hungry and tired I sought rest and food among a clump of berry bushes, intending to go on and see the end of the vision--for such it seemed to me. "How long I slept I do not know, so thoroughly exhausted was I, but when I awoke the sun was shining brightly and I felt refreshed. As I half reclined, rubbing my eyes, I was startled with the report of several guns at a short distance from me. Rising quietly and making my way through the brush, my knees smote each other and my heart sank within me as I heard a rustling sound. Looking up with gun in readiness for the approach of an enemy, I saw my horse galloping off. I had fastened him with a lariat to a small tree, but, startled by the report of the guns, he had broken loose, and was now making off so swiftly that I was unable to follow and recover him. There I was, afoot and in an enemy's country with strange Indians in the near distance. Arousing myself from the stupor into which I had fallen, I peered through an opening in the brushwood and beheld the three young men and their horses fallen to the ground. Six Indians, whom I perceived to be Gros Ventres, rode toward the place where they lay, and speedily dispatched them. Quickly dismounting they scalped them, and then rode away after having taken their guns. Evidently they had not perceived my runaway horse, for they came not to the place where I lay concealed. "When I found that everything was quiet, I carefully followed the brushwood until I came near the spot where the bodies of the young men lay. They were still warm, but life was extinct. Covering them reverently and praying to the Great Spirit for his blessing, I turned my feet homeward, hoping that I might recover my lost horse. Four nights was I upon the road without any food and but little rest. Several times I fell to the ground and thought that I should die from sheer weakness, but after much pain and fatigue, I reached the top of the hill, from which I could easily see the curling smoke of your lodges. Life was of little consequence to me, so I made up my mind to come to this camp, knowing that you could not do any more than kill me; and here I am, and here, too, are the medicine bags belonging to the young men," saying which he handed Mastwena three medicine bags which the Gros Ventres had evidently overlooked in their hasty flight. These the old man at once recognized as belonging to the Blood Indians. "Sad, sad was the day when the young men visited the Writing Stones," said Mastwena. "I have told the young men of our camps never to go there, as the spirits are angry with those who frequent their favored haunts, but they heed me not. Since I was a young man several of our people have gone there to consult these writings, and evil has always befallen our camps after one of these visits. I have felt afraid ever since I learned that the young men had gone from the camp, and now my predictions have proved to be true." He bowed his head in silence, while the women broke out into the death-wail, which soon spread to the lodges of the relatives of the young men. The young Cree Indian remained in the camp until he was strong enough to go home, when the aged Mastwena gave him a horse and food for the journey, wishing him a safe return to the land of his people. Many years have gone by since the young men visited the Writing Stones, but whenever a hunting party is going out from the southern lodges the aged people relate the story of Mastwena and the Cree youth, and the present generation shun the place where the prairie spirits write upon the rocks, believing, as they do, that sorrow, pain, and death will follow the unhappy transgressor who seeks to solve the mysteries of the spirit world. AKSPINE. Though known only by his Indian name, Akspine was one of the most genial, cultured Englishmen one could meet anywhere. He was born and educated in good old Yorkshire, trained in the faith of his fathers, and nursed by an honest and kind-hearted woman. As he grew into a fine, manly lad he attended the village school, was enthusiastic in his studies, full of energy and always ready to help a lame comrade or to seize any opportunity of doing good. If there was a widow or an orphan in the village, he was sure to devise some scheme to benefit that one, so that he soon became noted as a helper of the needy. There was an old Mother Swann in the village who eked out a precarious living by taking in sewing. Yet her poverty did not seem to make the old lady unhappy; she always had a smile and a cheery word for every passer-by. A small patch of garden lay beside her cottage, but she knew of no one whom she could ask to dig it for her: her friends were far away, and the acquaintances who lived near were as poor and as fully occupied as herself. Every evening as she looked at it before retiring to rest she wondered how to get her patch of ground made ready for sowing. In this meditative mood she bent her knee and thanked the Lord for all His goodness and love, confessed her sins, prayed earnestly for a deeper work of grace to be wrought in her heart, and pled for a continuance of temporal blessings. Wearied with toil at the close of a busy day, Mother Swann was soon asleep, resting as only the honest poor rest who trust in God and are content. The old woman was grateful for the mercies given her, and not covetous of those withheld and granted to her more prosperous neighbors. The birds were singing merrily in the early morning when she awoke. With a hymn of praise upon her lips she arose and dressed, read a chapter in the old Book, and spent a short time in silent devotion. Drawing the curtain aside from the window and looking out she was surprised to see that a large portion of her garden plot had been dug during the night. Whether it had been done by the hand of man or of angel she knew not, but it was a glad surprise, and a source of bewilderment as well to the old woman. Every morning for a week she saw the work progress until it was finished, but without discovering who were the busy toilers. Some weeks afterwards she learned that a Workers' Club had been organized at the village school for the purpose of helping poor women and children. Zest for the work was given by the feeling that it was done in secret. The lads found that there was as much pleasure to be derived from playing useful pranks as by foolish or cruel ones. The promoter of this Workers' Club was Akspine. In a miner's shack in Montana a young man lay on the floor, a group of miners and cowboys bending over his inanimate body, rubbing and turning him over on his face and using every means within their knowledge to restore life. For a long time their efforts were unavailing; but, unwilling to give up, they continued while there remained a chance of success. At length faint signs of returning animation revived their hopes, and redoubling their efforts they were at last rewarded by his recovery. The stranger who had risked his life to save the child of one of the settlers on the ranch from drowning had won the hearts of the miners and cowboys by his brave endeavor and pluck: hence no effort was too great to make in order to restore him to life. He had approached the river in the dusk of the evening and paused on the bank seeking a ford. As he sat his horse, gazing on the wildly rushing stream, seeing no spot which might be crossed in safety, and wondering what he should do, he heard a scream from the opposite shore, and saw a woman wringing her hands as she ran down to the river, crying, "My child! my child!" To spring to the ground, throw off his coat and plunge into the turbulent stream was the work of a moment. The stranger struck out boldly toward the child as it was being carried away by the swift current. Keeping his eye on the tiny bundle, the courageous swimmer with almost superhuman effort made his way toward it, contending manfully with the force of the waters which barred his progress. The few settlers, attracted by the mother's cries, drew near the river and watched with breathless interest the battle for life. It was a terrible struggle, and the cowboys, as they ran along the bank with hair streaming in the wind, their hearts beating in alternate hope and fear, wondered whether the man or the river would gain the victory. Meanwhile the swimmer had reached the middle of the stream, and with a few powerful strokes overtook the precious bundle. Grasping it with a firm hold, he turned to the shore. Anxious, praying hearts awaited him, and willing, but powerless, hands were stretched out to his aid. But the battle was not yet won; the force of the current carried him down, the terror-stricken mother following with her cries. He turned and turned again, at each attempt winning a few yards nearer the shore, but his strength was failing, though he still struggled bravely on. The weight of his now saturated clothes, as well as of the child, was dragging him under. Alas! was he to give his life for nought? Was he to perish and not save the child? Twice he sank, while the cries of the woman rent the air. Then as he arose once more to the surface, she sobbed, "Thank God!" Surely a kind Providence is watching over them and guiding the man among the jutting rocks and crags, saving him from being dashed upon the great boulders scattered along the bed of the river. Again he is nearing the shore, where men are waiting to grasp him. He sinks again. O God! Is it for the last time? No! A shout from the people, then one more brave effort! It is the last. He holds the child in his arms toward them, the men rush into the roaring waters and seize and bear both to the land. The mother's arms received the babe. It is cold and apparently lifeless, but the women know what to do; they carry it away, apply restoratives, wrap it in warm flannels and rub the little body until the child breathes, smiles and opens its eyes to the mother's anxious gaze. The cowboys carried the stranger to the miner's shack, and there by rough but kindly methods, and with the determination not to desist while there remained any hope, succeeded, as we have seen, in restoring the brave hero to life. One of the men recovered the horse left on the other side of the river, and begged its owner to remain among them. He thanked them for their good-will and kindness, but declined, at the same time refusing to take the reward offered him for so risking his life. As soon as the man was sufficiently recovered he paid a visit to the humble shack of the settler to see the child he had saved. As he took it in his arms it smiled up into his face as though it too would thank him for a rescued life. The father was profuse in his gratitude, and the mother, with tears in her eyes, tried to speak, but her heart was too full for words. The stranger understood the language of her looks, and valued such expression of her feeling better than if it had been couched in the finest words ever spoken. He bade the grateful parents farewell and rode away with a glad heart, saying, "I have only done my duty." There was no one in that settlement so happy as Akspine. His career had been a chequered one since the days when he had organized and promoted the Workers' Club among his school-fellows. He had added an efficient musical training to his excellent English education. After serving an apprenticeship on one of the English railroads he married and went to India, where he became station-master on one of the lines. Owing to the ill-health of his wife he was obliged to give up that position at the end of two years and return to England. A few months later he followed her remains to the grave, and placing his infant daughter in the care of his wife's mother he emigrated to the New World, hoping in its new and stirring life to find solace for his sorrow, as well as remuneration for his toil. He had gone first to the home of a friend in the western States, where he remained a year. Later we find him the hero of this adventure on the river. After leaving the settler's shack Akspine journeyed northward toward the international boundary line. On the way he encountered a camp of Indians, and being wearied with travel he stayed to rest, intending to remain with them only a few days. The Indians' lodges were pitched in a beautifully wooded valley. They had plenty of horses and abundance of buffalo meat, and the weather being cold he concluded to prolong his stay among them. He employed his time teaching the Indians many useful things, and before he left the camp at the end of three months he had made many friends. He left many specimens of his handiwork as memorials of his stay with the natives of the Montana plains. Oftentimes the Indians gathered in the Chief Peta's lodge, where Akspine was a guest, to watch his busy fingers carve dogs, horses, buffalo and moose from blocks of wood with his knife. One of the young men of the camp who watched the white man most closely was Yellow Snake. He was deeply interested in the work, asked that he might learn the art, and proved an apt pupil. He went out from the lodge and returned in a few days, bringing an exact and perfect imitation of the work done by Akspine. Between these two young men, though representatives of different races, there sprang up a deep attachment, and they became close companions. It was during his stay with these people that Akspine received his Indian name, and this brought him into still closer relationship with the Indians. There were sad hearts in the camp when at the end of three months Akspine suddenly determined to leave it and ride farther north. They had learned to love him dearly, and had hoped to keep him always with them; but Akspine could not stay, and one fine morning he rode away into the enemy's country. Scanning the horizon on all sides, and keeping a sharp lookout for any sign of hostile Indians, he had ridden five days' journey without encountering a foe or meeting with any adventure. He had slept on the prairie, picketing his horse near, and using his saddle for a pillow. At the end of the fifth day he drew near a wood which skirted one of the rivers of the plains. Though appearances indicated that he was not far from a white settlement, he yet had to be as careful as though he were still out on the lonely prairie. He first cared for and secured his horse, and then, after eating his supper of pemmican, lay down to rest at the foot of a sheltering tree, placing his gun and revolver close at hand, for to lose either of them would be death; and he could not be sure that a sudden emergency might not arise when he should need them for self-defence. The night was calm and clear, and with his thoughts dwelling on the past and the home in the old land, Akspine fell asleep. He was not far from the settlement of Mackleton, on the banks of the Marion River, but was still within reach of any hostile Indians who might have an antipathy to the whites. Akspine slept well until he was roused in the darkness of the early morning by the sharp report of a rifle. Grasping his gun he sprang to his feet, but could see no one. A second report rang out, followed by a groan. Turning in the direction from which the sound came, he heard a familiar voice utter his name, and recognized his friend Yellow Snake. From him he learned that two of the worst renegades in the camp had been heard plotting to slay him and steal his horse and other valuables. Yellow Snake had watched the men, and learning their destination had gone in another direction to the same spot. He had kept out of sight, yet knew where they were until he had seen Akspine enter the wood. Noting the place where the evil-disposed Indians had entered it, he had approached it at another. When Akspine lay down to rest he had crept up quietly and stationed himself near that he might keep guard and frustrate the wicked design of the would-be murderers. He knew by the movements of the Indians that they were likely to make the attack in the early dawn. His fears were fully realized. Long before the sun arose he made out two figures moving stealthily among the trees. Peering through the darkness he saw that each held his gun tightly in his hand. Yellow Snake watched them, and as they knelt down to take aim at the white man sleeping so peacefully at the foot of the tree, he raised his rifle and shot one of them dead; a second shot followed, and the other Indian fell to the ground with a groan. While Yellow Snake was relating all this to Akspine, a bullet whizzed past their ears. Grasping their guns they turned them upon the second Indian, whom they had thought dead. He was, however, only severely wounded, and had sufficient strength to raise his rifle and fire it. A bullet from Yellow Snake's gun finished him, and upon examination he found that the men were indeed two of the worst characters in the camp. Akspine's gratitude was deep and sincere. He took Yellow Snake's hand in his and tried to stammer out his thanks in the little Indian language he had acquired while in the camp, but it was too slow and too inadequate a medium to express his feelings. He spoke from a full heart in his own English speech: "Yellow Snake, you have indeed been a true friend to me. Never can I repay you for your kindness and devotion. You have come a long way to protect me from these men, and if you had not done so I should have been killed. What can I do to pay you for it? Tell me and I will gladly do it." Yellow Snake looked into Akspine's eyes as they shone with gratitude and love, and although he did not understand a word the white man had spoken, he gathered their import from his expression. A gleam of satisfaction was in his eyes and his face met Akspine's in its joy, as he answered in a few words: "You are a stranger and a good man," he said; "I learned it from your life in our camp, and I love you as a brother. Let me go with you and I will be your companion and help you all I can. I have only done my duty." Akspine and his friend carried the bodies of the slain Indians to the river bank, and fastening stones to the feet cast them in. They then spent some time searching for the horses that had belonged to the Indians, and when they found them, led them to the bank of the river and shot them there that the carcases might fall into the stream. Having disposed of all belonging to their foes, the friends crossed the river, and before setting out upon their day's journey, ate their morning meal with gratitude in their hearts to the Great Spirit for having preserved their lives. The sun was high in the heavens before they were on their way northward, but by hard riding they reached a camp of the Blackfoot Indians before night fell. They found the lodge of Button Chief, who received them kindly and treated them with his accustomed hospitality, asking that they would make his lodge their home. The travellers, being tired, were allowed to rest, and although the news spread rapidly among the lodges that a white stranger had come to stay with them, and young and old were eager to see him and learn the import of his visit, none approached. Even the youngest showed no signs of impatience. In such manner the Indians are taught to suppress their emotions, and never to betray surprise, joy or fear. Upon the following day the chief gave a feast in honor of his guests, and invited to it the other chiefs and soldiers of the tribe. The crier stood outside the lodge door and called them to come to the feast given by the chief. The invitation met with a hearty response, and a large party soon filled the lodge. The choicest pieces of buffalo meat were placed before the guests, and they were given an abundance of tea. The pipes were filled again and again, and passed from one to another of the company until they appeared to be on fire, yet the pipes were filled again. When these were smoked less vigorously the conversation began in earnest. An interpreter was found in the camp to repeat in the ears of the people all that the white stranger had to tell them. This man had spent some time among the whites, having been taken in hand to be educated by a merchant, but unable to remain away he had come back to find a home with his own people. He could understand all that Akspine said, and repeated it to the listening chiefs in their own tongue. Akspine related many scenes of his life in the Old World, and astonished them beyond measure as he told of the wonders of the sea, and the mighty vessels which crossed the ocean and plied upon the rivers and lakes; of the large stone and iron buildings in the towns and cities: of the tens of thousands of people, and finally, of a visit to Windsor Castle. The "Great Mother" is to the natives of the northwestern prairies the greatest among the chief men and women of the earth, a fact which is all the more singular when we remember the opinion generally held by the Indians on the inferiority of women. An aged warrior named White Calf had listened attentively, making no comment until Akspine told of the ships of iron manned by more than a hundred sailors and sailing across the ocean. Then he arose, and uttering a grunt of dissent and dissatisfaction, exclaimed: "It is a lie! No one could do that. This white man is a medicine-man who has come to steal away the hearts of the people, and if you listen to him he will make you believe whatever he tells you." Saying which he departed, leaving the company doubtful whether to be amused or shocked. The hours fled rapidly by as Akspine continued his wonderful tales of the white men and the strange land in which they dwelt. The interest increased as he related them, and though he was weary and would gladly have ceased, the intense eagerness of the Indians as they sat with eyes riveted upon him, drinking in his words with breathless excitement, made it impossible for him to refuse to gratify them. It was nearly midnight when they departed to their own lodges, and Akspine was permitted to retire. He had nothing to fear from the worst renegade in the camp, knowing that he was perfectly safe under the protection of the aged chief in whose lodge he dwelt. The Indians returned the following day, eager to hear more of the stories that had been related on the previous night. This continued for several nights, and there was yet no abatement of interest. On the seventh night an unusually large company had assembled to hear Akspine recite the tales of the white men. The pipe was filled and passed around, then Button Chief turned to his guest and said: "Tell us the story of the Master." In a lower tone of voice than usual Akspine obeyed. "Many years ago, when I was a boy, as I sat on the floor by my mother while she worked she told me of a time long past. It is a story of a company of men who bade farewell to their homes, their wives, children and friends, and went upon a journey across the sea. They hoped to make large sums of money there, and return to their native land to live in contentment all their days. The voyage was long, and the vessel that bore them did not return for two years. The captain of the ship then brought word that he had left his passengers in good health and excellent spirits, and the prospects of success on the island where he had landed them were good. Several years passed by and no word was received from any of the company. Intense anxiety was felt among their friends, and although many efforts were made to learn something of their fate, none were successful. All hope of ever hearing from them again had well-nigh passed away, the wives and mothers alone clinging to the belief that they would one day see or hear from their loved ones. "In the early winter there came a rich stranger to the country from which the company of men had sailed so many years before. The stranger's home was far distant, but he seemed to enter into and sympathize heartily with all the schemes for the welfare of the people of the land. As he went in and out among them he soon learned of the long absence of the adventurers. He talked to the women, who were still sorrowing for their husbands and sons. Day after day he listened to the story and sympathized with their grief. Often after he had been in the houses of the poor, sums of money were found where he had left them in order that they might be used for the purpose of providing the needed food and clothing. "In the spring a large vessel came into the harbor. The people flocked in numbers to see it, thinking it might bring some intelligence of the lost ones, but it brought no tidings. The sailors in the vessel had been hired for a long voyage, and had brought her around to take her owner on board from that port. In a few days the stately stranger embarked. He examined the machinery and general appointments of the vessel, and when he had satisfied himself upon her fitness for the expedition, he announced that within a few hours they were to set sail for a distant island. "The moon was shining brightly as the fine ship left the landing, the rich stranger standing on her deck and looking kindly upon the large number of people who had come down to see him depart. In after years many of them remembered the kind words he had spoken to the women and children. A week later they learned that the ship had been built by the express order of the stranger, and the captain and crew engaged to go in search of the men who were supposed to have been lost so many years before. Love and sympathy had kept the stranger from making his purpose known. He had set about his important mission quietly that he might not arouse hope too soon in the people's minds, as well as to avoid the overwhelming expression of their gratitude which any hint of his intentions would certainly have excited. He was a man of few words and many deeds. "Two years passed without any tidings of the stranger, when one day the whole town was awakened by the shouts of many voices from a vessel in the harbor. The people ran to the landing; hundreds were soon crowding one another to look on the band of aged men who stood together on the deck of the vessel. As she drew near the landing they scanned the faces of the passengers, and as one and then another recognized a friend or long-mourned loved one, a shout of joyous welcome rent the air. Men, women and children rushed on the deck and threw their arms around the necks of the old men, weeping for joy as they repeated their names. "So long absent, given up for dead and now restored so suddenly and unexpectedly, the scene was one to touch the heart of the hardest. The inhabitants of the town wept as they saw the joy of the women and heard their cries of 'Father!' 'Brother!' On that morning the axe and spade were thrown aside, men forgot to labor in the common joy. Few found time to rest or eat as they gathered around the lost ones that were found, and eagerly inquired the cause of their long absence from home. "They had reached their destination safely and without delay had begun their labors. They were hopeful and their hearts were light. Matters had gone well with them for a year or two; then a rebellion broke out in the land, they became implicated, and it ended badly for them, the result being that they suffered loss and were imprisoned for life. "The long weary years which followed oppressed their spirits, and losing all hope of ever returning to their homes or their loved ones again, they longed for death to release them from the heavy burden of hopelessness and despair. Several of their number, unable to endure, had sunk beneath the weight of sorrow and the effects of the close confinement, and were borne to their last resting-place in a strange land, the sighs and groans of their comrades following them to the grave. "But help was at hand, though they knew it not. One day a stately form entered the prison. With sympathetic countenance he inquired into their circumstances and listened to their story. A few days later the prison was again visited by the guard, who, bidding the remaining members of the party follow him, escorted them to a vessel lying in the harbor near. Soon the sails were set and they were homeward bound; but not until they were two days at sea did they learn the price that had been paid for their freedom. "The stately stranger first offered the whole of his immense fortune for their release. This was refused, but when he added to the vast sum his own personal service, his sacrifice was accepted. Rather than leave the aged men to perish in prison in a strange land, he had sold himself into slavery, resolving to live and work as a slave in a foreign country that others might be free and return to their homes. The captain said the only message the stranger had given him to deliver were the words, 'Love one another!' "The inhabitants of the town when they heard the story told by the aged men, remembered the man who had a smile and a kind word for everyone, the stranger who had sailed his ship from their port to the distant land. As the mothers and fathers sat around their cottage hearths in the winter evenings, happy in each other's presence, they related the story of the man who had sold himself for them, and always when they assembled in the morning or retired at night they repeated the message, 'Love one another!' When they spoke of him they called him 'Master,' and seldom made mention of his name without shedding tears of gratitude for his love." Akspine's face shone as he continued his story, and the eager listeners bent forward that they might catch every word that fell from his lips. "The Master," continued Akspine, "worked hard in the service of the king, but he only lived for one year. When he lay upon his death-bed and strangers gathered around him, he closed his eyes; then whispering softly and tenderly the words, 'Love one another!' he gently breathed his life away. The inhabitants of the town for whose exiles he had given his life raised a magnificent pillar to his memory, and inscribed upon its base this simple phrase, and as the children gather around it in the long summer evenings they repeat the story of the Master, concluding ever with the words, 'Love one another!'" As Akspine concluded his tale the Indians looked at each other and in hushed tones repeated the words, "Love one another!" Deep thought was on every brow in that Indian lodge. Not a word was spoken. Each one arose, and gliding silently out went homeward thinking of the meaning of the simple message and the story of that wonderful life. Night after night the lodge was filled with anxious listeners to hear again the story of the Master. Over and over again they said, "Tell us the story of the Master!" and as they repeated it to the women and children they said, "Wonderful! Wonderful!" Soon upon every lip and in every heart the sweet command, "Love one another!" was found. The noisy brawls formerly common to the camp ceased. The petty jealousies, the immorality, the love of war passed away before the influence of the gentle teaching of this tale among the red men. There was no longer cause for strife in the contemplation of this blessed life. When their time came, and one and another of the aged men and women of the camps died, while friends gathered around their bed they looked up into the dusky faces and with their last breath whispered faintly, "Love one another!" Akspine had not forgotten his music, and oftentimes sat in the lodges and played and sang sweet songs to the chiefs and warriors while the people gathered without to listen. His influence became very great in the camps. He was initiated into some of the secret societies and learned many of the mysterious rites of the people. He entered heartily into their schemes for improvement, and was always consulted upon important questions, the chiefs recognizing the power of his intellect, his courage and the purity of his life. He soon became thoroughly familiar with the language of the tribe, and could converse in it upon any subject. Young and old were strongly drawn to him. He became as one of themselves, thinking about the same things, engaging in the same kind of work. It was impossible for him to remain long in such intimate relationship to the people without forming some attachment more sacred than others, though he loved Yellow Snake as a brother and Yellow Snake was always true to him. The tribe was noted for its many beautiful maidens, young women of gentle, pleasing manners, modest and neat, and it was not possible that such should fail to attract the notice of the white stranger. Dressed in their native garb they were comely and attractive, and some of them slyly added a little more paint to their faces or a few more ornaments to their hair when they knew they were likely to pass the lodge where Akspine dwelt. In this lodge there was a lovely maiden of fourteen winters, who sat entranced for hours while Akspine played on his flute, or sang the plaintive songs of his native land, or who listened absorbed while he repeated the oft-told tales to the wondering natives. The maiden hung upon his words as a true worshipper, yet she never spoke to him nor showed by look or act that his words conveyed any meaning to her ears. She was only one of her father's chattels, to be disposed of as he wished. True, her father loved her, but she was only a girl, and in the Indian camp that meant in value a few horses, more or less, according to her good looks. Unconsciously she trimmed her long black hair neatly, painted her face and the parting of the hair, arranged the necklace of bear's claws about her graceful throat, or the rings on her fingers, the bracelets of brass wire on her wrists, and the pretty beaded moccasins on her tiny feet. Her dress was made of the antelope skin well dressed and white, fashioned as a wide-flowing gown with two holes for sleeves, the top and bottom neatly trimmed with the teeth of the antelope and bear. A wide belt, to which was attached a piece of steel procured by the Indians from the traders, was fastened about her waist. Her limbs from the knees downward were clothed in a pair of beautifully embroidered leggings. Natoatchistaki, or the Rabbit woman, the daughter of Button Chief, was one of the beauties of the Indian camp. Every morning she went to the river and performed her ablutions. In the summer she swam across the swiftly flowing stream, and sported in the waters as if in her native element. Akspine looked upon the maiden with the dark hair and eyes, but said no word of love to her; he was silent, though his heart bade him speak. The old chief beheld with satisfaction that the white stranger was suffering; he knew well what caused the failing appetite, the listless action and unrest. It is customary among the Indians for the father of the young man who desires a wife to negotiate with the father of the maiden, and for a certain valuation, averaging from two to eight or ten horses, to be placed upon her. After these negotiations are completed the sale or marriage is ended by a season of festivities. Akspine had no wealth and no friend to make arrangements for him, yet he was anxious to obtain the maiden for his wife. The chief watched Akspine with a loving eye, and seeing his wish, said: "My friend, you are a stranger among us. You have endeared yourself to us by your words and actions, and we have learned to love you. You have healed our sick people and taught the children. Since you have come among us my people have been more contented and happy than they have been for years. We cannot repay you for the kindness and courage you have always shown, and although we belong to a different race we can see that the hearts of all men are the same. The Great Spirit made us all. We now wish you to become one of ourselves. You have learned our language and know some of the customs and mysteries of our religion and our secret societies, but we wish you to forget your own people and live always with us, to make your home here and claim us as your people. We cannot give you much; we cannot tell you of wonderful things or show you such great works as you have seen among your own people, but we have glorious records of brave men, heroes who belong to us and who for the love they bore their country and their people laid down their lives with their faces to the foe, singing their death-songs as they saw death approaching. "We have decided in the council of the chiefs that the bravest should give you the daughter he loves best for a wife. There is not one in the camp too good for you. I now offer you my daughter Natoatchistaki. Take her and let her build you a lodge where you may dwell in peace. My heart is sad in losing her, for I love her above all the others, but I shall go often to your lodge and there I shall talk with you. Take her. She is yours. That is all I have to say." As the chief finished, Akspine raised his head and let it fall in token of acquiescence in the decision, then the brave old man arose and left his lodge. His heart was full, but he would not allow his emotions to control him. He walked away dignified and silent, and no one meeting him could have told from his manner that anything unusual had occurred. When Akspine looked up the lodge was empty. He remained alone in deep meditation, pondering over the step which was to sever him from his kindred and unite him forever with the Indians of the plains. He felt compelled to listen to the eloquence of his heart, and after a short struggle he decided to obey its dictates. This decision made, and his heart lightened of the burden of doubt, Akspine went out into the adjoining bluffs where he could listen to the songs of the birds and gather courage to meet the new life. Darkness had fallen before he returned to the lodge. When he sought his accustomed place, the other occupants turned their eyes on him, but no word was spoken. Four days passed, during which no reference was made to the conversation that had taken place, but on the fifth evening a merry group assembled in the chief's lodge. The women in the camp had prepared many dainties; the best food was provided, venison and buffalo tongues were freely given, and the guests ate eagerly of the good things. It was a marriage feast indeed. Amid the rejoicing and feasting many gifts were bestowed; then the young men and maidens gathered outside the lodge as the bride and bridegroom were escorted from the home of the old chief to a lodge that had been lately built and handsomely furnished. Here, after many expressions of good-will, the company separated, each retracing his steps to his own lodge. Thus were Akspine and Natoatchistaki married in the Indian fashion, their courtship coming after marriage, a reversal of the method of the white men. In many cases the plan works well, but in the instances where no courtship follows, there is bitter enmity, slavery, and at last rejection. Akspine and his Indian bride, however, loved each other devotedly, and were happy. After the first few days had lapsed, their friends came to call upon them in their own lodge. As the days passed the influence of the white man increased, though some of the young men were jealous of the power he wielded over the tribe. Within a short time he had attained the highest position and been made a chief. While sitting in the council of the chiefs Akspine listened attentively, offered no advice, but waited until all the others had spoken, then in a few clear, decisive words he unravelled the difficulty, showing by his ability to settle knotty questions that he was possessed of superior wisdom. His fame spread rapidly beyond his own tribe, and many Indians belonging to other camps were anxious to see him, but he was guarded closely by his people lest harm should come to him or an enemy attack him. The power of the tribe grew. When drawn into war they conquered, but the wise counsels of Akspine enabled them often to avert it without losing honor among the nations. Peace and contentment reigned in the camps, the herds of horses multiplied, and the health of the people was good. With a grave and dignified air the white chief strode through the camp, calling at a favorite lodge here and there to consult with the wise men on matters affecting the welfare of the tribe. At such times the children ran to him for the kind word or smile that was always ready for them. Akspine's lodge became the resort of all who were in trouble. The sick sought his advice, the chiefs came to consult him, the young men resorted to him for encouragement, and when domestic troubles divided members of the same family, it was to Akspine's lodge they came to have the difficulty settled and the wounds healed. The young chief's wise rule indeed rested like a benediction upon all classes. Wherever he went, peace followed his footsteps. Several years were spent in thus influencing others for good, and the white chief was happy in the possession of such power over the people. Early one morning during the fall of the year Akspine started on a trip to the mountains, accompanied by one of his friends, expecting to be absent four or five days. He chatted freely with his companion as he passed the lodges on his way through the camps, giving a word of counsel here and a gentle reproof there. The people smiled as he greeted them at the doors of the lodges, and prayed for success in his enterprise in the mountains. Five days passed quickly, but Akspine did not return. No fears, though, were entertained for his safety, but when two more days had come and gone without bringing tidings of him, the people grew anxious, and runners were sent to discover the cause of his prolonged absence. Day after day the search was continued, but without success. All hope of learning anything of their beloved chief had well-nigh fled from the hearts of the people when suddenly the wail for the dead fell upon their ears. The women rushed from the lodges and looked in the direction from which the sound came. A travaille drawn by a single horse was seen approaching slowly, led by two young men, who bowed their heads as they uttered the sad wail. The foremost of the young men was Yellow Snake, the bosom friend of Akspine. Faithful to the last, he had not given up the search for his friend until he had tracked the footprints of his horse to a crossing that was deep and treacherous. Here the footprints had ended, but Yellow Snake followed the stream, still searching, until it entered a lake. Straightway he plunged into the clear water, and after diving many times he at last found the remains of Akspine and his companion. He brought the bodies to the shore and left them until he procured a travaille on which to convey them to the camp. Men, women and children gathered around the travaille, weeping bitterly. They carried Akspine to his lodge, wrapped him in his chief's garments, and then in solemn state they bore him to a lofty eminence beyond the camp. On this height a warrior's lodge was built, and the body of the great white chief, Akspine, was placed within it. He was surrounded by all the insignia of his office and securely guarded by his people's love. There at the close of day the women gathered to mourn, and as they lifted their faces heavenward, reiterated in the plaintive cadences of grief the cry, "Akspine! Akspine!" Many years have gone by, yet on the hill young and old meet at eventide to repeat the story of the white chief who told them of the Master and taught them always to say, "Love one another!" OLD GLAD. CHAPTER I. A small company of men were sitting about a camp-fire on the prairie, enjoying their pipes and chatting. They were all trappers and traders. Their deerskin coats, with embroidered bands and fringed shoulders, were tanned soft, and soiled from constant wear. The beaded leggings generally worn by the half-breeds were replaced by long boots that reached to the knee; their cartridge belts were well filled, the stocks of their revolvers bright, and the knife stuck in the beaded or leathern sheath was sharp and keen. The men were typical specimens of the class of hardy, honest, true-hearted hunters, who held a proprietary right over the prairies second only to those of the aboriginal possessors. Having no newspapers, and but few letters or correspondence with the more civilized world, and therefore scant means of obtaining news of events which serve as topics of conversation to men nearer the centres of civilization, they talked of old times, repeated stories they had heard, or recounted the adventures and experiences that had fallen into their own lives or surroundings. Long practice in the art of story-telling had made some of them excellent raconteurs, and though the style and diction in which the stories were couched might not bear criticism from the standpoint of literary perfection, they had the charm of being personal recollections, veritable history, and also of being told in the vernacular most intelligible to the listeners. "Wall, boys, I've been down to bed-rock many a time, but you bet I never came so near givin' in my checks as in the year of the big snow. It wus the worst year for cold and sickness we ever had in the country." The speaker was Old Glad, the famous hunter and trapper. Several of the men, with their long unkempt hair, presented a wild appearance, but the speaker had a soft, sweet voice and a mild expression of face. This gentle tone gave a dignity to the peculiar phraseology of the West. Old Glad had come as a lad from the shores of the St. Lawrence, and had been for several years in the employ of the Hudson's Bay Company. Following the custom of that honorable corporation he had taken to wife one of the Indian women of the Cree tribe, and had been happy and content with her. He had a number of sons and daughters who were no small comfort and help to their mother during his absence on buffalo hunts or while working at the different trading posts in the country. Old Glad was a favorite among his comrades, and they leaned forward that night by the fire to listen to his tale of the by-gone days. "In my old shanty up in the mountains, I wus tryin' to live through the hard times, huntin' some bear an' deer, an' eatin' whatever I could get. The snow wus deep an' it wus terrible cold, but I ses to the old woman, 'There's no use grumblin', fur that won't bring in buffalo meat.' We hed a few sacks of pemmican an' berries, but that couldn't last long with so many mouths to fill. "Wall, late one night, an' it wus bitter cold, I heard the door open, an' lookin' up from the fire I saw a white man come in. He wus half naked, an' I didn't like his looks; he had a kind o' skeered look about him that wasn't much in his favor. But I couldn't turn him out on such a cold night, so I giv' him a seat by the fire an' my woman made him some supper. "He had little to say, and the poor dog eat what wus made for him as if he had been starved fur a whole month. He stayed with us fur three or four weeks, an' it wur while he wus with us, one o' my wee uns took sick. She wur the best o' the house, an' we grudged losin' her. The stranger 'd come to her hammock an' sit down an' begin to coo to her, an' the wee un 'd open her eyes an' a bit of a smile wud come to her face. "Arter a while he wud sing to her--some queer songs they wur--an' the wee un wud try to follow him, though she wur so sick she couldn't hold up her head. Wall, she kept gettin' worse, an' I made up my mind there wus no chance fur her. "Some years afore, one o' my little folks wur sick just like wee Nan, an' a doctor come along our way an' gave us some medicine that cured him; an' he wrote a perscription on a piece o' paper an' told us if any o' the children wus taken sick again, if we sent to Bennivale, where he lived, if he couldn't come himself, he would send medicine to help us. "Wall, this night I walked up an' down wishin' I could go, but I couldn't leave my folk, an' it wus blowin' an' snowin' so as no man could ha' found his way to Bennivale. It wur on the Missouri River, more'n two hundred miles away. "I looked at the paper over an' over again, an' wished I could go. I wus walkin' an' lookin' at wee Nan an' then at my woman, an' then at the stranger. He said his name wus Bill, and that wus all I could get from him, so I sometimes called him 'Prairie Bill' an' sometimes 'Wanderin' Willie.' "Wall, I sat down in the old chair, an' I saw Bill lookin' at wee Nan very serious like, an', wud you believe it, comrades, there wus tears in his eyes. "That night I wus gettin' some wood fur the fire when I saw Bill ridin' off on his horse, an' I thought he'd got tired an' wus goin' to some o' the shanties in the mountains, 'r mebbe to the Indian camp. I thought it queer he should go away in that fashion an' never tell me where he wus goin', but of course it wus none o' my business, so I said nothin'. "Wall, the storm got worse, and wee Nan didn't get any better. I sat beside her night after night, an' the wee thing kept singin' the songs Bill had been singin'. It wus queer, fur though, she wus very sick, she would keep cooin' like Bill, an' then she wud close her eyes an' keep dosin'. "We tried the medicines the Indians gave us, but they didn't do her no good. Often I wished the storm would stop, and I near made up my mind a dozen times that I'd go to Bennivale an' see the doctor anyway. "The days an' nights went by slow, an' as I wus sittin' by the little un the door opened an' in come Bill, an' without say in' a word, jest as if he'd gone out o' the door an' come right back, he put his hand in his pocket, an' pulls out a parcel o' powders an' giv' them to me. It was the doctor's writin', an' I knew it. He put a letter along with the medicine, an' this is what he said, fur I always carries this letter with me wherever I go: "'Dear Mr. Glad'--ye see, he called me by my old name o' the mountains, which I like best, fur it keeps me in mind o' the prairies an' the foot-hills. I can't speak it in the fine style he writes in, but I'll read it like our talk o' the prairie. "Here's what he ses: 'Dear Mr. Glad, a stranger named Bill has just returned sufferin' with exposure, an' he has just informed me that one o' your children is very sick--a little girl. From all the fac's o' the case, which I wus able to gather from yer friend, I am able to send you some medicine which I feel sure will restore her. Mix the powders accordin' to directions. Whenever you come this way, bring me a few furs, and I will pay you fur them. I want some good beaver skins. Your friend Bill is a rare chap. He has had an excellent edication, and has seen better days. You can't go wrong in trustin' that fellow. He is sharp, clever an' queer. "'Sincerely yours, "'TOM. KETSON, M.D.' "Comrades, as I read the letter I looked up an' saw that Bill wus pretty sick. He had suffered pretty bad from cold an' hunger, an' was a good deal frost-bitten. "It wasn't long afore we fixed the powders for wee Nan, an' got Bill in good shape, but he wus very bad. "Wall, the wee thing began to mend, an' Bill, lyin' beside the fire, though he couldn't speak much fur pain, wud sing a wee song, and coo to her--the stranger an' the wee un wur like lovers, an' they both kep' gettin' better. "After a time wee Nan got round again, but Bill never got over his long ride, fur it left a bad cough that settled on his lungs, an' he lost half o' one foot an' some toes off the other. "Wall, last summer I went back to the old shanty where I used to live, to fix the fence round Nan's grave, fur ye remember, comrades, that she left us three years ago, an' we buried her beside the shanty. As I wus fixin' the fence, I saw a man walkin' with two sticks, an' he wus comin' to the shanty. I wus a wee bit suspicious, an' I stepped aside into the bush to see if he wur after mischief. He come up to the grave, an' kneeled down beside it, an' then he took some flowers--roses an' the like--an' planted them on the grave. I waited fur a long time till I saw him wander off, an' then I come down an' finished my job. "I saw him go to one of the coulees, an' there I found his shanty. I dropt in to get somethin' to eat, just fur an excuse, an' when the door wus opened it wus Bill 't met me. "Boys, ye mind that cripple that ye wus laughin' at in camp the other day? Wall, he's passed in his checks. Ye won't trouble him any more. I went to dig his grave, an' I made the best coffin I could fur him. The boys made fun o' him because he wus only a cripple an' he wus poor. They called him 'Tanglefoot Bill,' an' a good deal o' sport they got out o' him. Wall, when I looked at his feet an' heard him cough, I thought o' the day I wus mendin' the grave an' of the stranger who went fur the medicine fur wee Nan. "I put a board at the head o' the poor feller's grave, an' these is the words I wrote on it: "'TO THE MEMORY O' PRAIRIE BILL, THE FRIEND O' WEE NAN." When Old Glad had finished his story the men knocked the ashes out of their pipes, and wrapping themselves in blanket or skin, turned over on the sod and went to sleep. They had to make an early start in the morning, and though they made no comment they felt no interest in asking for another story that night. After breakfast no time was lost; the dishes were washed, and the "boss" of the outfit put everything in order to start the long cavalcade of men and horses. Three heavily laden wagons were fastened to each other, and then ten or twelve horses hitched together to draw the load. Four or five of these teams comprised a train, and the manager of the whole was the "wagon-boss." He was generally a shrewd, hard-working, capable man. Black Jack was the name by which the boss of the train to which Old Glad was attached was known. He was a sterling fellow, big and strong, with long hair and heavy moustache. He was a man of few words, but an excellent boss-captain of the fleet of prairie schooners. Though many of the men he employed on his fleet were accustomed to use pretty strong language while on the trips across the prairie, they desisted when with Black Jack. He was a stern man, but with his stern determination had a kindly manner and a love of honesty which affected his men and imbued them with something of the same spirit that animated him. Jack had married a handsome half-breed woman, who lived in a neat log shanty in one of the settlements that had grown up around the Hudson's Bay posts. She was queen of the home, and her chief pride lay in having it well kept and attractive to her husband when he returned from the long trips on the prairie. The house was a small one, but ample for their needs. It was built of hewn logs laid one above the other until the walls were about eight feet high. Notched ridge-poles formed the roof, which was thatched with prairie hay and moss and made water-tight by a plastering of mud. The interior had white calico stretched over the ceiling and was whitewashed with lime. The walls were covered with pictures from the illustrated papers, which served the double purpose of keeping out the wind and providing a sort of universal library and reading room, affording many hours of amusement to Julia and her friends. Two years previous to his marriage a little girl in the settlement had been left an orphan. Jack had taken compassion on her and provided her a home, and Alice was now the joy of his household. He spent many of his leisure hours in making her toys. She was a pretty, dimpled-cheeked child with light hair and blue eyes, and was always happy and strong. The Indians called her Curly Hair, but Jack had named her Alice. While he guided the long train of wagons across the prairie the wagon-boss's thoughts were often in the log house with his little girl. Black Jack had therefore been one of the most interested listeners to Old Glad's story of wee Nan and Prairie Bill. A halt was called at noon, and after a spell of rest they journeyed onward steadily, until as darkness fell they entered the trading-post of Whoop Up. After picketing their horses and wagons inside the stockade they had supper, and sat down around the fire to talk. The manager of the Fort had much to ask of Black Jack and his men concerning the prospects of the buffalo trade, the condition of the Indians and the probabilities of the weather, and then they drifted into the old course of story-telling. A few minor anecdotes were told and enjoyed, but when Black Jack, looked up from the fire and spoke his men listened eagerly. "Our visit here," he said, "reminds me of the year of the small-pox among the Indians." The wagon-boss spoke excellent English, and in spite of the many years spent on the prairie he had retained much of the purity of his native speech. "It was very late in that fatal year. The Bloods, Blackfeet and Piegans were restless and seemed bent on war, and the Crees and Assiniboines were none the less fidgety. Not far from here, on the banks of the Belly River, a band of Bloods and Blackfeet were camped, and the South Piegans had pitched their tents on the St. Mary's River. "The Crees and Assiniboines, as you know, hate the Blackfeet. There is a tradition that many years ago when the Crees and the Blackfeet were united as one family, there was only one dog in the camp, and some of the people having quarrelled over the possession of this animal, the tribes took up the quarrel and soon were at enmity, and although they have made treaties of peace since there never has been the same unity as existed in former years. "They were at the time of my story bitter enemies to each other, and the Crees thought they could do no better than take advantage of the great loss sustained by the Blackfeet and Bloods through the ravages of the small-pox plague and attack them. They had, therefore, come down to the Little Bow country with this determination, and encamping there waited for accurate information as to the strength and location of their enemies. "The Bloods, Blackfeet and Piegans were well armed, having obtained good rifles from the traders across the line, but the Crees and their confederates had nothing but arrows and old guns supplied them by the Hudson's Bay Company. "The Crees sent forward a band of seven or eight hundred warriors to reconnoitre. These came upon a band of Blood Indians camped near the Fort and attacked them, killing a few men and women. "This roused the camp, and it did not take long to send word to the Blackfeet and Piegans. The Bloods had lost some of their best men and were in the mood to fight desperately. "In the early morning the fight began in earnest. The Bloods assisted by their allies drove the Crees hard. Overcome by superior numbers they were forced to retreat lower down the river until they reached the big coulees where the trail crosses the river. "You remember the big coulees beside the trail; but it was a little lower down the Belly River that the battle raged the hottest. The Crees and the Assiniboines were in one coulee, the Piegans in another, and the Blackfeet and Bloods in a third. "Well, boys, I believe that was one of the greatest battles ever read of, for the fellows fought like troopers. Talk about your British soldiers, there are none living who could beat some of those men for courage and skill according to their own methods. "The Crees put their horses down in one of the river bottoms to shelter them from the bullets of the foe, and although they had no better weapons than bows and arrows and old guns, they had the advantage of their enemies in position. They fought desperately for some hours, however, without gaining much on either side. As they were unable to reach each other and engage in a hand-to-hand light, nor to learn the actual strength of the enemy, they were too wise to risk an open attack. As they lay hidden by the ridge of the coulee they crawled to the top and fired. Some of the Crees, more daring than the others, raised themselves above the edge and were immediately shot down by their enemies. The better weapons of the Blackfeet were telling, and the Crees were getting the worst of the fight. Seeing this they determined by a sudden movement to evade the Piegans and Blackfeet. They rushed down the coulee, sprang on their horses and made for the river. The Piegans saw them and pursued them, and a general fight followed, in which both Piegans and Crees were carried over one of the steep precipices. Some were killed outright, others badly injured. Stones were hurled into the ravine by those above, bruising the warriors of both sides. "Still the Crees and Assiniboines dashed into the river. Many of them were shot or carried down by the current. The Bloods and Blackfeet went in after them and a terrible slaughter took place. As the Crees struggled in the water they were shot down like dogs. "It was terrible to slay the poor creatures in such a cruel fashion, but an old Indian friend of mine who was at the fight told me with glee that it was splendid sport, for if the Crees had got the chance they would have done the same thing to them. "Others of the Blackfeet crossed the river higher up and engaged the Crees in another skirmish, in which about fifty were killed. "If you go along the river now I can show you some of the piles of stones that were raised to mark the spot where Blackfeet and Bloods fell, and others where the Crees were slain. A great many of the latter were killed, but we never learned the exact number, so many were carried down the river. "My old friend Jerry Potts said the Blackfeet only lost about fifty. "The tribes had, however, apparently enough of fighting, for the very next year they made a treaty, and have never since gone to war with each other. Since the white men came to the country they seem to think they have a common enemy and no time to fight among themselves." When the boss had finished his story the men spread their buffalo robes and blankets on the floor, and lay down on them to sleep the sound sleep that only an open-air life can induce. CHAPTER II. Up among the foot-hills of the Rockies, far from the villages that have sprung up in the western country, nestling beneath the shadow of the everlasting hills, a tiny cottage shanty stands. The way to it from the main trail is hidden behind the overlapping spurs of hill which rise in undulating lines from the plains to the bewildering passes of the mountain range. The sun alone seems to have found its way to it, and shining down in a benediction of beauty brings its picturesque outline into bold relief against the background of sun-kissed cloud and sheltered mountain tops. Some anchorite surely, weary of the world, whose wounded spirit needs the healing influences of nature unalloyed by man, has built his dwelling here. Some artist who would saturate his senses with the beauty of the ever-changing shadows, the luxury of color, the softness of the veiling mists, the tender touch of coming night, the mystery of distance, has come here. How refined must be the nature of the occupant of such a spot! How attuned his life to nature's moods! Alas! How long will the place be unspoiled by man? How long before the aggressive enterprise of the commercial spirit of the age will send its locomotive to insult the clouds with its nether smoke and the disturbing sounds of hurrying traffic? The early summer had passed, the days had begun their downward course, and the nights were colder. A traveller who had come to the Rockies in search of better air and health had wandered many miles from the village where he had taken up quarters for the season. The many and beautiful flowers which grow in rich profusion among the foot-hills had attracted his steps and robbed his limbs of all sense of fatigue. He was all unconscious of the distance he had walked or how far he was from the village. He was drinking in health with every breath of the pure mountain air, beauty with every bud or blossom he gathered, and such things as supper or bed were of a secondary nature to him at the moment. As he stooped to pick yet another flower more perfect than the last, he was accosted with the words, "Good-day, Stranger!" spoken in a soft minor key. Turning, he saw an old grey-haired man. There were lines of care and thought in the face, yet not such as have been furrowed deep by rebellion against the discipline of life. His dress was that of an old-timer of the mountains, its buckskin in picturesque harmony with the surroundings. The traveller having responded courteously to the greeting, the two men were soon deep in a pleasant conversation. "This is a delightful country; the air is so pure and the scenery grand," said the stranger, by way of preface. "Yes; a man must get a long way off nowadays to think and breathe," was the unexpected reply. "Do you live in this part of the country?" "Yes, I hev' a shanty in the hills, an' if ye'd care to look in I'll give ye a welcome. We're a bit rough in these parts, for we don't see strangers often, an' we're willin' to just live in our own way an' be content," and turning the old man led the way up the winding path in the hills. Each bend and higher level reached revealed fresh beauty to the eye of the stranger, and when their steps crossed a wimpling, bubbling mountain stream to the shanty he had seen from the distance, words failed him to express his appreciation of the beauty of the spot. "Lovely!" Far away the forest-crowned mountain tops pierced the clouds and hid from sight the snows and glaciered sides. Bright rivers wound about the foot-hills or plunged into the great canyons and were lost to sight. The stranger stood entranced, as if caught in some vision beyond his power to grasp the meaning of, and the mountaineer, knowing well the feeling, waited silent by his side. Later, when seated before the door of the shanty they watched the sun go down, a sight to be remembered for all time, the hearts of the two men were one in praise to the Great Creator of the universe, the Master-mind who had so clothed the land with beauty and given to the mind of man the capacity to enjoy it. Old Glad's quaintly proffered hospitality was willingly and gratefully accepted, and after his guest had been refreshed by a nicely cooked supper, their talk turned to the past in the old mountaineer's life. The story-telling days of camp and prairie were once more revived. "Have you always lived up here in the mountains?" "No, but I hev bin here most of my life. Ye see there's not much to annoy ye here, an' I don't keer fur all yer noise in the towns. There's nothin' like the prairie an' the mountains fur a man to get a livin' in an' be happy." "And have you always found the happiness you wished for in these places?" asked the stranger with interest. "Happiness is what I have ever been in quest of, and I must confess I have failed to find what I desired." "Wall, I've got along pretty well. Of course I've had my hard times like other folk an' been down to bed-rock many a time." "Have you all your children with you?" "No. I've lost some, like my neighbors. It's not so very long since we buried Nan, and then my Bill went like all the rest." And the old man sighed as he paused for a moment. The stranger waited until he spoke again. "Yes, Bill was a brave lad. He was born in the Indian camp when I wus workin' fur the Company, away in the north. The little fellow ran among the lodges, an' it wusn't long till he could talk Cree, an' Blackfoot, an' Sioux, an' French. He wus a good rider an' a fine hand at the gun. I tell ye I wus proud o' him when he wus a little fellow. The Indians an' half-breeds wus afeard o' him, 'cause, ye see, he could ride an' shoot better'n them, an' he wus a fine talker in the Indian camps. I min' once when he wus a little fellow runnin' around the Fort an' up to all kinds o' tricks, that he went off with Long Tom the half-breed, without lettin' me know. "Tom wus a good shot, but a reckless fellow, an' if ye didn't look out he wus sure to get himself an' his friends into trouble. After he had gone some o' my comrades come an' told me, an' I wusn't well pleased, but I thought it 'ud turn out all right, so I said nothin', an' waited fur him to get back. "Wall, ten days went by an' I wus gettin' kind o' anxious, an' I made up my mind if he didn't get back in a couple o' days I'd go off an' look fur him. "Late that night as I wus sittin' by the fire he come in. The wee fellow had his head tied up with a bit o' blanket, an' one o' his arms in a sling. His moccasins wur worn off his feet an' he couldn't speak. He looked in my face an' kin' o' staggered an' fell down on the floor. He wur completely done. I jumped out o' my old cheer an' took him in my arms. His head wus badly cut an' his hair all stickin' wi' blood, an' his arm wus bruised an' black. We got him fixed up in bed an' didn't ask any questions fur two weeks. Then he told his story. Long Tom an' him had gone off to shoot deer an' weren't havin' much success, an' when their grub wus all gone an' they had to live on berries, they thought they'd better get back. "As they wur sittin' down restin' a bit an' their horses wur feedin' they heard a terrible rush, an' lookin' up saw their horses racin' toward them an' a grizzly standin' kind o' meditatin'. Long Tom up with his gun an' fired, but missed his aim, an' wud ye believe it, his horse fell dead, shot through the heart. The grizzly jumped on him and threw him to the ground. My wee fellow ran back a few paces an' took aim. He sent two bullets into the b'ar, but the old fellow was hard to die. He left Tom an' made fur the boy. But he just made one spring and struck Bill down 'fore he giv' his yell an' fell dead. "The poor boy lay on the ground, his head covered with blood an' his arm bruised where the b'ar had struck him. Long Tom couldn't move, an' by an' by the lad, who was a plucky un, crawled over to him. He saw he wus bad, an' at first he didn't know what to do. They had only one horse, an' Tom couldn't walk, an' thur wurn't a post fur miles. "Wall, they lay there fur a while an' then Tom got a bit better an' my lad put him on the horse an' started fur home. Bill wanted fur to take the grizzly's skin, but they wur too done to get it, so they hed to leave it. My Bill walked alongside the horse an' got berries fur Tom an' him to eat, fur they hed no grub. It wur two days 'fore they got to the Fort an' my Bill had left Tom at his shanty. "I tell ye, it wur a close shave, an' it wus a long time 'fore the lad wur strong again, but as soon as he wur able to climb on his horse again he wus off out shootin' an' huntin'." "He must have been a brave lad." "Ay, he wur that, stranger, as brave a lad as ever lived among these mountains." "I should like to meet him some day and have a talk with him." "Ah, stranger, he hev passed in his checks, an' we'll not see him again!" and the soft voice was sad and the buckskin sleeve was brushed hastily across the old man's eyes, brave in his grief as the lad had been in his encounter with the terrible grizzly. Many stories are told of the pluck and bravery of this son of our old friend Old Glad. He had grown to man's estate, had married a Cree Indian woman and was settled down as an interpreter in the employ of the white men in the country. One night when he had just returned from a long, wearisome trip over the prairies with a party of travellers, he was awakened about midnight by an Indian woman tapping at his shanty window. He sprang to his feet and listened; in a moment he heard the sound of the tramp of a band of horses. He roused a few of the settlers in the vicinity of his shanty, and they started in pursuit of the stampede. The men in advance with the horses heard the party coming behind and increased their speed. Not a word was uttered, but with the lariats they lashed their horses and rode madly on, as the animals responded to the lash. Over hills and down through coulees the stampede led them. They reached the river, and though it was swollen it did not stop the men who had driven off the horses. In the darkness the pursuers could not distinguish the figures of the men, and it was useless to resort to weapons. They knew, too, that the horse-thieves would ride lying along the sides of the horses and thus escape being made a target for the pursuers' bullets. In crossing the river, Bill and his party lost time, the stream being so swift that they were carried down for some distance before they could make a landing on the other side. The consequence was that the Indians who had driven off the horses were a long way ahead of their pursuers. It was evident that from their knowledge of the country the thieves were Indians and no strangers. The sound of their feet was still heard distinctly, and Bill urged his party to greater speed that they might yet overtake them. The water was dripping from their clothes, but that was a slight matter if they could only succeed in gaining on the thieves. Suddenly they found themselves in the midst of a band of horses scattered over the prairie, spent with the long chase, and wet with water and perspiration. No Indian was in sight. The horses were there, but where were the men who had driven them off? Had they been chasing a phantom? Had these horses been running of their own accord, or were they on the enchanted ground of the red man? Fear took possession of the hearts of the bravest. Each man grasped his revolver and held his breath, expecting that an enemy would spring upon him from the darkness at any moment, or a well-armed band of warriors would pour a volley of shot into their ranks from some unseen vantage cover, or by stealthy craft seize them singly and destroy them. A few moments passed, seeming like so many hours, when, reviving their courage, they rode among the spent horses and learned that they belonged to the white settlers, and had certainly been driven off by someone. Bill and his men held a short consultation. Darkness and Indians were the enemies of the white man, and until the day dawned they could not feel safe from danger. They scattered themselves among the horses and waited for daylight, listening for any sound that might give them warning of an approaching foe. The early morning brought relief, and when exploring a narrow belt of brushwood one of the horses snorted and swerved aside from an old blanket that lay in a roll on the ground. They would have passed it by had not a groan from beneath attracted their attention. Turning, they saw the blanket move. Bill bent over it cautiously, and discovered an Indian in the last agony of death. Some of the men counselled shooting him to end his misery, but Bill knelt beside him and spoke a few words of peace. The man had been thrown from his horse as he stumbled, and had been so trampled on by the band of horses he had stolen that he had been able only to crawl into the bush and cover himself. Bill promised to tell his friends of his fate, and to let them bear away his body and lay it in the lodge of the dead. He knew the customs of the race, and how the women would mourn over the poor Indian's death; for, horse-thief as he was to the white man, he was a hero to his own people. The horses were returned to their respective owners, and one more story added to those told of Old Glad's son. CHAPTER III. The shadows of night had fallen about the lonely cabin as, with a tender light in his eyes, the old trapper continued in quiet, reminiscent strain: "Yes, stranger, my Bill hev passed in his checks. I don't talk o' him often, fur it makes my heart sore to talk o' him. But ye seem interested, and it'll not do me any harm and mebbe do ye some good. "My Bill wus allus tryin' to help somebody. There wusn't a man in all the country that could travel over the prairie like him. He knew every coulee. He wus a splendid guide and a good one. One day one o' his comrades started off fur the Missouri in the winter when the weather was fine. He wus ridin' and he didn't expect to be long on the road, so he didn't take much grub with him. "He'd got away just two days when it come up a terrible snow-storm. I tell ye it wur enough to freeze the hair off yer head. The folks got anxious about him, but they wur all afeard to go out in the storm. "Bill ses to them, 'I'm goin' to find him;' but they ses, 'It's no use, ye'll get lost yerself.' "Wall, without tellin' anybody, he started off one morning, an' it wur cold; but he never heeded that. He ses, 'I'm goin' to find him, dead or alive.' Ah, my Bill wus a brave fellow, an' as kind-hearted a fellow as ever lived. "Two or three days went by, an' the storm kep' up, but Bill didn't turn up. The men in the Fort got anxious about him, an' so one night they talked together an' they agreed to wait another day, an' if he didn't turn up they'd send a party after him. "It wur gettin' dark the next night when the men in the Fort see two ridin' on one horse, one in front o' the other, comin' over the prairie. "They got out glasses an' made out that the one in front wus an Indian boy. He wus ridin' fast, an' the man behind him was muffled up an' had a cloth over his eyes. "The men in the village went out to meet them, an' as they rode up they saw it wus Bill. He was snow-blind, an' his hands and feet wur frozen. He couldn't speak. "The Indian boy told the men that as he wus comin' in from the Indian camp, he saw him ridin' slowly an' his reins wus thrown loose on his horse's neck, an' he wus trustin' to him to get to the Fort. "The men in the Fort nursed him, but they thought he wouldn't get better. "After lyin' still fur several hours, he ses, 'Is he gettin' better?' "One o' the men sittin' beside his bed ses, 'Yes, ye're gettin' better.' "Bill shook his head, but didn't say any thin'. After a while he cried out, 'I saved him. Is he gettin' better?' "'Yes, yes, ye're gettin' better,' said another of the men. "But a few minutes after Bill spoke again: 'The letter, the letter; read the letter!' "'He is delerious, poor feller.' "'Mebbe he had a letter from somebody,' spoke up one o' the men, an' they searched his pockets, an' sure 'nuff, found a small piece o' paper. It had some writin' on it with a pencil; something like this: 'Send some medicine as quick as ye can to save Jack's life. I left him at old Kootenay Brown's ranch. He wus nearly frozen to death when I found him.' "The men got an Indian boy, and sent him off with medicine an' a supply o' provisions to Kootenay Brown's. "After Bill got a little better, he told the men where he had found Jack. He had an idea of the trail he would take, and after he'd crossed St. Mary's River, the storm wus so bad that his horse wouldn't face it, so to save himself he struck toward the mountains. Wall, as he kep' travelling the storm quieted down an', wud ye believe, right ahead o' him he saw a man walkin' round an' round in a circle leadin' his horse. The snow wur deep, but he went as fast as his horse would go, an' when he reached the place he saw it wus Jack. "Both Jack an' the horse wur snow-blind, an' they wur wanderin' round on the prairie, lost. They couldn't get away from the spot." [Illustration: SNOW-BLIND AND LOST ON THE PRAIRIE.] "Bill's horse whinnied, an' the other stopped an' then answered. The poor thing wus glad o' company. Bill spoke to Jack, but the poor fellow didn't know him. He wus out o' his mind. Bill got him on his horse, and rode on to Kootenay Brown's ranch, where they rubbed poor Jack an' put him to bed. He wus badly frozen an' they feared he wouldn't get better. "Bill stayed fur a day an' then started fur home to get help. It wus stormin' an' he thought he might get lef', so he wrote the letter afore he started out so that Jack might have his medicine. "It wus a long time afore Jack wus well an' come back to the Fort, an' my Bill lay four weeks in his bed; then he crawled round fur awhile, but he never got over his ride. "Whenever anybody said anythin' to him, he would say, 'Never mind, it's all right: Jack got better.' "All that winter an' the next summer he kep' about the Fort, coughin' bad. Ah, my heart wur sore to see him go like the snow on a summer day. "Jack wud come over to his shanty an' do all his chores fur him, an' the two cronies would sit together fur hours. "Jack wud look into Bill's face an' say, 'Bill, ye saved me, but lost yer own life,' an' then Bill, as best he could fur his cough, would say, 'Jack, it's all right; be a man an' help somebody else. One on us had to pass in his checks, an' it wus me this time. Yer turn will come too by an' by, mebbe afore ye think o' it. I've never done anything worth speakin' about. Ye know it's not because I wus unwillin', but, ye see, there's no chances o' doin' great things.' "One day Jack an' Bill wur sittin' talkin', an' I went in ter see how he wus gettin' on, an' Jack wus talkin' like I never heard him afore. Ye'd a thought he wur a preacher. I think he must hev ben a good lad, fur I wusn't expectin' to hear the like. "'Bill,' ses he, 'I don't know much about the thing good folks call religion, but I min' my old mother tellin' me, "It's not long prayers an' talks, but it's just bein' like Himsel'." That wur what she called Him. I guess He'll no judge ye for the fine things ye say, but the gran' things ye do. He saw ye that day ye saved me when I wur frozen. An' don't ye think He'll pay ye fur that? I'm sure He will. If I wur rich I'd give ye all I had, and they say He's honester than any o' us. An' that means if I canna pay ye, He will. Ye see ye must get yer pay fur doin' that gran' deed, an' I'm too poor to pay ye, so ye must look to Him for it.' "'I think it's all right, but it's not worth much,' says Bill. "'Worth much! It's worth all the world to me.' "'I wonder if He'll understand us when we get yonder. Ye see, we haven't been workin' much at religion, prayin', but, Jack, many's the time I have looked up at the stars an' said to myself, "Does God think about me?" Ye see the country is so big it wouldn't be strange if He forgot me.' "'I've heard He lived on the prairie, and that makes me feel better, fur if He ever lived among the mountains an' on the prairies He'll know our rough ways an' not be hard on us. I don't think thur wus any fine churches an' fine clothes on the prairie when He wus livin'. If thur wus no prairie an' no mountains in heaven, an' all the folks talked fine language, I couldn't feel at home. I'd be like a stranger, an' I'd want to go where I could see the buffalo an' talk some Indian once in a while.' "'He wus a good man,' ses Jack, 'an' He wouldn't be unreasonable, an' if we didn't talk fine here He wouldn't expec' us to talk fine yonder. I don't understan' much about it, but mother told me He wus a gentleman; not a rich, proud fellow who'd pass ye by, but a man who treated all alike. He could tell a rogue in fine clothes an' a gentleman if he wus poor.' "'I wonder, Jack, how I'll call on Him when I get yonder. Ye see, I've never been in company, an' I suppose a great many big folk will be crowdin' in the door, an' they'll be wantin' to keep me back. Will ye lift yer hat an' say, "Good day, sir," or will ye wait till He speaks to ye? I wish, Jack, ye'd go to the mission and ask the Sky Pilot that lives there; mebbe he can tell ye what to say. Mebbe he has books that'll tell ye, an' it's not the best thing to wait fur yer ticket till the last minute.' "Before Bill could say any more Jack hobbled off, got on his horse, and rode fifteen miles to the mission house. "The missionary wus at home, an' Jack wur surprised to see him wearin' a buckskin just like the trappers, an' he'd ben cuttin' out rails fur his fences an' had a axe in his hand. He greeted Jack civil, an' asked him what he could do for him. Jack just told him about my Bill, an' how he wanted to know what he wur to do. "'Can ye giv' a poor fellow directions what to do after he's passed in his checks, a kind o' passport like, to cheat the old fellow when he would be bettin' on the game. Ye see, my pardner, Bill, that's nearly finished his game, an' you bet he's a good un, but he kind o' thinks he'd like to get posted afore he starts on the trip. Ye can mebbe giv' us a prayer or a few words that we wouldn't be strangers. We might fine it hard to get an interpreter. Bill is pretty good at the Indian, an' he cud giv' them some Sioux or Cree, but the man at the door wouldn't understand. I'll pay ye for yer advice, fur he saved me, an' I hate to see him go; but I'll giv' him a good send-off an' a big funeral.' "Stranger, the missionary came right off to my Bill, an' Jack, he wur proud to have the Sky Pilot ridin' beside him, an' when they come into the Fort the men looked at the stranger goin' to Bill's shanty, an' they ses, 'He's a rustler, that, an' don't ye forget it. Ye bet yer life he'll see Bill through. He'll treat him on the square!' "Bill's comrades wur sittin' round his bed talkin' when the prophet in buckskin, fur that wus what they called the missionary right there, come in. "'Good day, gentlemen,' ses he, an' takes off his hat, an' then sits down by Bill an' talks to him a bit to get a wee bit acquainted. He ses: "'Wall, friend, what can I do fur you?' "'D'ye think a chap'll lose the trail to heaven, that's never ridden over it afore?' "'No, he'll get there all right if he follows the directions!' ses he. "'An' ye can giv' them to me, I reckon,' ses Bill. "'Yes; I haven't bin there, but the Chief has, an' He said afore He went off on His last trip that He would mark the trail so that His men wouldn't get lost.' "'Ye can tell me the marks He left. Is it a heap o' stones, or a tree blazed, or a fire burnin', so as I can see the smoke?' "'I don't know what the marks are,' says the Sky Pilot; 'but, ye see, His ways are square, an' I know what He says is true. There's none o' the scouts ever come back to tell us. We are all tender-feet on that trail.' "'D'ye think they could o' lost it an' got down to the camp o' the old fellow?' "'No; but when an old-timer starts on that trail he must like the place that he doesn't come back, or mebbe there's someone keepin' him there.' "'I guess he's struck it rich, an' he'll not come back,' says Bill, 'but how am I to know when I don't know the marks?' "'Wall, the Chief said afore He left on that long ride o' His that He'd make the way plain so that ye couldn't mistake it, an' He never wus false. All ye hev' to do is to pledge yerself afore ye start to join His ranks, an' He'll be there to meet ye, an' He'll take care o' ye Himself an' there'll be no mistake.' "'Are ye sure that's so?' says Bill. "'I'm sure. I hev served the Chief for many a year, an' I tell ye He wus never false.' "Bill turned on his bed, an' as he looked at his old comrades, he says, 'Boys, I'm goin' on the long trail. Many a time hev we ridden on the prairie, but I'm goin' alone this time.' "The Sky Pilot went down on his knees an' he prayed. It wus a right touchin' prayer, an' the men couldn't help the tears comin' in their eyes. Jack looked at Bill, an' says he, 'Bill's sure to pull through. If anybody can find the long trail, it's Bill.' "It wus only a little while after that, stranger, that my Bill called out, 'He's waitin' fur me! Yes, I'm comin'!' an' his head fell back. My Bill was gone. Stranger, he wus a fine man." The old man ceased. He had told the sorrow of his life. The stranger who listened knew no word was needed to express his sympathy, so with only a kindly grasp of the old trapper's hand he turned to the couch spread for him, and before many minutes had passed the occupants of the cabin were in a sound sleep. The shanty among the hills still stands, and is yet the home of the grey-haired old-timer. As he sits at his doorway in the evening watching the shadows lengthen into night, memory often carries him back to the days when "my Bill" was the pride of his heart. THE SPIRIT GUIDE. There was a gay company assembled in the lodge of Eagle Rib, engaged in the pleasant pastime of tea-drinking and story-telling. The old chief had been successful in his late hunting expeditions, and from his sale of robes to the Indian traders a good supply of provisions had been brought to his lodge. A special invitation had been given to the leading members of the camp to attend the feast, and a large number had assembled to partake of the bounty in store. Every available pot and pan had been brought into requisition, and around the blazing lodge fire there stood vessels filled with buffalo meat, berries cooked in fat, and tea. The invited guests did full justice to the delicacies, both eating and drinking heartily. The pipe of peace was then passed around, and comments were freely made upon the conduct of those present who had been unfortunate in their hunting adventures. The stolid countenances of the Indians relaxed, and seriousness at times gave place to laughter loud and prolonged, as one after another related some story of hunting, love or war. The old men fought anew their battles of former years, and as the feast proceeded, a spirit of enthusiasm was begotten which infused itself into the heart of every individual present. An interested listener half reclined with his head and shoulders on a native reed pillow; but his face bore a stern expression, showing no sign of participation in the others' merriment, as if the perils and victories of his fellows were nothing to him. Although apparently heedless of his surroundings, yet he was none the less a partaker of their pleasure. This taciturn individual was Medicine Runner, a famous chief of the Blackfoot Indians. Tall, stern and dignified, he commanded the respect of all, and was honored with the position of war chief of the tribe. Though his hair was turning grey, there were no signs of mental or physical decay. When he addressed his people on any subject every tongue was silent, all ears were opened to catch the words of the illustrious chief. He was a true orator, sparing in words, but every sentence was full of meaning; and though his language was couched in nature's garb, not even the Indian trader could mistake its full import. Many times he had led his warriors to victory when contending with Cree, Crow or Sioux Indians. They loved and honored him, while his enemies hated the name he bore. He lay for some time thus, a silent spectator of the joys of his companions. Then his eyes brightened, and he raised himself from his reclining position as if about to speak. The host and his guests knew at once the meaning of the change, and waited in respectful silence, anxious to hear what the chief had to say. "Twenty-five winters have passed away," said he, "since a party of Sioux warriors entered our camp and stole a large number of horses. I was young and active then, and without any loss of time I called my warriors together that we might consult as to what was best to be done. After much deliberation at last I told them that I had prayed about the matter and felt it to be my duty to follow our enemies, taking another chief with me, while the warriors who remained in the camp were to be prepared for any sudden attack from the tribes who might be in our vicinity. I chose Three Bulls, who was at that time called Medicine Runner, to go with me on the expedition. We went out to the rock on the hill and made sacrifices and prayers. I prayed to my god for guidance, protection, and victory, and as I lay in my lodge at night, the god came to me in a vision, and told me to go, assuring me of an answer to my prayers. We had a war dance and feast, painted our bodies and our horses with war paint, and then set out on our journey south. We had gone but a little way when I got off my horse and prayed again. I vowed that if successful and I was permitted to return I should sacrifice myself at the next sun dance. "Four days we rode and saw not any signs of our foes, but as evening drew near on the fifth day we were pacing slowly on the plains when we came to the brow of a hill, and there right at our feet was a camp of Sioux Indians, numbering three hundred lodges. Our hearts beat fast when we saw so many lodges congregated together, and my companion expressed his determination to return that night, as it was impossible to do anything against such a strong foe. I remembered my prayers and my vow, and resolved to remain, though at the same time urging my companion to go home and to take my horse with him. He begged me not to throw away my life, but to accompany him and to bring back with us a large number of our warriors to help in slaying all the Sioux Indians. I told him I dare not consent, as my guardian spirit was driving me onward and I felt sure of victory, though alone. "Three Bulls bade me a sad farewell, and taking my horse with him he rode away quickly in the direction of our camp. "Again I prayed and resolved upon action. It was a dark night, and thus highly favored I waited until the middle of the night, that all the people might be asleep, watching meanwhile as closely as I could and studying the lodges in the camp. The time had come. I descended and entered the camp stealthily and unseen. Outside of a chief's lodge there was fastened a fine horse, a good buffalo runner, and this lodge I resolved to enter, examining my gun and knife to see that they were all right. I then peered into the lodge and saw the chief and his family quietly sleeping. Drawing the door gently back I went inside. A few dying embers lay upon the fire, and beside it stood a pot of meat. Feeling hungry I soon disposed of some of the food. I then took off one of my moccasins and left it that they might know an enemy had been there. Leaving the lodge as quietly as I entered, it was only the work of a minute to cut the horse loose, jump on his back and depart. Conscious of having gained the victory, and feeling safe on the back of such a fine animal, I could not refrain from uttering the war-whoop as I was leaving the camp. The greatest excitement prevailed when they heard it, and I knew that I would soon be pursued. They had heard the sound of the horse's hoofs, for presently several Sioux were on my track, yelling and beating their horses to increase their speed. I had nothing to fear, for a good horse and a good start were in my favor. Most of my pursuers gave up the chase, and finally I could hear distinctly the sounds of the hoofs of but two horses following. Right ahead in the darkness I could hear the sound of rushing waters. I hastened on. Plunging into the foaming waters I crossed the stream safely and turned suddenly around as I reached the bank. Springing from my horse I waited for my pursuers, and as they approached levelled my gun and shot the leader. Before the other could escape by advance or retreat I brought him to the ground with another bullet. Victory was assuredly mine, for now two scalps were fastened to my belt, and I rejoiced that full compensation had been made for the depredations of our enemies." [Illustration: "As they approached I levelled my gun and shot the leader."] "Homeward I sped, resting occasionally to give my horse time to recover his breath and refresh himself a little. When I reached our camp I heard the women wailing for me as one dead, for they had given up all hopes of my safety, but when the people saw my approach and the scalps by my side their sorrow was changed to songs of rejoicing. A great feast and scalp dance were held. Three Bulls made a long speech exalting my heroism, and ended by giving me his name of Medicine Runner, which he then bore, and which I have since borne until this day." The chief had scarcely finished his story when a young man entered named Running Wolf. He was tall, slim, and of noble aspect, showing his relationship to the bravest of the tribe. He had a careworn appearance and was evidently suffering keenly from physical exhaustion; still a faint smile played upon his features and his eyes glistened with unusual brightness. Five days previous, this young man had gone from his lodge on an errand of some importance, as was evident by the determination which was expressed in the firmly compressed lips and the look of daring in his eye. For some time he had been very serious, and it had been remarked by some of the aged people that he seemed to be holding communion with the spirits. He withdrew within himself, saying little but thinking much, and the young man who formerly had been so full of merriment and delighted in all the amusements of the camp, had become suddenly transformed into a sedate man, almost prophetic in his looks. Without informing anyone of his intentions he had departed from his lodge, going rapidly toward the hills, apparently hoping to meet someone or determined to do some work. He walked quickly, shunning the presence of his companions, heeding not the riders who were driving herds of horses, and caring not for the scenes which always delighted him. Old and young who saw him travelling at such a rapid pace across the prairie kept out of his way, for it was evident to their eyes that a supernatural power was guiding him. For many hours he travelled without halting, his eyes fastened on the ground, but with a holy purpose in his heart. Into one of the deep ravines he entered, and far into its recesses he travelled, where seldom penetrated the eyes of man, haunted as the Indians believed it to be by spirits of the dead, who possessed the power of inflicting injury upon the living. It was in this community of spirits that Running Wolf found the resort which his soul longed for, its gloomy shades, rugged, tall rocks and scanty vegetation agreeing with the state of his soul. It was the home of the buzzard, coyote and eagle. Loveliness there was none, and as a resting place for man, no spot on earth could have been found more uninviting. This was the place, however, which seemed pleasing to the spirit of the young man, and for a few moments, although exhausted and sad, a gleam of satisfaction shone from his countenance. He fell upon his face kissing the ground, and in accents of tenderness cried, "My mother!" He lay upon the sod for a long time, fatigued with his journey and the physical exhaustion arising from nervous excitement, but at length arose, gathered his blanket upon his left arm, and began pacing to and fro, praying earnestly to the Great Sun for the revelation of himself. Alone upon the hills and in the deep recesses of the ravines he wandered, praying and fasting, allowing nothing to pass his lips but a little water. Earnest, solemn and prolonged was his communion with the Great Power which overshadowed him, and the more keenly he felt this invisible presence the more fervently he prayed and longed for the fulfilment of his vows. Bright were his hopes, for he had implicit faith in the spiritual influences with which he was surrounded. For days and nights the young man wandered alone, his voice heard by none save the spirits, the birds and the animals. At last he fell to the ground worn out with his devotions, and as he lay in a half-conscious state pleasant dreams flitted through his brain. The air was filled with happy voices. Angel attendants came to minister to him. Earth was no longer a weary place to live in, but the songs of joyous hearts came to him in all their sweetness, more pleasing than he had ever heard, and as he sang in unison with them, his heart was filled with joy. How long this continued he never knew, but in the midst of it all there came a voice assuring him of peace, the acceptance of his vows and prayers, and the gift of a Guide and spiritual Friend. The blessed vision rested on his soul as a rich benediction; and in this pleasant frame of mind he awoke. As he raised himself there came running toward him a small ground squirrel. This he seized instantly, and as he held the timid animal in his hand he remembered that this was the visitor named in his vision which would come to him, and within whose body would dwell the Spirit which was given him as a guide through life. As he held it, gently he drew it toward his bosom, and there nestling with fear it suddenly ceased breathing. His visitor was dead! His heart was moved with sorrow; but he learned by the keen spiritual perception which had been given him that the Spirit Guide needed not a living agent wherein to dwell, for He could give animation if that were required. Quietly and with reverence he laid the little thing upon the ground; tears filled his eyes. He prayed anew for guidance and strength, and as he prayed he took his knife and removed the skin of his little visitor and reverently preserved it. A gentle voice whispered to him that the vision was ended. So casting a few quick glances around, he turned homeward, tired and footsore, but very happy. A long journey lay before him, and in his fainting condition he could walk but feebly, yet so strong was his spirit that it overcame his physical weakness and enabled him to speed across the plains. New life had been granted him, and a companion of the spirits was now beside him wherever he went. As he drew near to the camp the dwellers fled at his approach. They beheld something supernatural in his manner which made them afraid. He entered the lodge of Eagle Rib as Medicine Runner finished his story, and without speaking a word sought his accustomed couch. One by one the visitors left, impressed with the fact that some prophetic power had fallen upon the young man, and they dreaded contact with spiritual visitants. These people are often called savages by members of the white race, yet they have been taught the greatest respect for all forms of religion, recognizing these forms as methods by which men approach the Supreme Power, hence their reverential attitude when the young man came into the lodge. In a few moments all the visitors had gone, and there remained only Eagle Rib and his family alone with Running Wolf. He slept many hours, and then awaking fully refreshed, he partook of food, but said little to anyone. Becoming much reserved, not because of his superior position or knowledge, but rather because of the consciousness of this invisible companion, Running Wolf increased in favor with all the people. Gentle, sober and true, he won the hearts of the young men and maidens, who of all the natives of the lodges were most exacting. A few uneventful years passed by, and the young man stood at the head of the young warriors of the camp, a recognized leader, well qualified to direct and destined to become victorious over every foe. His words were few, but when he spoke his judgment seldom erred, and his decision always carried away all opposition. Clothed with power and wisdom he had nothing to fear from any antagonist, and still he seemed unhappy. A restlessness of spirit appeared suddenly to take possession of him, compelling him to depart from the peace and happiness of the camp. One evening, while sitting in the lodge, surrounded by his friends, without any word of warning or expression of any kind, he arose and departed, no one daring to follow, and no one asking the cause of his action. The sun sank behind the Rocky Mountains, and the prairie was soon enveloped in darkness, but the young man heeded not the deepening shadow; he was not afraid. He wandered far from the camp and entered the forest unnoticed and unpursued. Straight as an arrow he went onward until he came to the foot of a giant tree, and kneeling upon his knees, he breathed out a prayer, simple, majestic and brief. Drawing his knife from its sheath, he began to dig vigorously under the sod, never resting in his eager search for some hidden prize. Presently from the depths of the soil he brought forth a tender rootlet, upon which he gazed with admiration, hugging it closely to his bosom as a treasure of rare value. Then, quietly retracing his steps, he soon found rest in the lodge. No questions were asked, and few indeed were the words spoken, his reticent manner preventing any undue familiarity. A few nights passed by and a messenger came to the lodge in deep sorrow, to inform Running Wolf that the daughter of Mastwena was very sick. Without manifesting any surprise, Running Wolf arose, went direct to the lodge of his friend where the sick child lay, and bending gently over her, he looked into the face of the little one. A gleam of satisfaction passed over his countenance. She was very sick, but not beyond hope of recovery. The medicine drums were brought down and beaten to call to his aid the spirits which flitted from tree to tree and from stone to stone outside the lodge. The medicine song was chanted by all the members of the family, and Running Wolf sang vigorously as he swayed his body to and fro in an excited manner. As he sang and prayed he drew from his medicine bag a piece of root, which he broke, and placing it in a vessel with a small quantity of oil, stirred it well. As he muttered words of import which acted as a charm to aid the medicine in performing its desired end, he gave it to the feverish child with the gentleness of a woman. As the little one drank the medicine, he again repeated the strange words which had fallen from his lips, and although misunderstood by the members of the family, a shudder ran through the company, for they felt the sacred power which accompanied the casting out of the evil spirit which had taken possession of the child. The child lay motionless for a few moments as Running Wolf prayed over her, and then a sudden change took place, the whole physical frame being strangely contorted through pain, the agony being almost unbearable. Heavy drops of sweat stood upon the child's forehead and rolled off her body, until as the agony increased and the culminating point seemed to be reached, she uttered a piercing cry, and then fell back motionless upon her earthen couch. Deep slumber fell upon her, and she lay asleep for hours as if under the influence of a gentle opiate, no one daring to arouse her, or caring to intrude upon the territory of the home of the spirits. As the sun arose in his splendor behind the hills which lay across the prairie, the Indian maiden opened her eyes, refreshed with her slumbers, free from pain and the disease overcome. In a few days she was running with her companions as strong and merry as she had ever been. The fame of Running Wolf was spreading fast and was not confined to his own tribe, and had he been a man of ordinary ability he would no doubt have become elated over his success. Keeping his own counsel he still felt humble, for he depended solely for his success on the ministrations of the Spirit Guide and the wondrous revelations which were frequently made to him. Many uneventful days were passed in the camp, the severe illness of a friend or a skirmish with some neighboring tribe alone breaking the monotony. No counsel was more eagerly sought in the gatherings of the chiefs, and there was no chief in greater demand as arbitrator in difficulties than Running Wolf. He was loved for his wisdom, kindness and unassuming manner. The children listened to his stories as he sat in his lodge surrounded by the youth of the camp, who became so docile under his influence that with a single wave of his hand they quietly departed. Frequently they gathered around his lodge fire, and when the shadows of evening fell, they ran homeward to repeat the wonderful stories he had told them. Many a needless war was averted by his cool judgment and courage. Late in the fall of the year this wise counsellor stood at his lodge door, and called aloud for his friends to attend a feast which he had made. A large company assembled to do honor to their friend. As they sat around in his spacious lodge, entertained by the conversation of the most notable men of the tribe, the evening passed away pleasantly. Running Wolf led off in the conversation late in the evening, and as he spoke in a tone of gravity, yet with a spirit of deep feeling, every ear listened and every heart beat in sympathy with the sentiments expressed. The orator proceeded to relate the history of the tribe, the story of its conquests, the records of the noble deeds of its great men, the advent of the white race and the present condition of the Indians. He depicted the future in dark colors, the gradual decay of the red men, the diseases and debauchery of the people, the corruption of the Indian politicians and the utter overthrow of the native religion. He counselled them to accept of the glory of the coming day when the red men would mingle with the white race, accepting their teachings and civilizations and finding therein peace, plenty and contentment. His voice faltered, and their hearts grew sad as he told them he would always remain with them to cheer them with his presence and encourage them by putting wise thoughts into their hearts; and he would touch the hearts of the white men, so that more tenderly than ever would they treat their brothers in red. With downcast countenances they left his lodge and sought repose, although few of them slept because of the strange visions of the future his words had awakened in their minds. Upon the following day a strange rumor spread rapidly over the camp that Running Wolf had not been seen after his great feast with the chiefs. Forebodings of dark destiny filled the minds of the people, and sorrow was depicted on every countenance. Women and children wept, and the men groaned in spirit, heavy with foreboding fears. Running Wolf's favorite horse stood at the lodge door, his gun and military habiliments lay in their accustomed place, but the wise man was gone. A few footprints were seen leading out towards the prairie in the direction of the mountains, but after following them a short distance all traces of them were lost. Far and near they sought him but found him not. Then the chiefs recalled the sadness of their hearts when he assured them he would always abide with them, encouraging their hearts and subduing their enemies. They now believe that he is true to his predictions, and that he still presides over them in a higher degree as chief among the spirits. Yet they cannot help going out every day to look across the prairie for the return of Running Wolf. Some day he may return, but not as we look for him. As the guardian spirit of the tribe he still maintains his ascendancy over the people, and with greater power than ever he waits upon them in their counsels and religious feasts, no longer guided by the spirits, but himself a seer among the gods. ALAHCASLA. Namukta, the aged chief, was dying. As he lay on his earthen bed in the buffalo-skin lodge, friends gathered in and now sat near, talking in low tones. While the old man's faltering voice rose and anon fell, in the delirious utterances of a fevered brain, they recounted his deeds of bravery and recalled his wise counsels. Namukta was a great chief, a warrior who could tell more thrilling tales of encounters with the enemies of his tribe than any other among the lodges, and the young men had listened and had caught from his oft-repeated words the spirit of the warrior before they went upon the war-path. He was telling now of by-gone battles in the south, of victories won and scalp-locks taken from the foe; but his mind wandered and there was no connection in the talk. Presently he ceased, and every eye was turned toward his couch. He was still for a few moments, and the people waited. Then the dying chief raised himself on his bed and called in clear, peremptory tones, "Isota! Isota! Isota!" A young girl, fairer than any of the other maidens in the camp, yet dressed as one of them, rose from the buffalo-skin where she had been reclining, and crept nearer to the old chief's side. "I am here, my father." But the chief made no reply. His ears were closed to the voice he loved, and the girl sighed as she resumed her seat. Again he raised his voice and called aloud. "Isota! Isota! There they come! Lie still!" He was fighting over again one of the battles of the past. In broken, disjointed sentences, bit by bit, Isota and the friends who were with him in the lodge heard the story told, which, put together, was something as follows: "That was a hard time. It was the year of the rabbits. We had gone away to the east to hunt the deer, and we intended to take some horses from the Chippewas. Our young men had told us the Chippewas had some fine horses that they had taken from the white men. It was a long journey, but it was fine weather, and we had plenty of feed for our horses. When we reached the forests we saw tracks of the Chippewas. We kept a sharp lookout for our enemy. "Early one morning we saw smoke from their camp-fires. We made ready to attack them; we would rush upon them unawares and defeat them. We sent out two of our young men, who brought back word that there were fifty lodges and the men were well armed. We consulted together, for it was no easy task to fight with so many, but we were ready and in good trim for fighting. We sent our young men again at night, and when they got back they reported that there were some fine horses in the camp, but some of the men were out hunting. We made up our minds to attack the camp early the next morning. "There was not much sleep for us that night; we were too near the camp of our enemy. There were only twenty-five of our warriors, but they were all good men who had won many battles. "Long before the sun was up we started for the camp, travelling quietly, and when we reached the camp we made a dash for the horses and fired into some of the lodges. The enemy rushed out, the men fighting and the women and children screaming. Five of the Blackfeet were killed, but we had ten scalps and thirty horses. As we were leaving the camp I saw a little pale-face sitting at the door of one of the lodges crying. I rushed to her quickly, picked her up and placed her on my saddle. The Chippewas were beaten and we did not care to fight any more. We had taken the scalps and the horses and the little pale-face. That was a great fight. I had the best part of it. You know my little pale-face; I called her Isota." Isota listened, her head resting on her hand. She remembered being in the camp of another tribe of Indians, but who they were or where they came from or dwelt she knew not. Namukta had ever treated the pale-face as a princess, a child of the gods, for had not the gods blessed his people ever since she had been in his lodge? The men had not gone so frequently upon the war-path, there was not so much sickness or quarrelling in the camps. The maidens loved her because she was ever ready to help them; she had the finest skins for her dresses, and bear's claws and elk teeth were used in plenty to decorate the lovely Isota. The chiefs consulted her on matters affecting their bands of people, and wondered at her wisdom. Her gentle manner, her calm dignity and queenly carriage impressed them with a sense of superiority. They believed she was possessed of many secrets not known by the medicine-men, and this added to her influence over the tribe. Namukta guarded his treasure carefully, and there was nothing too valuable to be given to his Indian princess. And now Isota had tended him in his sickness, and even the eldest of his wives had not objected to this usurpation of her rights. There was one other who loved the maiden as fondly as Namukta. Alahcasla had been taken by the Blackfeet during one of their raids upon some of the numerous tribes of British Columbia, and because Namukta was the war chief he had dwelt in his lodge. Alahcasla was tall and handsome, and of an intelligent countenance. He had played with Isota, grown up with her, and loved her better than all the world beside. Once when Isota had been attacked by a bear, his trusty rifle had pierced the brain of the savage animal and saved the girl's life. [Illustration: "His trusty rifle had pierced the brain of the savage animal."] Namukta, after the relation of the story of his capture of Isota, lay for several days unconscious, but when he drew near the border of the spirit-land he awoke, conscious though very weak. He summoned all the minor chiefs to his lodge, and divided his property among his friends. His favorite horse was given to Isota, and the next in value to Alahcasla. Then turning to the peace chief he said: "And now I am going to the sand hills and I leave Isota and Alahcasla to protect the interests of our people. They cannot be chiefs, but they are greater than all the chiefs and medicine-men. If you consult them and follow their counsels you will never be led astray. Give them one of the best lodges, let them have a portion of all the game you kill, never go to war without seeking their advice, and you will become prosperous and happy. Good-bye. I am going. Bury me as an Indian warrior. I have done." Namukta died and was buried with all the rites of his people, who mourned for him many days. His last instructions were obeyed, and while they followed the counsels of Alahcasla and Isota the tribe was prosperous. Twelve months passed and some of the women saw that Isota's cheeks had lost their color; they talked of it among themselves, but said no word to Isota. Then one morning when the chiefs went to the lodge of their leader they found the widows and children of the camp weeping. Alahcasla and Isota were no longer in the lodge. No one had seen them since the night before, and the fear in their hearts was that their enemies had stolen Isota, and because of his love for her Alahcasla had followed. The tribe had heard of rumors among the Crow Indians and about the camp-fires of the Gros Ventres, that it would be a good thing if they could secure Isota, the white leader, that prosperity might come to their lodges as it had to Namukta, the old chief, and his people. The chiefs held a consultation, and it was decided that runners should be sent out to the territories of the hostile Indians, and learn by stealth the fate of their princess. Far and wide they went, but could find no trace of Isota. The people grieved, many of the children sickened and died, the buffalo disappeared and the warriors sat around in the lodges idle and dispirited. Isota had departed and her people were to know her no more. * * * * * "You bet yer life she's a beauty, an' don't ye forget it. She's no Injun, that. She's got queer tastes to be the wife o' an Injun, but he's a smart un, none o' yer common prairie Injuns." Such at all events was Dutch Fred's opinion. A day or two before two travellers, an Indian and a young woman of fair complexion, had arrived at the ranch and been treated with more than the usual hospitality by the head man. They had not been very communicative, and after resting for two days had ridden away north in the direction of the line of white settlements. This and the superior appearance of the pair had excited a good deal of curiosity, and called forth the above expression of opinion. Dutch Fred was right. Isota and Alahcasla were no common Indians. Namukta's story of how Isota had been brought to his lodge had sunk into the girl's heart, and as Alahcasla loved her better than himself, he was helping her to solve the mystery, although he knew that every day which brought her nearer to her own people took her farther from him and his love. They had travelled many weary miles before they reached the Thunder Bay district. When Isota stood upon the shore of the great lake some memory was stirred within her, and a word long forgotten seemed to leap once more into life. She knew that she had before stood beside a great sheet of water like this. Where was it? She could not tell. In vain she sought to recall something more definite than the vague sense of having seen broad sparkling waters such as this. She could not, but the train was set alight and here a word was to supply the needed clue--Huron! They stayed that night with a band of Chippewa Indians who were camped on the shores, and as Isota lay in the wigwam weary and sad she heard the story of an old chief whom his people loved; how he had grieved for and sought a pale-faced child that had been stolen. She had been entrusted to his keeping by the chief of another band, and while he was absent on a hunting expedition she had been carried away by a marauding band of Blackfeet. Isota could not understand at first, but a long illness and the care bestowed upon her by the wife of the Chippewa chief gave her time to learn their language. It seemed to come back to her as a forgotten tongue. When the sickness left her, Alahcasla, who had waited and watched beside her faithfully, brought the horses to the lodge door, and together they set out once more to reach the Huron country. After many days of weary travel the shining waters of the lake lay before them. They had passed few settlements, but now the country was more cleared, and as the tall Indian and the beautiful Isota entered the long, straggling street of the pioneer towns they attracted considerable attention. Unused to the prying eyes and rude stare of ill-bred curiosity, Isota held herself more erect and Alahcasla drew closer to her side. During their stay in one of these frontier towns Isota's horse had sickened and died, and Alahcasla had put the girl upon his and walked by her side. They were often faint for food and from weariness; they were not familiar with the ways of the white people, and did not know that they must ask for what they needed. It was not the Indian custom to ask for the hospitality that it was considered a privilege to be allowed to offer to the stranger within their lodges. But the talk of the people in the streets had revived another link in the chain of Isota's memory of the past. She heard the children call "Mother!" and immediately she knew the word had once been familiar to her lips. With these words "Huron" and "Mother" as talismans, the pair went on their way. * * * * * In one of the larger towns on the shore of Lake Huron, a crowd had gathered around two figures whose appearance was evidently causing considerable interest. Travel-stained, their once handsome dress of finely tanned and handsomely embroidered deerskin with beaded ornaments worn and discolored, Alahcasla stood, resentment in his eye and indignation expressed in every line of his tall, commanding figure, sternly eyeing the gaping crowd, while Isota leaned against the wall of the house, her whole attitude telling of weariness and despair. Her lips were parched and dry, yet they still could utter the words, "Huron," "Mother!" Was there no one to respond; none to answer her? Presently a woman better dressed than the majority among the crowd drew near, and with the kindliness of a heart long softened by sorrow, and one which found relief only in thought for others, she stayed to ask the cause of the gathering there. "Poor things," she said, as the crowd parted and her eyes fell on the strange group; "they are surely strangers here, and their proud bearing in such surroundings would lead one to suppose they are no common people." Isota looked into the kind grey eyes, and though despair of ever being understood had filled her heart, she uttered once again the words, "Huron," "Mother!" A woman's sympathy and love for another had led her to stay her steps and ask the cause of the gathering crowd, and now an answering echo in her heart, a sorrow long borne, a wound made and never healed, replied. Isota and Alahcasla were taken home, the one to her mother's arms, the other to seal with his death the sacrifice of his love. The long strain, the hardships of the journey from which he had shielded Isota, and the confinement of living in a house and amid crowded streets where his free spirit could not breathe, was more than the child of the mountains and plain could bear. Isota tended him faithfully and closed his eyes in death. Loving hands laid him to rest in the beautiful cemetery just outside the town. A simple stone was set up, bearing the names "Alahcasla and Isota," thus linking the living with the dead, and keeping alive the memory of the one who had sacrificed his own happiness that the woman he loved might be restored to her people. THE HIDDEN TREASURE. Snow had fallen thick and fast during the night, and as we looked out over the prairie and saw it still being driven in long rolling drifts by the strong western wind, we shuddered and turned again gratefully to the fire within the house. The cold was so intense on that winter morning that we were slow in getting out to our daily duties, a dilatoriness which we shared with our fellow-citizens of the frontier town. When late during the day we strolled down the street, we were struck by a change in the appearance of what had been one of the dreariest, most desolate and dilapidated houses in the place. The house had been vacant for some time, but there was on the morning of which we speak unmistakable evidence of life within its roughly built walls. In the early spring three young men had paid our town a visit. They did not remain long; apparently they were not favorably impressed with its appearance or with the manner of its citizens. Our people were certainly not of a style to attract, nor did they on their part care for the presence of strangers. This peculiarity probably arose from the fact that respectable strangers seldom found their way there, and the townsmen had lost all desire to cultivate the acquaintance of any but those who belonged to the community. Being, as we have said, a frontier town, situated not far from the international boundary line, many fugitives from justice had sought refuge among us, and the presence of such an element was not conducive to the growth of the town, either socially or commercially. The shanties which these rough characters had made their homes were, during the long winter nights, veritable pandemoniums, and the looks and behavior of their occupants were sufficient to deter any honest young man from taking up residence among us. Many of the houses, like that we have described, had fallen into a dilapidated condition; log buildings were falling to pieces, while in many of them factory cotton stretched over the sashes was the substitute for glass long since broken, or possibly never inserted. The roadways, too, were in a wretched condition, even on the one street the town could boast of. It was little wonder, therefore, that the young men referred to had made so short a stay in the town. Following the river, and choosing a beautiful site on its banks farther north, they had pitched their buffalo-skin lodge, and there they had lived for the months preceding our story, cutting cord-wood, fishing and shooting. We had seen so little of these men that we did not at first connect them with the altered appearance of the old shanty on this bitter winter morning. In a town like ours, the inhabitants of which were composed of such a heterogeneous mixture of men and manners, we did not ask many questions of who or what a man was, unless there appeared to be some good cause for such inquiries. It was only after we recognized in two of the young men the strangers who had passed through the town in the early spring, that the surmise occurred to us that the third might be the inmate of the old house. We learned that the poor fellow had been ill for some time, and as he grew worse and the weather more severe, his companions had decided to bring him into the town, and see if any better help could not be procured for him than they could give in their camp. The hearts of the rough and even the most wicked men in the West beat tenderly for the helpless, and it is well known that many of the most hardened among them will give their last cent, aye, even their last crust, to aid such among them as are rendered helpless by accident, misfortune or disease. This characteristic trait of the old-timer was known to these strangers, and their confidence in the manifestation of sympathy for their friend was not misplaced. They had brought the sick man into town upon a rudely-made sled, taking the precaution to wrap him warmly in buffalo robe and blanket, that he might be protected from the cold. The journey over the smooth snow had been safely accomplished, but the bed they found in the rough shanty was of the barest description. They had, however, made the best they could of it. A curtain over the windows, the floor well swept, and the simple furniture, consisting of the merest necessaries, gave it at least a habitable appearance. Here his friends left him. Learning the poor man was alone, we went to see him. At first, although it was evident he was anxious for sympathy and help, he regarded us with suspicion. The water left by his bedside was frozen in the cup, the fire had gone out, and the cold wind seemed to find its way through every crack and crevice in the rude log walls. The man was pale and emaciated, and, when spoken to, his replies were interrupted by the difficulty of breathing and pain of body. "You have been sick for some time?" we asked. "Yes--some--weeks." "Where is your home?' "In--Oregon." "Are your parents living?" "Yes." "Have you any money?" A quick glance of suspicion was the only reply to this last question. We hastened to explain that we had no desire for his money, and our question was prompted only by a wish to help him. "We have come to do what we can for you, and if you have no money, we can get some and use it for you, and see that you want for nothing." "I guess--I'm not--down--to bed-rock--yet," was the muttered reply. "Will you tell us your name?" we asked. "Jerry--Lindley." We needed no deep knowledge of the man to recognize that this was not his true name. We were not unprepared for it. Many of the old-timers had several, and it was not until we became intimate with them that we learned their true names. We went again many times to see Jerry, and always found him alone. It seemed strange that his companions should desert him, and we also noticed that the old-timers avoided his shanty. They were not as ready to afford him the aid usually given to the lonely and helpless, whose lot it was to be among them. Jerry was a castaway--ostracized by whiskey-traders and gamblers. Why or wherefore we failed to learn. The weather grew colder, the sick man every day worse, and at last it became absolutely necessary to remove him to some warmer shelter than the old shanty. There was in the town an old man who was known by the name of Kamusi, a genuine specimen of the "old-timer." He was rough and ready in language and manners, drank freely and gambled and grumbled continually, yet in all the country there was not a more tender-hearted man. He had an Indian wife and several half-breed children, whom he loved intensely and swore at incessantly. He led a careless, easy-going and, in some respects, a wild life, yet he was the most liberal giver to the Indian school and mission church. The log building, consisting of the kitchen, where Ling, the Chinaman, cooked, a small dining-room, a billiard and bar-room, which represented the hotel in the town, was owned and kept by Kamusi. This rough old man offered to take Jerry in and care for him free of expense. We carried the sick man on a blanket, and laid him on an old mattress in the corner of the billiard-room. There, amid the strange surroundings of men and women, Indians, Mounted Police, half-breeds, traders, cowboys, and rough settlers, the sick man lay slowly dying. We went to see him frequently, and endeavored to lead his thoughts upward to higher things. The men at the billiard table, as we talked, would often lower their voices or play more quietly in deference to our presence, or it might be to the near approach of the deepening shadow of the death-angel's wings; and eager as they were over the games or the sums at stake, they gave many a thought to the dying man so near to them. We had succeeded in getting a doctor to look at him, but he could do no more than repeat our own opinion that the man had not long to live. As we tried to tell him of the way of peace, and prayed, our hands resting on the side of the billiard table, the gamesters ceased, doffed their hats, and let their cues rest on the floor. Such a prayer-meeting, in such a place and with such a congregation, could not but leave abiding memories in many hearts, and, we trust, led some to better living. A few days before his death one of Jerry's old comrades returned, and by his devoted attention and continuous watch over the dying man aroused the suspicions of some of the men who frequented the billiard-room. Rumors were soon floating about that Jerry was known to have possessed several hundred dollars. No one knew where it was hidden, and the general opinion was that Tom Hastings was after no good. One night just before Jerry died, and after a draught had been given him to ease the pain he was suffering, he seemed anxious to communicate some intelligence. Unable to speak, he traced, with feeble, trembling fingers, some straggling characters on the wall against which he lay. We could not decipher their meaning, but the men standing near seemed to understand. Presently two of them mounted their horses and rode out of the town. Jerry died the next day, and we buried him on the prairie. No one, not even his two "pals," knew or could tell where Jerry came from. We made some inquiries, but failed to find any of his relatives or obtain information of where his parents lived. We knew no more about him than what he had told us himself in answer to our first questions. Some days after his companion's death, Tom Hastings went south with an ox-train. Before he left he paid all who had incurred any expense in befriending the sick man. Pete Rowley, the third of the trio, remained in the country and seemed to prosper for a time. He never worked, but was always well dressed and appeared to have all the money he required. After hovering about the billiard tables for several months he disappeared. No one cared to ask where he had gone. What the writing on the wall betrayed, who had found the treasure whose hiding-place Jerry's trembling hand had described, we never knew; but we often thought that if wrong had been done by any or either of his friends, a day of retribution would surely come to the one who had acquired it, and the mystery surrounding it would then be fully revealed. THE WHITE MAN'S BRIDE. The Blood Indian camp was pitched on one of the bottoms of the Kootenay River, and with its two hundred or more lodges formed a picturesque group, the painted buffalo-skins of the lodges and the gay attire of the numerous Indians who rode in and out among them and on the surrounding prairie, making a brilliant and attractive scene. There was unusual excitement in the camp on the evening on which our story opens. This excitement was most noticeable among the female portion of it, and was caused by the arrival of Major Brown, an Englishman, and a fine specimen of that educated class of his countrymen who, being possessed of private means, are able to indulge their desire of change and adventure. White men had visited the camp before; some had even made their homes for a few months among the tribe, but never at any time had so much interest and curiosity been excited, or so many questioning glances been exchanged between the women as on the arrival of this particular Englishman. Major Brown's personal appearance was doubtless a sufficient reason for the unwonted stir among the women, especially in the lodges where the younger ones dwelt. He certainly was a handsome man, and, in conscious indifference to its effect, bore himself in a dignified manner among the people. Belonging to an old family of noble lineage, his youth had been spent in one of the best public schools; two years of hard work at Oxford had followed, and the foundation of a good education laid. Unable, owing to a lack of fortune, to maintain the position his birth and education had entitled him to in the Old World, he determined at the close of the two years' residence in the University to seek a home where he might in a short time earn sufficient to enable him to start a good business in England, and eventually become one of her merchant princes. His friends tried to dissuade him from carrying out this plan, but without success. He had heard of the Indians, had read much of the sport to be had, of the freedom of the life in the north-western part of Canada, and the conditions of existence appeared so fascinating to him, so attractive in comparison with the formality and conventionality of social life at home, that he could not be induced to give up a prospect of pleasant adventure for the present and possible prosperity for the future to live a narrow life hampered by want of means at home. Therefore bidding his friends farewell, he set out for the New World, resolved to make a stay of some years in the far West. He arrived in the country at the time when a great gathering of the tribes--Crees, Stoneys, Blackfeet, Piegans, Bloods and Sarcees--was assembled at the Blackfoot Crossing. The tribes had been invited to meet the representatives of the Government at Blackfoot Crossing. Having implicit confidence in the Great Mother, the Queen, they made their way to the place of meeting. There were assembled nearly three thousand belonging to the different tribes when Major Brown arrived. He was much impressed with the people, and listened in amazement to the oratory of Crowfoot, Red Crow and Bear's-paw, notable chiefs of the Blackfoot, Blood and Cree tribes. The Government Commissioners addressed the people in the name of the Queen, urging them to make a treaty surrendering their lands to her for the benefit of her subjects, and assuring them that she would compensate them amply for their loyalty. It seemed a difficult matter for the Indians to give up the lands whereon they had dwelt so long, and to allow the white man to come in and take possession, but they knew that every promise which had hitherto been made to them in the Queen's name had been faithfully fulfilled, and that the advice given them was for their good. The great chief of the Blackfeet, Crowfoot, arose, and addressing the Commissioners in the presence of the large assemblage, said, in the impressive manner of which he was a master: "While I speak, be kind and patient. I have to speak to my people, who are numerous, and who rely upon me to follow that course which in the future will tend to their good. The plains are large and wide. We are the children of the plains. It is our home, and the buffalo has always been our food. I hope you look upon the Bloods, Blackfeet and Sarcees as your children now, and that you will be indulgent and charitable to them. They all expect me to speak now for them, and I trust that the Great Spirit will put it into their breasts--into the minds of the men, women and children and their future generations--to be a good people. "The advice given me and my people has proved to be very good. If the police had not come to this country, where would we all be now? Bad men and whiskey men were killing us so fast that very few, indeed, of us would have been left to-day. The police have protected us as the feathers of the bird protect it from the frosts of winter. I wish them good, and trust that all our hearts will increase in goodness from this time forward. I am satisfied; I will sign the treaty." Several others spoke, but they for the most part repeated what Crowfoot had said. At last the terms of the treaty being fully explained and understood, the names of the chiefs were written in the native language, and the men signed it with their marks or totems. Food was given the people, and the chiefs accepted the officers' uniforms and medals which were given in commemoration of the event. After being informed that they would receive their money payments regularly every year, the vast assembly dispersed. Major Brown was busy among the people, and through the aid of one of the interpreters he made many friends among the red men. A large detachment of Mounted Police travelled southward until they came to the prairie village on the banks of the Old Man's River, where they had erected their barracks of logs and mud. The Major accompanied them, and was not long in getting a position as clerk in one of the trading establishments in the primitive-looking town, where by his manly bearing and genial disposition he very soon made friends among the white people and the red men. After breaking up their camp the Indians started southward on a buffalo hunt, and few of them were again seen until about the time when they returned for the annual treaty payment. They met on the banks of the Kootenay River, pitched their camp and then rode into the prairie village to receive their annuities. Several thousands of dollars were paid, for each received five dollars per annum--men, women and children--the chiefs receiving ten dollars and the head chief twenty-five dollars. As soon as the payments were over Major Brown set out with three men and a large supply of goods for the Indian camp, and it was upon his arrival that the women were struck with the handsome appearance of the tall Englishman. A large tent was pitched, and the people gathered in large numbers to feast their eyes, like little children, upon the great display. Blankets, beads, tea, tobacco, fancy pipes, shirts, belts, guns and various kinds of cloth in fancy colors attracted young and old. The presence of the Mounted Police in the country had made it possible for this handful of men to expose their goods in this loose fashion among the people. In the days previous to the advent of this force of red-coats the trading was done in a very different fashion. Formerly the traders built a log fort, which they fortified with a high stockade. A few Indians were allowed to enter for the purpose of trading, and while they stood at the counter they were guarded by men who had rifles, ready to shoot them down if they showed any intention of stealing, or acted in a spirit of enmity. Brawls were frequent under such conditions, as some of the traders were unscrupulous, and when under the influence of liquor took advantage of the natives. The Major had picked up some of the common words among the people, and was able to make himself understood. A brisk trade was done in the camp for several days. The Indians were paid in one-dollar bills, as they did not understand bills of a larger denomination. Five women were seated in a lodge conversing while the men were visiting their friends or buying goods at the trading tent. One of them spoke up saying, "Have you seen the tall man?" and another said, "Yes; have you seen the white chief?" "He is a handsome man!" "He has a good temper!" "He does not get angry!" "He is always smiling!" With expressions such as these, mingled with a gentle titter, the women talked about the man who was in charge of the tent. "Has he a wife?" "No! he has not any," replied one of the women. "I was at his lodge and I did not see any woman there, and he has not another tent in the camp." "He is like all other white men; he does not care for an Indian woman," ejaculated another. "No! he is not like others; he is a far better looking man, and he would not treat an Indian woman like them. He has too good a heart." "I would not trust him. He is like all the others. They are all alike. My chief says they are all the same. They look very pleasant, but they have the heart of a snake." In the lodge sat a young woman who took no part in the conversation, and yet listened intently to the words of the others. She was an interested listener, but with the quiet demeanor of an Indian her countenance was unmoved while they were speaking. She was a comely maiden of about fifteen or sixteen years, whom her father loved so much that he would not give her to any of the men in the camp; thus she had remained unmarried longer than was generally the case. She was modest and beautiful, dressed neatly and worked hard. She, too, had seen the white chief, as they called Major Brown, for she had accompanied her father several times to trade. He had even spoken to her, and she had replied in her own quiet way to his questions when her father signified his desire for her to speak. It was not, therefore, an uninteresting conversation to her, although she refrained from discussing his personal appearance or character. "Come, Napiake, what do you think of the white chief?" asked one of the women. "I don't think anything about him," she replied, in her modest way. "Oh, yes, you do," replied one of the group. "You do not go to the trading tent with your father every day for nothing." She was silent, however, upon this subject, and although the women tried to draw her out by their questions they failed. It could not be doubted, however, from the expression of her eye, that she had experienced some emotion when the subject was touched upon, but from her manner she seemed to care little about the matter. This may have arisen from her womanly nature. At any rate she remained quiet while the women talked on upon a topic so pleasing to them. After the busy time was over, the white men determined to remain two or three days longer, and during this period Major Brown was a frequent visitor at the old man's lodge. He seldom came without bringing some tobacco or other present to the chief, and although he did not understand much of the native language, he listened respectfully while the chief would relate in his own animated style the thrilling tales of his early days. The Major was able to follow him to some extent in his stories, and at any rate he seemed delighted with what the old man said, which pleased his host very much. Napiake sat in the lodge an interested listener. The tent at last was cleared of all the goods and placed on the large wagon, and in a few hours they would take their departure for town. Major Brown bought a fine horse and made a present of it to the chief, with a gun and some provisions. He then turned to the young woman and simply said, "Napiake." The father nodded his head, spoke a few words to her in the Blackfoot tongue, and the girl arose, dressed herself and followed Major Brown. The women peered from the doors of their lodges, but Napiake cared not, for well she knew that some of them would be jealous and others delighted that she was the wife of the white chief. Unceremonious it might seem to the civilized, but Napiake had long expected that some day she would have to go forth at the bidding of her father to be the wife of some Indian who would take her father's fancy, or reward him well, so that his love would be outweighed. The time had come, and she had got better than an Indian chief for her husband, and the maiden was delighted beyond measure. She had heard that the white men had only one wife each, and that they were kind to them, so felt that she was elevated above the Indian maidens in thus becoming the sole wife of one man. Unregretfully she left her father's lodge, for she was going not more than a day's journey distant, so that she could see her kin often; besides she had remained at home full two years longer than the maidens of her camp, and she felt grateful to her father for his love. Major Brown was a happy man as this beautiful Indian woman of tender years followed him at a close distance. He was following the custom of the white men in the country in taking an Indian woman for his wife. He placed her upon the wagon and along with the men she went to town. She found a home for two weeks with the Indian wife of one of the white men in town, and during this time the Major built a small log-house, neat and comfortable, and furnished it well. Napiake was pleased to have a house of her own, and she set to work to make it as attractive as she could for her husband. As husband and wife they were happy and contented. He had a good situation, was steady and industrious, and she was tidy, hard working, and faithful. A babe was born to them and their cup of happiness seemed full. He was the welcome heir of the log mansion, the father's pride and the mother's joy. At night when the heavy day's work was done, the Major would dandle the child on his knee, and sing and coo to him. He was happy, and nothing could induce him to leave his home in the evenings. The babe resembled his father, a fact of which both parents were proud. The child was only a few months old when Major Brown received instructions to proceed to Pincher Creek, nearly forty miles distant, with a supply of goods to trade with a camp of Indians located there. The Major and Napiake went along with the other members of the party who were to accompany them. A few days were spent with the Indians near the mountains, and upon their return home, the mail having arrived, the Major found some important letters awaiting him from the home land. The business of the camp for a time kept him later than usual at his office, but after the busy season was over, he informed Napiake that he was going to give her a visit of a few days in the camp with her friends, and during her absence he would start off to the mountains on a hunting expedition. Napiake was delighted with the idea, as she had seen the Major's face for the past few days was paler than usual, and felt sure that a hunting expedition to the mountains would restore the color to his cheeks. She began at once to make clothes for her babe, that she might show him off to advantage in the lodges of her people. The day came for her departure, and the Major took her and the child to the lodges of her people. Napiake and her babe were received with great joy, and her husband welcomed, for the Major had not been in the camp more than twice since the day that he took Napiake from her home. Nearly three years had passed since she departed with the Major, but it had been such a happy period that it seemed but as yesterday since she turned her back upon her father's home. Major Brown returned to the camp at the time promised for Napiake and his child, and the aged chief was delighted to see him. The Major took his wife and child to their home, and was as happy as ever in their company. Napiake said nothing to him about what she had heard in the camp, for she had trusted him, and he seemed to be worthy of all her confidence. A few months passed by and another babe was born. The Indians came to see the fair skinned babe, whom they named Morning Star. She shed her light for a while in the home, and then it was suddenly extinguished. The child sickened and died, and great was the sorrow of the household at her loss. But there is always a blessing in affliction, uniting the hearts of the sorrowing ones more firmly together and increasing their love for each other. And it was so in this instance. The Major could not do enough for his wife to soothe her heart for the loss of the babe. Little Morning Star was placed in a beautiful coffin, and laid away to rest in the ground beside the graves of the white men in the settlement. Napiake often wandered with her little boy to the grave of her darling, and sitting beside it she would pour out her grief. So intense was it that she oftentimes forgot to go home, and the Major would find her weeping by the spot. The father was sad, but he restrained his grief and endeavored to comfort his wife. One evening after the mail had come in, Major Brown came home with a serious countenance. His wife and child met him at the door. At once his serious mood disappeared and he was himself again. He dandled his boy upon his knee and talked cheerfully to Napiake. Supper over, he drew a large envelope from his pocket, and opening the letter it contained, read it inaudibly, but with an earnest, serious expression on his face. His wife busied herself about her household duties, glancing occasionally at the Major as he sat poring over his letter. "Napiake," he said sadly, "I am going on a long journey across the sea. I have some important business to attend to at my old home, and I must go there to look after it." [Illustration: "Napiake," he said sadly, "I am going on a long journey across the sea."] The woman stopped her work as the Major uttered these words, a great fear coming into her heart. "May I not go with you and make you happy among your people? I am willing to go anywhere with you," she said, as she looked steadfastly in his face. "That would never do, Napiake, to take you away from your own people." The tears started to her eyes. Was her devoted husband going to leave her, and would he never return? Perhaps he might follow the example of others, and leave her. No, that was impossible. He was too good. She never had cause to doubt his faithfulness, and she knew that he would either take her or return to dwell in the country. "When are you coming back?" she asked timorously. "I shall be absent about a year, and then I will return, and we shall never again be parted." Napiake gazed earnestly at him through her falling tears, but his glance was so honest and true that she said, "Well!" Not a word more escaped her lips, but the tears ran freely down her cheeks. In a few weeks the Major had all his matters arranged and was ready to leave. A few minor matters had to be attended to, so he took his wife and child to camp. The aged chief received him with marks of esteem. He loved his son-in-law, and thought there was no one in all the country equal to him for ability, and he never tired telling his friends that the Major was a handsome man. The Major related his plans to his father-in-law, who listened attentively, and when he had finished he placed a sum of money in the hands of the old man. Early next morning as he bade them farewell, a large party stood around the lodge to see him depart. He stooped and kissed Napiake and his son, and with a wave of his hand, drove away. A grand banquet was given the Major in town by his friends, many of whom came miles to attend this farewell supper, for he was a great favorite with all. A large crowd gathered about the stage-coach to shake hands with him as he said good-bye to one and all. That same evening there were a number of his friends in the neighboring town of Leighton to see him off at the little railroad station. The night was dark, and as he stood in the circle of friends, he excused himself for a moment and stepped aside. There in the gloom stood an Indian woman with her boy, looking on and weeping. It was Napiake and her child who had come a distance of thirty miles to get a last glimpse of him. Faithful to the last, there she stood, weeping disconsolately. The Major was touched by this evidence of her devotion to him, but as he strove to comfort her the conductor shouted, "All aboard!" the engine whistled, and the Major, placing a sum of money in the hands of each, kissed them both, sprang upon the train, and was gone. Napiake and the boy watched the retreating train until it disappeared in the darkness, and then sadly retraced their way to the camp. "I'll give you two horses for her," said Pinakwaiem. "Two horses are not enough. She is a good worker, and she is young, and you know she can talk English, and is a good housekeeper, for she was the wife of the white chief." "The wife of the white chief! And that's the reason she is not worth so much. I'll give you the two horses." "All right, you can have her." Napiake, after waiting patiently for two years for the return of her white chief, had become the wife of an old Indian, sold for two horses and destined to slavery. Pinakwaiem led Napiake and her son to his lodge. Not a word escaped from the patient woman. As a sheep led to the slaughter she was dumb, submissively following the man who had bought her, for she was now his wife according to the Indian custom. There were three women already in the lodge to which she was going who were recognized as wives, and Napiake as the latest addition held a good position for a while amongst them. The old man then treated them well, and she seemed to have a hold upon his affections. She did her work faithfully, uttering no word of complaint. But in a few months the novelty of the new life wore off, and Pinakwaiem began to treat her harshly. It was not hard for him to see that her heart was not with him. Napiake never smiled, and seldom spoke. Her life was sad and hard. She carried the wood from the bush on her back, the burden bending her almost in two, and bore large pails full of water a long distance from the stream. Her little boy seemed to be always in the way; he was scolded, but never struck, for the customs of the natives frown upon the harsh treatment of children. The old life and the new were in strange contrast. She had become the drudge of the lodge and the most despised of the wives of the old man. Doomed as she now was to a life of sadness, toil and oppression, all hope died out of her heart and she had no delight in any of the amusements of the camp. Sometimes the name of the white chief was mentioned in her presence as a taunt, and stung with the remembrance of her former treatment, Napiake sought peace in the solitude of the bush or by the river, where she sat for hours with her little boy by her side. She gave not railing for railing. The sweet and beautiful countenance of the former days had fled, and given place to a haggard expression which made her appear to be an old woman, as she dragged her wearied limbs through the camp. Some of the Indians jeered at her, but others pitied her in her loneliness and grief. The thought of her boy alone sustained her, and by a great effort she determined to live for him. She could not flee to another camp, there was no place for her among the white people, divorce there was none, and she hoped that some day her Indian husband might sell her to another Indian who might treat her more humanely. But the seeds of disease were sown in her system, and she was already doomed to fall a victim to the curse of the Indians, that fell destroyer, consumption. The medicine drum was beaten night after night, and the song and prayers of the medicine-man sounded through the camp. But all was of no avail; Napiake's life was slowly ebbing away. Late one night there entered the lodge a white man, dignified and grave. The Indians gave him the seat of honor in the lodge. He knelt beside the sick woman, beautiful now as ever in the days of health. The haggard looks had disappeared, and a peaceful contentment rested upon her face. The visitor spoke in a low tone, and Napiake listened, attentively answering his questions. Her father and friends leaned forward to catch her faintly expressed words. After some quiet conversation, raising herself in a state of excitement and looking the missionary in the face, Napiake inquired: "Shall we see each other there?" "Yes, in the land of God, we shall see each other." "Shall we know each other?" eagerly asked the woman upon whose countenance the shadow of the death-angel had fallen. "Yes," was the simple answer of the man. "I shall see him! I shall see him! Shall we live there always?" "Yes, we shall, never to be parted again!" Napiake fell back upon her couch, saying, "I'm satisfied, I'm satisfied! God is just." A few heavings of the breast and the hands fell by her side. Napiake, the beautiful Blackfoot woman, was at rest. In a large and busy manufacturing town in the west of England, a merchant sat in his office reading his letters. At the door stood a coach with a pair of handsome horses; seated in it a lady with a babe upon her knee. "Tell your master that I am waiting," said she to the footman, who promptly obeyed the command. "I will be there in a few minutes," was the reply. The merchant seldom went for a drive, his extensive business usually requiring his whole attention; but he had made up his mind to spend this afternoon with his wife and child. The letter-carrier had just delivered his mail, and he was hastening to give directions to the letter clerks to answer them before leaving. Among the others was a paper from the Canadian North-West, in which a marked paragraph caught his eye: "There died last Friday, on the Blood Reserve, Napiake, an Indian squaw. Some of the pioneers of the district may remember her as a beautiful woman when she was young, who lived for a time in the village in the early days." Turning suddenly pale, he laid the paper aside and left the office. As he sat in the coach his wife pointed to several objects of interest which they passed, chatting freely about them, but he paid little attention. It was as though he heard her not. All her efforts to drive away his morose silence were in vain. Far away at the foot of the Rocky Mountains the husband saw a woman dying in an Indian lodge, a woman who loved him to the last, but whom he had deserted and forgotten. Forgotten? No! He could never forget her. But in that busy English town he is a merchant prince, holding an honored position in society. He is a member of several societies, and is often speaking on behalf of the enfranchisement of women and popular education. Sometimes an old man leading a boy by the hand may be seen standing beside a mound on the wide prairie of the West, but there is no other that ever visits that lonely grave. Little Charlie Brown finds a home among the Indians, depending on them for food and clothing, and sometimes an old-timer takes compassion upon the boy and gives him a morsel of food or some clothing. He endures the poverty of an Indian lodge, while over the sea his father enjoys the comforts of an English mansion. THE COMING OF APAUAKAS. Night after night during the long and dreary winter, from where the lodges were pitched among the small patches of timber that fringed the river bank, came the low, monotonous beating of the medicine-drums, a sad refrain telling the story of sickness and death. "Take pity on me! Take pity on me!" floated upon the evening air, a wail from the lips of the aged warrior as he lay on his earthen couch and wrestled with the grim spirits who were waiting for his soul. Thick clouds of pestilential fever hung over the camp. The ruddy glow of the lodge fires served but to deepen the gloom. The happy hunting days were gone; the excitement of the buffalo chase was a thing of the past. The ancient traditions of the coming of a race of white men who were superior in numbers and strength were now being fulfilled, and the hearts of the mourners in the camp by the river were heavy. "Take pity on me!" was the burden of their song. Strong men bowed their heads as they uttered the plaintive words; the women wept and prayed. The children alone were merry and wondered why their mothers were sad. In the deep recesses of the wood, high in the forks of the trees, the dead lay still and cold, freed from the pain and poverty of the plague-stricken camps. No angel visitant came with mercy in her hands to relieve the sick or to bestow gifts upon the poor. Forsaken by friends and foes, the dying turned from their friends and sighed their lives away. Night had closed in upon the desolate scene, and the dwellers in the lodges were seeking what rest they might, when a sharp cry rent the air causing many to raise their heads and listen. But it was no warning shout of danger; it was only the wail of a stricken heart. A father had returned from the mountains, whither he had gone in quest of game, and on entering his lodge found none to meet him save an aged medicine-woman. Wife, sister and children had all been called to the spirit-land. His hearth was desolate; the song and the prattle of merry childhood which had always greeted his home-coming were silenced forever. Throwing himself upon the ground he wailed forth his anguish in the cry that had startled the sleeping camp. Hope had well-nigh died in the breasts of the people. Their medicine-men's charms no longer protected them from sickness, and their guardian spirits had abandoned them in the hour of distress. They prayed and longed for release from the pain and burden of life. Yet a few days more and their prayers would be answered. The morning sun was gilding the eastern horizon as a young man, footsore and weary, drew near the camp and ran eagerly toward the chief's lodge. "What news? What news?" asked the people of each other, but none could reply. The men dragged themselves to the lodge where the young man waited impatiently the coming of the chief. The latter entered presently with his friends, and in obedience to his command the young man delivered his message before them all. "Chief: It is now three moons since I left my people here and travelled toward the northern land, where dwell the Sarcees, Crees and Stoneys. I went to a large camp of the Crees. The people received me in kindness and supplied me with every need. Their hearts were filled with joy and they sang from daylight till the darkness fell. There was abundance of food; the medicine-man's drum had ceased to beat, there was no sickness in their camps. Guardian spirits hovered over the lodges, and as I sat day after day among the people I listened to songs and stories that were strange to my ears. I waited for the feasts that we ofttimes have in our own camps that I might take part in the amusements of my people, but as I spoke of these things they gazed at me in astonishment and pity. I became angry and would have departed had not an aged chief named Jacob come into the lodge. "The old chief looked upon me with kindness in his eyes and addressed me in my native tongue. He related to me the tales of my childhood and my heart was glad. I had found a spirit kindred to my own. He spoke of the 'Old Man of the Mountains,' the 'Blood Clot Boy,' the 'Morning Star' and all the wonderful things they had done. "'Your fathers have told you, young man,' he said, 'of the coming of a tribe vast in numbers and different in color and habits from the Indians of the plains. You have listened in the lodges of the south to the story of the great hero Apauakas, who is to come bringing blessings in his hands for all the people. When he comes the buffalo shall increase in number, the people shall have food in plenty and shall not need to toil so hard. The land shall obey his command, the rivers shall have many fishes, the mountains and prairies be covered with antelope, sheep and goats. The wolf and the bear shall flee away into the secret places of the hills, and no longer shall they molest us. Our camp shall be filled with children and happy mothers. My son, the Great Chief is coming! coming!' "My heart was filled with joy as I listened to his words, and I longed for the coming of Apauakas. The chief had risen as he thus spoke kindly to me, but was silent. He struggled to control his emotions, then leaning forward and gazing earnestly into my face he said slowly: "'Young man, the white tribe has come, the prophecy is fulfilled. All over the prairie the men and women of the white tribe are building their lodges. The buffalo have fled before their presence, disease and death have spread desolation among our camps. The land of our fathers has been taken from us, the Indian race is doomed to depart before the feet of the white stranger and we dwell in the land of an enemy. Would that I had died before I had seen this hour; I had then been spared the pain and anguish that have fallen upon us.' "As he ceased, smitten with sorrow and anger, I laid my hand upon my knife, determined to depart and slay the oppressor or drive him from the land. But the chief spoke again. "'I am not done,' he said. 'When I think of the happy days enjoyed by my people I am silent, though the warm blood coursing through my veins makes it hard to restrain my anger. One day as we sat in our lodges nursing our sick in sadness, while the medicine-men beat their drums and prayed, there came to our camp from the lodges of the white tribe a pale-faced man. He could not speak our language, but he made signs that he wished to live with us. We suffered him to stay, and gave him a share of our scanty food. "'Every morning and evening he knelt upon the ground and prayed. We knew not what he said, for his tongue was strange to us. He helped the men and women at their work, played with the children, and nursed the sick. He learned our language quickly, and then he began to tell us of a Great Teacher who had come to bless all people. "'He held in his hand pieces of bark of a kind we knew not. They were fastened together and had writing on them that was not like the writing upon our lodges. These he held reverently, for he said it was "the writing sent by the Great Spirit to his children." "'Day by day we gathered in the lodges or under the shade of the trees, and listened to the holy man as he sang sweet songs and taught them to us in our native tongue. He prayed and the sick were healed. He struck the ground, poured water upon it, and food came out of it for young and old. "'We prayed to him, and then he became angry. "I am only a man," he said; "pray to the Great Spirit." We followed him wherever he went, and blessings came to us. Again and again he told us the story of the Great Teacher, and we drank eagerly of his words. The sick and the aged sent for him and said, "Tell it over again!" and when he told it they said, "Tell it again!" "'One day when the people were assembled listening to his words, a little child sat beside him. Again he related the glory of the coming Great Chief, of the peace and joy that would dwell in our camps when the little children should know and love Him. As he looked upon the writing and sang and prayed, his lips quivered and tears flowed from his eyes. The little child by his side looked up into his face and then at the people, and whispered, "Apauakas!" "'Then the people fell upon their faces and cried with one voice, "Apauakas! Apauakas!" As they rose they saw the white stranger on his knees and heard him say, "He has come! Christ has come!" "As the aged chief Jacob related this to me, the people in the lodge clasped their hands together and sang a song about Apauakas, whom they called the Christ. When they had finished, Jacob took my hand and said, 'Young man, the Great Teacher has come; stay with us and you will see Him soon, for He dwells in our hearts and gives us peace.' I therefore stayed in the camp and looked daily for His coming, but I saw Him not. "My heart was sad, and I prayed to the spirits of the prairie to help me. I walked, turning over in my thoughts all the wonderful things I had heard. I fell upon my face and groaned, 'Apauakas! Apauakas!' Brothers, my cry was answered: a bright light shone around me, and a voice from the overhanging clouds said gently, 'Arise! Apauakas has come. Call me no longer Apauakas, but Christ, for I shall aid and deliver you from all your foes!' "I arose and sped towards the camp, and as the people saw me coming, they ran to meet me, shouting, 'He has found the Christ! The Christ has come!' I sang for joy, and the weeks fled as if they were but hours. "One day the chief came to me and said, 'Brother, a messenger has come from the south bearing sad tidings. Sickness and death are in the camps of your people. Go, tell them of Apauakas the Great Teacher, who will relieve and bless them in their hours of woe.' "I bade him farewell and hurried homeward. My heart sank within me as I came through the wood near the camp and beheld the trees bearing the bodies of my people whom I had left strong and well. I bring a message of peace. Apauakas has come to bless and heal His children. Chief, I have finished." The eager eyes and haggard countenances of the men who listened to the young man's story had been strained and then relaxed as they followed the story with absorbing interest to the end. A great silence fell upon the lodge, and one by one the men arose and went away to their own lodges. They spoke no word, but pondered in silence over the strange things that they had heard. Throughout the next day they talked to each other by the lodge fires; the coming of Apauakas was the burden of the stories told to the women, and a deep, earnest longing took possession of their hearts. At evening time they waited and prayed, but He came not. Despair began once more to be depicted on the faces of the people, and the signs of a coming storm added fear to their misery. The sky grew dark, the air heavy. As they waited in an agony of spirit for the consummation of all their woes, the storm broke, and as it increased in strength the women prayed. One voice alone was heard above the wild wailing of the wind, and the terror-stricken inmates of the lodges listened as it sang, "Apauakas is coming! coming soon!" At this the women stilled their whispered prayers and waited, looking for the Teacher. The rain ceased to beat upon the lodges, the clouds were swept from the sky, the sun shone out in all its glory, and the air seemed full of voices singing words of love and tenderness. They looked to where the young man knelt, and saw that a smile of joy rested on his face as he gazed up into the heavens. A strange feeling of awe made them bow their heads. When they looked again they saw he had fallen to the ground. They ran to him, and as they raised him in their arms, gazing in pity into his face, he murmured, "Apauakas has come!" and closed his eyes. A beautiful spot on the prairie is the honored resting-place of the gentle messenger of love; the Great Teacher had come and taken him home. Health, peace and comfort returned to the people, bringing with them a better knowledge, a nobler life. The stranger who now sits in the lodges and listens to the stories told by the Indians will hear the young man's name repeated with reverence as the prophet who led his people to look for the coming of the Teacher, and see eyes suffused with tears as they repeat, "APAUAKAS HAS COME! THE CHRIST HAS COME!" FOREST, LAKE AND PRAIRIE TWENTY YEARS OF FRONTIER LIFE IN WESTERN CANADA, 1842-1862. By JOHN McDOUGALL. WITH 27 FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS BY J. E. LAUGHLIN. Read the following comments: "This is a true boy's book, and equals in stirring interest anything written by Kingston or Ballantyne. It ought to sell by the thousand."--Mrs. S. A. Curzon, in _Orillia Packet_. "Possessed of an intimate acquaintance with all the varied aspects of frontier life, Mr. McDougall has produced a book that will delight the heart of every boy reader."--_Endeavor Herald_. "There are many graphic descriptions of scenes in that vast fertile region in those early days when travelling was difficult and dangerous, but most fascinating to a youth of John McDougall's temperament and training. He lives those stirring times over again in his lively narrative, and relates his personal experiences with all the glow and vividness of an ardent, youthful hunter."--_Canadian Baptist_. Canadian Savage Folk The Native Tribes of Canada. BY JOHN MACLEAN, M.A., Ph.D. AUTHOR OF 'THE INDIANS OF CANADA,' 'THE WARDEN OF THE PLAINS,' ETC. In one volume, 642 pages, fully illustrated and handsomely bound. PRICE, . . $2.50 CONTENTS: SOME QUEER FOLK--IN THE LODGES--CHURCH AND CAMP--NATIVE HEROES--NATIVE RELIGIONS, RACES AND LANGUAGES--ON THE TRAIL. "There is no man in Canada, possibly anywhere, who has made a more careful, painstaking life-work in the study of the aboriginal races and all the writings extant relative to them, their traditions and history, than Dr. John Maclean.... While gleaning information from all the recognizedly authentic sources, Dr. Maclean, by his personal experience and individual knowledge, has added not only a vast amount of hitherto unpublished material, but has revivified and reset the old in the most attractive and readable form."--_The Week_. "The whole ground is covered with a wealth of historic knowledge, while the style makes it as interesting as a romance. The author's familiarity with the subject, being for years a missionary in the far North-West, makes the work a thoroughly reliable treatise."--_Neepawa Register_. SADDLE, SLED AND SNOWSHOE PIONEERING ON THE SASKATCHEWAN IN THE SIXTIES By JOHN McDOUGALL, Author of "FOREST, LAKE AND PRAIRIE." WITH 15 FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS BY J. E. LAUGHLIN. PRICE, $1.00. "... If it be their good fortune to obtain it, 'SADDLE, SLED AND SNOWSHOE' will not disappoint their most sanguine expectations.... While hard work, hardship, and plucky endurance characterize and give vim and go to the story, the incidents in which the love of fun, inherent in every boy's nature, finds opportunity of play, add much to the brightness and realistic value of the book. The book is well illustrated, the drawings being faithful to the reality, and the scenes well chosen."--_The Week_. Press Comments on "Forest, Lake and Prairie." "Mr. McDougall is a true child of nature. He has passed through scenes that would stir the pulses of less impulsive men, and he writes with the keenest enthusiasm: and this spirit possesses the reader of his thrilling pages."--_Christian Guardian_. "I have read no book better fitted to inspire our Canadian boys with a healthy interest in their own undiscovered country: nor any more calculated to put into our growing youth the strong, sturdy, self-reliant spirit of a real manhood, an heroic, muscular Christianity."--_Canadian Home Journal_. WILLIAM BRIGGS, Publisher, Toronto. 
39917	----	Transcriber's note: A single character following a carat is superscripted (example: ESQ^R). When multiple characters are superscripted they are enclosed by curly brackets (example: Hon^{ble}). NARRATIVE OF AN EXPEDITION TO THE SHORES OF THE ARCTIC SEA IN 1846 AND 1847. by JOHN RAE, Hudson Bay Company's Service, Commander of the Expedition. With Maps. London: T. & W. Boone, 29, New Bond Street. 1850. Marchant Singer and Co., Printers, Ingram-Court, Fenchurch-Street. TO SIR GEORGE SIMPSON, _Governor-in-Chief of Rupert's Land_, THE ZEALOUS PROMOTER OF ARCTIC DISCOVERY, THIS VOLUME IS INSCRIBED AS A TRIBUTE OF RESPECT AND REGARD BY THE AUTHOR. CONTENTS. PAGE CHAPTER I. Object and plan of the Expedition--Equipment at York Factory--Boats--Crews--Articles useful in an Arctic Voyage--Breaking up of the ice in Hayes and Nelson Rivers--Departure from York Factory--Progress retarded by the ice--First night at sea--Reflections--Rupert's Creek--Unbroken fields of ice--Broad River--Description of the Coast--Double Cape Churchill--Open sea to the north and north-west--Arrive at Churchill--White whales--Mode of catching them--Sir George Simpson's instructions--Stock of provisions 1 CHAPTER II. Depart from Churchill--A gale--Anchor in Knap's Bay--Land on an island--Esquimaux graves--Visited by Esquimaux--A large river running into Knap's Bay--Nevill's Bay--Corbet's Inlet--Rankin's Inlet--Cape Jalabert--Greenland whales seen--Chesterfield Inlet--Walruses--Cape Fullerton--Visited by an Esquimaux--Reefs--Cape Kendall seen--Ice packed against the shore--Take shelter in an excellent harbour--River traced--Seals--Gale--Ice driven off--Direction of the tides reversed--Whale Point--Many whales seen--Again stopped by the pack--Wager River estuary--Ice drifts--Eddy currents--No second opening into Wager River seen--Enter Repulse Bay--Interview with Esquimaux--No intelligence of Sir John Franklin 19 CHAPTER III. Receive a visit from a female party--Their persons and dress described--Crossing the Isthmus--Drag one of the boats up a stream--Succession of rapids--North Pole Lake--Find a plant fit for fuel--Christie Lake--Flett Portage--Corrigal Lake--Fish--Deer-scaring stones--White wolf--Stony Portage--View of the sea--Exploring party sent in advance--Their report--Long Portage--Difficult tracking--Miles Lake--Muddy Lake--Rich pasturage and great variety of flowers on its banks--Marmot burrows--Salt Lake--Visit Esquimaux tents--Discouraging report of the state of the ice--Esquimaux chart--Reach the sea--Ross inlet--Point Hargrave--Cape Lady Pelly--Stopped by the ice--Put ashore--Find a sledge made of ship-timber--Thick fog--Wolves--Walk along the shore--Remains of musk-cattle and rein-deer--Nature of the coast--Danger from the ice--Irregular rise of the tide--Deer on the ice--Fruitless efforts to proceed northward--Cross over to Melville Peninsula--Gale--Again stopped by the ice--Dangerous position of the boat--Return to starting point--Meeting with our Esquimaux friends at Salt Lake--Deer begun to migrate southward--Walk across the isthmus to Repulse Bay 38 CHAPTER IV. State of things at Repulse Bay--Determine to discontinue the survey till the spring--Reasons--Party sent to bring over the boat--Fix on a site for winter residence--Ptarmigan--Laughing geese--Eider and king ducks--Visits of natives too frequent--Return of the party sent for the boat--Report the bay more closely packed than before--Preparations for wintering--Fort Hope built--Proceed to North Pole and Christie Lakes to look out for fishing stations--Purchase dogs--Wariness of the deer--Flocks of geese pass southward--Blue-winged and snow-geese--Their habits--Snow-storm--Its effects--Return to Fort Hope--Daily routine--Signs of winter--Deer numerous--Quantity of game killed--Provision-store built of snow--Great fall of snow--Effects of the cold--Adventure with a deer--Visited by a party of natives--Their report of the ice westward of Melville Peninsula--An island said to be wooded--Produce of the chase in October--Temperature--Two observatories built of snow--Band of wolves--A party caught in a snow-storm--Esquimaux theory of the heavenly bodies--Temperature of November--Diminished supply of provisions 61 CHAPTER V. Winter arrangements completed--Learn to build snow-houses--Christmas-day--North Pole River frozen to the bottom--1st January--Cheerfulness of the men--Furious snow-storm--Observatories blown down--Boat buried under the snow--Ouligbuck caught in the storm--Dog attacked by a wolf--Party of natives take up their residence near Fort Hope--Esquimaux mentioned by Sir John Ross known to them--Boat dug out of the snow--A runaway wife--Deer begin to migrate northward--A wolf-chase--First deer of the season shot--Difficulty of deer-hunting in spring--Dimensions of an Esquimaux canoe--Serious accident to Ouligbuck--A conjuror--Preparations for the journey northward--Temperature--Aurora Borealis 81 CHAPTER VI. Set out for the north--Equipment of the party--Snow-blindness--Musk-ox--Mode of killing it--Reach the coast near Point Hargrave--Ice rough along shore--Pass Cape Lady Pelly--Unfavourable weather--Slow progress--Put on short allowance--River Ki-ting-nu-yak--Pemmican placed _en cache_--Cape Weynton--Colvile Bay--High hill--Dogs giving way--Work increased--Snow-house-building--Point Beaufort--Point Siveright--Keith Bay--Cape Barclay--Another _cache_--Leave the coast and proceed across the land--River A-ma-took--Dogs knocked up--Lake Ballenden--Harrison islands--Party left to procure provisions--Proceed with two of the men--Cape Berens--Relative effects of an eastern and western aspect--Halkett Inlet--Reach Lord Mayor's Bay--Take formal possession of the country--Commence our return to winter quarters--Friendly interview with the natives--Obtain supplies of provisions from them--View of Pelly Bay--Trace the shore to the eastward--Travel by night--Explore the coast of Simpson's Peninsula--Arrive at Fort Hope--Occurrences during the absence of the exploring party--Character of the Esquimaux Ivitchuk 97 CHAPTER VII. Preparations for exploring the coast of Melville Peninsula--Outfit--Leave Fort Hope--Pass over numerous lakes--Guide at fault--Dease Peninsula--Arrive at the sea--Fatigue party sent back to Fort Hope--Barrier of ice--Lefroy Bay--Large island named after the Prince of Wales--Detained by stormy weather--Short allowance--Cape Lady Simpson--Selkirk Bay--Snow knee-deep--Capes Finlayson and Sibbald--Deer shot--A cooking scene--Favourite native relish--Again stopped by stormy weather--Cape M'Loughlin--Two men left to hunt and fish--Cape Richardson--Chain of islands--Garry Bay--Prince Albert range of hills--Cape Arrowsmith--Coast much indented--Baker Bay--Provisions fail--Proceed with one man--Cape Crozier--Parry Bay--Cape Ellice, the farthest point seen--Take possession--Commence our return--No provisions procured by the men left behind--Short commons--Flock of cranes--Snow-blindness--Arrive at Repulse Bay 137 CHAPTER VIII. Occurrences at Fort Hope during the absence of the exploring party--Remove from winter quarters to tents--Sun seen at midnight--Build an oven and bake bread--Esquimaux method of catching seals--A concert--Lateness of the summer--A native salmon-wear--Salmon spear--Boulders on the surface of the ice--Visited by a native from the Ooglit Islands--His report of occurrences at Igloolik--Indolence of the natives--Ice breaking up--Halkett's air-boat--A storm--The ice dispersed--Prepare for sea 165 CHAPTER IX. Voyage from Repulse Bay to York Factory 178 APPENDIX. List of Mammalia 199 ---- Birds 201 ---- Fishes 204 ---- Plants 205 Specimens of Rocks 215 Dip of the needle and force of magnetic attraction at various stations along the west shore of Hudson's Bay, and at Fort Hope, Repulse Bay 218 Abstract of Meteorological Journal from September, 1846, to August, 1847 224 Figures and Letters used for denoting the state of the weather, &c. 248 [Illustration: _The Discoveries made by The Hon^{ble}. Hudson's Bay C^{os}. Arctic Expeditions, between the Years 1837 & 1847. are Coloured Red_ NORTHERN AMERICA DISCOVERIES of the HON^{BLE}. HUDSON'S BAY COMPANY'S ARCTIC EXPEDITION in 1838 & 1839. _John Arrowsmith_] NARRATIVE, ETC. ETC. CHAPTER I. Object and plan of the Expedition--Equipment at York Factory--Boats--Crews--Articles useful in an Arctic Voyage--Breaking up of the ice in Hayes and Nelson Rivers--Departure from York Factory--Progress retarded by the ice--First night at sea--Reflections--Rupert's Creek--Unbroken fields of ice--Broad River--Description of the coast--Double Cape Churchill--Open sea to the north and north west--Arrive at Churchill--White whales--Mode of catching them--Sir George Simpson's instructions--Stock of provisions. It is already well known to those who take an interest in Arctic discovery, that the Hudson's Bay Company intended fitting out an expedition in 1840, which was to have proceeded to the northern shores of America by Back's Great Fish River, for the purpose of tracing the coast between the river Castor and Pollux of Dease and Simpson, and the Strait of the Fury and Hecla, as it was then very generally supposed that Boothia was an island. The party was to have been commanded by that able and enterprising traveller, Mr. Thomas Simpson, whose indefatigable exertions, in conjunction with those of Mr. Dease, had during the three preceding years effected so much; but his untimely and melancholy fate prevented that intention from being carried into effect, and the survey of the Arctic coast was discontinued for a few years. When it was determined that the survey should be resumed, Sir George Simpson, Governor-in-Chief of the Company's territories, informed me that a boat expedition to the Arctic Sea was again contemplated, at the same time doing me the honour of proposing that I should take command of it,--a charge which I most joyfully accepted. The plan of the expedition was different from any that had hitherto been adopted, and was entirely of Sir George Simpson's forming. Its leading features were as follows:--A party of thirteen persons, including two Esquimaux interpreters, was to leave Churchill in two boats at the disruption of the ice, and coast along the western shore of Hudson's Bay to the northward as far as Repulse Bay; or, if thought necessary, to the Strait of the Fury and Hecla. From this latter point the shore of the Arctic Sea was to be traced to Dease and Simpson's farthest discoveries eastward; or, if Boothia Felix should be found to form part of the American continent, up to some place surveyed by Captain or Commander (now Sir John and Sir James C.) Ross. I started from the Sault de S^{te.} Marie in the latter part of July, 1845, in a canoe which I took on with me as far as Red River, where this frail vessel was changed for a boat, which is better adapted for traversing large sheets of water. We had rather a stormy passage to Norway House, at which place five men were engaged for the expedition; and having brought two with me from the southern department, I required only three more, who I knew could easily be procured at York Factory. At first there was some difficulty in getting volunteers, as a report had got abroad (set on foot, I believe, by either M'Kay or Sinclair, guides and steersmen with the expeditions under Sir G. Back and Dease and Simpson), that the whole party, if not starved for want of food, would run the risk of being frozen to death for want of fuel. After leaving Norway House our progress was slow, the water being very shallow, and our boat rather a heavy drag, for a single crew, over the portages. Two Indians who were engaged, the one to go as far as Oxford House, and the other all the way to York Factory, stipulated that they should do no work on Sunday; to which I readily agreed, thinking that they acted conscientiously; and this I really believe to have been the case with one; but I had some doubts about the sincerity of the other, when I learned that, before leaving us, he had stolen a shirt and blanket from one of the boat's crew. We arrived at York Factory on the 8th October, during a strong gale of north-east wind with heavy rain and sleet, which had thoroughly drenched us all; in addition to which the men were so bedaubed with mud whilst dragging the boats along shore, that scarcely a feature of their faces could be distinguished. On landing I was most kindly welcomed by Chief-Factor Hargrave and the other gentlemen of the Factory. There was little probability of our being able to get to Churchill by water this autumn, nevertheless the boats that had been built for the expedition were launched and put in order for sea. They were fine looking and strong clinker-built craft, 22 feet long by 7 feet 6 inches broad, each capable of carrying between fifty and sixty pieces of goods of 90 lbs. per piece. They were each rigged with two lug sails, to which a jib was afterwards added; under which, with a strong breeze of wind, they were found to work admirably. They were named the "North Pole" and the "Magnet." We had a continuance of northerly winds until the ice began to form on the river, when it would have been highly imprudent to attempt going along the coast, and I did not wish to run the risk of having our boats stranded, which would have been a very likely occurrence had we put to sea. There was, therefore, nothing to be done but to haul our boats up again; nor did this cause me much disappointment, as I felt pretty certain that, in the following spring, we could advance as fast to the northward as the season of the breaking up of the ice did; and this supposition I afterwards found to be correct. My attention was now turned to the proper equipment of my party, in which I was most ably assisted by Chief-Factor Hargrave and my friend, Mr. W. Mactavish, who was in charge of York during the temporary absence of the former gentleman; so that, with keeping a meteorological journal--in which the temperature of the air, height of the barometer, force and direction of the winds, and state of the weather were registered eight times a day--and taking observations for latitude, longitude, variation of the compass, and dip of the needle, &c., I had occupation enough on my hands. Among other articles which I thought might be useful, were a small sheet-iron stove for each boat, a set of sheet-iron lamps for burning oil after the Esquimaux fashion, some small kettles (commonly called conjurors) having a small basin and perforated tin stand for burning alcohol, a seine net, and four small windows, each of two double panes of glass. An oiled canvass canoe was made, and we also had one of Halkett's air boats, large enough to carry three persons. This last useful and light little vessel ought to form part of the equipment of every expedition. On the 30th April, 1846, that harbinger of spring, the Canada goose, was seen; and so early as the 5th May the ice in Hayes' River commenced breaking up; but it was more than a month after this date before the Nelson or North River opened. At length, on the 12th June, it was reported that a passage was practicable, and everything was got in readiness for making a start on the following day. The crews of the boats were divided as follows:-- NORTH POLE. John Rae. John Corrigal, Orkneyman, Steersman. Richard Turner, half-breed, Middleman. Edward Hutchison, Orkneyman, ditto. Hilard Mineau, Canadian, ditto. Nibitabo, Cree Indian, ditto and hunter. MAGNET. George Flett, Orkneyman, Steersman. John Folster, ditto, Middleman. William Adamson, Zetlander, ditto. Jacques St. Germain, Canadian, ditto. Peter Matheson, Highlander, ditto. All these men had the same wages, namely, £40 per annum, with the promise of a gratuity in the event of good conduct. The lading of each of the boats, including the men's luggage, amounted to about seventy pieces; and with this cargo they were quite deep enough in the water and very much lumbered--so much so that, to allow room for pulling, a quantity of the cargo had to be displaced. On the 13th June, after bidding farewell to our kind friends at York, and receiving a salute of seven guns and three hearty cheers, we set sail with a light air of fair wind. We had not proceeded more than a mile down the river, when the wind chopped round directly in our teeth, and blew a gale. As I could not think of turning back, we were speedily under close-reefed sails, turning to windward; the wind and tide were going in opposite directions, and there was an ugly cross sea running, which caused us to ship much water over both the lee and weather side. After a couple hours of this work we gained sufficient offing to clear the shallows, which lie for some miles out from the point of Marsh, (this being the name of the N.E. extremity of York Island), and stood across towards the north shore of the Nelson River. The men in the Magnet, having erroneously carried on too great a press of canvass, were left a mile or two astern. As we advanced the wind gradually abated, and we soon fell in with quantities of ice driving along with the current, through which we had much difficulty in finding a passage. We made the land near Sam's Creek; and it being now calm, and flood tide strong against us, we cast anchor close to the shore between 9 and 10 o'clock. The night was beautiful, and, as all my men had gone to sleep, nothing interrupted the stillness around but the occasional blowing of a white whale, the rather musical note of the "caca wee" (long-tailed duck), or the harsh scream of the great northern diver. Yet I could not close my eyes. Nor was this wakefulness caused by the want of comfort in my bed, which I must own was none of the most inviting, as it consisted of a number of hard-packed bags of flour, over which a blanket was spread, so that I had to accommodate myself in the best way I could to the inequalities of the surface. To a man who had slept soundly in all sorts of places--on the top of a round log, in the middle of a swamp, as well as on the wet shingle beach, such a bed was no hardship; but thoughts now pressed upon me which during the bustle and occupation of preparation had no time to intrude. I could not conceal from myself that many of my brother officers, men of great experience in the Indian country, were of opinion that we ran much risk of starving; little was known of the resources of that part of the country to which we were bound; and all agreed that there was little chance of procuring fuel, unless some oil could be obtained from the natives. Yet the novelty of our route, and of our intended mode of operations, had a strong charm for me, and gave me an excitement which I could not otherwise have felt. 14th.--As there were great quantities of ice along the shore to the northward of us, I let the boats take the ground, so that this morning they were high and dry on the mud, the water being a mile or two outside of us, and we as far from the high-water mark. As the Goose Hunt House (a small hut where one of the Company's servants and some Indians go every spring and autumn to shoot and salt geese,) was at no great distance, I visited it, but found that the people had taken their departure for the Factory--a certain sign that the geese and ducks had gone farther north. Numbers of the Hudsonian godwit (_limosa Hudsonica_) were flying about, apparently intending to breed in the neighbourhood. The boats floated at a quarter after 10 A.M., and we got under weigh with a fine light breeze from the S.E. The temperature of the air was 62° and the water 40°. There were many pieces of ice floating about, and a great quantity close-packed about half a mile outside. At mid-day we were in latitude 57° 25' 93" N. After running by Massey's patent log for 10¾ miles north, we were stopped by ice at a few minutes after 1 P.M., when we made fast to a large grounded mass, which protected us from the smaller floating pieces as long as the tide was ebbing; but as soon as the flood made, it required all our exertions to prevent the boats being damaged. We now found the great advantage of some sheet copper that had been nailed on their bows, as it completely protected them from being chafed. At 11 next forenoon, finding our situation rather dangerous, as soon as the tide flowed far enough, we pushed inshore, and beached the boats on a fine smooth surface of mud and gravel. With the exception of a heavy shower of rain at 6 A.M., the weather continued fine all day, but the sky was too cloudy to permit any observations to be made. On the 16th we advanced only 1½ miles. The temperature of the air 42° and the water 34°. By an azimuth of the sun the variation of the compass, 10° 54' east, was obtained. As it was only at, or near, high-water that we could make any progress, we crept along shore about four miles during the morning's tide, and in the evening we put into Rupert's Creek, which afforded us good shelter, and also fresh water, of which we were getting rather short. A fresh breeze from the east brought in much ice, which completely blockaded our harbour. The morning of the 18th was very fine, but the easterly wind still continued, and such was the effect produced by it that not a spot of open water was to be seen. The latitude 57° 32' 18" was observed, and an observation of the sun's azimuth yesterday gave the variation of the compass 9° 56' E. Some partridges (_tetrao saliceti_), ducks, and a flat-billed phalarope (_P. fulicarius_) were shot. 19th.--The ice having become somewhat more open during the night, we left the creek at 4 A.M., and ran 32½ miles before a fine breeze of S.E. wind, through lanes of open water, as nearly as possible in a N.N.E. course. Large unbroken fields, on which numbers of seals were lying, now opposed our further progress. At high-water next morning, we set forward among ice so closely packed, that we were obliged to open a passage by pushing aside the smaller pieces; we thus gained between two and three miles and reached Broad River. We lay here during the remainder of the day, which was too cloudy for a meridian observation; but in the evening an amplitude of the sun gave variation 12° 19' east. The dip of the needle was 84° 46' 4". The morning's tide of the 21st advanced us nearly three miles. Our new position was found to be in latitude 58° 9' 51" N.; the latitude of Broad River must therefore be 58° 7' N. A strong breeze of S.S.W. wind had driven out some of the ice, so that, with the aid of sails and poles, we gained 12 miles more northing in the evening. From the 22nd to the 24th we continued to creep alongshore, but our progress was very slow, 19 miles being, at the highest estimate, as much as we gained. We were, however, killing ducks of various kinds, and collecting eggs enough to keep us in food. A deer was also shot by Nibitabo on the 22nd, and on the 24th I procured from a high mound of ice, where it was feeding, what appeared to be a Canada nuthatch (_sitta Canadensis_). The skin was preserved, and is with other specimens in the Honourable Hudson's Bay Company's warehouse in London. On the 25th we lay all day in a small creek, which afforded us a safe harbour. The wind, which had yesterday blown a strong gale from the N.E., shifted round to W., which gave us some hopes of an opening to seaward. In the evening much ice drove out with the ebb. The latitude of our position by reduction to the meridian was 58° 31' N. 26th.--This morning we were fortunate enough, after a great deal of trouble, to get the boats into comparatively open water, and as the wind was moderate from E.S.E. we threaded our way, through narrow channels and openings, until opposite Cape Churchill. At 3 P.M. we doubled the cape, and to our great joy found an open sea to the north and north west of it. The whole of the coast between Nelson River and Cape Churchill is low and flat, with not a single rock in situ. There are, however, a number of boulder stones of granite, and debris of limestone, to be seen. There are numerous lakelets near the shore, the banks of which form the favourite breeding places of the Canada goose, the mallard, pintail, teal, scaup, and long-tailed ducks, great northern diver,[1] and the Arctic tern. The phalaropus hyperboreus is also very numerous--so much so that I could have shot twenty in half-an-hour. The female of this phalarope and of the P. fulicarius is considerably larger, and has much finer markings on its plumage, than the male, the colours being much brighter. As we sailed along shore to the westward, the land gradually became more high and rocky, and there were many ridges of stones lying off several miles from the beach, among which we had some trouble in threading our way, the navigation being rendered still more difficult by a thick fog. We arrived at the mouth of Churchill River at 3 A.M. on the 27th, but as the tide was ebbing we could not stem the current, so that we did not reach the Company's Fort, situated on the west bank of the river and about five miles up, until half-past six, when I was most kindly welcomed by my friend Mr. Sinclair, chief trader, the gentleman in charge, who had not expected to see us so early. My letter of instructions had not yet arrived, so that we took advantage of the delay thus occasioned to have the boats unloaded, some slight repairs effected, and the cargoes examined and dried. I determined on leaving here some tobacco, salt, and one or two other articles that were not absolutely essential, supplying their place with pemmican and flour. Some observations for the dip of the needle gave mean dip 84° 47' 3". The variation of the compass 12° 29' east, and the latitude of the Establishment 58° 44' 12" were found, and the mean time of 70 vertical vibrations of the needle in the magnetic meridian was 148". The people of the fort were busy killing white whales, great numbers of which come up the river with the flood tide. The mode of taking them is very simple. A boat, having a harpooner both at bow and stern, sails out among the shoal, and being painted white, it does not alarm them; they approach quite close, and are thus easily struck. When harpooned they do not run any great distance in one direction, but dart about much in the way that a trout does when hooked. On the evening of the 4th July the anxiously expected instructions arrived from Red River, viâ York Factory. The following is a copy of them:-- "_Red River Settlement_, "15th June, 1846. "SIR, "You are aware that the grand object of the expedition which has been placed under your direction is to complete the geography of the northern shore of America, by surveying the only section of the same that has not yet been traced, namely, the deep bay, as it is supposed to be, stretching from the western extremity of the Straits of the Fury and Hecla to the eastern limit of the discoveries of Messrs. Dease and Simpson. "2. For this purpose you will proceed from Churchill with the two boats, and twelve men that have been selected for this arduous and important service, losing not a moment, at least on your outward voyage, in examining such part of the coast as has already been visited and explored. In a word, you will reach, with as little loss of time as possible, the interesting scene of your exclusive labours. "3. In prosecuting the survey in question, you will, as a matter of course, endeavour to ascertain as accurately as circumstances may permit, without occasioning any serious delay, the latitudes and longitudes of all the most remarkable points within the range of your operations, and also the general bearing and extent of all the intermediate portions of coast, embodying the whole at the same time in the form of a chart, or rather of the draft of a chart, from day to day. "4. But in addition to this, your principal and essential task, you will devote as much of your attention as possible to various subordinate and incidental duties. You will do your utmost, consistently with the success of your main object, to attend to botany and geology; to zoology in all its departments; to the temperature both of the air and of the water; to the conditions of the atmosphere and the state of the ice; to winds and currents; to the soundings as well with respect to bottom as with respect to depth; to the magnetic dip and the variation of the compass; to the aurora borealis and the refraction of light. You will also, to the best of your opportunities, observe the ethnographical peculiarities of the Esquimaux of the country; and in the event of your wintering within the Arctic Circle, you will be careful to notice any characteristic features or influences of the long night of the high latitudes in question. These particulars, and such others as may suggest themselves to you on the spot, you will record fully and precisely in a journal, to be kept, as far as practicable, from day to day, collecting at the same time any new, curious, or interesting specimens, in illustration of any of the foregoing heads. "5. In order to provide against the probable necessity of requiring two seasons for your operations, you will take with you all the provisions that your boats can carry, with such shooting, hunting, and fishing tackle as may enable you to husband your supplies. I need hardly mention medicines and warm clothing among the necessaries of your voyage, for, in full reliance on your professional zeal and ability, I place the health of your people, under Providence, entirely in your hands. "6. In the event of wintering in the country, you will cultivate the most friendly relations with the natives, taking care, however, to guard against surprise. For this purpose you will repeatedly and constantly inculcate on your men, collectively and individually, the absolute necessity of mildness and firmness, of frankness and circumspection. "7. If, in the event of your being unable to accomplish the whole of your task in one season, you see ground for doubting whether the resources of the country are competent to maintain the whole of your people, you will in that case send back a part of them to Churchill with one of the boats. For the remaining part of your men you cannot fail to find subsistence, animated as you and they are by a determination to fulfil your mission at the cost of danger, fatigue, and privation. Wherever the natives can live, I can have no fears with respect to you, more particularly as you will have the advantage of the Esquimaux, not merely in your actual supplies, but also in the means of recruiting and renewing them. "8. During the winter you will pursue the various objects of the expedition by making excursions with a due regard, of course, to safety, on the snow or on the ice; and at the close of your second season, after having accomplished the whole of your task, you will return according to your own discretion, either by your original course or by Back's Great Fish River, keeping constantly in view, till you reach Churchill or Great Slave Lake, the general spirit of these your instructions. "9. In conclusion, let me assure you that we look confidently to you for the solution of what may be deemed the final problem in the geography of the northern hemisphere. The eyes of all who take an interest in the subject are fixed on the Hudson's Bay Company; from us the world expects the final settlement of the question that has occupied the attention of our country for two hundred years; and your safe and triumphant return, which may God in His mercy grant, will, I trust, speedily compensate the Hudson's Bay Company for its repeated sacrifices and its protracted anxieties. "I remain, "Sir, &c. (Signed) "G. SIMPSON." "John Rae, Esq. "Churchill, "Hudson's Bay." The boats were loaded during the night, and at 6 A.M. were sent down to the old stone fort at the mouth of the river, where they were to wait for me a few hours. Besides an abundant supply of ammunition, guns, nets, twines, &c. for our own use, and various articles for presents and to barter with the Esquimaux, we had on board 20 bags pemmican, about 90 lbs. each, 2 ditto grease, " 90 lbs. " 25 ditto flour, each 1 cwt. 4 gallons of alcohol for fuel; with a good stock of tea, sugar, and chocolate, but only four gallons of brandy and two gallons of port wine, as I was well aware of the bad effects of spirits in a cold climate. Considering that we were to be absent fifteen or perhaps twenty-seven months, our quantity of provisions (amounting in all to little more than four months' consumption at full allowance) was not very great. FOOTNOTE: [1] The male and female of the northern diver (_colymbus glacialis_) resemble one another so much that it is very difficult to distinguish the one from the other. The immature bird has often been described by ornithologists as the female. CHAPTER II. Depart from Churchill--A gale--Anchor in Knap's Bay--Land on an island--Esquimaux graves--Visited by Esquimaux--A large river running into Knap's Bay--Nevill's Bay--Corbet's Inlet--Rankin's Inlet--Cape Jalabert--Greenland whales seen--Chesterfield Inlet--Walruses--Cape Fullerton--Visited by an Esquimaux--Reefs--Cape Kendall seen--Ice packed against the shore--Take shelter in an excellent harbour--River traced--Seals--Gale--Ice driven off--Direction of the tides reversed--Whale Point--Many whales seen--Again stopped by the pack--Wager River estuary--Ice drifts--Eddy currents--No second opening into Wager River seen--Enter Repulse Bay--Interview with Esquimaux--No intelligence of Sir John Franklin. Having taken on board Ouligbuck and one of his sons as Esquimaux interpreters, and bid adieu to Mr. Sinclair, who, during our stay, had omitted nothing that could in any way tend to the comfort of the party, we set sail at 11 o'clock on the 5th July with a light air of N.N.E. wind, and stood to the westward across Button's Bay. The weather was fine, and to enliven the scene numbers of white whales were seen sporting about, and sometimes coming within a few yards of the boats. The men were all in excellent health and spirits, there not being a melancholy look nor a desponding word to be seen or heard among them. At 3.30 P.M. we passed Pauk-a-thau-kis-cow River, and the wind having freshened and shifted round to the S.E. we had run upwards of forty miles before 10 o'clock. The temperature of the air was 49°, and of the water 50°, thus showing that there was little or no ice in the neighbourhood. The night being fine we continued under sail, the crews being divided into two watches. The land had now become much lower than it was about Churchill, and the coast very flat; so that it was necessary to keep six or eight miles from the land when the tide was out; and even then, although the boats drew only two and a half feet water, there was little enough for them. The bottom was of mud, sand, or shingle, with every here and there a large boulder stone, some of them ten or twelve feet high. Early on the morning of the 6th three Esquimaux came off in their kayaks, and although we were going at the rate of four miles an hour they easily overtook us. As they were going towards Churchill, I sent a few lines to Mr. Sinclair by them. Our latitude at noon was 60° 17' 59" N. Thermometer in air 49°, in water 45°. The total distance run, measured by Massey's log, was ninety-five miles, which agreed very nearly with our latitude, the difference being easily accounted for by the circumstance that the ebb tide runs much stronger to the northward than the flood does in an opposite direction. In the afternoon there was a strong breeze, which, although fair, was rather too much onshore and raised a heavy sea. At 5 P.M., having run twenty-five miles since noon, we got into shallow water, and although the heads of the boats were immediately turned to seaward, the ebb tide was too quick for us, and we got aground, being ten miles from the main shore. Five miles N.W. of us there was a small but steep island, on the E. side of which there was still a deep snow drift. By a meridian altitude of the moon our latitude was 60° 47' 24" N. The following morning we floated at 2 A.M., and with a strong breeze from S.E. stood on our course. The weather looked threatening, and we had not been long out before the wind increased to a gale, and the sea rose in proportion. The boats fully realised the good opinion we had of them, but being so deeply laden the sea broke frequently over them, and kept us continually baling; at last the Magnet shipped a heavy sea, and the steersman, either from losing his presence of mind or from not knowing how to act, allowed the boat to broach to. Fortunately no other sea struck her whilst thus placed, else both she and the crew must inevitably have been lost. I here saw the benefit of the precaution I had taken to have some Orkneymen with me, for it was evident the others (although as good fellows as could possibly be wished) knew nothing about the management of a boat in such weather. I was loath to lose so fine an opportunity of getting on, but it would have been recklessness to attempt proceeding. We accordingly ran in towards Knap's Bay, which was nearly abreast of us, and were soon anchored in a snug cove under the lee of the largest island in the bay. It was well that we put in here, for the wind in a short time increased to a perfect storm with heavy rain. On a neighbouring island some miles to the south of us, many Esquimaux tents were seen, but we could not discover if they were inhabited. Notwithstanding the rain I took my gun and made a tour of the island. It is about two miles long, a quarter of a mile broad, and not exceeding 100 feet in height, being covered with a scanty vegetation, and thickly strewn in many places with fragments of granite. I met with a great many Esquimaux graves, the bodies being protected from wild animals by an arch of stone built over them. We found a number of spear-heads, knives, &c. placed in some of these heaps of stones; but the Esquimaux do not, I believe, destroy all the property of the deceased, as is common among most tribes of Indians. Tracks were seen of a large white bear which had evidently been feasting on the eggs of various wildfowl that breed here; among these I noticed the eider duck (_fuligula mollissima_), the long-tailed duck (_fuligula glacialis_), and the black guillimot (_uria grylle_). In the evening, when the wind had somewhat moderated, we were visited by five Esquimaux from the tents before mentioned; they each received a piece of tobacco, of which they are remarkably fond, and one of them promised to carry or forward to Churchill a letter which I addressed to Sir George Simpson. In a net that we had set, a salmon weighing 10 lbs. was caught. A large and deep river empties its waters into this bay; its course is about due east, and it abounds with salmon, seals, and white whales, being consequently a favourite resort of the natives. The rise of the tide was thirteen feet. When about to go to bed I found my blankets quite wet by the seas that washed over me in the morning; this, however, made them keep out the wind better, and did not certainly affect my rest. The following day was more moderate, but it was 2 P.M. before we could venture out of our harbour. By observation the latitude 61° 9' 42" N., and the variation of the compass 7° 48' east were obtained; the dip of the needle being 86° 18' 3" N. At 4 A.M. on the 9th the wind went round so far to the east that we could not lie our course; it rained heavily, but the wind became more favourable, and we stood over towards the north shore of Nevill's Bay. The temperature of the water at mid-day 37°, air 44°; latitude by observation 61° 55' 40" N. We passed among many small islands, the resort of great numbers of the birds already mentioned, which we used as food (although not very palatable) to save our pemmican. I also noticed a few of foolish guillimot (_uria troile_), the first we had met with.[2] At half-past five, it being calm, we landed on a small island to get some water; we found a few Hutchins geese here, one of them having a brood of young with her. These appear to have taken the place of the Canada goose, as I have not seen any of the latter lately. At 8 o'clock, it still being calm, we pulled up towards the north point of Nevill's Bay, which bore east of us. No ice was to be seen, but there were numerous patches of snow on the main shore N.E. of us, distant 10 or 11 miles. I saw a young shore lark and a young snow bunting, both able to fly. There are quantities of red, grey, and blue granite in this island, variegated with quartz. The shores had now become steep and rugged, the whole coast being lined with bare primitive rocks. After breakfast next morning we pulled round the east end of some rocks near which we had lain at anchor during the flood tide, and kept on our course across Whale Cove. Some small pieces of ice were seen floating about; the thermometer in the shade 55°, water 36°. A fog, which had been thick all the morning, cleared up at half-past ten, and we saw some islands at no great distance right ahead, and a smoke a few miles inland on our beam, probably made by Esquimaux, but we could not see any tents. Our latitude by observation was 62° 11' 23" N. Temperature of air 55°, of water 37°. The weather was very variable, with calms and light breezes alternately. At a little after 7 in the evening we were off the south point of Corbet's Inlet. It rained hard almost all night; we, however, continued our course, and at 7 A.M. got among a number of reefs and islands that lie near the south point of Rankin's Inlet. In attempting to pass between two of these our boat got aground, and as the tide was ebbing she could not be shoved afloat again; but, as the greater part of the cargo was carried on shore before the water fell very far, no damage was done. An excellent observation of the sun gave latitude 62° 35' 47" N., variation 6° 6' W., Marble Island bearing east by compass. The black guillimot was in such numbers here that four or five were killed at one shot. Many eggs were collected, and one nest was found having two eider and three long-tailed ducks' eggs in it. The eider had possession, but whether the birds had a mutual understanding, or whether the stronger had driven out the weaker possessor, it is difficult to say. At 4 P.M. we floated and ran across the inlet, the traverse being 15 miles. We landed at its north point, as the wind and tide were both against us. There were numerous signs that this place is often visited by the Esquimaux; the bones of various animals and the remains of some stone "caches" being every where visible. A little before midnight a deer was shot by Corrigal. During a walk I fell in with a large white owl (_strix nyctra_). As is usually the case it was very shy, and could not be approached within gun-shot.[3] The rise of the tide was 14 feet. At half-past two A.M. on the 13th we landed at Jalabert. The morning was delightful, being quite calm with a sharp frost. While we lay here waiting the change of the tide, Ouligbuck shot a fine large buck. Many seals were sporting about, and a shoal of salmon were seen swimming close to the beach. Having taken on board our venison, we pulled with the tide now in our favour. We saw upwards of a dozen Greenland whales, all apparently busy feeding, some of them very large. At noon we were in latitude 63° 6' 14" N. The variation of the compass 8° 52' W. In the evening we passed Chesterfield Inlet. Great numbers of rocks lie out fully eight miles from the shore on its north side. The wind continued fair and moderate all night, and at 6 in the morning, when in the large bay S.W. of Cape Fullerton, a single Esquimaux visited us in his kayak. He had been at Churchill last year, but did not intend to go thither this season, although he had a number of wolf, fox, and parchment deer skins at his tent. A present of a knife and a piece of tobacco made him quite happy, and he left us shouting so loudly as to show that his lungs were in good order. The party to which he belongs consists of ten families, their hunting-grounds being situated on the borders of Chesterfield Inlet, where they spear a great number of deer whilst swimming across in the autumn. At some distance inland, woods are found. A number of walruses were observed lying on a small ridge of rocks. They were grunting and bellowing--making a noise which I fancy would much resemble a concert of old boars and buffaloes. We did not disturb their music. Obtained a meridian observation of the sun, which gave latitude 64° 3' 42" N. As the refraction was great and the natural horizon used, this is probably erroneous; if it is not, Cape Fullerton is not properly laid down in the charts, being too far to the south. Temperature of the air 58°, water 41°. When doubling Cape Fullerton, we were obliged, by the numerous granite reefs, to keep six or seven miles from the mainland. At 7 in the evening we landed to replenish our water casks, and had an unsuccessful chase after two deer. The horizon being clear, I saw Cape Kendall on Southampton Island, bearing S.E. by S. magnetic. 15th.--We made but little progress last night, there being no wind. The weather was rather cold, the thermometer standing at 40°, and the water being only 4° above the freezing point indicated the proximity of ice. A short time afterwards a large _pack_ was seen about five miles distant. On approaching nearer, we found that it extended along shore as far as the eye could see. At 2 P.M. we ran inshore, and took shelter under some grey-coloured granite rocks twenty feet high. Deer being noticed at no great distance, two or three sportsmen went after them, and succeeded in shooting a doe. A very large whale was observed. Finding our present position far from being a safe one, at high water we pushed along shore among masses of ice during a thick fog, and entered an inlet which opportunely presented itself, and which proved to be an excellent harbour about 200 yards wide, from four to six fathoms deep, and nearly four miles long. The bottom being sand and mud would afford excellent anchorage for much larger craft than ours. As there were many seals swimming about, I was led to infer that salmon or trout were abundant; two nets were put down, but no fish were caught. During a two days' detention here I traced, for eight miles, the course of a considerable river which empties its waters into the inlet. I found it to be a succession of rapids and deep pools, and running as nearly as possible in a S.S.E. course. Near its mouth upwards of thirty seals were lying basking in the sun; a ball fired among them sent the whole party walloping into the water at a great rate, more frightened, however, than hurt. One of the men had accompanied me, and during our walk we met with a hen partridge (_tetrao rupestris_) and her brood. I have seen many birds attempt to defend their young, but never witnessed one so devotedly brave as this mother; she ran about us, over and between our feet, striking at our hands when we attempted to take hold of her young, so that she herself was easily made prisoner. Although kept in the hand some time, when let loose again she continued her attacks with unabated courage and perseverance, and was soon left mistress of the field, with her family safe around her. We were fortunate in finding some willows fully an inch in diameter, which were far superior for fuel to the sea-weed and short heath we had been using for the last two days. Hutchins geese breed here in numbers, and as no Canada geese were seen, I presume that they do not usually come so far north along the coast. The shores have a very rugged appearance, there being numerous high ridges of primitive rocks running far out into the sea in an east and west direction, the line of stratification dipping to the south at an angle of 75° with the horizon. In many places these rocks were thickly studded with small garnets. The rise and fall of the tide was 13½ feet. During the whole of the 16th the weather was cloudy, and it rained heavily all night; but on the 17th the wind increased to a gale, the sky cleared up, and a satisfactory observation was obtained by the artificial horizon, which placed us in latitude 64° 6' 45" N. As we were more than ten miles north of the situation where I had observed the latitude on the 14th, the difference between the latitude obtained then and that of our present situation shews the uncertainty of observations made with the natural horizon when there is much refraction, or when there is ice in the neighbourhood. The variation of the compass was 20° 10' W. The gale continued all day, and being from the westward much ice was driven off shore. 18th. Last night the wind moderated a little, but about 2 A.M. it blew more strongly than before. The forenoon was sufficiently fine to permit me to observe the dip of the needle 86° 36' 5" N. In the afternoon, when collecting plants, I discovered some willows of a larger growth than those we had before found, and I carried a load of them to the boat. In the evening there was no ice to be seen either along shore or in the offing, but it still blew too hard for us to get under weigh. The temperature of the air to-day varied from 50° to 55°. Just as I had turned in for the night, it was reported that two white bears were close at hand. I immediately got up, and set off "sans culottes" to have a share of the anticipated sport, when I soon discovered that two harmless deer in their winter coats had been mistaken for bears. It was high water to-day at 11h. 40m. A.M., the rise being 15 feet. By this it will appear that 3 o'clock is the time of high water at full and change of the moon. At 3 next morning, the wind having moderated, we started, and ran along shore at a fine rate for ten miles; but here the coast turning more to the westward we could not lie our course, and were compelled to put ashore until the flood tide made; for it was found that, contrary to what we had previously experienced, the current ran to the northward during the flow of the tide, and in an opposite direction during the ebb, this being probably caused by the strait north of Southampton Island being blocked up with ice. After an hour's stay we got under weigh again at a few minutes after seven, and turned to windward. Our latitude at noon was 64° 20' 51" N. It now fell calm; but this had not continued more than half an hour before a light breeze sprung up from the east, and at 1 P.M. we passed Whale Point. A great many whales were seen to-day, and one of them was swimming amongst a large flock of king ducks, apparently amusing itself with the confusion that it caused when rising to breathe. Temperature of the air 50°--water 38°. 20th. It being calm for some time during the night, we came to anchor whilst the tide was against us; but at 6 A.M. we again continued our route. There was much ice lying along the shore of Southampton Island, its proximity being indicated by the temperature of the water (35°) this morning. Some more large whales were noticed. The ice was again too close packed to permit us to advance; we therefore landed, and the latitude 64° 56' 33" N., and the variation of the compass 36° 13' W., were observed. The musquitoes were very numerous and troublesome, but, nevertheless, the sportsmen succeeded in shooting five deer. On the 21st and 22d we had a continued struggle amongst heavy and close-packed ice until we reached Wager River Estuary, where we were detained all day by the immense quantities driving in with the flood and out again with the ebb tide, which ran at the rate of 7 or 8 miles an hour, forcing up the floes into large mounds, and grinding them against the rocks, with a noise resembling thunder. During the ebb tide the eddy currents once or twice brought in the ice with great force, which would have smashed our boats, as they lay in rather an exposed situation along the face of some steep rocks, had it not fortunately taken the ground before it reached us. During our stay, a meridian observation of the sun by artificial horizon gave latitude 65° 15' 36" N., variation 48° 13' W. 23d. There was a thin coat of ice on the water this morning, the temperature of which at midnight was 2° below the freezing point, that of the air 36°. As our position was far from safe, we were kept on the alert all night, and got under weigh at half-past three, for the purpose of finding some safer harbour. To get to a small bay a mile and a half to the west of us, we had more than once to pull for our lives, as the eddy currents already spoken of caused such sudden and uncertain movements among the ice that there was no telling on what side we were to expect it. With much difficulty we entered our harbour, and pulled half a mile up, so as to be safe from the ice, which we had reason to expect would come in with the flood. The latitude of our new anchorage was 65° 16' 8" N. This is the most northerly point on the south side of Wager River, which appears to be not very correctly laid down in the charts. The channel is not more than four or five miles broad. In the evening, being wearied with delay, as soon as the flood tide slacked, we pushed out into the stream, and when in mid-channel had the advantage of a fine breeze, which enabled us to stem the current that still ran at the rate of five miles an hour. The boats had some narrow escapes, and the Magnet received a severe squeeze, but fortunately sustained no injury, and we were soon in safety on the north side of the channel. 24th. Having pulled along shore all night, we cast anchor at half-past five this morning to take breakfast and give rest to the men. Our course since crossing Wager River had been among a number of small rocky islands, between which we had some difficulty in threading our way, but we did not see any signs of a second opening into Wager Bay, although a sharp look-out was kept. A light air of fair wind springing up, we got under weigh at a few minutes before 8, and stood on to the northward, the ebb tide again running with us. At mid-day the temperature of the air was 45°, water 32°. In the afternoon the breeze increased, and at a quarter-past seven we rounded Cape Hope, and ran into Repulse Bay. By an amplitude of the sun whilst setting, the variation of the compass 62° 40' W. was obtained. As soon as we passed the Cape a great change in the temperature of the air and water was observed, the former being 56°, and the latter 46°. 25th. We continued under sail all night, and at 6 in the morning were within seven miles of the head of the Bay, and cast anchor between a small island and the shore to get some fuel and cook breakfast. Our latitude was 66° 26' 57" N. Variation of compass 59° 10' W. In the afternoon, the wind being ahead, we plied to windward, and when entering Gibson's Cove, observed with much joy four Esquimaux on the shore. I immediately landed near them, and taking Ouligbuck's son with me as interpreter, joined the party, and calling out Texma (peace), shook hands with them. They were at first in great fear, and appeared half inclined to run away, but on our kind intentions towards them being explained they became quite at ease, chatting and laughing as if we had been old acquaintances. They were good-looking, of low stature, and much more cleanly than those in Hudson's Straits. Their dresses were made of deer skin, of the form so often described, the coat having a long tail somewhat resembling that of an English dress coat. Their legs were encased in waterproof boots made of seal-skin, and they all wore mittens, which they seldom took off their hands. There were two of them middle-aged, Oo-too-ou-ni-ak (who had a formidable beard and whiskers) and Kir-ik-too-oo; the other two were lads from eighteen to twenty years of age; and we were soon after joined by a fine young fellow with ruddy cheeks and sparkling black eyes, having an expression of exceeding good humour in his laughing countenance. Our new friend wore round his head a narrow leather band of deer-skin ornamented with foxes' teeth, and appeared to be somewhat of a dandy in his own estimation. None of the party had ever visited Churchill, and they had neither heard nor seen anything of Sir John Franklin. From a chart drawn by one of the party, I was led to infer that the sea (Akkoolee), to the west of Melville Peninsula, was not much more than forty miles distant in a N.N.W. direction, and that about thirty-five miles of this distance was occupied by deep lakes; so that we would have only five miles of land to haul a boat over--a mode of proceeding which, even had the distance been much greater, I had intended adopting, in preference to going round by the Fury and Hecla Straits. A small river empties its waters into the Bay within a hundred yards of the place where we landed: this stream, up which the boat was to be dragged, issues from one of the lakes through which we had to pass. Leaving all the men but one to unload the boats, I went some miles inland to trace our intended route. After walking about five miles along the stream already mentioned (the current in which was very strong), we arrived at the first lake, a long and narrow body of water, having steep and in some places rocky banks, which we traced for two miles, and returned late in the evening to our companions. FOOTNOTES: [2] These birds breed in great numbers among the rocks in Orkney, and are much attached to their young. By chasing the latter in a boat they become so fatigued as to be easily caught. When one of them is taken into the boat the parent bird approaches within a few feet, dives under and around the boat in all directions, and whenever it comes up to the surface utters a peculiarly melancholy note, at the same time turning its head in a listening attitude as if expecting to hear an answer from the prisoner. The anxiety of the mother has always the desired effect, and it is pleasing to observe the joy with which she swims away with her recovered young one, nestling it under her wing and never permitting it to stray a foot from her. [3] An excellent plan of shooting these birds, and one that I have often successfully practised, is to roll up a bit of fur or cloth about the shape and size of a mouse, and drag it after you with a line twenty yards long. The owl will soon perceive the decoy, although half-a-mile distant; and after moving his head backwards and forwards as if to make sure of his object, he takes wing, and making a short sweep in the rear of his intended prey, pounces upon and seizes it in his claws, affording the sportsman a fine opportunity of knocking him down. I have sometimes missed my aim, leaving the owl to fly away with the false mouse (which the sudden jerk had torn from the line) in his claws. The Indians, taking advantage of this bird's propensity to alight on elevated spots, set up pieces of wood in the plains or marshes with a trap fastened to the top. In this way I have known as many as fifty killed in the early part of winter by one Indian. The owl is very daring when hungry. I remember seeing one of these powerful birds fix its claws in a lapdog when a few yards distant from the owner, and only let go his gripe after a gun was fired. The poor little dog died of its wounds in a few days. CHAPTER III. Receive a visit from a female party--Their persons and dress described--Crossing the Isthmus--Drag one of the boats up a stream--Succession of rapids--North Pole Lake--Find a plant fit for fuel--Christie Lake--Flett Portage--Corrigal Lake--Fish--Deer-scaring stones--White wolf--Stony Portage--View of the sea--Exploring parties sent in advance--Their report--Long Portage--Difficult tracking--Miles Lake--Muddy Lake--Rich pasturage and great variety of flowers on its banks--Marmot burrows--Salt Lake--Visit Esquimaux tents--Discouraging report of the state of the ice--Esquimaux chart--Reach the sea--Ross inlet--Point Hargrave--Cape Lady Pelly--Stopped by the ice--Put ashore--Find a sledge made of ship-timber--Thick fog--Wolves--Walk along the shore--Remains of musk-cattle and reindeer--Nature of the coast--Danger from the ice--Irregular rise of the tide--Deer on the ice--Fruitless efforts to proceed northward--Cross over to Melville Peninsula--Gale--Again stopped by the ice--Dangerous position of the boat--Return to starting point--Meeting with our Esquimaux friends at Salt Lake--Deer begun to migrate southward--Walk across the isthmus to Repulse Bay. The morning of the 26th was fine, with a fresh breeze from W.N.W. A visit which I had intended paying to the ladies was anticipated by their coming over to our side of the river, bag and baggage. They were accompanied by a very old man named Shad-kow-doo-yak, who was extremely infirm, being obliged to move about in an almost horizontal posture, supported by a stick. There were six women, (three old, the other three young,) the whole of them married. One of the latter appeared quite like a girl of ten years, and was rather good-looking, having more regular features, and being cleaner and more neat in her dress than the others. They were all tatooed on the face, the form on each being nearly the same, viz. a number of curved lines drawn from between the eyebrows up over the forehead, two lines across the cheek from near the nose towards the ear, and a number of diverging curved lines from the lower lip towards the chin and lower jaw. Their hands and arms were much tatooed from the tip of the finger to the shoulder. Their hair was collected in two large bunches, one on each side of the head; and a piece of stick about ten inches long and half-an-inch thick being placed among it, a strip of different coloured deer-skin is wound round it in a spiral form, producing far from an unpleasing effect. They all had ivory combs of their own manufacture, and deer-skin clothes with the hair inwards; the only difference between their dresses and those of the men being that the coats of the former had much larger hoods, (which are used for carrying children,) in having a flap before as well as behind, and also in the greater capacity of their boots, which come high above the knee, and are kept up by being fastened to the girdle. Some needles, beads, and other trifles were given them, at which they manifested their joy with loud shouts and yells, differing from the men in this respect, who received what was given them in silence, although they were evidently much pleased. In the forenoon we were joined by two fine-looking young fellows who had just returned from hunting deer, in which they had been successful, having driven a large buck off one of the islands into the water and speared it there. One of the women had been on board the Fury and Hecla, both at Igloolik and Winter Island, and still wore round her wrist some beads which she had obtained from these vessels. This party consisted of twenty-six individuals, there being four families. All the cargo being placed in security and the Magnet well moored in our little land-locked harbour, the party, assisted by four Esquimaux, commenced dragging the North Pole up the stream. The latitude of our landing place was found to be 66° 32' 1" N., being about seven miles further south than it has been laid down on the charts. The variation of the compass by an azimuth was 58° 37' 30" W. This I afterwards found to be erroneous, probably arising from local attraction. The rate of the chronometer had become so irregular that it could not be depended upon for finding the longitude, and during the winter it stopped altogether. When about to put on a pair of Esquimaux boots, one of our female visitors, noticing that the leather of the foot was rather hard, took them out of my hands and began chewing them with her strong teeth. This is the mode in which they prepare and soften the seal skin for their boots, and they are seldom without a piece of leather to gnaw when they have no better occupation for their teeth. At half-past nine P.M. the men returned from the boat, having been absent since half-past seven in the morning. They had with much labour dragged her three miles through a succession of rapids, the channel being so obstructed with large boulder stones and rocks, that the most of the party were obliged to be almost continually up to the waist in ice-cold water. The boat had received some severe blows and rubs, but no material damage. The worst part of the river had been passed, and it was only a mile and a-half farther to the lake (named by the Esquimaux Chi-gi-uwik) from which it takes its rise. The Esquimaux who had assisted us were paid with a large knife each. Two nets that had been set produced four salmon, but the best season for catching these fish was over, as they had now returned to deep water. The evening was cloudy with a strong and chilly breeze from N.N.W. Temperature of the air at 10 P.M. 35°. 27th. As soon as the men had finished breakfast they carried each a load over the rocks to where the boat lay. I this morning tried some of our male friends with a little tea and biscuit, which they did not relish nearly so well as the ladies had done the previous evening. Indeed, one of the latter, whom I have already mentioned, knew what biscuit was the moment she saw it, and said she had eaten some when on board Captain Parry's ships. I remained at our landing-place until the afternoon to obtain some observations. That for latitude gave a result different only 4" from that of yesterday. Having engaged three Esquimaux to carry up some things that were still to be taken, at one o'clock I followed my men and came up with them some distance up the lake. As we could not prevail on any of the Esquimaux to accompany us as guides, they left us here, and I sent back John Folster and Ouligbuck to take care of the property left behind. Our course was nearly N.N.W., but a gale of head wind impeded our progress greatly. The temperature of the air was 52°; water of lake 40°. A few hours' poling, pulling, and tracking brought us to the end of the lake, which is about six miles long, from two hundred yards to half a mile broad, and in some places thirty fathoms deep. The lake, as well as the stream up which we had come, was named after our boat. We now turned to the westward and entered a narrow passage one-and-a-half miles long, which connects the lake we had passed through with the next one; the current was strong, but between poling and tracking we soon got into still water. Our course now turned again to the N.N.W., and after proceeding a mile in this direction, we put on shore for the night in a small bay, where we found a good supply of a plant (_andromeda tetragona_), which answers very well for fuel. 28th. We did not get under weigh this morning until 6 A.M. as the men had a hard day's work yesterday, and did not get to rest until a late hour. The lake continues to trend in the same direction as before, but the banks are neither so high nor so rocky, being covered with short grass in many places instead of moss. The wind still kept ahead, so that it was past ten in the morning before we arrived at a portage, and while two of the men were preparing breakfast, the others were employed carrying over some of the baggage. This portage, which I named after Flett, one of the steersmen, was half a mile long; and being in some places soft and in others stony, it was half-past four before we were afloat in the lake on the other side of it. It being calm, great numbers of fish were seen in this small body of water, which was narrow and only two-and-a-half miles long, with a deep bay on each side, which gave it the form of a T. It received the name of Corrigal, after one of my men. We lost our way here for a short time, having entered a wrong arm of the lake. At 8 P.M. we arrived at another portage, which being a short one was soon got over. We pulled in a N.W. direction across this lake for about three miles to a shallow streamlet that flows from it; here we were to make our third and I hoped our last portage. We left this for our next morning's work, as it was now half-past 10 P.M. There was a great number of stones set up here for the purpose of frightening the deer into the water. A large white wolf was seen. The morning of the 29th was raw and cold, with a gale of wind from N.W. by N. We got over the portage (which, although short, was covered with rough granite stones that stuck to our boat's iron-shod keel like glue) at 20 minutes after 6, and embarked on what I then supposed was another lake, but which afterwards turned out to be a portion of the second lake we had entered, and the largest body of fresh water we had yet seen. I named it after my much-respected and kind friend, Alexander Christie, Esq., Governor of Red River Colony, whose name has been so often favourably mentioned by Arctic travellers. After pulling W.N.W. for eight miles, we were again in doubt about the route, and whilst on my way to some high ground in order to ascertain it, I shot a fine buck with an inch and a half of fat on his haunches. We advanced two miles to the head of a small inlet, whence I set out with one of the men to a neighbouring rising ground to endeavour to obtain a view of our future route, and, if possible, to get a sight of the sea. After a fatiguing walk over hill and dale, our eyes were gladdened with a sight of what we so anxiously looked for, but the view was far from flattering to our hopes. The sea, or rather the ice on its surface, was seen apparently not more than twelve miles distant, bearing north; but there was not a pool of open water visible. It was evident that our detention in the lakes had as yet lost us nothing. Returning at 8 P.M., I sent four men in two parties to endeavour to discover the best route, one party being ordered to trace a considerable lake in a N.N.W. direction, and, if possible, discover its outlet. 30th.--The men sent off last night returned between 1 and 2 this morning: those who went to the N.W. reported that there was a small stream flowing towards the Arctic Sea from the farthest extremity of the lake they had traced. As this account agreed with what we had heard from the Esquimaux, there was no doubt that we were now in the right track. We had to cross two portages, each a quarter of a mile, and traverse a lakelet one mile in extent, before we reached the body of water which the men had traced to its outlet. It was half-past 2 before we accomplished this work, there being many obstructions in the form of large granite stones, among and over which we had to drag the boat. The lake in which we now found ourselves is upwards of 27 fathoms deep, about 6½ miles long, and not more than half a mile broad; it lies nearly N. by W., and is bounded by banks much more steep and rugged than any we had yet passed, being in some places two or three hundred feet high. It is situated in latitude 66° 55' N., and longitude 87° 35' W. We found that the longest and most difficult portage was now before us. By the time we had the baggage carried half way over it was getting late, and we did not take dinner until 9 P.M. The following morning was cloudy, with a cold north breeze, which was not at all unfavourable for the work we had to do. We went to work at an early hour, but our advance was very slow, as the portage fully realised the bad opinion that we had formed of it. Hitherto, by laying the anchor out some distance ahead, and having a block attached to the bow of the boat by a strop, or what sailors call a swifter, passing round her, we could form a purchase sufficiently strong to move her with facility, but here our utmost exertions were required, and the tracking line was frequently broken. A piece of iron an eighth of an inch thick, which lined the keel from stem to stern, was actually drawn out and doubled up, so that it was necessary to remove the whole. At half-past 10, when half-way across, we breakfasted, after which we met with a bank of snow, over which we went at a great rate. The latitude, 66° 59' 37" N., was observed. Near the extremity of the portage there were some ponds of water deep enough to float the boat, that helped us not a little. The descent of a steep bank fully a hundred feet high brought us into another fine lake eight miles long and one mile broad, lying nearly north and south, with steep rocky shores on its west side: the place where we came upon its waters was about three miles from its southern extremity. This lake was named "Miles," after a friend. As it was quite calm, we pulled up due north and entered a narrow inlet, out of which there was no passage. We had passed at a mile and a half from this a stream flowing from the lake, but it looked so insignificant that I could not suppose it to be the same that the Esquimaux had reported as having sufficient water for floating the boat. It was now too late, however, to look for any other exit, and we all betook ourselves to rest after a hearty supper, for which the fatigues of the day gave us an excellent appetite. Some of the men had large pieces of the skin stripped from their backs whilst lifting the boat over the various obstructions on the portage. 1st August.--Finding that there was no likelihood of there being any other outlet to the lake than the one we had seen, we took out the cargo, and hauling our boat over a shallow part, we reloaded and soon entered a narrow lake, the waters of which were very muddy. At half an hour before noon we landed to have breakfast, and the latitude 67° 4' 22" N., variation of the compass 66° 38' W., were observed. The shores of this lake, being covered with a rich pasturage and a great variety of flowers, afforded a pleasing contrast to the country we had hitherto travelled through. There were great numbers of marmots here, with a well-beaten path leading from one burrow to another. After dragging the boat over many shallows, we arrived a little after 5 P.M. at high-water mark, in latitude 67° 13' N., longitude 87° 30' W. The tide being out, and there not being sufficient water to float the boat, I decided on remaining here until the flood made. The recent foot-tracks of two Esquimaux were seen on the sand. A short distance below where we stopped, the stream we had descended empties its waters into a small river which flows from the westward. 2nd.--As the tide did not rise so high by two feet during the night as it had done the previous day, the boat did not float; we were, consequently, obliged to carry our baggage a mile further down the stream, and afterwards, with much trouble, haul our boat over numerous shoals. We were now afloat in a salt-water lake, and on passing a small point two Esquimaux tents came in view. Not having got breakfast, I landed with the interpreter, and, whilst the men were cooking, went to ascertain if there were any inhabitants. All was quiet inside, but after calling once or twice outside the door of one of the tents, an old woman made her appearance, apparently just out of bed, as she was very coolly drawing on her capacious boots, whilst she surveyed her visitors without showing the slightest symptoms of alarm, although I afterwards learned that I was the first European she had ever seen. An old man soon after popped out his head alongside that of his better half, who appeared to be endowed with a flow of language which set all his efforts to say anything at defiance. A few trifling presents put us all, in a few minutes, on a most friendly footing. Their report of the state of the ice in the large bay before us was far from encouraging; they said that there was seldom sufficient water for the passage of one of their small canoes, and present appearances led me to suppose that they were correct. The name of the man was I-il-lak, of the woman Rei-lu-ak. The remainder of the party, consisting of their two sons and their wives, had gone a day's journey inland to hunt the musk-ox. From a chart drawn by the woman, who, as is usual, (at least among the Esquimaux) was much the more intelligent of the two, I was led to infer that there was no opening leading into the large bay but through the Strait of the Fury and Hecla, and Prince Regent's Inlet. As soon as breakfast was over, in which our new friends joined us, we crossed the lake, which is 6 miles long by 1½ broad, and put on shore three of the men (W. Adamson, H. Mineau, and Nibitabo) who had assisted us across, and were now to walk back to Repulse Bay, a distance of forty-three miles. By them I sent orders to John Folster (the man left in charge) to make every possible preparation for wintering, and to keep up a friendly intercourse with the natives. My crew now consisted of George Flett, John Corrigal, Richard Turner, Edward Hutchison, Peter Mathieson, Jacques St. Germain, and William Ouligbuck. We now passed for two miles through a narrow channel--not more than 40 yards wide--among pieces of ice which were carried along with great rapidity by the ebb tide that had just commenced; this led us into the deep inlet which we had seen on the 29th ult. This inlet I named after Donald Ross, Esq., Chief-Factor. We found but little open water; by keeping near the rocks, however, we made some progress northward by using our ice-poles, and after advancing a mile or two I went upon a piece of ice and obtained the latitude 67° 15' N. by a meridian observation of the sun in quicksilver. About eight miles to the north of this we passed a rocky point, which was named after Chief-Factor Hargrave, the gentleman in charge of York Factory when the expedition was fitted out, and who afforded every possible assistance towards its proper equipment. This point is formed of granite and gneiss, and has a very rugged appearance, there being neither moss nor grass on the rocks to soften their asperities. At 7 A.M. on the 3rd, when a few miles past Point Hargrave, being completely stopped by ice, we put ashore and found a large wooden sledge, which we cut up for fuel. The wood was evidently the planks of some vessel (probably of the Fury or Sir John Ross's steamer the Victory) as there were holes in it bored with an auger. After working our way a mile or two further, we arrived at a high rocky cape having three elevations upon it lying east and west from each other. This headland, which was honoured with the name of the lady of Sir John H. Pelly, Bart., Governor of the Hudson's Bay Company, is situated in latitude 67° 28' N.; longitude by account 87° 40' W.; variation of the compass 82° 36' W. It was low water to-day at 11 A.M., the fall of the tide being 8½ feet, and the depth of water within a hundred yards of the beach from 3 to 5 fathoms, on a bottom of mud or sand. Shortly after noon a fog came on so thick that we could only see a few yards round us; we, however, pushed our way for 2½ miles beyond Cape Lady Pelly, along a flat coast lined with mud banks from eight to ten feet high, frozen solid within a foot of the surface. At 4 P.M. the ice was too closely packed to allow us to proceed; we therefore turned towards the shore, and after some trouble effected a landing. The fog still continued so thick, that, after wandering about for a few miles, I had much difficulty in finding the boat again, hid as it was by the surrounding masses of ice. We were much at a loss for drinkable water, there not being a drop in the neighbourhood but what resembled chocolate in appearance. In the forenoon some wolves, part of a band that had serenaded us last night with their dismal howlings, were seen prowling about; and a white-winged silvery gull (_L. leucopterus_), a diminutive sandpiper (_tringa minuta_), and a marmot were shot. 4th.--There was a drizzling rain with thick fog all night, but not a breath of wind. As the tide flowed the ice moved slowly and silently round us, so that in the morning we had not more than a yard or two of open water near us, being blocked in on all sides by pieces from 15 to 20 feet thick. The rise of the tide was not less than nine feet. In the forenoon I walked upwards of five miles along the shore to the north-westward, passing a few low sandy points about a mile and a half from each other, which formed a succession of small bays, into each of which a ravine with high and steep mud banks opened, down which a streamlet of pea-soup-coloured water flowed. We fell in with the heads and horns of several musk cattle and reindeer, and saw recent footmarks of some of the latter, but they had probably been driven some distance away by the wolves we saw yesterday. Marmots were numerous in every direction, chattering to each other, and rising on their hind legs to obtain a better view of the strangers. Many golden plovers and different kinds of sandpipers were flying about, and a jager (_L. parasiticus_) was shot: some plants were also collected. The travelling along this coast was extremely fatiguing, being very often nearly knee-deep in a very adhesive mud. The thermometer rose as high as 70° in the forenoon; in the afternoon it fell to 48°; and in the evening the weather was cold and unpleasant, with heavy rain. 5th.--During the greater part of last night the rain continued, but it was perfectly calm, although by the lead of the clouds we were in hopes of a breeze of wind off shore. Our boat being in danger of injury from some heavy masses of ice that were turning over near us, we moved a dozen yards nearer the land. Our new situation, however, was little better than the one we had left, for as soon as the tide began to ebb large pieces of our "enemy" broke away and fell with a loud crash close alongside of us. It was high-water this morning at 3 o'clock, the rise of the tide being 11 feet 6 inches, whilst that of yesterday evening was only 5½ feet, an irregularity resembling that which was observed by Captain Sir J. Ross on the shores of Boothia. The temperature of the air in the morning was 46°, but rose to 65° during the day, which was very hazy, with occasional showers and a fresh breeze off shore; but this had not the slightest effect upon the ice, and led me to believe that the Esquimaux report as to the navigation being always obstructed here is correct. Seeing that there was no probability of our getting along shore towards Dease and Simpson's farthest, I determined to retrace our route, and if possible cross over to Melville Peninsula for the purpose of surveying its western shore, towards the Strait of the Fury and Hecla. In the evening, when the tide, which on the present occasion rose only 4½ feet, was in, we endeavoured to extricate ourselves; and after some hours of hard labour in chopping off some points of ice, and pushing aside such pieces as were not aground, we got a few hundred yards from the beach, and into water a little more open. About half-past ten a young buck was observed on a piece of ice half-a-mile to seaward, having been forced to take the water to avoid some wolves, one or two of which were seen skulking along shore watching for the return of the animal. The state of our larder did not permit us to be merciful, so the poor deer had little chance of escape from his biped and quadruped enemies when acting in concert. After a long chase he was shot whilst swimming from one floe to another. Having pulled and poled along shore all night, we landed for breakfast at 8 h. 30 m. A.M., on the 6th, about three miles to the south of Point Hargrave. The continued rain and fog had so completely saturated everything with damp that we had not a dry stitch of clothes to put on, and our bedding and fuel were in the same state; fortunately the weather was mild, so that we did not feel much inconvenience from this. Finding that the ice was clearing away a little--the effect of a south-east wind,--we directed our course towards the nearest point of Melville Peninsula, which bore east (true) of us, distant ten miles, and after threading our way among much heavy and close-packed floes, which obliged us to make frequent and long detours, after five hours' hard work we reached the land during a thunder-storm accompanied by torrents of rain. Our landing place was a long rocky point having a deep ice-filled inlet on its south side. To this point I gave the name of Cape Thomas Simpson, after the late enterprising traveller of that name. As we could not proceed on account of the thick fog and the state of the ice, we secured the boat to the rocks, and the men although drenched to the skin went immediately to sleep, eighteen hours of hard work at the oars and ice-poles having thoroughly tired them all. During the night of the 6th the weather was thick with occasional rain, but about 6 in the morning of the 7th a fresh breeze from the south-east dispersed the fog. As soon as it was cleared up we renewed our voyage, but our progress was very slow, having our old opponent to contend with; in four hours we gained as many miles and were again stopped. Seeing some deer near the beach, we landed, and whilst two of us had a fruitless chase after them the remainder of the party were busy cooking and drying our clothes, blankets, &c. The temperature of the air was 52°, that of the water 35°. The breeze gradually increased as the day advanced, and went round to the east, which drove the ice a short distance from the shore. We embarked again between 9 and 10 A.M., and ran to the eastward for a league or more, when the breeze having changed into a heavy gale, our boat ran great risk of being injured by the ice, of which we found it impossible to keep altogether clear. We therefore pulled up to a number of grounded pieces (a line of which completely barred us from the shore), and made fast to the largest of them. In getting this far we were in much danger from the falling, or breaking off, of overhanging masses (some of them 20 feet in height), which were crashing all around us, and under which we had frequently to pass. At 5 A.M. our floe got afloat, and began driving to leeward at a great rate. We just got the boat clear in time to prevent its being crushed against a berg that still remained fast. Some of the smaller pieces lying between us and the land having now floated, we managed to clear a passage for ourselves; yet although we had only a quarter of a mile to go, so strong was the gale that it required the utmost exertions of six men at the oars to reach the shore, when, having secured the boat and raised an oilcloth to keep off the rain, which had again commenced, we had our supper of pemmican and water, and retired to bed for the night. 8th.--On getting up this morning I found that it had become quite calm, and that the ice was coming in so thick and fast with the flood tide, that we had to move from our position as fast as possible. On pushing out to sea it soon became apparent that we could not proceed on our course, and that there was but little open water in the direction from whence we had come, and even that was fast filling up. As we could neither advance nor remain in safety where we were, there was only one course open to us, and that was to return towards the place from which we had started. It was now evident that this large bay was completely full of ice; for had this not been the case, the gale of yesterday must have cleared the coast for many miles. It was with a sad heart that I turned the head of our boat towards our starting point, where I purposed to await some favourable change in the state of the ice, and at the same time learn how the people left at Repulse Bay were getting on with preparations for wintering, which now appeared inevitable. The weather continued so much overcast that no observations could be obtained. In the afternoon a light breeze sprang up from W.N.W., which enabled us to reach in a short time Ross Inlet, where we had some trouble in finding the entrance of the river on account of the altered appearance of the rocks, it being now nearly low water and the shore clear of ice, compared with what it formerly was. We had much difficulty in towing up to the Salt Lake before mentioned, as the narrow but deep channel which led to it was, at this state of the tide, one continued rapid, and so strong was the force of the stream that our tracking line broke. We were soon snug in the Salt Lake, but had not been more than half an hour under shelter before almost every spot of open water outside was filled with ice, so rapidly had it followed in our wake. When we arrived opposite the tents of our Esquimaux friends, they came running down to the beach led on by the old lady whose fluency of speech I have already remarked, and who appeared determined to sustain her character on this occasion by making more noise than all the others put together, and expressing her joy at our return by loud shouts. The old people had during our absence been joined by the musk-ox hunters, two fine young active-looking fellows (named Ark-shuk and I-vit-chuck) and their wives. These women were the cleanest and best-looking I had yet seen. They were tatooed much in the same way as those at Repulse Bay. The hunters said they had been unsuccessful, but as each of the women had the tail, or a portion of the shaggy hair of the neck, of a musk-ox in her hand as a musquito flapper, their veracity was rather doubted. There was only one child with them, a sickly-looking boy of six or seven years, stepson to a man named Shi-shak, who arrived about an hour after us in his kayak from an unprofitable walrus hunt. I learnt from our Esquimaux acquaintances that the deer had commenced migrating southward. This being the case, I prepared to walk across to Repulse Bay to see what progress the party left there had made in their work. The weather had been so cloudy for the last week that no observations of any value could be obtained. Leaving three men and Ouligbuck's son in charge of the boat, I started at 6.30 A.M. on the 9th, in company with Corrigal, N. Germain, and Matheson, to cross the isthmus, taking a S.S.E. direction; but it was impossible to keep this course for any great distance, as we were forced to make long circuits to avoid precipices and arms of lakes. After a most fatiguing day's march over hill and dale, through swamp and stream, we halted at half-past 6 P.M. close to the second portage crossed on our outward route. To gain a distance of twenty miles we had travelled not less than thirty. Our supper was soon finished, as it was neither luxurious nor required much cooking, consisting of our staple commodities pemmican "cold with water." 10th.--The morning was raw and cold with some hoar frost, and there not being a blanket among the party and only two coats, our sleep was neither long, sound, nor refreshing. In fact I had carried no coat with me except a thin Macintosh, which, being damp from the rain of yesterday, had become an excellent conductor of caloric, and added to the chilly feeling instead of keeping it off. There is one advantage in an uncomfortable bed; it induces early rising, and it proved so in the present instance, for we had finished breakfast and resumed our journey by half-past 2 A.M. The travelling was as difficult as that of yesterday, but we had the advantage of a cool morning and got on more easily. At 7 o'clock we arrived at the narrows which separate Christie and North Pole Lakes, where we found the greater number of the Esquimaux we had seen, encamped, waiting for deer crossing over. Some of them immediately got into their kayaks and paddled across to our side of the lake, but with so much caution that it was evident we had not yet wholly gained their confidence. At 2 P.M. we arrived at Repulse Bay with most enviable appetites, but rather foot-sore, our shoes and socks having been entirely worn through long before we reached our destination. CHAPTER IV. State of things at Repulse Bay--Determine to discontinue the survey till the spring--Reasons--Party sent to bring over the boat--Fix on a site for winter residence--Ptarmigan--Laughing geese--Eider and king ducks--Visits of natives too frequent--Return of the party sent for the boat--Report the bay more closely packed than before--Preparations for wintering--Fort Hope built--Proceed to North Pole and Christie Lakes to look out for fishing stations--Purchase dogs--Wariness of the deer--Flocks of geese pass southward--Blue-winged and snow-geese--Their habits--Snow-storm--Its effects--Return to Fort Hope--Daily routine--Signs of winter--Deer numerous--Quantity of game killed--Provision-store built of snow--Great fall of snow--Effects of the cold--Adventure with a deer--Visited by a party of natives--Their report of the ice westward of Melville Peninsula--An island said to be wooded--Produce of the chase in October--Temperature--Two observatories built of snow--Band of wolves--A party caught in a snow-storm--Esquimaux theory of the heavenly bodies--Temperature of November--Diminished supply of provisions. On our arrival at Repulse Bay we found the men all well, but getting no more fish and venison than was barely sufficient to support them. Having taken but a scanty breakfast, I fully enjoyed my dinner here, but I reversed the usual order of eating the same, taking my venison steak first (it being soonest cooked), and salmon as second course. This was to me the most anxious period during the expedition; nor will this appear strange when I mention that it was necessary to decide, and that promptly, on one of two modes of proceeding, namely, whether to leave the whole survey to be completed during the following spring and summer, or to endeavour to follow it up this autumn. After mature consideration I determined on adopting the first of these measures, and giving up all hopes of prosecuting the survey at present. My reasons for arriving at this conclusion I shall briefly mention, as such a step may appear rather premature. I saw from the state of the ice and the prevalence of northerly winds that there was no probability of completing the whole of the proposed survey this season; and although part of the coast, either towards the Strait of Fury and Hecla, or towards Dease and Simpson's farthest, might be traced, yet to accomplish even this might detain us so long that there would be no time to make the necessary preparations for wintering, and we should thus be under the necessity of returning to Churchill without accomplishing the object of the expedition, or, if we remained at Repulse Bay, run the risk of starving, for I could obtain no promise of supplies from the natives, and all the provisions we had carried with us would not go far to support the party throughout the winter. We should thus have to depend almost, if not altogether, upon our own exertions for the means of existence both in regard to food and fuel. It ought to be borne in mind that we were differently situated from any party that had hitherto gone to these cold and barren regions. The resources of the country were quite unknown to us; it was not likely that the deer would remain near at hand all winter, as we were at too great a distance from the woods; and it was very evident, for the same reason, that we should not be able to procure any sort of fuel after the first fall of snow, which there was little doubt would occur some time in September. Before reaching the Arctic Sea to the west of Melville Peninsula, I was for various reasons inclined to agree with the opinion of Sir John Ross, "that Boothia was part of the continent of America." This opinion was strengthened when I observed the great rise and fall of the tide, which must have affected the tides at the Castor and Pollux River, had there been a strait of any width separating Boothia from the mainland, unless indeed the assumption of Captain Sir J. Ross, that "the sea to the west of Boothia stands at a higher level than that on the east side," be correct. In that case there would be a continual easterly current, which could scarcely fail to have been noticed by so acute an observer as Simpson. Retaining one man with myself to guard our stores and attend the nets, on the 11th I sent over the remaining six to assist in bringing over the boat. Ouligbuck had now been about two days looking for deer, and I began to feel anxious about him, when he made his appearance between 9 and 10 A.M. with the venison of a young deer on his back. As soon as my companion had returned from the nets, out of which he got no fish, I took a walk for the purpose of looking out for fishing stations and a site for our winter house. For the latter I could find no better place than a narrow but not deep valley within a few hundred yards of our landing-place, and about a hundred and fifty from North Pole River on its east side. There appeared to be various small bays along shore to the eastward which were likely to produce fish. A flock of laughing geese (_anser albifrons_) flew past quite close to me; but having only my rifle, I could but send a ball after them and missed as was to be expected. In a small pond an eider-duck was observed with her young brood apparently not more than twelve days old. The male eider and king ducks had already left this quarter, having migrated to the southward. 12th.--A cloudy day with a strong breeze from N.N.W. Two salmon and a trout were got from the nets, but Ouligbuck killed no deer. In the evening, when on my way to set a net in a lake at no great distance, I fell in with a covey of ptarmigan, (_T. rupestris_), most of the young being strong on the wing, and bagged eighteen brace in an hour or two. Knocking down those birds on this day made me half fancy myself among the grouse in my own barren native hills. On the 13th the weather was raw and cold with frequent showers, and a gale of wind from the same quarter as the day before. Four salmon were caught, and a deer was shot. The thermometer varied from 36° to 38°. Four Esquimaux men and two women visited us to-day. The 14th was much like the 13th, but there was no rain. As the visits of the natives had now become rather frequent, and as they brought nothing with them, but appeared to expect both food and presents, I bade Ouligbuck say that we could not afford to feed them any longer, and that they had better return to their huts, where I knew they were killing deer enough to support themselves. On returning from my daily walk, I found that our friends had taken leave rather hurriedly, having been detected appropriating some salt fish, which they could not eat. For this they were sharply reprimanded by the interpreter, and one of the ladies was most ungallantly accused by her husband of being the offender. Corrigal and I hauled the seine in the evening and caught thirty-three salmon; fourteen more were got out of the nets. 15th.--This was a beautiful day throughout. In the evening, the sky being clear and cloudless, some stars were visible, and a few streaks of orange-coloured aurora showed themselves to the southward. The seine was again hauled, and thirty-two salmon (some of them very small) caught, whilst the nets produced eleven more. Just as we were landing our fish, the men who had been taking over the boat made their appearance, being a day earlier than I expected. By keeping the proper route three of the portages were avoided, and they had the advantage of a fine fair breeze all through the lakes. The large bay (Akkoolee) was reported as being more closely packed with ice than before. This was nothing but what I should have expected after the late north-westerly winds. The two Esquimaux, Arkshuk and Ivitchuk, ("Anglice" Aurora and Walrus,) who had been engaged to aid in dragging the boat over the portages, had wrought well, and readily accommodated themselves to the habits of the men. They were well recompensed; and Ivitchuk (a merry little fellow) was engaged to accompany me on my intended spring journeys. The boat was for the present left at North Pole Lake, as it might still be required there. The 16th was a day of rest, and the 17th was so stormy and wet that little work could be done. All hands were now busily employed making preparations for a long and dreary winter; for this purpose four men were set to work to collect stones for building a house, whilst the others were occupied in setting nets, hunting deer, and gathering fuel. Our work was much impeded by rainy weather, particularly the house building, as the clay or mud was washed away as soon as applied. We found that our nets were so much cut up by a small marine insect from a half to three-quarters of an inch long, resembling a shrimp in miniature--the favourite food of the salmon--that it was quite impossible to keep them in repair. I thought to destroy their taste for hemp by steeping the nets in a strong decoction of tobacco, but it had no effect. On the 2nd September our house was finished; its internal dimensions were 20 feet long by 14 feet broad, height in front 7½ feet, sloping to 5½ at the back. We formed a very good roof by using the oars and masts of our boats as rafters, and covering them with oilcloth and moose skin, the latter being fixed to the lower or inside of the rafters, whilst the former was placed on the outside to run off the rain. The door was made of parchment deer-skins stretched over a frame of wood. The walls were fully two feet thick, with three small openings, in which a like number of windows, each having two panes of glass, were placed. Our establishment was dignified with the name of Fort Hope, and was situated in 66° 32' 16" N.; longitude (by a number of sets of lunar distances with objects on both sides of the moon) 86° 55' 51" W. The variation of the compass on 30th August was 62° 50' 30" W.; mean dip of the needle, and the mean twice of a hundred vertical vibrations in the line of declination 226". A sort of room was formed at one end by putting up a partition of oilcloth. In this, besides its serving as my quarters, all our pemmican and some of the other stores were stowed away. From the 5th to the 13th I was up at North Pole and Christie Lakes in the boat with three men, our object being to look out for fishing stations, and also to purchase dogs from the Esquimaux. The wind being from the north, we did not reach the Esquimaux encampment till the 10th. They had shifted their tents from the narrows to a small point about eight miles up Christie Lake, where the deer were more numerous, among which they seemed to have made great havoc, to judge by the abundance of skins and venison lying in all directions. Our friends were delighted to see us, and had improved much in appearance, the only poor animals about them being their dogs, which appeared to get no more to eat than was barely sufficient to keep them in life. I looked out four of the best, being all I wanted at present, for which I promised a dagger each, intending to take them with us on our return. During our stay here a band of deer came to the edge of the lake, and after feeding a short time took the water. Three of the natives slipped noiselessly into their kayaks, and lay waiting, until the deer were far enough out in the water, to intercept them, but just as they were on the eve of starting the wind changed a little, and the deer smelling their enemy wheeled about, and were soon in safety on the beach from which they had started. Many large flocks of Hutchins and snow geese had been seen for the last few days passing to the southward. The blue-winged goose of Edwards is by some ornithologists considered as the young of the last named bird in one of its stages towards maturity, but this opinion I believe to be erroneous, for the following reasons. During a ten years' residence at Moose Factory, on the shores of Hudson's Bay, I had many opportunities, every spring and autumn, of observing both the snow and the blue-winged goose in their passage to and from their breeding places, the marshes near Moose being favourite feeding ground. In spring both species are very nearly alike in size, the blue-winged goose, although shorter, being rather the heavier bird. In the autumn there are four distinct varieties, two of which exactly resemble in size and plumage those seen in the spring, whilst the others are much smaller, and differ much from these and from each other in their markings; the young of the snow goose being of a light grey colour, darkest on the head and upper part of the neck; whilst the young of the blue-winged goose is of a dark slate colour, approaching to black on the head and neck. Neither do the young separate from the old, as has been asserted; for families may be seen feeding by themselves all over the marshes, the old bird keeping a sharp look-out, and giving timely warning to her brood of any approaching danger. In fact the Indian, who has thoroughly studied the habits of the bird, takes advantage of her affection for her young, and of their attachment to their parent, to make both his prey. Well knowing that the young are easily decoyed by imitating their call and by mock geese set up in the marsh, and that the old bird, although more shy, will follow them, he waits patiently until she comes within range; if he shoots her he is pretty sure to kill the greater part of the others, as they continue to fly over and around the place for some time after. During the night of the 10th, when near the north end of the lake, we experienced one of the severest snow storms I ever witnessed. As we were sleeping on shore we never thought of putting up any sort of shelter; the consequence was that in the morning we were covered with snow to the depth of a foot. Our boat, which had been hauled up on the beach, was blown away from her fastenings, and carried several hundred yards into the lake among some stones. Being the only one of the party provided on the spot with Macintosh boots, it fell to my lot to wade out to the boat, throw overboard the ballast, lift her bows over the stones, and take a line to the shore; which, from having miscalculated the depth of the water, I found a more disagreeable task than I had expected. Fortunately the boat sustained no injury. It was now about 6 o'clock in the morning of the 11th, and as the storm continued unabated we made a sort of tent of our sails. In doing this the men got so wet and cold, from the snow thawing on them, that they could not even light their pipes. In the afternoon the weather improved, and we were able to scrape a little fuel together, with which we cooked some salmon and boiled a kettle of tea, which made us feel quite comfortable again. We thus combined breakfast, dinner, and supper in one meal. The hares had already acquired their winter coat, and the golden plovers and sandpipers had all disappeared, but some Lapland and snow-buntings and the shore-lark were still to be seen. A little after noon on the 13th the wind shifted to the S.W., and we got under weigh to return home. A couple of hours brought us to the Esquimaux, where we stopped to take on board our dogs. A young lad also came with us to carry some medicine for the patriarch of the tribe, who was labouring under various complaints peculiar to old age. We arrived at North Pole River at 6 P.M., having had a beautiful run all the way. As we were not likely to require the boat on the lakes again this season, she was hauled up and placed in security for the winter. While at the lake we had not been able to procure much more food than was necessary for our own use, but this may in part have been attributable to the bad weather. The storm of the 10th had been much felt at our house, and so great was its force that the boat left there was lifted a few yards by it, but received no injury. Much heavy ice was driven into the bay and lay heaped up all along the shore. Our house was still far from comfortable, the clay being quite wet and producing a most unpleasant feeling of dampness,--far more disagreeable than a much lower temperature with dry weather. Our time was now continually occupied in collecting fuel, (portions of which, as soon as it became dry, were built up into small heaps on the rocks near the house,) in fishing, and in shooting deer and partridges. The routine of our day's work was as follows: in the morning we were up before day-light; the men got their orders for the several duties they had to perform, which were principally carried on out of doors, and at which they set to work immediately after rolling up their bedding and taking breakfast. This meal usually consisted of boiled venison, the water with which it was cooked being converted into a very excellent soup by the addition of some deer's blood, and a handful or two of flour. Our dinner, or rather supper, consisted of the same materials as our breakfast, and was taken about 4 or 5 o'clock; after that, my time was employed in writing my journal or making calculations; whilst the men were busy improving themselves in reading, arithmetic, &c., in which I assisted them as much as my time would permit. Divine service was read every Sunday when practicable. On the 20th the pools of water were covered with ice sufficiently strong to be walked upon, and on the 28th some hooks were set under the ice on the lakes for trout. During the latter part of the month deer were very numerous. As many as seventeen were shot on the 28th, and on the following day ten more were got, seven of which were killed by myself within a few miles of the house. On the 29th a considerable portion of the bay was frozen over, and the seals were seen popping up their heads every now and then through the ice to keep breathing places open. The weather during this month having been very changeable and stormy, and unfavourable for observations of all kinds, the sextant had frequently been exchanged for the rifle--a not unwelcome exchange to one addicted to field-sports "from his youth upwards." Our sporting book for the month showed that we had been doing something towards laying in a stock of provisions for winter; 63 deer, 5 hares, one seal, 172 partridges, and 116 salmon and trout, had been brought in. October.--During the first part of this month some of the men were employed in building a store of snow for our provisions, and covering it with two of the sails. On the 12th and three following days there was one continued storm which drifted the snow all round the house as high as the roof, and on the night of the 15th would have choked all our dogs that were chained outside, had not Adamson and another got up and cut their fastenings. On the 16th, when it cleared up, the thermometer first fell to zero. The cold had now penetrated in-doors and frozen the clay on the walls, which made us much more comfortable. On attempting to open some books that had been lying on a shelf, I was surprised to find that the leaves were all frozen together; when I mention this, and also that our powder horns and every other article that was bound with brass or silver burst their fastenings, some idea may be formed of the dampness of our house whilst the clay on the walls was wet. On the 19th, when out shooting, having killed one deer, I went in pursuit of another (a large buck) that had been wounded, and put four balls through him. Thinking that the last ball had settled the business, (for he had fallen,) I went carelessly up to him without re-loading my rifle, and when within a few yards I believe I apostrophized the animal much in the following strain--"Ah! poor fellow, you are done for at last!" when the deer, as if he had understood what I said, and thought I was adding insult to injury, sprung to his legs in a moment, and at a couple of bounds his horns were within a foot of me. Circumstanced as I was, I thought with Falstaff "that discretion was the better part of valour", and beat a hasty retreat, laughing heartily all the time at the strange figure we must have made. Taking the deer by the horns could have been of no use, and might have cost me some troublesome bruises and scratches. Twelve Esquimaux and a boy visited us on the 23rd; among whom was the man (named Shi-ma-kuk) to whom the sledge belonged, part of which we had used for fuel when near Cape Lady Pelly with the boat. He was now rewarded, and apparently so much to his satisfaction that he would have had no objections to have another sledge burnt on the same terms. They reported that the bay, to the west of Melville Peninsula, had been packed full of ice ever since we were over there, until a few days before they came away, when there was some open water to be seen. Besides purchasing five dozen rein-deer tongues, a seal-skin full of oil, and some other articles, we added two good dogs to our team. Among other information they told me that there was an island in Akkoolee (the large bay west of Melville Peninsula,) named Sha-took, (which means low or flat,) on which large trees grew; but they acknowledged that none of them had ever been on the island, although they had been near enough to see the trees distinctly. In this I believe their imaginations had deceived them, aided perhaps in some degree by a peculiar state of the atmosphere, during which the appearance of the land has been so distorted that it has been mistaken for woods. Some round sticks, probably spars belonging to one of the two vessels left in Prince Regent's Inlet, having been picked up along the west shore of Melville Peninsula, had no doubt strengthened the opinion they had formed. Two of their party whom we had never seen, were drowned in Miles Lake by falling through the ice; the one in chasing a deer, and the other, it is supposed, in attempting to save his companion. Our visitors left us on the 25th, promising to return soon with some deer-skin dresses. During the whole of the month we were occupied much the same way as in the previous one. Deer were numerous during the first part of it, but scarce latterly; sixty-nine were shot, but the produce of our nets had fallen very low, eighteen salmon and four trout being all we caught. The highest temperature of the month was 38°, whilst the lowest was 15°. Although there was a great deal of very stormy weather, there were some clear calm nights, of which I took advantage to obtain lunar distances. Two observatories had been built of snow, with a pillar of ice in each (at the suggestion of Captain Lefroy, R.A.), the one for the dip circle, the other for an horizontally suspended needle to try the effects of the aurora upon it. So much snow had fallen that it lay four feet deep on the roof of our meat store, and was near breaking the masts which supported it; so that we were obliged to raise its walls about a fathom to prevent such an occurrence in future. On the 4th November, when out looking for deer a little before day-light in the morning, I observed a band of animals coming over a rising ground at a quick pace directly towards me. I at first supposed them to be deer, but on a nearer approach they proved to be wolves, seventeen in number. They continued to advance at full speed until within forty yards, when they formed a sort of half circle to leeward. Hoping to send a ball through one of them, I knelt down and took what I thought a sure aim at a large fellow that was nearest; unfortunately it was not yet broad day-light, and the rascals all kept end on to me, so that the ball merely cut off a line of hair and a piece of skin from his side. They apparently did not expect to meet with such a reception, for after looking at me a second or two they trotted off, no doubt as much disappointed at not making a breakfast of me as I was at missing my aim. Had they come to close quarters (which they sometimes do when pressed hard for food) I had a large and strong knife which would have proved a very efficient weapon. On my way home I shot three hares. On the 5th two partridges were shot which very much resembled the tetrao saliceti, but which I suppose to be the T. mutus. The parasitæ found on them differed from those usually found on the willow grouse. We began during this month to find that we could not afford fuel to dry our clothes; I therefore adopted the plan that a celebrated miser took to warm his food, by taking them under the blankets with me at night, and drying them by the heat of the body. This, it may be supposed, was not very agreeable, particularly when the weather became colder, for the moisture froze during the day on the blankets, which sparkled with hoar frost when I went to bed. In the afternoon of the 9th we had one of the most severe snow storms that had yet been experienced, and I was much alarmed at the non-arrival of four men who had gone in the morning to examine some nets and set others in North Pole Lake eight miles from the house. Guns were fired to attract the attention of the party, who made their appearance at half-past 8 P.M., when we had given up all hopes of seeing them until the following day. They had been upwards of eight hours in coming as many miles, and were like walking pillars of snow when they came in. The four dogs they had with them were still missing, having run off with the sled as soon as they smelt the house. On the following day they were found entangled with one another, and the sled stuck fast against some rocks. One or two of the dogs were completely covered up with snow, but all safe. About 2 P.M. on the 25th, two Esquimaux men and a boy, named Arkshuk (Aurora Borealis), Took-oo-lak (the falling stick), and Che-mik-tee (snuff), came to see us with deer-skin clothes, &c. for barter. I had a good deal of conversation through the interpreters with Arkshuk, whom I found rather intelligent and communicative. It appears that the favourite food of these Esquimaux is musk-ox flesh; venison ranks next, and bear and walrus are preferred to seal and fish. Their theory regarding the sun and moon is rather peculiar. It is said that many years ago, not long after the creation of the world, there was a mighty conjuror (Esquimaux of course), who gained so much power that at last he raised himself up into the heavens, taking with him his sister (a beautiful girl) and a fire. To the latter he added great quantities of fuel, which thus formed the sun. For some time he and his sister lived in great harmony, but at last they disagreed, and he, in addition to maltreating the lady in many ways, at last scorched one side of her face. She had suffered patiently all sorts of indignities, but the spoiling of her beauty was not to be borne; she therefore ran away from him and formed the moon, and continues so until this day. Her brother is still in chase of her, but although he sometimes gets near, he will never overtake her. When it is new moon, the burnt side of the face is towards us; when full moon, the reverse is the case. The stars are supposed to be the spirits of the dead Esquimaux that have fixed themselves in the heavens, and falling stars, or meteors, and the aurora borealis, are those spirits moving from one place to another whilst visiting their friends. The highest, lowest, and mean temperature of November were respectively +28°, -25°, and +0.68. Only twelve deer, nine hares, and a few partridges had been shot, whilst our nets produced about sixty fish, the greater part of which were small. CHAPTER V. Winter arrangements completed--Learn to build snow houses--Christmas-day--North Pole River frozen to the bottom--1st January--Cheerfulness of the men--Furious snow-storm--Observatories blown down--Boat buried under the snow--Ouligbuck caught in the storm--Dog attacked by a wolf--Party of natives take up their residence near Fort Hope--Esquimaux mentioned by Sir John Ross known to them--Boat dug out of the snow--A runaway wife--Deer begin to migrate northward--A wolf-chase--First deer of the season shot--Difficulty of deer-hunting in spring--Dimensions of an Esquimaux canoe--Serious accident to Ouligbuck--A conjuror--Preparations for the journey northward--Temperature--Aurora Borealis. During December we completed our various buildings, and formed passages under the snow, so that we could without exposure go to any of them. There were four houses, viz.: one for provisions, another for fuel, a third for oil, dog's meat, &c., and a fourth for the men's spare luggage, for which there was no room in the dwelling-house, and which had been stowed in the tents until it was found necessary to take them down. Being desirous of requiring as little assistance from the Esquimaux as possible, I attempted to build a snow house after the native fashion, and succeeded tolerably well; finding that the process was not so difficult as I anticipated, after a few trials one or two of the men became very good masons. We had now no encouragement to move much about, as there was no game to be seen, and the weather was very unsettled, and consequently no more exercise was taken than was necessary to keep us in good health. In stormy weather, not being able to get out of doors, the men wrestled or played some game which called the muscles into action, and thus kept up the animal heat. On the 21st, the sun's lower limb rose about double his diameter above a rising ground to the southward, on a level with Fort Hope. On the 23rd and 24th, whilst looking out some good venison for our Christmas dinner, we examined our stock of such provisions, and found that we had not enough to last us until the return of the deer in spring; fortunately we had still a good supply of pemmican left. Christmas-day was passed very agreeably, but the weather was so stormy and cold that only a very short game at foot-ball could be played. Short as it was, however, it was sufficiently amusing, for our faces were every moment getting frost-bitten either in one place or another, so as to require the continual application of the hand; and the rubbing, running about, and kicking the ball all at the same time, produced a very ludicrous effect. Our dinner was composed of excellent venison and a plum-pudding, with a moderate allowance of brandy punch to drink a health to absent friends. For some time past, washing the face had been rather an unpleasant operation, as any water that got among the hair froze upon it immediately. This is mentioned by Sir George Back as having occurred once to him at Fort Reliance, in 1833. On the 28th, North Pole River got frozen to the bottom, so that we were forced to go to a lake to the S.W. of Beacon Hill, about half a mile distant, for water. The 1st of January was as beautiful a day as we could have wished to begin the new year with. There was a light air of wind, and the temperature varied from -23° to -26°. After a most excellent breakfast of fat venison steaks, all the party were occupied for some hours with a spirited game at foot-ball, at which there was much fun, the snow being so hard and slippery that several pairs of heels might be seen in the air at the same time. My dinner consisted of part of a hare and rein-deer tongue, with a currant pudding as second course. The men's mess was much like my own, except that they had venison instead of hare. A small supply of brandy was served out, and on the whole I do not believe that a more happy company could have been found in America, large as it is. 'Tis true that an agreeable companion to join me in a glass of punch, to drink a health to absent friends, to speak of by-gone times and speculate on the future, might have made the evening pass more pleasantly, yet I was far from unhappy. To hear the merry joke, the hearty laugh, and lively song among my men, was of itself a source of much pleasure. On the 7th the tracks of a few deer were unexpectedly seen within a few miles of the house; and on the following day the thermometer showed a temperature of -47°, the lowest we experienced during the winter. The 9th was a more disagreeable day than any we had yet had. A storm from the north with thick snow-drift, and a temperature of 72° below the freezing point, made it feel bitterly cold. Fortunately we had some days before made a house for our dogs, else they must have inevitably been frozen to death. Such was the force of the gale for two days that both observatories were completely demolished, and wherever the snow banks projected in the slightest degree above the surrounding level, they were worn away by the friction of the snow-drift as if cut with a knife. The thermometer indoors varied from 29° to 40° below the freezing point; which would not have been unpleasant where there was a fire to warm the hands and feet, or even room to move about; but where there was neither the one nor the other, some few degrees more heat would have been preferable. As we could not go for water we were forced to thaw snow, and take only one meal each day. My waistcoat after a week's wearing became so stiff from the condensation and freezing of my breath upon it, that I had much trouble to get it buttoned. The gale did not subside until the 15th, when we were busily employed repairing the damages done by the wind and drift. As a great weight of snow had lodged upon our boat, we were afraid she might be injured by the pressure, and some of the men were employed to search for her, but there was some difference of opinion about her exact situation, and it was two days before she was found, after digging to the depth of eight feet. A stick was set up at one end of the boat that there might be no difficulty in finding the place again. One cause of discomfort to me was the great quantity of tobacco smoke in our low and confined house, it being sometimes so thick that no object could be seen at a couple of yards' distance. The whole party, with the exception of myself, were most inveterate smokers; indeed it was impossible to be awake for ten minutes during the night without hearing the sound of the flint and steel striking a light. Of course I might to a great extent have put a stop to this, but the poor fellows appeared to receive so much comfort from the use of the pipe, that it would have been cruelty to do so for the sake of saving myself a trifling inconvenience. This month was so stormy that the most of our time when we could get out of doors was passed in clearing away the snow that drifted about our doors and over the house, and in rebuilding and repairing. The boat, and also the stick that had been set up as a mark, were completely covered over. On the 18th Ouligbuck had gone out to hunt, and did not return till the 25th, after I had given up all hopes of ever seeing him again in life. It appeared that he had visited the Esquimaux at Christie Lake for the purpose of speaking to them about not having kept their promise regarding some oil that they said they would bring to us, and which they had omitted to do. He had been caught by the storm of the 18th before he reached his friends, and was obliged to build a snow hut, in which he passed the night comfortably enough. On the following morning, when it cleared up a little, he found that he was not more than two hundred yards from his destination, which the thickness of the weather on the previous day had prevented him from seeing. One of the dogs we had lent this party to aid in drawing some provisions to the coast had a narrow escape from a wolf. Having broken loose she set out on her return home, when she was attacked by the wolf, and treated much in the same way that Tam O'Shanter's mare was by Cutty Sark, for "The wolf had caught her by the rump, And left poor Surie scarce a stump." On the last day of January some Esquimaux, who were to take up their quarters near us, arrived with part of their luggage and provisions, and built their snow house near the south side of Beacon Hill. This would have been the best situation for our establishment, as it was completely sheltered from the northerly gales, but we were too late in making the discovery. I visited the Esquimaux on the 1st February, and found the old man, named Shishak, and his wife in their comfortable house, which was so warm that my waistcoat, which had been frozen quite stiff for some time past, actually thawed. It was not easy to learn any of the peculiarities of these people, as Ouligbuck was rather shy about describing their habits. Ouligbuck's son informed me that even in winter they strip off all their clothes before going to bed. When taking a walk on the 3rd I passed near the Esquimaux, and found one of them repairing the runners of his sledge. The substance used was a mixture of moss chopped up fine, and snow soaked in water, lumps of which are firmly pressed on the sledge with the bare hand, and smoothed over so as to have an even surface. The process occupied the man nearly an hour, during the whole of which time he did not put his hands in his mitts, nor did he appear to feel the cold much, although the temperature was 30° below zero. On the 4th Ouligbuck set his gun for a wolf that had been prowling about for the last few days. The usual mode is to fix the gun to two sticks with its muzzle pointed to a bait placed at the distance of fifteen or twenty yards, with a line attached to it, the other end of which is fastened to the trigger; but Ouligbuck's plan was quite different from this. He enclosed the gun in a small snow house, in such a manner that there was nothing visible but the bait, which was not more than a foot from the muzzle, so that the shot could scarcely miss the head of the animal. When Ouligbuck went to his gun next morning, he saw the track of the wolf, and followed it to the dog-kennel, in which he had comfortably taken up his quarters; he immediately took the brute by the tail and dragged him outside much against his will, when he was soon dispatched with an ice-chisel. This animal was very large, but in the last stage of starvation, with a severe arrow or gun-shot wound in one thigh. He measured 5 feet 9 inches from the nose to the tip of the tail, (length of tail 1 foot 7 inches,) and his height at the shoulder was 2 feet 8 inches. On the 7th a man named Ak-kee-ou-lik, who had promised us four seal-skins of oil, arrived and said that he could only let us have one, because the bears had broken into his "cache" and devoured nearly all its contents. This story I did not believe at the time, and I afterwards found out that it was false. I felt a good deal annoyed at the man's not keeping his promise, because we had depended much upon this supply for fuel and light. To save the former, we had during part of last month taken only one meal a-day, and discontinued the comfort of a cup of tea with our evening repast. Of oil, our stock was so small, that we had been forced to keep early and late hours, namely, lying occasionally fourteen hours in bed, as we found that to sit up in a house in which the temperature was some degrees below zero, without either light or fire, was not very pleasant. Fortunately we all enjoyed excellent health, and our few discomforts, instead of causing discontent, furnished us with subjects of merriment. For instance, Hutchison about this time had his knee frozen in bed, and I believe the poor fellow (who by-the-bye was the softest of the party) was afterwards very sorry for letting it be known, as he got so heartily laughed at for his effeminacy. On the 9th, one of the Esquimaux women (wife of Keiktoo-oo) that came to see us, had a brass wheel 1-1/3 or 2 inches in diameter fastened on her dress as an ornament. It was evidently part of some instrument, probably of some of those left by Sir John Ross at Victoria Harbour. I wished to purchase it, but she would not part with it. 15th.--Akkeeoulik brought over a large and heavy hoop of iron, which had been at one time round the rudder head, bowsprit end, or mast head of a vessel, as he said it had been taken off a large stick. I did not buy it from him, as he was in disgrace for having disappointed me about the oil. About 1 P.M. on the same day a number of the natives paid us a visit, among whom were Ec-vu-chi, I-vit-chuk, and Ou-too-ouniak, three of the most decent and best behaved of the party. They brought us a quantity of venison, of which they had still a large stock, and some of which they were now willing to dispose of, as they found that they had more than was requisite for their own consumption. They had frequently seen Ooblooria, Ikmallik, and some of the other Esquimaux mentioned by Sir John Ross, and I also further learnt that the man with the wooden leg, named Tulluahiu, was dead, but how long since I could not discover. The greater part of the men had been employed for the last fourteen days digging away the snow from the boat to relieve her from the pressure, as she was covered up to the depth of more than twelve feet. This was no easy task; however, we managed it in the following manner. Having cut a narrow opening through the snow down to the boat, we erected a tackle over it and hoisted up the loose snow, as it was removed with spades and axes. After excavating a space the full length of the boat, and clearing the snow out of it, the bow and stern were alternately raised, and the blocks of snow which were chopped from the top pushed underneath to prevent its sinking down again. In this way the men could work without exposure, and when the weather was stormy the hole was covered with a sail, so that the snow-drift could not interfere with our labours. We had yesterday got her close to the top of the snow roof, and to-day the weather being fine she was hauled out and found to be uninjured, except a small split in one of her thwarts caused by the great weight. She was now placed in a situation where there was no danger of her being again drifted over. The Esquimaux left us on the 17th, having behaved themselves in the most exemplary manner. One of Akkeeoulik's wives (quite a young dame with a most interesting squint) took this opportunity of leaving her husband and putting herself under the care of her father Outoo-ouniak, the alleged cause of her dissatisfaction being that she did not get enough to eat. The disconsolate man followed the party for some distance in hopes of persuading the runaway to return, but without success. Our fuel getting rather scarce, some of the men were sent to dig among the snow for moss and heather, and they usually got as much in a day as would cook one meal, but as the spring advanced, and the snow began to disappear, two men could procure as much as we required. When the men were taking a walk after divine service on the 21st, they saw the traces of five deer going northward. On the 22nd Turner commenced making two sledges for our spring journeys. They were to be from 6 to 7 feet long, 17 inches broad, and 7 inches high. The only wood we had for this purpose was the battens with which the inside of our boats was lined, it being necessary to nail three of them together to form runners of the required height. A wolf was shot by Ouligbuck during the night within 10 yards of the door of the house, and six or eight more were seen at no great distance off in the morning. 23rd. When taking my usual exercise, I came upon a white owl feasting on a hare which it had killed after a severe struggle, to judge by the marks on the snow. Half of it was already eaten. Another wolf was shot on the 25th at a set gun, but there was nothing of him to be found in the morning except a little hair and blood, all the rest having been eaten or carried off by his companions. Some more deer tracks were seen going northward. On the 26th the height of Beacon Hill was found to be 238 feet above the level of the sea at half-flood. Next day Nibitabo saw thirty deer and ten partridges, but only shot two of the latter. The former were in the middle of a large plain, and took good care to keep out of gun-shot, much to the annoyance of our deer-hunter, who is one of the keenest sportsmen I have ever met with. There were two wolves wounded by Ouligbuck's gun last night, one of which he caught before breakfast. I went with him after the other in the forenoon, and got sight of him about three miles from the house. Although his shoulder was fractured, he gave us a long race before we ran him down, but at last we saw that he had begun to eat snow, a sure sign that he was getting fagged. When I came up with him, so tired was he that I was obliged to drive him on with the butt of my gun in order to get him nearer home before knocking him on the head. At last we were unable to make him move on by any means we could employ. Ferocity and cowardice, often if not always, go together. How different was the behaviour of this savage brute from that of the usually timid deer under similar circumstances. The wolf crouched down and would not even look at us, pull him about and use him as we might; whereas I never saw a deer that did not attempt to defend itself when brought to bay, however severely wounded it might be. On the 1st March one of our sledges that had been finished was tried, and found to answer well. The deer were now steadily migrating northward, some being seen every day, but there were none killed until the 11th, when one was shot by Nibitabo; it proved to be a doe with young, the foetus being about the size of a rabbit. The sun had so much power that my blankets by being exposed to the air got completely dried, being the first time that they had been free from ice for three months. Shortly after divine service on the 14th, Akkeeoulik, who had gone some days before to his father-in-law's to endeavour to reclaim his better half, returned with his lost treasure, one of the most lazy and dirty of the whole party, and a most arrant thief to boot. Two deer were shot on the 15th, and two more on the 18th. Deer-hunting had become very different from what it was in the autumn. The greater part of the hollows which favoured our approach in the latter season were now filled up with snow, which, from wasting away underneath, made so much noise under foot that in calm weather it was almost impossible to get within shot. The deer were besides continually moving about in the most zig-zag directions, and were so much startled at the report of a gun that it was evident they had been a good deal hunted during the winter. On the 20th Nibitabo was affected with inflammation of the eyes, which was relieved by dropping laudanum into them. On the 26th we made a new water hole on the lake, when the ice was found to be 6 feet 10 inches thick. I measured the dimensions of an Esquimaux canoe, and found them as follows:--length 21 feet, breadth amidships 19 inches, and depth where the person sits 9½ inches. The timbers are one-half or five-eighths of an inch square, and placed three inches apart near the centre of the canoe, but gradually increased to five inches at each end. The cross-bars are three-quarters of an inch thick and a foot from each other; these were morticed into gunwales 2½ inches broad by half-an-inch thick, the whole being covered with seal skin in the usual manner. Altogether it was much more neatly finished and lighter than any I had seen in Hudson's Straits; but the natives here have not attained the same dexterity in managing them, as they cannot turn their canoes without assistance after being capsized. On the 31st Ouligbuck, who had been absent all night, came home at 1 P.M. very faint from the effects of a severe wound he had received on the arm by falling on a large dagger which he usually carried. On cutting off his clothes I found that the dagger had passed completely through the right arm a couple of inches above the elbow joint. In the evening Shimakuk, who is a conjuror, came in, and as Ouligbuck wished to try the effect of his charms on the injured part, I of course had no objections. The whole process consisted in putting some questions (the purport of which I could not learn) to the patient in a very loud voice, then muttering something in a very low tone, and stopping occasionally to give two or three puffs of the breath on the wounded arm. During these proceedings the men could with difficulty keep their gravity; nor could I blame them, for the scene was irresistibly ludicrous. I observed that one of the conjuror's dogs was lame, or rather very weak in the legs, and on asking him the cause, he said that it arose from having eaten trout livers when young. The latter part of the month of March was spent, by the majority of the party, in making preparations for our journey, over the ice and snow, to the northward, it having been my intention to set out on the 1st April; but the accident to Ouligbuck prevented this, as I did not wish to leave him until I saw that his wound was in a fair way of healing. Ivitchuk, our intended companion, had not yet made his appearance. On the 3rd April the thermometer rose above zero, for the first time since the 12th December. As the aurora was seldom noticed after this date, I may here make a few remarks on this subject. It was often visible during the winter, and usually made its appearance first to the southward in the form of a faint yellow or straw-coloured arch, which gradually rose up towards the zenith. During our stay at Fort Hope I never witnessed a finer display of this strange phenomenon than I had done at York Factory, nor did it on any occasion affect the horizontal needle as I had seen it do during the previous winter there. The Esquimaux, like the Indians, assert that the aurora produces a distinctly audible sound, and the generality of Orkneymen and Zetlanders maintain the same opinion, although for my own part I cannot say that I ever heard any sound from it. A fine display, particularly if the movements are rapid, is very often succeeded by stormy or snowy weather, but I have never been able to trace any coincidence between the direction of its motions, and that of the wind. CHAPTER VI. Set out for the north--Equipment of the party--Snow-blindness--Musk-ox--Mode of killing it--Reach the coast near Point Hargrave--Ice rough along shore--Pass Cape Lady Pelly--Unfavourable weather--Slow progress--Put on short allowance--River Ki-ting-nu-yak--Pemmican placed _en cache_--Cape Weynton--Colvile Bay--High hill--Dogs giving way--Work increased--Snow-house-building--Point Beaufort--Point Siveright--Keith Bay--Cape Barclay--Another _cache_--Leave the coast and proceed across the land--River A-ma-took--Dogs knocked up--Lake Ballenden--Harrison islands--Party left to procure provisions--Proceed with two of the men--Cape Berens--Relative effects of an eastern and western aspect--Halkett Inlet--Reach Lord Mayor's Bay--Take formal possession of the country--Commence our return to winter quarters--Friendly interview with the natives--Obtain supplies of provisions from them--View of Pelly Bay--Trace the shore to the eastward--Travel by night--Explore the coast of Simpson's Peninsula--Arrive at Fort Hope--Occurrences during the absence of the exploring party--Character of the Esquimaux Ivitchuk. Everything having been for some days in readiness for our contemplated journey, I only awaited the arrival of our Esquimaux ally Ivitchuk. He made his appearance on the 4th April in company with his wife, his father and brother, and their wives. I could have well dispensed with the presence of the party, excepting the man who was to go with us, as there were many things to be attended to. It is strange that throughout the winter, with one or two exceptions, the visits of these people have happened on Sundays. Our intended travelling companion having received a coat from one, inexpressibles from another, leggings from a third, &c., was soon completely dressed "à la voyageur," not certainly to the improvement of the outer man, but much to his own satisfaction. Ouligbuck's arm being now in a fair way of recovery, there was no cause of detention. The party, consisting, besides myself, of George Flett, John Corrigal, William Adamson, Ouligbuck's son, and Ivitchuk, started early on the morning of the 5th. We were accompanied by two sledges, each drawn by four dogs, on which our luggage and provisions were stowed. Our stores consisted of three bags of pemmican, seventy reindeer tongues, one half-hundred weight of flour, some tea, chocolate, and sugar, and a little alcohol and oil for fuel. At first the weather was far from favourable for travelling, as there was a gale of wind with snow, but about 8 A.M. the sky cleared up, and the day became as fine as could have been wished. The sun shone forth with great brightness, surrounded by a halo of the most brilliant colours, with four parhelia that rivalled the sun himself. Our route was the same as that followed in the boat last autumn; but although the snow was hard-packed and not rough, our sledges were too heavy to allow us to travel quickly. Numerous bands of deer crossed our path, and enlivened the scene at the same time that they kept up the spirit of our dogs. Our latitude at noon, by an observation of the sun, was 66° 42' N., variation of the compass 64° W. Between 7 and 8 P.M., both dogs and men being somewhat fatigued with their day's work, we stopped on the east side of Christie Lake to build our snow hut, which our Esquimaux friend was so long in completing on account of the bad state of the snow for building, that it was 11 o'clock before we got into our blankets. The situation of our encampment was in latitude 66° 49' 30" N., longitude 87° 20' W. 6th.--We passed a comfortable night, and it was 6 o'clock in the morning before we were again on the march; three hours more brought us to the northern extremity of the lake, where we had left a bag of flour "en cache" the previous autumn. Two men who had accompanied us, for the purpose of taking the flour back to our winter quarters, returned from this place. A little before noon we arrived at the snow hut of the two Esquimaux, Shimakuk and Kei-ik-too-oo, who, with their families, had been staying some time here angling trout. I had agreed with those people that they should build a large snow house for our accommodation, having expected to reach them at the end of our first day's journey. In this we were disappointed; but, as the contracting party had prepared a fine roomy dwelling for us, they received the stipulated price--a clasp knife. At noon, when still on the lake, the latitude 66° 58' 16" N. was observed. Kei-ik-too-oo having come with us for a short distance, I proposed that he should get his sledge and dogs and accompany us for two days; this, for a dagger as a consideration, he gladly agreed to do, and immediately went off at a great rate to bring up his team. Being quite light he soon overtook us, and was not long in getting a heavy load on. I soon saw the advantage of his iced runners over the iron ones, and determined to have ours done in the same way on the first opportunity; on this account we stopped sooner than we would otherwise have done, having travelled sixteen geographical miles. We found a number of old Esquimaux houses, one of which we prepared for our use by clearing out the snow that had drifted into it. Whilst the two Esquimaux were icing the sledges, the remainder of the men were cooking and preparing our bed; the latter being a very simple process, merely requiring the snow to be well smoothed, and one or two hairy deer-skins laid over it to prevent the heat of the body from thawing the snow. The weather was fair all day, and except in the morning when the thermometer was -16°, it was rather warm for walking. After we got into our lodgings a strong breeze sprung up with thick drift. Some of the party were slightly affected with snow-blindness. 7th.--The weather was gloomy and dark this morning, with the thermometer at +5° when we started at half-past 3. Our sledges ran much easier since they had received a coating of ice on their runners, although they were not yet equal to Kei-ik-too-oo's. We followed the same route as that taken by the boat last autumn until 9 o'clock, when being two miles from the sea we struck across land towards Point Hargrave; at noon we were in latitude 67° 16' 51" N., variation of the compass 74° 30' W. We found the snow much softer than it was on the lakes and river, and our progress was consequently much slower than in the first part of the day. At 2 P.M. we arrived at a small lake, about four miles from Point Hargrave. As this was the only fresh-water lake we were likely to meet with for some time, I determined to stop for the purpose of renewing the icing on the sledges, which had been a good deal broken by the irregularities of the road. Notwithstanding that we had gone only eighteen miles our dogs were very tired, and I began to fear that they would not hold out so well as was expected. Our Esquimaux friend was to leave us the next day, and as his sledge was light he expected to reach his house the same day. This is a favourite resort of the musk-ox as soon as the snow disappears. The mode of killing these animals is the same as that described by Sir J. C. Ross as practised in Boothia Felix by the Esquimaux: being brought to bay with dogs, they are either shot with arrows or speared. When we resumed our journey at 5 o'clock next morning, there was a strong breeze right ahead with thick drift, the temperature being +6°. A walk of three miles brought us to the coast about a mile from Point Hargrave. There was a great deal of rough ice along the shore, which gave both men and dogs much hard work to drag the sledges over. It had now begun to snow, and the drift was so thick that we could not follow the smoothest route; we consequently advanced but slowly, taking four hours to gain five and a half miles, which brought us to Cape Lady Pelly. Since leaving Fort Hope, I had measured every foot of the ground we had passed over with a line, but now the increased difficulty of the route made it requisite that all hands should be employed in dragging the sledges. One of our best dogs became quite useless, and although unharnessed would not walk, so that rather than lose the poor animal, we dragged him on the snow several miles before reaching our intended encampment. After passing Cape Lady Pelly the coast turns rather more to the westward. The weather continued very unfavourable all day, there being much snow-drift; we however advanced seven miles farther, and at 4 P.M. built our night's lodgings on the ice, a few hundred yards from the shore. In an hour and a half we were comfortably housed. Finding that our day's journeys were much shorter than I had anticipated, our allowance of food for supper was somewhat reduced. The thermometer in the evening stood at +11°. Our snow hut was situated in latitude 67° 35' N., longitude 87° 51' W. both by account. After a sound night's rest we resumed our journey at 5 in the morning of the 9th. There was some snow falling, but the wind had decreased, and the temperature of the air was +2°. Our course was N.W. by W. for three miles, when we came to a low point formed of shingle and mud, with some rocky rising grounds a few miles inland. This point received the name of Swanston, after a friend. A short time before noon the sky cleared, and very satisfactory observations for latitude and variation of the compass were obtained, the former being 67° 40' 53" N., the latter 71° 30' W. The dog that had been unharnessed the day before had become still weaker, and as I did not wish to leave him to the mercy of the wolves, he was shot. We offered some of his flesh to the other dogs, but there was only one of them that would eat it. Having walked fourteen miles, we arrived at a small river 70 yards wide, and, although it was only half-past three, we commenced building our snow house. We here found a number of stones which allowed us to place "en cache" half a bag of pemmican, some flour, shoes, &c., for our homeward journey. The river, which is called Ki-ting-nu-yak, was frozen to the bottom, but in summer it is a favourable fishing station, both salmon and a small species of the white fish being found. I did not see any of the latter, but from the description given by the Esquimaux I have no doubt that they frequent this part of the coast. The evening was beautifully clear, and the thermometer fell to -16°. 10th.--There was a thick haze this morning with light variable airs of wind; temperature 6° below zero. By striking straight out from land for a mile or two, we got upon somewhat smoother ice, and consequently made more progress. We passed a number of hills, not of any great elevation however, and at noon we were opposite one named Wiachat, fully 500 feet high, and some miles from the coast. Here the latitude 67° 53' 24" was observed, and the coast turned off to the westward, forming a point which was named Cape Weynton. We now commenced crossing a bay 5 or 6 miles deep, and apparently 12 wide, which received the name of Colvile, in honour of the Deputy Governor of the Hudson's Bay Company. A mouse or lemming crossed our path, and the dogs, although they appeared to be scarcely able to put one foot before another, set off at full speed in chase, and before any one could interfere to save it, the poor little animal was quivering in the jaws of the foremost. Being unable to reach the north side of Colvile Bay, at 4 P.M. we took up our quarters on the ice in our usual snug lodgings, in latitude 68° 2' N., longitude 88° 21' W. A high hill bearing west of us, and distant eight miles, called Oo-me-we-yak by the natives, was named after the late John George M'Tavish, Esq., Chief Factor. Several of our dogs had become very weak--so much so that during the latter part of the day's journey they did little or nothing, thus giving us all much additional work. They also required much more food to keep them in good condition, than the dogs generally used in the fur countries. We only walked sixteen miles this day; and I may here remark that all the distances mentioned in this journal are given in geographical miles. Our usual mode of preparing lodgings for the night was as follows:--As soon as we had selected a spot for our snow house, our Esquimaux, assisted by one or more of the men, commenced cutting out blocks of snow. When a sufficient number of these had been raised, the builder commenced his work, his assistants supplying him with the material. A good roomy dwelling was thus raised in an hour, if the snow was in a good state for building. Whilst our principal mason was thus occupied, another of the party was busy erecting a kitchen, which, although our cooking was none of the most delicate or extensive, was still a necessary addition to our establishment, had it been only to thaw snow. As soon as the snow hut was completed, our sledges were unloaded, and every thing eatable (including parchment skin and moose skin shoes, which had now become favourite articles with the dogs) taken inside. Our bed was next made, and by the time the snow was thawed or the water boiled, as the case might be, we were all ready for supper. When we used alcohol for fuel (as we usually did in stormy weather) no kitchen was required. On the following morning we started about the usual hour, and directing our course nearly north, a walk of five miles brought us to the opposite side of Colvile Bay, which terminated in a long point covered with boulders of granite and debris of limestone, and having a number of stone marks set up on it. To this point the name of Beaufort was given, in honour of the gallant officer who, with so much advantage to his country and to nautical science, presides over the hydrographical department of the Admiralty. Five miles farther we reached another low point called by the Esquimaux E-to-uke, but renamed by me Point Siveright. The coast, now turning slightly to the westward of north, continued in nearly a straight line during the rest of this day's march. We were now tracing the shores of a considerable bay, as the land after taking a sudden bend to the eastward followed a south-east direction as far as visible. At 4 P.M. we stopped and built our snow hut; the day had been fine throughout, and the temperature in the evening was 16° below zero. The shores of the bay are very low, with the exception of a high bluff point bearing S.E. by E. 6½ miles (by trigonometrical measurement). The point was named Cape Barclay, in honour of the Secretary of the Hudson's Bay Company, and the bay was called after my much respected friend, George Keith, Esq., Chief-Factor. Since passing Colvile Bay the coast had become much lower and more level, giving every indication of a limestone country. Being anxious to save our fuel as much as possible, we filled two small kettles and a bladder with snow and took them to bed with us, for the purpose of procuring water to drink--a plan which was frequently adopted afterwards. Our dogs had now become most ravenous; although they received what was considered a fair allowance of provisions, everything that came in their way, such as shoes, leather mitts, and even a worsted belt, was eaten, much to the annoyance of the owners and to the merriment of the rest of the party. We enjoyed a cold supper of pemmican and water;--as we could afford a hot meal only once a day, we preferred taking it in the morning. 12th.--Being informed by our Esquimaux companion that, by crossing over land in a north-west direction to a large bay which he had formerly visited, we should shorten our distance considerably, I determined on adopting the plan proposed. Our kettles of snow were found rather cool companions, but there was a little water formed. The bladder having been either leaky, or not properly tied, gave me and my next neighbour a partial cold bath. The morning was delightful, being clear and calm, with a temperature of -22°. We started at half-past 5, and after having walked a short distance came to some loose pieces of granite and limestone, which afforded an opportunity, not to be lost, for making a deposit of provisions for our return journey. After tracing the shores of the bay for three miles and a half further north to latitude 68° 18' N., longitude by account 88° 26' W., we left the coast and proceeded over land in a north-north-west direction. Walking became more difficult, and the snow was too soft to support the sledges, the ice on the runners of which was now entirely worn off. A mile's walk brought us to a small river with high mud banks, and frozen to the bottom: it is named A-ma-took by the natives, and takes its rise from a lake of the same name about a day's journey west of us. We next passed between two elevations covered with limestone. I ascended that on the right-hand or to the east of us, it being the highest and having two columns of limestone, the one fourteen, the other nine feet high, at its western extremity. There were many places here denuded of snow, showing that the sun had already acquired great power. At noon we were in latitude 68° 22' 19'' N., variation of the compass 79° 35' W. An hour after, we reached a small lake, where we halted on account of our dogs being quite knocked up, although we had only advanced twelve miles; I therefore ordered a hut to be built that we might afford the dogs time to recruit, and also have the sledge-runners put in order. We found the ice on the lake 4 feet 8 inches thick, but we were disappointed to find that there were no fish to be caught. We here enjoyed water ad libitum, a luxury that had been rather sparingly dealt out for the last few days. Ivitchuk drank as much as would have satisfied an ox. The thermometer in the evening was 9° below zero. A few tracks of foxes were here seen, but no signs of deer or musk-oxen. This part of the country appeared miserably barren in every respect. On the morning of the 13th we commenced our march at 2.30 A.M.; the weather was fine with light airs from the north-west: thermometer -15°. At 5 o'clock we passed a small lake about a mile and a half long, and an hour afterwards reached another of considerable size. Tung-a-lik, as the lake is called by the Esquimaux, is 7 miles long due north and south, and varying in breadth from a mile to a mile and a half. Near its centre was a curious-looking island, about 7 feet high and 200 yards in extent, covered with granite boulders and limestone. Its form is as nearly as possible that of a semicircle, the concavity being towards the south. To this lake I gave the name of Ballenden, after a much valued friend. When near the north end of Ballenden Lake (over which we had travelled rapidly, the snow being both hard and smooth), we turned more to the west. At noon we arrived at a lake which was to be our resting place for the night, as, although small, it was said to contain both trout and salmon; but, after cutting through five feet of ice, we did not succeed in catching any, although we tempted them with a bait from a buffalo hide. In the afternoon the weather became very gloomy; a strong breeze sprang up accompanied by a thick haze, and the thermometer rose to -11°. By meridian observation our latitude was 68° 36' 58" N., variation of the compass 78° W., longitude by account 88° 49" W. 14th.--This morning was so stormy, with thick drift and snow, that we could not start so early as usual; it however became more moderate at 5 o'clock, and we were able to continue our route, although the guide seemed much puzzled to keep in the proper direction, there being nothing to serve as marks in this wilderness of snow. In the afternoon the weather again became worse, and the temperature fell to -12°, which with a strong head wind made it sufficiently cold. I felt it probably more than the others, as I had to stop often to take bearings, and in consequence was once or twice nearly losing the party altogether. We trudged on manfully until 5 P.M., when it cleared up for two or three minutes, and we obtained a distant glimpse of some high islands in the bay for which we were bound, called Ak-koo-lee-gu-wiak by the natives. At half-past 5 we commenced building our snow house. This was far from pleasant work, as the wind was piercingly cold, and the fine particles of snow drift penetrated our clothes everywhere; we, however, enjoyed ourselves the more when we got under shelter and took our supper of the staple commodities, pemmican and water. Latitude 68° 51' N., longitude 89° 16' W. 15th.--It blew a complete storm all night, but we were as snug and comfortable, in our snow hive, as if we had been lodged in the best house in England. At 5.30 the wind moderated to a gale, but the drift was still so thick that it was impossible to see any distance before us, particularly when looking to windward, and that unfortunately was the direction in which we had to go. The temperature was 21° below zero,--a temperature which, as all Arctic travellers know, feels much colder, when there is a breeze of wind, than one of -60° or -70° when the weather is calm. But there was the prospect of both food and fuel before us, for seals were said to abound in the bay and heather on the islands of Akkooleeguwiak. Such temptations were not to be resisted; so we muffled ourselves well up and set out. It was one of the worst days I had ever travelled in, and I could not take the bearings of our route more than once or twice. To make matters worse, one of our dogs, a fine lively little creature, that was a great favourite with us all, became unable to walk unharnessed, and the men having enough to do with the sledges, I dragged, carried, and coaxed it on for a few miles; but finding that some parts of my face were freezing, and that my companions were so far ahead as to be out of sight, I was reluctantly compelled to leave the poor animal to its fate. After a most devious course of nearly twelve miles, we came to the shores of the bay. The banks were of mud and shingle, about sixty or seventy feet high, and so steep that it was some time before we could find a place by which to get down to the ice. We directed our steps among much rough ice towards the highest of the group of islands named Coga-ur-ga-wiak, apparently six miles distant, and encamped near its western end in a little well-sheltered bay. All the party, even the Esquimaux, had got severely frost-bitten in the face, but as it was not much more than skin deep, this gave us little concern. When our house was nearly built, a search was commenced among the snow for heather, and we were so fortunate as to procure enough in an hour and a-half to cook us some pemmican and flour, in the form of a kind of soup or pottage. We were all very glad to get into our blankets as soon as possible. The weather became somewhat finer in the evening, but it drifted as much as ever. The thermometer was -16°. Our latitude was 68° 53' 44" N., longitude 89° 55' 30" west. Notwithstanding that I carried my watch next to my skin the cold stopped it, and I could not tell exactly the time of our arrival at the island, but I believed it was near 2 P.M. On the 16th, a gale of wind from N.W. with thick drift, and the thermometer at -20°, would have prevented our travelling had I intended it; but as I purposed leaving some of the men and all the dogs here to recruit, I wished to find out the Esquimaux (who we knew were in the neighbourhood, as the recent foot tracks of two had been seen on the shore the day before), and obtain from them some seals' flesh and blubber for our use. Flett, Ivitchuk, and the interpreter were sent on this mission, but they returned in the evening unsuccessful. The drift was so thick in the bay that they could not see to any distance. In the meantime Corrigal and Adamson had been collecting fuel, and I being under the lee of the island obtained observations for latitude and variation of the compass, the former being 68° 53' 44" north as above, the latter 87° 40' west. I prepared for an early start the next morning in company with Flett and Corrigal, for the purpose, if possible, of reaching Sir John Ross's most southerly discoveries, which could not now be distant more than two days' journey. The party that were to be left behind had orders to kill seals, (for which purpose Ivitchuk was furnished with a spear,) to trade provisions from the Esquimaux if they saw any, and, above all, to use as little of our present stock as possible. All that we could afford to take with us was four days' scanty allowance. I had for the last week carried my instruments, books, &c., in all about thirty-five pounds weight; and I now intended to do the same. The morning of the 17th was stormy and cold (-22°), and we did not start until near 6 o'clock; when we had got well clear of the S.W. end of the island, we found the ice smooth, and the snow on it hard-packed. As the men had but a light load we travelled fast, our course being nearly N.W. towards the farthest visible land in that direction. A brisk walk of seventeen miles brought us, an hour before noon, to the shore near a high point formed of dark gray granite, which I named Cape Berens, after one of the Directors of the Company. It is situated in latitude 69° 4' 12" N. by observation, and longitude 90° 35' 48" W. by account. The shore, which was steep and rocky, ran nearly in a straight line, and in the same direction that we had been already travelling. At 3 P.M. we came to two narrow points in a small bay, between which we built our snow-house. To these points I gave the name of "the Twins." Their latitude is 69° 13' 14" N., longitude 90° 55' 30" W. There being one or two hills at a short distance from us, I ascended one of them to look for fuel, and to gain a view of our future route. I obtained neither of these objects, but fell in with some lead ore, specimens of which were brought away. On arriving at the snow-hut I found it nearly completed, but so small that there was little prospect of a comfortable night's rest. Having but a very small quantity of alcohol for fuel, our supper was a cold one. Thermometer in the evening 19° below zero. Flett (one of Dease and Simpson's best men) showed symptoms of fatigue, at which I was much surprised, as, from what I had heard of him, I fancied he would have tired out any of the party. 18th.--My anticipations of passing an uncomfortable night were fully realized. It might be thought that, as our whole bedding consisted of one blanket, and a hairy deer-skin to put between us and the snow, there was reason enough for my not sleeping soundly; but this was not the case, as I often passed nights both before and after this with as little covering, but never found myself cold. We started at 3 A.M. The morning was fine but hazy, with a light air of wind from N.W. Thermometer -3°. The walking was still fair; and I may here remark, that wherever the land had an eastern exposure the ice was smooth, there being little or none of the former year forced up along the shore; whenever the coast was exposed to the west, the contrary was the case. Our course was nearly that of the previous day, but a little more to the westward. After walking twelve miles we came to what proved to be the head of a deep inlet, the western shore of which we had been tracing, and which I named after John Halkett, Esq., one of the Directors of the Hudson's Bay Company, whose son (Lieut. P. A. Halkett, R.N.,) is the ingenious inventor of the portable air-boat, which ought to be the travelling companion of every explorer. Two reindeer were seen here. As there could be no doubt that, if my longitude was correct, I must now be near the Lord Mayor's Bay of Sir John Ross, I decided on striking across land, as nearly north as possible, instead of following the coast. The men having had a short time to rest, we commenced a tiresome march over land, the snow being in some places both deep and soft. We crossed three small lakes, and at noon, when near the middle of another about four miles long, an excellent meridian observation of the sun gave latitude 69° 26' 1" N. When we had walked three miles more we came to another small lake; and here, as there was yet no appearance of the sea, I ordered my men to prepare our lodgings, whilst I went on alone to endeavour to discover the coast. A walk of twenty minutes brought me to an inlet not more than a quarter of a mile wide. This I traced to the westward for upwards of a league, when my course was again obstructed by land. There were some high rocks near at hand which I ascended, and from the summit I thought I could distinguish rough ice in the desired direction. With renewed hopes I slid down a declivity, plunging among snow, scrambling over rocks, and through rough ice until I gained more level ground. I then directed my steps to some rising ground which I found to be close to the seashore. From the spot on which I now stood, as far as the eye could reach to the north-westward, lay a large extent of ice-covered sea, studded with innumerable islands. Lord Mayor's Bay was before me, and the islands were those named by Sir John Ross the Sons of the Clergy of the Church of Scotland. The isthmus which connects the land to the north with the continent is only one mile broad, and even in this short space there are three small ponds. From the great number of stone marks set up (the only ones that I saw on this part of the coast), I am led to infer that this is a deer-pass in the autumn, and consequently a favourite resort of the natives. Its latitude is 69° 31' N., longitude by account 91° 29' 30" W. This latter differs only a mile or two from that of the same place as laid down by Sir James C. Ross, with whose name I distinguished the isthmus, calling the land to the northward Sir John Ross's Peninsula. After going down to the ice in Hardy Bay, and offering with a humble and grateful heart thanks to Him who had thus brought our journey so far to a successful termination, I began to retrace my steps towards my companions. At a late hour I reached our snow hut, an excellent roomy one, in which we could lie in any position; no trifling comfort after a walk of more than forty miles over a rough road. It was 7 o'clock the following morning before we started. The weather was pleasant, and the thermometer 12° below zero. Having taken possession of our discoveries with the usual formalities, we traced the inlet eastward, the shores of which were steep and rugged, in some places precipitous. When we had walked four miles the land on our left turned up to the northward, leaving an opening in that direction more than two miles wide, bounded on the south-east by one or more islands. This inlet I named after that celebrated navigator and discoverer Sir John Franklin, whose protracted absence in the Arctic Sea is at present exciting so much interest and anxiety throughout England. The most distant visible point was called Cape Thomas after a relative. The land on our right still trended to the east for two miles, and then turned to the south. After walking seven miles in this last direction, and passing two small bays and as many points, we stopped for the night. Here we were fairly puzzled about the proper route, there being so many inlets and small bays that it was impossible to tell which was the one we ought to follow. The day had become very warm, the thermometer rising as high as +26° in the sun, and as we were now travelling south, we found the reflection from the snow much more painful to the eyes than when proceeding north. The latitude of our snow house was 69° 22' N., longitude 91° 3' W., both by account. The thermometer -19° in the evening; cold water and pemmican for supper, and kettles of snow for bedfellows. The morning of the 20th was cold, but calm; thermometer -24°. We commenced our day's march at 2h. 30m. A.M., and in twenty minutes arrived at the head of the inlet where I hoped to find a passage. Seeing that it would be madness to trace all the indentations of this most irregular coast, (for had a couple of days' stormy weather ensued we should all have run the risk of starving,) I struck over land towards our snow hut of the 17th. This was the most fatiguing and at the same time the most ludicrous march we had experienced. As our route lay across several ranges of hills, we had no sooner climbed up one side than we had to slide down the other. To descend was not always an easy matter, as there were often large stones in the way, past which we required to steer with great care, or if a collision was unavoidable, to manage so as not to injure ourselves. Corrigal appeared to be an old hand at this sort of work, and I had had some practice, but poor Flett, who had begun to suffer much from inflammation of the eyes, got many queer falls, and was once or twice placed in such situations with his head down hill, his heels up, and the strap of his bundle round his neck, that it would have been impossible for him to get up by his own unaided exertions. After crossing a number of small lakes, we arrived at the steep shores of Halkett Inlet about 11 o'clock, having been eight hours in walking as many miles. We crossed the inlet, and as it had now begun to blow a fresh breeze we stopped at a small bay, well sheltered, to take some rest, and obtain a meridian observation of the sun. The latitude was 69° 16' 44" N., variation of the compass 76° 45' W. We were so fortunate as to find here some heather by scraping away the snow, and we enjoyed the luxury of a cup of chocolate, which refreshed us very much. We now resumed our march, and the walking being good and the day fine we made rapid progress, although somewhat detained by the lameness and blindness of Flett, who stumbled at every inequality of the ground, and received some severe falls. After advancing two miles we came opposite to a clear opening to the north-eastward, in which nothing but rough ice could be seen. This was evidently the termination of the continent in this direction. At 4 P.M. we arrived at our snow hut in the small bay between the Twins. It was not my intention to remain here all night, but the lameness of our companion prevented us from continuing our journey. Whilst I went to search for fuel, Corrigal enlarged our snow house. I found a little fuel, with which we contrived to thaw as much snow as gave each of us nearly half-a-pint of water. The remainder of our provisions, amounting to a few ounces of pemmican each, was fairly divided, and having eaten part of this we betook ourselves to rest. 21st.--Having passed a far from pleasant night, and used the last of our alcohol to procure some water as a diluent for our not very plentiful breakfast, we started at a little before 2 A.M. There was a strong breeze from N.W. with thick drift occasionally, and a temperature of -20°, but the wind being on our backs it was rather an advantage than otherwise. We directed our course straight for the island on which we had left the rest of the party, and which could be seen at intervals when the snow drift cleared away. Flett being still very lame, I desired Corrigal to remain in company with him, whilst I went on alone to order some provisions to be prepared by the time they came to the snow house. The ice being smooth, and the snow on its surface hard, I made rapid progress until within about five miles of our temporary home. Here I observed some strange looking figures on the ice, which the thickness of the weather prevented me from seeing distinctly. On a nearer approach I found that what had puzzled me was a number of Esquimaux spears, lances, &c. stuck on a heap of snow; and immediately afterwards four Esquimaux came from behind a mound of ice, holding up their hands to show that they were unarmed. The natives of this part of the coast bear a very bad character, and are much feared by their countrymen of Repulse Bay. I therefore was not quite sure what sort of reception I might meet with, as my men were not in sight and I was quite unarmed. But to anticipate evil is often the most likely way to cause it, so I went directly up, and saluted them with their usual term for peace (teyma), shaking hands with all after the fashion of our own country. They all shouted out Manig Tomig, which are the words mentioned by Sir John Ross as the form of salutation employed by the natives of Boothia Felix. A very animated conversation soon ensued, in which I bore but a very small share; but as I appeared to be a good listener, and put in a negative or affirmative every now and then when there appeared to be a necessity for saying something, we got on very well together. We were soon joined by an old woman who took upon herself the office of mistress of the ceremonies, and commenced with great volubility to give me the names of the men, which were as follows:--A-li-ne-a-yuk, Kag-vik, Tag-na-koo and Nu-li-a-yuk; the first being old, the second middle aged, and the two last young men of about twenty-five. They were all married, and were much more forward in their manners and dirty in their persons and dress, than our friends of Repulse Bay. They were very anxious for me to enter their huts, but this I thought it prudent to decline, and after much persuasion and promises of knives, needles, beads, &c. I prevailed on them to follow me to our snow house. A little more than an hour brought me to our encampment, where I found Adamson quite well but all alone, Ivitchuk and the boy being out looking for seals. They had not met with any Esquimaux, and no animals of any kind had been killed, Ivitchuk standing so much in awe of his countrymen that he was afraid to stay out seal-hunting during the night, which is the only time that these animals are to be caught at that season of the year. I found that much more of our stock of provisions had been used than there was any occasion for--in fact, the appearance of the men shewed that they had been on full allowance. About an hour after my arrival, Corrigal and Flett made their appearance, accompanied by the four Esquimaux that I had seen and a boy. A few trifling presents were made them, and they promised to return on the following day with oil, blubber, &c. to barter with us. It blew a gale all the evening, with the thermometer 21° below zero. The morning of the 22d was fine with a temperature of -20°, but during the day it blew hard with drift. Our party kept in bed rather longer than usual, and we were visited by the Esquimaux before we had got up. They brought a quantity of seal's flesh, blood, and blubber, which I was about to purchase from them when the thermometer was reported as missing. I immediately shut the box containing the valuables, and intimated that they should receive nothing unless the thermometer was given up. After about ten minutes' delay one of the women brought in the lost article, saying, that the dogs had pulled it down and carried it off,--a very probable story certainly; but having obtained what I wanted I cared little who might be the thief. A brisk traffic was soon commenced for oil, seals, blubber, flesh and blood, for which knives, files, beads, needles, &c. were given. We also obtained half a dozen dried salmon and a small piece of dried musk-ox flesh, both very old and mouldy. These Esquimaux were found to be much more difficult to deal with than our friends of Repulse Bay, being very forward and much addicted to stealing. They had undoubtedly had communication with the natives of Boothia Felix, as there were many of their weapons, and parts of their sledges formed of oak. I also observed some small pieces of mahogany among them. One of the strangers proved to be an uncle of Ivitchuk. It continued to blow hard in the evening with a temperature of -15°. Preparations were made for examining the shores of the bay in which, by Esquimaux report, we now were. 23d.--This was another stormy and cold day until the afternoon, when it became fair. We were again visited by our neighbours, who brought us a further and very acceptable supply of seals' flesh and blood, and also two fine dogs to complete our teams, one or two of those we had being still very weak. When about to make a tour round the bay, I learnt from one of the natives that a complete view of its shores could be obtained from the summit of the island on which we were. I found also that a chart which he made of the bay agreed very closely with one drawn by the natives of Repulse Bay, who had visited the place. The evening being beautifully clear, I took with me the Esquimaux, one of the men, and the interpreter to the highest point of the island, from which I obtained a distinct view of the whole bay, except a small portion immediately under the sun. The shores were high and regular in their outline, and being, in most places, to a certain extent denuded of snow, they were much more clearly seen than could have been expected. The bay appeared to extend 16 or 18 miles slightly to the east of south, and was about 11 miles wide near its head. Its surface was studded with a number of dark-coloured rocky islands. The highest of these was the one on which we were staying, and was found by measurement to be 730 feet above the level of the sea. It was called Helen Island, whilst the group to which it belonged was named after Benjamin Harrison, Esq. one of the Directors of the Hudson's Bay Company. The Esquimaux pointed out the direction in which two rivers near the head of the bay lay. These rivers, of which I took the bearings by compass, were said to be of no great size, and frozen to the bottom in winter. The bay was honoured with the name of Sir John H. Pelly, Bart., Governor of the Company. The morning of the 24th was as beautiful as could be desired, with the thermometer at -15°. There was a gentle air from the east, and the horizon being very clear, I again obtained a fine view of the bay. Having abundance of blubber for dogs' meat and fuel, and as much seals' flesh and blood for ourselves as at half allowance would serve us for six or seven days, I determined to trace the shores of the land across which we had travelled on our outward journey. For this purpose, both men and dogs being now much recruited, we started at 8h. 30m. A.M. and took a N.E. by E. course towards the eastern shore of the bay, which, having a western exposure, was much encumbered with rough ice. We had some trouble in getting over this, but found it more smooth along the shore, which trended due north. Finding that our sledges were too heavily laden, we left on the ice a quantity of our oil and blubber. Here we made a mistake in retaining the fresh fat of the seal, instead of that which had become somewhat rancid, as we found that, although the dogs ate the latter with avidity, they would scarcely taste the former. This Ivitchuk well knew, but he was too stupid to tell me of it at the time. One of our dogs that had done his work well since leaving Repulse Bay, had become so weak that he could scarcely walk. We endeavoured to coax him on, but unsuccessfully; it was therefore thought advisable to leave him where we had lightened our load, as he would have provisions for at least a fortnight, if not assisted by other animals, and before that time he would very likely be found by the Esquimaux. A meridian observation gave latitude 68° 50' 46" N., variation 78° 56' W. As the sun had acquired too much power for travelling comfortably during the day-time, I stopped early so as to be able to continue our journey about midnight. Our snow hut was built near a small creek, in latitude 68° 58' N., longitude 89° 42' W. The coast had become low and flat, with a few fragments of limestone and granite boulders showing themselves occasionally above the snow. The thermometer exposed to the sun's rays rose to +37°. A little snow fell in the evening. On the morning of the 25th there was some more snow with a temperature of -7°. We did not commence our march until some hours later than I had expected. The direction of the land continued nearly north for eight miles; it then turned off to the north-east, and continued so until we stopped at noon, in latitude by observation 69° 14' 37" N., longitude by account 89° 18' 18" W. The tracks of a large Polar bear and of some lemmings were noticed this day. 26th.--The morning was dark and cloudy when we started at 20 minutes after one. When just about to set out, we were joined by the poor dog we had left behind. He had grown into much better condition, although he was still unable to haul. I may here add that he afterwards quite recovered, and was the only one of our stock that I took to England with me. Our course for seven miles was east, and then turned off S.E. by S. forming a cape, which was named Chapman, after one of the Directors of the Hudson's Bay Company. We continued walking on, in nearly a straight line, for 11 miles, when our dogs became tired, and we encamped an hour before noon, in latitude by observation 69° 5' 35" N., variation 81° 50' W., longitude by account 88° 43' W. At 11 P.M. we recommenced our march, the weather being beautiful, and the temperature -8°. 27th.--The coast trended in exactly the same direction as that we had passed during the latter part of the preceding day's journey; the walking was in general good, and our dogs were every day recovering their strength. A single rock grouse (_tetrao rupestris_) was seen, but so shy that we could not get a shot at it. Many traces of foxes, and the recent foot-marks of a large white bear, were also seen. We kept a sharp out-look for the latter, with the hopes of getting a few steaks out of him, but he did not show himself. There was a high wall of broken ice all along the shore here, which may be readily accounted for by the direction of the coast, which, by contracting the bay, is exposed to the pressure of the ice coming from the northward. Fortunate it was for us that we had got some oil and seals' blubber, for there was not a bit of anything in the shape of fuel to be seen along this barren shore. The weather having become too warm, about 11 A.M., we stopped in latitude, by observation, 68° 51' N., longitude by account 88° 6' W. The morning of the 28th was particularly fine, with a temperature of 15° below zero. For eight miles our course was the same as that of the day before, but the land now turned gradually to the southward, and finally to about a south-by-west direction. At noon the sun had become so warm, that we were compelled to encamp for the day. At three miles from where we had stopped, we passed a small bay, about 1½ mile wide, the only indentation of the coast we had seen since leaving Pelly Bay. Our latitude by meridian observation was 68° 32' 40" N., variation of the compass 70° 55' W., and our longitude by account 88° 2' W. 29th.--We resumed our march at a little after 11 P.M. on the 28th. The weather was calm, but cloudy, with the temperature -3°. The line of coast now ran nearly south, and after a walk of five miles we came to a narrow point, extending two miles to the eastward. We then crossed a bay about 1½ mile wide, and arrived at another point of nearly the same dimensions, both formed of mud and shingle. These I named respectively after James and Robert Clouston, two intimate friends. Four miles further brought us opposite to a small low island, half a mile from the shore, and at a short distance beyond this we came to a small bay upwards of a mile wide. A little before noon we stopped to build our snow hut. The day was now warm, the thermometer having risen as high as +55° in the sun, and +18° in the shade. One of our best dogs got lamed by putting his foot into a crack in the ice. We saw the smoke of open water at no great distance, and heard the ice making a loud noise as it was driven along with the tide. There were numerous traces of foxes, and the tracks of a band of deer, with a wolverine in pursuit, were noticed. The latitude of our position was 68° 15' N., variation 75° 52' W., and longitude by account 88° 5' 36" W. 30th.--We started at half-past nine the previous night, with clear weather and a fresh breeze from west, which, with a temperature of -8°, made our already frost-bitten faces smart severely. After a few miles' walk, we rounded a low spit of land, which had been hid from our view by the rough ice on our outward journey, and which I now named Point Anderson. Between this point and Cape Barclay, of which we now got sight, there is a narrow bay running up to the northward two or three miles. We had a great quantity of rough ice to scramble over, which, however fatiguing, afforded some amusement, as the ridiculous positions in which we were sometimes placed gave abundant food for mirth to those who were disposed to look at every thing in the most favourable light. About midnight the weather became very stormy, so much so indeed that we had great difficulty in keeping the proper course, which was now to the north west, for the purpose of picking up the pemmican, &c. which we had deposited on the shore of Keith Bay on the 12th. On reaching the west side of the bay at 3 A.M. I found that we were not more than a hundred yards from where our "cache" was placed, which we found quite safe. Ivitchuk and the boy having lagged behind, we removed a quantity of snow, and took possession of our old snow hut to wait for them. After staying for an hour we resumed our journey, thinking that our companions might have taken a shorter route across the bay; and this we found to be the case. It had been cold and stormy during the greater part of the night; but at 8 h. 30 m. A.M., when we encamped opposite Cape Beaufort, the weather had become beautiful. The whole of the coast which we had traced during the last seven days, as far as Cape Barclay, was low and flat, with neither rock nor hill to interrupt the sameness of the landscape. It was named Simpson's Peninsula after Sir George Simpson, the able and enterprising Governor of the Hudson's Bay Company's territories, who projected and planned the expedition, and to whose zeal in the cause of discovery Arctic travellers have been so often and so much indebted. During the remainder of our journey homewards, having followed as nearly as possible our outward route, we met with little of any interest. We reached our encampment of the 9th of April on the 1st of May, and found our "cache" of provisions quite safe. We had now an abundant stock of food, nor were we sorry to exchange the seals' flesh and blood, on which we had been subsisting for eight days past, for pemmican and flour. It is true that during that time we had supped on a few dried salmon, which were so old and mouldy that the water in which they were boiled became quite green. Such, however, is the advantage of hard work and short commons, that we enjoyed that change of food as much as if it had been one of the greatest delicacies. Both the salmon, and the water in which they were cooked, were used to the last morsel and drop, although I firmly believe that a moderately well fed dog would not have tasted either. We now saw numerous tracks of rein-deer, all proceeding in a N.E. direction towards Melville Peninsula. Early on the morning of the 3rd of May we arrived at the small lake near Point Hargrave, on which we had encamped on the 7th of April; much of the snow had disappeared from the ground in the neighbourhood, and the marmots had already cleared out the entrances to their burrows, and recommenced their life of activity for the summer season. Not an hour now passed without our seeing deer; but they were extremely shy, and the only benefit we received from them was the life and spirit their presence infused into our dogs. The night of the 4th was very unpleasant, there being much snow and drift, which prevented us from seeing the ridges of snow which occurred frequently on our path, and which being very hard and slippery, caused us many falls. At half-past 1 on the morning of the 5th we reached some old Esquimaux dwellings on the border of Christie Lake, about fifteen miles from Fort Hope, in one of which we took up our temporary abode. At 2 P.M. on the same day we were again on the march, and arrived at our home at 8 h. 30 m. P.M. all well, but so black and scarred on the face from the combined effects of oil, smoke, and frost bites, that our friends would not believe but that some serious accident from the explosion of gunpowder had happened to us. Thus successfully terminated a journey little short of 600 English miles, the longest, I believe, ever made on foot along the Arctic coast. During our absence every thing, had gone on prosperously at winter quarters. The people had been all in good health, and the wound in Ouligbuck's arm had healed up, but the limb had not yet acquired much strength. When I set out on the 5th of April there was but a very small quantity of venison in store, so that I was afraid that Folster (the man left in charge) would be forced to use pemmican, which substantial article I wished to save as much as possible for future contingencies. Fortunately the Esquimaux brought a little venison to barter, which, with an occasional deer killed by the hunters, kept the party in food; although the store at one time was so empty, that they were compelled to have a dinner of tongues, which (except in case of necessity) were to be kept for journeys. As the weather in the latter part of April became stormy, and the deer numerous, the hunters were more successful, and there was no further scarcity. Ouligbuck had, notwithstanding the wound in his arm, killed four deer, and sixteen more had been shot by Nibitabo and some others of the party; so that the meat store was well stocked when I arrived; and well that it was so, for we were as ravenous as wolves, and I believe ate more than would have been good for us had our food been anything but venison, which is so digestible that a person may eat almost any quantity without feeling any bad effects from it. May commenced with a beautiful day, the thermometer being above zero, and continuing so throughout. This was the only day for many months past that the negative scale of the thermometer had not been registered. On the 3rd snowbirds were seen, and marmots had some time before emerged from their winter quarters. The Esquimaux, with the exception of one or two families, had built their snow huts within a quarter of a mile of our house, where they had been living for more than a week. They had almost all behaved well, and were commended accordingly. They had not yet commenced seal hunting, but were to do so as soon as the seals came up on the ice; in the meantime they were catching deer in snow traps made by digging holes in the snow, and covering them with thin slabs of the same material. Wolves are often taken in a similar manner; but for them the hole requires to be not less than eight or nine feet deep, and after it is covered with a thin plate of hard snow (on the centre of which a bait is laid), a wall is built round it, over which it is necessary for the wolf to leap, before he can reach the bait. He does so, and falls to the bottom of the pit, which is too narrow to give him room to make a spring to the top. I may now say a few words about our travelling companion Ivitchuk, who had behaved well throughout the journey. We found him always willing and obedient, and generally lively and cheerful except when very tired, which was frequently the case, as he had not been accustomed to travel so many days consecutively. He accommodated himself easily to our manners and customs in every respect, living as we did, though he would swallow a piece of seal's blubber now and then as a delicacy. What surprised me most was, that he was by no means a very great eater, being often satisfied with as little as any of the party. Tea and chocolate were favorite beverages with him, and he had learned to smoke his pipe as regularly as if he had been accustomed to it all his life. He picked up a few words of English, which he made use of whenever he thought they were applicable, and was very anxious to be taught to read and write. As he, like the rest of the party, was much thinner than when he commenced the journey, he had made up his mind to do nothing during the remainder of the spring but eat, drink, and sleep, a determination to which I believe he most strictly adhered. It was with no small pride that he received a gun and some ammunition, as a reward for his services; and a few presents to his wife, one of the best looking of the fair sex of Repulse Bay, made the pair quite happy, although it was said that the lady had not behaved very well to her liege lord during his absence, having taken unto herself another husband named Ou-plik; but probably the good man knew nothing, or cared little, about it. Part of the men were now every day occupied in scraping among the snow for moss and heather, of which a sufficient quantity was procured to keep the kettle boiling. On Sunday the 9th divine service was read, and thanks offered to the Almighty for having guided us in safety through the late journey. Many Esquimaux were present, who conducted themselves with propriety. CHAPTER VII. Preparations for exploring the coast of Melville Peninsula--Outfit--Leave Fort Hope--Pass over numerous lakes--Guide at fault--Dease Peninsula--Arrive at the sea--Fatigue party sent back to Fort Hope--Barrier of ice--Lefroy Bay--Large island named after the Prince of Wales--Detained by stormy weather--Short allowance--Cape Lady Simpson--Selkirk Bay--Snow knee-deep--Capes Finlayson and Sibbald--Deer shot--A cooking scene--Favourite native relish--Again stopped by stormy weather--Cape M'Loughlin--Two men left to hunt and fish--Cape Richardson--Chain of islands--Garry Bay--Prince Albert range of hills--Cape Arrowsmith--Coast much indented--Baker Bay--Provisions fail--Proceed with one man--Cape Crozier--Parry Bay--Cape Ellice, the farthest point seen--Take possession--Commence our return--No provisions procured by the men left behind--Short commons--Flock of cranes--Snow-blindness--Arrive at Repulse Bay. On the 12th of May preparations were commenced for a journey along the west side of Melville Peninsula. In expectation of falling in with much rough ice, I determined on taking dogs only for the first three days of the journey. The party was to consist of Corrigal (our snow-house builder), Folster, Matheson, and Mineau, with Ouligbuck as deer-hunter and interpreter. A fatigue party of two men, and an Esquimaux with a sledge and good team of dogs, were to accompany us for three days, which I supposed would be the time required to reach the coast. Our provisions for the journey were two bags of pemmican, each 90 lbs., 70 reindeer tongues weighing nearly 30 lbs., 36 lbs. flour, and a little tea, chocolate, and sugar. We took also a gallon and a half of alcohol and a small quantity of oil. Leaving George Flett in charge at Fort Hope, we started at 10 P.M. on the 13th of May, and directed our course towards a chain of lakes in nearly a due north direction. Although the snow was soft, and we had some rather steep rising grounds to pass over, we made good progress, and after crossing six small lakes we came to some high table-land, on which the snow was very deep, and in which the sledge sank very much. A walk of four miles brought us to another lake of considerable size. A little after 6 A.M. on the 14th, we found some snow huts that had been inhabited during part of the winter by the Esquimaux Ecouchi, and soon had one of them cleared out for the accommodation of the party. Although we had not travelled much more than twenty miles, Ouligbuck was so fatigued that I determined to send him back with those who were to return to Repulse Bay. We saw no game and only very few tracks of deer. The weather was so cloudy that no meridian observation of the sun could be obtained. Our latitude was 66° 52' N., and longitude 86° 46' W., both by account. We resumed our march at 9 P.M. on the 14th, the night being calm, with a little snow falling. A brisk walk of two miles to the N.W. brought us to the end of the lake, when we followed the bed of a small stream to the northward for five miles. Two narrow lakes were next traversed, when our guide, who appeared to know little about the proper route, led us to the N.W.; and after crossing five lakelets, and as many short portages, at half-past 6 A.M. we came to a body of water about the size of that near which we had encamped the day before. Here we stopped for the day. The ice on this lake was six feet thick, and gave the men much trouble to cut through it. There was very little fuel to be found; we were therefore obliged to burn part of the small quantity of oil we had taken with us. By a meridian observation our latitude was 67° 5' 3" N., variation of the compass 53° 30' W., and longitude by account 87° 8' 54" W. The west side of the creek, and also of the lakes which we passed over this day, was steep and rocky, although not high; the east sides were more sloping. It was near 10 o'clock at night when we commenced our journey. After an hour's walk we came to the north end of the lake, but our young Esquimaux never having been here before (which was rather surprising, as his usual winter home was not more than ten miles distant), was quite at a loss what direction to take. It would have been quite easy for me to have made a straight course by compass, but by doing so we were very likely to get among ground so uneven, as to be impassable to the dogs and sledge. We now turned to the east of north, and after crossing a number of small lakes, arrived at the sea (which here formed a deep inlet) at a few minutes before midnight. Proceeding down the inlet, which for a couple of leagues was not more than half a mile wide, with steep rocky shores (in some places precipitous), we came to rough ice, and found that there were apparently two openings leading to the northward. I chose the one to the left, but we had not gone more than a mile-and-a-half, when we found that we were in an arm of the inlet, and that the land to the north of us, which I had supposed to be an island, was joined to the mainland by an isthmus not more than 50 yards wide. This peninsula I named after P. W. Dease, Esq., the able leader, in conjunction with T. Simpson, of the expeditions which explored so large a portion of the Arctic shores in 1837, 1838, and 1839. Retracing our steps, we now followed the opening to the right, in which there were great quantities of rough ice, over which we advanced but slowly. The inlet (to which I had given the name of Cameron, after a friend), soon became broader and the ice less rough. At 7 A.M. on the 16th we arrived at the Cape, which last autumn had been named after the late Thomas Simpson, whose agreeable duty it would have been, had he survived, to accomplish the survey which I was now endeavouring to bring to a successful termination. The shores here were very barren, there being little or no vegetation to be seen, except small patches in the crevices of the rocks. In a small lake near our encampment, from which we obtained water, the ice was found to be five feet thick. A sufficient quantity of fuel was gathered to boil our kettle, and two hares were shot by Corrigal. We here made a "cache" of some pemmican, flour, &c. for our return journey. Our snow hut was built on the south side of the cape, under shelter of rocks, near which there were two small islands. The sledge was to be sent back to Repulse Bay from this place, and with it Ouligbuck, who from his inability to walk would have been an incumbrance to us. The weather was so cloudy that no observation could be obtained. Our latitude by account was 67° 22' (which I afterwards found by observation to be nearly three miles too far north), longitude 87° 3' W. The whole of these three days' journeys had been measured with a well stretched line, but this we could not expect to carry on further, as each person would have enough to do with his load. Bidding adieu to our companions who were to return to Fort Hope, we commenced our journey at half-past 8 P.M., each of my men being laden with about 70 lbs., whilst I carried my instruments, books, and some other articles, weighing altogether 40 lbs. This was but a light burden for me, but as I had to examine different objects on the route, and also to lead the way, I found it quite enough. As soon as we had fairly rounded Cape T. Simpson, the coast turned to the eastward, and became indented with narrow but deep inlets, all of which were packed full of rough ice. Walking became most difficult. At one moment we sank nearly waist-deep in snow, at another we were up to our knees in salt water, and then again on a piece of ice so slippery that, with our wet and frozen shoes, it was impossible to keep from falling. Sometimes we had to crawl out of a hole on all fours like some strange-looking quadrupeds; at other times falling backwards we were so hampered by the weight of our loads, that it was impossible to rise without throwing them off, or being assisted by one of our companions. We therefore found it better to follow the shores of the inlets than to cross them, although by doing so we had double the distance to go over. Numerous traces of hares were seen, but we could not afford to lose time in following them. After passing four inlets having some small islands lying outside of them, we came to a rocky point rather higher than any we had yet met with on this side of the bay. The coast to the eastward of Point Cowie (so named after an old friend) became more level, and instead of granite, was covered with mud, shingle, and fragments of limestone. At half-past 3 A.M., all of us being sufficiently tired with our night's work, we built our snow hut and a small kitchen for cooking. This was our usual practice when we had found, or were likely to find, fuel. In the present instance, we had the good fortune to collect enough to boil a kettle of chocolate, and we consequently enjoyed an excellent supper, if I may so term a meal taken about six in the morning. The weather had been fine until midnight, when it began to snow and drift, with a strong breeze from the north. Thermometer +13°. At noon the sky was too much overcast to obtain an observation. Our latitude was 67° 24' 20" N., longitude 86° 37' W. both by account. When we resumed our journey, at 7 o'clock in the evening of the 17th, there was still a strong breeze from N.N.W. with snow drift, the temperature being +18°. Our snow hut of the previous day we now found to be on the shore of a large bay, the most distant point of which bore nearly due north. To follow the coast would have cost us a great deal of additional walking; I therefore determined to attempt the traverse of the bay towards the point above referred to. All along the coast there was a belt of rough ice about two miles broad, over which we were forced to pass before reaching some that appeared smoother outside. To cross this barrier occupied us more than two hours, and gave us more violent exercise than all the remainder of the day's journey. It was half-past 3 A.M. when we arrived at the north point of the bay, which was low and level, with some hills a few hundred feet high, three or four miles inland. We had passed two small rocky islands to seaward in the first part of the night, and there was another close to a bluff point on the south side of the bay. To this cape I gave the name of Watt. The bay was called after Lieut. (now Captain) Lefroy of the Royal Artillery, whose name is well known to the scientific world, and of whose kindness in aiding me in my astronomical studies I retain a most grateful remembrance. We crossed over to Cape W. Mactavish (so named after William Mactavish, Esquire, chief trader, an intimate friend, to whom I am much indebted for assisting me in fitting out the expedition,) and stopped about three miles beyond it. Here we built our snow hut, which was found by meridian observation to be in latitude 67° 42' 22" N.; the variation of the compass 80° 35' W., and the longitude by account 86° 30' W. Directly opposite our encampment, and extending for about seventeen miles to the northward of it, there was a large island of table land, with not a single rock _in situ_ to be seen on it. Its southern extremity bore nearly west (true) from us, and the strait which separated it from the mainland was not more than a mile and a half wide. This island was honoured with the name of His Royal Highness the Prince of Wales, and a smaller one to the south of it was named after Colonel Sabine. Not a single living animal had been seen all day, but some traces of deer proceeding northward were noticed. We were again fortunate enough to find a little fuel. Our route on the following night was nearly straight in a N.N.E. direction. The snow was very soft and deep in many places. A few hundred yards from the beach there were steep banks covered with shingle and small boulders of granite, where we usually found the snow less deep, and walking consequently better. After travelling nine miles we came to a considerable creek, about twenty yards wide, in which a deep channel had been worn among the mud and shingle. Near it there were numerous Esquimaux marks set up, and circular tent sites, but all of old date. We continued our march twelve miles further, and at 8 A.M. arrived at another creek somewhat larger than the last, and with higher banks. Here there were also many Esquimaux marks, and I afterwards learned that some parties had resorted hither from Repulse Bay, for the purpose of catching salmon, trout, &c. About an hour before reaching this place we crossed a long and curiously shaped point, which I named Point Hamilton after a near relative. The bay formed by it was called Erlandson. One of the men, although an able active fellow, not being used to this sort of exercise, was much fatigued; and as the weather looked threatening, I ordered our snow-house to be built--the more readily as there was fuel to be found. In little more than a hour and a half we were comfortably housed, and not long afterwards we had taken our usual morning meal of pemmican seasoned with a handful of flour, those forming, when boiled together, a very nourishing and not unpalatable dish. The temperature all night had been 22° above zero, being too warm for walking pleasantly; and the men, having had to exert themselves much, were glad to get to rest as soon as possible, whilst I remained up to obtain a meridian observation of the sun. This gave latitude 67° 58' 49" N. Our longitude by account was 85° 59' 36" W. The sun was too much obscured by clouds to obtain the variation. We here deposited some pemmican and a little flour for our return journey. When we started at 8 h. 30 m. P.M. on the 19th it blew a gale of wind from S.S.E. with much drift and snow, the temperature being only 4° below the freezing point. Fortunately the wind was on our backs; but the drift was so thick that we were obliged to follow every turn of the coast, and we could not see more than twenty yards before us. When we had travelled six miles we came to a bay a mile and a half wide, on the north shore of which there were two strangely shaped rocks of granite, having the appearance of an old ruin or portion of a fortress. They were of a square form, each about twenty-five feet high and nearly as much in extent. Our course now lay due north; but we had not gone more than twelve miles altogether, when the weather became so unpleasant that we were glad to get under shelter, and before we did so, every part of our clothes was penetrated with snow drift. We could obtain no fuel here. The weather continued so stormy that we were unable to leave our snow-hut until a quarter past 8 P.M. on the 21st. During our detention, finding that our provisions would run short if the walking continued as difficult as it had been, we took only one not overabundant meal during the twenty-four hours. There was still some snow falling, so that I could not take the proper bearings of the land along which we passed. The land, after we had proceeded N.E. for a few miles, turned to the southward of east, forming a bay eight miles wide, which, as it was full of rough ice, we were under the necessity of coasting. This bay was called after the Rt Hon. the Earl of Selkirk, and the cape forming its western boundary was named after the amiable lady of our much respected governor, Sir George Simpson. The snow was in many places so soft and deep that we sank above the knee at every step, which made our night's march fatiguing in the extreme. On the N.E. side of Selkirk Bay, which is steep and rocky, there was a deep indentation or inlet, into which two small creeks emptied themselves. The land for five miles had a N.W. trending, and again turned up to the eastward of N., forming a high rugged headland, which was named Cape Finlayson, after Duncan Finlayson, Esq., Chief Factor. At three miles from Cape Finlayson we passed Point Barnston, and about four miles beyond this we came to another rocky point, which received the name of Cape Sibbald. The night had now become very disagreeable, with a heavy fall of snow; we persevered notwithstanding, partly crossing and partly coasting a bay heaped with rough ice, and encamped on what I supposed was its northern extremity, but which afterwards turned out to be an island, and to which I gave the name of Glen. The bay we had just passed was called after William G. Smith, Esq., Assistant Secretary to the Hudson's Bay Company. The snow not being in a good state for building, we were rather longer than usual in getting housed. There was no fuel to be found, so we followed our old plan, and took a kettle or two of snow to bed with us. The temperature was very high for the season, being only 5° below the freezing point. When we started at a quarter-past 11 on the 22nd, the night was beautifully clear and calm, with the thermometer at 13° below zero. After a three hours' walk we arrived at the north point of a bay, three and a half miles wide, across which we had come. To the bay I gave the name of Fraser, and to the point that of Corcoran, after two intimate friends, chief traders of the Company. We had not advanced many miles farther, when some deer were noticed at no great distance, feeding on the banks of a stream. Being desirous of procuring some venison if possible, I sent Corrigal (who, with other good qualities, was a very fair shot) after them, and he was fortunate enough to shoot a fine buck. But the buck, though wounded, could still run too fast to be overtaken, and the sportsman was just about to give up the chase when I joined him, and we continued the pursuit together. The deer, having got a considerable way in advance, had lain down, but rose up before we could get within good shooting distance, and was trotting off at a great pace, when, by way of giving him a parting salute, I fired, and very luckily sent a ball through his head, which dropped him. His horns were already about a foot long, and the venison was in fine order for the season of the year. I immediately returned to the men, who had been busily employed collecting fuel, of which great quantities grew along the borders of the creek, and sent two of them to assist in skinning and cutting up the deer, whilst I and the other men continued to gather heather, as we now anticipated great doings in the kitchen. We placed the greater part of our venison "en cache," but kept the head, blood, leg bones, &c., for present use; and being determined to lose nothing, the stomach was partially cleaned by rubbing it with snow, and then cut up and boiled, which thus made a very pleasant soup, there being enough of the vegetable contents of the paunch to give it a fine green colour, although I must confess that, to my taste, this did not add to the flavour. Having discussed this mess, a second kettle full was prepared, composed of the blood, brains, and some scraps of the meat, which completed our supper. It is well known that both Esquimaux and Indians are very fond of the contents of the paunch of the rein-deer, particularly in the spring, when the vegetable substances on which the animal feeds are said to be sweeter tasted. I have often seen our hunter, Nibitabo, when he had shot a deer, cut open the stomach, and sup the contents with as much relish as a London alderman would a plate of turtle soup. The position of our snow-house was in latitude 68° 33' 26" N., longitude 85° 20' 30" W., both by account. The weather was so stormy during the 23rd that we could not continue our journey. The thermometer rose as high as +39° in the shade, and the melting of the snow having wet the heather, we were obliged to have recourse to alcohol. Three or four snow buntings and traces of partridges (_tetrao rupestris_) were seen. On the 24th it still blew a gale of wind from the east, but there being a partial thaw by the high temperature, there was no drift, and much of the ground was entirely cleared of snow. In the evening the weather became more moderate, and the thermometer fell to 5° below the freezing point. We started at a few minutes after 10 o'clock, our course being slightly to the east of north. The travelling was still very fatiguing, as we were frequently forced to pass over the rocks, or to walk along the steep drift banks, in order to avoid the rough ice which had been heaped up against the shore. We passed a number of small bays and points, and when we had advanced fifteen miles, came to a high cape, which forms the N.W. promontory of a bay five miles in extent. To the cape I gave the name of M'Loughlin, after the gentleman who has been for many years in charge of the Columbia department, and the bay was called after my much valued friend Nicol Finlayson, Esq., Chief Factor. After passing Cape M'Loughlin we turned to the eastward, toward the head of the bay, and stopped at 7 A.M. near the mouth of a creek, where we took up our quarters for the day. There was not so much fuel to be found as at our last encampment, but we gathered enough to boil our kettle. Some bands of deer and a few partridges were observed, but we did not waste time in endeavouring to get a shot at them. Since leaving Fort Hope not a day had passed without more or less snow falling, which made the travelling much more difficult than I expected, and our progress consequently so much slower, that, notwithstanding the addition I had made to our stock of provisions, there was some danger of our still running short. I therefore decided on leaving two of the men here to fish and shoot, whilst I went forward with the others. There was a little snow falling when, along with Corrigal and Matheson, I set out at 10 P.M. on the 25th. The night was mild (6° below freezing) with a light wind from the east. A walk of two miles brought us to a head land, which formed the north side of Finlayson Bay, and which extended seven miles in a W.N.W. direction. To this cape the name of Richardson was given, after the distinguished naturalist, who, having already exposed himself to many dangers and privations in the cause of science, is now about to incur similar hardships in the cause of humanity and friendship, by searching for Sir John Franklin and his gallant party, whose situation, it is too much to be feared, is a critical one. At the place where we crossed Cape Richardson it was not more than a mile wide, and we found ourselves in a large bay, thickly studded with high and rugged islands. A chain of these islands, which lay outside of us, and to which I gave the name of Pomona, (after the largest island of the Orcadian group,) had effectually served as a barrier to the ice from seaward, and had thus made the walking much smoother than we had hoped to find it. As we advanced there were many tracks of polar bears, and also those of a wolverine, that appeared to follow them very closely, expecting no doubt to appropriate some portion of whatever prey they might catch. A flock of long-tailed ducks passed us, flying to the westward, towards some open water, the vapour exhaled from which appeared in that direction. As we approached the north side of the bay, which was named after Nicholas Garry, Esq., of the Hudson's Bay Company, there were so many islands that I was much at a loss what direction to take. Under these circumstances we encamped at 6 A.M. on a high island, about two miles in diameter, from which a good view could be obtained. Garry Bay is the most strangely shaped, and the most irregular in its outline, of any we had yet seen. It presented three long, narrow, and high points of land, and had four inlets. The largest and most southerly of these points was called after Lieut. Halkett, R.N., and the most northerly of the inlets received the name of Black Inlet. As no fuel could be obtained here, we were reduced to the necessity of using some more of our alcohol, of which but a small quantity now remained. The men were soon asleep under our single blanket, (for this was all the covering we had for the party,) whilst I remained awake for the purpose of obtaining an observation of the sun at noon. This gave latitude 68° 59' 15" N., variation of the compass 88° 26' W., our longitude by account being 84° 48' W. All the way between Lefroy and Garry Bays there is a range of hills, from 500 to 800 feet high, about five miles from the coast, which was distinguished by the name of His Royal Highness Prince Albert, consort of our beloved Sovereign. The weather was beautiful all day, and was equally fine when we commenced our march at half-past nine at night. Our route lay somewhat to the west of north, between two lofty islands, the smaller of which received the name of Gladman, and the larger and most northerly I designated Honeyman, after a brother. Seven miles from our encampment we passed a bluff and precipitous point, the northern extremity of Garry Bay, to which the name of Cape Arrowsmith was given, in honour of John Arrowsmith, Esq., the talented hydrographer to Her Majesty. The land was now completely serrated with narrow points and inlets, along which we were able to make nearly a straight course, as the force of the ice from the westward had been much broken by ridges of rocks that lay outside of us. To four of these inlets I gave the names of M'Kenzie, Whiffen, Bunn, and Hopkins, after much esteemed friends. Towards the end of our night's journey the coast turned nearly due north, and when we had advanced seven leagues we encamped on Cape Miles,--so named after Robert Miles, Esq., Chief Factor,--at 7 A.M. on the 27th. As the morning was exceedingly fine, we thought there was no necessity for building a snow-house, an omission which we regretted in the afternoon, when a heavy fall of snow took place. By a good meridian observation of the sun, the latitude 69° 19' 39" N., and the variation of the compass 92° 20' west, were obtained, the longitude by account being 85° 4' W. The latter is evidently erroneous, as I had neither chronometer nor watch that I could place dependence upon, and the compasses were much affected by local attraction. Our provisions being now nearly all used, I could advance only half a night's journey further to the northward, and return the following morning to our present quarters. Leaving one of the men, I set out with the other at half-past 9 P.M., the snow falling fast; and although we had little or nothing to carry, the travelling was very fatiguing as we crossed Baker Bay--so named in memory of a much valued friend--at the north side of which we arrived after a walk of four miles. It now snowed so thick that we could not see farther than fifty yards round us, and we were consequently obliged to follow the windings of the shore, which, when we had traced it six miles beyond Baker Bay, turned sharp to the eastward; but the weather continuing thick, I could not see how far it preserved this trending. After waiting here nearly an hour, the sky cleared up for a few minutes at 4 A.M., which enabled me to discover that we were on the south shore of a considerable bay, and I could also obtain a distinct view of the coast line for nearly twelve miles beyond it. To the most distant visible point (latitude 69° 42' N., longitude 85° 8' W.,) I gave the name of Cape Ellice, after Edward Ellice, Esq. M.P., one of the Directors of the Company; the bay to the northward, and the headland on which we stood, were respectively named after the distinguished navigators Sir Edward Parry and Captain Crozier. Finding it hopeless to attempt reaching the strait of the Fury and Hecla, from which Cape Ellice could not be more than ten miles distant, we took possession of our discoveries with the usual formalities, and retraced our steps, arriving at our encampment of the previous day at half-past 8 A.M. Here we found that Matheson, the man left behind, had built a snow-house after a fashion of his own, the walls being like those of a stone building, and the roof covered in the same way with slabs of snow placed on the opposite walls in a slanting position, so as to rest on one another in the centre. Seven hours had been spent in building this edifice, which was not a very handsome one; but being sufficiently wide, and, when our legs were doubled up a little, long enough for us all when lying down, we found it pretty comfortable. During the remaining four hours of our absence, he had been engaged in an attempt to coax a little wet moss into a sufficient blaze to boil some chocolate; but, notwithstanding his most persevering exertions, by the time his fuel was expended, the chocolate was little more than lukewarm, although our cook _pro tempore_, who was of a sanguine temperament, firmly believed that it was just about to reach the boiling point. We finished the process with a little of our remaining stock of alcohol, and enjoyed an excellent though rather scanty supper. Matheson was one of the best men I ever had under my command. Always ready, willing, and obedient, he did his duty in every respect; and whilst he possessed spirit enough for anything, he had a stock of good humour which never failed him in any situation, however difficult and trying. Were the walking difficult or easy, the loads heavy or light, provisions abundant or reduced to less than half allowance, it was all one to Peter Matheson; he had a joke ready for every occasion. A few minutes after 10 P.M. on the 28th, we were on the march homeward. The night was very disagreeable, there being a strong breeze of head wind with heavy snow, and a temperature much too mild (only 8° below the freezing point) for walking comfortably. The snow also was very soft, so that, had it not been for the bad state of our victualling department, we would have remained snug in our quarters. But needs must when hunger drives, so we trudged on stoutly, crossing over the land for the purpose of shortening our distance. After a tough walk, during which we met with some tracks of bears that had passed only about an hour before, we encamped on a small island close to Cape Arrowsmith, and nearly three miles to the northward of our snow hut of the 26th. The weather during the day became fine, so fine indeed that our house, not being built of good material, tumbled down about our ears just before we were leaving it. 29th.--When we started at half-past 9 P.M., the night was fine, but in half an hour it began to snow so thick that we could not keep our course in crossing Garry Bay, where the walking was much worse than when we formerly passed. In three hours the weather again cleared up, and I found that we had not deviated much from the right road. At 7 A.M. we joined Folster and Mineau, whom we found quite well, but like ourselves very thin. The only animals they had killed were two marmots, and no fish had been caught. If we had been twelve hours longer absent, they intended to have boiled a piece of parchment skin for supper, and to have kept the small remaining piece of pemmican for travelling provisions. I have had considerable practice in walking, and have often accomplished between forty and fifty, and, on one occasion, sixty-five miles in a day on snow shoes, with a day's provisions, blanket, axe, &c. on my back; but our journey hitherto had been the most fatiguing I had ever experienced. The severe exercise, with a limited allowance of food, had much reduced the whole party, yet we were all in excellent health; and although we lost flesh, we kept up our spirits, and marched merrily on, tightening our belts--mine came in six inches--and feasting our imaginations on full allowance when we arrived at Fort Hope. On the 30th we continued our course homewards, crossing over the several points that we had formerly coasted. It snowed heavily all night, and the temperature was only two degrees below the freezing point. Eight cranes "winged their circling flight" northward, and half a dozen sandpipers were seen. It was near 4 A.M. on the 31st when we arrived at our snow house of the 23rd, which we found quite as good as when we left it and our cache of venison all safe. Three partridges were shot, which somewhat aided our short commons. On the following night, after an ineffectual attempt to get to seaward of the rough ice, in which we lost a considerable portion of the skin off our shins, we travelled on the land, making short cuts whenever practicable. On arriving opposite to Glen Island, we found that it was divided from the shore by a channel not much more than a quarter of a mile wide. There was an inlet a few miles in length to the eastward of it, which was named after the Rev. Mr. Mackar of Kingston, Canada West. This night was the finest we had experienced throughout the journey. A specimen of trap rock was obtained from some rising grounds a mile and a half distant from the north shore of Smith's Bay, near the head of which we now for the first time observed a lake of a couple miles in extent. When half a league from Cape Sibbald, we encamped under shelter of some precipitous trap cliffs nearly a hundred feet high. Some more cranes were seen, and numerous traces of deer and partridges. We here procured some fuel, there being patches of ground bare of snow. Our latitude by observation was 68° 19' 50" N. Variation of the compass 80° 55' W. Two of the men were affected with snow blindness--one of them severely. 1st June.--It blew a gale of wind from S.E., with thick snow-drift at 8h. 30m. P.M. when we resumed our journey. At half-past 10 we crossed the largest stream that we had yet met with on Melville Peninsula. It was already partially open, owing to numerous springs, which had formed many small mounds of ice from ten to twelve feet high. After taking a copious draught from the limpid stream, we continued our journey across Point Barnston and Cape Finlayson, until we arrived at Selkirk Bay, when, the weather having become much worse, we stopped at 1h. 30m. A.M. to build our snow hut at a place where there was such an abundant supply of heather, that we had enough to cover our snow-bed with. Two deer were seen, and Corrigal made an ineffectual attempt to get a shot at them. I shot five ptarmigan, and four sandpipers were observed. During the next night's journey the weather was very snowy, but the wind being more moderate we got on faster. After coasting Selkirk Bay, we cut across Cape Lady Simpson, and at half-past 6 A.M. on the 3rd of June, we reached our encampment of the 19th ultimo in Erlandson Bay, where we found our small "cache" of provisions quite safe. Five more partridges were shot, and some deer seen. The snow being very soft, we remained here all day, and at noon obtained the latitude 67° 59' N., and variation 75° 9' W. The thermometer in the shade rose as high as +54°, and our old snow-house tumbled down about our ears in the evening, just as we were going to take our supper,--perhaps breakfast would be the more appropriate term, as we had turned day into night. We started at 8h. 30m. P.M., and notwithstanding the great power of the sun, so much snow had fallen lately that it lay far deeper on the ground than when we had previously passed this way. The walking also was so much more fatiguing, that we were not able to reach our snow-house of the 18th of May, and were in consequence under the necessity of building new lodgings. The night was mild and nearly calm. Two phalaropes (_P. fulicarius_) were seen, and a couple of ptarmigan shot. There was no fuel to be found here, but having picked up a little as we came along, we did not feel the want of it much. The 4th was a fine night with the thermometer at +23°, when, at 7h. 40m., we resumed our march. Whilst rounding Cape Mactavish we fell in with nine partridges, seven of which were shot, and I endeavoured to get within range of a couple of swans--the first we had seen--but they were too shy. We now crossed Lefroy Bay, the snow on which was very soft, and built our snow-house on the ice at 7h. A.M. about four miles from its south shore. The work during this journey had been so much more severe than was expected, and the men had in consequence used so much more tobacco than they had anticipated, that their stock was now quite exhausted, and they appeared to feel the want as much as if they had been deprived of half their allowance of food,--perhaps more. It was really amusing to see how very particular they were in dividing the small remaining bits which they rummaged from the dust and rubbish in their pockets, and which at any other time they would have thrown away. I happened to have a little snuff with me, a pinch of which, in their necessity, they relished much. We were on foot again at 20 minutes after 8 on the 5th. The weather had been stormy all day, but became fine an hour after we started. We kept well out from land, expecting to find the ice smoother; and this was the case as far as Point Cowie; but beyond that the rough ice extended quite across the bay; we therefore struck in for the shore, which after two hours' scrambling we reached, and directed our course over the rocks,--from which the snow had now, in many places, entirely disappeared,--towards Cape T. Simpson, where we arrived at 5h. A.M. on the 6th, and found our "cache" of provisions, &c., as we had left it. No time was lost in getting the stones cleared away from it, not so much for the purpose of having something to eat, as to find some tobacco that had been left here among other things. A fine hare had been shot, and as soon as three of the party, who had stopped behind to gather fuel, came up, we had a much more abundant and palatable meal than we had enjoyed for many days before. To the large bay, the survey of which we had now completed, the name of Committee Bay was given, in honor of the Committee of the Hudson's Bay Company. This was the finest day we had experienced during this journey, the power of the sun being so great as to raise the thermometer to +82°. By an excellent meridian observation in quicksilver, our latitude was 67° 19' 14" N., variation of compass, 64° 27' W. Wishing to take a straighter, and consequently shorter, route to Repulse Bay than that by which we had gone, we started at 9 P.M. on the 6th, and after a walk of three hours came to the head of a narrow inlet, with high rocky shores, and about seven miles long, to which I gave the name of Munro. Our course overland was nearly due south, and we passed over a number of small lakes, from which the snow had been partially removed by the joint action of the sun's rays and the wind. On the following night our course continued the same with a slight inclination to the westward. We had a strong gale of fair wind, which helped us along amazingly; but as we could easily reach Fort Hope in another night, and as we had abundance of food, we encamped at 3h. 30m. A.M. on the 8th, during the whole of which day, until late in the evening, it blew hard with drifting snow, so that no observations could be made. Being anxious to arrive at winter quarters early on the following day, we were again on the march at half-past 7 P.M., and the evening having now become fine, we kept up a smart pace for a few hours until we arrived at Christie Lake, where, finding some very fine heather quite dry and free from snow, it was impossible to resist the temptation of having something to eat and drink. Having taken up our quarters in an old snow-hut, the chocolate and pemmican kettles were soon on the fire, and we heartily enjoyed our rather unusual meal. Following the lake and North Pole River, we came to Fort Hope at 8h. 20m. A.M. on the 9th, all in good health and spirits, but very much reduced in flesh, although not quite so black as when we returned from the previous journey. CHAPTER VIII. Occurrences at Fort Hope during the absence of the exploring party--Remove from winter quarters to tents--Sun seen at midnight--Build an oven and bake bread--Esquimaux method of catching seals--A concert--Lateness of the summer--A native salmon-wear--Salmon spear--Boulders on the surface of the ice--Visited by a native from the Ooglit Islands--His report of occurrences at Igloolik--Indolence of the natives--Ice breaking up--Halkett's air-boat--A storm--The ice dispersed--Prepare for sea. During my absence from Fort Hope little beyond the usual occurrences of the winter had taken place. The latter part of May was remarkable for the great quantity of snow that fell, with gales of wind and drift, which kept the men almost continually clearing away snow from the roofs of our houses. They were obliged even to go to work during the night, and notwithstanding all the care that was taken, two of the boats' yards were broken, and the masts very nearly shared a like fate, as the post placed under them gave way. For so great a quantity of snow lodging on our roof, the man left in charge was to blame, as shortly after my departure he had the snow thrown up in heaps, which, when the stormy weather and snow-drift came on, caused drift-banks to be raised to an equal height (about 4½ feet) on the tops of our dwellings. During all this time the thermometer never fell lower than +9°, which was on the 16th of May, and rose as high as +45°, at mid-day on the 29th. The last day of May was very stormy; but on the 1st of June the weather changed for the better, although the thermometer was as low as +12°. On this day the first geese (laughing geese) and some sandpipers were seen, and one of each was shot. As the partridges were migrating northward about thirty had been killed, and there was a good stock of venison in store, the hunters having shot twenty deer. The does were now very large with young, and had become very poor; the bucks were, however, improving in condition. The Esquimaux had brought in little for trade, a few pairs of boots, which were soon bought up by the men, and a little oil from Akkeeoulik being the principal articles. Some of them were getting short of provisions, not having been able to find a "cache" which they went for. They had all behaved well, not having committed any thefts that could be discovered. We had, however, one most incorrigible thief among our party, Ouligbuck's son, who, during the few days of his fathers absence, was twice caught with the old man's bale open, eating sugar; some tobacco was also taken, and the trousers of most of the men were completely cleared of buttons by the same hands. On my return only one family of Esquimaux (Shimakuk's) remained near us. Shimakuk had been waiting for his dogs, which were with the party who had gone in search of meat. On the 13th divine service was read, and thanks returned to the Almighty for His protection throughout the winter and during the late journey. There was a strong breeze of N. wind, with frequent showers of snow. House very damp; the clay falling from the inside of the walls. 14th.--The weather was fine and permitted us to get our flour, pemmican, &c., removed from the meat store (which was now dropping much from the roof) to the rocks, where it was well covered up with oilcloths. The 20th was a most stormy day with occasional showers--wind N.W. There was a considerable stream of water running on the ice of North Pole River, forming large pools on the sea-ice, through which it did not yet find a free exit. 21st.--There was a change in the weather for the better, although it still blew a gale; however, as the day advanced the wind became more moderate, and about noon shifted round to the south. The water was rising fast in all the creeks, showing that the process of destruction was fast going on among the snow and ice. The latter was still nearly four feet thick on the lakes, but very porous. The great rise of water in the creeks and small streams rendered it very unpleasant and even dangerous to cross them. In attempting to get near some geese this day I sunk to the waist amidst snow and water, and not being able to get any firm footing, I found much difficulty in scrambling out without wetting my gun. 23rd.--This being a fine day, all the men were employed dismantling the house and carrying down the provisions, clothes, &c. to the summer tents, which had been pitched about 300 yards nearer the shore. Two leather tents were put up for cooking in. We saw the sun at midnight, his lower limb touching the high grounds to the northward. We made some bread in an oven which we had built of stones cemented with clay of an excellent quality. The upper part of our first batch was well baked, but the floor of the oven was not sufficiently warm to bake the lower part. It however rose well, and we afterwards succeeded in making excellent bread, though the oven was heated with heather.[4] 15th July.--Weather still stormy and cold to the feelings, the thermometer being +35°. The water of North Pole Lake had broken through its barrier of snow and ice, and was rushing down the river with great force, carrying with it large masses of ice. All the men except Flett, who remained at the tents, and Germain, who had charge of the nets, went to North Pole Lake on the 19th to bring down the boat. The river being one continued rapid throughout its whole length, with not an eddy to stop in, they came down at rather a quick rate, but were compelled to stop within a few hundred yards of the salt water, on account of the shallowness and the number of stones. Twenty-two salmon were caught, some in good condition, others very soft and thin. The former contained roe about the eighth of an inch in diameter. A number of Esquimaux arrived for the purpose of catching salmon, having finished their seal hunting, which had been successful, although the number killed could not be ascertained. Our old friends were accompanied by three strangers, viz., an old man and two young ones, with their wives and families. Our travelling companion Ivitchuk had shot some deer with his gun, but having spent nearly all his ammunition, he requested and obtained a small additional stock. Another Esquimaux, a jolly old fellow, with two wives, joined the party here; he had come from the direction of Wager River this spring on the ice. He and one or two more old men were nearly starved to death last winter, being so much reduced that they could not walk. Twenty-three salmon were got from the nets; some of these were in very poor condition being evidently out of season; others were in fine order and full of roe. 22nd.--One of the old Esquimaux at the fishery speared a seal on the ice near the edge of the open water, but it got away in consequence of the line breaking. Their mode of approaching the seal requires much patience and is very fatiguing, as the hunter must lie flat on his face or on his side, and advance towards the seal by a series of motions resembling those of the animal itself. He has frequently to proceed in this way some hundred yards, but so well does he act his part that he can get within a few feet of his object, and a looker-on would find much difficulty in telling which was the man and which the seal. The seal actually comes to meet the hunter, who, as soon as it has got some distance from its hole, springs up and intercepts its return. The women are very expert at this mode of hunting, and frequently having no spear, use a small club of wood with which they strike the seal on the nose. The greater part of the Esquimaux were encamped about a quarter of a mile from us, and had a _concert_ every night,--a union of the vocal and the instrumental. Their only musical instrument is a sort of drum or tambourine, consisting of a stout wooden hoop, about 30 inches in diameter, round which, when it is to be used, a wet parchment deer skin is stretched. In beating this rough instrument, the hoop, not the skin, is struck. The performer being in the centre of the tent, keeps turning slowly round, whilst four or five women add their voices to the execrable sound, producing among them most horrible discord. Each of the men in his turn takes up the drum and thumps away till he is tired, when he lays it down and another takes his place, and so on it goes until it has passed through the hands of all the males of the party, including the boys. The whole of the natives, with the exception of a few old people who were remaining at the fishing station, and three young men and their wives, went the following day to an island four miles off for the purpose of killing more seals, and also to put new covers on their canoe frames. 25th.--This was the anniversary of our arrival here last year; and certainly everything wore a very different aspect from what it then did. Last summer at this date there was no ice to be seen in Repulse Bay; the snow had nearly all disappeared, and the various streams had shrunk to their lowest level. _Now_ there was not a pool of water in the bay, except where the entrance of a river or creek had worn away or broken up the ice for a short distance. There was much snow on the ground in many places, and most of the streams were still deep and rapid. The musquitoes were rather troublesome; but this I was not sorry for, as the Esquimaux said that the ice in the bay would soon break up after these tormentors made their appearance. As our native friends were now getting sufficient fish to maintain them, they required no further assistance from us at present. Their mode of catching salmon is a very simple one. They build a barrier of stones about 1½ or 2 feet high across a creek, some distance below high-water mark. The salmon, which keep close to the shore at this season, are by this means, during the ebb of the tide, cut off from the sea, and are easily speared. About sixty were thus killed this day. The spear used is usually made of two diverging pieces of musk-ox horn, from 4 to 5 inches apart at the extremities; between these there is a prong of bone about 3 or 4 inches shorter than the outer ones. Each of the longer prongs is furnished with a barb on its inner side, made of a bent nail or piece of bone, which prevents the fish from escaping. The handle is 6 or 8 feet long. The head of the instrument much resembles a three-pronged fork, with the middle prong a little shorter than the others. The moon was full this day. High-water at 45 minutes past noon. Arkshuk, Shimakuk, and Kei-ik-too-oo visited us on the 28th, bringing a few pairs of boots for sale. The tins which contained preserved meat, and table knives and forks, were in great demand among these good folks. One of the ladies to whom I gave a fork, used it as neatly in eating fish as if she had been accustomed to it from childhood. Thermometer as high as +60° in the shade. The ice in the bay had broken up for more than a mile from the shore opposite the mouth of the river, but some distance out it looked as white and firm as ever. I had for some time observed that large stones, some of them of one or two tons weight, were making their appearance on the ice; and I was much puzzled to make out how they came there. They could not have fallen from the shore, as the beach was sloping at the place, nor had they been carried in by drift ice of the previous season. The only way that I could account for it was this. At the commencement of winter the ice layer acquiring considerable thickness, had become frozen to the stones lying on the bottom, and raised them up when the tide came in. The stones would get gradually enclosed in the ice as it grew thicker by repeated freezings, whilst by the process of evaporation, which goes on very rapidly in the spring, the upper surface was continually wasting away, so that in June and July there was little of the first formed ice remaining, and thus the stones which at first were on the under surface of the ice appeared on the top. This may perhaps in some measure account for boulders, sand, shells, &c. being sometimes found where geologists fancy they ought not to be. Ice has been time out of mind the great "conveyancer." August 1st.--We were visited this day by an Esquimaux named I-ik-tu-ang, whom I had not before seen. He had passed the winter near the Ooglit Islands, a few days' journey from Igloolik. He said that, when a boy, he was frequently on board the Fury and Hecla in 1822-23, and that the "Kabloonans" killed a number of walruses, and some black whales, with two small boats; that the walruses were put in "cache" for them (the Esquimaux), who were rather short of provisions at the time, and that they received the _skins_ of the whales. They had abundance of provisions last winter, but were visited by a very fatal disease--from what I learnt of the symptoms, resembling influenza--which carried off twenty-one grown-up persons. The children were not attacked with this complaint. Two of the party at Igloolik had been reduced to the necessity of putting to death and eating two children, to save themselves from starvation. Four men, whilst hunting the sea-horse with their canoes lashed together, were assaulted by this fierce animal, struck down with his formidable tusks, their canoes capsized and broken, and the whole party drowned. Another poor fellow having early in the winter harpooned a walrus through a hole in the ice, was dragged into the water before he could disengage himself from the line. The ice being still thin and transparent, the body was found a few days after. I-ik-tu-ang also informed me--as I had already supposed from various appearances--that there is open water throughout the winter between this and the Frozen Strait, through which a strong current runs with the flow and ebb of the tide,--so strong is it that when bears are pursued and take the water, they are often swept under the ice and drowned. In the afternoon two more Esquimaux with their wives from the same quarter, accompanied by Akkee-ou-lik and his family, made their appearance. Some of the natives who had taken up their quarters near us were supplied daily with fish. They appeared quite as indolent as most of the other savage tribes of America, and never thought of looking out for food, so long as they could get enough to support life from us. Although they had a wear made for confining the salmon, they would not take the trouble to spear them when in it. We endeavoured to get some young marmots, but without success. I find that these curious little animals leave their winter habitations, which are usually formed in dry sandy banks, as soon as the snow has in a great measure disappeared, and take up their summer residence among the rocks, where, I have no doubt, they are much safer from their numerous enemies. The weather was still fine on the 6th, but it appeared to have little effect on the ice in the bay, which still remained hard and fast. All the largest and deepest lakes were covered with strong ice. 9th.--On looking out this morning I was happy to see a lane of open water stretching completely across the bay, but there was still a strong barrier between us and the south point, although a passage to the northward might easily have been made. The nets produced eighty salmon, the greater part of which were given to the Esquimaux. The fishery was now abandoned, as we could procure close at hand as many salmon as we required. During the whole of our spring fishing Halkett's air-boat was used for setting and examining the nets, and was preferred by the fishermen to the large canvas canoe, as it was much lighter, and passed over and round the nets with more facility. Notwithstanding its continued use on a rocky shore, it never required the slightest repair. It is altogether a most useful little vessel, and, as I have said before, ought to form part of the equipment of all surveying parties, whether by land or sea. The men from the fishery were followed soon after by the Esquimaux with their baggage, which it took more than a dozen trips of our canoe to ferry over. The large lakes were still covered with a thick coat of ice. There were a great many seals in the open water, and some of the fish in the nets had been eaten by them. 10th.--A storm from the north with rain and snow until noon, when the wind somewhat abated, and the weather cleared up. Great havoc was made among the ice, and in the evening there was a clear sea as far as the point of the bay. 11th.--There was a gale of wind all day with rain occasionally--the weather cold and unpleasant. We were all busily employed in preparing for sea. All the snow-banks for six or eight feet from the ground having been converted into solid ice soon after the spring thaw commenced, we had to dig out the chain and anchor of one of the boats, which were buried under ice of that thickness; yet on the very spot where this chain and anchor lay, there was not a particle of either ice or snow on the 25th July last year; such is the variable nature of this northern climate. In the afternoon Nibitabo was sent to endeavour to get some fresh venison for our voyage, and shot two young deer; St. Germain and Mineau set the nets for a supply of salmon, and I was busy distributing among the Esquimaux axes, files, knives, scissors, &c. &c. &c. The large lakes were still covered with ice, but in the bay there was little or none to be seen. FOOTNOTE: [4] Receipt.--Seven lbs. flour, 1 oz. carbonate soda, ¾ oz. citric acid, ¾ oz. common salt, water (cold), about ½ gallon. The salt, soda, and acid being finely powdered and dry, are to be well mixed together; this mixture being well wrought up with the dry flour, the water is to be added in 2 or 3 parts and mingled with the flour as quickly as possible; the dough being put into pans is immediately to be placed in the oven. CHAPTER IX. Voyage from Repulse Bay to York Factory. Having got every thing ready, the boat launched and loaded about 2 o'clock P.M. on the 12th of August, I was about to distribute our spare kettles, some hoop iron, &c. among the Esquimaux, when the compass of one of the boats was missing. Search was made, but no compass was to be found. At last I thought of turning over some heather that lay close to where my tent had been, and there discovered it. It had been concealed by one of the Esquimaux women--a widow--to whom more presents had been made than to any of the others. Some of the most decent of the men appeared really sorry at parting, and waded into the water to shake hands with me. We got under weigh with a light air of wind from the N.E. at 25 minutes past 2. Our progress was very slow, there being frequent calms, so that, between pulling and sailing, we reached only to within five miles of Cape Hope at 4 A.M. of the 13th. A large black whale and some white ones, with innumerable seals, were seen. Thermometer at +65; but it became much colder after the wind came from sea. During the night we sailed among loose ice. As it was still calm we anchored at half-past 4 A.M. to wait for the other boat, which was some miles astern, to re-stow the cargo and cook breakfast. Thermometer at 5 A.M. +48°. At half-past 6 we began pulling along shore. An hour afterwards a light breeze sprung up, but still ahead. The breeze becoming stronger, we hoisted sail and turned to windward, and would have made good progress had it kept steady; instead of which it followed or rather preceded the sun in his course westward, and thus headed us at every point we weathered. The flood-tide assisted us until 4 P.M., when we put ashore, as the ebb was too strong for us. Shot a young Arctic hare. There is a number of long narrow lakes near the point we stopped at, which is formed of grey and red granite and gneiss, and is about five miles from the S.E. point of Repulse Bay. Caught three species of marine insects with fins, which they use like wings: preserved specimens of them. Every appearance of rain this evening. Thermometer +65° at 8 P.M. 14th. The wind shifted to the N.N.W. at half-past 9 last night, when we immediately got under weigh and sailed cautiously along shore, examining every bay and inlet when I supposed us near the northern outlet of Wager River, but not a trace of it was to be seen. If it exists, I think it not likely that it should have escaped our notice twice. The wind was for a few hours variable and squally; but it now shifted to N.E. by N. and blew hard. In crossing Wager River Bay, eight or ten miles from shore, there was a very heavy cross sea, which washed over our gunwales occasionally. On nearing the shore the run of the sea became more regular; but the wind increased so as to make it necessary to reef sails. The weather assuming a very threatening appearance, and the navigation being intricate and dangerous, we were forced to seek a harbour, which, after some difficulty, we found in a small bay at 8 P.M., having run from ninety to ninety-five miles, seventy-three of which were measured by Massey's patent log. Two white bears and many walruses were seen on a small island near Whale Island; but the weather was too stormy to permit us to pursue them. It had been my intention to cross over to Southampton Island and trace that portion of the coast from Port Harding southward which had not yet been surveyed; but a stream of ice and the state of the weather prevented my doing so, nor did I think it an object of sufficient importance to detain the expedition a day or two for that sole purpose. Thermometer about +41° all day. The male eider and king ducks appeared to have left this coast already, there being none but females seen. Our boat took the ground about half ebb--a fine bottom of sand and mud. 15th.--It blew a complete gale all night and during the greater part of this day. The sky, however, was sufficiently clear to allow me to obtain a meridian observation for latitude and variation. The former was found to be 64° 49' 06" N.--the latter 41° 27' W. Thermometer +46°. The wind began to fall in the evening, and the tide having come in so as to float the boats, we started at 4 P.M. under reefed sails. The sea was still running high, but it was long and regular; and as there was every appearance of fine weather, I determined to sail all night, keeping a sharp look-out ahead for shoals, reefs, and islets. There was a heavy swell all night which broke with great violence on the reefs; and it being very dark, both boats were once or twice nearly filled by getting into shallow water before we were aware of it. 16th.--At half-past 5 this morning we were opposite Cape Fullerton, and at 6 Massey's log was examined, when it indicated a run of seventy-two miles. At 9 A.M. it fell calm. Thermometer +43°. An hour afterwards there was a light breeze from S.W., with which we turned to windward among numerous rocky islands. At noon the latitude, 63° 56' 13" N., was observed, and shortly afterwards two Esquimaux were seen coming off in their kayaks, paddling at a great rate; but the breeze had now freshened, and it would have given them hard work to overtake us had we not shortened sail, and afterwards landed on an island, where we waited for them. Three more joined us there. They were very dirty, and far inferior in every respect to our friends of Repulse Bay. One of them was about five feet eight inches high, had a formidable beard and moustache, and was better looking than the others. After making them some presents we shoved off, and stood across the bay to the westward of Cape Fullerton. This bay is much deeper than it is laid down in the chart, and is crowded with islands. It was near high water when we reached the main shore, and as we could make no progress against wind and tide, we put into a safe harbour. Nothing was to be seen for a mile or two inland but rocks, clothed in some spots with moss or grass. Deer were observed, and a young one shot by Nibitabo. About an hour after our landing the wind shifted to W.N.W., and, as I was afraid of getting aground in our present berth, the boats were moved to a more open situation from which they could start at any time of tide. The Esquimaux could tell us nothing about Churchill, none of them having visited that place either this or the previous summer. Thermometer at 9 P.M. +53. 17th.--We were under weigh at 2 A.M., but the wind was both light and close, so that our progress was slow. Before the tide changed it came more from the southward; we were therefore obliged to anchor as soon as it began to ebb. The latitude of our harbour was 63° 47' 33" N. Var. 31° 8' W. The rocks, like those where we landed last night, were grey granite and gneiss. Thermometer at noon +60°. A large black whale was seen this morning. At half-past 1 P.M. the tide began to flow, and at two we were under sail, the wind having gone round to the northward, so as to permit us to lie our course along shore. A succession of reefs lines the coast, which is itself very irregular in its outline, being indented with numberless inlets, some of them running many miles inland. The tide began to ebb at 8 P.M., and as the wind had fallen and headed us, we ran in shore and cast anchor under the shelter of some rocks. It was just getting dark when a fresh breeze of fair wind sprung up. This was annoying enough. At 10 o'clock nine Esquimaux visited us, but staid only a short time, as we were to stop near their tents in the morning. Two of them said they would sleep on the rocks near us, with the intention of pointing out the deepest channel when we should resume our voyage. 18th.--We started at daylight this morning, but the fair wind, which had continued all night, soon failed us. Aided by the flood-tide, however, an hour's rowing brought us to the encampment of our last night's visitors, who welcomed us with much noise, and soon brought to the beach a number of furs and other articles for trade. They were very easy to deal with, apparently putting implicit confidence in our honesty; nor were they losers by this conduct. Ammunition was the article chiefly in demand, as they had two guns among the party. Files, knives, fire-steels, &c. were distributed among the men, and beads, needles, buttons, &c. among the women. One of the women was rather good-looking, but they were all much darker than the natives of Repulse Bay. They were well provided with food, as they had a large seal lying on the rocks, besides venison. It was still calm when we left them, but favoured by the ebb-tide we pulled out of the inlet, and shaped our course towards Chesterfield Inlet, which we crossed with the last of the flood. The day was beautiful--far too much so--and the few light airs of wind were all against us. We landed in a small cove on the south side of the inlet to pick up a deer that was shot from the boat. Four more deer were killed, but all in poor condition. About two miles to the northward of the inlet I obtained a meridian observation of the sun in the natural horizon, which gave latitude 63° 32' 00" N. Thermometer at noon +65°, and in the evening +70°. The musquitoes were very numerous and troublesome. Numbers of turnstones (_Tringa interpres_) were seen. 19th.--There was a fine breeze again all last night, which died away at daylight. As soon as the flood-tide began to come in, we started with a light wind fair enough to allow us to lie our course along shore for a few miles. It again fell calm, when we took to the oars and landed on a point five miles to the southward of our last night's harbour, where we breakfasted at 9 A.M. Dovekies in countless numbers were sitting on the stones, and swimming along the shore;[5] one or two pintailed and mallard ducks were seen on a lake a few hundred yards inland--the first we have seen since passing Nevill's Bay last year. Some dovekies' eggs were found with the birds formed in them. Having obtained a meridian observation of the sun, which gave for the latitude 63° 17' 00" N., and variation 9° 21' W., we got under weigh and beat to windward with the last of the ebb, which here ran to the south. There was a fine breeze, but we made only about five miles southing, when at 6 P.M. the flood setting in strong against us, we put ashore for the night under the lee of the point. It was not easy to find a harbour, all the coast from Chesterfield Inlet being flat and stony, and lined with shoals. A young buck was shot, but it was in poor condition. Thermometer at noon +63°--at 8 P.M. +57°. Some of the copper came off our boat to-day and stopped her way before it was observed. 20th.--We were under weigh this morning by daylight, but the wind was right ahead and blowing fresh. Some more copper came off the boat, and she was evidently out of trim, as the Magnet went fast to windward of us. She had become leaky also, and therefore I determined to lay her aground as soon as the tide turned. We had gained between six and seven miles, when, finding that we made but slow progress, I put on shore at the first place that offered shelter, a little before noon. Several deer were seen, and a large buck shot, which I was surprised to find very lean. At this season, near Repulse Bay they are in fine condition. Thermometer at noon +61°. At half-past 2 the wind changed to W.N.W., but it blew a gale before the tide flowed sufficiently to float us. We could do nothing but haul out into deeper water, to be ready by dawn next morning. Some pintails, mallards, and Hutchins and laughing geese were seen here; also a brood of well-grown young king-ducks in a small lake at some distance from the sea, with which it had no connection. Just as our boats floated, the wind became more moderate; and as we had still an hour and a half of daylight, we sailed along the coast for 4½ miles, being forced to keep some miles from shore to avoid shoals. Soon after sunset we ran into a bay for shelter during the night. In doing so we grazed some ridges of stones, but found good anchorage in four fathoms water. Thermometer +47°. 21st.--Thermometer +44°. There was a strong breeze with heavy squalls from the north all night. On starting at daylight and making for the only outlet that appeared, we found it too shallow, and so were forced to wait the flow of the tide. The wind was W. by N., but gradually shifted round against us and became very light. We managed, however, to reach an island near the north point of Rankin's Inlet. Although there was a fine breeze, it being right ahead, nothing was to be gained against the ebb tide. We found many old signs of Esquimaux visits to the island. Among other articles picked up were an ivory snow-knife, a drill for producing fire, and an iron drill; also some vertebræ of a whale measuring ten inches in diameter. There were numerous graves of Esquimaux here, with spears, lances, &c. deposited beside them. Most of these articles were old and much corroded with rust, but a very excellent seal-spear head had been placed there this spring. Thermometer at noon +52°; 8 P.M. +47°. Temperature of water +41°. 22nd.--Thermometer +42°. At a little before 5 this morning the wind shifted to S.S.E. We set out to cross Rankin's Inlet, although we could not lie our course, and after five hours' sailing reached an island near the south shore, where we landed, as the breeze had increased to a gale and gone more to the southward, with a heavy sea, which washed over us occasionally. We here picked up some specimens of copper ore, but the ore did not appear to be abundant. The aurora was very bright last night. It appeared first to the S.S.E., moved rapidly northward, spreading all over the sky, and finally disappearing in the north. This agrees with what Wrangel asserts, "that the aurora is affected by the wind in the same way as clouds are." Heavy rain and a strong gale from noon until 8 P.M. Temperature of water +42°; air +43°. 23rd.--The wind was right ahead but light this morning. We got under weigh and beat to windward some miles, alternately sailing and pulling until we reached the north point of Corbett's Inlet. We were here visited by eighteen Esquimaux in their kayaks. All the news they could give us was that one of Ouligbuck's sons had passed the winter near this place, and that he had walked to Churchill in the winter, where all were then well. A brisk trade was soon opened; the articles in greatest request being powder and ball. Some fox and wolf skins were received; but before they had brought out the half of their stock, the wind changed from S.W. to N.W. by W. and blew a gale, which soon raised a sea that washed over the canoes alongside. Being anxious to take advantage of the fair wind to cross Corbett's Inlet before dark, after making our friends presents of various articles, we set sail and ran across the inlet, encountering a heavy sea caused by a swell from the south meeting the waves raised by the present gale. We were three hours crossing to the south point of the inlet, off which lie some dangerous reefs five or six miles from land. The wind was very close as we turned the point; and after gaining six miles further, we were forced to make a number of tacks before getting into a harbour, which proved to be an excellent one, land-locked on all sides. Little soil was to be seen on the rocks, which were of granite. We had shipped a good deal of water, and it was past 9 P.M. when we got under shelter. Thermometer +45°. Hundreds of grey phalaropes were seen, supposed to be Phalaropus fulicarius. 24th.--It blew so hard this morning that we could not start until 8 o'clock. The wind after that moderated gradually, and latterly fell calm. By rowing we arrived at the S.E. end of the island[6] near Whale Cove, where we were visited by a party of natives, who brought off some furs and boots for trade. A breeze from S.S.E. sprung up about 1 o'clock, with which we turned to windward through a narrow channel between a small island and the main. When we reached the open sea the wind was too much ahead for us to advance against the ebb tide, and as a convenient harbour offered itself, we anchored for the night. Our latitude at noon was 62° 13' 19"; after which we advanced about four miles to the southward. Ouligbuck told us that, when a little boy about seven years old, he visited this place with his parents, and went out to Sea-Horse Island on the ice to hunt the animals from which it takes its name. Three large black whales were seen to-day. Thermometer +46°, +53°, and +42°. I was much pleased to observe that the nearer we approached to Churchill, the more confidence the Esquimaux placed in us. They fixed no price for their goods, but threw them on board the boat, and left it to me to pay them what I pleased. This confidential mode of dealing, which is not in keeping with the habits of the Esquimaux tribes, at least shows that they are satisfied with the treatment they receive at Churchill. To the Hudson's Bay Company, indeed, they have much reason to be grateful for having, by their influence, at last created a friendly feeling between them and the Chipewyans, with whom they used to be at constant and deadly enmity. 25th.--There was heavy rain all last night, which continued until between 9 and 10 o'clock this morning. We then got under weigh with the first of the flood, but it fell calm. We rowed for fourteen or fifteen miles, the rain pouring all the time. A fine breeze from N. by E. sprung up at 4 P.M., before which we ran direct for the passage between Sir Bibye's Islands; but finding the water become very shallow, and learning from Ouligbuck that there was not water enough for boats except at full tide, we kept outside the islands altogether. We reached the main land a little after sunset at the south point of Nevill's Bay, and ran for shelter into a small inlet separated on the south by a narrow point from a deep river, to which the Esquimaux resort to catch salmon. Thermometer +37° and +41°. As the moon was full, I at first intended running on all night, but the threatening look of the weather deterred me. 26th.--Last night, about an hour after casting anchor, the moon became overcast, and it blew a perfect gale. On landing this morning we found a quantity of wood, a large sledge 30 feet long, and some slender pieces of wood fastened together to the length of 40 feet. There were two of these poles, which are used by the natives for spearing small seals. It is said that, in Davis' Straits, the Esquimaux use poles of the same kind for spearing whales. As the bay in which we were lying was not very safe should the wind change, we got under weigh and turned into the mouth of the river under close-reefed sails. The boats shipped much water, particularly the Magnet, keeping a man constantly baling. We at last got under the lee of a point where there was a sandy bottom, but not water enough to float the boats at low tide. The river is about a mile broad, and deep enough in the middle for a vessel drawing 12 or 14 feet water. We saw a number of whalebone snares set along the edges of the lakes for geese, large flocks of which were feeding about, but very shy. There was a storm from N.N.W. all the afternoon with heavy rain. Thermometer +36°. 27th.--It felt very cold this morning; the thermometer was at the freezing point, and there was some snow. The storm had continued all night with increasing strength, but towards day-light the weather became more moderate, so that about 9 o'clock we were able to start under reefed sails. The breeze gradually died away and went round to the S.W., and it finally became calm. Heavy rain and sleet began to fall; the wind veered round to the S.E., so that we could lie our course, and make good progress with the flood. At 6 P.M. we reached a bay a few miles north of Knapp's Bay, which I had not noticed on our outward voyage, and which is not laid down on the charts. It is about ten miles wide and eight deep; the water in it is very shallow, no where exceeding ten feet; and as it was within an hour or two of high water, the greater part of it must be dry when the tide is out. Numbers of Brent geese were feeding in all directions on a marine plant (_zostera marina_, Linn.) which grows here in great abundance. We anchored under the lee of an islet in Knapp's Bay, a very small portion of which was visible at high water. Thermometer +38°. 28th.--We were under weigh at day-light this morning, with a strong breeze of north-west wind, which made us close-reef our sails. There was a heavy sea in Knapp's Bay. At 8 A.M. we passed to the westward of the island, under which we found shelter during the gale of the 8th of July last. The wind was cold, with occasional showers of rain. Great numbers of geese were seen passing to the southward. In the evening the wind became more moderate and finally calm. Our water-kegs being empty, I ran inshore a little before sunset, and entered Egg River, in which we found a safe harbour. This river discharges a considerable body of water into the sea by five mouths, separated by four islets. There is no island lying opposite to its mouth, as represented in the charts. Thermometer from +35° to +40°. 29th.--The boat lay afloat all the night, which was fine but dark. There was not a breath of wind until 7 o'clock. An hour after starting, a moderate breeze sprung up from W. by N., but soon became light and variable, and at last it fell calm a short time before sunset, when, having gained about 40 miles, we pulled into a small bay, which afforded us good shelter. The day was fine throughout, with occasional light showers of rain. Thermometer from +45° to +52°. The sky was too much overcast for me to obtain any observation, but it appears to me that Egg River is laid down in the charts about 12 miles too far to the southward, and Egg Island is 12 miles south of the river instead of being near its mouth, as there represented. 30th.--We had 13 feet water last night when the tide was in, but it was not until the flood had made two hours that we floated. The night was as fine as the last and calm. There was a light air of west wind when we got under weigh, with which and the flood-tide we slipped alongshore pretty fast. In an hour or two the wind began to fly about from all points, with calms between, so that even with the help of our oars we only made 22 miles; and not being able to reach Seal River, we ran into a small bay--the only spot that appeared clear of stones for some miles--about 12 miles north of it. Here abundance of drift wood was found, with which the men lighted fires sufficiently large for the coldest winter night. The evening was very warm, and the musquitoes were troublesome. The country inland is well wooded. Great numbers of mallard, teal, pintails, and long-tailed ducks were seen, but only two or three were shot. 31st.--Left our harbour as soon as the tide permitted, which was at 7 A.M. A light but fair breeze from N. by W. gradually increased, so that we made a fine run across Button's Bay, which is as full of rocks and shoals as represented in the charts, and entering Churchill River a few minutes after 1 P.M., landed in a small cove a few hundred yards above the Old Fort. On visiting the Company's establishment, I found that Mr. Sinclair was absent at York Factory; but I was very kindly received by Mrs. Sinclair, and liberally supplied with everything we required for the continuation of our voyage. As we had carried away our bowsprit, Turner was set to make a new one. I received many letters from much valued friends, and after remaining for a few hours, returned to the boats at 9 P.M. in order to be prepared for starting early in the morning, should wind and weather prove favourable. The stock of provisions on hand was eight bags of pemmican and four cwt. of flour. We left Ouligbuck and his son at Churchill. 3rd September.--For the last two days the wind had been fair, but blowing a gale, with such a heavy sea that we could not proceed. The weather was so cloudy that I could obtain no observations; I therefore employed most of my time in shooting Esquimaux curlews, which were so abundant near the Old Fort that I bagged seven brace in a few hours. This morning the wind shifted more to the westward, and becoming more moderate, we got under weigh at 9 A.M. There was still a heavy swell outside and at the entrance of our little harbour. Whilst coming out in the dawn of the morning three seas came rolling in one after the other, and broke completely over the bows of the boat, washing her from stem to stern. I thought she would have filled, but we got into deep water before any more seas caught her. The Magnet was even more roughly handled in following us, having shipped much water and struck heavily on the rocks--fortunately without damage. The wind died away, and during the morning shifted to south. We, however, reached Cape Churchill, and at 8 P.M. cast anchor under its lee, exactly opposite an old stranded boat. 4th.--We had a breeze from S.W. by S. to-day, which enabled us to get along the coast sixteen or eighteen miles during the flood. It blew so hard in the afternoon that we required to double-reef our sails. The weather was very warm, the thermometer being as high as +60° in the shade. A Canada nuthatch (_sitta Canadensis_) flew on board to-day, and was very nearly caught. There were a good many ducks and geese near the place where we landed to get fresh water. Between thirty and forty of the former and two of the latter were shot. The boats were allowed to take the ground, after two hours' ebb, on a fine shingle beach, on which a considerable surf was breaking. 5th.--It was calm all night. At 3 this morning the boat floated, and we pushed out a short distance from shore to be ready for the first fair wind. At half-past seven a light air sprung up from N.E., but did not increase till past noon, when there was a fine breeze. A meridian observation of the sun gave latitude 58° 26' 14" N. At 5 P.M. we were opposite the mouth of Broad River, latitude 58° 7' 0" N. Thermometer at noon +56°. 6th.--We were under weigh this morning a little before daylight with the wind from N.E. The weather was so thick that we could not see more than a hundred yards ahead. We, however, ran on by soundings until I thought we were near North River, and then kept inshore until we got sight of land, which proved to be close to Nelson River, across which we stood, directing our course by compass, and coming in directly opposite the beacon. We arrived at York Factory between 9 and 10 o'clock, P.M. and were warmly welcomed by our friends, who had not expected to see us until next summer. In justice to the men under me, let me here express my thanks for their continued good conduct under circumstances sometimes sufficiently trying;--in fact, a better set of fellows it would be difficult to find anywhere. As to their appearance when we arrived at York Factory, I may adopt the words of Corporal M'Laren in charge of the Sappers and Miners who are to accompany Sir John Richardson,--"By George, I never saw such a set of men." FOOTNOTES: [5] The dovekie, or black guillemot (_Uria grylle_), breeds in great numbers in the Orkney islands. I believe ornithologists are mistaken in supposing that this bird becomes white or rather grey during the winter. It is only the young birds that are so; the old ones are seen in winter without any change in the colour of their summer plumage. [6] This place is laid down on the chart as an island, but is a peninsula according to the account we received from the Esquimaux. APPENDIX. LIST OF MAMMALIA, _Collected during Mr. Rae's Expedition, with Observations by J. E. Gray, Esq., F.R.S. &c._ 1. _Mus Musculus._ Linn. York Factory. Probably introduced from Europe. 2. _Arctomys Parryi._ Richardson, Faun. Bor. Amer. p. 158, tab. 10. 3. _Lepus Glacialis._ Leach. Richardson, Faun. Bor. Amer. 221. MYODES.--The specimens brought by the expedition have enabled me to make some corrections in the characters assigned to these species. I may observe that the large size or peculiar form of the claws which has been regarded as a character of the species, appears to be peculiar to one sex--probably the males. 1. _The upper cutting teeth narrow, smooth without any longitudinal groove. Thumb with a compressed curved acute claw._ (Lemnus). _Myodes, Lemnus Pallas._ Glires 77 of Sweden. _Myodes Helvolus._ Richardson, Faun. Bor. Amer. p. 128, belong to this section. All the museum specimens of these species have small, simple, curved, acute claws. 4. _Myodes Hudsonius._ Richardson, Faun. Bor. Amer. 132. Grey, black washed beneath white, sides reddish, sides of the neck red, nose with a central black streak, claws of male(?) very large, compressed, equal, broad to the end, and notched; of female small, acute. In winter with very long black white-tipped hairs. Mr. Rae brought home two males, one in winter and one in change fur, and two females in summer fur. 5. _Myodes Greenlandicus._ Reddish-grey, brown, black varied, back with a longitudinal black streak, beneath grey brown, chest, nape, and sides ruffous. Front claw of males(?) compressed, curved, the under surface (especially of the middle one) with a broad, round, expanded tubercle. I have not seen this species showing any change in its winter fur. 2. _Upper cutting teeth broader, with a central longitudinal groove. The claw of the front thumb strap-shaped, truncated, and notched at the tip._ 6. _Myodes Helvolus._ Richardson, Faun. Bor. Amer. 128. (female?) Fur very long, black, grey-brown; black grizzled, hinder part of the body reddish, beneath grey, sides yellowish. Claws of the fore feet (of the males?) large, thick, rounded, curved, bluntly truncated at the tip; of the female compressed, curved, acute. 7. _Myodes Trimuconatus._ Richardson, Faun. Bor. Amer. 130. Bright red brown, head blackish-grey, sides and beneath pale ruffous, chin white, claws moderate, compressed. This species is best distinguished from the former by its larger size and the great brightness of the colour, and the fur being much shorter and less fluffy. LIST OF THE SPECIES OF BIRDS _Collected by Mr. Rae during his late Expedition, named according to the "Fauna Boreali-Americana," by G. R. Gray, Esq., F.L.S._ FALCONID�. Aquila (Pandion) haliæeta. Falco peregrinus. " islandicus. Accipiter (Astur) palumbarius. Buteo lagopus. " (Circus) cyaneus. STRIGID�. Strix brachyota. " funerea. " Tengmalmi. JANIAD�. Tyrannula pusilla. MERULID�. Merula solitaria. SYLVIAD�. Sylvicola æstiva. " coronata. " striata. " (Vermivora) rubricapilla. " " peregrina. Seiurus aquaticus. Anthus aquaticus. FRINGILLID�. Alauda cornuta. Emberiza (Plectrophanes) nivalis. " " lapponica. " " picta. " canadensis. " (Zonotrichia) leucophrys. " " pennsylvanica. " " iliaca. Fringilla hyemalis. Pyrrhula (Corythus) enucleator. Logia leucoptera. Linaria minor. STURNID�. Quiscalus versicolor. Scolecophagus ferrugineus. CORVID�. Garrulus canadensis. PICID�. Picus (Apternus) tridactylus. Colaptes auratus. RASORES. Tetrao canadensis. " (Lagopus) mutus. " " saliceti. " (Centrocercus) phasianellus. GRALLATORES. Calidris arenaria. Charadrius semipalmata. Vanellus melanogaster. Strepsilas interpres. Tringa Douglassii. " maritima. " alpina. " Schinzii. " pusilla. " cinerea. Totanus flavipes. " macularius. Limosa hudsonica. Scolopax Wilsoni. Phalaropus hyperboreus. " fulicarius. NATATORES. Podiceps cornutus. Larus argentatoides. Lestris pomarina. " parasitica. " Richardsoni. Anas (Boschas) crecca, var. " " discors. Somateria spectabilis. " mollissima. Oidemia perspicillata. " americana. Harelda glacialis. Mergus serrator. Anser albifrons. " hyperboreus. " Hutchinsii. " bernicla. Colymbus arcticus. " septentrionalis. Myiodioctes pusilla. Regulus calendula. Sitta canadensis. Linaria borealis. Tringa rufescens. " pectoralis. Totanus solitarius. FISHES, _Collected during Mr. Rae's Expedition. By J. E. Gray, Esq., F.R.S._ GADID�. _Lota Maculosus._ Richardson, Faun. Bor. Amer. iii. 248. Male and female. ESOCID�. _Esox. Lucius._ Richardson, Faun. Bor. Amer. iii. 124. Female. CYPRINID�. _Catastomus Forsterianus?_ Richardson, Faun. Bor. Amer. iii. 116. Female. Lakes near York Factory. The "Red Sucker." _Catastomus Hudsonius._ Richardson, Faun. Bor. Amer. iii. 112. River near York Factory. "The Grey Sucker." SALMONID�. _Salmo. Salar??_ Richardson, Faun. Bor. Amer. 145. Repulse Bay. _Salmo Hoodii._ Richardson, Faun. Bor. Amer. iii. 173, t. 82, f. 2, t. 83, f. 2, t. 87, f. 1. Male and female. Lakes near York Factory. _Salmo Coregonus Albus._ Richardson, Faun. Bor. Amer. 195. t. 89, f. 2, a. b. Male. The Attihawmeg. Lower jaw shortest; ridge behind the eye becoming close to the orbit beneath the eye. _Salmo (Coregonus) Tullibee._ Richardson, Faun. Bor. Amer. 201. Lakes near York Factory. "The Tullibee." Lower jaw shortest, ridge behind continued distant from the orbit and produced towards the nostrils. _Salmo Coregonus Harengus?_ Richardson, Faun. Bor. Amer. 210. t. 90, f. 2, a. b. Lower jaw longest, ridge behind the eyes becoming rather nearer to, but distinct from, the orbit beneath. River near York Factory. PLANTS, _Named by_ SIR W. J. HOOKER, K.H., D.C.L., F.R.A. & L.S. &c. &c. &c. _Plants collected on the Coast between YORK FACTORY and CHURCHILL, and in the neighbourhood of Churchill._ DICOTYLEDONES. RANUNCULACE�, _Juss._ 1. Anemone _Richardsoni_, Hook. Fl. Bor. Am. i. 6, Tab. 4, A. 2. Ranunculus _Lapponicus_, L.--Hook. Fl. Bor. Am. i. p. 16. CRUCIFER�, _Juss._ 3. Nasturtium _palustre_, De Cand.--Hook. Fl. Bor. Am. i. p. 39. 4. Arabis _petræa_, Lam.--Hook. Fl. Bor. Am. i. p. 42. 5. Cardamine _pratensis_, L.--Hook. Fl. Bor. Am. i. p. 45. 6. Draba _hirta_, L.--Hook. Fl. Bor. Am. i. p. 52. 7. Draba _alpina_, L.--Hook. Fl. Bor. Am. i. p. 50. CARYOPHYLLE�, _Juss._ 8. Stellaria _Edwardsii_, Br.--Hook. Fl. Bor. Am. i. p. 96, Tab. 31. 9. Cerastium _alpinum_, L.--Hook. Fl. Bor. Am. i. p. 104. 10. Silene _acaulis_, L.--Hook. Fl. Bor. Am. i. p. 87. 11. Arenaria _peploides_, L.--Hook. Fl. Bor. Am. i. p. 102. LEGUMINOS�, _Juss._ 12. Phaca _astragalina_, De Cand.--Hook. Fl. Bor. Am. i. p. 145. 13. Oxytropis _campestris_, De Cand.--Hook. Fl. Bor. Am. i. p. 147. 14. Oxytropis _deflexa_, De Cand.--Hook. Fl. Bor. Am. i. p. 148. 15. Hedysarum _Mackenzii_, Rich.--Hook. Fl. Bor. Am. i. p. 155. ROSACE�, _Juss._ 16. Dryas _integrifolia_, Vahl.--Hook. Ex. Fl. Tab. 200, Fl. Bor. Am. i. p. 174. 17. Rubus _acaulis_, Mich.--Hook. Fl. Bor. Am. i. p. 182. 18. Potentilla _anserina_, L.--Hook. Fl. Bor. Am. i. p. 189. 19. Potentilla _pulchella_, Br.--Hook. Fl. Bor. Am. i. p. 191. 20. Potentilla _nivea_, L.--Hook. Fl. Bor. Am. i. p. 195. ONAGRARIE�, _Juss._ 21. Epilobium _latifolium_, L.--Hook. Fl. Bor. Am. i. p. 205. SAXIFRAGE�, _Juss._ 22. Saxifraga _oppositifolia_, L.--Hook. Fl. Bor. Am. i. p. 242. 23. Saxifraga _cæspitosa_, L.--Hook. Fl. Bor. Am. i. p. 244. 24. Saxifraga _Hirculus_, L.--Hook. Fl. Bor. Am. i. p. 252. 25. Saxifraga _tricuspidata_, L.--Hook. Fl. Bor. Am. i. p. 254. COMPOSIT�, _Juss._ 26. Nardosmia _corymbosa_, Hook. Fl. Bor. Am. i. p. 307 (Tussilago corymbosa, Br.) 27. Achillæa _millefolium_, L.--Hook. Fl. Bor. Am. i. p. 318. 28. Chrysanthemum _arcticum_, L.--Hook. Fl. Bor. Am. i. p. 319. 29. Pyrethrum _inodorum_, Sm.--Hook. Fl. Bor. Am. i. p. 320. 30. Senecio _aureus_, L.--Hook. Fl. Bor. Am. i. p. 333. var. nanus. 31. Arnica _montana_, L.--[Greek: b]. _angustifolia_, Hook. Fl. Bor. Am. i. p. 330. CAMPANULACE�, _Juss._ 32. Campanula _uniflora_, L.--Hook. Fl. Bor. Am. ii. p. 29. ERICE�, _L._ 33. Ledum _palustre_, L.--Hook. Fl. Bor. Am. ii. p. 44.--var. [Greek: a]. _angustifolium_; and var. [Greek: b]. _latifolium_. 34. Azalea _procumbens_, L.--Hook. Fl. Bor. Am. ii. p. 44. 35. Rhododendron _Lapponicum_, Wahl.--Hook. Fl. Bor. Am. ii. p. 43. 36. Vaccinium _Vitis Idæa_, L.--Hook. Fl. Bor. Am. ii. p. 34. MONOTROPE�, _Nutt._ 37. Pyrola _rotundifolia_, L.--Hook. Fl. Bor. Am. ii. p. 46. BORAGINE�, _Juss._ 38. Lithospermum _maritimum_, Lehm.--Hook. Fl. Bor. Am. ii. p. 86. SCHOPHULARINE�, _Juss._ 39. Castilleja _pallida_, Benth.--Hook. Fl. Bor. Am. ii. p. 105. 40. Bartsia _alpina_, L.--Hook. Fl. Bor. Am. ii. p. 106. 41. Pedicularis _Wlassoviana_, Stev.--Hook. Fl. Bor. Am. ii. p. 107. 42. Pedicularis _Lapponica_, L.--Hook. Fl. Am. ii. p. 108. 43. Pedicularis _Sudetica_, Willd.--Hook. Fl. Bor. Am. ii. p. 109. 44. Pedicularis _flammea_, L.--Hook. Fl. Bor. Am. ii. p. 110. 45. Pedicularis _euphrasioides_, Stev.--Hook. Fl. Bor. Am. ii. p. 108. PRIMULACE�, _Juss._ 46. Androsace _septentrionalis_, L.--Hook. Fl. Bor. Am. ii. p. 119. 47. Primula _Hornemanniana_, Lehm.--Hook. Fl. Bor. Am. ii. p. 120. POLYGONE�, _Juss._ 48. Polygonum _viviparum_, L.--Hook. Fl. Bor. Am. ii. p. 130. AMENTACE�, _Juss._ 49. Salix _Richardsoni_, Hook. Fl. Bor. Am. ii. p. 147, Tab. 182. 50. Salix _vestita_, Ph.--Hook. Fl. Bor. Am. ii. p. 152. 51. Salix _Arctica_, Br.--Hook. Fl. Bor. Am. ii. p. 152. 52. Betula _glandulosa_, Mx.--Hook. Fl. Bor. Am. ii. p. 156. 53. Betula _nana_, L.--Hook. Fl. Bor. Am. ii. p. 156. MONOCOTYLEDONES. MELANTHACE�, _Br._ 54. Tofieldia _palustris_, Huds.--Hook. Fl. Bor. Am. ii. p. 179. ORCHIDE�, _Juss._ 55. Platanthera _obtusata_, Lindl.--Hook. Fl. Bor. Am. ii. p. 196, Tab. 199. 56. Platanthera _rotundifolia_, Lindl.--Hook. Fl. Bor. Am. ii. p. 200, Tab. 201. CYPERACE�, _Juss._ 57. Carex _dioica_, L.--Hook. Fl. Bor. Am. ii. p. 208. 58. Carex _fuliginosa_, Sternb. and Hoppe.--Hook. Fl. Bor. Am. ii. p. 224. 59. Eriophorum _capitatum_, Host.--Hook. Fl. Bor. Am. ii. p. 231. 60. Eriophorum _polystachyon_, L.--Hook. Fl. Bor. Am. ii. p. 231. _Collected between CHURCHILL and REPULSE BAY._ DICOTYLEDONES. RANUNCULACE�, _Juss._ 1. Ranunculus _affinis_, Br.--Hook. Fl. Bor. Am. i. p. 12, Tab. 6 A. PAPAVERACE�, _Juss._ 2. Papaver _nudicaule_, L.--Hook. Fl. Bor. Am. i. p. 34. 3. Arabis _petræa_, Lam.--Hook. Fl. Bor. Am. i. p. 42. 4. Cardamine _pratensis_, L.--Hook. Fl. Bor. Am. i. p. 45. 5. Draba _alpina_, L.--Hook. Fl. Bor. Am. i. p. 50. 6. Eutrema _Edwardsii_, Br.--Hook. Fl. Bor. Am. i. p. 67. CARYOPHYLLE�, _Juss._ 7. Silene _acaulis_, L.--Hook. Fl. Bor. Am. i. p. 89. 8. Lychnis _apetala_, L.--Hook. Fl. Bor. Am. i. p. 94. 9. Stellaria _Edwardsii_, Br.--Hook. Fl. Bor. Am. i. p. 96. Tab. 31. 10. Cerastium _alpinum_, L.--Hook. Fl. Bor. Am. i. p. 104. LEGUMINOS�, _Juss._ 11. Oxytropis _campestris_, De Cand.--Hook. Fl. Bor. Am. i. p. 146. 12. Oxytropis _Uralensis_, De Cand.--Hook. Fl. Bor. Am. i. p. 145. 13. Phaca _astragalina_, De Cand.--Hook. Fl. Bor. Am. i. p. 145. ROSACE�, _Juss._ 14. Dryas _integrifolia_, Vahl.--Hook. Fl. Bor. Am. i. p. 174. 15. Rubus _Chamæmorus_, L.--Hook. Fl. Bor. Am. i. p. 183. 16. Potentilla _nana_, Lehm.--Hook. Fl. Bor. Am. i. p. 194. ONAGRARIE�, _Juss._ 17. Epilobium _latifolium_, L.--Hook. Fl. Bor. Am. i. p. 205. SAXIFRAGE�, _Juss._ 18. Saxifraga _oppositifolia_, L.--Hook. Fl. Bor. Am. i. p. 242. 19. Saxifraga _cæspitosa_, L.--Hook. Fl. Bor. Am. i. p. 246. 20. Saxifraga _cernua_, L.--Hook. Fl. Bor. Am. i. p. 246. 21. Saxifraga _rivularis_, L.--Hook. Fl. Bor. Am. i. p. 246. 22. Saxifraga _Hirculus_, L.--Hook. Fl. Bor. Am. i. p. 252. and var. _bi-triflora_. 23. Saxifraga _tricuspidata_, L.--Hook. Fl. Bor. Am. i. p. 253. COMPOSIT�, _Juss._ 24. Leontodon _Taraxacum_, L.--Hook. Fl. Bor. Am. i. p. 296. 25. Chrysanthemum _integrifolium_, Rich.--Hook. Fl. Bor. Am. i. p. 319, Tab. 109. 26. Erigeron _uniflorus_, L.--Hook. Fl. Bor. Am. ii. p. 17. CAMPANULACE�, _Juss._ 27. Campanula _uniflora_, L.--Hook. Fl. Bor. Am. ii. p. 29. ERICE�, _Juss._ 28. Andromeda _tetragona_, L.--Hook. Fl. Bor. Am. ii. p. 38. 29. Ledum _palustre_, L.--Hook. Fl. Bor. Am. ii. p. 44. var. _angustifolium_. DIAPENSIACE�, _Lindl._ 30. Diapensia _Lapponica_, L.--Hook. Fl. Bor. Am. ii. p. 76. BORAGINE�, _Juss._ 31. Lithospermum _maritimum_, Lehm.--Hook. Fl. Bor. Am. ii. p. 36. SCROPHULARINE�, _Juss._ 32. Pedicularis _hirsuta_, L.--Hook. Fl. Bor. Am. ii. p. 109. 33. Pedicularis _Langsdorffii_, Fisch.--Hook. Fl. Bor. Am. ii. p. 109. PLUMBAGINE�, _Juss._ 34. Statice _Armeria_, L.--Hook. Fl. Bor. Am. ii. p. 123. AMENTACE�, _Juss._ 35. Salix _Myrsinites_, L.--Hook. Fl. Bor. Am. ii. p. 151. 36. Salix _Arctica_, Br.--Hook. Fl. Bor. Am. ii. p. 152. MONOCOTYLEDONES. JUNCE�, _Juss._ 37. Luzula _hyperborea_, Br.--Hook. Fl. Bor. Am. ii. p. 188. CYPERACE�, _Juss._ 38. Carex _membranacea_,--Hook. Fl. Bor. Am. ii. p. 220. 39. Eriophorum _polystachyon_, L.--Hook. Fl. Bor. Am. ii. p. 231. GRAMINE�, _Juss._ 40. Alopecurus _alpinus_, L.--Hook. Fl. Bor. Am. ii. p. 234. 41. Hierochloe _alpina_, Roem. et Sch.--Hook. Fl. Bor. Am. ii. p. 234. 42. Colpodium _latifolium_, Br.--Hook. Fl. Bor. Am. ii. p. 238. 43. Poa _Arctica_, Br.--Hook. Fl. Bor. Am. ii. p. 246. 44. Festuca _brevifolia_, Br.--Hook. Fl. Bor. Am. ii. p. 250. 45. Elymus _arenarius_, L.--Hook. Fl. Bor. Am. ii. p. 255. _Plants collected between REPULSE BAY and CAPE LADY PELLY._ DICOTYLEDONES. RANUNCULACE�, _Juss._ 1. Ranunculus _Lapponicus_, L.--Hook. Fl. Bor. Am. i. p. 16. PAPAVERACE�, _Juss._ 2. Papaver _nudicaule_, L.--Hook. Fl. Bor. Am. i. p. 34. CRUCIFER�, _Juss._ 3. Cardamine _pratensis_, L.--Hook. Fl. Bor. Am. i. p. 44. 4. Draba _alpina_, L.--Hook. Fl. Bor. Am. i. p. 50. 5. Draba _stellata_, Jacq.--Hook. Fl. Bor. Am. i. p. 53. CARYOPHYLLE�, _Juss._ 6. Stellaria _humifusa_, Rottb.--Hook. Fl. Bor. Am. i. p. 97. 7. Cerastium _alpinum_, L.--Hook. Fl. Bor. Am. i. p. 104. LEGUMINOS�, _Juss._ 8. Oxytropis _Uralensis_, De Cand.--Hook. Fl. Bor. Am. i. p. 145. 9. Oxytropis _campestris_, De Cand.--Hook. Fl. Bor. Am. i. p. 147. ROSACE�, _Juss._ 10. Dryas _integrifolia_, Vahl.--Hook. Fl. Bor. Am. i. p. 174. 11. Potentilla _nana_, Lehm.--Hook. Fl. Bor. Am. i. p. 190. ONAGRARIE�, _Juss._ 12. Epilobium _latifolium_, L.--Hook. Fl. Bor. Am. i. p. 204. SAXIFRAGE�, _Juss._ 13. Saxifraga _oppositifolia_, L.--Hook. Fl. Bor. Am. i. p. 242. 14. Saxifraga _cernua_, L.--Hook. Fl. Bor. Am. i. p. 245. 15. Saxifraga _rivularis_, L.--Hook. Fl. Bor. Am. i. p. 246. 16. Saxifraga _nivalis_, L.--Hook. Fl. Bor. Am. i. p. 248. 17. Saxifraga _foliolosa_, Br.--Hook. Fl. Bor. Am. i. p. 251. 18. Saxifraga _Hirculus_, L.--Hook. Fl. Bor. Am. i. p. 252. COMPOSIT�, _Juss._ 19. Leontodon _Taraxacum_, L.--Hook. Fl. Bor. Am. i. p. 296. 20. Pyrethrum _inodorum_, Sm.--Hook. Fl. Bor. Am. i. p. 320. 21. Arnica _montana_, L.--[Greek: b]. _angustifolia_, Hook. Fl. Bor. Am. i. p. 330. 22. Erigeron _uniflorus_, L.--Hook. Fl. Bor. Am. ii. p. 17. ERICE�, _Juss._ 23. Andromeda _tetragona_, L.--Hook. Fl. Bor. Am. ii. p. 38. MONOTROPE�, _Nutt._ 24. Pyrola _rotundifolia_, L.--Hook. Fl. Bor. Am. ii. p. 46. SCROPHULARINE�, _Juss._ 25. Pedicularis _hirsuta_, L.--Hook. Fl. Bor. Am. ii. p. 109. AMENTACE�, _Juss._ 26. Salix _Arctica_, Br.--Hook. Fl. Bor. Am. ii. p. 152. MONOCOTYLEDONES. JUNCE�, _Juss._ 27. Luzula _hyperborea_, Br.--Hook. Fl. Bor. Am. ii. p. 188. CYPERACE�, _Juss._ 28. Carex _dioica_, L.--Hook. Fl. Bor. Am. ii. p. 208. 29. Carex _membranacea_, Hook. Fl. Bor. Am. ii. p. 220. 30. Carex _cæspitosa_, L.--Hook. Fl. Bor. Am. ii. p. 217. 31. Carex _ustulata_, Wahl.--Hook. Fl. Bor. Am. ii. p. 224. 32. Eriophorum _capitatum_, Host.--Hook. Fl. Bor. Am. ii. p. 231. GRAMINE�, _Juss._ 33. Hierochloe _alpina_, Roem. and Sch.--Hook. Fl. Bor. Am. ii. p. 234. 34. Colpodium _latifolium_, Br.--Hook. Fl. Bor. Am. ii. p. 238. 35. Dupontia _Fischeri_, Br.--Hook. Fl. Bor. Am. ii. p. 242. 36. Poa _Arctica_, Br.--Hook. Fl. Bor. Am. ii. p. 246. 37. Poa _angustata_, Br.--Hook. Fl. Bor. Am. ii. p. 246. 38. Poa _alpina_, L.--Hook. Fl. Bor. Am. ii. p. 246. SPECIMENS OF ROCKS, _Described by JAMES TENNANT, ESQ., Professor of Mineralogy in King's College, London._ CAPE LADY PELLY, 67° 30' N. 88° W. Gneiss. NEAR POINT HARGRAVE, 67° 25' N. 87° 35' W. Gneiss. CAPE T. SIMPSON, 67° 22' N. 87° W. Gneiss with chlorite. Mica-slate. Mica-slate, with indistinct crystals of precious Garnets. ISTHMUS connecting Ross's Peninsula with the Continent. Felspar. SIMPSON'S PENINSULA, 68° 1/3' N. 88° 20' W. Compact argillaceous Limestone. A HILL on the western shore of Halkett's Inlet, 69° 14' N. 90° 50' W. Cellular Quartz, coloured by oxide of Iron. Mica-slate full of Garnets. HELEN ISLAND, one of the Harrison Group in Pelly Bay, 68° 54' N. 89° 52' W. Felspar--red colour. Gneiss; the Felspar, Mica, and Quartz distinctly stratified. Gneiss; the Felspar red and greatly predominating. BEACON HILL, near Fort Hope, 66° 32' N. 86° 56' W. Granite. Ditto, with a small quantity of Mica; the Felspar red, and constituting four-fifths of the mass. Gneiss, with veins of red Felspar running diagonally to the stratification. Mica-slate. NORTH POLE RIVER. Mica-slate. Ditto, with veins of Quartz. Gneiss. Ditto, the Felspar red and greatly predominating. Ditto, the Felspar very friable. Quartz rock with Felspar. Argillaceous Limestone, compact. NORTH POLE LAKE, 66° 40' N. 87° 2' W. Gneiss. Mica-slate. REPULSE BAY, 66° 32' N. 86° 56' W. Quartz, coloured by oxide of Iron, and containing minute particles of Gold. MELVILLE PENINSULA, 68° 27' N. 85° 24' W. Hornblende-slate. MUNRO INLET. Granite, the Felspar greatly predominating. ISLAND near the north point of Rankin's Inlet. Quartz, enclosing chlorite and Copper Pyrites. Talcose-slate. Carbonate and silicate of Copper, with Copper Pyrites on argillaceous slate. Ditto, with a thin coating of green carbonate of Copper. Mica-slate. Chlorite-slate, friable. Ditto, with very thin veins of Calcareous Spar running diagonally in stratification. ISLAND near the south point of Rankin's Inlet. Quartz and Iron Pyrites; the latter crystallized in cubes, the faces of which are not above one-sixteenth of an inch. Quartz, with Iron Pyrites, and superficially coloured by oxide of Iron. Hornblende-slate. Mica-slate. Chlorite-slate. _Dip of the needle and force of magnetic attraction at various stations along the west shore of Hudson's Bay, and at Fort Hope, Repulse Bay._ ------------+--------+-------+----------------+--------+-------+-----------+-----+--------- Name of |Latitude|Longi- | Date. |Times. | Dip | Time |Therm|Variation Station | N. |tude | | | Mean. | of 10 | |of | | W. | | | | Vibra- | |Compass. | | | | | | tions. | | ------------+--------+-------+----------------+--------+-------+-----------+-----+--------- |d. m. s.|d. m.s.| |h. mi. |d. m.s.| Needle |d. m.|d. m. s. | | | | | | No. 2 | | | | | | | | deflected,| | | | | | | | 20 deg. | | | | | | | | from dip. | | York Factory|57 0 2|92 26 0| 5 Nov. 1845 | 9 0 AM|83 47 0| |+31 0| " |57 0 0|92 26 0| 8 " | 9 0 " |83 43 0| |+25 0| " | " | " | 12 " | 2 30 PM|83 37 0| |+25 0| " | " | " | 15 " | 9 0 AM|83 41 0| |+33 0| " |57 0 0|92 26 0| 19 " | 9 0 " |83 42 5| |+25 0| " | " | " | 22 " | 9 30 " |83 43 4| |+ 3 0| " | " | " | 26 " | 9 30 " |83 48 7| |- 4 0| " | " | " | 29 " | 9 30 " |83 42 5| |-13 0| " | " | " | 3 Dec." | 9 30 " |83 54 2| |- 6 0| " | " | " | 6 " | 9 30 " |83 43 2| |+ 8 0| " | " | " | 10 " | 9 30 " |83 43 5| |-19 0| " | " | " | 13 " | 9 30 " |83 48 2| | 0 0| York Factory|57 0 0|92 26 0| 17 Dec. 1845 | 9 35 AM|83 40 9| |-11 0| " | " | " | 20 " | 9 30 " |83 39 1| |-16 0| " | " | " | 24 " |10 10 " |83 45 5| |-23 0| " | " | " | 31 " |10 30 " |83 46 0| |+ 7 0| " | " | " | 3 Jan. 1846 |10 30 " |83 46 1| |+20 0| " | " | " | 7 " |10 30 " |83 47 0| |+ 5 0| " | " | " | 10 " |10 30 " |83 45 5| |+ 7 0| " | " | " | 14 " |10 30 " |83 43 9| |- 2 0| " | " | " | 21 " |10 30 " |83 44 8| |-10 0| " | " | " | 24 " |10 30 " |83 41 7| |+23 5| " | " | " | 28 " |10 30 " |83 45 8| |+15 0| " | " | " | 31 " {|10 0 AM|83 45 8| {|-15 0| | | | {| 3 0 PM| | {|- 3 0| " | " | " | 4 Feb." {|10 0 AM|83 50 5| {|-12 5| | | | {| 3 0 PM| | {|-14 0| " | " | " | 7 " |10 0 AM|83 45 5| |-11 5| York Factory|57 0 0|92 26 0| 11 Feb. 1846 {|10 0 AM|83 44 8| {|- 5 0| | | | {| 3 30 PM| | {|-11 3| " | " | " | 14 " {| 9 30 AM|83 41 6| |-23 0| | | | {| 3 20 PM|83 38 1| |- 8 0| " | " | " | 18 " {| 9 30 AM|83 36 6| {|+ 6 0| | | | {| 3 30 PM| | {|- 3 0| " | " | " | 21 " {| 9 30 AM|83 41 0| {|-11 5| | | | {| 3 30 PM| | {|+ 6 0| " | " | " | 25 " {| 9 30 AM|83 40 9| {|-23 0| | | | {| 3 30 PM| | {|-10 5| " | " | " | 28 " {| 9 30 AM|83 39 7| {|-13 0| | | | {| 3 30 PM| | {|+ 4 0| " | " | " | 4 Mar." {| 9 30 AM|83 44 1| {|+ 6 5| | | | {| 3 30 PM| | {|+ 4 0| " | " | " | 7 " {| 9 30 AM|83 42 5| {|+29 0| | | | {| 3 40 PM| | {|+37 0| " | " | " | 11 " {| 9 30 AM|83 44 6| {|+26 0| | | | {| 3 30 PM| | {|+25 0| " | " | " | 14 " {| 9 30 AM|83 40 9| {|+12 5| | | | {| 3 30 PM| | {|+22 0| " | " | " | 18 " {| 9 30 AM|83 39 6| {|+15 5| | | | {| 3 40 PM| | {|+21 0| " | " | " | 21 " {| 9 30 AM|83 37 7| {|- 2 5| | | | {| 3 30 PM| | {|+ 5 8| " | " | " | 25 " {| 9 40 AM|83 47 0| {|+30 0| | | | {| 3 30 PM| | {|+30 0| " | " | " | 28 " {| 9 35 AM|83 43 8| {|+ 8 5| | | | {| 3 30 PM| | {|+ 8 0 York Factory|57 0 0|92 26 0| 1 April 1846 {| 9 30 AM|83 42 8| {|+ 8 0| | | | {| 3 30 PM| | {|+15 0| " | " | " | 4 " {| 9 30 AM|83 45 2| {|+35 0| | | | {| 3 30 PM| | {|+25 0| " | " | " | 11 " {| 9 40 AM|83 40 6| {|+41 0| | | | {| 3 30 PM| | {|+42 0| " | " | " | 15 " {| 9 35 AM|83 35 7| {|- 3 5| | | | {| 3 30 PM| | {|- 6 0| " | " | " | 18 " {| 9 30 AM|83 40 2| {|+ 9 0| | | | {| 3 30 PM| | {|+29 0| " | " | " | 22 " {| 0 30 AM|83 38 9| {|+45 0| | | | {| 3 35 PM| | {|+40 0| " | " | " | 25 " {| 0 0 AM|83 35 5| Ther. {|+43 0| | | | {| | | +40° 0' {| | | | | {| 3 30 PM| | 21s.--34 {|+32 0| " | " | " | 29 " {| 9 45 AM|83 38 0| Ther. {|+42 0| | | | {| | | +46° 0' {| | | | | {| 3 30 PM| | 21s.--23 {|+43 0| " | " | " | 2 May " {| 9 30 AM|83 38 5| {|+39 0| | | | {| 3 30 PM| | {|+47 0| " | " | " | 6 " {| 9 30 AM|83 37 9| Ther. {|+51 0| | | | {| | | +66° 0' {| | | | | {| 3 30 PM| | 21s.--31 {|+67 0| " | " | " | 16 " {| 9 35 AM|83 39 0| Ther. {|+36 0| | | | {| | | +43° 0' {| | | | | {| 3 35 PM| | 21s.--13 {|+44 0| Creek |58 2 0|92 20 | 20 June " | 3 45 PM|84 46 4| |+49 0| Churchill |58 43 50|94 14 | 29 " {| 9 47 AM|84 50 8| Ther. {|+60 0| | | | {| | | +61° 0' {| | | | | {| 3 35 PM| | 21s.--14 {|+61 0| " | " | " | 1 July " {|10 30 AM|84 43 9| {|+88 0| | | | {| 3 0 PM| | {|+60 0| Churchill |58 43 50|94 14 0| 4 July 1846 | 8 10 PM|84 44 5| |+41 0| Knapp's Bay |61 9 42| " | 8 " |10 45 AM|86 18 3| {|+52 0| | | | | | | {|+51 0| " | " | " | 8 " | 3 0 PM| | | | " | " | " | 12 " | 5 15 PM|87 16 3| {|+58 0| | | | | | | {|+52 0| " |64 6 0|88 0 0| 18 " | Noon. |86 36 5| Ther. {|+54 0| | | | {| | | +54° 0' | | | | | | | | 20s.--84 | | Near Wager |65 10 0| " | 21 " | 4 5 PM|87 10 6| Ther. |+52 0| River | | | {| | | +65° 0' | | | | | | | | 21s.--03 | | " |65 15 36|87 10 0| 22 " |11 35 AM| | |+52 0| Repulse Bay |66 32 0| " | 27 " |11 15 AM|88 16 7| Ther. {|+55 0| | | | {| | | +57° 0' {| | | | | | | | 21s.--7 {|+57 0| Flett's | | " | 28 " {| 2 40 PM| | {|+90 0| Portage | | | {| 3 15 PM| | {|+82 0| Descent | " | " | 31 " {| 6 20 PM| | |+53 0| Portage | | | {| 6 50 PM| | | | Cape Lady | " | " | 3 Aug. " | | | | | Pelly | | | | | | | | 3 Miles N.W.| " | " | " | 5 30 PM|88 27 1| Ther. |+52 0| of do. | | | {| | | +52° 0' | | | | | {| | | 21s.--8 | | Fort Hope |66 32 0|86 56 0| 18 Nov. " {|11 15 AM|87 51 5| {|-6 0|West | | | {| 2 0 PM| | {|-5 0|62 50 30 " | " | " | 21 " {| 9 45 AM|88 11 4| Ther. {|+6 0| | | | {| | | +10° 5' {| | | | | {| 2 15 PM| | 22s.--66 {|+10 0| Fort Hope |66 32 0|86 56 0| 25 Nov. 1846 | 2 10 PM|88 8 9| {|-21 0| | | | | | | {|-15 0| " | " | " | 5 Dec. " {|10 0 AM|88 13 9| Ther. {|-13 0| | | | {| | | +9° 0' {| | | | | {| 2 0 PM| | 22s.--6 {|-16 0| " | " | " | 12 " {|10 10 AM|88 13 3| {|+ 6 0| | | | {| 2 5 PM| | {|+ 8 0| " | " | " | 16 " {|10 0 AM|88 12 7| {| 0 0| | | | {| 2 20 PM| | {|+ 2 0| " | " | " | 23 " {|10 0 AM|88 16 3| {|- 7 0| | | | {| 2 0 PM| | {|- 8 0| " | " | " | 2 Jan. 1847 {|10 10 AM|88 17 5| {|-23 0| | | | {| 2 30 PM| | {|-21 5| " | " | " | 10 Feb. " {| 9 50 AM|88 10 9| {|-22 0| | | | {| 2 10 PM| | {|-20 0| " | " | " | 13 " {| 9 50 AM|88 13 5| {|-28 0| | | | {| 2 10 PM| | {|-26 0| " | " | " | 17 " {| 9 50 AM| | {|-36 0| | | | {| 2 15 PM| | {|-33 0| " | " | " | 24 " {| 9 55 AM| | {|-22 0| | | | {| 2 10 PM| | {|-22 0| York Factory|57 0 0|92 26 0| 18 Sept. " {| 9 15 AM|83 47 0| |+52 0| | | | {| 3 10 PM| | | | Fort Hope, Repulse Bay. --_Abstract of Meteorological Journal for September, 1846._ -----+-------------------------------+---------------------------------- Day | Temperature of the Atmosphere | of | taken eight times in twenty- | Prevailing Winds. the | four hours. | Month+----------+----------+---------+----------------------+----------- |_Highest._|_Lowest._ | _Mean._ | _Direction._ |_Force._ -----+----------+----------+---------+----------------------+----------- | _deg.m._ | _deg.m._ | | | 1 | +35 | +27 | +29.7 | E.S.E | 2-4 2 | +37 | +27 | +31 | E.S.E. | 5-4 3 | +36 | +25 | +31 | E.--Vble. | 9-1 4 | +34 | +28 | +30.3 | E. by S. | 8 5 | +42 | +26 | +32.7 | O.--N.N.W. | 0-7 6 | | | | N. | 6 7 | +31 | +25 | +27 | N. | 6 8 | +35 | +26 | +30.5 | N.N.W. | 6 9 | | | | N.N.W. | 6 10 | +32 | +30 | +31.3 | N.N.W.--O.--S.E. | 4-5 11 | +34 | +31 | +32.5 | E. by S. | 10-8 12 | | | | E. by S.--S. E. by E.| 9-5 13 | | | | S.W. by S.--S.W. | 5-9 14 | | | | | 15 | +45 | +45 | +45 | S.S. | 4 16 | +34 | +25 | +28.7 | Vble.--O.--E. by N. | 1-2 17 | +32 | +24 | +28 | W. | 2-3 18 | +29 | +26 | +27.7 | N.W.--W.N.W. | 6-7 19 | +33 | +26 | +29.7 | W.N.W.--O.--E. | 9-0 20 | +32 | +24 | +28 | N.N.W. | 5-4 21 | +36 | +24 | +29.3 | N.--O.--E. | 0-3 22 | +31 | +23 | +27.7 | N. by W. | 5-6 23 | +28 | +16 | +22.3 | W.N.W. | 3-4 24 | +42 | +21 | +29.3 | Vble. | 1-0 25 | +30 | +16 | +24.3 | Vble. | 0-2 26 | +30 | +26 | +28 | E.N.E. | 8-9 27 | +26 | +24 | +25 | N. by W. | 5-6 28 | +26 | +20 | +22.7 | N.N.W. | 7-6 29 | +24 | +22 | +23 | W.N.W. | 4 30 | +22 | +18 | +19.7 | Vble.--S.E. by E. | 1-4 ------ 714.4 ------ +28.57 ----+------------------+------------------------------------------------ Day | Barometer and | of | Thermometer | the | attached. | Remarks on the Weather, &c. Mon.+--------+---------+ |_Barom._|_Thermo._| ----+--------+---------+------------------------------------------------ 1 | | | c. c. o. Solar halo with parhelia. 2 | | | c. c. c. 3 | | | s. b. c. 4 | | | c. c. c. p. of sleet. 5 | | | c. c. o. Full moon. 6 | | | p. s. o. 7 | | | p. s. c. 8 | | | c. p. s. 9 | | | c. p. s. 10 | | | c. b. c. o. 11 | | | s. c. s. c. b. much drift. 12 | | | o. c. c. [quarter moon symbol] last quarter. 13 | | | b. c. 14 | | | 15 | | | c. p. s. 16 | | | c. c. c. 17 | | | b. c. 18 | | | o. s. s. 19 | | | s. s. 20 | | | s. o. c. s. 21 | | | c. c. c. 22 | | | s. s. b. | | | Aurora visible to the southward at 8 P.M. 23 | | | b. b. c. 24 | | | o. b. c. o. 25 | | | c. o. 26 | | | s. s. s. 27 | | | s. drifting. 28 | | | p. so. drifting. 29 | | | b. c. 30 | | | h. b. s. FORT HOPE, REPULSE BAY. --_Abstract of Meteorological Journal for October, 1846._ ------+--------------------------------+-------------------------------- Day |Temperature of the Atmosphere | of | taken eight times in | Prevailing Winds. the | twenty-four hours. | Month.| | +----------+----------+----------+------------------------+------- |_Highest._|_Lowest._ | _Mean._ | _Direction._ |_Force_ ------+----------+----------+----------+------------------------+------- | _deg.m._ | _deg.m._ | _deg.m._ | | 1 | +27 | +25 | +26 | Vble. S.W.--N.W. | 1-5 2 | +25 | +16 | +21 | N.W. | 8 3 | +24 | +10 | +18 | Vble. E. by S. | 1-5 4 | +38 | +38 | +38 | S.E. by E. | 4 5 | +37 | +30 | +33 | E. | 2-4 6 | +33 | +28 | +30.3 | N.E. | 3-4 7 | +30 | +28 | +29 | N.E. | 4-3 8 | +28 | +25 | +26.3 | N.--N.N.W. | 4-5 9 | +22 | +21 | +21.5 | N.W.--O.--Vble. | 3-0-2 10 | +27 | +26 | +26.5 | E. | 8-9 11 | +32 | +28 | +30 | N.E.--O. | 1-0 12 | +27 | +25 | +25 | N. by W. | 7-9 13 | +29 | +27 | +28.1 | N. by W. | 8-9 14 | +26 | +18 | +23.2 | N. | 10-11 15 | +12 | +10 | +11 | N. by W. | 10-11 16 | + 5 | 0 | + 2.6 | N.N.W. | 7-4 17 | + 3.5 | - 1 | + 0.8 | N.N.W. | 7-8 18 | + 6 | - 0.8 | + 1.7 | S.W.W.--W.N.W. | 4-6 19 | + 2 | - 4.8 | - 0.7 | N.--N.N.W. | 5-9 20 | + 3 | - 2.5 | - 0.3 | N.W. | 10-11 21 | - 2.8 | -10 | - 6 | N.W.--N.W. by N. | 7-11 22 | - 4.5 | -15 | - 8.1 | N.W. Vble. S.W. | 0-2 23 | + 5.3 | - 0.5 | + 3 | N.W. by W.--N.W. by N. | 3-5 24 | - 0. | - 6.4 | - 4.2 | N.W. by W.--N.W. | 4-5 25 | + 4.5 | - 6.2 | - 1.8 | N.W. by N. | 5 26 | - 7.3 | -10.2 | - 8.5 | N.W.--N.W. by N. | 4-6 27 | - 6. | -15 | -10.6 | N.W. by N.--N.W. | 0-3-5 28 | - 1.8 | -11.8 | - 6.4 | N.W. & N.N.W. | 0-4 29 | +10 | + 3.1 | + 8.4 | S.S.E. S.--calm. | 0-2-4 30 | +25.3 | +21 | +23.4 | S.S.E.--S.W.--W. by N. | 2-8 31 | +10 | 0 | + 5.2 | S. N.W. W.S.W. N.N.W. | 1-4 | ------ | | 389.4 | | ------ | | +12.56 | ----+--------------------+---------------------------------------------- Day | Barometer and | of | Thermometer | Mon.| attached. | Remarks on the Weather, &c. +---------+----------+ |_Barom._ |_Thermo._ | ----|---------+----------+---------------------------------------------- 1 | | | s. ps. 2 | | | b. c. drifting. 3 | | | h. p. s. o. s. 4 | | | h. p. r. 5 | | | h. wet. 6 | | | h. p. s. o. p. s. 7 | | | h. p. s. 8 | | | c. o. o. 9 | | | h. c. c. 10 | | | s. drifting. 11 | | | s. s. s. 12 | | | s. with much drift. 13 | 29.338 | +49 | s. and much drift. 14 | 29.431 | +46.3 | s. and drift. 15 | 29.690 | +44 | s. much drift. 16 | 29.605 | +30.5 | b. c.; drift; haze and some drift--parhelia; | | | haze with scaly snow; faint aurora to the | | | S. and S. by E. alt. 12°. 17 | 29.719 | +32.8 | b. c., much drift; aurora to the S.S.E. | | | parallel to the horizon; alt. 12°. 18 | 29.641 | +31.5 | b. c., drift; cirrus; some faint streaks of | | | aurora to the W. 19 | 29.662 | +29 | b. c., drifting; solar halo with prismatic | | | colours and parhelia; snow and much drift. 20 | 29.842 | +29.5 | s. much drift. 21 | 29.959 | +30.5 | b. c., much drift; at 8 p.m. several streaks | | | of faint aurora extending across the zenith | | | in a N.W. and S.E. direction; many rays in | | | different parts of the heavens. 22 | 29.828 | +28.5 | 23 | 29.919 | +32 | f. o. f. o. s. o. s. b. c. f. s. 24 | 29.974 | +31 | b. c. o. drifting. 25 | 30.023 | +29 | o. drifting. 26 | 30.062 | +29.3 | o. m. b. c. drifting. 27 | 30.47 | +26.5 | b. c. m., some faint streaks of aurora in | | | various parts of the sky bearing for the | | | most part N.N.W. and S.S.E. 28 | 30.505 | +26. | b. c., a few clouds near horizon; a very | | | faint light yellow cloud aurora to the S.E. | | | and N.W. 29 | 30.119 | +30.3 | c. s. b. c. s. o. m. b. c., cirrus extending | | | from S.S.E. to N.N.W., resembling much the | | | aurora. Lunar halo. 30 | 29.078 | +39.7 | o. m. o. s. b. c. o. drifting. 31 | 30.094 | +34.3 | b. b. c. c., solar halo; cirrus; 120 lunar | | | distances were observed from Jupiter and | | | at Aquilæ, E. and W. of the moon. | | | Lunar halo diam. 40° or 50°. FORT HOPE, REPULSE BAY. --_Abstract of Meteorological Journal for November, 1846._ -----+------------------------------+----------------------------------- Day |Temperature of the Atmosphere | of | taken eight times in | the | twenty-four hours. | Prevailing Winds. Month| | +----------+---------+---------+--------------------------+-------- |_Highest._|_Lowest._| _Mean._ | _Direction._ |_Force._ -----+----------+---------+---------+--------------------------+-------- | _deg.m._ |_deg.m._ |_deg.m._ | | 1 | +18 | - 3.0 | + 8.5 | W.N.W. N.E. E. | 2-7 2 | +26.5 | +22.3 | +24.4 | S.E. S.E. by E. E. by W. | 2-5 3 | +27 | +25.5 | +26.3 | S.E. E.S.E. | 2-5 4 | +26 | +21.5 | +23.8 | S.E.S. S.S.E. | 3-5 5 | +22 | + 0 | +13.2 | N. by W. N.W. by W. | 2-7 6 | - .5 | - 9.5 | - 3.5 | W.N.W. | 3-7 7 | + 11.5 | + 6 | + 9.7 | N. by E. | 4-7 8 | + 11 | + 5 | + 8.5 | N. | 4-7 9 | +12.5 | + 9.5 | + 10.9 | E.N.E. N.E. | 3-10 10 | +28.2 | +22.5 | +25.6 | E.S.E. S. S.S.W. | 3-8 11 | +17 | + 2.5 | + 7.5 | N.W. N.N.W. W. by N. | 5-8 12 | + 2.3 | - 8.5 | - 1 | N.N.E. W. N.N.W. | 2-5 13 | - 6 | - 8 | - 6.8 | N. by W. N.N.W. | 4-8 14 | - 4.6 | - 8.7 | - 6.6 | N.N.W. N. N. by W. | 3-7 15 | + 4.5 | -10.5 | - 3.8 | Calm. Vble. E. | 0-4 16 | +17.3 | +15 | +16.3 | E. N.E. N. | 1-6 17 | + 7.5 | - 8 | + .25 | N. by W. | 4-6 18 | - 4 | - 9.2 | - 7.1 | N.W. by N. Calm S.W. | 0-2 19 | +21.7 | +18 | +20.61 | S.S.E. S.E. E. | 4-7 20 | +12 | - 8.8 | + 2.9 | Calm. S. by E. N. | 0-2 21 | + 4.5 | - 4.2 | - 0.9 | S. S.E. E. | 4-1 22 | - 3 | - 4.2 | - 3.6 | S. by E. W. N.W. | 2-6 23 | -18.5 | -22.5 | -19.77 | N. by W. N.N.W. | 3-5 24 | -20.5 | -25.2 | -22.54 | N.N.W. | 5-1 25 | -14.5 | -24.5 | -20.06 | N. by E. N.W. N.W. by W. | 1-3 26 | -17.5 | -23.5 | -20.7 | N. | 6-9 27 | -11.8 | -15.5 | -13.6 | N. by W. | 9-10 28 | - 5.4 | - 8.5 | - 6.6 | N. by W. | 7-9 29 | -16.5 | -25.3 | -20.3 | N.N.W. W.N.W. | 6-3 30 | -17.5 | -24.4 | -21. | W. W.N.W. N.W. | 6-3 | ------- | | +20.59 | | ------- | | + 0.68 | ----+------------------+------------------------------------------------ Day | Barometer and | of | Thermometer | Mon.| attached. | Remarks on the Weather, &c. +--------+---------+ |_Barom._|_Thermo._| ----+--------+---------+------------------------------------------------ 1 | 30.011 | +35 |b. c. o. s. and drift. 2 | 29.715 | +38 |o. m. s. o. m. o. s. 3 | 29.623 | +38.7 |o. m. s. o. s. 4 | 29.624 | +39.5 |o. m. b. c. o. m. 5 | 29.796 | +41 |o. m s. b. c. b. drifting. A faint ray of | | | aurora to the S. E. extending vertically | | | towards the zenith. 6 | 30.009 | +38.8 |b. c. drifting. Some faint beams of aurora | | | extending from S.W. to N.W., alt. 60°; one ray | | | to the S.E. pointing towards the zenith. 7 | 29.894 | +37.3 |o. c. o. drifting. 8 | 30.1 | +39.5 |o. drifting. 9 | 39.996 | +35.2 |o. s. drifting thick. 10 | 29.598 | +40.2 |o s. o. b. c. o. much drift. 11 | 29.728 | +38 |o. s. o. m. b. c. drifting. 12 | 30.163 | +38.1 |b. c. m. b. drifting. 13 | 30.214 | +34.9 |b. m. b c. m. much drift. 14 | 30.39 | +36.2 |b. m. much drift. Solar halo and parhelia with | | | prismatic colours; hazy near horizon; a faint | | | beam of aurora to the westward directed toward | | | the zenith; drifting. 15 | 30.239 | +37 |o.m. o. s. 16 | 29.963 | +38 |o.s. b. c. m. drifting. 17 | 30.102 | +37 |o.s. b. c. m. drifting. Three beams of aurora | | | pointing towards the zenith; two of them | | | bearing N.N.W., and the other S.E. 18 | 30.006 | +33.7 |b. c. fo. o. m. At 9 A.M. there was a very red | | | sky to the N. westward; sound heard at a | | | great distance. 19 | 29.573 | +36.7 |o. s. b. c. drifting. 20 | 29.420 | +36.8 |o. s. m. o. s. f. b. c. m. At 7 h. 30 m. a | | | faint aurora extending from W. to S.E., | | | alt. 20°; motion rapid; no prismatic colours. 21 | 29.409 | +37 |o. s. b. c. s. o. f. s. b. m. s. 22 | 29.615 | +39 |b. c. Some faint streaks of aurora, most of them | | | to the S. eastward, and pointed towards the | | | horizon. 23 | 29.918 | +33.7 |b. m. b. c. Some faint rays of aurora visible | | | this morning at 5 h. 30 m. in different parts | | | of the heavens; drifting. 24 | 30.408 | +33.7 |b. c. drifting. 25 | 30.573 | +30.8 |b. b. m. Two faint beams of aurora bearing | | | W.N.W. and pointing towards the zenith; | | | altitude of lower limb 30°. 26 | 30.606 | +32 |b. m. b. much drift. 27 | 29.555 | +31 |b. m. o. s. drifting. Door drifted up. 28 | 29.41 | +26.6 |o. m. b. c. s. o. s. drifting. 29 | 29.894 | +27.5 |b. c. drifting. 30 | 30.354 | +26 |b. c. m. drifting. FORT HOPE, REPULSE BAY. --_Abstract of Meteorological Journal for December, 1846._ -----+-------------------------------+---------------------------------- Day | Temperature of the Atmosphere | of | taken eight times in | Prevailing Winds. the | twenty-four hours. | Month+----------+----------+---------+------------------------+--------- |_Highest._|_Lowest._ | _Mean._ | Direction. | Force. -----+----------+----------+---------+------------------------+--------- | _deg.m._ | _deg.m._ | _deg.m._| | 1 | -24 | -27 | -25.875 | Calm. N.E. N. | 0-3 2 | -26.7 | -30 | -28.1 | N.E. Calm. N. | 1-0 3 | -24.8 | -28.5 | -26.4 | N. by W. | 1-4 4 | -24.8 | -28 | -29.97 | N.W. by W. S.S.W. | 4-0 5 | -17.3 | -21 | -19.7 | Calm. S. by E. S.S.E. | 0-2 6 | - 6.5 | -11 | - 9.14 | E. by S. N.E. N. | 5-2 7 | -16.5 | -24 | -19.7 | N. | 5-7 8 | -19.5 | -25.6 | -22.61 | N. | 9-8 9 | +14 | -15 | + .03 | N.N.W. N.N.E. N.E. | 11-5 10 | +17 | +14.8 | +15.74 | N.E. by N. N.E. E. | 4-6 11 | +12.7 | + 9.8 | +11.6 | N. by E. N.N.W. N.W. | 4-1 12 | + 4 | - 6 | + .74 | S. S.S.E. Calm. | 0-3 13 | -13 | -17 | -14.93 | N. N. by W. | 4-1 14 | -19 | -23 | -20.94 | Calm. Vble. | 0-2 15 | - 9 | -19 | -16.55 | N.N.W. N. by W. | 1-4 16 | 0 | - 3 | - 1.64 | N. E.N.E. Calm. Vble. | 0-1 17 | - 5 | - 9.6 | - 6.05 | Vble. W.N.W. | 1-2 18 | - 6 | - 8.5 | - 7.04 | N. by W. W. Vble. | 2-1 19 | -14.2 | -20 | -17.4 | N. by W. N.N.W. | 5-4 20 | - 8.7 | -13 | -10.56 | S. by W. N. by W.N. | 1-4 21 | -20.7 | -32.3 | -24.83 | N.W. Vble. N. | 1-2 22 | -30.5 | -36.5 | -33.4 | W. Calm. N. by E. | 0-2 23 | -21.4 | -26 | -23.3 | N.N.E. N.E.N. | 0-1 24 | -31 | -35.3 | -33.13 | N. | 7-10 25 | -36 | -38 | -36.83 | N. by W. | 10-8 26 | -34 | -38 | -36.46 | N. by W. N. | 8-11 27 | -30 | -30 | -30 | N. | 10-11 28 | -30.8 | -34.8 | -33.01 | N. N. by W. | 6-4 29 | -24.5 | -40 | -35 | N.W. by W. Vble. N.N.W.| 0-5 30 | -25 | -32.3 | -29.63 | N. | 6-9 31 | -23 | -32.5 | -29.25 | N. by W. Vble. N. | 1-7 | | | ------- | | | | | 597.43 | | | | | ------- | | | | | - 19.27 | | ----+------------------+------------------------------------------------ Day | Barometer and | of | Thermometer | Mon.| attached. | Remarks on the Weather, &c. +--------+---------+ |_Barom._|_Thermo._| ----+--------+---------+------------------------------------------------ 1 | 30.452 | +18.75 |b. c. 2 | 30.237 | +19.6 |b. c. b. c. m. Lunar halo. 3 | 30.886 | +16.3 |b. c. b. c. m. 4 | 30.013 | +17 |b. c. m. 5 | 29.778 | +17.6 |b. c. m. parhelia with prismatic colours; | | | aurora visible to the south in two arches | | | arising from near the horizon to the zenith. 6 | 29.480 | +27.5 |o. s. b. c. 7 | 29.764 | +26 |b. m. c. drifting. 8 | 30.039 | +23 |b. c. drift. 9 | 29.974 | +22 |s. o. drifting. 10 | 29.892 | +28.3 |s. o. b. c. o. s. drifting. 11 | 29.759 | +32 |o. s. m. 12 | 30.016 | +26.6 |o. m. s.b.m. 13 | 30.36 | +31 |b. m. b. c. The sky to the north had a | | | beautiful lake coloured tint at sunset; the | | | most brilliant display of aurora I have | | | observed this winter, the centre being towards | | | the true south, and gradually rising from an | | | altitude of 12° to 70° or 80°. It was of a | | | pale yellowish green colour. Horizontal needle | | | not affected. 14 | 30.473 | +26 |b. c. m. Some faint beams of aurora in | | | different parts of the heavens. A very faint | | | aurora to the southward. 15 | 30.37 | +27 |b. m. b. c.o. A very faint aurora; centre true | | | south. 16 | 30.186 | +30.7 |o. m. 17 | 30.205 | +27.6 |o. m. b. m. Wind variable from N. to E.; | | | faint aurora to the S.; alt. 10°; centre | | | S.S.W. 30°. 18 | 30.274 | +29.3 |o. b. c. m. Aurora faint to the S. by W. 19 | 30.245 | +27.3 |b. c. m. drifting. 20 | 30.259 | +28 |b. c. o. s. 21 | 30.268 | +29 |b. m. Arch of aurora across zenith nearly east | | | and west; brightest at western extremity. 22 | 30.264 | +22.3 |b. c. b. m. 23 | 30.168 | +25.3 |b. m. b. c. b. m. s. Spiculæ of snow falling. | | | Lunar halo faint. 24 | 30.065 | +23.6 |b. m. much drift. 25 | 29.996 | +22 |b. m. much drift. 26 | 29.83 | +20 |b. c. m. much drift. 27 | 29.523 | +15.5 |b. c. m. much drift. 28 | 29.536 | +14.3 |b. m. b. drifting. 29 | 29.603 | +14.3 |b. b. c. A faint halo, centre S., alt. about | | | 20°; wind variable from N. to W. by S.; cirrus | | | clouds; halo round moon. 30 | 29.577 |+11.6 |b. c. drifting; much drift. 31 | 29.564 |+15.3 |b. c. FORT HOPE, REPULSE BAY. --_Abstract of Meteorological Journal for January, 1847._ ------+------------------------------+---------------------------------- Day |Temperature of the Atmosphere | of | taken eight times in | Prevailing Winds. the | twenty-four hours. | Month.+----------+---------+---------+---------------------------+------ |_Highest._|_Lowest._| _Mean._ | Direction. |Force. ------+----------+---------+---------+---------------------------+------ | _deg.m._ | _deg.m._|_deg.m._ | | 1 | -23.5 | -32 | -26.96 |N.N.W. N.W. by W. N. by W. | 1-6 2 | -29.5 | -33.5 | -31.8 |N.N.W. N. by W. N.W. | 2-5 3 | -30.3 | -32 | -31.4 |N. by W. Calm. N.N.E. | 0-1 4 | -31 | -34 | -32.82 |N. Calm. N. | 0-2 5 | -27.5 | -30 | -28.61 |N. ½ W. | 5-8 6 | -26.5 | -31 | -28.3 |N.N.W. | 6-8 7 | -40 | -42 | -40.9 |N.W. Calm. W. N.W.N. | 0-1 8 | -44 | -47 | -46.7 |N.W. N.N.W. N. by W. | 1-7 9 | -38 | -40 | -39 |N. | 10-11 10 | -12 | -17 | -14.5 |N.N.W. | 10-12 11 | -10 | -10 | -10 |N. by W. | 7-11 12 | -12 | -16 | -14 |N. by W. | 7-8 13 | -28.5 | -33.5 | -30.8 |N.N.W. N. by W. | 6-7 14 | -33.8 | -36.3 | -35.1 |N. by W. N. ½ W. N. by W. | 7-5 15 | -38 | -39.5 | -38.7 |N. by W. N.W. N.N.W. | 2-5 16 | -39.3 | -41 | -37.07 |N. by W. N.N.W. N. by W. | 2-6 17 | -38 | -41 | -39.6 |N. by W. | 7-8 18 | -37 | -40 | -38.95 |N.W. by N. N. by W. | 2-4 19 | -25 | -31 | -30.6 |N.N.W. N.N.W. | 9-11 20 | -14 | -20 | -17 |N.N.W. | 8-10 21 | -20.5 | -26.5 | -23.4 |N. by W. N.N.E. N. | 2-9 22 | -14 | -26 | -18.87 |N.W. N.N.W. | 6-11 23 | -10 | -13 | -11.2 |N.N.W. | 9-11 24 | -13 | -13 | -13 |N.N.W. | 9-11 25 | -26.5 | -32.5 | -29.25 |N.N.W. | 4-7 26 | -31.5 | -37 | -34.47 |N. Calm. Vble. N. | 0-1 27 | -29 | -35 | -32.05 |N. N. by W. | 1-2 28 | -33.3 | -35.5 | -34.65 |N. by W. | 6-7 29 | -36 | -42.7 | -39.25 |N. by W. W.N.W. N.W. | 4-1 30 | -24.7 | -36.5 | -28.64 |S. by W. Vble. E. | 1-5 31 | -27.5 | -35 | -31.5 |N. by W. | 4-7 | | |-------- | | | | | 909 | | | | |-------- | | | | | -29.32 | | ----+------------------+----------------------------------------------- Day | Barometer and | of | Thermometer | Mon.| attached. | Remarks on the Weather, &c. +--------+---------+ |_Barom._|_Thermo._| ----+--------+---------+----------------------------------------------- 1 | 29.908 | +17 | b. c. b. c. s. drifting. 2 | 30.128 | +16 | b. m. b. Faint aurora, centre S.W. by S., | | | alt. 15°; drifting; some streaks of aurora | | | to the southward pointing to the zenith. 3 | 30.134 | +18.5 | b. c. b. Much refraction; thermometer in house | | | +11°; a beam of aurora to the south pointing | | | to the zenith. 4 | 30.023 | +15.6 | b. b. Hills much refracted; aurora faint; | | | centre of arch S. by W.; alt. 10°; aurora in | | | a narrow line parallel to horizon, alt. 4°, | | | extent 70°, centre south. 5 | 29.93 | +14.6 | b. c. m. drifting. 6 | 30.04 | +14.6 | b. m. drifting. A faint aurora extending from | | | S.S.E. across the zenith. 7 | 29.861 | +12.6 | b. c. m. Mercury froze after two hours' | | | exposure. 8 | 29.8 | +11 | b. b. drifting. 9 | 29.974 | | Much drift; could not get out to see | | | thermometer, door being drifted up. 10 | 29.139 | + 6 | o. o. Much drift; obliged to take the | | | thermometers into the house, as the pillars | | | of snow on which the posts were placed were | | | nearly all blown away. 11 | 29.193 | +10.5 | o. b. m. Much drift; a beam of aurora S.E.; | | | alt. 25°. 12 | 29.309 | +14.5 | b. m. Much drift; very faint aurora; centre | | | W. by N.; alt. 10°. 13 | 29.549 | +12.3 | b. m. drifting; a very faint aurora, centre | | | S.S.W., alt. 16°; extent 60° or 70°. 14 | 29.588 | +13 | b. c. m. drift; arch of aurora faint, | | | alt. 11°, centre S.S.W., extent 90°. 15 | 29.608 | + 7.6 | b. m. c. Streams of bright light shooting from | | | the sun to the alt. of 5°. 16 | 29.67 | + 7 | b. c. b. drifting, stratus; arch of aurora | | | faint, centre south, alt. 18°, extent 60°. | | | Centre S.S.W., alt. 12°, extent 90°. 17 | 29.887 | +13 | b. m. drifting. Aurora visible, faint but | | | brightest to the westward; centre S., | | | alt. 60°. 18 | 29.245 | + 6 | b. c. b. c. m. A very faint arch of aurora | | | from the N.W. by N. extending across zenith. 19 | 29.662 | + 7 | m. o. much drift; door drifted up. 20 | 29.472 | +11 | o. q. much drift. 21 | 29.60 | + 9.5 | b. m. much drift. 22 | 29.445 | + 8 | b. m. o. s. o. m. q. s. o. q. drifting. 23 | 29.273 | + 9.5 | o. m. much drift. 24 | 29.366 | +10 | o. q. gale all night; much drift. 25 | 29.83 | + 8 | b. m. drifting; solar halo with parhelia. 26 | 30.035 | + 6.3 | b. A faint arch of aurora across zenith S.W. | | | and N.E. 27 | 29.911 | + 4.6 | b. c. b. c. s. o. m. o. s. 28 | 29.908 | + 7.3 | b. m. drifting. Very cold to the sensation' | | | spiculæ of snow falling; a broad band of | | | aurora, the lower edge having a reddish or | | | lake tint, running parallel to the horizon; | | | alt. 2°, centre S.W., extent 70°; some | | | beams of aurora S.E. pointing towards | | | the zenith. 29 | 29.954 | + 7.3 | b. m. 30 | 29.737 | + 5.6 | o. b. c. m. s. b. c. s. 31 | 29.714 | + 8 | b. c. m. Cirrus; drifting. FORT HOPE, REPULSE BAY. --_Abstract of Meteorological Journal for February, 1847._ ------+-------------------------------+--------------------------------- Day | Temperature of the Atmosphere | of | taken eight times | Prevailing Winds. the | in twenty-four hours. | Month.+----------+----------+---------+------------------------+-------- |_Highest._| _Lowest._| _Mean._ | _Direction._ |_Force._ ------+----------+----------+---------+--------------------------------- | _deg.m._ | _deg.m._ | _deg.m._| | 1 | -29.8 | -38.5 | -33.6 | N.N.W. N.W. W. | 6-1 2 | -30.8 | -37.3 | -33.73 | N.W. Vble. W. Calm. N. | 0-1 3 | -29 | -35 | -31.53 | S.W. Calm. Vble. | 0-1 4 | -19 | -26.5 | -22.67 | Calm. Vble. Calm. | 0-1 5 | -14 | -20 | -16.71 | N.W. by S. | 4-6 6 | -14.7 | -22.5 | -17.5 | N. | 3-6 7 | -22.5 | -27 | -25.16 | Calm. N. by W. Calm. | 0-1 8 | -22.3 | -30.5 | -26.25 | N. by W. N.N.W. | 1-4 9 | -20 | -25.5 | -21.65 | N.W. N.W. by W. | 1-6 10 | -20 | -27 | -23.35 | N. Vbl. N. by W. | 0-2 11 | - 8.7 | -18.3 | -11.64 | W.N.W. N. by W. | 1-6 12 | -18 | -23.5 | -20.25 | N. by W. | 8-6 13 | -35.3 | -38 | -36.83 | N.N.W. N. by W. | 7-2 14 | -26 | -36.5 | -31 | N.W. | 6-3 15 | -37.5 | -42 | -39.83 | N. | 4-7 16 | -36.5 | -42 | -39.14 | N. by W. | 7-5 17 | -35.5 | -40.5 | -38.4 | N. N. by W. N.W. | 7-3 18 | -27.5 | -34.5 | -30.57 | N. N. by W. N.N.W. | 1-7 19 | -22 | -32.5 | -27.57 | N. Vble. S.S.E. | 4-1 20 | -22.5 | -27.5 | -25.3 | N. by W. N. N.N.W. | 7-4 21 | -19.5 | -27 | -22.83 | N.N.W. N. S.E. | 3-1 22 | -13 | -26.5 | -18.85 | N.N.W. | 1-5 23 | -23.5 | -31.5 | -26.57 | N.N.W. N. | 3-1 24 | -23 | -34.5 | -27.43 | W. W. by N. N. N.W. | 1-4 25 | - 9.5 | -27.5 | -20.2 | W. Calm. Vble. | 1-0 26 | - 9.3 | -22 | -13.5 | S.E. E. by N. N. | 1-2 27 | -24 | -27.5 | -25.54 | N.W. by N. N.N.W. | 4-6 28 | -34.5 | -40 | -39.2 | N.N.W. N.W. by W. | 6-3 | | | ------ | | | | | 746.85 | | | | | ------ | | | | | -26.68 | | +------------------+---------------------------------------------------- Day | Barometer and | of | Thermometer | Mon.| attached. | Remarks on the Weather, &c. +--------+---------+ |_Barom._|_Thermo._| ----+--------+---------+------------------------------------------------ 1 | 29.901 | + 7.6 | b. m. b.q. drifting. 2 | 30.023 | + 5.3 | b. b. 3 | 30.593 | + 2.6 | b. c. o. cirrus and cirro-stratus. 4 | 30.219 | + 5 | b. c. 5 | 30.339 | + 5.6 | b. c. q. much refraction; drifting. 6 | 30.18 | +11. | b. c. m. b. c. drifting. 7 | 30.??4 | +12. | b. c. cirrus; cloudy near horizon. 8 | 30.418 | +10.3 | b. m. spiculæ. much refraction. 9 | 30.432 | +12. | o. m. b. c. m. drifting; solar halo with | | | parhelia; a faint arch of aurora. 10 | 30.065 | + 8.3 | b. c. cirrus; some faint beams of aurora south | | | and south-south-west (say south-west). 11 | 29.865 | +12.6 | b. c. m. o. s. b. c. s. drifting. 12 | 29.71 | +12. | b. m much drift. 13 | 29.644 | +10.5 | b. m. b. drifting. 14 | 29.65 | +10. | b. m. b. 15 | 29.816 | +12.6 | b. b. m. b. drifting. 16 | 29.899 | +13.3 | b. m. b. much drift. 17 | 29.84 | + 7.6 | b. m. b. drifting. 18 | 29.869 | + 7.3 | b. c. o. b. c. m. much drift. 19 | 29.9 | + 6.7 | b. c. s. o. m. Solar halo with prismatic | | | colours and parhelia. 20 | 29.9 | + 8 | b. m. b. drifting. 21 | 30.329 | + 7 | b. c. b. c. m. 22 | 30.276 | + 9.6 | b. m. b. c. s. o. s. b. c. s. drifting. 23 | 30.459 | + 9.3 | b. m. b. c. cirrus; Venus visible for the | | | first time, the horizon having been too hazy | | | to see her sooner. 24 | 30.326 | + 7 | b. 25 | 30.008 | + 6 | b. b. c. much refraction. 26 | 30.221 | + 8.3 | b. m. c. b. c. s. 27 | 30.146 | +12 | b. m. c. b. c. s. b. c. m. drifting along | | | the ground. 28 | 30.073 | +11 | b. m. drifting. Fort Hope, Repulse Bay, --_Abstract of Meteorological Journal for March, 1847._ ------+-------------------------------+--------------------------------- Day | Temperature of the Atmosphere | of | taken eight times | Prevailing Winds. the | in twenty-four hours. | Month.+----------+----------+---------+--------------------------+------ |_Highest._| _Lowest._| _Mean._ | _Direction._ |Force. ------+----------+----------+---------+--------------------------+------ | _deg. m._| _deg. m._|_deg. m._| | 1 | -30.5 | -45 | -37.5 | N. by W. Chble. N.W. | 0-2 | | | | by N. | 2 | -30.5 | -40.5 | -35.4 | N.W. by N. N.N.W. | 2-4 3 | -30 | -37 | -33.7 | N.W. by N. N.N.W. | 4-7 4 | -27 | -38 | -32 | N. by W. N.W. by N. | 4-7 5 | -26 | -33 | -28.4 | N. by W. N.W. by N. | 8-6 6 | -27 | -33 | -29.4 | N. by W. | 8-4 7 | -27.5 | -37 | -33 | N.N. ½ E. | 7-5 8 | -25 | -31.5 | -27.5 | N. N. by W. N.N.W. | 7-9 9 | -20 | -30.5 | -25.3 | N.N.W. N.W. by N. | 4-2 10 | -21 | -33.5 | -27.2 | N.W. N.N.W. | 1-4 11 | -10.7 | -27.5 | -20 | N.W. by N. N. by W. | 1-3 12 | -19.5 | -30.5 | -23.7 | N.N.W. N. N. by W. | 8-10 13 | -15 | -19.5 | -16.5 | N.N.W. | 10-12 14 | -13.5 | -15 | -14.5 | N. by W. | 11-7 15 | -11 | -19 | -14.2 | N. N.N.W. | 8-5 16 | -7.7 | -19 | -11.7 | N.W. by N. N. by W. | 3-6 17 | -24 | -30 | -26.5 | N. W.N.W. W. | 1-6 18 | -18.7 | -37.5 | -29.1 | Calm. S.S.E. W. | 0-6 19 | -14 | -29.5 | -21.4 | W. Vble. | 2-1 20 | -23.5 | -32.5 | -29.1 | N.N.W. N. N. by W. | 6-4 21 | -23 | -29.5 | -25.9 | W.N.W. | 10-7 22 | -16 | -27 | -21.6 | N W. by N. W. | 6-1 23 | -16 | -33 | -22.6 | N.W. Chble. N. by W. | 1-6 24 | -29 | -33.5 | -30.9 | N. by W. N.N.W. | 9-7 25 | -27 | -35 | -30.4 | N. by W. N.N.W. | 7-9 26 | -26.5 | -35.5 | -30.6 | N. by W. | 6-8 27 | -24.5 | -34 | -28.1 | N. by W. N.N.W. | 6-8 28 | -26 | -35 | -30.2 | N. by W. | 2-7 29 | -22 | -33 | -26.37 | N.N.W. N. W.N.W. | 8-5 30 | -15 | -32 | -20.54 | N.W. N. by W. | 2-6 31 | -6 | -14 | -8.6 | N.N.W. N.W. by N. | 7-6 | | | ------ | | | | 811.91 | | | | ------ | | | | -28.1 | ----+----------------------+-------------------------------------------- Day | Barometer and | of | Thermometer | Mon.| attached. | Remarks on the Weather, &c. +----------------------+ | _Barom._ | _Thermo._ | ----+----------+-----------+-------------------------------------------- 1 | 30.152 | + 4.3 | b. b. 2 | 30.296 | + 4 | b. 3 | 30.268 | + 4.6 | b. m. drifting. The wind between noon and | | | 2 P.M. went round for a few minutes, and | | | then went back to its old direction. 4 | 30.399 | + 6.3 | b. m. drifting. 5 | 30.492 | + 7 | b. m. b. c. m. much drift. 6 | 30.63 | +11.3 | b. c. m. drifting. 7 | 30.514 | +10.5 | b. m. drifting. 8 | 30.232 | + 7.6 | b. c. m. much drift. 9 | 30.194 | + 8 | b. b. c. 10 | 30.179 | + 4 | b. b. c. cirrus. 11 | 30.305 | + 4.7 | b. 12 | 30.449 | + 9.7 | b. m. much drift. 13 | 30.089 | + 7 | b. q. thick drift. 14 | 30.07 | + 5 | b. m. q. b. c. m. much drift. 15 | 30.886 | +13 | b. c. m. q. b. c. m. o. m. drifting. 16 | 29.578 | +12 | o. s. b. c. s. b. c. drifting. 17 | 29.814 | + 6.6 | b. c. b. q. drifting. 18 | 29.99 | + 4.6 | b. c. m. Solar halo with prismatic | | | colours; drifting. 19 | 30.001 | + 5.6 | b. m. b. c. cirrus. 20 | 29.569 | + 8 | b. m. b. c. m. 21 | 29.372 | + 3 | o. s. o. m. b. m. drifting. 22 | 29.673 | + 5 | b. c. m. q. cirrus. 23 | 29.823 | + 6.7 | b. c. m. o. s. Spiculæ; halo with | | | prismatic colours; drifting. 24 | 29.854 | + 3.7 | b. m. b. c. m. much drift; door | | | drifted up. 25 | 29.899 | + .7 | b. m. c. m. much drift; door drifted up. 26 | 30.196 | + 1.3 | b. c. m. drifting. 27 | 30.046 | - .3 | b. m. b. c. m. drifting. 28 | 30.161 | + 1 | b. m. c. drifting. 29 | 30.142 | + 2 | b. m. drifting. 30 | 30.182 | + 3.5 | b. c. m. o. m. drifting. 31 | 30.867 | +10.6 | b. c. m. b. c. s. o. s. drifting. FORT HOPE, REPULSE BAY. --_Abstract of Meterological Journal for April, 1847._ ------+---------------------------------+------------------------------ Day | Temperature of the Atmosphere | of | taken eight times in twenty-four| Prevailing Winds. the | hours. | Month.+-----------+----------+----------+------------------------------ |_Highest._ |_Lowest._ | _Mean._ | _Direction._ | Force. ------+-----------+----------+----------+----------------------+------- | _deg. m._ |_deg. m._ |_deg. m._ | | 1 | -6.5 | -18.3 | -11.57 | N.W. by W. W. by N.| 3-6 2 | -0.5 | -21 | -9.03 | W. N.N.W. N.W. | 2-4 3 | +8 | -23.5 | -6.7 | Vble. Calm. | 1-0 | | | | | 4 | 0 | -13 | -4.5 | N.W. by N. N. | 2-1 5 | | | -10 | N. by W. | 5 6 | +11 | -20 | -5.3 | S. | 4 7 | +18 | -9 | +3.67 | | 8 | +20 | -2 | +8.3 | | 9 | +2 | -12 | -5 | N.N.W | 10 | +19 | -15 | +3.66 | E. | 11 | +10 | -15 | -1.6 | E. | 12 | +16 | -17 | -2 | S. | 13 | +21 | -11 | +5.3 | N.N.W. | 14 | +15 | 0 | +6.6 | W. | 15 | -7 | -17 | -11.3 | N.N.W. | 9 16 | -10 | -19 | -15.3 | N. | 9 17 | -8 | -22 | -16.3 | N. | 18 | -2 | -20 | -12 | N.W. | 19 | -5 | -25 | -13.7 | N.N.W. | 20 | -5 | -20 | -12.67 | N. | 21 | 0 | -22 | -10.3 | N.N.W. | 22 | -8 | -22 | -13.3 | N. by W. | 23 | +17 | -12 | +1.67 | Vble. | 2 24 | -6 | -10 | -4.3 | N.W. | 25 | +7 | -2 | +1 | N. | 26 | +5 | -10 | -1.6 | N.N.W. | 27 | +8 | -5 | +2 | N.N.W. | 28 | +10 | -3 | +4 | N.N.W. | 29 | +11 | -1 | +4 | N.N.W. | 30 | +20 | -1 | +9.6 | N. | | +----------+ | | | | 122.57 | | | | +----------+ | | | | -3.95 | | | ----+------------------+------------------------------------------------ Day | Barometer and | of | Thermometer | Mon.| attached. | Remarks on the Weather, &c. +--------+---------+ |_Barom._|_Thermo._| ----+--------+---------+------------------------------------------------ 1 | 29.83 | + 10 | b. c. m. drifting. 2 | 29.709 | | b. b. c. 3 | 29.708 | + 4 | b. b. c. Barometer not registered after this. | | | Thermometer with colourless ??? rose to 5° | | | only, although freely exposed to the sun's | | | rays. At 8 P.M. a faint aurora of an orange | | | colour; centre south; alt. 5° 4 | | | o. m. b. c. s. o.s. 5 | | | o. s. 6 | | | 7 | | | 8 | | | 9 | | | 10 | | | 11 | | | 12 | | | 13 | | | much drift all day. 14 | | | much drift. 15 | | | 15 | | | much drift and snow. 17 | | | 18 | | | thick drift and snow. Some partridges seen. 19 | | | 20 | | | drifting. 21 | | | 22 | | | 23 | | | drifting thick. 24 | | | 25 | | | 26 | | | snow and drift. 27 | | | drifting. 28 | | | drifting. 29 | | | drifting. 30 | | | drifting. FORT HOPE, REPULSE BAY. --_Abstract of Meteorological Journal for May, 1847._ ------+-----------------------------------+----------------------------- Day | Temperature of the Atmosphere | of | taken three times in | Prevailing winds the | twenty-four-hours. | Month.| | +------------+-----------+----------+----------------------+------ | _Highest._ | _Lowest._ | _Mean._ | _Direction._ |Force. ------+------------+-----------+----------+----------------------+------ | _deg.m._ | _deg.m._ | _deg.m._ | | 1 | +20 | + 4 | +11.6 | W. | 2 | +20 | + 5 | +12 | N. | 3 | +17 | + 4 | + 9.3 | N. by W. | 4 | +10 | + 0 | + 3.3 | N.N.W. | 5 | +10 | - 4 | + 3.67 | N.N.W. | 6 | +20 | 0 | + 9.3 | Vble. Calm. | 1-2 7 | +24 | - 1.5 | +10.5 | S.E. E. | 2 8 | +23 | + 6 | +14.8 | Vble. E. S.S.E. | 1-3 9 | +26 | +16 | +18.5 | S.E. E. | 2-6 10 | +19.5 | +12 | +15.67 | E. by S. E.N.E. | 6-10 11 | +32.3 | +18.5 | +24.6 | S. by E. S.W. W.N.W. | 1-6 12 | +25.5 | +10 | +15.93 | N.W. | 2-6 13 | +25 | + 4.5 | +11.5 | W. | 7-6 14 | +33 | +18 | +23.3 | S.W. | 15 | +17 | +10 | +12.67 | N. | 16 | +15 | + 9 | +11.3 | N.W. | 17 | +20 | +15 | +17 | W.N.W. | 18 | +30 | +15 | +21.67 | N.W. | 19 | +40 | +18 | +27.6 | S. | 20 | +37 | +21 | +27.3 | N. | 21 | +28 | +18 | +21.3 | N. | 11 22 | +22 | +16 | +18.3 | N. | 10 23 | +25 | +16 | +21 | N. | 10 24 | +33 | +26 | +28.66 | N.E. | 25 | +43 | +23 | +30.67 | N.E. by N. | 26 | +34 | +24 | +27.67 | N.N.E. | 27 | +28 | +21 | +24.66 | N. | 28 | +25 | +16 | +20 | N.W. | 29 | +45 | +18 | +28 | S. | 30 | +43 | +24 | +30.67 | S.E. | 31 | +23 | +18 | +21 | N. | | | +----------+ | | | | 553.44 | | | | +----------+ | | | | +17.88 | | ----+--------------------+---------------------------------------------- Day | Barometer and | of | Thermometer | Mon.| attached. | +---------+----------+ Remarks on the Weather, &c. |_Barom._ |_Thermo._ | ----+---------+----------+---------------------------------------------- 1 | | | Newman's improved Cistern Barometer used. | | | { Correction for capacities -1/34 2 | | | { Neutral point -30.302 | | | { Capillary action +.042 | | | { Temperature +60° 3 | | | A snow bird was seen. 4 | | | drifting. 5 | | | drifting. 6 | | | b. c. 7 | | | o. s. b. c. s. 8 | | | o. s. An inch of snow fallen. 9 | | | o. s. o. o. 10 | | | o. s. and drifting thick. 11 | | | o. s. pools of water. Beautiful evening, 12 | | | b. c. drifting. 13 | | | b. c. o. m. 14 | | | 15 | | | fine weather. 16 | | | thick weather. 17 | | | 18 | | | 19 | | | 20 | | | 21 | | | Much snow drift. 22 | | | Much snow and snow drift. 23 | | | Much snow drift. 24 | | | 25 | | | 26 | | | 27 | | | Snow and drift until evening. 28 | | | 29 | | | 30 | | | Cloudy with snow. 31 | | | Strong gale with drift. Fort Hope, Repulse Bay. --_Abstract of Meteorological Journal for June, 1847._ ------+-----------------------------------+----------------------------- Day | Temperature of the Atmosphere | of | taken three times in | Prevailing winds the | twenty-four-hours. | Month.+------------+-----------+----------+---------------------+------- | _Highest._ | _Lowest._ | _Mean._ | _Direction._ |Force. ------+------------+-----------+----------+---------------------+------- | _deg.m._ | _deg.m._ | _deg.m._ | | 1 | +25 | +12 | +19.3 | S. | 2 | +35 | +17 | +25.3 | N. | 3 | +26 | +14 | +20 | N. | 4 | +32 | +14 | +21.7 | N.W. | 5 | +29 | +18 | +22 | N.W. | 6 | +43 | +21 | +28.3 | Vble. | 7 | +28 | +18 | +22 | N. | 8 | +30 | +16 | +22.7 | N. | 9 | +38 | +24 | +30.6 | N.N.W. and Vble. | 3-5 10 | +39 | +26 | +31.3 | N. and N.N.E. | 1-3 11 | +34 | +28.5 | +30.8 | Vble. N. | 1-6 12 | +35 | +26.5 | +30.7 | N. by W. | 6-8 13 | +37 | +27 | +32.3 | N. | 5-7 14 | +40 | +29.5 | +34 | N. by E. | 2-4 15 | +43.5 | +26 | +35.5 | E. Vble. S.W. | 2-3 16 | +39.5 | +36 | +37.3 | N. N.W. | 4-2 17 | +37 | +30.5 | +34 | E. by S. S.E. | 3-1 18 | +38.5 | +32.5 | +34.67 | E. N.E. | 2-5 19 | +34.5 | +31 | +32.5 | N.N. by W. | 7-9 20 | +37 | +33.5 | +34.8 | W.N.W. | 10-11 21 | +45.5 | +33 | +37.66 | W. by N. S.E. | 9-6-5 22 | +40.5 | +32 | +35.1 | N. N.N.W. N.W. | 8-7 23 | +42 | +32.5 | +36.2 | W. N.W. | 6-4-2 24 | +46.5 | +33 | +38.73 | Calm. Vble. S.E. | 0-2 25 | +36.7 | +32.5 | +34.23 | E. by S. | 3-4 26 | +37 | +31.3 | +33.66 | E.S.E. E. by N. N.E.| 6-9 27 | +34.3 | +31 | +32.6 | N.W. W.N.W. | 10-11 28 | +34 | +31.5 | +32.83 | W. W. by N. W.N.W. | 9-8 29 | +37.3 | +33.7 | +35 | N.W. N.W. by W. | 10-8-0 30 | +41 | +32.3 | +35.6 | W.N.W. N.W. N. | 7-8 | | +----------+ | | | | 942.51 | | | | +----------+ | | | | +31.38 | | ----+------------------+----------------------------------------------- Day | Barometer and | of | Thermometer | Mon.| attached. | Remarks on the Weather, &c. +--------+---------+ |_Barom._|_Thermo._| ----+--------+---------+----------------------------------------------- 1 | | | 2 | | | 3 | | | A strong gale. 4 | | | 5 | | | 6 | | | 7 | | | 8 | | | 9 | | | 10 | | | b. c. m. Arrived at the house from our journey | | | at 8h. 20m. A.M. by watch, or 7h. 20m. | | | true time. 11 | | | b. c. 12 | | | o. s. 13 | | | o. s. 14 | | | o. p. s. 15 | | | b. c. p. sleet. 15 | | | b. c. 17 | | | b. c. p. o. r. First rain this spring. 18 | | | o. r. o. f. o. r. 19 | | | s. o. r. o. 20 | 29.480 | +37 | p. r. b. c. b. c. p. r. b. c. 21 | 29.817 | +49 | b. c. q. o. r. 22 | 30.289 | +40 | o. b. c. p. s. Showers of snow and sleet during | | | the night. 23 | 30.14 | +40.3 | o. b. c. Saw sun at midnight, lower limb | | | touching the high ground. 24 | 30.147 | +46.5 | b. c. 25 | 30.04 | +40 | o. o. f. A few flakes of snow falling. 26 | 29.68 | +38.7 | o. s. o. w. s. Half inch of snow during the | | | night. Wet snow. 27 | 29.273 | +37 | o. s. o. p. s. q. From 6 to 8 inches of snow | | | during the night. 28 | 29.39 | +35.6 | b. c. q. o. s. q. 29 | 29.488 | +40 | o. p. s. q. b. c. q. b. c. p. s. 30 | 29.61 | +38 | o. s. b. c. p. s. q. b. c. p. r. q. Wet snow. Fort Hope, Repulse Bay. --_Abstract of Meteorological Journal for July, 1847_ ------+-----------------------------------+----------------------------- Day | Temperature of the Atmosphere | of | taken three times in | Prevailing winds the | twenty-four-hours. | Month.+------------+-----------+----------+----------------------+------ | _Highest._ | _Lowest._ | _Mean._ | _Direction._ |Force. ------+------------+-----------+----------+----------------------+------ | _deg.m._ | _deg.m._ | _deg.m._ | | 1 | +39 | +29.3 | +33.6 |N.N.W. N. by W. N. | 4-6 2 | +38 | +31.3 | +34.6 |N. N.W. by N. N.W. | 7-4 3 | +46.5 | +32 | +38.17 |W. Calm. | 7-6-0 4 | +35.5 | +33 | +34.1 |N.E. | 6-5-4 5 | +45.5 | +35 | +39.8 |W. | 5-3-6 6 | +46 | +34 | +39.17 |W.N.W. N. by W. Chble.| 7-0 7 | +49 | +38 | +43 |E. by S. S.E. Calm. | 2-4-0 8 | +51 | +35 | +42 |E. E.S.E. E. | 3-5-1 9 | +48.7 | +32.3 | +38.7 |N. Vble. E. | 5-2 10 | +41 | +35 | +37.17 |E.S.E. | 5-6 11 | +36 | +33 | +34.5 |E. by N. Calm. | 4-3-0 12 | +39.3 | +35 | +36.7 |N. N. by E. | 3-5-6 13 | +38 | +33.5 | +35.6 |N. by W. N. | 8-9 14 | +38 | +33.7 | +35.23 |N. | 9 15 | +42.5 | +34 | +37.2 |N. by W. | 9-10 16 | +39 | +35.3 | +37.7 |N. Calm. |10-7-0 17 | +46 | +36 | +42.5 |N.N.W. W. by N. | 8-5-3 18 | +43 | +35 | +39.5 |Vble. Calm. | 3-4-0 19 | +47.3 | +36 | +41.6 |N.W. | 5-6-3 20 | +55.5 | +41 | +46.9 |N.N.W. N.W. Calm. | 3-5-0 21 | +57 | +44 | +49.17 |N. Vble. N.N.W. | 4-1-3 22 | +47 | +40 | +42.5 |Calm. N.N.W. | 0-6-5 23 | +49.3 | +38.5 | +43.26 |N.N.W. N. N. by W. | 8-7-8 24 | +48 | +36.5 | +41.9 |N. N.W. by N. | 9-7-3 25 | +52 | +36 | +43.16 |N.W. Calm. | 6-4-0 26 | +43 | +38 | +40.2 |S.S.E. E.S.E. E. | 2-6 27 | +51.5 | +40 | +44.17 |N.E. Calm. | 5-3-0 28 | +60 | +45 | +51.8 |W. W.N.W. W. by S. | 2-3-2 29 | +53.5 | +47 | +50.2 |N. | 4-3-1 30 | +55 | +38.3 | +46.6 |W. by N. N. | 4-8-10 31 | +48 | +37.5 | +42.5 |N. by W. | 3-8-5 | | +----------+ | | | | 1285.4 | | | | +----------+ | | | | +41.46 | | ----+----------------------+-------------------------------------------- Day | Barometer and | of | Thermometer | Mon.| attached. | Remarks on the Weather, &c. +----------+-----------+ | _Barom._ | _Thermo._ | ----+----------+-----------+-------------------------------------------- 1 | 29.786 | +39.83 | b. c. p.s. a little frost during the night. 2 | 29.838 | +35.5 | b. c. 3 | 29.986 | +46 | b. c. a beautiful night. 4 | 29.864 | +40.3 | o. p. o. f. p. r. o. sleet. 5 | 30.015 | +43 | b. c. 6 | 30.124 | +42 | b. c. b. c. q. Ther. at midnight +35°; coat | | | of ice on pools where there is snow. 7 | 30.216 | +49.5 | b. c. 8 | 30.185 | +46 | b. c. 9 | 30.216 | +40.3 | o. b. c. o. 10 | 30.024 | +42 | o. b. c. o. 11 | 29.828 | +42 | p. r. f. o. f. w. o. Heavy rain during | | | the night; wet fog and showers of rain. 12 | 29.802 | +40 | o. f. p. r. o. w. f. 13 | 29.938 | +39 | o. f. p. r. o. f. o. p. r. q. 14 | 29.968 | +41.3 | r. o. b. c. o. 15 | 29.905 | +41.7 | o. b. c. o. r. A great quantity of water | | | coming down N. Pole River this morning; | | | sleet. 16 | 29.865 | +44.2 | p. w. s. q. o. s. b. c. Snow showers all | | | night; ther. at 6 p.m. +45°. 17 | 29.902 | +47.2 | o. b. c. at 5 p.m. Ther. at +54°. 18 | | | b. c. b. c. o. 19 | 29.716 | +48 | b. c. q. 20 | 29.714 | +56 | b. c. 21 | 29.776 | +54.5 | b. c. 22 | 29.794 | +46.5 | o. b. c. p. r. b. c. 23 | 29.791 | +46 | d. r. b. c. p. r. b. c. 24 | 29.858 | +45.5 | b. c. 25 | 29.967 | +53 | b. c. 26 | 29.815 | +47.2 | b. c. b. c. q. 27 | 29.917 | +49 | b. c. 28 | 30.038 | +53.5 | b. c. 29 | 30.113 | +56.8 | b. c. 30 | 30.017 | +49 | b. c. p.r. The barometer fell some | | | hundredths lower than when registered at | | | 6 A.M., but immediately began to rise as | | | soon as the wind changed to the north. 31 | 30.102 | +51.5 | b. c. FORT HOPE, REPULSE BAY. -- _Abstract of Meteorological Journal for August, 1847._ ------+-----------------------------------+------------------------ Day | Temperature of the Atmosphere | of | taken three times in | Prevailing Winds. the | twenty-four hours. | onth. +------------+-----------+----------+--------------+--------- | _Highest._ | _Lowest._ | _Mean._ | _Direction._ | _Force._ ------+------------+-----------+----------+--------------+--------- | _deg.m._ | _deg.m._ | _deg.m._ | | 1 | +52 | +40 | +44.8 | N. | 4-6-3 2 | +56 | +40 | +47.7 | N.N.W. | 6-2-1 3 | +49 | +44.5 | +46.2 | N.W. N.N.W. | 6-7-5 4 | +41 | +34.7 | +36.9 | N.N.W. N. | 9-8 5 | +54 | +34 | +62.5 | N. N. by W. | 7-6-3 6 | +50 | +46.5 | +49.8 | Vble. W.S.W. | 3 7 | +59.3 | +43.5 | +49.3 | S.W. Calm. | 4-5-0 8 | +49.5 | +42 | +45.5 | Vble. N.W. | 1-2-6 9 | +44.5 | +37 | +39.83 | N. N.W. | 8-6-4 10 | +37.5 | +35 | | N. | 9-10-8 ----+----------------------+-------------------------------------------- Day| Barometer and | of | Thermometer | the| attached. | Remarks on the Weather, &c. mont+----------+-----------+ | _Barom._ | _Thermo._ | ----+----------+-----------+-------------------------------------------- 1 | 30.054 | +56 | b. c. 2 | 30.057 | +56.5 | b. c. 3 | 30.051 | +48.5 | b. c. q. p. r.; at 5 P.M. a heavy squall | | | and showers of rain. 4 | 29.93 | +41.5 | b. c. q. p. s. 5 | 30.169 | +46.5 | b. c.; frost last night. 6 | 30.124 | +54 | b. c. Ther. at 5 P.M. +62°--; all the large | | | and deep lakes still covered with ice. 7 | 30.035 | +61 | b. c. q. 8 | 29.806 | +54 | o. p. r. 9 | 29.882 | +47 | b. c. q. 10 | 29.732 | +43 | o. r. s. s. b. c. _Figures and Letters used for denoting the state of the Weather and the force of the Wind, as recommended by Captain (now Admiral) Beaufort._ 0--Calm. 1--Light air. 2--Light breeze. 3--Gentle breeze. 4--Moderate breeze. 5--Fresh breeze. 6--Strong breeze. 7--Moderate gale. 8--Fresh gale. 9--Strong gale. 10--Whole gale. 11--Storm. 12--Hurricane. b.--Blue sky. c.--Cloudy. d.--Drizzling rain. f.--Foggy. g.--Gloomy dark weather. h.--Hail l.--Lightning m.--Misty hazy atmosphere. o.--Overcast. p.--Passing temporary showers. q.--Squally. r.--Rain--continued rain. s.--Snow. t.--Thunder. u.--Ugly, threatening appearance of the weather. v.--Visibility of distant objects whether the sky be cloudy or not. w.--Wet dew. . --Under any letter indicates an extraordinary degree. MARCHANT SINGER & CO., PRINTERS, INGRAM-COURT, FENCHURCH-STREET LIBRARY OF AUSTRALIAN TRAVELS, &c. PUBLISHED BY T. AND W. BOONE, 29, NEW BOND STREET. Now ready, in 2 vols. 8vo. with numerous Plates, some coloured, NARRATIVE OF AN EXPEDITION INTO CENTRAL AUSTRALIA, BY ORDER OF HER MAJESTY'S GOVERNMENT, DURING THE YEARS 1844, 5, 6, With Notices of the Colony of South Australia. BY CAPTAIN CHARLES STURT, LATE 39TH REGT. COLONIAL TREASURER, AND AUTHOR OF "TWO EXPEDITIONS INTO SOUTHERN AUSTRALIA." The character of the far Interior of Australia had long been a most interesting geographical problem, many imagining the centre to be occupied by a large inland sea, others conjecturing that it was an arid desert, which opinion was further strengthened by Mr. Eyre's unsuccessful endeavour to penetrate higher than the 29th degree of latitude in his expedition during the years 1840 and 1. Captain Sturt, so appropriately denominated the "Father of Australian Discovery," in consequence of being the first traveller to explore the rivers Murray, Murrumbidgee, Bogan, and Castlereagh, volunteered to conduct a party into the interior to determine this important question. With the approbation of Lord Stanley, the Colonial Minister, he accordingly started in the year 1844, and, after a series of unparalleled privations, succeeded in reaching the centre of the Continent in a line direct north of Adelaide. The journal of this perilous Expedition gives an account of the remarkable Stony Desert, the bed of Lake Torrens, descriptions of the Natives and their villages, and the discovery of several small rivers, &c.; added to which, his observations and collections on the Natural History have since been arranged by R. Brown, Esq. and J. Gould, Esq. in the form of an Appendix. "The details of this romantic and perilous Expedition are replete with interest. From the numerous and lengthened expeditions he has undertaken, and the general intelligence and scientific skill he brings to bear upon the question, we know of no recent traveller in Australia whose opinions are entitled to more weight.--The portion of the work which refers to the Colony of South Australia is particularly valuable to intending emigrants."--_Morning Herald._ JOURNALS OF EXPEDITIONS OF DISCOVERY IN NORTH-WEST AND WESTERN AUSTRALIA, DURING THE YEARS 1837, 1838, and 1839, Under the Authority of her Majesty's Government. With Observations on the Agricultural and Commercial Capabilities and Prospects of several newly-explored fertile Regions, including AUSTRALIND, and on the Moral and Physical Condition of the Aboriginal Inhabitants, &c. &c. BY GEORGE GREY, ESQ., LATE CAPTAIN 83RD REGT. FORMERLY GOVERNOR OF SOUTH AUSTRALIA, NOW GOVERNOR OF NEW ZEALAND. _With Two large Maps by J. Arrowsmith, and numerous Illustrations, some coloured, in 2 vols. 8vo._ "It is not with the slightest hope of satisfying curiosity, or to anticipate the interest which the public in general, and geographers especially, always feel in enterprises of this nature, but merely to give such a sketch of the principal features of the expedition us may serve to direct those who are desirous of obtaining information respecting a portion of this remarkable country--hitherto only visited by Tasman, Dampier, Baudin, and King, and never before, we believe, penetrated by an European--to look forward to the detailed journals of the spirited officers who had the conduct of the expedition." --_From Geographical Transactions._ A great portion of the country described in this Journal has never before been visited by any European. The Eastern coast of Short's Bay was for the first time seen and explored during the progress of these expeditions. "We have rarely seen a more interesting book; it is full of splendid description and startling personal adventure; written in a plain, manly, unaffected style."--_Examiner._ "It is impossible to have perused these highly interesting and important volumes without being inspired with feelings of warm admiration for the indomitable perseverance and heroical self-devotion of their gallant and enterprising author. Setting aside the vastly important results of Captain Grey's several expeditions, it is hardly possible to conceive narratives of more stirring interest than those of which his volumes are for the most part composed."--_United Service Gazette._ "We have not read such a work of Travels for many years; it unites the interest of a romance with the permanent qualities of an historical and scientific treatise."--_Atlas._ "We recommend our readers to the volumes of Captain Grey, assuring them they will derive both amusement and instruction from the perusal."--_Times._ "This is a work deserving high praise. As a book of Travels it is one of the most interesting we remember to have met with."--_Westminster Review._ "A book which should be in every lending library and book-club." --_Englishman's Magazine._ "The contents of these interesting volumes will richly repay an attentive perusal." --_Emigration Gazette._ "These narratives are replete with interest, and blend information and amusement in a very happy manner."--_Australian Magazine._ Just published, in 1 vol. 8vo. with Plates and Woodcuts, JOURNAL OF AN OVERLAND EXPEDITION IN AUSTRALIA, FROM MORETON BAY TO PORT ESSINGTON. _A distance of upwards of 3000 miles._ BY DR. LUDWIG LEICHHARDT. N.B. A large 3 sheet Map of the Route by J. Arrowsmith is published, and to be had separately in a Case, price 9_s._ OPINIONS OF THE PRESS. "A work of unquestionable merit and utility, and its author's name will justly stand high upon the honourable list of able and enterprising men, whose courage, perseverance, and literary abilities have contributed so largely to our knowledge of the geography and productions of our distant southern colonies."--_Blackwood's Mag._ "For the courage with which this lengthened and perilous journey was undertaken, the skill with which it was directed, and the perseverance with which it was performed, it is almost unrivalled in the annals of exploring enterprise. It richly deserves attention."--_Britannia._ "The narrative in which he relates the results of this remarkable journey, and the extraordinary fatigues and privations endured by himself and his fellow travellers, is not merely valuable for its facts, but full of absorbing interest as a journal of perilous adventures."--_Atlas._ "The volume before us comprises the narrative of one of the most remarkable enterprises ever planned by man's sagacity and executed by man's courage and endurance. To our minds there is in every point of view an inexpressible charm in such a book as this. It not merely narrates to us the opening of a new material world for human enterprise and scientific investigation, but it makes more clearly known to us the wondrous powers and capacities of human nature. We recommend it to our readers as a work scarcely less remarkable for the extraordinary enterprise recorded in it, than for the simplicity and modesty with which it is related."--_Morning Herald._ "The result of his enterprise was thoroughly successful. It has added not a little to our existing stock of knowledge in the various departments of natural history, and has made discovery in districts before untrodden, of an almost boundless extent of fertile country."--_Examiner._ "The most striking feature in the expedition is its successful accomplishment, which is of itself sufficient to place Dr. L. in the first rank of travellers. How much Dr. L. has added to geographical discovery can only be felt by an examination of the admirable maps which accompany the volume. These have been deduced on a large scale from the traveller's sketches by Mr. Arrowsmith, and engraved with a distinctness of execution, and a brief fulness of descriptive remark which leave nothing to be desired."--_Spectator._ _Lately published, in 2 vols. 8vo. cloth, with 8 Maps and Charts, and 57 Illustrations_ BY COMMAND OF THE LORDS COMMISSIONERS OF THE ADMIRALTY. DISCOVERIES IN AUSTRALIA OF THE VICTORIA, ADELAIDE, ALBERT, AND FITZROY RIVERS, AND EXPEDITIONS INTO THE INTERIOR; DURING THE VOYAGE OF H.M.S. BEAGLE, BETWEEN THE YEARS 1837 AND 1843: ALSO A NARRATIVE OF THE VISITS OF H.M.S. BRITOMART, COMMANDER OWEN STANLEY, R.N., F.R.S. _TO THE ISLANDS IN THE ARAFURA SEA_. BY CAPT. J. LORT STOKES, R.N. "The whole narrative is so captivating, that we expect to find the work as much in demand at circulating libraries as at institutions of graver pretensions."--_Colon. Gaz._ "We have to thank Capt. Stokes for a most valuable work, one that will place his name by the side of Vancouver, Tasman, Dampier, and Cook."--_New Quar. Review._ "The science of Navigation owes a deep debt to Captain Stokes. The information contained in the present volumes must render them an invaluable companion to any ship performing a voyage to that part of the world."--_Foreign Quarterly Review._ "Every part of it is full of matter, both for the general and scientific reader. With the acts of throwing the lead, taking angles, &c. lively anecdotes and pleasing ideas are constantly associated, so that we very much doubt whether any reader will lay aside the book, large as it is, without regret. In some parts you have all the breathless excitement of a voyage of discovery, and sail up new rivers, and explore new lands, while elsewhere your thoughts are directed to the tracks of commerce and political speculation. Altogether the work is a charming specimen of nautical literature, written in a pure, flexible, terse, and elegant style, and bespeaks everywhere in the author a mind endued with very high moral and intellectual qualities."--_Fraser's Mag._ "While these volumes must prove of great value to the maritime profession, to the geographer, and to emigrants, they cannot fail to be perused with interest by readers in general."--_Athenæum._ "We cannot, in noticing these two ably written and interesting volumes, insist too strongly upon their importance alike to the mariner, the geographer, and the general reader. The author is a man of considerable merit, a shrewd observer of men and things, and who was fitted by nature and inclination to conduct these researches into the vast unknown continent whither he proceeded with enterprise and spirit. These volumes contain a fund of interesting matter, and we warmly recommend this valuable addition to our literary and scientific stores to the attention of the public."--_Sentinel._ "The contents of these volumes, rich, varied and full of interest, will be their best recommendation. For scientific accuracy, they will be highly valued by the geographer and navigator, while they will be read for mere amusement by the public at large."--_Sunday Times._ THE EASTERN ARCHIPELAGO. _By Permission of the Lords Commissioners of the Admiralty._ Now ready, in 2 vols. 8vo. with numerous Maps, Plates, and Woodcuts, NARRATIVE OF THE SURVEYING VOYAGE OF H.M.S. FLY, UNDER THE COMMAND OF CAPTAIN BLACKWOOD, R. N. IN TORRES STRAIT, NEW GUINEA, AND OTHER ISLANDS IN THE EASTERN ARCHIPELAGO; TOGETHER WITH AN EXCURSION INTO THE INTERIOR OF THE EASTERN PART OF THE ISLAND OF JAVA, DURING THE YEARS 1842 TO 1846. BY J. BEETE JUKES, M. A. NATURALIST TO THE EXPEDITION. OPINIONS OF THE PRESS. "We must congratulate Mr. Jukes on the value of his publication. Scientific without being abstruse, and picturesque without being extravagant, he has made his volumes a striking and graceful addition to our knowledge of countries highly interesting in themselves, and assuming hourly importance in the eyes of the people of England."--_Blackwood's Magazine._ "To transcribe the title-page of this book is sufficient to attract public curiosity towards it--to peruse the book itself is to be rewarded with the knowledge of a mass of information in which complete confidence can be reposed, for, from the first page to the last, it is apparent that the main object with Mr. Jukes is to tell all that he knows and believes to be true, rather than to win favour from his readers by his manner of telling it. There is not a pretty phrase, an exaggeration, nor an invention in the two volumes of Mr. Jukes; all is plain unadorned fact, and because it is so, is deserving, not merely of perusal, but of study. Such are the recommendations of Mr. Jukes' pages to the public, and all who desire to see truth united with novelty will peruse them."--_Morning Herald._ "Mr. Jukes has been most judicious in his selection of topics whereon to dwell in his narrative, and he describes with great vivacity and picturesque power. There is much novelty and freshness in his book, and much valuable information."--_Daily News._ "There are very few pages in the work which are not readable and entertaining."--_Morning Post._ "Captain Blackwood having waived his right of authorship, the narrative of the voyage has been undertaken by Mr. Jukes, favourably known by an agreeable and informing book on Newfoundland, nor will the present work detract from his reputation. The narrative is well planned, pleasantly written, and full of matter."--_Spectator._ "A great deal was seen, and Geography, Topography, Geology, Natural History, Ethnology, Philology, and Commerce may all be benefited by the work before us."--_Literary Gazette._ "Mr. Jukes has performed his portion of the work with great ability, sparing no pains in the working up of his abundant material, so as to make it a book of science, as well as a book of amusement."--_Critic._ "Although a professed man of science, he has described what he saw in a lucid and untechnical manner, so that his work will be found interesting to the ordinary reader, while it is equally valuable to the scientific. The amount of information conveyed is very great."--_Midland Herald._ In 3 vols. 8vo. with Maps and numerous Plates, JOURNALS OF EXPEDITIONS OF DISCOVERY INTO CENTRAL AUSTRALIA, AND OVERLAND FROM ADELAIDE TO KING GEORGE'S SOUND, IN THE YEARS 1840-1; _Sent by the Colonists of South Australia_, WITH THE SANCTION AND SUPPORT OF THE GOVERNMENT: INCLUDING An Account of the Manners and Customs of the Aborigines, and the state of their relations with Europeans. BY EDWARD JOHN EYRE, RESIDENT MAGISTRATE, MURRAY RIVER, NOW LIEUT.-GOVERNOR OF NEW ZEALAND. *** _The Founder's Medal of the Royal Geographical Society was awarded to Mr. Eyre for the discovery of Lake Torrens, and explorations of far greater extent in Australia than any other traveller, a large portion never having been previously traversed by civilized man._ "His narrative of what he did and overcame, is more like the stirring stories of Park and Bruce than the tame and bookish diffuseness of modern travellers. Nothing short of a perusal of the volumes can enable our readers to appreciate this book."--_Spectator._ "We might easily extract much more from Mr. Eyre's volumes of interest to the reader, but our limits circumscribe us. We therefore bid farewell to them, with the recommendation to the public, not to overlook a work which, though it records the failure of a great enterprize, is yet full of matter, which proclaims it of value."--_Atlas._ "Mr. Eyre writes with the plain unaffected earnestness of the best of the old travellers."--_Examiner._ "An intensely interesting book."--_Tablet._ "We must now close these interesting volumes, not, however, without expressing our high approval both of the matter they contain, and of the manner of their compilation. We rise from the perusal of them with a feeling similar to that which follows the enjoyment of a pleasant work of fiction."--_Critic._ In 1 vol. 8vo. cloth, with large Map by Arrowsmith, and numerous Illustrations, SOUTH AUSTRALIA AND ITS MINES, _With an Historical Sketch of the Colony, under its several Administrations, to the Period of Captain Grey's Departure_. BY FRANCIS DUTTON. "The best work which has yet issued from the press, descriptive of the resources and management of this thriving colony."--_Mining Journal._ "We have here a well-timed book. South Australia and Its Mines are now objects of great interest; and Mr. Dutton's plain, unadorned recital, contains just what the intending emigrant, or the mercantile inquirer, will rejoice at having placed within his reach."--_Colonial Gazette._ COLONIZATION; PARTICULARLY IN SOUTHERN AUSTRALIA, WITH SOME REMARKS ON SMALL FARMS AND OVER POPULATION. BY MAJOR-GENERAL SIR CHARLES JAMES NAPIER, K.C.B. Author of "The Colonies; particularly the Ionian Islands" In 1 vol. 8vo. price 7_s._ boards. "We earnestly recommend the book to all who feel an interest in the welfare of the people."--_Sun._ _In 1 vol. post 8vo. price 5s. 6d._ HINTS FOR AUSTRALIAN EMIGRANTS, WITH ENGRAVINGS AND EXPLANATORY DESCRIPTIONS OF THE WATER RAISING WHEELS, AND MODES OF IRRIGATING LAND IN SYRIA, EGYPT, SOUTH AMERICA, ETC. BY PETER CUNNINGHAM, SURGEON, R.N. _Author of "Two Years in New South Wales," &c._ "The mere name of Mr. Cunningham affords an ample guarantee for the value of any work to which it may be prefixed; and, "to all whom it may concern," we can confidently recommend this remarkably neat little volume as replete with practical information. Its numerous illustrative engravings in wood are executed in a very superior style."--_Naval and Military Gazette, October 23rd, 1841._ In 1 vol. 8vo. Map and Plates, cloth, price 12_s._ AUSTRALIA, FROM PORT MACQUARIE TO MORETON BAY, WITH _Descriptions of the Natives, their Manners and Customs, the Geology, Natural Productions, Fertility, and Resources of that Region_. First explored and surveyed by order of the Colonial Government. BY CLEMENT HODGKINSON. "The work before our consideration contains certain details connected with the portion of Australia, described in it, which will prove of first-rate importance to the colonist and emigrant, since they are evidently derived from practical experience. Throughout this unpretending little work we trace great honesty of purpose, and a disposition to state no more than the bare facts as they presented themselves."--_New Quarterly Review._ _Just published, in 2 vols. 8vo. with a large Map_, AN HISTORICAL, POLITICAL, AND STATISTICAL ACCOUNT OF THE ISLAND OF CEYLON. BY CHARLES PRIDHAM, ESQ. AUTHOR OF "THE MAURITIUS AND ITS DEPENDENCIES." "----All these events will be found fully set forth in the volumes under notice, which are certainly far superior as a history of Ceylon to any other that has yet appeared. The reader will also find in these pages curious and original information respecting the habits, manners and customs of the Cingalese, which he may look for in vain in similar publications. Every portion of this valuable work teems with information of a precise and important character."--_Observer._ "Those who seek information on the subject of Ceylon, will find his book a great storehouse of facts."--_Economist._ JUST PUBLISHED, A SERIES OF TEN COLOURED VIEWS, TAKEN DURING THE ARCTIC EXPEDITION OF HER MAJESTY'S SHIPS ENTERPRISE and INVESTIGATOR, UNDER THE COMMAND OF CAPTN. SIR JAMES C. ROSS, KT. F. R. S., IN SEARCH OF CAPTN. SIR JOHN FRANKLIN, KT. K.C.H., =Drawn by Lieut. W. H. BROWNE=, R.N. LATE OF H. M. S. ENTERPRISE, With a Summary of the Arctic Expeditions in search of Sir John Franklin. Dedicated, by Special Permission, TO THE LORDS COMMISSIONERS OF THE ADMIRALTY. Price, in a Cover 16s. Handsomely bound 21s. LONDON. ACKERMANN & CO., 96, STRAND, By Appointment to H. M. THE QUEEN, H. R. H. PRINCE ALBERT, H. R. H. THE DUCHESS OF KENT, and the ROYAL FAMILY. OPINIONS OF THE PRESS. ----The extreme interest evinced by the public would be likely to secure a welcome for these views if their execution had been less felicitous than it is. The Party arriving at the Southern Depôt is fearfully grand.----ATHEN�UM. ----Such are these ten extraordinary views; revealing scenes which are enough to appal the stoutest hearts. We seem to ask of these mountains of thick-ribbed ice "are our countrymen hidden from us by your fantastic forms?" &c.----LITERARY GAZETTE. ----We do not remember ever being so powerfully impressed with the sublimity of portfolio drawings as with some of these views of the _icy Polar Regions_ of the trackless North.----UNITED SERVICE GAZETTE. ----We do not speak of it as a work of art merely, but of the evident truth of delineation, of local colouring, and atmospheric effects.----GLOBE. ----This is a work which will no doubt meet with general patronage--giving a vivid idea of the frozen regions.----BELL'S LIFE. ----Ten of the most interesting views which scenery can furnish.----ATLAS. ----Perhaps the most attractive, as well as most effective, is _Noon in Mid-Winter_, and conveys the most solemn notions of the _Polar Regions_. This portfolio is the novelty of the season.----CRITIC. [Illustration: DISCOVERIES OF THE HON^{BLE}. HUDSON'S BAY CO^S. ARCTIC EXPEDITION TO THE NORTH OF REPULSE BAY; Conducted by JOHN RAE ESQ^R. 1846 & 1847; Shewing in connection, the Discoveries made by PARRY, ROSS, BACK, & the Hon^{ble}. Company's Expedition Conducted by DEASE & SIMPSON 1838-1839. _Adjusted & Drawn by_ John Arrowsmith _London, Pub^d. Jan^y. 1^{st}. 1848, by John Arrowsmith, 10 Soho Square._ _Discoveries of The Hon^{ble}. Hudson's Bay Co^s. Expeditions are Col^d._ _Red_ _D^o._ _of Sir Edward Parry_ _Purple_ _D^o._ _of Sir John Ross_ _Yellow_ _D^o._ _of Sir George Back_ _Green_] * * * * * * Transcriber's note: Obvious punctuation errors were corrected. Hyphen removed: a[-]head (p. 25), along[-]shore (p. 11), lime[-]stone (pp. 107, 127). Hyphen added: snow[-]drift (pp. 160, 166). The following words appear with and without hyphens with similar frequency and have not been changed: Chief[-]Factor, day[-]light, foot[-]marks, in[-]doors, rein[-]deer. Native names have not been changed and appear with inconsistent hyphenation. Chapter V contents: "North-pole" changed to "North Pole". Pp. vi, 61: "chace" changed to "chase" (Produce of the chase). P. viii: "CHAP. VIII" changed to "CHAPTER VIII". P. 11: "Canada mithatch" changed to "Canada nuthatch". P. 17: "excursons" changed to "excursions" (by making excursions). P. 30: "direcrection" changed to "direction" (east and west direction). P. 66: "Ivitchuck" changed to "Ivitchuk". P. 68: "lide" changed to "line" (line of declination). P. 113: added "to" (next to my skin). P. 136: "threugh" changed to "through" (the late journey safety through). P. 163: "dissappeared" changed to "disappeared" (in many places, entirely disappeared). P. 201: "fluffly" changed to "fluffy" (much shorter and less fluffy). P. 202: "Seiurius" changed to "Seiurus". P. 209: "p." inserted before "200" in item 56. Pp. 218-223: The table entitled "Dip of the needle and force of magnetic attraction..." was reformatted and abbreviations were used to fit within a reasonable width. Pp. 224-247: Each pair of pages is one table but the two pages are presented one after the other. An additional column with the days of the month has been added to the second page of each pair. P. 231: "Speculæ" changed to "Spiculæ" (Spiculæ of snow falling). P. 235: The digits in the seventh entry are missing. P. 239: word following "colourless" is missing. Ad p. 4: "57 Illustration" changed to "57 Illustrations". Ad p. 5: "thau" changed to "than" (rather than to win favour). 
44072	----	[Illustration: WHITE BEAR LAKE.] THE SEAT OF EMPIRE. BY CHARLES CARLETON COFFIN, "CARLETON." "I now believe that the ultimate last seat of government on this great continent will be found somewhere within a circle or radius not very far from the spot on which I stand, at the head of navigation on the Mississippi River." W. H. SEWARD, _Speech at St. Paul, 1860_. [Illustration] BOSTON: FIELDS, OSGOOD, & CO. 1870. Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1870, by CHARLES CARLETON COFFIN, in the Clerk's Office of the District Court for the District of Massachusetts. UNIVERSITY PRESS: WELCH, BIGELOW, & CO., CAMBRIDGE. TO JOHN GREGORY SMITH, _GOVERNOR OF VERMONT DURING THE REBELLION_, WHOM I FIRST SAW TENDERLY CARING FOR THE SICK AND WOUNDED IN THE HOSPITALS OF FREDERICKSBURG, AND THROUGH WHOSE ENERGY AND PERSEVERANCE ONE OF THE GREATEST ENTERPRISES OF THE PRESENT CENTURY HAS BEEN SUCCESSFULLY INAUGURATED, ~This Volume~ IS AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED. CONTENTS. CHAPTER I. FROM CHICAGO TO MINNEAPOLIS. PAGE Cutting loose from Care.--Map of the Northwest.--Leaving Chicago.--Fourth of July.--At La Crosse.--Dance on a Steamboat.--Up the Mississippi.--The Boundaries of Minnesota.--Winona.--St. Paul.--Minneapolis.--The Father of Waters in Harness 1 CHAPTER II. ST. CLOUD AND BEYOND. St. Cloud.--Our Party.--First Night in Camp.--A Midnight Thunder-Storm.--Sunday in Camp.--Up the Sauk Valley.-- White Bear Lake.--Catching a Turtle.--Lightning Lake.-- Second Sabbath in Camp.--The River Systems of the Northwest --Elevations across the Continent.--The Future 25 CHAPTER III. THE RED RIVER COUNTRY. Down the Valley of the Red River.--Breckenridge.--Fort Abercrombie.--Climate.--Winters at Winnipeg.--Burlington. --The Emigrant.--Father Genin.--Mackenzie.--Harman.--Sir John Richardson.--Captain Palliser.--Father De Smet.-- Winters on the Saskatchawan.--Snow-Fall 51 CHAPTER IV. THE EMPIRE OF THE NORTHWEST. Winnipeggers.--Ride over the Prairie.--Dakota City.-- Georgetown.--Hudson Bay Company Teams.--Parting with our Friends.--The 43d Parallel.--Dakota.--Wyoming.-- Montana.--Idaho.--Oregon.--Washington.--British Columbia. --Distances.--Fisheries of the Pacific.--Mr. Seward's Speech 77 CHAPTER V. THE FRONTIER. Bottineau.--The Leaf Hills.--A Ride over the Plain.--The Park Region.--Settlers.--How they kept the Fourth of July.--Chippewa Indians.--Rush Lake.--A Serenade on the Prairie.--German Pioneers.--Otter-Tail Lake 109 CHAPTER VI. ROUND THE CAMP-FIRE. Noon Lunch.--Toasting Pork.--A Montana Dutchman.--Emigrant Trains.--Camping at Night--Wheat of Minnesota.--The State in 1849.--A Word to Young Men.--Boys once more.--Our Last Camp-Fire 123 CHAPTER VII. IN THE FOREST. Down-Easters.--The Eden of Lumbermen.--Country East of the Mississippi.--The Climate of the Forest Region.--White Bear Lake.--Travellers from Duluth.--A Maine Farmer in Minnesota.--Chengwatona.--Pitching of the Mud-Wagon.-- Grindstone.--Kettle River.--Superior 137 CHAPTER VIII. DULUTH. Duluth.--Minnesota Point.--The Projected Breakwater.-- Comparison with the Suez Canal.--The Town.--Period of Navigation.--The Lake Superior and Mississippi Railroad. --Transportation.--Elevators.--St. Louis River.--Minnesota Slate Quarry.--An Indian Chief and his Followers.-- Railroad Lands.--Manufacturing Industry.--Terms of the Railroad Company 164 CHAPTER IX. THE MINING REGION. The Apostle Islands.--Bayfield.--The Harbor.--Breakfast with Captain Vaughn.--Ashland.--Big Trout.--Ontonagon.-- Approach to Marquette.--The Harbor.--The Town.--Discovery of Iron Ore.--Mining Companies.--Varieties of Ore.--The Miners.--The Coming Years 169 CHAPTER X. A FAMILIAR TALK. A Talk about the Northwest.--Mr. Blotter.--He wants a Farm.--Government Lands.--Homestead Law of Minnesota.-- Exemption Laws.--The St. Paul and Pacific Railroad.-- Liberal Terms of Payment.--Stock-Raising.--Robbing Mother Earth.--Native Grasses.--Fruit.--Small Grains.-- Productions of the State, 1869.--Schools.--When to Emigrate.--Prospective Development.--The Tide of Emigration 186 CHAPTER XI. NORTHERN PACIFIC RAILROAD. How Communities grow.--Humboldt.--What I saw in 1846.-- The Pacific Coast.--River-Systems.--Lewis and Clark.-- Jeff Davis.--Charter of the Company.--The Projectors.-- The Line.--From Lake Superior to the Mississippi.--To the Rocky Mountains.--Deer Lodge Pass.--The Western Slope.--Mr. Roberts's Report.--Snow Blockades.-- Elevations.--Power of Locomotives.--Bureau of Emigration.--Portable Houses.--Help to Emigrants.-- The Future 207 THE SEAT OF EMPIRE. CHAPTER I. FROM CHICAGO TO MINNEAPOLIS. Last summer I cut loose from all care, and enjoyed a few weeks of freedom and recreation with a party of gentlemen on the frontier between Lake Superior and the Missouri River. I was charmed by the beauty of the country, amazed at its resources, and favorably impressed by its probable future. Its attractions were set forth in a series of letters contributed to the Boston Journal. People from every Eastern State, as well as from New York and the British Provinces, have called upon me since my return, for the purpose of "having a talk about the Northwest," while others have applied by letter for additional or specific information, and others still have requested a republication of the letters. In response to these calls this small volume has been prepared, setting forth the physical features of the vast reach of country lying between the Lakes and the Pacific, not only in the United States, but in British America as well. The most trustworthy accounts of persons who have lived there, as well as of engineers who have been sent out by the United States, British, and Canadian governments, have been collated, that those seeking a home in Minnesota or Dakota may know what sort of a country lies beyond, and what will be its probable future. The map accompanying the volume has been prepared for the most part by the Bureau of the United States Topographical Engineers. It gives me pleasure to acknowledge my indebtedness to Major-General Humphreys, in charge of the Bureau, and to Colonel Woodruffe, in charge of the map department, for permission to use the same. Through their courtesy I am enabled to place before the public the most complete map ever published of the country between the 36th and 55th parallel, extending across the continent, and showing not only the entire railway system of the Eastern and Middle States, but also the Union Pacific Railroad and the Northern Pacific, now under construction. The figures followed by the letter T have reference to the elevation of the locality above tide-water, thus enabling the reader to obtain at a glance a comprehensive idea of the topographical as well as the geographical features of the country. "All aboard for the Northwest!" So shouted the stalwart porter of the Sherman House, Chicago, on the morning of the 5th of July, 1869. Giving heed to the call, we descended the steps of the hotel and entered an omnibus waiting at the door, that quickly whirled us to the depot of the Chicago and Northwestern Railroad. There were about a dozen gentlemen in the party, all bound for the Northwest, to explore a portion of the vast reach of country lying between Lake Superior and the great northern bend of the Missouri River. It was a pleasant, sunny, joyful morning. The anniversary of the nation's independence having fallen on the Sabbath, the celebration was observed on Monday, and the streets resounded with the explosion of fire-crackers. Americans, Germans, Norwegians, Irish, people of all nationalities, were celebrating the birthday of their adopted country. Not only in Chicago, but throughout the cosmopolitan State of Wisconsin, as we sped over its fertile prairies and through its towns and villages during the day, there was a repetition of the scene. Settlers from New England and the Middle States were having Sabbath-School, temperance, or civic celebrations; Irish societies were marching in procession, bearing green banners emblazoned with the shamrock, thistle, and harp of Erin; Germans were drinking lager beer, singing songs, and smoking their meerschaums. All work was laid aside, and all hands--farmers with their wives and daughters, young men with their sweethearts, children in crowds--were observing in their various ways the return of the holiday. Our route was by way of La Crosse, which we reached late in the evening. We were to go up the Mississippi on a steamer that lay moored to the bank. Its cabin was aglow with lights. Entering it, we found a party of ladies and gentlemen formed for a quadrille. They were the officers of the boat and their friends from the town. A negro with a bass-viol, and two Germans with violins, were tuning their instruments and rosining their bows. We were met upon the threshold by a rosy-cheeked damsel, who gleefully exclaimed,-- "O, yeau have arrived at the right moment! We are having a right good time, and we only want one more gentleman to make it go real good. Yeau'll dance neaw, won't ye? I want a partner. O, ye will neaw. I know ye will, and ye'll call off the changes tew, won't ye? Neaw dew." Not having a "light fantastic toe" on either foot, we were forced to say no to this lively La Crosse maiden; besides, we were tired and covered with dust, and in sad plight for the ball-room. A member of Congress was next appealed to, then a grave and dignified Doctor of Divinity. A more ungallant party than ours never stood on a Western steamboat. Governor, judge, parson, members of Congress, all shook their heads and resisted the enthusiastic lady. In vain she urged them, and the poor girl, with downcast countenance, turned from the obdurate Yankees, and sailed in gloriously with a youth who fortunately entered the cabin at the moment. It was a rare sight to see, for they danced with a will. They made the steamer shake from stem to stern. The glass lamps tinkled in their brass settings, and the doors of staterooms rattled on their hinges, especially when the largest gentleman of the party came to a shuffle. He is the Daniel Lambert of the Mississippi,--immense and gigantic, and having great development round the equator. Quadrille, cotillon, and waltz, and genuine western break-downs followed one after the other. There was plenty to eat and drink in the pantry. The first thing we heard in the evening was the tuning of the instruments; the last thing, as we dropped off to sleep, was the scraping of the violins and the shuffling of feet. We are awake in the morning in season to take a look at the place before the boat casts off from its mooring for a trip to Winona. A company of Norwegian emigrants that came with us on the train from Chicago are cooking their breakfast in and around the station. They sailed from Christiania for Quebec, and have been six weeks on the way. All ages are represented. It is a party made up of families. There are many light-haired maidens among them with deep blue eyes and blonde complexions; and robust young men with honest faces, who have bidden farewell forever to their old homes upon the fiords of Norway, and who henceforth are to be citizens of the United States. They will find immediate employment on the railroads of Minnesota, in the construction of new lines. They are not hired by the day, but small sections are let out to individuals, who receive a specified sum for every square yard of earth thrown up. There is no discussion of the eight-hour question among them. They work sixteen hours of their own accord, instead of haggling over eight. They have no time to engage in rows, nor do they find occasion. They have had a bare existence in their old home; life there was ever a struggle, the mere keeping together of soul and body, but here Hope leads them on. They are poor now, but a few years hence they will be well off in the world. They will have farms, nice houses, money in banks, government bonds, and railway stocks. They will obtain land at government price, will raise wheat, wool, or stock, and will soon find their land quadrupled in value. They will make excellent citizens. Their hearts are on the right side,--not physiologically, but morally, politically, and religiously speaking. They are ardent lovers of liberty; they cannot be trammelled by any shackles, political or ecclesiastical. They are frugal, industrious, and honest. Already there are several daily papers published in the Scandinavian language. The steamer is ploughing the Mississippi against the current northward. Wisconsin is on our right, Minnesota on our left; and while we are moving on toward the region of country which we are to visit, we may while away the time by thinking over the general characteristics of the State of Minnesota, in which our explorations are to commence. The southern boundary strikes the river twenty-two miles below La Crosse. If I were to go down there and turn my steps due west, I might walk two hundred and sixty-four miles along the Iowa line before reaching the southwestern corner of the State. The western side is the longest, and if I were to start from the southwestern corner and travel due north, I should have a journey of three hundred and sixty miles to accomplish before reaching the northern boundary,--the line between the United States and British America. Starting from Pembina, at the northwest corner of the State, on the Red River of the North, and travelling due east eighty miles, I should reach the Lake of the Woods; sailing across it sixty miles, then entering the river leading to Rainy Lake, I might pass through the wonderful water-way of lakes and rivers reaching to Lake Superior,--a distance of about four hundred miles. The eastern boundary formed by the Mississippi, St. Croix, and Lake Superior is more irregular. Its general outline, as we look at it upon the map, is that of a crescent, cutting into Minnesota, the horns turned eastward. The area within the boundaries thus described is estimated at 84,000 square miles, or 54,760,000 acres. It is a territory larger than Maine, New Hampshire, Vermont, Massachusetts, Rhode Island, and Connecticut combined. Here, upon the Mississippi, I gaze upon bluffs of gray limestone wrought into fantastic shape by the winds and storms of centuries and by the slow wearing of the river; but were I to climb them, and gain the general level of the country, I should behold rolling prairies dotted with lakes and ponds of pure water, and groves of oak and hickory. All of Minnesota east of the Mississippi is a timbered region. Here and there are openings; but, speaking in general terms, the entire country east of the river is a forest, which through the coming years will resound with the axe of the lumberman. When we go up the Mississippi eighty miles above St. Paul to St. Cloud, we shall find the Sauk River coming in from the west; and there the Mississippi is no longer the boundary of the timbered lands, but the forest reaches across the stream westward to Otter-Tail River, a distance of more than one hundred miles. The Sauk River is its southern boundary. All the region north of the Sauk, at the head-waters of the Mississippi and north of Lake Superior, is well supplied with timber. A belt of woods forty miles wide, starting from the Crow-Wing River, extends south nearly to the Iowa boundary. It is broken here and there by prairie openings and fertile meadows. The tract is known throughout the Northwest as the region of the "Big Woods." There are fringes of timber along the streams, so that the settler, wherever he may wish to make a home, will generally find material for building purposes within easy reach. In this respect Minnesota is one of the most favored States of the Union. The formations of the bluffs now and then remind us of old castles upon the Rhine. They are, upon an average, three hundred and fifty feet above the summer level of the river. We are far from the Gulf of Mexico, yet the river at St. Paul is only six hundred and seventy-six feet above tide-water. Northward of Minneapolis the bluffs disappear, and the surface of the river is but a few feet below the general level of the country, which is about one thousand feet above the sea. It is one of the remarkable topographical features of the continent, that from St. Paul to the Peace River, which empties into the Athabasca, the elevation is about the same, though the distance is more than one thousand miles. Throughout this great extent of territory, especially in Minnesota, are innumerable lakes and ponds of pure fresh water, some of them having no visible outlet or inlet, with pebbly shores and beaches of white sand, bordered by groves and parks of oak, ash, and maple, lending an indescribable charm to the beauty of the landscape. While we are making these observations the steamer is nearing Winona, a pleasant town, delightfully situated on a low prairie, elevated but a few feet above the river. The bluffs at this point recede, giving ample room for a town site with a ravine behind it. Nature has done a great deal for the place,--scooping out the ravine as if the sole purpose had been to make the construction of a railroad an easy matter. The Winona and St. Peter's Railway strikes out from the town over the prairie, winds through the ravine, and by easy grades gains the rolling country beyond. The road is nearly completed to the Minnesota River, one hundred and forty miles. It will eventually be extended to the western boundary of the State, and onward into Dakota. It is now owned by the Chicago and Northwestern Railway Company, and runs through the centre of the second tier of counties in the State. The Southern Minnesota Railroad starts from La Crosse, and runs west through the first tier of counties. It is already constructed half-way across the State, and will be pushed on, as civilization advances, to the Missouri. That is the objective point of all the lines of railway leading west from the Mississippi, and they will soon be there. This city of Winona fifteen years ago had about one hundred inhabitants. It was a place where steamers stopped to take wood and discharge a few packages of freight, but to-day it has a population of nine thousand. Looking out upon it from the promenade deck of the steamer, we see new buildings going up, and can hear the hammers and saws of the carpenters. It already contains thirteen churches and a Normal School with three hundred scholars, who are preparing to teach the children of the State, though the probabilities are that most of them will soon teach their own offspring instead of their neighbors'; for in the West young men are plenty, maidens scarce. Out here-- "There is no goose so gray but soon or late Will find some honest gander for her mate." Not so in the East, for the young men there are pushing west, and women are in the majority. It is a certainty that some of them will know more of single blessedness than of married life. If they would only come out here, the certainty would be the other way. Not stopping at Winona, but hastening on board the train, we fly over the prairie, up the ravine, and out through one of the most fertile sections of the great grain-field of the Northwest. The superintendent of the road, Mr. Stewart, accompanies our party, and we receive pleasure and profit by having a gentleman with us who is so thoroughly informed as he to point out the objects of interest along the way. By a winding road, now running under a high bluff where the limestone ledges overhang the track, now gliding over a high trestle-bridge from the northern to the southern side of the deep ravine, we gain at length the general table-land, and behold, reaching as far as the eye can see, fields of wheat. Fences are visible here and there, showing the division of farms; but there is scarcely a break in the sea of grain, in flower now, rippling and waving in the passing breeze. Farm-houses dot the landscape, and white cottages are embowered in surrounding groves, and here and there we detect a small patch of corn or an acre of potatoes,--small islands these in the great ocean of wheat reaching westward, northward, and southward. We are astonished when the train nears St. Charles, a town of two thousand inhabitants, looking marvellously like a New England village, to see a school-house just completed at a cost of $15,000! and still wider open we our eyes at Rochester, with a population of six thousand, where we behold a school-building that has cost $60,000! Upon inquiry we ascertain that the bulk of the population of these towns is from New England. A ride of about ninety miles brings us to Owatona, a town of about three thousand inhabitants. We are in Steele County. The little rivulets here meandering through the prairie and flowing southward reach the Mississippi only after crossing the State of Iowa, while those running northward join the Mississippi through the Minnesota River. Here, as at Rochester, we behold charming landscapes, immense fields of grain, groves of trees, snug cottages and farm-houses, and a thrifty town. Owatona has a school-house that cost the citizens $20,000; yet nine years ago the population of the entire county was only 2,862! The census of 1870 will probably make it 15,000. So civilization advances, not only here, but all through the Northwest, especially where there are railroad facilities. From Owatona we turn north and pass through Rice County, containing eighteen townships. It is one of the best-timbered counties west of the Mississippi; there are large tracts of oak, maple, butternut, walnut, poplar, elm, and boxwood. We glide through belts of timber where choppers are felling the trees for railroad ties, past fields where the industrious husbandman has turned the natural grasses of the prairie into blooming clover. At Faribault a company of Norwegians, recently arrived from their homes beyond the sea, and not having reached their journey's end, are cooking their supper near the station. To-morrow they will be pushing on westward to the grounds already purchased by the agent who has brought them out. In 1850 this entire county had only one hundred inhabitants; the census of next year will probably show a population of twenty-five thousand,--one half Americans, one sixth Germans, one ninth Irish, besides Norwegians, Swedes, and Canadians. Faribault has about four thousand inhabitants, who have laid excellent foundations for future growth. They have an Episcopal College, a High School for ladies, a Theological Seminary, a Deaf and Dumb Asylum, two Congregational churches, also one Baptist, one Methodist, and one Episcopal. They have excellent water-power on the Cannon River. Five flouring-mills have already been erected. Fourteen miles beyond this place we find Northfield with three thousand inhabitants, three fourths of them New-Englanders. Five churches and a college, two flouring-mills capable of turning out one hundred thousand barrels per annum, excellent schools, a go-ahead population, are the characteristics of this thoroughly wide-awake town. A mile or two beyond Northfield we enter Dakota County,--one of the most fertile in the State. It was one of the first settled, and in 1860 contained 9,058 inhabitants. Its present population is estimated at 20,000,--one third of them Irish, one third Americans, one quarter Germans, and the remainder of all nationalities. The largest town is Hastings, on the Mississippi, containing about four thousand inhabitants. The Hastings and Dakota Railroad, extending west, crosses the Milwaukie and St. Paul at Farmington, a pleasant little town located on a green and fertile prairie. Thirty miles of this Hastings and Dakota road are in operation, and it is pushing on westward, like all the others, to reach the territory of Dakota and the Missouri River. On over the prairies we fly, reaching the oldest town in the State, Mendota, which was a trading-post of the American Fur Company as long ago as 1828. It was livelier then than now, for in those years Indians by the thousand made it their rendezvous, coming in their bark canoes down the Minnesota from the borders of Dakota, down the St. Croix, which joins the Mississippi opposite Hastings, down the Mississippi from all the region above the Falls of St. Anthony; but now it is a seedy place. The houses have a forlorn look, and the three hundred Irish and Germans that make up the bulk of the population are not of the class that lay the foundations of empires, or make the wilderness bud and blossom with roses; they take life easy, and let to-day wait on to-morrow. Fort Snelling, admirably located, looms grandly above the high steep bluff of the northern bank of the Minnesota River. It was one of the strongest posts on the frontier, but it is as useless now as a last year's swallow's-nest. The frontier is three hundred miles farther on. Upon the early maps of Minnesota I find a magnificent city occupying the surrounding ground. It was surveyed and plotted, but St. Paul and Minneapolis got ahead, and the city of Snelling has no place in history. We approach St. Paul from the south. Stepping from the cars we find ourselves on the lowlands of the Mississippi, with a high bluff south of us, and another on the north bank, both rising perpendicularly from the river. We ride over a long wooden bridge, one end of which rests on the low land by the railroad station, and the other on the high northern bluff, so that the structure is inclined at an angle of about twenty degrees, like the driveway to a New England barn where the floor is nearly up to the high beams. We are in a city which in 1849, twenty years ago, had a population of eight hundred and forty, but which now has an estimated population of twenty-five thousand. Here that powerful tribe of Northern Indians, the Dakotas, had their capital,--a cave in the sandstone bluffs, which was the council-chamber of the tribe. Upon the bluff now stands the capital of the State, and the sanguine citizens believe that the city is to be the commercial metropolis of the Northwest. A few months ago I was on the other side of the globe, where civilization is at a stand-still; where communities exist, but scarcely change; where decay is quite as probable as growth; where advancement is the exception, and not the rule. To ride through the streets of St. Paul; to behold its spacious warehouses, its elegant edifices, stores piled with the goods of all lands, the products of all climes,--furs from Hudson Bay, oranges from Messina, teas from China, coffee from Brazil, silks from Paris, and all the products of industry from our own land; to behold the streets alive with people, crowded with farmers' wagons laden with wheat and flour; to read the signs, "Young Men's Christian Association," "St. Paul Library Association"; to see elegant school-edifices and churches, beautiful private residences surrounded by lawns and adorned with works of art,--to see this in contrast with what we have so lately witnessed, and to think that this is the development of American civilization, going on now as never before, and destined to continue till all this wide region is to be thus dotted over with centres of influence and power, sends an indescribable thrill through our veins. It is not merely that we are Americans, but because in this land Christian civilization is attaining the highest development of all time. The people of St. Paul may justly take pride in what they have already accomplished, and they also have reason to look forward with confidence to the future. The county is quite small, containing only four and a half townships. The soil is poor, a sandy loam, of not much account for farming purposes, but being at the head of steamboat navigation a good start was obtained; and now that railroads are superseding steamboats, St. Paul reaches out her iron arms in every direction,--up the Mississippi to St. Cloud, westward through Minneapolis to the Red River of the North, southwest to touch the Missouri at Sioux City, due south over the line by which we reached the city, down the river towards Chicago, and northeast to Lake Superior. As a spider extends its threads, so St. Paul, or perhaps, more properly speaking, St. Paul and Minneapolis together, are throwing out their lines of communication, making themselves the centre of the great Northwest systems of railways. The interests of St. Paul are mercantile, those of Minneapolis manufacturing. They are nearly five hundred miles distant from Chicago,--far enough to be an independent commercial, manufacturing, and distributing centre. That such is to be their destiny cannot be doubted. The outfit of our party had been prepared at Minneapolis; and a large number of gentlemen from that city made their appearance at St. Paul, to convey us to the town in their own private carriages. It is a charming ride that we have along the eastern bank of the Mississippi, which pours its mighty flood,--mighty even here, though so far away from the sea,--rolling and thundering far below us in the chasm which it has worn in the solid rock. On our right hand are fields of waving grain, and white cottages half hidden in groves of oak and maple. We see New England thrift and enterprise, for the six States east of the Hudson have been sending their wide-awake sons and daughters to this section for the last twenty years. The gentleman with whom we are riding came here from the woods of Maine, a lumberman from the Penobscot, and has been the architect of his own fortune. He knows all about the Upper Mississippi, its tributaries, and the chain of lakes lying northwest of Lake Superior. He is Mayor of Minneapolis, a substantial citizen, his hand ready for every good work,--for the building of schools and churches, for charity and benevolence; but on the Upper Mississippi he wears a red shirt, eats pork and beans, and sleeps on pine boughs. He directs the labor of hundreds of wood-choppers and raftsmen. How different this from what we see in other lands! I find my pen runs on contrasts. How can one help it after seeing that gorgeous and lumbering old carriage in which the Lord Mayor of London rides from Guildhall to Westminster? The Lord Mayor himself appears in a scarlet cloak not half so becoming as a red shirt. He wears a massive gold chain, and a hat which would be most in place on the stage of a theatre, and which would make him a guy in any American town. Not so do the Lord Mayors of the Northwest appear in public. They understand practical life. It is one of the characteristics of our democratic government that it makes people practical in all things. In 1865 the town of Minneapolis contained only 4,607 inhabitants, but the population by the census of the present year is 13,080. The fall in the river at this point is sixty-four feet, furnishing 120,000 horse-power,--more than sufficient to drive every mill-wheel and factory in New England, and, according to Wheelock's Report, greater than the whole motive-power--steam and water--employed in textile manufactures in England in 1850. Thirteen flouring-mills, fourteen saw-mills, two woollen-mills, and two paper-mills, are already erected. Six million dollars have been invested in manufacturing at this point. The only difficulty to be encountered is the preservation of the falls in their present position. Beneath the slate rock over which the torrent pours is a strata of soft sandstone, which rapidly wears away. Measures have been taken, however, to preserve the cataract in its present condition, by constructing an apron to carry the water some distance beyond the verge of the fall and thus prevent the breaking away of the rock. No one can behold the natural advantages at Minneapolis without coming to the conclusion that it is to be one of the great manufacturing cities of the world if the fall can be kept in its present position. Cotton can be loaded upon steamers at Memphis, and discharged at St. Paul. The climate here is exceedingly favorable for the manufacturing of cotton goods. The lumber-mills by and by will give place to other manufactures, and Minneapolis will rank with Lowell or Fall River. Our ride brings us to St. Anthony on the east bank of the river, where we behold the Mississippi roaring and tumbling over the slate-stone ledges, and hear the buzzing and humming of the machinery in the saw-mills. St. Anthony was one of the earliest-settled towns in the State. Its projectors were Southern men. Streets were laid out, stores erected, a great hotel built, and extravagant prices asked for land, but the owners of Minneapolis offered lots at cheaper rates, and found purchasers. The war came on, and the proprietors of St. Anthony being largely from the South, the place ceased to grow, while its rival on the western shore moved steadily onward in a prosperous career. But St. Anthony is again advancing, for many gentlemen doing business in Minneapolis reside there. The interests of the two places are identical, and will advance together. How can one describe what is indescribable? I can only speak of this city as situated on a beautiful plain, with the Mississippi thundering over a cataract with a power sufficient to build up half a dozen Lowells; with a country behind it where every acre of land as far as the eye can see, and a hundred or a thousand times farther, is capable of cultivation and of supporting a population as dense as that of Belgium or China. Wide streets, costly school-houses, church spires, a community in which the New England element largely predominates,--a city where every other door does not open to a lager-beer saloon, as in some Western towns; where the sound of the saw and the hammer, and the click of the mason's trowel and sledge, are heard from morning till night; where the streets are filled with wagons from the country, bringing in grain and carrying back lumber, with the farmer, his wife and buxom daughter, and tow-headed, bright-faced little boys perched on top--such are the characteristics of Minneapolis. There was a time when Pegasus was put in harness, and the ancients, according to fable, tried to put Hercules to work. If those days of classic story have gone by, better ones have come, for the people of Minneapolis have got the Father of Waters in harness. He is cutting out one hundred million feet of lumber per annum here. I can hear him spinning his saws. He is turning a score of mill-stones, and setting a million or two of spindles in motion, and pretty soon some of the citizens intend to set him to weaving bags and cloth by the hundred thousand yards! Only a tithe of his strength is yet laid out. These men, reared in the East, and developed in the West, will make the old Father work for them henceforth. He will not be allowed to idle away his time by leaping and laughing year in and year out over yonder cataract. He must work for the good of the human race. They will use him for the building of a great mart of industry,--for the erection of houses and homes, the abodes of comfort and happiness and of joyful and peaceful life. CHAPTER II. ST. CLOUD AND BEYOND. St. Cloud was the rendezvous of the party, where a grand ovation awaited us,--a band of music at the station, a dinner at the hotel, a ride to Sauk Rapids, two miles above the town. St. Cloud is eighty miles above St. Paul, situated on the west bank of the river, and is reached by the St. Paul and Pacific Railroad. The goods of the Hudson Bay Company pass through the town. Three hundred tons per annum are shipped from Liverpool to Montreal, from Montreal to Milwaukie, from Milwaukie by rail to this point, and from hence are transported by oxen to the Red River, taken down that stream on a small steamer to Lake Winnipeg, then sent in boats and canoes up the Assinniboin, the Saskatchawan, and to all the numerous trading-posts between Winnipeg and the Arctic Ocean. We are getting towards the frontier. We come upon frontiersmen in leggings, slouch hat, and fur coat,--carrying their rifles. Indians are riding their ponies. Wigwams are seen in the groves. Carts are here from Pembina and Fort Garry after supplies. And yet, in the suburbs of the town we see a large Normal School building just completed. A magnificent bridge costing $40,000 spans the Mississippi. At Sauk Rapids the river rolls over a granite ledge, and a chartered water-power company is erecting a dam, constructing a canal, and laying the foundations for the second great manufacturing city upon the Mississippi. This section has been a favorite locality for German emigrants. Nearly one half of the inhabitants of Stearns County, of which St. Cloud is the county-seat, are Germans. Here we bid good by to the locomotive and take the saddle instead, with light carriages for occasional change. We leave hotels behind, and are to enjoy the pleasures of camp-life. Our party as made up consists of the following persons:-- GOV. J. GREGORY SMITH, St. Albans, Vt. W. C. SMITH, M. C. " " W. H. LORD, D. D., Montpelier, Vt. F. E. WOODBRIDGE, Vergennes, Vt. S. W. THAYER, M. D., Burlington, Vt. Hon. R. D. RICE, Augusta, Me. P. COBURN, " " E. F. JOHNSON, Middletown, Conn. C. C. COFFIN, Boston. P. W. HOLMES, New York City. A. B. BAYLESS, Jr., New York City. W. R. MARSHALL, St. Paul, Gov. of Minnesota. E. M. WILSON, M. C., Minneapolis. G. A. BRACKETT, " The list is headed by Ex-Governor Smith, President of the Northern Pacific Railroad and of the Vermont Central. It fell to his lot to be Chief Magistrate of the Green Mountain State during the rebellion, and among all the loyal governors there was no one that excelled him in energy and executive force. He was here, there, and everywhere,--one day in Vermont, the next in Washington, the third in the rear of the army looking after the wounded. I remember seeing him at Fredericksburg during those terrible weeks that followed the struggles at the Wilderness and Spottsylvania,--directing his assistants, laboring with his own hands,--hunting up the sick and wounded, giving up his own cot, sleeping on the bare floor, or not sleeping at all,--cheering the despondent, writing sympathetic letters to fathers and mothers whose sons were in the hospital, or who had given their lives to their country. He has taken hold of this great enterprise--the construction of a railroad across the continent from the Lakes to the Pacific Ocean--with like zeal and energy, and has organized this expedition to explore the country between Lake Superior and the Missouri River. Judge Rice is from Maine. He is President of the Portland and Kennebec Railroad, and a director of the Northern Pacific. Before engaging in the management of railroads he held, for sixteen years, the honorable and responsible position of Associate Judge of the Supreme Court of Maine. Well versed in law, and holding the scales of justice evenly, his decisions have been regarded as wise and just. Mr. Johnson is the Chief Engineer of the road, one of the ablest in his profession in the country. As long ago as 1853, before the government surveys were made, he published a pamphlet upon this future highway to the Pacific, in which he discussed with great ability the physical geography of the country, not only from Lake Superior to Puget Sound, but the entire region between the Mississippi and the Pacific. The explorations that have since been made correspond almost exactly with his statements. The President of the company has showed forethought for the health, comfort, and pleasure of the party, by taking along two of the most genial men in New England,--Dr. Thayer, of Burlington, to cure us of all the ills that flesh is heir to, whose broad smiling face is itself a most excellent medicine, whose stories are quite as good as his pills and powders for keeping our digestion all right; and Rev. Dr. Lord, from Montpelier, for many years pastor of one of the largest churches in the State. With a doctor to keep our bodies right, with a minister to point out the narrow way that leads to a brighter world, and both of them as warm-hearted and genial as sunshine, we surely ought to be in good health. Mr. Holmes, of New York, is an old campaigner. He had experienced the rough and tumble of life on the Upper Missouri, with his rifle for a companion, the earth his bed, the broad expanse of sky his tent. Governor Marshall, Chief Magistrate of Minnesota, Mr. Wilson, member of Congress from the same State, and Mr. Brackett, of Minneapolis, were in Sibley's expedition against the Indians, and are accustomed to all the pleasures and hardships of a campaign. They are to explore the region lying between the Red River of the North and the Great Bend of the Missouri. Mr. Bayless, of New York, accompanies the party to enjoy the freedom and excitement of frontier life. Nor are we without other company. Some of the clergymen of Minnesota, like their brethren in other parts of the country, turn their backs on civilization during the summer months, and spend a few weeks with Nature for a teacher. It is related that the Rev. Dr. Bethune made it a point to visit Moosehead Lake in Maine every season, to meditate in solitude and eat onions! He not only loved them, but had great faith in their strengthening powers. His ministry was a perpetual Lent so far as onions were concerned, and it was only when he broke away from society and was lost to the world in the forest that he could partake freely of his favorite vegetable. Travelling the same road, and keeping us company, are Rev. Mr. and Mrs. Fuller, of Rochester, and Rev. Mr. and Mrs. Williams, and Mr. and Miss Wheaton, of Northfield, Minn. They have a prairie wagon with a covered top, drawn by two horses, in which is packed a tent, with pots, kettles, pans, dishes, flour, pork, beans, canned fruit, hams, butter, bed and bedding. They have saddle-horses for excursions, and carry rifles, shot-guns, and fishing-tackle. Pulpit, people and parsonage, hoop-skirts, stove-pipe hats, work and care, are left behind. The women can handle the fishing-rod or rifle. It may seem to ladies unaccustomed to country life as a great letting down of dignity on the part of these women of the West to enter upon such an expedition, but they are in search of health. They are not aiming to be Amazons. A few weeks upon the prairies, and they will return well browned, but healthful and rugged, and as attractive and charming as the fair Maud who raked hay and dreamed of what might have been. Our first night is spent at "Camp Thunder," and why it is so named will presently be apparent. It is nearly night when we leave St. Cloud for a four-mile ride to our quarters. We can see in the rays of the setting sun, as we ride over the prairie, our village of white tents pitched by the roadside, and our wagons parked near by. It is an exhilarating scene, bringing to remembrance the many tented fields during the war, and those soul-stirring days when the armies of the Republic marched under their great leader to victory. The sun goes down through a blood-colored haze, throwing its departing beams upon a bank of leaden clouds that lie along the horizon. Old salts say that such sunsets in the tropics are followed by storms. Through the evening, while sitting in the doors of our tents and talking of camp-life and its pleasant experiences, we can see faint flashes of lightning along the horizon. The leaden clouds grow darker, and rise slowly up the sky. Through the deepening haze we catch faint glimpses of celestial architecture,--castles, towers, massive walls, and "Looming bastions fringed with fire." Far away rolls the heavy thunder,--so far that it seems the diapason of a distant organ. We lose sight of the gorgeous palaces, temples, and cathedrals of the upper air, or we see them only when the bright flashes of lightning illume the sky. It is past midnight,--we have been asleep, and are wakened by the sudden bursting of the storm. The canvas roof and walls of our house flap suddenly in the wind. The cords are drawn taut against the tent-pins. The roof rises, settles, surges up and down, to and fro, the walls belly in and then out against the swaying frame. The rain comes in great drops, in small drops, in drifting spray, rattling upon the canvas like a hundred thousand muskets,--just as they rattled and rolled on that awful day at the Wilderness when the two greatest armies ever gathered on this continent met in deadly conflict. All the while the tent is as bright with lightning as with the sun at noonday. By the side of my cot is a book which I have been reading; taking it in my hand, I read the finest print, noted the hour, minute, and position of the second-hand upon my watch. Looking out through the opening of the fly, I behold the distant woodland, the fences, the bearded grain laid prostrate by the blast, the rain-drops falling aslant through the air, the farm-house a half-mile distant,--all revealed by the red glare of the lightning. All the landscape is revealed. For an instant I am in darkness, then all appears again beneath the lurid light. The storm grows wilder. The gale becomes a tempest, and increases to a tornado. The thunder crashes around, above, so near that the crackling follows in an instant the blinding flash. It rattles, rolls, roars, and explodes like bursting bombs. The tent is reeling. Knowing what will be the result, I hurry on my clothing, and have just time to seize an india-rubber coat before the pins are pulled from the ground. I spring to the pole, determined to hold on to the last. [Illustration: IN THE STORM.] Though the lightning is so fearful, and the moment well calculated to arouse solemn thoughts, we cannot restrain our laughter when two occupants of an adjoining tent rush into mine in the condition of men who have had a sousing in a pond. The wind pulled their tent up by the roots, and slapped the wet canvas down upon them in a twinkling. They crawled out like muskrats from their holes,--their night-shirts fit for mops, their clothing ready for washing, their boots full of water, their hats limp and damp and ready for moulding into corrugated tiles. It is a ludicrous scene. I am the central figure inside the tent,--holding to the pole with all my might, bareheaded, barefooted, my body at an angle of forty-five degrees, my feet sinking into the black mire,--the dripping canvas swinging and swaying, now lifted by the wind and now flapping in my face, and drenching anew two members of Congress, who sit upon my broken-down bed, shivering while wringing out their shirts! When the fury of the storm is over, I rush out to drive down the pins, and find that my tent is the only one in the encampment that is not wholly prostrated. The members of the party are standing like _shirted_ ghosts in the storm. The rotund form of our M. D. is wrapped in the oil-cloth table-cover. For the moment he is a hydropath, and complacently surveys the wreck of tents. The rain falls on his bare head, the water streams from his gray locks, and runs like a river down his broad back; but he does not bow before the blast, he breasts it bravely. I do not hear him, but I can see by his features that he is silently singing the Sunday-school song,-- "I'll stand the storm, It won't be long." Tents, beds, bedding, clothing, all are soppy and moppy, and the ground a quagmire. We go ankle deep into the mud. We might navigate the prairies in a boat. Our purveyor, Mr. Brackett, an old campaigner, knows just what to do to make us comfortable. He has a dry tent in one of the wagons, which, when the rain has ceased, is quickly set up. His cook soon has his coffee-pot bubbling, and with hot coffee and a roaring fire we are none the worse for the drenching. The storm has spent its fury, and is passing away, but the heavens are all aglow. Broad flashes sweep across the sky, flame up to the zenith, or quiver along the horizon. Bolt after bolt falls earthward, or flies from the north, south, east, and west,--from all points of the compass,--branching into beautiful forms, spreading out into threads and fibres of light, each tipped with golden balls or beads of brightest hue, seen a moment, then gone forever. Flash and flame, bolt and bar, bead, ball, and line, follow each other in quick succession, or all appear at once in indescribable beauty and fearful grandeur. We can only gaze in wonder and admiration, though all but blinded by the vivid flashes, and though each bolt may be a messenger of death,--though in the twinkling of an eye the spirit may be stricken from its present tabernacle and sent upon its returnless flight. The display, so magnificent and grand, has its only counterpart in the picture which imagination paints of Sinai or the final judgment. In an adjoining county the storm was attended by a whirlwind. Houses were demolished and several persons killed. It was terrifying to be in it, to hear the deafening thunder; but it was a sight worth seeing,--that glorious lighting up of the arch of heaven. It required half a day of bright sunshine to put things in trim after the tornado, and then on Saturday afternoon the party pushed on to Cold Spring and encamped on the bank of Sauk River for the Sabbath. [Illustration: CAMP JAY COOKE.] The camp was named "Jay Cooke," in honor of the energetic banker who is the financial agent of the Northern Pacific Railroad Company. Sweet, calm, and peaceful the hours. Religious services were held, conducted by Rev. Dr. Lord, who had a flour-barrel and a candle-box before him for a pulpit; a congregation of teamsters, with people from the little village near by, and the gentlemen composing our party, some of us seated on boxes, but most of us sitting upon the ground. Nor were we without a choir. Everybody sung Old Hundred; and though some of us could only sound one note, and that straight along from beginning to end, like the drone of a bagpipe, it went gloriously. Old Hundred never was sung with better spirit, though there was room for improvement of the understanding, especially in the base. The teamsters, after service, hunted turtle-eggs on the bank of the river, and one of them brought in a hatful, which were cooked for supper. Our course from Cold Spring was up the Sauk Valley to Sauk Centre, a lively town with an excellent water-power. The town is about six years old, but its population already numbers fifteen hundred. The country around it is one of the most beautiful and fertile imaginable. The Sauk River is the southern boundary of the timbered lands west of the Mississippi. As we look southward, over the magnificent expanse, we see farm-houses and grain-fields, but on the north bank are dense forests. The prairie lands are already taken up by settlers, while there are many thousand acres of the wooded portion of Stearns County yet in the possession of the government. The emigrant can raise a crop of wheat the second year after beginning a farm upon the prairies, while if he goes into the woods there is the slow process of clearing and digging out of stumps, and a great deal of hard labor before he has any returns. Those prairie lands that lie in the immediate vicinity of timber are most valuable. The valley of the Sauk, besides being exceedingly fertile, has timber near at hand, and has had a rapid development. It is an inviting section for the capitalist, trader, mechanic, or farmer, and its growth promises to be as rapid in the future as it has been since 1865. A two days' ride over a magnificent prairie brings us to White Bear Lake. If we had travelled due west from St. Cloud, along the township lines, sixty miles, we should have found ourselves at its southern shore instead of its northern. Our camp for the night was pitched on the hills overlooking this sheet of water. The Vale of Tempe could not have been fairer, and Arcadia had no lovelier scene, than that which we gazed upon from the green slope around our tents, blooming with wild roses, lilies, petunias, and phlox. The lake stretches southward a distance of twelve miles, indented here and there by a wooded promontory, with sandy beaches sweeping in magnificent curves, with a patch of woodland on the eastern shore, and a green fringe of stately oaks and elms around its entire circumference. As far as the vision extends we behold limitless fields, whose verdure changes in varying hues with every passing cloud, and wanting only a background of highlands to make it as lovely as Windermere, the most enchanting of all the lakes of Old England. At our feet was the little town of Glenwood. We looked down upon a hotel with the stars and stripes waving above it; upon a neat school-house with children playing around its doors; upon a cluster of twenty or thirty white houses surrounded by gardens and flower-beds. Three years ago this was a solitude. There is a sail-boat upon the lake, which some gentlemen of our party chartered for a fishing-excursion. Thinking perhaps we should get more fish by dividing our force, I took a skiff, and obtained a stalwart Norwegian to row it. Almost as soon as my hook touched the water I felt a tug at the other end of the line, and in came a pickerel,--a three-pounder! The Norwegian rowed slowly along the head of the lake, and one big fellow after another was pulled into the boat. There was scarcely a breath of wind, and the sails were idly flapping against the masts of the larger boat, where my friends were whiling away the time as best they could, tantalized by seeing that I was having all the fun. They could only crack their rifles at a loon, or at the flocks of ducks swimming along the shore. But there was rare sport at hand. I discovered an enormous turtle lying upon the surface of the water as if asleep. "Approach gently," I said to the Norwegian. He dipped his oars softly, and sent the skiff stern foremost towards the turtle, who was puffing and blowing like a wheezy old gentleman sound asleep. One more push of the oar and he will be mine. Too late! We have lost him. Down he goes. I can see him four feet beneath us, clawing off. No, he is coming up. He rises to the surface. I grasp his tail with both hands, and jerk with all my might. The boat dips, but a backward spring saves it from going over, and his majesty of White Bear Lake, the oldest inhabitant of its silver waters, weighing forty-six pounds,--so venerable that he wears a garden-bed of grass and weeds upon his back--is floundering in the half-filled skiff. The boatman springs to his feet, stands on the seat with uplifted oar, undecided whether to jump overboard or to fight the monster who is making at his legs with open jaws. By an adroit movement of an oar I whirl him upon his back, and hold him down while the Norwegian paddles slowly to the beach. The captive rides in a meal-bag the remainder of the day, hissing now and then, and striving to regain his liberty. Ah! isn't that a delicious supper which we sit down to out upon the prairies on the shores of Lightning Lake,--beyond the borders of civilization! It is not mock turtle, but the genuine article, such as aldermen eat. True, we have tin cups and plates, and other primitive table furniture, but hunger sharpens the appetite, and food is as toothsome as if served on gold-bordered china. Besides turtle-soup we have fresh fish and boiled duck. Who is there that would not like to find such fare inside the borders of civilization? Beyond Pope we entered Grant County, containing 268,000 acres of land, nearly all open to settlement, and through which the main line of the St. Paul and Pacific Railroad will be constructed the present year. The population of the entire county probably does not exceed five hundred, who are mostly Swedes and Norwegians. It is on the ridge, or, rather, the gentle undulating prairie, between the waters of the Red River of the North and the Chippewa River, an affluent of the Minnesota. We passed between two small lakes; the waters of one find their way to the Gulf of Mexico, the other to the Arctic Sea. Our second Sabbath camp was upon the bank of the Red River of the North,--a beautiful stream, winding its peaceful way through a country as fertile as the Delta of the Nile. For two days we had journeyed over rolling prairie, seeing no inhabitant; but on Saturday afternoon we reached the great thoroughfare leading from the Mississippi to the Red River,--travelled by the Fort Abercrombie stage, and by the Pembina and Fort Garry carts, by government trains and the ox-teams that transport the supplies of the Hudson Bay Company. Sitting there upon the bank of the Red River amid the tall, rank grasses, and watching the flowing stream, my thoughts went with its tide towards the Northern Sea. It has its rise a hundred miles or more north of us, near Lake Itasca, the source of the Mississippi, flows southward to this point turns westward here, is joined below by a stream issuing from Lake Traverse, its most southern source, and then flows due north to Lake Winnipeg, a distance altogether of about five hundred miles. It is the great southern artery of a water-system that lies almost wholly beyond the jurisdiction of the United States. The Assinniboine joins it just before reaching Lake Winnipeg, and up that stream we may steam due west two hundred and thirty miles to Fort Ellis. From Winnipeg we may pass eastward to the intricate Rainy Lake system towards Superior, or westward into Lakes Manitoba and Winnipegosis, which together contain as much water as Lake Erie. Sailing along the western shore of Lake Winnipeg two hundred miles, we reach the mouth of the Saskatchawan, large enough to be classed as one of the great rivers of the continent. Professor Hind, of Toronto, who conducted a government exploring-party through the country northwest of Lake Superior, says: "The Saskatchawan, which gathers the waters from a country greater in extent than the vast region drained by the St. Lawrence and all its tributaries, from Lake Superior to the Gulf, is navigable for more than a thousand miles of its course, with the single exception of a few rapids near its confluence with Lake Winnipeg." Professor Hind travelled from Fort Garry northwest over the prairies towards the Rocky Mountains, and gives the following description of his first view of the stream. He says:-- "The first view, six hundred miles from the lake, filled me with astonishment and admiration,--nearly half a mile broad, flowing with a swift current, and still I was three hundred and fifty miles from the mountains." The small steamer now plying on the Red River might, during the season of high water, make its way from Fort Abercrombie down this river, then through Lake Winnipeg, and up the Saskatchawan westward to the base of the Rocky Mountains,--a distance altogether of sixteen hundred miles. We are in the latitude of the continental water-system. If we travel along the parallel eastward, one hundred miles will bring us to the Mississippi at Crow Wing, another hundred will take us to Lake Superior, where we may embark on a propeller of five hundred tons and make our way down through the lakes and the St. Lawrence to Liverpool, or any other foreign port; or travelling west three hundred miles will bring us to the Missouri, where we may take one of the steamers plying on that stream and go up to Fort Benton under the shadow of the Rocky Mountains. Two hundred and fifty miles farther by land, through the mining region of Montana, will bring us to the navigable waters of the Columbia, down which we may glide to the Pacific. Nowhere in the Eastern hemisphere is there such a succession of lakes and navigable rivers, and no other country exhibits such an area of arable land so intersected by fresh-water streams. It would be an easy matter by canals to connect the Red River, the Saskatchawan, and Lake Winnipeg with the Mississippi. We can take a canoe from this point and paddle up to Otter-Tail Lake, and there, by carrying it a mile or so over a sand-ridge, launch it on Leaf River, an affluent of the Crow-Wing, and so reach the Father of Waters. We may do even better than that. Instead of paddling up stream we may float down with the current a few miles to the outlet of Lake Traverse, row across the lake, and from that into Big Stone Lake, which is the source of the Minnesota River, and by this route reach the Mississippi below Minneapolis. Boats carrying two tons have frequently passed from one river to the other during the season of high water. It would not be difficult to construct a canal by which steamers might pass from the Mississippi to the base of the Rocky Mountains in British Columbia. Railroads are superseding canals, and it is not likely that any such improvement of the water-way will be attempted during the present generation. But a glance at the river and lake systems enables us to obtain a view of the physical features of the country. We see that the northwestern portion of the continent is an extended plain. The Red River here by our encampment is about nine hundred and sixty feet above the sea. If we were to float down to Lake Winnipeg, we should find that sheet of water three hundred feet lower. Our camp is pitched to-day about ten miles west of the 96th meridian. If we were to travel south from this point 350 miles, we should reach Omaha, which is 946 feet above the sea, so that if we were sitting on the bank of the Missouri at that point, we should be just about as high above tide-water as we are while lolling here in the tall rank grass. By going from Omaha to San Francisco over the Pacific Railroad, we see the elevations of the country; then by striking westward from this point to the head-waters of the Missouri, and then down the Columbia, we shall see at once the physical features of the two sections. The engineers of the Pacific Railroad, after gaining the top of the bluff behind Omaha, have a long and apparently level sweep before them. Yet there is a gradually ascending grade. Four hundred and eighty-five miles west of Omaha we come to the 104th meridian, at an elevation of 4,861 feet. If we go west from this point to that meridian, we shall strike it at the mouth of the Yellowstone, 1,970 feet above tide-water. Near the 105th meridian is the highest point on the Union Pacific, at Sherman, which is 8,235 feet above the sea. Three hundred miles beyond Sherman, at Green River, is the lowest point between Omaha and the descent into Salt Lake Valley, 6,112 feet above the ocean level. At that point we are about twenty-six miles west of the 110th meridian. Now going northward to the valley of the Missouri once more, we find that Fort Benton is about the same number of miles west of the same meridian, but the fort is only 2,747 feet above the sea. Just beyond Fort Benton we come to the Rocky Mountains,--the only range to be crossed between Lake Superior and the Columbia. We enter the Deer Lodge Pass near the 112th meridian, where our barometer will show us that we are about five thousand feet above the sea. We find that the miners at work on the western slope have cut a canal through the pass, and have turned the waters of the Missouri into the Columbia. The pass is so level that the traveller can hardly tell when he has reached the dividing line. Going south now along the meridian, we shall find that between Green River and Salt Lake lies the Wasatch Range, which the Union Pacific crosses at an elevation of 7,463 feet at Aspen Station, 940 miles west of Omaha. From that point the line descends to Salt Lake, which is 4,220 feet above the sea. Westward of this, on the 115th meridian, 1,240 miles from Omaha, we reach the top of Humboldt Mountains, 6,169 feet above tide-water, while the elevation is only 1,500 feet on the same meridian in the valley of the Columbia. At Humboldt Lake, 1,493 miles west of Omaha, the rails are at the lowest level of the mountain region, 4,047 feet above the sea. This is a little west of the 119th meridian, about the same longitude as Walla Walla on the great plain of the Columbia, which is less than 400 feet above the sea. Westward of Humboldt Lake the Central Line rises to the summit of the Sierra Nevadas, crossing them 7,042 feet above the sea, then descending at the rate of 116 feet to the mile into the valley of the Sacramento. Now going back to the plains, to the town of Sidney, which is 410 miles west of Omaha, we find the altitude there the same as at Humboldt Lake. This level does not show itself again till we are well down on the western slope of the Sierra Nevada Range. The entire country between Omaha and Sacramento, with the exception of about 510 miles, is above the level of 4,000 feet, while on the line westward from the point where I am indulging in this topographical revery there are not thirty miles reaching that altitude. With this glance at the configuration of the continent I might make an isometric map in the sand with my fingers, heaping it up to represent the Black Hills at Sherman, a lower ridge to indicate the Wasatch Range, a depression to show the Salt Lake Valley, and then another high ridge to represent the Sierra Nevadas. I might trace the channel of the Missouri and the Columbia, and show that most of this territory is a great plain sloping northward,--that it is lower at Winnipeg than it is here, as low here as it is at Omaha. [Illustration: CONFIGURATION OF THE COUNTRY. The upper line represents the elevations between Omaha and Sacramento, and the lower line between the Red River and Portland, Oregon.] Taking this glance at the physical features of the northern and central portions of the continent, I can see that nature has adapted all this vast area drained by the Missouri and Yellowstone and their tributaries, by the Mississippi, by the Red River, the Assinniboine, the Saskatchawan, and the Columbia, to be the abode, in the future, of uncounted millions of the human race. It is a solitude now, but the vanguard of the approaching multitude is near at hand. The farmer who lives up the stream and tends the ferry where we crossed yesterday has one neighbor within twelve miles; but a twelvemonth hence these acres will have many farm-houses. To-day we have listened to a sermon by the Rev. Dr. Lord, who preached beneath a canvas roof. We were called together by the blowing of a tin trumpet, but a year hence the sweet and solemn tones of church-bells will in all probability echo over these verdant meadows. The locomotive--that great civilizer of this century--will be here before the flowers bloom in the spring of 1871. It will bring towns, villages, churches, school-houses, printing-presses, and millions of free people. I sit as in a dream. I can hear, in imagination, the voices of the advancing multitude,--of light-hearted maidens and sober matrons, of bright-eyed boys and strong-armed men. The wild roses are blooming here to-day, the sod is as yet unturned, and the lilies of the field hold up their cups to catch the falling dew; but another year will bring the beginning of the change. Civilization, which has crossed the Mississippi, will soon flow down this stream, and sweep on to the valley of the Upper Missouri. Think of it, young men of the East, you who are measuring off tape for young ladies through the long and wearisome hours, barely earning your living! Throw down the yardstick and come out here if you would be men. Let the fresh breeze fan your brow, take hold of the plough, bend down for a few years to hard work with determination to win nobility, and success will attend your efforts. Is this too enthusiastic? Will those who read it say, "He has lost his head and gone daft out there on the prairies"? Not quite. I am an observer here, as I have been in other lands. I have ridden many times over the great States of the Northwest; have seen the riches of Santa Clara and Napa west of the Sierra Nevadas; have looked out over the meadows of the Yangtse and the Nile, and can say, with honest conviction, that I have seen nowhere so inviting a field as that of Minnesota, none with greater undeveloped wealth, or with such prospect of quick development. CHAPTER III. THE RED RIVER COUNTRY. Monday morning saw us on our way northward,--down the valley of the Red River. It was exhilarating to gallop over the level prairies, inhaling the fresh air, our horses brushing the dew from the grass, and to see flocks of plump prairie chickens rise in the air and whirr away,--to mark where they settled, and then to start them again and bring them down, one by one, with a double-barrelled shot-gun. Did we not think of the stews and roasts we would have at night? For a dozen years or more every school-boy has seen upon his map the town of Breckenbridge, located on the Red River of the North. It is off from the travelled road. The town, as one of our teamsters informed us, "has gone up." It originally consisted of two houses and a saw-mill, but the Sioux Indians swooped down upon it in 1862, and burned the whole place. A few logs, the charred remains of timbers, and tall fire-weeds alone mark the spot. Riding on, we reached Fort Abercrombie at noon. It is situated in Dakota, on the west bank of the Red River, which we crossed by a rope ferry. It is a resting-place for the thousands of teams passing between St. Cloud and Fort Garry, and other places in the far Northwest. The place is of no particular account except as a distributing point for government supplies for forts farther on, and the advancement of civilization will soon enable the War Department to break up the establishment. The river is fringed with timber. We ride beneath stately oaks growing upon the bottom-lands, and notice upon the trees the high-water marks of former years. The stream is very winding, and when the spring rains come on the rise is as great, though not usually so rapid, as in the Merrimac and Connecticut, and other rivers of the East. The valley of the Red River is not such as we are accustomed to see in the East, bounded by hills or mountains, but a level plain. When the sky is clear and the air serene, we can catch far away in the east the faint outline of the Leaf Hills, composing the low ridge between the Red River and the Mississippi, but westward there is nothing to bound the sight. The dead level reaches on and on to the rolling prairies of the Upper Missouri. The eye rests only upon the magnificent carpet, bright with wild roses and petunias, lilies and harebells, which Nature has unrolled upon the floor of this gorgeous palace. I had been slow to believe all that had been told in regard to the genial climate of the Northwest, but through the courtesy of the commandant of the Fort, General Hunt, was permitted to see the meteorological records kept at the post. The summer of 1868 was excessively warm in the Western, Middle, and Atlantic States. Here, on one day in July, the mercury rose to ninety degrees, Fahrenheit, but the mean temperature for the month was seventy-nine. In August the highest temperature was eighty-eight, the lowest fifty, the mean sixty-nine. In September the highest temperature was seventy-four, the mean forty-seven. A slight frost occurred on the night of the 16th, and a hard one on the last day of the month. In October a few flakes of snow fell on the 27th. In November there were a few inches of snow. Toward the close of December, on one day, the mercury reached twenty-seven below zero. On the 30th of January it dropped to thirty below. During this month there were four days on which snow fell, and in February there were ten snowy days. The greatest depth of snow during the winter was about eighteen inches, furnishing uninterrupted sleighing from December to March. On the 23d of March wild geese and ducks appeared, winging their way to Lake Winnipeg and Hudson Bay. The spring opened early in April. There are no farms as yet in the valley,--the few settlers cultivating only small patches of land. I have thought of this section of country as being almost up to the arctic circle, and can only disabuse my mind by comparing it with other localities in the same latitude. St. Paul is in the latitude of Bordeaux, in the grape-growing district of Southern France. Here at Fort Abercrombie we are at least one hundred and fifty miles farther south than the world's gayest capital, Paris. It is not likely that Northern Minnesota will ever become a wine-producing country, though wild grapes are found along the streams, and the people of St. Paul and Minneapolis will show us thrifty vines in their gardens, laden with heavy clusters. Minnesota is a wheat-growing region, climate and soil are alike favorable to its production. On the east bank of the Red River we see a field owned by Mr. McAuley, who keeps a store and sells boots, pipes, tobacco, powder, shot, and all kinds of supplies needed by hunters and frontiersmen. He sowed his wheat this year (1869) on the 5th of May, and it is now, on the 19th of July, heading out. "I had forty-five bushels to the acre last year," he says, "and the present crop will be equally good." [Illustration: RED RIVER VALLEY.] This Red River Valley throughout its length and breadth is very fertile. Here are twenty thousand square miles of land,--an area as large as Vermont and New Hampshire combined,--unsurpassed for richness. The construction of the Northern Pacific Railroad and the St. Paul and Pacific, both of which are to reach this valley within a few months, will make these lands virtually as near market as the farms of Central or Western Illinois. From the Red River to Duluth the distance is 210 miles in a direct line. It is 187 miles from Chicago to Springfield, Illinois; so that when the Northern Pacific Railroad is constructed to this point, Mr. McAuley will be just as near Boston or New York as the farmers who live in the vicinity of the capital of Illinois; for grain can be taken from Duluth to Buffalo, Oswego, or Ogdensburg as cheaply as from Chicago. The richness of the lands, the supply of timber on the Red River and all its branches, with the opening of the two lines of railway, will give a rapid settlement to this paradise of the Northwest. Professor Hind, of Toronto, who was sent out by the Canadian government to explore the British Possessions northwest of Lake Superior, in his report says: "Of the valley of the Red River I find it impossible to speak in any other terms than those which may express astonishment and admiration. I entirely concur in the brief but expressive description given me by an English settler on the Assinniboine, that the valley of the Red River, including a large portion belonging to its great affluents, is a paradise of fertility." In Mr. McAuley's garden we see corn in the spindle. The broad leaves wear as rich a green as if fertilized with the best Peruvian guano; and no wonder, for the soil is a deep black loam, and as mellow as an ash-heap. His peas were sown the 2d of June, and they are already large enough for the table! He will have an abundant supply of cucumbers by the first of August. They were not started under glass, but the dry seeds were dropped in the hills the same day he planted his peas,--the 2d of June. Vegetation advances with great rapidity. Mr. McAuley says that vegetables and grains come to maturity ten or fifteen days earlier here than at Manchester, New Hampshire, where he once resided. General Pope was formerly stationed at Fort Abercrombie; and in his report upon the resources of the country and its climatology, says that the wheat, upon an average, is five pounds per bushel heavier than that grown in Illinois or the Middle States. We saw yesterday a gentleman and lady who live at Fort Garry, and who call themselves "Winnipeggers." They were born in Scotland, and had been home to Old Scotia to see their friends. "How do you like Winnipeg?" I asked. "There is no finer country in the world," he replied. "Do you not have cold winters?" "Not remarkably so. We have a few cold days, but the air is usually clear and still on such days, and we do not mind the cold. If we only had a railroad, it would be the finest place in the world to live in." We wonder at his enthusiasm over a country which we have thought of as being almost, if not quite, out of the world, while he doubtless looks with pity upon us who are content to remain in such a cooped-up place as the East. Most of us, unless we have become nomads, think that there are no garden patches so attractive as our own, and we wonder how other people can be willing to live so far off. This Winnipeg gentleman says that the winters are no more severe at Fort Garry than at St. Paul, and that the spring opens quite as early. The temperature for the year at Fort Garry is much like that of Montreal, as will be seen by the following comparison:-- Spring. Summer. Autumn. Winter. ° ° ° ° Montreal, 43 70 49 17 Fort Garry, 36 68 48 7 This shows the mean temperatures for the three months of each season. Though the mercury is ten degrees lower at Fort Garry in the winter than at Montreal, there is less wind, fewer raw days, much less snow, and, taken all in all, the climate is more agreeable. Bidding good by to the courteous commander of the fort, who supplies that portion of our party going to the Missouri with an escort, we gallop on through this "Paradise," starting flocks of plovers from the waving grass, and bringing down, now and then, a prairie chicken. Far away, on the verge of the horizon, we can see our wagons,--mere specks. What a place for building a railway! Not a hillock nor a hollow, not a curve or loss of gradient; timber enough on the river for ties. And when built, what a place to let on steam! The engineer may draw his throttle-valve and give the piston full head. Here will be the place to see what iron, steel, and steam can do. We pitch our tents for the night in the suburbs of Burlington, not far from the hotel and post-office. The hotel, which just now is the only building in town, is built of logs. It is not very spacious inside, but it has all the universe outside! Once a week the mail-carrier passes from Fort Abercrombie to Pembina, and as there are a half-dozen pioneers and half-breeds within a radius of thirty miles of Burlington, a post-office has been established here, which is kept in a shed adjoining the hotel. The postmaster gives us a cordial greeting. It is a pleasure to hear this bluff but wide-awake German say, "O, I have been acquainted with you for a long while. I followed you through the war and around the world." From first to last, in letters from the battle-field, from the various countries of the world, and in these notes of travel, it has ever been my aim to write for the comprehension of the people; and such spontaneous and uncalled-for commendation of my efforts out here upon the prairies was more grateful than many a well-meant paragraph from the public press. While pitching our tents, a flock of pigeons flew past, and down in the woods along the bank of the river we could hear their cooing. Those who had shot-guns went to the hunt; while some of us tried the river for fish, but returned luckless. The supper was good enough, however, without trout or pickerel. Who can ask for anything better than prairie chicken, plover, duck, pork, and pigeons? Then, when hunger is appeased, we sit around the camp-fire and think of the future of this paradise. Near by is another camp-fire. I see by its glimmering light a stalwart man with shaggy beard and a slouched hat. The emigrant's wife sits on the other side of the fire, and by its light I see that she wears a faded linsey-woolsey dress, that her hair is uncombed, and that she has not given much attention to her toilet. Two frowzy-headed children, a boy and a girl, are romping in the grass. The worldly effects of this family are in that canvas-covered ox-wagon, with a chicken-coop at the hinder part, and a tin kettle dangling beneath the axle. This emigrant has come from Iowa. He is moving into this valley "to take up a claim." That is, he is going to select a piece of choice land under the Homestead Act, build a cabin, and "make a break in the per-ra-ry," he says. He will be followed by others. The tide is setting in rapidly, and by the time the railway company are ready to carry freight there will be population enough here to support the road. We have an early start in the morning. Our route is along a highway, upon which there is more travel than upon many of the old turnpikes of New England for Winnipeg, and the Hudson Bay posts receive all their supplies over this road. At our noonday halt we fall in with Father Genin, a French Catholic priest, who lives on the bank of the river in a log-hut. He comes out to see us, wearing a long black bombazine priestly gown, and low-crowned hat. He is in the prime of life, was educated at Paris, came to Quebec, and is assigned to the Northwest. He has sailed over Lake Winnipeg, and paddled his canoe on the Saskatchawan and Athabasca. "My parish," he says, "reaches from St. Paul to the Rocky Mountains." He speaks in glowing terms of the country up "in the Northwest,"--as if we, who are now sixteen hundred miles from Boston, had not reached the Northwest! Our talk with Father Genin, and his enthusiastic description of the Saskatchawan Valley, has set us to thinking of this region, to which the United States once held claim, and which might now have been a part of our domain if it had not been for the pusillanimity of President Polk. Mackenzie was the first European who gave to the world an account of the country lying between us and the Arctic Sea. He was in this valley in 1789, and was charmed with it. He made his way down to Lake Winnipeg, thence up the Saskatchawan to Athabasca Lake. At the carrying-place between the Saskatchawan and Athabasca rivers, at Portage la Loche, he discovered springs of petroleum, which are thus described:-- "Twenty-five miles from the fork are some bituminous springs, into which a pole may be inserted without the least resistance. The bitumen is in a fluid state, and when mixed with resin is used to gum the canoes. In its heated state it emits a smell like sea-coal. The banks of Slave River, which are elevated, discover veins of the same bituminous quality."[1] [Footnote 1: General History of the Fur-Trade, p. 87.] His winter quarters were near Lake Athabasca, at Fort Chippewayan, more than thirteen hundred miles northwest from Chicago. He thus writes in regard to the country:-- "In the fall of 1787, when I first arrived at Athabasca, Mr. Pond was settled on the bank of the Elk River, where he remained three years, and had as fine a kitchen-garden as I ever saw in Canada" (p. 127). Of the climate in winter he says that the beginning was cold, and about one foot of snow fell. The last week in December and the first week in January were marked by warm southwest breezes, which dissolved all the snow. Wild geese appeared on the 13th of March; and on the 5th of April the snow had entirely disappeared. On the 20th he wrote:-- "The trees are budding, and many plants are in blossom" (p. 150). Mackenzie left the "Old Establishment," as one of the posts of the Hudson Bay Company was called, on the Peace River, in the month of May, for the Rocky Mountains. He followed the stream through the gap of the mountains, passed to the head-waters of Fraser River, and descended that stream to the Pacific. He thus describes the country along the Peace River:-- "This magnificent theatre of nature has all the decorations which the trees and animals can afford it. Groves of poplars in every shape vary the scene, and their intervales are relieved with vast herds of elk and buffaloes,--the former choosing the steeps and uplands, the latter preferring the plains. The whole country displayed an exuberant verdure; the trees that bear blossoms were advancing fast to that delightful appearance, and the velvet rind of their branches reflecting the oblique rays of a rising or setting sun added a splendid gayety to the scene which no expressions of mine are qualified to describe" (p. 154). This was in latitude 55° 17', about fourteen hundred miles from St. Paul. The next traveller who enlightened the world upon this region was Mr. Harman, a native of Vergennes, Vermont, who became connected with the Northwest Fur Company, and passed seventeen years in British America. He reached Lake Winnipeg in 1800, and his first winter was passed west of the lake. Under date of January 5th we have this record in his journal:-- "Beautiful weather. Saw in different herds at least a thousand buffaloes grazing" (p. 68). "_February 17th._--We have now about a foot and a half of snow on the ground. This morning one of our people killed a buffalo on the prairie opposite the fort" (p. 73). "_March 14th._--The greater part of the snow is dissolved."[2] [Footnote 2: On the 16th of March, 1870, while these notes were under review, the streets of Boston were deep with snow, and twenty-four trains were blockaded on the Boston and Albany Railroad between Springfield and Albany.] On the 6th of April Mr. Harman writes: "I have taken a ride on horseback to a place where our people are making sugar. My path led me over a small prairie, and through a wood, where I saw a great variety of birds that were straining their tuneful throats as if to welcome the return of another spring; small animals were running about, or skipping from tree to tree, and at the same time were to be seen, swans, bustards, ducks, etc. swimming about in the rivers and ponds. All these things together rendered my ramble beautiful beyond description" (p. 75). During the month of April there were two snow-storms, but the snow disappeared nearly as fast as it fell. One winter was passed by Mr. Harman in the country beyond Lake Athabasca, on the Athabasca River, where he says the snow during the winter "was at no time more than two feet and a half deep" (p. 174). On May 6th he writes: "We have planted our potatoes and sowed most of our garden-seeds" (p. 178). "_June 2d._--The seeds which we sowed in the garden have sprung up and grown remarkably well. The present prospect is that strawberries, red raspberries, shad-berries, cherries, etc. will be abundant this season." "_July 21st._--We have cut down our barley, and I think it is the finest that I ever saw in any country. The soil on the points of land along this river is excellent" (p. 181). "_October 3d._--We have taken our potatoes out of the ground, and find that nine bushels which we planted on the 10th of May last have produced a little more than one hundred and fifty bushels. The other vegetables in our garden have yielded an increase much in the same proportion, which is sufficient proof that the soil of the points of land along this river is good. Indeed, I am of opinion that wheat, rye, barley, oats, peas, etc. would grow well in the plains around us" (p. 186). He passed several winters at the head-waters of Peace River, in the Rocky Mountains. In his journal we have these records:-- "_May 7th._--The weather is very fine, and vegetation is far advanced for the season. Swans and ducks are numerous in the lakes and rivers." "_May 22d._--Planted potatoes and sowed garden-seeds." "_October 3rd._--We have taken our vegetables out of the ground. We have forty-one bushels of potatoes, the produce of one bushel planted last spring. Our turnips, barley, etc. have produced well" (p. 257). In 1814 he writes under date of September 3d: "A few days since we cut down our barley. The five quarts which I sowed on the 1st of May have yielded as many bushels. One acre of ground, producing in the same proportion, would yield eighty-four bushels. This is sufficient proof that the soil in many places in this quarter is favorable to agriculture" (p. 267). Sir John Richardson, who explored the arctic regions by this route, says: "Wheat is raised with profit at Fort Liard, lat. 60° 5' N., lon. 122° 31' W., and four or five hundred feet above the sea. This locality, however, being in the vicinity of the Rocky Mountains, is subject to summer frosts, and the grain does not ripen every year, though in favorable seasons it gives a good return." In 1857, Captain Palliser, of the Royal Engineers, was sent out by the English government to explore the region between Lake Superior and the Pacific, looking towards the construction of a railroad across the continent, through the British Possessions. His report to the government is published in the Blue-Book. Speaking of the country along the Assinniboine, he says: "The Assinniboine has a course of nearly three hundred miles; lies wholly within a fertile and partially wooded country. The lower part of the valley for seventy miles, before it joins the Red River, affords land of surpassing richness and fertility" (p. 9). Of the South Saskatchawan, he says that "it flows through a thick-wooded country" (p. 10). The natural features of the north branch of that river are set forth in glowing language:-- "The richness of the natural pasture in many places on the North Saskatchawan and its tributary, Battle River, can hardly be exaggerated. Its value does not consist in its long rank grasses or in its great quantity, but from its fine quality, comprising nutritious species of grasses, along with natural vetches in great variety, which remain throughout the winter juicy and fit for the nourishment of stock. "Almost anywhere along the Saskatchawan a sufficiency of good soil is everywhere to be found, fit for all purposes, both for pasture and tillage, extending towards the thick-wooded hills, and also to be found in the region of the lakes, between Forts Pitt and Edmonton. In almost every direction around Edmonton the land is fine, excepting only the hilly country at the higher level, such as the Beacon Hills; even there there is nothing like sterility, only the surface is too much broken to be occupied while more level country can be obtained" (p. 10). Going up the Saskatchawan he discovered beds of coal, which are thus described:-- "In the upper part of the Saskatchawan country, coal of fine quality occurs abundantly, and may hereafter be very useful. It is quite fit to be employed in the smelting of iron from the ore of that metal, which occurs in large quantities in the same strata" (p. 11). Two hundred miles north of this coal deposit, Mackenzie discovered the springs of petroleum and coal strata along the banks of the streams. Harman saw the same. Palliser wintered on the Saskatchawan, and speaks thus of the climate:-- "The climate in winter is more rigorous than that of Red River, and partial thaws occur long before the actual opening of spring. The winter is much the same in duration, but the amount of snow that falls rapidly decreases as we approach the mountains. The river generally freezes about the 12th of November, and breaks up from the 17th to the 20th of April. During the winter season of five months the means of travelling and transport are greatly facilitated by the snow, the ordinary depth of which is sufficient for the use of sleighs, without at the same time being great enough to impede horses. "The whole of this region of country would be valuable, not only for agriculture, but also for mixed purposes of settlement. The whole region is well wooded and watered, and enjoys a climate far preferable to that of either Sweden or Norway. I have not only seen excellent wheat, but Indian corn (which will not succeed in England or Ireland), ripening on Mr. Pratt's farm at the Qui Appelle Lakes in 1857" (p. 11). Father De Smet, a Catholic missionary, in 1845 crossed the Rocky Mountains from British Columbia, eastward to the head-waters of the south branch of the Saskatchawan, and passed along the eastern base of the mountains to Edmonton. He characterizes the country as "an ocean of prairies." "The entire region," he says, "in the vicinity of the eastern chain of the Rocky Mountains, serving as their base for thirty or sixty miles, is extremely fertile, abounding in forests, plains, prairies, lakes, streams, and mineral springs. The rivers and streams are innumerable, and on every side offer situations favorable for the construction of mills. The northern and southern branches of the Saskatchawan water the district I have traversed for a distance of about three hundred miles. Forests of pines, cypress, cedars, poplar and aspen trees, as well as others of different kinds, occupy a large portion of it. The country would be capable of supporting a large population, and the soil is favorable for the production of wheat, barley, potatoes, and beans, which grow here as well as in the more southern countries." It is a region abundantly supplied with coal of the lignite formation. Father Genin has a specimen of lignite taken from the banks of Maple River, about seven miles from our camp. It is a small branch of the Red River flowing from the west. If we were to travel northwest a little more than one hundred miles, we should come to the Little Souris or Mouse River, a branch of the Assinniboine, where we should find seams of the same kind of coal. Continuing on to the Saskatchawan, we shall find it appearing all along the river from Fort Edmonton to the Rocky Mountains, a distance of between three and four hundred miles. Dr. Hector, geologist to the exploring expedition under Captain Palliser, thus describes the coal on Red Deer River, a branch of the South Saskatchawan:-- "The lignite forms beds of great thickness, one group of seams measuring twenty-five feet in thickness, of which twelve feet consist of pure compact lignite. At one point the seam was on fire, and the Indians say that for as long as they can remember the fire at this place has not been extinguished, summer or winter" (p. 233). Father De Smet passed down the river in 1845, and it was then on fire. If we were to travel northward from the Red Deer to the Peace River, we should find the same formation; and if we were to glide down the Mackenzie towards the Arctic Sea, we should, according to the intrepid voyager whose name it bears, find seams of coal along its banks. Mr. Bourgeau, botanist to the Palliser Exploring Expedition, in a letter addressed to Sir William Hooker, has the following remarks upon the capabilities of the Northwest for supporting a dense population:-- "It remains for me to call the attention of the English government to the advantages there would be in establishing agricultural districts in the vast plains of Rupert's Land, and particularly in the Saskatchawan, in the neighborhood of Fort Carlton. This district is much better adapted to the culture of staple crops than one would have been inclined to believe from this high latitude. In effect, the few attempts at the culture of cereals already made in the vicinity of the Hudson Bay Company's posts demonstrate by their success how easy it would be to obtain products sufficiently large to remunerate the efforts of the agriculturist. Then, in order to put the land under cultivation, it would be necessary only to till the better portions of the soil. The prairies offer natural pasturage as favorable for the maintenance of numerous herds as if they had been artificially created. The construction of houses for habitation and for pioneer development would involve but little expense, because in many parts of the country, independent of wood, one would find fitting stones for building purposes, and it is easy to find clay for bricks.... The vetches found here are as fitting for nourishment of cattle as the clover of European pasturage. The abundance of buffaloes, and the facility with which herds of horses and oxen increase, demonstrate that it would be enough to shelter animals in winter, and to feed them in the shelters with hay.... In the gardens of the Hudson Bay Company's posts, beans, peas, and French beans have been successfully cultivated; also cabbages, turnips, carrots, rhubarb, and currants" (p. 250). The winters of the Northwest are wholly unlike those of the Eastern and Middle States. The meteorologist of Palliser's Expedition says: "Along the eastern base of the Rocky Mountains there is a narrow strip of country in which there is never more than a few inches of snow on the ground. About forty miles to the eastward, however, the fall begins to be much greater, but during the winter rarely exceeds two feet. On the prairies the snow evaporates rapidly, and, except in hollows where it is drifted, never accumulates; but in the woods it is protected, and in spring is often from three to four feet deep" (p. 268). Captain Palliser and party travelled from post to post during the winter without difficulty. In February, 1859, he travelled from Edmonton to Lake St. Ann's. On two nights the mercury was frozen in the bulb,--as it is not unfrequently at Franconia, New Hampshire. Exclusive of those two cold nights, the mean of the temperature was seventeen. He says: "This was a trip made during the coldest weather experienced in the country. If proper precautions are taken, there is nothing merely in extreme cold to stop travelling in the wooded country, but the danger of freezing from exposure upon the open plains is so great that they cannot be ventured on with safety during any part of the winter" (p. 268). The Wesleyan Missionary Society of England has a mission at Edmonton, under the care of Rev. Thomas Woolsey. The following extracts from his journal will show the progress of the winter and spring season in 1855:-- "Nov. 1. A little snow has fallen for the first time. " 12. Swamps frozen over. " 13. A little more snow. " 17. Crossed river on the ice. Dec. 2. The past week has been remarkably mild. " 9. More snow. 1856. Jan. 8 to 11. More like spring than winter. Jan. 13. Fine open weather. " 17. Somewhat colder. Feb. 14. Weather open. " 16. Snow rapidly disappearing. Mar. 11. More snow. " 17. Firing pasture-grounds to-day. " 18. Thunder-storm. " 21. Ducks and geese returning. " 30. More snow, but it is rapidly disappearing. " 31. Snow quite gone. April 7. Ploughing commenced. " 28. First wheat sown." The succeeding winter was more severe, and three feet of snow fell during the season, but the spring opened quite as early as in 1856. The comparative mildness of the winter climate of all this vast area of the West and Northwest, at the head-waters of the Missouri, and in the British dominions, as far north as latitude 70°, is in a great measure due to the warm winds of the Pacific. In the autumn of 1868 I crossed the Pacific, from Japan to San Francisco, in the Pacific mail-steamer Colorado. Soon after leaving the Bay of Yokohama we entered the Kuro-Siwo, or the Black Ocean River of the Asiatic coast. This ocean current bears a remarkable resemblance to the Gulf Stream of the Atlantic. Along the eastern shore of Japan the water, like that along Virginia and the Carolinas, is very cold, but we suddenly pass into the heated river, which, starting from the vicinity of the Philippine Islands, laves the eastern shore of Formosa, and rushes past the Bay of Yeddo at the rate of eighty miles per day. This heated river strikes across the Northern Pacific to British Columbia and Puget Sound, giving a genial climate nearly up to the Arctic Circle. No icebergs are ever encountered in the North Pacific. The influence of the Kuro-Siwo upon the Northwest is very much like that which the Gulf Stream has upon England and Norway. It gives to Oregon, Washington, British Columbia, and Vancouver Island winters so mild that the people cannot lay in a supply of ice for the summer. Roses bloom in the gardens throughout the year. So the water heated beneath the tropics, off the eastern coast of Siam and north of Borneo, flows along the shore of Japan up to the Aleutian Isles, imparting its heat to the air, which, under the universal law, ascends when heated, and sweeps over the Rocky Mountains, and tempers the climate east of them almost to Hudson Bay. So wonderfully arranged is this mighty machinery of nature, that millions of the human race in coming years will rear their habitations and enjoy the blessings of civilization in regions that otherwise would be pathless solitudes. In the meteorological register kept at Carlton House, in lat. 52° 51', on the eastern limit of the Saskatchawan Plain, eleven hundred feet above the sea, we find this entry: "At this place westerly winds bring mild weather, and the easterly ones are attended by fog and snow." By the following tabular statement we see at a glance the snow-fall at various places in the United States. We give average depths for the winter as set down in Blodget's climatology. Oxford County, Maine 90 inches. Dover, New Hampshire 68 " Montreal, Canada 66 " Burlington, Vermont 85 " Worcester, Massachusetts 55 " Cincinnati, Ohio 19 " Burlington, Iowa 15 " Beloit, Wisconsin 25 " Fort Abercrombie, Dakota 12 " From this testimony I am impelled to believe that the immense area west of Lake Superior and south of the 60th parallel is as capable of being settled as those portions of Russia, Sweden, and Norway south of that degree, now swarming with people. That parallel passes through St. Petersburg, Stockholm, Christiania, and the Shetland Isles on the eastern hemisphere, Fort Liard and Central Alaska on the western. CHAPTER IV. THE EMPIRE OF THE NORTHWEST. Hundreds of Winnipeggers were upon the road, either going to or returning from St. Cloud, from whence all groceries and other supplies are obtained. The teams consist of a single horse or ox, not unfrequently a cow, harnessed to a two-wheeled cart. The outfit is a curiosity. The wheels are six or seven feet in diameter, and very dishing. A small rack is affixed to the wooden axle. The concern is composed wholly of wood, with a few raw-hide thongs. It is primitive in design and construction, and though so rude, though there is not an ounce of iron about the cart, it serves the purpose of these voyagers admirably. Our teams have been stuck in the mud, at the crossings of creeks, half a dozen times a day; but those high-wheeled carts are borne up by the grass roots where ours go down to the hub. There is a family to each cart,--father, mother, and a troop of frowzy-headed, brown-faced children, who, though shoeless and hatless and half naked, are as happy as the larks singing in the meadows, or the plover skimming the air on quivering wings. They travel in companies,--fifteen or twenty carts in a caravan. When night comes on, the animals are turned out to graze; the families cook each their own scanty supply of food, smoke their pipes by the glimmering camp-fire, tell their stories of adventure among the buffaloes, roll themselves in a blanket, creep beneath their carts,--all the family in a pile if the night is cool,--sleep soundly, and are astir before daylight, and on the move by sunrise. The journey down and back is between eight and nine hundred miles; and as the average distance travelled is only about twenty miles a day, it takes from forty to fifty days to make the round trip. No wonder the people of that settlement are anxious to have a railroad reach the Red River. Leaving the Pembina road and striking westward to the river, we descend the bank to the bottom-land, which is usually about twenty-five feet below the general surface of the valley. We cross the river by a rope ferry kept by a half-breed, and strike out upon the Dakota plain. The trail that we are upon bears northwest, and is the main road to Fort Totten, near Lake Miniwakan, or the "Devil's Lake," and the forts on the Upper Missouri. Here, as upon the Minnesota side, the wild-flowers are blooming in luxuriance. Our horses remorselessly trample the roses, the convolvulus, and the lilies beneath their feet. The prairie chickens are whirring in every direction, and one of our bluff and burly teamsters, who is at home upon the prairies, who in the First Minnesota Regiment faced the Rebels in all the battles of the Peninsula, who was in the thickest of the fight at Gettysburg, who has hunted Indians over the Upper Missouri region, who is as keen-sighted as a hawk, takes the grouse right and left as they rise. His slouched hat bobs up and down everywhere. He seems to know just where the game is; now he is at your right hand, now upon the run a half-mile away upon the prairies. He stops, raises his gun,--there is a puff of smoke, another, and he has two more chickens in his bag. We are sure of having good suppers as long as he is about. We reach Dakota City,--another thriving town of one log-house,--peopled by Monsieur Marchaud, a French Canadian, his Chippewa wife and twelve children. While our tents are being pitched, we cross the river by another ferry to Georgetown,--a place consisting of two dwellings and a large storehouse owned by the Hudson Bay Company. This is the present steamboat landing, though sometimes the one steamer now on the river goes up to Fort Abercrombie. The river is narrow and winding south of this point, and not well adapted to navigation. We find an obliging young Scotchman with a thin-faced wife in possession of the property belonging to the Company. He takes care of the premises through the year on a salary of two hundred dollars, and has his tea, sugar, and groceries furnished him. He can cultivate as much land as he pleases, though he does not own a foot of it,--neither does the Company own an acre. It belongs to the people of the United States, and any brave young man with a large-hearted wife may become possessor of these beautiful acres if he will, with the moral certainty of finding them quadrupled in value in five years. This great highway of the North lies along the eastern bank of the river. We have travelled over it all the way from Fort Abercrombie, passing and meeting teams. Here we see a train of thirty wagons drawn by oxen, loaded with goods consisting of boxes of tea, sugar, salt, pork, bacon, and bales of cloth, which are shipped by steamer from this landing. The teas come from England to Montreal, are there shipped to Milwaukie, and transported by rail to St. Cloud. Each chest is closely packed in canvas and taken through in bond. The transportation of the Hudson Bay Company between this place and St. Cloud amounts to about seven hundred tons per annum. In addition, the Red River transportation carried on by the Indians and half-breeds is very large. About twenty-five hundred carts pass down and up this highway during the year, each one carrying upon an average nine hundred pounds. Besides all this there is the United States government transportation to Fort Abercrombie and the forts beyond, amounting last year to eighteen hundred tons. The rates paid by the War Department government for transportation are $1.36-3/8 per hundred pounds for every hundred miles. All of this traffic will be transferred at once to the Northern Pacific Railroad upon its completion to the Red River. The estimated value of the Red River trade is ten millions of dollars per annum, and it is increasing every year. The keen-eyed hunters of our party have been on the lookout for a stray buffalo or a deer, but the buffaloes are a hundred miles away. We hear that they have come north of the Missouri in great numbers, and those who are to go West anticipate rare sport. For want of a buffalo-steak we put up with beef. It is juicy and tender, from one of Mr. Marchaud's heifers, which has been purchased for the party. It is a supper fit for sovereigns,--and every one is a sovereign out here, on the unsurveyed lands, of which we, in common with the rest of the people, are proprietors. We are lords of the manor, and we have sat down to a feast. Our eggs are newly laid by the hens of Dakota City, our milk is fresh from the cows whose bells are tinkling in the bushes along the bank of the river, and the cakes upon our table are of the finest flour in the world. Hunger furnishes the best relish, and when the cloth is removed we sit around the camp-fire during the evening, passing away the hours with wit, repartee, and jest, mingled with sober argument and high intellectual thought. Our tents are pitched upon the river's bank. Far away to the south we trace the dim outline of the timber on the streams flowing in from the west. Turning our eyes in that direction, we see only the level sea of verdure,--the green grass waving in the evening breeze. At this place our company will divide,--Governor Marshall, Mr. Holmes, and several other gentlemen, going on to the Missouri, while the rest of us will travel eastward to Lake Superior. It would be a pleasure to go with them,--to ride over the rolling prairies, to fall in with buffaloes and try my pony in a race with a big bull. It would be thrilling,--only if the hunted should right about face, and toss the hunter on his horns, the thrill would be of a different sort! We sit by our camp-fires at night with our faces and hands smeared with an abominable mixture prepared by our M. D., ostensibly to keep the mosquitoes from presenting their bills, but which we surmise is a little game of his to daub us with a diabolical mixture of glycerine, soap, and tar! Our tents are as odorous as the shop of a keeper of naval stores. There is an all-pervading smell of oakum and turpentine. Clouds of mosquitoes come, take a whiff, and retire in disgust. We can hear them having a big swear at the Doctor for compounding such an ointment! I think of the country which those who are going west will see, and of the region beyond,--the valley of the Yellowstone, the Missouri, the slopes of the Rocky Mountains, and the hills of Montana,--territory to be included in the future Empire of the Northwest. I have written the word, but it bears no political meaning in these notes. It has the same signification as when applied to the State of New York. The Empire of the Northwest will be the territory lying north of the central ridge of the continent. Milwaukie may be taken as a starting-point for a survey of this imperial domain. That city is near the 43d parallel; following it westward, we see that it passes over the mountain-range on whose northern slopes the southern affluents of the Yellowstone take their rise. All the fertile valleys of the Columbia and its tributaries lie north of this parallel; all the streams of the Upper Missouri country, and the magnificent water-system of Puget Sound, and the intricate bays and inlets of British Columbia, reaching on to Alaska, having their only counterpart in the fiords of Norway, are north of that degree of latitude. I have already taken a view of the region now comprised in the British dominions east of the Rocky Mountains; but equally interesting will be a review of the territories of the Republic,--Dakota, Montana, Idaho, Oregon, and Washington, also British Columbia and Vancouver. Dakota contains a little more than a hundred and fifty thousand square miles,--nearly enough territory to make four States as large as Ohio. "The climate and soil of Dakota," says the Commissioner of Public Lands, General Wilson, in his Report for 1869, "are exceedingly favorable to the growth of wheat, corn, and other cereals, while all the fruits raised in the Northern States are here produced in the greatest perfection.... The wheat crop varied from twenty to forty bushels to the acre. Oats have produced from fifty to seventy bushels to the acre, and are of excellent quality" (p. 144). Settlements are rapidly extending up the Missouri, and another year will behold this northern section teeming with emigrants. The northern section of the territory is bare of wood, but the southern portion is well supplied with timber in the Black Hills. Two thousand square miles of the region of the Black Hills, says Professor Hayden, geologist to the United States Exploring Expedition under General Reynolds, is covered with excellent pine timber. That is an area half as large as the State of Connecticut, ample for the southern section; while the settlers of the northern portion will be within easy distance by rail of the timbered lands of Minnesota. The northern half of Wyoming is north of the line we have drawn from Milwaukie to the Pacific, and of this Territory the Land Commissioner says: "A large portion of Wyoming produces a luxuriant growth of short nutritious grass, upon which cattle will feed and fatten during summer and winter without other provender. Those lands, even in their present condition, are superior for grazing. The climate is mild and healthy, the air and water pure, and springs abundant" (p. 159). Beyond the 104th meridian lies Montana, a little larger than Dakota, with area enough for four States of the size of Ohio. At St. Paul I was fortunate enough to fall in with Major-General Hancock, who had just returned from Montana, and who was enthusiastic in its praise. "I consider it," he said, "to be one of the first grazing countries in the world. Its valleys are exceedingly fertile. It is capable of sustaining a dense population." Wheat grows as luxuriantly in the valleys at the base of the Rocky Mountains as in Minnesota. The Territory appears to be richer in minerals than any other section of the country, the gold product surpassing that of any other State or Territory. More than one hundred million dollars have been taken from the mines of Montana since the discovery of gold in this territory in 1862. Coal appears upon the Yellowstone in veins ten, fifteen, and twenty feet in thickness. It is found on the Big Horn and on the Missouri. "From the mouth of the Big Horn," says Professor Hayden, "to the union of the Yellowstone with the Missouri, nearly all the way, lignite (coal) beds occupy the whole country.... The beds are well developed, and at least twenty or thirty seams are shown, varying in purity and thickness from a few inches to seven feet" (Report, p. 59). The mountains are covered with wood, and there will be no lack of fuel in Montana. The timber lands of this Territory are estimated by the Land Commissioner to cover nearly twelve millions of acres,--an area as large as New Hampshire and Vermont combined. The agricultural land, or land that may be ploughed, is estimated at twenty-three million acres, nearly as much as is contained in the State of Ohio. The grazing lands are put down at sixty-nine millions,--or a region as large as New York, Pennsylvania, and New Jersey together! Isn't it cold? Are not the winters intolerable? Are not the summers short in Montana? Many times the questions have been asked. The temperature of the climate in winter will be seen from the following thermometrical record kept at Virginia City:-- 1866. Dec. Mean for the month, 31° above zero. 1867. Jan. " " " 23°.73 " " " Feb. " " " 26° " " The summer climate is exceedingly agreeable, and admirably adapted to fruit culture. In July last Mr. Milnor Roberts, Mr. Thomas Canfield, and other gentlemen of the Pacific exploring party, were in Montana. Mr. Roberts makes our mouths water by his description of the fruits of that Territory. "Missoula," he says, "is a thriving young town near the western base of the Rocky Mountains, containing a grist-mill, saw-mill, two excellent stores, and from twenty-five to thirty dwellings, a number of them well built. I visited McWhirk's garden of five acres, where I found ripe tomatoes, watermelons, muskmelons, remarkably fine potatoes, beans, peas, and squashes; also young apple-trees and other fruit-trees, and a very fine collection of flowers; and all this had been brought about from the virgin soil in two years, and would this year (1869) yield the owner over two thousand dollars in gold, the only currency known in Montana" (Report, p. 23). This fruit and flower garden is about one hundred miles from the top of the divide between the Atlantic and the Pacific. Deer Lodge City, fifteen miles from the dividing ridge, is situated in the Deer Lodge Valley, and its attractions are thus set forth by Mr. Roberts:-- "The Deer Lodge Valley is very wide, in places ten to fifteen miles from the hills on one side to the hills on the other, nearly level, and everywhere clothed with rich grass, upon which we observed numerous herds of tame cattle and horses feeding. The Deer Lodge Creek flows through it, and adds immensely to its value as an agricultural region. Some farms are cultivated; but farming is yet in its infancy, and there are thousands of acres of arable land here and elsewhere in Montana awaiting settlement" (p. 25). West of Montana is Idaho, containing eighty-six thousand square miles,--large enough for two States of the size of Ohio. Nearly all of this Territory lies north of the 43d parallel. It is watered by the Columbia and its tributaries,--mountain streams fed by melting snows. "The mountains of Idaho," says the Land Commissioner, in his exhaustive Report for 1869, "often attain great altitude, having peaks rising above the line of perpetual snow, their lower slopes being furrowed with numerous streams and alternately clothed with magnificent forests and rich grasses. The plains are elevated table-lands covered with indigenous grasses, constituting pasturage unsurpassed in any section of our country. Numerous large flocks of sheep and herds of domestic cattle now range these pastures, requiring but little other sustenance throughout the entire year, and no protection from the weather other than that afforded by the lower valleys or the cañons, in which many of the streams take their way through the upland country. The valleys are beautiful, fertile depressions of the surface, protected from the searching winds of summer and searching blasts of winter, each intersected by some considerable stream, adjoining which on either bank, and extending to the commencement of the rise of table-land or mountain, are broad stretches of prairies or meadows producing the richest grasses, and with the aid of irrigation, crops of grain, fruit, and vegetables superior to those of any of the Eastern States, and rivalling the vegetation of the Mississippi Valley. The pastures of these valleys are generally uncovered with snow in the most severe winters, and afford excellent food for cattle and sheep, the herbage drying upon the stalk during the later summer and autumn months into a superior quality of hay. As no artificial shelter from the weather is here required for sheep or cattle, stock-raising is attended with but little outlay and is very profitable, promising soon to become one of the greatest sources of wealth in this rapidly developing but still underrated Territory. It was considered totally valueless except for mining purposes, and uninviting to the agriculturist, until emigration disclosed its hidden resources. "It is the favorite custom of herdsmen in Idaho to reserve their lower meadows for winter pastures, allowing the stock to range the higher plains during spring, summer, and autumn; the greater extent of the table-lands, and the superior adaptability of the valleys for agriculture presenting reasons for the adoption of this method as one of economical importance. "The climate of Idaho varies considerably with the degrees of latitude through which its limits extend, but not so much as would naturally be supposed from its great longitudinal extension; the isothermal lines of the Territory, running from east to west, have a well-defined northward variation, caused by the influence of air currents from the Pacific Ocean. Throughout the spring, summer, and autumn months, in the northern as well as the southern sections, the weather is generally delightful and salubrious; in the winter months the range of the thermometer depends greatly upon the altitude of the surface,--the higher mountains being visited by extreme cold and by heavy falls of snow; the lower mountain-ranges and the plains having winters generally less severe than those of northern Iowa and Wisconsin or central Minnesota, while greater dryness of the atmosphere renders a lower fall of the thermometer less perceptible; and the valleys being rarely visited by cold weather, high winds, or considerable falls of snow. Considered in its yearly average, the climate is exactly adapted to sheep-growing and the production of wool, the herding of cattle, and manufacture of dairy products, the raising of very superior breeds of horses, as well as the culture of all Northern varieties of fruits, such as apples, pears, plums, cherries, peaches, grapes, and all of the ordinary cereals and vegetables" (p. 164). This is all different from what we have conceived the Rocky Mountains to be. When the government reports of the explorations of 1853 were issued, Jeff Davis was Secretary of War, and he deliberately falsified the report of Governor Stevens's explorations from Lake Superior to the valley of the Columbia. Governor Stevens reported that the route passed through a region highly susceptible of agriculture; but the Secretary of War, even then plotting treason, in his summary of the advantages of the various routes, asserted that Governor Stevens had overstated the facts, and that there were not more than 1,000 square miles, or 640,000 acres, of agricultural lands. The Land Commissioner in his Report estimates the amount of agricultural lands at 16,925,000 acres. The amount of improved lands in Ohio in 1860 was 12,665,000 acres, or more than 4,000,000 less than the available agricultural lands in Idaho. These are lands that need no irrigation. Of such lands there are 14,000,000 acres, which, in the language of the Commissioner, are "redeemable by irrigation into excellent pasture and agricultural lands." The grazing-lands are estimated at 5,000,000 acres, the timbered lands at 7,500,000 acres, besides 8,000,000 acres of mineral lands. Although the population of Idaho probably does not exceed 50,000, half of whom are engaged in mining, the value of the agricultural products for 1868 amounted to $12,000,000, while the mineral product was $10,000,000. Passing on to Oregon we find a State containing 95,000 square miles, two and a half times larger than Ohio. "Oregon," says General Wilson, in his Report upon the public lands, "is peculiarly a crop-raising and fruit-growing State, though by no means deficient in valuable mineral resources. Possessing a climate of unrivalled salubrity, abounding in vast tracts of rich arable lands, heavily timbered throughout its mountain ranges, watered by innumerable springs and streams, and subject to none of the drawbacks arising from the chilling winds and seasons of aridity which prevail farther south, it is justly considered the most favored region on the Pacific slope as a home for an agricultural and manufacturing population" (p. 197). Of "western Oregon," he says, "the portion of the State first settled embraces about 31,000 square miles, or 20,000,000 acres, being nearly one third of the area of the whole State, and contains the great preponderance of population and wealth. Nearly the whole of this large extent of country is valuable for agriculture and grazing; all of the productions common to temperate regions may be cultivated here with success. When the land is properly cultivated, the farmer rarely fails to meet with an adequate reward for his labors. The fruits produced here, such as apples, pears, plums, quinces, and grapes, are of superior quality and flavor. Large quantities of apples are annually shipped to the San Francisco market, where they usually command a higher price than those of California, owing to their finer flavor. "The valleys of the Willamette, Umpqua, and Rouge Rivers, are embraced within this portion of the State, and there is no region of country on the continent presenting a finer field for agriculture and stock-raising, because of the mildness of the climate and the depth and richness of the soil. Farmers make no provision for housing their cattle during winter, and none is required; although in about the same latitude as Maine on the Atlantic, the winter temperature corresponds with that of Savannah, Georgia" (p. 194). North of Oregon lies the Territory of Washington, containing 70,000 square miles, lacking only 9,000 to make it twice as large as Ohio. Our camp, where I am taking this westward look, is pitched very near the 47th parallel, may be five or six miles north of it. If I were to travel due west along the parallel a little more than twelve hundred miles, I should reach Olympia, the capital of the Territory, situated on Puget Sound,--the name given to that vast ramification of waters known as the Strait of Juan de Fuca, Admiralty Inlet, Hood's Canal, and Puget Sound, with a shore line of 1,500 miles. "There is no State in the Union," says the Land Commissioner, "and perhaps no country in the world of the same extent, that offers so many harbors and such excellent facilities for commerce" (p. 198). The timbered lands of Washington are approximately estimated at 20,000,000 acres, and the prairie lands cover an area equally great. The forests embrace the red and yellow pine of gigantic growth, often attaining the height of three hundred feet, and from nine to twelve feet in diameter. It is said that a million feet have been cut from a single acre! Says the Commissioner, "The soil in the river-bottoms is thinly timbered with maple, ash, and willow. These lands yield heavy crops of wheat, barley, and oats, while vegetables attain enormous size. The highlands are generally rolling, and well adapted to cultivation.... The average yield of potatoes to the acre is six hundred bushels, wheat forty, peas sixty, timothy-hay five tons, and oats seventy bushels" (p. 199). Mr. Roberts, who explored this region last year, says that the great plain of the Columbia is "a high rolling prairie, covered everywhere abundantly with bunch-grass to the summits of the highest hills; treeless, excepting along the streams. This is an immense grazing area of the most superior character, interspersed with the valleys of perennial streams, along which are lands that, when settled by industrious farmers, will be of the most productive character, as we have seen in the case of a number of improvements already made; while the climate is not only salubrious, but remarkably attractive" (Report, p. 19). He gives this estimate of the area suited to agriculture and grazing:-- "In Washington Territory alone, on its eastern side, there are at least 20,000 square miles, or 12,800,000 acres of the finest grazing-lands, on which thousands of cattle and sheep will be raised as cheaply as in any other quarter of the globe, and this grass is so nutritious that the cattle raised upon it cannot be surpassed in their weight and quality. Snow rarely falls to sufficient depth to interfere seriously with their grazing all through the winter. Such may be taken as a general view upon this important point, respecting a Territory nearly half as large as the State of Pennsylvania" (p. 19). Along the shores of Puget Sound, and on the island of Vancouver, are extensive deposits of bituminous coal, conveniently situated for the future steam-marine of the Pacific. Large quantities are now shipped to San Francisco for the use of the Pacific mail-steamers. Not only in Washington, but up the coast of British Columbia, the coal-deposits crop out in numerous places. An explorer on Simpson River, which next to the Fraser is the largest in British Columbia, thus writes to Governor Douglas: "I saw seams of coal to-day fifteen feet thick, better than any mined at Vancouver" (Parliamentary Blue-Book). Coal in Montana, in Idaho, in Washington, on Vancouver, in British Columbia; coal on the Missouri, the Yellowstone, the Columbia, the Fraser; coal on Simpson River, coal in Alaska! Measureless forests all over the Pacific slope! Timber enough for all the world, masts and spars sufficient for the mercantile marine of every nation! Great rivers, thousands of waterfalls, unequalled facilities for manufacturing! An agricultural region unsurpassed for fertility! Exhaustless mineral wealth! Fisheries equalling those of Newfoundland,--salmon in every stream, cod and herring abounding along the coast! Nothing wanting for a varied industry. Unfold the map of North America and look at its western coast. From Panama northward there is no harbor that can ever be available to the commerce of the Pacific till we reach the Bay of San Francisco. From thence northward to the Columbia the waves of the sea break against rugged mountains. The Columbia pours its waters through the Coast Range, but a bar at its mouth has practically closed it to commerce. Not till we reach Puget Sound do we find a good harbor. North of that magnificent gateway are numberless bays and inlets. Like the coast of Maine, there is a harbor every five or ten miles, where ships may ride in safety, sheltered from storms, and open at all seasons of the year. There never will be any icebound ships on the coast of British Columbia, for the warm breath of the tropics is felt there throughout the year. While the map is unfolded, look at Puget Sound, and think of its connection with Japan and China. Latitude and longitude are to be taken into account when we make long journeys. Liverpool is between the 53d and 54th parallels, or about two hundred and sixty miles farther north than Puget Sound, where a degree of longitude is only thirty-five miles in length. Puget Sound is on the 49th parallel, where the degrees are thirty-eight and a half miles in length. San Francisco is near the 37th parallel, where the degrees are nearly forty-nine miles in length. Liverpool is three degrees west of Greenwich, from which longitude is reckoned. The 122d meridian passes through Puget Sound and also through the Bay of San Francisco. It follows from all this that the distance from Liverpool in straight lines to these two magnificent gateways of the Pacific, in geographical miles, is as follows:-- Liverpool to San Francisco 4,879 miles. " " Puget Sound 4,487 " ----- Difference, 392 " Looking across the Pacific we see that Yokohama is on the 35th parallel, where a degree of longitude is forty-nine miles in length. Reckoning the distance across the Pacific between Yokohama and the western gateways of the continent, we have this comparison:-- San Francisco to Yokohama 4,856 miles. Puget Sound " " 4,294 " ----- Difference, 562 " Adding these differences together, we see that longitude alone makes a total of nine hundred and fifty-four miles in favor of Puget Sound between Liverpool and Yokohama. When the Northern Pacific Railroad is completed, Chicago will be fully six hundred miles nearer Asia by Puget Sound than by San Francisco. Vessels sailing from Japan to San Francisco follow the Kuro-Siwo, the heated river, which of itself bears them towards Puget Sound at the rate of eighty miles a day. They follow it into northern latitudes till within three or four hundred miles of the coast of British Columbia, then shape their course southward past Puget Sound to the Golden Gate. In navigation, then, Asia is nearly, if not quite, one thousand miles nearer the ports of Puget Sound than San Francisco. The time will come when not only Puget Sound, but every bay and inlet of the northwest coast, will be whitened with sails of vessels bringing the products of the Orient, not only for those who dwell upon the Pacific slope, but for the mighty multitude of the Empire of the Northwest, of the Mississippi Valley, and the Atlantic States. From those land-locked harbors steamships shall depart for other climes, freighted with the products of this region, spun and woven, hammered and smelted, sawed and planed, by the millions of industrious workers who are to improve the unparalleled capabilities of this vast domain. There is not on the face of the globe a country so richly endowed as this of the Northwest. Here we find every element necessary for the development of a varied industry,--agricultural, mining, manufacturing, mercantile, and commercial,--all this with a climate like that of southern France, or central and northern Europe. "The climate," says Mr. Roberts, "of this favored region is very remarkable, and will always remain an attractive feature; which must, therefore, aid greatly in the speedy settlement of this portion of the Pacific coast. Even in the coldest winters there is practically no obstruction to navigation from ice; vessels can enter and depart at all times; and the winters are so mild that summer flowers which in the latitude of Philadelphia, on the Atlantic coast, we are obliged to place in the hot-house, are left out in the open garden without being injured. The cause of this mildness is usually, and I think correctly, ascribed to the warm-water equatorial current, which, impinging against the Pacific coast, north of the Strait of Juan de Fuca, passes along nearly parallel with the shore, diffusing its genial warmth over the land far into the interior. Of the fact there is no doubt, whatever may be the cause" (Report, p. 14). The climate of eastern Washington, amid the mountains, corresponds with that of Pennsylvania; but upon the sea-coast and along the waters of Puget Sound roses blossom in the open air throughout the year, and the residents gather green peas and strawberries in March and April. In a former view we looked at the territory belonging to Great Britain lying east of the Rocky Mountains, we saw its capabilities for settlement; but far different in its physical features is British Columbia from the Saskatchawan country. It is a land of mountains, plains, valleys, and forests, threaded by rivers, and indented by bays and inlets. The main branch of the Columbia rises in the British Possessions, between the Cascade Range and the Rocky Mountains. There is a great amphitheatre between those two ranges, having an area of forty-five thousand square miles. We hardly comprehend, even with a map spread out before us, that there is an area larger than Ohio in the basin drained by the northern branch of the Columbia. But such is the fact, and it is represented as being a fertile and attractive section, possessed of a mild and equable climate. The stock-raisers of southern Idaho drive their cattle by the ten thousand into British Columbia to find winter pasturage. The general characteristics of that area have been fully set forth in a paper read before the Royal Geographical Society of London by Lieutenant Palmer of the Royal Engineers. He says:-- "The scenery of the whole midland belt, especially of that portion of it lying to the east of the 124th meridian, is exceedingly beautiful and picturesque. The highest uplands are all more or less thickly timbered, but the valleys present a delightful panorama of woodland and prairie, flanked by miles of rolling hills, swelling gently from the margin of streams, and picturesquely dotted with yellow pines. The forests are almost entirely free from underwood, and with the exception of a few worthless tracts, the whole face of the country--hill and dale, woodland and plain--is covered with an abundant growth of grass, possessing nutritious qualities of the highest order. Hence its value to the colony as a grazing district is of the highest importance. Cattle and horses are found to thrive wonderfully on the 'bunch' grass, and to keep in excellent condition at all seasons. The whole area is more or less available for grazing purposes. Thus the natural pastures of the middle belt may be estimated at hundreds, or even thousands, of square miles. "Notwithstanding the elevation, the seasons exhibit no remarkable extremes of temperature; the winters, though sharp enough for all the rivers and lakes to freeze, are calm and clear, so that the cold, even when most severe, is not keenly felt. Snow seldom exceeds eighteen inches in depth, and in many valleys of moderate elevation cattle often range at large during the winter months, without requiring shelter or any food but the natural grasses.... Judging from present experience, there can be no doubt that in point of salubrity the climate of British Columbia excels that of Great Britain, and is indeed one of the finest in the world." In regard to the agricultural capabilities of this mountain region, the same author remarks:-- "Here in sheltered and well-irrigated valleys, at altitudes of as much as 2,500 feet above the sea, a few farming experiments have been made, and the results have thus far been beyond measure encouraging. At farms in the San José and Beaver valleys, situated nearly 2,200 feet above the sea, and again at Fort Alexander, at an altitude of 1,450 feet, wheat has been found to produce nearly forty bushels to the acre, and other grain and vegetable crops in proportion.... It may be asserted that two thirds at least of this eastern division of the central belt may, when occasion arrives, be turned to good account either for purposes of grazing or tillage." Probably there are no streams, bays, or inlets in the world that so abound with fish as the salt and fresh waters of the northwest Pacific. The cod and herring fisheries are equal to those of Newfoundland, while every stream descending from the mountains literally swarms with salmon. In regard to the fisheries of British Columbia, Lieutenant Palmer says:-- "The whole of the inlets, bays, rivers, and lakes of British Columbia abound with delicious fish. The quantity of salmon that ascend the Fraser and other rivers on the coast seems incredible. They first enter Fraser and other rivers in March, and are followed in rapid succession by other varieties, which continue to arrive until the approach of winter; but the great runs occur in July, August, and September. During these months so abundant is the supply that it may be asserted without exaggeration, that some of the smaller streams can hardly be forded without stepping upon them." (Journal of the Geographical Society.) Ah! wouldn't it be glorious sport to pull out the twenty-five-pounders from the foaming waters of the Columbia,--to land them, one after another, on the grassy bank, and see the changing light upon their shining scales! and then sitting down to dinner to have one of the biggest on a platter, delicately baked or boiled, with prairie chicken, plover, pigeon, and wild duck! We will have it by and by, when Governor Smith and Judge Rice, who are out here seeing about the railroad, get the cars running to the Pacific; they will supply all creation east of the Rocky Mountains with salmon! There are not many of us who can afford to dine off salmon when it is a dollar a pound, and the larger part of the crowd can never have a taste even; but these railroad gentlemen will bring about a new order of things. When they get the locomotive on the completed track, and make the run from the Columbia to Chicago in about sixty hours, as they will be able to do, all hands of us who work for our daily bread will be able to have fresh salmon at cheap rates. What a country! I have drawn a hypothetical line from Milwaukie to the Pacific,--not that the region south of it--Missouri, Kansas, Nebraska, or California--does not abound in natural resources, with fruitful soil and vast capabilities, but because the configuration of the continent--the water-systems, the mountain-ranges, the elevations and depressions, the soil and climate--is in many respects different north of the 43d parallel from what it is south of it. We need not look upon the territory now held by Great Britain with a covetous eye. The 49th parallel is an imaginary line running across the prairies, an arbitrary political boundary which Nature will not take into account in her disposition of affairs in the future. Sooner or later the line will fade away. Railway trains--the constant passing and repassing of a multitude of people speaking the same language, having ideas in common, and related by blood--will rub it out, and there will be one country, one people, one government. What an empire then! The region west of Lake Michigan and north of the latitude of Milwaukie--the 43d parallel extended to the Pacific--will give to the nation, to say nothing of Alaska Territory, forty States as large as Ohio, or two hundred States of the size of Massachusetts! I have been accustomed to look upon this part of the world as being so far north, so cold, so snowy, so distant,--and all the other imaginary so's,--that it never could be available for settlement; but the facts show that it is as capable of settlement as New York or New England,--that the country along the Athabasca has a climate no more severe than that of northern New Hampshire or Maine, while the summers are more favorable to the growing of grains than those of the northern Atlantic coast. It is not, therefore, hypothetical geography. Following the 43d parallel eastward, we find it passing along the northern shore of the Mediterranean, through central Italy, and through the heart of the Turkish Empire. Nearly all of Europe lies north of it,--the whole of France, half of Italy, the whole of the Austrian Empire, and all of Russia's vast dominions. The entire wheat-field of Europe is above that parallel. The valleys of the Alps lying between the 46th and 50th parallels swarm with an industrious people; why may not those of the Rocky Mountains at the head-waters of the Missouri and Columbia in like manner be hives of industry in the future? If a Christiania, a Stockholm, and a St. Petersburg, with golden-domed churches, gorgeous palaces, and abodes of comfort, can be built up in lat. 60 in the Old World, why may we not expect to see their counterpart in the New, when we take into account the fact that a heated current from the tropics gives the same mildness of climate to the northwestern section of this continent that the Gulf Stream gives to northern Europe? With this outlook towards future possibilities, we see Minnesota the central State of the Continental Republic of the future. With the map of the continent before me, I stick a pin into Minneapolis, and stretch a string to Halifax, then, sweeping southward, find that it cuts through southern Florida, and central Mexico. It reaches almost to San Diego, the extreme southwestern boundary of the United States,--reaches to Donner Pass on the summit of the Sierra Nevadas, within a hundred miles of Sacramento. Stretching it due west, it reaches to Salem, Oregon. Carrying it northwest, I find that it reaches to the Rocky Mountain House on Peace River,--to that region whose beauty charmed Mackenzie and Father De Smet. The Peace River flows through the Rocky Mountains, and at its head-waters we find the lowest pass of the continent. The time may come when we of the East will whirl through it upon the express-train bound for Sitka! It is two hundred miles from the Rocky Mountain House to that port of southern Alaska. The city of Mexico is nearer Minneapolis by nearly a hundred miles than Sitka. Trinity Bay on the eastern coast of Newfoundland, Puerto Principe on the island of Cuba, the Bay of Honduras in Central America, and Sitka, are equidistant from Minneapolis and St. Paul. When Mr. Seward, in 1860, addressed the people of St. Paul from the steps of the Capitol, it was the seer, and not the politician, who said:-- "_I now believe that the ultimate last seat of government on this great continent will be found somewhere within a circle or radius not far from the spot on which I stand, at the head of navigation on the Mississippi River!_" CHAPTER V. THE FRONTIER. Bottineau is our guide. Take a look at him as he sits by the camp-fire cleaning his rifle. He is tall and well formed, with features which show both his French and Indian parentage. He has dark whiskers, a broad, flat nose, a wrinkled forehead, and is in the full prime of life. His name is known throughout the Northwest,--among Americans, Canadians, and Indians. The Chippewa is his mother-tongue, though he can speak several Indian dialects, and is fluent in French and English. He was born not far from Fort Garry, and has traversed the vast region of the Northwest in every direction. He was Governor Stevens's guide when he made the first explorations for the Northern Pacific Railroad, and has guided a great many government trains to the forts on the Missouri since then. He was with General Sully in his campaign against the Indians. He has the instinct of locality. Like the honey-bee, which flies straight from the flower to its hive, over fields, through forests, across ravines or intervening hills, so Pierre Bottineau knows just where to go when out upon the boundless prairie with no landmark to guide him. He is never lost, even in the darkest night or foggiest day. There is no man living, probably, who has more enemies than he, for the whole Sioux nation of Indians are his sworn foes. They would take his scalp instantly if they could only get a chance. He has been in many fights with them,--has killed six of them, has had narrow escapes, and to hear him tell of his adventures makes your hair stand on end. He is going to conduct a portion of our party through the Sioux country. The Indians are friendly now, and the party will not be troubled; but if a Sioux buffalo-hunter comes across this guide there will be quick shooting on both sides, and ten to one the Indian will go down,--for Bottineau is keen-sighted, has a steady hand, and is quick to act. The westward-bound members of our party, guided by Bottineau, will be accompanied by an escort consisting of nineteen soldiers commanded by Lieutenant Kelton. Four Indian scouts, mounted on ponies, are engaged to scour the country in advance, and give timely notice of the presence of Sioux, who are always on the alert to steal horses or plunder a train. Bidding our friends good by, we watch their train winding over the prairie till we can only see the white canvas of the wagons on the edge of the horizon; then, turning eastward, we cross the river into Minnesota, and strike out upon the pathless plain. We see no landmarks ahead, and, like navigators upon the ocean, pursue our way over this sea of verdure by the compass. After a few hours' ride, we catch, through the glimmering haze, the faint outlines of islands rising above the unruffled waters of a distant lake. We approach its shores, but only to see islands and lake alike vanish into thin air. It was the mirage lifting above the horizon the far-off groves of Buffalo Creek, a branch of the Red River. Far away to the east are the Leaf Hills, which are only the elevations of the rolling prairie that forms the divide between the waters flowing into the Gulf of Mexico and into Hudson Bay. Wishing to see the hills, to ascertain what obstacles there are to the construction of a railroad, two of us break away from the main party and strike out over the plains, promising to be in camp at nightfall. How exhilarating to gallop over the pathless expanse, amid a sea of flowers, plunging now and then through grass so high that horse and rider are almost lost to sight! The meadow-lark greets us with his cheerful song; the plover hovers around us; sand-hill cranes, flying always in pairs, rise from the ground and wing their way beyond the reach of harm. The gophers chatter like children amid the flowers, as we ride over their subterranean towns. They are in peaceful possession of the solitude. Five years ago buffaloes were roaming here. We see their bones bleaching in the sun. Here the Sioux and Chippewas hunted them down. Here the old bulls fought out their battles, and the countless herds cropped the succulent grasses and drank the clear running water of the stream which bears their name. They are gone forever. The ox and cow of the farm are coming to take their place. Sheep and horses will soon fatten on the rich pasturage of these hills. We of the East would hardly call them hills, much less mountains, the slopes are so gentle and the altitudes so low. The highest grade of a railroad would not exceed thirty feet to the mile in crossing them. Here we find granite and limestone bowlders, and in some places beds of gravel, brought, so the geologists inform us, from the far North and deposited here when the primeval ocean currents set southward over this then submerged region. They are in the right place for the railroad. The stone will be needed for abutments to bridges, and the gravel will be wanted for ballast,--provided the road is located in this vicinity. On our second day's march we come to what might with propriety be called the park region of Minnesota. It lies amid the high lands of the divide. It is more beautiful even than the country around White Bear Lake and in the vicinity of Glenwood. Throughout the day we behold such rural scenery as can only be found amid the most lovely spots in England. Think of rounded hills, with green slopes,--of parks and countless lakes,--skirted by forests, fringed with rushes, perfumed by tiger-lilies--the waves rippling on gravelled beaches; wild geese, ducks, loons, pelicans, and innumerable water-fowl building their nests amid the reeds and rushes,--think of lawns blooming with flowers, elk and deer browsing in the verdant meadows. This is their haunt. We see their tracks along the sandy shores, but they keep beyond the range of our rifles. So wonderfully has nature adorned this section, that it seems as if we were riding through a country that has been long under cultivation, and that behind yonder hillock we shall find an old castle, a mansion, or, at least, a farm-house, as we find them in Great Britain. I do not forget that I am seeing Minnesota at its best season, that it is midsummer, that the winters are as long as in New England; but I can say without reservation, that nowhere in the wide world--not even in old England, the most finished of all lands; not in _la belle France_, or sunny Italy, or in the valley of the Ganges or the Yangtse, or on the slopes of the Sierra Nevadas--have I beheld anything approaching this in natural beauty. How it would look in winter I cannot say, but the members of our party are unanimous in their praises of this portion of Minnesota. The nearest pioneer is forty miles distant; but land so inviting will soon be taken up by settlers. It was a pleasure, after three days' travel over the trackless wild, to come suddenly and unexpectedly upon a hay-field. There were the swaths newly mown. There was no farm-house in sight, no fenced area or upturned furrow, but the hay-makers had been there. We were approaching civilization once more. Ascending a hill, we came in sight of a settler, a pioneer who is always on the move; who, when a neighbor comes within six or eight miles of him, abandons his home and moves on to some spot where he can have more elbow-room,--to a region not so thickly peopled. He informed us that we should find the old trail we were searching for about a mile ahead. He had long matted hair, beard hanging upon his breast, a wrinkled countenance, wore a slouched felt hat, an old checked-cotton shirt, and pantaloons so patched and darned, so variegated in color, that it would require much study to determine what was original texture and what patch and darn. He came from Ohio in his youth, and has always been a skirmisher on the advancing line of civilization,--a few miles ahead of the main body. He was thinking now of going into the "bush," as he phrased it. Settlers farther down the trail informed us that he was a little flighty and queer; that he could not be induced to stay long in one place, but was always on the move for a more quiet neighborhood! The road that we reached at this point was formerly traversed by the French and Indian traders between Pembina and the Mississippi, but has not been used much of late years. Striking that, we should have no difficulty in reaching the settlements of the Otter-Tail, forty miles south. Emigration travels fast. As fires blown by winds sweep through the dried grass of the prairies, so civilization spreads along the frontier. We reached the settlement on Saturday night, and pitched our tents for the Sabbath. It was a rare treat to these people to come into our camp and hear a sermon from Rev. Dr. Lord. The oldest member of the colony is a woman, now in her eightieth year, with eye undimmed and a countenance remarkably free from the marks of age, who walks with a firm step after fourscore years of labor. Sixty years ago she moved from Lebanon, New Hampshire, a young wife, leaving the valley of the Connecticut for a home in the State of New York, then moving with the great army of emigrants to Ohio, Illinois, Missouri, and Iowa in succession, and now beginning again in Minnesota. Last year her hair, which had been as white as the purest snow, began to take on its original color, and is now quite dark! There are but few instances on record of such a renewal of youth. The party have come from central Iowa to make this their future home, preferring the climate of this region, where the changes of temperature are not so sudden and variable. The women and children of the four families lived here alone for six weeks, while the men were away after their stock. Their nearest neighbors are twelve miles distant. On the 4th of July all hands--men, women, and children--travelled forty-five miles to celebrate the day. "We felt," said one of the women, "that we couldn't get through the year without going somewhere or seeing somebody. It is kinder lonely so far away from folks, and so we went down country to a picnic." Store, church, and school are all forty miles away, and till recently the nearest saw-mill was sixty miles distant. Now they can get their wheat ground by going forty miles. The settlement is already blooming with half a dozen children. Other emigrants are coming, and these people are looking forward to next year with hope and confidence, for then they will have a school of their own. In our march south from Detroit Lake we meet a large number of Chippewa Indians going to the Reservation recently assigned them by the government in one of the fairest sections of Minnesota. Among them we see several women with blue eyes and light hair and fair complexions, who have French blood in their veins, and possibly some of them may have had American fathers. Nearly all of the Indians wear pantaloons and jackets; but here and there we see a brave who is true to his ancestry, who is proud of his lineage and race, and is in all respects a savage, in moccasons, blanket, skunk-skin head-dress, and painted eagle's feathers. They are friendly, inoffensive, and indolent, and took no part in the late war. They have been in close contact with the whites for a long time, but they do not advance in civilization. All efforts for their elevation are like rain-drops falling on a cabbage-leaf, that roll off and leave it dry. There is little absorption on the part of the Indians except of whiskey, and in that respect their powers are great,--equal to those of the driest toper in Boston or anywhere else devoting all his energies to getting round the Prohibitory Law. Our halting-place for Monday night is on the bank of the Otter-Tail, near Rush Lake. The tents are pitched, the camp-fire kindled, supper eaten, and we are sitting before a pile of blazing logs. The dew is falling, and the fire is comfortable and social. We look into the glowing coals and think of old times, and of friends far away. We dream of home. Then the jest and the story go round. The song would follow if we had the singers. But music is not wanting. We hear martial strains,--of cornets, trombones, ophicleides, and horns, and the beating of a drum. Torches gleam upon the horizon, and by their flickering light we see a band advancing over the prairie. It is a march of welcome to the Northern Pacific Exploring Party. Not an hour ago these musicians heard of our arrival, and here they are, twelve of them, in our camp, doing their best to express their joy. They are Germans,--all young men. Three years ago several families came here from Ohio. They reported the soil so fertile, the situation so attractive, the prospects so flattering, that others came; and now they have a dozen families, and more are coming to this land of promise. Take a good long look at these men as they stand before our camp-fire, with their bright new instruments in their hands. They received them only three weeks ago from Cincinnati. "We can't play much yet," says the leader, Mr. Bertenheimer, "but we do the best we can. We have sent to Toledo for a teacher who will spend the winter with us. You will pardon our poor playing, but we felt so good when we heard you were here looking out a route for a railroad, that we felt like doing something to show our good-will. You see we are just getting started, and have to work hard, but we wanted some recreation, and we concluded to get up a band. We thought it would be better than to be hanging round a grocery. We haven't any grocery yet, and if we keep sober, and give our attention to other things, perhaps we sha'n't have one,--which, I reckon, will be all the better for us." Plain and simple the words, but there is more in them than in many a windy speech made on the rostrum or in legislative halls. Just getting started! Yet here upon the frontier Art has planted herself. The flowers of civilization are blooming on the border. As we listen to the parting strains, and watch the receding forms, and look into the coals of our camp-fire after their departure, we feel that there must be a bright future for a commonwealth that can grow such fruit on the borders of the uncultivated wilderness. Now just ride out and see what has been done by these emigrants. Here is a field containing thirty acres of as fine wheat as grows in Minnesota. It is just taking on the golden hue, and will be ready for the reaper next week. Beside it are twenty acres of oats, several acres of corn, an acre or two of potatoes. This is one farm only. On yonder slope there stands a two-storied house, of hewn logs and shingled roof. See what adornment the wife or daughter has given to the front yard,--verbenas, petunias, and nasturtiums, and round the door a living wreath of morning-glories. Cows chew their cud in the stable-yard, while "Drowsy tinklings lull the distant field" where the sheep are herded. We shall find the scene repeated on the adjoining farm. Sheltered beneath the grand old forest-trees stands the little log church with a cross upon its roof, and here we see coming down the road the venerable father and teacher of the community, in long black gown and broad-brimmed hat, with a crucifix at his girdle. It is a Catholic community, and they brought their priest with them. In the morning we ride over smiling prairies, through groves of oak and maple, and behold in the distance a large territory covered with the lithe foliage of the tamarack. Here and there are groves of pine rising like islands above the wide level of the forest. At times our horses walk on pebbly beaches and splash their hoofs in the limpid waters of the lakes. We pick up agates, carnelians, and bits of bright red porphyry, washed and worn by the waves. Wild swans rear their young in the reeds and marshes bordering the streams. They gracefully glide over the still waters. They are beyond the reach of our rifles, and we would not harm them if we could. There is a good deal of the savage left in a man who, under the plea of sport, can wound or kill a harmless bird or beast that cannot be made to serve his wants. It gives me pleasure to say that our party are not bloodthirsty. Ducks, plover, snipe, wild geese, and sand-hill cranes are served at our table, but they are never shot in wanton sport. The stream which we have crossed several times is the Otter-Tail and flows southward into Otter-Tail Lake; issuing from that it runs southwest, then west, then northward, taking the name of the Red River, and pours its waters into Lake Winnipeg. From that great northern reservoir the waters of this western region of Minnesota reach Hudson Bay through Nelson River. Looking eastward we see gleaming in the morning sunlight the Leaf Lakes, the head-waters of the Crow-Wing, one of the largest western tributaries of the Upper Mississippi. The neck of land between these lakes and the Otter-Tail is only one mile wide. Here, from time out of mind among the Indians, the transit has been made between the waters flowing into the Gulf of Mexico and into Hudson Bay. When the Jesuit missionaries came here, they found it the great Indian carrying-place. Mackenzie, Lord Selkirk, and all the early adventurers, came by this route on their way to British America. For a long time it has been a trading-post. The French Jesuit fathers were here a century ago and are here to-day,--not spiritual fathers alone, but according to the flesh as well! The settlement is composed wholly of French Canadians, their Indian wives and copper-colored children. There are ten or a dozen houses, but they are very dilapidated. A little old man with twinkling gray eyes, wearing a battered white hat, comes out to welcome us, while crowds of swarthy children and Indian women gaze at us from the doorways. Another little old man, in a black gown and broad-brimmed hat, with a long chain and crucifix dangling from his girdle, salutes us with true French politeness. He is the priest, and is as seedy as the village itself. Around the place are several birch-bark Indian huts, and a few lodges of tanned buffalo-hides. Filth, squalor, and degradation are the characteristics of the lodge, and the civilization of the log-houses is but little removed from that of the wigwams. The French Canadian takes about as readily to the Indian maiden as to one of his own race. He is kinder than the Indian brave, and when he wants a wife he will find the fairest of the maidens ready to listen to his words of love. CHAPTER VI. ROUND THE CAMP-FIRE. Our halting-place at noon furnishes a pleasing subject for a comic artist. Behold us beneath the shade of old oaks, our horses cropping the rank grass, a fire kindled against the trunk of a tree that has braved the storms of centuries, each toasting a slice of salt pork. [Illustration: TOASTING PORK.] Governor, members of Congress, minister, judge, doctor, teamster, correspondent,--all hands are at it. Salt pork! Does any one turn up his nose at it? Do you think it hard fare? Just come out here and try it, after a twenty-five-mile gallop on horseback, in this clear, bracing atmosphere, with twenty more miles to make before getting into camp. We slept in a tent last night; had breakfast at 5 A. M.; are camping by night and tramping by day; are bronzed by the sun; and are roughing it! The exercise of the day gives sweet sleep at night. We had a good appetite at breakfast, and now, at noon, are as hungry as bears. Salt pork is not of much account in a down-town eating-house, but out here it is epicurean fare. Just see the Ex-Governor of the Green Mountain State standing before the fire with a long stick in his hand, having three prongs like Neptune's trident. He is doing his pork to a beautiful brown. Now he lays it between two slices of bread, and eats it as if it were a most delicious morsel,--as it is. A dozen toasting-forks are held up to the glowing coals. A dozen slices of pork are sizzling. We are not all of us quite so scientific in our toasting as the Ex-Governor in his. Although I have had camp-life before, and have fried flapjacks on an old iron shovel, I am subject to mishaps. There goes my pork into the ashes; never mind! I shall need less pepper. I job my trident into the slice,--flaming now, and turning to crisp,--hold it a moment before the coals, and slap it on my bread in season to save a little of the drip. Do I hear some one exclaim, How can he eat it? Ah! you who never have had experience on the prairies don't know the pleasures of such a lunch. Now, because we are all as jolly as we can be, because I have praised salt pork, I wouldn't have everybody rushing out here to try it, as they have rushed to the Adirondacks, fired to a high pitch of enthusiasm by the spirited descriptions of the pleasures of the wilderness by the pastor of the Boston Park Street Church. What is sweet to me may be sour to somebody else. I should not like this manner of life all the time, nor salt pork for a steady diet. Wooded prairies, oak openings, hills and vales, watered by lakes and ponds,--such is the character of the region lying south of Otter-Tail. Over all this section the water is as pure as that gurgling from the hillsides of New Hampshire. Minnesota is one of the best-watered States of the Union. The thousands of lakes and ponds dotting its surface are fed by never-failing springs. This one feature adds immeasurably to its value as an agricultural State. In Illinois, Iowa, and Nebraska the farmer is compelled to pump water for his stock, and in those States we see windmills erected for that purpose; but here the ponds are so numerous and the springs so abundant that far less pumping will be required than in the other prairie States of the Union. We fall in with a Dutchman, where we camp for the night, who has taken up a hundred and sixty acres under the Pre-emption Act. He has put up a log-hut, turned a few acres of the sod, and is getting ready to live. His thrifty wife has a flock of hens, which supply us with fresh eggs. This pioneer has recently come from Montana. He had a beautiful farm in the Deer Lodge Pass of the Rocky Mountains, within seven miles of the summit. "I raised as good wheat there as I can here," he says,--"thirty bushels to the acre." "Why did you leave it?" "I couldn't sell anything. There is no market there. The farmers raise so much that they can hardly give their grain away." "Did you sell your farm?" "No, I left it. It is there for anybody to take." "Is it cold there?" "No colder than it is here. We have a few cold days in winter, but not much snow. Cattle live in the fields through the winter, feeding on bunch-grass, which grows tall and is very sweet." Here was information worth having,--the experience of a farmer. The Deer Lodge Pass is at the head-waters of the Missouri, in the main divide of the Rocky Mountains, and one of the surveyed lines of the Northern Pacific Railroad passes through it. We have thought of it as a place where a railroad train would be frozen up and buried beneath descending avalanches; but here is a man who has lived within seven miles of the top of the mountains, who raised the best of wheat, the mealiest of potatoes, whose cattle lived in the pastures through the winter, but who left his farm for the sole reason that he could not sell anything. Montana has no market except among the mining population, and the miners are scattered over a vast region. A few farmers in the vicinity of a mining-camp supply the wants of the place. Farming will not be remunerative till a railroad is completed up the valley of the Yellowstone or Missouri. What stronger argument can there be, what demonstration more forcible, for the immediate construction of the Northern Pacific Railroad? It will pass through the heart of the Territory which is yielding more gold and silver than any other Territory or State. This farmer says that Montana is destined to be a great stock-growing State. Cattle thrive on the bunch-grass. The hills are covered with it, and millions of acres that cannot be readily cultivated will furnish pasturage for flocks and herds. This testimony accords with statements made by those who have visited the Territory, as well as by others who have resided there. We have met to-day a long train of wagons filled with emigrants, who have come from Wisconsin, Illinois, Indiana, and some from Ohio. Look at the wagons, each drawn by four oxen,--driven either by the owner or one of his barefoot boys. Boxes, barrels, chairs, tables, pots, and pans constitute the furniture. The grandmother, white-haired, old, and wrinkled, and the wife with an infant in her arms, with three or four romping children around her, all sitting on a feather-bed beneath the white canvas covering. A tin kettle is suspended beneath the axle, in which a tow-headed urchin, covered with dust, is swinging, clapping his hands, and playing with a yellow dog trotting behind the team. A hoop-skirt, a chicken-coop, a pig in a box, are the most conspicuous objects that meet the eye as we look at the hinder part of the wagon. A barefooted boy, as bright-eyed as Whittier's ideal,--now done in chromo-lithograph, and adorning many a home,--marches behind, with his rosy-cheeked sister, driving a cow and a calf. To-night they will be fifteen miles nearer their destination than they were in the morning. Some of the teams have been two months on the road, and a few more days will bring them to the spot which the emigrant has already selected for his future home. They halt by the roadside at night. The oxen crop the rich grasses; the cow supplies the little ones with milk; the children gather an armful of sticks, the mother makes a cake, and bakes it before the camp-fire in a tin baker such as was found in every New England home forty years ago; the emigrant smokes his pipe, rolls himself in a blanket, and snores upon the ground beneath the wagon, while his family sleep equally well beneath the canvas roof above him. Another cake in the morning, with a slice of fried pork, a drink of coffee, and they are ready for the new day. Not only along this road, but everywhere, we may behold just such scenes. A great army of occupation is moving into the State. The advance is all along the line. Towns and villages are springing up as if by magic in every county. Every day adds thousands of acres to those already under cultivation. The fields of this year are wider than they were a year ago, and twelve months hence will be much larger than they are to-day. In all new countries, no matter how fertile they may be, breadstuffs must be imported at the outset. It was so when California was first settled; but to-day California is sending her wheat all over the world. The first settlers of Minnesota were lumbermen, and up to 1857 there was not wheat enough produced in the State to supply their wants. The steamers ascending the Mississippi to St. Paul were loaded with flour, and the world at large somehow came to think of Minnesota as being so cold that wheat enough to supply the few lumbermen employed in the forests and on the rivers could never be raised there. See how this region, which we all thought of as lying too near the north pole to be worth anything, has developed its resources! In 1854 the number of acres under cultivation in the State was only fifteen thousand, or about two thirds of a single township. Fifteen years have passed by, and the tilled area is estimated at about two million acres! In 1857 she imported grain; but her yield of wheat the present year is estimated _at more than twenty million bushels_! I would not make the farmers of New England discontented. I would not advise all to put up their farms at auction, or any well-to-do farmer of Massachusetts or Vermont to leave his old home and rush out here without first coming to survey the country; but if I were a young man selling corsets and hoop-skirts to simpering young ladies in a city store, I would give such a jump over the counter that my feet would touch ground in the centre of a great prairie! I would have a homestead out here. True, there would be hard fare at first. The cabin would be of logs. There would be short commons for a year or two. But with my salt pork I would have pickerel, prairie chickens, moose, and deer. I should have calloused hands and the back-ache at times; but my sleep would be sweet. I should have no theatre to visit nightly, no star actors to see, and should miss the tramp of the great multitude of the city,--the ever-hurrying throng. The first year might be lonely; possibly, I should have the blues now and then; but, possessing my soul with patience a twelvemonth, I should have neighbors. The railroad would come. The little log-hut would give place to a mansion. Roses would bloom in the garden, and morning-glories open their blue bells by the doorway. The vast expanse would wave with golden grain. Thrift and plenty, and civilization with all its comforts and luxuries, would be mine. Are the colors of the picture too bright? Remember that in 1849 Minnesota had less than five thousand inhabitants, and that to-day she has nearly five hundred thousand. I am writing to young men who have the whole scope of life before them. You are a clerk in a store, with a salary of five hundred dollars, perhaps seven hundred. By stinting here and there you can just bring the year round. It is a long, long look ahead, and your brightest day-dream of the future is not very bright. Now take a look in this direction. You can get a hundred and sixty acres of land for two hundred dollars. If you obtain it near a railroad, it will cost three hundred and twenty dollars. It will cost three dollars an acre to plough the ground and prepare it for the first crop, besides the fencing. But the first crop, ordinarily, will more than pay the entire outlay for ground, fencing, and ploughing. Five years hence the land will be worth fifteen or twenty-five dollars per acre. This is no fancy sketch. It is simply a statement as to what has been the experience of thousands of people in Minnesota. Think of it, young men, you who are rubbing along from year to year with no great hopes for the future. Can you hold a plough? Can you drive a span of horses? Can you accept for a while the solitude of nature, and have a few hard knocks for a year or two? Can you lay aside paper collars and kid gloves, and wear a blue blouse and blister your hands with work? Can you possess your soul in patience, and hold on your way with a firm purpose? If you can, there is a beautiful home for you out here. Prosperity, freedom, independence, manhood in its highest sense, peace of mind, and all the comforts and luxuries of life, are awaiting you. There is no medicine for a wearied mind or jaded body equal to life on the prairies. When our party left the East, every member of it was worn down by hard work. Some of us were dyspeptic, some nervous, while others had tired brains. It is the misfortune of Americans to be ever working as if they were in the iron-mills, or as if the Philistines had them in the prison-house! We have been a few weeks upon the frontier,--been beyond the reach of the daily newspaper, beyond care and trouble. The world has got on without us, and now we are on our way back, changed beings. We are as good as new,--tough, rugged, hale, hearty, and ready for a frolic here, or another battle with life when we reach home. Behold us at our halting-place for the night; a clear stream near by winding through pleasant meadows, bordered by oaks and maples. The horses are unharnessed, and are rolling in the tall grass after their long day's work. The teamsters are pitching the tents, the cook is busy with his pots and kettles. Already we inhale the aroma steaming from the nose of the coffee-pot. The pork and fish and plover over the fire, like a missionary or colporteur or Sunday-school teacher, are doing good! What odor more refreshing than that exhaled from a coffee-pot steaming over a camp-fire, after twelve hours in the saddle,--the fresh breeze fanning your cheeks, and every sense intensified by beholding the far-reaching fields blooming with flowers or waving with ripening grain? The shadows of night are falling, and though the sun has shone through a cloudless sky the evening air is chilly. We will warm it by kindling a grand bivouac-fire, where, after supper, we will sit in solemn council, or crack jokes, or tell stories, as the whim of the hour shall lead us. There was a time when the gray-beards of our party were youngsters and played "horse" with a wooden bit between the teeth, the reins handled by a white-haired schoolmate. How we trotted, cantered, reared, pranced, backed, and then rushed furiously on, making the little old hand-cart rattle over the stones! It was long ago, but we have not forgotten it, and to-night we will be boys once more. Yonder by the roadside lies a fallen oak, a monarch of the forest, broken down by the wind,--by the same tempest that levelled our tents. It shall blaze to-night. We will sit in its cheerful light. It would be ignoble to hack it to pieces and bring it into camp an armful at a time; we will drag it bodily, lop off the limbs and pile them high upon the trunk, touch a match to the withered leaves, and warm the chilly air. "All hands to the harness!" It is a royal team. How could it be otherwise with the Ex-Governor of the Green Mountain State for leader, matched with our Judge, who, for sixteen years, honored the judiciary of Maine, with three members of Congress past and present, a doctor of divinity and another of medicine,--all in harness? We have a strong cart-rope of the best Manilla hemp, which has served us many a turn in pulling our wagons through the sloughs, and which is brought once more into service. A few strokes of the axe provide us with levers which serve for yokes. We pair off, two and two, and take our places in the team. "Are you all ready? Now for it!" It is the voice of our leader. "Gee up! Whoa! Whoa! Hip! Hurrah! Now she goes!" We shout and sing, and feel an ecstatic thrill running all over us, from the tips of our fingers down into our boots! What a deal of power there is in a yell! The teamster screams to his horses; the plough-boy makes himself hoarse by shouting to his oxen; the fireman feels that he is doing good service when he goes tearing down the street yelling with all his might. He never would put out the fire if he couldn't yell. A hurrah elected General Harrison President of the United States, and it has won many a political battle-field. A hurrah starts the old oak from its bed. See the Executive as he sets his compact shoulders to the work, making the lever bend before him. Notice the tall form of the Judge bowing in the traces! If the rope does not break, the log is bound to come. The two are good at pulling. They have shown their power by dragging one of the greatest enterprises of modern times over obstacles that would have discouraged men of weaker nerve. The public never will know of the hard work performed by them in starting the Northern Pacific Railroad,--how they have raised it from obscurity, from obloquy, notwithstanding opposition and prejudice. The time will come when the public will look upon the enterprise in its true light. When the road is opened from Lake Superior westward, when the traveller finds on every hand a country of surpassing richness, a climate in the Northwest as mild as that of Pennsylvania, when he sees the numberless attractions and exhaustless resources of the land, then, and not till then, will the labors of Governor Smith and his associates in carrying on this work be appreciated. To-night they enter with all the zest of youth into the project of building a camp-fire, and tug at the rope with the enthusiasm of boyhood. It is a strong team. Our doctor of divinity, whether in the pulpit or on the prairie, pulls with "a forty parson power," to use Byron's simile. And our M. D., whether he has hold of a gnarled oak or the stump of a molar in the mouth of a pretty young lady, is certain to master it. [Illustration: A STRONG TEAM.] A member of Congress "made believe pull," as we used to say in our boyhood, but complacently smoked his pipe the while; the correspondent tipped a wink at the smoker, seized hold of a lever, shouted and yelled as if laying out all his strength, and pulled--about two pounds! But _we_ dragged it in amid the hurrahs of the teamsters, wiped the sweat from our brows, and then through the evening sat round the blazing log, and made the air ring with our merry laughter. So we rubbed out the growing wrinkles, smoothed the lines of care, and turned back the shadow creeping up the dial. CHAPTER VII. IN THE FOREST. In preceding chapters the characteristics of the country west of the Mississippi have been set forth; but many a man seeking a new home would be lonely upon the prairies. The lumberman of Maine, who was born in the forest, who in childhood listened to the sweet but mournful music of the ever-sighing pines, would be home-sick away from the grand old woods. The trees are his friends. The open country would be a solitude, but in the depths of the forest he would ever find congenial company. There the oaks, the elms, and maples reach out their arms lovingly above him, sheltering him alike from winter's blasts and summer's heats. Even though he may have no poetry in his soul, the woods will have a charm for him, for there he finds a harvest already grown and waiting to be gathered, as truly as if it were so many acres of ripened wheat. It is not difficult to pick out the "Down-Easters" in Minnesota. When I hear a man talk about "stumpage" and "thousands of feet," I know that he is from the Moosehead region, or has been in a lumber camp on the Chesuncook. He has eaten pork and beans, and slept on hemlock boughs on the banks of the Madawaska. When he cocks his head on one side and squints up a pine-tree, I know that he has Blodget's Table in his brain, and can tell the exact amount of clear and merchantable lumber which the tree will yield. His paradise is in the forest, and there alone. The region east of the Mississippi and around its head-waters is the Eden of lumbermen. The traveller who starts from St. Paul and travels westward will find a prairie country; but if he travels eastward, or toward the northeast, he will find himself in the woods, where tall pines and spruces and oaks and maples rear their gigantic trunks. It is not all forest, for here and there we see "openings" where the sunlight falls on pleasant meadows; but speaking in general terms, the entire country east of the Mississippi, in Minnesota and northern Wisconsin, and in that portion of Michigan lying between Lake Superior and Lake Michigan, is the place for the lumberman. The soil is sandy, and the geologist will see satisfactory traces of the drift period, when a great flood of waters set southward, bringing granite bowlders, pebbles, and stones from the country lying between Hudson Bay and Lake Superior. The forest growth affects the climate. There is more snow and rain east of the Mississippi than west of it. The temperature in winter on Lake Superior is milder than at St. Paul, but there is more moisture in the air. The climate at Duluth or Superior City during the winter does not vary much from that of Chicago. Notwithstanding the difference of latitude, the isothermal line of mean temperature for the year runs from the lower end of Lake Michigan to the western end of Lake Superior. Probably more snow falls in Minnesota than around Chicago, for in all forest regions in northern latitudes there is usually a heavier rain and snow fall than in open countries. The time will probably come when the rain-fall of eastern Minnesota and northern Michigan will be less than it is now. When the lumbermen have swept away the forests, the sun will dry up the moisture, there will be less rain east of the Mississippi, while the probabilities are that it will be increased westward over all the prairie region. Orchards, groves, corn-fields, wheat-fields, clover-lands,--all will appear with the advance of civilization. They will receive more moisture from the surrounding air than the prairie grasses do at the present time. Everybody knows that the hand of man is powerful enough to change climate,--to increase the rain-fall here, to diminish it there; to lower the temperature, or to raise it. The Ohio River is dwindling in size because the forests of Ohio and Pennsylvania are disappearing. Palestine, Syria, and Greece, although they have supported dense populations, are barren to-day because the trees have been cut down. If this were an essay on the power of man over nature, instead of the writing out of a few notes on the Northwest, I might go on and give abundant data; but I allude to it incidentally in connection with the climate, which fifty years hence will not in all probability be the same that it is to-day. Having in preceding pages taken a survey of the magnificent farming region beyond the Mississippi, it remains for us to take a look at the country between the Mississippi and Lake Superior. Leaving our camp equipage and the horses that had borne us over the prairies, bidding good by to our many friends in Minneapolis and St. Paul, we started from the last-named city for a trip of a hundred and fifty miles through the woods. The first fifty miles was accomplished by rail, through a country partially settled. Upon the train were several ladies and gentlemen on their way to White Bear Lake, not the White Bear of the West, but a lovely sheet of water ten miles north of St. Paul. It is but a few years since Wabashaw and his dusky ancestors trolled their lines by day and speared pickerel and pike by torchlight at night upon its placid bosom, but now it is the favorite resort of picnic-parties from St. Paul. Here and there along the shores are low grass-grown monuments, raised by the Chippewas when they were a powerful nation among the Red Men. "But now the wheat is green and high On clods that hid the warrior's breast, And scattered in the furrows lie The weapons of his rest." The lake is six miles long and dotted with islands. It was a general gathering-place of the Indians, as it is now of the people of the surrounding country. Its curving shores and pebbly beaches, bordered by a magnificent forest, present a charming and peaceful picture. We are accompanied on our trip by the President of the Lake Superior and Mississippi Railroad, and other gentlemen connected with the railroads of the Northwest. At Wyoming we leave our friends, bid good by to the locomotive, and say how do you do to a bright new mud-wagon! It is set on thorough-braces, with a canvas top. There are seats for nine inside and one with the driver outside. Carpet-bags and valises are stowed under the seats. We have no extra luggage, but are in light staging order. We are bound for Superior and Duluth. "You will have a sweet time getting there," is the remark of a mud-bespattered man sitting on a pile of lumber by the roadside. He has just come through on foot with a dozen men, who have thrown down the shovel to take up the sickle, or rather to follow the reaper during harvest. What he means by our having a sweet time we do not quite comprehend. "You will find the road baddish in spots," says another. A German, with bushy beard and uncombed hair, barefooted, and carrying his boots in his hands, exclaims, "It ish von tam tirty travel all the time!" We understand him. With a crack of the whip we roll away, our horses on the trot, passing cleared fields, where cattle are up to their knees in clover, past wheat-fields ready for the reaper, reaching at noon our halting-place for dinner. Whenever you find a farm-house anywhere out West where there are delicious apple-pies, or anything especially nice in the pastry line, on the table, you may be pretty sure that the hostess came from Maine; at least, such has been my experience. I remember calling at a house in central Missouri during the war, and, instead of having the standard dish of the Southwest "hog and hominy," obtaining a luxurious dinner, finishing off with apple-pie, the pastry moulded by fair hands that were trained to housework on the banks of the Penobscot. Last year I found a lady from Maine among the Sierra Nevadas; I was confident that she was from the Pine-Tree State the moment I saw her pies; for somehow the daughters of Down East have the knack of making pastry that would delight an epicure. And now in Minnesota we sit down to a substantial dinner topped off, rounded, and made complete by a piece of Maine apple-pie. The daughters of New Hampshire and of Vermont may possibly make just as good cooks, but it has so happened that we have fallen in with housewives from Maine when our appetite was sharpened for something good. Our dinner is at the house of a farmer who came to Minnesota from the Kennebec. He knew how to swing an axe, and the oaks and maples have fallen before his sturdy strokes; the plough and harrow and stump-puller have been at work, and now we look out upon wheat-fields and acres of waving corn, inhale the fragrance of white clover, and hear the humming of the bees. We see at a glance the capabilities of the forest region of Minnesota. We understand it just as well as if we were to read all the works extant on soil, climatology, natural productions, etc. Here, as well as westward of the Mississippi, wheat, corn, potatoes, clover, and timothy can be successfully and profitably cultivated. "I raised thirty-five bushels of wheat to the acre last year, and I guess I shall have that this year," said the owner of the farm. This well-to-do farmer and his wife came here without capital, or rather with capital arms and strong hearts, to rear a home, and here it is: a neat farm-house of two stories; a carpet on the floor, a sofa, a rocking-chair, pictures on the walls; a large barn; granary well filled,--a comfortable home with a bright future before them. When the timber has disappeared from eastern Minnesota, the land will produce luxuriantly. The country will not be settled quite as rapidly here as west of the Mississippi; but it is not to be forever a wilderness. The time will come when along every stream there will be heard the buzzing of saws, the whirring of mill-stones, and the click and clatter of machinery. This vast area of timber will invite every kind of manufacturing, and the same elements which have contributed so largely to build up the Eastern States--the manufacturing and industrial--will here aid in building up one of the strongest communities of our future republic. Clearings here and there, cabins by the roadside, bark wigwams which have sheltered wandering Ojibwas, and a reach of magnificent forest, are the features of the country through which we ride this glorious afternoon, with the sunlight glimmering among the trees, till suddenly we come upon Chengwatona. It is a small village on Snake River, with a hotel, half a dozen houses, and a saw-mill where pine logs are going up an incline from the pond at one end, and coming out in the shape of bright new lumber at the other. The dam at Chengwatona has flooded an immense area, and looking toward the descending sun we behold a forest in decay. The trees are leafless, and the dead trunks rising from the water, robbed of all their beauty, present an indescribable scene of desolation when contrasted with the luxuriance of the living forest through which we have passed. With a fresh team we move on, finding mud "spots" now and then. We remember the remarks of the fellows at the railroad. We dive into holes, the forward wheels going down _kerchug_, sending bucketsful of muddy water upward to the roof of the wagon and forward upon the horses; jounce over corduroy which sets our teeth to chattering; then come upon a series of hollows through which we ride as in a jolly-boat on the waves of the sea. The wagon is ballasted by two members of Congress on the back seat, and by our rotund physician and the Vice-President of the Northern Pacific on the middle seat. The President is outside with the driver, on the lookout for breakers, while the rest of us, like passengers on shipboard, stowed beneath the hatches, must take whatever comes. The members of Congress bob up and down like electric pith-balls between the negative and positive poles of a galvanic battery,--only that the positive is the prevailing force! When the forward wheels go down to the hub, they go up; and then, as they descend, the seat, by some unaccountable process, comes up, meets them half-way,--and with such a bump! Then we who are shaking our sides with laughter on the front seat, congratulating ourselves, like the Pharisees, that we are not as they are, suddenly find ourselves sprawling on the floor. When we regain our places, the M. D. and Vice-President come forward with a rush and embrace us fraternally. We get our legs so mixed up with our neighbors' that we can hardly tell whether our feet belong to ourselves or to somebody else! The light weights of the party are knocked about like shuttlecocks, while the solid ones roll like those ridiculous, round-bottomed, grinning images that we see in the toy-shops! I find myself going up and down after the manner of Sancho Panza when tossed in a blanket. Our dinners are well settled when we reach Grindstone,--our stopping-place for the night. The town is located on Grindstone Creek, and consists of a log-house and stable, surrounded by burnt timber. Half a dozen men who have footed it from Duluth are nursing their sore feet in one of the three rooms on the ground-floor. The furniture of the apartment consists of a cast-iron stove in the centre and three rough benches against the walls, which are papered with pictorial newspapers. The occupants are discussing the future prospects of Duluth. "It is a right smart chance of a place," says a tall, thin-faced, long-nosed man stretched in one corner. We know by the utterance of that one sentence that he is from southern Illinois. "They have got their _i_-deas pretty well up though, on real estate, for a town that is only a yearlin'," says another, who, by his accent of the _i_, has shown that he too is a Western man. An Amazon in stature, with a round red face, hurries up a supper of pork and fried eggs; and then we who are going northward, and they who are travelling southward,--sixteen of us, all told,--creep up the narrow stairway to the unfinished garret, and go to bed, with our noses close to the rafters and long shingles, through the crevices of which we look out and behold the stars marching in grand procession across the midnight sky. It is glorious to lie there and feel the _tire_ and weariness go out of us; to look into the "eternities of space," as Carlyle says of the vault of heaven. But our profound thoughts upon the measureless empyrean are brought down to sublunary things by four of the sleepers who engage in a snoring contest. The race is so close, neck and neck, or rather nose and nose, that it is impossible to decide whether the deep sonorous--not to say _snorous_?--bass of the big fellow by the window, or the sharp, piercing, energetic snorts of the thin-faced, lantern-jawed, long-nosed man from southern Illinois, is entitled to the trumpet or horn, or whatever may be appropriate to signalize such championship. Either of them would have been a power in the grand chorus of the Coliseum Jubilee, and both together would be equal to the big organ! We are off early in the morning, feeling a little sore in spots. The first thump extorts a sudden oh! from a member of Congress, but we are philosophic, and accommodate ourselves to circumstances, tell stories between the bumpings, and make the grand old forest ring with our laughter. It is glorious to get away from the town, and out into the woods, where you can shout and sing and let yourself out without regard to what folks will say! The fountain of perennial youth is in the forest,--never in the city. Its healing, beautifying, and restoring waters do not run through aqueducts; they are never pumped up; but you must lie down upon the mossy bank beneath old trees and drink from the crystal stream to obtain them. We quench our thirst from gurgling brooks, pick berries by the roadside, walk ahead of the lumbering stage, and enjoy the solitude of the interminable forest. Eighteen miles of travel brings us to Kettle River Crossing, where we sit down to a dinner of blackberries and milk, bread and butter, and blackberry-pie, in a clean little cottage, with pictures on the walls, books on a shelf, a snow-white cloth on the table, and a trim little woman waiting upon us. "May I ask where you are from?" "Manchester, New Hampshire." It was Lord Morpeth or the Duke of Argyle, I have forgotten which, who said that New England looked as if it had just been taken out of a bandbox; so with this one-storied log-house and everything around it. We had sour-krout at Grindstone, but have blackberries here; and that is just the difference between Dutchland and New England, whether you seek for them on the Atlantic slope or in the heart of the continent. Space is wanting to tell of all the incidents of a three days' forest ride,--how we trolled for pickerel on a little lake, seated in a birch-bark canoe, and hauled them in hand over hand,--bouncing fellows that furnished us a delicious breakfast; how we laughed and told stories, never minding the bumping and thumping of the wagon, and came out strong, like Mark Tapley, every one of us; how we gazed upon the towering pines and sturdy oaks, and beheld the gloom settling over nature when the great eclipse occurred; and how, just as night was coming on, we entered Superior, and saw a horned owl sitting on the ridge-pole of a deserted house in the outskirts of the town, surveying the desolate scene in the twilight,--looking out upon the cemetery, the tenantless houses, and the blinking lights in the windows. Superior has been, and still is, a city of the Future, rather than of the Present. It was laid out before the war on a magnificent scale by a party of Southerners, among whom was John C. Breckenridge, who is still a large owner in corner lots. It has a fine situation at the southwestern corner of the lake, on a broad, level plateau, with a densely timbered country behind it. The St. Louis River, which rises in northern Minnesota, and which comes tumbling over a series of cascades formed by the high land between Lake Superior and the Mississippi, spreads itself out into a shallow bay in front of the town, and reaches the lake over a sand-bar. Government has been erecting breakwaters to control the current of the river, with the expectation of deepening the channel, which has about nine feet of water; but thus far the improvements have not accomplished the desired end. The bar is a great impediment to navigation, and its existence has had a blighting effect on the once fair prospects of Superior City. Dredges are employed to deepen the channel, but those thus far used are small, and not much has been accomplished. The citizens of Superior are confident that with a liberal appropriation from government the channel can be deepened, and that, when once cleared out, it can be kept clear at a small expense. Superior has suffered severely from the reaction which followed the flush times in 1857. A large amount of money was expended in improvements,--grading streets, opening roads, building piers, and erecting houses. Then the war came on, and all industry was paralyzed. The Southern proprietors were in rebellion. The growth of the place, which had been considerable, came to a sudden stand-still. The situation of the town, while it is fortunate in some respects, is unfortunate in others. It is in Wisconsin, while the point which reaches across the head of the lake is in Minnesota. The last-named State wanted a port on the lake in its own dominion, and so Duluth has sprung into existence as the rival of its older neighbor. The St. Paul and Superior Railroad, having its terminus at Duluth, lies wholly within the State of Minnesota, and comes just near enough to Superior to tantalize and vex the good people of that place. But the citizens of that town have good pluck. I do not know what motto they have adopted for their great corporate seal, but _Nil Desperandum_ would best set forth their hopefulness and determination. They are confident that Superior is yet to be the queen city of the lake, and are determined to have railway communication with the Mississippi by building a branch line to the St. Paul and Superior Road. Our party is kindly and hospitably entertained by the people of the place, and to those who think of the town as being so far northwest that it is beyond civilization, I have only to say that there are few drawing-rooms in the East where more agreeable company can be found than that which we find in one of the parlors of Superior; few places where the sonatas of Beethoven and Mendelssohn can be more exquisitely rendered upon the pianoforte, by a lady who bakes her own bread and cares for her family without the aid of a servant. It is the glory of our civilization that it adapts itself to all the circumstances of life. I have no doubt that if Minnie, or Winnie, or Georgiana, or almost any of the pale, attenuated young ladies who are now frittering away their time in studying the last style of _paniers_, or thrumming the piano, or reading the last vapid novel, were to have their lot cast in the West,--on the frontiers of civilization,--where they would be _compelled_ to do something for themselves or those around them, that they would manfully and _womanfully_ accept the situation, be far happier than they now are, and worth more to themselves and to the world. I dare say that nine out of every ten young men selling dry-goods in retail stores in Boston and elsewhere have high hopes for the future. They are going to do something by and by. When they get on a little farther they will show us what they can accomplish. But the chances are that they will never get that little farther on. The tide is against them. One thing we are liable to forget; we measure ourselves by what we are going to do, whereas the world estimates us by what we have already done. How any young man of spirit can settle himself down to earning a bare existence, when all this vast region of the Northwest, with its boundless undeveloped resources before him, is inviting him on, is one of the unexplained mysteries of life. They will be Nobodies where they are; they can be Somebodies in building up a new society. The young man who has measured off ribbon several years, as thousands have who are doing no better to-day than they did five years ago, in all probability will be no farther along, except in years, five years hence than he is now. CHAPTER VIII. DULUTH. Embarking at a pier, and steering northwest, we pass up the bay, with the long, narrow, natural breakwater, Minnesota Point, on our right hand, and the level plateau of the main-land, with a heavy forest growth, on our left. Before us, on the sloping hillside of the northern shore, lies the rapidly rising town of Duluth, unheard of twelve months ago, but now, to use a Western term, "a right smart chance of a place." One hundred and ninety years ago Duluth, a French explorer, was coasting along these shores, and sailing up this bay over which we are gliding. He was the first European to reach the head of the lake. He crossed the country to the Upper Mississippi, descended it to St. Paul, where he met Father Hennipen, who had been held in captivity by the Indians. It is suitable that so intrepid an explorer should be held in remembrance, and the founders of the new town have done wisely in naming it for him, instead of calling it Washington or Jackson, or adding another "ville" to the thousands now so perplexing to post-office clerks. The new city of the Northwest is sheltered from northerly winds by the high lands behind it. The St. Louis River, a stream as large as the Merrimac, after its turbulent course down the rocky rapids, with a descent altogether of five hundred feet, flows peacefully past the town into the Bay of Superior. The river and lake together have thrown up the long and narrow strip of land called Minnesota Point, reaching nearly across the head of the lake, and behind which lies the bay. It is as if the Titans had thrown up a wide railway embankment, or had tried their hand at filling up the lake. The bay is shallow, but the men who projected the city of Duluth are in no wise daunted by that fact. They have planned to make a harbor by building a mole out into the lake fifteen hundred or two thousand feet. It is to extend from the northern shore far enough to give good anchorage and protection to vessels and steamers. The work to be done is in many respects similar to what has been accomplished at both ends of the Suez Canal. When M. Lesseps set about the construction of that magnificent enterprise, he found no harbor on the Mediterranean side, but only a low sandy shore, against which the waves, driven by the prevailing western winds, were always breaking. The shore was a narrow strip of sand, behind which lay a shallow lagoon called Lake Menzaleh. There was no granite or solid material of any description at hand for the construction of a breakwater. Undaunted by the difficulties, he commenced the manufacture of blocks of stone on the beach, mixing hydraulic lime brought from France with the sand of the shore, and moistening it with salt water. He erected powerful hydraulic presses and worked them by steam. After the blocks, which weighed twenty tons each, had dried three months, they were taken out on barges and tumbled into the ocean in the line of the moles, one of which was 8,178 feet, nearly a mile and a half, in length; the other 5,000 feet, enclosing an area of about five hundred acres. More than 100,000 blocks of manufactured stone were required to complete these two walls. They were not laid in cement, for it has been found that a rubble wall is better than finished masonry to resist the action of the waves. Having completed the walls, dredges were set to work, and the area has been deepened enough to enable the largest vessels navigating the Mediterranean to find safe anchorage. These breakwaters were required for the outer harbor, but an inner basin was needed. To obtain it, M. Lesseps cut a channel through the low ridge of sand to Lake Menzaleh, where the water upon an average was four feet deep. A large area has been dredged in the lake, and docks constructed, and now the commerce of the world between the Orient and the Occident passes through the basin of Port Said. The Suez Canal, the construction of a large harbor on the sand-beach of the Mediterranean, and another of equal capacity on the Red Sea, is one of the wonders of modern times,--a triumph of engineering skill and of the indomitable will of one energetic man. The people of Duluth will not be under the necessity of manufacturing the material for the breakwater, for along the northern shore there is an abundant supply of granite which can be easily quarried. It is proposed to make an inner harbor by digging a canal across Minnesota Point and excavating the shallows. The difficulties to be overcome at Duluth bear slight comparison with those already surmounted on the Mediterranean. The commercial men of Chicago contemplate the fencing in of a few hundred acres of Lake Michigan; and there is no reason to doubt that a like thing can be done at the western end of Lake Superior. Two years ago Duluth was a forest; but in this month of May, 1870, it has two thousand inhabitants, with the prospect of doubling its population within a twelvemonth. The woodman's axe is ringing on the hills, and the trees are falling beneath his sturdy strokes. From morning till night we hear the joiner's plane and the click of the mason's trowel. You may find excellent accommodation in a large hotel, erected at a cost of forty thousand dollars. We may purchase the products of all climes in the stores,--sugar from the West Indies, coffee from Java, tea from China, or silks from the looms of France. The printing-press is here issuing the Duluth Minnesotian, a sprightly sheet that looks sharply after the interests of this growing town. Musical as the ripples upon the pebbly shore of the lake are the voices of the children reciting their lessons in yonder school-house. I am borne back to boyhood days,--to the old school-house, with its hard benches, where I studied, played, caught flies, was cheated swapping jack-knives, and got a licking besides! Glorious days they were for all that! Presbyterian and Episcopal churches are already organized, also an Historical Society. During the last winter a course of lectures was sustained. The stumps are yet to be seen in the streets, but such is the beginning of a town which may yet become one of the great commercial cities of the interior. A meteorological record kept at Superior since 1855 shows that the average period of navigation has been two hundred and sixteen days, which is fully as long as the season at Chicago. Year. Opening. Close. No. of Days. 1855 April 15 December 6 235 1856 " 16 November 22 220 1857 May 27 " 20 177 1858 March 20 " 22 247 1859 May 25 " 9 164 1860 April 7 December 4 238 1861 June 12 " 12 184 1862 April 28 " 16 233 1863 May 10 " 7 212 1864 April 23 " 1 222 1865 " 22 " 5 227 1866 May 5 " 10 220 1867 April 19 " 1 225 Steaming up the river several miles to the foot of the first rapids, and landing on the northern shore, climbing up a wet and slippery bank of red clay we are on the line of the railroad, upon which several hundred men are employed. Grades of fifty feet to the mile are necessary from the lake up to the falls of the St. Louis, but the tonnage of the road will be largely eastward, down the grade, instead of westward. The road will be about a hundred and forty miles in length, connecting the lake with the network of railroads centring at St. Paul. It is liberally endowed, having in all 1,630,000 acres of land heavily timbered with pine, butternut, white oak, sugar-maple, ash, and other woods. There is no doubt that this line of road will do an immense amount of business. Such is the estimation in which it is held by the moneyed men of Philadelphia, that Mr. Jay Cooke obtained the entire amount of money necessary to construct it in four days! The bonds, I believe, were not put upon the market in the usual manner, by advertising, but were taken at once by men who wanted them for investment. A single glance at the map must be sufficient to convince any intelligent observer of the value of such a franchise. The wheat of Minnesota, to reach Chicago now, must be taken by steamers to La Crosse or Prairie du Chien, and thence transported by rail across Wisconsin, but when this road is put in operation, the products of Minnesota, gathered at St. Paul or Minneapolis, will seek this new outlet. Think of the scene of activity there will be along the line, not only of this road, but of the Northern Pacific, when the two are completed to the lake, of an almost continuous train of cars, of elevators pouring grain from cars to ships and steamers. Think of the fleet that will soon whiten this great inland sea, bearing the products of the immense wheat-field eastward to the Atlantic cities, and bringing back the industries of the Eastern States! It is only when I sit down to think of the future, to measure it by the advancement already made, that I can comprehend anything of the coming greatness of the Northwest,--20,000,000 bushels of wheat this year; 500,000 inhabitants in the State, yet scarcely a hundredth part of the area under cultivation. What will be the product ten years hence, when the population will reach 1,500,000? What will it be twenty years hence? How shall we obtain any conception of the business to be done on these railways when Dakota, Montana, Washington, and Oregon, and all the vast region of the Assinniboine and the Saskatchawan, pour their products to the nearest water-carriage eastward? We are already beyond our depth, and are utterly unable to comprehend the probable development. The men who are building this railroad from St. Paul to Duluth have not failed to recognize this one fact, that by water Duluth is as near as Chicago to the Atlantic cities. Wheat and flour can be transported as cheaply from Duluth to Buffalo or Ogdensburg as from the southern end of Lake Michigan, while the distance from St. Paul to Lake Superior is only one hundred and forty miles against four hundred and eighty to Chicago. We may conclude that the wheat of Minnesota can be carried fifteen or twenty cents a bushel cheaper by Duluth than by Lake Michigan,--a saving to the Eastern consumer of almost a dollar on each barrel of flour. Twenty cents on a bushel saved will add at least four dollars to the yearly product of an acre of land. The difference in freight on articles manufactured in the East and shipped to Minnesota will be still more marked, for grain in bulk is taken at low rates, while manufactured goods pay first-class. The completion of this railway will be a great blessing to the people of New England and of all the East, as well as to those of the Northwest. Anything that abridges distance and cheapens carriage is so much absolute gain. I do not think that there is any public enterprise in the country that promises to produce more important results than the opening of this railway. An elevator company has been organized by several gentlemen in Boston and Philadelphia, and the necessary buildings are now going up. The wheat will be taken directly from the cars into the elevator, and discharged into the fleet of propellers running to Cleveland, Buffalo, and Ogdensburg, already arranged for this Lake Superior trade. The region around the western end of the Lake has resources for the development of a varied industry. The wooded section extends from Central Wisconsin westward to the Leaf Hills beyond the Mississippi, and northward to Lake Winnipeg. This is to be the lumbering region of the Northwest, for the manufacture of all agricultural implements,--reapers, mowers, harvesters, ploughs, drills, seed-sowers, wagons, carriages, carts, and furniture,--besides furnishing lumber for fencing, for railroad and building purposes. Upon the St. Louis River there is exhaustless water-power,--a descent of five hundred feet, with a stream always pouring an abundant flood. Its source is among the lakes of northern Minnesota, which, being filled to overflowing by the rains of spring and early summer, become great reservoirs. With such a supply of water there is no locality more favorably situated for the manufacture of every variety of domestic articles. Undoubtedly the water-power will be largely employed for flouring-mills. The climate is admirably adapted to the grinding of grain. The falls being so near the lake, there will be cheap transportation eastward to Buffalo, Cleveland, Philadelphia, New York, and Boston, while westward are the prairies, easily reached by the railroads. The geological formation on the north side of Lake Superior is granite, but as we follow up the St. Louis River we come upon a ridge of slate. It forms the backbone of the divide between the lake and the Mississippi River. A quarry has been opened from which slates of a quality not inferior to those of Vermont are obtained, and so far as we know it is the only quarry in the Northwest. It is almost invaluable, for Nebraska, Kansas, Iowa, western Minnesota, and Dakota have very little wood. Shingles are costly, but here is abundant material to cover the roofs of the millions of houses that are yet to rise upon the prairies. This slate formation is thus referred to by Thomas Clark, State Geologist, in his Report to the Governor of Minnesota, dated December, 1864 (pp. 29, 30):-- "These slates are found in all degrees of character, from the common indurated argillaceous fissile to the highly metamorphosed and even trappous type. The working of these slates demands the attention of builders; their real value is economically of more importance to the prairie and sparsely timbered valley of the Mississippi than any other deposit in the State's possession on the lake. The annual draught of hundreds of millions of lumber upon the pine forests of the St. Croix and Upper Mississippi and tributaries will exhaust those regions before the close of this century. The trustees of our young Commonwealth are emphatically admonished to encourage and foster the working of these slates, and to bring them into use at the earliest time possible. A hundred square feet of dressed slates at the quarries of Vermont, New York, and Canada are worth from one and a half to two dollars; the weight ranges from four to six hundred pounds, or about four squares to the ton. A ton of this roofing may be transported from the St. Louis quarry to the Mississippi, by railway, at three dollars, and thence by river to the landings as far down as St. Louis or Cairo; but the article may be at all points in this State accessible by boats or railway, at an average cost of fifteen dollars per ton, or, at most, four dollars per square,--little, if any, more than pine shingles; the former as good for a century as the latter is for a decade. The supply of these cliffs is literally inexhaustible; if one fourth of this slate area in the St. Louis Valley proves available,--and doubtless one half will,--it will yield one thousand millions of tons. "The demand for this slate at ten roofs to the square mile, and for forty thousand square miles, would be one million of tons, or one thousandth part of the material. The annual demand for slates in the Mississippi Valley may be reasonably estimated at one hundred thousand tons, an exportable product of two hundred thousand dollars, besides the element of a permanent income to the railways and water-craft of the State of a half-million of dollars annually." To-day the country along the St. Louis is a wilderness. Climb the hills, and look upon the scene, and think of the coming years. "Thou shalt look Upon the green and rolling forest tops, And down into the secrets of the glens And streams, that with their bordering thickets strive To hide their windings. Thou shalt gaze at once, Here on white villages, and tilth and herds, And swarming roads, and there on solitudes That only hear the torrent, and the wind, And eagle's shriek." Here, through the bygone centuries, the Indians have set their nets and hooks without ever dreaming of laying their hands upon the wealth that Nature has ever in store for those who will labor for it. A few of the original lords of the forests are here, and they are the only idlers of this region. They lounge in the streets, squat in groups under the lee of buildings, and pick animated _somethings_ from their hair! Their chief appears in an old army coat with three stars on each shoulder, indicating that he ranks as a lieutenant-general among his people. He walks with dignity, although his old black stove-pipe hat is badly squashed. The warriors follow him, wrapped in blankets, with eagle feathers stuck into their long black hair, and are as dignified as the chief. Labor! not they. Pale-faces and squaws may work, they never. Squaw-power is their highest conception of a labor-saving machine. They have fished in the leaping torrent, but never thought of its being a giant that might be put to work for their benefit. It is evident that a great manufacturing industry must spring up in this region. At Minneapolis, St. Cloud, and here on the St. Louis, we find the three principal water-powers of the Northwest. The town of Thompson, named in honor of one of the proprietors, Mr. Edgar A. Thompson of Philadelphia, has been laid out at the falls, and being situated on the line of the railroad, and so convenient to the lake, will probably have a rapid growth. The St. Paul and Mississippi Railroad, which winds up the northern bank of the river, crosses the stream at that point, and strikes southward through the forests to St. Paul. The road, in addition to its grant of land, has received from the city of St. Paul $200,000 in city bonds, and this county of St. Louis at the head of the lake has given $150,000 in county bonds. The lands of this company are generally heavily timbered,--with pine, maple, ash, oak, and other woods. The white pines of this region are almost as magnificent as those that formerly were the glory of Maine and New Hampshire. Norway pines abound. Besides transporting the lumber from its own extensive tracts and the lands of the government adjoining, it will be the thoroughfare for an immense territory drained by the Snake, Kettle, St. Louis, and St. Croix Rivers. The lands that bear such magnificent forest-trees are excellent for agriculture. Nowhere in the East have I ever seen ranker timothy and clover than we saw on our journey from St. Paul. The company offers favorable terms to all settlers. Men from Maine and New Hampshire are already locating along the line, and setting up saw-mills. They were lumbermen in the East, and they prefer to follow the same business in the West, rather than to speed the plough for a living. I doubt not that the chances for making money are quite as good in the timbered region as on the prairies, for the lumber will pay for the land several times over, which, when put into grain or grass, yields enormously. CHAPTER IX. THE MINING REGION. The sun was throwing his morning beams upon the tree-tops of the Apostle Islands, as our little steamer, chartered for the occasion at Superior, rounded the promontory of the main-land, turned its prow southward, and glided into the harbor of Bayfield, on the southern shore of the lake. We had made the passage from Superior City during the night, and were on deck at daybreak to see the beauties of the islands, of which so much has been written by explorers and tourists. The scenery is not bold, but beautiful. Perhaps there is no place on the lake where more charming vistas open to the eye, or where there is such a succession of entrancing views. The islands, eighteen in number, lie north of the promontory. They would appear as high hills, with rounded summits, crowned with a dense forest growth, if the waters were drained off; for all around, between the islands and the mainland, are deep soundings. There is no harbor on the Atlantic coast, none in the world, more accessible than Bayfield, or more securely land-locked. It may be approached during the wildest storm, no matter which way the wind is blowing. When the northeasters raise a sea as terrible as that which sometimes breaks upon Nahant, the captains of steamers and schooners on Lake Superior run for the Apostle Islands. Bayfield is about sixty miles from Superior City, and is the first harbor where vessels can find shelter east of the head of the lake. The Apostle Islands seem to have been dumped into the lake for the benefit of the mighty tide of commerce which in the coming years is to float upon this inland sea. "It is," said our captain, "the only first-class harbor on the lake. It can be approached in all weathers; the shores are bold, the water deep, the anchorage excellent, and the ice leaves it almost two weeks earlier in spring than the other harbors at the head of the lake." The town of Bayfield is named for an officer of the Royal Engineers, who was employed years ago in surveying the lake. His work was well done, and till recently his charts have been relied on by the sailing-masters; but the surveys of the United States Engineers, now approaching completion, are more minute and accurate. The few houses that make up the town are beautifully located, on the western side of the bay. Madeline Island, the largest of the group, lies immediately in front, and shelters the harbor and town from the northeast storms. The scream of the steamer's whistle rings sharply on the morning air,--while main-land and island, harbor and forest, repeat its echoes. It wakes up all the braves, squaws, and pappooses in the wigwams and log-houses of the Chippewa reservation, and all the inhabitants of Bayfield. The sun is just making his appearance when we run alongside the pier. It is an early hour for a dozen strangers, with sharp-set appetites, to make a morning call,--more than that, to drop in thus unceremoniously upon a private citizen for breakfast. There being no hotel in the place, we are put to this strait. Possibly old Nokomis, who is cooking breakfast in a little iron pot with a big piece knocked out of its rim, who squats on the ground and picks out the most savory morsels with her fingers, would share her meal with us, but she does not invite us to breakfast, nor do we care to make ourselves at home in the wigwam. But there is rare hospitality awaiting us. A gentleman who lives in a large white house in the centre of the town, Captain Vaughn, though not through with his morning nap when we steam up the harbor, is wide awake in an instant. I wonder if there is another housewife in the United States who would provide such an ample repast as that which, in an incredibly short space of time, appeared on the table, prepared by Mrs. Vaughn,--such a tender steak, mealy potatoes, nice biscuit, delicious coffee, berries and sweet milk; a table-cloth as white as the driven snow; and the hostess the picture of health, presiding at the table with charming ease and grace, not at all disturbed by such an avalanche of company at such an hour! Where the breakfast came from, or who cooked it so quickly, is an unexplained mystery; and then there was a basketful of lunch put up by somebody for us to devour while coasting about the bay, and the hostess the while found time to talk with us, to sit down to the parlor organ and charm us with music. So much for a Bayfield lady, born in Ohio, of stanch Yankee stock. Embarking on Captain Vaughn's little steam-yacht, we go dancing along the shores, now running near the bluffs to examine the sandstone formation like that of the Hudson, or looking up to the tall pines waving their dark green plumes, or beholding the lumbermen felling the old monarchs and dragging them with stout teams to the Bayfield saw-mills. A run of about fifteen miles brings us to the city of Ashland, situated at the head of the bay. It makes quite an imposing appearance when you are several miles distant, and upon landing you find that you have been _imposed_ upon. Somebody came here years ago, laid out a town, surveyed the lots, cut out magnificent avenues through the forest, found men who believed that Ashland was to be a great city, who bought lots and built houses; but the crowd did not come; the few who came soon turned their backs upon the place, leaving all their improvements. One German family remains. Two pigs were in possession of a parlor in one deserted house, and a cow quietly chewing her cud in another. A mile east of Ashland is Bay City, another place planned by speculators, but which probably might be purchased at a discount. The country around Bayfield is in a primitive condition now, but the time is rapidly approaching for a change. By and by this will be a great resort for tourists and seekers after health. Nature has made it for a _sanitarium_. No mineral springs have been discovered warranted to cure all diseases, but nowhere in this Northwest has nature compounded purer air, distilled sweeter water, or painted lovelier landscapes. The time will come when the people of Chicago, Milwaukie, and other Western cities, seeking rest and recreation during the summer months, will flee to this harbor of repose. The fish are as numerous here, and as eager to bite the hook, as anywhere else on the lake, while the streams of the main-land abound with trout. By and by this old red sandstone will be transformed into elegant mansions overlooking the blue waters, and it would not be strange if commerce reared a great mart around this harbor. The charter of the Northern Pacific Railroad extends to this point, and as the road would pass through heavily timbered lands, the company will find it for their interest to open the line, as it will also form a connecting link between the West and the iron region of Lake Superior. But whether a city rises here, whether a railroad is constructed or not, let me say to any one who wants to pull out big trout that this is the place. An Indian who has been trying his luck shows a string of five-pounders, caught in one of the small streams entering the bay. There is no sport like trout-fishing. Think of stealing on tiptoe along the winding stream, dropping your hook into the gurgling waters, and feeling a moment later something tugging, turning, pulling, twisting, running, now to the right, now to the left, up stream, down stream, making the thin cord spin, till your heart leaps into your throat through fear of its breaking,--fear giving place to hope, hope to triumph, when at length you land a seven-pounder on the green and mossy bank! You find such trout in the streams that empty into the lake opposite the Apostle Islands,--trout mottled with crimson and gold! Bidding good by to our generous host and hostess we take an eastward-bound steamer in the evening for a trip down the lake, stopping for an hour or two at Ontonagon, then steaming on, rounding Keweenaw Point during the night, and reaching Marquette in the morning. Fishing-boats are dancing on the waves, yachts scudding along the shore, tourists rambling over the rocks at our right hand, throwing their lines, pulling up big trout, steamers and schooners are lying in the harbor, and thrift, activity, and enterprise is everywhere visible. We see an immense structure, resembling a railway bridge, built out into the harbor. It is several hundred feet in length, and twenty or more in height. A train of cars comes thundering down a grade, and out upon the bridge, while men running from car to car knock out here and there a bolt or lift a catch, and we hear a rumbling and thundering, and feel the wharf tremble beneath our feet. It is not an earthquake; they are only unloading iron ore from the cars into bins. A man by means of machinery raises a trap-door, and the black mass, starting with a rush, thunders once more as it plunges into the hold of a schooner. It requires but a few minutes to take in a cargo. And then, shaking out her sails, the schooner shapes her course eastward along the "Pictured Rocks" for the St. Mary's Canal, bound for Cleveland, Erie, or Chicago with her freight of crude ore to be smelted and rolled where coal is near at hand. The town is well laid out. Although the business portion was destroyed by fire not many months ago, it has been rebuilt. There are elegant residences, churches, school-houses, and stores. Men walk the streets as if they had a little more business on hand than they could well attend to. The men who used to frequent this region to trade with the Indians knew as early as 1830 that iron existed in the hills. But it was not till 1845, just a quarter of a century ago, that any attempt was made to test the ore. Dr. Jackson, of Boston, who visited Lake Superior in 1844, pronounced it of excellent quality. He informed Mr. Lyman Pray, of Charlestown, Mass., of its existence, and that the Indians reported a "mountain" of it not far from Marquette. Mr. Pray at once started on an exploring expedition, reached Lake Superior, obtained an Indian guide, penetrated the forest, and found the hills filled with ore. About the same time a gentleman named Everett obtained half a ton of it, which the Indians and half-breeds carried on their backs to the Carp River, and transported it to the lake in canoes. It was smelted, but was so different from that of Pennsylvania that the iron-masters shook their heads. Some declared that it was of no particular value, others that it could not be worked. The Pittsburg iron-men pronounced it worthless. But Mr. Everett persevered, sent a small quantity to the Coldwater forge, where it was smelted and rolled into a bar, from which he made a knife-blade, and was convinced that the metal was superior in quality to any other deposit in the country. The Jackson Company was at once formed for mining in the iron and copper region. The copper fever was at its height, and the company was organized with a view of working both metals if thought advisable. A forge was erected on the Carp River in 1847, making four blooms a day, each about four feet long and eight inches thick. Another was built, in 1854, by a company from Worcester, Mass., but so small was the production that in 1856 the shipment only reached five thousand tons. The superior qualities of the metal began to be known. Other companies were formed and improvements made; railroads and docks were constructed, and the production has had a steady increase, till it has reached a high figure. There are fourteen companies engaged in mining,--two have just commenced, while the others are well developed. The production of the twelve principal mines for the year 1868 will be seen from the following figures:-- Tons. Jackson, 131,707 Cleveland, 102,213 Marquette, 7,977 Lake Superior, 105,745 New York, 45,665 Lake Angeline, 27,651 Edwards, 17,360 Iron Mountain, 3,836 Washington, 35,757 New England, 8,257 Champion, 6,255 Barnum, 14,380 _______ Total, 506,803 The increase over the previous year is between forty and fifty thousand tons. The yield for 1869 was about 650,000 tons. The entire production of all the mines up to the close of 1868 is 2,300,000 tons. Iron mining in this region is in its infancy; and yet the value of the metal produced last year amounts to _eighteen million dollars_. The cause for this rapid development is found in the fact that the Lake Superior ore makes the best iron in the world. Persistent efforts were made to cry it down, but those who were engaged in its production invited rigid tests. Its tenacity, in comparison with other qualities, will be seen by the following tabular statement:-- Swedish, 59 English Cable bolt, 59 Russian, 76 Lake Superior, 89-1/2 When this fact was made known, railroad companies began to use Lake Superior iron for the construction of locomotives, car-wheels, and axles. Boiler builders wanted it. Those who tried it were eager to obtain more, and the result is seen in the rapidly increasing demand. The average cost of mining and delivering the ore in cars at the mines is estimated at about $2 per ton. It is shipped to Cleveland at a cost of $4.35, making $6.35 when laid on the dock in that city, where it is readily sold for $8, leaving a profit of about $1.65 per ton for the shipper. Perhaps, including insurance and incidentals, the profit may be reduced to about $1.25 per ton. It will be seen that this is a very remunerative operation. About one hundred furnaces in Ohio and Pennsylvania use Lake Superior ore almost exclusively, while others mix it with the ores of those regions. A large amount is smelted at Lake Superior, where charcoal is used. The forests in the vicinity of the mines are rapidly disappearing. The wide-spreading sugar-maple, the hardy yellow birch, the feathery hackmatack and evergreen hemlock are alike tumbled into the coal-pit to supply fuel for the demands of commerce. The charcoal consumed per ton in smelting costs about eleven cents per bushel. For reducing a ton of the best ore about a hundred and ten bushels are required; for a ton of the poorest about a hundred and forty bushels, giving an average of $13 per ton. The cost of mining is, as has already been stated, about $2 per ton. To this must be added furnace-labor, interest on capital employed, insurance, freight, commission, making the total cost about $35 a ton. As the iron commands the highest price in the market, it will be seen that the iron companies of Lake Superior are having an enormous income. Some men who purchased land at government price are on the high road to fortune. One man entered eighty acres of land, which now nets him _twenty-four thousand dollars per annum_! A railroad runs due west from Marquette, gaining by steep gradients the general level of the ridge between Superior and Michigan. It is called the Marquette and Ontonagon Railroad, and will soon form an important link in the great iron highway across the continent. It is about twenty miles from Marquette to the principal mines, which are also reached by rail from Escanaba, on Green Bay, a distance of about seventy miles. The ore is generally found in hills ranging from one to five hundred feet above the level of the surrounding country. The elevations can hardly be called mountains; they are knolls rather. They are iron warts on Dame Nature's face. They are partially covered with earth,--the slow-forming deposits of the alluvial period. There are five varieties of ore. The most valuable is what is called the specular hematite, which chemically is known as a pure _anhydrous sesquioxide_. This ore yields about sixty-five per cent of pure iron. It is sometimes found in conjunction with red quartz, and is then known as mixed ore. The next in importance is a soft hematite, resembling the ores of Pennsylvania and Connecticut. It is quite porous, is more easily reduced than any other variety, and yields about fifty per cent of pure iron. The magnetic ores are found farther west than those already described. The Michigan, Washington, Champion, and Edwards mines are all magnetic. Sometimes the magnetic and specular lie side by side, and it is a puzzle to geologists and chemists alike to account for the difference between them. As yet we are not able to understand by what subtle alchemy the change has been produced. Another variety is called the silicious hematite, which is more difficult of reduction than the others. It varies in richness, and there is an unlimited supply. The fifth variety is a silicious hematite found with manganese, which, when mixed with other ores, produces an excellent quality of iron. Very little of this ore has been mined as yet, and its relative value is not ascertained. The best iron cannot be manufactured from one variety, but by mixing ores strength and ductility both are obtained. England sends to Russia and Sweden for magnetic ores to mix with those produced in Lancashire, for the manufacture of steel. The fires of Sheffield would soon go out if the manufactures in that town were dependent on English ore alone. The iron-masters there could not make steel good enough for a blacksmith's use, to say nothing of that needed for cutlery, if they were cut off from foreign magnetic ores. Here, at Lake Superior, those necessary for the production of the best of steel lie side by side. A mixture of the hematite and magnetic gives a metal superior, in every respect, to any that England can produce. This one fact settles the question of the future of this region. It is to become one of the great iron-marts of the world. It is to give, by and by, the supremacy to America in the production of steel. It is already settled, by trial, that every grade of iron now in use in arts and manufactures can be produced here at Lake Superior by mixing the various ores. The miners are a hardy set of men, rough, uncouth, but enterprising. They live in small cottages, make excellent wages, drink whiskey, and rear large families. How happens it that in all new communities there is such an abundance of children? They throng every doorway, and by every house we see them tumbling in the dirt. Nearly every woman has a child in her arms. We cannot expect to see the refinements and luxuries of old communities in a country where the stumps have not yet been cleared from the streets, and where the spruces and hemlocks are still waving above the cottages of the settlers, but here are the elements of society. These hard-handed men are developing this region, earning a livelihood for themselves and enriching those who employ them. Towns are springing into existence. We find Ishpeming rising out of a swamp. Imagine a spruce forest standing in a bog where the trees are so thick that there is hardly room enough for the lumbermen to swing their axes, the swamp being a stagnant pool of dark-colored water covered with green slime! An enterprising town-builder purchased this bog for a song, and has laid out a city. Here it is,--dwelling-houses and stores standing on posts driven into the mud, or resting on the stumps. He has filled up the streets with the _débris_ from the mines. Frogs croak beneath the dwellings, or sun themselves on the sills. The town is not thus growing from the swamp because there is no solid land, but because the upland has exhaustless beds of iron ore beneath, too valuable to be devoted to building purposes. I have seen few localities so full of promise for the future, not this one little spot in the vicinity of Marquette, but the entire metallic region between Lake Superior and Lake Michigan. Look at the locality! It is half-way across the continent. Lake Michigan laves the southern, Superior the northern shore, while the St. Lawrence furnishes water-carriage to the Atlantic. A hundred and fifty miles of rail from Bayfield will give connection with the navigable waters of the Mississippi. Through this peninsula will yet lie the shortest route between the Atlantic and Pacific. Westward are the wheat-fields of the continent, to be peopled by an industrious and thriving community. There is no point more central than this for easy transportation. Here, just where the future millions can be easiest served, exhaustless deposits of the best ore in the world have been placed by a Divine hand for the use and welfare of the mighty race now beginning to put forth its energies on this western hemisphere. Towns, cities, and villages are to arise amid these hills; the forests and the hills themselves are to disappear. The product, now worth seventeen millions of dollars per annum, erelong will be valued at a hundred millions. I think of the coming years when this place will be musical with the hum of machinery; when the stillness of the summer day and the crisp air of winter will be broken by the songs of men at work amid flaming forges, or at the ringing anvil. From Marquette, and Bayfield, and Ontonagon, and Escanaba, from every harbor on these inland seas, steamers and schooners, brigs and ships, will depart freighted with ore; hither they will come, bringing the products of the farm and workshop. Heavily loaded trains will thunder over railroads, carrying to every quarter of our vast domain the metals manufactured from the mines of Lake Superior. We have but to think of the capabilities of this region, its extent and area, the increase of population, the development of resources, the construction of railways, the growth of cities and towns; we have only to grasp the probabilities of the future, to discern the dawning commercial greatness of this section of our country. CHAPTER X. A FAMILIAR TALK. "I have called to have a little talk about the West, and think that I should like a farm in Minnesota or in the Red River country," said a gentleman not long since, who introduced himself as Mr. Blotter, and who said he was "clerking it." "I want to go out West and raise stock," said another gentleman who stopped me on the street. "Where would you advise a fellow to go who hasn't much money, but who isn't afraid to work?" said a stout young man from Maine. "I am a machinist, and want to try my luck out West," said another young man hailing from a manufacturing town in Massachusetts. "I am manufacturing chairs, and want to know if there is a place out West where I can build up a good business," said another. Many other gentlemen, either in person or by letter, have asked for specific information. It is not to be expected that I can point out the exact locality suited to each individual, or with which they would be suited, but for the benefit of all concerned I give the substance of an evening's talk with Mr. Blotter. "I want a farm, I am tired of the city," said he. Well, sir, you can be accommodated. The United States government has several million acres of land,--at least 30,000,000 in Minnesota, to say nothing of Dakota and the region beyond,--and you can help yourself to a farm out of any unoccupied territory. The Homestead Law of 1862 gives a hundred and sixty acres, free of cost, to actual settlers, whether foreign or native, male or female, over twenty-one years old, or to minors having served fourteen days in the army. Foreigners must declare their intention to become citizens. Under the present Pre-emption Law settlers often live on their claims many years before they are called on to pay the $1.25 per acre,--the land in the mean time having risen to $10 or $12 per acre. A recent decision gives single women the right to pre-empt. Five years' residence on the land is required by the Homestead Law, and it is not liable to any debts contracted before the issuing of the patent. The State of Minnesota has a liberal law relative to the exemption of real estate from execution. A homestead of eighty acres, or one lot and house, is exempt; also, five hundred dollars' worth of furniture, besides tools, bed and bedding, sewing-machine, three cows, ten hogs, twenty sheep, a span of horses, or one horse and one yoke of oxen, twelve months' provisions for family and stock, one wagon, two ploughs, tools of a mechanic, library of a professional man, five hundred dollars' worth of stock if a trader, and various other articles. You will find several railroad companies ready to sell you eighty, or a hundred and sixty, or six hundred and forty acres in a body, at reasonable rates, giving you accommodating terms. "Would you take a homestead from government, or would you buy lands along the line of a railroad?" That is for you to say. If you take a homestead it will necessarily be beyond the ten-mile limit of the land granted to the road, where the advance in value will not keep pace with lands nearer the line. You will find government lands near some of the railroads, which you can purchase for $2.50 per acre, cash down. The railroad companies will charge you from $2 to $10, according to location, but will give you time for payment. "What are their terms?" The St. Paul and Pacific Railroad, the main line of which is to be completed to the Red River this year, and which owns the branch line running from St. Paul up the east bank of the Mississippi to St. Cloud, have a million acres of prairie, meadow, and timber lands which they will sell in tracts of forty acres or more, and make the terms easy. Suppose you were to buy eighty acres at $8 per acre, that would give you a snug farm for $640. If you can pay cash down, they will make it $7 per acre,--$80 saved at the outset; but if you have only a few dollars in your pocket they will let you pay a year's interest at seven per cent to begin with, and the principal and interest in ten annual payments. The figures would then run in this way:-- Eighty acres at $8 per acre, $640 Interest. Principal. Total. 1st year, $44.80 2d " 40.32 $64.00 $104.32 3d " 35.84 64.00 99.84 4th " 31.36 64.00 95.36 5th " 26.88 64.00 90.88 6th " 22.40 64.00 86.40 7th " 17.92 64.00 81.92 8th " 13.44 64.00 77.44 9th " 8.96 64.00 72.96 10th " 4.48 64.00 68.48 11th " 64.00 64.00 "The second year will be the hardest," said Mr. Blotter, "for I shall have to fence my farm, build a cabin, and purchase stock and tools. Is there fencing material near?" That depends upon where you locate. If you are near the line of the railway, you can have it brought by cars. If you locate near the "Big Woods" on the main line west of Minneapolis, you will have timber near at hand. Numerous saw-mills are being erected, some driven by water and others by steam. The timbered lands of the company are already held at high rates,--from $7 to $10 per acre. The country beyond the "Big Woods" is all prairie, with no timber except a few trees along the streams. It is filling up so rapidly with settlers that wood-lands are in great demand, for when cleared they are just as valuable as the prairie for farming purposes. Many settlers who took up homesteads before the railroad was surveyed now find themselves in good circumstances, especially if they are near a station. In many places near towns, land which a year ago could have been had for $2.50 per acre is worth $20 to-day. "Is the land in the Mississippi Valley above St. Paul any better than that of the prairies?" Perhaps you have a mistaken idea in regard to the Mississippi Valley. There are no bottom-lands on the Upper Mississippi. The prairie borders upon the river. You will find the land on the east side better adapted to grazing than for raising wheat. The company do not hold their lands along the branch at so high a figure as on the main line. Some of my Minnesota friends say that stock-growing on the light lands east of the Mississippi is quite as profitable as raising wheat. Cattle, sheep, and horses transport themselves to market, but you must draw your grain. If you are going into stock-raising, you can afford to be at a greater distance from a railroad station than the man who raises wheat. It would undoubtedly be for the interest of the company to sell you their outlying lands along the branch line at a low figure, for it would enhance the value of those nearer the road. You will find St. Cloud and Anoka thriving places, which, with St. Paul and Minneapolis, will give a good home demand for beef and mutton, to say nothing of the facilities for reaching Eastern markets by the railroads and lakes. "Do the people of Minnesota use fertilizers?" No; they allow the manure to accumulate around their stables, or else dump it into the river to get rid of it! They sow wheat on the same field year after year, and return nothing to the ground. They even burn the straw, and there can be but one result coming from such a process,--exhaustion of the soil,--poor, worn-out farms by and by. The farmers of the West are cruel towards Mother Earth. She freely bestows her riches, and then, not satisfied with her gifts, they plunder her. Men everywhere are shouting for an eight-hour law; they must have rest, time for recreation and improvement of body and mind; but they give the soil no time for recuperation. Men expect to be paid for their labors, but they make no payment to the kind mother who feeds them; they make her work and live on nothing. Farming, as now carried on in the West and Northwest, is downright robbery and plunder, and nothing else. If the present exhaustive system is kept up, the time will come when the wheat-fields of Minnesota, instead of producing twenty-five bushels to the acre upon an average throughout the State, will not yield ten, which is the product in Ohio; and yet, with a systematic rotation of crops and application of fertilizers, the present marvellous richness of the soil can be maintained forever. "Do the tame grasses flourish?" Splendidly; I never saw finer fields of timothy than along the line of the St. Paul and Pacific Railroad, west of Minneapolis. White clover seems to spring up of its own accord. I remember that I saw it growing luxuriantly along a pathway in the Red River Valley, and by the side of the military road leading through the woods to Lake Superior. Hay is very abundant, and exceedingly cheap in Minnesota. I doubt if there is a State in the Union that has a greater breadth of first-class grass-lands. Hon. Thomas Clarke, Assistant State Geologist, estimates the area of meadow-lands between the St. Croix and the Mississippi, and south of Sandy Lake, at a million acres. He says: "Some of these are very extensive, and bear a luxuriant growth of grass, often five or six feet in height. It is coarse, but sweet, and is said to make excellent hay." I passed through some of those meadows, and can speak from personal observation. I saw many acres that would yield two tons to the acre. The grasses are native, flat-leaved, foul-meadow and blue-joint, just such as I used to swing a scythe through years ago in a meadow in New Hampshire which furnished a fair quality of hay. The time will come when those lands will be valuable, although they are not held very high at present. A few years ago the Kankakee swamps in Illinois and Indiana were valueless, but now they yield many thousand tons of hay, and are rising in the market. "How about fruit? I don't want to go where I cannot raise fruit." Those native to the soil are strawberries, raspberries, blackberries, gooseberries, huckleberries, cherries, and plums. I picked all of these upon the prairies and along the streams while there. The wild plum is very abundant, and in the fall of the year you will see thousands of bushels in the markets at St. Paul and Minneapolis. They make an excellent sauce or preserve. Minnesota may be called the Cranberry State. Many farmers make more money from their cranberry-meadows than from their wheat-fields. The marshes in the northern section of the State are covered with vines, and the lands along the St. Croix yield abundantly. Mr. Clarke, the geologist, says: "There are 256,000 acres of cranberry-marsh in the triangle between the St. Croix and Mississippi, and bounded north by the St. Louis and Prairie Rivers! The high price paid for this delicious fruit makes its cultivation very profitable in Minnesota, as well as in New Jersey and on Cape Cod." "Can apples be raised? I am fond of them, and should consider it a drawback if I could not have an apple-orchard," said the persistent Mr. Blotter. I understand that till within a year or two the prospect for apples was not very encouraging. The first orchards were from Illinois nurseries, and it was not till native stocks were started that success attended the fruit-growers' efforts; but now they have orchards as thrifty and bountiful as any in the country. At the last State Fair held at Rochester, one fruit-grower had fifty bushels on exhibition, and two hundred more at home. It was estimated that the yield in Winona County last year was thirty thousand bushels.[3] [Footnote 3: These and many other facts relating to Minnesota are obtained from "Minnesota as it is in 1870," by J. W. McClung, of St. Paul,--an exceedingly valuable work, crammed with information.] The St. Paul Press, noticing the display of fruits at the Ramsay and Hennipen County Fair, says: "These two fairs have set at rest the long-mooted question, whether Minnesota is an apple-growing State. Over two hundred varieties of the apple, exclusive of the crab species, were exhibited at Minneapolis, and a large number at St. Paul, of the finest development and flavor, and this fact will give an immense impetus to fruit-growing in our State." The following varieties were exhibited at the last meeting of the Fruit-Growers' Association, of Winona County: The Duchess of Oldenburg, Utter's Large, Early Red, Sweet June, Perry Russet, Fall Stripe, Keswick Codlin, Red Astracan, Plum Cider, Phoenix, Wagner, Ben Davis, German Bough, Carolina Red June, Bailey Sweet, St. Lawrence, Sops of Wine, Seek-no-further, Famuse, Price Sweet, Pomme Grise, Tompkins County King, Northern Spy, Golden Russet, Sweet Pear, Yellow Ingestrie, Yellow Bellflower, Lady Finger, Raule's Jannet, Kirkbridge White, Janiton, Dumelow, Winter Wine Sap, Chronicle, Fall Wine Sap, Rosseau, Colvert, Benoni, Red Romanite. Many of the above are raised in New England, so that those people who may cut loose from the East need not be apprehensive that they are bidding good by forever to the favorite fruits that have been a comfort as well as a luxury in their former homes. "I take it that grapes do not grow there; it must be too far north," said my visitor. On the contrary, they are indigenous. You find wild grapes along the streams, and in the gardens around St. Paul and Minneapolis you will see many of the cultivated varieties bearing magnificent clusters on the luxuriant vines. "How about corn, rye, oats, and other grains; can they be raised with profit?" The following figures, taken from the official report made to the last legislature of the products for 1869, will show the capabilities of the soil:-- Average per Acre. Wheat, 18,500,000 bushels, 18-1/2 Corn, 6,125,000 " 35 Oats, 11,816,400 " 43 Potatoes, 2,745,000 " 90 Barley, 625,000 " 30.6 Rye, 58,000 " 18 Buckwheat, 28,000 " 16 Hay, 430,000 tons, 2.08 Wool, 390,000 pounds. Butter, 5,600,000 " Cheese, 145,000 " Sorghum, 80,000 gallons syrup. Maple Sugar, 300,000 pounds. Flax, 170,000 " From this it would seem that the State is destined to be one of the most productive in the Union. "Have they good schools out there?" Just as good as in New England. Two sections of land are set aside for the common-school fund. The entire amount of school lands in the State will be three million acres. These are sold at the rate of five dollars per acre, and the money invested in State or government bonds. Governor Marshall, in his last message, estimated the sum ultimately to be derived from the lands at sixteen million dollars. A school tax of two mills on the dollar is levied, which, with the interest from the fund, gives a liberal amount for education. "At what season of the year ought a man to go West?" That depends very much upon what you intend to do. If you are going to farming, and intend to settle upon the prairies, you must be there in season to break up your ground in July. If the sod is turned when the grass is full of juices, it decays quickly, and your ground will be in good condition for next year's ploughing. If you go into the timbered lands along the Lake Superior and Mississippi Railroad, or along that of the Northern Pacific, you can go any time; but men having families will do well to go in advance and select their future home, and make some preparations before cutting loose from the old one. "Which is the best way to go?" You will find either of the great trunk railroads leading westward comfortable routes, and their rates of fare do not greatly vary. "Do you think that the State will have a rapid development?" If the past is any criterion for the future, its growth will be unparalleled. Twenty years only have passed since it was organized as a Territory. The population in 1850 was 5,330; in 1860 it was 172,022; in 1865, by the State census, 250,099. The census of 1870 will give more than half a million. The tide of emigration is stronger at the present time than it ever has been before, and the construction of the various railroads, the liberal policy of the State, its munificent school-fund, the richness of the lands, the abundance of pure, fresh water, the delightful climate, the situation of the State in connection with the transcontinental line of railway, altogether will give Minnesota rapid advancement. Of the Northwest as of a pumpkin-vine during the hot days and warm nights of midsummer, we may say that we can almost see it grow! Look at the increase of wealth as represented by real and personal estates:-- 1850 $806,437 1855 10,424,157 1860 36,753,408 1865 45,127,318 1868 75,795,366 From the report of the Assistant Secretary of State made to the Legislature in January, 1870, we have the following facts:-- Total tilled acres, 1,690,000 Value of real estate, $120,000,000 " " personal property, 65,000,000 " " live stock, 15,561,887 " " agricultural productions, 25,000,000 " " annual manufactures, 11,000,000 Amount of school-fund, 2,371,199 Not only is Minnesota to have a rapid development, but Dakota as well. Civilization is advancing up the Missouri. Emigrants are moving on through Yankton and taking possession of the rich lands of that section, and the present year will see the more northern tide pouring into the Red River Valley, which Professor Hind called the Paradise of the Northwest. "How much will it cost me to reach Minnesota, and get started on a farm?" The fare from Boston to St. Paul will be from $35 to $40. If you go into the timbered regions, you will have lumber enough near at hand to build your house, and it will take a great many sturdy strokes to get rid of the oaks and pines. If you go upon the prairies, you will have to obtain lumber from a distance. The prices at Minneapolis are all the way from $12 to $45 per thousand, according to quality. Shingles cost from $3.50 to $4.50. Most of the farmers begin with a very small house, containing two or three rooms. They do not start with much furniture. We who are accustomed to hot and cold water, bath-room, and all the modern conveniences of houses in the city, might think it rather hard at first to use a tin wash-basin on a bench out-doors, and ladies might find it rather awkward to go up to their chamber on a ladder; but we can accommodate ourselves to almost anything, especially when we are working towards independence. Settlers start with small houses, for a good deal of lumber is required for fencing. A fence around forty acres requires 1,700 rails, 550 posts, and a keg of large nails. The farmers do not dig holes, but sharpen the lower ends of the posts and drive them down with a beetle. Two men by this process will fence in forty acres in a very short time. Such fences are for temporary use, but will stand for several years,--till the settler has made headway enough to replace them with others more substantial. You will want horses and oxen. A span of good farm horses will cost $250; a yoke of good oxen, $125. Cows are worth from $20 to $50. Carpenters, masons, and mechanics command high prices,--from $2 to $4.50 per day. Farm laborers can be hired for $20 to $25 per month. "What section of the Northwest is advancing most rapidly?" The southern half of Minnesota. As yet there are no settlements in the northern counties. Draw a line from Duluth to Fort Abercrombie, and you will have almost the entire population south of that line. A few families are living in Otter-Tail County, north of that line, and there are a few more in the Red River Valley. Two years hence there will probably be many thousand inhabitants in the northern counties; the fertility of the Red River lands and the construction of two railroads cannot fail of attracting settlers in that direction. There is far more first quality of agricultural land now held by government in the northwestern counties than in any other section of the State. The land-office for that region is at Alexandria in Douglas County. The vacant land subject to pre-emption as per share in the eleven counties composing the district amounts to 10,359,000 acres, nearly the same area as Massachusetts and New Hampshire together. Take a glance at the counties. _Douglas._--Four years ago it did not contain a single inhabitant, but now it has a population of about 5,000! The county has an area of twenty townships, 460,000 acres, and about 250,000 are still held by government. _Grant._--It lies west of Douglas. We passed through it on our way to the Red River. The main line of the St. Paul and Pacific Railroad will run through the southwestern township this year. There are 295,000 acres still vacant. _Otter-Tail._--We travelled through this county on our return from Dakota, and were serenaded by the Germans in our camp on the bank of Rush Lake. It contains 1,288,000 acres, of which 850,000 are held by government. This county is abundantly supplied with timber,--pine as well as oak, and other of the hard woods. There are numerous lakes and ponds, and several fine mill-sites. The soil is excellent. The lakes abound with whitefish. In 1868 the population was 800. Now it may be set down at 2,000. _Wilkin._--This county is on the Red River. It was once called Andy Johnson, but now bears the name of Wilkin. There you may take your choice of 650,000 acres of fertile lands. You can find timber on the streams, or you may float it down from Otter-Tail. The St. Paul and Pacific Railroad will be constructed through the county during the year 1870. _Clay._--North of Wilkin on the Red River is Clay County, containing 650,000 acres of government land, all open to settlement. The Northern Pacific Railroad will probably strike the Red River somewhere in this county. The distance from Duluth will be two hundred and twenty-five miles, and the settler there will be as near market as the people of central Illinois or eastern Iowa. _Polk._--The next county north contains 2,480,000 acres, unsurpassed for fertility, well watered by the Red, the Wild Rice, Marsh, Sand Hill, and Red Lake Rivers. The county is half as large as Massachusetts, and is as capable of sustaining a dense population as the kingdom of Belgium or the valley of the Ganges. The southern half will be accommodated by the Northern Pacific Railroad. Salt springs abound on the Wild Rice River, and the State has reserved 23,000 acres of the saline territory. _Pembina._--The northwestern county of the State contains 2,263,000 acres, all held by government. _Becker._--This county lies north of Otter-Tail We passed through it on our way from the Red River to the head-waters of the Buffalo. (Description, p. 113.) It is a region surpassingly beautiful. The Northern Pacific Railroad will pass through it, and there you may find 435,000 acres of rolling prairie and timbered hills. Probably there are not fifty settlers in the county. A large portion of these northwestern counties are unsurveyed, but that will not debar you from pre-empting a homestead. "How about the southwestern section of the State?" asked my visitor. I cannot speak from personal observation beyond Blue Earth County, where the Minnesota River crooks its elbow and turns northeast; but from what I have learned I have reason to believe that the lands there are just as fertile as those already settled nearer the Mississippi, and they will be made available by the railroad now under construction from St. Paul to Sioux City. "Can a man with five hundred dollars make a beginning out there with a reasonable prospect of success?" Yes, provided he has good pluck, and is willing to work hard and to wait. If he can command one thousand dollars, he can do a great deal better than he can with half that sum. If you were to go out sixty miles beyond St Paul to Darsel, on the St. Paul and Pacific Railroad you would see a farm worked by seven sisters. The oldest girl is about twenty-five, the youngest fifteen. They lived in Ohio, but their father and mother were invalids, and for their benefit came to Minnesota in April, 1867, and secured a hundred and sixty acres of land under the Homestead Law. The neighbors turned out and helped them build a log-house, and the girls went to work on the farm. Last year (1869) they had forty acres under cultivation, and sold 900 bushels of potatoes, 500 bushels of corn, 200 of wheat, 250 of turnips, 200 of beets, besides 1,100 cabbage-heads, and about two hundred dollars' worth of other garden products. They hired men to split rails for fencing, and also to plough the land; but all the other work has been done by the girls, who are hale and hearty, and find time to read the weekly papers and magazines. The mother of these girls made the following remark to a gentleman who visited the farm: "The girls are not fond of the hard work they have had to do to get the farm started, but they are not ashamed of it. We were too poor to keep together, and live in a town. We could not make a living there, but here we have become comfortable and independent. We tried to give the girls a good education, and they all read and write, and find a little spare time to read books and papers." These plucky girls have set a good example to young men who want to get on in the world. Perhaps I am too enthusiastic over the future prospects of the region between Lake Superior and the Pacific, but having travelled through Kansas, Nebraska, Utah, and Nevada, I have had an opportunity to contrast the capabilities of the two sections. Kansas has magnificent prairies, and so has Nebraska, but there are no sparkling ponds, no wood-fringed lakes, no gurgling brooks abounding with trout. The great want of those States is water. The soil is exceedingly fertile, even in Utah and Nevada, though white with powdered alkali, but they are valueless for want of moisture. In marked contrast to all this is the great domain of the Northwest. For a few years the tide of emigration will flow, as it is flowing now, into the central States; but when the lands there along the rivers and streams are all taken up, the great river of human life, setting towards the Pacific, will be turned up the Missouri, the Assinniboine, and the Saskatchawan. The climate, the resources of the country, the capabilities for a varied industry, and the configuration of the continent, alike indicate it. * * * * * I am not sure that Mr. Blotter accepted all this, but he has gone to Minnesota with his wife, turning his back on a dry-goods counting-house to obtain a home on the prairies. CHAPTER XI. NORTHERN PACIFIC RAILROAD. The statesman, the political economist, or any man who wishes to cast the horoscope of the future of this country, must take into consideration the great lakes, and their connection with the Mississippi, the Missouri, and the Columbia Rivers, and those portions of the continent drained by these water-ways. Communities do not grow by chance, but by the operation of physical laws. Position, climate, mountains, valleys, rivers, lakes, arable lands, coal, wood, iron, silver, and gold are predestinating forces in a nation's history, decreeing occupation, character, power, and influence. Lakes and navigable streams are natural highways for trade and traffic; valleys are natural avenues; mountains are toll-gates set up by nature. He who passes over them must pay down in sweat and labor. Humboldt discussed the question a third of a century ago. "The natural highways of nations," said he, "will usually be along the great watercourses." It impressed me deeply, as long ago as 1846, when the present enormous railway system of the continent had hardly begun to be developed. Spreading out a map of the Western Hemisphere, I then saw that from Cape Horn to Behring's Strait there was only one river-system that could be made available to commerce on the Pacific coast. In South America there is not a stream as large as the Merrimac flowing into the Pacific. The waves of the ocean break everywhere against the rocky wall of the Andes. In North America the Colorado rises on the pinnacle of the continent, but it flows through a country upheaved by volcanic fires during the primeval years. Its chasms and cañons are the most stupendous on the globe. The course of the stream is southwest to the Gulf of California, out of the line of direction for commerce. The only other great stream of the Pacific coast is the Columbia, whose head-waters are in a line with those of the Missouri, the Mississippi, the Red River of the North, and Lake Superior. This one feature of the physical geography of the continent was sufficient to show me that the most feasible route for a great continental highway between the Atlantic and the Pacific must be from Lake Superior to the valley of the Columbia. In childhood I had read the travels of Lewis and Clark over and over again, till I could almost repeat the entire volume, and, remembering their glowing accounts of the country,--the fertility of the valley of the Yellowstone, the easy passage from the Jefferson fork of the Missouri to the Columbia, and the mildness of the winters on the Western slope, the conviction was deepened that the best route for a railway from the lakes to the Pacific would be through one of the passes of the Rocky Mountains at the head-waters of the Missouri. Doubtless, many others observant of the physical geography of the continent had arrived at the same natural conclusion. Seven years later the government surveys were made along several of the parallels, that from Lake Superior to the Columbia being under the direction of Governor I. I. Stevens. Jeff Davis was then Secretary of War, and his report set forth the northern route as being virtually impracticable. It was, according to his representation, incapable of sustaining population. A careful study of Governor Stevens's Report, and a comparison with the reports along the more southern lines, showed that the Secretary of War had deliberately falsified the statements of Governor Stevens and his assistants. While the surveys were being made, Mr. Edwin F. Johnson, of Middletown, Conn., the present chief engineer of the Pacific Railroad, published a pamphlet which set forth in a clear and forcible manner the natural advantages of the route by the Missouri. In 1856 the British government sent out an exploring expedition under Captain Palliser, whose report upon the attractions of British America, the richness of the soil, the ease with which a road could be constructed to the Pacific through British territory, created great interest in Parliament. "The accomplishment of such a scheme," said Mr. Roebuck, "would unite England with Vancouver Island and with China, and they would be enabled widely to extend the civilization of England, and he would boldly assert that the civilization of England was greater than that of America." "Already," said the Colonial Secretary, Lord Lytton, better known to American readers as Bulwer, "in the large territory which extends west of the Rocky Mountains, from the American frontier and up to the skirts of the Russian dominions, we are laying the foundations of what may become hereafter a magnificent abode of the human race." There was a tone about these speeches that stirred my blood, and I prepared a pamphlet for circulation entitled "The Great Commercial Prize," which was published in 1858. It was a plea for the immediate construction of a railway up the valley of the Missouri, and down the Columbia to Puget Sound, over the natural highway, giving facts and figures in regard to its feasibility; but I was laughed at for my pains, and set down as a visionary by the press. It is gratifying to have our good dreams come to pass. That which was a dream of mine in 1846 is in process of fulfilment in 1870. The discovery of gold in California and the building up of a great city demanded the construction of a railroad to San Francisco, which was chartered in 1862, and which has been constructed with unparalleled rapidity, and is of incalculable service to the nation. The charter of the Northern Pacific was granted, in 1864, and approved by President Lincoln on the 2d of July of that year. Government granted no subsidy of bonds, but gave ten alternate sections per mile on each side of the road in the States and twenty on each side of the line in the Territories through which it might pass. Though the franchise was accompanied by this liberal land-grant, it has been found impossible to undertake a work of such magnitude till the present time. Nearly every individual named as corporators in the charter, with the exception of Governor J. G. Smith, its present President, Judge R. D. Rice, the Vice-President, and a few others, abandoned it under the many difficulties and discouragements that beset the enterprise. The few gentlemen who held on studied the geography of the country, and their faith in the future of the Northwest was strengthened. A year ago they were fortunate enough to find other men as enthusiastic as themselves over the resources and capabilities of the region between Lake Superior and the Pacific,--Messrs. Jay Cooke & Co., the well-known bankers of Philadelphia, whose names are indissolubly connected with the history of the country as its successful financial agents at a time when the needs of the nation were greatest; Messrs. Edgar Thompson and Thomas A. Scott, of the Pennsylvania Central Railroad; Mr. G. W. Cass, of the Pittsburg and Fort Wayne; Mr. B. P. Cheney, of Wells, Fargo, & Co.; Mr. William B. Ogden, of the Chicago and Northwestern Road; Mr. Stinson, of Chicago; and other gentlemen, most of whom are practical railroad men of large experience and far-reaching views. Mr. Cooke became the financial agent of the company, and from that hour the advancement of the enterprise may be dated. It required but a few days to raise a subscription of $5,600,000 among the capitalists of the country to insure the building of the road from Lake Superior to the Red River, to which place it is now under construction. The year 1871 will probably see it constructed to the Missouri River, thus opening easy communication with Montana. The gentlemen who have taken hold of the work contemplate its completion to the Pacific in three years. The line laid down upon the accompanying map only indicates the general direction of the road. It is the intention of the company to find the best route across the continent,--direct in course, with easy grades,--and this can only be ascertained by a thorough exploration of the valley of the Yellowstone, the passes at the head-waters of the Missouri, the valley of the Columbia, and the shores and harbors of Puget Sound. The engineers are setting their stakes from Lake Superior to the Red River, and laborers with spade and shovel are following them. Imagination bounds onward over the prairies, across the mountains, down the valley of the Columbia, and beholds the last rail laid, the last spike driven, and a new highway completed across the continent. I think of myself as being upon the locomotive, for a run from the lakes to the western ocean. Our starting-point on the lake is 600 feet above the sea. We gain the height of land between the lake and the Mississippi by a gentle ascent. Thirty-one miles out from Duluth we find the waters trickling westward to the Mississippi. There we are 558 feet above Lake Superior. It is almost a dead level, as the engineers say, from that point to the Mississippi, which is 552 feet above the lake at Crow Wing, or 1,152 feet above tide-water. The distance between the lake and Crow Wing is about a hundred miles, and the country is so level that it would be an easy matter to dig a canal and turn the Mississippi above Crow Wing eastward into the waters that reach the sea through the St. Lawrence. The Leaf Hills are 267 feet higher than the Mississippi, and the ascent is only seven feet to the mile,--so slight that the engineers on the locomotive reckon it as level grade. These hills form the divide between the Mississippi and the Red River. Straight on, over the level valley of the Red River, westward to the summit of the rolling prairies between the Red River and the Missouri, the locomotive speeds its way. Gradually we rise till we are 2,400 feet above tide-water,--the same elevation that is reached on the Union Pacific 250 miles west of Omaha. A descent of 400 feet carries us to the Missouri. We wind up its fertile valley to the richer bottom-lands of the Yellowstone, over a route so level that at the mouth of the Big Horn we are only 2,500 feet above tide-water. The Yellowstone flows with a swifter current above the Big Horn. We are approaching the mountains, and must pass the ridge of land that separates the Yellowstone from the upper waters of the Missouri. It lies 950 miles west of Lake Superior, and the summit is 4,500 feet above the sea. Through the entire distance, thus far, there have been no grades greater than those of the Illinois Central and other prairie railroads of the West. Crossing the Missouri we are at the back-bone of the continent, depressed here like the vertebra of a hollow-backed horse. We may glide through the Deer Lodge Pass by a grade of fifty feet, at an altitude of only 5,000 feet above tide-water. Mr. Milnor Roberts, civil engineer, approached it from the west, and this is his description of the Pass:-- "Considered as a railroad route, this valley is remarkably favorable, the rise from Deer Lodge City to the pass or divide between the waters of the Pacific and Atlantic being quite gentle, and even on the last few miles, the summit, about 5,000 feet above the sea, may be attained without employing a gradient exceeding fifty feet to the mile, with a moderate cut. The whole forty miles from Deer Lodge City to the summit of the Rocky Mountains by this route can be built as cheaply as roads are built through prairie countries generally. A little more work will be required in passing to the east side from this side, down Divide Creek to Wisdom or Big Hole River; but the line will be highly favorable on an average all the way to the Jefferson Fork of the Missouri River. This favorable pass comes into connection more particularly with the Yellowstone Valley route to the main Missouri Valley. A remarkable circumstance connected with this pass will convey a very clear view of its peculiarly favorable character. Private parties engaged in gold mining, in the gold-fields which exist abundantly on both sides of the Rocky Mountains, have dug a ditch across this summit which is only eighteen feet deep at the apex of the divide, through which they carry the waters of 'Divide Creek,' a tributary of the Missouri, across to the Pacific side, where it is used in gold-washing, and the waste water passes into the Pacific Ocean. This has been justly termed highway robbery." There are half a dozen passes nearly as low,--Mullan's, Blackfoot, Lewis and Clark's, Cadotte's, and the Marias. Going through the Deer Lodge Pass, we find that the stream changes its name very often before reaching the Pacific. The little brook on the summit of the divide, turbid with the washings of the gold-mines, is called the Deer Lodge Creek. Twenty-five miles farther on it is joined by a small stream that trickles from the summit of Mullan's Pass, near Helena, and the two form the Hell Gate, just as the Pemigewasset and Winnipesaukee form the Merrimac in New Hampshire, receiving its name from the many Indian fights that have taken place in its valley, where the Blackfeet and Nez Perces have had many a battle. The stream bears the name of Hell Gate for about eighty miles before being joined by the Blackfoot, which flows from the mountains in the vicinity of Cadotte's and Lewis and Clark's Passes. A little below the junction it empties into the Bitter Root, which, after a winding course of a hundred miles, is joined by the Flathead, that comes down from Flathead Lake and the country around Marias Pass. The united streams below the junction take the name of Clark's River, which has a circuitous course northward, running for a little distance into British America, then back again through a wide plain till joined by the Snake, and the two become the Columbia, pouring a mighty flood westward to the ocean. The line of the road does not follow the river to the boundary between the United States and the British Possessions, but strikes across the plain of the Columbia. The characteristics of Clark's River and the surrounding country are thus described by Mr. Roberts:-- "Clark's River has a flow in low water at least six times greater than the low-water flow of the Ohio River between Pittsburg and Wheeling; and while its fall is slight, considered with reference to railroad grades, it is so considerable as to afford a great number of water-powers, whose future value must be very great,--an average of eleven feet per mile. "Around Lake Pend d'Oreille, and for some miles westward, and all along Clark's River above the lake as far as we traversed it, there is a magnificent region of pine, cypress, hemlock, tamarack, and cedar timber, many of the trees of prodigious size. I measured one which was thirty-four feet in circumference, and a number that were over twenty-seven feet, and saw hundreds, as we passed along, that were from twenty to twenty-five feet in circumference, and from two hundred to two hundred and fifty feet high. A number of valleys containing large bodies of this character of timber enter Clark's River from both sides, and the soil of these valleys is very rich. Clark's River Valley itself is for much of the distance confined by very high hills approaching near to the stream in many places; but there are sufficient sites for cities and farms adjacent to water-powers of the first class, and not many years can elapse after the opening of a railroad through this valley till it will exhibit a combination of industries and population analogous to those which now mark the Lehigh, the Schuylkill, the Susquehanna, and the Pomroy region of the Ohio River. Passing along its quiet scenes of to-day, we can see in the near future the vast change which the enterprise of man will bring. That which was once the work of half a century is now the product of three or four years. Indeed, in a single year after the route of this Northern Pacific Railroad shall have been determined, and the work fairly begun, all this region, now so calm and undisturbed, will be teeming with life instilled into it by hardy pioneers from the Atlantic and from the Pacific. "Passing along the Flathead River for a short distance, we entered the valley of the Jocko River. The same general remarks concerning Clark's River Valley are applicable to the Flathead and Bitter Root Valleys. The climate, the valleys, the timber, the soil, the water-powers, all are here, awaiting only the presence of the industrious white man to render to mankind the benefits implanted in them by a beneficent Creator." The entire distance from Lake Superior by the Yellowstone Valley to the tide-waters of the Pacific below the cascades of the Columbia will be about eighteen hundred miles. It is nearly the same distance to Seattle, on Puget Sound, by the Snoqualmie Pass of the Cascade Range. The Union Pacific line has had no serious obstruction from snow since its completion. It has suffered no more than other roads of the country, and its trains have arrived as regularly at Omaha and Sacramento as the trains of the New York Central at Buffalo or Albany. That the Northern Pacific road will be quite as free from snow-blockades will be manifest by a perusal of the following paragraphs from the report of Mr. Roberts:-- "There is evidence enough to show that the line of road on the general route herein described will, in ordinary winters, be much less encumbered with snow where it crosses the mountains than are the passes at more southerly points, which are much more elevated above the sea. The difference of five or six degrees of latitude is more than compensated by the reduced elevation above the sea-level, and the climatic effect of the warm ocean-currents from the equator, already referred to, ameliorating the seasons from the Pacific to the Rocky Mountains. An examination of the profile of the Union Pacific and Central Pacific lines between Omaha, on the Missouri River, and Sacramento, California, a distance of 1,775 miles, shows that there are four main summits,--Sherman Summit, on the Black Hills, about 550 miles from Omaha, 8,235 feet above the sea; one on the Rocky Mountains, at Aspen Summit, about 935 miles from Omaha, 7,463 feet; one at Humboldt Mountain, about 1,245 miles from Omaha, 6,076 feet; and another on the Sierra Nevada, only 105 miles from the western terminus at Sacramento, 7,062 feet; whilst from a point west of Cheyenne, 520 miles from Omaha, to Wasatch, 970 miles from Omaha, a continuous length of 450 miles, every portion of the graded road is more than 6,000 feet above the sea, being about 1,000 feet on this long distance higher than the highest summit grade on the Northern Pacific Railroad route; whilst for the corresponding distance on the Northern Pacific line the average elevation is under 3,000 feet, or _three thousand feet_ lower than the Sherman Summit on the Pacific line. "On the Union Pacific road the profile also shows that for 900 continuous miles, from Sidney westward, the road has an average height of over 5,000 feet, and the lowest spot on that distance is more than 4,000 feet above the sea, whereas on the Northern route only about sixty miles at most are as high as 4,000 feet, and the corresponding distance of 900 miles, extending from the mouth of the Yellowstone to the valley of Clark's River, is, on an average, about 3,000 feet lower than the Union Pacific line. Allowing that 1,000 feet of elevation causes a decrease of temperature of three degrees, this would be a difference of nine degrees. There is, therefore, a substantial reason for the circumstance, now well authenticated, that the snows on the Northern route are much less troublesome than they are on the Union Pacific and Central Pacific routes" (Report, p. 43). That the Northern Pacific can be economically worked is demonstrated by a comparison of its grades with those of the line already constructed. The comparison is thus presented by Mr. Roberts:-- "The grades on the route across through the State of Minnesota and Territory of Dakota to the Missouri River will not be materially dissimilar to those on the other finished railroads south of it, passing from Chicago to Sioux City, Council Bluffs, etc.; namely, undulating within the general limit of about forty feet per mile, although it may be deemed advisable, at a few points for short distances, to run to a maximum of one foot per hundred or fifty-three feet per mile. There is sufficient knowledge of this portion of the route to warrant this assumption. And beyond the Missouri, along the valley of the Yellowstone, to near the Bozeman Pass, there is no known reason for assuming any higher limits. In passing Bozeman Summit of the Belt Range, and in going up the eastern side of the Rocky Mountains, it may be found advisable to adopt a somewhat higher gradient for a few miles in overcoming those summits. This, however, can only be finally determined after careful surveys. "The highest ground encountered between Lake Superior and the Missouri River, at the mouth of the Yellowstone, is only 2,300 feet above the sea; the low summit of the Rocky Mountains is but little over 5,000 feet, and the Bozeman Pass, through the Belt Range, is assumed to be about 500 feet lower. The height of the country upon which the line is traced, and upon which my estimate of cost is based, may be approximately stated thus, beginning at Lake Superior, going westward:-- Miles. Average height above the sea. To Dakota Valley, 300 1,200 feet. Yellowstone River, 300 2,200 " Along Yellowstone, 400 2,500 " Flathead Valley, 300 3,500 " Lewis or Snake River, 200 3,000 " Puget Sound, 500 400 " ----- 2,000 "Compare this with the profiles of the finished line of the Union and Central Pacific roads. Properly, the comparison should be made from Chicago, the eastern water terminus of Lake Michigan, of the Omaha line. There are, on that route, approximately, as follows:-- Miles. Average height above the sea. From Chicago to Omaha, 500 1,000 feet. Near Cheyenne, 500 3,300 " Cooper's, 100 7,300 " Promontory Point, 485 6,200 " Humboldt, 406 4,750 " Reno, 130 4,000 " Auburn, 118 4,400 " Sacramento, 36 300 " San Francisco, 100 50 " ----- Chicago to San Francisco 2,375 "On the Northern Pacific line there need be but two principal summits, whilst on the other there are four, the lowest of which is about a thousand feet higher than the highest on the northern route. If, therefore, the roads were the same length between the Pacific waters and the great lakes and navigable rivers east of the Rocky Mountains, the advantage would be largely in favor of the Northern route; but this actual distance is three hundred and seventy-five miles less, and the equated distance for ascents and descents in its favor will be very considerable" (Report, p. 45). From the explorations and surveys already made by the engineers, it is believed that there need be no gradient exceeding sixty feet per mile between Lake Superior and the Pacific Ocean. If such be the fact, it will enable the company to transport freight much more cheaply than the central line can carry it, where the grades are one hundred and sixteen feet to the mile, over the Sierra Nevada Range. To those who never have had time to examine the subject, the following tabular statement in regard to the power of a thirty-ton engine on different grades will be interesting. An engine weighing thirty tons will draw loaded cars on different grades as follows:-- On a level 94 cars 10 feet per mile ascending 56 " 20 " " " " 40 " 30 " " " " 30-1/2 " 40 " " " " 25 " 50 " " " " 20-1/2 " 60 " " " " 17 " 70 " " " " 15 " 80 " " " " 13 " 90 " " " " 11-1/2 " 100 " " " " 10 " 110 " " " " 8-1/2 " 120 " " " " 6 " A full car-load is reckoned at seven tons. It has been found in the operation of railroads that an engine which will move one hundred and seventeen tons on a grade sixty feet per mile will move only about fifty tons on a grade of one hundred and sixteen feet. A second glance at the diagram (p. 48) shows us that the sum of ascents and descents on the line already constructed must be vastly greater than that now under construction; and inasmuch as it is impossible to carry a load up or down hill without costing something, it follows that this road can be operated more economically than a line crossing four mountain-ranges, and the ultimate result will be a cheapening of transportation across the continent, and a great development of the Asiatic trade. Throughout the entire distance between Lake Superior and the Pacific Ocean along the line, the husbandman may turn the sod with his plough, the herdsman fatten his flocks, the lumberman reap the harvest of the forests, or the miner gather golden ore. A Bureau of Emigration is to be established by the company, which will be of invaluable service to the emigrant. Many persons in the Eastern and Middle States are desirous of moving to the Northwest, but it is hard to cut loose from old associations, to leave home and friends and strike out alone upon the prairie; they want company. The human race is gregarious. There are not many who care to be hermits, and most of us prefer society to solitude. This feature of human nature is to be kept in view, and it will be the aim of the Bureau of Emigration to offer every facility to those seeking new homes to take their friends with them. Upon the completion of every twenty-five miles of road, the company will be put in possession of forty sections of land per mile. The government will hold the even-numbered sections, and the company those bearing the odd numbers. The land will be surveyed, plotted, and the distinctive features of each section described. Emigration offices are to be established in our own country as well as abroad, where maps, plans, and specifications will be found. One great drawback to the settlement of the prairie lands of Illinois and Iowa has been the want of timber for the construction of houses. Persons with limited means, having only their own hands, found it hard to get started on a treeless prairie. Their first work is to obtain a house. The Bureau propose to help the man who is anxious to help himself on in the world, by putting up a portable house for him on the land that he may select. The houses will be small, but they will serve till the settler can get his farm fenced in, his ground ploughed, and two or three crops of wheat to market. The abundance of timber in Minnesota will enable the company to carry out this new feature of emigration. It will be an easy matter for a family from Lowell, another from Methuen, a third from Andover, a fourth from Reading, a fifth from Haverhill, to select their land in a body and start a Massachusetts colony in the Seat of Empire. Far better this method than for each family to go out by itself. Going as a colony they will carry the moral atmosphere of their old homes with them. They will have a school in operation the week after their arrival. And on Sabbath morning, swelling upward on the summer air, sweeter than the lay of lark amid the flowers, will ascend the songs of the Sunday school established in their new home. Looking forward with ardent hope to prosperous years, they will still look beyond the earthly to the heavenly, and sing,-- "My heavenly home is bright and fair, Nor pain nor death shall enter there." This is no fancy sketch; it is but a description of what has been done over and over again in Ohio, Indiana, Illinois, Iowa, and all the Western States. The Northern Pacific Railroad Company want their lands settled by an industrious, thrifty, energetic people, who prize everything that goes to make up the highest grade of civilization, and they are ready to render such help as no colonies have yet had. The land will be sold to actual settlers at low rates, and on liberal terms of payment. The portable houses will be sold at cost, transported on the cars, and set up for the colonists if they desire it. The Bureau will be put in operation as soon as it can be systematically organized, and I doubt not that thousands will avail themselves of its advantages to establish their future homes near a railroad which will give the shortest line across the continent, marked by low gradients, running through the lowest passes of the Rocky Mountains, through a country capable of cultivation all the way from the lakes to the Pacific. Am I dreaming? Across this belt of land between Lake Superior and the Pacific lies the world's great future highway. The physical features of this portion of the continent are favorable for the development of every element of a high civilization. Take one more look at the map, and observe the situation of the St. Lawrence and the lakes, furnishing water-carriage for freight half-way from ocean to ocean,--the prairies extending to the base of the Rocky Mountains,--the one summit to be crossed,--the bays, inlets, and harbors of the Pacific shore laved by ocean currents and warmed by winds wafted from the equator to the Arctic Sea. Observe also the shortest lines of latitude. The geographical position is in the main axial line of the world's grand commercial movement. San Francisco and Puget Sound are the two western gateways of the continent. Rapid as has been the advancement of civilization around the Golden Gate, magnificent as its future may be, yet equally grand and majestic will be the northern portal of the great Republic. Not only will it be on the shortest possible route between England and Asia, but it will be in the direct line between England and the Asiatic dominions of Russia. While we are building our railroads westward from the Atlantic to the Pacific, the Emperor of Russia is extending his from the Ural Mountains eastward, down the valley of the Amoor, to open communication with China and Japan. The shortest route of travel round the world a few years hence will lie through the northern section of this continent and through Siberia. The Himalaya Range of mountains and the deserts of Central Asia will be impassible barriers to railroads between India and China, or Central Europe and the East; but the valley of the Amoor is fertile, and there is no fairer section of the Czar's dominions than Siberia. From Puget Sound straight across the Pacific will be found, a few years hence, the shortest route around the world. Farm-houses dot the landscape, roses climb by cottage-doors, bees fill the air with their humming, bringing home to their hives the sweets gathered from far-off prairie-flowers; the prattle of children's voices floats upon the air, the verdant waste becomes an Eden, villages, towns, and cities spring into existence. A great metropolis rises upon the Pacific shore, where the winter air is laden with the perfume of ever-blooming flowers. The ships of all nations lie at anchor in the land-locked bays, or shake out their sails for a voyage to the Orient. Steamships come and go, laden with the teas of China and Japan, the coffee of Java, the spices of Sumatra. I hear the humming of saws, the pounding of hammers, the flying of shuttles, the click and clatter of machinery. By every mill-stream springs up a town. The slopes are golden with ripening grain. The forest, the field, the mine, the river, alike yield their abundance to the ever-growing multitude. Such is the outlook towards the future. Will the intellectual and moral development keep pace with the physical growth? If those are wanting, the advancement will be towards Sodom. The future man of the Northwest will have American, Norse, Celtic, and Saxon blood in his veins. His countenance, in the pure, dry, electric air, will be as fresh as the morning. His muscles will be iron, his nerves steel. Vigor will characterize his every action,--for climate gives quality to the blood, strength to the muscles, power to the brain. Indolence is characteristic of people living in the tropics, and energy of those in temperate zones. The citizen of the Northwest will be a freeman. No shackles will bind him, nor will he wear a lock upon his lips. To the emigrant from the Old World the crossing of the ocean is an act of emancipation; it is like the Marseillaise,--it fires him with new hopes and aspirations. "Here the free spirit of mankind at length Throws its last fetters off, and who shall place A limit to the giant's unchained strength, Or curb his swiftness in the forward race? For like the comet's way through infinite space, Stretches the long untravelled path of light Into the depth of ages; we may trace, Distant, the brightening glory of its flight, Till the receding rays are lost to human sight." I do not look with desponding eyes into the future. The nations everywhere,--in Europe and Asia,--the new and the old, are moving onward and upward as never before, and America leads them. Railroads, steamships, school-houses, printing-presses, free platforms and pulpits, an open Bible, are the propelling forces of the nineteenth century. It remains only for the Christian men and women of this country to give the Bible, the Sunday and the common school to the coming millions, to insure a greatness and grandeur to America far surpassing anything in human history. It will not be for America alone; for, under the energizing powers of this age the entire human race is moving on towards a destiny unseen except to the eye of faith, but unmistakably grand and glorious. I have been an observer of the civilization of Europe, and have seen the kindlings of new life, at the hands of England and the United States, in India and China; and through the drifting haze of the future I behold nations rising from the darkness of ancient barbarism into the light of modern civilization, and the radiant cross once reared on Calvary throwing its peaceful beams afar,--over ocean, valley, lake, river, and mountain, illuming all the earth. Situated where the great stream of human life will pour its mightiest flood from ocean to ocean, beneficently endowed with nature's riches, and illumed by such a light, there will be no portion of all earth's wide domain surpassing in glory and grandeur this future Seat of Empire. Cambridge: Printed by Welch, Bigelow, and Company. GREAT CENTRAL ROUTE via Niagara Falls. MICHIGAN CENTRAL & GREAT WESTERN RAILROADS. From Boston and New York to Chicago, connecting there with all the great Railways, North, South, and West. =Four Trains Daily.= Pullman's Palace, Hotel, Drawing-Room, and Sleeping Cars on Express Trains. FREIGHT TRAINS. Freight taken through by the "=BLUE LINE=" without breaking bulk, and in as short time as by any other line. PASSENGER AGENTS. P. K. RANDALL, Boston. CHARLES E. NOBLE, New York. HENRY C. WENTWORTH, Chicago. * * * * * THE FIRST DIVISION OF THE St. Paul and Pacific Railroad Company. LAND DEPARTMENT. THE COMPANY NOW OFFERS FOR SALE =1,000,000 Acres of Land=, Located along their two Railroad Lines, viz.: From St. Paul, via St. Anthony, Anoka, St. Cloud, and Sauk Rapids, to Watab; and from St. Anthony, via Minneapolis, Wayzata, Crow River, Waverly, and Forest City, to the Western Boundary of the State. =THESE LANDS COMPRISE TIMBER, MEADOW, AND PRAIRIE LANDS,= And are all within easy distance of the Railroad, in the midst of considerable Settlements, convenient to Churches and Schools. Inducement to Settlers. The attention of persons whose limited means forbid the purchase of a homestead in the older States, is particularly invited to these lands. The farms are sold in tracts of 40 or 80 acres and upwards, at prices ranging from $5.00 to $10.00 per acre. Cash sales are always One Dollar per acre less than Credit sales. In the latter case 10 years are granted if required. EXAMPLE.--80 acres at $8.00 per acre, on long credit,--$640.00. A part payment on the principal is always desired; but in case the means of the settler are very limited, the Company allows him to pay only One Year's Interest down, dividing the principal in ten equal annual payments, with seven per cent interest each year on the unpaid balance: Int. Prin. 1st payment $44.80 2d " 40.32 $64 3d " 35.84 64 4th " 31.36 64 5th " 26.28 64 6th " 22.40 64 7th " 17.92 64 8th " 13.44 64 9th " 8.96 64 10th " 4.48 64 11th " 64 The purchaser has the privilege to pay up any time within the 10 years, thereby saving the payment of interest. The same land may be purchased for $560.00 cash. Any other information will be furnished on application in person, or by letter, in English, French or German, addressed to =LAND COMMISSIONER, First Division St. Paul & Pacific R. R. Co., SAINT PAUL. MINN.= * * * * * LAKE SHORE AND MICHIGAN Southern Railway. THE GREAT SOUTH SHORE LINE BETWEEN =BUFFALO AND CHICAGO.= All trains on the New York Central Hudson River Railroad, and all trains on the Erie Railway, form sure and reliable connections at Buffalo with the GREAT LAKE SHORE LINE All the great railways in the Northwest and Southwest connect at Chicago, Toledo, or Cleveland with this Line. Palace, Drawing-Room, Sleeping Coaches daily between New York and Chicago, through WITHOUT CHANGE. FAST FREIGHT LINES. The following lines transport freight between Boston, New York, and principal points in New England to Cleveland, Toledo, Chicago, and principal points in the Southwest and Northwest, _without break of bulk or transfer_. RED LINE, WHITE LINE, SOUTH SHORE LINE, EMPIRE LINE, COMMERCIAL LINE FROM BALTIMORE. Passengers or shippers of freight will find it to their interest to call on the Agents of these Lines. F. E. MORSE, _Gen'l Western Pass'r Ag't_, Chicago, Ill. CHS. F. HATCH, _Gen'l Superintendent_, Cleveland, O. J. A. BURCH, _Gen'l Eastern Pass'r Ag't_, Buffalo, N. Y. * * * * * VERMONT CENTRAL R. R. Line. The =GREAT Northern line= and =most direct= route from =BOSTON= and =ALL POINTS= in =New England= to the =CANADAS, DETROIT, CHICAGO=, AND =All points West, Northwest, & Southwest=. NEW SLEEPING-CARS, the most elegant from =Boston=, and =SPLENDID DRAWING-ROOM CARS= run on every express train, connecting on the =Grand Trunk Railway= with =Pullman's Palace, Hotel, and Sleeping Cars=; this being the =only line= affording such comfort and luxury to the passenger between the East and West. TIME FREIGHT VIA National Despatch Line. =Freight= taken for =Chicago=, =St. Louis=, and =all points West without breaking bulk or transfer=, in as =short time= as any other line. --> For full information relating to time contracts, Tickets, &c., &c., please address or call at =No. 65 Washington Street (Sears Building), Boston. LANSING MILLIS, General Agent.= (=Montreal Office, No. 30 Great St. James St.=) (=New York Office, No. 9 Astor House.=) * * * * * Lake Superior & Mississippi Railroad. The line of this road is from St. Paul, the head of navigation on the Mississippi River, to the head of Lake Superior, a distance of 140 miles. It connects at St. Paul with each of the long lines of railroad traversing the vast and fertile regions of Minnesota in all directions, and converging at St. Paul. It connects the commerce and business of the Mississippi and Minnesota Rivers, the California Central Railroad, and the Northern Pacific Railroad, with Lake Superior and the commercial system of the great lakes, and makes the outlet or commercial track to the lakes, over which must pass the commerce of a region of country second to none on the American continent in capacity for production. The land grant made by the government of the United States and by the State of Minnesota, in aid of the construction of this road, is the largest in quantity and most valuable in kind ever made in aid of any railway in either of the American States. This grant amounts to seventeen square miles or sections [10,880 acres] of land for each mile of the road, and in the aggregate to =One Million, Six Hundred and Thirty-two Thousand Acres of Land=. These lands are for the most part well timbered with pine, butternut, white oak, sugar maple, and other valuable timber, and are perhaps better adapted to the raising of stock, winter wheat, corn, oats, and most kinds of agricultural These lands are well watered with running streams and innumerable lakes, and within the limits of the land belonging to the Company there is an abundance of water-power for manufacturing purposes. A glance at the map, and an intelligent comprehension of the course of trade, and way to the markets of the Eastern cities and to Europe, for the products of this section of the Northwest, will at once satisfy any one who examines the question that the lands of this Company, by reason of the low freights at which their products reach market, have a value--independent of that which arises from their superior quality--which can hardly be over-estimated. Twenty cents saved in sending a bushel of wheat to market adds four dollars to the yearly product of an acre of wheat land, and what is true of this will apply to all other articles of farm produce transported to market, and demonstrates that the value of lands depends largely on the price at which their products can be carried to market. =THE LANDS OF THIS COMPANY ARE NOW OFFERED TO= ~Immigrants and Settlers~ =at the most favorable rates, as to time and terms of payment=. =W. L. BANNING, President and Land Commissioner, Saint Paul, Minnesota.= "CARLETON'S" WORKS. [Illustration: OUR NAGPORE COACH.] OUR NEW WAY ROUND THE WORLD; OR, =WHERE TO GO AND WHAT TO SEE=. By CHARLES CARLETON COFFIN. Containing several full-page Maps, showing steamship lines and routes of travel, and profusely illustrated with more than 100 engravings, reproduced from photographs and original sketches. Crown octavo. Morocco Cloth, $3.00; Half Calf, $5.50; Library Edition, $3.50. "In Mr. Charles C. Coffin we have a traveller after the latest and best transatlantic pattern. He has thrown himself thoroughly into the spirit of his age and race; yet, while loyal to the backbone, and indorsing to the full his country's claims to present grandeur and future pre-eminence, he has a corner in his soul for the merits of other lands, and is open to the lessons of Old-World wisdom. Rapid as was his flight, and superficial as was his purview of the multitudinous objects that daily crowded his path, his powers of observation are, we are bound to say, keen and vigorous, and his judgments upon men and things both shrewd and impartial. Be it the aspects of nature, the historical monuments, the national traits, or the social idiosyncrasies that come before him, we find him invariably alive to what is most beautiful or august or original or piquant, as the case may be. He is at all times happy in hitting off the salient features, or picking out the weak spots, in local life and manners.... The history of British rule in India, and the tokens of material and social advancement everywhere beside his path, are themes after the American's own heart. We have never seen a more graphic or telling sketch of Anglo-Indian life and characteristics within anything like the compass of Mr. Coffin's flying experiences.... Mr. Coffin's studies of life in China are eminently piquant and original. Nothing is too old or too new to escape his notice.... The wood-cuts interspersed among his pages deserve a word of commendation. They are drawn with vigor and truth, often showing touches of quaint and quiet humor. Altogether, if there is nothing new under the sun, Our New Way Round the World shows there may be much novelty and freshness in the mode of telling even a thrice-told tale."--_Saturday Review (London)._ "The author of this interesting and valuable tour of the globe starts from New York, visits every city of note in Europe, sails from Marseilles to Alexandria, thence to Cairo, and Suez Canal, India, China, and Japan, returning by the way of California. Through this wide field for observation and research, his keen habits of characterization, and his vivid powers of description make him an exceedingly agreeable travelling companion. Mr. Coffin has the very happy faculty of giving to a really thrice-told tale of travel a freshness that carries the reader to the end of the volume with unabated interest. His tour in the interior of the British possessions in India is full of interest,--and his elaborate pictures of China at the present time are valuable, showing the actual character of the people; the tenacity of their prejudices, which appear to resist all innovation from 'outside barbarians,' is most graphically depicted, and is worthy the attention of our politicians and speculative philanthropists. The book on the whole is a valuable addition to our native literature, written as it is from a distinctive American stand-point view of foreign nations. Numerous spirited designs, illustrative of habits and manners, adorn the work, together with maps in abundance."--_N. Y. Express._ "A model record of travel, over fields comparatively unknown. It combines, in a remarkable degree, skill and judgment in the selection of facts and points, with clearness, accuracy, and proportion in their statement: a natural ease and grace of expression, with a genial spirit, and a broad, true sympathy with everything human. A very large amount of instructive and attractive matter is compressed in its pages. The illustrations, too, are numerous, and all in admirable keeping with the narrative. In these, and in the clear, fair, readable type, the publishers have well done their part. "We confess to a deeper, and consciously healthier interest in the perusal than in the reading of any similar volume. Very heartily, therefore, do we commend the book to the winter-evening family circle, sure that it will instruct and charm alike both young and old."--_N. Y. Christian World._ "The book has many excellent illustrations, and is written with all the loveliness and instructiveness for which 'Carleton' became famous during the war, as a war correspondent of the Boston Journal. The book is gossipy and entertaining in a high degree, and will interest young and old."--_New York Evening Post._ *** _For sale by all booksellers, or sent, post-paid, to any address, by the Publishers_, =FIELDS, OSGOOD, & CO., 124 Tremont Street, Boston.= [Illustration] FOUR YEARS OF FIGHTING. A volume of Personal Observation with the Army and Navy, from the first Battle of Bull Run to the Fall of Richmond. 1 vol. 8vo. With Steel Portrait of the Author, and numerous Illustrations. Cloth, $3.50; Sheep, $4.50. =From Senator Yates, of Illinois.= ...From the accuracy with which you relate those incidents which fell under my personal observation, I am persuaded that the whole volume forms a very valuable addition to the historic literature of the heroic age of the Republic. I am, sir, your obliged friend, =RICH'D YATES= *** _For sale by all Booksellers. Sent, post-paid, on receipt of price by the Publishers_, =FIELDS, OSGOOD, & CO., Boston.= [Illustration] MY DAYS AND NIGHTS ON THE BATTLE-FIELD. A Book for Boys. By "CARLETON." 1 vol. 16mo. Illustrated. $1.50. "It is written by one of the best of the war correspondents, 'Carleton,' of the _Boston Journal_, whose opportunities for observing all the celebrated battles of the war were unsurpassed. The book is really a history of the first year of the war, and describes the principal battles of that period,--Bull Run, Fort Henry, Fort Donelson, Pittsburg Landing, Columbus, New Madrid, Island No. 10, and Memphis, in part of which the writer was, and all of which he saw."--_Buffalo Express._ *** _For sale by all Booksellers. Sent, post-paid, on receipt of price by the Publishers_, =FIELDS, OSGOOD, & CO., Boston.= [Illustration] FOLLOWING THE FLAG. From August, 1861, to November, 1862, with the Army of the Potomac. By "CARLETON." 1 vol. 16mo. Illustrated. $1.50. "'Carleton' is by all odds the best writer for boys on the war. His 'Days and Nights on the Battle-Field' made him famous among the young folks. To read his books is equal in interest to a bivouac or a battle, and is free from the hard couch and harder bread of the one, and the jeopardizing bullets of the other. To be entertained and informed, we would rather peruse 'Following the Flag' than study a dozen octavo volumes written by a world-renowned historian."--_Indianapolis Journal._ *** _For sale by all Booksellers. Sent, post-paid, on receipt of price by the Publishers_. =FIELDS, OSGOOD, & CO., Boston.= WINNING HIS WAY. BY "CARLETON." 1 vol. 16mo. Illustrated. $1.25. CLEMENT, CLINTON CO., ILLINOIS. MR. CARLETON. _Dear Sir,_--Is "Winning His Way" a true story? Is the story published in book form? Where does Paul live? I am very much interested in the story, but my father thinks it is all fiction as he calls it. If you will answer this you will oblige a boy ten years old, who has read it four times, and who means to read it again when I go over to Aunt Leach's. Paul's ardent admirer, JOHN W. SCOTT. April 16, 1870. BOSTON, May 7, 1870. JOHN W. SCOTT. _My Dear Young Friend,_--I am very much gratified to hear that you are so much interested in "Winning His Way," which has been published in book form by Messrs. Fields, Osgood, & Co. You ask if it is a true story. I will tell you about it: I knew a brave boy who went into the army and fought just as Paul fought, who was left on the field for dead, and who was taken to a rebel prison, and I had him in mind all the time I was writing the story. That is all true about painting the pigs, and shutting the school-house door, and tying the hay in front of the old horse's nose. So you can tell your father that the things did not happen just in the order they are given in the book, but that I tried to make the story true to life. Your friend, CARLETON. "A story of a poor Western boy who, with true American grit in his composition, worked his way into a position of honorable independence, and who was among the first to rally round the flag when the day of his country's peril came. There is a sound, manly tone about the book, a freedom from nam-by-pambyism, worthy of all commendation."--_Sunday School Times._ "One of the best of stories for boys."--_Hartford Courant._ *** _For sale by all Booksellers. Sent, post-paid, on receipt of price by the Publishers_, =FIELDS, OSGOOD, & CO., Boston.= Transcriber's Note Footnotes have been moved to the end of the paragraphs to which they refer. Illustrations have been moved near the relevant section of the text. "=" is used in the text to indicate bolded text, and "~" is used to indicate a fancy font. On Page 255, "-->" is used to denote a hand with the finger pointing right. In the advertisements at the end of the book, "***" is used to denote an inverted asterism. I have separated the ads by asterisks. Inconsistencies have been retained in spelling, hyphenation, punctuation, and grammar, except where indicated in the list below: - Page number added to Table of Contents on Page v - Dash added after "Mud-Wagon." on Page vi - Dash added after "Railroad." on Page vii - Period moved from before to after bracket on Page 96 - "timber" changed to "Timber" on Page 96 - "spot" changed to "sport" on Page 121 - "offer" changed to "offers" on Page 168 - Quotation mark added before "The" on Page 222 - Quotation mark added before "Compare" on Page 223 - "agricul tural" changed to "agricultural" on Page 237 - Single quote added after "Carleton" on Page 242 
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4515	----	THE GOLDEN SNARE BY JAMES OLIVER CURWOOD AUTHOR OF KAZAN, THE DANGER TRAIL, THE COURAGE OF MARGE O'DOONE, THE GRIZZLY KING, ETC. JTABLE 10 26 1 THE GOLDEN SNARE CHAPTER I Bram Johnson was an unusual man, even for the northland. He was, above all other things, a creature of environment--and necessity, and of that something else which made of him at times a man with a soul, and at others a brute with the heart of a devil. In this story of Bram, and the girl, and the other man, Bram himself should not be blamed too much. He was pathetic, and yet he was terrible. It is doubtful if he really had what is generally regarded as a soul. If he did, it was hidden--hidden to the forests and the wild things that had made him. Bram's story started long before he was born, at least three generations before. That was before the Johnsons had gone north of Sixty. But they were wandering, and steadily upward. If one puts a canoe in the Lower Athabasca and travels northward to the Great Slave and thence up the Mackenzie to the Arctic he will note a number of remarkable ethnological changes. The racial characteristics of the world he is entering change swiftly. The thin-faced Chippewa with his alert movements and high-bowed canoe turns into the slower moving Cree, with his broader cheeks, his more slanting eyes, and his racier birchbark. And even the Cree changes as he lives farther north; each new tribe is a little different from its southernmost neighbor, until at last the Cree looks like a Jap, and the Chippewyan takes his place. And the Chippewyan takes up the story of life where the Cree left off. Nearer the Arctic his canoe becomes a skin kaiak, his face is still broader, Ms eyes like a Chinaman's, and writers of human history call him Eskimo. The Johnsons, once they started, did not stop at any particular point. There was probably only one Johnson in the beginning of that hundred year story which was to have its finality in Bram. But there were more in time. The Johnson blood mixed itself first with the Chippewa, and then with the Cree--and the Cree-Chippewa Johnson blood, when at last it reached the Eskimo, had in it also a strain of Chippewyan. It is curious how the name itself lived. Johnson! One entered a tepee or a cabin expecting to find there a white man, and was startled when he discovered the truth. Bram, after nearly a century of this intermixing of bloods, was a throwback--a white man, so far as his skin and his hair and his eyes went. In other physical ways he held to the type of his half-strain Eskimo mother, except in size. He was six feet, and a giant in strength. His face was broad, his cheek-bones high, his lips thick, his nose flat. And he was WHITE. That was the shocking thing about it all. Even his hair was a reddish blonde, wild and coarse and ragged like a lion's mane, and his eyes were sometimes of a curious blue, and at others--when he was angered--green like a cat's at night-time. No man knew Bram for a friend. He was a mystery. He never remained at a post longer than was necessary to exchange his furs for supplies, and it might be months or even years before he returned to that particular post again. He was ceaselessly wandering. More or less the Royal Northwest Mounted Police kept track of him, and in many reports of faraway patrols filed at Headquarters there are the laconic words, "We saw Bram and his wolves traveling northward" or "Bram and his wolves passed us"--always Bram AND HIS WOLVES. For two years the Police lost track of him. That was when Bram was buried in the heart of the Sulphur Country east of the Great Bear. After that the Police kept an even closer watch on him, waiting, and expecting something to happen. And then--the something came. Bram killed a man. He did it so neatly and so easily, breaking him as he might have broken a stick, that he was well off in flight before it was discovered that his victim was dead. The next tragedy followed quickly--a fortnight later, when Corporal Lee and a private from the Fort Churchill barracks closed in on him out on the edge of the Barren. Bram didn't fire a shot. They could hear his great, strange laugh when they were still a quarter of a mile away from him. Bram merely set loose his wolves. By a miracle Corporal Lee lived to drag himself to a half-breed's cabin, where he died a little later, and the half-breed brought the story to Fort Churchill. After this, Bram disappeared from the eyes of the world. What he lived in those four or five years that followed would well be worth his pardon if his experiences could be made to appear between the covers of a book. Bram--AND HIS WOLVES! Think of it. Alone. In all that time without a voice to talk to him. Not once appearing at a post for food. A loup-garou. An animal-man. A companion of wolves. By the end of the third year there was not a drop of dog-blood in his pack. It was wolf, all wolf. From whelps he brought the wolves up, until he had twenty in his pack. They were monsters, for the under-grown ones he killed. Perhaps he would have given them freedom in place of death, but these wolf-beasts of Bram's would not accept freedom. In him they recognized instinctively the super-beast, and they were his slaves. And Bram, monstrous and half animal himself, loved them. To him they were brother, sister, wife--all creation. He slept with them, and ate with them, and starved with them when food was scarce. They were comradeship and protection. When Bram wanted meat, and there was meat in the country, he would set his wolf-horde on the trail of a caribou or a moose, and if they drove half a dozen miles ahead of Bram himself there would always be plenty of meat left on the bones when he arrived. Four years of that! The Police would not believe it. They laughed at the occasional rumors that drifted in from the far places; rumors that Bram had been seen, and that his great voice had been heard rising above the howl of his pack on still winter nights, and that half-breeds and Indians had come upon his trails, here and there--at widely divergent places. It was the French half-breed superstition of the chasse-galere that chiefly made them disbelieve, and the chasse-galere is a thing not to be laughed at in the northland. It is composed of creatures who have sold their souls to the devil for the power of navigating the air, and there were those who swore with their hands on the crucifix of the Virgin that they had with their own eyes seen Bram and his wolves pursuing the shadowy forms of great beasts through the skies. So the Police believed that Bram was dead; and Bram, meanwhile, keeping himself from all human eyes, was becoming more and more each day like the wolves who were his brothers. But the white blood in a man dies hard, and always there flickered in the heart of Bram's huge chest a great yearning. It must at times have been worse than death--that yearning to hear a human voice, to have a human creature to speak to, though never had he loved man or woman. Which brings us at last to the final tremendous climax in Bram's life--to the girl, and the other man. CHAPTER II The other man was Raine--Philip Raine. To-night he sat in Pierre Breault's cabin, with Pierre at the opposite side of the table between them, and the cabin's sheet iron stove blazing red just beyond. It was a terrible night outside. Pierre, the fox hunter, had built his shack at the end of a long slim forefinger of scrub spruce that reached out into the Barren, and to-night the wind was wailing and moaning over the open spaces in a way that made Raine shiver. Close to the east was Hudson's Bay--so close that a few moments before when Raine had opened the cabin door there came to him the low, never-ceasing thunder of the under-currents fighting their way down through the Roes Welcome from the Arctic Ocean, broken now and then by a growling roar as the giant forces sent a crack, like a great knife, through one of the frozen mountains. Westward from Pierre's cabin there stretched the lifeless Barren, illimitable and void, without rock or bush, and overhung at day by a sky that always made Raine think of a terrible picture he had once seen of Dore's "Inferno"--a low, thick sky, like purple and blue granite, always threatening to pitch itself down in terrific avalanches. And at night, when the white foxes yapped, and the wind moaned-- "As I have hope of paradise I swear that I saw him--alive, M'sieu," Pierre was saying again over the table. Raine, of the Fort Churchill patrol of the Royal Northwest Mounted Police, no longer smiled in disbelief. He knew that Pierre Breault was a brave man, or he would not have perched himself alone out in the heart of the Barren to catch the white foxes; and he was not superstitious, like most of his kind, or the sobbing cries and strife of the everlasting night-winds would have driven him away. "I swear it!" repeated Pierre. Something that was almost eagerness was burning now in Philip's face. He leaned over the table, his hands gripping tightly. He was thirty-five; almost slim as Pierre himself, with eyes as steely blue as Pierre's were black. There was a time, away back, when he wore a dress suit as no other man in the big western city where he lived; now the sleeves of his caribou skin coat were frayed and torn, his hands were knotted, in his face were the lines of storm and wind. "It is impossible," he said. "Bram Johnson is dead!" "He is alive, M'sieu." In Pierre's voice there was a strange tremble. "If I had only HEARD, if I had not SEEN, you might disbelieve, M'sieu," he cried, his eyes glowing with a dark fire. "Yes, I heard the cry of the pack first, and I went to the door, and opened it, and stood there listening and looking out into the night. UGH! they went near. I could hear the hoofs of the caribou. And then I heard a great cry, a voice that rose above the howl of the wolves like the voice of ten men, and I knew that Bram Johnson was on the trail of meat. MON DIEU--yes--he is alive. And that is not all. No. No. That is not all--" His fingers were twitching. For the third or fourth time in the last three-quarters of an hour Raine saw him fighting back a strange excitement. His own incredulity was gone. He was beginning to believe Pierre. "And after that--you saw him?" "Yes. I would not do again what I did then for all the foxes between the Athabasca and the Bay, M'sieu. It must have been--I don't know what. It dragged me out into the night. I followed. I found the trail of the wolves, and I found the snowshoe tracks of a man. Oui. I still followed. I came close to the kill, with the wind in my face, and I could hear the snapping of jaws and the rending of flesh--yes--yes--AND A MAN'S TERRIBLE LAUGH! If the wind had shifted--if that pack of devils' souls had caught the smell of me--tonnerre de dieu!" He shuddered, and the knuckles of his fingers snapped as he clenched and unclenched his hands. "But I stayed there, M'sieu, half buried in a snow dune. They went on after a long time. It was so dark I could not see them. I went to the kill then, and--yes, he had carried away the two hind quarters of the caribou. It was a bull, too, and heavy. I followed--clean across that strip of Barren down to the timber, and it was there that Bram built himself the fire. I could see him then, and I swear by the Blessed Virgin that it was Bram! Long ago, before he killed the man, he came twice to my cabin--and he had not changed. And around him, in the fire-glow, the wolves huddled. It was then that I came to my reason. I could see him fondling them. I could see their gleaming fangs. Yes, I could HEAR their bodies, and he was talking to them and laughing with them through his great beard--and I turned and fled back to the cabin, running so swiftly that even the wolves would have had trouble in catching me. And that--that--WAS NOT ALL!" Again his fingers were clenching and unclenching as he stared at Raine. "You believe me, M'sieu?" Philip nodded. "It seems impossible. And yet--you could not have been dreaming, Pierre." Breault drew a deep breath of satisfaction, and half rose to his feet. "And you will believe me if I tell you the rest?" "Yes." Swiftly Pierre went to his bunk and returned with the caribou skin pouch in which he carried his flint and steel and fire material for the trail. "The next day I went back, M'sieu," he said, seating himself again opposite Philip. "Bram and his wolves were gone. He had slept in a shelter of spruce boughs. And--and--par les mille cornes du diable if he had even brushed the snow out! His great moccasin tracks were all about among the tracks of the wolves, and they were big as the spoor of a monster bear. I searched everywhere for something that he might have left, and I found--at last--a rabbit snare." Pierre Breault's eyes, and not his words--and the curious twisting and interlocking of his long slim fingers about the caribou-skin bag in his hand stirred Philip with the thrill of a tense and mysterious anticipation, and as he waited, uttering no word, Pierre's fingers opened the sack, and he said: "A rabbit snare, M'sieu, which had dropped from his pocket into the snow--" In another moment he had given it into Philip's hands. The oil lamp was hung straight above them. Its light flooded the table between them, and from Philip's lips, as he stared at the snare, there broke a gasp of amazement. Pierre had expected that cry. He had at first been disbelieved; now his face burned with triumph. It seemed, for a space, as if Philip had ceased breathing. He stared--stared--while the light from above him scintillated on the thing he held. It was a snare. There could be no doubt of that. It was almost a yard in length, with the curious Chippewyan loop at one end and the double-knot at the other. The amazing thing about it was that it was made of a woman's golden hair. CHAPTER III The process of mental induction occasionally does not pause to reason its way, but leaps to an immediate and startling finality, which, by reason of its very suddenness, is for a space like the shock of a sudden blow. After that one gasp of amazement Philip made no sound. He spoke no word to Pierre. In a sudden lull of the wind sweeping over the cabin the ticking of his watch was like the beating of a tiny drum. Then, slowly, his eyes rose from the silken thread in his fingers and met Pierre's. Each knew what the other was thinking. If the hair had been black. If it had been brown. Even had it been of the coarse red of the blond Eskimo of the upper Mackenzie! But it was gold--shimmering gold. Still without speaking, Philip drew a knife from his pocket and cut the shining thread above the second knot, and worked at the finely wrought weaving of the silken filaments until a tress of hair, crinkled and waving, lay on the table before them. If he had possessed a doubt, it was gone now. He could not remember where he had ever seen just that colored gold in a woman's hair. Probably he had, at one time or another. It was not red gold. It possessed no coppery shades and lights as it rippled there in the lamp glow. It was flaxen, and like spun silk--so fine that, as he looked at it, he marveled at the patience that had woven it into a snare. Again he looked at Pierre. The same question was in their eyes. "It must be--that Bram has a woman with him," said Pierre. "It must be," said Philip. "Or--" That final word, its voiceless significance, the inflection which Philip gave to it as he gazed at Pierre, stood for the one tremendous question which, for a space, possessed the mind of each. Pierre shrugged his shoulders. He could not answer it. And as he shrugged his shoulders he shivered, and at a sudden blast of the wind against the cabin door he turned quickly, as though he thought the blow might have been struck by a human hand. "Diable!" he cried, recovering himself, his white teeth flashing a smile at Philip. "It has made me nervous--what I saw there in the light of the campfire, M'sieu. Bram, and his wolves, and THAT!" He nodded at the shimmering strands. "You have never seen hair the color of this, Pierre?" "Non. In all my life--not once." "And yet you have seen white women at Fort Churchill, at York Factory, at Lac la Biche, at Cumberland House, and Norway House, and at Fort Albany?" "Ah-h-h, and at many other places, M'sieu. At God's Lake, at Lac Seul, and over on the Mackenzie--and never have I seen hair on a woman like that." "And Bram has never been out of the northland, never farther south than Fort Chippewyan that we know of," said Philip. "It makes one shiver, eh, Pierre? It makes one think of--WHAT? Can't you answer? Isn't it in your mind?" French and Cree were mixed half and half in Pierre's blood. The pupils of his eyes dilated as he met Philip's steady gaze. "It makes one think," he replied uneasily, "of the chasse-galere and the loup-garou, and--and--almost makes one believe. I am not superstitious, M'sieu--non--non--I am not superstitious," he cried still more uneasily. "But many strange things are told about Bram and his wolves;--that he has sold his soul to the devil, and can travel through the air, and that he can change himself into the form of a wolf at will. There are those who have heard him singing the Chanson de Voyageur to the howling of his wolves away up in the sky. I have seen them, and talked with them, and over on the McLeod I saw a whole tribe making incantation because they had seen Bram and his wolves building themselves a conjuror's house in the heart of a thunder-cloud. So--is it strange that he should snare rabbits with, a woman's hair?" "And change black into the color of the sun?" added Philip, falling purposely into the other's humor. "If the rest is true--" Pierre did not finish. He caught himself, swallowing hard, as though a lump had risen in his throat, and for a moment or two Philip saw him fighting with himself, struggling with the age-old superstitions which had flared up for an instant like a powder-flash. His jaws tightened, and he threw back his head. "But those stories are NOT true, M'sieu," he added in a repressed voice. "That is why I showed you the snare. Bram Johnson is not dead. He is alive. And there is a woman with him, or--" "Or--" The same thought was in their eyes again. And again neither gave voice to it. Carefully Philip was gathering up the strands of hair, winding them about his forefinger, and placing them afterward in a leather wallet which he took from his pocket. Then, quite casually, he loaded his pipe and lighted it. He went to the door, opened it, and for a few moments stood listening to the screech of the wind over the Barren. Pierre, still seated at the table, watched him attentively. Philip's mind was made up when he closed the door and faced the half-breed again. "It is three hundred miles from here to Fort Churchill," he said. "Half way, at the lower end of Jesuche Lake, MacVeigh and his patrol have made their headquarters. If I go after Bram, Pierre, I must first make certain of getting a message to MacVeigh, and he will see that it gets to Fort Churchill. Can you leave your foxes and poison-baits and your deadfalls long enough for that?" A moment Pierre hesitated. Then he said: "I will take the message." Until late that night Philip sat up writing his report. He had started out to run down a band of Indian thieves. More important business had crossed his trail, and he explained the whole matter to Superintendent Fitzgerald, commanding "M" Division at Fort Churchill. He told Pierre Breault's story as he had heard it. He gave his reasons for believing it, and that Bram Johnson, three times a murderer, was alive. He asked that another man be sent after the Indians, and explained, as nearly as he could, the direction he would take in his pursuit of Bram. When the report was finished and sealed he had omitted just one thing. Not a word had he written about the rabbit snare woven from a woman's hair. CHAPTER IV The next morning the tail of the storm was still sweeping bitterly over the edge of the Barren, but Philip set out, with Pierre Breault as his guide, for the place where the half-breed had seen Bram Johnson and his wolves in camp. Three days had passed since that exciting night, and when they arrived at the spot where Bram had slept the spruce shelter was half buried in a windrow of the hard, shot like snow that the blizzard had rolled in off the open spaces. From this point Pierre marked off accurately the direction Bram had taken the morning after the hunt, and Philip drew the point of his compass to the now invisible trail. Almost instantly he drew his conclusion. "Bram is keeping to the scrub timber along the edge of the Barren," he said to Pierre. "That is where I shall follow. You might add that much to what I have written to MacVeigh. But about the snare, Pierre Breault, say not a word. Do you understand? If he is a loup-garou man, and weaves golden hairs out of the winds--" "I will say nothing, M'sieu," shuddered Pierre. They shook hands, and parted in silence. Philip set his face to the west, and a few moments later, looking back, he could no longer see Pierre. For an hour after that he was oppressed by the feeling that he was voluntarily taking a desperate chance. For reasons which he had arrived at during the night he had left his dogs and sledge with Pierre, and was traveling light. In his forty-pound pack, fitted snugly to his shoulders, were a three pound silk service-tent that was impervious to the fiercest wind, and an equal weight of cooking utensils. The rest of his burden, outside of his rifle, his Colt's revolver and his ammunition, was made up of rations, so much of which was scientifically compressed into dehydrated and powder form that he carried on his back, in a matter of thirty pounds, food sufficient for a month if he provided his meat on the trail. The chief article in this provision was fifteen pounds of flour; four dozen eggs he carried in one pound of egg powder; twenty-eight pounds of potatoes in four pounds of the dehydrated article; four pounds of onions in a quarter of a pound of the concentration, and so on through the list. He laughed a little grimly as he thought of this concentrated efficiency in the pack on his shoulders. In a curious sort of way it reminded him of other days, and he wondered what some of his old-time friends would say if he could, by some magic endowment, assemble them here for a feast on the trail. He wondered especially what Mignon Davenport would say--and do. P-f-f-f! He could see the blue-blooded horror in her aristocratic face! That wind from over the Barren would curdle the life in her veins. She would shrivel up and die. He considered himself a fairly good judge in the matter, for once upon a time he thought that he was going to marry her. Strange why he should think of her now, he told himself; but for all that he could not get rid of her for a time. And thinking of her, his mind traveled back into the old days, even as he followed over the hidden trail of Bram. Undoubtedly a great many of his old friends had forgotten him. Five years was a long time, and friendship in the set to which he belonged was not famous for its longevity. Nor love, for that matter. Mignon had convinced him of that. He grimaced, and in the teeth of the wind he chuckled. Fate was a playful old chap. It was a good joke he had played on him--first a bit of pneumonia, then a set of bad lungs afflicted with that "galloping" something-or-other that hollows one's cheeks and takes the blood out of one's veins. It was then that the horror had grown larger and larger each day in Mignon's big baby-blue eyes, until she came out with childish frankness and said that it was terribly embarrassing to have one's friends know that one was engaged to a consumptive. Philip laughed as he thought of that. The laugh came so suddenly and so explosively that Bram could have heard it a hundred yards away, even with the wind blowing as it was. A consumptive! Philip doubled up his arm until the hard muscles in it snapped. He drew in a deep lungful of air, and forced it out again with a sound like steam escaping from a valve. The NORTH had done that for him; the north with its wonderful forests, its vast skies, its rivers, and its lakes, and its deep snows--the north that makes a man out of the husk of a man if given half a chance. He loved it. And because he loved it, and the adventure of it, he had joined the Police two years ago. Some day he would go back, just for the fun of it; meet his old friends in his old clubs, and shock baby-eyed Mignon to death with his good health. He dropped these meditations as he thought of the mysterious man he was following. During the course of his two years in the Service he had picked up a great many odds and ends in the history of Bram's life, and in the lives of the Johnsons who had preceded him. He had never told any one how deeply interested he was. He had, at times, made efforts to discuss the quality of Bram's intelligence, but always he had failed to make others see and understand his point of view. By the Indians and half-breeds of the country in which he had lived, Bram was regarded as a monster of the first order possessed of the conjuring powers of the devil himself. By the police he was earnestly desired as the most dangerous murderer at large in all the north, and the lucky man who captured him, dead or alive, was sure of a sergeantcy. Ambition and hope had run high in many valiant hearts until it was generally conceded that Bram was dead. Philip was not thinking of the sergeantcy as he kept steadily along the edge of the Barren. His service would shortly be up, and he had other plans for the future. From the moment his fingers had touched the golden strand of hair he had been filled with a new and curious emotion. It possessed him even more strongly to-day than it had last night. He had not given voice to that emotion, or to the thoughts it had roused, even to Pierre. Perhaps he was ridiculous. But he possessed imagination, and along with that a great deal of sympathy for animals--and some human beings. He had, for the time, ceased to be the cool and calculating man-hunter intent on the possession of another's life. He knew that his duty was to get Bram and take him back to headquarters, and he also knew that he would perform his duty when the opportunity came--unless he had guessed correctly the significance of the golden snare. And had he guessed correctly? There was a tremendous doubt in his mind, and yet he was strangely thrilled. He tried to argue that there were many ways in which Bram might have secured the golden hairs that had gone into the making of his snare; and that the snare itself might long have been carried as a charm against the evils of disease and the devil by the strange creature whose mind and life were undoubtedly directed to a large extent by superstition. In that event it was quite logical that Bram had come into possession of his golden talisman years ago. In spite of himself, Philip could not believe that this was so. At noon, when he built a small fire to make tea and warm his bannock, he took the golden tress from his wallet and examined it even more closely than last night. It might have come from a woman's head only yesterday, so bright and shimmery was it in the pale light of the midday sun. He was amazed at the length and fineness of it, and the splendid texture of each hair. Possibly there were half a hundred hairs, each of an equal and unbroken length. He ate his dinner, and went on. Three days of storm had covered utterly every trace of the trail made by Bram and his wolves. He was convinced, however, that Bram would travel in the scrub timber close to the Barren. He had already made up his mind that this Barren--the Great Barren of the unmapped north--was the great snow sea in which Bram had so long found safety from the law. Beaching five hundred miles east and west, and almost from the Sixtieth degree to the Arctic Ocean, its un-peopled and treeless wastes formed a tramping ground for him as safe as the broad Pacific to the pirates of old. He could not repress a shivering exclamation as his mind dwelt on this world of Bram's. It was worse than the edge of the Arctic, where one might at least have the Eskimo for company. He realized the difficulty of his own quest. His one chance lay in fair weather, and the discovery of an old trail made by Bram and his pack. An old trail would lead to fresher ones. Also he was determined to stick to the edge of the scrub timber, for if the Barren was Bram's retreat he would sooner or later strike a trail--unless Bram had gone straight out into the vast white plain shortly after he had made his camp in the forest near Pierre Breault's cabin. In that event it might be weeks before Bram would return to the scrub timber again. That night the last of the blizzard that had raged for days exhausted itself. For a week clear weather followed. It was intensely cold, but no snow fell. In that week Philip traveled a hundred and twenty miles westward. It was on the eighth night, as he sat near his fire in a thick clump of dwarf spruce, that the thing happened which Pierre Breault, with a fatalism born of superstition, knew would come to pass. And it is curious that on this night, and in the very hour of the strange happening, Philip had with infinite care and a great deal of trouble rewoven the fifty hairs back into the form of the golden snare. CHAPTER V The night was so bright that the spruce trees cast vivid shadows on the snow. Overhead there were a billion stars in a sky as dear as an open sea, and the Great Dipper shone like a constellation of tiny suns. The world did not need a moon. At a distance of three hundred yards Philip could have seen a caribou if it had passed. He sat close to his fire, with the heat of it reflected from the blackened face of a huge rock, finishing the snare which had taken him an hour to weave. For a long time he had been conscious of the curious, hissing monotone of the Aurora, the "music of the skies," reaching out through the space of the earth with a purring sound that was at times like the purr of a cat and at others like the faint hum of a bee. Absorbed in his work he did not, for a time, hear the other sound. Not until he had finished, and was placing the golden snare in his wallet, did the one sound individualize and separate itself from the other. He straightened himself suddenly, and listened. Then he jumped to his feet and ran through fifty feet of low scrub to the edge of the white plain. It was coming from off there, a great distance away. Perhaps a mile. It might be two. The howling of wolves! It was not a new or unusual sound to him. He had listened to it many times during the last two years. But never had it thrilled him as it did now, and he felt the blood leap in sudden swiftness through his body as the sound bore straight in his direction. In a flash he remembered all that Pierre Breault had said. Bram and his pack hunted like that. And it was Bram who was coming. He knew it. He ran back to his tent and in what remained of the heat of the fire he warmed for a few moments the breech of his rifle. Then he smothered the fire by kicking snow over it. Returning to the edge of the plain, he posted himself near the largest spruce he could find, up which it would be possible for him to climb a dozen feet or so if necessity drove him to it. And this necessity bore down upon him like the wind. The pack, whether guided by man or beast, was driving straight at him, and it was less than a quarter of a mile away when Philip drew himself up in the spruce. His breath came quick, and his heart was thumping like a drum, for as he climbed up the slender refuge that was scarcely larger in diameter than his arm he remembered the time when he had hung up a thousand pounds of moose meat on cedars as thick as his leg, and the wolves had come the next night and gnawed them through as if they had been paper. From his unsteady perch ten feet off the ground he stared out into the starlit Barren. Then came the other sound. It was the swift chug, chug, chug of galloping feet--of hoofs breaking through the crust of the snow. A shape loomed up, and Philip knew it was a caribou running for its life. He drew an easier breath as he saw that the animal was fleeing parallel with the projecting finger of scrub in which he had made his camp, and that it would strike the timber a good mile below him. And now, with a still deeper thrill, he noted the silence of the pursuing wolves. It meant but one thing. They were so close on the heels of their prey that they no longer made a sound. Scarcely had the caribou disappeared when Philip saw the first of them--gray, swiftly moving shapes, spread out fan-like as they closed in on two sides for attack, so close that he could hear the patter of their feet and the blood-curdling whines that came from between their gaping jaws. There were at least twenty of them, perhaps thirty, and they were gone with the swiftness of shadows driven by a gale. From his uncomfortable position Philip lowered himself to the snow again. With its three or four hundred yard lead he figured that the caribou would almost reach the timber a mile away before the end came. Concealed in the shadow of the spruce, he waited. He made no effort to analyze the confidence with which he watched for Bram. When he at last heard the curious ZIP--ZIP--ZIP of snowshoes approaching his blood ran no faster than it had in the preceding minutes of his expectation, so sure had he been that the man he was after would soon loom up out of the starlight. In the brief interval after the passing of the wolves he had made up his mind what he would do. Fate had played a trump card into his hand. From the first he had figured that strategy would have much to do in the taking of Bram, who would be practically unassailable when surrounded by the savage horde which, at a word from him, had proved themselves ready to tear his enemies into pieces. Now, with the wolves gorging themselves, his plan was to cut Bram off and make him, a prisoner. From his knees he rose slowly to his feet, still hidden in the shadow of the spruce. His rifle he discarded. In his un-mittened hand he held his revolver. With staring eyes he looked for Bram out where the wolves had passed. And then, all at once, came the shock. It was tremendous. The trickery of sound on the Barren had played an unexpected prank with his senses, and while he strained his eyes to pierce the hazy starlight of the plain far out, Bram himself loomed up suddenly along the edge of the bush not twenty paces away. Philip choked back the cry on his lips, and in that moment Bram stopped short, standing full in the starlight, his great lungs taking in and expelling air with a gasping sound as he listened for his wolves. He was a giant of a man. A monster, Philip thought. It is probable that the elusive glow of the night added to his size as he stood there. About his shoulders fell a mass of unkempt hair that looked like seaweed. His beard was short and thick, and for a flash Philip saw the starlight in his eyes--eyes that were shining like the eyes of a cat. In that same moment he saw the face. It was a terrible, questing face--the face of a creature that was hunting, and yet hunted; of a creature half animal and half man. So long as he lived he knew that he would never forget it; the wild savagery of it, the questing fire that was in the eyes, the loneliness of it there in the night, set apart from all mankind; and with the face he would never forget that other thing that came to him audibly--the throbbing, gasping heartbeat of the man's body. In this moment Philip knew that the time to act was at hand. His fingers gripped tighter about the butt of his revolver as he stepped forward out of the shadow. Bram would have seen him then, but in that same instant he had flung back his head and from his throat there went forth a cry such as Philip had never heard from man or beast before. It began deep in Bram's cavernous chest, like the rolling of a great drum, and ended in a wailing shriek that must have carried for miles over the open plain--the call of the master to his pack, of the man-beast to his brothers. It may be that even before the cry was finished some super-instinct had warned Bram Johnson of a danger which he had not seen. The cry was cut short. It ended in a hissing gasp, as steam is cut off by a valve. Before Philip's startled senses had adjusted themselves to action Bram was off, and as his huge strides carried him swiftly through the starlight the cry that had been on his lips was replaced by the strange, mad laugh that Pierre Breault had described with a shiver of fear. Without moving, Philip called after him: "Bram--Bram Johnson--stop! In the name of the King--" It was the old formula, the words that carried with them the majesty and power of Law throughout the northland. Bram heard them. But he did not stop. He sped on more swiftly, and again Philip called his name. "Bram--Bram Johnson--" The laugh came back again. It was weird and chuckling, as though Bram was laughing at him. In the starlight Philip flung up his revolver. He did not aim to hit. Twice he fired over Bram's head and shoulders, so close that the fugitive must have heard the whine of the bullets. "Bram--Bram Johnson!" he shouted a third time. His pistol arm relaxed and dropped to his side, and he stood staring after the great figure that was now no more than a shadow in the gloom. And then it was swallowed up entirely. Once more he was alone under the stars, encompassed by a world of nothingness. He felt, all at once, that he had been a very great fool. He had played his part like a child; even his voice had trembled as he called out Bram's name. And Bram--even Bram--had laughed at him. Very soon he would pay the price of his stupidity--of his slowness to act. It was thought of that which quickened his pulse as he stared out into the white space into which Bram had gone. Before the night was over Bram would return, and with him would come the wolves. With a shudder Philip thought of Corporal Lee as he turned back through the scrub to the big rock where he had made his camp. The picture that flashed into his mind of the fate of the two men from Churchill added to the painful realization of his own immediate peril--a danger brought upon himself by an almost inconceivable stupidity. Philip was no more than the average human with good red blood in his veins. A certain amount of personal hazard held a fascination for him, but he had also the very great human desire to hold a fairly decent hand in any game of chance he entered. It was the oppressive conviction that he had no chance now that stunned him. For a few minutes he stood over the spot where his fire had been, a film of steam rising into his face, trying to adjust his mind to some sort of logical action. He was not afraid of Bram. He would quite cheerfully have gone out and fought open-handedly for his man, even though he had seen that Bram was a giant. This, much he told himself, as he fingered the breech of his rifle, and listened. But it was not Bram who would fight. The wolves would come. He probably would not see Bram again. He would hear only his laugh, or his great voice urging on his pack, as Corporal Lee and the other man had heard it. That Bram would not return for vengeance never for a moment entered his analysis of the situation. By firing after his man Philip had too clearly disclosed his identity and his business; and Bram, fighting for his own existence, would be a fool not to rid himself of an immediate and dangerous enemy. And then, for the first time since he had returned from the edge of the Barren, Philip saw the man again as he had seen him standing under the white glow of the stars. And it struck him, all at once, that Bram had been unarmed. Comprehension of this fact, slow as it had been, worked a swift and sudden hope in him, and his eyes took in quickly the larger trees about him. From a tree he could fight the pack and kill them one by one. He had a rifle and a revolver, and plenty of ammunition. The advantage would lay all with him. But if he was treed, and Bram happened to have a rifle-- He put on the heavy coat he had thrown off near the fire, filled his pockets with loose ammunition, and hunted for the tree he wanted. He found it a hundred yards from his camp. It was a gnarled and wind-blown spruce six inches in diameter, standing in an open. In this open Philip knew that he could play havoc with the pack. On the other hand, if Bram possessed a rifle, the gamble was against him. Perched in the tree, silhouetted against the stars that made the night like day, he would be an easy victim. Bram could pick him off without showing himself. But it was his one chance, and he took it. CHAPTER VI An hour later Philip looked at his watch. It was close to midnight. In that hour his nerves had been keyed to a tension that was almost at the breaking point. Not a sound came from off the Barren or from out of the scrub timber that did not hold a mental and physical shock for him. He believed that Bram and his pack would come up quietly; that he would not hear the man's footsteps or the soft pads of his beasts until they were very near. Twice a great snow owl fluttered over his head. A third time it pounced down upon a white hare back in the shrub, and for an instant Philip thought the time had come. The little white foxes, curious as children, startled him most. Half a dozen times they sent through him the sharp thrill of anticipation, and twice they made him climb his tree. After that hour the reaction came, and with the steadying of his nerves and the quieter pulse of his blood Philip began to ask himself if he was going to escape the ordeal which a short time before he had accepted as a certainty. Was it possible that his shots had frightened Bram? He could not believe that. Cowardice was the last thing he would associate with the strange man he had seen in the starlight. Vividly he saw Bram's face again. And now, after the almost unbearable strain he had been under, a mysterious SOMETHING that had been in that face impinged itself upon him above all other things. Wild and savage as the face had been, he had seen in it the unutterable pathos of a creature without hope. In that moment, even as caution held him listening for the approach of danger, he no longer felt the quickening thrill of man on the hunt for man. He could not have explained the change in himself--the swift reaction of thought and emotion that filled him with a mastering sympathy for Bram Johnson. He waited, and less and less grew his fear of the wolves. Even more clearly he saw Bram as the time passed; the hunted look in the man's eyes, even as he hunted--the loneliness of him as he had stood listening for a sound from the only friends he had--the padded beasts ahead. In spite of Bram's shrieking cry to his pack, and the strangeness of the laugh that had floated back out of the white night after the shots, Philip was convinced that he was not mad. He had heard of men whom loneliness had killed. He had known one--Pelletier, up at Point Fullerton, on the Arctic. He could repeat by heart the diary Pelletier had left scribbled on his cabin door. It was worse than madness. To Pelletier death had come at last as a friend. And Bram had been like that--dead to human comradeship for years. And yet-- Under it all, in Philip's mind, ran the thought of the woman's hair. In Pierre Breault's cabin he had not given voice to the suspicion that had flashed upon him. He had kept it to himself, and Pierre, afraid to speak because of the horror of it, had remained as silent as he. The thought oppressed him now. He knew that human hair retained its life and its gloss indefinitely, and that Bram might have had the golden snare for years. It was quite reasonable to suppose that he had bartered for it with some white man in the years before he had become an outlaw, and that some curious fancy or superstition had inspired him in its possession. But Philip had ceased to be influenced by reason alone. Sharply opposed to reason was that consciousness within him which told him that the hair had been freshly cut from a woman's head. He had no argument with which to drive home the logic of this belief even with himself, and yet he found it impossible not to accept that belief fully and unequivocally. There was, or HAD been, a woman with Bram--and as he thought of the length and beauty and rare texture of the silken strand in his pocket he could not repress a shudder at the possibilities the situation involved. Bram--and a woman! And a woman with hair like that! He left his tree after a time. For another hour he paced slowly back and forth at the edge of the Barren, his senses still keyed to the highest point of caution. Then he rebuilt his fire, pausing every few moments in the operation to listen for a suspicious sound. It was very cold. He noticed, after a little, that the weird sound of the lights over the Pole had become only a ghostly whisper. The stars were growing dimmer, and he watched them as they seemed slowly to recede farther and farther away from the world of which he was a part. This dying out of the stars always interested him. It was one of the miracles of the northern world that lay just under the long Arctic night which, a few hundred miles beyond the Barren, was now at its meridian. It seemed to him as though ten thousand invisible hands were sweeping under the heavens extinguishing the lights first in ones and twos and then in whole constellations. It preceded by perhaps half an hour the utter and chaotic blackness that comes before the northern dawn, and it was this darkness that Philip dreaded as he waited beside his fire. In the impenetrable gloom of that hour Bram might come. It was possible that he had been waiting for that darkness. Philip looked at his watch. It was four o'clock. Once more he went to his tree, and waited. In another quarter of an hour he could not see the tree beside which he stood. And Bram did not come. With the beginning of the gray dawn Philip rebuilt his fire for the third time and prepared to cook his breakfast. He felt the need of coffee--strong coffee--and he boiled himself a double ration. At seven o'clock he was ready to take up the trail. He believed now that some mysterious and potent force had restrained Bram Johnson from taking advantage of the splendid opportunity of that night to rid himself of an enemy. As he made his way through the scrub timber along the edge of the Barren it was with the feeling that he no longer desired Bram as a prisoner. A thing more interesting than Bram had entered into the adventure. It was the golden snare. Not with Bram himself, but only at the end of Bram's trail, would he find what the golden snare stood for. There he would discover the mystery and the tragedy of it, if it meant anything at all. He appreciated the extreme hazard of following Bram to his long hidden retreat. The man he might outwit in pursuit and overcome in fair fight, if it came to a fight, but against the pack he was fighting tremendous odds. What this odds meant had not fully gripped him until he came cautiously out of the timber half an hour later and saw what was left of the caribou the pack had killed. The bull had fallen within fifty yards of the edge of the scrub. For a radius of twenty feet about it the snow was beaten hard by the footprints of beasts, and this arena was stained red with blood and scattered thickly with bits of flesh, broken bones and patches of hide. Philip could see where Bram had come in on the run, and where he had kicked off his snowshoes. After that his great moccasin tracks mingled with those of the wolves. Bram had evidently come in time to save the hind quarters, which had been dragged to a spot well out of the red ring of slaughter. After that the stars must have looked down upon an amazing scene. The hungry horde had left scarcely more than the disemboweled offal. Where Bram had dragged his meat there was a small circle worn by moccasin tracks, and here, too, were small bits of flesh, scattered about--the discarded remnants of Bram's own feast. The snow told as clearly as a printed page what had happened after that. Its story amazed Philip. From somewhere Bram had produced a sledge, and on this sledge he had loaded what remained of the caribou meat. From the marks in the snow Philip saw that it had been of the low ootapanask type, but that it was longer and broader than any sledge he had ever seen. He did not have to guess at what had happened. Everything was too clear for that. Far back on the Barren Bram had loosed his pack at sight of the caribou, and the pursuit and kill had followed. After that, when beasts and man had gorged themselves, they had returned through the night for the sledge. Bram had made a wide detour so that he would not again pass near the finger of scrub timber that concealed his enemy, and with a curious quickening of the blood in his veins Philip observed how closely the pack hung at his heels. The man was master--absolutely. Later they had returned with the sledge, Bram had loaded his meat, and with his pack had struck out straight north over the Barren. Every wolf was in harness, and Bram rode on the sledge. Philip drew a deep breath. He was learning new things about Bram Johnson. First he assured himself that Bram was not afraid, and that his disappearance could not be called a flight. If fear of capture had possessed him he would not have returned for his meat. Suddenly he recalled Pierre Breault's story of how Bram had carried off the haunches of a bull upon his shoulders as easily as a child might have carried a toy gun, and he wondered why Bram--instead of returning for the meat this night--had not carried the meat to his sledge. It would have saved time and distance. He was beginning to give Bram credit for a deeply mysterious strategy. There was some definite reason why he had not made an attack with his wolves that night. There was a reason for the wide detour around the point of timber, and there was a still more inexplicable reason why he had come back with his sledge for the meat, instead of carrying his meat to the sledge. The caribou haunch had not weighed more than sixty or seventy pounds, which was scarcely half a burden for Bram's powerful shoulders. In the edge of the timber, where he could secure wood for his fire, Philip began to prepare. He cooked food for six days. Three days he would follow Bram out into that unmapped and treeless space--the Great Barren. Beyond that it would be impossible to go without dogs or sledge. Three days out, and three days back--and even at that he would be playing a thrilling game with death. In the heart of the Barren a menace greater than Bram and his wolves would be impending. It was storm. His heart sank a little as he set out straight north, marking the direction by the point of his compass. It was a gray and sunless day. Beyond him for a distance the Barren was a white plain, and this plain seemed always to be merging not very far ahead into the purple haze of the sky. At the end of an hour he was in the center of a vast amphitheater which was filled with the gloom and the stillness of death. Behind him the thin fringe of the forest had disappeared. The rim of the sky was like a leaden thing, widening only as he advanced. Under that sky, and imprisoned within its circular walls, he knew that men had gone mad; he felt already the crushing oppression of an appalling loneliness, and for another hour he fought an almost irresistible desire to turn back. Not a rock or a shrub rose to break the monotony, and over his head--so low that at times it seemed as though he might have flung a stone up to them--dark clouds rolled sullenly from out of the north and east. Half a dozen times in those first two hours he looked at his compass. Not once in that time did Bram diverge from his steady course into the north. In the gray gloom, without a stone or a tree to mark his way, his sense of orientation was directing him as infallibly as the sensitive needle of the instrument which Philip carried. It was in the third hour, seven or eight miles from the scene of slaughter, that Philip came upon the first stopping place of the sledge. The wolves had not broken their traveling rank, and for this reason he guessed that Bram had paused only long enough to put on his snowshoes. After this Philip could measure quite accurately the speed of the outlaw and his pack. Bram's snow-shoe strides were from twelve to sixteen inches longer than his own, and there was little doubt that Bram was traveling six miles to his four. It was one o'clock when Philip stopped to eat his dinner. He figured that he was fifteen miles from the timber-line. As he ate there pressed upon him more and more persistently the feeling that he had entered upon an adventure which was leading toward inevitable disaster for him. For the first time the significance of Bram's supply of meat, secured by the outlaw at the last moment before starting out into the Barren, appeared to him with a clearness that filled him with uneasiness. It meant that Bram required three or four days' rations for himself and his pack in crossing this sea of desolation that reached in places to the Arctic. In that time, if necessity was driving him, he could cover a hundred and fifty miles, while Philip could make less than a hundred. Until three o'clock in the afternoon he followed steadily over Bram's trail. He would have pursued for another hour if a huge and dome-shaped snowdrift had not risen in his path. In the big drift he decided to make his house for the night. It was an easy matter--a trick learned of the Eskimo. With his belt-ax he broke through the thick crust of the drift, using care that the "door" he thus opened into it was only large enough for the entrance of his body. Using a snowshoe as a shovel he then began digging out the soft interior of the drift, burrowing a two foot tunnel until he was well back from the door, where he made himself a chamber large enough for his sleeping-bag. The task employed him less than an hour, and when his bed was made, and he stood in front of the door to his igloo, his spirits began to return. The assurance that he had a home at his back in which neither cold nor storm could reach him inspirited him with an optimism which he had not felt at any time during the day. From the timber he had borne a precious bundle of finely split kindlings of pitch-filled spruce, and with a handful of these he built himself a tiny fire over which, on a longer stick brought for the purpose, he suspended his tea pail, packed with snow. The crackling of the flames set him whistling. Darkness was falling swiftly about him. By the time his tea was ready and he had warmed his cold bannock and bacon the gloom was like a black curtain that he might have slit with a knife. Not a star was visible in the sky. Twenty feet on either side of him he could not see the surface of the snow. Now and then he added a bit of his kindling to the dying embers, and in the glow of the last stick he smoked his pipe, and as he smoked he drew from his wallet the golden snare. Coiled in the hollow of his hand and catching the red light of the pitch-laden fagot it shone with the rich luster of rare metal. Not until the pitch was burning itself out in a final sputter of flame did Philip replace it in the wallet. With the going of the fire an utter and chaotic blackness shut him in. Feeling his way he crawled through the door of his tunnel, over the inside of which he had fastened as a flap his silk service tent. Then he stretched himself out in his sleeping-bag. It was surprisingly comfortable. Since he had left Breault's cabin he had not enjoyed such a bed. And last night he had not slept at all. He fell into deep sleep. The hours and the night passed over him. He did not hear the wailing of the wind that came with the dawn. When day followed dawn there were other sounds which he did not hear. His inner consciousness, the guardian of his sleep, cried for him to arouse himself. It pounded like a little hand in his brain, and at last he began to move restlessly, and twist in his sleeping-bag. His eyes shot open suddenly. The light of day filled his tunnel. He looked toward the "door" which he had covered with his tent. The tent was gone. In its place was framed a huge shaggy head, and Philip found himself staring straight into the eyes of Bram Johnson. CHAPTER VII Philip was not unaccustomed to the occasional mental and physical shock which is an inevitable accompaniment of the business of Law in the northland. But never had he felt quite the same stir in his blood as now--when he found himself looking down the short tunnel into the face of the man he was hunting. There come now and then moments in which a curious understanding is impinged upon one without loss of time in reason and surmise--and this was one of those moments for Philip. His first thought as he saw the great wild face in the door of his tunnel was that Bram had been looking at him for some time--while he was asleep; and that if the desire to kill had been in the outlaw's breast he might have achieved his purpose with very little trouble. Equally swift was his observance of the fact that the tent with which he had covered the aperture was gone, and that his rifle, with the weight of which he had held the tent in place, had disappeared. Bram had secured possession of them before he had roused himself. It was not the loss of these things, or entirely Bram's sudden and unexpected appearance, that sent through him the odd thrill, which he experienced. It was Bram's face, his eyes, the tense and mysterious earnestness that was in his gaze. It was not the watchfulness of a victor looking at his victim. In it there was no sign of hatred or of exultation. There was not even unfriendliness there. Rather it was the study of one filled with doubt and uneasiness, and confronted by a question which he could not answer. There was not a line of the face which Philip could not see now--its high cheek-bones, its wide cheeks, the low forehead, the flat nose, the thick lips. Only the eyes kept it from being a terrible face. Straight down through the generations Bram must have inherited those eyes from some woman of the past. They were strange things in that wild and hunted creature's face--gray eyes, large, beautiful. With the face taken away they would have been wonderful. For a full minute not a sound passed between the two men. Philip's hand had slipped to the butt of his revolver, but he had no intention of using it. Then he found his voice. It seemed the most natural thing in the world that he should say what he did. "Hello, Bram!" "Boo-joo, m'sieu!" Only Bram's thick lips moved. His voice was low and guttural. Almost instantly his head disappeared from the opening. Philip dug himself quickly from his sleeping-bag. Through the aperture there came to him now another sound, the yearning whine of beasts. He could not hear Bram. In spite of the confidence which his first look at Bram had given him he felt a sudden shiver run up his spine as he faced the end of the tunnel on his hands and knees, his revolver in his hand. What a rat in a trap he would be if Bram loosed his wolves! What sport for the pack--and perhaps for the master himself! He could kill two or three--and that would be all. They would be in on him like a whirlwind, diving through his snow walls as easily as a swimmer might cut through water. Had he twice made a fool of himself? Should he have winged Bram Johnson, three times a murderer, in place of offering him a greeting? He began crawling toward the opening, and again he heard the snarl and whine of the beasts. The sound seemed some distance away. He reached the end of the tunnel and peered out through the "door" he had made in the crust. From his position he could see nothing--nothing but the endless sweep of the Barren and his old trail leading up to the snow dune. The muzzle of his revolver was at the aperture when he heard Bram's voice. "M'sieu--ze revolv'--ze knife--or I mus' keel yon. Ze wolve plent' hungr'--" Bram was standing just outside of his line of vision. He had not spoken loudly or threateningly, but Philip felt in the words a cold and unexcited deadliness of purpose against which he knew that it would be madness for him to fight. Bram had more than the bad man's ordinary drop on him. In his wolves he possessed not only an advantage but a certainty. If Philip had doubted this, as he waited for another moment with the muzzle of his revolver close to the opening, his uncertainty was swept away by the appearance thirty feet in front of his tunnel of three of Bram's wolves. They were giants of their kind, and as the three faced his refuge he could see the snarling gleam of their long fangs. A fourth and a fifth joined them, and after that they came within his vision in twos and threes until a score of them were huddled straight in front of him. They were restless and whining, and the snap of their jaws was like the clicking of castanets. He caught the glare of twenty pairs of eyes fastened on his retreat and involuntarily he shrank back that they might not see him. He knew that it was Bram who was holding them back, and yet he had heard no word, no command. Even as he stared a long snakelike shadow uncurled itself swiftly in the air and the twenty foot lash of Bram's caribou-gut whip cracked viciously over the heads of the pack. At the warning of the whip the horde of beasts scattered, and Bram's voice came again. "M'sieu--ze revolv'--ze knife--or I loose ze wolve--" The words were scarcely out of his mouth when Philip's revolver flew through the opening and dropped in the snow. "There it is, old man," announced Philip. "And here comes the knife." His sheath-knife followed the revolver. "Shall I throw out my bed?" he asked. He was making a tremendous effort to appear cheerful. But he could not forget that last night he had shot at Bram, and that it was not at all unreasonable to suppose that Bram might knock his brains out when he stuck his head out of the hole. The fact that Bram made no answer to his question about the bed did not add to his assurance. He repeated the question, louder than before, and still there was no answer. In the face of his perplexity he could not repress a grim chuckle as he rolled up his blankets. What a report he would have for the Department--if he lived to make it! On paper there would be a good deal of comedy about it--this burrowing oneself up like a hibernating woodchuck, and then being invited out to breakfast by a man with a club and a pack of brutes with fangs that had gleamed at him like ivory stilettos. He had guessed at the club, and a moment later as he thrust his sleeping-bag out through the opening he saw that it was quite obviously a correct one. Bram was possessing himself of the revolver and the knife. In the same hand he held his whip and a club. Seizing the opportunity, Philip followed his bed quickly, and when Bram faced him he was standing on his feet outside the drift. "Morning, Bram!" His greeting was drowned in a chorus of fierce snarls that made his blood curdle even as he tried to hide from Bram any visible betrayal of the fact that every nerve up and down his spine was pricking him, like a pin. From Bram's throat there shot forth at the pack a sudden sharp clack of Eskimo, and with it the long whip snapped in their faces again. Then he looked steadily at his prisoner. For the first time Philip saw the look which he dreaded darkening his face. A greenish fire burned in the strange eyes. The thick lips were set tightly, the flat nose seemed flatter, and with a shiver Philip noticed Bram's huge, naked hand gripping his club until the cords stood out like babiche thongs under the skin. In that moment he was ready to kill. A wrong word, a wrong act, and Philip knew that the end was inevitable. In the same thick guttural voice which he used in his half-breed patois he demanded, "Why you shoot--las' night!" "Because I wanted to talk with you, Bram," replied Philip calmly. "I didn't shoot to hit you. I fired over your head." "You want--talk," said Bram, speaking as if each word cost him a certain amount of effort. "Why--talk?" "I wanted to ask you why it was that you killed a man down in the God's Lake country." The words were out before Philip could stop them. A growl rose in Bram's chest. It was like the growl of a beast. The greenish fire in his eyes grew brighter. "Ze poleece," he said. "KA, ze poleece--like kam from Churchill an' ze wolve keel!" Philip's hand was fumbling in his pocket. The wolves were behind him and he dared not turn to look. It was their ominous silence that filled him with dread. They were waiting--watching--their animal instinct telling them that the command for which they yearned was already trembling on the thick lips of their master. The revolver and the knife dropped from Bram's hand. He held only the whip and the club. Philip drew forth the wallet. "You lost something--when you camped that night near Pierre Breault's cabin," he said, and his own voice seemed strange and thick to him. "I've followed you--to give it back. I could have killed you if I had wanted to--when I fired over your head. But I wanted to stop you. I wanted to give you--this." He held out to Bram the golden snare. CHAPTER VIII It must have been fully half a minute that Bram stood like a living creature turned suddenly into dead stone. His eyes had left Philip's face and were fixed on the woven tress of shining hair. For the first time his thick lips had fallen agape. He did not seem to breathe. At the end of the thirty seconds his hand unclenched from about the whip and the club and they fell into the snow. Slowly, his eyes still fixed on the snare as if it held for him an overpowering fascination, he advanced a step, and then another, until he reached out and took from Philip the thing which he held. He uttered no word. But from his eyes there disappeared the greenish fire. The lines in his heavy face softened and his thick lips lost some of their cruelty as he held up the snare before his eyes so that the light played on its sheen of gold. It was then that Philip saw that which must have meant a smile in Bram's face. Still this strange man made no spoken sound as he coiled the silken thread around one of his great fingers and then placed it somewhere inside his coat. He seemed, all at once, utterly oblivious of Philip's presence. He picked up the revolver, gazed heavily at it for a moment, and with a grunt which must have reflected his mental decision hurled it far out over the plain. Instantly the wolves were after it in a mad rush. The knife followed the revolver; and after that, as coolly as though breaking firewood, the giant went to Philip's rifle, braced it across his knee, and with a single effort snapped the stock off close to the barrel. "The devil!" growled Philip. He felt a surge of anger rise in him, and for an instant the inclination to fling himself at Bram in the defense of his property. If he had been helpless a few minutes before, he was utterly so now. In the same breath it flashed upon him that Bram's activity in the destruction of his weapons meant that his life was spared, at least for the present. Otherwise Bram would not be taking these precautions. The futility of speech kept his own lips closed. At last Bram looked at him, and pointed to his snowshoes where he had placed them last night against the snow dune. His invitation for Philip to prepare himself for travel was accompanied by nothing more than a grunt. The wolves were returning, sneaking in watchfully and alert. Bram greeted them with the snap of his whip, and when Philip was ready motioned him to lead the way into the north. Half a dozen paces behind Philip followed Bram, and twice that distance behind the outlaw came the pack. Now that his senses were readjusting themselves and his pulse beating more evenly Philip began to take stock of the situation. It was, first of all, quite evident that Bram had not accepted him as a traveling companion, but as a prisoner; and he was equally convinced that the golden snare had at the last moment served in some mysterious way to save his life. It was not long before he saw how Bram had out-generaled him. Two miles beyond the big drift they came upon the outlaw's huge sledge, from which Bram and his wolves had made a wide circle in order to stalk him from behind. The fact puzzled him. Evidently Bram had expected his unknown enemy to pursue him, and had employed his strategy accordingly. Why, then, had he not attacked him the night of the caribou kill? He watched Bram as he got the pack into harness. The wolves obeyed him like dogs. He could perceive among them a strange comradeship, even an affection, for the man-monster who was their master. Bram spoke to them entirely in Eskimo--and the sound of it was like the rapid CLACK--CLACK--CLACK of dry bones striking together. It was weirdly different from the thick and guttural tones Bram used in speaking Chippewyan and the half-breed patois. Again Philip made an effort to induce Bram to break his oppressive silence. With a suggestive gesture and a hunch of his shoulders he nodded toward the pack, just as they were about to start. "If you thought I tried to kill you night before last why didn't you set your wolves after me, Bram--as you did those other two over on the Barren north of Kasba Lake? Why did you wait until this morning? And where--WHERE in God's name are we going?" Bram stretched out an arm. "There!" It was the one question he answered, and he pointed straight as the needle of a compass into the north. And then, as if his crude sense of humor had been touched by the other thing Philip had asked, he burst into a laugh. It made one shudder to see laughter in a face like Bram's. It transformed his countenance from mere ugliness into one of the leering gargoyles carven under the cornices of ancient buildings. It was this laugh, heard almost at Bram's elbow, that made Philip suddenly grip hard at a new understanding--the laugh and the look in Bram's eyes. It set him throbbing, and filled him all at once with the desire to seize his companion by his great shoulders and shake speech from his thick lips. In that moment, even before the laughter had gone from Bram's face, he thought again of Pelletier. Pelletier must have been like this--in those terrible days when he scribbled the random thoughts of a half-mad man on his cabin door. Bram was not yet mad. And yet he was fighting the thing that had killed Pelletier. Loneliness. The fate forced upon him by the law because he had killed a man. His face was again heavy and unemotional when with a gesture he made Philip understand that he was to ride on the sledge. Bram himself went to the head of the pack. At the sharp clack of his Eskimo the wolves strained in their traces. Another moment and they were off, with Bram in the lead. Philip was amazed at the pace set by the master of the pack. With head and shoulders hunched low he set off in huge swinging strides that kept the team on a steady trot behind him. They must have traveled eight miles an hour. For a few minutes Philip could not keep his eyes from Bram and the gray backs of the wolves. They fascinated him, and at the same time the sight of them--straining on ahead of him into a voiceless and empty world--filled him with a strange and overwhelming compassion. He saw in them the brotherhood of man and beast. It was splendid. It was epic. And to this the Law had driven them! His eyes began to take in the sledge then. On it was a roll of bear skins--Bram's blankets. One was the skin of a polar bear. Near these skins were the haunches of caribou meat, and so close to him that he might have reached out and touched it was Bram's club. At the side of the club lay a rifle. It was of the old breech-loading, single-shot type, and Philip wondered why Bram had destroyed his own modern weapon instead of keeping it in place of this ancient Company relic. It also made him think of night before last, when he had chosen for his refuge a tree out in the starlight. The club, even more than the rifle, bore marks of use. It was of birch, and three feet in length. Where Bram's hand gripped it the wood was worn as smooth and dark as mahogany. In many places the striking end of the club was dented as though it had suffered the impact of tremendous blows, and it was discolored by suggestive stains. There was no sign of cooking utensils and no evidence of any other food but the caribou flesh. On the rear of the sledge was a huge bundle of pitch-soaked spruce tied with babiche, and out of this stuck the crude handle of an ax. Of these things the gun and the white bear skin impressed Philip most. He had only to lean forward a little to reach the rifle, and the thought that he could scarcely miss the broad back of the man ahead of him struck him all at once with a sort of mental shock. Bram had evidently forgotten the weapon, or was utterly confident in the protection of the pack. Or--had he faith in his prisoner? It was this last question that Philip would liked to have answered in the affirmative. He had no desire to harm Bram. He had even a less desire to escape him. He had forgotten, so far as his personal intentions were concerned, that he was an agent of the Law--under oath to bring in to Divisional Headquarters Bram's body dead or alive. Since night before last Bram had ceased to be a criminal for him. He was like Pelletier, and through him he was entering upon a strange adventure which held for him already the thrill and suspense of an anticipation which he had never experienced in the game of man-hunting. Had the golden snare been taken from the equation--had he not felt the thrill of it in his fingers and looked upon the warm fires of it as it lay unbound on Pierre Breault's table, his present relation with Bram Johnson he would have considered as a purely physical condition, and he might then have accepted the presence of the rifle there within his reach as a direct invitation from Providence. As it was, he knew that the master of the wolves was speeding swiftly to the source of the golden snare. From the moment he had seen the strange transformation it had worked in Bram that belief within him had become positive. And now, as his eyes turned from the inspection of the sledge to Bram and his wolves, he wondered where the trail was taking him. Was it possible that Bram was striking straight north for Coronation Gulf and the Eskimo? He had noted that the polar bear skin was only slightly worn--that it had not long been taken from the back of the animal that had worn it. He recalled what he could remember of his geography. Their course, if continued in the direction Bram was now heading, would take them east of the Great Slave and the Great Bear, and they would hit the Arctic somewhere between Melville Sound and the Coppermine River. It was a good five hundred miles to the Eskimo settlements there. Bram and his wolves could make it in ten days, possibly in eight. If his guess was correct, and Coronation Gulf was Bram's goal, he had found at least one possible explanation for the tress of golden hair. The girl or woman to whom it had belonged had come into the north aboard a whaling ship. Probably she was the daughter or the wife of the master. The ship had been lost in the ice--she had been saved by the Eskimo--and she was among them now, with other white men. Philip pictured it all vividly. It was unpleasant--horrible. The theory of other white men being with her he was conscious of forcing upon himself to offset the more reasonable supposition that, as in the case of the golden snare, she belonged to Bram. He tried to free himself of that thought, but it clung to him with a tenaciousness that oppressed him with a grim and ugly foreboding. What a monstrous fate for a woman! He shivered. For a few moments every instinct in his body fought to assure him that such a thing could not happen. And yet he knew that it COULD happen. A woman up there--with Bram! A woman with hair like spun gold--and that giant half-mad enormity of a man! He clenched his hands at the picture his excited brain was painting for him. He wanted to jump from the sledge, overtake Bram, and demand the truth from him. He was calm enough to realize the absurdity of such action. Upon his own strategy depended now whatever answer he might make to the message chance had sent to him through the golden snare. For an hour he marked Bram's course by his compass. It was straight north. Then Bram changed the manner of his progress by riding in a standing position behind Philip. With his long whip he urged on the pack until they were galloping over the frozen level of the plain at a speed that must have exceeded ten miles an hour. A dozen times Philip made efforts at conversation. Not a word did he get from Bram in reply. Again and again the outlaw shouted to his wolves in Eskimo; he cracked his whip, he flung his great arms over his head, and twice there rolled out of his chest deep peals of strange laughter. They had been traveling more than two hours when he gave voice to a sudden command that stopped the pack, and at a second command--a staccato of shrill Eskimo accompanied by the lash of his whip--the panting wolves sank upon their bellies in the snow. Philip jumped from the sledge, and Bram went immediately to the gun. He did not touch it, but dropped on his knees and examined it closely. Then he rose to his feet and looked at Philip, and there was no sign of madness in his heavy face as he said, "You no touch ze gun, m'sieu. Why you no shoot when I am there--at head of pack?" The calmness and directness with which Bram put the question after his long and unaccountable silence surprised Philip. "For the same reason you didn't kill me when I was asleep, I guess," he said. Suddenly he reached out and caught Bram's arm. "Why the devil don't you come across!" he demanded. "Why don't you talk? I'm not after you--now. The Police think you are dead, and I don't believe I'd tip them off even if I had a chance. Why not be human? Where are we going? And what in thunder--" He did not finish. To his amazement Bram flung back his head, opened his great mouth, and laughed. It was not a taunting laugh. There was no humor in it. The thing seemed beyond the control of even Bram himself, and Philip stood like one paralyzed as his companion turned quickly to the sledge and returned in a moment with the gun. Under Philip's eyes he opened the breech. The chamber was empty. Bram had placed in his way a temptation--to test him! There was saneness in that stratagem--and yet as Philip looked at the man now his last doubt was gone. Bram Johnson was hovering on the borderland of madness. Replacing the gun on the sledge, Bram began hacking off chunks of the caribou flesh with a big knife. Evidently he had decided that it was time for himself and his pack to breakfast. To each of the wolves he gave a portion, after which he seated himself on the sledge and began devouring a slice of the raw meat. He had left the blade of his knife buried in the carcass--an invitation for Philip to help himself. Philip seated himself near Bram and opened his pack. Purposely he began placing his food between them, so that the other might help himself if he so desired. Bram's jaws ceased their crunching. For a moment Philip did not look up. When he did he was startled. Bram's eyes were blazing with a red fire. He was staring at the cooked food. Never had Philip seen such a look in a human face before. He reached out and seized a chunk of bannock, and was about to bite into it when with the snarl of a wild beast Bram dropped his meat and was at him. Before Philip could raise an arm in defense his enemy had him by the throat. Back over the sledge they went. Philip scarcely knew how it happened--but in another moment the giant had hurled him clean over his head and he struck the frozen plain with a shock that stunned him. When he staggered to his feet, expecting a final assault that would end him, Bram was kneeling beside his pack. A mumbling and incoherent jargon of sound issued from his thick lips as he took stock of Philip's supplies. Of Philip himself he seemed now utterly oblivious. Still mumbling, he dragged the pile of bear skins from the sledge, unrolled them, and revealed a worn and tattered dunnage bag. At first Philip thought this bag was empty. Then Bram drew from it a few small packages, some of them done up in paper and others in bark. Only one of these did Philip recognize--a half pound package of tea such as the Hudson's Bay Company offers in barter at its stores. Into the dunnage bag Bram now put Philip's supplies, even to the last crumb of bannock, and then returned the articles he had taken out, after which he rolled the bag up in the bear skins and replaced the skins on the sledge. After that, still mumbling, and still paying no attention to Philip, he reseated himself on the edge of the sledge and finished his breakfast of raw meat. "The poor devil!" mumbled Philip. The words were out of his mouth before he realized that he had spoken them. He was still a little dazed by the shock of Bram's assault, but it was impossible for him to bear malice or thought of vengeance. In Bram's face, as he had covetously piled up the different articles of food, he had seen the terrible glare of starvation--and yet he had not eaten a mouthful. He had stored the food away, and Philip knew it was as much as his life was worth to contend its ownership. Again Bram seemed to be unconscious of his presence, but when Philip went to the meat and began carving himself off a slice the wolf-man's eyes shot in his direction just once. Purposely he stood in front of Bram as he ate the raw steak, feigning a greater relish than he actually enjoyed in consuming his uncooked meal. Bram did not wait for him to finish. No sooner had he swallowed the last of his own breakfast than he was on his feet giving sharp commands to the pack. Instantly the wolves were alert in their traces. Philip took his former position on the sledge, with Bram behind him. Never in all the years afterward did he forget that day. As the hours passed it seemed to him that neither man nor beast could very long stand the strain endured by Bram and his wolves. At times Bram rode on the sledge for short distances, but for the most part he was running behind, or at the head of the pack. For the pack there was no rest. Hour after hour it surged steadily onward over the endless plain, and whenever the wolves sagged for a moment in their traces Brain's whip snapped over their gray backs and his voice rang out in fierce exhortation. So hard was the frozen crust of the Barren that snowshoes were no longer necessary, and half a dozen times Philip left the sledge and ran with the wolf-man and his pack until he was winded. Twice he ran shoulder to shoulder with Bram. It was in the middle of the afternoon that his compass told him they were no longer traveling north--but almost due west. Every quarter of an hour after that he looked at his compass. And always the course was west. He was convinced that some unusual excitement was urging Bram on, and he was equally certain this excitement had taken possession of him from the moment he had found the food in his pack. Again and again he heard the strange giant mumbling incoherently to himself, but not once did Bram utter a word that he could understand. The gray world about them was darkening when at last they stopped. And now, strangely as before, Bram seemed for a few moments to turn into a sane man. He pointed to the bundle of fuel, and as casually as though he had been conversing with him all the day he said to Philip: "A fire, m'sieu." The wolves had dropped in their traces, their great shaggy heads stretched out between their paws in utter exhaustion, and Bram went slowly down the line speaking to each one in turn. After that he fell again into his stolid silence. From the bear skins he produced a kettle, filled it with snow, and hung it over the pile of fagots to which Philip was touching a match. Philip's tea pail he employed in the same way. "How far have we come, Bram?" Philip asked. "Fift' mile, m'sieu," answered Bram without hesitation. "And how much farther have we to go?" Bram grunted. His face became more stolid. In his hand he was holding the big knife with which he cut the caribou meat. He was staring at it. From the knife he looked at Philip. "I keel ze man at God's Lake because he steal ze knife--an' call me lie. I keel heem--lak that!"--and he snatched up a stick and broke it into two pieces. His weird laugh followed the words. He went to the meat and began carving off chunks for the pack, and for a long time after that one would have thought that he was dumb. Philip made greater effort than ever to rouse him into speech. He laughed, and whistled, and once tried the experiment of singing a snatch of the Caribou Song which he knew that Bram must have heard many times before. As he roasted his steak over the fire he talked about the Barren, and the great herd of caribou he had seen farther east; he asked Bram questions about the weather, the wolves, and the country farther north and west. More than once he was certain that Bram was listening intently, but nothing more than an occasional grunt was his response. For an hour after they had finished their supper they continued to melt snow for drinking water for themselves and the wolves. Night shut them in, and in the glow of the fire Bram scooped a hollow in the snow for a bed, and tilted the big sledge over it as a roof. Philip made himself as comfortable as he could with his sleeping bag, using his tent as an additional protection. The fire went out. Bram's heavy breathing told Philip that the wolf-man was soon asleep. It was a long time before he felt a drowsiness creeping over himself. Later he was awakened by a heavy grasp on his arm, and roused himself to hear Bram's voice close over him. "Get up, m'sieu." It was so dark he could not see Bram when he got on his feet, but he could hear him a moment later among the wolves, and knew that he was making ready to travel. When his sleeping-bag and tent were on the sledge he struck a match and looked at his watch. It was less than a quarter of an hour after midnight. For two hours Bram led his pack straight into the west. The night cleared after that, and as the stars grew brighter and more numerous in the sky the plain was lighted up on all sides of them, as on the night when Philip had first seen Bram. By lighting an occasional match Philip continued to keep a record of direction and time. It was three o'clock, and they were still traveling west, when to his surprise they struck a small patch of timber. The clump of stunted and wind-snarled spruce covered no more than half an acre, but it was conclusive evidence they were again approaching a timber-line. From the patch of spruce Bram struck due north, and for another hour their trail was over the white Barren. Soon after this they came to a fringe of scattered timber which grew steadily heavier and deeper as they entered into it. They must have penetrated eight or ten miles into the forest before the dawn came. And in that dawn, gray and gloomy, they came suddenly upon a cabin. Philip's heart gave a jump. Here, at last, would the mystery of the golden snare be solved. This was his first thought. But as they drew nearer, and stopped at the threshold of the door, he felt sweep over him an utter disappointment. There was no life here. No smoke came from the chimney and the door was almost buried in a huge drift of snow. His thoughts were cut short by the crack of Bram's whip. The wolves swept onward and Bram's insane laugh sent a weird and shuddering echo through the forest. From the time they left behind them the lifeless and snow-smothered cabin Philip lost account of time and direction. He believed that Bram was nearing the end of his trail. The wolves were dead tired. The wolf-man himself was lagging, and since midnight had ridden more frequently on the sledge. Still he drove on, and Philip searched with increasing eagerness the trail ahead of them. It was eight o'clock--two hours after they had passed the cabin--when they came to the edge of a clearing in the center of which was a second cabin. Here at a glance Philip saw there was life. A thin spiral of smoke was rising from the chimney. He could see only the roof of the log structure, for it was entirely shut in by a circular stockade of saplings six feet high. Twenty paces from where Bram stopped his team was the gate of the stockade. Bram went to it, thrust his arm through a hole even with his shoulders, and a moment later the gate swung inward. For perhaps a space of twenty seconds he looked steadily at Philip, and for the first time Philip observed the remarkable change that had come into his face. It was no longer a face of almost brutish impassiveness. There was a strange glow in his eyes. His thick lips were parted as if on the point of speech, and he was breathing with a quickness which did not come of physical exertion. Philip did not move or speak. Behind him he heard the restless whine of the wolves. He kept his eyes on Bram, and as he saw the look of joy and anticipation deepening in the wolf-man's face the appalling thought of what it meant sickened him. He clenched his hands. Bram did not see the act. He was looking again toward the cabin and at the spiral of smoke rising out of the chimney. Then he faced Philip, and said, "M'sieu, you go to ze cabin." He held the gate open, and Philip entered. He paused to make certain of Bram's intention. The wolf-man swept an arm about the enclosure. "In ze pit I loose ze wolve, m'sieu." Philip understood. The stockade enclosure was Bram's wolf-pit, and Bram meant that he should reach the cabin before he gave the pack the freedom of the corral. He tried to conceal the excitement in his face as he turned toward the cabin. From the gate to the door ran a path worn by many footprints, and his heart beat faster as he noted the smallness of the moccasin tracks. Even then his mind fought against the possibility of the thing. Probably it was an Indian woman who lived with Bram, or an Eskimo girl he had brought down from the north. He made no sound as he approached the door. He did not knock, but opened it and entered, as Bram had invited him to do. From the gate Bram watched the cabin door as it closed behind him, and then he threw back his head and such a laugh of triumph came from his lips that even the tired beasts behind him pricked up their ears and listened. And Philip, in that same moment, had solved the mystery of the golden snare. CHAPTER IX Philip had entered Bram Johnson's cabin from the west. Out of the east the pale fire of the winter sun seemed to concentrate itself on the one window of Bram's habitation, and flooded the opposite partition. In this partition there was a doorway, and in the doorway stood a girl. She was standing full in the light that came through the window when Philip saw her. His first impression was that she was clouded in the same wonderful hair that had gone into the making of the golden snare. It billowed over her arms and breast to her hips, aflame with the living fires of the reflected sun. His second impression was that his entrance had interrupted her while she was dressing and that she was benumbed with astonishment as she stared at him. He caught the white gleam of her bare shoulders under her hair. And then, with a shock, he saw what was in her face. It turned his blood cold. It was the look of a soul that had been tortured. Agony and doubt burned in the eyes that were looking at him. He had never seen such eyes. They were like violet amethysts. Her face was dead white. It was beautiful. And she was young. She was not over twenty, it flashed upon him--but she had gone through a hell. "Don't let me alarm you," he said, speaking gently. "I am Philip Raine of the Royal Northwest Mounted Police." It did not surprise him that she made no answer. As plainly as if she had spoken it he had in those few swift moments read the story in her face. His heart choked him as he waited for her lips to move. It was a mystery to him afterward why he accepted the situation so utterly as he stood there. He had no question to ask, and there was no doubt in his mind. He knew that he would kill Bram Johnson when the moment arrived. The girl had not seemed to breathe, but now she drew in her breath in a great gasp. He could see the sudden throb of her breast under her hair, but the frightened light did not leave her eyes even when he repeated the words he had spoken. Suddenly she ran to the window, and Philip saw the grip of her hands at the sill as she looked out. Through the gate Bram was driving his wolves. When she faced him again, her eyes had in them the look of a creature threatened by a whip. It amazed and startled him. As he advanced a step she cringed back from him. It struck him then that her face was like the face of an angel--filled with a mad horror. She reached out her bare arms to hold him back, and a strange pleading cry came from her lips. The cry stopped him like a shot. He knew that she had spoken to him. And yet he had not understood! He tore open his coat and the sunlight fell on his bronze insignia of the Service. Its effect on her amazed him even more than had her sudden fear of him. It occurred to him suddenly that with a two weeks' ragged growth of beard on his face he must look something like a beast himself. She had feared him, as she feared Bram, until she saw the badge. "I am Philip Raine, of the Royal Northwest Mounted Police," he repeated again. "I have come up here especially to help you, if you need help. I could have got Bram farther back, but there was a reason why I didn't want him until I found his cabin. That reason was you. Why are you here with a madman and a murderer?" She was watching him intently. Her eyes were on his lips, and into her face--white a few moments before--had risen swiftly a flush of color. He saw the dread die out of her eyes in a new and dazzling excitement. Outside they could hear Bram. The girl turned again and looked through the window. Then she began talking, swiftly and eagerly, in a language that was as strange to Philip as the mystery of her presence in Bram Johnson's cabin. She knew that he could not understand, and suddenly she came up close to him and put a finger to his lips, and then to her own, and shook her head. He could fairly feel the throb of her excitement. The astounding truth held him dumb. She was trying to make him comprehend something--in a language which he had never heard before in all his life. He stared at her--like an idiot he told himself afterward. And then the shuffle of Bram's heavy feet sounded just outside the door. Instantly the old light leapt into the girl's eyes. Before the door could open she had darted into the room from which she had first appeared, her hair floating about her in a golden cloud as she ran. The door opened, and Bram entered. At his heels, beyond the threshold, Philip caught a glimpse of the pack glaring hungrily into the cabin. Bram was burdened under the load he had brought from the sledge. He dropped it to the floor, and without looking at Philip his eyes fastened themselves on the door to the inner room. They stood there for a full minute, Bram as if hypnotized by the door, and Philip with his eyes on Bram. Neither moved, and neither made a sound. A curtain had dropped over the entrance to the inner room, and beyond that they could hear the girl moving about. A dozen emotions were fighting in Philip. If he had possessed a weapon he would have ended the matter with Bram then, for the light that was burning like a strange flame in the wolf-man's eyes convinced him that he had guessed the truth. Bare-handed he was no match for the giant madman. For the first time he let his glance travel cautiously about the room. Near the stove was a pile of firewood. A stick of this would do--when the opportunity came. And then, in a way that made him almost cry out, every nerve in his body was startled. The girl appeared in the doorway, a smile on her lips and her eyes shining radiantly--straight at Bram! She partly held out her arms, and began talking. She seemed utterly oblivious of Philip's presence. Not a word that she uttered could he understand. It was not Cree or Chippewyan or Eskimo. It was not French or German or any tongue that he had ever heard. Her voice was pure and soft. It trembled a little, and she was breathing quickly. But the look in her face that had at first horrified him was no longer there. She had braided her hair and had coiled the shining strands on the crown of her head, and the coloring in her face was like that of a rare painting. In these astounding moments he knew that such color and such hair did not go with any race that had ever bred in the northland. From her face, even as her lips spoke, he looked at Bram. The wolf-man was transfigured. His strange eyes were shining, his heavy face was filled with a dog-like joy, and his thick lips moved as if he was repeating to himself what the girl was saying. Was it possible that he understood her? Was the strange language in which she was speaking common between them! At first Philip thought that it must be so--and all the horrors of the situation that he had built up for himself fell about him in confusing disorder. The girl, as she stood there now, seemed glad that Bram had returned; and with a heart choking him with its suspense he waited for Bram to speak, and act. When the girl ceased speaking the wolf-man's response came in a guttural cry that was like a paean of triumph. He dropped on his knees beside the dunnage bag and mumbling thickly as he worked he began emptying its contents upon the floor. Philip looked at the girl. She was looking at him now. Her hands were clutched at her breast, and in her face and attitude there was a wordless entreaty for him to understand. The truth came to him like a flash. For some reason she had forced herself to appear that way to the wolf-man. She had forced herself to smile, forced the look of gladness into her face, and the words from her lips. And now she was trying to tell him what it meant, and pointing to Bram as he knelt with his huge head and shoulders bent over the dunnage bag on the floor she exclaimed in a low, tense voice: "Tossi--tossi--han er tossi!" It was useless. He could not understand, and it was impossible for him to hide the bewilderment in his face. All at once an inspiration came to him. Bram's back was toward him, and he pointed to the sticks of firewood. His pantomime was clear. Should he knock the wolf-man's brains out as he knelt there? He could see that his question sent a thrill of alarm through her. She shook her head. Her lips formed strange words, and looking again at Bram she repeated, "Tossi--tossi--han er tossi!" She clasped her hands suddenly to her head then. Her slim fingers buried themselves in the thick braids of her hair. Her eyes dilated--and suddenly understanding flashed upon him. She was telling him what he already knew--that Bram Johnson was mad, and he repeated after her the "Tossi-tossi," tapping his forehead suggestively, and nodding at Bram. Yes, that was it. He could see it in the quick intake of her breath and the sudden expression of relief that swept over her face. She had been afraid he would attack the wolf-man. And now she was glad that he understood he was not to harm him. If the situation had seemed fairly clear to him a few minutes before it had become more deeply mysterious than ever now. Even as the wolf-man rose from his knees, still mumbling to himself in incoherent exultation, the great and unanswerable question pounded in Philip's brain: "Who was this girl, and what was she to Bram Johnson--the crazed outlaw whom she feared and yet whom she did not wish him to harm?" And then he saw her staring at the things which Bram had sorted out on the floor. In her eyes was hunger. It was a living, palpitant part of her now as she stared at the things which Bram had taken from the dunnage bag--as surely as Bram's madness was a part of him. As Philip watched her he knew that slowly the curtain was rising on the tragedy of the golden snare. In a way the look that he saw in her face shocked him more than anything that he had seen in Bram's. It was as if, in fact, a curtain had lifted before his eyes revealing to him an unbelievable truth, and something of the hell through which she had gone. She was hungry--FOR SOMETHING THAT WAS NOT FLESH! Swiftly the thought flashed upon him why the wolf-man had traveled so far to the south, and why he had attacked him for possession of his food supply. It was that he might bring these things to the girl. He knew that it was sex-pride that restrained the impulse that was pounding in every vein of her body. She wanted to fling herself down on her knees beside that pile of stuff--but she remembered HIM! Her eyes met his, and the shame of her confession swept in a crimson flood into her face. The feminine instinct told her that she had betrayed herself--like an animal, and that he must have seen in her for a moment something that was almost like Bram's own madness. CHAPTER X Until he felt the warm thrill of the girl's arm under his hand Philip did not realize the hazard he had taken. He turned suddenly to confront Bram. He would not have known then that the wolf-man was mad, and impulsively he reached out a hand. "Bram, she's starving," he cried. "I know now why you wanted that stuff! But why didn't you tell me! Why don't you talk, and let me know who she is, and why she is here, and what you want me to do?" He waited, and Bram stared at him without a sound. "I tell you I'm a friend," he went on. "I--" He got no farther than that, for suddenly the cabin was filled with the madness of Bram's laugh. It was more terrible than out on the open Barren, or in the forest, and he felt the shudder of the girl at his side. Her face was close to his shoulder, and looking down he saw that it was white as death, but that even then she was trying to smile at Bram. And Bram continued to laugh--and as he laughed, his eyes blazing a greenish fire, he turned to the stove and began putting fuel into the fire. It was horrible. Bram's laugh--the girl's dead white face, AND HER SMILE! He no longer asked himself who she was, and why she was there. He was overwhelmed by the one appalling fact that she WAS here, and that the stricken soul crying out to him from the depths of those eyes that were like wonderful blue amethysts told him that Bram had made her pay the price. His muscles hardened as he looked at the huge form bending over the stove. It was a splendid opportunity. A single leap and he would be at the outlaw's throat. With that advantage, in open combat, the struggle would at least be equal. The girl must have guessed what was in his mind, for suddenly her fingers were clutching at his arm and she was pulling him away from the wolf-man, speaking to him in the language which he could not understand. And then Bram turned from the stove, picked up a pail, and without looking at them left the cabin. They could hear his laugh as he joined the wolves. Again Philip's conclusions toppled down about him like a thing made of blocks. During the next few moments he knew that the girl was telling him that Bram had not harmed her. She seemed almost hysterically anxious to make him understand this, and at last, seizing him by the hand, she drew him into the room beyond the curtained door. Her meaning was quite as plain as words. She was showing him what Bram had done for her. He had made her this separate room by running a partition across the cabin, and in addition to this he had built a small lean-to outside the main wall entered through a narrow door made of saplings that were still green. He noticed that the partition was also made of fresh timber. Except for the bunk built against the wall, a crude chair, a sapling table and half a dozen bear skins that carpeted the floor the room was empty. A few garments hung on the wall--a hood made of fur, a thick mackinaw coat belted at the waist with a red scarf, and something done up in a small bundle. "I guess--I begin to get your meaning," he said, looking straight into her shining blue eyes. "You want to impress on me that I'm not to wring Bram Johnson's neck when his back is turned, or at any other time, and you want me to believe that he hasn't done you any harm. And yet you're afraid to the bottom of your soul. I know it. A little while ago your face was as white as chalk, and now--now--it's the prettiest face I've ever seen. Now, see here, little girl--" It gave him a pleasant thrill to see the glow in her eyes and the eager poise of her slim, beautiful body as she listened to him. "I'm licked," he went on, smiling frankly at her. "At least for the present. Maybe I've gone loony, like Bram, and don't realize it yet. I set out for a couple of Indians, and find a madman; and at the madman's cabin I find YOU, looking at first as though you were facing straight up against the door of-of-well, seeing that you can't understand I might as well say it--OF HELL! Now, if you weren't afraid of Bram, and if he hasn't hurt you, why did you look like that? I'm stumped. I repeat it--dead stumped. I'd give a million dollars if I could make Bram talk. I saw what was in his eyes. YOU saw it--and that pretty pink went out of your face so quick it seemed as though your heart must have stopped beating. And yet you're trying to tell me he hasn't harmed you. My God--I wish I could believe it!" In her face he saw the reflection of the change that must have come suddenly into his own. "You're a good fifteen hundred miles from any other human being with hair and eyes and color like yours," he continued, as though in speaking his thoughts aloud to her some ray of light might throw itself on the situation. "If you had something black about you. But you haven't. You're all gold--pink and white and gold. If Bram has another fit of talking he may tell me you came from the moon--that a chasse-galere crew brought you down out of space to keep house for him. Great Scott, can't you give me some sort of an idea of who you are and where you same from?" He paused for an answer--and she smiled at him. There was something pathetically sweet in that smile. It brought a queer lump into his throat, and for a space he forgot Bram. "You don't understand a cussed word of it, do you?" he said, taking her hand in both his own and holding it closely for a moment. "Not a word. But we're getting the drift of things--slowly. I know you've been here quite a while, and that morning, noon and night since the chasse-galere brought you down from the moon you've had nothing to put your little teeth into but meat. Probably without salt, too. I saw how you wanted to throw yourself down on that pile of stuff on the floor. Let's have breakfast!" He led her into the outer room, and eagerly she set to work helping him gather the things from the floor. He felt that an overwhelming load had been lifted from his heart, and he continued to tell her about it while he hurried the preparation of the breakfast for which he knew she was hungering. He did not look at her too closely. All at once it had dawned upon him that her situation must be tremendously more embarrassing than his own. He felt, too, the tingle of a new excitement in his veins. It was a pleasurable sensation, something which he did not pause to analyze just at present. Only he knew that it was because she had told him as plainly as she could that Bram had not harmed her. "And if he HAD I guess you'd have let me smash his brains out when he was bending over the stove, wouldn't you?" he said, stirring the mess of desiccated potato he was warming in one of his kit-pans. He looked up to see her eyes shining at him, and her lips parted. She was delightfully pretty. He knew that every nerve in her body was straining to understand him. Her braid had slipped over her shoulder. It was as thick as his wrist, and partly undone. He had never dreamed that a woman's hair could hold such soft warm fires of velvety gold. Suddenly he straightened himself and tapped his chest, an inspiring thought leaping into his head. "I am Philip Raine," he said. "Philip Raine--Philip Raine--Philip Raine--" He repeated the name over and over again, pointing each time to himself. Instantly light flashed into her face. It was as if all at once they had broken through the barrier that had separated them. She repeated his name, slowly, clearly, smiling at him, and then with both hands at her breast, she said: "Celie Armin." He wanted to jump over the stove and shake hands with her, but the potatoes were sizzling. Celie Armin! He repeated the name as he stirred the potatoes, and each time he spoke it she nodded. It was decidedly a French name--but half a minute's experiment with a few simple sentences of Pierre Breault's language convinced him that the girl understood no word of it. Then he said again: "Celie!" Almost in the same breath she answered: "Philip!" Sounds outside the cabin announced the return of Bram. Following the snarl and whine of the pack came heavy footsteps, and the wolf-man entered. Philip did not turn his head toward the door. He did not look at first to see what effect Bram's return had on Celie Armin. He went on casually with his work. He even began to whistle; and then, after a final stir or two at the potatoes, he pointed to the pail in which the coffee was bubbling, and said: "Turn the coffee, Celie. We're ready!" He caught a glimpse of her face then. The excitement and color had partly died out of it. She took the pail of coffee and went with it to the table. Then Philip faced Bram. The wolf-man was standing with his back to the door. He had not moved since entering, and he was staring at the scene before him in a dull, stupid sort of way. In one hand he carried a pail filled with water; in the other a frozen fish. "Too late with the fish, Bram," said Philip. "We couldn't make the little lady wait. Besides, I think you've fed her on fish and meat until she is just about ready to die. Come to breakfast!" He loaded a tin plate with hot potatoes, bannock-bread and rice that he had cooked before setting out on the Barren, and placed it before the girl. A second plate he prepared for Bram, and a third for himself. Bram had not moved. He still held the pail and the fish in his hands. Suddenly he lowered both to the floor with a growl that seemed to come from the bottom of his great chest, and came to the table. With one huge hand he seized Philip's arm. It was not a man's grip. There was apparently no effort in it, and yet it was a vise-like clutch that threatened to snap the bone. And all the time Bram's eyes were on the girl. He drew Philip back, released the terrible grip on his arm, and shoved the two extra plates of food to the girl. Then he faced Philip. "We eat ze meat, m'sieu!" Quietly and sanely he uttered the words. In his eyes and face there was no trace of madness. And then, even as Philip stared, the change came. The giant flung back his head and his wild, mad laugh rocked the cabin. Out in the corral the snarl and cry of the wolves gave a savage response to it. It took a tremendous effort for Philip to keep a grip on himself. In that momentary flash of sanity Bram had shown a chivalry which must have struck deep home in the heart of the girl. There was a sort of triumph in her eyes when he looked at her. She knew now that he must understand fully what she had been trying to tell him. Bram, in his madness, had been good to her. Philip did not hesitate in the impulse of the moment. He caught Bram's hand and shook it. And Bram, his laugh dying away in a mumbling sound, seemed not to notice it. As Philip began preparing the fish the wolf-man took up a position against the farther wall, squatted Indian-fashion on his heels. He did not take his eyes from the girl until she had finished, and Philip brought him a half of the fried fish. He might as well have offered the fish to a wooden sphinx. Bram rose to his feet, mumbling softly, and taking what was left of one of the two caribou quarters he again left the cabin. His mad laugh and the snarling outcry of the wolves came to them a moment later. CHAPTER XI Scarcely had the door closed when Celie Armin ran to Philip and pulled him to the table. In the tense half hour of Bram's watchfulness she had eaten her own breakfast as if nothing unusual had happened; now she insisted on adding potatoes and bannock to Philip's fish, and turned him a cup of coffee. "Bless your heart, you don't want to see me beat out of a breakfast, do you?" he smiled up at her, feeling all at once an immense desire to pull her head down to him and kiss her. "But you don't understand the situation, little girl. Now I've been eating this confounded bannock"--he picked up a chunk of it to demonstrate his point--"morning, noon and night until the sight of it makes me almost cry for one of mother's green cucumber pickles. I'm tired of it. Bram's fish is a treat. And this coffee, seeing that you have turned it in that way--" She sat opposite him while he ate, and he had the chance of observing her closely while his meal progressed. It struck him that she was growing prettier each time that he looked at her, and he was more positive than ever that she was a stranger in the northland. Again he told himself that she was not more than twenty. Mentally he even went so far as to weigh her and would have gambled that she would not have tipped a scale five pounds one way or the other from a hundred and twenty. Some time he might have seen the kind of violet-blue that was in her eyes, but he could not remember it. She was lost--utterly lost at this far-end of the earth. She was no more a part of it than a crepe de chine ball dress or a bit of rose china. And there she was, sitting opposite him, a bewitching mystery for him to solve. And she WANTED to be solved! He could see it in her eyes, and in the little beating throb at her throat. She was fighting, with him, to find a way; a way to tell him who she was, and why she was here, and what he must do for her. Suddenly he thought of the golden snare. That, after all, he believed to be the real key to the mystery. He rose quickly from the table and drew the girl to the window. At the far end of the corral they could see Bram tossing chunks of meat to the horde of beasts that surrounded him. In a moment or two he had the satisfaction of seeing that his companion understood that he was directing her attention to the wolf-man and not the pack. Then he began unbraiding her hair. His fingers thrilled at the silken touch of it. He felt his face flushing hot under his beard, and he knew that her eyes were on him wonderingly. A small strand he divided into three parts and began weaving into a silken thread only a little larger than the wolf-man's snare. From, the woven tress he pointed to Bram and in an instant her face lighted up with understanding. She answered him in pantomime. Either she or Bram had cut the tress from her head that had gone into the making of the golden snare. And not only one tress, but several. There had been a number of golden snares. She bowed her head and showed him where strands as large as her little finger had been clipped in several places. Philip almost groaned. She was telling him nothing new, except that there had been many snares instead of one. He was on the point of speech when the look in her face held him silent. Her eyes glowed with a sudden excitement--a wild inspiration. She held out her hands until they nearly touched his breast. "Philip Raine--Amerika!" she cried. Then, pressing her hands to her own breast, she added eagerly: "Celie Armin--Danmark!" "Denmark!" exclaimed Philip. "Is that it, little girl? You're from Denmark? Denmark!" She nodded. "Kobenhavn--Danmark!" "Copenhagen, Denmark," he translated for himself. "Great Scott, Celie--we're TALKING! Celie Armin, from Copenhagen, Denmark! But how in Heaven's name did you get HERE?" He pointed to the floor under their feet and embraced the four walls of the cabin in a wide gesture of his arms. "How did you get HERE?" Her next words thrilled him. "Kobenhavn--Muskvas--St. Petersburg--Rusland--Sibirien--Amerika." "Copenhagen--Muskvas, whatever that is--St. Petersburg--Russia--Siberia--America," he repeated, staring at her incredulously. "Celie, if you love me, be reasonable! Do you expect me to believe that you came all the way from Denmark to this God-forsaken madman's cabin in the heart of the Canada Barrens by way of Russia and Siberia? YOU! I can't believe it. There's a mistake somewhere. Here--" He thought of his pocket atlas, supplied by the department as a part of his service kit, and remembered that in the back of it was a small map of the world. In half a minute he had secured it and was holding the map under her eyes. Her little forefinger touched Copenhagen. Leaning over her shoulder, he felt her hair crumpling against his breast. He felt an insane desire to bury his face in it and hug her up close in his arms--for a single moment the question of whether she came from Copenhagen or the moon was irrelevant and of little consequence. He, at least, had found her. He was digging her out of chaos, and he was filled with the joyous exultation of a triumphant discoverer--almost the thrill of ownership. He held his breath as he watched the little forefinger telling him its story on the map. From Copenhagen it went to Moscow--which must have been Muskvas, and from there it trailed slowly to St. Petersburg and thence straight across Russia and Siberia to Bering Sea. "Skunnert," she said softly, and her finger came across to the green patch on the map which was Alaska. It hesitated there. Evidently it was a question in her own mind where she had gone after that. At least she could not tell him on the map. And now, seeing that he was understanding her, she was becoming visibly excited. She pulled him to the window and pointed to the wolves. Alaska--and after that dogs and sledge. He nodded. He was jubilant. She was Celie Armin, of Copenhagen, Denmark, and had come to Alaska by way of Russia and Siberia--and after that had traveled by dog-train. But WHY had she come, and what had happened to make her the companion or prisoner of Bram Johnson? He knew she was trying to tell him. With her back to the window she talked to him again, gesturing with her hands, and almost sobbing under the stress of the emotion that possessed her. His elation turned swiftly to the old dread as he watched the change in her face. Apprehension--a grim certainty--gripped hold of him. Something terrible had happened to her--a thing that had racked her soul and that filled her eyes with the blaze of a strange terror as she struggled to make him understand. And then she broke down, and with a sobbing cry covered her face with her hands. Out in the corral Philip heard Bram Johnson's laugh. It was a mockery--a challenge. In an instant every drop of blood in his body answered it in a surge of blind rage. He sprang to the stove, snatched up a length of firewood, and in another moment was at the door. As he opened it and ran out he heard Celie's wild appeal for him to stop. It was almost a scream. Before he had taken a dozen steps from the cabin he realized what the warning meant. The pack had seen him and from the end of the corral came rushing at him in a thick mass. This time Bram Johnson's voice did not stop them. He saw Philip, and from the doorway Celie looked upon the scene while the blood froze in her veins. She screamed--and in the same breath came the wolf-man's laugh. Philip heard both as he swung the stick of firewood over his head and sent it hurling toward the pack. The chance accuracy of the throw gave him an instant's time in which to turn and make a dash for the cabin. It was Celie who slammed the door shut as he sprang through. Swift as a flash she shot the bolt, and there came the lunge of heavy bodies outside. They could hear the snapping of jaws and the snarling whine of the beasts. Philip had never seen a face whiter than the girl's had gone. She covered it with her hands, and he could see her trembling. A bit of a sob broke hysterically from her lips. He knew of what she was thinking--the horrible thing she was hiding from her eyes. It was plain enough to him now. Twenty seconds more and they would have had him. And then-- He drew in a deep breath and gently uncovered her face. Her hands shivered in his. And then a great throb of joy repaid him for his venture into the jaws of death as he saw the way in which her beautiful eyes were looking at him. "Celie--my little mystery girl--I've discovered something," he cried huskily, holding her hands so tightly that it must have hurt her. "I'm almost glad you can't understand me, for I wouldn't blame you for being afraid of a man who told you he loved you an hour or two after he first saw you. I love you. I've never wanted anything in all my life as I want you. And I must be careful and not let you know it, mustn't I? If I did you'd think I was some kind of an animal-brute--like Bram. Wouldn't you?" Bram's voice came in a sharp rattle of Eskimo outside. Philip could hear the snarling rebellion of the wolves as they slunk away from the cabin, and he drew Celie back from the door. Suddenly she freed her hands, ran to the door and slipped back the wooden bolt as the wolf-man's hand fumbled at the latch. In a moment she was back at his side. When Bram entered every muscle in Philip's body was prepared for action. He was amazed at the wolf-man's unconcern. He was mumbling and chuckling to himself, as if amused at what he had seen. Celie's little fingers dug into Philip's arm and he saw in her eyes a tense, staring look that had not been there before. It was as if in Bram's face and his queer mumbling she had recognized something which was not apparent to him. Suddenly she left him and hurried into her room. During the few moments she was gone Bram did not look once at Philip. His mumbling was incessant. Perhaps a minute passed before the girl reappeared. She went straight to Bram and before the wolf-man's eyes held a long, shining tress of hair! Instantly the mumbling in Bram's throat ceased and he thrust out slowly a huge misshapen hand toward the golden strand. Philip felt his nerves stretching to the breaking point. With Bram the girl's hair was a fetich. A look of strange exultation crept over the giant's heavy features as his fingers clutched the golden offering. It almost drew a cry of warning from Philip. He saw the girl smiling in the face of a deadly peril--a danger of which she was apparently unconscious. Her hair still fell loose about her in a thick and shimmering glory. And BRAM'S EYES WERE ON IT AS HE TOOK THE TRESS FROM HER FINGERS! Was it conceivable that this mad-man did not comprehend his power! Had the thought not yet burned its way into his thick brain that a treasure many times greater than, that which she had doled out to him lay within the reach of his brute hands at any time he cared to reach out for it? And was it possible that the girl did not guess her danger as she stood there? What she could see of his face must have been as pale as her own when she looked at him. She smiled, and nodded at Bram. The giant was turning slowly toward the window, and after a moment or two in which they could hear him mumbling softly he sat down cross-legged against the wall, divided the tress into three silken threads and began weaving them into a snare. The color was returning to Celie's face when Philip looked at her again. She told him with a gesture of her head and hands that she was going into her room for a time. He didn't blame her. The excitement had been rather unusual. After she had gone he dug his shaving outfit out of his kit-bag. It included a mirror and the reflection he saw in this mirror fairly shocked him. No wonder the girl had been frightened at his first appearance. It took him half an hour to shave his face clean, and all that time Bram paid no attention to him but went on steadily at his task of weaving the golden snare. Celie did not reappear until the wolf-man had finished and was leaving the cabin. The first thing she noticed was the change in Philip's face. He saw the pleasure in her eyes and felt himself blushing. From the window they watched Bram. He had called his wolves and was going with them to the gate. He carried his snowshoes and his long whip. He went through the gate first and one by one let his beasts out until ten of the twenty had followed him. The gate was closed then. Celie turned to the table and Philip saw that she had brought from her room a pencil and a bit of paper. In a moment she held the paper out to him, a light of triumph in her face. At last they had found a way to talk. On the paper was a crude sketch of a caribou head. It meant that Bram had gone hunting. And in going Bram had left a half of his blood-thirsty pack in the corral. There was no longer a doubt in Philip's mind. They were not the chance guests of this madman. They were prisoners. CHAPTER XII For a few minutes after the wolf-man and his hunters had gone from the corral Philip did not move from the window. He almost forgot that the girl was standing behind him. At no time since Pierre Breault had revealed the golden snare had the situation been more of an enigma to him than now. Was Bram Johnson actually mad--or was he playing a colossal sham? The question had unleashed itself in his brain with a suddenness that had startled him. Out of the past a voice came to him distinctly, and it said, "A madman never forgets!" It was the voice of a great alienist, a good friend of his, with whom he had discussed the sanity of a man whose crime had shocked the country. He knew that the words were true. Once possessed by an idea the madman will not forget it. It becomes an obsession with him--a part of his existence. In his warped brain a suspicion never dies. A fear will smolder everlastingly. A hatred lives steadily on. If Bram Johnson was mad would he play the game as he was playing it now! He had almost killed Philip for possession of the food, that the girl might have the last crumb of it. Now, without a sign of the madman's caution, he had left it all within his reach again. A dozen times the flaming suspicion in his eyes had been replaced by a calm and stupid indifference. Was the suspicion real and the stupidity a clever dissimulation? And if dissimulation--why? He was positive now that Bram had not harmed the girl in the way he had dreaded. Physical desire had played no part in the wolf-man's possession of her. Celie had made him understand that;--and yet in Bram's eyes he had caught a look now and then that was like the dumb worship of a beast. Only once had that look been anything different--and that was when Celie had given him a tress of her hair. Even the suspicion roused in him then was gone now, for if passion and desire were smoldering in the wolf-man's breast he would not have brought a possible rival to the cabin, nor would he have left them alone together. His mind worked swiftly as he stared unseeing out into the corral. He would no longer play the part of a pawn. Thus far Bram had held the whip hand. Now he would take it from him no matter what mysterious protestation the girl might make! The wolf-man had given him a dozen opportunities to deliver the blow that would make him a prisoner. He would not miss the next. He faced Celie with the gleam of this determination in his eyes. She had been watching him intently and he believed that she had guessed a part of his thoughts. His first business was to take advantage of Brain's absence to search the cabin. He tried to make Celie understand what his intentions were as he began. "You may have done this yourself," he told her. "No doubt you have. There probably isn't a corner you haven't looked into. But I have a hunch I may find something you missed--something interesting." She followed him closely. He began at each wall and went over it carefully, looking for possible hiding places. Then he examined the floor for a loose sapling. At the end of half an hour his discoveries amounted to nothing. He gave an exclamation of satisfaction when under an old blanket in a dusty corner he found a Colt army revolver. But it was empty, and he found no cartridges. At last there was nothing left to search but the wolf-man's bunk. At the bottom of this he found what gave him his first real thrill--three of the silken snares made from Celie Armin's hair. "We won't touch them," he said after a moment, replacing the bear skin that had covered them. "It's good etiquette up here not to disturb another man's cache and that's Bram's. I can't imagine any one but a madman doing that. And yet--" He looked suddenly at Celie. "Do you suppose he was afraid of YOU?" he asked her. "Is that why he doesn't leave even the butcher-knife in this shack? Was he afraid you might shoot him in his sleep if he left the temptation in your way?" A commotion among the wolves drew him to the window. Two of the beasts were fighting. While his back was turned Celie entered her room and returned a moment or two later with a handful of loose bits of paper. The pack held Philip's attention. He wondered what chance he would have in an encounter with the beasts which Bram had left behind as a guard. Even if he killed Bram or made him a prisoner he would still have that horde of murderous brutes to deal with. If he could in some way induce the wolf-man to bring his rifle into the cabin the matter would be easy. With Bram out of the way he could shoot the wolves one by one from the window. Without a weapon their situation would be hopeless. The pack--with the exception of one huge, gaunt beast directly under the window--had swung around the end of the cabin out of his vision. The remaining wolf in spite of the excitement of battle was gnawing hungrily at a bone. Philip could hear the savage grind of its powerful jaws, and all at once the thought of how they might work out their salvation flashed upon him. They could starve the wolves! It would take a week, perhaps ten days, but with Bram out of the way and the pack helplessly imprisoned within the corral it could be done. His first impulse now was to impress on Celie the necessity of taking physical action against Bram. The sound of his own name turned him from the window with a sudden thrill. If the last few minutes had inspired an eagerness for action in his own mind he saw at a glance that something equally exciting had possessed Celie Armin. Spread out on the table were the bits of paper she had brought from her room, and, pointing to them, she again called him by name. That she was laboring under a new and unusual emotion impressed him immediately. He could see that she was fighting to restrain an impulse to pour out in words what would have been meaningless to him, and that she was telling him the bits of paper were to take the place of voice. For one swift moment as he advanced to the table the papers meant less to him than the fact that she had twice spoken his name. Her soft lips seemed to whisper it again as she pointed, and the look in her eyes and the poise of her body recalled to him vividly the picture of her as he had first seen her in the cabin. He looked at the bits of paper. There were fifteen or twenty pieces, and on each was sketched a picture. He heard a low catch in Celie's breath as he bent over them, and his own pulse quickened. A glance was sufficient to show him that with the pictures Celie was trying to tell him what he wanted to know. They told her own story--who she was, why she was at Bram Johnson's cabin, and how she had come. This, at least, was the first thought that impressed him. He observed then that the bits of paper were soiled and worn as though they had been handled a great deal. He made no effort to restrain the exclamation that followed this discovery. "You drew these pictures for Bram," he scanning them more carefully. "That settles one thing. Bram doesn't know much more about you than, I do. Ships, and dogs, and men--and fighting--a lot of fighting--and--" His eyes stopped at one of the pictures and his heart gave a sudden excited thump. He picked up the bit of paper which had evidently been part of a small sack. Slowly he turned to the girl and met her eyes. She was trembling in her eagerness for him to understand. "That is YOU," he said, tapping the central figure in the sketch, and nodding at her. "You--with your hair down, and fighting a bunch of men who look as though they were about to beat your brains out with clubs! Now--what in God's name does it mean? And here's a ship up in the corner. That evidently came first. You landed from that ship, didn't you? From the ship--the ship--the ship--" "Skunnert!" she cried softly, touching the ship with her finger. "Skunnert--Sibirien!" "Schooner-Siberia," translated Philip. "It sounds mightily like that, Celie. Look here--" He opened his pocket atlas again at the map of the world. "Where did you start from, and where did you come ashore? If we can get at the beginning of the thing--" She had bent her head over the crook of his arm, so that in her eager scrutiny of the map his lips for a moment or two touched the velvety softness of her hair. Again he felt the exquisite thrill of her touch, the throb of her body against him, the desire to take her in his arms and hold her there. And then she drew back a little, and her finger was once more tracing out its story on the map. The ship had started from the mouth of the Lena River, in Siberia, and had followed the coast to the blue space that marked the ocean above Alaska. And there the little finger paused, and with a hopeless gesture Celie intimated that was all she knew. From somewhere out of that blue patch the ship had touched the American shore. One after another she took up from the table the pieces of paper that carried on the picture-story from that point. It was, of course, a broken and disjointed story. But as it progressed every drop of blood in Philip's body was stirred by the thrill and mystery of it. Celie Armin had traveled from Denmark through Russia to the Lena River in Siberia, and from there a ship had brought her to the coast of North America. There had been a lot of fighting, the significance of which he could only guess at; and now, at the end, the girl drew for Philip another sketch in which a giant and a horde of beasts appeared. It was a picture of Bram and his wolves, and at last Philip understood why she did not want him to harm the wolf-man. Bram had saved her from the fate which the pictures only partly portrayed for him. He had brought her far south to his hidden stronghold, and for some reason which the pictures failed to disclose was keeping her a prisoner there. Beyond these things Celie Armin was still a mystery. Why had she gone to Siberia? What had brought her to the barren Arctic coast of America? Who were the mysterious enemies from whom Bram the madman had saved her? And who--who-- He looked again at one of the pictures which he had partly crumpled in his hand. On it were sketched two people. One was a figure with her hair streaming down--Celie herself. The other was a man. The girl had pictured herself close in the embrace of this man's arms. Her own arms encircled the man's neck. From the picture Philip had looked at Celie, and the look he had seen in her eyes and face filled his heart with a leaden chill. It was more than hope that had flared up in his breast since he had entered Bram Johnson's cabin. And now that hope went suddenly out, and with its extinguishment he was oppressed by a deep and gloomy foreboding. He went slowly to the window and looked out. The next moment Celie was startled by the sudden sharp cry that burst from his lips. Swiftly she ran to his side. He had dropped the paper. His hands were gripping the edge of the sill, and he was staring like one who could not believe his own eyes. "Good God--look! Look at that!" They had heard no sound outside the cabin during the last few minutes. Yet under their eyes, stretched out in the soiled and trampled snow, lay the wolf that a short time before had been gnawing a bone. The animal was stark dead. Not a muscle of its body moved. Its lips were drawn back, its jaws agape, and under the head was a growing smear of blood. It was not these things--not the fact but the INSTRUMENT of death that held Philip's eyes. The huge wolf had been completely transfixed by a spear. Instantly Philip recognized it--the long, slender, javelin-like narwhal harpoon used by only one people in the world, the murderous little black-visaged Kogmollocks of Coronation Gulf and Wollaston Land. He sprang suddenly back from the window, dragging Celie with him. CHAPTER XIII "Kogmollocks--the blackest-hearted little devils alive when it comes to trading wives and fighting," said Philip, a little ashamed of the suddenness with which he had jumped back from the window. "Excuse my abruptness, dear. But I'd recognize that death-thing on the other side of the earth. I've seen them throw it like an arrow for a hundred yards--and I have a notion they're watching that window!" At sight of the dead wolf and the protruding javelin Celie's face had gone as white as ash. Snatching up one of the pictures from the table, she thrust it into Philip's hand. It was one of the fighting pictures. "So it's YOU?" he said, smiling at her and trying to keep the tremble of excitement out of his voice. "It's you they want, eh? And they must want you bad. I've never heard of those little devils coming within a hundred miles of this far south. They MUST want you bad. Now--I wonder WHY?" His voice was calm again. It thrilled him to see how utterly she was judging the situation by the movement of his lips and the sound of his voice. With him unafraid she would be unafraid. He judged that quickly. Her eyes bared her faith in him, and suddenly he reached out and took her face between his two hands, and laughed softly, while each instant he feared the smash of a javelin through the window. "I like to see that look in your eyes," he went on. "And I'm almost glad you can't understand me, for I couldn't lie to you worth a cent. I understand those pictures now--and I think we're in a hell of a fix. The Eskimos have followed you and Bram down from the north, and I'm laying a wager with myself that Bram won't return from the caribou hunt. If they were Nunatalmutes or any other tribe I wouldn't be so sure. But they're Kogmollocks. They're worse than the little brown head-hunters of the Philippines when it comes to ambush, and if Bram hasn't got a spear through him this minute I'll never guess again!" He withdrew his hands from her face, still smiling at her as he talked. The color was returning into her face. Suddenly she made a movement as if to approach the window. He detained her, and in the same moment there came a fierce and snarling outcry from the wolves in the corral. Making Celie understand that she was to remain where he almost forcibly placed her near the table, Philip went again to the window. The pack had gathered close to the gate and two or three of the wolves were leaping excitedly against the sapling bars of their prison. Between the cabin and the gate a second body lay in the snow. Philip's mind leapt to a swift conclusion. The Eskimos had ambushed Bram, and they believed that only the girl was in the cabin. Intuitively he guessed how the superstitious little brown men of the north feared the madman's wolves. One by one they were picking them off with their javelins from outside the corral. As he looked a head and pair of shoulders rose suddenly above the top of the sapling barrier, an arm shot out and he caught the swift gleam of a javelin as it buried itself in the thick of the pack. In a flash the head and shoulders of the javelin-thrower had disappeared, and in that same moment Philip heard a low cry behind him. Celie had returned to the window. She had seen what he had seen, and her breath came suddenly in a swift and sobbing excitement. In amazement he saw that she was no longer pale. A vivid flush had gathered in each of her cheeks and her eyes blazed with a dark fire. One of her hands caught his arm and her fingers pinched his flesh. He stared dumbly for a moment at the strange transformation in her. He almost believed that she wanted to fight--that she was ready to rush out shoulder to shoulder with him against their enemies. Scarcely had the cry fallen from her lips when she turned and ran swiftly into her room. It seemed to Philip that she was not gone ten seconds. When she returned she thrust into his hand a revolver. It was a toy affair. The weight and size of the weapon told him that before he broke it and looked at the caliber. It was a "stocking" gun as they called those things in the service, fully loaded with .22 caliber shots and good for a possible partridge at fifteen or twenty paces. Under other conditions it would have furnished him with considerable amusement. But the present was not yesterday or the day before. It was a moment of grim necessity--and the tiny weapon gave him the satisfaction of knowing that he was not entirely helpless against the javelins. It would shoot as far as the stockade, and it might topple a man over if he hit him just right. Anyway, it would make a noise. A noise! The grin that had come into his face died out suddenly as he looked at Celie. He wondered if to her had come the thought that now flashed upon him--if it was that thought that had made her place the revolver in his hand. The blaze of excitement in her wonderful eyes almost told him that it was. With Bram gone, the Eskimos believed she was alone and at their mercy as soon as the wolves were out of the way. Two or three shots from the revolver--and Philip's appearance in the corral--would shake their confidence. It would at least warn them that Celie was not alone, and that her protector was armed. For that reason Philip thanked the Lord that a "stocking" gun had a bark like the explosion of a toy cannon even if its bite was like that of an insect. Cautiously he took another look at Bram's wolves. The last javelin had transfixed another of their number and the animal was dragging itself toward the center of the corral. The remaining seven were a dozen yards on the other side of the gate now, leaping and snarling at the stockade, and he knew that the next attack would come from there. He sprang to the door. Celie was only a step behind him as he ran out, and was close at his side when he peered around the end of the cabin. "They must not see you," he made her understand. "It won't do any good and when they see another man they may possibly get the idea in their heads that you're not here. There can't be many of them or they'd make quicker work of the wolves. I should say not more than--" "Se! Se!" The warning came in a low cry from Celie's lips. A dark head was appearing slowly above the top of the stockade, and Philip darted suddenly out into the open. The Eskimo did not see him, and Philip waited until he was on the point of hurling his javelin before he made a sound. Then he gave a roar that almost split his throat. In the same instant he began firing. The crack of his pistol and the ferocious outcry he made sent the Eskimo off the stockade like a ball hit by a club. The pack, maddened by their inability to reach their enemies, turned like a flash. Warned by one experience, Philip hustled Celie into the cabin. They were scarcely over the threshold when the wolves were at the door. "We're sure up against a nice bunch," he laughed, standing for a moment with his arm still about Celie's waist. "A regular hell of a bunch, little girl! Now if those wolves only had sense enough to know that we're a little brother and sister to Bram, we'd be able to put up a fight that would be some circus. Did you see that fellow topple off the fence? Don't believe I hit him. At least I hope I didn't. If they ever find out the size of this pea-shooter's sting they'll sit up there like a row of crows and laugh at us. But--what a bully NOISE it made!" He was blissfully unmindful of danger as he held her in the crook of his arm, looking straight into her lovely face as he talked. It was a moment of splendid hypocrisy. He knew that in her excitement and the tremendous effort she was making to understand something of what he was saying that she was unconscious of his embrace. That, and the joyous thrill of the situation, sent the hot blood into his face. "I'm dangerously near to going the limit," he told her, speaking with a seriousness that would impress her. "I'd fight twenty of those little devils single-handed to know just how you'd take it, and I'd fight another dozen to know who that fellow is in the picture. I'm tempted right now to hug you up close, and kiss you, and let you know how I feel. I'd like to do that--before--anything happens. But would you understand? That's it--would you understand that I love every inch of you from the ground up or would you think I was just beast? That's what I'm afraid of. But I'd like to let you know before I have to put up the big fight for you. And it's coming--if they've got Bram. They'll break down the gate to-night, or burn it, and with the wolves out of the way they'll rush the cabin. And then--" Slowly he drew his arm from her, and something of the reaction of his thoughts must have betrayed itself in the look that came into his face. "I guess I've already pulled off a rotten deal on the other fellow," he said, turning to the window. "That is, if you belong to him. And if you didn't why would you stand there with your arms about his neck and he hugging you up like that!" A few minutes before he had crumpled the picture in his hand and dropped it on the floor. He picked it up now and mechanically smoothed it out as he made his observation, through the window. The pack had returned to the stockade. By the aimless manner in which they had scattered he concluded that for the time at least their mysterious enemies had drawn away from the corral. Celie had not moved. She was watching him earnestly. It seemed to him, as he went to her with the picture, that a new and anxious questioning had come into her eyes. It was as if she had discovered something in him which she had not observed before, something which she was trying to analyze even as he approached her. He felt for the first time a sense of embarrassment. Was it possible that she had comprehended some word or thought of what he had expressed to her? He could not believe it And yet, a woman's intuition-- He held out the picture. Celie took it and for a space looked at it steadily without raising her eyes to meet his. When she did look at him the blue in her eyes was so wonderful and deep and the soul that looked out of them was so clear to his own vision that the shame of that moment's hypocrisy when he had stood with his arm about her submerged him completely. If she had not understood him she at least HAD GUESSED. "Min fader," she said quietly, with the tip of her little forefinger on the man in the picture. "Min fader." For a moment he thought she had spoken in English. "Your--your father?" he cried. She nodded. "Oo-ee-min fader!" "Thank the Lord," gasped Philip. And then he suddenly added, "Celie, have you any more cartridges for this pop-gun? I feel like licking the world!" CHAPTER XIV He tried to hide his jubilation as he talked of more cartridges. He forgot Bram, and the Eskimos waiting outside the corral, and the apparent hopelessness of their situation. HER FATHER! He wanted to shout, or dance around the cabin with Celie in his arms. But the change that he had seen come over her made him understand that he must keep hold of himself. He dreaded to see another light come into those glorious blue eyes that had looked at him with such a strange and questioning earnestness a few moments before--the fire of suspicion, perhaps even of fear if he went too far. He realized that he had betrayed his joy when she had said that the man in the picture was her father. She could not have missed that. And he was not sorry. For him. there was an unspeakable thrill in the thought that to a woman, no matter under what sun she is born, there is at least one emotion whose understanding needs no words of speech. And as he had talked to her, sublimely confident that she could not understand him, she had read the betrayal in his face. He was sure of it. And so he talked about cartridges. He talked, he told himself afterwards, like an excited imbecile. There were no more cartridges. Celie made him understand that. All they possessed were the four that remained in the revolver. As a matter of fact this discovery did not disturb him greatly. At close quarters he would prefer a good club to the pop-gun. Such a club, in the event of a rush attack by the Eskimos, was an important necessity, and he began looking about the cabin to see what he could lay his hands on. He thought of the sapling cross-pieces in Bram's bunk against the wall and tore one out. It was four feet in length and as big around as his fist at one end while at the other it tapered down so that he could grip it easily with his hands. "Now we're ready for them," he said, testing the poise and swing of the club as he stood in the center of the room. "Unless they burn us out they'll never get through that door. I'm promising you that--s'elp me God I am, Celie!" As she looked at him a flush burned in her cheeks. He was eager to fight--it seemed to her that he was almost hoping for the attack at the door. It made her splendidly unafraid, and suddenly she laughed softly--a nervous, unexpected little laugh which she could not hold back, and he turned quickly to catch the warm glow in her eyes. Something went up into his throat as she stood there looking at him like that. He had never seen any one quite so beautiful. He dropped his club, and held out his hand. "Let's shake, Celie," he said. "I'm mighty glad you understand--we're pals." Unhesitatingly she gave him her hand, and in spite of the fact that death lurked outside they smiled into each other's eyes. After that she went into her room. For half an hour Philip did not see her again. During that half hour he measured up the situation more calmly. He realized that the exigency was tremendously serious, and that until now he had not viewed it with the dispassionate coolness that characterized the service of the uniform he wore. Celie was accountable for that. He confessed the fact to himself, not without a certain pleasurable satisfaction. He had allowed her presence, and his thoughts of her, to fill the adventure completely for him, and as a result they were now facing an appalling danger. If he had followed his own judgment, and had made Bram Johnson a prisoner, as he should have done in his line of duty, matters would have stood differently. For several minutes after Celie had disappeared into her room he studied the actions of the wolves in the corral. A short time before he had considered a method of ridding himself of Bram's watchful beasts. Now he regarded them as the one greatest protection they possessed. There were seven left. He was confident they would give warning the moment the Eskimos approached the stockade again. But would their enemies return? The fact that only one man had attacked the wolves at a time was almost convincing evidence that they were very few in number--perhaps only a scouting party of three or four. Otherwise, if they had come in force, they would have made short work of the pack. The thought became a positive conviction as he looked through the window. Bram had fallen a victim to a single javelin, and the scouting party of Kogmollocks had attempted to complete their triumph by carrying Celie back with them to the main body. Foiled in this attempt, and with the knowledge that a new and armed enemy opposed them, they were possibly already on their way for re-enforcements. If this were so there could be but one hope--and that was an immediate escape from the cabin. And between the cabin door and the freedom of the forest were Bram's seven wolves! A feeling of disgust, almost of anger, swept over him as he drew Celie's little revolver from his pocket and held it in the palm of his hand. There were four cartridges left. But what would they avail against that horde of beasts! They would stop them no more than so many pin-pricks. And what even would the club avail? Against two or three he might put up a fight. But against seven-- He cursed Bram under his breath. It was curious that in that same instant the thought flashed upon him that the wolf-man might not have fallen a victim to the Eskimos. Was it not possible that the spying Kogmollocks had seen him go away on the hunt, and had taken advantage of the opportunity to attack the cabin? They had evidently thought their task would be an easy one. What Philip saw through the window set his pulse beating quickly with the belief that this last conjecture was the true one. The world outside was turning dark. The sky was growing thick and low. In half an hour a storm would break. The Eskimos had foreseen that storm. They knew that the trail taken in their flight, after they had possessed themselves of the girl, would very soon be hidden from the eyes of Bram and the keen scent of his wolves. So they had taken the chance--the chance to make Celie their prisoner before Bram returned. And why, Philip asked himself, did these savage little barbarians of the north want HER? The fighting she had pictured for him had not startled him. For a long time the Kogmollocks had been making trouble. In the last year they had killed a dozen white men along the upper coast, including two American explorers and a missionary. Three patrols had been sent to Coronation Gulf and Bathurst Inlet since August. With the first of those patrols, headed by Olaf Anderson, the Swede, he had come within an ace of going himself. A rumor had come down to Churchill just before he left for the Barrens that Olaf's party of five men had been wiped out. It was not difficult to understand why the Eskimos had attacked Celie Armin's father and those who had come ashore with him from the ship. It was merely a question of lust for white men's blood and white men's plunder, and strangers in their country would naturally be regarded as easy victims. The mysterious and inexplicable part of the affair was their pursuit of the girl. In this pursuit the Kogmollocks had come far beyond the southernmost boundary of their hunting grounds. Philip was sufficiently acquainted with the Eskimos to know that in their veins ran very little of the red-blooded passion of the white man. Matehood was more of a necessity imposed by nature than a joy in their existence, and it was impossible for him to believe that even Celie Armin's beauty had roused the desire for possession among them. His attention turned to the gathering of the storm. The amazing swiftness with which the gray day was turning into the dark gloom of night fascinated him and he almost called to Celie that she might look upon the phenomenon with him. It was piling in from the vast Barrens to the north and east and for a time it was accompanied by a stillness that was oppressive. He could no longer distinguish a movement in the tops of the cedars and banskian pine beyond the corral. In the corral itself he caught now and then the shadowy, flitting movement of the wolves. He did not hear Celie when she came out of her room. So intently was he straining his eyes to penetrate the thickening pall of gloom that he was unconscious of her presence until she stood close at his side. There was something in the awesome darkening of the world that brought them closer in that moment, and without speaking Philip found her hand and held it in his own. They heard then a low whispering sound--a sound that came creeping up out of the end of the world like a living thing; a whisper so vast that, after a little, it seemed to fill the universe, growing louder and louder until it was no longer a whisper but a moaning, shrieking wail. It was appalling as the first blast of it swept over the cabin. No other place in the world is there storm like the storm that sweeps over the Great Barren; no other place in the world where storm is filled with such a moaning, shrieking tumult of VOICE. It was not new to Philip. He had heard it when it seemed to him that ten thousand little children were crying under the rolling and twisting onrush of the clouds; he had heard it when it seemed to him the darkness was filled with an army of laughing, shrieking madmen--storm out of which rose piercing human shrieks and the sobbing grief of women's voices. It had driven people mad. Through the long dark night of winter, when for five months they caught no glimpse of the sun, even the little brown Eskimos went keskwao and destroyed themselves because of the madness that was in that storm. And now it swept over the cabin, and in Celie's throat there rose a little sob. So swiftly had darkness gathered that Philip could no longer see her, except where her face made a pale shadow in the gloom, but he could feel the tremble of her body against him. Was it only this morning that he had first seen her, he asked himself? Was it not a long, long time ago, and had she not in that time become, flesh and soul, a part of him? He put out his arms. Warm and trembling and unresisting in that thick gloom she lay within them. His soul rose in a wild ecstasy and rode on the wings of the storm. Closer he held her against his breast, and he said: "Nothing can hurt you, dear. Nothing--nothing--" It was a simple and meaningless thing to say--that, and only that. And yet he repeated it over and over again, holding her closer and closer until her heart was throbbing against his own. "Nothing can hurt you. Nothing--nothing--" He bent his head. Her face was turned up to him, and suddenly he was thrilled by the warm sweet touch of her lips. He kissed her. She did not strain away from him. He felt--in that darkness--the wild fire in her face. "Nothing can hurt you, nothing--nothing--" he cried almost sobbingly in his happiness. Suddenly there came a blast of the storm that rocked the cabin like the butt of a battering-ram, and in that same moment there came from just outside the window a shrieking cry such as Philip had never heard in all his life before. And following the cry there rose above the tumult of the storm the howling of Bram Johnson's wolves. CHAPTER XV For a space Philip thought that the cry must have come from Bram Johnson himself--that the wolf-man had returned in the pit of the storm. Against his breast Celie had apparently ceased to breathe. Both listened for a repetition of the sound, or for a signal at the barred door. It was strange that in that moment the wind should die down until they could hear the throbbing of their own hearts. Celie's was pounding like a little hammer, and all at once he pressed his face down against hers and laughed with sudden and joyous understanding. "It was only the wind, dear," he said. "I never heard anything like it before--never! It even fooled the wolves. Bless your dear little heart how it frightened you! And it was enough, too. Shall we light some of Bram's candles?" He held her hand as he groped his way to where he had seen Bram's supply of bear-dips. She held two of the candles while he lighted them and their yellow flare illumined her face while his own was still in shadow. What he saw in its soft glow and the shine of her eyes made him almost take her in his arms again, candles and all. And then she turned with them and went to the table. He continued to light candles until the sputtering glow of half a dozen of them filled the room. It was a wretched wastefulness, but it was also a moment in which he felt himself fighting to get hold of himself properly. And he felt also the desire to be prodigal about something. When he had lighted his sixth candle, and then faced Celie, she was standing near the table looking at him so quietly and so calmly and with such a wonderful faith in her eyes that he thanked God devoutly he had kissed her only once--just that once! It was a thrilling thought to know that SHE knew he loved her. There was no doubt of it now. And the thought of what he might have done in that darkness and in the moment of her helplessness sickened him. He could look her straight in the eyes now--unashamed and glad. And she was unashamed, even if a little flushed at what had happened. The same thought was in their minds--and he knew that she was not sorry. Her eyes and the quivering tremble of a smile on her lips told him that. She had braided her hair in that interval when she had gone to her room, and the braid had fallen over her breast and lay there shimmering softly in the candle-glow. He wanted to take her in his arms again. He wanted to kiss her on the mouth and eyes. But instead of that he took the silken braid gently in his two hands and crushed it against his lips. "I love you," he cried softly. "I love you." He stood for a moment or two with his head bowed, the thrill of her hair against his face. It was as if he was receiving some kind of a wonderful benediction. And then in a voice that trembled a little she spoke to him. Before he could see fully what was in her eyes she turned suddenly to the wall, took down his coat, and hung it over the window. When he saw her face again it was gloriously flushed. She pointed to the candles. "No danger of that," he said, comprehending her. "They won't throw any javelins in this storm. Listen!" It was the wolves again. In a moment their cry was drowned in a crash of the storm that smote the cabin like a huge hand. Again it was wailing over them in a wild orgy of almost human tumult. He could see its swift effect on Celie in spite of her splendid courage. It was not like the surge of mere wind or the roll of thunder. Again he was inspired by thought of his pocket atlas, and opened it at the large insert map of Canada. "I'll show you why the wind does that," he explained to her, drawing her to the table and spreading out the map. "See, here is the cabin." He made a little black dot with her pencil, and turning to the four walls of Bram's stronghold made her understand what it meant. "And there's the big Barren," he went on, tracing it out with the pencil-point. "Up here, you see, is the Arctic Ocean, and away over there the Roes Welcome and Hudson's Bay. That's where the storm starts, and when it gets out on the Barren, without a tree or a rock to break its way for five hundred miles--" He told of the twisting air-currents there and how the storm-clouds sometimes swept so low that they almost smothered one. For a few moments he did not look at Celie or he would have seen something in her face which could not have been because of what he was telling her, and which she could at best only partly understand. She had fixed her eyes on the little black dot. THAT was the cabin. For the first time the map told her where she was, and possibly how she had arrived there. Straight down to that dot from the blue space of the ocean far to the north the map-makers had trailed the course of the Coppermine River. Celie gave an excited little cry and caught Philip's arm, stopping him short in his explanation of the human wailings in the storm. Then she placed a forefinger on the river. "There--there it is!" she told him, as plainly as though her voice was speaking to him in his own language. "We came down that river. The Skunnert landed us THERE," and she pointed to the mouth of the Coppermine where it emptied into Coronation Gulf. "And then we came down, down, down--" He repeated the name of the river. "THE COPPERMINE." She nodded, her breath breaking a little in an increasing excitement. She seized the pencil and two-thirds of the distance down the Coppermine made a cross. It was wonderful, he thought, how easily she made him understand. In a low, eager voice she was telling him that where she had put the cross the treacherous Kogmollocks had first attacked them. She described with the pencil their flight away from the river, and after that their return--and a second fight. It was then Bram Johnson had come into the scene. And back there, at the point from which the wolf-man had fled with her, was her FATHER. That was the chief thing she was striving to drive home in his comprehension of the situation. Her FATHER! And she believed he was alive, for it was an excitement instead of hopelessness or grief that possessed her as she talked to him. It gave him a sort of shock. He wanted to tell her, with his arms about her, that it was impossible, and that it was his duty to make her realize the truth. Her father was dead now, even if she had last seen him alive. The little brown men had got him, and had undoubtedly hacked him into small pieces, as was their custom when inspired by war-madness. It was inconceivable to think of him as still being alive even if there had been armed friends with him. There was Olaf Anderson and his five men, for instance. Fighters every one of them. And now they were dead. What chance could this other man have? Her joy when she saw that he understood her added to the uncertainty which was beginning to grip him in spite of all that the day had meant for him. Her faith in him, since that thrilling moment in the darkness, was more than ever like that of a child. She was unafraid of Bram now. She was unafraid of the wolves and the storm and the mysterious pursuers from out of the north. Into his keeping she had placed herself utterly, and while this knowledge filled him with a great happiness he was now disturbed by the fact that, if they escaped from the cabin and the Eskimos, she believed he would return with her down the Coppermine in an effort to find her father. He had already made the plans for their escape and they were sufficiently hazardous. Their one chance was to strike south across the thin arm of the Barren for Pierre Breault's cabin. To go in the opposite direction--farther north without dogs or sledge--would be deliberate suicide. Several times during the afternoon he tried to bring himself to the point of urging on her the naked truth--that her father was dead. There was no doubt of that--not the slightest. But each time he fell a little short. Her confidence in the belief that her father was alive, and that he was where she had marked the cross on the map, puzzled him. Was it conceivable, he asked himself, that the Eskimos had some reason for NOT killing Paul Armin, and that Celie was aware of the fact? If so he failed to discover it. Again and again he made Celie understand that he wanted to know why the Eskimos wanted HER, and each time she answered him with a hopeless little gesture, signifying that she did not know. He did learn that there were two other white men with Paul Armin. Only by looking at his watch did he know when the night closed in. It was seven o'clock when he led Celie to her room and urged her to go to bed. An hour later, listening at her door, he believed that she was asleep. He had waited for that, and quietly he prepared for the hazardous undertaking he had set for himself. He put on his cap and coat and seized the club he had taken from Bram's bed. Then very cautiously he opened the outer door. A moment later he stood outside, the door closed behind him, with the storm pounding in his face. Fifty yards away he could not have heard the shout of a man. And yet he listened, gripping his club hard, every nerve in his body strained to a snapping tension. Somewhere within that small circle of the corral were Bram Johnson's wolves, and as he hesitated with his back to the door he prayed that there would come no lull in the storm during the next few minutes. It was possible that he might evade them with the crash and thunder of the gale about him. They could not see him, or hear him, or even smell him in that tumult of wind unless on his way to the gate he ran into them. In that moment he would have given a year of life to have known where they were. Still listening, still fighting to hear some sound of them in the shriek of the storm, he took his first step out into the pit of darkness. He did not run, but went as cautiously as though the night was a dead calm, the club half poised in his hands. He had measured the distance and the direction of the gate and when at last he touched the saplings of the stockade he knew that he could not be far off in his reckoning. Ten paces to the right he found the gate and his heart gave a sudden jump of relief. Half a minute more and it was open. He propped it securely against the beat of the storm with the club he had taken from Bram Johnson's bed. Then he turned back to the cabin, with the little revolver clutched in his hand, and his face was strained and haggard when he found the door and returned again into the glow of the candle-light. In the center of the room, her face as white as his own, stood Celie. A great fear must have gripped her, for she stood there in her sleeping gown with her hands clutched at her breast, her eyes staring at him in speechless questioning. He explained by opening the door a bit and pantomiming to the gate outside the cabin. "The wolves will be gone in the morning," he said, a ring of triumph in his voice. "I have opened the gate. There is nothing in our way now." She understood. Her eyes were a glory to look into then. Her fingers unclenched at her breast, she gave a short, quick breath and a little cry--and her arms almost reached out to him. He was afraid of himself as he went to her and led her again to the door of her room. And there for a moment they paused, and she looked up into his face. Her hand crept from his and went softly to his shoulder. She said something to him, almost in a whisper, and he could no longer fight against the pride and the joy and the faith he saw in her eyes. He bent down, slowly so that she might draw away from him if she desired, and kissed her upturned lips. And then, with a strange little cry that was like the soft note of a bird, she turned from him and disappeared into the darkness of her room. A great deal of that night's storm passed over his head unheard after that. It was late when he went to bed. He crowded Bram's long box-stove with wood before he extinguished the last candle. And for an hour after that he lay awake, thinking of Celie and of the great happiness that had come into his life all in one day. During that hour he made the plans of a lifetime. Then he, too, fell into sleep--a restless, uneasy slumber filled with many visions. For a time there had come a lull in the gale, but now it broke over the cabin in increased fury. A hand seemed slapping at the window, threatening to break it, and a volley of wind and snow shot suddenly down the chimney, forcing open the stove door, so that a shaft of ruddy light cut like a red knife through the dense gloom of the cabin. In varying ways the sounds played a part in Philip's dreams. In all those dreams, and segments of dreams, the girl was present. It was strange that in all of them she should be his wife. And it was strange that the big woods and the deep snows played no part in them. He was back home. And Celie was with him. Once they went for wildflowers and were caught in a thunderstorm, and ran to an old and disused barn in the center of a field for shelter. He could feel Celie trembling against him, and he was stroking her hair as the thunder crashed over them and the lightning filled her eyes with fear. After that there came to him a vision of early autumn nights when they went corn-roasting, with other young people. He had always been afflicted with a slight nasal trouble, and smoke irritated him. It set him sneezing, and kept him dodging about the fire, and Celie was laughing as the smoke persisted in following him about, like a young scamp of a boy bent on tormenting him. The smoke was unusually persistent on this particular night, until at last the laughter went out of the girl's face, and she ran into his arms and covered his eyes with her soft hands. Restlessly he tossed in his bunk, and buried his face in the blanket that answered for a pillow. The smoke reached him; even there, and he sneezed chokingly. In that instant Celie's face disappeared. He sneezed again--and awoke. In that moment his dazed senses adjusted themselves. The cabin was full of smoke. It partly blinded him, but through it he could see tongues of fire shooting toward the ceiling. He heard then the crackling of burning pitch--a dull and consuming roar, and with a stifled cry he leaped from his bunk and stood on his feet. Dazed by the smoke and flame, he saw that there was not the hundredth part of a second to lose. Shouting Celie's name he ran to her door, where the fire was already beginning to shut him out. His first cry had awakened her and she was facing the lurid glow of the flame as he rushed in. Almost before she could comprehend what was happening he had wrapped one of the heavy bear skins about her and had swept her into his arms. With her face crushed against his breast he lowered his head and dashed back into the fiery holocaust of the outer room. The cabin, with its pitch-filled logs, was like a box made of tinder, and a score of men could not have beat out the fire that was raging now. The wind beating from the west had kept it from reaching the door opening into the corral, but the pitch was hissing and smoking at the threshold as Philip plunged through the blinding pall and fumbled for the latch. Not ten seconds too soon did he stagger with his burden out into the night. As the wind drove in through the open door the flames seemed to burst in a sudden explosion and the cabin was a seething snarl of flame. It burst through the window and out of the chimney and Philip's path to the open gate was illumined by a fiery glow. Not until he had passed beyond the stockade to the edge of the forest did he stop and look back. Over their heads the wind wailed and moaned in the spruce tops, but even above that sound came the roar of the fire. Against his breast Philip heard a sobbing cry, and suddenly he held the girl closer, and crushed his face down against hers, fighting to keep back the horror that was gripping at his heart. Even as he felt her arms creeping up out of the bearskin and clinging about his neck he felt upon him like a weight of lead the hopelessness of a despair as black as the night itself. The cabin was now a pillar of flame, and in it was everything that had made life possible for them. Food, shelter, clothing--all were gone. In this moment he did not think of himself, but of the girl he held in his arms, and he strained her closer and kissed her lips and her eyes and her tumbled hair there in the storm-swept darkness, telling her what he knew was now a lie--that she was safe, that nothing could harm her. Against him he felt the tremble and throb of her soft body, and it was this that filled him with the horror of the thing--the terror of the thought that her one garment was a bearskin. He had felt, a moment before, the chill touch of a naked little foot. And yet he kept saying, with his face against hers: "It's all right, little sweetheart. We'll come out all right--we sure will!" CHAPTER XVI His first impulse, after those few appalling seconds following their escape from the fire, was to save something from the cabin. Still talking to Celie he dropped on his knees and tucked her up warmly in the bearskin, with her back to a tree. He thanked God that it was a big skin and that it enveloped her completely. Leaving her there he ran back through the gate. He no longer feared the wolves. If they had not already escaped into the forest he knew they would not attack him in that hot glare of the one thing above all others they feared--fire. For a space thought of the Eskimos, and the probability of the fire bringing them from wherever they had sought shelter from the storm, was secondary to the alarming necessity which faced him. Because of his restlessness and his desire to be ready for any emergency he had not undressed when he threw himself on his bunk that night, but he was without a coat or cap. And Celie! He cried out aloud in his anguish when he stopped just outside the deadline of the furnace of flame that was once the cabin, and standing there with clenched hands he cursed himself for the carelessness that had brought her face to face with a peril deadlier than the menace of the Eskimos or Bram Johnson's wolves. He alone was responsible. His indiscretion in overfilling the stove had caused the fire, and in that other moment--when he might have snatched up more than the bearskin--his mind had failed to act. In the short space he stood there helplessly in the red heat of the fire the desperateness of the situation seared itself like the hot flame itself in his brain. As prisoners in Bram's cabin, guarded by the wolves and attacked by the Eskimos, they still had shelter, food, clothing--a chance to live, at least the chance to fight. And now-- He put a hand to his bare head and faced the direction of the storm. With the dying away of the wind snow had begun to fall, and with this snow he knew there would come a rising temperature. It was probably twenty degrees below zero, and unless the wind went down completely his ears would freeze in an hour or two. Then he thought of the thick German socks he wore. One of them would do for a cap. His mind worked swiftly after that. There was, after all, a tremendous thrill in the thought of fighting the odds against him, and in the thought of the girl waiting for him in the bearskin, her life depending upon him utterly now. Without him she could not move from the tree where he had left her unless her naked feet buried themselves in the snow. If something happened to him--she would die. Her helplessness filled him suddenly with a wild exultation, the joy of absolute possession that leapt for an instant or two above his fears. She was something more--now--than the woman he loved. She was a little child, to be carried in his arms, to be sheltered from the wind and the cold until the last drop of blood had ceased to flow in his veins. His was the mighty privilege now to mother her until the end came for them both--or some miracle saved them. The last barrier was gone from between them. That he had met her only yesterday was an unimportant incident now. The world had changed, life had changed, a long time had passed. She belonged to him as utterly as the stars belonged to the skies. In his arms she would find life--or death. He was braced for the fight. His mind, riding over its first fears, began to shape itself for action even as he turned back toward the edge of the forest. Until then he had not thought of the other cabin--the cabin which Bram and he had passed on their way in from the Barren. His heart rose up suddenly in his throat and he wanted to shout. That cabin was their salvation! It was not more than eight or ten miles away, and he was positive that he could find it. He ran swiftly through the increasing circle of light made by the burning logs. If the Eskimos had not gone far some one of them would surely see the red glow of the fire, and discovery now meant death. In the edge of the trees, where the shadows were deep, he paused and looked back. His hand fumbled where the left-pocket of his coat would have been, and as he listened to the crackling of the flames and stared into the heart of the red glow there smote him with sudden and sickening force a realization of their deadliest peril. In that twisting inferno of burning pitch was his coat, and in the left-hand pocket of that coat WERE HIS MATCHES! Fire! Out there in the open a seething, twisting mass of it, taunting him with its power, mocking him as pitiless as the mirage mocks a thirst-crazed creature of the desert. In an hour or two it would be gone. He might keep up its embers for a time--until the Eskimos, or starvation, or still greater storm put an end to it. The effort, in any event, would be futile in the end. Their one chance lay in finding the other cabin, and reaching it quickly. When it came to the point of absolute necessity he could at least try to make fire as he had seen an Indian make it once, though at the time he had regarded the achievement as a miracle born of unnumbered generations of practice. He heard the glad note of welcome in Celie's throat when he returned to her. She spoke his name. It seemed to him that there was no note of fear in her voice, but just gladness that he had come back to her in that pit of darkness. He bent down and tucked her snugly in the big bear-skin before he took her up in his arms again. He held her so that her face was snuggled close against his neck, and he kissed her soft mouth again, and whispered to her as he began picking his way through the forest. His voice, whispering, made her understand that they must make no sound. She was tightly imprisoned in the skin, but all at once he felt one of her hands work its way out of the warmth of it and lay against his cheek. It did not move away from his face. Out of her soul and body there passed through that contact of her hand the confession that made him equal to fighting the world. For many minutes after that neither of them spoke. The moan of the wind was growing less and less in the treetops, and once Philip saw a pale break where the clouds had split asunder in the sky. The storm was at an end--and it was almost dawn. In a quarter of an hour the shot like snow of the blizzard had changed to big soft flakes that dropped straight out of the clouds in a white deluge. By the time day came their trail would be completely hidden from the eyes of the Eskimos. Because of that Philip traveled as swiftly as the darkness and the roughness of the forest would allow him. As nearly as he could judge he kept due east. For a considerable time he did not feel the weight of the precious burden in his arms. He believed that they were at least half a mile from the burned cabin before he paused to rest. Even then he spoke to Celie in a low voice. He had stopped where the trunk of a fallen tree lay as high as his waist, and on this he seated the girl, holding her there in the crook of his arm. With his other hand he fumbled to see if the bearskin protected her fully, and in the investigation his hand came in contact again with one of her bare feet. Celie gave a little jump. Then she laughed, and he made sure that the foot was snug and warm before he went on. Twice in the nest half mile he stopped. The third time, a full mile from the cabin, was in a dense growth of spruce through the tops of which snow and wind did not penetrate. Here he made a nest of spruce-boughs for Celie, and they waited for the day. In the black interval that precedes Arctic dawn they listened for sounds that might come to them. Just once came the wailing howl of one of Bram's wolves, and twice Philip fancied that he heard the distant cry of a human voice. The second time Celie's fingers tightened about his own to tell him that she, too, had heard. A little later, leaving Celie alone, Philip went back to the edge of the spruce thicket and examined closely their trail where it had crossed a bit of open. It was not half an hour old, yet the deluge of snow had almost obliterated the signs of their passing. His one hope was that the snowfall would continue for another hour. By that time there would not be a visible track of man or beast, except in the heart of the thickets. But he knew that he was not dealing with white men or Indians now. The Eskimos were night-trackers and night-hunters. For five months out of every twelve their existence depended upon their ability to stalk and kill in darkness. If they had returned to the burning cabin it was possible, even probable, that they were close on their heels now. For a second time he found himself a stout club. He waited, listening, and straining his eyes to penetrate the thick gloom; and then, as his own heart-beats came to him audibly, he felt creeping over him a slow and irresistible foreboding--a premonition of something impending, of a great danger close at hand. His muscles grew tense, and he clutched the club, ready for action. CHAPTER XVII It seemed to Philip, as he stood with the club ready in his hand, that the world had ceased to breathe in its anticipation of the thing for which he was waiting--and listening. The wind had dropped dead. There was not a rustle in the tree-tops, not a sound to break the stillness. The silence, so close after storm, was an Arctic phenomenon which did not astonish him, and yet the effect of it was almost painfully gripping. Minor sounds began to impress themselves on his senses--the soft murmur of the falling snow, his own breath, the pounding of his heart. He tried to throw off the strange feeling that oppressed him, but it was impossible. Out there in the darkness he would have sworn that there were eyes and ears strained as his own were strained. And the darkness was lifting. Shadows began to disentangle themselves from the gray chaos. Trees and bushes took form, and over his head the last heavy windrows of clouds shouldered their way out of the sky. Still, as the twilight of dawn took the place of night, he did not move, except to draw himself a little closer into the shelter of the scrub spruce behind which he had hidden himself. He wondered if Celie would be frightened at his absence. But he could not compel himself to go on--or back. SOMETHING WAS COMING! He was as positive of it as he was of the fact that night was giving place to day. Yet he could see nothing--hear nothing. It was light enough now for him to see movement fifty yards away, and he kept his eyes fastened on the little open across which their trail had come. If Olaf Anderson the Swede had been there he might have told him of another night like this, and another vigil. For Olaf had learned that the Eskimos, like the wolves, trail two by two and four by four, and that--again like the wolves--they pursue not ON the trail but with the trail between them. But it was the trail that Philip watched; and as he kept his vigil--that inexplicable mental undercurrent telling him that his enemies were coming--his mind went back sharply to the girl a hundred yards behind him. The acuteness of the situation sent question after question rushing through his mind, even as he gripped his club, For her he was about to fight. For her he was ready to kill, and not afraid to die. He loved her. And yet--she was a mystery. He had held her in his arms, had felt her heart beating against his breast, had kissed her lips and her eyes and her hair, and her response had been to place herself utterly within the shelter of his arms. She had given herself to him and he was possessed of the strength of one about to fight for his own. And with that strength the questions pounded again in his head. Who was she? And for what reason were mysterious enemies coming after her through the gray dawn? In that moment he heard a sound. His heart stood suddenly still. He held his breath. It was a sound almost indistinguishable from the whisper of the air and the trees and yet it smote upon his senses like the detonation of a thunder-clap. It was more of a PRESENCE than a sound. The trail was clear. He could see to the far side of the open now, and there was no movement. He turned his head--slowly and without movement of his body, and in that instant a gasp rose to his lips, and died there. Scarcely a dozen paces from him stood a poised and hooded figure, a squat, fire-eyed apparition that looked more like monster than man in that first glance. Something acted within him that was swifter than reason--a sub-conscious instinct that works for self-preservation like the flash of powder in a pan. It was this sub-conscious self that received the first photographic impression--the strange poise of the hooded creature, the uplifted arm, the cold, streaky gleam of something in the dawn-light, and in response to that impression Philip's physical self crumpled down in the snow as a javelin hissed through the space where his head and shoulders had been. So infinitesimal was the space of time between the throwing of the javelin and Philip's movement that the Eskimo believed he had transfixed his victim. A scream of triumph rose in his throat. It was the Kogmollock sakootwow--the blood-cry, a single shriek that split the air for a mile. It died in another sort of cry. From where he had dropped Philip was up like a shot. His club swung through the air and before the amazed hooded creature could dart either to one side or the other it had fallen with crushing force. That one blow must have smashed his shoulder to a pulp. As the body lurched downward another blow caught the hooded head squarely and the beginning of a second cry ended in a sickening grunt. The force of the blow carried Philip half off his feet, and before he could recover himself two other figures had rushed upon him from out of the gloom. Their cries as they came at him were like the cries of beasts. Philip had no time to use his club. From his unbalanced position he flung himself upward and at the nearest of his enemies, saving himself from the upraised javelin by clinching. His fist shot out and caught the Eskimo squarely in the mouth. He struck again--and the javelin dropped from the Kogmollock's hand. In that moment, every vein in his body pounding with the rage and excitement of battle, Philip let out a yell. The end of it was stifled by a pair of furry arms. His head snapped back--and he was down. A thrill of horror shot through him. It was the one unconquerable fighting trick of the Eskimos--that neck hold. Caught from behind there was no escape from it. It was the age-old sasaki-wechikun, or sacrifice-hold, an inheritance that came down from father to son--the Arctic jiu-jitsu by which one Kogmollock holds the victim helpless while a second cuts out his heart. Flat on his back, with his head and shoulders bent under him, Philip lay still for a single instant. He heard the shrill command of the Eskimo over him--an exhortation for the other to hurry up with the knife. And then, even as he heard a grunting reply, his hand came in contact with the pocket which held Celie's little revolver. He drew it quickly, cocked it under his back, and twisting his arm until the elbow-joint cracked, he fired. It was a chance shot. The powder-flash burned the murderous, thick-lipped face in the sealskin hood. There was no cry, no sound that Philip heard. But the arms relaxed about his neck. He rolled over and sprang to his feet. Three or four paces from him was the Eskimo he had struck, crawling toward him on his hands and knees, still dazed by the blows he had received. In the snow Philip saw his club. He picked it up and replaced the revolver in his pocket. A single blow as the groggy Eskimo staggered to his feet and the fight was over. It had taken perhaps three or four minutes--no longer than that. His enemies lay in three dark and motionless heaps in the snow. Fate had played a strong hand with him. Almost by a miracle he had escaped and at least two of the Eskimos were dead. He was still watchful, still guarding against a further attack, and suddenly he whirled to face a figure that brought from him a cry of astonishment and alarm. It was Celie. She was standing ten paces from him, and in the wild terror that had brought her to him she had left the bearskin behind. Her naked feet were buried in the snow. Her arms, partly bared, were reaching out to him in the gray Arctic dawn, and then wildly and moaningly there came to him-- "Philip--Philip--" He sprang to her, a choking cry on his own lips. This, after all, was the last proof--when she had thought that their enemies were killing him SHE HAD COME TO HIM. He was sobbing her name like a boy as he ran back with her in his arms. Almost fiercely he wrapped the bearskin about her again, and then crushed her so closely in his arms that he could hear her gasping faintly for breath. In that wild and glorious moment he listened. A cold and leaden day was breaking over the world and as they listened their hearts throbbing against each other, the same sound came to them both. It was the sakootwow--the savage, shrieking blood-cry of the Kogmollocks, a scream that demanded an answer of the three hooded creatures who, a few minutes before, had attacked Philip in the edge of the open. The cry came from perhaps a mile away. And then, faintly, it was answered far to the west. For a moment Philip pressed his face down to Celie's. In his heart was a prayer, for he knew that the fight had only begun. CHAPTER XVIII That the Eskimos both to the east and the west were more than likely to come their way, converging toward the central cry that was now silent, Philip was sure. In the brief interval in which he had to act he determined to make use of his fallen enemies. This he impressed on Celie's alert mind before he ran back to the scene of the fight. He made no more than a swift observation of the field in these first moments--did not even look for weapons. His thought was entirely of Celie. The smallest of the three forms on the snow was the Kogmollock he had struck down with his club. He dropped on his knees and took off first the sealskin bashlyk, or hood. Then he began stripping the dead man of his other garments. From the fur coat to the caribou-skin moccasins they were comparatively new. With them in his arms he hurried back to the girl. It was not a time for fine distinctions. The clothes were a godsend, though they had come from a dead man's back, and an Eskimo's at that. Celie's eyes shone with joy. It amazed him more than ever to see how unafraid she was in this hour of great danger. She was busy with the clothes almost before his back was turned. He returned to the Eskimos. The three were dead. It made him shudder--one with a tiny bullet hole squarely between the eyes, and the others crushed by the blows of the club. His hand fondled Celie's little revolver--the pea-shooter he had laughed at. After all it had saved his life. And the club-- He did not examine too closely there. From the man he had struck with his naked fist he outfitted himself with a hood and temiak, or coat. In the temiak there were no pockets, but at the waist of each of the dead men a narwhal skin pouch which answered for all pockets. He tossed the three pouches in a little heap on the snow before he searched for weapons. He found two knives and half a dozen of the murderous little javelins. One of the knives was still clutched in the hand of the Eskimo who was creeping up to disembowel him when Celie's revolver saved him. He took this knife because it was longer and sharper than the other. On his knees he began to examine the contents of the three pouches. In each was the inevitable roll of babiche, or caribou-skin cord, and a second and smaller waterproof narwhal bag in which were the Kogmollock fire materials. There was no food. This fact was evident proof that the Eskimos were in camp somewhere in the vicinity. He had finished his investigation of the pouches when, looking up from his kneeling posture, he saw Celie approaching. In spite of the grimness of the situation he could not repress a smile as he rose to greet her. At fifty paces, even with her face toward him, one would easily make the error of mistaking her for an Eskimo, as the sealskin bashlyk was so large that it almost entirely concealed her face except when one was very close to her. Philip's first assistance was to roll back the front of the hood. Then he pulled her thick braid out from under the coat and loosed the shining glory of her hair until it enveloped her in a wonderful shimmering mantle. Their enemies could not mistake her for a man NOW, even at a hundred yards. If they ran into an ambuscade she would at least be saved from the javelins. Celie scarcely realized what he was doing. She was staring at the dead men--silent proof of the deadly menace that had threatened them and of the terrific fight Philip must have made. A strange note rose in her throat, and turning toward him suddenly she flung herself into his arms. Her own arms encircled his neck, and for a space she lay shudderingly against his breast, as if sobbing. How many times he kissed her in those moments Philip could not have told. It must have been a great many. He knew only that her arms were clinging tighter and tighter about his neck, and that she was whispering his name, and that his hands were buried in her soft hair. He forgot time, forgot the possible cost of precious seconds lost. It was a small thing that recalled him to his senses. From out of a spruce top a handful of snow fell on his shoulder. It startled him like the touch of a strange hand, and in another moment he was explaining swiftly to Celie that there were other enemies near and that they must lose no time in flight. He fastened one of the pouches at his waist, picked up his club, and--on second thought--one of the Kogmollock javelins. He had no very definite idea of how he might use the latter weapon, as it was too slender to be of much avail as a spear at close quarters. At a dozen paces he might possibly throw it with some degree of accuracy. In a Kogmollock's hand it was a deadly weapon at a hundred paces. With the determination to be at his side when the next fight came Celie possessed herself of a second javelin. With her hand in his Philip set out then due north through the forest. It was in that direction he knew the cabin must lay. After striking the edge of the timber after crossing the Barren Bram Johnson had turned almost directly south, and as he remembered the last lap of the journey Philip was confident that not more than eight or ten miles had separated the two cabins. He regretted now his carelessness in not watching Brain's trail more closely in that last hour or two. His chief hope of finding the cabin was in the discovery of some landmark at the edge of the Barren. He recalled distinctly where they had turned into the forest, and in less than half an hour after that they had come upon the first cabin. Their immediate necessity was not so much the finding of the cabin as escape from the Eskimos. Within half an hour, perhaps even less, he believed that other eyes would know of the fight at the edge of the open. It was inevitable. If the Kogmollocks on either side of them struck the trail before it reached the open they would very soon run upon the dead, and if they came upon footprints in the snow this side of the open they would back-trail swiftly to learn the source and meaning of the cry of triumph that had not repeated itself. Celie's little feet, clad in moccasins twice too big for her, dragged in the snow in a way that would leave no doubt in the Eskimo mind. As Philip saw the situation there was one chance for them, and only one. They could not escape by means of strategy. They could not hide from their pursuers. Hope depended entirely upon the number of their enemies. If there were only three or four of them left they would not attack in the open. In that event he must watch for ambuscade, and dread the night. He looked down at Celie, buried in her furry coat and hood and plodding along courageously at his side with her hand in his. This was not a time in which to question him, and she was obeying his guidance with the faith of a child. It was tremendous, he thought--the most wonderful moment that had ever entered into his life. It is this dependence, this sublime faith and confidence in him of the woman he loves that gives to a man the strength of a giant in the face of a great crisis and makes him put up a tiger's fight for her. For such a woman a man must win. And then Philip noticed how tightly Celie's other hand was gripping the javelin with which she had armed herself. She was ready to fight, too. The thrill of it all made him laugh, and her eyes shot up to him suddenly, filled with a moment's wonder that he should be laughing now. She must have understood, for the big hood hid her face again almost instantly, and her fingers tightened the smallest bit about his. For a matter of a quarter of an hour they traveled as swiftly as Celie could walk. Philip was confident that the Eskimo whose cries they had heard would strike directly for the point whence the first cry had come, and it was his purpose to cover as much distance as possible in the first few minutes that their enemies might be behind them. It was easier to watch the back trail than to guard against ambuscades ahead. Twice in that time he stopped where they would be unseen and looked back, and in advancing he picked out the thinnest timber and evaded whatever might have afforded a hiding place to a javelin-thrower. They had progressed another half mile when suddenly they came upon a snowshoe trail in the snow. It had crossed at right angles to their own course, and as Philip bent over it a sudden lump rose into his throat. The other Eskimos had not worn snowshoes. That in itself had not surprised him, for the snow was hard and easily traveled in moccasins. The fact that amazed him now was that the trail under his eyes had not been made by Eskimo usamuks. The tracks were long and narrow. The web imprint in the snow was not that of the broad narwhal strip, but the finer mesh of babiche. It was possible that an Eskimo was wearing them, but they were A WHITE MAN'S SHOES! And then he made another discovery. For a dozen paces he followed in the trail, allowing six inches with each step he took as the snowshoe handicap. Even at that he could not easily cover the tracks. The man who had made them had taken a longer snowshoe stride than his own by at least nine inches. He could no longer keep the excitement of his discovery from Celie. "The Eskimo never lived who could make that track," he exclaimed. "They can travel fast enough but they're a bunch of runts when it comes to leg-swing. It's a white man--or Bram!" The announcement of the wolf-man's name and Philip's gesture toward the trail drew a quick little cry of understanding from Celie. In a flash she had darted to the snowshoe tracks and was examining them with eager intensity. Then she looked up and shook her head. It wasn't Bram! She pointed to the tail of the shoe and catching up a twig broke it under Philip's eyes. He remembered now. The end of Bram's shoes was snubbed short off. There was no evidence of that defect in the snow. It was not Bram who had passed that way. For a space he stood undecided. He knew that Celie was watching him--that she was trying to learn something of the tremendous significance of that moment from his face. The same unseen force that had compelled him to wait and watch for his foes a short time before seemed urging him now to follow the strange snowshoe trail. Enemy or friend the maker of those tracks would at least be armed. The thought of what a rifle and a few cartridges would mean to him and Celie now brought a low cry of decision from him. He turned quickly to Celie. "He's going east--and we ought to go north to find the cabin," he told her, pointing to the trail. "But we'll follow him. I want his rifle. I want it more than anything else in this world, now that I've got you. We'll follow--" If there had been a shadow of hesitation in his mind it was ended in that moment. From behind them there came a strange hooting cry. It was not a yell such as they had heard before. It was a booming far-reaching note that had in it the intonation of a drum--a sound that made one shiver because of its very strangeness. And then, from farther west, it came-- "Hoom--Hoom--Ho-o-o-o-o-m-m-m-m--" In the next half minute it seemed to Philip that the cry was answered from half a dozen different quarters. Then again it came from directly behind them. Celie uttered a little gasp as she clung to his hand again. She understood as well as he. One of the Eskimos had discovered the dead and their foes were gathering in behind them. CHAPTER XIX Before the last of the cries had died away Philip flung far to one side of the trail the javelin he carried, and followed it up with Celie's, impressing on her that every ounce of additional weight meant a handicap for them now. After the javelins went his club. "It's going to be the biggest race I've ever run," he smiled at her. "And we've got to win. If we don't--" Celie's eyes were aglow as she looked at him, He was splendidly calm. There was no longer a trace of excitement in his face, and he was smiling at her even as he picked her up suddenly in his arms. The movement was so unexpected that she gave a little gasp. Then she found herself borne swiftly over the trail. For a distance of a hundred yards Philip ran with her before he placed her on her feet again. In no better way could he have impressed on her that they were partners in a race against death and that every energy must be expended in that race. Scarcely had her feet touched the snow than she was running at his side, her hand clasped in his. Barely a second was lost. With the swift directness of the trained man-hunter Philip had measured his chances of winning. The Eskimos, first of all, would gather about their dead. After one or two formalities they would join in a chattering council, all of which meant precious time for them. The pursuit would be more or less cautious because of the bullet hole in the Kogmollock's forehead. If it had been possible for Celie to ask him just what he expected to gain by following the strange snowshoe trail he would have had difficulty in answering. It was, like his single shot with Celie's little revolver, a chance gamble against big odds. A number of possibilities had suggested themselves to him. It even occurred to him that the man who was hurrying toward the east might be a member of the Royal Northwest Mounted Police. Of one thing, however, he was confident. The maker of the tracks would not be armed with javelins. He would have a rifle. Friend or foe, he was after that rifle. The trick was to catch sight of him at the earliest possible moment. How much of a lead the stranger had was a matter at which he could guess with considerable accuracy. The freshness of the trail was only slightly dimmed by snow, which was ample proof that it had been made at the very tail-end of the storm. He believed that it was not more than an hour old. For a good two hundred yards Philip set a dog-trot pace for Celie, who ran courageously at his side. At the end of that distance he stopped. Celie was panting for breath. Her hood had slipped back and her face was flushed like a wildflower by her exertion. Her eyes shone like stars, and her lips were parted a little. She was temptingly lovely, but again Philip lost not a second of unnecessary time. He picked her up in his arms again and continued the race. By using every ounce of his own strength and endurance in this way he figured that their progress would be at least a third faster than the Eskimos would follow. The important question was how long he could keep up the pace. Against his breast Celie was beginning to understand his scheme as plainly as if he had explained it to her in words. At the end of the fourth hundred yards she let him know that she was ready to run another lap. He carried her on fifty yards more before he placed her on her feet. In this way they had gone three-quarters of a mile when the trail turned abruptly from its easterly course to a point of the compass due north. So sharp was the turn that Philip paused to investigate the sudden change in direction. The stranger had evidently stood for several minutes at this point, which was close to the blasted stub of a dead spruce. In the snow Philip observed for the first time a number of dark brown spots. "Here is where he took a new bearing--and a chew of tobacco," said Philip, more to himself than to Celie. "And there's no snow in his tracks. By George, I don't believe he's got more than half an hour's start of us this minute!" It was his turn to carry Celie again, and in spite of her protest that she was still good for another run he resumed their pursuit of the stranger with her in his arms. By her quick breathing and the bit of tenseness that had gathered about her mouth he knew that the exertion she had already been put to was having its effect on her. For her little feet and slender body the big moccasins and cumbersome fur garments she wore were a burden in themselves, even at a walk. He found that by holding her higher in his arms, with her own arms encircling his shoulders, it was easier to run with her at the pace he had set for himself. And when he held her in this way her hair covered his breast and shoulders so that now and then his face was smothered in the velvety sweetness of it. The caress of it and the thrill of her arms about him spurred him on. Once he made three hundred yards. But he was gulping for breath when he stopped. That time Celie compelled him to let her run a little farther, and when they paused she was swaying on her feet, and panting. He carried her only a hundred and fifty yards in the interval after that. Both realized what it meant. The pace was telling on them. The strain of it was in Celie's eyes. The flower-like flush of her first exertion was gone from her face. It was pale and a little haggard, and in Philip's face she saw the beginning of the things which she did not realize was betraying itself so plainly in her own. She put her hands up to his cheeks, and smiled. It was tremendous--that moment;--her courage, her splendid pride in him, her manner of telling him that she was not afraid as her little hands lay against his face. For the first time he gave way to his desire to hold her close to him, and kiss the sweet mouth she held up to his as her head nestled on his breast. After a moment or two he looked at his watch. Since striking the strange trail they had traveled forty minutes. In that tine they had covered at least three miles, and were a good four miles from the scene of the fight. It was a big start. The Eskimos were undoubtedly a half that distance behind them, and the stranger whom they were following could not be far ahead. They went on at a walk. For the third time they came to a point in the trail where the stranger had stopped to make observations. It was apparent to Philip that the man he was after was not quite sure of himself. Yet he did not hesitate in the course due north. For half an hour they continued in that direction. Not for an instant now did Philip allow; his caution to lag. Eyes and ears were alert for sound or movement either behind or ahead of them, and more and more frequently he turned to scan the back trail. They were at least five miles from the edge of the open where the fight had occurred when they came to the foot of a ridge, and Philip's heart gave a sudden thump of hope. He remembered that ridge. It was a curiously formed "hog-back"--like a great windrow of snow piled up and frozen. Probably it was miles in length. Somewhere he and Bram had crossed it soon after passing the first cabin. He had not tried to tell Celie of this cabin. Time had been too precious. But now, in the short interval of rest he allowed themselves, he drew a picture of it in the snow and made her understand that it was somewhere close to the ridge and that it looked as though the stranger was making for it. He half carried Celie up the ridge after that. She could not hide from him that her feet were dragging even at a walk. Exhaustion showed in her face, and once when she tried to speak to him her voice broke in a little gasping sob. On the far side of the ridge he took her in his arms and carried her again. "It can't be much farther," he encouraged her. "We've got to overtake him pretty soon, dear. Mighty soon." Her hand pressed gently against his cheek, and he swallowed a thickness that in spite of his effort gathered in his throat. During that last half hour a different look had come into her eyes. It was there now as she lay limply with her head on his breast--a look of unutterable tenderness, and of something else. It was that which brought the thickness into his throat. It was not fear. It was the soft glow of a great love--and of understanding. She knew that even he was almost at the end of his fight. His endurance was giving out. One of two things must happen very soon. She continued to stroke his cheek gently until he placed her on her feet again, and then she held one of his hands close to her breast as they looked behind them, and listened. He could feel the soft throbbing of her heart. If he needed greater courage then it was given to him. They went on. And then, so suddenly that it brought a stifled cry from the girl's lips, they came upon the cabin. It was not a hundred yards from them when they first saw it. It was no longer abandoned. A thin spiral of smoke was rising from the chimney. There was no sign of life other than that. For half a minute Philip stared at it. Here, at last, was the final hope. Life or death, all that the world might hold for him and the girl at his side, was in that cabin. Gently he drew her so that she would be unseen. And then, still looking at the cabin, he drew off his coat and dropped it in the snow. It was the preparation of a man about to fight. The look of it was in his face and the stiffening of his muscles, and when he turned to his little companion she was as white as the snow under her feet. "We're in time," he breathed. "You--you stay here." She understood. Her hands clutched at him as he left her. A gulp rose in her throat. She wanted to call out. She wanted to hold him back--or go with him. Yet she obeyed. She stood with a heart that choked her and watched him go. For she knew, after all, that it was the thing to do. Sobbingly she breathed his name. It was a prayer. For she knew what would happen in the cabin. CHAPTER XX Philip came up behind the windowless end of the cabin. He noticed in passing with Bram that on the opposite side was a trap-window of saplings, and toward this he moved swiftly but with caution. It was still closed when he came where he could see. But with his ear close to the chinks he heard a sound--the movement of some one inside. For an instant he looked over his shoulder. Celia was standing where he had left her. He could almost feel the terrible suspense that was in her eyes as she watched him. He moved around toward the door. There was in him an intense desire to have it over with quickly. His pulse quickened as the thought grew in him that the maker of the strange snowshoe trail might be a friend after all. But how was he to discover that fact? He had decided to take no chances in the matter. Ten seconds of misplaced faith in the stranger might prove fatal. Once he held a gun in his hands he would be in a position to wait for introductions and explanations. But until then, with their Eskimo enemies close at their heels-- His mind did not finish that final argument. The end of it smashed upon him in another way. The door came within his vision. As it swung inward he could not at first see whether it was open or closed. Leaning against the logs close to the door was a pair of long snowshoes and a bundle of javelins. A sickening disappointment swept over him as he stared at the javelins. A giant Eskimo and not a white man had made the trail they had followed. Their race against time had brought them straight to the rendezvous of their foes--and there would be no guns. In that moment when all the hopes he had built up seemed slipping away from under him he could see no other possible significance in the presence of the javelins. Then, for an instant, he held his breath and sniffed the air like a dog getting the wind. The cabin door was open. And out through that door came the mingling aroma of coffee and tobacco! An Eskimo might have tobacco, or even tea. But coffee--never! Every drop of blood in his body pounded like tiny beating fists as he crossed silently and swiftly the short space between the corner of the cabin and the open door. For perhaps half a dozen seconds he closed his eyes to give his snow-strained vision an even chance with the man in the cabin. Then he looked in. It was a small cabin. It was possibly not more than ten feet square inside, and at the far end of it was a fireplace from which rose the chimney through the roof. At first Philip saw nothing except the dim outlines of things. It was a moment or two before he made out the figure of a man stooping over the fire. He stepped over the threshold, making no sound. The occupant of the cabin straightened himself slowly, lifting with, extreme care a pot of coffee from the embers. A glance at his broad back and his giant stature told Philip that he was not an Eskimo. He turned. Even then for an infinitesimal space he did not see Philip as he stood fronting the door with the light in his face. It was a white man's face--a face almost hidden in a thick growth of beard and a tangle of hair that fell to the shoulders. Another instant and he had seen the intruder and stood like one turned suddenly into stone. Philip had leveled Celie's little revolver. "I am Philip Raine of His Majesty's service, the Royal Mounted," he said. "Throw, up your hands!" The moment's tableau was one of rigid amazement on one side, of waiting tenseness on the other. Philip believed that the shadow of his body concealed the size of the tiny revolver in his hand. Anyway it would be effective at that distance, and he expected to see the mysterious stranger's hands go over his head the moment he recovered from the shock that had apparently gone with the command. What did happen he expected least of all. The arm holding the pot of steaming coffee shot out and the boiling deluge hissed straight at Philip's face. He ducked to escape it, and fired. Before he could throw back the hammer of the little single-action weapon for a second shot the stranger was at him. The force of the attack sent them both crashing back against the wall of the cabin, and in the few moments that followed Philip blessed the providential forethought that had made him throw off his fur coat and strip for action. His antagonist was not an ordinary man. A growl like that of a beast rose in his throat as they went to the floor, and in that death-grip Philip thought of Bram. More than once in watching the wolf-man he had planned how he would pit himself against the giant if it came to a fight, and how he would evade the close arm-to-arm grapple that would mean defeat for him. And this man was Bram's equal in size and strength. He realized with the swift judgment of the trained boxer that open fighting and the evasion of the other's crushing brute strength was his one hope. On his knees he flung himself backward, and struck out. The blow caught his antagonist squarely in the face before he had succeeded in getting a firm clinch, and as he bent backward under the force of the blow Philip exerted every ounce of his strength, broke the other's hold, and sprang to his feet. He felt like uttering a shout of triumph. Never had the thrill of mastery and of confidence surged through him more hotly than it did now. On his feet in open fighting he had the agility of a cat. The stranger was scarcely on his feet before he was at him with a straight shoulder blow that landed on the giant's jaw with crushing force. It would have put an ordinary man down in a limp heap. The other's weight saved him. A second blow sent him reeling against the log wall like a sack of grain. And then in the half-gloom of the cabin Philip missed. He put all his effort in that third blow and as his clenched fist shot over the other's shoulder he was carried off his balance and found himself again in the clutch of his enemy's arms. This time a huge hand found his throat. The other he blocked with his left arm, while with his right he drove in short-arm jabs against neck and jaw. Their ineffectiveness amazed him. His guard-arm was broken upward, and to escape the certain result of two hands gripping at his throat he took a sudden foot-lock on his adversary, flung all his weight forward, and again they went to the floor of the cabin. Neither caught a glimpse of the girl standing wide-eyed and terrified in the door. They rolled almost to her feet. Full in the light she saw the battered, bleeding face of the strange giant, and Philip's fist striking it again and again. Then she saw the giant's two hands, and why he was suffering that punishment. They were at Philip's throat--huge hairy hands stained with his own blood. A cry rose to her lips and the blue in her eyes darkened with the fighting fire of her ancestors. She darted across the room to the fire. In an instant she was back with a stick of wood in her hands. Philip saw her then--her streaming hair and white face above them, and the club fell. The hands at his throat relaxed. He swayed to his feet and with dazed eyes and a weird sort of laugh opened his arms. Celie ran into them. He felt her sobbing and panting against him. Then, looking down, he saw that for the present the man who had made the strange snowshoe trail was as good as dead. The air he was taking into his half strangled lungs cleared his head and he drew away from Celie to begin the search of the room. His eyes were more accustomed to the gloom, and suddenly he gave a cry of exultation. Against the end of the mud and stone fireplace stood a rifle and over the muzzle of this hung a belt and holster. In the holster was a revolver. In his excitement and joy his breath was almost a sob as he snatched it from the holster and broke it in the light of the door. It was a big Colt Forty-five--and loaded to the brim. He showed it to Celie, and thrust her to the door. "Watch!" he cried, sweeping his arm to the open. "Just two minutes more. That's all I want--two minutes--and then--" He was counting the cartridges in the belt as he fastened it about his waist. There were at least forty, two-thirds of them soft-nosed rifle. The caliber was .303 and the gun was a Savage. It was modern up to the minute, and as he threw down the lever enough to let him glimpse inside the breech he caught the glisten of cartridges ready for action. He wanted nothing more. The cabin might have held his weight in gold and he would not have turned toward it. With the rifle in his hands he ran past Celie out into the day. For the moment the excitement pounding in his body had got beyond his power of control. His brain was running riot with the joyous knowledge of the might that lay in his hands now and he felt an overmastering desire to shout his triumph in the face of their enemies. "Come on, you devils! Come on, come on," he cried. And then, powerless to restrain what was in him, he let out a yell. From the door Celie was staring at him. A few moments before her face had been dead white. Now a blaze of color was surging back into her cheeks and lips and her eyes shone with the glory of one who was looking on more than triumph. From her own heart welled up a cry, a revelation of that wonderful thing throbbing in her breast which must have reached Philip's ears had there not in that same instant come another sound to startle them both into listening silence. It was not far distant. And it was unmistakably an answer to Philip's challenge. CHAPTER XXI As they listened the cry came again. This time Philip caught in it a note that he had not detected before. It was not a challenge but the long-drawn ma-too-ee of an Eskimo who answers the inquiring hail of a comrade. "He thinks it is the man in the cabin," exclaimed Philip, turning to survey the fringe of forest through which their trail had come. "If the others don't warn him there's going to be one less Eskimo on earth in less than three minutes!" Another sound had drawn Celie back to the door. "When she looked in the man she had stunned with the club was moving. Her call brought Philip, and placing her in the open door to keep watch he set swiftly to work to make sure of their prisoner. With the babiche thong he had taken from his enemies he bound him hand and foot. A shaft of light fell full on the giant's face and naked chest where it had been laid bare in the struggle and Philip was about to rise when a purplish patch, of tattooing caught his eyes. He made out first the crude picture of a shark with huge gaping jaws struggling under the weight of a ship's anchor, and then, directly under this pigment colored tatu, the almost invisible letters of a name. He made them out one by one--B-l-a-k-e. Before the surname was the letter G. "Blake," he repeated, rising to his feet. "GEORGE Blake--a sailor--and a white man!" Blake, returning to consciousness, mumbled incoherently. In the same instant Celie cried out excitedly at the door. "Oo-ee, Philip--Philip! Se det! Se! Se!" She drew back with, a sudden movement and pointed out the door. Concealing himself as much as possible from outside observation Philip peered forth. Not more than a hundred and fifty yards away a dog team was approaching. There were eight dogs and instantly he recognized them as the small fox-faced Eskimo breed from the coast. They were dragging a heavily laden sledge and behind them came the driver, a furred and hooded figure squat of stature and with a voice that came now in the sharp clacking commands that Philip had heard in the company of Bram Johnson. From the floor came a groan, and for an instant Philip turned to find Blake's bloodshot eyes wide open and staring at him. The giant's bleeding lips were gathered in a snarl and he was straining at the babiche thongs that bound him. In that same moment Philip caught a glimpse of Celie. She, too, was staring--and at Blake. Her lips were parted, her eyes were big with amazement and as she looked she clutched her hands convulsively at her breast and uttered a low, strange cry. For the first time she saw Blake's face with the light full upon it. At the sound of her cry Blake's eyes went to her, and for the space of a second the imprisoned beast on the floor and the girl looking down on him made up a tableau that held Philip spellbound. Between them was recognition--an amazed and stone like horror on the girl's part, a sudden and growing glare of bestial exultation in the eyes of the man. Suddenly there came the Eskimo's voice and the yapping of dogs. It was the first Blake had heard. He swung his head toward the door with a great gasp and the babiche cut like whipcord under the strain of his muscles. Swift as a flash Philip thrust the muzzle of the big Colt against his prisoner's head. "Make a sound and you're a dead man, Blake!" he warned. "We need that team, and if you so much as whisper during the next ten seconds I'll scatter your brains over the floor!" They could hear the cold creak of the sledge-runners now, and a moment later the patter of many feet outside the door. In a single leap Philip was at the door. Another and he was outside, and an amazed Eskimo was looking into the round black eye of his revolver. It required no common language to make him understand what was required of him. He backed into the cabin with the revolver within two feet of his breast. Celie had caught up the rifle and was standing guard over Blake as though fearful that he might snap his bonds. Philip laughed joyously when he saw how quickly she understood that she was to level the rifle at the Kogmollock's breast and hold it there until he had made him a prisoner. She was wonderful. She was panting in her excitement. From the floor Blake had noticed that her little white finger was pressing gently against the trigger of the rifle. It had made him shudder. It made the Eskimo cringe a bit now as Philip tied his hands behind him. And Philip saw it, and his heart thumped. Celie was gloriously careless. It was over inside of two minutes, and with an audible sigh of relief she lowered her rifle. Then she leaned it against the wall and ran to Blake. She was tremendously excited as she pointed down into the bloodstained face and tried to explain to Philip the reason for that strange and thrilling recognition he had seen between them. From her he looked at Blake. The look in the prisoner's face sent a cold shiver through him. There was no fear in it. It was filled with a deep and undisguised exultation. Then Blake looked at Philip, and laughed outright. "Can't understand her, eh?" he chuckled. "Well, neither can I. But I know what she's trying to tell you. Damned funny, ain't it?" It was impossible for him to keep his eyes from shifting to the door. There was expectancy in that glance. Then his glance shot almost fiercely at Philip. "So you're Philip Raine, of the R. N. M. P., eh? Well, you've got me guessed out. My name is Blake, but the G don't stand for George. If you'll cut the cord off'n my legs so I can stand up or sit down I'll tell you something. I can't do very much damage with my hands hitched the way they are, and I can't talk layin' down cause of my Adam's apple chokin' me." Philip seized the rifle and placed it again in Celie's hands, stationing her once more at the door. "Watch--and listen," he said. He cut the thongs that bound his prisoner's ankles and Blake struggled to his feet. When he fronted Philip the big Colt was covering his heart. "Now--talk!" commanded Philip. "I'm going to give you half a minute to begin telling me what I want to know, Blake. You've brought the Eskimos down. There's no doubt of that. What do you want of this girl, and what have you done with her people?" He had never looked into the eyes of a cooler man than Blake, whose blood-stained lips curled in a sneering smile even as he finished. "I ain't built to be frightened," he said, taking his time about it. "I know your little games an' I've throwed a good many bluffs of my own in my time. You're lyin' when you say you'll shoot, an' you know you are. I may talk and I may not. Before I make up my mind I'm going to give you a bit of brotherly advice. Take that team out there and hit across the Barren--ALONE. Understand? ALONE. Leave the girl here. It's your one chance of missing what happened to--" He grinned and shrugged his huge shoulders. "You mean Anderson--Olaf Anderson--and the others up at Bathurst Inlet?" questioned Philip chokingly. Blake nodded. Philip wondered if the other could hear the pounding of his heart. He had discovered in this moment what the Department had been trying to learn for two years. It was this man--Blake--who was the mysterious white leader of the Kogmollocks, and responsible for the growing criminal record of the natives along Coronation Gulf. And he had just confessed himself the murderer of Olaf Anderson! His finger trembled for an instant against the trigger of his revolver. Then, staring into Blake's face, he slowly lowered the weapon until it hung at his side. Blake's eyes gleamed as he saw what he thought was his triumph. "IT'S your one chance," he urged. "And there ain't no time to lose." Philip had judged his man, and now he prayed for the precious minutes in which to play out his game. The Kogmollocks who had taken up their trail could not be far from the cabin now. "Maybe you're right, Blake," he said hesitatingly. "I think, after her experience with Bram Johnson that she is about willing to return to her father. Where is he?" Blake made no effort to disguise his eagerness. In the droop of Philip's shoulder, the laxness of the hand that held the revolver and the change in his voice Blake saw in his captor an apparent desire to get out of the mess he was in. A glimpse of Celie's frightened face turned for an instant from the door gave weight to his conviction. "He's down the Coppermine--about a hundred miles. So, Bram Johnson--" His eyes were a sudden blaze of fire. "Took care of her until your little rats waylaid him on the trail and murdered him," interrupted Philip. "See here, Blake. You be square with me and I'll be square with you. I haven't been able to understand a word of her lingo and I'm curious to know a thing or two before I go. Tell me who she is, and why you haven't killed her father, and what you're going to do with her and I won't waste another minute." Blake leaned forward until Philip felt the heat of his breath. "What do I WANT of her?" he demanded slowly. "Why, if you'd been five years without sight of a white woman, an' then you woke up one morning to meet an angel like HER on the trail two thousand miles up in nowhere what would you want of her? I was stunned, plumb stunned, or I'd had her then. And after that, if it hadn't been for that devil with his wolves--" "Bram ran away with her just as you were about to get her into your hands," supplied Philip, fighting to save time. "She didn't even know that you wanted her, Blake, so far as I can find out. It's all a mystery to her. I don't believe she's guessed the truth even now. How the devil did you do it? Playing the friend stunt, eh! And keeping yourself in the background while your Kogmollocks did the work? Was that it?" Blake nodded. His face was darkening as he looked at Philip and the light in his eyes was changing to a deep and steady glare. In that moment Philip had failed to keep the exultation out of his voice. It shone in his face. And Blake saw it. A throaty sound rose out of his thick chest and his lips parted in a snarl as there surged through him a realization that he had been tricked. In that interval Philip spoke. "If I never sent up a real prayer to God before I'm sending it now, Blake," he said. "I'm thanking Him that you didn't have time to harm Celie Armin, an' I'm thanking Him that Bram Johnson had a soul in his body in spite of his warped brain and his misshapen carcass. And now I'm going to keep my word. I'm not going to lose another minute. Come!" "You--you mean--" "No, you haven't guessed it. We're not going over the Barren. We're going back to that cabin on the Coppermine, and you're going with us. And listen to this, Blake--listen hard! There may be fighting. If there is I want you to sort of harden yourself to the fact that the first shot fired is going straight through your gizzard. Do I make myself clear? I'll shoot you deader than a salt mackerel the instant one of your little murderers shows up on the trail. So tell this owl-faced heathen here to spread the glad tidings when his brothers come in--and spread it good. Quick about it! I'm not bluffing now." CHAPTER XXII In Philip's eyes Blake saw his match now. And more. For three-quarters of a minute he talked swiftly to the Eskimo. Philip knew that he was giving the Kogmollock definite instructions as to the manner in which his rescue must be accomplished. But he knew also that Blake would emphasize the fact that it must not be in open attack, no matter how numerous his followers might be. He hurried Blake through the door to the sledge and team. The sledge was heavily laden with the meat of a fresh caribou kill and from the quantity of flesh he dragged off into the snow Philip surmised that the cabin would very soon be the rendezvous of a small army of Eskimo. There was probably a thousand pounds of it, Retaining only a single quarter of this he made Celie comfortable and turned his attention to Blake. With babiche cord he re-secured his prisoner with the "manacle-hitch," which gave him free play of one hand and arm--his left. Then he secured the Eskimo's whip and gave it to Blake. "Now--drive!" he commanded. "Straight for the Coppermine, and by the shortest cut. This is as much your race as mine now, Blake. The moment I see a sign of anything wrong you're a dead man!" "And you--are a fool!" gritted Blake. "Good God, what a fool!" "Drive--and shut up!" Blake snapped his whip and gave a short, angry command in Eskimo. The dogs sprang from their bellies to their feet and at another command were off over the trail. From the door of the cabin the Eskimo's little eyes shone with a watery eagerness as he watched them go. Celie caught a last glimpse of him as she looked back and her hands gripped more firmly the rifle which lay across her lap. Philip had given her the rifle and it had piled upon her a mighty responsibility. He had meant that she should use it if the emergency called for action, and that she was to especially watch Blake. Her eyes did not leave the outlaw's broad back as he ran on a dozen paces ahead of the dogs. She was ready for him if he tried to escape, and she would surely fire. Running close to her side Philip observed the tight grip of her hands on the weapon, and saw one little thumb pinched up against the safety ready for instant action. He laughed, and for a moment she looked up at him, flushing suddenly when she saw the adoration in his face. "Blake's right--I'm a fool," he cried down at her in a low voice that thrilled with his worship of her. "I'm a fool for risking you, sweetheart. By going the other way I'd have you forever. They wouldn't follow far into the south, if at all. Mebby you don't realize what we're doing by hitting back to that father of yours. Do you?" She smiled. "And mebby when we get there we'll find him dead," he added. "Dead or alive, everything is up to Blake now and you must help me watch him." He pantomimed this caution by pointing to Blake and the rifle. Then he dropped behind. Over the length of sledge and team he was thirty paces from Blake. At that distance he could drop him with a single shot from the Colt. They were following the trail already made by the meat-laden sledge, and the direction was northwest. It was evident that Blake was heading at least in the right direction and Philip believed that it would be but a short time before they would strike the Coppermine. Once on the frozen surface of the big stream that flowed into the Arctic and their immediate peril of an ambuscade would be over. Blake was surely aware of that. If he had in mind a plan for escaping it must of necessity take form before they reached the river. "Where the forest thinned out and the edge of the Barren crept in Philip ran at Celie's side, but when the timber thickened and possible hiding places for their enemies appeared in the trail ahead he was always close to Blake, with the big Colt held openly in his hand. At these times Celie watched the back trail. From her vantage on the sledge her alert eyes took in every bush and thicket to right and left of them, and when Philip was near or behind her she was looking at least a rifle-shot ahead of Blake. For three-quarters of an hour they had followed the single sledge trail when Blake suddenly gave a command that stopped the dogs. They had reached a crest which overlooked a narrow finger of the treeless Barren on the far side of which, possibly a third of a mile distant, was a dark fringe of spruce timber. Blake pointed toward this timber. Out of it was rising a dark column of resinous smoke. "It's up to you," he said coolly to Philip. "Our trail crosses through that timber--and you see the smoke. I imagine there are about twenty of Upi's men there feeding on caribou. The herd was close beyond when they made the kill. Now if we go on they're most likely to see us, or their dogs get wind of us--and Upi is a bloodthirsty old cutthroat. I don't want that bullet through my gizzard, so I'm tellin' you." Far back in Blake's eyes there lurked a gleam which Philip did not like. Blake was not a man easily frightened, and yet he had given what appeared to be fair warning to his enemy. He came a step nearer, and said in a lower voice: "Raine, that's just ONE of Upi's crowds. If you go on to the cabin we're heading for there'll be two hundred fighting men after you before the day is over, and they'll get you whether you kill me or not. You've still got the chance I gave you back there. Take it--if you ain't tired of life. Give me the girl--an' you hit out across the Barren with the team." "We're going on," replied Philip, meeting the other's gaze steadily. "You know your little murderers, Blake. If any one can get past them without being seen it's you. And you've got to do it. I'll kill you if you don't. The Eskimos may get us after that, but they won't harm HER in your way. Understand? We're going the limit in this game. And I figure you're putting up the biggest stake. I've got a funny sort of feeling that you're going to cash in before we reach the cabin." For barely an instant the mysterious gleam far back in Blake's eyes died out. There was the hard, low note in Philip's voice which carried conviction and Blake knew he was ready to play the hand which he held. With a grunt and a shrug of his shoulders he stirred up the dogs with a crack of his whip and struck out at their head due west. During the next half hour Philip's eyes and ears were ceaselessly on the alert. He traveled close to Blake, with the big Colt in his hand, watching every hummock and bit of cover as they came to it. He also watched Blake and in the end was convinced that in the back of the outlaw's head was a sinister scheme in which he had the utmost confidence in spite of his threats and the fact that they had successfully got around Upi's camp. Once or twice when their eyes happened to meet he caught in Blake's face a contemptuous coolness, almost a sneering exultation which the other could not quite conceal. It filled him with a scarcely definable uneasiness. He was positive that Blake realized he would carry out his threat at the least sign of treachery or the appearance of an enemy, and yet he could not free himself from the uncomfortable oppression that was beginning to take hold of him. He concealed it from Blake. He tried to fight it out of himself. Yet it persisted. It was something which seemed to hover in the air about him--the FEEL of a danger which he could not see. And then Blake suddenly pointed ahead over an open plain and said: "There is the Coppermine." CHAPTER XXIII A cry from Celie turned his gaze from the broad white trail of ice that was the Coppermine, and as he looked she pointed eagerly toward a huge pinnacle of rock that rose like an oddly placed cenotaph out of the unbroken surface of the plain. Blake grunted out a laugh in his beard and his eyes lit up with an unpleasant fire as they rested on her flushed face. "She's tellin' you that Bram Johnson brought her this way," he chuckled. "Bram was a fool--like you!" He seemed not to expect a reply from Philip, but urged the dogs down the slope into the plain. Fifteen minutes later they were on the surface of the river. Philip drew a deep breath of relief, and he found that same relief in Celie's face when he dropped back to her side. As far as they could see ahead of them there was no forest. The Coppermine itself seemed to be swallowed up in the vast white emptiness of the Barren. There could be no surprise attack here, even at night. And yet there was something in Blake's face which kept alive within him the strange premonition of a near and unseen danger. Again and again he tried to shake off the feeling. He argued with himself against the unreasonableness of the thing that had begun to oppress him. Blake was in his power. It was impossible for him to escape, and the outlaw's life depended utterly upon his success in getting them safely to the cabin. It was not conceivable to suppose that Blake would sacrifice his life merely that they might fall into the hands of the Eskimos. And yet-- He watched Blake--watched him more and more closely as they buried themselves deeper in that unending chaos of the north. And Blake, it seemed to him, was conscious of that increasing watchfulness. He increased his speed. Now and then Philip heard a curious chuckling sound smothered in his beard, and after an hour's travel on the snow-covered ice of the river he could no longer dull his vision to the fact that the farther they progressed into the open country, the more confident Blake was becoming. He did not question him. He realized the futility of attempting to force his prisoner into conversation. In that respect it was Blake who held the whip hand. He could lie or tell the truth, according to the humor of his desire. Blake must have guessed this thought in Philip's mind. They were traveling side by side when he suddenly laughed. There was an unmistakable irony in his voice when he said: "It's funny, Raine, that I should like you, ain't it? A man who's mauled you, an' threatened to kill you! I guess it's because I'm so cussed sorry for you. You're heading straight for the gates of hell, an' they're open--wide open." "And you?" This time Blake's laugh was harsher. "I don't count--now," he said. "Since you've made up your mind not to trade me the girl for your life I've sort of dropped out of the game. I guess you're thinking I can hold Upi's tribe back. Well, I can't--not when you're getting this far up in their country. If we split the difference, and you gave me HER, Upi would meet me half way. God, but you've spoiled a nice dream!" "A dream?" Blake uttered a command to the dogs. "Yes--more'n that. I've got an igloo up there even finer than Upi's--all built of whalebone and ships' timbers. Think of HER in that, Raine--with ME! That's the dream you smashed!" "And her father--and the others--" This time there was a ferocious undercurrent in Blake's guttural laugh, as though Philip had by accident reminded him of something that both amused and enraged him. "Don't you know how these Kogmollock heathen look on a father-in-law?" he asked. "He's sort of walkin' delegate over the whole bloomin' family. A god with two legs. The OTHERS? Why, we killed them. But Upi and his heathen wouldn't see anything happen to the old man when they found I was going to take the girl. That's why he's alive up there in the cabin now. Lord, what a mess you're heading into, Raine! And I'm wondering, after you kill me, and they kill you, WHO'LL HAVE THE GIRL? There's a half-breed in the tribe an' she'll probably go to him. The heathen themselves don't give a flip for women, you know. So it's certain to be the half-breed." He surged on ahead, cracking his whip, and crying out to the dogs. Philip believed that in those few moments he had spoken much that was truth. He had, without hesitation and of his own volition, confessed the murder of the companions of Celie's father, and he had explained in a reasonable way why Armin himself had been spared. These facts alone increased his apprehension. Unless Blake was utterly confident of the final outcome he would not so openly expose himself. He was even more on his guard after this. For several hours after his brief fit of talking Blake made no effort to resume the conversation nor any desire to answer Philip when the latter spoke to him. A number of times it struck Philip that he was going the pace that would tire out both man and beast before night. He knew that in Blake's shaggy head there was a brain keenly and dangerously alive, and he noted the extreme effort he was making to cover distance with a satisfaction that was not unmixed of suspicion. By three o'clock in the afternoon they were thirty-five miles from the cabin in which Blake had become a prisoner. All that distance they had traveled through a treeless barren without a sign of life. It was between three and four when they began to strike timber once more, and Philip asked himself if it had been Blake's scheme to reach this timber before dusk. In places the spruce and banskian pine thickened until they formed dark walls of forest and whenever they approached these patches Philip commanded Blake to take the middle of the river. The width of the stream was a comforting protection. It was seldom less than two hundred yards from shore to shore and frequently twice that distance. From the possible ambuscades they passed only a rifle could be used effectively, and whenever there appeared to be the possibility of that danger Philip traveled close to Blake, with the revolver in his hand. The crack of a rifle even if the bullet should find its way home, meant Blake's life. Of that fact the outlaw could no longer have a doubt. For an hour before the gray dusk of Arctic night began to gather about them Philip began to feel the effect of their strenuous pace. Hours of cramped inactivity on the sledge had brought into Celie's face lines of exhaustion. Since middle-afternoon the dogs had dragged at times in their traces. Now they were dead-tired. Blake, and Blake alone, seemed tireless. It was six o'clock when they entered a country that was mostly plain, with a thin fringe of timber along the shores. They had raced for nine hours, and had traveled fifty miles. It was here, in a wide reach of river, that Philip gave the command to halt. His first caution was to secure Blake hand and foot, with his back resting against a frozen snow-hummock a dozen paces from the sledge. The outlaw accepted the situation with an indifference which seemed to Philip more forced than philosophical. After that, while Celie was walking back and forth to produce a warmer circulation in her numbed body, he hurried to the scrub timber that grew along the shore and returned with a small armful of dry wood. The fire he built was small, and concealed as much as possible by the sledge. Ten minutes sufficed to cook the meat for their supper. Then he stamped out the fire, fed the dogs, and made a comfortable nest of bear skins for himself and Celie, facing Blake. The night had thickened until he could make out only dimly the form of the outlaw against the snow-hummock. His revolver lay ready at his side. In that darkness he drew Celie close up into his arms. Her head lay on his breast. He buried his lips in the smothering sweetness of her hair, and her arms crept gently about his neck. Even then he did not take his eyes from Blake, nor for an instant did he cease to listen for other sounds than the deep breathing of the exhausted dogs. It was only a little while before the stars began to fill the sky. The gloom lifted slowly, and out of darkness rose the white world in a cold, shimmering glory. In that starlight he could see the glisten of Celie's hair as it covered them like a golden veil, and once or twice through the space that separated them he caught the flash of a strange fire in the outlaw's eyes. Both shores were visible. He could have seen the approach of a man two hundred yards away. After a little he observed that Blake's head was drooping upon his chest, and that his breathing had become deeper. His prisoner, he believed, was asleep. And Celie, nestling on his breast, was soon in slumber. He alone was awake,--and watching. The dogs, flat on their bellies, were dead to the world. For an hour he kept his vigil. In that time he could not see that Blake moved. He heard nothing suspicious. And the night grew steadily brighter with the white glow of the stars. He held the revolver in his hand now. The starlight played on it in a steely glitter that could not fail to catch Blake's eyes should he awake. And then Philip found himself fighting--fighting desperately to keep awake. Again and again his eyes closed, and he forced them open with an effort. He had planned that they would rest for two or three hours. The two hours were gone when for the twentieth time his eyes shot open, and he looked at Blake. The outlaw had not moved. His head hung still lower on his breast, and again--slowly--irresistibly--exhaustion closed Philip's eyes. Even then Philip was conscious of fighting against the overmastering desire to sleep. It seemed to him that he was struggling for hours, and all that time his subconsciousness was crying out for him to awake, struggling to rouse him to the nearness of a great danger. It succeeded at last. His eyes opened, and he stared in a dazed and half blinded tray toward Blake. His first sensation was one of vast relief that he had awakened. The stars were brighter. The night was still. And there, a dozen paces from him was the snow-hummock. But Blake--Blake-- His heart leapt into his throat. BLAKE WAS GONE! CHAPTER XXIV The shock of the discovery that Blake had escaped brought Philip half to his knees before he thought of Celie. In an instant the girl was awake. His arm had tightened almost fiercely about her. She caught the gleam of his revolver, and in another moment she saw the empty space where their prisoner had been. Swiftly Philip's eyes traveled over the moonlit spaces about them. Blake had utterly disappeared. Then he saw the rifle, and breathed easier. For some reason the outlaw had not taken that, and it was a moment or two before the significance of the fact broke upon him. Blake must have escaped just as he was making that last tremendous fight to rouse himself. He had had no more than time to slink away into the shadows of the night, and had not paused to hazard a chance of securing the weapon that lay on the snow close to Celie. He had evidently believed that Philip was only half asleep, and in the moonlight he must have seen the gleam of the big revolver leveled over his captor's knee. Leaving Celie huddled in her furs, Philip rose to his feet and slowly approached the snow hummock against which he had left his prisoner. The girl heard the startled exclamation that fell from his lips when he saw what had happened. Blake had not escaped alone. Running straight out from behind the hummock was a furrow in the snow like the trail made by an otter. He had seen such furrows before, where Eskimos had wormed their way foot by foot within striking distance of dozing seals. Assistance had come to Blake in that manner, and he could see where--on their hands and knees--two men instead of one had stolen back through the moonlight. Celie came to his side now, gripping the rifle in her hands. Her eyes were wide and filled with frightened inquiry as she looked from the tell-tale trails in the snow into Philip's face. He was glad that she could not question him in words. He slipped the Colt into its holster and took the rifle from her hands. In the emergency which he anticipated the rifle would be more effective. That something would happen very soon he was positive. If one Eskimo had succeeded in getting ahead of his comrades to Blake's relief others of Upi's tribe must be close behind. And yet he wondered, as he thought of this, why Blake and the Kogmollock had not killed him instead of running away. The truth he told frankly to Celie, thankful that she could not understand. "It was the gun," he said. "They thought I had only closed my eyes, and wasn't asleep. If something hadn't kept that gun leveled over my knee--" He tried to smile, knowing that with every second the end might come for them from out of the gray mist of moonlight and shadow that shrouded the shore. "It was a one-man job, sneaking out like that, and there's sure a bunch of them coming up fast to take a hand in the game. It's up to us to hit the high spots, my dear--an' you might pray God to give us time for a start." If he had hoped to keep from her the full horror of their situation, he knew, as he placed her on the sledge, that he had failed. Her eyes told him that. Intuitively she had guessed at the heart of the thing, and suddenly her arms reached up about his neck as he bent over her and against his breast he heard the sobbing cry that she was trying hard to choke back. Under the cloud of her hair her warm, parted lips lay for a thrilling moment against his own, and then he sprang to the dogs. They had already roused themselves and at his command began sullenly to drag their lame and exhausted bodies into trace formation. As the sledge began to move he sent the long lash of the driving whip curling viciously over the backs of the pack and the pace increased. Straight ahead of them ran the white trail of the Coppermine, and they were soon following this with the eagerness of a team on the homeward stretch. As Philip ran behind he made a fumbling inventory of the loose rifle cartridges in the pocket of his coat, and under his breath prayed to God that the day would come before the Eskimos closed in. Only one thing did he see ahead of him now--a last tremendous fight for Celie, and he wanted the light of dawn to give him accuracy. He had thirty cartridges, and it was possible that he could put up a successful running fight until they reached Armin's cabin. After that fate would decide. He was already hatching a scheme in his brain. If he failed to get Blake early in the fight which he anticipated he would show the white flag, demand a parley with the outlaw under pretense of surrendering Celie, and shoot him dead the moment they stood face to face. With Blake out of the way there might be another way of dealing with Upi and his Kogmollocks. It was Blake who wanted Celie. In Upi's eyes there were other things more precious than a woman. The thought revived in him a new thrill of hope. It recalled to him the incident of Father Breault and the white woman nurse who, farther west, had been held for ransom by the Nanamalutes three years ago. Not a hair of the woman's head had been harmed in nine months of captivity. Olaf Anderson had told him the whole story. There had been no white man there--only the Eskimos, and with the Eskimos he believed that he could deal now if he succeeded in killing Blake. Back at the cabin he could easily have settled the matter, and he felt like cursing himself for his shortsightedness. In spite of the fact that he had missed his main chance he began now to see more than hope in a situation that five minutes before had been one of appalling gloom. If he could keep ahead of his enemies until daybreak he had a ninety percent chance of getting Blake. At some spot where he could keep the Kogmollocks at bay and scatter death among them if they attacked he would barricade himself and Celie behind the sledge and call out his acceptance of Blake's proposition to give up Celie as the price of his own safety. He would demand an interview with Blake, and it was then that his opportunity would come. But ahead of him were the leaden hours of the gray night! Out of that ghostly mist of pale moonlight through which the dogs were traveling like sinuous shadows Upi and his tribe could close in on him silently and swiftly, unseen until they were within striking distance. In that event all would be lost. He urged the dogs on, calling them by the names which he had heard Blake use, and occasionally he sent the long lash of his whip curling over their backs. The surface of the Coppermine was smooth and hard. Now and then they came to stretches of glare ice and at these intervals Philip rode behind Celie, staring back into the white mystery of the night out of which they had come. It was so still that the click, dick, click of the dogs' claws sounded like the swift beat of tiny castanets on the ice. He could hear the panting breath of the beasts. The whalebone runners of the sledge creaked with the shrill protest of steel traveling over frozen snow. Beyond these sounds there were no others, with, the exception of his own breath and the beating of his own heart. Mile after mile of the Coppermine dropped behind them. The last tree and the last fringe of bushes disappeared, and to the east, the north, and the west there was no break in the vast emptiness of the great Arctic plain. Ever afterward the memory of that night seemed like a grotesque and horrible dream to him. Looking back, he could remember how the moon sank out of the sky and utter darkness closed them in and how through that darkness he urged on the tired dogs, tugging with them at the lead-trace, and stopping now and then in his own exhaustion to put his arms about Celie and repeat over and over again that everything was all right. After an eternity the dawn came. What there was to be of day followed swiftly, like the Arctic night. The shadows faded away, the shores loomed up and the illimitable sweep of the plain lifted itself into vision as if from out of a great sea of receding fog. In the quarter hour's phenomenon between the last of darkness and wide day Philip stood straining his eyes southward over the white path of the Coppermine. It was Celie, huddled close at his side, who turned her eyes first from the trail their enemies would follow. She faced the north, and the cry that came from her lips brought Philip about like a shot. His first sensation was one of amazement that they had not yet passed beyond the last line of timber. Not more than a third of a mile distant the river ran into a dark strip of forest that reached in from the western plain like a great finger. Then he saw what Celie had seen. Close up against the timber a spiral of smoke was rising into the air. He made out in another moment the form of a cabin, and the look in Celie's staring face told him the rest. She was sobbing breathless words which he could not understand, but he knew that they had won their race, and that it was Armin's place. And Armin was not dead. He was alive, as Blake had said--and it was about breakfast time. He had held up under the tremendous strain of the night until now--and now he was filled with an uncontrollable desire to laugh. The curious thing about it was that in spite of this desire no sound came from his throat. He continued to stare until Celie turned to him and swayed into his arms. In the moment of their triumph her strength was utterly gone. And then the thing happened which brought the life back into him again with a shock. From far up the black finger of timber where it bellied over the horizon of the plain there floated down to them a chorus of sound. It was a human sound--the yapping, wolfish cry of an Eskimo horde closing in on man or beast. They had heard that same cry close on the heels of the fight in the clearing. Now it was made by many voices instead of two or three. It was accompanied almost instantly by the clear, sharp report of a rifle, and a moment later the single shot was followed by a scattering fusillade. After that there was silence. Quickly Philip bundled Celie on the sledge and drove the dogs ahead, his eyes on a wide opening in the timber three or four hundred yards above the river. Five minutes later the sledge drew up in front of the cabin. In that time they heard no further outcry or sound of gunfire, and from the cabin itself there came no sign of life, unless the smoke meant life. Scarcely had the sledge stopped before Celie was on her feet and running to the door. It was locked, and she beat against it excitedly with her little fists, calling a strange name. Standing close behind her, Philip heard a shuffling movement beyond the log walls, the scraping of a bar, and a man's voice so deep that it had in it the booming note of a drum. To it Celie replied with almost a shriek. The door swung inward, and Philip saw a man's arms open and Celie run into them. He was an old man. His hair and beard were white. This much Philip observed before he turned with a sudden, thrill toward the open in the forest. Only he had heard the cry that had come from that direction, and now, looking back, he saw a figure running swiftly over the plain toward the cabin. Instantly he knew that it was a white man. With his revolver in his hand he advanced to meet him and in a brief space they stood face to face. The stranger was a giant of a man. His long, reddish hair fell to his shoulders. He was bare-headed, and panting as if hard run, and his face was streaming with blood. His eyes seemed to bulge out of their sockets as he stared at Philip. And Philip, almost dropping his revolver in his amazement, gasped incredulously: "My God, is it you--Olaf Anderson!" CHAPTER XXV Following that first wild stare of uncertainty and disbelief in the big Swede's eyes came a look of sudden and joyous recognition. He was clutching at Philip's hand like a drowning man before he made an effort to speak, still with his eyes on the other's face as if he was not quite sure they had not betrayed him. Then he grinned. There was only one man in the world who could grin like Olaf Anderson. In spite of blood and swollen features it transformed him. Men loved the red-headed Swede because of that grin. Not a man in the service who knew him but swore that Olaf would die with the grin on his face, because the tighter the hole he was in the more surely would the grin be there. It was the grin that answered Philip's question. "Just in time--to the dot," said Olaf, still pumping Philip's hand, and grinning hard. "All dead but me--Calkins, Harris, and that little Dutchman, O'Flynn, Cold and stiff, Phil, every one of them. I knew an investigating patrol would be coming up pretty soon. Been looking for it every day. How many men you got?" He looked beyond Philip to the cabin and the sledge. The grin slowly went out of his face, and Philip heard the sudden catch in his breath. A swift glance revealed the amazing truth to Olaf. He dropped Philip's hand and stepped back, taking him in suddenly from head to foot. "Alone!" "Yes, alone," nodded Philip. "With the exception of Celie Armin. I brought her back to her father. A fellow named Blake is back there a little way with Upi's tribe. We beat them out, but I'm figuring it won't be long before they show up." The grin was fixed in Olaf's face again. "Lord bless us, but it's funny," he grunted. "They're coming on the next train, so to speak, and right over in that neck of woods is the other half of Upi's tribe chasing their short legs off to get me. And the comical part of it is you're ALONE!" His eyes were fixed suddenly on the revolver. "Ammunition?" he demanded eagerly. "And--grub?" "Thirty or forty rounds of rifle, a dozen Colt, and plenty of meat--" "Then into the cabin, and the dogs with us," almost shouted the Swede. From the edge of the forest came the report of a rifle and over their heads went the humming drone of a bullet. They were back at the cabin in a dozen seconds, tugging at the dogs. It cost an effort to get them through the door, with the sledge after them. Half a dozen shots came from the forest. A bullet spattered against the log wall, found a crevice, and something metallic jingled inside. As Olaf swung the door shut and dropped the wooden bar in place Philip turned for a moment toward Celie. She went to him, her eyes shining in the semi-gloom of the cabin, and put her arms up about his shoulders. The Swede, looking on, stood transfixed, and the white-bearded Armin stared incredulously. On her tip-toes Celie kissed Philip, and then turning with her arms still about him said something to the older man that brought an audible gasp from Olaf. In another moment she had slipped away from Philip and back to her father. The Swede was flattening his face against a two inch crevice between the logs when Philip went to his side. "What did she say, Olaf?" he entreated. "That she's going to marry you if we ever get out of this hell of a fix we're in," grunted Olaf. "Pretty lucky dog, I say, if it's true. Imagine Celie Armin marrying a dub like you! But it will never happen. If you don't believe it fill your eyes with that out there!" Philip glued his eyes to the long crevice between the logs and found the forest and the little finger of plain between straight in his vision. The edge of the timber was alive with men. There must have been half a hundred of them, and they were making no effort to conceal themselves. For the first time Olaf began to give him an understanding of the situation. "This is the fortieth day we've held them off," he said, in the quick-cut, business-like voice he might have used in rendering a report to a superior. "Eighty cartridges to begin with and a month's ration of grub for two. All but the three last cartridges went day before yesterday. Yesterday everything quiet. On the edge of starvation this morning when I went out on scout duty and to take a chance at game. Surprised a couple of them carrying meat and had a tall fight. Others hove into action and I had to use two of my cartridges. One left--and they're showing themselves because they know we don't dare to use ammunition at long range. My caliber is thirty-five. What's yours?" "The same," replied Philip quickly, his blood beginning to thrill with the anticipation of battle. "I'll give you half. I'm on duty from Fort Churchill, off on a tangent of my own." He did not take his eyes from the slit in the wall as he told Anderson in a hundred words what had happened since his meeting with Bram Johnson. "And with forty cartridges we'll give 'em a taste of hell," he added. He caught his breath, and the last word half choked itself from his lips. He knew that Anderson was staring as hard as he. Up from the river and over the level sweep of plain between it and the timber came a sledge, followed by a second, a third, and a fourth. In the trail behind the sledges trotted a score and a half of fur-clad figures. "It's Blake!" exclaimed Philip. Anderson drew himself away from the wall. In his eyes burned a curious greenish flame, and his face was set with the hardness of iron. In that iron was molded indistinctly the terrible smile with which he always went into battle or fronted "his man." Slowly he turned, pointing a long arm at each of the four walls of the cabin. "That's the lay of the fight," he said, making his words short and to the point. "They can come at us on all sides, and so I've made a six-foot gun-crevice in each wall. We can't count on Armin for anything but the use of a club if it comes to close quarters. The walls are built of saplings and they've got guns out there that get through. Outside of that we've got one big advantage. The little devils are superstitious about fighting at night, and even Blake can't force them into it. Blake is the man I was after when I ran across Armin and his people. GAD!" There was an unpleasant snap in his voice as he peered through the gun-hole again. Philip looked across the room to Celie and her father as he divided the cartridges. They were both listening, yet he knew they did not understand what he and Olaf were saying. He dropped a half of the cartridges into the right hand pocket of the Swede's service coat, and advanced then toward Armin with both his hands held out in greeting. Even in that tense moment he saw the sudden flash of pleasure in Celie's eyes. Her lips trembled, and she spoke softly and swiftly to her father, looking at Philip. Armin advanced a step, and their hands met. At first Philip had taken him for an old man. Hair and beard were white, his shoulders were bent, his hands were long and thin. But his eyes, sunken deep in their sockets, had not aged with the rest of him. They were filled with the piercing scrutiny of a hawk's as they looked into his own, measuring him in that moment so far as man can measure man. Then he spoke, and it was the light in Celie's eyes, her parted lips, and the flush that came swiftly into her face that gave him an understanding of what Armin was saying. From the end of the cabin Olaf's voice broke in. With it came the metallic working of his rifle as he filled the chamber with cartridges. He spoke first to Celie and Armin in their own language, then to Philip. "It's a pretty safe gamble we'd better get ready for them," he said. "They'll soon begin. Did you split even on the cartridges?" "Seventeen apiece." Philip examined his rifle, and looked through the gun-crevice toward the forest. He heard Olaf tugging at the dogs as he tied them to the bunk posts; he heard Armin say something in a strained voice, and the Swede's unintelligible reply, followed by a quick, low-voiced interrogation from Celie. In the same moment his heart gave a sudden jump. In the fringe of the forest he saw a long, thin line of moving figures--ADVANCING. He did not call out a warning instantly. For a space in which he might have taken a long breath or two his eyes and brain were centered on the moving figures and the significance of their drawn-out formation. Like a camera-flash his eyes ran over the battleground. Half way between the cabin and that fringe of forest four hundred yards away was a "hogback" in the snow, running a curving parallel with the plain. It formed scarcely more than a three or four foot rise in the surface, and he had given it no special significance until now. His lips formed words as the thrill of understanding leapt upon him. "They're moving!" he called to Olaf. "They're going to make a rush for the little ridge between us and the timber. Good God, Anderson, there's an army of them!" "Not more'n a hundred," replied the Swede calmly, taking his place at the gun-crevice. "Take it easy, Phil. This will be good target practice. We've got to make an eighty percent kill as they come across the open. This is mighty comfortable compared with the trick they turned on us when they got Calkins, Harris and O'Flynn. I got away in the night." The moving line had paused just within the last straggling growth of trees, as if inviting the fire of the defenders. Olaf grunted as he looked along the barrel of his rifle. "Strategy," he mumbled. "They know we're shy of ammunition." In the moments of tense waiting Philip found his first opportunity to question the man at his side. First, he said: "I guess mebby you understand, Olaf. We've gone through a hell together, and I love her. If we get out of this she's going to be my wife. She's promised me that, and yet I swear to Heaven I don't know more than a dozen words of her language. What has happened? Who is she? Why was she with Bram Johnson? You know their language, and have been with them--" "They're taking final orders," interrupted Olaf, as if he had not heard. "There's something more on foot than a rush to the ridge. It's Blake's scheming. See those little groups forming? They're going to bring battering-rams, and make a second rush from the ridge." He drew in a deep breath, and without a change in the even tone of his voice, went on: "Calkins, Harris and O'Flynn went down in a good fight. Tell you about that later. Hit seven days' west, and run on the camp of Armin, his girl, and two white men--Russians--guided by two Kogmollocks from Coronation Gulf. You can guess some of the rest. The little devils had Blake and his gang about us two days after I struck them. Bram Johnson and his wolves came along then--from nowhere--going nowhere. The Kogmollocks think Bram is a great Devil, and that each of his wolves is a Devil. If it hadn't been for that they would have murdered us in a hurry, and Blake would have taken the girl. They were queered by the way Bram would squat on his haunches, and stare at her. The second day I saw him mumbling over something, and looked sharp. He had one of Celie's long hairs, and when he saw me he snarled like an animal, as though he feared I would take it from him. I knew what was coming. I knew Blake was only waiting for Bram to get away from his Kogmollocks--so I told Celie to give Bram a strand of her hair. She did--with her own hands, and from that minute the madman watched her like a dog. I tried to talk with him, but couldn't. I didn't seem to be able to make him understand. And then--" The Swede cut himself short. "They're moving, Phil! Take the men with the battering rams--and let them get half way before you fire! ... You see, Bram and his wolves had to have meat. Blake attacked while he was gone. Russians killed--Armin and I cornered, fighting for the girl behind us, when Bram came back like a burst of thunder. He didn't fight. He grabbed the girl, and was off with her like the wind with his wolf-team. Armin and I got into this cabin, and here--forty days and nights--" His voice stopped ominously. A fraction of a second later it was followed by the roar of his rifle, and at the first shot one of Blake's Kogmollocks crumpled up with a grunt half way between the snow-ridge and the forest. CHAPTER XXVI The Eskimos were advancing at a trot now over the open space. Philip was amazed at their number. There were at least a hundred, and his heart choked with a feeling of despair even as he pulled the trigger for his first shot. He had seen the effect of Olaf's shot, and following the Swede's instructions aimed for his man in the nearest group behind the main line. He did not instantly see the result, as a puff of smoke shut out his vision, but a moment later, aiming again, he saw a dark blotch left in the snow. From his end of the crevice Olaf had seen the man go down, and he grunted his approbation. There were five of the groups bearing tree trunks for battering-rams, and on one of these Philip concentrated the six shots in his rifle. Four of the tree-bearers went down, and the two that were left dropped their burden and joined those ahead of them. Until Philip stepped back to reload his gun he had not noticed Celie. She was close at his side, peering through the gun-hole at the tragedy out on the plain. Once before he had been astounded by the look in her face when they had been confronted by great danger, and as his fingers worked swiftly in refilling the magazine of his rifle he saw it there again. It was not fear, even now. It was a more wonderful thing than that. Her wide-open eyes glowed with a strange, dark luster; in the center of each of her cheeks was a vivid spot of color, and her lips were parted slightly, so that he caught the faintest gleam of her teeth. Wonderful as a fragile flower she stood there with her eyes upon him, her splendid courage and her faith in him flaming within her like a fire. And then he heard Anderson's voice: "They're behind the ridge. We got eight of them." In half a dozen places Philip had seen where bullets had bored the way through the cabin, and leaning his gun against the wall, he sprang to Celie and almost carried her behind the bunk that was built against the logs. "You must stay here," he cried. "Do you understand! HERE!" She nodded, and smiled. It was a wonderful smile--a flash of tenderness telling him that she knew what he was saying, and that she would obey him. She made no effort to detain him with her hands, but in that moment--if life had been the forfeit--Philip would have stolen the precious time in which to take her in his arms. For a space he held her close to him, his lips crushed to hers, and faced the wall again with the throb of her soft breast still beating against his heart. He noticed Armin standing near the door, his hand resting on a huge club which, in turn, rested on the floor. Calmly he was waiting for the final rush. Olaf was peering through the gun-hole again. And then came what he had expected--a rattle of fire from the snow-ridge. The PIT-PIT-PIT of bullets rained against the cabin in a dull tattoo. Through the door came a bullet, sending a splinter close to Armin's face. Almost in the same instant a second followed it, and a third came through the crevice so close to Philip that he felt the hissing breath of it in his face. One of the dogs emitted a wailing howl and flopped among its comrades in uncanny convulsions. Olaf staggered back, and faced Philip. There was no trace of the fighting grin in his face now. It was set like an iron mask. "GET DOWN!" he shouted. "Do you hear, GET DOWN!" He dropped on his knees, crying out the warning to Armin in the other's language. "They've got enough guns to make a sieve of this kennel if their ammunition holds out--and the lower logs are heaviest. Flatten yourself out until they stop firing, with your feet toward 'em, like this," and he stretched himself out on the floor, parallel with the direction of fire. In place of following the Swede's example Philip ran to Celie. Half way a bullet almost got him, flipping the collar of his shirt. He dropped beside her and gathered her up completely in his arms, with his own body between her and the fire. A moment later he thanked God for the protection of the bunk. He heard the ripping of a bullet through the saplings and caught distinctly the thud of it as the spent lead dropped to the floor. Celie's head was close on his breast, her eyes were on his face, her soft lips so near he could feel their breath. He kissed her, unbelieving even then that the end was near for her. It was monstrous--impossible. Lead was finding its way into the cabin like raindrops. He heard the Swede's voice again, crying thickly from the floor: "Hug below the lower log. You've got eight inches. If you rise above that they'll get you." He repeated the warning to Armin. As if to emphasize his words there came a howl of agony from another of the dogs. Still closer Philip held the girl to him. Her hands had crept convulsively to his neck. He crushed his face down against hers, and waited. It came to him suddenly that Blake must be reckoning on this very protection which he was giving Celie. He was gambling on the chance that while the male defenders of the cabin would be wounded or killed Celie would be sheltered until the last moment from their fire. If that was so, the firing would soon cease until Blake learned results. Scarcely had he made this guess when the fusillade ended. Instead of rifle-fire there came a sudden strange howl of voices and Olaf sprang to his feet. Philip had risen, when the Swede's voice came to him in a choking cry. Prepared for the rush he had expected, Olaf was making an observation through the gun-crevice. Suddenly, without turning his head, he yelled back at them: "Good God--it's Bram--Bram Johnson!" Even Celie realized the thrilling import of the Swede's excited words. BRAM JOHNSON! She was only a step behind Philip when he reached the wall. With him she looked out. Out of that finger of forest they were coming--Bram and his wolves! The pack was free, spreading out fan-shape, coming like the wind! Behind them was Bram--a wild and monstrous figure against the whiteness of the plain, bearing in his hand a giant club. His yell came to them. It rose above all other sound, like the cry of a great beast. The wolves came faster, and then-- The truth fell upon those in the cabin with a suddenness that stopped the beating of their hearts. Bram Johnson and his wolves were attacking the Eskimos! From the thrilling spectacle of the giant mad-man charging over the plain behind his ravenous beasts Philip shifted his amazed gaze to the Eskimos. They were no longer concealing themselves. Palsied by a strange terror, they were staring at the onrushing horde and the shrieking wolf-man. In those first appalling moments of horror and stupefaction not a gun was raised or a shot fired. Then there rose from the ranks of the Kogmollocks a strange and terrible cry, and in another moment the plain between the forest and the snow-ridge was alive with fleeing creatures in whose heavy brains surged the monstrous thought that they were attacked not by man and beast, but by devils. And in that same moment it seemed that Bram Johnson and his wolves were among them. From man to man the beasts leapt, driven on by the shrieking voice of their master; and now Philip saw the giant mad-man overtake one after another of the running figures, and saw the crushing force of his club as it fell. Celie swayed back from the wall and stood with her hands to her face. The Swede sprang past her, flung back the bar to the door, and opened it. Philip was a step behind him. Prom the front of the cabin they began firing, and man after man crumpled down under their shots. If Bram and his wolves sensed the shooting in the ferocity of their blood-lust they paid no more attention to it than to the cries for mercy that rose chokingly out of the throats of their enemies. In another sixty seconds the visible part of it was over. The last of the Kogmollocks disappeared into the edge of the forest. After them went the wolf-man and his pack. Philip faced his companion. His gun was hot--and empty. The old grin was in Olaf's face. In spite of it he shuddered. "We won't follow," he said. "Bram and his wolves will attend to the trimmings, and he'll come back when the job is finished. Meanwhile we'll get a little start for home, eh? I'm tired of this cabin. Forty days and nights--UGH! it was HELL. Have you a spare pipeful of tobacco, Phil? If you have--let's see, where did I leave off in that story about Princess Celie and the Duke of Rugni?" "The--the--WHAT?" "Your tobaeco, Phil!" In a dazed fashion Philip handed his tobacco pouch to the Swede. "You said--Princess Celie--the Duke of Rugni--" Olaf nodded as he stuffed his pipe bowl. "That's it. Armin is the Duke of Rugni, whatever Rugni is. He was chased off to Siberia a good many years ago, when Celie was a kid, that somebody else could get hold of the Dukedom. Understand? Millions in it, I suppose. He says some of Rasputin's old friends were behind it, and that for a long time he was kept in the dungeons of the fortress of St. Peter and St. Paul, with the Neva River running over his head. The friends he had, most of them in exile or chased out of the country, thought he was dead, and some of these friends were caring for Celie. Just after Rasputin was killed, and before the Revolution broke out, they learned Armin was alive and dying by inches somewhere up on the Siberian coast. Celie's mother was Danish--died almost before Celie could remember; but some of her relatives and a bunch of Russian exiles in London framed up a scheme to get Armin back, chartered a ship, sailed with Celie on board, and--" Olaf paused to light his pipe. "And they found the Duke," he added. "They escaped with him before they learned of the Revolution, or Armin could have gone home with the rest of the Siberian exiles and claimed his rights. For a lot of reasons they put him aboard an American whaler, and the whaler missed its plans by getting stuck in the ice for the winter up in Coronation Gulf. After that they started out with dogs and sledge and guides. There's a lot more, but that's the meat of it, Phil. I'm going to leave it to you to learn Celie's language and get the details first-hand from her. But she's a right enough princess, old man. And her Dad's a duke. It's up to you to Americanize 'em. Eh, what's that?" Celie had come from the cabin and was standing at Philip's side, looking up into his face, and the light which Olaf saw unhidden in her eyes made him laugh softly: "And you've got the job half done, Phil. The Duke may go back and raise the devil with the people who put him in cold storage, but Lady Celie is going to like America. Yessir, she's going to like it better'n any other place on the face of the earth!" It was late that afternoon, traveling slowly southward over the trail of the Coppermine, when they heard far behind them the wailing cry of Bram Johnson's wolves. The sound came only once, like the swelling surge of a sudden sweep of wind, yet when they camped at the beginning of darkness Philip was confident the madman and his pack were close behind them. Utter exhaustion blotted out the hours for Celie and himself, while Olaf, buried in two heavy Eskimo coats he had foraged from the field of battle, sat on guard through the night. Twice in the stillness of his long vigil he heard strange cries. Once it was the cry of a beast. The second time it was that of a man. The second day, with dogs refreshed, they traveled faster, and it was this night that they camped in the edge of timber and built a huge fire. It was such a fire as illumined the space about them for fifty paces or more, and it was into this light that Bram Johnson stalked, so suddenly and so noiselessly that a sharp little cry sprang from Celie's lips, and Olaf and Philip and the Duke of Rugni stared in wide-eyed amazement. In his right hand the wolf-man bore a strange object. It was an Eskimo coat, tied into the form of a bag, and in the bottom of this improvision was a lump half the size of a water pail. Bram seemed oblivious of all presence but that of Celie. His eyes were on her alone as he advanced and with a weird sound in his throat deposited the bundle at her feet. In another moment he was gone. The Swede rose slowly from where he was sitting, and speaking casually to Celie, took the wolf-man's gift up in his hands. Philip observed the strange look in his face as he turned his back to Celie in the firelight and opened the bag sufficiently to get a look inside. Then he walked out into the darkness, and a moment later returned without the bundle, and with a laugh apologized to Celie for his action. "No need of telling her what it was," he said to Philip then. "I explained that it was foul meat Bram had brought in as a present. As a matter of fact it was Blake's head. You know the Kogmollocks have a pretty habit of pleasing a friend by presenting him with the head of a dead enemy. Nice little package for her to have opened, eh?" After all, there are some very strange happenings in life, and the adventurers of the Royal Northwest Mounted Police come upon their share. The case of Bram Johnson, the mad wolf-man of the Upper Country, happened to be one of them, and filed away in the archives of the Department is a big envelope filled with official and personal documents, signed and sworn to by various people. There is, for instance, the brief and straightforward deposition of Corporal Olaf Anderson, of the Fort Churchill Division, and there is the longer and more detailed testimony of Mr. and Mrs. Philip Raine and the Duke of Rugni; and attached to these depositions is a copy of an official decision pardoning Bram Johnson and making of him a ward of the great Dominion instead of a criminal. He is no longer hunted. "Let Bram Johnson alone" is the word that had gone forth to the man-hunters of the Service. It is a wise and human judgment. Bram's country is big and wild. And he and his wolves still hunt there under the light of the moon and the stars. THE END 
21758	----	HUDSON BAY, BY R.M. BALLANTYNE. PREFACE. In publishing the present work, the Author rests his hopes of its favourable reception chiefly upon the fact that its subject is comparatively new. Although touched upon by other writers in narratives of Arctic discovery, and in works of general information, the very nature of those publications prohibited a lengthened or minute description of that EVERYDAY LIFE whose delineation is the chief aim of the following pages. PREFACE TO FOURTH EDITION. Since this book was written, very considerable changes have taken place in the affairs and management of the Hudson Bay Company. The original charter of the Company is now extinct. Red River Settlement has become a much more important colony than it was, and bids fair to become still more important--for railway communication will doubtless, ere long, connect it with Canada on the one hand and the Pacific seaboard on the other, while the presence of gold in the Saskatchewan and elsewhere has already made the country much more generally known than it was when the Author sojourned there. Nevertheless, all these changes--actual and prospective--have only scratched the skirt of the vast wilderness occupied by the fur-traders; and as these still continue their work at the numerous and distant outposts in much the same style as in days of yore, it has been deemed advisable to reprint the book almost without alteration, but with a few corrections. R.M. Ballantyne. CHAPTER ONE. APPOINTMENT TO THE SERVICE OF THE HUDSON BAY COMPANY--THE "PRINCE RUPERT"--THE ANNUAL DINNER OF THE "H.B.C."--FELLOW-VOYAGERS--THREATENING WEATHER--A SQUALL--ISLAND OF LEWIS. Reader,--I take for granted that you are tolerably well acquainted with the different modes of life and travelling peculiar to European nations. I also presume that you know something of the inhabitants of the East; and, it may be, a good deal of the Americans in general. But I suspect--at least I would fain hope--that you have only a vague and indefinite knowledge of life in those wild, uncivilised regions of the northern continent of America that surround the shores of Hudson Bay. I would fain hope this, I say, that I may have the satisfaction of giving you information on the subject, and of showing you that there is a body of civilised men who move, and breathe (pretty cool air, by the way!), and spend their lives in a quarter of the globe as totally different, in most respects, from the part you inhabit, as a beaver, roaming among the ponds and marshes of his native home, is from that sagacious animal when converted into a fashionable hat. About the middle of May eighteen hundred and forty-one, I was thrown into a state of ecstatic joy by the arrival of a letter appointing me to the enviable situation of apprentice clerk in the service of the Honourable Hudson Bay Company. To describe the immense extent to which I expanded, both mentally and bodily, upon the receipt of this letter, is impossible; it is sufficient to know that from that moment I fancied myself a complete man of business, and treated my old companions with the condescending suavity of one who knows that he is talking to his inferiors. A few days after, however, my pride was brought very low indeed, as I lay tossing about in my berth on the tumbling waves of the German Ocean, eschewing breakfast as a dangerous meal, and looking upon dinner with a species of horror utterly incomprehensible by those who have not experienced an attack of sea-sickness. Miseries of this description, fortunately, do not last long. In a couple of days we got into the comparatively still water of the Thames; and I, with a host of pale-faced young ladies and cadaverous-looking young gentlemen, emerged for the first time from the interior of the ship, to behold the beauties and wonders of the great metropolis, as we glided slowly up the crowded river. Leave-taking is a disagreeable subject either to reflect upon or to write about, so we will skip that part of the business and proceed at once to Gravesend, where I stood (having parted from all my friends) on the deck of the good ship _Prince Rupert_, contemplating the boats and crowds of shipping that passed continually before me, and thinking how soon I was to leave the scenes to which I had been so long accustomed for a far-distant land. I was a boy, however; and this, I think, is equivalent to saying that I did not sorrow long. My future companion and fellow-clerk, Mr Wiseacre, was pacing the deck near me. This turned my thoughts into another channel, and set me speculating upon his probable temper, qualities, and age; whether or not he was strong enough to thrash me, and if we were likely to be good friends. The captain, too, was chatting and laughing with the doctor as carelessly as if he had not the great responsibility of taking a huge ship across a boundless waste of waters, and through fields and islands of ice, to a distant country some three thousand miles to the north-west of England. Thus encouraged, my spirits began to rise, and when the cry arose on deck that the steamer containing the committee of the Honourable Hudson Bay Company was in sight, I sprang up the companion-ladder in a state of mind, if not happy, at least as nearly so as under the circumstances could be expected. Upon gaining the deck, I beheld a small steamboat passing close under our stern, filled with a number of elderly-looking gentlemen, who eyed us with a very critical expression of countenance. I had a pretty good guess who these gentlemen were; but had I been entirely ignorant, I should soon have been enlightened by the remark of a sailor, who whispered to his comrade, "I say, Bill, them's the great guns!" I suppose the fact of their being so had a sympathetic effect upon the guns of the Company's three ships--the _Prince Rupert, Prince Albert_, and _Prince of Wales_--for they all three fired a salute of blank cartridge at the steamer as she passed them in succession. The steamer then ranged alongside of us, and the elderly gentlemen came on board and shook hands with the captain and officers, smiling blandly as they observed the neat, trim appearance of the three fine vessels, which, with everything in readiness for setting sail on the following morning, strained at their cables, as if anxious to commence their struggle with the waves. It is a custom of the directors of the Hudson Bay Company to give a public dinner annually to the officers of their ships upon the eve of their departure from Gravesend. Accordingly, one of the gentlemen of the committee, before leaving the vessel, invited the captain and officers to attend; and, to my astonishment and delight, also _begged me_ to honour them with my company. I accepted the invitation with extreme politeness; and, from inability to express my joy in any other way, winked to my friend Wiseacre, with whom I had become, by this time, pretty familiar. He, being also invited, winked in return to me; and having disposed of this piece of juvenile freemasonry to our satisfaction, we assisted the crew in giving three hearty cheers, as the little steamer darted from the side and proceeded to the shore. The dinner, like all other public dinners, was as good and substantial as a lavish expenditure of cash could make it; but really my recollections of it are very indistinct. The ceaseless din of plates, glasses, knives, forks, and tongues was tremendous; and this, together with the novelty of the scene, the heat of the room, and excellence of the viands, tended to render me oblivious of much that took place. Almost all the faces present were strange to me. Who were, and who were not, the gentlemen of the committee, was to me matter of the most perfect indifference; and as no one took the trouble to address me in particular, I confined myself to the interesting occupation of trying to make sense of a conversation held by upwards of fifty pairs of lungs at one and the same time. Nothing intelligible, however, was to be heard, except when a sudden lull in the noise gave a bald-headed old gentleman near the head of the table an opportunity of drinking the health of a red-faced old gentleman near the foot, upon whom he bestowed an amount of flattery perfectly bewildering; and after making the unfortunate red-faced gentleman writhe for half an hour in a fever of modesty, sat down amid thunders of applause. Whether the applause, by the way, was intended for the speaker or the _speakee_, I do not know; but being quite indifferent, I clapped my hands with the rest. The red-faced gentleman, now purple with excitement, then rose, and during a solemn silence delivered himself of a speech, to the effect that the day then passing was certainly the happiest in his mortal career, that he could not find words adequately to express the varied feelings which swelled his throbbing bosom, and that he felt quite faint with the mighty load of honour just thrown upon his delighted shoulders by his bald-headed friend. The red-faced gentleman then sat down to the national air of rat-tat-tat, played in full chorus with knives, forks, spoons, nut-crackers, and knuckles on the polished surface of the mahogany table. We left the dinner-table at a late hour, and after I, in company with some other youngsters, had done as much mischief as we conveniently could without risking our detention by the strong arm of the law, we went down to the beach and embarked in a boat with the captain for the ship. How the sailors ever found her in the impenetrable darkness which prevailed all around is a mystery to me to this day. Find her, however, they did; and in half an hour I was in the land of Nod. The sun was blazing high in the heavens next morning when I awoke, and gazed around for a few moments to discover where I was; but the rattling of ropes and blocks, the stamping of feet overhead, the shouts of gruff voices, and, above all, a certain strange and disagreeable motion in my dormitory, soon enlightened me on that point. We were going rapidly down the Thames with a fair breeze, and had actually set sail for the distant shores of Hudson Bay. What took place during the next five or six days I know not. The demon of sea-sickness had completely prostrated my faculties, bodily and mental. Some faint recollections I have of stormy weather, horrible noises, and hurried dinners; but the greater part of that period is a miserable blank in my memory. Towards the sixth day, however, the savoury flavour of a splendid salmon-trout floated past my dried-up nostrils like "Afric's spicy gale," and caused my collapsed stomach to yearn with strong emotion. The ship, too, was going more quietly through the water; and a broad stream of sunshine shot through the small window of my berth, penetrated my breast, and went down into the centre of my heart, filling it with a calm, complacent pleasure quite indescribable. Sounds, however, of an attack upon the trout roused me, and with a mighty effort I tumbled out of bed, donned my clothes, and seated myself for the first time at the cabin table. Our party consisted of the captain; Mr Carles, a chief factor in the Company's service; the doctor; young Mr Wiseacre, afore-mentioned; the first and second mates; and myself. The captain was a thin, middle-sized, offhand man; thoroughly acquainted with his profession; good-humoured and gruff by turns; and he always spoke with the air of an oracle. Mr Carles was a mild, good-natured man, of about fifty-five, with a smooth, bald head, encircled by a growth of long, thin hair. He was stoutly built, and possessed of that truly amiable and captivating disposition which enters earnestly and kindly into the affairs of others, and totally repudiates self. From early manhood he had roughed life in the very roughest and wildest scenes of the wilderness, and was now returning to those scenes after a short visit to his native land. The doctor was a nondescript; a compound of gravity, fun, seriousness, and humbug--the latter predominating. He had been everywhere (at least, so he said), had seen everything, knew everybody, and played the fiddle. It cannot be said, I fear, that he played it well; but, amid the various vicissitudes of his chequered life, the doctor had frequently found himself in company where his violin was almost idolised and himself deified; especially when the place chanced to be the American backwoods, where violins are scarce, the auditors semi-barbarous Highlanders, and the music Scotch reels. Mr Wiseacre was nothing! He never spoke except when compelled to do so; never read, and never cared for anything or anybody; wore very long hair, which almost hid his face, owing to a habit which he had of holding his head always down: and apparently lived but to eat, drink, and sleep. Sometimes, though very rarely, he became so far facetious as to indulge in a wink and a low giggle; but beyond this he seldom soared. The two mates were simply _mates_. Those who know the population of the sea will understand the description sufficiently; those who don't, will never, I fear, be made to understand by description. They worked the ship, hove the log, changed the watch, turned out and tumbled in, with the callous indifference and stern regularity of clock work; inhabited tarpaulin dreadnoughts and sou'-westers; came down to meals with modest diffidence, and walked the deck with bantam-cock-like assurance. Nevertheless, they were warm-hearted fellows, both of them, although the heat didn't often come to the surface. The first mate was a _broad_ Scotchman, in every sense of the term; the second was a burly little Englishman. "How's the wind, Collins?" said the captain, as the second mate sat down at the dinner-table, and brushed the spray from his face with the back of his brown hand. "Changed a point to the s'uthard o' sou'-west, sir," he answered, "and looks as if it would blow hard." "Humph!" ejaculated the captain, while he proceeded to help the fish. "I hope it'll only keep quiet till we get into blue water, and then it may blow like blazes for all I care,--Take some trout, doctor? It's the last you'll put your teeth through for six weeks to come, _I_ know; so make the most of it.--I wish I were only through the Pentland Firth, and scudding under full sail for the ice--I do." And the captain looked fiercely at the compass which hung over his head, as if he had said something worthy of being recorded in history, and began to eat. After a pause of five minutes or so--during which time the knives and forks had been clattering pretty vigorously, and the trout had become a miserable skeleton--the captain resumed his discourse. "I tell you what it is now, gentlemen; if there's not going to be a change of some sort or other, I'm no sailor." "It does look very threatening," said Mr Carles, peering through the stern window. "I don't much like the look of these clouds behind us. Look there, doctor!" he continued, pointing towards the window. "What do you think of that?" "Nothing!" replied the doctor, through a mouthful of duff and potatoes. "A squall, I fancy; wish it'd only wait till after dinner." "It never does," said the captain. "I've been to sea these fifteen years, and I always find that squalls come on at breakfast or dinner, like an unwelcome visitor. They've got a thorough contempt for tea-- seem to know it's but swipes, and not worth pitching into one's lap; but dinner's sure to bring 'em on, if they're in the neighbourhood, and make 'em bu'st their cheeks at you. Remember once, when I was cruising in the Mediterranean, in Lord P---'s yacht, we'd been stewing on deck under an awning the whole forenoon, scarce able to breathe, when the bell rang for dinner. Well, down we all tumbled--about ten ladies and fifteen gentlemen, or thereabouts--and seated ourselves round the table. There was no end of grub of every kind. Lord P--- was eccentric in that way, and was always at some new dodge or other in the way of cookery. At this time he had invented a new dumpling. Its jacket was much the same as usual--inch-thick duff; but its contents were beyond anything I ever saw, except the maw of an old shark. Well, just as the steward took off the cover, _hiss-iss_ went the wind overhead, and one of those horrible squalls that come rattling down without a moment's warning in those parts, struck the ship, and gave her a heel over that sent the salt-cellars chasing the tumblers like all-possessed; and the great dumpling gave a heavy lurch to leeward, rolled fairly over on its beam-ends, and began to course straight down the table quite sedate and quiet-like. Several dives were made at it by the gentlemen as it passed, but they all missed; and finally, just as a youngster made a grab at it with both hands that bid fair to be successful, another howl of the squall changed its course, and sent it like a cannon-shot straight into the face of the steward, where it split its sides, and scattered its contents right and left. I don't know how it ended, for I bolted up the companion, and saw the squall splitting away to leeward, shrieking as it went, just as if it were rejoicing at the mischief it had done." The laugh which greeted the captain's anecdote had scarce subsided when the tough sides of the good _Prince Rupert_ gave a gentle creak, and the angle at which the active steward perambulated the cabin became absurdly acute. Just then the doctor cast his eye up at the compass suspended above the captain's head. "Hallo!" said he--But before he could give utterance to the sentiments to which "hallo" was the preface, the hoarse voice of the first mate came rolling down the companion-hatch,--"A squall, sir! scoorin' doon like mad! Wund's veered richt roond to the nor'-east." The captain and second mate sprang hastily to their feet and rushed upon deck, where the rest of us joined them as speedily as possible. On gaining the quarter-deck, the scene that presented itself was truly grand. Thick black clouds rolled heavily overhead, and cast a gloom upon the sea which caused it to look like ink. Not a breath of wind swelled the sails, which the men were actively engaged in taking in. Far away on our weather-quarter the clouds were thicker and darker; and just where they met the sea there was seen a bright streak of white, which rapidly grew broader and brighter, until we could perceive that it was the sea lashed into a seething foam by the gale which was sweeping over it. "Mind your helm!" shouted the captain. "Ay, ay, sir!" sang out the man at the wheel. And in another moment the squall burst upon us with all its fury, laying the huge vessel over on its side as if it had been a feather on the wave, and causing her to fly through the black water like a dolphin. In a few minutes the first violence of the squall passed away, and was succeeded by a steady breeze, which bore us merrily along over the swelling billows. "A stiff one, that," said the captain, turning to the doctor, who, with imperturbable nonchalance, was standing near him, holding on to a stanchion with one hand, while the other reposed in his breeches pocket. "I hope it will last," replied the doctor. "If it does, we'll not be long of reaching the blue water you long so much for." Young Wiseacre, who during the squall had been clutching the weather-shrouds with the tenacity of a drowning man, opened his eyes very wide on hearing this, to him, insane wish, and said to me in an undertone, "I say, do you think the doctor is quite right in his mind?" "I have no doubt of it," replied I. "Why do you ask?" "Because I heard him say to the captain he wished that this would last." "Is that all?" said I, while a very vile spirit of vanity took possession of me, inducing me to speak in a tone which indicated a tranquillity of mind that I certainly did not enjoy. "Oh, this is nothing at all! I see you've never been on salt water before. Just wait a bit, old fellow!" And having given utterance to this somewhat dark and mysterious expression, I staggered across the deck, and amused myself in watching the thick volumes of spray that flew at every plunge from the sides of the bounding vessel. The doctor's wish was granted. The breeze continued steady and strong, sending us through the Pentland Firth in grand style, and carrying us in a short time to the island of Lewis, where we hove-to for a pilot. After a little signalising we obtained one, who steered our good ship in safety through the narrow entrance to the bay of Stornoway into whose quiet waters we finally dropped our anchor. CHAPTER TWO. STORNOWAY--THE BALL--AT SEA--GO OUT TO TEA ON THE ATLANTIC--AMONG THE ICE--SIGHTING LAND--A SLEEPY SIGHT--YORK FACTORY AND BACHELORS' HALL. The harbour of Stornoway is surrounded by high hills, except at the entrance, where a passage--not more, I should think, than three hundred yards wide--admits vessels of any tonnage into its sheltering bosom. Stornoway, a pretty, modest-looking town, apparently pleased with its lot, and contented to be far away from the busy and bustling world, lies snugly at the bottom of the bay. Here we remained upwards of a week, engaging men for the wild Nor'-West, and cultivating the acquaintance of the people, who were extremely kind and very hospitable. Occasionally Wiseacre and I amused ourselves with fishing excursions to the middle of the bay in small boats; in which excursions we were usually accompanied by two or three very ragged little boys from the town. Our sport was generally good, and rendered extremely interesting by our uncertainty as to which of the monsters of the deep would first attack our hooks. Rock-codlings and flounders appeared the most voracious, and occasionally a skate or long-legged crab came struggling to the surface. Just before leaving this peaceful little spot, our captain gave a grand ball on board, to which were invited the _elite_ of Stornoway. Great preparations were made for the occasion. The quarter-deck was well washed and scrubbed; an awning was spread over it, which formed a capital ceiling; and representatives of almost every flag that waves formed the walls of the large and airy apartment. Oil lamps, placed upon the skylights, companion, and capstan, shed a mellow light upon the scene, the romantic effect of which was greatly heightened by a few flickering rays of the moon, which shot through various openings in the drapery, and disported playfully upon the deck. At an early and very unfashionable hour on the evening of the appointed night the guests arrived in detachments; and while the gentlemen scrambled up the side of the vessel, the ladies, amid a good deal of blushing and hesitation, were hoisted on board in a chair. Tea was served on deck; and after half an hour's laughing and chatting, during which time our violin-player was endeavouring to coax his first string to the proper pitch without breaking, the ball opened with a Scotch reel. Every one knows what Scotch reels are, but every one does not know how the belles of the Western Isles can dance them. "Just look at that slip of thread-paper," said the doctor to the captain, pointing to a thin, flat young lady, still in her teens. "I've watched her from the first. She's been up at six successive rounds, flinging her shanks about worse than a teething baby; and she's up again for another, just as cool and serene as a night in the latter end of October. I wonder what she's made of?" "Leather, p'r'aps, or gutta-percha," suggested the captain, who had himself been "flinging his legs" about pretty violently during the previous half-hour. "I wish that she had been my partner instead of the heavy fair one that you see over there leaning against the mizzen belaying-pins." "Which?" inquired the doctor. "The old lady with the stu'n-sails set on her shoulders?" "No, no," replied the captain--"the _young_ lady; fat--_very_ fat--fair, and twenty, with the big blue eyes like signal-lamps on a locomotive. She twisted me round just as if I'd been a fathom of pump-water, shouting and laughing all the time in my face, like a sou'-west gale, and never looking a bit where she was going till she pitched head-foremost into the union-jack, carrying it and me along with her off the quarter-deck and half-way down the companion. It's a blessing she fell undermost, else I should have been spread all over the deck like a capsized pail of slops." "Hallo!" exclaimed the doctor; "what's wrong with the old lady over there? She's making very uncommon faces." "She's sea-sick, I do believe," cried the captain, rushing across the deck towards her. And, without doubt, the old lady in question was showing symptoms of that terrible malady, although the bay was as smooth as a mill-pond, and the _Prince Rupert_ reposed on its quiet bosom without the slightest perceptible motion. With impressive nautical politeness the captain handed her below, and in the sudden sympathy of his heart proposed as a remedy a stiff glass of brandy and water. "Or a pipe of cavendish," suggested the second mate, who met them on the ladder as they descended, and could not refrain from a facetious remark, even although he knew it would, as it did, call forth a thundering command from his superior to go on deck and mind his own business. "Isn't it jolly," said a young Stornowite, coming up to Wiseacre, with a face blazing with glee--"isn't it jolly, Mr Wiseacre?" "Oh, very!" replied Wiseacre, in a voice of such dismal melancholy that the young Stornowite's countenance instantly went out, and he wheeled suddenly round to light it again at the visage of some more sympathising companion. Just at this point of the revelry the fiddler's first string, which had endured with a dogged tenacity that was wonderful even for catgut, gave way with a loud bang, causing an abrupt termination to the uproar, and producing a dead silence. A few minutes, however, soon rectified this mischance. The discordant tones of the violin, as the new string was tortured into tune, once more opened the safety-valve, and the ball began _de novo_. Great was the fun, and numerous were the ludicrous incidents that happened during that eventful night; and loud were the noise and merriment of the dancers as they went with vigorous energy through the bewildering evolutions of country-dance and reel. Immense was the delight of the company when the funniest old gentleman there volunteered a song; and ecstatic the joy when he followed it up by a speech upon every subject that an ordinary mind could possibly embrace in a quarter of an hour. But who can describe the scene that ensued when supper was reported ready in the cabin!--a cabin that was very small indeed, with a stair leading down to it so steep that those who were pretty high up could have easily stepped upon the shoulders of those who were near the foot; and the unpleasant idea was painfully suggested that if any one of the heavy ladies (there were several of them) was to slip her foot on commencing the descent, she would infallibly sweep them all down in a mass, and cram them into the cook's pantry, the door of which stood wickedly open at the foot of the stair, as if it anticipated some such catastrophe. Such pushing, squeezing, laughing, shrieking, and joking, in the vain attempt made to get upwards of thirty people crammed into a room of twelve feet by ten! Such droll and cutting remarks as were made when they were at last requested to sup in detachments! All this, however, was nothing to what ensued after supper, when the fiddler became more energetic, and the dancers more vigorous than ever. But enough. The first grey streaks of morning glimmered in the east ere the joyous party "tumbled down the sides" and departed to their homes. There is a sweet yet melancholy pleasure, when far away from friends and home, in thinking over happy days gone by, and dwelling on the scenes and pleasures that have passed away, perhaps for ever. So I thought and felt as I recalled to mind the fun and frolic of the Stornoway ball, and the graver mirth of the Gravesend dinner, until memory traced my course backward, step by step, to the peaceful time when I dwelt in Scotland, surrounded by the gentle inmates of my happy home. We had left the shores and the green water behind us, and were now ploughing through the blue waves of the wide Atlantic; and when I turned my straining eyes towards the faint blue line of the lessening hills, "a tear unbidden trembled" as the thought arose that I looked perhaps for the last time upon my dear native land. The sea has ever been an inexhaustible subject for the pens of most classes of writers. The poet, the traveller, and the novelist has each devoted a portion of his time and talents to the mighty ocean; but that part of it which it has fallen to my lot to describe is very different from those portions about which poets have sung with rapture. Here, none of the many wonders of the tropical latitudes beguile the tedium of the voyage; no glittering dolphins force the winged inhabitants of the deep to seek shelter on the vessel's deck; no ravenous sharks follow in our wake to eat us if we chance to fall overboard, or amuse us by swallowing our baited hook; no passing vessel cheers us with the knowledge that there are others besides ourselves roaming over the interminable waste of waters. All was dreary and monotonous; the same unvarying expanse of sky and water met our gaze each morning as we ascended to the deck, to walk for half an hour before breakfast, except when the topsails of the other two vessels fluttered for a moment on the distant horizon. Occasionally we approached closer to each other, and once or twice hailed with the trumpet; but these breaks in the solitude of our existence were few and far between. Towards the end of July we approached Hudson Straits, having seen nothing on the way worth mentioning, except one whale, which passed close under the stern of the ship. This was a great novelty to me, being the first that I had ever seen, and it gave me something to talk of and think about for the next four days. The ships now began to close in, as we neared the entrance of the straits, and we had the pleasure of sailing in company for a few days. The shores of the straits became visible occasionally, and soon we passed with perfect confidence and security among those narrow channels and mountains of ice that damped the ardour and retarded the progress of Hudson, Button, Gibbons, and other navigators in days of yore. One day, during a dead calm, our ship and the _Prince of Wales_ lay close to each other, rolling in the swell of the glassy ocean. There seemed to be no prospect of a breeze, so the captain ordered his gig to be launched, and invited the doctor, Mr Carles, and myself to go on board the _Prince of Wales_ with him. We accepted his offer, and were soon alongside. Old Captain Ryle, a veteran in the Company's service, received us kindly, and insisted on our staying to tea. The passengers on board were--a chief factor, [_The chief factorship is the highest rank attainable in the service, the chief trader being next_] who had been home on leave of absence, and was returning to end his days, perhaps, in the North-West; and Mr John Leagues, a young apprentice clerk, going, like myself, to try his fortune in Hudson Bay. He was a fine, candid young fellow, full of spirit, with a kind, engaging disposition. From the first moment I saw him I formed a friendship for him, which was destined to ripen into a lasting one many years after. I sighed on parting from him that evening, thinking that we should never meet again; but about six years from the time I bade him farewell in Hudson Straits, I again grasped his hand on the shores of the mighty St. Lawrence, and renewed a friendship which afforded me the greatest pleasure I enjoyed in the country, and which, I trust, neither time nor distance will ever lessen or destroy. We spent the evening delightfully, the more so that we were not likely to have such an opportunity again, as the _Prince of Wales_ would shortly part company from us, and direct her course to Moose Factory, in James Bay, while we should proceed across Hudson Bay to York Factory. We left the ship just as a few cats-paws on the surface of the water gave indications of a coming breeze. Ice now began to surround us in all directions; and soon after this I saw, for the first time, that monster of the Polar Seas, an iceberg. It was a noble sight. We passed quite close, and had a fine opportunity of observing it. Though not so large as they are frequently seen, it was beautifully and fantastically formed. High peaks rose from it on various places, and down its sides streams of water and miniature cataracts flowed in torrents. The whole mass was of a delicate greenish-white colour, and its lofty pinnacles sparkled in the moonbeams as it floated past, bending majestically in the swell of the ocean. About this time, too, we met numerous fields and floes of ice, to get through which we often experienced considerable difficulty. My favourite amusement, as we thus threaded our way through the ice, was to ascend to the royal-yard, and there to sit and cogitate whilst gazing on the most beautiful and romantic scenes. It is impossible to convey a correct idea of the beauty, the magnificence, of some of the scenes through which we passed. Sometimes thousands of the most grotesque, fanciful, and beautiful icebergs and icefields surrounded us on all sides, intersected by numerous serpentine canals, which glittered in the sun (for the weather was fine nearly all the time we were in the straits), like threads of silver twining round ruined palaces of crystal. The masses assumed every variety of form and size; and many of them bore such a striking resemblance to cathedrals, churches, columns, arches, and spires, that I could almost fancy we had been transported to one of the floating cities of Fairyland. The rapid motion, too, of our ship, in what appeared a dead calm, added much to the magical effect of the scene. A light but steady breeze urged her along with considerable velocity through a maze of ponds and canals, which, from the immense quantity of ice that surrounded them, were calm and unruffled as the surface of a mill-pond. Not a sound disturbed the delightful stillness of nature, save the gentle rippling of the vessel's bow as she sped on her way, or the occasional puffing of a lazy whale, awakened from a nap by our unceremonious intrusion on his domains. Now and then, however, my reveries were interrupted by the ship coming into sudden contact with huge lumps of ice. This happened occasionally when we arrived at the termination of one of those natural canals through which we passed, and found it necessary to force our way into the next. These concussions were occasionally very severe--so much so, at times, as to make the ship's bell ring; but we heeded this little, as the vessel was provided with huge blocks of timber on her bows, called ice-pieces, and was, besides, built expressly for sailing in the northern seas. It only became annoying at meal-times, when a spoonful of soup would sometimes make a little private excursion of its own over the shoulder of the owner instead of into his mouth. As we proceeded, the ice became more closely packed, and at last compelled us to bore through it. The ship, however, was never altogether arrested, though often much retarded. I recollect, while thus surrounded, filling a bucket with water from a pool on the ice, to see whether it was fresh or not, as I had been rather sceptical upon this point. It was excellent, and might almost compete with the water from the famous spring of Crawley. In a few days we got out of the ice altogether; and in this, as the ships are frequently detained for weeks in the straits, we considered ourselves very fortunate. We all experienced at this time a severe disappointment in the non-appearance of the Esquimaux from the coast. The captain said they would be sure to come off to us, as they had always been in the habit of doing so, for the purpose of exchanging ivory and oil for saws, files, needles, etcetera, a large chestful of which is put on board annually for this purpose. The ivory usually procured from them is walrus tusks. These are not very large, and are of inferior quality. As we approached the shores of the straits, we shortened sail and fired three or four guns, but no noisy "_chimo_" floated across the water in answer to our salute; still we lingered for a while, but, as there was no sign of the natives on shore, the captain concluded they had gone off to the interior, and he steered out to sea again. I was very much disappointed at this, as it was wholly unexpected, and Wiseacre and I had promised ourselves much pleasure in trading with them; for which purpose all the buttons of our old waistcoats had been amputated. It was useless, however, to repine, so I contented myself with the hope that they would yet visit us in some other part of the straits. We afterwards learned that our guns had attracted them to the coast in time to board the _Prince Albert_ (which was out of sight astern), though too late for us. The passage across Hudson Bay was stormy, but no one on board cared for this, all having become accustomed to rough weather. For my part, I had become quite a sailor, and could ascend and descend easily to the truck without creeping through the _lubber's hole_. I shall not forget the first time I attempted this: our youngest apprentice had challenged me to try it, so up we went together--he on the fore and I on the main mast. The tops were gained easily, and we even made two or three steps up the top-mast shrouds with affected indifference; but, alas! our courage was failing--at least _mine_ was--very fast. However, we gained the cross-trees pretty well, and then sat down for a little to recover breath. The topgallant-mast still reared its taper form high above me, and the worst was yet to come. The top-gallant shrouds had no ratlines on them, so I was obliged to _shin_ up; and, as I worked myself up the two small ropes, the tenacity with which I grasped them was fearful. At last I reached the top, and with my feet on the small collar that fastens the ropes to the mast, and my arms circling the mast itself--for nothing but a bare pole, crossed by the royal-yard, now rose above me--I glanced upwards. After taking a long breath, and screwing up my courage, I slowly shinned up the slender pole, and, standing on the royal-yard, laid my hand upon the _truck_. After a time I became accustomed to it, and thought nothing of taking an airing on the royal-yard after breakfast. About the 5th or 6th of August, the captain said we must be near the land. The deep-sea lead was rigged, and a sharp lookout kept, but no land appeared. At last, one fine day, while at the mast-head, I saw something like land on the horizon, and told them so on deck. They saw it too, but gave me no answer. Soon a hurried order to "Dowse top-gallant-sails and reef top-sails" made me slide down rather hastily from my elevated position. I had scarcely gained the deck, when a squall, the severest we had yet encountered, struck the ship, laying her almost on her beam-ends; and the sea, which had been nearly calm a few minutes before, foamed and hissed like a seething caldron, and became white as snow. This, I believe, was what sailors call a _white squall_. It was as short as it was severe, and great was our relief when the ship regained her natural position in the water. Next day we saw land in earnest, and in the afternoon anchored in "Five Fathom Hole," after passing in safety a sandbar, which renders the entrance into this roadstead rather difficult. Here, then, for the first time I beheld the shores of Hudson Bay; and truly their appearance was anything but prepossessing. Though only at the distance of two miles, so low and flat was the land, that it appeared ten miles off, and scarcely a tree was to be seen. We could just see the tops of one or two houses in York Factory, the principal depot of the country, which was seven miles up the river at the mouth of which we lay. In a short time the sails of a small schooner came in sight, and in half an hour more the _Frances_ (named after the amiable lady of the governor, Sir George Simpson) was riding alongside. The skipper came on board, and immediately there commenced between him and the captain a sharp fire of questions and answers, which roused me from a slumber in which I had been indulging, and hurried me on deck. Here the face of things had changed. The hatches were off, and bales of goods were scattered about in all directions. Another small schooner had arrived, and the process of discharging the vessel was going rapidly forward. A boat was then dispatched to the factory with the packet-box and letter-bag, and soon after the _Frances_ stood in for the shore. The _Prince Albert_ had arrived almost at the same moment with the _Prince Rupert_, and was now visited by the second schooner, which soon returned to our ship to take the passengers on shore. The passengers who came out in the _Prince Albert_ were on board--namely, the Reverend Mr Gowley, a clergyman of the Church of England, and his lady; and Mr Rob, a sort of catechist, or semi-clerical schoolmaster. They were missionaries bound for Red River Colony; and as I had some prospect of going there myself, I was delighted to have the probable chance of travelling with companions who, from the short survey I had of them while they conversed with the captain and Mr Carles, seemed good-natured and agreeable. Mr Carles, Mr Wiseacre, and I now bade adieu to the good ship which had been our home for such a length of time (but I must say I did not regret the parting), and followed our baggage on board the schooner, expecting to reach the factory before dusk. "There's many a slip 'twixt the cup and the lip," is a proverb well authenticated and often quoted, and on the present occasion its truth was verified. We had not been long under weigh before the ebb tide began to run so strong against us as to preclude the possibility of our reaching the shore that night. There was no help for it, however; so down went the anchor to the bottom, and down went I to the cabin. Such a cabin! A good-sized trunk, with a small table in it, and the lid shut down, had about as much right to the name. It was awfully small-- even _I_ could not stand upright in it, though at the time I had scarcely attained to the altitude of five feet; yet here were we destined to pass the night--and a wretched night we did pass. We got over the first part tolerably, but as it grew late our eyes grew heavy. We yawned, fidgeted and made superhuman efforts to keep awake and seem happy; but it would not do. There were only two berths in the cabin; and, as so many gentlemen were present, Mrs Gowley would not get into either of them, but declared she would sit up all night. The gentlemen, on the other hand, could not be so ungallant as to go to sleep while the only lady present sat up. The case was desperate, and so I went off to the hold, intending to lie down on a bale, if I could find one. In my search I tumbled over something soft, which gave vent to a frightful howl, and proved to be no less a personage than Mr Wiseacre, who had anticipated me, and found a convenient place whereon to lie. My search, however, was less successful. Not a corner big enough for a cat to sleep in was to be found, all the goods having been flung hastily into the hold, so that it was a chaos of box corners, stove legs, edges of kegs and casks, which presented a surface that put to flight all hope of horizontal repose; so I was obliged to return to the cabin, where I found the unhappy inmates winking and blinking at each other like owls in the sunshine. "You had better make use of one of these berths, my young friend," said Mr Gowley, with a bland smile, as I entered; "you seem very much overcome with sleep, and _we_ have resolved to sit up all night." "Do get in," urged Mrs Gowley, who was a sweet, gentle creature, and seemed much too delicate and fragile to stand the rough life that was likely to be the lot of the wife of a missionary to the Red men of the Far North; "I do not intend to lie down to-night; and besides, it will soon be morning." A sweet but very sleepy smile flitted across her face as she spoke. Of course, I protested against this with great vehemence, assuring them that I could not think of anything so ungallant, and that I meant to sit it out manfully with the rest. Mr Rob, who was a comical little Welshman, of about thirty years of age, with a sharp, snub nose, which was decorated with spectacles, sat huddled up in a corner, immersed in sleepiness to such an extent that he would not have smiled for worlds, and spent the weary hours in vain efforts to keep his head on his shoulders--an object, apparently, of some difficulty, seeing that it swayed backwards and forwards and round about like that of a Chinese mandarin! For a few minutes I sat gazing steadfastly at the revolving object before me, when my own head became similarly affected, and fell suddenly back against the bulk-head with a tremendous crash, wakening them all up, and causing Mr Rob to stare at me with an expression of vacant gravity, mingled with surprise, which slowly and gradually faded away again as sleep reasserted its irresistible power. Flesh and blood could not stand this. I would have lain down on the table, but poor Mrs Gowley's head already covered the greater part of that; or on the floor, but, alas! it was too small. At last I began to reason thus with myself: "Here are two capital beds, with nobody in them; it is the height of folly to permit them to remain empty; but then, what a selfish-looking thing to leave Mrs Gowley sitting up! After all, she _won't_ go to bed. Oh dear! what _is_ to be done?" (Bang went the head again.) "You'd better turn in," said Mr Gowley. Again I protested that I could not think of it; but my eyes would not keep open to look him in the face. At last my scruples--I blush to say it--were overcome, and I allowed myself to be half forced into the berth; while Mr Rob, whose self-denial could endure no longer, took advantage of the confusion thus occasioned, and vanished into the other like a harlequin. Poor Mr and Mrs Gowley laid their innocent heads side by side upon the table, and snored in concert. How long I slept I know not, but long before day a tremendous thumping awoke me, and after I had collected my faculties enough to understand it, I found that the schooner was grounding as the tide receded. "Oh!" thought I; and, being utterly incapable of thinking more, I fell back on the pillow again, sound asleep, and did not awake till long after daybreak. Next morning was beautiful; but we were still aground, and, from what the skipper said, there appeared to be no prospect of getting ashore till the afternoon. Our patience, however, was not tried so long; for, early in the day, a boat came off from the factory to take us ashore: but the missionaries preferred remaining in the schooner. Mr Carles, young Wiseacre, and I gladly availed ourselves of the opportunity, and were soon sailing with a fair breeze up Hayes River. We approached to within a few yards of the shore; and I formed, at first sight, a very poor opinion of the country which, two years later, I was destined to traverse full many a mile in search of the feathered inhabitants of the marshes. The Point of Marsh, which was the first land we made, was quite low-- only a few feet above the sea--and studded here and there with thick willows, but not a single tree. Long lank grass covered it in every place, affording ducks and geese shelter, in the autumn and spring. In the centre of it stood the ship-beacon--a tall, ungainly-looking pile, which rose upwards like a monster out of the water. Altogether, a more desolate prospect could not well be imagined. The banks of Hayes River are formed of clay, and they improved a little in verdure as we ascended; but still, wherever the eye turned, the same universal flatness met the gaze. The river was here about two miles wide, and filled with shallows and sandbanks, which render the navigation difficult for vessels above fifty tons. As we proceeded, a small bark canoe, with an Indian and his wife in it, glided swiftly past us; and this was the first Indian, and the first of these slender craft, I had seen. Afterwards, I became more intimately acquainted with them than was altogether agreeable. In a short time we reached the wooden wharf, which, owing to the smallness of everything else in the vicinity, had rather an imposing look, and projected a long way into the water; but our boat passed this and made for a small slip, on which two or three gentlemen waited to receive us. My voyage was ended. The boat's keel grated harshly on the gravel; the next moment my feet once more pressed _terra firma_, and I stood at last on the shores of the New World, a stranger in a strange land. I do not intend to give a minute description of York Factory here, as a full account of it will be found in a succeeding chapter, and shall, therefore, confine myself to a slight sketch of the establishment, and our proceedings there during a stay of about three weeks. York Factory is the principal depot of the Northern department, from whence all the supplies for the trade are issued, and where all the furs of the district are collected and shipped for England. As may be supposed, then, the establishment is a large one. There are always between thirty and forty men resident at the post, [_The word "_post_," used here and elsewhere throughout the book, signifies an establishment of any kind, small or great, and has no reference whatever to the "_post_" of epistolary notoriety_.] summer and winter; generally four or five clerks, a postmaster, and a skipper for the small schooners. The whole is under the direction and superintendence of a chief factor, or chief trader. As the winter is very long (nearly eight months), and the summer very short, all the transport of goods to, and returns from, the interior must necessarily be effected as quickly as possible. The consequence is, that great numbers of men and boats are constantly arriving from the inland posts, and departing again, during the summer; and as each brigade is commanded by a chief factor, trader, or clerk, there is a constant succession of new faces, which, after a long and dreary winter, during which the inhabitants never see a stranger, renders the summer at York Factory the most agreeable part of the year. The arrival of the ship from England, too, delights those inhabitants of the wilderness with letters from _home_, which can only be received twice a year-- namely, at the time now alluded to, by the ship; and again in December, when letters and accounts are conveyed throughout the interior by means of sledges drawn by men. The fort (as all establishments in the Indian country, whether small or great, are sometimes called) is a large square, I should think about six or seven acres, enclosed within high stockades, and planted on the banks of Hayes River, nearly five miles from its mouth. The houses are all of wood, and, of course, have no pretension to architectural beauty; but their clean, white appearance and regularity have a pleasing effect on the eye. Before the front gate stand four large brass field-pieces; but these warlike instruments are only used for the purpose of saluting the ship with blank cartridge on her arrival and departure, the decayed state of the carriages rendering it dangerous to load the guns with a full charge. The country, as I said before, is flat and swampy, and the only objects that rise very prominently above the rest, and catch the wandering eye, are a lofty "outlook," or scaffolding of wood, painted black, from which to watch for the arrival of the ship; and a flagstaff, from whose peak, on Sundays, the snowy folds of St. George's flag flutter in the breeze. Such was York Factory in 1841; and as this description is sufficient to give a general idea of the place, I shall conclude it, and proceed with my narrative. Mr Grave, the chief factor then in charge, received us very kindly, and introduced us to some of the gentlemen standing beside him on the wharf. Mr Carles, being also a chief factor, was taken by him to the _commissioned gentlemen's house_; while Wiseacre and I, being apprentice clerks, were shown the young gentlemen's house--or, as the young gentlemen themselves called it, Bachelors' Hall--and were told to make ourselves at home. To Bachelors' Hall, then, we proceeded, and introduced ourselves. The persons assembled there were--the accountant, five clerks, the postmaster, and one or two others. Some of them were smoking, and some talking; and a pretty considerable noise they made. Bachelors' Hall, indeed, was worthy of its name, being a place that would have killed any woman, so full was it of smoke, noise, and confusion. After having made ourselves acquainted with everybody, I thought it time to present a letter of introduction I had to Mrs Grave, the wife of the gentleman in charge, who received me very kindly. I was much indebted to this lady for supplying me with several pairs of moccasins for my further voyage, and much useful information, without which I should have been badly off indeed. Had it not been for her kindness, I should in all probability have been allowed to depart very ill provided for the journey to Red River, for which I was desired to hold myself in readiness. Young Wiseacre, on the other hand, learned that he was to remain at York Factory that winter, and was placed in the office the day after our arrival, where he commenced _work_ for the first time. We had a long and sage conversation upon the subject the same evening, and I well remember congratulating him, with an extremely grave face, upon his having now begun to _do for himself_. Poor fellow! his subsequent travels in the country were long and perilous. But let us pause here a while. The reader has been landed in a new country, and it may be well, before describing our voyage to Red River, to make him acquainted with the peculiarities of the service, and the people with whom he will in imagination have to associate. CHAPTER THREE. DESCRIPTION OF THE HUDSON BAY COMPANY--THEIR FORTS AND ESTABLISHMENTS-- FOOD--ARTICLES OF TRADE AND MANNER OF TRADING. In the year 1669, a Company was formed in London, under the direction of Prince Rupert, for the purpose of prosecuting the fur-trade in the regions surrounding Hudson Bay. This Company obtained a charter from Charles the Second, granting to them and their successors, under the name of "The Governor and Company of Adventurers trading into Hudson's Bay," the sole right of trading in all the country watered by rivers flowing into Hudson Bay. The charter also authorised them to build and fit out men-of-war, establish forts, prevent any other company from carrying on trade with the natives in their territories, and required that they should do all in their power to promote Discovery. Armed with these powers, then, the Hudson Bay Company established a fort near the head of James Bay. Soon afterwards, several others were built in different parts of the country; and before long the Company spread and grew wealthy, and eventually extended their trade far beyond the chartered limits. With the internal economy of the Company under the superintendence of Prince Rupert, however, I am not acquainted; but as it will be necessary to the reader's forming a correct idea of the peculiarities of the country and service, that he should know something of its character under the direction of Sir George Simpson, I shall give a brief outline of its arrangements. Reader, you will materially assist me in my description if you will endeavour to draw the following landscape on the retina of your mind's eye. Imagine an immense extent of country, many hundred miles broad and many hundred miles long, covered with dense forests, expanded lakes, broad rivers, wide prairies, swamps, and mighty mountains: and all in a state of primeval simplicity--undefaced by the axe of civilised man, and untenanted by aught save a few roving hordes of Red Indians and myriads of wild animals. Imagine amid this wilderness a number of small squares, each enclosing half a dozen wooden houses and about a dozen men, and between each of these establishments a space of forest varying from fifty to three hundred miles in length; and you will have a pretty correct idea of the Hudson Bay Company's territories, and of the number of and distance between their forts. The idea, however, may be still more correctly obtained by imagining populous Great Britain converted into a wilderness and planted in the middle of Rupert's Land. The Company, in that case, would build _three_ forts in it--one at the Land's End, one in Wales, and one in the Highlands; so that in Britain there would be but three hamlets, with a population of some thirty men, half a dozen women, and a few children! The Company's posts extend, with these intervals between, from the Atlantic to the Pacific Ocean, and from within the Arctic Circle to the northern boundaries of the United States. Throughout this immense country there are probably not more ladies than would suffice to form half a dozen quadrilles; and these--poor banished creatures!--are chiefly the wives of the principal gentlemen connected with the fur-trade. The rest of the female population consists chiefly of half-breeds and Indians; the latter entirely devoid of education, and the former as much enlightened as can be expected from those whose life is spent in such a country. Even these are not very numerous; and yet without them the men would be in a sad condition, for they are the only tailors and washer-women in the country, and make all the mittens, moccasins, fur caps, deer-skin coats, etcetera, etcetera, worn in the land. There are one or two favoured spots, however, into which a missionary or two have penetrated; and in Red River Settlement (the only colony in the Company's territories) there are several churches and clergymen, both Protestant and Roman Catholic. The country is divided into four large departments: the Northern department, which includes all the establishments in the far north and frozen regions; the Southern department, including those to the south and east of this, the post at the head of James Bay, and along the shores of Lake Superior; the Montreal department, including the country in the neighbourhood of Montreal, up the Ottawa River, and along the north shore of the Gulf of St. Lawrence and Esquimaux Bay; and the Columbia department, which comprehends an immense extent of country to the west of the Rocky Mountains, including the Oregon territory, which, although the Hudson Bay Company still trade in it, now belongs to the Americans. These departments are divided into a number of districts, each under the direction of an influential officer; and these again are subdivided into numerous establishments, forts, posts, and outposts. The name of _fort_, as already remarked, is given to all the posts in the country; but some of them certainly do not merit the name--indeed, few of them do. The only two in the country that are real, _bona fide_ forts, are Fort Garry and the Stone Fort in the colony of Red River, which are surrounded by stone walls with bastions at the corners. The others are merely defended by wooden pickets or stockades; and a few, where the Indians are quiet and harmless, are entirely destitute of defence of any kind. Some of the chief posts have a complement of about thirty or forty men; but most of them have only ten, five, four, and even _two_, besides the gentleman in charge. As in most instances these posts are planted in a wilderness far from men, and the inhabitants have only the society of each other, some idea may be formed of the solitary life led by many of the Company's servants. The following is a list of the forts in the four different departments, as correctly given as possible; but, owing to the great number in the country, the constant abandoning of old and establishing of new forts, it is difficult to get at a perfectly correct knowledge of their number and names:-- NORTHERN DEPARTMENT. York Fort (the depot). Churchill. Severn. Oxford House. Trout Lake House. Norway House. Nelson River House. Berens River House. Red River Colony. Fort Garry. Stone Fort. Manitoba House. Fort Pelly. Cumberland House. Carlton House. Fort Pitt. Edmonton. Rocky Mountain House. Fort Aminaboine. Jasper's House. Henry's House. Fort Chipewyan. Fort Vermilion. Fort Dunvegan. Fort Simpson. Fort Norman. Fort Good Hope. Fort Halkett. Fort Resolution. Peel's River. Fort Alexander. Rat Portage House. Fort Frances. Isle a la Crosse. SOUTHERN DEPARTMENT. Moose Factory (the depot). Rupert's House. Fort George. Michiskau. Albany. Lac Seul Kinogomousse. Matawagamingue. Kuckatoosh. New Brunswick. Abitibi. Temiscamingue. Grand Lac. Trout Lake. Matarva. Canasicomica. Lacloche. Sault de Ste. Maria. Fort William. Pic House. Michipicoton. Bachiwino. Nepigon. Washwonaby. Pike Lake. Temagamy. Green Lake. Missisague. MONTREAL DEPARTMENT. Lachine (the depot). Riviere du Moine. Lac des Allumettes. Fort Coulonge. Riviere Desert. Lac des Sables. Lake of Two Mountains. Kikandatch. Weymontachingue. Rat River. Ashabmoushwan. Chicoutimie. Lake St. John's. Tadousac. Isle Jeremie. Port Neuf. Goodbout. Trinity River. Seven Islands. Mingan. Nabisippi. Natoequene. Musquarro. Fort Nasoopie. Mainewan Lake. Sandy Banks. Gull Islands. North-west River. Rigolet. Kiboksk. Eyelick. COLUMBIA DEPARTMENT. Fort Vancouver (the depot). Fort George. Nez Perce. Ockanagan. Colville. Fort Hall. Thompson's River. Fort Langley. Cootanies. Flat-head Post. Nisqually. Alexandria. Fort Chilcotin. Fort James. Fort Fluz Cuz. Babine Lake. And an agency in the Sandwich Islands. There are seven different grades in the service. First, the labourer, who is ready to turn his hand to anything; to become a trapper, fisherman, or rough carpenter at the shortest notice. He is generally employed in cutting firewood for the consumption of the establishment at which he is stationed, shovelling snow from before the doors, mending all sorts of damages to all sorts of things, and, during the summer months, in transporting furs and goods between his post and the nearest depot. Next in rank is the interpreter. He is, for the most part, an intelligent labourer, of pretty long standing in the service, who, having picked up a smattering of Indian, is consequently very useful in trading with the natives. After the interpreter comes the postmaster; usually a promoted labourer, who, for good behaviour or valuable services, has been put upon a footing with the gentlemen of the service, in the same manner that a private soldier in the army is sometimes raised to the rank of a commissioned officer. At whatever station a postmaster may happen to be placed, he is generally the most useful and active man there. He is often placed in charge of one of the many small stations, or outposts, throughout the country. Next are the apprentice clerks--raw lads, who come out fresh from school, with their mouths agape at the wonders they behold in Hudson Bay. They generally, for the purpose of appearing manly, acquire all the bad habits of the country as quickly as possible, and are stuffed full of what they call fun, with a strong spice of mischief. They become more sensible and sedate before they get through the first five years of their apprenticeship, after which they attain to the rank of clerks. The clerk, after a number of years' service (averaging from thirteen to twenty), becomes a chief trader (or half-shareholder), and in a few years more he attains the highest rank to which any one can rise in the service, that of chief factor (or shareholder). It is a strange fact that three-fourths of the Company's servants are Scotch Highlanders and Orkneymen. There are very few Irishmen, and still fewer English. A great number, however, are half-breeds and French Canadians, especially among the labourers and _voyageurs_. From the great extent, and variety of feature, in the country occupied by the fur-traders, they subsist, as may be supposed, on widely different kinds of food. In the prairie, or plain countries, animal food is chiefly used, as there thousands of deer and bisons wander about, while the woods are stocked with game and wild-fowl. In other places, however, where deer are scarce and game not so abundant, fish of various kinds are caught in the rivers and lakes; and in other parts of the country they live partly upon fish and partly upon animal food. Vegetables are very scarce in the more northern posts, owing to the severity of the winter, and consequent shortness of summer. As the Company's servants are liable, on the shortest notice, to be sent from one end of the continent to another, they are quite accustomed to change of diet;--one year rejoicing in buffalo-humps and marrow-bones, in the prairies of the Saskatchewan, and the next devouring hung white-fish and scarce venison, in the sterile regions of Mackenzie River, or varying the meal with a little of that delectable substance often spoken of by Franklin, Back, and Richardson as their only dish--namely, _tripe-de-roche_, a lichen or moss which grows on the most barren rocks, and is only used as food in the absence of all other provisions. During the first years of the Company, they were much censured for not carrying out the provision contained in the royal charter, that they should prosecute Discovery as much as possible; and it was even alleged that they endeavoured to prevent adventurers, not connected with themselves, from advancing in their researches. There is every reason to believe, however, that this censure was undeserved. A new company, recently formed in a wild country, could not at first be expected to have time or funds to advance the arduous and expensive cause of Discovery. With regard to their having impeded the attempts of others, it is doubtful whether any one in the service ever did so; but even had such been the case, the unauthorised and dishonourable conduct of one or two of their servants does not sanction the condemnation of the whole Company. Besides, the cause of Discovery was effectively advanced in former days by Herne, and in later years by Dease and Simpson, Dr Rae, and others; so that, whatever might have been the case at first, there can be no doubt that the Company have done much for the cause of late years. The trade carried on by the Company is in peltries of all sorts, oil, dried and salted fish, feathers, quills, etcetera. A list of some of their principal articles of commerce is subjoined:-- Beaver-skins. Bear-skins, Black. Bear-skins, Brown. Bear-skins, White or Polar. Bear-skins, Grizzly. Badger-skins. Buffalo or Bison Robes (see note below). Castorum, a substance procured from the body of the beaver. Deer-skins, Rein. Deer-skins, Red. Deer-skins, Moose or Elk. Deer-skins, parchment. Feathers of all kinds. Fisher-skins. Fox-skins, Black. Fox-skins, Silver. Fox-skins, Cross. Fox-skins, Red. Fox-skins, White. Fox-skins, Blue. Goose-skins. Ivory (tusks of the Walrus). Lynx-skins. Marten-skins. Musquash-skins. Otter-skins. Oil, Seal. Oil, Whale. Swan-skins. Salmon, salted. Seal-skins. Wolf-skins Wolverine-skins. Note. The hide of the bison--or, as it is called by the fur-traders, the buffalo--when dressed on one side and the hair left on the other, is called a robe. Great numbers are sent to Canada, where they are used for sleigh wrappers in winter. In the Indian county they are often used instead of blankets. The most valuable of the furs mentioned in the above list is that of the _black fox_. This beautiful animal resembles in shape the common fox of England, but it is much larger, and jet-black, with the exception of one or two white hairs along the back-bone and a pure white tuft on the end of the tail. A single skin sometimes brings from twenty-five to thirty guineas in the British market; but, unfortunately, they are very scarce. The _silver fox_ differs from the black fox only in the number of white hairs with which its fur is sprinkled; and the more numerous the white hairs, the less valuable does it become. The _cross fox_ is a cross between the black or silver and the red fox. The _red fox_ bears a much inferior fur to the other kinds; yet it is a good article of trade, as this species is very numerous. These four kinds of foxes are sometimes produced in the same litter, the mother being a red fox. The _white fox_ is of less value than the red, and is also very numerous, particularly on the shores of Hudson Bay. The variety termed the _blue fox_ is neither numerous nor valuable. It is of a dirty bluish-grey colour, and seldom makes its appearance at the Company's posts. Beaver, in days of yore, was the staple fur of the country; but, alas! the silk hat has given it its death-blow, and the star of the beaver has now probably set for ever--that is to say, with regard to men; probably the animals themselves fancy that their lucky star has just risen. The most profitable fur in the country is that of the marten. It somewhat resembles the Russian sable, and generally maintains a steady price. These animals, moreover, are very numerous throughout most part of the Company's territories, particularly in Mackenzie River, whence great numbers are annually sent to England. All the above animals and a few others are caught in steel and wooden traps by the natives; while deer, buffaloes, etcetera, are run down, shot, and snared in various ways, the details of which will be found in another part of this volume. Trade is carried on with the natives by means of a standard valuation, called in some parts of the country a _castor_. This is to obviate the necessity of circulating money, of which there is little or none, excepting in the colony of Red River. Thus, an Indian arrives at a fort with a bundle of furs, with which he proceeds to the Indian trading-room. There the trader separates the furs into different lots, and, valuing each at the standard valuation, adds the amount together, and tells the Indian (who has looked on the while with great interest and anxiety) that he has got fifty or sixty casters; at the same time he hands the Indian fifty or sixty little bits of wood in lieu of cash, so that the latter may know, by returning these in payment of the goods for which he really exchanges his skins, how fast his funds decrease. The Indian then looks round upon the bales of cloth, powder-horns, guns, blankets, knives, etcetera, with which the shop is filled, and after a good while makes up his mind to have a small blanket. This being given him, the trader tells him that the price is six castors; the purchaser hands back six of his little bits of wood, and selects something else. In this way he goes on till all his wooden cash is expended; and then, packing up his goods, departs to show his treasures to his wife, and another Indian takes his place. The value of a castor is from one to two shillings. The natives generally visit the establishments of the Company twice a year--once in October, when they bring in the produce of their autumn hunts; and again in March, when they come in with that of the great winter hunt. The number of castors that an Indian makes in a winter hunt varies from fifty to two hundred, according to his perseverance and activity, and the part of the country in which he hunts. The largest amount I ever heard of was made by a man called Piaquata-Kiscum, who brought in furs on one occasion to the value of two hundred and sixty castors. The poor fellow was soon afterwards poisoned by his relatives, who were jealous of his superior abilities as a hunter, and envious of the favour shown him by the white men. After the furs are collected in spring at all the different outposts, they are packed in conveniently-sized bales, and forwarded, by means of boats and canoes, to the three chief depots on the sea-coast--namely, Fort Vancouver, at the mouth of the Columbia River, on the shores of the Pacific; York Fort, on the shores of Hudson Bay; and Moose Factory, on the shores of James Bay--whence they are transported in the Company's ships to England. The whole country in summer is, consequently, in commotion with the passing and repassing of brigades of boats laden with bales of merchandise and furs; the still waters of the lakes and rivers are rippled by the paddle and the oar; and the long-silent echoes which have slumbered in the icy embrace of a dreary winter, are now once more awakened by the merry voice and tuneful song of the hardy _voyageur_. This slight sketch of the Hudson Bay Company and of the territories occupied by them may, for the present, serve to give some idea of the nature of the service and the appearance of the country. We shall now proceed to write of the Indiana inhabiting these wild regions. [Doubtless the reader is aware that the chartered rights of the Hudson Bay Company now (1875) no longer exist; nevertheless their operations are still conducted in the same manner as of old, so that the above description is applicable in almost all respects to the greater part of the country at the present time.] CHAPTER FOUR. NORTH AMERICAS INDIANS--THEIR MANNERS AND CUSTOMS--COSTUME, DWELLINGS, IMPLEMENTS, ETCETERA.--A TALE OF MURDER AND CANNIBALISM--A NIGHT EXCURSION WITH AN INDIAN--A DEER HUNT. The aborigines of North America are divided into a great number of nations or tribes, differing not only in outward appearance but also in customs and modes of life, and in some instances entertaining for each other a bitter and implacable hatred. To describe the leading peculiarities of some of these tribes, particularly those called Crees, will be my object in the present chapter. Some of the tribes are known by the following names:--Crees, Seauteaux, Stone Indians, Sioux, Blackfeet, Chipewyans, Slave Indians, Crows, Flatheads, etcetera. Of these, the Crees are the quietest and most inoffensive; they inhabit the woody country surrounding Hudson Bay; dwell in tents; never go to war; and spend their time in trapping, shooting, and fishing. The Seauteaux are similar to the Crees in many respects, and inhabit the country further in the interior. The Stone Indians, Sioux, Blackfeet, Slave Indians, Crows, and Flatheads inhabit the vast plains and forests in the interior of America, on the east and west of the Rocky Mountains, and live chiefly by the produce of the chase. Their country swarms with bisons, and varieties of deer, bears, etcetera, which they hunt, shoot, snare, and kill in various ways. Some of these tribes are well supplied with horses, with which they hunt the buffalo. This is a wild, inspiriting chase, and the natives are very fond of it. They use the gun a good deal, but prefer the bow and arrow (in the use of which they are very expert) for the chase, and reserve the gun for warfare,--many of them being constantly engaged in skirmishing with their enemies. As the Crees were the Indians with whom I had the most intercourse, I shall endeavour to describe my old friends more at length. The personal appearance of the men of this tribe is not bad. Although they have not the bold, daring carriage of the wilder tribes, yet they have active-looking figures, intelligent countenances, and a peculiar brightness in their dark eyes, which, from a constant habit of looking around them while travelling through the woods, are seldom for a moment at rest. Their jet-black hair generally hangs in straight matted locks over their shoulders, sometimes ornamented with beads and pieces of metal, and occasionally with a few partridge feathers; but they seldom wear a hat or cap of any kind, except in winter, when they make clumsy imitations of foraging-caps with furs--preferring, if the weather be warm, to go about without any head-dress at all; or, if it be cold, using the large hood of their capotes as a covering. They are thin, wiry men, not generally very muscular in their proportions, but yet capable of enduring great fatigue. Their average height is about five feet five inches; and one rarely meets with individuals varying much from this average, nor with deformed people, among them. The step of a Cree Indian is much longer than that of a European; owing, probably, to his being so much accustomed to walking through swamps and forests, where it is necessary to take long strides. This peculiarity becomes apparent when an Indian arrives at a fort, and walks along the hard ground inside the walls with the trader, whose short, bustling, active step contrasts oddly with the long, solemn, ostrich-like stride of the savage; which, however appropriate in the woods, is certainly strange and ungraceful on a good road. The summer dress of the Indian is almost entirely provided for him by the Hudson Bay Company. It consists chiefly of a blue or grey cloth, or else a blanket capote reaching below the knee, made much too loose for the figure, and strapped round the waist with a scarlet or crimson worsted belt. A very coarse blue striped cotton shirt is all the underclothing they wear, holding trousers to be quite superfluous; in lieu of which they make leggins of various kinds of cloth, which reach from a few inches above the knee down to the ankle. These leggins are sometimes very tastefully decorated with bead-work, particularly those of the women, and are provided with flaps or wings on either side. The costume, however, is slightly varied in winter. The blanket or cloth capote is then laid aside for one of smoked red-deer skin, which has very much the appearance of chamois leather. This is lined with flannel, or some other thick, warm substance, and edged with fur (more for ornament, however, than warmth) of different kinds. Fingerless mittens, with a place for the thumb, are also adopted; and shoes or moccasins of the same soft material. The moccasins are very beautiful, fitting the feet as tightly as a glove, and are tastefully ornamented with dyed porcupine quills and silk thread of various colours, at which work the women are particularly _au fait_. As the leather of the moccasin is very thin [see note 1], blanket and flannel socks are worn underneath--one, two, or even four pairs, according to the degree of cold; and in proportion as these socks are increased in number, the moccasin, of course, loses its elegant appearance. The Indian women are not so good-looking as the men. They have an awkward, slouching gait, and a downcast look--arising, probably, from the rude treatment they experience from their husbands; for the North American Indians, like all other savages, make complete drudges of their women, obliging them to do all the laborious and dirty work, while they reserve the pleasures of the chase for themselves. Their features are sometimes good; but I never saw a really pretty woman among the Crees. Their colour, as well as that of the men, is a dingy brown, which, together with their extreme filthiness, renders them anything but attractive. They are, however, quiet, sweet-tempered, and inoffensive creatures, destitute as well of artificial manners as of _stays_. Their dress is a gown, made without sleeves, and very scanty in the skirt, of coarse blue or green cloth; it reaches down to a little under the knee, below which their limbs are cased in leggins beautifully ornamented. Their whole costume, however, like that of the men, is almost always hid from sight by a thick blanket, without which the Indian seldom ventures abroad. The women usually make the top of the blanket answer the purpose of a head-dress; but when they wish to appear very much to advantage, they put on a cap. It is a square piece of blue cloth, profusely decorated with different-coloured beads, and merely sewed up at the top. They wear their hair in long straggling locks, which have not the slightest tendency to curl, and occasionally in queues or pigtails behind; but in this respect, as in every other, they are very careless of their personal appearance. These primitive children of the forest live in tents of deerskin or bark; and sometimes, where skins are scarce, of branches of trees. They are conically shaped, and are constructed thus:--The Indian with his family (probably two wives and three or four children) arrives in his bark canoe at a pretty level spot, sheltered from the north wind, and conveniently situated on the banks of a small stream, where the fish are plentiful, and pine branches (or brush), for the floor of the tent, abundant. Here he runs his canoe ashore, and carries his goods and chattels up the bank. His first business is to cut a number of long poles, and tie three of them at the top, spreading them out in the form of a tripod. He then piles all the other poles round these, at half a foot distance from each other, and thus encloses a circle of between fifteen and twenty feet in diameter. Over the poles (if he is a good hunter, and has plenty of deer-skins) he spreads the skin tent, leaving an opening at the top for the egress of the smoke. If the tent be a birch-bark one, he has it in separate rolls, which are spread over the poles till the whole is covered. A small opening is left facing the river or lake, which serves for a doorway; and this is covered with an old blanket, a piece of deer-skin, or, in some instances, by bison-skin or buffalo robe. The floor is covered with a layer of small pine branches, which serve for carpet and mattress; and in the centre is placed the wood fire, which, when blazing brightly, gives a warmth and comfort to the slight habitation that could scarcely be believed. Here the Indian spends a few days or weeks, according to the amount of game in the vicinity, and then removes to some other place, carrying with him the covering of the tent, but leaving the poles standing, as they would be cumbrous to carry in his small canoe, and thousands may be had at every place where he may wish to land. The Indian canoe is an exceedingly light and graceful little craft, and well adapted for travelling in through a wild country, where the rivers are obstructed by long rapids, waterfalls, and shallows. It is so light that one man can easily carry it on his shoulders over the land, when a waterfall obstructs his progress; and as it only sinks about four or six inches in the water, few places are too shallow to float it. The birch bark of which it is made is about a quarter of an inch thick; and the inside is lined with extremely thin flakes of wood, over which a number of light timbers are driven, to give strength and tightness to the machine. In this frail bark, which measures from twelve, fifteen, thirty, to forty feet long, and from two to four feet broad in the middle, a whole Indian family of eight or ten souls will travel hundreds of miles, over rivers and lakes innumerable; now floating swiftly down a foaming rapid, and anon gliding over the surface of a quiet lake, or _making a portage_ overland when a rapid is too dangerous to descend; and, while the elders of the family assist in carrying the canoe, the youngsters run about plucking berries, and the shaggy little curs (one or two of which are possessed by every Indian family) search for food, or bask in the sun at the foot of the baby's cradle, which stands bolt upright against a tree, while the child gazes upon all these operations with serene indifference. Not less elegant and useful than the canoe is the snowshoe, without which the Indian would be badly off indeed. It is not, as many suppose, used as a kind of _skate_, with which to _slide_ over the snow, but as a machine to prevent, by its size and breadth, the wearer from sinking into the snow; which is so deep that, without the assistance of the snowshoe, no one could walk a quarter of a mile through the woods in winter without being utterly exhausted. It is formed of two thin pieces of light wood, tied at both ends, and spread out near the middle, thus making a kind of long oval, the interior of which is filled up with network of deer-skin threads. Strength is given to the frame by placing wooden bars across; and it is fastened _loosely_ to the foot by a slight line going over the toe. In case, however, it may be supposed that by a shoe I mean an article something the size of a man's foot, it may be as well to state that snow-shoes measure from _four_ to _six feet_ long, and from thirteen to twenty inches wide. Notwithstanding their great size, the extreme lightness of their materials prevents them being cumbrous; and, after a little practice, a traveller forgets that he has them on, if the weather be good for such walking. Frosty weather is the best for snow-shoe travelling, as the snow is fine and dust-like, and falls through the net-work. If the weather be warm, the wet snow renders the shoe heavy, and the lines soon begin to gall the feet. On these shoes an Indian will travel between twenty and thirty miles a day; and they often accomplish from thirty to forty when hard pressed. The food of the Indian varies according to circumstances. Sometimes he luxuriates on deer, partridges, and fat beaver; whilst at others he is obliged to live almost entirely on fish, and not unfrequently on _tripe-de-roche_. This substance, however, does no more than retard his ultimate destruction by starvation; and unless he meets with something more nourishing, it cannot prevent it. When starving, the Indian will not hesitate to appease the cravings of hunger by resorting to cannibalism; and there were some old dames with whom I was myself acquainted, who had at different periods eaten several of their children. Indeed, some of them, it was said, had also eaten their husbands! The following anecdote, related to me by my friend Carles, who spent many years of his life among the North American Indians, depicts one of the worst of these cases of cannibalism. It was in the spring of 18 hundred and something that Mr Carles stood in the Indian Hall of one of the far-distant posts in Athabasca, conversing with a party of Chipewyan Indians, who had just arrived with furs from their winter hunting-grounds. The large fires of wood, sparkling and blazing cheerfully up the wide chimney, cast a bright light round the room, and shone upon the dusky countenances of the Chipewyans, as they sat gravely on the floor, smoking their spwagans in silence. A dark shade lowered upon every face, as if thoughts of an unpleasant nature disturbed their minds; and so it was. A deed of the most revolting description had been perpetrated by an Indian of the Cree tribe, and they were about to relate the story to Mr Carles. After a short silence, an old Indian removed his pipe, and, looking round upon the others, as if to ask their consent to his becoming spokesman, related the particulars of the story, the substance of which I now give. Towards the middle of winter, Wisagun, a Cree Indian, removed his encampment to another part of the country, as game was scarce in the place where he had been residing. His family consisted of a wife, a son of eight or nine years of age, and two or three children, besides several of his relations; in all, ten souls, including himself. In a few days they arrived at their new encamping ground, after having suffered a great deal of misery by the way from starvation. They were all much exhausted and worn out, but hoped, having heard of buffaloes in the vicinity, that their sufferings would soon be relieved. Here they remained several days without finding any game, and were reduced to the necessity of devouring their moccasins and leathern coats, rendered eatable by being singed over the fire. Soon this wretched resource was also gone, and they were reduced to the greatest extremity, when a herd of buffaloes was descried far away in the prairie, on the edge of which they were encamped. All were instantly on the _qui vive_. Guns were loaded, snow-shoes put on, and in ten minutes the males of the hungry party set off after the herd, leaving Wisagun's wife and children with another girl in the tent. It was not long, however, before the famished party began to grow tired. Some of the weakest dropped behind; while Wisagun, with his son Natappe, gave up the chase, and returned to the encampment. They soon arrived at it, and Wisagun, peeping in between the chinks of the tent to see what the women were doing, saw his wife engaged in cutting up one of her own children, preparatory to cooking it. In a transport of passion, the Indian rushed forward and stabbed her, and also the other woman; and then, fearing the wrath of the other Indians, he fled to the woods. It may be conceived what were the feelings of the remainder of the party when they returned and found their relatives murdered. They were so much exhausted, however, by previous suffering, that they could only sit down and gaze on the mutilated bodies in despair. During the night, Wisagun and Natappe returned stealthily to the tent, and, under cover of the darkness, murdered the whole party as they lay asleep. Soon after this the two Indians were met by another party of savages, in _good condition_, although, from the scarcity of game, the others were starving. The former accounted for this, however, by saying that they had fallen in with a deer not long ago; but that, before this had happened, all the rest of the family had died of starvation. It was the party who had met the two Indians wandering in the plains that now sat round the fire relating the story to Mr Carles. The tale was still telling when the hall door slowly opened, and Wisagun, gaunt and cadaverous, the very impersonation of famine, slunk into the room, along with Natappe, and seated himself in a corner near the fire. Mr Carles soon obtained from his own lips confirmation of the horrible deed, which he excused by saying that _most_ of his relations had died before he ate them. In a few days after this, the party of Indians took their departure from the house, to proceed to their village in the forest; and shortly after Wisagun and Natappe also left, to rejoin their tribe. The news of their deeds, however, had preceded them, so they were received very coldly; and soon after Wisagun pitched his tent, the other Indians removed, with one accord, to another place, as though it were impossible to live happily under the shadow of the same trees. This exasperated Wisagun so much that he packed up his tent and goods, launched his canoe, and then, before starting, went up to the village, and told them it was true he had killed all his relatives; and that he was a conjurer, and had both power and inclination to conjure them to death too. He then strode down to the banks of the river, and, embarking with his son, shot out into the stream. The unhappy man had acted rashly in his wrath. There is nothing more dangerous than to threaten to kill a savage, as he will certainly endeavour to kill the person who threatens him, in order to render the execution of his purpose impossible. Wisagun and his son had no sooner departed than two men coolly took up their guns, entered a canoe, and followed them. Upon arriving at a secluded spot, one of them raised his gun and fired at Wisagun, who fell over the side of the canoe, and sank to rise no more. With the rapidity of thought, Natappe seized his father's gun, sprang ashore, and bounded up the bank; a shot was fired which went through the fleshy part of his arm, and the next moment he was behind a tree. Here he called out to the Indians, who were reloading their guns, not to kill him, and he would tell them all. After a little consideration, they agreed to spare him; he embarked with them, and was taken afterwards to the fort, where he remained many years in the Company's service. Although instances of cannibalism are not unusual among the Indian tribes, they do not resort to it from choice, but only when urged by the irrepressible cravings of hunger. All the Indian tribes are fond of spirits; and in former times, when the distribution of rum to the natives was found necessary to compete with other companies, the use of the "fire-water" was carried to a fearful extent. Since Sir George Simpson became governor, however, the distribution of spirits has been almost entirely given up; and this has proved a most beneficial measure for the poor Indians. Tobacco also is consumed by them in great quantities; indeed, the pipe is seldom out of the Indian's mouth. If he is not hunting, sleeping, or eating, he is sure to be smoking. A peculiar kind of shrub is much used by them, mixed with tobacco--partly for the purpose of making it go far, and partly because they can smoke more of it at a time with impunity. The Indian is generally very lazy, but can endure, when requisite, great fatigue and much privation. He can go longer without eating than a European, and, from the frequent fasts he has to sustain, he becomes accustomed, without injury, to eat more at a meal than would kill a white man. The Indian children exhibit this power in a very extraordinary degree, looking sometimes wretchedly thin and miserable, and an hour or two afterwards waddling about with their little stomachs swollen almost to bursting! When an Indian wants a wife, he goes to the _fair_ one's father, and asks his consent. This being obtained, he informs the young lady of the circumstance, and then returns to his wigwam, whither the bride follows him, and installs herself as mistress of the house without further ceremony. Generally speaking, Indians content themselves with one wife, but it is looked upon as neither unusual nor improper to take two, or even three wives. The great point to settle is the husband's ability to support them. Thus, a bad hunter can only afford one wife, whilst a good one may have three or four. If an old man or woman of the tribe becomes infirm, and unable to proceed with the rest when travelling, he or she, as the case may be, is left behind in a small tent made of willows, in which are placed a little firewood, some provisions, and a vessel of water. Here the unhappy wretch remains in solitude till the fuel and provisions are exhausted, and then dies. Should the tribe be in their encampment when an Indian dies, the deceased is buried, sometimes in the ground, and sometimes in a rough wooden coffin raised a few feet above it. They do not now bury guns, knives, etcetera, with their dead, as they once did, probably owing to their intercourse with white men. The Supreme Being among the Indians is called Manitou; but He can scarcely be said to be worshipped by them, and the few ideas they have of His attributes are imperfect and erroneous. Indeed, no religious rites exist among them, unless the unmeaning mummery of the medicine tent can be looked upon as such. Of late years, however, missionaries, both of the Church of England and the Wesleyans, have exerted themselves to spread the Christian religion among these tribes, than whom few savages can be more unenlightened or morally degraded; and there is reason to believe that the light of the gospel is now beginning to shine upon them with beneficial influence. There is no music in the soul of a Cree, and the only time they attempt it is when gambling--of which they are passionately fond--when they sing a kind of monotonous chant, accompanied with a noisy rattling on a tin kettle. The celebrated war-dance is now no longer in existence among this tribe. They have wisely renounced both war and its horrors long ago. Among the wilder inhabitants of the prairies, however, it is still in vogue, with all the dismal accompaniments of killing, scalping, roasting, and torturing that distinguished American warfare a hundred years ago. The different methods by which the Indian succeeds in snaring and trapping animals are numerous. A good idea of these may be had by following an Indian in his rounds. Suppose yourself, gentle reader, standing at the gate of one of the forts in Hudson Bay, watching a savage arranging his snow-shoes, preparatory to entering the gloomy forest. Let us walk with this Indian on a visit to his traps. The night is very dark, as the moon is hid by thick clouds, yet it occasionally breaks out sufficiently to illumine our path to Stemaw's wigwam, and to throw the shadows of the neighbouring trees upon the pale snow, which _crunches_ under our feet as we advance, owing to the intense cold. No wind breaks the stillness of the night, or shakes the lumps of snow off the branches of the neighbouring pines or willows; and nothing is heard save the occasional crackling of the trees as the severe frost acts upon their branches. The tent, at which we soon arrive, is pitched at the foot of an immense tree, which stands in a little hollow where the willows and pines are luxuriant enough to afford a shelter from the north wind. Just in front, a small path leads to the river, of which an extensive view is had through the opening, showing the long fantastic shadows of huge blocks and mounds of ice cast upon the white snow by the flickering moonlight. A huge chasm, filled with fallen trees and mounds of snow, yawns on the left of the tent; and the ruddy sparks of fire which issue from a hole in its top throw this and the surrounding forest into deeper gloom. The effect of this wintry scene upon the mind is melancholy in the extreme--causing it to speed across the bleak and frozen plains, and visit again the warm fireside and happy faces in a far-distant home; and yet there is a strange romantic attraction in the wild woods that gradually brings it back again, and makes us impatient to begin our walk with the Indian. Suddenly the deer-skin robe that covers the aperture of the wigwam is raised, and a bright stream of warm light gushes out, tipping the dark-green points of the opposite trees, and mingling strangely with the paler light of the moon--and Stemaw stands erect in front of his solitary home, to gaze a few moments on the sky and judge of the weather, as he intends to take a long walk before laying his head upon his capote for the night. He is in the usual costume of the Cree Indians: a large leathern coat, very much overlapped in front, and fastened round his waist with a scarlet belt, protects his body from the cold. A small rat-skin cap covers his head, and his legs are cased in the ordinary blue cloth leggins. Large moccasins, with two or three pair of blanket socks, clothe his feet; and fingerless mittens, made of deer-skin, complete his costume. After a few minutes passed in contemplation of the heavens, the Indian prepares himself for the walk. First he sticks a small axe in his belt, serving as a counterpoise to a large hunting-knife and fire-bag which depend from the other side. He then slips his feet through the lines of his snow-shoes, and throws the line of a small hand-sledge over his shoulder. The hand-sledge is a thin, flat slip or plank of wood, from five to six feet long by one foot broad, and is turned up at one end. It is extremely light, and Indians invariably use it when visiting their traps, for the purpose of dragging home the animals or game they may have caught. Having attached this sledge to his back, he stoops to receive his gun from his faithful _squaw_ [see note 2], who has been watching his operations through a hole in the tent; and throwing it on his shoulder, strides off, without uttering a word, across the moonlit space in front of the tent, turns into a narrow track that leads down the dark ravine, and disappears in the shades of the forest. Soon he reaches the termination of the track (made for the purpose of reaching some good dry trees for firewood), and stepping into the deep snow with the long, regular, firm tread of one accustomed to snow-shoe walking, he winds his way rapidly through the thick stems of the surrounding trees, and turns aside the smaller branches of the bushes. The forest is now almost dark, the foliage overhead having become so dense that the moon only penetrates through it in a few places, causing the spots on which it falls to shine with a strange phosphoric light, and rendering the surrounding masses darker by contrast. The faint outline, of an old snowshoe track, at first discernible, is now quite invisible; but still Stemaw moves forward with rapid, noiseless step, as sure of his way as if a broad beaten track lay before him. In this manner he moves on for nearly two miles, sometimes stooping to examine closely the newly-made track of some wild animal, and occasionally giving a glance at the sky through the openings in the leafy canopy above him, when a faint sound in the bushes ahead brings him to a full stop. He listens attentively, and a noise, like the rattling of a chain, is heard proceeding from the recesses of a dark, wild-looking hollow a few paces in front. Another moment, and the rattle is again distinctly heard; a slight smile of satisfaction crosses Stemaw's dark visage, for one of his traps is set in that place, and he knows that something is caught. Quickly descending the slope, he enters the bushes whence the sound proceeds, and pauses when within a yard or two of his trap, to peer through the gloom. A cloud passes off the moon, and a faint ray reveals, it may be, a beautiful black fox caught in the snare. A slight blow on the snout from Stemaw's axe-handle kills the unfortunate animal; in ten minutes more it is tied to his sledge, the trap is reset and again covered over with snow, so that it is almost impossible to tell that anything is there; and the Indian pursues his way. The steel-trap used by the Indians is almost similar to the ordinary rat-trap of England, with this difference, that it is a little larger, is destitute of teeth, and has two springs in place of one. A chain is attached to one spring for the purpose of fixing a weight to the trap, so that the animal caught may not be able to drag it far from the place where it was set. The track in the snow enables the hunter to find his trap again. It is generally set so that the jaws, when spread out flat, are exactly on a level with the snow. The chain and weight are both hid, and a thin layer of snow spread on top of the trap. The bait (which generally consists of chips of a frozen partridge, rabbit, or fish) is then scattered around in every direction; and, with the exception of this, nothing distinguishes the spot. Foxes, beavers, wolves, lynx, and other animals are caught in this way, sometimes by a fore leg, sometimes by a hind leg, and sometimes by two legs at once, and occasionally by the nose. Of all these ways the Indians prefer catching by two legs, as there is then not the slightest possibility of the animal escaping. When foxes are caught by one leg, they often _eat it off_ close to the trap, and escape on the other three. I have frequently seen this happen; and I once saw a fox caught which had evidently escaped in this way, as one of its legs was gone, and the stump healed up and covered again with hair. When they are caught by the nose they are almost sure to escape, unless taken out of the trap very soon after being caught, as their snouts are so sharp or wedge-like that they can pull them from between the jaws of the trap without much difficulty. Having now described the way of using this machine, we will rejoin Stemaw, whom we left on his way to the next trap. There he goes, moving swiftly over the snow mile after mile, as if he could not feel fatigue, turning aside now and then to visit a trap, and giving a short grunt when nothing is in it, or killing the animal when caught, and tying it on the sledge. Towards midnight, however, he begins to walk more cautiously, examines the priming of his gun, and moves the axe in his belt, as if he expected to meet some enemy suddenly. The fact is, that close to where he now stands are two traps which he set in the morning close to each other for the purpose of catching one of the formidable coast wolves. These animals are so sagacious that they will scrape all round a trap, let it be ever so well set, and after eating all the bait, walk away unhurt. Indians consequently endeavour in every possible way to catch them--and, among others, by setting _two_ traps close together; so that, while the wolf scrapes at one, he may perhaps put his foot in the other. It is in this way that Stemaw's traps are set, and he now proceeds cautiously towards them, his gun in the hollow of his left arm. Slowly he advances, peering through the bushes, but nothing is visible; suddenly a branch crashes under his snow-shoe, and with a savage growl a large wolf bounds towards him, landing almost at his feet. A single glance, however, shows the Indian that both traps are on his legs, and that the chains prevent his further advance. He places his gun against a tree, draws his axe from the belt, and advances to kill the animal. It is an undertaking, however, of some difficulty. The fierce brute, which is larger than a Newfoundland dog, strains every nerve and sinew to break its chains; while its eyes glisten in the uncertain light, and foam curls from its blood-red mouth. Now it retreats as the Indian advances, grinning horribly as it goes; and anon, as the chains check its further retreat, it springs with fearful growl towards Stemaw, who slightly wounds it with his axe, as he jumps backward just in time to save himself from the infuriated animal, which catches in its fangs the flap of his leggin, and tears it from his limb. Again Stemaw advances, and the wolf retreats and again springs on him, but without success. At last, as the wolf glances for a moment to one side--apparently to see if there is no way of escape--quick as lightning the axe descends with stunning violence on its head; another blow follows; and in five minutes more Stemaw heaves the huge brute across his shoulders, and carries it to his sledge. This, however, has turned out a more exhausting business than Stemaw expected; so he determines to encamp and rest for a few hours. Selecting a large pine, whose spreading branches cover a patch of ground free from underwood, he scrapes away the snow with his snow-shoe. Silently but busily he labours for a quarter of an hour; and then, having cleared a space seven or eight feet in diameter, and nearly four feet deep, he cuts down a number of small branches, which he strews at the bottom of the hollow, till all the snow is covered. This done, he fells two or three of the nearest trees, cuts them up into lengths of about five feet long, and piles them at the root of the tree. A light is soon applied to the pile, and up glances the ruddy flame, crackling among the branches overhead, and sending thousands of bright sparks into the air. No one who has not seen it can have the least idea of the change that takes place in the appearance of the woods at night when a large fire is suddenly lighted. Before, all was cold, silent, chilling, gloomy, and desolate, and the pale snow looked unearthly in the dark. Now, a bright ruddy glow falls upon the thick stems of the trees, and penetrates through the branches overhead, tipping those nearest the fire with a ruby tinge, the mere sight of which warms one. The white snow changes to a beautiful pink, whilst the stems of the trees, bright and clearly visible near at hand, become more and more indistinct in the distance, till they are lost in the black background. The darkness, however, need not be seen from the encampment; for, when the Indian lies down, he will be surrounded by the snow walls, which sparkle in the firelight as if set with diamonds. These do not melt, as might be expected. The frost is much too intense for that, and nothing melts except the snow quite close to the fire. Stemaw has now concluded his arrangements: a small piece of dried deer's meat warms before the blaze; and, meanwhile, he spreads his green blanket on the ground, and fills a stone calumet (or pipe with a wooden stem) with tobacco, mixed with a kind of weed prepared by himself. The white smoke from this soon mingles with the thicker volumes from the fire, which curl up through the branches into the sky, now shrouding him in their wreaths, and then, as the bright flame obtains the mastery, leaving his dark face and coal-black eyes shining in the warm light. No one enjoys a pipe more than an Indian; and Stemaw's tranquil visage, wreathed in tobacco smoke, as he reclines at full length under the spreading branches of the pine, and allows the white vapour to pass slowly out of his mouth _and nose_, certainly gives one an excellent idea of savage enjoyment. Leaving him here, then, to solace himself with a pipe preparatory to resting his wearied limbs for the night, we will change the hour, and conduct the reader to a different scene. It is now day. The upper edge of the sun has just risen, red and frosty-looking, in the east, and countless myriads of icy particles glitter on every tree and bush in its red rays; while the white tops of the snow-drifts, which dot the surface of the small lake at which we have just arrived, are tipped with the same rosy hue. The lake is of considerable breadth, and the woods on its opposite shore are barely visible. An unbroken coat of pure white snow covers its entire surface, whilst here and there a small islet, covered with luxuriant evergreens, attracts the eye, and breaks the sameness of the scene. At the extreme left of the lake, where the points of a few bulrushes and sedgy plants appear above the snow, are seen a number of small earthy mounds, in the immediate vicinity of which the trees and bushes are cut and barked in many places, while some of them are nearly cut down. This is a colony of beavers. In the warm months of summer and autumn, this spot is a lively, stirring place, as the beavers are then employed _nibbling_ down trees and bushes, for the purpose of repairing their dams, and supplying their storehouses with food. The bark of willows is their chief food, and all the bushes in the vicinity are more or less cut through by these persevering little animals. Their dams, however (which are made for the purpose of securing to themselves a constant sufficiency of water), are made with large trees; and stumps will be found, if you choose to look for them, as thick as a man's leg, which the beavers have entirely nibbled through, and dragged by their united efforts many yards from where they grew. Now, however, no sign of animal life is to be seen, as the beavers keep within doors all winter; yet I venture to state that there are many now asleep under the snow before us. It is not, reader, merely for the purpose of showing you the outside of a beaver-lodge that I have brought you such a distance from human habitations. Be patient, and you shall soon see more. Do you observe that small black speck moving over the white surface of the lake, far away on the horizon? It looks like a crow, but the forward motion is much too steady and constant for that. As it approaches, it assumes the form of a man; and at last the figure of Stemaw, dragging his empty sleigh behind him (for he has left his wolf and foxes in the last night's encampment, to be taken up when returning home), becomes clearly distinguishable through the dreamy haze of the cold wintry morning. He arrives at the beaver-lodges, and, I warrant, will soon play havoc among the inmates. His first proceeding is to cut down several stakes, which he points at the ends. These are driven, after he has cut away a good deal of ice from around the beaver-lodge, into the ground between it and the shore. This is to prevent the beaver from running along the passage they always have from their lodges to the shore, where their storehouse is kept, which would make it necessary to excavate the whole passage. The beaver, if there are any, being thus imprisoned in the lodge, the hunter next stakes up the opening into the storehouse on shore, and so imprisons those that may have fled there for shelter on hearing the noise of his axe at the other house. Things being thus arranged to his entire satisfaction, he takes an instrument called an ice-chisel--which is a bit of steel about a foot long by one inch broad, fastened to the end of a stout pole--wherewith he proceeds to dig through the lodge. This is by no means an easy operation; and although he covers the snow around him with great quantities of frozen mud and sticks, yet his work is not half finished. At last, however, the interior of the hut is laid bare; and the Indian, stooping down, gives a great pull, when out comes a large, fat, sleepy beaver, which he flings sprawling on the snow. Being thus unceremoniously awakened from its winter nap, the shivering animal looks languidly around, and even goes the length of grinning at Stemaw, by way of showing its teeth, for which it is rewarded with a blow on the head from the pole of the ice-chisel, which puts an end to it. In this way several more are killed, and packed on the sleigh. Stemaw then turns his face towards his encampment, where he collects the game left there; and away he goes at a tremendous pace, dashing the snow in clouds from his snow-shoes, as he hurries over the trackless wilderness to his forest home. Near his tent, he makes a detour to visit a marten trap; where, however, he finds nothing. This trap is of the simplest construction, being composed of two logs, the one of which is supported over the other by means of a small stick, in such a manner that when the marten creeps between the two and pulls the bait, the support is removed, and the upper log falls on and crushes it to death. In half an hour the Indian arrives at his tent, where the dark eyes of his wife are seen gazing through a chink in the covering, with an expression that denotes immense joy at the prospect of gorging for many days on fat beaver, and having wherewithal to purchase beads and a variety of ornaments from the white men, upon the occasion of her husband and herself visiting the posts of the fur-traders in the following spring. But some of the tribes have a more sociable as well as a more productive way of conducting business, at least as regards venison; for they catch the deer in a "pound." "Their mode of accomplishing this is to select a well-frequented deer-path, and enclose with a strong fence of twisted trees and brushwood a space about a mile in circumference, and sometimes more. The entrance of the pound is not larger than a common gate, and its inside is crowded with innumerable small hedges, in the openings of which are fixed snares of strong well-twisted thongs. One end is generally fastened to a growing tree; and as all the wood and jungle within the enclosure is left standing, its interior forms a complete labyrinth. On each side of the door a line of small trees, stuck up in the snow fifteen or twenty yards apart, form two sides of an acute angle, widening gradually from the entrance, from which they sometimes extend two or three miles. Between these rows of brushwood runs the path frequented by the deer. When all things are prepared, the Indians take their station on some eminence commanding a prospect of this path, and the moment any deer are seen going that way, the whole encampment-- men, women, and children--steal under cover of the woods till they get behind them. They then show themselves in the open ground, and, drawing up in the form of a crescent, advance with shouts. The deer finding themselves pursued, and at the same time imagining the rows of brushy poles to be people stationed to prevent their passing on either side, run straight forward till they get into the pound. The Indians instantly close in, block up the entrance, and whilst the women and children run round the outside to prevent them from breaking or leaping the fence, the men enter with their spears and bows, and speedily dispatch such as are caught in the snares or are running loose." [see "Hearne's Journey." pages 78 to 80]. "McLean, a gentleman who spent twenty-five years in the Hudson Bay territories, assures us that on one occasion he and a party of men entrapped and slaughtered in this way a herd of three hundred deer in two hours." I must crave the reader's pardon for this long digression, and beg him to recollect that at the end of the second chapter I left myself awaiting orders to depart for Red River, to which settlement we will now proceed. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Note 1. Many people at home have asked me how such _thin things_ can keep out the wet of the snow. The reader must bear in mind that the snow, for nearly seven months, is not even _damp_ for five minutes, so constant is the frost. When it becomes wet in spring, Europeans adopt ordinary English shoes, and Indians do not mind the wet. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Note 2. _Squeiaw_ is the Indian for a woman. _Squaw_ is the English corruption of the word, and is used to signify a wife. CHAPTER FIVE. VOYAGE FROM YORK FACTORY TO RED RIVER--VOYAGE BEGUN--OUR MANNER OF TRAVELLING--ENCAMPING IN THE WOODS--PORTAGING AND SHOOTING WILDFOWL-- WHISKY-JACKS--A STORM--LAKE WINNIPEG--ARRIVAL AT RED RIVER SETTLEMENT. Somewhere about the beginning of September, Mr Carles, Mr and Mrs Gowley, Mr Rob, and myself set out with the _Portage La Loche_ brigade, for the distant colony of Red River. The Portage la Loche brigade usually numbers six or seven boats, adapted for inland travelling where the navigation is obstructed by rapids, waterfalls, and cataracts, to surmount which, boats and cargo are carried overland by the crews. These carrying places are called _portages_; and between York Factory and Red River there are upwards of thirty-six, of various lengths. Besides these, there are innumerable rapids, up which the boats have to be pushed inch by inch with poles, for miles together; so that we had to look forward to a long and tedious voyage. The brigade with which we left York Factory usually leaves Red River about the end of May, and proceeds to Norway House, where it receives Athabasca and Mackenzie River outfits. It then sets out for the interior; and upon arriving at Portage la Loche, the different boats land their cargoes, while the Mackenzie River boats, which came to meet them, exchange their furs for the outfits. The brigade then begins to retrace its way, and returns to Norway House, whence it proceeds to York Factory, where it arrives about the commencement of September, lands the furs, and receives part of the Red River outfit, with which it sets out for that place as soon as possible. With this brigade, then, we started from York Factory, with a cheering song from the men in full chorus. They were in good spirits, being about to finish the long voyage, and return to their families at Red River, after an absence of nearly five months, during which time they had encountered and overcome difficulties that would have cooled the most sanguine temperament; but these hardy Canadians and half-breeds are accustomed to such voyages from the age of fifteen or sixteen, and think no more of them than other men do of ordinary work. Mr Carles and I travelled together in the guide's boat; Mr and Mrs Gowley in another; and Mr Rob in a third by himself. We took the lead, and the others followed as they best could. Such was the order of march in which we commenced the ascent of Hayes River. It may not be uninteresting here to describe the _materiel_ of our voyage. Our boat, which was the counterpart of the rest, was long, broad, and shallow, capable of carrying forty hundredweight, and nine men, besides three or four passengers, with provisions for themselves and the crew. It did not, I suppose, draw more than three feet of water when loaded, perhaps less, and was, moreover, very light for its size. The cargo consisted of bales, being the goods intended for the Red River sale-room and trading-shop. A rude mast and tattered sail lay along the seats, ready for use, should a favourable breeze spring up; but this seldom occurred, the oars being our chief dependence during the greater part of the voyage. The provisions of the men consisted of pemmican and flour; while the passengers revelled in the enjoyment of a ham, several cured buffalo-tongues, tea, sugar, butter, and biscuit, and a little brandy and wine, wherewith to warm us in cold weather, and to cheer the crew with a dram after a day of unusual exertion. All our provisions were snugly packed in a case and basket, made expressly for the purpose. Pemmican being a kind of food with which people in the civilised world are not generally acquainted, I may as well describe it here. It is made by the buffalo-hunters of the Red River, Swan River, and Saskatchewan prairies; more particularly by those of Red River, where many of the colonists spend a great part of the year in pursuit of the buffalo. They make it thus: Having shot a buffalo (or bison), they cut off lumps of his flesh, and slitting it up into flakes or layers, hang it up in the sun to dry. In this state it is often made up into packs, and sent about the country to be consumed as dried meat; but when _pemmican_ is wanted, it has to go through another process. When dry, the meat is pounded between two stones till it is broken into small pieces; these are put into a bag made of the animal's hide, with the hair on the outside, and well mixed with melted grease; the top of the bag is then sewn up, and the pemmican allowed to cool. In this state it may be eaten uncooked; but the _voyageurs_, who subsist on it when travelling, mix it with a little flour and water, and then boil it; in which state it is known throughout the country by the elegant name of _robbiboo_. Pemmican is good wholesome food, will keep fresh for a great length of time, and were it not for its unprepossessing appearance, and a good many buffalo hairs mixed with it, through the carelessness of the hunters, would be very palatable. After a time, however, one becomes accustomed to those little peculiarities. It was late in the afternoon when we left York Factory; and after travelling a few miles up Hayes River, put ashore for the night. We encamped upon a rough, gravelly piece of ground, as there was no better in the neighbourhood; so that my first night in the woods did not hold out the prospect of being a very agreeable one. The huge log fires, however, soon blazed cheerily up, casting a ruddy glow upon the surrounding foliage and the wild uncouth figures of the _voyageurs_, who, with their long dark hair hanging in luxuriant masses over their bronzed faces, sat or reclined round the fires, smoking their pipes, and chatting with as much carelessness and good-humour as if the long and arduous journey before them never once entered their minds. The tents were pitched on the most convenient spot we could find; and when supper was spread out, and a candle lighted (which, by the way, the strong blaze of our camp-fire rendered quite unnecessary), and Mr Carles, seating himself upon a pile of cloaks, blankets, and cushions, looked up with a broad grin on his cheerful, good-humoured countenance, and called me to supper, I began to think that if all travelling in Hudson Bay were like this, a voyage of discovery to the North Pole would be a mere pleasure trip! Alas! in after-years I found it was not always thus. Supper was soon disposed of, and having warmed ourselves at the fire, and ventured a few rash prophecies on the probable weather of the morrow, we spread our blankets over an oiled cloth, and lay lovingly down together; Mr Carles to snore vociferously, and I to dream of home. At the first blush of day I was awakened by the loud halloo of the guide, who, with a voice of a Stentor, gave vent to a "_Leve! Leve! leve_!" that roused the whole camp in less than two minutes. Five minutes more sufficed to finish our toilet (for, be it known, Mr Carles and I had only taken off our coats), tie up our blankets, and embark. In ten minutes we were once more pulling slowly up the current of Hayes River. The missionaries turned out to be capital travellers, and never delayed the boats a moment; which is saying a good deal for them, considering the short space of time allowed for dressing. As for the hardy _voyageurs_, they slept in the same clothes in which they had wrought during the day, each with a single blanket round him, in the most convenient spot he could find. A few slept in pairs, but all reposed under the wide canopy of heaven. Early morning is always the most disagreeable part of the traveller's day. The cold dews of the past night render the air chilly, and the gloom of departing night tends greatly to depress the spirits. As I became acquainted with this mode of travelling, I became more knowing; and, when there was not much probability of being interrupted by portages, I used to spread out my blanket in the stern of the boat, and snooze till breakfast-time. The hour for breakfast used to vary, according as we arrived late or early at an eligible spot. It was seldom earlier than seven, or later than nine o'clock. Upon the occasion of our first breakfast in the woods, we were fortunate. The sun shone brightly on the surrounding trees and bushes; the fires blazed and crackled; pots boiled, and cooks worked busily on a green spot, at the side of a small bay or creek, in which the boats quietly floated, scarce rippling the surface of the limpid water. A little apart from the men, two white napkins marked our breakfast-place, and the busy appearance of our cook gave hopes that our fast was nearly over. The whole scene was indescribably romantic and picturesque, and worthy of delineation by a more experienced pencil than mine. Breakfast was a repetition of the supper of the preceding night; the only difference being, that we ate it by daylight, in the open air, instead of by candlelight, under the folds of our canvas tent. After it was over, we again embarked, and proceeded on our way. The men used to row for a space of time denominated a _pipe_; so called from the circumstance of their taking a smoke at the end of it. Each _spell_ lasted for nearly two hours, during which time they rowed without intermission. The _smoke_ usually occupied five or ten minutes, after which they pulled again for two hours more; and so on. While travelling in boats, it is only allowable to put ashore for breakfast; so, about noon, we had a cold dinner in the boat: and, with appetites sharpened by exposure to the fresh air, we enjoyed it pretty well. In a couple of days we branched off into Steel River, and began its ascent. The current here was more rapid than in Hayes River; so rapid, indeed, that, our oars being useless, we were obliged to send the men ashore with the tracking-line. Tracking, as it is called, is dreadfully harassing work. Half of the crew go ashore, and drag the boat slowly along, while the other half go to sleep. After an hour's walk, the others then take their turn; and so on, alternately, during the whole day. The banks of the river were high, and very precipitous; so that the poor fellows had to scramble along, sometimes close to the water's edge, and sometimes high up the bank, on ledges so narrow that they could scarcely find a footing, and where they looked like flies on a wall. The banks, too, being composed of clay or mud, were very soft, rendering the work disagreeable and tiresome; but the light-hearted _voyageurs_ seemed to be quite in their element, and laughed and joked while they toiled along, playing tricks with each other, and plunging occasionally up to the middle in mud, or to the neck in water, with as much nonchalance as if they were jumping into bed. On the fifth day after leaving York Factory, we arrived at the Rock Portage. This is the first on the route, and it is a very short one. A perpendicular waterfall, eight or ten feet high, forms an effectual barrier to the upward progress of the boats by water; so that the only way to overcome the difficulty is to carry everything across the flat rock, from which the portage derives its name, and reload at the upper end. Upon arriving, a novel and animating scene took place. Some of the men, jumping ashore, ran briskly to and fro with enormous burdens on their backs; whilst others hauled and pulled the heavy boats slowly up the cataract, hallooing and shouting all the time, as if they wished to drown the thundering noise of the water, which boiled and hissed furiously around the rocks on which we stood. In about an hour our boat, and one or two others, had passed the falls; and we proceeded merrily on our way, with spirits elevated in proportion to the elevation of our bodies. It was here that I killed my first duck; and well do I remember the feeling of pride with which I contemplated the achievement. That I had shot her sitting about five yards from the muzzle of my gun, which was loaded with an enormous charge of shot, is undeniable; but this did not lessen my exultation a whit. The sparrows I used to kill in days of yore, with inexpressible delight, grew "small by degrees" and comically less before the plump inhabitant of the marshes, till they dwindled into nothing; and the joy and fuss with which I hailed the destruction of the unfortunate bird can only be compared to, and equalled by, the crowing and flurry with which a hen is accustomed to announce the production of her first egg. During the voyage, we often disturbed large flocks of geese, and sometimes shot a few. When we chanced to come within sight of them before they saw us, the boats all put ashore; and L'Esperance, our guide, went round through the bushes, to the place where they were, and seldom failed in rendering at least one of the flock _hors de combat_. At first I would as soon have volunteered to shoot a lion in Africa, with a Bushman beside me, as have presumed to attempt to kill geese while L'Esperance was present--so poor an opinion had I of my skill as a marksman; but, as I became more accustomed to seeing them killed, I waxed bolder; and at last, one day, having come in sight of a flock, I begged to be allowed to try my hand. The request was granted; L'Esperance lent me his gun, and away I went cautiously through the bushes. After a short walk, I came close to where they were swimming about in the water; and cocking my gun, I rushed furiously down the bank, breaking everything before me, and tumbling over half a dozen fallen trees in my haste, till I cleared the bushes; and then, scarcely taking time to raise the gun to my shoulder, banged right into the middle of the flock, just as they were taking wing. All rose; but they had not gone far when one began to waver a little, and finally sat down in the water again--a sure sign of being badly wounded. Before the boats came up, however, he had swam to the opposite bank, and hid himself among the bushes; so that, much to my disappointment, I had not the pleasure of handling this new trophy of my prowess. Upon one occasion, while sauntering along the banks of the river in search of ducks and geese, while the boats were slowly ascending against the strong current, I happened to cast my eyes across the stream, and there, to my amazement, beheld a large black bear bounding over the rocks with the ease and agility of a cat. He was not within shot, however, and I was obliged to content myself with seeing him run before me for a quarter of a mile, and then turn off into the forest. This was truly the happiest time I ever spent in the Nor'-West. Everything was full of novelty and excitement. Rapid succeeded rapid, and portage followed portage in endless succession--giving me abundance of opportunities to range about in search of ducks and geese, which were very numerous, while the men were dragging the boats, and carrying the goods over the portages. The weather was beautiful, and it was just the season of the year when the slight frost in the mornings and evenings renders the blazing camp-fire agreeable, and destroys those little wretches, the mosquitoes. My friend Mr Carles was a kind and indulgent companion, bearing good-naturedly with my boyish pranks, and cautioning me, of course ineffectually, against running into danger. I had just left home and the restraint of school, and was now entering upon a wild and romantic career. In short, every thing combined to render this a most agreeable and interesting voyage. I have spent many a day of amusement and excitement in the country, but on none can I look back with so much pleasure as on the time spent in this journey to Red River. The scenery through which we passed was pretty and romantic, but there was nothing grand about it. The country generally was low and swampy; the highest ground being the banks of the river, which sometimes rose to from sixty to seventy feet. Our progress in Hill River was slow and tedious, owing to the number of rapids encountered on the way. The hill from which the river derives its name is a small, insignificant mound, and owes its importance to the flatness of the surrounding country. Besides the larger wild-fowl, small birds of many kinds were very numerous. The most curious, and at the same time the most impudent, among the latter were the whisky-jacks. They always hovered round us at breakfast, ready to snap up anything that came within their reach-- advancing sometimes to within a yard or two of our feet, and looking at us with a very comical expression of countenance. One of the men told me that he had often caught them in his hand, with a piece of pemmican for a bait; so one morning after breakfast I went a little to one side of our camp, and covering my face with leaves, extended my hand with a few crumbs in the open palm. In five minutes a whisky-jack jumped upon a branch over my head, and after reconnoitring a minute or so, lit upon my hand, and began to breakfast forthwith. You may be sure the _trap_ was not long in going off; and the screeching that Mr Jack set up on finding my fingers firmly closed upon his toes was tremendous. I never saw a more passionate little creature in my life: it screamed, struggled, and bit unceasingly, until I let it go; and even then it lighted on a tree close by, and looked at me as impudently as ever. The same day I observed that when the men were ashore the whisky-jacks used to eat out of the pemmican bags left in the boats; so I lay down close to one, under cover of a buffalo-skin, and in three minutes had made prisoner of another of these little inhabitants of the forest. They are of a bluish-grey colour, and nearly the size of a blackbird; but they are such a bundle of feathers that when plucked they do not look much larger than a sparrow. They live apparently on animal food (at least, they are very fond of it), and are not considered very agreeable eating. We advanced very slowly up Hill River. Sometimes, after a day of the most toilsome exertions, during which the men were constantly pushing the boats up long rapids, with poles, at a very slow pace, we found ourselves only four or five miles ahead of the last night's encampment. As we ascended higher up the country, however, travelling became more easy. Sometimes small lakes and tranquil rivers allowed us to use the oars--and even the sails, when a puff of fair wind arose. Occasionally we were sweeping rapidly across the placid water; anon buffeting with, and advancing against, the foaming current of a powerful river, whose raging torrent seemed to bid defiance to our further progress: now dragging boats and cargoes over rocks, and through the deep shades of the forest, when a waterfall checked us on our way; and again dashing across a lake with favouring breeze; and sometimes, though rarely, were wind-bound on a small islet or point of land. Our progress was slow, but full of interest, novelty, and amusement. My fellow-travellers seemed to enjoy the voyage very much; and even Mrs Gowley, to whom hardships were new, liked it exceedingly. On our way we passed Oxford House--a small outpost of York Factory district. It is built on the brow of a grassy hill, which rises gradually from the margin of Oxford Lake. Like most of the posts in the country, it is composed of a collection of wooden houses, built in the form of a square, and surrounded by tall stockades, pointed at the tops. These, however, are more for ornament than defence. A small flag-staff towers above the buildings; from which, upon the occasion of an arrival, a little red Hudson Bay Company's flag waves its folds in the gentle current of an evening breeze. There were only two or three men at the place; and not a human being, save one or two wandering Indians, was to be found within hundreds of miles of this desolate spot. After a stay here of about half an hour, we proceeded on our way. Few things are more beautiful or delightful than crossing a lake in the woods on a lovely morning at sunrise. The brilliant sun, rising in a flood of light, pierces through the thin haze of morning, converting the countless myriads of dewdrops that hang on tree and bush into sparkling diamonds, and burnishing the motionless flood of water, till a new and mighty firmament is reflected in the wave; as if Nature, rising early from her couch, paused to gaze with admiration on her resplendent image reflected in the depths of her own matchless mirror. The profound stillness, too, broken only by the measured sweep of the oars, fills the soul with awe; whilst a tranquil but unbounded happiness steals over the heart of the traveller as he gazes out upon the distant horizon, broken here and there by small verdant islets, floating as it were in air. He wanders back in thought to far-distant climes; or wishes, mayhap, that it were possible to dwell in scenes like this with those he loves for ever. As the day advances, the scene, though slightly changed, is still most beautiful. The increasing heat, dispelling the mists, reveals in all its beauty the deep blue sky speckled with thin fleecy clouds, and, imparting a genial warmth to the body, creates a sympathetic glow in the soul. Flocks of snow-white gulls sail in graceful evolutions round the boats, dipping lightly in the water as if to kiss their reflected images; and, rising suddenly in long rapid flights, mount in circles up high above the tranquil world into the azure sky, till small white specks alone are visible in the distance. Up, up they rise on sportive wing, till the straining eye can no longer distinguish them, and they are gone! Ducks, too, whir past in rapid flight, steering wide of the boats, and again bending in long graceful curves into their course. The sweet, plaintive cry of the whip-poor-will rings along the shore; and the faint answer of his mate floats over the lake, mellowed by distance to a long tiny note. The air is motionless as the water; and the enraptured eye gazes in dreamy enjoyment on all that is lovely and peaceful in nature. These are the _pleasures_ of travelling in the wilderness. Let us change the picture. The sun no longer shines upon the tranquil scene. Dark, heavy clouds obscure the sky; a suffocating heat depresses the spirits and enervates the frame; sharp, short gusts of wind now ruffle the inky waters, and the floating islands sink into insignificance as the deceptive haze which elevated them flies before the approaching storm. The ducks are gone, and the plaintive notes of the whip-poor-will are hushed as the increasing breeze rustles the leafy drapery of the forest. The gulls wheel round still, but in more rapid and uncertain flight, accompanying their motions with shrill and mournful cries, like the dismal wailings of the spirit of the storm. A few drops of rain patter on the boats, or plump like stones into the water, and the distant melancholy growl of thunder swells upon the coming gale. Uneasy glances are cast, ever and anon, towards clouds and shore, and grumbling sentences are uttered by the men. Suddenly a hissing sound is heard, a loud clap of thunder growls overhead, and the gale, dashing the white spray wildly before it, rushes down upon the boats. "_A terre! a terre_!" shout the men. The boats are turned towards the shore, and the bending oars creak and groan as they pull swiftly on. Hiss! whir! the gale bursts forth, dashing clouds of spray into the air, twisting and curling the foaming water in its fury. The thunder crashes with fearful noise, and the lightning gleams in fitful lurid streaks across the inky sky. Presently the shore is gained, amid a deluge of rain which saturates everything with water in a few minutes. The tents are pitched, but the fires will scarcely burn, and are at last allowed to go out. The men seek shelter under the oiled cloths of the boats; while the travellers, rolled up in damp blankets, with the rain oozing through the tents upon their couches, gaze mournfully upon the dismal scene, and ponder sadly on the shortness of the step between happiness and misery. Nearly eighteen days after we left York Factory we arrived in safety at the depot of Norway House. This fort is built at the mouth of a small and sluggish stream, known by the name of Jack River. The houses are ranged in the form of a square; none of them exceed one story in height, and most of them are whitewashed. The ground on which it stands is rocky; and a small garden, composed chiefly of sand, juts out from the stockades like a strange excrescence. A large, rugged mass of rocks rises up between the fort and Playgreen Lake, which stretches out to the horizon on the other side of them. On the top of these rocks stands a flagstaff, as a beacon to guide the traveller; for Norway House is so ingeniously hid in a hollow that it cannot be seen from the lake till the boat almost touches the wharf. On the left side of the building extends a flat grassy park or green, upon which during the summer months there is often a picturesque and interesting scene. Spread out to dry in the sun may be seen the snowy tent of the chief factor, lately arrived. A little further off, on the rising ground, stands a dark and almost imperceptible wigwam, the small wreath of white smoke issuing from the top proving that it is inhabited. On the river bank three or four boats and a north canoe are hauled up; and just above them a number of sunburned _voyageurs_ and a few Indians amuse themselves with various games, or recline upon the grass, basking in the sunshine. Behind the fort stretches the thick forest, its outline broken here and there by cuttings of firewood or small clearings for farming. Such was Norway House in 1841. The rocks were crowded when we arrived, and we received a hearty welcome from Mr Russ--the chief factor in charge--and his amiable family. As it was too late to proceed any further that day, we determined to remain here all night. From the rocks before mentioned, on which the flagstaff stands, we had a fine view of Playgreen Lake. There was nothing striking or bold in the scene, the country being low and swampy, and no hills rose on the horizon or cast their shadows on the lake; but it was pleasing and tranquil, and enlivened by one or two boats sailing about on the water. We spent an agreeable evening; and early on the following morning started again on our journey, having received an agreeable addition to our party in the person of Miss Jessie Russ, second daughter of Mr Russ, from whom we had just parted. On the evening of the first day after our departure from Norway House, we encamped on the shores of Lake Winnipeg. This immense body of fresh water is about three hundred miles long by about fifty broad. The shores are generally flat and uninteresting, and the water shallow; yet here and there a few pretty spots may be seen at the head of a small bay or inlet, where the ground is a little more elevated and fertile. Nothing particular occurred during our voyage along the shores of the lake, except that we hoisted our sails oftener to a favourable breeze, and had a good deal more night travelling than heretofore. In about five days after leaving Norway House we arrived at the mouth of Red River; and a very swampy, sedgy, flat-looking mouth it was, covered with tall bulrushes and swarming with water-fowl. The banks, too, were low and swampy; but as we ascended they gradually became more woody and elevated, till we arrived at the Stone Fort--twenty miles up the river-- where they were tolerably high. A few miles below this we passed an Indian settlement, the cultivated fields and white houses of which, with the church spire in the midst, quite refreshed our eyes, after being so long accustomed to the shades of the primeval forest. The Stone Fort is a substantial fortification, surrounded by high walls and flanked with bastions, and has a fine appearance from the river. Here my friend and fellow-traveller, Mr Carles, hearing of his wife's illness, left us, and proceeded up the settlement on horseback. The missionaries also disembarked, and I was left alone, to be rowed slowly to Fort Garry, nearly twenty miles further up the river. The river banks were lined all the way along with the houses and farms of the colonists, which had a thriving, cleanly appearance; and from the quantity of live stock in the farmyards, the number of pigs along the banks, and the healthy appearance of the children who ran out of the cottages to gaze upon us as we passed, I inferred that the settlers generally were well-to-do in the world. The houses of some of the more wealthy inhabitants were very handsome-looking buildings, particularly that of Mr McAllum, where in a few hours I landed. This gentleman was the superintendent of the Red River Academy, where the children of the wealthier colonists and those of the gentlemen belonging to the Hudson Bay Company are instructed in the various branches of English literature, and made to comprehend how the world was convulsed in days of yore by the mighty deeds of the heroes of ancient Greece and Rome. Here I was hospitably treated to an excellent breakfast, and then proceeded on foot with Mr Carles--who rejoined me here--to Fort Garry, which lay about two miles distant. Upon arriving I was introduced to Mr Finlayson, the chief factor in charge, who received me very kindly, and introduced me to my fellow-clerks in the office. Thus terminated my first inland journey. CHAPTER SIX. RED RIVER SETTLEMENT--ORIGIN OF THE COLONY--OPPOSITION TIMES AND ANECDOTES--THE FLOOD OF 1826--CLIMATE--BEING BROKEN-IN--MR. SIMPSON, THE ARCTIC DISCOVERER--THE MACKENZIE RIVER BRIGADE. Red River Settlement is, to use a high-flown expression, an oasis in the desert, and may be likened to a spot upon the moon or a solitary ship upon the ocean. In plain English, it is an isolated settlement on the borders of one of the vast prairies of North America. It is situated partly on the banks of Red River, and partly on the banks of a smaller stream called the Assinaboine, in latitude 50 degrees, and extends upwards of fifty miles along the banks of these two streams. The country around it is a vast treeless prairie, upon which scarcely a shrub is to be seen; but a thick coat of grass covers it throughout its entire extent, with the exception of a few spots where the hollowness of the ground has collected a little moisture, or the meandering of some small stream or rivulet enriches the soil, and covers its banks with verdant shrubs and trees. The banks of the Red and Assinaboine Rivers are covered with a thick belt of woodland--which does not, however, extend far back into the plains. It is composed of oak, poplar, willows, etcetera, the first of which is much used for fire-wood by the settlers. The larger timber in the adjacent woods is thus being rapidly thinned. The settlers are a mixture of French Canadians, Scotchmen, and Indians. The first of these occupy the upper part of the settlement, the second live near the middle, and the Indians inhabit a village at its lower extremity. There are four Protestant churches: the upper, middle, and lower churches, and one at the Indian settlement. There are also two Roman Catholic chapels, some priests, and a Roman Catholic bishop resident in the colony, besides one or two schools; the principal being, as before mentioned, under the superintendence of Mr McAllum, who has since been ordained by the Bishop of Montreal, during that prelate's visit to Red River [see note 1]. For the preservation of the peace, and the punishment of evil-doers, a Recorder and body of magistrates are provided, who assemble every quarter at Fort Garry, the seat of the court-house, for the purpose of redressing wrongs, punishing crimes, giving good advice, and eating an excellent dinner at the Company's table. There was once, also, a body of policemen; but, strange to say, they were chosen from among the most turbulent of the settlers, and were never expected to be on duty except when a riot took place: the policemen themselves generally being the ringleaders on those occasions, it may be supposed they did not materially assist in quelling disturbances. The Scotch and Indian settlers cultivate wheat, barley, and Indian corn in abundance; for which the only market is that afforded by the Company, the more wealthy settlers, and retired chief factors. This market, however, is a poor one, and in years of plenty the settlers find it difficult to dispose of their surplus produce. Wild fruits of various descriptions are abundant, and the gardens are well stocked with vegetables. The settlers have plenty of sheep, pigs, poultry, and horned cattle; and there is scarcely a man in the place who does not drive to church on Sundays in his own cariole. Red River is a populous settlement; the census taken in 1843 proved it to contain upwards of 5,000 souls, and since then it has been rapidly increasing. There is a paper currency in the settlement, which obviates the necessity of having coin afloat. English pence and halfpence, however, are plentiful. The lowest paper note is one shilling sterling, the next five shillings, and the highest twenty shillings. The Canadian settlers and half-breeds are employed, during the greater part of the year, in travelling with the Company's boats and in buffalo-hunting. The Scotch settlers are chiefly farmers, tradesmen, and merchants. The rivers, which are crossed in wooden canoes, in the absence of bridges, are well stocked with fish, the principal kinds being goldeyes, sturgeon, and catfish. Of these, I think the goldeyes the best; at any rate, they are the most numerous. The wild animals inhabiting the woods and prairies are much the same as in the other parts of North America-- namely, wolves, foxes, brown and black bears, martens, minks, musquash, rabbits, etcetera; while the woods are filled with game, the marshes and ponds with ducks, geese, swans, cranes, and a host of other water-fowl. Red River was first settled upon by the fur-traders, who established a trading-post many years ago on its banks; but it did not assume the character of a colony till 1811, when Lord Selkirk sent out a number of emigrants to form a settlement in the wild regions of the North-West. Norwegians, Danes, Scotch, and Irish composed the motley crew; but the great bulk of the colonists then, as at the present time, consisted of Scotchmen and Canadians. Unlike other settlements in a wild country inhabited by Indians, the infant colony had few difficulties to contend with at the outset. The Indians were friendly, and had become accustomed to white men, from their previous contact for many years with the servants of the Hudson Bay Company; so, with the exception of one or two broils among themselves and other fur-traders, the colonists plodded peacefully along. On one occasion, however, the Hudson Bay Company and the North-West Company, who were long at enmity with each other, had a sharp skirmish, in which Mr Semple, then Governor of the Hudson Bay Company, was killed, and a number of his men were killed and wounded. The whole affair originated very foolishly. A body of men had been observed from the walls of Fort Garry, travelling past the fort; and as Governor Semple wished to ascertain their intentions, he sallied forth with a few men to intercept them, and demand their object. The North-West party, on seeing a body of men coming towards them from the fort, halted till they came up; and Cuthbert Grant, who was in command, asked what they wanted. Governor Semple required to know where they were going. Being answered in a surly manner, an altercation took place between the two parties (of which the North-West was the stronger); in the middle of which a shot was unfortunately fired by one of the Hudson Bay party. It was never known who fired this shot, and many believe that it was discharged accidentally; at any rate, no one was injured by it. The moment the report was heard, a volley was fired by the North-Westers upon the Hudson Bay party, which killed a few, and wounded many; among the latter was Governor Semple. Cuthbert Grant did his utmost to keep back the fierce half-castes under his command, but without avail; and at last, seeing that this was impossible, he stood over the wounded Semple, and endeavoured to defend him. In this he succeeded for some time; but a shot from behind at last took effect in the unfortunate governor's body, and killed him. After this, the remainder of his party fled to the fort, and the victorious half-breeds pursued their way. During the time that these two companies opposed each other, the country was in a state of constant turmoil and excitement. Personal conflicts with fists between the men--and, not unfrequently, the gentlemen--of the opposing parties were of the commonest occurrence, and frequently more deadly weapons were resorted to. Spirits were distributed among the wretched natives to a dreadful extent, and the scenes that sometimes ensued were disgusting in the extreme. Amid all this, however, stratagem was more frequently resorted to than open violence by the two companies, in their endeavours to prevent each other from procuring furs from the Indians. Men were constantly kept on the lookout for parties of natives returning from hunting expeditions; and those who could arrive first at the encampment always carried off the furs. The Indians did not care which company got them--"first come, first served," was the order of the day; and both were equally welcome, provided they brought plenty of _fire-water_. Although the individuals of the two companies were thus almost always at enmity, at the forts, strange to say, they often acted in the most friendly manner to each other; and (except when furs were in question) more agreeable or friendly neighbours seldom came together than the Hudson Bay and North-West Companies, when they planted their forts (which they often did) within two hundred yards of each other in the wilds of North America. The clerks and labourers of the opposing establishments constantly visited each other; and during the Christmas and New-Year's holidays parties and balls were given without number. Dances, however, were not confined entirely to the holidays; but whenever one was given at an unusual time, it was generally for the purpose of drawing the attention of the entertained party from some movement of their entertainers. Thus, upon one occasion the Hudson Bay Company's lookout reported that he had discovered the tracks of Indians in the snow, and that he thought they had just returned from a hunting expedition. No sooner was this heard than a grand ball was given to the North-West Company, Great preparations were made; the men, dressed in their newest capotes and gaudiest hat-cords, visited each other, and nothing was thought of or talked of but the ball. The evening came, and with it the guests; and soon might be heard within the fort sounds of merriment and revelry, as they danced, in lively measures, to a Scottish reel, played by some native fiddler upon a violin of his own construction. Without the gates, however, a very different scene met the eye. Down in a hollow, where the lofty trees and dense underwood threw a shadow on the ground, a knot of men might be seen, muffled in their leathern coats and fur caps, hurrying to and fro with bundles on their backs and snow-shoes under their arms; packing and tying them firmly on trains of dog-sledges, which stood, with the dogs ready harnessed, in the shadow of the bushes. The men whispered eagerly and hurriedly to each other as they packed their goods, while others held the dogs, and patted them to keep them quiet; evidently showing that, whatever was their object, expedition and secrecy were necessary. Soon all was in readiness: the bells, which usually tinkled on the dogs' necks, were unhooked and packed in the sledges; an active-looking man sprang forward and set off at a round trot over the snow, and a single crack of the whip sent four sledges, each with a train of four or five dogs, after him, while two other men brought up the rear. For a time the muffled sound of the sledges was heard as they slid over the snow, while now and then the whine of a dog broke upon the ear, as the impatient drivers urged them along. Gradually these sounds died away, and nothing was heard but the faint echoes of music and mirth, which floated on the frosty night-wind, giving token that the revellers still kept up the dance, and were ignorant of the departure of the trains. Late on the following day the Nor'-West scouts reported the party of Indians, and soon a set of sleighs departed from the fort with loudly-ringing bells. After a long day's march of forty miles, they reached the encampment, where they found all the Indians dead drunk, and not a skin, not even the remnant of a musquash, left to repay them for their trouble! Then it was that they discovered the _ruse_ of the ball, and vowed to have their revenge. Opportunity was not long wanting. Soon after this occurrence, one of their parties met a Hudson Bay train on its way to trade with the Indians, of whom they also were in search. They exchanged compliments with each other, and, as the day was very cold, proposed lighting a fire and taking a dram together. Soon five or six goodly trees yielded to their vigorous blows, and fell crashing to the ground; and in a few minutes one of the party, lighting a sulphur match with his flint and steel, set fire to a huge pile of logs, which crackled and burned furiously, sending up clouds of sparks into the wintry sky, and casting a warm tinge upon the anew and the surrounding trees. The canteen was quickly produced, and they told their stories and adventures while the liquor mounted to their brains. The Nor'-Westers, however, after a little time, spilled their grog on the snow, unperceived by the others, so that they kept tolerably sober, while their rivals became very much elevated; and at last they began boasting of their superior powers of drinking, and, as a proof, each of them swallowed a large bumper. The Hudson Bay party, who were nearly dead drunk by this time, of course followed their example, and almost instantly fell in a heavy sleep on the snow. In ten minutes more they were tied firmly upon their sledges, and the dogs being turned homewards, away they went straight for the Hudson Bay Fort, where they soon after arrived, the men still sound asleep; while the Nor'-Westers started for the Indian camp, and this time, at least, had the furs all to themselves. Such were the scenes that took place thirty years ago in the northern wildernesses of America. Since then, the two companies have joined, retaining the name of the richer and more powerful of the two--the "Hudson Bay Company." Spirits were still imported after the junction; but of late years they have been dispensed with throughout the country, except at the colony of Red River, and the few posts where opposition is carried on by the American fur-companies; so that now the poor savage no longer grovels in the dust of his native wilderness under the influence of the white man's fire-water, and the stranger who travels through those wild romantic regions no longer beholds the humiliating scenes or hears of the frightful crimes which were seen and heard of too often in former days, and which always have been, and always must be, prevalent wherever spirituous liquors, the great curse of mankind, are plentiful, and particularly where, as in that country, the wild inhabitants fear no laws, human or divine. In the year 1826, Red River overflowed its banks, and flooded the whole settlement, obliging the settlers to forsake their houses, and drive their horses and cattle to the trifling eminences in the immediate vicinity. These eminences wore few and very small, so that during the flood they presented a curious appearance, being crowded with men, women, and children, horses, cattle, sheep, and poultry. The houses, being made of wood, and only built on the ground, not sunk into it, were carried away by dozens, and great numbers of horses and cattle were drowned. During the time it lasted, the settlers sailed and paddled among their houses in boats and canoes; and they now point out, among the waving grass and verdant bushes, the spot where they dwelt in their tents, or paddled about the deep waters in their canoes, in the "year of the flood." This way of speaking has a strangely antediluvian sound. The hale, middle-aged colonist will tell you, with a ludicrously grave countenance, that his house stood on such a spot, or such and such an event happened, "_a year before the flood_." Fort Garry, the principal establishment of the Hudson Bay Company, stands on the banks of the Assinaboine River, about two hundred yards from its junction with Red River. It is a square stone building, with bastions pierced for cannon at the corners. The principal dwelling-houses, stores, and offices are built within the walls, and the stables at a small distance from the fort. The situation is pretty and quiet; but the surrounding country is too flat for the lover of the grand and picturesque. Just in front of the gate runs, or rather glides, the peaceful Assinaboine, where, on a fine day in autumn, may be seen thousands of goldeyes playing in its limpid waters. On the left extends the woodland fringing the river, with here and there a clump of smaller trees and willows surrounding the swamps formed by the melting snows of spring, where flocks of wild-ducks and noisy plover give animation to the scene, while through the openings in the forest are seen glimpses of the rolling prairie. Down in the hollow, where the stables stand, are always to be seen a few horses and cows, feeding or lazily chewing their cud in the rich pasturage, giving an air of repose to the scene, which contrasts forcibly with the view of the wide plains that roll out like a vast green sea from the back of the fort, studded here and there with little islets and hillocks, around which may be seen hovering a watchful hawk or solitary raven. The climate of Red River is salubrious and agreeable. Winter commences about the month of November, and spring generally begins in April. Although the winter is very long, and extremely cold (the thermometer usually varying between ten and thirty degrees below _zero)_, yet, from its being always _dry_ frost, it is much more agreeable than people accustomed to the damp thawy weather of Great Britain might suppose. Winter is here the liveliest season of the year. It is then that the wild, demi-savage colonist leads the blushing half-breed girl to the altar, and the country about his house rings with the music of the sleigh bells, as his friends assemble to congratulate the happy pair, and dance for three successive days. It is at this season the hardy _voyageurs_ rest from their toils, and, circling round the blazing fire, recount many a tale of danger, and paint many a wild romantic scene of their long and tedious voyages among the lakes and rapids of the interior; while their wives and children gaze with breathless interest upon their swarthy, sunburned faces, lighted up with animation as they recall the scenes of other days, or, with low and solemn voice, relate the death of a friend and fellow _voyageur_ who perished among the foaming cataracts of the wilderness. During the summer months there are often very severe thunderstorms, accompanied with tremendous showers of hail, which do great mischief to the crops and houses. The hailstones are of an enormous size--upwards of an inch in diameter; and on two or three occasions they broke all the windows in Fort Garry that were exposed to the storm. Generally speaking, however, the weather is serene and calm, particularly in autumn, and during the delicious season peculiar to America called the Indian summer, which precedes the commencement of winter. The scenery of Red River, as I said before, is neither grand nor picturesque; yet, when the sun shines brightly on the waving grass and glitters on the silver stream, and when the distant and varied cries of wild-fowl break in plaintive cadence on the ear, one experiences a sweet exulting happiness, akin to the feelings of the sailor when he gazes forth at early morning on the polished surface of the sleeping sea. Such is Red River, and such the scenes on which I gazed in wonder, as I rode by the side of my friend and fellow-clerk, McKenny, on the evening of my arrival at my new home. Mr McKenny was mounted on his handsome horse "Colonel," while I cantered by his side on a horse that afterwards bore me over many a mile of prairie land. It is not every day that one has an opportunity of describing a horse like the one I then rode, so the reader will be pleased to have a little patience while I draw his portrait. In the first place, then, his name was "Taureau." He was of a moderate height, of a brown colour, and had the general outlines of a horse, when viewed as that animal might be supposed to appear if reflected from the depths of a bad looking-glass. His chief peculiarity was the great height of his hind-quarters, In youth they had outgrown the fore-quarters, so that, upon a level road, you had all the advantages of riding down-hill. He cantered delightfully, trotted badly, walked slowly, and upon all and every occasion evinced a resolute pig-headedness, and a strong disinclination to accommodate his will to that of his rider. He was decidedly porcine in his disposition, very plebeian in his manners, and doubtless also in his sentiments. Such was the Bucephalus upon which I took my first ride over the Red River prairie; now swaying to and fro on his back as we galloped over the ground; anon _stotting_, in the manner of a recruit in a cavalry regiment as yet unaccustomed to the saddle, when he trotted on the beaten track; and occasionally, to the immense delight of McKenny, seizing tight hold of the saddle, as an uncertain waver in my body reminded me of Sir Isaac Newton's law of gravitation, and that any rash departure on my part from my _understanding_ would infallibly lay me prostrate on the ground. Soon after my arrival I underwent the operation which my horse had undergone before me--namely, that of being broken-in--the only difference being that he was broken-in to the saddle and I to the desk. It is needless to describe the agonies I endured while sitting, hour after hour, on a long-legged stool, my limbs quivering for want of their accustomed exercise, while the twittering of birds, barking of dogs, lowing of cows, and neighing of horses seemed to invite me to join them in the woods. Often, as my weary pen scratched slowly over the paper, their voices seemed to change to hoarse derisive laughter, as if they thought the little misshapen frogs croaking and whistling in the marshes freer far than their proud masters, who coop themselves up in smoky houses the livelong day, and call themselves the free, unshackled "lords of the creation." I soon became accustomed to these minor miseries of human life, and ere long could sit:-- "From morn till night To scratch and write Upon a three-legged stool; Nor mourn the joys Of truant boys Who stay away from school." There is a proverb which says, "It is a poor heart that never rejoices." Now, taking it for granted that the proverb speaks truth, and not wishing by our disregard of it to be thought poor-hearted, we--that is, McKenny and I--were in the habit of rejoicing our spirits occasionally-- not in the usual way, by drinking brandy and water (though we did sometimes, when nobody knew it, indulge in a glass of beer, with the red-hot poker thrust into it), but by shouldering our guns and sallying forth to shoot the partridges, or rather grouse, which abound in the woods of Red River. On these occasions McKenny and I used to range the forest in company, enlivening our walk with converse, sometimes light and cheerful, often philosophically deep, or thinking of the "light of other days." We seldom went out without bringing home a few brace of grey grouse, which were exceedingly tame--so tame, indeed, that sometimes they did not take wing until two or three shots had been fired. On one occasion, after walking about for half an hour without getting a shot, we started a covey of seven, which alighted upon a tree close at hand. We instantly fired at the two lowest, and brought them down, while the others only stretched out their long necks, as if to see what had happened to their comrades, but did not fly away. Two more were soon shot; and while we were reloading our guns, the other three flew off to a neighbouring tree. In a few minutes more they followed their companions, and we had bagged the whole seven. This is by no means an uncommon exploit when the birds are tame; and though poor _sport_, yet it helps to fill your larder with somewhat better fare than it would often contain without such assistance. The only thing that we had to avoid was, aiming at the birds on the higher branches, as the noise they make in falling frightens those below. The experienced sportsman always begins with the lowest bird; and if they sit after the first shot, he is almost sure of the rest. Shooting, however, was not our only amusement. Sometimes, on a fine evening, we used to saddle our horses and canter over the prairie till Red River and the fort were scarcely visible in the horizon; or, following the cart road along the settlement, we called upon our friends and acquaintances, returning the polite "_Bonjour_" of the French settler as he trotted past us on his shaggy pony, or smiling at the pretty half-caste girls as they passed along the road. These same girls, by the way, are generally very pretty; they make excellent wives, and are uncommonly thrifty. With beads, and brightly-coloured porcupines' quills, and silk, they work the most beautiful devices on the moccasins, leggins, and leathern coats worn by the inhabitants; and during the long winter months they spin and weave an excellent kind of cloth from the wool produced by the sheep of the settlement, mixed with that of the buffalo, brought from the prairies by the hunters. About the middle of autumn the body of Mr Thomas Simpson, the unfortunate discoverer, who, in company with Mr Dease, attempted to discover the Nor'-West Passage, was brought to the settlement for burial. Poor Mr Simpson had set out with a party of Red River half-breeds, for the purpose of crossing the plains to St. Louis, and proceeding thence through the United States to England. Soon after his departure, however, several of the party returned to the settlement, stating that Mr Simpson had, in a fit of insanity, killed two of his men, and then shot himself, and that they had buried him on the spot where he fell. This story, of course, created a great sensation in the colony; and as all the party gave the same account of the affair upon investigation, it was believed by many that he had committed suicide. A few, however, thought that he had been murdered, and had shot the two men in self-defence. In the autumn of 1841 the matter was ordered to be further inquired into; and, accordingly, Dr Bunn was sent to the place where Mr Simpson's body had been interred, for the purpose of raising and examining it. Decomposition, however, had proceeded too far; so the body was conveyed to the colony for burial, and Dr Bunn returned without having discovered anything that could throw light on the melancholy subject. I did not know Mr Simpson personally, but, from the report of those who did, it appears that, though a clever and honourable man, he was of rather a haughty disposition, and in consequence was very much disliked by the half-breeds of Red River. I therefore think, with many of Mr Simpson's friends and former companions, that he did _not_ kill himself, and that this was only a false report of his murderers. Besides, it is not probable that a man who had just succeeded in making important additions to our geographical knowledge, and who might reasonably expect honour and remuneration upon returning to his native land, would, without any known or apparent cause, first commit murder and then suicide. By his melancholy death the Hudson Bay Company lost a faithful servant, and the world an intelligent and enterprising man. Winter, according to its ancient custom, passed away; and spring, not with its genial gales and scented flowers, but with burning sun and melting snow, changed the face of nature, and broke the icy covering of Red River. Duffle coats vanished, and a few of the half-breed settlers doffed their fur caps and donned the "bonnet rouge," while the more hardy and savage contented themselves with the bonnet _noir_, in the shape of their own thick black hair. Carioles still continued to run, but it was merely from the force of habit, and it was evident they would soon give up in despair. Sportsmen began to think of ducks and geese, farmers of ploughs and wheat, and _voyageurs_ to dream of rapid streams and waterfalls, and of distant voyages in light canoes. Immediately upon the ice in the lakes and rivers breaking up, we made arrangements for dispatching the Mackenzie River brigade--which is always the first that leaves the colony--for the purpose of conveying goods to Mackenzie River, and carrying furs to the sea-coast. Choosing the men for this long and arduous voyage was an interesting scene. L'Esperance, the old guide, who had many a day guided this brigade through the lakes and rivers of the interior, made his appearance at the fort a day or two before the time fixed for starting; and at his heels followed a large band of wild, careless, happy-looking half-breeds. Having collected in front of the office door, Mr McKenny went out with a book and pencil in his hand, and told L'Esperance to begin. The guide went a little apart from the rest, accompanied by the steersmen of the boats (seven or eight in number), and then, scanning the group of dark athletic men who stood smiling before him, called out, "Pierre!" A tall, Herculean man answered to the call, and, stepping out from among the rest, stood beside his friend the guide. After this one of the steersmen chose another man; and so on, till the crews of all the boats were completed. Their names were then marked down in a book, and they all proceeded to the trading-room, for the purpose of taking "advances," in the shape of shirts, trousers, bonnets, caps, tobacco, knives, capotes, and all the other things necessary for a long, rough journey. On the day appointed for starting, the boats, to the number of six or seven, were loaded with goods for the interior; and the _voyageurs_, dressed in their new clothes, embarked, after shaking hands with, and in many cases embracing, their comrades on the land; and then, shipping their oars, they shot from the bank and rowed swiftly down Red River, singing one of their beautiful boat-songs, which was every now and then interrupted by several of the number hallooing a loud farewell, as they passed here and there the cottages of friends. With this brigade I also bade adieu to Red River, and, after a pleasant voyage of a few days, landed at Norway House, while the boats pursued their way. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Red River Settlement is now (1875) very much changed, as, no doubt, the reader is aware, and the foregoing description is in many respects inapplicable. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Note 1. The reader must bear in remembrance that this chapter was written in 1847. CHAPTER SEVEN. NORWAY HOUSE--ADVENTURE WITH A BEAR--INDIAN FEAST--THE PORTAGE BRIGADE-- THE CLERKS' HOUSE--CATCHING A BUFFALO--GOLDEYE FISHING--RASPING A ROCK. Norway House, as we have before mentioned, is built upon the shores of Playgreen Lake, close to Jack River, and distant about twenty miles from Lake Winnipeg. At its right-hand corner rises a huge abrupt rock, from whose summit, where stands a flagstaff, a fine view of Playgreen Lake and the surrounding country is obtained. On this rock a number of people were assembled to witness our arrival, and among them Mr Russ, who sauntered down to the wharf to meet us as we stepped ashore. A few days after my arrival, the Council "resolved" that I should winter at Norway House; so next day, in accordance with the resolution of that august assembly, I took up my quarters in the clerks' room, and took possession of the books and papers. It is an author's privilege, I believe, to jump from place to place and annihilate time at pleasure. I avail myself of it to pass over the autumn--during which I hunted, fished, and paddled in canoes to the Indian village at Rossville a hundred times--and jump at once into the middle of winter. Norway House no longer boasts the bustle and excitement of the summer season. No boats arrive, no groups of ladies and gentlemen assemble on the rocks to gaze at the sparkling waters. A placid stillness reigns around, except in the immediate vicinity of the fort, where a few axe-men chop the winter firewood, or start with trains of dog-sledges for the lakes, to bring home loads of white-fish and venison. Mr Russ is reading the "Penny Cyclopaedia" in the Hall (as the winter mess-room is called), and I am writing in the dingy little office in the shade, which looks pigstyish in appearance without, but is warm and snug within. Alongside of me sits Mr Cumming, a tall, bald-headed, sweet-tempered man of forty-five, who has spent the greater part of his life among the bears and Indians of Hudson Bay, and is now on a Christmas visit at Norway House. He has just arrived from his post a few hundred miles off, whence he walked on snowshoes, and is now engaged in taking off his moccasins and blanket socks, which he spreads out carefully below the stove to dry. We do not continue long, however, at our different occupations. Mr Evans, the Wesleyan missionary, is to give a feast to the Indians at Rossville, and afterwards to examine the little children who attend the village school. To this feast we are invited; so in the afternoon Mr Cumming and I put on our moose-skin coats and snow-shoes, and set off for the village, about two miles distant from the fort. By the way Mr Cumming related an adventure he had had while travelling through the country; and as it may serve to show the dangers sometimes encountered by those who wander through the wilds of North America, I will give it here in his own words. MR. CUMMING'S ADVENTURE WITH A BEAR. "It was about the beginning of winter," said he, "that I set off on snow-shoes, accompanied by an Indian, to a small lake to fetch fish caught in the autumn, and which then lay frozen in a little house built of logs, to protect them for winter use. The lake was about ten miles off; and as the road was pretty level and not much covered with underwood, we took a train of dogs with us, and set off before daybreak, intending to return again before dark; and as the day was clear and cold, we went cheerily along without interruption, except an occasional fall when a branch caught our snow-shoes, or a stoppage to clear the traces when the dogs got entangled among the trees. We had proceeded about six miles, and the first grey streaks of day lit up the eastern horizon, when the Indian who walked in advance paused, and appeared to examine some footprints in the snow. After a few minutes of close observation he rose, and said that a bear had passed not long before, and could not be far off, and asked permission to follow it. I told him he might do so, and said I would drive the dogs in his track, as the bear had gone in the direction of the fish-house. The Indian threw his gun over his shoulder, and was soon lost in the forest. For a quarter of an hour I plodded on behind the dogs, now urging them along, as they flagged and panted in the deep snow, and occasionally listening for a shot from my Indian's gun. At last he fired, and almost immediately after fired again; for you must know that some Indians can load so fast that two shots from their single barrel sound almost like the discharge in succession of the two shots from a double-barrelled gun. Shortly after, I heard another shot; and then, as all became silent, I concluded he had killed the bear, and that I should soon find him cutting it up. Just as I thought this, a fierce growl alarmed me; so, seizing a pistol which I always carried with me, I hastened forward. As I came nearer, I heard a man's voice mingled with the growls of a bear; and upon arriving at the foot of a small mound, my Indian's voice, apostrophising death, became distinctly audible. `Come, Death!' said he, in a contemptuous tone; `you have got me at last, but the Indian does not fear you!' A loud angry growl from the bear, as he saw me rushing up the hill, stopped him; and the unfortunate man turned his eyes upon me with an imploring look. He was lying on his back, while the bear (a black one) stood over him, holding one of his arms in its mouth. In rushing up the mound I unfortunately stumbled, and filled my pistol with snow; so that when the bear left the Indian and rushed towards me it missed fire, and I had only left me the poor, almost hopeless, chance, of stunning the savage animal with a blow of the butt-end. Just as he was rearing on his hind legs, my eye fell upon the Indian's axe, which fortunately lay at my feet; and seizing it, I brought it down with all my strength on the bear's head, just at the moment that he fell upon me, and we rolled down the hill together. Upon recovering myself, I found that the blow of the axe had killed him instantly, and that I was uninjured. Not so the Indian: the whole calf of his left leg was bitten off, and his body lacerated dreadfully in various places. He was quite sensible, however, though very faint, and spoke to me when I stooped to examine his wounds. In a short time I had tied them up; and placing him on the sledge with part of the bear's carcass, which I intended to dine upon, we returned immediately to the fort. The poor Indian got better slowly, but he never recovered the perfect use of his leg, and now hobbles about the fort, cutting firewood, or paddling about the lake in search of ducks and geese in his bark canoe." Mr Cumming concluded his story just as we arrived at the little bay, at the edge of which the Indian village of Rossville is built. From the spot where we stood the body of the village did not appear to much advantage; but the parsonage and church, which stood on a small mound, their white walls in strong contrast to the background of dark trees, had a fine picturesque effect. There were about twenty houses in the village, inhabited entirely by Indians, most of whom were young and middle-aged men. They spend their time in farming during the summer, and are successful in raising potatoes and a few other vegetables for their own use. In winter they go into the woods to hunt fur-bearing animals, and also deer; but they never remain long absent from their homes. Mr Evans resided among them, and taught them and their children writing and arithmetic, besides instructing them in the principles of Christianity. They often assembled in the school-house for prayer and sacred music, and attended divine service regularly in the church every Sunday. Mr Evans, who was a good musician, had taught them to sing in parts; and it has a wonderfully pleasing effect upon a stranger to hear these dingy sons and daughters of the wilderness raising their melodious voices in harmony in praise of the Christian's God. Upon our arrival at the village, we were ushered into Mr Evans' neat cottage, from the windows of which is a fine view of Playgreen Lake, studded with small islands, stretching out to the horizon on the right, and a boundless wilderness of trees on the left. Here were collected the ladies and gentlemen of Norway House, and a number of indescribable personages, apparently engaged in mystic preparations for the approaching feast. It was with something like awe that I entered the schoolroom, and beheld two long rows of tables covered with puddings, pies, tarts, stews, hashes, and vegetables of all shapes, sizes, and descriptions, smoking thereon. I feared for the Indians, although they can stand a great deal in the way of repletion; moderation being, of course, out of the question, with such abundance of good things placed before them. A large shell was sounded after the manner of a bugle, and all the Indians of the village walked into the room and seated themselves, the women on one side of the long tables, and the men on the other. Mr Evans stood at the head, and asked a blessing; and then commenced a work of demolition, the like of which has not been seen since the foundation of the world! The pies had strong crusts, but the knives were stronger; the paste was hard and the interior tough, but Indian teeth were harder and Indian jaws tougher; the dishes were gigantic, but the stomachs were capacious, so that ere long numerous skeletons and empty dishes alone graced the board. One old woman, of a dark-brown complexion, with glittering black eyes and awfully long teeth, set up in the wholesale line, and demolished the viands so rapidly, that those who sat beside her, fearing a dearth in the land, began to look angry. Fortunately, however, she gave in suddenly, while in the middle of a venison pasty, and reclining languidly backward, with a sweetly contented expression of countenance, while her breath came thickly through her half-opened mouth, she gently fell asleep--and thereby, much to her chagrin, lost the tea and cakes which were served out soon afterwards by way of dessert. When the seniors had finished, the juveniles were admitted _en masse_, and they soon cleared away the remnants of the dinner. The dress of the Indians upon this occasion was generally blue cloth capotes with hoods, scarlet or blue cloth leggins, quill-worked moccasins, and no caps. Some of them were dressed very funnily; and one or two of the oldest appeared in blue surtouts, which were very ill made, and much too large for the wearers. The ladies had short gowns without plaits, cloth leggins of various colours highly ornamented with beads, cotton handkerchiefs on their necks, and sometimes also on their heads. The boys and girls were just their seniors in miniature. After the youngsters had finished dinner, the schoolroom was cleared by the guests; benches were ranged along the entire room, excepting the upper end, where a table, with two large candlesticks at either end, served as a stage for the young actors. When all was arranged, the elder Indians seated themselves on the benches, while the boys and girls ranged themselves along the wall behind the table. Mr Evans then began by causing a little boy about four years old to recite a long comical piece of prose in English. Having been well drilled for weeks beforehand, he did it in the most laughable style. Then came forward four little girls, who kept up an animated philosophical discussion as to the difference of the days in the moon and on the earth. Then a bigger boy made a long speech in the Seauteaux language, at which the Indians laughed immensely, and with which the white people present (who did not understand a word of it) appeared to be greatly delighted, and laughed loudly too. Then the whole of the little band, upon a sign being given by Mr Evans, burst at once into a really beautiful hymn, which was quite unexpected, and consequently all the more gratifying. This concluded the examination, if I may so call it; and after a short prayer the Indians departed to their homes, highly delighted with their entertainment. Such was the Christmas feast at Rossville, and many a laugh it afforded us that night as we returned home across the frozen lake by the pale moonlight. Norway House is perhaps one of the best posts in the Indian country. The climate is dry and salubrious; and although (like nearly all the other parts of the country) extremely cold in winter, it is very different from the damp, chilling cold of that season in Great Britain. The country around is swampy and rocky, and covered with dense forests. Many of the Company's posts are but ill provided with the necessaries of life, and entirely destitute of luxuries. Norway house, however, is favoured in this respect. We always had fresh meat of some kind or other; sometimes beef, mutton, or venison, and occasionally buffalo meat, was sent us from the Swan River district. Of tea, sugar, butter, and bread we had more than enough; and besides the produce of our garden in the way of vegetables, the river and lake contributed white-fish, sturgeon, and pike, or jack-fish, in abundance. The pike is not a delicate fish, and the sturgeon is extremely coarse, but the white-fish is the most delicate and delicious I ever ate. I am not aware of their existence in any part of the Old World, but the North American lakes abound with them. It is generally the size of a good salmon trout, of a bright silvery colour, and tastes a little like salmon. Many hundreds of fur-traders live almost entirely on white-fish, particularly at those far northern posts where flour, sugar, and tea cannot be had in great quantities, and where deer are scarce. At these posts the Indians are sometimes reduced to cannibalism, and the Company's people have, on more than one occasion, been obliged to eat their beaver-skins! The beaver-skin is thick and oily, so that, when the fur is burned off, and the skin well boiled, it makes a kind of soup that will at least keep one alive. Starvation is quite common among the Indians of those distant regions; and the scraped rocks, divested of their covering of _tripe-de-roche_ (which resembles dried-up seaweed), have a sad meaning and melancholy appearance to the traveller who journeys through the wilds and solitudes of Rupert's Land. Norway House is also an agreeable and interesting place, from its being in a manner the gate to the only route to Hudson Bay, so that during the spring and summer months all the brigades of boats and canoes from every part of the northern department must necessarily pass it on their way to York Factory with furs: and as they all return in the autumn, and some of the gentlemen leave their wives and families for a few weeks till they return to the interior, it is at this sunny season of the year quite gay and bustling; and the clerks' house, in which I lived, was often filled with a strange and noisy collection of human beings, who rested here a while ere they started for the shores of Hudson Bay, for the distant region of Mackenzie River, or the still more distant land of Oregon. During winter our principal amusement was white-partridge shooting. This bird is a species of ptarmigan, and is pure white, with the exception of the tips of the wings and tail. They were very numerous during the winter, and formed an agreeable dish at our mess-table. I also enjoyed a little skating at the beginning of the winter; but the falling snow soon put an end to this amusement. Spring, beautiful spring! returned again to cheer us in our solitude, and to open into life the waters and streams of Hudson Bay. Great will be the difference between the reader's idea of that season in that place and the reality. Spring, with its fresh green leaves and opening flowers, its emerald fields and shady groves, filled with sounds of melody! No, reader; that is not the spring we depict: not quite so beautiful, though far more prized by those who spend a monotonous winter of more than six months in solitude. The sun shines brightly in a cloudless sky, lighting up the pure white fields and plains with dazzling brilliancy. The gushing waters of a thousand rills, formed by the melting snow, break sweetly on the ear, like the well-remembered voice of a long-absent friend. The whistling wings of wild-fowl, as they ever and anon desert the pools of water now open in the lake and hurry over the forest-trees, accord well with the shrill cry of the yellow-leg and curlew, and with the general wildness of the scene; while the reviving frogs chirrup gladly in the swamps to see the breaking up of winter and welcome back the spring. This is the spring I write of; and to have a correct idea of the beauties and the sweetness of _this_ spring, you must first spend a winter in Hudson Bay. As I said, then, spring returned. The ice melted, floated off, and vanished. Jack River flowed gently on its way, as if it had never gone to sleep; and the lake rolled and tumbled on its shores, as if to congratulate them on the happy change. Soon the boats began to arrive. First came the "Portage Brigade," in charge of L'Esperance. There were seven or eight boats; and ere long as many fires burned on the green beside the fort, with a merry, careless band of wild-looking Canadian and half-breed _voyageurs_ round each. And a more picturesque set of fellows I never saw. They were all dressed out in new light-blue capotes and corduroy trousers, which they tied at the knee with beadwork garters. Moose-skin moccasins cased their feet, and their brawny, sunburned necks were bare. A scarlet belt encircled the waist of each; and while some wore hats with gaudy feathers, others had their heads adorned with caps and bonnets, surrounded with gold and silver tinsel hat-cords. A few, however, despising coats, travelled in blue and white striped shirts, and trusted to their thickly-matted hair to guard them from the rain and sun. They were truly a wild yet handsome set of men; and no one, when gazing on their happy faces as they lay or stood in careless attitudes round the fires, puffing clouds of smoke from their ever-burning pipes, would have believed that these men had left their wives and families but the week before, to start on a five months' voyage of the most harassing description, fraught with the dangers of the boiling cataracts and foaming rapids of the interior. They stopped at Norway House on their way, to receive the outfit of goods for the Indian trade of Athabasca (one of the interior districts); and were then to start for Portage la Loche, a place where the whole cargoes are carried on the men's shoulders overland for twelve miles to the head-waters of another river, where the traders from the northern posts come to meet them, and, taking the goods, give in exchange the "returns" in furs of the district. Next came old Mr Mottle, with his brigade of five boats from Isle a la Crosse, one of the interior districts; and soon another set of camp-fires burned on the green, and the clerks' house received another occupant. After them came the Red River brigades in quick succession: careful, funny, uproarious Mr Mott, on his way to York for goods expected by the ship (for you must know Mr Mott keeps a store in Red River, and is a man of some importance in the colony); and grasping, comical, close-fisted Mr Macdear; and quiet Mr Sink--all passing onwards to the sea, rendering Norway House quite lively for a time, and then leaving it silent. But not for long, as the Saskatchewan brigade, under the charge of chief trader Harrit and young Mr Polly, suddenly arrived, and filled the whole country with noise and uproar. The Saskatchewan brigade is the largest and most noisy that halts at Norway House. It generally numbers from fifteen to twenty boats, filled with the wildest men in the service. They come from the prairies and Rocky Mountains, and are consequently brimful of stories of the buffalo hunt, attacks upon grizzly bears, and wild Indians--some of them interesting and true enough, but most of them either tremendous exaggerations, or altogether inventions of their own wild fancies. Soon after, the light canoes arrived from Canada, and in them an assortment of raw material for the service in the shape of four or five green young men. The clerks' house now became crammed. The quiet, elderly folks, who had continued to fret at its noisy occupants, fled in despair to another house, and thereby left room for the newcomers--or greenhorns, as they were elegantly styled by their more knowing fellow-clerks. Now, indeed, the corner of the fort in which we lived was avoided by all quiet people as if it were smitten with the plague; while the loud laugh, uproarious song, and sounds of the screeching flute or scraping fiddle, issued from the open doors and windows, frightening away the very mosquitoes, and making roof and rafters ring. Suddenly a dead silence would ensue; and then it was conjectured by the knowing ones of the place that Mr Polly was _coming out strong_ for the benefit of the new arrivals. Mr Polly had a pleasant way of getting the green ones round him, and, by detailing some of the wild scenes and incidents of his voyages in the Saskatchewan, of leading them on from truth to exaggeration, and from that to fanciful composition, wherein he would detail, with painful minuteness, all the horrors of Indian warfare, and the improbability of any one who entered those dreadful regions ever returning alive. Norway House was now indeed in full blow, and many a happy hour did I spend upon one of the clerks' beds--every inch of which was generally occupied--listening to the story or the song. The young men there assembled had arrived from the distant quarters of America, and some of them even from England. Some were in the prime of manhood, and had spent many years in the Indian country; some were beginning to scrape the down from their still soft chins; while others were boys of fourteen, who had just left home, and were listening for the first time, open-mouthed, to their seniors' description of life in the wilderness. Alas, how soon were those happy, careless young fellows to separate, and how little probability was there of their ever meeting again! A sort of friendship had sprung up among three of us. Many a happy hour had we spent in rambling among the groves and woods of Norway House: now ranging about in search of wild pigeons, anon splashing and tumbling in the clear waters of the lake, or rowing over its surface in a light canoe; while our inexperienced voices filled the woods with snatches of the wild yet plaintive songs of the _voyageurs_, which we had just begun to learn. Often had we lain on our little pallet in Bachelors' Hall, recounting to each other our adventures in the wild woods, or recalling the days of our childhood, and making promises of keeping up a steady correspondence through all our separations, difficulties, and dangers. A year passed away, and at last I got a letter from one of my friends, dated from the Arctic regions, near the mouth of Mackenzie River; the other wrote to me from among the snow-clad caps of the Rocky Mountains; while I addressed them from the swampy, ice-begirt shores of Hudson Bay. In the Saskatchewan brigade two young bisons were conveyed to York Factory for the purpose of being shipped for England in the _Prince Rupert_. They were a couple of the wildest little wretches I ever saw, and were a source of great annoyance to the men during the voyage. The way they were taken was odd enough, and I shall here describe it. In the Saskatchewan the chief food both of white men and Indians is buffalo meat, so that parties are constantly sent out to hunt the buffalo. They generally chase them on horseback--the country being mostly prairie land--and when they get close enough, shoot them with guns. The Indians, however, shoot them oftener with the bow and arrow, as they prefer keeping their powder and shot for warfare. They are very expert with the bow, which is short and strong, and can easily send an arrow quite through a buffalo at twenty yards off. One of these parties, then, was ordered to procure two calves alive, if possible, and lead them to the Company's establishment. This they succeeded in doing in the following manner. Upon meeting with a herd, they all set off full gallop in chase. Away went the startled animals at a round trot, which soon increased to a gallop as the horse men neared them, and a shot or two told that they were coming within range. Soon the shots became more numerous, and here and there a black spot on the prairie told where a buffalo had fallen. No slackening of the pace occurred, however, as each hunter, upon killing an animal, merely threw down his cap or mitten to mark it as his own, and continued in pursuit of the herd, loading his gun as he galloped along. The buffalo-hunters, by the way, are very expert at loading and firing quickly while going at full gallop. They carry two or three bullets in their mouths, which they spit into the muzzles of their guns after dropping in a little powder, and instead of ramming it down with a rod, merely hit the butt-end of the gun on the pommel of their saddles; and in this way fire a great many shots in quick succession. This, however, is a dangerous mode of shooting, as the ball sometimes sticks half-way down the barrel and bursts the gun, carrying away a finger, and occasionally a hand. In this way they soon killed as many buffaloes as they could carry in their carts, and one of the hunters set off in chase of a calf. In a short time he edged one away from the rest, and then, getting between it and the herd, ran straight against it with his horse and knocked it down. The frightened little animal jumped up again and set off with redoubled speed; but another butt from the horse again sent it sprawling. Again it rose, and was again knocked down, and in this way was at last fairly tired out; when the hunter, jumping suddenly from his horse, threw a rope round its neck, and drove it before him to the encampment, and soon after brought it to the fort. It was as wild as ever when I saw it at Norway House, and seemed to have as much distaste to its thraldom as the day it was taken. As the summer advanced the heat increased, and the mosquitoes became perfectly insupportable. Nothing could save one from the attacks of these little torments. Almost all other insects went to rest with the sun: sand-flies, which bite viciously during the day, went to sleep at night; the large _bull-dog_, whose bite is terrible, slumbered in the evening; but the mosquito, the long-legged, determined, vicious, persevering mosquito, whose ceaseless hum dwells for ever on the ear, _never_ went to sleep. Day and night the painful, tender little pimples on our necks and behind our ears were being constantly retouched by these villainous flies, it was useless killing thousands of them-- millions supplied their place. The only thing, in fact, that can protect one during the night (_nothing_ can during the day) is a net of gauze hung over the bed; but as this was looked upon by the young men as somewhat effeminate, it was seldom resorted to. The best thing for their destruction, we found, was to fill our rooms with smoke, either by burning damp moss or by letting off large puffs of gunpowder, and then throwing the doors and windows open to allow them to fly out. This, however, did not put them all out; so we generally spent an hour or so before going to bed in hunting them with candles. Even this did not entirely destroy them; and often might our friends, by looking telescopically through the keyhole, have seen us wandering during the late hours of the night in our shirts looking for mosquitoes, like unhappy ghosts doomed to search perpetually for something they can never find. The intense, suffocating heat also added greatly to our discomfort. In fine weather I used to visit my friend Mr Evans at Rossville, where I had always a hearty welcome. I remember on one occasion being obliged to beg the loan of a canoe from an Indian, and having a romantic paddle across part of Playgreen Lake. I had been offered a passage in a boat which was going to Rossville, but was not to return. Having nothing particular to do, however, at the time, I determined to take my chance of finding a return conveyance of some kind or other. In due time I arrived at the parsonage, where I spent a pleasant afternoon in sauntering about the village, and in admiring the rapidity and ease with which the Indian children could read and write the Indian language by means of a syllable alphabet invented by their clergyman. The same gentleman afterwards made a set of leaden types with no other instrument than a penknife, and printed a great many hymns in the Indian language. In the evening I began to think of returning to the fort; but no boat or canoe could be found small enough to be paddled by one man, and as no one seemed inclined to go with me, I began to fear that I should have to remain all night. At last a young Indian told me he had a hunting canoe, which I might have if I chose to venture across the lake in it, but it was very small. I instantly accepted his offer; and, bidding adieu to my friends at the parsonage, followed him down to a small creek overshaded by tall trees, where, concealed among the reeds and bushes, lay the canoe. It could not, I should think, have measured more than three yards in length, by eighteen inches in breadth at the middle, whence it tapered at either end to a thin edge. It was made of birch bark scarcely a quarter of an inch thick; and its weight may be imagined when I say that the Indian lifted it from the ground with one hand and placed it in the water, at the same time handing me a small light paddle. I stepped in with great care, and the frail bark trembled with my weight as I seated myself, and pushed out into the lake. The sun had just set, and his expiring rays cast a glare upon the overhanging clouds in the west, whilst the shades of night gathered thickly over the eastern horizon. Not a breath of wind disturbed the glassy smoothness of the water, in which every golden-tinted cloud was mirrored with a fidelity that rendered it difficult to say which was image and which reality. The little bark darted through the water with the greatest ease, and as I passed among the deepening shadows of the lofty pines, and across the gilded waters of the bay, a wild enthusiasm seized me; I strained with all my strength upon the paddle, and the sparkling drops flew in showers behind me as the little canoe flew over the water more like a phantom than a reality--when suddenly I missed my stroke; my whole weight was thrown on one side, the water gurgled over the gunwale of the canoe, and my heart leaped to my mouth, as I looked for an instant into the dark water. It was only for a moment; in another instant the canoe righted, and I paddled the remainder of the way in a much more gentle manner--enthusiasm gone, and a most wholesome degree of timidity pervading my entire frame. It was dark when I reached the fort, and upon landing I took the canoe under my arm and carried it up the bank with nearly as much ease as if it had been a camp-stool. When the day was warm and the sun bright--when the sky was clear and the water blue--when the air was motionless, and the noise of arrivals and departures had ceased--when work was at a stand, and we enjoyed the felicity of having nothing to do, Mr Russ and I used to saunter down to the water's edge to have an hour or two's fishing. The fish we fished for were goldeyes, and the manner of our fishing was this:-- Pausing occasionally as we walked along, one of us might be observed to bend in a watchful manner over the grass, and, gradually assuming the position of a quadruped, fall plump upon his hands and knees. Having achieved this feat, he would rise with a grasshopper between his finger and thumb; a tin box being then held open by the other, the unlucky insect was carefully introduced to the interior, and the lid closed sharply--some such remark attending each capture as that "_That_ one was safe," or, "There went another;" and the mystery of the whole proceeding being explained by the fact that these same incarcerated grasshoppers were intended to form the bait with which we trusted to beguile the unwary goldeyes to their fate. Having arrived at the edge of the place where we usually fished, each drew from a cleft in the rock a stout branch of a tree, around the end of which was wound a bit of twine with a large hook attached to it. This we unwound quickly, and after impaling a live grasshopper upon the barbs of our respective hooks, dropped them into the water, and gazed intently at the lines. Mr Russ, who was a great lover of angling, now began to get excited, and made several violent pulls at the line, under the impression that something had _bitten_. Suddenly his rod, stout as it was, bent with the immense muscular force applied to it, and a small goldeye, about three or four inches long, flashed like an electric spark from the water, and fell with bursting force on the rocks behind, at the very feet of a small Indian boy, who sat, nearly in a state of nature, watching our movements from among the bushes. The little captive was of a bright silvery colour, with a golden eye, and is an excellent fish for breakfast. The truth of the proverb, "It never rains but it pours," was soon verified by the immense number of goldeyes of every size, from one foot to four inches, which we showered into the bushes behind us. Two or three dozen were caught in a few minutes, and at last we began to get quite exhausted; and Mr Russ proposed going up to the house for his new fly-rod, by way of diversifying the sport, and rendering it more scientific. Down he came again in a few minutes, with a splendidly varnished, extremely slim rod, with an invisible line and an aerial fly. This instrument was soon put up; and Mr Russ, letting out six fathoms of line, stood erect, and making a splendid heave, caught the Indian boy by the hair! This was an embarrassing commencement; but being an easy, good-natured man, he only frowned the boy out of countenance, and shortened his line. The next cast was more successful; the line swept gracefully through the air, and fell in a series of elegant circles within a few feet of the rock on which he stood. Goldeyes, however, are not particular; and ere he could draw the line straight, a very large one darted at the fly, and swallowed it. The rod bent into a beautiful oval as Mr Russ made a futile attempt to whip the fish over his head, according to custom, and the line straightened with fearful rigidity as the fish began to pull for its life. The fisher became energetic, and the fish impatient, but there was no prospect of its ever being landed; till at last, having got his rod inextricably entangled among the neighbouring bushes, he let it fall, and most unscientifically hauled the fish out by the line, exclaiming, in the bitterness of his heart, "that rods were contemptible childish things, and that a stout branch of a tree was the rod for him." This last essay seemed to have frightened all the rest away, for not another bite did we get after that. Towards the beginning of June 1843, orders arrived from headquarters, appointing me to spend the approaching winter at York Factory, the place where I had first pressed American soil. It is impossible to describe the joy with which I received the news. Whether it was my extreme fondness for travelling, or the mere love of change, I cannot tell, but it had certainly the effect of affording me immense delight, and I set about making preparation for the journey immediately. The arrival of the canoes from Canada was to be the signal for my departure, and I looked forward to their appearance with great impatience. In a few days the canoes arrived; and on the 4th of June, 1843, I started, in company with several other gentlemen, in two north canoes. These light, graceful craft were about thirty-six feet long, by from five to six broad, and were capable of containing eight men and three passengers. They were made entirely of birch bark, and gaudily painted on the bow and stern. In these fairy-like boats, then, we swept swiftly over Playgreen Lake, the bright vermilion paddles glancing in the sunshine, and the woods echoing to the lively tune of _A la claire fontaine_, sung by the two crews in full chorus. We soon left Norway House far behind us, and ere long were rapidly descending the streams that flow through the forests of the interior into Hudson Bay. While running one of the numerous rapids with which these rivers abound, our canoe struck upon a rock, which tore a large hole in its side. Fortunately the accident happened close to the shore, and nearly at the usual breakfasting hour; so that while some of the men repaired the damages, which they did in half an hour, we employed ourselves agreeably in demolishing a huge ham, several slices of bread, and a cup or two of strong tea. This was the only event worth relating that happened to us during the voyage; and as canoe-travelling is enlarged upon in another chapter, we will jump at once to the termination of our journey. CHAPTER EIGHT. YORK FACTORY--WINTER AMUSEMENTS--INTENSE COLD--THE SEASONS--"SKYLARKING"--SPORTING IN THE WOODS AND MARSHES--TRADING WITH INDIANS--CHRISTMAS DOINGS--BREAKING-UP OF THE ICE IN SPRING. Are you ambitious, reader, of dwelling in a "pleasant cot in a tranquil spot, with a distant view of the changing sea?" If so, do not go to York Factory. Not that it is such an unpleasant place--for I spent two years very happily there--but simply (to give a poetical reason, and explain its character in one sentence) because it is a monstrous blot on a swampy spot, with a partial view of the frozen sea! First impressions are generally incorrect; and I have little doubt that _your_ first impression is, that a "monstrous blot on a swampy spot" cannot by any possibility be an agreeable place. To dispel this impression, and at the same time to enlighten you with regard to a variety of facts with which you are probably unacquainted, I shall describe York Factory as graphically as may be. An outline of its general appearance has been already given in a former chapter, so I will now proceed to particularise the buildings. The principal edifice is the "general store," where the goods, to the amount of two years' outfit for the whole northern department, are stored. On each side of this is a long, low whitewashed house, with green edgings, in one of which visitors and temporary residents during the summer are quartered. The other is the summer mess-room. Four roomy fur-stores stand at right angles to these houses, thus forming three sides of the front square. Behind these stands a row of smaller buildings for the labourers and tradesmen; and on the right hand is the dwelling-house of the gentleman in charge, and adjoining it the clerks' house; while on the left are the provision-store and Indian trading-shop. A few insignificant buildings, such as the oil-store and lumber-house, intrude themselves here and there; and on the right a tall ungainly outlook rises in the air, affording the inhabitants an extensive view of their wild domains; and just beside it stands the ice-house. This latter building is filled every spring with blocks of solid ice of about three feet square, which do not melt during the short but intensely hot summer. The inhabitants are thus enabled to lay up a store of fresh meat for summer use, which lasts them till about the commencement of winter. The lower stratum of ice in this house never melts; nor, indeed, does the soil of the surrounding country, which only thaws to the depth of a few feet, the subsoil being perpetually frozen. The climate of York Factory is very bad in the warm months of the year, but during the winter the intensity of the cold renders it healthy. Summer is very short; and the whole three seasons of spring, summer, and autumn are included in the months of June, July, August, and September-- the rest being winter. During part of summer the heat is extreme, and millions of flies, mosquitoes, etcetera, render the country unbearable. Fortunately, however, the cold soon extirpates them. Scarcely anything in the way of vegetables can be raised in the small spot of ground called by courtesy a garden. Potatoes one year, for a wonder, attained the size of walnuts; and sometimes a cabbage and a turnip are prevailed upon to grow. Yet the woods are filled with a great variety of wild berries, among which the cranberry and swampberry are considered the best. Black and red currants, as well as gooseberries, are plentiful; but the first are bitter, and the last small. The swampberry is in shape something like the raspberry, of a light yellow colour, and grows on a low bush, almost close to the ground. They make excellent preserves, and, together with cranberries, are made into tarts for the mess during winter. In the month of September there are generally a couple of weeks or so of extremely fine weather, which is called the Indian summer; after which winter, with frost, cold, and snow, sets in with rapidity. For a few weeks in October there is sometimes a little warm weather (or rather, I should say, a little _thawy_, weather); but after that, until the following April, the thermometer seldom rises to the freezing-point. In the depth of winter it falls from 30 to 40, 45, and even 50 degrees _below zero_ of Fahrenheit. This intense cold, however, is not so much felt as one might suppose, as during its continuance the air is perfectly calm. Were the slightest breath of wind to arise when the thermometer stands so low, no man could show his face to it for a moment. Forty degrees below zero, and quite calm, is infinitely preferable to fifteen degrees below, or thereabouts, with a strong breeze of wind. Spirit of wine is, of course, the only liquid that can be used in the thermometers, as mercury, were it exposed to such cold, would remain frozen nearly half the winter. Spirit never froze in any cold ever experienced at York Factory, unless when very much adulterated with water; and even then the spirit would remain liquid in the centre of the mass [see note 1]. To resist this intense cold the inhabitants dress, not in furs, as is generally supposed, but in coats and trousers made of smoked deer-skins; the only piece of fur in their costume being the cap. The houses are built of wood, with double windows and doors. They are heated by means of large iron stoves, fed with wood; yet so intense is the cold, that I have seen the stove in places _red-hot_, and a basin of water in the room _frozen_ nearly solid. The average cold, I should think, is about 15 or 16 degrees below zero, or 48 degrees of frost. The country around is a complete swamp, but the extreme shortness of the warm weather, and the consequent length of winter, fortunately prevent the rapid decomposition of vegetable matter. Another cause of the unhealthiness of the climate during summer is the prevalence of dense fogs, which come off the bay and enshroud the country; and also the liability of the weather to sudden and extreme changes. Summer may be said to commence in July, the preceding month being a fight between summer and winter, which cannot claim the slightest title to the name of spring. As August advances the heat becomes great; but about the commencement of September Nature wears a more pleasing aspect, which lasts till the middle of October. It is then clear and beautiful, just cold enough to kill all the mosquitoes, and render brisk exercise agreeable. About this time, too, the young ducks begin to fly south, affording excellent sport among the marshes. A week or so after this winter commences, with light falls of snow occasionally, and hard frost during the night. Flocks of snow-birds (the harbingers of cold in autumn, and heat in spring) begin to appear, and soon the whirring wings of the white partridge may be heard among the snow-encompassed willows. The first thaw generally takes place in April; and May is characterised by melting snow, disruption of ice, and the arrival of the first flocks of wild-fowl. The country around the fort is one immense level swamp, thickly covered with willows, and dotted here and there with a few clumps of pine-trees. The only large timber in the vicinity grows on the banks of Hayes and Nelson Rivers, and consists chiefly of spruce fir. The swampy nature of the ground has rendered it necessary to raise the houses in the fort several feet in the air upon blocks of wood; and the squares are intersected by elevated wooden platforms, which form the only promenade the inhabitants have during the summer, as no one can venture fifty yards beyond the gates without wetting his feet. Nothing bearing the most distant resemblance to a hillock exists in the land. Nelson River is a broad stream, which discharges itself into Hudson Bay, near the mouth of Hayes River, between which lies a belt of swamp and willows, known by the name of the Point of Marsh. Here may be found, during the spring and autumn, millions of ducks, geese, and plover, and during the summer billions of mosquitoes. There are a great many strange plants and shrubs in this marsh, which forms a wide field of research and pleasure to the botanist and the sportsman; but the lover of beautiful scenery and the florist will find little to please the eye or imagination, as Nature has here put on her plainest garb, and flowers there are none. Of the feathered tribes there are the large and small grey Canada goose, the laughing goose (so called from the resemblance of its cry to laughter), and the wavie or white goose. The latter are not very numerous. There are great numbers of wild ducks, pintails, widgeons, divers, sawbills, black ducks, and teal; but the prince of ducks (the canvas-back) is not there. In spring and autumn the whole country becomes musical with the wild cries and shrill whistle of immense hosts of plover of all kinds--long legs, short legs, black legs, and yellow legs--sandpipers and snipe, which are assisted in their noisy concerts by myriads of frogs. The latter are really the best songsters in Hudson Bay [see note 2]. Bitterns are also found in the marshes; and sometimes, though rarely, a solitary crane finds its way to the coast. In the woods, and among the dry places around, there are a few grey grouse and wood partridges, a great many hawks, and owls of all sizes-- from the gigantic white owl, which measures five feet across the back and wings, to the small grey owl, not much bigger than a man's hand. In winter the woods and frozen swamps are filled with ptarmigan--or, as they are called by the trappers, white partridges. They are not very palatable; but, nevertheless, they form a pretty constant dish at the winter mess-table of York Factory, and afford excellent sport to the inhabitants. There are also great varieties of small birds, among which the most interesting are the snow-birds, or snow-flakes, which pay the country a flying visit at the commencement and termination of winter. Such is York Fort, the great depot and gate to the wild regions surrounding Hudson Bay. Having described its appearance and general characteristics, I shall proceed to introduce the reader to my future companions, and describe our amusements and sports among the marshes. BACHELORS' HALL. On the--of June, 1843, I landed the second time on the wharf of York Fort, and betook myself to Bachelors' Hall, where Mr Grave, whom I met by the way, told me to take up my quarters. As I approached the door of the well-remembered house, the most tremendous uproar that ever was heard proceeded from within its dingy walls; so I jumped the paling that stood in front of the windows, and took a peep at the interior before introducing myself. The scene that met my eye was ludicrous in the extreme. Mounted on a chair, behind a bedroom door, stood my friend Crusty, with a large pail of water in his arms, which he raised cautiously to the top of the door, for the purpose of tilting it over upon two fellow-clerks who stood below, engaged in a wrestling match, little dreaming of the cataract that was soon to fall on their devoted heads; at the door of a room opposite stood the doctor, grinning from ear to ear at the thought of sending a thick stream of water in Crusty's face from a large syringe which he held in his hands; while near the stove sat the jolly skipper, looking as grave as possible under the circumstances. The practical joke was just approaching to a climax when I looked in. The combatants neared the door behind which Crusty was ensconced. The pail was raised, and the syringe pointed, when the hall door opened, and Mr Grave walked in! The sudden change that ensued could not have been more rapidly effected had Mr Grave been a magician. The doctor thrust the syringe into his pocket, into which a great deal of the water escaped and dripped from the skirts of his coat as he walked slowly across the room and began to examine, with a wonderful degree of earnestness, the edge of an amputating knife that lay upon his dressing-table. The two wrestlers sprang with one accord into their own room, where they hid their flushed faces behind the door. Certain smothered sounds near the stove proclaimed the skipper to be revelling in an excruciating fit of suppressed laughter; while poor Crusty, who slipped his foot in rapidly descending from his chair, lay sprawling in an ocean of water, which he had upset upon himself in his fall. Mr Grave merely went to Mr Wilson's room to ask a few questions, and then departed as if he had seen nothing; but a peculiar twist in the corners of his mouth, and a comical twinkle in his eye, showed that, although he said nothing, he had a pretty good guess that his "young men" had been engaged in mischief! Such were the companions to whom I introduced myself shortly after; and, while they went off to the office, I amused myself in looking round the rooms in which I was to spend the approaching winter. The house was only one story high, and the greater part of the interior formed a large hall, from which several doors led into the sleeping apartments of the clerks. The whole was built of wood; and few houses could be found wherein so little attention was paid to ornament or luxury. The walls were originally painted white, but this, from long exposure to the influence of a large stove, had changed to a dirty yellow. No carpet covered the floor; nevertheless, its yellow planks had a cheerful appearance; and gazing at the numerous knots with which it was covered often afforded me a dreamy kind of amusement when I had nothing better to do. A large oblong iron box, on four crooked legs, with a funnel running from it through the roof, stood exactly in the middle of the room; this was a stove, but the empty wood-box in the corner showed that its services were not required at that time. And truly they were not; for it was the height of summer, and the whole room was filled with mosquitoes and bull-dog flies, which kept up a perpetual hum night and day. The only furniture that graced the room consisted of two small unpainted deal tables without tablecloths, five whole wooden chairs, and a broken one--which latter, being light and handy, was occasionally used as a missile by the young men when they happened to quarrel. Several guns and fishing-rods stood in the corners of the hall, but their dirty appearance proclaimed that sporting, at that time, was not the order of the day. The tables were covered with a miscellaneous collection of articles; and from a number of pipes reposing on little odoriferous heaps of cut tobacco, I inferred that my future companions were great smokers. Two or three books, a pair of broken foils, a battered mask, and several surgical instruments, over which a huge mortar and pestle presided, completed the catalogue. The different sleeping apartments around were not only interesting to contemplate, but also extremely characteristic of the pursuits of their different tenants. The first I entered was very small--just large enough to contain a bed, a table, and a chest, leaving little room for the occupant to move about in; and yet, from the appearance of things, he did move about in it to some purpose, as the table was strewn with a number of saws, files, bits of ivory and wood, and in a corner a small vice held the head of a cane in its iron jaws. These were mixed with a number of Indian account-books and an inkstand, so that I concluded I had stumbled on the bedroom of my friend Mr Wilson, the postmaster. The quadrant-case and sea-chest in the next room proved it to be the skipper's, without the additional testimony of the oiled-cloth coat and sou'-wester hanging from a peg in the wall. The doctor's room was filled with dreadful-looking instruments, suggestive of operations, amputations, bleeding wounds, and human agony; while the accountant's was equally characterised by methodical neatness, and the junior clerks' by utter and chaotic confusion. None of these bedrooms were carpeted; none of them boasted of a chair--the trunks and boxes of the persons to whom they belonged answering instead; and none of the beds were graced with curtains. Notwithstanding this emptiness, however, they had a somewhat furnished appearance, from the number of greatcoats, leather capotes, fur caps, worsted sashes, guns, rifles, shot-belts, snow-shoes, and powder-horns with which the walls were profusely decorated. The ceilings of the rooms, moreover, were very low--so much that by standing on tiptoe I could touch them with my hand; and the window in each was only about three feet high by two and a half broad, so that, upon the whole, the house was rather snug than otherwise. Such was the habitation in which I dwelt; such were the companions with whom I associated at York Factory. As the season advanced the days became shorter, the nights more frosty, and soon a few flakes of snow fell, indicating the approach of winter. About the beginning of October the cold, damp, snowy weather that usually precedes winter set in; and shortly afterwards Hayes River was full of drifting ice, and the whole country covered with snow. A week or so after this the river was completely frozen over; and Hudson Bay itself, as far as the eye could reach, was covered with a coat of ice. We now settled down into our winter habits. Double windows were fitted in, and double doors also. Extra blankets were put upon the beds; the iron stove kept constantly alight; and, in fact, every preparation was made to mitigate the severity of the winter. The water froze every night in our basins, although the stove was kept at nearly a red heat all day, and pretty warm all night; and our out-of-door costume was changed from jackets and shooting-coats to thick leather capotes, fur caps, duffle socks, and moccasins. Soon after this, white partridges showed themselves; and one fine clear, frosty morning, after breakfast, I made my first essay to kill some, in company with my fellow-clerk and room-mate Crusty, and the worthy skipper. The manner of dressing ourselves to resist the cold was curious. I will describe Crusty, as a type of the rest. After donning a pair of deer-skin trousers, he proceeded to put on three pair of blanket socks, and over these a pair of moose-skin moccasins. Then a pair of blue cloth leggins were hauled over his trousers, partly to keep the snow from sticking to them, and partly for warmth. After this he put on a leather capote edged with fur. This coat was very warm, being lined with flannel, and overlapped very much in front. It was fastened with a scarlet worsted belt round the waist, and with a loop at the throat. A pair of thick mittens made of deer-skin hung round his shoulders by a worsted cord; and his neck was wrapped in a huge shawl, above whose mighty folds his good-humoured visage beamed like the sun on the edge of a fog-bank. A fur cap with ear-pieces completed his costume. Having finished his toilet, and tucked a pair of snow-shoes, five feet long, under one arm, and a double-barrelled fowling-piece under the other, Crusty waxed extremely impatient, and proceeded systematically to aggravate the unfortunate skipper (who was always very slow, poor man, except on board ship), addressing sundry remarks to the stove upon the slowness of seafaring men in general, and skippers in particular. In a few minutes the skipper appeared in a similar costume, with a monstrously long gun over his shoulder, and under his arm a pair of snow-shoes gaudily painted by himself; which snow-shoes he used to admire amazingly, and often gave it as his opinion that they were "slap-up, tossed-off-to-the-nines" snow-shoes! In this guise, then, we departed on our ramble. The sun shone brightly in the cold blue sky, giving a warm appearance to the scene, although no sensible warmth proceeded from it, so cold was the air. Countless millions of icy particles covered every bush and tree, glittering tremulously in its rays like diamonds--psha! that hackneyed simile: diamonds of the purest water never shone like these evanescent little gems of nature. The air was biting cold, obliging us to walk briskly along to keep our blood in circulation; and the breath flew thick and white from our mouths and nostrils, like clouds of steam, and, condensing on our hair and the breasts of our coats, gave us the appearance of being powdered with fine snow. Crusty's red countenance assumed a redder hue by contrast, and he cut a very comical figure when his bushy whiskers changed from their natural auburn hue to a pure white, under the influence of this icy covering. The skipper, who all this while had been floundering slowly among the deep snow, through which his short legs were but ill calculated to carry him, suddenly wheeled round, and presented to our view the phenomenon of a very red, warm face, and an extremely livid cold nose thereunto affixed. We instantly apprised him of the fact that his nose was frozen, which he would scarcely believe for some time; however, he was soon convinced, and after a few minutes' hard rubbing it was restored to its usual temperature. We had hitherto been walking through the thick woods near the river's bank; but finding no white partridges there, we stretched out into the frozen swamps, which now presented large fields and plains of compact snow, studded here and there with clumps and thickets of willows. Among these we soon discovered fresh tracks of birds in the snow, whereat the skipper became excited (the sport being quite new to him), and expressed his belief, in a hoarse whisper, that they were not far off. He even went the length of endeavouring to walk on tiptoe, but being unable, from the weight of his snow-shoes, to accomplish this, he only tripped himself, and falling with a stunning crash through a large dried-up bush, buried his head, shoulders, and gun in the snow. Whir-r-r! went the alarmed birds--crack! bang! went Crusty's gun, and down came two partridges; while the unfortunate skipper, scarce taking time to clear his eyes from snow, in his anxiety to get a shot, started up, aimed at the birds, and blew the top of a willow, which stood a couple of feet before him, into a thousand atoms. The partridges were very tame, and only flew to a neighbouring clump of bushes, where they alighted. Meanwhile Crusty picked up his birds, and while reloading his gun complimented the skipper upon the beautiful manner in which he _pointed_. To this he answered not, but raising his gun, let drive at a solitary bird which, either from fear or astonishment, had remained behind the rest, and escaped detection until now, owing to its resemblance to the surrounding snow. He fortunately succeeded in hitting this time, and bagged it with great exultation. Our next essay was even more successful. The skipper fired at one which he saw sitting near him, killed it,--and also two more which he had not seen, but which had happened to be in a line with the shot; and Crusty and I killed a brace each when they took wing. During the whole day we wandered about the woods, sometimes killing a few ptarmigan, and occasionally a kind of grouse, which are called by the people of the country wood-partridges. Whilst sauntering slowly along in the afternoon, a rabbit darted across our path; the skipper fired at it without even putting the gun to his shoulder, and to his utter astonishment killed it. After this we turned to retrace our steps, thinking that, as our game bags were pretty nearly full, we had done enough for one day. Our sport was not done, however; we came suddenly upon a large flock of ptarmigan, so tame that they would not fly, but merely ran from us a little way at the noise of each shot. The firing that now commenced was quite terrific. Crusty fired till both barrels of his gun were stopped up; the skipper fired till his powder and shot were done; and I fired till--_I skinned my tongue_! Lest any one should feel surprised at the last statement, I may as well explain _how_ this happened. The cold had become so intense, and my hands so benumbed with loading, that the thumb at last obstinately refused to open the spring of my powder-flask. A partridge was sitting impudently before me, so that, in the fear of losing the shot, I thought of trying to open it with my teeth. In the execution of this plan, I put the brass handle to my mouth, and my tongue happening to come in contact with it, stuck fast thereto--or, in other words, was frozen to it. Upon discovering this, I instantly pulled the flask away, and with it a piece of skin about the size of a sixpence. Having achieved this little feat, we once more bent our steps homeward. During our walk the day had darkened, and the sky insensibly become overcast. Solitary flakes of snow fell here and there around us, and a low moaning sound, as of distant wind, came mournfully down through the sombre trees, and, eddying round their trunks in little gusts, gently moved the branches, and died away in the distance. With an uneasy glance at these undoubted signs of an approaching storm, we hastened towards the fort as fast as our loads permitted us, but had little hope of reaching it before the first burst of the gale. Nature had laid aside her sparkling jewels, and was now dressed in her simple robe of white. Dark leaden clouds rose on the northern horizon, and the distant howling of the cold, cold wind struck mournfully on our ears, as it rushed fresh and bitterly piercing from the Arctic seas, tearing madly over the frozen plains, and driving clouds of hail and snow before it. Whew! how it dashed along--scouring wildly over the ground, as if maddened by the slight resistance offered to it by the swaying bushes, and hurrying impetuously forward to seek a more worthy object on which to spend its bitter fury! Whew! how it curled around our limbs, catching up mountains of snow into the air, and dashing them into impalpable dust against our wretched faces. Oh! it was bitterly, bitterly cold. Notwithstanding our thick wrappings, we felt as if clothed in gauze; while our faces seemed to collapse and wrinkle up as we turned them from the wind and hid them in our mittens. One or two flocks of ptarmigan, scared by the storm, flew swiftly past us, and sought shelter in the neighbouring forest. We quickly followed their example, and availing ourselves of the partial shelter of the trees, made the best of our way back to the fort, where we arrived just as it was getting dark, and entered the warm precincts of Bachelors' Hall like three animated marble statues, so completely were we covered from head to foot with snow. It was curious to observe the change that took place in the appearance of our guns after we entered the warm room. The barrels, and every bit of metal upon them, instantly became white, like ground glass! This phenomenon was caused by the condensation and freezing of the moist atmosphere of the room upon the cold iron. Any piece of metal, when brought suddenly out of such intense cold into a warm room, will in this way become covered with a pure white coating of hoar-frost. It does not remain long in this state, however, as the warmth of the room soon heats the metal and melts the ice. Thus, in about ten minutes our guns assumed three different appearances: when we entered the house, they were clear, polished, and dry; in five minutes they were white as snow; and in five more, dripping wet! On the following morning a small party of Indians arrived with furs, and Mr Wilson went with them to the trading-room, whither I accompanied him. The trading-room--or, as it is frequently called, the Indian-shop--was much like what is called a store in the United States. It contained every imaginable commodity likely to be needed by Indians. On various shelves were piled bales of cloth of all colours, capotes, blankets, caps, etcetera; and in smaller divisions were placed files, scalping-knives, gun-screws, flints, balls of twine, fire-steels, canoe-awls, and glass beads of all colours, sizes, and descriptions. Drawers in the counter contained needles, pins, scissors, thimbles, fish-hooks, and vermilion for painting canoes and faces. The floor was strewn with a variety of copper and tin kettles, from half a pint to a gallon; and on a stand in the furthest corner of the room stood about a dozen trading guns, and beside them a keg of powder and a box of shot. Upon our entrance into this room trade began. First of all, an old Indian laid a pack of furs upon the counter, which Mr Wilson counted and valued. Having done this, he marked the amount opposite the old man's name in his "Indian book," and then handed him a number of small pieces of wood. The use of these pieces of wood is explained in the third chapter. The Indian then began to look about him, opening his eyes gradually, as he endeavoured to find out which of the many things before him he would like to have. Sympathising with his eyes, his mouth slowly opened also; and having remained in this state for some time, the former looked at Mr Wilson, and the latter pronounced _ahcoup_ (blanket). Having received the blanket, he paid the requisite number of bits of wood for it, and became abstracted again. In this way he bought a gun, several yards of cloth, a few beads, etcetera, till all his sticks were gone, and he made way for another. The Indians were uncommonly slow, however, and Mr Wilson and I returned to the house in a couple of hours, with very cold toes and fingers, and exceedingly blue noses. During winter we breakfasted usually at nine o'clock; then sat down to the desk till one, when we dined. After dinner we resumed our pens till six, when we had tea; and then wrote again till eight; after which we either amused ourselves with books (of which we had a few), kicked up a row, or, putting on our snow-shoes, went off to pay a moonlight visit to our traps. On Wednesdays and Saturdays, however, we did no work, and generally spent these days in shooting. It is only at the few principal establishments of the Company, where the accounts of the country are collected annually, to be forwarded to the Hudson Bay House in London, that so much writing is necessary. As the Christmas holidays approached, we prepared for the amusements of that joyous season. On the morning before Christmas, a gentleman, who had spent the first part of the winter all alone at his outpost, arrived to pass the holidays at York Factory. We were greatly delighted to have a new face to look at, having seen no one but ourselves since the ship left for England, nearly four months before. Our visitor had travelled in a dog cariole. This machine is very narrow, just broad enough to admit one person. It is a wooden frame covered with deer-skin parchment, painted gaudily, and is generally drawn by four Esquimaux dogs [see note 3]. Dogs are invaluable in the Arctic regions, where horses are utterly useless, owing to the depth of snow which covers the earth for so large a portion of the year. The comparatively light weight of the dogs enables them to walk without sinking much; and even when the snow is so soft as to be incapable of supporting them, they are still able to sprawl along more easily than any other species of quadruped could do. Four are usually attached to a sledge, which they haul with great vigour; being followed by a driver on snow-shoes, whose severe lash is brought to bear so powerfully on the backs of the poor animals, should any of them be observed to slacken their pace, that they are continually regarding him with deprecatory glances as they run along. Should the lash give a flourish, there is generally a short yelp from the pack; and should it descend amongst them with a vigorous crack, the vociferous yelling that results is perfectly terrific. These drivers are sometimes very cruel; and when a pack of dogs have had a fight, and got their traces hopelessly ravelled (as is often the case), they have been known to fall on their knees in their passion, seize one of the poor dogs by the nose with their teeth, and almost bite it off. Dogs are also used for dragging carioles, which vehicles are used by gentlemen in the Company's service who are either too old or too lazy to walk on snow-shoes. The cariole is in form not unlike a slipper bath, both in shape and size. It is lined with buffalo robes, in the midst of a bundle of which the occupant reclines luxuriously, while the dogs drag him slowly through the soft snow, and among the trees and bushes of the forest, or scamper with him over the hard-beaten surface of a lake or river; while the machine is prevented from capsizing by a _voyageur_ who walks behind on snow-shoes, holding on to a line attached to the back part of the cariole. The weather during winter is so cold that it is often a matter of the greatest difficulty for the traveller to keep his toes from freezing, despite the buffalo robes; and sometimes, when the dogs start fresh in the morning, with a good breakfast, a bright, clear, frosty day, and a long expanse of comparatively open country before them, where the snow from exposure has become quite hard, away they go with a loud yelp, upsetting the driver in the bolt, who rises to heap undeserved and very improper epithets upon the poor brutes, who, careering over the ground at the rate of eleven miles an hour, swing the miserable cariole over the snow, tear it through the bushes, bang it first on one side, then on the other, against stumps and trees, yelling all the while, partly with frantic glee at the thought of having bolted, and partly with fearful anticipation of the tremendous welting that is to come; until at last the cariole gets jammed hard and fast among the trees of the forest, or plunges down the steep bank of a river head over heels till they reach the foot--a horrible and struggling compound of dogs, traveller, traces, parchment, buffalo robes, blankets, and snow! Christmas morning dawned, and I opened my eyes to behold the sun flashing brightly on the window, in its endeavours to make a forcible entry into my room, through the thick hoar-frost which covered the panes. Presently I became aware of a gentle breathing near me, and, turning my eyes slowly round, I beheld my companion Crusty standing on tiptoe, with a tremendous grin on his countenance, and a huge pillow in his hands, which was in the very act of descending upon my devoted head. To collapse into the smallest possible compass, and present the most invulnerable part of my body to the blow, was the work of an instant, when down came the pillow, bang! "Hooroo! hurroo! hurroo! a merry Christmas to you, you rascal!" shouted Crusty. Bang! bang! went the pillow. "Turn out of that, you lazy lump of plethoric somnolescence," whack!--and, twirling the ill-used pillow round his head, my facetious friend rushed from the room, to bestow upon the other occupants of the hall a similar salutation. Upon recovering from the effects of my pommelling, I sprang from bed and donned my clothes with all speed, and then went to pay my friend Mr Wilson the compliments of the season. In passing through the hall for this purpose, I discovered Crusty struggling in the arms of the skipper, who, having wrested the pillow from him, was now endeavouring to throttle him partially. I gently shut and fastened the door of their room, purposing to detain them there till _very nearly_ too late for breakfast, and then sat down with Mr Wilson to discuss our intended proceedings during the day. These were-- firstly, that we should go and pay a ceremonious visit to the men; secondly, that we should breakfast; thirdly, that we should go out to shoot partridges; fourthly, that we should return to dinner at five; and fifthly, that we should give a ball in Bachelors' Hall in the evening, to which were to be invited all the men at the fort, and _all_ the Indians, men, women, and children, inhabiting the country for thirty miles round. As the latter, however, did not amount to above twenty, we did not fear that more would come than our hall was calculated to accommodate. In pursuance, then, of these resolutions, I cleaned my gun, freed my prisoners just as the breakfast-bell was ringing, and shortly afterwards went out to shoot. I will not drag the reader after me, but merely say that we all returned about dusk, with game-bags full, and appetites ravenous. Our Christmas dinner was a good one, in a substantial point of view; and a very pleasant one, in a social point of view. We ate it in the winter mess-room; and really (for Hudson Bay) this was quite a snug and highly decorated apartment. True, there was no carpet on the floor, and the chairs were home-made; but then the table was mahogany, and the walls were hung round with several large engravings in bird's-eye maple frames. The stove, too, was brightly polished with black lead, and the painting of the room had been executed with a view to striking dumb those innocent individuals who had spent the greater part of their lives at outposts, and were, consequently, accustomed to domiciles and furniture of the simplest and most unornamental description. On the present grand occasion the mess-room was illuminated by an argand lamp, and the table covered with a snow-white cloth, whereon reposed a platter containing a beautiful, fat, plump wild-goose, which had a sort of come-eat-me-up-quick-else-I'll-melt expression about it that was painfully delicious. Opposite to this smoked a huge roast of beef, to procure which one of our most useless draught oxen had been sacrificed. This, with a dozen of white partridges, and a large piece of salt pork, composed our dinner. But the greatest rarities on the board were two large decanters of port wine, and two smaller ones of Madeira. These were flanked by tumblers and glasses; and truly, upon the whole, our dinner made a goodly show. "Come away, gentlemen," said Mr Grave, as we entered the room and approached the stove where he stood, smiling with that benign expression of countenance peculiar to stout, good-natured gentlemen at this season, and at this particular hour. "Your walk must have sharpened your appetites; sit down, sit down. This way, doctor--sit near me; find a place, Mr Ballantyne, beside your friend Crusty there; take the foot, Mr Wilson;" and amid a shower of such phrases we seated ourselves and began. At the top of the table sat Mr Grave, indistinctly visible through the steam that rose from the wild-goose before him. On his right and left sat the doctor and the accountant; and down from them sat the skipper, four clerks, and Mr Wilson, whose honest face beamed with philanthropic smiles at the foot of the table. Loud were the mirth and fun that reigned on this eventful day within the walls of the highly decorated room at York Factory. Bland was the expression of Mr Grave's face when he asked each of the young clerks to drink wine with him in succession; and great was the confidence which thereby inspired the said clerks, prompting them to the perpetration of several rash and unparalleled pieces of presumption--such as drinking wine with each other (an act of free-will on their part almost unprecedented), and indulging in sundry sly pieces of covert humour, such as handing the vinegar to each other when the salt was requested, and becoming profusely apologetic upon discovering their mistake. But the wildest storm is often succeeded by the greatest calm, and the most hilarious mirth by the most solemn gravity. In the midst of our fun Mr Grave proposed a toast. Each filled a bumper, and silence reigned around while he raised his glass and said, "Let us drink to absent friends." We each whispered, "Absent friends," and set our glasses down in silence, while our minds flew back to the scenes of former days, and we mingled again in spirit with our dear, dear friends at home. How different the mirth of the loved ones there, circling round the winter hearth, from that of the _men_ seated round the Christmas table in the Nor'-West wilderness I question very much if this toast was ever drunk with a more thorough appreciation of its melancholy import than upon the present memorable occasion. Our sad feelings, however, were speedily put to flight, and our gravity routed, when the skipper, with characteristic modesty, proposed, "The ladies;" which toast we drank with a hearty good-will, although, indeed, the former included them, inasmuch as they also were _absent_ friends--the only one within two hundred and fifty miles of us being Mr Grave's wife. What a magical effect ladies have upon the male sex, to be sure! Although hundreds of miles distant from an unmarried specimen of the species, upon the mere mention of their name there was instantly a perceptible alteration for the better in the looks of the whole party. Mr Wilson unconsciously arranged his hair a little more becomingly, as if his ladye-love were actually looking at him; and the skipper afterwards confessed that his heart had bounded suddenly out of his breast, across the snowy billows of the Atlantic, and come smash down on the wharf at Plymouth Dock, where he had seen the last wave of Nancy's checked cotton neckerchief as he left the shores of Old England. Just as we had reached the above climax, the sound of a fiddle struck upon our ears, and reminded us that our guests who had been invited to the ball were ready; so, emptying our glasses, we left the dining-room, and adjourned to the hall. Here a scene of the oddest description presented itself. The room was lit up by means of a number of tallow candles, stuck in tin sconces round the walls. On benches and chairs sat the Orkneymen and Canadian half-breeds of the establishment, in their Sunday jackets and capotes; while here and there the dark visage of an Indian peered out from among their white ones. But round the stove--which had been removed to one side to leave space for the dancers--the strangest group was collected. Squatting down on the floor, in every ungraceful attitude imaginable, sat about a dozen Indian women, dressed in printed calico gowns, the chief peculiarity of which was the immense size of the balloon-shaped sleeves, and the extreme scantiness, both in length and width, of the skirts. Coloured handkerchiefs covered their heads, and ornamented moccasins decorated their feet; besides which, each one wore a blanket in the form of a shawl, which they put off before standing up to dance. They were chatting and talking to each other with great volubility, occasionally casting a glance behind them, where at least half a dozen infants stood bolt upright in their tight-laced cradles. On a chair, in a corner near the stove, sat a young, good-looking Indian, with a fiddle of his own making beside him. This was our Paganini; and beside him sat an Indian boy with a kettle-drum, on which he tapped occasionally, as if anxious that the ball should begin. All this flashed upon our eyes; but we had not much time for contemplating it, as, the moment we entered, the women simultaneously rose, and coming modestly forward to Mr Wilson, who was the senior of the party, saluted him, one after another! I had been told that this was a custom of the _ladies_ on Christmas Day, and was consequently not quite unprepared to go through the ordeal. But when I looked at the superhuman ugliness of some of the old ones--when I gazed at the immense, and in some cases toothless, chasms that were pressed to my senior's lips, and that gradually, like a hideous nightmare, approached towards me--and when I reflected that these same mouths might have, in former days, demolished a few children--my courage forsook me, and I entertained for a moment the idea of bolting. The doctor seemed to labour under the same disinclination as myself; for when they advanced to him, he refused to bend his head, and, being upwards of six feet high, they of course were obliged to pass him. They looked, however, so much disappointed at this, and withal so very modest, that I really felt for them, and prepared to submit to my fate with the best grace possible. A horrible old hag advanced towards me, the perfect embodiment of a nightmare, with a fearful grin on her countenance. I shut my eyes. Suddenly a bright idea flashed across my mind: I stooped down, with apparent goodwill, to salute her; but just as our lips were about to meet, I slightly jerked up my head, and she kissed my _chin_. Oh, happy thought! They were all quite satisfied, and attributed the accident, no doubt, to their own clumsiness--or to mine! This ceremony over, we each chose partners, the fiddle struck up, and the ball began. Scotch reels were the only dances known by the majority of the guests, so we confined ourselves entirely to them. The Indian women afforded us a good deal of amusement during the evening. Of all ungraceful beings, they are the most ungraceful; and of all accomplishments, dancing is the one in which they shine least. There is no rapid motion of the feet, no lively expression of the countenance; but with a slow, regular, up-and-down motion, they stalk through the figure with extreme gravity. They seemed to enjoy it amazingly, however, and scarcely allowed the poor fiddler a moment's rest during the whole evening. Between eleven and twelve o'clock our two tables were put together, and spread with several towels; thus forming a pretty respectable supper-table, which would have been perfect, had not the one part been three inches higher than the other. On it was placed a huge dish of cold venison, and a monstrous iron kettle of tea. This, with sugar, bread, and a lump of salt butter, completed the entertainment to which the Indians sat down. They enjoyed it very much--at least, so I judged from the rapid manner in which the viands disappeared, and the incessant chattering and giggling kept up at intervals. After all were satisfied, the guests departed in a state of great happiness; particularly the ladies, who tied up the remnants of their supper in their handkerchiefs, and carried them away. Before concluding the description of our Christmas doings, I may as well mention a circumstance which resulted from the effects of the ball, as it shows in a curious manner the severity of the climate at York Factory. In consequence of the breathing of so many people in so small a room for such a length of time, the walls had become quite damp, and ere the guests departed moisture was trickling down in many places. During the night this moisture was frozen, and on rising the following morning I found, to my astonishment, that Bachelors' Hall was apparently converted into a palace of crystal. The walls and ceiling were thickly coated with beautiful minute crystalline flowers, not sticking flat upon them, but projecting outwards in various directions, thus giving the whole apartment a cheerful, light appearance, quite indescribable. The moment our stove was heated, however, the crystals became fluid, and ere long evaporated, leaving the walls exposed in all their original dinginess. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Winter passed away; but not slowly, or by degrees. A winter of so long duration could not be expected to give up its dominion without a struggle. In October it began, and in November its empire was established. During December, January, February, March, and April it reigned unmolested, in steadfast bitterness; enclosing in its icy bands, and retaining in torpid frigidity, the whole inanimate and vegetable creation. But in May its powerful enemy, caloric, made a decided attack upon the empire, and dealt hoary Winter a stunning blow. About the beginning of April a slight thaw occurred, the first that had taken place since the commencement of winter; but this was speedily succeeded by hard frost, which continued till the second week in May, when thaw set in so steadily that in a few days the appearance of the country entirely changed. On the 12th of May, Hayes River, which had been covered for nearly eight months with a coat of ice upwards of six feet thick, gave way before the floods occasioned by the melting snow; and all the inmates of the fort rushed out to the banks upon hearing the news that the river was going. On reaching the gate, the sublimity of the spectacle that met our gaze can scarcely be imagined. The noble river, here nearly two miles broad, was entirely covered with huge blocks and jagged lumps of ice, rolling and dashing against each other in chaotic confusion, as the swelling floods heaved them up and swept them with irresistible force towards Hudson Bay. In one place, where the masses were too closely packed to admit of violent collision, they ground against each other with a slow but powerful motion that curled their hard edges up like paper, till the smaller lumps, unable to bear the pressure, were ground to powder, and with a loud crash the rest hurried on to renew the struggle elsewhere, while the ice above, whirling swiftly round in the clear space thus formed, as if delighted at its sudden release, hurried onwards. In another place, where it was not so closely packed, a huge lump suddenly grounded on a shallow; and in a moment the rolling masses, which were hurrying towards the sea with the velocity of a cataract, were precipitated against it with a noise like thunder, and the tremendous pressure from above forcing block upon block with a loud hissing noise, raised, as if by magic, an icy castle in the air, which, ere its pinnacles had pointed for a second to the sky, fell with stunning violence into the boiling flood from whence it rose. In a short time afterwards the mouth of the river became so full of ice that it stuck there, and in less than an hour the water rose ten or fifteen feet, nearly to a level with the top of the bank. In this state it continued for a week; and then, about the end of May, the whole floated quietly out to sea, and the cheerful river gurgled along its bed with many a curling eddy and watery dimple rippling its placid face, as if it smiled to think of having overcome its powerful enemy, and at length burst its prison walls. Although the river was free, many a sign of winter yet remained around our forest home. The islands in the middle of the stream were covered with masses of ice, many of which were piled up to a height of twenty or thirty feet. All along the banks, too, it was strewn thickly; while in the woods snow still lay in many places several feet deep. In time, however, these last evidences of the mighty power of winter gave way before the warm embraces of spring. Bushes and trees began to bud, gushing rills to flow, frogs to whistle in the swamp, and ducks to sport upon the river, while the hoarse cry of the wild-goose, the whistling wings of teal, and all the other sounds and cries of the long-absent inhabitants of the marshes, gave life and animation to the scene. Often has nature been described as falling asleep in the arms of winter, and awaking at the touch of spring; but nowhere is this simile so strikingly illustrated as in these hyperborean climes, where, for eight long, silent months, nature falls into a slumber so deep and unbroken that death seems a fitter simile than sleep, and then bursts into a life so bright, so joyous, so teeming with animal and vegetable vitality, and, especially when contrasted with her previous torpidity, so noisy, that awakening from sleep gives no adequate idea of the change. Now was the time that our guns were cleaned with peculiar care, and regarded with a sort of brotherly affection. Not that we despised the sports of winter, but we infinitely preferred those of spring. Young Crusty and I were inseparable companions; we had slept in the same room, hunted over the same ground, and scribbled at the same desk during the whole winter, and now we purchased a small hunting canoe from an Indian, for the purpose of roaming about together in spring. Our excursions were always amusing; and, as a description of one of them may perhaps prove interesting to the reader, I shall narrate:-- A CANOE EXCURSION ON THE SHORES OF HUDSON BAY. It is needless to say that the day we chose was fine; that the sun shone brightly; that the curling eddies of the river smiled sweetly; that the jagged pinnacles of the blocks of ice along shore which had not yet melted sparkled brilliantly; that the fresh green foliage of the trees contrasted oddly with these white masses; that Crusty and I shouldered our canoe between us, after having placed our guns, etcetera, in it, and walked lightly down to the river bank under our burden. It is needless, I say, to describe all this minutely, as it would be unnecessary waste of pen, ink, and paper. It is sufficient to say that we were soon out in the middle of the stream, floating gently down the current towards the Point of Marsh, which was to be the scene of our exploits. The day was indeed beautiful, and so very calm and still that the glassy water reflected every little cloud in the sky; and on the seaward horizon everything was quivering and magically turned upside down-- islands, trees, icebergs, and all! A solitary gull, which stood not far off upon a stone, looked so preposterously huge from the same atmospherical cause, that I would have laughed immoderately, had I had energy to do so; but I was too much wrapped in placid enjoyment of the scene to give way to boisterous mirth. The air was so calm that the plaintive cries of thousands of wildfowl which covered the Point of Marsh struck faintly on our ears. "Ah!" thought I--But I need not say what I thought. I grasped my powder-flask and shook it; it was full-- crammed full! I felt my shot-belt; it was fat, very fat, bursting with shot! Our two guns lay side by side, vying in brightness; their flints quite new and sharp, and standing up in a lively wide-awake sort of way, as much as to say, "If you do not let me go, I'll go bang off by myself!" Happiness is sometimes too strong to be enjoyed quietly; and Crusty and I, feeling that we could keep it down no longer, burst simultaneously into a yell that rent the air, and, seizing the paddles, made our light canoe spring over the water, while we vented our feelings in a lively song, which reaching the astonished ears of the afore-mentioned preposterously large gull, caused its precipitate departure. In half an hour we reached the point; dragged the canoe above high-water mark; shouldered our guns, and, with long strides, proceeded over the swamp in search of game. We had little doubt of having good sport, for the whole point away to the horizon was teeming with ducks and plover. We had scarcely gone a hundred yards ere a large widgeon rose from behind a bush, and Crusty, who was in advance, brought it down. As we plodded on, the faint cry of a wild-goose caused us to squat down suddenly behind a neighbouring bush, from which retreat we gazed round to see where our friends were. Another cry from behind attracted our attention; and far away on the horizon we saw a large flock of geese flying in a mathematically correct triangle. Now, although far out of shot, and almost out of sight, we did not despair of getting one of these birds; for, by imitating their cry, there was a possibility of attracting them towards us. Geese often answer to a call in this way, if well imitated; particularly in spring, as they imagine that their friends have found a good feeding-place, and wish them to alight. Knowing this, Crusty and I continued in our squatting position--utterly unmindful, in the excitement of the moment, of the fact that the water of the swamp lay in the same proximity to our persons as a chair does when we sit down on it--and commenced to yell and scream vociferously in imitation of geese; for which, doubtless, many people unacquainted with our purpose would have taken us. At first our call seemed to make no impression on them; but gradually they bent into a curve, and, sweeping round in a long circle, came nearer to us, while we continued to shout at the top of our voices. How they ever mistook our bad imitation of the cry for the voices of real geese, I cannot tell--probably they thought we had colds or sore throats; at any rate they came nearer and nearer, screaming to us in return, till at last they ceased to flap their wings, and sailed slowly over the bush behind which we were ensconced, with their long necks stretched straight out, and their heads a little to one side, looking down for their friends. Upon discovering their mistake, and beholding two human beings instead of geese within a few yards of them, the sensation created among them was tremendous, and the racket they kicked up in trying to fly from us was terrific; but it was too late. The moment we saw that they had discovered us, our guns poured forth their contents, and two out of the flock fell with a lumbering smash upon the ground, while a third went off wounded, and, after wavering in its flight for a little, sank slowly to the ground. Having bagged our game, we proceeded, and ere long filled our bags with ducks, geese, and plover. Towards the afternoon we arrived at a tent belonging to an old Indian called Morris. With this dingy gentleman we agreed to dine, and accordingly bent our steps towards his habitation. Here we found the old Indian and his wife squatting down on the floor and wreathed in smoke, partly from the wood-fire which burned in the middle of the tent, and partly from the tobacco-pipes stuck in their respective mouths. Old Morris was engaged in preparing a kettle of pea-soup, in which were boiled several plover and a large white owl; which latter, when lifted out of the pot, looked so very like a skinned baby that we could scarcely believe they were not guilty of cannibalism. His wife was engaged in ornamenting a pair of moccasins with dyed quills. On our entrance, the old man removed his pipe, and cast an inquiring glance into the soup-kettle; this apparently gave him immense satisfaction, as he turned to us with a smiling countenance, and remarked (for he could speak capital English, having spent the most of his life near York Factory) that "duck plenty, but he too hold to shoot much; obliged to heat howl." This we agreed was uncommonly hard, and after presenting him with several ducks and a goose, proposed an inspection of the contents of the kettle, which being agreed to, we demolished nearly half of the soup, and left him and his wife to "heat" the "howl." After resting an hour with this hospitable fellow, we departed, to prepare our encampment ere it became dark, as we intended passing the night in the swamps, under our canoe. Near the tent we passed a fox-trap set on the top of a pole, and, on inquiring, found that this was the machine in which old Morris caught his "_h_owls." The white owl is a very large and beautiful bird, sometimes nearly as large as a swan. I shot one which measured five feet three inches across the wings, when expanded. They are in the habit of alighting upon the tops of blighted trees, and poles of any kind, which happen to stand conspicuously apart from the forest trees--for the purpose, probably, of watching for mice and little birds, on which they prey. Taking advantage of this habit, the Indian plants his trap on the top of a bare tree, so that when the owl alights it is generally caught by the legs. Our walk back to the place where we had left the canoe was very exhausting, as we had nearly tired ourselves out before thinking of returning. This is very often the case with eager sportsmen, as they follow the game till quite exhausted, and only then it strikes them that they have got as long a walk back as they had in going out. I recollect this happening once to myself. I had walked so far away into the forest after wild-fowl, that I forgot time and distance in the ardour of the pursuit, and only thought of returning when quite knocked up. The walk back was truly wretched. I was obliged to rest every ten minutes, as, besides being tired, I became faint from hunger. On the way I stumbled on the nest of a plover, with one egg in it. This was a great acquisition; so seating myself on a stone, I made my dinner of it raw. Being very small, it did not do me much good, but it inspired me with courage; and, making a last effort, I reached the encampment in a very unenviable state of exhaustion. After an hour's walk, Crusty and I arrived at the place where we left the canoe. Our first care was to select a dry spot whereon to sleep, which was not an easy matter in such a swampy place. We found one at last, however, under the shelter of a small willow bush. Thither we dragged the canoe, and turned it bottom up, intending to creep in below it when we retired to rest. After a long search on the sea-shore, we found a sufficiency of driftwood to make a fire, which we carried up to the encampment, and placed in a heap in front of the canoe. This was soon kindled by means of a flint and steel, and the forked flames began in a few minutes to rise and leap around the branches, throwing the swampy point into deeper shadow, making the sea look cold and black, and the ice upon its surface ghost-like. The interior of our inverted canoe looked really quite cheerful and snug, under the influence of the fire's rosy light. And when we had spread our blankets under it, plucked and cleaned two of the fattest ducks, and stuck them on sticks before the blaze to roast, we agreed that there were worse things in nature than an encampment in the swamps. Ere long the night became pitchy dark; but although we could see nothing, yet ever and anon the whistling wings of ducks became audible, as they passed in flocks overhead. So often did they pass in this way, that at last I was tempted to try to get a shot at them, notwithstanding the apparent hopelessness of such an attempt. Seizing my gun, and leaving strict injunctions with Crusty to attend to the roasting of my widgeon, I sallied forth, and, after getting beyond the light of the fire, endeavoured to peer through the gloom. Nothing was to be seen, however. Flocks of ducks were passing quite near, for I heard their wings whizzing as they flew, but they were quite invisible; so at last, becoming tired of standing up to my knees in water, I pointed my gun at random at the next flock that passed, and fired. After the shot, I listened intently for a few seconds, and the next moment a splash in the water apprised me that the shot had taken effect. After a long search I found the bird, and returned to my friend Crusty, whom I threw into a state of consternation by pitching the dead duck into his lap as he sat winking and rubbing his hands before the warm blaze. Supper in these out-of-the-way regions is never long in the eating, and on the present occasion we finished it very quickly, being both hungry and fatigued. That over, we heaped fresh logs upon the fire, wrapped our green blankets round us, and nestling close together, as much underneath our canoe as possible, courted the drowsy god. In this courtship I was unsuccessful for some time, and lay gazing on the flickering flames of the watch-fire, which illuminated the grass of the marsh a little distance round, and listening, in a sort of dreamy felicity, to the occasional cry of a wakeful plover, or starting suddenly at the flapping wings of a huge owl, which, attracted by the light of our fire, wheeled slowly round, gazing on us in a kind of solemn astonishment, till, scared by the sounds that proceeded from Crusty's nasal organ, it flew with a scream into the dark night air; and again all was silent save the protracted, solemn, sweeping boom of the distant waves, as they rolled at long intervals upon the sea-shore. During the night we were awakened by a shower of rain falling upon our feet and as much of our legs as the canoe was incapable of protecting. Pulling them up more under shelter, at the expense of exposing our knees and elbows--for the canoe could not completely cover us--we each gave a mournful grunt, and dropped off again. Morning broke with unclouded splendour, and we rose from our grassy couch with alacrity to resume our sport; but I will not again drag my patient reader through the Point of Marsh. In the afternoon, having spent our ammunition, we launched our light canoe, and after an hour's paddle up the river, arrived, laden with game and splashed with mud, at York Factory. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Note 1. Quicksilver easily freezes; and it has frequently been run into a bullet mould, exposed to the cold air till frozen, and in this state rammed down a gun barrel, and fired through a thick plank. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Note 2. The thousands of frogs that fill the swamps of America whistle or chirp so exactly like little birds, that many people, upon hearing them for the first time, have mistaken them for the feathered songsters of the groves. Their only fault is that they scarcely ever cease singing. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Note 3. The traveller sits, or rather lies in it, wrapped in buffalo robes; while the dogs are urged forward by a man who walks behind, and prevents the machine from upsetting, which it is very liable to do, from the inequalities of the ground over which it sometimes passes. CHAPTER NINE. VOYAGE FROM YORK FACTORY TO NORWAY HOUSE IN A SMALL INDIAN CANOE-- DEPARTURE--LIFE IN THE WOODS--DIFFICULTIES OF CANOE NAVIGATION--OUTWIT THE MOSQUITOES--"LEVE! LEVE! LEVE!"--MUSIC IN THE POT AND ON THE ORGAN. On the afternoon of the 20th of June 1845, I sat in my room at York Fort, musing on the probability of my being dispatched to some other part of the Company's wide dominions. The season approached when changes from one part of the country to another might be expected, and boats began to arrive from the interior. Two years of fun and frolic had I spent on the coast, and I was beginning to wish to be sent once more upon my travels, particularly as the busy season was about to commence, and the hot weather to set in. As I sat cogitating, my brother scribblers called me to join them in a short promenade upon the wharf, preparatory to resuming our pens. Just as we reached it, a small Indian canoe from the interior swept round the point above the factory, and came rapidly forward, the sparkling water foaming past her sharp bow as she made towards the landing. At almost any time an arrival causes a great deal of interest in this out-of-the-way place; but an arrival of this sort--for the canoe was evidently an _express_--threw us into a fever of excitement, which was greatly increased when we found that it contained dispatches from headquarters; and many speculative remarks passed among us as we hurried up to our hall, there to wait in anxious expectation for a letter or an order to appear _instanter_ before Mr Grave. Our patience was severely tried, however, and we began to think there was no news at all, when Gibeault, the butler, turned the corner, and came towards our door. We immediately rushed towards it in breathless expectation, and a row of eager faces appeared as he walked slowly up and said, "Mr Grave wishes to see Mr Ballantyne immediately." On hearing this I assumed an appearance of calm indifference I was far from feeling, put on my cap, and obeyed the order. Upon entering Mr Grave's presence, he received me with a benign, patronising air, and requested me to be seated. He then went on to inform me that letters had just arrived, requesting that I might be sent off immediately to Norway House, where I should be enlightened as to my ultimate destination. This piece of news I received with mingled surprise and delight, at the same time exclaiming "Indeed!" with peculiar emphasis; and then, becoming suddenly aware of the impropriety of the expression, I endeavoured to follow it up with a look of sorrow at the prospect of leaving my friends, combined with resignation to the will of the Honourable Hudson Bay Company, in which attempt I failed most signally. After receiving orders to prepare for an immediate start, I rushed out in a state of high excitement, to acquaint my comrades with my good fortune. On entering the hall, I found them as anxious to know where I was destined to vegetate next winter, as they before had been to learn who was going off. Having satisfied them on this point, or rather told them as much as I knew myself regarding it, I proceeded to pack up. It happened just at this time that a brigade of inland boats was on the eve of starting for the distant regions of the interior; and as the little canoe, destined to carry myself, was much too small to take such an unwieldy article as my "cassette," I gladly availed myself of the opportunity to forward it by the boats, as they would have to pass Norway House _en route_. It would be endless to detail how I spent the next three days: how I never appeared in public without walking very fast, as if pressed with a superhuman amount of business; how I rummaged about here and there, seeing that everything was prepared; looking vastly important, and thinking I was immensely busy, when in reality I was doing next to nothing. I shall, therefore, without further preface, proceed to describe my travelling equipments. The canoe in which I and two Indians were to travel from York Factory to Norway House, a distance of nearly three hundred miles, measured between five and six yards long, by two feet and a half broad in the middle, tapering from thence to _nothing_ at each end. It was made of birch bark, and could with great ease be carried by one man. In this we were to embark, with ten days' provisions for three men, three blankets, three small bundles, and a little travelling-case belonging to myself; besides three paddles wherewith to propel us forward, a tin kettle for cooking, and an iron one for boiling water. Our craft being too small to permit my taking the usual allowance of what are called luxuries, I determined to take pot-luck with my men, so that our existence for the next eight or ten days was to depend upon the nutritive properties contained in a few pounds of pemmican, a little biscuit, one pound of butter, and a very small quantity of tea and sugar. With all this, in addition to ourselves, we calculated upon being pretty deeply laden. My men were of the tribe called Swampy Crees--and truly, to judge merely from appearance, they would have been the very last I should have picked out to travel with; for one was old, apparently upwards of fifty, and the other, though young, was a cripple. Nevertheless, they were good, hard-working men, as I afterwards experienced. I did not take a tent with me, our craft requiring to be as light as possible, but I rolled up a mosquito-net in my blanket, that being a light affair of gauze, capable of compression into very small compass. Such were our equipments; and on the 23rd of June we started for the interior. A melancholy feeling came over me as I turned and looked for the last time upon York Factory, where I had spent so many happy days with the young men who now stood waving their handkerchiefs from the wharf. Mr Grave, too, stood among them, and as I looked on his benevolent, manly countenance, I felt that I should ever remember with gratitude his kindness to me while we resided together on the shores of Hudson Bay. A few minutes more, and the fort was hid from my sight for ever. My disposition is not a sorrowful one; I never did and never could remain long in a melancholy mood, which will account for the state of feeling I enjoyed half an hour after losing sight of my late home. The day was fine, and I began to anticipate a pleasant journey, and to speculate as to what part of the country I might be sent to. The whole wide continent of North America was now open to the excursive flights of my imagination, as there was a possibility of my being sent to any one of the numerous stations in the extensive territories of the Hudson Bay Company. Sometimes I fancied myself ranging through the wild district of Mackenzie River, admiring the scenery described by Franklin and Back in their travels of discovery; and anon, as the tales of my companions occurred to me, I was bounding over the prairies of the Saskatchewan in chase of the buffalo, or descending the rapid waters of the Columbia to the Pacific Ocean. Again my fancy wandered, and I imagined myself hunting the grizzly bear in the woods of Athabasca--when a heavy lurch of the canoe awakened me to the fact that I was only ascending the sluggish waters of Hayes River. The banks of the river were covered with huge blocks of ice, and scarcely a leaf had as yet made its appearance. Not a bird was to be seen, except a few crows and whisky-jacks, which chattered among the branches of the trees; and Nature appeared as if undecided whether or not she should take another nap, ere she bedecked herself in the garments of spring. My Indians paddled slowly against the stream, and I lay back, with a leg cocked over each gunwale, watching the sombre pines as they dropped slowly astern. On our way we passed two landslips which encroached a good deal on the river, each forming a small rapid round its base. The trees with which they had formerly been clothed were now scattered about in chaotic confusion, leafless, and covered with mud; some more than half buried, and others standing with their roots in the air. There is a tradition among the natives that a whole camp of Indians was overwhelmed in the falling of these slips. A good deal of danger is incurred in passing up these rivers, owing to the number of small landslips which occur annually. The banks, being principally composed of sandy clay, are loosened, and rendered almost fluid in many places, upon the melting of the snow in spring; and the ice, during the general disruption, tears away large masses of the lower part of the banks, which renders the superincumbent clay liable to slip, upon the first heavy shower of rain, with considerable force into the stream. About sixteen miles from York Factory we ran against a stone, and tore a small hole in the bottom of our canoe. This obliged us to put ashore immediately, when I had an opportunity of watching the swiftness and dexterity of the Indians in repairing the damage. A small hole, about three inches long and one inch wide, had been torn in the bottom of the canoe, through which the water squirted with considerable rapidity. Into this hole they fitted a piece of bark, sewed it with wattape (the fibrous roots of the pine-tree), made a small fire, melted gum, and plastered the place so as to be effectually water-tight, all in about the space of an hour. During the day we passed a brigade of boats bound for the factory; but being too far off, and in a rapid part of the river we did not hail them. About nine o'clock we put ashore for the night, having travelled nearly twenty miles. The weather was pleasantly cool, so that we were free from mosquitoes. The spot we chose for our encampment was on the edge of a high bank, being the only place within three miles where we could carry up our provisions; and even here the ascent was bad enough. But after we were up, the top proved a good spot, covered with soft moss, and well sheltered by trees and bushes. A brook of fresh water rippled at the foot of the bank, and a few decayed trees afforded us excellent firewood. Here, then, in the bosom of the wilderness, with the silvery light of the moon for our lamp, and serenaded by a solitary owl, we made our first bivouac. Supper was neatly laid out on an oil-cloth, spread before a blazing fire. A huge junk of pemmican graced the centre of our rustic table, flanked by a small pile of ship's biscuit on one side, and a lump of salt butter on the other; while a large iron kettle filled with hot water, slightly flavoured with tea-leaves, brought up the rear. Two tin pots and a tumbler performed outpost duty, and were soon smoking full of warm tea. We made an excellent supper, after which the Indians proceeded to solace themselves with a whiff, while I lay on my blanket enjoying the warmth of the fire, and admiring the apparently extreme felicity of the men, as they sat, with half-closed eyes, watching the smoke curling in snowy wreaths from their pipes, and varying their employment now and then with a pull at the tin pots, which seemed to afford them extreme satisfaction. In this manner we lay till the moon waned; and the owl having finished his overture, we rolled ourselves in our blankets, and watched the twinkling star, till sleep closed our eyelids. Next morning, between two and three o'clock, we began to stretch our limbs, and after a few ill-humoured grunts prepared for a start. The morning was foggy when we embarked and once more began to ascend the stream. Everything was obscure and indistinct till about six o'clock, when the powerful rays of the rising sun dispelled the mist, and Nature was herself again. A good deal of ice still lined the shores; but what astonished me most was the advanced state of vegetation apparent as we proceeded inland. When we left York Factory, not a leaf had been visible; but here, though only thirty miles inland, the trees, and more particularly the bushes, were well covered with beautiful light green foliage, which appeared to me quite delightful after the patches of snow and leafless willows on the shores of Hudson Bay. At eight o'clock we put ashore for breakfast--which was just a repetition of the supper of the preceding night, with this exception, that we discussed it a little more hurriedly--and then proceeded on our way. Shortly afterwards we met a small canoe, about the size of our own, which contained a postmaster and two Indians, on their way to York Factory with a few packs of otters. After five minutes' conversation we parted, and were soon out of sight of each other. The day, which had hitherto been agreeable, now became oppressively sultry: not a breath of wind ruffled the water; and as the sun shone down with intense heat from a perfectly cloudless sky, it became almost insufferable. I tried all methods to cool myself, by lying in every position I could think of, sometimes even hanging both legs and arms over the sides of the canoe and trailing them through the water. I had a racking headache, and, to add to my misery, as the sun sank the mosquitoes rose and bit ferociously. The Indians, however, did not appear to suffer much, being accustomed, no doubt, to these little annoyances, much in the same way as eels are to being skinned. In the afternoon we arrived at the forks of Hayes and Steel Rivers, and ascended the latter, till the increasing darkness and our quickening appetites reminded us that it was time to put ashore. We made a hearty supper, having eaten nothing since breakfast; dinner, while travelling in a light canoe, being considered quite superfluous. Our persevering foes, the mosquitoes, now thought it high time to make their supper also, and attacked us in myriads whenever we dared to venture near the woods; so we were fain to sleep as best we could on the open beach, without any fire--being much too warm for that. But even there they found us out, and most effectually prevented us from sleeping. On the morning of the 25th, we arose very little refreshed by our short nap, and continued our journey. The weather was still warm, but a little more bearable, owing to a light, grateful breeze that came down the river. After breakfast--which we took at the usual hour, and in the usual way--while proceeding slowly up the current, we descried, on rounding a point, a brigade of boats close to the bank, on the opposite side of the river; so we embarked our man, who was tracking us up with a line (the current being too rapid for the continued use of the paddle), and crossed over to see who they were. On landing, we found it was the Norway House brigade, in charge of George Kippling, a Red River settler. He shook hands with us, and then commenced an animated discourse with my two men in the Indian language, which being perfectly unintelligible to me, I amused myself by watching the operations of the men, who were in the act of cooking breakfast. Nothing can be more picturesque than a band of _voyageurs_ breakfasting on the banks of a pretty river. The spot they had chosen was a little above the Burntwood Creek, on a projecting grassy point, pretty clear of underwood. Each boat's crew--of which there were three--had a fire to itself, and over these fires were placed gipsy-like tripods, from which huge tin kettles depended; and above them hovered three volunteer cooks, who were employed stirring their contents with persevering industry. The curling wreaths of smoke formed a black cloud among the numerous fleecy ones in the blue sky, while all around, in every imaginable attitude, sat, stood, and reclined the sunburnt, savage-looking half-breeds, chatting, laughing, and smoking in perfect happiness. They were all dressed alike, in light cloth capotes with hoods, corduroy trousers, striped shirts open in front, with cotton kerchiefs tied sailor-fashion loosely round their swarthy necks. A scarlet worsted belt strapped each man's coat tightly to his body, and Indian moccasins defended their feet. Their head-dresses were as various as fanciful-- some wore caps of coarse cloth; others coloured handkerchiefs, twisted turban-fashion round their heads; and one or two, who might be looked upon as voyageur-fops, sported tall black hats, covered so plenteously with bullion tassels and feathers as to be scarcely recognisable. The breakfast consisted solely of pemmican and flour, boiled into the sort of thick soup dignified by the name of _robbiboo_. As might be expected, it is not a very delicate dish, but is, nevertheless, exceedingly nutritious; and those who have lived long in the country, particularly the Canadians, are very fond of it. I think, however, that another of their dishes, composed of the same materials, but fried instead of boiled, is much superior to it. They call it _richeau_; it is uncommonly rich, and very little will suffice for an ordinary man. After staying about a quarter of an hour, chatting with Kippling about the good folk of Red River and Norway House, we took our departure, just as they commenced the first vigorous attack upon the capacious kettles of robbiboo. Shortly after, we arrived at the mouth of Hill River, which we began to ascend. The face of the country was now greatly changed, and it was evident that here spring had long ago dethroned winter. The banks of the river were covered from top to bottom with the most luxuriant foliage, while dark clumps of spruce-fir varied and improved the landscape. In many places the banks, which appeared to be upwards of a hundred feet high, ran almost perpendicularly down to the water's edge, perfectly devoid of vegetation, except at the top, where large trees overhung the precipice, some clinging by their roots and ready to fall. In other places the bank sloped from nearly the same height, gradually, and with slight undulations, down to the stream, thickly covered with vegetation, and teeming with little birds, whose merry voices, warbling a cheerful welcome to the opening buds, greatly enhanced the pleasures of the scene. We soon began to experience great difficulty in tracking the canoe against the rapid stream that now opposed us. From the steepness of the banks in some places, and their being clothed with thick willows in others, it became a slow and fatiguing process for the men to drag us against the strong current; and sometimes the poor Indians had to cling like flies against nearly perpendicular cliffs of slippery clay, whilst at others they tore their way through almost impervious bushes. They relieved each other by turns every hour at this work, the one steering the canoe while the other tracked; and they took no rest during the whole day, except when at breakfast. Indeed, any proposal to do so would have been received by them with great contempt, as a very improper and useless waste of time. When the track happened to be at all passable, I used to get out and walk, to relieve them a little, as well as to stretch my cramped limbs, it being almost impossible, when there is any luggage in a small Indian canoe, to attain a comfortable position. At sunset we put ashore for the night, on a point covered with a great number of _lopsticks_. These are tall pine-trees, denuded of their lower branches, a small tuft being left at the top. They are generally made to serve as landmarks; and sometimes the _voyageurs_ make them in honour of gentlemen who happen to be travelling for the first time along the route--and those trees are chosen which, from their being on elevated ground, are conspicuous objects. The traveller for whom they are made is always expected to acknowledge his sense of the honour conferred upon him by presenting the boat's crew with a pint of grog, either on the spot or at the first establishment they meet with. He is then considered as having paid for his footing, and may ever afterwards pass scot-free. We soon had our encampment prepared, and the fire blazing: but hundreds of mosquitoes were, as usual, awaiting our arrival, and we found it utterly impossible to sup, so fiercely did they attack us. We at last went to leeward of the fire, and devoured it hastily in the smoke-- preferring to risk being suffocated or smoke-dried to being eaten up alive! It was certainly amusing to see us rushing into the thick smoke, bolt a few mouthfuls of pemmican, and then rush out again for fresh air; our hands swinging like the sails of a windmill round our heads, while every now and then, as a mosquito fastened on a tender part, we gave ourselves a resounding slap on the side of the head, which, had it come from the hand of another, would certainly have raised in us a most pugnacious spirit of resentment. In this manner we continued rushing out of and into the smoke till supper was finished, and then prepared for sleep. This time, however, I was determined not to be tormented; so I cut four stakes, drove them into the ground, and threw over them my gauze mosquito-net, previously making a small fire, with wet grass on it, to raise a smoke and prevent intruders from entering while I was in the act of putting it on; then, cautiously raising one end, I bolted in after the most approved harlequinian style, leaving my discomfited tormentors wondering at the audacity of a man who could snore in a state of unconcerned felicity in the very midst of the enemy's camp. On the following morning we started at an early hour. The day was delightfully cool, and mosquitoes were scarce, so that we felt considerably comfortable as we glided quietly up the current. In this way we proceeded till after breakfast, when we came in sight of the first portage, on which we landed. In a surprisingly short time our luggage, etcetera, was pitched ashore, and the canoe carried over by the Indians, while I followed with some of the baggage; and in half an hour we were ready to start from the upper end of the portage. While carrying across the last few articles, one of the Indians killed two fish called suckers, which they boiled on the spot and devoured immediately. Towards sunset we paddled quietly up to the "White Mud Portage," where there is a fall, of about seven or eight feet, of extreme rapidity, shooting over the edge in an arch of solid water, which falls hissing and curling into the stream below. Here we intended to encamp. As we approached the cataract, a boat suddenly appeared on the top of it, and shot with the speed of lightning into the boiling water beneath, its reckless crew shouting, pulling, laughing, and hallooing, as it swept round a small point at the foot of the fall and ran aground in a bay or hollow, where the eddying water, still covered with patches of foam after its mighty leap, floated quietly round the shore. They had scarcely landed when another boat appeared on the brink, and, hovering for an instant, as if to prepare itself for the leap, flashed through the water, and the next moment was aground beside the first. In this manner seven boats successively ran the fall, and grounded in the bay. Upon our arriving, we found them to be a part of the Saskatchewan brigade, on its way to the common point of rendezvous, York Factory. It was in charge of two friends of mine; so I accosted them, without introducing myself, and chatted for some time about the occurrences of the voyage. They appeared a little disconcerted, however, and looked very earnestly at me two or three times. At last they confessed they had forgotten me altogether! And, indeed, it was no wonder, for the sun had burned me nearly as black as my Indian friends, while my dress consisted of a blue capote, sadly singed by the fire; a straw hat, whose shape, from exposure and bad usage, was utterly indescribable; a pair of corduroys, and Indian moccasins; which so metamorphosed me, that my friends, who perfectly recollected me the moment I mentioned my name, might have remained in ignorance to this day had I not enlightened them on the subject. After supper one of these gentlemen offered me a share of his tent, and we turned in together, but not to sleep; for we continued gossiping till long after the noisy voices of the men had ceased to disturb the tranquillity of night. At the first peep of day our ears were saluted with the usual unpleasant sound of "_Leve! leve! leve_!" issuing from the leathern throat of the guide. Now this same "_Leve_!" is in my ears a peculiarly harsh and disagreeable word, being associated with frosty mornings, uncomfortable beds, and getting up in the dark before half enough of sleep has been obtained. The way in which it is uttered, too, is particularly exasperating; and often, when partially awakened by a stump boring a hole in my side, have I listened with dread to hear the detested sound, and then, fancying it must surely be too early to rise, have fallen gently over on the other side, when a low muffled sound, as if some one were throwing off his blanket, would strike upon my ear, then a cough or grunt, and finally, as if from the bowels of the earth, a low and scarcely audible "_Leve! leve_!" would break the universal stillness-- growing rapidly louder, "_Leve! leve! leve_!" and louder, "_Leve! leve_!" till at last a final stentorian "_Leve! leve! leve_!" brought the hateful sound to a close, and was succeeded by a confused collection of grunts, groans, coughs, grumbles, and sneezes from the unfortunate sleepers thus rudely roused from their slumbers. The disinclination to rise, however, was soon overcome; and up we got, merry as larks, the men loading their boats, while I and my Indians carried our luggage, etcetera, over the portage. Our troubles now commenced: the longest and most difficult part of the route lay before us, and we prepared for a day of toil. Far as the eye could reach, the river was white with boiling rapids and foaming cascades, which, though small, were much too large to ascend, and consequently we were obliged to make portages at almost every two or three hundred yards. Rapid after rapid was surmounted; yet still, as we rounded every point and curve, rapids and falls rose, in apparently endless succession, before our wearied eyes. My Indians, however, knew exactly the number they had to ascend, so they set themselves manfully to the task. I could not help admiring the dexterous way in which they guided the canoe among the rapids. Upon arriving at one, the old Indian, who always sat in the bow (this being the principal seat in canoe travelling), rose up on his knees and stretched out his neck to take a look before commencing the attempt; and then, sinking down again, seized his paddle, and pointing significantly to the chaos of boiling waters that rushed swiftly past us (thus indicating the route he intended to pursue to his partner in the stern), dashed into the stream. At first we were borne down with the speed of lightning, while the water hissed and boiled to within an inch of the gunwale, and a person unaccustomed to such navigation would have thought it folly our attempting to ascend; but a second glance would prove that our Indians had not acted rashly. In the centre of the impetuous current a large rock rose above the surface, and from its lower end a long eddy ran like the tail of a comet for about twenty yards down the river. It was just opposite this rock that we entered the rapid, and paddled for it with all our might. The current, however, as I said before, swept us down; and when we got to the middle of the stream, we just reached the extreme point of the eddy, and after a few vigorous strokes of the paddles were floating quietly in the lee of the rock. We did not stay long, however--just long enough to look for another stone; and the old Indian soon pitched upon one a few yards higher up, but a good deal to one side; so, dipping our paddles once more, we pushed out into the stream again, and soon reached the second rock. In this way, yard by yard, did we ascend for miles, sometimes scarcely gaining a foot in a minute, and at others, as a favouring bay or curve presented a long piece of smooth water, advancing more rapidly. In fact, our progress could not be likened to anything more aptly than to the ascent of a salmon as he darts rapidly from eddy to eddy, taking advantage of every stone and hollow that he finds: and the simile may be still further carried out; for, as the salmon is sometimes driven back _tail_ foremost in attempting to leap a fall, so were we, in a similar attempt, driven back by the overpowering force of the water. It happened thus: We had surmounted a good many rapids, and made a few portages, when we arrived at a perpendicular fall of about two feet in height, but from the rapidity of the current it formed only a very steep shoot. Here the Indians paused to breathe, and seemed to doubt the possibility of ascent; however, after a little conversation on the subject, they determined to try it, and got out their poles for the purpose (poles being always used when the current is too strong for the paddles). We now made a dash, and turning the bow to the current, the Indians fixed their poles firmly in the ground, while the water rushed like a mill-race past us. They then pushed forward, one keeping his pole fixed, while the other refixed his a little more ahead. In this way we advanced inch by inch, and had almost got up--the water rushing past us in a thick, black body, hissing sharply in passing the side of our canoe, which trembled like a reed before the powerful current--when suddenly the pole of the Indian in the stern slipped; and almost before I knew what had happened, we were floating down the stream about a hundred yards below the fall. Fortunately the canoe went stern foremost, so that we got down in safety. Had it turned round even a little in its descent, it would have been rolled over and over like a cask. Our second attempt proved more successful; and after a good deal of straining and puffing we arrived at the top, where the sight of a longer stretch than usual of calm and placid water rewarded us for our exertions during the day. In passing over a portage we met the English River brigade; and after a little conversation, we parted. The evening was deliciously cool and serene as we glided quietly up the now tranquil river. Numbers of little islets, covered to the very edge of the rippling water with luxuriant vegetation, rose like emeralds from the bosom of the broad river, shining brightly in the rays of the setting sun; sometimes so closely scattered as to veil the real size of the river, which, upon our again emerging from among them, burst upon our delighted vision a broad sheet of clear pellucid water, with beautiful fresh banks covered with foliage of every shade, from the dark and sombre pine to the light drooping willow; while near the shore a matronly-looking duck swam solemnly along, casting now and then a look of warning to a numerous family of little yellow ducklings that frisked and gambolled in very wantonness, as if they too enjoyed and appreciated the beauties of the scene. Through this terrestrial paradise we wended our way, till rapids again began to disturb the water, and a portage at last brought us to a stand. Here we found McNab, who had left York Factory three days before us with his brigade, just going to encamp; so we also brought up for the night. When supper was ready, I sent an invitation to McNab to come and sup with me, which he accepted, at the same time bringing his brother with him. The elder was a bluff, good-natured Red River settler, with whom I had become acquainted while in the colony; and we chatted of bygone times and mutual acquaintances over a cup of excellent tea, till long after the sun had gone down, leaving the blazing camp-fires to illuminate the scene. Next morning we started at the same time with the boats; but our little canoe soon passed them in the rapids, and we saw no more of them. Our way was not now so much impeded by rapids as it had hitherto been; and by breakfast-time we had surmounted them all and arrived at the Dram-stone, where we put ashore for our morning meal. In the morning I shot a duck, being the first that had come within range since I left York Factory. Ducks were very scarce, and the few that we did see were generally accompanied by a numerous offspring not much bigger than the eggs which originally contained them. While taking breakfast we were surprised by hearing a quick rushing sound a little above us, and the next moment a light canoe came sweeping round a point and made towards us. It was one of those called "north canoes," which are calculated to carry eight men as a crew, besides three passengers. The one now before us was built much the same as an Indian canoe, but somewhat neater, and ornamented with sundry ingenious devices painted in gaudy colours on the bows and stern. It was manned by eight men and apparently one passenger, to whom I hallooed once or twice; but they took me, no doubt, for an Indian, and so passed on without taking any notice of us. As the noble bark bounded quickly forward and was hid by intervening trees, I bent a look savouring slightly of contempt upon our little Indian canoe, and proceeded to finish breakfast. A solitary north canoe, however, passing thus in silence, can give but a faint idea of the sensation felt on seeing a brigade of them arriving at a post after a long journey. It is then that they appear in wild perfection. The _voyageurs_ upon such occasions are dressed in their best clothes; and gaudy feathers, ribbons, and tassels stream in abundance from their caps and garters. Painted gaily, and ranged side by side, like contending chargers, the light canoes skim swiftly over the water, bounding under the vigorous and rapid strokes of the small but numerous paddles, while the powerful _voyageurs_ strain every muscle to urge them quickly on. And while yet in the distance, the beautifully simple and lively yet plaintive paddling song, so well suited to the surrounding scenery, and so different from any other air, breaks sweetly on the ear; and one reflects, with a kind of subdued and pleasing melancholy, how far the singers are from their native land, and how many long and weary days of danger and of toil will pass before they can rest once more in their Canadian homes. How strangely, too, upon their nearer approach, is this feeling changed for one of exultation, as the deep and manly voices swell in chorus over the placid waters, while a competition arises among them who shall first arrive; and the canoes dash over the water with arrow-speed to the very edge of the wharf, where they come suddenly, and as by magic, to a pause. This is effected by each man backing water with his utmost force; after which they roll their paddles on the gunwale simultaneously, enveloping themselves in a shower of spray as they shake the dripping water from the bright vermilion blades. Truly it is an animating, inspiriting scene, the arrival of a brigade of light canoes. Our route now lay through a number of small lakes and rivers, with scarcely any current in them; so we proceeded happily on our way with the cheering prospect of uninterrupted travelling. We had crossed Swampy Lake, and, after making one or two insignificant portages, entered Knee Lake. This body of water obtained its name from turning at a sharp angle near its centre, and stretching out in an opposite direction from its preceding course; thus forming something like a knee. Late in the evening we encamped on one of the small islands with which it is here and there dotted. Nothing could exceed the beauty of the view we had of the lake from our encampment. Not a breath of wind stirred its glassy surface, which shone in the ruddy rays of the sun setting on its bosom in the distant horizon; and I sat long upon the rocks admiring the lovely scene, while one of my Indians filled the tea-kettle, and the other was busily engaged in skinning a minx for supper. Our evening meal was further enriched by the addition of a great many small gulls' eggs, which we had found on an island during the day--which, saving one or two that showed evident symptoms of being far advanced towards birdhood, were excellent. On the following morning the scene was entirely changed. Dark and lowering clouds flew across the sky, and the wind blew furiously, with a melancholy moaning sound, through the trees. The lake, which the night before had been so calm and tranquil, was now of a dark leaden hue, and covered with foaming waves. However, we determined to proceed, and launched our canoe accordingly; but soon finding the wind too strong for us, we put ashore on a small island and breakfasted. As the weather moderated after breakfast, we made another attempt to advance. Numerous islets studded the lake, and on one of them we landed to collect gulls' eggs. Of these we found enough; but among them were a number of little yellow gulls, chattering vociferously, and in terrible consternation at our approach, while the old ones kept uttering the most plaintive cries overhead. The eggs were very small, being those of a small species of gull which frequents those inland lakes in great numbers. The wind again began to rise; and after a little consultation on the subject we landed, intending to spend the remainder of the day on shore. We now, for the first time since leaving York Factory, prepared dinner, which we expected would be quite a sumptuous one, having collected a good many eggs in the morning; so we set about it with alacrity. A fire was quickly made, the tea-kettle on, and a huge pot containing upwards of a hundred eggs placed upon the fire. These we intended to boil hard and carry with us. Being very hungry, I watched the progress of dinner with much interest, while the Indians smoked in silence. While sitting thus, my attention was attracted by a loud whistling sound that greatly perplexed me, as I could not discover whence it proceeded--I got up once or twice to see what it could be, but found nothing, although it sounded as if close beside me. At last one of the Indians rose, and, standing close to the fire, bent in a very attentive attitude over the kettle; and, after listening a little while, took up one of the eggs and broke it, when out came a young gull with a monstrous head and no feathers, squeaking and chirping in a most indefatigable manner! "So much for our dinner!" thought I, as he threw the bird into the lake, and took out a handful of eggs, which all proved to be much in the same condition. The warmth of the water put life into the little birds, which, however, was speedily destroyed when it began to boil. We did not despair, nevertheless, of finding a few good ones amongst them; so, after they were well cooked, we all sat round the kettle and commenced operations. Some were good and others slightly spoiled, while many were intersected with red veins, but the greater part contained boiled birds. The Indians were not nice, however, and we managed to make a good dinner off them after all. In the afternoon the weather cleared up and the wind moderated, but we had scarcely got under weigh again when a thunderstorm arose and obliged us to put ashore; and there we remained for four hours sitting under a tree, while the rain poured in torrents. In the evening Nature tired of teasing us; and the sun shone brightly out as we once more resumed our paddles. To make up for lost time, we travelled until about two o'clock next morning, when we put ashore to rest a little; and, as the night was fine, we just threw our blankets over our shoulders and tumbled down on the first convenient spot we could find, without making a fire or taking any supper. We had not lain long, however, when I felt a curious chilly sensation all along my side, which effectually awakened me; and then I saw, or rather heard, that a perfect deluge of rain was descending upon our luckless heads, and that I had been reposing in the centre of a large puddle. This state of things was desperate; and as the poor Indians seemed to be as thoroughly uncomfortable as they possibly could be, I proposed to start again--which we did, and before daylight were many a mile from our wretched encampment. As the sun rose the weather cleared up, and soon after we came to the end of Knee Lake and commenced the ascent of Trout River. Here I made a sketch of the Trout Falls while the men made a portage to avoid them. With a few Indians encamped on this portage we exchanged a little pemmican for some excellent white-fish, a great treat to us after living so long on pemmican and tea. Our biscuit had run short a few days before, and the pound of butter which we brought from York Factory had melted into oil from the excessive heat, and vanished through the bottom of the canvas bag containing it. Trout River, though short, has a pretty fair share of falls and rapids, which we continued ascending all day. The scenery was pleasing and romantic; but there was nothing of grandeur in it, the country being low, flat, and, excepting on the banks of the river, uninteresting. In the afternoon we came to the end of this short river, and arrived at Oxford House. We landed in silence, and I walked slowly up the hill, but not a soul appeared. At last, as I neared the house, I caught a glimpse of a little boy's face at the window, who no sooner saw me than his eyes opened to their widest extent, while his mouth followed their example, and he disappeared with a precipitancy that convinced me he was off to tell his mother the astounding news that somebody had arrived. The next moment I was shaking hands with my old friend Mrs Gordon and her two daughters, whom I found engaged in the interesting occupation of preparing tea. From them I learned that they were entirely alone, with only one man to take care of the post--Mr Gordon, whom they expected back every day, having gone to Norway House. I spent a delightful evening with this kind and hospitable family, talking of our mutual friends, and discussing the affairs of the country, till a tall box in a corner of the room attracted my attention. This I discovered to my delight was no less than a barrel-organ, on which one of the young ladies at my request played a few tunes. Now, barrel-organs, be it known, were things that I had detested from my infancy upwards; but this dislike arose principally from my having been brought up in the dear town o' Auld Reekie, where barrel-organ music is, as it were, crammed down one's throat without permission being asked or received, and even, indeed, where it is decidedly objected to. Everybody said, too, that barrel-organs were a nuisance, and of course I believed them; so that I left my home with a decided dislike to barrel-organs in general. Four years' residence, however, in the bush had rendered me much less fastidious in music, as well as in many other things; and during the two last years spent at York Factory, not a solitary note of melody had soothed my longing ear, so that it was with a species of rapture that I now ground away at the handle of this organ, which happened to be a very good one, and played in perfect tune. "God Save the Queen," "Rule Britannia," "Lord McDonald's Reel," and the "Blue Bells of Scotland" were played over and over again; and, old and threadbare though they be, to me they were replete with endearing associations, and sounded like the well-known voices of long, long absent friends. I spent indeed a delightful evening; and its pleasures were the more enhanced from the circumstance of its being the first, after a banishment of two years, which I had spent in the society of the fair sex. Next morning was fine, though the wind blew pretty fresh, and we started before breakfast, having taken leave of the family the night before. This was the 1st of July. We had been eight days on the route, which is rather a long time for a canoe to take to reach Oxford House; but as most of the portages were now over, we calculated upon arriving at Norway House in two or three days. In the afternoon the wind blew again, and obliged us to encamp on a small island, where we remained all day. While there, a couple of Indians visited us, and gave us an immense trout in exchange for some pemmican. This trout I neglected to measure, but I am convinced it was more than three feet long and half a foot broad: it was very good, and we made a capital dinner off it. During the day, as it was very warm, I had a delightful swim in the lake, on the lee of the island. The wind moderated a little in the evening, and we again embarked, making up for lost time by travelling till midnight, when we put ashore and went to sleep without making a fire or taking any supper. About four o'clock we started again, and in a couple of hours came to the end of Oxford Lake, after which we travelled through a number of small swamps or reedy lakes, and stagnant rivers, among which I got so bewildered that I gave up the attempt to chronicle their names as hopeless; and indeed it was scarcely worth while, as they were so small and overgrown with bulrushes that they were no more worthy of a name in such a place as America than a _dub_ would be in Scotland. The weather was delightfully cool, and mosquitoes not troublesome, so that we proceeded with pleasure and rapidity. While thus threading our way through narrow channels and passages, upon turning a point we met three light canoes just on the point of putting ashore for breakfast, so I told my Indians to run ashore near them. As we approached, I saw that there were five gentlemen assembled, with whom I was acquainted, so that I was rather anxious to get ashore; but, alas! fortune had determined to play me a scurvy trick, for no sooner had my foot touched the slippery stone on which I intended to land, than down I came squash on my breast in a most humiliating manner, while my legs kept playfully waving about in the cooling element. This unfortunate accident, I saw, occasioned a strange elongation in the lateral dimensions of the mouths of the party on shore, who stood in silence admiring the scene. I knew, however, that to appear annoyed would only make matters worse; so, with a desperate effort to appear at ease, I rose, and while shaking hands with them, expressed my belief that there was nothing so conducive to health as a cold bath in the morning. After a laugh at my expense, we sat down to breakfast. One of the gentlemen gave me a letter from the Governor, and I now learned, for the first time, that I was to take a passage in one of the light canoes for Montreal. Here, then, was a termination to my imaginary rambles on the Rocky Mountains, or on the undulating prairies of the Saskatchewan; and instead of massacring buffalo and deer in the bush, I was in a short time to endeavour to render myself a respectable member of civilised society. I was delighted with the idea of the change, however, and it was with a firmer step and lighter heart that I took my leave and once more stepped into the canoe. After passing through a succession of swamps and narrow channels, we arrived at Robinson's Portage, where we found _voyageurs_ running about in all directions, some with goods on their backs, and others returning light to the other end of the portage. We found that they belonged to the Oxford House boats, which had just arrived at the other end of the portage, where they intended to encamp, as it was now late. Robinson's Portage is the longest on the route, being nearly a mile in length; and as all the brigades going to York Factory must pass over it twice--in going and returning--the track is beaten into a good broad road, and pretty firm, although it is rather uneven, and during heavy rains somewhat muddy. Over this all the boats are dragged, and launched at the upper or lower end of the portage, as the brigades may happen to be ascending or descending the stream. Then all the cargoes are in like manner carried over. Packs of furs and bales of goods are generally from 80 to 100 pounds weight each; and every man who does not wish to be considered a lazy fellow, or to be ridiculed by his companions, carries two of these _pieces_, as they are called, across all portages. The boats are capable of containing from seventy to ninety of these pieces, so that it will be easily conceived that a _voyageur's_ life is anything but an easy one; indeed, it is one of constant and harassing toil, even were the trouble of ascending rapid rivers, where he is often obliged to jump into the water at a moment's notice, to lighten the boat in shallows, left entirely out of the question. This portage is made to avoid what are called the White Falls--a succession of cataracts up which nothing but a fish could possibly ascend. After carrying over our canoe and luggage, we encamped at the upper end. The river we commenced ascending next morning was pretty broad, and after a short paddle in it we entered the Echimamis. This is a sluggish serpentine stream, about five or six yards broad, though in some places so narrow that boats scrape the banks on either side. What little current there is runs in a contrary direction to the rivers we had been ascending. Mosquitoes again attacked us as we glided down its gloomy current, and nothing but swamps, filled with immense bulrushes, were visible around. Here, in days of yore, the beaver had a flourishing colony, and numbers of their dams and cuttings were yet visible; but they have long since deserted this much-frequented waste, and one of their principal dams now serves to heighten the water, which is not deep, for the passage of brigades in dry seasons. At night, when we encamped on its low, damp banks, we were attacked by myriads of mosquitoes, so that we could only sleep by making several fires round us, the smoke from which partially protected us. About three o'clock in the morning, which was very warm, we re-embarked, and at noon arrived at the Sea Portage (why so called I know not, as it is hundreds of miles inland), which is the last on the route. This portage is very short, and is made to surmount a pretty large waterfall. Almost immediately afterwards we entered Playgreen Lake, and put ashore on a small island, to alter our attire before arriving at Norway House. Here, with the woods for our closet, and the clear lake for our basin as well as looking-glass, we proceeded to scrub our sunburnt faces; and in half an hour, having made ourselves as respectable as circumstances would permit, we paddled swiftly over the lake. It is pretty long, and it was not until evening that I caught the first glimpse of the bright spire of the Wesleyan Church at Rossville. We now approached the termination of our journey, for the time at least; and it was with pleasing recollections that I recognised the well-known rocks where I had so often wandered three years before. When we came in sight of the fort, it was in a state of bustle and excitement as usual, and I could perceive from the vigorous shaking of hands going forward, from the number of _voyageurs_ collected on the landing-place, and of boats assembled at the wharf, that there had just been an arrival. Our poor little canoe was not taken any notice of as it neared the wharf, until some of the people on shore observed that there was some one in the middle of it sitting in a very lazy, indolent position, which is quite uncommon among Indians. In another minute we gained the bank, and I grasped the hand of my kind friend and former chief, Mr Russ. We had now been travelling twelve days, and had passed over upwards of thirty portages during the voyage. We ought to have performed this voyage in a much shorter time, as canoes proceed faster than boats, which seldom take longer to complete this voyage than we did; but this arose from our detention during high winds in several of the lakes. CHAPTER TEN. VOYAGE TO CANADA BY THE GREAT LAKES OF THE INTERIOR--A BLACK BEAR-- HARASSING DETENTIONS--ANOTHER BEAR--MEET DR. RAE, THE ARCTIC DISCOVERER--THE GUIDE'S STORY--MEET INDIANS--RUNNING THE RAPID--LAKE SUPERIOR--A SQUALL--THE OTTAWA--CIVILISED LIFE AGAIN--SLEIGHING IN CANADA. At Norway House I remained for nearly a month with my old friend Mr Russ, who in a former part of this veracious book is described as being a very ardent and scientific fisher, extremely partial to strong rods and lines, and entertaining a powerful antipathy to slender rods and flies! Little change had taken place in the appearance of the fort. The clerks' house was still as full, and as noisy, as when Polly told frightful stories to the greenhorns on the point of setting out for the wild countries of Mackenzie River and New Caledonia. The Indians of the village at Rossville plodded on in their usual peaceful way, under the guidance of their former pastor; and the ladies of the establishment were as blooming as ever. One fine morning, just as Mr Russ and I were sauntering down to the river with our rods, a north canoe, full of men, swept round the point above the fort, and grounded near the wharf. Our rods were soon cast aside, and we were speedily congratulating Mr and Mrs Bain on their safe arrival. These were to be my companions on the impending voyage to Canada, and the canoe in which they had arrived was to be our conveyance. Mr Bain was a good-natured, light-hearted Highlander, and his lady a pretty lass of twenty-three. On the following morning all was ready; and soon after breakfast we were escorted down to the wharf by all the people in the fort, who crowded to the rocks to witness our departure. Our men, eight in number, stood leaning on their paddles near the wharf; and, truly, a fine athletic set of fellows they were. The beautifully-shaped canoe floated lightly on the river, notwithstanding her heavy cargo, and the water rippled gently against her sides as it swept slowly past. This frail bark, on which our safety and progression depended, was made of birch bark sewed together, lined in the inside with thin laths of wood, and pitched on the seams with gum. It was about thirty-six feet long, and five broad in the middle, from whence it tapered either way to a sharp edge. It was calculated to carry from twenty to twenty-five hundredweight, with eight or nine men, besides three passengers, and provisions for nearly a month. And yet, so light was it, that two men could carry it a quarter of a mile without resting. Such was the machine in which, on the 20th August 1845, we embarked; and, after bidding our friends at Norway House adieu, departed for Canada, a distance of nearly two thousand three hundred miles through the uninhabited forests of America. Our first day was propitious, being warm and clear; and we travelled a good distance ere the rapidly thickening shades of evening obliged us to put ashore for the night. The place on which we encamped was a flat rock which lay close to the river's bank, and behind it the thick forest formed a screen from the north wind. It looked gloomy enough on landing; but, ere long, a huge fire was kindled on the rock, our two snow-white tents pitched, and supper in course of preparation, so that things soon began to wear a gayer aspect. Supper was spread in Mr Bain's tent by one of the men, whom we appointed to the office of cook and waiter. And when we were seated on our blankets and cloaks upon the ground, and Mr Bain had stared placidly at the fire for five minutes, and then at his wife (who presided at the _board)_ for ten, we began to feel quite jolly, and gazed with infinite satisfaction at the men, who ate their supper out of the same kettle, in the warm light of the camp-fire. Our first bed was typical of the voyage, being hard and rough, but withal much more comfortable than many others we slept upon afterwards; and we were all soon as sound asleep upon the rock in the forest as if we had been in feather-beds at home. The beds on which a traveller in this country sleeps are various and strange. Sometimes he reposes on a pile of branches of the pine-tree; sometimes on soft downy moss; occasionally on a pebbly beach or a flat rock; and not unfrequently on rough gravel and sand. Of these the moss bed is the most agreeable, and the sandy one the worst. Early on the following morning, long before daylight, we were roused from our slumbers to re-embark; and now our journey may be said to have commenced in earnest. Slowly and silently we stepped into the canoe, and sat down in our allotted places, while the men advanced in silence, and paddled up the quiet river in a very melancholy sort of mood. The rising sun, however, dissipated these gloomy feelings; and after breakfast, which we took on a small island near the head of Jack River, we revived at once, and started with a cheering song, in which all joined. Soon after, we rounded a point of the river, and Lake Winnipeg, calm and clear as crystal, glittering in the beams of the morning sun, lay stretched out before us to the distant and scarcely perceptible horizon. Every pleasure has its alloy, and the glorious calm, on which we felicitated ourselves not a little, was soon ruffled by a breeze, which speedily increased so much as to oblige us to encamp near Montreal Point, being too strong for us to venture across the traverse of five or six miles now before us. Here, then, we remained the rest of the day and night, rather disappointed that delay should have occurred so soon. Next day we left our encampment early, and travelled prosperously till about noon, when the wind again increased to such a degree that we were forced to put ashore on a point, where we remained for the next two days in grumbling inactivity. There is nothing more distressing and annoying than being wind-bound in these wild and uninhabited regions. One has no amusement except reading, or promenading about the shore of the lake. Now, although this may be very delightful to a person of a romantic disposition, it was anything but agreeable to us, as the season was pretty far advanced, and the voyage long; besides, I had no gun, having parted with mine before leaving Norway House, and no books had been brought, as we did not calculate upon being wind-bound. I was particularly disappointed at not having brought my gun, for while we lay upon the rocks one fine day, gazing gloomily on the foaming lake, a black bear was perceived walking slowly round the bottom of the bay formed by the point on which we were encamped. It was hopeless to attempt killing him, as Mr Bruin was not fool enough to permit us to attack him with axes. After this a regular course of high winds commenced, which retarded us very much, and gave us much uneasiness as well as annoyance. A good idea of the harassing nature of our voyage across Lake Winnipeg may be obtained from the following page or two of my journal, as I wrote it on the spot:-- _Monday, 25th August_.--The wind having moderated this morning, we left the encampment at an early hour, and travelled uninterruptedly till nearly eight o'clock, when it began to blow so furiously that we were obliged to run ashore and encamp. All day the gale continued, but in the evening it moderated, and we were enabled to proceed a good way ere night closed in. _Tuesday, 26th_.--Rain fell in torrents during the night. The wind, too, was high, and we did not leave our encampment till after breakfast. We made a good day's journey, however, travelling about forty miles; and at night pitched our tents on a point of rock, the only camping-place, as our guide told us, within ten miles. No dry ground was to be found in the vicinity, so we were fain to sleep upon the flattest rock we could find, with only one blanket under us. This bed, however, was not so disagreeable as might be imagined; its principal disadvantage being that, should it happen to rain, the water, instead of sinking into the ground, forms a little pond below you, deep or shallow, according to the hollowness or flatness of the rock on which you repose. _Wednesday, 27th_.--Set out early this morning, and travelled till noon, when the wind _again_ drove us ashore, where we remained, in no very happy humour, all day. Mr Bain and I played the flute for pastime. _Thursday, 28th_.--The persevering wind blew so hard that we remained in the encampment all day. This was indeed a dismal day; for, independently of being delayed, which is bad enough, the rain fell so heavily that it began to penetrate through our tents; and, as if not content with this, a gust of wind more violent than usual tore the fastenings of my tent out of the ground, and dashed it over my head, leaving me exposed to the pitiless pelting of the storm. Mr Bain's tent, being in a more sheltered spot, fortunately escaped. _Friday, 29th_.--The weather was much improved to-day, but it still continued to blow sufficiently to prevent our starting. As the wind moderated, however, in the evening, the men carried the baggage down to the beach, to have it in readiness for an early start on the morrow. _Saturday, 30th_.--In the morning we found that the wind had _again_ risen, so as to prevent our leaving the encampment. This detention is really very tiresome. We have no amusement except reading a few uninteresting books, eating without appetite, and sleeping inordinately. Oh that I were possessed of the Arabian Nights' _mat_, which transported its owner whithersoever he listed! There is nothing for it, however, but patience; and assuredly I have a good example in poor Mrs Bain, who, though little accustomed to such work, has not given utterance to a word of complaint since we left Norway House. It is now four days since we pitched our tents on this vile point. How long we may still remain is yet to be seen. _Thursday, September 4th_.--The wind was still very strong this morning; but so impatient had we become at our repeated detentions, that, with one accord, we consented to do or die! So, after launching and loading the canoe with great difficulty, owing to the immense waves that thundered against the shore, we all embarked and pushed off. After severe exertion, and much shipping of water, we at length came to the mouth of the Winnipeg River, up which we proceeded a short distance, and arrived at Fort Alexander. Thus had we taken fifteen days to coast along Lake Winnipeg, a journey that is usually performed in a third of that time. Fort Alexander belongs to the Lac la Pluie district; but being a small post, neither famous for trade nor for appearance, I will not take the trouble of describing it. We only remained a couple of hours to take in provisions in the shape of a ham, a little pork, and some flour, and then re-embarking, commenced the ascent of Winnipeg River. The travelling now before us was widely different from that of the last fifteen days. Our men could no longer rest upon their paddles when tired, as they used to do on the level waters of the lake. The river was a rapid one; and towards evening we had an earnest of the rough work in store for us, by meeting in rapid succession with three waterfalls, to surmount which we were obliged to carry the canoe and cargo over the rocks, and launch them above the falls. While the men were engaged in this laborious duty, Mr Bain and I discovered a great many plum-trees laden with excellent fruit, of which we ate as many as we conveniently could, and then filling our caps and handkerchiefs, embarked with our prize. They were a great treat to us, after our long abstinence from everything but salt food; and I believe we demolished enough to have killed a whole parish school-boys, master, usher, and all! But in voyages like these one may take great liberties with one's interior with perfect impunity. About sunset we encamped in a picturesque spot near the top of a huge waterfall, whose thundering roar, as it mingled with the sighing of the night wind through the bushes and among the precipitous rocks around us, formed an appropriate and somewhat romantic lullaby. On the following morning we were aroused from our slumbers at daybreak; and in ten minutes our tents were down and ourselves in the canoe, bounding merrily up the river, while the echoing woods and dells responded to the lively air of "Rose Blanche," sung by the men as we swept round point after point and curve after curve of the noble river, which displayed to our admiring gaze every variety of wild and woodland scenery--now opening up a long vista of sloping groves of graceful trees, beautifully variegated with the tints of autumnal foliage, and sprinkled with a profusion of wildflowers; and anon surrounding us with immense cliffs and precipitous banks of the grandest and most majestic aspect, at the foot of which the black waters rushed impetuously past, and gurgling into white foam as they sped through a broken and more interrupted channel, finally sprang over a mist-shrouded clift and, after boiling madly onwards for a short space, resumed their silent, quiet course through peaceful scenery. As if to enhance the romantic wildness of the scene, upon rounding a point we came suddenly upon a large black bear, which was walking leisurely along the bank of the river. He gazed at us in surprise for a moment; and then, as if it had suddenly occurred to him that guns _might_ be in the canoe, away he went helter-skelter up the bank, tearing up the ground in his precipitate retreat, and vanished among the bushes. Fortunately for him, there was not a gun in the canoe, else his chance of escape would have been very small indeed, as he was only fifty yards or so from us when we first discovered him. We made ten portages of various lengths during the course of the day: none of them exceeded a quarter of a mile, while the most were merely a few yards. They were very harassing, however, being close to each other; and often we loaded, unloaded, and carried the canoe and cargo overland several times in the distance of half a mile. On the 7th we left the encampment at an early hour, and made one short portage a few minutes after starting. After breakfast, as we paddled quietly along, we descried three canoes coming towards us, filled with Indians of the Seauteaux tribe. They gave us a few fresh ducks in exchange for some pork and tobacco, with which they were much delighted. After a short conversation between them and one of our men, who understood the language, we parted, and proceeded on our way. A little rain fell during the day, but in the afternoon the sun shone out and lighted up the scenery. The forests about this part of the river wore a much more cheerful aspect than those of the lower countries, being composed chiefly of poplar, birch, oak, and willows, whose beautiful light-green foliage had a very pleasing effect upon eyes long accustomed to the dark pines along the shores of Hudson Bay. In the afternoon we met another canoe, in which we saw a gentleman sitting. This strange sight set us all speculating as to who it could be, for we knew that all the canoes accustomed annually to go through these wilds had long since passed. We were soon enlightened, however, on the subject. Both canoes made towards a flat rock that offered a convenient spot for landing on; and the stranger introduced himself as Dr Rae. He was on his way to York Factory, for the purpose of fitting out at that post an expedition for the survey of the small part of the North American coast left unexplored by Messrs. Dease and Simpson, which will then prove beyond a doubt whether or not there is a communication by water between the Atlantic and Pacific Oceans round the north of America. Dr Rae appeared to be just the man for such an expedition. He was very muscular and active, full of animal spirits, and had a fine intellectual countenance. He was considered, by those who knew him well, to be one of the best snow-shoe walkers in the service, was also an excellent rifle-shot, and could stand an immense amount of fatigue. Poor fellow! greatly will he require to exert all his abilities and powers of endurance. He does not proceed as other expeditions have done--namely, with large supplies of provisions and men--but merely takes a very small supply of provisions, and ten or twelve men. These, however, are all to be of his own choosing, and will doubtless be men of great experience in travelling among the wild regions of North America. The whole expedition is fitted out at the expense of the Hudson Bay Company. The party are to depend almost entirely on their guns for provisions; and after proceeding in two open boats round the north-western shores of Hudson Bay as far as they may find it expedient or practicable, are to land, place their boats in security for the winter, and then penetrate into these unexplored regions on foot. After having done as much as possible towards the forwarding of the object of his journey, Dr Rae and his party are to spend the long dreary winter with the Esquimaux, and commence operations again early in the spring. He is of such a pushing, energetic character, however, that there is every probability he will endeavour to prosecute his discoveries during winter, if at all practicable. How long he will remain exploring among these wild regions is uncertain; but he may be two, perhaps three years. There is every reason to believe that this expedition will be successful, as it is fitted out by a Company intimately acquainted with the difficulties and dangers of the country through which it will have to pass, and the best methods of overcoming and avoiding them. Besides, the doctor himself is well accustomed to the life he will have to lead; and enters upon it, not with the vague and uncertain notions of Back and Franklin, but with a pretty correct apprehension of the probable routine of procedure, and the experience of a great many years spent in the service of the Hudson Bay Company [see note 1]. After a few minutes' conversation we parted, and pursued our respective journeys. Towards sunset we encamped on the margin of a small lake, or expanse of the river; and soon the silence of the forest was broken by the merry voices of our men, and by the crashing of the stately trees, as they fell under the axes of the _voyageurs_. The sun's last rays streamed across the water in a broad red glare, as if jealous of the huge campfire, which now rose crackling among the trees, casting a ruddy glow upon our huts, and lighting up the swarthy faces of our men as they assembled round it to rest their weary limbs, and to watch the operations of the cook while he prepared their evening meal. In less than an hour after we landed, the floor of our tent was covered with a smoking dish of fried pork, a huge ham, a monstrous teapot, and various massive slices of bread, with butter to match. To partake of these delicacies, we seated ourselves in Oriental fashion, and sipped our tea in contemplative silence, as we listened to the gentle murmur of a neighbouring brook, and gazed through the opening of our tent at the _voyageurs_, while they ate their supper round the fire, or, reclining at length upon the grass, smoked their pipes in silence. Supper was soon over, and I went out to warm myself, preparatory to turning in for the night. The men had supped, and their huge forms were now stretched around the fire, enveloped in clouds of tobacco smoke, which curled in volumes from their unshaven lips. They were chatting and laughing over tales of bygone days; and just as I came up they were begging Pierre the guide to relate a tale of some sort or other. "Come, Pierre," said a tall, dark-looking fellow, whose pipe, eyes, and hair were of the same jetty hue, "tell us how that Ingin was killed on the Labrador coast by a black bear. Baptiste, here, never heard how it happened, and you know he's fond of wild stories." "Well," returned the guide, "since you must have it, I'll do what I can; but don't be disappointed if it isn't so interesting as you would wish. It's a simple tale, and not over-long." So saying, the guide disposed himself in a more comfortable attitude, refilled his pipe, and after blowing two or three thick clouds to make sure of its keeping alight, gave, in nearly the following words, an account of:-- THE DEATH OF WAPWIAN. "It is now twenty years since I saw Wapwian, and during that time I have travelled far and wide in the plains and forests of America. I have hunted the buffalo with the Seauteaux, in the prairies of the Saskatchewan; I have crossed the Rocky Mountains with the Blackfeet, and killed the black bear with the Abinikies, on the coasts of Labrador; but never, among all the tribes that I have visited, have I met an Indian like Wapwian. It was not his form or his strength that I admired, though the first was graceful, and the latter immense; but his disposition was so kind, and affectionate, and noble, that all who came in contact with him loved and respected him. Yet, strange to say, he was never converted by the Roman Catholic missionaries who from time to time visited his village. He listened to them with respectful attention, but always answered that he could worship the Great Manitou better as a hunter in the forest than as a farmer in the settlements of the white men. "Well do I remember the first time I stumbled upon the Indian village in which he lived. I had set out from Montreal with two trappers to pay a visit to the Labrador coast; we had travelled most of the way in a small Indian canoe, coasting along the northern shore of the Gulf of St. Lawrence, and reconnoitring in the woods for portages to avoid rounding long capes and points of land, and sometimes in search of game; for we depended almost entirely upon our guns for food. "It was upon one of the latter occasions that I went off, accompanied by one of the trappers, while the other remained to watch the canoe and prepare our encampment for the night. We were unsuccessful, and after a long walk thought of returning to our camp empty-handed, when a loud whirring sound in the bushes attracted our attention, and two partridges perched upon a tree quite near us. We shot them, and fixing them in our belts, retraced our way towards the coast with lighter hearts. Just as we emerged from the dense forest, however, on one side of an open space, a tall muscular Indian strode from among the bushes and stood before us. He was dressed in the blanket capote, cloth leggins, and scarlet cap usually worn by the Abinikies, and other tribes of the Labrador coast. A red deer-skin shot-pouch and a powder-horn hung round his neck, and at his side were a beautifully ornamented fire-bag and scalping-knife. A common gun lay in the hollow of his left arm, and a pair of ornamented moccasins covered his feet. He was, indeed, a handsome-looking fellow, as he stood scanning us rapidly with his jet-black eyes while we approached him. We accosted him, and informed him (for he understood a little French) whence we came, and our object in visiting his part of the country. He received our advances kindly, accepted a piece of tobacco that we offered him, and told us that his name was Wapwian, and that we were welcome to remain at his village--to which he offered to conduct us--as long as we pleased. After a little hesitation we accepted his invitation to remain a few days; the more so, as by so doing we would have an opportunity of getting some provisions to enable us to continue our journey. In half an hour we reached the brow of a small eminence, whence the curling smoke of the wigwams was visible. The tents were pitched on the shores of a small bay or inlet, guarded from the east wind by a high precipice of rugged rocks, around which hundreds of sea-fowl sailed in graceful flights. Beyond this headland stretched the majestic Gulf of St. Lawrence; while to the left the village was shaded by the spruce-fir, of which most of this part of the forest is composed. There were, in all, about a dozen tents, made of dressed deerskin; at the openings of which might be seen groups of little children playing about on the grass, or running after their mothers as they went to the neighbouring rivulet for water, or launched their canoes to examine the nets in the bay. "Wapwian paused to gaze an instant on the scene, and then, descending the hill with rapid strides, entered the village, and dispatched a little boy for our companion in the encampment. "We were ushered into a tent somewhat elevated above the others, and soon were reclining on a soft pile of pine branches, smoking in company with our friend Wapwian, while his pretty little squaw prepared a kettle of fish for supper. "We spent two happy days in the village, hunting deer with our Indian friend, and assisting the squaws in their fishing operations. On the third morning we remained in the camp to dry the venison, and prepare for our departure; while Wapwian shouldered his gun, and calling to his nephew, a slim, active youth of eighteen, bade him follow with his gun, as he intended to bring back a few ducks for his white brothers. "The two Indians proceeded for a time along the shore, and then striking off into the forest, threaded their way among the thick bushes in the direction of a chain of small lakes where wild-fowl were numerous. "For some time they moved rapidly along under the sombre shade of the trees, casting from time to time sharp glances into the surrounding underwood. Suddenly the elder Indian paused and threw forward his gun, as a slight rustling in the bushes struck his ear. The boughs bent and crackled a few yards in advance, and a large black bear crossed the path and entered the underwood on the other side. Wapwian fired at him instantly, and a savage growl told that the shot had taken effect. The gun, however, had been loaded with small shot; and although, when he fired, the bear was only a few yards off, yet the improbability of its having wounded him badly, and the distance they had to go ere they reached the lakes, inclined him to give up the chase. While Wapwian was loading his gun, Miniquan (his nephew) had been examining the bear's track, and returned, saying that he was sure the animal must be badly wounded, for there was much blood on the track. At first the elder Indian refused to follow it; but seeing that his nephew wished very much to kill the brute, he at last consented. As the trail of the bear was much covered with blood, they found no difficulty in tracking it; and after a short walk they found him extended on his side at the foot of a large tree, apparently lifeless. Wapwian, however, was too experienced a hunter to trust himself incautiously within its reach, so he examined the priming of his gun, and then, advancing slowly to the animal, pushed it with the muzzle. In an instant the bear sprang upon him, regardless of the shot lodged in its breast, and in another moment Wapwian lay stunned and bleeding at the monster's feet. Miniquan was at first so thunderstruck, as he gazed in horror at the savage animal tearing with bloody jaws the senseless form of his uncle, that he stood rooted to the ground. It was only for a moment--the next, his gun was at his shoulder, and after firing at, but unfortunately, in the excitement of the moment, missing the bear, he attacked it with the butt of his gun, which he soon shivered to pieces on its skull. This drew the animal for a few moments from Wapwian; and Miniquan, in hopes of leading it from the place, ran off in the direction of the village. The bear, however, soon gave up the chase, and returned again to its victim. Miniquan now saw that the only chance of saving his relative was to alarm the village; so, tightening his belt, he set off with the speed of the hunted deer in the direction of the camp. In an incredibly short time he arrived, and soon returned with the trappers and myself. Alas! alas!" said the guide with a deep sigh, "it was too late. Upon arriving at the spot, we found the bear quite dead, and the noble, generous Wapwian extended by its side, torn and lacerated in such a manner that we could scarcely recognise him. He still breathed a little, however, and appeared to know me, as I bent over him and tried to close his gaping wounds. We constructed a rude couch of branches, and conveyed him slowly to the village. No word of complaint or cry of sorrow escaped from his wife as we laid his bleeding form in her tent. She seemed to have lost the power of speech, as she sat, hour after hour, gazing in unutterable despair on the mangled form of her husband. Poor Wapwian lingered for a week in a state of unconsciousness. His skull had been fractured, and he lay almost in a state of insensibility, and never spoke, save when, in a fit of delirium, his fancy wandered back to bygone days, when he ranged the forest with a tiny bow in chase of little birds and squirrels, strode in the vigour of early manhood over frozen plains of snow, or dashed down foaming currents and mighty rivers in his light canoe. Then a shade would cross his brow as he thought, perhaps, of his recent struggle with the bear, and he would again relapse into silence. "He recovered slightly before his death; and once he smiled, as if he recognised his wife, but he never spoke to any one. We scarcely know when his spirit fled, so calm and peaceful was his end. "His body now reposes beneath the spreading branches of a lordly pine, near the scenes of his childhood, where he had spent his youth, and where he met his untimely end." ------------------------------------------------------------------------ The guide paused, and looked round upon his auditors. Alas! for the sympathy of man--the half of them had gone to sleep; and Baptiste, for whose benefit the story had been related, lay, or rather sprawled, upon the turf behind the fire, his shaggy head resting on the decayed stump of an old tree, and his empty pipe hanging gracefully from his half-open mouth. A slight "humph" escaped the worthy guide as he shook the ashes from his pipe, and rolling his blanket round him, laid his head upon the ground. Early the following morning we raised the camp and continued our journey. The scenery had now become more wild and picturesque. Large pines became numerous; and the rocky fissures, through which the river rushed in a black unbroken mass, cast a gloomy shadow upon us as we struggled to ascend. Sometimes we managed to get up these rapids with the paddles; and when the current was too powerful, with long poles, which the men fixed in the ground, and thus pushed slowly up; but when both of these failed, we resorted to the tracking line, upon which occasions four of the men went on shore and dragged us up, leaving four in the canoe to paddle and steer it. When the current was too strong for this, they used to carry parts of the cargo to the smooth water further up, and drag the canoe up light, or, taking it on their shoulders, carry it overland. We made nine or ten of these portages in two days. In the afternoon we came in view of a Roman Catholic mission station, snugly situated at the bottom of a small bay or creek; but as it was a little out of our way, and from its quiet appearance seemed deserted, we did not stop. In the afternoon of the following day, the 9th of September, we arrived at the Company's post, called Rat Portage House, where we were hospitably entertained for a few hours by Mr McKenzie, the gentleman in charge. On the portage, over which we had to carry our canoe and baggage, a large party of Indians of both sexes and all ages were collected to witness our departure; and Mr McKenzie advised us to keep a sharp lookout, as they were much addicted to appropriating the property of others to their own private use, provided they could find an opportunity of doing so unobserved; so, while our men were running backwards and forwards, carrying the things over the rocks, Mr Bain and his lady remained at one end to guard them, and I at the other. Everything, however, was got safely across; the Indians merely stood looking on, apparently much amused with our proceedings, and nothing seemed further from their thoughts than stealing. Just as we paddled from the bank, one of our men threw them a handful of tobacco, for which there was a great scramble, and their noisy voices died away in the distance as we rounded an abrupt point of rocks, and floated out upon the glorious expanse of Lac du Bois, or, as it is more frequently called, the Lake of the Woods. There is nothing, I think, better calculated to awaken the more solemn feelings of our nature (unless, indeed, it be the thrilling tones of sacred music) than these noble lakes, studded with innumerable islets, suddenly bursting on the traveller's view as he emerges from the sombre forest-rivers of the American wilderness. The clear unruffled water, stretching out to the horizon--here, embracing the heavy and luxuriant foliage of a hundred wooded isles, or reflecting the wood-clad mountains on its margin, clothed in all the variegated hues of autumn; and there, glittering with dazzling brilliancy in the bright rays of the evening sun, or rippling among the reeds and rushes of some shallow bay, where hundreds of wild-fowl chatter, as they feed, with varied cry, rendering more apparent, rather than disturbing, the solemn stillness of the scene: all tends to "raise the soul from nature up to nature's God," and reminds one of the beautiful passage of Scripture, "O Lord, how manifold are thy works! in wisdom hast thou made them all: the earth is full of thy riches." At the same time, when one considers how very few of the human race cast even a passing glance on the beauties of nature around, one cannot but be impressed with the truth of the lines-- "Full many a flower is born to blush unseen, And waste its sweetness on the desert air." At night we encamped at the furthest extremity of the lake, on a very exposed spot, whence we looked out upon the starlit scene, while our supper was spread before us in the warm light of the fire, which blazed and crackled as the men heaped log after log upon it, sending up clouds of bright sparks into the sky. Next morning we commenced the ascent of Lac la Pluie River. This is decidedly the most beautiful river we had yet traversed--not only on account of the luxuriant foliage of every hue with which its noble banks are covered, but chiefly from the resemblance it bears in many places to the scenery of England, recalling to mind the grassy lawns and verdant banks of Britain's streams, and transporting the beholder from the wild scenes of the western world to his native home. The trees along its banks were larger and more varied than any we had hitherto seen--ash, poplar, cedar, red and white pines, oak, and birch being abundant, whilst flowers of gaudy hues enhanced the beauty of the scene. Towards noon our guide kept a sharp lookout for a convenient spot whereon to dine; and ere long a flat shelving rock, partly shaded by trees and partly exposed to the blaze of the sun, presented itself to view. The canoe was soon alongside of it, and kept floating about half a foot from the edge by means of two branches, the two ends of which were fastened to the bow and stern of the canoe, and the other two to the ground by means of huge stones. It is necessary to be thus careful with canoes, as the gum or pitch with which the seams are plastered breaks off in lumps, particularly in cold weather, and makes the craft leaky. A snow-white napkin was spread on the flattest part of the rock, and so arranged that, as we reclined around it, on cloaks and blankets, our bodies down to the knees were shaded by the luxuriant foliage behind us, while our feet were basking in the solar rays! Upon the napkin were presently placed, by our active waiter Gibault, three pewter plates, a decanter of port wine, and a large ham, together with a turret of salt butter, and a loaf of bread, to the demolition of which viands we devoted ourselves with great earnestness. At a short distance the men circled round a huge lump of boiled pork, each with a large slice of bread in one hand and a knife in the other, with which he _porked_ his bread in the same way that civilised people _butter_ theirs! Half an hour concluded our mid-day meal; and then, casting off the branches from the canoe, we were out of sight of our temporary dining-room in five minutes. On the evening of the following day we arrived at the Company's post, Fort Frances. The fort is rather an old building, situated at the bottom of a small bay or curve in the river, near the foot of a waterfall, whose thundering roar forms a ceaseless music to the inhabitants. We found the post in charge of a chief trader, who had no other society than that of three or four labouring men; so, as may be supposed, he was delighted to see us. Our men carried the canoe, etcetera, over the portage to avoid the waterfall, and as it was then too late to proceed further that night, we accepted his pressing invitation to pass the night at the fort. There was only one spare bed in the house, but this was a matter of little moment to us after the variety of beds we had had since starting; so, spreading a buffalo robe on the floor for a mattress, I rolled myself in my blanket and tried to sleep. At first I could not manage it, owing to the unearthly stillness of a room, after being so long accustomed to the open air and the noise of rivers and cataracts, but at last succeeded, and slept soundly till morning. Dame Fortune does not always persecute her friends; and although she had retarded us hitherto a good deal with contrary winds and rains, she kindly assisted us when we commenced crossing Lac la Pluie next morning, by raising a stiff, fair breeze. Now, be it known that a canoe, from having no keel, and a round bottom, cannot venture to hoist a sail unless the wind is directly astern--the least bit to one side would be sure to capsize it; so that our getting the wind precisely in the proper direction at the commencement was a great piece of good fortune, inasmuch as it enabled us to cross the lake in six hours, instead of (as is generally the case) taking one, two, or three days. In the evening we arrived, in high spirits, at a portage, on which we encamped. Our progress now became a little more interrupted by portages and small lakes, or rather ponds, through which we sometimes passed with difficulty, owing to the shallowness of the water in many places. Soon after this we came to the Mecan River, which we prepared to ascend. In making a portage, we suddenly discovered a little Indian boy, dressed in the extreme of the Indian summer fashion--in other words, he was in a state of perfect nakedness, with the exception of a breech-cloth; and upon casting our eyes across the river we beheld his worthy father, in a similar costume, busily employed in catching fish with a hand-net. He was really a wild, picturesque-looking fellow, notwithstanding the scantiness of his dress; and I was much interested in his proceedings. When I first saw him, he was standing upon a rock close to the edge of a foaming rapid, into the eddies of which he gazed intently, with the net raised in the air, and his muscular frame motionless, as if petrified while in the act of striking. Suddenly the net swung through the air, and his body quivered as he strained every sinew to force it quickly through the water: in a moment it came out with a beautiful white-fish, upwards of a foot long, glittering like silver as it struggled in the meshes. In the space of half an hour he had caught half a dozen in this manner, and we bought three or four of the finest for a few plugs of tobacco. His wigwam and family were close at hand; so, while our men crossed the portage, I ran up to see them. The tent, which was made of sheets of birch bark sewed together, was pitched beneath the branches of a gigantic pine, upon the lower limbs of which hung a pair of worn-out snow-shoes, a very dirty blanket, and a short bow, with a quiver of arrows near it. At the foot of it, upon the ground, were scattered a few tin pots, several pairs of old moccasins, and a gun; while against it leaned an Indian cradle, in which a small, very brown baby, with jet-black eyes and hair, stood bolt upright, basking in the sun's rays, and bearing a comical resemblance to an Egyptian mummy. At the door of the tent a child of riper years amused itself by rolling about among the chips of wood, useless bits of deer-skin, and filth always strewn around a wigwam. On the right hand lay a pile of firewood, with an axe beside it, near which crouched a half-starved, wretched-looking nondescript dog, who commenced barking vociferously the moment he cast eyes upon me. Such was the outside. The interior, filled with smoke from the fire and Indians' pipes, was, if possible, even dirtier. Amid a large pile of rabbit-skins reclined an old woman, busily plucking the feathers from a fine duck, which she carefully preserved (the feathers, not the duck) in a bag, for the purpose of trading them with the Company at a future period. Her dress was a coat of rabbit-skins, so strangely shaped that no one could possibly tell how she ever got it off or on. This, however, was doubtless a matter of little consequence to her, as Indians seldom take the trouble of changing their clothes, or even of undressing at all. The coat was fearfully dirty, and hung upon her in a way that led me to suppose she had worn it for six months, and that it would fall off her in a few days. A pair of faded blue cloth leggins completed her costume--her dirty shoulders, arms, and feet being quite destitute of covering; while her long black hair fell in tangled masses upon her neck, and it was evidently a long time since a comb had passed through it. On the other side sat a younger woman similarly attired, employed in mending a hand-net; and on a very much worn buffalo robe sat a young man (probably the brother of the one we had seen fishing), wrapped in a blanket, smoking his pipe in silence. A few dirty little half-naked boys lay sprawling among several packages of furs tied up in birch bark, and disputed with two or three ill-looking dogs the most commodious place whereon to lie. The fire in the middle of the tent sent up a cloud of smoke, which escaped through an aperture at the top; and from a cross-bar depended a few slices of deer-meat, undergoing the process of smoking. I had merely time to note all this, and say, "What cheer!" to the Indians, who returned the compliment with a grunt, when the loud voice of our guide ringing through the glades of the forest informed me that the canoe was ready to proceed. The country through which we now passed was very interesting, on account of the variety of the scenes and places through which we wound our way. At times we were paddling with difficulty against the strong current of a narrow river, which, on our turning a point of land, suddenly became a large lake; and then, after crossing this, we arrived at a portage. After passing over it, there came a series of small ponds and little creeks, through which we pushed our way with difficulty; and then arrived at another lake, and more little rivers, with numerous portages. Sometimes ludicrous accidents happened to us--bad enough at the time, but subjects of mirth afterwards. One cold, frosty morning (for the weather had now become cold, from the elevation of the country through which we were passing), while the canoe was going quietly over a small reedy lake or ford, I was awakened out of a nap, and told that the canoe was aground, and I must get out and walk a little way to lighten her. Hastily pulling up my trousers for I always travelled barefoot--I sprang over the side into the water, and the canoe left me. Now, all this happened so quickly that I was scarcely awake; but the bitterly cold water, which nearly reached my knees, cleared up my faculties most effectually, and I then found that I was fifty yards from the shore, with an unknown depth of water around me, the canoe out of sight ahead of me, and Mr Bain--who had been turned out while half asleep also--standing with a rueful expression of countenance beside me. After feeling our way cautiously--for the bottom was soft and muddy--we reached the shore; and then, thinking that all was right, proceeded to walk round to join the canoe. Alas! we found the bushes so thick that they were very nearly impenetrable; and, worse than all, that they, as well as the ground, were covered with thorns, which scratched and lacerated our feet most fearfully at every step. There was nothing for it, however, but to persevere; and after a painful walk of a quarter of a mile we overtook the canoe, vowing never to leap before we looked upon any other occasion whatsoever. In this way we proceeded--literally over hill and dale--in our canoe; and in the course of a few days ascended Mecan River, and traversed Cross Lake, Malign River, Sturgeon Lake, Lac du Mort, Mille Lac, besides a great number of smaller sheets of water without names, and many portages of various lengths and descriptions, till the evening of the 19th, when we ascended the beautiful little river called the Savan, and arrived at the Savan Portage. Many years ago, in the time of the North-West Company, the echoes among these wild solitudes were far oftener and more loudly awakened than they are now. The reason of it was this. The North-West Company, having their head quarters at Montreal, and being composed chiefly of Canadian adventurers, imported their whole supplies into the country and exported all their furs out of it in north canoes, by the same route over which we now travelled. As they carried on business on a large scale, it may be supposed that the traffic was correspondingly great. No less than ten brigades, each numbering twenty canoes, used to pass through these scenes during the summer months. No one who has not experienced it can form an adequate idea of the thrilling effect the passing of these brigades must have had upon a stranger. I have seen four canoes sweep round a promontory suddenly, and burst upon my view, while at the same moment the wild romantic song of the _voyageurs_, as they plied their brisk paddles, struck upon my ear; and I have felt thrilling enthusiasm on witnessing such a scene. What, then, must have been the feelings of those who had spent a long, dreary winter in the wild North-West, far removed from the bustle and excitement of the civilised world, when thirty or forty of these picturesque canoes burst unexpectedly upon them, half shrouded in the spray that flew from the bright vermilion paddles; while the men, who had overcome difficulties and dangers innumerable during a long voyage through the wilderness, urged their light craft over the troubled water with the speed of the reindeer, and, with hearts joyful at the happy termination of their trials and privations, sang, with all the force of three hundred manly voices, one of their lively airs, which, rising and falling faintly in the distance as it was borne, first lightly on the breeze, and then more steadily as they approached, swelled out in the rich tones of many a mellow voice, and burst at last into a long enthusiastic shout of joy! Alas! the forests no longer echo to such sounds. The passage of three or four canoes once or twice a year is all that breaks the stillness of the scene; and nought, save narrow pathways over the portages, and rough wooden crosses over the graves of the travellers who perished by the way, remains to mark that such things were. Of these marks, the Savan Portage, at which we had arrived, was one of the most striking. A long succession of boiling rapids and waterfalls having in days of yore obstructed the passage of the fur-traders, they had landed at the top of them, and cut a pathway through the woods, which happened at this place to be exceedingly swampy: hence the name Savan (or _swampy_) Portage. To render the road more passable, they had cut down trees, which they placed side by side along its whole extent--which was about three miles--and over this wooden platform carried their canoes and cargoes with perfect ease. After the coalition of the two companies, and the consequent carriage of the furs to England by Hudson Bay--instead of to Canada, by the lakes and rivers of the interior--these roads were neglected, and got out of repair; and consequently we found the logs over the portage decayed and trees fallen across them, so that our men, instead of running quickly over them, were constantly breaking through the rotten wood, sinking up to the knees in mud, and scrambling over trees and branches. We got over at last, however--in about two hours; and after proceeding a little further, arrived at and encamped upon the Prairie Portage, by the side of a _voyageur's_ grave, which was marked as usual with a wooden cross, on which some friendly hand had cut a rude inscription. Time had now rendered it quite illegible. This is the height of land dividing the waters which flow northward into Hudson Bay from those which flow in a southerly direction, through the great lakes, into the Atlantic Ocean. A few pages from my journal here may serve to give a better idea of the characteristics of our voyage than could be conveyed in narrative:-- _Saturday, 20th September_.--We crossed the Prairie Portage this morning--a distance of between three and four miles--and breakfasted at the upper end of it. Amused myself by sketching the view from a neighbouring hill. After crossing two more portages and a variety of small lakes, we launched our canoe on the bosom of the river Du Chien, and began, for the first time since the commencement of our journey, to _descend_, having passed over the height of land. We saw several grey grouse here, and in the evening one of our men caught one in a curious manner. They were extremely tame, and allowed us to approach them very closely, so Baptiste determined to catch one for supper. Cutting a long branch from a neighbouring tree, he tied a running noose on one end of it, and going quietly up to the bird, put the noose gently over its head, and pulled it off the tree. This is a common practice among the Indians, particularly when they have run short of gunpowder. _Sunday, 21st_.--Crossed Lac du Chien, and made the portage of the same name, from the top of which we had a most beautiful view of the whole country for miles round. Having crossed this portage, we proceeded down the Kamenistaquoia River, on the banks of which, after making another portage, we pitched our tents. _Monday, 22nd_.--Rain obliged us to put ashore this morning. Nothing can be more wretched than travelling in rainy weather. The men, poor fellows, do not make the least attempt to keep themselves dry; but the passengers endeavour, by means of oiled cloths, to keep out the wet; and under this they broil and suffocate, till at last they are obliged to throw off the covering. Even were this not the case, we should still be wretched, as the rain always finds its way in somewhere or other; and I have been often awakened from a nap by the cold trickling of moisture down my back, and have discovered upon moving that I was lying in a pool of water. Ashore we are generally a little more comfortable, but not much. After dinner we again started, and advanced on our journey till sunset. _Tuesday, 23rd_.--To-day we advanced very slowly, owing to the shallowness of the water, and crossed a number of portages. During the day we ran several rapids. This is very exciting work. Upon nearing the head of a large rapid, the men strain every muscle to urge the canoe forward more quickly than the water, so that it may steer better. The bowsman and steersman stand erect, guiding the frail bark through the more unbroken places in the fierce current, which hisses and foams around, as if eager to swallow us up. Now we rush with lightning force towards a rock, against which the water dashes in fury; and to an uninitiated traveller we appear to be on the point of destruction. But one vigorous stroke from the bowsman and steersman (for they always act in concert) sends the light craft at a sharp angle from the impending danger; and away we plunge again over the surging waters--sometimes floating for an instant in a small eddy, and hovering, as it were, to choose our path; and then plunging swiftly forward again through the windings of the stream, till, having passed the whole in safety, we float in the smooth water below. Accidents, as may be supposed, often happen; and to-day we found that there is danger as well as pleasure in running the rapids. We had got over a great part of the day in safety, and were in the act of running the first part of the Rose Rapid, when our canoe struck upon a rock, and wheeling round with its broadside to the stream, began to fill quickly. I could hear the timbers cracking beneath me under the immense pressure. Another minute, and we should have been gone; but our men, who were active fellows, and well accustomed to such dangers, sprang simultaneously over the side of the canoe, which, being thus lightened, passed over the rock, and rushed down the remainder of the rapid stern foremost ere the men could scramble in and resume their paddles. When rapids were very dangerous, most of the cargo was generally disembarked; and while one half of the crew carried it round to the still water below, the other half ran down light. Crossed two small portages and the Mountain Portage in the afternoon; on the latter of which I went to see a waterfall, which I was told was in its vicinity. I had great difficulty in finding it at first, but its thundering roar soon guided me to a spot from which it was visible. Truly, a grander waterfall I never saw. The whole river, which was pretty broad, plunged in one broad white sheet over a precipice, higher by a few feet than the famous Falls of Niagara; and the spray from the foot sprang high into the air, bedewing the wild, precipitous crags with which the fall is encompassed, and the gloomy pines that hang about the clefts and fissures of the rocks. Fur-traders have given it the name of the Mountain Fall, from a peculiar mountain in its vicinity; but the natives call it the _Kackabecka_ Falls. After making a sketch of it, and getting myself thoroughly wet in so doing, I returned to the canoe. In the evening we encamped within nine miles of Fort William, having lost one of our men, who went ashore to lighten the canoe while we ran a rapid. After a good deal of trouble we found him again, but too late to admit of our proceeding to the fort that night. _Wednesday, 24th_.--Early this morning we left the encampment, and after two hours' paddling Fort William burst upon our gaze, mirrored in the limpid waters of Lake Superior--that immense fresh-water sea, whose rocky shores and rolling billows vie with the ocean itself in grandeur and magnificence. Fort William was once one of the chief posts in the Indian country, and, when it belonged to the North-West Company, contained a great number of men. Now, however, much of its glory has departed. Many of the buildings have been pulled down, and those that remain are very rickety-looking affairs. It is still, however, a very important fishing station, and many hundreds of beautiful white-fish, with which Lake Superior swarms, are salted there annually for the Canada markets. These white-fish are indeed excellent; and it is difficult to say whether they or the immense trout, which are also caught in abundance, have the most delicate flavour. These trout, as well as white-fish, are caught in nets; and the former sometimes measure three feet long, and are proportionately broad. The one we had to breakfast on the morning of our arrival must have been very nearly this size. The fur-trade of the post is not very good, but the furs traded are similar to those obtained in other parts of the country. A number of _canotes de maitre_, or very large canoes, are always kept in store here, for the use of the Company's travellers. These canoes are of the largest size, exceeding the north canoe in length by several feet, besides being much broader and deeper. They are used solely for the purpose of travelling on Lake Superior, being much too large and cumbersome for travelling with through the interior. They are carried by four men instead of two, like the north canoe; and, besides being capable of carrying twice as much cargo, are paddled by fourteen or sixteen men. Travellers from Canada to the interior generally change their _canotes de maitre_ for north canoes at Fort William, before entering upon the intricate navigation through which we had already passed; while those going from the interior to Canada change the small for the large canoe. As we had few men, however, and the weather appeared settled, we determined to risk coasting round the northern shore of the lake in our north canoe. The scenery around the fort is very pretty. In its immediate vicinity the land is flat, covered with small trees and willows, which are agreeably suggestive of partridges and other game; but in the distance rise goodly-sized mountains; and on the left hand the noble expanse of the Lake Superior, with rocky islands on its mighty bosom and abrupt hills on its shores, stretches out to the horizon. The fort is built at the mouth of the Kamenistaquoia River, and from its palisades a beautiful view of the surrounding country can be obtained. As the men wanted rest and our canoe a little repair, we determined to remain all day at Fort William; so some of the men employed themselves re-gumming the canoe, while others spread out our blankets and tents to dry. This last was very necessary as on the journey we have little time to spare from eating and sleeping while on shore; and many a time have I, in consequence, slept in a wet blanket. The fair lady of the gentleman in charge of the fort was the _only lady_ at the place, and indeed the only one within a circuit of six hundred miles--which space, being the primeval forest, was inhabited only by wild beasts and a few Indians. She was, consequently, very much delighted to meet with Mrs Bain, who, having for so many days seen no one but rough _voyageurs_, was equally delighted to meet her. While they went off to make the most of each other, Mr Bain and I sauntered about in the vicinity of the fort, admiring the beauty of the scenery, and paid numerous visits to a superb dairy in the fort, which overflowed with milk and cream. I rather think that we admired the dairy more than the scenery. There were a number of cows at the post, a few of which we encountered in our walk, and also a good many pigs and sheep. In the evening we returned, and at tea were introduced to a postmaster, who had been absent when we arrived. This postmaster turned out to be a first-rate player of Scotch reels on the violin. He was self-taught, and truly the sweetness and precision with which he played every note and trill of the rapid reel and strathspey might have made Neil Gow himself envious. So beautiful and inspiriting were they, that Mr Bain and our host, who were both genuine Highlanders, jumped simultaneously from their seats, in an ecstasy of enthusiasm, and danced to the lively music till the very walls shook; much to the amusement of the two ladies, who, having been both born in Canada, could not so well appreciate the music. Indeed, the musician himself looked a little astonished, being quite ignorant of the endearing recollections and associations recalled to the memory of the two Highlanders by the rapid notes of his violin. They were not, however, to be contented with one reel; so, after fruitlessly attempting to make the ladies join us, we sent over to the men's houses for the old Canadian wife of Pierre Lattinville and her two blooming daughters. They soon came, and after much coyness, blushing, and hesitation, at last stood up, and under the inspiring influence of the violin we:-- "Danced, till we were like to fa', The reel o' Tullochgorum!" And did not cease till the lateness of the hour and the exhaustion of our musician compelled us to give in. On the following morning we bade adieu to the good people at Fort William, and began our journey along the northern shore of Lake Superior, which is upwards of three hundred miles in diameter. Fortune, however, is proverbially fickle, and she did not belie her character on this particular day. The weather, when we started, was calm and clear, which pleased us much, as we had to make what is called a traverse--that is, to cross from one point of land to another, instead of coasting round a very deep bay. The traverse which we set out to make on leaving Fort William was fourteen miles broad, which made it of some consequence our having a calm day to cross it in our little egg-shell of a canoe. Away we went, then, over the clear lake, singing "Rose Blanche" vociferously. We had already gone a few miles of the distance, when a dark cloud rose on the seaward horizon. Presently the water darkened under the influence of a stiff breeze, and in less than half an hour the waves were rolling and boiling around us like those of the Atlantic. Ahead of us lay a small island, about a mile distant; and towards this the canoe was steered, while the men urged it forward as quickly as the roughness of the sea would allow. Still the wind increased, and the island was not yet gained. Some of the waves had broken over the edge of the canoe, and she was getting filled with water; but a kind Providence permitted us to reach the island in safety, though not in comfort, as most of the men were much wet, and many of them a good deal frightened. On landing, we pitched our tents, made a fire, and proceeded to dry ourselves, and in less than an hour were as comfortable as possible. The island on which we had encamped was a small rocky one, covered with short heathery-looking shrubs, among which we found thousands of blaeberries. On walking round to the other side of it, I discovered an Indian encamped with his family. He supplied us with a fine white-fish, for which our men gave him a little tobacco and a bit of the fresh mutton which we had brought with us from Fort William. Three days did we remain on this island, while the wind and waves continued unceasingly to howl and lash around it, as if they wished, in their disappointment, to beat it down and swallow us up, island and all; but towards the close of the third day the gale moderated, and we ventured again to attempt the traverse. This time we succeeded, and in two hours passed Thunder Point, on the other side of which we encamped. The next day we could only travel till breakfast-time, as the wind again increased so much as to oblige us to put ashore. We comforted ourselves, however, with the prospect of a good mutton-chop. The fire was soon made, the kettle on, and everything in preparation, when the dreadful discovery was made that the whole of the fresh mutton had been forgotten! Words cannot paint our consternation at this discovery. Poor Mrs Bain sat in mute despair, thinking of the misery of being reduced again to salt pork; while her husband, who had hitherto stood aghast, jumped suddenly forward, and seizing a bag of fine potatoes that had been given to the men, threw it, in a transport of rage, into the lake, vowing that as we were, by their negligence, to be deprived of our mutton, they certainly should also be sufferers with us. It was very laughable to behold the rueful countenances of the men as their beautiful, large white potatoes sank to the bottom of the clear lake, and shone brightly there, as if to tantalise them, while the rippling water caused them to quiver so much that the lake seemed to rest on a pavement of huge potatoes! None dared, however, attempt to recover one; but after a while, when Mr Bain's back was turned, a man crept cautiously down to the water's edge, and gathered as many as were within reach--always, however, keeping an eye on his master, and stooping in an attitude that would permit of his bolting up on the slightest indication of a wrathful movement. It would be tedious, as well as unnecessary, to recount here all the minutiae of our voyage across Lake Superior; I shall merely touch on a few of the more particular incidents. On the 1st of October we arrived at the Pic House [see note 2], where we spent the night; and, after a rough voyage, reached Michipicoton on the 4th. Our voyage along Lake Superior was very stormy and harassing, reminding us often of Lake Winnipeg. Sometimes we were paddling along over the smooth water, and at other times _lying-by_, while the lake was lashed into a mass of foam and billows by a strong gale. So much detention, and the lateness of the season, rendered it necessary to take advantage of every lull and calm hour that occurred, so that we travelled a good deal during the night. This sort of travelling was very romantic. On one occasion, after having been ashore two days, the wind moderated in the afternoon, and we determined to proceed, if possible. The sun set gloriously, giving promise of fine weather. The sky was clear and cloudless, and the lake calm. For an hour or so the men sang as they paddled, but as the shades of evening fell they ceased; and as it was getting rather chilly, I wrapped myself in my green blanket (which served me for a boat-cloak as well as a bed), and soon fell fast asleep. How long I slept I know not; but when I awoke, the regular, rapid hiss of the paddles struck upon my ear, and upon throwing off the blanket the first thing that met my eye was the dark sky, spangled with the most gorgeous and brilliant stars I ever beheld. The whole scene, indeed, was one of the most magnificent and awful that can be imagined. On our left hand rose tremendous precipices and cliffs, around the bottom and among the caverns of which the black waters of the lake curled quietly (for a most death-like, unearthly calm prevailed), sending forth a faint hollow murmur, which ended, at long intervals, in a low melancholy cadence. Before and behind us abrupt craggy islands rose from the water, assuming every imaginable and unimaginable shape in the uncertain light; while on the right the eye ranged over the inky lake till it was lost in thick darkness. A thin, transparent night-fog added to the mystical appearance of the scene, upon which I looked with mingled feelings of wonder and awe. The only distinct sound that could be heard was the measured sound of the paddles, which the men plied in silence, as if unwilling to break the stillness of the night. Suddenly the guide uttered in a hoarse whisper, "_A terre_!" startling the sleepy men, and rendering the succeeding silence still more impressive. The canoe glided noiselessly through a maze of narrow passages among the tall cliffs, and grounded on a stony beach. Everything was then carried up, and the tents pitched in the dark, as no wood could be conveniently found for the purpose of making a fire; and without taking any supper, or even breaking the solemn silence of the night, we spread our beds as we best could upon the round stones (some of which were larger than a man's fist), and sank into repose. About a couple of hours afterwards we were roused by the anxious guide, and told to embark again. In this way we travelled at night or by day, as the weather permitted--and even, upon one or two occasions, both night and day--till the 12th of October, when we arrived at the _Sault de Ste. Marie_, which is situated at the termination of Lake Superior, just as our provisions were exhausted. We had thus taken eighteen days to coast the lake. This was very slow going indeed, the usual time for coasting the lake in a north canoe being from eight to ten days. The Sault de Ste. Marie is a large rapid, which carries the waters of Lake Superior into Lake Huron. It separates the British from the American possessions, and is fortified on the American side by a large wooden fort, in which a body of soldiers are constantly resident. There is also a pretty large village of Americans, which is rapidly increasing. The British side is not fortified; and, indeed, there are no houses of any kind except the few belonging to the Hudson Bay Company. This may be considered the extreme outskirts of civilisation, being the first place where I had seen any number of people collected together who were unconnected with the Hudson Bay Company. I was not destined, however, to enjoy the sight of new faces long, for next morning we started to coast round the northern and uninhabited shores of Lake Huron, and so down the Ottawa to Montreal. Mr and Mrs Bain left me here, and proceeded by the route of the Lakes. During the next few days we travelled through a number of rivers and lakes of various sizes; among the latter were Lakes Huron and Nipisingue. In crossing the latter, I observed a point on which were erected fourteen rough wooden crosses. Such an unusual sight excited my curiosity, and upon inquiring I found that they were planted there to mark the place where a canoe, containing fourteen men, had been upset in a gale, and every soul lost. The lake was clear and smooth when we passed the melancholy spot, and many a rolling year has defaced and cast down the crosses since the unfortunate men whose sad fate they commemorate perished in the storm. While searching about the shore one night for wood to make a fire, one of our men found a large basket, made of bark, and filled with fine bears'-grease, which had been hid by some Indians. This was considered a great windfall; and ere two days were passed the whole of it was eaten by the men, who buttered their flour cakes with it profusely. Not long after this we passed a large waterfall, where a friend of mine was once very nearly lost. A projecting point obliges the traveller to run his canoe rather near the head of the fall, for the purpose of landing to make the portage. From long habit the guides had been accustomed to this, and always effected the doubling of the point in safety. Upon this occasion, however, either from carelessness or accident, the canoe got into the strong current, and almost in an instant was swept down towards the fall. To turn the head of the canoe up the stream, and paddle for their lives, was the work of a moment; but before they got it fairly round they were on the very brink of the cataract, which, had they gone over it, would have dashed them to a thousand atoms. They paddled with the strength of desperation, but so strong was the current that they remained almost stationary. At last they began slowly to ascend--an inch at a time--and finally reached the bank in safety. On Sunday the 19th of October we commenced descending the magnificent river Ottawa, and began to feel that we were at last approaching the civilised nations of the earth. During the day we passed several small log-huts, or shanties, which are the temporary dwelling-places of men who penetrate thus far into the forest for the purpose of cutting timber. A canoe full of these adventurous pioneers also passed us; and in the evening we reached Fort Mattawan, one of the Company's stations. At night we encamped along with a party who were taking provisions to the wood-cutters. The scenery on the Ottawa is beautiful, and as we descended the stream it was rendered more picturesque and interesting by the appearance, occasionally, of that, to us, unusual sight, a farmhouse. They were too few and far between, however, to permit of our taking advantage of the inhabitants' hospitality, and for the next four days we continued to make our encampments in the woods as heretofore. At one of these frontier farms our worthy guide discovered, to his unutterable astonishment and delight, an old friend and fellow-voyageur, to greet whom he put ashore. The meeting was strange: instead of shaking hands warmly, as I had expected, they stood for a moment gazing in astonishment, and then, with perfect solemnity, kissed each other--not gently on the cheek, but with a good hearty smack on their sunburnt lips. After conversing for a little, they parted with another kiss. On the fourth day after this event we came in sight of the village of Aylmer, which lay calmly on the sloping banks of the river, its church spire glittering in the sun, and its white houses reflected in the stream. It is difficult to express the feelings of delight with which I gazed upon this little village, after my long banishment from the civilised world. It was like recovering from a trance of four long dreamy years; and I wandered about the streets, gazing in joy and admiration upon everything and everybody, but especially upon the ladies, who appeared quite a strange race of beings to me--and all of them looked so beautiful in my eyes (long accustomed to Indian dames), that I fell in love with every one individually that passed me in the village. In this happy mood I sauntered about, utterly oblivious of the fact that my men had been left in a public-house, and would infallibly, if not prevented, get dead drunk. I was soon awakened to this startling probability by the guide, who walked up the road in a very solemn I'm-not-at-all-drunk sort of a manner, peering about on every side, evidently in search of me. Having found me, he burst into an expression of unbounded joy; and then, recollecting that this was inconsistent with his assumed character of sobriety, became awfully grave, and told me that we must start soon, as the men were all getting tipsy. The following day we arrived at Bytown. This town is picturesquely situated on the brow of a stupendous cliff, which descends precipitously into the Ottawa. Just above the town a handsome bridge stretches across the river, near which the Kettle Fall thunders over a high cliff. We only stayed a few minutes here, and then proceeded on our way. During the day we passed the locks of the Rideau Canal, which rise, to the number of eight or ten, one over another like steps; and immediately below them appeared the Curtain Falls. These falls are not very picturesque, but their great height and curtain-like smoothness render them an interesting object. After this, villages and detached houses became numerous all the way down the river; and late in the evening of the 24th we arrived at a station belonging to the Hudson Bay Company, on the Lake of the Two Mountains, where we passed the remainder of the night. Here, for the first time since leaving home, I was ushered into a civilised drawing-room; and when I found myself seated on a _cushioned_ chair, with my moccasined feet pressing a soft carpet, and several real, _bona fide ladies_ (the wife and daughters of my entertainer) sitting before me, and asking hundreds of questions about my long voyage, the strange species of unbelief in the possibility of again seeing the civilised world, which had beset me for the last three years, began slowly to give way, and at last entirely vanished when my host showed me into a handsomely furnished bedroom, and left me for the night. The first thing that struck me on entering the bedroom was the appearance of one of our _voyageurs_, dressed in a soiled blue capote, dilapidated corduroy trousers, and moccasins; while his deeply sunburnt face, under a mass of long straggling hair, stared at me in astonishment! It will doubtless be supposed that I was much horrified at this apparition. I was, indeed, much surprised; but, seeing that it was my own image reflected in a full-length looking-glass, I cannot say that I felt extremely horrified. This was the first time that I had seen myself--if I may so speak--since leaving Norway House; and, truly, I had no reason to feel proud of my appearance. The following morning, at four o'clock, we left the Lake of the Two Mountains; and in the afternoon of the 25th October, 1845, arrived at Lachine, where, for the time, my travels came to a close--having been journeying in the wilderness for sixty-six days. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Soon after my arrival winter set in, and I became acquainted with a few of the inhabitants of Lachine. The moment the snow fell, wheeled carriages were superseded by carioles and sleighs of all descriptions. These beautiful vehicles are mounted on runners, or large skates, and slide very smoothly and easily over the snow, except when the road is bad; and then, owing to the want of springs, sleighs become very rough carriages indeed. They are usually drawn by one horse, the harness and trappings of which are profusely covered with small round bells. These bells are very necessary appendages, as little noise is made by the approach of a sleigh over the soft snow, and they serve to warn travellers in the dark. The cheerful tinkling music thus occasioned on the Canadian roads is very pleasing. Sleighs vary a good deal in structure and costliness of decoration; and one often meets a rough, cheerful Canadian _habitant_ sitting in his small box of a sledge (painted sometimes red and sometimes green), lashing away at his shaggy pony in a fruitless attempt to keep up with the large graceful sleigh of a wealthy inhabitant of Montreal, who, wrapped up in furs, drives tandem, with two strong horses, and loudly tinkling bells. Reader, I had very nearly come to the resolution of giving you a long account of Canada and the Canadians, but I dare not venture on it. I feel that it would be encroaching upon the ground of civilised authors; and as I do not belong to this class, but profess to write of savage life, and nothing but savage life, I hope you will extend to me your kind forgiveness if I conclude this chapter rather abruptly. It is a true saying that the cup of happiness is often dashed from the lips that are about to taste it. I have sometimes proved this to be the case. The cup of happiness, on the present occasion, was the enjoyment of civilised and social life; and the dashing of it away was my being sent, with very short warning, to an out-of-the-way station, whose name, to me, was strange--distance uncertain, but long--appearance unknown, and geographical position a most profound mystery. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Note 1. Since the above was written, many years have passed, and Dr Rae's name has become famous, not only on account of successful discovery, but also in connection with the expeditions sent out in search of Sir John Franklin. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Note 2. It must be borne in mind that all the establishments we passed on the way belonged to the Hudson Bay Company. CHAPTER ELEVEN. WINTER-TRAVELLING IN CANADA--DEPARTURE FROM LACHINE--SCENERY ALONG THE ROAD--"INCIDENTS" BY THE WAY--ARRIVAL AT TADOUSAC--MR. STONE'S ADVENTURE WITH INDIANS--CLUBBING SEALS. It was on a bright winter's day in the month of January 1846 that I was sent for by the Governor, and told to hold myself in readiness to start early the following morning with Mr Stone for Tadousac--adding, that probably I should spend the approaching summer at Seven Islands. Tadousac, be it known, is a station about three hundred miles below Montreal, at the mouth of the river Saguenay, and Seven Islands is two hundred miles below Tadousac; so that the journey is not a short one. The greater part of the road runs through an uninhabited country, and the travelling is bad. In preparation for this journey, then, I employed myself during the remainder of the day; and before night all was ready. Next morning I found that our journey was postponed to the following day, so I went into Montreal to make a few purchases, and passed the rest of the day in a state of intense thought, endeavouring to find out if anything had been forgotten. Nothing, however, recurred to my memory; and going to bed only half undressed, in order to be ready at a moment's notice, I soon fell into a short disturbed slumber, from which the servant awakened me long before daylight, by announcing that the sleigh was at the door. In ten minutes I was downstairs, where Mr Stone shortly afterwards joined me; and after seeing our traps safely deposited in the bottom of the sleigh, we jumped in, and slid noiselessly over the quiet street of Lachine. The stars shone brightly as we glided over the crunching snow, and the sleigh-bells tinkled merrily as our horse sped over the deserted road. Groups of white cottages and solitary gigantic trees flew past us, looking, in the uncertain light, like large snow-drifts; save where the twinkling of a candle, or the first blue flames of the morning fire, indicated that the industrious _habitant_ had risen to his daily toil. In silence we glided on our way, till the distant lights of Montreal awakened us from our reveries, and we met at intervals a solitary pedestrian, or a sleigh-load of laughing, fur-encompassed faces returning from an evening party. About seven o'clock we arrived at the hotel from which the stage was to start for Quebec--but when did stage-coach, or sleigh either, keep to its time? No sign of it was to be seen, and it required no small application of our knuckles and toes at the door to make the lazy waiter turn out to let us in. No misery, save being too late, can equal that of being too soon; at least, so I thought while walking up and down the coffee-room of the hotel, upon the table of which were scattered the remains of last night's supper, amid a confusion of newspapers and fag-ends of cigars; while the sleepy waiter made unavailing efforts to coax a small spark of fire to contribute some warmth to one or two damp billets of wood. About an hour after its appointed time, the sleigh drove up to the door, and we hastened to take our places. The stage, however, was full, but the driver informed us that an "extra" (or separate sleigh of smaller dimensions than the stage) had been provided for us; so that we enjoyed the enviable advantage of having it all to ourselves. Crack went the whip, and off went the leader with a bound, the wheeler following at a pace between a trot and a gallop, and our "extra" keeping close in the rear. The lamps were still burning as we left the city, although the first streaks of dawn illumined the eastern sky. In fifteen minutes more we had left Montreal far behind. There is something very agreeable in the motion of a sleigh along a good road. The soft muffled sound of the runners gliding over the snow harmonises well with the tinkling bells; and the rapid motion through the frosty air, together with the occasional jolt of going into a hollow or over a hillock, is very exhilarating, and we enjoyed our drive very much for the first hour or so. But, alas! human happiness is seldom of long duration, as we soon discovered; for, just as I was falling into a comfortable doze, bang! went the sleigh into a deep "cahoe," which most effectually wakened me. Now these same "cahoes" are among the disadvantages attending sleigh-travelling in Canada. They are nothing more or less than deep hollows or undulations in the road, into which the sleighs unexpectedly plunge, thereby pitching the traveller roughly forward; and upon the horses jerking the vehicles out of them, throwing him backward in a way that is pretty sure to bring his head into closer acquaintance with the back of the sleigh than is quite agreeable, particularly if he be a novice in sleigh-travelling. Those which we now encountered were certainly the worst I ever travelled over, rising in succession like the waves of the sea, and making our conveyance plunge sometimes so roughly that I expected it to go to pieces. Indeed, I cannot understand how wood and iron could stand the crashes to which we were exposed. In this way we jolted along, sometimes over good, sometimes over bad roads, till about nine o'clock, when we stopped at a neat, comfortable-looking inn, where the driver changed his horses, and the passengers sat down to a hurried breakfast. The morning turned out beautifully clear and warm, at least in comparison with what it had been; and upon re-entering the sleigh we all looked extremely happy, and disposed to be pleased with everything and everybody. The country through which we now passed was picturesque and varied. Hills and valleys, covered with glittering snow and dark pines, followed each other in endless succession; while in every valley, and from every mountain-top, we saw hundreds of hamlets and villages, whose little streets and thoroughfares were crowded with busy _habitants_, engaged in their various occupations and winter traffic. The laughing voices of merry little children romping along the roads accorded harmoniously with the lively tinkling of their parents' sleigh-bells as they set out for the market with the produce of their farms, or, dressed in their whitest blanket capotes and smartest _bonnets rouges_, accompanied their wives and daughters to a marriage or a festival. The scene was rendered still more pleasing by the extreme clearness of the frosty air and the deep blue of the sky; while the weather was just cold enough to make the rapid motion of our sleighs agreeable and necessary. In some places the roads were extremely precipitous; and when we arrived at the foot of a large hill we used generally to get out and walk, preferring this to being dragged slowly up by the jaded horses. During the day our sleighs were upset several times; but Mr Stone and I, in the "extra," suffered more in this way than those of the regular stage, as it was much narrower, and, consequently, more liable to tip over. Upon upsetting, it unaccountably happened that poor Mr Stone was always undermost. But he submitted to his fate most stoically; though from the nature of things my elbow invariably thrust him deep into the snow, on which, after being extricated, a splendid profile impression was left, to serve as a warning to other travellers, and to show them that a gentleman had been _cast_ there. As very little danger, however, attended these accidents, they only afforded subject for mirth at the time, and conversation at the end of the stage--except once, when the sleigh turned over so rapidly, that I was thrown with considerable force against the roof, which, being of a kind of slight framework, covered with painted canvas, offered but small opposition to my flight; my head, consequently, went quite through it, and my unfortunate nose was divested to rather an alarming extent of its cutaneous covering. With this exception, we proceeded safely and merrily along, and about seven o'clock in the evening arrived at the small town of Three Rivers. Early next morning we resumed our journey, and about four in the afternoon arrived at the famous city of Quebec, without having encountered any very interesting adventures by the way. The first sight we had of Quebec was certainly anything but prepossessing. A recent fire in the lower town had completely destroyed a large portion of it; and the first street I passed through was nothing but a gaunt row of blackened chimneys and skeleton houses, which had a very melancholy, ghostlike appearance when contrasted with the white snow. As we advanced, however, to where the fire had been checked, the streets assumed a more agreeable aspect--shops were open here and there, and workmen busily employed in repairing damaged houses and pulling down dangerous ones. Upon arriving at the steep street which leads from the lower town to within the walls, the immense strength of the ramparts and fortifications struck me forcibly. The road up which we passed to the gate was very narrow: on one side a steep hill descended to the lower town; and on the other towered the city walls, pierced all over with loopholes, and bristling with cannon. At the head of the road, in an angle of the wall, two silent but grim-looking guns pointed their muzzles directly down the road, so as to command it from one end to the other. All the other parts of the walls that I happened to see were even more strongly fortified than this. The streets of Quebec are very steep, much more so than those of Edinburgh; and it requires no small exertion to mount one or two without stopping to breathe at the top. Upon the whole, it is anything but a pretty town (at least in winter), the houses being high, and the streets very narrow. The buildings, too, are commonplace; and the monument to Wolfe and Montcalm is a very insignificant affair. In fact, Quebec can boast of little else than the magnificent views it commands from the ramparts, and the impregnable strength of its fortifications. Some of the suburban villas, however, are very beautiful; and although I saw them in winter, yet I could form some idea of the enchanting places they must be in summer. After spending three pleasant days here, we got into our sleigh again, and resumed our journey. No stages ran below Quebec, so that we now travelled in the sleigh of a farmer, who happened to be going down part of the way. Soon after leaving the city, we passed quite close to the famous Falls of Montmorenci. They are as high, if not higher, than those of Niagara, but I thought them rather tame, being nothing but a broad curtain of water falling over an even cliff, and quite devoid of picturesque scenery. A curious cone of ice, formed by the spray, rose nearly half-way up the falls. The scenery below Quebec is much more rugged and mountainous than that above; and as we advanced the marks of civilisation began gradually to disappear--villages became scarcer, and roads worse, till at last we came to the shanties of the wood-cutters, with here and there a solitary farmhouse. Still, however, we occasionally met a few sleighs, with the conductors of which our driver seemed to be intimately acquainted. These little interruptions broke, in a great degree, the monotony of the journey; and we always felt happier for an hour after having passed and exchanged with a Canadian a cheerful _bonjour_. Our driver happened to be a very agreeable man, and more intelligent than most Canadians of his class; moreover, he had a good voice, and when we came to a level part of the road I requested him to sing me a song--which he did at once, singing with a clear, strong, manly voice the most beautiful French air I ever heard; both the name and air, however, I have now forgotten. He then asked me to sing--which I did without further ceremony, treating him to one of the ancient melodies of Scotland; and thus, with solos and duets, we beguiled the tedium of the road, and filled the woods with melody! much to the annoyance of the unmusical American feathered tribes, and to the edification of our horse, who pricked up his ears, and often glanced backwards, apparently in extreme surprise. Towards evening the driver told us that we should soon arrive at Baie de St. Paul; and in half an hour more our weary horse dragged us slowly to the top of a hill, whence we had a splendid view of the village. In all the miles of country I had passed over, I had seen nothing to equal the exquisite beauty of the Vale of Baie de St. Paul. From the hill on which we stood the whole valley, of many miles in extent, was visible. It was perfectly level, and covered from end to end with thousands of little hamlets, and several churches, with here and there a few small patches of forest. The course of a little rivulet, which meanders through it in summer, was apparent, even though covered with snow. At the mouth of this several schooners and small vessels lay embedded in ice; beyond which rolled the dark, ice-laden waves of the Gulf of St. Lawrence. The whole valley teemed with human life. Hundreds of Canadians, in their graceful sleighs and carioles, flew over the numerous roads intersecting the country; and the faint sound of tinkling bells floated gently up the mountain-side, till it reached the elevated position on which we stood. The whole scene was exquisitely calm and peaceful, forming a strange and striking contrast to the country round it. Like the Happy Valley of Rasselas, it was surrounded by the most wild and rugged mountains, which rose in endless succession, one behind another, stretching away in the distance till they resembled a faint blue wave on the horizon. In this beautiful place we spent the night, and the following at Mal Baie. This village was also pretty, but after Baie de St. Paul I could but little admire it. Next night we slept in a shanty belonging to the timber-cutters on the coast of the gulf, which was truly the most wretched abode, except an Indian tent, I ever had the chance (or mischance) to sleep in. It was a small log-hut, with only one room; a low door--to enter which we had to stoop--and a solitary square window, filled with parchment in lieu of glass. The furniture was of the coarsest description, and certainly not too abundant. Everything was extremely dirty, and the close air was further adulterated with thick clouds of tobacco smoke, which curled from the pipes of half a dozen wood-choppers. Such was the place in which we passed the night; and glad was I when the first blush of day summoned us to resume our travels. We now entered our sleigh for the last time, and after a short drive arrived at the termination of the horse road. Here we got out, and rested a short time in a shanty, preparatory to taking to our snow-shoes. The road now lay through the primeval forest, and fortunately it proved to be pretty well beaten, so we walked lightly along, with our snow-shoes under our arms. In the afternoon we arrived at another shanty, having walked about eighteen miles. Here we found a gentleman who superintended the operations of the lumberers, or wood-cutters. He kindly offered to drive us to Canard River, a place not far distant from the termination of our journey. I need scarcely say we gladly accepted his offer, and in a short time arrived at the river Saguenay. This river, owing to its immense depth, never freezes over at its mouth; so we crossed it in a boat, and on the evening of the 7th of February we arrived at the post of Tadousac. This establishment belongs to the Hudson Bay Company, and is situated at the bottom of a large and deep bay adjoining the mouth of the river Saguenay. Unlike the posts of the north, it is merely a group of houses, scattered about in a hollow of the mountains, without any attempt at arrangement, and without a stockade. The post, when viewed from one of the hills in the neighbourhood, is rather picturesque; it is seen embedded in the mountains, and its white-topped houses contrast prettily with the few pines around it. A little to the right rolls the deep, unfathomable Saguenay, at the base of precipitous rocks and abrupt mountains, covered in some places with stunted pines, but for the most part bald-fronted. Up the river, the view is interrupted by a large rock, nearly round, which juts out into the stream, and is named the "Bull." To the right lies the Bay of St. Catherine, with a new settlement at its head; and above this flows the majestic St. Lawrence, compared to which the broad Saguenay is but a thread. Tadousac Bay is one of the finest natural harbours in the St. Lawrence. Being very deep quite close to the shore, it is much frequented by vessels and craft of every description and dimension. Ships, schooners, barks, brigs, and bateaux lie calmly at anchor within a stone's-throw of the bushes on shore; others are seen beating about at the mouth of the harbour, attempting to enter; while numerous pilot boats sail up and down, almost under the windows of the house; and in the offing are hundreds of vessels, whose white sails glimmer on the horizon like the wings of sea-gulls, as they beat up for anchorage, or proceed on their course for England or Quebec. The magnificent panorama is closed by the distant hills of the opposite shore, blending with the azure sky. This, however, is the only view, the land being a monotonous repetition of bare granite hills and stunted pines [see note 1]. Here, then, for a time, my travels came to a close, and I set about making myself as comfortable in my new quarters as circumstances would permit. Tadousac I found to be similar, in many respects, to the forts in the north. The country around was wild, mountainous, and inhabited only by a few Indians and wild animals. There was no society, excepting that of Mr Stone's family; the only other civilised being, above the rank of a labourer, being a gentleman who superintended a timber-cutting and log-sawing establishment, a quarter of a mile from the Company's post. My _bourgeois_, Mr Stone, was a very kind man and an entertaining companion. He had left Scotland, his native land, when very young, and had ever since been travelling about and dwelling in the wild woods of America. A deep scar on the bridge of his nose showed that he had not passed through these savage countries scathless. The way in which he came by this scar was curious, so I may relate it here. At one of the solitary forts in the wild regions on the west side of the Rocky Mountains, where my friend Mr Stone dwelt, the Indians were in the habit of selling horses, of which they had a great many, to the servants of the Hudson Bay Company. They had, however, an uncommonly disagreeable propensity to steal these horses again the moment a convenient opportunity presented itself; and to guard against the gratification of this propensity was one of the many difficulties that the fur-traders had to encounter. Upon one occasion a fine horse was sold by an Indian to Mr Stone, the price (probably several yards of cloth and a few pounds of tobacco) paid, and the Indian went away. Not long after the horse was stolen; but as this was an event that often happened, it was soon forgotten. Winter passed away, spring thawed the lakes and rivers, and soon a party of Indians arrived with furs and horses to trade. They were of the Blackfoot tribe, and a wilder set of fellows one would hardly wish to see. Being much in the habit of fighting with the neighbouring tribes, they were quite prepared for battle, and decorated with many of the trophies of war. Scalp-locks hung from the skirts of their leather shirts and leggins, eagles' feathers and beads ornamented their heads, and their faces were painted with stripes of black and red paint. After conversing with them a short time, they were admitted through the wicket one by one, and their arms taken from them and locked up. This precaution was rendered necessary at these posts, as the Indians used to buy spirits, and often quarrelled with each other; but, having no arms, of course they could do themselves little damage. When about a dozen of them had entered, the gate was shut, and Mr Stone proceeded to trade their furs and examine their horses, when he beheld, to his surprise, the horse that had been stolen from him the summer before; and upon asking to whom it belonged, the same Indian who had formerly sold it to him stood forward and said it was his. Mr Stone (an exceedingly quiet, good-natured man, but, like many men of this stamp, very passionate when roused) no sooner witnessed the fellow's audacity than he seized a gun from one of his men and shot the horse. The Indian instantly sprang upon him, but being a less powerful man than Mr Stone, and, withal, unaccustomed to use his fists, he was soon overcome, and pommelled out of the fort. Not content with this, Mr Stone followed him down to the Indian camp, pommelling him all the way. The instant, however, that the Indian found himself surrounded by his own friends, he faced about, and with a dozen warriors attacked Mr Stone and threw him on the ground, where they kicked and bruised him severely; whilst several boys of the tribe hovered around him with bows and arrows, waiting a favourable opportunity to shoot him. Suddenly a savage came forward with a large stone in his hand, and, standing over his fallen enemy, raised it high in the air and dashed it down upon his face. My friend, when telling me the story, said that he had just time, upon seeing the stone in the act of falling, to commend his spirit to God ere he was rendered insensible. The merciful God, to whom he thus looked for help at the eleventh hour, did not desert him. Several men belonging to the fort, seeing the turn things took, hastily armed themselves, and hurrying out to the rescue, arrived just at the critical moment when the stone was dashed in his face. Though too late to prevent this, they were in time to prevent a repetition of the blow; and after a short scuffle with the Indians, without any blood shed, they succeeded in carrying their master up to the fort, where he soon recovered. The deep cut made by the stone on the bridge of his nose left an indelible scar. Besides Mr Stone, I had another companion--namely, Mr Jordan, a clerk, who inhabited the same office with me, and slept in the same bedroom, during the whole winter. He was a fine-looking athletic half-breed, who had been partially educated, but had spent much more of his life among Indians than among civilised men. He used to be sent about the country to trade with the natives, and consequently led a much more active life than I did. One part of his business, during the early months of spring, was hunting seals. This was an amusing, though, withal, rather a murderous kind of sport. The manner of it was this:-- My friend Jordan chose a fine day for his excursion, and, embarking in a boat with six or seven men, sailed a few miles down the St. Lawrence, till he came to a low flat point. In a small bay near this he drew up the boat, and then went into the woods with his party, where each man cut a large pole or club. Arming themselves with these, they waited until the tide receded and left the point dry. In a short time one or two seals crawled out of the sea to bask upon the shore; soon several more appeared, and ere long a band of more than a hundred lay sunning themselves upon the beach. The ambuscade now prepared to attack the enemy. Creeping stealthily down as near as possible without being discovered, they simultaneously rushed upon the astonished animals; and the tragic scene of slaughter, mingled with melodramatic and comic incidents, that ensued, baffles all description. In one place might be seen my friend Jordan swinging a huge club round with his powerful arms, and dealing death and destruction at every blow; while in another place a poor weazened-looking Scotchman (who had formerly been a tailor! and to whom the work was new) advanced, with cautious trepidation, towards a huge seal, which spluttered and splashed fearfully in its endeavours to reach the sea, and dealt it a blow on the back. He might as well have hit a rock. The slight rap had only the effect of making the animal show its teeth; at which sight the tailor retreated precipitately, and, striking his heel against a rock, fell backwards into a pool of water, where he rolled over and over--impressed, apparently, with the idea that he was attacked by all the seals in the sea. His next essay, however, was more successful, and in a few minutes he killed several, having learned to hit on the head instead of on the back. In less than a quarter of an hour they killed between twenty and thirty seals, which were stowed in the boat and conveyed to the post. Nothing worth mentioning took place at Tadousac during my residence there. The winter became severe and stormy, confining us much to the house, and obliging us to lead very humdrum sort of lives. Indeed, the only thing that I can recollect as being at all interesting or amusing-- except, of coarse, the society of my scientific and agreeable friend, Mr Stone, and his amiable family--was a huge barrel-organ, which, like the one that I had found at Oxford House, played a rich variety of psalm tunes, and a choice selection of Scotch reels--the grinding out of which formed the chief solace of my life, until the arrival of an auspicious day when I received sudden orders to prepare for another journey. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Note 1. It may be well to say that the above description applied to the country only in the summer and autumn months. It is now, we believe, an important summer resort, and a comparatively populous place. CHAPTER TWELVE. A JOURNEY ON SNOW-SHOES--EVILS OF SNOW-SHOE TRAVELLING IN SPRING--VALUE OF TEA TO A TIRED MAN--ENCAMP IN THE SNOW--ISLE JEREMIE--CANOEING AND BOATING ON THE GULF OF ST. LAWRENCE--AMATEUR NAVIGATING--SEVEN ISLANDS-- A NARROW ESCAPE--CONCLUSION. It was on a cold, bleak morning, about the beginning of March 1846, that I awoke from a comfortable snooze in my bedroom at Tadousac, and recollected that in a few hours I must take leave of my present quarters, and travel, on snow-shoes, sixty miles down the Gulf of St. Lawrence to the post of Isle Jeremie. The wind howled mournfully through the leafless trees, and a few flakes of snow fell upon the window as I looked out upon the cheerless prospect. Winter--cold, biting, frosty winter--still reigned around. The shores of Tadousac Bay were still covered with the same coat of ice that had bound them up four months before; and the broad St. Lawrence still flowed on, black as ink, and laden with immense fields and hummocks of dirty ice, brought down from the banks of the river above. The land presented one uniform chilling prospect of bare trees and deep snow, over which I was soon to traverse many a weary mile. There is nothing, however, like taking things philosophically; so, after venting my spite at the weather in one or two short grumbles, I sat down in a passable state of equanimity to breakfast. During the meal I discussed with Mr Stone the prospects of the impending journey, and indulged in a few excursive remarks upon snow-shoe travelling, whilst he related a few incidents of his own eventful career in the country. On one occasion he was sent off upon a long journey over the snow, where the country was so mountainous that snowshoe walking was rendered exceedingly painful, by the feet slipping forward against the front bar of the shoe when descending the hills. After he had accomplished a good part of his journey, two large blisters rose under the nails of his great toes; and soon the nails themselves came off. Still he must go on, or die in the woods; so he was obliged to _tie_ the nails on his toes each morning before starting, for the purpose of protecting the tender parts beneath; and every evening he wrapped them up carefully in a piece of rag, and put them into his waistcoat pocket--_being afraid of losing them if he kept them on all night_. After breakfast I took leave of my friends at Tadousac, and, with a pair of snow-shoes under my arm, followed my companion Jordan to the boat which was to convey me the first twenty miles of the journey, and then land me, with one man, who was to be my only companion. In the boat was seated a Roman Catholic priest, on his way to visit a party of Indians a short distance down the gulf. The shivering men shipped their oars in silence, and we glided through the black water, while the ice grated harshly against the boat's sides as we rounded Point Rouge. Another pull, and Tadousac was hidden from our view. Few things can be more comfortless or depressing than a sail down the Gulf of St. Lawrence on a gloomy winter's day, with the thermometer at zero! The water looks so black and cold, and the sky so gray, that it makes one shudder, and turn to look upon the land. But there no cheering prospect meets the view. Rocks--cold, hard, misanthropic rocks--grin from beneath volumes of snow; and the few stunted black-looking pines that dot the banks here and there only tend to render the scene more desolate. No birds fly about to enliven the traveller; and the only sound that meets the ear, besides the low sighing of the cold, cold wind, is the crashing of immense fields of ice, as they meet and war in the eddies of opposing currents. Fortunately, however, there was no ice near the shore, and we met with little interruption on the way. The priest bore the cold like a stoic; and my friend Jordan, being made, metaphorically speaking, of iron, treated it with the contemptuous indifference that might be expected from such metal. In the evening we arrived at Esquimain River, where we took up our quarters in a small log-hut belonging to a poor seal-fisher, whose family, and a few men who attended a sawmill a short distance off, were the only inhabitants of this little hamlet. Here we remained all night, and prepared our snow-shoes for the morrow, as the boat was there to leave us and return to Tadousac. The night was calm and frosty, and everything gave promise of fine weather for our journey. But who can tell what an hour will bring forth? Before morning the weather became milder, and soon it began to _thaw_. A fine warm day, with a bright sun, be it known, is one of the most dreadful calamities that can befall a snowshoe traveller, as the snow then becomes soft and sticky, thereby drenching the feet and snow-shoes, which become painfully heavy from the quantity of snow which sticks to and falls upon them. In cold frosty weather the snow is dry, crisp, and fine, so that it falls through the network of the snow-shoe without leaving a feather's weight behind, while the feet are dry and warm; but a thaw!--oh! it is useless attempting to recapitulate the miseries attending a thaw; my next day's experience will show what it is. Early on the following morning I jumped from my bed on the floor of the hut, and proceeded to equip myself for the march. The apartment in which I had passed the night presented a curious appearance. It measured about sixteen feet by twelve, and the greater part of this space was occupied by two beds, on which lay, in every imaginable position, the different members of the half-breed family to whom the mansion belonged. In the centre of the room stood a coarsely-constructed deal table, on which lay in confusion the remains of the preceding night's supper. On the right of this, a large gaudily-painted Yankee clock graced the wall, and stared down upon the sleeping figures of the men. This, with a few rough wooden chairs and a small cupboard, comprised all the furniture of the house. I soon singled out _my_ man from among the sleeping figures on the floor, and bade him equip himself for the road--or rather for the march, for road we had none. In half an hour we were ready; and having fortified ourselves with a cup of weak tea and a slice of bread, left the house and commenced our journey. My man Bezeau (a French Canadian) was dressed in a blue striped cotton shirt, of very coarse quality, and a pair of corduroys, strapped round his waist with a scarlet belt. Over these he wore a pair of blue cloth leggins, neatly bound with orange-coloured ribbon. A Glengarry bonnet covered his head; and two pairs of flannel socks, under a pair of raw seal-skin shoes, protected his feet from the cold. His burden consisted of my carpet-bag, two days' provisions, and a blue cloth capote--which latter he carried over his shoulder, the weather being warm. My dress consisted of a scarlet flannel shirt, and a pair of _etoffe du pays_ trousers, which were fastened round my waist by a leathern belt, from which depended a small hunting-knife; a foraging cap and deer-skin moccasins completed my costume. My burden was a large green blanket, a greatcoat, and a tin tea-kettle. Our only arms of offence or defence were the little hunting-knife before mentioned, and a small axe for felling trees, should we wish to make a fire. We brought no guns, as there was little prospect of meeting any game on the road; and it behoves one, when travelling on foot, to carry as little as possible. Thus we started from Esquimain River. The best joke, however, of all was, that neither I nor my man had ever travelled that way before! All we knew was, that we had to walk fifty miles through an uninhabited country, and that then we should, or at least ought to, reach Isle Jeremie. There were two solitary houses, however, that we had to pass on the way; the one an outpost of the Hudson Bay Company, the other a saw-mill belonging to one of the lumber companies (or timber-traders) in Quebec. In fact, the best idea of our situation may be had from the following lines, which may be supposed to have been uttered by the establishment to which we were bound:-- "Through the woods, through the woods, follow and find me, Search every hollow, and dingle, and dell; To the right, left, or front, you may pass, or behind me, Unless you are careful, and look for me well." The first part of our road lay along the shores of the St. Lawrence. The sun shone brightly, and the drifting ice in the gulf glittered in its rays as it flowed slowly out to sea; but ere long the warm rays acted upon the snow, and rendered walking toilsome and fatiguing. After about an hour's walk along the shore, we arrived at the last hut we were likely to see that day. It was inhabited by an Indian and his family. Here we rested a few minutes, and I renewed my snow-shoe lines, the old ones having broken by the way. Shortly after this we passed the wreck of what had once been a fine ship. She lay crushed and dismasted among the rocks and lumps of ice which lined the desolate shore, her decks and the stumps of her masts drifted over with snow. Six short months before, she had bounded over the Atlantic wave in all the panoply of sail and rigging pertaining to a large three-master, inclosing in her sturdy hull full many a daring heart beating high with sanguine hopes, and dreaming of fame and glory, or perchance of home. But now, how great the change!--her sails and masts uprooted, and her helm--the seaman's confidence and safeguard-- gone; her bed upon the rocks and pebbles of a dreary shore; and her shattered hull hung round with icicles, and wrapped in the cold embraces of the wintry ocean. Few things, I think, can have a more inexpressibly melancholy appearance than a wreck upon a rocky and deserted shore in winter. The road now began to get extremely bad. The ice, over which we had to walk for miles, had been covered with about six inches of water and snow. A sharp frost during the night had covered this with a cake of ice sufficiently strong to bear us up until we got fairly upon it, and were preparing to take another step, when down it went--so that we had a sort of natural treadmill to exercise ourselves upon all day; while every time we sank, as a matter of course our snowshoes were covered with a mixture of water, snow, and broken ice, to extricate our feet from which almost pulled our legs out of the sockets. In this way we plodded slowly and painfully along, till we came to a part of the shore where the ice had been entirely carried off, leaving the sandy beach uncovered for about two miles. We gladly took advantage of this, and, pulling off our snow-shoes, walked along among the shells and tangle of the sea-shore. At this agreeable part of our journey, while we walked lightly along, with our snow-shoes under our arms, I fell into a reverie upon the superior advantages of travelling in cold weather, and the delights of walking on sandy beaches in contrast with wet snow. These cogitations, however, were suddenly interrupted by our arrival at the place where the ice had parted from the general mass; so, with a deep sigh, we resumed our snow-shoes. My feet, from the friction of the lines, now began to feel very painful; so, having walked about ten miles, I proposed taking a rest. To this my man, who seemed rather tired, gladly acceded, and we proceeded to light a fire under the stem of a fallen tree which opportunely presented itself. Here we sat down comfortably together; and while our wet shoes and socks dried before the blazing fire, and our chafed toes wriggled joyously at being relieved from the painful harness of the snow-shoes, we swallowed a cup of congou with a degree of luxurious enjoyment, appreciable only by those who have walked themselves into a state of great exhaustion after a hurried breakfast. Greatly refreshed by the tea, we resumed our journey in better spirits, and even affected to believe we were taking an agreeable afternoon walk for the first mile or so. We soon, however, fell to zero again, as we gazed wistfully upon the long line of coast stretching away to the horizon. But there was no help for it; on we splashed, sometimes through ice, water, and snow, and sometimes across the shingly beach, till the day was far spent, when I became so exhausted that I could scarcely drag one foot after the other, and moved along almost mechanically. My man, too, strong as he was, exhibited symptoms of fatigue; though, to do him justice, he was at least seven times more heavily laden than I. While we jogged slowly along in this unenviable condition, a lump of ice offered so tempting a seat that we simultaneously proposed to sit down. This was very foolish. Resting without a fire is bad at all times; and the exhausted condition we were then in made it far worse, as I soon found to my cost. Tired as I was before, I could have walked a good deal farther; but no sooner did I rise again to my feet than an inexpressible weakness overcame me, and I felt that I could go no farther. This my man soon perceived, and proposed making a fire and having a cup of tea; and then, if I felt better, we might proceed. This I agreed to; so, entering the woods, we dug a hole in the snow, and in half an hour had a fire blazing in it that would have roasted an ox! In a short time a panful of snow was converted into hot tea; and as I sat sipping this, and watching the white smoke as it wreathed upwards from the pipe of my good-natured guide, I never felt rest more delightful. The tea refreshed us so much that we resumed our journey, intending, if possible, to reach Port Neuf during the night; and as we calculated that we had walked between fifteen and eighteen miles, we hoped to reach it in a few hours. Away, then, we went, and plodded on till dark without reaching the post; nevertheless, being determined to travel as long as we could, we pushed on till near midnight, when, being quite _done up_, and seeing no sign of the establishment, we called a council of war, and sat down on a lump of ice to discuss our difficulties. I suggested that if we had not already passed the post, in all probability we should do so, if we continued to travel any farther in the dark. My companion admitted that he entertained precisely the same views on the subject; and, furthermore, that as we both seemed pretty tired, and there happened to be a nice little clump of willows, intermixed with pine trees, close at hand, his opinion was that nothing better could be done than encamping for the night. I agreed to this; and the resolution being carried unanimously, the council adjourned, and we proceeded to make our encampment. First of all, the snow was dug away from the foot of a large pine with our snow-shoes, which we used as spades; and when a space of about ten feet long, by six broad, was cleared, we covered it with pine branches at one end, and made a roaring fire against the tree at the other. The snow rose all around to the height of about four feet, so that when our fire blazed cheerily, and our supper was spread out before it upon my green blanket, we looked very comfortable indeed--and what was of much more consequence, _felt_ so. Supper consisted of a cup of tea, a loaf of bread, and a lump of salt butter. After having partaken largely of these delicacies, we threw a fresh log upon the fire, and rolling ourselves in our blankets, were soon buried in repose. Next morning, on awaking, the first thing I became aware of was the fact that it was raining, and heavily too, in the shape of a Scotch mist. I could scarcely believe it, and rubbed my eyes to make sure; but there was no mistake about it at all. The sky was gray, cold, and dismal, and the blanket quite wet! "Well," thought I, as I fell back in a sort of mute despair, "this is certainly precious weather for snow-shoe travelling!" I nudged my sleeping companion, and the look of melancholy resignation which he put on, as he became gradually aware of the state of matters, convinced me that bad as yesterday had been, to-day would be far worse. When I got upon my legs, I found that every joint in my body was stiffer than the rustiest hinge ever heard of in the annals of doors! and my feet as tender as a chicken's, with huge blisters all over them. Bezeau, however, though a little stiff, was otherwise quite well, being well inured to hardships of every description. It is needless to recount the miseries of the five miles' walk that we had to make before arriving at Port Neuf, over ground that was literally next to impassable. About nine o'clock we reached the house, and remained there for the rest of the day. Here, for three days, we were hospitably entertained by the Canadian family inhabiting the place; during this time it rained and thawed so heavily that we could not venture to resume our journey. On the 16th the weather became colder, and Bezeau announced his opinion that we might venture to proceed. Glad to be once more on the move--for fears of being arrested altogether by the setting-in of spring had begun to beset me--I once more put on my snow-shoes; and, bidding adieu to the hospitable inmates of Port Neuf, we again wended our weary way along the coast. Alas! our misfortunes had not yet ceased. The snow was much softer than we anticipated, and the blisters on my feet, which had nearly healed during the time we stayed at Port Neuf, were now torn open afresh. After a painful and laborious walk of eight or nine miles, we arrived at a small house, where a few enterprising men lived who had penetrated thus far down the gulf to erect a saw-mill. Here we found, to our infinite joy, a small flat-bottomed boat, capable of carrying two or three men; so, without delay, we launched it, and putting our snow-shoes and provisions into it, my man and I jumped in, and pulled away down the gulf, intending to finish the twenty miles that still remained of our journey by water. We were obliged to pull a long way out to sea, to avoid the ice which lined the shore, and our course lay a good deal among drifting masses. Half an hour after we embarked a snow-storm came on, but still we pulled along, preferring anything to resuming the snow-shoes. After a few hours' rowing, we rested on our oars, and refreshed ourselves with a slice of bread and a glass of rum--which latter, having forgotten to bring water with us, we were obliged to drink pure. We certainly cut a strange figure, while thus lunching in our little boat-- surrounded by ice, and looking hazy through the thickly falling snow, which prevented us from seeing very far ahead, and made the mountains on shore look quite spectral. For about five miles we pulled along in a straight line, after which the ice trended outwards, and finally brought us to a stand-still by running straight out to sea. This was an interruption we were not at all prepared for, and we felt rather undecided how to proceed. After a little confabulation, we determined to pull out, and see if the ice did not again turn in the proper direction; but after pulling straight out for a quarter of a mile, we perceived, or imagined we perceived, to our horror, that the ice, instead of being stationary, as we supposed it to be, was floating slowly out to sea with the wind, and carrying us along with it. No time was to be lost; so, wheeling about, we rowed with all our strength for the shore, and after a pretty stiff pull gained the solid ice. Here we hauled the flat up out of the water with great difficulty, and once more put on our snow-shoes. Our road still lay along shore, and, as the weather was getting colder, we proceeded along much more easily than heretofore. In an hour or two the snow ceased to fall, and showed us that the ice was _not_ drifting, but that it ran so far out to sea that it would have proved a bar to our further progress by water at any rate. The last ten miles of our journey now lay before us; and we sat down, before starting, to have another bite of bread and a pull at the rum bottle; after which, we trudged along in silence. The peculiar compression of my guide's lips, and the length of step that he now adopted, showed me that he had made up his mind to get through the last part of the journey without stopping; so, tightening my belt, and bending my head forward, I plodded on, solacing myself as we advanced by humming, "Follow, follow, over mountain,--follow, follow, over sea!" etcetera. About four or five o'clock in the afternoon, upon rounding a point, we were a little excited by perceiving evident signs of the axe having been at work in the forest; and a little farther on discovered, to our inexpressible joy, a small piece of ground enclosed as a garden. This led us to suppose that the post could not be far off, so we pushed forward rapidly; and upon gaining the summit of a small eminence, beheld with delight the post of Isle Jeremie. This establishment, like most of the others on the St. Lawrence, is merely a collection of scattered buildings, most of which are storehouses and stables. It stands in a hollow of the mountains, and close to a large bay, where sundry small boats and a sloop lay quietly at anchor. Upon a little hillock close to the principal house is a Roman Catholic chapel; and behind it stretches away the broad St. Lawrence, the south shore of which is indistinctly seen on the horizon. We had not much inclination, however, to admire the scenery just then; so, hastening down the hill, my man walked into the men's house, where in five minutes he was busily engaged eating bread and pork, and recounting his adventures to a circle of admiring friends; while I warmed myself beside a comfortable fire in the hall, and chatted with the gentleman in charge of the establishment. At Isle Jeremie I remained about six weeks; or rather, I should say, belonged to the establishment for that time, as during a great part of it I was absent from the post. Mr Coral, soon after my arrival, went to visit the Company's posts lower down the St. Lawrence, leaving me in charge of Isle Jeremie; and as I had little or nothing to do in the way of business (our Indians not having arrived from the interior), most of my time was spent in reading and shooting. It was here I took my first lessons in navigation--I mean in a practical way; as for the scientific part of the business, that was deferred to a more favourable opportunity--and, truly, the lessons were rather rough. The way of it was this:--Our flour at Isle Jeremie had run out. Indians were arriving every day calling loudly for flour, and more were expected; so Mr Coral told me, one fine morning, to get ready to go to Tadousac in the boat for a load of flour. This I prepared to do at once, and started after breakfast in a large boat, manned by two men. The wind was fair, and I fired a couple of shots with my fowling-piece, as we cleared the harbour, in answer to an equal number of salutes from two iron cannons that stood in front of the house. By-the-bye, one of these guns had a melancholy interest attached to it a few months after this. While firing a salute of fourteen rounds, in honour of the arrival of a Roman Catholic bishop, one of them exploded while the man who acted as gunner was employed in ramming home the cartridge, and blew him about twenty yards down the bank. The unfortunate man expired in a few hours. Poor fellow! he was a fine little Canadian, and had sailed with me, not many weeks before, in a voyage up the St. Lawrence. But to return. Our voyage, during the first few days, was prosperous enough, and I amused myself in shooting the gulls which were foolish enough to come within range of my gun, and in recognizing the various places along shore where I had rested and slept on the memorable occasion of my snow-shoe trip. But when did the St. Lawrence prove friendly for an entire voyage? Certainly not when I had the pleasure of ploughing its rascally waters! The remainder of our voyage was a succession of squalls, calms, contrary winds, sticking on shoals for hours, and being detained on shore, with an accompaniment of pitching, tossing, oscillation and botheration, that baffles all description. However, time brings the greatest miseries to an end; and in the process of time we arrived at Tadousac--loaded our boat deeply with flour--shook hands with our friends--related our adventures--bade them adieu--and again found ourselves scudding down the St. Lawrence, with a snoring breeze on our quarter. Now this was truly a most delectable state of things, when contrasted with our wretched trip up; so we wrapped our blankets round us (for it was very cold), and felicitated ourselves considerably on such good fortune. It was rather premature, however; as, not long after, we had a very narrow escape from being swamped. The wind, as I said before, was pretty strong, and it continued so the whole way; so that on the evening of the second day we came within sight of Isle Jeremie, while running before a stiff breeze, through the green waves which were covered with foam. Our boat had a "drooping nose," and was extremely partial to what the men termed "drinking;" in other words, it shipped a good deal of water over the bows. Now it happened that while we were straining our eyes ahead, to catch a sight of our haven, an insidious squall was creeping fast down behind us. The first intimation we had of its presence was a loud and ominous hiss, which made us turn our heads round rather smartly; but it was too late--for with a howl, that appeared to be quite vicious the wind burst upon our sails, and buried the boat in the water, which rushed in a cataract over the bows, and nearly filled us in a moment, although the steersman threw her into the wind immediately. The sheets were instantly let go, and one of the men, who happened to be a sailor, jumped up, and, seizing an axe, began to cut down the main-mast, at the same time exclaiming to the steersman, "You've done for us now, Cooper!" He was mistaken, however, for the sails were taken in just in time to save us; and, while the boat lay tumbling in the sea, we all began to bail, with anything we could lay hands on, as fast as we could. In a few minutes the boat was lightened enough to allow of our hoisting the fore-sail; and about half an hour afterwards we were safely anchored in the harbour. This happened within about three or four hundred yards of the shore; yet the best swimmer in the world would have been drowned ere he reached it, as the water was so bitterly cold, that when I was bailing for my life, and, consequently, in pretty violent exercise, my hands became quite benumbed and almost powerless. Shortly after this I was again sent up to Tadousac, in charge of a small bateau, of about ten or fifteen tons, with a number of shipwrecked seamen on board. These unfortunate men had been cast on shore about the commencement of winter, on an uninhabited part of the coast, and had remained without provisions or fire for a long time, till they were discovered by a gentleman of the Hudson Bay Company, and conveyed over the snow in sleighs to the nearest establishment, which happened to be Isle Jeremie. Here they remained all winter, in a most dreadfully mutilated condition, some of them having been desperately frozen. One of the poor fellows, a negro, had one of his feet frozen off at the ankle, and had lost all the toes and the heel of the other, the bone being laid bare for about an inch and a half. Mr Coral, the gentleman who had saved them, did all in his power to relieve their distress-- amputating their frozen limbs, and dressing their wounds, while they were provided with food and warm clothing. I am sorry to say, however, that these men, who would have perished had it not been for Mr Coral's care of them, were the first, upon arriving at Quebec the following spring, to open their mouths in violent reproach and bitter invective against him; forgetting that, while their only charge against him was a little severity in refusing them a few trifling and unnecessary luxuries, he had saved them from a painful and lingering death. In a couple of days we arrived at Tadousac the second time, to the no small astonishment of my brother scribbler residing there. After reloading our craft, we directed our course once more down the gulf. This time the wind was also favourable, but, unfortunately, a little too strong; so we were obliged, in the evening, to come to an anchor in Esquimain River. This river has good anchorage close to the bank, but is very deep in the lead, or current; this, however, we did not know at the time, and seeing a small schooner close to shore, we rounded to a few fathoms outside of her, and let go our anchor. Whirr! went the chain--ten! twelve! sixteen! till at last forty fathoms ran out, and only a little bit remained on board, and still we had no bottom. After attaching our spare cable to the other one, the anchor at last grounded. This, however, was a dangerous situation to remain in, as, if the wind blew strong, we would have to run out to sea, and so much cable would take a long time to get in; so I ordered my two men, in a very pompous, despotic way, to heave up the anchor again. But not a bit would it budge. We all heaved at the windlass; still the obstinate anchor held fast. Again we gave another heave, and smashed both the handspikes. In this dilemma I begged assistance from the neighbouring schooner, and they kindly sent all their men on board with new handspikes; but our refractory anchor would _not_ let go, and at last it was conjectured that it had got foul of a rock, and that it was not in the power of mortal man to move it. Under these pleasant circumstances we went to bed, in hopes that the falling tide might swing us clear before morning. This turned out just as we expected--or, rather, a little better--for next morning, when I went on deck, I found that we were drifting quietly down the gulf, stern foremost, all the sails snugly tied up, and the long cable dragging at the bows! Towards evening we arrived at Jeremie, and I gladly resigned command of the vessel to my first lieutenant. One afternoon, near the middle of April, I sat sunning myself in the veranda before the door of the principal house at Isle Jeremie, and watched the fields of ice, as they floated down the Gulf of St. Lawrence, occasionally disappearing behind the body of a large pig, which stood upon a hillock close in front of me, and then reappearing again as the current swept them slowly past the intervening obstacle. Mr Coral, with whom I had been leading a very quiet, harmless sort of life for a couple of weeks past, leant against a wooden post, gazing wistfully out to sea. Suddenly he turned towards me, and with great gravity told me that, as there was nothing particular for me to do at the establishment, he meant to send me down to Seven Islands, to relieve the gentleman at that post of his charge; adding, that as he wished me to set off the following morning at an early hour, I had better pack up a few things to-night. Now, this order may not seem, at the first glance, a very dreadful one; but taking into consideration that Seven Islands is one hundred and twenty miles below the post at which I then resided, it did appear as if one would wish to think about it a little before starting. Not having time to think about it, however, I merely, in a sort of bantering desperation, signified my readiness to undertake a voyage to any part of the undiscovered world, at any moment he (Mr Coral) might think proper, and then vanished, to prepare myself for the voyage. It was optional with me whether I should walk through one hundred and twenty miles of primeval and most impassable forest, or paddle over an equal number of miles of water. Preferring the latter, as being at once the less disagreeable and more expeditious method, I accordingly, on the following morning, embarked in a small Indian canoe, similar to the one in which I had formerly travelled with two Indians in the North-West. My companions were--a Canadian, who acted as steersman; a genuine Patlander, who ostensibly acted as bowsman, but in reality was more useful in the way of ballast; and a young Newfoundland dog, which I had got as a present from Mr Stone while at Tadousac. When we were all in our allotted places, the canoe was quite full; and we started from Isle Jeremie in good spirits, with the broad, sun-like face of Mike Lynch looming over the bows of the canoe, and the black muzzle of Humbug (the dog) resting on its gunwale. It is needless to describe the voyage minutely. We had the usual amount of bad and good weather, and ran the risk several times of upsetting; we had, also, several breakfasts, dinners, suppers, and beds in the forest; and on the afternoon of the third day we arrived at Goodbout, an establishment nearly half-way between the post I had left and the one to which I was bound. Here we stayed all night, proposing to start again on the morrow. But the weather was so stormy as to prevent us for a couple of days trusting ourselves out in a frail bark canoe. Early on the third morning, however, I took my place as steersman in the stern of our craft (my former guide being obliged to leave me here), and my man Mike squeezed his unwieldy person into the bow. In the middle lay our provisions and baggage, over which the black muzzle of Humbug peered anxiously out upon the ocean. In this trim we paddled from the beach, amid a shower of advice to keep close to shore, in case the _big-fish_--alias, the whales--might take a fancy to upset us. After a long paddle of five or six hours we arrived at Pointe des Monts, where rough weather obliged us to put ashore. Here I remained all night, and slept in the lighthouse--a cylindrical building of moderate height, which stands on a rock off Pointe des Monte, and serves to warn sailors off the numerous shoals with which this part of the gulf is filled. In the morning we fortunately found an Indian with his boat, who was just starting for Seven Islands; and after a little higgling, at which Mike proved himself quite an adept, he agreed to give us a lift for a few pounds of tobacco. Away, then, we went, with:-- "A wet sheet and a flowing sea, And a wind that followed fast," ploughing through the water in beautiful style. The interior of our boat presented a truly ludicrous, and rather filthy scene. The Indian, who was a fine-looking man of about thirty, had brought his whole family--sons, daughters, brothers, sisters, wife, and mother--and a more heterogeneous mass of dirty, dark-skinned humanity I never before had the ill-luck to travel with. The mother of the flock was the most extraordinary being that I ever beheld. She must have been very near a hundred years old, as black and wrinkled as a singed hide, yet active and playful as a kitten. She was a very bad sailor, however, and dived down into the bottom of the boat the moment a puff of wind arose. Indians have a most extraordinary knack of diminishing their bulk, which is very convenient sometimes. Upon this occasion it was amusing to watch them settling gradually down, upon the slightest appearance of wind, until you might almost believe they had squeezed themselves quite through the bottom of the boat, and left only a few dirty blankets to tell the tale. Truly, one rarely meets with such a compact mass of human ballast. If, however, a slight lull occurred, or the sun peeped out from behind a cloud, there was immediately a perceptible increase in the bulk of the mass, and gradually a few heads appeared, then a leg, and soon a few arms; till at last the whole batch were up, laughing, talking, singing, eating, and chattering in a most uproarious state of confusion! After the usual amount of storms, calms, and contrary winds, we arrived in safety at the post of Seven Islands, where I threw my worthy friend Mr Anderson into a state of considerable surprise and agitation by informing him that in the individual before him he beheld his august successor! The establishment of Seven Islands is anything but an inviting place, although pretty enough on a fine day; and the general appearance of the surrounding scenery is lonely, wild, and desolate. The houses are built on a low sandy beach, at the bottom of the large bay of Seven Islands. The trees around are thinly scattered, and very small. In the background, rugged hills stretch as far as the eye can see; and in front, seven lofty islands, from which the bay and post derive their name, obstruct the view, affording only a partial glimpse of the open sea beyond. No human habitations exist within seventy miles of the place. Being out of the line of sailing, no vessels ever visit it, except when driven to the bay for shelter; and the bay is so large, that many vessels come in and go out again without having been observed. Altogether, I found it a lonely and desolate place, during a residence of nearly four months. An extensive salmon-fishery is carried on at a large river called the Moisie, about eighteen miles below the post, where the Company sometimes catch and salt upwards of eighty and ninety tierces of fish. During my sojourn there, I made one or two excursions to the fishery, a description of which may perhaps prove interesting to those versed in the more practical branches of ichthyology. It was a lovely morning in June when Mr Anderson and I set out from Seven Islands on foot, with our coats (for the weather was warm) slung across our backs, and walked rapidly along the beach in the direction of the river Moisie. The weather was very calm, and the mosquitoes, consequently, rather annoying; but, as our progressive motion disconcerted their operations a little, we did not mind them much. The beach all the way was composed of fine hard sand, so that we found the walk very agreeable. A few loons dived about in the sea, and we passed two or three flocks of black ducks, known in some parts of the country by the name of "old wives;" but, having brought no gun with us, the old ladies were permitted to proceed on their way unmolested. The land all along presented the same uniform line of forest, with the yellow sand of the beach glittering at its edge; and as we cleared the islands, the boundless ocean opened upon our view. In about four hours or so we arrived at the mouth of the Moisie, where the first fishery is established. Here we found that our men had caught and salted a good many salmon, some of which had just come from the nets, and lay on the grass, plump and glittering, in their pristine freshness. They looked very tempting, and we had one put in the kettle immediately; which, when we set to work at him soon afterwards, certainly did not belie his looks. The salmon had only commenced to ascend the river that day, and were being taken by fifties at a haul in the nets. The fishery was attended by three men, who kept seven or eight nets constantly in the water, which gave them enough of employment--two of them attending to the nets, while the third split, salted, and packed the fish in large vats. Here we spent the night, and slept in a small house about ten feet long by eight broad, built for the accommodation of the fishermen. Next morning we embarked in a boat belonging to a trapper, and went up the river with a fair wind, to visit the fisheries higher up. On the way we passed a seal-net belonging to the owner of the boat, and at our request he visited it, and found seven or eight fine seals in it: they were all dead, and full of water. Seal-nets are made the same as salmon-nets, except that the mesh is larger, the seal having a pretty good-sized cranium of his own. After a good deal of unravelling and pulling, we got them all out of the net, and proceeded onward with our cargo. The scenery on the river Moisie is pleasing: the banks are moderately high, and covered to the foot with the richest and most variegated verdure; while here and there, upon rounding some of the curvatures of the stream, long vistas of the river may be seen, embedded in luxuriant foliage. Thirteen or fourteen miles up the river is the Frog Creek fishery, at which we arrived late in the afternoon, and found that the man superintending it had taken a good many fish, and expected more. He visited his nets while we were there, but returned with only a few salmon. Some of them were badly cut up by the seals, which are the most formidable enemies of fishermen, as they eat and destroy many salmon, besides breaking the nets. We were detained here by rain all night, and slept in the small fishing-house. Travelling makes people acquainted with strange beds as well as strange bed-fellows; but I question if many people can boast of having slept on a bed of _nets_. This we were obliged to do here, having brought no blankets with us, as we expected to have returned to the Point fishery in the evening. The bedstead was a long low platform, in one end of the little cabin, and was big enough to let four people sleep in it--two of us lying abreast at one end, and two more at the other end, feet to feet. A large salmon-net formed a pretty good mattress; another, spread out on top of us, served as a blanket; and a couple of trout-nets were excellent as pillows. From this _piscatorial_ couch we arose early on the following morning, and breakfasted on a splendid fresh salmon; after which we resumed our journey. In a couple of hours we arrived at the Rapid fishery, where I found that my old friend Mike, the Irishman, had caught a great number of salmon. He was very bitter, however, in his remarks upon the seals, which it seems had made great havoc among his nets during the last two days. A black bear, too, was in the habit of visiting his station every morning, and, sitting on a rock not far off, watched his motions with great apparent interest while he took the fish out of the nets. Mike, poor man, regretted very much that he had no gun, as he might perhaps shoot "the baste." Bears are very destructive at times to the salted salmon, paying visits during the night to the vats, and carrying off and tearing to pieces far more than they are capable of devouring. While inspecting the nets here, we witnessed an interesting seal-hunt. Two Indians, in separate canoes, were floating quietly in a small eddy, with their guns cocked, ready to fire at the first unfortunate seal that should show his head on the surface of the stream. They had not waited long when one popped up his head, and instantly got a shot, which evidently hurt him, as he splashed a little, and then dived. In a minute the Indian reloaded his gun, and paddled out into the stream, in order to have another shot the moment the seal rose for air: this he did in a short time, when another shot was fired, which turned him over apparently lifeless. The Indian then laid down his gun, and seizing his paddle, made towards the spot where the seal lay. He had scarcely approached a few yards, however, when it recovered a little, and dived-- much to the Indian's chagrin, who had approached too near the head of a small rapid, and went down, stern foremost, just at the moment his friend the seal did the same. On arriving at the bottom, the animal, after one or two kicks, expired, and the Indian at last secured his prize. After this, we embarked again in our boat; and the wind _for once_ determined to be accommodating, as it shifted in our favour, almost at the same time that we turned to retrace our way. In a few hours we arrived at the fishery near the mouth of the river, where we found supper just ready. After supper, which we had about eight o'clock, the night looked so fine, and the mosquitoes in the little smoky house were so troublesome, that we determined to walk up to the post; so, ordering one of the men to follow us, away we went along the beach. The night was fine, though dark, and we trudged rapidly along. It was very tiresome work, however, as, the tide being full, we were obliged to walk upon the soft sand. Everything along the beach looked huge and mystical in the uncertain light; and this, accompanied with the solemn boom of the waves as they fell at long intervals upon the shore, made the scene quite romantic. After five hours' sharp walking, with pocket-handkerchiefs tied round our heads to guard us from the attacks of mosquitoes, we arrived at Seven Islands between one and two in the morning. Not long after this, a boat arrived with orders for my companion, Mr Anderson, to pack up his worldly goods and start for Tadousac. The same day he bade me adieu and set sail. In a few minutes the boat turned a point of land, and I lost sight of one of the most kindly and agreeable men whom I have had the good fortune to meet in the Nor'-West. The situation in which I found myself was a novel, and, to say truth, not a very agreeable one. A short way off stood a man watching contemplatively the point round which the boat had just disappeared; and this man was my only companion in the world!--my Friday, in fact. Not another human being lived within sixty miles of our solitary habitation, with the exception of the few men at the distant fishery. In front of us, the mighty Gulf of St. Lawrence stretched out to the horizon, its swelling bosom unbroken, save by the dipping of a sea-gull or the fin of a whale. Behind lay the dense forest, stretching back, without a break in its primeval wildness, across the whole continent of America to the Pacific Ocean; while above and below lay the rugged mountains that form the shores of the gulf. As I walked up to the house, and wandered like a ghost through its empty rooms, I felt inexpressibly melancholy, and began to have unpleasant anticipations of spending the winter at this lonely spot. Just as this thought occurred to me, my dog Humbug bounded into the room, and, looking with a comical expression up in my face for a moment, went bounding off again. This incident induced me to take a more philosophical view of affairs. I began to gaze round upon my domain, and whisper to myself that I was "monarch of all I surveyed." All the mighty trees in the wood were mine--if I chose to cut them down; all the fish in the sea were mine--if I could only catch them; and the palace of Seven Islands was also mine. The regal feeling inspired by the consideration of these things induced me to call in a very kingly tone of voice for my man (he was a French Canadian), who politely answered, "Oui, monsieur." "Dinner!" said I, falling back in my throne, and contemplating through the palace window our vast dominions! On the following day a small party of Indians arrived, and the bustle of trading their furs, and asking questions about their expectations of a good winter hunt, tended to disperse those unpleasant feelings of loneliness that at first assailed me. One of these poor Indians had died while travelling, and his relatives brought the body to be interred in our little burying-ground. The poor creatures came in a very melancholy mood to ask me for a few planks to make a coffin for him. They soon constructed a rough wooden box, in which the corpse was placed, and then buried. No ceremony attended the interment of this poor savage; no prayer was uttered over the grave; and the only mark that the survivors left upon the place was a small wooden cross, which those Indians who have been visited by Roman Catholic priests are in the habit of erecting over their departed relatives. The almost total absence of religion of any kind among these unhappy natives is truly melancholy. The very name of our blessed Saviour is almost unknown by the hundreds of Indians who inhabit the vast forests of North America. It is strange that, while so many missionaries have been sent to the southern parts of the earth, so few should have been sent to the northward. There are not, I believe, more than a dozen or so of Protestant clergymen over the whole wide northern continent. For at least a century these North American Indians have hunted for the white men, and poured annually into Britain a copious stream of wealth. Surely it is the duty of _Christian_ Britain, in return, to send out faithful servants of God to preach the gospel of our Lord throughout their land. The Indians, after spending a couple of days at the establishment-- during which time they sold me a great many furs--set out again to return to their distant wigwams. It is strange to contemplate the precision and certainty with which these men travel towards any part of the vast wilderness, even where their route lies across numerous intricate and serpentine rivers. But the strangest thing of all is, the savage's certainty of finding his way in winter through the trackless forest, to a place where, perhaps, he never was before, and of which he has had only a slight description. They have no compasses, but the means by which they discover the cardinal points is curious. If an Indian happens to become confused with regard to this, he lays down his burden, and, taking his axe, cuts through the bark of a tree; from the thickness or thinness of which he can tell the north point at once, the bark being thicker on that side. For a couple of weeks after this, I remained at the post with my solitary man, endeavouring by all the means in my power to dispel ennui; but it was a hard task. Sometimes I shouldered my gun and ranged about the forest in search of game, and occasionally took a swim in the sea. _I_ was ignorant at the time, however, that there were sharks in the Gulf of St. Lawrence, else I should have been more cautious. The Indians afterwards told me that they were often seen, and several gentlemen who had lived long on the coast corroborated their testimony. Several times Indians have left the shores of the gulf in their canoes, to go hunting, and have never been heard of again, although the weather at the time was calm; so that it was generally believed that shark had upset the canoes and devoured the men. An occurrence that afterwards happened to an Indian renders this supposition highly probable. This man had been travelling along the shores of the gulf with his family--a wife and several children--in a small canoe. Towards evening, as he was crossing a large bay, a shark rose near his canoe, and, after reconnoitring a short time, swam towards it, and endeavoured to upset it. The size of the canoe, however, rendered this impossible; so the ferocious monster actually began to break it to pieces, by rushing forcibly against it. The Indian fired at the shark when he first saw it, but without effect; and, not having time to reload, he seized his paddle and made for the shore. The canoe, however, from the repeated attacks of the fish, soon became leaky, and it was evident that in a few minutes more the whole party would be at the mercy of the infuriated monster. In this extremity the Indian took up his youngest child, an infant of a few months old, and dropped it overboard; and while the shark was devouring it, the rest of the party gained the shore. I sat one morning ruminating on the pleasures of solitude in the _palace_ of Seven Islands, and gazed through the window at my solitary man, who was just leaving an old boat he had been repairing, for the purpose of preparing dinner. The wide ocean, which rolled its waves almost to the door of the house, was calm and unruffled, and the yellow beach shone again in the sun's rays, while Humbug lay stretched out at full length before the door. After contemplating this scene for some time, I rose, and was just turning away from the window, when I descried a _man_, accompanied by a _boy_, walking along the sea-shore towards the house. This unusual sight created in me almost as strong, though not so unpleasant, a sensation as was awakened in the bosom of Robinson Crusoe when he discovered the footprint in the sand. Hastily putting on my cap, I ran out to meet him, and found, to my joy, that he was a trapper of my acquaintance; and, what added immensely to the novelty of the thing, he was also a _white_ man and a gentleman! He had entered one of the fur companies on the coast at an early age, and, a few years afterwards, fell in love with an Indian girl, whom he married; and, ultimately, he became a trapper. He was a fine, good-natured man, and had been well educated: and to hear philosophical discourse proceeding from the lips of one who was, in outward appearance, a regular Indian, was very strange indeed. He was dressed in the usual capote, leggins, and moccasins of a hunter. "What have you got for dinner?" was his first question, after shaking hands with me. "Pork and pancakes," said I. "Oh!" said the trapper; "the first salt, and the latter made of flour and water?" "Just so; and, with the exception of some bread, and a few ground pease in lieu of coffee, this has been my diet for three weeks back." "You might have done better," said the trapper, pointing towards a blue line in the sea; "look, there are fish enough, if you only took the trouble to catch them." As he said this, I advanced to the edge of the water; and there, to my astonishment, discovered that what I had taken for seaweed was a shoal of kippling, so dense that they seemed scarcely able to move. Upon beholding this, I recollected having seen a couple of old hand-nets in some of the stores, which we immediately sent the trapper's son (a youth of twelve) to fetch. In a few minutes he returned with them; so, tucking up our trousers, we both went into the water and scooped the fish out by dozens. It required great quickness, however, as they shot into deep water like lightning, and sometimes made us run in so deep that we wet ourselves considerably. Indeed, the sport became so exciting at last, that we gave over attempting to keep our clothes dry; and in an hour we returned home, laden with kippling, and wet to the skin. The fish, which measured from four to five inches long, were really excellent, and lent an additional relish to the pork, pancakes, and _pease coffee_! I prevailed upon the trapper to remain with me during the following week; and a very pleasant time we had of it, paddling about in a canoe, or walking through the woods, while my companion told me numerous anecdotes, with which his memory was stored. Some of these were grave, and some comical; especially one, in which he described a bear-hunt that he and his son had on the coast of Labrador. He had been out on a shooting expedition, and was returning home in his canoe, when, on turning a headland, he discovered a black bear walking leisurely along the beach. Now the place where he discovered him was a very wild, rugged spot. At the bottom of the bay rose a high precipice, so that Bruin could not escape that way: along the beach, in the direction in which he had been walking, a cape, which the rising tide now washed, prevented his retreating; so that the only chance for the brute to escape was by running past the trapper, within a few yards of him. In this dilemma, the bear bethought himself of trying the precipice; so, collecting himself, he made a bolt for it, and actually managed to scramble up thirty or forty feet, when bang went the boy's gun; but the shot missed, and it appeared as if the beast would actually get away, when the trapper took a deliberate aim and fired. The effect of the shot was so comical, that the two hunters could scarcely re-load their guns for laughing. Bruin, upon receiving the shot, covered his head with his fore-paws, and, curling himself up like a ball, came thundering down the precipice head over heels, raising clouds of dust, and hurling showers of stones down in his descent, till he actually rolled at the trapper's feet; and then, getting slowly up, he looked at him with such a bewildered expression, that the man could scarcely refrain from laughter, even while in the act of blowing the beast's brains out. This man had also a narrow escape of having a _boxing_ match with a moose-deer or elk. The moose had a strange method of fighting with its fore feet, getting up on its hind legs, and boxing, as it were, with great energy and deadly force. The trapper, upon the occasion referred to, was travelling with an Indian, who, having discovered the track of a moose in the snow, set off in chase of it, while the trapper pursued his way with the Indian's pack of furs and provisions on his shoulders. He had not gone far when he heard a shot, and the next moment a moose-deer, as large as a horse, sprang through the bushes and stood in front of him. The animal came so suddenly on the trapper that it could not turn; so, rising up with a savage look, it prepared to strike him, when another shot was fired from among the bushes by the Indian, and the moose, springing nearly its own height into the air, fell dead upon the snow. In chasing the moose during winter in some parts of these countries, where the ground is broken and rugged, the hunters are not unfrequently exposed to the danger of falling over the precipices which the deceptive glare of the snow conceals from view, until, too late, he finds the treacherous snow giving way beneath his feet. On one occasion a young man in the service of the Company received intelligence from an Indian that he had seen fresh tracks of a moose, and being an eager sportsman, he sallied forth, accompanied by the Indian, in chase of it. A long fatiguing walk on the Chipewyan snow-shoes, which are six feet long, brought them within sight of the deer. The young man fired, wounded the animal, and then dashed forward in pursuit. For a long way the deer kept well ahead of them. At length they began to overtake it; but when they were about to fire again, it stumbled and disappeared, sending up a cloud of snow in its fall. Supposing that it had sunk exhausted into one of the many hollows which were formed by the undulations of the ground, the young man rushed headlong towards it, followed at a slower pace by the Indian. Suddenly he stopped and cast a wild glance around him as he observed that he stood on the very brink of a precipice, at the foot of which the mangled carcass of the deer lay. Thick masses of snow had drifted over its edge until a solid wreath was formed, projecting several feet beyond it. On this wreath the young man stood with the points of his long snow-shoes overhanging the yawning abyss; to turn round was impossible, as the exertion requisite to wield such huge snow-shoes would, in all probability, have broken off the mass. To step gently backwards was equally impossible, in consequence of the heels of the shoes being sunk into the snow. In this awful position he stood until the Indian came up, and taking off his long sash, threw the end of it towards him; catching hold of this, he collected all his energies, and giving a desperate bound threw himself backwards at full length. The Indian pulled with all his force on the belt, and succeeded in drawing him out of danger, just as the mass on which he had stood a moment before gave way, and thundered down the cliff, where it was dashed into clouds against the projecting crags long before it reached the foot. About a week after his arrival the trapper departed, and left me again in solitude. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ _The last voyage_.--There is something very sad and melancholy in these words--the last! The last look, the last word, the last smile, even the last shilling, have all a peculiarly melancholy import; but the last _voyage_, to one who has lived, as it were, on travelling--who has slept for weeks and months under the shadow of the forest trees, and dwelt among the wild romantic scenes of the wilderness--has a peculiar and thrilling interest. Each tree I passed on leaving shook its boughs mournfully, as if it felt hurt at being thus forsaken. The very rocks seemed to frown reproachfully, while I stood up and gazed wistfully after each well-known object for the last time. Even the wind seemed to sympathise with the rest; for, while it urged the boat swiftly away from my late home, like a faithful friend holding steadfastly on its favouring course, still it fell occasionally, and rose again in gusts and sighs, as if it wished to woo me back again to solitude. I started on this, the last voyage, shortly after the departure of my friend the trapper, leaving the palace in charge of an unfortunate gentleman who brought a wife and five children with him, which rendered Seven Islands a little less gloomy than heretofore. Five men accompanied me in an open boat; and on the morning of the 25th August we took our departure for Tadousac. And, truly, Nature appeared to be aware that it was my _last_ voyage, for she gave us the most unkind and harassing treatment that I ever experienced at her hands. The first few miles were accomplished pleasantly enough. We had a fair breeze, and not too much of it; but towards the afternoon it shifted, and blew directly against us, so that the men were obliged to take to the oars; and, as the boat was large, it required them all to pull, while I steered. The men were all French Canadians: a merry, careless, but persevering set of fellows, just cut out for the work they had to do, and, moreover, accustomed to it. The boat was a clumsy affair, with two spritsails and a jigger or mizzen; but, notwithstanding, she looked well at a distance, and though incapable of progressing very fast through the water, she could stand a pretty heavy sea. We were badly off, how ever, with regard to camp gear, having neither tent nor oilcloth to protect us should it rain--indeed, all we had to guard us from the inclemency of the weather at night was one blanket each man; but as the weather had been fine and settled for some time back, we hoped to get along pretty well. As for provisions, we had pork and flour, besides a small quantity of burnt-pease coffee, which I treasured up as a great delicacy. Our first encampment was a good one. The night, though dark, was fine and calm, so that we slept very comfortably upon the beach, every man with his feet towards the fire, from which we all radiated like the spokes of a wheel. But our next bivouac was not so good. The day had been very boisterous and wet, so that we lay down to rest in damp clothes, with the pleasant reflection that we had scarcely advanced ten miles. The miseries of our fifth day, however, were so numerous and complicated that it at last became absurd! It was a drizzly damp morning to begin with; soon this gave way to a gale of contrary wind, so that we could scarcely proceed at the rate of half a mile an hour; and in the evening we were under the necessity either of running _back_ five miles to reach a harbour, or of anchoring off an exposed lee-shore. Preferring the latter course, even at the risk of losing our boat altogether, we cast anchor, and leaving a man in the boat, waded ashore. Here things looked very wretched indeed. Everything was wet and clammy. Very little firewood was to be found; and when it was found, we had the greatest difficulty in getting it to light. At last, however, the fire blazed up; and though it still rained, we began to feel, _comparatively speaking_, comfortable. Now, it must have been about midnight when I awoke, wheezing and sniffling with a bad cold, and feeling uncommonly wretched--the fire having gone out, and the drizzly rain having increased--and while I was endeavouring to cover myself a little better with a wet blanket, the man who had been left to watch the boat rushed in among us, and said that it had been driven ashore, and would infallibly go to pieces if not shoved out to sea immediately. Up we all got, and rushing down to the beach, were speedily groping about _in_ the dark, up to our waists in water, while the roaring breakers heaved the boat violently against our breasts. After at least an hour of this work, we got it afloat again, and returned to our beds, where we lay shivering in wet clothes till morning. We had several other nights nearly as bad as this one; and once or twice narrowly escaped being smashed to pieces among rocks and shoals, while travelling in foggy weather. Even the last day of the voyage had something unpleasant in store for us. As we neared the mouth of the river Saguenay the tide began to recede, and ere long the current became so strong that we could not make headway against it; we had no alternative, therefore, but to try to run ashore, there to remain until the tide should rise again. Now it so happened that a sand-bank caught our keel just as we turned broadside to the current, and the water, rushing against the boat with the force of a mill-race, turned it up on one side, till it stood quivering, as if undecided whether or not to roll over on top of us. A simultaneous rush of the men to the elevated side decided the question, and caused it to fall squash down on its keel again, where it lay for the next four or five hours, being left quite dry by the tide. As this happened within a few miles of our journey's end, I left the men to take care of the boat, and walked along the beach to Tadousac. Here I remained some time, and then travelled through the beautiful lakes of Canada and the United States to New York. But here I must pause. As I said before, I write not of civilised but of savage life; and having now o'ershot the boundary, it is time to close. On the 25th of May 1847 I bade adieu to the Western hemisphere, and sailed for England in the good ship _New York_. The air was light and warm, and the sun unclouded, as we floated slowly out to sea, and ere long the vessel bathed her swelling bows in the broad Atlantic. Gradually, as if loath to part, the wood-clad shores of America grew faint and dim; I turned my eyes, for the last time, upon the distant shore: the blue hills quivered for a moment on the horizon, as if to bid us all a long farewell, and then sank into the liquid bosom of the ocean. THE END. 
40019	----	Transcriber's note: Text enclosed by equal signs is in bold face (=bold=). [Illustration: Cover] THE BARREN GROUND OF NORTHERN CANADA [Illustration: Ready for Tracking] THE BARREN GROUND OF NORTHERN CANADA by WARBURTON PIKE [Illustration] New York E. P. Dutton & Company 681 Fifth Avenue Published, 1917, By E. P. Dutton & Co. AUTHOR'S PREFACE TO THE ORIGINAL EDITION In many of the outlying districts of Canada an idea is prevalent, fostered by former travellers, that somewhere in London there exists a benevolent society whose object is to send men incapable of making any useful scientific observations to the uttermost parts of the earth, in order to indulge their taste for sport or travel. Several times before I had fairly started for the North, and again on my return, I was asked if I had been sent out under the auspices of this society, and, I am afraid, rather fell in the estimation of the interviewers when I was obliged to confess that my journey was only an ordinary shooting expedition, such as one might make to the Rocky Mountains or the interior of Africa, and that no great political reformation depended upon my report as to what I had seen. In talking with officers of the Hudson's Bay Company, many of whom had been stationed for long periods in the Athabasca and Mackenzie River districts, I had often heard of a strange animal, a relic of an earlier age, that was still to be found roaming the Barren Ground, the vast desert that lies between Hudson's Bay, the eastern ends of the three great lakes of the North, and the Arctic Sea. This animal was the Musk-ox, but my informants could tell me nothing from personal experience, and all that was known on the subject had been gathered from Indian report. Once or twice some enthusiastic sportsman had made the attempt to reach the land of the Musk-ox, but had never succeeded in carrying out his object; specimens had been secured by the officers of the various Arctic expeditions, but no one had ever seen much of these animals or of the methods of hunting them employed by the Northern Indians. This, then, was the sole object of my journey; to try and penetrate this unknown land, to see the Musk-ox, and find out as much as I could about their habits, and the habits of the Indians who go in pursuit of them every year. But the only white men who had succeeded in getting far out into the Barren Ground were the early explorers,--Hearne, Sir John Franklin, Sir George Back, and Dr. Richardson, while long afterwards Dr. Rae and Stewart and Anderson went in search of the missing Franklin expedition. With the exception of Hearne, who threw in his lot with the Indians, these leaders were all accompanied by the most capable men that could be procured, and no expense was spared in order to make success as certain as possible; yet in spite of every precaution the story of Sir John Franklin's first overland journey and the death of Hood are among the saddest episodes in the history of the Arctic exploration. My best chance seemed to be to follow Hearne's example, and trust to the local knowledge of Indians to help me; and I think, as the sequel showed, that I was right in not taking a crew from Winnipeg. The Indians and half-breeds of the Great Slave Lake, although very hard to manage, are certainly well up in Barren Ground travel; they are possessed of a thorough knowledge of the movements of the various animals at different seasons, and thus run less danger of starvation than strangers, however proficient the latter may be in driving dogs and handling canoes. In following out this plan I naturally passed through a great deal of new country, and discovered, as we white men say when we are pointed out some geographical feature by an Indian who has been familiar with it since childhood, many lakes and small streams never before visited except by the red man. I have attempted in a rough map to mark the chains of lakes by which we reached the Barren Ground, but their position is only approximate, and perhaps not even that, as I had no instruments with which to make correct observations, and in any case should have had little time to use them. Let no eminent geographer waste his time in pointing out the inaccuracies in this map; I admit all the errors before he discovers them. All that I wish to show is that these chains of lakes do exist and can be used as convenient routes, doing away with the often-tried method of forcing canoes up the swift and dangerous streams that fall into the Great Slave Lake from the northern tableland. The success of my expedition is to be attributed entirely to the assistance which was given me by the Hudson's Bay Company, and I take this opportunity of thanking them for all the hospitality that was shown to me throughout my journey; I was never refused a single request that I made, and, although a total stranger, was treated with the greatest kindness by everybody, from the Commissioner at Winnipeg to the engaged servant in the Far North. My thanks are especially due to Lord Anson, one of the directors in London, to Messrs. Wrigley and William Clark at Winnipeg, Mr. Roderick MacFarlane, lately of Stuart's Lake, British Columbia, a well-known northern explorer who put me in the way of making a fair start, Dr. Mackay of Athabasca, Mr. Camsell of Mackenzie River, Mr. Ewen Macdonald of Peace River, and most of all to Mr. Mackinlay of Fort Resolution on the Great Slave Lake, who was my companion during a long summer journey in the Barren Ground. My only excuse for publishing this account of my travels is that the subject is a reasonably new one, and deals with a branch of sport that has never been described. I have spared the reader statistics, and I have kept my story as short as possible. I hope that in return anyone who may be interested in these pages will spare his comments on faulty style, and the various errors into which a man who has spent much time among the big game is sure to fall when he is rash enough to lay down his rifle and take up the pen. I have also cut out the chapter with which these books usually begin,--a description of the monotonous voyage by Atlantic steamer and Canadian Pacific Railway, and start at once from Calgary, a thriving cattle-town close under the eastern foot-hills of the Rocky Mountains. LONDON, 1891. LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS Ready for Tracking _Frontispiece_ PAGE The Old Hudson Bay Post at Edmonton 2 The Hudson Bay Fort at Edmonton 6 The "Grahame" Towing Freight-scows on Lake Athabasca 16 Patching a Birch-bark on the Slave River 26 King Beaulieu 32 A Dead White Wolf 57 The Indians Driving Caribou 89 Making Camp 102 Taking the Post Dogs for Exercise 142 Skins in the Post Store-room 142 Dog-rib Powwow at Fort Resolution 167 A Group of Dog-ribs 167 Starting up the Peace River 233 Junction of the Peace and Smoky Rivers 248 The Arrival of the Dog Train 295 Edmonton 298 MAP A SKETCH MAP to illustrate Mr. Warburton Pike's journeys to the Barren Ground of Northern Canada _To face p._ 302 THE BARREN GROUND OF NORTHERN CANADA THE BARREN GROUND OF NORTHERN CANADA CHAPTER I In the middle of June, 1889, I left Calgary for a drive of two hundred miles to Edmonton, the real starting-point for the great northern country controlled by the Hudson's Bay Company, and, with the exception of their scattered trading-posts, and an occasional Protestant or Roman Catholic Mission, entirely given up to what it was evidently intended for, a hunting-ground for the Indian. My conveyance was a light buckboard, containing my whole outfit, which was as small as possible, consisting almost entirely of ammunition for a 12-bore Paradox and a 50-95 Winchester Express, besides a pair of large blankets and a little necessary clothing. Forest fires were raging in the Rocky Mountains close at hand, and the thick smoke obscuring the sun, the heat was not nearly so fierce as usual at this time of the year; the road was good for a prairie road, and comfortable stopping-places each night made the journey quite easy. About sixty miles out the country loses the appearance of what is known among cattlemen as the bald-headed prairie, and is dotted with clumps of poplar, and occasionally pines; half way to Edmonton the road crosses the broad stream of the Red Deer, and passes through the most attractive country that I have seen in the north-west territories. It is being rapidly settled, and, with the convenience of a railway now building between Calgary and Edmonton, cannot fail to be an important farming and stock-raising district within a few years. On the morning of the fifth day I reached Edmonton, a pleasant little town scattered along the far bank of the North Saskatchewan, and historical in the annals of the Hudson's Bay Company, by whom it was established as a fur trading-post many years ago; it is fated shortly to lose its individuality in the stream of advancing civilization, and will probably develop into an ordinary prairie-town of some importance. [Illustration: Old Hudson Bay Post at Edmonton] Finding that I had no time to spare if I wished to catch the steamer down the Athabasca river, I left again the same evening, after buying a small supply of flour and bacon. I changed the buckboard for a wagon, having for driver a French half-breed who had spent his early life on the prairie in buffalo-hunting, but, on the extinction of the game, had been earning a living by freighting for the Hudson's Bay Company, and farming on a small scale. He was a much pleasanter companion than the smartly dressed young man, "come of good folks in the East," who had been my driver from Calgary, and many an interesting tale he told me on our three-days' journey to the banks of the Athabasca; tales of the good old times when the buffalo were thick, and the Crees waged perpetual war against the Blackfeet, and whisky formed the staple article of trade for the Indian's fur. At the present day the Prohibition Act orders that even the white men of the north-west territories must be temperate, thereby causing whisky to be dear and bad, but plentiful withal, and it is surprising how such a law exists in a country where nine men out of ten not only want to drink, but do drink in open defiance of the commands of a motherly Government. A fair road some hundred miles in length has been made by the Hudson's Bay Company through a rolling sandy country, crossing several large streams and passing through a good deal of thick pine timber where some heavy chopping must have been necessary. The flies bothered us greatly; the large bulldogs, looking like a cross between a bee and a blue-bottle, drove the horses almost to madness, and after our mid-day halt it was no easy matter to put the harness on; fortunately we had netting, or the poor beasts would have fared much worse: as it was the blood was streaming from their flanks during the heat of the day. The mosquitos appeared towards evening, but as the nights were usually chilly they only annoyed us for a few hours. There were no houses along the road, but plenty of firewood and feed for the horses; we had a good camp every night, sleeping in the open air, starting very early and resting long in the middle of the day. Two days took us over the divide between the Saskatchewan and Athabasca rivers, and now the water in the little streams that we crossed eventually reached the sea far away in the frozen Arctic Ocean at the mouth of the great Mackenzie. Early on the fourth day we came in sight of the Athabasca running between high pine-clad banks, and, dropping down a steep hill, found the Company's steamer loading up with freight for the far north. This spot is known as the Athabasca landing, and consists of a large depot for goods, trading-store, and several workmen's houses, while the house of the officer in charge stands on the hillside a little way back from the river. From the landing there is water communication down stream, broken of course by portages, to the Arctic sea, while the Lesser Slave Lake lies within a few days' travel up stream, from the north end of which a road seventy-five miles in length has been cut to the bank of Peace River. I spent a pleasant enough day loafing about, Mr. Wood, who was in charge, showing me great kindness and giving me much useful information about my route, and at twelve o'clock the following day we started down stream. The only other passengers were a Mr. Flett and his wife and daughter, who were on their way to take charge of Fort Smith during the coming winter. Mr. Flett was just returning from a visit to his native country, the Orkney Islands, after an absence of forty-four years in the service of the Company, all of which time was spent in the wildest part of the North. He was full of the wonderful changes that had taken place since he was a boy, but finding himself completely lost in civilization, had hurried back to the land of snow. Unfortunately Mrs. Flett had been unable to stand the climate of the old country, and was quite broken down in her health. I was sorry to hear during the winter that she died a few days after we left her at Fort Chipeweyan. Owing to the very light snowfall in the mountains in the winter of 1888-89, the water in the river was unusually low, and, as we expected, on the third day the steamer, a large light-draught stern-wheeler, after striking several times on shallow bars, had to abandon the attempt to reach the Grand Rapids. We accordingly tied up to the bank, and, sending a skiff down to take the news, awaited the arrival of boats from below to take our cargo. For ten days we lay at the junction of Pelican River, a small stream coming in on the north side of the Athabasca. There was absolutely nothing to do; the low gravelly banks on each side were fringed with thick willows backed by a narrow belt of poplars, and behind these the gloomy pine woods, with here and there a solitary birch, stretched away in an unbroken mass as far as the eye could see. The forest was alive with mosquitos, although owing to the low water in the river they were said to be much less numerous than usual; they were sufficiently thick however to make any exploration in the woods a misery. Fishing we tried without much result, and everybody was pleased when at last Mr. Scott Simpson, who was in charge of the river transport that summer, arrived with two boats. The steamer's cargo was unloaded, partly into the boats and partly on to the bank, and early in the morning she started back for the landing while we proceeded on our journey down stream. These inland boats, as they are termed, are extraordinary specimens of marine architecture, long open craft, classified according to shape as York boats, sturgeon-heads, and scows, capable of carrying a load of ten tons, manned by a crew of eight oars and a steersman, rowed down stream and tracked up, running rapids and bumping on rocks. Planks, nails, and pitch are always kept ready to effect repairs, and are in frequent demand. The crews are generally half-breeds from the Lesser Slave Lake and Lake La Biche, both of which pour their waters into the Athabasca; but there are also volunteers from all parts of the North, as the wages are good and the work is suited to the half-breed's character, besides the certainty of receiving rations every day, which is a great attraction in a land of scarcity. Sometimes crews of Locheaux Indians are sent up from the Mackenzie, and have the reputation of being the best workers; they certainly seemed to me to be less given to rebellion and more easily managed than the half-breeds. The boats are steered with a huge sweep passed through a ring in the stern post, and great responsibility rests on the steersman, who at times requires all his skill and strength to throw the heavily-laden boat clear of a rock in a boiling rapid. [Illustration: The Hudson Bay Fort at Edmonton] In three days, without accident, we reached the island at the head of the Grand Rapids, just in time to rescue a Company's clerk named Mackay from a very unenviable position. He had come up with the boat-brigade from Fort MacMurray, and, provisions running short, had travelled overland accompanied by a half-breed to meet the steamer from which they expected to get supplies to take down to the crews. On reaching the island they were unable to attract the attention of the man left in charge of the freight lying there, so they walked a couple of miles up the north bank and built a raft on which to cross the river. They thought they would be able to pole the raft, but the water proved too deep, and being unable to get steerage way on her, they soon broke their unmanageable vessel to pieces against a rock. It was now a case of swimming in a strong current that was forcing them over the big rapid where certain death awaited them; the half-breed succeeded in fetching the island, but Mackay, seeing he was being swept over the fall, swam to a rock and managed to climb on to it. The half-breed found the sole inhabitant of the island in his cabin, but there was no boat in which to go to the rescue, and if there had been it was no easy matter for two men to lower it down, without all going over the rapid. They were engaged in building a raft to make the attempt when they saw our brigade coming down the river. By the aid of a long line and plenty of hands the smallest boat was lowered down to the rocks, and what might have been a very serious accident was luckily averted. Mackay was much chilled by sitting on the rocks for several hours in wet clothes after two days without eating; but, when he had had a good meal he was none the worse for his rough experience, and, as is always the case when the danger is past, had plenty of chaff to put up with. The channel on the south side of the island can be used for dropping a light boat down with a line, but all cargo has to be portaged; the north channel is quite impracticable for navigation, having a heavy overfall with an immense body of broken water. The whole river-bed above the island is covered with round boulders of soft sandstone, many above water, which make the approach to the landing difficult. The north bank is a sand-bluff with many similar boulders protruding from the steep cliff, the south bank lower and timbered close to the water's edge. Many perfect specimens of petrifaction are to be seen on the island and along the river-banks. The portage is the whole length of the island, about one thousand yards, and a rough tramway has been built to save the labour of carrying cargoes such a distance on men's backs; this tramway is a splendid plaything for the crews, and they spend hours in running the trolley down the hill and poling it up on the principle of a canoe ascending a rapid. Here we passed two weeks in waiting for the boats from below to take the whole of the steamer's load, which during this time was brought down by the same boats that we had used. The time slipped away quickly, though we did nothing but smoke and yarn, and towards the end of July the brigade turned up, bringing the first consignment of furs and the news from the North. We were soon off on our hundred-and-fifty-miles' run to Fort MacMurray, and the travelling was now exciting enough, a succession of rapids making hard work for the men, as several had to be run with half loads and the boats tracked up for the other half, and at a small cascade everything had to be portaged while the boats were dropped over with a line. The worst rapid goes by the name of the Boiler Rapid, from the fact of the boiler for the steamer _Wrigley_ which plies on Mackenzie River having been lost here through the breaking of a boat. Here the channel has a bad turn in the strong water, and neat steering is required to clear two reefs of rocks which lie in an awkward position in the middle of the stream. Sometimes there were long stretches of quiet water between the rapids, and the boats drifted with the current while the men smoked or slept; occasionally some one would strike up a snatch from one of the old French-Canadian _chansons_, which seem to be dropping out of fashion entirely since the steamers have to such a large extent done away with the old style of boating. Four, five, and on long days sometimes six times we put ashore to eat; a wonderful amount of flour, bacon, and tea being consumed by the fifty men composing the brigade. Considering the distance from which the provisions are brought, the inability of this part of the country to supply any of the necessaries of life, and the importance of forwarding trading-goods to the northern districts before the short summer closes, it is not surprising that there should be at times a scarcity. On the present occasion, however, there was no stint, and fine weather made the trip delightful. At night the boats were run ashore, and each crew lighting their own fire, the encampment presented a most picturesque appearance, the gaudy belts and head-gear of the swarthy crews as they moved in the firelight showing in strong contrast to the dark background of tall pine trees. We generally chose as exposed a place as possible for the camp, to get the benefit of any wind there might be to blow away the mosquitos, which were bad in this part of the river. I had the post of honour in the leading boat steered by the guide of the brigade, a Swampy Indian from the Red-River country who had spent many years in voyaging for the Hudson's Bay Company. In former days the guide was absolute dictator and had full control over all the boats, but nowadays discipline is slack and he seems to have little authority. It was a pretty sight to see the long string of boats leaping the rapids behind us, the bowsman standing up and pointing the course to the steersman, while the rowers plied their utmost and broke out into the wild shouts that can never be suppressed in moments of excitement. The Cree language forms the medium of conversation, although many of the half-breeds talk fluently in Red-River French; English is little spoken in any part of the North that I visited. On the afternoon of the fourth day we arrived at Fort MacMurray, a small post of little importance, standing at the junction of the Athabasca and the Clearwater River, a large stream coming in from the southward, and until the completion of the Canadian Pacific Railway to Calgary the main route to the North. The outfits sent from Winnipeg used to reach the waters falling into the Arctic Sea far up the Clearwater at the northern end of what was known as the Long Portage, but the present route is much simpler, as there is no up-stream work with loaded boats. After leaving Fort MacMurray the old course is maintained, following down stream the main artery of the northern watershed. The stern-wheel steamer _Grahame_ was waiting for us in the mouth of the Clearwater, with Dr. Mackay, the Hudson's Bay Company's officer in charge of the Athabasca district of which MacMurray is the most southerly post. It extends to the north as far as Fort Resolution on the Great Slave Lake, and also takes in Fort Chipeweyan, the head-post of the district, situated at the west end of the Athabasca Lake, Fond du Lac at the east end of the same sheet of water, Vermillion and Little Red River on the Lower Peace River, and Fort Smith at the foot of the rapids on the Slave River. It is no sinecure for the man that has to keep this vast extent of country supplied with everything necessary for the existence of the Indians, making the best bargain he can for the products of their hunts, and endeavouring to please the Chipeweyans in the woods and the shareholders of the Company in England at the same time. The cargo was put on board the steamer in the evening, and in the early morning we started once more for the North. The water was still exceedingly low, but not so much so as to be an impediment to navigation, as the stream increases in size after the junction of the Clearwater, and beyond scraping once or twice on sand-bars, our progress was uninterrupted. About twenty miles below MacMurray we stopped to take on wood and pitch from the natural tar deposits which are just beginning to attract a little attention in Eastern Canada, and the geologists, about to be sent from Ottawa to examine into the resources of this part of the country, will doubtless make a thorough investigation of the amount and quality of the deposit. The whole of that day we steamed through a wilderness of pine timber presenting exactly the same appearance as in the upper reaches of the river, but on the following morning the banks became low and swampy, the stream sluggish and divided into various branches, and a few miles of intricate navigation brought us out on to the Athabasca Lake. Across on the north shore we could make out the white houses and church of Fort Chipeweyan, and after a couple of hours' steaming, with smooth water, we were alongside the rather rough apology for a landing-place. Fort Chipeweyan was established in the early days of fur-trading, and a hundred years ago was the starting-point of Sir Alexander Mackenzie's voyage of discovery that resulted in the exploration and naming of the immense stream discharging from the Great Slave Lake. It was the scene of many stirring events during the rivalry of the North-West and the Hudson's Bay Companies, and since their amalgamation has always been an important trading-post. At the present day it consists of a long row of white painted log-houses occupied chiefly by the Company's servants; at the southern end are the officers' quarters in close proximity to the large trading and provision stores; at the north end stand the Protestant church and Mission buildings, and farther along the lake is the Roman Catholic establishment. The numerous houses form quite an imposing sight in contrast to the surrounding desolation. The settlement is almost at the west end of the Athabasca Lake which stretches away some two hundred and fifty miles to the eastward, with Fond du Lac, a small outpost, at the far end. Since the steamers have been running Chipeweyan has been partly supplied with the provisions of civilization, but is still chiefly dependent on its fisheries for food, and great pains are taken in the autumn to store as many whitefish as possible. At the commencement of cold weather every available net is working and the fish are hung on stages to freeze; a large number are spoilt for eating if the weather turns warm during hanging-time, but they are always available for the dogs. Trout-lines are worked all the winter, and if the supply seems to be running short, nets are also set under the ice, but usually without such good results as at the Fall fishery. Caribou from the Barren Ground sometimes wander near Fond du Lac, and whenever this occurs the fort is kept well supplied by the Indians, but an occasional moose affords as a rule the only chance of fresh meat. Many geese and ducks are killed and salted during the spring and autumn migration of wild-fowl, which come to the Athabasca Lake at these periods in vast numbers. Chipeweyan has a large population for the part of the world in which it is situated, and as there is a proportionate consumption of food no chance of laying in a stock is missed. The lake still affords an excellent field for exploration, as beyond the main route to the east end and some of the nearer fisheries very little is known to the Whites, and the country in every direction from Fond du Lac is mapped chiefly on information derived from Indians. It is unlikely that there are any startling discoveries to be made, as the general character of the country seems to be the same as that of the district lying to the north and east of the Great Slave Lake, developing gradually into the Barren Ground; but there must be many geographical features in the form of streams and lakes to be noticed, which might amply repay the trouble of a summer's exploration. All supplies can easily be taken by water-carriage as far as the east end of the lake, though of course the well-known difficulty of transporting provisions into the Barren Ground would commence as soon as the main lake was left. CHAPTER II After a stay of a few hours at the Fort, we started again in the _Grahame_ on our voyage to the head of the rapids at Fort Smith, a distance of perhaps a hundred miles, and almost immediately passed into the main stream leaving the lake, and until the junction of the Peace bearing the name of the Rocky River. During the high water in summer part of the water of the Peace finds its way into the Athabasca Lake by a passage known as the Quatres Fourches, but as the floods subside a slight current sets in the opposite direction; the lake thus has another outlet into the Peace, which eventually joins the Rocky River about thirty miles below; the combined stream is then called the Slave River till it debouches into the Great Slave Lake, on leaving which it becomes the Mackenzie. A distinct alteration in the appearance of the country is visible on leaving Fort Chipeweyan. The red granite rock shows up and the pine timber is smaller and more scattered, burnt in many places, and mixed with a thick growth of willows and berry-producing bushes; the scenery from the river is monotonous and without landmarks, although a wider view can be obtained than in running down the Athabasca, where the big pine-trees prevent all chance of seeing far in any direction. The current is of no great velocity with the exception of two small rapids formed by the contraction of the channel; both are navigable, although at certain stages of water it is necessary to put out a rope to assist the steamer in mounting the more formidable of the two. We had a very merry passage down, Dr. Mackay and several of the officers of his district accompanying us, and in good time on the second day we tied up to the bank on the west side of the river, just at the head of the rapids. [Illustration: The Grahame Towing Freight-scows on Lake Athabasca] I must take this opportunity of congratulating the Hudson's Bay Company on the efficient manner in which their steamers are managed. Considering the utter incapacity of the Indian and half-breed crews when they first come on board, great praise is due to the captains and engineers for their success in overcoming obstacles in navigation and carrying on the Company's business in a country so remote from civilization. Everything is done in a quiet and orderly way, and a very noticeable feature is the total absence of the swearing and profanity so essential to the well-being of a river-steamer in other parts of the American continent. The next day the work of portaging began, as the whole cargo had to be transported sixteen miles to the lower end of the rapids. In former days the goods were taken down by water, necessitating many portages and great delay; but within the last few years a road has been cut through the woods on the west side of the river, and the portage is made with Red-River carts drawn by oxen. Twenty carts are in use, starting loaded and returning light, on alternate days. The road is fair in a dry summer, but full of mud-holes in bad weather, and celebrated as the worst place for mosquitos in all the North. While this was going on we amused ourselves with duck-shooting on some lakes and muskegs a few miles back from the landing, and our bag was always a welcome addition to the table, as no other kind of fresh meat was to be had. Big game is very scarce along the main route, and though there are still a few moose and bear it is rarely that an animal is seen close to the banks of the river. As soon as the cargo was all over we went across to Fort Smith, standing just below the rapids, to await the arrival of the Mackenzie River steamboat which was expected at any time. Dr. Mackay took me down the old boat-route in a canoe, and I had a good opportunity of seeing what labour and risk there must have been with heavily-laden boats; we made some fifteen portages in all, which occupied a long afternoon, with only a light canoe. A large colony of pelicans have taken possession of some islands among the rapids, and rear their young without fear of molestation. Fort Smith, in spite of its fine situation on an open flat high above the river, is the most disreputable establishment I came across in the North, and the contrast was more striking as most of the forts are kept rather smartly. Several half-breeds have settled close round, and a large band of Indians, known as the Caribou-Eaters, whose hunting-ground lies between the two big lakes, get their supplies from here. Within a short distance is Salt River, which produces all the salt consumed in the country, and saves the expense of importing this necessary article. On August 13th, after several days' waiting, the steamer _Wrigley_ arrived, bringing up the Mackenzie River furs and several of the officers from that district. Among her passengers was a French half-breed, King Beaulieu, who afterwards became my guide to the Barren Ground. He agreed to go in this capacity at a consultation held in Dr. Mackay's presence, swearing eternal fidelity and promising to do everything in his power to ensure the success of the expedition. Nobody could give him a very good character, but as he was known as a pushing fellow and first-rate traveller, besides having made a successful musk-ox hunt in the previous year, I concluded that my best chance lay in going with him. Certainly, with all his faults, I must say that he was thoroughly expert in all the arts of travel with canoes or dog-sleighs, quick in emergencies, and far more courageous than most of the half-breeds of the Great Slave Lake. When I was alone with him I found him easy enough to manage; but his three sons, who accompanied us, are the biggest scoundrels I ever had to travel with, and as they seem to demoralize the old man when they are together, the united family is a bad combination. Two more days were passed in loading the _Wrigley_, and in discussion among the officers from the two districts, who only meet on this occasion, and have to make the most of the short stay to go over the news of the last year and prospects for the next. Mr. Camsell, who is in charge of Mackenzie River district, was on board, and, although I never actually went within his dominions, was exceedingly kind in giving me supplies from his own outfit, and in doing everything he could do to help me during the year that I spent in the neighbourhood of the Great Slave Lake. The _Wrigley_, having the rough crossing of the lake to make, is a very different style of boat to the stern-wheelers above, which do all their work in smooth water. She is a screw-boat, drawing seven feet when loaded; and it gives an idea of the great size of the Mackenzie when I mention that a vessel with this draught of water has a clear run of thirteen hundred miles from Fort Smith to Peel's River, a tributary joining the main stream from the west a short distance above its mouth. She has never, I believe, steamed into the Arctic Sea, partly on account of the channel being unknown, and partly owing to the shortness of the season, which necessitates her being constantly at work to supply the forts before the closing of navigation. After leaving Fort Smith and passing the mouth of Salt River the Slave River widens considerably, and, with a slight current running between low banks and numerous islands, follows a more circuitous course than in its upper reaches. The steamer's course covers a distance of one hundred and eighty miles to the Great Slave Lake, but, in travelling with canoes or dogs, a number of portages are made to cut off bends of the river, and about one-third of the distance is saved. The granite formation is quickly lost sight of from the water. The sandy banks are covered with a dense growth of willows backed by the pine forest; a gloomy uninviting stretch of country, to which the tall dead trees charred by former fires give a peculiar air of desolation. The soft nature of the sand, and the fact that much of the bank has fallen in through the action of the ice breaking up in the spring, render tracking difficult on this part of the river; the fallen timber leaning over it at all angles, and making it impossible to pass the line. The sluggish nature of the current, however, compensates for this, as its strength can always be overcome by oars or paddles in the bad places. Early on the second day we steamed through the low delta lands at the mouth of the river, and, passing cautiously among the sandy battures lying far off shore, arrived in heavy rain and strong westerly wind at Fort Resolution, situated about ten miles to the westward of the river's mouth. Mr. Mackinlay, who is in charge of the fort, was away; but, as the steamer was delayed for a couple of days by the storm that was blowing, Mr. Camsell gave me very valuable assistance in making preparation for my voyage. The resources of the fort were at the lowest; no supplies had yet arrived from outside, and the people were entirely dependent on their nets for food: as is usually the case at this time of year, fish were scarce and hard times prevalent. A boat had been fitted out to be sent to the east end of the lake to trade for meat with the Indians hunting there; but after waiting a long time for the steamer, to obtain the ammunition necessary for trading, she was blown ashore and broken up on the night of our arrival. I had intended to take a passage by this boat; but as a party of men had to be sent to Fort Smith to bring down another one, and I was anxious to get among the game with as little delay as possible, I determined to make the journey as well as I could with canoes. It was now that I made the acquaintance of King Beaulieu's sons, François, José, and Paul, each of them married and father of such a big family that it makes one tremble for the future of the Great Slave Lake country when the next generation has grown up. The original Beaulieu seems to have been a French half-breed brought in by the Hudson's Bay Company among the early _voyageurs_ from Red River. He settled at Salt River, where buffalo were numerous at the time, and by an indefinite number of wives raised a large family which is threatening gradually to inundate the North. King's father appears to have been a fighting man, and great stories of his bravery and prowess are told by his sons and grandsons; but his name only appears in the Company's records in connection with various deeds of violence not much to his credit. All King's family were hanging about the fort in a state of semi-starvation, and I was glad when we eventually started well on in the afternoon of August 19th, with the hope of reaching first some good fishing-ground to supply them with food for immediate want, and afterwards the country of the caribou in the woods to the north of the lake, while beyond that again was the prospect of finding the musk-ox far out in the Barren Ground. In character a Beaulieu is a mixture of a very simple child and a German Jew; all the lack of reason of the one combined with the greed of the other, and a sort of low cunning more like that of an animal than a human being. He is not a nice man to travel with, as he always keeps a longing eye on his master's possessions, even though he is fully as well-equipped himself, and is untrustworthy if you leave anything in his charge. To your face he is fairspoken and humble enough, and to hear him talk you would think he had a certain amount of regard for you; but out of sight the promises are forgotten, and he is devising some scheme to annoy you and get something out of you. The only way to treat him is as you would treat a dog; if you are kind to him he takes it as a sign that you are afraid of him, and acts accordingly. With the exception of King there is no fear of violence; but his passion is at times so uncontrollable that he is capable of anything. It is needless to relate all the bother I had with these people, and I shall content myself with saying that the whole time I was with them the camp was the scene of one continuous wrangle; sometimes they would quarrel with me and sometimes among themselves, but we never did anything without having a row. As far as Fort Resolution the travelling had been almost as easy, although there were many delays, as in civilization; but directly you branch from the Company's main route you are thrown entirely on your own resources, and, owing to the impossibility of carrying enough provision for a prolonged journey in the Barren Ground, the rifle and net are the only means of obtaining food. This is a point to be well considered before undertaking a trip to the country of the musk-ox, as, however well you may be supplied at starting, you are sure to experience some hard times before your object is accomplished. My only provisions consisted of a couple of sacks of flour and about fifty pounds of bacon, and I might as well have started with none at all. My companions had all the improvidence of the Indian nature, and hated the idea of keeping anything for hard times. There was such a constant begging, not without a certain excuse from hunger, to be allowed to eat flour and bacon, that I was really rather glad when it was all gone, which was actually the case before we left the Great Slave Lake. We had a good supply of tea and tobacco, though it proved after all insufficient, plenty of ammunition for the three Winchester rifles, and powder, shot, and ball for the muzzle-loading weapons of the party; we had also nets and a few hooks and lines, matches, needles, and awls to be used in the manufacture of moccasins and the deer-skin clothes so essential for winter travel; knives of various shapes and sizes, scrapers for dressing skins, and a small stock of the duffel imported by the Company for lining mittens and wrapping up the feet during the intense cold that we were sure to experience during the trip. Our fleet numbered three large birch-bark canoes, crowded with men, women, and children, amounting in all to over twenty souls, or, to be more practical, mouths. Besides these there were fifteen gaunt and hungry dogs, which had been spending their short summer's rest in starving as a preparation for the hard work and harder blows which were in store for them in the coming winter. I was of course the only white man in the party, and whatever conversation I held with the three or four half-breeds that I could understand was carried on in the French patois of the North. Among themselves they used the Montaignais dialect of the Chipeweyan language, which is spoken with variations to the northward of the Cree-speaking belt, till its place is taken by the Slavi and Locheaux language of the Mackenzie River; in a couple of months I had picked up enough Montaignais to be able to mix it with French and make myself fairly well understood. Four deerskin lodges made our encampment. I lived with King, as his camp was always the quietest; in the other lodges there was a continual screaming of children, or yelping of hungry dogs as they felt the cruel blow of axe or paddle, which was the sure result of approaching the savoury-smelling kettle too close. We camped the first night in the delta of the Slave, or, as it is more usually called, the Big River. I distributed a little ammunition, and we killed enough ducks to provide the whole party with a night's provision. The next day a gale of wind was blowing from the lake, and, after following winding muddy channels all the morning, we were obliged to camp again on a point of willows beyond which we should have been exposed to the full violence of the storm, and our overloaded canoes would have had no chance of living in the heavy sea. Here we remained two days, still within twenty miles of the fort. Wild-fowl were numerous, but the great autumn migration had not yet set in, and all the birds that we found had been bred in the muskegs that surrounded us on all sides; they were mostly mallard, widgeon, teal, shoveller, and pintail, the latter being particularly plentiful. Musk-rats swam in all the little creeks and lakes, and, as they are esteemed as an article of food, and their skins are of a trifling value, we killed a great many. [Illustration: Patching a Birch-bark on the Slave River] On the third day we paddled along the shore of the lake against a strong head-wind, passing the Isle de Pierre, one of the best fisheries in the neighbourhood, and camped at the Point of Rocks, the first spot on the south side of the lake where the red granite again shows up, and the end of the muskeg country that extends far on each side of the Big River. Here we caught enough whitefish with the nets to enable even the dogs to have a small feed, and, as we killed forty ducks while waiting for the wind to moderate, everybody was satisfied. In the afternoon we put out in a calm to paddle across the open traverse to the first of a group of islands about fifteen miles to the north. This traverse is the terror of the lake for canoes, both in summer on account of the heavy sea which gets up suddenly, and in winter when the drifting snow in stormy weather obscures everything and makes it a difficult matter to keep the course over the ice. On this occasion we got over just in time, and, camping on the nearest island of the group, were delayed for two days by strong north-west winds accompanied by showers of driving rain. These islands, marked on the map as Simpson's Group, extend for a hundred miles in a north-easterly direction to Fond du Lac, and, if ever explored, will be found to be in immense numbers, varying in size, but all of the same red-granite formation, covered with a scanty growth of pine, birch, and willows. Many of them rise to a considerable height, with the ridges generally running south-west and north-east. A few moose still inhabit the larger islands; but the big herds of caribou from the Barren Ground that used formerly to come here in their wanderings seem to have deserted them of late years. An occasional small pond gives harbourage for a few wild-fowl, while wood-grouse, and in winter ptarmigan, are plentiful. The bare outlying rocks between the islands are the breeding-ground of gulls and terns: divers and a few cormorants give additional life to the lake in summer; but at the first sign of cold weather the water-birds all leave for a more temperate land, and a deathlike silence settles over the frozen channels during the eight months of winter. The island on which we were encamped, being the most westerly of the group, was exposed to the full force of the gale. The heavy fresh-water seas broke with great violence on the weather shore and on the numerous rocks, some above water and others submerged, that make the navigation of this part of the lake dangerous for anything larger than a canoe. It was no easy matter to get out our nets, even to leeward of the island, and the supply of fish was very scanty; dissatisfaction was prevalent in the camp, and heavy inroads were made on the flour and bacon that would have proved so useful later on. When the weather moderated we started against a strong head-wind, and a hard day's paddling brought us to a spot known as the Inconnu Fishery, situated on an island halfway to Fond du Lac. The Inconnu, or Unknown Fish, is, I believe, entirely restricted to the Mackenzie River country, and its southernmost limits seem to be the rapids at Fort Smith; it was thus named by the early _voyageurs_ of the Company, who were unable to classify it, and even to this day there is a great variety of opinion as to what family it is a member of: a long thin fish, not unlike a misshapen salmon, running up to fifteen pounds in weight, with flabby and unpalatable flesh, it is held in very low estimation in comparison with whitefish or trout, and is only appreciated in hard times. At this particular island it will take a bait readily, but I never heard of its doing so in any other part of the lake, although large numbers are caught in the nets. There is some peculiarity in the water which may account for this, as, even in the dead of winter, there is generally an open hole in the ice; and, in passing the Inconnu Fishery, one must keep right ashore to avoid the treacherous spot. Here we were wind-bound again, and indeed for several days made very little head-way against the northerly gales that seem almost incessant at this time of year. We had a pleasant spot to camp in every night, but not always enough to eat, and it was the first of September before we sighted the high land on the north side of the lake. This was the first really fine day we had had since leaving the fort, and, taking advantage of it, we left the shelter of the islands, made a bold crossing of the wide stretch of open water, and camped among the scattering pines on the northern mainland. Exactly opposite to us was the narrow entrance to Christie's Bay of the maps, extending some hundred miles to the east and south-east, offering another tempting field for exploration. On the west side of the entrance is a remarkable many-coloured bluff, composed of the soft rock used by the Indians for the manufacture of their stone pipes, which are still in common use. The range of hills along the north shore, which we now had to coast, average perhaps five hundred feet in height, occasionally reaching a much higher elevation, but without any conspicuous peaks; the land begins to rise at once from the lake, in many places taking the form of a steep cliff. The vegetation is the same as that on the south side of the lake, but more stunted, the pine trees especially showing the increased rigour of the climate; small birch trees are still numerous, and the growth of the hardy willows is almost as strong as at Fort Resolution. Fruit-bearing plants are common. The small muskegs between the ridges of rock are full of a much-prized yellow berry, while blueberry bushes flourish in the dry spots, and a few raspberries are still to be seen; but strawberries, which used to be plentiful on the south shore and among the islands, have disappeared. I noticed here the low trailing plant bearing a woolly red berry, known as Cannicannick by the Indians to the west of the Rocky Mountains, and used by them as tobacco; the Slave Lake Indians sometimes smoke it, but prefer the inner bark of the red willow; the Hudson's Bay negrohead tobacco is in my opinion much improved, as well as economized, by a mixture with either of these substances. Countless streams, the outlet of lakes on the elevated tableland to the north, foam down the deep gulches in the hillside, and confused masses of fallen timber and rocks give evidence of the frequent land-slides that take place during the spring thaws. Again the north wind howled dismally down the lake, and several more days were occupied in reaching Fond du Lac. The enforced delay had a depressing effect upon the whole party, as fish were scarce, and paddling against continual head-winds is always hard work. At last, on September 5th, passing through a narrow arm of the lake with a perceptible current formed by the prevailing winds, we came in sight of Fond du Lac. A single house at the head of a snug little bay is all that is left standing, but the ruins of others, and a number of rough graves, show that at one time it was a more populous place. It was formerly an outpost of Fort Resolution, used as a depot for collecting meat, and presided over in a haphazard manner by King Beaulieu, who is still rather sore about the abandonment of the post and his own discharge from the Company's service. The weather now became worse than ever, snow and hail taking the place of rain and throwing the first white mantle on the hill-tops. It was evident that such a large party, crippled as we were with women and children, would never be able to reach the caribou, in the event of these animals being far back from the Great Slave Lake. We had met no Indians, and so had no means of hearing the news of the caribou, which forms the one topic of interest among the Dog-Rib and Yellow Knife tribes who hunt in this part of the country. Luckily trout and whitefish were fairly abundant, some of the former reaching such an enormous size that I am afraid to hazard a guess at their weight, though I afterwards saw one at the fort that turned the scale at fifty-eight pounds. [Illustration: King Beaulieu] CHAPTER III We held a big council as to ways and means, and, after much discussion, finally came to the decision that our best chance was to leave the main body of women and children with sufficient men to attend to the nets for them, while the rest of us pushed on to the north with our two biggest canoes, in the hope of falling in with the caribou, and afterwards the musk-ox. We were to leave all the dogs at Fond du Lac, as we expected to send back before the setting in of winter; only two women, King's wife and daughter, were to come with us to dry meat, dress deerskins, and make moccasins. Besides them our crew consisted of King Beaulieu, his sons François, José, Paul, and Baptiste (a boy of twelve), Michel (King's son-in-law), and a small Indian boy who had thrown in his lot with us as the best visible means of getting anything to keep him alive during the autumn. All the provisions that I had brought with me were exhausted, and we had nothing but a dozen small dried whitefish when we left Fond du Lac on September 7th to paddle another thirty miles along the north shore before leaving the lake. Our loads were cut down to the smallest weight possible in order to save time on the portages. I left my Paradox behind as the ammunition was heavy, and trusted entirely to a Winchester rifle; a pair of glasses and a blanket about completed my share of the cargo. I had no instruments for taking observations, no compass, and no watch; and, take it all round, it was a very poorly-equipped expedition. We made a bad start, as, after an hour's travel across a deep bay, we found ourselves storm-bound on a small island, the canoes hauled up on the beach, and such a heavy sea on all sides that we could not get out a net. We spent an uncomfortable night on the island, but the wind moderated a little in the morning and we put out again. After being once driven back to our refuge we managed to reach the mainland, with the canoes half full of water and our blankets and clothes soaked. However, a good fire soon mended matters, and, as we caught enough whitefish to stave off present hunger, contentment reigned in the camp. The next evening, after another long struggle against the wind, we camped in the small bay at which we intended to make our first portage, and our long journey on the Great Slave Lake was finished. Three ducks, our whole bag for the day, and a kettle of black tea gave us a scanty supper, and, as there was still a little daylight, we each carried a small load to the top of the hill, a distance of two miles, but were disappointed in not seeing any caribou tracks. We thought we had a chance of finding them close to the lake, but as a matter of fact we had several days' journey yet before we fell in with them. It now seemed pretty certain that we were in for a spell of what my companions alluded to as _les misères_ till we reached the meat-country, the joys of which formed the chief subject of talk round the camp-fires. With the first streak of light we began the portage in a driving snowstorm, and long before midday the rest of the cargo and the biggest canoe were landed at the top of the steep climb; the other canoe we abandoned, thinking one was ample for our work in the Barren Ground. We sat down for a smoke at the top of the hill, and took our last view of the Great Slave Lake. Looking southward we could see the far shore and the unknown land beyond rising in terraces to a considerable height, and very similar in appearance to the range we were on. Ahead of us, to the north, lay a broken rocky country sparsely timbered and dotted with lakes, the nearest of which, a couple of miles away, was the end of our portage; a bleak and desolate country, already white with snow and with a film of ice over the smaller ponds. Three hundred miles in the heart of this wilderness, far beyond the line where timber ceases, lies the land of the musk-ox, to which we were about to force our way, depending entirely on our guns for food and for clothing to withstand the intense cold that would soon be upon us. A pair of hawks hovering overhead furnished the only signs of life, and the outlook was by no means cheerful. As I was sitting on a rock meditating upon these things old King came up and said: "Let us finish the portage quickly; it is dinner-time." I quite agreed with him, but put his remark down as a rather unseasonable joke, as I did not think there was a bite to eat among us; but on reaching the lake I was pleasantly surprised to see King fish out a lump of bacon, which he had stowed away some time ago after one of my lectures on improvidence. It was really the last piece, and, although there was no bread (and for the matter of that there was none for the next three months) we all made a good enough meal. The lake was of course named Lac du Lard to commemorate this event. I think no white man had ever passed through this chain of lakes before, as Sir John Franklin went up by a more westerly route, following the course of the Yellow Knife River, while Hearne and Back both left from the east end of the Great Slave Lake; Stewart and Anderson, when they were searching for survivors of Franklin's last ill-fated expedition, reached the head waters of the Great Fish River by a chain of lakes about eighty miles to the eastward of my present route. If the lakes were known among the Indians by any particular names I enquired their meaning and preserved them; the others I named from incidents in the voyage or from the Company's officers of Athabasca and Mackenzie River districts. During the afternoon we made four more short portages, passing through the same number of lakes, some of them of a considerable size. We kept a good look-out for the caribou but saw no signs of them, and at dark, after a hard day's work, camped on the east shore of the Lac de Mort. It acquired this name from a disaster that overwhelmed a large encampment of Yellow Knives who were hunting here during one of those epidemics of scarlet fever that have from time to time ravaged the North. Most of the hunters were too ill to walk, and, as game was scarce, the horrors of starvation, combined with disease, almost exterminated the band. The next two days were occupied in the same manner of travelling towards the north with numerous portages. We could not catch any fish, though we set a net every night, but killed enough ducks to keep us alive without satisfying our ravenous hunger. The weather was still cold, with strong head-winds and frequent snowstorms. On the third day we caught a big trout and killed a loon and a wolverine, the latter after a most exciting chase on a long point. In the next portage accordingly we made a big feast, although wolverines are only eaten in starving times, as they are looked upon in the light of scavengers and grave-robbers, and "_carcajou_-eater" is a favourite term of contempt. On the present occasion nobody made any objection, and in the circumstances the despised meat tasted remarkably well. Our joy was soon cut short by finding the next lake, which was more sheltered from the wind than the others we had passed through, covered with a sheet of ice sufficiently thick to prevent the passage of a birch-bark canoe, while a heavy snowstorm came on at the same time, making matters look more gloomy than ever. King's sons at once expressed their intention of returning to Fond du Lac while the lakes behind them were still open. King, however, here showed great determination, and declared, with an unnecessary amount of strong language, that he had the heart of Beaulieu (the worst sort of heart, by the way), and, when once he had started, would not turn back without seeing the musk-ox. Eventually we persuaded them to come on, and, carrying the canoe, reduced our load to the very smallest amount of necessaries. We then started on foot for an expedition that would have most certainly ended in disaster if we had gone on with it. I noticed that the two women had the heaviest loads to carry, but having myself as much as I cared about for a long distance I made no remarks on the subject. Luckily, after spending a night without eating under the shelter of a bunch of dwarf pines, we discovered the next lake to be almost clear of ice; and carrying our canoe over the four-mile portage we continued our journey as before, pushing on as quickly as possible to reach the Lac du Rocher, where the half-breeds were confident of meeting the caribou, or, at the worst, to camp at a spot well known to them where we might catch fish enough for a temporary support. We had now been in a half-starving condition for several days, and were beginning to lose the strength that we required for portaging and paddling against the continual north wind. On September 13th we reached the Lac du Rocher, a large irregular sheet of water, so broken up with bays and promontories that it is hard to estimate its size. Camp was made on the south side of the lake, and we set our nets and lines, baited with carefully preserved pieces of whitefish, while others explored the surrounding hills for caribou tracks, but without success. The half-breeds were all much put out by this failure, as they have always found the Lac du Rocher a certainty for caribou at this time of year, and were unable to account for it, except by the theory that the animals had altered the usual course of their autumn migration and were passing to the east of us. There was not a fish in the net when we turned in; but a good trout was caught in the middle of the night, and we all got up and finished the last mouthful. Again we had no breakfast, and the early morning found us discussing various plans in rather a serious manner. The final decision was that Paul and François should push ahead to try and find the caribou, while the rest of us moved the camp to the north end of the lake and worked the fishing till their return; six days were allowed them for their trip, after which each party was to act independently, and we were all to get out of the awkward situation in the best way we could. Accordingly we took the canoes across the lake as soon as our hunters had started, and put up our deerskin lodge in the shelter of a clump of well-grown pine trees; we tried the hand-lines for hours without any better result than completely numbing our fingers, and towards evening set the net, also without any luck. I took my rifle and walked two or three miles back from the lake, but beyond an Arctic fox, which I missed at long range, saw nothing edible. There is no better camp than a well-set-up lodge with a good fire crackling in the middle, and in this respect we were comfortable enough, but the shortness of food was telling rapidly. We had made no pretence at eating all day, and since leaving Fond du Lac had subsisted almost entirely on tea and tobacco, while even on the Great Slave Lake provisions had been none too plentiful. We passed the evening smoking, and, as I have found usual in these cases, talking of all the good things we had ever eaten, while eyes shone in the firelight with the brilliancy peculiar to the early stages of starvation. Outside the lodge the wind was moderated; the northern lights, though it was still early in the year, were flashing brightly across the sky, and far away in the distance we could hear the ominous howling of wolves. Late in the night I awoke, and, on lighting my pipe, was greeted by King with the remark: "Ah! Monsieur, une fois j'ai goûté le pain avec le beurre; le bon Dieu a fait ces deux choses là exprès pour manger ensemble." Long before daylight we put off in the canoe to visit the net, and to our great joy found five fair-sized trout, quite enough to relieve all anxiety for the day; the weather also had improved, turning much warmer, with the snow rapidly thawing. The half-breeds, who are all Catholics, held a short service, as it was Sunday morning and they are very particular in this respect. Afterwards we all went out hunting, but only two or three ptarmigan, the first we had seen, were killed, and there were still no signs of the caribou. The country here is much less rugged than on first leaving the Great Slave Lake, and the rolling hills are covered with a small plant, halfway between heather and moss, bearing a small black berry, and growing in thick bunches wherever the soil is capable of producing it. This plant, and a wiry black moss which grows in patches on the flat rocks, are much used as fuel in dry weather, if no wood is available; in wet weather they are of course useless. The hollows between the ridges are generally muskegs, thawed out to the depth of a foot, producing a long coarse grass, and in many places a plentiful growth of a dwarf variety of the Labrador tea, an excellent substitute for the product of China. Huge glacial boulders lie scattered in every direction, many of them balanced in an extraordinary manner on the points of smaller stones, which seem to have been of softer substance and gradually worn away. In other spots are patches of broken rocks, covering a large extent of ground and very difficult to travel on, especially when a light coating of snow makes them slippery, and conceals the deep holes in which a leg might easily be snapped; even the caribou, sure-footed as they are, will often make a long detour in preference to taking the risk of a fall among these rocks. Lakes of all sizes and shapes abound on every side, connected by small streams that find their way into the Slave Lake one hundred miles to the southward. Pine timber is now very scarce and mostly small, growing in sheltered spots with long stretches where not a tree is visible. A fairly thick stem starts from the ground and immediately spreads out into a bush with the branches growing downwards, and the top of the tree seldom reaching a height of ten feet. Sometimes, however, even as far out as this, a bunch of really well-grown trees is to be found, probably having the advantages of better soil to spring from. A very few birch sticks, invaluable to the Indian for making snow-shoes, still manage to exist, and patches of scrub willow are frequent. The general appearance of the country and the vegetation, with the exception of the timber, reminded me strongly of the desert of Arnavatn in the interior of Iceland. A great variety of mosses and lichens flourish here and in the true Barren Ground outside the tree limit, the _tripe des roches_ which has played such a conspicuous part in the story of Arctic exploration being particularly abundant at this spot. The formation of the rocks is still red granite, with a good deal of mica showing in the boulders. Late in the evening we heard a gun, and, on our replying, four or five shots were fired in rapid succession, the signal of good news; soon afterwards Paul and François came in, each carrying a small load of meat, which we finished promptly. They had fallen in with the caribou about thirty miles on, and reported them to be moving south in great numbers; we had now no hesitation in pushing on to meet them, and were all jubilant at the thought of good times coming. The next day was warm again with south-west wind, and, after passing through the Lac du Corbeau (named from our little Indian, who had acquired the title of _Chasseur du Corbeau_ from an unsuccessful hunt he had made after a raven at one of our hungry camps), we portaged into Lake Camsell, a fine sheet of water over twenty miles in length, running more to the east than the other lakes we had passed, full of small islands, and with rather more timber than usual on its shores. For the first time we could put down our paddles, and, hoisting a large red blanket for a sail, ran in front of the steady fair wind; the water was blue, the sun pleasantly warm, and the snow had almost disappeared. In the afternoon there was a cry of _Et-then, Et-then!_ (the caribou), and we saw a solitary bull standing against the sky-line on the top of an island close to the east shore of the lake. As soon as we were out of sight we landed and quickly surrounded him; he made a break for the water, but one of the half-breeds, in hiding behind a rock, dropped him before he put to sea. It was a full-grown bull in prime condition, the velvet not yet shed, but the horns quite hard underneath. A scene of great activity now commenced. There was no more thought of travelling that night, and, while two men were skinning and cutting up the caribou, the others unloaded and carried ashore the canoe, lit a fire, and got ready the kettles for a feast that was to make up for all the hard times just gone through. There was plenty of meat for everybody to gorge themselves, and we certainly made a night of it, boiling and roasting till we had very nearly finished the whole animal. I could not quite keep up with the others at this first trial of eating powers, but after a couple of weeks among the caribou I was fully able to hold my own. We seemed at length to have found the land of plenty, as ptarmigan were very numerous, just losing the last of their pretty brown plumage and putting on their white dresses to match the snow, which would soon drive them for food and shelter into the thick pine woods round the shores of the Great Slave Lake. We had to sleep off the effects of over-eating, and it was late in the day before we started down the lake. After two or three hours' sailing at a slow pace we spied a band of caribou, again on an island. With unnecessary haste we made for the land, and, through watching the deer instead of the water, ran the canoe on a sharp submerged rock, tearing an ugly hole in the birch-bark. We all stepped overboard up to the waist, carried the cargo ashore, and, leaving the women to stitch up the canoe with the bark and fibre that is always kept handy when away from the birch woods, started in pursuit of the caribou. The result was that after a great deal of bad shooting we killed sixteen on the island, while the canoe, hastily patched up, with a kettle going steadily to bale out and the women paddling and shouting lustily, succeeded in picking up two more that tried to escape by swimming. The evening was passed in skinning and cutting up the meat, which was stowed away in rough _caches_ of rocks to keep it safe from the wolves and wolverines. These animals are always very plentiful in attendance on the big herds of caribou, and are often the cause of much annoyance to the hunter through stealing meat that he is relying upon for subsistence; in many places where the rocks are small it is impossible to build a _cache_ strong enough to keep out the wolverines, which are possessed of wonderful strength for their size. The following day while Michel, Paul, and myself were walking overland to join the canoe at the end of the lake, we fell in with another band of caribou, and, as the rest of the party landed at an opportune moment, we caught the animals on a long point and made another big slaughter of seventeen, among them some old bulls with very fine heads. A young bull, nearly pure-white in colour, came my way, and I secured him, but unfortunately the skin was afterwards stolen by wolverines. We had now plenty of meat to establish a permanent camp, and set up our lodge at the end of Lake Camsell with the intention of leaving the women and boys to collect and dry the meat and dress the skins, while the men were away on a short hunt after musk-ox before the lakes set fast with ice. We were now within a short distance of the last woods, if a few bunches of dwarf pines, at intervals of several miles, can be called woods, and were about to push out into the Barren Ground, where, with the exception of an occasional patch of small scrub willow, all timber ceases. CHAPTER IV In the various records of Arctic exploration, and especially in those dealing with the Barren Ground, there is frequent mention of deer, reindeer, and caribou, leaving the casual reader in doubt as to how many species of deer inhabit the rocky wilderness between the woods and the Arctic Sea. As a matter of fact, the Barren Ground caribou (which name I prefer, as distinguishing it from the woodland caribou, the only other member of the reindeer tribe existing on the American continent) is the sole representative of the Cervidæ found in this locality. The chief distinction between this animal and its cousin the woodland caribou, or _caribou des bois fort_ in the half-breed parlance, lies in the different size, the latter having by far the advantage in height and weight. I have had no opportunity of weighing specimens of either kind, but should imagine that the woodland must be fully a third the heavier of the two. I cannot agree with some of the natural history books which state that the smaller animals carry the larger horns, as of all the Barren Ground caribou that we killed I never saw any with horns to compare with the giant antlers of the woodland caribou of Newfoundland or British Columbia; more irregular, if possible, they may be, and perhaps have a greater number of points, but they are far behind in weight, spread, and size of beam. The perfect double plough is more often seen in the smaller specimen, the larger animal being usually provided with only one, or with one plough and a spike. In colour they closely resemble each other, but there is rather more white noticeable in the representative of the Barren Ground, especially in the females, while the texture of the coat, as is to be expected, is finer in the smaller variety. The hoofs have the same curious "snow-shoe" formation in both cases. The range of the Barren Ground caribou appears to be from the islands in the Arctic Sea to the southern part of Hudson's Bay, while the Mackenzie River is the limit of their western wandering, although not many years ago they are known to have crossed the Slave River in the neighbourhood of Fort Smith. In the summer time they keep to the true Barren Ground, but in the autumn, when their feeding-grounds are covered with snow, they seek the hanging moss in the woods. From what I could gather from the Yellow Knife Indians at the east end of the Great Slave Lake, and from my own personal experience, it was late in October, immediately after the rutting season, that the great bands of caribou, commonly known as _La Foule_, mass up on the edge of the woods, and start for food and shelter afforded by the stronger growth of pines farther southward. A month afterwards the males and females separate, the latter beginning to work their way north again as early as the end of February; they reach the edge of the woods in April, and drop their young far out towards the sea-coast in June, by which time the snow is melting rapidly and the ground showing in patches. The males stay in the woods till May and never reach the coast, but meet the females on their way inland at the end of July; from this time they stay together till the rutting season is over and it is time to seek the woods once more. The horns are mostly clear of velvet towards the end of September, but some of the females carry it later even than this; the old bulls shed their antlers early in December, and the young ones do the same towards the end of that month, the females being some weeks later. In June both sexes present a very shabby appearance, as the old coats have grown long and white and are falling off in patches; by the end of July the new hair has grown, and the skins are then in their best condition. The caribou are extremely uncertain in their movements, seldom taking the same course in two consecutive years, and thus affording ground for the universal cry in the North that the caribou are being killed off. I think there is really much truth in the statement that they keep a more easterly route than formerly, as they seldom come in large quantities to the Mackenzie River, where they used to be particularly numerous in winter. This is in a great measure accounted for by the fact that great stretches of the country have been burnt, and so rendered incapable of growing the lichen so dearly beloved by these animals. The same thing applies at Fort Resolution, where, within the last decade, the southern shore of the Great Slave Lake has been burnt and one of the best ranges totally destroyed. One point that seems to bear out the theory of a more easterly movement is that within the last three years the caribou have appeared in their thousands at York Factory on the west side of Hudson's Bay, where they have not been seen for over thirty years; but I cannot believe, judging from the vast herds that I myself saw, that there is any danger of the caribou being exterminated. It is absurd to say that the white man is killing them off, as no white man ever fires a shot at them unless they pass very close to a Company's establishment, and the Indians are themselves surely dying out year by year. Nor is it any argument to say that the Indians sometimes starve to death from want of success in hunting, as a glance at Hearne's _Journey to the Northern Ocean in 1771_ will show that the same state of affairs prevailed before the Company had penetrated to the Great Slave Lake or Mackenzie River. Starvation will always be one of the features of a Northern Indian's life, owing to his own improvidence; his instinct is to camp close on the tracks of the caribou and move as they move; a permanent house and a winter's supply of meat are an abomination to him. Since the introduction of firearms the Indian has lost much of his old hunting lore! a snare is almost a thing of the past, but is still occasionally used when ammunition is scarce. It is no hard matter to kill caribou in the open country, for the rolling hills usually give ample cover for a stalk, and even on flat ground they are easily approached at a run, as they will almost invariably circle head to wind and give the hunter a chance to cut them off. But it is with the spear that the vast slaughter in the summer is annually made. The best swimming-places are known and carefully watched, and woe betide a herd of caribou if once surrounded in a lake by the small hunting-canoes. One thrust of the spear, high up in the loins and ranging forward, does the work. There is no idea of sparing life, no matter what the age or sex of the victim may be; the lake is red with blood and covered with sometimes several hundred carcasses, of which fully one-half are thrown away as not fat enough to be eaten by men who may be starving in a month. Surely this should exterminate the game; but, if one remonstrates with the Indians at the waste, the ready answer comes: "Our fathers did this and have taught us to do the same; they did not kill off the caribou, and after we are gone there will be plenty for our children." These animals are easily induced to swim at any particular spot by putting up a line of rocks at right angles to the water, and a line of pine bush planted in the snow across a frozen lake has the same effect; the caribou will not pass it, but following it along fall an easy prey to the hunter lying in ambush at the end of the line. In the winter they are killed in great numbers on the small lakes in the timber, as they seem disinclined to leave the open lake and will often run close up to the gun rather than take to the woods. I have heard this accounted for by the suggestion that they take the report of the gun for a falling tree and are afraid of being struck if they venture off the lake; but I fancy their natural curiosity has a great deal to do with this extraordinary behaviour. It frequently happens that they will run backwards and forwards within range till the last of the band is killed. The caribou supplies the Indian with nearly all the necessaries of life; it gives him food, clothing, house, and the equivalent of money to spend at the fort. He leaves the trading-post, after one of his yearly visits, with a supply of ammunition, tea, and tobacco, a blanket or two, and, if he has made a good season's hunt, is perhaps lucky enough to have taken one of the Company's duffel _capotes_ (about the best form of greatcoat that I have ever seen). He has a wife and family waiting for him somewhere on the shore of the big lake where fish are plentiful, expecting a gaudy dress, a shawl, or a string of beads from the fort, but relying entirely on the caribou for maintenance during the awful cold of the coming winter. The journey up till they fall in with the caribou is usually full of hardships, but once they have reached the hunting-ground and found game a great improvement in affairs takes place; the hunter is busy killing, while the women dry meat and make grease, dress the skins for moccasins, mittens, and gun-covers, and cut _babiche_, which takes the place of string for lacing snow-shoes and many other purposes. For the hair-coats, which everybody, men, women, and children, wear during the cold season, the best skins are those of the young animals killed in July or August, as the hair is short and does not fall off so readily as in coats made from the skin of a full-grown caribou; while the strong sinews lying along the backbone of an old bull make the very best thread for sewing. Anything that is left over after supplying the whole family finds a ready sale at the fort, where there is always a demand for dried meat, tongue-grease, dressed skins, and _babiche_, so that the Dog-Ribs and Yellow Knives, whose country produces little fur, with the exception of musk-ox robes, are thus enabled to afford some few of the white man's luxuries, tea and tobacco being especially dear to the Indian's heart. A good hunter kills the caribou with discretion according to their condition at various seasons of the year. After the females leave the woods in the early spring he has of course only the males to fall back on, and these are usually poor till August, when the bones are full of marrow and the back-fat commences to grow. By the middle of September this back-fat, or _depouille_ as it is called in Northern patois, has reached a length of a foot or more forward from the tail, and, as it is sometimes a couple of inches thick and extends right across the back, it is a great prize for the lucky hunter. It is a point of etiquette that when two or more Indians are hunting in company, the _depouille_ and tongue belong to the man who did the killing, while the rest of the meat is shared in common. Towards the end of October, when the rutting season is over, the males are in very poor condition. The females then come into demand, but it is not till the end of the year that they show any back-fat at all, and this is always small in comparison with that of a bull killed in the Fall. The summer months are generally spent by the Indians far out in the Barren Ground, and then, as I have said, they slaughter everything that comes within reach of their spear in the most indiscriminate manner. Excepting in times of plenty, when the utmost recklessness with provisions is displayed, there are very few parts of the caribou thrown away, and often the actual stomach is the only thing left; the blood is carefully preserved, and some of the intestines are prized as great luxuries. If one does not see the actual preparations for cooking they are good enough, but the favourite dish of all, the young unborn caribou cut from its dead mother, I could never take kindly to, although it is considered a delicacy among the Indians throughout the northern part of Canada. Another morsel held in high esteem is the udder of a milk-giving doe, which is usually roasted on the spot where the animal is killed. Of the external parts the ribs and brisket rank highest, the haunches being generally reserved for dog's food; a roast head is not to be despised, and a well-smoked tongue is beyond all praise. It was the caribou of the Barren Ground that provided the reindeers' tongues formerly exported in such quantities by the Hudson's Bay Company. The general method of cooking everything in the lodge is by boiling, which takes most of the flavour out of the meat, but has the advantage of being easy and economical of firewood. The marrow is usually eaten raw, and, as there is no blood visible in the bones of a fat animal, it is not such a disgusting habit as it seems to be at first sight, and one readily accustoms oneself to the fashion. Everybody who has travelled in the North has experienced the same craving for grease as the cold becomes more intense. In the case of a white man the enforced absence of flour and all vegetable food may be an additional cause for this feeling; but it is a fact that you can cheerfully gnaw a solid block of grease or raw fat that it would make you almost sick to look at in a land of temperate climate and civilized methods of living. The Indian is by no means the only enemy of the caribou. Along the shore of the Arctic Sea live straggling bands of Esquimaux who kill great quantities of these persecuted animals, although employing more primitive methods than their southern neighbours; it is done, moreover, at the most fatal season of the year, just as the females have arrived at the coast and are dropping their young. Then there are the ever-hungry wolves and wolverines that hang with such pertinacity on the travelling herds and rely upon them entirely for subsistence. It is rarely that a caribou once singled out can escape. The wolves hunt in bands and seldom leave the track they have selected; the chase lasts for many hours, till the victim, wearied by the incessant running, leaves the band and his fate is sealed; he has a little the best of the pace at first but not the staying power, and is soon pulled to the ground. Many a time I witnessed these courses, and once disturbed half a dozen wolves just as they commenced their feast on a caribou in which life was hardly extinct, and I took the tongue and _depouille_ for my share of the hunt. [Illustration: A Dead White Wolf] I only saw wolves of two colours, white and black, during my stay in the North, although I heard much talk of grey wolves. There was some sort of disease, resembling mange, among them in the winter of 1889-90, which had the effect of taking off all their hair, and, judging from the number of dead that were lying about, must have considerably thinned their numbers. They do not seem to be dangerous to human beings except when starving; but the Indians have stories of crazy wolves that run into the lodges, kill the children, and play general havoc. I know that they do at times get bold under stress of hunger, as my own hauling dogs were set upon and eaten by them while harnessed to the sleigh close to the house at Fond du Lac; nothing remained but the sleigh, and a string of bells that must have proved less tempting than the rest of the harness. I scarcely credit the statement I have often heard made, that the wolverines will kill a full-grown caribou, although it is possible that they may attack the young ones. They follow the herds more for the pickings they can get from the feasts of the wolves, and are content with showing their fighting powers on hares and ptarmigan; if meat is not to be had they will eat berries freely, and their flesh is then not so bad as after they have had a long course of meat. The _carcajou_ possesses great strength and cunning in removing rocks and breaking into a _cache_; it climbs with great agility, and has a mean trick of throwing down a marten-trap from behind and taking out the bait, and is generally credited by the Indian with more wiles than the devil himself. It is an animal common enough in many parts of Canada, but is rarely seen in the woods on account of its retiring habits. In the Barren Ground, however, I had many opportunities of watching them through the glasses as they worked at the carcass of a caribou or musk-ox, and was much struck by the enormous power exercised by so small an animal; in travelling it seems to use only one pace, the _lope_ of the Western prairies, which it is said to be able to keep up for an indefinite time. Another great source of annoyance to the caribou are the two sorts of gadfly which use these animals as a hatching-ground for their eggs. The biggest kind, which seem the most numerous, deposit their eggs on the back, and, as they hatch out, the grubs bore through the skin and prey on the surrounding flesh. They begin to show in October, and grow bigger through the winter till the following spring, the number of holes in many cases rendering the skin absolutely useless for dressing. The other kind of fly lays its eggs in the nostril, with the result that in the months of May and June a nest of writhing grubs, slimmer and more lively than the grubs under the skin, appears at the root of the tongue; at this time of year the caribou may be often seen to stop and shake their heads violently, with their horns close to the ground, evidently greatly troubled by these grubs. Of the latter kind the Indians who travelled with me in the summer have a great horror, warning me to be very careful not to eat them, as they have an idea they would surely grow in a man's throat; and whenever we killed an animal, the first operation was to cut off its head and remove these unpleasant objects. By the beginning of August all the grubs have dropped off and the holes healed up, while the new coat has grown and the skins are then in their best condition. I could not hear of any attempt ever having been made to domesticate the caribou, though there is no good reason why they should not be trained to do the same work as the reindeer of Northern Europe. If this were brought about it would do away with the greatest difficulty of winter travel, the trouble about dog's food, which cripples any attempt to make a long journey except where game is very plentiful; wherever there was green timber and hanging moss the caribou might find its own supper, and would always come in better for food than a thin dog in times of starvation. The caribou afford a wide scope for the superstitions so ingrained in the Indian nature, and the wildest tales without the least foundation are firmly believed in. One widely-spread fancy is that they will entirely forsake a country if anyone throws a stick or stone at them, and their disappearance from the neighbourhood of Fort Resolution is accounted for by the fact of a boy, who had no gun, joining in the chase when the caribou were passing in big numbers, and clubbing one to death with a stick; this belief holds good also down the Mackenzie River, as does the idea that these animals on some occasions vanish either into the air or under the ground. The Indians say that sometimes when following close on a herd they arrive at a spot where the tracks suddenly cease and the hunter is left to wonder and starve. It is very unlucky to let the dogs eat any part of the head, and the remaining bones are always burnt or put up in a tree out of reach, the dogs going hungry, unless there happens to be some other kind of meat handy. Another rather more sensible superstition, presumably invented by the men, is that no woman must eat the gristle of the nose (a much-esteemed delicacy), or she will infallibly grow a beard. Such are examples of the endless traditions told of the caribou, which will always form the chief topic of conversation in the scattered lodges of the Dog-Ribs and Yellow Knives. CHAPTER V On the 17th of September we left our camp at the north end of Lake Camsell for a short expedition in search of musk-ox, which we expected to find within fifty miles of the edge of the woods. By this time we had all fattened up, and entirely recovered from the effects of the short rations we had had to put up with before we fell in with the caribou. My crew consisted at starting of King, Paul, François, Michel, and José; but as the two latter speedily showed signs of discontent I made no objection to their turning back, and despatched them to Fond du Lac to get ready the dog-sleighs, snow-shoes, and everything necessary for winter travel. As a matter of fact they did absolutely nothing except squander a relay of provisions and ammunition that had been sent on by the trading-boat from the fort to meet me at Fond du Lac. I was not sorry to see the last of them, as four of us were quite enough to work the canoe, and a small party naturally stands in less danger of starvation than a big one; moreover, they were certainly the most quarrelsome men in the camp, which is saying a good deal, as we had all done our fair share in that way since leaving the fort. We started without any meat, expecting to find caribou everywhere, and in this respect we had great luck all the time we were out; but we were not so well off for shelter. We had brought only one lodge from Fond du Lac, which was of course left for the women, while we took the chance of what weather might come, hunting the lee-side of a big rock towards evening, and often finding ourselves covered with an extra blanket of snow (_le couvert du bon Dieu_, as King called it) in the morning. The plan of campaign was to reach the musk-ox by canoe and bring back as many robes as we could carry before the winter set in; or, failing this, to kill and _cache_ caribou along our line of travel, so that we should have meat to help us reach the musk-ox with dog-sleighs after the heavy snow had fallen and all the caribou had passed into the woods. I named the first lake that we portaged into King Lake, a narrow sheet of water some five miles in length, and here we were storm-bound all day by a northerly gale, the force of the wind being so great that we could not move the canoe to windward, although the water was smooth enough. The weather improving in the morning, we paddled down the lake and passed into a small stream running out of its north end. A couple of miles down stream, with a portage over a small cascade (the thirty-fourth and last portage that we made with the big canoe), brought us to a huge lake running in a south-east and north-west direction, said to be the longest of all the lakes in this part of the country, and by the Indians' account four good days' travel, or over one hundred miles in length; the part that I saw is certainly over fifty miles, and is said to be not half the total distance. The lake is narrow in most places, and cut up by long points into numerous bays; there are a great many islands, particularly at the north-east end, similar in appearance to the main shore, which is just like the country I have described at the Lac du Rocher, except that at the end of the big lake the hills reach a greater elevation, and present more the aspect of a regular range, than in any other part of the Barren Ground that I saw. The position of Mackay Lake, as I named it after Dr. Mackay of the Athabasca district, is worthy of remark, as it is the best starting-point from which to work the most important streams of both watersheds. It lies very nearly on the height of land between the Great Slave Lake and the Arctic Ocean; its west end must be but a short portage from the Yellow Knife River, while from its eastern extremity runs out the large stream, named by Anderson the Outram, but more generally known as Lockhart's River, from the fact of its falling into the Great Slave Lake at Lockhart's house, which was established for the relief of Stewart and Anderson when they went in search of the missing Franklin Expedition. The Great Fish, or Back's River, which they descended on that occasion, heads within half a mile of the north bay of Aylmer Lake, lying next below Mackay Lake, on Lockhart's River. Fifteen miles to the north is another large sheet of water known to my companions as the Lac de Gras, through which the Coppermine River runs on its course direct to the Arctic Sea. The point at which we fell on Lake Mackay is about the edge of the woods, and here we camped for the last time with pine timber, finding a small hunting-canoe which some of the Beaulieus had left during the previous autumn. This we decided to take with us, and it proved extremely useful later on in crossing the Coppermine. On Sunday, September 22nd, with a fresh fair wind and our blanket pulling strong, we ran for several hours in a north-east direction; the little canoe which we carried athwartship made the steering difficult, as her bow and stern kept striking the tops of the big waves that were running after us, but we met with no accident except the carrying away of our mast. We were continually in sight of large bands of caribou, but they seemed to take little notice of the extraordinary apparition. Towards evening we saw a herd on a long point projecting far out from the south shore of the lake, and, thinking it would be a good place to make a _cache_, landed inside them and walked down the point in line. We had the animals completely hemmed in, and, when they charged through us, nine dropped to quick shooting at short range. There was little fuel of any kind on the spot, and we had to eat our meat almost raw, as is the fashion of the Barren Ground on these occasions. In the morning we ferried all the carcasses to a convenient island close to the point, put them in _cache_ among the rocks, and proceeded down the lake, camping at sundown at the head of a small bay near its north-east end. The weather now changed, and once more the north wind came howling across the open country straight from the Arctic Sea, and a steady continuous frost set in. We hauled up the big canoe and set out on foot, taking with us only our rifles and ammunition, a blanket apiece, and a couple of small kettles, besides the little canoe, which proved an awkward load to carry against the strong head-wind. We must have walked about twenty miles, occasionally making use of a lake for the canoe, when we reached the south shore of the Lac de Gras, much disappointed in seeing no musk-ox or caribou all day. The Lac de Gras is much broader than Lake Mackay, and rounder in shape, although at one spot it is nearly cut in half by points stretching out from each side. The Coppermine River runs in at the east and out at the west end, and the distance is not great to the site of Fort Enterprise, Sir John Franklin's wintering place in 1820, and the scene of the awful disasters which befell his first overland expedition. We were now hard up for provisions again, and the first daylight found us hunting for something to eat. Two of us walked along the shore, while the others paddled the canoe, but we could find neither musk-ox nor caribou; at midday we met and changed places, King and myself making rather a bold crossing in the shaky little canoe, while Paul and François walked round. On approaching the north shore of the lake we noticed a raven rise and throw himself on his back in the air, uttering the curious gurgling note which always seems to imply satisfaction. King exclaimed, "See the raven putting down his load! there is something to eat there"; and true enough there was, for we found the carcasses of eight musk-ox, killed, as we afterwards heard, a month before by a party of Yellow Knives, who had driven the animals into the water and massacred the whole band. Half a dozen gulls flapped away heavily, and we caught sight of a wolverine sneaking off as we came near. Neither of us much fancied the appearance of the feast that lay before us, but we had eaten nothing for some time, and one is not particular in such cases, especially as it is never certain when the next meal will turn up. We robbed from the wolverines and ravens, and, signalling to Paul and François, made a meal of the half-putrid flesh in a little patch of willow scrub that happened to be close at hand. It is never pleasant to find the game you are hunting killed by somebody else, but in this instance it was a relief to know that we had a supply of meat, such as it was, to fall back upon in case we came to grief later on. After supper we crossed the Coppermine, a big deep stream even here, with a current of a mile and a half an hour, running out of another lake which stretched northward and eastward as far as we could see. Here we left the small canoe to cross with on our return, and walked on late into the night, hoping to find some more willows, but eventually made a wretchedly cold camp without fire on a long promontory, to which we always after alluded as Le Point de Misère. A light snowstorm made us still more uncomfortable, and it was well on in the next afternoon before we found willows enough to make a fire, sighting almost immediately afterwards a big band of caribou. We killed eight, and, as all the small lakes were firmly frozen over by this time, were able to make the safest form of _cache_ by breaking the ice and throwing the meat into shoal water, which would at once begin to freeze and defy all the efforts of the wolverines. Two months afterwards we chopped out this meat, and found it fresh and palatable, although the outside was discoloured by its long soaking. When we had finished our _cache_ we lit a comparatively big fire in a bunch of well-grown willows and spent the rest of the day in eating and mending our moccasins, which were all badly worn out by the rough walking of the last few days. We had left our main camp badly provided in this respect, as the women had not had sufficient time to dress any skins before we started, and in consequence we were all troubled with sore feet during our wanderings in search of the musk-ox. Curiously enough, now we did not want them, the ptarmigan appeared again in great quantities, although we had not seen any since leaving our big canoe. The only other birds remaining were a few hawks, owls, gulls, and ravens; the wild-fowl had all left, and as a matter of fact we had come across very few since leaving the Great Slave Lake. About this time, too, we killed the first Arctic hare, an animal by no means to be despised, as it is fully as big as an English hare and will at a pinch provide a meal for a small party; at this time of year they are completely white, with the exception of the tips of the ears which are black; they are usually tame, and, being very conspicuous before the snow covers the ground, afford an excellent mark for the rifle. On this day we crossed a peculiar ridge composed of fine gravel and sand, resembling at a distance a high railway embankment. It is a well-known landmark for the Indians, and is said by them to stretch, with few interruptions from the east end of the Athabasca Lake to the east end of Great Bear Lake. September 27th was a red-letter day, marking the death of the first musk-ox. Soon after leaving camp we came to a rough piece of country, full of patches of the broken rocks that I have already described, and, mounting a small hill, saw a single old bull walking directly towards us at a distance of three hundred yards. We lay down in the snow, and I had a capital chance of watching him through the glasses as he picked his way quietly over the slippery rocks, a sight which went far to repay all the trouble we had taken in penetrating this land of desolation. In crossing an occasional piece of level ground he walked with a curious rolling motion, probably accounted for by the waving of the long hair on the flanks; this hair reaches almost to the ground, and gives the legs such an exaggerated appearance of shortness that, at first sight, one would declare the animal to be incapable of any rapid motion. The shaggy head was carried high, and when he finally pulled up at sight of us, within forty yards, with his neck slightly arched and a gleam of sunshine lighting up the huge white boss formed by the junction of the horns, he presented a most formidable appearance. His fate was not long in doubt, as my first shot settled him, and the main object of my trip was accomplished; whatever might happen after this, I could always congratulate myself on having killed a musk-ox, and this made up for a great deal of the misery that we afterwards had to undergo. Although not absolutely prime, this animal was a fine specimen of an old bull, with the yellow marking on the back clearly defined, and as good a head as any I saw during my stay in the musk-ox country. We took the whole skin, with head, horns, and hoofs, and _cached_ it among the rocks, where I am sorry to say it lies to this day; I intended to pick it up in the course of our winter hunt, but unfortunately we were caught in a snowstorm on the Lac de Gras, and were unable to find the _cache_. In the evening we scattered over the country, hoping to find a band of musk-ox, but another bull, killed by Paul, was the only one seen. On the following day the frost was much keener; the smaller lakes and the sheltered bays in the big one were set fast, and we began to realise that the sooner we started back the better chance we had of getting across Mackay Lake with the canoe, and avoiding the long detour to cross Lockhart's River, which was sure to remain open much longer than the lakes. The winter was coming on quickly, and we were badly provided with clothes to withstand its severity; our moccasins were in rags, and everybody showed signs of being footsore. By rough reckoning we were about on the 65th degree of latitude, and it seemed too reckless to push on any further towards the North, as already we were separated from the nearest timber by a hundred miles of treeless waste; even if we found a band of musk-ox, we should be forced to come out again with dogs to haul in the robes, as our big canoe was now too far back for us to think of carrying any great weight with us. Although we had not made a successful hunt, our trouble was not all thrown away, as enough meat _caches_ had been made to insure us a fair chance of getting out into the same country on the first deep snow. Nobody liked to be the first to talk about turning back, but on reaching the top of a low range of hills and seeing a flat desolate stretch of country lying to the north of us, with the lakes frozen up and no sign of animals or firewood, King turned to me and said: "It is not far from here that the white men died from cold and starvation at this time of year; let us go back before the snow gets deep and we are not able to travel." The old man looked particularly tough at this moment; none of our faces were very clean, but his was the more remarkable, as the blood of the last caribou that we killed had splashed in it, and, running down his beard, had mixed with his frozen breath and appeared in the form of long red icicles hanging from his chin. I think he knew what was in my mind and had an idea that I was laughing at him, for suddenly his quick temper got the better of him and he broke into one of those wild volleys of blasphemy that I had heard him give way to so often, and, turning on his heel, said that I could do as I liked, but he was going to make the best of his way back to the lodge. The walk back in front of the wind was not nearly so bad as it had been coming out head to it; and in many places we could travel straight over the ice, and, by cutting across the bays instead of walking round, save a considerable distance. Whenever we got this chance we put our loads on a handful of willow-brush and dragged them after us, finding it far easier than carrying them on our shoulders. Another night we spent without fire on the Point de Misère, and on October 3rd crossed the Coppermine amidst running ice, and there abandoned the little canoe. On the south side of the river we fell in with the biggest band of caribou we had yet seen, numbering fully three hundred; but as we had no need of any more meat _caches_ on the Lac de Gras, we only killed enough for present use. This crossing of the Coppermine, by the way, is an important spot in the history of the Dog-Ribs and Yellow Knives. It has always been a favourite swimming-place for the caribou, and many a struggle took place for the possession of this hunting-ground in the old days when there was continual warfare between the two tribes. At the present day it is a breach of etiquette for any Indians to camp here, as it is supposed that if the caribou are once headed back at this point they will not come south of Mackay Lake. This rule had evidently been broken lately, as we found signs of a recent encampment, and King considered that this amply accounted for our not finding the caribou before we reached the Lac du Rocher. After two more days' hard travelling we arrived at our big canoe, and had the satisfaction of finding some meat, that we had left there, untouched by the wolverines; but the bay was frozen solid, and there was no open water within two miles. Beyond the points of the bay we could see the white-capped waves running, but we knew that at the first spell of calm weather the whole lake would set fast. I now saw an example of the readiness of idea which King possessed in devising shifts and expedients to get out of difficulties. Of course he had had fifty years' experience in northern travel, but he was certainly, in my opinion, far above the average of the many other half-breeds and Indians who had been my companions in more or less difficult journeys in various parts of Canada. Before I thoroughly understood his scheme we commenced operations, by lashing together all the poles and paddles into a rough sort of ice-raft; on the top of this we placed the loads that we had carried so many miles, forming a smooth bed, two feet above the level of the ice, on which to rest the canoe. The bay had evidently frozen and broken up once, and the second freezing had left a rough surface; many of the floes were piled on top of each other, while the rest had been turned on edge, and it was necessary to keep the canoe clear of these sharp edges, which would have ripped the tender birch-bark like a knife. One man ran ahead, trying the strength of the ice with an axe, while the others hauled on the raft, and our method of progression was so satisfactory that just before dark, after much ominous cracking of the ice but no disaster, we camped on the east point of the bay close to the edge of open water. The half-breeds showed great knowledge of ice, and, with an occasional tap of the axe, picked out the safest route without making a mistake. The canoe propped on her side gave us the best shelter we had had for many a night, and, finding willows enough for a fire, we all felt jubilant at the idea of reaching the first clump of pines on the following day, besides getting an opportunity to rest our feet, which by this time were in a very bad condition. In this, however, we were doomed to disappointment. At the first sign of daylight we launched the canoe, and, breaking our way out through the young ice, were soon paddling in a heavy beam sea, with every splash of water freezing on us, and many stops to knock the ice from our paddles. After two or three hours of this work the wind died out, and, as we approached a group of small islands that cut the lake up into numerous channels, we saw a thin sheet of ice across the whole width. All hope of passing with the canoe was given up, and we headed for the south shore while a heavy snowstorm made it difficult to keep the course; the surface water was rapidly thickening into ice, and the sharp needles began to scrape unpleasantly along the sides of our frail vessel. We were none too soon in reaching the land, and had to carry the canoe over the thick ice near the shore. Here we turned her over carefully, and putting the poles, paddles, and all necessaries underneath, abandoned her to be buried under the snow till I might want her again the next summer. Late in the following June we found her, none the worse for her long exposure to the rigour of a winter in the Barren Ground, but even then there was no sign of open water in Mackay Lake. We had now to continue our journey on foot; but by keeping to the shore of the lake, and sometimes making use of the ice in crossing a bay, we only camped twice before reaching the pine timber. Late on the third day we came to the bank of an ugly, quick-flowing stream, and saw a large bunch of pines on the far side. Waist-deep we made a ford among the running ice, and were soon drying ourselves by a blazing fire of pine-wood. The whole of life is said to go by comparison, and although a few pine-trees in a wilderness of snow might seem the height of desolation to a man lately used to the luxuries of the civilized world, it appeared to us like a glimpse of heaven after the exposure of the last few weeks. It really was a pleasant spot, and one which has impressed itself on my memory more than any other camp that we made during this trip. A band of caribou, passing close by, provided us with supper, while a big pack of ptarmigan held possession of the little pine-trees, and kept up a constant expostulation at the intrusion of the scarcely known human beings. Hunger and danger were behind us just at present, and we felt in the best of tempers as we lay down for a long sleep on sweet-smelling pine-brush. Shortly after leaving camp in the morning another band of caribou appeared, and, as the lodge was now not far ahead, we killed about a dozen, and put them in _cache_ for later use. We then walked steadily on all day, and in the evening came in sight of Lake Camsell, over which the sun was setting in full northern splendour, throwing a wonderful purple light across the thin film of ice that coated the water. It was late in the night, and it was not till we had fired several gun-shots at intervals, that we heard an answering signal, and found that the women had set up the lodge in the next bunch of pines, as they had exhausted all the firewood close to the old camp. Meat was abundant, for the caribou had been passing, and many had been killed by the women and boys. Bales of dried meat formed a solid wall round the lodge, varied here and there by a bladder of grease or a skin-bag full of pounded meat, while bunches of tongues and back-fats were hanging from the cross-poles to smoke. The scene reminded me of the old fairy stories in which the hero used to discover houses, with walls of sugar and roofs of gingerbread, full of all the good things imaginable, while any member of the Beaulieu family would make a respectable ogre to guard such treasures. Of course the lodge was dirty and infested with the vermin from which these people are never free; but there was an air of warmth and plenty about it very agreeable after the hand-to-mouth existence we had been leading. On looking back at this expedition I cannot help thinking that we were lucky in getting through it without more trouble; it was just the wrong time of year to be travelling, too late for open water and too early for dogs to have been of any service, even if we had had them with us. One of the heavy snowstorms that, judging from Sir John Franklin's experience, are common in the end of September and beginning of October, would have made the walking much more laborious, as even the little snow that was on the ground delayed us considerably. Another source of danger was the numerous falls among the broken rocks; but though we all came down heavily at times, and, once or twice, with big loads of meat on our backs, no damage was done. The caribou kept turning up most opportunely, and we had no real hardships from want of food. Fuel was nearly always insufficient, but we only had two fireless camps, both on the Point de Misère. In many places we used black moss in addition to whatever willow scrub we could collect, and so long as the weather was dry found it quite good enough for boiling a kettle, but when the snow fell it was perfectly useless. This absence of a fire to sit by at night is the most unpleasant feature in travelling the Barren Ground. CHAPTER VI The day after our arrival was Sunday, a fine, calm day with bright sunshine, of which we took advantage to wash our scanty stock of clothing and generally pull ourselves together. Cleanliness of the body is not looked upon with much favour by the half-breeds, but Sunday morning was always celebrated in the lodge by the washing of faces and a plentiful application of grease to the hair. After this operation was over we held a consultation as to the best way of carrying on our hunt of the musk-ox, which had so far not proved successful. The same old wrangling and abuse of each other ensued, and finally the following decision was arrived at. Paul and François were to go back to Fond du Lac, so soon as their feet were in a fit condition to travel; they were to occupy themselves in getting ready the dog-sleighs, and to return on the first deep snow to the spot where we had killed the caribou on the day that we reached the lodge. If any of the Indians, of whom I had seen absolutely nothing so far, were going to the musk-ox, arrangements should be made with them to come all together, so that we might have the benefit of as many sleighs as possible to haul wood. All our dried meat was to be put in _cache_ at Lake Camsell, and the camp moved to a clump of pines that we had noticed the day before. King and myself were to remain with the women, to kill meat enough to enable us to start well supplied for the musk-ox country. We built a rough scaffold with the longest poles obtainable, and stowed all the meat as high above the ground as possible. Then we pulled down the lodge, and, after a couple of days' walk with heavy loads, camped on the south side of a ridge, from the summit of which we had a commanding view of Lake Mackay and the surrounding country. There was little chance of many caribou passing without being observed, as there were usually several pairs of sharp eyes on the look-out. As this was to be our home for a month or so, we took care to pick out a good spot and set up the lodge in the most approved fashion, taking advantage of the little shelter that the stunted pines could afford. A mile or two to the east lay the northern end of a large sheet of water, running about forty miles in a southerly direction, known to the Indians as "The Lake of the Enemy," and formerly the home of that terrible Evil Spirit supposed to haunt the Barren Ground. It is hard to get a full description of the Enemy, as, although many people have seen it, they are at once afflicted with insanity, and are incapable of giving an accurate account of their experience; but one must not dare to express unbelief in the existence of the Enemy any more than in that of the Giant Musk-Ox, fully ten times the size of the biggest bull ever seen, whose track many Indians say they have come across far out in the Barren Ground. King and myself spent most of our time prowling about in search of caribou, but for the first fortnight few came and we were only just able to keep ourselves in fresh meat, although there was soon plenty of dried meat from the animals we had _cached_ at this spot a week before. I now saw what an advantage it is to take women on a hunting-trip of this kind, and certainly King's wife and daughter were both well up in the household duties of the country. If we killed anything, we only had to cut up and _cache_ the meat, and the women and small boys would carry it in. On returning to camp we could throw ourselves down on a pile of caribou skins and smoke our pipes in comfort, but the women's work was never finished. The rib bones have all to be picked out, and the _plat côte_ hung up in the smoke to dry; the meat of haunches and shoulders must be cut up in thin strips for the same purpose, and the bones have to be collected, pounded down, and boiled for the grease which is in such demand during the cold weather about to commence. But the greatest labour of all lies in dressing the skins, cutting off the hair, scraping away every particle of flesh and fat, and afterwards tanning them into soft leather for moccasins, which are themselves no easy task to make. Many skins, too, have to be made into parchment or carefully cut into _babiche_ for the lacing of snow-shoes, and again, there are hair-coats to be made for each member of the party. In an ordinary Indian lodge the women have to put up with ill-usage as well as hard work; but most of the half-breeds know enough to treat them fairly; and King, except in his moments of passion, when he did not stop at any cruelty, treated his womenkind very well. One of our first expeditions was to hunt birch for making the frames of snow-shoes, which might be needed at any time, and King soon had a pair ready for lacing; he was very clever with the crooked knife, the universal tool of the North, but the stunted birch is hard to bend to the proper shape, and requires constant watching during the process of warping. The evenings were generally spent in long discussions over our pipes, for tobacco was still holding out, and the old man was keen to hear about the doings of the white man in the Grand Pays, as the half-breeds indefinitely term the whole of the outside world. The ignorance existing among these people is extraordinary, considering how much time they spend at the forts, and how many officers of the Hudson's Bay Company they have a chance to talk to, besides the missionaries of both faiths. It is a different matter with the Indians, as they seldom come to the fort, and cannot hold much conversation with the Whites without an interpreter. It was difficult, for instance, to persuade King that the Hudson's Bay Company does not rule the whole world, or that there are countries that have no fur-bearing animals, which in the North furnish the only means of making a living for the poor man. He was much interested in stories of the Queen, although he could never believe that Her Majesty held such a high rank as the Governor of the Company, and quite refused to acknowledge her as his sovereign. "No," he said; "she may be your Queen, as she gives you everything you want, good rifles and plenty of ammunition, and you say that you eat flour at every meal in your own country. If she were my Queen, surely she would send me sometimes half a sack of flour, a little tea, or perhaps a little sugar, and then I should say she was indeed my Queen. As it is I would rather believe Mr. Reid of Fort Province, who told me once that the earth went round and the sun stood still; but I myself have seen the sun rise in the morning and set at night for many years. It is wrong of you White Men, who know how to read and write, to tell lies to poor men who live by the muzzle of their guns." Another matter over which his mind was greatly exercised was the last North-West Rebellion under Louis Riel. He was convinced that during this rising the half-breeds and Indians had declared war upon the Hudson's Bay Company, and gained a decisive victory besides much glorious plunder; and he asked why such an outbreak should not succeed on the Great Slave Lake, where there was only one man in charge of a fort. He had many questions too to ask about the various good things that we eat and drink in England, and criticised severely the habit of eating three regular meals a day, which he described as eating by the clock instead of by the stomach, a much more greedy habit than that of gorging when meat is plentiful and starving at other times. On several occasions during our travels together I had reason to expostulate with him on the carelessness he displayed with provisions, but without making the least impression. "What is this improvidence?" he would say. "I do not like that word. When we have meat why should we not eat _plein ventre_ to make up for the time when we are sure to starve again?" He could never realise that starvation might be partially avoided by a little care. Often King would spin me a long story as we lay round the fire in the lodge; usually some tradition handed down from the time when all the animals and birds could converse together; what the wolf said to the wolverine when they went on a hunting-trip in company, and how the ptarmigan invited the loon to dine with him in a clump of willows in the Barren Ground, while there was a big stock of giant stories, with heroes much resembling those of the favourite nursery tales of one's childhood. Again he would come down to more recent times and describe the battles of the Dog-Ribs and Yellow Knives, which seem to have been carried on in the same sneaking fashion that has always distinguished the warfare among the tribes of Canadian Indians; there was no open fighting, and all the victories were won by a successful approach on an unsuspecting and usually sleeping encampment of the enemy, the first grey of dawn being the favourite time of attack. The following story of the Deluge, as believed by the Yellow Knives, I copied down from King's recital; it appears to be a curious mixture of old tradition with some details from the Biblical version as taught to the Northern Indians on the arrival of the first priests in the country. Many years ago, so long ago in fact that as yet no man had appeared in the country of the Slave Lake, the animals, birds, and fishes lived in peace and friendship, supporting themselves by the abundant produce of the soil. But one winter the snow fell far more heavily than usual; perpetual darkness set in, and when the spring should have come the snow, instead of melting away, grew deeper and deeper. This state of affairs lasted many months, and it became hard for the animals to make a living; many died of want, and at last it was decided in grand council to send a deputation to Heaven to enquire into the cause of the strange events, and in this deputation every kind of animal, bird, and fish was represented. They seem to have had no difficulty in reaching the sky, and passing through a trap-door into a land of sunshine and plenty. Guarding the door stood a deerskin lodge resembling the lodges now in use among the Yellow Knives; it was the home of the black bear, an animal then unknown on the earth. The old bear had gone to a lake close at hand to spear caribou from a canoe, but three cubs were left in the lodge to take care of some mysterious bundles that were hung up on the cross-poles; the cubs refused to say what these bundles contained and appeared very anxious for the return of the old bear. Now the idea of spearing caribou did not find favour with the deputation from below, and as the canoe was seen lying on the shore of the lake, the mouse was despatched to gnaw through the paddle, and as he had nearly accomplished this feat the bear came running down in pursuit of a band of caribou that had put off from the far shore. When he was close up to his intended victims and was working his best, the paddle suddenly broke, the canoe capsized, and the bear disappeared beneath the water. Then the animals, birds, and fishes grew bold, and pulling down the bundles, found that they contained the sun, moon, and stars belonging to the earth; these they threw down through the trap-door to lighten the world and melt the snow, which by this time covered the tops of the tallest pine-trees. The descent from Heaven was not made without some small accidents. The beaver split his tail and the blood splashed over the lynx, so that ever afterwards till the present day the beaver's tail is flat and the lynx is spotted; the moose flattened his nose, and many other casualties occurred which account for the peculiarities of various animals, and the little bears came tumbling down with the rest. And now the snow began to melt so quickly that the earth was covered with water, but the fish found for the first time that they could swim, and carried their friends that could not on their backs, while the ducks set to work to pull up the land from beneath the water. But it was still hard to make a living, so the raven, then the most beautiful of birds, was sent to see if he could find any place where dry land was showing; but coming across the carcass of a caribou he feasted upon it, although the raven had never before eaten anything but berries and the leaves of the willow. For this offence he was transformed into the hideous bird that we know, and to this day is despised of every living thing; even omnivorous man will not eat of the raven's flesh unless under pressure of starvation. The ptarmigan was then sent out and returned bearing in his beak a branch of willow as a message of hope; in remembrance of this good action the ptarmigan turns white when the snow begins to fall in the Barren Ground, and thus warns the animals that winter is at hand. But the old life had passed away and the peace that had reigned among all living things was disturbed. The fish, as the water subsided, found that they could no longer live on the land, and the birds took to flying long distances. Every animal chose the country that suited it best, and gradually the art of conversation was lost. About this time too, in a vague and indefinite manner about which tradition says little, the first human being appeared on the shore of the Great Slave Lake. * * * * * The weather continued fine without severe frost till the middle of October, the snow was still light on the ground, but the lakes all set fast. On the night of the fourteenth a storm arose equal in violence to a Dakota blizzard and continued till the following evening, by which time there were a couple of feet of snow on the ground. It was impossible to keep the drift from coming into the lodge, and as soon as the storm was over we had to throw down our shelter and clear away the banks that had accumulated inside. This was distinctly the coming of winter and there was no more sign of a thaw; the cold kept growing severer, especially on clear days, but I had no thermometer to mark its intensity. The daylight was shortening rapidly and the sun shone with little warmth. [Illustration: The Indians Driving Caribou] With the increasing depth of snow there was a noticeable migration of life from the Barren Ground. Ptarmigan came literally in thousands, while the tracks of wolves, wolverines, and Arctic foxes made a continuous network in the snow. Scattered bands of caribou were almost always in sight from the top of the ridge behind the camp, and increased in numbers till the morning of October 20th, when little Baptiste, who had gone for firewood, woke us up before daylight with the cry of _La foule! La foule!_ and even in the lodge we could hear the curious clatter made by a band of travelling caribou. _La foule_ had really come, and during its passage of six days I was able to realise what an extraordinary number of these animals still roam in the Barren Ground. From the ridge we had a splendid view of the migration; all the south side of Mackay Lake was alive with moving beasts, while the ice seemed to be dotted all over with black islands, and still away on the north shore, with the aid of the glasses, we could see them coming like regiments on the march. In every direction we could hear the grunting noise that the caribou always make when travelling; the snow was broken into broad roads, and I found it useless to try to estimate the number that passed within a few miles of our encampment. We were just on the western edge of their passage, and afterwards heard that a band of Dog-Ribs, hunting some forty miles to the west, were at this very time in the last straits of starvation, only saving their lives by a hasty retreat into the woods, where they were lucky enough to kill sufficient meat to stave off disaster. This is a common danger in the autumn, as the caribou coming in from the Barren Ground join together in one vast herd and do not scatter much till they reach the thick timber. It turned out very well for us, however, and there is really no limit to the number we might have killed if we had been in need of them; but it was too far out to make a permanent winter's camp, and hauling such a long distance with dogs is unsatisfactory, as most of the meat would be consumed on the way. We killed therefore only so many as we could use, and had some luxurious living during the rest of our stay in this camp. The caribou, as is usually the case when they are in large numbers, were very tame, and on several occasions I found myself right in the middle of a band with a splendid chance to pick out any that seemed in good condition. The rutting season was just over, and as the bulls had lost all their fat and their meat was too strong to eat, only does were killed. A good deal of experience is necessary to tell the fat ones, but the half-breeds can tell age and sex pretty well by the growth of the horns; often King told me which to shoot at, and it was seldom that he made a mistake in his choice. This passage of the caribou is the most remarkable thing that I have ever seen in the course of many expeditions among the big game of America. The buffalo were for the most part killed out before my time, but, notwithstanding all the tall stories that are told of their numbers, I cannot believe that the herds on the prairie ever surpassed in size _La foule_ of the caribou. Soon after the migration had passed, José Beaulieu arrived from Fond du Lac in company with an Indian, having made the journey on foot in eight days. Things had apparently gone all wrong there; they had been starving, and had of course taken everything of mine that they could lay hands on, both provisions and ammunition. They had then quarrelled over the division of the spoil, but as the caribou turned up within two days of the house contentment was now reigning. José had brought a little tea and tobacco, of which we were now badly in need, and a long string of grievances against his brothers at Fond du Lac. He had done nothing to help me in any way, although he had promised to have everything ready for the first snow, and seemed rather surprised that I did not take much interest in his wrongs. He got even with me, however, on his way back, by breaking into a _cache_, that I had made before reaching the Lac du Rocher, and stealing the tobacco that I was relying on for our next trip in the Barren Ground. José reported the woods to the south of us to be full of caribou, and a big band of Yellow Knives camped at the Lac de Mort, some of whom were talking of coming for a musk-ox hunt, if I could give them ammunition. I sent word to the chief that I could supply three or four of them, and ordered Paul and Michel to come on with the dogs as soon as possible. The snow was by this time quite deep enough for travelling, and any delay meant an increased severity in the weather, while in any case it would be late in the year before we got back to Fond du Lac. After José left we relapsed into our lazy existence of eating and sleeping, having no more excuse for hunting; occasionally we made a short trip on snow-shoes to examine some of our _caches_ and bring in a little meat, and once went for a three days' expedition to our meat on the island in Mackay Lake, and made a more secure _cache_ by putting the carcasses of the caribou under the ice. At other times we amused ourselves by setting snares for ptarmigan, which were in great numbers, or by hauling a load of wood across a small lake in front of the lodge, as we had used up all the fuel within easy reach. On the shore of this lake was a fine specimen of the balanced rocks so common all over the open country; an enormous boulder many tons in weight, so neatly set on the three sharp points of an underlying rock that it could be easily shaken but not dislodged; the lake is known among the Indians as the "Lake of the Hanging Rock." We might have done some successful trapping for wolves, wolverines, and foxes, but had unfortunately left all our steel traps at Fond du Lac in order to travel as lightly as possible in the portages. Quickly and without incident the short days slipped away until on the tenth of November, as I was returning to camp, I heard a gunshot to the southward of us. Instantly all was excitement, and we had barely time to answer the signal before a large party of men and eight dog-sleighs came in sight over the ridge. At first I could recognise no one, as the day had been very cold and their faces were covered with hoar frost, which makes it hard to distinguish one man from another; but they turned out to be Paul, François, and Michel, besides several Indians, among whom was Zinto, the chief of the Yellow Knives, who had come some hundred miles from his hunting-camp on purpose to pay me a visit. A small supply of tea and tobacco had come up, but not nearly enough for our wants, and I could see that we should have to do without these luxuries just at the time when we most required them; there was also a little flour, and we had a big feast of flour and grease the same evening; all the new arrivals came into the lodge, and sixteen people and fully as many dogs slept inside that night. After supper I handed round a small plug of black tobacco to each man, as is the invariable custom of the officer in charge of a fort on the arrival of a band of Indians; and when the pipes were lit Zinto gave me to understand that he had a few remarks to make to me. He would have been a fine-looking specimen of a Yellow Knife but for a habit of blinking his eyes, which gave him a rather owlish expression; he was possessed with a great idea of a chief's importance, but I found him a pretty good fellow during the many dealings that I afterwards had with him. King acted as interpreter, and I fancy rather cut down the speech in length, but this was the gist of it. "Zinto was very pleased to see a white man on his hunting-ground. He had known several at the forts, but had never before seen one among the caribou. Many years ago his father had told him stories of some white men who had wandered across the Barren Ground and reached the sea-coast; they had all endured much hardship, and many had died from cold and starvation; he did not know why they came to such a country, when by all accounts they were so much better off at home, but supposed there was some good reason which an Indian could not understand. For his own part he liked the Whites; all that he valued came from their country, and he had always been well treated by the Company. He was willing to help me as much as he could now that I had ventured so far into his hunting-ground, but the musk-ox hunt in snow-time was hard; only the bravest of his young men went, and last year was the first time they had made the attempt. The Dog-Ribs who traded at Fort Rae often went, but they had an easier country, as the musk-ox were nearer the woods. There would be much walking to do, and the cold would be great; however, if I meant to go he would order his young men to look after me, and on no account to leave me if from starvation or any other cause I could not keep up. I was to have the first choice of the meat in the kettle and the best place in the lodge to lie down. He hoped we should have a successful hunt, and, although he knew that we were short of such things, he could not help asking for a little tea and tobacco to give him courage for his journey back to the camp. If he received this he should have a still higher opinion of the white man and his heart would be glad." I replied that I was much gratified at seeing the chief of the Yellow Knives in my camp, and was sorry that I could not give him a more imposing reception on the present occasion; I had heard much to his credit from King Beaulieu and from the Company's officer in charge of Athabasca district; he was spoken of as a good chief and friendly towards the Whites. I had come from far across the big water on purpose to see the country of the Yellow Knives, and was anxious to know how they lived, and how they hunted the various kinds of animals upon which they depended for subsistence. For this purpose I now proposed going for a musk-ox hunt, and was glad to see that some of his tribe were prepared to accompany me. I could let them have enough ammunition for the trip, and would share with them the meat _caches_ that we had made along our line of travel, and also the tea and tobacco while it lasted. Much interest was felt in my country with regard to the Yellow Knives, and I hoped to be able to give a good account of their treatment to a stranger when I returned home. If his young men behaved well while they were out with me they should all receive presents when they reached the fort. Here the effect of my oration was rather spoilt by the Beaulieus breaking in to ask what presents they were to receive. Had they not been faithful so long, and gone so much out of their way to help me? and then the misery they had gone through in the Barren Ground on the last musk-ox hunt! Now followed a tremendous quarrel among themselves, mostly, I believe, about the stealing they had been doing at Fond du Lac, and whether the value of the articles they had taken should be deducted from the wages I had agreed to pay them before starting. After the discordant clamour had subsided a little, Zinto replied that he was satisfied, and thanked me for the small present of tea and tobacco which I could not well refuse; we then discussed all the various plans for the forthcoming hunt, and sat up feasting till late in the night. Something in the proceedings of the evening must have displeased King, as he suddenly astonished us all by saying that he would not go with us. What the grievance was I never found out, but he was obstinate on the point. I had been relying on him for interpreter, and was rather annoyed at his refusal to go, especially as François, the best French speaker in the outfit, declared his intention of returning straight to Fond du Lac. Michel too was wavering, but finally decided to go, as Paul, who behaved very well on this occasion, steadily declared that he was quite willing to accompany me, and would carry out the promise that he had made at Fort Resolution to go the whole trip. These two then and myself, together with the five Indians, Noel, William, Peter, Saltatha, and Marlo (brother of Zinto), and twenty-four dogs hauling six sleighs made up the party that eventually started for the Barren Ground about midday on Sunday, November 11th. King maintained his ill-temper till the hour of departure, saying that he did not want so many men and dogs in his lodge eating up the provisions that he had worked so hard to earn, and that the sooner we started the better he would be pleased. He used some particularly offensive language to me, but relented at the last moment and gave me his own hair-coat and a new pair of snow-shoes, of which I was badly in want. He also promised to do his best in the way of leaving meat _caches_ along the course that we should follow on our return from the musk-ox country. I was rather sorry to leave the old fellow after all, as on the whole we had been pretty good friends while we lived together, and he certainly had great influence over the Indians which might have been useful during our difficult journey. CHAPTER VII That night we made an open camp in a bunch of pines on the south side of Lake Mackay, at which point we intended to load wood for use in the Barren Ground. We were much better found in all respects than on the last occasion, and having dogs with us should not be obliged to carry anything ourselves. We used the ordinary travelling sleighs of the North; two smooth pieces of birch, some seven feet in length, with the front ends curled completely over and joined together with cross slats secured with _babiche_ into a total width of sixteen inches. A ground-lashing is passed along through holes in the outside edge of the sleigh, and to this is fastened a rough deerskin wrapper in which the load is stowed as neatly as possible and the wrapper laced on the top, so that in case of a capsize, which frequently happens, nothing can fall out. The traces are hitched on to loops in the front end of the sleigh, and four dogs put in the caribou-skin harness one in front of the other. The company officers have imported leather dog-harness with buckles for their own use between the forts; but I think for handling in really cold weather the caribou-skin, or better still moose-skin, with thongs instead of buckles, is preferable. Our twenty-four dogs rejoiced in endless varieties of names, English, French, and Indian, some popular names introduced by the Whites being freely given without reference to sex or colour. For instance, in my own sleigh the fore-goer, a big yellow bitch, answered to the name of Napoleon, whilst just behind her came a black bushy-tailed dog La Reine; we had three Drap Fins, from their resemblance to the fine black cloth so dearly beloved by the half-breeds and Indians, two Chocolates of different colours, besides Cavour, Chandelle, Diable, Lion, Blucher, Royal, Bismarck, and a host of unpronounceable Indian names. We were all dressed alike in coats of caribou-skin with the hair outside and hoods fastened up closely under the chin, and these we hardly took off day or night for the five weeks that we were out. Our hands were thrust into moose-skin mittens lined with duffel and hung round the neck by highly ornamented plaited woollen strings, or in the case of a man of little wealth with a more humble piece of _babiche_, but most of my companions managed to show a little colour in this respect. We rolled our feet in duffel and cased them in huge moccasins, of which we all had two or three pair; and as we were very careful in drying them every night before sleeping to get rid of all dampness caused by perspiration there was not a single case of frozen feet during the whole journey, although the big cold of an Arctic winter had now fairly set in. We used small snow-shoes about three feet in length, as most of the travelling would be on the frozen lakes where the snow is always drifting, and, consequently, pretty hard. One man, or in case of softer snow two, went ahead to break the road and the dogs followed in their tracks, or, if they showed any disinclination to start, were most unmercifully clubbed and cursed by name till they did so. A big deer-skin lodge and a sufficient number of carefully trimmed poles had been brought up from Fond du Lac, as it would have been impossible to endure the cold and almost perpetual wind without shelter of any kind, but they had the disadvantage of greatly increasing the weight of our load. King had given us a little dried meat, but only enough for a couple of days for such a large outfit; the dogs alone required at least fifty pounds a day to keep them in good condition. We had the meat _caches_ ahead, and hoped to fall in with the musk-ox before we ran out of provisions entirely. The danger of course lay in not finding these animals when we got far out, as the caribou had almost all passed into the woods and we could not hope to see any after the first few days. Our ammunition was rather limited, but with care we had enough to keep the muzzle-loading weapons supplied, and Paul and myself had a fair amount of cartridges for our Winchester rifles. We were obliged to wrap deer-skins round the levers and the parts of the barrel that our hands touched to avoid contact with the iron, which sticks to the bare skin in cold weather and causes a painful burn. The next day was spent in cutting wood into short lengths and loading it on to the sleighs. In the morning Marlo was very ill from the surfeit of flour he had had in King's camp, but was well enough to travel a short distance in the afternoon, and we pitched our lodge in the snow, clear of all timber. Here I had my first experience of a winter camp in the Barren Ground. A spot being chosen where the snow is light and the ground clear of rocks, a ring of the requisite size is marked out. Snow-shoes are taken off and used as shovels for throwing away the snow from the inside of this ring, making a wall varying in height according to the depth of snowfall. Outside this circle the sleighs are turned on edge, the poles planted behind them, and the deer-skin lodge spread round, forming as comfortable a camp as can be expected in such a country. The wood allowed for supper is carefully split and a fire lighted, the kettle hanging over it from three small sticks carried for the purpose; the lumps of meat for dog's food are spread round the fire till sufficiently thawed, when a lively scene commences outside the lodge, every man feeding his own dogs and watching them to see there is no foul play. By the time this is over the melted snow in the kettle is boiling, and every man gets his piece of meat in much the same manner as the dogs. I always had the privilege of first choice, but in the dense clouds of smoke that usually filled the lodge it was by no means easy to take the full advantage of it. We drank tea while it held out, and then fell back on the greasy snow-water that the meat was boiled in. There was always a good proportion of caribou hair in everything we ate or drank, varying afterwards to the coarse black hair of the musk-ox, which was far more objectionable. [Illustration: Making Camp] As soon as supper was over and our moccasins dry the fire was allowed to go out, to economize wood, and each man rolled himself up in his blanket, lay down on the frozen ground, and slept as well as he might till it was time to travel again. Directly all was quiet the dogs forced their way in and commenced a free fight over us for any scraps or bones they could find lying about; finally they curled themselves up for the night without paying much attention to our comfort. A warm dog is not a bad thing to lie against or to put at your feet, but these hauling dogs seem to prefer to lie right on top of your body, and as most of them are a considerable weight a good night's rest is an impossibility. Any attempt to kick or shove them off produced a general row, and a moving foot was often mistaken in the darkness for a hostile dog and treated as such; Paul received one rather bad bite on his toes, but the rest of us all got off with slight nips. We had to be careful to put everything edible, in the way of moccasins, mittens, and even snow-shoes, under us, as these are things that few dogs can resist, and there is nothing more annoying than to find all the _babiche_ eaten out of your snow-shoes in the morning. When the hungry time came later on the dogs began to eat the lodge, and would soon have left us houseless but for one man always keeping watch at night. One is accustomed to hear of men sleeping in fluffy woollen bags in the Arctic regions, but I found that a deer-skin coat and one blanket were sufficient to keep me warm except on the very coldest nights. I had told Michel particularly to bring another blanket that I had left behind at Fond du Lac, and abused him roundly when I found he had come without it. It seems that an Indian had arrived at the house with a load of dried meat and grease, and was in want of a blanket; Michel, to use his own expression, took pity on him and gave him my blanket in exchange for the grease. He doubtless considered this a pious act of charity, but had rather spoilt it by consuming the grease himself; and on my asking him why, if he felt so sorry for the Indian, he had not given him one of his own blankets, or at least kept the grease for me, he replied: "I have only two blankets and I have a wife; you have no wife, so one blanket is enough for you; besides, I love grease, and it is hard for me to see it and not eat it." In the middle of the night Saltatha, always the earliest, got up and drove out the dogs, lit the fire, and prepared another meal, exactly similar to our supper of the evening. Usually we harnessed up many hours before daylight and travelled, with only an occasional ten-minutes' rest, till the sun had been long down and there was just enough daylight left to make camp; dinner was completely cut out of our day as being too heavy a strain on our firewood. There was no attempt at washing made by any of the party during the whole time that we were out, and indeed it would have been an impossibility, as our small fires were only just sufficient to melt the snow for cooking purposes. In clear weather the nights were of wonderful brilliancy, and after we had been out a couple of weeks the moon was big enough to add a little light, and of course kept steadily improving in this respect; but the starlight alone illumined the waste of snow sufficiently to see landmarks far ahead. Generally the Aurora was flashing in its full glory, and if there was no wind the travelling was pleasant enough. At the first sign of dawn, and thence till the sun rose, the cold always became more severe, and if a light head-wind happened to get up at the same time there were sure to be some frozen noses and chins in the outfit. The hair on our faces, even to the eyebrows and eyelashes, was always coated with rime, giving everybody a peculiarly stupid expression; my beard was usually a mass of ice, and I had great difficulty in thawing it out by our small fires, although it proved a grand protection from frost-bite. I think I was the only one that escaped being bitten in the chin, but my nose, cheeks, and forehead were touched several times. The sunrise was often very beautiful, and the effects of long duration, as the sun is close to the horizon a considerable time before he shows above it, while the dense blue blackness in the north and west gives the impression that the night is still lingering there. Often a sun-dog is the first thing to appear, and more or less of these attendants accompany the sun during his short stay above the horizon. The driving snow, which obliterates everything in blowing weather, often spoils the evening effects; but once or twice I saw the sun set over a frozen lake, tinting the snow with various shades of red, and throwing a beauty over the wilderness that it is useless for me to attempt to describe. A thick fog hung over everything during the whole of the second day out from the woods, and of course made it extremely difficult to find the meat _cache_ in Lake Mackay; at dark we camped on the first land that we came to, but had no very accurate idea of our position. Luckily the weather cleared towards morning, and we made out the island on which we had stored the carcasses of the caribou killed on September 22nd. We had some trouble in punching a hole with our only ice-chisel and hauling out a solid lump of meat and ice some five feet thick and many feet in circumference; but the Indians were much cheered at the sight of so much provision, and declared themselves ready to go out to the sea-coast if necessary. The short day was nearly over by the time we had got the meat, so we camped for the night on the island; but before daylight we were off again, and when the sun set had nearly reached the end of the lake and made a wood _cache_ on a conspicuous point for our return journey. The next day was thick again, and we were lucky in finding the bay in which we had left the big canoe during our last expedition. A very curious thing, illustrating the difficulty of recognising objects in these fogs, happened just as we were leaving the ice. We saw an animal, apparently at some distance, bounding along the horizon at a most remarkable pace; all down the line there were cries of _Erjerer_ (musk-ox), _Et-then, Le loup!_ guns were snatched from the sleighs, and even the dogs charged at a gallop in pursuit of the strange animal. After a rush of ten yards the quarry disappeared; the first man had put his foot on it, and it turned out to be one of the small mice so common in the Barren Ground. What it was doing out on the lake at this time of year, instead of being comfortably curled up under ground, I cannot say; but it certainly gave me the impression that if these fogs continued we should run a good chance of coming to grief through losing our way. At sunrise the weather cleared, and we found a small band of caribou at the beginning of the twenty-mile portage to the Lac de Gras. After we had killed three and fed the dogs, we began our overland work. The snow was much softer here, with many large rocks showing through, and some steep hills made travelling hard for the dogs. Night caught us about half-way between the two lakes, and the north wind freshened up into a tempest such as I have never seen surpassed by the blizzards of the western prairies. Fortunately we found a fairly sheltered place for the lodge or it must have been swept away; as it was the deer-skin flapped with a noise like that of a sail blown to pieces at sea; two of our lodge-poles were carried away, and we were in momentary expectation of being left without shelter to the mercy of the storm; the driving snow forced itself in, and men and dogs were only recognisable by the white mounds which marked their position. For thirty hours we lay like this till the wind abated at midnight, when we started again towards the north, and continued walking till we had crossed the big bay of the Lac de Gras into which the Coppermine River runs. We camped a little short of our second meat _cache_ on the Point de Misère, and on the following day, although the fog had settled down again, Paul, by a very good piece of piloting, discovered the small lake in which we had _cached_ the meat. We were getting pretty hard up again by this time, and the Indians, with the exception of Saltatha whose good spirits never failed, were showing signs of sulkiness. This new supply, however, gave them fresh courage, and we were all confident of finding the musk-ox before we got to the end of the six caribou that we picked up here. We experienced the same difficulty in breaking the ice, and as we spent much valuable time in getting out the meat, made but a poor day's journey. On the following day we passed the most northerly point that we had reached in the autumn, and were now pushing on into a country that none of us had ever seen before. At the spot where we had left the Lac de Gras we had noticed a few small willow sticks showing above the snow, which afterwards proved very useful. Following a small stream we reached another large lake, stretching in a north-easterly direction, and camped at the far end of it in a heavy snowstorm that had been going on all day. During this time we were keeping a sharp look-out for musk-ox; but we could find no tracks, and as the weather continued thick had no opportunity of seeing animals at a distance. Two more days we travelled on in this manner, making long journeys with our meat nearly finished and our wood-supply growing rapidly less; for there had been more delay, from various reasons, than we had anticipated, and we had been careful to avoid _caching_ wood for our return journey as we might be unable to follow the same course. The shape of the hills here changes in a most distinct manner. The usual undulations give way to sharp scattered buttes, composed of sand and taking very remarkable forms, a solitary conical mound being a common feature in the scenery. Small lakes were still numerous, and for a considerable distance we followed a large stream, evidently one of the head waters of the Coppermine, here running in a south-east direction. On November 20th we dropped on to a lake some twelve miles in breadth, and crossed to the north shore in falling snow. We had been on short rations, men and dogs, for some time, and our last mouthful was eaten for supper this night. When we made camp a few miles beyond the lake the outlook therefore was by no means cheerful. The continual thick weather spoilt our chance of finding the musk-ox, and we were now too far away from the woods to have much chance of reaching them without meat. Of course we could always have eaten the dogs, but then we should have been unable to haul our wood, which in the Barren Ground is almost as necessary as food. As we felt certain that we were well in the musk-ox country we decided to spend the next day in hunting at all risks, and by good luck the morning broke clear and calm. Michel and myself remained in camp to look after the dogs, which had now become so ravenous that they required constant watching to keep them from eating the lodge, harness, and everything else that they could get at. The others went in couples in different directions with the agreement that if anyone discovered a band of musk-ox they should return at once to wait for the rest of the party to come in, when we were all to start with the dogs in pursuit. There was no breakfast, and all the hunters were off before daylight, evidently fully aware that the success of our expedition, if not our chance of supporting life, was centred in the result of the day's proceedings; and it was certainly a great relief when Paul and Noel appeared towards mid-day and reported a large band of musk-ox undisturbed a short distance to the north. Peter and Marlo returned soon afterwards, having found another band in a more westerly direction. I distributed a pipeful of the now very precious tobacco, while we waited for William and Saltatha, and discussed the plan of attack. I was rather surprised at Noel's asking Paul to tell me that I might have some of the musk-ox, as he was pleased at receiving the tobacco. I was about to reply that I had come far, and been to a great deal of trouble, on purpose to kill some of these animals, and I should think it rather extraordinary if I were not allowed to do so, when Paul explained that it was a custom among the Yellow Knives to consider a band of musk-ox as the property of the discoverer, and only his personal friends were granted the privilege of killing them without payment of some kind. Sometimes an Indian would go through all the hardships of a hunt, and then have to give up nearly all his robes because he had not been lucky enough to discover a band and was out of favour with his more fortunate companions; so I told Noel I was very grateful for his kindness, and made him believe himself a remarkably good Indian. By this time it was getting late, and as the wind had risen the snow was beginning to drift. There was much grumbling at the delay, and in spite of my remonstrances at breaking up our agreement to wait for William and Saltatha, the dogs were harnessed, the lodge pulled down, and the sleighs loaded. I pointed out that the snow was drifting badly and that the other two would not be able to follow our tracks; but was told that it was only white men who were stupid in the snow, so I made no further objection. After travelling about three miles through some rough hills, we caught an indistinct view of the musk-ox, fully a hundred in number, standing on a side-hill from which most of the snow had drifted away; and then followed a wonderful scene such as I believe no white man has ever looked on before. I noticed the Indians throwing off their mitten-strings, and on enquiring the reason I was told that the musk-ox would often charge at a bright colour, particularly red; this story must, I think, have originated from the Whites in connection with the old red-rag theory, and been applied by the Indians to the musk-ox. I refused to part with my strings, as they are useful in keeping the mittens from falling in the snow when the hand is taken out to shoot, but I was given a wide berth while the hunt was going on. Everybody started at a run, but the dogs, which had been let out of harness, were ahead of us, and the first thing that I made out clearly through the driving snow was a dense black mass galloping right at us; the band had proved too big for the dogs to hold, and most of the musk-ox had broken away. I do not think they knew anything about men or had the least intention of charging us, but they passed within ten yards, and so frightened my companions that I was the only man to fire at them, rolling over a couple. The dogs, however, were still holding a small lot at bay, and these we slaughtered without any more trouble than killing cattle in a yard. There is an idea prevalent in the North that on these occasions the old musk-ox form into a regular square, with the young in the centre for better protection against the dogs, which they imagine to be wolves; but on the two occasions when I saw a band held in this manner, the animals were standing in a confused mass, shifting their position to make a short run at a too impetuous dog, and with the young ones as often as not in the front of the line. There was some rather reckless shooting going on, and I was glad to leave the scene of slaughter with Marlo in pursuit of stragglers. Marlo, in common with the other Indians, had a great horror of musk-ox at close quarters, and I was much amused at seeing him stand off at seventy yards and miss an animal which a broken back had rendered incapable of rising. He said afterwards that the musk-ox were not like other animals; they were very cunning, could understand what a man was saying and play many tricks to deceive him; it was not safe to go too near, and he would never allow me to walk up within a few yards to put in a finishing shot. After killing off the cripples, we started back to the place where we had left the sleighs, and, night having added its darkness to the drifting snow, we had the greatest difficulty in finding camp. Marlo confessed he was lost, and we were thinking what it was best to do for the night when we heard the ring of an axe with which somebody was splitting wood in the lodge; the others, with the exception of William and Saltatha, were all in, but there seemed little chance of these two reaching camp that night. We had eaten nothing for a long time, so we celebrated our success with a big feast of meat, while the dogs helped themselves from the twenty carcasses that were lying about. They gave us very little trouble in the lodge, as we saw nothing of them till we skinned the musk-ox next day, when two or three round white heaps of snow would uncurl themselves on the lee-side of a half-eaten body. I questioned the Indians about the two missing men, and they were unanimous that unless the night got colder they were in no danger of freezing to death; they were sorry that they had not waited, and would go at the first sign of daylight to see if they were in the old camp. Peter and Noel accordingly started very early in the morning, and found the men lying close together under the snow at the old camp; they had returned at dark, and as our tracks had drifted up there was not the least chance of finding us. They were slightly frost-bitten in the face and hands, but as soon as they had got over their first numbness were able to walk to camp, where they soon forgot their natural indignation at the mean trick we had played them in the joys of warmth and food. We were obliged to be a little extravagant in our wood to make up for the hard times of the night before, and Saltatha soon recovered his liveliness; he was far away the best Indian that I met in the North, always cheerful and ready for work, and afterwards, in the summer, the only one of the Yellow Knives brave enough to volunteer for an expedition down the Great Fish River. A hard life he leads, always in poverty, a butt and a servant to all the other Indians, who are immeasurably his inferiors for any useful purpose. Although a capital hunter, they swindle him out of everything he makes, and take the utmost advantage of the little fellow's good-nature; he seems to have no sense in this respect, and will jump readily at any bargain that is offered him. He is just the man for an expedition in the Barren Ground, as when once he has given his word to go he can be relied upon to carry out his promise, which is more than I can say for the rest of his tribe, who only wait to rebel and desert till a time when they think you can least do without them. We spent most of the day in skinning the musk-ox, which, by the way, is not a pleasant undertaking in cold weather; the skin is naturally hard to get off, and on this occasion the carcasses had grown cold during the night, and the difficulty was greater than usual. The robes were in splendid condition; the undergrowth, which resembles a sheep's fleece and is shed in summer, was now thick and firm, while the long permanent hair had obtained the black glossiness distinctive of a prime fur. We cut up all the meat that the dogs had left us, and loading it on the sleighs with the robes, moved camp about five miles to the west to be ready to go in search of the other band which Peter and Marlo had discovered. We calculated that we should be able to haul forty-five robes, besides meat enough for our journey, back to the woods, and at present we had only half a load. While the men were planting the lodge I climbed to the top of a high butte to have a look at the surrounding country; the hill was so steep that I had to take off my snow-shoes to struggle to the summit, and was rewarded for my trouble by a good view of probably the most complete desolation that exists upon the face of the earth. There is nothing striking or grand in the scenery, no big mountains or waterfalls, but a monotonous snow-covered waste, without tree or scrub, rarely trodden by the foot of the wandering Indian. A deathly stillness hangs over all, and the oppressive loneliness weighs upon the spectator till he is glad to shout aloud to break the awful spell of solitude. Such is the land of the musk-ox in snowtime; here this strange animal finds abundance of its favourite lichens, and defies the cold that has driven every other living thing to the woods for shelter. CHAPTER VIII Early on the following morning we left camp with the light sleighs, and at sunrise were close to the place where the second band had been discovered. We were a long time in finding them, as the fog had settled down again, but at last made out a band of sixty on a high ridge between two small lakes in a very easy place to approach. Directly after we sighted them Paul's sleigh, which was ahead, capsized over a rock, and his rifle, which was lashed on the top of it, exploded with a loud report. The bullet must have passed close to some of us, as on examination the rifle appeared to be bearing right down the line, and it was lucky that nobody was killed or crippled; a wounded man would have had little chance of getting back to the woods alive. The musk-ox took not the slightest notice of the report, although we were within a couple of hundred yards of them, and we soon had eighteen rounded up, the main body breaking away as they had done before. A sickening slaughter, without the least pretence of sport to recommend it, now took place till the last one was killed, and we were busy skinning till dark. I took some of the best heads, but most of them were afterwards thrown away by the Indians to lighten the load on the sleighs. The animals that we killed in this band were of various ages, and it was interesting to note the growth of the horns in different specimens. They begin in both sexes with a plain straight shoot, exactly like the horns of a domestic calf, and it is then impossible to tell the male from the female by the head alone. In the second year they begin to broaden out, and the bull's horns become much whiter and project straighter from the head than the cow's, which are beginning already to show the downward bend. At the end of the third year the cow's horns are fully developed, and I do not think they grow much after that age; with the bulls, however, the horns are only just beginning to spread out at the base, and it is not till the sixth year that the solid boss extends right across the forehead, the point of junction being marked by a slight crack into which the skin has been squeezed during the growth of the horns. A curious fact is noticeable in the horns of the young bulls before the boss has begun to form; they are quite soft and porous at the base, and can easily be cut with a knife; when once the boss has grown, the horn is as hard as a rock. I made careful inquiries of the Indians on these points, and they told me that, except in the case of very young or very old animals, they could always tell the age of the musk-ox by a glance at their horns. We had the greatest difficulty in finding our way back to the lodge, and it was late before we turned in, everybody agreeing that we had done enough, and ought to make our best way back to the timber before our firewood was exhausted. The loads would be quite as heavy as they had been coming out, for we now had the weight of robes and meat to make up for the wood we had used. We had, roughly, three hundred and fifty miles to travel to reach Fond du Lac, but intended to take the last part of the journey easily after we fell in with the caribou. I should like to have known our exact position on the map, and the distance from the sea-coast at Bathurst Inlet, but of course had no chance of making even an approximate calculation; the Indians had no local knowledge, as they were entirely beyond any country they knew. Our only luxuries, tea and tobacco, were now finished, and I found that the want of tobacco was the most trying hardship on the whole trip: one pipeful as you roll up in your blanket for the night imparts a certain amount of comfort, and makes you take a more cheerful view of life; but when even this cannot be obtained there is a perpetual craving for a smoke, and the best of tempers is liable to suffer from the deprivation. After we had boiled our last handful of tea-leaves three times over, Saltatha ate them with great gusto, and in future we drank the water in which the meat was boiled. I did not miss the tea nearly so much as the tobacco, and soon began to like the hot greasy _bouillon_ well enough to struggle for my full share. We were late off next morning, and could not make a good day's journey, as the snow was soft till we got on the large lake, and we were further delayed in the evening by finding another band of musk-ox. The Indians said they could carry half a dozen robes more, and insisted, against my wishes, on killing this number; the consequence was that we had to camp for the night, and the dogs were more overloaded than ever; they were able, however, to eat to their hearts' content, and there was very little left of the six musk-ox in the morning. Two long days' travel took us back to the point on the Lac de Gras where we had seen the willows above the snow, and as the dogs were showing signs of fatigue and their feet were much cut about by the sharp snow-needles sticking between their toes, we decided on taking a day's rest. We managed to pull up enough small willows to keep a bit of a fire going most of the day, and if we had had tobacco should all have enjoyed ourselves immensely. It was a bright clear day, without wind and terribly cold. I climbed to the top of a hill in the afternoon to see if I could make out the west end of the lake, but an intervening hill made it impossible to get a clear view, and I could form no idea of its length. On this day I felt the top of my tongue cold in breathing, and my companions, who were well accustomed to low temperatures, all remarked the extreme severity of the cold. It must have been about midnight when I heard Saltatha splitting wood, and the well-known cry of _Ho lève, lève, il faut partir!_ Looking out of my blanket I felt the snow falling in my face through a big hole that the dogs had eaten in the lodge, and said that it was no use moving, as we should never be able to find our way across the broad traverse that lay ahead. I was laughed at as usual, and after a breakfast of boiled meat we started out into the darkness. I soon saw there was little chance of picking up the skin of the musk-ox that we had _cached_ in September, as, although the intention was to follow the shore of the lake till we came to the _cache_, we lost sight of land immediately with absolutely nothing to guide us on our course. There was no wind, and such a thick downfall of snow that matters did not improve much when the blackness turned into grey with daylight. I have often heard it stated that the gift of finding their way is given to Indians under all conditions by a sort of instinct that the white man does not possess, but I never saw children more hopelessly lost than these men accustomed all their lives to Barren Ground travel. I have seen it happen to half-breeds and Indians many times, and have come to the conclusion that no man without a compass can keep his course in falling snow, unless there is wind to guide him. It is always advisable to put ashore at once, or, better still, not to leave your camp in the morning, as then you know your point of departure on the first signs of a break in the weather. On this occasion the usual thing happened; we walked all day, changing our roadbreaker every hour or so, while the men behind shouted contrary directions when they thought he was off his course. Luckily we found land just at dark, and camped immediately. A great discussion ensued as to our position, and opinions varied greatly about the direction of the north star; but we could do nothing till the weather improved, and even then, unless it grew very clear, or the sun came out, we might not know which course to take, as landmarks are few and far between. Fuel could not last more than three nights with the strictest economy. The wind rose in the evening, and the snow ceased falling, but began to drift heavily. In the night there was a tremendous uproar. I was awakened by hearing the universal Indian chant (_Hi hi he, Ho hi he_), and much clapping of hands, while the dogs were howling dismally far out on the ice, evidently thinking they were meant to hunt something, but disappointed at not being able to find anything to tear to pieces. I looked out to see what was going on, and found everybody sitting in the snow shouting; Saltatha had discovered a single star, and the noise I had heard was the applause supposed to bring out one of the principal constellations, so that we might get an idea of our direction. The heavens certainly did clear, and when daylight broke and the wind moderated we made out our position easily enough. In fourteen hours' walk we had come perhaps five miles straight, having made a huge circle to the right and fallen on an island close to the shore that we had left in the morning. There was still the whole width of the lake to cross, but when we camped late in the portage between the two big lakes I thought we had got out of the scrape very well. There was no apparent reason why the snowstorm should have stopped, and a continuation of it must have brought us serious trouble. The next day was worse than ever. A gale from the south in our teeth and drifting snow made it cruel work to face the storm; but we had to go, as fuel was rapidly vanishing, and we had already burnt some of our lodge-poles, and we hoped to reach a small wood-_cache_ that night. We could find the way, as we had the wind to guide us; but the snow was soft, and the dogs were hardly able now to drag the sleighs over the rough hills; one of the poorest froze in harness and had to be abandoned. Our blankets, which we usually wrapped round our head and shoulders when facing the wind, now came in for dog-cloths, and certainly saved some more of the dogs from being disabled by frost-bite; but as the snow melted between their backs and the blankets, the latter got wet and afterwards froze till they would stand like a board, and were then a most uncomfortable form of bedding. The slow pace at which we were forced to travel made it much worse, and we all found our faces slightly frozen. At dark we camped nearly at the end of the portage, although we did not know it till morning, and reluctantly cut up another couple of lodge-poles for firewood, besides a small box in which I had been carrying my journal and ammunition. The wind lightened during the night, and backing into the east came fair on Lake Mackay. We found our wood-_cache_ all right, and set out on the sixty-mile walk that still lay between us and the first pine-timber. The travelling on the lake was better than in the portage, and well on in the night we put ashore on the island where we had stored our first meat during the autumn musk-ox hunt. The dogs were too tired to go any further without rest, or we should have pushed on all night. Our last lodge-pole was burnt to cook a kettleful of meat for breakfast on December 1st, and before daylight we were off, with no thought of camping till we could make fire. The sun at this time only stayed above the horizon for a couple of hours, and had sunk beneath the snow before we made out far ahead the high ridge under which the first clump of pines lay. We were badly scattered along the track, and some of the dogs, and the men too for that matter, had great difficulty in keeping up pace enough to make the blood circulate; it was six hours later, and we were all pretty well used up, when we saw the little pines standing out against the sky line. What a glorious camp we had that night! The bright glare of two big fires lit up the snow-laden branches of the dwarf pines till they glittered like so many Christmas-trees; overhead the full moon shone down on us, and every star glowed like a lamp hung in the sky; at times the Northern Lights would flash out, but the brilliancy of the moon seemed too strong for even this wondrous fire to rival. It was pleasant to lie once again on the yielding pine-brush instead of the hard snow, and to stretch our legs at full length as we could never stretch them in the lodge; pleasant, too, to look back at the long struggle we had gone through, and to contrast our present condition with that of the last month. Our experiences had been hard and not without their share of danger, and we could now congratulate ourselves on having brought our hunt to a most satisfactory conclusion. I had fully succeeded in carrying out the object of my expedition, and could look forward to a period of ever-increasing comfort, culminating in the luxury of life at a Hudson's Bay Fort within a few weeks. I had intended to winter at the edge of the Barren Ground, but was forced to give up the idea, as I had seen too much of the Beaulieus to care about living any longer with them. The fact that meat was scarce again did not trouble me, as I was by this time accustomed to empty larders and had fallen into the happy Indian method of trusting that something would turn up; besides, we were pretty sure to run across the caribou within the next few days. The want of tobacco was the worst grievance that I had, but the prospect of obtaining this was getting brighter after each day's travel. Very late at night Saltatha turned up with a badly frozen nose and chin. One of his dogs had given out and been abandoned, and he had been pushing the sleigh for many hours; he had almost given up trying to bring in his load when he saw the blaze of the fires far off and his courage came back. The sun was up before anyone turned out, but the dogs were better for the rest, and a short day took us into a big bunch of pines on King Lake, within an easy day of a small meat _cache_ that I had made while we were camped at the Lake of the Enemy. I had my doubts about finding the place, as none of the others knew where it was, but was lucky enough to hit it off; and we took out the meat of two caribou, after breaking an axe to pieces in our endeavours to chop away the ice which had formed between the rocks from the melting of the snow during a warm spell in the beginning of October. The same night we camped at the scaffold on which we had stored all the dried meat that the women had made while we were away on the first musk-ox hunt. King was to have taken most of it, leaving us sufficient for a couple of days' supply, and a note in the syllabic characters introduced into the North by the priests informed us that he had kept his promise. There were plenty of signs that he had done so; but the wolverines had been before us, and a few shreds of meat lying at the foot of the stage told the story plainly enough. This was rather a disappointment, and matters looked worse when we had travelled the whole length of Lake Camsell at our best speed. Here again we expected to find a _cache_, as some meat had been left when we killed the first caribou in the autumn, but the wolverines had taken it. This is a common incident in Northern travel, but never fails to draw forth hearty execrations on the head of the hated _carcajou_. There was much talk of abandoning loads and making a rush to reach the caribou or a Yellow Knife encampment which was supposed to lie some distance ahead of us; but I opposed this scheme strongly, and for once managed to get my own way. The weather was fine, and we cared little for the cold, as we could always make a fire in case of freezing. Without eating much we pushed on rapidly for two days, crossing the Lac du Rocher, the scene of our starvation in September, and finally on the third morning found a band of caribou, of which we killed enough to relieve all immediate anxiety. By this time we were among thick timber and following closely our canoe-route of three months ago. In the early hours of December 7th we came to a line of pine-brush planted across a small lake, and soon afterwards fell on the tracks of fresh snow-shoes; before daylight, at the end of a long portage over a thickly wooded hill, we dropped into an encampment of a dozen lodges. It turned to be Zinto's camp, and all my Indians found their wives and families awaiting them here. There were great rejoicings over our arrival, as we had been so long on the hunt that a good deal of anxiety was felt for the safety of husbands and brothers. Zinto invited me into his lodge, gave me a feast of pounded meat and grease, a cup of tea, and, better still, a small plug of black tobacco; this seemed too good to leave, and as we had travelled many hours in the night I decided to spend the rest of the day here. The camp was very prettily situated on a small flat a few feet above the edge of a frozen lake; and when the sun rose over the hill, lighting up the brown deer-skin lodges with their columns of blue smoke rising straight up in the frosty air, the snow-laden pine-trees, and the silver-barked birches, the whole scene seemed a realization of one of Fenimore Cooper's descriptions of an Indian camp in winter. Much talking had to be got through, and the story of our musk-ox hunt was told many times over. I was the object of great interest, and was closely questioned as to my experiences in the Barren Ground and the contrast between life there and in my own country. After Zinto had satisfied himself on these points he broached more abstruse subjects, insisting on knowing my opinion with regard to the differences of the Protestant and Roman Catholic faiths, and seeming pleased to hear that he was by no means the first man who had found this point hard to fully understand. Many other things there were about which he desired information; but I am afraid some of my answers conveyed little meaning to him, as I was myself rather hazy about many of the topics of conversation, and had only Michel, who was the worst Frenchman of all, for interpreter, Paul having gone off to see his wife who was camped a few miles to the east. But when Zinto got on to trading he was quite at home, and before leaving I had to give him an order for many beaver-skins (the medium of trade in the North), to be paid at Fort Resolution. He was very good in providing me with everything I wanted for my journey, and gave me a new pair of snow-shoes and a sleigh, besides lending a dog to replace one that had fallen lame; meat he was short of, but he had heard that the Beaulieus had been killing caribou, so that I was likely to find _caches_ by the way; a track was broken to Fond du Lac, and we ought to get there easily in three days. Zinto thought the Great Slave Lake would be entirely frozen over and fit to travel on by this time, as lately the sky had been clear in the south; when there is any open water a perpetual mist rises from it and lies like a huge fog-bank over the lake. A happy indolent life the Yellow Knives lead when the caribou are thick on their pleasant hunting-ground round the shores of the Great Slave Lake, and most of the hard times that they have to put up with are due to their own improvidence. This is their great failing; they will not look ahead or make preparation for the time when the caribou are scarce, preferring to live from hand to mouth, and too lazy to bother their heads about the future. They are rather a fine race of men, above the average of the Canadian Indian, and, as they have had little chance of mixing with the Whites, have maintained their characteristic manners till this day; they are probably little changed since the time when the Hudson's Bay Company first established a trading-post on the Big Lake a hundred years ago. When the priests came into the country the Yellow Knives readily embraced the Roman Catholic religion, and are very particular in observing all the outward signs of that faith, but I doubt if their profession of Christianity has done much to improve their character. They are a curious mixture of good and bad, simplicity and cunning; with no very great knowledge of common honesty, thoroughly untrustworthy, and possessed with an insatiable greed for anything that takes their fancy, but with no word in their language to express thanks or gratitude. To a white man they are humility itself, looking upon him, by their own account, as their father, and so considering him bound to provide them with everything they want, even to his last pair of trowsers or pipeful of tobacco; refuse them anything when you are dependent upon their services on a journey, and they will leave you in the woods; for their own part, if they have ammunition they are always at home. In another way they are generous enough, and take great pride in showing hospitality. Go into one of their lodges, and a blanket is spread for you in the seat of honour farthest away from the flap that does duty for a door; a meal is instantly provided, no matter if it takes the last piece of meat in the camp, and the precious tea and tobacco are offered you in lavish quantities. The Yellow Knives are a timid, peaceable race, shrinking from bloodshed and deeds of violence, and it is seldom that quarrels between the men got beyond wrestling and hair-pulling. The women are, as a rule, not quite so hideous as the squaws of the Blackfeet and Crees; they are lax in morals, and accustomed to being treated more as slaves than wives in the civilized interpretation of the word. They do all the hard work of the camp, besides carrying the heaviest loads on the march; and in too many cases are rewarded with the worst of the meat and the blows of an over-exacting husband. Early marriages are fashionable, as a man is useless without a wife to dry his meat and make moccasins for him. The great object of a Yellow Knife beauty is to secure a good hunter for a husband; the man who can shoot straight, and is known to be skilful in approaching the caribou, is always a prize in the matrimonial market and need have little fear of a refusal, especially as the husband is supposed to hunt for his father-in-law after marriage, and the old man will use all his influence to arrange the match. Superstition still reigns supreme among these people; any mischance is put down to "bad medicine," and reasons are always forthcoming to account for its presence. There are several miracle-workers and foreseers of the future in the tribe, who are said to perform very wonderful things, but I found them extremely shy of showing off their accomplishments when I asked for an exhibition. Like all other Indians who live the wild life that they were intended to live, the Yellow Knives are dirty to the last degree. They are careful about combing and greasing their hair, and are lavish in the use of soap, if they can get it, for face and hands, but their bodies are a sanctuary for the disgusting vermin that always infest them; they seem to have no idea of getting rid of these objectionable insects, but talk about its being a good or bad season for them in the same way that they speak of mosquitos. From every point of view, then, the Indian of the Great Slave Lake is not a pleasant companion, nor a man to be relied upon in case of emergency. Nobody has yet discovered the right way to manage him. His mind runs on different principles from that of a white man, and till the science of thought-reading is much more fully developed, the working of his brain will always be a mystery to the fur-trader and traveller. At sunrise the following morning I left Zinto's camp, with Michel and Marlo, bound for Fond du Lac, all the other musk-ox hunters going back to domestic happiness. The weather was still bright and cold, and the days perceptibly longer as we travelled south. We were again short of meat, as all the Indians were in the same plight, and although we saw a band of caribou shortly after starting, we were unable to get a shot at them. Towards evening we found a small _cache_ of meat hung in a tree, and knowing that it must belong to some of the Beaulieus I had no compunction in taking it. Here we left our canoe-route, and passing to the westward of the Lac de Mort headed straight for the house at Fond du Lac. The woods were well grown and signs of life abundant; the tracks of wolves, wolverines, foxes, and an occasional marten, frequently crossed the road, and ptarmigan were continually flying up under the leader's feet. Here, too, I saw again my old friend the Whisky Jack, as he is called throughout the North, a grey and white bird the size of a thrush, with a most confiding disposition and an inordinate love of fat meat; he sits on the nearest tree while the camp is being made, comes in boldly, inspects the larder, and helps himself with very little fear of man. If it is a starving camp he chortles in contempt and flies away, having a very low opinion of people who travel without provisions; but if meat be plentiful he spends the night there, and comes in for rich pickings in the morning when the camp is struck. This bird is common throughout the wilder parts of Canada, and has acquired many names in different places; in the mountains of British Columbia he is the Hudson's Bay bird or grease bird, and far away to the East the moose bird, caribou bird, Rupert's bird, and camp-robber. On the afternoon of the second day we met the Indian Etitchula, who had left the fort with us in August and had been hanging on more or less to our party ever since. He was on his way back to King Beaulieu's Camp, two days' travel to the north-east, having made a trip to Fond du Lac to make a raid on my tea and tobacco, and see if there was any news of us, as King was greatly alarmed at our prolonged absence. We relieved him of a little tea, but he had not been able to get any tobacco out of François, who had roundly asserted that it all belonged to him; he also gave us a couple of whitefish, which proved a very acceptable change from our long course of straight meat. Late the same evening we made our last camp on the high land close to the edge of the mountains within five miles of the house; we could easily have got in that night, but I much preferred a quiet camp under the stars to the company of the gang of Beaulieus who were sure to be at Fond du Lac. One word of caution against using the compressed tea imported by the Hudson's Bay Company into the North as a substitute for tobacco; it is very good to drink, but if you smoke it you pay the penalty by a most painful irritation in the throat, which is made worse by breathing the intensely cold air. We all tried it that night, and all swore never to do so again, although I have often smoked the ordinary uncompressed tea without disastrous results and with a certain amount of satisfaction. We were off in good time on the morning of December 10th, and were soon sitting on the sleighs, rushing down the steep incline, with frequent spills from bumping against trees; this was the only piece of riding I had during the whole five weeks' travel. The first signs of the _petit jour_ were just showing as we pulled up at the house, and François quickly produced the tobacco he had refused Etitchula. I think for a few minutes they were really glad to see us back safe, but soon the old complaints began. Times had been hard, although the women and children all looked fat enough to belie this statement; José had been catching whitefish, but had refused to give any to François; while the latter, according to José, had been very mean in distribution of my effects, eating flour every day himself but giving none away. They had gone through nearly everything between them, and moreover did not seem the least bit ashamed of their conduct. As my dogs were all used up, I decided to leave them here, and made arrangements with François to bring his own train on to the fort with me. It seemed that notwithstanding the hard times he had sufficient meat and fish stored away for our trip, and there were still a few pounds of flour left, so that we should live in luxury all the way in. I spent the day shooting a few ptarmigan, indulging in much tobacco, and listening to the petitions of the various ill-used members of the family. José was particularly amusing; he had been the most useless man of the lot, never even venturing into the Barren Ground, but spending most of his time at Fond du Lac, shooting away my ammunition and playing havoc with tea and tobacco, besides robbing the _cache_ at the Lac du Rocher. Now he was full of love for me, and gave me a list of things that he wanted in addition to his wages, as a reward for all that he had done and was ready to do for me. Among other items, he wanted my rifle and hunting-glasses, and remarked that my Paradox gun, which had been lying here all the time, would be very useful for him at the goose-hunt in the following spring. Fortunately none of the Beaulieus know how to put together a breech-loading gun, so the Paradox and its ammunition had been left in peace to do me good service in the summer. I think the Paradox is the most useful gun yet invented for purposes of exploration, as it does away with the necessity of carrying a separate weapon for shot and ball, and shoots very true with either; but there seems no reason why the patent should not be applied to a 20-bore. For procuring food in a really rough country, where a man has to carry his own ammunition, the ball-cartridges for a 12-bore are needlessly heavy, and the charge of shot is too great for the close range shooting which is usually done on these occasions. CHAPTER IX At Fond du Lac I slept for the first time since we left the fort under a roof, but on account of the awful squalor of the house I should have much preferred the usual open camp in the snow. Daylight found us under way again, François and myself, with a small boy to run ahead of the dogs; as we were travelling light I expected to be able to ride the last half of the journey, but for the first two days the fish for dogs' food made our load too heavy to travel at a fast pace. I left all the musk-ox and caribou heads and skins that I had managed to save, to come in with Michel and Marlo when they made the usual journey to the fort for New Year's day, on which occasion the Indians from all quarters bring in their furs to trade, and receive a small feast of flour and sugar, an event not to be missed on any account, even though wives and families may be left to starve in the woods and the famished dogs drop with fatigue along the track. There was no news as to the state of the ice, as we were the first people to attempt the crossing of the lake this winter. It is usually not safe for travel till the middle of December, so we coasted along the north shore, increasing the distance, but getting greater safety by doing so. We took things easily, making early starts and putting ashore frequently for a cup of tea; it was a great improvement on the canoe-travelling which had delayed us so much in the autumn. At sundown every night we picked out a sheltered spot among the tall pine-trees where firewood was plentiful, threw away the snow with our snow-shoes, and put down a thick mat of pine-brush; then a huge fire was lit and enough wood cut for the night, the fish thawed for the dogs, and supper cooked for the men. We had bread at every meal, which is in itself a luxury after four months of straight meat; the day ended with tobacco, and we rolled ourselves in our blankets to sleep, till the position of the Great Bear told us it was time to be on the march once more. People who live in civilization find it hard to believe that men in these northern latitudes habitually sleep out under the stars, with the thermometer standing at 30°, 40°, and even 60° below zero; yet it is those same people of civilization who suffer from colds in the head, lung-diseases, and a variety of ailments unknown to the _voyageur_, whose only dangers are starvation and the risk of accidents incidental to travelling in rough countries. On the second day we passed a couple of houses occupied by an Indian, Capot Blanc, with whom I afterwards became great friends; he had left for the fort a couple of days before, but the ice was reported to be dangerous in the Grand Traverse. Another Indian, Thomas, a brother of Marlo and Zinto, was ready to start, and joined in with us for the rest of the journey; he had only two dogs, but with a light load managed to keep up easily enough. The ice among the islands was pretty good, but the snow was soft and deep, and it was not till our fourth night out from Fond du Lac that we camped on the last outlying island, ready to take the Traverse. About eighteen miles away to the south, without any chance to put ashore till we reached it, lay the Ile de Pierre, and we were to make for a half-breed's house that lay within a mile of it on the main shore of the lake. It had been arranged that I was to ride in pomp across this piece, so, after a good breakfast about three o'clock, I turned into the sleigh and soon dropped off to sleep to the music of sleigh-bells and a volley of French oaths with which François encouraged his dogs every few minutes. At this time the stars were shining brightly, and there was not a breath of wind. I must have slept for a couple of hours when François awoke me with the information that we were lost. Turning out of my warm berth I found a gale of wind blowing, with snow falling and drifting heavily; I could hardly make out the men in the darkness, though they were all standing within a few yards of me. Of course I had not the slightest idea where we were, or the direction in which we had been travelling. François seemed undecided, but Thomas was quite sure that by keeping the wind abeam we should hit off the Ile de Pierre. We put him ahead, and he proved perfectly right in his direction; for after four hours' steady walk we made out the land, the weather clearing a little at day-break. We had headed a little too far to the west, but were soon inside the half-breed's cabin, where we found plenty of fish for the dogs, and so decided to spend the day there, as the wind had freshened up again and the drifting snow made travelling unpleasant. We did not know what a narrow escape we had had till the owner of the house came in, after making an attempt to visit his nets. He reported the ice broken up to the west by the violence of the gale, and had we kept a little more in that direction we might easily have walked into open water in the darkness and made a disastrous ending to our expedition. [Illustration: Skins in the Post Storeroom] [Illustration: Taking the Post Dogs for Exercise] Our course the next day lay over shoal water, mostly inside sandbanks and through narrow channels of the delta of the Slave River. We crossed the main stream on good ice, and following the shore of the lake for ten miles, rattled into the fort about two o'clock, within ten minutes of the arrival of the outward-bound packet from Mackenzie River. Luckily enough it had been delayed one day by the storm that had overtaken us in the Grand Traverse, and I had an opportunity of sending out letters by the dog-sleigh that was to leave the same night. For true hospitality there is nothing in the world to beat the welcome back to a Hudson's Bay post in the North after one has made a long journey in the wilds; no need to trouble your head with the idea that you may not be wanted, or that you will eat too much of the ever insufficient supplies sent in from the outside world to the officer in charge. Why is it that the less a man has, and the harder things are to obtain, the more ready he is to divide? It does not seem to work in civilization, but it is certainly so in rough countries, and especially with the Hudson's Bay Company's officers in the Far North. Perhaps it is because they have all seen hardships and privations in the Company's service and know the value of a helping hand given in the time of need; men who have suffered themselves have always more feeling for the sufferings of others than people who have lived only on the soft side of life. I don't think I ever enjoyed a meal so much as that first dinner at Fort Resolution, after a most necessary wash. A year later I dragged myself into a small trading-post at the foot of the Rocky Mountains after many days' total starvation, but had then got beyond the capacity of enjoying anything. On the present occasion I was able to thoroughly appreciate the change from my four months' experience in the Barren Ground. How strange it seemed once more to sit at a table, on a chair, like a white man, and eat white man's food with a knife and fork, after the long course of squatting in the filth of a smoky lodge, rending a piece of half-raw meat snatched from the dirty kettle. Then, too, I could speak again in my own language, and there was a warm room to sit in, books to read, and all the ordinary comforts of life, with the knowledge that so long as I stayed in the house I had my own place, while the wind and the snow had theirs outside. There was no scarcity at the fort this year, although the autumn fishing had not been successful. The Fond du Lac boat had brought in a good supply of dried meat, and there was a better stock of flour than is usually to be found at a northern fort. Mr. Mackinlay, too, had got in a fair supply of luxuries from Winnipeg, and, as Mrs. Mackinlay was an excellent manager, we always lived as well as one should wish to live anywhere. Fort Resolution is a fair sample of a trading-post in the North. It is situated on the south side of a bay, the entrance to which is sheltered by a group of islands, the largest known as Mission Island, from the Roman Catholic mission established there in charge of Father Dupire. The original site was on an outlying island known as Moose Island, but the present position on the mainland has been found more practicable. The buildings consist of the master's house, a comfortable log-building flanked on each side by a large store, one used for provisions and the other as a fur and trading store; these were originally within a stockade and formed the fort proper, but the peaceful nature of the Indians has removed all need for defensive works. Outside is a small row of log-houses, occupied by the engaged servants, freemen, and a couple of pensioners too old to make their living in the woods. Close at hand are the buildings belonging to the Protestant Mission, while the willows and bush-growth of a densely-wooded level country hem in the small patch of cleared ground on which the settlement stands; here potatoes and a few other vegetables are raised, and in a favourable season produce very fair crops. There are a yoke of work-cattle for hauling wood and a couple of milch cows are kept, as hay is easily procured in the numerous swamps which are scattered through the woods in every direction. The only high land to be seen is a conspicuous bluff marking the entrance to the Little Buffalo River some ten miles along the lake shore, this stream heads in to the south, and as it breaks up earlier in the spring than the Little Slave River it is used at that time of year as a route to Fort Smith, one overland portage being made, to drop on to the main stream a short distance below the fort. Looking out over the vast expanse of frozen lake on still, bright days some very beautiful and curious mirage effects can often be seen. Everything takes an unnatural and frequently inverted form; islands so far away as to be below the horizon are seen suspended in the air, and it is impossible to recognise a point or bunch of trees with which you are perfectly familiar in ordinary circumstances. There are four engaged servants at the fort; a white man, Murdo Mackay, native of the Hebrides, who was serving a five years' contract with the Company, and three half-breeds, by far the best of whom was Michel Mandeville, who has held the position of interpreter at Fort Resolution for several years. Except at the time of the Fall fishery, an engaged servant's work is light--cutting and hauling enough firewood to keep the fort supplied, visiting the nets and lines, and an occasional trip with the packet, or to get trading-goods from another fort. Christmas passed away quietly, but there was stir enough when the Indians came in for New Year and the trading began. The old system of barter is still carried on, with the beaver-skin for a standard. An Indian's pile of fur is counted, and he is told how many skins' worth of goods he has to receive; then he is taken into the store and the door solemnly locked, as it is found impossible to trade at all with more than one at a time. It seems very simple; the Indian knows exactly how many skins he has to take, and the value in skins of every common article. But, to begin with, he wants everything he sees, and the whole stock would hardly satisfy him, and it is a long time, with many changes of opinion, before he has spent the proceeds of his hunt. Then arises the question of his debt, and he tries to take the largest amount possible on credit for his spring hunt; the trader cannot refuse absolutely to make any advances, as there are some things essentially necessary to the Indian's life in the woods, but the debts are kept in proportion to the man's character. After he has finished his trade, he shows his purchases to his friends, and, acting on their advice, usually comes back to effect some change, and the game begins all over again; sometimes a whole day is passed in laying out a hundred skins, roughly fifty dollars according to our method of calculation. Before the Indian leaves the fort he always comes in and does a little begging while saying good-bye to his master. I had a very bad time of it settling up with the Beaulieus. Promises that I had made under stress of circumstances had to be redeemed, but it was hopeless to try and satisfy them; although they had each received far more than had been originally agreed upon, they continued grumbling till they left the fort. On New Year's day a big ball was given to the half-breeds, while the Indians were provided with the materials for a feast, and held a dance of their own in one of the empty houses. It was the poorest display imaginable; many of the Canadian tribes have really effective dancing, but the Yellow Knives appear to have a very elementary idea of graceful movement. Their only figure is to waddle round in a circle, holding each other's hands, keeping up a monotonous chant, and spitting freely into the middle of the ring. In the big house Red River jigs and reels were kept up with unflagging energy till daylight. As soon as everything had quieted down and the Indians had gone back to their hunting-ground, Mackinlay and myself started on an expedition after the caribou to try and kill some fresh meat for the fort. We took Michel, the interpreter, with us, and Pierre Beaulieu, a brother of King's; and a resident of Mission Island joined us with his two sons, as there was news of the caribou being at no great distance on the far side of the lake. It was now the dead of winter, the season of the _gra' frète_, and we had two remarkably cold days' travel to reach the north shore of the Great Slave Lake. We struck into the woods, not far to the eastward of the Gros Cap, the point forming the eastern extremity of the long narrow arm leading to Fort Rae. We each had a sleigh of dogs, and were able to ride most of the time on a good road broken by a band of Indians hunting in the neighbourhood. Two long days over small lakes and through the thick pine woods, in a country much resembling that of Fond du Lac but of lower elevation, brought us among the caribou, but they were not in very large numbers. We had everything we could want to make life pleasant in the woods, abundance of tea and tobacco, meat if we killed it, and no hardships; the cold was severe of course, but there was plenty of firewood, and it was our own fault if we could not keep ourselves warm. Three days we spent in hunting, and, although we did not kill very much, there was a little meat to take back; we never really found the caribou in any quantity, or we should have made a big killing and _cached_ the meat, to be hauled later on when the days grew longer. A rattling three days' journey took us back to the fort, as old Pierre, who is one of the most rushing travellers I ever met, hustled us along to save using his meat on the way home; he had no intention of feeding his dogs from his load for more than two nights when he had fish to give them at home. This trouble about dogs' food is the great drawback to winter travelling in the North; a dog, to keep him in good order, requires two whitefish, weighing each perhaps three pounds, every night. This adds so much to the load that a ten days' journey is about the longest one can undertake with full rations all round, unless it be in a part of the country where game is plentiful or fish can be caught _en route_. After the caribou hunt, we amused ourselves about the fort; sometimes going in search of ptarmigan, which are usually to be found among the willows close to the edge of the lake; and sometimes paying Father Dupire a visit on his island, a couple of miles away, to hear some of his interesting experiences during a residence of many years among the Indians. Close at hand lay the Protestant Mission, where there was always a welcome, and, with these attractions and a fair supply of books, time did not hang at all heavily till early in February the winter packet from the outside world arrived. I received a big bundle of letters, the first that reached me since June, but it happened that none of the newspapers for the fort turned up, and we were left in ignorance of what had happened in the Grand Pays. So many travellers have written about this great Northern Packet and the wonderful journey that it makes that it is unnecessary for me to say much about it. On its arrival at Fort Resolution it presents the appearance of an ordinary dog-sleigh, with a man ahead of the dogs, which are driven by a half-breed, with plenty of ribbons and beads on leggings and moccasins, capable of running his forty miles a day with ease, and possessed of a full command of the more expressive part of the French language. Dr. Mackay, who was on his yearly round of visits to inspect the outlying posts in his district, came down from Fort Chipeweyan with the packet, and we had a long talk respecting a summer trip to the Barren Ground which I proposed making. My intention was to leave the fort on the last ice in the spring and travel with the dogs to the spot where we had left our big canoe in the autumn, there to await the breaking up of the lakes and to descend the Great Fish River with the first open water. I had no special object in reaching the sea-coast, as a birch-bark canoe is not the right sort of craft for work among salt-water ice; and it was more to see what the Barren Ground was like in summer, and to notice the habits of the birds and animals, than for the sake of geographical discovery, that I wished to make the expedition. The Great Fish River has been twice descended before, but of course both Back's and Anderson's parties were compelled by the shortness of the summers to confine their exploration to the immediate neighbourhood of the river; and I thought that, by spending more time at the head-waters than they had been able to do, I should get a good idea of the nature of the country and an insight into the Indian summer life among the caribou. The difficulty was to obtain a crew; but Dr. Mackay very kindly consented to Mackinlay's accompanying me, and also lent me the two engaged servants, Murdo Mackay and Moise Mandeville, brother of Michel Mandeville the interpreter, but not half such a good fellow. We hoped to be able to engage the services of some of the Indians to guide us to the head of the river, but they have such a dread of the Esquimaux, who hunt farther down the stream, that we hardly expected any of the Yellow Knives to accompany us beyond that point. Long ago there was always war between the Indians and the Esquimaux, and Hearne's description of the massacre at the Bloody Falls on the Coppermine gives a good idea of the hatred that existed between these tribes. For many years they have not met, and although the Esquimaux seen by Anderson on the Great Fish River appear peaceful enough, the Yellow Knives hunting at the head of the river are in constant fear of meeting them. Zinto, the chief, and another Indian, Syene, arrived at the fort soon after Dr. Mackay left, and we consulted them as to the best route to follow, and whether we could depend upon their tribe for any help. They told us that there was no difficulty in reaching the head-waters of the river, as the Indians were in the habit of coming there every summer, but beyond was an unknown country; they both remembered Anderson's expedition, and were full of stories about the difficulties of navigation, the numerous portages and the likelihood of starvation, but knew nothing from personal experience. We failed lamentably in the attempt to discover when the ice in the river usually broke up. Syene told us that it was in the moon when the dogs lie on their backs in the sun, and Zinto volunteered the information that it was soon after the leaves begin to shoot on the little willows in the Barren Ground; but we could not work it out into any particular month. Both promised to make dried meat and pemmican for us if they fell in with the caribou, and to leave _caches_ in the last bunch of pine-trees. Next day they left for their camp, two hundred miles away in the woods, to await the first signs of warmer weather to start for the spring musk-ox hunt. Zinto was to come to the fort about the 1st of May, and personally conduct us to the places where he had piled up the meat of many caribou for our use. CHAPTER X About the middle of February, 1890, little François, an Indian living at the mouth of Buffalo River, arrived with the news that during a hunting-trip he had made to the southward he had seen the tracks of a band of wood buffalo and intended to go in pursuit of them after this visit to the fort. Mackinlay and myself both wanted an excuse to be in the woods again, and the next day saw us plodding across the bay on snow-shoes to the comfortable little shanty, under the high bluff, which forms the most conspicuous landmark within sight of Fort Resolution. The establishment was presided over by an old lady, formerly cook at one of the forts, and kept with a cleanliness not always to be found in a white man's dwelling. The following morning we started with two sleigh-loads of fish for the dogs and provisions and blankets for ourselves. François brought his wife and little girl, besides a rather crazy boy, given to epileptic fits, but a good worker in the intervals between his attacks. We followed the river for a mile or two, then turned into the woods on the west bank, and, crossing a lake of some size, headed in a south-west direction through the thick pine-forest, occasionally picking up a marten from a line of traps set by little François, for we were following the track that he had made on his last trip, or finding a rabbit hung by the neck in one of his wife's snares; very cunning these old women are in all things concerning the stomach, and if there are many rabbit-tracks to be seen in the snow there is little danger of going without supper. On the second day we crossed a large prairie dotted with lakes, formerly the home of many beavers, and still bearing evidence of their labours in the long banks which served as dams and the huge mounds which were once their houses. The beavers have all gone long ago, and the ladies who wore the pretty fur-trimmed jackets in far-away England, and the husbands who grumbled at their price, are gone too; but the beavers have left the most impression on the face of the earth. Wonderful moulders of geography they are; a stream dammed up in a level country forms a huge lake where the forest stood, the trees fall as their roots rot in standing water, and, if the dam be not attended to by the workers, a fertile grass-covered prairie takes the place of the lake. From the Liard River and Great Slave Lake, to the Peace River on the east side of the Rocky Mountains, extends the greatest beaver country in the world. It is known by Indian report alone, as no white man ever penetrates far into the wilderness of pine-forest and morass; many streams head away into the interior of this unknown land, but the white man has only seen their mouths, as he passes up or down the main waterways of the North. It is true that the Company's men have ascended Hay River, a large stream falling into the Great Slave Lake, and by making an overland portage, have dropped on the Peace River at Fort Vermillion; but they have always made hurried voyages and have had no opportunity of exploring much new ground. Scattered over this huge extent of country are still a few bands of buffalo. Sometimes they are heard of at Forts Smith and Vermillion, sometimes at Fort St. John close up to the big mountains on Peace River, and occasionally at Fort Nelson on the south branch of the Liard. It is impossible to say anything about their numbers, as the country they inhabit is so large, and the Indians, who are few in number, usually keep to the same hunting-ground. These animals go by the name of wood buffalo, and most people are of opinion that they are a distinct race from the old prairie buffalo so numerous in bygone days; but I am inclined to think that the very slight difference in appearance is easily accounted for by climatic influences, variety of food, and the better shelter of the woods. Here too the giant moose and the woodland caribou have their home, and even in the short journey that I made into this district the tracks in the snow told a tale of plenty. Many black bears' skins are brought out every year, and towards the mountains the formidable grizzly is often encountered by the fearful hunter. Nor are the small fur-bearing animals wanting; foxes--red, cross, and a few silver--seek their living on the prairie, while wolverines, fisher, mink, marten, and lynx may be trapped in the woods, and a few otters frequent the streams and lakes. In the summer ducks, geese, and many other water-birds have their nests in the muskegs, and two or three varieties of the tree grouse are always to be found. "The hunter's Paradise!" says the sporting reader; "let us go and have a hunt there." But now for the other side of the picture. In the summer it is practically impossible to travel, as it is a swampy country not to be crossed with horses, and the lakes are too far apart to be available as a canoe-route, while the mosquitos are intolerable. Only when the snow has fallen, and all water is held fast in the grip of winter, has one a chance of exploring this Land of Promise with dogs, sleighs, and snow-shoes; but, by this time, the summer life has all flown far away southward, and, though I think one would be fairly safe in pushing on, there is always a chance of coming across a large tract of gameless country, and finding a difficulty in obtaining provisions. After three days' good travel we reached the end of François' road, and long before daylight on the following morning were away to try and find the buffalo tracks. We had a long day's walk over a perfect hunting-ground, crossing several open ridges with sufficient elevation to give us a view of the surrounding country. Prairie and timber were about in equal proportion, and the eye could follow the windings of a large stream that falls into the Little Buffalo River close to the Fort Smith portage; its water are strongly impregnated with sulphur, and do not readily freeze; in fact this stream, although it has little current, remains open during a considerable part of its course even in the coldest weather. About noon we found the track that we had been looking for, easily distinguishable from the many tracks of moose and woodland caribou that we had crossed; little François made a capital approach, and after a couple of hours' walk we sighted a band of eight buffalo feeding in a small wood-surrounded swamp. There are few spots on the American continent to-day where one can see buffalo in their wild state, but the Indian gave us no time to watch them, and completely spoilt the chance of clean shooting by letting off his gun too soon; we only wanted to kill one, as we could not haul any more meat, and it is really a pity to kill animals so nearly extinct as these. As it turned out there were several snap-shots fired as they ran into the woods, and two tracks of blood in the snow showed that we had done too much shooting, although it was not till late in the second day that we secured a cow that had travelled many miles before lying down. By the way, it is as well when going for a hunting expedition in the North to leave at home all the old-fashioned notions of shooting-etiquette. If you see a man in a good position for a shot, run up, jostle his elbow, and let your gun off; if an animal falls, swear you killed it, and claim the back-fat and tongue no matter whether you fired or not; never admit that you are not quite sure which animal you shot at. It is only by strict attention to these rules that a white man can get a fair division of plunder when shooting with half-breed Indians. The other buffalo, on whose track there was little blood, had not separated from the band, although we followed it for a whole day, and, as this was a sure sign of its having been only slightly wounded, perhaps not much damage was done; a badly struck animal will always leave its companions and lie down. There was much rejoicing when late on the third night the result of our hunt was hauled into our pleasant camp in a clump of thick pine-timber. The little girl patted and played with the meat as an English child would with a doll, and eventually dropped off to sleep with the raw brisket for a pillow; while Pierre, the boy, after a huge feast was seized with such a violent fit that for a long time I was afraid it would prove his last. The others took no notice of him beyond putting down a log to keep him from rolling in the fire, and in the morning he seemed perfectly well and hungry as ever for buffalo-meat. With heavily-laden sleighs we started back for the fort, but a wind-storm had drifted up our track over the prairie, and the dogs had hard work to drag their loads. In one of our steel traps were the remains of a cross fox that a wolverine had eaten, and beyond a few more martens our fur-hunting was unsuccessful. It took us four days to reach little François' house at the mouth of the river, and another half-day to get to the fort, where we found everything quiet, as usual in the monotony of the long winter. February was nearly over, and the "moon of the big wind" was doing its best to keep up its reputation. Day after day the north wind howled over the lake, drifting the snow into a vast ridge on the lee shore and making it no easy matter to find the trout-lines, which had now to be set four or five miles out at sea, the fish moving into deep water as the cold gets more intense and the ice thicker. The thermometer hanging against the wall of the house ranged between _minus_ 30 and _minus_ 45 degrees Fahrenheit, and this state of affairs continued until I left the fort for another hunt with little François. We spent three weeks happily enough in the woods, doing a little trapping, and getting enough moose and caribou-meat to keep the dogs and ourselves in good condition. Our course lay the same way as on the last hunt, to take advantage of the road and visit the line of traps; but we pushed further on till we came across the tracks of a party of Indians hunting from Fort Smith. We saw no sign of buffalo, and as François' wife damaged her leg rather badly we were obliged to haul her back on the sleigh, and this accident put an end to our trip. Away far in the forest beyond the influence of the great frozen lake we found the first indications of the coming spring. By the end of the first week in April the snow was falling under our snow-shoes in the middle of the day, and the sun, which now had a long course to run, shone with considerable power; the pine-trees threw out the delicious scent so suggestive of Nature's awakening after her long snow-wrapped sleep, and a puff of warm south wind, sighing through the poplars, whispered a message of hope from a more favoured land. But winter made a final struggle, and it was not till the 25th of April that the collapse came. Then the snow in the woods around the fort melted away rapidly, and the bare ground showed in patches. On May 1st water was standing in pools over the ice in the bay, the snow had disappeared except in the drifts, a light rain was falling, and the first goose was killed from the door of the master's house; small bands of wildfowl were passing frequently, and cranes were calling in the swamps to the southward; daylight lingered in the sky all night, but there was always a sharp frost while the sun was down. It was time to shake off our luxurious habits and push out again for the North to take full advantage of the short summer of the Barren Ground. The fort seemed to wake up with the spring, and there was bustle and activity everywhere. The furs had to be spread out to dry before they could be baled up; fish had to be thrown out of the provision-store as they thawed, and the dogs were happy for once. There was talk of ploughing and planting the potato-crop; Indians kept dropping in with small bundles of fur, to trade for ammunition for the goose-hunt, which would soon be in full swing; canoes were patched up and made tight in readiness for the first open water. But there was a rumour that the expedition to the Great Fish River would fall through, as no crew could be found, and some discontented spirits had been trying to persuade the Indians against going with us; the half-breeds were all full of excuses, and for a time it looked bad for us. Mackinlay was of course keen enough for the trip, and so was Murdo Mackay, the Scotch engaged servant; and luckily David, an Esquimau boy from Peel's River, who had been left at Fort Resolution for the winter to learn English from the Protestant missionary there, was willing to come with us, and, although not a first-rate traveller, might be very useful as interpreter if we fell in with any of his countrymen. Moise Mandeville was more obstinate and had the greatest horror of the expedition, but he finally agreed to come in the capacity of steersman and as Montaignais' interpreter. We were still without a guide. Zinto, despite his promises, had not put in an appearance, and there was as yet no news of him. Meanwhile preparations went on; dogs were got together, new snow-shoes provided for each member of the party, and all available pounded meat and grease converted into pemmican as the most portable form of provisions; four sacks of flour were forwarded to Fond du Lac to await our arrival, and the women round the fort were busy making moccasins for men and dogs, as the latter have to be shod in spring-travelling, to prevent their feet being cut to pieces on the rough needle-ice that appears after the snow has melted off the lakes. We also took a light canvas lodge in place of the heavier deer-skins, and found it a great saving in weight, especially after rain; dressed deer-skins hold water like a sponge, and where firewood is scarce are extremely hard to dry. On May 4th Mr. Clark arrived from Fort Smith to take charge of Resolution during Mackinlay's absence. The slushy state of the snow made travelling hard, but the Fort Smith people had managed to bring us a welcome supply of tea, tobacco, ammunition, and a few matches; none of these necessary articles were to be had at Resolution, as the unusually heavy fur-trade had left the store empty. We collected all the touch-wood we could get hold of, and each took a flint and steel, while Dr. Mackay sent us a burning-glass, a compass, and a watch from Chipeweyan, besides half a dozen pair of spectacles to keep off snow-blindness, from which an unprotected eye is sure to suffer. There was also a small stock of axes, knives, and beads, presents for the Esquimaux in case we fell in with them. Arrangements were made for the fort boat to meet us at the old site of Lockhart's house, at the north-east end of the Great Slave Lake, on August 1st, to bring us across the lake, as I wished to start for the South in time to get back to civilization before the rivers and lakes were set fast by the coming winter. The day after Mr. Clark's arrival a couple of Indians came in from Fond du Lac. Zinto had not yet arrived there, but was expected any day; he had no meat for us, and caribou were reported scarce on the road we proposed taking; most of the Yellow Knives would be at Fond du Lac to meet us if they found food enough for present use. Pierre Lockhart, an Indian who had come to the fort, immediately engaged with us as guide to the Great Fish River, saying that whatever the other men might do he would be faithful to the end of the journey, even if we wanted him to go to the sea-coast: needless to say he was the very first to desert on the appearance of hard times. It was a goodly procession that left Fort Resolution on the afternoon of May 7th, for every sleigh was pressed into service to help us over the bad ice that lay between the fort and the big river, and all the goose-hunters had been waiting till we started to move their families to the favourite feeding-grounds. Across the first bay there was fully a foot of water, with a crust of ice caused by the last night's frost; this top crust had to be broken, and the dogs waded up to their bellies, with the sleighs floating behind them: bitterly cold for the feet and hard to avoid a fall, which meant a thorough drenching in the icy water. On reaching the delta and passing into the narrow channels at the mouth of the big river the ice was much better, as the water had run off through the cracks; the crossing of the main stream looked dangerous, but, by carefully picking our way and sounding the ice with an axe, we got across without accident and camped in a bunch of willows on the far side. The fires were kept up late that night and much talking was done, as to-morrow we had to say good-bye to our companions, and many instructions were given to wives, mothers, and children with reference to their good behaviour during our absence. The red glow of sunset stayed in the sky till it mingled with the brightness of the coming day; often a whirr of wings told of a flock of wildfowl passing overhead, and a few geese that had arrived from the south kept up a continual _honking_ as they searched for a patch of open water to alight on. But the frost was sharp in the night, and on breaking camp at four o'clock we found the crust of surface-ice in the next bay strong enough in most places to bear our sleighs, which were now reduced to two in number and much more heavily loaded than on the previous day. Sometimes a man would break through, and, floundering on the bottom ice, would bruise his shins and feet in a desperate manner, and we were all badly knocked about when we put ashore at Tête Noire's House, five miles beyond the Ile de Pierre, ready to take the big traverse on the following day. A couple of hours out from the land brought us again to dry snow, as the change of climate is very sudden after leaving the south shore of the lake. Crossing the big traverse was ordinary winter travelling, although the snow was soft in the strong sunshine; we made use of the frost at night and generally rested during the heat of the day. Between the islands snow-shoes were necessary, and, although spectacles were constantly worn, some of the men began to show signs of snow-blindness; occasionally we found a bare rock to camp on, but more generally made the old winter form of encampment on the snow. It was not till the sixth day after leaving the fort that we pulled into Fond du Lac, and found nearly the whole tribe of Yellow Knives awaiting us with King Beaulieu and his family at their head; there were five and twenty lodges, and in every one we heard the old story of _Berula_ (no meat); they had tried fishing without success, and hoped the white masters would give them a little flour and pemmican. Why had they not pushed on to some of the sure fisheries in the big lake when they found the caribou fail? They wished to talk with us, they said, and so had stayed and starved at Fond du Lac till we came. What did they want to speak to us about? Only this, that an Indian's life is hard, and he has at all times need of a little tea and tobacco to give him courage; they had heard we were taking much tea and tobacco, besides other presents, to the Esquimaux. In vain did we tell them that we had not enough for own use; there was no peace till pipes were going in every lodge. [Illustration: Dog-rib Powwow at Fort Resolution] [Illustration: Group of Dog-rib Indians] Zinto had not put up any meat for us. At one time he had killed a good many caribou, but he had met with a band of Dog-Ribs from Fort Rae and the two tribes had camped together; the chief of the Yellow Knives was bound in honour to give a feast to his guests, and after the meat that was meant for us had been used for this purpose they fell to gambling. The unfortunate Zinto lost all his ammunition, so that he had no chance to kill any more caribou, much as he would have liked to help the white men in their undertaking. The snow was lying deep in the woods and as yet no breath of spring had visited Fond du Lac, although at Fort Resolution, not more than one hundred miles to the south, the buds were by this time shooting on the birch and willow trees, and the ground had been bare for two weeks; no wildfowl had arrived, and the Indians were of opinion that such a late spring had never been known, advising us strongly not to attempt to force our way into the Barren Ground till there was some indication of better weather. It seemed to us, though, that we should never be in a better position to start than now, as any delay meant waste of provisions, and we hoped to find caribou before we began to starve. Several days we spent in talking to the Indians before we came to any satisfactory conclusion, and we had the greatest trouble in persuading any of them to come with us. Finally it was settled that Capot Blanc, Saltatha, Syene, and Marlo, with their wives and families, should start with us, and on reaching the head of the Great Fish River should wait there and hunt while we made the descent of the stream. Capot Blanc behaved very well at all the consultations, speaking up for the white men whenever an opportunity offered, but the interpretation was unsatisfactory; Moise refused this duty in the presence of the Beaulieus, and the latter, so far as we could make out, used all their influence with the Indians to damage our chances of making a successful expedition. David, the Esquimau, rather complicated matters by falling in love with King's daughter, but he made no objection to starting, and soon forgot all about her in the excitement of the journey. On the last evening that we spent at Fond du Lac a Dog-Rib arrived with his family from the Barren Ground in a wretched state of starvation. He had come in by the route that we proposed to take, and gave a very unsatisfactory report of the country: the cold was still severe, and he had met with no game since leaving the musk-ox a couple of weeks before; one of his children had died of starvation and he was forced to bury her under the snow at the Lac de Mort; the rest had barely escaped with life. Of course we gave them enough flour and pemmican to take them to a well-known fishery twenty miles on, but our provisions were going very fast. Most of the Yellow Knives had already moved away to the fishery, and the encampment was entirely deserted when we pulled down our lodges on the morning of May 21st. Paul Beaulieu was to have caught us up to show us some meat-_caches_ that he had made in the winter, and we had engaged an Indian, Carquoss, to fish for his wife while he was away; but we saw neither Paul nor his _caches_. Carquoss, however, joined us later on, and explained that he had given up fishing because we had not left him any tea and the other Indians had laughed at him. A miserable-looking outfit we were as we plodded for two days along the north shore of the lake, against a strong head-wind and driving snowstorms. Seven trains of starving dogs hauled their loads in a melancholy procession, and over twenty people walked in the narrow road made by the passage of the sleighs; by far too large a party for any rapid travelling, and badly handicapped by women and children. On the third day we turned up the mountain, and followed the course of a stream coming in on the north shore; we mounted by a series of frozen cascades, many of them so steep that we were obliged to use ropes to help the dogs, and towards evening camped at the far end of the first lake on the plateau. This day's work was not got through without a good deal of growling, as everybody was kept on short rations to make the most of our provisions; three days' full allowance for human beings alone, to say nothing of the thirty dogs, would have put an end to our supplies. From this lake the country was level, and the women were quite able to manage the dog-sleighs, while the men scoured the country on either side of the track in search of caribou or ptarmigan. The birds were fairly plentiful, but of course at this season were all paired, and there was no chance of making a slaughter at a single shot, as one can do in the fall of the year when the birds are in big packs; this shooting at separate birds was a serious strain on our ammunition, but the ptarmigan helped us out till we fell in with the caribou. It was almost a certainty to find these birds in every bunch of pines, and they kept up such a constant crowing round the camp at night that they had a poor chance of escaping the hungry man's gun. After the snow has melted the male bird gets pugnacious and runs up to meet the hunter, with his feathers puffed out, offering a fair mark for a stone; but before this happened we disdained ptarmigan, and would only kill the fattest-looking caribou. We eked out a precarious existence in this manner for a week, making short days' journeys, as the dogs could not travel fast or far. Pierre Lockhart deserted one morning when breakfast was particularly scanty, and taking his gun and blanket started back for Fond du Lac; we were depending on him for guide, but it was rather a relief when he went, as he was inclined to steal food, and had several disgusting habits that made his absence from the lodge rather acceptable than otherwise. Marlo's brother-in-law disappeared about the same time, but we thought they had gone off together and did not trouble ourselves further about them. On the last day of May, acting on Capot Blanc's advice, we forked from our canoe-route, and took a more easterly course, to fall on the chain of lakes by which Anderson and Stewart had reached the Great Fish River. We hoped to find caribou in this direction, and on the same day that we made this change in our course the indefatigable Saltatha, having made a much longer round than the rest of us, came into camp late at night with a load of caribou-meat on his back; he had seen snow-shoe tracks to the east, but falling in with the caribou had turned back to the camp without following the tracks. Sunday, June 1st, brought a distinct change in the weather; a mild south-west wind was melting the snow rapidly, and several flocks of geese and ducks passed to the north. A few geese were called up to the camp and killed from the doors of the lodges; the Indians imitate to perfection the cry of any bird, and at this time of year the geese are easy to call, as they are always in search of open water, and seem not a bit surprised to hear their friends calling to them from a group of deer-skin lodges. In the morning we sent two men to bring in the rest of Saltatha's meat, with orders to investigate the tracks, and see if there was another encampment of Indians to the east, as none of the caribou hunters had intended to leave the Great Slave Lake till the thaw came. Our peaceful Sunday was greatly disturbed by a royal row in one of the lodges, and we sent for Capot Blanc to ask him what the trouble was. The old fellow was glad enough to get into our lodge away from the clamour, and explained the cause of the disturbance in his even low-pitched voice, so pleasantly contrasted with the Yellow Knife Billingsgate that was being freely used outside. "It is the women," he said; "the wife of Syene has called the wife of Saltatha by a bad name, because she would not give her some meat; the wife of Saltatha has taken the wife of Syene by the hair and beaten her in the face with a snow-shoe till her nose bleeds very much; the men have tried to separate them, but that only makes things worse. It is always like this in our camps when we starve. If the men are alone they are quiet; but when there are women there is no peace. Is it so also in your country?" Late in the night the men who had gone to fetch the meat came back, hauling on the sleigh Marlo's brother-in-law José, whom they had found lying in the snow, without fire, in a bunch of dwarf pines; the snow-shoe tracks were his, and but for the lucky chance of Saltatha's killing the caribou in that direction he must have perished in a day or two, as he was too weak to travel. He had left us to hunt ptarmigan, and lost himself eight days ago, and, as we supposed he had deserted with Pierre, we had taken no trouble to look for him. He was one of the unlucky ones, believed to have seen "the Enemy" in his youth, and it certainly says little for his wits that he was unable to follow the tracks of such a large party. José had used up what little ammunition he started with on the first day, and since then had eaten nothing; he was without matches or touchwood to make fire, and as the weather had been cold he must have suffered greatly. We fed him up to the best of our ability, and he recovered rapidly when meat was abundant in the camp. CHAPTER XI On the following day we made an easy day's travel to the east, and most of us succeeded in killing caribou while the women drove the dogs. From this time, all through the summer till we again reached the Great Slave Lake late in August, we had no difficulty about provisions; although there was many a time when we could not say where we might find our next meal, something always turned up, and we were never a single day without eating during the whole journey. I really believe it is a mistake to try to carry enough food for a summer's work in the Barren Ground, as the difficulty of transport is so great, and after the caribou are once found there is no danger of starvation. We were now travelling with the bull caribou, which had just left the thick woods, and made easy marches from lake to lake in an north-east direction; the weather became cold again for the last time, and June 7th was like a bad winter's day with a strong north wind and snowstorms. Then the summer came suddenly, and on the 11th we were obliged to camp on a high gravel ridge to await _le grand dégel_, which rendered travelling impossible, till the deep water had run off the ice. Although we had been so far taking it very easily, a rest was of great service, as many of the party were suffering from acute snow-blindness caused by the everlasting glare of the sun on the treeless waste; there was no dark object to rest the eyes upon for a moment, and besides the actual pain the constant inflammation injured the sight and made rifle-shooting very uncertain. The Indians smeared their faces with blood and wood-ashes, and the white men were further protected with spectacles; but these efforts were only partially successful in keeping off the glare. I was lucky in getting off quite free myself, but should imagine that it must be a most painful affliction. Along the foot of the sandy ridge, which closely resembled the one I had seen the autumn before at Lac de Gras, were many small lakes partially thawed, and here the snow geese, or white "wavies," were resting in thousands, waiting till the warm weather should have melted the snow from their feeding-ground along the sea-coast. We could have made enormous bags of them, as they were tame and disinclined to leave the open water; but we were sparing with our ammunition, as we might want it badly later on. Great numbers were killed, however, and their prime condition told of the good feeding-ground they had left far southward. There were also plenty of large Canada geese, but the grey wavy, or laughing goose, the best of all for eating, is much scarcer. Of the more edible ducks the pintail seems to be the only one that comes so far beyond the Great Slave Lake, but long-tailed ducks and golden eyes were in great numbers along this sandy ridge. Of the loons, the red-throated variety was by far the most numerous, and the Pacific or Adam's diver was fairly common, but the great northern diver, although plentiful on the Great Slave Lake, does not appear to visit the Barren Ground. While we were waiting here, another band of Indians from Fond du Lac caught us up, and our camp assumed still larger proportions; but as we were fairly among the game it did not much matter. With the new arrivals were two blind men, Pierre and Antoine Fat, who preferred a wandering life to the support they would doubtless have been given at the fort. Both were good fishermen, and would spend hours sitting on the ice at the edge of an open hole with the greatest patience, and later on made heavy catches of trout. Pierre would often walk with the hunters to get his share of the meat; Capot Blanc was usually his guide, but seldom did more than trail a stick after him and the blind man followed the sound; when a caribou was killed, Pierre was led up to it, and in spite of his blindness would do the butcher's work cleanly and well. The snow melted away rapidly; the hillsides were running with small streams, the ground showed up in ever increasing patches, and a thick mist, which the Indians say always appears at the time of the big thaw, hung over everything. On June 16th we found that most of the water had run off through the cracks in the ice, and resumed our journey, after solemnly burning some thirty pairs of used-up snow-shoes. At first walking without them seemed hard to me, as I had used them continually since the previous October, and we all found that our feet were made sore by walking on the rough ice; unfortunately the skins of the caribou that we killed were so riddled by grubs that they were unfit to dress for leather, and we were always short of moccasins. We still travelled along easily, as the river would not break up for a fortnight at the earliest, and our best plan was to move with the caribou, which seemed to be keeping up with the edge of the snow much in the same manner as ourselves. The portages between the lakes were often three or four miles in length, and, as the snow had gone, we were obliged to carry the heavy loads on our backs; firewood was getting scarce, and I came to the conclusion that our old canoe-route was by far the best way to reach the Barren Ground in summer or in winter. A few warm days made a great difference in the appearance of the country. Leaves began to sprout on the little willows, and the grass showed green on the hillsides; sober-hued flowers, growing close to the ground, came out in bloom, and a few butterflies flapped in the hot sunshine, while we were still walking on eight feet of solid ice. Mosquitos appeared in myriads: in the daytime there was usually a breeze to blow them away, and the nights were too cold for them; but in the calm mornings and evenings they made the most of their chance to annoy us. On June 25th we planted our lodges on a high ridge overlooking Lake Mackay. It has always been the fashion of the Yellow Knives to camp in an elevated position, in order to have command of the surrounding country in looking out for the caribou, or, in the olden times, for a band of hostile Indians. Right across the lake we could see the bay in which we had left our big canoe during our first attempt to find the musk-ox, and the hills forming the height of land between the Great Slave Lake and the Arctic Sea; on our right lay Lockhart's River and the huge Aylmer Lake, which we were about to cross. Blind Pierre knew the whole picture as well as any of us; on my way back to camp at sundown I found him sitting on a boulder smoking, for we always rather favoured him in the matter of tobacco; his face was turned to the north-east, and he was evidently taking in all the details of the landscape, without the sense of sight. "_Tetchenula_, _Tetchen Yarsula_, _Tetchen Taote_ (no wood, not a little wood, no wood at all)," he said, as he waved his hands towards Aylmer Lake; then, with a sweep of his arm, he traced correctly the course of Lockhart's River, with a rapid downward motion, to denote its abrupt termination in a series of rapids and waterfalls as it joins the Great Slave Lake. Poor old fellow, it must be hard for him not to see the country he loves so well; but he is happy, after his fashion, in the summer-time when the caribou are thick. From this point we sent Moise with three Indians and our own dogs to bring up the big canoe from the south shore of Lake Mackay, where I had left her in the beginning of last October. Many little hunting-canoes had been picked up along the track from Fond du Lac, and now every sleigh carried a canoe athwartships; these proved useful enough in crossing the small lake in the course of Lockhart's River, as on arriving at the far side we found open water between us and the land, and had to use the canoes to ferry our cargo to the shore, the dogs swimming with the empty sleighs in tow, while some enterprising spirits, who conceived the idea of floating ashore on blocks of ice, came in for a ducking. The ice on Aylmer Lake was still solid, but extremely rough, causing great damage to our moccasins. We kept near the north shore, with sometimes a long traverse across a deep bay; at the head of every bay a stream ran into the lake, and the open water at its mouth was always a sure find for trout; forty or fifty large fish were often caught in a day with hook and line at these places, and, as we could always kill caribou, even the dogs were getting fat in this land of plenty. Soon we began to see scraps of musk-ox hair on the large boulders where these animals had been rubbing, and on the second day's travel along Aylmer Lake David had an adventure with an old bull. David was by far the keenest hunter in the outfit, but up till now had not succeeded in killing anything bigger than a goose, and it was an exciting moment for him when he got within range of a musk-ox. He had heard strange stories about these animals when a small boy among his own countrymen at the mouth of the Mackenzie River, and it was not without a little trembling that he fired one of his scanty stock of bullets. The beast was wounded but would not die, and David, standing off at a safe distance, soon exhausted all his bullets; he then proceeded to load his gun with round stones, and finally with handfuls of gravel; his last charge of powder was used to fire the ramrod, but another half hour elapsed before the musk-ox expired. As this was the first one that had been killed on this trip, the proud hunter was made a good deal of when he came into camp with the best of the highly-flavoured meat. On the evening of July 1st we made the encampment at the head of the most northerly bay of Aylmer Lake, named Sandy Bay by Back, from the conspicuous sand-ridges that here form the divide between the lake and the Great Fish River, a distance of three quarters of a mile. The ice was still firm in Aylmer Lake, but there was a little difficulty in getting ashore through a narrow belt of open water, and the head-reaches of the river were clear. We were inspecting the stream, to see what chance there was of being able to run the canoe through the numerous rapids, when Noel, one of the Indians who had been with me on the winter hunt, came up with the news that he had spied a large band of musk-ox feeding a couple of miles down the river. The women were badly in need of their hides for making moccasins, as the caribou-skins were still in poor condition, so a hunt was arranged in a fashion that I had not seen before. Most of the guns crossed the river, and a spot was selected for the slaughter just where the stream broadened out into a small lake; at right angles to the river mounds of stone and moss were put up at a few yards' distance from each other, ornamented with coats, belts, and gun-covers, and behind the outside mound Capot Blanc took up his position. A steep hill ran parallel with the stream about two hundred yards away, and along this guns were posted at intervals, with the intention of heading the musk-ox towards the water. Noel and Marlo, supposed to be the two best runners, were to make a long round and start the band in our direction; I was stationed with three other guns among some broken rocks on the south side of the river, just opposite the barrier; and orders were given that no shot should be fired till the musk-ox took to the water. It was a most interesting scene, and I would not willingly have changed places with any of the loyal Canadians who were at this time celebrating the anniversary of Dominion Day, with much rye whisky, a thousand miles to the southward. I had plenty of time to admire the surrounding landscape, and the sunset that lit up the snow-drifts on each side of the river; when suddenly over the opposite ridge appeared the horns of a band of caribou, and for a moment the leader was outlined against the sky as he paused to look at the strange preparations going on in the valley below. Behind me a ptarmigan, perched on a rock, crowed defiance; but there was no other sound, except the rush of water and the occasional grinding of an ice-pan dislodged from some small lake in the course of the stream. Fully an hour we sat among the rocks, and were beginning to think that the hunt had miscarried, when we heard a distant shouting far down the valley, and the next moment caught sight of a scurrying black mass crossing a spur of the hill close to the river's bank. The men posted along the ridge took up the cry as the musk-ox passed them, and joined in the chase; soon the animals came to the barrier, and pulled up short at the apparition, while, to increase their alarm, the hoary head of Capot Blanc arose from behind a mound of rocks right in front of them. This was the critical moment, and they would certainly have taken to the water and been at the mercy of their pursuers but for an untimely shot that caused them to break, and I was not sorry to see that several of the band escaped. I had had a splendid view till now, as the musk-ox halted within twenty yards of me, but we were forced to lie low when the shooting began, as bullets were rattling freely among the rocks in which we were hiding. We did no shooting on our side of the river, except to finish off a couple that took to the water; seven were killed in all, six cows, and a calf about a month old; there were no bulls in the band, and from what I afterwards saw they seemed to keep separate from the cows during the summer. A solitary old bull is often met with at this time of year. When the hunt was over, I inquired the meaning of the shouting that had been kept up so continually throughout the drive, and was informed that this was necessary to let the musk-ox know which way to run. At starting they had shouted, "Oh, musk-ox, there is a barrier planted for you down there, where the river joins the little lake; when you reach it take to the water, there are men with guns on both sides, and so we shall kill you all"; when the men are out of breath, they shout to the musk-ox to stop, and, after they have rested, to go on again. These animals are said to understand every word of the Yellow Knife language, though it seems strange that they do not make use of the information they receive to avoid danger instead of obeying orders. The partial failure of the hunt was attributed to the fact that Moise had called across the river to me in French, and the musk-ox had not been able to understand this strange language. The sun had risen again when we got back to camp, and there we found the big canoe, not a bit damaged by her long rest under the snow or her adventurous journey on the dog-sleigh. The day was spent in getting in the meat and skins, and early the next morning we carried the canoe across the portage and launched her on the waters of the Great Fish River. The cargo was all sent overland to a lake some six miles down the stream; sleighs were abandoned, as there was now no snow to haul on, but the dogs' work was by no means over, the only difference being that they had to carry loads on their backs instead of dragging a sleigh; rough deer-skin pack-harness was made, and the loads secured in a manner worthy of a Mexican mule-packer. We came to grief with the canoe at the third rapid, and should have done much better to have made the portage to the lake, instead of trying to navigate the difficult stream. A long delay was necessary to effect repairs, and there were so many portages over ice-blocks along the edge of the lake, when we reached it, that the sun was high on the following morning before we camped. The same work continued for several days, the Indians toiling overland heavily loaded, and our own party struggling with the ice in a chain of lakes through which the river runs. On the edge of one of these lakes we stopped for dinner on the spot where Stewart and Anderson separated from their Indian guides before descending the river in 1856. The rough stone fireplaces, by which they had economised fuel, were still standing, and Capot Blanc, seated on one of them, gave us a long lecture on the events that had taken place during their expedition, as he had heard the story from his father. More than thirty years had elapsed since the last party of Whites camped by the side of the Great Fish River, and thirty years again before them Back the discoverer had pushed out into the unknown land. Why has all exploration in the Barren Ground ceased? No more is known of the country than was discovered by Franklin and Back sixty years ago in their short summer journeys, and the expeditions sent out in search of the former in the 'Fifties. There are many thousands of square miles on which the foot of white man has never stepped. The Canadian Government has an efficient body of surveyors and geologists at its command, and it is curious that no attention is paid to one of the most interesting fields for exploration. On July 6th, after slow and tiresome travelling, we reached the north end of a large sheet of water named by Back Musk-ox Lake, and finding enough willow-scrub for firewood, determined here to await the breaking up of the ice in the lake. Judging by the Indian's account the season was fully three weeks later than usual, and, as I wished to be back at Fort Resolution in time to save the open water up Peace River before winter set in, there was a poor chance of our being able to penetrate far into the country of the Esquimaux. Musk-ox Lake runs pretty nearly due north and south, and is fifteen miles in length, averaging about two miles in width. Our camp was just at the point where the river runs out, and a short distance above is the best swimming-place for the caribou known to the Indians. In some years immense slaughters are made here, but on the present occasion the caribou did not cross in their usual numbers, so that our companions had no chance to put up the dried meat that we expected to get for our cruise down stream, and we could only kill enough for the present support of such a large encampment. Across the lake is a hill of insignificant height, known as the Musk-ox Mountain, a good landmark, and a favourite haunt for the animals from which it takes its name. This is the northerly limit of the Yellow Knives' hunting-ground. Northwards is the land of the dreaded Esquimaux, and many rumours were brought into the camp of a strange track seen on soft ground, of men standing far off on the sky-line, and a blue cloud of smoke arising far down the valley of the river. The Indians were convinced that their old enemies were continually close to them, despite the fact that it would be an impossibility for canoes to have yet ascended the stream on account of the ice. We afterwards discovered that there was a debatable ground, fully sixty miles in width, between Musk-ox Lake and the highest point that the Esquimaux reach. There is here a very striking change in the appearance of the country. The old red granite formation gives way almost entirely to ironstone, split up into slabs and piled into such peculiar shapes that one might imagine giants had been building castles over the rolling hills. Some of the slabs were turned on edge and formed perfect turrets towering many feet into the air, and in many places were heaps of shiny black sand, resembling coal-dust, piled up into conical mounds almost too steep to climb. Wherever vegetation had a chance to grow it was much more luxuriant than one could suppose possible in such a climate. The stunted willows, not two feet in height, were thickly clothed with bright green leaves; there was abundance of grass, and in many spots the pretty little Arctic flowers formed a bright carpet along the foot of a slowly melting snowdrift. Capot Blanc and myself made an expedition into the roughest part of this country, to the north-east of Musk-ox Lake, but we found travelling very hard, as we had to climb continually over broken masses of ironstone. This is another well-known haunt of "the Enemy," and Capot Blanc attributed to his malign influence the disaster that prevented our further exploration in this direction. We reached a stream of no great size, one of the tributaries of the Great Fish River, and attempted to wade across to the opposite bank, selecting the head of a small rapid for the purpose, as the water appeared to be shallower there. On reaching the centre of the current our legs were swept from under us, and we were immediately running the rapid at the imminent risk of breaking our heads against a rock. We both reached the still water at the foot of the rapid with nothing worse than a few bruises, and moreover held on to our guns, but of course our ammunition was spoilt, and we were obliged to make the best of our way back to camp. Capot Blanc afterwards told me that he thought the Enemy had made the water strong, to keep us from coming into his country, and it would be flying in the face of Providence to make another attempt. It would be interesting to know how far this ironstone formation extends; and, as the journey to Musk-ox Lake and back to the fort might easily be made by canoe during the summer, the trip would amply repay the geologist and botanist for their trouble. Many other little expeditions we made in various directions, sometimes watching the birds, and sometimes in pursuit of caribou or musk-ox. One hunt in particular I remember, which took place appropriately enough on the top of Musk-ox Mountain. We had made out the moving black spots through the glasses from the lodge, and, as there was still a demand for hides from the women and meat was being used in great quantities, we paddled across the lake through a narrow channel in the ice. The sun went down while we were climbing the ascent, and a long wait was necessary, as the animals were feeding towards us on the flat top of the mountain and there was no cover to enable us to make a nearer approach. The mosquitos buzzed merrily round us while we lay behind the rock and watched the grotesque motions of the calves as they played with each other, little suspecting that danger was so close. Presently the band moved within easy range and we opened fire with four guns. Seven were killed, and Mackinlay caught a calf that stayed by the body of its dead mother, a fluffy, long-haired little beast; I was sorry that we could not keep it alive, but it would have been impossible to carry it in a birch-bark canoe. Cruel work, this shooting in the summer-time, but it was necessary to keep the camp in meat even though mother and young had to be sacrificed. I had a long run after a cripple, and eventually killed it on the shore of a large lake in a valley eastward of the mountain. The sun was high when I found the rest of the hunters eating marrow-bones in front of a big fire, in a clump of well-grown willows close to the canoe, and we took a load of wood back to the camp, sending over the women for the meat and skins later in the day. The weather during this time was variable in the extreme; two or three hot days would be followed by a snowstorm, and once we were visited by a hurricane that did much damage to lodge-poles, and caused us to shift camp hurriedly to the lee-side of a steep cliff hanging over the river. July 10th was exceptionally hot in the morning, with the mosquitos at their worst; in the middle of the day there was a thunderstorm, and at five o'clock the ground was covered with snow. The ice now began to show signs of rotting, and the channel of open water round the weather edge of the lake grew rapidly broader. We had many talks with the Indians about the chances of our being able to get together a crew; but they had no enthusiasm about the voyage, and wanted nothing better than to keep us hanging about the head of the river, providing them with ammunition. Saltatha was the only one of the band who volunteered to go, and he insisted on having another Indian with him, as he was not used to the ways of white men, and would feel safer if he had one of his own tribe with him in case of accidents; but he hoped we should not go farther than the big lake (Beechey Lake) which he had heard us talking about, for it was getting late in the year, and when the ice is long in melting winter comes again soon. At last it was arranged that Saltatha and Noel were to come in our canoe, while Marlo and Carquoss accompanied us with a small hunting-canoe, to carry a little ammunition in case we lost our cargo by capsizing in a rapid; we should then have a chance of making a living, and be able to cross the tributary stream if we had to return on foot. On our part we agreed to turn back from Beechey Lake, reserving the privilege of taking the little canoe overland from there to Bathurst Inlet. As caribou were scarce, the rest of the Indians were to work their way back towards the Great Slave Lake, except Capot Blanc, who was to stay on the divide at Aylmer Lake, if he could kill enough meat to keep his family, and there await our return. The evening before we started, Syene, who was a Medicine Man, sent a message to our lodge that he was going to foretell the result of our expedition down the river, so we went over to hear what was in store for us. His lodge was full of Indians, but they made room for us, and we sat down on a blanket on the side of the fire farthest from the door. Syene held a drum made of tightly-stretched deer-skin parchment, which he punched continually with a caribou's thigh-bone, keeping up a melancholy chant, and singing a sentence or two every few minutes. "It is not that I can see anything myself," he said, "but it is an unborn child that is speaking to me." Mrs. Syene, who was sitting close to the Medicine Man, clasped her hands and groaned, as if in great pain, by way of giving assent to this statement. "The child sees the canoe of the big masters running down the strong water of a rapid; below the rapid is a long point, and seven lodges of the Esquimaux are planted on the point. There is blood on the snow-drift; it is the blood of a white man. One man is walking on the bank of a river; he walks like a starving man, and the child knows not if he is white or Indian. Now all is dark, and the child has ceased speaking." Not a very cheerful prophecy, and it was hard to make out how far the Indians believed in the Medicine Man; but our crew were rather downhearted about it, although, as is usual all the world over, the people who were not going the journey themselves took a philosophical view of the whole affair. CHAPTER XII On Thursday, July 17th, at two o'clock in the afternoon, we struck camp and started on a four-mile portage to the next lake down stream, as the river-bed was too full of large boulders to navigate the strong current with safety. It was hard work carrying the cargo and canoe through the mosquito-stricken ironstone country, and we did not camp till midnight. Here another bad omen was observed. Mackinlay and I had gone ahead, after carrying over a load, to try and kill something for supper; we found a musk-ox, but made rather a clumsy mess of killing it, and the animal was badly heated before we finished it off. The meat was consequently discoloured, and Saltatha declared this to be an unfailing sign of some great misfortune at hand. The women had made us a few pair of moccasins each, but not nearly enough for the tracking-work that we should have to do when we turned up stream; and our stock of provisions, instead of the bales of dried meat that we had expected to enable us to travel without waste of time in hunting, consisted of ten dried deers'-ribs, so full of maggots, from having been imperfectly cured, that we threw them away on the second day out. Our flour and pemmican had of course been finished long ago, and we drank the last kettleful of tea before leaving Musk-ox Lake, but as the Labrador tea grows all over this country in profusion, this did not much matter; tobacco too was nearly at an end. The lake was still full of floating ice, but we had no trouble in passing the canoe into the river at the north end, and found the stream considerably increased in volume by a couple of large tributaries that come in from the opposite sides of the lake. After dropping down two or three miles with a sluggish current, we heard the roar of a rapid, and put ashore on an island in mid-stream as soon as we sighted broken water. It was lucky we did so, as there was a heavy overfall impossible to run, and we were obliged to portage the whole length of the island and then shoot the tail of the rapid. Here we put ashore to patch the canoe, which was leaking badly, and pulled out big trout as quickly as we could throw in the spoon-bait; we found this could be done at the foot of all the rapids, so one need not take much thought about provisions in this part of the stream. After another small rapid, which was run with a full load, the river, heading straight to the north, passes through a small lake and emerges as a broad canal-like waterway with very slight current, flowing through the roughest part of the ironstone country that we had yet seen; the banks were steep too, and we could put the canoe alongside a natural wharf in any spot for a distance of five or six miles. In passing down these reaches we saw and killed musk-ox, but the caribou seemed to shirk the labour of crossing the confused masses of rocks, and none of these animals were seen till we reached a less rugged district. Again the channel widened out into a lake, two miles in length, with an ugly rapid at the north end; this we negotiated with the precaution of leaving guns and ammunition ashore, and directly afterwards Saltatha caused some excitement by saying he had caught a glimpse of a man walking on a neighbouring ridge; we put ashore, but could find no tracks, and came to the conclusion that it was Saltatha's imagination. A long day's travel was made successfully, and by ten o'clock we were clear of the ironstone and slipping quietly along through a pleasant sandy country. We camped at the foot of a high sand-butte covered with flowers and moss, and found a bunch of willows on the bank of the river. There were indications that some one had camped on the same spot many years ago; small sticks had been chopped with an axe, and bones of caribou were lying in heaps on the ground. The Yellow Knives at once said it was an old Esquimaux camp, and it was evident that they had little inclination to go any farther down stream; more probably the chopping was done by a band of Dog-Ribs, whose hunting-grounds lie to the west, or possibly by the members of Stewart's and Anderson's expeditions. On mounting the butte we saw that the country northward presented a much more fertile appearance than anything we had seen on the south side of the watershed. There was a luxurious growth of grass over the sandy ridges, and during the two months of summer one could imagine oneself back on the prairies of Alberta; the willows here too grew to a better size, and, as far as we descended the river, we had little trouble about fuel; in the winter, of course, the willows would be all drifted over with snow, and it would then be no easy matter to make a fire. This stream heads in the woodless country; consequently there is no drift-timber, and not a single pine-tree is to be seen along its course. We had a pleasant camp enough that night, but rebellion was rife and burst into flame on the following morning when we ordered the men to take their places in the canoes. This is the hopeless part of having to rely on natives for travelling in the Barren Ground; they have no courage outside their own country. If we had had a good crew of half-breeds from Red River or the upper country of British Columbia we might even now, notwithstanding the lateness of the season, have pushed far out towards the northern sea-coast, and possibly have made the acquaintance of some of the scattered bands of Esquimaux who live there in happy ignorance of any more comfortable form of life. But we were practically in the hands of the Yellow Knives, for although I would myself have taken the risk of steering, none of the men who were willing to go knew how to stitch up a broken canoe, and it would have been madness to push on without this knowledge. Moise, our half-breed interpreter and steersman, who was an engaged servant of the Hudson's Bay Company and bound by his contract to obey Mackinlay's orders in everything, showed the Indian side of his nature by joining the mutineers and refusing to take his position in the stern of the canoe. For two hours we argued the matter on the bank of the river, and at one time I thought we should certainly have come to blows. Marlo and Carquoss were the ringleaders, but Saltatha was inclined to stand by us, although afraid of giving offence to the other Indians. The result of the dispute was that the worst two deserted, taking with them the little canoe, while Noel and Saltatha, tempted by many promises of great reward when we reached the fort, agreed to come with us, and Moise sulkily went back to his duty. After we had thus got rid of the element of discord things went on better; but the loss of the little canoe, besides doing away with our chance of crossing overland to Bathurst Inlet, increased the risk of losing all our possessions by one disaster. A pretty poetical thing is a birch-bark canoe, as it leaps down a sparkling river among its native birch woods, but too frail a craft for a long journey in the rockbound country beyond the line where timber grows. No chance here to strip the bark from a birch-tree and put a new side in a canoe that has struck a rock in the foaming rapid, or if needs be to build a new canoe altogether; three square feet of birch-bark, a little gum, and a bundle of fibre were our only resources for effecting repairs. The day's journey began with a rapid, below which was a reach of quiet water gradually broadening out into a lake some eight miles in length; its surface was covered with ice at the north end, but we found an open channel close ashore on the west side and effected a passage through by skirting the bays. Several bands of musk-ox were seen, and there was always too much anxiety among the men to put ashore and shoot, or to do anything except push steadily on; just as we were leaving the lake a magnificent bull appeared on the top of a high ridge, and, standing on a flat rock within one hundred yards of us, leisurely surveyed the first human beings who had encroached upon his sanctuary for so many years. Below the lake the river makes a sharp bend eastward, and for three miles is nothing but a succession of rapids. Moise when once at work was a splendid steersman, and he certainly handled the canoe with great skill through this difficult piece of navigation; we passed the mouths of two big streams coming in from the west, and at camping-time shot into a quiet sandy lake and put ashore for the night. A musk-ox that I killed from the door of the lodge, and the unlimited number of trout that we could catch in the river, enabled us to spend a peaceful Sunday without hunting. We explored towards the east, and came once more upon the iron country, which seems to run with a sharply defined edge in a north-easterly direction. There were few lakes out of the course of the river, but long stretches of flat grassy muskegs extended as far as the eye could see to the west. Four-footed game was plentiful, especially musk-ox; the caribou that we saw were generally solitary bucks, but it was now nearly time for the does to be coming back from the sea-coast; of the smaller animals we often came across a skulking wolf, a wolverine, an Arctic fox, or a hare, while the holes in the sand-hills were the abode of numerous _siffleurs_ and ermines. A ferocious little mouse, brown in summer, but turning white as the winter comes on, is very common all over the Barren Ground; if disturbed from a tuft of grass it will turn on a man and dance with impotent rage at his feet; these mice naturally fall an easy prey to the hawks and owls, which make a good living here during the summer months. Beyond these predatory birds little feathered life was visible in this part of the country; a few gulls, terns, and skuas flitted along the reaches of the river, and occasionally a loon or a long-tailed duck could be seen in the lakes. The Canada goose and grey wavy were breeding in the marshes, but not in great quantities; the main body of geese go right out to the coast to lay their eggs, and do not start for the South till the end of August. In the early morning we made a short portage over a small cascade immediately below the camp, and found that the river still held its northerly course through a chain of small lakes connected by short stretches of bad water. We made one more portage at mid-day and ran several rather nasty rapids. After dinner we were obliged to portage fully a mile to avoid an impassable reach, and then took more risk than we were justified in doing with our only canoe by running a couple of miles of broken water, full of boulders and with such a heavy sea that we shipped a good deal of water; luckily we did not touch anything, and dropped safely into a long narrow lake, on the east side of which camp was made for the night. This was the most dangerous day that we made; as although we always put ashore to inspect the rapids in case we might discover a waterfall below, we became emboldened by success and ran in safety through some places that we should not have attempted. Back's map of the river would have been a great help to us, but neither this nor an account of the previous journeys that had been made down the stream was procurable at the fort. The next day a curious blue haze hung over everything, closely resembling the smoke of a forest fire at a distance from the scene of conflagration. The lake that we had camped on proved to be about six miles in length, with the usual rapid at its north end connecting it with another lake, the size of which we could not at first determine owing to the murky state of the air; nor could we at once find its outlet, but by keeping in a north-easterly direction soon felt the influence of a current, and found the volume of water much increased by the junction of a tributary, which we afterwards discovered came in from the north-west. On the east side of the stream, just as it left the lake, we noticed a circle of flat stones standing on end, evidently put up by human hands, and on landing discovered unmistakable signs of a band of Esquimaux having been encamped there not very long before. Seven small oval-shaped enclosures, surrounded by rough turf-heaps six inches in height, had been the dwelling-places, but we could not determine whether these low walls were the foundations of snow-houses or deer-skin lodges; there were several blackened fireplaces outside, but the fires must have been very small judging from the charred stumps of tiny green willow twigs, and we saw no wood within several miles of the encampment. The stones propped on end had been used probably for drying meat, and for tying up the dogs to keep them from stealing. Bones and horns of musk-ox and caribou were lying about in every direction, and their numbers showed that this must be a favourite camping-place of the Esquimaux; some of the musk-ox horns had been cut into rough spoons, and several were found in a half-finished condition. A flat stone kettle was picked up with the grease still sticking to it, and a small piece of copper let into the back, possibly an arrangement for a handle, showed that these people are able to work this metal; there were also a few bone arrow-heads scattered about in the camp. If any further proof were necessary to determine what tribe of people had camped here, it was forthcoming in the form of several pieces of undressed sealskin with the hair on, and these seemed to be of greater interest to our crew than any of the other discoveries; arrow-heads, spoons, and kettle were dropped in the contemplation of the skin of an animal they had never seen, and they instantly demanded a description of the seal. After we had told them all we knew upon the subject, we asked their opinion as to the length of time that the Esquimaux had remained here, and when they had left. Saltatha, reading the signs that a white man might miss, came to the conclusion that they had come here in the autumn, as was proved by the hard horns of male caribou lying about, that they had stayed here through the winter, and left late in the spring with dogs on the last snow, about six weeks before our arrival. He thought too that they made a practice of coming here regularly, in the same manner that the Yellow Knives come to the head-waters of the river, as the bones appeared to him to have belonged to animals killed at widely differing dates. We found hiding-places among the rocks close to the edge of the river, which had evidently been used for concealing men engaged in spearing the swimming caribou. The only weak point in Saltatha's theory seemed to be the absence of any carcasses of freshly killed caribou; but it is possible that the Esquimaux may have left before the females came out so far, and the animals would have been later than usual in arriving here owing to the backward nature of the spring. When we had thoroughly inspected everything we left again down stream, with a swift current and good water without rapids for eight miles, where we found another lake running more to the eastward than the general course of the river; on the west side of this lake we were obliged to camp, as a strong head-wind raised too much sea to travel against, and rain was falling in torrents. We explored the shore of the lake in hopes of finding further traces of the Esquimaux, but made no discoveries of any kind. No musk-ox were seen this day, but there were enough caribou to provide food for the party. With better weather we made an early start in the morning, the river on leaving the lake bending a little more to the eastward, with a swift current for several miles, and two rapids which we ran in safety. A short distance below the second rapid the current slackens and the stream gets rapidly broader, till, with a sudden sweep to the south-east, the whole length of Beechey Lake comes open; a long narrow sheet of water, twenty-five miles in length, and nowhere more than two in breadth, lying east and west, and forming a well-defined elbow in the course of the Great Fish River. With a light fair wind, and a blanket set for a sail, we ran down the lake and pitched our lodge on the north shore. Two days were spent in exploration, but again we failed entirely to find any signs of the Esquimaux. Towards the east end of the lake the iron formation shows up once more, and the country is rough to travel through. There was a slight difficulty about provisions at this time as game was scarce, and, though we fully expected to catch fish in the lake and put out our net both nights, not a single fish was taken; just at the critical time, however, a few female caribou with their young turned up on their way back to the South, and we were relieved of all anxiety. As we had promised our crew that we would not descend the river beyond Beechey Lake, and it was already the end of July, orders were reluctantly given on the third day to start up stream with the intention of doing a little exploration to the northward of the old Esquimaux camp, to see if there was any feasible route from there to Bathurst Inlet, as there were no signs of these people having camped in any other place along the river. It seemed a pity to abandon the voyage just at the interesting time, after we had got over all the difficulties of the upper part of the river and had now only a broad stream to follow, with a great deal of easy lake-travel, to reach the Arctic Ocean, and the scene of the final sufferings of the members of Sir John Franklin's last expedition. On the other hand, we had no object in going down to the sea, and there is little pleasure to be got out of a journey of this kind with an unwilling and untrustworthy crew; our canoe, too, which was already leaking badly, would have been of very little service for sea work. As far as Beechey Lake the south side of the Great Fish River is free from any large tributary streams, so that, if our canoe had been smashed up in a rapid, and we had been able to save guns and ammunition, it would have been easy enough to follow the river on foot; but on the north side there are several large streams to be forded, and a long detour might be necessary to find a spot shallow enough for this purpose. There was much more enthusiasm displayed by the Indian portion of the crew on the up-stream journey, and no encouragement was needful to get a good day's work done. In the river stretches the tracking line was used, and three men at the shore end of it kept the canoe travelling at a lively pace except in the very strong water; in mounting the second rapid a mistake on the part of Noel, our bowsman, caused a heavy collision with a rock, and several hours were spent in putting in a patch of birch-bark. On the second night we pitched our lodge on the sandy lake within sight of the Esquimaux camp, and found a considerable stream coming in from a north-westerly direction. I cannot find any mention of this stream in the accounts of the two former journeys down the river, nor is it marked on the maps; it was probably unnoticed on both occasions, as it comes in at the west end of the lake, out of the course of a canoe passing up or down the main river. Mackinlay, Murdo, and myself started on foot the following morning, to explore this stream for a couple of days, taking David with us in case we came across any of his countrymen. The malcontents were left in charge of the camp, with orders to kill caribou if any passed, and partially dry the meat to save the waste of time caused by having to hunt for our living as we travelled; they were also to thoroughly gum the canoe, to stop as much as possible the leaking which was getting serious. We struck out along the bank of the stream, carrying nothing but a gun and a blanket apiece, and at dinner-time were lucky enough to find a flock of moulting Canada geese, unable to fly; four were shot, and two eaten at once, while the other two were stowed away among the rocks for use later on. We had a long day's walk through a pleasant grassy country, and towards evening crossed an unusually high range of hills through which the river cañons. Finding a few willows here, we left our blankets, and walked on along the bank for an hour or two, finally climbing a solitary sand-butte at sundown for a last survey of the country before turning our faces to the south. Far away towards the north-west we could trace the windings of the stream to a ridge of blue hills, which formed the horizon under the setting sun. How these blue ridges in the distance tempt one to push on and see what lies on the far side! And the experience that nine times out of ten you would have done better to stay where you were is never sufficient to overcome this feeling; to this day I can seldom resist it, although game may be plentiful at the door of my lodge and everything that one desires in a wild country is close at hand. Below us lay a broad valley, so green and fertile in appearance that we could hardly realise that for nine months in the year it lay frost-bound and snow-covered under the rigour of an Arctic climate. In the middle of this valley, close to the bank of the stream, was a black object that we had long ago learnt to recognise at a glance, an old bull musk-ox feeding in a patch of willow-scrub; he was sacrificed for our night's rations, and, loaded with meat and marrow-bones, we returned to the cañon where we had left our blankets. There was a distinct twilight, and late in the night David awoke me to draw my attention to the first star that we had seen for many weeks. "See," he said, "a star already; it is past middle summer, and we have not yet seen the sun all night." It was the first summer he had ever spent without seeing the midnight sun, as, since he had been left at the Peel River Fort by a band of Esquimaux who come there annually to trade, he had passed his life within the Arctic circle. The only signs that we saw of people having travelled along this valley were occasional cache-marks made by piling up a heap of small stones in a conspicuous position, to denote the carcass of an animal hidden in the rocks close by; but it seems such an easy route and leads so nearly in the direction of Bathurst Inlet, the nearest point on the sea-coast, that it is probably used regularly by wandering bands of Esquimaux on their way to and from their inland hunting-ground. This was the end of our voyage of discovery, though I should have liked to have pushed on another day or two; but we wanted a small canoe to be certain of reaching the coast, which must have been within sixty miles of us, as there are sure to be many lakes to cross _en route_, and making long detours on foot would be an endless task. The fine weather also had broken, and heavy showers of rain came driving in front of the north wind, while the rest of our crew that had remained with the canoe were not too trustworthy, and, with the exception of Saltatha, in whom both Mackinlay and myself had great confidence, were quite capable of leaving us to find our way out of the country on foot. We had to content ourselves with the hope that in a future summer, with an earlier season and a better crew, we might find an opportunity of exploring thoroughly this promising valley in the Barren Ground. But now I must turn my attention to my long journey of seventeen hundred miles, mostly up-stream, to cross the Rocky Mountains by the head-waters of the Peace River before the winter set in; and even if I could manage this there were still many hundred miles of mountain and forest to be crossed before I saw the shores of the Pacific and the abodes of civilization. When we reached the lodge we found that the Indians had made a stupid slaughter of caribou, and, not contented with taking as much meat as we could carry, had been recklessly killing the females and young that were now passing in great numbers. The love of killing seems deeply rooted in the nature of most men, but the Yellow Knives have it more fully developed than other people. This indiscriminate slaughter is especially culpable in a land where ammunition is scarce, and not to be replaced when wasted by needless firing. The next morning we picked out of our trading-stock a few presents to be left in the Esquimaux camp, as a sign that there were people in the interior willing to be on friendly terms with the people of the coast. Knives, axes, beads, and files, a couple of hand-mirrors, a few strips of red cloth, and a flannel shirt or two were stuffed into a copper kettle, which would be itself the biggest prize of all. On lifting the lid, the first object to meet the eye of the wondering Esquimaux would be the photograph of the Protestant missionary at Fort Resolution, which David had been keeping among his small stock of treasures; it was a photograph of a Church of England clergyman, in clerical costume, and should certainly give the Esquimaux a favourable idea of the style of man who had visited their camping-place. We also put in a note asking anyone who might read it to let us know in what manner it had come to hand, as it is uncertain whether these scattered bands of Esquimaux ever visit the Hudson's Bay Company's summer trading-post on Marble Island, which lies a great distance away at the mouth of Chesterfield Inlet, or whether they only know of the white men by hearsay from other tribes that trade annually with the Company. The kettle was carefully stowed in one of the pits made for watching the swimming caribou, and a canoe-pole, bearing a gaudy cotton handkerchief for a flag, planted alongside to attract attention. Everybody tried their handiwork at sketching our story with burnt sticks on the conspicuous flat rocks close to the river: there was a picture of a canoe, with seven upright black lines supposed to represent seven men; another of a Yellow Knife and an Esquimau (though the artist could not say which was which) shaking hands with the greatest affection; while David was certainly entitled to the first prize for a bloodthirsty sketch of a misshapen musk-ox, with a thin black line, again supposed to be a man, transfixed on the point of his horn. When we thought we had represented everything to perfection, we turned our backs on the land of the Esquimaux and plodded away up stream, tracking and portaging in the river-stretches, and paddling through the lakes which are always a great help in mounting a stream. We now came in for a spell of really bad weather, which made the uphill work very laborious. A heavy unceasing downpour of rain, and sometimes sleet, continued day after day, accompanied by strong winds. The men all worked well and without much grumbling, although we were never dry and in many places the tracking had to be done waist-deep in water; at night we slept in our wet clothes, on the wet ground, rolled up in our sopping blankets. This is the killing weather, and one needs perfect health to resist its effects; the dry cold of a northern winter is child's play in comparison. Saltatha, who had hurt himself by a nasty fall while carrying a heavy load over a portage, broke down completely at this time, and was unable to work during the rest of the trip. We could do nothing for him, as there was no medicine of any kind in the outfit, and he had to take his chance with the rest. I think he came very near dying while we were running down Lockhart's River; he lost all strength and was spitting blood freely for a fortnight, but ultimately recovered in a miraculous manner. We worked long days tracking up-stream, but were continually delayed by having to patch up the canoe every time she touched a rock; it was just as well we did not go down to the mouth of the river, for she would certainly not have stood another three weeks' work of this kind. Another trouble was the scarcity of moccasins, which were completely worn out by a single day's walk on the sharp rocks along the river's bank. In eight days we reached Musk-ox Lake, and, finding the wind too strong to paddle against, we put ashore on the east side and took advantage of a little sunshine to thoroughly dry all our belongings. From this camp we saw the last musk-ox, and, crossing the bay with a canoe, went in pursuit as our meat supply was short. Some of the guns were posted, and others tried to drive the animals, but we made a mess of the hunt and the whole band escaped; my last remembrance of the animals that I had started out a year before on purpose to kill, being a stern view of a grand old bull disappearing at a gallop over a ridge, and a puff of dust just behind him, marking the spot where a badly aimed rifle-bullet had struck the ground. A caribou, however, supplied us with meat, but we had some trouble in picking him up, as he was killed in the water and it was no easy matter to tow his carcass ashore against the gale of wind that was raging. Mackinlay and myself for once got ahead of the wolverines on this occasion. We saw three coming our way before they saw us, and, lying behind a rock, bowled them all over; a right and left at wolverines is seldom brought about in a lifetime, but it is very satisfactory when one thinks of the stolen _caches_ and consequent hard times that these wily brutes are responsible for. From the south end of the lake I walked ahead with Mackinlay, starting early in the morning, and at mid-day sighted three lodges on the Aylmer Lake divide. We fired a signal-shot which brought everybody out, and we were soon surrounded by Capot Blanc's brigade, and deluged with questions as to what had happened and why we had come back alone; for surely something evil had taken place in the country that always slopes downhill. With our small command of the Yellow Knife language, and plenty of signs, we made them understand that the canoe was by this time at the first lake, and the water was so low in the river that it would be necessary to portage the whole distance. All the available men and women went to help our crew to carry the loads, and by sundown our lodge was once more planted by the water that finds its way to the Great Slave Lake and runs a course of a thousand miles before falling into the Arctic Sea. It took half a day to settle accounts with the Indians who had been working for us on our way up to Musk-ox Lake, while the women were busy gumming the canoe and getting her in order for the run down Lockhart's River. A good proportion of the wages due were paid out of the remainder of our trading-stock that had been intended for the Esquimaux if we had met them. The box that contained this small supply of goods had been an object of strife the whole time. The Indians had the strongest objection to any of the products of the Grand Pays passing through their country being given to strangers, and we had been careful not to let them see the gaudy contents of the box, or we should have been troubled with the constant begging that the Yellow Knives think will eventually gain them the object they desire. Imagination had run high as to the contents of the fairy casket, and there was a great rush when it was announced that any of the men to whom wages were due might take what they fancied. They had seen pressed bales of blankets landed at the fort on the arrival of the yearly outfit from Winnipeg, and had been surprised at the number of blankets that could be squeezed into a small space; there was an idea prevalent that our box had been packed on the same principle, and might contain an abundant supply of all the good things that only the white men know how to make. Some disappointment was shown when it turned out that we had only been speaking the truth in answering their petitions by telling them we had such a small stock that nothing could be spared. The trade went off to the satisfaction of both sides; the Indians obtained the trinkets so dear to their vanity, and we lightened our load for the numerous portages that lay between us and the Great Slave Lake. There was some question as to what it was best to do with Saltatha; whether to leave him here with his friends, or to let him take his chance of the canoe journey to the fort, where medicine could possibly be obtained; at his own request we decided on the latter course, and during the first few days his health seemed to improve. The route that we were now to take was the same that Back and Anderson had both chosen, following the Lockhart's River down-stream through the immense lakes that lie in its course, gradually bending to the south-west, and avoiding the impassable obstructions in the lower part of the river by portaging through a chain of lakes, the last of which is only three miles distant from the north-east end of the Great Slave Lake. The boat was to meet us on August 1st, and as it was already several days past that date we determined to travel our best, although there was a chance of getting windbound in any of the big lakes. CHAPTER XIII Late in the afternoon, with a great improvement in the weather, our canoe was afloat on Aylmer Lake (known to the Indians as the Lake of the Big Cliffs), over which she had been dragged on a dog-sleigh five weeks before. The following evening we passed into the short stretch of river that leaves its east end, and camped late on the south shore of Clinton Golden Lake, or, as the Yellow Knives call it, the Lake where the Caribou swim among the Ice. The vast body of water opened out before us into apparently a perfect circle, and now for the first time we were in doubt as to our course, for there was nothing to indicate the point at which the river leaves the far end of the lake; the east shore was invisible from the slight hill behind our camp, although it was a clear bright morning. We had two maps with us, one, the latest issued under the Dominion Government's directions, and the other, an old 1834 map of Arrowsmith's which we had discovered at the fort; they offered very divergent opinions as to the general lay of Lockhart's River, and it says little for later geographical research that the older map should have been by far the more accurate of the two. We put out at three o'clock in the morning to take advantage of calm weather to make the crossing of the lake, and after paddling about eight miles went ashore on an island to cook breakfast and reconnoitre. From here we could see the faint outline of land to the east, and made out that what had appeared a circle consisted in reality of three enormous bays, one heading east, one south-east, and the third south-west. Which was the right one to take? An appeal to Saltatha and Noel, who were supposed to have local knowledge, produced no results; Noel said he thought the east bay was the right one, while Saltatha, pointing south-west, said perhaps that was the correct course to follow. It ended in our taking the middle bay, and, for the benefit of the next party that crosses this lake, I may state that there is a peculiar conical butte lying roughly twenty miles south-east from this island; it is just visible above the horizon, and is a capital leading mark to bring a canoe into a long narrow arm of the lake, which afterwards broadens again into a huge round sheet of water, and here, by keeping close to the east shore for five miles, the entrance to the river will be found. It was in great uncertainty that we headed our frail vessel across the broad traverse with a blanket set in front of a light fair wind; at noon we again put ashore on an island, and, killing a caribou, made a long halt for dinner. We climbed to the highest point of land but could make nothing out of our survey, and continued coasting along the island till we reached its south end, and then found ourselves in the channel I have mentioned. No current was noticeable, and we pushed on through the winding waterway, in fear that it might be a _cul de sac_ and we should have to turn back and try our luck in some other direction. On landing, however, we saw a sheet of water ahead of us, so broad that the far shore was below the horizon, and, on passing out of the channel we had been following, pitched camp on the east side of the lake, still uncertain as to where the river lay. Very early in the morning we were under way again, and followed the land to make sure that we did not pass the opening of the river, if indeed we were anywhere near it. About six o'clock there came a shout from the bowsman, that he saw a pole planted among the rocks ashore, and the canoe at once began to feel the influence of a slight current. Rounding a low point, a reach of strong running water lay before us, and we landed to see what was the meaning of the pole. A broken piece of _babiche_ hanging from it told the old story of a rifled _cache_, another evidence of the wolverine's handiwork. Among the Indians who had come to the fort during the winter to trade fur was a hunter generally known by the name of Pierre the Fool, though it seems hard to understand how one of the most intelligent Indians in the country of the Great Slave Lake had earned this _soubriquet_. Pierre had been much interested in our expedition. Every summer he pitched his lodge where the river leaves the lake in which the caribou swim among the ice, to make dried meat to sell at the fort; his hunt this year had been successful, and, when he broke up his camp, he had faithfully kept his promise to leave us a _cache_ of pounded meat and grease, but the wolverines had reaped the benefit. Just below the camp we saw plain evidence of the slaughter he had made among the swimming caribou; what we took at first for a bunch of remarkably big willow sticks proved to be the horns of fifty or sixty bucks, lying in shallow water at the edge of the stream; and enough meat to keep an Indian family for a year, if properly cured, was rotting in the sun. After a mile of strong running stream the river falls into another lake, and immediately makes a sharp bend to the south-west, and, during the rest of the descent, we travelled in that direction with little variation till we reached the Great Slave Lake. Saltatha now began to recognise the country, and there was no more doubt about the way; but had we been left to our own judgment, we should have certainly gone wrong in this first lake, as there is a promising bay heading in to the south. None of the maps show this bend in the stream at all correctly, nor do they take any notice of the next lake, the Indians' Ptarmigan Lake, a large sheet of water fully twenty miles in length, which Pierre the Fool afterwards told us lies within a short portage of the west bay of Clinton Golden Lake. We now fell in again with the big herds of caribou. For the last few weeks we had only seen enough to provide us with meat, but here they were in their thousands, and I am sorry to say that our crew did far too much killing, during the short spell of bad weather which forced us to camp on Ptarmigan Lake. The excuse was that the hides were now at their best for coats and robes; but even so, far more were killed than could be used for this purpose. We made rather a risky passage down the lake in front of a strong wind and heavy sea, and at the west end found an ugly rapid six hundred yards in length: the cargo was portaged and the canoe run light in safety; and, after crossing a short lake, another rapid was negotiated in the same manner. In this second portage stood a solitary pine-tree, round which we all crowded as in welcome of an old friend after our long journey in a woodless country. Just below there was an impassable rapid, the only real impediment to navigation from the head of Mackay Lake to the foot of Artillery Lake, a distance of four hundred miles. Below the portage we ran five or six miles down a steady swift current, occasionally widening out into a small lake, with caribou continually swimming across the river ahead of the canoe, and late at night camped on the edge of a huge lake with a clear horizon to the west. This proved to be Artillery Lake, and at four o'clock next morning we were running down the south shore, in front of a gale of wind with our smallest blanket set for a sail. The day was much colder, with a few flakes of snow flying, and everybody was pleased to put ashore in a clump of pine-trees at dinner-time; the wind moderated towards evening, and, crossing to the north shore, we camped once again in the strong woods. The timber line is much more clearly defined here than on the other routes by which I approached the Barren Ground; the outlying clumps of pines extend to a very short distance, and their growth ceases entirely within seventy miles of the Great Slave Lake. If it should ever again prove necessary to reach the Arctic Sea by way of the Great Fish River, Artillery Lake would, in my opinion, be by far the best place at which to build light boats for the voyage; the timber is quite large enough, and only one portage has to be made to reach the Aylmer Lake divide. The next morning we reached the end of Artillery Lake, which we reckoned roughly at forty-five miles in length, and passed into a narrow channel with hardly any current. Towards midday a couple of small canoes appeared ahead of us, and the usual formalities of saluting ensued. When they came alongside the occupants were asked for the news, and they informed us that the burnt Indian was drowned, that the caribou had been passing more thickly than ever known before, and that the fort boat had not yet arrived at the appointed meeting-place. The burnt Indian seems to have been badly out of luck. He had rolled into his camp-fire during a fit, and was found with his feet burnt off; after being doctored by the missionary for many months, and cured as far as it was possible to cure such a case, the cripple had left the fort with some of his relations to get back among the caribou, but on the second day out was drowned by capsizing his canoe. We could not account for the non-arrival of the boat, as we ourselves were already a fortnight later than the day agreed upon for meeting. Round the next bend of the stream were six lodges, and the first greeting we received was from old Syene, the Medicine Man. There was no doubt that the caribou had been passing, as the children and dogs were rolling fat, and an unmistakable air of plethora from much feasting hung over the camp. Only four days before there had been one of those big slaughters, which one would think could not fail in a short time to exterminate the caribou. A large band had been seen to start from the opposite bank, and was soon surrounded by seven hunting-canoes; the spears were kept going as long as there was life to take, with the result that three hundred and twenty-six carcasses were hauled ashore, and fully two hundred of these left to rot in the shallow water. Every lodge was full of meat and grease in various forms, and there would be a cargo for the boat to take back to the fort. Pierre the Fool, who was camped here, was in great form, and at once presented us with a bunch of smoked tongues and a bladder of marrow grease. He gave us a great deal of information about the country eastward of Clinton Golden Lake, and in a much more intelligent manner than the usual Indian method of constant repetition; he told us there were fewer lakes in that direction than in any other part of the Barren Ground that he had visited, but he was always obliged to take a small canoe with him, to cross a big stream running in a southerly direction, three days' easy travel from Clinton Golden Lake. Once, when he had pushed out farther than usual, he had seen smoke in the distance, and came upon a camp that the Esquimaux from Hudson's Bay had just left; they had been cutting wood for their sleighs in a clump of well-grown pines, and Pierre, who shares the dread which every Yellow Knife has of the Coast tribes, had been afraid to follow them. From the fact of his having seen the pine-trees, which are said not to extend far from the salt water of Hudson's Bay, he must have been within a short distance of the coast. On the day after our arrival in the encampment a general movement was made; the lodges were thrown down, and the women and dogs received heavy loads to carry to the Great Slave Lake. Lockhart's River on leaving Artillery Lake becomes a wild torrent, falling several hundred feet in twenty miles, and is quite useless for navigation, so we had to make use of a chain of lakes, eight in number, lying to the south of the stream. This is by far the prettiest part of the country that I saw in the North, and it was looking its best under the bright sunshine that continued till we reached the fort. Scattering timber, spruce and birch, clothed the sloping banks down to the sandy shores of the lakes; berries of many kinds grew in profusion; the portages were short and down hill; and caribou were walking the ridges and swimming the lakes in every direction. A perfect northern fairyland it was, and it seemed hard to believe that winter and want could ever penetrate here; but on the shore of a lovely blue lake Pierre the Fool pointed out a spot where the last horrors of death and cannibalism had been enacted within his memory. Sometimes a column of smoke would be seen ahead, and we paddled by a lodge where the fat sleepy children were revelling in the abundance of grease. Late on the second day a white object on the shore attracted general attention: "It is a wolf, a white caribou; no, a man, a man in a white shirt,--it must be one of the boat's crew"; and so it proved to be. The white shirt was a libel, but the clean canvas jumper quite deserved the admiration it had received, especially in contrast with our own rags. The boat had arrived from Fort Resolution in charge of François Mandeville, another brother of Michel the fort interpreter. François had been alarmed at not finding us at the meeting-place, and had immediately dispatched four of the crew in a large canoe, with a supply of tea, tobacco, and flour, to ascend the river in hopes of finding us. But the relief party had come across the fresh tracks of caribou in the first portage; it was long since they had tasted meat, so the canoe was put down in the woods, and the "big masters," who were supposed to be lost in the Barren Ground, were forgotten. The man we met had come on to see some relations who were camped among the lakes, and, as he was discovered to be possessed of tobacco, we made him share up, and sat on the beach enjoying the first smoke for many days, and hearing the accounts of what little events had happened during a short summer on the Great Slave Lake. But it was getting late, and we still had the longest portage to make. At the end of the last lake we abandoned the canoe that had done me such good service on two long journeys, and with loads on our backs followed the well-worn trail that the Indians have used from time immemorial as a route to their hunting-grounds. A natural pass with a steep descent led between the rough broken hills on each side, and a three-mile walk brought us within sight of the waters of the big lake. Below us, close by the edge of the bay, there were already several lodges planted, and over a white tent floated the old red ensign bearing in the corner the letters H. B. C. so well known throughout the whole dominion of Canada. A shot from the last ridge aroused the encampment, and soon a general fusillade took place; a fleet of canoes, running with blankets set to a fair wind far across the bay, took up the firing and headed for the shore, while every Indian within sound of gun-shot hurried to hear the news and join in the trading which was sure to take place on our arrival. Here we found everything that a man in the wilds longs for, flour, bacon, tea, tobacco, sugar, a packet of letters from England written many months before, and a bottle of brandy, the first "fire-water" that had come our way for a year. Women and dogs heavily loaded with bales of meat and bladders of grease kept dropping in from across the portage; a dance was set on foot and kept up all night round the huge camp fires, while the tall pine-trees looked down on a scene of feasting and revelry such as had probably never been known on the shores of this pleasant bay. Poor Saltatha, who had been very bad for the last week, crawled into our lodge late at night, and threw himself down on a blanket in a state of utter exhaustion. In spite of the best law in Canada, which forbids a white man to give an Indian any intoxicating drink, under penalty of a $200 fine, I determined to try if brandy could do him any good. Saltatha had never tasted the strong water, but had heard much of its wonderful qualities, and made no objection to trying the cure. I gave him a small dose, but it had a wonderful effect; his eyes became round and big, and once again he started the dismal chant that he had been so fond of during our musk-ox hunt last winter. He was hopelessly drunk, and, when he was seized with a violent fit of coughing and his head fell on the blanket like a dead man's, I thought I had made a sad mess of my doctoring. Early in the morning I got up to see if he was dead, and was relieved to find him much better and keen for some more brandy, which I refused; he had had very pleasant dreams he said, and the pain had gone from his chest to his head. From that time he improved in health, his strength came back rapidly, and when I left the fort a week later, he looked as well as ever. Two days were spent in trading for the meat which kept coming in, and during this time we sent out a hunting-party to kill fresh meat, which we hoped would keep till we reached the fort if we made a good passage. At Resolution times were very hard; few fish were being caught, and the return of the boat was anxiously expected. Many caribou were killed, and our ship was well loaded with fresh meat, besides over three thousand pounds of dried meat, two hundred pounds of grease, bunches of tongues, coils of _babiche_ and sinew, and a little fur that had been killed during the spring. The Indians all left on the evening of the second day, and early the following morning we put to sea in a flat calm. Before leaving we went through the ceremony of cutting a lop-stick, as is the fashion of the North, to commemorate our expedition. A conspicuous pine was chosen, a man sent aloft to lop off the lower branches, while Mackinlay and myself cut our names on the trunk; then everybody discharged their guns at the tree, and the performance was ended. Often in the lonely waterways of the Northern country one sees a lop-stick showing far ahead on the bank, and reads a name celebrated in the annals of the Hudson's Bay Company or in the history of Arctic exploration. These lop-sticks are easily distinguished landmarks, well known to the _voyageurs_, and many an appointment has been kept at Campbell's, Macdougal's, or Macfarlane's tree. In giving directions to a stranger it is hopeless to describe the points and bends of a monotonous river highway, but a lop-stick does the duty of a signpost and at once settles the question of locality. Two hundred miles of the Great Slave Lake lay between us and the fort, but a steady wind came from the north, and the shallow-draught York boat ran in front of it so well that on the fourth night we camped on the Mission Island within a couple of miles of Fort Resolution. A worse boat for the navigation of the lake could hardly be imagined. A huge square sail, set on a mast shipped right amidships, does good work so long as the wind is abaft the beam; but when a head-wind springs up, too strong to row against, it is a case of hauling ashore on the beach, as no anchor is carried. Steep cliffs on a lee shore have to be carefully avoided, for it is impossible to propel such a vessel to windward in a heavy sea. On the present occasion, however, we were in great luck, and I never remember a more pleasant voyage in a sailing-boat. A run up the English Channel in a well-found yacht, with fair wind and sunshine, is enjoyable enough; but there are seldom any blankets to lie about in on deck, and there is always some stray peak or jib-halliard that wants pulling on, besides continual threats of setting or stowing a topsail, which prevents your settling down into a comfortable position. Here we had nothing to worry us; the wind blew fair, and we lay in our blankets, smoking and looking at the land, as the boat glided along the narrow blue lanes, among islands that the foot of white man had never pressed. Four times a day we put ashore to boil the kettle, and at night slept by the side of a huge fire in the thick pine-woods; darkness lasted many hours now, and prevented navigation among the countless islands and outlying rocks. On the fourth day we crossed the Grand Traverse, and, leaving the Ile de Pierre after nightfall, ran for Mission Island with a strong wind blowing in from the open lake. Crossing the mouth of the big river was rather risky work in the dark, as the sandy battures ran far off to sea and the waves were breaking heavily in the shallow water; the sounding-pole gave only four feet in one place, but we ran across without touching, and at midnight camped at the back of Mission Island. The sun was just rising on Sunday, August the 24th, when we ran the boat on the beach in front of Fort Resolution, and a glance at the faces that gathered round told us that living had been none too good, and that a man is sometimes better off among the caribou than depending upon an uncertain fishery for a livelihood. With all thanks to priest and parson, Indian and half-breed, for the kind welcome they gave us, I noticed many an eye glancing furtively at our rich cargo from the land of plenty; and the rejoicings that day may be attributed equally to joy at our safe arrival and to the influence of a feast of fresh meat after many weeks of short allowance. I could afford to make only a short stay at Resolution, as the season was far advanced, and I had to start at once to avoid the chance of being caught by the winter during my long journey. Of the three routes that might enable me to do this I should have preferred the ascent of the Liard River, which falls into the Mackenzie at Fort Simpson. From its head-waters at Dease Lake, in the once celebrated mining district of Cassiar, the Pacific Coast is reached at Fort Wrangel in Southern Alaska without difficulty; but the Liard itself is full of terrors, even for the hardy _voyageurs_ of the North, and although Mr. Camsell offered every inducement to men to accompany me he was unable to get together a crew. Formerly the Company had an establishment at Fort Halket on the west branch of the Liard, but the difficulties of conveying supplies, and the frequent occurrence of starvation, made it a hard post to maintain; finally a boat's crew were drowned by a capsize in one of the worst rapids, and the fort was abandoned. The Athabasca I had seen, and not caring to go over old ground I decided on ascending the Peace River to its head-waters in the neighbourhood of Macleod's Lake on the west side of the Rocky Mountains, and, crossing the small divide, to run down the Fraser River to Quesnelle a small town on the southern edge of the Caribou Gold Fields of Northern British Columbia. The _Wrigley_ had made her last up-stream voyage for the year, and was daily expected from Fort Smith. I was thus obliged to depend on canoe travelling to reach Chipeweyan on the Athabasca Lake, some three hundred miles distant; if we had arrived at the fort ten days earlier I could have saved much valuable time by making this part of my journey by steamer. Taking advantage of frequent experience that it is better to leave a fort overnight, even if camp be made within a couple of miles, than to trust to an early start in the morning, it was after sundown on the 26th when I said good-bye to Resolution, not without a feeling of regret, and the hope of seeing at some future time the place where I had been so well treated. There are few spots in the world in which one can live for a year without making some friends, and when I left this lonely trading-post there were many faces on the beach that I should like to see again. Saltatha was the last man to shake hands with me as I stepped into the canoe; he tried to extract a promise from me to come back the next summer for another expedition in the Barren Ground, and was much disappointed when I told him that I certainly could not return for two years, and perhaps not even then. No need to feel pity for the people left behind, although I was going to civilization and all the good things that this word comprises. A man who has spent much time under the influence of the charm which the North exercises over everybody wants nothing better than to be allowed to finish his life in the peace and quietness which reign by the shores of the Great Slave Lake. Ask the priest, when you meet him struggling against a head-wind and driving snow on his way to some Indian encampment, whether he ever sighs for his sunny France. "No," he will tell you; "here I have everything I want and nothing to distract my thoughts; I enjoy perfect health, and I feel no desire to go back to the worries of the great world." So it is with the fur-trader; the mysterious charm has a firm hold on him, and if he is in charge of a post where provisions are fairly plentiful and the Indians not troublesome he has a happy life indeed. I was sorry to have missed seeing the Mackenzie River, La Grande Rivière en Bas, as they call it at Fort Resolution, but to do this meant spending another winter and another summer in the country, and I could not afford the time. [Illustration: Starting Up the Peace River] The first evening out from the fort we camped near the mouth of the Slave River, on the same spot where I had spent a night with King Beaulieu and his family more than a year before. My crew now consisted of Murdo Mackay and three half-breeds, while Mackinlay, who had proved such a trusty companion during our summer journey, was to accompany me till we met the steamer. This happened the next morning, and after an hour of hurried questions and answers, and farewells to men who seemed more like old friends than comparative strangers whom I had met once the year before, the _Wrigley_ put her head down-stream, and we continued our voyage through the wilderness of pines, cotton-wood, and willow. Pierre Beaulieu was captain and guide of the canoe, and a right good traveller he proved to be; no lying snug in your blankets in the early morning, but breakfast in black darkness, and the paddles or tracking-line in full swing at the first sign of the coming day. Sometimes he would put ashore and start us off through the woods, with canoe and cargo on our backs, to drop on the river again at the end of the portage, and find that we had saved many miles of laborious up-stream work by cutting across a bend of the river. The tracking till we reached Fort Smith was bad, as the banks were usually soft muddy sand, while the land-slips had sent so many trees into the river that it was often easier to paddle against the stream than to pass the line round the obstruction. Ducks and geese were plentiful enough, but Mackinlay had been liberal in the matter of provisions for our voyage, so we only took the most tempting shots, but if it had been necessary we could have made our own living without difficulty. Early on the sixth day we came in sight of Fort Smith, and found Mr. Flett in charge, with the house much improved and made fairly comfortable in readiness for the winter; but there was no time to be spared, and the next day saw us driving across the portage in a waggon to take a fresh crew to Chipeweyan. No canoe was available, but José Beaulieu, another of King's numerous brothers, lent us a skiff, which answered the purpose well enough. Mr. Flett took the opportunity of going up to headquarters, and enlivened the journey with many stories of over forty years' experience in the North. Among the new crew was a deaf and dumb half-breed, a capital worker and always good-tempered, in spite of the cold drenching rain that continued till we reached Chipeweyan; some of his conversations by signs were very amusing, and one could almost wish that all these boatmen were deaf and dumb to avoid the constant chatter which they keep up round the camp-fire when they know that you understand them. One day we made a splendid run in front of a gale of north wind, but nearly came to grief through our steersman's recklessness in trying to force the boat over a rapid under canvas; she took a sheer in the swirl of an eddy, and the sail jibbed with such violence that we were within an inch of a capsize. Provisions ran short on the last day, but just as we were talking of camping early and going after duck for supper a little black bear turned up on the bank; I was lucky enough to kill it, and we enjoyed a royal feast of fat bear's meat instead of a night's starvation. On the fourth day we entered the Athabasca Lake, and forced our way to the fort against a strong head-wind; it was another Sunday arrival, and we did not show to advantage in comparison with the bright dresses and gaudy belts and moccasins of the dwellers at the chief post of the Athabasca district. A little snow was whitening the ground, the goose-hunt was at its height, and the array of nets showed plainly enough that it was time to make preparation for the Fall fishing. Dr. Mackay was away inspecting Fort Vermillion on the Lower Peace River, and would not be back for several days. An unexpected difficulty now turned up; there was no crew forthcoming for the next part of my journey, and everybody advised me to take the ordinary route by the Athabasca River. However, two of my Fort Smith crew, José and Dummy, finally agreed to go to Vermillion, although neither of them had been there before, and Murdo, who was very anxious to accompany me across the mountains, obtained leave to come with me till we should meet Dr. Mackay on Peace River; if he could get extended leave from the head officer of the District he was to come right through. CHAPTER XIV By this time it was well on in September, and eight hundred miles had to be travelled to reach the Rocky Mountains and when these were sighted there were still two hundred miles to MacLeod's Lake, the farthest point I could reasonably hope to reach by open water. The first night we camped in the Quatre Fourches, the channel connecting the lake with the main stream of Peace River. The banks were thickly peopled with Indians and half-breeds, drying whitefish which were being taken in marvellous numbers; white and grey wavies and ducks of many kinds were flying overhead in large flocks, and rising in front of the canoe at every bend of the stream; plovers and other wading birds were screaming over the marshes, and I noticed a good many snipe; but who would fire a charge of ammunition at such a wretched little mouthful when geese were plentiful? Without going out of our way to hunt, we could have loaded the canoe with wild-fowl, but of course only killed as many as we required for food. At the end of the Quatre Fourches we passed into the main stream of Peace River, and, with a sharp westward turn, commenced our ascent of the easiest of all the Northern waterways. From its junction with the Slave River to the first range of the Rocky Mountains, with only the obstruction of the shute some forty miles below Fort Vermillion, its course is navigable throughout for a light-draught steamer, and, but for this shute, would be an invaluable route for supplying the Hudson's Bay Company's upper river-posts. The lower reaches of the river present exactly the same appearance as the country we had passed through in ascending the Slave River; a broad stream with low sandy banks, densely timbered, with often a huge sand-bar, the resting-place of many geese, stretching far out into the stream. We were rather handicapped by not knowing the river and missing the best tracking; an old hand would have known all the correct crossings to take advantage of an easy bank to track from, or an eddy to paddle in. Nor could we well risk the short cuts, as a promising channel would often end in dry sand instead of running through into the river, or turn out to be the mouth of a tributary stream. After our usual halt for dinner on the third day we saw a canoe coming down stream, and, crossing over, found that it was Dr. Mackay on his way from Vermillion; both canoes put ashore and we had the usual cup of tea and an hour's yarn together. The Doctor was anxious to get back to Chipeweyan, to begin his Fall fishing and make every possible preparation for keeping up the food-supply for the winter; I had no time to spare either, and darkness must have found us camping many miles apart. These stray meetings in the wilderness are always a pleasant recollection, and on first returning to civilization one is surprised at the manner in which people pass each other with a nod, till one realises the fact that there are too many people about for a more lengthy salute. Murdo obtained leave to come with me across the mountains, subject to the condition that he was to return in the spring if he received orders to that effect from headquarters at Winnipeg. The same evening we hauled up an insignificant rapid, caused by a contraction in the channel; a limestone formation, with many fossils, shows up here for a few miles of the river's course, and is noticeable again at the shutes and in several spots along the river. We broke the canoe rather badly in mounting this rapid, and during the rest of our journey to Vermillion had to bale out frequently. Day after day we followed the winding course of the river, which bends and doubles on itself through the flat country, and at last made out a landmark in the Caribou Mountains, lying to the north and stretching in that direction as far as we could see: an inviting range of hills, clear of timber on the slope, and their round summits sparsely dotted with pines; a favourite hunting-ground for the Indians of Vermillion, but none of the white men of whom I made inquiry seemed to have any knowledge of the extent or nature of this solitary range, rising so conspicuously from the dead level of muskeg and pine forest. Just as we were starting on the tenth morning a light puff of west wind brought us the first sound of a distant roar that we knew must be caused by the shute, and a couple of hours' tracking brought us to a small Company's trading-post, known as Little Red River, from a stream bearing that name which here joins the Peace River from the south. The establishment was deserted, although it was to be kept open during the winter; so we passed on and soon came in sight of a low white wall of water extending across the whole width of the river. Dr. Mackay had told me to make the portage close under the fall on the south side, or we should have been at a loss to find the only place where it is possible to take the canoe out of the water. In a strong running current, with the spray falling over her bow, we put alongside a ledge of rock six feet above us, and two men, standing on a submerged ledge, not without difficulty passed everything up to the others above; the distance to carry was very short, and we were soon afloat again above the fall. The shute is not more than eight feet in height, but is of course a complete barrier to navigation. I think the scene from the south bank is one of the most beautiful in the whole course of the loveliest of rivers. It was a bright afternoon when we made the portage, and the white broken water of the cascade showed in strong contrast to the broad blue stretches above and below; several rocky, pine-covered islands stand on the brink of the overfall, as if to give a chance to any unlucky traveller who may approach too near the danger; fully three-quarters of a mile away on the far side stands the gloomy forest of black pines, relieved by a glimpse of the open side-hills of the Caribou Mountains. Another small portage was necessary a mile or two above; but from the spot where we camped that night we never had to lift canoe or skiff out of the water till we reached the foot-hills of the Rocky Mountains. The next day we passed a couple of Cree lodges, and finding moose-meat plentiful made the most of our opportunity, as a gale of wind sprang up right ahead and prevented travel. It was not till sundown on the eleventh day from Chipeweyan that we completed our journey of two hundred and eighty miles, and put ashore at the Company's trading-post at Fort Vermillion. Here the appearance of the country suddenly changes; stretches of open prairie dotted with small poplars take the place of the pine-woods, and the sand-bars in the river begin to give way to gravel, and the banks rise higher and higher as one journeys up-stream. We reached Vermillion late in September, in the full glory of the autumn; the sharp morning frosts had coloured the poplar leaves with the brightest golden tints, and the blue haze of an Indian summer hung over prairie and wood. Away on the Great Slave Lake a half-breed had told me of the beauties of Vermillion as a farming country, and had explained that all the good things of the world grew there freely, so that I was prepared for the sight of wheat and barley fields, which had this year produced a more abundant harvest than usual; potatoes and other vegetables were growing luxuriously, cattle and horses were fattening on the rich prairie grass, and it seemed that there was little to be gained by leaving such a fertile spot in the face of the winter that would soon be upon us. Vermillion is also an important fur-post, and probably to-day the best in the North for beaver and marten; but there are several free-traders on the Peace River, and the Company have to carry on their business with the extra difficulty of competition, which always raises the price of fur. It is all very well to say that no Company should have the monopoly of trading over so vast a territory, but after all the Indians are little benefited by the appearance of the free-traders. The Hudson's Bay Company have always treated the Indians fairly and leniently, taking the greatest care only to import articles absolutely necessary to the welfare of the natives. Guns, ammunition, blankets, capotes, dress-stuff for the women, and tea and tobacco, have always been the principal contents of the store; and these are sold at absurdly low prices, when the cost of the long and risky transport is considered. The Indians' love of gaudy colours was always indulged, but the goods were of the best material. Then came the free-trader with a stock of bright cheap clothing, a variety of dazzling tinsel, or perhaps a keg of molasses, which attracted the eye and palate of the wily hunter, so that he would give up his rich furs for the worthless trash, only to find himself short of all the necessaries for maintaining life in the woods when the snow began to fall again. No amount of experience enables him to resist the temptation; but the long enduring Hudson's Bay Company always listens to his tale of woe and helps him out of his difficulties, accepting his promise, ever readily given and as readily broken, to hand in his fur in the following spring to the officer in charge of the post. Whenever the often-told story of a band of Indians caught by the horrors of starvation reaches the fort, the Company sends to the rescue, and every winter saves many a man from death, while the free-trader, having taken as much fur as he can out of the country during a short summer's trip, is living at ease on the confines of civilization. The days are long gone by when a prime silver fox could be bought for a cotton pocket-handkerchief, but still the rumours brought from this little known Northern country attract the venturesome trader, usually to his own loss, and always to the upsetting of the Company's wise system of dealing with the Indians. Vermillion has a comparatively large population, outside the numerous _employés_ of the country. Both the Protestant and Roman Catholic churches have missions here, and several half-breeds have taken up an irregular method of stock-raising and small farming to help out the uncertain living afforded by fur-trapping. Mr. Lawrence, a practical hard-working farmer from Eastern Canada, has been successful with a farm three miles above the fort; but for many years to come there is not the slightest reason for that emigration of farmers to Peace River which wild enthusiasts clamour for. So much talk about this scheme has lately appeared in the Canadian newspapers, mostly, no doubt, as one of the political cries which find such favour with the statesmen of Ottawa, that I cannot allow this opportunity to pass without a word of warning to any intending settler. I made careful inquiries and observations along the whole length of Peace River, and I do not for a moment deny that in some parts of its course crops of wheat and barley may be raised in favourable seasons, as the well-managed farms of Mr. Lawrence, at Vermillion, and Mr. Brick, higher up at Smoky River, fully attest; but these farms, and all the spots in which grain ripens, are in close proximity to the bed of the river, and here the amount of arable land is limited. Climb the steep banks and take a glance over the millions of fertile acres which the philanthropic politician wishes to see cultivated; notice the frost on a summer's morning, and make the attempt, as has often been made already, to raise a crop on this elevated plateau. In ten years' time this may be a cattle-country, although the hay-swamps are insufficient to ensure enough feed for the long winter; but let us have an end of this talk of sending poor settlers to starve in a land unable to supply food to the Indian, who is accustomed to a life of continual struggle with a relentless nature. Mr. Wilson entertained me royally at the fort, but here again was the same trouble that I had found at Chipeweyan; no crew was procurable, and there was a journey of three hundred and fifty miles to Dunvegan before I had any chance of getting men. José and Dummy, who had both worked right well up to now, considered they were far enough away from their beloved Fort Smith; and José had an extra attraction in Dummy's sister, who was waiting his return to make him happy for ever, but was not very reliable in case of a more prepossessing admirer coming to the fore. José made a touching speech at parting: "God made the mountains, the lakes, and the big rivers," he said. "What is better than drifting down Peace River singing hymns? You are going up-stream to cross the big mountains back to your own country; I am going down-stream to marry Dummy's sister; I shall think of you many times." Dummy smiled and nodded affectionately, and the pair shot out into the river with my canoe, leaving me on the bank with only Murdo for my crew and no means of conveyance. Now if I could have got a small dug-out wooden canoe, and pottered away up-stream with Murdo, tracking in turns, we should have got on very well; but unfortunately there was nothing but a large and somewhat clumsy skiff available, and this we finally had to take. The evening before we were to start I received a visit from a man whom I shall allude to as John. Long before in merry England he had seen better times, and was evidently intended by nature for a sedentary life, or any other kind of life than the physical activity necessary to accomplish quickly and successfully a boating-trip up a swift-running river; in reality he was powerful enough, and but for his extraordinary laziness might have earned a good living anywhere. John told me he wished to leave Peace River and cross the mountains to Quesnelle, and would be glad to render me every assistance in his power if I would let him take advantage of this chance to get out of the country. In spite of the warnings of Mr. Wilson and everybody else who knew John's character, I went on the theory that when one is shorthanded any kind of a man is better than no man, but was speedily disabused of this idea after leaving the fort. He turned sulky when he found that I would stand no shirking, and was painfully slow on the tracking-line, awkward in letting go or tying a knot, and, although he had been five years at boating, absolutely without knowledge of the duties of bowsman or steersman. In addition to this he was just as useless in camp, and conceived a violent hatred to Murdo, who fully reciprocated the feeling. Once, on being heartily cursed while he was tracking, John threatened to desert and go back to Vermillion, but when we ran the skiff ashore and offered to help him build a raft and to give him a week's rations, he hastily withdrew his proposition. I hoped to be able to leave him at some fort _en route_, but I found John was too well known, and no one would accept the horrible responsibility of keeping him for a winter on any terms. A man like this takes all the pleasure out of a journey when good temper is the almost invariable rule, and everybody takes his share of the tracking and wading, the paddling and poling, as part of the ordinary day's work. At this time of year, when the water is at its lowest, tracking is a comparatively easy matter, and taking half-hour spells at a sharp walk we made good day's journeys, although we should have done much better with a canoe. It was a hard time for moccasins, but we could get them at every fort we passed; sometimes we found an Indian encampment on the bank, and a small present of tea and tobacco to the women ensured neat patches over the gaping holes in the moose-skin soles. The fourth day out from Vermillion we reached the mouth of Battle River coming in from the north, and found a small trading-post with a French half-breed in charge. He told us that the Indians had been killing a great many moose, and that he had already bought the dried meat of sixteen as a start towards his winter stock of provisions; black bear too were numerous on Battle River, and there were reports of grizzly having been seen. This would probably be one of the best points from which to enter the unknown country between Peace River and the Great Slave Lake. I never remember to have seen in any part of Canada such a fine autumn as we enjoyed between Vermillion and the Rockies; there was hardly a day's rain the whole time, and, although a sharp white frost usually made a cold camp, the days were bright and at times almost too hot for tracking. Often we saw the fresh tracks of moose and bear, but never happened to see an animal of any kind, and as we could afford no time for hunting did not fire a single shot at big game; geese and ducks we could have killed every day if there had been any necessity for doing so. [Illustration: Junction of the Peace and Smoky Rivers] Fifteen days of continuous travel from Vermillion took us to the junction of Smoky River, the principal tributary of the Peace, flowing towards the south-west not far from some of the head-waters of the Athabasca. This junction is rather an important point, as it is close to the end of the waggon-road to the Lesser Slave Lake, lying seventy-five miles to the south. Here the trading-goods brought overland are loaded on to scows and boats, to be sent down-stream to Vermillion and up-stream to Dunvegan, St. John's, and Hudson's Hope. A little above are Mr. Brick's mission and the farm that I have already spoken of, besides a settlement of half-breeds, more hunters than farmers, well known as the laziest and most worthless gang on the whole length of Peace River. Many efforts have been made to get these people to pay more attention to their potato-patches as the game is getting killed out, but all in vain; sometimes they will fence in a piece of ground and plant seed, but will take no further trouble with the crop, and generally use their fence-rails for firewood during the next winter. Luckily whitefish are very plentiful in the Lesser Slave Lake within two days' journey, or starvation would certainly play havoc at Smoky River. I enjoyed a long talk with Mr. Brick in his pleasant home in the wilds, where we spent a night; he kindly furnished me with supplies that I was short of, and three days afterwards we arrived at Dunvegan, another celebrated fur-post, situated on the north bank of the river at the foot of a high bluff known as the Cap. Here again was abundant evidence of the fertility of the soil in the crops harvested by the Company and the missionaries. Across the river, twenty miles away, is the Company's cattle-_ranche_, where the oxen used on the waggon-road are raised and a fair amount of beef is annually killed. Some thoroughbred stock has been imported and should prove successful, but of course there is no paying market for a large amount of cattle, although there are plenty of hungry people who would be glad of a chance to eat beef. At Dunvegan, besides Mr. Round who was in charge of the fort, I met Mr. Ewen Macdonald, the chief of Peace River District, with headquarters at Lesser Slave Lake. He had just finished his inspection of the upper river-posts, and had left Hudson's Hope, the last establishment east of the mountains, a few days previously; he reported that the snow was already low down on the foot-hills, and advised me strongly to give up my attempt to cross the Rockies so late in the autumn. He told me, however, that a free-trader was expected in from the west side of the mountains, and if I was lucky enough to meet him I should probably be able to secure the service of some of his crew who would be returning to Quesnelle. Above Dunvegan the valley of the river contracts, the banks rise for several hundred feet in height, and the strength of the current increases. The hundred and twenty miles to St. John's took us seven days and a half to travel, and in many places we had to keep two men on the line to stem the strong water; the tracking too was bad, as the banks had fallen in several spots, and John, who had been up and down the river three times before, proved a very poor pilot. The weather was colder, and a sheet of ice formed over the back waters and close to the bank out of the current. At St. John's we found Mr. Gunn busy with a band of Indians who were taking their winter supplies, and I had a chance of hearing their accounts of the wilderness to the north in the direction of the Liard River; they described it as a muskeg country abounding in game and fur, but a hard district to reach, as the streams are too rapid for canoes and the swamps too soft for horses to cross. They occasionally fall in with a small band of buffalo, but have never seen them in large numbers. Sometimes by ascending Half-way River, a stream adjoining Peace River twenty-five miles above St. John's, they meet the Indians from Fort Nelson on the south branch of the Liard. We had now passed out of the Cree-speaking belt and the language became that of the Beaver Indians, a far inferior language to Cree, resembling in sound and in many of the words some of the dialects of the Chipeweyan tongue. Mr. Gunn had learned to speak Beaver fluently, and was now going up to Hudson's Hope to interpret; he was a great help to us both as pilot and on the line, and with two men always tracking we took little notice of the strong stream which we found throughout the fifty miles to the next fort. Snow was falling heavily when we left St. John's, and it looked as if the winter had set in, but next day the ground was bare again, and a west wind from across the mountains blew warm as a summer's breeze. We camped for a night at the mouth of Half-way River, heading towards the north through a wide open bay which seems to invite exploration. A considerable quantity of gold dust has been taken out of some of the gravel-bars along this part of Peace River, and Half-way River is supposed to be a paradise for the miner and hunter, but I could not hear of any white man having ever penetrated far up this valley. On the afternoon of Sunday, October 26th, on rounding a bend in the river, we caught our first glimpse of the snowy peaks of the Rocky Mountains that I had travelled so far to reach; but the sublime is often mixed with the ludicrous, and when John in his admiration of the scenery slipped off a narrow ledge of shale along which he was tracking and fell with an oath into the river, the snowy peaks were forgotten in the joy that always greets other people's misfortunes in this sort of travelling. A short distance below Hudson's Hope we passed a remarkable group of high basaltic islands, differing entirely from anything in the neighbourhood, and affording a strong contrast to the low gravelly islands so numerous in the course of this river. In the afternoon of the 27th we unloaded the skiff and hauled her up on the beach in front of the fort, to lie there till anybody might want to run her down-stream the following spring. Hudson's Hope is a small unpretentious establishment, standing on the south side of Peace River, a mile below the wild cañon by which this great stream forces its way through the most easterly range of the Rocky Mountains. The Indians were all encamped in their moose-skin lodges on the flat close to the fort waiting for the trade to begin, and I was surprised to hear how few representatives of the once numerous tribe of Beavers are left. It is the same at St. John's and Dunvegan, and the total Indian population of the upper Peace River cannot exceed three hundred, an immense falling off since Sir Alexander Mackenzie first crossed the mountains by this route. The biggest lodge was occupied by Baptiste Testerwich, a half-breed Iroquois, descended from the Iroquois crew left here many years ago by Sir George Simpson, formerly Governor of the Hudson's Bay Company. Baptiste had a house at Moberley's Lake twelve miles to the south, and is well known as the most successful and most enduring of moose-hunters. A remarkable point about the man is his hardiness and indifference to cold; in the dead of winter he wears no socks in his moccasins, which to any other man would mean a certainty of frozen feet, and the Indians say that his feet are so hot that the snow melts in his tracks in the coldest weather. Once again arose the trouble about guides to take us to Macleod's Lake. John had been there before, but I had already seen too much of his piloting to trust myself in his hands, and was quite sure that he would lose his way if there was the least possibility of doing so. The free-trader from across the mountains had not yet arrived, and as it was getting late in the year there was a chance of his being frozen in before he reached Hudson's Hope. Besides the Peace River route there is the Pine River Pass, farther to the southward, heading almost directly to Macleod's Lake. A party of surveyors once came through this pass several years ago, and the Indians use it habitually in the summer; but none of the Beavers would volunteer to guide us through at this time of the year, as a heavy snowfall might be expected immediately. I decided to wait a few days for the trader, and we had a very festive time at Hudson's Hope; a ball was given every night, and the moose-dance, rabbit-dance, and duck-dance were kept up till the small hours. A ball is not an expensive entertainment at an out-of-the-way trading-post; no invitations are necessary, but a scrape of the fiddle at the door of the master's house fills the ball-room in a few minutes. If the master is in a liberal state of mind, a cup of tea is provided for his guests, but in any case the river is close, and if anyone is thirsty there is plenty of water. On the third night the ceremonies were interrupted by the sound of a gunshot on the opposite bank, and an Indian came across with the news that the trader had arrived at the west end of the cañon with two small scows, and that some of his crew were going back to Quesnelle. Baptiste lent me a horse on the following day, and I rode over to interview the new arrivals. A fair trail, twelve miles in length on the north side of the river, leads to the navigable water above the cañon, while the stream runs a circuitous course of probably thirty miles. I could get little information as to the nature of this cañon; even the Indians seem to avoid it, and, though accounts of it have been written, nobody appears to have thoroughly explored this exceptionally rough piece of country. I went down a few miles from the west end, but found the bluffs so steep that I could seldom get a view of the water, and could form no idea of the character of the rapids and waterfalls. There is some quiet place in the middle of the cañon where the Indians cross on the ice, but beyond this they could tell me little about it. Right in the centre of the gap by which the trail crosses stands the Bull's Head, a solitary mountain well known to travellers coming from the west, as it can be seen many miles away, and in full view to the south is a huge flat-topped mountain, covered with perpetual snow and fit to rank with any of the giants of the main range. The trail reaches a considerable elevation above the river level, and from the summit the upper waters of the Peace are seen winding away to the west, through a broad valley flanked by hills of ever increasing height, as far as the eye can reach. Close to the river the slopes are open or thinly timbered with pine and poplar, but the big mountains are clothed nearly to their summits with the dense, almost impassable, forest growth which is such a common feature in the scenery as the Pacific Coast is approached. At the far end of the portage, on the bank of the river, stand a rough shanty and trading-store. Here I made the acquaintance of Twelvefoot Davis, who acquired this name, not from any peculiarity of stature, but from a small though valuable mining claim of which he had been the lucky possessor in the early days of British Columbia. A typical man of his class is Davis, and his story is that of many a man who has spent his life just in advance of civilization. Born in the Eastern States of America, a 'Forty-niner in California, and a pioneer of the Caribou Diggings discovered far up the Fraser River in 'Sixty-one, he had eventually taken to fur-trading, which has ever such an attraction for the wandering spirit of the miner. Here among the mountains and rivers where formerly he sought the yellow dust he carries on his roaming life. There is a strong kinship between the two enterprises; the same uncertainty exists, and in each case the mythical stake is always just ahead. No failure ever damps the ardour of miner or fur-trader, or puts a stop to his pleasant dreams of monster nuggets and silver foxes. Davis was making all possible haste in packing his cargo across the portage with horses; an Indian and a half-breed were going back to Quesnelle, and would gladly enter my service as guides. A small stock of goods was to be left at the west end of the portage, and Thomas Barrow, the only white man who had come down with Davis, was to remain in charge of the trading-post during the winter. CHAPTER XV On November 5th I camped at the head of the cañon with my crew, Murdo, John, Charlie, a half-breed from Quesnelle, and Pat, a full-blooded Siccanee from Fraser Lake ready to make a start up-stream the following morning with a long narrow canoe dug out of a cotton-wood log. But in the night the weather changed; snow fell heavily, a severe frost set in, and ice was forming rapidly along the banks. Baptiste, the Iroquois, who had come across the portage to see us off, had brought me a dozen pair of the best moose-skin moccasins from his daughters, who were beyond compare the _belles_ of Hudson's Hope. Baptiste had spent many years of his life in this part of the country, and I was quite ready to listen to his opinion on the chances of getting through to Macleod's Lake. He would not hear of our starting with a canoe under the changed conditions of weather: it was the winter; the ice would catch us in less than three days, and we should be lucky if we could get back on foot through the deep snow. His advice was to wait a fortnight till the river set fast, and occupy ourselves in making hand-sleighs, while he would make us five pairs of snow-shoes, and then we might walk the two hundred miles to Macleod's Lake in comfort. Accordingly I gave orders for the lodge, which we still had with us, to be pitched in a clump of poplars a short distance above Barrow's house, and we busied ourselves with cutting birch and bending sleighs in readiness for our trip. The cold snap continued for several days, but very little ice was running, although the eddies and backwaters were frozen up; then the weather grew milder again, and I could see that we had missed our chance. It was past the middle of November, and the river, by all accounts, is usually frozen solid at this time of year; it seemed too risky to start out so late to try and make a passage with open water. Meantime we were taking things easily when, as it turned out, we should have been travelling; there was not much to shoot beyond wood-grouse and rabbits, but with these we could keep the pot going, and time went pleasantly enough in short expeditions into the surrounding hills. And now a warm Chinook wind came sweeping across from the Pacific, and licked up the snow from the ground, while the ice broke away from the banks and drifted down in little floes to be ground to pieces in the cañon. I could bear the inactivity no longer, and, with a recklessness that I had plenty of opportunity to repent later on, gave orders on November 25th for the canoe to be got ready on the morrow to start up-stream and take the chances of being caught by the ice in the main range of the Rocky Mountains. I consulted Charlie and Pat about the route, and they both said they could make no mistake in finding the way to the Hudson's Bay Fort on Macleod's Lake, as they had just come down the river, and Charlie had made the journey the year before; if we could succeed in getting to the junction of the Findlay and Parsnip, just beyond the big mountains, before the ice caught us, there could be no difficulty in reaching the fort on foot in about four days' travel. At the risk of being verbose and boring any reader who has struggled thus far through the record of my wanderings in the North, I must now enter somewhat fully into the details of travel, and describe minutely the events that happened during the next month, in order to answer once for all the numerous questions that I have been asked as to what took place on that terrible winter journey in the Rocky Mountains. When I reached civilization again, and found that part of the story had leaked out, I received plenty of gratuitous advice as to what I should have done and where I should have gone, from people who had never themselves been in a like predicament, and had no further knowledge of hardship than perhaps having had to pay a long price for a second-rate dinner. I discovered that the easiest method of satisfying them was to let them tell the tale of my adventures in their own way, and assent readily to their convincing proofs that if they had been there all would have gone well. I admit freely that it was a stupid act to leave a supply-post so late in the year, unprovided as we were with the necessary outfit for winter travelling; but think I was justified in trusting to the local knowledge of my native guides to bring our party in safety to Macleod's Lake after we were forced to abandon the canoe. Walter Macdonald, a son of Mr. Ewen Macdonald of Lesser Slave Lake, and Tom Barrow both gave me every assistance in their power to provision my crew for what is usually an eight or nine days' journey. Meat was not to be had, and there was little chance of finding big game along the course of the river, but a hundred pounds of flour, a few pounds of beans and rice, and a small sack of potatoes, besides plenty of tea and tobacco, would surely last us this short journey, and, even if we found it impossible to travel quickly, a few days of short rations could easily be endured. It was late in the afternoon of Wednesday, November 26th, when I started the canoe off, and the sun was down before I had settled up accounts and said good-bye to the friends whom I did not expect to meet again for many a long day. The moon was full, and I had no difficulty in finding my way six miles through the woods to an old miner's cabin at which we had arranged to camp for the night. At the first streak of dawn we were off again, travelling our best with two and sometimes three men on the line; the current was strong, but the tracking on the gravel-bars perfect. That night there was a heavy snowstorm, while the ground froze hard and caused many a nasty fall on the slippery stones during the next two days. On Saturday morning cakes of soft ice began to run, but we found that most of them were brought down by a large tributary coming from the north, and above its mouth the river was comparatively clear of ice. The same afternoon we reached the entrance to the main range of mountains, and under the first peak of the chain tracked up a strong rush of water with a heavy sea at its foot, commonly known as the Polpar Rapid, a curious corruption of _la Rapide qui ne parle pas_, so named by the old _voyageurs_ from the absence of the roar of waters which usually gives ample warning of the proximity of a rapid. Part of the cargo we portaged to keep it dry, and above the strong water lay a quiet stretch of river, winding away in the gloomy black chasm between the huge mountains, which in many places takes the form of a sheer bluff hanging over the stream. We camped just above the Polpar, and another night's snow made the tracking worse than ever; often it was necessary to put the line aboard and take to the paddles, to struggle round some steep point upon which a coating of frozen snow made it impossible to stand. Ice was running in large pans and steering was difficult, but we got on fairly well, and were far in the heart of the mountains when we camped on Sunday night under one of the steepest and most forbidding peaks that I ever remember to have seen in any part of the Rockies. Monday was really cold, and our difficulties increased; the tow-line was sheeted with ice and three times its ordinary weight, while the channel was in many places almost blocked; poles and paddles had to be handled with numbed fingers, and our moccasins from constant wading turned into heavy lumps of ice; but we pushed on, and at nightfall had passed the mountains and emerged into a more inviting country. It was evident, however, that canoe-work was nearly over for the year, but we determined to make one more attempt, as the junction of the Findlay and Parsnip was not far ahead, and there was just a chance that the ice was coming from the Findlay and we might find the Parsnip, up which our course lay, clear enough for navigation. On Tuesday we made the most dangerous day's travel that I ever experienced in a canoe; the river was far too full of ice to handle even a "dug-out" with safety, and we had to make many crossings in the swift current among the running floes. I made it a point that everybody should keep on the same side of the river to assure our all being together in case of accident, and we had several narrow escapes from being nipped. At dinner-time we came in sight of the broken water of the Findlay Rapid, and found the big eddy on the south side of the river completely blocked with ice. We went through the risky manoeuvre of skirting the edge of the eddy with the floes whirling round us in the strong running water, and, finding a solid spot, hauled the canoe over the ice to the shore, making a half-mile portage to the foot of the rapid. A very close shave of capsizing filled the canoe with water; but the second attempt at tracking through the swift current and blocks of ice was more successful, and, as the short day was drawing to its close, we were paddling under a high bluff which prevented our using the tracking-line. Here darkness caught us, and our position was perilous in the extreme; the current was so strong that our best pace was required to stem it at all, and many times we had to drift back to avoid collision with the ice that was grinding past us. A couple of hours' hard work brought us to the first spot at which we could effect a landing, but it was no easy matter to carry the cargo up the frozen bank; we secured the canoe as well as we could, and found ourselves on a small flat covered with willows and abundance of firewood. Towards midnight the grinding of the ice became less noticeable and before daylight ceased entirely; the river above us had set fast and further water-travel was impossible. When morning broke we saw the Findlay branch completely jambed with ice stretching away to the north-west, and the Parsnip bending sharply to the south presented a similar appearance. A glance at our position is not out of place, and a good map might have saved us from the serious trouble we afterwards experienced. Far away in the mountains of British Columbia, in a country little known to the white man and at no great distance from the Pacific Ocean, the Findlay River has its source, while the Parsnip rises close under the Rocky Mountains on their west side, and, skirting the foot-hills, joins the Findlay at the spot where we now encamped. Below the junction the stream, already of considerable size and known as the Peace River, pours through the black rent in the backbone of the North American continent many thousands of feet below the summits of the mountains, and takes its course towards the Arctic Ocean at the mouth of the great Mackenzie. The most extraordinary feature in this reversion of the laws of Nature is the extreme tranquillity of the stream in passing through the main range, for with the exception of the Findlay and Polpar Rapid, one at either end of the pass, there is no difficulty in navigating a canoe. In passing the eastern range above Hudson's Hope the cañon is rough to the last degree, and one would expect to find the same thing among the higher mountains. A third branch, the Omineca, once a celebrated mining-camp, joins the Findlay, but is a much smaller stream. To reach Fort Macleod we had to follow the Parsnip and turn up a tributary branch known as Macleod's River, draining Macleod's Lake into the Parsnip. I had another long conversation with Charlie and Pat as to the best plan of action, and pointed out to them that if there was the least doubt about finding the lake we might still get back to Hudson's Hope, as by the aid of a few portages over ice-jambs one can travel down-stream in company with the floes long after it has become impossible to force a passage against them, and when we reached the east end of the pass it would be easy to walk through the level country. But both the guides laughed at the idea of their getting lost, and again reminded me of the fact that only a few weeks before they had come from Macleod. If we could cross the Parsnip, they said, we had only to follow the west bank till we came to the Little River, and then half a day would take us to the fort; in four days from now, or five at the latest, we should reach the end of our journey. The morning of December 4th was spent in making a scaffold on which to store my rather bulky cargo, which of course had to be left with the intention of returning from Fort Macleod with a dog-sleigh. After dinner we started on foot, every man carrying his blanket and a small load of provisions, kettles, and necessaries of various kinds. I decided to take no gun, as I only had a dozen shot-cartridges left, and a gun is always an impediment in walking through the woods, although there is a good old saying in the North that men should not part with their guns till the women throw away their babies. One thing that I thought might cause some trouble was the fact of our having no snow-shoes, and the snow would soon be deep enough to require them. We took all our beans and rice, but left about thirty pounds of flour in a sack on the scaffold, thinking it needlessly heavy to carry, and that it was better to run short for a day or two than overload ourselves and prevent rapid travelling. The ice was piled up high on the banks, and we began badly by climbing over a steep hill covered with such heavy timber that the pace was slow, and it was night when we came out on the bank of the Parsnip not more than four miles from our last camp. The next day we did rather better, but, getting among burnt timber and deep snow, had many heavy falls. In the evening we found a jamb in the river, and, making rather a risky crossing with the chance of our ice-bridge breaking up at any moment, camped on the Macleod side, thinking that we were now surely safe enough, and the worst thing that could happen might be a little starvation before we reached the fort. Then came two days of fair travelling, sometimes on the ice and sometimes in the woods, but the latter were so thick that it was hard to get through them at all. I have never seen a river freeze in the remarkable manner that the Parsnip set fast this summer. The first jamb had probably taken place at the junction of the Findlay; the water had backed up till it stood at a higher level than the summer floods, and the gravel beach was deeply submerged. There was no appearance of shore-ice, as the constant rise and fall in the water prevented a gradual freezing; jambs would form and break up again, and huge blocks of ice were forced on each other in every conceivable position. Often too the ice was flooded, and it was already cold enough to freeze wet feet; the backwaters were full, and the ice on them usually under water or hanging from the banks without support; the shores were fringed with a tangled mass of willows, heavily laden with snow and their roots often standing in water, while behind, rising to the summit of rough broken hills, was the dense pine-growth of the great sub-Arctic forest. John caused a good deal of delay by not keeping up, and I did not like to leave him far behind, as he was clumsy on the ice, and there were many treacherous spots where black running water showed in strong contrast to the snow, and the gurgle of a swift current suggested an unpleasant ending to the unlucky man who should break through. Everybody carried an axe or a stick to sound the ice, and, excepting near the banks where the water had fallen away from the ice, there were no mishaps. Further delay was caused by our frequently having to light a fire to dry moccasins and keep our feet from freezing. On the fourth night after abandoning the canoe we camped close to a coffin hung between two trees, as is the fashion of the Siccanees in dealing with their dead; the guide recognised this coffin, and told me we should certainly be at the fort in two days. Beans and rice were finished, but we had flour enough left for another day, and this we baked into bread to save trouble in cooking later on, and on the following day made a fair journey considering the bad state of the ice. The next morning, after eating our last bite of bread, we were going to try for the fort, and to lighten our load left behind the kettles, for which we had no more use, while some of us were rash enough to leave our blankets; we expected to be back with the dog-sleigh in a few days, and could then pick up everything. The water had risen again in the night and the ice was useless for travelling on, so on the guide's advice we left the river on the west bank, and climbing the rough hills walked along the ridge in a south-westerly direction, expecting every hour to fall upon the little river running out of Macleod's Lake. When night caught us we were still in the woods, and, although there was no supper and snow was falling softly, a bright fire and the prospect of reaching the fort in the morning kept us in good spirits enough. I was one of the unfortunates without a blanket, and was glad to see daylight come again and with it a cessation of the snowstorm. During the last few days rabbit-tracks had been frequently seen in the snow and grouse were plentiful, but we had no means of securing game of any kind. To make as sure as possible of getting food the next day, I sent Murdo and Charlie ahead without loads to make the best of their way to the fort, while Pat and myself would stay by John, who was already in difficulties, and carry the packs. Starting without breakfast is the worst part of these starving times. The walking for the first two hours was very hard, through a thick growth of young pines rising among the blackened stumps and fallen logs of a burnt forest, up and down steep gullies, with the snow from the branches pouring down our necks, and our loads often bringing us up with a sudden jerk as they stuck between two little trees. John soon gave up his pack, and left it hanging on a bough, where it remains probably till the present day. About mid-day we came to the end of the ridge and looked up the wide valley of the Parsnip. Far below us we could trace its windings, and branching away to the mountains in the west was a stream that Pat instantly declared to be Macleod's River. Towards sundown we lit a fire on a high bank above the stream, and John in a fatuous manner remarked that he recognised the place where he had camped with a boat's crew some years before. We followed the fresh tracks of our advanced party, and turning our backs on the Parsnip walked on good shore-ice till darkness compelled us to camp. I was rather surprised to find that the river was not frozen up and had much more current than I had expected, but, as both John and Pat were quite certain that all was right, I had not the least doubt that we had at last reached Macleod's River and should arrive at the fort in good time the next day. Another sleepless night gave me plenty of time for reflection while John was comfortably rolled up in a blanket that I had been carrying all day. Four months had passed, and many a hundred miles of lake and river travelled, since David had seen the first star on that summer's night far away in the Barren Ground; now I thought my journey was nearly over, for two hundred miles on snow-shoes from Fort Macleod to Quesnelle, and three hundred miles of waggon-road from Quesnelle to the Canadian Pacific Railway, counted as nothing. It was true that we had not tasted food for two days, and rations had been short for some time past; but it was by no means my first experience of starvation, and to-morrow evening at the latest we should be in the midst of luxury once more. It was satisfactory to think that we had succeeded in forcing our way through the Rocky Mountains in the face of the winter, and were every day approaching a country made temperate by the breezes of the Pacific; already the cedars, to be found only on the west side of the main range, were showing among the pines. With the first grey light in the east I roused my companions, and we started on shore-ice at a good pace with the prospect of breakfast ahead. Pat broke through shortly after leaving camp, and, as he was afraid of freezing his feet, we lit a fire to dry his moccasins, and the sun was up when we set out again. A couple of hours later we saw a thin blue column of smoke rising straight up into the sky, and a nearer approach showed that it came from the chimney of a cabin hidden in the woods; a cheering sight at first, but directly we reached the trail leading up from the river I knew that something was wrong, and something wrong at such a time meant something very wrong indeed. I had spent too much of my life among the woods and mountains to be unable to read the easy writing in the snow; two tracks leading up the river late overnight, and the same two tracks quite fresh coming down-stream and turning up the trail. Murdo and Charlie must be in the cabin, and could not have reached the fort; if they had been coming back with supplies they would never have put ashore with starving men so close up. Pushing open the rough door we found them sitting one on each side of a small fire of cedar-chips that were just crackling into a blaze. "Have you been to the fort, Murdo?" I asked, needlessly enough. "No." "Why not? What is the matter?" "Charlie says it is the wrong river; we are lost, like d----d fools." Murdo had described the situation concisely enough, and I fully realised the awful position we were in; lost and starving in the mountains with no guns to procure food, no snow-shoes with which to travel over the increasing depth of snow, and no clothes to withstand the cold of mid-winter which was already upon us. There was still a hope, for Charlie was not quite ready to admit that he was mistaken. Our advance party had turned back on seeing a rapid, and even now could not give me any accurate description of this obstacle to navigation; if it was so bad that a scow could not run down, it was obvious that this could not be Macleod's River, for I knew that no portage was necessary to reach the lake. Pat was still sure that he had recognised many places this morning, but could not say anything about the log-cabin; it stood back from the river, and there was a chance that people, passing quickly down-stream, might have missed seeing it when the foliage was thick on the willows. The best plan seemed to first make sure about the rapid, so we started up-stream to inspect it. I was very doubtful of any good result coming from this move, when I saw that the strength of the current increased, and the mountains on each side of the stream grew higher and steeper. Soon we passed a newly-built beaver-house, which certainly was a strange object on the side of a travelled river, and in a couple of hours reached the rapid. Surely this was enough to make anyone turn back; a heavy shute of broken water down which no scow could ever run without being smashed to pieces; even Pat now acknowledged that he was hopelessly lost. A valuable day had been wasted, and the sun was down before we came again to the cabin, where we decided on spending the night. Three days we had been starving, and it was fully time to take the first steps by which men in our desperate position seek to maintain life as long as possible. A thorough search in the shanty produced nothing of value but an old lard-tin which would serve as a kettle; there were many empty boxes, labelled with enticing names and pictures of canned fruit and of fat cattle that had been converted into "Armour's Preserved Beef" at Kansas City, Missouri; a large number of rotten sacks, marked "Oregon Flour Patent Roller Process," showed that someone had spent a winter here, and an iron bottle containing a little quicksilver proved that he had been a miner by occupation. A board, with a notice in pencil that two men, whose names I forget, had arrived here from Sandy Bar in a day and a half, conveyed no meaning to us. Among the necessary articles that we had been carrying was a large piece of dressed moose-skin for mending moccasins, and this seemed the most edible thing we could find; five small strips, three inches in length and an inch broad, were cut off and put into the lard-tin to boil for supper. We discovered Labrador tea growing in the woods, and made a brew with the leaves as soon as we thought the moose-skin was soft enough to eat. Rabbit-snares were made by unravelling a piece of string and set in the runs, but after trying this plan on several nights not a rabbit was caught, though we sometimes had the mortification of finding a broken snare. After supper of moose-skin and Labrador tea we felt in better spirits, and with a good fire and a pipe of tobacco discussed our position seriously enough. Euclid, when he found himself incapable of proving that any particular angle or line was the exact size that he desired, had a habit of supposing it to be of some other magnitude, and by enlarging upon the absurdity of this supposition so completely puzzled the aspiring student that he was glad to admit any statement that the inventor of the proposition suggested. This does well enough on paper, but starving men have no time to put this plan to the test of practice, and when they find that a river is not the one they supposed it to be are at a loss to tell what stream it really is. Charlie, Pat, and John, who had all been to Macleod's Lake before, told me frequently that they had never heard of any river coming into the Parsnip on the west side between the Findlay and Macleod's River. Now, in a boating journey the talk is always of points and rivers, and the mouth of any tributary is always commented upon, so it seemed unlikely that they should have passed by this large stream without noticing it; nor had they heard of any miner's cabin, which must certainly have been spoken of in a country where houses are scarce. There was a possibility that we had come too far and missed the mouth of Macleod's River, for we had sometimes travelled on the east side of the Parsnip to take advantage of better ice or a thinner growth of timber, and I had heard David say that the Little River was not easy for a stranger to find. In any case it was better to retrace our steps to the mouth of the stream that we had been following, to see if our guides could recognise any landmark, for the hills were conspicuous and sometimes of remarkable shape. At daylight on December 10th we left the cabin and made tracks down-stream, taking with us the lard-tin in which we had boiled more moose-skin for breakfast. So far we had lost no strength and, with the exception of John, who was always behind, were going strong and well. It was late in the afternoon when we reached the river and once again stood on the bank of the Parsnip. Across on the east side rose a high-cut bank of yellow clay, a mark that any one should recognise who had ever seen it before; but Charlie and Pat both put on a hopeless blank expression when I asked them if they knew the place. No, they said, they had never seen it before in their lives. Six weeks before they had passed right under that cut bank in a scow, and less than forty miles up-stream would have taken us to the fort if we had only known it. These men were a half-breed and an Indian, supposed to be gifted with that extraordinary instinct of finding their way in all circumstances which is denied to the white man. John was just as much to blame, although it was some years ago that he travelled down the Parsnip; long afterwards, when all the trouble was over, he confided to me, as an excuse for his ignorance, that he had been very drunk when he left Macleod and was unable to make any accurate observations as to courses and distances. There was nothing to be done but turn down the Parsnip again and keep a bright look-out for the mouth of the little river, in case we had passed it. The ice was too much flooded to walk on, and we camped high up on the mountain-side in heavy falling snow. Another misfortune befell us here; the bottom of the lard-tin was burnt out during the process of melting snow, and we had to give up the small comfort of moose-skin and wild tea. Murdo and myself spent a wretched night cowering over the fire with the snow falling down our backs, for we were still without blankets; daylight saw us struggling through the thick growth of young pines and an increased depth of snow, till at noon, when everybody was thoroughly exhausted and John had nearly given up all hope, we found ourselves stopped on the side-hill by a series of bluffs which no one felt equal to scaling. Fifteen hundred feet below us lay the river, and as a desperate alternative we descended the mountain, with many bruises from stumbling over logs hidden by the snow, to find that the water had fallen in the night, and the ice, though rough in the extreme, was dry enough to travel on. After the night had closed down over the forest we reached the place where the kettles and blankets had been left, and things looked a little brighter with the prospect of tea and a night's sleep; but we knew now that Fort Macleod must lie behind us, although there was little inducement to make another attempt to reach it with such untrustworthy guides. Our only chance of life was to reach the entrance of the Peace River Pass, where thirty pounds of flour lay on a rough scaffold exposed to the mercy of the wolverines! CHAPTER XVI Snow fell again in the night and increased our difficulties. For a day and a half we forced our way, sometimes on rough ice and sometimes through the thick willow bushes, with frequent rests as exhaustion overtook us, till we again saw the Siccanee coffin hung in the trees. Here we found the flour-sack that had been thrown away on our up-stream journey, and scraped off perhaps half a pound of flour which had stuck to the sack when wet. At the same time a mouse was caught in the snow, and, with no further preparation than singeing off the hair, was cut into strips and boiled with the flour into a thin soup. Every man carried a tin cup in his belt, so a careful distribution of the precious soup was made, and the last pipe of tobacco smoked; we certainly derived a little strength from this unexpected supply, and our spirits improved greatly for a short time. The weather now turned colder and its increased severity told on us heavily, for our clothes were torn to rags by pushing through the woods, and a starving man through loss of flesh always feels the cold more severely than a man in good condition. We often had to light a fire to prevent our feet from freezing when wet from walking on flooded ice or breaking through near the shore. The river was still open in places and continually altering its level. John was always far behind, and I expected to see him drop at any time; but he had the advantage of starting fatter than the rest of us, and took good care of himself, always hanging in the rear and coming into camp when the labour of throwing out the snow and getting wood was accomplished. Never once during the whole of this march did he go ahead to break a trail through the snow, which is of course the most fatiguing work of all. A little before sundown on December 17th, the tenth day without eating anything but small scraps of moose-skin and the soup at the coffin-camp, we staggered among huge blocks of ice, passed the junction of the Findlay, and soon afterwards arrived at the _cache_. It was an anxious moment as I crawled up the frozen bank and waded through the snow to the scaffold; no wolverine tracks were to be seen, and the flour was lying untouched. Camp was made, a kettle of thick paste boiled, and a cupful eaten every half-hour to prevent any ill effects from straining the weakened organs of the digestion. But we were by no means out of our difficulties yet. Thirty pounds of flour, without meat, is the ordinary amount that would be given to five men for two days, without taking into account the fact that we had been starving for a long time and were now reduced to skeletons. Before us was the main range of the Rocky Mountains; the snow would be drifted deep in the narrow pass, and travel would be slow, if indeed we got through at all. Another serious trouble was the state of our moccasins; as they wore out we had eaten them, and were now wearing rough apologies for shoes which we had made out of the moose-skin that was quickly getting very small under the constant demands made upon it for various purposes. In the morning I measured the flour very carefully with a cup into different loads, so that I might be able to keep account of the quantity that was used, and, taking a gun and what few cartridges were left, we started for Tom Barrow's cabin, which we hoped to be able to reach in three or four days if the ice should prove good. In this we were terribly disappointed, for at the end of the second day, after wading through deep snow, and frequently putting ashore to light a fire on account of the intense cold, we camped but a short distance below the Findlay Rapid. John's feet were frozen already, and all of us were touched in the face; there was always great difficulty in lighting a match with numbed fingers, but birch-bark was plentiful, and being readily inflammable was nearly sure to blaze up at once. Our only remaining axe was almost useless from having been carelessly left for a night in the fire. Much of the snow had drifted off the ice and was lying three and four feet deep on the banks, increasing the labour of making camp and picking up firewood, for we were too weak to do any effectual chopping even if our axe had been in good condition. Without snow-shoes it was impossible to walk through the forest in the hope of finding grouse; and, after one or two efforts, the exertion of wading waist-deep through snow that reached to the belt was found too great, and the attempt was abandoned. On the third day a blizzard swept through the pass, completely obscuring the opposite bank of the river, which was here quite narrow. We attempted to travel against it, but found our faces were frozen before going a quarter of a mile. Murdo and myself had always to light the matches, as the other men suffered more from the cold than we did; I knew that my hands were already useless, and that if we continued to force our way against the storm there would be little chance of starting a fire further on. I gave orders to turn back for the camp, and we spent the short day in keeping up the fire that was still burning. Besides the drift, a gust of wind would often send down the masses of snow that had gathered on the branches, putting out our little blaze and filling up the hole that we had dug in the snow, while the boughs themselves often fell dangerously close to the camp. The allowance of flour was cut down to two cupfuls among five men, and this was eaten in the form of paste, which we found more satisfying than bread. The Labrador tea was buried deep under the snow, and from this time no more was obtained. The shortening of rations produced grumbling in the camp, especially from John, who declared that it was better to eat well while the little flour lasted, to gain strength to take us to the trading-post. Murdo was more sensible in this respect, but was beginning to lose the full use of his head, and, besides the strong aversion he had always shown to John, now developed a passionate hatred to Charlie and Pat, whom rightly enough he held responsible for our position. This ill-feeling among the various members of our party was increased tenfold by an episode which took place on the following day. The morning was very cold but with less wind, and, although our faces froze again, we pushed on for an hour or two and then made a fire on the bank. Here we left the Indian and half-breed drying their moccasins, and continued travelling down stream to make a camp for the mid-day halt, knowing that the others could catch us up easily with the advantage of our road through the snow; this they did just as our fire was blazing up. I asked Charlie for his flour, as so far we had not used any from his load, but when he produced it there was not more than a cupful left in the bag. I had given him five pounds of flour to carry, and at once knew that our guides, who had caused all the trouble, had now been guilty of stealing food, when our lives depended on the scanty store that we had picked up at the _cache_. For this offence, at such a time, there is but one punishment: a man on the point of starving to death cares little whether you cut off the dollar a day that he is earning or not; a blow struck would have fired the train of discontent that was ready to explode;--the only course open to me, if the offenders were to be punished at all, was to put an end to them both with the shot-gun that I carried. For a long time I debated this question while a few spoonfuls of flour were boiled for dinner, and finally decided to let matters take their course; there were still seven or eight pounds of flour left, and by further reduction of rations we might keep ourselves alive for a few more days; the weather might be warmer, the ice less rough, and the snowfall lighter if we could reach the far end of the pass, but at present things looked very black indeed. Flesh and strength were failing rapidly; this loss of provisions would tell heavily, and travelling through the gloomy pass under the high mountains was more laborious than words can describe. It was no good refusing to give the thieves their share of rations, as this might induce them to strike a blow in the night, and deal us the death that they themselves deserved; but the question might still have to be decided, in case of a man dropping, whether his life should be sacrificed and the offenders allowed to go free. If affairs came to the point which everything seemed to indicate, there could now be no fair drawing of lots to see who should die that the survivors might support themselves by the last resource of all. The weather continued cold, and frozen feet caused many delays; there was no chance here to treat a frost-bite by the tender methods of thawing with snow and rubbing with oil that are practised in civilization, but feet were thrust into a blazing fire and allowed to blister as they would. John and Charlie suffered greatly from this cause, and their pain in walking was much increased. These delays were serious, for although the Peace River Pass lies as far to the south as the 56th parallel of latitude the days were at their shortest. For three more days we continued wading through the snowdrifts, and crawling over rough ice, continually changing our leader, till on December 24th we were stopped by another blizzard, and forced to lie in camp all day. Rations were by this time cut down to a spoonful of flour in the morning and a strip of moose-skin at night for each man. Not more than a pound of flour was left, and the storm, far too fierce for such wretched skeletons to face, might continue for several days. Our situation seemed utterly hopeless as we crouched over the fire that was with difficulty maintained, and apparently the end had come. There was none of the kindly sympathy for companions in misfortune which men who share a common danger should have: a mutual distrust was prevalent; hatred and the wolfish madness of hunger ruled the camp; and to this day I cannot understand how it was that the fatal spark was never struck, and no tragedy of murder and cannibalism enacted on the banks of that ice-bound river without witnesses save the great silent mountains and the God who made them. Christmas Day brought rather better weather, although snow was still falling quietly, and, finding open water in the river with shore-ice on which the snow was not so deep as usual, there was a great improvement in our case. An accident, however, occurred which nearly put an end to two of the party. Charlie and Pat, who were leading at the time, ventured too near the edge of the open water and broke through, not only to the knees or waist, as had so often happened, but over their heads in deep water with a strong current, and we had some trouble in pulling them out. It was very important that we should make a fire at once, as the temperature was many degrees below zero, and the men drenched to the skin began to freeze directly. The accident had taken place under a long steep bluff, and from where we stood no firewood was to be seen on our side of the river within a couple of miles. By the greatest good fortune, on turning a point we found a huge tree that had fallen over the cliff and lay on the beach smashed up into firewood, as if it had been prepared specially for our use. A blaze was soon started, and the two half-drowned men left to dry themselves. The most unfortunate part of the affair was the wetting of the matches which they carried. I had divided these precious articles among the men in case of accidents of this kind, for without fire we should have had no chance of saving our lives; as it turned out we never ran short of matches and never once missed making fire, although there was often trouble in procuring wood; we were far too weak to handle a big log, but usually found a dead cotton-wood tree, from which the bark is easily pulled and makes the best of fires. In the afternoon we passed the Polpar Rapid, which was completely frozen up, and emerging from the pass caught the first sight of the sun, that had been hidden from us for many days by the high mountains. The ice below the rapid continued fairly good till nightfall, when we were forced to camp, although the moon was full and we tried to travel by her light. But although it was easy enough to see close ahead, it was impossible to pick out the line of the best ice, and the labour of travelling was increased by having to force our way through drifts and piled-up ice that we might have avoided in daylight. Soon after leaving camp on the following morning a grouse was killed, and I think even this little nourishment helped us a great deal to accomplish our task of reaching the trading-post; this was the only grouse we had seen since we left the _cache_, although on the up-stream journey birds had been plentiful enough. The ice was still rough at times, but in some places the river was open and good shore-ice made the walking easy; the weather was much warmer, with bright sunshine, and there was no danger of freezing our feet. At dark camp was made within a day's travel of Barrow's house, if only we had strength enough to reach it. The long night passed away, and just before daylight we were staggering among the blocks of ice in a scattered line. There was always difficulty in starting from the camp, for there was a certain amount of comfort in lying in our blankets, and nobody was anxious to try whether he could still stand upright or not. Our inclination during the worst time was to lie down and make no further effort, but after walking half an hour we usually found ourselves in better spirits. Soon after coming out on the ice, I looked back to see how John was travelling, and noticed that he was down. Charlie, who had been behind with him, came up and said that John could travel no longer and intended to stay where he was. I stopped all the men, but Charlie tried to push by me and said that he would not wait for anyone. For the first time I had to use threats to ensure my orders being carried out, and taking the gun from my shoulder let Charlie plainly see that I meant to shoot him if he did not obey. This quickly brought him to his senses, and John came up very slowly. He wanted someone to stay with him and trust to the others sending back provisions, but I would not listen to this proposal. I told him that it was only want of courage that prevented him making any further effort; he was as strong as the rest of us, and, if he would try, could keep up quite easily; if he would come on till we reached the place where we had had dinner on the second day out with the canoe, we would make him a camp and leave all our blankets, so that he might have a chance of keeping himself alive till relief came. On rounding a point we saw open water ahead, and John, although far behind, went far better on the smooth ice, and eventually came in not more than an hour after us. At noon the Bull's Head was in sight, and we could see the line of hills at the foot of which Barrow's house lay. The pace was fast for men in our condition, but we kept up a steady walk, leaving our blankets when there seemed a certainty of reaching the house that night. The sun was down when we passed the old shanty in which we had camped for a night on the way up, and by moonlight we travelled on, following close to the edge of the open water and taking little precaution to test the strength of the ice. Soon the roar of the cañon was heard, and at seven o'clock we crawled up the steep bank and stood in front of the cabin. I pushed open the door, and shall never forget the expression of horror that came over the faces of the occupants when they recognised us. We had become used to the hungry eyes and wasted forms, as our misery had come on us gradually, but to a man who had seen us starting out thirty-two days before in full health the change in our appearance must have been terrible. There was no doubt that we were very near the point of death. For my own part I felt a dull aching in the left side of my head; I was blind in the left eye and deaf in the left ear; there was a sharp pain on each side just below the ribs; but my legs, though not well under control, were still strong. We had all completely lost the use of our voices, and suffered greatly from the cracking of the skin on hands and feet, which always results from starving in cold weather; to say that we were thin conveys no idea of our miserable condition. It is needless to go into the details of our recovery; but under Barrow's careful nursing, and restrictions as to the quantity of food allowed, we all came back to health, although for some days our lives were hanging in the balance. I can never sufficiently thank Tom Barrow for his kind behaviour on this occasion. Of course, everybody is sorry for starving people; but it is rather a strain on this sympathy to have to look after five men so near to death in a small cabin among the Rocky Mountains, with such slender supplies as had been left for a winter's rations for two people. Without a murmur he shared his blankets and his provisions, although he knew that there was a good chance of starving himself in the spring. Barrow told us directly where we had made our mistake. The river we had turned up was Nation River, and the log-cabin had been occupied some years before by a party of miners, but very little gold had been taken out. Some distance up Nation River was the old trail to the Omineca mining-camp; but of course we should not have known what trail it was if we had found it. The mouth of the Nation River and the yellow cut bank Barrow remembered perfectly, and said there had been much talk about these landmarks on the way down; it seems inexplicable that three men, who had been over the route before, should have made the mistake that so nearly cost us our lives. If we had followed up the Parsnip beyond the mouth of Nation River we should have reached Macleod's Lake on December 12th at latest with only a few days' starvation, and avoided all the misery that continued till the 27th of that month. In a week communication was opened with Hudson's Hope, and Walter Macdonald did everything he could to help us; but the same thing had happened to him. A band of Beaver Indians had been caught by starvation at the mouth of the Pine River Pass, and had suffered the same experiences as ourselves. Many had been left by the way, but I think there were no deaths, as provisions were sent out so soon as the news reached Baptiste at Moberley's Lake. At the end of a fortnight everybody was well enough to travel; and to ease the strain on provisions I sent Murdo, John, and Charlie to Lesser Slave Lake, where they could get fish to support them, and spare the resources of the upper river posts. But even now these men could not travel together, although they had full rations and nothing to quarrel about. Murdo reached the Lesser Slave Lake alone, John arriving several days later, and I found Charlie at Dunvegan, where he had already distinguished himself by robbing from the priest's trading-store. A thorough blackguard was Charlie, and it would have been little loss to the world in general if he had left his bones under the snow in the Peace River Pass; he had begun his voyage badly by stealing fifty dollars from his mother at Quesnelle, and there were several other offences for which the police had hunted him away from the borders of civilization. Pat was to stay for the winter with Barrow, and as soon as Baptiste had made us snow-shoes we pottered about in the woods together, hunting grouse and rabbits, and had soon entirely recovered our strength. I have never heard any satisfactory explanation of the gradual increase and sudden dying out of the rabbits and lynx, which takes place every seven years throughout the North. Starting from the few survivors of the last epidemic, the numbers increase slowly every season, till in the sixth year the whole country is so over-run with them that a man can travel anywhere with no further provision than shot-gun and snares. Then the disease breaks out, dead bodies are found all through the woods, and scarcely a living rabbit or lynx is to be seen. The autumn of 1885 I spent on the head-waters of the Athabasca, at the east end of the Tête Jaune Pass; the rabbits were then at their height and as plentiful as I ever saw them in England. 1892 will be the next big rabbit-year; but after that famine is sure to be rife on Peace River, as it is harder every year to kill moose, and for the last two or three years the rabbit-snares have kept many an Indian from starvation. This rabbit-question is an important one to consider before starting on an exploration trip in the Peace River country, as in the good seasons there is no danger of running short of provisions. One day, as we were setting snares together, Pat told me the story of the stolen flour. They had stayed behind to dry their moccasins, and Charlie had explained to Pat that I was keeping the flour for the use of the white men, and that their only chance of getting any was to help themselves; Pat had objected at first, but afterwards gave way when he saw Charlie cooking the flour, and they had eaten about four pounds between them. Judging from Charlie's character I am inclined to believe the story, as Pat in all other respects had behaved well under the pressure of hardship, and had always done more than his share of work in making camp and breaking the trail. While staying at Hudson's Hope, Macdonald and I walked over to Moberley's Lake, twelve miles to the south, to pay old Baptiste a visit. The house stands within view of the big peaks of the Rockies close to the edge of the lake, but the appearance of the country is rather spoilt by the abundant traces of forest fires that have taken place of late years. The lake is a beautiful sheet of water, ten miles in length, drained by the Pine River, which falls into the Peace a short distance above Fort St. John. Baptiste has a fruitful potato-patch, and his women were catching plenty of rabbits; there was moose-pemmican, too, and dried meat, for the Fall hunt had been successful. The Iroquois gave me a pair of snow-shoes ornamented with tassels of coloured wool, as well as a pair of beaded moccasins which he made me promise not to eat, and came with us to the fort to see us off. [Illustration: Arrival of the Dog Train] CHAPTER XVII It was towards the end of January, 1891, that I left Hudson's Hope for Edmonton, a distance of six hundred miles, giving up all further attempt to reach Macleod's Lake. A son of Mr. Brick, of Smoky River, turned up just before I started, and promised to go with Pat to my _cache_ at the junction of the Findlay and Parsnip when the days grew long in spring. The rough ice would then be covered with deep snow, and with snow-shoes and hand-sleighs it would be easy to bring away the guns, journals, and many other articles that I had been obliged to abandon. Two days and a half took me to St. John's, and after a week's stay there a dog-train, carrying the winter packet, arrived, and I took this chance of getting to Dunvegan. Alick Kennedy, one of the very best half-breed _voyageurs_ in Canada, was in charge of the packet. The distances this man has been known to run in a day would hardly be credited in a land where people travel by railways and steamboats: moreover, he is a pleasant companion to travel with; his conversation is interesting, and entirely free from the boasting which most of the half-breeds indulge in. Alick was captain of a boat-brigade on the Nile; and if all the Canadian contingent had been of his stamp instead of the Winnipeg loafers, who were too worthless to get employment in their own country, a different story might have been told of the behaviour of the _voyageurs_ on the march to Khartoum. Five days took us to Dunvegan, where I again met Mr. Macdonald, and travelled with him to the Lesser Slave Lake. From Dunvegan we made the portage straight to Smoky River, crossing a pretty prairie country and camping a night at Old Wives' Lake, where Mr. Brick winters some of his cattle. With a splendid track along the waggon-road, we made the ninety miles to the Lesser Slave Lake in two days, and, judging from the number of people and houses, we seemed to have reached civilization already. Besides the Hudson's Bay establishment, the missions and the buildings of the free-traders, many half-breeds have houses scattered along the lake, and devote part of their attention to raising horses and cattle, though of course whitefish are the main support of life. A favourite haunt for wildfowl is this lake in spring and autumn, but big game and fur have been nearly killed out by the large population, and most of the Indian trade is done at the out-posts nearer to the hunting-grounds. I spent several days at the fort, being well treated as usual, and February was nearly finished when I started with Mr. Frank Hardistay on my last journey with dogs. The Lesser Slave Lake is about seventy miles in length, and covering this distance easily in two days we travelled down the Little Slave River which leaves the east end of the lake. A good deal of labour has been expended in blasting rocks out of the channel of this river, to enable the steamer from the Athabasca landing to reach the lake, and so avoid the expense of building boats and engaging crews to transport the Peace River cargo, but so far these efforts have proved unsuccessful. I think we followed the course of this stream about twenty miles, then dived into the thick pine-forest on the east bank, and making a twelve-mile portage came out on the Athabasca River, seventy miles above the landing at the end of the waggon-road from Edmonton. The Athabasca has here the same monotonous look that one becomes so tired of in its lower reaches. When a point was rounded another point exactly similar showed three or four miles ahead, and this continued till we reached the landing, in clear cold weather, on March 3rd; three days later our dogs, bearing the smartest of dog-cloths and with sleigh-bells ringing merrily, rattled into Edmonton, and the wild free life of the last twenty months was over. The excitement that the arrival of a stranger never fails to create at a lonely Northern fort is rather apt to give that stranger an exaggerated idea of his own importance; but when I reached Edmonton I at once realised that there are many people in the world who have ideas beyond musk-ox and caribou, dog-sleighs and snow-shoes. An election was at its height to decide who should have the honour of representing the territory of Alberta at Ottawa. Edmonton had been drinking, although it is supposed to keep strictly to the rules of the Prohibition Act, and before I had been an hour in the town I found myself in the midst of a free fight. I was unfortunate in not knowing the names of the candidates, or what policy they represented, and as I could give no clear account as to what I had done with my vote, I was roughly used by both sides and was glad to escape to the less boisterous hospitality of the Hudson's Bay Fort. There were still two hundred miles of snow-covered prairie to be crossed to reach Calgary, but with horses to drag our sleigh, and a house to sleep in every night, there could be little hardship in the journey. At the crossing of the Red Deer we saw the iron rails that had already pushed far out towards Edmonton, but work had ceased for the winter and no trains were running. As we travelled south the snow became less every day, till we were forced to change our runners for wheels when still sixty miles from Calgary. Late in the evening of March 15th the whistle of a locomotive told me, more plainly than anything I had yet heard, that it was time to pull myself together and take up the common-place life of civilization; a few more miles of level country, down a steep pitch or two, across the frozen stream of the Elbow, and close ahead the lights of Calgary were blinking over the prairie. [Illustration: Edmonton] * * * * * I am writing these concluding lines in a fashionable garret off St. James's Street. Close at hand are all the luxuries that only ultra-civilization can give, and these luxuries are to be obtained by the simple method of handing over an adequate number of coins of the realm; there is no necessity to shoulder your gun and tramp many weary miles on snow-shoes before you get even a sight of your dinner in its raw state. But surely we carry this civilization too far, and are in danger of warping our natural instincts by too close observance of the rules that some mysterious force obliges us to follow when we herd together in big cities. Very emblematical of this warping process are the shiny black boots into which we squeeze our feet when we throw away the moccasin of freedom; as they gall and pinch the unaccustomed foot, so does the dread of our friends' opinion gall and pinch our minds till they become narrow, out of shape, and unable to discriminate between reality and semblance. A dweller in cities is too wrapped up in the works of man to have much respect left for the works of God, and to him the loneliness of forest and mountain, lake and river, must ever appear but a weary desolation. But there are many sportsmen who love to be alone with Nature and the animals far from their fellow-men, and as this book is intended solely for the sportsman, a few words of advice to anyone who is anxious to hunt the musk-ox may not be out of place. I am not quite sure that Fort Resolution is the best point to start from. Fort Rae, on the north arm of the Great Slave Lake, lies nearer the Barren Ground, and the Dog-Ribs are said to be more amenable to reason than the Yellow Knives, while the distance to travel through a woodless country is shorter. Fort Good Hope, on the Lower Mackenzie, would be another good spot to make headquarters; but there is less certainty of finding the caribou in that neighbourhood, and without the caribou there is little chance of reaching the musk-ox. It is not the slightest use starting from a post with the theory that musk-ox can be killed in so many days, and that, by taking a load of provisions sufficient to last for the same length of time, a successful hunt will be made. The only plan is to work your way up slowly, to stay among the caribou in the autumn, and kill and _cache_ meat whenever an opportunity offers, ready for a rush on the first snow. Remember, too, when provisions get scarce, as they certainly will at some time or other, the country ahead is as big as the country behind, and the best chance lies in pushing on. To turn back may prove fatal, when another day's travel may put you in a land of plenty. It is possible to reach the hunting-ground and return to Fort Resolution with a canoe in the summer, but the robes are then worthless, and the whole sport savours too much of covert-shooting in July. Make quite sure before you start that you are determined to push on through everything, as even the Great Slave Lake is far to go on an unsuccessful errand. Here, in London, in front of a good fire at the club and under the influence of a good dinner, it is easy enough to kill musk-ox and make long night-marches on snow-shoes by the flashes of the Northern Lights; but the test of practice takes off some of the enjoyment. A year has slipped away since our winter journey through the Peace River Pass. Young Brick kept his promise of getting the _cache_ right well, and a couple of months ago my journals arrived in England, so that I have been able to put together this rough record of my Northern travels. On looking back one remembers only the good times, when meat was plentiful and a huge fire lit up the snow on the spruce trees; misery and starvation are forgotten as soon as they are over, and even now, in the midst of the luxury of civilization, at times I have a longing to pitch my lodge once more at the edge of the Barren Ground, to see the musk-ox standing on the snowdrift and the fat caribou falling to the crack of the rifle, to hear the ptarmigan crowing among the little pines as the sun goes down over a frozen lake and the glory of an Arctic night commences. To the man who is not a lover of Nature in all her moods the Barren Ground must always be a howling, desolate wilderness; but for my part, I can understand the feeling that prompted Saltatha's answer to the worthy priest, who was explaining to him the beauties of Heaven. "My father, you have spoken well; you have told me that Heaven is very beautiful; tell me now one thing more. Is it more beautiful than the country of the musk-ox in summer, when sometimes the mist blows over the lakes, and sometimes the water is blue, and the loons cry very often? That is beautiful; and if Heaven is still more beautiful, my heart will be glad, and I shall be content to rest there till I am very old." [Illustration: A SKETCH MAP OF Mr. WARBURTON PIKE'S JOURNEYS TO THE BARREN GROUND OF NORTHERN CANADA] APPENDIX I I am much indebted to Professor Dawson, of the Dominion Geological Survey Department, for his kind permission to publish the following paper on the Unexplored Regions of Canada. It shows more plainly than any words of mine could tell how much yet remains to be done before this great portion of the British Empire is known as it ought to be. ON SOME OF THE LARGER UNEXPLORED REGIONS OF CANADA. (By G. M. DAWSON, D.S., Assoc. R.S.M., F.G.S., F.R.S.C.) If on reading the title of the paper which I had promised to contribute to the Ottawa Field Naturalists' Club, any one should have supposed it to be my intention to endeavour to describe or forecast the character of the unexplored areas mentioned, I must, in the first place, disclaim any such intention. The very existence of large regions of which little or nothing is known, is of course stimulating to a fertile imagination, ready to picture to itself undiscovered "golden cities a thousand leagues deep in Cathay," but such unscientific use of the imagination is far removed from the position of sober seriousness, in which I ask your attention to the facts which I have to present. Fortunately, or unfortunately, as we may happen to regard it, the tendency of our time is all in the direction of laying bare to inspection and open to exploitation all parts, however remote, of this comparatively small world in which we live, and though the explorer himself may be impelled by a certain romanticism in overcoming difficulties or even dangers met with in the execution of his task, his steps are surely and closely followed by the trader, the lumberer, or the agriculturalist, and not long after these comes the builder of railways with his iron road. It is, therefore, rather from the point of view of practical utility than from any other, that an appeal must be made to the public or to the Government for the further extension of explorations, and my main purpose in addressing you to-night is to make such an appeal, and to show cause, if possible, for the exploration of such considerable portions of Canada as still remain almost or altogether unmapped. What I have to say, in fact, on this subject resolves itself chiefly into remarks on the map exhibited here, upon which the unexplored areas to which I am about to refer are clearly depicted in such a manner, I believe, as almost to speak for themselves. It is very commonly supposed, even in Canada, but to a greater extent elsewhere, that all parts of the Dominion are now so well known that exploration, in the true sense of the term, may be considered as a thing of the past. This depends largely upon the fact that the maps of the country generally examined are upon a very small scale, and that upon such maps no vast areas yet remain upon which rivers, lakes, mountains, or other features are not depicted. If, however, we take the trouble to enquire more closely into this, and consult perhaps one of the geographers whose maps we have examined, asking such awkward questions as may occur to us on the sources of information for this region or that, we may probably by him be referred to another and older map, and so on till we find in the end that the whole topographical fabric of large parts of all these maps rests upon information of the vaguest kind. Of most of the large areas marked upon the map here shown, this is absolutely true, and the interests of knowledge with respect to these would be better subserved if such areas were left entirely blank, or, at least, if all the geographical features drawn upon them appeared in broken lines, in such a way as to show that none of them are certain. In other regions, the main geographical outlines, such as the courses of the larger rivers, are indicated approximately, with such accuracy as may be possible from accounts or itineraries derived from travellers or from officers of the Hudson's Bay Company; or from the descriptions or rough sketches of Indians or other persons by whom the region has been traversed, but who have been unprovided with instruments of any kind and whose knowledge of the country has been incidentally obtained. There is, in the case of such partially explored regions, more excuse for the delineation of the main features on our maps, as these may be useful in imparting general information of a more or less inexact kind. We can scarcely, however, admit that such regions have been explored in any true sense of that term, while they are certainly unsurveyed, and very little confidence can be placed in maps of this kind as guides in travel. When, ten years ago, I struck across from Fort Macleod, on the west side of the Rocky Mountains, with the purpose of reaching Fort Dunvegan on the Peace, through a country densely forested and without trails or tracks of any kind, I had so much confidence in the existing maps of that region as to assume that Dunvegan was at least approximately correct in position on them. As often as possible I took observations for latitude, and each night worked out our position by latitude and departure, till at a certain point I was about to turn off to the north of the line previously followed with the confident anticipation of finding Dunvegan. Just here, very fortunately, we fell in with some Indians, and though our means of communicating with them were very imperfect, we gathered enough to lead us to accept the guidance of one of them, who promised to lead us to the fort, but took an entirely different direction from that I had proposed taking. He was right, but Dunvegan proved to be, as shown on the maps, nearly forty miles west of its real position. Fortunately no very great importance attached to our reaching Dunvegan on a given day, but none the less, this practical experience proved to me very conclusively the desirability of showing features in broken lines, or otherwise indicating their uncertainty when they have not been properly fixed. It must be confessed, however, that most of the travellers ordinarily to be found in these unexplored regions, being Indians or hunters, traders and others travelling under the guidance of Indians, do not depend on the latitudes and longitudes of places, or on the respective bearings of one place from another. The Indians follow routes with which they have been familiar since childhood, or, when beyond the boundaries of their own particular region of country, go by landmarks, such as mountains, lakes, and rivers, which have been described to them by their neighbours. Their memory in this respect is remarkable; but it must be remembered that among their principal subjects of conversation when sitting about the camp-fire are the distances in day's journeys from place to place, the routes which they have followed or have known others to follow, the difficulties to be encountered on these, the points at which food of different kinds may be obtained, and the features which strike them as being remarkable in the country traversed. Returning, however, from this digression, which began with the statement that accurate maps of such regions as are at present merely traversed by traders and Indians, are not imperative from the point of view of such travellers, it may with confidence be affirmed that such maps and explorations upon which they are based are absolutely essential to civilized society, to show in the first place what the natural resources of these regions are and how they may be utilized, in the second by what highways such regions may be most easily reached. A glance at the map will show, that while many of the larger unexplored areas may be affirmed to lie to the north of the limit of profitable agriculture, considerable regions situated to the south of this limit still await examination. Large districts, again, in which no farmer will ever voluntarily settle, may afford timber which the world will be glad to get when the white pine of our nearer forests shall become more nearly exhausted, while, with respect to mineral resources, it is probable that in the grand aggregate the value of those which exist in the unexplored regions will be found, area for area, to be equal to those of the known regions, comparing each particular geological formation with its nearest representative. On the grounds alone, therefore, of geographical knowledge, and of the discovery and definition of the reserves of the country in timber and minerals, the exploration of all these unknown or little-known regions may be amply justified. Taking a line drawn north and south in the longitude of the Red River Valley, which is, as nearly as may be, the centre of Canada from east to west, it may confidently be stated that by far the larger part of the country in which agricultural settlement is possible lies to the west, while the great bulk of the actual population lies to the east of this line. Looking to this grand fundamental fact, I believe it may safely be affirmed that some members of this audience will live to see the day when these conditions with respect to population will be boldly reversed, and in which the greater number of our representatives in Parliament gathering here will come from this great western region. This disposition of the cultivable land depends partly upon the physical characteristics of the country, and in part on its climatic conditions. Beyond Winnipeg, and stretching therefrom to the west and north-west, is the great area of prairie, plain, and plateau, which, wider near the forty-ninth parallel than elsewhere on the continent, runs on in one form or other, though with diminishing width, to the Arctic Ocean. This is, generally speaking, an alluvial region, and one of fertile soils. Very fortunately, and as though by a beneficent provision of nature, the climatic features favour the utilization of this belt. The summer isothermals, which carry with them the possibility of ripening crops, trend far to the north. Let us trace, for example, and as a rough and ready index of the northern limit of practicable agriculture of any kind, that isothermal line which represents a mean temperature of 60° Fahrenheit in the month of July. Passing through the southern part of Newfoundland and touching the island of Anticosti, this line runs to the north end of Mistassini Lake, and thence crosses Hudson's Bay, striking the west shore a short distance north of York Factory. Thence it runs westward, skirting the north end of Reindeer Lake, and then bending to the north-west, crosses Great Slave Lake, and touches the southern extremity of Great Bear Lake. From this point it resumes a westward course and crosses the Yukon River a considerable distance to the north of the confluence of the Pelly and the Lewes, turning south again almost on the east line of Alaska. We need not, however, further follow its course, as owing to peculiar climatic conditions on the West Coast, it ceases there to be any criterion as to the conditions of agriculture. The character of much of the western interior country is such that its exploration and survey is comparatively easy, and it will be observed that here the larger unknown regions are to be found only far to the northward, leaving in the more rugged and inhospitable eastern region vast islands of unexplored country in much more southern latitudes. It may be said, in fact, that comparatively little of the region capable, so far as climate goes, of producing wheat is now altogether unknown; but it may be added, that increasing as the world now is in population, its people cannot much longer expect to find wheat-growing lands unoccupied in large blocks. The time is within measurable distance when lands with a fertile soil though more or less rigorous climate, in which only barley, oats, hemp, flax, and other hardy crops can be matured, will be in demand, and we are far from having acquired even a good general knowledge of these lands in Canada. For many of the unexplored regions marked upon this map, however, we can in reason appeal only to their possible or presumable mineral wealth as an incentive to their exploration, and if some of them should prove wholly or in great part barren when such exploration shall have been carried out, it will not be without utility to acquire even this negative information, and write upon them in characters as large as need be, "No thoroughfare." I will now ask your further attention for a few moments while I run over and make some remarks in detail on the various unexplored areas as indicated on the map. It must first, however, be explained in what manner the unexplored areas referred to have been outlined. All lines, such as those of rivers, chains of lakes, or other travelled routes, along which reasonably satisfactory explorations have been made and of which fairly accurate route-maps are in existence, are given an approximate average width of about fifty miles, or twenty-five miles on each side of the explorer's or surveyor's track. The known lines are thus arbitrarily assumed to be wide belts of explored country, and that which is referred to as unexplored comprises merely the intervening tracts. By this mode of definition the unexplored regions are reduced to minimum dimensions. Neither are any comparatively small tracts of country lying between explored routes included in my enumeration, in which the least area mentioned is one of 7500 square miles; nor are the Arctic islands, lying to the north of the continent, referred to. Because of the empirical mode in which the unexplored areas have thus been delineated, it has not been attempted to estimate with more than approximate accuracy the number of square miles contained in each, my purpose being merely to render apparent the great dimensions of these areas. In enumerating these areas, I shall not refer to the various explorations and lines of survey by which they are defined and separated one from another, as this would involve mention of nearly all the explorers who have traversed the northern part of the continent. I shall, however, note such excursions as have been made into or across the regions which are characterized as unexplored. Beginning, then, in the extreme north-west of the Dominion, we find these areas to be as follows:-- 1. Area between the eastern boundary of Alaska, the Porcupine River and the Arctic Coast, 9500 square miles, or somewhat smaller than Belgium. This area lies entirely within the Arctic Circle. 2. Area west of the Lewes and Yukon Rivers and extending to the boundary of Alaska, 32,000 square miles, or somewhat larger than Ireland. This country includes the head-waters of the White and probably of the Tanana Rivers, and, being comparatively low and sheltered from the sea by one of the highest mountain-ranges on the continent, the St. Elias Alps, doubtless possesses some remarkable peculiarities of climate. 3. Area between the Lewes, Pelly, and Stikine Rivers and to the east of the Coast Ranges, 27,000 square miles, or nearly as large as Scotland. This has been penetrated only by a few "prospectors," from whom, and from Indians, the courses of rivers shown on my maps published in connection with the Yukon Expedition Report are derived. It lies on the direct line of the metalliferous belt of the Cordillera, and its low lands are capable of producing hardy crops. 4. Area between the Pelly and Mackenzie Rivers, 100,000 square miles, or about twice the size of England. This belongs partly to the Yukon Basin and partly to that of the Mackenzie, and includes nearly 600 miles in length of the main Rocky Mountain Range. Many years ago, Mr. A. K. Isbister penetrated the northern part of this area for some distance on the line of the Peel River,[1] but owing to the manner in which he had to travel, but little accuracy can be attributed to his sketch of that river. Abbé Petitot also made a short journey into its northern part from the Mackenzie River side, but, with these exceptions, no published information exists respecting it. 5. Area between Great Bear Lake and the Arctic Coast, 50,000 square miles, or about equal to England in size. Nearly all to the north of the Arctic Circle. 6. Area between Great Bear Lake, the Mackenzie, and the western part of Great Slave Lake, 35,000 square miles, or larger than Portugal. With respect to this region and that last mentioned, it must be explained that I have felt some doubt whether they should be characterised as unexplored on the basis previously explained as that which is generally applied. Between 1857 and 1865, Mr. R. Macfarlane, of the Hudson's Bay Company, carried out an intelligent and valuable examination of part of the region north of Great Bear Lake, some results of which have lately been published,[2] and in both of these areas, between 1864 and 1871, the indefatigable missionary, Abbé Petitot, made numerous journeys, of which he subsequently published an account.[3] As Petitot's instruments consisted merely of a compass, and a watch which he rated by the meridian passage of the sun, it must be assumed that his mapping of the country does not possess any great accuracy. His work, however, considering the difficulties under which it was performed, is deserving of all praise, and his several descriptions of the character of the country traversed are most valuable. It does not appear from his account of these regions that they are likely to prove of great utility to civilized man, except as fur-preserves, or possibly from the minerals which they may contain. He writes: "Ce pays est composé de contrées silencieuses comme le tombeau, des plaines vastes comme des départements, des steppes glacés plus affreux que ceux de la Sibérie, de forêts chétives, rabougries comme on n'en voit que dans le voisinage des glaciers du Nord." 7. Area between Stikine and Liard Rivers to the north and Skeena and Peace Rivers to the south, 81,000 square miles, or more than twice as large as Newfoundland. This includes a portion of the western Cordillera, and, between the Liard and Peace Rivers, a large tract of the interior plateau region of the continent, parts of which, there is reason to believe, consist of good agricultural land. Its western extremity was crossed in 1866 and 1867 by the exploratory survey of the Western Union or Collins' Telegraph Company, then engaged in an attempt to connect the North American and European telegraph systems through Asia. No details of this part of their exploration have, however, been published, and if we may judge from other parts of their line, since checked, the survey made was of too rough a character to possess much geographical value. 8. Area between Peace, Athabasca, and Loon Rivers, 7500 square miles, or about half as large as Switzerland. 9. Area south-east of Athabasca Lake, 35,000 square miles. This may be compared in extent to Portugal. 10. Area east of the Coppermine River and west of Bathurst Inlet, 7,500 square miles. This again may be compared to half the area of Switzerland. 11. Area between the Arctic Coast and Back's River, 31,000 square miles, or about equal to Ireland. 12. Area surrounded by Back's River, Great Slave Lake, Athabasca Lake, Hatchet and Reindeer Lakes, Churchill River, and the west coast of Hudson's Bay, 178,000 square miles. Much larger than Great Britain and Ireland, and somewhat larger than Sweden. The lakes and rivers shown in this great region depend entirely on the result of the three journeys made by Hearne in 1769-1772.[4] Hearne really wandered through parts of this region in company with Indians whom he was unable to control, his ultimate object (which he at length accomplished) being to reach the Coppermine River, in order to ascertain for the Hudson's Bay Company whether it was possible to utilize the native copper found there. Not even roughly approximate accuracy can be assigned to his geographical work. Referring to the position of the mouth of the Coppermine, he writes:--"The latitude may be depended upon to within 20 miles at the utmost." In reality it afterwards proved to be 200 miles too far north. This country includes the great "barren grounds" of the continent, and is the principal winter resort of the musk-ox as well as of great herds of caribou. Hearne's general characterization of it is not very encouraging, but certainly we shall know more about it. He writes:--"The land throughout the whole tract of country is scarcely anything but one solid mass of rocks and stones, and in most parts very hilly, particularly to the westward, among the woods." The north-eastern extremity of this region was also crossed by Lieut. Schwatka in the course of his remarkable journey to King-William Land, but his geographical results possess little value.[5] 13. Area between Severn and Attawapishkat Rivers and the coast of Hudson's Bay, 22,000 square miles, or larger than Nova Scotia. Several lakes and rivers are shown upon the maps in this region in practically identical form since Arrowsmith's map of 1850, but I have been unable to ascertain the origin of the information. 14. Area between Trout Lake, Lac Seul, and the Albany River, 15,000 square miles, or about half the size of Scotland. 15. Area to the south and east of James Bay, 35,000 square miles, which also may be compared to the area of Portugal. This region is the nearest of those which still remain unexplored to large centres of population. It is probable that much of it consists of low land which may afford merchantable timber. 16. Area comprising almost the entire interior of the Labrador peninsula or North-east Territory, 289,000 square miles. This is more than equal to twice the area of Great Britain and Ireland, with an added area equal to that of Newfoundland. Several lines of exploration and survey have been carried for a certain distance into the interior of this great peninsula, among which may be mentioned those of Professor Hind, Mr. A. P. Low, and Mr. R. F. Holme.[6] The limits of the unexplored area have been drawn so as to exclude all these. The area regarded as still unexplored has, however, it is true, been traversed in several directions at different times by officers of the Hudson's Bay Company, particularly on routes leading from the vicinity of Mingan on the Gulf of St. Lawrence to the head of Hamilton Inlet, and thence to Ungava Bay. These routes have also, according to Mr. Holme, been travelled by a missionary, Père Lacasse; but the only published information which I have been able to find is contained in a book written by J. McLean,[7] and in a brief account of a journey by Rev. E. J. Peck.[8] Mr. McLean made several journeys and established trading-posts between Ungava and Hamilton Inlet in the years 1838-1841, while Mr. Peck crossed from Little Whale River, on Hudson Bay, to Ungava in 1884. Something may be gathered as to the general nature of the country along certain lines from the accounts given by these gentlemen, but there is little of a really satisfactory character, while neither has made any attempt to fix positions or delineate the features of the region on the map. In all probability this entire region consists of a rocky plateau or hilly tract of rounded archæan rocks, highest on the north-east side and to the south, and sloping gradually down to low land towards Ungava Bay. It is known to be more or less wooded, and in some places with timber of fair growth; but if it should be possessed of any real value, this may probably lie in its metalliferous deposits. In this tract of country particularly there is reason to hope that ores like those of Tilt Cove, in Newfoundland, or those of Sudbury, in Ontario, may occur. To sum up briefly, in conclusion, what has been said as to the larger unexplored areas of Canada, it may be stated that, while the entire area of the Dominion as computed at 3,470,257 square miles, about 954,000 square miles of the continent alone, exclusive of the inhospitable detached Arctic portions, is for all practical purposes entirely unknown. In this estimate the area of the unexplored country is reduced to a minimum by the mode of definition employed. Probably we should be much nearer the mark in assuming it as about one million square miles, or between one-third and one-fourth of the whole. Till this great aggregate of unknown territory shall have been subjected to examination, or at least till it has been broken up and traversed in many directions by exploratory and survey lines, we must all feel that it stands as a certain reproach to our want of enterprise and of a justifiable curiosity. In order, however, to properly ascertain and make known the natural resources of the great tracts lying beyond the borders of civilization, such explorations and surveys as are undertaken must be of a truly scientific character. The explorer or surveyor must possess some knowledge of geology and botany, as well as such scientific training as may enable him to make intelligent and accurate observations of any natural features or phenomena with which he may come in contact. He must not consider that his duty consists merely in the perfunctory measuring of lines and the delineation of rivers, lakes, and mountains. An explorer or surveyor properly equipped for his work need never return empty-handed. Should he be obliged to report that some particular district possesses no economic value whatever, besides that of serving as a receiver of rain and a reservoir to feed certain river-systems, his notes should contain scientific observations on geology, botany, climatology, and similar subjects, which may alone be sufficient to justify the expenditure incurred. FOOTNOTES: [1] _Some account of Peel River, North America_, by A. K. Isbister, Journ. Roy. Geog. Soc., vol. xv, 1845, p. 332. [2] _Canadian Record of Science_, Jan., 1890. [3] _Bulletin de la Société de Géographie_, Tom. x, 1875. [4] _A Journey from Prince of Wales Fort, in Hudson's Bay, to the Northern Ocean_, 1796. [5] _Schwatka's Search_, by H. W. Gilder. [6] _Explorations in Labrador_, 1863; Annual Report Geol. Surv. Can., 1887-88, Part. J; Proc. Royal Geog. Soc., 1888; Ott. Nat., Vol. iv. [7] _Notes of a Twenty-five Years' Service in the Hudson's Bay Territory_. London, 1849. [8] _Church Missionary Intelligencer_, June, 1886; Proc. Roy. Geog. Soc., 1887, p. 192. APPENDIX II I have to thank the authorities at Kew for the following list of a small collection of flowering plants that I found growing in the Barren Ground, chiefly in the neighbourhood of the head-waters of the Great Fish River. _Draba nivalis_, Liljebl.? _Oxytropis campestris_, L. (yellow and purple varieties). _Potentilla nivea_, L. _Dryas integrifolia_, L. _Saxifraga tricuspidata_, Retz. _Epilobium latifolium_, L. _Arnica angustifolia_, Vahl. _Taraxacum palustre_, DC. _Vaccinium uliginosum_, L. _Cassiope tetragona_, L. _Andromeda polifolia_, L. _Phyllodoce taxifolia_, Salisb. (_Menziesia cærulea_, Wahl.). _Ledum palustre_, L. _Loiseleuria procumbens_, Desv. _Rhododendron lapponicum_, L. _Kalmia glauca_, L. _Diapensia lapponica_, L. _Pedicularis hirsuta_, L. _Pedicularis lapponica_, L. INDEX Alaska, Southern, 231. Alberta, its prairies remembered, 196; an election of its representative, 298. America, the Eastern States of, 256. Anderson, Mr., his route referred to, vi, 36, 63, 151, 152, 171, 185, 196, 215. Arnavatn, in Iceland, 42. Arctic exploration, its records, 47. Arctic flowers, 187. Arctic fox, shot at, 40. Arctic hare, described, 68. Arctic Ocean or Sea, v, 4, 12, 20, 63, 64, 65, 178, 205, 214, 265; the best route to, 221. Arctic regions, no extraordinary thickness of clothes required in them, 104. Arrowsmith's map, compared with that issued by the Dominion Government, 216. Artillery Lake, 220, 221, 224. Athabasca district, 63, 235; its limits, 12. Athabasca Lake, 15, 16, 68, 231, 235; reached by Mr. Pike, 13; its produce, 13, 14. Athabasca River, v, 2, 3, 4, 6, 7, 11, 17, 36, 231, 293; the landing, 4, 297. Aylmer Lake, or the Lake of the Big Cliffs, 64, 178, 179, 180, 191, 213, 216, 221. Back, Sir George, vi, 36, 151, 180, 185, 215; his map, 200. Back's, or the Great Fish, River, _see_ Great Fish River. Baptiste, little, _see_ Beaulieu, Baptiste. Baptiste Testerwich, a half-breed Iroquois, 253, 255, 258, 292, 294; his daughters, the "belles" of Hudson's Hope, 258. Barren Ground, The, v, vi, 14, 15, 19, 23, 35, 48, 54, 55, 58, 63, 65, 75, 80, 84, 88, 89, 90, 91, 94, 96, 97, 99, 102, 110, 116, 122, 126, 130, 137, 143, 168, 174, 176, 177, 196, 209, 221, 225, 232, 271, 300, 302; Mr. Pike's various expeditions to it, 19-77, 99-128, 164-228; Mr. Pike's advice to future travellers there, 24; its mosses and lichens, 42; it produces one species of _Cervidæ_, 47; its birds, 175; exploration in it is ceasing, 185; its animals, 198, 199; Mr. Pike longs to return to it, 301; a list of its flowers, 320. Barrow, Thomas, 257, 261, 290, 291, 292; his house or cabin, 259, 281, 288, 289. Bathurst Inlet, 120, 191, 197, 204, 208. Battle River reached, 248. Beaulieu, Baptiste, a son of King Beaulieu, 33, 89. Beaulieu, François, a son of King Beaulieu, 22, 39, 43, 61, 79, 93, 97, 135, 136, 137, 139, 141. Beaulieu, José, brother of King Beaulieu, 234. Beaulieu, José, a son of King Beaulieu, 22, 61, 91, 92, 136, 137, 236; his love-affairs, 245. Beaulieu, King, a French half-breed and guide, 19, 32, 38, 41, 61, 66, 71, 72, 81, 82, 83, 90, 94, 95, 97, 101, 102, 128, 135, 166, 233; his character, 19, 23, 24; his father and sons, 22, 23; he calls the snow _le couvert du bon Dieu_, 62; a lake is called after him, 62; his cleverness, 73; his opinions and anecdotes, 83-88; he refuses to join the second musk-ox hunt, 97. Beaulieu, Paul, a son of King Beaulieu, 22, 39, 43, 61, 70, 79, 92, 93, 97, 101, 103, 108, 111, 118, 130. Beaulieu, Pierre, a brother of King Beaulieu, 148, 149, 233. Beaulieus, the, 33, 64, 77, 134, 136, 138; their character, 23; they are not agreeable to live with, 126; the final settlement with them, 147; they apparently try to damage Mr. Pike's chances of success, 168. Beaulieus, the young, the sons of King Beaulieu, 22, 38. Beaver tribe dying out, 253. Beavers, their actions mould geography, 155; an account of the other animals found in their country, 156, 157. Beaver Indians, their language, 251. Beechey Lake, 190, 204, 205. Biche, Lake La, 6. Big Lake, 131. Big River, the usual native name for the Slave River, 26. Blackfeet, the, 3, 132. Blue hills in the distance tempt one to push on, 207. Bloody Falls, the, 152. Boiler Rapid, the, 9. Boiling, the favourite method of cooking, 55. British Columbia, _see_ Columbia. Brick, Mr., a farmer of Smoky River, 244, 296; his mission, 249; his son, 295, 301. Buffalo bands, 156; a hunt for, 154-159. Bull-dogs, "a cross between a bee and a blue-bottle," an annoyance to the horses, 3. Bull's Head, the, 256, 289. Calgary, ix, 2, 3, 11, 298, 299; left in June, 1889, 1. California, 256. Camp, a good, 40, 126. Campbell, Mr., 228. Camsell Lake, 43, 46, 61, 76, 80, 128. Camsell, Mr., in charge of the Mackenzie River district, 20, 22, 231. Canada, Eastern, 13. Cannicannick Berry used for tobacco, 31. Canoe, a birch-bark, is a "pretty poetical thing," 197. Cap, the, 250. Capot Blanc, an Indian, 140, 168, 171, 172, 176, 181, 182, 185, 187, 188, 191, 213. Carcajou, the, is a cunning beast, 57. Caribou, the, sometimes found near the Fond du Lac, 14; Mr. Pike's prospect of finding it, 32; he finds some bands, 43, 64, 72, 76, 89, 108; _Et-then, Et-then!_ the cry on the sight of it, 44; the methods of cooking it, 44-46; it is the one specimen of _Cervidæ_ found in the Barren Ground, 47; its different species described, 47, 48; killed by Esquimaux, 56; some details of its appearance and habits, 48-60; the methods of freezing it, 67; it is killed by women and boys, 76; the cry, _La Foule, La Foule!_ when a band is in sight, 89; the most remarkable passage of caribou seen by Mr. Pike, 91. Caribou diggings, 256. Caribou-eaters, 19. Caribou gold-fields, 231. Caribou mountains, 239, 241. Carquoss, an Indian, 190, 197. Cassiar mining district, 231. Catholics, all half-breeds are, 41. Charlie, a half-breed from Quesnelle, 258, 260, 266, 270, 272, 273, 276, 277, 283, 285, 286, 288, 289, 293, 294; his character, 292. Chesterfield Inlet, 210. Chinook wind, the, 259. Chipeweyan Fort, the head-post of the Athabasca district, 5, 12, 150, 163, 231, 234, 235, 238, 241, 245; its history and present life, 13-15; trout-lines may be worked there, 14; the appearance of the country changes on leaving it, 16. Chipeweyan language, 26, 251. Christie's Bay, 30. Civilisation is degenerating, 299. Clark, Mr., arrives as Mr. Mackinlay's substitute, 163, 164. Clearwater River, the main route to the North, 11, 12. Clinton Golden Lake, or the Lake where the caribou swim among the ice, 216, 220, 223; described, 217, 218. Columbia, British, 231, 265. Company, the, _see_ Hudson's Bay Company. Cooking, the favourite method is boiling, 55. Cooper, Fenimore, 129. Coppermine River, 64, 65, 67, 72, 108, 110, 152; the Bloody Falls of, 152. Corbeau, Lac du, 43. Country, the, its nature between Calgary and Edmonton, 1, 2; and after leaving Chipeweyan, 16, 17. Crees, the, 3, 132; their language the medium of conversation on the Athabasca, 11; their lodges passed, 241. Cree-speaking belt, 26; left by Mr. Pike, 251. Cries: that on the sight of caribou, _Et-then, Et-then!_, 44; on the sight of a band of caribou, _La Foule, La Foule!_, 89; to awake a camp, _He lève, lève, il faut partir!_, 122; that of _Hi hi he, Ho hi he_, to bring out the stars, 123. Dakota blizzard, brought to Mr. Pike's mind by his experience of wind, 88. David, the Esquimaux, 162, 206, 210, 211, 271, 276; falls in love with the daughter of King Beaulieu, 168; a keen hunter, 180; his first summer outside the Arctic circle, 207. Davis, Twelvefoot, 256, 257. Dease Lake, 230. Deluge, King Beaulieu's story of the, 85-88. Dog-rib tribes, the, 32, 53, 60, 85, 90, 95, 195; a spot on their history, 72; they gamble with the Yellow-knives, 167; they are more amenable than the Yellow-knives, 300. Dogs are a trouble in winter travelling from their need of much food, 149. Dominion Day, a Canadian anniversary, 182. Dominion government's map, 216. Dunvegan, 245, 249, 250, 253, 292, 295, 296. Dupire, Father, in charge of the Catholic mission at Fort Resolution, 144, 149. Edmonton, 2, 295, 297, 298; the starting point for the territory of Hudson's Bay Company, 1; an election at, 298. Enemy, the, 81, 187. Enemy, the Lake of the, 80, 127. English is little spoken in the north, 11. English Channel, the, 229. Enterprise Fort, 65. Esquimaux, the, 186, 192, 195, 196, 204, 208, 211; they also kill the caribou, 56; they are dreaded by the Indians, 151, 152; presents for them, 164, 167, 209; signs of their camp, 201-205. Etitchula, the Indian, 135, 136. _Et-then, Et-then!_ the cry on the sight of the caribou, 44. Euclid's methods, 275. Expedition, the object of Mr. Pike's, v, vi, 70; the ceremony of commemorating one, 228. Fat, Antoine, a blind Indian, 176. Fat, Pierre, a blind Indian, 176; he appreciates scenery, 178. Findlay River, 260, 263, 265, 268, 276, 280, 295; its rapids, 264, 265, 281; its source, 265. Flett, Mr., and his family, passengers down the Athabasca, 5; in charge of Fort Smith, 234. Fond du Lac, 12, 14, 15, 28, 31, 32, 38, 40, 57, 61, 62, 79, 91, 92, 93, 96, 97, 101, 104, 120, 130, 134, 135, 136, 137, 139, 141, 144, 148, 163, 164, 166, 167, 168, 171, 176; described, 32; women and children left there, 33. Fogs, effect of, 108. Forest fires, 1. France is not sighed for by the priest of an Indian encampment, 232. François, _see_ Beaulieu, François. François the little, conducts a buffalo hunt, 154-160; his wife, 161. Franklin, Sir John, vi, 36, 77, 185, 205; his expedition, 63; his wintering-place, 65. Fraser Lake, 258. Fraser River, 231, 256. French-Canadians, their _chansons_ dying out, 10. French patois of the Red River and the North, 11, 26. Gold-dust is to be found by the Peace River, 252. Good Hope, Fort, 300. Government, motherly, defied, 3. _Grahame_, the steamer, 12, 16. _Grand Pays_, the half-breeds' name for the outside world, 82, 150. Grand Traverse, the, 141, 142. Grand Rapids, not reached by the steamer, 5; reached by Mr. Pike, 7; a description of the channel and its passage, 8-11. Gras, Lac de, 64, 70, 108, 109, 121, 175. Grease longed for in the cold, 55. Great Bear Lake, 68. Great Fish or Back's River, 36, 64, 115, 151, 152, 162, 164, 168, 171, 180, 184, 185, 188, 204, 205, 221. Great Slave Lake, _see_ Slave Lake. Great Slave River, _see_ Slave River. Gros Cap, 148. Gunn, Mr., of St. John's, 251; he knew Beaver Indian tongue, 252. Half-breeds are all Catholics, 41. Half-way River, 251. Halket Fort, 231. Hanging Rock, the Lake of, 93. Hardistay, Mr. Frank, 296. Hay River, 156. Hearne, Mr., vi, 36, 152; his _Journey to the Northern Ocean_, 50. _Hi hi he, Ho hi he!_ the cry for the stars, 123. _Ho lève, lève, il faut partir!_ the cry for arousing a camp, 122. Hood, vi. Hospitality is in inverse proportion to a man's means, 143. Hudson's Bay, 48, 50, 223. Hudson's Bay Company, or The Company, v, 1, 3, 14, 50, 52, 82, 83, 84, 99, 131, 156, 197, 210, 226, 228, 231, 238, 240, 250, 253, 296; Mr. Pike's gratitude to the officers of, for their hospitality, viii, 142, 143; one of their early trading posts, 2; their steamers are well-managed, 17; they bring a certain amount of civilisation, 25; their duffel _capotes_, 52; their compressed tea not good to smoke, 136; they are fair to the Indians, 242, 243. Hudson's Bay Fort on Macleod's Lake, 260. Hudson's Hope, 249, 250, 252, 265, 291, 294, 295; visited, 253-257. Iceland, 42. Inconnu, a fish found only in the Mackenzie River, 29. "Indian, the burnt," his bad luck, 221, 222. Indians, the great northern territory is their hunting-ground, 1; they are more easily managed than the half-breeds, 7; they are sent from Locheaux to man the "inland boats," 7; they cannot find their way in snow, 122; they are very improvident, 131, seq.; they are peaceable by nature, 145; they dread the Esquimaux, 152; their women quarrel, 172; they imitate birds very well, 172; some of them show themselves much interested in the skin of a seal, an animal they had never seen, 202; they have a stupid love of killing, 209; intoxicating drink may not be given to them, 226. Inland boats described, 6. John, 258, 268, 270, 271, 276, 277, 278, 280, 281, 283, 285, 288, 292; he visits Mr. Pike, 246-254; his character, 246, 247. John, Saint, _see_ Saint John. José, _see_ Beaulieu, José. José, the brother-in-law of Zinto, 171, 173. Kennedy, Alick, a good _voyageur_, 295. Khartoum, 296. King, _see_ Beaulieu, King. King Lake, 62, 127. Labrador tea, 41, 194, 275, 283. _La Foule, la Foule!_ the cry on the sight of a caribou band, 89. Languages, those of the North, 11; those beyond the Cree-speaking belt on the Mackenzie, 26. Lard, Lac du, 36. Lawrence, Mr., a farmer of Vermillion, 244. Lesser Slave Lake, 4, 6, 249, 250, 261, 292, 296, 297. Liard River, 155, 156, 230, 231, 251. Little Buffalo River, 145, 158; it is impregnated with sulphur, 158. Little Red River, in Athabasca district, 12; its beautiful scenery, 240. Little River, 266, 276. Little Slave River, 145, 297. Locheaux language, 26. Lockhart's house, 164. Lockhart's or Outram River, 63, 64, 70, 178, 179, 212, 214, 215, 224; different opinions of its route, 216. Lockhart, Pierre, a guide, 164, 171. Lower Peace River, 235. Lynx and rabbits, their periodic dying out, 293. Macdonald, Ewen, the chief of the Peace River district, 250. Macdonald, Walter, son of Ewen MacDonald, 261, 291, 294, 296. Macdougall, 228. Macfarlane, 228. Mackay, Dr., in charge of the Athabasca district, 12, 17, 18, 63, 240; a visit from him, 150, 151; he sends presents, 163; he is absent, 235; he is met by Mr. Pike, 238. Mackay, Lake, or the Lake of the Hanging Rock, 63, 64, 70, 72, 75, 80, 89, 92, 99, 106, 125, 178, 179, 220; described, 63. Mackay, Mr., a Company's clerk, 7, 8. Mackay, Murdo, a servant at Fort Resolution who accompanies Mr. Pike, 146, 151, 162, 206, 233, 236, 239, 246, 247, 258, 270, 273, 278, 282, 283, 292. Mackenzie, Sir Alex., 13, 253. Mackenzie River, or _La Grande Rivière en Bas_, v, 4, 10, 18, 19, 20, 36, 48, 50, 60, 142, 180, 230, 233, 265, 300; its origin, 16; the languages spoken along its banks, 26. Mackinlay, Mr., in charge of Fort Resolution, 22, 144, 148, 162, 189, 193, 197, 206, 209, 213, 228, 233, 234; joins Mr. Pike in expedition to the Barren Ground, 151. Mackinlay, Mrs., 144. Macleod, Fort, 266, 271, 277, 278. Macleod's Lake, 231, 237, 254, 258, 259, 261, 266, 276, 291, 295; Hudson's Bay Fort on it, 260. Macleod's River, 266, 271, 273, 276. MacMurray, Fort, 7; Mr. Pike starts for it, 9; reaches it, 11; it is the most southerly post of the Athabasca district, 12; it is near some natural tar deposits, 13. Mandeville, François, the brother of Michel Mandeville, 225. Mandeville, Michel, the interpreter at Fort Resolution, 146, 148, 151. Mandeville, Moise, the brother of Michel Mandeville, who joins Mr. Pike, 151, 162, 168, 179, 183, 197; is a good steersman, 198. Maps, those of Mr. Pike are not very accurate, vii. Marble Island, 210. Marlo, the brother of Zinto, 97, 102, 111, 114, 116, 134, 139, 168, 181, 190, 197. Michel, a son-in-law of King Beaulieu, 33, 46, 61, 92, 93, 97, 104, 110, 130, 134, 139. Misère, Point de, 67, 72, 78, 108. Mission Island, 144, 228, 229, 230. Moberley's Lake, 292, 294. Moise, _see_ Mandeville, Moise. Montaignais dialect of Chipeweyan language, 26. Moose Island, 144. Mort, Lac de, 37, 92, 134. Mouse chased for a caribou, 107. Murdo, _see_ Mackay, Murdo. Muskeg country ends at the Point of Rocks, 27. Musk-ox, 69, 70; the object of Mr. Pike's journey, v, vi; to be sought on the Barren Ground, 23; the first killed, 69; birds seen during the hunt for them, 68; an expedition in search of them, 61 seq.; a band of them, 113; the method of slaughtering them is unpleasant, 116; their horns described, 119; a description of a hunt for them, 181-183; they are said to understand the Yellow-knife language, 183; advice to hunters of them, 300, 301. Musk-ox, the giant, 81. Musk-ox Lake, 185, 186, 187, 188, 194, 212, 214. Musk-ox Mountain, 188; it is the limit of the Yellow-knives' hunting-ground, 186. Nation River, 291. Nelson Fort, 156, 251. New Year's Day, an occasion of trade, 139, 146. Nile, the, 296. Noel, an Indian, who joins Mr. Pike's expedition, 97, 111, 112, 115, 181, 190, 197, 205, 217. Northern Packet, the, 150. North-West Company, the, 14. Old Wives' Lake, 296. Omineca, 265, 291. Orkney Island, 5. Ottawa, 13, 244, 298. Outram River, _see_ Lockhart's River. Pacific, Canadian Railway, 11, 271. Pacific Coast, 209; routes to, 231. Pacific Ocean, 265. Paradox gun, its uses, 137, 138. Parsnip River, 260, 263, 266, 267, 270, 271, 276, 277, 291, 295; its source, 265; its method of freezing, 268. Pat, a Sicannee, 258, 260, 266, 271, 272, 273, 274, 276, 277, 283, 286, 292, 293, 294, 295. Paul, _see_ Beaulieu, Paul. Peace River, 4, 16, 155, 156, 209, 231, 237, 240, 242, 244, 245, 246, 248, 249, 251, 252, 253, 256, 265, 293, 294, 297; one of the easiest northern waterways, 238; farmers should not be tempted to it, 244-246; gold-dust is found on its banks, 252. Peace River, the Lower, 236. Peace River Pass, 278, 285, 301. Peel's River, a tributary of the Mackenzie, 20, 162. Peel's River Fort, 208. Peter, an Indian, who joined Mr. Pike's expedition, 97, 111, 115, 116. Pike, Mr. Warburton: the object of his journey is to see the musk-ox, v, vi; his conveyance and outfit, 1; he starts from Calgary for Edmonton, the entrance of the Hudson's Bay Company's territory, 1; his French half-breed driver, 2, 3; he reaches Athabasca Landing and starts down the river, 4; he reaches the island at the head of the Grand Rapids, 7; he starts for MacMurray Fort, 9, and reaches it, 11; he reaches Athabasca Lake, 13; he starts for Fort Smith, on the Great Slave Lake, 16, and reaches it, 18; he makes preparations for the actual journey to the Barren Ground, and engages the Beaulieu family as guides and servants, 19; he leaves the Company's main route at Fort Resolution, 24; he takes too few provisions, 25; the details of his outfit, his fleet, and his companions, 25, 26; he picks up a little of the Montaignais dialect, 26; he encamps in the delta of the Slave River, 26, 27; he reaches Fond du Lac, 31, where the women, children, and as much baggage as possible are left behind, 33; he leaves the Great Slave Lake, and contemplates the country he has just left and that towards which he is journeying, 35; he takes a new route and names new lakes, 36; a good caribou hunt, 43 seq.; he approaches the genuine Barren Ground, 46; a chapter on the caribou, 47-60; he makes an expedition from Lake Camsell in search of the musk-ox, 61; he shoots his first musk-ox, 69, 70; he concludes that it would be reckless to push further North, and turns back, 71; he reaches Lake Camsell again, 76; plans for the next musk-ox hunt, 79; King Beaulieu's theories and anecdotes, 81-88; a remarkable passage of the caribou, 89-91; a visit of the chief Zinto and his followers, 93; arrangements for the second musk-ox hunt, 96, 97; he starts, 99; his first winter camp in the Barren Ground, 101-104; a description of the country, 105-110; he is in difficulties for food, 110; the musk-ox come in sight and are killed, 112-116; the land of the musk-ox, 117; another band of musk-ox killed, 118; their horns described, 119; the return road is lost in the snow, 122, but found the next morning, 123; he reaches Lake Camsell again and goes on towards Fond du Lac, 128; he visits Zinto's camp, 129 seq.; he sleeps at Fond du Lac on his road to the Great Slave Lake, 139; he is joined by more Indians, 140, 141; he reaches Fort Resolution and comparative civilisation, 143; some account of the Fort, 143-147; he makes a small expedition for caribou with Mackinlay, 148; he makes plans for a summer trip to the Barren Ground, 150 seq.; he goes on a short buffalo hunt with Mackinlay, 154-162; the difficulties in starting for the Barren Ground, 162, 163; he leaves Fort Resolution,164; he leaves the great Slave Lake with Mackinlay and some of the Indians, 174; a new method of hunting the musk-ox, 181; he makes little expeditions, one with Capot Blanc, 187 seq.; a division of the party before going further down the Great Fish River, 190; Syene, the medicine man, prophesies, 191 seq.; two of the Indians desert, 197; he turns up-stream, 204; he explores a new tributary, 205-208; he leaves presents in a deserted Esquimaux camp, 209; the return journey, 216-230; he cannot stay long at Fort Resolution, and makes plans for his journey up-stream, to cross the Rocky Mountains, and if possible reach the Pacific, 231; he decides between the routes and starts, 232; he enters Athabasca Lake, 235; he camps at Quatre Fourches, 237; he turns westward up the Peace River, 238; he reaches Vermillion Fort, 241; his difficulties in getting a crew, 245 seq.; he reaches Dunvegan, 249, and St. John's, 251; he leaves the Cree-speaking belt and enters that of the Beaver Indians, 251; his first glimpse of the Rockies, 252; he reaches Hudson's Hope, 253; he camps at the head of the Cañon, 258; a change in the wind prevents his making use of sleighs, 259; he begins a more detailed account of his winter in the Rockies, 260; a dangerous journey to the Findlay Rapids, 263, 264; a glance at his geographical position, 265; he discovers that the road is lost, 272 seq.; a search for food, 274; he begins to retrace his way, 276; his decision concerning the Indians who steal the rations, 284, 285; he reaches Tom Barrow's house, 290; he leaves Hudson's Hope for Edmonton, 295, which he reaches during an election, 298; he writes the last words in St. James's Street, giving advice to musk-ox hunters and longing for the Barren Ground, 299 seq. Pierre, _see_ Beaulieu, Pierre. Pierre, Blind, _see_ Fat, Pierre. Pierre the Fool, 218, 219, 223, 224; his description of the country east of Clinton Golden Lake, 223. Pierre, an Indian boy, the son of little François, 159. Pierre, Ile de, 141, 142, 166, 229; a good spot for fishing, 27. Pine River, 294. Pine River Pass, 292. Poplar Rapid, 262, 265, 287. Portage, the Long, 12; the work of portaging described, 17, 18. "Prairie, the bald-headed," a term of the cattlemen, 2. Proverb of the North, a, 267. Ptarmigan plentiful, 44. Ptarmigan Lake, 219. Quatre Fourches, 16, 237. Quesnelle, 231, 246, 250, 258, 271, 292. Rabbit and lynx, their periodic decease, 293. Rae, Dr., vi. Rae, Fort, 95, 148, 167, a good starting-point for the Barren Ground, 299. Raven, a superstition concerning the, 66. Red-deer, the stream of, 2. Reid, Mr., of Fort Province, told King Beaulieu that the earth went round the sun, 83. Resolution, Fort, on the Great Slave Lake, the northern limit of the Athabasca district, 12, 22, 24, 50, 59, 97, 130, 150, 154, 163, 167, 185, 210, 225, 227, 228, 230, 232, 233; Mr. Pike returns to it, 143; its history and present life, 144, 145; it is not perhaps the best starting-point for the Barren Ground, 300. Richardson, vi. Riel, Louis, his rebellion, 83. Rocher, Lac du, 38, 39, 63, 73, 91, 128; it is a haunt of the caribou, 39; trout are caught in it, 39; its products and geological structure, 41, 42; it is like the desert of Arnavatn in Iceland, 42. Rocks, Point of, the end of the Muskeg country, 27. Rocky Mountains, the, v, ix, 1, 143, 155, 209, 231, 237, 238, 241, 248, 250, 260, 265, 272, 281, 291, 294; the first glimpse of, 252, 253; Mr. Pike's attempt to cross them, 232-272. Round, Mr., in charge of Dunvegan, 250. Saint James's Street, 299. Saint John, Fort, often called St. John's, 156, 249, 251, 252, 253, 294, 295. Salt River, 19, 21. Saltatha, an Indian who joins Mr. Pike's expedition, 97, 109, 111, 112, 114, 115, 120, 122, 123, 168, 171, 172, 193, 195, 197, 202, 203, 208, 217, 219, 226; his energy, 105, 190; his character, 115; his illness and its cure by brandy, 211, 227; his friendly parting with Mr. Pike, 232; his answer to the priest concerning the beauties of heaven, 302. Sandy Bay, 180, 275. Saskatchewan River, 2, 4. Shooting etiquette must be abandoned among the Indians, 159. Sicannee fashion of burying, 269, 279. Simpson, Fort, 230. Simpson, Mr. Scott, in charge of river transport, 6. Simpson, Sir G., 253. Simpson's group of islands, 28. Slave or Great Slave Lake, vii, 13, 15, 16, 20, 21, 25, 36, 40, 41, 42, 44, 48, 50, 63, 68, 84, 85, 88, 131, 148, 155, 156, 172, 176, 178, 191, 213, 215, 218, 219, 221, 223, 225, 228, 242, 248, 300, 301; Mr. Pike's journey on, finished, 34; his last view of, 35; the vegetation on its banks, 30, 31; it is a charming place to live on, 232. [There is a Lesser Slave Lake, _see_ "Lesser."] Slave or Big River, 16, 26, 48, 142, 233, 238; its rapids, 12; described, 21; its wild-fowl, 27. [There is also a Little Slave River, _see_ "Little."] Slavi language, 26. Sleighs of the North described, 99-101. Smith, Fort, in Athabasca district, 12, 21, 29, 48, 145, 156, 158, 161, 163, 231, 234, 236, 245; Mr. Pike starts for it, 16; the game near it, 18; described, 18. Smoking, the Company's compressed tea not recommended, 136. Smoky River, a tributary of the Peace, 249, 295, 296. Snow, called _le couvert du bon Dieu_ by Beaulieu, 62; prevents the Indians from finding their way, 122. Snow-blindness, its cause and cures, 175. Stars, supposed to be brought out by the cry _Hi hi he, Ho hi he_, 123. Stewart, Mr., vi, 36, 63, 171, 184, 195. Sunday wash, the, 79. Superstitions, concerning the caribou, 59; and miracles, 133. Syene, an Indian medicine man, 152, 168, 222; he prophesies, 191, 192. Syene, Mrs., assists at the prophesying, 191. Tête Jaune Pass, 293. Tête Noire's House, 166. Thomas, an Indian, the brother of Zinto, 141; he is a good guide, 142. Tobacco, is missed more than tea, 120, 121; the various kinds in use among the Indians, 31; it may be made from Cannicannick berry, 31. Vermillion, Fort, in Athabasca district, 12, 156, 236, 238, 240, 241, 242, 247, 248, 249; described, 241-244. Walls of meat, as in a fairy tale, 76, 77. Whisky Jack, the ways of the, 134, 135. William, an Indian who joined Mr. Pike's expedition, 97, 111, 112, 114. Willows pulled up for firewood, 121. Wilson, Mr., of Vermillion Fort, 245, 246. Winnipeg, vii, 11, 144, 214, 296. Wolves and wolverines, 57, 89; their ways of stealing, 45, 128; they hunt the caribou, 56, 57. Women, given the heaviest loads, 38; their hard work and usefulness, 81; they are treated better by half-breeds than by Indians, 82. Wood, Mr., in charge of the Athabasca landing, 5. Wrangel Fort, 231. _Wrigley_, the, a steamer on the Mackenzie, 10, 19, 231, 233; her make and work, 20. Yellow-knife river, 36, 63. Yellow-knife tribe, 32, 37, 48, 53, 60, 66, 72, 85, 86, 92, 95, 96, 115, 152, 195, 202, 211, 214; their etiquette in hunts, 111; their encampment, 131 seq.; the kind of husband most desired among them, 133; their dancing, 147, 148; their gambling with the Dog-Ribs, 167; their stupidity and cowardice outside their own country, 197; their language, 213; they are less amenable than the Dog-Ribs, 300. York Boat, its peculiarities, 228, 229. York factory, 50. Zinto, a chief of the Yellow-knives, 96, 97, 129, 130; his visit to Mr. Pike and his speech, 93-95; his camp and people, 129-134; he makes promises of help, 152, 153; but does not fulfil them, 163, 164, 167. INDEX TO APPENDIX I Alaska, 309. Anticosti, 309. Areas in the Dominion of Canada unexplored, 311-319. Canada, 310. Dunvegan, 306. Exploration still possible and useful, 304. Great Bear Lake, 309. Great Slave Lake, 309. Hudson's Bay, 309. Hudson's Bay Company, 305. Lewes, 309. Macleod Fort, 306. Maps proved wrong, 306. Mistassini, 309. Newfoundland, 309. Pelly, 309. Red River Valley, 308. Reindeer Lake, 309. Rocky Mountains, the, 306. Winnipeg, 308. York Factory, 309. Yukon River, 309. * * * * * THE WORKS OF SAMUEL BUTLER =The Note-Books of Samuel Butler, Author of "Erewhon."= Selections arranged and edited by HENRY FESTING JONES. New Edition, with an Introduction by FRANCIS HACKETT, and a portrait _net_, $2.00 =Alps and Sanctuaries of Piedmont and the Canton Ticino.= New edition with the author's revisions. Edited by R. A. STREATFEILD. With 85 drawings chiefly by the author _net_, 2.00 =Life and Habit= _net_, 1.50 =Unconscious Memory.= A new edition with an Introduction by Prof. MARCUS HARTOG _net_, 1.50 =The Way of All Flesh.= A novel. 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The high spiritual idealism which actuates so many thousands in the ranks of the Allies finds a voice in it, and the mental attitude of the fighting-men towards religion, the Church, their officers and their comrades, is exhibited not only with sanity and sympathy, but with a fine simplicity of language and an inspiring nobility of outlook. _Twenty-four thousand copies of this book were sold in the first month of its publication in England_ Net $1.50 E. P. DUTTON AND COMPANY 681 FIFTH AVENUE NEW YORK CITY _The Inspiration of the German People when they awake from their present Nightmare._ The Coming Democracy By HERMANN FERNAU An examination, searching and merciless, of Germany's mediæval dynastic and political system, by the author of "Because I Am a German," and a demand for reforms which all civilized countries of the world have enjoyed for decades. 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NORMANDY: _Falaise_, _Gaillard_, _Arcques-la-Bataille_ & _Mont-Saint-Michel_. BRITTANY: _Saint-Jean-du-Doigt_, _La Faouët_, _Dinan_ & _Josselin_. QUERCY: _Cahors_ & _Rocamadour_. LANGUEDOC: _Najac_, _Carcassonne_ & _Lastours_. PROVENCE: _Arles_, _Montmajour_ & _Les Baux_. SAVOIE: _Miolans_. AUVERGNE: _Le Puy_. PICARDIE: _Laon_. LA BEAUCE: _Chartres_. TOURAINE: _Chinon_, _Amboise_, _Blois_ & _Loches_. Net $2.00 E. P. DUTTON AND COMPANY 681 FIFTH AVENUE NEW YORK CITY * * * * * Transcriber's note: Obvious punctuation errors were corrected. Hyphen added: birch[-]bark (p. 38), foot[-]hills (p. ix), mid[-]day (p. 3), north[-]east (p. 65), sand[-]bars (p. 13), snow[-]shoes (pp. 82, 92), south[-]east (p. 30), up[-]stream (p. 209). Hyphen removed: back[-]bone (p. 53), cattle[-]men (p. 331), land[-]marks (p. 307), medicine[-]man (pp. 330, 332), over[-]land (p. 7), pin[-]tail (p. 175). The following words appear both with and without hyphens and have not been changed: deer[-]skin(s), gun[-]shot, half[-]way, snow[-]drift(s), snow[-]time, Store[-]room, touch[-]wood, wild[-]fowl, wind[-]bound. P. 23: "prosspect" changed to "prospect" (the prospect of finding the musk-ox). P. 41: "buerre" changed to "beurre" (le pain avec le beurre). P. 67: "afternon" changed to "afternoon" (well on in the next afternoon). P. 94: "suppose" changed to "supposed" (but supposed there was some good reason). P. 104: "let" changed to "left" (have left us houseless). P. 124: "feul" changed to "fuel" (fuel was rapidly vanishing). P. 130: "abtruse" changed to "abstruse" (more abstruse subjects). P. 131: "scare" changed to "scarce" (when the caribou are scarce). P. 142: "sankbanks" changed to "sandbanks" (mostly inside sandbanks). P. 143: "semed" changed to "seemed" (How strange it seemed). P. 151: "winter" changed to "water" (to descend the Great Fish River with the first open water). P. 187: "debateable" changed to "debatable" (there was a debatable ground). P. 191: "tighty" changed to "tightly" (tightly-stretched deer-skin). P. 216: "was" changed to "we" (we passed into the short stretch of river). P. 221: "roughtly" changed to "roughly" (we reckoned roughly). P. 226: "given" changed to "give" (forbids a white man to give an Indian). P. 238: "and" deleted (end in dry sand [and] instead of running). P. 244: "hgher" changed to "higher" (higher up at Smoky River). P. 249: "Lukily" changed to "Luckily" (Luckily whitefish are very plentiful). P. 321: "Baptiste Testerwick" changed to "Baptiste Testerwich". 
35659	----	VOYAGES from MONTREAL THROUGH THE CONTINENT of NORTH AMERICA TO THE FROZEN and PACIFIC OCEANS IN 1789 and 1793 WITH AN ACCOUNT OF THE RISE AND STATE OF THE FUR TRADE By ALEXANDER MACKENZIE WITH MAP IN TWO VOLUMES VOL. II. NEW YORK A. S. BARNES AND COMPANY 1903 Registered at the Library of Congress, August, 1902 A. S. BARNES & COMPANY Table of Contents. CHAPTER I. Removed from the tent to the house. Build habitations for the people. The hardships they suffer. Violent hurricane. Singular circumstances attending it. The commencement of the new year. An Indian cured of a dangerous wound. State of the weather. Curious customs among the Indians, on the death of a relation. Account of a quarrel. An Indian's reasoning on it. Murder of one of the Indians. The cause of it. Some account of the Rocky Mountain Indians. Curious circumstance respecting a woman in labour, etc. A dispute between two Indians, which arose from gaming. An account of one of their games. Indian superstition. Mildness of the season. The Indians prepare snow shoes. Singular customs. Further account of their manners. The slavish state of the women. Appearance of spring. Dispatch canoes with the trade to Fort Chepewyan. Make preparations for the voyage of discovery. CHAPTER II. Proceed on the voyage of discovery. Beautiful scenery. The canoe too heavily laden. The country in a state of combustion. Meet with a hunting party. State of the river, etc. Meet with Indians. See the tracks of bears, and one of their dens. Sentiment of an Indian. Junction of the Bear River. Appearance of the country. State of the river. Observe a fall of timber. Abundance of animals. See some bears. Come in sight of the rocky mountains. The canoe receives an injury and is repaired. Navigation dangerous. Rapids and falls. Succession of difficulties and dangers. CHAPTER III. Continuation of difficulties and dangers. Discontents among the people. State of the river and its banks. Volcanic chasms in the earth. Dispatch various persons to discover ways across the mountain. Obstacles present themselves on all sides. Preparations made to attempt the mountain. Account of the ascent with the canoe and baggage. The trees that are found there. Arrive at the river. Extraordinary circumstances of it. Curious hollows in the rocks. Prepare the canoe. Renew our progress up the river. The state of it. Leave some tokens of amity for the natives. The weather very cold. Lost a book of my observations for several days. Continue to proceed up the river. Send a letter down the current in a rum-keg. Came to the forks, and proceed up the Eastern branch. Circumstances of it. CHAPTER IV. Continue our voyage. Heavy fog. The water rises. Succession of courses. Progressive account of this branch. Leave the canoe to proceed, and ascend a hill to reconnoitre. Climb a tree to extend my view of the country. Return to the River. The canoe not arrived. Go in search of it. Extreme heat, musquitoes, etc. Increasing anxiety, respecting the canoe. It at length appears. Violent storm. Circumstances of our progress. Forced to haul the canoe up the stream by the branches of trees. Succession of courses. Wild parsnips along the river. Expect to meet with natives. Courses continued. Fall in with some natives. Our intercourse with them. Account of their dress, arms, utensils, and manners, etc. New discouragements and difficulties present themselves. CHAPTER V. Continue the voyage. State of the river. Succession of courses. Sentiment of the guide. Conical mountain. Continuation of courses. Leave the main branch. Enter another. Description of it. Saw beaver. Enter a lake. Arrive at the upper source of the Unjigah, or Peace River. Land, and cross to a second lake. Local circumstances. Proceed to a third lake. Enter a river. Encounter various difficulties. In danger of being lost. The circumstances of that situation described. Alarm and dissatisfaction among the people. They are at length composed. The canoe repaired. Roads cut through woods. Pass morasses. The guide deserts. After a succession of difficulties, dangers, and toilsome marches, we arrive at the great river. CHAPTER VI. Rainy night. Proceed on the great river. Circumstances of it. Account of courses. Come to rapids. Observe several smokes. See a flight of white ducks. Pass over a carrying-place with the canoe, etc. The difficulties of that passage. Abundance of wild onions. Re-embark on the river. See some of the natives. They desert their camp and fly into the woods. Courses continued. Kill a red deer, etc. Circumstances of the river. Arrive at an Indian habitation. Description of it. Account of a curious machine to catch fish. Land to procure bark for the purpose of constructing a new canoe. Conceal a quantity of pemmican for provision on our return. Succession of courses. Meet with some of the natives. Our intercourse with them. Their information respecting the river, and the country. Description of those people. CHAPTER VII. Renew our voyage, accompanied by two of the natives. Account of courses. State of the river. Arrive at a subterranean house. See several natives. Brief description of them. Account of our conference with them. Saw other natives. Description of them. Their conduct, etc. The account which they gave of the country. The narrative of a female prisoner. The perplexities of my situation. Specimen of the language of two tribes. Change the plan of my journey. Return up the river. Succession of dangers and difficulties. Land on an island to build another canoe. CHAPTER VIII. Make preparations to build a canoe. Engage in that important work. It proceeds with great expedition. The guide who had deserted arrives with another Indian. He communicates agreeable intelligence. They take an opportunity to quit the island. Complete the canoe. Leave the island, which was now named the Canoe Island. Obliged to put the people on short allowance. Account of the navigation. Difficult ascent of a rapid. Fresh perplexities. Continue our voyage up the river. Meet the guide and some of his friends. Conceal some pemmican and other articles. Make preparations for proceeding over land. Endeavour to secure the canoe till our return. Proceed on our journey. Various circumstances of it. CHAPTER IX. Continue our journey. Embark on a river. Come to a weir. Dexterity of the natives in passing it. Arrive at a village. Alarm occasioned among the natives. The subsequent favourable reception, accompanied with a banquet of ceremony. Circumstances of it. Description of a village, its houses, and places of devotion. Account of the customs, mode of living, and superstition of the inhabitants. Description of the chief's canoe. Leave the place, and proceed on our voyage. CHAPTER X. Renew our voyage. Circumstances of the river. Land at the house of a chief. Entertained by him. Carried down the river with great rapidity to another house. Received with kindness. Occupations of the inhabitants on its banks. Leave the canoe at a fall. Pass over land to another village. Some account of it. Obtain a view of an arm of the sea. Lose our dog. Procure another canoe. Arrive at the arm of the sea. Circumstances of it. One of our guides returns home. Coast along a bay. Some description of it. Meet with Indians. Our communication with them. Their suspicious conduct towards us. Pass onwards. Determine the latitude and longitude. Return to the river. Dangerous encounter with the Indians. Proceed on our journey. CHAPTER XI. Return up the river. Slow progress of the canoe, from the strength of the current. The hostile party of the natives precedes us. Impetuous conduct of my people. Continue our very tedious voyage. Come to some houses; received with great kindness. Arrive at the principal, or Salmon Village. Our present reception very different from that we experienced on our former visit. Continue our journey. Circumstances of it. Find our dog. Arrive at the Upper, or Friendly Village. Meet with a very kind reception. Some further account of the manners and customs of its inhabitants. Brief vocabulary of their language. CHAPTER XII. Leave the Friendly Village. Attentions of the natives at our departure. Stop to divide our provisions. Begin to ascend the mountains. Circumstances of the ascent. Journey continued. Arrive at the place from whence we set out by land. Meet with Indians there. Find the canoe, and all the other articles in a state of perfect security and preservation. Means employed to compel the restoration of articles which were afterwards stolen. Proceed on our homeward bound voyage. Some account of the natives on the river. The canoe is run on a rock, etc. Circumstances of the voyage. Enter the Peace River. Statement of courses. Continue our route. Circumstances of it. Proceed onwards in a small canoe, with an Indian, to the lower fort, leaving the rest of the people to follow me. Arrive at Fort Chepewyan. The voyage concluded. CHAPTER I. DECEMBER 23, 1792. I this day removed from the tent into the house which had been erected for me, and set all the men to begin the buildings intended for their own habitation. Materials sufficient to erect a range of five houses for them, of about seventeen by twelve feet, were already collected. It would be considered by the inhabitants of a milder climate, as a great evil, to be exposed to the weather at this rigorous season of the year, but these people are inured to it, and it is necessary to describe in some measure the hardships which they undergo without a murmur, in order to convey a general notion of them. The men who were new with me, left this place in the beginning of last May, and went to the Rainy Lake in canoes, laden with packs of fur, which, from the immense length of the voyage, and other concurring circumstances, is a most severe trial of patience and perseverance: there they do not remain a sufficient time for ordinary repose, when they take a load of goods in exchange, and proceed on their return, in a great measure, day and night. They had been arrived near two months, and, all that time, had been continually engaged in very toilsome labour, with nothing more than a common shed to protect them from the frost and snow. Such is the life which these people lead; and is continued with unremitting exertion, till their strength is lost in premature old age. The Canadians remarked, that the weather we had on the 25th, 26th, and 27th of this month, denoted such as we might expect in the three succeeding months. On the 29th, the wind being at North-East, and the weather calm and cloudy, a rumbling noise was heard in the air like distant thunder, when the sky cleared away in the South-West; from whence there blew a perfect hurricane, which lasted till eight. Soon after it commenced, the atmosphere became so warm that it dissolved all the snow on the ground; even the ice was covered with water, and had the same appearance as when it is breaking up in the spring. From eight to nine the weather became calm, but immediately after a wind arose from the North-East with equal violence, with clouds, rain, and hail, which continued throughout the night till the evening of the next day, when it turned to snow. One of the people who wintered at Fort Dauphin in the year 1780, when the small pox first appeared there, informed me, that the weather there was of a similar description. _January 1, 1793._--On the first day of January, my people, in conformity to the usual custom, awoke me at the break of day with the discharge of fire-arms, with which they congratulated the appearance of the new year. In return, they were treated with plenty of spirits, and when there is any flour, cakes are always added to their regales, which was the case, on the present occasion. On my arrival here last fall, I found that one of the young Indians had lost the use of his right hand by the bursting of a gun, and that his thumb had been maimed in such a manner as to hang only by a small strip of flesh. Indeed, when he was brought to me, his wound was in such an offensive state, and emitted such a putrid smell, that it required all the resolution I possessed to examine it. His friends had done every thing in their power to relieve him; but as it consisted only in singing about him, and blowing upon his hand, the wound, as may be well imagined, had got into the deplorable state in which I found it. I was rather alarmed at the difficulty of the case, but as the young man's life was in a state of hazard, I was determined to risk my surgical reputation, and accordingly took him under my care. I immediately formed a poultice of bark, stripped from the roots of the spruce-fir, which I applied to the wound, having first washed it with the juice of the bark: this proved a very painful dressing: in a few days, however, the wound was clean, and the proud flesh around it destroyed. I wished very much in this state of the business to have separated the thumb from the hand, which I well knew must be effected before the cure could be performed; but he would not consent to that operation, till, by the application of vitriol, the flesh by which the thumb was suspended, was shrivelled almost to a thread. When I had succeeded in this object, I perceived that the wound was closing rather faster than I desired. The salve I applied on the occasion was made of the Canadian balsam, wax and tallow dropped from a burning candle into water. In short, I was so successful, that about Christmas my patient engaged in a hunting party, and brought me the tongue of an elk: nor was he finally ungrateful. When he left me I received the warmest acknowledgments, both from himself and his relations with whom he departed, for my care of him. I certainly did not spare my time or attention on the occasion, as I regularly dressed his wound three times a day, during the course of a month. On the 5th in the morning the weather was calm, clear, and very cold; the wind blew from the South-West, and in the course of the afternoon it began to thaw. I had already observed at Athabasca, that this wind never failed to bring us clear mild weather, whereas, when it blew from the opposite quarter, it produced snow. Here it is much more perceptible, for if it blows hard South-West for four hours, a thaw is the consequence, and if the wind is at North-East it brings sleet and snow. To this cause it may be attributed, that there is now so little snow in this part of the world. These warm winds come off the Pacific Ocean, which cannot, in a direct line, be very far from us; the distance being so short, that though they pass over mountains covered with snow, there is not time for them to cool. There being several of the natives at the house at this time, one of them, who had received an account of the death of his father, proceeded in silence to his lodge, and began to fire off his gun. As it was night, and such a noise being so uncommon at such an hour, especially when it was so often repeated, I sent my interpreter to inquire into the cause of it, when he was informed by the man himself, that this was a common custom with them on the death of a near relation, and was a warning to their friends not to approach, or intrude upon them, as they were, in consequence of their loss, become careless of life. The chief, to whom the deceased person was also related, appeared with his war-cap on his head, which is only worn on these solemn occasions, or when preparing for battle, and confirmed to me this singular custom of firing guns, in order to express their grief for the death of relations and friends.[1] The women alone indulge in tears on such occasions; the men considering it as a mark of pusillanimity and a want of fortitude to betray any personal tokens of sensibility or sorrow. The Indians informed me, that they had been to hunt at a large lake, called by the Knisteneaux, the Slave Lake, which derived its name from that of its original inhabitants, who were called Slaves. They represented it as a large body of water, and that it lies about one hundred and twenty miles due East from this place. It is well known to the Knisteneaux, who are among the inhabitants of the plains on the banks of the Saskatchiwine river; for formerly, when they used to come to make war in this country, they came in their canoes to that lake, and left them there; from thence, there is a beaten path all the way to the Fork, or East branch of this river, which was their war-road. _January 10._--Among the people who were now here, there were two Rocky Mountain Indians, who declared, that the people to whom we had given that denomination, are by no means entitled to it, and that their country has ever been in the vicinity of our present situation. They said, in support of their assertion, that these people were entirely ignorant of those parts which are adjacent to the mountain, as well as the navigation of the river; that the Beaver Indians had greatly encroached upon them, and would soon force them to retire to the foot of these mountains. They represented themselves as the only real natives of that country then with me; and added, that the country, and that part of the river that intervenes between this place and the mountains, bear much the same appearance as that around us; that the former abounds with animals, but that the course of the latter is interrupted, near, and in the mountains, by successive rapids and considerable falls. These men also informed me, that there is another great river towards the midday sun, whose current runs in that direction, and that the distance from it is not great across the mountains. The natives brought me plenty of furs. The small quantity of snow, at this time, was particularly favourable for hunting the beaver, as from this circumstance, those animals could, with greater facility, be traced from their lodges to their lurking-places. On the 12th our hunter arrived, having left his mother-in-law, who was lately become a widow with three small children, and in actual labour of a fourth. Her daughter related this circumstance to the women here without the least appearance of concern, though she represented her as in a state of great danger, which probably might proceed from her being abandoned in this unnatural manner. At the same time without any apparent consciousness of her own barbarous negligence, if the poor abandoned woman should die, she would most probably lament her with great outcries, and, perhaps cut off one or two joints of her fingers as tokens of her grief. The Indians, indeed, consider the state of a woman in labour as among the most trifling occurrences of corporal pain to which human nature is subject, and they may be, in some measure justified in this apparent insensibility from the circumstances of that situation among themselves. It is by no means uncommon in the hasty removal of their camps from one position to another, for a woman to be taken in labour, to deliver herself in her way, without any assistance or notice from her associates in her journey, and to overtake them before they complete the arrangements of their evening station, with her new-born babe on her back. I was this morning threatened with a very unpleasant event, which, however, I was fortunately able to control. Two young Indians being engaged in one of their games, a dispute ensued, which rose to such a height, that they drew their knives, and if I had not happened to have appeared, they would I doubt not, have employed them to very bloody purposes. So violent was their rage, that after I had turned them both out of the house, and severely reprimanded them, they stood in the fort for at least half an hour, looking at each other with a most vindictive aspect, and in sullen silence. The game which produced this state of bitter enmity, is called that of the Platter, from a principal article of it. The Indians play at it in the following manner. The instruments of it consist of a platter, or dish, made of wood or bark, and six round or square but flat pieces of metal, wood, or stone, whose sides or surfaces are of different colours. These are put into the dish, and after being for some time shaken together, are thrown into the air, and received again into the dish with considerable dexterity; when, by the number that are turned up of the same mark or colour, the game is regulated. If there should be equal numbers, the throw is not reckoned; if two or four, the platter changes hands. On the 13th, one of these people came to me, and presented in himself a curious example of Indian superstition. He requested me to furnish him with a remedy that might be applied to the joints of his legs and thighs, of which he had, in a great measure lost the use for five winters. This affliction he attributed to his cruelty about that time, when having found a wolf with two whelps in an old beaver lodge, he set fire to it and consumed them. The winter had been so mild, that the swans had but lately left us, and at this advanced period there was very little snow on the ground: it was, however, at this time a foot and a half in depth, in the environs of the establishment below this, which is at the distance of about seventy leagues. On the 28th the Indians were now employed in making their snow-shoes, as the snow had not hitherto fallen in sufficient quantity to render them necessary. _February 2._--The weather now became very cold, and it froze so hard in the night that my watch stopped; a circumstance that had never happened to this watch since my residence in the country. There was a lodge of Indians here, who were absolutely starving with cold and hunger. They had lately lost a near relation, and had according to custom, thrown away every thing belonging to them, and even exchanged the few articles of raiment which they possessed, in order, as I presume, to get rid of every thing that may bring the deceased to their remembrance. They also destroy every thing belonging to any deceased person, except what they consign to the grave with the late owner of them. We had some difficulty to make them comprehend that the debts of a man who dies should be discharged, if he left any furs behind him: but those who understand this principle of justice, and profess to adhere it, never fail to prevent the appearance of any skins beyond such as may be necessary to satisfy the debts of their dead relation. On the 8th I had an observation for the longitude. In the course of this day one of my men, who had been some time with the Indians, came to inform me that one of them had threatened to stab him; and on his preferring a complaint to the man with whom he now lived, and to whom I had given him in charge, he replied, that he had been very imprudent to play and quarrel with the young Indians out of his lodge, where no one would dare to come and quarrel with him; but that if he had lost his life where he had been, it would have been the consequence of his own folly. Thus, even among these children of nature, it appears that a man's house is his castle, where the protection of hospitality is rigidly maintained. The hard frost which had prevailed from the beginning of February continued to the 16th of March, when the wind blowing from the South-West, the weather became mild. On the 22d a wolf was so bold as to venture among the Indian lodges, and was very near carrying off a child. I had another observation of Jupiter and his satellites for the longitude. On the 13th some geese were seen, and these birds are always considered as the harbingers of spring. On the first of April my hunters shot five of them. This was a much earlier period than I ever remember to have observed the visits of wild fowl in this part of the world. The weather had been mild for the last fortnight, and there was a promise of its continuance. On the 5th the snow had entirely disappeared. At half past four this morning I was awakened to be informed that an Indian had been killed. I accordingly hastened to the camp, where I found two women employed in rolling up the dead body of a man, called the White Partridge, in a beaver robe, which I had lent him. He had received four mortal wounds from a dagger, two within the collar bone, one in the left breast, and another in the small of the back, with two cuts across his head. The murderer, who had been my hunter throughout the winter, had fled; and it was pretended that several relations of the deceased were gone in pursuit of him. The history of this unfortunate event is as follows:-- These two men had been comrades for four years; the murderer had three wives; and the young man who was killed, becoming enamoured of one of them, the husband consented to yield her to him, with the reserved power of claiming her as his property, when it should be his pleasure. This connection was uninterrupted for near three years, when, whimsical as it may appear, the husband became jealous, and the public amour was suspended. The parties, how ever, made their private assignations, which caused the woman to be so ill treated by her husband, that the paramour was determined to take her away by force; and this project ended in his death. This is a very common practice among the Indians, and generally terminates in very serious and fatal quarrels. In consequence of this event all the Indians went away in great apparent hurry and confusion, and in the evening not one of them was to be seen about the fort. The Beaver and Rocky Mountain Indians, who traded with us in this river, did not exceed an hundred and fifty men, capable of bearing arms; two thirds of whom call themselves Beaver Indians. The latter differ only from the former, as they have, more or less, imbibed the customs and manners of the Knisteneaux. As I have already observed, they are passionately fond of liquor, and in the moments of their festivity will barter any thing they have in their possession for it. Though the Beaver Indians made their peace with the Knisteneaux, at Peace Point, as already mentioned, yet they did not secure a state of amity from others of the same nation, who had driven away the natives of the Saskatchiwine and Missinipy Rivers, and joined at the head water of the latter, called the Beaver River: from thence they proceeded West by the Slave Lake just described, on their war excursions, which they often repeated, even till the Beaver Indians had procured arms, which was in the year 1782. If it so happened that they missed them, they proceeded Westward till they were certain of wreaking their vengeance on those of the Rocky Mountain, who being without arms, became an easy prey to their blind and savage fury. All the European articles they possessed, previous to the year 1780, were obtained from the Knisteneaux and Chepewyans, who brought them from Fort Churchill, and for which they were made to pay an extravagant price. As late as the year 1786, when the first traders from Canada arrived on the banks of this river, the natives employed bows and snares, but at present very little use is made of the former, and the latter are no longer known. They still entertain a great dread of their natural enemies, but they are since become so well armed, that the others now call them their allies. The men are in general of a comely appearance, and fond of personal decoration. The women are of a contrary disposition, and the slaves of the men: in common with all the Indian tribes polygamy is allowed among them. They are very subject to jealousy, and fatal consequences frequently result from the indulgence of that passion. But notwithstanding the vigilance and severity which is exercised by the husband, it seldom happens that a woman is without her favourite, who, in the absence of the husband, exacts the same submission, and practises the same tyranny. And so premature is the tender passion, that it is sometimes known to invigorate so early a period of life as the age of eleven or twelve years. The women are not very prolific: a circumstance which may be attributed in a great measure, to the hardships that they suffer for except a few small dogs, they alone perform that labour which is allotted to beasts of burthen in other countries. It is not uncommon, while the men carry nothing but a gun, that their wives and daughters follow with such weighty burdens, that if they lay them down they cannot replace them, and that is a kindness which the men will not deign to perform; so that during their journeys they are frequently obliged to lean against a tree for a small portion of temporary relief. When they arrive at the place which their tyrants have chosen for their encampment, they arrange the whole in a few minutes, by forming a curve of poles, meeting at the top, and expanding into circles of twelve or fifteen feet diameter at the bottom, covered with dressed skins of the moose sewed together. During these preparations, the men sit down quietly to the enjoyment of their pipes, if they happen to have any tobacco. But notwithstanding this abject state of slavery and submission, the women have a considerable influence on the opinion of the men in every thing except their own domestic situation. These Indians are excellent hunters, and their exercise in that capacity is so violent as to reduce them in general to a very meagre appearance. Their religion is of a very contracted nature, and I never witnessed any ceremony of devotion which they had not borrowed from the Knisteneaux, their feasts and fasts being in imitation of that people. They are more vicious and warlike than the Chepewyans, from whence they sprang, though they do not possess their selfishness, for while they have the means of purchasing their necessaries, they are liberal and generous, but when those are exhausted they become errant beggars: they are, however, remarkable for their honesty, for in the whole tribe there were only two women and a man who had been known to have swerved from that virtue, and they were considered as objects of disregard and reprobation. They are afflicted with but few diseases, and their only remedies consist in binding the temples, procuring perspiration, singing, and blowing on the sick person, or affected part. When death overtakes any of them, their property, as I have before observed, is sacrificed and destroyed; nor is there any failure of lamentation or mourning on such occasion: they who are more nearly related to the departed person, black their faces, and sometimes cut off their hair; they also pierce their arms with knives and arrows. The grief of the females is carried to a still greater excess; they not only cut their hair, and cry and howl, but they will sometimes, with the utmost deliberation, employ some sharp instrument to separate the nail from the finger, and then force back the flesh beyond the first joint, which they immediately amputate. But this extraordinary mark of affliction is only displayed on the death of a favourite son, a husband, or a father. Many of the old women have so often repeated this ceremony, that they have not a complete finger remaining on either hand. The women renew their lamentations at the graves of their departed relatives, for a long succession of years. They appear, in common with all the Indian tribes, to be very fond of their children, but they are as careless in their mode of swadling them in their infant state, as they are of their own dress: the child is laid down on aboard, of about two feet long, covered with a bed of moss, to which it is fastened by bandages, the moss being changed as often as the occasion requires. The chief of the nation had no less than nine wives, and children in proportion. When traders first appeared among these people, the Canadians were treated with the utmost hospitality and attention; but they have, by their subsequent conduct, taught the natives to withdraw that respect from them, and sometimes to treat them with indignity. They differ very much from the Chepewyans and Knisteneaux, in the abhorrence they profess of any carnal communication between their women and the white people. They carry their love of gaming to excess; they will pursue it for a succession of days and nights, and no apprehension of ruin, nor influence of domestic affection, will restrain them from the indulgence of it. They are a quick, lively, active people, with a keen, penetrating, dark eye; and though they are very susceptible of anger, are as easily appeased. The males eradicate their beards, and the females their hair in every part, except their heads, where it is strong and black, and without a curl. There are many old men among them, but they are in general ignorant of the space in which they have been inhabitants of the earth, though one of them told me that he recollected sixty winters. An Indian in some measure explained his age to me, by relating that he remembered the opposite hills and plains, now interspersed with groves of poplars, when they were covered with moss, and without any animal inhabitant but the rein-deer. By degrees, he said, the face of the country changed to its present appearance, when the elk came from the East, and was followed by the buffalo; the rein-deer then retired to the long range of high lands that, at a considerable distance, run parallel, with this river. On the 20th of April I had an observation of Jupiter and his satellites, for the longitude, and we were now visited by our summer companions the gnats and musquitoes. On the other side of the river, which was yet covered with ice, the plains were delightful; the trees were budding, and many plants in blossom. Mr. Mackay brought me a bunch of flowers of a pink colour, and a yellow button, encircled with six leaves of a light purple. The change in the appearance of nature was as sudden as it was pleasing, for a few days only were passed away since the ground was covered with snow. On the 25th the river was cleared of the ice. I new found that the death of the man called the White Partridge, had deranged all the plans which I had settled with the Indians for the spring hunting. They had assembled at some distance from the fort, and sent an embassy to me, to demand rum to drink, that they might have an opportunity of crying for their deceased brother. It would be considered as an extreme degradation in an Indian to weep when sober, but a state of intoxication sanctions all irregularities. On my refusal, they threatened to go to war, which, from motives of interest as well as humanity, we did our utmost to discourage; and as a second message was brought by persons of some weight among these people, and on whom I could depend, I thought it prudent to comply with the demand, on an express condition, that they would continue peaceably at home. The month of April being now past, in the early part of which I was most busily employed in trading with the Indians, I ordered our old canoes to be repaired with bark, and added four new ones to them, when, with the furs and provisions I had purchased, six canoes were loaded and dispatched on the 8th of May, for Fort Chepewyan. I had, however, retained six of the men, who agreed to accompany me on my projected voyage of discovery. I also engaged my hunters, and closed the business of the year for the company by writing my public and private dispatches. Having ascertained, by various observations, the latitude of this place to be 56. 9. North, and longitude 117. 35. 15. West: on the 9th day of May, I found, that my achrometer was one hour forty-six minutes slow to apparent time; the mean going of it I had found to be twenty-two seconds slow in twenty-four hours. Having settled this point, the canoe was put into the water; her dimensions were twenty-five feet long within, exclusive of the curves of stem and stern, twenty-six inches hold, and four feet nine inches beam. At the same time she was so light, that two men could carry her on a good road three or four miles without resting. In this slender vessel, we shipped provisions, goods for presents, arms, ammunition, and baggage, to the weight of three thousand pounds, and an equipage of ten people; viz. Alexander Mackay, Joseph Landry, Charles Ducette,[2] Francois Beaulieux, Baptist Bisson, Francois Courtois, and Jaques Beauchamp, with two Indians, as hunters and interpreters. One of them, when a boy, used to be so idle, that he obtained the reputable name of Cancre, which he still possesses. With these persons I embarked at seven in the evening. My winter interpreter, with another person, whom I left here to take care of the fort, and supply the natives with ammunition during the summer, shed tears on the reflection of those dangers which we might encounter in our expedition, while my own people offered up their prayers that we might return in safety from it. [1] When they are drinking together, they frequently present their guns to each other, when any of the parties have not other means of procuring rum. On such an occasion they always discharge their pieces, as a proof, I imagine, of their being in good order, and to determine the quantity of liquor they may propose to get in exchange for them. [2]Joseph Landry and Charles Ducette were with me in my former voyage. CHAPTER II. MAY, 1793. _Thursday, 9._--We began our voyage with a course South by West against a strong current one mile and three quarters, South-West by South one mile, and landed before eight on an island for the night. _Friday, 10._--The weather was clear and pleasant, though there was a keenness in the air; and at a quarter past three in the morning we continued our voyage, steering South-West three quarters of a mile, South-West by South one mile and a quarter, South three quarters of a mile, South-West by South one quarter of a mile, South-West by West one mile, South-West by South three miles, South by West three quarters of a mile, and South-West one mile. The canoe being strained from its having been very heavily laden, became so leaky, that we were obliged to land, unload, and gum it. As this circumstance took place about twelve, I had an opportunity of taking an altitude, which made our latitude 55. 58. 48. When the canoe was repaired we continued our course, steering South-West by West one mile and an half, when I had the misfortune to drop my pocket-compass into the water; West half a mile, West-South-West four miles and an half. Here, the banks are steep and hilly, and in some parts undermined by the river. Where the earth has given way, the face of the cliffs discovers numerous strata, consisting of reddish earth and small stones, bitumen, and a greyish earth, below which, near the water-edge, is a red stone. Water issues from most of the banks, and the ground on which it spreads is covered with a thin white scurf, or particles of a saline substance: there are several of these salt springs. At half past six in the afternoon the young men landed, when they killed an elk and wounded a buffalo. In this spot we formed our encampment for the night. From the place which we quitted this morning, the West side of the river displayed a succession of the most beautiful scenery I had ever beheld. The ground rises at intervals to a considerable height, and stretching inwards to a considerable distance: at every interval or pause in the rise, there is a very gently-ascending space or lawn, which is alternate with abrupt precipices to the summit of the whole, or, at least as far as the eye could distinguish. This magnificent theatre of nature has all the decorations which the trees and animals of the country can afford it: groves of poplars in every shape vary the scene; and their intervals are enlivened with vast herds of elks and buffaloes: the former choosing the steeps and uplands, and the latter preferring the plains. At this time the buffaloes were attended with their young ones who were frisking about them: and it appeared that the elks would soon exhibit the same enlivening circumstance. The whole country displayed an exuberant verdure; the trees that bear a blossom were advancing fast to that delightful appearance, and the velvet rind of their branches reflecting the oblique rays of a rising or setting sun, added a splendid gaiety to the scene, which no expressions of mine are qualified to describe. The East side of the river consists of a range of high land covered with the white spruce and the soft birch, while the banks abound with the alder and the willow. The water continued to rise, and the current being proportionately strong, we made a greater use of setting poles than paddles. _Saturday, 11._--The weather was overcast. With a strong wind a-head, we embarked at four in the morning, and left all the fresh meat behind us, but the portion which had been assigned to the kettle; the canoe being already too heavily laden. Our course was West-South-West one mile, where a small river flowed in from the East, named _Quiscatina Sepy_, or River with the High Banks; West half a mile, South half a mile, South-West by West three quarters of a mile, West one mile and a quarter, South-West a quarter of a mile, South-South-West half a mile, and West by South a mile and a half. Here I took a meridian altitude, which gave 55. 56. 3. North latitude. We then proceeded West three miles and a half, West-South-West, where the whole plain was on fire, one mile, West one mile, and the wind so strong a-head, that it occasioned the canoe to take in water, and otherwise impeded our progress. Here we landed to take time, with the mean of three altitudes, which made the watch slow 1. 42. 10. We now proceeded West-South-West one mile and a quarter, where we found a chief of the Beaver Indians on a hunting party. I remained, however, in my canoe, and though it was getting late, I did not choose to encamp with these people, lest the friends of my hunters might discourage them from proceeding on the voyage. We, therefore, continued our course, but several Indians kept company with us, running along the bank, and conversing with my people, who were so attentive to them, that they drove the canoe on a stony flat, so that we were under the necessity of landing to repair the damages, and put up for the night, though very contrary to my wishes. My hunters obtained permission to proceed with some of these people to their lodges, on the promise of being back by the break of day; though I was not without some apprehension respecting them. The chief, however, and another man, as well as several people from the lodges, joined us, before we had completed the repair of the canoe; and they made out a melancholy story, that they had neither ammunition or tobacco sufficient for their necessary supply during the summer. I accordingly referred him to the Fort, where plenty of those articles were left in the care of my interpreter, by whom they would be abundantly furnished, if they were active and industrious in pursuing their occupations. I did not fail, on this occasion, to magnify the advantages of the present expedition; observing, at the same time, that its success would depend on the fidelity and conduct of the young men who were retained by me to hunt. The chief also proposed to borrow my canoe, in order to transport himself and family across the river; several plausible reasons, it is true, suggested themselves for resisting his proposition; but when I stated to him, that, as the canoe was intended for a voyage of such consequence, no woman could be permitted to be embarked in it, he acquiesced in the refusal. It was near twelve at night when he took his leave, after I had gratified him with a present of tobacco. _Sunday, 12._--Some of the Indians passed the night with us, and I was informed by them, that according to our mode of proceeding, we should, in ten days, get as far as the rocky mountains. The young men now returned, to my great satisfaction, and with the appearance of contentment; though I was not pleased when they dressed themselves in the clothes which I had given them before we left the Fort, as it betrayed some latent design. At four in the morning we proceeded on our voyage, steering West three miles, including one of our course yesterday, North-West by North four miles, West two miles and a half, North-West by West a mile and a half, North by East two miles, North-West by West one mile, and North-North-West three miles. After a continuation of our course to the North for a mile and a half, we landed for the night on an island where several of the Indians visited us, but unattended by their women, who remained in their camp, which was at some distance from us. The land on both sides of the river, during the two last days, is very much elevated, but particularly in the latter part of it, and, on the Western side, presents in different places, white, steep, and lofty cliffs. Our view being confined by these circumstances, we did not see so many animals as on the 10th. Between these lofty boundaries, the river becomes narrow and in a great measure free from islands; for we had passed only four: the stream, indeed, was not more than from two hundred to three hundred yards broad; whereas before these cliffs pressed upon it, its breadth was twice that extent and besprinkled with islands. We killed an elk, and fired several shots at animals from the canoe. The greater part of this band being Rocky Mountain Indians, I endeavoured to obtain some intelligence of our intended route, but they all pleaded ignorance, and uniformly declared, that they knew nothing of the country beyond the first mountain: at the same time they were of opinion, that, from the strength of the current and the rapids we should not get there by water; though they did not hesitate to express their surprise at the expedition we had already made. I inquired, with some anxiety, after an old man who had already given me an account of the country beyond the limits of his tribe, and was very much disappointed at being informed, that he had not been seen for upwards of a moon. This man had been at war on another large river beyond the Rocky Mountain, and described to me a fork of it between the mountains; the Southern branch of which he directed me to take; from thence, he said, there was a carrying-place of about a day's march for a young man to get to the river. To prove the truth of his relation, he consented, that his son, who had been with him in those parts, should accompany me; and he accordingly sent him to the fort some days before my departure; but the preceding night he deserted with another young man, whose application to attend me as a hunter, being refused, he persuaded the other to leave me. I now thought it right to repeat to them what I had said to the chief of the first band, respecting the advantages which would be derived from the voyage, that the young men might be encouraged to remain with me; as without them I should not have attempted to proceed. _Monday, 13._--The first object that presented itself to me this morning was the young man whom I have already mentioned, as having seduced away my intended guide. At any other time or place, I should have chastised him for his past conduct, but in my situation it was necessary to pass over his offence, lest he should endeavour to exercise the same influence over those who were so essential to my service. Of the deserted he gave no satisfactory account, but continued to express his wish to attend me in his place, for which he did not possess any necessary qualifications. The weather was cloudy, with an appearance of rain; and the Indians pressed me with great earnestness to pass the day with them, and hoped to prolong my stay among them by assuring me that the winter yet lingered in the rocky mountains; but my object was to lose no time, and having given the chief some tobacco for a small quantity of meat, we embarked at four, when my young men could not conceal their chagrin at parting with their friends, for so long a period as the voyage threatened to occupy. When I had assured them that in three moons we should return to them, we proceeded on our course West-North-West half a mile, West-South-West one mile and a half, West by North three miles, North-West by West two miles and a half, South-West by West half a mile, South-South-West a mile and a half, and South-West a mile and a half. Here I had a meridian altitude, which gave 56. 17. 44. North latitude. The last course continued a mile and a half, South by West, three quarters of a mile, South-West by South three miles and a half, and West-South-West two miles and a half. Here the land lowered on both sides, with an increase of wood, and displayed great numbers of animals. The river also widened from three to five hundred yards, and was full of islands and flats. Having continued our course three miles, we made for the shore at seven, to pass the night. At the place from whence we proceeded this morning, a river falls in from the North; there are also several islands, and many rivulets on either side, which are too small to deserve particular notice. We perceived along the river, tracks of large bears, some of which were nine inches wide, and of a proportionate length. We saw one of their dens, or winter-quarters, called _watee_, in an island, which was ten feet deep, five feet high, and six feet wide; but we had not yet seen one of those animals. The Indians entertain great apprehension of this kind of bear, which is called the grisly bear, and they never venture to attack it but in a party of at least three or four. Our hunters, though they had been much higher than this part of our voyage, by land, knew nothing of the river. One of them mentioned, that having been engaged in a war expedition, his party on their return made their canoes at some distance below us. The wind was North throughout the day, and at times blew with considerable violence. The apprehensions which I had felt respecting the young men were not altogether groundless, for the eldest of them told me that his uncle had last night addressed him in the following manner:--"My nephew, your departure makes my heart painful. The white people may be said to rob us of you. They are about to conduct you into the midst of our enemies, and you may nevermore return to us. Were you not with the Chief,[1] I know not what I should do, but he requires your attendance, and you must follow him." _Tuesday, 14._--The weather was clear, and the air sharp, when we embarked at half past four. Our course was South by West one mile and a half, South-West by South half a mile, South-West. We here found it necessary to unload, and gum the canoe, in which operation we lost an hour; when we proceeded on the last course one mile and a half. I now took a meridian altitude, which gave 56. 1. 19. North latitude, and continued to proceed West-South-West two miles and a half. Here the Bear River which is of a large appearance, falls in from the East; West three miles and an half, South-South-West one mile and an half, and South-West four miles and an half, when we encamped upon an island about seven in the evening. During the early part of the day, the current was not so strong as we had generally found it, but towards the evening it became very rapid, and was broken by numerous islands. We were gratified as usual, with the sight of animals. The land on the West side is very irregular, but has the appearance of being a good beaver country; indeed we saw some of those animals in the river. Wood is in great plenty, and several rivulets added their streams to the main river. A goose was the only article of provision which we procured to-day. Smoke was seen, but at a great distance before us. _Wednesday, 15._--The rain prevented us from continuing our route till past six in the morning, when our course was South-West by West three quarters of a mile; at which time we passed a river on the left, West by South two miles and a half. The bank was steep, and the current strong. The last course continued one mile and a half, West-South-West two miles, where a river flowed in from the right, West by South one mile and a half, West-North-West one mile, and West by North two miles. Here the land takes the form of an high ridge, and cut our course, which was West for three miles, at right angles. We now completed the voyage of this day. In the preceding night the water rose upwards of two inches, and had risen in this proportion since our departure. The wind, which was West-South-West, blew very hard throughout the day, and with the strength of the current, greatly impeded our progress. The river, in this part of it, is full of islands; and the land, on the South or left side, is thick with wood. Several rivulets also fall in from that quarter. At the entrance of the last river which we passed, there was a quantity of wood, which had been cut down by axes, and some by the beaver. This fall, however, was not made, in the opinion of my people, by any of the Indians with whom we were acquainted. The land to the right is of a very irregular elevation and appearance, composed in some places of clay, and rocky cliffs, and others exhibiting stratas of red, green, and yellow colours. Some parts, indeed, offer a beautiful scenery, in some degree similar to that which we passed on the second day of our voyage, and equally enlivened with the elk and the buffalo, who were feeding in great numbers, and unmolested by the hunter. In an island which we passed, there was a large quantity of white birch, whose bark might be employed in the construction of canoes. _Thursday, 16._--The weather being clear, we re-embarked at four in the morning, and proceeded West by North three miles. Here the land again appeared as if it run across our course, and a considerable river discharged itself by various streams. According to the Rocky Mountain Indian, it is called the Sinew River. This spot would be an excellent situation for a fort or factory, as there is plenty of wood, and every reason to believe that the country abounds in beaver. As for the other animals, they are in evident abundance, as in every direction the elk and the buffalo are seen in possession of the hills and the plains. Our course continued West-North-West three miles and a half, North-West one mile and a half, South-West by West two miles; (the latitude was by observation 56. 16. 54.) North, West by North half a mile, West-North-West three quarters of a mile; a small river appearing on the right, North-West one mile and a half, West by North half a mile, West by South one mile and a half, West one mile; and at seven we formed our encampment. Mr. Mackay, and one of the young men, killed two elks, and mortally wounded a buffalo, but we only took a part of the flesh of the former. The land above the spot where we encamped, spreads into an extensive plain, and stretches on to a very high ridge, which, in some parts, presents a face of rock, but is principally covered with verdure, and varied with the poplar and white birch tree. The country is so crowded with animals as to have the appearance, in some places, of a stall-yard, from the state of the ground, and the quantity of dung which is scattered over it. The soil is black and light. We this day saw two grisly and hideous bears. _Friday, 17._--It froze during the night, and the air was sharp in the morning, when we continued our course West-North-West three miles and a half, South-West by South two miles and a half, South-West by West one mile and a half, West three quarters of a mile, West-South-West one mile and a quarter, and South-West by South one mile and a half. At two in the afternoon the rocky mountains appeared in sight, with their summits covered with snow, bearing South-West by South: they formed a very agreeable object to every person in the canoe, as we attained the view of them much sooner than we expected. A small river was seen on our right, and we continued our progress South-West by South six miles, when we landed at seven, which was our usual hour of encampment. Mr. Mackay, who was walking along the side of the river, discharged his piece at a buffalo, when it burst near the muzzle, but without any mischievous consequences. On the high grounds, which were on the opposite side of the river, we saw a buffalo tearing up and down with great fury, but could not discern the cause of his impetuous motions; my hunters conjectured that he had been wounded with on arrow by some of the natives. We ascended several rapids in the course of the day, and saw one bear. _Saturday, 18._--It again froze very hard during the night, and at four in the morning we continued our voyage, but we had not proceeded two hundred yards, before an accident happened to the canoe, which did not, however, employ more than three quarters of an hour to complete the repair. We then steered South by West one mile and three quarters, South-West by South three miles, South-West by West one mile and a quarter, West by South three quarters of a mile, South-West half a mile, West by South one mile, South by West one mile and a half, South-South-West, where there is a small run of water from the right, three miles and a half, when the canoe struck on the stump of a tree, and unfortunately where the banks were so steep that there was no place to unload, except a small spot, on which we contrived to dispose the lading in the bow, which lightened the canoe so as to raise the broken part of it above the surface of the water; by which contrivance we reached a convenient situation. It required, however, two hours to complete the repair, when the weather became dark and cloudy, with thunder, lightning, and rain; we, however, continued the last course half a mile, and at six in the evening we were compelled by the rain to land for the night. About noon we had landed on an island where there were eight lodges of last year. The natives had prepared bark here for five canoes, and there is a road along the hills where they had passed. Branches were out and broken along it; and they had also stripped off the bark of the trees, to get the interior rind, which forms part of their food. The current was very strong through the whole of the day, and the coming up along some of the banks was rendered very dangerous, from the continual falling of large stones, from the upper parts of them. This place appears to be a particular pass for animals across the river, as there are paths leading to it on both sides, every ten yards. In the course of the day we saw a ground hog, and two cormorants. The earth also appeared in several places to have been turned up by the bears, in search of roots. _Sunday, 19._--It rained very hard in the early part of the night, but the weather became clear towards the morning, when we embarked at our usual hour. As the current threatened to be very strong, Mr. Mackay, the two hunters, and myself, went on shore, in order to lighten the canoe, and ascended the hills, which are covered with cypress, and but little encumbered with underwood. We found a beaten path, and before we had walked a mile, fell in with a herd of buffaloes, with their young ones: but I would not suffer the Indians to fire on them, from an apprehension that the report of their fowling pieces would alarm the natives that might be in the neighbourhood; for we were at this time so near the mountains, as to justify our expectation of seeing some of them. We, however, sent our dog after the herd, and a calf was soon secured by him. While the young men were skinning the animal, we heard two reports of fire arms from the canoe, which we answered, as it was a signal for my return; we then heard another, and immediately hastened down the hill, with our veal, through a very close wood. There we met one of the men, who informed us that the canoe was at a small distance below, at the foot of a very strong rapid, and that as several waterfalls appeared up the river, we should be obliged to unload and carry. I accordingly hastened to the canoe, and was greatly displeased that so much time had been lost, as I had given previous directions that the river should be followed as long as it was practicable. The last Indians whom we saw had informed us that at the first mountain there was a considerable succession of rapids, cascades, and falls, which they never attempted to ascend; and where they always passed over land the length of a day's march. My men imagined that the carrying place was at a small distance below us, as a path appeared to ascend a hill, where there were several lodges, of the last year's construction. The account which had been given me of the rapids, was perfectly correct: though by crossing to the other side, I must acknowledge with some risk, in such a heavy laden canoe, the river appeared to me to be practicable, as far as we could see: the traverse, therefore, was attempted, and proved successful. We now towed the canoe along an island, and proceeded without any considerable difficulty, till we reached the extremity of it, when the line could be no longer employed; and in endeavouring to clear the point of the island, the canoe was driven with such violence on a stony shore, as to receive considerable injury. We now employed every exertion in our power to repair the breach that had been made, as well as to dry such articles of our loading as more immediately required it: we then transported the whole across the point, when we reloaded, and continued our course about three quarters of a mile. We could now proceed no further on this side of the water, and the traverse was rendered extremely dangerous, not only from the strength of the current, but by the cascades just below us, which, if we had got among them, would have involved us and the canoe in one common destruction. We had no other alternative than to return by the same course we came, or to hazard the traverse, the river on this side being bounded by a range of steep, over-hanging rocks, beneath which the current was driven on with resistless impetuosity from the cascades. Here are several islands of solid rock, covered with a small portion of verdure, which have been worn away by the constant force of the current, and occasionally, as I presume, of ice, at the water's edge, so as to be reduced in that part to one fourth the extent of the upper surface; presenting, as it were, so many large tables, each of which was supported by a pedestal of a more circumscribed projection. They are very elevated for such a situation, and afford an asylum for geese, which were at this time breeding on them. By crossing from one to the other of these islands, we came at length to the main traverse, on which we ventured, and were successful in our passage. Mr. Mackay, and the Indians, who observed our manoeuvres from the top of a rock, were in continual alarm for our safety, with which their own, indeed, may be said to have been nearly connected: however, the dangers that we encountered were very much augmented by the heavy loading of the canoe. When we had effected our passage, the current on the West side was almost equally violent with that from whence we had just escaped, but the craggy bank being somewhat lower, we were enabled, with a line of sixty fathoms, to tow the canoe, till we came to the foot of the most rapid cascade we had hitherto seen. Here we unloaded, and carried every thing over a rocky point of an hundred and twenty paces. When the canoe was reloaded, I, with those of my people who were not immediately employed, ascended the bank, which was there, and indeed, as far as we could see, composed of clay, stone, and a yellow gravel. My present situation was so elevated, that the men, who were coming up a strong point, could not hear me, though I called to them with the utmost strength of my voice, to lighten the canoe of part of its lading. And here I could not but reflect, with infinite anxiety, on the hazard of my enterprize; one false step of those who were attached to the line, or the breaking of the line itself, would have at once consigned the canoe, and every thing it contained, to instant destruction: it, however, ascended the rapid in perfect security, but new dangers immediately presented themselves, for stones, both small and great, were continually rolling from the bank, so as to render the situation of those who were dragging the canoe beneath it extremely perilous; besides, they were at every step in danger, from the steepness of the ground, of falling into the water: nor was my solicitude diminished by my being necessarily removed at times from the sight of them. In our passage through the woods, we came to an inclosure, which had been formed by the natives for the purpose of setting snares for the elk, and of which we could not discover the extent. After we had travelled for some hours through the forest, which consisted of the spruce, birch, and the largest poplars I had ever seen, we sunk down upon the river where the bank is low, and near the foot of a mountain; between which, and a high ridge, the river flows in a channel of about one hundred yards broad; though, at a small distance below, it rushes on between perpendicular rocks, where it is not much more than half that breadth. Here I remained, in great anxiety, expecting the arrival of the canoe, and after some time I sent Mr. Mackay with one of the Indians down the river in search of it, and with the other I went up to it to examine what we might expect in that quarter. In about a mile and a half I came to a part where the river washes the feet of lofty precipices, and presented, in the form of rapids and cascades, a succession of difficulties to our navigation. As the canoe did not come in sight, we returned, and from the place where I had separated with Mr. Mackay, we saw the men carrying it over a small rocky point. We met them at the entrance of the narrow channel already mentioned; their difficulties had been great indeed, and the canoe had been broken, but they had persevered with success, and having passed the carrying-place, we proceeded with the line as far as I had already been, when we crossed over and encamped on the opposite beach; but there was no wood on this side of the water, as the adjacent country had been entirely over-run by fire. We saw several elks feeding on the edge of the opposite precipice, which was upwards of three hundred feet high. Our course to-day was about South-South-West two miles and a half, South-West half a mile, South-West by South one mile and a half, South by West half a mile, South-West half a mile, and West one mile and a half. There was a shower of hail, and some rain from flying clouds. I now dispatched a man with an Indian to visit the rapids above, when the latter soon left him to pursue a beaver, which was seen in the shallow water on the inside of a stony island; and though Mr. Mackay, and the other Indian joined him, the animal at length escaped from their pursuit. Several others were seen in the course of the day, which I by no means expected, as the banks are almost every where so much elevated above the channel of the river. Just as the obscurity of the night drew on, the man returned with an account that it would be impracticable to pass several points, as well as the super-impending promontories. _Monday, 20._--The weather was clear with a sharp air, and we renewed our voyage at quarter past four, on a course South-West by West three quarters of a mile. We now, with infinite difficulty passed along the foot of a rock, which, fortunately, was not an hard stone, so that we were enabled to cut steps in it for the distance of twenty feet; from which, at the hazard of my life, I leaped on a small rock below, where I received those who followed me on my shoulders. In this manner four of us passed and dragged up the canoe, in which attempt we broke her. Very luckily, a dry tree had fallen from the rock above us, without which we could not have made a fire, as no wood was to be procured within a mile of the place. When the canoe was repaired, we continued towing it along the rocks to the next point, when we embarked, as we could not at present make any further use of the line, but got along the rocks of a round high island of stone, till we came to a small sandy bay. As we had already damaged the canoe, and had every reason to think that she soon would risk much greater injury, it became necessary for us to supply ourselves with bark, as our provision of that material article was almost exhausted two men were accordingly sent to procure it, who soon returned with the necessary store. Mr. Mackay, and the Indians who had been on shore, since we broke the canoe, were prevented from coming to us by the rugged and impassable state of the ground. We, therefore, again resumed our course with the assistance of poles, with which we pushed onwards till we came beneath a precipice, where we could not find any bottom; so that we were again obliged to have recourse to the line, the management of which was rendered not only difficult but dangerous, as the men employed in towing were under the necessity of passing on the outside of trees that grew on the edge of the precipice. We, however, surmounted this difficulty, as we had done many others, and the people who had been walking over land now joined us. They also had met with their obstacles in passing the mountain. It now became necessary for us to make a traverse, where the water was so rapid, that some of the people stripped themselves to their shirts that they might be the better prepared for swimming, in case any accident happened to the canoe, which they seriously apprehended; but we succeeded in our attempt without any other inconvenience, except that of taking in water. We now came to a cascade, when it was thought necessary to take out part of the lading. At noon we stopped to take an altitude, opposite to a small river that flowed in from the left: while I was thus engaged, the men went on shore to fasten the canoe, but as the current was not very strong, they had been negligent in performing this office; it proved, however, sufficiently powerful to sheer her off, and if it had not happened that one of the men, from absolute fatigue had remained and held the end of the line, we should have been deprived of every means of prosecuting our voyage, as well as of present subsistence. But notwithstanding the state of my mind on such an alarming circumstance, and an intervening cloud that interrupted me, the altitude which I took has been since proved to be tolerably correct, and gave 56. North latitude. Our last course was South-South-West two miles and a quarter. We now continued our toilsome and perilous progress with the line West by North, and as we proceeded the rapidity of the current increased, so that in the distance of two miles we were obliged to unload four times, and carry every thing but the canoe: indeed, in many places, it was with the utmost difficulty that we could prevent her from being dashed to pieces against the rocks by the violence of the eddies. At five we had proceeded to where the river was one continued rapid. Here we again took every thing out of the canoe, in order to tow her up with the line, though the rocks were so shelving as greatly to increase the toil and hazard of that operation. At length, however, the agitation of the water was so great, that a wave striking on the bow of the canoe broke the line, and filled us with inexpressible dismay, as it appeared impossible that the vessel could escape from being dashed to pieces, and those who were in her from perishing. Another wave, however, more propitious than the former, drove her out of the tumbling water, so that the men were enabled to bring her ashore, and though she had been carried over rocks by these swells which left them naked a moment after, the canoe had received no material injury. The men were, however, in such a state from their late alarm, that it would not only have been unavailing but imprudent to have proposed any further progress at present, particularly as the river above us, as far as we could see, was one white sheet of foaming water. [1] These people, as well as all the natives on this side of Lake Winipic, give the mercantile agent that distinguished appellation. CHAPTER III. MAY, 1793. That the discouragements, difficulties, and dangers, which had hitherto attended the progress of our enterprise, should have excited a wish in several of those who were engaged in it to discontinue the pursuit, might be naturally expected; and indeed it began to be muttered on all sides that there was no alternative but to return. Instead of paying any attention to these murmurs, I desired those who had uttered them to exert themselves in gaining an ascent of the hill, and encamp there for the night. In the mean time I set off with one of the Indians, and though I continued my examination of the river almost as long as there was any light to assist me, I could see no end of the rapids and cascades: I was, therefore, perfectly satisfied, that it would be impracticable to proceed any further by water. We returned from this reconnoitring excursion very much fatigued, with our shoes worn out and wounded feet; when I found that, by felling trees on the declivity of the first hill, my people had contrived to ascend it. From the place where I had taken the altitude at noon, to the place where we made our landing, the river is not more than fifty yards wide, and flows between stupendous rocks, from whence huge fragments sometimes tumble down, and falling from such an height, dash into small stones, with sharp points, and form the beach between the rocky projections. Along the face of some of these precipices, there appears a stratum of a bitumenous substance which resembles coal; though while some of the pieces of it appeared to be excellent fuel, others resisted, for a considerable time, the action of fire, and did not emit the least flame. The whole of this day's course would have been altogether impracticable, if the water had been higher, which must be the case at certain seasons. We saw also several encampments of the Knisteneaux along the river, which must have been formed by them on their war excursions: a decided proof of the savage, blood-thirsty disposition of that people; as nothing less than such a spirit could impel them to encounter the difficulties of this almost inaccessible country, whose natives are equally unoffending and defenceless. Mr. Mackay informed me, that in passing over the mountains, he observed several chasms in the earth that emitted heat and smoke, which diffused a strong sulphureous stench. I should certainly have visited this phenomenon, if I had been sufficiently qualified as a naturalist, to have offered scientific conjectures or observations thereon. _Tuesday, 21._--It rained in the morning, and did not cease till about eight, and as the men had been very fatigued and disheartened, I suffered them to continue their rest till that hour. Such was the state of the river, as I have already observed, that no alternative was left us; nor did any means of proceeding present themselves to us, but the passage of the mountain over which we were to carry the canoe as well as the baggage. As this was a very alarming enterprize, I dispatched Mr. Mackay with three men and the two Indians to proceed in a strait course from the top of the mountain, and to keep the line of the river till they should find it navigable. If it should be their opinion, that there was no practicable passage in that direction, two of them were instructed to return in order to make their report; while the others were to go in search of the Indian carrying-place. While they were engaged in this excursion, the people who remained with me were employed in gumming the canoe, and making handles for the axes. At noon I got an altitude, which made our latitude 56. 0. 8. At three o'clock had time, when my watch was slow 1. 31. 32. apparent time. At sun-set, Mr. Mackay returned with one of the men, and in about two hours was followed by the others. They had penetrated thick woods, ascended hills and sunk into vallies, till they got beyond the rapid, which, according to their calculation, was a distance of three leagues. The two parties returned by different routes, but they both agreed, that with all its difficulties, and they were of a very alarming nature, the outward course was that which must be preferred. Unpromising, however, as the account of their expedition appeared, it did not sink them into a state of discouragement; and a kettle of wild rice, sweetened with sugar, which had been prepared for their return, with their usual regale of rum, soon renewed that courage which disdained all obstacles that threatened our progress: and they went to rest, with a full determination to surmount them on the morrow. I sat up, in the hope of getting an observation of Jupiter and his first satellite, but the cloudy weather prevented my obtaining it. _Wednesday, 22._--At break of day we entered on the extraordinary journey which was to occupy the remaining part of it. The men began, without delay, to cut a road up the mountain, and as the trees were but of small growth, I ordered them to fell those which they found convenient, in such a manner, that they might fall parallel with the road, but, at the same time not separate them entirely from the stumps, so that they might form a kind of railing on either side. The baggage was now brought from the water side to our encampment. This was, likewise, from the steep shelving of the rocks, a very perilous undertaking, as one false step of any of the people employed in it, would have been instantly followed by falling headlong into the water. When this important object was attained, the whole of the party proceeded with no small degree of apprehension, to fetch the canoe, which, in a short time, was also brought to the encampment; and, as soon as we had recovered from our fatigue, we advanced with it up the mountain, having the line doubled and fastened successively as we went on to the stumps; while a man at the end of it, hauled it around a tree, holding it on and shifting it as we proceeded; so that we may be said, with strict truth, to have warped the canoe up the mountain; indeed by a general and most laborious exertion, we got every thing to the summit by two in the afternoon. At noon, the latitude was 56. 0. 47. North. At five, I sent the men to cut the road onwards, which they effected for about a mile, when they returned: The weather was cloudy at intervals, with showers and thunder. At about ten, I observed an emersion of Jupiter's second satellite; time by the achrometer 8. 32. 20. by which I found the longitude to be 120. 29. 80 West from Greenwich. _Thursday 23._--The weather was clear at four this morning, when the men began to carry. I joined Mr. Mackay and the two Indians in the labour of cutting a road. The ground continued rising gently till noon, when it began to decline; but though on such an elevated situation, we could see but little, as mountains of a still higher elevation, and covered with snow, were seen far above us in every direction. In the afternoon the ground became very uneven; hills and deep defiles alternately presented themselves to us. Our progress, however, exceeded my expectation, and it was not till four in the afternoon that the carriers overtook us. At five, in a state of fatigue that may be more readily conceived than expressed, we encamped near a rivulet or spring that issued from beneath a large mass of ice and snow. Our toilsome journey of this day I compute at about three miles; along the first of which the land is covered with plenty of wood, consisting of large trees, encumbered with little underwood, through which it was by no means difficult to open a road, by following a well-beaten elk path: for the two succeeding miles we found the country overspread with the trunks of trees, laid low by fire some years ago; among which large copses had sprung up of a close growth, and intermixed with briars, so as to render the passage through them painful and tedious. The soil in the woods is light and of a dusky colour; that in the burned country is a mixture of sand and clay with small stones. The trees are spruce, red-pine, cypress, poplar, white birch, willow, alder, arrow-wood, red-wood, liard, service-tree, bois-picant, &c. I never saw any of the last kind before. It rises to about nine feet in height, grows in joints without branches, and is tufted at the extremity. The stem is of an equal size from the bottom to the top, and does not exceed an inch in diameter; it is covered with small prickles, which caught our trowsers, and working through them, sometimes found their way to the flesh. The shrubs are, the gooseberry, the currant, and several kinds of briars. _Friday, 24._--We continued our very laborious journey, which led us down some steep hills, and through a wood of tall pines. After much toil and trouble in bearing the canoe through the difficult passages which we encountered, at four in the afternoon we arrived at the river, some hundred yards above the rapids or falls, with all our baggage. I compute the distance of this day's progress to be about four miles; indeed I should have measured the whole of the way, if I had not been obliged to engage personally in the labour of making the road. But after all, the Indian carrying-way, whatever may be its length, and I think it cannot exceed ten miles, will always be found more safe and expeditious than the passage which our toil and perseverance formed and surmounted. Those of my people who visited this place on the 21st, were of opinion that the water had risen very much since that time. About two hundred yards below us, the stream rushed with an astonishing but silent velocity, between perpendicular rocks, which are not more than thirty-five yards asunder: when the water is high, it runs over those rocks, in a channel three times that breadth, where it is bounded by far more elevated precipices. In the former are deep round holes, some of which are full of water, while others are empty, in whose bottom are small round stones, as smooth as marble. Some of these natural cylinders would contain two hundred gallons. At a small distance below the first of these rocks, the channel widens in a kind of zig-zag progression; and it was really awful to behold with what infinite force the water drives against the rocks on one side, and with what impetuous strength it is repelled to the other: it then falls back, as it were, into a more strait but rugged passage, over which it is tossed in high, foaming, half-formed billows, as far as the eye could follow it. The young men informed me that this was the place where their relations had told me that I should meet with a fall equal to that of Niagara: to exculpate them, however, from their apparent misinformation, they declared that their friends were not accustomed to utter falsehoods, and that the fall had probably been destroyed by the force of the water. It is, however, very evident that those people had not been here, or did not adhere to the truth. By the number of trees which appeared to have been felled with axes, we discovered that the Knisteneaux, or some tribes who are known to employ that instrument, had passed this way. We passed through a snare enclosure, but saw no animals, though the country was very much intersected by their tracks. _Saturday, 25._---It rained throughout the night, and till twelve this day; while the business of preparing great and small poles, and putting the canoe in order, &c. caused us to remain here till five in the afternoon. I now attached a knife, with a steel, flint, beads, and other trifling articles to a pole, which I erected, and left as a token of amity to the natives. When I was making this arrangement, one of my attendants, whom I have already described under the title of the Cancre, added to my assortment, a small round piece of green wood, chewed at one end in the form of a brush, which the Indians used to pick the marrow out of bones. This he informed me was an emblem of a country abounding in animals. The water had risen during our stay here one foot and a half perpendicular height. We now embarked, and our course was North-West one mile and three quarters. There were mountains on all sides of us, which were covered with snow; one in particular, on the South side of the river, rose to a great height. We continued to proceed West three quarters of a mile, North-West one mile, and West-South-West a quarter of a mile, when we encamped for the night. The Cancre killed a small elk. _Sunday, 26._--The weather was clear and sharp, and between three and four in the morning we renewed our voyage, our first course being West by South three miles and a half, when the men complained of the cold in their fingers, as they were obliged to push on the canoe with the poles. Here a small river flowed in from the North. We now continued to steer West-South-West a quarter of a mile; West-North-West a mile and a half, and West two miles, when we found ourselves on a parallel with a chain of mountains on both sides of the river, running South and North. The river, both yesterday and the early part of to-day, was from four to eight hundred yards wide, and full of islands, but was at this time diminished to about two hundred yards broad, and free from islands, with a smooth but strong current. Our next course was South-West two miles, when we encountered a rapid, and saw an encampment of the Knisteneaux. We now proceeded North-West by West one mile, among islands, South-West by West three quarters of a mile, South-South-East one mile, veered to South-West through islands three miles and a half, and South by East half a mile. Here a river poured in on the left, which was the most considerable that we had seen since we had passed the mountain. At seven in the evening we landed and encamped. Though the sun had shone upon us throughout the day, the air was so cold that the men, though actively employed, could not resist it without the aid of their blanket coats. This circumstance might, in some degree, be expected from the surrounding mountains, which were covered with ice and snow; but as they are not so high as to produce the extreme cold which we suffered, it must be more particularly attributed to the high situation of the country itself, rather than to the local elevation of the mountains, the greatest height of which does not exceed fifteen hundred feet; though in general they do not rise to half that altitude. But as I had not been able to take an exact measurement, I do not presume upon the accuracy of my conjecture. Towards the bottom of these heights, which were clear of snow, the trees were putting forth their leaves, while those in their middle region still retained all the characteristics of winter, and on the upper parts there was little or no wood. _Monday, 27._[1]--The weather was clear, and we continued our voyage at the usual hour, when we successively found several rapids and points to impede our progress. At noon our latitude was 56. 5. 54. North. The Indians killed a stag; and one of the men who went to fetch it was very much endangered by the rolling down of a large stone from the heights above him. _Tuesday, 28._--The day was very cloudy. The mountains on both sides of the river seemed to have sunk, in their elevation, during the voyage of yesterday. To-day they resumed their former altitude, and run so close on either side of the channel, that all view was excluded of every thing but themselves. This part of the current was not broken by islands; but in the afternoon we approached some cascades, which obliged us to carry our canoe and its lading for several hundred yards. Here we observed an encampment of the natives, though some time had elapsed since it had been inhabited. The greater part of the day was divided between heavy showers and small rain; and we took our station on the shore about six in the evening, about three miles above the last rapid. _Wednesday, 29._--The rain was so violent throughout the whole of this day, that we did not venture to proceed. As we had almost expended the contents of a rum-keg, and this being a day which allowed of no active employment, I amused myself with the experiment of enclosing a letter in it, and dispatching it down the stream to take its fate. I accordingly introduced a written account of all our hardships, &c. carefully enclosed in bark, into the small barrel by the bung-hole, which being carefully secured, I consigned this epistolatory cargo to the mercy of the current. _Thursday, 30._--We were alarmed this morning at break of day, by the continual barking of our dog, who never ceased from running backwards and forwards in the rear of our situation: when, however, the day advanced, we discovered the cause of our alarm to proceed from a wolf, who was parading a ridge a few yards behind us, and had been most probably allured by the scent of our small portion of fresh meat. The weather was cloudy, but it did not prevent us from renewing our progress at a very early hour. A considerable river appeared from the left, and we continued our course till seven in the evening, when we landed at night where there was an Indian encampment. _Friday, 31._--The morning was clear and cold, and the current very powerful. On crossing the mouth of a river that flowed in from the right of us, we were very much endangered; indeed all the rivers which I have lately seen, appear to overflow their natural limits, as it may be supposed, from the melting of the mountain snow. The water is almost white, the bed of the river being of limestone. The mountains are one solid mass of the same material, but without the least shade of trees, or decoration of foliage. At nine the men were so cold that we landed, in order to kindle a fire, which was considered as a very uncommon circumstance at this season; a small quantity of rum, however, served as an adequate substitute; and the current being so smooth as to admit of the use of paddles, I encouraged them to proceed without any further delay. In a short time an extensive view opened upon us, displaying a beautiful sheet of water, that was heightened by the calmness of the weather, and a splendid sun. Here the mountains which were covered with wood, opened on either side, so that we entertained the hope of soon leaving them behind us. When we had got to the termination of this prospect, the river was barred with rocks, forming cascades and small islands. To proceed onwards, we were under the necessity of clearing a narrow passage of the drift wood, on the left shore. Here the view convinced us that our late hopes were without foundation, as there appeared a ridge or chain of mountains, running South and North as far as the eye could reach. On advancing two or three miles, we arrived at the fork, one branch running about West-North-West, and the other South-South-East. If I had been governed by my own judgment, I should have taken the former, as it appeared to me to be the most likely to bring us nearest to the part where I wished to fall on the Pacific Ocean, but the old man, whom I have already mentioned as having been frequently on war expeditions in this country, had warned me not, on any account, to follow it, as it was soon lost in various branches among the mountains, and that there was no great river that ran in any direction near it; but by following the latter, he said, we should arrive at a carrying-place to another large river, that did not exceed a day's march, where the inhabitants build houses, and live upon islands. There was so much apparent truth in the old man's narrative, that I determined to be governed by it; for I did not entertain the least doubt, if I could get into the other river, that I should reach the ocean. I accordingly ordered my steersman to proceed at once to the East branch, which appeared to be more rapid than the other, though it did not possess an equal breadth. These circumstances disposed my men and Indians, the latter in particular being very tired of the voyage, to express their wishes that I should take the Western branch, especially when they perceived the difficulty of stemming the current, in the direction on which I had determined. Indeed the rush of water was so powerful, that we were the greatest part of the afternoon in getting two or three miles--a very tardy and mortifying progress, and which, with the voyage, was openly execrated by many of those who were engaged in it: and the inexpressible toil these people had endured, as well as the dangers they had encountered, required some degree of consideration; I therefore employed those arguments which were the best calculated to calm their immediate discontents, as well as to encourage their future hopes, though, at the same time, I delivered my sentiments in such a manner as to convince them that I was determined to proceed. On the 1st of June we embarked at sun-rise, and towards noon the current began to slacken; we then put to shore, in order to gum the canoe, when a meridian altitude gave me 55. 42. 16. North latitude. We then continued our course, and towards the evening the current began to recover its former strength. Mr. Mackay and the Indians had already disembarked, to walk and lighten the boat. At sun-set we encamped on a point, being the first dry land which had been found on this side the river, that was fit for our purpose, since our people went on shore. In the morning we passed a large rapid river, that flowed in from the right. In no part of the North-West did I see so much beaver-work, within an equal distance, as in the course of this day. In some places they had cut down several acres of large poplars; and we saw also a great number of these active and sagacious animals. The time which these wonderful creatures allot for their labours, whether in erecting their curious habitations or providing food, is the whole of the interval between the setting and the rising sun. Towards the dusky part of the evening we heard several discharges from the fowling pieces of our people, which we answered, to inform them of our situation; and some time after it was dark, they arrived in an equal state of fatigue and alarm; they were also obliged to swim across a channel in order to get to us, as we were situated on an island, though we were ignorant of the circumstance, till they came to inform us. One of the Indians was positive that he heard the discharge of fire-arms above our encampment; and on comparing the number of our discharges with theirs, there appeared to be some foundation for his alarm, as we imagined that we had heard two reports more than they acknowledged; and in their turn, they declared that they had heard twice the number of those which we knew had proceeded from us. The Indians were therefore certain, that the Knisteneaux must be in our vicinity, on a war expedition, and consequently, if they were numerous, we should have had no reason to expect the least mercy from them in this distant country. Though I did not believe that circumstance, or that any of the natives could be in possession of fire-arms, I thought it right, at all events, we should be prepared. Our fusees were, therefore, primed and loaded, and having extinguished our fire, each of us took his station at the foot of a tree, where we passed an uneasy and restless night. The succeeding morning being clear and pleasant, we proceeded at an early hour against a rapid current, intersected by islands. About eight we passed two large trees, whose roots having been undermined by the current, had recently fallen into the river; and, in my opinion, the crash of their fall had occasioned the noise which caused our late alarm. In this manner the water ravages the islands in these rivers, and by driving down great quantities of wood, forms the foundations of others. The men were so oppressed with fatigue, that it was necessary they should encamp at six in the afternoon. We, therefore, landed on a sandy island, which is a very uncommon object, as the greater part of the islands consist of a bottom of round stones and gravel, covered from three to ten feet with mud and old drift-wood. Beaver-work was as frequently seen as on the preceding day. On the 3d of June we renewed our voyage with the rising sun. At noon I obtained a meridian altitude, which gave 55. 22. 3. North latitude. I also took time, and the watch was slow 1. 30. 14. apparent time. According to my calculation, this place is about twenty-five miles South-East of the fork.[2] [1] From this day to the 4th of June the courses of my voyage are omitted, as I lost the book that contained them. I was in the habit of sometimes indulging myself with a short doze in the canoe, and I imagine that the branches of the trees brushed my book from me, when I was in such a situation, which renders the account of these few days less distinct than usual. [2] I shall now proceed with my usual regularity, which, as I have already mentioned, has been, for some days, suspended, from the loss of my book of observation. CHAPTER. IV. JUNE 4, 1793. We embarked this morning at four in a very heavy fog. The water had been continually rising, and, in many places, overflowed its banks. The current also was so strong that our progress was very tedious, and required the most laborious exertions. Our course was this day, South-South-East one mile, South-South-West half a mile, South-East three quarters of a mile, North-East by East three quarters of a mile, South-East half a mile, South-East by South one mile, South-South-East one mile and three quarters, South-East by South half a mile, East by South a quarter of a mile, South-East three quarters of a mile, North-East by East half a mile, East by North a quarter of a mile, South-East half a mile, South-East by South a quarter of a mile, South-East by East half a mile, North-East by East half a mile, North-North-East three quarters of a mile to South by East one mile and a half. We could not find a place fit for an encampment, till nine at night, when we landed on a bank of gravel, of which little more appeared above water than the spot we occupied. _Wednesday, 5._--This morning we found our canoe and baggage in the water, which had continued rising during the night. We then gummed the canoe, as we arrived at too late an hour to perform that operation on the preceding evening. This necessary business being completed, we traversed to the North shore, where I disembarked with Mr. Mackay, and the hunters, in order to ascend an adjacent mountain, with the hope of obtaining a view of the interior part of the country. I directed my people to proceed with all possible diligence, and that, if they met with any accident, or found my return necessary, they should fire two guns. They also understood, that when they should hear the same signal from me, they were to answer, and wait for me, if I were behind them. When we had ascended to the summit of the hill, we found that it extended onwards in an even, level country; so that, encumbered as we were, with the thick wood, no distant view could be obtained; I therefore climbed a very lofty tree, from whose top I discerned on the right a ridge of mountains covered with snow, bearing about North-West; from thence another ridge of high land, whereon no snow was visible, stretched towards the South: between which and the snowy hills on the East side, there appeared to be an opening, which we determined to be the course of the river. Having obtained all the satisfaction that the nature of the place would admit, we proceeded forward to overtake the canoe, and after a warm walk came down upon the river, when we discharged our pieces twice, but received no answering signal. I was of opinion, that the canoe was before us, while the Indians entertained an opposite notion. I, however, crossed another point of land, and came again to the waterside about ten. Here we had a long view of the river, which circumstance excited in my mind, some doubts of my former sentiments. We repeated our signals, but without any return; and as every moment now increased my anxiety, I left Mr. Mackay and one of the Indians at this spot to make a large fire, and sent branches adrift down the current as notices of our situation, if the canoe was behind us; and proceeded with the other Indian across a very long point, where the river makes a considerable bend, in order that I might be satisfied if the canoe was a-head. Having been accustomed, for the last fortnight, to very cold weather, I found the heat of this day almost insupportable, as our way lay over a dry sand, which was relieved by no shade, but such as a few scattered cypresses could afford us. About twelve, we arrived once more at the river, and the discharge of our pieces was as unsuccessful as it had hitherto been. The water rushed before us with uncommon velocity; and we also tried the experiment of sending fresh branches down it. To add to the disagreeableness of our situation, the gnats and mosquitoes appeared in swarms to torment us. When we returned to our companions, we found that they had not been contented with remaining in the position where I had left them, but had been three or four miles down the river, but were come back to their station, without having made any discovery of the people on the water. Various very unpleasing conjectures at once perplexed and distressed us: the Indians, who are inclined to magnify evils of any and every kind, had at once consigned the canoe and every one on board it to the bottom; and were already settling a plan to return upon a raft, as well as calculating the number of nights that would be required to reach their home. As for myself, it will be easily believed, that my mind was in a state of extreme agitation, and the imprudence of my conduct in leaving the people, in such a situation of danger and toilsome exertion added a very painful mortification to the severe apprehensions I already suffered: it was an act of indiscretion which might have put an end to the voyage that I had so much at heart, and compelled me at length to submit to the scheme which my hunters had already formed for our return. At half past six in the evening, Mr. Mackay and the Cancre set off to proceed down the river, as far as they could before the night came on, and to continue their journey in the morning to the place where we had encamped the preceding evening. I also proposed to make my excursion upwards; and, if we both failed of success in meeting the canoe, it was agreed that we should return to the place where we now separated. In this situation we had wherewithal to drink in plenty, but with solid food we were totally unprovided. We had not seen even a partridge throughout the day, and the tracks of rein-deer that we had discovered, were of an old date. We were, however, preparing to make a bed of the branches of trees, where we should have had no other canopy than that afforded us by the heavens, when we heard a shot, and soon after another, which was the notice agreed upon, if Mr. Mackay and the Indian should see the canoe: that fortunate circumstance was also confirmed by a return of the signal from the people. I was, however, so fatigued from the heat and exercise of the day, as well as incommoded from drinking so much cold water, that I did not wish to remove till the following morning; but the Indian made such bitter complaints of the cold and hunger he suffered, that I complied with his solicitations to depart; and it was almost dark when we reached the canoe, barefooted, and drenched with rain. But these inconveniences affected me very little, when I saw myself once more surrounded with my people. They informed me, that the canoe had been broken; and that they had this day experienced much greater toil and hardships than on any former occasion. I thought it prudent to affect a belief of every representation that they made, and even to comfort each of them with a consolatory dram: for, however difficult the passage might have been, it was too short to have occupied the whole day, if they had not relaxed in their exertions. The rain was accompanied with thunder and lightning. It appeared from the various encampments which we had seen, and from several paddles we had found, that the natives frequent this part of the country at the latter end of the summer and the fall. The course to-day was nearly East-South-East two miles and a half, South by West one mile, South-South-East one mile and a half, East two miles, and South-East by South one mile. _Thursday, 6._--At half past four this morning we continued our voyage, our courses being South-East by South one mile, East by South three quarters of a mile, South-East by East two miles. The whole of this distance we proceeded by hauling the canoe from branch to branch. The current was so strong, that it was impossible to stem it with the paddles; the depth was too great to receive any assistance from the poles, and the bank of the river was so closely lined with willows and other trees, that it was impossible to employ the line. As it was past twelve before we could find a place that would allow of our landing, I could not get a meridian altitude. We occupied the rest of the day in repairing the canoe, drying our cloaths, and making paddles and poles to replace those which had been broken or lost. _Friday, 7._--The morning was clear and calm; and since we had been at this station the water had risen two inches; so that the current became still stronger; and its velocity had already been so great as to justify our despair in getting up it, if we had not been so long accustomed to surmount. I last night observed an emersion of Jupiter's first satellite, but inadvertently went to bed, without committing the exact time to writing: if my memory is correct, it was 8. 18. 10. by the timepiece. The canoe, which had been little better than a wreck, being now repaired, we proceeded East two miles and a quarter, South-South-East half a mile, South-East a quarter of a mile, when we landed to take an altitude for time. We continued our route at South-East by East three quarters of a mile, and landed again to determine the latitude, which is 55. 2. 51. To this I add, 2. 45. Southing, which will make the place of taking altitude for time 55. 5. 36. with which I find that my time-piece was slow 1. 32. 23. apparent time; and made the longitude obtained 122. 35. 50. West of Greenwich. From this place we proceeded East by South four miles and a half, East-South-East one mile and a half, in which space there falls in a small river from the East; East half a mile, South-East a mile and a half, East a quarter of a mile, and encamped at seven o'clock. Mr. Mackay and the hunters walked the greatest part of the day, and in the course of their excursion killed a porcupine.[1] Here we found the bed of a very large bear quite fresh. During the day several Indian encampments were seen, which were of a late erection. The current had also lost some of its impetuosity during the greater part of the day. _Saturday, 8._--It rained and thundered through the night, and at four in the morning we again encountered the current. Our course was East a quarter of a mile, round to South by East along a very high white sandy bank on the East shore, three quarters of a mile, South-South-East a quarter of a mile, South-South-West a quarter of a mile, South-South-East one mile and a quarter, South-East two miles, with a slack current; South-East by East two miles and a quarter, East a quarter of a mile, South-South-East a quarter of a mile, South-East by South four miles and a half, South-East one mile and a half, South-South-West half a mile, East-North-East half a mile, East-South-East a quarter of a mile, South-East by South one mile, South-East by East half a mile, East by South three quarters of a mile, when the mountains were in full view in this direction, and Eastward. For the three last days we could only see them at short intervals and long distances; but till then, they were continually in sight on either side, from our entrance into the fork. Those to the left were at no great distance from us. For the last two days we had been anxiously looking out for the carrying-place, but could not discover it, and our only hope was in such information as we should be able to procure from the natives. All that remained for us to do, was to push forwards till the river should be no longer navigable: it had now, indeed, overflowed its banks, so that it was eight at night before we could discover a place to encamp. Having found plenty of wild parsnips, we gathered the tops, and boiled them with pemmican for our supper. _Sunday, 9._--The rain of this morning terminated in a heavy mist at half past five, when we embarked and steered South-East one mile and a half, when it veered North-North-East half a mile, South-East three quarters of a mile, East by South three quarters of a mile, East-South-East a quarter of a mile, South-South-East a quarter of a mile, South-East by East one mile, North-East by East half a mile, South-East by East half a mile, South-East by South three quarters of a mile, South-East three quarters of a mile, East by South half a mile, South-East by East half a mile, East-North-East three quarters of a mile, when it veered to South-South-East half a mile, then back to East (when a blue mountain, clear of snow, appeared a-head) one mile and a half; North-East by East half a mile, East by North one mile, when it veered to South-East half a mile, then on to North-West three quarters of a mile, and back to North-East by East half a mile, South by West a quarter of a mile, North-East by East to North-North-East half a mile, South-South-East a quarter of a mile, and East by North half a mile; here we perceived a smell of fire; and in a short time heard people in the woods, as if in a state of great confusion, which was occasioned, as we afterwards understood, by their discovery of us. At the same time this unexpected circumstance produced some little discomposure among ourselves, as our arms were not in a state of preparation, and we were as yet unable to ascertain the number of the party. I considered, that if there were but few, it would be needless to pursue them, as it would not be probable that we should overtake them in these thick woods; and if they were numerous, it would be an act of great imprudence to make the attempt, at least during their present alarm. I therefore ordered my people to strike off to the opposite side, that we might see if any of them had sufficient courage to remain; but, before we were half over the river, which in this part is not more than a hundred yards wide, two men appeared on a rising ground over against us, brandishing their spears, displaying their bows and arrows, and accompanying their hostile gestures with loud vociferations. My interpreter did not hesitate to assure them, that they might dispel their apprehensions, as we were white people, who meditated no injury, but were, on the contrary, desirous of demonstrating every mark of kindness and friendship. They did not, however, seem disposed to confide in our declarations, and actually threatened, if we came over before they were more fully satisfied of our peaceable intentions, that they would discharge their arrows at us. This was a decided kind of conduct which I did not expect; at the same time I readily complied with their proposition, and after some time had passed in hearing and answering their questions, they consented to our landing, though not without betraying very evident symptoms of fear and distrust. They, however, laid aside their weapons, and when I stepped forward and took each of them by the hand, one of them, but with a very tremulous action, drew his knife from his sleeve, and presented it to me as a mark of his submission to my will and pleasure. On our first hearing the noise of these people in the woods, we displayed our flag, which was now shewn to them as a token of friendship. They examined us, and every thing about us, with a minute and suspicious attention. They had heard, indeed, of white men, but this was the first time that they had ever seen a human being of a complexion different from their own. The party had been here but a few hours; nor had they yet erected their sheds; and, except the two men now with us, they had all fled, leaving their little property behind them. To those which had given us such a proof of their confidence, we paid the most conciliating attentions in our power. One of them I sent to recall his people, and the other, for very obvious reasons, we kept with us. In the mean time the canoe was unloaded, the necessary baggage carried up the hill, and the tents pitched. Here I determined to remain till the Indians became so familiarized to us, as to give all the intelligence which we imagined might be obtained from them. In fact, it had been my intention to land where I might most probably discover the carrying-place, which was our more immediate object, and undertake marches of two or three days, in different directions, in search of another river. If unsuccessful in this attempt, it was my purpose to continue my progress up the present river, as far as it was navigable, and if we did not meet with natives to instruct us in our further progress, I had determined to return to the fork, and take the other branch, with the hope of better fortune. It was about three in the afternoon when we landed, and at five the whole party of Indians were assembled. It consisted only of three men, three women, and seven or eight boys and girls. With their scratched legs, bleeding feet, and dishevelled hair, as in the hurry of their flight they had left their shoes and leggins behind them, they displayed a most wretched appearance: they were consoled, however, with beads, and other trifles, which seemed to please them; they had pemmican also given them to eat, which was not unwelcome, and in our opinion, at least, superior to their own provision, which consisted entirely of dried fish. When I thought that they were sufficiently composed, I sent for the men to my tent, to gain such information respecting the country as I concluded it was in their power to afford me. But my expectations were by no means satisfied: they said that they were not acquainted with any river to the Westward, but that there was one from whence they were just arrived, over a carrying-place of eleven days march, which they represented as being a branch only of the river before us. Their iron-work they obtained from the people who inhabit the bank of that river, and an adjacent lake, in exchange for beaver skins, and dressed moose skins. They represented the latter as travelling, during a moon, to get to the country of other tribes, who live in houses, with whom they traffic for the same commodities; and that these also extend their journies in the same manner to the sea coast, or, to use their expression, the Stinking Lake, where they trade with people like us, that come there in vessels as big as islands. They added, that the people to the Westward, as they have been told, are very numerous. Those who inhabit the other branch they stated as consisting of about forty families, while they themselves did not amount to more than a fourth of that number; and were almost continually compelled to remain in their strong holds, where they sometimes perished with cold and hunger, to secure themselves from their enemies, who never failed to attack them whenever an opportunity presented itself. This account of the country, from a people who I had every reason to suppose were well acquainted with every part of it, threatened to disconcert the project on which my heart was set, and in which my whole mind was occupied. It occurred to me, however, that from fear, or other motives, they might be tardy in their communication; I therefore assured them that, if they would direct me to the river which I described to them, I would come in large vessels, like those that their neighbours had described, to the mouth of it, and bring them arms and ammunition in exchange for the produce of their country; so that they might be able to defend themselves against their enemies, and no longer remain in that abject, distressed, and fugitive state in which they then lived. I added also, that in the mean time, if they would, on my return accompany me below the mountains, to a country which was very abundant in animals, I would furnish them, and their companions, with every thing they might want; and make peace between them and the Beaver Indians. But all these promises did not appear to advance the object of my inquiries, and they still persisted in their ignorance of any such river as I had mentioned, that discharged itself into the sea. In this state of perplexity and disappointment, various projects presented themselves to my mind, which were no sooner formed than they were discovered to be impracticable, and were consequently abandoned. At one time I thought of leaving the canoe, and every thing it contained, to go over land, and pursue that chain of connexion by which these people obtain their iron-work; but a very brief course of reflection convinced me that it would be impossible for us to carry provisions for our support through any considerable part of such a journey, as well as presents, to secure us a kind reception among the natives, and ammunition for the service of the hunters, and to defend ourselves against any act of hostility. At another time my solicitude for the success of the expedition incited a wish to remain with the natives, and go to the sea by the way they had described; but the accomplishment of such a journey, even if no accident should interpose, would have required a portion of time which it was not in my power to bestow. In my present state of information, to proceed further up the river was considered as a fruitless waste of toilsome exertion; and to return unsuccessful, after all our labour, sufferings, and dangers, was an idea too painful to indulge. Besides, I could not yet abandon the hope that the Indians might not yet be sufficiently composed and confident, to disclose their real knowledge of the country freely and fully to me. Nor was I altogether without my doubts respecting the fidelity of my interpreter, who being very much tired of the voyage, might be induced to withhold those communications which would induce me to continue it. I therefore continued my attentions to the natives, regaled them with such provisions as I had, indulged their children with a taste of sugar, and determined to suspend my conversation with them till the following morning. On my expressing a desire to partake of their fish, they brought me a few dried trout, well cured, that had been taken in the river which they lately left. One of the men also brought me five beaver skins, as a present. _Monday, 10._--The solicitude that possessed my mind interrupted my repose; when the dawn appeared I had already quitted my bed, and was waiting with impatience for another conference with the natives. The sun, however, had risen before they left their leafy bowers, whither they had retired with their children, having most hospitably resigned their beds, and the partners of them, to the solicitations of my young men. I now repeated my inquiries, but my perplexity was not removed by any favourable variation in their answers. About nine, however, one of them, still remaining at my fire, in conversation with the interpreters, I understood enough of his language to know that he mentioned something about a great river, at the same time pointing significantly up that which was before us. On my inquiring of the interpreter respecting that expression, I was informed that he knew of a large river, that runs towards the mid-day sun, a branch of which flowed near the source of that which we were now navigating; and that there were only three small lakes, and as many carrying-places, leading to a small river, which discharges itself into the great river, but that the latter did not empty itself into the sea. The inhabitants, he said, built houses, lived on islands, and were a numerous and warlike people. I desired him to describe the road to the other river, by delineating it with a piece of coal, on a strip of bark, which he accomplished to my satisfaction. The opinion that the river did not discharge itself into the sea, I very confidently imputed to his ignorance of the country. My hopes were now renewed, and an object presented itself which awakened my utmost impatience. To facilitate its attainment, one of the Indians was induced, by presents, to accompany me as a guide to the first inhabitants, which we might expect to meet on the small lakes in our way. I accordingly resolved to depart with all expedition, and while my people were making every necessary preparation, I employed myself in writing the following description of the natives around me: They are low in stature, not exceeding five feet six or seven inches; and they are of that meagre appearance which might be expected in a people whose life is one secession of difficulties, in procuring subsistence. Their faces are round, with high cheek bones; and their eyes, which are small, are of a dark brown colour; the cartilage of their nose is perforated, but without any ornaments suspended from it; their hair is of a dingy black, hanging loose and in disorder over their shoulders, but irregularly cut in the front, so as not to obstruct the sight; their beards are eradicated, with the exception of a few straggling hairs, and their complexion is a swarthy yellow. Their dress consists of robes made of the skins of the heaver, the ground-hog and the reindeer, dressed in the hair, and of the moose-skin without it. All of them are ornamented with a fringe, while some of them have tassels hanging down the seams; those of the ground-hog are decorated on the fur side with the tails of the animal, which they do not separate from them. Their garments they tie over the shoulders, and fasten them round the middle with a belt of green skin, which is as stiff as horn. Their leggins are long, and, if they were topped with a waistband, might be called trowsers: they, as well as their shoes, are made of dressed moose, elk, or rein-deer skin. The organs of generation they leave uncovered. The women differ little in their dress, from the men, except in the addition of an apron, which is fastened round the waist, and hangs down to the knees. They are in general of a more lusty make than the other sex, and taller in proportion, but infinitely their inferiors in cleanliness. A black artificial stripe crosses the face beneath the eye, from ear to ear, which I first took for scabs, from the accumulation of dirt on it. Their hair, which is longer than that of the men, is divided from the forehead to the crown, and drawn back in long plaits behind the ears. They have also a few white beads, which they get where they procure their iron: they are from a line to an inch in length, and are worn in their ears, but are not of European manufacture. These, with bracelets made of horn and bone, compose all the ornaments which decorate their persons. Necklaces of the grisly or white bear's claws, are worn exclusively by the men. Their arms consist of bows made of cedar, six feet in length, with a short iron spike at one end, and serve occasionally as a spear. Their arrows are well made, barbed, and pointed with iron, flint, stone, or bone; they are feathered, and from two or two feet and a half in length. They have two kinds of spears, but both are double edged, and of well polished iron; one of them is about twelve inches long, and two wide; the other about half the width, and two thirds of the length; the shafts of the first are eight feet in length, and the latter six. They have also spears made of bone. Their knives consist of pieces of iron, shaped and handled by themselves. Their axes are something like our adze, and they use them in the same manner as we employ that instrument. They were, indeed, furnished with iron in a manner that I could not have supposed, and plainly proved to me that their communication with those, who communicate with the inhabitants of the sea coast, cannot be very difficult, and from their ample provision of iron weapons, the means of procuring it must be of a more distant origin than I had at first conjectured. They have snares made of green skin, which they cut to the size of sturgeon twine, and twist a certain number of them together; and though when completed they do not exceed the thickness of a cod-line, their strength is sufficient to hold a moose-deer; they are from one and a half to two fathoms in length. Their nets and fishing-lines are made of willow-bark and nettles; those made of the latter are finer and smoother than if made with hempen thread. Their hooks are small bones, fixed in pieces of wood split for that purpose, and tied round with fine watape, which has been particularly described in the former voyage. Their kettles are also made of watape, which is so closely woven that they never leak, and they heat water in them, by putting red-hot stones into it. There is one kind of them, made of spruce-bark, which they hang over the fire, but at such a distance as to receive the heat without being within reach of the blaze; a very tedious operation. They have various dishes of wood and bark; spoons of horn and wood, and buckets; bags of leather and net-work, and baskets of bark, some of which hold their fishing-tackle, while others are contrived to be carried on the back. They have a brown kind of earth in great abundance, with which they rub their clothes, not only for ornament but utility, as it prevents the leather from becoming hard after it has been wetted. They have spruce bark in great plenty, with which they make their canoes, an operation that does not require any great portion of skill or ingenuity, and is managed in the following manner.--The bark is taken off the tree the whole length of the intended canoe, which is commonly about eighteen feet, and is sewed with watape at both ends; two laths are then laid, and fixed along the edge of the bark which forms the gunwale; in these are fixed the bars, and against them bear the ribs or timbers, that are out to the length to which the bark can be stretched; and, to give additional strength, strips of wood are laid between them: to make the whole water-tight, gum is abundantly employed. These vessels carry from two to five people. Canoes of a similar construction were used by the Beaver Indians within these few years, but they now very generally employ those made of the bark of the birch tree, which are by far more durable. Their paddles are about six feet long, and about one foot is occupied by the blade, which is in the shape of an heart. Previous to our departure, the natives had caught a couple of trout, of about six pounds weight, which they brought me, and I paid them with beads. They likewise gave me a net, made of nettles, the skin of a moose-deer, dressed, and a white horn in the shape of a spoon which resembles the horn of the buffalo of the Copper-Mine-River; but their description of the animal to which it belongs does not answer to that. My young men also got two quivers of excellent arrows, a collar of white bear's claws, of a great length, horn bracelets, and other articles, for which they received an ample remuneration. [1] We had been obliged to indulge our hunters with sitting idle in the canoe, lest their being compelled to share in the labour of navigating it should disgust and drive them from us. We, therefore, employed them as much as possible on shore, as well to procure provisions, as to lighten the canoe. CHAPTER V. JUNE, 1793. _Monday, 10._--At ten we were ready to embark. I then took leave of the Indians, but encouraged them to expect us in two moons, and expressed an hope that I should find them on the road with any of their relations whom they might meet. I also returned the beaver skins to the man who had presented them to me, desiring him to take care of them till I came back, when I would purchase them of him. Our guide expressed much less concern about the undertaking in which he had engaged, than his companions, who appeared to be affected with great solicitude for his safety. We now pushed off the canoe from the bank, and proceeded East half a mile, when a river flowed in from the left, about half as large as that which we were navigating. We continued the same course three quarters of a mile, when we missed two of our fowling pieces, which had been forgotten, and I sent their owners back for them, who were absent on this errand upwards of an hour. We now proceeded North-East by East half a mile, North-East by North three quarters of a mile, when the current slackened; there was a verdant spot on the left, where, from the remains of some Indian timber-work, it appeared, that the natives have frequently encamped. Our next course was East one mile, and we saw a ridge of mountains covered with snow to the South-East. The land on our right was low and marshy for three or four miles, when it rose into a range of heights that extended to the mountains. We proceeded East-South-East a mile and a half, South-East by East one mile, East by South three quarters of a mile, South-East by East one mile, East by South half a mile, North-East by East one mile, South-East half a mile, East-North-East a mile and a quarter, South-South-East half a mile, North-North-East a mile and a half: here a river flowed in from the left, which was about one-fourth part as large as that which received its tributary waters. We then continued East by South half a mile, to the foot of the mountain on the South of the above river. The course now veered short, South-West by West three quarters of a mile, East by South a quarter of a mile, South half a mile, South-East by South half a mile, South-West a quarter of a mile, East by South a quarter of a mile, veered to West-North-West a quarter of a mile, South-West one eighth of a mile, East-South-East one quarter of a mile, East one sixth of a mile, South-South-West one twelfth of a mile, East-South-East one eighth of a mile, North-East by East one third of a mile, East by North one twelfth of a mile, North-East by East one third of a mile, East one sixteenth of a mile, South-East one twelfth of a mile, North-East by East one twelfth of a mile, East one eighth of a mile, and East-South-East half a mile, when we landed at seven o'clock and encamped. During the greatest part of the distance we came to-day, the river runs close under the mountains on the left. _Tuesday, 11._--The morning was clear and cold. On my interpreter's encouraging the guide to dispel all apprehension, to maintain his fidelity to me, and not to desert in the night, "How is it possible for me," he replied, "to leave the lodge of the Great Spirit!--When he tells me that he has no further occasion for me, I will then return to my children." As we proceeded, however, he soon lost, and with good reason, his exalted notions of me. [Transcriber's Note: The date of this journal entry was given as _Wednesday, 12._ in this edition. It has been corrected here to be in agreement with context and with other editions.] At four we continued our voyage, steering East by South a mile and a half, East-South-East half a mile. A river appeared on the left, at the foot of a mountain which, from its conical form, my young Indian called the Beaver Lodge Mountain. Having proceeded South-South-East half a mile, another river appeared from the right. We now came in a line with the beginning of the mountains we saw yesterday: others of the same kind ran parallel with them on the left side of the river, which was reduced to the breadth of fifteen yards, and with a moderate current. We now steered East-North-East one eighth of a mile, South-East by South one eighth of a mile, East-South-East one sixth of a mile, South-West one eighth of a mile, East-South-East one eighth of a mile, South-South-East one sixth of a mile, North-East by East one twelfth of a mile, East-South-East half a mile, South-West by West one third of a mile, South-South-East one eighth of a mile, South-South-West one quarter of a mile, North-East one sixth of a mile, South by West one fourth of a mile, East three quarters of a mile, and North-East one quarter of a mile. Here the mountain on the left appeared to be composed of a succession of round hills, covered with wood almost to their summits, which were white with snow, and crowned with withered trees. We now steered East, in a line with the high lands on the right five miles; North one twelfth of a mile, North-East by North one eighth of a mile, South by East one sixteenth of a mile, North-East by North one fourth of a mile, where another river fell in from the right; North-East by East one sixth of a mile, East two miles and a half, South one twelfth of a mile, North-East half a mile, South-East one third of a mile, East one mile and a quarter, South-South-West one sixteenth of a mile, North-East by East half a mile, East one mile and three quarters, South and South-West by West half a mile, North-East half a mile, South one third of a mile, North-East by North one sixth of a mile, East by South one fourth of a mile, South one eighth of a mile, South-East three quarters of a mile. The canoe had taken in so much water, that it was necessary for us to land here, in order to stop the leakage, which occasioned the delay of an hour and a quarter, North-East a quarter of a mile, East-North-East a quarter of a mile, South-East by South a sixteenth of a mile, East by South a twelfth of a mile, North-East one sixth of a mile, East-South-East one sixteenth of a mile, South-West half a mile, North-East a quarter of a mile, East by South half a mile, South-South-East one twelfth of a mile, East half a mile, North-East by North a quarter of a mile, South-South-East a quarter of a mile, North-East by North one twelfth of a mile, where a small river flowed in from the left, South-East by East one twelfth of a mile, South by East a quarter of a mile, South-East one eighth of a mile, East one twelfth of a mile, North-East by North a quarter of a mile, South half a mile, South-East by South one eighth of a mile, North-East one fourth of a mile, South-East by East, and South-East by South one third of a mile, East-South-East, and North-North-East one third of a mile, and South by West, East and East-North-East one eighth of a mile. Here we quitted the main branch, which, according to the information of our guide, terminates at a short distance, where it is supplied by the snow which covers the mountains. In the same direction is a valley which appears to be of very great depth, and is full of snow, that rises nearly to the height of the land, and forms a reservoir of itself sufficient to furnish a river, whenever there is a moderate degree of heat. The branch which we left was not, at this time, more than ten yards broad, while that which we entered was still less. Here the current was very trifling, and the channel so meandering, that we sometimes found it difficult to work the canoe forward. The straight course from this to the entrance of a small lake or pond, is about East one mile. This entrance by the river into the lake was almost choked up by a quantity of drift-wood, which appeared to me to be an extraordinary circumstance: but I afterwards found that it falls down from the mountains. The water, however, was so high, that the country was entirely overflowed, and we passed with the canoe among the branches of trees. The principal wood along the banks is spruce, intermixed with a few white birch, growing on detached spots, the intervening spaces being covered with willow and elder. We advanced about a mile in the lake, and took up our station for the night at an old Indian encampment. Here we expected to meet with natives, but were disappointed; but our guide encouraged us with the hope of seeing some on the morrow. We saw beaver in the course of the afternoon, but did not discharge our pieces from the fear of alarming the inhabitants; there were also swans in great numbers, with geese and ducks, which we did not disturb for the same reason. We observed also the tracks of moose-deer that had crossed the river; and wild parsnips grew here in abundance, which have been already mentioned as a grateful vegetable. Of birds, we saw bluejays, yellow birds, and one beautiful humming-bird; of the first and last, I had not seen any since I had been in the North-West. _Wednesday June 12._--The weather was the same as yesterday, and we proceeded between three and four in the morning. We took up the net which we had set the preceding evening, when it contained a trout, one white fish, one carp, and three jub. The lake is about two miles in length, East by South, and from three to five hundred yards wide. This I consider as the highest and Southernmost source of the Unjigah, or Peace River, latitude, 54. 24. North, longitude 121. West from Greenwich, which, after a winding course through a vast extent of country, receiving many large rivers in its progress, and passing through the Slave Lake, empties itself into the Frozen Ocean, in 70. North latitude, and about 135. West longitude. [Transcriber's Note: The date of the current journal entry is located incorrectly in the text of this edition. It is moved here from context and in agreement with other editions.] We landed and unloaded, where we found a beaten path leading over a low ridge of land eight hundred and seventeen paces in length, to another small lake. The distance between the two mountains at this place is about a quarter of a mile, rocky precipices presenting themselves on both sides. A few large spruce trees and liards were scattered over the carrying-place. There were also willows along the side of the water, with plenty of grass and weeds. The natives had left their old canoes here, with baskets hanging on the trees, which contained various articles. From the latter I took a net, some hooks, a goat's-horn, and a kind of wooden trap, in which, as our guide informed me, the ground-hog is taken. I left, however, in exchange, a knife, some fire-steels, beads, awls, &c. Here two streams tumble down the rocks from the right, and lose themselves in the lake which we had left; while two others fall from the opposite heights, and glide into the lake which we were approaching; this being the highest point of land dividing these waters, and we are now going with the stream. This lake runs in the same course as the last, but is rather narrower, and not more than half the length. We were obliged to clear away some floating drift-wood to get to the carrying-place, over which is a beaten path of only an hundred and seventy-five paces long. The lake empties itself by a small river, which, if the channel were not interrupted by large trees that had fallen across it, would have admitted of our canoe with all its lading: the impediment, in deed, might have been removed by two axe-men in a few hours. On the edge of the water, we observed a large quantity of thick yellow, scum or froth, of an acrid taste and smell. We embarked on this lake, which is in the same course, and about the same size as that which we had just left, and from whence we passed into a small river, that was so full of fallen wood, as to employ some time, and require some exertion, to force a passage. At the entrance, it afforded no more water than was just sufficient to bear the canoe; but it was soon increased by many small streams which came in broken rills down the rugged sides of the mountains, and were furnished, as I suppose, by the melting of the snow. These accessory streamlets had all the coldness of ice. Our course continued to be obstructed by banks of gravel, as well as trees which had fallen across the river. We were obliged to force our way through the one, and to cut through the other, at a great expense of time and trouble. In many places the current was also very rapid and meandering. At four in the afternoon, we stopped to unload and carry, and at five we entered a small round lake of about one third of a mile in diameter. From the last lake to this is, I think, in a straight line, East by South six miles, though it is twice that distance by the winding of the river. We again entered the river, which soon ran with great rapidity, and rushed impetuously over a bed of flat stones. At half past six we were stopped by two large trees that lay across the river, and it was with great difficulty that the canoe was prevented from driving against them. Here we unloaded and formed our encampment. The weather was cloudy and raw, and as the circumstances of this day's voyage had compelled us to be frequently in the water, which was cold as ice, we were almost in a benumbed state. Some of the people who had gone ashore to lighten the canoe, experienced great difficulty in reaching us, from the rugged state of the country; it was, indeed, almost dark when they arrived. We had no sooner landed than I sent two men down the river to bring me some account of its circumstances, that I might form a judgment of the difficulties which might await us on the morrow; and they brought back a fearful detail of rapid currents, fallen trees, and large stones. At this place our guide manifested evident symptoms of discontent: he had been very much alarmed in going down some of the rapids with us, and expressed an anxiety to return. He shewed us a mountain, at no great distance, which he represented as being on the other side of a river, into which this empties itself. _Thursday, 13._--At an early hour of this morning the men began to cut a road, in order to carry the canoe and lading beyond the rapid; and by seven they were ready. That business was soon effected, and the canoe reladen, to proceed with the current which ran with great rapidity. In order to lighten her, it was my intention to walk with some of the people; but those in the boat with great earnestness requested me to embark, declaring, at the same time, that, if they perished, I should perish with them. I did not then imagine in how short a period their apprehension would be justified. We accordingly pushed off, and had proceeded but a very short way when the canoe struck, and notwithstanding all our exertions, the violence of the current was so great as to drive her sideways down the river, and break her by the first bar, when I instantly jumped into the water, and the men followed my example; but before we could set her straight, or stop her, we came to deeper water, so that we were obliged to re-embark with the utmost precipitation. One of the men who was not sufficiently active, was left to get on shore in the best manner in his power. We had hardly regained our situations when we drove against a rock which shattered the stern of the canoe in such a manner, that it held only by the gunwales, so that the steersman could no longer keep his place. The violence of this stroke drove us to the opposite side of the river, which is but narrow, when the bow met with the same fate as the stern. At this moment the foreman seized on some branches of a small tree in the hope of bringing up the canoe, but such was their elasticity that, in a manner not easily described, he was jerked on shore in an instant, and with a degree of violence that threatened his destruction. But we had no time to turn from our own situation to enquire what had befallen him; for, in a few moments, we came across a cascade which broke several large holes in the bottom of the canoe, and started all the bars, except one behind the scooping seat. If this accident, however, had not happened, the vessel must have been irretrievably overset. The wreck becoming flat on the water, we all jumped out, while the steersman, who had been compelled to abandon his place, and had not recovered from his fright, called out to his companions to save themselves. My peremptory commands superseded the effects of his fear, and they all held fast to the wreck; to which fortunate resolution we owed our safety, as we should otherwise have been dashed against the rocks by the force of the water, or driven over the cascades. In this condition we were forced several hundred yards, and every yard on the verge of destruction; but, at length, we most fortunately arrived in shallow water and a small eddy, where we were enabled to make a stand, from the weight of the canoe resting on the stones, rather than from any exertions of our exhausted strength. For though our efforts were short, they were pushed to the utmost, as life or death depended on them. This alarming scene, with all its terrors and dangers, occupied only a few minutes; and in the present suspension of it, we called to the people on shore to come to our assistance, and they immediately obeyed the summons. The foreman, however, was the first with us; he had escaped unhurt from the extraordinary jerk with which he was thrown out of the boat, and just as we were beginning to take our effects out of the water, he appeared to give his assistance. The Indians, when they saw our deplorable situation, instead of making the least effort to help us, sat down and gave vent to their tears. I was on the outside of the canoe, where I remained till every thing was got on shore, in a state of great pain from the extreme cold of the water; so that at length, it was with difficulty I could stand, from the benumbed state of my limbs. The loss was considerable and important, for it consisted of our whole stock of balls, and some of our furniture; but these considerations were forgotten in the impressions of our miraculous escape. Our first inquiry was after the absent man, whom in the first moment of danger, we had left to get on shore, and in a short time his appearance removed our anxiety. We had, however, sustained no personal injury of consequence, and my bruises seemed to be in the greater proportion. All the different articles were now spread out to dry. The powder had fortunately received no damage, and all my instruments had escaped. Indeed, when my people began to recover from their alarm, and to enjoy a sense of safety, some of them, if not all, were by no means sorry for our late misfortune, from the hope that it must put a period to our voyage, particularly as we were without a canoe, and all the bullets sunk in the river. It did not, indeed, seem possible to them that we could proceed under these circumstances. I listened, however, to the observations that were made on the occasion without replying to them, till their panic was dispelled, and they had got themselves warm and comfortable, with an hearty meal, and rum enough to raise their spirits. I then addressed them, by recommending them all to be thankful for their late very narrow escape. I also stated, that the navigation was not impracticable in itself, but from our ignorance of its course; and that our late experience would enable us to pursue our voyage with greater security. I brought to their recollection, that I did not deceive them, and that they were made acquainted with the difficulties and dangers they must expect to encounter, before they engaged to accompany me. I also urged the honour of conquering disasters, and the disgrace that would attend them on their return home, without having attained the object of the expedition. Nor did I fail to mention the courage and resolution which was the peculiar boast of the North men; and that I depended on them, at that moment, for the maintenance of their character. I quieted their apprehension as to the loss of the bullets, by bringing to their recollection that we still had shot from which they might be manufactured. I at the same time acknowledged the difficulty of restoring the wreck of the canoe, but confided in our skill and exertion to put it in such a state as would carry us on to where we might procure bark, and build a new one. In short, my harangue produced the desired effect, and a very general assent appeared to go wherever I should lead the way. Various opinions were offered in the present posture of affairs, and it was rather a general wish that the wreck should be abandoned, and all the lading carried to the river, which our guide informed us was at no great distance, and in the vicinity of woods where he believed there was plenty of bark. This project seemed not to promise that certainty to which I looked in my present operations; besides, I had my doubts respecting the views of my guide, and consequently could not confide in the representation he made to me. I therefore dispatched two of the men at nine in the morning, with one of the young Indians, for I did not venture to trust the guide out of my sight, in search of bark, and to endeavor, if it were possible, in the course of the day, to penetrate to the great river, into which that before us discharges itself in the direction which the guide had communicated. I now joined my people in order to repair, as well as circumstances would admit, our wreck of a canoe, and I began to set them the example. At noon I had an altitude, which gave 54. 23. North latitude. At four in the afternoon I took time, with the hope that in the night I might obtain an observation of Jupiter, and his satellites, but I had not a sufficient horizon, from the propinquity of the mountains. The result of my calculation for the time was 1. 32. 28. slow apparent time. It now grew late, and the people who had been sent on the excursion already mentioned, were, not yet returned; about ten o'clock, however, I heard a man halloo, and I very gladly returned the signal. In a short time our young Indian arrived with a small roll of indifferent bark: he was oppressed with fatigue and hunger, and his clothes torn to rags: he had parted with the other two men at sunset, who had walked the whole day, in a dreadful country, without procuring any good bark, or being able to get to the large river. His account of the river, on whose banks we were, could not be more unfavourable or discouraging; it had appeared to him to be little more than a succession of falls and rapids, with occasional interruptions of fallen trees. Our guide became so dissatisfied and troubled in mind, that we could not obtain from him any regular account of the country before us. All we could collect from him was, that the river into which this empties itself, is but a branch of a large river, the great fork being at no great distance from the confluence of this; and that he knew of no lake, or large body of still water, in the vicinity of these rivers. To this account of the country, he added some strange, fanciful, but terrifying descriptions of the natives, similar to those which were mentioned in the former voyage. We had an escape this day, which I must add to the many instances of good fortune which I experienced in this perilous expedition. The powder had been spread out, to the amount of eighty pounds weight, to receive the air; and, in this situation, one of the men carelessly and composedly walked across it with a lighted pipe in his mouth, but without any ill consequence resulting from such an act of criminal negligence. I need not add that one spark might have put a period to all my anxiety and ambition. I observed several trees and plants on the banks of this river, which I had not seen to the North of the latitude 52. such as the cedar, maple, hemlock, &c. At this time the water rose fast, and passed on with the rapidity of an arrow shot from a bow. _Friday 14._--The weather was fine, clear, and warm, and at an early hour of the morning we resumed our repair of the canoe. At half past seven our two men returned hungry and cold, not having tasted food, or enjoyed the least repose for twenty-four hours, with their clothes torn into tatters, and their skin lacerated, in passing through the woods. Their account was the same as that brought by the Indian, with this exception, that they had reason to think they saw the river, or branch which our guide had mentioned: but they were of opinion that from the frequent obstructions in this river, we should have to carry the whole way to it, through a dreadful country, where much time and labour would be required to open a passage through it. Discouraging as these accounts were, they did not, however, interrupt for a moment the task in which we were engaged, of repairing the canoe; and this work we contrived to complete by the conclusion of the day. The bark which was brought by the Indian, with some pieces of oil-cloth, and plenty of gum, enabled us to put our shattered vessel in a condition to answer our present purposes. The guide, who has been mentioned as manifesting continual signs of dissatisfaction, now assumed an air of contentment, which I attributed to a smoke that was visible in the direction of the river; as he naturally expected, if we should fall in with any natives, which was now very probable, from such a circumstance, that he should be released from a service which he had found so irksome and full of danger. I had an observation at noon, which made our latitude 54. 23. 48. North. I also took time, and found it slow apparent time 1. 38. 44. _Saturday, 15._--The weather continued the same as the preceding day, and according to the directions which I had previously given, my people began at a very early hour to open a road, through which we might carry a part of our lading; as I was fearful of risking the whole of it in the canoe, in its present weak state, and in a part of the river which is full of shoals and rapids. Four men were employed to conduct her, lightened as she was of twelve packages. They passed several dangerous places, and met with various obstructions, the current of the river being frequently stopped by rafts of drift wood, and fallen trees, so that after fourteen hours hard labour we had not made more than three miles. Our course was South-East by East, and as we had not met with any accident, the men appeared to feel a renewed courage to continue their voyage. In the morning, however, one of the crew, whose name was Beauchamp, peremptorily refused to embark in the canoe. This being the first example of absolute disobedience which had yet appeared during the course of our expedition, I should not have passed it over without taking some very severe means to prevent a repetition of it; but as he had the general character of a simple fellow, among his companions, and had been frightened out of what little sense he possessed, by our late dangers, I rather preferred to consider him as unworthy of accompanying us, and to represent him as an object of ridicule and contempt for his pusillanimous behaviour; though, in fact, he was a very useful, active, and laborious man. At the close of the day we assembled round a blazing fire; and the whole party, being enlivened with the usual beverage which I supplied on these occasions, forgot their fatigues and apprehensions; nor did they fail to anticipate the pleasure they should enjoy in getting clear of their present difficulties, and gliding onwards with a strong and steady stream, which our guide had described as the characteristic of the large river we soon expected to enter. _Sunday, 16._--The fine weather continued, and we began our work, as we had done the preceding day; some were occupied in opening a road, others were carrying, and the rest employed in conducting the canoe. I was of the first party, and soon discovered that we had encamped about half a mile above several falls, over which we could not attempt to run the canoe, lightened even as she was. This circumstance rendered it necessary that the road should be made sufficiently wide to admit the canoe to pass; a tedious and toilsome work. In running her down a rapid above the falls, a hole was broken in her bottom, which occasioned a considerable delay, as we were destitute of the materials necessary for her effectual reparation. On my being informed of this misfortune, I returned, and ordered Mr. Mackay, with two Indians, to quit their occupation in making the road, and endeavour to penetrate to the great river, according to the direction which the guide had communicated, without paying any attention to the course of the river before us. When the people had repaired the canoe in the best manner they were able, we conducted her to the head of the falls; she was then unloaded and taken out of the water, when we carried her for a considerable distance through a low, swampy country. I appointed four men to this laborious office, which they executed at the peril of their lives, for the canoe was now become so heavy, from the additional quantity of bark and gum necessary to patch her up, that two men could not carry her more than an hundred yards, without being relieved; and as their way lay through deep mud, which was rendered more difficult by the roots and prostrate trunks of trees, they were every moment in danger of falling; and beneath such a weight, one false step might have been attended with fatal consequences. The other two men and myself followed as fast as we could, with the lading. Thus did we toil till seven o'clock in the evening, to get to the termination of the road that had been made in the morning. Here Mr. Mackay and the Indian joined us, after having been at the river, which they represented as rather large. They had also observed, that the lower part of the river before us was so full of fallen wood, that the attempt to clear a passage through it, would be an unavailing labour. The country through which they had passed was morass, and almost impenetrable wood. In passing over one of the embarras, our dog, which was following them, fell in, and it was with very great difficulty that he was saved, as the current had carried him under the drift. They brought with them two geese, which had been shot in the course of their expedition. To add to our perplexities and embarrassments, we were persecuted by mosquitoes and sand-flies, through the whole of the day. The extent of our journey was not more than two miles South-East; and so much fatigue and pain had been suffered in the course of it, that my people, as might be expected, looked forward to a continuance of it with discouragement and dismay. I was, indeed, informed that murmurs prevailed among them, of which, however, I took no notice. When we were assembled together for the night, I gave each of them a dram, and in a short time they retired to the repose which they so much required. We could discover the termination of the mountains at a considerable distance on either side of us, which, according to my conjecture, marked the course of the great river. On the mountains to the East there were several fires, as their smokes were very visible to us. Excessive heat prevailed throughout the day. _Monday, 17._--Having sat up till twelve last night, which had been my constant practice since we had taken our present guide, I awoke Mr. Mackay to watch him in turn. I then laid down to rest, and at three I was awakened to be informed that he had deserted. Mr. Mackay, with whom I was displeased on this occasion, and the Cancre, accompanied by the dog, went in search of him, but he had made his escape: a design which he had for some time meditated, though I had done every thing in my power to induce him to remain with me. This misfortune did not produce any relaxation in our exertions. At an early hour of the morning we were all employed in cutting a passage of three quarters of a mile, through which we carried our canoe and cargo, when we put her into the water with her lading, but in a very short time were stopped by the drift-wood, and were obliged to land and carry. In short, we pursued our alternate journeys, by land and water, till noon, when we could proceed no further, from the various small unnavigable channels into which the river branched in every direction; and no other mode of getting forward now remained for us, but by cutting a road across a neck of land. I accordingly dispatched two men to ascertain the exact distance, and we employed the interval of their absence in unloading and getting the canoe out of the water. It was eight in the evening when we arrived at the bank of the great river. This journey was three quarters of a mile East-North-East, through a continued swamp, where, in many places, we waded up to the middle of our thighs. Our course in the small river was about South-East by East three miles. At length we enjoyed, after all our toil and anxiety, the inexpressible satisfaction of finding ourselves on the bank of a navigable river, on the West side of the first great range of mountains. CHAPTER VI. JUNE, 1793. _Tuesday, 18._--It rained throughout the night and till seven in the morning; nor was I sorry that the weather gave me an excuse for indulging my people with that additional rest, which their fatigues, during the last three days, rendered so comfortable to them. Before eight, however, we were on the water, and driven on by a strong current, when we steered East-South-East half a mile, South-West by South half a mile, South-South-East half a mile, South-West half a mile, went round to North-West half a mile, backed South-South-East three quarters of a mile, South-South-West half a mile, South by East a quarter of a mile, and South-West by South three quarters of a mile. Here the water had fallen considerably, so that several mud and sand-banks were visible. There was also a hill a-head, West-South-West. The weather was so hazy that we could not see across the river, which is here about two hundred yards wide. We now proceeded South by West one third of a mile, when we saw a considerable quantity of beaver work along the banks, North-North-West half a mile, South-West by West one mile and a half, South-South-West one third of a mile, West by South one third of a mile, South by East half a mile. Mountains rose on the left, immediately above the river, whose summits were covered with snow; South-West half a mile, South a quarter of a mile, South-East one third of a mile, South-South-West half a mile. Here are several islands; we then veered to West by South a third of a mile, South-South-East a sixth of a mile. On the right, the land is high, rocky, and covered with wood; West-South-West one mile; a small river running in from the South-East; South-West half a mile, South three quarters of a mile, South-West half a mile, South by West half a mile. Here a rocky point protrudes from the left, and narrows the river to a hundred yards; South-East half a mile, East by South one eighth of a mile. The current now was very strong, but perfectly safe; South-East by South an eighth of a mile, West by North one third of a mile, South by West a twelfth of a mile, South-West one fourth of a mile. Here the high land terminates on one side of the river, while rocks rise to a considerable height immediately above the other, and the channel widens to a hundred and fifty yards, West by South one mile. The river now narrows again between rocks of a moderate height, North-North-East an eighth of a mile, veered to South-West an eighth of a mile, South and South-West half a mile. The country appeared to be low, as far as I could judge of it from the canoe, as the view is confined by woods at the distance of about a hundred yards from the banks. Our course continued West by North two miles, North half a mile, North-West a quarter of a mile, South-West two miles, North-West three quarters of a mile; when a ridge of high land appeared in this direction; West one mile. A small river flowed in from the North; South a quarter of a mile, North-West half a mile, South-South-West two miles and a half, South-East three quarters of a mile; a rivulet lost itself in the main stream, West-North-West half a mile. Here the current slackened, and we proceeded South-South-West three quarters of a mile, South-West three quarters of a mile, South by East three quarters of a mile, South-East by East one mile, when it veered gradually to West-North-West half a mile; the river being full of islands. We proceeded due North, with little current, the river presenting a beautiful sheet of water for a mile and a half, South-West by West one mile, West-North-West one mile, when it veered round to South-East one mile, West by North one mile, South-East one mile, West by North three quarters of a mile, South one eighth of a mile, when we came to an Indian cabin of late erection. Here was the great fork, of which our guide had informed us, and it appeared to be the largest branch from the South-East. It is about half a mile in breadth, and assumes the form of a lake. The current was very slack, and we got into the middle of the channel, when we steered West, and sounded in sixteen feet water. A ridge of high land now stretched on, as it were, across our present direction: this course was three miles. We then proceeded West-South-West two miles, and sounded in twenty-four feet water. Here the river narrowed and the current increased. We then continued our course North-North-West three quarters of a mile, a small river falling in from the North-East. It now veered to South by West one mile and a quarter, West-South-West four miles and a half, West by North one mile and a quarter, North-West by West one mile, West a mile and a quarter: the land was high on both sides, and the river narrowed to an hundred and fifty, or two hundred yards; North-West three quarters of a mile, South-West by South two miles and a half: here its breadth again increased; South by West one mile, West-South-West half a mile, South-West by South three miles, South-South-East one mile, with a small river running in from the left, South with a strong current one mile, then East three quarters of a mile, South-West one mile, South-South-East a mile and a half; the four last distances being a continual rapid, South-West by West one mile, East-North-East a mile and a half, East-South-East one mile, where a small river flowed in on the right; South-West by South two miles and a half, when another small river appeared from the same quarter; South by East half a mile and South-West by West one mile and a quarter: here we landed for the night. When we had passed the last river we observed smoke rising from it, as if produced by fires that had been fresh lighted; I therefore concluded that there were natives on its banks: but I was unwilling to fatigue my people, by pulling back against the current in order to go in search of them. This river appeared, from its high water-mark, to have fallen no more than one foot, while the smaller branch, from a similar measurement, had sunk two feet and a half. On our entering it, we saw a flock of ducks which were entirely white, except the bill and part of the wings. The weather was cold and raw throughout the day, and the wind South-West. We saw a smoke rising in columns from many parts of the woods, and I should have been more anxious to see the natives, if there had been any person with me who could have introduced me to them; but as that object could not be then attained without considerable loss of time, I determined to pursue the navigation while it continued to be so favourable, and to wait till my return, if no very convenient opportunity offered in the mean time, to engage an intercourse with them. _Wednesday, 19._--The morning was foggy, and at three we were on the water. At half past that hour, our course was East by South three quarters of a mile, a small river flowing in from the right. We then proceeded South by East half a mile, and South-South-West a mile and a half. During the last distance, clouds of thick smoke rose from the woods, that darkened the atmosphere, accompanied with a strong odour of the gum of cypress and the spruce-fir. Our courses continued to be South-West a mile and a quarter, North-West by West three quarters of a mile, South-South-East a mile and a quarter, East three quarters of a mile, South-West one mile, West by South three quarters of a mile, South-East by South three quarters of a mile, South by West half a mile, West by South three quarters of a mile, South by West two miles and a half. In the last course there was an island, and it appeared to me, that the main channel of the river had formerly been on the other side of it. The banks were here composed of high white cliffs, crowned with pinnacles in very grotesque shapes. We continued to steer South-East by South a mile and a half, South by East half a mile, East one mile and a quarter, South-East by East one mile, South by East three quarters of a mile, South-East by East one mile, South-South-East half a mile, East one mile and a quarter, South by East half a mile, East a mile and half, South-South-East three miles, and South-West three quarters of a mile. In the last course the rocks contracted in such a manner on both sides of the river, as to afford the appearance of the upper part of a fall or cataract. Under this apprehension we landed on the left shore, where we found a kind of footpath, imperfectly traced, through which we conjectured that the natives occasionally passed with their canoes and baggage. On examining the course of the river, however, there did not appear to be any fall as we expected; but the rapids were of a considerable length and impassable for a light canoe. We had therefore no alternative but to widen the road so as to admit the passage of our canoe, which was now carried with great difficulty; as from her frequent repairs, and not always of the usual materials, her weight was such, that she cracked and broke on the shoulders of the men who bore her. The labour and fatigue of this undertaking, from eight till twelve, beggars all description, when we at length conquered this afflicting passage, of about half a mile, over a rocky and most rugged hill. Our course was South-South-West. Here I took a meridian altitude which gave me 53. 42. 20. North latitude. We, however, lost some time to put our canoe in a condition to carry us onwards. Our course was South a quarter of a mile to the next carrying-place; which was nothing more than a rocky point about twice the length of the canoe. From the extremity of this point to the rocky and almost perpendicular bank that rose on the opposite shore, is not more than forty or fifty yards. The great body of water, at the same time tumbling in successive cascades along the first carrying-place, rolls through this narrow passage in a very turbid current, and full of whirlpools. On the banks of the river there was great plenty of wild onions, which when mixed up with our pemmican was a great improvement of it; though they produced a physical effect on our appetites, which was rather inconvenient to the state of our provisions. Here we embarked, and steered South-East by East three quarters of a mile. We now saw a smoke on the shore; but before we could reach land the natives had deserted their camp, which appeared to be erected for no more than two families. My two Indians were instantly dispatched in search of them, and, by following their tracks, they soon overtook them; but their language was mutually unintelligible; and all attempts to produce a friendly communication were fruitless. They no sooner perceived my young men than they prepared their bows and arrows, and made signs for them not to advance; and they thought it prudent to desist from proceeding, though not before the natives had discharged five arrows at them, which, however, they avoided, by means of the trees. When they returned with this account, I very much regretted that I had not accompanied them; and as these people could not be at any very great distance, I took Mr. Mackay, and one of the Indians with me in order to overtake them; but they had got so far it would have been imprudent in me to have followed them. My Indians, who, I believe, were terrified at the manner in which these natives received them, informed me, that, besides their bows, arrows, and spears, they were armed with long knives, and that they accompanied their strange antics with menacing actions and loud shoutings. On my return, I found my people indulging their curiosity in examining the bags and baskets which the natives had left behind them. Some of them contained their fishing tackle, such as nets, lines, &c., others of a smaller size were filled with a red earth, with which they paint themselves. In several of the bags there were also sundry articles of which we did not know the use. I prevented my men from taking any of them; and for a few articles of mere curiosity, which I took myself, I left such things in exchange as would be much more useful to their owners. At four we left this place, proceeding with the stream South-East three quarters of a mile, East-South-East one mile, South three quarters of a mile, South-South-West one mile, South by East three quarters of a mile, South-South-East one mile, South-South-West two miles, South-South-East three miles and a quarter, East by North one mile, South-South-East one mile and a quarter, with a rapid, South-South-West three quarters of a mile, South one mile and a half, South-East one mile and a quarter, South three quarters of a mile, and South-South-East one mile and a half. At half past seven we landed for the night, where a small river flowed in from the right. The weather was showery, accompanied with several loud claps of thunder. The banks were overshadowed by lofty firs, and wide-spreading cedars. _Thursday, 20._--The morning was foggy, and at half past four we proceeded with a South wind, South-East by East two miles, South-South-East two miles and a half, and South-South-West two miles. The fog was so thick, that we could not see the length of our canoe, which rendered our progress dangerous, as we might have come suddenly upon a cascade or violent rapid. Our next course was West-North-West two miles and a half, which comprehended a rapid. Being close in with the left bank of the river, we perceived two red deer at the very edge of the water: we killed one of them, and wounded the other, which was very small. We now landed, and the Indians followed the wounded animal, which they soon caught, and would have shot another in the woods, if our dog, who followed them, had not disturbed it. From the number of their tracks it appeared that they abounded in this country. They are not so large as the elk of the Peace River, but are the real red deer, which I never saw in the North, though I have been told that they are to be found in great numbers in the plains along the Red, or Assiniboin River. The bark had been stripped off many of the spruce trees, and carried away, as I presumed, by the natives, for the purpose of covering their cabins. We now got the venison on board, and continued our voyage South-West one mile, South a mile and a half, and West one mile. Here the country changed its appearance; the banks were but of a moderate height, from whence the ground continued gradually rising to a considerable distance, covered with poplars and cypresses, but without any kind of underwood. There are also several low points which the river, that is here about three hundred yards in breadth, sometimes overflows, and are shaded with the liard, the soft birch, the spruce, and the willow. For some distance before we came to this part of the river, our view was confined within very rugged, irregular, and lofty banks, which were varied with the poplar, different kinds of spruce fir, small birch trees, cedars, alders, and several species of the willow. Our next course was South-West by West six miles, when we landed at a deserted house, which was the only Indian habitation of this kind that I had seen on this side of Mechilimakina. It was about thirty feet long and twenty wide, with three doors, three feet high by one foot and an half in breadth. From this and other circumstances, it appears to have been constructed for three families. There were also three fire-places, at equal distances from each other; and the beds were on either side of them. Behind the beds was a narrow space, in the form of a manger, and somewhat elevated, which was appropriated to the purpose of keeping fish. The wall of the house, which was five feet in height, was formed of very strait spruce timbers, brought close together, and laid into each other at the corners. The roof was supported by a ridge pole, resting on two upright forks of about ten feet high; that and the wall support a certain number of spars, which are covered with spruce bark; and the whole attached and secured by the fibers of the cedar. One of the gable ends is closed with split boards; the other with poles. Large rods are also fixed across the upper part of the building, where fish may hang and dry. To give the walls additional strength, upright posts are fixed in the ground, at equal distances, both within and without, of the same height as the wall, and firmly attached with bark fibres. Openings appear also between the logs in the wall, for the purpose, as I conjectured, of discharging their arrows at a besieging enemy; they would be needless for the purpose of giving light, which is sufficiently afforded by fissures between the logs of the building, so that it appeared to be constructed merely for a summer habitation. There was nothing further to attract our attention in or about the house, except a large machine, which must have rendered the taking off the roof absolutely necessary, in order to have introduced it. It was of a cylindrical form, fifteen feet long, and four feet and an half in diameter; one end was square, like the head of a cask, and an conical machine was fixed inwards to the other end, of similar dimensions; at the extremity of which was an opening of about seven inches in diameter. This machine was certainly contrived to set in the river, to catch large fish; and very well adapted to that purpose; as when they are once in, it must be impossible for them to get out, unless they should have strength sufficient to break through it. It was made of long pieces of split wood, rounded to the size of a small finger, and placed at the distance of an inch asunder, on six hoops; to this was added a kind of boot of the same materials, into which it may be supposed that the fish are driven, when they are to be taken out. The house was left in such apparent order as to mark the design of its owners to return thither. It answered in every particular the description given us by our late guide, except that it was not situated on an island. We left this place, and steered South by East one mile and a quarter when we passed where there had been another house, of which the ridge-pole and supporters alone remained: the ice had probably carried away the body of it. The bank was at this time covered with water, and a small river flowed in on the left. On a point we observed an erection that had the appearance of a tomb; it was in an oblong form, covered, and very neatly walled with bark. A pole was fixed near it, to which, at the height of ten or twelve feet, a piece of bark was attached, which was probably a memorial, or symbol of distinction. Our next course was South by West two miles and a half, when we saw a house on an island, South-East by East one mile and three quarters, in which we observed another island, with a house upon it. A river also flowed from the right, and the land was high and rocky, and wooded with the epinette. Our canoe was now become so crazy that it was a matter of absolute necessity to construct another; and as from the appearance of the country there was reason to expect that bark was to be found, we landed at eight, with the hope of procuring it. I accordingly dispatched four men with that commission, and at twelve they returned with a sufficient quantity to make the bottom of a canoe of five fathom in length, and four feet and a half in height. At noon I had an observation, which gave me 53. 17. 28. North latitude. We now continued our voyage South-East by South one mile and a half, East-South-East one mile, East-North-East half a mile, South-East two miles, South-East by South one mile, South-East six miles, and East-North-East. Here the river narrows between steep rocks, and a rapid succeeded, which was so violent that we did not venture to run it. I therefore ordered the loading to be taken out of the canoe, but she was now become so heavy that the men preferred running the rapid to the carrying her overland. Though I did not altogether approve of their proposition, I was unwilling to oppose it. Four of them undertook this hazardous expedition, and I hastened to the foot of the rapid with great anxiety, to wait the event, which turned out as I expected. The water was so strong, that although they kept clear of the rocks, the canoe filled, and in this state they drove half way down the rapid, but fortunately she did not overset; and having got her into an eddy, they emptied her, and in an half-drowned condition arrived safe on shore. The carrying-place is about half a mile over, with an Indian path across it. Mr. Mackay, and the hunters, saw some deer on an island above the rapid; and had that discovery been made before the departure of the canoe, there is little doubt but we should have added a considerable quantity of venison to our stock of provisions. Our vessel was in such a wretched condition, as I have already observed, that it occasioned a delay of three hours to put her in a condition to proceed. At length we continued our former course, East-North-East a mile and a half, when we passed an extensive Indian encampment; East-South-East one mile, where a small river appeared on the left; South-East by South one mile and three quarters, East by South half a mile, East by North one mile, and saw another house on an island; South half a mile, West three quarters of a mile, South-West half a mile, where the cliffs of white and red clay appeared like the ruins of ancient castles. Our canoe now veered gradually to East-North-East one mile and a half, when we landed in a storm of rain and thunder, where we perceived the remains of Indian houses. It was impossible to determine the wind in any part of the day, as it came a-head in all our directions. _Friday, 21._--As I was very sensible of the difficulty of procuring provisions in this country, I thought it prudent to guard against any possibility of distress of that kind on our return; I therefore ordered ninety pounds weight of pemmican to be buried in a hole, sufficiently deep to admit of a fire over it without doing any injury to our hidden treasure, and which would, at the same time, secure it from the natives of the country, or the wild animals of the woods. The morning was very cloudy, and at four o'clock we renewed our voyage, steering South by East one mile and a quarter, East-South-East half a mile, South by East one mile and a half, East half a mile, South-East two miles, where a large river flowed in from the left, and a smaller one from the right. We then continued South by West three quarters of a mile, East by South a mile and a half, South three quarters of a mile, South-East by East one mile, South by East half a mile, South-East three quarters of a mile, South-East by South half a mile, South-East by East half a mile, the cliffs of blue and yellow clay, displaying the same grotesque shapes as those which we passed yesterday, South-South-East a mile and a half, South by East two miles. The latitude by observation was 52. 47. 51. North. Here we perceived a small new canoe, that had been drawn up to the edge of the woods, and soon after another appeared, with one man in it, which came out of a small river. He no sooner saw us than he gave the whoop to alarm his friends, who immediately appeared on the bank, armed with bows and arrows, and spears. They were thinly habited, and displayed the most outrageous antics. Though they were certainly in a state of great apprehension, they manifested by their gestures that they were resolved to attack us, if we should venture to land. I therefore ordered the men to stop the way of the canoe, and even to check her drifting with the current, as it would have been extreme folly to have approached these savages before their fury had in some degree subsided. My interpreters, who understood their language, informed me that they threatened us with instant death if we drew nigh the shore; and they followed the menace by discharging a volley of arrows, some of which fell short of the canoe, and others passed over it, so that they fortunately did us no injury. As we had been carried by the current below the spot where the Indians were, I ordered my people to paddle to the opposite side of the river, without the least appearance of confusion, so that they brought me abreast of them. My interpreters, while we were within hearing, had done every thing in their power to pacify them, but in vain. We also observed that they had sent off a canoe with two men, down the river, as we concluded, to communicate their alarm, and procure assistance. This circumstance determined me to leave no means untried that might engage us in a friendly intercourse with them, before they acquired additional security and confidence, by the arrival of their relations and neighbours, to whom their situation would be shortly notified. I therefore formed the following adventurous project, which was happily crowned with success. I left the canoe, and walked by myself along the beach, in order to induce some of the natives to come to me, which I imagined they might be disposed to do, when they saw me alone, without any apparent possibility of receiving assistance from my people, and would consequently imagine that a communication with me was not a service of danger. At the same time, in order to possess the utmost security of which my situation was susceptible, I directed one of the Indians to slip into the woods, with my gun and his own, and to conceal himself from their discovery; he also had orders to keep as near me as possible, without being seen; and if any of the natives should venture across, and attempt to shoot me from the water, it was his instructions to lay him low: at the same time he was particularly enjoined not to fire till I had discharged one or both of the pistols that I carried in my belt. If, however, any of them were to land, and approach my person, he was immediately to join me. In the meantime my other interpreter assured them that we entertained the most friendly dispositions, which I confirmed by such signals as I conceived would be comprehended by them. I had not, indeed, been long at my station, and my Indian in ambush behind me, when two of the natives came off in a canoe, but stopped when they had got within a hundred yards of me. I made signs for them to land, and as an inducement, displayed looking-glasses, beads, and other alluring trinkets. At length, but with every mark of extreme apprehension, they approached the shore, stern foremost, but would not venture to land. I now made them a present of some beads, with which they were going to push off, when I renewed my entreaties, and, after some time, prevailed on them to come ashore, and sit down by me. My hunter now thought it right to join me, and created some alarm in my new acquaintance. It was, however, soon removed, and I had the satisfaction to find, that he and these people perfectly understood each other. I instructed him to say every thing that might tend to soothe their fears and win their confidence. I expressed my wish to conduct them to our canoe, but they declined my offer; and when they observed some of my people coming towards us, they requested me to let them return; and I was so well satisfied with the progress I had made in my intercourse with them, that I did not hesitate a moment in complying with their desire. During their short stay, they observed us, and every thing about us, with a mixture of admiration and astonishment. We could plainly distinguish that their friends received them with great joy on their return, and that the articles which they carried back with them were examined with a general and eager curiosity; they also appeared to hold a consultation, which lasted about a quarter of an hour, and the result was, an invitation to come over to them, which was cheerfully accepted. Nevertheless, on our landing they betrayed evident signs of confusion, which arose probably from the quickness of our movements, as the prospect of a friendly communication had so cheered the spirits of my people, that they paddled across the river with the utmost expedition. The two men, however, who had been with us, appeared, very naturally, to possess the greatest share of courage on the occasion, and were ready to receive us on our landing; but our demeanour soon dispelled all their apprehensions, and the most familiar communication took place between us. When I had secured their confidence, by the distribution of trinkets among them, and treated the children with sugar, I instructed my interpreters to collect every necessary information in their power to afford me. According to their account, this river, whose course is very extensive, runs towards the mid-day sun; and that at its mouth, as they had been informed, white people were building houses. They represented its current to be uniformly strong, and that in three places it was altogether impassable, from the falls and rapids, which poured along between perpendicular rocks that were much higher, and more rugged, than any we had yet seen, and would not admit of any passage over them. But besides the dangers and difficulties of the navigation, they added, that we should have to encounter the inhabitants of the country, who were very numerous. They also represented their immediate neighbours as a very malignant race, who lived in large subterraneous recesses; and when they were made to understand that it was our design to proceed to the sea, they dissuaded us from prosecuting our intention, as we should certainly become a sacrifice to the savage spirit of the natives. These people they described as possessing iron, arms, and utensils, which they procured from their neighbours to the Westward, and were obtained by a commercial progress from people like ourselves, who brought them in great canoes. Such an account of our situation, exaggerated as it might be in some points, and erroneous in others, was sufficiently alarming, and awakened very painful reflections: nevertheless it did not operate on my mind so as to produce any change in my original determination. My first object, therefore, was to persuade two of these people to accompany me, that they might secure to us a favourable reception from their neighbours. To this proposition they assented, but expressed some degree of dissatisfaction at the immediate departure, for which we were making preparation; but when we were ready to enter the canoe, a small one was seen doubling the point below, with three men in it. We thought it prudent to wait for their arrival, and they proved to be some of their relations, who had received the alarm from the messengers which I have already mentioned as having been sent down the river for that purpose, and who had passed on, as we were afterwards informed, to extend the notice of our arrival. Though these people saw us in the midst of their friends, they displayed the most menacing actions, and hostile postures. At length, however, this wild, savage spirit appeared to subside, and they were persuaded to land. One of them, who was a middle aged person, whose agitations had been less frequent than those of his companions, and who was treated with particular respect by them all, inquired who we were, whence we came, whither we were going, and what was the motive of our coming into that country. When his friends had satisfied him as far as they were able, respecting us, he instantly advised us to delay our departure for that night, as their relations below, having been by this time alarmed by the messengers, who had been sent for that purpose, would certainly oppose our passage, notwithstanding I had two of their own people with me. He added, that they would all of them be here by sunset, they would convinced, as he was, that we were good people, and meditated no ill designs against them. Such were the reasons which this Indian urged in favour of our remaining till the next morning; and they were too well founded for me to hesitate in complying with them; besides, by prolonging my stay till the next morning, it was probable that I might obtain some important intelligence respecting the country through which I was to pass, and the people who inhabited it. I accordingly ordered the canoe to be unloaded, taken out of the water, and gummed. My tent was also pitched, and the natives were now become so familiar, that I was obliged to let them know my wish to be alone and undisturbed. My first application to the native whom I have already particularly mentioned, was to obtain from him such a plan of the river as he should be enabled to give me; and he complied with this request with a degree of readiness and intelligence that evidently proved it was by no means a new business to him. In order to acquire the best information he could communicate, I assured him, if I found his account correct, that I should either return myself, or send others to them, with such articles as they appeared to want: particularly arms and ammunition, with which they would be able to prevent their enemies from invading them. I obtained, however, no addition to what I already knew, but that the country below us, as far as he was acquainted with it, abounded in animals, and that the river produced plenty of fish. Our canoe was now become so weak, leaky, and unmanageable, that it became a matter of absolute necessity to construct a new one; and I had been informed, that if we delayed that important work till we got further down the river, we should not be able to procure bark. I therefore dispatched two of my people, with an Indian, in search of that necessary material. The weather was so cloudy that I could not get an observation.[1] I passed the rest of the day in conversing with these people: they consisted of seven families, containing eighteen men, they were clad in leather, and handsome beaver and rabbit-skin blankets. They had not been long arrived in this part of the country, where they proposed to pass the summer, to catch fish for their winter provision: for this purpose they were preparing machines similar to that which we found in the first Indian house we saw and described. The fish which they take in them are large, and only visit this part of the river at certain seasons. These people differ very little, if at all, either in their appearance, language, or manners, from the Rocky-Mountain Indians. The men whom I sent in search of bark, returned with a certain quantity of it, but of a very indifferent kind. We were not gratified with the arrival of any of the natives whom we expected from a lower part of the river. [1]The observation, already mentioned, I got on my return. CHAPTER VII. JUNE, 1793. _Saturday, 22._--At six in the morning we proceeded on our voyage, with two of the Indians, one of them in a small pointed canoe, made after the fashion of the Esquimaux, and the other in our own. This precaution was necessary in a two-fold point of view, as the small canoe could be sent ahead to speak to any of the natives that might be seen down the river, and, thus divided, would not be easy for them both to make their escape. Mr. Mackay also embarked with the Indian, which seemed to afford him great satisfaction, and he was thereby enabled to keep us company with diminution of labour. Our courses were South-South-East a mile and a half, South-East half a mile, South by East four miles and a half, South-East by South half a mile, South by West half a mile, South-East by East one mile, South-South-West a mile and a half, South by East one mile and a quarter. The country, on the right, presented a very beautiful appearance: it rose at first rather abruptly to the height of twenty-five feet, when the precipice was succeeded by an inclined plain to the foot of another steep; which was followed by another extent of gently-rising ground: these objects, which were shaded with groves of fir, presenting themselves alternately to a considerable distance. We now landed near a house, the roof of which alone appeared above ground; but it was deserted by its inhabitants who had been alarmed at our approach. We observed several men in the second steep, who displayed the same postures and menacing actions as those which we have so lately described. Our conductors went to them immediately on an embassy of friendship, and, after a very vociferous discourse, one of them was persuaded to come to us, but presented a very ferocious aspect: the rest, who were seven in number, soon followed his example. They held their bows and arrows in their hands, and appeared in their garments, which were fastened round the neck, but left the right arm free for action. A cord fastened a blanket or leather covering under the right armpit, so that it hung upon the left shoulder, and might be occasionally employed as a target, that would turn an arrow which was nearly spent. As soon as they had recovered from their apprehensions, ten women made their appearance, but without any children, whom, I imagine, they had sent to a greater distance, to be out of reach of all possible danger. I distributed a few presents among them, and left my guides to explain to them the object of my journey, and the friendliness of my designs, with which they had themselves been made acquainted; their fears being at length removed, I gave them a specimen of the use to which we applied our firearms: at the same time, I calmed their astonishment, by the assurance, that, though we could at once destroy those who did us injury, we could equally protect those who shewed us kindness. Our stay here did not exceed half an hour, and we left these people with favourable impressions of us. From this place we steered East by North half a mile, South by East three quarters of a mile, and South by West a mile and a half, when we landed again on seeing some of the natives on the high ground, whose appearance was more wild and ferocious than any whom we had yet seen. Indeed I was under some apprehension that our guides, who went to conciliate them to us, would have fallen a prey to their savage fury. At length, however, they were persuaded to entertain a more favourable opinion of us, and they approached us one after another, to the number of sixteen men, and several women, I shook hands with them all, and desired my interpreters to explain that salutation as a token of friend-ship. As this was not a place where we could remain with the necessary convenience, I proposed to proceed further, in search of a more commodious spot. They immediately invited us to pass the night at their lodges, which were at no great distance, and promised, at the same time, that they would, in the morning, send two young men to introduce us to the next nation, who were very numerous, and ill-disposed towards strangers. As we were pushing from the shore, we were very much surprised at hearing a woman pronounce several words in the Knisteneaux language. She proved to be a Rocky Mountain native, so that my interpreters perfectly understood her. She informed us that her country is at the forks of this river, and that she had been taken prisoner by the Knisteneaux, who had carried her across the mountains. After having passed the greatest part of the summer with them, she had contrived to escape, before they had reached their own country, and had re-crossed the mountains, when she expected to meet her own friends: but after suffering all the hardships incident to such a journey, she had been taken by a war-party of the people with whom she then was, who had driven her relations from the river into the mountains. She had since been detained by her present husband, of whom she had no cause to complain; nevertheless she expressed a strong desire to return to her own people. I presented her with several useful articles, and desired her to come to me at the lodges, which she readily engaged to do. We arrived thither before the Indians, and landed, as we had promised. It was now near twelve at noon, but on attempting to take an altitude, I found the angle too great for my sextant. The natives whom we had already seen, and several others, soon joined us, with a greater number of women than I had yet seen; but I did not observe the female prisoner among them. There were thirty-five of them, and my remaining store of presents was not sufficient to enable me to be very liberal to so many claimants. Among the men I found four of the adjoining nation, and a Rocky-Mountain Indian, who had been with them for some time. As he was understood by my interpreters, and was himself well acquainted with the language of the strangers, I possessed the means of obtaining every information respecting the country, which it might be in their power to afford me. For this purpose I selected an elderly man, from the four strangers, whose countenance had prepossessed me in his favour. I stated to these people, as I had already done to those from whom I had hitherto derived information, the objects of my voyage, and the very great advantages which they would receive from my successful termination of it. They expressed themselves very much satisfied at my communication, and assured me that they would not deceive me respecting the subject of my inquiry. An old man also, who appeared to possess the character of a chief, declared his wish to see me return to his land, and that his two young daughters should then be at my disposal. I now proceeded to request the native, whom I had particularly selected, to commence his information, by drawing a sketch of the country upon a large piece of bark, and he immediately entered on the work, frequently appealing to, and sometimes asking the advice of, those around him. He described the river as running to the East of South, receiving many rivers, and every six or eight leagues encumbered with falls and rapids, some of which were very dangerous, and six of them impracticable. The carrying-places he represented as of great length, and passing over hills and mountains. He depicted the lands of three other tribes, in succession, who spoke different languages. Beyond them he knew nothing either of the river or country, only that it was still a long way to the sea; and that, as he had heard, there was a lake, before they reached the water, which the natives did not drink. As far as his knowledge of the river extended, the country on either side was level, in many places without wood and abounding in red deer, and some of a small fallow kind. Few of the natives, he said, would come to the banks for some time; but, that at a certain season they would arrive there in great numbers, to fish. They now procured iron, brass, copper, and trinkets, from the Westward; but formerly these articles were obtained from the lower parts of the river, though in small quantities. A knife was produced which had been brought from that quarter. The blade was ten inches long, and an inch and a half broad, but with a very blunted edge. The handle was of horn. We understood that this instrument had been obtained from white men, long before they had heard that any came to the Westward. One very old man observed, that as long as he could remember, he was told of white people to the Southward; and that he had heard, though he did not vouch for the truth of the report, that one of them had made an attempt to come up the river, and was destroyed. These people describe the distance across the country as very short to the Western ocean; and, according to my own idea, it cannot be above five or six degrees. If the assertion of Mr. Mears be correct, it cannot be so far, as the inland sea which he mentions within Nootka, must come as far East as 126. West longitude. They assured us that the road was not difficult as they avoided the mountains, keeping along the low lands between them, many parts of which are entirely free from wood. According to their account, this way is so often travelled by them, that their path is visible throughout the whole journey, which lies along small lakes and rivers. It occupied them, they said, no more than six nights, to go to where they meet the people who barter iron, brass, copper, beads, &c., with them, for dressed leather, and beaver, bear, lynx, fox, and marten skins. The iron is about eighteen inches of two-inch bar. To this they give an edge at one end, and fix it to a handle at right angles, which they employ as an axe. When the iron is worn down, they fabricate it into points for their arrows and pikes. Before they procured iron they employed bone and horn for those purposes. The copper and brass they convert into collars, arm-buds, bracelets, and other ornaments. They sometimes also point their arrows with those metals. They had been informed by those whom they meet to trade with, that the white people, from whom these articles are obtained, were building houses at the distance of three days, or two nights journey from the place where they met last fall. With this route they all appeared to be well acquainted. I now requested that they would send for the female prisoner whom I saw yesterday; but I received only vague and evasive answers. They probably apprehended, that it was our design to take her from them. I was, however, very much disappointed at being prevented from having an interview with her, as she might have given me a correct account of the country beyond the forks of the river, as well as of the pass, through the mountains, from them. My people had listened with great attention to the relation which had been given me, and it seemed to be their opinion, that it would be absolute madness to attempt a passage through so many savage and barbarous nations. My situation may indeed, be more easily conceived than expressed: I had no more than thirty days provision remaining, exclusive of such supplies as I might obtain from the natives, and the toil of our hunters, which, however, was so precarious as to be matter of little dependence: besides, our ammunition would soon be exhausted, particularly our ball, of which we had not more than a hundred and fifty, and about thirty pound weight of shot, which, indeed, might be converted into bullets, though with great waste. The more I heard of the river, the more I was convinced it could not empty itself into the ocean to the North of what is called the river of the West, so that with its windings, the distance must be very great. Such being the discouraging circumstances of my situation, which were now heightened by the discontents of my people, I could not but be alarmed at the idea of attempting to get to the discharge of such a rapid river, especially when I reflected on the tardy progress of my return up it, even if I should meet with no obstruction from the natives; a circumstance not very probable, from the numbers of them which would then be on the river, and whom I could have no opportunity of conciliating in my passage down, for the reasons which have been already mentioned. At all events, I must give up every expectation of returning this season to Athabasca. Such were my reflections at this period; but instead of continuing to indulge them, I determined to proceed with resolution, and set future events at defiance. At the same time I suffered myself to nourish the hope that I might be able to penetrate with more safety, and in a shorter period, to the ocean by the inland western communication. To carry this project into execution I must have returned a considerable distance up the river, which would necessarily be attended with very, serious inconvenience, if I passed over every other; as in a voyage of this kind, a retrograde motion could not fail to cool the ardour, slacken the zeal and weaken the confidence of those, who have no greater inducement to the undertaking, than to follow the conductor of it. Such was the state of my mind at this period, and such the circumstances with which it was distressed and distracted. To the people who had given me the foregoing information I presented some beads, which they preferred to any other articles in my possession, and I recompensed in the same manner two of them who communicated to me the following vocabulary in the language of the Nagailer and Atnah tribes. The Negailer or The Atnah, or Carrier-Indians. Chin-Indians. Eye, Nah, Thlouatin. Hair, Thigah, Cahowdin. Teeth, Gough, Chliough. Nose, Nenzeh, Pisax. Head, Thie, Scapacay. Wood, Dekin, Shedzay. Hand, Lah, Calietha. Leg, Kin, Squacht. Tongue, Thoula, Dewhasjiak. Ear, Zach, Ithlinah. Man, Dinay, Scuyloch. Woman, Chiquoi, Smosledgenak. Beaver, Zah, Schugh. Elk, Yezey, Ookoy-Beh. Dog, Sleing, Scacah. Ground-hog, Thidnu, Squaisquais. Iron, Thilisitch, Soucoumang. Fire, Coun, Teuck. Water, Tou, Shaweliquolih. Stone, Zeh, Ishehoinah. Bow, Nettuny, Isquoinah. Arrow, Igah, Squailai. Yes, Nesi, Amaig. Plains, Thoughoud, Spilela. Come here, Andezei, Thla-elyeh. [Transcriber's Note: 'Negailer', above, appears to be a transcription error in this edition. Elsewhere it is rendered as 'Nagailer'] The Atnah language has no affinity to any with which I am acquainted; but the Nagailer differs very little from that spoken by the Beaver Indians, and is almost the same as that of the Chepewyans. We had a thunder-storm with heavy rain; and in the evening when it had subsided, the Indians amused us with singing and dancing, in which they were joined by the young women. Four men now arrived whom we had not yet seen; they had left their families at some distance in the country, and expressed a desire that we should visit them there. _Sunday, 23._--After a restless night, I called the Indians together, from whom I yesterday received the intelligence which has been already mentioned, in the hope that I might obtain some additional information. From their former account they did not make the least deviation; but they informed me further, that where they left this river, a small one from the Westward falls into it, which was navigable for their canoes during four days, and from thence they slept but two nights, to get to the people with whom they trade, and who have wooden canoes much larger than ours, in which they go down a river to the sea. They continued to inform me, that if I went that way we must leave our own canoe behind us; but they thought it probable that those people would furnish us with another. From thence they stated the distance to be only one day's voyage with the current to the lake whose water is nauseous, and where they had heard that great canoes came two winters ago, and that the people belonging to them, brought great quantities of goods and built houses. At the commencement of this conversation, I was very much surprised by the following question from one of the Indians: "What," demanded he, "can be the reason that you are so particular and anxious in your inquiries of us respecting a knowledge of this country: do not you white men know every thing in the world?" This interrogatory was so very unexpected, that it occasioned some hesitation before I could answer it. At length, however, I replied, that we certainly were acquainted with the principal circumstances of every part of the world; that I knew where the sea is, and where I myself then was, but that I did not exactly understand what obstacles might interrupt me in getting to it; with which, he and his relations must be well acquainted, as they had so frequently surmounted them. Thus I fortunately preserved the impression in their minds, of the superiority of white people over themselves. It was now, however, absolutely necessary that I should come to a final determination which route to take; and no long interval of reflection was employed, before I preferred to go over land: the comparative shortness and security of such a journey, were alone sufficient to determine me. I accordingly proposed to two of the Indians to accompany me, and one of them readily assented to my proposition. I now called those of my people about me, who had not been present at my consultation with the natives; and after passing a warm eulogium on their fortitude, patience, and perseverance, I stated the difficulties that threatened our continuing to navigate the river, the length of time it would require, and the scanty provision we had for such a voyage: I then proceeded for the foregoing reasons to propose a shorter route, by trying the overland road to the sea. At the same time, as I knew from experience, the difficulty of retaining guides, and as many circumstances might occur to prevent our progress in that direction, I declared my resolution not to attempt it, unless they would engage if we could not after all proceed over land, to return with me, and continue our voyage to the discharge of the waters, whatever the distance might be. At all events, I declared, in the most solemn manner, that I would not abandon my design of reaching the sea, if I made the attempt alone, and that I did not despair of returning in safety to my friends. This proposition met with the most zealous return, and they unanimously assured me, that they were as willing now as they had ever been, to abide by my resolutions, whatever they might be, and to follow me wherever I should go. I therefore requested them to prepare for an immediate departure, and at the same time gave notice to the man who had engaged to be our guide, to be in readiness to accompany us. When our determination to return up the river was made known, several of the natives took a very abrupt departure; but to those who remained, I gave a few useful articles, explaining to them at the same time, the advantages that would result to them, if their relations conducted me to the sea, along such a road as they had described. I had already given a moose skin to some of the women for the purpose of making shoes, which were now brought us; they were well sewed but ill-shaped, and a few beads were considered as a sufficient remuneration for the skill employed on them, Mr. Mackay, by my desire, engraved my name, and the date of the year on a tree. When we were ready to depart, our guide proposed, for the sake of expedition, to go over land to his lodge, that he might get there before us, to make some necessary preparation for his journey. I did not altogether relish his design, but was obliged to consent: I thought it prudent, however, to send Mr. Mackay, and the two Indians along with him. Our place of rendezvous, was the subterraneous house which we passed yesterday. At ten in the morning we embarked, and went up the current much faster than I expected with such a crazy vessel as that which carried us. We met our people at the house as had been appointed; but the Indian still continued to prefer going on by land, and it would have been needless for me to oppose him. He proceeded, therefore, with his former companions, whom I desired to keep him in good humour by every reasonable gratification. They were also furnished with a few articles that might be of use if they should meet strangers. In a short time after we had left the house, I saw a wooden canoe coming down the river, with three natives in it, who, as soon as they perceived us, made for the shore, and hurried into the woods. On passing their vessel, we discovered it to be one of those which we had seen at the lodges. A severe gust of wind, with rain, came from the South-South-East. This we found to be a very prevalent wind in these parts. We soon passed another wooden canoe drawn stern foremost on the shore; a circumstance which we had not hitherto observed. The men worked very hard, and though I imagined we went a-head very fast, we could not reach the lodges, but landed for the night at nine, close to the encampment of two families of the natives whom we had formerly seen at the lodges. I immediately went and sat down with them, when they gave some roasted fish; two of my men who followed me were gratified also with some of their provisions. The youngest of the two natives now quitted the shed, and did not return during the time I remained there. I endeavoured to explain to the other by signs, the cause of my sudden return, which he appeared to understand. In the mean time my tent was pitched, and on my going to it, I was rather surprised that he did not follow me, as he had been constantly with me during the day and night I had passed with his party on going down. We, however, went to rest in a state of perfect security; nor had we the least apprehension for the safety of our people who were gone by land. We were in our canoe by four this morning, and passed by the Indian hut, which appeared in a state of perfect tranquillity. We soon came in sight of the point where we first saw the natives, and at eight were much surprised and disappointed at seeing Mr. Mackay, and our two Indians coming alone from the ruins of a house that had been partly carried away by the ice and water, at a short distance below the place where we had appointed to meet. Nor was our surprise and apprehension diminished by the alarm which was painted in their countenances. When we had landed, they informed me that they had taken refuge in that place, with the determination to sell their lives, which they considered in the most imminent danger, as dear as possible. In a very short time after they had left us, they met a party of the Indians, whom we had known at this place, and were probably those whom we had seen to land from their canoe. They appeared to be in a state of extreme rage, and had their bows bent, with their arrows across them. The guide stopped to ask them some questions, which my people did not understand, and then set off with his utmost speed. Mr. Mackay, however, did not leave him till they were both exhausted with running. When the young man came up, he then said, that some treacherous design was meditated against them, as he was induced to believe from the declaration of the natives, who told him that they were going to do mischief, but refused to name the enemy. The guide then conducted them through very bad ways, as fast as they could run; and when he was desired to slacken his pace, he answered that they might follow him in any manner they pleased, but that he was impatient to get to his family, in order to prepare shoes, and other necessaries, for his journey. They did not, however, think it prudent to quit him, and he would not stop till ten at night. On passing a track that was but lately made, they began to be seriously alarmed, and on inquiring of the guide where they were, he pretended not to understand them. They then all laid down, exhausted with fatigue, and without any kind of covering: they were cold, wet, and hungry, but dared not light a fire, from the apprehension of an enemy. This comfortless spot they left at the dawn of the day, and, on their arrival at the lodges, found them deserted; the property of the Indians being scattered about, as if abandoned for ever. The guide then made two or three trips into the woods, calling aloud, and bellowing like a madman. At length he set off in the same direction as they came, and had not since appeared. To heighten their misery, as they did not find us at the place appointed, they concluded that we were all destroyed, and had already formed their plan to take to the woods, and cross in as direct a line as they could proceed, to the waters of the Peace River, a scheme which could only be suggested by despair. They intended to have waited for us till noon, and if we did not appear by that time, to have entered without further delay on their desperate expedition. This alarm among the natives was a very unexpected as well as perilous event, and my powers of conjecture were exhausted in searching for the cause of it. A general panic seized all around me, and any further prosecution of the voyage was now considered by them as altogether hopeless and impracticable. But without paying the least attention to their opinions or surmises, I ordered them to take every thing out of the canoe, except six packages: when that was done, I left four men to take care of the lading, and returned with the others to our camp of last night, where I hoped to find the two men, with their families, whom we had seen there, and to be able to bring them to lodge with us, when I should wait the issue of this mysterious business. This project, however, was disappointed, for these people had quitted their sheds in the silence of the night, and had not taken a single article of their little property with them. These perplexing circumstances made a deep impression on my mind, not as to our immediate safety, for I entertained not the least apprehension of the Indians I had hitherto seen, even if their whole force should have been combined to attack us, but these untoward events seemed to threaten the prosecution of my journey; and I could not reflect on the possibility of such a disappointment but with sensations little short of agony. Whatever might have been the wavering disposition of the people on former occasions, they were now decided in their opinions as to the necessity of returning without delay; and when we came back to them, their cry was--"Let us re-embark, and be gone." This, however, was not my design, and in a more peremptory tone than I usually employed, they were ordered to unload the canoe, and take her out of the water. On examining our property, several articles appeared to be missing, which the Indians must have purloined; and among them were an axe, two knives, and the young men's bag of medicines. We now took a position that was the best calculated for defence, got our arms in complete order, filled each man's flask of powder, and distributed an hundred bullets, which were all that remained, while some were employed in melting down shot to make more. The weather was so cloudy, that I had not an opportunity of taking an observation. While we were employed in making these preparations, we saw an Indian in a canoe come down the river, and land at the huts, which he began to examine. On perceiving us he stood still, as if in a state of suspense, when I instantly dispatched one of my Indians towards him, but no persuasions could induce him to have confidence in us; he even threatened that he would hasten to join his friends, who would come and kill us. At the conclusion of this menace he disappeared. On the return of my young man, with this account of the interview, I pretended to discredit the whole, and attributed it to his own apprehensions and alarms. This, however, he denied, and asked with a look and tone of resentment, whether he had ever told me a lie? Though he was but a young man, he said, he had been on war excursions before he came with me, and that he should no longer consider me as a wise man, which he had hitherto done. To add to our distresses we had not an ounce of gum for the reparation of the canoe, and not one of the men had sufficient courage to venture into the woods to collect it. In this perplexing situation I entertained the hope that in the course of the night some of the natives would return, to take away a part at least of the things which they had left behind them, as they had gone away without the covering necessary to defend them from the weather and the flies. I therefore ordered the canoe to be loaded, and dropped to an old house, one side of which, with its roof, had been carried away by the water; but the three remaining angles were sufficient to shelter us from the woods. I then ordered two strong piquets to be driven into the ground, to which the canoe was fastened, so that if we were hard pressed we had only to step on board and push off. We were under the necessity of making a smoke to keep off the swarms of flies, which would have otherwise tormented us; but we did not venture to excite a blaze, as it would have been a mark for the arrows of the enemy. Mr. Mackay and myself, with three men kept alternate watch, and allowed the Indians to do as they fancied. I took the first watch, and the others laid down in their clothes by us. I also placed a centinel at a small distance, who was relieved every hour. The weather was cloudy, with showers of rain. _Tuesday, 25._--At one I called up the other watch, and laid down to a small portion of broken rest. At five I arose, and as the situation which we left yesterday was preferable to that which we then occupied, I determined to return to it. On our arrival Mr. Mackay informed me that the men had expressed their dissatisfaction to him in a very unreserved manner, and had in very strong terms declared their resolution to follow me no further in my proposed enterprise. I did not appear, however, to have received such communications from him, and continued to employ my whole thoughts in contriving means to bring about a reconciliation with the natives, which alone would enable me to procure guides, without whose assistance it would be impossible for me to proceed, when my darling project would end in disappointment. At twelve we saw a man coming with the stream upon a raft, and he must have discovered us before we perceived him, as he was working very hard to get to the opposite shore, where he soon landed, and instantly fled into the woods. I now had a meridional altitude, which gave 60. 23. natural horizon (the angle being more than the sextant could measure with the artificial horizon) one mile and a half distant; and the eye five feet above the level of the water, gave 62. 47. 51. North latitude. While I was thus employed, the men loaded the canoe, without having received any orders from me, and as this was the first time they had ventured to act in such a decided manner, I naturally concluded that they had preconcerted a plan for their return. I thought it prudent, however, to take no notice of this transaction, and to wait the issue of future circumstances. At this moment our Indians perceived a person in the edge of the woods above us, and they were immediately dispatched to discover who it was. After a short absence they returned with a young woman whom we had seen before: her language was not clearly comprehended by us, so that we could not learn from her, at least with any degree of certainty, the cause of this unfortunate alarm that had taken place among the natives. She told us that her errand was to fetch some things which she had left behind her; and one of the dogs whom we found here, appeared to acknowledge her as his mistress. We treated her with great kindness, gave her something to eat, and added a present of such articles as we thought might please her. On her expressing a wish to leave us, we readily consented to her departure, and indulged the hope that her reception would induce the natives to return in peace, and give us an opportunity to convince them, that we had no hostile designs whatever against them. On leaving us, she went up the river, without taking a single article of her own, and the dog followed. The wind was changeable throughout the day, and there were several showers in the course of it. Though a very apparent anxiety prevailed among the people for their departure, I appeared to be wholly inattentive to it, and at eight in the evening I ordered four men to step into the canoe, which had been loaded for several hours, and drop down to our guard-house, and my command was immediately obeyed: the rest of us proceeded there by land. When I was yet at a considerable distance from the house, and thought it impossible for an arrow to reach it, having a bow and quiver in my hand, I very imprudently let fly an arrow, when, to my astonishment and infinite alarm, I heard it strike a log of the house. The men who had just landed, imagined that they were attacked by an enemy from the woods. Their confusion was in proportion to their imaginary danger, and on my arrival I found that the arrow had passed within a foot of one of the men; though it had no point, the weapon, incredible as it may appear, had entered an hard, dry log of wood upwards of an inch. But this was not all: for the men readily availed themselves of this circumstance, to remark upon the danger of remaining in the power of a people possessed of such means of destruction. Mr. Mackay having the first watch, I laid myself down in my cloak. _Wednesday, 26._--At midnight a rustling noise was heard in the woods which created a general alarm, and I was awakened to be informed of the circumstance, but heard nothing. At one I took my turn of the watch, and our dog continued unceasingly to run backwards and forwards along the skirts of the wood in a state of restless vigilance. At two in the morning the centinel informed me, that he saw something like an human figure creeping along on all-fours about fifty paces above us. After some time had passed in our search, I at length discovered that his information was true, and it appeared to me that a bear had occasioned the alarm; but when day appeared, it proved to be an old, grey-haired, blind man, who had been compelled to leave his hiding-place by extreme hunger, being too infirm to join in the flight of the natives to whom he belonged. When I put my hand on this object of decaying nature, his alarm was so great, that I expected it would have thrown him into convulsions. I immediately led him to our fire which had been just lighted, and gave him something to eat, which he much wanted, as he had not tasted food for two days. When his hunger was satisfied, and he had got warm and composed, I requested him to acquaint me with the cause of that alarm which had taken place respecting us among his relations and friends, whose regard we appeared to have conciliated but a few days past. He replied, that very soon after we had left them, some natives arrived from above, who informed them that we were enemies; and our unexpected return, in direct contradiction to our own declarations, confirmed them in that opinion. They were now, he said, so scattered, that a considerable time would elapse, before they could meet again. We gave him the real history of our return, as well as of the desertion of our guide, and, at the same time, stated the impossibility of our proceeding, unless we procured a native to conduct us. He replied, that if he had not lost his sight, he would with the greatest readiness have accompanied us on our journey. He also confirmed the accounts which we had received of the country, and the route to the Westward. I did not neglect to employ every argument in my power, that he might be persuaded of our friendly dispositions to the inhabitants wheresoever we might meet them. At sun-rise we perceived a canoe with one man in it on the opposite side of the river, and at our request, the blind man called to him to come to us, but he returned no answer, and continued his course as fast as he could paddle down the current. He was considered as a spy by my men, and I was confirmed in that opinion, when I saw a wooden canoe drifting with the stream close in to the other shore, where it was more than probable that some of the natives might be concealed. It might, therefore, have been an useless enterprise, or perhaps fatal to the future success of our undertaking, if we had pursued these people, as they might, through fear have employed their arms against us, and provoked us to retaliate. The old man informed me, that some of the natives whom I had seen here were gone up the river, and those whom I saw below had left their late station to gather a root in the plains, which, when dried, forms a considerable article in their winter stock of provisions. He had a woman, he said, with him, who used to see us walking along the small adjoining river, but when he called her he received no answer, so that she had probably fled to join her people. He informed me, also, that he expected a considerable number of his tribe to come on the upper part of the river to catch fish for their present support, and to cure them for their winter store; among whom he had a son and two brothers. In consequence of these communications, I deemed it altogether unnecessary to lose any more time at this place, and I informed the old man that he must accompany me for the purpose of introducing us to his friends and relations, and that if we met with his son or brothers, I depended upon him to persuade them, or some of their party, to attend us as guides in our meditated expedition. He expressed his wishes to be excused from this service, and in other circumstances we should not have insisted on it, but, situated as we were, we could not yield to his request. At seven in the morning we left this place, which I named Deserter's River or Creek. Our blind guide was, however, so averse to continuing with us, that I was under the very disagreeable necessity of ordering the men to carry him into the canoe; and this was the first act during my voyage, that had the semblance of violent dealing. He continued to speak in a very loud tone, while he remained, according to his conjecture, near enough to the camp to be heard, but in a language that our interpreters did not understand. On asking him what he said, and why he did not speak in a language known to us, he replied, that the woman understood him better in that which he spoke, and he requested her, if she heard him, to come for him to the carrying-place, where he expected we should leave him. At length our canoe was become so leaky, that it was absolutely unfit for service; and it was the unremitting employment of one person to keep her clear of water: we, therefore, inquired of the old man where we could conveniently obtain the articles necessary to build a new one; and we understood from him that, at some distance up the river, we should find plenty of bark and cedar. At ten, being at the foot of a rapid, we saw a small canoe coming down with two men in it. We thought it would be impossible for them to escape, and therefore struck off from the shore with a design to intercept them, directing the old man at the same time to address them; but they no sooner perceived us, than they steered into the strength of the current, where I thought that they must inevitably perish; but their attention appeared to be engrossed by the situation of their canoe, and they escaped without making us the least reply. About three in the afternoon we perceived a lodge at the entrance of a considerable river on the right, as well as the tracks of people in the mud at the mouth of a small river on the left. As they appeared to be fresh, we landed, and endeavoured to trace them, but without success. We then crossed over to the lodge, which was deserted, but all the usual furniture of such buildings remained untouched. Throughout the whole of this day the men had been in a state of extreme ill-humour, and as they did not choose openly to vent it upon me, they disputed and quarrelled among themselves. About sun-set the canoe struck upon the stump of a tree, which broke a large hole in her bottom; a circumstance that gave them an opportunity to let loose their discontents without reserve. I left them as soon as we had landed, and ascended an elevated bank, in a state of mind which I scarce wish to recollect, and shall not attempt to describe. At this place there was a subterraneous house, where I determined to pass the night. The water had risen since we had passed down, and it was with the utmost exertion that we came up several points in the course of the day. We embarked at half past four, with very favourable weather, and at eight we landed, where there was an appearance of our being able to procure bark; we, however, obtained but a small quantity. At twelve we went on shore again, and collected as much as was necessary for our purpose. It now remained for us to fix on a proper place for building another canoe, as it was impossible to proceed with our old one, which was become an absolute wreck. At five in the afternoon we came to a spot well adapted to the business in which we were about to engage. It was on a small island not much encumbered with wood, though there was plenty of the spruce kind on the opposite land, which was only divided from us by a small channel. We now landed, but before the canoe was unloaded, and the tent pitched, a violent thunder-storm came on, accompanied with rain, which did not subside till the night had closed in upon us. Two of our men who had been in the woods for axe-handles, saw a deer, and one of them shot at it, but unluckily missed his aim. A net was also prepared and set in the eddy at the end of the island. CHAPTER VIII. JUNE, 1793. _Friday, 28._--At a very early hour of the morning every man was employed in making preparations for building another canoe, and different parties went in search of wood, watape, and gum. At two in the afternoon they all returned successful, except the collectors of gum, and of that article it was feared we should not obtain here a sufficient supply for our immediate wants. After a necessary portion of time allotted for refreshment, each began his respective work. I had an altitude at noon, which made us in 53. 2. 32. North latitude. _Saturday, 29._--The weather continued to be fine. At five o'clock we renewed our labour, and the canoe was got in a state of considerable forwardness. The conductor of the work, though a good man, was remarkable for the tardiness of his operations, whatever they might be, and more disposed to eat than to be active; I therefore took this opportunity of unfolding my sentiments to him, and thereby discovering to all around me the real state of my mind, and the resolutions I had formed for my future conduct. After reproaching him for his general inactivity, but particularly on the present occasion, when our time was so precious, I mentioned the apparent want of economy, both of himself and his companions, in the article of provisions. I informed him that I was not altogether a stranger to their late conversations, from whence I drew the conclusion that they wished to put an end to the voyage. If that were so, I expressed my wish that they would be explicit, and tell me at once of their determination to follow me no longer. I concluded, however, by assuring him, that whatever plan they had meditated to pursue, it was my fixed and unalterable determination to proceed, in spite of every difficulty that might oppose, or danger that should threaten me. The man was very much mortified at my addressing this remonstrance particularly to him; and replied that he did not deserve my displeasure more than the rest of them. My object being answered, the conversation dropped, and the work went on. About two in the afternoon one of the men perceived a canoe with two natives in it, coming along the inside of the island, but the water being shallow, it turned back, and we imagined that on perceiving us they had taken the alarm; but we were agreeably surprised on seeing them come up the outside of the island, when we recognised our guide, and one of the natives whom we had already seen; The former began immediately to apologize for his conduct, and assured me that since he had left me, his whole time had been employed in searching after his family, who had been seized with the general panic, that had been occasioned by the false reports of the people who had first fled from us. He said it was generally apprehended by the natives, that we had been unfriendly to their relations above, who were expected upon the river in great numbers at this time: and that many of the Atnah or Chin nation, had come up the river to where we had been, in the hope of seeing us, and were very much displeased with him and his friends for having neglected to give them an early notice of our arrival there. He added, that the two men whom we had seen yesterday, or the day before, were just returned from their rendezvous, with the natives of the sea coast, and had brought a message from his brother-in-law, that he had a new axe for him, and not to forget to bring a moose-skin dressed in exchange, which he actually had in his canoe. He expected to meet him, he said, at the other end of the carrying-place. This was as pleasing intelligence as we had reason to expect, and it is almost superfluous to observe that we stood in great need of it. I had a meridian altitude, which gave 53. 3. 7. North latitude. I also took time in the fore and afternoon, that gave a mean of 1. 37. 42. Achrometer slow apparent time, which, with an observed immersion of Jupiter's first satellite, made our longitude 122. 48. West of Greenwich. The blind old man gave a very favourable account of us to his friends, and they all three were very merry together during the whole of the afternoon. That our guide, however, might not escape from us during the night, I determined to set a watch upon him. _Sunday, 30._--Our strangers conducted themselves with great good humour throughout the day. According to their information, we should find their friends above and below the carrying-place. They mentioned, also, that some of them were not of their tribe, but are allied to the people of the sea coast, who trade with the white men. I had a meridian altitude, that gave 53. 3. 17. North latitude. JULY. _Monday, 1._--Last night I had the first watch, when one of my Indians proposed to sit up with me, as he understood, from the old man's conversation, that he intended, in the course of the night, to make his escape. Accordingly, at eleven I extinguished my light, and sat quietly in my tent, from whence I could observe the motions of the natives. About twelve, though the night was rather dark, I observed the old man creeping on his hands and knees towards the water-side. We accordingly followed him very quietly to the canoe, and he would have gone away with it, if he had not been interrupted in his design. On upbraiding him for his treacherous conduct, when he had been treated with so much kindness by us, he denied the intention of which we accused him, and declared that his sole object was to assuage his thirst. At length, however, he acknowledged the truth, and when we brought him to the fire, his friends, who now awoke, on being informed of what had passed, reprobated his conduct, and asked him how he could expect that the white people would return to this country, if they experienced such ungrateful treatment. The guide said, for his part, he was not a woman, and would never run away through fear. But notwithstanding this courageous declaration, at once I awakened Mr. Mackay, related to him what had passed, and requested him not to indulge himself in sleep, till I should rise. It was seven before I awoke, and on quitting my tent I was surprised at not seeing the guide and his companion, and my apprehensions were increased when I observed that the canoe was removed from its late situation. To my inquiries after them, some of the men very composedly answered that they were gone up the river, and had left the old man behind them. Mr. Mackay also told me, that while he was busily employed on the canoe, they had got to the point before he had observed their departure. The interpreter now informed me that at the dawn of day the guide had expressed his design, as soon as the sun was up, to go and wait for us, where he might find his friends. I hoped this might be true; but that my people should suffer them to depart without giving me notice, was a circumstance that awakened very painful reflections in my breast. The weather was clear in the forenoon. My observation this day gave 53. 8. 82. North latitude. At five in the afternoon our vessel was completed, and ready for service. She proved a stronger and better boat than the old one, though had it not been for the gum obtained from the latter, it would have been a matter of great difficulty to have procured a sufficiency of that article to have prevented her from leaking. The remainder of the day was employed by the people in cleaning and refreshing themselves, as they had enjoyed no relaxation from their labour since we landed on this spot. The old man having manifested for various and probably very fallacious reasons, a very great aversion to accompany us any further, it did not appear that there was any necessity to force his inclination. We now put our arms in order, which was soon accomplished, as they were at all times a general object of attention. _Tuesday, 2._--It rained throughout the night, but at half past three we were ready to embark, when I offered to conduct the old man where he had supposed we should meet his friends, but he declined the proposition. I therefore directed a few pounds of pemmican to be left with him, for his immediate support, and took leave of him and the place, which I named Canoe Island. During our stay there we had been most cruelly tormented by flies, particularly the sand-fly, which I am disposed to consider as the most tormenting insect of its size in nature. I was also compelled to put the people upon short allowance, and confine them to two meals a day, a regulation peculiarly offensive to a Canadian voyager. One of these meals was composed of the dried rows of fish, pounded, and boiled in water, thickened with a small quantity of flour, and fattened with a bit of grian. These articles, being brought to the consistency of an hasty pudding, produced a substantial and not unpleasant dish. The natives are very careful of the rows of fish, which they dry, and preserve in baskets made of bark. Those we used were found in the huts of the first people who fled from us. During our abode in Canoe Island, the water sunk three perpendicular feet. I now gave the men a dram each, which could not but be considered, at this time, as a very comfortable treat. They were, indeed, in high spirits, when they perceived the superior excellence of the new vessel, and reflected that it was the work of their own hands. [Transcriber's Note: The word 'grian' above is printed thus in this, and other, editions.] At eleven we arrived at the rapids, and the foreman, who had not forgotten the fright he suffered on coming down it, proposed that the canoe and lading should be carried over the mountain. I threatened him with taking the office of foreman on myself, and suggested the evident change there was in the appearance of the water since we passed it, which upon examination had sunk four feet and an half. As the water did not seem so strong on the West side, I determined to cross over, having first put Mr. Mackay, and our two hunters, on shore, to try the woods for game. We accordingly traversed, and got up close along the rocks, to a considerable distance, with the paddles, when we could proceed no further without assistance from the line; and to draw it across a perpendicular rock, for the distance of fifty fathoms, appeared to be an insurmountable obstacle. The general opinion was to return, and carry on the other side; I desired, however, two of the men to take the line, which was seventy fathoms in length, with a small roll of bark, and endeavour to climb up the rocks, from whence they were to descend on the other side of that which opposed our progress; they were then to fasten the end of the line to the roll of bark, which the current would bring to us; this being effected, they would be able to draw us up. This was an enterprise of difficulty and danger, but it was crowned with success; though to get to the water's edge above, the men were obliged to let themselves down with the line, run round a tree, from the summit of the rock. By a repetition of the same operation, we at length cleared the rapid, with the additional trouble of carrying the canoe, and unloading at two cascades. We were not more than two hours getting up this difficult part of the river, including the time employed in repairing an hole which had been broken in the canoe, by the negligence of the steersman. Here we expected to meet with the natives, but there was not the least appearance of them, except that the guide, his companion, and two others, had apparently passed the carrying-place. We saw several fish leap out of the water, which appeared to be of the salmon kind. The old man, indeed, had informed us that this was the season when the large fish begin to come up the river. Our hunters returned, but had not seen the track of any animal. We now continued our journey; the current was not strong, but we met with frequent impediments from the fallen trees, which lay along the banks. We landed at eight in the evening; and suffered indescribable inconveniences from the flies. _Wednesday, 3._--It had rained hard in the night, and there was some small rain in the morning. At four we entered our canoe, and at ten we came to a small river, which answered to the description of that whose course the natives said, they follow in their journies towards the sea coast; we therefore put into it, and endeavoured to discover if our guide had landed here; but there were no traces of him or of any others. My former perplexities were now renewed. If I passed this river, it was probable that I might miss the natives; and I had reason to suspect that my men would not consent to return thither. As for attempting the woods, without a guide, to introduce us to the first inhabitants, such a determination would be little short of absolute madness. At length, after much painful reflection, I resolved to come at once to a full explanation with my people, and I experienced a considerable relief from this resolution. Accordingly, after repeating the promise they had so lately made me, on our putting back up the river, I represented to them that this appeared to me to be the spot from which the natives took their departure for the sea coast, and added, withal, that I was determined to try it: for though our guide had left us, it was possible that, while we were making the necessary preparations, he or some others might appear, to relieve us from our present difficulties. I now found, to my great satisfaction, that they had not come to any fixed determination among themselves, as some of them immediately assented to undertake the woods with me. Others, however, suggested that it might be better to proceed a few leagues further up the river, in expectation of finding our guide, or procuring another, and that after all we might return hither. This plan I very readily agreed to adopt, but before I left this place, to which I gave the name of the West-Road River, I sent some of the men into the woods, in different directions, and went some distance up the river myself, which I found to be navigable only for small canoes. Two of the men found a good beaten path, leading up a hill just behind us, which I imagined to be the great road. At four in the afternoon we left this place, proceeding up the river; and had not been upon the water more than three quarters of an hour, when we saw two canoes coming with the stream. No sooner did the people in them perceive us than they landed, and we went on shore at the same place with them. They proved to be our guide, and six of his relations. He was covered with a painted beaver robe, so that we scarcely knew him in his fine habiliment. He instantly desired us to acknowledge that he had not disappointed us, and declared, at the same time, that it was his constant intention to keep his word. I accordingly gave him a jacket, a pair of trowsers, and a handkerchief, as a reward for his honourable conduct. The strangers examined us with the most minute attention, and two of them, as I was now informed, belonged to the people whom we first saw, and who fled with so much alarm from us. They told me, also, that they were so terrified on that occasion, as not to approach their huts for two days; and that when they ventured thither, they found the greater part of their property destroyed, by the fire running in the ground. According to their account, they were of a different tribe, though I found no difference in their language from that of the Nagailas or Carriers. They are called Nascud Denee. Their lodges were at some distance, on a small lake, where they take fish, and if our guide had not gone for them there, we should not have seen a human being on the river. They informed me that the road by their habitation is the shortest, and they proposed that we should take it. _Thursday, 4._--At an early hour this morning, and at the suggestion of our guide, we proceeded to the landing-place that leads to the strangers' lodges. Our great difficulty here was to procure a temporary separation from our company, in order to hide some articles we could not carry with us, and which it would have been imprudent to leave in the power of the natives. Accordingly Mr. Mackay, and one of our Indians embarked with them, and soon run out of our sight. At our first hiding-place we left a bag of pemmican, weighing ninety pounds, two bags of wild rice, and a gallon keg of gunpowder. Previous to our putting these articles in the ground, we rolled them up in oilcloth, and dressed leather. In the second hiding-place, and guarded with the same rollers, we hid two bags of Indian corn, or maize, and a bale of different articles of merchandise. When we had completed this important object, we proceeded till half past eight, when we landed at the entrance of a small rivulet, where our friends were waiting for us. Here it was necessary that we should leave our canoe, and whatever we could not carry on our backs. In the first place, therefore, we prepared a stage, on which the canoe was placed bottom upwards, and shaded by a covering of small trees and branches, to keep her from the sun. We then built an oblong hollow square, ten feet by five, of green logs, wherein we placed every article it was necessary for us to leave here, and covered the whole with large pieces of timber. While we were eagerly employed in this necessary business, our guide and his companions were so impatient to be gone, that we could not persuade the former to wait till we were prepared for our departure, and we had some difficulty in persuading another of the natives to remain, who had undertook to conduct us where the guide had promised to wait our arrival. At noon we were in a state of preparation to enter the woods, an undertaking of which I shall not here give any preliminary opinion, but leave those who read it to judge for themselves. We carried on our backs four bags and a half of pemmican, weighing from eighty-five to ninety pounds each; a case with my instruments, a parcel of goods for presents, weighing ninety pounds, and a parcel containing ammunition of the same weight. Each of the Canadians had a burden of about ninety pounds, with a gun, and some ammunition. The Indians had about forty-five pounds weight of pemmican to carry, besides their gun, &c., with which they were very much dissatisfied, and if they had dared would have instantly left us. They had hitherto been very much indulged, but the moment was now arrived, when indulgence was no longer practicable. My own load, and that of Mr. Mackay, consisted of twenty-two pounds of pemmican, some rice, a little sugar, &c., amounting in the whole to about seventy pounds each, besides our arms and ammunition. I had also the tube of my telescope swung across my shoulder, which was a troublesome addition to my burthen. It was determined that we should content ourselves with two meals a day, which were regulated without difficulty, as our provisions did not require the ceremony of cooking. In this state of equipment we began our journey, as I have already mentioned, about twelve at noon, the commencement of which was a steep ascent of about a mile; it lay along a well-beaten path, but the country through which it led was rugged and ridgy, and full of wood. When we were in a state of extreme heat, from the toil of our journey, the rain came on, and continued till evening, and even when it ceased, the underwood continued its drippings upon us. About half past six we arrived at an Indian camp of three fires, where we found our guide, and on his recommendation we determined to remain there for the night. The computed distance of this day's journey was about twelve geographical miles; the course about West. At sun-set, an elderly man and three other natives joined us from the Westward. The former bore a lance, which very much resembled a serjeant's halberd. He had lately received it, by way of barter, from the natives of the Sea-Coast, who procured it from the white men. We should meet, he said, with many of his countrymen, who had just returned from thence. According to his report, it did not require more than six days' journey, for people who are not heavily laden, to reach the country of those with whom they bartered their skins for iron, &c., and from thence it is not quite two days' march to the sea. They proposed to send two young men on before us, to notify to the different tribes that we were approaching, that they might not be surprised at our appearance, and be disposed to afford us a friendly reception. This was a measure which I could not but approve, and endeavoured by some small presents to prepossess our couriers in our favour. These people live but poorly at this season, and I could procure no provision from them, but a few small, dried fish, as I think, of the carp kind. They had several European articles; and one of them had a strip of fur, which appeared to me to be of the sea otter. He obtained it from the natives of the coast, and exchanged it with me for some beads and a brass cross. We retired to rest in as much security as if we had been long habituated to a confidence in our present associates: indeed, we had no alternative; for so great were the fatigues of the day in our mode of travelling, that we were in great need of rest at night. _Friday, 5._--We had no sooner laid ourselves down to rest last night, than the natives began to sing, in a manner very different from what I had been accustomed to hear among savages. It was not accompanied either with dancing, drum, or rattle; but consisted of soft plaintive tones, and a modulation that was rather agreeable: it had somewhat the air of church music. As the natives had requested me not to quit them at a very early hour in the morning, it was five before I desired that the young men, who were to proceed with us, should depart, when they prepared to set off: but on calling to our guide to conduct us, he said that he did not intend to accompany us any further; as the young men would answer our purpose as well as himself. I knew it would be in vain to remonstrate with him, and therefore submitted to his caprice without a reply. However, I thought proper to inform him, that one of my people had lost his dag or poignard, and requested his assistance in the recovery of it. He asked me what I would give him to conjure it back again; and a knife was agreed to be the price of his necromantic exertions. Accordingly, all the dags and knives in the place were gathered together, and the natives formed a circle round them; the conjurer also remaining in the middle. When this part of the ceremony was arranged, he began to sing, the rest joining in the chorus; and after some time he produced the poignard, which was stuck in the ground, and returned it to me. At seven we were ready to depart; when I was surprised to hear our late guide propose, without any solicitation on our part, to resume his office; and he actually conducted us as far as a small lake, where we found an encampment of three families. The young men who had undertaken to conduct us, were not well understood by my interpreters, who continued to be so displeased with their journey, that they performed this part of their duty with great reluctance. I endeavoured to persuade an elderly man of this encampment to accompany us to the next tribe, but no inducement of mine could prevail on him to comply with my wishes. I was, therefore, obliged to content myself with the guides I had already engaged, for whom we were obliged to wait some time, till they had provided shoes for their journey. I exchanged two halfpence here, one of his present Majesty, and the other of the State of Massachusett's Bay, coined in 1787. They hung as ornaments in children's ears. My situation here was rendered rather unpleasant by the treatment which my hunters received from these people. The former, it appeared, were considered as belonging to a tribe who inhabit the mountains, and are the natural enemies of the latter. We had also been told by one of the natives, of a very stern aspect, that he had been stabbed by a relation of theirs, and pointed to a scar as the proof of it. I was, therefore, very glad to proceed on my journey. Our guides conducted us along the lake through thick woods, and without any path, for about a mile and a half, when we lost sight of it. This piece of water is about three miles long and one broad. We then crossed a creek and entered upon a beaten track, through an open country, sprinkled with cyprus trees. At twelve the sky became black, and a heavy gust with rain shortly followed, which continued for upwards of an hour. When we perceived the approaching storm, we fixed our thin light oil-cloth to screen us from it. On renewing our march, as the bushes were very wet, I desired our guides, they having no burdens, to walk in front and beat them as they went: this task they chose to decline, and accordingly I undertook it. Our road now lay along a lake, and across a creek that ran into it. The guides informed me, that this part of the country abounds in beaver: many traps were seen along the road, which had been set for lynxes and martens. About a quarter of a mile from the place where we had been stopped by the rain, the ground was covered with hail, and as we advanced, the hailstones increased in size, some of them being as big as musket-balls. In this manner was the ground whitened for upwards of two miles. At five in the afternoon we arrived on the banks of another lake, when it again threatened rain; and we had already been sufficiently wetted in the course of the day, to look with complacency towards a repetition of it: we accordingly fixed our shed, the rain continuing with great violence through the remainder of the day: it was therefore determined, that we should stop here for the night. In the course of the day we passed three winter huts; they consisted of low walls, with a ridge pole, covered with the branches of the Canadian balsam-tree. One of my men had a violent pain in his knee, and I asked the guides to take a share of his burden, as they had nothing to carry but their beaver robes, and bows and arrows, but they could not be made to understand a word of my request. _Saturday, 6._--At four this morning I arose from my bed, such as it was. As we must have been in a most unfortunate predicament, if our guides should have deserted us in the night, by way of security, I proposed to the youngest of them to sleep with me, and he readily consented. These people have no covering but their beaver garments, and that of my companions was a nest of vermin. I, however, spread it under us, and having laid down upon it, we covered ourselves with my camblet cloak. My companion's hair being greased with fish-oil, and his body smeared with red earth, my sense of smelling as well as that of feeling, threatened to interrupt my rest; but these inconveniences yielded to my fatigue, and I passed a night of sound repose. I took the lead in our march, as I had done yesterday, in order to clear the branches of the wet which continued to hang upon them. We proceeded with all possible expedition through a level country with but little underwood; the larger trees were of the fir kind. At half past eight we fell upon the road, which we first intended to have taken from the Great River, and must be shorter than that which we had travelled. The West-road river was also in sight, winding through a valley. We had not met with any water since our encampment of last night, and though we were afflicted with violent thirst, the river was at such a distance from us, and the descent to it so long and steep, that we were compelled to be satisfied with casting our longing looks towards it. There appeared to be more water in the river here, than at its discharge. The Indian account, that it is navigable for their canoes, is, I believe, perfectly correct. Our guides now told us, that as the road was very good and well traced, they would proceed to inform the next tribe that we were coming. This information was of a very unpleasant nature; as it would have been easy for them to turn off the road at an hundred yards from us, and, when we had passed them, to return home. I proposed that one of them should remain with us, while two of my people should leave their loads behind and accompany the other to the lodges. But they would not stay to hear our persuasions, and were soon out of sight. I now desired the Cancre to leave his burden, take a small quantity of provision, with his arms and blanket, and follow me. I also told my men to come on as fast as they could, and that I would wait for them as soon as I had formed an acquaintance with the natives of the country before us. We accordingly followed our guides with all the expedition in our power, but did not overtake them till we came to a family of natives, consisting of one man, two women, and six children, with whom we found them. These people betrayed no signs of fear at our appearance, and the man willingly conversed with my interpreter, to whom he made himself more intelligible, than our guides had been able to do. They, however, had informed him of the object of our journey. He pointed out to us one of his wives, who was a native of the sea coast, which was not a very great distance from us. This woman was more inclined to corpulency than any we had yet seen, was of low stature, with an oblong face, grey eyes, and a flattish nose. She was decorated with ornaments of various kinds, such as large blue beads, either pendant from her ears, encircling her neck, or braided in her hair: she also wore bracelets of brass, copper, and horn. Her garments consisted of a kind of tunic, which was covered with a robe of matted bark, fringed round the bottom with skin of the sea otter. None of the women whom I had seen since we crossed the mountain wore this kind of tunic; their blankets being merely girt round the waist. She had learned the language of her husband's tribe, and confirmed his account, that we were at no great distance from the sea. They were on their way, she said, to the great river to fish. Age seemed to be an object of great veneration among these people, for they carried an old woman by turns on their backs who was quite blind and infirm from the very advanced period of her life. Our people having joined us and rested themselves, I requested our guides to proceed, when the elder of them told me that he should not go any further, but that these people would send a boy to accompany his brother, and I began to think myself rather fortunate, that we were not deserted by them all. About noon we parted, and in two hours we came up with two men and their families: when we first saw them they were sitting down, as if to rest themselves; but no sooner did they perceive us than they rose up and seized their arms.--The boys who were behind us immediately ran forwards and spoke to them, when they laid by their arms and received us as friends. They had been eating green berries and dried fish We had, indeed, scarcely joined them, when a woman and a boy came from the river with water, which they very hospitably gave us to drink. The people of this party had a very sickly appearance, which might have been the consequence of disease, or that indolence which is so natural to them, or of both. One of the women had a tattooed line along the chin, of the same length of her mouth. The lads now informed me that they would go no further, but that these men would take their places; and they parted from their families with as little apparent concern, as if they were entire strangers to each other. One of them was very well understood by my interpreter, and had resided among the natives of the sea coast, whom he had left but a short time. According to his information, we were approaching a river, which was neither large nor long, but whose banks were inhabited; and that in the bay which the sea forms at the mouth of it, a great wooden canoe, with white people, arrives about the time when the leaves begin to grow; I presume in the early part of May. After we parted with the last people, we came to an uneven, hilly, swampy country, through which our way was impeded by a considerable number of fallen trees. At five in the afternoon we were overtaken by a heavy shower of rain and hail, and being at the same time very much fatigued, we encamped for the night near a small creek. Our course till we came to the river, was about South-West ten miles, and then West, twelve or fourteen miles. I thought it prudent, by way of security, to submit to the same inconveniences I have already described, and shared the beaver robe of one of my guides during the night. _Sunday, 7._--I was so busily employed in collecting intelligence from our conductors, that I last night forgot to wind up my timepiece, and it was the only instance of such an act of negligence since I left Fort Chepewyan on the 11th of last October. At five we quitted our station, and proceeded across two mountains, covered with spruce, poplar, white-birch, and other trees. We then descended into a level country, where we found a good road, through woods of cypress. We then came to two small lakes, at the distance of about fourteen miles. Course about West. Through them the river passes, and our road kept in a parallel line with it on a range of elevated ground. On observing some people before us, our guides hastened to meet them, and, on their approach, one of them stepped forward with an axe in his hand. This party consisted only of a man, two women, and the same number of children. The eldest of the women, who probably was the man's mother, was engaged, when we joined them, in clearing a circular spot, of about five feet in diameter, of the weeds that infested it; nor did our arrival interrupt her employment, which was sacred to the memory of the dead. The spot to which her pious care was devoted, contained the grave of an husband, and a son, and whenever she passed this way, she always stopped to pay this tribute of affection. As soon as we had taken our morning allowance, we set forwards, and about three we perceived more people before us. After some alarm we came up with them. They consisted of seven men, as many women, and several children. Here I was under the necessity of procuring another guide, and we continued our route on the same side of the river, till six in the evening, when we crossed it. It was knee deep, and about an hundred yards over. I wished now to stop for the night, as we were all of us very much fatigued, but our guide recommended us to proceed onwards to a family of his friends, at a small distance from thence, where we arrived at half past seven. He had gone forward, and procured us a welcome and quiet reception. There being a net hanging to dry, I requested the man to prepare and set it in the water, which he did with great expedition, and then presented me with a few small dried fish. Our course was South-West about twelve miles, part of which was an extensive swamp, that was seldom less than knee deep. In the course of the afternoon we had several showers of rain: I had attempted to take an altitude, but it was past meridian. The water of the river before the lodge was quite still, and expanded itself the form of a small lake. In many other places, indeed, it had assumed the same form. _Monday, 8._--It rained throughout the night, and it was seven in the morning before the weather would allow us to proceed. The guide brought me five small boiled fish, in a platter made of bark; some of them were of the carp kind, and the rest of a species for which I am not qualified to furnish a name. Having dried our clothes, we set off on our march about eight, and our guide very cheerfully continued to accompany us; but he was not altogether so intelligible as his predecessors in our service. We learned from him, however, that this lake, through which the river passes, extends to the foot of the mountain, and that he expected to meet nine men, of a tribe which inhabits the North side of the river. In this part of our journey we were surprised with the appearance of several regular basons, some of them furnished with water, and the others empty; their slope from the edge to the bottom formed an angle of about forty-five degrees, and their perpendicular depth was about twelve feet. Those that contained water, discovered gravel near their edges, while the empty ones were covered with grass and herbs, among which we discovered mustard, and mint. There were also several places from whence the water appears to have retired, which are covered with the same soil and herbage. We now proceeded along a very uneven country, the upper parts of which were covered with poplars, a little under-wood, and plenty of grass: the intervening vallies were watered with rivulets. From these circumstances, and the general appearance of vegetation, I could not account for the apparent absence of animals of every kind. _Tuesday, 9._--At two in the afternoon we arrived at the largest river that we had seen, since we left our canoe, and which forced its way between and over the huge stones that opposed its current. Our course was about South-South-West sixteen miles along the river, which might here justify the title of a lake. The road was good, and our next course, which was West by South, brought us onward ten miles, where we encamped, fatigued and wet, it having rained three parts of the day. This river abounds with fish, and must fall into the great river, further down than we had extended our voyage. A heavy and continued rain fell through great part of the night, and as we were in some measure exposed to it, time was required to dry our clothes; so that it was half past seven in the morning before we were ready to set out. As we found the country so destitute of game, and foreseeing the difficulty of procuring provisions for our return, I thought it prudent to conceal half a bag of pemmican: having sent off the Indians, and all my people except two, we buried it under the fire-place, as we had done on a former occasion. We soon overtook our party, and continued our route along the river or lake. About twelve I had an altitude, but it was inaccurate from the cloudiness of the weather. We continued our progress till five in the afternoon, when the water began to narrow, and in about half an hour we came to a ferry, where we found a small raft. At this time it began to thunder, and torrents of rain soon followed, which terminated our journey for the day. Our course was about South, twenty-one miles from the lake already mentioned. We now discovered the tops of mountains, covered with snow, over very high intermediate land. We killed a whitehead and a grey eagle, and three grey partridges; we also saw two otters in the river, and several beaver lodges along it. When the rain ceased, we caught a few small fish, and repaired the raft for the service of the ensuing day. _Wednesday, 10._--At an early hour of this morning we prepared to cross the water. The traverse is about thirty yards, and it required five trips to get us all over. At a short distance below, a small river falls in, that comes from the direction in which we were proceeding. It is a rapid for about three hundred yards, when it expands into a lake, along which our road conducted us, and beneath a range of beautiful hills, covered with verdure. At half past eight we came to the termination of the lake, where there were two houses that occupied a most delightful situation, and as they contained their necessary furniture, it seemed probable that their owners intended shortly to return. Near them were several graves or tombs, to which the natives are particularly attentive, and never suffer any herbage to grow upon them. In about half an hour we reached a place where there were two temporary huts, that contained thirteen men, with whom we found our guide who had preceded us, in order to secure a good reception. The buildings were detached from each other, and conveniently placed for fishing in the lake. Their inhabitants called themselves Sloua-cuss-Dinais, which denomination, as far as my interpreter could explain it to me, I understood to mean Red-fish Men. They were much more cleanly, healthy, and agreeable in their appearance, than any of the natives whom we had passed; nevertheless, I have no doubt that they are the same people, from their name alone, which is of the Chepewyan language. My interpreters, however, understood very little of what they said, so that I did not expect much information from them. Some of them said it was a journey of four days to the sea, and others were of opinion that it was six; and there were among them who extended it to eight; but they all uniformly declared that they had been to the coast. They did not entertain the smallest apprehension of danger from us, and, when we discharged our pieces, expressed no sensation but that of astonishment, which, as may be supposed, was proportionably increased when one of the hunters shot an eagle, at a considerable distance. At twelve I obtained an altitude, which made our latitude 53. 4. 32. North, being not so far South as I expected. I now went, accompanied by one of my men, an interpreter, and the guide, to visit some huts at the distance of a mile. On our arrival, the inhabitants presented us with a dish of boiled trout, of a small kind. The fish would have been excellent if it had not tasted of the kettle, which was made of the bark of the white spruce, and of the dried grass with which it was boiled. Besides this kind of trout, red and white carp and jub, are the only fish I saw as the produce of these waters. These people appeared to live in a state of comparative comfort; they take a greater share in the labour of the women, than is common among the savage tribes, and are, as I was informed, content with one wife. Though this circumstance may proceed rather from the difficulty of procuring subsistence, than any habitual aversion to polygamy. My present guide now informed me, that he could not proceed any further, and I accordingly engaged two of these people to succeed him in that office; but when they desired us to proceed on the beaten path without them, as they could not set off till the following day, I determined to stay that night, in order to accommodate myself to their convenience. I distributed some trifles among the wives and children of the men who were to be our future guides, and returned to my people. We came back by a different way, and passed by two buildings, erected between four trees, and about fifteen feet from the ground, which appeared to me to be intended as magazines for winter provisions. At four in the afternoon, we proceeded with considerable expedition, by the side of the lake, till six, when we came to the end of it: we then struck off through a much less beaten track, and at half past seven stopped for the night. Our course, was about West-South-West thirteen miles, and West six miles. _Thursday, 11._--I passed a most uncomfortable night: the first part of it I was tormented with flies, and in the latter deluged with rain. In the morning the weather cleared, and as soon as our clothes were dried, we proceeded through a morass. This part of the country had been laid waste by fire, and the fallen trees added to the pain and perplexity of our way. A high, rocky ridge stretched along our left. Though the rain returned, we continued our progress till noon, when our guide took to some trees for shelter. We then spread our oil-cloth, and, with some difficulty, made a fire. About two the rain ceased, when we continued our journey through the same kind of country which we had hitherto passed. At half past three we came in sight of a lake; the land at the same time gradually rising to a range of mountains whose tops were covered with snow. We soon after observed two fresh tracks, which seemed to surprise our guides, but they supposed them to have been made by the inhabitants of the country, who were come into this part of it to fish. At five in the afternoon we were so wet and cold (for it had at intervals continued to rain) that we were compelled to stop for the night. We passed seven rivulets and a creek in this day's journey, As I had hitherto regulated our course by the sun, I could not form an accurate judgment of this route, as we had not been favoured with a sight of it during the day; but I imagine it to have been nearly in the same direction as that of yesterday. Our distance could not have been less than fifteen miles. Our conductors now began to complain of our mode of travelling, and mentioned their intention of leaving us; and my interpreters, who were equally dissatisfied, added to our perplexity by their conduct. Besides these circumstances, and the apprehension that the distance from the sea might be greater than I had imagined, it became a matter of real necessity that we should begin to diminish the consumption of our provisions, and to subsist upon two-thirds of our allowance; a preposition which was as unwelcome to my people, as it was necessary to put into immediate practice. _Friday, 12._--At half past five this morning we proceeded on our journey, with cloudy weather, and when we came to the end of the lake, several tracks were visible that led to the side of the water; from which circumstance I concluded, that some of the natives were fishing along the banks of it. This lake is not more than three miles long, and about one broad. We then passed four smaller lakes, the two first being on our right, and those which preceded, on our left. A small river also flowed across our way from the right, and we passed it over a beaver-dam. A larger lake new appeared on our right, and the mountains on each side of us were covered with snow. We afterwards came to another lake on our right, and soon reached a river, which our guides informed us was the same that we had passed on a raft. They said it was navigable for canoes from the great river, except two rapids, one of which we had seen. At this place it was upwards of twenty yards across, and deep water. One of the guides swam over to fetch a raft which was on the opposite side; and having encreased its dimensions, we crossed at two trips, except four of the men, who preferred swimming. Here our conductors renewed their menace of leaving us, and I was obliged to give them several articles, and promise more, in order to induce them to continue till we could procure other natives to succeed them. At four in the afternoon we forded the same river, and being with the guides at some distance before the rest of the people, I sat down to wait for them, and no sooner did they arrive, than the former set off with so much speed, that my attempt to follow them proved unsuccessful. One of my Indians, however, who had no load, overtook them, when they excused themselves to him by declaring that their sole motive for leaving us, was to prevent the people, whom they expected to find, from shooting their arrows at us. At seven o'clock, however, were so fatigued, that we encamped without them; the mountains covered with snow now appeared to be directly before us. As we were collecting wood for our fire, we discovered a cross road, where it appeared that people had passed within seven or eight days. In short, our situation was such as to afford a just cause of alarm, and that of the people with me was of a nature to defy immediate alleviation. It was necessary, however, for me to attempt it; and I rested my principles of encouragement on a representation of our past perplexities and unexpected relief, and endeavoured to excite in them the hope of similar good fortune. I stated to them, that we could not be at a great distance from the sea, and that there were but few natives to pass, till we should arrive among those, who being accustomed to visit the sea coast, and, having seen white people, would be disposed to treat us with kindness. Such was the general tenor of the reasoning I employed on the occasion, and I was happy to find that it was not offered in vain. The weather had been cloudy till three in the afternoon, when the sun appeared; but surrounded, as we were, with snow-clad mountains; the air became so cold, that the violence of our exercise, was not sufficient to produce a comfortable degree of warmth. Our course to-day was from West to South and at least thirty-six miles. The land in general was very barren and stony, and lay in ridges, with cypress trees scattered over them. We passed several swamps, where we saw nothing to console us but a few tracks of deer. _Saturday, 13._--The weather this morning was clear but cold, and our scanty covering was not sufficient to protect us from the severity of the night. About five, after we had warmed ourselves at a large fire, we proceeded on our dubious journey. In about an hour we came to the edge of a wood, when we perceived a house, situated on a green spot, and by the side of a small river. The smoke that issued from it informed us that it was inhabited. I immediately pushed forward towards this mansion, while my people were in such a state of alarm, that they followed me with the greatest reluctance. On looking back, I perceived that we were in an Indian defile, of fifty yards in length. I, however, was close upon the house before the inhabitants perceived us, when the women and children uttered the most horrid shrieks, and the only man who appeared to be with them, escaped out of a back door, which I reached in time to prevent the women and children from following him. The man fled with all his speed into the wood, and I called in vain on my interpreters to speak to him, but they were so agitated with fear as to have lost the power of utterance. It is impossible to describe the distress and alarm of these poor people, who believing that they were attacked by enemies, expected an immediate massacre, which, among themselves, never fails to follow such an event. Our prisoners consisted of three women, and seven children, which apparently composed three families. At length, however, by our demeanor, and our presents, we contrived to dissipate their apprehensions. One of the women then informed us, that their people, with several others had left that place three nights before, on a trading journey to a tribe whom she called Annah, which is the name the Chepewyans give to the Knisteneaux, at the distance of three days. She added also, that from the mountains before us, which were covered with snow, the sea was visible; and accompanied her information with a present of a couple of dried fish. We now expressed our desire that the man might be induced to return, and conduct us in the road to the sea. Indeed, it was not long before he discovered himself in the wood, when he was assured, both by the women and our interpreters, that we had no hostile design against him; but these assurances had no effect in quieting his apprehensions. I then attempted to go to him alone, and showed him a knife, beads, &c., to induce him to come to me, but he, in return, made a hostile display of his bow and arrows: and, having for some time exhibited a variety of strange antics, again disappeared. However, he soon presented himself in another quarter, and after a succession of parleys between us, he engaged to come and accompany us. While these negotiations were proceeding, I proposed to visit the fishing machines, to which the women readily consented, and I found in them twenty small fish, such as trout, carp, and jub, for which I gave her a large knife; a present that appeared to be equally unexpected and gratifying to her. Another man now came towards us, from a hill, talking aloud from the time he appeared, till he reached us. The purport of his speech was, that he threw himself upon our mercy and we might kill him, if it was our pleasure but that from what he had heard, he looked rather for our friendship than our enmity. He was an elderly person, of a decent appearance, and I gave him some articles to conciliate him to us. The first man now followed with a lad along with him, both of whom were the sons of the old man, and, on his arrival, he gave me several half dried fish, which I considered as a peace-offering. After some conversation with these people, respecting the country, and our future progress through it, we retired to rest, with sensations very different from those with which we had risen in the morning. The weather had been generally cloudy throughout the day, and when the sun was obscured, extremely cold for the season. At noon I obtained a meridian altitude, which gave 52. 58. 58. North latitude. I likewise took time in the after-noon. _Sunday, 14._--This morning we had a bright sun, with an East wind. These people examined their fishing machines, when they found in them a great number of small fish, and we dressed as many of them as we could eat. Thus was our departure retarded until seven, when we proceeded on our journey, accompanied by the man and his two sons. As I did not want the younger, and should be obliged to feed him, I requested of his father to leave him, for the purpose of fishing for the women. He replied, that they were accustomed to fish for themselves, and that I need not be apprehensive of their encroaching upon my provisions, as they were used to sustain themselves in their journies on herbs, and the inner tegument of the bark of trees, for the stripping of which he had a thin piece of bone, then hanging by his side. The latter is of glutinous quality, of a clammy, sweet taste, and is generally considered by the more interior Indians as a delicacy, rather than an article of common food. Our guide informed me that there is a short cut across the mountains, but as there was no trace of a road, and it would shorten our journey but one day, he should prefer the beaten way. We accordingly proceeded along a lake, West five miles. We then crossed a small river, and passed through a swamp, about South-West, when we began gradually to ascend for some time till we gained the summit of a hill, where we had an extensive view to the South-East, from which direction a considerable river appeared to flow, at the distance of about three miles: it was represented to me as being navigable for canoes. The descent of this hill was more steep than its ascent, and was succeeded by another, whose top, though not so elevated as the last, afforded a view of the range of mountains, covered with snow, which, according to the intelligence of our guide, terminates in the ocean. We now left a small lake on our left, then crossed a creek running out of it, and at one in the afternoon came to a house, of the same construction and dimensions as have already been mentioned, but the materials were much better prepared and finished. The timber was squared on two sides, and the bark taken off the two others; the ridge pole was also shaped in the same manner, extending about eight or ten feet beyond the gable end, and supporting a shed over the door: the end of it was carved into the similitude of a snake's head. Several hieroglyphics and figures of a similar workmanship, and painted with red earth, decorated the interior of the building. The inhabitants had left the house but a short time, and there were several bags or bundles in it, which I did not suffer to be disturbed. Near it were two tombs, surrounded in a neat manner with boards, and covered with bark. Beside them several poles had been erected, one of which was squared, and all of them painted. From each of them were suspended several rolls or parcels of bark, and our guide gave the following account of them; which, as far as we could judge, from our imperfect knowledge of the language, and the incidental errors of interpretation, appeared to involve two different modes of treating their dead; or it might be one and the same ceremony, which we did not distinctly comprehend: at all events, it is the practice of these people to burn the bodies of their dead, except the larger bones, which are rolled up in bark and suspended from poles, as I have already described. According to the other account, it appeared that they actually bury their dead; and when another of the family dies, the remains of the person who was last interred are taken from the grave and burned, has been already mentioned; so that the members of a family are thus successively buried and burned, to make room for each other; and one tomb proves sufficient for a family through succeeding generations. There is no house in this country without a tomb in its vicinity. Our last course extended about ten miles. We continued our journey along the lake before the house, and, crossing a river that flowed out of it, came to a kind of bank, or weir, formed by the natives, for the purpose of placing their fishing machines, many of which of different sizes, were lying on the side of the river. Our guide placed one of them, with the certain expectation that on his return he should find plenty of fish in it. We proceeded nine miles further, on a good road, West-South-West, when we came to a small lake: we then crossed a river that ran out of it, and our guides were in continual expectation of meeting with some of the natives. To this place our course was a mile and a half, in the same direction as the last. At nine at night we crossed a river on rafts, our last distance being about four miles South-East, on a winding road, through a swampy country, and along a succession of small lakes. We were now quite exhausted, and it was absolutely necessary for us to stop for the night. The weather being clear throughout the day, we had no reason to complain of the cold. Our guides encouraged us with the hope that, in two days of similar exertion, we should arrive among people of the other nation. _Monday, 15._--At five this morning we were again in motion, and passing along a river, we at length forded it. This stream was not more than knee deep, about thirty yards over, and with a stony bottom. The old man went onward by himself, in the hope of falling in with the people, whom he expected to meet in the course of the day. At eleven we came up with him, and the natives whom he expected, consisting of five men, and part of their families. They received us with great kindness, and examined us with the most minute attention. They must, however, have been told that we were white, as our faces no longer indicated that distinguishing complexion. They called themselves Neguia Dinais, and were come in a different direction from us, but were now going the same way, to the Anah-yoe Tesse or River, and appeared to be very much satisfied with our having joined them. They presented us with some fish which they had just taken in the adjoining lake. Here I expected that our guides, like their predecessors, would have quitted us, but, on the contrary, they expressed themselves to be so happy, in our company, and that of their friends, that they voluntarily, and with great cheerfulness proceeded to pass another night with us. Our new acquaintance were people of a very pleasing aspect. The hair of the women was tied in large loose knots over the ears, and plaited with great neatness from the division of the head, so as to be included in the knots. Some of them had adorned their tresses with beads, with a very pretty effect. The men were clothed in leather, their hair was nicely combed, and their complexion was fairer, or perhaps it may be said, with more propriety, that they were more cleanly, than any of the natives whom we had yet seen. Their eyes, though keen and sharp, are not of that dark colour, so generally observable in the various tribes of Indians; they were, on the contrary, of a grey hue, with a tinge of red. There was one man amongst them of at least six feet four inches in height; his manners were affable, and he had a more prepossessing appearance than any Indian I had met with in my journey; he was about twenty-eight years of age, and was treated with particular respect by his party. Every man, woman, and child carried a proportionate burden, consisting of beaver coating, and parchment, as well as skins of the otter, the marten, the bear, the lynx, and dressed moose-skins. The last they procure from the Rocky-Mountain Indians. According to their account, the people of the sea coast prefer them to any other article. Several of their relations and friends, they said, were already gone, as well provided as themselves, to barter with the people of the coast; who barter them in their turn, except the dressed leather, with white people, who, as they had been informed, arrive there in large canoes. Such an escort was the most fortunate circumstance that could happen in our favour. They told us, that as the women and children could not travel fast, we should be three days in getting to the end of our journey; which must be supposed to have been very agreeable infomation to people in our exhausted condition. In about half an hour after we had joined our new acquaintance, the signal for moving onwards was given by the leader of the party, who vociferated, the words Huy, Huy, when his people joined him and continued a clamorous conversation. We passed along a winding road, over hills, and through swampy vallies, from South to West. We then crossed a deep, narrow river, which discharges itself into a lake, on whose side we stopped at five in the afternoon, for the night, though we had reposed several times since twelve at noon; so that our mode of travelling had undergone a very agreeable change. I compute the distance of this day's journey at about twenty miles. In the middle of the day the weather was clear and sultry. We all sat down on a very pleasant green spot, and were no sooner seated, than our guide and one of the party prepared to engage in play. They had each a bundle of about fifty small sticks, neatly polished, of the size of a quill, and five inches long: a certain number of these sticks had red lines round them; and as many of these as one of the players might find convenient were curiously rolled up in dry grass, and according to the judgment of his antagonist respecting their number and marks, he lost or won. Our friend was apparently the loser, as he parted with his bow and arrows, and several articles which I had given him. _Tuesday, 16._--The weather of this morning was the same as yesterday; but our fellow-travellers were in no hurry to proceed, and I was under the necessity of pressing them into greater expedition, by representing the almost exhausted state of our provisions. They, however, assured us, that after the next night's sleep we should arrive at the river where they were going and that we should there get fish in great abundance. My young men, from an act of imprudence, deprived themselves last night of that rest which was so necessary to them. One of the strangers asking them several questions respecting us, and concerning their own country, one of them gave such answers as were not credited by the audience; whereupon he demanded, in a very angry tone, if they thought he was disposed to tell lies, like the Rocky Mountain Indians; and one of that tribe happening to be of the party, a quarrel ensued, which might have been attended with the most serious consequences, if it had not been fortunately prevented by the interference of those who were not interested in the dispute. Though our stock of provisions was getting so low, I determined, nevertheless, to hide about twenty pounds of pemmican, by way of providing against our return. I therefore left two of the men behind, with directions to bury it, as usual, under the place where we had made our fire. Our course was about West-South-West by the side of the lake, and in about two miles we came to the end of it. Here was a general halt, when my men overtook us. I was now informed, that some people of another tribe were sent for, who wished very much to see us, two of whom would accompany us over the mountains; that, as for themselves, they had changed their mind, and intended to follow a small river which issued out of the lake, and went in a direction very different from the line of our journey. This was a disappointment, which, though not uncommon to us, might have been followed by considerable inconveniences. It was my wish to continue with them whatever way they went; but neither my promises or entreaties would avail; these people were not to be turned from their purpose; and when I represented the low state of our provisions, one of them answered, that if we would stay with them all night, he would boil a kettle of fish-roes for us. Accordingly, without receiving any answer, he began to make preparation to fulfil his engagement. He took the roes out of a bag, and having bruised them between two stones, put them in water to soak. His wife then took an handful of dry grass in her hand, with which she squeezed them through her fingers; in the mean time her husband was employed in gathering wood to make a fire, for the purpose of heating stones. When she had finished her operation, she filled a water kettle nearly full of water, and poured the roes into it. When the stones were sufficiently heated, some of them were put into the kettle, and others were thrown in from time to time, till the water was in a state of boiling; the woman also continued stirring the contents of the kettle, till they were brought to a thick consistency; the stones were then taken out, and the whole was seasoned with about a pint of strong rancid oil. The smell of this curious dish was sufficient to sicken me without tasting it, but the hunger of my people surmounted the nauseous meal. When unadulterated by the stinking oil, these boiled roes are not unpalatable food. In the mean time four of the people who had been expected, arrived, and, according to the account given of them, were of two tribes whom I had not yet known. After some conversation, they proposed, that I should continue my route by their houses; but the old guide, who was now preparing to leave us, informed me that it would lengthen my journey; and by his advice I proposed to them to conduct us along the road which had already been marked out to us. This they undertook without the least hesitation; and, at the same time, pointed out to me the pass in the mountain, bearing South by East by compass. Here I had a meridian altitude, and took time. At four in the afternoon we parted with our late fellow-travellers in a very friendly manner, and immediately forded the river. The wild parsnip, which luxuriates on the borders of the lakes and rivers, is a favourite food of the natives: they roast the tops of this plant, in their tender state, over the fire, and taking off the outer rind, they are then a very palatable food. We now entered the woods, and some time after arrived on the banks of another river that flowed from the mountain, which we also forded. The country soon after we left the river was swampy; and the fire having passed through it, the number of trees, which had fallen, added to the toil of our journey. In a short time we began to ascend, and continued ascending till nine at night. We walked upwards of fourteen miles, according to my computation, in the course of the day, though the strait line of distance might not be more than ten. Notwithstanding that we were surrounded by mountains covered with snow, we were very much tormented with musquitoes. _Wednesday, 17._--Before the sun rose, our guides summoned us to proceed, when we descended into a beautiful valley, watered by a small river. At eight we came to the termination of it, where we saw a great number of moles, and began again to ascend. We now perceived many ground-hogs, and heard them whistle in every direction. The Indians went in pursuit of them, and soon joined us with a female and her litter, almost grown to their full size. They stripped off their skins, and gave the carcases to my people. They also pulled up a root, which appeared like a bunch of white berries of the size of a pea; its shape was that of a fig, while it had the colour and taste of a potatoe. We now gained the summit of the mountain, and found ourselves surrounded by snow. But this circumstance is caused rather by the quantity of snow drifted in the pass, than the real height of the spot, as the surrounding mountains rise to a much higher degree of elevation. The snow had become so compact that our feet hardly made a perceptible impression on it. We observed, however, the tracks of an herd of small deer which must have passed a short time before us, and the Indians and my hunters went immediately in pursuit of them. Our way was now nearly level, without the least snow, and not a tree to be seen in any part of it. The grass is very short, and the soil a reddish clay, intermixed with small stones. The face of the hills, where they are not enlivened with verdure, appears, at a distance, as if fire had passed over them. It now began to hail, snow, and rain, nor could we find any shelter but the leeward side of an huge rock. The wind also rose into a tempest, and the weather was as distressing as any I had ever experienced. After an absence of an hour and a half, our hunters brought a small doe of the rein-deer species, which was all they had killed, though they fired twelve shots at a large herd of them. Their ill success they attributed to the weather. I proposed to leave half of the venison in the snow, but the men preferred carrying it, though their strength was very much exhausted. We had been so long shivering with cold in this situation that we were glad to renew our march. Here and there were scattered a few crow-berry bushes and stinted willows; the former of which had not yet blossomed. Before us appeared a stupendous mountain, whose snow-clad summit was lost in the clouds; between it and our immediate course, flowed the river to which we were going. The Indians informed us that it was at no great distance. As soon as we could gather a sufficient quantity of wood, we stopped to dress some of our venison; and it is almost superfluous to add, that we made an heartier meal than we had done for many a day before. To the comfort which I have just mentioned, I added that of taking off my beard, as well as changing my linen, and my people followed the humanising example. We then set forwards, and came to a large pond, on whose bank we found a tomb, but lately made, with a pole, as usual, erected beside it, on which two figures of birds were painted, and by them the guides distinguished the tribe to which the deceased person belonged. One of them, very unceremoniously, opened the bark and shewed us the bones which it contained, while the other threw down the pole, and having possessed himself of the feathers that were tied to it, fixed them on his own head. I therefore conjectured, that these funeral memorials belonged to an individual of a tribe at enmity with them. We continued our route with a considerable degree of expedition, and as we proceeded the mountains appeared to withdraw from us. The country between them soon opened to our view, which apparently added to their awful elevation. We continued to descend till we came to the brink of a precipice, from whence our guides discovered the river to us, and a village on its banks. This precipice, or rather succession of precipices, is covered with large timber, which consists of the pine, the spruce, the hemlock, the birch, and other trees. Our conductors informed us, that it abounded in animals, which, from their description, must be wild goats. In about two hours we arrived at the bottom, where there is a conflux of two rivers, that issue from the mountains. We crossed the one which was to the left. They are both very rapid, and continue so till they unite their currents, forming a stream of about twelve yards in breadth. Here the timber was also very large; but I could not learn from our conductors why the most considerable hemlock trees were stripped of their bark to the tops of them. I concluded, indeed, at that time that the inhabitants tanned their leather with it. Here were also the largest and loftiest elder and cedar trees that I had ever seen. We were now sensible of an entire change in the climate, and the berries were quite ripe. The sun was about to set, when our conductors left us to follow them as well as we could. We were prevented, however, from going far astray, for we were hemmed in on both sides and behind by such a barrier as nature never before presented to my view. Our guides had the precaution to mark the road for us, by breaking the branches of trees as they passed. This small river must, at certain seasons, rise to an uncommon height and strength of current most probably on the melting of the snow; as we saw a large quantity of drift wood lying twelve feet above the immediate level of the river. This circumstance impeded our progress, and the protruding rocks frequently forced us to pass through the water. It was now dark, without the least appearance of houses, though it would be impossible to have seen them, if there had been any, at the distance of twenty yards, from the thickness of the woods. My men were anxious to stop for the night; indeed the fatigue they had suffered justified the proposal, and I left them to their choice; but as the anxiety of my mind impelled me forwards, they continued to follow me, till I found myself at the edge of the woods; and, notwithstanding the remonstrances that were made, I proceeded, feeling rather than seeing my way, till I arrived at a house, and soon discovered several fires, in small huts, with people busily employed in cooking their fish. I walked into one of them without the least ceremony, threw down my burden, and, after shaking hands with some of the people, sat down upon it. They received me without the least appearance of surprize, but soon made signs for me to go up to the large house, which was erected, on upright posts, at some distance from the ground. A broad piece of timber with steps cut in it, led to the scaffolding even with the floor, and by this curious kind of ladder I entered the house at one end; and having passed three fires, at equal distances in the middle of the building, I was received by several people, sitting upon a very wide board, at the upper end of it. I shook hands with them, and seated myself beside a man, the dignity of whose countenance induced me to give him that preference. I soon discovered one of my guides seated a little above me, with a neat mat spread before him, which I supposed to be the place of honour, and appropriated to strangers. In a short time my people arrived, and placed themselves near me, when the man, by whom I sat, immediately rose, and fetched, from behind a plank of about four feet wide, a quantity of roasted salmon. He then directed a mat to be placed before me and Mr. Mackay, who was now sitting by me. When this ceremony was performed, he brought a salmon for each of us, and half an one to each of my men. The same plank also served as a screen for the beds, whither the women and children were already retired; but whether that circumstances took place on our arrival, or was the natural consequence of the late hour of the night, I did not discover. The signs of our protector seemed to denote that we might sleep in the house, but as we did not understand him with a sufficient degree of certainty, I thought it prudent, from the fear of giving offence, to order the men to make a fire without, that we might sleep by it. When he observed our design, he placed boards for us, that we might not take our repose on the bare ground, and ordered a fire to be prepared for us. We had not been long seated round it, when we received a large dish of salmon roes, pounded fine and beat up with water, so as to have the appearance of a cream. Nor was it without some kind of seasoning that gave it a bitter taste. Another dish soon followed, the principal article of which was also salmon roes, with a large proportion of gooseberries, and an herb that appeared to be sorrel. Its acidity rendered it more agreeable to my taste than the former preparation. Having been regaled with these delicacies, for such they were considered by that hospitable spirit which provided them, we laid ourselves down to rest, with no other canopy than the sky; but I never enjoyed a more sound and refreshing rest, though I had a board for my bed, and a billet for my pillow. _Thursday, 18._--At five this morning I awoke, and found that the natives had lighted a fire for us, and were sitting by it. My hospitable friend immediately brought me some berries and roasted salmon, and his companions soon followed his example. The former, which consisted among many others, of gooseberries, hurtleberries, and raspberries, were of the finest I ever saw or tasted, of their respective kinds. They also brought the dried roes of fish to eat with the berries. Salmon is so abundant in this river, that these people have a constant and plentiful supply of that excellent fish. To take them with more facility, they had, with great labour, formed an embankment or weir across the river, for the purpose of placing their fishing machines, which they disposed both above and below it. I expressed my wish to visit this extraordinary work, but these people are so superstitious, that they would not allow me a nearer examination than I could obtain by viewing it from the bank. The river is about fifty yards in breadth, and by observing a man fish with a dipping net, I judged it to be about ten feet deep at the foot of the fall. The weir is a work of great labour, and contrived with considerable ingenuity. It was near four feet above the level of the water, at the time I saw it, and nearly the height of the bank on which I stood to examine it. The stream is stopped nearly two-thirds by it. It is constructed by fixing small trees in the bed of the river, in a slanting position (which could be practicable only when the water is much lower than when I saw it) with the thick part downwards; over these is laid a bed of gravel, on which is placed a range of lesser trees, and so on alternately till the work is brought to its proper height. Beneath it the machines are placed, into which the salmon fall when they attempt to leap over. On either side there is a large frame of timber-work, six feet above the level of the upper water, in which passages are left for the salmon leading directly into the machines, which are taken up at pleasure. At the foot of the fall dipping nets are also successfully employed. The water of this river is of the colour of asses' milk, which I attributed in part to the limestone that in many places forms the bed of the river, but principally to the rivulets which fall from mountains of the same material. These people indulge an extreme superstition respecting their fish, as it is apparently their only animal food. Flesh they never taste, and one of their dogs having picked and swallowed part of a bone which we had left, was beaten by his master till he disgorged it. One of my people also having thrown a bone of the deer into the river, a native, who had observed the circumstance, immediately dived and brought it up, and, having consigned it to the fire, instantly proceeded to wash his polluted hands. As we were still at some distance from the sea, I made application to my friend to procure us a canoe or two, with people to conduct us thither. After he had made various excuses, I at length comprehended that his only objection was to the embarking venison in a canoe on their river, as the fish would instantly smell it and abandon them, so that he, his friends, and relations, must starve. I soon eased his apprehensions on that point, and desired to know what I must do with the venison that remained, when he told me to give it to one of the strangers whom he pointed out to me, as being of a tribe that eat flesh. I now requested him to furnish me with some fresh salmon in its raw state; but, instead of complying with my wish, he brought me a couple of them roasted, observing at the same time, that the current was very strong, and would bring us to the next village, where our wants would be abundantly supplied, In short, he requested that we would make haste to depart. This was rather unexpected after so much kindness and hospitality, but our ignorance of the language prevented us from being able to discover the cause. At eight this morning, fifteen men armed, the friends and relations of these people, arrived by land, in consequence of notice sent them in the night, immediately after the appearance of our guides. They are more corpulent and of a better appearance than the inhabitants of the interior. Their language totally different from any I had heard; the Atnah or Chin tribe, as far as I can judge from the very little I saw of that people, bear the nearest resemblance to them. They appear to be of a quiet and peaceable character, and never make any hostile incursions into the lands of their neighbours. Their dress consists of a single robe tied over the shoulders, falling down behind, to the heels, and before, a little below the knees, with a deep fringe round the bottom. It is generally made of the bark of the cedar tree, which they prepare as fine as hemp; though some of these garments are interwoven with strips of the sea-otter skin, which give them the appearance of a fur on one side. Others have stripes of red and yellow threads fancifully introduced toward the borders, which have a very agreeable effect. The men have no other covering than that which I have described, and they unceremoniously lay it aside when they find it convenient. In addition to this robe, the women wear a close fringe hanging down before them about two feet in length, and half as wide. When they sit down they draw this between their thighs. They wear their hair so short, that it requires: little care or combing. The men have their's in plaits, and being smeared with oil and red earth, instead of a comb they have a small stick hanging by a string from one of the locks, which they employ to alleviate any itching or irritation in the head. The colour of the eye is grey with a tinge of red. They have all high cheek-bones, but the women are more remarkable for that feature than the men. Their houses, arms, and utensils I shall describe hereafter. I presented my friend with several articles, and also distributed some among others of the natives who had been attentive to us. One of my guides had been very serviceable in procuring canoes for us to proceed on our expedition; he appeared also to be very desirous of giving these people a favourable impression of us; and I was very much concerned that he should leave me as he did, without giving me the least notice of his departure, or receiving the presents which I had prepared for him, and he so well deserved. At noon I had an observation which gave 52. 28. 11. North latitude. CHAPTER IX. JULY, 1793. At one in the afternoon we embarked, with our small baggage, in two canoes, accompanied by seven of the natives, The stream was rapid, and ran upwards of six miles an hour. We came to a weir, such as I have already described, where the natives landed us, and shot over it without taking a drop of water. They then received us on board again, and we continued our voyage, passing many canoes on the river, some with people in them, and others empty. We proceeded at a very great rate for about two hours and a half, when we were informed that we must land, as the village was only at a short distance. I had imagined that the Canadians who accompanied me were the most expert canoe-men in the world, but they are very inferior to these people, as they themselves acknowledged, in conducting those vessels. Some of the Indians ran before us, to announce our approach, when we took our bundles and followed. We had walked along a well-beaten path, through a kind of coppice, when we were informed of the arrival of our couriers at the houses, by the loud and confused talking of the inhabitants. As we approached the edge of the wood, and were almost in sight of the houses, the Indians who were before me made signs for me to take the lead, and that they would follow. The noise and confusion of the natives now seemed to encrease, and when we came in sight of the village, we saw them running from house to house, some armed with bows and arrows, others with spears, and many with axes, as if in a state of great alarm, This very unpleasant and unexpected circumstance, I attributed to our sudden arrival, and the very short notice of it which had been given them. At all events, I had but one line of conduct to pursue, which was to walk resolutely up to them, without manifesting any signs of apprehension at their hostile appearance. This resolution produced the desired effect, for as we approached the houses, the greater part of the people laid down their weapons, and came forward to meet us. I was, however, soon obliged to stop from the number of them that surrounded me. I shook hands, as usual with such as were nearest to me, when an elderly man broke through the crowd, and took me in his arms; another then came, who turned him away without the least ceremony, and paid me the same compliment. The latter was followed by a young man, whom I understood to be his son. These embraces, which at first rather surprised me, I soon found to be marks of regard and friendship. The crowd pressed with so much violence and contention to get a view of us, that we could not move in any direction. An opening was at length made to allow a person to approach me, whom the old man made me understand was another of his sons. I instantly stepped forward to meet him, and presented my hand, whereupon he broke the string of a very handsome robe of sea otter skin, which he had on, and covered me with it. This was as flattering a reception as I could possibly receive, especially as I considered him to be the eldest son of the chief. Indeed, it appeared to me that we had been detained here for the purpose of giving him time to bring the robe with which he had presented me. The chief now made signs for us to follow him, and he conducted us through a narrow coppice, for several hundred yards, till we came to a house built on the ground, which was of larger dimensions, and formed of better materials than any I had hitherto seen; it was his residence. We were no sooner arrived there, than he directed mats to be spread before it, on which we were told to take our seats, when the men of the village, who came to indulge their curiosity, were ordered to keep behind us. In our front other mats were placed, where the chief and his counsellors took their seats. In the intervening space, mats, which were very clean, and of a much neater workmanship than those on which we sat, were also spread, and a small roasted salmon placed before each of us. When we had satisfied ourselves with the fish, one of the people who came with us from the last village approached, with a kind of ladle in one hand, containing oil, and in the other something that resembled the inner rind of the cocoa-nut, but of a lighter colour, this he dipped in the oil, and, having eat it, indicated by his gestures how palatable he thought it. He then presented me with a small piece of it, which I chose to taste in its dry state, though the oil was free from any unpleasant smell. A square cake of this was next produced, when a man took it to the water near the house, and having thoroughly soaked it, he returned, and, after he had pulled it to pieces like oakum, put it into a well-made trough, about three feet long, nine inches wide, and five deep; he then plentifully sprinkled it with salmon oil, and manifested by his own example that we were to eat of it. I just tasted it, and found the oil perfectly sweet, without which the other ingredient would have been very insipid. The chief partook of it with great avidity, after it had received an additional quantity of oil. This dish is considered by these people as a great delicacy, and on examination, I discovered it to consist of the inner rind of the hemlock tree, taken off early in summer, and put into a frame, which shapes it into cakes of fifteen inches long, ten broad, and half an inch thick; and in this form I should suppose it may be preserved for a great length of time. This discovery satisfied me respecting the many hemlock trees which I had observed stripped of their bark. In this situation we remained for upwards of three hours, and not one of the curious natives left us during all that time, except a party of ten or twelve of them, whom the chief ordered to go and catch fish, which they did in great abundance, with dipping nets, at the foot of the Weir. At length we were relieved from the gazing crowd, and got a lodge erected, and covered in for our reception during the night. I now presented the young chief with a blanket, in return for the robe with which he had favoured me, and several other articles, that appeared to be very gratifying to him. I also presented some to his father, and amongst them was a pair of scissors, whose use I explained to him, for clipping his beard, which was of great length; and to that purpose he immediately applied them. My distribution of similar articles was also extended to others, who had been attentive to us. The communication, however, between us was awkward and inconvenient, for it was carried on entirely by signs, as there was not a person with me who was qualified for the office of an interpreter. We were all of us very desirous to get some fresh salmon, that we might dress them in our own way, but could not by any means obtain that gratification, though there were thousands of that fish strung on cords, which were fastened to stakes in the river. They were even averse to our approaching the spot where they clean and prepare them for their own eating. They had, indeed, taken our kettle from us, lest we should employ it in getting water from the river; and they assigned as the reason for this precaution, that the salmon dislike the smell of iron. At the same time, they supplied us with wooden boxes, which were capable of holding any fluid. Two of the men who went to fish, in a canoe capable of containing ten people, returned with a full lading of salmon, that weighed from six to forty pounds, though the far greater part of them were under twenty. They immediately strung the whole of them, as I have already mentioned, in the river. I now made the tour of the village, which consisted of four elevated houses, and seven built on the ground, besides a considerable number of other buildings or sheds, which are used only as kitchens, and places for curing their fish. The former are constructed by fixing a certain number of posts in the earth, on some of which are laid, and to others are fastened, the supporters of the floor, at about twelve feet above the surface of the ground; their length is from a hundred to a hundred and twenty feet, and they are about forty in breadth. Along the centre are built three, four, or five hearths, for the two-fold purpose of giving warmth, and dressing their fish. The whole length of the building on either side is divided by cedar planks, into partitions or apartments of seven feet square, in the front of which there are boards, about three feet wide, over which, though they are not immovably fixed, the inmates of these recesses generally pass, when they go to rest. The greater part of them are intended for that purpose, and such are covered with boards, at the height of the wall of the house, which is about seven or eight feet, and rest upon beams that stretch across the building. On those also are placed the chests which contain their provisions, utensils, and whatever they possess. The intermediate space is sufficient for domestic purposes. On poles that run along the beams, hang roasted fish, and the whole building is well covered with boards and bark, except within a few inches of the ridge pole; where open spaces are left on each side to let in light and emit the smoke. At the end of the house that fronts the river, is a narrow scaffolding, which is also ascended by a piece of timber, with steps cut in it; and at each corner of this erection there are openings for the inhabitants to ease nature. As it does not appear to be a custom among them to remove these heaps of excremental filth, it may be supposed that the effluvia does not annoy them. The houses which rest on the ground are built of the same materials, and on the same plan. A sloping stage that rises to a cross piece of timber, supported by two forks, joins also to the main building, for those purposes which need not be repeated. When we were surrounded by the natives on our arrival, I counted sixty-five men, and several of them may be supposed to have been absent; I cannot, therefore, calculate the inhabitants of this village at less than two hundred souls. The people who accompanied us hither, from the other village, had given the chief a very particular account of everything they knew concerning us: I was, therefore, requested to produce my astronomical instruments, nor could I have any objection to afford them this satisfaction, as they would necessarily add to our importance in their opinion. Near the house of the chief I observed several oblong squares, of about twenty feet by eight. They were made of thick cedar boards, which were joined with so much neatness, that I at first thought they were one piece. They were painted with hieroglyphics, and figures of different animals, and with a degree of correctness that was not to be expected from such an uncultivated people. I could not learn the use of them, but they appeared to be calculated for occasional acts of devotion or sacrifice, which all these tribes perform at least twice in the year, at the spring and fall. I was confirmed in this opinion by a large building in the middle of the village, which I at first took for the half finished frame of a house. The groundplot of it was fifty feet by forty-five; each end is formed by four stout posts, fixed perpendicularly in the ground. The corner ones are plain, and support a beam of the whole length, having three intermediate props on each side, but of a larger size, and eight or nine feet in height. The two centre posts, at each end, are two feet and a half in diameter, and carved into human figures, supporting two ridge poles on their heads, at twelve feet from the ground. The figures at the upper part of this square represent two persons, with their hands upon their knees, as if they supported the weight with pain and difficulty; the others opposite to them stand at their ease, with their hands resting on their hips. In the area of the building there were the remains of several fires. The posts, poles, and figures, were painted red and black; but the sculpture of these people is superior to their painting. _Friday, 19_--Soon after I retired to rest last night, the chief paid me a visit to insist on my going to his bed-companion, and taking my place himself; but, notwithstanding his repeated entreaties, I resisted this offering of his hospitality. At an early hour this morning, I was again visited by the chief, in company with his son. The former complained of a pain in his breast; to relieve his suffering, I gave him a few drops of Turlington's Balsam on a piece of sugar; and I was rather surprised to see him take it without the least hesitation. When he had taken my medicine, he requested me to follow him, and conducted me to a shed, where several people were assembled round a sick man, who was another of his sons. They immediately uncovered him, and showed me a violent ulcer in the small of his back, in the foulest state that can be imagined. One of his knees was also afflicted in the same manner. This unhappy man was reduced to a skeleton, and, from his appearance, was drawing near to an end of his pains. They requested that I would touch him, and his father was very urgent with me to administer medicine; but he was in such a dangerous state, that I thought it prudent to yield no further to the importunities than to give the sick man a few drops of Turlington's Balsam in some water. I therefore left them, but was soon called back by the loud lamentations of the women, and was rather apprehensive that some inconvenience might result from my compliance with the chief's request. On my return I found the native physicians busy in practising their skill and art on the patient. They blew on him, and then whistled; at times they pressed their extended fingers, with all their strength, on his stomach; they also put their forefingers doubled into his mouth, and spouted water from their own with great violence into his face. To support these operations, the wretched sufferer was held up in a sitting posture; and when they were concluded, he was laid down and covered with a new robe made of the skins of the lynx. I had observed that his belly and breast were covered with scars, and I understood that they were caused by a custom prevalent among them, of applying pieces of lighted touch-wood to their flesh, in order to relieve pain or demonstrate their courage. He was now placed on a broad plank, and carried by six men into the woods, where I was invited to accompany them. I could not conjecture what would be the end of this ceremony, particularly as I saw one man carry fire, another an axe, and a third dry wood. I was indeed, disposed to suspect that, as it was their custom to burn the dead, they intended to relieve the poor man from his pain, and perform the last sad duty of surviving affection. When they advanced a short distance into the woods, they laid him upon a clear spot, and kindled a fire against his back, when the physician began to scarify the ulcer with a very blunt instrument, the cruel pain of which operation the patient bore with incredible resolution. The scene afflicted me, and I left it. On my return to our lodge, I observed before the door of the chief's residence, four heaps of salmon, each of which consisted of between three and four hundred fish. Sixteen women were employed in cleaning and preparing them. They first separate the head from the body, the former of which they boil; they then cut the latter down the back on each side of the bone, leaving one third of the fish adhering to it, and afterwards take out the guts. The bone is roasted for immediate use, and the other parts are dressed in the same manner, but with more attention, for future provision. While they are before the fire, troughs are placed under them to receive the oil. The roes are also carefully preserved, and form a favourite article of their food. After I had observed these culinary preparations, I paid a visit to the chief, who presented me with a roasted salmon; he then opened one of his chests, and took out of it a garment of blue cloth, decorated with brass buttons; and another of flowered cotton, which I supposed were Spanish; it had been trimmed with leather fringe, after the fashion of their own cloaks. Copper and brass are in great estimation among them, and of the former they have great plenty: they point their arrows and spears with it, and work it up into personal ornaments; such as collars, ear-rings, and bracelets, which they wear on their wrists, arms, and legs. I presume they find it the most advantageous articles of trade with the more inland tribes. They also abound in iron. I saw some of their twisted collars of that metal which weighed upwards of twelve pounds. It is generally beat in bars of fourteen inches in length, and one inch three quarters wide. The brass is in thin squares: their copper is in larger pieces, and some of it appeared to be old stills cut up. They have various trinkets; but their manufactured iron consists only of poignards and daggers. Some of the former have very neat handles, with a silver coin of a quarter or eighth of a dollar fixed on the end of them.--The blades of the latter are from ten to twelve inches in length, and about four inches broad at the top, from which they gradually lessen to a point. When I produced my instruments to take an altitude, I was desired not to make use of them. I could not then discover the cause of this request, but I experienced the good effect of the apprehension, which they occasioned, as it was very effectual in hastening my departure. I had applied several times to the chief to prepare canoes and people to take me and my party to the sea, but very little attention had been paid to my application till noon; when I was informed that a canoe was properly equipped for my voyage, and that the young chief would accompany me. I now discovered that they had entertained no personal fear of the instruments, but were apprehensive that the operation of them might frighten the salmon from that part of the river. The observation taken in this village gave me 52. 25. 52. North latitude. In compliance with the chief's request I desired my people to take their bundles, and lay them down on the bank of the river. In the mean time I went to take the dimensions of his large canoe, in which, it was signified to me, that about ten winters ago he went a considerable distance toward the mid-day sun, with forty of his people, when he saw two large vessels full of such men as myself, by whom he was kindly received: they were, he said, the first white people he had seen. They were probably the ships commanded by Captain Cook. This canoe was built of cedar, was forty-five feet long, four feet wide, and three feet and a half in depth. It was painted black and decorated with white figures of fish of different kinds. The gunwale, fore and aft, was inlaid with the teeth of the sea-otter.[1] When I returned to the river, the natives who were to accompany us and my people, were already in the canoe. The latter, however, informed me, that one of our axes was missing. I immediately applied to the chief, and requested its restoration; but he would not understand me till I sat myself down on a stone, with my arms in a state of preparation, and made it appear to him that I should not depart till the stolen article was restored. The village was immediately in a state of uproar, and some danger was apprehended from the confusion that prevailed in it. The axe, however, which had been hidden under the chief's canoe, was soon returned. Though this instrument was not, in itself, of sufficient value to justify a dispute with these people, I apprehended that the suffering them to keep it, after we had declared its loss, might have occasioned the loss of every thing we carried with us, and of our lives also. My people were dissatisfied with me at the moment; but I thought myself right then, and, I think now, that the circumstances in which we were involved, justified the measure which I adopted. [1] As Captain Cook has mentioned, that the people of the sea-coast adorned their canoes with human teeth, I was more particular in my inquiries; the result of which was, the most satisfactory proof that he was mistaken; but his mistake arose from the very great resemblance there is between human teeth and those of the sea-otter. CHAPTER X. JULY, 1793. _Saturday, 18._--At one in the afternoon we renewed our voyage in a large canoe with four of the natives. We found the river almost one continued rapid, and in half an hour we came to a house, where, however, we did not land, though invited by the inhabitants. In about an hour we arrived at two houses, where we were, in some degree, obliged to go on shore, as we were informed that the owner of them was a person of consideration. He indeed received and regaled us in the same manner as at the last village; and to increase his consequence, he produced many European articles, and amongst them were at least forty pounds weight of old copper stills. We made our stay as short as possible, and our host embarked with us. In a very short time we were carried by the rapidity of the current to another house of very large dimensions, which was partitioned into different apartments, and whose doors were on the side. The inhabitants received us with great kindness; but instead of fish, they placed a long, clean, and well made trough before us full of berries. In addition to those which we had already seen, there were some black, that were larger than the hurtleberry, and of a richer flavour; others white, which resembled the blackberry in everything but colour. Here we saw a woman with two pieces of copper in her under lip, as described by Captain Cook. I continued my usual practice of making these people presents in return for their friendly reception and entertainment. [Transcriber's Note: By context, the date above should read _Friday, 19._] The navigation of the river now became more difficult, from the numerous channels into which it was divided, without any sensible diminution in the velocity of its current. We soon reached another house of the common size, where we were well received; but whether our guides had informed them that we were not in want of anything, or that they were deficient in inclination, or perhaps the means, of being hospitable to us, they did not offer us any refreshment. They were in a state of busy preparation. Some of the women were employed in beating and preparing the inner rind of the cedar bark, to which they gave the appearance of flax. Others were spinning with a distaff and spindle. One of them was weaving a robe of it, intermixed with stripes of the sea-otter skin, on a frame of adequate contrivance that was placed against the side of the house. The men were fishing on the river with drag-nets between two canoes. These nets are forced by poles to the bottom, the current driving them before it; by which means the salmon coming up the river are intercepted, and give notice of their being taken by the struggles they make in the bag or sleeve of the net. There are no weirs in this part of the river, as I suppose, from the numerous channels into which it is divided. The machines, therefore, are placed along the banks, and consequently these people are not so well supplied with fish as the village which has been already described, nor do they appear to possess the same industry. The inhabitants of the last house accompanied us in a large canoe. They recommended us to leave ours here, as the next village was but at a small distance from us, and the water more rapid than that which we had passed. They informed us also, that we were approaching a cascade. I directed them to shoot it, and proceeded myself to the foot thereof, where I re-embarked, and we went on with great velocity, till we came to a fall, where we left our canoe, and carried our luggage along a road through a wood for some hundred yards, when we came to a village, consisting of six very large houses, erected on pallisades, rising twenty-five feet from the ground, which differed in no one circumstance from those already described, but the height of their elevation. They contained only four men and their families. The rest of the inhabitants were with us and in the small houses which we passed higher up the river.[1] These people do not seem to enjoy the abundance of their neighbours, as the men who returned from fishing had no more than five salmon; they refused to sell one of them, but gave me one roasted of a very indifferent kind. In the houses there were several chests or boxes containing different articles that belonged to the people whom we had lately passed. If I were to judge by the heaps of filth beneath these buildings, they must have been erected at a more distant period than any which we had passed. From these houses I could perceive the termination of the river, and its discharge into a narrow arm of the sea. As it was now half past six in the evening, and the weather cloudy, I determined to remain here for the night, and for that purpose we possessed ourselves of one of the unoccupied houses. The remains of our last meal, which we brought with us, served for our supper, as we could not procure a single fish from the natives. The course of the river is about West, and the distance from the great village upwards of thirty-six miles.--There we had lost our dog, a circumstance of no small regret to me. _Saturday, 20._--We rose at a very early hour this morning, when I proposed to the Indians to run down our canoe, or procure another at this place. To both these proposals they turned a deaf ear, as they imagined that I should be satisfied with having come in sight of the sea. Two of them peremptorily refused to proceed; but the other two having consented to continue with us, we obtained a larger canoe than our former one, and though it was in a leaky state we were glad to possess it. At about eight we got out of the river, which discharges itself by various channels into an arm of the sea. The tide was out, and had left a large space covered with sea-weed. The surrounding hills were involved in fog. The wind was at West, which was ahead of us, and very strong; the bay appearing to be from one to three miles in breadth. As we advanced along the land we saw a great number of sea-otters. We fired several shots at them, but without any success from the rapidity with which they plunge under the water. We also saw many small porpoises or divers. The white-headed eagle, which is common in the interior parts; some small gulls, a dark bird which is inferior in size to the gull, and a few small ducks, were all the birds which presented themselves to our view. At two in the afternoon the swell was so high, and the wind, which was against us, so boisterous, that we could not proceed with our leaky vessel, we therefore landed in a small cove on the right side of the bay. Opposite to us appeared another small bay, in the mouth of which is an island, and where, according to the information of the Indians, a river discharges itself that abounds in salmon. Our young Indians now discovered a very evident disposition to leave us; and, in the evening, one of them made his escape. Mr. Mackay, however, with the other, pursued and brought him back; but as it was by no means necessary to detain him, particularly as provisions did not abound with us, I gave him a small portion, with a pair of shoes, which were necessary for his journey, and a silk handkerchief, telling him at the same time, that he might go and inform his friends, that we should also return in three nights. He accordingly left us, and his companion, the young chief, went with him. When we landed, the tide was going out, and at a quarter past four it was ebb, the water having fallen in that short period eleven feet and an half. Since we left the river, not a quarter of an hour had passed in which we did not see porpoises and sea-otters. Soon after ten it was high water, and rendered it necessary that our baggage should be shifted several times, though not till some of the things had been wetted. We were now reduced to the necessity of looking out for fresh water, with which we were plentifully supplied by the rills that ran down from the mountains. When it was dark the young chief returned to us, bearing a large porcupine on his back. He first cut the animal open, and having disencumbered it of the entrails, threw them into the sea; he then singed its skin, and boiled it in separate pieces, as our kettle was not sufficiently capacious to contain the whole; nor did he go to rest, till with the assistance of two of my people who happened to be awake, every morsel of it was devoured. I had flattered myself with the hope of getting a distance of the moon and stars, but the cloudy weather continually disappointed me, and I began to fear that I should fail in this important object; particularly as our provisions were at a very low ebb, and we had, as yet, no reason to expect any assistance from the natives. Our stock was, at this time, reduced to twenty pounds weight of pemmican, fifteen pounds of rice, and six pounds of flour, among ten half-starved men, in a leaky vessel, and on a barbarous coast. Our course from the river was about West-South-West, distance ten miles. _Sunday, 21._--At forty minutes past four this morning it was low water, which made fifteen feet of perpendicular height below the high-water mark of last night. Mr. Mackay collected a quantity of small muscles which we boiled. Our people did not partake of this regale, as they are wholly unacquainted with sea shell-fish. Our young chief being missing, we imagined that he had taken his flight, but, as we were preparing to depart, he fortunately made his appearance from the woods, where he had been to take his rest after his feast of last night. At six we were upon the water, when we cleared the small bay, which we named Porcupine Cove, and steered West-South-West for seven miles, we then opened a channel about two miles and a half wide at South-South-West, and had a view of ten or twelve miles into it. As I could not ascertain the distance from the open sea, and being uncertain whether we were in a bay or among inlets and channels of islands, I confined my search to a proper place for taking an observation. We steered, therefore, along the land on the left, West-North-West a mile and a half; then North-West one fourth of a mile, and North three miles to an island the land continuing to run North-North-West, then along the island, South-South-West half a mile, West a mile and a half, and from thence directly across to the land on the left, (where I had an altitude,) South-West three miles.[2] From this position a channel, of which the island we left appeared to make a check, bears North by East. Under the land we met with three canoes, with fifteen men in them, and laden with their moveables, as if proceeding to a new situation, or returning to a former one. They manifested no kind of mistrust or fear of us, but entered into conversation with our young man, as I supposed, to obtain some information concerning us. It did not appear that they were the same people as those we had lately seen, as they spoke the language of our young chief, with a different accent. They then examined everything we had in our canoe, with an air of indifference and disdain. One of them in particular made me understand, with an air of insolence, that a large canoe had lately been in this bay, with people in her like me, and that one of them, whom he called _Macubah_ had fired on him and his friends, and that _Bensins_ had struck him on the back, with the flat part of his sword. He also mentioned another name, the articulation of which I could not determine. At the same time he illustrated these circumstances by the assistance of my gun and sword; and I do not doubt but he well deserved the treatment which he described. He also produced several European articles, which could not have been long in his possession. From his conduct and appearance, I wished very much to be rid of him, and flattered myself that he would prosecute his voyage, which appeared to be in an opposite direction to our course. However, when I prepared to part from them, they turned their canoes about, and persuaded my young man to leave me, which I could not prevent. We coasted along the land[3] at about West-South-West for six miles, and met a canoe with two boys in it, who were dispatched to summon the people on that part of the coast to join them. The troublesome fellow now forced himself into my canoe, and pointed out a narrow channel on the opposite shore, that led to his village, and requested us to steer towards it, which I accordingly ordered. His importunities now became very irksome, and he wanted to see everything we had, particularly my instruments, concerning which he must have received information from my young man. He asked for my hat, my handkerchief, and in short, everything that he saw about me. At the same time he frequently repeated the unpleasant intelligence that he had been shot at by people of my colour. At some distance from the land a channel opened to us, at South-West by West, and pointing that way, he made me understand that _Macubah_ came there with his large canoe. When we were in mid-channel, I perceived some sheds, or the remains of old buildings on the shore; and as, from that circumstance I thought it probable that some Europeans might have been there I directed my steersman to make for that spot. The traverse is upwards of three miles North-West. We landed, and found the ruins of a village, in a situation calculated for defence. The place itself was overgrown with weeds, and in the centre of the houses there was a temple, of the same form and construction as that which I described at the large village. We were soon followed by ten canoes, each of which contained from three to six men. They informed us that we were expected at the village, where we should see many of them. From their general deportment I was very apprehensive that some hostile design was meditated against us, and for the first time I acknowledged my apprehensions to my people. I accordingly desired them to be very much upon their guard, and to be prepared if any violence was offered to defend themselves to the last. We had no sooner landed, than we took possession of a rock, where there was not space for more than twice our number, and, which admitted of our defending ourselves with advantage, in case we should be attacked. The people in the three first canoes, were the most troublesome, but, after doing their utmost to irritate us, they went away. They were, however, no sooner gone, than a hat, a handkerchief, and several other articles, were missing. The rest of our visitors continued their pressing invitations to accompany them to their village, but finding our resolution to decline them was not to be shaken, they, about sun-set relieved us from all further importunities, by their departure. Another canoe, however, soon arrived, with seven stout, well-looking men. They brought a box, which contained a very fine sea-otter skin, and a goat skin that was beautifully white. For the former they demanded my hanger, which, as may well be supposed, could not be spared in our present situation, and they actually refused to take a yard and a half of common broad cloth, with some other articles, for the skin, which proves the unreflecting improvidence of our European traders. The goat-skin was so bulky that I did not offer to purchase it. These men also told me that _Macubah_ had been there, and left his ship behind a point of land in the channel, South-West from us; from whence he had come to their village in boats, which these people represented by imitating our manner of rowing. When I offered them what they did not choose to accept for the otter-skin, they shook their heads, and very distinctly answered, "No, no." And to mark their refusal of anything we asked from them, they emphatically employed the same British monosyllable. In one of the canoes which had left us, there was a seal, that I wished to purchase, but could not persuade the natives to part with it. They had also a fish, which I now saw for the first time. It was about eighteen inches in length, of the shape and appearance of a trout, with strong sharp teeth. We saw great numbers of the animals which we had taken for sea-otters, but I was new disposed to think that a great part of them, at least, must have been seals. The natives having left us, we made a fire to warm ourselves, and as for supper, there was but little of that, for our whole daily allowance did not amount to what was sufficient for a single meal. The weather was clear throughout the day, which was succeeded by a fine moon-light night. I directed the people to keep watch by two in turn, and laid myself down on my cloak. _Monday, 22._---This morning the weather was clear and pleasant; nor had anything occurred to disturb us throughout the night. One solitary Indian, indeed, came to us with about half a pound of boiled seal's flesh, and the head of a small salmon, for which he asked a handkerchief, but afterwards accepted a few beads. As this man came alone, I concluded that no general plan had been formed among the natives to annoy us, but this opinion did not altogether calm the apprehensions of my people. Soon after eight in the morning, I took five altitudes for time, and the mean of them was 36° 48' at six in the afternoon, 58. 34. time, by the watch, which makes the achrometer slow apparent time 1h 21m 44s. Two canoes now arrived from the same quarter as the rest, with several men, and our young Indian along with them. They brought a very few small sea-otter skins, out of season, with some pieces of raw seal's flesh. The former were of no value, but hunger compelled some of my people to take the latter, at an extravagant price. Mr. Mackay lighted a bit of touch-wood with a burning-glass, in the cover of his tobacco-box, which so surprised the natives, that they exchanged the best of their otter skins for it. The young man was now very anxious to per suede our people to depart, as the natives, he said, were as numerous as musquitoes, and of very malignant character. This information produced some very earnest remonstrances to me to hasten our departure, but as I was determined not to leave this place, except I was absolutely compelled to it, till I had ascertained its situation, these solicitations were not repeated. While I was taking a meridian, two canoes, of a larger size, and well manned, appeared from the main South-West channel. They seemed to be the fore-runners of others, who were coming to co-operate with the people of the village, in consequence of the message sent by the two boys, which has been already mentioned; and our young Indian, who understood them, renewed his entreaties for our departure, as they would soon come to shoot their arrows, and hurl their spears at us. In relating our dangers his agitation was so violent, that he foamed at the mouth. Though I was not altogether free from apprehensions on the occasion, it was necessary for me disguise them, as my people were panic struck, and some of them asked if it was my determination to remain there to be sacrificed? My reply was the same as their former importunities had received, that I would not stir till I had accomplished my object; at the same time, to humour their fears, I consented that they should put everything into the canoe, that we might be in a state of preparation to depart. The two canoes now approached the shore, and in a short time, five men, with their families, landed very quietly from them. My instruments being exposed, they examined them with much apparent admiration and astonishment. My altitude, by an artificial horizon, gave 52° 21' 33"; that by the natural horizon was 52° 20' 48" North latitude.[4] These Indians were of a different tribe from those which I had already seen, as our guide did not understand their language. I now mixed up some vermilion in melted grease, and inscribed, in large characters, on the South-East face of the rock on which we had slept last night, this brief memorial--"Alexander Mackenzie, from Canada, by land, the twenty-second of July, one thousand seven hundred and ninety-three." As I thought that we were too near the village, I consented to leave this place, and accordingly proceeded North-East three miles, when we landed on a point, in a small cove, where we should not be readily seen, and could not be attacked except in our front. Among other articles that had been stolen from us, at our last station, was a sounding-line, which I intended to have employed in this bay, though I should not probably have found the bottom, at any distance from the shore, as the appearance both of the water and land indicated a great depth. The latter displayed a solid rock, rising as it appeared to me, from three to seven hundred feet above high water mark. Where any soil was scattered about, there were cedars, spruce-firs, white birch, and other trees of large growth. From its precipices issued streams of fine water, as cold as ice. The two canoes which we had left at our last station, followed us hither, and when they were preparing to depart, our young chief embarked with them. I was determined, however, to prevent his escape, and compelled him, by animal force, to come on shore, for I thought it much better to incur his displeasure than to suffer him to expose himself to any untoward accident among strangers, or to return to his father before us. The men in the canoe made signs for him to go over the hill, and that they would take him on board at the other side of it. As I was necessarily engaged in other matters, I desired my people to take care that he should not run away; but they peremptorily refused to be employed in keeping him against his will. I was, therefore, reduced to the necessity of watching him myself. I took five altitudes, and the mean of them was 29. 23. 48, at 3. 5. 53. in the afternoon, by the watch, which makes it slow apparent time. 1h 22m 38s In the forenoon} 1 21 44 2 44 22 it was } ---------- ---------- Mean of both 1 22 11 Difference of nine hours go- } 8 ing of the time-piece slow } 1 22 19 I observed an emersion of Jupiter's third satellite, which gave 8° 32' 21. difference of longitude. I then observed an emersion of Jupiter's first satellite, which gave 8° 31' 48. The mean of these observations is 8° 32' 2. which is equal to 128. 2. West of Greenwich. I had now determined my situation, which is the most fortunate circumstance of my long, painful, and perilous journey, as a few cloudy days would have prevented me from ascertaining the final longitude of it.[5] At twelve it was high water, but the tide did not come within a foot and an half of the high water mark of last night. As soon as I had completed my observations, we left this place: it was then ten o'clock in the afternoon. We returned the same way that we came, and though the tide was running out very strong, by keeping close in with the rocks, we proceeded at a considerable rate, as my people were very anxious to get out of the reach of the inhabitants of this coast. _Tuesday, 23._--During our course we saw several fires on the land to the Southward, and after the day dawned, their smokes were visible. At half past four this morning we arrived at our encampment of the night of the 21st, which had been named Porcupine Cove. The tide was out, and considerably lower than we found it when we were here before; the high-water mark being above the place where we had made our fire. This fluctuation must be occasioned by the action of the wind upon the water, in those narrow channels. As we continued onwards, towards the river, we saw a canoe, well manned, which at first made from us with great expedition, but afterwards waited, as if to reconnoitre us; however, it kept out of our way, and allowed us to pass. The tide being much lower than when we were here before, we were under the necessity of landing a mile below the village. We observed that stakes were fixed in the ground along the bay, and in some places machines were fastened to them, as I afterwards learned, to intercept the seals and otters. These works are very extensive, and must have been erected with no common labour. The only bird we saw to-day was the white headed eagle.[6] Our guide directed us to draw the canoe out of the reach of the tide and to leave it. He would not wait, however, till this operation was performed, and I did not wish to let him go alone. I therefore followed him through a bad road encumbered with under-wood. When we had quitted the wood, and were in sight of the houses, the young man being about fifteen or twenty paces before me, I was surprised to see two men running down towards me from one of the houses, with daggers in their hands and fury in their aspect. From their hostile appearance, I could not doubt of their purpose. I therefore stopped short, threw down my cloak, and put myself in a posture of defence, with my gun presented towards them. Fortunately for me, they knew the effect of firearms, and instantly dropped their daggers, which were fastened by a string to their wrists, and had before been held in a menacing attitude. I let my gun also fall into my left hand, and drew my hanger. Several others soon joined them, who were armed in the same manner; and among them I recognised the man whom I have already mentioned as being so troublesome to us, and who now repeated the names of Macuba and Benzins, signifying at the same time by his action, as on a former occasion, that he had been shot at by them. Until I saw him my mind was undisturbed; but the moment he appeared, conceiving that he was the cause of my present perilous situation, my resentment predominated, and if he had come within my reach, I verily believe, that I should have terminated his insolence forever. The rest now approached so near, that one of them contrived to get behind me, and grasped me in his arms. I soon disengaged myself from him; and, that he did not avail himself of the opportunity which he had of plunging his dagger into me, I cannot conjecture. They certainly might have overpowered me, and though I should probably have killed one or two of them, I must have fallen at last. One of my people now came out of the wood. On his appearance they instantly took to flight, and with the utmost speed sought shelter in the houses from whence they had issued. It was, however, upwards of ten minutes before all my people joined me; and as they came one after the other, these people might have successively dispatched every one of us. If they had killed me, in the first instance, this consequence would certainly have followed, and not one of us would have returned home to tell the horrid fate of his companions. After having stated the danger I had encountered, I told my people that I was determined to make these natives feel the impropriety of their conduct toward us, and compel them to return my hat and cloak which they had taken in the scuffle, as well as the articles previously purloined from us, for most of the men who were in the three canoes that we first saw, were now in the village. I therefore told my men to prime their pieces afresh, and prepare themselves for an active use of them, if the occasion should require it. We now drew up before the house, and made signs for some one to come down to us. At length our young chief appeared, and told us that the men belonging to the canoes had not only informed his friends, that we had treated him very ill, but that we had killed four of their companions whom he had met in the bay. When I had explained to them as well as it was in my power, the falsehood of such a story, I insisted on the restoration of everything that had been taken from us, as well as a necessary supply of fish, as the conditions of my departure; accordingly the things were restored, and a few dried fish along with them. A reconciliation now took place, but our guide or young chief was so much terrified that he would remain no longer with us, and requested us to follow with his father's canoe, or mischief would follow. I determined, however, before my departure, to take an observation, and at noon got a meridian altitude, making this place, which I named Rascal's Village, 52. 23. 43. North latitude. On my informing the natives that we wanted something more to eat, they brought us two salmon; and when we signified that we had no poles to set the canoe against the current, they were furnished with equal alacrity, so anxious were they for our departure. I paid, however, for everything which we had received, and did not forget the loan of the canoe. [1] Mr. Johnstone came to these houses the first day of the preceding month. [2] The Cape or Point Menzies of Vancouver. [3] Named by Vancouver King's Island. [4] This I found to be the cheek of Vancouver's Cascade Canal. [5] Mr. Meares was undoubtedly wrong in the idea, so earnestly insisted on by him, in his voyage, that there was was North-West practicable passage to the Southward of sixty-nine degrees and an half of latitude, as I flatter myself has been proved by my former voyage. Nor can I refrain from expressing my surprise at his assertion, that there was an inland sea or archipelago of great extent between the islands of Nootka and the main, about the latitude where I was at this time. Indeed I have been informed that Captain Grey, who commanded an American vessel, and on whose authority he ventured this opinion, denies that he had given Mr. Meares any such information. Besides, the contrary is indubitably proved by Captain Vancouver's survey, from which no appeal can be made. [6] This bay was now named Mackenzie's Outlet. CHAPTER XI. JULY, 1793. The current of the river was so strong, that I should have complied with the wishes of my people, and gone by land, but one of my Indians was so weak, that it was impossible for him to perform the journey. He had been ill some time; and, indeed, we had been all of us more or less afflicted with colds on the sea coast. Four of the people therefore set of with the canoe, and it employed them an hour to get half a mile. In the mean time the native, who has been already mentioned as having treated us with so much insolence, and four of his companions, went up the river in a canoe, which they had above the rapid, with as many boxes as men in her. This circumstance was the cause of fresh alarm, as it was generally concluded that they would produce the same mischief and danger in the villages above, as they had in that below. Nor was it forgotten that the young chief had left us in a manner which would not be interpreted in our favour by his father and friends. At length the canoe arrived, and the people declared in the most unreserved terms, that they would proceed no further in her; but when they were made acquainted with the circumstances which have just been described, their violence increased, and the greater part of the men announced their determination to attempt the mountains, and endeavour, by passing over them, to gain the road by which we came to the first village. So resolved were they to pursue this plan, that they threw everything which they had into the river, except their blankets. I was all this time sitting patiently on a stone, and indulging the hope that, when their frantic terror had subsided, their returning reason would have disposed them to perceive the rashness of their project; but when I observed that they persisted in it, I no longer remained a silent listener to their passionate declarations, but proceeded to employ such arguments as I trusted would turn them from their senseless and impracticable purpose. After reproving my young Indian in very severe terms, for encouraging the rest to follow their mad design of passing the mountains, I addressed myself generally to them, stating the difficulty of ascending the mountains, the eternal snows with which they were covered, our small stock of provisions, which two days would exhaust, and the consequent probability that we should perish with cold and hunger. I urged the folly of being affected by the alarm of danger which might not exist, and if it did, I encouraged them with the means we possessed of surmounting it. Nor did I forget to urge the inhumanity and injustice of leaving the poor sick Indian to languish and die. I also added, that as my particular object had been accomplished, I had now no other but our common safety; that the sole wish of my heart was to employ the best means in my power, and to pursue the best method which my understanding could suggest, to secure them and myself from every danger that might impede our return. My steersman, who had been with me for five years in that capacity, instantly replied that he was ready to follow me wherever I should go, but that he would never again enter that canoe, as he had solemnly sworn he would not, while he was in the rapid. His example was followed by all the rest, except two, who embarked with Mr. Mackay,[1] myself, and the sick Indian. The current, however, was so strong, that we dragged up the greatest part of the way, by the branches of trees. Our progress, as may be imagined, was very tedious, and attended with uncommon labour; the party who went by land being continually obliged to wait for us. Mr. Mackay's gun was carried out of the canoe and lost, at a time when we appeared to stand in very great need of it, as two canoes, with sixteen or eighteen men, were coming down the stream; and the apprehensions which they occasioned did not subside till they shot by us with great rapidity. At length we came in sight of the house, when we saw our young Indian with six others, in a canoe coming to meet us. This was a very encouraging circumstance, as it satisfied us that the natives who had preceded, and whose malignant designs we had every reason to suspect, had not been able to prejudice the people against us. We, therefore, landed at the house, where we were received in a friendly manner, and having procured some fish, we proceeded on our journey. It was almost dark when we arrived at the next house, and the first persons who presented themselves to our observation were the turbulent Indian and his four companions. They were not very agreeable objects; but we were nevertheless well received by the inhabitants, who presented us with fish and berries. The Indians who had caused us so much alarm, we now discovered to be inhabitants of the islands, and traders in various articles, such as cedar-bark, prepared to be wove into mats, fish-spawn, copper, iron, and beads, the latter of which they get on their own coast. For these they receive in exchange roasted salmon, hemlock bark cakes, and the other kind made of salmon roes, sorrel, and bitter berries. Having procured as much fish as would serve us for our supper, and the meals of the next day, all my people went to rest except one, with whom I kept the first watch. _Wednesday, 24._--After twelve last night, I called up Mr. Mackay, and one of the men, to relieve us, but as a general tranquillity appeared to prevail in the place, I recommended them to return to their rest. I was the first awake in the morning, and sent Mr. Mackay to see if our canoe remained where we left it; but he returned to inform me that the Islanders had loaded it with their articles of traffic, and were ready to depart. On this intelligence I hurried to the water side, and seizing the canoe by the stem, I should certainly have overset it, and turned the three men that were in it, with all their merchandise, into the river, had not one of the people of the house, who had been very kind to us, informed me, that this was their own canoe, and that my guide had gone off with ours. At the same moment the other two Indians who belonged to the party, jumped nimbly into it, and pushed off with all the haste and hurry that their fears may be supposed to dictate. We now found ourselves once more without a guide or a canoe. We were, however, so fortunate as to engage, without much difficulty, two of these people to accompany us; as, from the strength of the current, it would not have been possible for us to have proceeded by water without their assistance. As the house was upon an island, we ferried over the pedestrian party to the main bank of the river and continued our course till our conductors came to their fishing ground, when they proposed to land us, and our small portion of baggage; but as our companions were on the opposite shore, we could not acquiesce, and after some time persuaded them to proceed further with us. Soon after we met the chief who had regaled us in our voyage down the river. He was seining between two canoes, and had taken a considerable quantity of salmon. He took us on board with him, and proceeded upwards with great expedition. These people are surprisingly skilful and active in setting against a strong current. In the roughest part they almost filled the canoe with water, by way of a sportive alarm to us. We landed at the house of the chief, and he immediately placed a fish before me. Our people now appeared on the opposite bank, when a canoe was sent for them. As soon as they had made their meal of fish, they proceeded on their route, and we followed them; the chief and one of the natives having undertaken to conduct us. At five in the afternoon we came to two houses, which we had not seen in going down. They were upon an island, and I was obliged to send for the walking party, as our conductors, from the lateness of the hour, refused to proceed any further with us till the next day. One of our men, being at a small distance before the others, had been attacked by a female bear with two cubs, but another of them arrived to his rescue, and shot her. Their fears probably prevented them from killing the two young ones. They brought a part of the meat, but it was very indifferent. We were informed, that our former guide, or young chief, had passed this place, at a very early hour of the morning, on foot. These people take plenty of another fish, besides salmon, which weigh from fifteen to forty pounds. This fish is broader than the salmon, of a greyish colour, and with a hunch on its back: the flesh is white, but neither rich nor well flavoured. Its jaw and teeth are like those of a dog, and the latter are larger and stronger than any I had ever seen in a fish of equal size: those in front bend inwards, like the claws of a bird of prey. It delights in shallow water, and its native name is Dilly. We received as many fish and berries from these people as completely satisfied our appetites. The latter excelled any of the kind that we had seen. I saw also, three kinds of gooseberries, which, as we passed through the woods, we found in great abundance. _Thursday, 25._--I arose before the sun, and the weather was very fine. The men who were to accompany us went to visit their machines, and brought back plenty of fish, which they strung on a rope, and left them in the river. We now embarked thirteen in a canoe, and landed my men on the South bank, as it would have been impracticable to have stemmed the tide with such a load. The underwood was so thick that it was with great difficulty they could pass through it. At nine we were under the necessity of waiting to ferry them over a river from the South, which is not fordable. After some time we came to two deserted houses, at the foot of a rapid, beyond which our boatmen absolutely refused to conduct us by water. Here was a road which led opposite to the village. We had, however, the curiosity to visit the houses, which were erected upon posts, and we suffered very severely for the indulgence of it; for the doors were covered with fleas, and we were immediately in the same condition, for which we had no remedy but to take to the water. There was not a spot round the houses free from grass, that was not alive, as it were, with this vermin. Our guides proposed to conduct us on our way, and we followed them on a well-beaten track. They, however, went so fast, that we could not all of us keep up with them, particularly our sick Indian, whose situation was very embarrassing to us, and at length they contrived to escape. I very much wished for these men to have accompanied us to the village, in order to do away any ill impressions which might have arisen from the young chief's report to his father, which we were naturally led to expect would not be in our favour. This road conducted us through the finest wood of cedar trees that I had ever seen. I measured several of them that were twenty-four feet in the girth, and of a proportionate height. The alder trees are also of an uncommon size; several of them were seven feet and an half in circumference, and rose to forty feet without a branch; but my men declared that they had, in their progress, seen much larger of both kinds. The other wood was hemlock; white birch, two species of spruce-firs, willows, &c. Many of the large cedars appeared to have been examined, as I suppose by the natives, for the purpose of making canoes, but finding them hollow at heart, they were suffered to stand. There was but little underwood, and the soil was a black rich mould, which would well reward the trouble of cultivation. From the remains of bones on certain spots, it is probable that the natives may have occasionally burned their dead in this wood. As it was uncertain what our reception might be at the village, I examined every man's arms and ammunition, and gave Mr. Mackay, who had unfortunately lost his gun, one of my pistols. Our late conductors had informed us that the man whom we left in a dying state, and to whom I had administered some Turlington's balsam, was dead; and it was by no means improbable that I might be suspected of hastening his end. At one in the afternoon we came to the bank of the river, which was opposite to the village, which appeared to be in a state of perfect tranquillity. Several of the natives were fishing above and below the weir, and they very readily took us over in their canoes. The people now hurried down to the water side, but I perceived none of the chief's family among them. They made signs to me to go to his house; I signified to them not to crowd about us, and indeed drew a line, beyond which I made them understand they must not pass. I now directed Mr. Mackay, and the men to remain there, with their arms in readiness, and to keep the natives at a distance, as I was determined to go alone to the chief's house; and if they should hear the report of my pistols, they were ordered to make the best of their way from these people, as it would then be equally fruitless and dangerous to attempt the giving me any assistance, as it would be only in the last extremity, and when I was certain of their intention to destroy me, that I should discharge my pistols. My gun I gave to Mr. Mackay, when, with my loaded pistols in my belt, and a poignard in my hand, I proceeded to the abode of the chief. I had a wood to pass in my way thither, which was intersected by various paths and I took one that led to the back, instead of the front of the house; and as the whole had been very much altered since I was here before, I concluded that I had lost my way. But I continued to proceed, and soon met with the chief's wife, who informed me, that he was at the next house. On my going round it, I perceived that they had thrown open the gable ends, and added two wings, nearly as long as the body, both of which were hung round with salmon as close as they could be placed. As I could discover none of the men, I sat down upon a large stone near some women who were supping on salmon roes and berries. They invited me to partake of their fare, and I was about to accept their invitation when Mr. Mackay joined me, as both himself and all my party were alarmed at my being alone. Nor was his alarm lessened by an old man whom he met in the wood, and who made use of signs to persuade him to return. As he came without his gun, I gave him one of my pistols. When I saw the women continue their employment without paying the least attention to us, I could not imagine that any hostile design was preparing against us. Though the non-appearance of the men awakened some degree of suspicion that I should not be received with the same welcome as on my former visit. At length the chief appeared, and his son, who had been our guide, following him; displeasure was painted in the old man's countenance, and he held in his hand a bead tobacco pouch which belonged to Mr. Mackay, and the young chief had purloined from him. When he had approached within three or four yards of me, he threw it at me with great indignation, and walked away. I followed him, however, until he had passed his son, whom I took by the hand, but he did not make any very cordial return to my salutation; at the same time he made signs for me to discharge my pistol, and give him my hanger which Mr. Mackay had brought me, but I did not pay the least attention to either of his demands. We now joined the chief, who explained to me that he was in a state of deep distress for the loss of his son, and made me understand that he had cut off his hair and blackened his face on the melancholy occasion. He also represented the alarm which he had suffered respecting his son who had accompanied us; as he apprehended we had killed him, or had all of us perished together. When he had finished his narrative, I took him and his son by their hands, and requested them to come with me to the place where I had left my people, who were rejoiced to see us return, having been in a state of great anxiety from our long absence. I immediately remunerated the young chief for his company and assistance in our voyage to the sea, as well as his father, for his former attentions. I gave them cloth and knives, and, indeed, a portion of everything which now remained to us. The presents had the desired effect of restoring us to their favour; but these people are of so changeable a nature, that there is no security with them. I procured three robes and two otter-skins, and if I could have given such articles in exchange as they preferred, I should probably have obtained more. I now represented the length of the way which I had to go, and requested some fish to support us on our journey, when he desired us to follow him to the house, where mats were immediately arranged and a fish placed before each of us. We were now informed, that our dog, whom we had lost, had been howling about the village ever since we left it, and that they had reason to believe he left the woods at night to eat the fish he could find about the houses. I immediately dispatched Mr. Mackay, and a man, in search of the animal, but they returned without him. When I manifested my intention to proceed on my journey, the chief voluntarily sent for ten roasted salmon, and having attended us with his son, and a great number of his people, to the last house in the village, we took our leave. It was then half past three in the afternoon. I directed Mr. Mackay to take the lead, and the others to follow him in Indian files, at a long and steady pace, as I determined to bring up the rear. I adopted this measure from a confusion that was observable among the natives which I did not comprehend. I was not without my suspicions that some mischief was in agitation, and they were increased from the confused noise we heard in the village. At the same time a considerable number came running after us; some of them making signs for us to stop, and others rushing by me. I perceived also, that those who followed us were the strangers who live among these people, and are kept by them in a state of awe and subjection; and one of them made signs to me that we were taking a wrong road. I immediately called out to Mr. Mackay to stop. This was naturally enough taken for an alarm, and threw my people into great disorder. When, however, I was understood, and we had mustered again, our Indian informed us, that the noise we heard was occasioned by a debate among the natives, whether they should stop us or not. When, therefore, we had got into the right road, I made such arrangements as might be necessary for our defence, if we should have an experimental proof that our late and fickle friends were converted into enemies. Our way was through a forest of stately cedars, beneath a range of lofty hills, covered with rocks, and without any view of the river. The path was well beaten, but rendered incommodious by the large stones which lay along it. As we were continuing our route, we all felt the sensation of having found a lost friend at the sight of our dog; but he appeared, in a great degree, to have lost his former sagacity. He ran in a wild way backwards and forwards; and though he kept our road, I could not induce him to acknowledge his master. Sometimes he seemed disposed to approach as if he knew us; and then, on a sudden, he would turn away, as if alarmed at our appearance. The poor animal was reduced almost to a skeleton, and we occasionally dropped something to support him, and by degrees he recovered his former sagacity. When the night came on we stopped at a small distance from the river, but did not venture to make a fire. Every man took his tree, and laid down in his clothes, and with his arms, beneath the shade of its branches. We had removed to a short distance from the path; no sentinel was now appointed, and every one was left to watch for his own safety. _Friday, 26._--After a very restless, though undisturbed night, we set forward as soon as day appeared, and walked on with all possible expedition, till we got to the upper, which we now called Friendly Village, and was the first we visited on our outward journey. It was eight in the morning of a very fine day when we arrived, and found a very material alteration in the place since we left it. Five additional houses had been erected and were filled with salmon: the increase of inhabitants was in the same proportion. We were received with great kindness, and a messenger was dispatched to inform the chief, whose name was Soocomlick, and who was then at his fishing-weir, of our arrival. He immediately returned to the village to confirm the cordial reception of his people; and having conducted us to his house, entertained us with the most respectful hospitality. In short, he behaved to us with so much attention and kindness, that I did not withhold anything in my power to give, which might afford him satisfaction. I presented him with two yards of blue cloth, an axe, knives, and various other articles. He gave me in return a large shell which resembled the under shell of a Guernsey oyster, but somewhat larger. Where they procured them I could not discover, but they cut and polish them for bracelets, ear-rings, and other personal ornaments. He regretted that he had no sea-otter skins to give me, but engaged to provide abundance of them whenever either my friends or myself should return by sea; an expectation which I thought it right to encourage among these people. He also earnestly requested me to bring him a gun and ammunition. I might have procured many curious articles at this place, but was prevented by the consideration that we must have carried them on our backs upwards of three hundred miles through a mountainous country. The young chief, to his other acts of kindness, added as large a supply of fish as we choose to take. Our visit did not occasion any particular interruption of the ordinary occupation of the people; especially of the women, who were employed in boiling sorrel, and different kinds of berries, with salmon-roes, in large square kettles of cedar wood. This pottage, when it attained a certain consistency, they took out with ladles, and poured it into frames of about twelve inches square and one deep, the bottom being covered with a large leaf, which were then exposed to the sun till their contents became so many dried cakes. The roes that are mixed up with the bitter berries, are prepared in the same way. From the quantity of this kind of provision, it must be a principal article of food, and probably of traffic. These people have also portable chests of cedar, in which they pack them, as well as their salmon, both dried and roasted. It appeared to me that they eat no flesh, except such as the sea may afford them, as that of the sea-otter and the seal. The only instance we observed to the contrary, was in a young Indian who accompanied us among the islands, and has been already mentioned as feasting on the flesh of a porcupine; whether this be their custom throughout the year, or only during the season of the salmon fishery; or, whether there were any castes of them, as in India, I cannot pretend to determine. It is certain, however, that they are not hunters, and I have already mentioned the abhorrence they expressed at some venison which we brought to their village. During our former visit to these people, they requested us not to discharge our fire-arms, lest the report should frighten away the salmon, but now they expressed a wish that I should explain the use and management of them. Though their demeanour to us was of the most friendly nature, and they appeared without any arms, except a few who accidentally had their daggers, I did not think it altogether prudent to discharge our pieces; I therefore fired one of my pistols at a tree marked for the purpose, when I put four out of five buck shot with which it was loaded, into the circle, to their extreme astonishment and admiration. These people were in general of the middle stature, well set, and better clothed with flesh than any of the natives of the interior country. Their faces are round, with high cheek bones, and their complexion between the olive and the copper. They have small grey eyes, with a tinge of red; they have wedge heads, and their hair is of a dark brown colour, inclining to black. Some wear it long, keep it well combed, and let it hang loose over their shoulders, while they divide and tie it in knots over the temples. Others arrange its plaits, and bedaub it with brown earth, so as to render it impervious to the comb; they, therefore, carry a bodkin about them to ease the frequent irritation, which may be supposed to proceed from such a state of the head. The women are inclined to be fat, wear their hair short, and appear to be very subject to swelled legs, a malady that probably proceeds from the posture in which they are always sitting: as they are chiefly employed in the domestic engagements of spinning, weaving, preparing the fish, and nursing their children, which did not appear to be numerous. Their cradle differed from any that I had seen; it consisted of a frame fixed round a board of sufficient length, in which the child, after it has been swathed, is placed on a bed of moss, and a conductor contrived to carry off the urinary discharge. They are slung over one shoulder by means of a cord fastened under the other, so that the infant is always in a position to be readily applied to the breast, when it requires nourishment. I saw several whose heads were inclosed in boards covered with leather, till they attain the form of a wedge. The women wear no clothing but the robe, either loose or tied round the middle with a girdle, as the occasion may require, with the addition of a fringed apron, already mentioned, and a cap, in the form of an inverted bowl or dish. To the robe and cap, the men add, when it rains, a circular mat with an opening in the middle sufficient to admit the head, which extending over the shoulders, throws off the wet. They also occasionally wear shoes of dressed moose-skin, for which they are indebted to their neighbors. Those parts, which among all civilized nations are covered from familiar view, are here openly exposed. They are altogether dependent on the sea and rivers for their sustenance, so that they may be considered as a stationary people; hence it is that the men engage in those toilsome employments, which the tribes who support themselves by the chase, leave entirely to the women. Polygamy is permitted among them, though, according to my observation, most of the men were satisfied with one wife, with whom, however, chastity is not considered as a necessary virtue. I saw but one woman whose under lip was split and disfigured with an appendant ornament. The men frequently bathe, and the boys are continually in the water. They have nets and lines of various kinds and sizes, which are made of cedar bark, and would not be known from those made of hemp. Their hooks consist of two pieces of wood or bone, forming when fixed together, an obtuse angle. Their spears or darts are from four to sixteen feet in length; the barb or point being fixed in a socket, which, when the animal is struck, slips from it: thus the barb being fastened by a string to the handle, remains as a buoy; or enables the aquatic hunter to tire and take his prey. They are employed against sea-otters, seals, and large fish. Their hatchets are made principally of about fourteen inches of bar-iron, fixed into a wooden handle, as I have already described them; though they have some of bone or horn: with these, a mallet and wooden wedge, they hew their timbers and form their planks. They must also have other tools with which they complete and polish their work, but my stay was so short, my anxiety so great, and my situation so critical, that many circumstances may be supposed to have escaped me. Their canoes are made out of the cedar tree, and will carry from eight to fifty persons. Their warlike weapons, which, as far as I could judge, they very seldom have occasion to employ, are bows and arrows, spears, and daggers. The arrows are such as have been already described, but rather of a slighter make. The bows are not more than two feet and an half in length; they are formed of a slip of red cedar; the grain being on one side untouched with any tool, while the other is secured with sinews 'attached to it by a kind of glue. Though this weapon has a very slender appearance, it throws an arrow with great force, and to a considerable distance. Their spears are about ten feet long, and pointed with iron. Their daggers are of various kinds, being of British, Spanish, and American Manufacture. Their household furniture consists of boxes, troughs, and dishes formed of wood, with different vessels made of watape. These are employed, according to their several applications, to contain their valuables, and provisions, as well as for culinary purposes, and to carry water. The women make use of muscle-shells to split and clean their fish, and which are very well adapted to that purpose. Their ornaments are necklaces, collars, bracelets for the arms, wrists, and legs, with ear-rings, &c. They burn their dead, and display their mourning, by cutting their hair short, and blackening their faces. Though I saw several places where bodies had been burned, I was surprised at not seeing any tomb or memorial of the dead, particularly when their neighbours are so superstitiously attentive to the erection and preservation of them. From the number of their canoes, as well as the quantity of their chests and boxes, to contain their moveables, as well as the insufficiency of their houses, to guard against the rigours of a severe winter, and the appearance of the ground around their habitations, it is evident that these people reside here only during the summer or salmon season, which does not probably last more than three months. It may be reasonably inferred, therefore, that they have villages on the sea-coast, which they inhabit during the rest of the year. There it may be supposed they leave the sick, the infirm, and the aged; and thither they may bear the ashes of those who die at the place of their summer residence. Of their religion I can say but little, as my means of observation were very contracted. I could discover, however, that they believed in a good and evil spirit: and that they have some forms of worship to conciliate the protection of one, and perhaps to avert the enmity of the other, is apparent from the temples which I have described; and where, at stated periods, it may be presumed they hold the feasts, and perform the sacrifices, which their religion, whatever it may be, has instituted as the ceremonials of their public worship. From the very little I could discover of their government, it is altogether different from any political regulation which had been remarked by me among the savage tribes. It is on this river alone that one man appears to have an exclusive and hereditary right to what was necessary to the existence of those who are associated with him. I allude to the salmon weir, or fishing place, the sole right to which confers on the chief an arbitrary power. Those embankments could not have been formed without a very great and associated labour; and, as might be supposed, on the condition that those who assisted in constructing it should enjoy a participating right in the advantages to be derived from it. Nevertheless, it evidently appeared to me, that the chief's power over it, and the people, was unlimited, and without control. No one could fish without his permission, or carry home a larger portion of what he had caught, than was set apart for him. No one could build a house without his consent; and all his commands appeared to be followed with implicit obedience. The people at large seemed to be on a perfect equality, while the strangers among them were obliged to obey the commands of the natives in general or quit the village. They appear to be of a friendly disposition, but they are subject to sudden gusts of passion, which are as quickly composed; and the transition is instantaneous, from violent irritation to the most tranquil demeanor. Of the many tribes of savage people whom I have seen, these appear to be the most susceptible of civilization. They might soon be brought to cultivate the little ground about them which is capable of it. There is a narrow border of a rich black soil, on either side of the river, over a bed of gravel, which would yield any grain or fruit that are common to similar latitudes in Europe. The very few words which I collected of their language, are as follows:-- Zimilk, Salmon. Dilly, A fish of the size of a salmon, with canine teeth. Sepnas, Hair of the head. Kietis, An axe. Clougus, Eyes. Itzas, Teeth. Ma-acza, Nose. Ich-yeh, Leg. Shous-shey Hand. Watts, Dog. Zla-achle, House. Zimnez, Bark mat robe. Couloun, Beaver or otter ditto. Dichts, Stone. Neach, Fire. Ulkan, Water. Gits com, A mat. Shiggimis, Thread. Till-kewan, Chest or box. Thlogatt, Cedar bark. Achimoul, Beads got upon their coast. Il-caiette, A bonnet. Couny, A clam shell. Nochasky, A dish composed of berries and salmon roes. Caiffre, What? [1] It is but common justice to him, to mention in this place that I had every reason to be satisfied with his conduct. CHAPTER XII. JULY, 1793. At eleven in the morning we left this place, which I called Friendly Village, accompanied by every man belonging to it, who attended us about a mile, when we took a cordial leave of them; and if we might judge from appearances, they parted from us with regret. In a short time we halted to make a division of our fish, and each man had about twenty pounds weight of it, except Mr. Mackay and myself, who were content with shorter allowance, that we might have less weight to carry. We had also a little flour, and some pemmican. Having completed this arrangement with all possible expedition, we proceeded onwards, the ground rising gradually, as we continued our route. When we were clear of the wood, we saw the mountain towering above, and apparently of impracticable ascent. We soon came to the fork of the river, which was at the foot of the precipice, where the ford was three feet deep, and very rapid. Our young Indian, though much recovered, was still too weak to cross the water, and with some difficulty I carried him over on my back. It was now one in the afternoon, and we had to ascend the summit of the first mountain before night came on, in order to look for water. I left the sick Indian, with his companion and one of my men, to follow us, as his strength would permit him. The fatigue of ascending these precipices I shall not attempt to describe, and it was past five when we arrived at a spot where we could get water, and in such an extremity of weariness, that it was with great pain any of us could crawl about to gather wood for the necessary purpose of making a fire. To relieve our anxiety, which began to increase every moment for the situation of the Indian, about seven he and his companions arrived; when we consoled ourselves by sitting round a blazing fire, talking of past dangers, and indulging the delightful reflection that we were thus far advanced on our homeward journey. Nor was it possible to be in this situation without contemplating the wonders of it. Such was the depth of the precipices below, and the height of the mountains above, with the rude and wild magnificence of the scenery around, that I shall not attempt to describe such an astonishing and awful combination of objects; of which, indeed, no description can convey an adequate idea. Even at this place, which is only, as it were, the first step towards gaining the summit of the mountains, the climate was very sensibly changed. The air that fanned the village which we left at noon, was mild and cheering; the grass was verdant, and the wild fruits ripe around it. But here the snow was not yet dissolved, the ground was still bound by the frost, the herbage had scarce begun to spring, and the crowberry bushes were just beginning to blossom. _Saturday, 27._--So great was our fatigue of yesterday, that it was late before we proceeded to return over the mountains, by the same route which we had followed in our outward journey. There was little or no change in the appearance of the mountains since we passed them, though the weather was very fine. _Sunday, 28._--At nine this morning we arrived at the spot, where we slept with the natives on the 16th instant, and found our pemmican in good condition where we had buried it. The latitude of this place, by observation, when I passed, I found to be 52. 46. 32. I now took time, and the distance between sun and moon. I had also an azimuth, to ascertain the variation. We continued our route with fine weather, and without meeting a single person on our way, the natives being all gone, as we supposed, to the Great River. We recovered all our hidden stores of provisions, and arrived about two in the afternoon of Sunday, August the 4th, at the place which we had left a month before. A considerable number of Indians were encamped on the opposite side of the small river, and in consequence of the weather, confined to their lodges: as they must have heard of, if not seen us, and our arms being out of order from the rain, I was not satisfied with our situation; but did not wish to create an alarm. We, therefore, kept in the edge of the wood, and called to them, when they turned out like so many furies, with their arms in their hands, and threatening destruction if we dared to approach their habitations. We remained in our station till their passion and apprehensions had subsided, when our interpreter gave them the necessary information respecting us. They proved to be strangers to us, but were the relations of those whom we had already seen here, and who, as they told us, were upon an island at some distance up the river. A messenger was accordingly sent to inform them of our arrival. _Monday, 5._--On examining the canoe, and our property, which we had left behind, we found it in perfect safety, nor was there the print of a foot near the spot. We now pitched our tent, and made a blazing fire, and I treated myself, as well as the people, with a dram; but we had been so long without tasting any spirituous liquor, that we had lost all relish for it. The Indians now arrived from above, and were rewarded for the care they had taken of our property with such articles as were acceptable to them. At nine this morning I sent five men in the canoe, for the various articles we had left below, and they soon returned with them, and except some bale goods, which had got wet, they were in good order, particularly the provisions, of which we were now in great need. Many of the natives arrived both from the upper and lower parts of the river, each of whom was dressed in a beaver robe. I purchased fifteen of them; and they preferred large knives in exchange. It is an extraordinary circumstance, that these people, who might have taken all the property we left behind us, without the least fear of detection, should leave that untouched, and purloin any of our utensils, which our confidence in their honesty gave them a ready opportunity of taking. In fact, several articles were missing, and as I was very anxious to avoid a quarrel with the natives, in this stage of our journey, I told those who remained near us, without any appearance of anger, that their relations who were gone, had no idea of the mischief that would result to them from taking our property. I gravely added, that the salmon, which was not only their favourite food, but absolutely necessary to their existence, came from the see which belonged to us white men; and that as, at the entrance of the river, we could prevent those fish from coming up it, we possessed the power to starve them and their children. To avert our anger, therefore, they must return all the articles that had been stolen from us. This finesse succeeded. Messengers were dispatched to order the restoration of everything that had been taken. We purchased several large salmon of them and enjoyed the delicious meal which they afforded. At noon this day, which I allotted for repose, I got a meridian altitude, which gave 53. 24. 10. I also took time. The weather had been cloudy at intervals. Every necessary preparation had been made yesterday for us to continue our route to-day; but before our departure, some of the natives arrived with part of the stolen articles; the rest, they said, had been taken by people down the river, who would be here in the course of the morning, and recommended their children to our commiseration, and themselves to our forgiveness. The morning was cloudy, with small rain, nevertheless I ordered the men to load the canoe, and we proceeded in high spirits on finding ourselves once more so comfortably together in it. We landed at a house on the first island, where we procured a few salmon, and four fine beaver skins. There had been much more rain in these parts than in the country above, as the water was pouring down the hills in torrents. The river consequently rose with great rapidity, and very much impeded our progress. The people on this river are generally of the middle size, though I saw many tall men among them. In the cleanliness of their persons they resemble rather the Beaver Indians than the Chepewyans. They are ignorant of the use of fire arms, and their only weapons are bows and arrows, and spears. They catch the larger animals in snares, but though their country abounds in them, and the rivers and lakes produce plenty of fish, they find a difficulty in supporting themselves, and are never to be seen but in small bands of two or three families. There is no regular government among them; nor do they appear to have a sufficient communication or understanding with each other, to defend themselves against an invading enemy, to whom they fall an easy prey. They have all the animals common on the West side of the mountains, except the buffalo and the wolf; at least we saw none of the latter, and there being none of the former, it is evident that their progress is from the South-East. The same language is spoken, with very little exception from the extent of my travels down this river, and in a direct line from the North-East head of it in the latitude 53. or 54. to Hudson's Bay; so that a Chepewyan, from which tribe they have all sprung, might leave Churchill River, and proceeding in every direction to the North-West of this line without knowing any language except his own, would understand them all: I except the natives of the sea coast, who are altogether a different people. As to the people to the Eastward of this river, I am not qualified to speak of them. At twelve we ran our canoe upon a rock, so that we were obliged to land in order to repair the injury she had received; and as the rain came on with great violence, we remained here for the night. The salmon were now driving up the current in such large shoals, that the water seemed, as it were, to be covered with the fins of them. _Wednesday, 7._--About nine this morning the weather cleared, and we embarked. The shoals of salmon continued as yesterday. There were frequent showers throughout the day, and every brook was deluged into a river. The water had risen at least one foot and an half perpendicular in the last twenty-four hours. In the dusk of the evening we landed for the night. _Thursday, 8._--The water continued rising during the night; so that we were disturbed twice in the course of it, to remove our baggage. At six in the morning we were on our way, and proceeded with continual and laborious exertion, from the increased rapidity of the current. After having passed the two carrying places of Rocky Point, and the Long Portage, we encamped for the night. _Friday, 9._--We set off at five, after a rainy night and in a foggy morning. The water still retained its height. The sun, however, soon beamed upon us; and our clothes and baggage were in such a state that we landed to dry them. After some time we re-embarked and arrived at our first encampment on this river about seven in the evening. The water fell considerably in the course of the day. _Saturday, 10._--The weather was cloudy with slight showers, and at five this morning we embarked, the water falling as fast as it had risen. This circumstance arises from the mountainous state of the country on either side of the river, from whence the water rushes down almost as fast as it falls from the heavens, with the addition of the snow it melts in its way. At eight in the evening we stopped for the night. _Sunday, 11._--At five this morning we proceeded with clear weather. At ten we came to the foot of the long rapid, which we ascended with poles much easier than we expected. The rapids that were so strong and violent in our passage downwards, were now so reduced, that we could hardly believe them to be the same. At sunset we landed and encamped. _Monday, 12._--The weather was the same as yesterday, and we were on the water at a very early hour. At nine we came to a part of the river where there was little or no current. At noon we landed to gum the canoe, when I took a meridian altitude, which gave 54. 11. 36. North latitude. We continued our route nearly East, and at three in the afternoon approached the fork, when I took time, and the distance between the sun and moon. At four in the afternoon we left the main branch. The current was quite slack, as the water had fallen six feet, which must have been in the course of three days. At sunset we landed and took our station for the night. _Tuesday, 13._--There was a very heavy rain in the night, and the morning was cloudy; we renewed our voyage, however, at a very early hour, and came to the narrow gut between the mountains of rock, which was a passage of some risk; but fortunately the state of the water was such, that we got up without any difficulty, and had more time to examine these extraordinary rocks than in our outward passage. They are as perpendicular as a wall, and give the idea of a succession of enormous Gothic churches. We were now closely hemmed in by the mountains, which had lost much oh their snow since our former passage by them. We encamped at a late hour, cold, wet, and hungry: for such was the state of our provisions, that our necessary allowance did not answer to the active cravings of our appetites. _Wednesday, 14._--The weather was cold and raw, with small rain, but our necessities would not suffer us to wait for a favourable change of it, and at half past five we arrived at the swampy carrying-place, between this branch and the small river. At three in the afternoon the cold was extreme, and the men could not keep themselves warm even by their violent exertions which our situation required; and I now gave them the remainder of our rum to fortify and support them. The canoe was so heavy that the lives of two of them were endangered in this horrible carrying-place. At the same time it must be observed, that from the fatiguing circumstances of our journey, and the inadequate state of our provisions, the natural strength of the men had been greatly diminished. We encamped on the banks of the bad river. _Thursday, 15._--The weather was now clear, and the sun shone upon us. The water was much lower than in the downward passage, but was cold as ice, and, unfortunately, the men were obliged to be continually in it to drag on the canoe. There were many embarras, through which a passage might have been made, but we were under the necessity of carrying both the canoe and baggage. About sun-set we arrived at our encampment of the 13th of June, where some of us had nearly taken our eternal voyage. The legs and feet of the men were so benumbed, that I was very apprehensive of the consequence. The water being low, we made a search for our bag of ball, but without success. The river was full of salmon, and another fish like the black bass. _Friday, 16._--The weather continued to be the same as yesterday, and at two in the afternoon we came to the carrying-place which leads to the first small lake; but it was so filled with drift wood, that a considerable portion of time was employed in making our way through it. We now reached the high land which separates the source of the Tacoutche Tesse, or Columbia River, and Unjigah, or Peace River: the latter of which, after receiving many tributary streams, passes through the great Slave Lake, and disembogues itself in the Frozen Ocean, in latitude 69. 30. North, longitude 135 West from Greenwich; while the former, confined by the immense mountains that run nearly parallel with the Pacific Ocean, and keep it in a Southern course, empties itself in 46. 20. North latitude and longitude 124 West from Greenwich. If I could have spared the time, and had been able to exert myself, for I was now afflicted with a swelling in my ancles, so that I could not even walk, but with great pain and difficulty, it was my intention to have taken some salmon alive, and colonised them in the Peace River, though it is very doubtful whether that fish would live in waters that have not a communication with the sea. Some of the inhabitants had been here since we passed; and I apprehend, that on seeing our road through their country, they mistook us for enemies, and had therefore deserted the place, which is a most convenient station; as on one side, there is a great plenty of white fish, and trout, jub, carp, &c., and on the other abundance of salmon, and probably other fish. Several things that I had left here in exchange for articles of which I had possessed myself, as objects of curiosity, were taken away. The hurtle-berries were now ripe, and very fine of their kind. _Saturday, 17._--The morning was cloudy, and at five we renewed our progress. We were compelled to carry from the lake to the Peace River, the passage, from the falling of the water, being wholly obstructed by drift wood. The meadow through which we passed was entirely inundated; and from the state of my foot and ancle, I was obliged, though with great reluctance, to submit to be carried over it. At half past seven we began to glide along with the current of the Peace River; and almost at every canoe's length we perceived Beaver roads to and from the river. At two in the afternoon, an object attracted our notice at the entrance of a small river, which proved to be the four beaver skins, already mentioned to have been presented to me by a native, and left in his possession to receive them on my return. I imagined, therefore, that being under the necessity of leaving the river, or, perhaps, fearing to meet us again, he had taken this method to restore them to me; and to reward his honesty, I left three times the value of the skins in their place. The snow appeared in patches on the mountains. At four in the afternoon we passed the place where we. found the first natives, and landed for the night at a late hour. In the course of the day, we caught nine outards, or Canada geese, but they were as yet without their feathers. _Sunday, 18._--As soon as it was light we proceeded on our voyage, and drove on before the current, which was very much diminished in its strength, since we came up it. The water indeed, was so low, that in many parts it exposed a gravelly beach. At eleven we landed at our encampment of the seventh of June, to gum the canoe and dry our clothes: we then re-embarked, and at half past five arrived at the place, where I lost my book of memorandums, on the fourth of June, in which were certain courses and distances between that day end the twenty-sixth of May, which I had now an opportunity to supply. They were as follows: North-North-West half a mile, East by North half a mile, North by East a quarter of a mile, North-West by West a quarter of a mile, West-South-West half a mile, North-West a mile and a quarter, North-North-West three quarters of a mile, North by East half a mile, North-West three quarters of a mile, West half a mile, North-West three quarters of a mile, West-North-West one mile and a quarter, North three quarters of a mile, West by North one quarter of a mile, North-West one mile and an half, West-North-West half a mile, North-North-West three quarters of a mile, West one quarter of a mile, North-North-East half a mile, North-North-West two miles, and North-West four miles. We were seven days in going up that part of the river which we came down to-day; and it now swarmed, as it were, with beavers and wild fowl. There was rain in the afternoon, and about sunset we took our station for the night. _Monday, 19._--We had some small rain throughout the night. Our course to-day was South-South-West three quarters of a mile, West-North-West half a mile, North half a mile, North-West by West three quarters of a mile, North by West half a mile; a small river to the left, South-West by West three quarters of a mile, West-North-West a mile and an half, North-West by North four miles, a rivulet on the right, West-North-West three quarters of a mile; a considerable river from the left, North-North-West two miles, North half a mile, West-North-West one mile and a half; a rivulet on the right, North-West by West one mile and a quarter, West-North-West one mile, West-South-West a quarter of a mile, North-North-West half a mile, North-West half a mile, West-South-West three quarters of a mile, North-West by West three miles, West-South-West three quarters of a mile, North-West by West one mile; a small river on the right, South-West a quarter of a mile, West-North-West, islands, four miles and a half, a river on the left, North half a mile, West a quarter of a mile, North a quarter of a mile, North-West by West three quarters of a mile, North-North-East three quarters of a mile, North-West by North half a mile, West-North-West a mile and an half, and North-West by North half a mile. The mountains were covered with fresh snow, whose showers had dissolved in rain before they reached us. North-West three quarters of a mile, South-West a quarter of a mile, North a mile and three quarters, West-North-West a mile and a quarter, North-West a mile and a half, North-North-West half a mile, West-North-West a quarter of a mile, North half a mile; here the current was sleek: North-West by North half a mile, North-West by West a quarter of a mile, North-North-West a quarter of a mile, North-West by West one mile and a quarter, North half a mile, North-East by North one mile and three quarters, South-West one mile and a quarter, with an island, North by East one mile, North-West. Here the other branch opened to us, at the distance of three quarters of a mile. I expected from the slackness of the current in this branch, that the Western one would be high, but I found it equally low. I had every reason to believe that from the upper part of this branch, the distance could not be great to the country through which I passed when I left the Great River; but it has since been determined otherwise by Mr. J. Finlay, who was sent to explore it, and found its navigation soon terminated by falls and rapids. The branches are about two hundred yards in breadth, and the water was six feet lower than on our upward passage. Our course, after the junction, was North-North-West one mile, the rapid North-East down it three quarters of a mile, North by West one mile and a quarter, North by East one mile and an half, East by South one mile, North-East two miles and an half, East-North-East a quarter of a mile; a rivulet; East by South one mile and an half, North-East two miles, East-North-East one mile, North-North-East a quarter of a mile, North-East by East-half a mile, East-South-East a quarter of a mile, East-North-East half a mile, North-East two miles, North-East by East two miles and a quarter, South-East by East a quarter of a mile; a rivulet from the left; East by North a mile and an half, East by South one mile, East-North-East one mile and three quarters; a river on the right; North-North-East three quarters of a mile, North-East a mile and a half, North-East by East a mile and a quarter, East-North-East half a mile, and North-East by North half a mile. Here we landed at our encampment of the 27th of June, from whence I dispatched a letter in an empty keg, as was mentioned in that period of my journal, which set forth our existing state, progress, and expectation. _Tuesday, 20._--Though the weather was clear, we could not embark this morning before five, as there was a rapid very near us, which required daylight to run it, that we might not break our canoe on the rocks. The baggage we were obliged to carry. Our course was North by East a mile and an half, North-North-East a mile and a half down another rapid on the West side; it requires great care to keep directly between the eddy current, and that which was driving down with so much impetuosity. We then proceeded North-North-West, a river from the right; a mile and a quarter, North-North-East a mile and a half, a river from the left; North one mile and three quarters, North-East two miles, North-East by East two miles and a quarter, East by North one mile, North-East by East four miles, a river from the left, and East by South a mile and a half. Here was our encampment on the 26th of May, beyond which it would be altogether superfluous for me to take the courses, as they are inserted in their proper places. As we continued our voyage, our attention was attracted by the appearance of an Indian encampment. We accordingly landed, and found there had been five fires, and within that number of days, so that there must have been some inhabitants in the neighbourhood, though we were not so fortunate as to see them. It appeared that they had killed a number of animals, and fled in a state of alarm, as three of their canoes were left carelessly on the beach, and their paddles laying about in disorder. We soon after came to the carrying-place called the Portage de la Montagne de Roche. Here I had a meridian altitude, which made the latitude 56. 3. 51. North. The water, as I have already observed, was much lower than when we came up it, though at the same time the current appeared to be stronger from this place to the forks; the navigation, however, would now be attended with greater facility, as there is a stony beach all the way, so that poles, or the towing-line, may be employed with the best effect, where the current overpowers the use of paddles. We were now reduced to a very short allowance; the disappointment, therefore, at not seeing any animals was proportioned to our exigencies, as we did not possess at this time more than was sufficient to serve us for two meals. I now dispatched Mr. Mackay and the Indians to proceed to the foot of the rapids, and endeavour in their way to procure some provisions, while I prepared to employ the utmost expedition in getting there; having determined, notwithstanding the disinclination of my people, from the recollection of what they had suffered in coming that way, to return by the same route. I had observed, indeed, that the water which had fallen fifteen feet perpendicular, at the narrow pass below us, had lost much of its former turbulence. As dispatch was essential in procuring a supply of provisions, we did not delay a moment in making preparation to renew our progress. Five of the men began to carry the baggage, while the sixth and myself took the canoe asunder, to cleanse her of the dirt, and expose her lining and timbers to the air, which would render her much lighter. About sun-set Mr. Mackay and our hunters returned with heavy burdens of the flesh of a buffalo: though not very tender, it was very acceptable, and was the only animal that they had seen, though the country was covered with tracks of them, as well as of the moose-deer and the elk. The former had done rutting, and the latter were beginning to run. Our people returned, having left their loads mid-way on the carrying-place. My companion and myself completed our undertaking, and the canoe was ready to be carried in the morning. A hearty meal concluded the day, and every fear of future want was removed. _Wednesday, 21._--When the morning dawned we set forwards, but as a fire had passed through the portage, it was with difficulty we could trace our road in many parts; and with all the exertion of which we were capable, we did not arrive at the river till four in the afternoon. We found almost as much difficulty in carrying our canoe down the mountain as we had in getting it up; the men being not so strong as on the former occasion, though they were in better spirits; and I was now enabled to assist them, my ancle being almost well. We could not, however, proceed any further till the following day, as we had the canoe to gum, with several great and small poles to prepare; those we had left here having been carried away by the water, though we had left them in a position from fifteen to twenty feet above the water-mark, at that time. These occupations employed us till a very late hour. _Thursday, 22._--The night was cold, and though the morning was fine and clear, it was seven before we were in a state of preparation to leave this place, sometimes driving with the current, and at other times shooting the rapids. The latter had lost much of their former strength; but we, nevertheless, thought it necessary to land very frequently, in order to examine the rapids before we could venture to run them. However, the canoe being light, we very fortunately passed them all, and at noon arrived at the place where I appointed to meet Mr. Mackay and the hunters: there we found them, with plenty of excellent fat meat, ready roasted, as they had killed two elks within a few hundred yards of the spot where we then were. When the men had satisfied their appetites, I sent them for as much of the meat as they could carry. In coming hither, Mr. Mackay informed me, that he and the hunters kept along the high land, and did not see or cross the Indian path. At the same time, there can be no doubt but the road from this place to the upper part of the rapids is to be preferred to that which we came, both for expedition and safety. After staying here about an hour and a half, we proceeded with the stream, and landed where I had forgotten my pipe-tomahawk and seal, on the eighteenth of May. The former of them I now recovered. On leaving the mountains we saw animals grazing in every direction. In passing along an island, we fired at an elk, and broke its leg; and as it was now time to encamp, we landed; when the hunters pursued the wounded animal, which had crossed over to the main land, but could not get up the bank. We went after it, therefore, in the canoe, and killed it. To give some notion of our appetites, I shall state the elk, or at least the carcase of it, which we brought away, to have weighed two hundred and fifty pounds; and as we had taken a very hearty meal at one o'clock, it might naturally be supposed that we should not be very voracious at supper; nevertheless, a kettle full of the elk flesh was boiled and eaten, and that vessel replenished and put on the fire. All that remained, with the bones, &c. was placed, after the Indian fashion, round the fire to roast, and at ten next morning the whole was consumed by ten persons and a large dog, who was allowed his share of the banquet. This is no exaggeration; nor did any inconvenience result from what may be considered as an inordinate indulgence. _Friday, 23._--We were on the water before daylight; and when the sun rose, a beautiful country appeared around us, enriched and animated by large herds of wild cattle. The weather was now so warm, that to us, who had not of late been accustomed to heat, it was overwhelming and oppressive. In the course of this day we killed a buffalo and a bear; but we were now in the midst of abundance, and they were not sufficiently fat to satisfy our fastidious appetites, so we left them where they fell. We landed for the night, and prepared ourselves for arriving at the Fort on the following day. _Saturday, 24._--The weather was the same as yesterday, and the country increasing in beauty; though as we approached the Fort, the cattle appeared proportionably to diminish. We now landed at two lodges of Indians, who were as astonished to see us, as if we had been the first white men whom they had ever beheld. When we had passed these people, not an animal was to be seen on the borders of the river. At length, as we rounded a point, and came in view of the Fort, we threw out a flag, and accompanied it with a general discharge of our fire-arms; while the men were in such spirits, and made such an active use of their paddles, that we arrived before the two men whom we left here in the spring, could recover their senses to answer us. Thus we landed at four in the afternoon, at the place which we left on the ninth of May. Here my voyages of discovery terminate. Their toils and their dangers, their solicitudes and sufferings, have not been exaggerated in my description. On the contrary, in many instances, language has failed me in the attempt to describe them. I received, however, the reward of my labours, for they were crowned with success. As I have now resumed the character of a trader I shall not trouble my readers with any subsequent concern, but content myself with the closing infomation, that after an absence of eleven months, I arrived at Fort Chepewyan, where I remained, for the purposes of trade, during the succeeding winter. ---- The following general, but short, geographical view of the country may not be improper to close this work, as well as some remarks on the probable advantages that may be derived from advancing the trade of it, under proper regulations, and by the spirit of commercial enterprize. By supposing a line from the Atlantic, East, to the Pacific, West, in the parallel of forty-five degrees of North latitude, it will, I think, nearly describe the British territories in North America. For I am of opinion, that the extent of the country to the South of this line, which we have a right to claim, is equal to that to the North of it, which may be claimed by other powers. The outline of what I shall call the first division, is along that track of country which runs from the head of James-Bay, in about latitude 51. North, along the Eastern coast, as far North as to, and through Hudson's Straits, round by Labrador; continuing on the Atlantic coast, on the outside of the great islands, in the gulf of St. Laurence, to the river St. Croix, by which it takes its course, to the height of land that divides the waters emptying themselves into the Atlantic, from those discharged into the river St. Laurence. Then following these heights, as the boundary between the British possessions, and those of the American States, it makes an angle Westerly until it strikes the discharge of Lake Champlain, in latitude 45. North, when it keeps a direct West line till it strikes the river St. Laurence, above Lake St. Francis, where it divides the Indian village St. Rigest; from whence it follows the centre of the waters of the great river St. Laurence: it then proceeds through Lake Ontario, the connection between it and Lake Erie; through the latter, and its chain of connection, by the river Detroit, as far South as latitude 42. North, and then through the lake and river St. Clair, as also lake Huron, through which it continues to the strait of St. Mary, latitude 46. 30. North; from which we will suppose the line to strike to the East of North, to the head of James Bay, in the latitude already mentioned. Of this great tract, more than half is represented as barren and broken, displaying a surface of rock and fresh water lakes, with a very scattered and scanty proportion of soil. Such is the whole coast of Labrador, and the land, called East Main to the West of the heights, which divide the waters running into the river and gulf of St. Laurence, from those flowing into Hudson's Bay. It is consequently inhabited only by a few savages, whose numbers are proportioned to the scantiness of the soil; nor is it probable, from the same cause, that they will encrease. The fresh and salt waters, with a small quantity of game, which the few, stinted woods afford, supply the wants of nature; from whence, to that of the line of the American boundary, and the Atlantic Ocean, the soil, wherever cultivation has been attempted, has yielded abundance; particularly on the river St. Laurence, from Quebec upwards, to the line of boundary already mentioned; but a very inconsiderable proportion of it has been broken by the plough-share. The line of the second division may be traced from that of the first at St. Mary's, from which also the line of American boundary runs, and is said to continue through Lake Superior (and through a lake called the Long Lake which has no existence), to the Lake of the Woods, in latitude 49. 37. North, from whence it is also said to run West to the Mississippi, which it may do, by giving it a good deal of Southing, but not otherwise; as the source of that river does not extend further North than latitude 47. 38. North, where it is no more than a small brook; consequently, if Great Britain retains the right of entering it along the line of division, it must be in a lower latitude, and wherever that may be, the line must be continued West, till it terminates in the Pacific Ocean, to the South of the Columbia. This division is then bounded by the Pacific Ocean on the West, the Frozen Sea and Hudson's Bay on the North and East. The Russians, indeed, may claim with justice, the islands and coast from Behring's Straits to Cook's Entry. The whole of this country will long continue in the possession of its present inhabitants, as they will remain contented with the produce of the woods and waters for their support, leaving the earth, from various causes, in its virgin state. The proportion of it that is fit for cultivation, is very small and is still less in the interior parts; it is also very difficult of access; and whilst any land remains uncultivated to the South of it, there will be no temptation to settle it. Besides, its climate is not in general sufficiently genial to bring the fruits of the earth to maturity. It will also be an asylum for the descendants of the original inhabitants of the country to the South, who prefer the modes of life of their forefathers, to the improvements of civilization. Of this disposition there is a recent instance. A small colony of Iroquois emigrated to the banks of the Saskatchiwine, in 1799, who had been brought up from their infancy under the Romish missionaries, and instructed by them at a village within nine miles of Montreal. A further division of this country is marked by a ridge of high land, rising, as it were, from the coast of Labrador, and running nearly South-West to the source of the Utawas River, dividing the waters going either way to the river and gulf of St. Laurence and Hudson's Bay, as before observed. From thence it stretches to the North of West, to the Northward of Lake Superior, to latitude 50. North, and longitude 98. West, when it forks from the last course at about South-West, and continues the same division of waters until it passes North of the source of the Mississippi. The former course runs, as has been observed, in a North-West direction, until it strikes the river Nelson, separating the waters that discharge themselves into Lake Winipic, which forms part of the said river, and those that also empty themselves into Hudson's Bay, by the Albany, Severn, and Hay's or Hill's Rivers. From thence it keeps a course of about West-North-West, till it forms the banks of the Missinipi or Churchill River, at Portage de Traite, latitude 55. 25. North. It now continues in a Western direction, between the Saskatchiwine and the source of the Missinipi, or Beaver River, which it leaves behind, and divides the Saskatchiwine from the Elk River; when, leaving those also behind, and pursuing the same direction it leads to the high land that lies between the Unjigah and Tacoutche rivers, from whence it may be supposed to be the same ridge. From the head of the Beaver River, on the West, the same kind of high ground runs to the East of North, between the waters of the Elk and Missinipi River forming the Portage la Loche, and continuing on to the latitude 57. 15. North, dividing the waters that run to Hudson's Bay from those going to the North Sea: from thence its course is nearly North, when an angle runs from it to the North of the Slave Lake, till it strikes Mackenzie's River. The last, but by no means the least, is the immense ridge, or succession of ridges of stony mountains, whose Northern extremity dips in the North Sea, in latitude 70. North, and longitude 135. West, running nearly South-East, and begins to be parallel with the coast of the Pacific Ocean, from Cook's entry, and so onwards to the Columbia. From thence it appears to quit the coast, but still continuing, with less elevation, to divide the waters of the Atlantic from those which run into the Pacific. In those snow-clad mountains rises the Mississippi, if we admit the Missouri to be its source, which flows into the Gulph of Mexico; the River Nelson, which is lost in Hudson's Bay; Mackenzie's River, that discharges itself into the North Sea; and the Columbia emptying itself into the Pacific Ocean. The great River St. Laurence and Churchill River, with many lesser ones, derive their sources far short of these mountains. It is, indeed, the extension of these mountains so far South on the sea coast, that prevents the Columbia from finding a more direct course to the sea, as it runs obliquely with the coast upwards of eight degrees of latitude before it mingles with the ocean. It is further to be observed, that these mountains, from Cook's entry to the Columbia, extend from six to eight degrees in breadth Easterly; and that along their Eastern skirts is a narrow strip of very marshy, boggy, and uneven ground, the outer edge of which produces coal and bitumen: these I saw on the banks of Mackenzie's River, as far North as latitude 66. I also discovered them in my second journey, at the commencement of the rocky mountains in 56. North latitude, and 120. West longitude; and the same was observed by Mr. Fidler, one of the servants of the Hudson's Bay Company, at the source of the South branch of the Saskatchiwine, in about latitude 52 North, and longitude 112. 30. West.[1] Next to this narrow belt are immense plains, or meadows, commencing in a point at about the junction of the River of the Mountain with Mackenzie's River, widening as they continue East and South, till they reach the Red River at its confluence with the Assiniboin River, from whence they take a more Southern direction, along the Mississippi towards Mexico. Adjoining to these plains is a broken country, composed of lakes, rocks, and soil. From the banks of the rivers running through the plains, there appeared to ooze a saline fluid, concreting into a thin, scurf on the grass. Near that part of the Slave River where it first loses the name of Peace River, and along the extreme edge of these plains, are very strong salt springs, which in the summer concrete and crystallize in great quantities. About the Lake Dauphin, on the South-West side of Lake Winipic, are also many salt ponds, but it requires a regular process to form salt from them. Along the West banks of the former is to be seen, at intervals, and traced in the line of the direction of the plains, a soft rock of lime-stone, in thin and nearly horizontal stratas, particularly on the Beaver, Cedar, Winipic, and Superior lakes, as also in the beds of the rivers crossing that line. It is also remarkable that, at the narrowest part of Lake Winipic, where it is not more than two miles in breadth, the West side is faced with rocks of this stone thirty feet perpendicular; while, on the East side, the rocks are more elevated, and of a dark-grey granite. The latter is to be found throughout the whole extent North of this country, to the coast of Hudson's Bay, and as I have been informed, along that coast, onwards to the coast of Labrador; and it may be further observed, that between these extensive ranges of granite and lime-stone are found all the great lakes of this country. There is another very large district which must not be forgotten; and behind all the others in situation as well as in soil, produce, and climate. This comprehends the tract called the Barren Grounds, which is to the North of a line drawn from Churchill, along the North border of the Rein-Deer Lake, to the North of the Lake of the Hills and Slave Lake, and along the North side of the latter to the rocky mountains, which terminate in the North Sea, latitude 70. North, and longitude 135. West; in the whole extent of which no trees are visible, except a few stinted ones, scattered along its rivers, and with scarce anything of surface that can be called earth; yet, this inhospitable region is inhabited by a people who are accustomed to the life it requires. Nor has bountiful nature withheld the means of subsistence; the rein deer, which supply both food and clothing, are satisfied with the produce of the hills, though they bear nothing but a short curling moss, on a species of which, that grows on the rocks, the people themselves subsist when famine invades them. Their small lakes are not furnished with a great variety of fish, but such as they produce are excellent, which, with hares and partridges, form a proportion of their food. The climate must necessarily be severe in such a country as we have described, and which displays so large a surface of fresh water. Its severity is extreme on the coast of Hudson's Bay, and proceeds from its immediate exposure to the North West winds that blow off the Frozen Ocean. These winds, in crossing directly from the bay over Canada and the British dominions on the Atlantic, as well as over the Eastern States of North America to that ocean, (where they give to those countries a length of winter astonishing to the inhabitants of the same latitudes in Europe), continue to retain a great degree of force and cold in their passage, even over the Atlantic, particularly at the time when the sun is in its Southern declination. The same winds which come from the Frozen Ocean, over the barren grounds, and across frozen lakes and snowy plains, bounded by the rocky mountains, lose their frigid influence, as they travel in a Southern direction, till they get to the Atlantic Ocean, where they close their progress. Is not this a sufficient cause for the difference between the climate in America, and that of the same latitude in Europe? It has been frequently advanced, that the clearing away the wood has had an astonishing influence in meliorating the climate in the former: but I am not disposed to assent to that opinion in the extent which it proposes to establish, when I consider the very trifling proportion of the country cleared, compared with the whole. The employment of the axe may have had some inconsiderable effect; but I look to other causes. I myself observed in a country, which was in an absolute state of nature, that the climate is improving; and this circumstance was confirmed to me by the native inhabitants of it. Such a change, therefore, must proceed from some predominating operation in the system of the globe which is beyond my conjecture, and, indeed, above my comprehension, and may, probably, in the course, of time, give to America the climate of Europe. It is well known, indeed, that the waters are decreasing there, and that many lakes are draining and filling up by the earth which is carried into them from the higher lands by the rivers: and this may have some partial effect. The climate on the West coast of America assimilates much more to that of Europe in the same latitudes: I think very little difference will be found, except such as proceed from the vicinity of high mountains covered with snow. This is an additional proof that the difference in the temperature of the air proceeds from the cause already mentioned. Much has been said, and much more still remains to be said on the peopling of America.--On this subject I shall confine myself to one or two observations, and leave my readers to draw their inferences from them. The progress of the inhabitants of the country immediately under our observation, which is comprised within the line of latitude 45. North, is as follows: that of the Esquimaux, who possess the sea coast from the Atlantic through Hudson's Straits and Bay, round to Mackenzie's River (and I believe further), is known to be Westward; they never quit the coast, and agree in appearance, manners, language, and habits with the inhabitants of Greenland. The different tribes whom I describe under the name of Algonquins and Knisteneaux, but originally the same people, were the inhabitants of the Atlantic coast, and the banks of the river St. Laurence and adjacent countries: their progress is Westerly, and they are even found West and North as far as Athabasca. On the contrary, the Chepewyans, and the numerous tribes who speak their language, occupy the whole space between the Knisteneaux country and that of the Esquimaux, stretching behind the natives of the coast of the Pacific, to latitude 52. North, on the river Columbia. Their progress is Easterly, and, according to their own traditions, they came from Siberia; agreeing in dress and manner with the people now found upon the coast of Asia. Of the inhabitants of the coast of the Pacific Ocean we know little more than that they are stationary there. The Nadowasis or Assiniboins, as well as the different tribes not particularly described, inhabiting the plains on and about the source and banks of the Saskatchiwine and Assiniboin rivers, are from the Southward, and their progress is North-West. ---- The discovery of a passage by sea, North-East or North West from the Atlantic to the Pacific Ocean, has for many years excited the attention of governments, and encouraged the enterprising spirit of individuals. The non-existence, however, of any such practical passage being at length determined, the practicability of a passage through the continents of Asia and America becomes an object of consideration. The Russians, who first discovered, that, along the coasts of Asia no useful or regular navigation existed, opened an interior communication by rivers, &c., and through that long and wide-extended continent, to the strait that separates Asia from America, over which they passed to the adjacent islands and continent of the latter. Our situation, at length, is in some degree similar to theirs: the non-existence of a practicable passage by sea and the existence of one through the continent, are clearly proved; and it requires only the countenance and support of the British Government, to increase in a very ample proportion this national advantage, and secure the trade of that country to its subjects. Experience, however, has proved, that this trade, from its very nature cannot be carried on by individuals. A very large capital, or credit, or indeed both, is necessary, and consequently an association of men of wealth to direct, with men of enterprise to act, in one common interest, must be formed on such principles, as that in due time the latter may succeed the former, in continual and progressive succession. Such was the equitable and successful mode adopted by the merchants from Canada, which has been already described. The junction of such a commercial association with the Hudson's Bay Company, is the important measure which I would propose, and the trade might then be carried on with a very superior degree of advantage, both private and public, under the privilege of their charter, and would prove, in fact, the complete fulfilment of the conditions, on which it was first granted. It would be an equal injustice to either party to be excluded from the option of such an undertaking; for if the one has a right by charter, has not the other a right by prior possession, as being successor to the subjects of France, who were exclusively possessed of all the then known parts of this country, before Canada was ceded to Great Britain, except the coast of Hudson's Bay, and having themselves been the discoverers of a vast extent of country since added to his Majesty's territories, even to the Hyperborean and the Pacific Oceans? If, therefore, that company should decline, or be averse to engage in, such an extensive, and perhaps hazardous undertaking, it would not, surely, be an unreasonable proposal to them, from government, to give up a right which they refuse to exercise, on allowing them a just and reasonable indemnification of their stock, regulated by the average dividends of a certain number of years, or the actual price at which they transfer their stock. By enjoying the privilege of the company's charter, though but for a limited period, there are adventurers who would be willing, as they are able, to engage in, and carry on the proposed commercial undertaking, as well as to give the most ample and satisfactory security to government for the fulfilment of its contract with the company. It would, at the same time, be equally necessary to add a similar privilege of trade on the Columbia River, and its tributary waters. If, however, it should appear, that the Hudson's Bay Company have an exclusive right to carry on their trade as they think proper, and continue it on the narrow scale, and with so little benefit to the public as they now do; if they should refuse to enter into a co-operative junction with others, what reasonable cause can they assign to government for denying the navigation of the bay to Nelson's River: and, by its waters, a passage to and from the interior country, for the use of the adventurers, and for the sole purpose of transport, under the most severe and binding restrictions not to interfere with their trade on the coast, and the country between it and the actual establishments of the Canadian traders.[2] By these waters that discharge themselves into Hudson's Bay at Port Nelson, it is proposed to carry on the trade to their source, at the head of the Saskatchiwine River, which rises in the Rocky Mountains, not eight degrees of longitude from the Pacific Ocean. The Tacoutche or Columbia River flows also from the same mountains, and discharges itself likewise in the Pacific, in latitude 46. 20. Both of them are capable of receiving ships at their mouths, and are navigable throughout for boats. The distance between these waters is only known from the report of the Indians. If, however, this communication should prove inaccessible, the route I pursued, though longer, in consequence of the great angle it makes to the North, will answer every necessary purpose. But whatever course may be taken from the Atlantic, the Columbia is the line of communication from the Pacific Ocean, pointed out by nature, as it is the only navigable river in the whole extent of Vancouver's minute survey of that coast: its banks also form the first level country in all the Southern extent of continental coast from Cook's entry, and, consequently, the most Northern situation fit for colonization, and suitable to the residence of a civilized people. By opening this intercourse between the Atlantic and Pacific Oceans, and forming regular establishments through the interior, and at both extremes, as well as along the coasts and islands, the entire command of the fur trade of North America might be obtained, from latitude 48. North to the pole, except that portion of it which the Russians have in the Pacific. To this may be added the fishing in both seas, and the markets of the four quarters of the globe. Such would be the field for commercial enterprise, and incalculable would be the produce of it, when supported by the operations of that credit and capital which Great Britain so pre-eminently possesses. Then would this country begin to be remunerated for the expences it has sustained in discovering and surveying the coast of the Pacific Ocean, which is at present left to American adventurers, who without regularity or capital, or the desire of conciliating future confidence, look altogether to the interest of the moment. They, therefore, collect all the skins they can procure, and in any manner that suits them, and having exchanged them at Canton for the produce of China, return to their own country. Such adventurers, and many of them, as I have been informed, have been very successful, would instantly disappear from before a well-regulated trade. It would be very unbecoming in me to suppose for a moment, that the East-India Company would hesitate to allow those privileges to their fellow-subjects which are permitted to foreigners in a trade, that is so much out of the line of their own commerce, and therefore cannot be injurious to it. Many political reasons, which it is not necessary here to enumerate, must present themselves to the mind of every man acquainted with the enlarged system and capacities of British commerce in support of the measure which I have very briefly suggested, as promising the most important advantages to the trade of the united kingdoms. [1] Bitumen is also found on the coast of the Slave Lake, in latitude 60. North, near its discharge by Mackenzie's River; and also near the forks of the Elk River. [2] Independent of the prosecution of this great object, I conceive, that the merchants from Canada are entitled to such an indulgence (even if they should be considered as not possessing a rightful claim), in order that they might be enabled to extend their trade beyond their present limits, and have it in their power to supply the natives with a larger quantity of useful articles; the enhanced value of which, and the present difficulty of transporting them, will be fully comprehended, when I relate, that the tract of transport occupies an extent of from three to four thousand miles, through upwards of sixty large fresh water lakes, and numerous rivers; and that the means of transport are slight bark canoes. It must also be observed, that those waters are intercepted by more than two hundred rapids, along which the articles of merchandise are chiefly carried on men's backs, and over a hundred and thirty carrying-places, from twenty-five paces to thirteen miles in length where the canoes and cargoes proceed by the same toilsome and perilous operations. THE END _It is to be observed, that the Courses throughout the Journals are taken by_ Compass, _and that the Variation must be considered._ 
6283	----	This eBook was produced by David Widger THE WORLD FOR SALE By Gilbert Parker BOOK III XX. TWO LIFE PIECES XXI. THE SNARE OF THE FOWLER XXII. THE SECRET MAN XXIII. THE RETURN OF BELISARIUS XXIV. AT LONG LAST XXV. MAN PROPOSES XXVI. THE SLEEPER XXVII. THE WORLD FOR SALE CHAPTER XX TWO LIFE PIECES "It's a fine day." "Yes, it's beautiful." Fleda wanted to ask how he knew, but hesitated from feelings of delicacy. Ingolby seemed to understand. A faint reflection of the old whimsical smile touched his lips, and his hands swept over the coverlet as though smoothing out a wrinkled map. "The blind man gets new senses," he said dreamily. "I feel things where I used to see them. How did I know it was a fine day? Simple enough. When the door opened there was only the lightest breath of wind, and the air was fresh and crisp, and I could smell the sun. One sense less, more degree of power to the other senses. The sun warms the air, gives it a flavour, and between it and the light frost, which showed that it was dry outside, I got the smell of a fine Fall day. Also, I heard the cry of the wild fowl going South, and they wouldn't have made a sound if it hadn't been a fine day. And also, and likewise, and besides, and howsomever, I heard Jim singing, and that nigger never sings in bad weather. Jim's a fair-weather raven, and this morning he was singing like a 'lav'rock in the glen.'" Being blind, he could not see that, suddenly, a storm of emotion swept over her face. His cheerfulness, his boylike simplicity, his indomitable spirit, which had survived so much, and must still face so much, his almost childlike ways, and the naive description of a blind man's perception, waked in her an almost intolerable yearning. It was not the yearning of a maid for a man. It was the uncontrollable woman in her, the mother-thing, belonging to the first woman that ever was-protection of the weak, hovering love for the suffering, the ministering spirit. Since Ingolby had been brought to the house in the pines, Madame Bulteel and herself, with Jim, had nursed him through the Valley of the Shadow. They had nursed him through brain-fever, through agonies which could not have been borne with consciousness. The tempest of the mind and the pains of misfortune went on from hour to hour, from day to day, almost without ceasing, until at last, a shadow of his former self, but with a wonderful light on his face which came from something within, he waited patiently for returning strength, propped up with pillows in the bed which had been Fleda's own, in the room outside which Jethro Fawe had sung his heathen serenade. It was the room of the house which, catching the morning sun, was best suited for an invalid. So she had given it to him with an eagerness behind which was the feeling that somehow it made him more of the inner circle of her own life; for apart from every other feeling she had, there was in her a deep spirit of comradeship belonging to far-off times when her life was that of the open road, the hillside and the vale. In those days no man was a stranger; all belonged. To meet, and greet, and pass was the hourly event, but the meeting and the greeting had in it the familiarity of a common wandering, the sympathy of the homeless. Had Ingolby been less to her than he was, there would still have been the comradeship which made her the great creature she was fast becoming. It was odd that, as Ingolby became thinner and thinner, and ever more wan, she, in spite of her ceaseless nursing, appeared to thrive physically. She had even slightly increased the fulness of her figure. The velvet of her cheeks had grown richer, and her eyes deeper with warm fire. It was as though she flourished on giving: as though a hundred nerves of being and feeling had opened up within her and had expanded her life like some fine flower. Gazing at Ingolby now there was a great hungering desire in her heart. She looked at the sightless eyes, and a passionate protest sprang to her lips which, in spite of herself, broke forth in a sort of moan. "What is it?" Ingolby asked, with startled face. "Nothing," she answered, "nothing. I pricked my finger badly, that's all." And, indeed, she had done so, but that would not have brought the moan to her lips. "Well, it didn't sound like a pricked finger complaint," he remarked. "It was the kind of groan I'd give if I had a bad pain inside." "Ah, but you're a man!" she remarked lightly, though two tears fell down her cheeks. With an effort she recovered herself. "It's time for your tonic," she added, and she busied herself with giving it to him. "As soon as you have taken it, I'm going for a walk, so you must make up your mind to have some sleep." "Am I to be left alone?" he asked, with an assumed grievance in his voice. "Madame Bulteel will stay with you," she replied. "Do you need a walk so very badly?" he asked presently. "I don't suppose I need it, but I want it," she answered. "My feet and the earth are very friendly." "Where do you walk?" he asked. "Just anywhere," was her reply. "Sometimes up the river, sometimes down, sometimes miles away in the woods." "Do you never take a gun with you?" "Of course," she answered, nodding, as though he could see. "I get wild pigeons and sometimes a wild duck or a prairie-hen." "That's right," he remarked; "that's right." "I don't believe in walking just for the sake of walking," she continued. "It doesn't do you any good, but if you go for something and get it, that's what puts the mind and the body right." Suddenly his face grew grave. "Yes, that's it," he remarked. "To go for something you want, a long way off. You don't feel the fag when you're thinking of the thing at the end; but you've got to have the thing at the end, to keep making for it, or there's no good going--none at all. That's life; that's how it is. It's no good only walking-- you've got to walk somewhere. It's no good simply going--you've got to go somewhere. You've got to fight for something. That's why, when they take the something you fight for away--when they break you and cripple you, and you can't go anywhere for what you want badly, life isn't worth living." An anxious look came into her face. This was the first time, since recovering consciousness, that he had referred, even indirectly, to all that had happened. She understood him well--ah, terribly well! It was the tragedy of the man stopped in his course because of one mistake, though he had done ten thousand wise things. The power taken from his hands, the interrupted life, the dark future, the beginning again, if ever his sight came back: it was sickening, heartbreaking. She saw it all in his face, but as if some inward voice had spoken to him, his face cleared, the swift-moving hands clasped in front of him, and he said quietly: "But because it's life, there it is. You have to take it as it comes." He stopped a moment, and in the pause she reached out her hand with a sudden passionate gesture, to touch his shoulder, but she restrained herself in time. He seemed to feel what she was doing, and turned his face towards her, a slight flush coming to his cheeks. He smiled, and then he said: "How wonderful you are! You look--" He checked himself, then added with a quizzical smile: "You are looking very well to-day, Miss Fleda Druse, very well indeed. I like that dark-red dress you're wearing." An almost frightened look came into her eyes. It was as though he could see, for she was wearing a dark-red dress--"wine-coloured," her father called it, "maroon," Madame Bulteel called it. Could he then see, after all? "How did you know it was dark-red?" she asked, her voice shaking. "Guessed it! Guessed it!" he answered almost gleefully. "Was I right? Is it dark-red?" "Yes, dark-red," she answered. "Was it really a guess?" "Ah, but the guessiest kind of a guess," he replied. "But who can tell? I couldn't see it, but is there any reason why the mind shouldn't see when the eyes are no longer working? Come now," he added, "I've a feeling that I can tell things with my mind just as if I saw them. I do see. I'll guess the time now--with my mind's eye." Concentration came into his face. "It's three minutes to twelve o'clock," he said decisively. She took up the watch which lay on the table beside the bed. "Yes, it's just three minutes to twelve," she declared in an awe-struck voice. "That's marvellous--how wonderful you are!" "That's what I said of you a minute ago," he returned. Then, with a swift change of voice and manner, he added, "How long is it?" "You mean, since you came here?" she asked, divining what was in his mind. "Exactly. How long?" "Six weeks," she answered. "Six weeks and three days." "Why don't you add the hour, too," he urged half-plaintively, though he smiled. "Well, it was three o'clock in the morning to the minute," she answered. "Old Father Time ought to make you his chief of staff," he remarked gaily. "Now, I want to know," he added, with a visible effort of determination, "what has happened since three o'clock in the morning, six weeks and three days ago. I want you to tell me what has happened to my concerns--to the railways, and also to the towns. I don't want you to hide anything, because, if you do, I'll have Jim in, and Jim, under proper control, will tell me the whole truth, and perhaps more than the truth. That's the way with Jim. When he gets started he can't stop. Tell me exactly everything." Anxiety drove the colour from her cheeks. She shrank back. "You must tell me," he urged. "I'd rather hear it from you than from Dr. Rockwell, or Jim, or your father. Your telling wouldn't hurt as much as anybody else's, if there has to be any hurt. Don't you understand-- but don't you understand?" he urged. She nodded to herself in the mirror on the wall opposite. "I'll try to understand," she replied presently; "Tell me, then: have they put someone in my place?" "I understand so," she replied. He remained silent for a moment, his face very pale. "Who is running the show?" he asked. She told him. "Oh, him!" he exclaimed. "He's dead against my policy. He'll make a mess." "They say he's doing that," she remarked. He asked her a series of questions which she tried to answer frankly, and he came to know that the trouble between the two towns, which, after the Orange funeral and his own disaster had subsided, was up again; that the railways were in difficulties; that there had been several failures in the town; that one of the banks--the Regent-had closed its doors; that Felix Marchand, having recovered from the injury he had received from Gabriel Druse on the day of the Orange funeral, had gone East for a month and had returned; that the old trouble was reviving in the mills, and that Marchand had linked himself with the enemies of the group controlling the railways hitherto directed by himself. For a moment after she had answered his questions, there was strong emotion in his face, and then it cleared. He reached out a hand towards her. How eagerly she clasped it! It was cold, and hers was so warm and firm and kind. "True friend o' mine!" he said with feeling. "How wonderful it is that somehow it all doesn't seem to matter so much. I wonder why? I wonder-- Tell me about yourself, about your life," he added abruptly, as though it had been a question he had long wished to ask. In the tone was a quiet certainty suggesting that she would not hesitate to answer. "We have both had big breaks in our lives," he went on. "I know that. I've lost everything, in a way, by the break in my life, and I've an idea that you gained everything when the break in yours came. I didn't believe the story Jethro Fawe told me, but still I knew there was some truth in it; something that he twisted to suit himself. I started life feeling I could conquer the world like another Alexander or Napoleon. I don't know that it was all conceit. It was the wish to do, to see how far this thing on my shoulders"--he touched his head--"and this great physical machine"--he touched his breast with a thin hand--"would carry me. I don't believe the main idea was vicious. It was wanting to work a human brain to its last volt of capacity, and to see what it could do. I suppose I became selfish as I forged on. I didn't mean to be, but concentration upon the things I had to do prevented me from being the thing I ought to be. I wanted, as they say, to get there. I had a lot of irons in the fire--too many--but they weren't put there deliberately. One thing led to another, and one thing, as it were, hung upon another, until they all got to be part of the scheme. Once they got there, I had to carry them all on, I couldn't drop any of them; they got to be my life. It didn't matter that it all grew bigger and bigger, and the risks got greater and greater. I thought I could weather it through, and so I could have done, if it hadn't been for a mistake and an accident; but the mistake was mine. That's where the thing nips--the mistake was mine. I took too big a risk. You see, I'd got so used to being lucky, it seemed as if I couldn't go wrong. Everything had come my way. Ever since I began in that Montreal railway office, after leaving college, I hadn't a single setback. I pulled things off. I made money, and I plumped it all into my railways and the Regent Bank; and as you said a minute ago, the Regent Bank has closed down. That cuts me clean out of the game. What was the matter with the bank? The manager?" His voice was almost monotonous in its quietness. It was as though he told the story of something which had passed beyond chance or change. As it unfolded to her understanding, she had seated herself near to his bed. The door of the room was open, and in view outside on the landing sat Madame Bulteel reading. She was not, however, near enough to hear the conversation. Ingolby's voice was low, but it sounded as loud as a waterfall in the ears of the girl, who, in a few weeks, had travelled great distances on the road called Experience, that other name for life. "It was the manager?" he repeated. "Yes, they say so," she answered. "He speculated with bank money." "In what?" "In your railways," she answered hesitatingly. "Curious--I dreamed that," Ingolby remarked quietly, and leaned down and stroked the dog lying at his feet. It had been with him through all his sickness. "It must have been part of my delirium, because, now that I've got my senses back, it's as though someone had told me about it. Speculated in my railways, eh? Chickens come home to roost, don't they? I suppose I ought to be excited over it all," he continued. "I suppose I ought. But the fact is, you only have just the one long, big moment of excitement when great trouble and tragedy come, or else it's all excitement, all the time, and then you go mad. That's the test, I think. When you're struck by Fate, as a hideous war-machine might strike you, and the whole terror of loss and ruin bears down on you, you're either swept away in an excitement that hasn't any end, or you brace yourself, and become master of the shattering thing." "You are a master," she interposed. "You are the Master Man," she repeated admiringly. He waved a hand deprecatingly. "Do you know, when we talked together in the woods soon after you ran the Rapids--you remember the day--if you had said that to me then, I'd have cocked my head and thought I was a jim- dandy, as they say. A Master Man was what I wanted to be. But it's a pretty barren thing to think, or to feel, that you're a Master Man; because, if you are--if you've had a 'scoop' all the way, as Jowett calls it, you can be as sure as anything that no one cares a rap farthing what happens to you. There are plenty who pretend they care, but it's only because they're sailing with the wind, and with your even keel. It's only the Master Man himself that doesn't know in the least he's that who gets anything out of it all." "Aren't you getting anything out of it?" she asked softly. "Aren't you --Chief?" At the familiar word--Jowett always called him Chief--a smile slowly stole across his face. "I really believe I am, thanks to you," he said nodding. He was going to say, "Thanks to you, Fleda," but he restrained himself. He had no right to be familiar, to give an intimate turn to things. His game was over; his journey of ambition was done. He saw this girl with his mind's eye--how much he longed to see her with the eyes of the body --in all her strange beauty; and he knew that even if she cared for him, such a sacrifice as linking her life with his was impossible. Yet her very presence there was like a garden of bloom to him: a garden full of the odour of life, of vital things, of sweet energy and happy being. Somehow, he and she were strangely alike. He knew it. From the time he held her in his arms at Carillon, he knew it. The great adventurous spirit which was in him belonged also to her. That was as sure as light and darkness. "No, there's no master man in me, but I think I know what one could be like," he remarked at last. He straightened himself against the pillows. The old look of power came to a face hardly strong enough to bear it. It was so fine and thin now, and the spirit in him was so prodigious. "No one cares what happens to the man who always succeeds; no one loves him," he continued. "Do you know, in my trouble I've had more out of nigger Jim's affection than I've ever had in my life. Then there's Rockwell, Osterhaut and Jowett, and there's your father. It was worth while living to feel the real thing." His hands went out as though grasping something good and comforting. "I don't suppose every man needs to be struck as hard as I've been to learn what's what, but I've learned it. I give you my word of honour, I've learned it." Her face flushed and her eyes kindled greatly. "Jim, Rockwell, Osterhaut, Jowett, and my father!" she exclaimed. "Of course trouble wouldn't do anything but make them come closer round you. Poor people live so near to misfortune all the time--I mean poor people like Jim, Osterhaut, and Jowett--that changes of fortune are just natural things to them. As for my father, he has had to stretch out his hands so often to those in trouble--" "That he carried me home on his shoulders from the bridge six weeks and three days ago, at three o'clock in the morning," interjected Ingolby with a quizzical smile. "Why did you omit Madame Bulteel and myself when you mentioned those who showed their--friendship?" she asked, hesitating at the last word. "Haven't we done our part?" "I was talking of men," he answered. "One knows what women do. They may leave you in the bright days, not in the dark days. On the majority of them you couldn't rely in prosperity, but in misfortune you couldn't do anything else. They are there with you. They're made that way. The best life can give you in misfortune is a woman. It's the great beginning-of-the-world thing in them. Men can't stand prosperity, but women can stand misfortune. Why, if Jim and Osterhaut and Jowett and all the men of Lebanon and Manitou had deserted me, I shouldn't have been surprised; but I'd have had to recast my philosophy if Fleda Druse had turned her bonny brown head away." It was evident he was making an effort to conquer emotions which were rising in him; that he was playing on the surface to prevent his deep feelings from breaking forth. "Instead of which," he added jubilantly, "here I am, in the nicest room in the world, in a fine bed with springs like an antelope's heels." He laughed, and hunched his back into the mattress. It was the laugh of the mocker, but he was mocking himself. She did not misunderstand. It was a nice room, as he said. He had never seen it with his eyes, but if he had seen it he would have realized how like herself it was--adorably fresh, happily coloured, sumptuous and fine. It had simple curtains, white sheets, and a warm carpet on the floor; and yet with something, too, that struck the note of a life outside. A pennant of many colours hung where two soft pink curtains joined, and at the window and over the door was an ancient cross in bronze and gold. It was not the simple Christian cross of the modern world, but an ancient one which had become a symbol of the Romanys, a sign to mark the highways, the guide of the wayfarers. The pennant had been on the pole of the Ry's tent in far-off days in the Roumelian country. In the girl herself there was that which corresponded to the gorgeous pennant and the bronze cross. It was not in dress or in manner, for there was no sign of garishness, of the unusual anywhere--in manner she was as well controlled as any woman of fashion, in dress singularly reserved--but in the depths of the eyes there was some restless, unsettled thing, some flicker of strange banners akin to the pennant at the joining of the pink curtains. There had been something of the same look in Ingolby's eyes in the past, only with him it was the sense of great adventure, intrepid enterprise, a touch of vision and the beckoning thing. That look was not in his eyes now. Nothing was there; no life, no soul; only darkness. But did that look still inhabit the eyes of the soul? He answered the question himself. "I'd start again in a different way if I could," he said musingly, his face towards the girl. "It's easy to say that, but I would. It isn't only the things you get, it's how you use them. It isn't only the things you do, it's why you do them. But I'll never have a chance now; I'll never have a chance to try the new way. I'm done." Something almost savage leaped into her eyes--a wild, bitter protest, for it was her tragedy, too, if he was not to regain his sight. The great impulse of a nature which had been disciplined into reserve broke forth. "It isn't so," she said with a tremor in her voice. All that he--and she--was in danger of losing came home to her. "It isn't so. You shall get well again. Your sight will come back. To-morrow; perhaps to-day, Hindlip, the great oculist comes from New York. Mr. Warbeck, the Montreal man, holds out hopes. If the New York man says the same, why despair? Perhaps in another month you will be on your feet again, out in the world, fighting, working, mastering, just as you used to do." A sudden stillness seemed to take possession of him. His lips parted; his head was thrust forwards slightly as though he saw something in the distance. He spoke scarcely above a whisper. "I didn't know the New York man was coming. I didn't know there was any hope at all," he said with awe in his tones. "We told you there was," she answered. "Yes, I know. But I thought you were all only trying to make it easier for me, and I heard Warbeck say to Rockwell, when they thought I was asleep, 'It's ten to one against him.'" "Did you hear that?" she said sorrowfully. "I'm so sorry; but Mr. Warbeck said afterwards--only a week ago--that the chances were even. That's the truth. On my soul and honour it's the truth. He said the chances were even. It was he suggested Mr. Hindlip, and Hindlip is coming now. He's on the way. He may be here to-day. Oh, be sure, be sure, be sure, it isn't all over. You said your life was broken. It isn't. You said my life had been broken. It wasn't. It was only the wrench of a great change. Well, it's only the wrench of a great change in your life. You said I gained everything in the great change of my life. I did; and the great change in your life won't be lost, it will be gain, too. I know it; in my heart I know it." With sudden impulse she caught his hand in both of hers, and then with another impulse, which she could not control, she caught his head to her bosom. For one instant her arms wrapped him round, and she murmured something in a language he did not understand--the language of the Roumelian country. It was only one swift instant, and then with shocked exclamation she broke away from him, dropped into a chair, and buried her face in her hands. He blindly reached out his hand towards her as if to touch her. "Mother- girl, dear mother-girl--that's what you are," he said huskily. "What a great, kind heart you've got!" She did not reply, but sat with face hidden in her hands, rocking backwards and forwards. He understood; he tried to help her. There was a great joy in his heart, but he dared not give it utterance. "Please tell me about your life--about that great change in it," he said at last in a low voice. "Perhaps it would help me. Anyhow, I'd like to know, if you feel you can tell me." For a moment she was silent. Then she said to him with an anxious note in her voice: "What do you know about my life-about the 'great change,' as you call it?" He reached out over the coverlet, felt for a sock which he had been learning to knit and, slowly plying the needles, replied: "I only know what Jethro Fawe told me, and he was a promiscuous liar." "I don't think he lied about me," she answered quietly. "He told you I was a Gipsy; he told you that I was married to him. That was true. I was a Gipsy. I was married to him in the Romany way, when I was a child of three, and I never saw him again until here, the other day, on the Sagalac." "You were married to him as much as I am," he interjected scornfully. "That was a farce. It was only a promise to pay on the part of your father. There was nothing in that. Jethro Fawe could not claim on that." "He has tried to do so," she answered, "and if I were still a Gipsy he would have the right to do so from his standpoint." "That sounds silly to me," Ingolby remarked, his fingers moving now more quickly with the needles. "No, it isn't silly," she said, her voice almost as softly monotonous as his had been when he told her of his life a little while before. It was as though she was looking into her own mind and heart and speaking to herself. "It isn't silly," she repeated. "I don't think you understand. Just because a race like the Gipsies have no country and no home, so they must have things that bind them which other people don't need in the same way. Being the vagrants of the earth, so they must have things that hold them tighter than any written laws made by King or Parliament. Unless the Gipsies kept their laws sacred they couldn't hold together at all. They're iron and steel, the Gipsy laws. They can't be stretched, and they can't be twisted. They can only be broken, and then there's no argument about it. When they are broken, there's the penalty, and it has to be met." Ingolby stopped knitting for a moment. "You don't mean that a penalty could touch you?" he asked incredulously. "Not for breaking a law," she answered. "I'm not a Gipsy any more. I gave my word about that, and so did my father; and I'll keep it." "Please tell me about it," he urged. "Tell me, so that I can understand everything." There was a long pause in which Ingolby inspected carefully with his fingers the work which he was doing, but at last Fleda's voice came to him, as it seemed out of a great distance, while she began to tell of her first memories: of her life by the Danube and the Black Sea, and drew for him a picture, so far as she could recall it, of her marriage with Jethro, and of the years that followed. Now and again as she told of some sordid things, of the challenge of the law in different countries, of the coarse vagabondage of the Gipsy people in this place or in that, and some indignity put upon her father, or some humiliating incident, her voice became low and pained. It seemed as if she meant that he should see all she had been in that past, which still must be part of the present and have its place in the future, however far away all that belonged to it would be. She appeared to search her mind to find that which would prejudice him against her. While speaking with slow scorn of the life which she had lived as a Gipsy, yet she tried to make him understand, too, that, in the days when she belonged to it, it all seemed natural to her, and that its sordidness, its vagabondage did not produce repugnance in her mind when she was part of it. Unwittingly she over- coloured the picture, and he knew she did. In spite of herself, however, some aspects of the old life called forth pictures of happy Nature, of busy animal life of wood and glen and stream and footpath which was exquisite in its way. She was in spirit at one with the multitudinous world of nature among which so many men and women lived, without seeing or knowing. It was all undesignedly a part of herself, and she was one of a population in a universal nation whose devout citizen she was. Sometimes, in response to an interjection from Ingolby, deftly made, she told of some incident which revealed as great a poetic as dramatic instinct. As she talked, Ingolby in his imagination pictured her as a girl of ten or twelve, in a dark-red dress, brown curls falling in profusion on her shoulders, with a clear, honest, beautiful eye, and a face that only spoke of a joy of living, in which the small things were the small things and the great things were the great: the perfect proportion of sane life in a sane world. Now and again, carried away by the history of things remembered, she visualized scenes for him with the ardour of an artist and a lover of created things. He realized how powerful a hold the old life still had upon her. She understood it, too, for when at last she told of the great event in England which changed her life, and made her a deserter from Gipsy life; when she came to the giving of the pledge to a dying woman, and how she had kept that pledge, and how her father had kept it, sternly, faithfully, in spite of all it involved, she said to him: "It may seem strange to you, living as I live now in one spot, with everything to make life easy, that I should long sometimes for that old life. I hate it in my heart of hearts, yet there's something about it that belongs to me, that's behind me, if that tells you anything. It's as though there was some other self in me which reached far, far back into centuries, that wills me to do this and wills me to do that. It sounds mad to you of course, but there have been times when I have had a wild longing to go back to it all, to what some Gorgio writers call the pariah world--the Ishmaelites." More than once Ingolby's heart throbbed heavily against his breast as he felt the passion of her nature, its extraordinary truthfulness, making it clear to him by indirect phrases that even Jethro Fawe, whom she despised, still had a hateful fascination for her. It was all at variance to her present self, but it summoned her through the long avenues of ancestry, predisposition; through the secret communion of those who, being dead, yet speak. "It's a great story told in a great way," he said, when she had finished. "It's the most honest thing I ever heard, but it's not the most truthful thing I ever heard. I don't think we can tell the exact truth about ourselves. We try to be honest; we are savagely in earnest about it, and so we exaggerate the bad things we do, and we often show distrust of the good things we do. That's not a fair picture. I believe you've told me the truth as you see it and feel it, but I don't think it's the real truth. In my mind I sometimes see an oriel window in the college where I spent three years. I used to work and think for hours in that oriel window, and in the fights I've been having lately I've looked back and thought I wanted it again; wanted to be there in the peace of it all, with the books, and the lectures, and the drone of history, and the drudgery of examinations; but if I did go back to it, three days'd sicken me, and if you went back to the Gipsy life three days'd sicken you." "Yes, I know. Three hours would sicken me. But what might not happen in those three hours! Can't you understand?" Suddenly she got to her feet with a passionate exclamation, her clenched hands went to her temples in an agony of emotion. "Can't you understand?" she repeated. "It's the going back at all for three days, for three hours, for three minutes that counts. It might spoil everything; it might kill my life." His face flushed, crimsoned, then became pale; his hands ceased moving; the knitting lay still on his knee. "Maybe, but you aren't going back for three minutes, any more than I'm going back to the oriel window for three seconds," he said. "We dreamers have a lot of agony in thinking about the things we're never going to do--just as much agony as in thinking about the things we've done. Every one of us dreamers ought to be insulated. We ought to wear emotional lightning-rods to carry off the brain-waves into the ground. "I've never heard such a wonderful story," he added, after an instant, with an intense longing to hold out his arms to her, and a still more intense will to do no such wrong. A blind man had no right or title to be a slave-owner, for that was what marriage to him would be. A wife would be a victim. He saw himself, felt himself being gradually devitalized, with only the placid brain left, considering only the problem of hourly comfort, and trying to neutralize the penalties of blindness. She must not be sacrificed to that, for apart from all else she had greatness of a kind in her. He knew far better than he had said of the storm of emotion in her, and he knew that she had not exaggerated the temptation which sang in her ears. Jethro Fawe--the thought of the man revolted him; and yet there was something about the fellow, a temperamental power, the glamour and garishness of Nature's gifts, prostituted though they were, finding expression in a striking personality, in a body of athletic grace--a man-beauty. "Have you seen Jethro Fawe lately?" he asked. "Not since"--she was going to say not since the morning her father had passed the sentence of the patrin upon him; but she paused in time. "Not since everything happened to you," she added presently. "He knows the game is up," Ingolby remarked with forced cheerfulness. "He won't be asking for any more." "It's time for your milk and brandy," she said suddenly, emotion subsiding and a look of purpose coming into her face. She poured out the liquid, and gave the glass into his hand. His fingers touched hers. "Your hands are cold," she said to him. "Cold hands, warm heart," he chattered. A curious, wilful, rebellious look came into her eyes. "I shouldn't have thought it in your case," she said, and with sudden resolve turned towards the door. "I'll send Madame Bulteel," she added. "I'm going for a walk." She had betrayed herself so much, had shown so recklessly what she felt, and yet, yet why did he not--she did not know what she wanted him to do. It was all a great confusion. Vaguely she realized what had been working in him, but yet the knowledge was dim indeed. She was a woman. In her heart of hearts she knew that he did care for her, and yet in her heart of hearts she denied that he cared. She was suddenly angry with herself, angry with him, the poor blind man, back from the Valley of the Shadow. She had not reached the door, however, when Madame Bulteel entered the room. "The doctor from New York has come," she said, holding out a note from Dr. Rockwell. "He will be here in a couple of hours." Fleda turned back towards the bed. "Good luck!" she said. "You'll see, it will be all right." "Certainly I'll see if it's all right," he said cheerfully. "Am I tidy? Have I used Pears' soap?" He would have his joke at his own funeral if possible. "There are two hours to get you fit to be seen," she rejoined with raillery, infected by his cheerfulness in spite of herself. "Madame Bulteel is very brave. Nothing is too hard for her!" An instant later she was gone, with her heart telling her to go back to him, not to leave him, but yet with a longing stronger still driving her to the open world, to which she could breathe her trouble in great gasps, as she sped onward through the woods and by the river. To love a blind man was sheer madness, but in her was a superstitious belief that he would see again. It prevailed against the doubts and terrors. It made her resent his own sense of fatality, his own belief that he would be in darkness all his days. In the room where he awaited the verdict of the expert, he kept saying to himself: "She would have made everything else look cheap--if it could have been." CHAPTER XXI THE SNARE OF THE FOWLER The last rays of the setting sun touched the gorgeous Autumn woods with a loving, bright glow, and the day stole pensively away into a purple bed beyond the sight of the eyes. From a lonely spot by the river, Fleda watched the westering gleam until it vanished, her soul alive to the melancholy beauty of it all. Not a human being seemed to be within the restricted circle of her vision. There were only to be seen the deep woods, in myriad tints of bronze and red and saffron, and the swift- flowing river. Overhead was the Northern sky, so clear, so thrilling, and the stars were beginning to sparkle in the incredibly swift twilight which links daytime and nighttime in that Upper Land. Lonely and delicately sad it all looked, but there was no feeling of loneliness among those who lived the life of the Sagalac. Many a man has stood on a wide plain of snow, white to the uttermost horizon, or in the yellow- brown grass of the Summer prairie, empty of all human life so far as eye could see, and yet has felt no solitude. It is as though the air itself is inhabited by a throng of happy comrades whispering in the communion of the invisible world. As a child Fleda had often gazed upon just such scenes, lonely and luminous, but she was only conscious then of a vague and pleasant awe, a kindly confusion, which, like the din of innumerable bees, lulled wonder to sleep. Even as a child, however, something of what it meant had pierced her awe and wonder. Once as she crossed a broken, bare mountain of Roumania she had seen a wild ass perched upon a high summit gazing, as it were, over the wide valley, where beneath, among the rocks, other wild asses wandered. There was something so statue-like in this immovable wild creature that Fleda had watched it till it was hid from her view by a jutting rock. But the thing which made a lasting impression, drawing her nearer to nature-life than all that had chanced since she was born, was the fact that on returning, hours after, the wild ass was still standing upon the summit of the hill, still gazing across the valley. Or was it gazing across the valley? Was there some other vision commanding its sight? So a young wife not yet a mother loses herself for hours together in a vista of unexplored experience. Fleda had passed on, out of sight of the wild ass on the hills, but for ever after the memory of it remained with her and the picture of it sprang to her eye innumerable times. The hypnotized wild thing--hypnotized by its own vague instincts, or by something outside itself-became to her as the Sphinx to the Egyptian, the everlasting question of existence. Now, as she watched the day fleeing, and night with swift stealthiness coming on, that unforgettable picture of the Roumanian hills came to her again. The instinct of those far-off days which had been little removed from the finest animal intelligence had now developed into thought. Brain and soul strove to grasp what it all meant, and what the revelation was between Nature and herself. Nature was so vast; she was so insignificant; changes in its motionless inorganic life were imperceptible save through the telescopes of years; but she, like the wind, the water, and the clouds, was variable, inconstant. Was there any real relation between the vast, imperturbable earth, its seas, its forests, its mountains and its plains, its life of tree and plant and flower and the men and women dotted on its surface? Did they belong to each other, or were mankind only, as it were, vermin infesting the desirable world? Did they belong to each other? It meant so much if they did belong, and she loved to think they did. Many a time she kissed the smooth bole of a maple or whispered to it; or laid her cheek against a mossy rock and murmured a greeting in the spirit of a companionship as old as the making of the world. On the evening of this day of her destiny--carrying the story of her own fate within its twenty-four hours--she was in a mood of detachment from life's routine. As at a great opera, a sensitive spirit loses itself in visions alien to the music and yet born of it, so she, lost in this primeval scene before her, saw visions of things to be. If Ingolby's sight came back! In her abstraction she saw him with sight restored and by her side, and even in that joy her mind felt a hovering sense of invasion, no definite, visible thing, but a presence which made shadow. Suddenly oppressed by it, she turned back into the woods from the river-bank to make for home. She had explored nearly every portion of this river-country for miles up and down, but on this evening, lost in her dreams, she had wandered into less familiar regions. There was no chance of her being lost, so long as she kept near to the river, and indeed by instinct and not by thought or calculation she made her way about at all times. Turned homeward, she walked for about a quarter of a mile, retreading the path by which she had come. It was growing darker, and, being in unfamiliar surroundings, she hurried on, though she knew well what course to take. Following the bank of the river she would have increased her walk greatly, as the stream made a curve at a point above Manitou, and then came back again to its original course; so she cut across the promontory, taking the most direct line homeward. Presently, however, she became conscious of other people in the wood besides herself. She saw no one, but she heard breaking twigs, the stir of leaves, the flutter of a partridge which told of human presence. The underbrush was considerable, darkness was coming on, and she had a sense of being surrounded. It agitated her, but she pulled herself together, stood still and admonished herself. She called herself a fool; she asked herself if she was going to be a coward. She laughed out loud at her own apprehension; but a chill stole into her blood when she heard near by-- there was no doubt about it now--mockery of her own laughter. Then suddenly, before she could organize her senses, a score of men seemed to rise up from the ground around her, to burst out from the bushes, to drop from the trees, and to storm upon her. She had only time to realize that they were Romanys, before scarfs were thrown around her head, bound around her body, and, unconscious, she was carried away into the deep woods. When she regained consciousness Fleda found herself in a tent, set in a kind of prairie amphitheatre valanced by shrubs and trees. Bright fires burned here and there, and dark-featured men squatted upon the ground, cared for their horses, or busied themselves near two large caravans, at the doors or on the steps of which now and again appeared a woman. She had waked without moving, had observed the scene without drawing the attention of a man--a sentry--who sat beside the tent-door. The tent was empty save for herself. There was little in it besides the camp-bed against the tent wall, upon which she lay, and the cushions supporting her head. She had waked carefully, as it were: as though some inward monitor had warned her of impending danger. She realized that she had been kidnapped by Romanys, and that the hand behind the business was that of Jethro Fawe. The adventurous and reckless Fawe family had its many adherents in the Romany world, and Jethro was its head, the hereditary claimant for its leadership. Notwithstanding the Ry of Rys' prohibition, there had drawn nearer and ever nearer to him, from the Romany world he had abandoned, many of his people, never, however, actually coming within his vision till the appearance of Jethro Fawe. Here and there on the prairie, to a point just beyond Gabriel Druse's horizon, they had come from all parts of the world; and Jethro, reckless and defiant under the Sentence, and knowing that the chances against his life were a million to one, had determined on one bold stroke which, if it failed, would make his fate no worse, and, if it succeeded, would give him his wife and, maybe, headship over all the Romany world. For weeks he had planned, watched and waited, filling the woods with his adherents, secretly following Fleda day by day, until, at last, the place, the opportunity, seemed perfect; and here she lay in a Romany tan once more, with the flickering fires outside in the night, and the sentry at her doorway. This watchman was not Jethro Fawe, but she knew well that Jethro was not far off. Through the open door of the tent, for some minutes, her eyes studied the segment of the circle within her vision, and she realized that here was an organized attempt to force her back into the Romany world. If she repudiated the Gorgio life and acknowledged herself a Romany once again, she knew her safety would be secured; but in truth she had no fear for her life, for no one would dare to defy the Ry of Rys so far as to kill his daughter. But she was in danger of another kind--in deep and terrible danger; and she knew it well. As the thought of it took possession of her, her heart seemed almost to burst. Not fear, but anger and emotion possessed her. All the Romany in her stormed back again from the past. It sent her to her feet with a scarcely smothered cry. She was not quicker, however, than was the figure at the tent door, which, with a half-dozen others, sprang up as she appeared. A hand was raised, and, as if by magic, groups of Gipsies, some sitting, some standing, some with the Gipsy fiddle, one or two with flutes, began a Romany chant in a high, victorious key, and women threw upon the fire powders from which flamed up many coloured lights. In a moment the camp was transformed. From the woods around came swarthy-faced men, with great gold rings in their ears and bright scarfs around their necks or waists, some of them handsome, dirty and insolent; others ugly, watchful, and quiet in manner and face; others still most friendly and kind in face and manner. All showed instant respect for Fleda. They raised their hands in a gesture of salutation as a Zulu chief thrusts up a long arm and shouts "Inkoos!" to one whom he honours. Some, however, made the sweeping Oriental gesture of the right hand, palm upward, and almost touching the ground--a sign of obedience and infinite respect. It had all been well arranged. Skilfully managed as it was, however, there was something in it deeper than theatrical display or dramatic purpose. It was clear that many of them were deeply moved at being in the presence of the daughter of the Ry of Rys, who had for so long exiled himself. Racial, family, clan feeling spoke in voice and gesture, in look and attitude; but yet there were small groups of younger men whose salutations were perfunctory, not to say mocking. These were they who resented deeply Fleda's defection, and truthfully felt that she had passed out of their circle for ever; that she despised them, and looked down on them from another sphere. They were all about the age of Jethro Fawe, but were of a less civilized type, and had semi-barbarism written all over them. Unlike Jethro they had never known the world of cities. They repudiated Fleda, because their ambition could not reach to her. They recognized the touch of fashion and of form, of a worldly education, of a convention which lifted her away from the tan and the caravan, from the everlasting itinerary. They had not had Jethro's experiences in fashionable hotels of Europe, at midnight parties, at gay suppers, at garish dances, where Gorgio ladies answered the amorous looks of the ambitious Romany with the fiddle at his chin. Because these young Romanys knew they dare not aspire, they were resentful; but Jethro, the head of the rival family and the son of the dead claimant to the headship, had not such compulsory modesty. He had ranged far and wide, and his expectations were extensive. He was nowhere to be seen in the groups which sang and gestured in the light of the many coloured fires, though once or twice Fleda's quickened ear detected his voice, exulting, in the chorus of song. Presently, as she stood watching, listening, and strangely moved in spite of herself by the sudden dramatic turn which things had taken, a seat was brought to her. It was a handsome stool, looted perhaps from some chateau in the Old World, and over it was thrown a dark-red cloth which gave a semblance of dignity to the seat of authority, which it was meant to be. Fleda did not refuse the honour. She had choked back the indignant words which had rushed to her lips as she left the tent where she had been lying. Prudence had bade her await developments. She could not yet make up her mind what to do. It was clear that a bold and deep purpose lay behind it all, and she could not tell how far-reaching it was, nor what it represented of rebellion against her father's authority. That it did represent rebellion she had no doubt. She was well enough aware of the claims of Jethro's dead father to the leadership, abandoned for three thousand pounds and marriage with herself; and she was also aware that while her father's mysterious isolation might possibly have developed a reverence for him, yet active pressure and calumny might well have done its work. Also, if the marriage was repudiated, Jethro would be justified in resuming the family claim to the leadership. She seated herself upon the scarlet seat with a gesture of thanks, while the salutations and greetings increased; then she awaited events, thrilled by the weird and pleasant music, with its touches of Eastern fantasy. In spite of herself she was moved, as Romanys, men and women, ran forward in excitement with arms raised towards her as though they meant to strike her, then suddenly stopped short, made obeisance, called a greeting, and ran backwards to their places. Presently a group of men began a ceremony or ritual, before which the spectators now and again covered their eyes, or bent their heads low, or turned their backs, and raised their hands in a sort of ascription. As the ceremony neared its end, with its strange genuflections, a woman dressed in white was brought forward, her hands bound behind her, her hair falling over her shoulders, and after a moment of apparent denunciation on the part of the head of the ceremony, she was suddenly thrown to the ground, and the pretence of drawing a knife across her throat was made. As Fleda watched it she shuddered, but presently braced herself, because she knew that this ritual was meant to show what the end must be of those who, like herself, proved traitor to the traditions of race. It was at this point, when fifty knives flashed in the air, with vengeful exclamations, that Jethro Fawe appeared in the midst of the crowd. He was dressed in the well-known clothes which he had worn since the day he first declared himself at Gabriel Druse's home, and, compared with his friends around him, he showed to advantage. There was command in his bearing, and experience of life had given him primitive distinction. For a moment he stood looking at Fleda in undisguised admiration, for she made a remarkable picture. Animal beauty was hers, too. There was a delicate, athletic charm in her body and bearing; but it added to, rather than took away from, the authority of her presence, so differing from Jethro. She had never compared herself with others, and her passionate intelligence would have rebelled against the supremacy of the body. She had no physical vanity, but she had some mental vanity, and it placed mind so far above matter that her beauty played no part in her calculations. At sight of him, Fleda's blood quickened, but in indignation and in no other sense. As he came towards her, however, despising his vanity as she did, she felt how much he was above all those by whom he was surrounded. She realized his talent, and it almost made her forget his cunning and his loathsomeness. As he came near to her he made a slight gesture to someone in the crowd, and a chorus of salutations rose. Composed and still she waited for him to come quite close to her, and the look in her face was like that of one who was scarcely conscious of what was passing around her, whose eyes saw distant things of infinite moment. A few feet away from her he spoke. "Daughter of the Ry of Rys, you are among your own people once again," he said. "From everywhere in the world they have come to show their love for you. You would not have come to them of your own free will, because a madness 'got hold of you, and so they came to you. You cut yourself off from them and told yourself you had become a Gorgio. But that was only your madness; and madness can be cured. We are the Fawes, the ancient Fawes, who ruled the Romany people before the Druses came to power. We are of the ancient blood, yet we are faithful to the Druse that rules over us. His word prevails, although his daughter is mad. Daughter of the Ry of Rys, you have seen us once again. We have sung to you; we have spoken to you; we have told you what is in our hearts; we have shown you how good is the end of those who are faithful, and how terrible is the end of the traitor. Do not forget it. Speak to us." Fleda had a fierce desire to spring to her feet and declare to them all that the sentence of the patrin had been passed upon Jethro Fawe, but she laid a hand upon herself. She knew they were unaware that the Sentence had been passed, else they would not have been with Jethro. In that case none would give him food or shelter or the hand of friendship; none dare show him any kindness; and it was the law that any one against whom he committed an offence, however small, might take his life. The Sentence had been like a cloud upon her mind ever since her father had passed it; she could not endure the thought of it. She could not bring herself to speak of it--to denounce him. Sooner or later the Sentence would reach every Romany everywhere, and Jethro would pass into the darkness of oblivion, not in his own time nor in the time of Fate. The man was abhorrent to her, yet his claim was there. Mad and bad as it was, he made his claim of her upon ancient rights, and she was still enough a Romany to see his point of view. Getting to her feet slowly, she ignored Jethro, looked into the face of the crowd, and said: "I am the daughter of the Ry of Rys still, though I am a Romany no longer. I made a pledge to be no more a Romany and I will keep it; yet you and all Romany people are dear to me because through long generations the Druses have been of you. You have brought me here against my will. Do you think the Ry of Rys will forgive that? In your words you have been kind to me, but yet you have threatened me. Do you think that a Druse has any fear? Did a Druse ever turn his cheek to be smitten? You know what the Druses are. I am a Druse still. I will not talk longer, I have nothing to say to you all except that you must take me back to my father, and I will see that he forgives you. Some of you have done this out of love; some of you have done it out of hate; yet set me free again upon the path to my home, and I shall forget it, and the Ry of Rys will forget it." At that instant there suddenly came forward from the doorway of a tent on the outskirts of the crowd a stalwart woman, with a strong face and a self-reliant manner. She was still young, but her slightly pockmarked countenance showed the wear and tear of sorrow of some kind. She had, indeed, lost her husband and her father in the Montenegrin wars. Hastening forward to Fleda she reached out a hand. "Come with me," she said; "come and sleep in my tent to-night. To-morrow you shall go back to the Ry of Rys, perhaps. Come with me." There was a sudden murmuring in the crowd, which was stilled by a motion of Jethro Fawe's hand, and a moment afterwards Fleda gave her hand to the woman. "I will go with you," Fleda said. Then she turned to Jethro: "I wish to speak to you alone, Jethro Fawe," she added. He laughed triumphantly. "The wife of Jethro Fawe wishes to speak with him," he bombastically cried aloud to the assembled people, and he prepared to follow Fleda. As Fleda entered the woman's tent a black-eyed girl, with tousled hair and a bold, sensual face, ran up to Jethro, and in an undertone of evil suggestion said to him: "To-night is yours, Jethro. You can make tomorrow sure." CHAPTER XXII THE SECRET MAN "You are wasting your time." Fleda said the words with a quiet determination, and yet in the tone was a slight over-emphasis which was like a call upon reserve forces within herself. "Time is nothing to me," was the complete reply, clothed in a tone of soft irony. "I'm young enough to waste it. I've plenty of it in my knapsack." "Have you forgotten the Sentence of the Patrin?" Fleda asked the question in a voice which showed a sudden access of determination. "He will have to wipe it out after to-morrow," replied the other with a gleam of sulky meaning and furtive purpose in his eyes. "If you mean that I will change my mind to-morrow, and be your wife, and return to the Gipsy life, it is the thought of a fool. I asked you to come here to speak with me because I was sure I could make you see things as they truly are. I wanted to explain why I did not tell the Romanys outside there that the Sentence had been passed on you. I did not tell them because I can't forget that your people and my people have been sib for hundreds of years; that you and I were children together; that we were sealed to one another when neither of us could have any say about it. If I had remained a Gipsy, who can tell--my mind might have become like yours! I think there must be something rash and bad in me somewhere, because I tell you frankly now that a chord in my heart rang when you made your wild speeches to me there in the hut in the Wood months ago, even when I hated you, knowing you for what you are." "That was because there was another man," interjected Jethro. She inclined her head. "Yes, it was partly because of another man," she replied. "It is a man who suffers because of you. When he was alone among his foes, a hundred to one, you betrayed him. That itself would have made me despise you to the end of my life, even if the man had been nothing at all to me. "It was a low, cowardly thing to do. You did it; and if you were my brother, I would hate you for it; if you were my father, I should leave your house; if you were my husband, I should kill you. I asked you to speak with me now because I thought that if you would go away--far away-- promising never to cross my father's path, or my path, again, I could get him to withdraw the Sentence. You have kidnapped me. Where do you think you are? In Mesopotamia? You can't break the law of this country and escape as you would there. They don't take count of Romany custom here. Not only you, but every one of the Fawes here will be punished if the law reaches for your throat. I want you to escape, and I tell you to go now. Go back to Europe. I advise you this for your own sake--because you are a Fawe and of the clan." The blood mounted to Jethro's forehead, and he made an angry gesture. "And leave you here for him! 'Mi Duvel!' I can only die once, and I would rather die near you than far away," he exclaimed. His eyes had a sardonic look, there was a savage edge to his tongue, yet his face was flushed with devouring emotion and he was quivering with hope. That which he called love was flooding the field of his feelings, and the mad thing--the toxic impulse which is deep in the brain of Eastern races bled into his brain now. He was reckless, rebellious against fate, insanely wilful, and what she had said concerning Ingolby had roused in him the soul of Cain. She realized it, and she was apprehensive of some desperate act; yet she had no physical fear of him. Something seemed to tell her that, no matter what happened, Ingolby would not wait for her in vain, and that he would yet see her enter to him again with the love-light in her eyes. "But listen to me," Jethro said, with an unnatural shining in his eyes, his voice broken in its passion. "You think you can come it over me with your Gorgio talk and the clever things you've learned in the Gorgio world. You try to look down on me. I'm as well born or as ill born as you. The only difference between us is the way you dress, the way you live and use your tongue. All that belongs to the life of the cities. Anyone can learn it. Anyone well born like you and me, with a little practice, can talk like Gorgio dukes and earls. I've been among them and I know. I've had my friends among them, too. I've got the hang of it all. It's no good to me, and I don't want it. It's all part of a set piece. There's no independence in that life; you live by rule. Diable! I know. I've been in palaces; I've played my fiddle to the women in high places who can't blush. It's no good; it brings nothing in the end. It's all hollow. Look at our people there." He swept a hand to the tent door. "They're tanned and rough, as all out-door things are rough, but they've got their share of happiness, and every day has its pleasures. Listen to them!" he cried with a gesture of exultation. "Listen to that!" The colour slowly left Fleda's face. Outside in the light of the dying fires, under the glittering stars, in the shade of the trees, groups of Romanys were singing the Romany wedding melody, called "The Song of the Sealing." It was not like the ringing of wedding bells alone, it sealed blessing upon the man and the woman. It was a poem in praise of marriage passion; it was a paean proclaiming the accomplishment of life. Crude, primitive, it thrilled with Eastern feeling; a weird charm was showered from its notes. "Listen!" exclaimed Jethro again, a fire burning in his face. "That's for you and me. To them you are my wife, and I am your man. 'Mi Duvel' --it shall be so! I know women. For an hour you will hate me; for a day you will resent me, and then you will begin to love me. You will fight me, but I will conquer. I know you--I know you--all you women. But no, it will not be I that will conquer. It's my love that will do it. It's a den of tigers. When it breaks loose it will have its way. Here it is. Can't you see it in my face? Can't you hear it in my voice? Don't you hear my heart beating? Every throb says, 'Fleda--Fleda--Fleda, come to me.' I have loved you since you were three. I want you now. We can be happy. Every night we will make a new home. The world will be ours; the best that is in it will come to us. We will tap the trees of happiness --they're hid from the Gorgio world. You and I will know where to find them. Every land shall be ours; every gift of paradise within our reach --riches, power, children. Come back to your own people; be a true daughter of the Ry of Rys; live with your Romany chal. You will never be at home anywhere else. It's in your bones; it's in your blood; it's deeper than all. Here, now, come to me--my wife." He flung the flap of the tent door across the opening, shutting out the camp-fires and the people. "Here--now--come. Be mine while they sing." For one swift moment the great passion and eloquence of the man lifted her off her feet; for one instant the Romany in her triumphed, and a thrill of passion passed through her, storming her senses, like a mist shutting out all the rest of the world. This Romany was right; there was in her the wild thing--the everlasting strain of race and years breaking down all the defences which civilized life had built up within her. Just for one instant so--and then there flashed before her a face with two blind eyes. Like a stream of ether playing upon warm flesh, making it icy cold, so something of the ineradicable good in her swept like a frozen spray upon the elements of emotion, and with both hands she made a gesture of repulsion. His eyes with their reddish glow burned nearer and nearer to her. He bulked over her, driving her back against the couch by the tent wall. For an instant like that--and then, with clenched hand, she struck him in the face. Swift as had been the change in her, so a change like a cyclone swept over him. The hysterical passion which had possessed him suddenly passed, and a dark, sullen determination swept into his eyes and over his face. His lips parted in a savage smile. "Hell, so that's what you've learned in the Gorgio world, is it?" he asked malevolently. "Then I'll teach you what they do in the Romany world; and to-morrow you can put the two together and see what they look like." With a Romany expletive, he flung back the curtain of the tent and passed out into the night. For a long time Fleda sat stunned and overcome by the side of the couch, her brain tortured by a thousand thoughts. She knew there was no immediate escape from the encampment. She could only rely upon the hue and cry which would be raised and the certain hunt which would be made for her. But what might not happen before any rescue came? The ancient grudge of the Fawes against the Druses had gained power and activity by the self-imposed exile of Gabriel Druse; and Jethro had worked upon it. The veiled threats which Jethro had made she did not despise. He was a barbarian. He would kill what he loved; he would have his way with what he loved, whether or not it was the way of law or custom or right. Outside, the wedding song still made musical the night. Women's voices, shrill, and with falsetto notes, made the trees ring with it; low, bass voices gave it a kind of solemnity. The view which the encampment took of her captivity was clear. Where was the woman that brought her to the tent--whose tent it was? She seemed kind. Though her face had a hard look, surely she meant to be friendly. Or did she only mean to betray her; to give her a fancied security, and leave her to Jethro--and the night? She looked round for some weapon. There was nothing available save two brass candlesticks. Though the door of the tent was closed, she knew that there were watchers outside; that any break for liberty would only mean defeat, and yet she was determined to save herself. As she tried to take the measure of the situation and plan what she would do, the noise of the music suddenly ceased, and she heard a voice, though low in tone, give some sort of command. Then there was a cry, and what seemed the chaotic noise of a struggle followed; then a voice a little louder speaking, a voice of someone she remembered, though she could not place it. Something vital was happening outside, something punctuated by sharp, angry exclamations; afterwards a voice speaking soothingly, firmly, prevailed; and then there was silence. As she listened there was a footstep at the door of the tent, a voice called to her softly, and a hand drew aside the tent curtain. The woman who had brought her to this place entered. "You are all safe now," she said, reaching out both hands to Fleda. "By long and by last, but it was a close shave! He meant to make you his wife to-night, whether you would or no. I'm a Fawe, but I'd have none of that. I was on my way to your father's house when I met someone--someone that you know. He carries your father's voice in his mouth." She stepped to the tent door and beckoned; and out of the darkness, only faintly lightened by the dying fires, there entered one whom Fleda had seen not more than fifty times in her life, and never but twice since she had ceased to be a Romany. It was her father's secret agent, Rhodo, the Roumelian, now grizzled and gaunt, but with the same vitality which had been his in the days when she was a little child. Here and there in the world went Rhodo, the voice of the Ry of Rys to do his bidding, to say his say. No minister of a Czar was ever more dreaded or loved. His words were ever few, but his deeds had been many. Now, as he looked at Fleda, his old eyes gleamed, and he showed a double row of teeth, not one of which was imperfect, though he was seventy years of age. "Would you like to come?" he asked. "Would you like to come home to the Ry?" With a cry she flung herself upon him. "Rhodo! Rhodo!" she exclaimed, and now the tears broke forth, and her body shook with sobs. A few moments later he said to her: "It's fifteen years since you kissed me last. I thought you were ashamed of old Rhodo." She did not answer, but looked at him with eyes streaming, drawing back from him. Her embrace was astonishing even to herself, for as a child Rhodo had been a figure of awe to her, and the feeling had deepened as the years had gone on, knowing as she did his work throughout the world for the Ry of Rys. In his face was secrecy, knowledge, and some tragic underthing which gave him, apart from his office, a singular loneliness of figure and manner. He was so closely knit in form; there was such concentration in face, bearing and gesture, that the isolation of his position was greatly deepened. "No, you never kissed me after you were old enough to like or dislike," he said with mournful and ironical reflection. There crept into his face a kind of yearning such as one might feel who beheld afar off a promised land, and yet was denied its joys. Rhodo was wifeless, childless, and had been so for forty years. He had had no intimates among the Romany people. His life he lived alone. That the daughter of the Ry of Rys should kiss him was a thing of which he would dream when deeds were done and over and the shadows threatened. "I will kiss you again in another fifteen years," she said half-smiling through her tears. "But tell me--tell me what has happened." "Jethro Fawe has gone," he answered with a sweeping outward gesture. "Where has he gone?" she asked, apprehension seizing her. "A journey into the night," responded the old man with scorn and wrath in his tone, and his lips were set. "Is he going far?" she asked. "The road you might think long would be short to him," he answered. Her hands became cold; her heart seemed to stop beating. "What road is that?" she asked. She knew, but she must ask. "Everybody knows it; everybody goes it some time or another," he answered darkly. "What was it you said to all of them outside?"--she made a gesture towards the doorway. "There were angry cries, and I heard Jethro Fawe's voice." "Yes, he was blaspheming," remarked the old man grimly. "Tell me what it was you said, and tell me what has happened," she persisted. The old man hesitated a moment, then said grimly: "I told them they must go one way and Jethro Fawe another. I told them the Ry of Rys had said no patrins should mark the road Jethro Fawe's feet walked. I had heard of this gathering here, and I was on my way to bid them begone, for in following the Ry they have broken his command. As I came, I met the woman of this tent who has been your friend. She is a good woman; she has suffered. Her people are gone, but she has a heart for others. I met her. She told me of what that rogue and devil had done and would do. He is the head of the Fawes, but the Ry of Rys is the head of all the Romanys of the world. He has spoken the Word against Jethro, and the Word shall prevail. The Word of the Ry when it is given cannot be withdrawn. It is like the rock on which the hill rests." "They did not go with him?" she asked. "It is not the custom," he answered sardonically. "That is a path a Romany walks alone." Her face was white. "But he has not come to the end of the path--has he?" she asked tremulously. "Who can tell? This day, or twenty years from now, or to-morrow, or next moon, he will come to the end of the path. No one knows, he least of all. He will not see the end, because the road is dark. I don't think it will be soon," he added, because he saw how haggard her face had grown. "No, I don't think it will be soon. He is a Fawe, at the head of all the Fawes; so perhaps there will be time for him to think, and no doubt it will not be soon." "Perhaps it will not be at all. My father spoke, but he can withdraw his word," she urged. Suddenly the old Gipsy's face hardened. A look of dark resolve and iron force came into it. "The Ry will not withdraw. He has spoken, and it must be. If he spoke lightly he is not fit to rule. Unless the word of the Ry of Rys is good against breaking, then the Romanys are no more than scattered leaves at the will of the wind. It is the word of the Ry that holds our folk together. It shall not bless, and it shall not curse in vain." Pitying the girl's face, however, and realizing that the Gorgio life had given her a new view of things; angry with her because it was so, but loving her for herself, he added: "But the night road may be long, though it is lonely, and if it should be that the Ry should pass before the end of the road comes to Jethro, then is Jethro freed, since the Word is gone which binds his feet for the pitfall." "He must not die," she insisted. "Then the Ry of Rys must not live," he rejoined sternly. With a kindly gesture, however, he stretched out his hand. "Come, we shall reach the house of the Ry before the morning," he added. "He is not returned from his journey, and so will not be troubled by having missed you. There will be an hour for beauty-sleep before the sun rises," he continued with the same wide smile with which he greeted her first. Then he lifted up the curtain and passed out into the night. Following him, Fleda saw that the Romanys had broken camp, and only a small handful remained, among them the woman who had befriended her. Fleda went up to her: "I will never forget you," she said. "Will you wear this for me?" she added, and she took from her throat a brooch which she had worn ever since her first days in England, after her great illness there. The woman accepted the brooch. "Lady love," she said, "you've lost your sleep to-night, but that's a loss you can make good. If there's a night's sleep owing you, you can collect the debt some time. No, a night's sleep lost in a tent is nothing, if you're the only one in the tent. But if you're not alone, and you lose a night's sleep, someone else may pick it up, and you might never get it again!" A flush slowly stole over Fleda's face, and a look of horror came into her eyes. She read the parable aright. "Will you let me kiss you?" she said to the woman, and now it was the woman's turn to flush. "You are the daughter of the Ry of Rys," she said almost shyly, yet proudly. "I'm a girl with a debt to pay and can never pay it," Fleda answered, putting her arms impulsively around the woman's neck and kissing her. Then she took the brooch from the woman's hand, and pinned it at her throat. "Think of Fleda of the Druses sometimes," she said, and she laid a hand upon the woman's breast. "Lady love--lady love," said the blunt woman with the pockmarked face, "you've had the worst fright to-night that you'll ever have." She caught Fleda's hand and peered into it. "Yes, it's happiness for you now, and on and on," she added exultingly, and with the fortune-teller's air. "You've passed the danger place, and there'll be wealth and a man who's been in danger, too; and there's children, beautiful children--I see them." In confusion, Fleda snatched her hand away. "Good-bye, you fool-woman," she said impatiently, yet gently, too. "You talk such sense and such nonsense. Good-bye," she added brusquely, but yet she smiled at the woman as she turned away. A moment later she was on her way back to Manitou, but she did not get to her father's house before the break of day; and in the doorway she met Madame Bulteel, whose pale, drawn face proclaimed a sleepless night. "Tell me what has happened? Tell me what has happened?" she asked in distress. Fleda took both her hands. "Before I answer, tell me what has happened here," she said breathlessly. "What news?" Madame Bulteel's face lighted. "Good news," she exclaimed eagerly. "He will see--he will see again?" Fleda asked in great agitation. "The Montreal doctor said that the chances were even," answered Madame Bulteel. "This man from the States says it is a sure thing." With a murmur Fleda sank into a chair, and a faintness came over her. "That's not like a Romany," remarked old Rhodo. "No, it's certainly not like a Romany," remarked Madame Bulteel meaningly. CHAPTER XXIII THE RETURN OF BELISARIUS Grey days in the prairie country do not come very often, but they are very depressing when they arrive. The landscape is not of the luscious kind; it has no close correspondence with a picture by Corot or Constable; sunlight is needed to give it the touch of the habitable and the homelike. It was, therefore, unfortunate for the spirits of the Lebanon people that the meeting summoned by local agitators to discuss with asperity affairs on both sides of the Sagalac should, while starting with fitful sunlight in the early morning, have developed to a bleak greyness by three o'clock in the afternoon, the time set for the meeting. Another strike was imminent in the factories at Manitou and in the railway-shops at Lebanon, due to the stupidity of the policy of Ingolby's successor as to the railways and other financial and manufacturing interests. If he had planned a campaign of maladroitness he could not have more happily fulfilled his object. It was not a good time for reducing wages, or for quarrelling with the Town Councils of Manitou and Lebanon concerning assessments and other matters. November and May always found Manitou, as though to say, "upset." In the former month, men were pouring through the place on their way to the shanties for their Winter's work, and generally celebrating their coming internment by "irrigation"; in the latter month, they were returning from their Winter's imprisonment, thirsty for excitement, and with memories of Winter quarrels inciting them to "have it out of someone." And it was in October, when the shantyman was passing through on his way to the woods--a natural revolutionary, loving trouble as a coyote loves his hole--that labour discontent was practically whipped into action, and the Councils of the two towns were stung into bitterness against the new provocative railway policy. Things looked dark enough. The trouble between the two towns and the change of control and policy of the railways, due to Ingolby's downfall, had greatly shaken land and building values in Lebanon, and a black eye, as it were, had been given to the whole district for the moment. So serious had the situation been regarded that the Mayor of Lebanon, with Halliday the lawyer and another notable citizen, all friends of Ingolby, had "gone East"--as a journey to Montreal, Toronto, or Quebec was generally called--to confer with and make appeal to the directorate of the great railways. They went with some elation and hope, for they had arguments of an unexpected kind in their possession, carefully hidden from the rest of the population. They had returned only the day before the meeting which was to be held in the square in front of the Town Hall, to find that a platform had been built at the very steps of the Town Hall with the assent of the Chief Constable, now recovered from illness and returned to duty. To the Deputy Mayor and the Council, the Chief Constable, on the advice of Gabriel Druse, had said that it was far better to have the meeting in front of the Town Hall where he could, on the instant, summon special constables from within if necessary, while the influence of a well-built platform and the orderly arrangement of a regular meeting were better than a mob oration from the tops of ash- barrels. The signs were ominous. In a day of sunshine the rebellious and discontented spirit does not thrive; on a wet day it is apt to take shelter; on a bleak, grey day men are prone to huddle together in their anger with consequent stimulation of their passions. It was a grey enough day at Lebanon, and dark-faced visitors from Manitou felt the need of Winter clothing as they shiveringly crossed the Sagalac by Ingolby's bridge. The air was raw and searching; Nature was sulky. In the sharp wind the trees shook themselves angrily free of leaves. The taverns were greatly frequented, which was not good for Manitou and Lebanon. Up to the time of the meeting, however, the expected strike had not occurred. This was mainly due to the fact that Felix Marchand, the evil genius of Manitou, had not been seen in the town or in the district for over a week. It was not generally known that he was absent because a man by the name of Dennis, whose wife he had wronged, was dogging him with no good intent. Marchand had treated the woman's warning with contempt, but at sight of her injured husband he had himself withdrawn from the scene of his dark enterprises. His malign influence was therefore not at work at the moment. The tactics of the Lebanon Town Council had been careful and wise. So that the meeting should not be composed only of the roughest elements, they privately urged all responsible citizens to attend, and if possible capture the meeting for law and order and legitimate agitation. That was why Osterhaut, the town-crier, went about with a large dinner-bell announcing the hour of the meeting and admonishing all "good folks" to attend. No one had ever seen Osterhaut quite so cheerful--and he had a bonny cheerfulness on occasion--as on this grisly October day when Nature was very sour and the spirit of the winds was in a "scratchy" mood. But Osterhaut was not more cheerful than Jowett who, in a very undignified way, described the state of his feelings, on receiving a certain confidence from Halliday, the lawyer, and Gabriel Druse, by turning a cart-wheel in the Mayor's office; which certainly was an unusual thing in a man of fifty years of age. It was a people's meeting. No local official was on the platform. Under the influence of alien elements who, though their co-operation was directed against the common enemy, were intensely irritating, the meeting became disorderly. One or two wise men, however, were able to secure order long enough to have the resolution passed for forming a Local Interests Committee whose duty it would be to see that the people were not sacrificed to a "soulless plutocracy." While the names of those who were to form the Committee were being selected, in a storm of disorder arising from the Manitou section of the crowd, the sky overhead grew suddenly brighter and the sun came out, bringing an instant change. It was as though a hand, which had hypnotized them into anger, restored them to good-humour once again. At this moment, to the astonishment of all, there appeared at the back of the platform between Jowett and Halliday the lawyer, the man with a tragic history who had been as one buried for weeks past, who had vanished from their calculations. It was their old champion, Ingolby. Slowly a hush came over the vast assembly as, apparently guided by his friends on the platform, he was given a seat on the right of the Chairman's table. A strange sensation, partly pleasure, partly resentment, passed through the crowd. Why did Ingolby come to remind them of better days gone--of his own rashness, of what they had lost through that rashness? Why had he come? They could not say and do all that they wanted with him present. It was like having a row in the presence of a corpse. He had been a hero to all in Lebanon, but he was not in the picture now. His day was done. It was no place for him. Yet it was a pleasant omen that the sun broke clear and shining over the platform as Ingolby took his seat. Presently in the silence he half-turned his head, murmured something to the Chairman, and then got to his feet, stretching out a hand towards the crowd. For one moment there was silence, a little awestricken, a little painful, and then as from one man a great cheer went up. For a moment they had thought him inconsiderate to come among them in this crisis, for he was no longer of their scheme of things, and must be counted out, a beaten, battered, blind bankrupt. Yet the sight of him on his feet was too much for them. Blind he might be, but there was the personality which had conquered them in the past brave, adroit, reckless, renowned. None of them, or very few of them, had seen him since that night at Barbazon's Tavern, yet in spite of his tragedy there seemed little change in him. There was the same quirk at the corner of the mouth, the same humour in the strong face, not so ruddy now; and strangely enough the eyes were neither guarded by spectacles, nor were they shrunken, glazed, or diseased, so far as could be seen. Stretching out a hand, Ingolby gave a crisp laugh and said: "So there's been trouble since I've been gone, has there?" The corner of his mouth quirked, his eyelids drooped in the old quizzical way, and the crowd laughed in spite of themselves. What a spirit he had to take it all that way! "Got a little deeper in the mire, have you, boys?" he added. "They tell me the town's a frost just now, but it seems nice and warm here in the sun. Yes, boys, it's nice and warm here among you all--the same good old crowd that's made the two towns what they are. The same good old crowd," he repeated, "--and up to the same old games!" At this point he could scarcely proceed for laughter. "Like true pioneers," he went on, "not satisfied with what you've got, but wanting such a lot more--if I might say so in the language of the dictionary, a deuce of a lot more." Almost every sentence had been punctuated by cheers. His personality dominated them as aforetime with some new accent to it; his voice was like that of one given up from the dead, yet come back from the wars alive and loving. They never knew what a figure he was until now when they saw and heard him again, and realized that he was one of the few whom the world calls leaders, because they have in them that immeasurable sympathy which is understanding of men and matters. Yet in the old days there never had been the something that was in his voice now, and in his face there was a great friendliness, a sense of companionship, a Jonathan and David something. He was like a comrade talking to a thousand other comrades. There was a new thing in him and they felt it stir them. They thought he had been made softer by his blindness; and they were not wrong. Even the Manitou section were stilled into sympathy with him. Many of them had heard his speech in Barbazon's Tavern just before the horseshoe struck him down, and they heard him now, much simpler in manner and with that something in his voice and face. Yet it made them shrink a little, too, to see his blind eyes looking out straight before him. It was uncanny. Their idea was that the eyes were as before, but seeing nothing-blank to the world. Presently his hand shot out again. "The same old crowd!" he said. "Just the same--after the same old thing, wanting what we all want: these two places, Manitou and Lebanon, to be boosted till they rule the West and dominate the North. It's good to see you all here again"--he spoke very slowly--"to see you all here together looking for trouble--looking for trouble. There you are, Jim Barager; there you are, Bill Riley; there you are, Mr. William John Thomas McLeary." The last named was the butt of every tavern and every street corner. "There you are, Berry--old brown Berry, my barber." At first the crowd did not quite understand, did not realize that he was actually pointing to the people whom he named, but presently, as Berry the barber threw up his hands with a falsetto cry of understanding, there was a simultaneous, wild rush forward to the platform. "He sees, boys--he sees!" they shouted. Ingolby's hand shot up above them with a gesture of command. "Yes, boys, I see--I see you all. I'm cured. My sight's come back, and what's more"--he snatched from his pocket a folded sheet of paper and held it aloft "what's more, I've got my commission to do the old job again; to boss the railways, to help the two towns. The Mayor brought it back from Montreal yesterday; and together, boys, together, we'll make Manitou and Lebanon the fulcrum of the West, the swivel by which to swing prosperity round our centre." The platform swayed with the wild enthusiasm of the crowd storming it to shake hands with him, when suddenly a bell rang out across the river, wildly, clamorously. A bell only rang like that for a fire. Those on the platform could see a horseman galloping across the bridge. A moment later someone shouted, "It's the Catholic church at Manitou on fire!" CHAPTER XXIV AT LONG LAST Originally the Catholic church at Manitou had stood quite by itself, well back from the river, but as the town grew its dignified isolation was invaded and houses kept creeping nearer and nearer to it. So that when it caught fire there was general danger, because the town possessed only a hand fire-engine. Since the first settlement of the place there had been but few fires, and these had had pretty much their own way. When one broke out the plan was to form a long line of men, who passed buckets of water between the nearest pump, well, or river, and the burning building. It had been useful in incipient fires, but it was child's play in a serious outburst. The mournful fact that Manitou had never equipped itself with a first-class fire-engine or a fire-brigade was now to play a great part in the future career of the two towns. Osterhaut put the thing in a nutshell as he slithered up the main street of Lebanon on his way to the manning of the two fire-engines at the Lebanon fire-brigade station. "This thing is going to link up Lebanon and Manitou like a trace-chain," he declared with a chuckle. "Everything's come at the right minute. Here's Ingolby back on the locomotive, running the good old train of Progress, and here's Ingolby's fire-brigade, which cost Lebanon twenty thousand dollars and himself five thousand, going to put out the fires of hate consuming two loving hamulets. Out with Ingolby's fire-brigade! This is the day the doctor ordered! Hooray!" Osterhaut had a gift of being able to do two things at one time. Nothing prevented him from talking, and though it had probably never been tested, it is quite certain he could have talked under water. His words had been addressed to Jowett, who drew to him on all great occasions like the drafts of a regiment to the main body. Jowett was often very critical of Osterhaut's acts, words and views, but on this occasion they were of one mind. "I guess it's Ingolby's day all right," answered Jowett. "When you say 'Hooray!' Osterhaut, I agree, but you've got better breath'n I have. I can't talk like I used to, but I'm going to ride that fire-engine to save the old Monseenoor's church--or bust." Both Jowett and Osterhaut belonged to the Lebanon fire-brigade, which was composed of only a few permanent professionals, helped by capable amateurs. The two cronies had their way, and a few moments later, wearing brass helmets, they were away with the engine and the hose, leaving the less rapid members of the brigade to follow with the ladders. "What did the Chief do?" asked Osterhaut. "Did you see what happened to him?" Jowett snorted. "What do you think Mr. Max Ingolby, Esquire, would do? He commandeered my sulky and that rawbone I bought from the Reverend Tripple, and away he went like greased lightning over the bridge. I don't know why I drove that trotter to-day, nor why I went on that sulky, for I couldn't hear good where I was, on the outskirts of the meeting; but I done it like as if the Lord had told me. The Chief spotted me soon as the fire-bell rung. In a second he bundled me off, straddled the sulky, and was away 'fore you could say snakes." "I don't believe he's strong enough for all this. He ain't got back to where he was before the war," remarked Osterhaut sagely. "War--that business at Barbazon's! You call that war! It wasn't war," declared Jowett spasmodically, grasping the rail of the fire-engine as the wheel struck a stone and nearly shot them from their seats. "It wasn't war. It was terrible low-down treachery. That Gipsy gent, Fawe, pulled the lever, but Marchand built the scaffold." "Heard anything more about Marchand--where he is?" asked Osterhaut, as the hoofs of the horses clattered on the bridge. "Yes, I've heard--there's news," responded Jowett. "He's been lying drunk at Gautry's caboose ever since yesterday morning at five o'clock, when he got off the West-bound train. Nice sort of guy he is. What's the good of being rich, if you can't be decent Some men are born low. They always find their level, no matter what's done for them, and Marchand's level is the ditch." "Gautry's tavern--that joint!" exclaimed Osterhaut with repulsion. "Well, that ranchman, Dennis What's-his-name, is looking for him, and Felix can't go home or to the usual places. I dunno why he comes back at all till this Dennis feller gits out." "Doesn't make any bones about it, does he? Dennis Doane's the name, ain't it? Marchand spoiled his wife-run away with her up along the Wind River, eh?" asked Osterhaut. Jowett nodded: "Yes, that's it, and Mr. Dennis Doane ain't careful; that's the trouble. He's looking for Marchand, and blabbing what he means to do when he finds him. That ain't good for Dennis. If he kills Marchand, it's murder, and even if the lawyers plead unwritten law, and he ain't hung, and his wife ain't a widow, you can't have much married life in gaol. It don't do you any good to be punished for punishing someone else. Jonas George Almighty--look! Look, Osterhaut!" Jowett's hand was pointing towards the Catholic church, from a window of which smoke was rolling. "There's going to be something to do there. It ain't a false alarm, Snorty." "Well, this engine'll do anything you ask it," rejoined Osterhaut. "When did you have a fire last, Billy?" he shouted to the driver of the engine, as the horses' feet caught the dusty road of Manitou. "Six months," was the reply, "but she's working smooth as music. She's as good as anything 'twixt here and the Atlantic." "It ain't time for Winter fires. I wonder what set it going," said Jowett, shaking his head ominously. "Something wrong with the furnace, I s'pose," returned Osterhaut. "Probably trying the first heatup of the Fall." Osterhaut was right. No one had set the church on fire. The sexton had lighted the furnace for the first time to test it for the Winter's working, but had not stayed to see the result. There was a defect in the furnace, the place had caught fire, and some of the wooden flooring had been burnt before the aged Monseigneur Lourde discovered it. It was he who had given the alarm and had rescued the silver altar-vessels from the sacristy. Manitou offered brute force, physical energy, native athletics, muscle and brawn; but it was of no avail. Five hundred men, with five hundred buckets of water would have had no effect upon the fire at St. Michael's Church at Manitou; willing hands and loving Christian hearts would have been helpless to save the building without the scientific aid of the Lebanon fire-brigade. Ingolby, on founding the brigade, had equipped it to the point where it could deal with any ordinary fire. The work it had to do at St. Michael's was critical. If the church could not be saved, then the wooden houses by which it was surrounded would be swept away, and the whole town would be ablaze; for though it was Autumn, everything was dry, and the wind was sufficient to fan and spread the flames. Lebanon took command of the whole situation, and for the first time in the history of the two towns men worked together under one control like brothers. The red-shirted river-driver from Manitou and the lawyer's clerk from Lebanon; the Presbyterian minister and a Christian brother of the Catholic school; a Salvation Army captain and a black-headed Catholic shantyman; the President of the Order of Good Templars and a switchman member of the Confraternity of the Blessed Sacrament slaved together on the hand-engine, to supplement the work of the two splendid engines of the Lebanon fire-brigade; or else they climbed the roofs of houses, side by side, to throw on the burning shingles the buckets of water handed up to them. For some time it seemed as though the church could not be saved. The fire had made good headway with the flooring, and had also made progress in the chancel and the altar. Skill and organization, combined with good luck, conquered, however. Though a portion of the roof was destroyed and the chancel gutted, the church was not beyond repair, and a few thousand dollars would put it right. There was danger, however, among the smaller houses surrounding the church, and there men from both towns worked with great gallantry. By one of those accidents which make fatality, a small wooden house some distance away, with a roof as dry as wool, caught fire from a flying cinder. As everybody had fled from their own homes and shops to the church, this fire was not noticed until it had made headway. Then it was that the cries of Madame Thibadeau, who was confined to her bed in the house opposite, were heard, and the crowd poured down towards the burning building. It was Gautry's "caboose." Gautry himself had been among the crowd at the church. As Gautry came reeling and plunging down the street, someone shouted, "Is there anyone in the house, Gautry?" Gautry was speechless with drink. He threw his hands up in the air with a gesture of maudlin despair, and shouted something which no one understood. The crowd gathered like magic in the wide street before the house--the one wide street in Manitou--from the roof and upper windows of which flames were bursting. Far up the street was heard the noisy approach of the fire-engine, which now would be able to do little more than save adjoining buildings. Gautry, reeling, mumbling and whining, gestured and wept. A man shook him roughly by the shoulder. "Brace up, get steady, you damned old geezer! Is there any body in the house? Do you hear? Is there anybody in the house?" he roared. Madame Thibadeau, who had dragged herself from her bed, was now at the window of the house opposite. Seeing Fleda Druse passing beneath, she called to her. "Ma'mselle, Felix Marchand is in Gautry's house--drunk!" she cried. "He'll burn to death--but yes, burn to death." In agitation Fleda hastened to where the stranger stood shaking old Gautry. "There's a man asleep inside the house," she said to the stranger, and then all at once she realized who he was. It was Dennis Doane, whose wife was staying in Gabriel Druse's home: it was the husband of Marchand's victim. "A man in there, is there?" exclaimed Dennis. "Well, he's got to be saved." He made a rush for the door. Men called to him to come back, that the roof would fall in. In the smoking doorway he looked back. "What floor?" he shouted. From the window opposite, her fat old face lighted by the blazing roof, Madame Thibadeau called out, "Second floor! It's the second floor!" In an instant Dennis was lost in the smoke and flame. One, two, three minutes passed. A fire-engine arrived; in a moment the hose was paid out to the river near by, and as a fireman seized the nozzle to train the water upon the building the roof fell in with a crash. At that instant Dennis stumbled out of the house, blind with smoke, his clothes aflame, carrying a man in his arms. A score of hands caught them, coats smothered Dennis's burning clothes, and the man he had rescued was carried across the street and laid upon the pavement. "Great glory, it's Marchand! It's Felix Marchand!" someone shouted. "Is he dead?" asked another. "Dead drunk," was the comment of Osterhaut, who had helped to carry him across the street. At that moment Ingolby appeared on the scene. "What's all this?" he asked. Then he recognized Marchand. "He's been playing with fire again," he added sarcastically, and there was a look of contempt on his face. As he said it, Dennis broke through the crowd and made for Marchand. Stooping over, he looked into Marchand's face. "Hell and damnation--you!" he growled. "I risked my life to save you!" With a sudden access of rage his hand suddenly went to his hip-pocket, but another hand was quicker. It was that of Fleda Druse. "No--no," she said, her fingers on his wrist. "You have had your revenge. For the rest of his life he will have to bear his punishment --that you have saved him. Leave him alone. It was to be. It is fate." Dennis Doane was not a man of great thinking capacity. If he got a matter into his head it stayed there till it was dislodged, and dislodging was a real business with him. "If you want her to live with you again, you had better let this be as it is," whispered Fleda, for the crowd were surging round and cheering the new hero. "Just escaped the roof falling in," said one. "Got the strength of two, for a drunk man weighs twice as heavy as a sober one!" exclaimed another admiringly. "Marchand's game is up on the Sagalac," declared a third decisively. The excitement was so great, however, that only a very few of them knew what they were saying, and fewer still knew that Dennis Doane had risked his life to save the man he had been stalking for weeks past. Marchand had been lying on his face in the smoke-filled room when Dennis broke into it, and he had been carried down the stairs without his face being seen at all. To Dennis it was as though he had been made a fool of by Fate or Providence, or whatever controlled the destinies of men; as though the dangerous episode had been arranged to trap him into this situation. Ingolby drew near and laid a hand upon Dennis's arm. Fleda's hand was on the other arm. "You can't kill a man and save him too," said Ingolby quietly, and holding the abashed blue eyes of Dennis. "There were two ways to punish him; taking away his life at great cost, or giving it him at great cost. If you'd taken away his life, the cost would probably have been your own life; in giving him his life you only risked your own; you had a chance to save it. You're a bit scorched-hair, eyebrows, moustache, clothes too, but he'll have brimstone inside him. Come along. Your wife would rather have it this way; and so will you, to-morrow. Come along." Dennis suddenly swung round with a gesture of fury. "He spoiled her- treated her like dirt!" he cried huskily. With savage purpose he made a movement towards where Marchand had lain; but Marchand was gone. With foresight Ingolby had quickly and quietly accomplished that while Dennis's back was turned. "You'd be treating her like a brute if you went to prison for killing Marchand," urged Ingolby. "Give her a chance. She's fretting her heart out." "She wants to go back to Elk Mountain with you," pleaded Fleda gently. "She couldn't do that if the law took hold of you." "Ain't there to be any punishment for men like him?" demanded Dennis, stubbornly yet helplessly. "Why didn't I let him burn! I'd have been willing to burn myself to have seen him sizzling. Ain't men like that to be punished at all?" "When he knows who has saved him, he'll sizzle inside for the rest of his life," remarked Ingolby. "Don't think he hasn't got a heart. He's done wrong and gone wrong; he has belonged to the sewer, but he isn't all bad, and maybe this is the turning-point. Drink'll make a man do anything." "His kind are never sorry for what they do," commented Dennis bitterly. "They're sorry for what comes from what they do, but not for the doing of it. I can't think the thing out. It makes me sick. I was hunting for him to kill him; I was watching this town like a lynx, and I've been and gone and saved his body from Hell on earth." "Well, perhaps you've saved his soul from Hell below," said Fleda. "Ah, come! Your face and hands are burned, your hair is scorched--your clothes need mending. Arabella is waiting for you. Come home with me to Arabella." With sudden resolve Dennis squared his shoulders. "All right," he said. "This thing's too much for me. I can't get the hang of it. I've lost my head." "No, I won't come, I can't come now," said Ingolby, in response to an inquiring look from Fleda. "Not now, but before sundown, please." As Fleda and Dennis disappeared, Ingolby looked back towards the fire. "How good it is to see again even a sight like that," he said. "Nothing that the eyes see is so horrible as the pictures that come to the mind when the eyes don't see. As Dennis said, I can't get the hang of it, but I'll try--I'll try." The burning of Gautry's tavern had been conquered, though not before it was a shell; and the houses on either side had been saved. Lebanon had shown itself masterful in organization, but it had also shown that that which makes enemies is not so deep or great a thing as that which makes friends. Jealous, envious, narrow and bitter Manitou had been, but she now saw Lebanon in a new light. It was a strange truth that if Lebanon had saved the whole town of Manitou, it would not have been the same to the people as the saving of the church. Beneath everything in Manitou-- beneath its dirt and its drunkenness, its irresponsibility and the signs of primeval savagery which were part of its life, there was the tradition of religion, the almost fanatical worship of that which was their master, first and last, in spite of all--the Church. Not one of its citizens but would have turned with horror from the man who cursed his baptism; not one but would want the last sacrament when his time came. Lebanon had saved the Catholic church, the temple of their faith, and in an hour was accomplished what years had not wrought. The fire at the church was out. A few houses had been destroyed, and hundreds of others had been saved. The fire-brigade of Lebanon, with its two engines, had performed prodigies of valour. The work done, the men marched back, but with Osterhaut sitting on one fire-engine and Jowett on the other, through crowds of cheering, roaring workmen, rivermen, shantymen, and black-eyed habitants. When Ingolby walked past Barbazon's Tavern arm in arm with Monseigneur Lourde, to the tiny house where the good priest lived, the old man's face beaming with gratitude, and with a piety which was his very life, the jubilant crowd followed them to the very door. There the sainted pioneer expressed the feeling of the moment when he raised his hands in benediction over them and said: "Peace be unto you and the blessings of peace; and the Lord make his face to shine upon you and give you peace now and for ever more." CHAPTER XXV MAN PROPOSES Before sunset, as Ingolby had promised, he made his way towards Gabriel Druse's house. A month had gone since he had left its hospitality behind. What had happened between that time and this day of fate for Lebanon and Manitou? It is not a long story, and needs but a brief backward look. This had happened: The New York expert performed the operation upon Ingolby's eyes, announced it successful, declared that his sight would be restored, and then vanished with a thousand dollars in his pocket. For days thereafter the suspense was almost more than Fleda could bear. She grew suddenly thin and a little worn, and her big eyes had that look of yearning which only comes to those whose sorrow is for another. Old Gabriel Druse was emphatic in his encouragement, but his face reflected the trouble in that of his daughter. He knew well that if Ingolby remained blind he would never marry Fleda, though he also knew well that, with her nature, almost fanatical in its convictions, she would sacrifice herself, if sacrifice was the name for it. The New York expert had prophesied and promised, but who could tell! There was the chance of failure, and the vanished eye-surgeon had the thousand dollars in his pocket. Two people, however, were cheerful; they were Ingolby and Jim. Jim went about the place humming a nigger melody to himself, and twice he brought Berry the barber to play to his Chief on the cottonfield fiddle. Nigger Jim, though it was two generations gone which linked him with the wilds of the Gold Coast, was the slave of fanatical imagination, and in Ingolby's own mind there was the persistent superstition that all would be well, because of a dream he had had. He dreamed he heard his dead mother's voice in the room, where he lay. She had called him by name, and had said: "Look at me, Max," and he had replied, "I cannot see," and she had said again, "Look at me, my son!" Then he thought that he had looked at her, had seen her face clearly, and it was as the last time they parted, shining and sweet and good. She had said to him in days long gone, that if she could ever speak to him across the Void, she would; and he had the fullest belief now that she had done so. So it was that this dreadnought of industry and organization, in dock for repairs, cheerfully awaited the hour when he would be launched again upon the tide of work-healthy, healed and whole. At last there came the day when, for an instant, the bandages could be removed. There were present, Rockwell, Fleda, and Jim--Jim, pale but grinning, at the foot of the bed; Fleda, with her back against the door and her hands clenched behind her as though to shut out the invading world. Never had her heart beat as it beat now, but her eyes were steady and bright. There was in them, however, a kind of pleading look. She could not see Ingolby's face; did not want to see it when the bandages were taken off; but at the critical moment she shut her eyes and her back held the door, as though a thousand were trying to force an entrance. The first words after the bandages were removed came from Ingolby. "Well, Jim, you look all right!" he said. Swaying as she went, Fleda half-blindly moved towards a chair near by and sank into it. She scarcely heard Jim's reply. "Looking all right yourself, Chief. You won't see much change in this here old town." Ingolby's hand was in Rockwell's. "It's all right, isn't it?" he asked. "You can see it is," answered Rockwell with a chuckle in his voice, and then suddenly he put the bandages round Ingolby's eyes again. "That's enough for today," he said. A moment later the bandages were secured and Rockwell stood back from the bed. "In another week you'll see as well as ever you did," Rockwell said. "I'm proud of you." "Well, I hope I'll see a little better than ever I did," remarked Ingolby meaningly. "I was pretty short-sighted before." At that instant he heard Fleda's footstep approaching the bed. His senses had grown very acute since the advent of his blindness. He held out his hand into space. "What a nice room this is!" he said as her fingers slid into his. "It's the nicest room I was ever in. It's too nice for me. In a few days I'll hand the lease over again to its owner, and go back to the pigsty Jim keeps in Stormont Street." "Well, there ain't any pigs in that sty now, Chief; but it's all ready," said Jim, indignant and sarcastic. It was a lucky speech. It broke the spell of emotion which was greatly straining everybody's endurance. "That's one in the eye for somebody," remarked Rockwell drily. "What would you like for lunch?" asked Fleda, letting go Ingolby's hand, but laying her fingers on his arm for a moment. What would he like for lunch! Here was a man back from the Shadows, from broken hopes and shattered career, from the helplessness and eternal patience of the blind; here he was on the hard, bright highroad again, with a procession of restored things coming towards him, with life and love within his grasp; and the woman to whom it mattered most of all, who was worth it all, and more than all where he was concerned, said to him in this moment of revelation, "What would you like for lunch?" With an air as casually friendly as her own, he put another hand on the fingers lying on his arm, patted them, and said gaily, "Anything I can see. As a drover once said to me, 'I can clean as fur as I can reach.'" In just such a temper also they had parted when he went back to his "pigsty" with Jim. To Gabriel Druse he had said all that one man might say to another without excess of feeling; to Madame Bulteel he had given a gold pencil which he had always worn; to Fleda he gave nothing, said little, but the few words he did say told the story, if not the whole story. "It's a nice room," he said, and she had flushed at his words, "and I've had the best time of my life in it. I'd like to buy it, but I know it's not for sale. Love and money couldn't buy it--isn't that so?" Then had--come days in his own home, still with bandaged eyes, but with the bandages removed for increasing hours every day; yet no one at all in the town knowing the truth except the Mayor, Halliday the lawyer, and one or two others who kept the faith until Ingolby gave them the word to speak. Then had come the Mayor's visit to Montreal, the great meeting, the fire at Manitou, and now Ingolby on the way to his tryst with Fleda. They had met twice only since he had left Gabriel Druse's house, and on the last occasion they had looked each other full in the eyes, and Ingolby had said to her in the moment they had had alone: "I'm going to get back, but I can't do it without you." To this her reply had been, "I hope it's not so bad as that," and she had looked provokingly in his eyes. Now she knew beyond peradventure that he cared for her, and she was almost provoked at herself that when he was in such danger of losing his sight for ever she had caught his head to her breast in the passion of the moment. Many a time when he had been asleep, with gentle fingers she had caressed his hands, his head, his face; but that did not count, because he did not know. He did, however, know of that moment when her passionate heart broke over him in tenderness; and she tried to make him think, by things said since, that it was only pity for his sufferings which made her do it. Ingolby thought of all these things, but in a spirit of understanding, as he went to his tryst with her at sunset on the day when Lebanon and Manitou were reconciled. ......................... He met her walking among the trees, very near the place where they had had their first long talk, months before, when Jethro Fawe was a prisoner in the Hut in the Woods. Then it was warm, singing Summer; now, beneath the feet the red and brown leaves rustled, the trees were stretching up gaunt arms to the Winter, the woods were no longer vocal, and the singing birds had fled, though here and there a black squirrel, not yet gone to Winter quarters, was busy and increasing his stores. A hedgehog scuttled across his path. He smiled as he remembered telling Fleda that once, when he was a little boy, he had eaten hedgehog, and she had asked him if he remembered the Gipsy name for hedgehog--hotchewitchi was the word. Now, as the shapeless creature made for its hole, it was significant of the history of his life during the past Summer. How long it seemed since that day when love first peeped forth from their hearts like a young face at the lattice of a sunlit window. Fleda had warned him of trouble, and that trouble had come! In his mind she was a woman like none he had ever known; she could think greatly, act largely, give tremendously. As he stood waiting, the wonderful, ample life of her seemed to come like a wave towards him. In his philosophy, intellect alone had never been the governing influence. Intellect must find its play through the senses, be vitalized by the elements of physical life, or it could not prevail. There was not one sensual strain in him, but with a sensuous mind he loved the vital thing. He was sure that presently Gabriel Druse would disappear, leaving her behind with him. That was what he meant to ask her to-day--to be and stay with him always. He knew that the Romanys were gathering in the prairie. They had been heard of here and there, and some of them had been seen along the Sagalac, though he knew nothing of that dramatic incident in the woods when Fleda was kidnapped and Jethro Fawe vanished from the scene. As Fleda came towards him, under the same trees which had shielded her from the sun months ago--now nearly naked and bare--something in her look and bearing sharply caught his interest. He asked himself what it was. So often a face familiar over half a lifetime perhaps, suddenly at some new angle, or because, by chance, one has looked at it searchingly, shows a new expression, a new contour never before observed, giving fresh significance to the character. There was that in Ingolby's mind, a depth of desire, a resolve to stake two lives against the chances of Fate, which made him look at Fleda now with a revealing intensity. What was the new thing in her carriage which captured his eye? Presently it flashed upon him--memories of Mexico and the Southern United States; native women with jars of water upon their heads; the erect, well- balanced form; the sure, sinuous movement; the step measured, yet free; the dignity come of carrying the head as though it were a pillar of an Athenian temple, one of the beautiful Caryatides yonder by the AEgean Sea. It smote him as a sudden breath of warm air strikes a face in the night coolness of the veldt. His pulses quickened, he flushed with the soft shock of it. There she was, refined, civilized, gowned like other women, with all the manners and details of civilization and social life about her; yet, in spite of it all, she did not belong; there was about her still something remote and alien. It had not to do with appearance alone, though her eyes were so vivid, and her expression so swift and varying; it was to be found in the whole presence--something mountain- like and daring, something Eastern and reserved and secret, something remote--brooding like a Sphinx, and prophetic like a Sibyl. But suppose that in days to come the thing that did not belong, which was of the East, of the tan, of the River Starzke; suppose that it should-- With a great effort he drove apprehension and the instant's confused wonder far away, and when, come close to him, she smiled, showing the perfect white teeth, and her eyes softened to a dreamy regard of him, all he had ever felt for her in the past months seemed concentrated into this one moment. Yet he did not look like a languishing lover; rather like one inflamed with a great idea or stirred to a great resolve. For quite a minute they stood gazing as though they would read the whole truth in each other's eyes. She was all eager, yet timorous; he was resolved; yet now, when the great moment had come, as it were, like a stammerer fearing the sound of his own voice. There was so much to say that he could not speak. She broke the spell. "I am here. Can't you see me?" she asked in a quizzical, playful tone, her lips trembling a little, but with a smile in her eyes which she vainly tried to veil. She had said the one thing which above all others could have lifted the situation to its real significance. A few weeks ago the eyes now looking into hers and telling a great story were sealed with night, and the mind behind was fretted by the thought of a perpetual darkness. All the tragedy of the past rushed into his mind now, and gave all that was between them, or was to be between them, its real meaning. A beautiful woman is dear to man simply as woman, and not as the woman; virtue has slain its thousands, but physical charm has slain its tens of thousands! Whatever Ingolby's defects, however, infinitely more than the girl's beauty, more than the palpitating life in her, than red lips and bright eye, than warm breast and clasping hand, was something beneath all which would last, or should last, when the hand was palsied and the eye was dim. "I am here. Can't you see me?" All that he had regained in life in her little upper room rushed upon him, and with outstretched arms and in a voice choked with feeling, he said: "See you! Dear God--To see you and all the world once more! It is being born again to me. I haven't learned to talk in my new world yet; but I know three words of the language. I love you. Come--I'll be good to you." She drew back from him, and her look said that she would read him to the uttermost word in his life's book, would see the heart of this wonderful thing; and then with a hungry cry, she flung her arms around his neck and pressed her wet eyes against his flushed cheek. A half-hour later, as they wandered back to the house he suddenly stopped, put his hands on her shoulders, looked earnestly in her eyes, and said: "God's good to me. I hope I'll remember that." "You won't be so blind as to forget," she answered, and she wound her fingers in his with a feeling which was more than the simple love of woman for man. "I've got much more to remember than you have," she added. Suddenly she put both hands upon his breast. "You don't understand; you can't understand, but I tell you that I shall have to fight hard if I am to be all you want me to be. I have got a past to forget; you have a past you want to remember--that's the difference. I must tell you the truth: it's in my veins, that old life, in spite of all. Listen. I ought to have told you, and I meant to tell you before this happened, but when I saw you there, and you held out your arms to me, I forgot everything. Yet still I must tell you now, though perhaps you will hate me when you know. The old life--I hate it, but it calls me, and I have an impulse to go back to it even though I hate it. Listen. I'll tell you what happened the other day. It's terrible, but it's true. I was walking in the woods--" Thereupon she told him of her being seized and carried to the Gipsy camp, and of all that happened there to the last detail. She even had the courage to tell of all she felt there; but when she had finished, with a half-frightened look in her eyes, her face pale, and her hands clasped before her, he did not speak for a minute. Suddenly, however, he seemed to tower over her, his two big hands were raised as though they would strike, and then the palms spread out and enclosed her cheeks lovingly, and his eyes fastened upon hers. "I know," he said gently. "I always understood--everything; but you'll never have the same fight again, because I'll be with you. You understand, Fleda--I'll be with you." With an exclamation of gratitude she nestled into his arms. Before the thrill of his embrace had passed from their pulses, they heard the breaking of twigs under a quick footstep, and Rhodo stood before them. "Come," he said to Fleda. His voice was as solemn and strange as his manner. "Come!" he repeated peremptorily. Fleda sprang to his side. "Is it my father? What has happened?" she cried. The old man waved her aside, and pointed toward the house. CHAPTER XXVI THE SLEEPER The Ry of Rys sat in his huge armchair, his broad-brimmed hat on his knee in front of him. One hand rested on the chair-arm, the other clasped the hat as though he would put it on, but his head was fallen forward on his breast. It was a picture of profound repose, but it was the repose of death. It was evident that the Ry had prepared to leave the house, had felt a sudden weakness, and had taken to his chair to recover himself. As was evident from the normal way in which his fingers held his hat, and his hand rested on the chair-arm, death had come as gently as a beam of light. With his stick lying on the table beside him, and his hat on his knee, he was like one who rested a moment before renewing a journey. There could not have been a pang in his passing. He had gone as most men wish to go--in the midst of the business of life, doing the usual things, and so passing into the sphere of Eternity as one would go from this room to that. Only a few days before had he yielded up his temporary position as chief constable, and had spent almost every hour since in conference with Rhodo. What he had planned would never be known to his daughter now. It was Rhodo himself who had found his master with head bowed before the Master of all men. Before Fleda entered the room she knew what awaited her; a merciful intuition had blunted the shock to her senses. Yet when she saw the Ry on his throne of death a moan broke from her lips like that of one who sees for the last time someone indelibly dear, and turns to face strange paths with uncertain feet. She did not go to the giant figure seated in the chair. In what she did there was no panic or hysteria of lacerated heart and shocked sense; she only sank to her knees in the room a few feet away from him, and looked at him. "Father! Oh, Ry! Oh, my Ry!" she whispered in agony and admiration, too, and kept on whispering. Fleda had whispered to him in such awe, not only because he was her father, but because he was so much a man among men, a giant, with a great, lumbering mind, slow to conceive, but moving in a large, impressive way when once conception came. To her he had been more than father; he had been a patriarch, a leader, a viking, capable of the fury of a Scythian lord, but with the tenderness of a peasant father to his first child. "My Ry! My father! Oh, my Ry of Rys!" she kept murmuring to herself. On either side of her, but a few feet behind, stood Rhodo and Ingolby. Presently in a low, firm voice Rhodo spoke. "The Ry of Rys is dead, but his daughter must stand upon her feet, and in his place speak for him. Is it not well with him? He sleeps. Sleep is better than pain. Let his daughter speak." Slowly Fleda arose. Not so much what Rhodo had said as the meaning in his voice, aroused her to a situation which she must face. Rhodo had said that she must speak for her father. What did it mean? "What is it you wish to say to me, Rhodo?" she asked. "What I have to say is for your ears only," was the low reply. "I will go," said Ingolby. "But is it a time for talk?" He made a motion towards the dead man. "There are things to be said which can only be said now, and things to be done which can only be done according to what is said now," grimly remarked Rhodo. "I wish you to remain," said Fleda to Ingolby with resolution in her bearing as she placed herself beside the chair where the dead man sat. "What is it you want to say to me?" she asked Rhodo again. "Must a Romany bare his soul before a stranger?" replied Rhodo. "Must a man who has been the voice of the Ry of Rys for the long years have no words face to face with the Ry's daughter now that he is gone? Must the secret of the dead be spoken before the robber of the dead--" It was plain that some great passion was working in the man, that it was wise and right to humour him, and Ingolby intervened. "I will not remain," he said to Fleda. To Rhodo he added: "I am not a robber of the dead. That's high-faluting talk. What I have of his was given to me by him. She was for me if I could win her. He said so. This is a free country. I will wait outside," he added to Fleda. She made a gesture as though she would detain him, but she realized that the hour of her fate was at hand, and that the old life and the new were face to face, Rhodo standing for one and she for the other. When they were alone, Rhodo's eyes softened, and he came near to her. "You asked me what I wished to tell you," he said. "See then, I want to tell you that it is for you to take the place of the dead Ry. Everywhere in the world where the Romanys wander they will rejoice to hear that a Druse rules us still. The word of the Ry of Rys was law; what he wished to be done was done; what he wished to be undone was undone. Because of you he hid himself from his people; because of you I was for ever wandering, keeping the peace by lies for love of the Ry and for love of you." His voice shook. "Since your mother died--and she was kin of mine--you were to me the soul of the Romany people everywhere. As a barren woman loves a child, so I loved you. I loved you for the sake of your mother. I gave her to the Ry, who was the better man, that she might be great and well placed. So it is I would have you be ruler over us, and I would serve you as I served your father until I, also, fall asleep." "It is too late," Fleda answered, and there was great emotion in her voice now. "I am no longer a Romany. I am my father's daughter, but I have not been a Romany since I was ill in England. I will not go back; I shall go with the man I love, to be his wife, here, in the Gorgio world. You believed my father when he spoke; well, believe me--I speak the truth. It was my father's will that I should be what I am, and do what I am now doing. Nothing can alter me." "If it be that Jethro Fawe is still alive he is free from the Sentence of the Patrin, and he will become the Ry of Rys," said the old man with sudden passion. "It may be so. I hope it is so. He is of the blood, and I pray that Jethro has escaped the sentence which my father passed," answered Fleda. "By the River Starzke it was ordained that he should succeed my father, marrying me. Let him succeed." The old man raised both hands, and made a gesture as though he would drive her from his sight. "My life has been wasted," he said. "I wish I were also in death beside him." He gazed at the dead man with the affection of a clansman for his chief. Fleda came up close to him. "Rhodo! Rhodo!" she said gently and sadly. "Think of him and all he was, and not of me. Suppose I had died in England--think of it in that way. Let me be dead to you and to all Romanys, and then you will think no evil." The old man drew himself up. "Let no more be said," he replied. "Let it end here. The Ry of Rys is dead. His body and all things that are his belong now to his people. Say farewell to him," he added, with authority. "You will take him away?" Fleda asked. Rhodo inclined his head. "When the doctors have testified, we will take him with us. Say your farewells," he added, with gesture of command. A cry of protest rose from Fleda's soul, and yet she knew it was what the Ry would have wished, that he should be buried by his own people where they would. Slowly she drew near to the dead man, and leaned over and kissed his shaggy head. She did not seek to look into the sightless eyes; the illusion of sleep was so great that she wished to keep this picture of him while she lived; but she touched the cold hand which held the hat upon the knee and the other that lay upon the chair-arm. Then, with a mist before her eyes, she passed from the room. CHAPTER XXVII THE WORLD FOR SALE As though by magic, like the pictures of a dream, out of the horizon, in caravans, by train, on horseback, the Romany people gathered to the obsequies of their chief and king. For months, hundreds of them had not been very far away. Unobtrusive, silent, they had waited, watched, till the Ry of Rys should come back home again. Home to them was the open road where Romanys trailed or camped the world over. A clot of blood in the heart had been the verdict of the doctors; and Lebanon and Manitou had watched the Ry of Rys carried by his own people to the open prairie near to Tekewani's reservation. There, in the hours between the midnight and the dawn, all Gabriel Druse's personal belongings--the clothes, the chair in which he sat, the table at which he ate, the bed in which he slept, were brought forth and made into a pyre, as was the Romany way. Nothing personal of his chattels remained behind. The walking-stick which lay beside him in the moment of his death was the last thing placed upon the pyre. Then came the match, and the flames made ashes of all those things which once he called his own. Standing apart, Tekewani and his braves watched the ceremonial of fire with a sympathy born of primitive custom. It was all in tune with the traditions of their race. As dawn broke, and its rosy light valanced the horizon, a great procession moved away from the River Sagalac towards the East, to which all wandering and Oriental peoples turn their eyes. With it, all that was mortal of Gabriel Druse went to its hidden burial. Only to the Romany people would his last resting-place be known; it would be as obscure as the grave of him who was laid: "By Nebo's lonely mountain, On this side Jordan's wave." Many people from Manitou and Lebanon watched the long procession pass, and two remained until the last wagon had disappeared over the crest of the prairie. Behind them were the tents of the Indian reservation; before them was the alert morn and the rising sun; and ever moving on to the rest his body had earned was the great chief lovingly attended by his own Romany folk; while his daughter, forbidden to share in the ceremonial of race, remained with the stranger. With a face as pale and cold as the western sky, the desolation of this last parting and a tragic renunciation giving her a deathly beauty, Fleda stood beside the man who must hereafter be, to her, father, people, and all else. Shuddering with the pain of this hour, yet resolved to begin the new life here and now, as the old life faded before her eyes, she turned to him, and, with the passing of the last Romany over the crest of the hill, she said bravely: "I want to help you do the big things. They will be yours. The world is all for you yet." Ingolby shook his head. He had had his Moscow. His was the true measure of things now; his lesson had been learned; values were got by new standards; he knew in a real sense the things that mattered. "I have you--the world for sale!" he said, with the air of one discarding a useless thing. GLOSSARY OF ROMANY WORDS Bosh----fiddle, noise, music. Bor----an exclamation (literally, a hedge). Chal----lad, fellow. Chi----child, daughter, girl. Dadia----an exclamation. Dordi----an exclamation. Hotchewitchi----hedgehog. Kek----no, none. Koppa----blanket. Mi Duvel----My God. Patrin----small heaps of grass, or leaves, or twigs, or string, laid at cross-roads to indicate the route that must be followed. Pral----brother or friend. Rinkne rakli----pretty girl. Ry----King or ruler. Tan----tent, camp. Vellgouris----fair. ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS: Agony in thinking about the things we're never going to do I don't believe in walking just for the sake of walking It's no good simply going--you've got to go somewhere Most honest thing I ever heard, but it's not the most truthful Women may leave you in the bright days 
30039	----	[Frontispiece: The Arctic Council, discussing a plan of search for Sir John Franklin. From the National Portrait Gallery.] ADVENTURERS OF THE FAR NORTH A Chronicle of the Frozen Seas BY STEPHEN LEACOCK TORONTO GLASGOW, BROOK & COMPANY 1914 _Copyright in all Countries subscribing to the Berne Convention_ {ix} CONTENTS Page I. THE GREAT ELIZABETHAN NAVIGATORS . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1 II. HEARNE'S OVERLAND JOURNEY TO THE NORTHERN OCEAN . . . . . 34 III. MACKENZIE DESCENDS THE GREAT RIVER OF THE NORTH . . . . . 70 IV. THE MEMORABLE EXPLOITS OF SIR JOHN FRANKLIN . . . . . . . 89 V. THE TRAGEDY OF FRANKLIN'S FATE . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 112 VI. EPILOGUE. THE CONQUEST OF THE POLE . . . . . . . . . . . . 136 BIBLIOGRAPHICAL NOTE . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 147 INDEX . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 149 {xi} ILLUSTRATIONS THE ARCTIC COUNCIL DISCUSSING A PLAN OF SEARCH FOR SIR JOHN FRANKLIN . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . _Frontispiece_ From the National Portrait Gallery. ROUTES OF EXPLORERS IN THE FAR NORTH . . . . . . . . _Facing page_ 1 Map by Bartholomew. SAMUEL HEARNE . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . " " 42 From the Dominion Archives. FORT CHURCHILL OR PRINCE OF WALES . . . . . . . . . . " " 50 From a drawing by Samuel Hearne. SIR ALEXANDER MACKENZIE . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . " " 70 From a painting by Lawrence. SIR JOHN FRANKLIN . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . " " 112 From the National Portrait Gallery. [Illustration: Routes of Explorers in the Far North] {1} CHAPTER I THE GREAT ELIZABETHAN NAVIGATORS The map of Canada offers to the eye and to the imagination a vast country more than three thousand miles in width. Its eastern face presents a broken outline to the wild surges of the Atlantic. Its western coast commands from majestic heights the broad bosom of the Pacific. Along its southern boundary is a fertile country of lake and plain and woodland, loud already with the murmur of a rising industry, and in summer waving with the golden wealth of the harvest. But on its northern side Canada is set fast against the frozen seas of the Pole and the desolate region of barren rock and ice-bound island that is joined to the polar ocean by a common mantle of snow. For hundreds and hundreds of miles the vast fortress of ice rears its battlements of shining glaciers. The unending sunshine of the Arctic summer falls upon untrodden snow. The cold light of the {2} aurora illumines in winter an endless desolation. There is no sound, save when at times the melting water falls from the glistening sides of some vast pinnacle of ice, or when the leaden sea forces its tide between the rock-bound islands. Here in this vast territory civilization has no part and man no place. Life struggles northward only to die out in the Arctic cold. The green woods of the lake district and the blossoms of the prairies are left behind. The fertility of the Great West gives place to the rock-strewn wilderness of the barren grounds. A stunted and deformed vegetation fights its way to the Arctic Circle. Rude grasses and thin moss cling desperately to the naked rock. Animal life pushes even farther. The seas of the frozen ocean still afford a sustenance. Even mankind is found eking out a savage livelihood on the shores of the northern sea. But gradually all fades, until nothing is left but the endless plain of snow, stretching towards the Pole. Yet this frozen northern land and these forbidding seas have their history. Deeds were here done as great in valour as those which led to the conquest of a Mexico or the acquisition of a Peru. But unlike the captains and conquerors of the South, the explorers have {3} come and gone and left behind no trace of their passage. Their hopes of a land of gold, their vision of a new sea-way round the world, are among the forgotten dreams of the past. Robbed of its empty secret, the North still stretches silent and untenanted with nothing but the splendid record of human courage to illuminate its annals. For us in our own day, the romance that once clung about the northern seas has drifted well nigh to oblivion. To understand it we must turn back in fancy three hundred years. We must picture to ourselves the aspect of the New World at the time when Elizabeth sat on the throne of England, and when the kingdoms of western Europe, Britain, France, and Spain, were rising from the confusion of the Middle Ages to national greatness. The existence of the New World had been known for nearly a hundred years. But it still remained shadowed in mystery and uncertainty. It was known that America lay as a vast continent, or island, as men often called it then, midway between Europe and the great empires of the East. Columbus, and after him Verrazano and others, had explored its eastern coast, finding everywhere a land of dense forests, peopled here and there with naked savages that fled at their {4} approach. The servants of the king of Spain had penetrated its central part and reaped, in the spoils of Mexico, the reward of their savage bravery. From the central isthmus Balboa had first seen the broad expanse of the Pacific. On this ocean the Spaniard Pizarro had been borne to the conquest of Peru. Even before that conquest Magellan had passed the strait that bears his name, and had sailed westward from America over the vast space that led to the island archipelago of Eastern Asia. Far towards the northern end of the great island, the fishermen of the Channel ports had found their way in yearly sailings to the cod banks of Newfoundland. There they had witnessed the silent procession of the great icebergs that swept out of the frozen seas of the north, and spoke of oceans still unknown, leading one knew not whither. The boldest of such sailors, one Jacques Cartier, fighting his way westward had entered a great gulf that yawned in the opening side of the continent, and from it he had advanced up a vast river, the like of which no man had seen. Hundreds of miles from the gulf he had found villages of savages, who pointed still westward and told him of wonderful countries of gold and silver that lay beyond the palisaded settlement of Hochelaga. {5} But the discoveries of Columbus and those who followed him had not solved but had only opened the mystery of the western seas. True, a way to the Asiatic empire had been found. The road discovered by the Portuguese round the base of Africa was known. But it was long and arduous beyond description. Even more arduous was the sea-way found by Magellan: the whole side of the continent must be traversed. The dreadful terrors of the straits that separate South America from the Land of Fire must be essayed: and beyond that a voyage of thirteen thousand miles across the Pacific, during which the little caravels must slowly make their way northward again till the latitude of Cathay was reached, parallel to that of Spain itself. For any other sea-way to Asia the known coast-line of America offered an impassable barrier. In only one region, and that as yet unknown, might an easier and more direct way be found towards the eastern empires. This was by way of the northern seas, either round the top of Asia or, more direct still perhaps, by entering those ice-bound seas that lay beyond the Great Banks of Newfoundland and the coastal waters visited by Jacques Cartier. Into the entrance of these waters the ships of the Cabots flying the {6} English flag had already made their way at the close of the fifteenth century. They seem to have reached as far, or nearly as far, as the northern limits of Labrador, and Sebastian Cabot had said that beyond the point reached by their ships the sea opened out before them to the west. No further exploration was made, indeed, for three-quarters of a century after the Cabots, but from this time on the idea of a North-West Passage and the possibility of a great achievement in this direction remained as a tradition with English seamen. It was natural, then, that the English sailors of the sixteenth century should turn to the northern seas. The eastern passage, from the German Ocean round the top of Russia and Asia, was first attempted. As early as the reign of Edward the Sixth, a company of adventurers, commonly called the Muscovy Company, sailed their ships round the north of Norway and opened a connection with Russia by way of the White Sea. But the sailing masters of the company tried in vain to find a passage in this direction to the east. Their ships reached as far as the Kara Sea at about the point where the present boundary of European Russia separates it from Siberia. Beyond this extended countless leagues of {7} impassable ice and the rock-bound desolation of Northern Asia. It remained to seek a passage in the opposite direction by way of the Arctic seas that lay above America. To find such a passage and with it a ready access to Cathay and the Indies became one of the great ambitions of the Elizabethan age. There is no period when great things might better have been attempted. It was an epoch of wonderful national activity and progress: the spirit of the nation was being formed anew in the Protestant Reformation and in the rising conflict with Spain. It was the age of Drake, of Raleigh, of Shakespeare, the time at which were aroused those wide ambitions which were to give birth to the British Empire. In thinking of the exploits of these Elizabethan sailors in the Arctic seas, we must try to place ourselves at their point of view, and dismiss from our minds our own knowledge of the desolate and hopeless region against which their efforts were directed. The existence of Greenland, often called Frisland, and of Labrador was known from the voyages of the Cabots and the Corte-Reals. It was known that between these two coasts the sea swept in a powerful current out of the north. Of {8} what lay beyond nothing was known. There seemed no reason why Frobisher, or Davis, or Henry Hudson might not find the land trend away to the south again and thus offer, after a brief transit of the dangerous waters of the north, a smooth and easy passage over the Pacific. Perhaps we can best understand the hopes and ambitions of the time if we turn to the writings of the Elizabethans themselves. One of the greatest of them, Sir Humphrey Gilbert, afterwards lost in the northern seas, wrote down at large his reasons for believing that the passage was feasible and that its discovery would be fraught with the greatest profit to the nation. In his _Discourse to prove a North-West Passage to Cathay_, Gilbert argues that all writers from Plato down have spoken of a great island out in the Atlantic; that this island is America which must thus have a water passage all round it; that the ocean currents moving to the west across the Atlantic and driven along its coast, as Cartier saw, past Newfoundland, evidently show that the water runs on round the top of America. A North-West Passage must therefore exist. Of the advantages to be derived from its discovery Gilbert was in no doubt. {9} It were the only way for our princes [he wrote] to possess themselves of the wealth of all the east parts of the world which is infinite. Through the shortness of the voyage, we should be able to sell all manner of merchandise brought from thence far better cheap than either the Portugal or Spaniard doth or may do. Also we might sail to divers very rich countries, both civil and others, out of both their jurisdiction [that of the Portuguese and Spaniards], where there is to be found great abundance of gold, silver, precious stones, cloth of gold, silks, all manner of spices, grocery wares, and other kinds of merchandise of an inestimable price. Gilbert also speaks of the possibility of colonizing the regions thus to be discovered. The quaint language in which he describes the chances of what is now called 'imperial expansion' is not without its irony: We might inhabit some part of those countries [he says], and settle there such needy people of our country which now trouble the commonwealth, and through want here at home are enforced to commit {10} outrageous offences whereby they are daily consumed with the gallows. We shall also have occasion to set poor men's children to learn handicrafts and thereby to make trifles and such like, which the Indians and those people do much esteem: by reason whereof there should be none occasion to have our country cumbered with loiterers, vagabonds, and such like idle persons. Undoubtedly Gilbert's way of thinking was also that of many of the great statesmen and sailors of his day. Especially was this the case with Sir Martin Frobisher, a man, we are told, 'thoroughly furnished with knowledge of the sphere and all other skills appertaining to the art of navigation.' The North-West Passage became the dream of Frobisher's ambition. Year after year he vainly besought the queen's councillors to sanction an expedition. But the opposition of the powerful Muscovy Company was thrown against the project. Frobisher, although supported by the influence of the Earl of Warwick, agitated and argued in vain for fifteen years, till at last in 1574 the necessary licence was granted and the countenance of the queen was assured to the enterprise. Even then about two years {11} passed before the preparations could be completed. Frobisher's first expedition was on a humble scale. His company numbered in all thirty-five men. They embarked in two small barques, the _Gabriel_ and the _Michael_, neither of them of more than twenty-five tons, and a pinnace of ten tons. They carried food for a year. The ships dropped down the Thames on June 7, 1576, and as they passed Greenwich, where the queen's court was, the little vessels made a brave show by the discharge of their ordnance. Elizabeth waved her hand from a window to the departing ships and sent one of her gentlemen aboard to say that she had 'a good liking of their doings.' From such small acts of royal graciousness has often sprung a wonderful devotion. Frobisher's little ships struck boldly out on the Atlantic. They ran northward first, and crossed the ocean along the parallel of sixty degrees north latitude. Favourable winds and strong gales bore them rapidly across the sea. On July 11, they sighted the southern capes of Greenland, or Frisland, as they called it, that rose like pinnacles of steeples, snow-crowned and glittering on the horizon. They essayed a landing, but the masses of shore ice and the {12} drifting fog baffled their efforts. Here off Cape Desolation the full fury of the Arctic gales broke upon their ships. The little pinnace foundered with all hands. The _Michael_ was separated from her consort in the storm, and her captain, losing heart, made his way back to England to report Frobisher cast away. But no terror of the sea could force Frobisher from his purpose. With his single ship the _Gabriel_, its mast sprung, its top-mast carried overboard in the storm, he drove on towards the west. He was 'determined,' so writes a chronicler of his voyages, 'to bring true proof of what land and sea might be so far to the northwestwards beyond any that man hath heretofore discovered.' His efforts were rewarded. On July 28, a tall headland rose on the horizon, Queen Elizabeth's Foreland, so Frobisher named it. As the _Gabriel_ approached, a deep sound studded with rocky islands at its mouth opened to view. Its position shows that the vessel had been carried northward and westward past the coast of Labrador and the entrance of Hudson Strait. The voyagers had found their way to the vast polar island now known as Baffin Island. Into this, at the point which the ship had reached, there extends a deep inlet, {13} called after its discoverer, Frobisher's Strait. Frobisher had found a new land, and its form, with a great sea passage running westward and land both north and south of it, made him think that this was truly the highway to the Orient. He judged that the land seen to the north was part of Asia, reaching out and overlapping the American continent. For many days heavy weather and fog and the danger of the drifting ice prevented a landing. The month of August opened with calm seas and milder weather. Frobisher and his men were able to land in the ship's boat. They found before them a desolate and uninviting prospect, a rock-bound coast fringed with islands and with the huge masses of grounded icebergs. For nearly a month Frobisher's ship stood on and off the coast. Fresh water was taken on board. In a convenient spot the ship was beached and at low tide repairs were made and leaks were stopped in the strained timbers of her hull. In the third week, canoes of savages were seen, and presently the natives were induced to come on board the _Gabriel_ and barter furs for looking-glasses and trinkets. The savages were 'like Tartars with long black hair, broad faces, and flat noses.' They seemed friendly and well-disposed. Five of the English {14} sailors ventured to join the natives on land, contrary to the express orders of the captain. They never returned, nor could any of the savages be afterwards induced to come within reach. One man only, paddling in the sea in his skin canoe, was enticed to the ship's side by the tinkling of a little bell, and so seized and carried away. But his own sailors, though he vainly searched the coast, Frobisher saw no more. After a week's delay, the _Gabriel_ set sail (on August 26) for home, and in spite of terrific gales was safely back at her anchorage at Harwich early in October. Contrary to what we should suppose, the voyage was viewed as a brilliant success. The queen herself named the newly found rocks and islands Meta Incognita. Frobisher was at once 'specially famous for the great hope he brought of a passage to Cathay.' A strange-looking piece of black rock that had been carried home in the _Gabriel_ was pronounced by a metallurgist, one Baptista Agnello, to contain gold; true, Agnello admitted in confidence that he had 'coaxed nature' to find the precious metal. But the rumour of the thing was enough. The cupidity of the London merchants was added to the ambitions of the court. There was no trouble about finding {15} ships and immediate funds for a second expedition. The new enterprise was carried out in the following year (1577). The _Gabriel_ and the _Michael_ sailed again, and with them one of the queen's ships, the _Aid_. This time the company included a number of soldiers and gentlemen adventurers. The main object was not the discovery of the passage but the search for gold. The expedition sailed out of Harwich on May 31, 1577, following the route by the north of Scotland. A week's sail brought the ships 'with a merrie wind' to the Orkneys. Here a day or so was spent in obtaining water. The inhabitants of these remote islands were found living in stone huts in a condition almost as primitive as that of American savages. 'The good man, wife, children, and other members of the family,' wrote Master Settle, one of Frobisher's company, 'eat and sleep on one side of the house and the cattle on the other, very beastly and rude.' From the Orkneys the ships pursued a very northerly course, entering within the Arctic Circle and sailing in the perpetual sunlight of the polar day. Near Iceland they saw huge pine trees drifting, roots and all, across the ocean. Wild storms {16} beset them as they passed the desolate capes of Greenland. At length, on July 16, the navigators found themselves off the headlands of Meta Incognita. Here Frobisher and his men spent the summer. The coast and waters were searched as far as the inclement climate allowed. The savages were fierce and unfriendly. A few poor rags of clothing found among the rocks bespoke the fate of the sailors of the year before. Fierce conflicts with the natives followed. Several were captured. One woman so hideous and wrinkled with age that the mariners thought her a witch was released in pious awe. A younger woman, with a baby at her back, was carried captive to the English ships. The natives in return watched their opportunity and fell fiercely on the English as occasion offered, leaping headlong from the rocks into the sea rather than submit to capture. To the perils of conflict was added the perpetual danger of moving ice. Even in the summer seas, great gales blew and giant masses of ice drove furiously through the strait. No passage was possible. In vain Frobisher landed on both the northern and the southern sides and tried to penetrate the rugged country. All about the land was barren and forbidding. {17} Mountains of rough stone crowned with snow blocked the way. No trees were seen and no vegetation except a scant grass here and there upon the flatter spaces of the rocks. But neither the terrors of the ice nor the fear of the savages could damp the ardour of the explorers. The landing of Frobisher and his men on Meta Incognita was carried out with something of the pomp, dear to an age of chivalrous display, that marked the landing of Columbus on the tropic island of San Salvador. The captain and his men moved in marching order: they knelt together on the barren rock to offer thanks to God and to invoke a blessing on their queen. Great cairns of stone were piled high here and there, as a sign of England's sovereignty, while as they advanced against the rugged hills of the interior, the banner of their country was proudly carried in the van. Their thoughts were not of glory only. It was with the ardour of treasure-seekers that they fell to their task, forgetting in the lust for gold the chill horror of their surroundings; and, when the Arctic sunlight glittered on the splintered edges of the rocks, the crevices of the barren stone seemed to the excited minds of the explorers to be filled with virgin gold, carried by subterranean {18} streams. The three ships were loaded deep with worthless stone, a fitting irony on their quest. Then, at the end of August, they were turned again eastward for England. Tempest and fog enveloped their passage. The ships were driven asunder. Each thought the others lost. But, by good fortune, all safely arrived, the captain's ship landing at Milford Haven, the others at Bristol and Yarmouth. Fortunately for Frobisher the worthless character of the freight that he brought home was not readily made clear by the crude methods of the day. For the next summer found him again off the shores of Meta Incognita eagerly searching for new mines. This time he bore with him a large company and ample equipment. Fifteen ships in all sailed under his command. Among his company were miners and artificers. The frames of a house, ready to set up, were borne in the vessels. Felton, a ship's captain, and a group of Frobisher's gentlemen were to be left behind to spend the winter in the new land. From the first the voyage was inauspicious. The ships had scarcely entered the straits before a great storm broke upon them. Land and sea were blotted out in driving snow. The open water into which they had sailed was soon {19} filled with great masses of ice which the tempest cast furiously against the ships. To their horror the barque _Dionise_, rammed by the ice, went down in the swirling waters. With her she carried all her cargo, including a part of the timbers of the house destined for the winter's habitation. But the stout courage of the mariners was undismayed. All through the evening and the night they fought against the ice: with capstan bars, with boats' oars, and with great planks they thrust it from the ships. Some of the men leaped down upon the moving floes and bore with might and main against the ships to break the shock. At times the little vessels were lifted clear out of the sea, their sides torn with the fierce blows of the ice-pack, their seams strained and leaking. All night they looked for instant death. But, with the coming of the morning, the wind shifted to the west and cleared the ice from the sea, and God sent to the mariners, so runs their chronicle, 'so pleasant a day as the like we had not of a long time before, as after punishment consolation.' But their dangers were not ended. As the ships stood on and off the land, they fell in with a great berg of ice that reared its height four hundred feet above the masts, and lay {20} extended for a half mile in length. This they avoided. But a few days later, while they were still awaiting a landing, a great mist rolled down upon the seas, so that for five days and nights all was obscurity and no ship could see its consorts. Current and tide drove the explorers to and fro till they drifted away from the mouth of Frobisher Strait southward and westward. Then another great sound opened before them to the west. This was the passage of Hudson Strait, and, had Frobisher followed it, he would have found the vast inland sea of Hudson Bay open to his exploration. But, intent upon his search for ore, he fought his way back to the inhospitable waters that bear his name. There at an island which had been christened the Countess of Warwick's Island, the fleet was able to assemble by August 1. But the ill-fortune of the enterprise demanded the abandonment of all idea of settlement. Frobisher and his men made haste to load their vessels with the worthless rock which abounded in the district. In one 'great black island alone' there was discovered such a quantity of it that 'if the goodness might answer the plenty thereof, it might reasonably suffice all the gold-gluttons of the world.' In leaving Meta Incognita, Frobisher and his {21} companions by no means intended that the enterprise should be definitely abandoned. Such timbers of the house as remained they buried for use next year. A little building, or fort, of stone was erected, to test whether it would stand against the frost of the Arctic winter. In it were set a number of little toys, bells, and knives to tempt the cupidity of the Eskimos, who had grown wary and hostile to the newcomers. Pease, corn, and grain were sown in the scant soil as a provision for the following summer. On the last day of August, the fleet departed on its homeward voyage. The passage was long and stormy. The ships were scattered and found their way home as best they might, some to one harbour and some to another. But by the beginning of October, the entire fleet was safely back in its own waters. The expectations of a speedy return to Meta Incognita were doomed to disappointment. The ore that the ships carried proved to be but worthless rock, and from the commercial point of view the whole expedition was a failure. Frobisher was never able to repeat his attempt to find the North-West Passage. In its existence his faith remained as firm as ever. But, although his three voyages resulted in no discoveries of {22} profit to England, his name should stand high on the roll of honour of great English sea-captains. He brought to bear on his task not only the splendid courage of his age, but also the earnest devotion and intense religious spirit which marked the best men of the period of the Reformation. The first article of Frobisher's standing orders to his fleet enjoined his men to banish swearing, dice, and card-playing and to worship God twice a day in the service of the Church of England. The watchword of the fleet, to be called out in fog or darkness as a means of recognition was 'Before the World was God,' and the answer shouted back across the darkness, 'After God came Christ His Son.' At all convenient times and places, sermons were preached to the company of the fleet by Frobisher's chaplain, Master Wolfall, a godly man who had left behind in England a 'large living and a good honest woman to wife and very towardly children,' in order to spread the Gospel in the new land. Frobisher's personal bravery was of the highest order. We read how in the rage of a storm he would venture tasks from which even his boldest sailors shrank in fear. Once, when his ship was thrown on her beam ends and the water poured into the waist, the commander worked his way along {23} the lee side of the vessel, engulfed in the roaring surges, to free the sheets. With these qualities Martin Frobisher combined a singular humanity towards both those whom he commanded and natives with whom he dealt. It is to be regretted that a man of such high character and ability should have spent his efforts on so vain a task. Although the gold mines of Meta Incognita had become discredited, it was not long before hope began to revive in the hearts of the English merchants. The new country produced at least valuable sealskins. There was always the chance, too, that a lucky discovery of a Western Passage might bring fabulous wealth to the merchant adventurers. It thus happened that not many years elapsed before certain wealthy men of London and the West Country, especially one Master William Sanderson, backed by various gentlemen of the court, decided to make another venture. They chose as their captain and chief pilot John Davis, who had already acquired a reputation as a bold and skilful mariner. In 1585 Davis, in command of two little ships, the _Sunshine_ and the _Moonshine_, set out from Dartmouth. The memory of this explorer will always be associated with the great {24} strait or arm of the sea which separates Greenland from the Arctic islands of Canada, and which bears his name. To these waters, his three successive voyages were directed, and he has the honour of being the first on the long roll of navigators whose watchword has been 'Farther North,' and who have carried their ships nearer and nearer to the pole. Davis started by way of the English Channel and lay storm-bound for twelve days under the Scilly Islands, a circumstance which bears witness to the imperfect means of navigation of the day and to the courage of seamen. The ships once able to put to sea, the voyage was rapid, and in twenty days Davis was off the south-west coast of Greenland. All about the ships were fog and mist, and a great roaring noise which the sailors thought must be the sea breaking on a beach. They lay thus for a day, trying in vain for soundings and firing guns in order to know the whereabouts of the ships. They lowered their boats and found that the roaring noise came from the grinding of the ice pack that lay all about them. Next day the fog cleared and revealed the coast, which they said was the most deformed rocky and mountainous land that ever they saw. This was Greenland. The commander, {25} suiting a name to the miserable prospect before him, called it the Land of Desolation. Davis spent nearly a fortnight on the coast. There was little in the inhospitable country to encourage his exploration. Great cliffs were seen glittering as with gold or crystal, but the ore was the same as that which Frobisher had brought from Meta Incognita and the voyagers had been warned. Of vegetation there was nothing but scant grass and birch and willow growing like stunted shrubs close to the ground. Eskimos were seen plying along the coast in their canoes of seal skin. They called to the English sailors in a deep guttural speech, low in the throat, of which nothing was intelligible. One of them pointed upwards to the sun and beat upon his breast. By imitating this gesture, which seemed a pledge of friendship, the sailors were able to induce the natives to approach. They presently mingled freely with Davis's company. The captain shook hands with all who came to him, and there was a great show of friendliness on both sides. A brisk trade began. The savages eagerly handed over their garments of sealskin and fur, their darts, oars, and everything that they had, in return for little trifles, even for pieces of paper. They seemed to the English sailors a very tractable {26} people, void of craft and double dealing. Seeing that the English were eager to obtain furs, they pointed to the hills inland, as if to indicate that they should go and bring a large supply. But Davis was anxious for further exploration, and would not delay his ships. On August 1, the wind being fair, he put to sea, directing his course to the north-west. In five days he reached the land on the other side of Davis Strait. This was the shore of what is now called Baffin Island, in latitude 66° 40', and hence considerably to the north of the strait which Frobisher had entered. At this season the sea was clear of ice, and Davis anchored his ships under a great cliff that glittered like gold. He called it Mount Raleigh, and the sound which opened out beside it Exeter Sound. A large headland to the south was named Cape Walsingham in honour of the queen's secretary. Davis and his men went ashore under Mount Raleigh, where they saw four white bears of 'a monstrous bigness,' three of which they killed with their guns and boar-spears. There were low shrubs growing among the cliffs and flowers like primroses. But the whole country as far as they could see was without wood or grass. Nothing was in sight except the open iceless sea to the east and on the land side {27} great mountains of stone. Though the land offered nothing to their search, the air was moderate and the weather singularly mild. The broad sheet of open water, of the very colour of the ocean itself, buoyed up their hopes of the discovery of the Western Passage. Davis turned his ships to the south, coasting the shore. Here and there signs of man were seen, a pile of stones fashioned into a rude wall and a human skull lying upon the rock. The howling of wolves, as the sailors thought it, was heard along the shore; but when two of these animals were killed they were seen to be dogs like mastiffs with sharp ears and bushy tails. A little farther on sleds were found, one made of wood and sawn boards, the other of whalebone. Presently the coast-line was broken into a network of barren islands with great sounds between. When Davis sailed southward he reached and passed the strait that had been the scene of Frobisher's adventures and, like Frobisher himself, also passed by the opening of Hudson Strait. Davis was convinced that somewhere on this route was the passage that he sought. But the winds blew hard from the west, rendering it difficult to prosecute his search. The short season was already closing in, and it was dangerous to {28} linger. Reluctantly the ships were turned homeward, and, though separated at sea, the _Sunshine_ and the _Moonshine_ arrived safely at Dartmouth within two hours of each other. While this first expedition had met with no conspicuous material success, Davis was yet able to make two other voyages to the same region in the two following seasons. In his second voyage, that of 1586, he sailed along the edge of the continent from above the Arctic Circle to the coast of Labrador, a distance of several hundred miles. His search convinced him that if a passage existed at all it must lie somewhere among the great sounds that opened into the coast, one of which, of course, proved later on to be the entrance to Hudson Bay. Moreover, Davis began to see that, owing to the great quantity of whales in the northern waters, and the ease with which seal-skins and furs could be bought from the natives, these ventures might be made a source of profit whether the Western Passage was found or not. In his second voyage alone he bought from the Eskimos five hundred sealskins. The natives seem especially to have interested him, and he himself wrote an account of his dealings with them. They were found to be people of good stature, well proportioned in body, {29} with broad faces and small eyes, wide mouths, for the most part unbearded, and with great lips. They were, so Davis said, 'very simple in their conversation, but marvellous thievish.' They made off with a boat that lay astern of the _Moonshine_, cut off pieces from clothes that were spread out to dry, and stole oars, spears, swords, and indeed anything within their reach. Articles made of iron seemed to offer an irresistible temptation: in spite of all pledges of friendship and of the lifting up of hands towards the sun which the Eskimos renewed every morning, they no sooner saw iron than they must perforce seize upon it. To stop their pilfering, Davis was compelled to fire off a cannon among them, whereat the savages made off in wild terror. But in a few hours they came flocking back again, holding up their hands to the sun and begging to be friends. 'When I perceived this,' said Davis, 'it did but minister unto me an occasion of laughter to see their simplicity and I willed that in no case should they be any more hardly used, but that our own company should be more vigilant to keep their things, supposing it to be very hard in so short a time to make them know their own evils.' The natives ate all their meat raw, lived {30} mostly on fish and 'ate grass and ice with delight.' They were rarely out of the water, but lived in the nature of fishes except when 'dead sleep took them,' and they lay down exhausted in a warm hollow of the rocks. Davis found among them copper ore and black and red copper. But Frobisher's experience seems to have made him loath to hunt for mineral treasure. On his last voyage (1587) Davis made a desperate attempt to find the desired passage by striking boldly towards the Far North. He skirted the west shore of Greenland and with favourable winds ran as far north as 72° 12', thus coming into the great sheet of polar water now called Baffin Bay. This was at the end of the month of June. In these regions there was perpetual day, the sun sweeping in a great circle about the heavens and standing five degrees above the horizon even at midnight. To the northward and westward, as far as could be seen, there was nothing but open sea. Davis thought himself almost in sight of the goal. Then the wind turned and blew fiercely out of the north. Unable to advance, Davis drove westward across the path of the gale. At forty leagues from Greenland, he came upon a sheet of ice that forced him to turn back {31} towards the south. 'There was no ice towards the north,' he wrote, in relating his experience, 'but a great sea, free, large, very salt and blue and of an unsearchable depth. It seemed most manifest that the passage was free and without impediment towards the north.' When Davis returned home, he was still eager to try again. But the situation was changed. Walsingham, who had encouraged his enterprise, was dead, and the whole energy of the nation was absorbed in the great struggle with Spain. Davis sailed no more to the northern seas. With each succeeding decade it became clear that the hopes aroused by the New World lay not in finding a passage by the ice-blocked sounds of the north, but in occupying the vast continent of America itself. Many voyages were indeed attempted before the hope of a northern passage to the Indies was laid aside. Weymouth, Knight, and others followed in the track of Frobisher and Davis. But nothing new was found. The sea-faring spirit and the restless adventure which characterized the Elizabethan period outlived the great queen. The famous voyage of Henry Hudson in 1610 revealed the existence of the great inland sea which bears his name. {32} Hudson, already famous as an explorer and for his discovery of the Hudson river, was sent out by Sir John Wolstenholme and Sir Dudley Digges to find the North-West Passage. The story of his passage of the strait, his discovery of the great bay, the mutiny of his men and his tragic and mysterious fate forms one of the most thrilling narratives in the history of exploration. But it belongs rather to the romantic story of the great company whose corporate title recalls his name and memory, than to the present narrative. After Hudson came the exploits of Bylot, one of his pilots, and a survivor of the tragedy, and of William Baffin, who tried to follow Davis's lead in searching for the Western Passage in the very confines of the polar sea. Finally there came (1631) the voyage of Captain Luke Fox, who traversed the whole western coast of Hudson Bay and proved that from the main body of its waters there was no outlet to the Pacific. The hope of a North-West Passage in the form of a wide and glittering sea, an easy passage to Asia, was dead. Other causes were added to divert attention from the northern waters. The definite foundation of the colonies of Virginia and Massachusetts Bay opened the path to new {33} hopes and even wider ambitions of Empire. Then, as the seventeenth century moved on its course, the shadow of civil strife fell dark over England. The fierce struggle of the Great Rebellion ended for a time all adventure overseas. When it had passed, the days of bold sea-farers gazing westward from the decks of their little caravels over the glittering ice of the Arctic for a pathway to the Orient were gone, and the first period of northern adventure had come to an end. {34} CHAPTER II HEARNE'S OVERLAND JOURNEY TO THE NORTHERN OCEAN In course of time the inaccurate knowledge and vague hopes of the early navigators were exchanged for more definite ideas in regard to the American continent. The progress of discovery along the Pacific side of the continent and the occupation by the Spaniards of the coast of California led to a truer conception of the immense breadth of North America. Voyages across the Pacific to the Philippines revealed the great distance to be traversed in order to reach the Orient by the western route. At the same time the voyages of Captain Fox and his contemporary Captain James had proved Hudson Bay to be an enclosed sea. In consequence, for about a century no further attempt was made to find a North-West Passage. In the meantime the English came into connection with the Far North in a different way. {35} The early explorers had brought home the news of the extraordinary wealth of America in fur-bearing animals. Soon the fur trade became the most important feature of the settlements on the American coast, and from both New England and New France enormous quantities of furs were exported to Europe. This commerce was with the Indians, and everything depended upon a ready and convenient access to the interior. Thus it came about that when the peculiar configuration of Hudson Bay was known to combine an access to the remotest parts of the continent with a short sea passage to Europe, its shores naturally offered themselves as the proper scene of the trade in furs. The great rivers that flowed into the bay--the Severn, the Nelson, the Albany, the Rupert--offered a connection in all directions with the dense forests and the broad plains of the interior. The two competing nations both found their way to the great bay, the English by sea through Hudson Strait, the French overland by the portage way from the upper valley of the Ottawa. So it happened that there was established by royal charter in 1670 that notable body whose corporate title is 'The Governor and Company of Adventurers of {36} England, trading into Hudson's Bay.' The company was founded primarily to engage in the fur trade. But it was also pledged by its charter to promote geographical discovery, and both the honour of its sovereign rights and the promptings of its own commercial interest induced it to expand its territory of operations to the greatest possible degree. During its early years, necessity compelled it to cling to the coast. Its operations were confined to forts at the mouth of the Nelson, the Churchill, and other rivers to which the Indian traders annually descended with their loads of furs. Moreover, the hostility of the French, who had founded the rival Company of the North, cramped the activities of the English adventurers. During the wars of King William and Queen Anne, the territory of the bay became the scene of armed conflict. Expeditions were sent overland from Canada against the English company. The little forts were taken and retaken, and the echoes of the European struggle that was fought at Blenheim and at Malplaquet woke the stillness of the northern woods of America. But after the Treaty of Utrecht in 1713, the whole country of the Bay was left to the English. The Hudson's Bay Company were, therefore, {37} enabled to expand their operations. By establishing forts farther and farther in the interior they endeavoured to come into more direct relation with the sources of their supply. They were thus early led to surmise the great potential wealth of the vast region that lay beyond their forts, and to become jealous of their title thereto. Their aversion to making public the knowledge of their territory lent to their operations an air of mystery and secrecy, and their enemies accused them of being hostile to the promotion of discovery. For their own purposes, however, the company were willing to have their territory explored as the necessities of their expanding commerce demanded. As early as the close of the seventeenth century (1691) a certain Henry Kelsey, in the service of the company, had made his way from York Fort to the plains of the Saskatchewan. After the Treaty of Utrecht had brought peace and a clear title to the basin of the bay, the company endeavoured to obtain more accurate knowledge of their territory and resources. It had long been rumoured that valuable mines of copper lay in the Far North. The early explorers spoke of the Eskimos as having copper ore. Indians who came from the north-west to trade at Fort Churchill reported the {38} existence of a great mountain of copper beside a river that flowed north into the sea; in proof of this, they exhibited ornaments and weapons rudely fashioned from the metal. It is probable that attempts were made quite early in the century by the servants of the company to reach this 'Coppermine River' by advancing into the interior. But more serious attempts were made by sea voyages along the western shore of the bay. Such an expedition was sent out from England under Governor Knight of the Hudson's Bay Company, and Captains Barlow and Vaughan. In 1719 their two ships, the _Albany_ and the _Discovery_, sailed from England, and were never seen again. Not until half a century later was the story of their shipwreck on Marble Island in the north of Hudson Bay and the protracted fate of the survivors learned from savages who had been witnesses of the grim tragedy. Other expeditions were sent northward from time to time, but without success either in finding copper or in finding a passage westward through the Arctic, which always remained at least an ostensible object of the search. It so happened that in 1768 the Northern Indians brought down to Churchill such striking specimens of copper ore that the interest of the {39} governor, Moses Norton, was aroused to the highest point. A man of determined character, he took ship straightway to England and obtained from the directors of the company permission to send an expedition through the interior from Fort Churchill to the Coppermine river. The accomplishment of this task he entrusted to one Samuel Hearne, whose overland journey, successfully carried out in the years 1769 to 1772, was to prove one of the great landmarks in the exploration of the Far North. Hearne, a youth of twenty-four years, had been trained in a rugged school. He had gone to sea at the age of eleven and at this tender age had taken part in his first sea-fight. He served as a naval midshipman during the Seven Years' War. At its conclusion he became a mate on one of the ships of the Hudson's Bay Company, in which position his industry and ingenuity distinguished him among his associates. For some years Hearne was employed in the fur trade north of the Churchill, and gained a thorough knowledge of the coast of the bay. For the expedition inland Norton needed especially a man able to record with scientific accuracy the exact positions which he reached. Norton's choice fell upon Hearne. The young man was instructed to make his {40} way to the Athabaska country and thence to find if he could the river of the north whence the copper came, and to trace the river to the sea. He was to note the position of any mines, to prepare the way for trade with the Indians, and to find out from travel or enquiry whether there was a water passage through the continent. Two white men (a sailor and a landsman) were sent in Hearne's service. He had as guides an Indian chief, Chawchinahaw, with a small band of his followers. On November 6, 1769, the little party set out, honoured by a salute of seven guns from the huge fortress of Fort Prince of Wales, the massive ruins of which still stand as one of the strangest monuments of the continent. The country which the explorer was to traverse in this and his succeeding journeys may be ranked among the most inhospitable regions of the earth. The northern limit of the great American forest runs roughly in a line north-westward from Churchill to the mouth of the Mackenzie river. East and north of this line is the country of the barren grounds, for the most part a desolate waste of rock. It is broken by precipitous watercourses and wide lakes, and has no vegetation except the mosses and grasses which support great wandering {41} herds of caribou. A few spruce trees and hardy shrubs struggle northward from the limits of the great woods. Even these die out in the bitter climate, and then the explorer sees about him nothing but the wide waste of barren rock and running water or in winter the endless mantle of the northern snow. It is not strange that Hearne's first attempt met with complete failure. His Indian companions had, indeed, no intention of guiding him to the Athabaska country. They deliberately kept to the north of the woods, along the edge of the barren grounds, where Hearne and his companions were exposed to the intense cold which set in a few days after their departure. When they camped at night only a few poor shrubs could be gathered to make a fire, and the travellers were compelled to scoop out holes in the snow to shelter their freezing bodies against the bitter blast. The Indians, determined to prevent the white men from reaching their goal, provided very little game. Hearne and his two servants were reduced to a ration of half a partridge a day for each man. Each day the Indian chief descanted at length upon the horrors of cold and famine that still lay before them. Each day, with the obstinate pluck of his race, Hearne struggled on. Thus {42} for nearly two hundred miles they made their way out into the snow-covered wilderness. At length a number of the Indians, determined to end the matter, made off in the night, carrying with them a good part of the supplies. The next day Chawchinahaw himself announced that further progress was impossible. He and his braves made off to the west, inviting Hearne with mocking laughter to get home as best he might. The three white men with a few Indians, not of Chawchinahaw's band, struggled back through the snow to Fort Prince of Wales. The whole expedition had lasted five weeks. In spite of this failure, neither Governor Norton nor Hearne himself was discouraged. In less than three months (on February 23, 1770) Hearne was off again for the north. Convinced that white men were of no use to him, he had the hardihood to set out accompanied only by Indians, three from the northern country and three belonging to what were called at Churchill the Home Guard, or Southern Indians. There was no salute from the fort this time, for the cannon on its ramparts were buried deep in snow. [Illustration: Samuel Hearne. From an engraving in the Dominion Archives.] Hearne's second expedition, though more protracted than the first, was doomed also to failure. The little party followed on the former {43} trail along the Seal river, and thence, with the first signs of opening spring, struck northwards over the barren grounds. Leaving the woods entirely behind, Hearne found himself in the broken and desolate country between Fort Churchill and the three or four great rivers, still almost unknown, that flow into the head-waters of Chesterfield Inlet. In the beginning of June, as the snow began to melt, progress grew more and more difficult. Snowshoes became a useless encumbrance, and on the 10th of the month even the sledges were abandoned. Every man must now shoulder a heavy load. Hearne himself staggered under a pack which included a bag of clothes, a box of papers, a hatchet and other tools, and the clumsy weight of his quadrant and its stand. This article was too precious to be entrusted to the Indians, for by it alone could the position of the explorers be recorded. The party was miserably equipped. Unable to carry poles with them into a woodless region, they found their one wretched tent of no service and were compelled to lie shelterless with alternations of bitter cold and drenching rain. For food they had to depend on such fish and game as could be found. In most cases it was eaten raw, as they had nothing with which to make a fire. {44} Worse still, for days together, food failed them. Hearne relates that for four days at the end of June he tramped northward, making twenty miles a day with no other sustenance than water and such support as might be drawn from an occasional pipe of tobacco. Intermittent starvation so enfeebled his digestion that the eating of food when found caused severe pain. Once for seven days the party had no other food than a few wild berries, some old leather, and some burnt bones. On such occasions as this, Hearne tells us, his Indians would examine their wardrobe to see what part could be best spared and stay their hunger with a piece of rotten deer skin or a pair of worn-out moccasins. As they made their way northward, the party occasionally crossed small rivers running north and east, but of so little depth that they were able to ford them. Presently, however, one great river proved too deep to cross on foot. It ran north-east. Hearne's Indians called it the Cathawachaga, and the Canadian explorer Tyrrell identifies it with the river now called the Kazan. Here the party fell in with a band of Indians who carried them across the river in their canoes. On the northern side of the Cathawachaga, Hearne and his men rested for a week, finding {45} a few deer and catching fish. As the guides now said that in the country beyond there were other large rivers, Hearne bought a canoe from one of the Indians, and gave in exchange for it a knife which had cost a penny in England. In July the travellers moved on north-westward with better fortune. Deer became plentiful. Bands of roving Indian hunters now attached themselves to the exploring party. Hearne's guide declared that it would be impossible to reach the Coppermine that season, and that they must spend a winter in the Indian country. The truth was that Hearne's followers had no intention of going farther to the north, but preferred to keep company with the bands of hunters. It was useless for Hearne to protest. He and his Indians drifted along to the west with the hunting parties, now so numerous that by the end of July about seventy deer-skin tents were pitched so as to form a little village. There were about six hundred persons in the party. Each morning as they broke camp and set out on the march 'the whole ground for a large space around,' wrote Hearne, 'seemed to be alive with men, women, children, and dogs.' The country through which Hearne travelled, or wandered, in this mid-summer of 1770, {46} between the rivers Kazan and Dubawnt, was barren indeed. There were no trees and no vegetation except moss and the plant called by the Indians wish-a-capucca--the 'Labrador tea' that is found everywhere in the swamps of the northern forests. Animal life was, however, abundant. The caribou roaming the barren grounds in the summer, to graze on the moss, were numerous. There was ample food for all the party, and the animals were, indeed, slaughtered recklessly, merely for the skins and the more delicate morsels of the flesh. The Dubawnt river midway in its course expands into Dubawnt Lake, a great sheet of water some sixty-five miles long and forty miles broad. It lies in the same latitude as the south of Greenland. No more desolate scene can be imagined than the picture revealed by modern photographs of the country. The low shores of the lake offer an endless prospect of barren rock and broken stone. In the century and a half that have elapsed since Hearne's journey, only one or two intrepid explorers have made their way through this region. It still lies and probably will lie for centuries unreclaimed and unreclaimable for the uses of civilization. Hearne and his Indian hunters moved {47} westward and southward, passing in a circle round the west shore of Lake Dubawnt, though at a distance of some miles from it. The luckless travellers had now but little chance of reaching the object of their search. They were hundreds of miles away even from the head waters of the Coppermine. The season was already late: the Indian guides were quite unmanageable, while the natives whom Hearne met clamoured greedily for European wares, ammunition and medicine, and cried out in disgust at his inability to supply their wants. Then came an accident, fortunate perhaps, that compelled Hearne to abandon his enterprise. While he was taking his noon observations, which showed him to be in latitude 63° 10' north, he left his quadrant standing and sat down on the rocks to eat his dinner. A sudden gust of wind dashed the delicate instrument to the ground, where it lay in fragments. This capped the climax. Unable any longer to ascertain his exact whereabouts, with no trustworthy guidance and no prospect of winter supplies or equipment, Hearne turned back towards the south. This was on August 12, after a journey of nearly six months into the unknown north. The return occupied three months and a {48} half. They were filled with hardship. On the very first day of the long march, a band of Indians from the north, finding Hearne defenceless, plundered him of wellnigh all he had. 'Nothing can exceed,' wrote Hearne, 'the cool deliberation of the villains. A committee of them entered my tent. The ringleader seated himself on my left hand. They first begged me to lend them my skipertogan[1] to fill a pipe of tobacco. After smoking two or three pipes, they asked me for several articles which I had not, and among others for a pack of cards; but, on my answering that I had not any of the articles they mentioned, one of them put his hand on my baggage and asked if it was mine. Before I could answer in the affirmative, he and the rest of his companions (six in number) had all my treasure spread on the ground. One took one thing and one another, till at last nothing was left but the empty bag, which they permitted me to keep.' At Hearne's urgent request, a few necessary articles were restored to him. From his Indian guides also the marauders took all they had except their guns, a little ammunition, and a few tools. Thus miserably equipped, Hearne and his {49} followers set out for home. Their only tent consisted of a blanket thrown over three long sticks. They had no winter clothing, neither snow-shoes nor sleds, and their food was such as could be found by the way. The month of September was unusually severe, and when the winter set in, the party suffered intensely from the cold, while the want of snow-shoes made their march increasingly difficult. The marvel is that Hearne ever reached the fort at all. He would not have done so very probably had it not been his fortune to fall in with an Indian chief named Matonabbee, a man of strange and exceptional character, to whom he owed not only his return to Fort Prince of Wales, but his subsequent successful journey to the Coppermine. This Indian chief, when he fell in with Hearne (September 20, 1770), was crossing the barren grounds on his way to the fort with furs. As a young man, Matonabbee had resided for years among the English. He had some knowledge of the language, and was able to understand that a certain merit would attach to the rescue of Hearne from his predicament. Moreover, the chief had himself been to the Coppermine river, and it was partly owing to his account of it that Governor {50} Norton had sent Hearne into the barren grounds. [Illustration: Fort Churchill or Prince of Wales. Drawn by Samuel Hearne.] Matonabbee hastened to relieve the young explorer's sufferings. He provided him with warm deer-skins and, from his ample supplies, prepared a great feast for the good cheer of his new acquaintance. An orgy of eating followed, dear to the Indian heart, and after this, without fire-water to drink, the Indians sang and danced about the fires of the bivouac. Matonabbee and Hearne travelled together for several days towards the fort, making only about twelve miles a day. The Indian then directed Hearne to go eastward to a little river where wood enough could be found for snow-shoes and sledges, while he himself went forward at such a slow pace as to allow Hearne and his party to overtake him. This was done and Hearne, now better equipped, rejoined Matonabbee, after which they continued together for a fortnight, making good progress over the snow. As they drew near the fort their ammunition was almost spent and the game had almost disappeared. By Matonabbee's advice, Hearne, accompanied by four Indians, left the main party in order to hasten ahead as rapidly as possible. The daylight was now exceedingly short, but the moon and the aurora borealis {51} illuminated the brilliant waste of snow. The weather was intensely cold. One of Hearne's dogs was frozen to death. But in spite of hardship the advance party reached Fort Prince of Wales safe and sound on November 25, 1770. Matonabbee arrived a few days later. Strange as it may seem, Hearne was off again in less than a fortnight on his third quest of the Coppermine. The time that he had spent in Matonabbee's company had given him a great opinion of the character of the chief; 'the most sociable, kind, and sensible Indian I have ever met'--so Hearne described him. The chief himself had offered to lead Hearne to the great river of the north. Governor Norton willingly furnished ammunition, supplies, and a few trading goods. The expedition started in the depth of winter. But this time, with better information to guide them, the travellers made no attempt to strike directly northward. Instead, they moved towards the west so as to cross the lower reaches of the barren grounds as soon as possible and proceed northward by way of the basin of the Great Slave Lake, where they would find a wooded country reaching far to the north. A glance at the map will show the immensity of the task before them. The distance from Fort Churchill {52} to the Slave Lake, even as the crow flies, is some seven hundred miles, and from thence to the Arctic sea four hundred and fifty, and the actual journey is longer by reason of the sinuous course which the explorer must of necessity pursue. The whole of this vast country was as yet unknown: no white man had looked upon the Mackenzie river nor upon the vast lakes from which it flows. It speaks well for the quiet intrepidity of Hearne that he was ready alone to penetrate the trackless waste of an unknown country, among a band of savages and amid the rigour of the northern winter. The journey opened gloomily enough. The month of December was spent in toiling painfully over the barren grounds. The sledges were insufficient, and Hearne as well as his companions had to trudge under the burden of a heavy load. At best some sixteen or eighteen miles could be traversed in the short northern day. Intense cold set in. Game seemed to have vanished, and Christmas found the party plodding wearily onward, foodless, moving farther each day from the little outpost of civilization that lay behind them on the bleak shores of Hudson Bay. I must confess [wrote Hearne in his {53} journal] that I never spent so dull a Christmas; and when I recollected the merry season which was then passing, and reflected on the immense quantities and great variety of delicacies which were then expending in every part of Christendom, I could not refrain from wishing myself again in Europe, if it had only been to have had an opportunity of alleviating the extreme hunger that I suffered with the refuse of the table of one of my acquaintances. At the end of the month (December 1770), they reached the woods, a thick growth of stunted pine and poplar with willow bushes growing in the frozen swamps. Here they joined a large party of Matonabbee's band, for the most part women and children. The women were by no means considered by the chief as a hindrance to the expedition. Indeed, he attributed Hearne's previous failure to their absence. 'Women,' he once told his English friend, 'were made for labour; one of them can carry or haul as much as two men can do; they pitch our tents, make and mend our clothing, and in fact there is no such thing as travelling in this country for any length of {54} time without their assistance. Women,' he added, 'though they do everything are maintained at a trifling expense; for as they always stand cook, the very licking of their fingers in scarce times is sufficient for their subsistence.' Acting on these salutary opinions, the chief was a man of eight wives, and Hearne was shocked later on to find the Indian willing to add to his little flock by force without the slightest compunction. The two opening months of the year 1771 were spent in travelling westward towards Wholdaia Lake. The country was wooded, though here and there, the observer, standing on the higher levels, could see the barren grounds to the northward. The cold was intense, especially when a frozen lake or river exposed the travellers to the full force of the wind. But game was plentiful. At intervals the party halted and killed caribou in such quantities that three and four days were sometimes spent in camp in a vain attempt to eat the spoils of the chase. The Indians, Hearne remarked, slaughtered the game recklessly, with no thought of the morrow. Wholdaia Lake was reached on March 2. This is a long sheet of water lying some thirty miles north of the parallel of sixty degrees. At {55} the point where Hearne crossed it on the ice, it was twenty-seven miles broad; its length appears to be four or five times as great. It is still almost unknown, for it lies far beyond the confines of present settlement and has been seen only by explorers. From Wholdaia Lake the course was continued westward. The weather was moderate. There was abundant game, the skies overhead were bright, and the journey assumed a more agreeable aspect. Here and there bands of roving Indians were seen, as also were encampments of hunters engaged in snaring deer in the forest. In the middle of April, the party rested for ten days in camp beside a little lake which marked the westward limit of their march. From here on, the course was to lie northward again. The Indians were therefore employed in gathering staves and birch-bark to be used for tent poles and canoes when the party should again reach the barren grounds on their northern route. The opening of May found the party at Lake Clowey, whose waters run westward to the Great Slave Lake. Here they again halted, and the Indians built birch-bark canoes out of the material they had carried from the woods. In traversing the barren grounds, where both the {56} direction and the nature of the rivers render them almost useless for navigation, the canoe plays a part different from that which is familiar throughout the rest of Canada. During the greater part of the journey, often for a stretch of a hundred miles at a time, the canoe is absolutely useless, or worse, since it must be carried. Here and there, however, for the crossing of the larger rivers, it is indispensable. Large numbers of Indians were assembling at Clowey Lake during Hearne's stay there, and were likewise engaged in building canoes. A considerable body of them, hearing that Matonabbee and his band were on the way to the Coppermine, eagerly agreed to travel with them. It seemed to them an excellent opportunity for making a combined attack on their hereditary enemy, the Eskimos at the mouth of the river. The savages thereupon set themselves to make wooden shields about three feet long with which to ward off the arrows of the Eskimos. On May 20, a new start was made to the north. Matonabbee and his great company of armed Indians now assumed the appearance of a war party, and hurried eagerly towards the enemy's country. Two days after leaving Lake Clowey, they passed out of the woods on {57} to the barren grounds. To facilitate their movements most of the women were presently left behind together with the children and dogs. A number of the braves, weary already of the prospect of the long march, turned back, but Matonabbee, Hearne, and about one hundred and fifty Indians held on with all speed towards the north. Their path as traced on a modern map runs by way of Clinton-Colden and Aylmer lakes and thence northward to the mouth of the Coppermine. By the latter part of June the ice was breaking up, and on the 22nd the party made use of their canoes (which had been carried for over a month) in order to cross a great river rejoicing in the ponderous name of the Congecathawachaga. On the farther side, they met a number of Copper Indians who were delighted to learn of Matonabbee's hostile design against the Eskimos. They eagerly joined the party, celebrating their accession by a great feast. The Copper Indians expressed their pleasure at learning from Hearne that the great king their father proposed to send ships to visit them by the northern sea. They had never seen a white man before and examined Hearne with great curiosity, disapproving strongly of the colour of his skin and comparing his hair to a stained buffalo tail. {58} The whole party moved on together. The weather was bad, with alternating sleet and rain, and the path broken and difficult. July 4 found them at the Stony Mountains, a rugged and barren set of hills that seemed from a distance like a pile of broken stones. Nine days more of arduous travel brought the warriors in sight of their goal. From the elevation of the low hills that rose above its banks, Hearne was able to look upon the foaming waters of the Coppermine, as it plunged over the broken stones of its bed in a series of cascades. A few trees, or rather a few burnt stumps, fringed the banks, but the trees which here and there remained unburned were so crooked and dwarfish as merely to heighten the desolation of the scene. Immediately on their arrival at the Coppermine, Matonabbee and his Indians began to make their preparations for an attack upon the Eskimos, who were known to frequent the mouth of the river. Spies were sent out in advance towards the sea, and the remainder of the Indians showed an unwonted and ominous energy in building fires and roasting meat so that they might carry with them a supply so large as to make it unnecessary to alarm the Eskimos by the sound of the guns of the hunters {59} in search of food. Hearne occupied himself with surveying the river. He was sick at heart at the scene of bloodshed which he anticipated, but was powerless to dissuade his companions from their design. Two days later (July 15, 1771), the spies brought back word that a camp of Eskimos, five tents in all, had been seen on the further side of the river. It was distant about twelve miles and favourably situated for a surprise. Matonabbee and his braves were now filled with the fierce eagerness of the savage; they crossed hurriedly to the west side of the river, where each Indian painted the shield that he carried with rude daubs of red and black, to imitate the spirits of the earth and air on whom he relied for aid in the coming fight. Noiselessly the Indians proceeded along the banks of the river, trailing in a serpentine course among the rocks so as to avoid being seen upon the higher ground. They seemed to Hearne to have been suddenly transformed from an undisciplined rabble into a united band. Northern and Copper Indians alike were animated by a single purpose and readily shared with one another the weapons of their common stock. The advance was made in the middle of the night, but at this season of the year the whole {60} scene was brilliant with the light of the midnight sun. The Indians stole to within two hundred yards of the place indicated by the guides. From their ambush among the rocks they could look out upon the tents of their sleeping victims. The camp of the Eskimos stood on a broad ledge of rock at the spot where the Coppermine, narrowed between lofty walls of red sandstone, roars foaming over a cataract some three hundred yards in extent. The Indians, sure of their prey, paused a few moments to make final preparations for the onslaught. They cast aside their outer garments, bound back their hair from their eyes, and hurriedly painted their foreheads and faces with a hideous coating of red and black. Then with weapons in hand they rushed forth upon their sleeping foe. Hearne, unable to leave the spot, was compelled to witness in all its details the awful slaughter which followed. In a few seconds [he wrote in his journal] the horrible scene commenced; it was shocking beyond description; the poor unhappy victims were surprised in the midst of their sleep, and had neither time nor power to make any resistance; men, {61} women, and children, in all upwards of twenty, ran out of their tents stark naked, and endeavoured to make their escape; but the Indians, having possession of all the land-side, to no place could they fly for shelter. One alternative only remained, that of jumping into the river; but, as none of them attempted it, they all fell a sacrifice to Indian barbarity. The shrieks and groans of the poor expiring wretches were truly dreadful. But it is needless to linger on the details of the massacre, which Hearne was thus compelled to witness, and the revolting mutilation of the corpses which followed it. To Matonabbee and the other Indians the whole occurrence was viewed as a proper incident of tribal war, and the feeble protests which Hearne contrived to make only drew down upon him the expression of their contempt. After the massacre followed plunder. The Indians tore down the tents of the Eskimos and with reckless folly threw tents, tent poles, and great quantities of food into the waters of the cataract. Having made a feast of fresh fish on the ruins of the camp, they then announced to Hearne that they were ready to assist him in {62} going on to the mouth of the river. The desolate scene was left behind--the broad rock strewn with mangled bodies of the dead and the broken remnants of their poor belongings. Half a century later the explorer Franklin visited the spot and saw the skulls and bones of the Eskimos still lying about. One of Franklin's Indians, then an aged man, had been a witness of the scene. From the hills beside the Bloody Falls, as the cataract is called, the eye could discern at a distance of some eight miles the open water of the Arctic and the glitter of the ice beyond. Hearne followed the river along its precipitous and broken course till he stood upon the shore of the sea. One may imagine with what emotion he looked out upon that northern ocean to reach which he had braved the terrors of the Arctic winter and the famine of the barren grounds. He saw before him about three-quarters of a mile of open sea, studded with rocks and little islands: beyond that the clear white of the ice-pack stretched to the farthest horizon. Hearne viewed this scene in the bright sunlight of the northern day: but while he still lingered, thick fog and drizzling rain rolled in from the sea and shut out the view. For the sake of form, as he said, he {63} erected a pile of stones and took possession of the coast in the name of the Hudson's Bay Company. Then, filled with the bitterness of a vain quest, Hearne turned his face towards the south to commence his long march to the settlements. Up to this point nothing had been seen of the supposed mountains of copper which formed the principal goal of Hearne's undertaking. The eagerness of the Indians had led them to hasten directly to the camp of the Eskimos regardless of all else. But on the second day of the journey home, the guides led Hearne to the site of this northern Eldorado. It lay among the hills beside the Coppermine river at a spot thirty miles from the sea, and almost directly south of the mouth of the river. The prospect was strange. Some mighty force, as of an earthquake, seemed to have rent asunder the solid rock and strewn it in a confused and broken heap of boulders. Through these a rivulet ran to join the Coppermine. Here, said the Indians, was copper so great in quantity that it could be gathered as easily as one might gather stones at Churchill. Filled with a new eagerness, Hearne and his companions searched for four hours among the rocks. Here and there a few splinters of native {64} copper were seen. One piece alone, weighing some four pounds, offered a slight reward for their quest. This Hearne carried away with him, convinced now that the mountain of copper and the inexhaustible wealth of the district were mere fictions created by the cupidity of the savages or by the natural mystery surrounding a region so grim and inaccessible as the rocky gorge by which the Coppermine rushes to the cold seas of the north. After Hearne's visit no explorer reached the lower waters of the Coppermine till Captain (afterwards Sir John) Franklin made his memorable and marvellous overland journey of 1821. Since Franklin's time the region has been crossed only two or three times by explorers. They agree in stating that loose copper and copper ore are freely found. But it does not seem that, since 1771, any white man has ever looked upon the valley of the great boulders which the Indians described to Hearne as containing a fabulous wealth of copper. The solitary piece of metal which he brought home is still preserved by the Hudson's Bay Company. There is no need to follow in detail the long journey which Hearne had to take in order to {65} return to the fort. The march lasted nearly a year, during which he was exposed to the same hardship, famine and danger as on his way to the sea. The route followed on the return was different. The party ascended the valley of the Coppermine as far as Point Lake, a considerable body of water visited later by Franklin, and distant one hundred and sixty miles from the sea. This was reached on September 3, 1771. Four months were spent in travelling almost directly south. They passed over a rugged country of stone and marsh, buried deep in snow, with here and there a clump of stunted pine or straggling willow. Bitter weather with great gales and deep snow set in in October. Snow-shoes and sledges were made. Many small lakes and rivers, now fast frozen, were traversed, but the whole country is still so little known that Hearne's path can hardly be traced with certainty. By the middle of November the clumps of trees thickened into the northern edge of the great forest. The way now became easier. They had better shelter from the wind, and firewood was abundant. For food the party carried dried meat from Point Lake, and as they passed into the thicker woods they were fortunate enough to find a few rabbits and wood partridges. {66} Some fish were caught through the ice of the river. But in nearly two months of walking only two deer were seen. On Christmas Eve Hearne found himself on the shores of a great frozen lake, so vast that, as the Indians rightly informed him, it reached three hundred miles east and west. This is the Great Slave Lake; Hearne speaks of it as Athaspuscow Lake. The latter name is the same as that now given to another lake (Athabaska of Canadian maps)--the word being descriptive and meaning the lake with the beds of reeds. Hearne and his party crossed the great lake on the ice. A new prospect now opened. Deer and beaver were plentiful among the islands. Great quantities of fine fish abounded in the waters under the ice. As they reached the southern shore, the jumble of rocks and hills and stunted trees of the barren north was left behind, and the travellers entered a fine level country, over which wandered great herds of buffalo and moose. For about forty miles they ascended the course of the Athabaska river, finding themselves among splendid woods with tall pines and poplars such as Hearne had never seen. From the Athabaska they struck eastward, plunging into so dense a forest that {67} at times the axes had to be used to clear the way. For two months (January and February of 1772) they made their way through the northern forest. The month of March found them clear of the level country of the Athabaska and entering upon the hilly and broken region which formed the territory of the Northern Indians. At the end of March the first thaws began, rendering walking difficult in the bush. In traversing the open lakes and plains they were frequently exposed to the violent gales of the equinoctial season. By the middle of April the signs of spring were apparent. Flocks of waterfowl were seen overhead, flying to the north. Their course was shaped directly to the east, so that the party were presently traversing the same route as on their outward journey and making towards Wholdaia Lake. The month of May opened with fine weather and great thaws. Such intense heat was experienced in the first week of this month that for some days a march of twelve miles a day was all that the travellers could accomplish. Canoes were now built for the passage of the lakes and rivers. By May 25 the expedition was clear of all the woods and out on the barren grounds. They passed the Cathawachaga river, still covered with ice, {68} on the last day of May. A month of travel over the barren grounds brought them on the last day of June 1772 to the desolate but welcome surroundings of Fort Prince of Wales. Hearne had been absent on his last journey one year, six months, and twenty-three days. From his first journey into the wilderness until his final return, there had elapsed two years, seven months, and twenty-four days. Hearne was not left without honour. The Hudson's Bay Company retained him in their service at various factories, and three years after his famous expedition they made him governor of Fort Prince of Wales. During his service there he had the melancholy celebrity of surrendering the great fort (unfortunately left without men enough to defend it) to a French fleet under Admiral La Pérouse. Among the spoils of the captors was Hearne's manuscript journal, which the generous victors returned on the sole condition that it should be published as soon as possible. Hearne returned to England in 1787, and was chiefly busied with revising and preparing his journal until his death in 1792. No better appreciation of his work has been written than the words with which he concludes the account of his safe return after his years {69} of wandering. 'Though my discoveries,' he writes, 'are not likely to prove of any material advantage to the nation at large, or indeed to the Hudson's Bay Company, yet I have the pleasure to think that I have fully complied with the orders of my masters, and that it has put a final end to all disputes concerning a North-West Passage through Hudson's Bay.' [1] Bag for flint and steel, tobacco, etc. {70} CHAPTER III MACKENZIE DESCENDS THE GREAT RIVER OF THE NORTH The next great landmark in the exploration of the Far North is the famous voyage of Alexander Mackenzie down the river which bears his name, and which he traced to its outlet into the Arctic ocean. This was in 1789. By that time the Pacific coast of America and the coast of Siberia over against it had already been explored. Even before Hearne's journey the Danish navigator Bering, sailing in the employ of the Russian government, had discovered the strait which separates Asia from America, and which commemorates his name. Four years after Hearne's return (1776) the famous navigator Captain Cook had explored the whole range of the American coast to the north of what is now British Columbia, had passed Bering Strait and had sailed along the Arctic coast as far as Icy Cape. [Illustration: Sir Alexander Mackenzie. From the painting by Sir T. Lawrence.] The general outline of the north of the {71} continent of America, and at any rate the vast distance to be traversed to reach the Pacific from the Atlantic, could now be surmised with some accuracy. But the internal geography of the continent still contained an unsolved mystery. It was known that vast bodies of fresh water far beyond the basin of the Saskatchewan and the Columbia emptied towards the north. Hearne had revealed the existence of the Great Slave Lake, and the advance of daring fur-traders into the north had brought some knowledge of the great stream called the Peace, which rises far in the mountains of the west, and joins its waters to Lake Athabaska. It was known that this river after issuing from the Athabaska Lake moved onwards, as a new river, in a vast flood towards the north, carrying with it the tribute of uncounted streams. These rivers did not flow into the Pacific. Nor could so great a volume of water make its way to the sea through the shallow torrent of the Coppermine or the rivers that flowed north-eastward over the barren grounds. There must exist somewhere a mighty river of the north running to the frozen seas. It fell to the lot of Alexander Mackenzie to find the solution of this problem. The {72} circumstances which led to his famous journey arose out of the progress of the fur trade and its extension into the Far West. The British possession of Canada in 1760 had created a new situation. The monopoly enjoyed by the Hudson's Bay Company was rudely disturbed. Enterprising British traders from Montreal, passing up the Great Lakes, made their way to the valley of the Saskatchewan and, whether legally or not, contrived to obtain an increasing share of the furs brought from the interior. These traders were at first divided into partnerships and small groups, but presently, for the sake of co-operation and joint defence, they combined (1787) into the powerful body known as the North-West Company, which from now on entered into desperate competition with the great corporation that had first occupied the field. The Hudson's Bay Company and its rival sought to carry their operations as far inland as possible in order to tap the supplies at their source. They penetrated the valleys of the Assiniboine, the Red, and the Saskatchewan rivers, and founded, among others, the forts which were destined to become the present cities of Winnipeg, Brandon, and Edmonton. The annals of North-West Canada during the next thirty-three years are made up of the {73} recital of the commercial rivalry, and at times the actual conflict under arms, of the two great trading companies. It was in the service of the North-West Company that Alexander Mackenzie made his famous journey. He had arrived in Canada in 1779. After five years spent in the counting-house of a trading company at Montreal, he had been assigned for a year to a post at Detroit, and in 1785 had been elevated to the dignity of a bourgeois or partner in the North-West Company. In this capacity Alexander Mackenzie was sent out to the Athabaska district to take control, in that vast and scarcely known region, of the posts of the traders now united into the North-West Company. A glance at the map of Canada will show the commanding geographical position occupied by Lake Athabaska, in a country where the waterways formed the only means of communication. It receives from the south and west the great streams of the Athabaska and the Peace, which thus connect it with the prairies of the Saskatchewan valley and with the Rocky Mountains. Eastward a chain of lakes and rivers connects it and the forest country which lies about it with the barren grounds and the forts on Hudson Bay, while to the north, {74} issuing from Lake Athabaska, a great and unknown river led into the forests, moving towards an unknown sea. It was Mackenzie's first intention to make Lake Athabaska the frontier of the operations of his company. Acting under his instructions, his cousin Roderick Mackenzie, who served with him, selected a fine site on a cape on the south side of the lake and erected the post that was named Fort Chipewyan. Beautifully situated, with good timber and splendid fisheries and easy communication in all directions, the fort rapidly became the central point of trade and travel in the far north-west. But it was hardly founded before Mackenzie had already conceived a wider scheme. Chipewyan should be the emporium but not the outpost of the fur trade; using it as a base, he would descend the great unknown waterway which led north, and thus bring into the sphere of the company's operations the whole region between Lake Athabaska and the northern sea. Alexander Mackenzie's object was, in name at least, commercial--the extension of the trade of the North-West Company. But in reality, his incentive was that instinctive desire to widen the bounds of geographical knowledge, and to roll back the {75} mystery of unknown lands and seas which had already raised Hearne to eminence, and which later on was to lead Franklin to his glorious disaster. It was on Wednesday, June 3, 1789, that Alexander Mackenzie's little flotilla of four birch-bark canoes set out across Lake Athabaska on its way to the north. In Mackenzie's canoe were four French-Canadian voyageurs, two of them accompanied by their wives, and a German. Two other canoes were filled with Indians, who were to act as guides and interpreters. At their head was a notable brave who had been one of the band of Matonabbee, Hearne's famous guide. From his frequent visits to the English post at Fort Churchill he had acquired the name of the 'English Chief.' Another canoe was in charge of Leroux, a French-Canadian in the service of the company, who had already descended the Slave river, as far as the Great Slave Lake. Leroux and his men carried trading goods and supplies. The first part of the journey was by a route already known. The voyageurs paddled across the twenty miles of water which here forms the breadth of Lake Athabaska, entered a river running from the lake, and followed its {76} winding stream. They encamped at night seven miles from the lake. The next morning at four o'clock the canoes were on their way again, descending the winding river through a low forest of birch and willow. After a paddle of ten miles, a bend in the little river brought the canoes out upon the broad stream of the Peace river, its waters here being upwards of a mile wide and running with a strong current to the north. On our modern maps this great stream after it leaves Lake Athabaska is called the Slave river: but it is really one and the same mighty river, carrying its waters from the valleys of British Columbia through the gorges of the Rocky Mountains, passing into the Great Slave Lake, and then, under the name of the Mackenzie, emptying into the Arctic. In the next five days Mackenzie's canoes successfully descended the river to the Great Slave Lake, a distance of some two hundred and thirty-five miles. The journey was not without its dangers. The Slave river has a varied course: at times it broadens out into a great sheet of water six miles across, flowing with a gentle current and carrying the light canoes gently upon its unruffled surface. In other places it is confined into a narrow channel, breaks into swift eddies and pours in {77} boiling rapids over the jagged rocks. Over the upper rapids of the river, Mackenzie and his men were able to run their canoes fully laden; but lower down were long and arduous portages, rendered dangerous by the masses of broken ice still clinging to the banks of the river. As they neared the Great Slave Lake boisterous gales from the north-east lashed the surface of the river into foam and brought violent showers of rain. But the voyageurs were trained men, accustomed to face the dangers of northern navigation. A week of travel brought them on June 9 to the Great Slave Lake. It was still early in the season. The rigour of winter was not yet relaxed. As far as the eye could see the surface of the lake presented an unbroken sheet of ice. Only along the shore had narrow lanes of open water appeared. The weather was bitterly cold, and there was no immediate prospect of the break-up of the ice. For a fortnight Mackenzie and his party remained at the lake, skirting its shores as best they could, and searching among the bays and islands of its western end for the outlet towards the north which they knew must exist. Heavy rain, alternating with bitter cold, caused them much hardship. At times it froze so {78} hard that a thin sheet of new ice covered even the open water of the lake. But as the month advanced the mass of old ice began slowly to break; strong winds drove it towards the north, and the canoes were presently able to pass, with great danger and difficulty, among the broken floes. Mackenzie met a band of Yellow Knife Indians, who assured him that a great river ran out of the west end of the lake, and offered a guide to aid him in finding the channel among the islands and sandbars of the lake. Convinced that his search would be successful, Mackenzie took all the remaining supplies into his canoes and sent back Leroux to Chipewyan with the news that he had gone north down the great river. But even after obtaining his guide Mackenzie spent four days searching for the outlet It was not till the end of the month of June that his search was rewarded, and, at the extreme south-west, the lake, after stretching out among islands and shallows, was found to contract into the channel of a river. The first day of July saw Mackenzie's canoes floating down the stream that bears his name. From now on, progress became easier. At this latitude and season the northern day gave the voyageurs twenty hours of sunlight in each day, {79} and with smooth water and a favouring current the descent was rapid. Five days after leaving the Great Slave Lake the canoes reached the region where the waters of the Great Bear Lake, then still unknown, drain into the Mackenzie. The Indians of this district seemed entirely different from those known at the trading posts. At the sight of the canoes and the equipment of the voyageurs they made off and hid among the rocks and trees beside the river. Mackenzie's Indians contrived to make themselves understood, by calling out to them in the Chipewyan language, but the strange Indians showed the greatest reluctance and apprehension, and only with difficulty allowed Mackenzie's people to come among them. Mackenzie notes the peculiar fact that they seemed unacquainted with tobacco, and that even fire-water was accepted by them rather from fear of offending than from any inclination. Knives, hatchets and tools, however, they took with great eagerness. On learning of Mackenzie's design to go on towards the north they endeavoured with every possible expression of horror to induce him to turn back. The sea, they said, was so far away that winter after winter must pass before Mackenzie could hope to reach it: he would be an old man {80} before he could complete the voyage. More than this, the river, so they averred, fell over great cataracts which no one could pass; he would find no animals and no food for his men. The whole country was haunted by monsters. Mackenzie was not to be deterred by such childish and obviously interested terrors. His interpreters explained that he had no fear of the horrors that they depicted, and, by a heavy bribe, consisting of a kettle, an axe, and a knife, he succeeded in enlisting the services of one of the Indians as a guide. That the terror of the Far North professed by these Indians, or at any rate the terror of going there in strange company, was not wholly imaginary was made plain from the conduct of the guide. When the time came to depart he showed every sign of anxiety and fear: he sought in vain to induce his friends to take his place: finding that he must go, he reluctantly bade farewell to his wife and children, cutting off a lock of his hair and dividing it into three parts, which he fastened to the hair of each of them. On July 5, the party set out with their new guide, and on the same afternoon passed the mouth of the Great Bear river, which joins the Mackenzie in a flood of sea-green water, fresh, but coloured like that of the ocean. Below {81} this point, they passed many islands. The banks of the river rose to high mountains covered with snow. The country, so the guide said, was here filled with bears, but the voyageurs saw nothing worse than mosquitoes, which descended in clouds upon the canoes. As the party went on to the north, the guide seemed more and more stricken with fear and consumed with the longing to return to his people. In the morning after breaking camp nothing but force would induce him to embark, and on the fourth night, during the confusion of a violent thunder-storm, he made off and was seen no more. The next day, however, Mackenzie supplied his place, this time by force, from a band of roving Indians. The new guide told him that the sea was not far away, and that it could be reached in ten days. As the journey continued the river was broken into so many channels and so dotted with islands, that it was almost impossible to decide which was the main waterway. The guide's advice was evidently influenced by his desire to avoid the Eskimos, and, like his predecessor, to keep away from the supposed terrors of the North. The shores of the river were now at times low, though usually lofty mountains could be seen about ten miles {82} away. Trees were still present, especially fir and birch, though in places both shores of the river were entirely bare, and the islands were mere banks of sand and mud to which great masses of ice adhered. An observation taken on July 10 showed that the voyageurs had reached latitude 67° 47' north. From the extreme variation of the compass, and from other signs, Mackenzie was now certain that he was approaching the northern ocean. He was assured that in a few days more of travel he could reach its shores. But in the meantime his provisions were running low. His Indian guide, a prey to fantastic terrors, endeavoured to dissuade him from his purpose, while his canoe men, now far beyond the utmost limits of the country known to the fur trade, began to share the apprehensions of the guide, and clamoured eagerly for return. Mackenzie himself was of the opinion that it would not be possible for him to return to Chipewyan while the rivers were still open, and that the approach of winter must surprise him in these northern solitudes. But in spite of this he could not bring himself to turn back. With his men he stipulated for seven days; if the northern ocean were not found in that time he would turn south again. {83} The expedition went forward. On July 10, they made a course of thirty-two miles, the river sweeping with a strong current through a low, flat country, a mountain range still visible in the west and reaching out towards the north. At the spot where they pitched their tents at night on the river bank they could see the traces of an encampment of Eskimos. The sun shone brilliantly the whole night, never descending below the horizon. Mackenzie sat up all night observing its course in the sky. At a quarter to four in the morning, the canoes were off again, the river winding and turning in its course but heading for the north-west. Here and there on the banks they saw traces of the Eskimos, the marks of camp fires, and the remains of huts, made of drift-wood covered with grass and willows. This day the canoes travelled fifty-four miles. The prospect about the travellers was gloomy and dispiriting. The low banks of the river were now almost treeless, except that here and there grew stunted willow, not more than three feet in height. The weather was cloudy and raw, with gusts of rain at intervals. The discontent of Mackenzie's companions grew apace: the guide was evidently at the end of his knowledge; while the violent rain, the biting cold {84} and the fear of an attack by hostile savages kept the voyageurs in a continual state of apprehension. July 12 was marked by continued cold, and the canoes traversed a country so bare and naked that scarcely a shrub could be seen. At one place the land rose in high banks above the river, and was bright with short grass and flowers, though all the lower shore was now thick with ice and snow, and even in the warmer spots the soil was only thawed to a depth of four inches. Here also were seen more Eskimo huts, with fragments of sledges, a square stone kettle, and other utensils lying about. Mackenzie was now at the very delta of the great river, where it discharges its waters, broken into numerous and intricate channels, into the Arctic ocean. On Sunday, July 12, the party encamped on an island that rose to a considerable eminence among the flat and dreary waste of broken land and ice in which the travellers now found themselves. The channels of the river had here widened into great sheets of water, so shallow that for stretches of many miles, east and west, the depth never exceeded five feet. Mackenzie and 'English Chief,' his principal follower, ascended to the highest ground on the island, {85} from which they were able to command a wide view in all directions. To the south of them lay the tortuous and complicated channels of the broad river which they had descended; east and north were islands in great number; but on the westward side the eye could discern the broad field of solid ice that marked the Arctic ocean. Mackenzie had reached the goal of his endeavours. His followers, when they learned that the open sea, the _mer d'ouest_ as they called it, was in sight, were transformed; instead of sullen ill-will they manifested the highest degree of confidence and eager expectation. They declared their readiness to follow their leader wherever he wished to go, and begged that he would not turn back without actually reaching the shore of the unknown sea. But in reality they had already reached it. That evening, when their camp was pitched and they were about to retire to sleep, under the full light of the unsinking sun, the inrush of the Arctic tide, threatening to swamp their baggage and drown out their tents, proved beyond all doubt that they were now actually on the shore of the ocean. For three days Mackenzie remained beside the Arctic ocean. Heavy gales blew in from {86} the north-west, and in the open water to the westward whales were seen. Mackenzie and his men, in their exultation at this final proof of their whereabouts, were rash enough to start in pursuit in a canoe. Fortunately, a thick curtain of fog fell on the ocean and terminated the chase. In memory of the occurrence, Mackenzie called his island Whale Island. On the morning of July 14, 1789, Mackenzie, convinced that his search had succeeded, ordered a post to be erected on the island beside his tents, on which he carved the latitude as he had calculated it (69° 14' north), his own name, the number of persons who were with him and the time that was spent there. This day Mackenzie spent in camp, for a great gale, blowing with rain and bitter cold, made it hazardous to embark. But on the next morning the canoes were headed for the south, and the return journey was begun. It was time indeed. Only about five hundred pounds weight of supplies was now left in the canoes--enough, it was calculated, to suffice for about twelve days. As the return journey might well occupy as many weeks, the fate of the voyageurs must now depend on the chances of fishing and the chase. {87} As a matter of fact the ascent of the river, which Mackenzie conducted with signal success and almost without incident, occupied two months. The weather was favourable. The wild gales which had been faced in the Arctic delta were left behind, and, under mild skies and unending sunlight, and with wild fowl abundant about them, the canoes were urged steadily against the stream. The end of the month of July brought the explorers to the Great Bear river; from this point an abundance of berries on the banks of the stream--the huckleberry, the raspberry and the saskatoon--afforded a welcome addition to their supplies. As they reached the narrower parts of the river, where it flowed between high banks, the swift current made paddling useless and compelled the men to haul the canoes with the towing line. At other times steady strong winds from the north enabled them to rig their sails and skim without effort over the broad surface of the river. Mackenzie noted with interest the varied nature and the fine resources of the country of the upper river. At one place petroleum, having the appearance of yellow wax, was seen oozing from the rocks; at another place a vast seam of coal in the river bank was observed to be burning. On August 22 the canoes were {88} driven over the last reaches of the Mackenzie with a west wind strong and cold behind them, and were carried out upon the broad bosom of the Great Slave Lake. The voyageurs were once more in known country. The navigation of the lake, now free from ice, was without difficulty, and the canoes drove at a furious rate over its waters. On August 24 three canoes were sighted sailing on the lake, and were presently found to contain Leroux and his party, who had been carrying on the fur trade in that district during Mackenzie's absence. The rest of the journey offered no difficulty. There remained, indeed, some two hundred and sixty miles of paddle and portage to traverse the Slave river and reach Fort Chipewyan. But to the stout arms of Mackenzie's trained voyageurs this was only a summer diversion. On September 12, 1789, Alexander Mackenzie safely reached the fort. His voyage had occupied one hundred and two days. Its successful completion brought to the world its first knowledge of that vast waterway of the northern country, whose extensive resources in timber and coal, in mineral and animal wealth, still await development. {89} CHAPTER IV THE MEMORABLE EXPLOITS OF SIR JOHN FRANKLIN The generation now passing away can vividly recall, as one of the deepest impressions of its childhood, the profound and sustained interest excited by the mysterious fate of Sir John Franklin. His splendid record by sea and land, the fact that he was one of 'Nelson's men' and had fought at Copenhagen and Trafalgar, his feats as an explorer in the unknown wilds of North America and the torrid seas of Australasia, and, more than these, his high Christian courage and his devotion to the flag and country that he served--all had made of Franklin a hero whom the nation delighted to honour. His departure in 1846 with his two stout ships the _Erebus_ and the _Terror_ and a total company of one hundred and thirty-four men, including some of the ablest naval officers of the day, was hailed with high hopes that the mysterious north would at length be {90} robbed of its secret. Then, as the years passed and the ships never returned, and no message from the explorers came out of the silent north, the nation, defiant of difficulty and danger, bent its energies towards the discovery of their fate. No less than forty-two expeditions were sent out in search of the missing ships. The efforts of the government were seconded by the munificence of private individuals, and by the generosity of naval officers who gladly gave their services for no other reward than the honour of the enterprise. The energies of the rescue parties were quickened by the devotion of Lady Franklin, who refused to abandon hope, and consecrated her every energy and her entire fortune to the search for her lost husband. Her conduct and her ardent appeals awoke a chivalrous spirit at home and abroad; men such as Kane, Bellot, M'Clintock and De Haven volunteered their services in the cause. At length, as with the passage of years anxiety deepened into despair, and as little by little it was learned that all were lost, the brave story of the death of Franklin and his men wrote itself in imperishable letters on the hearts of their fellow-countrymen. It found no parallel till more than half a century later, when another and a {91} similar tragedy in the silent snows of the Antarctic called forth again the mingled pride and anguish with which Britain honours the memory of those fallen in her cause. John Franklin belonged to the school of naval officers trained in the prolonged struggle of the great war with France. He entered the Royal Navy in 1800 at fourteen years of age, and within a year was engaged on his ship, the _Polyphemus_, in the great sea-fight at Copenhagen. During the brief truce that broke the long war after 1801, Franklin served under Flinders, the great explorer of the Australasian seas. On his way home in 1803 he was shipwrecked in Torres Strait, and, with ninety-three others of the company of H.M.S. _Porpoise_, was cast up on a sandbar, seven hundred and fifty miles from the nearest port. The party were rescued, Franklin reached England, and at once set out on a voyage to the China seas in the service of the East India Company. During the voyage the merchant fleet with which he sailed offered battle to a squadron of French men-of-war, which fled before them. The next year saw Franklin serving as signal midshipman on board the _Bellerophon_ at Trafalgar. He remained in active service during the war, served in America, and was {92} wounded in the British attempt to capture New Orleans. After the war Franklin, now a lieutenant, found himself, like so many other naval officers, unable, after the stirring life of the past fifteen years, to settle into the dull routine of peace service. Maritime discovery, especially since his voyage with Flinders, had always fascinated his mind, and he now offered himself for service in that Arctic region with which his name will ever be associated. The long struggle of the war had halted the progress of discoveries in the northern seas. But on the conclusion of peace the attention of the nation, and of naval men in particular, was turned again towards the north. The Admiralty naturally sought an opportunity of giving honourable service to their officers and men. Great numbers of them had been thrown out of employment. Some migrated to the colonies or even took service abroad. At the same time the writings of Captain Scoresby, a whaling captain of scientific knowledge who published an account of the Greenland seas, and the influence of such men as Sir John Barrow, the secretary of the Admiralty, did much to create a renewal of public interest in the north. It was now recognized that the North-West Passage offered no commercial {93} attractions. But it was felt that it would not be for the honour of the nation that the splendid discoveries of Hearne, Cook and Mackenzie should remain uncompleted. To trace the Arctic water-way from the Atlantic to the Pacific became now a supreme object, not of commercial interest, but of geographical research and of national pride. To this was added the fact that the progress of physical and natural science was opening up new fields of investigation for the explorers of the north. Franklin first sailed north in 1818, as second in command of the first Arctic expedition of the nineteenth century. Two brigs, H.M.S. _Dorothea_ under Captain Buchan, and H.M.S. _Trent_ under Lieutenant John Franklin, set out from the Thames with a purpose which in audacity at least has never been surpassed. The new sentiment of supreme confidence in the navy inspired by the conquest of the seas is evinced by the fact that these two square-rigged sailing ships, clumsy and antiquated, built up with sundry extra beams inside and iron bands without, were directed to sail straight north across the North Pole and down the world on the other side. They did their best. They went churning northward through the foaming seas, and when they found that {94} the ice was closing in on them, and that they were being blown down upon it in a gale as on to a lee shore, the order was given to put the helm up and charge full speed at the ice. It was the only possible way of escape, and it meant either sudden and awful death under the ice floes or else the piling up of the ships safe on top of them--'taking the ice' as Arctic sailors call it. The _Dorothea_ and the _Trent_ went driving at the ice with such a gale of snow about them that neither could see the other as they ran. They 'took the ice' with a mighty crash, amid a wild confusion of the elements, and when the storm cleared the two old hulls lay shattered but safe on the surface of the ice-pack. The whole larboard side of the _Dorothea_ was smashed, but they brought her somehow to Spitzbergen, and there by wonderful patching enabled her to sail home. The next year (1819) Lieutenant Franklin was off again on an Arctic journey, the record of which, written by himself, forms one of the most exciting stories of adventure ever written. The design this time was to follow the lead of Hearne and Mackenzie. Beginning where their labours ended, Franklin proposed to embark on the polar sea in canoes and follow the coast line. Franklin left England at the {95} end of May. He was accompanied by Dr Richardson, a naval surgeon, afterwards Sir John Richardson, and second only to Franklin himself as an explorer and writer, Midshipman Back, later on to be Admiral Sir George Back, Midshipman Hood, and one Hepburn, a stout-hearted sailor of the Royal Navy. They sailed in the Hudson's Bay Company ship _Prince of Wales_, and passed through the straits to York Factory. Thence by canoe they went inland, up the Hayes river, through Lake Winnipeg and thence up the Saskatchewan to Cumberland House, a Hudson's Bay fort established by Samuel Hearne a few years after his famous journey. From York Factory to Cumberland House was a journey of six hundred and ninety miles. But this was only a beginning. During the winter of 1819-20 Franklin and his party made their way from Cumberland House to Fort Chipewyan on Lake Athabaska, a distance, by the route traversed, of eight hundred and fifty-seven miles. From this fort the party, accompanied by Canadian voyageurs and Indian guides, made their way, in the summer of 1820, to Fort Providence, a lonely post of the North-West Company lying in latitude 62° on the northern shore of the Great Slave Lake. {96} These were the days of rivalry, and even open war, between the two great fur companies, the Hudson's Bay and the North-West. The Admiralty had commended Franklin's expeditions to the companies, who were to be requisitioned for the necessary supplies. But the disorders of the fur trade, and the demoralization of the Indians, owing to the free distribution of ardent spirits by the rival companies, rendered it impossible for the party to obtain adequate supplies and stores. Undeterred by difficulties, Franklin set out from Fort Providence to make his way to the Arctic seas at the mouth of the Coppermine. The expedition reached the height of land between the Great Slave Lake and the Coppermine, on the borders of the country which had been the scene of Hearne's exploits. The northern forest is here reduced to a thin growth of stunted pine and willow. It was now the end of August. The brief northern summer was drawing to its close. It was impossible to undertake the navigation of the Arctic coast till the ensuing summer. Franklin and his party built some rude log shanties which they called Fort Enterprise. Here, after having traversed over two thousand miles in all from York Factory, they spent their second winter in the {97} north. It was a season of great hardship. With the poor materials at their hand it was impossible to make their huts weatherproof. The wind whistled through the ill-plastered seams of the logs. So intense was the winter cold that the trees about the fort froze hard to their centres. In cutting firewood the axes splintered as against stone. In the officers' room the thermometer, sixteen feet from the log fire, marked as low as fifteen degrees below zero in the day and forty below at night. For food the party lived on deer's meat with a little fish, tea twice a day (without sugar), and on Sunday a cup of chocolate as the luxury of the week to every man. But, undismayed by cold and hardship, they kept stoutly at their work. Richardson investigated the mosses and lichens beneath the snow and acquainted himself with the mineralogy of the neighbourhood. Franklin and the two lieutenants carried out observations, their fingers freezing with the cold of forty-six below zero at noon of the brief three-hour day in the heart of winter. Sunday was a day of rest. The officers dressed in their best attire. Franklin read the service of the Church of England to his assembled company. For the French-Canadian Roman Catholics, Franklin did the best he {98} could; he read to them the creed of the Church of England in French. In the leisure part of the day a bundle of London newspapers was perused again and again. The winter passed safely; the party now entered upon the most arduous part of their undertaking. Canoes were built and dragged on improvised sledges to the Coppermine. Franklin descended the river, surveying its course as he went. He passed by the scene of the massacre witnessed by Hearne, and found himself, late in July of 1821, on the shores of the Arctic. The distance from Fort Enterprise was three hundred and thirty-four miles, for one hundred and seventeen of which the canoes and baggage had been hauled over snow and ice. Franklin and his followers, in two canoes, embarked on the polar sea and traced the course of the coast eastward for five hundred and fifty miles. The sailors were as men restored to their own element. But the Canadian voyageurs were filled with dread at the great waves of the open ocean. All that Franklin saw of the Arctic coast encouraged his belief that the American continent is separated by stretches of sea from the great masses of land that had been already discovered in the Arctic. {99} The North-West Passage, ice-blocked and useless, was still a geographical fact. Eager in the pursuit of his investigations he went on eastward as long as he dared--too long in fact. Food was running low. His voyageurs had lost heart, appalled at the immense spaces of ice and sea through which their frail canoes went onward into the unknown. Reluctantly, Franklin decided to turn back. But it was too late to return by water. The northern gales drove the ice in against the coast. Franklin and his men, dragging and carrying one of the canoes, took to the land, in order to make their way across the barren grounds. By this means they hoped to reach the upper waters of the Coppermine and thence Fort Enterprise, where supplies were to have been placed for them during the summer. Their journey was disastrous. Bitter cold set in as they marched. Food failed them. Day after day they tramped on, often with blinding snow in their faces, with no other sustenance than the bitter weed called _tripe de roche_ that can here and there be scraped from the rocks beneath the snow. At times they found frozen remnants of deer that had been killed by wolves, a few bones with putrid meat adhering to them. These they eagerly devoured. But {100} often day after day passed without even this miserable sustenance. At night they lay down beside a clump of willows, trying, often in vain, to make a fire of the green twigs dragged from under the snow. So great was their famine, Franklin says, that the very sensation of hunger passed away, leaving only an exhaustion too great for words. Lieutenant Back, gaunt and emaciated, staggered forward leaning on a stick, refusing to give in. Richardson could hardly walk, while Lieutenant Hood, emaciated to the last degree, was helped on by his comrades as best they could. The Canadians and Indians suffered less in body, but, lacking the stern purpose of the officers, they were distraught with the horror of the death that seemed to await them. In their fear they had refused to carry the canoe, and had smashed it and thrown it aside. In this miserable condition the party reached, on September 26, the Coppermine river, to find it flowing still unfrozen in an angry flood which they could not cross. In vain they ranged the banks above and below. Below them was a great lake; beside and above them a swift, deep current broken by rapids. There was no crossing. They tried to gather willow faggots, and bind them into a raft. But the green wood sank so {101} easily that only one man could get upon the raft: to paddle or pole it in the running water was impossible. A line was made of strips of skin, and Richardson volunteered to swim the river so as to haul the raft across with the line. The bitter cold of the water paralysed his limbs. He was seen to sink beneath the leaping waters. His companions dragged him back to the bank, where for hours he lay as if lifeless beside the fire of willow branches, so emaciated that he seemed a mere skeleton when they took off his wet clothing. His comrades gazed at him with a sort of horror. Thus for days they waited. At last, with infinite patience, one of the Canadians made a sort of canoe with willow sticks and canvas. In this, with a line attached, they crossed the river one by one. They were now only forty miles from Fort Enterprise. But their strength was failing. Hood could not go on. The party divided. Franklin and Back went forward with most of the men, while Richardson and sailor Hepburn volunteered to stay with Hood till help could be sent. The others left them in a little tent, with some rounds of ammunition and willow branches gathered for the fire. A little further on the march, three of Franklin's followers, {102} too exhausted to go on, dropped out, proposing to make their way back to Richardson and Hood. The little party at the tent in the snow waited in vain. Days passed, and no help came. One of the three men who had left Franklin, an Indian called Michel, joined them, saying that the others had gone astray in the snow. But he was strange and sullen, sleeping apart and wandering off by himself to hunt. Presently, from the man's strange talk and from some meat which he brought back from his hunting and declared to be part of a wolf, Richardson realized the awful truth that Michel had killed his companions and was feeding on their bodies. A worse thing followed. Richardson and Hepburn, gathering wood a few days later, heard the report of a gun from beside the fire where they had left Lieutenant Hood, who was now in the last stage of exhaustion. They returned to find Michel beside the dead body of their comrade. He had been shot through the back of the head. Michel swore that Hood had killed himself. Richardson knew the truth, but both he and Hepburn were too enfeebled by privation to offer fight to the armed and powerful madman. The three set out for Fort Enterprise, Michel carrying a loaded gun, two {103} pistols and a bayonet, muttering to himself and evidently meditating a new crime. Richardson, a man of iron nerve, forestalled him. Watching his opportunity, he put a pistol to the Indian's head and blew his brains out. Richardson and Hepburn dragged themselves forward mile by mile, encouraged by the thought of the blazing fires and the abundant food that they expected to find at Fort Enterprise. They reached the fort just in the dusk of an October evening. All about it was silence. There were no tracks in the newly fallen snow. Only a thin thread of smoke from the chimney gave a sign of life. Hurriedly they made their way in. To their horror and dismay they found Franklin and three companions, two Canadians and an Indian, stretched out in the last stages of famine. 'No words can convey an idea,' wrote Dr Richardson later on, 'of the filth and wretchedness that met our eyes on looking around. Our own misery had stolen upon us by degrees and we were accustomed to the contemplation of each other's emaciated figures, but the ghastly countenances, dilated eye-balls, and sepulchral voices of Captain Franklin and those with him were more than we could bear.' Franklin, on his part, was equally dismayed at the appearance of Richardson and Hepburn. {104} 'We were all shocked,' he says in his journal, 'at beholding the emaciated countenances of the doctor and Hepburn, as they strongly evidenced their extremely debilitated state. The alteration in our appearance was equally distressing to them, for since the swellings had subsided we were little more than skin and bone. The doctor particularly remarked the sepulchral tone of our voices, which he requested us to make more cheerful if possible, unconscious that his own partook of the same key.' Franklin related to the new-comers how he and his followers had reached Fort Enterprise, and to their infinite disappointment and grief had found it perfectly desolate. There was no depot of provisions, as had been arranged, nor any trace of a letter or other message from the traders at Fort Providence or from the Indians. Lieutenant Back, who had reached the fort a little in advance of Franklin, had gone on in the hope of finding Indian hunters, or perhaps of reaching Fort Providence and sending relief. They had no food except a little _tripe de roche_, and Franklin had thus found himself, as he explained to Richardson, in the deserted fort with five companions, in a state of utter destitution. Food there was none. {105} From the refuse heaps of the winter before, now buried under the snow, they dug out pieces of bone and a few deer-skins; on this, with a little _tripe de roche_, they endeavoured to subsist. The log house was falling into decay. The seams gaped and the piercing air entered on every side with the thermometer twenty below zero. Franklin and his companions had tried in vain to stop the chinks and to make a fire by tearing up the rough boards of the floor. But their strength was insufficient. Already for two weeks before their arrival at Fort Enterprise they had had no meat. It was impossible that they could have existed long in the miserable shelter of the deserted fort. Franklin had endeavoured to go on. Leaving three of his companions, now too exhausted to walk far, he and the other two, a Canadian and an Eskimo, set out to try to reach help in the direction of Fort Providence. The snow was deep, and their strength was so far gone that in six hours they only struggled four miles on their way. At night they lay down beside one another in the snow, huddled together for warmth, with a bitter wind blowing over their emaciated bodies. The next morning, in recommencing their march, Franklin stumbled and fell, breaking his snow-shoe in the {106} fall. Realizing that he could never hope to traverse the one hundred and eighty-six miles to Fort Providence, he directed his companions to go on, and he himself made his way back to Fort Enterprise. There he had remained for a fortnight until found by Richardson and Hepburn. So weak had Franklin and his three companions become that they could not find the strength to go on cutting down the log buildings of the fort to make a fire. Adam, the Indian, lay prostrate in his bunk, his body covered with hideous swellings. The two Canadians, Peltier and Samandré, suffered such pain in their joints that they could scarcely move a step. A herd of deer had appeared on the ice of the river near by, but none of the men had strength to pursue them, nor could any one of them, said Franklin, have found the strength to raise a gun and fire it. Such had been the position of things when Richardson and Hepburn, themselves almost in the last stage of exhaustion, found their unhappy comrades. Richardson was a man of striking energy, of the kind that knows no surrender. He set himself to gather wood, built up a blazing fire, dressed as well as he could the swollen body of the Indian, and tried to bring some order into the filth and squalor {107} of the hut. Hepburn meantime had killed a partridge, which the doctor then divided among them in six parts, the first fresh meat that Franklin and those with him had tasted for thirty-one days. This done, 'the doctor,' so runs Franklin's story, 'brought out his prayer book and testament, and some prayers and psalms and portions of scripture appropriate to the situation were read.' But beyond the consolation of manifesting a brave and devout spirit, there was little that Richardson could do for his companions. The second night after his arrival Peltier died. There was no strength left in the party to lift his body out into the snow. It lay beside them in the hut, and before another day passed Samandré, the other Canadian, lay dead beside it. For a week the survivors remained in the hut, waiting for death. Then at last, and just in time, help reached them. On November 7, nearly a month after Franklin's first arrival at the fort, they heard the sound of a musket and the shouting of men outside. Three Indians stood before the door. The valiant Lieutenant Back, after sufferings almost as great as their own, had reached a band of Indian hunters and had sent three men travelling at top speed with enough food to {108} keep the party alive till further succour could be brought. Franklin and his friends were saved by one of the narrowest escapes recorded in the history of northern adventure. Another week passed before the relief party of the Indians reached them, and even then Franklin and his companions were so enfeebled by privation that they could only travel with difficulty, and a month passed before they found themselves safe and sound within the shelter of Fort Providence on the Great Slave Lake. There they remained till the winter passed. A seven weeks' journey took them to York Factory on Hudson Bay, whence they sailed to England. Franklin's journey overland and on the waters of the polar sea had covered in all five thousand five hundred and fifty miles and had occupied nearly three years. On his return to England Franklin found himself at once the object of a wide public interest. Already during his absence he had been made a commander, and the Admiralty now promoted him to the rank of captain, while the national recognition of his services was shortly afterwards confirmed by the honour of knighthood. One might think that after the perils which he had braved and the horrors which he had experienced, Sir John would have {109} been content to retire upon his laurels. But it was not so. There is something in the snow-covered land of the Arctic, its isolation from the world and the long silence of its winter darkness, that exercises a strange fascination upon those who have the hardihood to brave its perils. It was a moment too when interest in Arctic discovery and the advancement thereby of scientific knowledge had reached the highest point yet known. During Franklin's absence Captain Ross and Lieutenant Parry had been sent by sea into the Arctic waters. Parry had met with wonderful success, striking from Baffin Bay through the northern archipelago and reaching half-way to Bering Strait. Franklin was eager to be off again. The year 1825 saw him start once more to resume the survey of the polar coast of America. The plan now was to learn something of the western half of the North American coast, so as to connect the discoveries of Sir Alexander Mackenzie with those made by Cook and others through Bering Strait. Franklin was again accompanied by his gallant friend, Dr Richardson. They passed again overland through the fur country, where the recent union of the rival companies had brought about a new era. They descended the Mackenzie river, {110} wintered on Great Bear Lake, and descended thence to the sea. Franklin struck out westward, his party surveying the coast in open boats. Their journey from their winter quarters to the sea and along the coast covered a thousand miles, and extended to within one hundred and sixty miles of the point that had then been reached by explorers from Bering Strait. At the same time Richardson, going eastward from the Mackenzie, surveyed the coast as far as the Coppermine river. Their discoveries thus connected the Pacific waters with the Atlantic, with the exception of one hundred and sixty miles on the north-west, where water was known to exist and only ice blocked the way, and of a line north and south which should bring the discoveries of Parry into connection with those of Franklin. These two were the missing links now needed in the chain of the North-West Passage. But more than twenty years were to elapse before the discoveries thus made were carried to their completion. Franklin himself, claimed by other duties, was unable to continue his work in the Arctic, and his appointment to the governorship of Tasmania called him for a time to another sphere. Yet, little by little, the exploration of the Arctic regions was carried {111} on, each explorer adding something to what was already known, and each hoping that the honour of the discovery of the great passage would fall to his lot. Franklin's comrade Back, now a captain and presently to be admiral, made his way in 1834 from Canada to the polar sea down the river that bears his name. Three years later Simpson, in the service of the Hudson's Bay Company, succeeded in traversing the coast from the Mackenzie to Point Barrow, completing the missing link in the western end of the chain. John and James Ross brought the exploration of the northern archipelago to a point that made it certain that somewhere or other a way through must exist to connect Baffin Bay with the coastal waters. At last the time came, in 1844, when the British Admiralty determined to make a supreme effort to unite the explorations of twenty-five years by a final act of discovery. The result was the last expedition of Sir John Franklin, glorious in its disaster, and leaving behind it a tale that will never be forgotten while the annals of the British nation remain. {112} CHAPTER V THE TRAGEDY OF FRANKLIN'S FATE The month of May 1845 found two stout ships, the _Erebus_ and the _Terror_, riding at anchor in the Thames. Both ships were already well known to the British public. They had but recently returned from the Antarctic seas, where Captain Sir James Ross, in a voyage towards the South Pole, had attained the highest southern latitude yet reached. Both were fine square-rigged ships, strengthened in every way that the shipwrights of the time could devise. Between their decks a warming and ventilating apparatus of the newest kind had been installed, and, as a greater novelty still, the attempt was now made for the first time in history to call in the power of steam for the fight against the Arctic frost. Each vessel carried an auxiliary screw and an engine of twenty horse-power. When we remember that a modern steam vessel with a horse-power of many thousands is still {113} powerless against the northern ice, the _Erebus_ and the _Terror_ arouse in us a forlorn pathos. But in the springtime of 1845 as they lay in the Thames, an object of eager interest to the flocks of sightseers in the neighbourhood, they seemed like very leviathans of the deep. Vast quantities of stores were being loaded into the ships, enough, it was said, for the subsistence of the one hundred and thirty-four members of the expedition for three years. For it was now known that Arctic explorers must be prepared to face the winter, icebound in their ships through the long polar night. That the winter could be faced with success had been shown by the experience of Sir William Parry, whose ships, the _Fury_ and the _Hecla_, had been ice-bound for two winters (1821-23), and still more by that of Captain John Ross, who brought home the crew of the _Victory_ safe and sound in 1833, after four winters in the ice. [Illustration: Sir John Franklin. From the National Portrait Gallery.] All England was eager with expectancy over the new expedition. It was to be commanded by Sir John Franklin, the greatest sailor of the day, who had just returned from his five years in Van Diemen's Land and carried his fifty-nine winters as jauntily as a midshipman. The era was auspicious. A new reign under a {114} queen already beloved had just opened. There was every hope of a long, some people said a perpetual, peace: it seemed fitting that the new triumphs of commerce and science, of steam and the magnetic telegraph, should replace the older and cruder glories of war. The expedition was well equipped for scientific research, but its main object was the discovery of the North-West Passage. We have already seen what this phrase had come to mean. It had now no reference to the uses of commerce. The question was purely one of geography. The ocean lying north of America was known to be largely occupied by a vast archipelago, between which were open sounds and seas, filled for the greater part of the year with huge packs of ice. In the Arctic winter all was frozen into an unending plain of snow, broken by distorted hummocks of ice, and here and there showing the frowning rocks of a mountainous country swept clean by the Arctic blast. In the winter deep night and intense cold settled on the scene. But in the short Arctic summer the ice-pack moved away from the shores. Lanes of water extended here and there, and sometimes, by the good fortune of a gale, a great sheet of open sea with blue tossing waves gladdened the heart of the {115} sailor. Through this region somewhere a water-way must exist from east to west. The currents of the sea and the drift-wood that they carried proved it beyond a doubt. Exploration had almost proved it also. Ships and boats had made their way from Bering Strait to the Coppermine. North of this they had gone from Baffin Bay through Lancaster Sound and on westward to a great sea called Melville Sound, a body of water larger than the Irish Sea. The two lines east and west overlapped widely. All that was needed now was to find a channel north and south to connect the two. This done, the North-West Passage, the will-o'-the-wisp of three hundred and fifty years, had been found. A glance at the map will make clear the instructions given to Sir John Franklin. He was to go into the Arctic by way of Baffin Bay, and to proceed westward along the parallel of 74° 15' north latitude, which would take him through the already familiar waters of Lancaster Sound and Barrow Strait, leading into Melville Sound. This line he was to follow as far as Cape Walker in longitude 98°, from which point it was known that waters were to be found leading southward. Beyond this position Franklin was left to his own {116} discretion, his instructions being merely to penetrate to the southward and westward in a course as direct to Bering Strait as the position of the land and the condition of the ice should allow. The _Erebus_ and the _Terror_ sailed from England on June 19, 1845. The officers and sailors who manned their decks were the very pick of the Royal Navy and the merchant service, men inured to the perils of the northern ocean, and trained in the fine discipline of the service. Captain Crozier of the _Terror_ was second in command. He had been with Ross in the Antarctic. Commander Fitzjames, Lieutenants Fairholme, Gore and others were tried and trained men. The ships were so heavily laden with coal and supplies that they lay deep in the water. Every inch of stowage had been used, and even the decks were filled up with casks. A transport sailed with them across the Atlantic carrying further supplies. Thus laden they made their way to the Whale Fish Islands, near Disco, on the west coast of Greenland. Here the transport unloaded its stores and set sail for England. It carried with it five men of Franklin's company, leaving one hundred and twenty-nine in the ill-fated expedition. {117} The ships put out from the coast of Greenland on, or about, July 12, 1845, to make their way across Baffin Bay to Lancaster Sound, a distance of two hundred and twenty miles. In these waters are found the great floes of ice which Davis had first seen, called by Arctic explorers the 'middle ice.' The _Erebus_ and the _Terror_ spent a fortnight in attempting to make the passage across, and here they were seen for the last time at sea. A whaling ship, the _Prince of Wales_, sighted the two vessels on July 26. A party of Franklin's officers rowed over to the ship and carried an invitation to the master to dine with Sir John on the next day. But the boat had hardly returned when a fine breeze sprang up, and with a clear sea ahead the _Erebus_ and the _Terror_ were put on their course to the west without even taking time to forward letters to England. Thus the two ships vanished into the Arctic ice, never to be seen of Englishmen again. The summer of 1845 passed; no news came: the winter came and passed away; the spring and summer of 1846, and still no message. England, absorbed in political struggles at home--the Corn Law Repeal and the vexed question of Ireland--had still no anxiety over Franklin. No message could have come except {118} by the chance of a whaling ship or in some roundabout way through the territories of the Hudson's Bay Company, after all but a slender chance. The summer of 1846 came and went and then another winter, and now with the opening of the new year, 1847, the first expression of apprehension began to be heard. It was remembered how deeply laden the ships had been. The fear arose that perhaps they had foundered with all hands in the open waters of Baffin Bay, leaving no trace behind. Even the naval men began to shake their heads. Captain Sir John Ross wrote to the Admiralty to express his fear that Franklin's ships had been frozen in in such a way that their return was impossible. The Admiralty took advice. The question was gravely discussed with the leading Arctic seamen of the day. It was decided that until two years had elapsed from the time of departure (May 1845 to May 1847) no measures need be taken for the relief of the _Erebus_ and the _Terror_. The date came and passed. Anxiety was deepening. The Admiralty decided to act. Great stores of pemmican, some eight tons, together with suitable boats and experienced crews, were sent in June 1847 to Hudson Bay, ready for an expedition along the northern coast. A ship {119} was sent with supplies to meet Franklin in Bering Strait, and two more vessels were strengthened and equipped to be ready to follow on the track of the _Erebus_ and the _Terror_ in 1848. As this last year advanced and winter passed into summer, a shudder of apprehension was felt throughout the nation. It was felt now that some great disaster had happened, or even now was happening. It was known that Franklin's expedition had carried food for at best three years: the three years had come and gone. Franklin's men, if anywhere alive, must be suffering all the horrors of starvation in the frozen fastness of the Arctic. We may imagine the awful pictures that rose up before the imagination of the friends and relatives, the wives and children, of the one hundred and twenty-nine gallant men who had vanished in the _Erebus_ and the _Terror_--visions of ships torn and riven by the heaving ice, of men foodless and shelterless in the driving snow, looking out vainly from the bleak shores of some rocky coast for the help that never came--awful pictures indeed, yet none more awful than the grim reality. A generous frenzy seized upon the nation. The cry went up from the heart of the people that Franklin must be found; he and his men {120} must be rescued--they would not speak of them as dead. Ships must be sent out with all the equipment that science could devise and the wealth of a generous nation could supply. Ships were sent out. Year after year ships fought their way from Baffin Bay to the islands of the north. Ships sailed round the distant Horn and through the Pacific to Bering Strait. Down the Mackenzie and the great rivers of the north, the canoes of the voyageurs danced in the rapids and were paddled swiftly over the wider stretches of moving water. Over the frozen snow the sledges toiled against the storm. And still no word of Franklin, till all the weary outline of the frozen coast was traced in their wanderings: till twenty-one thousand miles of Arctic sea and shore had been tracked out. Thus the great epic of the search for Franklin ran slowly to its close. With each year the hope that was ever deferred made the heart sick. Anxiety deepened into dread, and even dread gave way to the cruel certainty of despair. Not till twelve years had passed was the search laid aside: not until, little by little, the evidence was found that told all that we know of the fate of the _Erebus_ and the _Terror_. First in the field was Richardson, the gallant {121} friend and comrade of Franklin's former journeys. He would not believe that Franklin had failed. He knew too well the temper of the man. Franklin had been instructed to strike southward from the Arctic seas to the American coast. On that coast he would be found. Thither went Sir John Richardson, taking with him a man of like metal to himself, one John Rae, a Hudson's Bay man, fashioned in the north. Down the Mackenzie they went and then eastward along the coast searching for traces of the _Erebus_ and the _Terror_. For two years they searched, tracing their way from the Mackenzie to the Coppermine. But no vestige of Franklin did they find. The queen's ships were searching too. Sir James Ross, with the _Enterprise_ and the _Investigator_, went into Lancaster Sound. The _Plover_ and the _Herald_ went to Bering Strait. The _North Star_ went in at Wolstenholme Sound. The _Resolute_, the _Assistance_, the _Sophia_--a very flock of admiralty ships--spread their white wings for the Arctic seas. The Hudson's Bay Company sent Sir John Ross, a tried explorer, in the yacht _Felix_. Lady Franklin, the sorrow-stricken wife of the lost commander, sent out Captain Forsyth in the _Prince Albert_. One Robert Spedden sailed his private yacht, the {122} _Nancy Dawson_, in through Bering Strait; and Henry Grinnell of New York (be his name honoured), sent out two expeditions at his own charge. By water and overland there went out, between 1847 and 1851, no less than twenty-one expeditions searching for the _Erebus_ and the _Terror_. Thus passed six years from the time when Franklin sailed out of the Thames, and still no trace, no vestige had been found to tell the story of his fate. Then at last news came, the first news of the _Erebus_ and the _Terror_ since they were sighted by the whaling ship in 1845. The news in a way was neither good nor bad. But it showed that at least the melancholy forebodings of those who said that the heavily laden ships must have foundered before they reached the Arctic were entirely mistaken. Captain Penny, master of the _Lady Franklin_, had sailed under Admiralty orders in 1850, and had followed on the course laid down in Franklin's instructions. He returned in 1851, bringing news that on Beechey Island, a little island lying on the north side of Barrow Strait, he had found the winter quarters that must have been occupied by the expedition in 1845-46, the first winter after its departure. There were the remains of a large storehouse, {123} a workshop and an observatory; a blacksmith's forge was found, with many coal bags and cinders lying about, and odds and ends of all sorts, easily identified as coming from the lost ships. Most ominous of all was the discovery of over six hundred empty cans that had held preserved meat, the main reliance of the expedition. These were found regularly piled in little mounds. The number of them was far greater than Franklin's men would have consumed during the first winter, and, to make the conclusion still clearer, the preparation was of a brand of which the Admiralty since 1845 had been compelled to destroy great quantities, owing to its having turned putrid in the tins. It was plain that the food supply of the _Erebus_ and the _Terror_ must have been seriously depleted, and the dangers of starvation have set in long before three years were completed. Three graves were found on Beechey Island with head-boards marking the names and ages of three men of the crew who had died in the winter. Near a cape of the island was a cairn built of stone. It was evidently intended to hold the records of the expedition. Yet, strange to say, neither in the cairn nor anywhere about it was a single document to be found. {124} The greatest excitement now prevailed. Hope ran high that at least some survivors of the men of the _Erebus_ and the _Terror_ might be found, even if the ships themselves had been lost. The Admiralty redoubled its efforts. Already Captains Collinson and M'Clure had been sent out (in 1850) to sail round the Horn, and were on their way into the Arctic region via Bering Strait. To these were now added a squadron under Captain Sir Edward Belcher consisting of the _Assistance_ with a steam tender named the _Pioneer_, the _Resolute_ with its tender the _Intrepid_, and the _North Star_. Stations were to be made at Beechey Island and at two other points in the region now indicated as the scene of Sir John Franklin's operations. From these sledge and boat parties were to be sent out in all directions. At the same time Lady Franklin dispatched the _Albert_ under Captain Kennedy and Lieutenant Bellot, an officer of the French navy who had given his services to the cause. Once again hope was doomed to disappointment. The story of the expeditions was an almost unbroken record of disaster. Captain M'Clure, in the _Investigator_, separated from his consort, and vanished into the northern ice; for three years nothing was heard of his vessel. {125} The gallant Bellot, attempting to carry dispatches over the ice, sealed his devotion with his life. Belcher's ships the _Assistance_ and the _Resolute_, with their two tenders, froze fast in the ice. Despite the earnest protests of some of his officers, Belcher abandoned them, and, in the end, was able to return home. The Admiralty had to face the loss of four good ships with large quantities of stores. It had been better perhaps had they remained lost. One of the abandoned ships, the _Resolute_, its hatches battened down, floated out of the ice, and was found by an American whaler, masterless, tossing in the open waters of Baffin Bay. Belcher may have been right in abandoning his ships to save the crews, but his judgment and even his courage were severely questioned, and unhappy bitterness was introduced where hitherto there had been nothing but the record of splendid endeavour and mutual help. The only bright spot was seen in the achievement of Captain, afterwards Sir Robert, M'Clure, who reappeared with his crew safe and sound after four winters in the Arctic. He had made his way in the _Investigator_ (1850 to 1853) from Bering Strait to within sight of Melville Sound. He had spent three winters in the ice, the last two years in one and the same spot, {126} fast frozen, to all appearances, for ever. With supplies dangerously low and his crew weakened by exposure and privation, M'Clure reluctantly left his ship. He and his men fortunately reached the ships of Sir Edward Belcher, having thus actually made the North-West Passage. The disasters of 1853-54 cast a deeper gloom than ever over the search for Franklin. Moreover, the rising clouds in the East and presently the outbreak of the Crimean War prevented further efforts. Ships and men were needed elsewhere than in the northern seas. It began to look as if failure was now final, and that nothing more could be done. Following naval precedent, a court-martial had been held to investigate the action of Captain Sir Edward Belcher. 'The solemn silence,' wrote Captain M'Clure afterwards, 'with which the venerable president of the court returned Captain Belcher his sword, with a bare acquittal, best conveyed the painful feelings which wrung the hearts of all professional men upon that occasion; and all felt that there was no hope of the mystery of Franklin's fate being cleared up in our time except by some unexpected miracle.' The unexpected happened. Strangely enough, {127} it was just at this juncture that a letter sent by Dr John Rae from the Hudson Bay country brought to England the first authentic news of the fate of Franklin's men. Rae had been sent overland from the north-west shores of Hudson Bay to the coast of the Arctic at the point where the Back or Great Fish river runs in a wide estuary to the sea. He had wintered on the isthmus (now called after him) which separates Regent's Inlet from Repulse Bay, and in the spring of 1854 had gone westward with sledges towards the mouth of the Back. On his way he fell in with Eskimos, who told him that several years before a party of about forty white men had been seen hauling a boat and sledges over the ice. This was on the west side of the island called King William's Land. None of the men, so the savages said, could speak to them in their own language; but they made signs to show that they had lost their ships, and that they were trying to make their way to where deer could be found. All the men looked thin, and the Eskimos thought they had very little food. They had bought some seal's flesh from the savages. They hauled their sledges and the boat along with drag-ropes, at which all were tugging except one very tall big man, who seemed to be a chief and {128} walked by himself. Later on in the same season, so the Eskimos said, they had found the bodies of a lot of men lying on the ice, and had seen some graves and five dead bodies on an island at the mouth of a river. Some of the bodies were lying in tents. The big boat had been turned over as if to make a shelter, and under it were dead men. One that lay on the island was the body of the chief; he had a telescope strapped over his shoulders, and his gun lay underneath him. The savages told Dr Rae that they thought that the last survivors of the white men must have been feeding on the dead bodies, as some of these were hacked and mutilated and there was flesh in the kettles. There were signs that some of the party might have escaped; for on the ground there were fresh bones and feathers of geese, showing that the men were still alive when the wild fowl came north, which would be about the end of May. There was a quantity of gunpowder and ammunition lying around, and the Eskimos thought that they had heard shots in the neighbourhood, though they had seen no living men, but only the corpses on the ice. A great number of relics--telescopes, guns, compasses, spoons, forks, and so on--were gathered by the natives, and of these Dr Rae {129} forwarded a large quantity to England. They left no doubt as to the identity of the unfortunate victims. There was a small silver plate engraved 'Sir John Franklin, K.C.B.', and a spoon with a crest and the initials F.R.M.C. (those of Captain Crozier), and a great number of articles easily recognized as coming from the _Erebus_ and the _Terror_. One may well imagine the intense interest which Dr Rae's discoveries aroused in England. Rae had been unable, it is true, to make his way to the actual scene of the disaster as described by the Eskimos, but it was now felt that at last certain tidings had been received of the death of Franklin and his men. Dr Rae and his party received the ten thousand pounds which the government had offered to whosoever should bring correct news of the fate of the expedition. In all except a few hearts hope was now abandoned. It was felt that all were dead. Anxious though the government was to obtain further details of the tragedy, it was not thought proper at such a national crisis as the Crimean War to dispatch more ships to the Arctic. Something, however, was done. A chief factor of the Hudson's Bay Company, named Anderson, was sent overland in 1855 to explore {130} the mouth of the Back river. He found in and around Montreal Island, at the mouth of the river, numerous relics of the disaster. A large quantity of chips and shavings seemed to indicate the place where the savages had broken up the boat. But no documents or papers were found nor any bodies of the dead. Anderson had no interpreter, and could only communicate by signs with the savages whom he found alone on the island. But he gathered from them that the white men had all died for want of food. For two years nothing more was done. Then, as the war cloud passed away, the unsolved mystery began again to demand solution. Some faint hope too struggled to life. It was argued that perhaps some of the white men were still alive. The imagination conjured up a ghastly picture of a few survivors, still alive when, with the coming of the wild fowl, life and warmth returned. With what horror must they have turned their backs upon the hideous scene of their sufferings, leaving the dead as they lay, and preferring to leave unwritten the chronicle of an experience too awful to relate. There, penned in between the barren grounds and the sea, they might have somehow continued to live: there they might still be found. {131} It was through the personal efforts of Lady Franklin, who devoted thereto the last remnant of her fortune, that the final expedition was sent out in 1857. The yacht _Fox_ was commanded by Captain M'Clintock. He had already spent many years in the Arctic. Touched by the poignant grief of Lady Franklin, he gave his service gratuitously in a last effort to trace the fate of the missing men. Other officers gave their services and even money to the search. The little _Fox_ sailed in 1857, to search the waters between Beechey Island and the mouth of the Back. When she returned to England two years later she brought back with her the first, and the last, direct information ever received from the _Erebus_ and the _Terror_. In a cairn on the west coast of King William's Island was found a document placed there from Franklin's ships. It was dated May 28, 1847 (two years after the ships left England). It read: 'H.M. Ships _Erebus_ and _Terror_ wintered in the ice lat. 70° 5' N. long., 98° 23' west, having wintered in 1845-46 at Beechey Island after having ascended Wellington Channel to Lat. 77° and returned by the west side of Cornwallis Island. Sir John Franklin commanding the expedition. All well.' {132} This showed that Franklin had, as already gathered, explored the channels west and north from Lancaster Sound, and finding no way through had wintered on Beechey Island (1845-46). Striking south from there his ships had been caught in the open ice-pack, where they had passed their second winter. At the time of writing, Franklin must have been looking eagerly forward to their coming liberation and the prosecution of their discoveries towards the American coast. But the document did not end there. It had evidently been placed in the cairn in May of 1847; a year later the cairn had been reopened and to the document a note had been appended, written in fine writing round the edge of the original. The torn edge of the paper leaves part of the date missing. It runs '... 848. H.M. Ships _Erebus_ and _Terror_ were deserted on the 22 of April, 5 leagues NNW. of this ... been beset since 12th Sept. 1846. The officers and crews consisting of 105 souls under the command ... tain F. R. M. Crozier landed here in Lat. 69° 37' 42" Long. 98° 41'.' No words could convey better than these simple lines the full horror of the disaster: two winters frozen in the ice-pack till the {133} lack of food and the imminence of starvation compelled the officers and men to leave the ships long before the summer season and try to make their way over ice and snow to the south! And Franklin? The other edge of the paper contained in the same writing a note that ran: 'Sir John Franklin died on the 11th June 1847 and the total loss by death to the expedition has been to date 9 officers and 14 men. F. R. M. Crozier, Captain and Senior Officer. James Fitzjames, Captain H.M.S. _Erebus_.' At one corner of the paper are the final words that, taken along with the stories of the Eskimos, explained the last chapter of the tragedy--'and start to-morrow 26th for Back's Fish River.' M'Clintock did all that could be done. He and his party traced out the coast on both sides of King William's Island, and, having reached the mouth of the Back river, he traced the course of Crozier and his perishing companions step by step backwards over the scene of the disaster. The Eskimos whom he met told him of the freezing in of the two great ships: how the white men had abandoned them and walked over the ice: how one ship had been crushed in the ice a few months later and had gone down: and how the other ship {134} had lain a wreck for years and years beside the coast of King William's Island. One aged woman who had visited the scene told M'Clintock's party that there had been on the wrecked ship the dead body of a tall man with long teeth and large bones. The searchers themselves found more direct testimony still. A few miles south of Cape Herschel lay the skeleton of one of Franklin's men, outstretched on the ground, just as he had fallen on the fatal march, the head pointing towards the Back river. At another point there was found a boat with two corpses in it, the one lying in the stern carefully covered as if by the act of his surviving comrade, the other lying in the bow, two loaded muskets standing upright beside the body. A great number of relics that marked the path of Crozier's men were found along the shore of King William's Island. In one place a plundered cairn was discovered. But, strangely enough, no document or writing to tell anything of the fate of the survivors after they started on their last march. That all perished by the way there can be little doubt. But it is altogether probable that before the final catastrophe overtook them they had endeavoured to place somewhere a record of their achievements and their {135} sufferings. Such a record may still lie buried among the stones of the desolate region where they died, and it may well be that some day the chance discovery of an explorer will bring it to light. But it can tell us little more than we already know by inference of the tragic but inspiring disaster that overwhelmed the men of the _Erebus_ and the _Terror_. {136} CHAPTER VI EPILOGUE. THE CONQUEST OF THE POLE It is no part of the present narrative to follow in detail the explorations and discoveries made in the polar seas in recent times. After the great episode of the loss of Franklin, and the search for his ships, public interest in the North-West Passage may be said to have ended. The journey made by Sir Robert M'Clure and his men, after abandoning their ship, had proved that such a water-way existed, but the knowledge of the northern regions acquired in the attempt to find the survivors of the _Erebus_ and the _Terror_ made it clear that the passage was valueless, not merely for commerce, but even for the uses of exploration. For the time being a strong reaction set in, and popular opinion condemned any further expenditure of life and money in the frozen regions of the Arctic. But, although the sensational aspect of northern discovery had thus largely disappeared, a new incentive {137} began to make itself increasingly felt; the progress of physical science, the rapid advance in the knowledge of electricity and magnetism, and the rise of the science of biology were profoundly altering the whole outlook of the existing generation towards the globe that they inhabited. The sea itself, like everything else, became an object of scientific study. Its currents and its temperature, its relation to the land masses which surrounded it, acquired a new importance in the light of geological and physical research. The polar waters offered a fruitful field for the new investigations. In place of the adventurous explorers of Frobisher's day, searching for fabled empires and golden cities, there appeared in the seas of the north the inquisitive man of science, eagerly examining the phenomena of sea and sky, to add to the stock of human knowledge. Very naturally there grew up under such conditions an increasing desire to reach the Pole itself, and to test whether the theoretical conclusions of the astronomer were borne out by the actual observations of one standing upon the apex of the spinning earth. The attempt to reach the Pole became henceforth the great preoccupation of Arctic discovery. From this time on the story of what has been done in {138} the northern seas belongs not to Canada but to the world at large. The voyages of such men as Frobisher, Davis and Hudson, and the journeys of men like Hearne and Mackenzie led to the opening up of this vast country and belong to Canadian history. But in recent Arctic discovery the point of interest had never been found in the lands about the northern seas, but only in the Arctic ocean itself and in the effort to penetrate farther and farther north. Little by little this effort was rewarded. A series of intrepid explorers forced their way onward until at last the Pole itself was reached and the frozen North had yielded up its hollow mystery. The struggle to reach the Pole was the form in which Arctic exploration came to life again after the paralysing effect of the Franklin tragedy. Some of the Franklin relief expeditions had reached very high latitudes, and, shortly after the great tragedy, the exploring ships of Dr Kane and Dr Hayes, and the _Polaris_ under Captain Hall, had all passed the eightieth parallel and been within less than ten degrees of the Pole. The idea grew that there might be an open polar sea, navigable at times to the very apex of the world. In 1875 the _Alert_ and the _Discovery_, two ships of the British Navy, {139} were sent out with the express purpose of reaching the North Pole. They sailed up the narrow waters that separate Greenland from the large islands lying west of it. The _Alert_ wintered as far north as latitude 82° 24'. A sledge party that was sent out under Captain Markham went as far as latitude 83° 20', and the expedition returned with the proud distinction of having carried its flag northward beyond all previous explorations. But other nations were not to lag behind. An American expedition (1881) under Lieutenant Greeley, carried on the exploration of the extreme north of Greenland and of the interior of Grinnell Land that lies west of it. Two of Greeley's men, Lieutenant Lockwood and a companion, followed the Greenland coast northward in a sledge and passed Markham's latitude, reaching 83° 24' north, which remained for many years as the highest point attained. Greeley's expedition became the subject of a tragedy almost comparable to the great Franklin disaster. The vessels sent with supplies failed to reach their destination. For four years Greeley and his men remained in the Arctic regions. Of the twenty-three men in the party only six were found alive when Captain Schley of the United States Navy at last brought relief. {140} After the Greeley expedition the fight towards the Pole was carried on by a series of gallant explorers, none of whom, strange to narrate, were British. Commander R. E. Peary, of the United States Navy, came prominently before the world as an Arctic navigator in the last decade of the nineteenth century. In 1892 he crossed northern Greenland in the extreme latitude of 81° 37', a feat of the highest order. Still more striking was the work of Dr Fridtjof Nansen, which attracted the attention of the whole world. Nansen had devoted profound study to the question of the northern drift of the polar waters. It had often been observed that drift-wood and wreckage seemed, in many places, to float towards the Pole. Trees that fall in the Siberian forests and float down the great rivers to the northern sea are frequently found washed up on the shores of Greenland, having apparently passed over the Pole itself. A strong current flows northward through Bering Strait, and it is a matter of record that an American vessel, the _Jeanette_, which stuck fast in the ice near Wrangel Land in 1879, drifted slowly northward with the ice for two years, and made its way in this fashion some four hundred miles towards the {141} Pole. Dr Nansen formed the bold design of carrying a ship under steam into one of the currents of the Far North, allowing it to freeze in, and then trusting to the polar drift to do the rest. The adventures of Nansen and his men in this enterprise are so well known as scarcely to need recital. A stout wooden vessel of four hundred tons, the _Fram_ (or the _Forwards_), was specially constructed to withstand the grip of the polar ice. In 1893 she sailed from Norway and made her way by the Kara Sea to the New Siberian Islands. In October, the _Fram_ froze into the ice and there she remained for three years, drifting slowly forwards in the heart of the vast mass. Her rudder and propeller were unshipped and taken inboard, her engine was taken to pieces and packed away, while on her deck a windmill was erected to generate electric power. In this situation, snugly on board their stout ship, Nansen and his crew settled down into the unbroken night of the Arctic winter. The ice that surrounded them was twelve feet thick, and escape from it, even had they desired it, would have been impossible. They watched eagerly the direction of their drift, worked out by observation of the stars. For the first few weeks, propelled by northern winds, the _Fram_ moved southwards. Then {142} slowly the northern current began to make itself felt, but during the whole of this first winter the _Fram_ only moved a few miles onward towards her goal. All the next summer the ship remained fast frozen and drifted about two hundred miles. With her rate of progress and direction, Nansen reckoned that she would reach, not the Pole, but Spitzbergen, and would take four and a half years more to do it. All through the next winter the _Fram_ moved slowly northwards and westwards. In the spring of 1895 she was still about five hundred miles from the Pole, and her present path would miss it by about three hundred and fifty miles. Nansen resolved upon an enterprise unparalleled in hardihood. He resolved to take with him a single companion, to leave the _Fram_ and to walk over the ice to the Pole, and thence as best he might to make his way, not back to his ship again (for that was impossible), but to the nearest known land. The whole distance to be covered was almost a thousand miles. Dr Nansen and Lieutenant Johansen left the _Fram_ on March 13, 1895, to make this attempt. They failed in their enterprise. To struggle towards the Pole over the pack-ice, at times reared in rough hillocks and at times split with lanes of open water, proved {143} a feat beyond the power of man. Nansen and his companion got as far as latitude 86° 13', a long way north of all previous records. By sheer pluck and endurance they managed to make their way southward again. They spent the winter on an Arctic island in a hut of stone and snow, and in June of the next year (1896) at last reached Franz Joseph Land, where they fell in with a British expedition. They reached Norway in time to hear the welcome news that the _Fram_, after a third winter in the ice, had drifted into open sea again and had just come safely into port. Equally glorious, but profoundly tragic, was the splendid attempt of Professor Andrée to reach the Pole in a balloon, which followed on the heels of Nansen's enterprise. Andrée, who was a professor in the Technical School at Stockholm, had been for some years interested in the rising science of aerial navigation. He judged that by this means a way might be found to the Pole where all else failed. By the generous aid of the king of Sweden, Baron Dickson and others, he had a balloon constructed in Paris which represented the very latest progress towards the mastery of the air, in the days before the aeroplane and the light-weight motor had opened a new chapter in {144} history. Andrée's balloon was made of 3360 pieces of silk sewn together with three miles of seams. It contained 158,000 cubic feet of hydrogen; it carried beneath it a huge wicker basket that served as a sort of house for Andrée and his companions, and to the netting of this were lashed provisions, sledges, frame boats, and other appliances to meet the needs of the explorers if their balloon was wrecked on the northern ice. There was no means of propulsion, but three heavy guide ropes, trailing on the ground, afforded a feeble and uncertain control. The whole reliance of Andrée was placed, consciously and with full knowledge of the consequences, on the possibility that a strong and favouring wind might carry him across the Pole. The balloon was taken on shipboard to Spitzbergen and there inflated in a tall shed built for the purpose. Andrée was accompanied by two companions, Strindberg and Fraenkel. On July 11, 1897, the balloon was cast loose, and, with a southerly wind and bright sky, it was seen to vanish towards the north. It is known, from a message sent by a pigeon, that two days later all was well and the balloon still moving towards its goal. Since then no message or token has ever been found to tell us the fate of the three brave men, and {145} the names of Andrée and his companions are added to the long list of those who have given their lives for the advancement of human knowledge. With the opening of the present century the progress of polar exploration was rapid. Peary continued his explorations towards the north of Greenland, and, in 1906, by reaching latitude 87° 6', he wrested from Nansen the coveted record of Farthest North. At the same time Captain Sverdrup (the commander of the _Fram_), the Duke of the Abruzzi and many others were carrying out scientific expeditions in polar waters. The voyage made in 1904 by Captain Roald Amundsen, a Norwegian, later on to be world-famous as the discoverer of the South Pole, is of especial interest, for he succeeded in carrying his little ship from the Atlantic to the Pacific by way of Bering Strait--the only vessel that has ever actually made the North-West Passage. But the great prize fell to Captain Peary. On September 6, 1909, the world thrilled with the announcement that Peary had reached the Pole. His ship, the _Roosevelt_, had sailed in the summer of 1908. Peary wintered at Etah in the north of Greenland, and in the ensuing year, accompanied by Captain Bartlett with five white men and {146} seventeen Eskimos, he set out to reach the Pole by sledge. By arrangement, Peary's companions accompanied him a certain distance carrying supplies, and then turned back in successive parties. The final dash for the Pole was made by the commander himself, accompanied only by a negro servant and four Eskimos. On April 6, 1909, they reached the Pole and hoisted there the flag of the United States. To make doubly certain of their discovery, Peary and his men went some ten miles beyond the Pole, and eight miles in a lateral direction. They saw nothing but ice about them, and no indication of the neighbourhood of any land. {147} BIBLIOGRAPHICAL NOTE For the earlier voyages of the English to the Northern seas the first and principal authority is, of course, the famous collection of contemporary narratives gathered together by Richard Hakluyt under the title, _Principal Navigations, Voyages, Traffiques, and Discoveries of the English Nation_. Here the reader will find accounts of the enterprises of Frobisher, Davis, and others as written by members of the expeditions and persons closely connected therewith. An interesting presentation of the exploits of Hudson, as revealed in original documents, is found in _Henry Hudson, the Navigator_, published by the Hakluyt Society. The journal of Samuel Hearne, together with many maps and much interesting material, is to be found among the publications of the Champlain Society, (Toronto, 1911) ably edited and annotated by the well-known explorer Mr J. B. Tyrrell. Alexander Mackenzie's own account of his voyages is a classic, and is readily accessible in public libraries. An account of Mackenzie's career is found in the 'Makers of Canada' series. Sir John Franklin left behind him a very graphic description of his first journey to the polar seas, to which {148} reference has already been made in the text. For the story of the loss of Franklin and the search for his missing ships the reader may best consult the works of Sir John Richardson, and others who participated in the events of the period. See also in this series: _The Adventurers of England on Hudson Bay_. {149} INDEX Amundsen, Captain Roald, makes the North-West Passage, 145. Anderson, of the Hudson's Bay Company, finds traces of the Franklin expedition, 129-30. Andrée, Prof., his attempt to reach the North Pole in a balloon ends in tragedy, 143-5. Arctic seas, the short way to India and China by, 5-7. Athabaska, Lake, geographical position of, 73. Athabaska river, 66. Back, Admiral Sir George, with Franklin, 95, 100, 101, 104; rescues Franklin, 107; explores Backs river, 111. Baffin, William, and the North-West Passage, 32. Baffin Island, Frobisher's experiences on, 12-14. Belcher, Captain Sir Edward, in the search for the Franklin expedition, 124; abandons his ships, 125; court-martial on, 126. Bellot, Lieut, of the French navy, sacrifices his life in the search for Franklin, 124, 125. Buchan, Captain, and expedition to the North Pole, 93. Cabot, Sebastian, and the North-West Passage, 5, 6. Canada, the Far North of, a description, 1-2, 26-7; resources of, 37-8, 87; barren grounds, 40-1, 46, 55-7; a geographical problem in, 71. Cartier, Jacques, 4, 5. Chawchinahaw, an Indian chief, treachery of, 40-2. Company of the North, hostility to Hudson's Bay Company, 36. Cook, Captain, and the Arctic seas, 70. Copper in the Far North, 37; attempts to find, and disastrous fate of the expedition, 38; found by Hearne, 63. Coppermine river, attempts to reach, 38, 39; Hearne at, 58; Franklin at, 96, 100. Crozier, Captain, with Franklin, 116; fate of, 129, 132-4. Cumberland House, Franklin at, 95. Davis, John, his voyages in search of the North-West Passage, 23-31. Dubawnt Lake, description of, 46. Elizabeth, Queen, voyages under, 7; honours Frobisher, 11. English Chief, an Indian with Mackenzie, 75, 84. 'Erebus' and 'Terror' in Franklin's ill-fated expedition, 112, 116; last seen, 117; last news of and fate, 131, 132-4. Eskimos, conflicts with explorers, 13-14, 16; trade with, 25, 28; Davis on, 28-30; relations with the Indians, 56-7; attacked and massacred, 58-61, 62; and fate of the Franklin expedition, 127-8. Fitzjames, Captain James, with the Franklin expedition, 116, 133. Fort Chipewyan erected, 74, 78; Franklin at, 95. Fort Churchill, trade at, 38. Fort Enterprise, Franklin winters in, 96; a tragic episode, 103-7. Fort Prince of Wales, expeditions from, 40, 42, 51, 68. Fort Providence, Franklin at, 95. Fox, Luke, and the North-West Passage, 32; and Hudson Bay, 34. 'Fram,' the, and Nansen's theory, 141-3. Franklin, Sir John, early training, 91; first Arctic voyage, 93-4; second, 94; inland journeys, 64, 95-6; a winter at Fort Enterprise, 97-8; traces Arctic coast in canoe, 98; tragic journey back by land to Fort Enterprise, 99-104; terrible experiences, 104-7; third expedition, 109-110; last and fatal expedition, 89, 113-17; fate of, 127-9. Franklin, Lady, her devotion, 90; sends in search of Franklin expedition, 121, 124, 131. Franklin expedition, the, apprehension in Britain concerning, 118-19; search for, 121-6; news of, 122-3, 127-8, 129-30; tragic records of, 131-5. Frobisher, Sir Martin, voyages in search of the North-West Passage, 10-14, 15-23. Fur trade, effect of on Arctic exploration, 35. Gilbert, Sir Humphrey, and the North-West Passage, 8-10. Gold, search for in Arctic regions, 14, 17, 18, 20. Great Bear river, Mackenzie on, 80, 87. Great Slave Lake, description of, 66, 77. Greeley, Lieut., his attempt to reach the North Pole, 139. Greenland, or Frisland, 7, 11; Land of Desolation, 23, Hearne, Samuel, joins the Hudson's Bay Company, 39; expeditions to Coppermine river, 40-1, 42-51, 51-63, 65-8; and Admiral La Pérouse, 68. Hepburn, a sailor with Franklin, 95, 101, 102, 103. Hood, Lieut., with Franklin, 95, 100, 101; his tragic death, 102. Hudson, Henry, and the North-West Passage, 31-2. Hudson Bay explored, 34; convenience of for fur trade, 35; conflicts between French and English in, 36. Hudson's Bay Company founded, 35; objects of, 36; search for copper, 37-8; development, 72. Indians, their treachery, 41, 45; troubles with, 47, 48; designs against Eskimos, 56-7, 58-61; shyness of, 79; terror of the Far North, 80. Indian women, an Indian's estimate of, 53. Kelsey, Henry, inland journey of, 37. Leroux, descends Great Slave river, 75; with Mackenzie, 78, 88. M'Clintock, Captain, finds last records of the Franklin expedition, 131-5. M'Clure, Captain, first to make the North-West Passage, 124, 125-6. Mackenzie, Alexander, joins North-West Company, 73; journey to the Arctic ocean by the Mackenzie river, 75-88. Marble Island, a grim tale of shipwreck at, 38. Markham, Captain, and the North Pole, 139. Matonabbee, an Indian chief, succours Hearne, 49; character of, 51; assists Hearne to reach Coppermine river, 53-4, 56; his opinion of women, 53. Meta Incognita, 14, 16; formal landing of Frobisher on, 17; a fort erected on, 21. Michel, an Indian with Franklin, feeds on his companions and murders Lieut. Hood, 102-3. Muscovy Company, the, and passage to the East by the White Sea, 6; oppose Frobisher, 10. Nansen, Dr, attempts to reach the Pole by drifting, 140-3. North-West Company founded, 72. North-West Passage, as a road to Asia, 5-8; advantages of, 9; Sir Humphrey Gilbert on, 8-10; voyages in search of, 11-21, 23-32; the passage nearly completed, 110-11, 114-115; the passage made, 126, 145. Norton, Moses, governor of the Hudson's Bay Company, and expeditions to Coppermine river, 39, 42, 50, 51. Orkneys, the, savage state of the inhabitants of, 15. Parry, Sir William, and the North-West Passage, 109, 113. Peace river, course of, 71, 76. Peary, Commander R. E., attempts to reach the North Pole, 140; succeeds, 145-6. Penny, Captain, finds traces of the Franklin expedition, 122. Polar seas, a fruitful field for scientific investigation, 137; Nansen's study of a scientific theory, 140-1. Pole, North, progress in scientific knowledge creates desire to reach, 137-8. Rae, Dr John, and the search for the Franklin expedition, 121, 127-9. Richardson, Sir John, with Franklin, 95, 97, 100, 101, 102, 109-10; shoots murderer of Lieutenant Hood, 103; finds Franklin in a parlous state, 103-7; in search for the Franklin expedition, 120-1. Ross, Sir James, and the North-West Passage, 111; in search for the Franklin expedition, 121. Ross, Sir John, 111, 118, 121. Simpson, Thomas, and the North-West Passage, 111. Whale Island, why so named, 86. Wholdaia Lake, description of, 54-5. York Factory, Franklin at, 95. Printed by T. and A. Constable, Printers to His Majesty at the Edinburgh University Press THE CHRONICLES OF CANADA THIRTY-TWO VOLUMES ILLUSTRATED Edited by GEORGE M. WRONG and H. H. LANGTON THE CHRONICLES OF CANADA PART I THE FIRST EUROPEAN VISITORS 1. THE DAWN OF CANADIAN HISTORY By Stephen Leacock. 2. THE MARINER OF ST MALO By Stephen Leacock. PART II THE RISE OF NEW FRANCE 3. THE FOUNDER OF NEW FRANCE By Charles W. Colby. 4. THE JESUIT MISSIONS By Thomas Guthrie Marquis. 5. THE SEIGNEURS OF OLD CANADA By William Bennett Munro. 6. THE GREAT INTENDANT By Thomas Chapais. 7. THE FIGHTING GOVERNOR By Charles W. Colby. PART III THE ENGLISH INVASION 8. THE GREAT FORTRESS By William Wood. 9. THE ACADIAN EXILES By Arthur G. Doughty. 10. THE PASSING OF NEW FRANCE By William Wood. 11. THE WINNING OF CANADA By William Wood. PART IV THE BEGINNINGS OF BRITISH CANADA 12. THE FATHER OF BRITISH CANADA By William Wood. 13. THE UNITED EMPIRE LOYALISTS By W. Stewart Wallace. 14. THE WAR WITH THE UNITED STATES By William Wood. PART V THE RED MAN IN CANADA 15. THE WAR CHIEF OF THE OTTAWAS By Thomas Guthrie Marquis. 16. THE WAR CHIEF OF THE SIX NATIONS By Louis Aubrey Wood. 17. TECUMSEH: THE LAST GREAT LEADER OF HIS PEOPLE By Ethel T. Raymond. PART VI PIONEERS OF THE NORTH AND WEST 18. THE 'ADVENTURERS OF ENGLAND' ON HUDSON BAY By Agnes C. Laut. 19. PATHFINDERS OF THE GREAT PLAINS By Lawrence J. Burpee. 20. ADVENTURERS OF THE FAR NORTH By Stephen Leacock. 21. THE RED RIVER COLONY By Louis Aubrey Wood. 22. PIONEERS OF THE PACIFIC COAST By Agnes C. Laut. 23. THE CARIBOO TRAIL By Agnes C. Laut. PART VII THE STRUGGLE FOR POLITICAL FREEDOM 24. THE FAMILY COMPACT By W. Stewart Wallace. 25. THE 'PATRIOTES' OF '37 By Alfred D. DeCelles. 26. THE TRIBUNE OF NOVA SCOTIA By William Lawson Grant. 27. THE WINNING OF POPULAR GOVERNMENT By Archibald MacMechan. PART VIII THE GROWTH OF NATIONALITY 28. THE FATHERS OF CONFEDERATION By A. H. U. Colquhoun. 29. THE DAY OF SIR JOHN MACDONALD By Sir Joseph Pope. 30. THE DAY OF SIR WILFRID LAURIER By Oscar D. Skelton. PART IX NATIONAL HIGHWAYS 31. ALL AFLOAT By William Wood. 32. THE RAILWAY BUILDERS By Oscar D. Skelton. TORONTO: GLASGOW, BROOK & COMPANY 
6281	----	This eBook was produced by David Widger THE WORLD FOR SALE By Gilbert Parker CONTENTS: PRELUDE BOOK I I. "THE DRUSES ARE UP!" II. THE WHISPER FROM BEYOND III. CONCERNING INGOLBY AND THE TWO TOWNS IV. THE COMING OF JETHRO FAWE V. "BY THE RIVER STARZKE....IT WAS SO DONE" VI. THE UNGUARDED FIRES VII. IN WHICH THE PRISONER GOES FREE BOOK II VIII. THE SULTAN IX. MATTER AND MIND AND TWO MEN X. FOR LUCK XI. THE SENTENCE OF THE PATRIN XII. "LET THERE BE LIGHT" XIII. THE CHAIN OF THE PAST XIV. SUCH THINGS MAY NOT BE XV. THE WOMAN FROM WIND RIVER XVI. THE MAYOR FILLS AN OFFICE XVII. THE MONSEIGNEUR AND THE NOMAD XVIII. THE BEACONS XIX. THE BEEPER OF THE BRIDGE BOOK III XX. TWO LIFE PIECES XXI. THE SNARE OF THE FOWLER XXII. THE SECRET MAN XXIII. THE RETURN OF BELISARIUS XXIV. AT LONG LAST XXV. MAN PROPOSES XXVI. THE SLEEPER XXVII. THE WORLD FOR SALE INTRODUCTION 'The World for Sale' is a tale of the primitive and lonely West and North, but the primitiveness and loneliness is not like that to be found in 'Pierre and His People'. Pierre's wanderings took place in a period when civilization had made but scant marks upon the broad bosom of the prairie land, and towns and villages were few and far scattered. The Lebanon and Manitou of this story had no existence in the time of Pierre, except that where Manitou stands there was a Hudson's Bay Company's post at which Indians, half-breeds, and chance settlers occasionally gathered for trade and exchange-furs, groceries, clothing, blankets, tobacco, and other things; and in the long winters the post was as isolated as an oasis in the Sahara. That old life was lonely and primitive, but it had its compensating balance of bright sun, wild animal life, and an air as vivid and virile as ever stirred the veins of man. Sometimes the still, bright cold was broken by a terrific storm, which ravaged, smothered, and entombed the stray traveller in ravines of death. That was in winter; but in summer, what had been called, fifty years ago, an alkali desert was an everlasting stretch of untilled soil, with unsown crops, and here and there herds of buffalo, which were stalked by alert Red Indians, half- breeds, and white pioneer hunters. The stories in 'Pierre and His People' were true to the life of that time; the incidents in 'The World for Sale', and the whole narrative, are true to the life of a very few years ago. Railways have pierced and opened up lonely regions of the Sagalae, and there are two thriving towns where, in the days of Pierre, only stood a Hudson's Bay Company's post with its store. Now, as far as eye can see, vast fields of grain greet the eye, and houses and barns speckle the greenish brown or Tuscan yellow of the crop-covered lands, while towns like Lebanon and Manitou provide for the modern settler all the modern conveniences which science has given to civilized municipalities. Today the motor-car and the telephone are as common in such places as they are in a thriving town of the United Kingdom. After the first few days of settlement two things always appear--a school-house and a church. Probably there is no country in the world where elementary education commands the devotion and the cash of the people as in English Canada; that is why the towns of Lebanon and Manitou had from the first divergent views. Lebanon was English, progressive, and brazenly modern; Manitou was slow, reactionary, more or less indifferent to education, and strenuously Catholic, and was thus opposed to the militant Protestantism of Lebanon. It was my idea to picture a situation in the big new West where destiny is being worked out in the making of a nation and the peopling of the wastes. I selected a very modern and unusual type of man as the central figure of my story. He was highly educated, well born, and carefully brought up. He possessed all the best elements of a young man in a new country--intelligent self-dependence, skill, daring, vision. He had an original turn of mind, and, as men are obliged to do in new countries, he looked far ahead. Yet he had to face what pioneers and reformers in old countries have to face, namely the disturbance of rooted interests. Certainly rooted interests in towns but a generation old cannot be extensive or remarkable, but if they are associated with habits and principles, they may be as deadly as those which test the qualities and wreck the careers of men in towns as old as London. The difference, however, between the old European town and the new Western town is that differences in the Western town are more likely to take physical form, as was the case in the life of Ingolby. In order to accentuate the primitive and yet highly civilized nature of the life I chose my heroine from a race and condition more unsettled and more primitive than that of Lebanon or Manitou at any time. I chose a heroine from the gipsy race, and to heighten the picture of the primitive life from which she had come I made her a convert to the settled life of civilization. I had known such a woman, older, but with the same characteristics, the same struggles, temptations, and suffering the same restriction of her life and movements by the prejudice in her veins--the prejudice of racial predilection. Looking at the story now after its publication, I am inclined to think that the introduction of the gipsy element was too bold, yet I believe it was carefully worked out in construction, and was a legitimate, intellectual enterprise. The danger of it was that it might detract from the reality and vividness of the narrative as a picture of Western life. Most American critics of the book seem not to have been struck by this doubt which has occurred to me. They realize perhaps more faithfully than some of the English critics have done that these mad contrasts are by no means uncommon in the primitive and virile life of the West and North. Just as California in the old days, just as Ballaret in Australia drew the oddest people from every corner of the world, so Western towns, with new railways, brought strange conglomerations into the life. For instance, a town like Winnipeg has sections which represent the life of nearly every race of Europe, and towns like Lebanon and Manitou, with English and French characteristics controlling them mainly, are still as subject to outside racial influences as to inside racial antagonisms. I believe The World for Sale shows as plainly as anything can show the vexed and conglomerate life of a Western town. It shows how racial characteristics may clash, disturb, and destroy, and yet how wisdom, tact, and lucky incident may overcome almost impossible situations. The antagonisms between Lebanon and Manitou were unwillingly and unjustly deepened by the very man who had set out to bring them together, as one of the ideals of his life, and as one of the factors of his success. Ingolby, who had everything to gain by careful going, almost wrecked his own life, and he injured the life of the two towns by impulsive acts. The descriptions of life in the two towns are true, and the chief characters in the book are lifted out of the life as one has seen it. Men like Osterhaut and Jowett, Indians like Tekewani, doctors like Rockwell, priests like Monseigneur Fabre, ministers like Mr. Tripple, and ne'er-do-weels like Marchand may be found in many a town of the West and North. Naturally the book must lack in something of that magnetic picturesqueness and atmosphere which belongs to the people in the Province of Quebec. Western and Northern life has little of the settled charm which belongs to the old civilization of the French province. The only way to recapture that charm is to place Frenchmen in the West, and have them act and live--or try to act and live--as they do in old Quebec. That is what I did with Pierre in my first book of fiction, Pierre and His People, but with the exception of Monseigneur Fabre there is no Frenchman in this book who fulfils, or could fulfil, the temperamental place which I have indicated. Men like Monseigneur Fabre have lived in the West, and worked and slaved like him, blest and beloved by all classes, creeds, and races. Father Lacombe was one of them. The part he played in the life of Western Canada will be written some day by one who understands how such men, celibate, and dedicated to religious life, may play a stupendous part in the development of civilization. Something of him is to be found in my description of Monseigneur Fabre. NOTE This book was begun in 1911 and finished in 1913, a year before war broke out. It was published serially in the year 1915 and the beginning of 1916. It must, therefore, go to the public on the basis of its merits alone, and as a picture of the peace-life of the great North West. PRELUDE Harvest-time was almost come, and the great new land was resting under coverlets of gold. From the rise above the town of Lebanon, there stretched out ungarnered wheat in the ear as far as sight could reach, and the place itself and the neighbouring town of Manitou on the other side of the Sagalac River were like islands washed by a topaz sea. Standing upon the Rise, lost in the prospect, was an old, white-haired man in the cassock of a priest, with grey beard reaching nearly to the waist. For long he surveyed the scene, and his eyes had a rapt look. At last he spoke aloud: "There shall be an heap of corn in the earth, high upon the hills; his fruit shall shake like Libanus, and shall be green in the city like grass upon the earth." A smile came to his lips--a rare, benevolent smile. He had seen this expanse of teeming life when it was thought to be an alkali desert, fit only to be invaded by the Blackfeet and the Cree and the Blood Indians on a foray for food and furs. Here he had come fifty years before, and had gone West and North into the mountains in the Summer season, when the land was tremulous with light and vibrating to the hoofs of herds of buffalo as they stampeded from the hunters; and also in the Winter time, when frost was master and blizzard and drift its malignant servants. Even yet his work was not done. In the town of Manitou he still said mass now and then, and heard the sorrows and sins of men and women, and gave them "ghostly comfort," while priests younger than himself took the burden of parish-work from his shoulders. For a lifetime he had laboured among the Indians and the few whites and squaw-men and half-breeds, with neither settlement nor progress. Then, all at once, the railway; and people coming from all the world, and cities springing up! Now once more he was living the life of civilization, exchanging raw flesh of fish and animals and a meal of tallow or pemmican for the wheaten loaf; the Indian tepee for the warm house with the mansard roof; the crude mass beneath the trees for the refinements of a chancel and an altar covered with lace and white linen. A flock of geese went honking over his head. His eyes smiled in memory of the countless times he had watched such flights, had seen thousands of wild ducks hurrying down a valley, had watched a family of herons stretching away to some lonely water-home. And then another sound greeted his ear. It was shrill, sharp and insistent. A great serpent was stealing out of the East and moving down upon Lebanon. It gave out puffs of smoke from its ungainly head. It shrieked in triumph as it came. It was the daily train from the East, arriving at the Sagalac River. "These things must be," he said aloud as he looked. While he lost himself again in reminiscence, a young man came driving across the plains, passing beneath where he stood. The young man's face and figure suggested power. In his buggy was a fishing-rod. His hat was pulled down over his eyes, but he was humming cheerfully to himself. When he saw the priest, he raised his hat respectfully, yet with an air of equality. "Good day, Monseigneur" (this honour of the Church had come at last to the aged missionary), he said warmly. "Good day--good day!" The priest raised his hat and murmured the name, "Ingolby." As the distance grew between them, he said sadly: "These are the men who change the West, who seize it, and divide it, and make it their own-- "'I will rejoice, and divide Sichem: and mete out the valley of Succoth.' "Hush! Hush!" he said to himself in reproach. "These things must be. The country must be opened up. That is why I came--to bring the Truth before the trader." Now another traveller came riding out of Lebanon towards him, galloping his horse up-hill and down. He also was young, but nothing about him suggested power, only self-indulgence. He, too, raised his hat, or rather swung it from his head in a devil-may-care way, and overdid his salutation. He did not speak. The priest's face was very grave, if not a little resentful. His salutation was reserved. "The tyranny of gold," he murmured, "and without the mind or energy that created it. Felix was no name for him. Ingolby is a builder, perhaps a jerry-builder; but he builds." He looked across the prairie towards the young man in the buggy. "Sure, he is a builder. He has the Cortez eye. He sees far off, and plans big things. But Felix Marchand there--" He stopped short. "Such men must be, perhaps," he added. Then, after a moment, as he gazed round again upon the land of promise which he had loved so long, he murmured as one murmurs a prayer: "Thou suferedst men to ride over our heads: we went through fire and water, and Thou broughtest us out into a wealthy place." BOOK I I. "THE DRUSES ARE UP!" II. THE WHISPER FROM BEYOND III. CONCERNING INGOLBY AND THE TWO TOWNS IV. THE COMING OF JETHRO FAWE V. "BY THE RIVER STARZKE....IT WAS SO DONE" VI. THE UNGUARDED FIRES VII. IN WHICH THE PRISONER GOES FREE CHAPTER I "THE DRUSES ARE UP!" "Great Scott, look at her! She's goin' to try and take 'em !" exclaimed Osterhaut, the Jack-of-all-trades at Lebanon. "She ain't such a fool as all that. Why, no one ever done it alone. Low water, too, when every rock's got its chance at the canoe. But, my gracious, she is goin' to ride 'em!" Jowett, the horse-dealer, had a sportsman's joy in a daring thing. "See, old Injun Tekewani's after her! He's calling at her from the bank. He knows. He done it himself years ago when there was rips in the tribe an' he had to sew up the tears. He run them Rapids in his canoe--" "Just as the Druse girl there is doin'--" "An' he's done what he liked with the Blackfeet ever since." "But she ain't a chief--what's the use of her doin' it? She's goin' straight for them. She can't turn back now. She couldn't make the bank if she wanted to. She's got to run 'em. Holy smoke, see her wavin' the paddle at Tekewani! Osterhaut, she's the limit, that petticoat--so quiet and shy and don't-look-at-me, too, with eyes like brown diamonds." "Oh, get out, Jowett; she's all right! She'll make this country sit up some day-by gorry, she'll make Manitou and Lebanon sit up to-day if she runs the Carillon Rapids safe!" "She's runnin' 'em all right, son. She's--by jee, well done, Miss Druse! Well done, I say--well done!" exclaimed Jowett, dancing about and waving his arms towards the adventurous girl. The girl had reached the angry, thrashing waters where the rocks rent and tore into white ribbons the onrushing current, and her first trial had come on the instant the spitting, raging panthers of foam struck the bow of her canoe. The waters were so low that this course, which she had made once before with her friend Tekewani the Blackfeet chief, had perils not met on that desperate journey. Her canoe struck a rock slantwise, shuddered and swung round, but by a dexterous stroke she freed the frail craft. It righted and plunged forward again into fresh death-traps. It was these new dangers which had made Tekewani try to warn her from the shore--he and the dozen braves with him: but it was characteristic of his race that, after the first warning, when she must play out the game to the bitter end, he made no further attempt to stop her. The Indians ran down the river-bank, however, with eyes intent on her headlong progress, grunting approval as she plunged safely from danger to danger. Osterhaut and Jowett became silent, too, and, like the Indians, ran as fast as they could, over fences, through the trees, stumbling and occasionally cursing, but watching with fascinated eyes this adventuress of the North, taking chances which not one coureur-de-bois or river- driver in a thousand would take, with a five thousand-dollar prize as the lure. Why should she do it? "Women folks are sick darn fools when they git goin'," gasped Osterhaut as he ran. "They don't care a split pea what happens when they've got the pip. Look at her--my hair's bleachin'." "She's got the pip all right," stuttered Jowett as he plunged along; "but she's foreign, and they've all got the pip, foreign men and women both-- but the women go crazy." "She keeps pretty cool for a crazy loon, that girl. If I owned her, I'd--" Jowett interrupted impatiently. "You'd do what old man Druse does--you'd let her be, Osterhaut. What's the good of havin' your own way with one that's the apple of your eye, if it turns her agin you? You want her to kiss you on the high cheek-bone, but if you go to play the cat-o'-nine- tails round her, the high cheek-bone gets froze. Gol blast it, look at her, son! What are the wild waves saying? They're sayin', 'This is a surprise, Miss Druse. Not quite ready for ye, Miss Druse.' My, ain't she got the luck of the old devil!" It seemed so. More than once the canoe half jammed between the rocks, and the stern lifted up by the force of the wild current, but again the paddle made swift play, and again the cockle-shell swung clear. But now Fleda Druse was no longer on her feet. She knelt, her strong, slim brown arms bared to the shoulder, her hair blown about her forehead, her daring eyes flashing to left and right, memory of her course at work under such a strain as few can endure without chaos of mind in the end. A hundred times since the day she had run these Rapids with Tekewani, she had gone over the course in her mind, asleep and awake, forcing her brain to see again every yard of that watery way; because she knew that the day must come when she would make the journey alone. Why she would make it she did not know; she only knew that she would do it some day; and the day had come. For long it had been an obsession with her--as though some spirit whispered in her ear--"Do you hear the bells ringing at Carillon? Do you hear the river singing towards Carillon? Do you see the wild birds flying towards Carillon? Do you hear the Rapids calling--the Rapids of Carillon?" Night and day since she had braved death with Tekewani, giving him a gun, a meerschaum pipe, and ten pounds of beautiful brown "plug" tobacco as a token of her gratitude--night and day she had heard this spirit murmuring in her ear, and always the refrain was, "Down the stream to Carillon! Shoot the Rapids of Carillon!" Why? How should she know? Wherefore should she know? This was of the things beyond the why of the human mind. Sometimes all our lives, if we keep our souls young, and see the world as we first saw it with eyes and heart unsoiled, we hear the murmuring of the Other Self, that Self from which we separated when we entered this mortal sphere, but which followed us, invisible yet whispering inspiration to us. But sometimes we only hear It, our own soul's oracle, while yet our years are few, and we have not passed that frontier between innocence and experience, reality and pretence. Pretence it is which drives the Other Self away with wailing on its lips. Then we hear It cry in the night when, because of the trouble of life, we cannot sleep; or at the play when we are caught away from ourselves into another air than ours; when music pours around us like a soft wind from a garden of pomegranates; or when a child asks a question which brings us back to the land where everything is so true that it can be shouted from the tree-tops. Why was Fleda Druse tempting death in the Carillon Rapids? She had heard a whisper as she wandered among the pine-trees there at Manitou, and it said simply the one word, "Now!" She knew that she must do it; she had driven her canoe out into the resistless current to ride the Rapids of Carillon. Her Other Self had whispered to her. Yonder, thousands of miles away in Syria, there were the Hills of Lebanon; and there was one phrase which made every Syrian heart beat faster, if he were on the march. It was, "The Druses are up!" When that wild tribe took to the saddle to war upon the Caravans and against authority, from Lebanon to Palmyra, from Jerusalem to Damascus men looked anxiously about them and rode hard to refuge. And here also in the Far North where the River Sagalac ran a wild race to Carillon, leaving behind the new towns of Lebanon and Manitou, "the Druses were up." The daughter of Gabriel Druse, the giant, was riding the Rapids of the Sagalac. The suspense to her and to those who watched her course--to Tekewani and his braves, to Osterhaut and Jowett--could not be long. It was a matter of minutes only, in which every second was a miracle and might be a catastrophe. From rock to rock, from wild white water to wild white water she sped, now tossing to death as it seemed, now shooting on safely to the next test of skill and courage--on, on, till at last there was only one passage to make before the canoe would plunge into the smooth water running with great swiftness till it almost reached Carillon. Suddenly, as she neared the last dangerous point, round which she must swing between jagged and unseen barriers of rock, her sight became for an instant dimmed, as though a cloud passed over her eyes. She had never fainted in her life, but it seemed to her now that she was hovering on unconsciousness. Commending the will and energy left, she fought the weakness down. It was as though she forced a way through tossing, buffeting shadows; as though she was shaking off from her shoulders shadowy hands which sought to detain her; as though smothering things kept choking back her breath, and darkness like clouds of wool gathered about her face. She was fighting for her life, and for years it seemed to be; though indeed it was only seconds before her will reasserted itself, and light broke again upon her way. Even on the verge of the last ambushed passage her senses came back; but they came with a stark realization of the peril ahead: it looked out of her eyes as a face shows itself at the window of a burning building. Memory shook itself free. It pierced the tumult of waters, found the ambushed rocks, and guided the lithe brown arms and hands, so that the swift paddle drove the canoe straight onward, as a fish drives itself through a flume of dragon's teeth beneath the flood. The canoe quivered for an instant at the last cataract, then responding to Memory and Will, sped through the hidden chasm, tossed by spray and water, and swept into the swift current of smooth water below. Fleda Druse had run the Rapids of Carillon. She could hear the bells ringing for evening service in the Catholic Church of Carillon, and bells-soft, booming bells-were ringing in her own brain. Like muffled silver these brain-bells were, and she was as one who enters into a deep forest, and hears far away in the boscage the mystic summons of forest deities. Voices from the banks of the river behind called to her-- hilarious, approving, agitated voices of her Indian friends, and of Osterhaut and Jowett, those wild spectators of her adventure: but they were not wholly real. Only those soft, booming bells in her brain were real. Shooting the Rapids of Carillon was the bridge by which she passed from the world she had left to this other. Her girlhood was ended--wondering, hovering, unrealizing girlhood. This adventure was the outward sign, the rite in the Lodge of Life which passed her from one degree of being to another. She was safe; but now as her canoe shot onward to the town of Carillon, her senses again grew faint. Again she felt the buffeting mist, again her face was muffled in smothering folds; again great hands reached out towards her; again her eyes were drawn into a stupefying darkness; but now there was no will to fight, no energy to resist. The paddle lay inert in her fingers, her head drooped. She slowly raised her head once, twice, as though the call of the exhausted will was heard, but suddenly it fell heavily upon her breast. For a moment so, and then as the canoe shot forward on a fresh current, the lithe body sank backwards in the canoe, and lay face upward to the evening sky. The canoe sped on, but presently it swung round and lay athwart the current, dipping and rolling. From the banks on either side, the Indians of the Manitou Reservation and the two men from Lebanon called out and hastened on, for they saw that the girl had collapsed, and they knew only too well that her danger was not yet past. The canoe might strike against the piers of the bridge at Carillon and overturn, or it might be carried to the second cataract below the town. They were too far away to save her, but they kept shouting as they ran. None responded to their call, but that defiance of the last cataract of the Rapids of Carillon had been seen by one who, below an eddy on the Lebanon side of the river, was steadily stringing upon maple-twigs black bass and long-nosed pike. As he sat in the shade of the trees, he had seen the plunge of the canoe into the chasm, and had held his breath in wonder and admiration. Even at that distance he knew who it was. He had seen Fleda only a few times before, for she was little abroad; but when he had seen her he had asked himself what such a face and form were doing in the Far North. It belonged to Andalusia, to the Carpathians, to Syrian villages. "The pluck of the very devil!" he had exclaimed, as Fleda's canoe swept into the smooth current, free of the dragon's teeth; and as he had something of the devil in himself, she seemed much nearer to him than the hundreds of yards of water intervening. Presently, however, he saw her droop and sink away out of sight. For an instant he did not realize what had happened, and then, with angry self-reproach, he flung the oars into the rowlocks of his skiff and drove down and athwart the stream with long, powerful strokes. "That's like a woman!" he said to himself as he bent to the oars, and now and then turned his head to make sure that the canoe was still safe. "Do the trick better than a man, and then collapse like a rabbit." He was Max Ingolby, the financier, contractor, manager of great interests, disturber of the peace of slow minds, who had come to Lebanon with the avowed object of amalgamating three railways, of making the place the swivel of all the trade and interests of the Western North; but also with the declared intention of uniting Lebanon and Manitou in one municipality, one centre of commercial and industrial power. Men said he had bitten off more than he could chew, but he had replied that his teeth were good, and he would masticate the meal or know the reason why. He was only thirty-three, but his will was like nothing the West had seen as yet. It was sublime in its confidence, it was free from conceit, and it knew not the word despair, though once or twice it had known defeat. Men cheered him from the shore as his skiff leaped through the water. "It's that blessed Ingolby," said Jowett, who had tried to "do" the financier in a horsedeal, and had been done instead, and was now a devout admirer and adherent of the Master Man. "I saw him driving down there this morning from Lebanon. He's been fishing at Seely's Eddy." "When Ingolby goes fishing, there's trouble goin' on somewhere and he's stalkin' it," rejoined Osterhaut. "But, by gol, he's goin' to do this trump trick first; he's goin' to overhaul her before she gits to the bridge. Look at him swing! Hell, ain't it pretty! There you go, old Ingolby. You're right on it, even when you're fishing." On the other-the Manitou-shore Tekewani and his braves were less talkative, but they were more concerned in the incident than Osterhaut and Jowett. They knew little or nothing of Ingolby the hustler, but they knew more of Fleda Druse and her father than all the people of Lebanon and Manitou put together. Fleda had won old Tekewani's heart when she had asked him to take her down the Rapids, for the days of adventure for him and his tribe were over. The adventure shared with this girl had brought back to the chief the old days when Indian women tanned bearskins and deerskins day in, day out, and made pemmican of the buffalo-meat; when the years were filled with hunting and war and migrant journeyings to fresh game-grounds and pastures new. Danger faced was the one thing which could restore Tekewani's self- respect, after he had been checked and rebuked before his tribe by the Indian Commissioner for being drunk. Danger faced had restored it, and Fleda Druse had brought the danger to him as a gift. If the canoe should crash against the piers of the bridge, if it should drift to the cataract below, if anything should happen to this white girl whom he worshipped in his heathen way, nothing could preserve his self- respect; he would pour ashes on his head and firewater down his throat. Suddenly he and his braves stood still. They watched as one would watch an enemy a hundred times stronger than one's self. The white man's skiff was near the derelict canoe; the bridge was near also. Carillon now lined the bank of the river with its people. They ran upon the bridge, but not so fast as to reach the place where, in the nick of time, Ingolby got possession of the rolling canoe; where Fleda Druse lay waiting like a princess to be waked by the kiss of destiny. Only five hundred yards below the bridge was the second cataract, and she would never have waked if she had been carried into it. To Ingolby she was as beautiful as a human being could be as she lay with white face upturned, the paddle still in her hand. "Drowning isn't good enough for her," he said, as he fastened her canoe to his skiff. "It's been a full day's work," he added; and even in this human crisis he thought of the fish he had caught, of "the big trouble," he had been thinking out as Osterhaut had said, as well as of the girl that he was saving. "I always have luck when I go fishing," he added presently. "I can take her back to Lebanon," he continued with a quickening look. "She'll be all right in a jiffy. I've got room for her in my buggy--and room for her in any place that belongs to me," he hastened to reflect with a curious, bashful smile. "It's like a thing in a book," he murmured, as he neared the waiting people on the banks of Carillon, and the ringing of the vesper bells came out to him on the evening air. "Is she dead?" some one whispered, as eager hands reached out to secure his skiff to the bank. "As dead as I am," he answered with a laugh, and drew Fleda's canoe up alongside his skiff. He had a strange sensation of new life, as, with delicacy and gentleness, he lifted her up in his strong arms and stepped ashore. CHAPTER II THE WHISPER FROM BEYOND Ingolby had a will of his own, but it had never been really tried against a woman's will. It was, however, tried sorely when Fleda came to consciousness again in his arms and realized that a man's face was nearer to hers than any man's had ever been except that of her own father. Her eyes opened slowly, and for the instant she did not understand, but when she did, the blood stole swiftly back to her neck and face and forehead, and she started in dismay. "Put me down," she whispered faintly. "I'm taking you to my buggy," he replied. "I'll drive you back to Lebanon." He spoke as calmly as he could, for there was a strange fluttering of his nerves, and the crowd was pressing him. "Put me down at once," she said peremptorily. She trembled on her feet, and swayed, and would have fallen but that Ingolby and a woman in black, who had pushed her way through the crowd with white, anxious face, caught her. "Give her air, and stand back!" called the sharp voice of the constable of Carillon, and he heaved the people back with his powerful shoulders. A space was cleared round the place where Fleda sat with her head against the shoulder of the stately woman in black who had come to her assistance. A dipper of water was brought, and when she had drunk it she raised her head slowly and her eyes sought those of Ingolby. "One cannot pay for such things," she said to him, meeting his look firmly and steeling herself to thank him. Though deeply grateful, it was a trial beyond telling to be obliged to owe the debt of a life to any one, and in particular to a man of the sort to whom material gifts could not be given. "Such things are paid for just by accepting them," he answered quickly, trying to feel that he had never held her in his arms, as she evidently desired him to feel. He had intuition, if not enough of it, for the regions where the mind of Fleda Druse dwelt. "I couldn't very well decline, could I?" she rejoined, quick humour shooting into her eyes. "I was helpless. I never fainted before in my life." "I am sure you will never faint again," he remarked. "We only do such things when we are very young." She was about to reply, but paused reflectively. Her half-opened lips did not frame the words she had been impelled to speak. Admiration was alive in his eyes. He had never seen this type of womanhood before--such energy and grace, so amply yet so lithely framed; such darkness and fairness in one living composition; such individuality, yet such intimate simplicity. Her hair was a very light brown, sweeping over a broad, low forehead, and lying, as though with a sense of modesty, on the tips of the ears, veiling them slightly. The forehead was classic in its intellectual fulness; but the skin was so fresh, even when pale as now, and with such an underglow of vitality, that the woman in her, sex and the possibilities of sex, cast a glamour over the intellect and temperament showing in every line of her contour. In contrast to the light brown of the hair was the very dark brown of the eyes and the still darker brown of the eyelashes. The face shone, the eyes burned, and the piquancy of the contrast between the soft illuminating whiteness of the skin and the flame in the eyes had fascinated many more than Ingolby. Her figure was straight yet supple, somewhat fuller than is modern beauty, with hints of Juno-like stateliness to come; and the curves of her bust, the long lines of her limbs, were not obscured by her absolutely plain gown of soft, light-brown linen. She was tall, but not too commanding, and, as her hand was raised to fasten back a wisp of hair, there was the motion of as small a wrist and as tapering a bare arm as ever made prisoner of a man's neck. Impulse was written in every feature, in the passionate eagerness of her body; yet the line from the forehead to the chin, and the firm shapeliness of the chin itself, gave promise of great strength of will. From the glory of the crown of hair to the curve of the high instep of a slim foot it was altogether a personality which hinted at history--at tragedy, maybe. "She'll have a history," Madame Bulteel, who now stood beside the girl, herself a figure out of a picture by Velasquez, had said of her sadly; for she saw in Fleda's rare qualities, in her strange beauty, happenings which had nothing to do with the life she was living. So this duenna of Gabriel Druse's household, this aristocratic, silent woman was ever on the watch for some sudden revelation of a being which had not found itself, and which must find itself through perils and convulsions. That was why, to-day, she had hesitated to leave Fleda alone and come to Carillon, to be at the bedside of a dying, friendless woman whom by chance she had come to know. In the street she had heard of what was happening on the river, and had come in time to receive Fleda from the arms of her rescuer. "How did you get here?" Fleda asked her. "How am I always with you when I am needed, truant?" said the other with a reproachful look. "Did you fly? You are so light, so thin, you could breathe yourself here," rejoined the girl, with a gentle, quizzical smile. "But, no," she added, "I remember, you were to be here at Carillon." "Are you able to walk now?" asked Madame Bulteel. "To Manitou--but of course," Fleda answered almost sharply. After the first few minutes the crowd had fallen back. They watched her with respectful admiration from a decent distance. They had the chivalry towards woman so characteristic of the West. There was no vulgarity in their curiosity, though most of them had never seen her before. All, however, had heard of her and her father, the giant greybeard who moved and lived in an air of mystery, and apparently secret wealth, for more than once he had given large sums--large in the eyes of folks of moderate means, when charity was needed; as in the case of the floods the year before, and in the prairie-fire the year before that, when so many people were made homeless, and also when fifty men had been injured in one railway accident. On these occasions he gave disproportionately to his mode of life. Now, when they saw that Fleda was about to move away, they drew just a little nearer, and presently one of the crowd could contain his admiration no longer. He raised a cheer. "Three cheers for Her," he shouted, and loud hurrahs followed. "Three cheers for Ingolby," another cried, and the noise was boisterous but not so general. "Who shot Carillon Rapids?" another called in the formula of the West. "She shot the Rapids," was the choral reply. "Who is she?" came the antiphon. "Druse is her name," was the gay response. "What did she do?" "She shot Carillon Rapids--shot 'em dead. Hooray!" In the middle of the cheering, Osterhaut and Jowett arrived in a wagon which they had commandeered, and, about the same time, from across the bridge, came running Tekewani and his braves. "She done it like a kingfisher," cried Osterhaut. "Manitou's got the belt." Fleda Druse's friendly eyes were given only for one instant to Osterhaut and his friend. Her gaze became fixed on Tekewani who, silent, and with immobile face, stole towards her. In spite of the civilization which controlled him, he wore Indian moccasins and deerskin breeches, though his coat was rather like a shortened workman's blouse. He did not belong to the life about him; he was a being apart, the spirit of vanished and vanishing days. "Tekewani--ah, Tekewani, you have come," the girl said, and her eyes smiled at him as they had not smiled at Ingolby or even at the woman in black beside her. "How!" the chief replied, and looked at her with searching, worshipping eyes. "Don't look at me that way, Tekewani," she said, coming close to him. "I had to do it, and I did it." "The teeth of rock everywhere!" he rejoined reproachfully, with a gesture of awe. "I remembered all--all. You were my master, Tekewani." "But only once with me it was, Summer Song," he persisted. Summer Song was his name for her. "I saw it--saw it, every foot of the way," she insisted. "I thought hard, oh, hard as the soul thinks. And I saw it all." There was something singularly akin in the nature of the girl and the Indian. She spoke to him as she never spoke to any other. "Too much seeing, it is death," he answered. "Men die with too much seeing. I have seen them die. To look hard through deerskin curtains, to see through the rock, to behold the water beneath the earth, and the rocks beneath the black waters, it is for man to see if he has a soul, but the seeing--behold, so those die who should live!" "I live, Tekewani, though I saw the teeth of rocks beneath the black water," she urged gently. "Yet the half-death came--" "I fainted, but I was not to die--it was not my time." He shook his head gloomily. "Once it may be, but the evil spirits tempt us to death. It matters not what comes to Tekewani; he is as the leaf that falls from the stem; but for Summer Song that has far to go, it is the madness from beyond the Hills of Life." She took his hand. "I will not do it again, Tekewani." "How!" he said, with hand upraised, as one who greets the great in this world. "I don't know why I did it," she added meaningly. "It was selfish. I feel that now." The woman in black pressed her hand timidly. "It is so for ever with the great," Tekewani answered. "It comes, also, from beyond the Hills--the will to do it. It is the spirit that whispers over the earth out of the Other Earth. No one hears it but the great. The whisper only is for this one here and that one there who is of the Few. It whispers, and the whisper must be obeyed. So it was from the beginning." "Yes, you understand, Tekewani," she answered softly. "I did it because something whispered from the Other Earth to me." Her head drooped a little, her eyes had a sudden shadow. "He will understand," answered the Indian; "your father will understand," as though reading her thoughts. He had clearly read her thought, this dispossessed, illiterate Indian chieftain. Yet, was he so illiterate? Had he not read in books which so few have learned to read? His life had been broken on the rock of civilization, but his simple soul had learned some elemental truths--not many, but the essential ones, without which there is no philosophy, no understanding. He knew Fleda Druse was thinking of her father, wondering if he would understand, half-fearing, hardly hoping, dreading the moment when she must meet him face to face. She knew she had been selfish, but would Gabriel Druse understand? She raised her eyes in gratitude to the Blackfeet chief. "I must go home," she said. She turned to go, but as she did so, a man came swaggering down the street, broke through the crowd, and made towards her with an arm raised, a hand waving, and a leer on his face. He was a thin, rather handsome, dissolute-looking fellow of middle height and about forty, in dandified dress. His glossy black hair fell carelessly over his smooth forehead from under a soft, wide-awake hat. "Manitou for ever!" he cried, with a flourish of his hand. "I salute the brave. I escort the brave to the gates of Manitou. I escort the brave. I escort the brave. Salut! Salut! Salut! Well done, Beauty Beauty--Beauty--Beauty, well done again!" He held out his hand to Fleda, but she drew back with disgust. Felix Marchand, the son of old Hector Marchand, money-lender and capitalist of Manitou, had pressed his attentions upon her during the last year since he had returned from the East, bringing dissoluteness and vulgar pride with him. Women had spoiled him, money had corrupted and degraded him. "Come, beautiful brave, it's Salut! Salut! Salut!" he said, bending towards her familiarly. Her face flushed with anger. "Let me pass, monsieur," she said sharply. "Pride of Manitou--" he apostrophized, but got no farther. Ingolby caught him by the shoulders, wheeled him round, and then flung him at the feet of Tekewani and his braves. At this moment Tekewani's eyes had such a fire as might burn in Wotan's smithy. He was ready enough to defy the penalty of the law for assaulting a white man, but Felix Marchand was in the dust, and that would do for the moment. With grim face Ingolby stood over the begrimed figure. "There's the river if you want more," he said. "Tekewani knows where the water's deepest." Then he turned and followed Fleda and the woman in black. Felix Marchand's face was twisted with hate as he got slowly to his feet. "You'll eat dust before I'm done," he called after Ingolby. Then, amid the jeers of the crowd, he went back to the tavern where he had been carousing. CHAPTER III CONCERNING INGOLBY AND THE TWO TOWNS A word about Max Ingolby. He was the second son of four sons, with a father who had been a failure; but with a mother of imagination and great natural strength of brain, yet whose life had been so harried in bringing up a family on nothing at all, that there only emerged from her possibilities a great will to do the impossible things. From her had come the spirit which would not be denied. In his boyhood Max could not have those things which lads prize--fishing- rods, cricket-bats and sleds, and all such things; but he could take most prizes at school open to competition; he could win in the running-jump, the high-jump, and the five hundred yards' race; and he could organize a picnic, or the sports of the school or town--at no cost to himself. His finance in even this limited field had been brilliant. Other people paid, and he did the work; and he did it with such ease that the others intriguing to crowd him out, suffered failure and came to him in the end to put things right. He became the village doctor's assistant and dispenser at seventeen and induced his master to start a drug-store. He made the drug-store a success within two years, and meanwhile he studied Latin and Greek and mathematics in every spare hour he had--getting up at five in the morning, and doing as much before breakfast as others did in a whole day. His doctor loved him and helped him; a venerable Archdeacon, an Oxford graduate, gave him many hours of coaching, and he went to the University with three scholarships. These were sufficient to carry him through in three years, and there was enough profit-sharing from the drug-business he had founded on terms to shelter his mother and his younger brothers, while he took honours at the University. There he organized all that students organize, and was called in at last by the Bursar of his college to reorganize the commissariat, which he did with such success that the college saved five thousand dollars a year. He had genius, the college people said, and after he had taken his degree with honours in classics and mathematics they offered him a professorship at two thousand dollars a year. He laughed ironically, but yet with satisfaction, when the professorship was offered. It was all so different from what was in his mind for the future. As he looked out of the oriel window in the sweet gothic building, to the green grass and the maples and elms which made the college grounds like an old-world park, he had a vision of himself permanently in these surroundings of refinement growing venerable with years, seeing pass under his influence thousands of young men directed, developed and inspired by him. He had, however, shaken himself free of this modest vision. He knew that such a life would act like a narcotic to his real individuality. He thirsted for contest, for the control of brain and will; he wanted to construct; he was filled with the idea of simplifying things, of economizing strength; he saw how futile was much competition, and how the big brain could command and control with ease, wasting no force, saving labour, making the things controlled bigger and better. So it came that his face was seen no more in the oriel window. With a mere handful of dollars, and some debts, he left the world of scholarship and superior pedagogy, and went where the head offices of railways were. Railways were the symbol of progress in his mind. The railhead was the advance post of civilization. It was like Cortez and his Conquistadores overhauling and appropriating the treasures of long generations. So where should he go if not to the Railway? His first act, when he got to his feet inside the offices of the President of a big railway, was to show the great man how two "outside" proposed lines could be made one, and then further merged into the company controlled by the millionaire in whose office he sat. He got his chance by his very audacity--the President liked audacity. In attempting this merger, however, he had his first failure, but he showed that he could think for himself, and he was made increasingly responsible. After a few years of notable service, he was offered the task of building a branch line of railway from Lebanon and Manitou north, and northwest, and on to the Coast; and he had accepted it, at the same time planning to merge certain outside lines competing with that which he had in hand. For over four years he worked night and day, steadily advancing towards his goal, breaking down opposition, manoeuvring, conciliating, fighting. Most men loved his whimsical turn of mind, even those who were the agents of the financial clique which had fought him in their efforts to get control of the commercial, industrial, transport and banking resources of the junction city of Lebanon. In the days when vast markets would be established for Canadian wheat in Shanghai and Tokio, then these two towns of Manitou and Lebanon on the Sagalac would be like the swivel to the organization of trade of a continent. Ingolby had worked with this end in view. In doing so he had tried to get what he wanted without trickery; to reach his goal by playing the game according to the rules, and this policy nonplussed his rivals and associates. They expected secret moves, and he laid his cards on the table. Sharp, quick, resolute and ruthless he was, however, if he knew that he was being tricked. Then he struck, and struck hard. The war of business was war and not "gollyfoxing," as he said. Selfish, stubborn and self-centred he was in much, but he had great joy in the natural and sincere, and he had a passionate love of Nature. To him the flat prairie was never ugly. Its very monotony had its own individuality. The Sagalac, even when muddy, had its own deep interest, and when it was full of logs drifting down to the sawmills, for which he had found the money by interesting capitalists in the East, he sniffed the stinging smell of the pines with elation. As the great saws in the mills, for which he had secured the capital, throwing off the spray of mangled wood, hummed and buzzed and sang, his mouth twisted in the droll smile it always wore when he talked with such as Jowett and Osterhaut, whose idiosyncrasies were like a meal to him; as he described it once to some of the big men from the East who had been behind his schemes, yet who cavilled at his ways. He was never diverted from his course by such men, and while he was loyal to those who had backed him, he vowed that he would be independent of these wooden souls in the end. They and the great bankers behind them were for monopoly; he was for organization and for economic prudence. So far they were necessary to all he did; but it was his intention to shake himself free of all monopoly in good time. One or two of his colleagues saw the drift of his policy and would have thrown him over if they could have replaced him by a man as capable, who would, at the time, consent to grow rich on their terms. They could not understand a man who would stand for a half-hour watching a sunset, or a morning sky dappled with all the colours that shake from a prism; they were suspicious of a business-mind which could gloat over the light falling on snow-peaked mountains, while it planned a great bridge across a gorge in the same hour; of a man who would quote a verse of poetry while a flock of wild pigeons went whirring down a pine-girt valley in the shimmer of the sun. On the occasion when he had quoted a verse of poetry to them, one of them said to him with a sidelong glance: "You seem to be dead-struck on Nature, Ingolby." To that, with a sly quirk of the mouth, and meaning to mystify his wooden-headed questioner still more, he answered: "Dead-struck? Dead- drunk, you mean. I'm a Nature's dipsomaniac--as you can see," he added with a sly note of irony. Then instantly he had drawn the little circle of experts into a discussion upon technical questions of railway-building and finance, which made demands upon all their resources and knowledge. In that conference he gave especial attention to the snub-souled financier who had sneered at his love of Nature. He tied his critic up in knots of self-assertion and bad logic which presently he deftly, deliberately and skilfully untied, to the delight of all the group. "He's got as much in his ten years in the business as we've got out of half a life-time," said the chief of his admirers. This was the President who had first welcomed him into business, and introduced him to his colleagues in enterprise. "I shouldn't be surprised if the belt flew off the wheel some day," savagely said Ingolby's snub-souled critic, whose enmity was held in check by the fact that on Ingolby, for the moment, depended the safety of the hard cash he had invested. But the qualities which alienated an expert here and there caught the imagination of the pioneer spirits of Lebanon. Except those who, for financial reasons, were opposed to him, and must therefore pit themselves against him, as the representatives of bigger forces behind them, he was a leader of whom Lebanon was combatively proud. At last he came to the point where his merger was practically accomplished, and a problem arising out of it had to be solved. It was a problem which taxed every quality of an able mind. The situation had at last become acute, and Time, the solvent of most complications, had not quite eased the strain. Indeed, on the day that Fleda Druse had made her journey down the Carillon Rapids, Time's influence had not availed. So he had gone fishing, with millions at stake--to the despair of those who were risking all on his skill and judgment. But that was Ingolby. Thinking was the essence of his business, not Time. As fishing was the friend of thinking, therefore he fished in Seely's Eddy, saw Fleda Druse run the Carillon Rapids, saved her from drowning, and would have brought her in pride and peace to her own home, but that she decreed otherwise. CHAPTER IV THE COMING OF JETHRO FAWE Gabriel Druse's house stood on a little knoll on the outskirts of the town of Manitou, backed by a grove of pines. Its front windows faced the Sagalac, and the windows behind looked into cool coverts where in old days many Indian tribes had camped; where Hudson's Bay Company's men had pitched their tents to buy the red man's furs. But the red man no longer set up his tepee in these secluded groves; the wapiti and red deer had fled to the north never to return, the snarling wolf had stolen into regions more barren; the ceremonial of the ancient people no longer made weird the lonely nights; the medicine-man's incantations, the harvest- dance, the green-corn-dance, the sun-dance had gone. The braves, their women, and their tepees had been shifted to reservations where Governments solemnly tried to teach them to till the field, and grow corn, and drive the cart to market; while yet they remembered the herds of buffalo which had pounded down the prairie like storm-clouds and given their hides for the tepee; and the swift deer whose skins made the wigwam luxurious. Originally Manitou had been the home of Icelanders, Mennonites, and Doukhobors; settlers from lands where the conditions of earlier centuries prevailed, who, simple as they were in habits and in life, were ignorant, primitive, coarse, and none too cleanly. They had formed an unprogressive polyglot settlement, and the place assumed a still more primeval character when the Indian Reservation was formed near by. When French Canadian settlers arrived, however, the place became less discordant to the life of a new democracy, though they did little to make it modern in the sense that Lebanon, across the river, where Ingolby lived, was modern from the day the first shack was thrown up. Manitou showed itself antagonistic to progress; it was old-fashioned, and primitively agricultural. It looked with suspicion on the factories built after Ingolby came and on the mining propositions, which circled the place with speculation. Unlike other towns of the West, it was insanitary and uneducated; it was also given to nepotism and a primitive kind of jobbery; but, on the whole, it was honest. It was a settlement twenty years before Lebanon had a house, though the latter exceeded the population of Manitou in five years, and became the home of all adventuring spirits--land agents, company promoters, mining prospectors, railway men, politicians, saloon keepers, and up to-date dissenting preachers. Manitou was, however, full of back-water people, religious fanatics, little farmers, guides, trappers, old coureurs-de-bois, Hudson's Bay Company factors and ex-factors, half-breeds; and all the rest. The real feud between the two towns began about the time of the arrival of Gabriel Druse, his daughter, and Madame Bulteel, the woman in black, and it had grown with great rapidity and increasing intensity. Manitou condemned the sacrilegiousness of the Protestants, whose meeting-houses were used for "socials," "tea-meetings," "strawberry festivals," and entertainments of many kinds; while comic songs were sung at the table where the solemn Love Feast was held at the quarterly meetings. At last when attempts were made to elect to Parliament an Irish lawyer who added to his impecuniousness, eloquence, a half-finished University education, and an Orangeman's prejudices of the best brand of Belfast or Derry, inter-civic strife took the form of physical violence. The great bridge built by Ingolby between the two towns might have been ten thousand yards long, so deep was the estrangement between the two places. They had only one thing in common--a curious compromise--in the person of Nathan Rockwell, an agnostic doctor, who had arrived in Lebanon with a reputation for morality somewhat clouded; though, where his patients in Manitou and Lebanon were concerned, he had been the "pink of propriety." Rockwell had arrived in Lebanon early in its career, and had remained unimportant until a railway accident occurred at Manitou and the resident doctors were driven from the field of battle, one by death, and one by illness. Then it was that the silent, smiling, dark-skinned, cool-headed and cool-handed Rockwell stepped in, and won for himself the gratitude of all--from Monseigneur Lourde, the beloved Catholic priest, to Tekewani, the chief. This accident was followed by an epidemic. That was at the time, also, when Fleda Druse returned from Winnipeg where she had been at school for one memorable and terrible six months, pining for her father, defying rules, and crying the night through for "the open world," as she called it. So it was that, to her father's dismay and joy in one, she had fled from school, leaving all her things behind her; and had reached home with only the clothes on her back and a few cents in her pocket. Instantly on her return she had gone among the stricken people as fearlessly as Rockwell had done, but chiefly among the women and children; and it was said that the herbal medicine she administered was marvellous in its effect--so much so that Rockwell asked for the prescription, which she declined to give. Thus it was that the French Canadian mothers with daughters of their own, bright-eyed brunettes, ready for the man-market, regarded with toleration the girl who took their children away for picnics down the river or into the woods, and brought them back safe and sound at the end of the day. Not that they failed to be shocked sometimes, when, on her wild Indian pony, Fleda swept through Manitou like a wind and out into the prairie, riding, as it were, to the end of the world. Try as they would, these grateful mothers of Manitou, they could not get as near to Fleda Druse as their children did, and they were vast distances from her father. "There, there, look at him," said old Madame Thibadeau to her neighbour Christine Brisson--"look at him with his great grey-beard, and his eyes like black fires, and that head of hair like a bundle of burnt flax! He comes from the place no man ever saw, that's sure." "Ah, surelee, men don't grow so tall in any Christian country," announced Christine Brisson, her head nodding sagely. "I've seen the pictures in the books, and there's nobody so tall and that looks like him--not anywhere since Adam." "Nom de pipe, sometimes-trulee, sometimes, I look up there at where he lives, and I think I see a thousand men on horses ride out of the woods behind his house and down here to gobble us all up. That's the way I feel. It's fancy, but I can't help that." Dame Thibadeau rested her hands--on her huge stomach as though the idea had its origin there. "I've seen a lot of fancies come to pass," gloomily returned her friend. "It's a funny world. I don't know what to make of its sometimes." "And that girl of his, the strangest creature, as proud as a peacock, but then as kind as kind to the children--of a good heart, surelee. They say she has plenty of gold rings and pearls and bracelets, and all like that. Babette Courton, she saw them when she went to sew. Why doesn't Ma'm'selle wear them?" Christine looked wise and smoothed out her apron as though it was a parchment. "With such queer ones, who knows? But, yes, as you say, she has a kind heart. The children, well, they follow her everywhere." "Not the children only," sagely added the other. "From Lebanon they come, the men, and plenty here, too; and there's that Felix Marchand, the worst of all in Manitou or anywhere." "I'd look sharp if Felix Marchand followed me," remarked Christine. "There are more papooses at the Reservation since he come back, and over in Lebanon--!" She whispered darkly to her friend, and they nodded knowingly. "If he plays pranks in Manitou he'll get his throat cut, for sure. Even with Protes'ants and Injuns it's bad enough," remarked Dame Thibadeau, panting with the thought of it. "He doesn't even leave the Doukhobors alone. There's--" Again Christine whispered, and again that ugly look came to their faces which belongs to the thought of forbidden things. "Felix Marchand'll have much money--bad penny as he is," continued Christine in her normal voice. "He'll have more money than he can put in all the trouser legs he has. Old Hector, his father, has enough for a gover'ment. But that M'sieu' Felix will get his throat cut if he follows Ma'm'selle Druse about too much. She hates him--I've seen when they met. Old man Druse'll make trouble. He don't look as he does for nothing." "Ah, that's so. One day, we shall see what we shall see," murmured Christine, and waved a hand to a friend in the street. This conversation happened on the evening of the day that Fleda Druse shot the Carillon Rapids alone. An hour after the two gossips had had their say Gabriel Druse paced up and down the veranda of his house, stopping now and then to view the tumbling, hurrying Sagalac, or to dwell upon the sunset which crimsoned and bronzed the western sky. His walk had an air of impatience; he seemed disturbed of mind and restless of body. He gave an impression of great force. He would have been picked out of a multitude, not alone because of his remarkable height, but because he had an air of command and the aloofness which shows a man sufficient unto himself. As he stood gazing reflectively into the sunset, a strange, plaintive, birdlike note pierced the still evening air. His head lifted quickly, yet he did not look in the direction of the sound, which came from the woods behind the house. He did not stir, and his eyes half-closed, as though he hesitated what to do. The call was not that of a bird familiar to the Western world. It had a melancholy softness like that of the bell-bird of the Australian bush. Yet, in the insistence of the note, it was, too, a challenge or a summons. Three times during the past week he had heard it--once as he went by the market-place of Manitou; once as he returned in the dusk from Tekewani's Reservation, and once at dawn from the woods behind the house. His present restlessness and suppressed agitation had been the result. It was a call he knew well. It was like a voice from a dead world. It asked, he knew, for an answering call, yet he had not given it. It was seven days since he first heard it in the market-place, and in that seven days he had realized that nothing in this world which has ever been, really ceases to be. Presently, the call was repeated. On the three former occasions there had been no repetition. The call had trembled in the air but once and had died away into unbroken silence. Now, however, it rang out with an added poignancy. It was like a bird calling to its vanished mate. With sudden resolution Druse turned. Leaving the veranda, he walked slowly behind the house into the woods and stood still under the branches of a great cedar. Raising his head, a strange, solemn note came from his lips; but the voice died away in a sharp broken sound which was more human than birdlike, which had the shrill insistence of authority. The call to him had been almost ventriloquial in its nature. His lips had not moved at all. There was silence for a moment after he had called into the void, as it were, and then there appeared suddenly from behind a clump of juniper, a young man of dark face and upright bearing. He made a slow obeisance with a gesture suggestive of the Oriental world, yet not like the usual gesture of the East Indian, the Turk or the Persian; it was composite of all. He could not have been more than twenty-five years of age. He was so sparely made, and his face being clean-shaven, he looked even younger. His clothes were the clothes of the Western man; and yet there was a manner of wearing them, there were touches which were evidence to the watchful observer that he was of other spheres. His wide, felt, Western hat had a droop on one side and a broken treatment of the crown, which of itself was enough to show him a stranger to the prairie, while his brown velveteen jacket, held by its two lowest buttons, was reminiscent of an un-English life. His eyes alone would have announced him as of some foreign race, though he was like none of the foreigners who had been the pioneers of Manitou. Unlike as he and Gabriel Druse were in height, build, and movement, still there was something akin in them both. After a short silence evidently disconcerting to him, "Blessing and hail, my Ry," he said in a low tone. He spoke in a strange language and with a voice rougher than his looks would have suggested. The old man made a haughty gesture of impatience. "What do you want with me, my Romany 'chal'?" he asked sharply.--[A glossary of Romany words will be found at the end of the book.] The young man replied hastily. He seemed to speak by rote. His manner was too eager to suit the impressiveness of his words. "The sheep are without a shepherd," he said. "The young men marry among the Gorgios, or they are lost in the cities and return no more to the tents and the fields and the road. There is disorder in all the world among the Romanys. The ancient ways are forgotten. Our people gather and settle upon the land and live as the Gorgios live. They forget the way beneath the trees, they lose their skill in horses. If the fountain is choked, how shall the water run?" A cold sneer came to the face of Gabriel Druse. "The way beneath the trees!" he growled. "The way of the open road is enough. The way beneath the trees is the way of the thief, and the skill of the horse is the skill to cheat." "There is no other way. It has been the way of the Romany since the time of Timur Beg and centuries beyond Timur, so it is told. One man and all men must do as the tribe has done since the beginning." The old man pulled at his beard angrily. "You do not talk like a Romany, but like a Gorgio of the schools." The young man's manner became more confident as he replied. "Thinking on what was to come to me, I read in the books as the Gorgio reads. I sat in my tent and worked with a pen; I saw in the printed sheets what the world was doing every day. This I did because of what was to come." "And have you read of me in the printed sheets? Did they tell you where I was to be found?" Gabriel Druse's eyes were angry, his manner was authoritative. The young man stretched out his hands eloquently. "Hail and blessing, my Ry, was there need of printed pages to tell me that? Is not everything known of the Ry to the Romany people without the written or printed thing? How does the wind go? How does the star sweep across the sky? Does not the whisper pass as the lightning flashes? Have you forgotten all, my Ry? Is there a Romany camp at Scutari? Shall it not know what is the news of the Bailies of Scotland and the Caravans by the Tagus? It is known always where my lord is. All the Romanys everywhere know it, and many hundreds have come hither from overseas. They are east, they are south, they are west." He made gesture towards these three points of the compass. A dark frown came upon the old man's forehead. "I ordered that none should seek to follow, that I be left in peace till my pilgrimage was done. Even as the first pilgrims of our people in the days of Timur Beg in India, so I have come forth from among you all till the time be fulfilled." There was a crafty look in the old man's eyes as he spoke, and ages of dubious reasoning and purpose showed in their velvet depths. "No one has sought me but you in all these years," he continued. "Who are you that you should come? I did not call, and there was my command that none should call to me." A bolder look grew in the other's face. His carriage gained in ease. "There is trouble everywhere--in Italy, in Spain, in France, in England, in Russia, in mother India"--he made a gesture of salutation and bowed low--"and our rites and mysteries are like water spilt upon the ground. If the hand be cut off, how shall the body move? That is how it is. You are vanished, my lord, and the body dies." The old man plucked his beard again fiercely and his words came with guttural force. "That is fool's talk. In the past I was never everywhere at once. When I was in Russia, I was not in Greece; when I was in England, I was not in Portugal. I was always 'vanished' from one place to another, yet the body lived." "But your word was passed along the roads everywhere, my Ry. Your tongue was not still from sunrise to the end of the day. Your call was heard always, now here, now there, and the Romanys were one; they held together." The old man's face darkened still more and his eyes flashed fire. "These are lies you are telling, and they will choke you, my Romany 'chal'. Am I deceived, I who have known more liars than any man under the sky? Am I to be fooled, who have seen so many fools in their folly? There is roguery in you, or I have never seen roguery." "I am a true Romany, my Ry," the other answered with an air of courage and a little defiance also. "You are a rogue and a liar, that is sure. These wailings are your own. The Romany goes on his way as he has gone these hundreds of years. If I am silent, my people will wait until I speak again; if they see me not they will wait till I enter their camps once more. Why are you here? Speak, rogue and liar." The wrathful old man, sure in his reading of the youth, towered above him commandingly. It almost seemed as though he would do him bodily harm, so threatening was his attitude, but the young Romany raised his head, and with a note of triumph said: "I have come for my own, as it is my right." "What is your own?" "What has been yours until now, my Ry." A grey look stole slowly up the strong face of the exiled leader, for his mind suddenly read the truth behind the young man's confident words. "What is mine is always mine," he answered roughly. "Speak! What is it I have that you come for?" The young man braced himself and put a hand upon his lips. "I come for your daughter, my Ry." The old man suddenly regained his composure, and authority spoke in his bearing and his words. "What have you to do with my daughter?" "She was married to me when I was seven years of age, as my Ry knows. I am the son of Lemuel Fawe--Jethro Fawe is my name. For three thousand pounds it was so arranged. On his death-bed three thousand pounds did my father give to you for this betrothal. I was but a child, yet I remembered, and my kinsmen remembered, for it is their honour also. I am the son of Lemuel Fawe, the husband of Fleda, daughter of Gabriel Druse, King and Duke and Earl of all the Romanys; and I come for my own." Something very like a sigh of relief came from Gabriel Druse's lips, but the anger in his face did not pass, and a rigid pride made the distance between them endless. He looked like a patriarch giving judgment as he raised his hand and pointed with a menacing finger at Jethro Fawe, his Romany subject--and, according to the laws of the Romany tribes, his son- in-law. It did not matter that the girl--but three years of age when it happened--had no memory of the day when the chiefs and great people assembled outside the tent of Lemuel Fawe when he lay dying, and, by the simple act of stepping over a branch of hazel, the two children were married: if Romany law and custom were to abide, then the two now were man and wife. Did not Lemuel Fawe, the old-time rival of Gabriel Druse for the kinship of the Romanys, the claimant whose family had been rulers of the Romanys for generations before the Druses gained ascendancy--did not Fawe, dying, seek to secure for his son by marriage what he had failed to get for himself by other means? All these things had at one time been part of Gabriel Druse's covenant of life, until one year in England, when Fleda, at twelve years of age, was taken ill and would have died, but that a great lady descended upon their camp, took the girl to her own house, and there nursed and tended her, giving her the best medical aid the world could produce, so that the girl lived, and with her passionate nature loved the Lady Barrowdale as she might have loved her own mother, had that mother lived and she had ever known her. And when the Lady Barrowdale sickened and died of the same sickness which had nearly been her own death, the promise she made then overrode all other covenants made for her. She had promised the great lady who had given her own widowed, childless life for her own, that she would not remain a Gipsy, that she would not marry a Gipsy, but that if ever she gave herself to any man it would be to a Gorgio, a European, who travelled oftenest "the open road" leading to his own door. The years which had passed since those tragic days in Gloucestershire had seen the shadows of that dark episode pass, but the pledge had remained; and Gabriel Druse had kept his word to the dead, because of the vow made to the woman who had given her life for the life of a Romany lass. The Romany tribes of all the nations did not know why their Ry had hidden himself in the New World; they did not know that the girl had for ever forsworn their race, and would never become head of all the Romanys, solving the problem of the rival dynasties by linking her life with that of Jethro Fawe. But Jethro Fawe had come to claim his own. Now Gabriel Druse's eyes followed his own menacing finger with sharp insistence. In the past such a look had been in his eyes when he had sentenced men to death. They had not died by the gallows or the sword or the bullet, but they had died as commanded, and none had questioned his decree. None asked where or how the thing was done when a fire sprang up in a field, or a quarry, or on a lonely heath or hill-top, and on the pyre were all the belongings of the condemned, being resolved into dust as their owner had been made earth again. "Son of Lemuel Fawe," the old man said, his voice rough with authority, "but that you are of the Blood, you should die now for this disobedience. When the time is fulfilled, I will return. Until then, my daughter and I are as those who have no people. Begone! Nothing that is here belongs to you. Begone, and come no more!" "I have come for my own--for my Romany 'chi', and I will not go without her. I am blood of the Blood, and she is mine." "You have not seen her," said the old man craftily, and fighting hard against the wrath consuming him, though he liked the young man's spirit. "She has changed. She is no longer Romany." "I have seen her, and her beauty is like the rose and the palm." "When have you seen her since the day before the tent of Lemuel Fawe now seventeen years ago?" There was an uneasy note in the commanding tone. "I have seen her three times of late, and the last time I saw her was an hour or so since, when she rode the Rapids of Carillon." The old man started, his lips parted, but for a moment he did not speak. At last words came. "The Rapids--speak. What have you heard, Jethro, son of Lemuel?" "I did not hear, I saw her shoot the Rapids. I ran to follow. At Carillon I saw her arrive. She was in the arms of a Gorgio of Lebanon-- Ingolby is his name." A malediction burst from Gabriel Druse's lips, words sharp and terrible in their intensity. For the first time since they had met the young man blanched. The savage was alive in the giant. "Speak. Tell all," Druse said, with hands clenching. Swiftly the young man told all he had seen, and described how he had run all the way--four miles--from Carillon, arriving before Fleda and her Indian escort. He had hardly finished his tale, shrinking, as he told it, from the fierceness of his chief, when a voice called from the direction of the house. "Father--father," it cried. A change passed over the old man's face. It cleared as the face of the sun clears when a cloud drives past and is gone. The transformation was startling. Without further glance at his companion, he moved swiftly towards the house. Once more Fleda's voice called, and before he could answer they were face to face. She stood radiant and elate, and seemed not apprehensive of disfavour or reproach. Behind her was Tekewani and his braves. "You have heard?" she asked reading her father's face. "I have heard. Have you no heart?" he answered. "If the Rapids had drowned you!" She came close to him and ran her fingers through his beard tenderly. "I was not born to be drowned," she said softly. Now that she was a long distance from Ingolby, the fact that a man had held her in his arms left no shadow on her face. Ingolby was now only part of her triumph of the Rapids. She tossed a hand affectionately towards Tekewani and his braves. "How!" said Gabriel Druse, and made a gesture of salutation to the Indian chief. "How!" answered Tekewani, and raised his arm high in response. An instant afterwards Tekewani and his followers were gone their ways. Suddenly Fleda's eyes rested on the young Romany who was now standing at a little distance away. Apprehension came to her face. She felt her heart stand still and her hands grow cold, she knew not why. But she saw that the man was a Romany. Her father turned sharply. A storm gathered in his face once more, and a murderous look came into his eyes. "Who is he?" Fleda asked, scarce above a whisper, and she noted the insistent, amorous look of the stranger. "He says he is your husband," answered her father harshly. CHAPTER V "BY THE RIVER STARZKE . . . IT WAS SO DONE" There was absolute silence for a moment. The two men fixed their gaze upon the girl. The fear which had first come to her face passed suddenly, and a will, new-born and fearless, possessed it. Yesterday this will had been only a trembling, undisciplined force, but since then she had been passed through the tests which her own soul, or Destiny, had set for her, and she had emerged a woman, confident and understanding, if tremulous. In days gone by her adventurous, lonely spirit had driven her to the prairies, savagely riding her Indian pony through the streets of Manitou and out on the North Trail, or south through coulees, or westward into the great woods, looking for what: she never found. Her spirit was no longer the vague thing driving here and there with pleasant torture. It had found freedom and light; what the Romany folk call its own 'tan', its home, though it be but home of each day's trek. That wild spirit was now a force which understood itself in a new if uncompleted way. It was a sword free from its scabbard. The adventure of the Carillon Rapids had been a kind of deliverance of an unborn thing which, desiring the overworld, had found it. A few hours ago the face of Ingolby, as she waked to consciousness in his arms, had taught her something suddenly; and the face of Felix Marchand had taught her even more. Something new and strange had happened to her, and her father's uncouth but piercing mind saw the change in her. Her quick, fluttering moods, her careless, undirected energy, her wistful waywardness, had of late troubled and vexed him, called on capacities in him which he did not possess; but now he was suddenly aware that she had emerged from passionate inconsistencies and in some good sense had found herself. Like a wind she had swept out of childhood into a woman's world where the eyes saw things unseen before, a world how many thousand leagues in the future; and here in a flash, also, she was swept like a wind back again to a time before there was even conscious childhood--a dim, distant time when she lived and ate and slept for ever in the field or the vale, in the quarry, beside the hedge, or on the edge of harvest-fields; when she was carried in strong arms, or sat in the shelter of a man's breast as a horse cantered down a glade, under an ardent sky, amid blooms never seen since then. She was whisked back into that distant, unreal world by the figure of a young Romany standing beside a spruce-tree, and by her father's voice which uttered the startling words: "He says he is your husband!" Indignation and a bitter pride looked out of her eyes, as she heard the preposterous claim--as though she were some wild dweller of the jungle being called by her savage mate back to the lair she had forsaken. "Since when were you my husband?" she asked Jethro Fawe composedly. Her quiet scorn brought a quiver to his spirit; for he was of a people to whom anger and passion were part of every relationship of life, its stimulus and its recreation, its expression of the individual. His eyelids trembled, but he drew himself together. "Seventeen years ago by the River Starzke in the Roumelian country, it was so done," he replied stubbornly. "You were sealed to me, as my Ry here knows, and as you will remember, if you fix your mind upon it. It was beyond the city of Starzke three leagues, under the brown scarp of the Dragbad Hills. It was in the morning when the sun was by a quarter of its course. It happened before my father's tent, the tent of Lemuel Fawe. There you and I were sealed before our Romany folk. For three thousand pounds which my father gave to your father, you--" With a swift gesture she stopped him. Walking close up to him, she looked him full in the eyes. There was a contemptuous pride in her face which forced him to lower his eyelids sulkily. He would have understood a torrent of words--to him that would have regulated the true value of the situation; but this disdainful composure embarrassed him. He had come prepared for trouble and difficulty, but he had rather more determination than most of his class and people, and his spirit of adventure was high. Now that he had seen the girl who was his own according to Romany law, he felt he had been a hundred times justified in demanding her from her father, according to the pledge and bond of so many years ago. He had nothing to lose but his life, and he had risked that before. This old man, the head of the Romany folk, had the bulk of the fortune which had been his own father's and he had the logic of lucre which is the most convincing of all logic. Yet with the girl holding his eyes commandingly, he was conscious that he was asking more than a Romany lass to share his 'tan', to go wandering from Romany people to Romany people, king and queen of them all when Gabriel Druse had passed away. Fleda Druse would be a queen of queens, but there was that queenliness in her now which was not Romany--something which was Gorgio, which was caste, which made a shivering distance between them. As he had spoken, she saw it all as he described it. Vaguely, cloudily, the scene passed before her. Now and again in the passing years had filmy impressions floated before her mind of a swift-flowing river and high crags, and wooded hills and tents and horsemen and shouting, and a lad that held her hand, and banners waved over their heads, and galloping and shouting, and then a sudden quiet, and many men and women gathered about a tent, and a wailing thereafter. After which, in her faint remembrance, there seemed to fall a mist, and a space of blankness, and then a starting up from a bed, and looking out of the doors of a tent, where many people gathered about a great fire, whose flames licked the heavens, and seemed to devour a Romany tent standing alone with a Romany wagon full of its household things. As Jethro Fawe had spoken, the misty, elusive visions had become living memories, and she knew that he had spoken the truth, and that these fleeting things were pictures of her sealing to Jethro Fawe and the death of Lemuel Fawe, and the burning of all that belonged to him in that last ritual of Romany farewell to the dead. She knew now that she had been bargained for like any slave--for three thousand pounds. How far away it all seemed, how barbaric and revolting! Yet here it all was rolling up like a flood to her feet, to bear her away into a past with its sordidness and vagabondage, however gilded and graded above the lowest vagabondage. Here at Manitou she had tasted a free life which was not vagabondage, the passion of the open road which was not an elaborate and furtive evasion of the law and a defiance of social ostracism. Here she and her father moved in an atmosphere of esteem touched by mystery, but not by suspicion; here civilization in its most elastic organization and flexible conventions, had laid its hold upon her, had done in this expansive, loosely knitted social system what could never have been accomplished in a great city--in London, Vienna, Rome, or New York. She had had here the old free life of the road, so full of the scent of deep woods--the song of rivers, the carol of birds, the murmuring of trees, the mysterious and devout whisperings of the night, the happy communings of stray peoples meeting and passing, the gaiety and gossip of the market-place, the sound of church bells across a valley, the storms and wild lightnings and rushing torrents, the cries of frightened beasts, the wash and rush of rain, the sharp pain of frost, and the agonies of some lost traveller rescued from the wide inclemency, the soft starlight after, the balm of the purged air, and "rosy-fingered morn" blinking blithely at the world. The old life of the open road she had had here without anything of its shame, its stigma, and its separateness, its discordance with the stationary forces of law and organized community. Wild moments there had been of late years when she longed for the faces of Romany folk gathered about the fire, while some Romany 'pral' drew all hearts with the violin or the dulcimer. When Ambrose or Gilderoy or Christo responded to the pleadings of some sentimental lass, and sang to the harpist's strings: "Cold blows the wind over my true love, Cold blow the drops of rain; I never, never had but one sweetheart; In the green wood he was slain," and to cries of "Again! 'Ay bor'! again!" the blackeyed lover, hypnotizing himself into an ecstasy, poured out race and passion and war with the law, in the true Gipsy rant which is sung from Transylvania to Yetholm or Carnarvon or Vancouver: "Time was I went to my true love, Time was she came to me--" The sharp passion which moved her now as she stood before Jethro Fawe would not have been so acute yesterday; but to-day--she had lain in a Gorgio's arms to-day; and though he was nothing to her, he was still a Gorgio of Gorgios; and this man before her--her husband--was at best but a man of the hedges and the byre and the clay-pit, the quarry and the wood; a nomad with no home, nothing that belonged to what she was now a part of--organized, collective existence, the life of the house-dweller, not the life of the 'tan', the 'koppa', and the 'vellgouris'--the tent, the blanket, and the fair. "I was never bought, and I was never sold," she said to Jethro Fawe at last "not for three thousand pounds, not in three thousand years. Look at me well, and see whether you think it was so, or ever could be so. Look at me well, Jethro Fawe." "You are mine--it was so done seventeen years ago," he answered, defiantly and tenaciously. "I was three years old, seventeen years ago," she returned quietly, but her eyes forced his to look at her, when they turned away as though their light hurt him. "It is no matter," he rejoined. "It is the way of our people. It has been so, and it will be so while there is a Romany tent standing or moving on." In his rage Gabriel Druse could keep silence no longer. "Rogue, what have you to say of such things?" he growled. "I am the head of all. I pass the word, and things are so and so. By long and by last, if I pass the word that you shall sleep the sleep, it will be so, my Romany 'chal'." His daughter stretched out her hand to stop further speech from her father--"Hush!" she said maliciously, "he has come a long way for naught. It will be longer going back. Let him have his say. It is his capital. He has only breath and beauty." Jethro shrank from the sharp irony of her tongue as he would not have shrunk before her father's violence. Biting rejection was in her tones. He knew dimly that the thing he shrank from belonged to nothing Romany in her, but to that scornful pride of the Gorgios which had kept the Romany outside the social pale. "Only breath and beauty!" she had said, and that she could laugh at his handsomeness was certain proof that it was not wilfulness which rejected his claims. Now there was rage in his heart greater than had been in that of Gabriel Druse. "I have come a long way for a good thing," he said with head thrown back, "and if 'breath and beauty' is all I bring, yet that is because what my father had in his purse has made my 'Ry' rich"--he flung a hand out towards Gabriel Druse--"and because I keep to the open road as my father did, true to my Romany blood. The wind and the sun and the fatness of the field have made me what I am, and never in my life had I an ache or a pain. You have the breath and the beauty, too, but you have the gold also; and what you are and what you have is mine by the Romany law, and it will come to me, by long and by last." Fleda turned quietly to her father. "If it is true concerning the three thousand pounds, give it to him and let him go. It will buy him what he would never get by what he is." The old man flashed a look of anger upon her. "He came empty, he shall go empty. Against my commands, his insolence has brought him here. And let him keep his eyes skinned, or he shall have no breath with which to return. I am Gabriel Druse, lord over all the Romany people in all the world from Teheran to San Diego, and across the seas and back again; and my will shall be done." He paused, reflecting for a moment, though his fingers opened and shut in anger. "This much I will do," he added. "When I return to my people I will deal with this matter in the place where Lemuel Fawe died. By the place called Starzke, I will come to reckoning, and then and then only." "When?" asked the young man eagerly. Gabriel Druse's eyes flashed. "When I return as I will to return." Then suddenly he added: "This much I will say, it shall be before--" The girl stopped him. "It shall be when it shall be. Am I a chattel to be bartered by any will except my own? I will have naught to do with any Romany law. Not by Starzke shall the matter be dealt with, but here by the River Sagalac. This Romany has no claim upon me. My will is my own; I myself and no other shall choose my husband, and he will never be a Romany." The young man's eyes suddenly took on a dreaming, subtle look, submerging the sulkiness which had filled him. Twice he essayed to speak, but faltered. At last, with an air, he said: "For seventeen years I have kept the faith. I was sealed to you, and I hold by the sealing. Wherever you went, it was known to me. In my thoughts I followed. I read the Gorgio books; I made ready for this day. I saw you as you were that day by Starzke, like the young bird in the nest; and the thought of it was with me always. I knew that when I saw you again the brown eyes would be browner, the words at the lips would be sweeter--and so it is. All is as I dreamed for these long years. I was ever faithful. By night and day I saw you as you were when Romany law made you mine for ever. I looked forward to the day when I would take you to my 'tan', and there we two would--" A flush sprang suddenly to Fleda Druse's face, then slowly faded, leaving it pale and indignant. Sharply she interrupted him. "They should have called you Ananias," she said scornfully. "My father has called you a rogue, and now I know you are one. I have not heard, but I know--I know that you have had a hundred loves, and been true to none. The red scarfs you have given to the Romany and the Gorgio fly- aways would make a tent for all the Fawes in all the world." At first he flung up his head in astonishment at her words, then, as she proceeded, a flush swept across his face and his eyes filled up again with sullenness. She had read the real truth concerning him. He had gone too far. He had been convincing while he had said what was true, but her instinct had suddenly told her what he was. Her perception had pierced to the core of his life--a vagabondage, a little more gilded than was common among his fellows, made possible by his position as the successor to her father, and by the money of Lemuel Fawe which he had dissipated. He had come when all his gold was gone to do the one bold thing which might at once restore his fortunes. He had brains, and he knew now that his adventure was in grave peril. He laughed in his anger. "Is only the Gorgio to embrace the Romany lass? One fondled mine to-day in his arms down there at Carillon. That's the way it goes! The old song tells the end of it: "'But the Gorgio lies 'neath the beech-wood tree; He'll broach my tan no more; And my love she sleeps afar from me, But near to the churchyard door. 'Time was I went to my true love, Time was she came to me--'" He got no farther. Gabriel Druse was on him, gripping his arms so tight to his body that his swift motion to draw a weapon was frustrated. The old man put out all his strength, a strength which in his younger days was greater than any two men in any Romany camp, and the "breath and beauty" of Jethro Fawe grew less and less. His face became purple and distorted, his body convulsed, then limp, and presently he lay on the ground with a knee on his chest and fierce, bony hands at his throat. "Don't kill him--father, don't!" cried the girl, laying restraining hands on the old man's shoulders. He withdrew his hands and released the body from his knee. Jethro Fawe lay still. "Is he dead?" she whispered, awestricken. "Dead?" The old man felt the breast of the unconscious man. He smiled grimly. "He is lucky not to be dead." "What shall we do?" the girl asked again with a white face. The old man stooped and lifted the unconscious form in his arms as though it was that of a child. "Where are you going?" she asked anxiously, as he moved away. "To the hut in the juniper wood," he answered. She watched till he had disappeared with his limp burden into the depths of the trees. Then she turned and went slowly towards the house. CHAPTER VI THE UNGUARDED FIRES The public knew well that Ingolby had solved his biggest business problem, because three offices of three railways--one big and two small-- suddenly became merged under his control. At which there was rejoicing at Lebanon, followed by dismay and indignation at Manitou, for one of the smaller merged railways had its offices there, and it was now removed to Lebanon; while several of the staff, having proved cantankerous, were promptly retired. As they were French Canadians, their retirement became a public matter in Manitou and begot fresh quarrel between the rival towns. Ingolby had made a tactical mistake in at once removing the office of the merged railway from Manitou, and he saw it quickly. It was not possible to put the matter right at once, however. There had already been collision between his own railway-men and the rivermen from Manitou, whom Felix Marchand had bribed to cause trouble: two Manitou men had been seriously hurt, and feeling ran high. Ingolby's eyes opened wide when he saw Marchand's ugly game. He loathed the dissolute fellow, but he realized now that his foe was a factor to be reckoned with, for Marchand had plenty of money as well as a bad nature. He saw he was in for a big fight with Manitou, and he had to think it out. So this time he went pigeon-shooting. He got his pigeons, and the slaughter did him good. As though in keeping with the situation, he shot on both sides of the Sagalac with great good luck, and in the late afternoon sent his Indian lad on ahead to Lebanon with the day's spoil, while he loitered through the woods, a gun slung in the hollow of his arm. He had walked many miles, but there was still a spring to his step and he hummed an air with his shoulders thrown back and his hat on the back of his head. He had had his shooting, he had done his thinking, and he was pleased with himself. He had shaped his homeward course so that it would bring him near to Gabriel Druse's house. He had seen Fleda only twice since the episode at Carillon, and met her only once, and that was but for a moment at a Fete for the hospital at Manitou, and with other people present--people who lay in wait for crumbs of gossip. Since the running of the Rapids, Fleda had filled a larger place in the eyes of Manitou and Lebanon. She had appealed to the Western mind: she had done a brave physical thing. Wherever she went she was made conscious of a new attitude towards herself, a more understanding feeling. At the Fete when she and Ingolby met face to face, people had immediately drawn round them curious and excited. These could not understand why the two talked so little, and had such an every-day manner with each other. Only old Mother Thibadeau, who had a heart that sees, caught a look in Fleda's eyes, a warm deepening of colour, a sudden embarrassment, which she knew how to interpret. "See now, monseigneur," she said to Monseigneur Lourde, nodding towards Fleda and Ingolby, "there would be work here soon for you or Father Bidette if they were not two heretics." "Is she a heretic, then, madame?" asked the old white-headed priest, his eyes quizzically following Fleda. She is not a Catholic, and she must be a heretic, that's certain," was the reply. "I'm not so sure," mused the priest. Smiling, he raised his hat as he caught Fleda's eyes. He made as if to go towards her, but something in her look held him back. He realized that Fleda did not wish to speak with him, and that she was even hurrying away from her father, who lumbered through the crowd as though unconscious of them all. Presently Monseigneur Lourde saw Fleda leave the Fete and take the road towards home. There was a sense of excitement in her motions, and he also had seen that tremulous, embarrassed look in her eyes. It puzzled him. He did not connect it wholly with Ingolby as Madame Thibadeau had done. He had lived so long among primitive people that he was more accustomed to study faces than find the truth from words, and he had always been conscious that this girl, educated and even intellectual, was at heart as primitive as the wildest daughter of the tepees of the North. There was also in her something of that mystery which belongs to the universal itinerary--that cosmopolitan something which is the native human. "She has far to go," the priest said to himself as he turned to greet Ingolby with a smile, bright and shy, but gravely reproachful, too. This happened on the day before the collision between the railway-men and the river-drivers, and the old priest already knew what trouble was afoot. There was little Felix Marchand did which was hidden from him. He made his way to Ingolby to warn him. As Ingolby now walked in the woods towards Gabriel Druse's house, he recalled one striking phrase used by the aged priest in reference to the closing of the railway offices. "When you strike your camp, put out the fires," was the aphorism. Ingolby stopped humming to himself as the words came to his memory again. Bending his head in thought for a moment, he stood still, cogitating. "The dear old fellow was right," he said presently aloud with uplifted head. "I struck camp, but I didn't put out the fires. There's a lot of that in life." That is what had happened also to Gabriel Druse and his daughter. They had struck camp, but had not put out the camp-fires. That which had been done by the River Starzke came again in its appointed time. The untended, unguarded fire may spread devastation and ruin, following with angry freedom the marching feet of those who builded it. "Yes, you've got to put out your fires when you quit the bivouac," continued Ingolby aloud, as he gazed ahead of him through the opening greenery, beyond which lay Gabriel Druse's home. Where he was the woods were thick, and here and there on either side it was almost impenetrable. Few people ever came through this wood. It belonged in greater part to Gabriel Druse, and in lesser part to the Hudson's Bay Company and the Government; and as the land was not valuable till it was cleared, and there was plenty of prairie land to be had, from which neither stick nor stump must be removed, these woods were very lonely. Occasionally a trapper or a sportsman wandered through them, but just here where Ingolby was none ever loitered. It was too thick for game, there was no roadway leading anywhere, but only an overgrown path, used in the old days by Indians. It was this path which Ingolby trod with eager steps. Presently, as he stood still at sight of a ground-hog making for its hiding-place, he saw a shadow fall across the light breaking through the trees some distance in front of him. It was Fleda. She had not seen him, and she came hurrying towards where he was with head bent, a brightly-ribboned hat swinging in her fingers. She seemed part of the woods, its wild simplicity, its depth, its colour-already Autumn was crimsoning the leaves, touching them with amber tints, making the woodland warm and kind. She wore a dress of golden brown which matched her hair, and at her throat was a black velvet ribbon with a brooch of antique paste which flashed the light like diamonds, but more softly. Suddenly, as she came on, she stopped and raised her head in a listening attitude, her eyes opening wide as if listening, too--it was as though she heard with them as well; alive to catch sounds which evaded capture. She was like some creature of an ancient wood with its own secret and immemorial history which the world could never know. There was that in her face which did not belong to civilization or to that fighting world of which Ingolby was so eager a factor. All the generations of the wood and road, the combe and the river, the quarry and the secluded boscage were in her look. There was that about her which was at once elusive and primevally real. She was not of those who would be lost in the dust of futility. Whatever she was, she was an independent atom in the mass of the world's breeding. Perhaps it was consciousness of the dynamic quality in the girl, her nearness to naked nature, which made Madame Bulteel say that she would "have a history." If she got twisted as she came wayfaring, if her mind became possessed of a false passion or purpose which she thought a true one, then tragedy would await her. Yet in this quiet wood so near to the centuries that were before Adam was, she looked like a spirit of comedy listening till the Spirit of the Wood should break the silence. Ingolby felt his blood beat faster. He had a feeling that he was looking at a wood-nymph who might flash out of his vision as a mere fantasy of the mind. There shot through him the strangest feeling that if she were his, he would be linked with something alien to the world of which he was. Yet, recalling the day at Carillon when her cheek lay on his shoulder and her warm breast was pressed unresistingly against him, as he lifted her from his boat, he knew that he would have to make the hardest fight of his life if he meant not to have more of her than this brief acquaintance, so touched by sensation and romance. He was, maybe, somewhat sensational; his career had, even in its present restricted compass, been spectacular; but romance, with its reveries and its moonshinings, its impulses and its blind adventures, had not been any part of his existence. Hers were not the first red lips which, voluntarily or involuntarily, had invited him; nor hers the first eyes which had sparkled to his glances; and this triumphant Titian head of hers was not the only one he had seen. When he had taken her hand at the Hospital Fete, her fingers, long and warm and fine, had folded round his own with a singular confidence, an involuntary enclosing friendliness; and now as he watched her listening --did she hear something?--he saw her hand stretch out as though commanding silence, the "hush!" of an alluring gesture. This assuredly was not the girl who had run the Carillon Rapids, for that adventuress was full of a vital force like a man's, and this girl had the evanishing charm of a dryad. Suddenly a change passed over her. She was as one who had listened and had caught the note of song for which she waited; but her face clouded, and the rapt look gave way to an immediate distress. The fantasy of the wood-nymph underwent translation in Ingolby's mind; she was now like a mortal, who, having been transformed, at immortal dictate was returning to mortal state again. To heighten the illusion, he thought he heard faint singing in the depths of the wood. He put his hands to his ears for a moment, and took them away again to make sure that it was really singing and not his imagination; and when he saw Fleda's face again, there was fresh evidence that his senses had not deceived him. After all, it was not strange that some one should be singing in that deepest wood beyond. Now Fleda moved forward towards where he stood, quickening her footsteps as though remembering something she must do. He stepped out into the path and came to meet her. She heard his footsteps, saw him, and stood still abruptly. She did not make a sound, but a hand went to her bosom quickly, as though to quiet her heart or to steady herself. He had broken suddenly upon her intent thoughts, he had startled her as she had been seldom startled, for all her childhood training had been towards self-possession before surprise and danger. "This is not your side of the Sagalac," she said with a half-smile, regaining composure. "That is in dispute," he answered gaily. "I want to belong to both sides of the Sagalac, I want both sides to belong to each other so that either side shall not be my side or your side, or--" "Or Monsieur Felix Marchand's side," she interrupted meaningly. "Oh, he's on the outside!" snapped the fighter, with a hardening mouth. She did not reply at once, but put her hat on, and tied the ribbons loosely under her chin, looking thoughtfully into the distance. "Is that the Western slang for saying he belongs nowhere?" she asked. "Nowhere here," he answered with a grim twist to the corner of his mouth, his eyes half-closing with sulky meaning. "Won't you sit down?" he added quickly, in a more sprightly tone, for he saw she was about to move on. He motioned towards a log lying beside the path and kicked some branches out of the way. After slight hesitation she sat down, burying her shoes in the fallen leaves. "You don't like Felix Marchand?" she remarked presently. "No. Do you?" She met his eyes squarely--so squarely that his own rather lost their courage, and he blinked more quickly than is needed with a healthy eye. He had been audacious, but he had not surprised the garrison. "I have no deep reason for liking or disliking him, and you have," she answered firmly; yet her colour rose slightly, and he thought he had never seen skin that looked so like velvet-creamy, pink velvet. "You seemed to think differently at Carillon not long ago," he returned. "That was an accident," she answered calmly. "He was drunk, and that is for forgetting--always." "Always! Have you seen many men drunk?" he asked quickly. He did not mean to be quizzical, but his voice sounded so, and she detected it. "Yes, many," she answered with a little ring of defiance in her tone-- "many, often." "Where?" he queried recklessly. "In Lebanon," she retorted. "In Lebanon--your side." How different she seemed from a few moments ago when she stood listening like a nymph for the song of the Spirit of the Wood! Now she was gay, buoyant, with a chamois-like alertness and a beaming vigour. "Now I know what 'blind drunk' means," he replied musingly. "In Manitou when men get drunk, the people get astigmatism and can't see the tangledfooted stagger." "It means that the pines of Manitou are straighter than the cedars of Lebanon," she remarked. "And the pines of Manitou have needles," he rejoined, meaning to give her the victory. "Is my tongue as sharp as that?" she asked, amusement in her eyes. "So sharp I can feel the point when I can't see it," he retorted. "I'm glad of that," she replied with an affectation of conceit. "Of course if you live in Lebanon you need surgery to make you feel a point." "I give in--you have me," he remarked. "You give in to Manitou?" she asked provokingly. "Certainly not--only to you. I said, 'You have me.'" "Ah, you give in to that which won't hurt you--" "Wouldn't you hurt me?" he asked in a softening tone. "You only play with words," she answered with sudden gravity. "Hurt you? I owe you what I can not pay back. I owe you my life; but as nothing can be given in exchange for a life, I cannot pay you." "But like may be given for like," he rejoined in a tone suddenly full of meaning. "Again you are playing with words--and with me," she answered brusquely, and a little light of anger dawned in her eyes. Did he think that he could say a thing of that sort to her--when he pleased? Did he think that because he had done her a great service, he could say casually what belonged only to the sacred moments of existence? She looked at him with rising indignation, but there suddenly came to her the conviction that he had not spoken with affronting gallantry, but that for him the moment had a gravity not to be marred by the place or the circumstance. "I beg your pardon if I spoke hastily," he answered presently. "Yet there's many a true word spoken in jest." There was a moment's silence. She realized that he was drawn to her, and that the attraction was not alone due to his having saved her at Carillon; that he was not taking advantage of the thing which must ever be a bond between them, whatever came of life. When she had seen him at the Hospital Fete, a feeling had rushed over her that he had got nearer to her than any man had ever done. Then--even then, she felt the thing which all lovers, actual, or in the making, feel--that they must do something for the being who to them is more than all else and all others. She was not in love with Ingolby. How could she be in love with this man she had seen but a few times--this Gorgio. Why was it that even as they talked together now, she felt the real, true distance between them--of race, of origin, of history, of life, of circumstance? The hut in the wood where Gabriel Druse had carried Jethro Fawe was not three hundred yards away. She sighed, stirred, and a wild look came in her eyes--a look of rebellion or of protest. Presently she recovered herself. She was a creature of sudden moods. "What is it you want to do with Manitou and Lebanon?" she asked after a pause in which the thoughts of both had travelled far. "You really wish to know--you don't know?" he asked with sudden intensity. She regarded him frankly, smiled, then she laughed outright, showing her teeth very white and regular and handsome. The boyish eagerness of his look, the whimsical twist of his mouth, which always showed when he was keenly roused--as though everything that really meant anything was part of a comet-like comedy--had caused her merriment. All the hidden things in his face seemed to open out into a swift shrewdness and dry candour when he was in his mood of "laying all the cards upon the table." "I don't know," she answered quietly. "I have heard things, but I should like to learn the truth from you. What are your plans?" Her eyes were burning with inquiry. She was suddenly brought to the gateways of a new world. Plans--what had she or her people to do with plans! What Romany ever constructed anything? What did the building of a city or a country mean to a Romany 'chal' or a Romany 'chi', they who lived from field to field, from common to moor, from barn to city wall. A Romany tent or a Romany camp, with its families, was the whole territory of their enterprise, designs and patriotism. They saw the thousand places where cities could be made, and built their fires on the sites of them, and camped a day, and were gone, leaving them waiting and barren as before. They travelled through the new lands in America from the fringe of the Arctic to Patagonia, but they raised no roof-tree; they tilled no acre, opened no market, set up no tabernacle: they had neither home nor country. Fleda was the heir of all this, the product of generations of such vagabondage. Had the last few years given her the civic sense, the home sense? From the influence of the Englishwoman, who had made her forsake the Romany life, had there come habits of mind in tune with the women of the Sagalac, who were helping to build so much more than their homes? Since the incident of the Carillon Rapids she had changed, but what the change meant was yet in her unopened Book of Revelations. Yet something stirred in her which she had never felt before. She had come of a race of wayfarers, but the spirit of the builders touched her now. "What are my plans?" Ingolby drew along breath of satisfaction. "Well, just here where we are will be seen a great thing. There's the Yukon and all its gold; there's the Peace River country and all its unploughed wheat-fields; there's the whole valley of the Sagalac, which alone can maintain twenty millions of people; there's the East and the British people overseas who must have bread; there's China and Japan going to give up rice, and eat the wheaten loaf; there's the U. S. A. with its hundred millions of people--it'll be that in a few years--and its exhausted wheat-fields; and here, right here, is the bread-basket for all the hungry peoples; and Manitou and Lebanon are the centre of it. They will be the distributing centre. I want to see the base laid right. I'm not going to stay here till it all happens, but I want to plan it all so that it will happen, then I'll go on and do a bigger thing somewhere else. These two towns have got to come together; they must play one big game. I want to lay the wires for it. That's why I've got capitalists to start paper-works, engineering works, a foundry, and a sash-door-and- blind factory--just the beginning. That's why I've put two factories on one side of the river and two on the other." "Was it really you who started those factories?" she asked incredulously. "Of course! It was part of my plans. I wasn't foolish enough to build and run them myself. I looked for the right people that had the money and the brains, and I let them sweat--let them sweat it out. I'm not a manufacturer; I'm an inventor and a builder. I built the bridge over the river; and--" She nodded. "Yes, the bridge is good; but they say you are a schemer," she added suggestively. "Certainly. But if I have schemes which'll do good, I ought to be supported. I don't mind what they call me, so long as they don't call me too late for dinner." They both laughed. It was seldom he talked like this, and never had he talked to such a listener before. "The merging of the three railways was a good scheme, and I was the schemer," he continued. "It might mean monopoly, but it won't work out that way. It will simply concentrate energy and: save elbow-grease. It will set free capital and capacity for other things." "They say there will be fewer men at work, not only in the offices but on the whole railway system, and they don't like that in Manitou--ah, no, they don't!" she urged. "They're right in a sense," he answered. "But the men will be employed at other things, which won't represent waste and capital overlapping. Overlapping capital hits everybody in the end. But who says all that? Who raises the cry of 'wolf' in Manitou?" "A good many people say it now," she answered, "but I think Felix Marchand said it first. He is against you, and he is dangerous." He shrugged a shoulder. "Oh, if any fool said it, it would be the same!" he answered. "That's a fire easily lighted; though it sometimes burns long and hard." He frowned, and a fighting look came into his face. "Then you know all that is working against you in Manitou--working harder than ever before?" "I think I do, but I probably don't know all. Have you any special news about it?" "Felix Marchand is spending money among the men. They are going on strike on your railways and in the mills." "What mills--in Manitou?" he asked abruptly. "In both towns." He laughed harshly. "That's a tall order," he said sharply. "Both towns--I don't think so, not yet." "A sympathetic strike is what he calls it," she rejoined. "Yes, a row over some imagined grievance on the railway, and all the men in all the factories to strike--that's the new game of the modern labour agitator! Marchand has been travelling in France," he added disdainfully, "but he has brought his goods to the wrong shop. What do the priests--what does Monseigneur Lourde say to it all?" "I am not a Catholic," she replied gravely. "I've heard, though, that Monseigneur is trying to stop the trouble. But--" She paused. "Yes--but?" he asked. "What were you going to say?" "But there are many roughs in Manitou, and Felix Marchand makes friends with them. I don't think the priests will be able to help much in the end, and if it is to be Manitou against Lebanon, you can't expect a great deal." "I never expect more than I get--generally less," he answered grimly; and he moved the gun about on his knees restlessly, fingering the lock and the trigger softly. "I am sure Felix Marchand means you harm," she persisted. "Personal harm?" "Yes." He laughed sarcastically again. "We are not in Bulgaria or Sicily," he rejoined, his jaw hardening; "and I can take care of myself. What makes you say he means personal harm? Have you heard anything?" "No, nothing, but I feel it is so. That day at the Hospital Fete he looked at you in a way that told me. I think such instincts are given to some people and some races. You read books--I read people. I wanted to warn you, and I do so. This has been lucky in a way, this meeting. Please don't treat what I've said lightly. Your plans are in danger and you also." Was the psychic and fortune-telling instinct of the Romany alive in her and working involuntarily, doing that faithfully which her people did so faithlessly? The darkness which comes from intense feeling had gathered underneath her eyes, and gave them a look of pensiveness not in keeping with the glow of her perfect health, the velvet of her cheek. "Would you mind telling me where you got your information?" he asked presently. "My father heard here and there, and I, also, and some I got from old Madame Thibadeau, who is a friend of mine. I talk with her more than with any one else in Manitou. First she taught me how to crochet, but she teaches me many other things, too." "I know the old girl by sight. She is a character. She would know a lot, that woman." He paused, seemed about to speak, hesitated, then after a moment hastily said: "A minute ago you spoke of having the instinct of your race, or something like that. What is your race? Is it Irish, or--do you mind my asking? Your English is perfect, but there is something--something--" She turned away her head, a flush spreading over her face. She was unprepared for the question. No one had ever asked it directly of her since they had come to Manitou. Whatever speculation there had been, she had never been obliged to tell any one of what race she was. She spoke English with no perceptible accent, as she spoke Spanish, Italian, French, Hungarian and Greek; and there was nothing in her speech marking her as different from the ordinary Western woman. Certainly she would have been considered pure English among the polyglot population of Manitou. What must she say? What was it her duty to say? She was living the life of a British woman, she was as much a Gorgio in her daily existence as this man be side her. Manitou was as much home--nay, it was a thousand times more home--than the shifting habitat of the days when they wandered from the Caspians to John o' Groat's. For years all traces of the past had been removed as completely as though the tide had washed over them; for years it had been so, until the fateful day when she ran the Carillon Rapids. That day saw her whole horizon alter; that day saw this man beside her enter on the stage of her life. And on that very day, also, came Jethro Fawe out of the Past and demanded her return. That had been a day of Destiny. The old, panting, unrealized, tempestuous longing was gone. She was as one who saw danger and faced it, who had a fight to make and would make it. What would happen if she told this man that she was a Gipsy--the daughter of a Gipsy ruler, which was no more than being head of a clan of the world's transients, the leader of the world's nomads. Money--her father had that, at least--much money; got in ways that could not bear the light at times, yet, as the world counts things, not dishonestly; for more than one great minister in a notable country in Europe had commissioned him, more than one ruler and crowned head had used him when "there was trouble in the Balkans," or the "sick man of Europe" was worse, or the Russian Bear came prowling. His service had ever been secret service, when he lived the life of the caravan and the open highway. He had no stable place among the men of all nations, and yet secret rites and mysteries and a language which was known from Bokhara to Wandsworth, and from Waikiki to Valparaiso, gave him dignity of a kind, clothed him with importance. Yet she wanted to tell this man beside her the whole truth, and see what he would do. Would he turn his face away in disgust? What had she a right to tell? She knew well that her father would wish her to keep to that secrecy which so far had sheltered them--at least until Jethro Fawe's coming. At last she turned and looked him in the eyes, the flush gone from her face. "I'm not Irish--do I look Irish?" she asked quietly, though her heart was beating unevenly. "You look more Irish than anything else, except, maybe, Slav or Hungarian--or Gipsy," he said admiringly and unwittingly. "I have Gipsy blood in me," she answered slowly, "but no Irish or Hungarian blood." "Gipsy--is that so?" he said spontaneously, as she watched him so intently that the pulses throbbed at her temples. A short time ago Fleda might have announced her origin defiantly, now her courage failed her. She did not wish him to be prejudiced against her. "Well, well," he added, "I only just guessed at it, because there's something unusual and strong in you, not because your eyes are so dark and your hair so brown." "Not because of my 'wild beauty'--I thought you were going to say that," she added ironically and a little defiantly. "I got some verses by post the other day from one of your friends in Lebanon--a stock-rider I think he was, and they said I had a 'wild beauty' and a 'savage sweetness.'" He laughed, yet he suddenly saw her sensitive vigilance, and by instinct he felt that she was watching for some sign of shock or disdain on his part; yet in truth he cared no more whether she had Gipsy blood in her than he would have done if she had said she was a daughter of the Czar. "Men do write that kind of thing," he added cheerfully, "but it's quite harmless. There was a disease at college we called adjectivitis. Your poet friend had it. He could have left out the 'wild' and 'savage' and he'd have been pleasant, and truthful too--no, I apologize." He had seen her face darken under the compliment, and he hastened to put it right. "I loved a Gipsy once," he added whimsically to divert attention from his mistake, and with so genuine a sympathy in his voice that she was disarmed. "I was ten and she was fifty at least. Oh, a wonderful woman! I had a boy friend, a fat, happy, little joker he was; his name was Charley Long. Well, this woman was his aunt. When she moved through the town people looked twice. She was tall and splendidly made, and her manner--oh, as if she owned the place. She did own a lot--she had more money than any one else thereabouts, anyhow. It was the tallest kind of a holiday when Charley and I walked out to the big white house-golly, but it was white--to visit her! We didn't eat much the day before we went to see her; and we didn't eat much the day after, either. She used to feed us--I wish I could eat like that now! I can see her brown eyes following us about, full of fire, but soft and kind, too. She had a great temper, they said, but everybody liked her, and some loved her. She'd had one girl, but she died of consumption, got camping out in bad weather. Aunt Cynthy--that was what we called her, her name being Cynthia--never got over her girl's death. She blamed herself for it. She had had those fits of going back to the open-for weeks at a time. The girl oughtn't to have been taken to camp out. She was never strong, and it was the wrong place and the wrong time of year--all right in August and all wrong in October. "Well, always after her girl's death Aunt Cynthy was as I knew her, being good to us youngsters as no one else ever was, or could be. Her tea-table was a sight; and the rest of the meals were banquets. The first time I ever ate hedgehog was at her place. A little while ago, just before you came, I thought of her. A hedgehog crossed the path here, and it brought those days back to me--Charley Long and Aunt Cynthy and all. Yes, the first time I ever ate hedgehog; was in Aunt Cynthy's house. Hi-yi, as old Tekewani says, but it was good!" "What is the Romany word for hedgehog?" Fleda asked in a low tone. "Hotchewitchi," he replied instantly. "That's right, isn't it?" "Yes, it is right," she answered, and her eyes had a far-away look, but there was a kind of trouble at her mouth. "Do you speak Romany?" she added a little breathlessly. "No, no. I only picked up words I heard Aunt Cynthy use now and then when she was in the mood." "What was the history of Aunt Cynthy?" "I only know what Charley Long told me. Aunt Cynthy was the daughter of a Gipsy--they say the only Gipsy in that part of the country at the time--who used to buy and sell horses, and travel in a big van as comfortable as a house. The old man suddenly died on the farm of Charley's uncle. In a month the uncle married the girl. She brought him thirty thousand dollars." Fleda knew that this man who had fired her spirit for the first time had told his childhood story to show her the view he took of her origin; but she did not like him less for that, though she seemed to feel a chasm between them still. The new things moving in her were like breezes that stir the trees, not like the wind turning the windmill which grinds the corn. She had scarcely yet begun to grind the corn of life. She did not know where she was going, what she would find, or where the new trail would lead her. The Past dogged her footsteps, hung round her like the folds of a garment. Even as she rejected it, it asserted its power, troubled her, angered her, humiliated her, called to her. She was glad of this meeting with Ingolby. It had helped her. She had set out to do a thing she dreaded, and it was easier now than it would have been if they had not met. She had been on her way to the Hut in the Wood, and now the dread of the visit to Jethro Fawe had diminished. The last voice she would hear before she entered Jethro Fawe's prison was that of the man who represented to her, however vaguely, the life which must be her future--the settled life, the life of Society and not of the Saracen. After he had told his boyhood story they sat in silence for a moment or two, then she rose, and, turning to him, was about to speak. At that instant there came distinctly through the wood a faint, trilling sound. Her face paled a little, and the words died upon her lips. Ingolby, having turned his head as though to listen, did not see the change in her face, and she quickly regained her self-control. "I heard that sound before," he said, "and I thought from your look you heard it, too. It's funny. It is singing, isn't it?" "Yes, it's singing," she answered. "Who is it--some of the heathen from the Reservation?" "Yes, some of the heathen," she answered. "Has Tekewani got a lodge about here?" "He had one here in the old days." "And his people go to it still-was that where you were going when I broke in on you?" "Yes, I was going there. I am a heathen, also, you know." "Well, I'll be a heathen, too, if you'll show me how; if you think I'd pass for one. I've done a lot of heathen things in my time." She gave him her hand to say good-bye. "Mayn't I go with you?" he asked. "'I must finish my journey alone,'" she answered slowly, repeating a line from the first English book she had ever read. "That's English enough," he responded with a laugh. "Well, if I mustn't go with you I mustn't, but my respects to Robinson Crusoe." He slung the gun into the hollow of his arm. "I'd like much to go with you," he urged. "Not to-day," she answered firmly. Again the voice came through the woods, a little louder now. "It sounds like a call," he remarked. "It is a call," she answered--"the call of the heathen." An instant after she had gone on, with a look half-smiling, half- forbidding, thrown over her shoulder at him. "I've a notion to follow her," he said eagerly, and he took a step in her direction. Suddenly she turned and came back to him. "Your plans are in danger-- don't forget Felix Marchand," she said, and then turned from him again. "Oh, I'll not forget," he answered, and waved his cap after her. "No, I'll not forget monsieur," he added sharply, and he stepped out with a light of battle in his eyes. CHAPTER VII IN WHICH THE PRISONER GOES FREE As Fleda wound her way through the deeper wood, remembering the things which had just been said between herself and Ingolby, the colour came and went in her face. To no man had she ever talked so long and intimately, not even in the far-off days when she lived the Romany life. Then, as daughter of the head of all the Romanys, she had her place apart; and the Romany lads had been few who had talked with her even as a child. Her father had jealously guarded her until the time when she fell under the spell and influence of Lady Barrowdale. Here, by the Sagalac, she had moved among this polyglot people with an assurance of her own separateness which was the position of every girl in the West, but developed in her own case to the nth degree. Never before had she come so near--not to a man, but to what concerned a man; and never had a man come so near to her or what concerned her inmost life. It was not a question of opportunity or temptation--these always attend the footsteps of those who would adventure; but for long she had fenced herself round with restrictions of her own making; and the secrecy and strangeness of her father's course had made this not only possible, but in a sense imperative. The end to that had come. Gaiety, daring, passion, elation, depression, were alive in her now, and in a sense had found an outlet in a handful of days--indeed since the day when Jethro Fawe and Max Ingolby had come into her life, each in his own way, for good or for evil. If Ingolby came for good, then Jethro Fawe came for evil. She would have revolted at the suggestion that Jethro Fawe came for good. Yet, during the last few days, she had been drawn again and again towards the hut in the wood. It was as though a power stronger than herself had ordered her not to wander far from where the Romany claimant of herself awaited his fate. As though Jethro knew she was drawn towards him, he had sung the Gipsy songs which she and Ingolby had heard in the distance. He might have shouted for relief in the hope of attracting the attention of some passer-by, and so found release and brought confusion and perhaps punishment to Gabriel Druse; but that was not possible to him. First and last he was a Romany, good or bad; and it was his duty to obey his Ry of Rys, the only rule which the Romany acknowledged. "Though he slay me, yet will I trust him," he would have said, if he had ever heard the phrase; but in his stubborn way he made the meaning of the phrase the pivot of his own action. If he could but see Fleda face to face, he made no doubt that something would accrue to his advantage. He would not give up the hunt without a struggle. Twice a day Gabriel Druse had placed food and water inside the door of the hut and locked him fast again, but had not spoken to him save once, and then but to say that his fate had not yet been determined. Jethro's reply had been that he was in no haste, that he could wait for what he came to get; that it was his own--'ay bor'! it was his own, and God or devil could not prevent the thing meant to be from the beginning of the world. He did not hear Fleda approach the hut; he was singing to himself a song he had learned in Montenegro. There the Romany was held in high regard, because of the help his own father had given to the Montenegrin people, fighting for their independence, by admirable weapons of Gipsy workmanship, setting all the Gipsies in that part of the Balkans at work to supply them. This was the song he sang "He gave his soul for a thousand days, The sun was his in the sky, His feet were on the neck of the world He loved his Romany chi. "He sold his soul for a thousand days, By her side to walk, in her arms to lie; His soul might burn, but her lips were his, And the heart of his Romany chi." He repeated the last two lines into a rising note of exultation: "His soul might burn, but her lips were his, And the heart of his Romany chi." The key suddenly turned in the lock, the door opened on the last words of the refrain, and, without hesitation, Fleda stepped inside, closing the door behind her. "'Mi Duvel', but who would think--ah, did you hear me call then?" he asked, rising from the plank couch where he had been sitting. He showed his teeth in a smile which was meant to be a welcome, but it had an involuntary malice. "I heard you singing," she answered composedly, "but I do not come here because I'm called." "But I do," he rejoined. "You called me from over the seas, and I came. I was in the Balkans; there was trouble--Servia, Montenegro, and Austria were rattling the fire-irons again, and there was I as my father was before me. But I heard you calling, and I came." "You never heard me call, Jethro Fawe," she returned quietly. "My calling of you is as silent as the singing of the stars, where you are concerned. And the stars do not sing." "But the stars do sing, and you call just the same," he responded with a twist to his moustache, and posing against the wall. "I've heard the stars sing. What's the noise they make in the heart, if it's not singing? You don't hear with the ears only. The heart hears. It's only a manner of speaking, this talk about the senses. One sense can do the same as all can do and a Romany ought to know how to use one or all. When your heart called I heard it, and across the seas I came. And by long and by last, but I was right in coming." His impudence at once irritated her and provoked her admiration. She knew by instinct how false he was, and how a lie was as common with him as the truth; but his submission to her father, his indifference to his imprisonment, forced her interest, even as she was humiliated by the fact that he was sib to her, bound by ties of clan and blood apart from his monstrous claim of marriage. He was indeed such a man as a brainless or sensual woman could yield to with ease. He had an insinuating animal grace, that physical handsomeness which marks so many of the Tziganies who fill the red coats of a Gipsy musical sextette! He was not distinguished, yet there was an intelligence in his face, a daring at his lips and chin, which, in the discipline and conventions of organized society, would have made him superior. Now, with all his sleek handsomeness, he looked a cross between a splendid peasant and a chevalier of industry. She compared him instinctively with Ingolby the Gorgio, as she looked at him. What was it made the difference between the two? It was the world in a man--personality, knowledge of life, the culture of the thousand things which make up civilization: it was personality got from life and power in contest with the ordered world. Yet was this so after all? Tekewani was only an Indian brave who lived on the bounty of a government, and yet he had presence and an air of command. Tekewani had been a nomad; he had not been bound to one place, settled in one city, held subservient to one flag. But, no, she was wrong: Tekewani had been the servant and child of a system which was as fixed and historical as that of Russia or Spain. He belonged to a people who had traditions and laws of their own; organized communities moving here and there, but carrying with them their system, their laws and their national feeling. There was the difference. This Romany was the child of irresponsibility, the being that fed upon life, that did not feed life; that left one place in the world to escape into another; that squeezed one day dry, threw it away, and then went seeking another day to bleed; for ever fleeing from yesterday, and using to-day only as a camping-ground. Suddenly, however, she came to a stop in her reflections. Her father, Gabriel Druse, was of the same race as this man, the same unorganized, irresponsible, useless race, with no weight of civic or social duty upon its shoulders--where did he stand? Was he no better than such as Jethro Fawe? Was he inferior to such as Ingolby, or even Tekewani? She realized that in her father's face there was the look of one who had no place in the ambitious designs of men, who was not a builder, but a wayfarer. She had seen the look often of late, and had never read it until now, when Jethro Fawe stared at her with the boldness of possession, with the insolence of a soul of lust which had had its victories. She read his look, and while one part of her shrank from him as from some noisome thing, another part of her--to her dismay and anger--understood him, and did not resent him. It was the Past dragging at her life. It was inherited predisposition, the unregulated passions of her forebears, the mating of the fields, the generated dominance of the body, which was not to be commanded into obscurity, but must taunt and tempt her while her soul sickened. She put a hand on herself. She must make this man realize once and for all that they were as far apart as Adam and Cagliostro. "I never called to you," she said at last. "I did not know of your existence, and, if I had, then I certainly shouldn't have called." "The Gorgios have taken away your mind, or you'd understand," he replied coolly. "Your soul calls and those that understand come. It isn't that you know who hears or who is coming--till he comes." "A call to all creation!" she answered disdainfully. "Do you think you can impress me by saying things like that?" "Why not? It's true. Wherever you went in all these years the memory of you kept calling me, my little 'rinkne rakli'--my pretty little girl, made mine by the River Starzke over in the Roumelian country." "You heard what my father said--" "I heard what the Duke Gabriel said--'Mi Duvel', I heard enough what he said, and I felt enough what he did!" He laughed, and began to roll a cigarette mechanically, keeping his eyes fixed on her, however. "You heard what my father said and what I said, and you will learn that it is true, if you live long enough," she added meaningly. A look of startled perception flashed into his eyes. If I live long enough, I'll turn you, my mad wife, into my Romany queen and the blessing of my 'tan'." "Don't mistake what I mean," she urged. "I shall never be ruler of the Romanys. I shall never hear--" "You'll hear the bosh played-fiddle, they call it in these heathen places--at your second wedding with Jethro Fawe," he rejoined insolently, lighting his cigarette. "Home you'll come with me soon--'ay bor'!" "Listen to me," she answered with anger tingling in every nerve and fibre. "I come of your race, I was what you are, a child of the hedge and the wood and the road; but that is all done. Home, you say! Home-- in a tent by the roadside or--" "As your mother lived--where you were bornwell, well, but here's a Romany lass that's forgot her cradle!" "I have forgotten nothing. I have only moved on. I have only seen that there is a better road to walk than that where people, always looking behind lest they be followed, and always looking in front to find refuge, drop the patrin in the dust or the grass or the bushes for others to follow after--always going on and on because they dare not go back." Suddenly he threw his cigarette on the ground, and put his heel upon it in fury real or assumed. "Great Heaven and Hell," he exclaimed, "here's a Romany has sold her blood to the devil! And this is the daughter of Gabriel Druse, King and Duke of all the Romanys, him with ancestor King Panuel, Duke of Little Egypt, who had Sigismund, and Charles the Great, and all the kings for friends. By long and by last, but this is a tale to tell to the Romanys of the world!" For reply she went to the door and opened it wide. "Then go and tell it, Jethro Fawe, to all the world. Tell them I am the renegade daughter of Gabriel Druse, ruler of them all. Tell them there is no fault in him, and that he will return to his own people in his own time, but that I, Fleda Druse, will never return-- never! Now, get you gone from here." The sunlight broke through the trees, and fell in a narrow path of light upon the doorway. A little grey bird fluttered into the radiance and came tripping across the threshold; a whippoorwill called in the ashtrees; and the sweet smell of the thick woodland, of the bracken and fern, crept into the room. The balm of a perfect evening of Summer was upon the face of nature. The world seemed untroubled and serene; but in this hidden but two stormy spirits broke the peace to which the place and the time were all entitled. After Fleda's scornful words of release and dismissal, Jethro stood for a moment confounded and dismayed. He had not reckoned with this. During their talk it had come to him how simple it would be to overpower any check to his exit, how devilishly easy to put the girl at a disadvantage; but he drove the thought from him. In the first place, he was by no means sure that escape was what he wanted--not yet, at any rate; in the second place, if Gabriel Druse passed the word along the subterranean wires of the Romany world that Jethro Fawe should vanish, he would not long cumber the ground. Yet it was not cowardice or fear of consequences which had held him back; it was a staggering admiration for this girl who had been given to him in marriage so many years ago. He had fared far and wide in his adventures and amours when he had gold in plenty; and he had swung more than one Gorgio woman in the wild dance of sentiment, dazzling them by the splendour of his passion. The fire gleaming in his dark eyes lighted a face which would have made memorable a picture by Guido. He had fared far and wide, but he had never seen a woman who had seized his imagination as this girl was doing; who roused in him, not the old hot desire, but the hungry will to have a 'tan' of his own, and go travelling down the world with one who alone could satisfy him for all his days. As he sat in this improvised woodland prison he had had visions of a hundred glades and valleys through which he had passed in days gone by-- in England, in Spain, in Italy, in Roumania, in Austria, in Australia, in India--where his camp-fires had burned. In his visions he had seen her--Fleda Fawe, not Fleda Druse--laying the cloth and bringing out the silver cups, or stretching the Turkey rugs upon the ground to make a couch for two bright-eyed lovers to whom the night was as the day, radiant and full of joy. He had shut his eyes and beheld hillsides where abandoned castles stood, and the fox and the squirrel and the hawk gave shade and welcome to the dusty pilgrims of the road; or, when the wild winds blew in winter, gave shelter and wood for the fire, and a sense of homeliness among the companionable trees. He had seen himself and this beautiful Romany 'chi' at some village fair, while the lesser Romany folk told fortunes, or bought and sold horses, and the lesser still tinkered or worked in gold or brass; he had seen them both in a great wagon with bright furnishings and brass-girt harness on their horses, lording it over all, rich, dominant and admired. In his visions he had even seen a Romany babe carried in his arms to a Christian church and there baptized in grandeur as became the child of the head of the people. His imagination had also seen his own tombstone in some Christian churchyard near to the church porch, where he would not be lonely when he was dead, but could hear the gossip of the people as they went in and out of church; and on the tombstone some such inscription as he had seen once at Pforzheim--"To the high-born Lord Johann, Earl of Little Egypt, to whose soul God be gracious and merciful." To be sure, it was a strange thing for a Romany to be buried in a Gorgio churchyard; but it was what had chanced to many great men of the Romanys, such as the high-born Lord Panuel at Steinbrock, and Peter of Kleinschild at Mantua--all of whom had great emblazoned monuments in Christian churches, just to show that in all-levelling death they condescended from high estate to mingle their ashes with the dust of the Gorgio. He had sought out his chieftain here in the new world in a spirit of adventure, cupidity and desire. He had come like one who betrays, but he acknowledged to a higher force than his own and to superior rights when Gabriel Druse's strong arm brought him low; and, waking to life and consciousness again, he was aware that another force also had levelled him to the earth. That force was this woman's spirit which now gave him his freedom so scornfully; who bade him begone and tell their people everywhere that she was no longer a Romany, while she would go, no doubt --a thousand times without doubt unless he prevented it--to the swaggering Gorgio who had saved her on the Sagalac. She stood waiting for him to go, as though he could not refuse his freedom. As a bone is tossed to a dog, she gave it to him. "You have no right to set me free," he said coolly now. "I am not your prisoner. You tell me to take that word to the Romany people--that you leave them for ever. I will not do it. You are a Romany, and a Romany you must stay. You belong nowhere else. If you married a Gorgio, you would still sigh for the camp beneath the stars, for the tambourine and the dance--" "And the fortune-telling," she interjected sharply, "and the snail-soup, and the dirty blanket under the hedge, and the constable on the road behind, always just behind, watching, waiting, and--" "The hedge is as clean as the dirty houses where the low-class Gorgios sleep. In faith, you are a long way from the River Starzke!" he added. "But you are my mad wife, and I must wait till you've got sense again." He sat down on the plank couch, and began to roll a cigarette once more. "You come fitted out like a Gorgio lass now, and you look like a Gorgio countess, and you have the manners of an Archduchess; but that's nothing; it will peel off like a blister when it's pricked. Underneath is the Romany. It's there, and it will show red and angry when we've stripped off the Gorgio. It's the way with a woman, always acting, always imagining herself something else than what she is--if she's a beggar fancying herself a princess; if she's a princess fancying herself a flower-girl. 'Mi Duvel', but I know you all!" Every word he said went home. She knew that there was truth in what he said, and that beneath all was the Romany blood; but she meant to conquer it. She had made her vow to one in England that she loved, and she would not change. Whatever happened, she had finished with Romany life, and to go back would only mean black tragedy in the end. A month ago it was a vow and an inner desire which made her determined; to-day it was the vow and a man--a Gorgio whom she had but now left in the woods, gazing after her with the look which a woman so well interprets. "You mean you won't go free from here? Because I was a Romany, and wish you no harm, I have come here to-day to let you go where you will--to go back to the place where the patrins show where your people travel. I set you free, and you say what you think will hurt and shame me. You have a cruel soul. You would torture any woman till she died. You shall not torture me. You are as far from me as the River Starzke. I could have let you stay here for my father to deal with, but I have set you free. I open the door for you, though you are nothing to me, and I am no more to you than one of the women you have fooled and left to eat the vile bread of the forsaken. You have been, you are a wolf--a wolf." He got to his feet again, and the blood rushed to his face, so that it seemed almost black. A torrent of mad words gathered in his throat, but they choked him, and in the pause his will asserted itself. He became cool and deliberate. "You are right, my girl, I have sucked the orange and thrown the skin away, and I've picked flowers and cast them by, but that was before the first day I saw you as you now are. You were standing by the Sagalac looking out to the west where the pack-trains were travelling into the sun over the mountains, and you had your hand on the neck of your pony. I was not ten feet away from you, behind a juniper-bush. I looked at you, and I wished that I had never seen a woman before and could look at the world as you did then--it was like water from a spring, that look. You are right in what you say. By long and by last I had a hard hand, and when I left what I'd struck down I never looked back. But I saw you, and I wished I had never seen a woman before. You have been here alone with me with that door shut. Have I said or done anything that a Gorgio duke wouldn't do? Ah, God's love, but you were bold to come! I married you by the River Starzke; I looked upon you as my wife; and here you were alone with me! I had my rights, and I had been trampled underfoot by your father--" "By your Chief." "'Ay bor', by my Chief! I had my wrongs, and I had my rights, and you were mine by Romany law. It was for me here to claim you--here where a Romany and his wife were alone together!" His eyes were fixed searchingly on hers, as though he would read the effect of his words before he replied, and his voice had a curious, rough note, as though with difficulty he quelled the tempest within him. "I have my rights, and you had spat upon me," he said with ferocious softness. She did not blench, but looked him steadily in the eyes. "I knew what would be in your mind," she answered, "but that did not keep me from coming. You would not bite the hand that set you free." "You called me a wolf a minute ago." "But a wolf would not bite the hand that freed it from the trap. Yet if such shame could be, I still would have had no fear, for I should have shot you as wolves are shot that come too near the fold." He looked at her piercingly, and the pupils of his eyes narrowed to a pin-point. "You would have shot me--you are armed?" he questioned. "Am I the only woman that has armed herself against you and such as you? Do you not see?" "Mi Duvel, but I do see now with a thousand eyes!" he said hoarsely. His senses were reeling. Down beneath everything had been the thought that, as he had prevailed with other women, he could prevail with her; that she would come to him in the end. He had felt, but he had declined to see, the significance of her bearing, of her dress, of her speech, of her present mode of life, of its comparative luxury, its social distinction of a kind which lifted her above even the Gorgios by whom she was surrounded. A fatuous belief in himself and in his personal powers had deluded him. He had told the truth when he said that no woman had ever appealed to him as she did; that she had blotted out all other women from the book of his adventurous and dissolute life; and he had dreamed a dream of conquest of her when Fortune should hand out to him the key of the situation. Did not the beautiful Russian countess on the Volga flee from her liege lord and share his 'tan'? When he played his fiddle to the Austrian princess, did she not give him a key to the garden where she walked of an evening? And this was a Romany lass, daughter of his Chieftain, as he was son of a great Romany chief; and what marvel could there be that she who had been made his child wife, should be conquered as others had been! "'Mi Duvel', but I see!" he repeated in a husky fierceness. "I am your husband, but you would have killed me if I had taken a kiss from your lips, sealed to me by all our tribes and by your father and mine." "My lips are my own, my life is my own, and when I marry, I shall marry a man of my own choosing, and he will not be a Romany," she replied with a look of resolution which her beating heart belied. "I'm not a pedlar's basket." "'Kek! Kek'! That's plain," he retorted. "But the 'wolf' is no lamb either! I said I would not go till your father set me free, since you had no right to do so, but a wife should save her husband, and her husband should set himself free for his wife's sake"--his voice rose in fierce irony--"and so I will now go free. But I will not take the word to the Romany people that you are no more of them. I am a true Romany. I disobeyed my 'Ry' in coming here because my wife was here, and I wanted her. I am a true Romany husband who will not betray his wife to her people; but I will have my way, and no Gorgio shall take her to his home. She belongs to my tent, and I will take her there." Her gesture of contempt, anger and negation infuriated him. "If I do not take you to my 'tan', it will be because I'm dead," he said, and his white teeth showed fiercely. "I have set you free. You had better go," she rejoined quietly. Suddenly he turned at the doorway. A look of passion burned in his eyes. His voice became soft and persuasive. "I would put the past behind me, and be true to you, my girl," he said. "I shall be chief over all the Romany people when Duke Gabriel dies. We are sib; give me what is mine. I am yours--and I hold to my troth. Come, beloved, let us go together." A sigh broke from her lips, for she saw that, bad as he was, there was a moment's truth in his words. "Go while you can," she said. "You are nothing to me." For an instant he hesitated, then, with a muttered oath, sprang out into the bracken, and was presently lost among the trees. For a long time she sat in the doorway, and again and again her eyes filled with tears. She felt a cloud of trouble closing in upon her. At last there was the sound of footsteps, and a moment later Gabriel Druse came through the trees towards her. His eyes were sullen and brooding. "You have set him free?" he asked. She nodded. "It was madness keeping him here," she said. "It is madness letting him go," he answered morosely. "He will do harm. 'Ay bor', he will! I might have known--women are chicken-hearted. I ought to have put him out of the way, but I have no heart any more--no heart; I have the soul of a rabbit." ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS: Saw how futile was much competition When you strike your camp, put out the fires 
29686	----	[Illustration: THEN HE GRIPPED HIS WEAPON BY THE MUZZLE, AND SPRANG STRAIGHT FOR THE PACK. _See page 175._ ] THE FIERY TOTEM A TALE OF ADVENTURE IN THE CANADIAN NORTH-WEST BY ARGYLL SAXBY, M.A., F.R.G.S. AUTHOR OF "BRAVES, WHITE AND RED" "COMRADES THREE!" "TANGLED TRAILS" ETC. ETC. _SECOND IMPRESSION_ LONDON THE RELIGIOUS TRACT SOCIETY 4 BOUVERIE STREET AND 65 ST. PAUL'S CHURCHYARD CONTENTS CHAPTER PAGE I. A PERILOUS PASSAGE 5 II. DEER-STALKING 14 III. THE LONELY CAMP 22 IV. FRIENDS OR FOES? 33 V. LOST IN THE FOREST 41 VI. THE MEDICINE MAN 53 VII. THE FRIEND IN NEED 67 VIII. NIGHT IN THE WIGWAM 83 IX. THE TEMPTATION 96 X. A DEATH-TRAP 104 XI. TO THE RESCUE! 115 XII. CRAFTY TACTICS 130 XIII. THE PRICE OF A ROBE 142 XIV. THE BATTLE OF WITS 151 XV. OFF! 165 XVI. A NIGHT'S TERROR 172 XVII. THE FATE OF RED FOX 181 XVIII. HOT ON THE TRAIL 191 XIX. THUNDER-MAKER'S DOWNFALL 205 XX. THE FIERY TOTEM 217 THE FIERY TOTEM CHAPTER I A PERILOUS PASSAGE "Well, good-bye, boys! You won't go far from camp before we return, will you?" The speaker was one of two men seated in an Indian canoe. He gripped the forward paddle, while his companion at the stern added cheerfully-- "The backwoods is not the City of London. There are no policemen to appeal to if you lose your way. Besides, we hope to find dinner waiting for our return. Hunting lost sons is not the same sport as hunting moose." Both the boys laughed at the elder man's remark, and one--Bob Arnold by name--answered-- "Don't worry about us, father. Alf and I can take care of ourselves for half a day. Can't we, Alf?" "Rather," the younger chum replied. "It's our respected parents who'll need to take care of themselves in unknown waters in that cockleshell." Then he called out merrily, imitating the tone of the first speaker--his father: "Take care of yourselves, dads! Remember the Athabasca River is not Regent Street!" "Cheeky youngster!" returned the elder man banteringly, as he struck the forward paddle into the water. "There's not much of the invalid left about you after three months' camping." Then with waving hands and pleasant chaffing, that showed what real good chums the quartette were, the men struck out for the centre of the river, leaving their sons watching from the strand before the camp that was pitched beneath the shadow of the great pine trees. It was a glorious morning--just the right sort for a hunting-expedition. The air was just chilly enough to render paddling a welcome exercise, and just warm enough to allow intervals of pleasant drifting in the centre of the current when there were no shoals or driftwood to be avoided. "Yes," remarked Holden, the younger of the two men, as the rhythm of the dripping paddles murmured pleasantly with Nature's music heard from leafy bough and bush; "yes, Alf's a different boy now. Who would have believed that these three short months would have changed a fever-wasted body into such a sturdy frame?" "It looks like a miracle," returned the other man. "It was a great idea, that of a six months' trapping in the backwoods. When we get back to England we'll all four look as healthy as savages. My Bob is the colour of a redskin." "It was a great blessing that you were able to bring him. It wouldn't have been half as enjoyable for Alf, not having a chum." The elder man laughed softly as he turned a look of good-comradeship towards his companion. "That's just as it ought to be, Holden," he said. "You and I were chums at school, chums at college, and now chums in business. It's the right thing that our sons should follow our good example. At least, that's my opinion." "And you know it's mine," was the response. "But, I say! Do you think we are wise to keep quite in the centre of the current? It seems to be driving pretty hard, and we don't know the course. We might wish to land if we saw rapids." "I dare say you are right," replied Arnold. "We'll steer straight across that bend ahead of us. After that we can keep well under the shadow of the willows--or near them. We will look for a good landing spot and strike inwards. There ought to be moose or some equally good sport among those bluffs and clearings." It is one thing to make plans; it is quite another matter to carry them out. Especially is this the case when strangers are travelling in strange country. Of course the present mode of travel was no novelty to either of the men. Their youth had been passed in Western Canada (though not in the vicinity of the present voyage) before their parents sent them home to college in England. But even the hardened voyager knows that experience does not anticipate all chances, and this case was no exception to the rule. The river was certainly beginning to run at a pace that was perceptibly swifter than that of the start when two miles farther up. This did not give any cause for concern, however, for the ears of the travellers were prepared for any sound that indicated rapids, and there was no other contingency that they felt need to dread. At a little distance ahead, the course could be seen to take a sharp turn to the right, where the dense growth of beech and towering pines resembled the portals of a giant gateway; and, as it neared the opening, the canoe swung round the curve with the swift flight of a swallow. It was a sudden change of pace, due mainly to the sharpness of the turn. But as soon as the men fully entered the fresh span of the course they both started involuntarily, for the banks were so steep as to prohibit landing, and the river narrowed towards a second gateway formed by towering cliffs--steep as a Colorado cañon. "Look out!" exclaimed Holden, as he knelt high and gripped his paddle firmly. "Leave the steering to me, I can manage better from the stern. Come back here if you can." The canoe had already begun to dance among foaming crests like an egg-shell. Arnold crept towards his companion. "Not a pleasant look out!" he remarked, with a grim smile on his face. "It will be a marvel if we get through that cañon with dry skins." "Dry skins!" laughed Holden. His voice was laughing, but his eyes were fixed steadily a few yards in front of the canoe with that firm gaze of a brave man looking peril straight in the face. "Dry skins! It'll be a greater marvel if we get through it with any skins at all!" "We'll have a good try, anyway," responded Arnold. Then he remarked quaintly: "This is like old times, isn't it--you and I out in a scrape together? I hope the Head won't blow us up for it when we get back to school!" The river had now entered the narrow course, and was rushing on a foaming way with an awesome roar. Now and then the canoe would leap to one side as a wave hungrily licked her prow; sometimes she would push her nose into a crest that splashed the travellers with spray. Fortunately the spring torrents were over, and danger from drifting logs was not to be reckoned with, but the possibility that rocks might be hidden among the white waves was a reasonable cause for concern--all the more so, considering that they were unknown. Onwards they dashed at breakneck speed, while both the men sat grimly silent, prepared to take bravely whatever fate might be in store for them. Probably their thoughts were more of the two boys at the camp than of their present strait--more engaged with commending their sons to the care of God than speculating as to the result of this adventure. Then, with a suddenness that gave no time for thought, there was a crash like crackling match-wood--a rush of water that seemed to crush all within its embrace. Next moment the two men were struggling in the stream. At that crisis, Arnold's first thought was for his friend--just as it had always been since he fought his chum's first battles at school. He grabbed wildly, and held on to something that he afterwards found to be his friend's jacket. "Are you all right?" he yelled above the din of the waters, as both men reached the surface. "A1 at Lloyd's!" came the cheerful reply--undaunted even in extremity. "That's good. We'll weather this yet. Hang on to my coat, and we'll keep together!" Being expert swimmers, there was little cause for fear so long as the current passed clear of obstacles, and the men had little to do but keep a suitable position, for the force of the water bore them well on the surface. But the chief danger was from undercurrents and whirlpools, and as the boundaries of the river rapidly narrowed this risk became more serious every moment. As they rushed onwards, so the two walls of the cañon came nearer--shutting out the light until the scene resembled the gloomy depths of a seething cauldron. Closer and closer came the walls; swifter and swifter rushed the water. Now the limits were so narrow that the river was but a smooth riband darting between walls worn glassy by the wear of countless ages. The friends came so close that they touched one another's shoulders. That was one moment. The next instant each felt himself shot forward through a narrow opening like a cork that is volleyed from a bottle; and when the men came to realise their position, they found themselves floating on the surface of a placid lake into which the cañon poured its flood. They looked at one another. The adventure had parted them, but Arnold laughingly held up a portion of Holden's coat as a banner to signal his position. "Our same old luck!" exclaimed Holden, laughing. "It'll cost you a new coat!" returned Arnold with equal cheer. It was perhaps a hundred yards to the nearest shore, so the men immediately started in that direction. Both were considerably exhausted by the experiences through which they had providentially passed without serious injury, and consequently the progress was slow. But at last they reached the bank, where the red and grey willows bent their long strands in a tangled trellis. Knee deep in the mud, the men stood upright, to clear the way to freedom. But, as they parted the nearest branches, a number of arms were suddenly forced through the scrub; a number of hands gripped them with irresistible strength; and before they could realise what had happened they were rudely dragged up the bank of the lake. CHAPTER II DEER-STALKING The boys did not find that time hung heavily on their hands when left to their own devices. The two tents that marked the camp at Crane Creek were pitched on a grassy slope that led down to the Athabasca's dancing waters. This had been their camp-ground for several days after a desultory hunting pilgrimage from Loon Portage--the last town where they had left railways and civilisation. Having penetrated northwards into a region that was apparently remote from attacks of the plough and beyond the sound of the rancher's whoop, it was determined to make this a headquarters for a couple of months or so. Sport in much variety had already been found. Moose-tracks had been seen in the vicinity, and it had been with the hope of practically substantiating the discovery that the two elders had started off that morning. The boys' first consideration was that of dinner. "Let's go into the woods and see what we can find!" Bob Arnold suggested to his chum, after they had watched the canoe disappear round a bend of the river. "There's only the carcase of a prairie chicken left in the larder. That won't be much to satisfy our paters when they come back." "And we'll want to tackle a small morsel ourselves," added Holden. "I've never had such an appetite in my life until I came West. There's something inside me that is always calling out: 'Grub! Grub! Give me grub!'" And the boy sniffed the pine-scented air with relish, as a hungry street gamin sniffs the fragrance of a cook-shop. Bob laughed as he strolled back to the tents and stuck a tin dipper into a wooden pail near by for a draught of cold water that had lately been taken from a moss-bordered spring. "You're a freak of Nature; that's what you are, Alf. Two months ago you were as thin and white as a sheet of paper, and even Saturday's school resurrection-pie failed to tempt you. Now you are the colour of a redskin, and nothing is safe from your teeth!" "I'll not deny that I'm sometimes a bit peckish," returned the younger boy, entering one of the tents and filling a cartridge belt, which he proceeded to buckle round his waist. Then he remarked with twinkling eyes: "Say! Mustn't the fellows at St. Wenford's be green with envy if they think of themselves swotting away in class while we're having the time of our lives in the backwoods? They'll all be back by this time, for the school was only to be closed for seven weeks, the doctor said. Lucky thing fever is--in some ways." "In some ways--perhaps," repeated Bob in an undertone that had much seriousness in it, as he followed his friend's example in preparing for the hunt. "But it didn't seem very lucky--to me--when--when your dad was sent for, post-haste, that night. It didn't seem the best of luck then--to me, I mean." "Nor to me," added Alf with equal seriousness. Both boys sighed at the memory, and then the younger resumed light-heartedly: "I tell you what it was, Bob, I was thoroughly riled with that fever. We always meant to be chums for the rest of our lives, just like our dads; and it put my back up to find the fever trying to upset our plans. That's what did it. Once I got the spirit of fight into me, I knocked the stuffing out of the old fever!" "That you did!" laughed Arnold. "The doctors said they never saw anything like your recovery, once you set to work. Well, I'm fixed up for shooting. Are you all right? Better take hunting-knives. They come in handy." "And a repeating rifle, in case of big game. One will be enough; we can take turns in carrying it." "All aboard. I'll just see that the camp-fire is properly stamped out, and then we'll set off." In a short time all preparations were completed, and the two boys were ready to enjoy a morning's adventure in any form that it chose to offer. Having hopes that something bigger than duck or chicken might reward their efforts, the chums immediately struck inwards through the bush, following an old trail from a buffalo wallow that was the ancient path of those bovines when they sought water to drink or mud to wallow in when the mosquitoes were troublesome. Beyond chipmunks, gophers, and a single jack-rabbit (the latter falling to Bob's gun), nothing was met to tempt powder for some time. Then they reached a large "slough" that in early spring would be a small lake, though now it was filled with long blue grass and wild lavender. Here the boys paused as they examined the clearing. "It's a likely-looking place for rattlesnakes," Bob remarked. "It hardly seems probable that---- What's that?--Over there in the centre?" The speaker's voice had suddenly dropped to an excited undertone as he pointed to a couple of small dark marks that peeped above long grass and might have been the ends of a broken branch. Alf stared keenly for a few moments. "I thought I saw them move----" "So did I. Wait a minute and we'll make sure." Keeping as still as statues, the boys waited in silence with both pairs of eyes steadily fixed upon the dark objects, and the pulses of each gave a sudden jump, for then the points moved and sank among the long grass. "Antelope! Those are horns!" decided Alf, to which Bob returned, with a sly dig at his chum's ribs-- "'Horns?' _Antlers_, you old duffer! We're not hunting cows!" "Same thing," was the retort. "Horns or antlers both mean deer in these parts." Next the boy gave a slight start. "Say! I thought I heard the branches moving above my head!" The young hunters turned to look upwards among the dense leaves of a gigantic maple tree whose lower branches were matted with twining convolvulus and other wild creepers. "A bird or a chipmunk," was Bob's decision. "In any case, whatever it is, this antelope comes first. We are both at windward, though I guess he hasn't scented us yet on account of the long grass. But I think it would be better if we got round to the lee-side and waited for him to rise." "How would it be if I were to stay here, in case he comes this way?" Alf suggested. "You could take the rifle----" "A good idea. No, you keep the rifle," amended Bob, falling in with the suggestion. "If I get to lee, I'll be near enough to do damage with the breech-loader. If I fail, you'll have the longer sight with the rifle." "All right," said Holden. "I'll wait just where I am behind this red willow. I'll not fire until I'm certain that your gun is out of it." "Good. I'm off," responded Bob, and immediately he started a cautious creeping journey in the shelter of the bush, in hopes of reaching the lee-side of the slough without attracting the attention of the animal that was apparently resting in innocent bliss among the cool blue grass. During his silent guard Alf a second time thought that he heard a rustling above his head. But, following former experience, he thought that the sound was due to nothing more than a flying squirrel at the most, and he did not allow his eyes to be diverted from the spot where the signs of the antelope had last been seen. By and by he at last caught sight of his chum. Bob had reached the farther end of the oval slough, and had risen to show himself. He waved his arm to announce his position before creeping down to the grass. Holden answered the signal, and rose to be ready for emergencies. But, as he moved his right foot, he stepped upon something soft, whereupon he was startled by a cry like that of a kitten. He gave a swift glance downwards, and saw that he had inadvertently trodden on something small and furry which was now expressing pain by means of shrill infantile wails. But his attention was immediately diverted by the sight of a dark body starting up from the long grass in the slough. At the same instant he heard the sharp crack of Arnold's gun. Alf darted the butt of his rifle to his shoulder, to be in readiness for an emergency shot; but, before the position was attained, something launched down upon him from the trees--bearing him forwards into the willow bush, while the forest echoed with the snarls of an infuriated wild beast. CHAPTER III THE LONELY CAMP A lynx may be only a cat, but a cat that is the size of a young tiger, with all a tiger's ferocity, is no pleasant opponent at any time. Add to naturally aggressive tendencies the fact that her baby has cried out in pain, and you have an angry mother-fiend that takes a deal of seeking to find her equal in fierceness. In this case the lynx had been watching the young hunters with one eye for some time from her shelter among the leaves of the overhanging maple. She had been keeping the other eye upon her offspring, having an idea that the humans might endanger its safety; and, when she heard the cry of pain, she simply dropped from her branch right upon Holden's back, fixing her claws in his coat and snapping furiously at his neck. Luckily the boy's hunting-coat was of tough buckskin, and when the lynx set her teeth in the collar she imagined that she was wreaking vengeance upon flesh and blood. And the sound she made was enough to chill the marrow. Arnold had heard the scream and his chum's cry of surprise at the sudden assault. But he did not understand it at first. He surmised vaguely that it was nothing more than sympathetic rejoicing at his successful shot that had toppled a fine buck antelope in the grass. However, second thoughts quickly dispelled the first surmise, for he heard Holden calling upon him in evident trouble. "Bob! Come quickly! There's something on my back, and I can't get at it!" Bob dashed into the long grass as the shortest route. But before he had crossed the slough Alf had managed to free himself from one sleeve of his coat, and had got the lynx beneath him. Now it was a hand-to-hand fight. The claws of the animal seemed to be everywhere. They struck with lightning swiftness, and the teeth snapped like steel gins. In fact, the boy's opponent was simply a mass of fur and claws--nothing that could be gripped, but everything that could wound. "Don't shoot!" exclaimed Alf, as his friend appeared with gun half raised in his hands. "You can't get a clean shot at her--ugh! the brute! She's clawed my shoulder!" It was a fierce struggle while it lasted. Hot and panting, Alf fought to get a grip of the creature's throat. She, on her part, seemed to divine his purpose, and battled successfully to prevent him. The combatants rolled over. The lynx was uppermost, and she made a vicious snap at the boy's face. But the quick head-turn of a trained boxer avoided that snap, and the sharp white teeth met in the lad's coat collar, slightly grazing his neck. Alf gave a cry of pain. That was too much for Bob, who snatched his hunting-knife from its sheath, and threw himself upon the enemy. One plunge of the blade in the animal's side made it yell like a thing possessed. Then Bob dug his thumbs into the lynx's neck and pressed his fingers into its throat, pulling towards him with all his might, to drag the animal from his friend. The knife was still sticking in the wound, and as the lynx felt another enemy above her, she momentarily turned her attention to the one above, while she struck with her claws to deliver herself from the fingers that were choking her. That was Alf's chance. He plucked at the hunting-knife, and plunged it into the wild animal with three rapid thrusts. Then followed another scream more wild and blood-curdling than the rest. It was a death-cry; for in a moment more Bob stood up, holding a limp body by the neck. Holden slowly rose from his bed of broken willows, and he grinned as he regarded his clothes--especially the jacket, that hung from his left arm like the evening dress of a Weary Willie. "Rather the worse for wear and tear!" he remarked with comical ruefulness. "Which? The clothes or yourself?" questioned Bob, as he threw the lynx's carcase to one side. "I guess it's the clothes more than anything else. There's a lot of blood about, but that's the lynx's more than mine." In truth the lad was a strange spectacle, for hardly an inch of his clothes had not been visited by claws or teeth. The boy himself was covered with dust and dirt, while crimson patches of blood completed a picture that was both humorous and pathetic. Fortunately, both the boys were able to look at the matter from the former point of view. Physical damage was not severe. There was a scratch on Alf's shoulder. Arnold examined it carefully, but decided that no danger was likely to follow, since the claws had passed through the leather jacket before touching the flesh. As a precaution against blood-poisoning, he insisted upon sucking the wound, after which he bound it with a handkerchief. "That will be all right, I expect," he said, as the operation was completed. "I don't think we need worry about the other scratches." "There would have been more--worse ones, probably--if you hadn't turned up," said Alf. "I couldn't get at the beast any way. She seemed to have claws like a porcupine's quills." "And she knew jolly well how to use them. Do you think she's worth skinning?" The dead lynx was examined. "I don't think the hide is worth the trouble," commented Holden. "It's a bit ragged in any case, and the hunting-knife did not improve it. But I'll take the tail as a memento. What about the antelope?" "Oh, I got him all right. He's lying somewhere in the grass." "Good!" exclaimed Alf delightedly. He had soon recovered from the exhaustion of the fight. "That will surprise the paters when they return to grub. And say! I'm as hungry as a hawk. Let's get back to camp. It must be getting on for noon by this time." "Half-past ten. That's all," remarked Bob, as he looked at his watch. "Time drags when the appetite's healthy. I vote we leave the antelope where it is for the present, and shoot a few chicken for dinner. It would be a pity for us to try skinning the animal. We might spoil it altogether. I dare say father will do it for us afterwards." "What about wolves?" questioned Alf. "Yes, I hadn't thought of them. But I don't think there's much chance of wolves coming in the daytime. It would be safe enough until night." "Right you are," agreed Alf. "First for the tail of my lynx, and then a bee-line for the camp." Retracing their path by the buffalo trail, the boys were soon on the home journey again. Five prairie chicken were bagged on the way, and soon the hunters were once more at the camp-ground. Of course Holden's first move was to strip, plunge into the river, and then robe himself in garments that were less like a rag-picker's bundle. Meantime, Arnold set to work lighting a fire and preparing the chicken for roasting on wooden spits, as their camping experience had taught them. By midday the meal was in readiness. The birds were cooked, "biscuits" were baked in the camp-oven, the fragrant smell of coffee was issuing from a billy-tin, and all preparations completed to welcome the elder hunters. But time went past, and there was no sign of a canoe on the river. "I wonder if they have missed their way?" remarked Alf, to whom the waiting was a trial, considering inside calls and tempting odours. "I don't think that's likely," said Bob. "Your dad and mine are both old backwoodsmen. I'm beginning to think something has happened----" "An accident?" "Possibly. But of course we can't tell. But it isn't like them to be late when they promised to be back by noon." "But then, if an accident has happened to one, the other could always come back and let us know," Alf answered; and his chum returned-- "That's just what I've been thinking. I don't want to frighten you, old man, but I can't help thinking that something has gone wrong with both." "Perhaps it's the canoe. It might have got damaged. They were exploring new water, you know." Bob nodded. "As likely as not. In that case they'll come back by land, and that would take some time, as, of course, they would go much quicker by water. We'll wait a little longer, and if they don't arrive we'd better have our grub. They'll turn up later." The boys waited as patiently as possible, but ultimately, with no sign of the travellers, they were obliged to dine alone; though the meal was not eaten with customary cheerfulness, for both the boys shared forebodings of troubles to come. The day wore on, and still no signs of the wanderers, while the anxiety of the boys rapidly increased. And when night came, without bringing any news to allay concern, they then began to decide that some serious accident must have taken place. Until late into the hours of darkness the two lads sat by the camp-fire, starting hopefully at each sound from the forest or river--ready to believe that any whisper of Nature must be the sound of a reassuring messenger. How different it was from their usual little camp-fire gatherings! At such times they were wont to loll about while reciting the many incidents of the day just gone, and planning fresh exploits for the morrow. Even last night they had thus sat and planned the expedition that had ended in adding a heavier gloom to the night. The fire-flies flickered their tiny lamps, the night-hawks shrieked as they swooped from the heavens, the owls hooted their dismal cries, and the wolves wailed in the distance as they fought over the remains of the antelope that had been left to them. It must have been near midnight when Bob broke an unusually long spell of silence. "Well, old boy," he said, with forced brightness, "I guess the best thing we can do is to turn in. They won't be back to-night, that's certain." "Yet--one might come. I wouldn't like to be asleep if--if there was any call, you know." "Then we'll take it turn about--two hours asleep, two hours watch," was the elder boy's practical suggestion. "Besides, very likely we are worrying ourselves without need. Anything may have happened to keep them from returning--not even an accident, as we've been supposing. One never knows what may take place in the backwoods, and--and perhaps they were forced to wait till morning." Bob knew, and Alf knew as well, that it was but a plucky attempt to look at fears in the best light--an effort to convince both against their conviction that their evil forebodings were groundless. But Alf was not easily convinced. "I am sure that nothing except accident could have happened to prevent at least your father or mine from returning to camp. They would know that we should be worried. And no matter how far they went by canoe in the morning, there has been plenty of time to walk the distance. I can't help thinking that they came upon tracks of the moose, as they wanted, and----" "Hush," interrupted Bob kindly. "Don't let your imagination run away with you like that, old man. Besides, you know what good shots both our fathers are. They know the ways of most big game. No; I can't think that you are right. Such an accident _might_ happen to one--even the finest trapper; but, to both--believe me, it's out of the question. Now, turn in like a good chap. I'll take first watch." "You'll wake me as soon as the two hours are up?" pressed Alf, reluctant to leave the watch when he might have first sign of news. "Yes, I'll waken you. Don't worry about that. You are tired as a dog as it is--what with fighting lynxes and other excitements. In two hours you'll find that I'll be too ready for sleep to let you doze a second over time." CHAPTER IV FRIENDS OR FOES? So sudden had been the attack when the two men were snatched from the waters of the treacherous Athabasca, that they were too confused to realise what was taking place. No signs of any prowlers had been previously evident, though possibly the fact that danger from that quarter was unconsidered might have secluded what would have been discernible by suspicious eyes. Moreover, the men were so exhausted by the adventures through which they had just passed that they were only able to offer feeble resistance, and, by the time their scattered faculties were collected, they found themselves lying bound in the centre of a chattering throng of Indians. Such conduct was certainly surprising in these days, when the redmen are a peaceable people who have learned to regard the pale-faces as well-meaning friends, and have long since buried the hatchet of tribal feuds. "What on earth can be the meaning of this?" Arnold questioned of his companion, who lay at his side. "It's certainly extraordinary," the other man said. "Yet they don't seem particularly aggressive." "No. They offered no indignities, such as would have been our fortune in olden days. But did you notice how that old warrior examined the knots himself? He seems to be a sort of head-man. I can remember a smattering of a few dialects, and I am sure I heard him say to the braves: 'Not too tight. Do not hurt the pale-faces, but keep them firm.'" "It's certainly mysterious," said Holden. "Perhaps we have arrived in the middle of some sacred feast. Or perhaps we've come upon them when they were about to carry out some form of lawlessness." Arnold shook his head decidedly. "No. There are no signs of feasts. As for the latter, these are Dacotahs--one of the most law-abiding tribes. We'll have to look further than that for an explanation. Of this I am certain: we are in no immediate danger. That they are chattering about us is evident from these side-glances; but there is nothing hostile in the looks." "More like awe than hostility." "Just what I was thinking. But see! That old warrior is coming our way again. We'll learn something this time, perhaps." As Arnold spoke, an old Indian was seen to step from the chattering crowd. He was tall, well built, and still a fine specimen of manhood, though his face bore traces of many years. That he received the homage due to rank as well as to years was made plain by the respectful way that a path was cleared, so that he might pass through the group of twenty or thirty redskins. He carried himself with the air of one who commands respect as his right. All the same, though there was no hesitation in the steady stride with which the Indian approached the captives, nor in the stern set of his face, there was something in his eyes that indicated awe in the heart. The other Indians barely attempted to conceal their feelings. Throughout there was the expression that seemed to say (to put it in plain English): "Plucky of you, old chap. But better you than me!" Reaching the Englishmen, who were bound hands and legs, so that they were unable to adopt any position unaided except sitting or lying down, the old warrior stopped at a couple of yards' distance. Drawing his blanket tightly round his figure, he folded his arms and thus addressed the strangers in excellent English-- "The tomahawk has been buried between the pale-faces and the redman for countless suns, and for many suns their hands have met as the hands of brothers. And the heart of Swift Arrow is sore within him this day, for the hands of the Dacotahs have been raised in their might against those whose faces shine as those of our pale-face brothers." The old man paused, and Arnold jerked in-- "Then why on earth raise them? We did not bid you truss us up with these rawhide thongs?" The Indian shook his head. "The ears of Swift Arrow are old. They understand not as when he was a brave." "Your idiom is too much for him, old man," said Holden quietly. "Try him with something easier. Better not let him know that we can speak Indian, though. It might be to our advantage later to know without being known." "Quite right," answered the elder man. Then he addressed the Indian again. "We would ask, O Swift Arrow, for what good purpose your braves have bound us. We have been in peril from the waters; we seek the friendship of your land. Is this the way the Dacotahs treat their white brothers when they seek the friendship of your shores?" The Indian felt the reproach, and his eyes fell for a moment with shame. "The pale-face speaks words that go right into the heart like burning arrows. But Swift Arrow knows well that all things must be fulfilled. The sun must come and the darkness follow. Then darkness come, and after--the sun again. All things must be as Manito[1] will." The Englishmen looked at one another with puzzled expressions. "I wonder what he means by that?" questioned Holden. "'All things must be fulfilled.' What can that have to do with us?" The Indian heard the question and understood. "All things must be as Manito will," he repeated; and Arnold, catching swiftly at the words, demanded sharply-- "Is it willed that we be bound, as the Dacotahs of old bound their captives for burning?" This was evidently a point of view that had not occurred to the redskin, for he was at a loss for an immediate reply. He looked first at one man and then at the other, after which he repeated half aloud, half to himself, as if he were conning the exact meaning of the words-- "_When the moon is round, and they rise out of the silver waters---- _" "Yes, yes!" interrupted Arnold, and speaking at guesswork. "That is true. We know that--'out of silver waters'--but is anything said about bonds?" The old man shook his head. He was deeply puzzled. "The pale-face speaks true, and it may be that the redman is wrong. There are many trails, but only one that leads to good hunting-ground. How shall the redman's eyes see right?" Then Arnold assumed an air of indifference as he remarked carelessly, though not without a certain sneer in his tone-- "Does Swift Arrow ask a question of his white brothers, or does he talk as old squaws chatter--foolish words like running water? We could tell him much, but it is well to know with whom one speaks. Words may be wasted as rain upon rocks." "Let the pale-face speak," returned the Indian with dignity, though it was plain that he was moved by the sneering tones. "Then listen. We who came 'out of the silver waters,' as you put it, can tell you much. But how can we speak in bonds? The pale-face is a chief. He will not speak as a slave to his master." But the old man shook his head. "It cannot be so, lest you return to the waters from whence you came----" "Oh, that's it, is it?" exclaimed Arnold, with sudden enlightenment. "If that's all, it's easily settled. Look here--you know that when a pale-face says he will do a thing he will surely do it?" "My white brother's word is ever truth." "And when we say we will not do a thing, you know that we will keep our promise?" The Indian bowed assent. "Well, look here! If you will remove these cords, my friend and I will promise not to fight and not to run away without telling you first that we intend to do so. We will go with you where you will. We are not foxes to hide behind bushes; we are no half-breeds to hide behind forked words. I have spoken." The old man was immediately impressed by this view of the situation. He retired for a few minutes to consult with his friends, and afterwards solemnly returned, accompanied by a couple of young men. "My white brother has spoken well," he said. "The redman will take the word of his white brother." Then he turned to the braves, gave a brief order in Indian, and the next moment Arnold and Holden stood up free. "What next, I wonder?" questioned the latter, as he looked inquiringly at Swift Arrow. He was not kept long in doubt, for the old man called the Indians together, signing to the Englishmen to take places in the centre of the group. Afterwards the company started on a trail that led away from the lake through the woods to the north-east. [1] Manito = God. CHAPTER V LOST IN THE FOREST Morning came, but it brought no news of the absent men. There now seemed to be no possible doubt that some accident of a serious nature had overtaken both, and the boys were at their wits' end to know what steps to take. There had been but one canoe for the outing, so it was not possible to follow up the river course in pursuit of explanation. The only course was to take the journey on foot. That would be a tedious process, seeing that the river twined in some parts like a corkscrew. Two or three miles might be walked, and yet only half the distance might be covered as the crow flies. However, there seemed nothing else to be done. It was impossible to remain idly at the camp waiting for what might turn up. Meantime, their services might be urgently needed, and delay might only increase the necessity. "I vote we pack up our outfit in the tents and set off on the chance of finding their tracks," said Bob. "We can take a good supply of cartridges with us, in case we are delayed and need to forage for food." "It's my opinion that we may have to go a good long way," was Holden's view. "It would be as well to take a small axe and one or two things for possible camping. A pannikin would be useful----" "And a small coil of rope. You can never go far in the bush without finding a use for rope." "But suppose they come back in our absence?" "Ah, that's well thought of," Arnold agreed. "It might mean starting out to hunt for us. We'll leave a note explaining things." As soon as breakfast was over, the boys made their preparations for departure. They filled knapsacks with such supplies as they deemed necessary to meet the circumstances and possible emergencies. They packed away the loose articles of the camp outfit, and pinned a note against the flap of the tent to explain the cause of their absence to any person who might reach the ground before their return. Then they set out bravely on their quest. It was their first intention to follow the course of the river, even though their journey might be considerably lengthened thereby. But very soon it was found that such tactics were, in the main, impracticable. In some parts the banks were steep and rocky; in others they were so thickly clothed with bush that a pathway was only possible after the axe had cut its way. The latter was particularly the case when a certain great bend of the Athabasca was reached, so the chums determined to attempt a short cut across the loop by plunging straight through the forest. "It seems easy enough," Alf had said. "We are going about due north, I think. The bend goes due west, but as the main part of the river flows north according to the map, if we go straight on we are bound to strike the water again." "Right, old man," responded Bob. "In any case, the paters could not be so near home, or they would have had plenty of time to get back, even by crawling. So it would be almost wasting energy to trudge so far out of the way." It is one thing to say "go north," it is quite another matter to hold a steady course in a forest. The Indian can do it; likewise the trapper. They know the signs of the compass such as Nature has provided for them. They know on which side of the trees certain moss is to be found, and they know the signs that the blizzard wind leaves behind it when it has passed on its way from arctic zones. To such as have been initiated into the higher mysteries of woodcraft from their earliest years, a due course to any set point of the compass is second nature. But those who are unlearned in the art soon find out their mistake when they put their inexperience into practice. The sun is a pointing finger to the craftsman--a disastrous lure to the ignorant. Bob and Alf pursued their way pluckily. Determined to keep a steady course, the tomahawk had to be requisitioned at frequent intervals in order to clear a passage through the thorns and binding creepers that impeded the way. At any other time the adventure would have been one of sheer delight, for who would not have enjoyed exploring unknown land--probably land, too, where only the Indian's foot and the feet of the wild creatures of the forest had ever pressed? Once or twice the boys saw the great velvet eyes of an antelope peeping at them through a screen of maple leaves. Again the scrub would rustle, as a fox crouched down to hide his skulking body from the strangers' sight. The cat-birds were calling their sad messages to each other among the maple leaves, and lively little chipmunks would utter their shrill piping sounds of warning to their friends as they started before the advance of the young explorers. Yes, it was an experience to fill the heart with joy when any ordinary call inspired the venture spirit. On this occasion, however, neither of the boys had eyes for such pleasant sights, or ears for such sounds as are the delight of the trapper's life. Their minds were too full of anxiety to permit room for ordinary enjoyment, and they hardly spoke as they pressed forward in single file. In this way they continued for two hours or more. At intervals they would take it in turn to act as leader and handle the axe; but they did not allow a pause in the pushing forward, until at last Bob called a halt, feeling that a rest had been earned. "We ought to be getting near the river again by this time," he remarked. "That's what I've been thinking," said Alf. "You see, it was such a sharp westward turn that the river took after we crossed the ford, that I don't think we can be far off now. It must come round to the east again." "Yet there's no sound of it----" "That is what's puzzling me. We've covered a couple of miles at the least." "And done enough work for four," added Bob. "However, let's get to work again. The sooner there, the sooner this job will be over." "Thank goodness it looks pretty clear ahead now--more pine trees and less of the beastly scrub," said Holden. Once more the boys pressed forward; but, although they continued the march for quite another hour, apparently they were as far off as ever from the river, for they neither sighted water nor came within hearing distance of the object of their search. Again they stopped and faced one another with perplexed expressions. "I'll tell you what it is, old man--we've missed the way," said Alf. But Bob was never ready to admit defeat of any sort. "Nonsense," he said. "We've kept a fairly straight course." "Or thought we have. To my mind, if we'd kept straight on we ought to have reached the river by this time. As it is, there is no sign of it." "That's true. Except for being free from the brushwood, we might almost be where we started. It looks much the same--no slope or any other sign to suggest that we are nearer to the water." "What's to be done?" "I see nothing for it but to go back again and follow the river, as we were doing in the first place. We were fools to think of taking short cuts. The other way may have seemed longer, but it would have been a deal shorter in the long-run." Both the boys were feeling rather fagged by this time, for their trudge had been of an exceptionally fatiguing nature. But each kept the thought to himself, and cheerfully stepped out with the intention of retracing his steps. It was a disappointment and irksome enough; yet there was no help for it, and the situation had to be faced pluckily. But all the best intentions seemed to go wrong that day, and it did not take an hour's marching before Bob stopped and turned to his chum with a crestfallen countenance. "Look here, old man, I don't know what you're thinking, but my own opinion is----" "That we've missed the path; that we are lost----" "I'm afraid that is the truth of it. You see, we've never come to any of the places that we had to clear with the tomahawk." "Then what's to be done?" Alf questioned. Arnold took out his watch and looked at it. "What's to be done? Grub. That's the first thing. After that we can make fresh plans. It's noon now, and we can do nothing while we're hungry. Besides--well, to tell the truth, I'm feeling a little tired." "I, too," responded Alf, with a faint smile. "I didn't want to say so while I thought you wished to go on----" "Just my own idea," Bob returned, with a slight laugh, as he lowered himself to a soft place under the shadow of a large maple. "So we'll rest here and have a bite. We'll feel better afterwards." The little camp was made, and a meal was enjoyed from the contents of Bob's haversack--biscuits and cold venison. Neither of the lads thought it was worth while to trouble about shooting and cooking a meal just then. They would reserve that till night, in the event of their not being able to find Crane Creek again. After a considerable rest, the march was resumed for the third time. On this occasion, however, the process was varied. Their first purpose was, of course, to find the path by which they had come; so at Bob's suggestion they carefully proceeded to walk in a circle--checking the route by notching the trees, and taking wider courses each time a circuit was completed. But even these means were ineffective. Circle after circle was made, and still the earlier track was undiscovered. All the afternoon was thus occupied, and, when evening came, the boys were footsore and weary--glad to throw themselves down on the first piece of springy grass, too tired even to trouble about preparing food. The disappointment was beyond words. They had started out in the morning full of cheerful hopes of being able to render aid to their parents who (they felt sure) were in need of assistance. And now, not only was this purpose frustrated, but they themselves were in that terrible plight of being lost in the backwoods--a hundred miles or more from the haunts of white men, with nothing but plucky hearts to help them, and limited ammunition to supply bodily needs. The sun passed over their heads and sunk somewhere beyond the forest. They could not tell where it vanished, for the camp was amid such dense surroundings that they could hardly see beyond a hundred yards through the branches. With dusk, and after a sparse meal, it was decided to light a fire, more for the sake of the cheering sight than the need for warmth. Bob was the first to rise, and as he stood upright he was heard to give vent to a decided-- "Bother it!" "What's the matter?" grunted Alf, as he also proceeded to rise. "Matter?" repeated his chum. "Nothing; only I have stuck my head into a cloud of moths--big ones and little ones. There seems to be a regular party going on under this tree." "It's that luminous patch in the tree that we've been sitting under," said Holden, at the same time drawing his friend's attention to what looked like a patch of light on the trunk of the maple about five feet from the ground. "That's curious," remarked Bob, bending forward to examine the spot. "I wonder what it can be? It looks like the light on one of those luminous match-boxes that are made so that you can see them in the dark." "They say that rotten wood sometimes has that effect----" "But this tree is quite sound. And see! There's another the same on that tree to the right!" It was certainly strange, and the boys picked up their guns and sauntered over to examine the next trunk, on which they found the same peculiar light attracting an equally numerous lot of moths of many descriptions. "There's another!" exclaimed Alf, pointing ahead of him. "And another!" "And another!" By this time the boys were quite excited by their discovery, and when Alf suddenly drew attention to the further discovery that the marked trees were almost in a straight line, their excitement was still further stirred. "It's the strangest thing I ever heard of--in the natural history way," the younger lad said. "To find all these trees marked on the same side, and all in a straight line--why, it would puzzle the brains of anybody to explain it!" Without any decided plan, and more out of curiosity than from any other motive, the chums proceeded from one tree to another, examining each as they reached it, and marvelling all the time at what they decided as being one of the most remarkable freaks of Nature that they had ever heard about. Then they became aware of a strange sound that reached them from no great distance through the trees. It was a most remarkable sound--not that of any animal with which they were familiar; indeed, it was not a sound that suggested any beast or bird. "What on earth is it?" questioned Alf, as the weird wail sighed through the forest. "It sounds like a harmonium in distress!" replied Bob, with a slight laugh. And even as he spoke the wail was repeated, though this time could be distinctly heard the voice of some person struggling to articulate to some musical accompaniment the words-- "Rool Britanny! Britanny rool waves! Britons ne-vaire--ne-vaire--ne-vaire Shall be sla-aves!" CHAPTER VI THE MEDICINE MAN During the march through the woods the Indians were not communicative. Once or twice Arnold attempted to draw Swift Arrow into conversation, but the old man merely listened in solemn silence. He refused even to respond to direct questions. Eventually a clearing was reached where a large number of teepees were pitched. It was quite a wigwam village, and thence the two captives were escorted to a tent that stood among many others. They were politely requested to enter, and, on obeying, they found that the teepee was otherwise empty. Several men were posted on guard at a little distance from the entrance, while Swift Arrow departed with the rest of his brethren. "There's no doubt but that we are prisoners," remarked Arnold, as he sat down upon a buffalo hide, preparing to make the best of things and take his ease while he might. "The whole affair is a puzzle," said his companion. "Why on earth they should take us prisoners passes my comprehension. It can't be that they regard us as enemies. They would not have been so polite and considerate if that had been their thought." "That's just it," laughed Arnold, who, like his son, had the gift for worrying little until he knew exactly what to worry about. "That's just what surprises me. We are treated as prisoners, and not as prisoners. My impression is that we are regarded with more fear than anger." The time allowed for speculation was soon curtailed by the sound of many voices approaching the tent, though presently there was silence, and a loud voice called to those within-- "The eyes of Mighty Hand would gladly rest on the sight of the White Men." "He means us," commented Arnold, rising from the couch of fur. "He's too polite to enter the teepee uninvited." "By all means let his eyes rest upon us," laughed Holden. The two men then advanced, while one threw open the flap of the tent. And the picture that met their eyes was one that struck the strangers with admiration, for it seemed to throw the years back to the days when the Indian ruled the prairie--the days that knew the youth of Ballantyne and the prime of Fenimore Cooper. Ranged in a semicircle before the tent was a crowd of braves and warriors--all arrayed in the picturesque garb that was unspoilt by any touch of Saxon attire, such as is commonly seen among redskins of the present day. Except that the old-time bows and arrows were replaced by more modern muzzle-loaders, there was nothing to suggest any association with white men and white men's tastes. But it was not so much the background of natives that impressed the Englishmen. Their admiration was called to the central figure. He was an Indian of enormous size--tall, squarely built, and equally proportioned. His head was surmounted with a turban of black fox decorated with eagle feathers that were continued like a wing right down his back and nearly touched the ground. His black hair was threaded with many coloured beads, some of which resembled (and actually were proved to be) nuggets of pure gold. Necklaces of beads and animals' teeth hung in many strands upon the breast of his deerskin shirt. Leggings and moccasins were a mass of beads, feathers, and porcupines' quills woven in intricately fantastic designs. And, over all, there hung in graceful folds an ermine robe of spotless white. This was the great chief of the Dacotahs. Mighty Hand was his name, and that hand was famed for its deeds of valour as equally for its deeds of kindness. He was sole monarch of a mighty branch-tribe of the Dacotahs that had long been separated from its renegade brethren, preferring to maintain the old life in the forest and on the prairie rather than a workhouse existence in a Government Reserve. He led his people far from the haunts of white men, and his life was only harmful to the game that supplied his people's needs. Powder and other necessaries he obtained from frontier trading-stations. But he was known as a man of peace and a man of spotless honour. Hence his irregular life and failure to comply with Government Reserve regulations had been hitherto winked at by the officials. When the Englishmen issued from the tent, this chief was standing before them in a majestic attitude that at once proclaimed his royal blood. He was unarmed. This was a courtesy to the strangers. At the chief's right side stood Swift Arrow; at the left was a figure that formed a weird contrast to the other two. This one was lean, bent, and twisted like a gnarled tree that had been starved and warped in the forest. His dress was alike native, but the grotesque ornaments of animals' skulls, tails, dried monkeys' hands, and other gruesome relics gave the wearer an appearance that was repulsive to Saxon eyes. This freak of figure and dress was Thunder-maker, the great Medicine Man of the tribe. Without his presence no state conclave was complete; without his opinion no tribal law or ruling was ever decided. It must not be thought that the time we have occupied in describing these several features was similarly occupied by the Englishmen in minute observation. Not at all. Arnold, immediately recognising the bearing of the chief, promptly addressed him in English, which Mighty Hand could understand--judging from his first salutation. "The white brothers of the redmen are gladdened by this visit of the great chief," he said. "The white brothers have been in great danger from rushing waters--danger from which the great chief's braves snatched them. They are grateful that their lives have been saved, and they are glad to meet the chief and thank him for what was done." The Indian listened in silence, and, at the pause that followed, he returned in deep tones, as if he were repeating a lesson that he had learnt by heart-- "_Out from the silver waters, when the moon is round, they shall come. They shall be pale-face, and they shall look like men._" This was certainly a puzzling rejoinder! To neither of the captives did it convey any knowledge. Arnold, however, deemed that the best course would be to assume no impression that he and his friend were regarded as prisoners. "The chief speaks well," he returned. "But his tongue deceives him when he says that we _look_ like men. Pale-faces we are. But we are friends to the redman. We would smoke the peace-pipe with him. But we are far from our camp. At our tents are our young sons, who are awaiting our return with anxious hearts. Perhaps the great chief has also a son! He will know, then, how heavy would be the heart of his papoose if the chief were long absent from his teepee. We therefore beg that the chief will hasten the peace-pipe. Afterwards he will lend a brave to guide the white brothers back to their camp-ground." While Arnold spoke there was silence among the Indians, and it was obvious, from the chief's face, that his mind was disturbed with indecision. "Mighty Hand has listened to the words of the pale-face," the chief said. "The white man's words flow as music, but--'_out from the silver waters, when the moon is round_---- '" The speaker's voice faded into thoughtfulness, and Holden whispered to his companion-- "What is the fellow driving at? What does he mean by 'out from the silver waters'? Of course we came out from waters, but what has that to do with the moon, I wonder?" "I can't think, unless--yes, I believe I've got it! It's full moon about this time, Holden. There's some Indian superstition, I imagine, about full moon and people being rescued from the water----" "It sounds like that from the way he speaks. You remember Swift Arrow said much the same thing." "Then depend upon it we've hit the mark. In some way we've got mixed up with a legend or superstition." Mighty Hand had been consulting with Swift Arrow while the Englishmen had been quietly summing up the situation, but now he again faced the captives. "Mighty Hand has lived long and seen many wonders and much great medicine. But to-day there is a cloud in his mind. He understands but darkly. It would be a shame that Mighty Hand should bring water to the eyes of his white brother's papoose, but who can say if the Fiery Totem be not calling this day? Behold!" As he spoke the chief tore open his deerskin shirt, and when the Englishmen bent forward in curiosity they saw--upon the naked breast--the figure of a serpent tattooed in gold and red so cunningly that it seemed as though a living reptile were there resting--a reptile moulded from burning flames, with head raised in the attitude of striking. The men gave a gasp of wonder and surprise, and at the same instant the Medicine Man jumped forward, pointed a finger towards the sign, and turned with an evil grin towards the strangers. "The totem of the Serpent Dacotahs!" he hissed through his teeth. "Can the pale-face look upon it without fear? Can they not feel the poison-tooth break the covering of their flesh?" At this strange attack Arnold laughed aloud, and Holden smiled as he said-- "The white men are not cowards! They do not shrink before a figure of paint!" The Medicine Man threw up his arms in a transport of rage. "They laugh! The white men smile at the sacred totem!" he cried in a wild appeal to the sympathies of the people, who began to respond with disapproving murmurs. "Shall it be that the fiery serpent hear laughing tongues while the hands of the Dacotahs are idle? _Who_ are they that dare to revile our sacred sign with mocking eyes and tongues?" Matters were beginning to assume a serious aspect towards the strangers, for evidently the Medicine Man was one whose lead was followed by his people, and who knew well how to play upon their weaknesses. So Arnold hastened to try and pacify the anger that he had inadvertently roused. "My red brother mistakes," he said, addressing Thunder-maker. "The white man's laughter was at the suggestion of fear. We are brave men who fear nothing. But we did no insult to the totem of the Dacotahs----" "Dogs!" exclaimed the furious Indian. "Dogs! The fiery totem has been defiled. Revenge, my brothers! Revenge! lest the names Dacotah and Mighty Hand become things for jeers and laughter in the women's tents!" The Indian was quite frantic with passion, and as he flung his wild appeal to his people the murmurs suddenly burst into a flood of angry roars--knives were snatched from their sheaths, a hundred arms were lifted, and the circle quickly closed upon the helpless men. But just at that moment of peril and almost inevitable death, the great figure of Mighty Hand was seen to start. He stepped forward with one stride, turned his back upon the captives, and then raised his arms, from which his robe hung like great protecting wings that shielded the strangers beneath their folds. And his voice rang out above the angry clamour like the voice of a wind roaring through the pine forests. "Back, Dacotahs! Back to your tents ere the strength of Mighty Hand is lifted and you sink to the dust! Is this how the redman treats the stranger who would smoke the peace-pipe by our fire? Is this the welcome that my braves give to those whom Mighty Hand has received with a smile--with no arms in his hand, no tomahawk at his belt? Back, dogs! and hide your coward faces like frightened papooses in the skirts of the women!" The clamour ceased instantly. The men hung back, and their heads bent with shame, that is, all heads but that of Thunder-maker. His face betokened no shame. Nay, greater fury than ever was depicted, though he was silenced before the anger of his chief. But it was only for a little while that he was thus disconcerted, for soon he resumed--though now he spoke with humble fawning-- "It is death in the heart of Thunder-maker when the eyes of Mighty Hand shoot their looks of fire. But--_Thunder-maker speak true_. Has he not made great medicine these many suns? Did he not bring the thunder to prove his great medicine? Has he not many times driven the fever from the camp, till it fled over the prairie like a coyote driven with sticks and dogs? Huh! many wonders has he done, and--more will he do. He will do great medicine this day. He will show if the fiery totem has called in vain for vengeance." Thus speaking, Thunder-maker dived a hand into the bosom of his shirt and drew out a bundle of dirty linen. The chief had lowered his arms, so that the Englishmen could now see the Indian as he laughed and held up the bundle triumphantly above his head. "Great medicine!" he exclaimed, fixing his eyes upon the white men. "Great medicine! Look! See! Listen!" They looked, and as they looked they saw the linen move, as if something inside were struggling to be free, and at the same time they heard a sound like the sudden springing of an old-time policeman's rattle. "Rattlesnakes!" exclaimed Arnold under his breath. Thunder-maker laughed when he saw that the sound had been recognised. "Come! Come, my children!" he cried, as he turned his face upwards. "Come, my little son--come, my little daughter!" Then he shook the knot of the bundle, and out from the aperture crept two grey-green bodies--a pair of twisting, writhing somethings that caused the onlookers to shudder and the Medicine Man to laugh, as he repeated carelessly-- "Come, my little papooses! You will speak great medicine in the ears of Thunder-maker!" Slowly the serpents came from their covering. One remained coiled on the raised wrists, the other--still sounding the ominous rattle--moved slowly downwards till it rested on the man's shoulder. Then Thunder-maker inclined his head, as if listening to a whisper. Afterwards his face lit up with understanding. "Huh!" he exclaimed. "Did not the spirit of Thunder-maker speak true? Come, my little papoose! You shall show for whom the fiery totem called." Turning his head so as to look along his shoulder, the Indian suddenly grabbed the writhing reptile with his teeth, after which (holding the other serpent with his right hand) he commenced dancing until he had cleared an open circular space, of which the Indians and the white men formed the border. Suddenly he sprang to the middle and tossed the snake to the ground, while he uttered a wild shriek. Once on the earth, the snake glided swiftly in several directions, while all watched the creature with tense excitement. Then for a second it seemed to pause with its head in the direction of the Englishmen. At the same moment the Indian gave a cry of triumph, tucked the one snake into a fold of his robe and bent down, making passes with his hands above the serpent on the ground. And as his hands moved so the rattlesnake gradually straightened out its body till it lay stiff and straight as a piece of wood. Thunder-maker paused. Then he rose up slowly and looked with triumph straight into the chief's face. "My children say that the time has come to take the cloud from the Dacotah. My papooses show _who_ answer call of fiery totem!" CHAPTER VII THE FRIEND IN NEED Even considering the serious nature of their quest and the plight they were in, it was not possible for the boys to refrain from laughing when they recognised Britain's national song as caricatured by the singer. But they had sufficient wisdom to control most of their amusement to "inward laughing." It is not always safe in the backwoods to announce your presence too suddenly where strangers are concerned--especially strangers who are not of the white skin. "That's a rum sort of music to come upon a hundred miles from nowhere," remarked Bob, with a grin, to his chum. "Let's hope that it comes from a throat that has something of civilisation about it," said Alf. "It doesn't sound quite like a white man. That 'ne-vaire' is more French accent than English--probably a half-breed." "What do you think we ought to do?" "Investigate. We've got no choice. We're lost; that's certain enough. What's more, there seems to be very little chance of finding our own trail back to the camp." "That's true enough," Alf assented. "But suppose we come upon a camp of half-breeds, as you suggested? I've heard that they're not the best of friends to white people in out-of-the-way places." Arnold nodded in agreement. "I dare say that's true. But, at the same time, most yarns of the kind have usually got large bits of ornamental stuff stuck round the facts. We'll have to take our chance of falling in with friends or foes." "Right-away. If you're ready, I'm ready also," said Alf promptly. "It will be a strange thing if 'Rule Britannia' leads Britons into a mess instead of out of one." Having thus determined what course to pursue, the two boys began to creep cautiously through the bush towards the locality from whence still proceeded the music that was being repeated with all the diligence of some one who was determined to learn his lesson thoroughly. The night was now quite dark, but presently the chums were able to distinguish the flickering of a camp-fire at no great distance before them. Taking every care not to betray their presence by any careless footstep, they twined a path with all the success that a professional tracker would have admired. Then, penetrating a more than usually dense portion of the bush, the young explorers found themselves right on the edge of the encampment, and the picture that they then discovered was one that was surely calculated to drive away all melancholy thoughts and feelings of fatigue, for the time being at least. Seated on the end of a water-keg, in front of a moderate-sized "A" tent, was a man of gigantic size whose black hair stood up from his head as if he were constantly seeing ghosts, and whose equally black beard streamed down his breast like a cataract of ink. He was dressed in a blue shirt, corduroy trousers protected with cowboy "shaps," and heavy top-boots. In his hands was an accordion, at his side sat a collie dog, while in front of him, with his back to the fire--standing with his hands behind his back in the attitude of a schoolboy repeating a lesson--was a tousle-headed half-breed, whom he of the black beard was addressing in encouraging tones-- "Noo then, ma callant, we'll just be having that last line ower again. It's no' bad as an eemitation o' a cat left oot on a winter's night; but it's no' just what I call 'ceevilised'; no' just quite that--yet." Then the accordion sounded a dismal chord suggestive of an attack of asthma, the half-breed reattacked the "ne-vaire, ne-vaire, ne-vaire" in a manner that made up in energy what it lacked in music, and the collie raised his head to add a long-drawn wail to the concert. "That's a wee bit better," was the player's verdict at the finish. "I'm thinking we'll make a ceevilised creature oot o' you in time, Haggis." Then the speaker turned to the dog. "As for you, Bannock, you're a bit oot o' tune at times. But it's no' that bad for a doggie. It's good to be aye trying to do our best----" "Hear! hear!" shouted Bob, whose interested amusement had quite banished his caution. The effect of the boy's applause was electric. The two men started. The half-breed snatched up a gun that was leaning against a tree near by; one hand of the bearded man deposited the musical instrument upon the ground as his right picked up a handy rifle; while Bannock, the dog, crouched down with bristling hair and deep growling. "Come oot and show yourself, whoever ye be!" commanded the master, as he raised himself to his great height, with rifle in readiness and eyes staring towards that part of the bush where the chums stood. "Come forward this instant, or I'll bore as many holes in your body as there are farthings in a pound!" In obedience to the gentle invitation, and not in the least nervous, now that they knew who the musicians were, the boys immediately made their appearance. "There's no need to be afraid----" began Holden reassuringly, when he was interrupted by a huge guffaw of derision. "Afraid! And what for shall Skipper Mackintosh be afraid? Unless it's mosquitoes, there's no man or beast in Canada that'll turn a hair on his hide." Then, seeing the lads as they approached into the firelight, the man immediately changed his tone of address as he also altered the threatening pose of his rifle. "What! A pair o' laddies?" he exclaimed in astonishment, and Bob replied-- "Neither of whom is particularly anxious to be riddled with a pound's worth of farthing bullets!" But the words had barely passed the boy's lips before the rifle had been dropped to the ground and the man had sprung forward excitedly to grab a hand of each boy in his great fists. "Faix! but this is a fine sight for sore eyes!" he exclaimed, as he vigorously pumped the arms up and down. "I've no' seen a white face (barring a trader's, and that was ower dirty to call it 'white') this twelvemonth past. I'm right glad to see you!" "And I guess we're jolly glad to see you," returned Alf. "It's a treat, but--speaking for myself, I really want to use my hand again. It'll be jelly in a few more seconds." "And mine too!" laughed Bob, who could not help wincing at the vigorous form of the welcome. The Scotsman immediately released his severe grasp. "Sakes! But I'm that glad to see you, laddies, I feel just like squeezing for another hour. I suppose, noo, that I'm no' just dreaming? You're no' by chance just twa o' them muckle moths that's come into my dream in a make-believe?" "We're human, sure enough," Arnold laughed in reply, and Alf added-- "Terribly human we are, for we've lost our way in the forest, and we're beastly tired as well as hungry." "Lost--tired--hungry?" repeated Mackintosh. "That has a human sound--terribly human, as you say." Then he turned towards the half-breed, who had been standing an amazed spectator of the scene. "Did you hear that, Haggis?" he demanded. "Did you hear that--'hungry and tired'?" "Haggis hear," was the quiet reply of the native, to which the Scot retorted angrily-- "You heard? And yet, one meenit after, I see you standing there like a daft gowk instead o' hustling for food as fast as your legs can move you? Ma conscience! But you tak' a deal of ceevilising! You dinna ken the first meaning o' the word 'hospitality.' Off wi' you!" There was no need to repeat the order, for the half-breed immediately disappeared within the tent, and the almost simultaneous rattling sound of tin-ware was evidence of his haste to supply the want. Mackintosh then turned to the boys. "Noo then, rest yourselves, laddies. Sit doon by the fire, and you'll soon have a bit o' something to grind between your molars. Haggis is slow to understand, but he's quick enough when he kens what's wanted." Not unwillingly, the chums soon stretched themselves in comfortable positions beside the camp-fire at either side of their eccentric host. Bannock, however, still eyed the strangers with suspicion, so Mackintosh was forced to introduce the dog formally to each boy in turn, at which the intelligent animal extended a paw with all the air of one who is accustomed to polite society. "He's a fine chap," explained the Scot. "There's no' a single thing that he canna do (according to the leemitations o' Nature) except speak. And even that he manages to do in his ain way. Noo, come here, Bannock, and lie down while oor freends spin us their yarn. They've no' told us yet who they are, where they come frae, nor where they're going." "That's a yarn that's quickly told," remarked Bob. The half-breed by this time had returned from the tent with generous supplies of cold deer, damper, and wild berries, after serving which he placed a pan on the fire in preparation for coffee. "It's a yarn that won't take long in the telling, though, if you'll excuse me, I'll eat while I speak." "Eat awa'," assented the other, while he lit a corn-cob pipe to satisfy his own immediate wants. "There's plenty mair where that came frae, and the coffee will soon be ready!" Arnold then launched into a brief recital of his and his chum's adventures, beginning with the departure of their fathers on the previous morning, and concluding-- "So all this afternoon we've been wandering about trying to find a path back to our camp, so as to start afresh by the river course. But it was no use." "And we might have been wandering still if it had not been for a strange accident that led us here," added Alf, at which remark Mackintosh questioned-- "And what might that be? The soond o' Haggis's nightingale voice?" "No--at least, not in the first place. We heard that later. What first started us in this direction was a curious sort of light that we discovered on one of the trees. And while we were examining it we noticed that there were other lights on other trees in a straight line with one another. Strange, wasn't it?" "Very," returned the Scotsman dryly. "Very strange." "It would be a good thing for a naturalist," said Bob. "I noticed that there was a perfect cloud of moths flying about wherever there was a patch of light. A collector of moths and butterflies would reap a harvest. I suppose you've noticed the lights as well as we?" "H'm--yes--considering that I painted the trees mysel' this afternoon," was the reply. "It's an invention o' my own. I'm what _you_ call a collector of moths and butterflies. An entomologist is a shorter way o' putting it. Well, there's many folks stick to treacle--I mean, stick to the auld-fashioned way o' putting dabs of treacle and speerit on trees to attract the nocturnal creatures. That's all very fine and good. But you canna carry gallons o' treacle on a tramp like this, when your whole outfit must be packed on one pony. So says I to mysel': 'Moths are attracted by light; I must invent a composeetion o' phosphorus to take the place o' treacle.' And those lights that you found on yon trees are the result." "And a splendid idea it is!" exclaimed Alf, who had also done his little share of treacling at school. "Is it a success?" "Magnificent. I've found more moths than were known to exist in the West. I'm thinking that I'll open the eyes o' the Royal Edinburgh Entomological General Natural History Exchange Society when I get back again after my journeys. But----" The speaker here paused in his enthusiasm, remarking seriously, "I'm thinking there's other matters o' mair importance before us the noo than moths. Your faithers went doon the Athabasca, you said?" "Yes; in a canoe," said Bob. Mackintosh shook his head ominously. "That's bad. I suppose they'd never been there before--indeed, it was no' possible, or they'd never have made the attempt yesterday." "Is it--dangerous?" questioned Holden, in an undertone of dread, for the man's voice conveyed no small impression of the risks the voyagers had run. "We had not thought of danger in the river. We only thought of moose." Mackintosh grunted uneasily. "The river is more treacherous than any moose. There's a terrible narrow bight atween cliffs where it runs like lightning, and then shoots in a waterfall into the Silver Lake. Man! I've seen great trunks o' pine giants flung through yon opening like wee arrows a hundred feet in the air afore they touched water again." "Then a canoe----" "If it reached so far in safety it would shoot likewise." "You think it possible that the canoe _might_ pass the gully unharmed?" Bob then questioned. It was always his nature to struggle for the brightest view, and the man's answer was somewhat in the same spirit. "It's no' the way o' Skipper Mackintosh to find trouble until trouble finds him. He's been in a' the back corners o' Europe, Africa, India, China, and America; and, if he learned nothing mair from his travels, he learned this: troubles are easier conquered when you meet them wi' a firm lip at the proper time. But the man that moans before he kens what he's moaning about--well, it's little strength he's got left when the fight really begins." "Yet if, as you say, the Athabasca is so dangerous----" began Alf, when he was again interrupted with kindly roughness. "If? Laddie, laddie, are you forgetting that there's a Hand that could guide the frailest birch-bark safely through Niagara itsel'? And I doot not that I'm right when I say that it's my opeenion that that same Hand has no' been very far from your faithers in their plight. Does either o' you ken anything o' this by chance?" As he spoke Mackintosh dived his hand into the hip-pocket of his overalls and produced a white handkerchief which he spread out upon the ground by the fire. The boys bent forward, and immediately Alf exclaimed-- "That's my father's! See! His initials are at the corner. Where did you find it?" "_Not_ in the Athabasca!" said Mackintosh with quiet triumph. "Haggis and I came upon it this morning a hundred yards from Silver Lake." "Then that means that they are on shore!" exclaimed Bob with delight at the relief from one anxiety that the evidence of the handkerchief provided. "Ay. The Athabasca is free from that charge, at any rate. That hanky has no legs to walk by itsel'. It must have been carried. By whom? No' by an Indian, though I ken there's been Indians in the viceenity. If a redskin had found it, he'd have taken better care o' it. And so it's clear to me that one o' your faithers must have dropped it on dry land, and so--so---- Well, you both o' you can have a sound night's rest." So convincing were the tones in which the man clothed his words that the spirits of the boys were quickly stirred from gloomy anticipations to comparative cheerfulness. "You've lifted a load from my mind, Mr. Mackintosh," Bob said gratefully, "for of course it is all fairly plain now. As likely as not they passed through that horrible gully, but were too worn out yesterday to start the trudge back to camp. It would be a long way, too, seeing how the river winds." "In that case, most likely they are back at the camp by this time," suggested Alf. "But they would understand our being away, for they would find the note that we pinned to the tent." "That's right, laddies. Look for the bright side and you'll always find it," the Scotsman remarked. "But I'm thinking that your reasoning is a wee bit oot in one respect--they have no' gone back yet, else Haggis or I would have seen them. This camp is in the direct natural path from that part o' the Athabasca. My opeenion is that they've fallen in with the Indians--a tribe o' Dacotahs, and peaceable folk they are. It's no' to be expected that the gully could be passed unscathed. So it's likely to me that they're nursing themselves for a day wi' the redskins, after, maybe, sending a brave to your camp to tell you o' it. So to-morrow we'll lose no time in starting for Silver Lake. That's the best plan I can think o'." "You mean to come with us?" asked Alf. "What do you take me for--a savage?" was the reproachful return. "Do you think that Skipper Mackintosh is going to allow twa laddies like you to go wandering aboot the backwoods when he can guide you? And when Skipper fails, is there no' the Haggis and Bannock--a pair o' the finest scouts and trackers that ever set foot in bush or prairie? What do you take me for, I'd just like to know?" "One of the kindest hearts in the world, Mr. Mackintosh," said Bob fervently. "Bah! Fiddlesticks and porridge-sticks!" was the rough rejoinder, though a pair of eyes were turned kindly enough upon the youths--eyes that glistened in a way that rather suggested the nearness of water. "All a pack o' nonsense! If a man is no' ready to help his fellow-creatures when they need him--well, I'm thinking that he ought to have a pin stuck through his thorax and mounted in a box among my moths, labelled, 'A horrible freak o' Nature.' And I'd have you know, too, that my name is Mackintosh--Skipper Mackintosh. There's no 'Misters' in the backwoods. 'Skipper' is the name that my auld faither gave me to commemorate his discovery o' a new variety of skippers in the entomological world. Mind that, and--and good-night to you, laddies. Good-night, and God bless the pair o' you." CHAPTER VIII NIGHT IN THE WIGWAM While the two boys had been holding their lonely watch at the camp prior to setting forth the following morning on their disappointing search, matters of serious moment were taking place at the encampment of Mighty Hand and his brother Dacotahs. Thunder-maker's triumph had been complete. The savage mind seldom looks for a simple explanation of anything that surprises him. When the unusual is not understood, he does not search for a simple and natural explanation. He immediately flies to the supernatural and attributes to good and evil spirits actions that a little common sense would have readily explained in an everyday way. The Medicine Man of a tribe is different from others of his race. He is the brainy exception of craft united to common sense, and he uses these to best advantage for his own interests. Thunder-maker's method of divining was very simple after all--nay, even childish. We have seen it performed by redskin jugglers, as we have also seen the same effects produced by Arab diviners on the Syrian desert. The explanation is found in the fact that serpents are exceedingly sensitive to blows. A cut with an ordinary willow wand is usually sufficient to break the spine and disable all but the monsters of the class. At the same time, although the first blow may daze a snake, it is some time before the final effect takes place, and the creature will wriggle about for some time after having been struck, while its energy is practically nil--that is to say, it merely lives without possessing any real strength. Now, Thunder-maker's cunning was well aware of all this, and when he dropped the rattler from his teeth he was careful to do so in such a way that the creature would touch the ground with considerable violence. Then he allowed it to wriggle about until in time its head faced the Englishmen. That was the moment for which he had waited, and immediately he started forward with a cry that startled the snake into still fear. A few passes with his hands fascinated the creature long enough for the Medicine Man to show the Indians that the creature was undoubtedly pointing in the direction of the captives, and when that was done the crafty redskin had achieved his purpose: The serpent had divined whom the sacred totem of the tribe had called that day. Then Thunder-maker had replaced his assistant in the linen cloth before it revived sufficiently to commence wriggling again, and, perhaps, point its supernatural head to some one else. Both Arnold and Holden had observed how Mighty Hand had been wavering between reason and superstition until the intervention of the Medicine Man had caused superstition to take the uppermost place. A moment before, and the chief would have released the captives and sent them back to their camp in charge of a guide. But the art of Thunder-maker had stepped in to convince the people that the sacred totem of their tribe had been calling that day, and that it was the Englishmen for whom it called. Why? Ah, that was what the strangers found inexplicable. Of this, however, there was no doubt: their arrival had been at a most unfortunate time, when some answer to the supposed call of the totem was then expected. They were that answer, and the result--who can say what the consequences would be when falsehood and superstition had a savage people at command? So the Englishmen were requested to return within the teepee that had been reserved for their prison. But, curiously enough, they were not treated in any way after the traditional Indian mode of treating prisoners. They were not bound; no guard was placed at the entrance, though sentries were placed round the camp of which the prison teepee was the centre. The best food that the Indians possessed was supplied to them, as well as a sufficiency of fur robes to sleep upon. All the same, in spite of these kindnesses and other thoughtful attentions, there was no room for doubting that they were prisoners who were not to be allowed any opportunity for escape, and the men could only accept the present situation in a philosophic spirit, and await the course of events with such patience as they could muster. As the day passed, and darkness fell upon the forest, the Englishmen stretched themselves upon the robes, while in whispers they tried to arrive at the solution of the mystery and form some sort of plan for future action. "It's all owing to that scoundrel Thunder-maker," Arnold said. "If he had not stepped in, Mighty Hand would have released us. I could see by his face that he was favourably disposed towards us." "It is a serious business," said Holden. "Serious enough for us, for there is no knowing what may happen when people get mixed up with native superstitions. At the same time, what I worry about most is the boys." Holden sighed at the thought of Bob and his son Alf being alone at the deserted camp. "Yes," he said. "It will be hard on them if anything happens to us--miles away from civilised habitations. Of course, I don't give up hope of coming out of this right enough in the long-run, and we may be worrying over very little after all. But meantime--the boys--I wonder what they are doing now?" At this question the elder man gave a slight laugh. "You wonder?" he repeated. "I don't think you need go very far for the answer if you haven't quite forgotten our own schooldays. What would you and I have done if two of our chums had disappeared from camp as we did?" "Gone to look for them," was the prompt reply, to which Arnold resumed-- "And I think there's not so very much difference between Arnold and Holden _pères_ and _fils_. You take my word for it: at this very minute the youngsters have summed up the situation and are planning a rescue expedition, if, indeed, they have not already set out. Neither Bob nor Alf is the sort of chap to sit still and moan at such a time." "Yes, I believe you are right. Neither of the youngsters would allow himself to be knocked over by the first difficulty. And they would know that some accident must have taken place, for we promised to be back at camp by dinner-time." "All the same, we don't want them to be mixed up in this affair in the event of their coming on our track," said Arnold. "We must contrive to prevent that, but---- Hullo! Who's this?" A dark outline had suddenly filled the space at the opening of the tent at this juncture, but the Englishmen were not left long in doubt of the nature of their late visitor, for a voice addressed them in Indian accents. "Thunder-maker would speak words of counsel with his white brothers." "Oh, he would, would he?" returned Arnold, and his companion added-- "There was very little friendship about Thunder-maker this afternoon." The Indian gave a low laugh, as though he were thoroughly enjoying some secret joke. "There are days when hunter's path must be straight; there are days when crooked trail lead him where he find much deer. To-day--crooked trail. But Thunder-maker friend. He would speak in ear of white brother--low, soft. Thunder-maker wise man. He speak words of wisdom to his friends. But--none may hear but pale-face." "By that you mean that you want to come into the teepee?" said Arnold. "All right. Come along. And if you have any sense to speak of, out with it." The Indian noiselessly entered and took a seat on the robes between the Englishmen. He did not speak during these movements, but when he was comfortably settled he turned to Holden and addressed him in a whisper-- "Night dark, and red men sleep--all but braves, who watch that white men no return to Silver Lake." And a second time the Medicine Man laughed quietly. "Silver Lake!" returned Holden. "I shouldn't think we need any watching to prevent that. Without a canoe, Silver Lake is not much use to us." "Still--braves watch. They believe that white men return to waters. They came without canoes; they go back without canoes." "Fools!" exclaimed Holden. "What do they think we are? Spirits?" "Huh! My white brother speaks true. Indians--_some_ Indians--fools," answered Thunder-maker, at which Holden uttered an exclamation betokening sudden enlightenment. "By Jove, Arnold! That's it! That explains the whole business. These idiots take us for spirits, since they saw us scramble out from the lake without any boat in sight. Spirits! It's almost too silly to believe." "Yet that's what Thunder-maker means," said Arnold, to whom the solution of the mystery was now equally clear. "That is what you wish us to understand, isn't it, Thunder-maker?" "The understanding of the white man travels quick." "And that accounts for the kind treatment--the food, half-freedom, and the rest. But if your people think us spirits, why do they keep us here? Why not let us return?" The Indian paused for a moment before he replied, after which he remarked quietly, and with a peculiar inflection of tone that added deep meaning to his words, while at the same time it betrayed the fact that there was some curious reason to account for this confidence-- "Dacotahs fools. They think white brothers spirits--_evil_ spirits. They have not the eyes of Thunder-maker." "I see," said Arnold thoughtfully. "But you forget, Thunder-maker, that your trickery with the snakes helped them to that opinion." Once more the Medicine Man laughed quietly in a manner that irritated his hearers, and Holden broke in roughly-- "Come now, you old cheat, explain yourself! _You_ didn't believe as the rest of your people did. And if not, why did you behave in such a double way? Out with it. You had some purpose in coming here to-night, and you may as well give us the truth right away." It is not possible to hasten an Indian in the matter of speech. Hasty response or rapid talk they deem discourteous. Thunder-maker was no exception to his race in this respect, but he was exceptional in another, inasmuch as when bent on a subject he stuck to it without using many unnecessary words or ornaments of speech. He waited in thoughtful silence for several minutes. Possibly in his cunning way he was mentally scrutinising the peculiarities of his companions in the teepee--deciding what course would be best to enable him to be assured of their trust. Whether or not he judged their characteristics correctly will be seen later. "My white brother has asked for the truth," the Indian began. "Thunder-maker shall speak words as straight as the path of a burning arrow. "Many years ago--when the buffalo lived upon the prairie to feed the redman and provide his robes--the great tribe of Dacotahs would hunt in the valley that is known even to-day as the Peace Camp. Many deer would feed there, and the buffalo would eat the blue grass, and Manito had filled the camp with fruit and flowers. In those days the Dacotahs were ruled by a mighty warrior, Flying Cloud--the son of the fiery totem serpent that saved his life by slaying the chief of the Chippeways in the war-path by night." Here the speaker paused, as though he expected some comment from the listeners regarding the seeming miracle. But no remark being forthcoming, he resumed-- "For many years our tribe lived in prosperity. Pemmican was in plenty, and the redmen kept the hunting-grounds in peace. Then--one night--Chief Fire-water came to the camp, and a brave with foolish mind praised Fire-water more than the sacred totem. He was slain by Flying Cloud ere the insult was cool on his lips. But the serpent was angered. He flashed tongue of fire to the Dacotahs--called down the rains and the tempest upon the Peace Camp by night, until the water spirits rushed through the valley on white horses, destroying trees and fruits--washing the land bare of earth. And, when the sun came up from his teepee of fire, Flying Cloud and the best warriors of the Dacotahs had been carried away by the water spirits and were never seen again. "Then there was great wailing in the camp, and the totem of the tribe was called upon to cease anger, lest the Dacotahs be a tribe no more. "And the serpent had pity, and spoke thus to the warriors and braves-- "'I will stay my anger; but I have given power to the spirits that ride on white horses, and I may not call it back again.' "'Then what shall the Dacotahs do?' asked the warriors. 'It may be that the spirits will again ride their white mustangs and take from us our chief and our young men.' "And the serpent replied-- "'When such time come, the Dacotahs will see two white spirits rise out of the lake that is silver. When the moon is round, they shall rise out of the lake that is silver. They shall come without canoe to bear them, and without arrow or tomahawk for fighting. By this shall you know them. Then shall the Dacotahs lay hands upon the white spirits; they shall treat them kindly, but they shall bring them to the Peace Camp and there consume them with fire. Then shall the power of the water spirits be broken. Then shall the Dacotahs be safe. Then shall the fire of my anger be quenched. "'But I--the sacred totem of the Dacotahs--am mighty and full of pity. The Dacotahs are brave, but they are not all wise. It may be that their ignorance might lead them to bring suffering to those who are not evil spirits. But let them not hold back in doubt, for I shall stay their hand, even though the torch be set at the wood. For if the eyes of my children are blind, I shall be near to guide them. And the sign of this shall be: _I shall appear before the eyes of all people as a serpent of fire_. By this shall they know that they have erred. They shall withhold the torch, free the captives, and be to them as brothers.'" Once more the speaker waited for a space, until he knew that his hearers had time to grasp the full meaning of the legend that he had related. Then he lowered his voice and spoke with deep meaning that was not difficult for the Englishmen to understand-- "Yesterday the moon was round. Two white spirits came from the lake that is silver without canoe for sailing, without arms or tomahawk for fighting. The fiery totem called, and was answered.... By another sun Mighty Hand will lead the white spirits of the water to the camp that is called Peaceful!" CHAPTER IX THE TEMPTATION It needed no great knowledge of Indian character and Indian ways to make clear to the Englishmen all that was implied in this story that Thunder-maker had recited. Nor had they any reason to doubt that he had spoken the truth, for the evident pleasure that it gave him to watch the effect of his revelation was almost a sufficiently convincing argument in itself. Of course Thunder-maker had only the evidence of his ears to inform him, for the tent was in darkness, the convenience of lamps not being a usage of the redskins, who either retire to sleep at nightfall, or rely upon camp-fires for illumination. But the Medicine Man could hear his companions give slight gasps of horror when the climax was reached. His ears were quick to interpret the faintest sounds of pleasure, pain, or surprise. The trio sat in silence for a time, until at last the soundless night became too oppressive, and Holden was forced to speak his thoughts. "Why have you told us of this, Thunder-maker?" he asked. "Were you sent to us by Mighty Hand?" The Indian made an impatient movement of his body, and grunted meaningly at the question. "Mighty Hand send Thunder-maker?" he exclaimed, in an undertone that conveyed a sense of the uttermost contempt for the chief of the Dacotahs. "My white brother speak foolish words--the words of women and papooses. Mighty Hand do the wish of Thunder-maker. The chief of medicine no slave to run when any man speak." "Then why have you come to us to-night?" urged Holden. "It was not out of friendship for us," added Arnold. "Huh! It true what the redmen say, that the pale-face have heart of buffalo skin that keep out the love of brother," responded the Indian, in fawning tones that caused the listeners to feel as though they would have gladly kicked the speaker out from the tent. There was low cunning in his voice--such cringing craft as all brave men naturally despise. But it was the instinct of both to draw out the visitor's confidence. It was possibly their only hope of learning the truth of their position, thereby enabling them to make plans for their future actions. "The redman love the pale-face and would be friend to him," Thunder-maker went on. "So he come to tell his brothers what they did not know. Dacotahs fools, Dacotahs believe foolish stories, and--_Thunder-maker can lead their feet by what trail he will_." "H'm. That was plain enough this afternoon when you played with those rattlesnakes," remarked Arnold, at which the Indian laughed quietly. "Dacotahs fools. But white men wise. They see not with the eyes of redmen. But Dacotahs might be great people if Mighty Hand were in Happy Hunting-ground."[2] "But what has all this got to do with us?" asked Holden. "My white brothers in great danger. In a few more suns cruel fire burn beautiful bodies. But----" "Well--but?" "Thunder-maker could save--white brothers--from fire?" "Oh, that's it, is it? That's what you are driving at, you cunning old serpent?" said Arnold, in accents that were as little complimentary as the words. "You want us to buy our lives for money? Well, how much do you wish?" "My white brothers have papooses, they say to Mighty Hand?" "Yes; two boys in a camp by Crane Creek." "It would gladden the eyes of the pale-faces to see their papooses by another sun?" "We would do much to go back to them, for they must be sad at the absence of their fathers," said the elder man. "Then it may be as the pale-face wish," resumed the Medicine Man. "Thunder-maker can save his white brothers, and he will----" "If you will, there is nothing that we will not do, within our power, to repay you," said Holden, wrongly anticipating the motive of the Indian. "We can give you many dollars, and will give you blankets and weapons for hunting." "That is good," returned the redskin quietly. "But--Thunder-maker no wish blankets--dollars, He have many--many." Then he lowered his voice to speak in deeper tones of confidence. "Let the pale-face be patient, and listen to the words of the redman. Then he will understand how it may be that he look not upon the face of the fire. "The Dacotahs foolish. They see white men as spirits that came out of Silver Waters. And Mighty Hand foolish too. He believe that fiery totem speak--that fiery totem call water spirits to torture. Foolish redmen! Foolish chief! But Thunder-maker would see his people a great people. He would see his tribe wise as the fox and brave as the great bear. He would see _another_ chief to rule them--he would see _another_ wear the robes of a chief! So he would blind the eyes of his people. He would say to them: 'Children, you are foolish. The spirits that come from the Silver Waters are not the spirits that the totem called. They great spirits sent to you by Manito to tell you how to be a mighty tribe again.' Then great medicine will be done, and Thunder-maker will ask the pale-faces to speak what Manito has told them. "Then the pale-faces will tell the Dacotahs: 'Slay Mighty Hand! Let him not see another sun, and place the chief's robes on Thunder-maker; tie the chief's feathers in the hair of Thunder-maker; write on Thunder-maker's breast the picture of the sacred totem.' Then will the Dacotahs believe. Then shall Thunder-maker be chief of the Dacotahs, and--the pale-faces shall return in peace to their tents. I have spoken." The Indian paused, but, no comment being immediately forthcoming, he resumed quickly, being warmed to excitement by treacherous hopes-- "Then it shall be well with my white brothers. No fire shall have their white bodies----" "And if we--refuse--to do--this?" questioned Arnold slowly and seriously, and his companion added: "Yes, if we refuse--what then?" "The pale-faces will not refuse," returned the Indian firmly. The savage mind could not conceive such a possibility as refusal to purchase freedom at any cost, no matter how despicable that cost might be. "The pale-faces will not refuse," he repeated. "The flames hurt much, and white men die slow, slow as tongue of fire lick their bodies. The pale-faces not refuse----" "But we do!" exclaimed Arnold angrily, as he raised his voice to a louder pitch, now that the first need for caution was past. "You know little of the pale-faces, as you call them, if you think that they would do the deeds of dogs to save themselves from pain. Manito, to us, is God--He whom we serve and honour; He whom we love. Do you think that we could dare to live another hour if we knew that we had pretended to be sent by Him--and so delude foolish people? No! A thousand times no! Even if we were to see our sons dying before our eyes, and knew that one such false word would save them and us, I tell you, liar and cheat that you are, that word would never be spoken! We would be as dumb as the trees of the forest!" So moved was Arnold by the indignation that he felt at Thunder-maker's treacherous proposal that he rose as he spoke and poured out the torrent of his anger with reckless vehemence. Holden also got up, anticipating that the Indian might attempt some deed of revenge, seeing that he had displayed his hand to the sight of enemies who might make much of this knowledge in an appeal to Mighty Hand. [Illustration: DACOTAHS! DACOTAHS! COME QUICK TO THE HELP OF THUNDER-MAKER! HE IS BURNING WITHIN WITH FIRE. QUICK! QUICK!] But Thunder-maker was too cunning to risk violent measures with two such powerful antagonists. He merely waited until Arnold had finished his tirade. Then he suddenly leaped out from the tent, threw himself upon the ground, and uttered wild screams that immediately roused the entire camp. "Dacotahs! Dacotahs! Come quick to the help of Thunder-maker! The evil spirits of the water have witched him! He is burning within with fire. Quick! quick!" Instantly the camp was in an uproar, and men came rushing from all directions, bearing arms and torches that they had snatched from the still burning camp-fires. And before the Englishmen were well aware of the sudden change of affairs, a score of hands had seized them, and many strands of thongs bound them helpless, hand and foot. [2] Heaven. CHAPTER X A DEATH-TRAP "Wake up! Do you want to sleep all your senses away?" It seemed but an hour after the tired boys had laid down their heads that the above words were bellowed through the opening in the tent. Bob sat up and rubbed his eyes. Yes, it was really morning. There was no doubt about that, for the sun was pouring into the tent in a warm stream, the birds were filling the woods with music, and the perfume of Nature was creeping all around them. One entire end of the tent had been thrown open to reveal these delights, and when Arnold opened his eyes he saw the gigantic figure of his Scottish host doing its best to fill the space. There was a good-humoured smile on the man's face--a smile that betokened a heart of the largest dimensions. Bob soon roused his chum, who was buried in a blanket. "What's the matter?" questioned the latter, as he unrolled from the coverings. "Can you not smell it?" demanded Mackintosh. "Fried bacon and coffee--yes--ripping!" was the reply as Alf began to move, being inspired to haste by the odour that proceeded from the camp-fire beyond the tent, where Haggis was busy cooking. Mackintosh gave a snort of assumed contempt. "Bacon and coffee! Who thinks o' bacon and coffee on a morning like this? Fegs! but have you no' ears for the birds, nor nostrils for the scents of Nature? Man, but I'd sooner have a sniff o' the backwoods----" "Than a mouthful of bacon? Not I," chimed in Alf merrily, at which the man laughed heartily as he turned on his heel. "I'm thinking that there's very little poetry in a hungry stomach," he said. "Well, 'get a gait on.' You'll find a wash-hand basin behind the tent, and breakfast'll be ready when you are." The boys needed no second bidding, and it was not many minutes before they were ready to show how well they could appreciate the half-breed's culinary art. While the lads were breakfasting, Mackintosh and Haggis busied themselves with striking the tent and packing the rest of the camp outfit upon the single pack-horse that accompanied the naturalist's wanderings. The two men had already fed at an earlier hour, and had stowed away most of their belongings in preparation for the journey. "We'll be making straight for the Silver Lake, where the hanky was found," explained Mackintosh as they set off. "Haggis'll maybe pick up tracks there that'll be o' use to us." And so a northerly route was taken--crossing an arm of the Athabasca, and then following a course through the woods under the unerring guidance of the half-breed. Towards noon the Scotsman called a halt, as he pointed to a small clearing through which ran a small stream of clear water. "This'll no' be a bad place for us to eat our dinner, lads," he said. "If you'll unpack the mare and tether her, Haggis, we can see aboot the fire and the meat." "Don't you think it would be well if we were to shoot something?" suggested Bob. "You see, we don't know where we may have to go yet, and game may be scarce. There seemed to be any amount of it on the way here. It would be as well to save what we have in hand." "A good thought," returned Mackintosh approvingly. "Let's see what the pair o' you can do wi' your guns while Haggis and I are setting things to rights." "I'll go one way and you the other, Bob, and see which of us will have the best bag in half an hour!" said Alf, with the eager delight of a friendly competition in prospect. "Right you are," agreed Arnold heartily, "You go to the right; I'll take the left, and in half an hour we'll meet again at the camp and compare notes." With a few words of friendly chaffing as to which would be the more successful, the chums parted. Each was determined that his gun should prove a superior Nimrod's skill, and both were stirred to high spirits by the excitement of the quest. It must not be a matter for surprise that the boys could take such pleasure in the diversions of the moment, even recollecting the serious nature of the mission on which they had embarked with the original Skipper Mackintosh. The truth was that, once having been convinced that the absent men were indeed alive, the weight of anxiety was greatly lifted by that knowledge. As we are already aware, their fathers were men who had had many a backwoods adventure in their youth. They were well capable of taking care of themselves according to the circumstances in which they were placed. Hence the chief anxiety now was to hasten a meeting, when they would learn aright the cause of the elders' absence; and, though they could not conjecture what that cause could be, they felt assured that accident (in the ordinary sense of the word) was not the reason. Ordinary accidents of the hunt were not likely to meet two such experienced sportsmen at one time; and if one had suffered the other would have found means to communicate the fact ere this. The boys felt assured that to some other cause the matter must be attributed, and so they were fairly at ease in their minds, though, of course, anxious to hasten the time when the mystery would be explained. Thus it was that when the opportunity occurred for this diversion in the form of a little friendly rivalry, each set off in the highest of spirits. Holden at once plunged into the thickest part of the bush at the back of the little camp-ground. Arnold decided to follow the downward course of the stream, in the hope that it might lead to a lake or pool where duck might fall to his lot. Pushing his way through the scrub that bordered the running water, Bob went some distance without any success. Then he heard the sound of a gun some way to the rear, and he smiled to himself, as he thought that his chum had already commenced operations. Spurred on by the thought, the boy hastened his steps, and increased his vigilant scrutiny of the bush for the first signs of game. But luck did not come his way for some time, and his anxiety not to be beaten in the contest led his feet farther than the half-hour's limit merited. It was not until he had tramped a mile or more that Bob realised how quickly the time had passed. It was disappointing to have to return empty-handed to the camp, especially since he had heard Alf's gun crack twice again. At the same time, if there were no creatures to be shot, he could not be reproached for his lack of success. With a rueful grimace and a laugh of amusement at his own failure, the boy was just turning to retrace his steps, when suddenly the bush rustled at his side, and a brown body leapt into the air as if it had been shot from a catapult. "Antelope!" Bob exclaimed with delight, and quick as a flash of light the butt of his gun darted to his shoulder and the woods resounded with the explosion of a cartridge. It was a quick aim and not too good, for the animal disappeared in the farther bush, and the cracking of twigs told the young hunter that the quarry was yet active. "This is worth waiting for," said Bob to himself, as he rushed forward in pursuit. "A dozen of Alf's prairie chicken will not be equal to an antelope--if I get him!" There was much in that little "if," for evidently the deer was far from being disabled, since it had so rapidly made distance between itself and the hunter. Nothing daunted, Bob hurried on, replacing the used cartridge as he ran, and easily following the tracks that the animal had made in its dash for liberty. Bob's pulses were thrilling with excitement, but his nerves were the real hunter's nerves that can be steady even when excitement runs highest. He gripped his gun firmly, and with eyes scaled to see each tremor of a leaf he followed the track with the dogged purpose of one who meant to capture. Time and distance were unheeded now. All the boy's senses were converged towards one aim, and for the time being he was oblivious to all other distractions. Suddenly he stopped in the very midst of a pace, as if he were suddenly changed into a statue of marble; for at no great distance, he saw the deer standing at the edge of what seemed to be a natural paddock of green grass. The animal had paused in its flight, and was now sniffing the air with head raised, to discover if it were still pursued. It was worth gun-shot. Cautiously Bob raised his weapon without even moving from the strained position in which he had stopped at first glimpse of the game. It would be useless for him to approach closer, for the least disturbance of the bush would be discovered, and a few leaps would carry the deer across that stretch of green turf, and thence--probably beyond all chance of recovery. Bob took a careful sight this time. Then he fired. Instantly the deer sprang upwards into the air, gave two marvellous leaps forward, and then fell in a lifeless heap right in the centre of the paddock. Bob gave a cry of exultation and ran forwards towards his bag. So excited was he now that he did not notice how the turf shivered under his feet when first he stepped upon the edge of the clearing. He had no thoughts for aught else but the triumph of his stalking. But suddenly, when he was within a few yards of the deer, he felt one foot sink beneath him. For a moment he did not give the incident any serious thought, but placed his other foot a little beyond, where the turf seemed firmer. But the next step sunk deeper than the first, and at each effort to release the one the other sunk farther. Then a cold sweat broke out all over the lad's body. He realised the plight that he was in, for the green sward was no more than a thin covering of turf that concealed a great muskeg--a lake of liquid mud such as has been known to swallow men, horses--nay, even a herd of buffalo, without leaving a trace of the hapless victims that have disappeared within that ever-hungry throat. Bob stood still in horror at his terrible discovery. He looked round him. There was not a sign of anything that might aid him--not a log, not so much as a twig. Nothing was at hand but the grass that a moment before had looked so fresh and alluring, but which now seemed to suggest all that was ugly and treacherous. Even the slain deer was already beginning to yield to the suction from beneath. If ever Bob was near to utter despair, it was at that moment. He was over the ankles in mud, and he could feel himself gradually sinking, while the slimy mass seemed to cling to his limbs and drag him downwards with irresistible force. Once he thought that he might be safer if he lay upon his face, but he quickly banished that suggestion when he saw that the prostrate position of the deer did not impede its certain destruction. He scarce dared to breathe, since every movement of a muscle hastened the work of the muskeg. Down, down he sank. The mud crept to his knees and gradually began to ascend his thighs. It seemed to be only a matter of time--another hour, perhaps less--and the tragedy would end. Yet he tried to be brave. He tried to brace himself to face the trial like a man, though it is hardly to be wondered at that he felt hope quickly leaving him, as inch by inch he sunk into that horrible green death-trap. Then, just as suddenly as if a voice had spoken to him from the very grass at his feet, there flashed into his mind the words that the good old Scot had spoken by the camp-fire the previous night-- "There's a Hand that could guide the frailest birch-bark through Niagara." Bob remembered, and hope sprang up in his heart with a bright-burning flame. Yet his faith was severely tested, as the mud crept up, up--now to his hips, then slowly advancing beyond his waist, until at last it was embracing his chest in a cold grip. CHAPTER XI TO THE RESCUE! As Bob had surmised from the sounds that reached him, Alf had not been long in striking luck. Shortly after leaving the camp he bagged first one chicken and then another, and in a short time was lucky enough to bring down a fine jack-rabbit. Then he hastened back to camp, and arrived there just as he heard the sound of Bob's gun in the far distance. "I guess I've done the better of the two," he said merrily, as he displayed the result of his half-hour's hunt. "That's the first shot that I've heard from Bob." "There's no telling. Maybe your friend has shot an elephant!" remarked Mackintosh. "Here, Haggis! Tak' these birds and the beastie from the laddie, and dress them for the spit. There's a fine roasting fire, and we'll be having dinner all ready by the time Maister Bob gets back. I'm thinking that he's come off second best the day." "Not much praise to me. If there's nothing to shoot, a fellow can't get much of a bag, can he?" remarked Alf generously. He was ready enough to laugh at his friend in a good-humoured way. It was quite another matter, however, for any other person to cast the slightest sneer at his chum. "I was lucky in finding sport right at hand. But when it comes to shooting--a quick aim on the wing or on the run--I can't hold a candle to Arnold. Hark! Did you hear that? He has brought down two, to balance with my three." "Young boys give long trail," remarked the half-breed, who was pushing wooden skewers through the birds, preparatory to balancing them on wooden Y's before the fire. "Too long," grunted the Scotsman. "We can't afford to waste time. I was meaning to start off again soon after dinner." But by the time the birds were ready for eating, and the inevitable coffee was hot in the billy-tin, there were no signs of the boy's return. Mackintosh was plainly annoyed. "I dinna like that sort o' going-on," he grumbled. "Time is time, and if a body doesn't keep to time, there's no knowing what deeficulties may arise." But Alf knew his friend better than Mackintosh did. He knew that the excitement of the chase might result in a little lateness, for no one is perfect in matters of punctuality (or anything else, for that matter) under unusual circumstances. And the lad's anxiety had been gradually increasing as the delay had been prolonged, though he said nothing concerning his feelings until the man offered the remark that rather displeased him. "I don't think it's quite fair to judge a fellow until we know all the reasons," he said with keen resentment. "Bob is not the chap to forget other people. There's not a bit of selfishness about him." "Yet I'm thinking that the silly laddie _has_ forgotten this time, though, mind you, I'm no' saying that he's o' a selfish make," returned Mackintosh a little more gently, seeing how his previous words had hurt Alf. "I ken fine that boys will be boys----" "And Bob is--Bob--one of the best fellows that ever lived. Listen! What's that?" The boy had suddenly started and bent forward with intent listening, for his quick ear had caught the sound of two shots fired in rapid succession. They were very distant sounds, but still, far away as they were, the clear Western air enabled them to reach distinctly across the distance. "That's Bob's gun! I know its voice!" the lad exclaimed; and hardly were the words uttered before two more shots were heard--equally distant yet equally clear. "That's queer----" began Mackintosh thoughtfully, when Alf interrupted him by springing up from the ground where he had been sitting, and exclaiming in troubled excitement-- "Queer? It means that Bob is in danger. See! There it is again!" Two more shots were heard, followed in a short time by another double. By this time Mackintosh was thoroughly roused. His backwoods experience told him what a chum's sympathy had already gathered, that no freak of sporting opportunities would cause these shots to be fired at such regular intervals. They could mean nothing else but a signal of distress. "Come, Haggis!" he said in steady tones that showed how ready he was for any emergency. "Leave those birds, and set your best foot forward. There's tracking to be done, and that right quickly." Picking up his rifle and bidding Alf take his gun, Mackintosh at once made a move towards that part of the bush where Bob had last been seen. Haggis and the dog Bannock quickly followed, and the former moved with all the quiet swiftness of a native who was used to meeting the unexpected emergencies of life without being in any degree flustered. That life had many times been in danger, and its safety had only been attained by being in a constant state of readiness. By instinctive acknowledgment of the presence of a superior craftsman, the two white men yielded the place of leader to Haggis, who quickly discovered the tracks that Bob's progress had left behind. The imprint of a rabbit's foot would not have escaped notice from such eyes as those of the half-breed, who had been trained in all forest lore from his babyhood. Hence it was mere child's play for him to pick up the track of top-boots, as well as the traces that had been made by the displacement of grasses and thorns. Meantime the distant shots were continued at intervals, until Holden counted twenty in all. Poor boy! It was little to be wondered at that he urged Haggis to press on with greater speed, for now he was certain that his chum must be in a terrible fix, out from which there was no self-help. He would hardly waste cartridges so recklessly were he not in some dire extremity. "For goodness' sake, hurry!" the boy exclaimed, for even the rapid walking in Indian file was all too slow for the patience of one who was pressing to the rescue of his friend. But the half-breed did not change the pace. "We step enough quick for bush-track," he said, without turning. "We no' wish lose track. On prairie we go quick--run; but in bush slow." "The Haggis is right," completed Mackintosh, whose position was third in the procession. "It's no' good to be too quick. We might lose the trail, and that would mean a vexatious delay to find it again." Alf was forced to acknowledge the truth of the reasoning, though it was a hard task for him to curb the desire to make a mad dash forward and take his chance of keeping in the right track. Then the half-breed stopped for a few moments and bent low to examine the ground and the surrounding scrub. "What is it?" questioned Holden. "Have you lost it?" Haggis shrugged his shoulders. "Lost? No. Haggis no' lose track. But he find others--deer. White boy shoot deer, but no kill. Deer jump--run--white boy follow quick--there--there!" As he spoke the half-breed rapidly pointed at the various signs that he had interpreted. They were plain enough to the native eye, and in a lesser degree to the sight of the Scotsman. But Alf's inexperience could only distinguish an occasional displacement of the undergrowth, though he was well content to rely on the opinions of those who were more versed than he in woodcraft. Again the rescuers hastened onwards, with Bannock bringing up the rear, and when at last they came to a part of the bush where the trees were somewhat fewer, Haggis suddenly stopped and pointed straight in front of him, exclaiming the one sound-- "Ha!" Holden was at the native's side in an instant. "What is it? Where? What do you see?" he exclaimed. "In middle of grass--see!" Alf looked, but all that he saw was a head and shoulders that apparently rested on the grass without any lower limbs. The poor lad was indeed in the depth of extremity, and he was almost faint with exhaustion. "Bob!" cried Holden in an agony of distress, and darted for the clearing. But he had barely crossed a couple of yards before a pair of strong hands gripped him and kept him from moving. "No! No! You dare not--" said Mackintosh; but the lad struggled frantically to free himself from the powerful grip. "Let me go! Let me go! Can't you see that Bob is lying hurt?" he cried frantically. But the hands did not relax their grasp. "Wait, laddie," said the man's kindly voice. "Wait, or we'll be having two lives to account for. Yon's a muskeg--a living bog. It's death to them that sets a careless foot on yon green grass." Instantly Alf's struggles ceased, and for the moment he was limp in the arms that supported him. The horror of learning of his friend's plight struck him dumb and suspended the power to move. "Come, come, laddie. You mustn't give in. Your friend's life depends on your strength." Mackintosh was a man of the world, whose experience enabled him to be a good judge of character. And he well knew the sort of counsel that would inevitably stir all that was best in the boy and lend strength to his pluck. He judged rightly, for immediately Alf straightened himself with set lips, steady eyes, and controlled nerves. "Forgive me," he said quietly. "But it knocked me over to think of Bob--out there." "I'm no' blaming you, laddie. But you'll need all your strength now, for I think that your friend is past helping himself--or nearly." Then Mackintosh faced the muskeg, and called loudly. "Hullo! Bob! Can you hear me?" Very slowly the eyelids were seen to open, the head moved slightly. "Can you hold out for a bit longer? Can you get a coat under your arms if I send it to you?" were the next questions. The boy did not answer at once. He seemed dazed, and the man repeated his questions. Then came the answer, spoken weakly and with an apparent great effort. "I'll try. But--come--quickly----" And the eyes half closed again. "That's right. Hold on for a wee bit, and we'll have you oot o' that mess in a jiffy!" Without pausing to explain his intentions, Mackintosh then quickly stripped off his leather hunting-jacket, emptied the pockets of all that could weight it, and called Bannock to his side. "See, Bannock," he said, "I'm going to tie a sleeve to your collar--like this. Now you must go over there. Do you see? Right over there where someone needs your help." He pointed towards Bob as he spoke, and the intelligent collie looked straight in the direction indicated. He had often had game pointed out to him in the same way, so quickly understood what was wanted of him. "Off you go!" his master then commanded. "Off you go--quick--quick!" The dog needed no second bidding. He sprang forward at once towards the hapless boy, dragging the coat with him. "Bannock's coming!" shouted Mackintosh. "When he's there, grip the coat and lean on it. He'll no' move when I bid him stay." "All right," came the faint reply. The ground that was so treacherous to the heavy boots of the incautious hunter could play no similar tricks with the light tread of the collie, and in a few seconds he had reached the goal. "Lie down!" the great voice rang out, and the animal immediately crouched close to the boy, who had just strength enough left to lay hold of the jacket in such a way that it formed a slight support of a temporary nature, to check further sinking for the time. But how to draw the boy from the slough? That was the next problem. Alf turned questioningly to the Scotsman. "Get to work and break off as many branches as you can," was the reply to the look. "Haggis, you've got your tomahawk? Well, cut down a lot o' these straight poplars. I'll give a hand to the laddie." It was not long before the sharp axe had laid prone a number of young poplars and partly lopped them, while Mackintosh and Alf had torn down a number of maple and other leafy branches that would lie fairly flat. These were gathered to the edge of the muskeg. "You're no' feared to take a bit o' risk for your friend's sake?" the man then asked, turning a look of confidence to the boy. "Afraid?" echoed Alf contemptuously. "Tell me what to do, and--well, I'd give my life for Bob!" "That's as it should be," returned Mackintosh approvingly. "'Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friend.' I would offer to do this myself, only I'm a great heavy gowk, and Haggis is no' much better. But you're light as a feather compared with us. Now we'll put two o' these poles like the sides o' a ladder; then some o' the branches cross-ways. And you'll go out and build farther as we hand them to you. Can you do this?" "Of course," replied Alf firmly. "And don't hurry. Work sure and steady. The turf will stand the weight with only you on it. And when you reach Bob, you'll spread the branches all round. The rest I leave to you." To Alf it seemed hours before even the first section of the ladder was completed, but he did his best to control his impatience, knowing well the value of Mackintosh's advice; and at last came the moment of joy when he was ready for the second poles to project from the ends of the first ones, and a fresh supply of branches. But it was a tedious undertaking at the best, made doubly so by anxiety to reach the end; for each time the supply of building material was exhausted he had to creep back for more, as the men dared not trust their weight far from the edge of the muskeg. All this time Bob was watching the work as a starving man feasts his eyes upon the nearness of food and drink. Now and then Alf spoke encouraging words, but he did not relax his energies, nor did the sufferer make answer except once, when he stirred himself to say pluckily-- "It's--all--right, Alf. I can--hold out--for--some time----" Yet when the younger lad once glanced ahead of him, the cold sweat broke out over his body, for he saw that his chum had sunk yet farther, and that the weight was dragging down the dog as well. "I'm coming, Bob! I'll be very soon now!" the lad forced himself to call cheerily. And, oh! the joy of that moment when at last the bridge was completed, and Alf could bend down to grip his exhausted chum beneath the arms! "Be careful!" called Mackintosh. "Don't jerk. Pull steady!" Inch by inch Alf felt the mud release its hold upon its prey, as he strained every ounce of strength to drag his friend from the clammy grip. It was a tremendous effort, for the boy was slight, and the hold of the muskeg added weight to Bob's by no means slender bulk. But at last Arnold's arms were clear, and in time he was dragged so far that he could rest his breast upon the structure. Then Alf paused for breath. But he did not delay long. He set his teeth and once more resumed his task. Then he made the woods ring with a triumphant "Eureka!" for Bob lay safe upon the bridge! Bannock barked for joy also, and struggled up to scamper back to his master. "Just in the nick of time! You've saved my life!" muttered Bob gratefully, when he recovered a little of his strength after a short rest. Alf's reply was characteristic. "You'll take a deal of washing, old man, before you're fit for decent society again!" The warmth of the sun soon restored some of the old energy to the chilled body, and after a time Bob recovered sufficiently to crawl to safety in the wake of his rescuer. And when solid land was regained poor old Mackintosh was fairly crying with joy. "Lads, lads! but God's been kind to us this day!" he was saying, while the tears ran down his manly, weather-beaten cheeks. Then he made all laugh by suddenly starting with a look of horror in his face as he exclaimed-- "Ma conscience! But the birds will be burnt to cinders by this time!" CHAPTER XII CRAFTY TACTICS So unexpected had been Thunder-maker's tactics and so immediate the response of his people, that the attack was over before the Englishmen were well aware that it had begun. Not that any foreknowledge would have availed them much. They were unarmed, while the Dacotahs were both armed and numerous. Still, the average Englishman does not like to be trussed up without showing some marked resistance. It makes him feel small to be trapped without dealing a blow in self-defence. The place was brilliantly lit with burning brands which many of the Indians had brought, and the camp was in an uproar with the voluble chatter of the men as they crowded round the captives, while Thunder-maker excitedly cried out his story of the affair. So well did the Medicine Man concoct his lies so as to work upon the feelings of his people that meanwhile it seemed as though the Englishmen were in for a hot time. Indeed, so great was their wrath that knives were already reflecting the flames, and fingers were nervously twitching about the locks of their guns. And all the time Thunder-maker was dancing about in a frenzy of passion. He was not brave enough to strike a blow, but he hoped to shift the responsibility upon the shoulders of his brethren. What would have been the termination of the scene it is not difficult to decide, had not the old figure of Swift Arrow pushed a way through the seething multitude and taken a place at Arnold's side, while he faced his people with burning indignation. "What is this, brothers?" he exclaimed. "Is this how the Dacotahs treat the stranger in their tents?" "They are witches, not men!" came from many throats, and Thunder-maker added-- "They call me from teepee--call me without words, and fill Thunder-maker with hot fire!" "Bah!" ejaculated Swift Arrow with utter contempt, as he turned to the last speaker. "Is not Thunder-maker great medicine himself? Has he no weapon to protect himself from magic?" But the Medicine Man had his reply ready. "Thunder-maker sleep. When Thunder-maker sleep he have no power against magic." Then he turned to the surrounding Indians with a wild appeal. "Shall it be, brothers, that the great medicine of the Dacotahs die before arrows of the evil spirits?" "Kawin![3] Kawin!" was the general reply, and again the knives glistened as they were raised in many hands. Thunder-maker shrieked with triumph. "Then save our tribe from the magic of the evil ones!" he cried as he flung his arms upwards and turned to the captives with a fiendish grin of exultation. The Indians were now worked up to a condition of irresponsible madness. Another such impulse from the Medicine Man, and the thirsty knives would be quenched. "Stay!" commanded Arnold suddenly. So unexpected was the word from that quarter that for the time curiosity superseded frenzy, and all paused to hear what the white man might have to say. And Arnold, seeing the advantage, went on with a calmness that seemed to act like a spell upon the excited minds. "Stay! My white brother and I are not afraid to die, if it be Manito's will that we find the Happy Hunting-ground this night, and if the Dacotahs have so forgotten the brave name of their tribe that they would slay the stranger who came to their tents in trouble. But first tell me: is it the way of the redmen to kill a prisoner without the wish of their chief----" "Ha!" interrupted Thunder-maker, hissing the exclamation through his teeth, for even now he felt his victims slipping through his hands. "Do not listen, brothers! They are evil spirits--they speak magic words against which nothing prevails. They have forked tongues that dart as fire. Ugh! I spit upon them--dogs!" The Englishmen met the verbal onslaught as firmly as a rock resists a wave, and Arnold did not so much as look towards the madman, but resumed, in the same even tones as before. "Who are you, redmen? Are you dogs, to be beaten to obey the first loud voices? Shall the howling wolf put fear into your hearts, to drag down a prey that he dares not attack alone? Or are you children of your rightful chief? Who is chief of the Dacotahs--Thunder-maker or Mighty Hand?" "The fiery totem is on the breast of Mighty Hand," answered one of the warriors. The hubbub had fallen, and all were listening intently--partly with the native courtesy that forbids the rude interruption of speech, and partly because the better self was beginning to replace the moment's frenzy. "Ah," resumed Arnold with a smile, "I see that the understanding of the pale-face was wrong. We thought that the chief was Thunder-maker, as you hastened to obey _his_ words." "Thunder-maker great medicine----" began Swift Arrow, when the former speaker rejoined-- "Then he would make himself great chief. Will you braves suffer this insult to the wearer of the fiery totem?" "Ka--Kawin!" was the chorus that met this question, and the dark looks that had been directed towards the Englishmen but a little while since were now turned towards the defeated Medicine Man, who was standing sullen and silent. But Thunder-maker was not yet conquered, though he was apparently humbled. To give him his due, he was a man of wonderful resource, and when he saw that the tide was turning against him he was quick to meet the occasion. "My brothers, listen not to the words of Thunder-maker," he said quietly, and with a pretence of sad emotion that he had failed to influence the other Indians to take the right course. "Did not Thunder-maker say that these evil spirits have tongues of magic? Did he not say that no weapon could prevail against those magic words? But let it be as my red brothers wish. Mighty Hand rest in teepee. He not come from tent at night, unless the war-cry call him. So let it be as these--dogs--say. Let them rest in their tent to-night, and at another sun we will bring them before the great chief Mighty Hand, who is the greatest of warriors, and chief of the greatest of all tribes, the Dacotahs. I have spoken." "And spoken well," said Holden, thinking that it might be well to propitiate the Medicine Man for the time. But Thunder-maker, stooping forward with a pretence of picking up something from the ground, came close enough to whisper, so that only the Englishmen could hear him-- "By another sun, when Mighty Hand looks upon the pale-faces, it may be that the friends of Thunder-maker have looked first!" The words were spoken with all the venom of a savage threat, and before Holden could make reply the Medicine Man was speaking loudly to Swift Arrow. "The Dacotahs shall see great medicine when the fiery totem again turn eyes upon the evil water-spirits. Thunder-maker will now go to his teepee. He would speak with his little children that they show much magic." But Swift Arrow did not deign to reply. He turned to the Englishmen, and with a few movements of his hunting-knife severed the cords that bound them. "The stranger who has raised no arm against the redmen may not be bound in the camp of the Dacotahs. My brothers did wrong. The pale-faces will forgive my foolish people." "We do not blame you. You are a good man, and Manito smiles upon the kind heart," returned Arnold quietly. Thoroughly worn out with the events of the previous day as well as the exciting incidents of the night, the two friends were glad to be at liberty to return to their tent and stretch their tired limbs upon the robes that had been provided for them. The Indians had quickly dispersed at the bidding of old Swift Arrow, and soon the camp was once more in peace. Little was said by either of the men as they lay down at opposite parts of the teepee, and it was not long before sleep came to the relief of weariness. For a couple of hours or more the Englishmen were wrapt in deep slumber. Then, just as the grey dawn was beginning to chase the shadows from the forest, Holden suddenly awoke. It was not the calm awakening that follows refreshing rest, but that sudden return of the senses that one sometimes experiences accompanied by a horrible instinct of danger. Holden sat up and looked round. Nothing strange was to be seen within the tent, and when he looked through the entrance all seemed peaceful without. The brown teepees were not even stirred by a morning breeze. Not a soul was to be seen, and it was too early even for the birds to sing their morning anthems. He looked at Arnold, and saw that his friend was still enjoying profound rest. So, laughing at his own weakness, Holden returned to his robes and was soon dozing again. Then a second time he wakened with the former conviction even stronger than before. He raised himself on his right elbow, and as he did so was startled by a sound that is calculated to strike terror into the hearts of men quicker than the most formidable of human foes. It was the danger-signal of a rattlesnake--the harsh alarm that is unmistakable even when heard for the first time, and the sinuous green thing was poised in the centre of the tent, with head thrown back in the attitude to strike. It had been startled by Holden's sudden movement on awakening, and now was armed to repel its supposed enemy. The man dared not move, for the least motion of a muscle might be sufficient to frighten the deadly little rope of flesh, and then----? The continued sound of the rattle had roused Arnold by this time; but at his first stirring Holden spoke, though he managed to do so without moving his lips. "Keep still. There's a rattlesnake in the tent. It's got an eye on me, and----" But the rest of the sentence was choked, for the man's blood suddenly ran cold as another serpent came from among the fur robes, writhing its cold chill body across his bare hand as it lay at his side, and then moving towards its companion. "There's another--just crawled over my hand," whispered Holden hoarsely. "And I see a third--over there just beyond my feet!" said Arnold. "What on earth are we to do?" "Lie still. We can do no more, unless we get a chance to make a bolt for it. But they are between us and the door." The men waited in tense silence, preserving the immovable attitudes of statues until, as time passed, other serpents made their appearance and the teepee was swarming with a dozen at least. They seemed to be everywhere. They crawled over the robes and peered into the men's faces, they wriggled beneath the covering and even passed across Holden's bared throat. But they were no longer aggressive. They were more of an exploring than an antagonistic bent. "I wonder where they have come from and why they have congregated in this particular tent?" Arnold questioned in a whisper, and, with the question, the explanation seemed to flash into Holden's mind like a flame of fire. "Thunder-maker!" he exclaimed. "The treacherous hound! This is his work. I was wakened by something before. He must have been letting loose his vile creatures." Just then the snakes returned unpleasantly near to the men's heads again, so further conversation was impossible, for it is remarkable what little sound will attract a serpent's attention, and the nature of a rattler is to regard every sound and movement as something dangerous to be fought. For more than an hour the men lay in strained positions, watching the writhing movements of the ugly creatures, and wondering how long the position could be sustained. And then, just when it seemed that the situation could not be supported another minute, they became aware of a sound of soft whistling at no great distance from the rear of the tent. At first the sound was quite low, and barely audible, but gradually it increased in volume until it took the form of a sort of minor tune of barbaric rhythm played on some sort of reed instrument. At the beginning the music was unheeded by the serpents, but as it became more distinct it was observable that the creatures became restless and uneasy. Now and then one would raise its head and begin to sway gently to and fro, in agreement with the rhythm. But gradually each seemed to be irresistibly drawn towards the back of the tent, as the spell of their master's music fascinated them. One by one they passed in one direction--moving slowly yet steadily in obedience to the call. And as the last of the reptiles passed beneath the edge of the tent-cloth both men sprang from their couches and rushed round to the teepee that was pitched a little way behind their own. But they found Thunder-maker reclining on a heap of robes and apparently asleep; and not a sign was seen to suggest the presence of a "rattler." So much for the art of the snake-charmer and the craft of an evil man. [3] No. CHAPTER XIII THE PRICE OF A ROBE Thunder-maker did not move while the strangers were watching him. To all outward appearance he was asleep. Holden stepped forward and shook the Medicine Man roughly by the shoulder. "Come along! Open your eyes, you old scoundrel. You are no more sleeping than we are," he said. The Indian moved, slowly opened his eyes, and looked for a few moments at the speaker, just as a person would who had been suddenly roused from a deep slumber. Then a pleased smile broke over his face. "My white brothers in the tent of Thunder-maker? They are very welcome," he said. But Holden did not respond to the greeting, as he demanded-- "Does Thunder-maker think that we are fools? Do you think we did not hear you piping to those vile serpents of yours?" The Indian looked puzzled. "My white brothers speak strange words, or it may be that the mind of Thunder-maker still sleeps----" "Rot!" interrupted Arnold brusquely. "The Thunder-maker's mind is wide enough awake. What is the use of lying to us? We know that you put those snakes into our teepee, and we heard you call them back when you found that your purposes had failed." For answer, the Indian raised one of the blankets and disclosed a basket against which he had been leaning during his pretended sleep. He raised the lid, looked in, and signed the Englishmen to do likewise. "See? On their bed of grass my little papooses also sleep," he said, lifting the basket so as to show the tangle of green bodies that it contained. "We can gain nothing by further talking," remarked Arnold to his companion in an undertone. "The fellow has done us this time, and we have nothing to support us if we accuse him before Mighty Hand." "That's true enough," returned Holden. "He is best man this time." The Indian quietly closed the lid and again covered the basket with a blanket, after which he looked up with a cunning and triumphant leer. "White men will eat; then--Mighty Hand take trail for Pleasant Valley!" How he seemed to gloat over the thought of the terrible fate that awaited his enemies! Brave men though they were, they could not but feel a sense of shrinking at the picture that this man's attitude and tone conjured up. There are times when anticipations of pleasure seem to be rendered more alluring by reason of description. It is also so with expectancy of pain. Words may paint that picture in crimson colours so that our revulsion is intensified before we see it. "We will gain nothing by remaining here," said Arnold abruptly, as he turned from the tent, whence he was followed by his companion. And as the Englishmen departed they heard the Indian saying aloud, purposely to be overheard-- "The pale-face no' think that he see Pleasant Valley, but fiery totem call. Fiery totem must be obeyed." Thunder-maker grinned evilly to himself as he watched the departure of his visitors. Then he rose up, folded around him a robe of deerskin that was covered with many strange designs, and crept with the sly movements of a prowling wolf among the various teepees. Reaching the farther side of the camp, he stopped in front of one of the tents that stood a little way apart from the others. Gently he raised the flap and looked in. An Indian of gigantic size was sitting by himself, adjusting his leggings and moccasins. He looked up to observe his visitor, and it was noticeable that as he did so Thunder-maker winced as though he were in pain. There were few who could look upon that man's face without wincing. In early scalping-days it had been slashed on one side with a scalping-knife in such a way that the left eye was totally destroyed, and a livid scar ran from the eyebrow to the neck--drawing the flesh into creases that robbed that part of the face of any semblance to humanity. The other side was whole, but the entire expression was so horrible that even familiarity did little to prevent repulsion in the senses of the beholder. "Thunder-maker is welcome to the tent of Red Fox," the Indian remarked, returning again to the completion of his wardrobe. "Thunder-maker would speak wise words with his brother," said the Medicine Man, entering, but not deigning to sit in the tent of that "brother." He seldom paid that honour to any teepee except his own and that of the chief. "It is well," returned the other man. "Red Fox will gladly hear the wise words the Thunder-maker will speak." The Medicine Man did not waste any time in needless palaver. The hours were precious to him, and even an Indian can cut time when his business is pressing. "Red Fox is great warrior; Red Fox have eyes like father of his name," he said. "There is good work for Red Fox to do." The listener had broken the cord of a moccasin, and was apparently concentrating all his attention on knotting the break. But his attention was mainly given to Thunder-maker all the same, and the latter knew it, so he continued-- "Thunder-maker have rich robe of ermine--better robe than Mighty Hand wear. Many dollars as leaves in tree not buy the robe of Thunder-maker. Yet--Red Fox may wear it." "Huh! Red Fox poor. He not have dollars to buy new traps for hunting." That was what the Indian said. He pretended that he thought the Medicine Man had come to trade. But he knew differently, and waited for the visitor to "show his hand." Whatever bargain was to be proposed, he knew that his share would not be increased by any show of eagerness to possess the robe that even chiefs had coveted in vain. Thunder-maker darted a keen glance at the other man as he said mockingly-- "The dollars of Red Fox stay in pouch, yet ermine robe lie on his shoulders--if he do what Thunder-maker say." Still Red Fox made no sign to show interest, and the other went on-- "At Crane Creek two white papooses live in tent. Red Fox will find them--he will go as a friend, and he will say, gentle as the voice of a mother pigeon: 'White boys would find friends who are far away? Then Red Fox will lead them.' And Red Fox will take them by dark path through the forest--by long path that twine like path of serpent. Then, when sun sleep, Red Fox will creep away--soft--soft, that pale-faces hear not. And when sun waken--Red Fox will be back at camp of Mighty Hand. I have spoken." Red Fox had fastened the moccasin by now, though he still sat with body bent while he intently listened to the Medicine Man's proposal to cause the two boys to be lost in the forest. And as the story was ended he slowly raised his head to look into Thunder-maker's face. What he saw there evidently satisfied him, for his ghastly face moved with a sort of smile that indicated satisfaction. "Then the--the fiery totem--foolish?" he questioned shyly, and the other Indian rejoined solemnly-- "The totem of the Dacotahs wise--very wise. It speak to Thunder-maker by night, and tell him this." Red Fox nodded. But it was not the nod of agreement with the falsehood so much as at recognition of the lie. "Thunder-maker great medicine," he said, with a slight sneer. "But Red Fox hear much. He hear water-spirits say to Mighty Hand that they have papooses. Water-spirits have not young. So these are pale-faces." Thunder-maker's face flushed angrily. "Does the Red Fox insult the sacred totem of the Dacotahs?" he demanded, as he drew himself up as though it had been he to whom the insult was offered. But the Indian also raised himself, and did so with the conscious knowledge that his gigantic body and bare limbs, which glistened like muscles of copper, were more than protection against any physical attack that the Medicine Man might offer. And his upper lip curled with a sneer as he stared straight into the eyes of the totem's champion. "Red Fox is not fool. He live long among white men, and he know that totem cannot speak--that totem a lie. But Red Fox will do this for his brother Thunder-maker. Thunder-maker would have revenge against the pale-faces in yonder teepee, for they face Medicine Man--bravely when he would have had Dacotahs slay them. This will Red Fox do, for he would gladly wear the ermine robe." "The papooses will never again see their fathers?" interrupted the Medicine Man eagerly. He forgot etiquette and totem alike in the excitement of knowing that the success of one part of his evil plans was practically assured. Red Fox was known to be a man of little conscience though great determination, and it was only his enormous strength of arm that allowed him to keep a place within the clan of the really kindly Dacotahs. "The Red Fox will blind the trail, that the white boys never follow? For Mighty Hand weak--like woman. He listen to soft words, and it may be that he will not light fire in Pleasant Valley. The robe must return to tent of Thunder-maker if boys find their fathers." "Let Thunder-maker take his way in peace. By another sun Red Fox will have found the young pale-faces; by two suns he will return to the camp of Mighty Hand--alone. I have spoken." CHAPTER XIV THE BATTLE OF WITS! It was only to be expected that Bob was not fit for much exertion after his experience with the muskeg, and it was Skipper Mackintosh's decision on returning to camp that the boy should proceed no farther that night. "But that will be a longer time before we get on the track of our fathers," protested Arnold, to whom the thought of inactivity for even twelve hours was irksome. "Better to bide quiet for a night at present than be laid up for days later on," was the Scotsman's response. "But you can set your mind easy-like. The time will no' be lost, for Haggis and me will set oot on a wee scouting expedition to the place where we found yon hanky. We'll be back by midnight." This plan was a relief to the boys' minds, for though it entailed a certain delay in the forward journey, the result of the scouting might curtail matters in the long-run. Mackintosh's report might enable them to make more definite plans than were possible at present. So, after a few preparations for the journey, the two men set off, accompanied by the faithful Bannock, early in the afternoon. "Don't you go and disappear like the others did!" laughed Holden, to which the "ceevilised" Haggis replied-- "Fox lose trail in bush easier than me!" It was a hot afternoon, so, when the boys had watched their friends disappear in the forest, Bob decided that it would be a good opportunity to wash the mud and slime from his clothes, as they would soon dry in the sun. No sooner said than done. The soiled garments were stripped (for of course the lads were reduced to one suit apiece) and the stream utilised as a washing-tub, after which Bob was obliged to sit in his suit of Nature while the clothes of Art were drying upon handy branches. As we said, the day was hot, and, as the grassy slope upon which the boys sat formed the margin of a clear pool where the stream widened, it was not to be expected that the period of idle ease would be prolonged. "Ah!" Bob suddenly exclaimed, as he sat up and regarded the water with covetous eyes, "the temptation is too much for me. I'm going to have a dip." "It certainly looks more tempting than your plunge into mud. A pleasant change, I should say," remarked Alf chaffingly. Then he added merrily: "But are you sure that you can stand it? It won't do to exert yourself too much yet. Old Mackintosh expects you to rest." "That's all right. I shan't muck about very much. I can take it easy. As a matter of fact, I am sure that a plunge will buck me up." "All serene," returned the younger boy, rising to prepare himself for a bathe. "So long as you don't think that it will do you any harm, I'm ready." A short run, and then Bob had entered the water in the clean-cut style of a practised diver. "It's glorious!" he called to his chum, who was almost ready to follow his leader. "I should think that it is quite eight feet in the middle, so you can plunge safely." "Right. Clear out of the way!" was the response, and in a second more Holden in his turn cleft the sparkling water. Those of our readers who are only familiar with the cheerless sea or even the placid river-bathing of England can have no idea of the charm that is found in emulating the fishes in the cool depths of a Western forest stream. Imagine the great trunks of cedar and pine and the gnarled giants of maples spreading their great arms--shutting off the distance with a surrounding barrier of dense colour; imagine the red willows dipping their heads in the margin of the bowl, gaily coloured birds skimming the surface in pursuit of insects, and gaudy butterflies sometimes touching your cheek, like a piece of down borne upon the mellow air. At such a time, in such a place, you feel yourself to be but a tiny little speck in the centre of the world of Nature. You feel as free as a savage. If you are not happy, it must be that you are a weakling boy who lacks the real boy's love for out-of-door freedom. These were some of the sensations that our young heroes experienced as they splashed about in the crystal pool. Probably they did not realise the details as I have described them; but that was the effect, all the same. It is the glorious sense of freedom that everybody feels if they have the "backwoods spirit." It cannot be properly described, but I can smell the atmosphere of it all, even though I am now sitting in an English room in an English county. And so intent were the boys on the enjoyment of the moment that they did not observe the figure of an Indian who crept out of the bush near by while they were experimenting in various positions for swimming. The Indian paused for a few moments. Then, seeing the attention of the lads was devoted to their amusement, he crept to the tent like a snake in the long grass. This he examined thoroughly, and he gave a grunt of satisfaction as he discovered the pack-horse picketed near by. After this, seeing no necessity for further secrecy of movement, he boldly walked to the edge of the pool where the boys were bathing, and sat down quietly to watch their play. It was Alf who was the first to discover the stranger. "I say! There's an Indian!" he exclaimed. "Where?" questioned Bob, who had swum a little way out of sight beyond a curve in the creek. "Over there--beside our clothes. But, I say, what a horrible face he has got! He looks as if a lion had started to chew him and changed his mind! He's the ugliest-looking freak I ever saw." Taking for granted that the Indian would not understand the uncomplimentary remarks, Holden swam towards the side of the pool, being quickly followed by his chum. But the Indian had understood. He was as familiar with colloquial English as he was with his own tongue. Nevertheless, he did not alter the grin on his face, though there was something very different from a grin at his heart--a something which (if the rash speaker had only known it) had suddenly determined him to carry out his contract in quite a different manner from that which had been arranged with Thunder-maker. An Indian is a queer creature at the best. He loves as quickly and impulsively as he hates, while devotion may be turned into detestation as rapidly as a vessel of clear water is discoloured by a drop of ink. Red Fox's eyes flashed fire towards the imprudent lad, though his lips still smiled, and anyone who was a judge of Indian character would have understood from that look that it would be an ill moment for Alf if ever it was within the power of the redskin to repay the insulting expressions. By this time both lads had reached the shore, whereupon Bob addressed the stranger while the pair proceeded to dress--Arnold's clothes being dry by this time. "Well, where have you come from?" the boy questioned. "Trail long. Red Fox come over prairie--bush--far--far----" "Oh, you understand English?" exclaimed Alf, at the same time hoping that the Indian had not heard enough, or understood English well enough, to comprehend the recent criticisms as to his personal appearance. The redskin nodded, though he craftily pretended that his knowledge of the foreign tongue was but scanty. "Red Fox know little--very little. He speak--he no' understand all that ears tell him." "And a jolly good job, too," commented Alf to his friend. "He's a hideous monster, but I shouldn't like to hurt his feelings by letting him know my opinion." "I don't think that I would express it too freely, if I were you," said Bob, who had quickly resumed his everyday attire. "You never can tell how much fellows like that understand. I remember father telling me that Indians won't always admit that they know English well. They think that they can drive better bargains by pretending ignorance." Then the boy turned to the native, and the fact that the man was alone and seemed to have no other possessions than his gun, hunting-knife, and pipe, raised doubts in the lad's mind as to the truth of the statement concerning the long journey. He knew and had heard sufficient about Indians to be aware that they seldom travelled any distance without their family and other belongings. "You said that you had come a long trail?" he said, regarding the Indian with a sharp scrutiny. Red Fox bowed assent, taking out his pipe to fill it with kini-ka-nik (tobacco and red willow bark mixed) as he spoke. "Red Fox come far--with feet of deer. He have story for ear of pale-face brothers." The boys started at the remark, while Alf repeated-- "A story?" "From the white men to their papooses." This was news indeed; but the unexpected announcement disarmed suspicion for the moment. "From our fathers?" said Bob eagerly. "Where are they? What has kept them from returning to camp?" "The white men rest," replied the Indian. "The trail far. They find Red Fox, and they say: 'Go, find our papooses and lead them by straight trail to our tent.'" "But they had no tent with them!" exclaimed Alf, at once touching the weak point in the falsehood. "Perhaps they are with other Indians?" Red Fox had not been instructed by Thunder-maker in the details of the story that he was to tell in order to gain his ends. It had not occurred to him to invent more than that he had been sent to bring the lads. That had seemed sufficient to attain his aims, though he realised that it would not do to say that the white men were captives. That might frighten the boys and prevent their following his guidance. The poor servant had not calculated upon the probing questions that would have been naturally anticipated by an English mind and prepared for. But he saw the blunder, and hastened to amend the error as best he might. "White men with Indians--with friends. Red men good to pale-faces--give them food and teepees and robes to rest on. So white men wish papooses to follow where Red Fox walk." Holden turned aside to his chum. "I'll be hanged if I'll follow the lead of a murderous-looking villain like that unless he can show very good reasons why I should. His face is like a nightmare." "I can't say I like the look of him myself," returned Bob. "He hasn't got the expression of a fellow you could trust. Besides, don't you think that if our fathers were well and had sent a native messenger to us--don't you think that they would have sent some sort of written message as well?" "It would have been easy enough. Father always carries his notebook and pencil with him----" "So he could have easily explained matters. I don't think he would have trusted an Indian to be understood. It isn't as if we knew anything of the lingo." While the boys were thus discussing the situation in low tones, they did not heed how Red Fox was observing them sharply from the corners of his eyes. He was trying to discover how far his deception had succeeded, though he endeavoured to hide his anxious observation by the action of lighting his redstone pipe. And it must be confessed that his keen scrutiny of the lads' faces did not reassure him. He could see suspicion plainly marked in both, while his heart burned with fire of anger, though resentment was mainly directed to the younger lad, whose inadvertent remarks had cut so deeply into the savage pride. But the redskin's mental observations were suddenly cut short by Bob, who wheeled upon him with a sudden inspiration. "Look here," he said quickly, though his voice was pleasant and almost reassuring, "it is very good of you to travel so far to bring us this news. We are glad to see you, and will try to give you a good present. But we will settle our business first. So, give me the letter, and then we will go to the tent and eat." "Letter?" The Indian repeated the single word in a puzzled tone. "Yes; the one my father gave you," said Bob. So mystified was Red Fox by the intelligence that apparently he had not only been expected by the boys but that he had been looked for as the bearer of a letter from the fathers to their sons, that he was momentarily startled out of his caution in pretending an only slight acquaintance with the English language. He stared open-eyed at the question, and Bob continued evenly-- "Of course my father would send a letter if he wanted us. He would do that to prove that his messenger was one whom we could trust. Did he give you one?" Red Fox was quite taken off his guard by the white boy's guile, but he strove to cover his confusion by further lying. "Yes--the white man send paper by hand of Red Fox, but--but Red Fox foolish; he--lose letter--on trail----" "But you are _sure_ you had one? It would be written--in red--with a red pencil--a red paint-stick." "My white brother speaks true," said the Indian. "Of course he does!" chimed in Alf, to whom his chum's ruse was now clear. "And if that letter was written in red and sent to us, we would know where it came from, and would follow the messenger at once." The Indian flashed a quick glance of hatred towards the last speaker, but instantly lowered his eyelids again, as he returned with more calmness than before-- "It is well. The pale-face did paint letter with red. But--Red Fox foolish Indian. He lose letter on trail. He seek much--much--but no' find." The game of bluff had succeeded. Now the boys knew for certain that the man was lying--that he had not been commissioned by either of their parents, and both laughed derisively. "Trapped!" exclaimed Holden triumphantly. "You've got him tight as a rabbit in a gin, Bob." How that sneering laughter scorched the redman's pride! It touched him at the quick, and caused him to writhe inwardly, until his fingers twitched beneath the folds of his blanket with eagerness to tear out the tongue that thus jeered at him. Yet the lads did not dream how near they were to tragedy as they laughed at the little comedy, with the chief actor sitting huddled at their feet. They did not notice how the Indian's eyes first measured the distance from the overhanging bank to the surface of the water, and then as quietly calculated the distance between himself and the lads. "Yes, you were indeed foolish," resumed Arnold, "for you have shown us that your words were lies. My father never wrote such a letter, I am sure, for a red pencil is not a thing that he possesses. And if he were well enough to write, he would be well enough to come himself, instead of sending such a foolish Indian and a bad liar." "At the same time," whispered Alf, "the chap must know something, or he wouldn't be here at all. We must find out that in some way or other." "True," Bob said. But there was no time allowed for considering what means to adopt to obtain further information, for just at that moment Red Fox uttered a wild cry, and sprang from the ground with the leap of a deer. Next instant Bob was gripped as in a vice and flung into the centre of the pool; then, with a snarl like that of a wild cat, the Indian sprang for Alf's throat. CHAPTER XV OFF! The Indian is nothing if he is not unexpected in all his actions. Surprise attacks were ever his weapons of warfare. From among the long grass of an apparently innocent meadow he would suddenly rise up with his followers to attack the caravan that was quietly pursuing its way along the prairie in absolute ignorance of the nearness of enemies. In the dead hour of night the war-whoop would suddenly ring through the forest, and the settlers would be scalped and dead before the last echo had time to fade away. So it was on this occasion. Utterly unsuspicious of attack, both boys were taken at a disadvantage. Bob was floundering in the water before he had time to realise the assault, while Alf was equally unprepared as the Indian sprang towards him. The claw-like fingers missed their intended grip upon the boy's throat, but the arms managed to grapple the lad in a tight embrace. Alf struggled well, but he was no match for the muscles of the giant Dacotah. "I'm coming! I'll be with you in a second!" called Bob from the water, striking out strongly for the shore as soon as he had recovered breath. The Indian looked hastily around him without releasing the bearlike hug. He saw the swimmer quickly approaching, and he gave a cry of fury as he thought that he would be baulked of his purpose of revenge, for he rightly thought that he would stand a poor chance against two active lads. He might succeed in injuring the one, but there was little chance of his escaping. Suddenly he released Alf. Feeling himself free for the moment, the boy jumped back in readiness for another attack. But once again the unexpected had him at a vantage. The boy anticipated no other attack now but that of fists or a knife at the utmost. These were the only contingencies that his inexperience could imagine. But before he had time to conjecture other possibilities, Red Fox had slipped off his blanket, flung it around the lad just as the ancient gladiator was wont to entangle his opponent in the deadly net, and before Arnold had reached the river bank the Indian had wound the blanket tightly round his captive, picked him up in his arms, and commenced running towards the tent. Bob gave a cry of dismay and rushed on in pursuit. But the redskin had the start, and ran straight towards the picketed horse, still carrying the lad, who was half stifled by the thick cloak, and practically helpless, owing to the tightness with which the bond was twined. It would have been an easy matter then for Red Fox to have killed his captive and yet escape the other boy. But that was not his purpose. In his thirst to revenge the insult of Alf's words, he had quite forgotten Thunder-maker's commission and the coveted ermine robe. These were nothing to him now. He had listened to sneers with patience. The time had now come to repay the taunts with interest. He ran towards the pack-horse. A slash with his hunting-knife severed the rope within two or three feet of the halter. Alf was then thrown roughly across the animal's back, while the Indian was himself astride an instant afterwards. A vicious dig of the heels, and the horse sprang forward. And the last that Bob saw as he reached the tent was an ugly face grinning at him and an arm waving tauntingly as horse, rider, and burden disappeared into the woods. Arnold was aghast! He rushed into the tent and snatched up his repeating rifle, which was already loaded; by the time he emerged again he could only hear the distant sound of the fugitive rider pressing the branches through the bush track. He ran forwards at top speed, but he knew well that unless some accident befell the horse he stood a poor chance of being able to aid his chum. The Indian would know the bush as well as his namesake fox. He would not be likely to take any risk that would imperil his safety or blight any evil purpose that he might harbour. The boy followed the track, which was well marked. It was the same course that had been taken by Mackintosh and Haggis earlier in the day. For a time it led through an avenue of trees. Then it branched off to the left, where the ground was hard-packed and dry, having been stripped of vegetation by a bush fire earlier in the year. Here the tracks were less easy to follow, for a steady breeze was blowing, and the imprints of the hoofs were covered almost as quickly as they were made. It was heart-breaking to have to slacken speed at such a time, when every second might mean disaster to his chum. But what else could he do? And when ultimately the tracks led him to the border of a vast marshland, the lad was obliged to halt in what was almost despair. "What is to be done now?" he exclaimed to himself. "Poor old Alf! What a fool I was not to be prepared for such a rascal, when once my suspicions were so roused!" But it was no use sitting down in hopelessness. Such weakness would have nothing to gain and everything to lose. So Bob pulled himself together, as the apt saying has it, and racked his brains to meet the occasion. Not a sound could he now hear to indicate which way the fugitive had taken. Moreover, the tracks completely disappeared from sight when the boy had taken a few paces into the shallow water and spongy moss. Plainly the only course was to mark a starting-point with a stake, and then follow round the margin of the swamp until he discovered the spot where the rider had crossed. It was a tedious process, but apparently there was no option. So he resumed the weary tour with such hope as he could summon. Arnold found the tracks after more than two hours' patient searching, as the dusk was beginning to creep over the forest. The footprints were more distinct now than they had been at the other side of the marsh, so the boy was able to make some rapid progress. But, as the darkness fell the work became more difficult. He had to stoop low in order to see the tracks at all, and ultimately he could only follow them on hands and knees--feeling the footprints with his fingers, just as a blind man feels the letters in his book. He was becoming thoroughly exhausted. Still he plodded on with dogged perseverance. His knees were grazed and his back was aching, especially where the rifle was strapped; and at times he even stumbled and fell in a heap, from which each time he found it more difficult to rise than on the former occasion. It was indeed a trial that would have taxed the strength and nerves of the strongest. When we remember what the boy had already undergone that day, we have reason to wonder that he endured so long. Still he persevered. Inch by inch he felt his path in the pitch darkness, crawling through the bush with only hooting owls and whining wolves for company, until at last, worn out and dizzy, his muscles gave way, and he floundered unconscious upon the earth. CHAPTER XVI A NIGHT'S TERROR When Bob reopened his eyes, it was to awake suddenly with the horrible feeling that he was being watched by some hidden foe. He started, and as he did so he was conscious of the sound of many pattering feet--soft, muffled sounds, yet loud enough for him to hear. He even thought, as he turned over and flung out his arm, that his hand had touched something that was warm and furry. He sat up and gripped his rifle as he stared around him. In the semi-darkness of the rising moon he could see dark figures moving restlessly all around him, while a score or more of eyes kept twinkling like stars to indicate how he was being watched. Just then a wild, long-drawn wail rent the night air beside him. The boy's blood seemed to run cold at the sound, for he knew that he was surrounded by a horde of timber wolves who had thought him dead, and come too soon. Too soon? Yes. But how long would their moment be delayed? Bob staggered to his feet and held his rifle in readiness. But the ghouls of the night kept at some distance, though he could still see them stirring here and there, as if they were discussing plans among themselves. The boy waited--it seemed hours--each moment expecting a dash from the black spectres. Still they hung back, until Bob actually began to long for the attack to begin, that the strain of waiting might be broken. Then something moved behind him. He wheeled about and swung his rifle like a club, at random. The butt met a soft substance, and a wild howl followed, as a wolf that had been creeping upon him from the rear now sprang back among his lurking comrades. Instantly the forest rang with wails and howls and snarling, as the wolves sprang upon their wounded comrade (as is the way of many wild animals) and tore him to pieces. Yet Arnold dared not leave the spot. If he ran, the wolves would soon be upon him, for a fleeing prey is more closely pressed than one that stands at bay. Moreover, he was in the centre of a clearing. If he were to enter the woods, there would be many quarters from which he would be open to attack and unable to defend himself freely. The night wore on, and the moon crept up into the arc of the sky. His enemies could be plainly seen now, though the shadows prevented him from determining how great was their number. Probably the uncertain light deceived him and multiplied the actual score. One thing--they were in sufficient numbers to be a formidable danger, and it would need sharp watching to ward off the attack effectively. So long as there was a remnant of their comrade's flesh to fight and snarl over, Bob was left in peace. But presently the strife became less and the noise sank, and by such signs he knew that he had again become the object of their unwelcome attentions. He stood his guard with every nerve strained to catch the first sight and sound of danger. Then he saw two large forms creeping towards him from the front. They came slowly, creeping low like dogs stalking game in the grass. Bob waited until they drew near. He was reluctant to exhaust a cartridge unless it was an absolute necessity. His wish was to exercise the force of his muscle on these as he had done with their predecessor. But, as the wolves came within a few yards, they stopped and eyed him cautiously, and in this position the furred enemies and the boy stood watching each other, just as wrestlers watch each other's eyes to discover the vantage moment for a deadly grip. The time passed, yet neither side moved. Then, to Bob's dismay, he discovered that the whole mass of wolves had gathered together, and were slowly creeping upon him in the wake of these two leaders. And with the knowledge, the boy seemed to go mad for the time. He could delay the fight no longer. His blood rushed hot to his head. He fired one shot at the foremost wolves. Then he gripped his weapon by the muzzle and sprang straight for the pack. "Come on, you brutes!" he yelled, as he laid about him right and left. "If it's got to be a fight, the sooner we begin, the sooner it'll be over!" Wild with passion, the boy fought with the false strength that is always the accompaniment of delirium. As the blows told, the wolves howled and shrieked and leapt for him with a rage that was equally frantic to his. Fortunately they kept to one side--that was the side from which the moon shone. They could see him plainer thus. Otherwise the light would be in their eyes, and he but a black figure that they could not understand. How he fought that night! Strange to say, all fatigue had left the lad's body. He had the endurance of three normal boys--at least it seemed thus, though we never know our real strength, muscular or mental, until we are in the straits of desperation. More than once he received a nasty little snap in the arm. But these were unnoticed in the heat of the combat. His eyes were "seeing red," as the Westerners say. He had no nerves to feel with; only muscles to fight with. And all the time the impromptu club was in action--sometimes swinging like a flail, at other times being gripped for a no less effective thrust with the butt. But gradually the attack became perceptibly easier, as the wolves were beaten back or slain by the ceaseless swing of the rifle. Bob recognised the weakening of the assault, and the spirit of the conqueror fired his blood to renewed energy. Baulked of his prey, a great timber dog sprang forward with determination to vindicate the honour of his kind. Crash went the weapon, a single howl escaped from the savage creature, then he fell back, quivering and lifeless, upon the ground. That was the end of the conflict. Their last leader slain, the others turned tail and fled. Arnold stood firm on the defensive. His hair was soaked in sweat, his clothes were torn in many places, and he could feel the sharp sting of a wound in his shoulder. It was some time before he could believe that the fight was indeed over. The change from storm to calm had been sudden; and it was only when he understood that strength was no longer needed that he began to feel the evidences of fatigue. His limbs began to tremble with the reaction as the unnatural strength that had buoyed him so well now commenced to ebb. He looked around him. The signs of his conquest were visible in the moonlight as dark lumps lying here and there. Then his keen eyes began to haze and his head to swim. And for the second time that night he sank to the ground in a state of unconscious fatigue. It was bright daylight when Bob regained his normal faculties. The morning had considerably advanced while he had lain oblivious to the passage of time. The boy sat up. He was stiff and sore. But he was no puny schoolboy. He had a sturdy frame that healthy athletics had trained to meet fatigue without injury, and Nature's needed rest had rapidly restored normal strength, though, as we said, his muscles were not free from certain little aches to remind him of late events. At first his thought was that the previous adventure had been nothing more than a bad dream. But as his eyes scanned the surroundings, and he saw no fewer than seven carcases of timber wolves lying unpleasantly close to him, he was quickly convinced that there had been no ill vision but terrible reality. Next he called to mind the quest on which he had started from the camp. That thought was sufficient to banish the last sensation of drowsiness, and he immediately rose up and examined his rifle, to see if it had suffered from the adventure. The weapon had stood the test well. Beyond a few dents on the butt (which would be so many trophies of the combat) it was otherwise uninjured. The scratches on his own flesh were not serious, though they nipped a little at first movement. So, altogether, Bob was satisfied that he had come through the ordeal in a manner that demanded thankfulness to a protecting Providence. The next move was towards the bush, where the Saskatoon berries were hanging in inviting clusters like myriad bunches of purple grapes in miniature. These, together with a draught from an adjacent spring, had to suffice for breakfast. Then he turned once more to take up the tracks that he had been forced to forego on the previous night. It was not long before the boy rediscovered the trail, and with a thousand misgivings for the unavoidable delay in going to his chum's assistance he started on the track at a rapid pace. It was a winding path that he followed; but in order to ride swiftly Red Fox had been obliged to keep more or less to the open way through the woods, relying upon speed more than strategy to outreach pursuit. He had a plan in his mind that he meant to carry out when at a safe distance. After that was accomplished, he did not care how soon the searchers might reach the spot. He would be far away. And the boy--well, they would be welcome to find him then. Doggedly determined to find his chum at all costs, Bob pressed on, seldom taking his eyes from the ground, where the imprints showed how heavy hoofs had thrashed the trail. What had happened to his chum? Had the savage merely stolen him for some wild purpose--perhaps to await a ransom? Or could the worst have happened, and Alf be even now---- No, no. Bob could not bear that thought, and he put it from him, struggling manfully to retain hope as well as strength. And then suddenly--when it was about noon--he came upon the Scotsman's pack-horse quietly grazing beneath the trees, and at a little distance Alf sitting on the ground with Red Fox prostrate, resting his head on the lad's lap. CHAPTER XVII THE FATE OF RED FOX It may seem a little surprising that Alf did not make a better resistance when he found himself being carried away on horseback. It is no easy matter for even an Indian to carry a person lying in front of him on a bare-backed broncho when the person is helpless and still. It is a yet less easy matter--if not an impossibility--to do the same thing with a struggling captive. Of course we know that Holden was at a disadvantage. He was powerless to use his arms, which were held close to his sides by the wrappings, and it was with difficulty that he breathed. But his legs were comparatively free, and it would not have required much energy to make such resistance as would have considerably hampered Red Fox in his purpose. The reason for the lad's passive demeanour is not difficult to understand. Alf was no fool. Indeed, he possessed a more than usual degree of common sense, together with a gift for rapid reasoning. He quickly decided that, for the time being at least, he was at the Indian's mercy. His instinct told him that, for some unknown reason, he must have incurred the native's wrath; and, even though he might have struggled with a measure of success, the Indian was both powerful and passionate enough to murder him then and there. No person, even in the direst straits, is anxious to incur a violent death. Holden was no exception to that rule, so he deemed it best to make pretence of fainting, on the chance that time might release him from his plight. It would only be a needless exhaustion to struggle now, when he would be easily overpowered. Moreover, a show of resistance might mean the sudden plunge of a hunting-knife. So he lay still, and the Indian laughed aloud, believing the lad to be unconscious through fright. "Huh! White dog laugh at Red Fox? He say Red Fox face hideous?" the redskin exclaimed jeeringly, as he pressed the horse to the race. "'Tis well. Red Fox face bad--very bad; but white boy worse when Indian hand have used knife!" Then the boy understood the mystery. His careless words _had_ been understood, as Bob had suggested. And his fate was to be vengeance of a like mutilation of his own fair cheeks! Not if he knew it! It was little wonder if the lad felt his blood run cold as he listened to the Indian's vaunt, and it is little wonder that his head swam until he was near in reality to the very faintness that he had assumed. But real pluck is never subdued for long. The very threat was enough to rouse a strong determination to thwart the brutal intention, and his mental decision was that which we have just recorded in the third person: "Not if I know it!" Red Fox had quite forgotten about the ermine robe. That was quite Indian-like. The object of the moment was all that he cared about. To gain that aim he would have sacrificed a thousand robes of costliest fur--nay, even life itself, if he could have the satisfaction of vengeance first. Guiding the broncho by the swaying of his body and the occasional use of a halter-rope, the redskin did not permit the animal to slacken speed for an instant. Once, owing to the stillness of his burden, he drew aside a portion of the blanket to look at the boy's face. He saw that the eyes were closed, and a fear came into his heart that perhaps he was to be robbed of his pleasure after all. But the lips trembled, and, on bending down the Indian could hear the sound of breathing. "Huh!" he laughed, as he replaced the cloth. "That good! Pale-face--he sleep, but he wake soon when Red Fox make sign of totem. Then white boy laugh not again at Indian. Red Fox, he laugh at hideous white boy." A peal of harsh, savage laughter rang through the woods at this delicious humour, and startled the horse so that it strained harder in the gallop. Through the woods, the burnt clearing, across the marsh where Bob had tracked so steadily, the broncho passed in the mad race. It was rough riding for the boy as he lay on his back--half across the Indian's knee, with his head partly free of the blanket; but he set his teeth, determined to bear the ordeal without a whimper, that he might be more ready for the later critical moment. Then something (he never knew what) startled the horse. It sprang sideways from the path right into the bush, where a heavy branch caught Red Fox right in the forehead. One cry the Indian gave. Next moment both the riders were thrown violently to the ground, while the broncho went off wildly and riderless. The folds of the blanket considerably lessened the shock of Alf's fall, and as soon as he had collected his rudely scattered senses he did not take long to emerge from his chrysalis-like state. He sprang to his feet, prepared to be instantly on the defensive. To his surprise he was unaccosted, and on turning he saw the Indian lying face downwards upon the ground, while a red stream was making a ghastly pool around his head. Holden was by his enemy's side in an instant. He knelt down and turned the man on his back. The movement was answered by a groan, but apparently the Dacotah was unconscious, for he did not attempt to move, and his eyes were closed. A spring was close at hand. Alf tore off the scarf that he wore round his throat in bushman fashion, soaked it in the water, and mopped the redman's brow. Still there was no sign of returning senses, and the lad was now grievously distressed at his enemy's disaster. He would have been rejoiced to have vanquished the man, had the adventure terminated in an unavoidable encounter. But now that Red Fox was in distress, all hard feelings and resentment had left the lad's heart. He was all sympathy for misfortune. That is the way of the truly brave. Seeing that recovery was tardy, Alf tore the scarf in two pieces. With one strip he bound the ugly wound that gaped in the Indian's forehead; with the other he resumed his attentions by moistening his lips and temples. And by and by the redman opened his eyes. He looked up vacantly before him, not seeming to understand what had taken place. "That's good!" remarked Alf cheerfully. "You feel better now, don't you?" Red Fox looked straight into the boy's face, but without appearing to recognise him. Then he muttered a few words in Indian and closed his eyes again. For some time he lay with his head resting against his nurse, while Alf's thoughts began to wander to his absent father and the chum whom he had left in such strange fashion. Then he looked down again, and saw that the Indian was regarding him with eyes wide open--looking at him in a peculiar wondering fashion, as if he saw for the first time a being of some strange creation. Holden smiled encouragingly as he touched the man's brow with the damp cloth. "How does the head feel now?" he asked. "Does the cut pain you much?" Red Fox did not answer immediately, but continued to stare at the lad with the same open-eyed wonder. "Pale-face kind," he said at length, in quiet tones. "He touch Red Fox like wing of a dove. Why is the white boy so good?" "Nonsense," returned Alf. "It's nothing at all. You don't think that Englishmen would leave a fellow to bleed to death, do you?" "No--English boy good," said the redskin. Then he added, with a sort of wistfulness: "But Indian would leave pale-face----" "Rot!" was the sharp interruption. "If I had been hurt as you have been, you would do just the same. Now lie quiet for a while. You'll feel better soon, and then you can go back to your people." The Indian shook his head slowly. "Red Fox understand. Red Fox know English tongue good. But--he no' go back to people. He go--Manito--Happy Hunting-ground--soon." Alf was silent. He had never been in the presence of death, and never before in the presence of the dying. The thought awed him. "Yes--white papoose good," the redskin went on falteringly. "He kind to hand--that would have cut face for revenge. Ugh! Red Fox bad Indian, but--he sorry--now. Can brave white boy forgive poor Indian?" "Of course," returned Alf huskily. "You did not understand. English people speak words that they do not mean to hurt. It is I who should ask forgiveness for what I said about you. I, too, am sorry." "Then--white and red are--brothers. They bury the hatchet and--my white brother will stay with Red Fox while he go Happy Hunting-ground?" "Yes, yes," the boy assented readily. "I won't leave you. Don't you be afraid of that." "It is well, for Red Fox would speak before he go. He would speak true words to the pale-face. He spoke forked words like serpent tongue when he say that white man sent Red Fox to bring papooses to Indian camp. But he speak well now when he say white men with Mighty Hand now----" "_Safe?_" exclaimed Holden, as the information came to him with sudden joy and sudden dread. And the answer was at once a relief and double anxiety. "White men safe--now. But before another sun they--they die----" "Die?" was the exclamation of horror that greeted this announcement. "Yes," the Indian answered. "Dacotahs foolish. They say white men spirits that brought great trouble of water to Indian. They say that serpent totem call them to Pleasant Valley, and there they burn unless serpent appear to save them from fire." Here the Indian seemed to gather strength, for, without allowing the horrified boy time for utterance, he slightly raised himself and spoke with a flash of energy. "But white boy brave--white boy good. He kind to Red Fox who would have used cruel knife. But Red Fox no' papoose now. He know that white boy too brave to suffer; Red Fox too bad to live. And he would save the pale-face man-- "Go, my brother--go to the village of the Dacotahs and find Thunder-maker, the Medicine Man. Tell him that Red Fox die sorry that he made bad promise--that before he die he bid Thunder-maker speak true to foolish Dacotahs, and tell that white men no' spirits. Thunder-maker know. Thunder-maker can save white men, and----" The last word choked in the Indian's throat. He gave a gasp, fell back into Alf's arms, while his eyes looked up hungrily into the lad's face. "Be brave!" whispered the boy. "Be brave, Red Fox. Manito waits for you. I have forgiven you; He has forgiven you. All will be well." "Red Fox understand. He--happy----" were the last words that the poor misguided redman spoke, as he died gazing lovingly in his young friend's tear-clouded eyes. And it was thus that Bob found his chum--tenderly holding his red brother in his arms while the great journey was taken to Manito's happy land for the sorrowful. CHAPTER XVIII HOT ON THE TRAIL It was a happy meeting for the two chums after the exciting events that each had experienced. But it was rather sad, all the same; for even in their joy at finding how both had come through their trials with but little damage, they could not but regret the tragic end to poor Red Fox. "He was a high-tempered chap," said Arnold, when he had listened to his friend's story. "All the same, he must have had some good in him, since he was so completely changed at the end." "He seemed sorry enough," Alf rejoined. "And I must say that I feel wretchedly sorry about the whole thing. In a way it was my fault--making the remarks that I did. It never occurred to me that he would understand a word----" "As apparently he did. However, it can't be helped now. No doubt he had some evil purpose all along, or he wouldn't have come to us with that lie about being sent by your father and mine." "At the same time it has taught me a lesson," said Alf. "I guess I'll keep my opinions to myself next time, when they are so uncomplimentary." "Just as well," Bob agreed seriously. Then, turning to the dead Indian: "We've got to lay that poor redskin to rest. I wonder how we are to manage it!" "We can't dig----" "And we can't leave the body uncovered. The wolves would work mischief in no time." "How would it be if we were to lay him in that little hollow and cover him with big stones?" suggested Holden. "There are plenty of boulders about, and we could easily cover him with branches first, with stones on the top, to keep off the animals." "Right," Bob said; and together the lads gently raised the Indian's body and placed it in a little flower-scented hollow that, after all, was a fitting bed to receive the royal dead--quite as fitting as a dark pit. Then they cast maple branches over it, and carried boulders until a substantial mound was raised. And when all was completed as well as they were able to do it, instinctively both lads knelt beside the grave and prayed for a few minutes in silence. And the birds overhead sang their hymns to unite in the service--happy songs of gladness they sang, that seemed to convey to the boys' hearts the grand lesson of all funeral services--that death is not all sadness, for we know of the joy that follows. There was nothing more to be done now but to return to camp. Mackintosh had probably returned by this time, and he or Haggis would be able to guide to the Dacotah village on the urgent errand. So the broncho was caught. It had never wandered far after the recovery from its fright, which was probably due to the sudden appearance of a wolf in the scrub; and before long the chums were on the home trail, taking it in turn to ride the horse. Camp was reached about noon, and the boys were greeted at the tent by the Scot. "Where in the world have you two laddies been?" he immediately questioned. "Here's Haggis and me (to say no' a word about Bannock) returned at breakfast-time to find no' a single body at the camp. No' that time has been wasted, for we would have rested till dinner in any case. But it's foolish tiring yoursels like this when there's hard work before you. Pleasure is all very well----" "We've been on no pleasure trip," interrupted Alf, with a sad smile. "It has been anything but pleasure to Arnold and me." Thereupon Holden immediately launched into the story of his adventure and his chum's--a tale that was listened to with silent surprise both by Mackintosh and the half-breed, who had come out from the tent and stood attentively apart. "Well, well," the Scotsman commented at the close, "these are stirring times for you boys. There's no' a bit o' doot aboot that." Then he added seriously: "But I'm thinking we'll no' be able to wait here ower long. We must set oot at once. I ken something o' this Indian legend o' water-spirits, and I ken something o' Indian ways as well. There's evil things that will be doing if we canna stop them." "Did you find out anything while you were away with Haggis?" questioned Bob. "A bit. We found the tracks o' boots as well as moccasins, and we followed far enough to learn that they had gone to the Dacotah village. Then we came back to fetch you laddies. And I found four grand specimens for my collection! Real fine they are--such as will make my brither entomologists in Edinburgh open their eyes as big as Duddingston Loch when they see them. But there--I must be daft to be thinkin' o' moths at such a time. See, Haggis! Hurry on wi' the denner! We'll be striking the camp, for we must mak' straight for Pleasant Valley wi'oot delay." The speaker was all bustle and hurry now, and as the boys followed to render assistance, Bob asked-- "Pleasant Valley? But did you not say that they were at the Dacotah village?" "Of course I did. But I said _were_, not _are_. Did you no' attend to what your freend said--that Red Fox told him that Mighty Hand would leave for Pleasant Valley by another sun? That's the day." "Oh, I see. Then you mean to go there direct?" "Exactly. I ken something o' that Pleasant Valley. There's no' a verra pleasant look aboot it noo--a desert o' a place--all crags and sand, wi' just a pickle o' trees. It's a branch arm o' the Athabasca, and has been a torrent at some flood-time--the time that probably started the legend. But there's no' been ony stream flowing there in the recollection o' living man. But"--and the naturalist was predominant for the instant--"there are rare kinds o' hawk moth to be found in that same desert! You'll be seeing the value o' my phosphorus invention before another couple of nights are out." The boys laughed as the man's enthusiasm came suddenly uppermost, to the exclusion of (to their minds) a subject of more vital importance. "I do believe, Skipper, that you would sooner capture a rare beetle than be a Napoleon!" laughed Bob, to which the naturalist replied with scorn, as he indicated the lads to take the opposite end of the tent to roll-- "Beetle? What do you take me for--a coleopterist? Ma conscience, laddie, these insects are no interest to me. I wouldn't touch one with a pair o' tongs. It's moths and butterflies for Skipper Mackintosh--the dainty fluttering things that are like bits o' sunshine and beams o' the moonlight. Beetle? Speak not to me the name o' thae things o' darkness!" The tent was rolled and most of the other adjuncts to the camp were collected and deftly stowed on the back of the pack-horse with the neatness of expert campers. Then a hasty cold meal was taken while Mackintosh delivered his plans. "Now, boys, listen to me. I've got to be your captain in this journey, for you'll admit that I know best. Well, I've prepared food enough for three of us for two days. Each will carry his own. Then you've got a pair o' guns and a rifle between you. That's all that you'll need. I've got my own rifle and a revolver, in case o' accidents, though I'm hoping there'll be no need for the like o' that. Now we'll start off at once. There's no straight road from here for Pleasant Valley, but it's through bog and bush where the horse canna get wi' its burden. But it'll make four or five hours' difference to us other than by the round-about way. So Haggis'll take the pack-horse. Ay, he'll be better o' Bannock, too. Dogs are often useless creatures in an expedition that might mean creeping and hiding. Bannock's no' that bad-mannered; but he loves hunting, and a wolf might tempt him." "How far is it to this Pleasant Valley, as it is called?" asked Holden. "Aboot fifteen mile as we will travel, twenty at the least by the path Haggis'll follow. Oh, ay, Haggis'll be all right. There's no fear o' him not turning up aboot midnight. He's no' quite ceevilised yet, for he canna mind a' the words o' 'Auld Lang Syne' and 'Rule Britannia.' But he's ceevilised enough to be dependable. You wait at the Old Crossing till we turn up, Haggis!" "Right, boss," answered the half-breed, who seldom spoke more than two words at a time if he could avoid doing so, and he immediately rose up to make the final arrangements for his departure. "Then there's no more to be said," the Scotsman concluded. "It's start right away; keep a brave heart and a steady foot foremost, and we'll no' be that far from our friends come nightfall." Skipper Mackintosh had spoken nothing but the truth when he said that the direct trail was not one that a laden pack-horse could travel with ease, far less speed. The earlier portion of the march was easy enough. But after about an hour's walking through the bush the travellers reached a mile of bogland, across which a path could only be found by stepping cautiously from one grassy hummock to another. Even then the surface of the moss shivered for yards around, and the mud between the tufts oozed, as if its mouth were watering to swallow up the trio. "Feel for every step before you put your weight on it!" the naturalist instructed. He, of course, had taken the foremost position of leader. "If you want to disappear quicker than you did in yon muskeg, Master Bob, you can set the tip o' your big toe in yon mud, and you'll travel as quick as electricity." This part of the journey was certainly fatiguing, but the travellers kept up good hearts by pleasant banter and dogged determination. Reaching solid ground again, there was another easier spell of bush tramping. Then the trail began the ascent of a hill--a rocky, loose-bouldered slope that could only be traversed by a narrow path that somewhat resembled a strip of ribbon on the side of a house. Up they went, higher and higher each step, with the sharp slope to the left and a sheer declivity of loose stones at the right. Once Alf slipped, and the stone against which he tripped went leaping down the slope without stopping, until it was lost to sight some three hundred feet or more below. "Which of you two laddies is the one that's danced down the hillside?" questioned Mackintosh, without seeming to look round. His voice was pleasant, but he had taken a quick glance backwards all the same, and his face had paled a little. That was but his kindly way of cheering the boys and helping them to keep their nerves in hand. After a time the climbing ceased. It was now a level path, though it was none the less ready to trap the unwary, as it twisted round spurs and crossed little ravines. Then suddenly the travellers became aware of a sound like that of a small cataract. Mackintosh stopped, and as they listened they were able to tell that the sound was one that proceeded from the continuous rolling of innumerable stones that were being propelled down the hillside at no great distance. "What on earth is it?" questioned Alf, and at the same moment the man pointed towards a cloud of dust that had rounded a spur ahead of them--a cloud that was advancing rapidly in their direction to the accompaniment of loud bleating. "A herd of mountain sheep on the stampede," was the Skipper's immediate verdict. "Sheep? Coming towards us?" exclaimed Bob, and as the words were spoken there could be seen amid the dust a lot of woolly animals tearing frantically along the narrow path, throwing the stones from beneath their feet, while now and then one would stumble and roll down the slope as though it had been shot from a cannon. The noise was bewildering as it echoed among the barren hills and rocks. "See! There's a black animal chasing them!" exclaimed Holden excitedly. "A bear," said Mackintosh with grim calmness, as he rapidly slung his repeating rifle into readiness, an example that the boys quickly followed. "What's to be done?" Bob questioned. Frankly he had not the remotest notion how to meet such an emergency, for it was impossible to climb upwards, as it was equally impossible to descend, while to retire along the path would only be to postpone the threatening disaster for a few minutes. "Come! Follow me quickly; but be careful," Mackintosh suddenly ordered, he himself hastening forward as the boys followed. At this position the side of the hill bent to the left in the form of a horseshoe, so that it was quite easy from where the three adventurers stood to throw a stone across the intervening chasm to the path at the other side. Mackintosh led the way until he had reached the first spur; then he told the boys to wait. "Keep your hands steady and your guns ready, boys," he said. "I'm going along a bit to shoot down the leaders, if it may be; you empty your rifle and a round or two o' shot into yon bear. They'll all be opposite us on the other side in a few minutes. A steady nerve will do it; so, if ever you were cool in your born days, this is the day to be coolest." Without waiting for further remark from either side, the man then hastened some yards along the path and took up a position where he could kneel and steady his gun arm on a boulder, and hardly had the several positions been taken up when with roar and clatter and cloud the stampede rounded the opposite hill-spur. Crack! went the Scotsman's repeater. Crack! crack! And down tumbled three sheep, two of which rolled over the slope, leaving one to bar the way in the path. The others took the downward plunge. Crack! crack! crack! The rifle spoke rapidly and surely, as each bullet found a billet in a different animal. The race was checked, but not yet effectually, though the Skipper had now more time to pick off the leaders as they scrambled over their brethren--only to fall victims to the sharp-shooter and help to build up a barrier to impede the others. It was now a terrible sight of animals in desperation. There were a hundred mountain sheep at least, and they were scrambling in a dense mass, trying vainly to advance--fighting, struggling, tumbling down the slope in mad confusion. Now and then one would have a momentary success and almost cross the barrier; then the deadly rifle would again send its message--and the barrier would be raised by one victim more. Meantime, faithful to their charge, the boys kept their attention to the rear of the herd, but the dust was so dense that they could barely discern the hindmost animals. Then Bob suddenly exclaimed-- "Look out!" But Alf had been equally ready. A rifle and a gun darted up to each boy's shoulder at the same instant; a simultaneous explosion came like one from both weapons. Then followed a roar like a miniature thunder-peal, and a brown grizzly was seen to shoot down the declivity in pursuit of the poor sheep that he had driven to destruction in such numbers. "Bravo!" shouted Mackintosh, letting go his feelings in a wild whoop of exultation. "A grand shot, lads!" "I guess his day's work is done," returned Alf quietly, though he was none the less delighted with his own and his chum's success. Finding that the fierce pursuit had ceased, the few remaining sheep turned on the retreat, since they found it impossible to advance farther. Then the adventurers proceeded on their way, though they, in their turn, found it impossible to pass the barrier, and some time had to be expended in carefully tumbling the carcases down the slope. But soon the work was successfully accomplished, and the path once more clear to permit the three comrades to pursue their urgent course. CHAPTER XIX THUNDER-MAKER'S DOWNFALL During the rest of the journey through the hills and along Trapper's Pass, no further accidents occurred to hinder progress, and once free of the hills the trail was level and across a stretch of prairie. Towards night the Pleasant Valley was reached, and the three travellers descended to the part of the river known to trappers as the Old Crossing, though it was a ford where no water flowed. On reaching this camp-ground there were evidences of the recent presence of strangers. Moreover, these strangers were not travelling in any secret way, since they had taken no pains to conceal their tracks, and the ashes of trampled-out fires were still warm. Mackintosh carefully examined the surroundings, and came to the decision, from certain signs, that it had been an Indian camp. "To my mind the best thing for us to do is to rest here for an hour or two," the man said. "I shan't be sorry," said Bob. "We pressed on rather rapidly, and, to tell you the truth, I'm rather fagged." "But what of the others--your father and mine?" questioned Alf. "They may need help----" "Not yet," Mackintosh interrupted. "It's no' possible for them to reach Flood Creek before morning, and the--the ceremony must take place at moonlight. Oh yes, I ken fine how you are both feeling. You're wanting to be off until you break down with weariness. But that's no' the way to do things in the backwoods. Work until you are out-and-out weary, then rest, and you'll be able to work again. But to keep on slaving till you're worked out--that's nothing but a gowk's game, and can bring no good." "I suppose you are right," said Holden slowly. "Of course I am. Don't you fear, laddie. I'll no' be too late. I know the ways o' the Indian, and I know the Dacotahs. Depend upon it, your faithers are being kindly treated, as best the redskins know how to treat friends. The Dacotahs are firm in their superstition, but they're kindly folk all the same." So the boys resigned themselves to the ruling of their guide, though it was irksome to be idle when each was longing to be up and doing. And now that they were so near to the achievement of their quest, it was even more galling to be inactive than it had been when there was distance as an excuse. It was a dreary place. The valley was deep, and there was a river-bed where once--before the memory of living man--water had flowed in a swift and wide flood, but where now there was nothing but dust. Not a tree was within sight. There was hardly any grass. Only a few cacti appeared to thrive on the barren soil. The rest was rocks, sand, and bordering precipices. The boys shuddered as they looked around. "It's a terrible spot," Bob commented, as he viewed the dreary scene. "It feels like being in prison." "There's a well with the finest of cool water about six feet away," was Mackintosh's remark. It was his quiet way of forcing home the truth that there is a bright speck in everything, if we only take the trouble to look for it. A meal was made from the supplies with which each had been provided, and an hour or two later Haggis turned up with the pack-horse. It was not considered necessary to pitch the tent that night, as a very early start was proposed to be taken at the streak of dawn. So each lay down as he was, with a sand-heap for a pillow, and soon the little camp was fast asleep. They needed no rocking. Sleep came almost with the closing of eyes. As morning broke, Mackintosh was the first to waken. He quickly roused the others, and a swift "eve-of-battle" meal was served out. The business being ended, the pack-horse was once more loaded, and the journey resumed toward Flood Creek, which was now only about five miles distant. The Dacotah camp was sighted some way off, and it may be imagined how excited the lads felt when they found themselves practically at the end of their journey. But once there, what would be the result? That was the question that was exercising the minds of both; and when Bob gave it voice, the Scotsman smiled grimly. "What'll happen? Well, no one can foresee the future, but I can imagine it." "And what do you imagine?" asked Bob. "That there will be a pickle o' bother before all comes out right. Superstition is no' that easy baulked; but if we ever have to fight for it, don't think that the ancient Highland blood of the Mackintosh is water in the veins of the clan." "I hope it won't come to that," remarked Alf quietly, and the Highlander rejoined-- "That's my hope too. But there's no telling. We've _got_ to conquer----" "And conquer we shall!" added Bob, with determination. On reaching the camp, the rescuers were met by a host of Indians, who were all filled with curiosity regarding the strangers. The white men looked around them, but no signs could they see of the captives. Then Mackintosh recognised a friend in Swift Arrow. "Ha, Nitchie!" he exclaimed, holding out his hand for the Indian to grasp. "It is pleasant for the eyes of Swift Arrow to see the Black Bear in the camp of the Dacotahs," said the redskin as he returned the greeting. "And it's good for him to look upon the face o a friend," said the Scotsman. "I wish to speak with Mighty Hand. Where is he?" "The chief of the Dacotahs is here," replied a voice from the crowd, and the great man himself stepped forward. "H'm. That's good. Saves a deal of seeking when folk come of themselves." Then the speaker launched straight into the subject of their quest. "Now then, Mighty Hand, you and me are old friends, and we can talk freely. You're wondering the noo what has brought us here, and you may ken without palaver. We have come for your captives." "Captives?" The chief looked puzzled as he repeated the word. "Ay, captives," emphasised Mackintosh. "Perhaps you don't know the meaning of the word." "Mighty Hand knows the language of the pale-face. But there are no captives in the Dacotah camp." At this the boys felt their hearts sink. Could it be that, after all, Mackintosh had been mistaken, or that Red Fox had deluded them? Could it be that they had come too late? But Mackintosh did not share these doubts. He understood the working of the native mind too well. "That is good," he resumed. "If the Dacotahs have no captives, then the white men are free. They will travel back with me to their camp now!" Instantly a stern change came over the face of the chief, and such of the other Indians as understood English began to murmur with ominous disapproval. "My white brother speak not wise words," said Mighty Hand firmly. "The fiery totem call that water-spirits suffer. What the totem call must be answered. Only great medicine can bid the fire sleep now." "Idiots! Fools!" exclaimed Mackintosh, for once allowing his irritation to betray him. "Do you think that we are going to allow our own people to suffer at the service of a lie? I tell you that we will take those white men from your hands whether you wish it or not!" The Indian was unmoved by the Scotsman's outburst. "My white brother speak hot words. It saddens heart of Mighty Hand to see anger in face of his brother. But he is wrong. The call of the totem shall be answered when the moon is round--to-night." How this strain of argument might have progressed it is hard to say, but it was cut short by a cry like that of a wild beast, as Thunder-maker sprang through the crowd, dressed in all the hideous regalia of his profession. "Dogs!" he cried furiously. "Do the pale-faces come to insult the great chief of Dacotahs and say that the fiery totem lie? Ugh! Spit upon them, Mighty Hand! Chase these dogs from the camp!" Mackintosh had resumed his temper by now, and he turned to greet the newcomer with a look of feigned amusement. "Who's this?" he asked pleasantly. "Is it a monkey that Mighty Hand has caught to please him, or is it maybe a little dancing-bear tricked out in feathers for the braves and warriors to laugh at?" Thunder-maker well understood the jibe, and he flung himself about with passion. "Ma conscience! Don't go making all that noise," was the quiet reproof. "And if you'll take my advice, you'll go home and put on warmer clothes. You've little enough on to keep you cosy when the wind blows chill." Poor Thunder-maker! He had never been treated with such scant respect. Even the young papooses were putting "tongue in cheek" towards him, and some of the women could be seen pointing their fingers at his discomfited self. Blind with passion the Indian threw himself upon the Scotsman. Instantly the boys had their guns ready to protect their friend. But the next moment they could not have pulled a trigger if it had been necessary to save their lives thereby, for they and the whole concourse of Indians were shaking themselves with laughter at what was taking place. What was it? Well, merely that Thunder-maker had not reckoned with the enormous strength that was latent in the Scotsman, nor the peculiar sense of his humour; for, no sooner had the Indian charged, than he found himself gripped by powerful hands, turned face downwards on a bent knee, and smacked in good old homely style of punishment, which the medicine man's scanty attire rendered exceedingly suitable. Thunder-maker yelled and kicked, but he was held as if in a vice, while the slaps rang out in rapid succession and the valley echoed with laughter. At last Mackintosh released the delinquent, and the poor man slunk away amid jeers and laughter. His day was over, and from that hour our white friends saw him no more. When the hum had subsided, Mackintosh once more appealed to the chief, but without success. "We must obey the totem," was reiterated doggedly, though it was plain that the chief was sorry to be at enmity with the strangers. "But how do you know that you are obeying the totem?" questioned Bob, who could remain silent no longer. At this question Mighty Hand turned to the boy with an indulgent smile. "White spirits come from waters that are silver when moon round. By this we know. But if redmen foolish, totem wise. Totem will not let redmen do wrong. Totem will appear serpent of fire to warn redmen no' light flames." "We can do nothing more at present," said Mackintosh, as he turned to the lads. "We'll pitch our camp over yonder and talk things over." After the camp was pitched and food partaken, Mackintosh decided to pay a visit to Swift Arrow, to see if he could not manage to argue that old man into a state of reason, so as to support another appeal to Mighty Hand. It had not been considered advisable to press for an interview with the captives, lest they might be too closely watched, and any future attempt at rescue be thus frustrated. "I'll just go by mysel'," the man explained. "Swift Arrow is an old friend o' mine, and no' a bad creature in many ways. Haggis is away cracking with some o' his friends also. You'll not mind being left alone for a time? I'll no' be long." "We don't mind," said Bob. "Anything to see light in this difficulty. We'll be all right." "Very well. I'll be back as soon as I can, and I'll hope to have good news for you." Left to themselves, the lads did not speak much, for their hearts were very heavy, knowing that if some plan of rescue was not thought of within a few hours it would be too late. For a considerable time they were absolutely silent, lying within the tent, surrounded by stores and the various tins and boxes of the naturalist's outfit. Then Bob's mind began to wander over all the events that led up to the present day, and, in wondering at the blind ignorance that could yield so much to a mere legend, he recalled the chiefs last words-- "'The totem will not let the redmen do wrong,'" he quoted mentally. "Fools! As if a serpent could tell them to do anything in the first place! How can any reasoning person be so---- Alf!" Bob had suddenly sprung to his feet as he uttered the exclamation, and Holden started to look at his friend, as if he had suddenly lost his senses. "Why, what's the matter, old man?" he exclaimed. "Have you been asleep?" "Asleep? No! Never was wider awake in all my life. Why, I've got it. They are saved! They are saved!" And the boy laughed for very joy at the thought. "What do you mean?" questioned Holden anxiously. It was little wonder that he believed for the moment that anxiety had brought his chum to a fever. "Mean?" the elder boy echoed. "Simply this--that our fathers shall be saved, and you and I will do it. It's all so simple. We must have been fools not to think of it before!" CHAPTER XX THE FIERY TOTEM The two men--Arnold and Holden--were sitting alone in the teepee that had been assigned for their use. Neither was speaking, for the day was drawing to a close, and they were almost hopeless of seeing any avenue of escape from the fate that the Indian superstition had ordained for them. We said "almost hopeless." Of course it was necessary to make that proviso, for no one is ever hopeless in extremity, so long as he retains faith in Providence. But every scheme that they had planned had been proved void on consideration. Though free to a certain extent, they were well watched. Escape was impossible, and their only remaining hope was that when they were led forth for the sacrifice they might be able to take advantage of some opportunity to make a last stand for freedom. "It would not matter so much for ourselves, if it were not for the boys," Arnold said at last. "Their position is too terrible." "Of course they will be able to find their way back to Edmonton, when they see that there is no hope of our returning----" "_No_ hope?" repeated Arnold. "Don't say that. I don't want to give up hope until the very last moment. Something _may_ turn up, and in any case I intend to make a good fight for freedom." "I suppose I do, too, when I think about it," returned Holden, with a short forced laugh. "We both mean to kick up a bit of a dust when the exciting moment comes----" "And you may bet it will be exciting for the first redskin who comes against my fist. I promised myself to have a go at that skunk Thunder-maker, before I make my bow to the world. But for him, I believe this trouble would never have gone so far." "He certainly did his best to pile it on," agreed the younger man. "I imagine that he was rather in hot water this morning, for I thought I heard him yelling. There's no mistaking that harsh voice of his. And there were sounds, too, for all the world as if some person were getting a jolly good spanking. You were dozing at the time, so I didn't disturb you. But I know I nearly waked you with laughing at the thought of Thunder-maker receiving a good old-fashioned correction." "It would take more than that to do him good," said Arnold, with a frown. "The man is a cheat and a scoundrel of the worst sort. He showed us what he was worth when he told us, two nights ago, that he had the tribe by the nose. Even now, after telling us that he knew better, I suppose he's working up the people for to-night's show." Holden grunted contemptuously. "He seems bad to the core. In my opinion it has been he who has kept Mighty Hand away. The chief was ready to reason, but I expect Thunder-maker's boast that he could lead the tribe was a true one." "The old case of kings being ruled by their subjects," commented Arnold. After this conversation again flagged. Having little to say of an encouraging nature, the men deemed that silence was best, and each sat engrossed with his own thoughts while the daylight waned and the shadows began to creep over the valley that a joking fate had called "Pleasant." As time went on the Englishmen seemed to become aware of a sort of disturbance in the camp. Feet were hurrying here and there, and voices were speaking rapidly in low tones. Now and then, as some one passed the teepee, the words "fiery totem" could be heard by those within, so naturally the Englishmen attributed the excitement to matters relating to the approaching sacrifice. But presently the excitement seemed to grow more intense, and the voices were raised to a higher pitch. Unable to restrain curiosity any longer, the men went to look out from the door of the teepee, and as they reached the opening a strange sight presented itself before them. Gathered in many groups were all the Indians of the tribe, including all the squaws and papooses, while the tall figure of Mighty Hand could be seen through the gloaming, standing erect upon a hillock at a little distance to one side. All had their backs turned towards the Englishmen. They were facing the towering blackness of a mighty cliff, while with a sudden wave of silence they stood doubly transfixed, with eyes directed to one portion of the dark wall, where a sort of light was dimly glimmering. What could it be that had such a power to fascinate the whole tribe? The Englishmen looked in the same direction, but the object seemed to be nothing more than an irregular line of light that might have been some reflection caused by the setting sun. Still all watched in silence. And, as the darkness deepened so did the light become clear. From an irregular line about ten feet long it seemed to take form gradually, while it undoubtedly intensified in brightness. Clearer and still more plainly was the outline revealed, until at last--when the sun had quite vanished--there stood out against the black wall the shape of a snake of fire, poised in the very act to strike, just as it was outlined on the breast of Mighty Hand! Arnold and Holden were astounded at what they surmised to be some fresh trick on the part of Thunder-maker, or some special form of the impending ceremony. And at the same moment a loud cry broke from the throats of the watching multitude. "The fiery totem! The fiery totem!" Then the Indians fell face downwards to the ground with fear. Surely such a prodigy had never been seen before? The sacred totem of the tribe had itself appeared, to warn the Dacotahs that the fire was not to burn that night; that the two prisoners were men, not evil spirits. While the two men were standing watching the prostrate Indians, three figures crept round an adjacent tent--two of whom then darted forward, while the third followed at more dignified leisure. "Bob!" "Alf!" These were the exclamations that burst from the lips of the captives as two boys launched themselves forward to receiving arms. Then came the dignified Skipper Mackintosh. "You are saved, good sirs," he said, without waiting for an introduction. "My good phosphorus paint and the brains o' these fine laddies has called up the fiery totem. I'm thinking that there will be no sacrifice to superstition the--night, and that you'll a' be on your way back to Crane Creek the morn." * * * * * And when next day the time came for departure, and the fathers and sons had made their arrangements with the good wishes and help of Mighty Hand, Swift Arrow, and a host of eager redmen, it was Bob who was first to notice that Skipper Mackintosh and the half-breed seemed in no haste to accompany the party. "Are you not coming with us?" the boy asked. The Scot smiled and shook his head. "No. I'm thinking to bide here for a few days, to hunt for yon hawk moth that I told you aboot. Besides, when you're safe out of the way, I mean to have a serious talk with Mighty Hand and his folk. I wouldn't have them think that yon was a real fiery serpent. That would be idolatry. We had to cheat them to save life, but--well, I'll no' leave the Dacotahs until I've ceevilised them into believin' that the legend of the fiery totem is false, and that there's better ways o' living than by believin' such gowk's nonsense." THE END PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN BY MORRISON AND GIBB LIMITED, EDINBURGH [Transcriber's Note: The following corrections and changes were made: *Passages in italics are indicated by _underscores_. *Illustrations have been moved closer to the relevant paragraphs. *In the text version, the footnotes have been moved to the end of the relevant chapter. *In the html version, the footnotes have been moved to the end of the book. *p. 30: Added missing period to end of "I guess the best thing we can do is to turn in" *p. 64: Added missing hyphen to "Thunder maker" in "Thus speaking, Thunder maker dived a hand" *p. 218: Added missing period after "returned Holden, with a short forced laugh"] 
12874	----	THE NEW NORTH _Being Some Account of a Woman's Journey through Canada to the Arctic_ BY AGNES DEANS CAMERON _WITH MANY ILLUSTRATIONS FROM PHOTOGRAPHS BY THE AUTHOR_ _Published November, 1909_ [Illustration: A Magnificent Trophy] TO THE MEMORY OF MY MOTHER JESSIE ANDERSON CAMERON AND TO ALL THOSE WHO TRY TO LIVE OUT HER SIMPLE RULE "WE MUST JUST TRY TO DO THE VERY BEST WE CAN" PREFACE It is customary to write a preface. Mine shall be short. Out of a full heart, I wish to thank all the splendid people of the North who, by giving me so freely information and photographs, and chapters out of their own lives, have facilitated the writing of this story. For their spontaneous kindness to me and mine no acknowledgment that I can here make is adequate. What we feel most strongly we cannot put into words. AGNES DEANS CAMERON. August, 1909. CONTENTS CHAPTER I THE MENDICANTS REACH WINNIPEG The Mendicants leave Chicago--The invisible parallel of 49 where the eagle perches and makes amorous eyes at the beaver--Union Jack floats on an ox-cart--A holy baggage-room--Winnipeg, the Buckle of the Wheat-Belt--The trapper and the doctor--Mrs. Humphry Ward speaks--Boy Makers of Empire--The vespers of St. Boniface CHAPTER II WINNIPEG TO ATHABASCA LANDING The 1,000-mile wheat-field--Calgary-in-the-Foothills--Edmonton, the end of steel--The Brains of a Trans-Continental--Browning on the Saskatchewan--East Londoners in tents--Our outfit--A Waldorf-Astoria in the wilderness--The lonely cross of the Galician--Height of Land--Sergeant Anderson, R.N.W.M.P., the sleuth of Lesser Slave CHAPTER III ATHABASCA LANDING Athabasca Landing, the Gateway of the North--English gives place to Cree--Limit of the Dry Martini--Will the rabbits run?--The woman printer--Hymn-books by hand in the Cree syllabic--Baseball even here--Rain and reminiscences--The World's Oldest Trust CHAPTER IV DOWN THE ATHABASCA ONE HUNDRED AND SIXTY-FIVE MILES TO GRAND RAPIDS "Farewell, Nistow!"--The rainy deck of a "sturgeon head" under a tarpaulin--Drifting by starlight--The wild geese overhead--Forty-foot gas-spout at the Pelican--The mosquito makes us blood-brothers--Four days on our Robinson Crusoe Island in the swirling Athabasca--Nomenclature of the North--Sentinels of the Silence CHAPTER V NINETY MILES OF RAPIDS The _Go-Quick-Her_ takes the bit in her mouth--Mallards on the half-shell--We set the Athabascan Thames afire--Sturgeon-head breaks her back on the Big Cascade--Fort McMurray--A stranded argosy, wreckage on the beach--Miss Christine Gordon, the Free Trader--A land flowing with coal and oil and gas and tar, timber and lime CHAPTER VI FORT CHIPEWYAN PAST AND PRESENT Old Fort Chipewyan--In the footsteps of Mackenzie and Sir John Franklin--Sir John turns parson--Grey Nuns and brown babies--Where grew the prize wheat of the Philadelphia Centennial--Militant missionaries fight each other for souls--The strong man Loutit--Wyllie at the forge--An electric watch-maker--Where the Gambel sparrow builds--"Out of old books" CHAPTER VII LAKE ATHABASCA AND ITS FOND DU LAC Farewell to the Mounted Police--Our blankets on the deck--Fern odours by untravelled ways--Typewriting and kodaking in 20 hours of daylight--Navigating Lake Athabasca by the power o' man--A 23-inch trout--First white women at Fond du Lac--Carlyle among the Chipewyans, a Fond du Lac library--The hermit padre and the hermit thrush--Worn north trails of the trapper--Caribou by the hundred thousands--The phalarope and the suffragette CHAPTER VIII FOND DU LAC TO FORT SMITH World's records beaten on the Athabasca--Down the Slave to Smith's Landing--Priests sink in the Rapid of the Drowned--The Mosquito Portage--Fort Smith, the new headquarters--Lady-slippers and night-hawks--Steamer built in the wilderness--Last stand of the wood bison--The grey wolf persists--Fur-trade and the silver-fox--Breeding pelicans. CHAPTER IX SLAVE RIVER AND GREAT SLAVE LAKE "Red lemol-lade" kiddies--Tons of crystal salt--Great Slave Lake and its fertile shores--Yellow-Knife and Dog-Rib, subjects of the Seventh Edward--Hay River and its annual mail--Ploughing with dogs--Bill balked--The Alexandra Falls--Bishop Bompas as a surgeon; amputations while you wait. CHAPTER X PROVIDENCE TO SIMPSON, ONE HUNDRED AND FIFTY MILES DOWN THE MACKENZIE Drowning of De-deed--Fort Simpson, the old headquarters--A mouldy museum--The shrew-mice that were not preserved in rum--The farthest north library--Gold-seekers and grub-staked brides--Bishop Bompas, the Apostle of the North--Owindia, the Weeping One--Fort Simpson in the first year of Victoria the Good. CHAPTER XI FORT GOOD HOPE ON THE ARCTIC CIRCLE Tenny Gouley tells us things--Mackenzie River, past and present--The fringed gentian at Fort Wrigley--The fires Mackenzie saw--The weathered knob of Bear Rock--Great Bear Lake--Orangeman's Day at Norman--The Ramparts of the Mackenzie--Fort Good Hope under the Arctic Circle--Mignonette and Old World courtesy--We meet Hagar once more--Potatoes on the Circle--The Little Church of the Open Door CHAPTER XII ARCTIC RED RIVER AND ITS ESKIMO Arctic Red River--Wilfrid Laurier, the merger--Mrs. Ila-la-Rocko, the danseuse--Marriage as the Oo-vai-oo-aks see it--Orange-blossoms at Su-pi-di-do's--Trading tryst at Barter Island--Floating fathers--By-o Baby Bunting--Wild roses and tame Eskimo--Midnight football with walrus bladder and enthusiasm--Education that makes for manliness CHAPTER XIII FORT MACPHERSON FOLK Sir John Franklin's lobsticks at Point Separation--We reach Fort Macpherson on the Peel--Sergeant Fitzgerald, R.N.W.M.P., eulogizes the Eskimo--An Eskimo wife must make boots that are waterproof--She ariseth also while it is yet night and cheweth the boots of her household--Cribbage-boards the link between Dick Swiveller and the Eskimo--Linked sweetness long drawn out--Chauncey Depew of the Kogmollycs CHAPTER XIV MORALIZING UNDER THE MIDNIGHT SUN The Midnight Sun--Our friend the heathen--"We want to go to hell"--Catching fish by prayer--The Eskimo and the Flood--Pink tea at the Pole--Always a balance in the Eskimo Bank--Marriage for better and not for worse--Christmas carols even here CHAPTER XV MAINLY CONCERNING FOOD Jurisprudence on ice--The generous Innuit--Emmie-ray, the Delineator pattern--Weak races are pressed south--Roxi, a re-incarnation of Sir Philip Sidney--Blubbery bon vivants--Eskimo knew the Elephant--We write the last chapter of the story of McClure, the navigator--Cannibalism at the Circle CHAPTER XVI THE TALE OF A WHALE Circumpolar Bowhead makes his last stand--Whales here and elsewhere--The Yankee peddler at Canada's back-door--Thirteen and a half million in whale values--Wind-swept Herschel, the Isle of Whales--One wife for a thousand years--Baleen, Spermaceti, and Ambergris--Save the Whale CHAPTER XVII SOUTH FROM THE ARCTIC TO CHIPEWYAN Lives lost for the sake of a white bead--The stars come back--The Keele party from the Dollarless Divide--"Here and there a grayling"--Across Great Slave Lake--The first white women at Fort Rae--Land of the musk-ox--Tales of 76 below--Two Thursdays in one week--Rabbits on ice CHAPTER XVIII TO MC MURRAY AND BACK TO THE PEACE The nuptials of 'Norine--Ladies round gents and gents don't go--The fossil-gatherers--I give my name to a Cree kiddie--A solid mile of red raspberries--The typewriter an uncanny medicine--The Beetle Fleet leaves for Outside--Shipwrecked on a batture CHAPTER XIX UP THE PEACE TO VERMILION Ho! for the Peace--One break in 900 miles of navigation--A grey wolf--Bear-meat and the Se-weep-i-gons--Ninety-foot spruces--Tom Kerr and his bairns--The fish-seine that never fails--Our lobsticks by Red River--The Chutes of the Peace CHAPTER XX VERMILION-ON-THE-PEACE The farthest north flour-mill--The man who made Vermilion--Wheat at $1.25 a bushel--An Experimental Farm in latitude 58° 30'--An unoccupied kingdom as large as Belgium--Where the steamer _Peace River_ was built--The hospitable home of the Wilsons--Vermilion a Land of Promise Fulfilled--Culture and the Cloister--Thomas of Canterbury on the Stump CHAPTER XXI FORT VERMILION TO LESSER SLAVE Se-li-nah of the happy heart--My premier moose--The rare and resourceful boatmen of the North--Alexander Mackenzie's last camp CHAPTER XXII PEACE RIVER CROSSING TO LESSER SLAVE LAKE Pleasant prairies of the Peace--We tramp a hundred miles--The Angelus at Lesser Slave--Poole coats and Norfolk shooting-jackets--Roast duck galore--Alec Kennedy of the Nile--Louise the Wetigo, she ate nineteen CHAPTER XXIII LESSER SLAVE LAKE TO EDMONTON Jim wins: Allie Brick can't run--100,000,000 acres of wheat-land--Jilly-Loo bird still lacks a rib--100 moose in one month--Peripatetic judges but no prisoners--The best-tattooed man in the Province of Alberta--The-Man-Who-Goes-Around-and-Helps CHAPTER XXIV HOMES AMONG THE YELLOW WHEAT Edmonton again--Wyllie goes out on the Long Journey--Donaldson killed by a walrus--Two drowned in the Athabasca--Steel kings and iron horses--Wheat-plains the melting-pot of a New Nation ROUTES OF TRAVEL LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS A magnificent trophy Map showing the Author's Route Sir Wilfred Laurier Earl Grey, Governor-General of Canada Winnipeg, the Buckle of the Wheat Belt The Canadian Women's Press Club A section of Edmonton The Golden Fleece of Saskatchewan Irrigation ditch, Calgary, Alberta A Waldorf-Astoria on the prairie's edge Athabasca Landing Necessity knows no law at Athabasca The Missionary Hymnal for the Indians C.C. Chipman, Commissioner of the H.B. Co. A "sturgeon-head" on the Athabasca "Farewell, Nistow!" Grand Rapids, on the Athabasca River Portage at Grand Rapids Island Our transport at Grand Rapids Island Cheese-shaped nodules, Grand Rapids Island Scouts of the Royal Northwest Mounted Police Towing the wrecked barge ashore The scow breaks her back and fills Miss Gordon, a Fort McMurray trader The steamer _Grahame_ An oil derrick on the Athabasca Tar banks on the Athabasca Fort Chipewyan, Lake Athabasca Three of a kind Woman's work of the Far North Lake Athabasca in winter Bishop Grouard The modern note-book Tepee of a Caribou-eater Indian A bit of Fond du Lac Birch-barks at Fond du Lac Fond du Lac Father Beibler carrying water to a dying Indian Smith's Landing A transport between Fort Smith and Smith's Landing Lord Strathcona, Governor of the Hudson's Bay Company The world's last buffalo Tracking a scow across mountain portage The "red lemol-lade" boys Salt beds Unloading at Fort Resolution Coming to "take Treaty" on Great Slave Lake On the Slave Dogs cultivating potatoes David Villeneuve Hudson's Bay House, Fort Simpson A Slavi family at Fort Simpson A Slavi type from Fort Simpson Interior of St. David's Cathedral Fort Simpson by the light of the Aurora Indians at Fort Norman Roman Catholic Church at Fort Norman The ramparts of the Mackenzie Rampart House on the Porcupine near the Mackenzie mouth A Kogmollye family Roxi and the Oo-vai-oo-ak family Farthest North football Two spectators at the game An Eskimo exhibit Constable Walker and Sergeant Fitzgerald in Eskimo togs Two wise ones A Nunatalmute Eskimo family Cribbage-boards of walrus tusks Useful articles made by the Eskimo Home of Mrs. Macdonald Eskimo kayaks at the Arctic edge A wise man of the Dog-Ribs A study in expression We tell the tale of a whale Two little ones at Herschel Island Breeding grounds of the seal The Keele party on the Gravel River The first typewriter on Great Slave Lake The bell at Fort Rae mission The musk-ox A meadow at McMurray Starting up the Athabasca On the Clearwater Evening on the Peace Our lobsticks on the Peace The chutes of the Peace Pulling out the _Mee-wah-sin_ The flour mill at Vermilion-on-the-Peace Articles made by Indians The Hudson's Bay Store Papillon, a Beaver brave Going to school in winter My premier moose Beaver camp, on Paddle River The site of old Fort McLeod Jean Baptiste, pilot on the Peace Fort Dunvegan on the Peace Fort St. John on the Peace Where King was arrested Alec Kennedy with his two sons Cannibal Louise, her little girl and Miss Cameron A Peace River Pioneer Three generations A family at the Lesser Slave A one-night stand A rye field in Brandon, Manitoba Charles M. Hays, President of the Grand Trunk Railway William Mackenzie, President of the Canadian Northern Railway Donald D. Maun, Vice-president of the Canadian Northern Railway William Whyte, Second Vice-president of the Canadian Pacific Railway In the wheat fields Hon. Frank Oliver, Minister of the Interior Threshing grain Doukhobors threshing flax Sir William Van Horne, first President of the Canadian Pacific Railway [Illustration: Map of the Author's Route] THE NEW NORTH CHAPTER I THE MENDICANTS REACH WINNIPEG "We are as mendicants who wait Along the roadside in the sun. Tatters of yesterday and shreds Of morrow clothe us every one. "And some are dotards, who believe And glory in the days of old; While some are dreamers, harping still Upon an unknown age of gold. "O foolish ones, put by your care! Where wants are many, joys are few; And at the wilding springs of peace, God keeps an open house for you. "But there be others, happier few, The vagabondish sons of God, Who know the by-ways and the flowers, And care not how the world may plod." Isn't it Riley who says, "Ef you want something, an' jest dead set a-longin' fer it with both eyes wet, and tears won't bring it, why, you try sweat"? Well, we had tried sweat and longing for two years, with planning and hoping and the saving of nickels, and now we are off! Shakespeare makes his man say, "I will run as far as God has any ground," and that is our ambition. We are to travel north and keep on going till we strike the Arctic,--straight up through Canada. Most writers who traverse The Dominion enter it at the Eastern portal and travel west by the C.P.R., following the line of least resistance till they reach the Pacific. Then they go back to dear old England and tell the world all about Canada, their idea of the half-continent being Euclid's conception of a straight line, "length without breadth." [Illustration: Sir Wilfred Laurier] But Canada has a third dimension, a diameter that cuts through the Belt of Wheat and Belt of Fur, beginning south at the international boundary and ending where in his winter-igloo the Arctic Eskimo lives and loves after his kind and works out his own destiny. This diameter we are to follow. To what end? Not, we hope, to come back like him who went from Dan to Beersheba to say "All is barren," but to come near to the people, our fellow-Britons, in this transverse section of a country bigger than Europe. We want to see what they are doing, these Trail-Blazers of Commerce, who, a last vedette, are holding the silent places, awaiting that multitude whose coming footsteps it takes no prophet to hear. We will take the great waterways, our general direction being that of all the world-migrations. Colonization in America has followed the trend of the great rivers, and it has ever been northward and westward,--till you and I have to look southward and eastward for the graves of our ancestors. The sons and grandsons of those who conquered the St. Lawrence and built on the Mississippi have since occupied the shores of the Red, the Assiniboine, and the Saskatchewan. They are laying strong hands upon the Peace, and within a decade will be platting townships on the Athabasca, the Mackenzie, and the Slave. There has always been a West. For the Greeks there was Sicily; Carthage was the western outpost of Tyre; and young Roman patricians conquered Gaul and speculated in real estate on the sites of London and Liverpool. But the West that we are entering upon is the Last West, the last unoccupied frontier under a white man's sky. When this is staked out, pioneering shall be no more, or Amundsen must find for us a dream-continent in Beaufort Sea. Kipling speaks of "a route unspoiled of Cook's," and we have found it. Going to the office of Thos. Cook & Son, in Chicago, with a friend who had planned a Mediterranean tour, I gently said, "I wonder if you can give me information about a trip I am anxious to take this summer." The young man smiled and his tone was that which we accord to an indulged child, "I guess we can. Cook & Son give information on _most_ places." "Very well," I said, "I want to go from Chicago to the Arctic by the Mackenzie River, returning home by the Peace and the Lesser Slave. Can you tell me how long it will take, what it will cost, and how I make my connections?" He was game; he didn't move an eyebrow, but went off to the secret recesses in the back office to consult "the main guy," "the chief squeeze," "the head push," "the big noise." Back they came together with a frank laugh, "Well, Miss Cameron, I guess you've got us. Cook's have no schedule to the Arctic that way." They were able, however, to give accurate information as to how one should reach Hudson Bay, with modes of travel, dates, and approximate cost. But this journey for another day. Leaving Chicago one sizzling Sunday in mid-May, we (my niece and I) stop for a day to revel in bird and blossoms at Lake Minnetonka in Minnesota, then silently in the night cross the invisible parallel of 49° where the eagle perches and makes amorous eyes at the beaver. With the Polar Ocean as ultimate goal, we cannot help thinking how during the last generation the Arctic Circle has been pushed steadily farther north. Forty years ago Minneapolis and St. Paul were struggling trading-posts, and all America north of them was the range of the buffalo and the Indian. Then Fort Garry (Winnipeg) became Farthest North. Before starting, I had dug out from the Public Library the record of a Convention of Wheat-Growers who, fifteen years ago in Chicago, deliberately came to the conclusion (and had the same engrossed on their minutes) that "Our Northern tier of States is too far north to successfully grow wheat." For years Winnipeg was considered the northern limit of wheat-growth, the Arctic Circle of endeavour. Then that line of limitation was pushed farther back until it is Edmonton-on-the-Saskatchewan that is declared "Farthest North." To-day we are embarking on a journey which is to reach two thousand miles due north of Edmonton! In the train between Minneapolis and Winnipeg an old man with a be-gosh beard looks worth while. We tell him where we are going, and he is all interest. He remembers the time when Montreal merchants wishing to reach Fort Garry had to bend down by way of St. Paul to gain their goal. These were the days of Indian raids and bloody treachery. "But," the old chap says, "the Hudson's Bay people always played fa'r and squar' with the Injuns. Even in them days the Injun knowed that crossed flag and what it stood for. I mind one Englishman and his wife who had come from Montreal to St. Paul in an ox-cart. The whole plains was covered with sneakin' red cusses on the war-path. But that darned Britisher was stubborn-set on pullin' out that night for Fort Garry, with his wife and kid, and what did the cuss do but nail a blame little Union Jack on his cart, poke the goad in his ox, and hit the trail! My God, I kin still see the old ox with that bit of the British Empire, wiggling out of St. Paul at sundown. And the cuss got there all right, too, though we was all wearing crape beforehand for his sweet-faced wife." This incident was not unique. In the early '60's an English curate, afterwards to be known to the world as Bishop Bompas, passed north through St. Cloud on his way from England to the Arctic. When the Sioux were reported on the war-path, Mr. Bompas improvised a Union Jack with bits of coloured clothing and fastened it on the first ox-cart of his cavalcade. Seeing this, the hostile Sioux turned bridle and rode away; and, protected by the flag of the clustered crosses, the Gospel-cart passed on. [Illustration: Earl Grey, Governor-General of Canada] What Cook & Son failed to supply, the Hudson's Bay Company in Winnipeg furnished. This concern has been foster-mother to Canada's Northland for two hundred and thirty-nine years. Its foundation reaches back to when the Second Charles ruled in England,--an age when men said not "How cheap?" but "How good?", not "How easy?" but "How well?" The Hudson's Bay Company is to-day the Cook's Tourist Company of the North, the Coutts' Banking concern, and the freshwater Lloyd's. No man or woman can travel with any degree of comfort throughout Northwest America except under the kindly aegis of the Old Company. They plan your journey for you, give you introductions to their factors at the different posts, and sell you an outfit guiltless of the earmarks of the tenderfoot. Moreover, they will furnish you with a letter of credit which can be transmuted into bacon and beans and blankets, sturgeon-head boats, guides' services, and succulent sow-belly, at any point between Fort Chimo on Ungava Bay and Hudson's Hope-on-the-Peace, between Winnipeg-on-the-Red and that point in the Arctic where the seagull whistles over the whaling-ships at Herschel. For a railroad station, the wall-notices in the baggage room of the Canadian Northern at Winnipeg are unique. Evidently inspired for the benefit of employés, they give the incoming traveller a surprise. Here they are as we copied them down: Let all things be done decently and in order. 1 Cor. xiv, 40. Be punctual, be regular, be clean. Remember the Sabbath day to keep it holy. Be obliging and kind one to another. Let no angry word be heard among you Be not fond of change. (Sic.) Be clothed with humility, not finery. Take all things by the smooth handle. Be civil to all, but familiar with few. As we smile over this Canadian substitute for the American,-- "Hang on to your hand-baggage. Don't let go your overcoat. Thieves are around," the baggage-master with a strong Scottish accent says over our shoulders, "Guid maxims, and we live up t' them!" A big Irish policeman is talking to a traveller who has stepped off a transcontinental train, and who asks with a drawl, "What makes Winnipeg?" Scraping a lump of mud from his boot-heel, the Bobby holds it out. "This is the sordid dhross and filthy lucre which keeps our nineteen chartered banks and their one and twenty suburban branches going. Just beyant is one hundred million acres of it, and the dhirty stuff grows forty bushels of wheat to the acre. Don't be like the remittance man from England, sorr," with a quizzical look at the checked suit of his interlocutor, "shure they turn the bottom of their trowsies up so high that divil of the dhross sticks to them!" As Mulcahey winks the other eye, we drift out into this "Buckle of the Wheat-Belt." What has the policeman's hard wheat done for Winnipeg? Well, it gave her a building expansion, a year ago, greater than that of any other city of her population in America. One year has seen in Western Canada an increase in crop area under the one cereal of winter wheat of over one hundred and fifty per cent, a development absolutely unique in the world's history. Winnipeg, having acquired the growing habit, expands by leaps and bounds. No city on the continent within the last thirty-three years has had such phenomenal growth. In 1876 the population was 6,000; it now counts 150,000 souls. This city is the greatest grain-market in the British Empire, and from it radiate twenty-two distinct pairs of railway tracks. Architects have in preparation plans for fifteen million dollars' worth of buildings during the coming year. The bank clearings in 1903 were $246,108,000; last year they had increased to $618,111,801; and a Winnipeg bank has never failed. Western Canada cannot grow without Winnipeg's reaping a benefit, for most of the inward and outward trade filters through here. During the spring months three hundred people a day cross the border from the United States. Before the year has closed a hundred thousand of them will have merged themselves into Western Canada's melting-pot, drawn by that strongest of lures--the lure of the land. And these hundred thousand people do not come empty-handed. It is estimated that they bring with them in settlers' effects and cash one thousand dollars each, thus adding in portable property to the wealth of Western Canada one hundred million dollars. In addition they bring the personal producing-factor, an asset which cannot be measured in figures--the "power of the man." [Illustration: Winnipeg, the Buckle of the Wheat-Belt] Not only from the United States do Winnipeg's citizens come. This City of the Plains is a human mosaic to which finished pattern every nation of the Old World furnishes its patine. The Bible Society of Winnipeg sells Bibles printed in fifty-one different languages--Armenian, Arabic, Burmese, Cree, Esth, Korean, Persian, Sanscrit, Slavonic, Tinne, Urdu, Yiddish, and nine and thirty other tongues. It is to be supposed that some buy their Bible not because it is the Bible but in order to feast the eye on the familiar characters of the home tongue. So would Robinson Crusoe have glutted his sight with a copy of the _London Times_, could the goat have committed the anachronism of digging one out from among the flotsam in the kelp. Going into a hardware store to get a hatchet and a copper kettle, we cajole the proprietor into talking shop. He has orders for six hundred steam-ploughs to be delivered to farmers the coming season. We estimate that each of these will break at least fifteen hundred acres during the six months that must elapse before we hope to return to Winnipeg. This will make nearly a million acres to be broken by the steam-ploughs sold by this one concern, and practically the whole number will be used for breaking wild land. A peep into the ledger of this merchant shows in the list of his plough-buyers Russian names and unpronounceable patronymics of the Finn, the Doukhobor, and the Buckowinian. It is to be hoped that these will drive furrows that look straighter than their signatures do. "But they are all good pay," the implement-man says. Looking at the red ploughs, we see in each a new chapter to be written in Canada's history. The page of the book is the prairie, as yet inviolate, and running out into flowers to the skyline. The tools to do the writing are these ploughs and mowers and threshers, the stout arms of men and of faith-possessed women. It is all new and splendid and hopeful and formative! We get in Winnipeg another picture, one that will remain with us till we reach the last Great Divide. At the Winnipeg General Hospital, Dr. D.A. Stewart says to us, "Come, I want to show you a brave chap, one who has fallen by the way." We find this man, Alvin Carlton, stretched on a cot. "Tell him that you are going into the land of fur," whispers the doctor, "he has been a trapper all his life." Crossing soft ice on the Lake of the Woods, Carlton broke through, and his snow-shoes pinned him fast. When dragged out he had suffered so with the intense cold that he became partially paralysed and was sent here to the hospital. Hard luck? Yes, but the misfortune was tempered with mercy. Within these walls Carlton met a doctor full of the mellow juice of life,--a doctor with a man's brain, the sympathy of a woman, and the heart of a little child. The trapper, as we are introduced to him, has one leg and both hands paralysed, with just a perceptible sense of motion remaining in the other leg. His vocal cords are so affected that the sounds he makes are to us absolutely unintelligible, more like the mumblings of an animal than the speech of a man. Between patient and doctor, a third man entered the drama,--Mr. Grey, a convalescent. Appointed special nurse to the trapper, Grey studied him as a mother studies her deficient child, and now was able, to our unceasing marvel, to translate these sad mouthings of Carlton into human speech. Who is this patient? A man without friends or influence, not attractive in appearance, more than distressing to listen to,--just one more worker thrown off from the gear of the rapidly-turning wheel of life. The consulting doctors agreed that no skill could perform a cure, could not even arrest the creeping death. Winnipeg is big and busy, and no corner of it more crowded than the General Hospital, no corps more overworked. Dr. Stewart had two men's work to do. He worked all day and was busy well into the night. A doctor's natural tendency is to see in each man that he ministers to merely "a case," a manifestation of some disease to be watched and tabulated and ticked off into percentages. But in the Stewart-Carlton-Grey combination, Fate had thrown together three young men in whom the human part, the man element, loomed large. The doctor guessed that under that brave front the heart of the trapper was eating itself out for the cry of the moose, the smell of wood-smoke by twilight. We are happiest when we create. So he said to Carlton, "Did you ever write a story?" The head shook answer. "Well, why don't you try? You must know a lot, old chap, about out-door things, that nobody else knows. Think some of it out, and then dictate it to Grey here." The outcome was disappointing. The uncouth sounds, translated by Grey, were bald, bare, and stiff. Soon the stiffness worked off. With half-shut eyes Carlton lived again in the woods. He lifted the dewy branch of a tree and surprised the mother deer making the toilet of her fawn, saw the beaver busied with his home of mud and wattles, heard the coyote scream across the prairie edge. Easily the thought flowed, and the stuff that Grey handed in was a live story that breathed. In that brave heart the joy of the creator stirred, and with it that feeling which makes all endeavour worth while--the thought that somebody cares. A close observer at this stage of the game may read, too, on the face of Grey the kindly look that comes when we forget ourselves long enough to take the trouble to reach out for another man's viewpoint. Carlton's short stories, submitted to a publisher, were pronounced good, were accepted, and brought a cash return. They struck a new note among the squabblings of the nature-fakers. Favourable comment came from those who read them, who, reading, knew naught of their three authors. Before this Carlton had never written a line for publication; but he had been a true observer. He had felt, and was able to project himself into the minds of those living things he had seen and hunted. I leave the hospital cot with a strange lump forming in my throat, although every one around me, and the patient most of all, is gay and blithe. I say to Carlton, "I wish I could take your knowledge and your eyes with me into the North, there is so much I will miss because of my lack of knowledge." With Grey's kindly interpretation I get my answer, "You must take your own mind, your own eyes; you must see for yourself." During the last day in Winnipeg, while the Kid (like faithful Ariovistus) is looking after the impedimenta, I snatch half an hour to look in at the Royal Alexandra upon the reception which the Women's Canadian Club is tendering to Mrs. Humphry Ward. Rain-bespattered, short-skirted, and anchored with disreputable rubbers gluey with Winnipeg mud, I sit on the fringe of things, fairly intoxicated with the idea that we are off and this North trip no dream. Mrs. Sanford Evans presides with her usual _savoir faire_ and ushers in the guest of the day, beautifully-gowned and gracious. Like a bolt from the blue came the summons from the president, and I, all muddy, am called to the seats of the mighty. I have never seen a more splendid aggregation of women than the members of the Winnipeg Canadian Club, tall, strong, alert, and full of initiative. To face them is a mental and moral challenge. I try to hide those muddy shoes of mine. The Winnipeg women are indulgent, they make allowance for my unpresentable attire, and shower upon me cheery wishes for the success of my journey. Mrs. Humphry Ward calls attention to the lack of playgrounds in England. She wants to bring more fresh air and space to the crowded people of the Old World. I submit that my wish is the mathematical converse to hers. My great desire is to call attention to the great unoccupied lands of Canada, to induce people from the crowded centres of the Old World to use the fresh air of the New. [Illustration: The Canadian Women's Press Club] To those who bid us good-bye at the train, the Kid and I yell exultantly, "All aboard for the Arctic Ocean and way ports!" A group of Galicians sitting by the curb, two mothers and seven small children, one a baby at the breast, make the last picture we see as the train pulls out. It was the end of their first day in Winnipeg. The fathers of the flock evidently were seeking work and had left their families gazing through the portals of the strange new land. In the half-sad, altogether-brave lines on the young mothers' faces and their tender looks bent on the little ones we read the motive responsible for all migrations--"Better conditions for the babies." In the little fellows of seven or eight with their ill-fitting clothes and their dogged looks of determination one sees the makers of empire. Before a decade is past they will be active wheat-growers in their own right, making two grains grow where one grew before and so "deserving better of mankind than the whole race of politicians put together." I think it was President Garfield who said, "I always feel more respect for a boy than for a man. Who knows what possibilities may be buttoned up under that ragged jacket?" It doesn't take long for the foreigners to make good. A young Icelander, Skuli Johnson, of all the thousands of Winnipeg students, this year captured the coveted honor of the academic world--the Rhodes scholarship. We slip out of Winnipeg as the bells of St. Boniface ring the vespers from their turrets twain. Whittier, who never saw this quaint cathedral, has immortalized it in verse. The story is one of those bits of forgotten history so hard to get hold of in a day when Winnipeg measures its every thought in bushels and bullion. The settlers who came to Selkirk on the outskirts of present Winnipeg just a hundred years ago were sturdy Scots, weaned on the Psalms of David and the Shorter Catechism. There were English missionaries here and priests of the Church of Rome, but the disciples of John Knox wanted some one to expound Predestination to them. A religious ceremony performed by any man who was not a Presbyterian seemed scarcely binding. One old lady, speaking of the nuptials of her daughter, said, "I wudna have Janet marrit by the bishop. She maun wait till we can have a properly-ordained meenister." And he was coming. Even now he was floating in on the Red River with Indian and half-breed boatmen, having reached St. Paul from Scotland via the Atlantic seaboard some weeks before. When a Scot and an Indian get in a boat together, to use a Will Carleton phrase, "they do not teem with conversational grace." Straight from Aberdeen, the young Dominee coming into Winnipeg little dreamed that the Church of Rome had established its Mission on the Red River decades ago. In fact, he knew as little about Canada as he did about Timbuctoo, and in his simplicity thought himself "the first that ever burst into that silent sea." When the evening breeze brought to his ears a muffled sound, he was in doubt how to place it. "Is it the clang of wild-geese? Is it the Indian's yell, That lends to the voice of the North-wind The tones of a far-off bell?" The Indian boatmen _said_ nothing, but thought deep, like the Irishman's parrot. "The voyageur smiles as he listens To the sound that grows apace; Well he knows the vesper ringing Of the bells of St. Boniface." Once the young Scot had reached his flock, he wrote back to a friend in the States telling how he came across on the edge of the wilderness "The bells of the Roman Mission, That call from their turrets twain To the boatmen on the river, To the hunter on the plain." That friend was a fellow-townsman of the "Quaker Poet." The story was told to Whittier and inspired the lines of _The Red River Voyageur_. CHAPTER II WINNIPEG TO ATHABASCA LANDING "To the far-flung fenceless prairie Where the quick cloud-shadows trail, To our neighbor's barn in the offing And the line of the new-cut rail; To the plough in her league-long furrow." --_Rudyard Kipling_. Place a pair of dividers with one leg on Winnipeg and the other leg at Key West, Florida. Then swing the lower leg to the northwest, and it will not reach the limit of good agricultural land. From Winnipeg to Edmonton, roughly speaking, is a thousand miles, and two railway lines are open to us,--the Canadian Pacific and the Canadian Northern. We go by the former route and return in the autumn by the latter. Pulling out from Winnipeg, we enter a prairie wheat-field one thousand miles long and of unknown width, into which the nations of the world are pouring. "The sleeping nation beyond," is what General Sherman in a moment of pique once called Canada. The sleeping giant has awakened. We are on the heels of the greatest economic trek this world has ever seen. The historian of to-morrow will rank it with the world migrations. The flourishing centres of Portage la Prairie, Brandon with its Experimental Farm, Regina, the headquarters of the Mounted Police, Moose Jaw, and Medicine Hat are passed, and with these the new, raw towns in the tar-paper stage, towns that smell of sawdust, naked stand of paint. Never in the world's history did towns spring into life as these do. To-day the wind on the prairie, to-morrow the sharp conversation of the hammer on the nail-head, next week the implement warehouse, the tent hotel, the little cluster of homes. In England it takes a bishop to make a city, but here the nucleus needed is a wheat elevator, red against the setting sun. The ploughs that we saw in Winnipeg are at work here among the buffalo bones and the spring anemones. As day breaks we catch a glimpse of a sunbonneted mother and her three little kiddies. An ox is their rude coadjutor, and through the flower-sod they cut their first furrow. It is the beginning of a new home. Involuntarily one's mind jumps to the crowded cities of the Old World with their pale-cheeked children and fetid alleyways. Surely in bringing the workless man of the Old World to the manless work of the New, the Canadian Government and the transportation companies are doing a bit of God's work. Half way between Winnipeg and the Pacific we reach Calgary, breezy, buoyant Calgary, the commercial metropolis of the foothills, already a busy mart and predestined to be the distributing point for many railroads. The biggest man-made thing in Calgary is the C.P.R. irrigation works, the largest on this continent. The area included in the irrigation block is twice as big as the Island of Porto Rico and one-eighth the size of England and Wales; and the ultimate expenditure on the undertaking will reach the five million mark. Calgary is the centre of a country literally flowing with milk and honey and fat things. The oil-fields of Pincher Creek, with their rich promise of becoming a second Pennsylvania, are contiguous to the city. The winter wheat grown in Southern Alberta was awarded first prize and gold medal at the World's Fair in Oregon in 1905. The hackney carriage horses which took first prize at the last Montreal and New York horse-fairs were foaled and raised near Calgary. If we were to continue going due west from this point, all the scenic glories of the Rocky Mountains would be ours--seventy Switzerlands in one. But that journey must stand over for another day, with the journey to Prince Rupert, the ocean terminus of the Grand Trunk Pacific. Turning sharply to the north, we travel two hundred miles, and draw into where Edmonton, the capital of Alberta, sits smiling on the banks of her silver Saskatchewan. As he sees us digging out our tents and dunnage, the porter asks, "Then yer not comin' back?" "No." "You _are_ goin' to the North Pole, then, the place you wuz hollerin' fer!" With the exception of Victoria, Edmonton has the most charming location of all cities of Western Canada. High Hope stalks her streets. There is a spirit of initiative and assuredness in this virile town, a culture and thoughtfulness in her people, expectancy in the very air. It is the city of contrasts; the ox-cart dodges the automobile; in the track of French heel treads the moccasin; the silk hat salutes the Stetson. Edmonton is the end of steel. Three lines converge here: the Canadian Northern, the Canadian Pacific, and the Grand Trunk Pacific. The Canadian Northern arrived first, coming in four years ago. Now that Edmonton has arrived, it seems the most natural thing in the world that there should have sprung up on the Saskatchewan this rich metropolis, anticipating for itself a future expansion second to no city in commercial Canada. But some one had to have faith and prescience before Edmonton got her start, and the god-from-the-machine was the Canadian Northern, in other words, William Mackenzie and D.D. Mann. Individuals and nations as they reap a harvest are apt to forget the hands that sowed the seed in faith, nothing doubting. When this railroad went into Edmonton, as little was known of the valley of the Saskatchewan as is known now of the valley of the Peace. Without exception, Canadian men of letters go to other countries for recognition, but not so all our men of deeds. Mackenzie and Mann, "the Brains of a Trans-Continental," stayed in Canada and put their genius to work here. The Canadian Northern is the product of Canadian minds and Canadian money. [Illustration: A Section of Edmonton] We walk Edmonton streets for ten days and see neither an old man nor an old woman. The government and the business interests are in the hands of young people who have adopted modern methods of doing things; single tax is the basis of taxation; the city owns its public utilities, including an interurban street railroad, electric lighting plant, water-works, and the automatic telephone. Mr. C.W. Cross, the Attorney-General of Alberta, is the youngest man in Canada to hold that high office. During the first session of the first legislature of this baby province less than three years ago, an enabling act was passed for a university. Nowhere else have I been sensible of such a feeling of united public-spiritedness as obtains here. Down in the river valley are hundreds of people living under canvas, not because they are poor but because building contractors cannot keep pace with the demand for homes. As we pass these tents, we are rude enough to look in. Most of them are furnished with telephones and the city water; here a bride bends over a chafing dish; another glance discloses an oil-painting that was once shown in the Royal Academy. From the next tent float the strains of Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata, and, as we stop to listen, a gentleman and his wife step out. An auto picks them up and off they whirl to Jasper Avenue. The Lord o' the Tents of Shem disappears into his bank and Milady drives on to the Government house to read before the Literary Club a paper on Browning's _Saul_. To the tenderfoot from the South it is all delightfully disconcerting--oxen and autos and Browning on the Saskatchewan! The Sunday before we leave Edmonton I find another set of tents, put up by the Immigration Department, where East-End Londoners are housed pending their going out upon the land. In the first call I make I unearth a baby who rejoices in the name of Hester Beatrice Cran. "H.B.C.," I remark, "aren't you rather infringing on a right, taking that trade-mark?" Quick came the retort, "Ho! If she gets as good a 'old on the land as the 'Udson's Bay Company 'as, she'll do!" Another lady in the next tent proudly marshalled her olive branches. "D'isy and the baiby were born in the Heast Hend. They're Henglish; please God they'll make good Canaidians. They're tellin' me, miss, there'll be five 'undred more of us on the 'igh seas comin' out to Hedmonton from the Heast Hend, all poor people like ourselves. I often wonder w'y they don't bring out a few dukes to give the country a touch of 'igh life--it's very plain 'ere." By the first day of June we have our kit complete and are ready to leave. We have tried to cut everything down to the last ounce, but still the stuff makes a rather formidable array. What have we? Tent, tent-poles, typewriter, two cameras, two small steamer-trunks, bedding (a thin mattress with waterproof bottom and waterproof extension-flaps and within this our two blankets), a flour-bag or "Hudson's Bay suit-case" (containing tent-pegs, hatchet, and tin wash-basin), two raincoats, a tiny bag with brush and comb and soap--and last, but yet first, the kodak films wrapped in oilcloth and packed in biscuit-tins. The bits of impedimenta look unfamiliar as we take our first inventory, but we are to come to know them soon by their feel in the dark, to estimate to an ounce the weight of each on many a lonely portage. [Illustration: The Golden Fleece of Saskatchewan] At seven in the morning the stage pulls up for us, and it rains--no gentle sizzle-sozzle, but a sod-soaker, yea a gully-washer! The accusing newness of those raincoats is to come off at once. Expansive Kennedy looks askance at the tenderfoots who climb over his wheel. His Majesty's Royal Mail Stage sifts through the town picking up the other victims. We are two big stage-loads, our baggage marked for every point between Edmonton and the Arctic Ocean. Every passenger but ourselves looks forward to indefinite periods of expatriation in the silent places. We alone are going for fun. Our one care is to keep those precious cameras dry. This is the beginning of a camera nightmare which lasts six months until we again reach Chicago. And the fellow-passengers? Law is represented, and medicine, and the all-powerful H.B. Co. With us is Mr. Angus Brabant going in on his initial official trip in charge of H.B. interests in the whole Mackenzie River District, and with him two cadets of The Company. On the seat behind us sit a Frenchman reading a French novel, a man from Dakota, and a third passenger complaining of a camera "which cost fifty pounds sterling" that somehow has fallen by the way. Sergeant Anderson, R.N.W.M.P., with his wife and two babies are in the other stage. Kennedy, the driver, is a character. Driving in and out and covering on this one trail twelve thousand miles every year, he is fairly soaked with stories of the North and Northmen. The other stage is driven by Kennedy's son, who, tradition says, was struck by lightning when he was just forgetting to be a boy and beginning to be a man. Dwarfed in mind and body, he makes a mild-flavoured pocket-edition of Quilp. The roads are a quagmire. The querulous voice of the man who lost his camera claims our attention. "I thought I would be able to get out and run behind and pick flowers." Turning and introducing ourselves, we find the troubled one to be an English doctor going north off his own bat with the idea of founding a hospital for sick Indians on the Arctic Circle. [Illustration: Irrigation Ditch, Calgary, Alberta] The girlish figure of a teacher struggling through the awful mud in gum-boots indicates that we have not travelled beyond the range of the little red schoolhouse. Stray wee figures splashing their way schoolward look dreary enough, and I seem to hear the monotonous drone of "seven times nine," "the mountains of Asia," "the Tudor sovereigns with dates of accession," and other things appertaining to "that imperial palace whence I came." All the summer afterwards, when mosquitoes are plenty and food scarce, a backward thought to this teacher making muddy tracks toward the well of English undefiled, brings pleased content. [Illustration: A Waldorf-Astoria on the Prairie's Edge] At noon it clears, and as we "make tea" at Sturgeon Creek (the Namao Sepee of the Indians), the first of the "stopping-places" or Waldorf-Astorias of the wilderness, the Doctor has his will and gathers violets, moccasin flowers, and the purple _dodecatheon_. As we pass Lily Lake he remarks, "This reminds me of the Duke of Norfolk's place at Arundel; it is just like this." South Dakoty returns, "I don't know him." Here and there we pass clusters of Galician huts. Instead of following the line of least resistance in the fertile plains to the south, these people, the Mark Tapleys of the prairies, choose cheap land up here for the pleasure of conquering it and "coming out strong." They are a frugal people, with a fondness for work, a wholesome horror of debt, and the religious instinct strongly insistent. Off on a hillside near each little settlement a naked cross extends its arms. These are their open-air churches, and in all weathers, men, women, and children gather at the foot of the cross to worship the God of their fathers. By and by, when the soil has yielded to their labours, with their own hands will they build a church and without debt it will be dedicated. The idea of raising an imposing church and presenting God with the mortgage does not appeal to the Galician. The clean sheets at "Eggie's," the second stopping-place, are attractive, and we sleep the sleep of the just. We acknowledge with inward shame that two years of city life have given us the soft muscles of the chee-chaco; we'll have to harden up a bit if we are to reach that far-away ocean. Next day, midway between Edmonton and Athabasca Landing, we water our horses at the Tautinau. We are standing at the Height of Land, the watershed between the Saskatchewan and the Athabasca. This little ridge where the harebells grow divides the drops of rain of the noon-day shower. Some of these drops, by way of the Saskatchewan, Lake Winnipeg, and Hudson Bay, will reach the Atlantic. Others, falling into the Athabasca, will form part of that yellow-tinged flood which, by way of Great Slave Lake and the mighty Mackenzie, carries its tribute to the Frozen Ocean. These last are the drops we follow. To save the horses we walk the hills, and I try to match giant steps with Sergeant Anderson. Kennedy, Junior, joins us and has a knotty point to settle regarding "the gentleman wot murdered the man." It is hard to induce a Mounted Policeman to talk. However, to be striding Athabasca Trail with the hero of the Hayward-King murder-trial is too good an opportunity to lose, and, reluctantly rendered, bit by bit the story comes out. Most people looking at a map of Northwest Canada would think it a safe wilderness for a live man or a dead man to disappear in with no questions asked. In reality, it is about the worst place in America in which to commit a crime and hope to go unpunished. In September, 1904, the Indians reported to the Mounted Police that they had seen two white men in the early summer, and that afterwards one man walked alone, and was now at Lesser Slave. An observant Cree boy added, "The dog won't follow that other white fellow any more." Sergeant Anderson, going to their last camp, turned over the ashes and found three hard lumps of flesh and a small piece of skull bone. Convinced that murder had been done, he arrested the suspected man and sent him to Fort Saskatchewan for trial. No one knew the identity of either the dead man or the living. In front of the old camp-fire was a little slough or lake, and this seemed a promising place to look for evidence. Sergeant Anderson hired Indian women to wade in the ooze, feeling with their toes for any hard substance. In this way were secured a sovereign-case and a stick-pin of unusual make. The lake was systematically drained and yielded a shoe with a broken-eyed needle sticking in it. Sifting the ashes of the camp-fire and examining them with a microscope, Anderson discovered the eye of the broken needle and thus established a connection between the camp with its burnt flesh and the exhibits from the lake. The maker of the stick-pin in London, England, was cabled to by the Canadian Government, and a Mr. Hayward summoned to come from there to identify the trinkets of his murdered brother. A cheque drawn by the dead Hayward in favour of King came to the surface in a British Columbia bank. Link by link the chain of evidence grew. It took eleven months for Sergeant Anderson to get his case in shape. Then he convoyed forty Indian witnesses two hundred and fifty miles from Lesser Slave to Edmonton to tell what they knew about the crime committed in the silent places. The evidence was placed before the jury, and the Indians returned to their homes. A legal technicality cropped up and the trial had to be repeated. Once more the forty Indians travelled from Lesser Slave to repeat their story. The result was that Charles King of Utah was found guilty of the murder of Edward Hayward and paid the death penalty. This trial cost the Canadian Government over $30,000,--all to avenge the death of one of the wandering units to be found in every corner of the frontier, one unknown prospector. Was it worth while? Did it pay? Yes, it paid. It is by such object-lessons that to Indian and white alike is forced home the truth that God's law, "Thou shalt not kill," is also the law of Britain and of Canada. We are still on foot, when a cry from the Kid hurries us to the hilltop. Reaching the crest, we catch our breaths. Down below lies the little village of "The Landing." That sparkling flood beyond proves the Athabasca to be a live, northward-trending river, a river capable of carrying us with it, and no mere wiggly line on a map. CHAPTER III ATHABASCA LANDING "I am the land that listens, I am the land that broods; Steeped in eternal beauty, crystalline waters and woods; I wait for the men who will win me--and I will not be won in a day; And I will not be won by weaklings, subtle, suave and mild, But by men with the hearts of vikings, and the simple faith of a child." --_Robert Service_ [Illustration: Athabasca Landing] Athabasca Landing, a funnel through which percolates the whole trade between the wheat-belt and the Arctic, is the true gateway of the North. Seeing our baggage tucked away in the bar-room of the Grand Union Hotel, and snatching a hasty supper, we walk down to the river, its edges still encrusted with fragments of winter ice. It is an incomparable sunset, the light a veritable spilt spectrum, spreading itself with prodigality over the swift river. The Athabasca, after dipping to the south, here takes a sudden northward bend. Its source is in the crest of the continent far back in the Committee's Punch-Bowl of the Rockies, the general trend of the river being northeasterly. It is the most southerly of the three great tributaries of the mighty Mackenzie, and from its source in Rockies to embouchure in Athabasca Lake it is about seven hundred and seventy-five miles long; through a wooded valley two miles wide it runs with perhaps an average width of two hundred and fifty yards. We are in latitude 55° North, and between us and the Arctic lies an unknown country, which supports but a few hundred Indian trappers and the fur-traders of the Ancient Company in their little posts, clinging like swallows' nests to the river banks. The wheat-plains to the south of us are so fertile and accessible that the tide of immigration has stopped south of where we stand. But that there stretches beyond us a country rich in possibilities we know, and one day this land, unknown and dubbed "barren" because unknown, will support its teeming millions. Chimerical? Why so? Parallels of latitude are great illuminators. When we run this line of 55° westward what do we strike in Asia? The southern boundary of the Russian Province of Tobolsk. Superimpose a map of that Province on a map of Canada and we find that the great Mackenzie waterway which we are to follow cuts Tobolsk almost directly through the centre. In the year 1900, Russian Tobolsk produced twenty-one million bushels of grain, grazed two and a half million head of live stock, exported one and a half million dollars' worth of butter, and supported a population of one and a half million souls. There is not one climatic condition obtaining in the Asiatic Province that this similar section of Canada which we are about to enter does not enjoy. Off a little jetty some lads are fishing. There is a camaraderie felt by all fishermen, and soon I have a rod and access to the chunk of moose-meat which is the community bait. Within half an hour, rejoicing in a string of seventeen chub and grayling, we wend our way back to the little village. The elements that compose it? Here we have a large establishment of the Hudson's Bay Company, an Anglican and a Roman Mission, a little public school, a barracks of the Northwest Mounted Police, a post office, a dozen stores, a reading-room, two hotels, and a blacksmith shop, and for population a few whites leavening a host of Cree-Scots half-breeds. Athabasca Landing is part of the British Empire. But English is at a discount here; Cree and French and a mixture of these are spoken on all sides. The swart boatmen are the most interesting feature of the place,--tall, silent, moccasined men, followed at the heel by ghostlike dogs. From this point north dogs are the beasts of burden; the camel may be the ship of the desert, but the dog is the automobile of the silences. The wise missionary translates his Bible stories into the language of the latitude. As Count von Hammerstein says, "What means a camel to a Cree? I tell him it is a moose that cannot go through a needle's eye." The Scriptural sheep and goats become caribou and coyotes, and the celestial Lamb is typified by the baby seal with its coat of shimmering whiteness. Into the prohibition territory that stretches north of this no liquor can be taken except by a permit signed by an Attorney-General of Canada, and then only "for medicinal purposes." By an easy transferring of epithets, the term "permit" has come to signify the revivifying juice itself. [Illustration: Necessity Knows No Law at Athabasca] One illusion vanishes here. We had expected to find the people of the North intensely interested in the affairs of the world outside, but as a rule they are not. There is no discussion of American banks and equally no mention of the wheat crop. The one conjecture round the bar and in the home is, "When will the rabbits run this year?" The rabbits in the North are the food of the lynx; cheap little bunny keeps the vital spark aglow in the bodies of those animals with richer fur who feed upon him. Every seven years an epidemic attacks the wild rabbits, and that year means a scarcity of all kinds of fur. As surely as wheat stands for bullion in the grain-belt, little Molly Cottontail is the currency of the North. It is at this point we join the Fur-Brigade of the Hudson's Bay Company making its annual transport to the posts of the Far North, taking in supplies for trading material and bringing back the peltries obtained in barter during the previous winter. The big open scows, or "sturgeon-heads," which are to form our convoy have been built, the freight is all at The Landing, but for three days the half-breed boatmen drag along the process of loading, and we get our introduction to the word which is the keynote of the Cree character,--"Kee-am," freely translated, "Never mind," "Don't get excited," "There's plenty of time," "It's all right," "It will all come out in the wash." When the present Commissioner of the Hudson's Bay Company entered office he determined to reduce chaos to a methodical exactness, and framed a time-table covering every movement in the northward traffic. When it was shown by the local representative to the Cree boatmen at The Landing, old Duncan Tremblé, a river-dog on the Athabasca for forty years, looked admiringly at the printed slip and said, "Aye, aye; the Commissioner he makes laws, but the river he boss." It is only when ice is out and current serves that the brigade moves forward. Old Duncan knows seven languages,--English, French, Cree, Chipewyan, Beaver, Chinook, Montagnais,--he speaks seven languages, thinks in Cree, and prevaricates in them all. [Illustration: The Missionary Hymnal for the Indians] At the foot of the hill we visit the English parsonage, with its old-time sun-dial at the garden-gate. Within, we find what must surely be the farthest north printing-press. Here two devoted women have spent years of their lives printing in Cree on a hand-press syllabic hymns and portions of the Gospel for the enlightenment of the Indians. We wander into the school where a young teacher is explaining to his uneasy disciples the intricacies of Present Worth and Compound Interest. Idly we wonder to what use these bare-footed half-Cree urchins will put their exact banking knowledge. Everywhere around us the wild flowers are a great joy; we hail with the gladness of released children the posies that sweetened childhood meadows--the dwarf cornel (Cornel Canadensis), dandelions, strawberry blossoms, wild roses, the pale wood-violet on its long stem, and amid these familiars the saskatoon or service-berry bushes, with blueberry vines, and viburnums of many kinds. On the street the natty uniforms of the Mounted Police are in evidence, and baseball has penetrated as far north as this. In the post office we read, "It is decided to hold sports on the first day of July. The Committee promises a splendid programme,--horse-races, foot-races, football match, baseball game. There will also be prizes for the best piece of Indian fancy-work. Dancing will be in full swing in the evening. All welcome." Opposite the hotel is a reading-room built by a Methodist parson who also made the furniture with his own hands; magazines, books, writing-material, games are available to all. This practical work of one man who accepted the responsibility of being his brother's keeper appealed to us. In a store near the hotel we see a Cree boatman purchasing a farewell present for his sweetheart. As he turns over the fancy articles, we have bad form enough to observe his choice. He selects a fine-tooth comb, for which he pays fifty cents, or as he calls it, "two skins," and asks, as he tucks it into his jerkin, if he can change it "if she doesn't like it." In the evening it rains, and the room assigned us becomes a living illustration of the new word we have just learned,--"muskeg," a swamp. Putting the precious cameras on top of the bureau, we let the rest of the things swim at their pleasure. Starting with the rest of the unattached community of Athabasca Landing to go down to the pool-room, we catch sight of Dr. Sussex and the Cree priest, who have found a little oasis of their own around a big stove in the upper hall and, with chairs tilted back, are enjoying some portable hospitality from below. The doctor arises to escort us through the flood, and when I rally him about his liquid refreshment, he says, "Oh, I had lemonade." "I see. And the priest?" "He had--what he liked." If local colour and local smell is what we have come north for, we find it here. Mr. Brabant comes up with "I wonder if that bunch of nuns is going to get here in time to take scows with us," and we pass into the billiard-room and watch the game. The players gliding round in moccasins are all half-breeds. The exclamations are for the most part in Cree or bad French, and as I crowd in looking for some local terms all that I hear intelligible is, "That is damn close, I think me." For thirty-six hours on end it rains. That roof was full of surprises; you never knew where it would spring a fresh leak. One room is a little better than the rest, and we all gather there and make the best of it,--smoking, writing, telling yarns. A bumping noise from across the hall and the cry of a child startles us. It proves to be Sergeant Anderson's baby whose cradle has started afloat, and there is a general rush to rescue Moses from his bulrushes. Everybody is in good humour. As we calm the baby, South Dakota says "It reminds me of the Englishman and his musical bath." We demand the story. "Well, a rich American took a great liking to an Englishman he had been travelling with, and sent him for a birthday present a Yankee invention to set up in his country-house--a musical bath. As you turned on the spigot, the thing played a tune while you were washing, and sort of relieved the tee-deum. The two gents met next Christmas in New York, and the Yankee he sez, 'And how did you like the bath?' 'Oh, thank you very much, it was kind of you indeed, but I found it a little irksome standing all the time, you know.' 'Standing, what the blazes do you mean?' asked the Yankee. 'Well,' says the Britisher, 'the tune you furnished, you know, with the bawth, was _God Save the King_, and as soon as it began, you know, I had to stand, and it's rather tiresome taking your bawth standing, you know." Sergeant Joyce tells how at a Mounted Police dinner at Fort Saskatchewan a parson, who was a guest, in proposing a toast, facetiously advised his entertainers to have nothing to do with either a doctor or a lawyer. It was interesting to watch the parson's face when there arose to reply a lawyer and a doctor, each a constable in the rank and file. Mrs. Leslie Wood of Athabasca Landing adds her quota to the Tales of a Wayside Inn. We could have listened to her for a week and regretted neither the rain nor the waiting scows. As a girl she remembers being shocked at seeing men hold tin cups to the throats of newly-slaughtered buffalo, drinking with gusto the warm blood. "What are the two greatest things on earth?" Mrs. Wood, as a young girl, asked the dusky disciples of her Sunday School class. "The Queen and The Company," was the ready response. "And of these, which is the greater?" Little Marten-Tail rubbed one moccasin over the other, and the answer came thoughtfully in Cree, "The Company. The Queen sometimes dies, but The Company never dies." "The Company," of which the little girl spoke, "The Governor and Company of Adventurers trading into Hudson's Bay," deriving its charter in 1670 from the Second Charles of England, is the oldest chartered concern in the world, with a present-day sphere of influence as large as Great Britain, France, Spain, and Germany combined. From lone Labrador to the Pacific littoral and from Winnipeg to the Frozen Ocean are scattered the two hundred and fifty fur-trading forts of this concern in charge of its two thousand strong silent servants. Last year it paid to its stockholders a profit of forty-five per cent on the invested capital, and for two hundred and thirty-nine consecutive years it has been declaring dividends. The motto of the Company, _Pro Pelle Cutein_, is prominently displayed at Athabasca Landing. Literally translated, the phrase means "Skin for skin"; but why the promoters should have chosen as war-cry the words which Satan used when fighting with the Lord for the soul of Job, is not so apparent. As we watch the trading goods being carried in the rain from warehouse to scows, we think how, weaving its cross-Atlantic way through the centuries and joining the periwigged days of the Stuarts to this day, the one man-made thing that has persisted is this commerce-shuttle of the H.B. Co. In the days when The Company had its birth, the blind Milton was dictating his message and the liberated Bunyan preached the spoken word, the iniquitous Cabal Ministry was forming in England, and Panama was sacked by Morgan the buccaneer. New York merchants of Manhattan met every Friday at noon on the bridge over the Broad Street Canal for barter, South Carolina was settled on the Ashley River, Virginia enacted that "all servants not being Christians, imported into this country by shipping shall be slaves," and her Governor, Sir William Berkeley, was inspired to exclaim piously, "I hope we shall have neither free schools nor printing these hundred years, for learning has brought disobedience and heresy and sects into the world, and printing has divulged them. God keep us from both!" It was not until two years later that Addison was born, and that Marquette and Joliet sailed down the Mississippi, even as we now are essaying the Athabasca. Unique in commercial annals is the Royal Charter which gave, with power of life and death, to the Company of Gentlemen Adventurers, less than twenty in number, "forever hereafter" possession and jurisdiction over a country as large as Europe. Liberty here for utter despotism, the widest of excesses. We marvel that from the first Prince Rupert of the Rhine to the latest Lord Strathcona and Mount Royal, the Governors of the Ancient Company have, with Duncan-like demeanour, borne themselves so meek in their great office. It has been fashionable to paint the H.B. Co. as an agrarian oligarchy. Organized for the purpose of "making fur" before the time of the Habeas Corpus, two decades ahead of the Bank of England, sixty-two years before Benjamin Franklin began publishing "Poor Richard's Almanac," and a century in advance of Watt's steam-engine, it is true that The Company, throughout the years, devoted itself to peltries and not to platting town sites. This was its business. From the beginning it has consistently kept faith with the Indians; the word of The Company has, for reward or for punishment, ever been worth its full face value. It was not an H.B. Scot who exclaimed feelingly, "Honesty _is_ the best policy, I've tried baith." The feeling of devotion to The Company is as strong today as it ever was. When the present Commissioner took office he penetrated the North on a tour of inspection. At Athabasca Landing, since it was not known just when the Head would arrive, the local official charged all his clerks and minions to be ready at the sound of a whistle to salute and fall into line for inspection. The call to arms came on Sunday morning during divine service. Every attaché of The Company with one exception obeyed the signal. Young Tom Helly, the paid organist, stuck to his post; and next day he was called on the carpet. "It was a special service; I was in the middle of the anthem, sir, and didn't like to leave the House of God." "Couldn't you show some respect?" roared the local officer. Man was near in Athabasca Landing and God far away. Down in the big office at Winnipeg is a Doomsday Book where the life-record of every servant of The Company is kept, for no man who has ever served The Company is lost sight of. When there is a good fur-winter, every employé of The Company is handed an envelope which contains a bonus-cheque,--ten per cent of his yearly salary. [Illustration: C.C. Chipman, Commissioner of the H.B. Co.] The Commissioner of the Hudson's Bay Company and the head of one of Canada's big department stores were dining together at a Toronto Club. "After six o'clock I don't want to see or hear of an employé--he doesn't exist for me until eight o'clock next morning," said the head of the department store. "Well, I'm more curious than you," smiled the Commissioner of the H.B. Co., "I want to be reasonably assured of what every man-Jack of my people is doing all the time. I want to know what he reads, and if he treats his wife well, and how his last baby is getting along--you see, he's a working-partner of mine." There came out of Northern British Columbia last year the Indian wife and half-breed daughters of an H.B. Co. Factor. They were bound for Montreal and it was their first trip "outside." The Commissioner at Winnipeg contradicts the old saw, and surely has "a soul above a beaver-skin"; like Mulvaney, too, he "has bowels." Quickly went forward a letter to a tactful woman in the border-town through which the visiting ladies must pass--"Meet them, and see that they get the proper things to wear in society circles in Montreal. I don't want them to feel ill at ease when they get there." Stories like these give us glimpses of the kind of paternalism exercised by the Ancient Company, the one trust that has never ground the faces of the poor, and in whose people to-day appears the "constant service of the Old World." The big books of The Company a year or two ago in unmistakable round-hand declared that one Running Rabbit, lawful widow of Blueskin, was entitled to draw from the coffers clear-side bacon and a modicum of flour. But one quarterly paysheet, returned to Winnipeg from Fort Churchill, showed that Running Rabbit in addition to her food allowance had been handed out forty cents' worth of cotton. Stern enquiry, backed by red-tape and The Company's seal as big as a saucer, was sent up to the Churchill Factor. Why had the allowance of Mrs. Blueskin (née Running Rabbit) been exceeded? By "return mail" nine months later the Factor reported, "The widow's gone, Her tent's forsaken, No more she comes For flour and bacon. N.B. The cotton was used for her shroud." The Ancient Company was penny-wise, but in spite of the copybook line, not pound-foolish, as its dividend paysheets conclusively prove. There is no desire to show forth these silent ones of the North as infallible men and immaculate. They make many mistakes; they were and are delightfully human, and we couldn't picture one of them with a saintly aureole. But in the past, as in the present, they were large men; they honoured their word, and you couldn't buy them. Men of action, whether inside fort walls, bartering in the tepee of the Indian, or off on silent trails alone,--it has been given to each of them to live life at firsthand. In every undertaking the determining factor of success is men, and not money or monopoly. And because the North still breeds men of the H.B. type, the eye of The Great Company is not dimmed, its force not abated. We spoke with no fewer than three men at The Landing who came into the North in the year of the Klondike rush, that is, just ten years ago. Into the human warp and woof of the Great Lone Land of Northern Canada the Klondike gold-rush intruded a new strand. The news of the strike on Yukon fields flashed round the world on wires invisible and visible, passed by word of mouth from chum to chum, and by moccasin telegraph was carried to remotest corners of the continent. Gold-fever is a disease without diagnosis or doctor--infectious, contagious, and hereditary; if its germ once stirs in a man's blood, till the day of his death he is not immune from an attack. The discovery of gold-dust in Dawson sent swarming through the waterways of sub-Arctic Canada a heterogeneous horde,--gamblers of a hundred hells, old-time miners from quiet firesides, beardless boys from their books, human parasites of two continents, and dreamers from the Seven Seas. Coastwise they sought the North by steamers from 'Frisco, Seattle, and Vancouver Island, and of the numbers of these the shipping offices have some records. But of that vast army who from the east and from the south travelled inland waterways towards the golden goal no tabulation has ever been made. Singly they went, in groups, and by partnerships of two and three. There was no route marked out by which they were to reach the glittering streams of which they dreamed; the general direction of north and west was all that guided them. Athabasca Landing was the portal through which they passed, and by every northward stream they travelled,--down the Athabasca toward the Mackenzie and up the Athabasca to the Peace, leaving stranded men and stranded boats on every shore. By raft and dug-out, scow and canoe, men essayed to travel rapid waterways who had never handled craft before, and the Indians still point out to you near Grand Rapids on the Athabasca the site of the Mounted Police Station where Sergeant Anderson rescued a dozen tenderfoots from drowning. To the Indians of this vast country the unwonted inundation of the whites was a revelation. Before this, their knowledge of Europeans had been limited to men of the Hudson's Bay posts and the few black-robed Fathers of the missions. The priests had told the Indians that in the outside world French was the accepted language of the white man and that only the degraded and debased spoke English. Most of the Northern Indians who speak English will tell you that they got their first lessons from the Klondike miners. And what of the men who followed the gleam? Some reached Dawson. These were few. Those who gained fortunes, were fewer still. In the old books of the H.B. Co. a favourite phrase of the Factor is "a band of Indians _cast up_ from the east," "the Express from the North _cast up_ at a late hour last night." On the way to Dawson, and filtering backward from that point, hundreds of gold-miners are "cast up" on every interior shore. Acting as attachés to Hudson's Bay posts, engaging as free traders, manipulating missionary boats for Protestant and Roman Catholic seekers for souls, trapping off their own bat, and, in one instance at least, marrying the missionary, they were constantly passing us. Round the home hearths wives wonder about them, and the old bent mother still prays for her absent son. A silence like this once entered upon is hard to break, and the wanderer in the silence wraps tighter about him the garment of the recluse. Outcropping from the strata in striking individuality, they belong to a different race to the plodding people of the Hudson's Bay posts, and are interesting men wherever you meet them. Keen of vision, slow of speech, and with that dreamy look which only those acquire who have seen Nature at her secrets in the quiet places,--they are like boulders, brought down by the glacial drift and dropped here and there over the white map of the North. CHAPTER IV DOWN THE ATHABASCA ONE HUNDRED AND SIXTY-FIVE MILES TO GRAND RAPIDS "Set me in the urge and tide-drift Of the streaming hosts a-wing! Breast of scarlet, throat of yellow, Raucous challenge, wooings mellow-- Every migrant is my fellow, Making northward with the Spring." --_Bliss Carman_. If you have to do with Indian or half-breed boatmen in the North you plan to begin your journey in the evening, even though you hope to run only a few miles before nightfall. This ensures a good start next morning, whereas it would be humanly impossible to tear men away from the flesh-pots (beer pots) of Athabasca Landing early in any day. It took these chaps all the afternoon to say good-bye, for each one in the village had to be shaken hands with, every dog apostrophized by name. The Athabasca Transport of which we form joyous part makes a formidable flotilla: seven specially-built scows or "sturgeon-heads." Each runs forty to fifty feet with a twelve-foot beam and carries ten tons. The oars are twenty feet long. It takes a strong man to handle the forty-foot steering-sweep which is mounted with an iron pivot on the stern. Our particular shallop is no different from the others, except that there is a slightly raised platform in the stern-sheets, evidently a dedication to the new Northern Manager of the H.B. Co. We share the pleasant company of a fourth passenger, Mrs. Harding, on her way home to Fort Resolution on Great Slave Lake. The second sturgeon-head carries seven members of the Royal Northwest Mounted Police, jolly laughing chaps, for are not they, too, like us, off duty? Inspector Pelletier and three men are to go with our Fur Transport as far as Resolution and then diverge to the east, essaying a cross-continent cut from there to salt water on Hudson Bay. For this purpose they ship two splendidly made Peterborough canoes. The other three members of the force are young chaps assigned to Smith's Landing on the Slave River, sent there to protect the wood bison of that region, the world's last wild buffalo. The third craft we observe with due respect as "the cook boat." The remaining four scows carry cargo only,--the trade term being "pieces," each piece from eighty to a hundred pounds, a convenient weight for carrying on the portages. [Illustration: A "Sturgeon-head" at Athabasca] [Illustration: "Farewell, Nistow!"] June 6th at a quarter of seven saw the whole populace of Athabasca Landing on the river bank--dogs, babies, the officials of the Hudson's Bay, parson, priest, police, and even the barkeep,--and with the yelping of dogs and "Farewell, Nistow!" we are off. We are embarked on a 2500-mile journey, the longest water route on the continent, down which floats each year the food, clothing, and frugal supplies of a country as big as Europe. The river is running five miles an hour and there is no need of the oars. The steersman is our admiration, as with that clumsy stern-sweep he dodges rocks, runs riffles, and makes bends. The scow is made of green wood, and its resilience stands it in good stead as, like a snake, it writhes through tight channels or over ugly bits of water. Everybody is in good humour; we are dreamers dreaming greatly. Why should we not be happy? Mrs. Harding is homeward-bound, Mr. Brabant on a new rung of the fur ladder of preferment, Inspector Pelletier and his associates starting on a quest of their own seeking. Sitting low among the "pieces" of the police boat, with only his head visible in the sunset glow, Dr. Sussex builds air-castles of that eleemosynary hospital of his on the Arctic Circle. The cook is whistling from the cook-boat. Five years ago he graduated from a business college, but the preparation of bannock and sow-belly appeals to the blood more insistently than trial balances and the petty cash book. As for ourselves, the Kid's smile is almost audible as she runs a loving hand over the oilskin cover of the camera. A favourite expression of mine in the latitudes below when the world smiled was, "Oh, I'm glad I'm alive and white!" On this exclamation I start now, but stop at the word "white." North of Athabasca Landing white gives place to a tint more tawny. A hundred yards out, the Policemen are boyish enough to launch those shiny Peterboroughs just to try them, and in and out among the big sturgeon-heads, debonair dolphins, they dart. Then comes the rain, and one by one the clumsy boats turn toward shore. There are some things that even the enquiring mind cannot run to ground, things that just happen out of the blue. For fifteen successive springs I have tried to discover the first boy who brought marbles to school when marble-season came in, and I have never yet been able to put my finger on that elusive history-maker. So on this voyage, the fleet is started and stopped, landings are made, camping-places decided upon, and no ear can detect the sound of command. The scows tie up, and without undressing we sleep on board, pulling a tarpaulin over us and letting the rain rain. At 5:30 next morning we hear the familiar "Nistow! Nistow!" of the awakened camp. This word literally means "brother-in-law," but it is the vocative used by the Cree in speaking to anybody he feels kindly toward. The cook makes a double entry with bacon and bannock, and there is exulting joy in our soul. Who would napkins bear, or finger-bowls? We had put them far behind, with the fardels. It is the season of lengthening days and fading nights. At seven o'clock we are in the river again, and for three glorious hours we float, first one scow in front, then the other, social amenities in Cree being shouted from boat to boat. Then, in one voice from three boats, "Mooswa!" and far beyond white man's vision the boatmen sight a moose. There is a little red tape about the ethics of taking off those precious Peterboroughs which were to make history on the map, and in the delay the moose wandered into pleasant pastures. The boatmen were very much disgruntled, as the moose is treasure-trove, the chief fresh meat that his world offers the Indian. From here to the Arctic are no domestic animals, the taste of beef or mutton or pork or chicken is unknown, bread gives place to bannock (with its consequent indigestion "bannockburn"), and coffee is a beverage discredited. Tobacco to smoke, strong, black, sweetened tea to drink from a copper kettle,--this is luxury's lap. The bowsman points to a rude cross on the right bank where a small runway makes in, "Gon-sta-wa-bit" (man who was drowned), he volunteers. Yesterday a Mounted Policeman buried there the body of an Indian man, his wife and his baby, who fell through the ice in a dog-sled this spring,--three in one grave, Lamartine's trinity, the Father, the Mother, and the Child. It is Sunday, and we have music from a li'l fiddle made by a squaw at Lac Ste. Anne. Lac la Biche River we pass, and Calling River, and at five in the evening are at Swift Current, Peachy Pruden's place, and then Red Mud. Sunday night is clear and beautiful, and we float all night. Making a pillow of a squat packing-case consigned to the missionary at Hay River, and idly wondering what it might contain, I draw up a canvas sheet. But it is too wonderful a night to sleep. Lying flat upon our backs and looking upward, we gaze at the low heaven full of stars, big, lustrous, hanging down so low that we can almost reach up and pluck them. Two feet away, holding in both hands the stern sweep, is the form of the Cree steersman, his thoughtful face a cameo against the shadow of the cut-banks. At his feet another half-breed is wrapped in his blanket, and from here to the bow the boat is strewn with these human cocoons. The reclining friend breaks the silence with a word or two of Cree in an undertone to the steersman, a screech-owl cries, from high overhead drops down that sound which never fails to stir vagrant blood--the "unseen flight of strong hosts prophesying as they go." It is the wild geese feeling the old spring fret even as we feel it. In imagination I pierce the distance and see the red panting throat of that long-necked voyageur as he turns to shout back raucous encouragement to his long, sky-clinging V. Floating as we float, it is no longer a marvel to us that this North holds so many scientific men and finished scholars--colonial Esaus serving as cooks, dog-drivers, packers, trackers, oil-borers. The not knowing what is round the next corner, the old heart-hunger for new places and untrod ways,--who would exchange all this for the easy ways of fatted civilization! At five in the morning there is a drawing-in of the fleet to Pelican Portage. Before two hours have passed the grasshopper has become a burden, and it is 102° in the shade, and no shade to be had. We are now a hundred miles from Athabasca Landing. On the left bank we come across a magnificent gas-well with a gush of flame twenty or thirty feet in height. It seems that eleven years ago, seeking for petroleum, the Dominion Government had a shaft sunk here; their boring apparatus was heavy, the plunger with its attachment weighing nearly a ton. At eight hundred feet the operator broke into an ocean of gas, and the pressure blew him with plunger and appliances into the air as a ball comes from a cannon-bore. The flow of gas was so heavy that it clogged his drills with maltha and sand, and from then to now the gas has been escaping. To-day the sound of the escape ricochets up and down the palisaded channel so that we cannot hear each other speak. There is gas enough here, if we could pipe it and bring it under control, to supply with free illumination every city of prairie Canada. It has destroyed all vegetation for a radius of twenty yards; but, oddly enough, outside this range of demarcation the growth is more luxuriant and comes earlier and stays later than that of the surrounding country. One redheaded Klondiker, ignorant of gas and its ways, ten years ago struck a match to this escaping stream, was blown into the bushes beyond, and came out minus hair, eye-brows and red beard--the quickest and closest shave he ever had. The shells of birds' eggs, tea-leaves from many a cheering copper-kettle, tufts of rabbit-hair, and cracked shin-bones of the moose, with here a greasy nine of diamonds, show, this Stromboli of the Athabasca to be the gathering-place of up and down-river wanderers. You can boil a kettle or broil a moose-steak on this gas-jet in six minutes, and there is no thought of accusing metre to mar your joy. The Doctor has found a patient in a cabin on the high bank, and rejoices. The Indian has consumption. The only things the Doctor could get at were rhubarb pills and cod-liver oil, but these, with faith, go a long way. They may have eased the mind of poor Lo, around whose dying bunk we hear the relatives scrapping over his residuary estate of rusty rifle, much-mended fishing-net, and three gaunt dogs. We pass House River, and the devout cross themselves and murmur a prayer. The point is marked by a group of graves covered with canvas. Here years ago a family of four, travelling alone, contracted diphtheria, and died before help could reach them. There is another legend of which the boatmen unwillingly speak, the story of the _Wetigo_, or Indian turned cannibal, who murdered a priest on this lonely point, and ate the body of his victim. The taste for human flesh, Philip Atkinson assures us, grows with the using, and this lunatic of long ago went back to the camps, secured an Indian girl as bride, carried her to this point, took her life, and ate of her flesh. It is a gruesome story. [Illustration: Grand Rapids on the Athabasca River] Now begin the rapids, ninety miles of which we are to run. This rough water on the Athabasca is one of the only two impediments to navigation on the long course between Athabasca Landing and the Polar Ocean. These first rapids, frankly, are a disappointment. The water is high, higher than it has been for ten years, so the boiling over the boulders is not very noticeable. The Pelican Rapid and the Stony we shoot without turning a hair; the Joli Fou is a bit more insistent, but, as the cook says, "nothing to write home about." We drift in a drowsy dream of delight, and in the evening arrive at the head of Grand Rapids. If we had looked slightingly on the rough water passed, what we now see would satisfy the greediest. We tie up and get a good view of what lies ahead, and get also our first real introduction to the mosquito. In mid-stream he had not bothered us much, but after supper it rained a little, the day had been warm, and with cymbals, banners, and brass-bands, he comes in cohorts to greet us. The scows have their noses poked into the bank, the men have built smudge fires in front, but we decide that the best way to escape the mosquito is to go to bed. We lie down in the stern-sheets with our clothes on, make night-caps of our Stetson hats, pull the veils down over our necks, and try to sleep, but it is no avail. Each one of these mosquitoes is a Presbyterian mosquito and it has been ordained that this night he is to taste of white blood. It rains incessantly, and that hot hole in which we lie is one brown cloud of mosquitoes. The men on the bank have finally given it up as a bad job, and they set round the fires smoking and slapping different parts of their persons, swearing volubly in English. For the Cree language is devoid of invective. In the morning we are a sorry crowd, conversation is monosyllabic and very much to the point. It is the first serious trial to individual good-humour. When each one of your four million pores is an irritation-channel of mosquito-virus it would be a relief to growl at somebody about something. But the sun and smiles come out at the same time, and, having bled together, we cement bonds of friendship. What did Henry the Fifth say on the eve of Agincourt,--"For he to-day who sheds his blood with me shall be my brother"? Who would worry about mosquitoes with that splendid spectacular of the Grand Rapids at our feet? The great flood (Kitchee Abowstik) is divided into two channels by an island probably half a mile in length, with its long axis parallel to the flow of the river, and this island solves the question of progress. The main channel to the left is impassable; it is certain death that way. Between the island and the right shore is a passage which on its island side, with nice manipulation, is practicable for empty boats. Then the problem before us is to run the rough water at the near end of the island, tie up there, unload, transfer the pieces by hand-car over the island to its other end, let the empty scows down carefully through the channel by ropes, and reload at the other end. Between the bank where we are and the island ahead is a stretch of roaring water dangerous enough looking. We have learned ere this, however, to sit tight and watch for events. The careless Indians have straightened into keen-eyed, responsible voyageurs, each muscle taut, every sense alert. Our boat goes first, one half-breed with huge pole braces himself as bowsman, the most able man takes the stern sweep, the others stand at the oars. Fifteen minutes of good head-work brings us to the island and we step out with relief. The other boats follow and anchor, and we have opportunity at close range to inspect these worst rapids of the Athabascan chain. The current on the west side of the dividing island looks innocent, and we understand how the greenhorn would choose this passage-way, to his destruction. [Illustration: Portage at Grand Rapids Island] The transportation of pieces occupied four days, every moment of which we enjoyed. Grand Rapids Island is prodigal in wild flowers,--vetches, woodbine, purple and pink columbines, wild roses, several varieties of false Solomon's seal, our persisting friend dwarf cornel, and, treasure-trove, our first anemone,--that beautiful buttercup springing from its silvered sheath-- "And where a tear has dropt a wind-flower blows." I measured a grass-stem and found it two feet three inches high, rising amid last year's prostrate growth. [Illustration: Our transport at Grand Rapids Island] At Grand Rapids Island we overtook two scows which had preceded us from The Landing and whose crews had waited here to assist in the transport. It gave us opportunity to observe these sixty representative half-breeds from Lac la Biche. Tall, strong, happy-go-lucky, with no sordid strain in their make-up, they are fellows that one cannot help feeling sympathy for. A natural link between the East and the West, the South of Canada and the North, they have bridged over the animosity and awkwardness with which the Red race elsewhere has approached the White. [Illustration: Cheese-shaped Nodules, Grand Rapids Island] In a glade our camp is made, inside our tents we arrange the mosquito-bar (a tent within a tent looking something like a good-sized dog-kennel), and here we lie in our blankets. The hum of the foiled mosquito is unction to our souls. It is a relief, too, to remove the day's clothing, the first time in ninety-six hours. The Athabasca here cuts through a cretaceous sandstone,--soft, yellowish, homogeneous. In passing Grand Rapids Island it has a fall of ninety feet. The river has weathered the banks into vertical cliffs four or five hundred feet high, imbedded in which are wonderful cheese-shaped nodules, some the size of baseballs, some as big as mill-stones. The river-bed is strewn thick with these concretions from which the swift current has worn the softer matrix away, and many of the stones are as spherical as if turned out by a hand-lathe. The sandstone banks opposite the island are overlain with a stratum of lignite three or four feet thick, which burns freely and makes acceptable fuel. Sections of fossil trees are also seen, and the whole thing is fascinating, one's great wish being for a larger knowledge of geology so as to read aright this strange page of history in stone. Timber along the Athabasca has suffered much from forest fires. What we see is largely second growth,--Banksian pine, fir, spruce, birch, and aspen. The aspen is the first deciduous tree to leaf. Tall, slender, delicate, its bole is clean as an organ-pipe and its terraced feathery branches seem to float in air. Across the roaring water swallows are nesting in the clayey cliffs:-- "This guest of summer, The temple-haunting martlet, does approve, By his loved mansionry, that the heaven's breath Smells wooingly here: no jutty, frieze, Buttress, nor coign of vantage, but this bird Hath made his pendant bed and procreant cradle: Where they most breed and haunt, I have observed, The air is delicate." We learn that half-breeds share the Scottish superstition that it is unlucky to disturb bank-swallows. Others of the migrant host travel in upper air more quickly than we on water, and have left us far behind,--swans, the Canada goose, great flocks of brant, waveys by the millions, followed by their cousins of the duck tribe,--spoon-bill, canvas-back, mallard, pin-tail, ring-neck, wood duck, and merganser. The geese will not stop until they have passed the Arctic Circle. Why people use the word "goose" as synonym for stupidity is beyond the ken of the ordinary observer. The text-books tell us tritely that the goose lives to be a hundred years. If she does, she may exclaim with the Churchmen, "Yet are my years but labour and sorrow." The little chaps who have their birthday parties among sub-Arctic reeds are surrounded with enemies from the first day they crack their baby shells. Lynx and raccoon prey upon them by land, eagles and owls swoop upon them as they swim; and as with one eye they scan the sky above them, a greedy pike is apt to snap their web-feet from under them and draw them to a watery grave. The cadets of the Hudson's Bay Company exchange courtesies with the Mounted Police, each considering himself a distinct cut above the other. One Mounted Policeman, whose duty it had been to escort the crazed Russian Doukhobortsi on one of their "altogether" pilgrimages, is hailed across the circle, "Here, lend us your knife, you nursemaid to the Douks." "Who spoke?" yawned the Policeman. "Was it that fur-pup of the Hudson's Bay?" "Yes," retorted the first, "and I'm glad I'm it; you couldn't pay me to wear a red coat and say 'Sir' to a damned little Frenchman, even if you are going to blaze a trail to Hudson Bay." Some one asks Sergeant Joyce to tell his Bible story. He says, "Oh, about Coal-Oil Johnnie! It was the cub's first year in the service, and he got off with some civilians and was drunk for a week. When he was in the Guard Room awaiting court-martial he had lots of time 'to sit in clink, admirin' 'ow the world was made.' Likewise he was very dry. There was nothing for him to amuse himself with but a paper of pins. He took the pillow of his cot and used the whole bunch of pins in working on it the one word 'Hagar,' in letters six inches high. The inspecting officer came in and the pin sign caught his eye. He spelled it out letter by letter, 'H-a-g-a-r,--what was the matter with him?' Johnnie retorted, 'The him was a her, and she died of thirst in the wilderness.' The inspecting officer says to Johnnie, 'Well, that would never happen to you.'" A peculiar drumming wafts from the shore-line. "Pa-pas-ku," says one of the Cree lads, pulling his pipe from his mouth and listening. Young Hudson's Bay to my enquiring look returns, "The Canadian ruffed grouse," which Sussex elucidated, "_Bonasa umbellus logata_," at which we all feel very much relieved. The Kid was pressing specimens, and, holding up a branch, the Mounted Policeman next her said, "Young jackpine, I think." "It belongs to the Conifer family," corrects the Doctor. "Oh!" says the Mounted Policeman, with a sniff, "then we'll give it back to 'em the next time one of the Conifer boys comes round." The man of the river and the woods hates a Latin name, and any stray classic knowledge you have is best hidden under a napkin. The descriptive terms men use here are crisp and to the point. The vicious habit of giving birds bad names is one that grows, and you never know when the scientific have come to a finality. For instance, little Robin Red-Breast _("the pious bird with scarlet breast_" whose nest with four eggs the Kid discovered to-day), has successively lived through three tags, "_Turdus migratorius_," "_Planesticus migratorius_," and "_Turdus canadensis_." If he had not been an especially plucky little beggar he would have died under the libels long ago. For my own part I cannot conceive how a man with good red blood in his veins could look a chirky little robin in the eye and call him to his face a "_Planesticus migratorius_," when as chubby youngster he had known the bird and loved him as Robin Red-Breast. One is inclined to ask with suspicion, "Is naming a lost art?" Any new flower discovered these days, every clever invention in the realm of machinery, is forthwith saddled with an impossible name. If it had not been easy to clip the term "automobile" down to the working stub "auto," the machine would never have run our streets. Again, the decimal system is conceded to be far ahead of the asinine "five and one-half yards make one rod, pole or perch"; the only reason why the commonsense thing does not supersede the foolish one is that the sensible measurement has the fool tag on it. Who could imagine ever going into a store and asking for seven decimetres and nine centimetres of picture-moulding, or dropping into the corner grocery to buy a hectolitre of green onions? When man dug gold and iron and tin out of the earth he made things with them. Now when we discover a new mineral we dub it "molybdenum" and let it rust in innocuous ease. When man loses the art of nervous speech, his power of action goes with it. And as we ruminate, the _Bonasa umbellus togata_ drums on. When we pass the parallel of 55°N. we come into a very wealth of new words, a vocabulary that has found its way into no dictionary but which is accepted of all men. The steep bank opposite us is a "cut bank," an island or sandbar in a river is a "batture." A narrow channel is called a "she-ny," evidently a corruption of the French _chenal_. When it leads nowhere and you have to back down to get out, you have encountered a "blind she-ny." The land we have come from is known as "Outside" or "_Le Grand Pays_." Anywhere other than where we sit is "that side," evidently originating from the viewpoint of a man to whom all the world lay either on this side or that side of the river that stretched before him. When you obtain credit from a Hudson's Bay store, you "get debt." A Factor's unwillingness to advance you goods on credit would be expressed thus, "The Company will give me no debt this winter." From here northward the terms "dollars" and "cents" are unheard. An article is valued at "three skins" or "eight skins" or "five skins," harking back to the time when a beaver-skin was the unit of money. The rate of exchange to-day is from four skins to two skins for a dollar. Trapping animals is "making fur." "I made no fur last winter and The Company would give me no debt," is a painful picture of hard times. Whenever an Indian has a scanty larder, he is "starving," and you may be "starving" many moons without dying or thinking of dying. "Babiche" in the North is the tie that binds, and "sinew" is the thread, babiche being merely cured rawhide from moose or caribou, the sinew the longitudinal strands taken from either side of the spinal column of the same animals. [Illustration: Scouts of the Royal Northwest Mounted Police] There is but one thing on this planet longer than the equator, and that is the arm of British justice, and the Mounted Police, these chaps sprawling at our feet, are the men who enforce it. The history of other lands shows a determined fight for the frontier, inch by inch advancement where an older civilization pushes back the native,--there are wars and feuds and bloody raids. Not so here. When the homesteader comes down the river we are threading and, in a flood, colonization follows him, he will find British law established and his home ready. The most compelling factor making for dignity and decency in this border-country is the little band of red-coated riders, scarcely a thousand in number. Spurring singly across the plains that we have traversed since leaving Winnipeg, they turn up on lone riverway or lakeside in the North just when most wanted. Varied indeed is this man's duty,--"nursemaid to the Doukhobor" was a thrust literally true. His, too, was the task on the plains of seeing that the Mormon doesn't marry overmuch. He brands stray cattle, interrogates each new arrival in a prairie-waggon, dips every doubtful head of stock, prevents forest-fires, keeps weather records, escorts a lunatic to an asylum eight hundred miles away, herds wood bison on the Slave, makes a cross-continent dash from Great Slave Lake to Hudson Bay, preserves the balance of power between American whaler and Eskimo on the Arctic edge! At one time the roll-call of one troup of Mounted Police included in its rank and file three men who had held commissions in the British service, an ex-midshipman, a son of a Colonial Governor, a grandson of a Major-General, a medical student from Dublin, two troopers of the Life Guards, an Oxford M.A., and half a dozen ubiquitous Scots. Recently an ex-despatch-bearer from De Wet joined the force at Regina, and although the cold shoulder was turned on him for a day or two, he soon made good. One of the young fellows stretched before us, now going to Fort Smith to round up wood bison, was born in Tasmania, ran away from school at fourteen, sheared sheep and hunted the wallaby, stoked a steamer from Australia to England and from England to Africa, and in the early days of bicycles was a professional racer. Constable Walker, lying lazily on his back blowing blue spirals into the air, has in the long winter night made more than once, with dogs, that perilous journey from the Yukon to the Mackenzie mouth (one thousand miles over an unknown trail), carrying to the shut-in whalers their winter mail. On one of these overland journeys he cut off the tips of his four toes. His guide fainted, but Walker took babiche and, without a needle, sewed up the wound. On this trip he was fifty-seven days on the trail, during five days of which the thermometer hovered between sixty-two and sixty-eight degrees below. CHAPTER V NINETY MILES OF RAPIDS "On wan dark night on Lac St. Pierre, De win' she blow, blow, blow, An' de crew of de wood scow '_Julie Plante_' Got scar't an' run below-- For de win' she blow lak hurricane Bimeby she blow some more, An' de scow bus' up on Lac St. Pierre Wan arpent from de shore." --_Dr. Drummond_. This morning we are to leave the Island; it is June 12th and Friday. The daylight lengthens from day to day and last night at half past ten underneath the mosquito-bar within the tent, it was light enough to thread a needle. We have mending to do each night, and dragging clothes behind the boat makes a satisfactory kind of progressive laundry. At dusk we had seen an empty scow floating down river, adrift from Athabasca Landing. In the middle of Grand Rapids she broke amidships, but held together until in the darkness she floated beyond our ken. Trouble of our own awaits us. With no one noting, an adventurous scow, with all her precious cargo, has pulled loose from her moorings. By the time the Cree watchman discovers that the "_Go-Quick-Her_" has taken the bit in her teeth, the runaway with tail-sweep set has turned the next corner of the Athabasca. Great excitement! Billy Loutit and Emile Fosseneuve borrow the Police canoe and go in chase. It is such a rough bit of water that we hold our breaths, for a false stroke means death to both; but that false stroke does not come. Billy Loutit knows this river as we know the borders and shrubs in our garden-bed. [Illustration: Towing the Wrecked Barge Ashore] This accident causes everyone to look grave. The Edmonton value of the cargo is over two thousand dollars, but it is a loss that cannot be measured in dollars and cents. These wrecked goods, gaily sailing down the Athabasca, cannot be duplicated at some convenient grocery around the corner. We have learned that any untoward happening means a half day's delay. Philip Atkinson calls me to one side to suggest that it would be a "clear waste" to leave behind the eggs of "that duck's nest I showed you the day we came." Atkinson is a half-breed with a Hercules-build who looks forty-five and owns up to sixty. He and I chatted over the mallard eggs and my collection of wild flowers, he respecting the preservative art and I in full awe of that art gastronomic of his which gulps the Mallards-in-embryo, sans fourchette, sans salt, sans ceremony. They are an interesting study, these half-breeds; it means much to each on which side of the English Channel his father had birth. When a Frenchman marries an Indian woman he reverts to her scale of civilization; when a Scot takes a native to wife he draws her up to his. Our crew live at Lac la Biche and were engaged last winter for their season's work at from twenty to forty dollars a month, with board and moccasins. They walked a hundred miles to Athabasca Landing to connect with their summer's job, and the absolute certainty of regular meals just now appeals. They get three meals a day going with the current, and four while tracking back, with meals thrown in when anything unusual happens or a moose is killed. One cannot help wondering how that elastic term "the law of heredity" works out with these people, cut off from the lives their fathers led and from the free woods-life of the pre-civilization Indian. Philip, duck-stuffed but untroubled by "that full feeling after eating," lights his pipe and looks back through the years. "My father belonged to The Company, my mother was an Ojibway from the Lake of the Woods country. My father went back to the Old Country when I was seven, leaving me to an uncle to be educated, and I don't know 'B' from a bull's foot. He put me to work on the woodpile from morning till night. When my father came back after twelve years and found me ignorant, he cried like a baby. I have no education, but," with a contemplative puff, "I have friends wherever I go." Philip is good to look at and he is a linguist, speaking Cree, French, and excellent English with a delightful Scotch accent. He is an ardent admirer of the H.B. Company. "They always kept their word with a man, and when they had done with him, returned him without cost to his old home." Philip and his two sons were the first to shoot the Grand Rapids, and he tells us that this stretch of the Athabasca River has been used only twenty years. Before that time people from the North reached Winnipeg by the Clearwater. Philip is a Loyalist. During the half-breed rebellion of 1885 he carried dispatches to Middleton and Otter, going seventy-five miles one day on foot. He had his horse, "a draught-horse as black as a crow," taken from him twice, got through the lines and stole another, and tells proudly how for his deed of valor he was presented with an Assomption belt. At last we are off, keeping sharp look-out for the lost scow. Buffalo River, where we pull up for the night, is a recognized camping-place. The men know where to put their hands on old-time tent-poles, the boys dig out shin-bones of the moose,--the relics of some former feast,--which they gnaw as a puppy mumbles an old bone. Another manifestation of gas is here. It bubbles up on the shore and through the water at the boat's bow, and as we strike a match the whole surface flames like the brandy on a Christmas plum-pudding. On the opposite side of the river are "lobsticks," a new word to us and a new thing. To stand as a living totem-pole, the Indians select on a striking promontory a tall spruce and from a section of the trunk lop all the branches except two, which are left as wings. If the lobstick is to stand a monument to a certain man or party, the names of those to be honored are written in Cree on an attached slab. We were to notice lobsticks from point to point along the rest of our journey, some of them indicating good hunting-grounds or fishing-places back from the shore, but most of them memorials of happenings on the river. The Little Buffalo carries to the Athabasca its noisy current between two high escarpments, and on the shelf leading back from the banks of the main stream is a far-reaching plateau of splendidly-fertile land. In the scow next us the two young Crees who are preparing the food for our evening "meat-su" carry on a religious controversy as they slice the sow-belly. We gather that one has been taken into the Protestant fold and that the other follows the priests. Duncan Tremblé comes down and cuffs them both soundly, putting an end to the argument with, "It's all the same as the other, just like the Hudson's Bay Company and the free trader. Each one tells you his goods is the best and the other is _nee-moy-yuh mee-wah-sin_ (no good). It's that way with the God-goods of the white men. Each church tells you that his is the best, but they all come down to us in the same scow, both the priest and the missionary." Next morning we are all keyed-up for the rapids, and about six miles down we encounter the Brulé, the first one, and take it square in mid-channel. We ship a little water, but pass through it all too soon, for the compelling grandeur of the Brulé grips one. The river here is held between vertical walls of the reddest of red sandstone against which the lush greenery makes a striking contrast. Twenty miles below is the Boiler Rapid. It got its name not from its churning water but because the boiler of the steamer _Wrigley_ was lost here and still remains at the bottom of the basin. The walls of this rapid are as clear-cut as if wrought into smoothness by mallet and chisel. The tar-soaked sands appear off and on all the way to McMurray. Next comes the Long Rapid _(Kawkinwalk Abowstick_), which we run close to its right bank. From the distance sounds the ominous roar of the Big Cascade. At quarter past four we reach the head of the swirling fall. The underlying cause of the Big Cascade is a limestone ledge which cuts the channel diagonally and makes ugly-looking water. We plan to run the rapid one boat at a time. The crews are doubled. Our steersman is alert, expectant, and as agile as a cat, his black hair switching in the wind. Sitting in the centre of the scow, as we do, the sensation is very different to that which one experiences in running rapids in a canoe. Then it is all swiftness and dexterity, for your craft is light, and, in expert hands, easily dirigible with one clever turn of the wrist. With a ten-ton scow the conditions change and you feel correspondingly more helpless. The great rapid stretches from shore to shore and the drop is sheer. With much excitement, the bowsman points out the channel that seems to him the safe one. No one speaks, and the big awkward craft is brought up for the jump. It is an elephant drawing his feet together to take a water-fence. For all we own in the world we wouldn't be anywhere but just where we sit. If it is going to be our last minute, well, Kismet! let it come. At least it will not be a tame way of going out. For the life of me I cannot forbear a cry of exultation. Then there is the feeling below one's feet which you experienced when you were a kiddie lying flat on your stomach coasting down a side-hill and your little red sled struck a stone. We, too, have struck something, but do not stop to ask what the obstruction is. [Illustration: The Scow Breaks Her Back and Fills] At the foot of the rapids, we hurry the boatmen ashore. I want to photograph the next scow as she shoots the fall. We reach a good vantage-point and, getting the coming craft in the finder, I have just time to notice that her passengers are Inspector Pelletier and Dr. Sussex, when a sharp crack rings out like the shot of a pistol. Just as we touch the button, something happens. We wanted a snap-shot, and it was a snap-shot we got. The scow has broken her back and begins to fill. The blue-and-white jerkin of Isadore Tremblé, the pilot, dances in the sun as he gesticulates and directs his two passengers to crawl to the top of the boat's freight. In less time than it takes to write it, the men from our scow have launched the police canoes and make their way through the boiling water to take off Pelletier and the Doctor. The Inspector says, "Step quick, Doctor, there's no time to waste." The native politeness of Sussex doesn't fail him, even in this crisis, "After you, Inspector." Then Pelletier says, sharply, "Jump, I tell you, jump; there's no time for--Gaston-and-Alphonse business here." As always, it is impossible to tell who directs affairs, but quickly things happen. Lines are run from the wreck to the shore, other scows discharge their cargo on the bank and push out to take the water-logged goods from the wreck. The lightened craft is pulled ashore. There has been no loss of life, but it is a sorry-looking cargo that piles up on the bank,--five thousand dollars' worth of goods destroyed in three minutes! A sad procession, we make the boats, and drop downstream toward McMurray. The night is beautiful. The sun sank in a crimson splendour an hour ago. A low-hung moon comes out and is visible and is hidden alternately as we pass on the shore-line high hill and intervening swale. With a blanket thrown over me, as the others sleep, I lie along the gunwale, and the beauty of it sinks into my very soul. Just before we enter McMurray the wraith of a tall oil-derrick tells of the enterprise of some pioneer in the wilderness. The location of Fort McMurray is ideal. At this point the river breaks into two branches which encircle a high-banked and thickly-wooded island. Some hundreds of yards farther on the Clearwater River makes in; so here we have three streams. The fort has a foundation dating back forty years. This fur outpost will be the terminus of the Alberta and Great Waterways Railway, and one could not well imagine a more beautiful site for a great city. On the broad flat as we enter appear a handful of Indian houses and the little stores of the fur-traders. Letters from the outside are not as eagerly looked for as one would expect. To the people who live within the North, the North is their world, and to them the news of who is to be appointed to the charge of the next post down the river is of more, importance than the partition of Turkey or a possible redistribution of the thrones of Europe. Mr. Brabant says, "Oh, by the way, Bob, there is a package of letters for you somewhere in the scow. Shall I dig them out for you?" "Never mind," says Bob, "I'll get them to-morrow. Have you got any whiskey?" It is Sunday the fourteenth of June. On the long beach is strewn the water-soaked cargo of the wrecked scow, the abomination of desolation. Mrs. Harding, although all of her personal belongings and her "special orders" are ruined, smiles bravely. It is a point of honour in the North not to whine, whatever happens. All day we work trying to save some of the wrecked cargo. Bales of goods are unwound and stretched out for hundreds of yards in the sun. Bandanna handkerchiefs flutter on bushes. Toilet soap, boots, and bear-traps are at our feet. The Fire-Ranger of the district, Mr. Biggs, has his barley and rice spread out on sheeting, and, turning it over, says bravely, "I think it will dry." Mathematical and astronomical instruments consigned to a scientist on the Arctic edge are shaken off centre and already have begun to rust, and there are miles and miles of cordage and nets, with braids and sewing silks and Hudson's Bay blankets! In the midst of his wrecked drugs and cherished personal effects the Doctor is a pitiful sight. By stage and by scow, he has been confiding to us that, in order to save bulk, his medicines have been specially put up for him in highly concentrated form by London chemists. One little pill-box of powder is potent enough to make a dozen quart-bottles of effective medicine. And now all these precious powders have melted together, and appear like Dicken's stew at the Inn of the Jolly Sand-boys "all in one delicious gravy." The Doctor is dazed, and offers to white and brown alike a tin box with "Have a pastile, do." He wanders among the half-breeds, offering plasters for weak backs, which they accept with avidity as combining two things that the red man specially appreciates,--something free and something medicinal. Sad-faced, the Doctor brings to me a glass case holding a dozen lozenge-shaped disks on each of which an infinitesimal piece of wood rests. "Here are some authenticated relics, but unfortunately the water has made them run and I don't know them apart. You see they have the seal of the Carthusian Monastery on the back. One of them is a piece of the true Cross, but I shall never be able to tell which it is." One by one the Doctor digs out from the wreck his water-soaked treasures,--a presentation "Life of the Countess of Munster," also a crucifix from her, and a beautifully-carved holy water stoup of French design which he declares to be "as old as the Conqueror." There is a medal of the Worshipful Company of Cutlers which carries with it the freedom of the City of London. Another order shows the Doctor to be a Knight of the Primrose League; and, fished from under a side of bacon, is a print of "my great-grandfather who discovered a cure for scurvy." A missionary's box of toys for some Christmas tree in Far North fastnesses is opened, and here a native stops work to lead along the sand a pink-and-blue alligator. [Illustration: Miss Gordon, a Fort McMurray Trader] Although the wrecked scow has its grotesque features, the sight is a sad one, and we are glad to leave it and pull across the river to Fort McMurray. We call upon Miss Christine Gordon, a young Scottish woman and a free-trader, if you please, in her own right, operating in opposition to the great and only Hudson's Bay Company. The only white woman on a five hundred mile stretch of the Athabasca, she has lived here for years with the Indians for companions, her days being marked out by their migrations and tribal feasts. We question, "Are you not lonely, especially in the winter?" But she smiles and refuses to be regarded as heroic. "Often in the winter a trapper passes through, and the Indians are always coming and going, and they are full of interest." We have not walked with Miss Gordon for half an hour among the tepees when we discover the secret of her cheeriness and content. Our happiness consists not in our havings but in our attitude of mind. The world is divided sharply into two classes. The classes are not the white and the black, the good and the bad, the sheep and the goats, as the orthodox would have us believe. We are all good and bad, not black or white, but varying shades of grey. Neither are we sheep or goats, but moral alpacas, all of us,--something between a sheep and a goat. But no less are we divided into two clear-cut classes. Each of us puts himself of his own volition into the class of the self-centred, or the self-forgetting, and in the act marks himself as happy or unhappy. As Miss Gordon lifts the tent-flaps, smiles greet her from every home. The baby in the moss-bag is handed up for her inspection, and old blind Paul Cree, the Chief, knows her moccasined step, and rises on his elbow from his couch of spruce-boughs to greet her eagerly and salute any that she may present as friend. The Chief is in his ninety-sixth year and depends upon chance visitors for his companionship and food. Yet an assured air of dignity shows that Paul Cree is aware of the respect due to the Chief of the McMurrays. He addresses us in Cree, which Miss Gordon translates. "I am delighted that ladies have come such a long distance on purpose to see me. The white man is my friend. I think all white women must be good. Their mothers have taught them to be kind to old people. I am sorry I am blind. Be glad that you can see the water, the sky, the birds and flowers and the faces of little children," and the tired old head sinks on the fir-boughs and we are dismissed. "Be glad you are alive, and use that sight while you have it." It is the advice given by that other strong man laid on his back, Carlton in the Winnipeg Hospital. We are joined by Paul Cree's brother. He has long hair, and wears a pair of pince-nez as an English gallant wears his monocle--merely for effect, for there is nothing the matter with the vision of those sharp eyes. In one tepee a young mother is reading a service book of the Roman Church to her little girl of five. Across the plateau under the shadow of the hill we enter a camp where Miss Gordon has a patient with an injured hand. The cut is ugly and is surrounded by proud flesh, and we find that twice a day Miss Gordon leaves her household work and her little store to go across and dress this wound. When a schoolboy takes to his bosom a _fidus Achates_, the first thing he does is to offer to show his birds' nests; so Miss Gordon introduces us to her find,--nests of the Gambel sparrow. We take two views, one of a nest of five eggs and another of the nesting mother. During the past winter Miss Gordon has fed the Indians in families, as they had "made little fur," entertaining them as courteously as you would your special friends at an afternoon of pink tea and pink thoughts. Visiting the sick, trading fur, cultivating her little garden, bringing wolf pups and bear cubs up by hand, thus this plucky woman passes her days. It takes the adaptability and dour determination of a Scot to fit into this niche. Your Irishwoman would last in McMurray just about three days. A new duty has been taken on by Miss Gordon,--the reading of the rain-gauge just installed by the Canadian Government. Slyly taking a peep into her records, we feel that they will have to be adjusted to the latitude of Ottawa when they get there, for with a true Northern contempt for fractions she has made all the decimals read as full fractions. The outside world which feasts on blue-books is apt in the future to be startled at the generous precipitation accorded Fort McMurray! Miss Gordon's ambitions run in other lines than the mathematical. Holding us by both hands as we bade good-by, she said, "Oh, that I were young again, I would learn, learn, learn. I would learn medicine so that I could help these poor creatures." Her tone of unselfish sincerity we carry with us as we make our way back to the scows, bearing with us, as token of good-will from the Gordon garden, radishes and lettuce for an evening salad. Next morning we start bird-hunting on our own account, and get a pair of pictures as striking as those we have Miss Gordon to thank for--a Foxsparrow on the nest, then the baby sparrows but one day old. If any one thinks it easy to find and photograph birds' nests in the heart of the ancient wood on Athabascan banks in mosquito time he has "another guess coming." The mosquito here is not a joke, not a theorem, but a stinging entity. During the five days we are at Fort McMurray the potatoes in Miss Gordon's garden have grown as many inches, literally an inch a day. Wood violets, wild roses, false Solomon-seal, and the wild sarsaparilla are everywhere; the air is full of the scent of growing things. [Illustration: The Steamer _Grahame_] Fort McMurray is the parting of the ways where the Hudson's Bay Company's steamer _Grahame_ meets us, bringing her tale of outward-going passengers from the North. The journey of these people from Fort McMurray to The Landing is going to be a very different thing from the easy floating with the current that we have enjoyed. All northern rivers are navigated against stream by "tacking," that is, towing the boats, weary mile after mile, "by the power o' man," the half-breed boatmen scrambling now on the bank, now in the water, tugging the heavily-laden craft after them. It is a mode of transportation that neither written word nor camera can do justice to. We shake hands with those going out to civilization and take our dunnage aboard the steamer. The _Grahame_ has its advantages,--clean beds, white men's meals served in real dishes, and best of all, a bath! On the _Grahame_ we meet Mr. Harris, of Fond du Lac, who has come thus far to greet the incoming transport and who goes back again with it. Scholarly and versatile, we are to find in Mr. Harris a very mint of Indian lore and woodland wisdom and the most wonderful memory I have ever encountered. All the vicissitudes of a Northern life have failed to rub out one line of the Virgil and Horace of his schoolboy days, whole chapters of which, without one false quantity, he repeats for us in a resonant voice. He can recite the whole of "Paradise Lost" as faultlessly as Macaulay was credited with being able to do. If Mr. Harris could be induced to write a story of the North it would put to shame all the weak efforts of one-season visitors who of necessity see only the surface and have to guess the depths. As we pull out, we mentally run our fingers along the parallel of 56° 40' North to find out by comparison, as they say in Chicago, "where we are at." In Europe we would be on the top of Ben Nevis and not so far north as Aberdeen. Our line of latitude run westward will cut Sitka, and the lone Pribilof, "where the little blue fox is bred for his skin and the seals they breed for themselves." Crossing the junction of the Clearwater with the Athabasca, we strike for the first time the trail of Sir Alexander Mackenzie, who came in by Portage la Loche, and in 1789 traced to the sea the great river which bears his name. At its confluence with the Clearwater the Athabasca is perhaps three-quarters of a mile wide, and it maintains a steady current with a somewhat contracting channel to the point of its discharge into Lake Athabasca in latitude 58° 36' North. [Illustration: An Oil Derrick on the Athabasca] In all Canada there is no more interesting stretch of waterway than that upon which we are entering. An earth-movement here has created a line of fault clearly visible for seventy or eighty miles along the river-bank, out of which oil oozes at frequent intervals. Count von Hammerstein, building derricks from point to point along the stream, has put in much time, toil, and money in oil-development here. Our traverse of those ninety miles of Athabasca Rapids has given us respect for the labor and determination which in this wilderness has erected these giant derricks. Looking at them, we waft a wish that the plucky prospector may reap his reward and abundantly strike oil. The Count tells us of striking one hundred and fifty feet of rock salt while "punching" one of his oil-shafts through the ground. Here are overhanging dykes of limestone; and out of the lime and clay shoot up splendid trees of pine, poplar, and spruce. [Illustration: Tar Banks on the Athabasca] At Fort McKay, thirty miles below McMurray, a fine seam of coal is exposed on the river-bank. It is bituminous, and can be used for blacksmithing, but probably not for welding. Ochre is found on these banks, with sand of the very best quality for making glass, while extensive sulphur deposits have been discovered on the east side of the river between Fort McMurray and the lake. On the Clearwater are medicinal springs whose output tastes very much like Hunyadi water. Tar there is, too, in plenty. Out of the over-hanging banks it oozes at every fissure, and into some of the bituminous tar-wells we can poke a twenty foot pole and find no resistance. These tar-sands lithologically may be described as a soft sandstone, the cementing material of which is a bitumen or petroleum. They are estimated to have a distribution of over five hundred square miles. Where it is possible to expose a section, as on a river-bank, the formation extends from one hundred and twenty-five to two hundred feet in depth, the bitumen being distributed through the sands. Twelve miles below the last exposure of the tar-sands and about two miles above the mouth of Red Earth Creek a copious saline spring bubbles up, and there is an escape of sulphurretted hydrogen whose unmistakable odour follows the boat for half a mile. Kipling was right when he said, "Smells are surer than sounds or sights." We speak only of what we observe from the deck of a boat as we pass down this wonderful river. What is hidden is a richer story which only the coming of the railroad can bring to light. CHAPTER VI FORT CHIPEWYAN PAST AND PRESENT "Let not Ambition mock their useful toil, Their humble joys and destiny obscure." --_Gray's Elegy_. At seven in the morning of Sunday, June 21st, we enter Lake Athabasca, and catch our first glimpse of Fort Chipewyan. An acceptance of the invitation, "Come, shake your leg," has kept the men busy half the night over a hot sequence of Red River jigs among "pieces" on the lower deck, and we have this superb sweep almost to ourselves. The great lake-scape is blue and green and grey and opaline as the sun strikes it and the surface breaks to a south wind. Ours is the one craft on this inland sea, but overhead a whole navy of clouds man�uvres, the ships of the ghostly argosy doubling themselves in the lake. As we draw in, the village takes shape. What haunts us as we look at the white houses, that crescent beach of pinkest sand? We have it! It is a print, an old woodcut of "Russian America" that we used to pore over in the days when one wore "pinnies" of flour-sacking, and "hankies" were made from meal-bags. At one end of the village are the little smithy of the Hudson's Bay Company and the pretentious buildings of their establishment. At the other gibbous horn of this Athens of the Athabasca rise the steeples and convent-school of the Roman Church, with the free-trading-post of Colin Fraser. Midway between is the little Church of England, and higher up and farther back the Barracks of the Royal Northwest Mounted Police. The white-washed homes of the employés of The Company, little match-boxes dazzling in the sun, stretch from one end of the beach to the other. In among the half-breed populace stalk policeman and priest, red jacket keeping the dark-skinned people straight in this world and black robe laying out conditions for the world to come. So is Chipewyan fate chequered with the _rouge et noir_ of compulsion and expediency. [Illustration: Fort Chipewyan, Lake Athabasca] Fort Chipewyan is the oldest post in the North, and every boulder of red gneissic rock, if we could interrogate it, has a story to tell. Peter Pond, of the North-West Company, in 1778 built a post on the Athabasca River thirty miles to the south of the lake. The far-seeing Alexander Mackenzie, in the interests of the same company, sent his cousin Roderick ten years later to build Fort Chipewyan on the lake, and for over a century this was the entrepôt and emporium of the whole North. The Hudson's Bay Company meanwhile were maintaining a post, Fort Wedderburne, not far away on Potato Island, and upon the amalgamation of the Companies in 1821 they took possession of the present Fort Chipewyan. This metropolis is one hundred and twenty years old. Chipewyan was doing business at the same old stand before Toronto was the capital of Upper Canada, while Ottawa was still unheard of, and when of Chicago not even the Fort Dearborn nucleus had been built. 1788! We wonder if the old ox that conveys our "cassette" and "pieces" up to the big gateway of The Company's quadrangle was a drawer of wood and drinker of water at that date. He looks as if he might have been. George III was reigning in England when Fort Chipewyan was built, Arkwright was making his spinning jenny, and Watts experimenting with the steam-engine. Sir Joshua Reynolds painted his pictures, Burns, a young man of twenty-nine, was busy with his ballads. In London a little baby saw the light of day, whom the world afterwards hailed as Lord Byron. Three British boys might have been seen with arms thrown over each other's shoulders, "dreaming greatly"--Coleridge aged sixteen, young Walter Scott, seventeen, and Wordsworth just eighteen. Across the Channel the French Revolution was at its height. Shelley and Keats were not yet born. Down on the Atlantic seaboard of America a new people just twelve years before had gone through the birth-throes of nationhood. It is a far call. Scraping the yellow lichens off the old sun-dial, we adjust our bearings. We are 111° West of Greenwich and in latitude 58° 45' North. Our parallel carried eastward would strike the Orkneyan skerries and pass through Stromness. All untouched by the development of that busy continent to the south which has grown up within its lifetime, Chipewyan is a little pearl of the periwigged days of the early Georges. From its red sands, tamarack swamps, and mossy muskeg one almost expects to see arise the forms of those great of old who outfitted here, making Chipewyan the base of their northward explorations. The ghostly company is a goodly one--Sir Alexander Mackenzie, Sir George Simpson, and Sir John Franklin (their honorary prefixes coming to them in the after days as reward of their labors), Back and Richardson and Rae, and in later days that young stripling curate who was afterwards to be known throughout the world of letters as Bishop Bompas, the "Apostle of the North." Then there is the great unnamed horde who rested tired limbs at Chipewyan on their northward journeys, each on his own mission--fur-traders and hunters of big game, devoted nuns and silent priests, the infrequent scientist, and the hundreds of Klondikers, their hearts hot with the greed for gold. These all through the century have enjoyed as we now enjoy the spontaneous hospitality of this little bit of Britain which floats the Union Jack from its fort walls, and whose people, brown and white, when the belated news of the passing of Victoria the Great reached this her northern outpost, gathered on the beach and bewailed aloud their personal loss. We seem to hear again the far-flung cry "The Queen is dead! The Queen is dead!" from the half-breed runners coming in that Christmas Day across the winter ice. Mackenzie made Chipewyan his headquarters for eight years. It was from here he started on his voyage to the Arctic Sea in 1789, and three years later on that other history-making journey to the far Pacific. Sir John Franklin outfitted here for his two land-journeys--in July, 1820, with Dr. Richardson, and again in 1825. Chipewyan is a mine of interest. We almost begrudge time given to the dainty meals of our hostess, Mrs. William Johnson, and the hours spent between her lavender-scented sheets. In the loft above the office of the H.B. Company, in among old flintlock rifles and discarded ox-yokes, we browse through the daily records of The Company, old journals written by the Factors at the close of their day's work through the years and here preserved for our inquisitive eyes. Sitting on the floor, making extracts from these tomes, one has the half-guilty feeling of being caught poking into a tomb. On this page the ink is thin and one can see the old writer thawing out his frozen ink-pot of stone at the end of a tired day and sitting down to write his simple tale. Here are finger-marks where the blood of a buffalo gives a marginal note. The journalist had been called away from his writing to weigh and pay for some fresh meat. Drops from a tallow candle show the light of other days. A pressed mosquito of the vintage of 1790 is very suggestive. We picture the trivial round and common task of the man who writes, see him exchanging fathoms of tobacco for beaver-pelts in those long, cold winters, and eagerly hunger with him for the signs presaging the going-out of the ice and the coming-in of Spring. We follow out the short Summer with him and revel in its perpetual daylight. With him we make the fall fishery and shoot our winter's supply of waveys and southward-flying cranes. We wonder, as he wondered, what news the next packet will bring from the old folks in the Orkneys or the Hebrides. We study, as he studied, the problem of governing his servants, placating the Indians, and making enough fur to satisfy that inexorable Board of Directors back in London whose motto is "Skin for skin." It has been a grim enough life as the author of this journal records it. He is far from those who direct his fate, and recognition and reward are slow in coming. Companionship and the gentle arts of "outside" are denied him. He must make his own world and rear within it his dusky brood, that they in honourable service may follow his round of "work done squarely and unwasted days." What made the charm of this life to these men? It is hard to see. The master of the post was also master of the situation, and an autocrat in his community, a little Fur King, a Captain of Industry. A thing was law because he said it. And isn't it Caesar himself who declares, "Better be first in a little Iberian village than second in Rome?" We get a delightful picture in an entry under the date of Wednesday, 23rd May, 1827, when Sir John Franklin was on his way back to England at the end of his second journey. "To-day William McGillivary and Katherine Stewart, daughter of Alexander Stewart, Chief Factor, were joined in holy wedlock by Captain John Franklin, R.N., Commander of the Land Arctic Expedition." Great is the force of example, for five days later appears the entry "This evening the ceremonial of marriage took place between Robert McVicar, Esq., and Christy McBeath. Captain Franklin acted on the occasion as clergyman. The ceremony o'er, the evening was agreeably spent in a family assembly." Looking at these records, we are reminded of a not-very-well-known story of international courtesy which connects itself with the third and ill-fated journey of Franklin. Old Sir John, then in his sixtieth year, had sailed from England in an attempt at the Northwest Passage. Years passed and no word came from the explorer, and in 1852 the ice-desert was still mute. In this year, Sir Edward Belcher in the _Resolute_ headed one of the many Arctic Relief Expeditions, subsequently abandoning his boat in the ice off Melville Island. Next year the American whaler _Henry George_ met the deserted _Resolute_ in sound condition about forty miles from Cape Mercy; she must have drifted through Barrow Strait, Lancaster Sound, and Baffin Bay. She was recovered, the Government of the United States bought her and with international compliments presented her in perfect condition to Queen Victoria in 1856. The old ship was broken up about thirty years ago, and from the soundest of her timbers a solid desk was made by direction of Queen Victoria, who presented it to the then President of the United States. This is the desk which stands in President Taft's reception room to-day, and on it the papers of eight administrations have been written. There is living as well as buried history in Chipewyan. A stroll from one end of its lacustrine street to the other is lush with interest. We call upon Colin Fraser, whose father was piper to Sir George Simpson. Colin treats us to a skirl of the very pipes which announced the approach of Simpson whenever that little Northern autocrat, during his triumphal progress through a bailiwick as big as Europe, made his way into a new fort. With the echo of the "_Gay Gordons_" in our ears we pass into the largest convent in the North country, managed by the Grey Nuns of Montreal. Sister Brunelle came into the North in 1866. Forty-two years in a convent-school of the Northland! It makes one gasp. These Indian schools, assisted by the Canadian Government, catch the little Indians in the camps and hold their prey on school-benches from the age of four to fourteen. One boy is dumb, another a hunchback. In a corner we came upon a poor old derelict of the camps, a Cree woman, paralysed and mentally deranged, who within these quiet walls has found harbour. The kiddies are taught one clay in French and the next day in English; but when they hide behind their spellers to talk about the white visitors, the whisper is in Chipewyan. What do they learn? Reading, (vertical) writing, arithmetic, hymns, and hoeing potatoes, grammar, sewing and shoemaking, and one more branch, never taught in Southern schools. When the fall fishery comes, the nuns kilt up their skirts, slates are shoved far back into desks, and shepherdess and sheep (young brown moose!) together clean the whitefish which are to furnish meals for a twelve-month to come. If fish be brain food, then should this convent of Chipewyan gather in medals, degrees, and awards, capturing for its black-eyed boys Rhodes scholarships _ad lib_. [Illustration: Three of a Kind] Back of the convent stretches a farm with an historic record. It was from this enclosure, tilled by the priests and their protégés, that the sample of wheat came which at the Centennial Exposition in Philadelphia in competition with the wheats of the world took the bronze medal. This wheat ran sixty-eight pounds to the bushel. We linger in the convent, looking at the rows of tiny beds neat and immaculate, each covered with its little blue counterpane. Sister Jigot, with the air of divulging a state secret, tells that the pretty bed-covering is flour-sacking, that it is dyed on the premises from a recipe brought out of Chipewyan woods. In the long winter evenings these good step-mothers of savages do all their reading and sewing before six o'clock. The mid-winter sun sinks at four, and two hours of candle-light is all that the frugal exchequer can afford. "What in the world do you do after six?" I venture; for well we know those busy fingers are not content to rest in idle laps. "Oh! we knit, opening the stove-doors to give us light." Many a time are we to throw a glance backward through the years to these devoted souls upon Athabascan shores, trying to graft a new civilisation on an old stock, and in the process economising their candles like Alfred of old. Both Protestant and Roman missionaries are amateur doctors and we find a stimulating rivalry in bodily and spiritual ministrations. At the Church of England Mission we are shown with triumph a piece of bone salved from the leg of an injured Indian. Afterward we learn that the peripatetic patient accepted the Church of England treatment in the daytime, and in the evening shadows was carried across the rocks to the shrine of Rome. Poor chap, he died in the process! But while he lived he stimulated trade, and his memory lingers to point a moral and adorn a tale. If there had but been a Presbyterian Church within range, he might have comforted himself with the thought that it had all been comfortably fore-ordained. An interesting family lives next to the English Mission--the Loutits. The father tells of the days when as a young man he served The Company, and "for breakfast on the march they gave you a club and showed you a rabbit-track." There were Loutits in Chipewyan as far back as the old journals reach. The Scottish blood has intermingled with that of Cree and Chipewyan and the resultant in this day's generation is a family of striking young people--the girls good to look at and clever in bead-work and quill-ornamentation, the boys skilled in nemoral arts and holding the strong men's records of the North. George Loutit without help brought a scow with four thousand pounds from Athabasca Landing to Chipewyan through the ninety miles of rapids. His brother Billy, carrying a special dispatch of the Mounted Police, ran with a hand-sled (and no dogs) from Chipewyan to Fort Smith and back in three days--a distance of two hundred miles at least. Once, when the river rose suddenly in the night, Billy unloaded nine tons from one scow to another, astonishing the owners, who snored while Billy was toiling upward in the night. The rivermen tell of George Loutit's quarreling with a man one afternoon in a saloon at Edmonton and throwing his adversary out of the window. When he heard him slump, George immediately thought of the North as a most desirable place and started hot-foot for Athabasca Landing, a hundred miles away. He arrived there in time for noon luncheon next day. At the H.B. Co. end of the village we find Pierre Mercredi in charge. A French Bishop once wanted to train him for the priesthood, but it is peltries and not souls that Pierre is after. His forebears were Irish McCarthys, but this name failed to fall trippingly from the tongue of French priests, and became corrupted into the Mercredi as he now signs it. Throughout the journals of the last forty years we run across such entries as these:--"Wyllie at the forge," "Wyllie making nails," "Wyllie straightening the fowling-pieces," "Wyllie making sled-runners," "This day Wyllie made a coffin for an Indian." We step into the old man's smithy, and he turns to greet us with an outstretched hand and a "Good mornin'," in richest Doric. The date 1863 cut into the wooden foundation of his forge marks the year when Wyllie came to Chipewyan. He was born in the Orkneys, and had never seen a city in the Old World. Coming out to America in a sailing vessel of The Company by way of Hudson Bay, he threaded the inland waterway which brought him to Chipewyan without seeing a city in America. Torontonians think the hub of the universe is their capital on Lake Ontario. A smart young man from Toronto filtered in one day to Chipewyan, and asked the old blacksmith, "Came from the Old Country, didn't you? What did you think of Toronto?" "Naething, I didna see the place." Mr. Wyllie has never seen an electric light nor a railway train nor a two-story building nor a telegraph wire nor a telephone. In the forty-five years in which he has presided over this forge, the limits of his wanderings have been McMurray on the south, Fort Smith on the north, Fond du Lac on the east, the Chutes of the Peace on the west. To him these are innocuous days of ease, in which we are falling into luxuriousness with all its weakening influence. "It was much better in the old days when we had only dried meat and fish-oil. Nowadays, when we have flour and tinned meats and preserved fruits, all my teeth are coming out!" No one feels like smiling a smile of superiority in talking with old Mr. Wyllie. He has taught himself the gentle arts of gunsmithing and blacksmithing. The tools that we see all around us are marvels of mechanical skill and would be the joy of a modern Arts and Crafts Exhibition. His sledges and augurs, planes and chisels have been made by the old man out of pig iron which came as ballast in the holds of those old sailing ships which beat their way into Fort Churchill through Hudson Strait. The hand-made tools are set into convenient handles of moose-horn and bone. Clever indeed is the workmanship that Wyllie has done with them. The last triumph from this unique forge was the welding of the broken shaft of the little tug _Primrose_. The steamer _Grahame_ was built at Chipewyan of whipsawn lumber, and much of her steel and ironwork was wrought on Wyllie's forge. Wyllie left the Scottish Isles when a mere lad, but they are still "Home" to him and he tells us that this autumn he is going back on a visit. It was a prototype of Wyllie's "From the lone sheiling and the misty island, Mountains divide us and a waste of seas, But still the heart, the heart is Highland, And we in _dreams_ behold the Hebrides," who prayed "O, Lord, we beseech Thee, send down Thy covenanted blessin' on the Muckle Hebrides, the Lesser Hebrides, and the adjacent islands of Great Britain and Ireland." Talking with the old gentleman, you are conscious of the innate moral strength rather than the mechanical skill of the craftsman. Instinctively you feel the splendid power of his presence and come out from his forge murmuring, "Thank God I have seen a _man_ this day." Wyllie belongs to the age of the old journals, to the days that bred Joe Gargerys and old Adams in whom appeared "the constant service of the antique world." [Illustration: Samples of Woman's Work of the Far North. EXPLANATION OF PLATE A and C--_Muski-moots_, or bags used by the duck-hunter for his game. Made by Dog-Rib women, of _babiche_, or rawhide of the moose or caribou. B--Velvet leggings richly embroidered in violet-coloured bead-work, made by Mrs. (Archdeacon) Macdonald, a full-blooded Loucheaux woman. D--Wall-pocket of white deerskin embroidered in silk. Made by a Rabbit-Skin woman at Fort Good Hope under the Arctic Circle. E--Wall-pocket ornamented with porcupine-quill work, made by a Yellow-Knife Indian woman at Fort Resolution on Great Slave Lake. F--_Fire-bag_, or tobacco-pouch, made of two claws of the black bear. The work of a Beaver Indian woman at Vermilion-on-the-Peace. G--_Fire-bag_ of velvet ornamented with silk-work, made by Chipewyan woman at Fond du Lac, Lake Athabasca. H--Velvet watch-bag embroidered in silk, made by Slavi Indian woman at Fort Providence, at the head of Mackenzie River. I--Watch-pocket of smoked moose-skin, embroidered in silk-work, made by a Cree girl at Fort McMurray on the Athabasca. J--Armlets ornamented in porcupine quills, made by a half-breed woman on the Liard River (a feeder of the Mackenzie). K--Three hat bands--the first two ornamented with porcupine quills, and the last in silk embroidery--made by Chipewyan woman at Fond du Lac, Lake Athabasca. L--Beautiful belt of porcupine work, made by a half-breed woman at Fort Nelson on the Liard (a feeder of the Mackenzie). M--Armlets of porcupine-quill work, made by half-breed girl at Fort Chipewyan.] Mr. and Mrs. William Johnson, with generous courtesy, have made us their guests while we stay, and their refined home is a clear delight. Mr. Johnson is as clever a man as Mr. Wyllie, but in other lines. Without ever having seen an electric light, he learned by study and research more about electricity than nine men out of ten know who go through Electrical Training Schools. With the knowledge thus gained he constructed and put into working use an electric-light plant at Fort Simpson on the Mackenzie. Far up here on the map, too, the "Judge," as he is lovingly called, taught himself all about watches, and he is now Father Time for the whole Mackenzie District, regulating and mending every timepiece in the country. The corrected watches are carried to their owners by the next obliging person who passes the post, where the owner is notching off the days on a piece of stick while he waits. A watch, the works of which were extracted from three old ones and assembled within one case by this Burbank of Watchdom, found its way down to Chicago. The jeweller into whose hands it fell declared that among all his workmen there was not one who could have duplicated the job. Chipewyan is a bird paradise; the whole woods are vocal to-day. In the autumn, wonderful hunts are made of the southward-flying cranes, geese, and waveys, thousands of these great birds being killed and salted and put in ice chambers for winter use. If the mosquitoes were not so bad we would spend hours in the woods here with "God's jocund little fowls." These sweet songsters seem to have left far behind them to the south all suspicion of bigger bipeds. We hear the note of the ruby-crowned kinglet (_regulus calendula_) which some one says sounds like "Chappie, chappie, jackfish." The American red-start comes to our very feet, the yellow warbler, the Tennessee warbler, the red-eyed vireo, and the magnolia warbler, which last, a young Cree tells us, is "High-Chief-of-all-the-small-birds." Rusty blackbirds are here with slate-coloured junco, and we see a pair of purple finches. We are fortunate in getting a picture of the nest of the Gambel sparrow and two of the nesting white-throated, sparrow. They are ferreted out for us by the sharp eyes of a girl who says her Cree name is "A-wandering-bolt-of-night-lightning!" At our feet blossom cinquefoil, immortelles, the dainty flowers of the bed-straw. It has been a full day, and by the way the "permits" are opening up in the settlement when we come back, promises to be a full night. These men have waited a whole year for a drink, and now the lids can't come off quick enough. "Come, hurry up, Flynn, we're all as dry as wooden gods, we're so dry that we're brittle--we'd break if you hit us." "Well, I'm hurrying; I'm as much in a rush as any of you; I'm so warped the hoops are falling off." It doesn't take long to polish off the permits proper (or improper). By morning all this liquor, imported for "medicinal purposes," is gone. Whoever in Chipewyan is thoughtless enough to get ill during the next twelve months must fall back on the medicine-chest of the English Mission or of the Grey Nuns. Anything strong will do for the creation of joyousness during the remaining three hundred and sixty-four days of the year--Jamaica ginger, lavender-water, flavouring extracts. Next morning the bon vivants of Chipewyan are down to essences of lemon, vanilla, and ginger, which have been specially imported as stimulating beverages. We ask if they are any good. "Good? I should say so, and one bottle just makes a drink. Can I offer" (politely) "to exhilarate you ladies with vanilla?" The most jovial of the celebrants tells of his early imbibition of red ink. "I used to get a gallon of red ink with my outfit every year, and it gives you the good feel, but when this new Commissioner comes in he writes, 'I don't see how you can use a gallon of red ink at your post in one year,' and I writes back, 'What we don't use we abuse,' and next year he writes to me, 'It's the abuse we complain of,' and, with regretful reminiscence, "I got no more red ink." The substitution of red tape for the carmine fluid that inebriates is an innovation not appreciated. The old records fascinate us. We spend every spare moment before the coming of the treaty party in transcribing choice bits from them. There were drinks and drinkers in these old days. "_1830, Friday 1st. January_. All hands came as is customary to wish us the compliments of the season, and they were treated with cakes each, a pipe, and two feet tobacco. In the evening they have the use of the hall to dance, and are regaled with a beverage." "_1830, April 30. Poitras_, a Chipewyan half-breed, arrived, and delivered 81 made beavers in prime furs, though he says he has been sickly all winter. I therefore presented him with a complete clothing and a Feather." "_1830, May 16th_. One of our Indians having been in company with Indians from Isle a la Crosse got married to one of their young women, consequently has followed the father-in-law and taken his hunt away from us." "_1830, August 13th_. One Indian, _The Rat_, passed us on the Portage, he was treated with a dram for 'Old Acquaintance' sake." On New Year's Eve the old chronicler drops into verse. In tall thin letters in faded ink we read, "If New Year's Eve the wind blow south, It betokeneth warmth and growth; If west, much milk, and fish in the sea; If north, much storms and cold will be; If east, the trees will bear much fruit; If northeast, flee it man and beast." "_1831, January 1_. The thermometer this morning was 29 below cypher." _1831, May 22_. They bring intelligence that _Mousi-toosese-capo_ is at their tent, having lately joined them, without his family of two women and two children, who perished during the winter. From his frequent prevarication when questioned by the other Crees, they suspect he has murdered and eaten them." "_1831, May 30th._ The fellow has got too large a family for a Fort Hunter, he cannot feed them with unlimited Indulgence and supply us at the same time." [Would Mr. Roosevelt second this?] "_1831, June 19th_. Two Chipewyans came from the Long Point informing us that _Big Head's_ son is dead, that _Big Head_ has thrown away his property in consequence of the loss of his boy, and that he told them to beg a shirt and tobacco. The shirt, of course, I did not send, the scoundrel is not worthy of it. I merely sent him six inches of tobacco with reluctance. That cursed family is a perfect pest to the place, and it is my humble opinion that the hand of Providence sends them the present calamity for their ill deeds."[!] "_1834, November 27th._ A party of the Isle à la Crosse Indians with old _Nulooh_ and _Gauche_ cast up. They have not come in this direction for the sake of running about, some of their relations is dead, and in their own words they are travelling on strange lands to kill grief, not an unusual custom among the Northern Indians." "_1865, October 23rd_. We were surprised yesterday at the arrival of a Protestant missionary, a Mr. Bompas from England; he came in a canoe from the Portage with Sylvestre and _Vadnoit_." "_1866, January 1st_. The whole Establishment breakfasted in the Hall and in the evening a Ball came off with great eclat. Two marriages also to-day, Francis Villebrun to Marie Cyre, and Baptiste St. Cyre, Jr., to Justine McKay--so that all things considered the New Year was ushered in with a tremendous row! Verily, times are improving in the North." "_1866, January 2nd_. The men are rather seedy to-day after their tremendous kick-up of yesterday." "_1840, January 25th._ The object of sending _Lafleur_ to the Little Island is that he may procure a kind of willow that the Canadians call 'Courmier,' the bark of which scraped and boiled in water has healing qualities which they think will be of great service for Hassel's complaint. Confidence in anything is half the cure."[!] "_1840, February 1st_. Hassel is still without much appearance for the better, and at his earnest request was bled." "_1841, December 31st_. The men from the Fishery made their appearance as usual at this time, and as usual, too, the best we had (which by-the-by is not great as will be seen by this journal) was served out to them. The other men had the time to themselves to prepare for the holiday of to-morrow, for the _Jour de Tan_ is the greatest day of the Canadians in these distant Northern posts. To finish things properly there is still wanting the famous aqua vitae, which we are sorry to state is not in our means to furnish. Adieu the year one thousand eight hundred and forty-one!" "_1842, February 13th_. The Rev. Mr. Evans proposing to take his departure to-morrow for Isle a la Crosse edified us with a farewell service, several of the women and children were baptized, and Flett and Hassel were married to their wives." From the records we compile this Chipewyan calendar:-- March 17th, House-flies. April 8th, Grey goose seen. April 11th, Catkins. April 12th, Barking crows. April 19th, Blackbirds and mosquitoes. April 21st, Plover, two hawks, and a butterfly. April 22nd, Gulls, white waveys, robins. April 28th, White cranes. April 30th, Frogs, most of snow gone. May 2nd, Dark butterfly, four purple crocuses. May 4th, Frogs noisy, bumble bees. May 5th, Nearly clear of ice. May 8th, Water from Peace River flowing into lake. An Eagle. May 10th, Sand martins. Ice drifting in channel in front of fort. May 20th, Swans passing north. May 21st, Trees bursting into leaf. July 11th, Strawberries and raspberries. August 18th, Cranes passing south. October 11th, Small birds passing south. October 12th, First ptarmigan seen about the fort. October 24th, Lake in front closed up this morning. CHAPTER VII LAKE ATHABASCA AND ITS FOND DU LAC "Afar from stir of streets, The city's dust and din, What healing silence meets And greets us gliding in! "The noisy strife And bitter carpings cease. Here is the lap of life, Here are the lips of peace." --_C.G.D. Roberts_. For fresh woods and pastures new this Friday, June 26th! Our little "bunch" breaks up. Mr. Brabant and Mrs. Harding, of the Hudson's Bay Company contingent, go on in the _Grahame_ to Smith's Landing, and with them the two detachments of the R.N.W.M.P. As we shake hands with the police party, we wonder what Fate has in store for each of us. Breaking off at Fort Resolution, Great Slave Lake, and trending eastward by canoe over unchartered ways, will they reach salt water on Hudson Bay as they hope? For our two selves, great good fortune is ours. The Canadian Government Indian Treaty party, consisting of Mr. Conroy in command, Mr. Laird as secretary, Dr. Donald, and Mr. Mooney in charge of the commissariat, with Constable Gairdner, R.N.W.M.P., as Escort, has just come down the Peace. To-day they pay treaty in Chipewyan, and this afternoon start for far Fond du Lac, at the eastern extremity of Lake Athabasca. The little H.B. tug _Primrose_ will tow them and their outfit in a York-boat and a scow, and the captain has been persuaded to allow us, too, to take our blankets and come along, sleeping on the deck. The _Primrose_ from stem to stern is not big enough to swing a cat in, but who wants to swing a cat? It is blue Lake Athabasca that we long to see; no white woman has yet traversed it to its eastern extremity and we would go if we had to work our passage at the sweeps of the scow. [Illustration: Lake Athabasca in Winter] Athabasca Lake (whose name means "In Muskeg Abounding"), is two hundred miles long, with thirty-five miles at its greatest width. It lies in a general easterly and westerly direction. No survey has been made of the lake; its height above ocean level is seven hundred feet, and it covers perhaps three thousand square miles. Its chief feeder is the Athabasca River, down which we have come from the south. This stream, assisted by the Peace, is fast filling up with detritus the western portion of Lake Athabasca. There is a marked contrast between the upper and lower coasts of the lake. The north shore consists of Laurentian gneiss with a sparse wood growth; the south bank for the most part is low, the formation being a cretaceous sandstone. Ice holds fast this beautiful sheet for six months every year. As we puff along the surface of its incomparable blue it is hard to realise that, although the Peace and Athabasca Rivers open their icy mouths about May-day, parts ot the lake are not free for travel until mid-May. The lake freezes fast at Fort Chipewyan some time in November. Lying on the deck of the tug, we look down and take inventory of our odd tow. Just behind comes the scow. It holds wood for the engine, a long sled, a canoe, a "skift," all this year's trading supplies for Fond du Lac, and half a dozen chained husky dogs. Trailing the scow is a York-boat carrying the treaty party and Mr. Harris. It is late in the afternoon when we pull out from Chipewyan, but the sun is still heaven-high, with the offshore air a tonic. At seven o'clock Colin Fraser's boat passes us with Bishop Grouard standing upright at the prow. This stately figure, clear-cut against the sky-line, may well stand as the type of the pioneer Church of the Northland. On the little deck we can use the camera with facility at ten in the evening, and the typewriter all night. The light manifestation is a marvel and wooes us from sleep. Have we not all the tame nights of the after-days for slumber? Here we lose the moon and those friendly stars which at Pelican Portage dipped almost to meet our hands. No more are we to see them until the Arctic has been reached and we have turned southward many, many hundreds of miles. [Illustration: Bishop Grouard] Hours since all the badinage was silenced in the York-boat behind us. On board the _Primrose_ the mate sleeps, and Captain Prothero has the wheel. I creep along the wobbly gunwale to sit out a four hours' watch with him. "I never saw any one navigate as you do, captain, you seem to have neither chart nor compass." "No," assents he, biting hard on the little black pipe, "we just go by the power o' man," and with the words a sharp turn of the wheel lurches us out from the lee of a batture. The jolt jerks up its passengers in the semidetached steerage. A growling of huskies, a kick, and a muttered adjuration in Cree, and all is silent again. By six o'clock every one is astir, and Saturday is a long glorious day. At noon we stop to take aboard an Indian who hails us from the scrub-pine, sore afraid that he will miss connection with his five dollar treaty present from the Government. It is good to stretch out on the grass after this somewhat restricted Primrose path of dalliance. In front of us extends a long row of islands, in the hot haze suspended midway between blue of lake and blue of sky. Their covering of baby-willows suggests a face guilty of a three days' beard. We rest, so far as the mosquitoes think it proper we should rest, on a bed of reindeer moss (_cladonia rangiferina_?), the _tripe de roche_ of the North. This constitutes almost the sole winter-food of the reindeer, its gelatinous or starchy matter giving the nutritive property to the odd-looking stuff. Reindeer-moss has saved the life of many an Indian lost in these woods. We try it, and find the taste slightly pungent and acrid; but when boiled it forms a jelly said to be nourishing and tonic. No orders are given when we land, and we study countenances and actions to guess the time-limit of our tether. For twenty-four hours we have wondered if there were trout in Lake Athabasca and if they would rise to the fly. With a borrowed rod we take a canoe and off the shadow of a cottonwood point try a cast at random. The gut carries three flies--a brown hackle, a coachman, with a Jock Scott at the tail--a rainbow aggregation. To the coachman we get a rise and it takes three of us to land him. There are no scales; so his weight must forever be unrecorded, but as we lay him out he measures just a trifle over twenty-three inches, as beautiful a lake trout as ever sent thrill up and down a sympathetic spine. Bye-and-bye this road we travel is going to be listed on the sporting routes of the world, and tired souls from the Seven Seas with rod and gun will here find Nepenthe. [Illustration: The Modern Note-book] Clutching our catch, we step gingerly along an outstretched oar and climb on board. The orders of the captain to the mate are sporty and suggest turf rather than surf. "Kick her up, Mac!" "Give her a kick ahead!" "Who-o-oa!" On Sunday evening, June 28th, we reach Fond du Lac, clinging close to the water-line on her beautiful stretch of sand. All unregarded are the church-bells, and the Indians crowd to meet us,--bent old crones, strong men, and black-eyed babies. For is not the coming of the treaty party the one event of the Fond du Lac year? Half way along the traverse of the lake we had crossed the inter-Provincial boundary, and now find ourselves near the northern limit of the Province of Saskatchewan, and in the latitude of Sweden's Stockholm. There are but two people in Fond du Lac who speak English,--Mr. Harris who trades fur with the Indians, and Father Beibler who would fain shepherd their souls. These Caribou-Eater Indians are true nomads who come into the post only at treaty-payment time or to dispose of their hunt. In the _moon-when-the-birds-cast-their-feathers_ (July) they will press back east and north to the land of the caribou. September, _the-moon-when-the-moose-loose-their-horns_, will find them camping on the shore of some far unnamed lake, and by the time of the _hour-frost-moon,_ or the _ice-moon,_ they will be laying lines of traps. We have learned to estimate the prosperity or otherwise of the Indians by the condition of their dogs. Fond du Lac dogs are fat; each baby in its moss-bag exudes oil from every pore. Peace and Plenty have crowned the Caribou-Eaters during the winter that is past. The law of Saskatchewan permits the taking of the beaver. Alberta for the present has enacted restrictive legislation on this hunt, to which restriction, by the way, among the Indians at the treaty-tent at Chipewyan, objection had been loud and eloquent. [Illustration: Tepee of a Caribou-Eater Indian] We call upon Mr. Harris and his Chipewyan wife, a tall handsome woman whom he addresses as "Josette." Their three girls are being educated in the convent at Fort Chipewyan. The room in which we sit reflects the grafting of red life on white. A rough bookcase of birchwood, with thumbed copies of schoolboy classics, Carlyle, the Areopagitica, and the latest Tractate on Radium, gives one a glimpse of the long, long winter nights when all race and latitude limitations fade away and the mind of the Master of Fond du Lac jumps the barrier of ice and snow to mix with the great world of thought outside. "Stone walls do not a prison make nor iron bars a cage." Fighting our way with the mosquitoes, under birches somewhat dwarfed but beautiful, through a pungent bocage of ground pine, wild roses, giant willow-herb, mints innumerable and Labrador tea _(Ledum latifolium_), we reach the H.B. garden where the potatoes are six or eight inches high. We wander into a little graveyard, surely the most lonely God's acre in all Canada. The inscriptions in syllabic Chipewyan show the patient devotion of Father Beihler, who comes across us as we gaze at the graves. Eight long years the priest has put in at Fond du Lac, sent here when but three months in the priesthood. His English, acquired from Mr. Harris, is a bit hesitating. His home was in Alsace-Lorraine; he tells us his mother was out of her mind for three days when he was ordered here, and he himself wept. White women are a _rara avis_. Father Beihler wants to know how old we are and if we are Catholics and how much money we earn. Pointing wisely to the Kid, he assures me, "They are not an-gell (angel) at that age," and says, "I am not a woman-hater, and I am not a _woman chercher_." The priest is as great a curiosity to us as we are to him, and each is interested in studying a new kind of animal. One sympathy we have in common,--the good Father knows every bird that flies over Fond du Lac. Who can tell what they whisper to him of the sweet Alsace so far away? We are treated to peeps into the nests of the orange-crowned warbler, the hermit thrush, and that shy wader, the spotted sandpiper. [Illustration: A Bit of Fond du Lac] These ultimate woods fascinate us, with their worn north trails of the trapper beaten as hard as asphalt with the moccasins of generations. The father of the Chipewyan down at the tents receiving his treaty money to-day and his grandfather before him trod these same trails and served The Company. Dusky feet trod these paths when good Queen Anne ruled in England, men made toilsome portages up these waterways, and here Crowfoot and Running Rabbit and Gaston Lamousette kept undisturbed the tenour of their way and matched wits with Carcajou the wolverine. To the student who would read at first hand the story of fur, more interesting than dark otters, Hudson Bay sables, or silver-fox, one form silhouettes on the white canvas of the North. It is the figure of the Trapper. Here, as elsewhere, the man who mixes brains with his bait and makes a scientific art of a rude craft is the man who succeeds. It is a contest of wit worthy the cleverest. The animals, as the years pass, become more rather than less wary, and the days of the magenta string tying a chunk of fat to a nice new shiny trap are long past. The man who used to "make fur" in that way is, like Fenimore Cooper's Indians, the extinct product of a past race that never existed. The Chipewyan trapper eats at once, or dries for the future, every ounce of flesh he traps, from the scant flesh-covering over the animal's skull to the feet and the entrails. As soon as the skins of beaver and musquash are removed, the bodies, so many skinned cats, are impaled on sticks of jack-pine and set sizzling before the fire. In the woods as in the camp, the laborious work falls to the woman. Lordly man kills the animal and that is all. With her babies on her back or toddling by her side, the wife trails the game home on hand-sled, and afterwards in camp she must dress the meat and preserve the skin. The band of Fond du Lac Indians is the largest in the whole North, and they are perhaps the least unspoiled of "civilisation," as their range is removed from the north-and-south route afforded by the Mackenzie. To-morrow the treaty party will leave, the skin tepees will be pulled down, and in those beautiful birchbark canoes whole families will be on the move. These people are essentially meat-eaters. Their hearts have not learned to hunger for those soggy bannocks, unventilated shacks, and sheet-iron stoves which are luring their tribal cousins on the germ-strewn way to higher culture with convenient stopping-places in the graves by the wayside. [Illustration: Birch-barks at Fond du Lac] Starting from Fond du Lac in July, a Chipewyan family sets out in two canoes, the big communal one, and the little hunting-canoe, the dogs following along shore. It is paddle and portage for days and weary weeks, inland and ever inland. In October the frost crisps into silence the running water and the lake lip. Snow begins to fall, and the grind of forming ice warns the Chipewyan it is time to change birchbark for moccasin and snow-shoe. Canoes are _cached_, and the trail strikes into the banksian pine and birchwood. The door of the forest is lonely and eerie. It no longer seems incongruous that, although Big Partridge wears a scapular on his burnt-umber breast and carries with him on his journey the blessing of Father Beihler, he also murmurs the hunting incantation of the Chipewyans and hangs the finest furs of his traps flapping in the top of the jack-pine, a sop to the Cerberus of Mitchie Manitou, the feared Spirit of the Wood. Winter sees Indian families, each little group a vignette in the heart of the wider panorama, flitting over lake surfaces to ancestral fur-preserves. In the early snow they pitch tepee, family fires are lighted, and from this centre the trapper radiates. The man sets his traps, and if the couple is childless his wife makes an independent line of snares. Each individual traps for miles and days alone, and an accident in the woods means a death as lonely and agonising as that of the animal he snares. With blanket, bait, and bacon on a small hand-sled, silently the trapper trudges forward. The Northern Lights come down o' nights, and it is cold; but cold makes finer fur. Down far trails in gloomy forests, across the breasts of silent streams, the Chipewyan trudges from trap to trap; if he finds fifty dollars worth of fur along the whole line he is content. It is not this lonely man who gets the high price, madame, for your marten stole or opera-cloak of ermine. On the trail the hunter may go hungry for two days and no word of complaint, just a tightening of the lips and L'Assumption belt, and a firm set to the jaw; but when a moose is killed life is one long supper. A jolly priest whispers of this confession from a son of the Church, a recent brand from the burning, "O Father, I know that Christianity is true, the great, the strong religion. When I was a heathen Chipewyan and trapped with my mother's tribe I ate ten rabbits a day. But now I am a Christian, a good Catholic, seven rabbits are enough for me--I will eat no more!" In the early days the H.B. Company allowed its men _en voyage_ five pounds of meat a day, and each kiddie three pounds. In British Columbia and the Yukon the ration was one salmon; up here on the Athabasca one wild goose or three big whitefish; on the Arctic foreshore two fish and three pounds of reindeer meat. This was the scheduled fare, but the grimness of the joke appears in the fact that each man had to run his breakfast to earth before he ate it. Forty miles a day from trap to trap is a hard tramp on snowshoes when the wind sweeps down from the Arctic and the silence can be felt. The whole thing is a Louisiana lottery. The very next trap may hold a silver-fox that spells kudos for a year round the winter camp-fires and a trade valuation of one hundred dollars from the tempting stores of Mr. Harris. As long as the red fox brings forth her cubs to play in the starlight and marten and musquash increase after their kind, just so long will there be trappers and sons of trappers setting out from Fond du Lac. In October or November these Chipewyans will meet the migrating caribou on the northern side of Athabasca Lake. Caribou skins are in prime condition then to make coats and robes, and caribou venison, fresh or dried, is the daily bread which Providence sends to these far folk. About Christmas time, if they find themselves at a convenient distance from the post, the Indians come in to Fond du Lac to trade their furs with Mr. Harris and to get from Father Beihler the blessing of Mother Church. Out they go again and make their spring hunt of otter, bear, and beaver, whose skins they bring in when they come for their treaty money and annual reunion in July. Interesting indeed is the life-history of the Barren Ground caribou (_rangifer articus_), whose migrant hordes to-day rival in number the bands of the dead and gone buffalo. Caribou go north in spring and south in autumn, as the birds do; and, unlike the seals, the female caribou form the advance line. They drop their young far out toward the seacoast in June, by which month the ground is showing up through melting snow. The male caribou never reach the coast, but join their wives and make the acquaintance of their babies at the end of July. From this time they stay together till the rutting season is over late in October. Then the great herds of caribou,--"la foule,"--gather on the edge of the woods and start on their southern migrations toward the shelter and food afforded by the country of the larger pine trees. A month later the females and males separate, the cows with their intent fixed on the uttermost edge of things beginning to work their way north toward the end of February and reaching the edge of the woods by April. This is the general rule. Broadly speaking, the north shore of Athabasca Lake to-day forms the southern limit of the caribou range, while the Mackenzie River makes a natural dividing-line between eastward and westward branches of the caribou family. But the trend of this mighty migration will not be pent between mathematical lines of limitation, and the direction of prevailing winds may turn the numberless hosts and divert them from their line of march. Individuals and scattered bands, indeed, have been known not to migrate at all. Fifteen years ago in the last days of July, in latitude 62° 15' North, the Tyrrell Brothers saw a herd of caribou which they estimate contained over one hundred thousand individuals. In 1877 a line of caribou crossed Great Slave Lake near Fort Rae on the ice. It took them two weeks to pass that point, and, in the words of an eye-witness, "daylight could not be seen through the column." A priest, on the winter trail between Fond du Lac and Fort Chipewyan a few winters ago, was travelling without fire-arms and, as his trail crossed that of the moving caribou, he had to delay his journey till they deigned to give him the right of way. It was impossible to pass through their ranks, and he hadn't even the satisfaction of making a fat bull pay tribute to his Mother Hubbard cupboard. Mr. Hislop, a fur-trader of Great Slave Lake, said to the writer, "At Fort Rae the caribou are and always have been very plentiful, I don't think they will ever die out." Rae was the old meat-station for the Far North, and the records show that after supplying local needs three thousand tongues were often exported in one season. If one intercepts a caribou-band in a little lake he may with patience kill them all without any trouble, as they run round and round on the ice, mystified by the wood-echoes and the reverberation of the shots. When the Chipewyan filters into southern latitudes and weakens with pink teas the virility that should go with red blood, aping the elect he will cast round for a suitable coat-of-arms. The proper caper for him would be the caribou rampant with a whitefish flotsam. The whitefish (_coregonus clupeiformis_) is gregarious, reaching shallow water to spawn. Wherever you see Indian tepee-poles by the side of Northern waters you may guess that to be a good fishing spot. The poles are always hospitably left for the next comer, the Indian merely carrying with him the skin or canvas cover of his tepee. The location of the Hudson's Bay forts was in the beginning determined by the good fishing-grounds, although now there is but indifferent fishing near some of the posts. It would almost seem that the whitefish have in their chilly veins as variable blood as any vagrant horde of caribou. The whitefish contains all elements necessary for human nourishment, and it is a happy fact that it does, for men and dogs in the North often live for solid months on nothing else. It is a rich fat fish and the usual mode of cooking it is by boiling. Northern people tell you that it is the only fish whose taste will never produce satiety, as it becomes daily more agreeable to the palate. I can't say that it worked on our sensibilities in just that way. But it is the old story of _de gustibus_, etc. We see the Fond du Lac people this evening roasting upon the coals, as choice tit-bits, the stomachs of the whitefish. Scraping the dirt and ashes from the blackened morsel, they offer it to us as one would pass the olives in those lands so far below us where people wear dress-suits and railroads run. It is all a matter of latitude, after all, for when a bottle of olives was salved from the wrecked scow we had overheard this dialogue between two boatmen, as surreptitiously they broached cargo. "Do you like these?" "Yes." "You're a liar!" On the Athabasca trail, too, we had seen an untried soul struggling with his first olive. It was Shorty, the lightning-stricken heir of the house of Kennedy. He coveted one of the "plums" from our lunch-basket, and was much surprised when we suggested that it was an olive. "What are them?" "Olives," we elucidated; "they come from Southern Europe by steamer." "Do they?" (slightingly). "The one I et must have come steerage." We are to make the acquaintance of other Northern delicacies,--beaver-tails, moose-nose, rabbits' kidneys, caribou-tongues, and the liver of the loche, an ugly-looking fish of these waters. But the whitefish remains the staple; the fish-harvest here is as important a season as Harvest Home elsewhere. At the fishery, whitefish are hung upon sticks across a permanent staging to dry and freeze; an inch-thick stick is pierced through the tail, and the fish hang head downwards in groups of ten. This process makes the flesh firmer if the days continue cool, but if the weather turns mild as the fish are hanging they acquire both a flavour and a smell exceedingly gamy. This is the "Fall Fishery." Winter fishing is done through holes in the ice, the net being spread by means of a long thin pole. The handling of net and fish is terrible work in the bitter cold. As a whole, Canadian Indians are more independent than those of the United States, and certainly they have been more fairly dealt with in Canada than in the sister Republic. There is in the Dominion to-day an Indian population of 110,000. The amount expended last year by Canada from the Consolidated Revenue Fund for her Indian Department was $1,358,254. The Canadian Government has sedulously kept faith with its Indians and has refrained from pauperizing them by pap-feeding or ration-folly; very largely to-day the Canadian Indian plays the game off his own bat. Into the sturdy and intelligent faces of the Fond du Lac Indian we look, seeking in vain any trace of "the wild Red Man." The _raison d'être_ of these annual "treaty-payment parties" is merely the acknowledgment on one side and the recognition on the other that the Northern Indian is a British subject protected by and amenable to British law. In addition to the present of five dollars per head each year, the Canadian Government sends in by the Indian Agent presents of fishing twine and ammunition, with eleemosynary bacon for the indigent and old. The chiefs strut around in official coats enriched with yellow braid, wearing medals as big as dinner-plates. From Edmonton northward to Fort Chipewyan the Indians are all Crees. At Fort Chipewyan the northern limit of the Crees impinges on the southern limit of the Chipewyan, but here at Fond du Lac the Indians are all true Chipewyans. The Chipewyan wife is the New Red Woman. We see in her the essential head of the household. No fur is sold to the trader, no yard or pound of goods bought, without her expressed consent. Indeed, the traders refuse to make a bargain of any kind with a Chipewyan man without the active approbation of the wife. When a Chipewyan family moves camp, it is Mrs. Chipewyan who directs the line of march. How did she happen to break away from the bonds that limit and restrain most Red brides? This is the question that has troubled ethnologists since the North was first invaded by the, scientific. We think we have found the answer. Along the shores of Fond du Lac we descry a long-legged wader, the phalarope. This is the militant suffragette of all bird-dom. Madame Phalarope lays her own eggs (this depository act could scarcely be done by proxy), but in this culminates and terminates all her responsibilities connubial and maternal,--"this, no more." Father Phalarope builds the house, the one hen-pecked husband of all feathered families who does. He alone incubates the eggs, and when the little Phalaropes are ushered into the vale, it is Papa who tucks their bibs under their chins and teaches them to peep their morning grace and to eat nicely. Mamma, meanwhile, contrary to all laws of the game, wears the brilliant plumage. When evening shadows fall where rolls the Athabasca, she struts long-leggedly with other female phalaropes, and together they discuss the upward struggles toward freedom of their unfeathered prototypes. CHAPTER VIII FOND DU LAC TO FORT SMITH "On we tramped exultantly, and no man was our master, And no man guessed what dreams were ours, as swinging heel and toe, We tramped the road to Anywhere, the magic road to anywhere, The tragic road to Anywhere but one dear year ago." --_Service_. Everybody is to say farewell to Fond du Lac to-day, June 29th, so there is a hurried finishing up of loose ends. A loud yowl as of a lost soul letting go of life starts the lake echoes! No hand is staining itself in brother's blood. The treaty doctor, who visits these people, to use their own word, "as a bird on the wing," has just succeeded in extracting a tooth for a Chipewyan bride, Misère Bonnet Rouge. Misère looks ashamed of her howl when the operation is over, and lisping, "Merci very," bears off in expansive triumph the detached molar. [Illustration: Fond du Lac] Down at the lake edge, belly prone, men and women lap the water as dogs do, while the festive small boy from the Government bags of poor-house bacon is slyly licking the oozing fat. Of the taste of red-cheeked apples and chewing-gum he is guiltless; popcorn, bananas, and the succulent peanut are alike alien. This _pee-mee_ or oil of bacon is delicious morsel enough for his red palate. We trade a brier pipe with young McDonald, a full-blood, for his beautiful hat-band of porcupine quills, and in the French of the North he confides to us, "I have two boys. The mother can have the younger one to help her in the house, and the priest can teach him to be a white man if he likes; but the other one goes with me, no school for him. I will make him a hunter like myself." Last year McDonald went into the woods on New Year's Day and didn't return until June, when he came back with three hundred caribou. Father Beibler is carrying a cup of water up to a tepee where an old Indian lies dying, to whom he is giving extreme unction. The slanting sun strikes the tin cup and the big crucifix of the good Father, and so we leave Fond du Lac. [Illustration: Father Beihler Carrying Water to a Dying Indian] The man who tells the story crosses himself piously and immediately begins a bit of rag-time of the vintage of '08. We ask him where he heard the tune. "O, I catch him from the phunny-graph, me at the Mission." Canned culture even here! It is light enough to read on the deck at quarter past eleven. We chunk along through a lake of amethyst and opal, the marvellous midnight light keeping us from sleep. On the scow astern, sprawled on the season's output of fur, the men smoke and argue. In the North, men talk of feats of strength and endurance, boast about their dogs, and discuss food. Two kindred souls may hark back to boyhood days and quote a page of Virgil or demonstrate on a bit of birchbark the forty-seventh proposition of Euclid, but you overheard no discussion of elections or ward-politics, no chatter of the marketplace. That is all "long ago and far away." To-night it is "You know there are fellows in here who can run like hell. The world's record is beaten every winter." "The world's record in lying, do you mean?" "No, running--a man can run one hundred miles a day in this country." "Well, what makes a day?" "Twelve hours,--that is what I learned at school." "No: there's twenty-four hours in a day." "Well, a day, _I_ take it, is as far as you can go without stoppin'--it never gets dark, so how is a man to know what's a day?" We reach Chipewyan Wednesday, July 1st, and there is no soul who cares a whitefish for the fact that this is Dominion Day, Canada's national holiday. For our dinner Mrs. Johnson gives us home-grown parsley, radishes, lettuce, and green onions; the potatoes are eight or ten inches high, and rhubarb stalks an inch and a half in diameter. Wild gooseberries are big enough to make delectable "gooseberry fool." Who hungers for whitefish-stomachs or liver of the loche? Early in the morning we start north in the _Primrose_, cross Athabasca Lake, and enter the Rocher River. Thirty miles from Fort Chipewyan the Rocher, uniting with the main channel of the Peace, makes a resultant stream known as the Slave, down which we pass in an incomparable summer day, our hearts dancing within us for the clear joy of living. Poplars and willows alternate with white spruce (_Picea canadensis_) fully one hundred and fifty feet high and three feet in diameter. It is an ideal run,--this hundred miles between Fort Chipewyan and Smith's Landing, and we make it in twelve hours. [Illustration: Smith's Landing] "How did Smith's Landing get its name?" I ask the _Primrose_ Captain. "Some ould fish o' the Hudson's Bay," from the tightly-bitten black pipe leaves one wondering if Lord Strathcona (Sir Donald Smith) was meant. At Smith's Landing we encounter the only obstacle to steamboat navigation in the magnificent stretch of sixteen hundred miles between Fort McMurray and the Arctic Ocean. Between Smith's Landing and Fort Smith the Slave River presents sixteen miles of churning rapids with a total drop of two hundred and forty feet. Until within a few years every ounce of freight for the lower Mackenzie River posts had to negotiate this turbulent waterway, making seven portages and many decharges. The "free trader" still takes his scows down this Rapid of the Damned, but the H.B. Company (thanks be!) has provided a cross-country portage. We land on the heels of a tragedy. Some days before, in this surging swirl of waters two priests pushed out in a canoe. The older man had been in the North for years and was "going out," the other had come from Europe to take his place; the Father would show to his successor all the beauties of the rapids. In their enthusiasm they ventured too near the "Rapid of the Drowned," and canoe and men went down. An old Indian woman, the only eye-witness, said to me, "One arm lifted out of the river, the paddle pointing to the sky--a cry came over the water, and that was all." Our thought jumps to that peasant's home in far France where the mother waits and wearies for news from America. We see the unsteady fingers tearing open the first letter that comes out of that remote land where devotion and duty had called her son. We wonder who wrote that letter to her, and, turning away, wonder too at the destiny which suddenly breaks off the thread of lives like these and leaves dotards dozing in the sun. At Smith's Landing we join our Athabasca friends and meet new ones, among the latter Mr. Max Hamilton, who will tell you more of the North and its little ways in a forenoon than you could glean from books in a winter's study. Corporal Mellor and Constables Johnson and Bates, R.N.W.M.P., no longer gay birds of travel, have gotten down to brass tacks. With gay visions of striding blooded mounts, herding bison, and making history, they find themselves employed at present in making a barracks, making it out of logs and sweat with the lonely ox as coadjutor. Johnson, who has broken horses in the ring at Regina, is head of a wagon transport and tries to get speed and form from Wall-Eye Buck, an ox that came in with the Klondike rush and hasn't rushed since. Johnson holds the ribbons well and bows acknowledgment when we find a prototype for him in Mulvaney, the tamer of elephants. He can afford to take our banter good naturedly, for he knows what lies before us on the Mosquito Portage and we do not. We thought we had met mosquitoes on the Athabasca. The Athabasca mosquito is gentle, ineffective, compared with his cousin of Smith's Portage. Dr. Sussex sits on the wagon-seat behind and explains the mosquito. He tells us that they are "of the order _Diptera_," "sub-order _Nemocera_," and chiefly "of the family _Culicidae_," and he also goes so far as to tell us that they "annoy man." As we bump along in the muskeg and the creatures surround us in a smother, he ventures to assert that "the life of the adult insect is very short" and that it is the female who stings. The Doctor is a born instructor. We learn that "the natural food of the mosquito is a drop or two of the juice of a plant." We suspect the Doctor of fagging up on "Mosquito" out of some convent dictionary while we have been at Fond du Lac. He is like the parson introduced by his friend of the cloth. "Brother Jones will now give an address on Satan. I bespeak for him your courteous attention, as the reverend gentleman has been preparing this address for weeks, and comes to you _full of his subject."_ The adult mosquito may have a short life, but it is a life crammed full of interest; if the natural food of the mosquito is the sweet juice of a pretty flower then a lot of them in this latitude are imperilling their digestion on an unnatural commissariat. And if the female mosquitoes do all the fine work, there is a great scarcity of male mosquitoes on Smith's portage, and once more in the North the suffragette comes into her own. We fear that these mosquitoes are like the Indians of whom a Slave River priest had said to us, "These have not delicate sensibilities such as gratitude and affection, but they have a proper appreciation of _material things_." Opposition is the life of trade. For every vantage-point as big as a match-head on our face and hands the "bull-dog" contests with the mosquito. An interesting study is the "bull-dog." He looks like a cross between a blue-bottle fly and a bumble bee, and we took leisure as we went along to examine the different parts of his person under a microscope that some one carried as a watch-charm. The head of the insect (if he is an insect) looks exactly like that of a bull-dog, he makes his perforation with a five-bladed lancet, and he is good workman enough to keep his tools always well sharpened. The Doctor was not "long" on the "bull-dog." He told us that his Sunday name was "_Tabanus_," and that was about all he could impart. The rest we could learn for ourselves by direct contact. Personally I have very little rancour against the "bull-dog." He looks worse than he is, and an adversary armed with hands can easily repel him. Four-legged brutes find it different. On the Bloody Portage we overtook five teams of oxen which had been more than twelve hours trying to make sixteen miles and were bleeding profusely from the fly-bites. Finally two of them succumbed and a relief team had to be sent out from Fort Smith. Moose in the North, maddened by the "bull-dogs," often jump over precipices and river-banks, as the Scriptural swine did when _they_ were possessed of devils. Johnny-Come-Lately from dear old Lunnon reading in a Western paper, "The deer are chased into the water by the bull-dogs," ruminates audibly, "Chase the de-ah into the wa-tah with bull-dogs! How interesting! Jolly resourceful beggars, these Colonials." A literary scientist sending out copy from the North wrote, "My two greatest troubles are mosquitoes and bull-dogs," which the intelligent proof-reader amended into, "My two greatest troubles are mosquitoes and bull-frogs." Bringing in our daily treasure-trove of flowers we can scarcely realise that at Fort Smith we are in latitude 60° North, the northern boundary of the Province of Alberta and in the same latitude as St. Petersburg. One day we gathered careopsis, pretty painted-cups, the dandelion in seed, shinleaf (_Pyrola elliptica_), our old friend yarrow, and golden-rod. Another day brought to the blotting-pads great bunches of goldenrod, a pink anemone, harebells of a more delicate blue than we had ever seen before, the flower of the wolf-berry, fireweed, and ladies'-tresses. The third day we identified the bear-berry or kinnikinic-tobacco (_Arctostaphylos uva-ursi)_ with its astringent leaves, and that dear friend of lower latitudes and far-away days, the pink lady-slipper. The last time we had seen it was in a school-room in far-off Vancouver Island where in early April the children had brought it in, drooping in their hot little fists. This same evening, watching a night-hawk careering in mid-air by the rapids of the Slave and enjoying its easy grace in twisting and doubling as with hoarse cry it fell and rose again, we were fortunate in literally running to ground its nest. [Illustration: A Transport between Fort Smith and Smith's Landing] [Illustration: Lord Strathcona, Governor of the Hudson's Bay Company] Fort Smith, as places go in this country, is an infant in age, having been established only thirty-four years. Resting on the edge of the high bank of the Slave, it enjoys an eternal outlook on those wonderful rapids. The river here is a mile wide. The sweep and eddy-wash of ages have cut out a deep bay, on the inner shore of which stand the buildings of The Company, the little Roman Church, the houses of the priests. Back of the permanent structures rise, this glorious July day, the tepees of the Chipewyans, Slavis, and Dog-Ribs who have come in from the hunting-grounds for their treaty money. Fort Smith struck us as being more "dead" than any northern post. But it is on the verge of great things. Mr. Brabant has announced that this place is to succeed Fort Simpson as headquarters for the Northern fur-trade, and his personality will soon send unction into the dry bones of the valley. At the foot of the high hill looms a monument to the initiative and commercial enterprise of the H.B. Company,--a modern steamship in the waters of a wilderness-country. Ours is to be the honor of making in her the initial journey to the Mackenzie mouth. It is impossible coming from the South to navigate the Slave River rapids by steam. Any boat ambitious to ply on the waters lying northward between Fort Smith and the Arctic must be either taken in in sections or built on the ground. With enterprise and pluck, the Hudson's Bay Company has just completed the construction at Fort Smith of the steamship, _The Mackenzie River_. Its great boilers and engines made in far factories of the south came in over the Athabasca trail on sleighs in winter. Down that whole distance of ninety miles of Athabascan rapids they floated on scows as we floated, and while human ingenuity is bringing north the iron bowels, skilful hands out of native timber are framing the staunch body to receive them. The builders of the big boat have had disasters which would have daunted any but the dogged Company of Fur-Traders. Two land-slides threatened to slice off and carry into the river the partially-made boat, a fire burned up the blacksmith shop and with it all the imported doors, window-sashes and interior finishings, so that she sails to-morrow with carpenters still at work. While the hull of this carefully modelled vessel is necessarily of light construction, with special steel to enable her to navigate safely the waters of the Mackenzie River, longitudinal strength has been adequately provided in the form of five lattice girders and by numerous hog-posts and ties, and the diagonal bracing of the bulkheads will provide ample transverse strength. The bow also has been made especially strong to resist the impact of ice, snags, etc. The hull is one hundred and twenty-five feet in length, twenty-six feet broad at the water-line, and five and one-third feet deep to the structural deck. The strength and safety of the hull are increased by five water-tight compartments. Propulsion is effected by a pair of modern stern paddle-wheel engines capable of being worked up to over two hundred and fifty horse power, giving her a speed of ten miles an hour. She has stateroom accommodation for twenty-two passengers, draws three and a half feet of water aft, and eats up half a cord of wood an hour. She will carry to the northern posts their trading-goods for the year. Within a day's ride of Fort Smith grazes a herd of four to five hundred wood bison, the last unconfined herd of buffalo in the world. Doubtless the wood buffalo were originally buffalo of the plains. Their wandering northward from the scoured and hunted prairies has not only saved them from extinction but has developed in them resistance and robust vitality. These bison appear darker and larger than their pictured cousins of the past. Probably the inner hair of these is finer and of thicker texture, a difference which the change of habitat to more northern latitudes would easily account for. The bison have two enemies: the grey wolf and the Indian, one an enemy _in esse_, the other _in posse_. The Government of Canada has prohibited the killing of the buffalo, and my opinion is that this law, as all other Canadian laws, is obeyed in the North. I questioned every one I talked with who lives on the rim of the buffalo-habitat, and the concensus of testimony of priests, H.B. men, settlers, traders, and Mounted Police, is that the Indians do not molest these animals. The arch-enemy of the wood buffalo is the timber wolf. [Illustration: The World's Last Buffalo] Evidently the beautiful thick coat of the woodland bisons allows them to laugh at the mosquito, for we come upon them in an almost impenetrable mosquito-infested muskeg. An untoward frost is more to be feared by these great brutes than the attacks of any insect. Thirty-eight years ago a heavy rainfall in the winter soaked the snow and formed a subsequent ice-crust which prevented them from grazing, and as they do not browse on the branches of trees, the herd was almost exterminated. In the past, they have been abundant throughout sections of this North country. In the beginning of the last century, the upper Peace River and as far north as the Liard was stocked with them. As the Hudson's Bay Company never traded in these skins for export, the Indians hunted them for food only, Fort Chipewyan being regularly supplied by its fort hunters with buffalo for its winter use up to the year 1885. In sections of the wooded country of the north the bison in times past were as plentiful as on the southern plains. During Sir John Franklin's first journey, his people near where the Athabasca River enters the lake "observed the traces of herds of buffalo where they had crossed the river, the trees being trodden down and strewed as if by a whirlwind." In 1871, two travellers making a portage to Hay River near its entrance into Great Slave Lake saw countless numbers of buffalo skulls piled on the ground two or three feet deep. The terrible loss of life indicated by these bones they attributed to a fourteen-foot fall of snow which occurred in the winter of 1820 and enveloped the travelling animals. One cannot but be intensely interested in the preservation of this herd of wood bison making here their last stand. The Canadian Government has shown a splendid spirit in its attitude toward every phase of the buffalo question, as its purchase of the Pablo herd from Montana now ensconced in the new Buffalo Park near Wainwright, in Alberta, as well as the measures for preserving these northern brands from the burning, conclusively prove. Upon my chatting with Chief Pierre Squirrel, and admiring largely his magenta mosquito-veil, the astute chap tells me that he himself, back of Fort Smith a few years ago, saw a full-grown buffalo pulled down and the flesh literally torn off it by woodland wolves, strong brutes, he assured me, which weighed from one hundred and fifty to two hundred pounds each. A wolf shot on the Mackenzie last year measured from snout to the root of the tail sixty-four inches. The Dominion bounty on the timber-wolf is twenty dollars, but this is not an off-set to the native's superstitious aversion to killing this animal; the Indian's belief is that such slaughter on his part queers his hunt for a whole season. He never goes out with malice aforethought on a wolf-hunt, but if one of these animals crosses his track he may kill it, although always with inward foreboding. A man brought in a wolf to Fort Smith while we were there and throwing down his hunting gear said, "There, it had better all be destroyed, I will have no luck with it more." Shortly afterwards a fish-staging fell on his son, for which the dead wolf was held responsible. As the female wolf has from three to five young at a litter and as the mother buffalo gives birth to but one calf, Fate, in both birth-rate and death-rate, would seem to favour the smaller animal. It is up to the red-coated lads of the river-edge to appear in the drama as gods-from-the-machine. While one's sympathy is with the shaggy bison host, still one cannot withhold admiration for the grit and tenacity of the wolf. Archbishop Taché tells of the persevering fortitude of a big wolf caught years ago in a steel trap at Isle â la Crosse. Thirty days afterwards, near Green Lake, a hundred miles away, it was killed, with trap and wood block still fixed to a hind leg. The poor brute through the intense cold of a Northern winter had dragged this burden all those weary miles. With Fort Smith as a centre, there remains an unmarred fur-preserve and a race of hardy trappers. Is the fur-trade diminishing? Statistics are extremely difficult to get, dealers do not publish dividend-sheets, the stockholders of the Mother-Lodge of the H.B. Company do not advertise. There is no import duty on raw skins into the United States, and so no means of keeping tally on the large shipments of fur which yearly find their way south from Canada. The statistics which are available overlap. Raw furs making out by Montreal to Europe come back, many of them, as manufactured imports into this continent by way of New York. Canada in 1904 sent to her American cousins furs and skins and manufactures of the same to the value of $670,472. This year the export has been more than doubled; the exact figures are $1,531,912. In 1908, Canada sent to France $110,184 worth of raw and manufactured fur, to Germany $23,173 worth, and to Belgium $19,090 worth. More money goes to the trapper to-day for such common skins as red-fox and skunk and muskrat than was ever paid to the fur-hunter for beaver, seal, and sea-otter in the old days. Six million dollars worth of raw furs are sold annually by auction in London, and Canada is the Mother Country's chief feeder. Included in these London sales are some hundred thousand martens, or Hudson Bay sables, and probably four times that number of mink. The imports of raw furs and exports of the manufactured article cross each other so perplexingly that to-day the wearer of fur clothing has no way of finding out in what part of the world her stole or cap or jacket had origin. On the feet of the sacrificed animal, by snowshoe of trapper and scow of the trader, it may have travelled half round the world before, in the shop-window, it tempted her taste and pocket-book. Furs will be always fashionable; the poet of old who declared, "I'll rob no ermyn of his dainty skin to make mine own grow proud," would find scanty following among the women of fashion in this age. In some parts of the United States an ingenious by-industry to the fur-trade has arisen, for the offered-bounty destructive animals are carefully reared in illicit kindergartens. As some states pay for the scalps of these animal pests and other states for the tails, the undertaking is interesting and profitable. The only gamble is in the nursery. When the gladsome breeder gets his wild-cat or coyote big enough to market, it is "heads I win, tails you lose." The United States, in twenty-five years, has paid two and a half millions in wild animal bounties. California paid in a year and a half $190,000 on coyotes alone, and no breed of noxious animals is yet extinct. What is true of the undesirable animals fortunately is true also of the harmless fur-bearers. Several causes make against the extermination of these in Canada. The range is so wide that, harassed in one quarter, the animal may get his family around him and make tracks for safer pastures. Hunted in the winter only, he has a good six months of planning and putting into practice plans of preservation as against the six months of active warfare when the trapper's wits are pitted against his. The fickleness of Fashion's foibles, too, in his favour. In no line of personal adornment is there such changing fashion as in furs. A fur popular this season and last will next spring be unsaleable at half its original value, and some despised fur comes to the front. What causes the changed standard? Who shall say? World's Fairs, in showing perfect specimens, popularise particular skins. Some princess of the blood or of bullion wears mink at a regal or republican function, and the trick is turned. The trade-ticker on mink runs skyward and a wireless thrill of warning should by poetic justice be impelled here to the shores of the Slave where Mr. and Mrs. Mink and all the little minxes love and hate and eat and sleep (with one eye open). During the last five years furs have been increasingly fashionable, and to this end no one cause has contributed so strongly as the automobile. The exhilarating motion makes necessary clothing of compact texture. This truth is self-evident and does not require the involved chain of reasoning by which a friend over our milkless teacups last night strove to prove that by all laws of the game the auto makes milk cheap. The burden of his demonstration is this. Autos have largely done away with the keeping of horses for pleasures. Horses and horse-stables inevitably breed flies. Flies in summer worry cows, and they, to escape the annoyance, stand for hours in running streams and do not graze. For lack of food, the milk-supply yielded by the cow is scanty, and milk rises in price. The auto upsets all this, and, undeterred by the horse-bred fly, complacent cows crop grass and distend their udders with cheap and grateful milk. Now, the reasoning is plain and incontrovertible at any one point, and yet urban milk grows dearer and Northern travellers drink boiled tea _au natural_. Cows are the eternal feminine and will not be explained by logic. But we are in the latitude of the fox and not the cow. Should the most valuable fox that runs be called a black-fox, or a silver-fox? What is the highest price ever paid for a fox-skin? Do not try to get to the bottom of these two innocent-looking demands. That way madness lies. "How old is Ann?" pales before this. Canadian foxes present themselves patriotically in red, white, and blue, and there are also black foxes and silver ones. The black-fox is only less elusive than the black tulip or the blue rose, and yet he inhabits the same section and cohabits often the same burrow with the red and the cross-fox. By the way, a cross-fox is not a hybrid; he bears the sign of the cross on his shoulders, and so his name. The red-fox of America is not dissimilar to the red-fox of Europe, and yet a red-fox in Canada may have a silver-fox for its mother and itself give birth to a silver-cub. At the Mission at Isle â la Crosse in latitude 55° 30', about twenty years ago, an experiment was made in breeding black-foxes. The missionary--Burbanks got two black-fox pups, male and female, and mated these when they were mature. From them always came mixed litters of red-fox, cross-fox, and black and silver. It reminds one of the Black Prince of England, who was son of a King and father of a King, yet never was a King! We are told that Messrs. McDougall & Secord, of Edmonton, enjoy the distinction of having received the highest price for a silver-fox pelt ever paid on the London market,--$1700, that it was one of the most beautiful skins seen in the history of the trade, and that it went to the Paris Exposition. Official Russian records at St. Petersburg state, "Of the American silver-fox (_Canis vulpes argentatus_) black skins have a ready market at from $1500 to $4000. They are used for Court robes and by the nobles." [Illustration: Tracking a Scow across Mountain Portage] And so the stories go on. A dealer in Calgary told us that last winter he had handled a silver-fox skin that subsequently brought $1950 in the London market. One quotes these tales blithely and with pleased finality. Then arises from some unsuspected quarter the voice of one cavilling in the wilderness, who contradicts your every story and finds with keen discriminating sight, "Black's not so black nor white so very white." Mr. Thompson-Seton makes declaration, "The silver-fox is but a phase or freak of a common-fox, exactly as a black sheep is, but with a difference--!" Yes, there's that fatal and fascinating difference. As we must have salmon-hatcheries, so Nature demands intelligent fox-farms, and beaver-farms, and skunk-farms. Forty acres under fur promises greater interest than even forty-bushel wheat, and, to the imaginative, the way opens up for the development of a new Cat-o-Dog or Dog-o-Cat, Goatee-rabbiticus or Rabbito-goat. I would not like to vouch for the story told on the mosquito-portage by the half-breed driver, who declared that last year a red-fox on the Slave stole a decoy duck and hunted with it for three seasons at the river-lip, placing it among the sedges and pouncing on the lured game. He was a serious-minded saturnine Scots-Slavi and told the story without moving an eye-brow. At Fort Smith we enjoyed a close study of the American White Pelican _(Pelecanus crythrorhynchos)_ which in the Mountain Rapids of the Slave finds its farthest north nesting-place. It, too, has the saving grace of continuance exhibited by the grey wolf. Mackenzie, a century ago, came across the birds here, and they have persisted ever since, although in the direct line of the river-transit of the fur-traders. A wooded island in the swirl of the rapids is their wild breeding-place, and while we were there the young birds were very much in evidence. We found something fascinating about this bird, so famed in song and story. The plumage is white, relieved with rose and yellow. The pelican nests are slight depressions in the sand, some of them softened with an algoid matting. The eggs are white, rough-shelled, and equal-ended, with, so far as we could see, only one to three in a nest. One by one the illusions of childhood vanish. Some wretched historian proves without shadow of doubt that Sir John Moore at Corunna met decent daylight sepulture and was not "darkly buried at dead of night, the sod with our bayonets turning." There arises one Ferrero who demonstrates with conclusive exactness that Antony was attracted by Cleopatra's money and his breast was not stirred by the divine passion. A French scientist robs Benjamin Franklin of the kudos of his lightning-rod. I myself on Vancouver Island have happened to be in at the death of two swans, and neither gurgled a musical note but yielded the ghost in dignified silence. And now candour compels me to report that the Slave River pelican feeds her nestlings on prosaic fish without the slightest attempt to "open to her young her tender breast." It is rank libel for Byron to state "Her beak unlocks her bosom's stream To still her famished nestling's scream." And, when Keats states so sententiously in _Endymion_, "We are nurtured like a pelican brood," he merely calls the world at large, fish-eaters. CHAPTER IX SLAVE RIVER AND GREAT SLAVE LAKE "Wild for the hunter's roving, and the use Of trappers in its dark and trackless vales, Wild with the trampling of the giant moose, And the weird magic of old Indian tales." --_Archibald Lampman_. A double cabin is assigned us on _The Mackenzie River_ and the nightmare that haunted us on the scows of wet negatives and spoiled films vanishes. On Tuesday, July 7th, the new steamer takes the water. Although, as we have said, we are in the latitude of St. Petersburg, still twelve hundred miles in an almost due northwest direction stretches between us and that far point where the Mackenzie disembogues into the Polar Ocean. The Union Jack dips and all Fort Smith is on the bank to see us off. On the Fourth of July we had improvised a program of sports for the Dog-Rib and Slavi boys, introducing them to the fascinations of sack-races, hop-step-and-jump, and the three-legged race. The thing had taken so that the fathers came out and participated, and, surreptitiously behind the tepees, the mothers began to hop. Having no popcorn, fizz, or Coney-Island red-hots to distribute, we did the next best thing,--became barkers and gave the calls that go with festivities. So now, as the boat swings out from the soft bank, it is a gay company of urchins who wave their caps and yell, "R-r-r-red lemol-lade, everybody drinks it!" There is only one Fort Smith! Established for three decades, it has as yet seen no wells dug. The people still climb that steep bank, carrying in pendant buckets from wooden shoulder-yokes water for the daily drinking and ablutions. At four o'clock in the afternoon, should you visit Fort Smith forty years from now, you will see the same daily procession of women and kiddies bearing buckets,--the Aquarius sign of the Fort Smith zodiac. A scoffer at my elbow grins, "Why should they bother to dig wells? It's cheaper to bring out Orkney-men in sail-boats from Scotland to tote their water up the banks." [Illustration: The "Red Lemol-lade" Boys] At noon we reach the Salt River, twenty-two miles up, which is one of the most marvellous salt deposits in the world. The Salt River winds in crescent curves through a valley wooded with aspen and spruce, and the Salt Plains six miles in extent stretch at the base of hills six or seven hundred feet high. The salt lies all over the ground in beautiful cubes,--pure crystal salt. It is anybody's salt plain; you can come here when you will and scoop up all you want. These plains have supplied the North country with salt since first white men penetrated the country. At the mouth of the Salt River are the shacks of the present representatives of the Beaulieus,--a family which has acted as guides for all the great men who ever trended northward. They have been interesting characters always, and as we look in upon them to-day neither Beaulieu nor salt has lost his savour. [Illustration: Salt Beds] The Slave River from where it leaves Fort Smith to its embouchure in Great Slave Lake is about two hundred miles long, with an average width of half a mile, except where it expands in its course to enclose islands. The big boat behaves beautifully in the water, and on we slip with no excitement until about five o'clock, when a moose and her calf are espied, well out of range. Each in his narrow cell, we sleep the sleep of the just and wake to find ourselves tied to the bank. The captain fears a storm is brooding on Great Slave Lake; so, tethered at the marge of the reedy lagoon, we wait all the forenoon. A corner of Great Slave Lake has to be traversed in order to reach Fort Resolution. To Samuel Hearne, the Mungo Park of Canada, belongs the double honour of tracing the Coppermine River and discovering Great Slave Lake. Just one hundred and thirty-seven years ago on Christmas Eve, Hearne got his first glimpse of this magnificent inland sea which is cut through the centre by the parallel of 62°, and which lies east and west between the meridians of 109° and 117°. No survey of Great Slave Lake has been made, but it is estimated to have a superficial area of 10,500 square miles--just one-third the size of troubled Ireland, and as great as Delaware, Connecticut, and Rhode Island combined. Great Slave Lake, lying wholly within the forested region, is three hundred miles long, and its width at one point exceeds sixty miles. At every place on its banks where the fur-traders have their stations ordinary farm-crops are grown. Barley sown at Fort Resolution in mid-May reaches maturity in a hundred days; potatoes planted at the same time are dug in mid-September. The gardens of Fort Rae on the North Arm of the Lake produce beets, peas, cabbages, onions, carrots, and turnips. As Fort Rae is built on a rocky island with a bleak exposure, this would seem to promise in some future day generous harvests for the more favoured lands on the south and west. The names given by the old fur-traders to their posts make the traveller think that in these North lands he, a second Christian, is essaying a new Pilgrim's Progress. At the south entry to the Lake we are at Resolution; when we cross it we arrive at Providence; away off at the eastern extremity is Reliance; Confidence takes us to Great Bear Lake; and Good Hope stretches far ahead down the lower reaches of the Mackenzie. Fort Resolution on the south side of Great Slave Lake, a little west of the mouth of the Slave, lies back of an island-sheltered entrance. [Illustration: Unloading at Fort Resolution] The striking feature as we enter is an immense Roman Catholic Mission school in process of construction, to supplement the existing church and school of that faith. There is neither station of the Mounted Police nor Church of England here; their places are taken by two independent fur-trading concerns operating in opposition to the Ancient Company. We had been told that the children down North had the kiddies at Fort Smith and Chipewyan "all skinned" for politeness, and we find it even so. The good nuns are trying to make reputable citizens of the young scions of the Dog-Rib and Yellow-Knife nations and are succeeding admirably as far as surface indications go. We approach a group of smiling boys arrayed in their Sunday clothes, awaiting a visit of the Bishop. With one accord come off their Glengarry bonnets, smoking caps, and Christie stiffs, and a row of brown hands is extended to greet us. Very trim the laddies look in their convent-made cadet-uniforms, as, standing at "'Shun!" they answered our every question with, "Yes, missus," "No, missus." When we ask their names, without tittering or looking silly they render up the whole list of saintly cognomens. Here they have once more their white brothers "skinned"; no civilised man, woman, or child ever stood up in public and announced his full baptismal name in an audible tone without feeling a fool. I have seen grizzled judges from the bench, when called upon to give evidence as witnesses, squirm like schoolboys in acknowledging that their godfathers had dubbed them "Archer Martin" or "Peter Secord" or whatever it might be. It is certainly Old Worldish. We speak with Father Laity who, all unconscious of the commotion around him, marches up and down the trail and reads his breviary. He tells us he is a Breton and that in an age that is past he served as a drummer-boy in the Prussian war. The Father came to this shut-in land forty-one years ago. Great Slave Lake, which presents a formidable barrier to the passage of the smaller land birds, is a breeding station of the sea-swallow. The Arctic tern hatches on its shores, laying its eggs in the beach gravel. The bird, with its slender body, deeply-forked tail, and shrilly-querulous voice, is everywhere in evidence. Does the whole family of lake birds show any more exquisite colour-scheme than the pearly plumage, small coral feet, carmine bill, and black cap of this tern? In a dell carpeted with silverweed and wild mustard, we come across a nest of our persisting friend, the chipping sparrow. Afterward we wander down to the shore and make the acquaintance of Pilot Julien Passepartout, whose calling as Mackenzie River navigator allows him to live out the largeness of his title, though I like best to think of him by the cradle-name his mother gave him, Tenny Gouley, which means "_A man born_." Down at the Treaty tent, Dog-Rib and Yellow-Knife are being handed the five one dollar bills which remind each that he is a loyal subject of His Imperial Majesty Edward the Seventh. The Yellow-Knives were so named by Mackenzie far back in 1789 when he first saw them and their weapons of native copper. Each head of a family is issued an identification-ticket which he presents and has punched from year to year. A father "draws treaty" for his olive-skinned branches until each marries and erects a tepee for himself. Government Agent Conroy, big bodied and big hearted, sits on a nail-keg, represents the King, and gives out largesse; and Mr. Laird presides over the Doomsday book. Inside the tent we take up a sheltered position and watch the fun. There are marked zones of names as well as of vegetation. The _Fiddler Anns, Waggon-box Julias_, and _Mrs. Turkeylegs_ of the Plains country are absent here, in the Land of the Yellow-Knife, where neither waggon-boxes nor turkeys flourish. [Illustration: Coming to "Take Treaty" on Great Slave Lake] _Mary Catholic_ comes along hand-in-hand with _Samuel the Worm_. Full of animal spirits is a group of four--_Antoine Gullsmouth, Tongue-of-the-Jackfish, Baptiste Wolftail,_ and _The Cat's Son_. A little chap who announces himself as _T'tum_ turns out to be _Petite Homme_, the squat mate of _The Beloved_. It would be interesting to know just how each of the next couple acquired his name, for neither _Trois-Pouces_ and _Owl-Plucked-Out-His-Eye_ bears evidence of abnormal conditions. On a whole the names are more striking than our John Smiths; Richard Roes, and Tom Browns, as for instance the next three--_Le Père des Carriboux, Geroux the Eldest, Alixi To-rong-jo. The-man-who-stands-still_ is evidently a stand-patter, while one wonders if it would be right to call _The-Man-Who-Walks-With-The-Red-Hair,_ a Crimson Rambler. _Carry-the-Kettle_ appears with _Star Blanket_ and _The Mosquito,_ and the next man in line, who has the tongs from a bon-bon box stuck in the band of his hat, rejoices in the name of _Strike-Him-on-the-Back,_ which somehow suggests the match-box in the hotel hall-way. As the dignified father, _Having-Passed-Many-Birthdays,_ claims five dollars each for his four daughters, _Smiling Martin, My-Wigwam-is-White,_ and the twins _Make-Daylight-Appear_ and _Red-Sky-of-the-Morning,_ we acknowledge that here again, in the art of naming, the Yellow-Knife has his white brother "skinned." Birth, dowry, divorce, death, each must be noted on the treaty ticket, with a corresponding adjustment of the number of dollar-bills to be drawn from the coffer. If a man between treaty-paying and treaty-paying marries a widow with a family, he draws five dollars each for the new people he has annexed. If there is an exchange of wives (a not-infrequent thing), the babies have to be newly parcelled out. Through all the family intricacies Mr. Conroy follows the interpreter with infinite patience and bonhomie. To the listener it sounds startling as the interpreter, presenting two tickets says, "He married these three people--this fellow." "O, he give dat baby away to Charles." When we hear in a dazed way that "_Mary Catholic's_ son married his dead woman's sister who was the widow of _Anton Larucom_ and the mother of two boys," we take a long breath and murmur, "If the angle ACB is not equal to the angle ABC, then how can the angle DEF be equal to the angle DFE?" A young couple, looking neither of them more than sixteen or seventeen, return with a shake of the head five of the fifteen dollars proffered them, and the interpreter explains, "Their little boy died--there's only two of them." Gregory Daniels in a Scottish voice, which cannot quite hide its triumphant ring, pushes back his five dollars and demands forty-five. "I got a wife and siven since last year, she's a Cree wumman." Another half-breed asks anxiously if he would be allowed to send for a "permit" like a white man if he refused to take treaty. One man with long black hair and a cheese-cutter cap creates consternation at the tent-door by claiming treaty for two wives and seventeen children. Mr. Conroy, scenting an attempt to stuff the ballot-box, produces seventeen matches, lays them at my feet on the tent-floor and asks _The-Lean-Man_ to name them. He starts in all right. We hear, "_Long Lodge, Little Pine, Blue Fish, Birdtail, Little Bone, Sweet Grass, Ermine Skin_," and then in a monotone he begins over again, "_Long Lodge, Little Pine, Blue Fish_," and finally gives it up, eagerly asking the interpreter to wait "a-little-sun." The drama of paying and recording has gone on for half an hour and we have quite forgotten _The-Lean-Man_, when back he comes with _Mrs. Lean-Man, Sr._, and _Mrs. Lean-Man, Jr_. Each spouse leads her own progeny. Seeing is believing, and off _Lean-Man_ goes with a fat wallet. We wander into the stores to see what purchases the Indians will make. One young blade is looking at a box of stogies, and the clerk says, "He can afford to blow in his wad on perfumes and cigars, that chap, he got a silver-fox last winter." They tell the story of how old Maurice, Chief of the Chipewyans, put his first treaty money in a cassette and kept it there all the year because he had heard one white man tell another that money grows, and he wanted to see if a white man lies when he talks to another white man. Sometimes, though, the Indian scores one on the white. This was markedly the case when the first treaty payments were made at Lesser Slave. Two young Jews had followed the treaty party all the way in from Edmonton with an Old Aunt Sally stand where you throw wooden balls at stuffed figures at ten shies for a quarter. "Every time you hit 'em, you get a see-gar!" They thought they were going to clear out the Indians, but it took a bunch of Lesser Slave braves just an hour and a quarter to break the bank at Monte Carlo. As an appreciative onlooker reported, "Them chaps pinked them dolls every time." As we leave Resolution in the evening through an open door, we get a glimpse of a woman placing her hands in blessing on a boy's head. It is the mother of one of our boatmen, Baptiste Bouvier, or "De-deed." The lad in turn puts a hand on each of his mother's shoulders and kisses her gaily on both cheeks, grabs the camera, and helps us down the bank. The whistle toots impatiently. We both turn and wave our hands to the mother at the open door. Travelling all night, we do not go to bed, but merely throw ourselves down for an hour's rest about midnight, for we must not lose the light effects on this great silent lake. As the captain finds, amid shifting sandbars, a fairway for his vessel, there comes offshore the subdued night-noises of the small wild things that populate the wilderness. Here a heavy tree, its footway eaten out by the lake-swirl round a high point, slumps into the water, and joins the fleet of arboreal derelicts. The raucous voice of a night-fowl cries alarm. Then there descends over all a measureless silence. At three o'clock in the morning we haul into the Hay River Mission, where the familiar mosquito-smudge greets us at the landing. [Illustration: On the Slave] This was by far the most attractive English Church Mission in the whole North--although comparisons are odorous and yet illuminating. All Hay River had been up over night, anticipating their yearly mail. Red girls and boys of every tribe in the North are housed in this Mission, learning how to play the white man's game--jolly and clean little bodies they are. It looks like Christmas time. Parcels are being done up, there is much whispering and running to and fro, and the sparkling of black eyes. Would you like to see the letters that _The Teaser, The Twin, Johnny Little Hunter_, and _Mary Blue Quill_ are sending out to their parents? For the most part the missives consist of cakes of pink scented soap tightly wrapped round with cotton cloth, on which the teachers are writing in ink the syllabic characters that stand for each father's and mother's name. The soap has been bought with the children's pennies earned by quill-work and wood-carving done in the long winter nights. The parcels will be passed from one trapper's jerkin to another, and when, months afterwards, they reach their destination in far tepee or lodge of the deerskin, _Mrs. Woman-of-the-Bright-Foam_ and _Mr. Kee-noo-shay-o_, or _The Fish_, will know their boys and girls "still remember." One of the Hay River teachers is married to a Chicagoan who started ten years ago for the Klondike, knew when he had found pure gold, ceased his quest here, and lived happily ever after. Their children are the most fascinating little people we have seen for many months. Life is quaint at the Hay River Mission. The impression we carry away is of earnest and sweet-hearted women bringing mother-love to the waifs of the wilderness, letting their light shine where few there are to see it. We discover the moccasin-flower in bloom, see old Indian women bringing in evergreen boughs for their summer bedding--a delightful Ostermoor mattress of their own devising. Dogs cultivate potatoes at Hay River in summer, and in the winter they haul hay. The hay causes our enquiry, and we learn that this Mission boasts one old ox, deposited here no doubt by some glacial drift of the long ago. And thereby hangs a tale. Charlie, an attaché of the school-force, drove this old ox afield day by day. As man and beast returned wearily in the evening, the teachers asked, "Well, what happened to-day, Charlie?" "Bill balked," was the laconic reply. Tuesday's question would bring the same response, "Bill balked." And "Bill balked," on Wednesday. Thursday it is--"Bill didn't balk"; and so the days divided themselves into days of blueness and red-letter days. [Illustration: Dogs Cultivating Potatoes] The mean July temperature at Hay River is 60° Fahrenheit, and the monthly mean for January, 18° below zero. Vegetables of their own growing, with whitefish from the lake, furnish almost the entire food supply of this thrifty Mission, one season's harvest giving them a thousand bushels of potatoes, fifteen of turnips, and five each of beets, carrots, and parsnips, with two hundred cabbages and over ten thousand whitefish. Hay River has never been explored. It is supposed to head near the source of the Nelson and to flow northeast for three hundred miles before emptying, as we see it, into Great Slave Lake. This river marks the limit of those grassy plains which extend at intervals all the way from Mexico northward. Bishop Bompas, years ago, descended a long stretch of the river, discovering not far back from where we stand a majestic cataract, which he named the "Alexandra Falls" after the then Princess of Wales. He describes it as a perpendicular fall one hundred feet high, five hundred feet wide, and of surpassing beauty. "The amber colour of the falling water gives the appearance of golden tresses twined with pearls." Crossing Great Slave Lake, we think of Chant-la, Chief of the Slavis at Hay River. Bishop Reeves was anxious to convert him to the Christian faith, but had great difficulty in giving Chant-la a proper conception of the Trinity. The old man would not say he believed or understood what was inexplicable to him. Setting out once on a long journey, the cleric adjured the Chief to struggle with the problem during his absence. The Bishop returning, Chant-la came out in his canoe to meet him, eagerly reporting that all now was clear. "It is like Great Slave Lake," said the old man. "It is all water now, just like the Father. When winter comes it will be frozen over, but Great Slave Lake just the same; that is like the Son. In the spring when the ice breaks and the rain makes the snow into slush, it is still Great Slave Lake; and that is like the Holy Ghost." Beyond Great Slave Lake, forty-five miles down the Mackenzie, we reach Fort Providence, as strongly French in its atmosphere as Hay River is British. Our coming is a gala day. The hamlet flies three flags, the free trader sports his own initials "H.N.," the Hudson's Bay Company loyally runs the Union Jack to the masthead, over the convent floats the tri-colour of France. Fort Providence is hot. We walk to the convent and are hospitably received by the nuns. They call their Red flock together for us to inspect and show us marvellous handwork of silk embroidery on white deerskin. The daintiest of dainty slippers calls forth the question, "Where are you going to find the Cinderella for these?" A blank look is my answer, for no one in Providence Convent has ever heard of Cinderella! But then, convents are not supposed to be the repositories of man-knowledge (although a half-breed, on our passage across the lake, did whisper a romantic story of a Klondiker who assailed this very fortress and tried to carry off the prettiest nun of the north). The garden of the Sisters is a bower of all the old-fashioned flowers--hollyhocks, wall-flower, Canterbury bells, and sweet-William--and down in the corner a young girl of the Dog-Ribs discovers to us a nest of fledgling chipping sparrows. As we landed from the boat, Tenny Gouley dressed in his Sunday best had beamed, "Nice day--go veesit." And "veesit" we did. Mrs. Herron, of the H.B. Company, has spent many years at Old Fort Rae, and her thoughts hark back to one severe winter spent there. She turns to the wife of our good Captain with, "Hard living, Mrs. Mills, dry suckers." It is a short speech, but fraught with meaning. I honestly think a dry sucker (well sanded) the least succulent of all the impossible fish-dishes of the North. There are many young Herrons all as neat as new pins, the last--no, the latest, enshrined in a moss-bag. Tradition tells that once, when they were fewer in number, the father took the flock out to Winnipeg to school. The children cried so at the parting that Mr. Herron turned and brought them all back with him to the Mackenzie! [Illustration: David Villeneuve] The most interesting man in all Fort Providence is David Villeneuve, one of the Company's Old Guard. He was anxious to be "tooken" with his wife and grandchild, and over the camera we chatted. David goes through life on one leg--fishes through the ice in winter, traps, mends nets, drives dogs, and does it all with the dexterity and cheerfulness of a young strong man. He tells of his accident. "I was young fellow, me, when a fish-stage fell on me. I didn't pay no notice to my leg until it began to go bad, den I take it to the English Church to Bishop Bompas. He tole me de leg must come off, an' ax me to get a letter from de priest (I'm Cat-o-lic, me) telling it was all right to cut him. I get de letter and bring my leg to Bompas. He cut 'im off wid meat-saw. No, I tak' not'in', me. I chew tobacco and tak' one big drink of Pain-killer. Yas, it hurt wen he strike de marrow." "Heavens! Didn't you faint with the awful pain?" "What? Faint, me? No. I say, 'Get me my fire-bag, I want to have a smok'.'" CHAPTER X PROVIDENCE TO SIMPSON, ONE HUNDRED AND FIFTY MILES DOWN THE MACKENZIE "Never the Spirit was born: the Spirit shall cease to be never. Never was time, it was not; end and beginning are dreams. Birthless and deathless and changeless remaineth the Spirit, Death hath not touched it at all, though dead the house of it seems." We have just finished supper and are sitting reading on the upper deck about seven o'clock, when a cry comes from below, followed by the rushing back and forth of moccasined feet. In a flash Bunny Langford, one of the engineers, has grabbed a lifebuoy, runs past us to the stern, and throws it well out toward a floating figure. It is De-deed, De-deed who had smilingly helped us aboard at Resolution just twenty-four hours before. Finishing his turn at stoking, he had gone to draw a bucket of water, leaned over too far, and fallen, carrying the hatch with him. At first we think nothing of the incident, as he is a good swimmer and the current is with him. As soon as the startled people realise what has happened the steamer's engines are reversed and a boat is lowered. We call out to De-deed to swim to the buoy, but he doesn't see it or doesn't understand. The black head gets smaller in the distance; it disappears, and comes up again. Down it goes for the second time. A strange, constricted feeling comes into our throats as we cry out, "Swim, De-deed, the boat is coming! They are almost up to you!" The boat, pulling hard against the current, seems but a dozen yards away. Will he hold up? As we look, the head sinks, _and it does not come up_. Within a few feet of buoy and boat, the body of De-deed disappears for the last time. We search for an hour or more with grappling irons, but he is never seen again. A strange silence settles down above and below deck, and all night long two faces flit before us--the grave face of the mother calling down blessings on her boy, the rallying smile of De-deed bidding her good-by and telling her all is well. It is a brave and happy spirit which, in the "Little Lake" of the Mackenzie, goes out with the current. The Mackenzie River, "La Grande Rivière en Bas," as the people of Resolution call it, on whose waters we are now fairly embarked, is the greatest water-way in the British Empire, and of earth's great rivers the one least traversed by man. Counting back from the headwaters of either its more northerly tributary the Peace or its southern feeder the Athabasca, the length of the river is three thousand miles. At Little Lake, where it issues out of Great Slave Lake, the Mackenzie is eight miles wide, and its delta a thousand miles below here has an expansion of fifty miles. The average width of the stream, as we traverse it from source to mouth, is a mile and a half, widening out often in its sweep to two and a half to three miles. From Little Lake the current is somewhat sluggish, the river bank seldom exceeding one hundred feet in height until we reach what is known as "The Head of the Line." Before the advent of steam on the Mackenzie, when the patient voyager made his way up south from the ocean, it was at this point that the tracking-line was exchanged for oars. The plains bordering the river here are forested with white spruce and broken with muskeg and lakes. The statistician on board works out that the volume of water the Mackenzie carries to the sea is half a million feet a second. No one is wise enough to challenge his calculation, and we merely hazard a wonder if this most magnificent water-power will ever be used for commercial and economic purposes. There is surely enough "white coal" rushing by us to turn the wheels of the factories of a continent. The Mackenzie is the only river whose basin is cut by a thousand mile range. The sources of the Peace and the Liard lie on the west side of the Rockies, from where these giant feeders bring their tribute to the main river through passes in that range. At intervals all the way down the river to Fort Simpson we are treated on our right hand to views of the Horn Mountains, which slope away on their north side but show a steep face to the south. Along our course the bluish Devonian shales are capped by yellow boulder-clay. We awaken on Friday, July 10th, to find ourselves at Rabbitskin River and everybody busy carrying on wood for fuel. By ten o'clock we are at Fort Simpson in latitude 62°, the old metropolis of the North. Fort Simpson is built on an island where the Liard River joins the Mackenzie, the river being a mile and a half wide at this point. The foundation of the fort dates back to the beginning of the nineteenth century, when it was known in fur annals as "The Forks of the Mackenzie." Simpson is essentially a has-been. We look upon the warehouses of its quadrangle with their slanting walls and dipping moss-covered roofs and try to conjure up the time long past when all was smart and imposing. In those days when the Indians brought in their precious peltries they were received and sent out again with military precision and all that goes with red tape and gold braid. Surely the musty archives of Simpson hold stories well worth the reading! We would fain linger and dream in front of this sun-dial across whose dulled face the suns of twenty lustrums have cast their shadows, but we begrudge every moment not spent in fossicking round the old buildings. We seek for threads which shall unite this mid-summer day to all the days of glamour that are gone. In a rambling building, forming the back of a hollow square, we come across the mouldy remains of a once splendid museum of natural history, the life work of one Captain Bell of the Old Company. It gives us a sorry feeling to look at these specimens, now dropping their glass eyes and exposing their cotton-batting vitals to the careless on-looker, while the skeleton ribs of that canoe with which Dr. Richardson made history so long ago add their share to the general desolation. In a journal of the vintage of 1842 we read an appeal for natural history exhibits sent to Fort Simpson by an official of the British Museum. He writes, [Illustration: Hudson's Bay House, Fort Simpson] "I may observe that in addition to the specimens asked for, any mice, bats, shrew-mice, moles, lizards, snakes or other small quadrupeds or reptiles would be acceptable. They may either be skinned or placed in rum or strong spirits of any kind, a cut being first made in the side of the body to admit the spirits to the intestines." Of all the rare humour disclosed in the old records, this entry most tickles my fancy. I think of the little group that we had forgathered with at Chipewyan, driven even in this year of grace to lavender-water and red ink, when permits run dry. One turns back the clock to the time of the Chartists and the year of the nuptials of the young Queen in England. We see up here on the fringe of things the dour and canny but exceedingly humorous Adam McBeaths, John Lee Lewises, and George Simpsons, the outer vedette of the British Empire; and, seeing them, get some half-way adequate conception of what a modicum of rum or "strong spirits of any kind" meant in the way of cheer at old Fort Simpson in those days. When we try to get a picture of one of these Hudson's Bay men gravely opening a shrew-mouse, mole, or "other small quadruped," while his chum pours in the _aqua vitae_ or precious conversation water, we declare that science asks too much. An outer stairway leading to the second story of a big building invites us. Opening the door, we find ourselves in the midst of an old library, and moth and rust, too, here corrupt. We close the door softly behind us and try to realise what it meant to bring a library from England to Fort Simpson a generation ago. First, there arose the desire in the mind of some man for something beyond dried meat and bales of fur. He had to persuade the authorities in England to send out the books. Leather-covered books cost something six or seven decades ago, and the London shareholders liked better to get money than to spend it. We see the precious volumes finally coming across the Atlantic in wooden sailing-ships to Hudson Bay, follow them on the long portages, watch them shoot rapids and make journeys by winter dog-sled, to reach Simpson at last on the backs of men. The old journals reveal stories of the discussion evoked by the reading of these books afterward as, along with the dried fish, deer-meat, and other inter-fort courtesies, they passed from post to post. Was never a circulating library like this one. And now the old books, broken-backed and disembowelled, lie under foot, and none so poor to do them reverence. Everything is so old in this North that there is no veneration for old things. It is but a few years since the founder of this library died, and his son now sits in his saddle at Fort Simpson. If you were to wander across the court, as I did to-day, and look into the Sales Shop, you would see the presentation sword of this last-generation Carnegie, ignobly slicing bacon for an Indian customer. _Sic transit gloria mundi_! What are the books which this sub-Arctic library sent out? We get down on the floor and gently touch the historic old things. Isn't it Johnson who says, "I love to browse in a library"? Judging by the dust and cobwebs, there hasn't been much browsing done among these volumes for years. Present-day Simpson has seldom "fed on the dainties that are bred in a book." Here is a first edition of _The Spectator_, and next it a _Life of Garrick_, with copies of _Virgil_, and all _Voltaire_ and _Corneille_ in the original. A set of Shakespeare with exquisite line drawings by Howard shows signs of hard reading, and so does the _Apology for the Life of Mr. Colly Cibber_. One wonders how a man embedded in Fort Simpson, as a fly in amber, would ever think of sending to the _Grand Pays_ for _Burton's Anatomy of Melancholy_, yet we find it here, cheek by jowl with _The Philosophy of Living or the Way to Enjoy Life and Its Comforts. The Annual Register of History, Politics, and Literature of the Year 1764_ looks plummy, but we have to forego it. The lengthy titles of the books of this vintage, as for instance, _Death-Bed Triumphs of Eminent Christians, Exemplifying the Power of Religion in a Dying Hour_, bring to mind the small boy's definition of porridge--"fillin', but not satis-fyin'." Two more little books with big titles are _Actors' Budget of Wit and Merriment, Consisting of Monologues, Prologues and Epilogues_, and _The London Prisons, with an Account of the More Distinguished Persons Who Have Been Confined in Them_. But the book that most tempts our cupidity is _Memoirs of Miss A---- n, Who Was Educated For a Nun, with Many Interesting Particulars_. We want that book, we want to take it on with us and read it when we reach the Land of the Eskimo, where the Mackenzie slips into the Arctic by all its silver mouths. We lift the volume up, and put it down again, and we hunger to steal it. Jekyll struggles with Hyde. At last the Shorter Catechism and the Westminster Confession of Faith triumph; we put it down and softly close the door behind us. And ever since we have regretted our Presbyterian training. At Fort Simpson, it is like walking across a churchyard or through an old cathedral. Here men lived and wrought and hoped, cut off from their kind, and did it all with no thought of being heroic. We walk along the shore to watch Indian women busied in making a birchbark canoe and in washing clothes with washboards--the old order and the new. A little dive into the mosquito-ridden woods discloses a wonderful patch of Pyrola and a nest of Traills' flycatcher, and makes us wish that the minutes were longer and the mosquitoes fewer. What a beautiful tiling this Pyrola is, with its inverted anthers and the cobwebby margins of its capsule! Its bracted, nodding flowers run through all shades of white, pale yellow, and dark yellow. Down on the beach we chat with a prospector and his son, a lad of fifteen, who are building a skiff in which to ascend the Liard, hunting gold. Yesterday a Mr. and Mrs. Carl and a Mr. and Mrs. Hall passed us on the river. Outfitted for two years, they will prospect for gold in the Nahanni Mountains and toward the headwaters of the Liard. One of the couples has just come out from Glasgow and this is their honeymoon. We half envy them their journey. Can anything compare with the dear delights of travelling when you do not know and nobody knows just what lies round the next corner? [Illustration: A Slavi Family at Fort Simpson] The dogs at Simpson are "wicked." Picking our way among them, I particularly approve this term of the natives, attributing as it does a human conception and malice aforethought to these long-legged wraiths. The first articulate sound an Indian child of the Mackenzie learns to make is "Mash!" an evident corruption of the French "_Marche_." This is what Shakespeare meant when he speaks of "a word to throw at a dog." A brown baby just emerged from the cocoon stage of the moss-bag toddles with uplifted pole into a bunch of these hungry mongrels and disperses them with a whack of the stick and the lordly "Mash!" of the superior animal. For our own part we are "scared stiff," but follow along in the wake of our infant protector to a wee wooden church which staggers under the official title, "The Cathedral of St. David." [Illustration: A Slavi Type from Fort Simpson] We have had occasion to speak of the splendid service rendered to Northern and Western Canada by the Hudson's Bay Company and by the Royal Northwest Mounted Police. A third factor through the years has been building Empire with these. Are we not as a people too prone to minimise the great nation-building work performed by the scattered missionaries in the lone lands beyond the railway? Ostensibly engaged in the work of saving souls, Canadian missionaries, both Roman and English, have opened the gates of commerce, prosecuted geographical discovery, tried to correct social evils, and added materially to our store of exact science. Through their influence, orphanages have been founded, schools established, and hospitals opened. Creeds take a secondary place to deeds in this land, and when you discuss a man, be he cleric or layman, the last thing you ask is, "To what church does he belong?" Incidentally, it does seem rather odd that with Scottish blood running through the veins of nine-tenths of the people of this North as yet no Presbyterian missionary has penetrated beyond the latitude of Edmonton. The great Churches of England and Rome, north of the Athabasca, divide the field between them. The records of the whole missionary world show no more striking figure than that of Bishop Bompas of the Anglican Church. We have already had two glimpses of this young Cockney curate; once, hoisting his homemade Union Jack on the ox-cart at St. Cloud, and, again, passing north as the wild-fowl flew south in October, 1865, chronicled by the Chipewyan scribe merely as "a Protestant missionary coming in a canoe from the Portage." In the forty years of missionary life which intervened between his coming into the North and his death in the Yukon just two years ago, only twice did the Bishop emerge from these Northern fastnesses. It is literal truth to state that no one on any part of the world's map has ever made so many long and toilsome journeys as did this man. With his sheep scattered over a country a million square miles in extent, we might compare a parochial visit of this parson to a barge-journey from London to Constantinople, replacing the European capitals by Hudson's Bay forts, and substituting for Europe's vineyards and pleasant vales an unbroken line of jack-pine and muskeg. We are told that Bishop Bompas's father was Dicken's prototype for Sergeant Buzfuz. A new vista would open up to the counsel for Mrs. Bardell could he turn from his chops and tomato-sauce to follow the forty-years' wandering in the wilderness of this splendid man of God, who succeeded, if ever man succeeds, in following Paul's advice of keeping his body under. Bishops Bompas was one of the greatest linguists the Mother Country ever produced. Steeped in Hebrew and the classics when he entered the Northland, he immediately set himself to studying the various native languages, becoming thoroughly master of the Slavi, Beaver, Dog-Rib, and Tukudk dialects. When Mrs. Bompas sent him a Syriac testament and lexicon, he threw himself with characteristic energy into the study of that tongue. There is something in the picture of this devoted man writing Gospels in Slavi, primers in Dog-Rib, and a Prayer Book in syllabic Chipewyan, which brings to mind the figure of Caxton bending his silvered head over the blocks of the first printing-press in the old Almonry so many years before. What were the "libraries" in which this Arctic Apostle did his work? The floor of a scow on the Peace, a hole in the snow, a fetid corner of an Eskimo hut. His "Bishop's Palace," when he was not afloat, consisted of a bare room twelve feet by eight, in which he studied, cooked, slept, and taught the Indians. They tell you stories up here of seeing the good Bishop come back from a distant journey to some isolated tribe, followed at heel by a dozen little Indian babies, his disciples for the days to come. Bishop Bompas lived in one continent, but manifested in two, keeping himself closely in touch with the religious and Church growth of the Old World. When the British press had been given over to any particular religious-controversial subject, and the savants had finally disposed of the matter to their own satisfaction, travelling out by summer traverse or winter dog-sled would come a convincing pamphlet by Bishop Bompas, to upset altogether the conclusions of the wranglers. There is one tale of this man which only those can appreciate who travel his trail. An Indian lad confides to us, "Yes, my name is William Carpenter--Bishop Bompas gave me my name, he was a good man. He wouldn't hurt anybody, he never hit a dog, he wouldn't kill a mosquito. He had not much hair on his head, and when it was _meetsu_, when the Bishop eat his fish, he shoo that mosquito away and he say, 'Room for you, my little friend, and room for me, but this is not your place: go.'" We call upon the present incumbents of the little church of St. David. They are young people, the Rev. and Mrs. Day, putting in their first year in this Northern charge. Their home with its spotless floors and walls papered with old copies of _The Graphic_ and _Illustrated London News_ is restful and attractive. The garden of the parsonage shows an amount of patient work on the part of some one. Potatoes eighteen inches high and peas twice the height of this, with turnips and cabbages and cauliflower are good to look at. There are records to show that, years ago, Fort Simpson produced tomatoes and decent crops of barley. [Illustration: Interior of St. David's Cathedral] Entering the little church we see the neat font sent here by Mrs. Bompas, "In dear memory of Lucy May Owindia, baptised in this Church, January, 1879." Owindia was one of the many red waifs that the good Bishop and Mrs. Bompas took into their big hearts. Her story is a sad one. Along the beach at Simpson, _Friday_, an Indian, in a burst of ungovernable temper murdered his wife and fled, leaving their one baby to perish. It was not until next day that the little one was found, unconscious and dying. The Bishop and Mrs. Bompas took the child into their loving care. To the name Owindia, which means _The Weeping One_, was added the modern Lucy May, and the little girlie twined herself closely round the hearts of her protectors. When the time seemed ripe, Owindia was taken back to England to school, but the wee red plant would not flourish in that soil. She sickened and died. Hence the memorial and the inscription we read this July day. Much history of militant energy, much of endurance, and countless chapters of benevolence did the good Bishop write into the history of the North before, off on the Yukon side in 1906, "God's finger touched him and he slept." Missionaries of the present day are not without their troubles. Mrs. Day tells of potato-whiskey making in some illicit still back in the mosquito-woods, the results of which she fears; and, even as we speak, an Indian lunatic pokes his head through the palings of the potato-patch. From far back in Fort Nelson, British Columbia, and from Fort Liard, the Hudson's Bay men have come to make their reports to Mr. Brabant at Simpson. They brought their wives and babies with them, brought also a quantity of beautiful porcupine-quill work, Fort Liard being one of the few places in the North where this art flourishes. Tomorrow they will start back, tacking against the stream, as the imported brides are doing before them. To dive into the journals of the past, of which the loft above the offices here at Simpson is full, is even more interesting than talking with the people of the present. We take 1837, the year which saw the accession in England of the young and well-beloved Queen, and from these musty books unearth a running commentary of what is doing in Fort Simpson in that year. "_1837, January 1_. The people were brought into the Hall, and enjoyed their meal with great appetites, being also treated to a glass of wine and a fathom of tobacco and a pipe. Wind East." "_1837, February 11_. Rabbits are numerous, but the ladies of the Establishment make no great effort in snaring them." "_1837, February 14_. Late last night arrived a woman, _Thawyase_, and a boy, the family of the late _Thoesty_. They have all come to take refuge here as they are starving. The woman at dusk decoyed old Jack away to camp in the woods--and the old fellow has found a mate." One wonders if either _Thawyase_, the decoyed Jack, or the old chronicler was conscious of the fact that this was St. Valentine's Day. "_1837, March 27_. Two geese have been seen to-day, the first this season." "_1837, May 2_. _Marcel_ sowed some oats. Mosquitoes begin to become annoying." "_1837, May 5_. Wild fowl are beginning to frequent the small lakes of the neighbourhood. The willows and young trees are now budding forth beautifully." "_1837, May 18_. _Hope_ began to plough this morning with the bull, but as this is the first time he has been yoked, the day's work is found to be but poor." "_1837, May 19_. Felix and Roderick McLeod made twelve bags of pemmican to-day." _1837, May 21_. The Mackenzie River broke up to-day, and continued drifting pretty thick till evening." "_1837, June 18_. Some of the Indians killed a bear before the door and it supplied us with a little fresh meat." "_1837, June 19_. Flies so numerous that we are under the necessity of putting our cattle into the stable, otherwise they will fall victims to the cruel insects." "_1837, June 20_. Weather very suffocating, thermometer 85 above at three p.m., not as much as a cloud to be seen in the firmament and not the least air to afford any refreshment; this along with the solitude of the time is enough to make people dull. No Indian from any quarter: well supplied with ammunition last spring, they forget us when they can get their own mouths satisfied. Ashley grinding barley in the steel mill." "_1837, June 21_. _Le Mari_ has just brought in some fish and a little bearskin in order to get a chemise, he says he is not able to hunt without a chemise, as there are so many flies just now. I have taken it upon myself to give him the shirt on credit." Here a new hand writes the records, untrammelled by any orthographic rules. "_1837, June 24_. Flys very numerus and trublsome to the Cattel." "_1837, July 11_. Starvan Indians going and coming ourly." "_1837, July 13_. Six squas arrived with plenty Bearrys--that's all they subsist on in this part of the River." "_1837, July 26_. Barley is getting ripe. But small birds nip off the ends of the stalks as fast as it ripens." "_1837, August 23_. Last night the bull broke into one of the gardens where oats was sown and eat the whole up." "_1837, September 18_. An Express arrived from Fort Norman with despatches from the Gentlemen of the Arctic Discovery Expedition, and it is most satisfying to learn that the first object of the Expedition was successfully accomplished: on the 4th August the Company's flag was planted on Point Barrow." "_1837, September 19th_. _Louson_ put parchment in the window-frames." "_1837, October 11_. Ice is forming since yesterday along the beach." "_1837, November 1_. This being the holiday for All Saints, the men though no saints celebrated it off duty. The weather cold but fine." "_1837, November 2_. I have been these two days occupied with the blacksmith in making an oven, and this evening it being finished we give it a fair trial by placing a large trout in it for supper and it is found to answer most excellently." "_1837, November 3_. Strong northwest wind with drift and cold. About one o'clock of last night the Aurora had a most unusual appearance, seemingly black in place of the white commonly observed and forming an arch from east to west, consisting of five streaks, here and there broken off." "_1827, November 5_. Blacksmith making iron runners for our traineaux from old gun-barrels." "_1837, November 30_. This being the anniversary of the Tutelar Saint of Scotland, we had in addition to our usual dinner a roasted swan and a moose-nose, a rice pudding, a cranberry tart, and a glass of wine." "_1837, December 1_. I was obliged to give four pounds of dried meat to the dogs for there are some that are almost dead and they et all the windows of the Forge." "_1837, December 2_. Three of the Fort women fell into a fit of insanity and kept all of the men at the Fort to hold them and prevent them devouring themselves." _December 25_. Thermometer 35 below the cypher this morning, this being Christmas no labour done. Wind N.W." "_1838, January 1_. The morning was ushered in by a salute fired by our people at the windows and doors, after which they came to wish us a Happy New Year--and in return, in conformity to the custom of the country they were treated, the men with half a glass of brandy each, and the women with a kiss, and the whole of them with as many cakes as they choose to take and some raisins. One of our gentlemen who had a bottle of shrub treated them to a glass, and after some chit-chat conversation they retired, firing a salute on going out. In the evening they played at Blind-man's-buff, concluding the fête by a supper in the Hall. I also gave each of the men a fathom of twist tobacco and a clay pipe." CHAPTER XI FORT GOOD HOPE ON THE ARCTIC CIRCLE "With souls grown clear In this sweet atmosphere, With influences serene, Our blood and brain washed clean, We've idled down the breast Of broadening tides." --_Chas. G.D. Roberts_. About ten o'clock on the evening of July loth, in broad daylight, we push out from Fort Simpson, with the whole population, white, red, and parti-coloured, on the banks to bid us good-bye. We have seen present-day Simpson and opened for a little way the volume of the past. We try to imagine what it is like in winter-time, and a picture pushed into our hands at parting gives us another viewpoint, showing the hamlet photographed by the light of the Aurora. As we leave Fort Simpson, the Mackenzie's channel is a mile wide and it increases in width as we proceed. For about seventy-five miles the course of the river is due northwest, running four miles an hour. The banks look low, but when the pilot takes us close in to shore, we see that it is the size of the river which has cheated our eyes, and the cliffs that seemed so low-lying will measure two hundred feet or over. At the Great Bend we impinge against two peaks, Mt. Camsell and Mt. Stand Alone, and here the Nahanni joins the Mackenzie. The great river takes a due north course for another thirty miles, and the Willow River flows in from the east. [Illustration: Fort Simpson by the Light of the Aurora] At this point the Mackenzie enters the Rockies, this great spinal mountain-chain of North America breaking into parallel ranges to allow the mighty flood to flow between. We feel, as the boatman did on Lake Athabasca, that a day is as long as you can go without stopping. A ladder takes us to a seat by the side of Tenny Gouley in the pilot-house, who merely drops the window to give us an unobstructed view, and says nothing. Tenny Gouley is one of the rare people who understand. Talk of civilising these half-breeds of the North! They have that gift of repose which we know nothing of, which we may hope to attain after we have lived through automobiles and air-ships and when many incarnations will have allayed the fever of that unrest which we so blatantly dub "progress." It is an ancient something, this unmapped Mackenzie into whose silence we intrude. Before man was, these waters had cut for themselves a road to the ocean. These banks were once marked by the mammoth. Previous to the Glacial Age, prehistoric man here hunted prehistoric prey; eons passed; and when the Ice Age went out, willows and aspens occupied the silt, delicate flower-growth flourished, and birds sang in the branches. Three thousand miles of waterway, forest-fringed and rampart-guarded, and of its treasures the world knows naught! They await man's development and acceptance--banks of pitch, wells of oil, outcroppings of coal, great masses of unmined salt, mineral wealth uncounted and unguessed. Silent forests have followed us from where we entered the Athabasca, and these woods persist to where the great river divides into its delta channels. Of the mineral wealth of the Liard, the Peace, the Nahanni, and the half hundred other waterways tributary to the Mackenzie, practically nothing is known. There remain in these streams hundreds of miles unnavigated, and channels innumerable known only to the _inconnu_ and the Indian. It is one hundred and twenty years since Mackenzie descended this stream to its mouth, "discovering" a river along whose shores centuries before had smoked the watch-fires and risen the tepees of an anterior race, wanderers from Asia, who here, guiltless alike of onlooker or chronicler, lived and loved and worked out their drama of life. Age follows age, a new generation is evolved in the new habitat, and in time these once-migrants from Asia are dubbed "the red men" and "the American Indian." We watch out the night with Tenny Gouley. In the early morning, sharply turning a corner, we flush a mixed family of water-fowl--gulls in great variety, something that looks like a brant, and a loon with its uncanny laughter. Snipe are on every batture, and sand-pipers, with kingfishers and all the lesser waders. The boreal summer is short and if broods are to be raised there is no time to waste. A riot of blossoms fringes the banks--the uplifted magenta torches of the fireweed, tufts of vivid golden-rod, the pink petals of the rose, and a clustering carpet of moss dotted with the dead white of the dwarf cornel. Now and again a splash breaks the silence, as great slices of the bank, gnawed under by the swollen river, slip into the current, carrying each its cargo of upstanding spruce. So the channel of the Mackenzie is ever being modified, and no permanent chart of its course can be attempted. Winter changes all this. With October the leaves fall and the waters begin to crisp into ice, fishes and fowl part company, the birds fly south to kinder skies, the _inconnu_ hurry northward seeking the sea. Out of the sky comes the snow, the half-breed's "_Le convert du bon Dieu_," silent, soft, and all-covering. The coat of fox and rabbit and ptarmigan whitens, too. It is the coming of stern winter. Wandering Dog-Rib, Slavi, and Loucheux, lone trapper, the people of each isolated fur-post, must alike take warning. God pity man or beast who enters the six months of a Mackenzie winter unfortified by caches of food or unwitting of shelter. According to Tenny Gouley there are but two seasons in this country: the ice season and the mosquito season. He likes winter best. As he holds the wheel in those clever hands of his, we fill and light his pipe for him, and half a dozen of his illuminating phrases give us a clear-cut etching of the winter story. From the lowest form of life to the highest it is a struggle for existence. Sinuous as a serpent, the mink in his man-envied coat winds among the willows on rapine bent, the marten preys upon the field-mouse, the lynx hunts the hare, each form of life pursues a lower while hiding from a higher, and all are the prey of the great hunter, man. In these high latitudes it is the wind that is feared rather than the intense cold. Before the coming of the missionary, the Indian of the Mackenzie basin heard in the winter wind no monition. The storm spoke not to him of Divine wrath or an outraged Deity. The wind was the voice of God, but it assured the heathen Slavi of protection and power--the Gitchi Manitou coming out of the all-whiteness to talk with his children. Spring up here is but a flutter of invisible garments; even when one is saying "Spring," full-blown summer is hot afoot. In high noon, in the open places, pools of water form in the ice. With glee is hailed the honk of the first wild goose, the coats of ptarmigan and rabbit thin and darken. There is water on the trail of the kit-fox. The subsidiary streams that feed the Mackenzie fill their banks and flush the rotting ice. With a crash, the drift-logs, with pan-ice and floating islands and all the gathered debris, roll headlong to the frozen ocean. Do we wonder that Indians worship the great forces of Nature? Gloomy and wide-reaching between her banks of tamarack and spruce, now opening into a lake expansion, here narrowing between her stony ramparts, but ever hurrying on and on and on to that far ocean of ice, the Mackenzie has always been good to her own, the self-contained and silent people along her banks. In this vast land men speak not of bread as the staff of life; their unvoiced prayer is, "Give us our fish in due season." From the waters of this river, since man was, have the Indians drawn and dipped and seined their sustenance--inconnu, jack-fish, grayling, white-fish, and loche. The wide bosom of the Mackenzie, in winter's ice or summer's spate, forever has been the people's highway--a trail worn smooth by sled-runner and moccasin in the ice-season, melting its breast in the spring-time to open a way to the questing bow of the birch-bark. Along these banks, forgotten tepee-poles, deserted fish-stage, and lonely grave remain, a crumbling commentary of yesterday, a hint of recurring to-morrows. Son succeeds father, race replaces race, but the great Mackenzie flows on, and, as it flows, unwritten history along these banks is ever in the making. Tragedy and triumph, self-aggrandisement and self-obliteration, are here as well as in the noisy world we have left. Lessons these are for us, too, if we bring the keen eye and listening ear. Among Mackenzie tribes no Yellow-Knife, Dog-Rib, or Slavi starved while another had meat, no thievish hand despoiled the cache of another. A man's word was his bond, and a promise was kept to the death. Not all the real things of life are taught to the Cree by the Christian. Courage is better than culture, playing the game of more importance than the surface niceties of civilisation, to be a man now of more moment than to hope to be an angel hereafter. About noon we reach Fort Wrigley, and are boarded by priests and Indians all interested in the new steamer and impressed with its size. One asks if it is a boat or an island, and another declares it is "just like a town." Fort Wrigley is an inconspicuous post with a dreary enough record of hunger and hardship. We find it rich in flowers and will always remember it as the one place in the North in which we gathered the fringed gentian (_Gentiana crinata_) with its lance-shaped leaves, delicately-fringed corollas, and deep violet blue. The fringed gentian is rapidly becoming a thing of the past in a great many localities, and it gives us pleased surprise to find it far up in latitude 63°. Purple asters are here, too, and the heart-shaped seed-pods of shepherd's-purse or mother's-heart. Wrigley adds to our collection the green-penciled flowers of the grass of Parnassus, with wild flax, and both pink and purple columbines already forming seed. Below Wrigley rugged ranges border both sides of the river at a distance from the shore-line of ten or twelve miles, and we come to Roche Trempe-l'eau or "The Rock by the Riverside," an outcrop of Devonian limestone rising on the right bank a sheer fifteen hundred feet above the river. We come into view of the "boucans" or beds of lignite coal which have been continuously burning here since Mackenzie saw them in 1789 and mistook their smoke for tepee fires. At this point of his journey, had Mackenzie been a timorous man, he would have turned back, for natives came to meet him and told him with great empressment that it would require several winters to get to the sea and that old age would come upon him before the period of his return. He would also encounter monsters of gigantic stature adorned with wings. They added that there were two impossible falls in the river, and described the people of the Arctic coast as possessing the extraordinary power of killing with their eyes. These Indians told Mackenzie of "small white buffalo" which they hunted to the westward. Perhaps they meant the mountain sheep, the _Sass-sei-yeuneh_ or "Foolish Bear" of the Slavis. [Illustration: Indians at Fort Norman] It is midnight in the midst of a howling wind-storm when we come abreast of Fort Norman where Bear River, the outlet of Great Bear Lake, makes into the Mackenzie. It is not an easy thing to handle the big steamer in a swift current and in the teeth of a storm like this, and we have been in more comfortable places at midnight. However, after running with the current, backing water, and clever finesse, we come safely to anchor against the shore opposite the Fort, under the lee of Bear Rock. This is a fourteen-hundred foot peak which starts up from the angle formed by the junction of the Bear River with the Mackenzie. The water of Bear River is clear and its current swift through the whole of its hundred-mile course. Great Bear Lake, known chiefly to the outside world from the fact that Sir John Franklin established winter-quarters here at Fort Confidence, is an immense sheet of water, probably 11,500 square miles in extent, and bigger even than Great Slave Lake. Five arms meeting in a common centre give the lake an unusual shape, the longest distance from shore to shore being one hundred and fifty miles. The south and west banks are well wooded, and we are surprised to learn that the lake remains open at the outlet until very late in the autumn and sometimes throughout the whole winter. March sees the greatest depth of snow at Great Bear Lake, probably three feet. In mid-April the thaws begin, and by May-day arrive the earlier water-fowl. By the end of May the herbaceous plants begin to leaf, frogs are heard, and there is bright light at midnight. The end of July brings blueberries, and at this time stars are visible at midnight. September is ushered in by flurries of snow, and by the tenth of October the last of the wild-fowl depart; but it is often Christmas Day before the centre of the lake freezes over. When we awake it is Sunday, July 12th, Orangeman's Day, with no one going round with a chip on his shoulder, and nobody to whistle "Boyne Water." The wind falling, the steamer is turned and we bear away across the river to Fort Norman, leaving the shelter of Bear Rock, the "Nest of the Wind" of the Indian. Tradition and superstition hang round this great butte, with its heart of coloured gypsum several hundred feet in thickness, and on its face we plainly see the three beaver-skins that the Great Spirit, "in the beginning," spread out there to dry. We find Fort Norman a beautiful place in the sunshine of this Sunday morning, the souls of its scanty populace well looked after by Roman and Protestant missionary. Bishop Breynat is expected on the mission boat coming up the river, and all is excitement among the sheep belonging to his particular flock. The parson of the other fold is in his library, and, visiting him, we duly admire his neat garden of potatoes and peas, beets and turnips. The reverend gentleman owns up to finding Norman lonely in winter and recalls with appreciation his last charge in the outports of Newfoundland, where the tedium was relieved by tennis and pink-teas. [Illustration: Roman Catholic Church at Fort Norman] [Illustration: The Ramparts of the Mackenzie] Seldom have we seen a more beautiful vista than the up-climbing path leading from the shore to the Roman chapel at the head of the hill. It is bordered by flaming fireweed and lined with the eager faces of children dressed in their Sunday best, ready for morning mass and awaiting the blessing of their Bishop. Wherever the willow-herb flourishes there a Guadet is serving The Company. One was in charge at lonely Wrigley, and we find his brother here. Leaving Norman before church-time, we travel on, the glory of the peerless day reflected in the face of every one on board. We float between two spurs of the Rockies, and about eight in the evening pass Roche Carcajou, looking in vain for the wolverine the name calls for. The Indians would seem to be strangely inconsistent in this connection. If there is one animal they fear it is the carcajou, and with him they have an old, old pact: the Indian on his side promises never to shoot a wolverine, and that cunning thief agrees to leave unmolested the cache of the Red man. While this bargain still holds, since the day when ammunition first came into the country no Indian has passed this rocky replica of the carcajou without firing a shot at the face of the cliff. It is an hour before midnight when we reach one of the two greatest spectaculars of our whole six months' journeying,--the Ramparts. The great river which has been running at a width of several miles, here narrows to five hundred yards, and for a distance of five or six miles forces its flow between perpendicular walls of limestone three hundred feet high. Between the cliffs, scarped by Nature into turrets, towers, and castellated summits, the great Mackenzie, "turned on edge," flows, maintaining a steady rate of four or five miles an hour. The depth of the water equals the visible height of the palisaded walls. In spring, the ice jams the stupendous current. The dammed-up water once lifted a skiff bodily, leaving it, when the flood subsided, a derelict on the cliffs above. As we pass in silence we can but look and feel. One day a Canadian artist will travel north and paint the Ramparts, some poet, gifted with the inevitable word, here write the Canadian Epic. Awed and uplifted, our one wish is to be alone; the vision that is ours for one hour of this Arctic night repays the whole summer's travel. The setting of the picture is that ineffable light, clear yet mellow, which without dawn and without twilight rises from flowing river to starless heavens, and envelopes the earth as with a garment,--the light that never was on sea or land. We could not have chosen a more impressive hour in which to pass the portal into the Arctic World. [Illustration: Rampart House on the Porcupine near the Mackenzie Mouth] A hundred yards from the entrance to the Ramparts, a group of Indians has found foothold at the base of the escarpment. They have been waiting for three days to signal our arrival, and as they catch sight of the big steamer they cry out their greeting and fire a volley from their old-fashioned rifles. The sound reverberates from rock to rock, ricochets, and is carried on to waiting Indians on the other side lower down. They repeat the salute, and others take it up. Signals are flashed from each little camp, the lights being repeated in the dancing river; and so it is by salvos of musketry and answering watch-fires that, at midnight in broad daylight, we reach Fort Good Hope under the Arctic Circle. The Arctic Circle! When we used to sit on uneasy school-benches and say our "joggafy" lesson, what did that term spell for us? Icebergs, polar bears, and the snows of eternal winter. Nine-tenths of the people in America to-day share the same idea, and so far as they think of the Arctic Circle at all, think of it as a forbidding place, a frozen silence where human beings seldom penetrate. What did we find there? Approaching the shore, we stand in the bow with the pilot and his daughter, whose name suggests the Stone Age,--Mrs. Pierre la Hache. Tenny wears his "other clothes" and a resplendent l'Assumption belt, for this is his home. "It looks like a swan on the water," he says, when the first white houses come into view. "You like it, do you not?" "Like it? Good Hope is God's Country!" There is no place like home, even when it is the Arctic Circle! The populace look down upon us from the high bank, every wiggle of the dogs' tails indicating the general impatience at the time it takes the big boat to make a landing. Down the steps comes a stately figure, Mr. C.P. Gaudet, the head and brains of Good Hope. Of the two thousand servants of the Hudson's Bay Company, this is the man who has the greatest number of years of active service to his credit. Mr. Gaudet has continuously served The Company for fifty-seven years, and his ambition is to put in three years more. The Company gives its employés a pension after thirty years' service, and this veteran of Good Hope surely deserves two pensions. The steps are almost precipitous, but the old gentleman insists upon coming down to present in person his report to his superior officer. Then the two climb up the bank together, the younger man giving a strong arm to the older. We follow, and half-way up the two figures stop, ostensibly for Mr. Gaudet to point out to Mr. Brabant the view up river. We suspect the halt is to allow the Fort Hope Factor to get breath, for the sky-line stairway is hard on asthma. Reaching the top, we find the air heavy with the perfume of wild roses, and we can scarcely make our way through the sea of welcoming Indians. Old people grasp our hands as if we were life-time friends just back from a far journey. Young men greet us as long-lost chums, the women call to the children, and there seems to be a reception committee to rout out the old beldames, little children, and the bed-ridden: it is hand-shaking gone mad. We shake hands with every soul on the voting-list of Good Hope, to say nothing of minors, suffragettes, and the unfranchised proletariat, before at last we are rescued by smiling Miss Gaudet and dragged in to one of the sweetest homes in all the wide world. We meet Mrs. Gaudet, a dear old lady with a black cap, the pinkest of pink cheeks, and the kind of smile that brings a choky feeling into your throat and makes you think of your mother. She gives us home-made wine and _galettes_, and as we smell the mignonette flowering in the window-ledge and look around the walls of the "homey" room we wonder if this really can be the "Arctic Circle, 23-1/2° from the North Pole, which marks the distance that the sun's rays," etc., etc., as the little geographies so blithely used to state. On the walls are the Sunday School tickets that the young Gaudets, now grey-haired men and women, earned by reciting the Catechism when they were little boys and girls--the same old tickets that flourish in the latitudes below. Here a pink Prodigal feeds sky-blue swine in a saffron landscape, and off there a little old lady in a basque leads a boy in gaiters and a bell-crowned hat down a shiny road. They seem to be going on a picnic, and the legend runs,--"Hagar and Ishmael her son into the desert led, with water in a bottle and a little loaf of bread." Thirty years ago when Miss Gaudet was a little girl she got her first Scripture lesson from an R.C. Sister, the story of our old Mother in the first garden. One Sunday was review day, and this question arose: "And how did God punish Adam and Eve for their disobedience?" Quick came the girlie's reply, "They had to leave The Company's service!" Mrs. Gaudet thinks people rush very much nowadays. "We get a mail every year without fail, and sometimes there is a second mail." This is to her the height of modernism. That second mail is an interesting one. A letter written in Montreal in winter and addressed to Fort Good Hope crosses Canada by the C.P.R. to Vancouver, by coastwise steamer it travels north and reaches the Yukon. Then some plucky constable of the Mounted Police makes a winter patrol and takes the precious mail-bags by dog-sled across an unmarked map to Fort Macpherson on Peel River. Thence the Montreal-written letter is carried by Indian runner south to Good Hope on the Arctic Circle. We love to talk with Mrs. Gaudet, she is so dear. Mother-love and devotion to The Company,--these are the two key-notes of her character. Looking back through the years, she tells of a visit she made "outside" to Montreal when she was a young mother--it was just fifty years ago,--measles attacked her three babies and within a week they all died, "_Le bon Dieu prit les tous, mes trois jolis enfants_!" Some years after this at Macpherson an Eskimo woman stole another of her babies, snatching it from a swing in the fort yard, and not yielding it up until it was torn from her by force. We wander out into the midnight daylight where with dogs and Indians the whole settlement is still a stirred-up ant-hill. Splendid vegetable gardens are in evidence here,--potatoes, turnips, carrots, cabbages. Should we reach the North Pole itself we would expect there a Hudson's Bay fort, its Old World courtesy and its potato-patch. As we pass the store of the "free-trader," he says, "Yes, Mrs. Gaudet is a sweet woman, kindly, and dear, but she doesn't approve of me. She makes a point of not seeing me as she passes here twice a day on her way to church." "Why?" we ask, much surprised. "Oh," with a laugh, "you see, I sort of trade in opposition to the H.B. Company, and a fellow who would do this comes mighty near having horns and a tail!" We step into the "Little Church of the Open Door," and sit down and think. The quaint altar and pictures, the hand-carved chairs, and the mural decorations all point to the patient work of priests. We see across the lane the home of the R.C. clergy, looking like a transplanted Swiss chalet and carrying on each door-lintel the name of a saint,--St. Matthew, St. Bartholomew, St. John. From the shrubbery outside wafts in the sweet old-world perfume of wild-roses. Our thoughts will often drift back to this restful little sanctuary, "Our Lady of Good Hope," the mission founded here in the year 1859 by M. Henri Grollier, R.C. missionary priest of Montpelier. CHAPTER XII ARCTIC RED RIVER AND ITS ESKIMO "Behold, I sing a pagan song of old, And out of my full heart, Hold forth my hands that so I would enfold The Infinite thou art. What matter all the creeds that come and go, The many gods of men? My blood outcasts them from its joyous flow." --_A Pagan Hymn_. "The Eskimo is a short, squat, dirty man who lives on blubber," said text-books we had been weaned on, and this was the man we looked for. We didn't find him. It was at Arctic Red River, one hundred and ninety miles of river-travel since we cut the Polar Circle, that we came upon our first Eskimo, the true class-conscious Socialist of Karl Marx, the one man without a master on the American continent. A little band of Kogmollycs they were, men, women, and kiddies, who had come in to trade silver-fox skins for tobacco and tea at the Post of the Hudson's Bay Company. On the rocks they sat, waiting for the new steamer to make her landing, and much excited were they over the iron bowels of this puffing kayak of the white men. An Eskimo generally lets you know what he thinks, and this is a basic difference between him and the Indian. An Indian is always trying to impress you with his importance; he thinks about his dignity all day and dreams of it at night. The Mackenzie River Eskimo is a man who commands your respect the moment you look at him, and yet he is withal the frankest of mortals, affable, joyous, fairly effervescing with good-humour. His attitude toward the world is that of a little half-Swiss, half-Chinese baby friend of mine who, in an ecstacy of good-will when she saw her first Christmas-tree, clutched me tightly round the neck with, "Everybody are my friend." One of the Kogmollycs, rejoicing in the name of Wilfrid Laurier, strode on deck with the swing of a cavalryman and signified his willingness to trade. Loading down my hunting-coat with pictures, pipes, tobacco, looking-glasses, needles, files, knives, I climbed over the cliffs with him to his hut. Down on the floor we sat. Wilfrid put his treasures between his knees before him, I sat opposite, and the barter began. "What for this fellow, huh?" and he held up a piece of carved ivory, a little triangular mincing-knife, a fur mat that his wife had made, or the skin of a baby-seal. The first thing he asked for was scented soap, the ring that I was wearing, and my porcupine-quill hat-band which looked good to him; every exchange was accompanied with smiles, each bargain sealed with a handshake. Wilfrid Laurier is doing his part toward bridging the old chasm of animosity existing between the Eskimo and their next-door neighbours, the Loucheux Indians to the South. Wilfrid, in taking to himself a Loucheux woman to wife, has done what the Seventh Henry of England did when he married Elizabeth of York. Wilfrid's son and heir holds the same place in Northern history as did Henry VIII, who united in himself the claims of the rival Roses of York and Lancaster. [Illustration: A Kogmollye Family] Mrs. Ila-la-Rocko asked us into her hut, where we reclined on fur mats while the whole family, wreathed in smiles, tumbled over themselves to do us honour. One by one they danced for us, stopping to tell their names and to ask ours. "Major Jabussy," "Missa Blown," they got the names all right but applied them promiscuously, and then went into roars of laughter at their blunder. The merriment was infectious. Let no one waste further sympathy over the poor benighted Eskimo of this Canadian North. The Mackenzie River Eskimo is, with perhaps the one exception of an Arab I fraternized with in Chicago at the World's Fair, the most splendid specimen of physical manhood I have ever seen; in physique he stood out in splendid contrast to the Europeans and Americans who were investigating him and his. Arrow-straight and six feet tall, mark him as he swings along the strand. His is the carriage and bearing of the high-bred Tartar. This man has "arrived"; he has an air of assuredness that in the drawing-rooms "Outside" you seldom see. The Eskimo of the Arctic foreshore are of two tribes: the Kogmollycs to the east of the Mackenzie mouth, the Nunatalmutes, Dwellers in the Hills, or Deermen, originally from the interior to the West, but now for the great part making their home at Herschel Island, eighty miles from the Mackenzie delta, attracted there by the opportunity of working for the American whalers. One of the striking figures of the North is Oo-vai-oo-ak, headman of the Kogmollycs, living in dignified happiness with his children and his two wives. This second wife was the cause of much comment among us. How did she happen? It was this way. Mr. Oo-vai-oo-ak married Mrs. Oo-vai-oo-ak the Elder when they were both young. Children were born to them, the big seal was plenty, succulent beluga-steaks graced the board, and the years followed one another as smoothly as glacial drift or the strip of walrus-blubber that the last baby drops down its red gullet as a plummet sinks in a well. One day after a big hunt, as Mrs. Oo-vai-oo-ak placed before her lord the matutinal mess of whale-skin boiled to that particular rubber-boot consistency which was his taste, she said, "I'm not as young as I was, you entertain much, the household cares are heavy, I'd like you to get another wife to help me with the work." Chief Oo-vai-oo-ak chewed upon the whale-skin and the suggestion of his spouse. Out in his kayak, dodging the icebergs, he turned it over in his mind for half a day; and as the outcome of his cogitations Mrs. Oo-vai-oo-ak the Younger, a rollicking and comely maiden, joined the family circle. How does it work out? For ten days I sat round their hospitable fire trying hard for the viewpoint of each member of this Farthest North family of fellow-Canadians. I have lived under many roof-trees, but never have I seen a more harmonious family, nor a ménage of nicer adjustment. Mrs. Oo-vai-oo-ak the Elder, full of the mellow juice of life, waggish and keen, "quick at the uptak'," as the Scotch say, presides over her household with dignity, never for a moment relaxing her hold on the situation. Chief Oo-vai-oo-ak wisely leaves the interior economy of the household in the hands of the women. He is the quiet, dignified gentleman with an easy manner that courtiers and plenipotentiaries extraordinary might envy. His six feet two inches of height, magnificent physique and superb carriage would mark him out as a man of distinction at any race-course, polo-meet, or political reception where men of the world forgather. Observing the small, strong, exquisitely-formed hands and feet of the Oo-vai-oo-aks, the almost-white complexions dashed with ruddy scarlet, the easy grace that even the children have, and, above all, the simple dignity which compels respect, one recognizes here an ancestry harking back to Old World culture and distinction. [Illustration: Roxi and the Oo-vai-oo-ak Family] How does the young wife fit in? No suffragette need break a lance for her, demanding a ballot, dower-rights, and the rest of it. She is happy and busy. All day long she sings and laughs as she prepares the family fish and feast of fat things, she pays deference to her co-wife, romps with the children, and expands like an anemone under the ardent smile of her lord. When the grave question was under discussion regarding the exchange of her pendant bead-and-shell ear-rings for a pair we had brought from the shops of the white men, the two spouses discussed the matter in all its phases earnestly together, as chummy as two school-girls. The Oo-vai-oo-ak family was a puzzle to the on-lookers, who sought in vain for some one of the three contracting parties to pity. They were all so abundantly happy, each in his or her own way, that Walking Delegate could find no crack here for the opening wedge of discord. If no one is to be pitied, then surely for this new departure in matrimony there must be some one for the virtuous to blame. But why? Kipling declares, "There's never a law of God or man runs north of fifty-three." The Eskimo has worked out his life-problem independent quite from the so-called civilisations evolved to the south of him. He is his own man. In the rest of America and in Europe we have formulated a rule of "One man, One wife," allowing an elasticity of the rule in Chicago and elsewhere, so that it may read, "One man, one wife at a time." Are we so sure of results that we are in a position to force our rule upon the Eskimo? Following the animals that God has ordained shall be their daily bread, in little communal bands they thread the silent places of the North. On the Arctic foreshore we have a people different to all other peoples; here is no inherited wealth, no accumulation of property. A man's skill as a hunter determines his ability to support others, the pursuit of seal is the pursuit of happiness; life and liberty belong to all. In many of the little wandering groups or septs or clans the women outnumber the men. A mighty hunter is able to kill seals at will and provide blubber enough for two or even three wives. The Canadian Eskimo is the direct antithesis of the French-Canadian in the matter of large families; seldom are more than three children born to one mother. Now, the crux of the matter is this: is it better for one man to marry and provide for one wife and three children, leaving on the community a floating sisterhood of unattached females, or is it more sane and generous for the Northland Nimrod to marry as many wives as he can comfortably support, and raise up olive-branches to save from extermination the men of the Kogmollycs, the honourable people of the Nunatalmutes? The fact that the women prefer a vulgar-fraction of a man, an Eskimo equity in connubial bliss, to spearing walrus on their own account is a significant factor in the problem. And before we piously condemn either the lord or the lady in the case, it is well that we adjust our judgment to the latitude of 68° North and take cognizance of the fact that no seductive "Want Columns" in the daily press here offer a niche whereby unappropriated spinsters may become self-supporting wage-earners as chaste typewriters, school-teachers, Marcel-wavers, or manicurists. To keep the vital spark aglow you must kill walrus and seal in your own proper person or by proxy, for no other talent of body or grace of mind is convertible into that sustaining meat and heating blubber which all must have in order to live. Economically, then, a woman must herself hunt or have a man or part of a man to hunt for her. Ethically, it works out beautifully, for each partner to the hymeneal bargain is fat and full of content, happiness fairly oozing out of every oily pore. And is not happiness the goal of human endeavour, whether a man seeks it amid the electric lights, subtle perfumes, and dreamy waltz-music of a New York ballroom, or finds it seated with his community wives on a hummock of ice under the Aurora? I wouldn't like to picture our cousin the Eskimo woman as being always content with a circulating decimal of a husband instead of a whole unit, nor would such presentment be just. The shield, like most shields, has a reverse. Last winter, at the Mackenzie Delta, one Eskimo bride of seventeen took her fourth consecutive husband. She is dark but comely, but truth will not carry the analogy further. I have yet to see the Eskimo who is like a bunch of camphire in the vineyards of Engedi. Three winters ago, at Baillie Island, the three-times-widowed one had both her feet amputated as the result of exposure to cold. In the latest wedding, the one that came under our notice (we hesitate to call it the last), the much-sought one was given away by her brother-in-law Su-pi-di-do, or Sour Potatoes. The wedding breakfast consisted of seal-meat, frozen rotten fish, and muktuk (whale-meat). The ceremony took place at the igloo of Su-pi-di-do, with fifty guests present, and as the size of Su-pi-di-do's bungalow is ten by twelve, one needs only suggest what the old hymn speaks of as "odours of Edom and offerings Divine." The festivities began to warm up about midnight. An old chap, with a retrospective look in his left eye peering back through eighty midnight suns and noonday nights, set the ball a-rolling by raising his hands above his head and hopping about in the middle-distance. His wife, a gay old girl of twice his age, lilted a song, and the guests joined in the chorus; line by line in a minor key the wedding song was sung, the air being confined to three notes. After each line came the chorus twice repeated, "Ai, yea, yae! Yae, yae, ya--yae!" Dancing was kept up to an early hour. Overcome by the air, respiratory and vocal, we made our adieus to the crippled but captivating bride, pushing our way through the ghostly dogs and sleeping babies at two a.m. By natural gifts and temperament the Eskimo is probably the most admirable, certainly the most interesting, and by circumstances the most misunderstood and misrepresented of all the native races of America. The Eskimo of any one group would seem within historic times to have known but little of other bands than his own. Yet sometimes they met. There is an island, called Barter Island, in the Arctic at the dividing line between Alaska and the Canadian Yukon Territory, one hundred and fifty miles west of Herschel. For years this was a trading rendezvous for four peoples: the Kogmollycs or Mackenzie Delta Eskimo, the Alaska Eskimo, and the Indians and Nunatalmute Eskimo whose habitat lay due south of Barter Island. To this point the Cape Barrow Eskimo in the old days brought their most precious medium of exchange,--a peculiar blue jade, one bead of which was worth six or seven fox-skins. And thereby hangs a tale. Mineralogists assure us there is no true jade in North America, so the blue labret ornamenting the lip of Roxi must have come as Roxi's ancestors came, by a long chain of exchanges from Siberia or from China. This trading tryst at Barter Island was made an occasion of joy and merriment. In imagination we see the chiefs in their kayaks, the old men, the women, and the babies in the slower and more commodious oomiaks, making their way across the lonely ocean to exchange gifts and courtesies with their half-known kin. The barter consummated, these Northland voyageurs had their yearly dance and sing-song and orgy of delight. No shooting the chutes, no pop-corn, no pink lemonade, no red-hots nor "fr-resh Virginia peanuts, l-large sacks and well-f-filled and f-five a bag!", but the Arctic concomitants of these,--boiled beluga-skin, luscious strips of walrus-blubber, and frozen fish that smells to high heaven. Joy is the same, gastronomic and aesthetic, in the latitude of Boston and the latitude of Barter Island. It is only the counters that are different. Meagre are the bits of knowledge of the Eskimo that have floated down into our ken through the ages; on the icy edge of things this unique and fascinating people worked out their drama, the world unknowing by the world forgot. The white men who reached the Eskimo land from the south were discoverers following to the sea the three great rivers that disembogue into the Polar Sea: the Mackenzie, Coppermine, Back or Great Fish. The first of these explorers was Samuel Hearne who, in 1771, followed the Coppermine to the Frozen Ocean. For the northern natives their first contact with white explorers was a disastrous one, for at Bloody Falls on the Coppermine Hearne's Indians set upon the only band of Eskimo they saw and almost exterminated them. Sir John Franklin in 1820 was more happy. He says, "The Eskimo danced and tossed their hands in the air to signify their desire for peace; they exhibited no hostile intention; our men saluted them by taking off their hats and making bows." Back, who explored the Back or Great Fish River in 1834, has this tribute of respect and appreciation. He says, "I called out '_Tima_' (Peace), and putting their hands on their breasts they also called out '_Tima_.' I adopted the John Bull fashion of shaking them each heartily by the hand; patting their breasts, I conveyed to them that the white man and the Eskimo were very good friends. They were good natured, and they understood the rights of property, for one of them having picked up a small piece of pemmican repeatedly asked my permission before he would eat it." Through all these years, if we except the noble devotion of the Moravian missionaries on the northeast of Canada and the splendid Christianity of such men as Bishop Bompas who sought them from the south, no one visited the Eskimo from the outside with the purpose of doing him good, but rather with the idea of exploiting him. Yet, from the days of Sir John Franklin and Sir Alexander Mackenzie to the recent voyage of Amundsen, the spontaneous tribute of every man who has met them, talked with them, and received their hospitality is the same. The Eskimo is generous, and his word is worth its full face value. What we have done for the Eskimo is a minus quantity; what he has done for us is to point a splendid moral of integrity, manliness, and intrepid courage. Indians beg and boast, the Eskimo does neither. With no formulated religion or set creed, he has a code of ethics which forbids him to turn the necessity of another to his own advantage. Amundsen's farewell to his Eskimo friends sets the thoughtful of us thinking, "Goodbye, my dear, dear friends. My best wish for you is that civilisation may never reach you." The trite saying is that the Loucheux Indians forced the Eskimo north, "keeping them with patient faces turned toward the Pole." But the Eskimo has a better country than the Loucheux has, for it is less rigorous and it produces more food stuffs. The Loucheux at Fort Macpherson knows what it is to experience a temperature of 60 below Fahr., while at the coast it doesn't drop below 55. The Eskimo has two fields in which to hunt food,--the land and the sea, with fish the great staple; and both fresh and salt-water fish are his, that in the mouths of the great rivers being better than what the Loucheux gets higher up. If the Eskimo wrote copy-book lines, the most insistent one would be, "Lose your matches, throw away your guns, but hang on to your fish-net." Through the years there was bad blood and mutual distrust between Eskimo and Loucheux. The last pitched battle occurred in the 60's, when of the contestants only two Loucheux escaped and not one Eskimo was killed. The Hudson's Bay Company officer at the close of the fight called together the relatives of the slain Loucheux, upon whom rested the duty of revenge, and out of The Company's stores paid in trade-goods the blood-price of the slain. Since then both peoples have traded at Forts Macpherson and Arctic Red River, maintaining a sort of armed peace, but with no deeds of violence. The Loucheux Indian, his wives, his babies, and his slab-sided dogs suffer from starvation almost every winter. In the whole history of the Eskimo there is not an authenticated story of one of this people having starved to death. Once more we protest against misapplied sympathy. However it may have been in the past, the Eskimo stays on the coast to-day because it is to him "God's country" and not because any hostile Loucheux sends him there. For the past twenty years the men on the American ships have employed the Eskimo to aid them in the whaling industry, picking up different bands all the way from Bering Sea eastward as they sail in from the Pacific, and depositing each group at their individual beaches as the ships take out their rich spoils of baleen and oil at the close of the season. The Eskimo has proven a valued aid to this industry; how has the intrusion of the whites into his ancestral sea-domain affected the Eskimo? Within two decades the European population of this Mackenzie River delta region has been cut down from two thousand to probably one-fourth of that number. The causes? White men's diseases: scarlet fever, consumption, measles, syphilis must account for most of the startling decrease. Scarletina has killed many, consumption some, though consumption is not nearly so fatal with the Eskimo as with the Indian, measles perhaps more than all. Measles among the Eskimo is more fatal than the Bubonic plague among Europeans. What other changes is the yearly presence of American whalers among them making in Eskimo evolution? Who shall say? It is so easy to be dogmatic, so hard to be just. This intrusion of the whites has changed the whole horizon here; we can scarcely call it the coming of civilisation, but call it rather the coming of commerce. The whalers have taught palates once satisfied with rotten fish and blubber to want coffee and tea and molasses, yeast-bread, whiskey, and canned peaches. To the credit side of the account, we must fairly state that the ships have brought the Eskimo whale-boats, good guns, and ammunition. The Eskimo population of the Mackenzie delta is becoming mixed by marriages between the different tribes brought together to work on the whaling-ships. Each of these intertribal alliances brings about its changed culture characteristics. But as a more far-reaching result of the coming of the whalers there is springing up on the edge of the Arctic a unique colony of half-caste Eskimo children, having Eskimo mothers, and, for "floating fathers," marking their escutcheon with every nationality under the sun,--American, Swedish, Danish, Norwegian, Italian, Portuguese, Lascar. This state of things startles one, as all miscegenation does, and this particular European-Eskimo alliance is different from all others. In the hinterland of the Arctic, when a Frenchman or a Scot took a dusky bride from the tepee of Cree or Chipewyan it was with an idea of making the marriage a permanent one. There is no intent on the part of the whalers to take their Eskimo "wives" outside with them, nor does the wife so-called look for this. One or two cases are on record where the half-breed child has been taken "outside" by his father to school, and through the years perhaps six or eight half-Eskimo kiddies have percolated the interior waterways south to some mission-school, Anglican or Roman. As a rule, the marriage-contract is "good for this season only," and the wife and children bid their quondam husband and father farewell, smiling at him with neither animosity nor reproach as the boats go out. What is then the ice-widow's condition? Is she an outcast among her people? No, you must remember that neither the matrimonial standard of Pall-Mall nor Washington, D.C, obtains here. The trade-ticker of the erstwhile wife of the whaler ticks skyward in the hymeneal Lloyd's; she is much sought of her own people. Has she not gained in both kudos and capital? The knowledge which she must have acquired from the white man of whalers' ways of trading is supposed to be of monetary use to her second lord. Moreover, the tent, utensils, and cooking-kit which she shared with her spouse from the ships makes a substantial dower when she again essays Hymen's lottery. Eskimo women are neither petulant nor morose. With the men they share that calm-bearing of distinction, combined with the spontaneity of a child which makes such a rare and winning mixture. In moving among the half-caste Eskimo children up here on the edge of things, fairness forces us to admit that neither in stature nor physique do they fall below the standard of the thorough-bred natives. About the morals, the ethical, or mental standards, we venture no comparison, for heredity plays such strange tricks. The whole condition is formative, for the blending of races has been going on scarcely long enough for one to see and tabulate results. The influence of the mother will be longer applied and its results more lasting than that of the evanescent father, and in this is their hope. For years we have been repeating the trite, "The sins of the father are visited upon the children to the third and fourth generation;" it remained for Charles Dickens to ask, in his own inimitable way, if the virtues of the mothers do not occasionally descend in direct line. We respect the Eskimo for many things: for his physical courage as he approaches the bear in single combat, for his uncomplaining endurance of hardships, for his unceasing industry, the cleverness of his handicraft, his unsullied integrity, sunny good-humour, and simple dignity. But, most of all, he claims my respect for the way he brings up his children. "A babe in the house is a well-spring of pleasure," is a pretty theory, but Charles Lamb reminds us that each child must stand on his own footing as an individual, and be liked or disliked accordingly. In the igloo and the tupik the child has his own accorded place and moves in and out of the home and about his occupations with that hard-to-describe air of assuredness that so distinguishes his father and mother. The Eskimo child accepts himself as the equal of any created thing, but there is nothing blatant about him, nor is his independence obtrusive. He is born hardy, and lives hardy, trudging along on the march in his place beside the grown-ups. Each Eskimo man and woman is an independent entity, free to go where he pleases. There is no law, no tribunal, no power to limit or command him, but instinctively he observes the rule of doing as he would be done by, and he teaches his child the same Golden Rule. A boy or girl is never considered an encumbrance and is readily even eagerly adopted if his own parents die. The Eskimo child is ushered into the earthly arena with no flourish of trumpets, for his coming is but an incident of the journey if Fate has decreed that he should be born when the family is on the march. The hour's stop for the mid-day meal often sees a new little valiant soldier added to the ranks of the clan and starting his traverse of Arctic trails. If the baby is born while the family is in camp, mother and babe separate themselves from the rest of the family for a month, no one being allowed to look at, much less fuss over, the little stranger. Naming an Eskimo baby is fraught with significance. If the last grown man who died in the band was one revered, one whose footsteps are worthy to be followed, the name of the departed clansman is given to the newborn child. The belief is that the spirit of the dead man hovers around the community and immediately upon the birth of the child takes possession, a re-incarnation in the baby-body. Withdrawing itself in twelve months' time, the spirit of the ghostly god-father lingers by to influence the character and destiny of the growing child. We trace a well-known nursery rhyme to the igloo of the Eskimo. The summer-born baby dispenses with clothing for the first six months of its earthly pilgrimage, cuddling its little bare body close to its mother's back under her _artikki_, or upper garment, which has been made voluminous to accommodate him. But the husky babe who comes when King Wenceslaus looks out on the Feast of Stephen has his limbs popped into a bag of feathers before his mother takes him pick-a-back, or else he is wrapped in a robe of rabbit-skin. So we see that it was an Eskimo mother who first crooned in love and literalness, "By-o, Baby Bunting, Daddy's gone a-hunting, To get a little rabbit-skin, To wrap his Baby Bunting in." Mother-love is a platform upon which even ancestral enemies can meet. While I sat cross-legged (and, like cotton, absorbent) last summer enjoying the hospitality of the Oo-vai-oo-aks, to us entered a beautiful-faced Loucheux Indian mother with a pair of twins pendant,--rollicking chaps. The younger Mrs. Oo-vai-oo-ak dropped on the floor her lord's boot which she had been dutifully biting into shape and jumped up to greet her visitor. There was no mistaking that smile of hospitality. Snatching from the visitor one of her baby boys, the young hostess kissed and cried out to it with an abandon of maternal joy, the culminating point of which was feeding it from her own breast. Thus, in one instance at least, has the ancient feud of Loucheux and Eskimo died. A baby Eskimo is nursed until it is two years old or older, and learns to smoke and to walk about the same time. The family pipe is laid upon the couch, and papa, mamma, and the children take a solacing whiff as the spirit moves them. These pipes are identical with those used by the Chinese, and hold but half a thimbleful of tobacco, the smoke being inhaled and swallowed with dreamy joy. The hardihood of Eskimo children is scarcely believable. It is not unusual for children of six years to trudge uncomplainingly for twenty-five miles by the side of their elders; and we came to know a little seven-year old chap who was quite a duck-hunter, and who went out every day alone and seldom came back without at least two brace. At eleven years, with his watertight boots, spear in hand, and coil of line on his back, he takes up the Innuit man's burden, and does it with an air both determined and debonair. If you ask a mother if she does not think this a somewhat tender age for her boy to essay to keep up with the men on the hunt, she merely smiles as she sews her waterproof seam, and says, "The First Innuits [Eskimo] did so." These fur-clad philosophers are perhaps seen at their best in their play, for there is always harmony in the crystal nursery of the North, as these little people have no bad names nor threatening terms in their vocabulary Yet the play is often very rough, and your Eskimo lad is no molly-coddle. The writer watched five small boys playing football with a walrus-bladder among the roses on the edge of the Arctic. The game was neither Rugby nor "Soccer," but there seemed to be a good deal of tackling in it. Four of them got the fifth one, who hugged the ball, down, and were sitting on him and digging their skin boots into the soft parts of his anatomy. "You're angry, now," said a Major of the Royal Northwest Mounted Police who was looking on. "No, sir," said the under dog, with difficulty protruding his head, "I never get mad when I play." The boys have a sort of duel which they have copied from their elders. It is customary for the grown men of the tribe to settle accumulated difficulties by standing a selected number of contestants, say four on each side, facing each other. Each man is allowed to strike his adversary a number of blows, the recipient of the buffeting being bound by the laws of the game to stand quiescent and take what is coming to him. Then striker and strikee change places and reverse the courtesy. All sorts of feelings come into your throat to choke you, as you watch a row of "heathen" Eskimo lads carry out an ungentle joust of this kind, for the blows are no child's play. Think of what this self-inflicted discipline means in the way of character-building, then think of the ignoble tactics that obtain on some of our race-courses, baseball diamonds, and "sport" carnivals, and then do some more thinking. A line of Tennyson came persistently to my mind last summer as I walked in and out among the camps of the Eskimo,--"Self-reverence, self-knowledge, self-control." [Illustration: Farthest North Football] What of the little girls? They have dolls made of reindeer skins, rude imitations of their elders. And they play "house," and "ladies," and "visiting," just as their cousins do on every shore of the Seven Seas; but no little Eskimo girl has ever yet had the pleasure of dressing up in her mother's long dresses. [Illustration: Two Spectators at the Game] When the ptarmigan gets dark in feather and the sun begins to return in spring after the long six months' night, it is the pleased prerogative of the children to blow out the lamp in the snow-house. All the time that the sun is travelling south, clever combinations of cat's-cradle are played by the mothers and the children to entangle the sun in the meshes and so prevent its being entirely lost by continuing south and south and forgetting entirely to turn back to the land of the anxiously-waiting Eskimo. The boys, by playing a cup-and-ball game, help, too, to hasten its return. When the sun forgets you for six months, you become fearful lest you have lost his loving care forever. The spring is an anxious time in more ways than one, for if there is any suffering from hunger it is felt now, when the winter supplies are finished and the new hunts not yet begun. "I'll eat my hat" is an empty threat in the south, but many an Eskimo kiddie has satisfied the gnawing pains of spring hunger by chewing his little skin boots. At the Mackenzie delta last year, Roxi the Eskimo came in and told me this sad story. Six weeks before, a party of Eskimo had left Baillie Island with dogs for Kopuk. On their way they found a dead whale and cooked and ate of it; the next day they found another and again indulged. After travelling twenty-five miles, the whole party was taken violently ill, and six adults and two children died, leaving only one little girl alive. There for three days and four nights she remained, alone in the camp of the dead, until by the merest chance a young Eskimo, attending his line of traps from Toker Point, stumbled into the silent camp. One can faintly glimpse at, but must utterly fail to grasp, what that little girlie suffered mentally. We picture her sleeping, sobbing, waiting in that snow-hut in the silences, surrounded by the still bodies of every one she loved on earth. The sequel of the story is as sad as its first chapter. The band of Eskimo to which the rescuer belonged went in their turn and ate of this stranded whale, with the result that A-von-tul and Ita-chi-uk, two youths of twenty or twenty-one, died, too, and with them a little four-year-old girl. The drift whale must have been poisoned either by ptomaine or by the remnants of the highly compressed tonite, the explosive used by the whale-hunters. [Illustration: An Eskimo Exhibit A--Eskimo woman's head-dress of reindeer skin. B--Skin of the baby seal, its shimmering whiteness used by the missionaries to typify the Lamb of God, the word "Lamb" having no meaning to an Eskimo. C--Ornamental skin mat, the work of an Eskimo woman. D--Quiver of arrows used by Eskimo boys. E--Model of Eskimo paddle. F--Skin model of the _Oomiak_ or Eskimo woman's boat. G and H--Eskimo pipes of true Oriental type, the bowl holding only half a thimbleful of tobacco.] As we visit in friendly wise the Eskimo and their children, a feeling of loving admiration and appreciation tightens round our hearts. We had never heard a harsh word bestowed upon a child, no impatient or angry admonition. If a boy gives way to bursts of temper, and this is rare, he is gently taken to task, reproved, and reasoned with _after_ the fit of passion is over. Certainly, without churches or teachers or schools, with no educational journals, and no Conventions of Teachers, with their wise papers on the training of "the child," the Eskimo children we saw were better behaved, more independent, gentler, and in the literal sense of the word, more truly "educated" than many of our children are. Instinctively you feel that here are boys and girls being trained admirably for the duties of life, a life that must be lived out in stern conditions. Perchance, floating down on the Aurora, has come to the Eskimo a glint of the truth that has passed us by, the truth that God's own plan is the family plan, that there are life lessons to learn which, by the very nature of things, the parents alone can impart. Teaching children in the mass has its advantages, but it is the family after all and not the fifty children in a school grade which forms the unit of national greatness. CHAPTER XIII FORT MACPHERSON FOLK "I have drunk the Sea's good wine, Was ever step so light as mine, Was ever heart so gay? O, thanks to thee, great Mother, thanks to thee, For this old joy renewed, For tightened sinew and clear blood imbued With sunlight and with sea." --_A Pagan Hymn_. On July 14th, shortly after we leave Arctic Red River, an open scow passes us, floating northward with the stream. It comes in close to the steamer, and we look down and see that every one of its seven occupants is sound asleep. In traversing the Mackenzie, there is no danger of running into ferry-boats or river-locks, if you strike the soft alluvial banks here the current will soon free you and on you go. The voyagers in the scow may sleep in peace. At Point Separation, 67° 37' N., the Mackenzie delta begins. Where the east and west branches diverge, the width of the river is fifty miles, the channel becoming one maze of islands, battures, and half-hidden sand-bars. The archipelago at the Arctic edge extends a full hundred miles east and west. The two lob-sticks at Point Separation are full of historic interest. It was here, on the evening of July 3rd, 1826, that Sir John Franklin and Dr. Richardson parted, Franklin to trend west and Richardson east, in their mission of Arctic coastal exploration. Twenty-two years later, Richardson, this time concerned with the _Plover_ Relief Expedition of the lost Franklin, again visited Point Separation. He records, "July 30th, 1848, Point Separation. In compliance with my instructions, a case of pemmican was buried at this place. We dug a pit at a distance of ten feet from the best grown tree on the Point, and placed in it, along with the pemmican, a bottle containing a memorandum of the Expedition, and such information respecting the Company's post as I judged would be useful to the boat party of the _Plover_ should they reach this river. The lower branches of the tree were lopped off, a part of its trunk denuded of bark, and a broad arrow painted thereon with red paint. In performing these duties at this place, I could not but recall to mind the evening of July 3rd, 1826, passed on the very same spot with Sir John Franklin. We were then full of joyous anticipation." As we look at these enduring lobsticks, we recollect that Commander Pullen, with two boats from the _Plover_ in 1849, visited the depot and found the precious pemmican. We leave the Mackenzie proper for the present and enter the easternmost channel of its farthest north tributary, the Peel, and follow this considerable stream thirty-three miles to Fort Macpherson, the most northerly post of the Hudson's Bay Company. Fort Macpherson has a striking site. To the east, spreads a rolling wooded plain of alluvial origin, containing thousands of lakes. The west aspect gives us an uninterrupted view of the wooded valley of the Peel, backed by a heathery slope with the northern Rockies on the far horizon. Due north, upstarts a peak of the Rockies known locally as Black Mountain--a dark barren spur two thousand feet in height. A winter trail from Macpherson to Arctic Red River cuts no fewer than thirty-three small lakes. [Illustration: Constable Walker and Sergeant Fitzgerald in Eskimo Togs] On the beach to meet us are Mounted Police and Eskimo from Herschel Island, Church of England missionaries, traders of the H.B. Co., and Loucheux Indians. But here, as at Arctic Red River, it is that Polar gentleman the Eskimo who claims our attention. Let Sergeant Fitzgerald, R.N.W.M.P., stationed at Herschel Island, speak for the Kogmollye and Nunatalmute Eskimo. In his departmental report this officer states, "I have found these natives honest all the time I have been at Herschel Island. I never heard of a case of stealing among them." He has been there five years. Up here on the Arctic the bare word of an Eskimo is accepted of all men. If he states to an H.B. Co. factor that he has an order from a whaling captain to get certain goods for himself, that unwritten order is honoured though it may date back two or even three years, whereas an order presented by a white man must be in writing and certified. Why should I enter the lists and take up icy spear for my Eskimo fellow British subject? Because he is so very worth while. Because through the years the world has conspired to libel him. Because within a decade or two he will have passed utterly off the map. And because it is so very much pleasanter to write appreciations than epitaphs. This man wins you at once by his frank directness; his bearing is that of a fearless child. The Indian, like Ossian's hero, scorns to tell his name, and on occasion will dodge the camera, but the Eskimo likes to be photographed. Young and old, they press to our side like friendly boys and girls round a "chummy" teacher, volunteering information of age, sex, and previous condition, with all sorts of covetable bits of intimate family history. You love the Eskimo because he is kind to his dogs and gentle to little children. His entire willingness to take you on credit is contagious, trust begets trust even in walrus latitudes. [Illustration: Two Wise Ones] The Mackenzie River Eskimo is a clever chap. With no school-teacher, no school, no modern appliances, he does many things and does each admirably. He is a hunter by land and sea, a fearless traveller, a furrier, a fisherman, a carver, a metal-smith, and he takes in every task the pride of a master mechanic,--"the gods see everywhere." The duties of the man and the woman are well-defined. The head of the Kogmollyc household is the blood-and-flesh-winner, the navigator of the kayak, the driver of dogs. It is he who builds the houses on the march, and when occasion requires he does not consider it _infra dig._ to get the breakfast or mind the baby. The wife dresses the skins, prepares the food, makes all the clothing, and the lord of the igloo demands from her the same perfect work that he turns out himself. [Illustration: A Nunatalmute Eskimo Family] When an Eskimo wife has finished making her spouse a pair of waterproof boots, she hands them to him, and he blows them up. If there is one little pin-hole and the air oozes out, he throws the boots back to her, and she may take up the pedal gauntlet in one of two ways. Either she must meekly start to make a new pair of boots without murmuring a word, or leave it open to him to take to his bosom another conjugal bootmaker. We noticed with interest in watching this little tableau that there was no recrimination. No word was spoken on either side, the exacting husband contenting himself with blowing up the boots and not the wife. With uncanny fascination we watched one old woman curry a sealskin. Her tongue was kept busy cleaning the scraper, while her mouth was a repository for the scrapings, which went first there, then to a wooden dish, then to the waiting circle of pop-eyed dogs. The whole performance was executed with a precision of movement that held us fascinated. If a white woman were to be shipwrecked and thrown upon an Eskimo foreshore and presenting herself at a Husky employment bureau, many surprises would await her. Instead of asking for references from her last employer, the genial proprietor would first ask to inspect her teeth. In prosecuting female Eskimo handicraft your teeth are as important a factor as your hands. The reporter for the funeral column of an Eskimo daily, writing the obituary of a good wife, instead of speaking of the tired hands seamed by labor for her husband and little ones, would call pathetic attention to, "the tired and patient teeth worn to their sockets by the yearly chewing for the household." A young wife's cobbling duty does not end with making for her mate boots that shall be utterly waterproof, but each morning she must arise before the seagull and chew these into shape. You see, after the boots are wet each day they get as stiff as boards, then they must be lubricated with oil and chewed into shape. We watched Mrs. Oo-vai-oo-ak the Younger at this wifely duty. Taking the big boot up in her well-shaped hands, incisively, quarter-inch by quarter-inch, the white teeth made their way round the borderland between upper and sole, the indentations looking like the crisped edges on the rims of the pies your mother used to make. Solomon's eulogy of Mrs. Oo-vai-oo-ak corrected to the latitude of 70° North would read, "She seeketh fish and the liver of seals and worketh willingly with her hands; she riseth also while it is yet night and cheweth the boots of her household." Every bit of Eskimo skin-clothing is as soft and pliable as a kid glove. The effect is not produced without patient labor, and again the teeth of the woman are brought into requisition. The raw sealskins or hides of the reindeer and bear are staked out in the sun with the skin-side up and dried thoroughly. Before this stiff material can be worked up into garments it must be made pliable, and this is done by systematically chewing the fibres, a slow and painstaking task. Creasing the hide along its whole length, the women take it in their hands and chew their way along the bend from one end of the skin to the other, working their way back along the next half-inch line. Watching them, one is reminded of the ploughman driving his team afield up one furrow and down the other. It falls to the lot of the woman, too, to do her share of boat-making. The men deftly fashion the frames of kayak and oomiak, using in their construction not a single nail or piece of iron, but fastening the wood together by pegs and thongs of skin. Then the women come on the scene, measure the frame, and sew green hides of the proper shape to fit, making wonderful overlapping seams that are absolutely watertight. As it is necessary to put the skin covering on while the hides are raw, the whole job has to be completed at one sitting. So a bee is held of the women of the communal camp. [Illustration: Cribbage-boards of Walrus Tusks The scenes etched in the larger represent the events of one year of the carver.] Where did the Eskimo get his versatile ability? Only the walrus knows. The whalers have inducted the Eskimo into the art of making cribbage-boards. They use for each board a complete tusk of walrus-ivory, covering the whole with a wealth of descriptive carvings illustrative of all that comes into the yearly round of an Eskimo's life,--ice-fishing, bear-hunting, walrus-sticking. So far as we could find out, the Husky's connection with cribbage ceased with his making these _edition de luxe_ boards. He seemed himself to have gathered no inkling of the fine points of that game which one instinctively associates with Dick Swiveller as tutor and as pupil the little Marchioness, "that very extraordinary person, surrounded by mysteries, ignorant of the taste of beer, and taking a limited view of society through the key-holes of doors." In the world outside, far from igloos and ice-floes, where people gather round cheery Christmas fires with "one for his nob," "two for his heels," and "a double run of three," these ivory crib-boards are sold for from seventy-five to one hundred dollars each. We have two among our most treasured trophies, and with them an ivory ring beautifully formed which we saw made. Set in the ring is a blue stone of irregular shape which was fitted into its ivory niche with a nicety of workmanship that few jewellers could attain. I had fashioned for me also a gavel in the shape of a sleeping seal, made of fossil ivory from the Little Diomedes. The contrast of the weathered brown of the outside of the ivory with the pure white of the inner layers, when worked up into a carved design, gives the effect of cameo and intaglio combined. We tasted many new Eskimo dishes. When, on our return, we confessed that the brain of the seal served here is a delicious dish, we ran against the sensibilities of refined natures. But why is it cruder to enjoy seal's brains _â la vinaigrette_, than to tickle our taste with brains of the frolicking calf? The seal furnished a more equivocal dinner than this, nothing less than entrails _au naturel_, which our hostess draws through her fingers yard by yard in pure anticipative delight, each guest being presented with two or three feet of the ribbon-like _pièce de résistance_. The scene that jumps to our memory as we watch this feast of fat things is connected with food-manipulations in Chicago. It was down at Armour's in the stockyards that we had seen Polacks and Scandinavian girls preparing in the succulent sausage a comestible that bore strange family semblance to that which our friends are now eating before us, this linked sweetness long drawn out. [Illustration: Useful Articles Made by the Eskimo A--Eskimo soapstone lamp which burns seal-oil. The wick is of reindeer moss. B--Eskimo knife of Stone Age. C--Its modern successor, fashioned from part of a steel saw, with handle of ivory. This is the knife used by the women; note how the old shape is retained. D--Eskimo Tam O'Shanter. The band is of loonskins, the cap proper being carefully constructed from swans' feet. This admirably shows the cleverness of the Eskimo in adapting natural forms to economic use, each foot of the swan being a true sector of a circle. E--Old-time stone hatchet. F and G--Knives filed from saw-blades, with bone handles. H--Mortar for pulverising tobacco into snuff. I--Needle set in a wood handle, and by rapid rotary motion used to pierce ivory.] Mr. John Firth, of the Hudson's Bay Company here, gives us much information regarding these people who for thirty-seven consecutive years have traded with him. The Kogmollycs have been here "from the beginning," the Nunatalmutes moving into this region in 1889, driven out of their hunting grounds inland from Kotzebue Sound, Alaska, by a scarcity of game. The two tribes live in peace and intermarry. The aged among them are respected. Criminals and lunatics are quietly removed from the drama. Supposed incurables commit suicide and in that act reach immediately a hot underground heaven. Nature to these Eskimo is especially benign. The junction of the Mackenzie and the Peel is covered with a forest of spruce, and even to the ocean-lip we trace foot-prints of moose and black bear. In the delta are cross, red, and silver foxes, mink and marten, with lynx and rabbits according to the fortunes of war. The Eskimo declare that, east of Cape Parry, bears are so numerous that from ten to twenty are seen at one time from a high hilltop. The Chauncey Depew of the Kogmollycs, the man with the best stories and the most inimitable way of telling them, is Roxi. It was Roxi who gave us the love story of his cousin the Nuntalmute Lochinvar. This young man wooed a maid. The girl's father had no very good opinion of the lad's hunting ability and was obdurate. The lover determined to take destiny into his own hands. A ravine of ice stretched between his igloo and that of the family to whom he would fain be son, and over the chasm a drift-log formed a temporary bridge. Lothario, one night, crossed the icy gully, entered the igloo of his elect, seized her in her _shin-ig-bee_ or sleeping-bag and lifted the dear burden over his back. In spite of struggles and muffled cries from within, he strode off with her to his side of the stream. The gulch safely crossed, he gaily kicked the log bridge into the gulf and bore his squirming treasure to his own igloo floor. He had left his seal-oil lamp burning and now it was with an anticipative chuckle of joy that he untied the drawstring. We end the story where Roxi did, by telling that the figure which rolled out sputtering from the _shin-ig-bee_ was the would-not-be father-in-law instead of the would-be bride! CHAPTER XIV MORALIZING UNDER THE MIDNIGHT SUN "Into this Universe, and _Why_ not knowing Nor _Whence_, like Water willy-nilly flowing, And out of it, as Wind along the Waste, I know not _Whither_, willy-nilly blowing." --_The Rubaiyat_. The Midnight Sun! The sun does not sink to the horizon, but pauses for a moment and rises again. Dawn and eventide are one. The manifestations of light ever since we left Athabasca Landing have been wonderful, uplifting. The supreme marvel of the Midnight Sun is not what we see but what we feel. Standing at this outpost of Britain's Empire, we give our imagination rein and see waking worlds and cities of sleep. As this red sun rises from its horizon-dip, it is the first of the unnumbered sunrises which, as hour follows hour, will come to the continents. Longfellow says: "Think, every morning where the sun peeps through The dim, leaf-latticed windows of the grove, How jubilant the happy birds renew Their old, melodious madrigals of love! And when you think of this, remember too _'Tis always morning somewhere_, and above The awakening continents, from shore to shore, Somewhere the birds are singing evermore." [Illustration: Home of Mrs. Macdonald.] How do the people of Macpherson divide into day and night their largesse of light? By common consent four o'clock in the morning seems to be bedtime, and by four in the afternoon people are busying themselves with breakfast. _In Polar Circles, do as the Polars do_, is good advice, and we follow suit. Individuality is strongly marked at this metropolis on the Peel. Every one you meet is a mine of interest, and sharp contrasts present themselves. Mrs. Macdonald discusses fur and deer-meat with Jack Johnson. He is a trapper who plays the game alone and who last year was reduced to killing his favourite dog for food. Current report credits him with having "killed his man in the Yukon." Mrs. Macdonald is a Loucheux woman who, at the age of fourteen or fifteen, married Archdeacon Macdonald of the English Church and for eight long years afterwards assisted him in his life work of translating the Gospels into the Loucheux language. She has come all the way from Winnipeg to the Arctic Circle to spend the summer visiting her people. We lose our hearts to her two sons, splendid fellows both. It is the Eskimo who brings both missionary and trader to Fort McPherson. Are these Eskimo, Christians? Are they _civilised_? These are the questions that confront us when we speak of these Farthest North Canadians. It is an age of classification. You cannot find a flower nowadays that some one has not tacked a Latin name to, and it goes by inverse ratio--the smaller the flower the longer the name. Every bird you hear sing, even though it stop but an hour to rest its tired pinion on its northern migration, has an invisible label pinned under its coat. How can a man, a tribe, a people, hope to escape? In the northeast of Canada the Eskimo is a disciple of the Moravian missionary. In Alaska, on the extreme northwest of the continent, the Greek Church takes him to its bosom. In between these two come the people we are studying. The Episcopalians through the years have made some sporadic attempt to influence these people, but so far as I know these Eskimo are not Episcopalians. What then must we call these splendid fellows so full of integrity and honour, whose every impulse is a generous one? Heathens? The question sets us thinking. The Century Dictionary defines a heathen as "Any irreligious, rude, barbarous or unthinking class or person." This Eskimo is not "irreligious," for he has a well-formed conception of a Great Spirit and an Evil One, he looks to a place of reward or punishment after death, and he accedes to Kipling's line without ever having heard it,--"They that are good shall be happy." He is not "rude," but exceedingly courteous, with a delicacy of feeling that is rare in any latitude. "Unthinking" he certainly is not. Six months' darkness within the igloo gives him the same enviable opportunity of thinking that the shoemaker has in his stall, and the whole world knows that the sequestrated cobbler is your true philosopher. There remains but the one ear-mark, "barbarous." The dictionary declares that barbarous means, "not classical or pure," "showing ignorance of arts and civilisation." On the first of these indictments our poor Kogmollyc must fall down, for he is not classical. And what man dare pronounce on the purity of another? Then we come to "arts" and "civilisation." In arts, this Eskimo can give cards and spades to every European who has visited him. The stumbling-block in this honest search for a tag to put on my people is the term "civilisation." One is reminded of the utterance of the Member of the British House of Commons: "Orthodoxy is my doxy, heterodoxy is the other man's doxy." Was it not Lowell who at a Harvard anniversary said, "I am conscious that life has been trying to _civilise_ me for now seventy years with what seems to me very inadequate results"? If "Christianity" with the Eskimo means taking him into the white man's church, and "civilising" means bringing him into close contact with white men's lives, then he has not yet attained the first, and has but little to thank the second for. Two years ago eighty of these people in one tribe died of measles, a white man's disease. A stray chaplain wandered into an encampment of Eskimo, finding his way from a whaling ship. He told the people of Heaven, its golden streets, pearly gates, and harp-songs, and it meant nothing to these children of frost. They were not interested. Then he changed his theme, and spoke of Hell with its everlasting fires that needed no replenishing. "Where is it? Tell us, that we may go!" and little and big they clambered over him, eager for details. Prayer as presented by the white man is recognised as an incantation which should bring immediate and literal results. An enquiring scientist was seated one day with Oo-vai-oo-ak, the two fishing through adjacent air-holes in the ice. Calling across to the white man, Oo-vai-oo-ak said, "How is it, brother, have you any fish?" "No," replied the man of letters, "I have taken nothing." "Have you spoken to God this morning?" asked the Eskimo in a business-like tone. "No," said the wilted Walton. "Well, that's what's the matter," returned Oo-vai-oo-ak; "I always speak to God every morning before I go fishing. Once, when I went to Herschel Island, a missionary told me what to say. It always works. I have many fish." The scientist, interested, queried, "And do you do the same when you go duck-hunting or goose-hunting or when you are after seal?" "No," eagerly responded Oo-vai-oo-ak, dropping his line and pressing close to the geologist, "Is there a prayer for duck, and for geese, and one for seal? The missionary never told me that. You teach it to me, eh? I like to make sure what to say to catch that fellow,--goose and seal." But, unfortunately for both, the university man did not have the charm. [Illustration: Eskimo Kayaks at the Arctic Edge] Broadly speaking, the Eskimo's theory of things, evolved from white spirits on the ice-floes or carried across in the age of the mastodon from sires and grandsires in Asia, does not differ materially from our own. There is a Good Spirit, called by different tribes Cood-la-pom-e-o, Kelligabuk, or Sidne, who dwells high in the zenith, and to whom it is good to pray. There is an Evil Spirit, Atti, symbolising cold and death. Their heaven is a warm underworld reached by entrances from the sea. Hell is a far, white, dreary plain. The Eskimo pray to Sidne; but it is wise to propitiate Atti or Tornarsuk, and in this last idea they but follow their Chinese or Tartar ancestors. In common with all nations, the Kogmollycs have a tradition of the flood. Mrs. Oo-vai-oo-ak the Elder said, "This world once covered with the sea." Asked why she thought so, she replied, "You have been down to the land of the caribou, eh? Little smooth stones from the sea are there, and shells." The labrets or lip-ornaments, shirt-stud shaped effects worn in holes pierced in the cheek, strike us with interest. Is it too daring a conjecture to trace in these, which Eskimo men so sedulously cherish and resolutely refuse to talk about, a religious significance? The term "Kelligabuk" in a literal translation means "Mastodon." This animal, whose bones not infrequently are unearthed from ice-floes, has been for all time venerated as a god of the hunting grounds. Is it too fanciful to suggest that the labrets are a sort of peripatetic idol carried around on the person as an imitation of the tusks of this God-Mammoth? East and south of the Mackenzie delta the Eskimo tell of a Supreme Goddess, Nuliayok, who was once a coy maiden and refused to marry a mortal. Wooed by a gull, she accompanied the bird to an inland home, to find instead of her dreams of delight a nest of sticks and rotten fish on a high-hung ledge. Jostled by the other fulmars, or gulls, who tried to push her off the rocks, she sent for her father. In the night-time he came and sailed with her over the water in an oomiak. The deserted fulmar-bridegroom, taking a leaf out of Prospero's book, raised a storm. The father, to lighten the craft and propitiate the storm-spirit at the same time, threw the poor bride over-board, and cut off her fingers as she clung to the boat. As the four fingers dropped into the sea they changed respectively into beluga the white whale, nutchook the common seal, oog-zook the big seal, and ibyl the walrus. After thus giving origin to the four great sea-friends of the Innuit, the Goddess Nuliayok let go the boat and went to the world beneath the sea, where she now lives in a whalebone house with a dog for husband. She cannot stand erect, but hunches over the ground, holding one foot under her as a baby does who has not yet learned to walk. It is to Nuliayok that the spirits of sea-animals go after staying three days by their dead bodies; and this is the reason why the Eskimo breaks the eyes of a killed seal. He does not want it to witness the indignity of seeing its own body denuded of its skin. This too is the _raison d'être_ of the ceremonies which every Eskimo punctiliously performs in connection with the animal he kills. Each animal has a soul or spirit to be offended or placated; if pleased, the spirit of the dead animal communicates with its living kin, who in turn will deem it an honour to be killed by such considerate folk as the ceremonious Innuit. Round the igloo fire we heard another tradition of Nuliayok. The Goddess of the Sea once gave birth to a litter of white and red puppies. These she put into two little water-tight baby-boots and set them floating before a north wind. The puppies landed on southern shores and became the white race and the red race, the Europeans and the Indians. The Innuit, of course, had lived from the beginning. We arrogate to ourselves the term of "white race," but if these Eskimo were to wash themselves daily (which they do not do yearly) they would be as white as we are. They have fleshy intelligent faces and eyes with more than a suggestion of the almond-slant of the Oriental. The idea occurs to us that the full appearance of the cheeks of the women is more likely to be caused by the exercise of chewing skins and boots than by an accumulation of fatty tissue. The men are distinguished by the thin, straggling growth of beard and moustache which adorns their Asiatic progenitors. The labrets of the men are offset by the long pendant earrings of the women, which are made from H.B. Co. beads and shells brought by Alaska Indians from the Pacific, It is only the women who here tattoo their faces, the three long stripes extending from lower lip to the chin. The men crop their hair in the style of the tonsure of the monk. Neither man nor woman provides any head covering except the hood of the _artikki_ or smock, which hood, fringed with waving hair of the carcajou or wolverine, hangs loosely at the back until called into requisition by a winter's storm or a summer's siege of mosquitoes. Eskimo clothing is much lighter in weight than it seems, and this is one reason why the Eskimo attachés of every Arctic expedition have moved around with less exhaustion than their European or American leaders. A well-made Eskimo outfit of inner and outer suits, with mittens, socks, and boots, weighs about thirteen pounds, while one imported fur coat of European deerskin will alone weigh more than that. A custom noted at the afternoon whale-meets and pink-teas might fittingly find way into the latitudes where narrow toes and French heels obtain. Two ingenious young Kogmollyc belles had placed applique pockets mid-leg on their lower garments. When the walrus was passed round and conversation became general, the boots were slipped off quietly and one foot at a time was thrust for a resting spell into the pocket provided on the opposite trouser-leg. This act of easement was done deftly, and the neat action of instep boot-jack never lost its fascination for us. [Illustration: A Wise Man of the Dog-Ribs] All the way from boundary-line to ice-barrier we had seen Indians tricked out in grotesque garments borrowed from the white man and used in combination with their own tribal covering of skins and furs. These sun-bonnets and shepherd's-plaid trousers, silk hats and red-flannel petticoats, the trader had persuaded the child of the woods to buy. The debonair Eskimo is a re-incarnation of the bastard brother of Aragon's Prince, and, leaning his furry back against the North Pole, says with him, "I smile at no man's jests, eat when I have stomach and wait for no man's pleasure, sleep when I am drowsy and tend on no man's business, laugh when I am merry and claw no man in his humour." [Illustration: A Study in Expression] You cannot induce an Eskimo to think he wants anything just because you have found that thing to your liking. There are two reasons for this. First, long experience in the most rigorous climate which the human race inhabits has taught this man what garments are the most suitable for him in which to live and move and have his being. Second, although the Indian may ape the white man as a superior being from whom eleemosynary grub and gew-gaws may be wheedled, the Eskimo of the Mackenzie delta considers himself to be the superior of every created being. The Eskimo knows what he wants; he is always sure of it, and there is no vacillating. When he comes into the H.B. Company's post to trade, skins are his currency, the pelts of the silver-fox his gold coinage. A good silver, or black-fox is worth here about one hundred dollars in barter. We saw a band of Nunatalmutes come into Fort Macpherson to do their summer shopping. They wanted English breakfast tea, superior rifles and ammunition, and a special brand of tobacco. Failing any or all of these, it was in vain that the Factor displayed before them the wares of John Bull, Uncle Sam, or Johnny Canuck, or any seductive lure made in Germany. Ig-ly-o-bok and Nan-a-sook-tok bought what they found to their liking, took small change out of two silver-fox skins, and put the remaining six pelts back into the wooden box which formed at once their savings bank and letter of credit for the season to come. The hungry-eyed H.B. man confided to us that two of these coveted pelts had been thus exhibited to him and thus tucked back into the Eskimo sinking-fund for three successive seasons. As regards weapons, we found Eskimo hunters in the transition stage. The old-time spears, four feet long and tipped with ivory, are still in active service. The bows, with arrows finished in copper, flint, and bone, have been relegated largely to the boys, while Krag-Jorgensen, Lee-Enfield, and other high-power guns are bought from American whalers. The fish-hooks which I got in friendly barter are interesting to any one born with angling blood in his veins. Beautifully fashioned of ivory, copper, bone, and beads, the contrivance is a sinker, bait, and hook, all in one. The daily baskets procured with this lure incontestably proves the Husky a judicious hooker. The Eskimo is a merger. Father Petitot shows us the close analogy between the Kogmollyc language and the tongues of eastern Asiatic tribes, ancient and modern. This Eskimo's speech, then, gives him a connection with the effete East (which is his west), while enamelled washbasins, with here and there a corrugated wash-board, prove that slowly but surely Canadian culture is reaching him from the south. With two modifications, this Eskimo is invariably truthful. Like the Indians to the south of him, seeking to please you by answering a question in the way that you desire, he will at times tell you an untruth, for it seems to him discourteous to answer your question other than in the way which you anticipate. For instance, if you say to Roxi, "Wasn't that a grey goose we heard overhead?" Roxi will readily assent, though he well knows it to have been a mallard duck, but he would spare your ignorance. Again, it is Eskimo etiquette to belittle your own success in hunting and, in so doing, be not literally truthful. When we place this delightful trait alongside the fish-stories we are familiar with, who would seek to change the heathen? Marriage with the Eskimo is not a ceremony, it is not even the taking of each other for better or for worse. It is an easy union entered upon and maintained so long as both parties are pleased. This arrangement has one manifest advantage,--Eskimo annals tell of no unhappy marriages. When unhappiness conies in at the door of the igloo, marriage flies out of the chimney. When a woman leaves her tentative husband, she takes herself and her babies back to the paternal topik, and no odium attaches. As the marriage vows melt into the Arctic air, the quondam husband is expected, however, to play the game. Last winter a young Nunatalmute and his sorry spouse came to the parting of the ways. She asked him to take her back to Papa, but he said, "No. You may go to-morrow if you wish, but I am ready to hunt in the opposite direction, and I hunt." Off to the chase he went and took the family auto, i.e., the sled and dogs, with him. The once-wife, travelling five days and six nights by the fitful light of the Aurora, found her way to her father, for the instinct of direction is unerring in these people; but the ex-bride's feet became badly frozen. Public opinion in this case was strongly roused against the husband and probably if there had been a tree handy he would have been lynched. This would have been the first lynching recorded in Canada. The feeling of the Eskimo community was that, when the wife announced her intention of enforcing a divorce, the bounden duty of the husband was either to drive her himself in proper state to her father's door or to let her have the dogs. In their beliefs in the great powers of concentration and in re-incarnation we find traces in the Eskimo of those Theosophical ancestors of theirs far off on Asian shores. The ceremonies which approximate in time to our New Year's Day and Christmas show the importance they attach to concentrated thought. Early in the morning of what corresponds to our New Year's Day, two young men, one of them grotesquely dressed in women's garments, visit every igloo and blow out each seal-oil lamp. The lights are afterwards renewed from a freshly-kindled fire. The chief, asked the meaning of the ceremony, replied, "New light, new sun," showing his belief that the sun was yearly renewed at this time. This early morning visit from igloo to igloo reminds us of the "first-footing" of the Scottish village. The mummery of wearing the fantastic dress of the woman points back to the old Lord of Misrule. About the season of Christmas, a great meeting is held in the igloo, presided over by the Angekok or medicine-man, who entreats the invisible powers for good fortune, immunity from storms, and a plenitude of blubber for the ensuing year. This invocation is followed by a family feast. Next day the ceremonies are carried on out-of-doors, where all from oldest to youngest form a ring-around-a-rosy. In the centre of the circle is set a crock of water, while to the communal feast each person brings from his own hut a piece of meat, raw preferred. This meat is eaten in the solemn silence of a communion, each person thinking of Sidne, the Good Spirit, and wishing for good. The oldest member of the tribe, a white-haired man or tottering dame, takes up a sealskin cup, kept for this annual ceremony, dips up some of the water and drinks it, all the time thinking of Sidne, the Good Spirit, while the others close their eyes in reverent silence. Before passing the cup on to the rest of the company that they may drink, the old man or woman states aloud the date and place of his or her birth, as accurately as it can be remembered. The drinking and thinking ceremony is performed by all in succession, down to the last naked baby cuddling in its mother's _artikki_, the little child that cannot yet speak. The solemn rite is brought to a close by the tossing of presents across the ring from one to the other, the theory being that, as they generously deal with others, so Sidne will deal with them in the coming year. So up here on the edge of things, among our "uncivilised heathens," we have our Christmas presents and "_Peace on earth, good will to men_." CHAPTER XV MAINLY CONCERNING FOOD "Man does not live by bread alone." Exigencies of life have caused the Mackenzie Eskimo to formulate on vital matters an unwritten law to which each gives assent. Succinctly stated, this system of Northland jurisprudence runs thus:-- _(a) Should a man, inadvertently or by malice aforethought, kill another, the wife and children of the man so killed remain a burden on the murderer so long as he or they live._ _(b) A drift-log found is treasure-trove, and belongs to the finder, who indicates possession by placing upon it a pipe, mitten, or personal trinket of some kind_. Whalers, missionaries and Mounted Police are a unit in testifying that precious flotsam of this kind has remained four or five years in a land of wood-scarcity without being disturbed. _(c) No one must eat seal and walrus on the same day_. Thus a check is given to luxuriousness and the Eskimo is self-prevented from falling into the fate which overtook Rome. _(d) All large animals killed are to be looked upon as common property of the tribe and not as a personal belonging of the man who kills them_. Thus here, under the Northern Lights, do the Farthest North subjects of the Seventh Edward work out in deeds the dream of Sir Thomas More's crescent-isle of Utopia where men lived and worked as brothers, holding all things in common. The Eskimo realises that the pleasure of life is in pursuit, not in acquisition. Where wants are many, joys are few; the very austerity of his life has made a man of him. Laying up few treasures for the elements to corrupt, accumulating no property except a little, a very little, of the kind designated by Wemmick as "portable," he, to better and saner effect than any man, decreases the denominator of his wants instead of increasing the numerator of his havings. Surrounded by the palcocrystic ice, the genial current of his soul has not been frozen by that ice. An Eskimo family accepts life with a smile and, in the faith of little children, goes on its way. An old Scot once prayed, "O Lord, send down to Thy worshippin' people at this time the savin' grace o' _continuance_." Only one man has less need to pray that prayer than the Scot himself, and that man is the Eskimo. The Indian eats and sleeps as his wife works, but while there is spear-head to fashion or net to mend, the clever hands of the Eskimo are never idle. Thrifty as a Scot, ingenious as a Yankee, every bit of the little property that he has is well kept. You find around this igloo no broken sled-runner, untrustworthy fishing-gear, nor worn-out dog-harness. Civilisation has nothing to teach this man concerning clothing, house-building, or Arctic travel. Indeed, one may hazard the opinion that the ambitious explorer from the outside, if he reach the Pole at all, will reach it along Eskimo avenues with this man as active ally and by adopting his methods of coping with Northern conditions. On account of the malignity of nature, it is rare that an Eskimo attains the three score and ten Scriptural years. Few, indeed, live beyond the age of fifty-five or sixty. If his life is short, it is happy. This pagan has grasped a great truth that his Christian brother often misses, the truth that happiness is not a luxury, but the highest of all virtues, a virtue filling the life where it originates and spreading over every life it touches. There is about this Mackenzie Eskimo a certain other-worldliness which we insistently feel but which is hard to describe, and to us his generosity is sometimes embarrassing. At Peel River a band of Kogmollycs met us, carrying on board pieces of their ivory-carving. One man exhibited a watch-chain containing fifteen links and a cross-bar, all carved from a single piece of ivory. He wanted thirty-five dollars or the equivalent of that for his work, saying that it represented the leisure hours of two months. The engineer tried to make him lower his price, but with a courteous smile he shook his head, and the carving was dropped back into _artikki_ recesses. Afterwards, with the air of a shy child, the clever carver came to me and offered me the chain as a gift. It was probably a difficulty of articulation rather than a desire to be scathing which induced this man subsequently to refer to the one who tried to beat down his price as "the _cheap_ engineer." Surprised at the magnificent physique and unusual height of this little group, one of us began measuring the chest expansions, length of limbs, and width of shoulders of the men and women we were talking with, while the other of us jotted the figures down in a note-book. Many of the men were over six feet tall, and none that we measured was under five feet nine inches. One young giant, Emmie-ray, was much interested in our researches. The whalers call him "Set-'em-Up," for his name bears the convivial translation, "Give us a drink." "You going to make better man, you get Outside--make him like Emmie-ray?" As Emmie-ray pursues the tenour of his Arctic way, hunting the walrus, standing, a frozen statue, with uplifted spear over the breathing-hole of the seal, to the end of the chapter he will think of himself as being used for a stimulating Delineator-pattern in the igloo of the white man. Forty years ago, when Bishop Bompas came across a band of these people, instead of being awed at the appearance of a white man, they took him for a son of Cain! Their tradition was that, in the early history of the world, an Eskimo murdered his brother and fled to the inhospitable parts of the earth. The bishop, coming to them from the unknown south, must be a direct descendant of the outlaw, with his hands red with a brother's blood. Circling the ocean-edge from Siberia, without doubt this people came originally from Asia, as the Chipewyans did before them and the Crees before that, the more newly arrived in each case pressing their predecessors farther away from the food-yielding ocean. The Anglo-Saxon estimates all habitable land by his ell-measure, fertility of the soil, its ability to yield turnips, potatoes, and flax, and forty-bushel wheat. The measure of desirability of range of northern tribes has another unit--blood, and flesh, and fish. Your Eskimo and Chipewyan and Cree cares not a potato-skin for your waving fields of grain, your apple-orchards and grape-vines. What he is after is blood and blubber and good dripping flesh; these his soul craves in the night season. These peoples who made their way into the continent by the open door at the north have come down through the years toward the habitat of the white man, not because they loved him, but because a stronger tribe has pushed them back from Arctic flesh-pots. At the Mackenzie mouth we enjoyed the companionship of that courteous Eskimo gentleman, Roxi, and heard the story of his last winter's larder, but not from his lips. At the beginning of the season Roxi had whale-meat and fresh walrus, and also flour that he had earned from the whalers. In a characteristic burst of generosity he gave the greater part of this to needy members of other tribes who had had poor hunts and who found themselves at the beginning of the Long Night with empty Mother Hubbard cupboards. The Eskimo winter has many mealtimes, and Roxi had but a poor idea of the higher mathematics. Long ere the darkness of the Great Night relaxed its overbearing blackness Roxi got very hungry, and he had no food. Life is dear, even on the edge of things. So into the silence Roxi crept and dug down through the ice and frozen sand to the skeleton of a stranded whale killed three years before. All the sustaining flesh had been eaten from it more than a year ago, but the dried tendons were still there. By chewing these assiduously and picking bones already bare, this generous soul kept life in his body. As I heard the story, the last words of the gallant Sidney dying in agony on Zutphen's field that another's thirst might be quenched came across the ocean from another age and a far land, "Thy necessity is greater than mine." Britain's heroes, men of the finest mould, manifest on the shores of many seas. Inherited tastes in foods, like inherited creeds, are mainly a matter of geography, or of history, or of both. An Englishman had preceded us to the Arctic, going in in 1907, and the story of his food discrimination still lives in tepee of the Cree and Eskimo topik. The North is full of rivers, the cold bottle is always at your disposal, and generally, if you are any shot at all, you can get the hot bird. But this son of a thousand earls, or of something else, wouldn't eat owl when owl was served, though he _would_ eat crow. Now, eating crow is to most a distasteful task, and the guides questioned the Englishman regarding the gastronomic line he drew. "Aw!" replied he, "No fellow eats owl, you know. Never heard of the bweastly bird at home, but crow ought to go all right. The crow's a kind of _rook_, you know, and every fellow eats _rook-pie."_ Having put the seal's body into his own body and then encasing his skin in the seal's, the cheery Eskimo strides the strand, a veritable compensation-pendulum. The seal is so much an integral part of this people that if a geologist were to freeze a typical Eskimo and saw him through to get a cross-section he would have in the concentric strata a hybrid of Husky and seal. Holding up his transverse section under the light of the Aurora, the investigator would discover an Arctic roly-poly pudding with, instead of fruit and flour, a layer first of all of seal, then biped, seal in the centre, then biped, and seal again. This jam-tart combination is very self-sustaining and enduring. Deprived of food for three days at a stretch the Eskimo lives luxuriously on his own rounded body, as a camel on his hump. Reading an Arctic bill-of-fare in southern latitudes may give one a feeling of disgust and nausea, for it is all so "bluggy." You feel differently about it at 70º North. You put prejudice far from you, comfort yourself with the reflection that raw oysters, lively cheese, and high game are acquired tastes, and approach the Arctic menu with mind and stomach open to conviction. It is all a matter of adjustment. Because raw rotten fish is not eaten in Boston or in Berkeley Square there is no reason why it should not be a staple on Banks's Land. We had brought with us on our transport two years' provisions for the detachment of Royal Northwest Mounted Police stationed at Herschel Island, and we had been privileged to taste the concentrated cooking-eggs and desiccated vegetables which formed part of their commissariat. Now, a concentrated egg and a desiccated carrot or turnip bear no more family-likeness to the new-laid triumph of the old Dominick or the succulent vegetable growing in your own back-yard than the tin-type of Aunt Mary taken at the country fair does to the dear old body herself. Whale-meat is better than concentrated cooking-egg, seal-blood piping hot more to be desired than that vile mess of desiccated vegetables. I know. I feel like the old Scot who exclaimed, "Honesty _is_ the best policy. _I've tried baith_." But we do not live on seal alone in the North, for there is a bewildering bill-of-fare. Reindeer have a parasite living on the back between the skin and the flesh, a mellifluous maggot an inch long. Raw or cooked it is a great delicacy, and if you shut your eyes it tastes like a sweet shrimp. Don't be disgusted. If you have scooped shrimps from their native heath, you have discovered the shrimp, too, to be a parasite. Another Arctic titbit is that fleshy cushion of the jaw of the whale which in life holds the baleen. What is whale-gum like? It tastes like chestnuts, looks like cocoa-nut, and cuts like old cheese. Whale-blubber tastes like raw bacon and it cannot very easily be cooked, as it would liquify too soon. It is a good deal better than seal-oil, which to a southern palate is sweet, mawkish, and sickly. Seal-oil tastes as lamp-oil smells. But you can approach without a qualm boiled beluga-skin, which is the skin of the white whale. In its soft and gelatinous form it ranks among northern delicacies with beaver-tail and moose-nose, being exceedingly tasty and ever so much more palatable than pigs-feet. Musquash in the spring is said to be tender and toothsome, but that overpowering smell of musk proved too much for our determination. You may break, you may shatter the rat if you will, but the scent of the musk-rose will cling to it still. There is a limit to every one's scientific research, and, personally, until insistent hunger gnaws at my vitals and starvation looms round the edge of the next iceberg, I draw the line at muskrat and am not ashamed to say so. Compelling is the association of ideas, and the thought grips one that muskrat _must_ taste as domestic rats (are rats domestic?) look. Raw fish at the first blush does not sound palatable, yet raw oysters appeal. The truth is that meat or fish frozen is eaten raw without any distaste, the freezing exerting on the tissues a metabolic change similar to that effected by cooking; and it is convincingly true that bad fish is ever so much better frozen than cooked. Blubber is not a staple, as is so often misstated, but it is a much esteemed delicacy. During the summer months the Eskimo has to provide light and fuel for that long half-year of darkness within the igloo. The blubber obtained in summer is carefully rendered down and stored in sealskin bags--the winter provision of gas-tank, electric storage-battery, coal-cellar, and wood-pile. In using oil for fuel, this master artificer of the North has anticipated by decades, if not centuries, the inventive adaptability of his "civilised" cousins. The blubber appears in a blanket between the skin of the animal and its flesh, and when it is spared for food, is cut into delicious strings, an inch wide, an inch deep, and the longer the better. Give a Fur-Land kiddie a strip of this sweetmeat and he grins like that Cheshire cat he has never seen. He doesn't eat it, but drops it into the cavernous recesses of his stomach, as you lower your buckets into the well of English undefiled. "Disgusting," you say. It's all a matter of latitude. Watching a roly-poly Innuit baby finding its stomach-level with plummet of seal-blubber sustains the interest of the grand-stand for a longer period than watching your child dallying with the dripping delights of an "all-day sucker." These little babies have the digestion of an ostrich and his omnivorous appetite. Suckled at their mothers' breasts until they are two or even three years old, when they are weaned they at once graduate into the bill-of-fare of the adult. Walrus-hide is about as uncompromising as elephant-hide, and an inch thick. You see little chaps of three and four struggling valiantly with this, nibbling at it with keen delight, as a puppy does on an old shoe, or your curled Fauntleroy on an imported apple. The Eskimo mother has no green apples to contend with in her kindergarten and need never pour castor-oil upon the troubled waters. Every day in the year her babies are crammed with marrow and grease, the oil of gladness and the fat of the land. To many Eskimo the contents of the paunch of the reindeer is the only vegetable food they get, and this is eaten without salt, as all their food is eaten. They crack the bones of any animal they kill to get the marrow, which is eaten on the spot, the broken bones being pulverised and boiled to make much-prized gelatine. To his fish and flesh the Eskimo adds a bewildering plenitude of wildfowl. Last spring, eighteen hundred geese and ducks were killed by Eskimo on Herschel Island sand-pit. It is the paradise of pot-hunter and wing-shot. Captain Ellis of the _Karluk_, with one Eskimo fellow-sportsman, got a bag of 1132 ducks, geese, and swans in three days' shooting, to send to the wrecked whalers off Point Barrow, Alaska. Who are these people, and whence came they? Each little tribe is a book unread before, and full to the brim of fascination. When they are confronted with the picture of an elephant in a current magazine, they are all excitement. The book is carried eagerly to the old man sunning himself down in the anchored oomiak. Animation, retrospection, agitation chase from his seamed face all traces of drowsiness. "_We used to know it." "Our fathers have told us." "This land-whale with its tail in front once lived in the land of the Innuit_." We are now the ones to become excited. Intending merely to amuse these fellow-Canadians who had been kind to us, we stumble upon a story of intense interest. "Where did your fathers see this animal?" we asked. "Here, in this country. In the ice his bones were hidden," said the old man. With this he relapsed into the torpor we had disturbed, and no further word did we elicit. Captain Mogg, of the whaling schooner _Olga_, two winters ago pursued his whaling operations far to the north and east. Ice-bound at Prince Albert Land, he stumbled upon a little settlement of Eskimo. These were completely isolated from and had had no communication with white men or any community of their own race. Only one of their number had seen a white man before--one old, old woman, the grandmother of the band. The captain of the _Olga_ speaks Eskimo fluently, and to him this ancestress of the "lost tribe" had an interesting story to tell. She remembered a white man who came across the Great Sea from the west in "a big kayak," and she extended her arms to show its size. Her people had given this stranger seal-meat and blubber and the "Chief" from the great ship had presented her with a piece of cloth as red as the new-spilt blood of the seal. This grandmother-in-Ice-Land is without shadow of doubt the very child to whom M'Clure gave a piece of red flannel far back in the early fifties while prosecuting his double search for the Northwest Passage and the lost Franklin. We have M'Clure's record of the incident and the little girl's questioning wonder,--"Of what animal is this the skin?" Thus does history manifest itself on the other side of the shield "after many days." Through the years, the Eskimo has fared better than the Indian. It would seem that the London Directorate of the H.B. Co. expected its servants within the Arctic Circle in the days that are past to do almost a Creator's part and make all things of nothing. The scanty provisions and trading goods from England which filtered in thus far were to be given to the Indians in exchange for furs, while the Factor and his people were largely expected to "live on the country." Cannibalism was not unknown. The winter of 1841-2 was an especially hard one. On the 18th March, 1841, J. William Spence and Murdock Morrison were dispatched with the winter express from Fort Good Hope to Fort Macpherson. During the second night out, while they were asleep in the encampment, they were knocked on the head by four starving Indian women, immediately cut to pieces, and devoured. It is further reported that these women previously had killed and eaten their husbands and all their children except one little boy. Of the two murdered Scots they ate what they could that night and made pemmican of what was over, reporting afterward that one was sweet but that the other, tasting of tobacco, was not so good. Father Petitot gives us another glimpse of that awful winter. His naïve words are, "_Chie-ke-nayelle,_ a Slavi from Fort Norman, was a winning fellow, handsome, gracious, the possessor of a happy countenance. On his features played always a smile of contentment and innocence. In his youth he had eaten of human flesh during the terrible famine of 1841. He killed his young daughter with a hatchet-blow, cooked her like flesh, and ate her as a meat-pate. It is said that after one has partaken of human flesh, the appetite for it often returns. I hasten to add that _Chie-ke-nayelle,_ in spite of the soubriquet _mangeur de monde_ which is irrevocably rivetted to his name, has not succumbed to such an appetite. He is indeed an excellent Christian. Nevertheless, I would not like to camp with _Chie-ke-nayelle_ in time of famine." Another starvation story related by the good Father is not quite so ghastly. He tells us of one "M. Finlaison of burlesque memory," who, when all provisions were out, took his fiddle and, calling the men of his fort before the door of his empty larder, played to them a Scottish reel. That was their dinner for the day,--instead of meat they had sound. The narrator adds, "In America they would have lynched the too-jovial Scotchman. In the Northwest the good half-breeds laughed and applauded the master." The winter of 1844 also was a season of distress. Referring to this year, a beautiful young Indian woman said to the sympathetic priest, "I did not wish to eat the arm of my father. I was then a small child of eight, and I had not been able to see my old father eaten without crying out with loud screams. But my mother called to me in rage, 'If you do not eat of it, it is that you condemn us and hate us, then you will surely go the same way.' And I ate the flesh of my father, hiding my sobs and devouring my tears, for fear of being killed like him; so much was I afraid of the eyes of my mother." Another Indian woman confesses, "I left my husband, a hunter at the fort, and took with me by the hand my only child, a boy of six, and directed my steps towards _Ka-cho-Gottine._ It was indeed far. I only knew the way by hearsay. Once I myself have eaten of my father, but now I am a Christian and that horrible time is far from me. I have a qualm in thinking that my stomach has partaken of the author of my days. Meanwhile his flesh has become mine, and what will happen to us both on the final resurrection day?" Here Father Petitot interpolates, "Ah! if she had only read Dante!" "I did not intend to keep my boy with me, he was too young and too weak. I did not wish to devour him. I had no heart for that. I decided to abandon him. At the first camp I left him, and knew they would eat him there. I wept on thinking of the horrible death that awaited my only child. But what could I do?" This story has a more comfortable ending than the previous one. We breathe relief in learning from the priest that the following night the little boy overtook his mother. He had walked all day and all night, following her snowshoe tracks. They went on together, the third day they snared some hares, and their troubles were over. Father Petitot tells of a Rabbit-skin Indian who found a mummified body in the forks of a tree near the Ramparts of the Mackenzie and who came running into the Mission, his hair on end with fright, asking excitedly, "Did God make that man or was he made by the men of the Hudson's Bay?" Another tale of his is of an Indian, _Le Petit Cochon_, who had a tape-worm and thought it was a whale. "Unfortunate!" exclaims the Father, "possessed of a whale! That's the difference between _Le Petit Cochon_ and Jonah." Sucking Pig said he would join the Church if the priest would rid him of the tape-worm. But we must use the words of Petitot himself, for they are too delicious to lose. "Christmas night, 1865, after midnight mass, _Le Petit Cochon,_ carefully purged, both as to body and soul, by an emetic, two purgatives, and a good confession, content as a King, received holy baptism. I gave him the name of Noel." In starvation times, guests were not appreciated. Robert Campbell of the H.B. Company, writing from Fort Halkett in 1840, says, "God grant that the time of privation may soon end, and that I may not see a soul from below till the snow disappears." These days of the early forties when England was engaged with the Chartist risings at home and her Chinese wars abroad, were surely parlous times up on this edge of empire. The Fort Simpson journals of February 4, 1843, record, "The _Cannibal_, with young _Noir_, and others of the party of _Laman_, arrived this evening in the last stage of existence, being compelled by starvation to eat all their furs." Still these sonsy Scots kept a good heart and were able to jest at their misfortunes with the grim humour that belongs to their race. Neither empty larder nor other misfortune disheartened them. The recurrence of New Year's Day and the Feast of St. Andrew were made ever occasions for rejoicing. Up on the Pelly Forks under date of November 30th, 1848, the record reads, "Though far from our native land and countrymen, let us pass St. Andrew's Day in social glee. So fill your glasses, my lads, and pass the bottle round." Three years later, on the same anniversary, the lines are, "Very cold for St. Andrew's, and no haggis for dinner." And as January Ist ushers in the year 1845, the Factor at Fort Macpherson bursts into verse: "This day, Time winds th' exhausted chain To run the twelvemonths' length again. I see the old bald-pated fellow With ardent eyes, complexion sallow, Adjust the unimpaired machine To wheel the equal, dull routine. Underneath the record a postscript appears, in another hand: "Oh let us love our occupations, Bless the Co. and their relations, Be content with our poor rations, And always know our proper stations. CHAPTER XVI THE TALE OF A WHALE "In the North Sea lived a whale." What is a whale? Well, although the whalers dub it so, it is not a fish, but is a true mammal, the last of the mammoth creatures that trod the earth and floundered the seas of a past age. The whale is the biggest, the meekest, and the most interesting of living animals. As we go north, we readjust all our ideas of distance and immensity. Rivers are longer, lakes more majestic, and whales bigger than we have ever dreamed. Examining a stranded whale at Herschel, we see the flippers to be really hands with four fingers and a thumb enveloped in a sheath, and rudimentary hind-legs are discovered under the tough skin. Without doubt, the ancestors of the whale were land mammals which became adapted to a littoral life, and in splashing round the shore acquired the habit of swimming. Subsequently carried out to sea, they became under the new environment the structure as we see it. Off the delta of the Mackenzie, the Circumpolar of Arctic Bowhead whale _(Balaena mysticetus_) is making his last stand. Unless a close season is enforced, this cetacean carrying round his ten thousand dollar mouthful of baleen will soon fold his fluked fins like the Arab and swing that huge body of his into line with the Great Auk, the Sea-Otter, the Plains Buffalo, and all the melancholy procession of Canadian Has-Beens. [Illustration: We Tell the Tale of a Whale] Whales divide themselves into two great classes: those furnished with teeth (the _Denticete_) and those in which the place of teeth is supplied by a sieve process, furnishing the baleen or "whalebone" of commerce (the _Mysticete_ or _Balaenidae_). The members of the Baleen Whale family are the Sulphur-Bottoms, the Finner Whales or Rorquals, the Humpbacks, and the king of all whales, the founder of the municipality of Herschel Island, whom his pursuers call indiscriminately the "Arctic Whale," "Polar Whale," "Greenland Whale," "Bowhead," "Right Whale," or "Icebreaker." Bowheads run in length from seventy to one hundred feet, weighing up to one hundred and ten tons each, there being authentic records of exceptional specimens whose weight reached two hundred and fifty tons. Comparisons are illuminating. The mammoth or hairy elephant in the Field Columbian Museum is nine feet six inches high and twelve feet in longitudinal measurement. The lips of a Bowhead whale are from fifteen to twenty feet in length and yield from one to two tons of pure oil each,--lips that turn a nigger-minstrel green with envy! The eyes placed in the posterior part of the head are each as big as an orange. The tongue of the whale is twenty feet long, and this member, by means of which he pushes to the top of his palate the animalculae on which he feeds (as you would a gooseberry), gives the whaler six tons of oil. The aorta is as big as a man's waist and, at each pulsation of the heart, spurts out ten to fifteen gallons of blood. The heart itself is more than a yard in transverse diameter. The toothed whales carry the teeth in their lower jaw, the most valuable of this lot being the Spermaceti or Sperm Whale or Cachalot, the Pilot Whale or Ca'ing Whale, the White Whale or Beluga, the Killer or Orca, the Narwhal, and such small fry as Blackfish, Porpoises, and Dolphins. Only the toothed whale eats fish; the others live upon animalculae and the most minute of marine life, called "brit" by the whalers. The Bowhead that we have come up to the Arctic to see feeds on the smallest infusoria. He couldn't eat a herring if by that one act he might attain immortality. Whale errors die hard. Artists persistently depict the big animals as spouting beautiful fountains of water, but the fact is that whales breathe out air only from their lungs. They come to the surface for that purpose, the "blowing" being quite analogous to the breathing of land mammals. Noticing the condensation of a whale's breath up here in the icy Arctic, we guess at the cause which gave rise to this particular blunder. Milton in thirteen words manages to perpetrate three (whale) bulls. "At his gills draws in, and at his trunk, spouts out, a sea." Guiltless of either gills or trunk, no whale ever spouted out anything but common or seaside air. The Bowhead is hunted for his "whalebone"; the Cachalot or true Sperm, the lord of the toothed whales, for that great lake of sperm oil and spermaceti which he carries round in a portable tank in the top of his head. It is customary to call whales "fierce," "savage," "murderous," but this is rank libel, for the whale is timid and affectionate. Every family, however, has its black sheep. The Orca or Killer is the terror alike of sealing-rookeries, fish-schools, and whale bone whales. One Killer taken up here had in its stomach fourteen porpoises and fourteen large seals, and it choked to death on the fifteenth. Banded in Molly Maguire groups, the Killers murder the young seal-pups taking their first lessons in swimming off the Pribilofs. We have seen them, a pack of hungry sea-wolves, surround a Bowhead whale! A number of these brigands of the Bering Sea hang on to the lower lip of the big whale till the opened mouth allows a Killer to enter bodily, when the Bowhead's tongue is eaten out and the whole sea is a shambles. At the approach of the Killer even sea-lions seek the shore. And the Alaska Indian who would pose as Bad Bill of the Clambank to the third generation carves a Killer as the crest of his totem. The American is more aggressive--shall we say progressive?--than the Canadian. The Bowhead whale has within recent years chosen for his summer habitat the pleasant waters off Arctic Canada. Each of these floating tanks of baleen and oil nets his lucky captor from thirteen thousand dollars upward?, and yet for twenty years Canadians have been content to see their more enterprising cousins from California come into their back-yard and carry off these oily prizes. [Illustration: Two Little Ones at Herschel Island] Is there much money in whales to-day? Are not oil and whalebone drugs in the market? Let us see. Off the Mackenzie mouth is Herschel Island anchorage. Here, since 1889, the American whaling-fleet, setting out from San Francisco, has made its summer stand, its winter waiting-quarters. One whale to one boat in a season covers the cost of outfitting and maintenance, and more than one spells substantial profit. In 1887, one of the Arctic whalers, the steamer _Orca_, captured twenty-eight whales. The _Jeanette_ in 1905 got ten whales and a calf, the _Karluk_ got seven whales, the _Alexander_ eight, the _Bowhead_ seven. The boats wintering at Herschel in that year had among them thirty-three whales and one calf. At fifteen thousand dollars each (San Francisco values for that season) the thirty-three whales netted very nearly half a million. Two years later the _Narwhal_ took out fifteen whales, the _Jeanette_ and _Bowhead_ each four. Although the average bone per head is two thousand pounds, sometimes the catch runs far beyond that figure. A whale caught by Capt. Simmons of the ship _John M. Winthrop_ carried thirty-three hundred and fifty pounds of bone in its head,--$16,750! One of these at a time would be good fishing. The first Bowhead taken from these waters went in 1891 to the American steam-whaler _Grampus_, her catch for three seasons being twenty-one whales. Previous to this, even wise whale-men thought it useless to go "to the east'ard of P'int Barrow" for this big whale; since that date the catch in Canadian waters has been thirteen hundred and forty-five whales. Ignoring the oil altogether and putting the "bone" (baleen) at two thousand pounds each whale and the value of it at five dollars a pound, both conservative figures, we find that thirteen and a half millions in whale-values have gone out of this Canadian sea-pasture the past twenty years, by the back-door route. Are there as good fish in the sea as have come out of it? Expert evidence differs. Captain George B. Leavitt, of the _Narwhal_, in 1907 lowered twenty-two times without striking and yet went out with fifteen whales. He says he saw that season more whales than any year previous, but that they are on the move east and north. The general practice is for a ship to reach this water from San Francisco in the early summer; whale as long as the ice will permit; go into winter quarters at Herschel; get out of the ice as soon as possible next summer, probably the first week in July; whale as long as it can stay without getting nipped by the new ice of September; carry out its catch through Bering Strait to San Francisco as late as possible; dispose of the cargo; refit; return next season, and do it all over again. The active whaling-season is restricted to eight or ten weeks, and every one on board a whaler from captain to galley-devil works on a lay. The captain gets one-twelfth of the take, the first mate one twenty-second, the second mate one-thirtieth, the third mate one forty-fifth, the carpenter one seventy-fifth, the steward one eightieth, fore-mast sailors one eightieth, green hands one two-hundredth. Engineers get about one hundred and twenty dollars a month straight. It looks all right in the contract signed a year ago in a San Francisco waterfront dive, but it never works out as it looks on paper. The A.B. overdraws from the slop-chest (often before the whale is caught) the vulgar-fraction which stands for his share of fat things, and you come across him possessed of the sulky mood which dining on dead horse (land or marine) induces in most of us. A trade in fur also makes out by this Pacific-Arctic, Arctic-Pacific route. We estimate that total products to the value of a million and a half find their way each year out of Canada in the ships of the whaling-fleet. "The farther north the finer fur" is a recognised law. The American ship brings flour, provisions, Krag-Jorgensen guns, ammunition, tea, trinkets to the Eskimo, and receive for these the choicest furs this continent produces. The Canadian Provinces which propinquity would seem to call to this international whale-joust are British Columbia and Alberta. British Columbia, in her splendid whaling-stations and refineries on Vancouver Island, has tasted whale-blood, the blood of the Humpback and Sulphur bottom, the Orca or Killer, the Cachalot or true Sperm, and one would think her appetite sufficiently whetted to want to acquire the "feel" of Arctic Bowhead profits, the fattest dividend-sheets of them all. Alberta claims as rich hinterland all the coal and gas and timber, tar, furs, feathers, and fish between the parallel of 60° and the uttermost edge of things. These winning bulks of blubber should by all laws of the game be hers. Some day Alberta's metropolis on the Saskatchewan, overcoming the rapids on the Athabasca and the Slave, will send her deep-sea vessels by interior waterways to pull down into Canadian pockets a tardy share of these leviathans. Will there be any left? It is hard to say. Little wind-swept island of Herschel! We reach you to-day not by deep-sea vessel from the westward but up through the continent by its biggest northward-trending stream. Eighty miles through the Northern Ocean itself from the Mackenzie mouth brings our whale-boat grating upon the shingle. "As far as we go!" This is essentially the Island of Whales, the farthest north industrial centre in America, the world's last and most lucrative whaling-ground. It is well to take our bearings. We are in latitude 69-1/2° N. and just about 139° west of Greenwich; we are a full thousand miles nearer our Pole than the Tierra del Fuegan in South America is to his. And it blows. A nor'easter on Herschel never dies in debt to a sou'wester. Lifting itself one thousand feet above sea-level, this septentrional shelter for ships where the seagulls wheel at our approach, and as they wheel, whine like lost souls, is twenty-three miles in circumference, with neither water nor fuel. For six months every year comparative darkness wraps it around. Snow and ice hold it fast till mid-July; and yet people with tropic isles to choose from and green valleys where the meadow-lark sings have crowded here for twenty years to make their home! The most incongruous lot that Fate ever jostled together into one corner,--who are they? The whaler of every country and complexion from Lascar to Swede, Eskimo men and women and big-eyed babies, half-caste hybrids of these two factors, Missionaries, and Mounted Police. It is interesting to note the order of their arrival. The whaler drawn by oily lure followed the Bowhead east and north from Bering Sea. To man his boats, to hunt caribou for him, and to furnish temporary spouses, the whaler picked up and attached to his ménage the Eskimo from the mainland in little bunches _en famille_. Ensuing connubial complications brought the missionary on the scene. To keep the whaler and the missionary from each other's throats, and incidentally to make it easy for the American citizen to trade in Canadian baleen and blubber, came the debonair Royal Northwest Mounted Policeman, the red-coated incarnation of Pax Britannica. There winter at Herschel every year two hundred and fifty whalers and an equal number of Kogmollye and Nunatalmute Eskimo. Pauline Cove on Herschel Island has three fathoms of water and can winter fifty ships. Landing and looking about us, we experience a feeling of remoteness, of alienation from the world of railroads and automobiles and opera tickets. Back of the harbour are the officers' quarters of the whaling company, the barracks of the Royal Northwest Mounted Police, the huts of the Eskimo; in front of us the clear panorama of the mountains on the shore-line. North America here, in profound and lasting loneliness, dips its shaggy arms and ice-bound capes into an ocean illuminated now by the brief smile of summer but, for ten months out of the twelve, drear and utterly desolate. The most striking features of the off-shore islands is that they are islands of ice rather than of earth. Slightly rising above ocean-level, they exhibit one or two feet of sandy soil, and between this scant counterpane and the interior foundations of the earth is nothing but pure translucent ice. There is going on a rapid disintegrating of these islands. The whaler calls this far fringe of America "the ocean graveyard" and "the step-mother to ships." There have been five wrecks on this coast in recent years: the _Penelope_ off Shingle Point, the _Bonanza_ off King Point, the _Triton_ on the shores of Herschel itself, the _Alexander_ near Horton River, a little missionary craft off Shingle Point, and Mikklesen's ship _The Duchess of Bedford_, abandoning her ambitious search for a dream-continent in Beaufort Sea to deposit her tapped-camphor-wood bones on the edge of the ocean of her quest. The Mackenzie River carries the freshening influence of its current for miles out to sea, and the whole mainland coast is piled high with drift-trees carried by its stream to the Eskimo,--a boon more prized by them than the most seductive story the missionary can tell of the harps and golden streets of that strange heaven of the white man where whale-meat is unknown and blubber enters not. In July, resurrection comes to Herschel,--saxifrages, white anemones through the snow, the whoop of the mosquito-hawk, and the wild fox dodging among the dwarf-junipers and uncovered graves! And the Midnight Sun? It is not a continual blare of light for twenty-four hours. It sweeps through the midnight heavens, but between ten o'clock in the evening and four in the morning there is a sensible change. Colour tints and lines of demarcation on sea and ships are harder to distinguish, shadows less clearcut. Birds roost and even flowers close, Nature whispering to both that, if they would reproduce after their kind in the short Arctic summer, energies must be conserved. Surely the world holds nothing more beautiful than this Polar night, this compelling gloaming, the "cockshut light" of Francis Thompson. Here the evening and the morning sit together hand in hand, and, even as you watch, lead in the day, the new day born beneath the starless sky. The July sun stabs into activity our incongruous community. On board the vessels guns are cleaned, harpoons pointed, whale-boats caulked, and the winter deck-house is lifted off bodily. Up in the rigging fox-skins and all the year's fur-booty sweeten in the sunlight, and eagerly the spring "leads" in the ice are watched from hour to hour if a way be opened to trend out in the track of the big Bowhead. Strange people crowd the fo'castle. Two years ago the ships bound for "Outside" got nipped in early ice and were forced to winter at Herschel all unprepared. Reduced to half-rations the crew got weak, and scurvy threatened. The Mounted Police (who by the way are "mounted" in imagination only, as there is nothing for the most gallant to stride here but Husky dogs), in making examination of the men below decks, got to their enquiries a technical reply that staggered them. One able-bodied seaman, busied with between-decks blubber, proved to be a medical man with degrees from two colleges. He subsequently made at the request of the Police a searching report on the state of health of the island community, adding suggestions for its improvement. The report was signed "T.H. Toynbee Wright, M.D.," and, after making it, the A.B., M.D. saluted, donned his oily overalls, and turned once more to the savoury spoils of the Bowhead. Which all goes to prove that in these latitudes "you never can tell." Whale-men at Herschel give whales five names according to age and size: they are "suckers" under a year, "short-heads" as long as they are suckled, "stunts" at two years, "skull-fish" with baleen less than six feet long, and "size-fish" at the age when a boy reaches man's estate. A whale needs no re-incarnation theory of the theosophist, for he crowds enough experience into one sea-life to satisfy the fact-thirst of the greediest little Gradgrind. Fancy, thrashing the sea for a thousand years! A "sucker" who happened to be disporting round the British Isles when Alfred the Great was burning those historic cakes and prefiguring with candles the eight-hour day may still be chasing whale-brit round an Arctic iceberg. The whale mates, we are told, once and for keeps. Jogging along from one ocean end to another with the same wife for a thousand years without turning fluke to look at an affinity! Shades of Chicago and Pittsburg, hide your wings! Whales follow their annual migration as regularly as do moose and caribou on land, the seal and salmon in the Pacific. Seen first in May in Bering Strait, the Bowheads trend from here north and east, doubling back on their westward journey in July and August, when the Herschel Island whalers go out to intercept them. September sees the great mammals off Southern Kamchatka, and year by year with regularity they follow this Arctic orbit, edging farther in successive seasons to the north and east. The usual track of any family of whales may be left at a tangent on account of a furious storm, excessive cold, the want of food, the harassing of an enemy, or a change in the season of their amours. A whale, for an old party, is not so slow. Alarmed while extended motionless at the surface of the sea, he can sink in five or six seconds beyond the reach of human enemies. His velocity along the surface horizontally, diving obliquely or perpendicularly, seems to be the same, a rate of from twelve to fourteen miles an hour. Now, to carry a whale of seventy-four tons through the Arctic at the rate of twelve miles an hour would require a (sea) horse-power of one hundred and forty-five. Captain Scoresby, a whale expert, by careful calculation estimates that a surface of two square miles of the Arctic Ocean contains 23,888,000,000,000,000 of the minute animalculae on which the Bowhead feeds, so we hope there is enough to go round. He quaintly elucidates this inconceivable number by explaining that eighty thousand persons would have been employed since Adam in counting these little medusae in the two square miles. Why any one should count them we fail to conceive and gladly accept Scoresby's figures. The poet tells of shooting an arrow into the air and "long years afterwards in an oak he found the arrow still unbroke." Those who stick harpoons into whales and suffer the animal to get away start floating rumours (a sort of cyclometer of the sea) for their grandsons to read in blubbery history three generations after. England offered knighthood and a bag of sterling pounds to him who would discover a Northwest Passage connecting the Atlantic and the Pacific. M'Clure and the heirs of Sir John Franklin disputed the honour of this achievement. In the "North Sea" lived a whale who exhibited in his own person indubitable proof of having found that elusive Anian Strait. At Herald Island, due north of Bering Strait, in 1886, a whale was caught who carried round in his inside pocket of blubber the head of a harpoon marked _Ansell Gibbs_. The _Ansell Gibbs_ was wrecked at Marble Island south of Chesterfield Inlet on Hudson Bay on October 13, 1871. Imagination sees opportunity in this for establishing hyperborean letter-service between lovers kept apart by cruel ice-floes. Eskimo Evangeline wandering under Northern Lights seeking Dusky Gabriel might find here a carrier-pigeon of utility. Is it not Pliny who gives us a delightful account of Hippo's enamoured dolphin? Captain Kelly was the first to notice that whales sing One Sunday, while officers from three ships were "gamming" over their afternoon walrus-meat, Kelly dropped his glass with, "I hear a Bowhead!" There was much chaffing about "Kelly's band," but Kelly weighed anchor and went to find the band-wagon. Every sail followed his, and the result was the bagging of three whales. Among Bowheads, this sing-song is a call made by the leader of a school as he forces passage through Bering Sea to give notice to those who follow that the straits are clear of ice. Walruses and seals and all true mammals having lungs and living in the water have a bark that sounds weird enough coming up from hidden depths. Every look-out from a mast-head notices that, when one whale is struck, at the very impact of the harpoon the whole school is "gallied" or stampeded as they hear the death-song. The dying swan may not sing, but there is no doubt about the ante-mortem Valkyrie song of the whale. From the Bowhead the sound comes like the drawn-out "hoo-hoo-oo-oo-oo" of the hoot-owl. A whaler stops coiling his harpoon-line to tell you that "beginning on 'F' the cry may rise to 'A,' 'B,' or even 'C' before slipping back to 'F' again." He assures us that, "with the Humpback the tone is much finer, sounding across the water like the 'E' string of a violin." Whalers themselves on this grim shore die without requiem. Every year men desert from the ships. They make their way across from Herschel to a mainland of whose geography they know nothing, thinking that once they strike the shore they can find railway trains which will take them to the gold-mines. One man, Morand, left his ship without sled or dogs. He carried only a gun, twenty rounds of ammunition, some cigarette papers and tobacco. In the spring they found him about a day's journey from the ship, frozen to death. He sat with his gun leaning against his left arm, and a cigarette in his mouth. Both feet and one hand were eaten off. He had fired off nine shots, probably as a signal which was never heard. [Illustration: Breeding Grounds of the Seals] Within recent years, on other shores but this one, an innovation has entered the whaling business. The modern plan is to have shore-refineries and from these strategic bases to send out strongly-built high-speed steamers to shoot detonating harpoons from a cannon into the whale. Such methods are pursued with profit on Newfoundland and Vancouver Island shores. The gun-harpoon, the invention of Sven Foyn, a Norwegian, is furnished at the point with a contrivance which, as it enters the whale, opens out anchor-like flukes which clutch his vitals. Connected by a line to the whaling-steamer, the harpoon holds the quarry until the whaler steams alongside, when the "fish" is soon dispatched. A nozzle is attached to the harpoon-wound, and hot air from the engine pumped into the "proposition" keeps it afloat. The Vancouver Island station has bagged as many as five whales in one day,--Cachalots, Humpbacks, and Sulphur-Bottoms. The Eskimo say, "There is no part of a seal that is not good," and the same applies to whales. Blubber and bone have their regular markets. The viscera, scraps of fat and oddments tried out in fiery furnaces, appear in the form of pungent snuff-like powder, a much-sought fertiliser. From the Vancouver Island stations it goes across to enrich the cane-fields of Honolulu and the rose-gardens of Nippon. The Japs are eager customers for the dried or smoked whale-meat; and whale-steak broiled to a turn can scarcely be distinguished from choice porterhouse, since it is absolutely free from fishy taste. Far back in the fourteenth century the Biscayans made whale-venison their staple, and Norway to-day has more than one establishment which turns out canned whale. Newfoundlanders find whale-meat a welcome change from cod perpetual, and I have seen the Indians of Cape Flattery eat it when it hailed you a mile to windward and had more than begun to twine like a giddy honeysuckle. Now, enterprising people are talking of canning whales' milk, a dense yellow fluid like soft tallow. When the milk-maid goes out to milk a whale she must take half a dozen barrels along as milking pails. The Eskimo like it. Soon the soda-fountains on Fort Macpherson and Herschel Island will bear the legend, "Whale cream soda" and "Best Whale Milkshake." To have an even superficial knowledge of the commercial products of the whale, one must learn of baleen, of whale-oils and spermaceti, of ambergris, whale-guano, whale-ivory, and whale-leather. What do we do with baleen? It so combines lightness, elasticity, and flexibility, that nothing yet invented adapts itself so perfectly to all the requirements of the fashionable corset. Whalebone whips are made from single pieces of baleen seven or eight feet long. A whalebone horsewhip costs from fifteen to eighteen dollars and will outlast a dozen cheaper persuaders. The Sairy Gamp umbrella of the last generation, which boasted whalebone ribs, never "broke its mighty heart" in a rainstorm (and incidentally could never be shut up tight). Flexible steel has taken the place of whalebone in many of the arts; but new avenues of usefulness open up to baleen. Out of it artificial feathers of exquisite lightness and wigs or toupees are made. Shredded into fine filaments, baleen is now woven in with the other fibres in the manufacture of the finest French silks, imparting resilience and elasticity to the rich material. A Chicago paper of the date of this writing advertises: WHALEBONE TEETH $5 A GREAT DISCOVERY THE NEW WHALEBONE PLATE WHICH IS THE LIGHTEST AND STRONGEST SET KNOWN DOES NOT COVER THE ROOF OF THE MOUTH Guaranteed ten years YOU BITE CORN OFF THE COB Spermaceti, the solid waxy body carried round in the Cachalot's head in solution, is a valuable whale-product. Bland and demulcent, spermaceti is employed as an ingredient in ointments, cosmetics, and cerates. Spermaceti candles of definite size form the measure of electric light, giving rise to the phrase "of so many candle-power." Present-day spermaceti is both a saving and a destructive agent. Large quantities of it are used in Europe in the manufacture of ecclesiastical candles, and part of the same consignment may help to make self-lubricating cartridges. Most valuable of all whale-products, the costliest commodity on this earth ounce for ounce with the one exception of radium, is ambergris. As amber was once considered "the frozen tears of seagulls," so ambergris for ages puzzled the ancients. Some called it "the solidified foam of the sea," with others it was a "fungoidal growth of the ocean analogous to that on trees." When people in the old days came across anything exceedingly costly they wanted to eat it, on the same principle which makes the baby put each new gift into his mouth. So we have historic record of pearl soup a la Cleopatra, and dishes dashed with ambergris. Milton sings of,-- "Beasts of chase, or fowl of game, In pastry built, or from the spit, or boiled, Grisamber-steamed." What is this choice tidbit? It is a morbid secretion of the intestines of the sick Sperm-whale, and sells for from thirty to forty dollars an ounce. Ambergris, if discovered in the animal itself, is always in a dead or dying body, but it is usually found floating on the ocean or cast up on the shore. Many a day, as kiddies on Vancouver Island beaches, have we turned over bunches of kelp, trying to smell out that solid, fatty, inflammable dull grey substance with its sweet earthy odour. The present-day use of ambergris is to impart to perfumes a floral fragrance. It has the power to intensify and fix any odour. In pharmacy, it is regarded as a cardiac and anti-spasmodic and as a specific against the rabies. For years it has been used in sacerdotal rites of the church; and suitors of old times sought with it to charm their mistresses. The dying sperm, spouting up the ghost, offers of his very vitals to aid the lover and serve the church. Fascinating are the finds of ambergris. The barque _Sea-Fox_ of New Bedford, in 1866, off the coast of Arabia, took a one hundred and fifty-six pound mass of ambergris, which was sold to the Arabs of Zanzibar for ten thousand dollars in gold. The _Adeline Gibbs_, in the same year, took one hundred and thirty-two pounds from a bull-sperm south of St. Helena, and sold the hunk for twenty-three thousand dollars. Three winters ago an Arctic whaling-crew put into Seattle, and there leaked out the interesting story of how, not recognising the priceless unguent, they had greased their oars, masts, and knee-boots with "a big lump of ambergrease." In modern whaling not an ounce of the carcase is cast as rubbish to the void. The intestines make a soft kid which takes any dye and is largely used for artistic leather-work. The size of these immense strips makes possible splendid belts for machinery with a minimum of joinings. The chemically-macerated bones are turned into an "indestructible" crockery-ware which is far more enduring than anything made of vegetable-fibre. The Beluga gives us the best shoe-strings in the world. You can lace your shoes with a Beluga lace for two years and be sure it will not break the morning you are in an especial hurry to catch an inter-Reuben train. An interest attaches to living whales which outweighs the fascination with which we study their dead parts. Each species of the whale propagates with one of its own species only. The fidelity of whales to each other exceeds the constancy of birds. The whale mother gives birth to one calf, and in extremely rare cases two calves, producing every second year, the young being born between the end of March and the beginning of May. When the mother suckles her young she throws herself on one side on the surface of the sea and the calf regularly feeds at the breast (like a young Eskimo) for nearly two years. During this time the baby is extremely fat and the mother correspondingly emaciated. Perhaps nothing in nature is more touching than the devotion of a female whale to its wounded young. Whalers harpoon the babe at the breast so that they may afterwards secure the dam. In this case, the mother joins the wounded young under the surface of the water, comes up with it when it rises to breathe, encourages it to swim off, assists its flight by taking it under her fin, and seldom deserts it while life remains. Unless the Circumpolar Bowhead is to become extinct within a decade, the thinking world should strengthen the hands of the Canadian authorities in an effort to put a close season for four or five years on the great Arctic Baleen Whale. At their rate of reproduction it is not so easy to restock a whale pasture as a salmon stream. Cutting down a whale which has taken ten centuries to grow is like cutting down an oak-tree with a thousand concentric rings. You cannot in one or two or twenty scant generations of man grow another one to take its place. CHAPTER XVII SOUTH FROM THE ARCTIC TO CHIPEWYAN "The old lost stars wheel back, dear lass, That blaze in the velvet blue. They're God's own guides on the Long Trail-- The trail that is always new." --_Kipling_. A tax on tea caused the revolt of the thirteen Colonies, a taunting load of tennis-balls lost France to the Dauphin. Eighty years ago on this Arctic edge, white beads, or the lack of them, lost a lucrative fur-trade, alienated the Loucheux and caused the death of whites. "Trifles make the sum of human things." The old records tell the story. John Bell from Fort Good Hope, under date of August 14th, 1827, writes to the Factor at Fort Simpson: "The beads sent in for the Loucheux trade are not sufficiently large to please them. I request you will endeavour to send in the largest size for the trade of the ensuing year. A specimen of the kind wanted I send enclosed." The Factor at Fort Simpson, under date of November 22nd of the same year, writes to the Governor and Chief Factors at Montreal: "I now forward a specimen of the common white beads wanted for the trade with the Loucheux Indians. It is their request and I hope it will be attended to. I would not venture to make the demand, were it not from conviction that without this favourite article these Indians look with indifference on the best of our goods. No other ornamental article is ever asked for or wanted by these natives." The same official on March 15th, 1828, pleads with Montreal: "The white beads demanded for the Loucheux trade I hope will be sent, and of the size according to sample enclosed. May I use the freedom of representing the importance of getting this article to the liking of the Indians, to come up by the Montreal canoes and be ready for outfit 1829? Three kegs will contain the quantity required, 200 to 250 pounds." Again on the 29th of November, 1829, he writes Montreal: "The White Beads asked for the trade with the Loucheux are not according to the order sent, 15 pounds only of the quantity received (200 pounds) are of the proper size, the remainder being the same as those in outfit 1825 so much complained of. They will not be satisfactory to the Indians. We request you will be pleased to make a strong representation to their Honours at Home that this article be sent according to order and sample. We now conceive to say anything further would be tiresome." The Fort Simpson Factor on March 19th, 1830, reports to Montreal: "The goods came. The white beads was too small and not according to order or sample asked for. The Indians would not take them and left the Fort dissatisfied." The Trader at Fort Good Hope augments the story by recording that the Indians would be better pleased in trade with two small kegs of the special beads they wanted than with half a ton of any other trade goods which London could manufacture and send out. The sequel of the story is that, disappointed time and again in not getting their favourite beads, the Loucheux Indians failed to bring in the autumn supply of meat to Fort Good Hope and in consequence, before the snows of the winter of 1831 had melted, many of the white men attached to that post died of starvation. [Illustration: The Keele Party on the Gravel River] We had gone North with the birds in spring and now, as we turn our faces homeward, the first migrants with strong wing are beginning their southward flight. Our travel is against current now, for we make slower time than we did coming in and consequently see more of the passing shore-line. The last specimens we gather within the Arctic Circle are the blue blossoms of the flax. In them we see the earnest of many a cultivated farm of the future. The days are getting perceptibly shorter and one by one the old familiar constellations come back in the heavens. We find it a relief to have once more a twilight and a succeeding period of dusk. Yet are we loath to leave this fascinating North with its sure future, its quaint to-days, and all the glamour of its rich past. We had just passed Fort Norman when the sharp eyes of an Indian deck-hand saw three figures on the beach ahead. Pulling in at the point where the Gravel River joins the Mackenzie, we find a regular Robinson Crusoe group,--Mr. J. Keele, of the Dominion Government Survey, and his two associates. Going in on the Yukon side, Mr. Keele's task has been to cross the Divide between the Yukon and the Mackenzie, mapping the rocks. The only white man they had seen in sixteen months was a French priest who had passed yesterday, and whose knowledge of current events in Canada and Europe was scanty. They were glad to see us. A moose-skin boat showed how they had run the rough Gravel; the meat of two moose smoked over the camp-fire; their dogs were fat. These are men who know the woods--no hard-luck story here. It needs only Friday's funny fat umbrella to complete the picture, with the goat scampering in the middle distance. Coming on board, the surveyors are greedy for newspapers, and we in return learn somewhat of that great slice of land which they are the first to traverse. The Gravel River is two hundred and fifty-five miles long, with "white water" all the way. The force of the current may be appreciated from the fact that it is forty-four hundred feet above the sea-level at the Height-of-Land, and only four hundred feet here where it enters the Mackenzie. All along the banks of the Gravel are moose, mountain sheep, and caribou. The winter cabin of the party was built on the Ross River and there, during the past winter, they experienced a temperature of 54° below. A party of this kind must be to a large extent self-supporting, as it would be impossible to carry from the outside food for such a long sojourn. Speaking with Mr. Keele, one is forcibly struck with the fact that what the technical schools teach their students forms but a small part of the equipment of the man who would do field work in Northern Canada--packing, tracking, hunting, and breaking trail,--each man must do his share of these. The Keele party on the great watershed, as they travelled east, crossed two families of Mackenzie River Indians going westward to hunt, on the west side of the ridge, the marten and the beaver. It was 32° below, and cold. The whole families were on the march, a little baby tucked in the curve of the sled, and tottering on foot an old, old woman, bent and wrinkled and scarcely able to move. As the Indians were on their return journey toward the Mackenzie in spring, the Keele party saw them again. But the old woman was not there. Under some lonely mound where snow falls in winter and the leaves of birch and cottonwood flutter down in the shrieking winds of autumn rest the bones of the old woman, her many journeys ended. The wearer of a costly fur coat in the glittering capitals of the Old World seldom stops to conjecture how much of hardship, patient suffering, and loneliness go to the making of that luxurious garment. In order that one might be warmly clad, many have gone cold, more than one sad, tired, old head has lain down for the last time by the lonely camp-fire. Sad is the lot of the Indian woman of the North. Fated always to play a secondary part in the family drama, it is hard to see what of pleasure life holds for her. The birth of a girl baby is not attended with joy or thankfulness. From the beginning the little one is pushed into the background. The boy babies, even the dogs, have the choicer bed at night, and to them are given the best pieces of the meat. The little girl is made to feel that she has come into a world that has no welcome for her and her whole life seems to be an apology. You read it in the face of every Indian girl or woman you meet, from the shrinking pathetic little figure in the camp to the bent old crone, whose upturned face with its sadly acceptive look gives you the flicker of a smile. Storm-stayed at Wrigley Harbour at the entrance to Great Slave Lake, we have some splendid fishing,--jackfish, whitefish, loche, inconnu, "and here and there a lusty trout and here and there a grayling." Within an hour I get fifteen graylings to my own rod. Collectively they weigh just a little over thirty pounds. Swimming against the current, they take the fly eagerly; and one cannot hope to land a more gaudy or more gamy fish. Its big dorsal fin is rainbow-tinct, the tail an iridescent blue, and the scales pure mother-of-pearl. Mr. Keele has had "The Complete Angler" for two years with him in the fastnesses, and as he helps us prepare the catch for our evening meal over the coals, quotes blithely that the grayling is eating fit only for "anglers and other honest men." The traverse of Great Slave Lake in the teeth of a wind is not without its interest, for the new steamer has yet to be tried in the waters of what practically amounts to an open sea. She behaves well, and brings us dry-shod into Fort Rae. [Illustration: The First Type-writer on Great Slave Lake] We are the first white women who have penetrated to Fort Rae, and we afford as much interest to the Indians as they afford us. Lone Fort Rae, clinging to the Northern Arm of Great Slave Lake, was noted in the past as a "meat-post." It supplied the Mackenzie District with dried caribou-meat, and formed an outfitting point for the few big game hunters who trended east from here into the Barren Grounds seeking the musk-ox. Its foundation dates back to some time before the year 1820. We cross a bridge of clever Indian construction and sit for a while to muse on a flat boulder of primal rock. This stands as bell-tower to a quaint bell cast in Rome and bears an inscription to some dead and gone Pope. The missionary priest over half a century ago paddled in here bringing the Gospel to the Dog-Ribs. [Illustration: The Bell at Fort Rae Mission] The musk-ox _(Ovibos moschatus)_ is a gregarious animal which would appear to be a Creator's after-thought,--something between an ox and a sheep. The long hair hanging down from the body foreshortens the appearance of the legs and gives a quaint look to the moving herd. The present range of the musk-ox is from Fort Rae north to the Arctic and between the meridians of 86° and 125°. As it is the most inaccessible game in the world, there would seem to be no immediate fear of its being hunted to extinction. Toothed like a sheep, footed like an ox, tailed like a bear, and maned like a horse, the musk-ox does not circle up wind as the moose and caribou do, but travels in any direction he sees fit. Each little herd of ten or fifteen bunches up, tails to the middle and horns outside, to meet a common danger. The robe of the musk-ox is a rich, dark brown streaked with grey, the hair all over the body being very long, with a coat of mouse-coloured wool at its base. According to the Indians, the single young of the musk-ox is born in April. The mother buries the calf in the snow as soon as it is born, selecting a sheltered place for the cradle. Three days after its post-natal burial it is able to frisk with its dam and begin to take up the musk-calf's burden. [Illustration: The Musk-ox] We are all day and all night crossing Great Slave Lake from Fort Rae to Fort Resolution. Food values and the outgoing cargo of fur are the topics of conversation. Years ago a delicate baby at Rae required milk, and with trouble and expense a cow was evolved from somewhere and deposited at the front door of the H.B. Co. Factor there--a cow but no cow-food. All animals must learn to be adaptable in the North. She was fed on fish and dried meat, lived happily, and produced milk after her kind. One of Mr. Keele's men tells of a horse on the Yukon side which ate bacon-rinds with a relish. The dogs at Smith eat raspberries, climb trees for a succulent moss, and when times are really hard become burglars, burgling bacon in the night season, and even being ghoulish enough to visit Indian cemeteries to pick a bone with the dead. A dog in the North Country is surely qualifying for some canine heaven in the asphodel meadows. I know of no created being who is undergoing a sterner probation than this creature forced by man and the exigencies of Fate to work like a horse in winter and live on air in summer. From Great Slave Lake to Chipewyan the days are enlivened with stories from the outgoing traders. We learn that when the church was still young, some priests on the Mackenzie hungered after flesh-pots in the wilderness and wrote to the Pope, asking him whether beaver-tails were to be considered fish, or flesh. Rome evidently was not "long" on North American mammals and put itself into the class of Nature fakers forever by declaring said tails "fish" and not flesh. This is why you can discuss beaver-tails on top of the world on Fridays to this present and commit no sin. The stories give us some idea of the difference between winter and summer travel across Great Slave Lake. Captain Mills tells of two Indian women, one old enough to have a daughter of forty, who drove a dogsled one hundred and forty-eight miles from Providence to Rae, in four days. The older one walked ahead of the dogs and made the trail while the other drove. Coming back, it took them five days, and the old woman explained, "We didn't make such good time, as we had a man with us." It was her son-in-law whom she brought back with her. A striking picture is given us of a woman who walked alone from Hay River to Province on snowshoes, taking thirteen days to do it. She had no matches, and carried her fire with her, keeping it alight in a little copper kettle. This, of course, necessitated her guarding it very closely and stopping to renew the fire from time to time; for if the burning wood was once permitted to die down, her life in that intense cold would go out with it. How cold does it get? Mr. Campbell Young, of our little group, says that he has been out when a thermometer--one obtained from the U.S. Meteorological Station--registered seventy-six degrees below zero, and has worked in weather like that. "I've been trapping in that temperature, when of course the weather was absolutely still, and I tell you I'd rather be out in seventy-six below than to cross Smith Portage with the mosquitoes." Mr. Christie, of the Keele Survey Party, says, "Last winter I had to go out and get a moose for the camp, and on the second day I met the Mounted Police boys who told me it had been seventy-five below. I had started out when it was quite mild, only forty-five below. You know when it is below fifty, for then your breath begins to crackle, and that's a sure sign." Mr. John Gaudet says, "I was driving last winter on Lesser Slave Lake when it was sixty-four below. Yes, it was quite cold." At Resolution we see once more our old friend Dr. Sussex, happy and busied among his Indians. It is just hail and farewell. The little "red lemonade" kiddies are the first to greet us as we come into Fort Smith, and here everybody goes visiting. Mrs. (Archdeacon) Macdonald tells us that her grandfather had two wives, and was the father of twenty-two children. She says she and her brother are glad of this, as it gives them so many friends in all parts of the country; and we notice that at every port where we stop Mrs. MacDonald has friends to visit--a cousin here, and an auntie there. The fancy bag in which you carry your calling cards and little friendly gifts up here is a "musky-moot"; the more formidable receptacle, which gives your friends warning that you may stay a day or two, is a "_skin-ichi-mun."_ Visiting a little on our own account, we note that we have penetrated to a latitude into which the gaudy calendars of the advertiser have not yet made their way. Each man, foolish enough here to want a calendar, marks out his own on pencilled paper. We come across an H.B. Journal of the vintage of 1826 where the reckless scribe introduces two Thursdays into one week, acknowledging his error in a footnote with the remark, "It is not likely that the eye of man will ever read this record." At Fort Smith we leave the steamer _Mackenzie River_ to take passage in the _Grahame_ from Smith's Landing, and once more essay the Mosquito Portage. We find our winged friends in fine fettle. Their eyes are not dimmed, their strength not abated. For miles we notice blackened and dead stems of young spruce, cut off as if by machinery, at a uniform height of two and a half feet from the ground. The top of the dead stem shows the depth of the snow when the rabbits, running along the surface, had nibbled off and eaten the growing spruce. A fur-trader at our side says, "While at Fort Macpherson I noticed that the ice always melted in the spring in Peel's River before it did in the Mackenzie. It would break up in the Peel about the Queen's Birthday and begin to go out. Reaching the Mackenzie, it came up against a solid mass of unbroken ice which sent it back to flood the whole country. It was a curious experience to paddle round in a canoe for miles and miles where one had set rabbit snares but a few weeks before. The poor rabbits themselves were at a loss, for no kind monition apprised them of the coming flood. We could see whole colonies of them,--each a shipwrecked sailor on his own little raft of bark, buffeted here and there with the stream and peering out across the swollen waters, like Noah's dove, seeking some green thing." CHAPTER XVIII TO MCMURRAY AND BACK TO THE PEACE "Think o' the stories round the camp, the yarns along the track-- O' Lesser Slave an' Herschel's Isle an' Flynn at Fond du Lac; Of fur an' gun, an' ranch an' run, an' moose and caribou, An' bull-dogs eatin' us to death! Good-bye--good luck to you!" Our arrival at Chipewyan is opportune. Honorine Daniels, unceremoniously known as 'Norine among her friends (and they are legion), is about to join hand and fortune with one of the Mercredi boys. 'Norine owns a cottage in her own right, and to-night under her roof-tree there is to be a wedding-dance. We wait round, hungering for an invitation, finally to be told largely, "You don't need no invitation, everybody goes." We go with the crowd. The room is full to overflowing. Babies are deposited on the benches along the wall, dogs look in at the window. The air is heavy with mosquitoes and tobacco-smoke. But joy reigns. Nobody is too old or too obese to dance. Old Mr. Loutit and lame Jimmy Flett each secures a sonsy partner. There are three fiddlers, and these relieve each other in turn, for fiddling, beating time with your moccasin on the earthen floor, and "calling out" is hard work for one man. There are but two kinds of dances,--the Red River jig, and a square dance which probably had for honourable ancestors the lancers on the father's side and a quadrille on the mother's. Endurance is a sign of merit in the Red River jig. A man or woman steps into the limelight and commences to jig, a dark form in moccasins slips up in front of the dancer, and one jigs the other down, amid plaudits for the survivor and jeers for the quitter. It is the square dance that interests us, our attention being divided between watching the deft forms in the half light and listening to the caller-off. _Louie-the-Moose_ first officiates. His eyes look dreamy but there is a general's stern tone of command in his words: "Ladeez, join de lily-white han's, Gents, your black-and-tan! Ladeez, bow! Gents, bow-wow! Swing 'em as hard's ye can. "Swing your corner Lady, Then the one you love! Then your corner Lady, Then your Turtle Dove!" Over and over again Louie reiterates his injunction, to the accompaniment of pattering moccasins and a humming chorus from door and windows. There are phrases of variation, too. We catch the words, "_Address your pardner," "Adaman left," "Show your steps," "Gents walk round, and all run away to the west_." Then Michel Manvil takes hold of the situation. He stands up to it, and we hear "Ladies round ladies, and gents all so! Ladies round gents, and gents don't go!" Why should they, we wonder! The third fiddler is a full-blooded Chipewyan. In some dancing academy in the woods he has learnt a "call-off" all his own, and proud indeed is he of his stunt. We manage to copy it down in its entirety, fighting mosquitoes the while and dodging out into the open now and again for a little air. "'Slute your ladies! All together! Ladies opposite, the same-- Hit the lumber with yer leathers, Balance all, and swing yer dame! Bunch the moose-cows in the middle! Circle, stags, and do-si-do-- Pay attention to the fiddle! Swing her round, an' off you go! "First four forward! Back to places! Second foller--shuffle back! Now you've got it down to cases-- Swing 'em till their back-teeth crack! Gents, all right, a heel and toeing! Swing 'em, kiss 'em if you kin-- On to next, and keep a-goin' Till you hit your pards ag'in! "Gents to centre; ladies round 'em, Form a basket; balance all! Whirl yer gals to where you found 'em! Promenade around the hall! Balance to yer pards and trot 'em Round the circle, double quick! Grab and kiss 'em while you've got 'em-- Hold 'em to it; they won't kick!" The perspiring musician pushes his instrument into the hands of _Running Antelope_ and turns to us with, "There's another verse, but I don't always give it." We ask him to repeat it for us, but he seems a little at a loss. "It's hard to call it out without the fiddle. When yer playin' you just spit it out--the words come to you." It is August 6th at Chipewyan, and once again we are at the parting of the ways. Every one we know is heading for "Outside" by way of the steamer _Grahame_ and the Athabasca scows. Our own ambition is to make a traverse of the great Peace River Country before the snows. We have had no mail since last May, and the temptation to follow the multitude as far as McMurray in the hope of finding letters there is too strong to be resisted. We will then return and try to perfect arrangements for the Peace. The outgoers are a cosmopolitan and happy "bunch,"--Major Jarvis, R.N.W.M.P., fur-traders galore, three Grey Nuns and a priest, Mr. Wyllie and his family bound for the Orkney Islands, fifty-four souls in all, without counting the miscellaneous and interesting fraternity down on the lower deck among the fur-bundles. It is essentially a _voyage de luxe_. When Mr. Keele imagines a place is good, the steamer stops and we all gather fossils. When lame James, the steward, our erstwhile jig-expert, is about to serve coffee, he pokes his head over the side and orders the engines stopped that we may drink the beverage without spillage. The beardless prospector buys tinned peaches from the commissariat, opens them with a jack-knife and passes them round the deck with impartiality and a to-hell-with-the-man-that-works smile. Who would envy kings? We arrive at McMurray in time for treaty-payment. Tethered horses at the tepee-poles, store-dolls for the babies, and unmistakable "Outside" millinery prove the prosperity of these Crees, and proves also their proximity to Edmonton. One little group looks tattered, out-at-heel, and hungry,--a Cree widow presenting her four offspring that they may receive the annual payment. The officials within the treaty tent declare the youngest baby an illegitimate child and will pay it no treaty,--it "has no name." I catch the anxious look in the mother's eye. Five dollars goes a long way when baby bodies have to be fed and clothed. The situation is crucial. Without a sponsor, the priest will not name the baby. With no name, it cannot draw treaty. I conclude to father the child, as its own (un)lawful father will not. My offer to give my name to the girlie, after due deliberation of Church and State, is accepted. Under the name of Agnes Deans Cameron the Cree kiddie is received into the Mother Church and finds her place on the list of treaty-receiving Indians--No. 53 in the McMurray Band. May she follow pleasant trails! [Illustration: A Meadow at McMurray] Back of McMurray lies a lush land. We tread a path a full mile in length leading to meadows where, belly-high, the horses graze. Every yard of our way is lined with raspberry bushes bent with their rich, red burden. While the furs are being transferred from the _Grahame_ to the scows, the working of our typewriter is a matter of much wonderment. Old Paul Fontaine, a half-breed who thinks he is a white man, first looks through the door, then comes into the dining hall where we are, takes his hat off, and watches respectfully. Then, with an air of great conviction, "This is the first time I ever see that. It is wonderful what man can do--wonderful. There is only one thing left to be done now--and that is to put the breath of life into a dead body." Solemnly putting on his hat, he turns and walks out. Mrs. Loutit, another fellow-passenger attracted by the click of the machine, comes in and recounts her arts, wild and tame. In winter she goes off in dog-cariole, traps cross-foxes off her own bat, shoots moose, and smokes the hide according to the ancient accepted mode. Coming home, she takes the smoked hide and works upon it silk embroidery of a fineness which would be the envy of any young ladies' seminary in Europe or America. She weaves fantastic belts of beads and sets the fashion for the whole North in _chef d'oeuvres_ of the quills of the porcupine. She is a most observant "old wife." Watching, fascinated, the lightning play of the machine, "Much hard that, I think, harder than bead-work, eh?" Conquering her timidity, she at last glides across to find out how the dickens when you strike capital "A" at one end of the keyboard, it finds itself in the writing next to small "o" at the other end. There is something uncanny about it, and our stock goes up. [Illustration: Starting up the Athabasca] We confess to being a little homesick as we wave farewell to the half hundred passengers in the familiar scows embarked for their two hundred and thirty-eight mile journey up the Athabasca. It will be a tiresome enough trip, though, for every foot of the way the big boats will have to be tracked (towed) by teams of half-breeds scrambling along the shore, now on land, now splashing in the water. The party will have the mosquito as companion on the sorrowful way and it will take them four weeks to make Athabasca Landing, the distance which in the spring we dropped down in little over a week. We send letters home, and with hand-shaking all round bid farewell to Mr. Wyllie, the Grey Nuns, and the rest. [Illustration: On the Clearwater] Our way back on the _Grahame_ to Chipewyan is not without adventure. At three o'clock in the afternoon we run up hard and fast on a batture! There is no swearing, no shouting of orders. The deck-hands from long experience know exactly what to do. The engines are reversed and, in their efforts, seem to speak Cree, for we catch the sound of the familiar "Wuh! Wey!" But it is no go. The sun sinks behind the bank, over the tops of the poplars floats a faint rosy glow which fades into purple and then into black, and we are still there hard and fast. The drifting sand piles up against us, and, in scows, the whole cargo is removed. The captain throws out a kedge-anchor, and in a mysterious way we pull ourselves off by hawsers, as a man lifts himself by his own boot-straps. We have head-winds all the way. At four o'clock on the morning of August 14th, stress of weather causes us to run in under the lee of an island. We tie up at the base of some splendid timber. Spruce here will give three feet in diameter twenty feet from the ground. With an improvised tape-line I go ashore and measure the base-girth of three nearby big poplars (rough-backed). The first ran seven feet three inches, the second exactly eight feet, and the third eight feet four inches. Within view were fifty of these trees which would run the same average, and interspersed with them were spruce with a base-girth scarcely less. Arrived at Chipewyan, we are able to arrange to be taken up the Peace in the same little tug _Primrose_ which had before carried us so safely to Fond du Lac. CHAPTER XIX UP THE PEACE TO VERMILION "What lies ahead no human mind can know, To-morrow may bring happiness or woe. We cannot carry charts, save the hope that's in our hearts As along the unknown trail we blithely go." When we leave Chipewyan August 17th, the fall hunt of waveys has already begun. We learn afterwards that the Loutit boys alone made a bag of sixteen hundred of these birds which, salted down, form a considerable part of the winter food of the old Fort. Mrs. William Johnson comes down to see us embark. She has overwhelmed us with generous kindness at our every visit to Chipewyan, kindness we cannot soon forget. It is a small group which now starts out in the little tug on the bosom of the mighty Peace,--Major Routledge, R.N.W.M.P., Mr. and Mrs. John Gaudet with their two olive-branches "Char-lee" and "Se-li-nah," now returning to Lesser Slave Lake from a visit to Fort Good Hope, Miss Brown and myself. This part of the journey we are to enjoy more keenly than all that has gone before. Rising on the western side of the Rocky Mountains, the Peace River is the largest affluent of the Mackenzie, being already a splendid stream when it cuts through that range. With but one break, the Peace River affords a nine hundred mile stretch of navigation, and we can justly describe the country through which it flows as a plateau in which the river has made for itself a somewhat deep valley. Extensive grassy plains border it on both sides, and north of Fort Vermilion country of this character extends to the valley of the Hay River. Crossing the Quatre Fourches, an offshoot of the Peace at the Lake Athabasca edge, we turn our faces due west to a land of promise. The Mackenzie River and the banks of the Great Slave may some day afford homes to a busy and prosperous populace, but there are many fertile and more accessible lands to be settled first. With the Peace River Country there is no conjecture, for it is merely a question of the coming of the railway. Given a connection with the world to the south, the district watered by the Peace will at once support a vast agrarian population. The advance riders are already on the ground. It is not our intent to go to the expense of using a steamer for our whole journey up the Peace. Scows will allow us to proceed more leisurely and to see more as we go, so the second day we turn the steamer back and transfer ourselves and our belongings into a little open craft or model-boat _The Mee-wah-sin._ We have a crew of five men, one on the steering-sweep and four to track, and in this wise we make our way for three hundred miles up the great river to Fort Vermilion. One day we improvise a sail and so make fifty miles in a favourable wind, but, with this exception, every other mile of the journey is by patient towing. Incidents are many. The first morning after we turned back the little tug, the Kid and I left the slow trackers behind and were glad to stretch ourselves in a long forenoon's tramp along the sandy beach. The mosquitoes were practically gone and for the first time all summer one could really enjoy the woods, where a tang of autumn in the air made every breath a tonic draught. Exulting in the fact that we were alive, we turned a sharp corner and came suddenly face to face with a grey wolf, loping along at a swinging pace at the water's edge, muzzle close to the ground! To make the story worth telling, one should have something to say of "yawning jaws" and "bloodshot eyes" and "haunches trembling for a spring." But this grey wolf simply refused to play that part. He took one look at us, evidently didn't approve, and turned up from his tracks quietly into the cottonwoods above. As we on our side had brought neither gun nor camera from the _Mee-wah-sin_, we are unable to punctuate the story by either pelt or picture. _Sic transit lupus_! A week out from Chipewyan, where the Swan River makes into the Peace, we came one glorious afternoon upon a camp of Crees, the family of the _Se-weep-i-gons_. They had just killed two bears. We bought the skins and a large portion of meat from them, and Mrs. _Se-weep-i-gon_ very kindly added to the feast of fat things some high-bush cranberries "in a present." As an excuse for listening to their soft voices, before we left the camp we asked the name of every member of the little group, scratching the list down on a piece of birchbark. The Crees evidently considered this an official ceremony, for after we had paid our score and shaken hands with everybody from Grandpa to the latest baby and were well out in mid-stream, Mrs. _Se-weep-i-gon_ came running down to the bank to call us back. Rowing to the shore we found that she had remembered one more child whose name she wanted to add to the list. She assured us that this one too had a little brass cross hanging round his neck, so we will be sure to know him if we meet him in the woods. We lived for the next two days on bear-meat and cranberries. [Illustration: Evening on the Peace] So one wonderful day follows another as our little boat is towed first against one bank then another of this majestic stream. The forest growth is a marvel. We measure one morning three of the spruce trees to which our tent-ropes are tied, and get for base measurement six feet eight inches, five feet two inches, and five feet respectively. The trees averaged ninety feet in height and would give perhaps one thousand feet to each tree. The autumn tints on the willows and alders of the high river-banks are indescribably beautiful. We pass through one hundred miles of a veritable field of the cloth of gold. We look out of our tent-flaps at night on this living glory, and wake up to it again with each new morning sun. One Sunday evening at dusk we slip into the Hudson's Bay post where the Little Red River makes into the Peace, the dear home of Tom Kerr, his Scottish wife, and their four bairns. Let me try to give the picture. Tom had been off all day cutting meadowgrass, and now wended his way home with a load of it in a little Old Country cart drawn by a wall-eyed mare. At her side frisked a foal, and two great stag-hounds ran back and forward between the master and his home by the riverside. Three children bounded out to greet their father. "Oh! Daddy, Daddy, the red coo broke away from the byre and is far awa on the ither side o' the burn!" Here, in a nutshell, you have the difference between the Mackenzie River of to-day and the Peace River. On the Mackenzie, swarthy forms are in evidence, Cree and French is spoken on all sides, there are no great fields of waving grain, and the dog is the only domestic animal. On the Peace is an essentially white race, cows, chickens, trustworthy old nags, porridge for breakfast, "the tongue that Shakespeare spake," rendered in an accent born far ayont the Tweed. Right across the mouth of the Little Red River, Tom Kerr has a fishing scine. We go down with him to lift it, after the cows have been brought back to the narrow path. The net yields seven fish and they are of five different species,--trout, ling, sucker, jack-fish, and something else that Tom calls a "Maria." Daily this net is set, and for three hundred and sixty-five days every year it furnishes food for the family, in summer in the flowing water, and in winter under the ice. You couldn't starve at Little Red River if you wanted to. This is one of the most beautiful spots in the whole North Countree. Long after Tom and we and Mrs. Tom are under the gowans, and the little Kerrs possess the land, there will be populous cities along the Peace, and millionaires will plant their summer villas on the beauteous spot where we now stand. [Illustration: Our Lobsticks on the Peace] Bidding the bairns good-bye, we press onward on our way, Tom Kerr accompanying us. A great honour awaits us round the next corner, when the boatmen announce that they are going to make us each a lobstick. We land, as pleased as Punch over the suggestion. We now know what it feels like when the philanthropist of a village takes his after-dinner walk through the square and sees the sparrows drinking from the memorial fountain surmounted with his own bust, done in copper, life-size. It takes fully two hours to trim the trees into significant shape, but the beauty of this particular kind of Cook's Tour is that you go down when you like and stop when you want to. The lobsticks furnished, the men form a circle and discharge their muskets in salute, and on we go. We learn that the ethics of lobsticks is that each of these men, should Fate take him past this point again, will salute the lobstick just made and send a strong thought across the spruce-tops to us. There is a reverse to the shield. Should we, at any time before this journey ends, fail to make good, the men on the return voyage will cut the lobstick down. We are going to make no impertinent enquiries regarding the ulterior fate of these family trees. Is it not sufficient glory to say, "On the Peace River we _had_ a lobstick"? The Chutes of the Peace! These will live forever with the Ramparts of the Mackenzie as the two most majestic visions which the whole North Land gave us. We had not been prepared for that wonderful spectacle which met us as we turned a sharp point in the river. The torrent roars for four or five hundred yards of rapid riverway before coming to its great drop. The rock-reef over which the cataract falls extends quite across the mighty Peace, here a river of immense width. Measured in feet and inches, the Chutes of the Peace must take second place to Niagara, yet they impress us as Niagara never did. The awesome silence of this land so pregnant with possibilities, a land which, though it echo now only the quiet foot of the Cree, is so unmistakably a White Man's Country, intensifies the sense of majesty and power which here takes possession of us. The men talk of the water-power furnished by the great falls, and hazard guesses of the future economic purposes to which it will be put. For our own part, our one wish is to get away from the noise of even these subdued voices and in silence feast our very souls on this manifestation of the power of God. The thoughts that we feel cannot be put into words. Why attempt the impossible? [Illustration: The Chutes of the Peace] Our way lies beyond this, and the Chutes have to be overcome. These half-breeds know exactly what to do in every emergency which arises. Only one of the men has traversed this river before, and he gives orders. We strip our little _Mee-wah-sin_ of her temporary masts and canvas awning and take out all our belongings. Everybody works. A purchase is obtained by throwing a pulley and rope over a nearby jack-pine, and the boat is pulled out bodily from the water. Then the crew drag her along the shore well beyond the head of the rapid, and we make camp. [Illustration: Pulling out the _Mee-wah-sin_] These delicious nights within the tent are memories that will remain through all the years to come. It is cool and silent and productive of thought. We are selfishly glad that fifty people went out by Athabasca ways, leaving to us all the mighty reaches and pleasant pastures of the Peace. The midnight is flooded by a glorious moon, and the thoughts born this afternoon of that stupendous fall have driven sleep far away. Opening the tent-flap, I slip through the camp of sleeping Indians to the edge of the fast-flowing stream. The feeling is insistent here which has been ever-present since we entered this valley of the Peace--here is the home prepared and held in waiting for the people who are to follow. "Listening there, I heard all tremulously Footfalls of Autumn passing on her way, And in the mellow silence every tree Whispered and crooned of hours that are to be. Then a soft wind like some small thing astray Comes sighing soothingly." CHAPTER XX VERMILION-ON-THE-PEACE "Lofty I stand from each sister land, patient and cheerily wise, With the weight of a world of wonder in my quiet, passionless eyes, Dreaming of men who will bless me, of women esteeming me good, Of children born in my borders, of radiant motherhood, Of cities leaping to stature, of fame like a flag unfurled, As I pour the tide of my riches in the eager lap of the world." --_Service_. It is on August 27th, in the evening, that the crew, all slicked up in their Sunday-go-to-meetings, draw us up on the beach of the City in the Silences, this Past-in-the-arms-of-the-Present,--Vermilion-on-the-Peace. The first thing to meet our eye is the red roof of the flour-mill of the H.B. Co., a picture of progressiveness set in a living frame of golden wheat, the heavy heads nodding to the harvest. Vermilion is an old post of the Old Company. Alexander Mackenzie on his way to the Pacific found people at work here far back in 1792. The Vermilion of to-day stands a living monument to the initiative faith and hard work largely of one man, Mr. Francis D. Wilson, who has had charge of H.B. Co. interests here for nineteen years. Mr. Wilson found this place a fur-post on the edge of civilisation, and he has made of it a commercial, agricultural, and manufacturing centre. And his example has been contagious, for the half-breeds around him have become farmers, the Indians who traded furs a dozen years ago now buy harness and ploughs and breach-loading guns from The Company, paying for the same with wheat of their own growing. [Illustration: The Flour Mill at Vermilion-on-the-Peace] Vermilion is in latitude 58° 30' N.,--that is, about four hundred miles due north of Edmonton, and on practically the same parallel as Stockholm. The flour-mill that we now inspect is the most northerly wheat-mill on this continent, and it has been running for five years. It is the roller process, with a capacity of fifty barrels a day, the motor-power being a 40 H.P. Corliss engine. The wheat which feeds these rollers is all grown in nearby fields, and the resultant flour is consumed by the people of the lone posts of the Peace and the lower Mackenzie. Two years ago the H.B. Company paid to farmers, all of whom lived within a radius of five miles from the mill, the sum of $27,000 spot cash for their wheat. An electric plant lights the mill and fort buildings, affording fifty six-candle-power lights. Right up to the door of the mill extends the sixty-acre wheat-field of the H.B. Company, from which Mr. Wilson computes that he will this year thrash two thousand bushels. If the H.B. wheat-field were to sell the H.B. mill these two thousand bushels at $1.25 a bushel (the ruling Vermilion price), there would be a net profit of $1500, after paying all expense of culture, to the credit of one branch of Mr. Wilson's commercial institution. For thirty years, wheat, oats, barley, and vegetables have been grown in Vermilion, not as an experiment, but as regular commercial crops. Cereals are sown late in April or early in May, and the harvest is gathered in August. More than once, wheat has matured in eighty-six days from seed-sowing to seed-garnering. Vermilion farmers boast sulkies and gang-ploughs and the latest geared McCormick, Massey-Harris, and Deering farm implements,--self-binders and seeders. Everything is up-to-date. We ourselves counted fifteen self-binders at work. And grain is not the whole story. The farmers own thoroughbred Ayrshire stock and splendid horses. I happened to be at the garden of the Church of England Mission when the potato-crop was being harvested, and found that seven bags of seed planted in the middle of May produced one hundred bags by the end of August. Five potatoes that I gathered haphazard from one heap weighed exactly five and one-half pounds. I photographed and weighed a collection of vegetables grown by Robert Jones on the Dominion Experimental Farm. [Illustration: Articles Made by Indians A--Wall-pocket of white deerskin, embroidered in silk-work, and bordered with ermine--the work of a Cree woman at Vermilion-on-the-Peace. B--Gloves of white deerskin embroidered in silk, the work of a Slavi woman on the Liard River (a branch of the Mackenzie). C, D, E, F, G, H, I--Moccasins as worn respectively by the Crees, Chipewyans, Slavis, Dog-Ribs, Yellow-Knives, Loucheux--all the work of the women. J.--Flour bag from the mill at Vermilion-on-the-Peace, the most northerly flour-mill in America. K--Sinew, from close to the spine of the moose--used by the women of the North instead of thread. L--Very valuable net of willow-bark made by an old squaw at Fort Resolution. This is almost a lost art, and harks back to the pre-string days. M--The "crooked knife" or knife of the country. N--Match-box made from a copper kettle by an old Beaver Indian at Fort Vermilion-on-the-Peace. O--_Babiche_, or rawhide of the moose or caribou--"the iron of the country."] One cauliflower weighed eight pounds, half a dozen turnips weighed nine pounds each, and twenty table beets would easily average six pounds each. The carrots and onions were sown in the open in mid-May and were as inviting specimens as I have ever seen. Tomatoes ripened in the open air on this farm on July 13th. Peas, sown on May 23rd and gathered on August 12th, weighed sixty-four pounds to the bushel. Experimental plots of turnips gave sixteen tons to the acre, and white carrots twelve tons. Apple-trees and roses we found flourishing on this farm, with twenty-five varieties of red, black, and white currants. The wheat story is of compelling interest. Preston wheat, sown on May 6th and cut on August 22nd, weighed sixty-four pounds to the bushel; Ladoga wheat, sown on the last day of April and cut on September 5th, ran sixty-four pounds to the bushel also, and early Riga weighed sixty-three pounds. In the garden of the R.C. Mission we were presented with splendid specimens of ripened corn and with three cucumbers grown in the open air, which weighed over a pound each. [Illustration: The Hudson's Bay Store] Vermilion is the centre of prairie and rolling timber-land greater in extent than the whole of Belgium. There are probably a million acres of land immediately tributary to the place, all capable of producing crops like those cited. Within a radius of ten miles of the H.B. post there are living now five hundred people of whom perhaps fifty are white. They all to some extent cultivate the soil, varying their farm operations by hunting, trapping, and freighting. The settlement boasts two churches, two mission schools, and two trading stores,--a happy, prosperous, and very progressive community. Everything in the place points to this conclusion. The H.B. Company here, in addition to buying beaver-skins and growing $1.25 wheat and grinding flour and importing big red binders, breaks the monotony by running a sawmill and building modern steamboats. This sawmill turned out all the lumber for the new steamer _Peace River_, built here four years ago of native timber. She is a hundred and ten-foot stern-wheeler with twenty-two-foot beam, drawing two and a half feet and carrying forty tons burden. She can accommodate thirty passengers in comfortable cabins, and when going with the current, makes fifteen knots an hour. The sawmill which turned out the timbers for this boat has a capacity of fifteen thousand feet a day. Within this mill I took, at random, the record sheet of one raft of one man's logs for the spring of 1906, cut in the immediate vicinity of Vermilion and floated along the Peace to the mill. Edmond Paul's logs in one raft gave a total of two hundred and eighty-eight logs, which cut at the mill 27,029 board feet of lumber. The biggest log in this raft was a twelve-foot log with twenty-six inches diameter at the small end, which cut three hundred and sixty-three feet of lumber. Vermilion in its soil fertility, its modernism, culture, and arrived-ness is a source of recurring marvel and pleasure. If a handful of people four hundred miles from a railway, as the crow flies, and seven hundred miles by actual practicable trails, can accomplish what has been done, into what status of producing activity will this whole country spring when it is given rail communication with the plains-people to the south? Waiting for steamboat connection, we are for weeks in this glorious autumn weather, guests in the hospitable home of Mr. and Mrs. Wilson. Can we ever forget the generous kindness extended to us within these walls? Months of travel in open scows, sleeping on the ground, and stretching out in blankets on the decks of little tugs have prepared us to enjoy to the full the comforts of a cultured home. It is a modern house, with beds of old-fashioned pansies and sweet-Williams and rows of hollyhocks on all sides. The upper verandah affords a view of the Peace, here fully a mile in width, of incomparable beauty. To the visitor who steps over its threshold, Mr. Wilson's library indicates at once the reading man and the clever artificer. Scientific works of reference, good pictures, the latest magazines, certainly look inviting to ragged travellers who have opened no books, save those of nature and human-nature, for five long months. The office furniture, hand-made of native tamarack and birch, is Mr. Wilson's individual work in both design and execution. Admiring the outcome of hand and head, we get also a glimpse of a warm heart, for we are quick to notice that all these carefully-filed magazines and papers are available for reference to any one in the settlement, whether fort employé or not, who cares to come in here for a quiet hour to read. Kipling says, "You couldn't pack a Broadwood half a mile," but the Wilson home gives the lie direct to this, blithe line. In a corner of the drawing-room stands an old-fashioned piano with a history. The honourable ancestress of all the modern square pianos and baby-grands of Canada, this little instrument came long years ago in the hold of a sailing ship to Hudson Bay, and by interior waterways was carried by portage and York-boat into Winnipeg, and subsequently into Edmonton. It carries on it the name of John Broadwood & Sons, London. Mrs. Wilson tells us that when she was little it was carried by the boys from house to house on the prairies to do duty wherever there was a social dance. The ghost of the old thing has much quiet here in Vermilion to think of the pretty girls in their short sleeves and muslin frocks who once trod Sir Rogers to its sweet strains. Mrs. Wilson, the grand-daughter of Peter Warren Dease, the explorer, and the daughter of late Chief Factor Clarke of the H.B. Co., has put in a life of loving service among the people of Vermilion. Her knowledge of medicine and her devoted attention and nursing, extended in the hour of need alike to Indians and whites, has saved the life of many a mother and child; for doctors and professional nurses are unknown in Vermilion. These are the pioneer days, when interdependence breeds neighbourly kindness. Everything on a Vermilion dinner-table is produced in the country, with the exception only of tea, coffee, sugar, and pepper. The country furnishes beef, pork, and fowl all locally matured; home-cured ham and bacon; every known variety of hardy and tender vegetables; home-made butter; bread made from flour grown and ground on the premises; pies whose four constituents--flour, lard, butter and fruit--are products of the country; home-made cheese; wild honey; home-made wines; splendid fish caught from the Peace, and a bewildering variety of wild game--moose, caribou, venison, grouse, brant, wild geese, canvas-backs, and mallards. Wild berries furnish jams and conserves of a dozen different kinds, such as raspberry, black currant, strawberry, blackberry, cranberry, blueberry, and saskatoon. The salt comes from Slave River, and sugar could very readily be produced from Vermilion beets if there should arise a market. What more would you? The Vermilionese on his fertile acres is as independent of the world outside as is the Eskimo in his Arctic igloo. The farm of Sheridan Lawrence, exhibiting its wide-stretching wheat-fields, some heads of which counted seventy-one kernels, with its patches of one-pound potatoes, twelve-foot sunflowers, and its quiverful of happy, tow-headed children, gives as sweet a picture of Canadian thrift and happiness as one would wish to see. Indeed, happiness seems to be the keynote of Vermilion, whether we seek it within the fort walls of the H.B. Co., on the fat acres of the farmers, or within the folds of Protestant or Roman Mission. [Illustration: Papillon, a Beaver Brave] We carry away with us two pictures, that we like to cherish, of the convent kiddies of Vermilion. The first thing we saw when we peered round a corner of this old-fashioned building was the bright face of Sister Thomas of Canterbury playing see-saw with a dozen wide-grinning Slavi babies. When the morning came when we were to bid reluctant good-bye to Vermilion and all its spontaneous kindness, the last sight that met our eyes before we turned the corner of the Peace was the whole convent force of Vermilion perched high on stumps and fence-rails, wishing us _bon voyage_ with fluttering pocket-handkerchiefs, while Sister Thomas of Canterbury, on a ladder, surmounted the crowd and waved her farewells with a table-cloth. CHAPTER XXI FORT VERMILION TO LESSER SLAVE "'Tis a summer such as broods O'er enchanted solitudes, Where the hands of Fancy lead us through voluptuary moods, And with lavish love outpours All the wealth of out-of-doors." --_James Whitcomb Riley_. [Illustration: Going to School in Winter] On September 15th we leave Vermilion, leave, too, on the beach the little _Mee-wah-sin,_ and in the tiny tug _Messenger_ of the H.B. Company pass on up the Peace. By night we tent on the banks, by day we puff along between painted banks of gold and crimson, while all around us the air is a pungent tonic, and overhead the southward-passing cranes are flying. Little Se-li-nah, the sturdiest of travelling companions through months of wandering over portage and up river, has won our unbounded respect and created for herself a warm place in every heart. Se-li-nah, though, makes it impossible for us to pose as brave endurers of hardships. Each night and morning she carries her little pack on and off shore, takes her share of pot-luck at _meat-su,_ and is never cross. Bless the kiddie! If ablutions seem to her a work of supererogation and our daily play of toothbrush furnishes all the fascination of the unknown, still hers is the right stuff for pioneer lands and she has lessons to teach us in pluck and endurance. The first night out from Vermilion we made camp after dark and, on waking, found that in our blankets we had lain directly across four new bear-tracks. Moose-tracks are plentiful at every stopping-place, so we see to it that both guns and camera are primed. At eight next morning we pass Not-in-a-gu Seepee. Some Indians hail us, asking for tea, and from these we learn that ten families who made this their winter camp last season bagged eighty moose among them. At half-past two our chance came. To get away from the noise of the engine, the Kid and I had moved our work directly after breakfast to a flour-laden scow that we had in tow, and I was dictating this story to the machine when the sharp eyes of Showan in the distance spied a moose. He was on the shore cropping willows. It had been generously agreed that if opportunity offered at a moose the shot was to be mine, so in excited whispers the news is telegraphed to our end of the scow and my rifle is handed up. The fireman slows up on the engine, but still its throbbing sounds distressingly loud as we creep up on the feeding moose and scan the lay of the land, calculating his chances of escape. The banks are high,--perhaps one hundred and fifty feet--and sheer, but there are two gullies which afford runway to the bench above. What an ungainly creature he looks as we draw in nearer, all legs and clumsy head,--a regular grasshopper on stilts! He reminds me of nothing so much as those animals we make for the baby by sticking four matches into a sweet biscuit. And now at last he sees us. I fire, and the shot just grazes his spine. Will he take to a gully? No, he plunges into the river instead and we follow him up in the little tug. One more shot is effective, and I have killed my premier moose. "Cruel!" you say. Well, just you live from mid-May to mid-September without fresh meat, as, with the exception of Vermilion's flesh-pots, we have done, and then find out if you would fly in the face of Providence when the Red Gods send you a young moose! To illuminate the problem I transcribe the menu of one sample week of the summer. [Illustration: My Premier Moose] This is the literal "dope sheet" of the camp cook: _Monday_:--Dried caribou and rice. _Tuesday_:--Salt fish and prunes. _Wednesday_:--Mess-pork and dried peaches. _Thursday_:--Salt horse and macaroni. _Friday_:--Sow-belly and bannock. _Saturday_:--Blue-fish and beans. _Sunday_:--Repeat. Dragged ashore, the moose proved to be a male of two prongs, about eighteen months old, and weighed perhaps four or five hundred pounds. A full-grown moose of this country will sometimes dress half a ton. We are to learn that there are many viewpoints from which to approach a moose. The Kid wants its photograph, Chiboo and Mrs. Gaudet each eloquently argue for the skin, the rest of us are gross enough to want to eat it, and Se-li-nah, looking demurely off into the pines, murmurs gently in Cree, "_Marrow_ is nice." Poor young stripling of the Royal House of Moose, you could not have fallen into more appreciative hands! The first thing Baptiste does is to plunge his penknife into the back to see how deep the fat is. We had noticed this testing process before. A bunch of feathers is always plucked off the new-killed bird that one can immediately gauge the gastronomic niche at which to set one's waiting stomach. No more voyaging to-night. The moose is cleaned and skinned. Mrs. Gaudet draws the skin. I claim the head. A little Indian boy, who with his mother had been added to our ship's crew at Carcajou Point, appropriates the kidneys, which he proceeds to roast in the ashes. Ten-year-old Bill evidently likes his devilled kidneys rare, for within three minutes we see him prancing round the camp, nibbling his dripping dainty from the point of an impaling stick. [Illustration: Beaver Camp, on Paddle River] Having sat round the barbecue half the night, we pull out late the next morning. And now, apprised by moccasin telegraph, we are all on the _qui vive_ to catch sight of a floating bride. A fur-trader attached to "The French Company" at Vermilion has been out on six months' leave and is bringing in a bride from Paris. We are to expect them to cross our course on a raft, floating in with the current of the Peace as we make our way upstream. We see the raft. All is excitement. We direct the steersman to draw close in, and the men prime their rifles for a salute. She is not visible,--floating brides on the Peace shrink evidently from being the cynosure of passing eyes. Our men fire their salute, the steersman on the raft looks puzzled when we, smiling our sympathy, peer over the edge of his craft, and see, instead of the Parisian bride,--a load of Poland pigs for Vermilion! It is the wrong raft. The real bride passes us in the gloaming ten hours later, when it is too dark to get a satisfactory photograph! On the evening of September 22nd we arrive at Peace River Crossing, or Peace River Landing, just a week out from Vermilion. Our course from there has been almost due south. We turn the little _Messenger_ back here and regretfully bid good-bye to our staunch and friendly boatmen. No people in the world could be pleasanter to travel with than these splendid men of the North. Indefatigable and ready for any emergency, they know their business and are always master of the situation; moreover, nature has dowered them with an intuitive delicacy as rare as it is pleasing. Through all these weeks, intensely interested as they are in everything that is new, never for a moment have they intruded upon us or our doings. At night there is not a man of them who will not walk a quarter of a mile through the woods rather than pass between our occupied tent and the camp fire. But let us offer to show them pictures or to explain the workings of the camera or the typewriter and it is a different story, for then every man Jack drops his oar or tump-line and rushes to our side like an excited schoolboy. Peace River Crossing is in latitude 56° N. and longitude 117° 20' W. From that far-off day in spring when we first touched the Clearwater we have been following in the historic footprints of Sir Alexander Mackenzie. We now take a day off, with the object of locating Mackenzie's last camp on the Peace, which he reached in 1792 and from which, in the spring of 1793, he started west across the map seeking an unknown route to the Pacific Ocean. We find the remains of that camp. It is in the corner of a potato-field a little way beyond Peace River Crossing and on the opposite side of the river. Only the foundations of the walls are left and the crumbling bricks of two old chimneys. Mackenzie was the first man to cross the continent from sea to sea north of the latitude of Mexico, and it was from this point where we stand that he launched his ambitious canoe. There is no more historic spot on the continent than that on which we stand this September day, and as yet it is all unmarked of commemorative stone or recording tablet. The lost camp had never been photographed until we brought our inquisitive camera to bear upon it. I stoop and pluck from where it nods behind the old chimney a wild larkspur, and as I half-mechanically count its forty-two seed-pods, I try hard to throw back my thoughts to the year 1792,--one hundred and sixteen years. It is a far call! Canada is tardy in her recognition of her early builders of Empire. Our cousins to the south would appear to be more appreciative. In song and story and by a memorial World's Fair the people of the United States have honoured the discoveries of Lewis and Clark, but Mackenzie crossed the continent a full dozen years in advance of these explorers. [Illustration: The Site of old Fort McLeod] Our mind feels back across the centuries to little-known Montreal where, amid the bales of peltries and the trading-trinkets of the Fur Company, a hidden voice is speaking and a young man listens. That young man is Alexander Mackenzie, a self-taught Scot, a Canadian bourgeois. In the noisy midday clatter of the fort he hears the voice, in the waking hours of dawn and "when evening shuts the deed off, calls the glory from the grey." He cannot get away from that haunting challenge, he would not if he could. There are interminable changes rung on the everlasting whisper, but its burden is ever the same. "Something lost behind the Ranges, Lost and waiting for you: Go!" No more might it satisfy him to out-do his competitors and carry back to Grand Portage canoes overflowing with furs. We have seen how the doughty and determined Scot followed to the Arctic the river which now bears his name. It gives us the measure of the man to know that the thought uppermost in the mind of Mackenzie returning from the Arctic was not pride in the deed accomplished but a realization of his limitations in astronomical knowledge. He would go back to Britain and study stars for a time instead of skins, planets for peltries. And back he went in 1791. His first achievement had but whetted his ambition. It was of a Western Sea that he had greatly dreamed among the bearskins and beavers of Montreal, and to that ocean which split its waves "somewhere" far beyond the snow crests of the Rockies he would go. With this strong determination he returned from Scotland, made toilsome way to Fort Chipewyan and pressed up the Peace to make the camp among whose ruins we stand. The breaking of the spring ice of 1793 sent him forth on the quest of that Northwest Passage by Land. "O Young Mariner, Down to the harbor call your companions, Launch your vessel, and crowd your canvas, And, ere it vanishes over the margin, After it. Follow it. Follow the Gleam!" We have not time to recount the chapters of the story, to name the streams ascended, the boiling gorges passed, the discontent allayed, the encouragement given, the lonely night-watches when the leader himself looked for comfort to his new-found stars. The Fraser was discovered, traced for a while; and then, striking westward, Mackenzie heard the beat of the surf upon the rocks, and came out from among the pines to the silver Pacific sparkling in the sun. It was a sweet day in summer's prime, and as the gulls cried overhead and the sun mixed scent of seaweed with balsam breath from in-shore, we can imagine but not divine the feelings of that brave man who had thrown himself face-downward on the sand and from whose presence the awed companions stole silently away. We remember the words of another builder of Empire,-- "Anybody might have found it, But God's whisper came to me." CHAPTER XXII PEACE RIVER CROSSING TO LESSER SLAVE LAKE "A haze on the far horizon, The infinite tender sky, The ripe, rich tint of the cornfields, And the wild geese sailing high,-- And all over upland and lowland The charm of the goldenrod. Some of us call it Autumn, And others call it God." --_W.H. Carruth_. At Peace River Crossing we say good-bye to the Gaudets, whose home is here. While they have been making a little summer jaunt to Fort Good Hope under the Arctic Circle the garden-seeds they sowed before they left have not been idle. Mr. Gaudet shows us a pumpkin which weighs twenty-five pounds, a squash of the same weight, and citron melons, which weigh over ten pounds each. To those who continue up the Peace from here, three great open prairies present themselves: the Spirit River Prairie, the Grande Prairie, and the Pouce Coupé. The Spirit River Prairie spreads over a thousand square miles of splendid soil, sandy loam on a subsoil of clay. Wood and water are plentiful, horses winter in the open, and crops here have never been damaged by frost. Trending south from the H.B. post of Dunvegan, one reaches the Grande Prairie by passing through the fertile belt of Spirit River. Grande Prairie is a loose term given to an area of thirty-five hundred square miles of black-loam country. Settlers in this section never feed their cattle longer than six weeks each winter. [Illustration: Jean Batise, the Pilot on the Peace] The Pouce Coupé would seem perhaps the most attractive of all the Peace River Prairies. The natural vegetation on its one thousand acres proves the soil exceedingly rich. Pea-vine and blue-joint hide a horse here in mid-August, and berry-vines show no touch of frost at mid-September. Shrub-grown knolls dot the rolling surface, while lakes and streams give abundant water. Through three mountain-passes the Chinook drifts in, tempering everything it touches and making it possible for Indians and pack-train men to winter their horses here without any trouble on the naturally-cured grasses. They drive the animals in at the end of autumn, and the horses come out in the spring hardened and fit for work. This is a paradise for wild animals. Rabbits seek the pea-vine, the lynx and the fox follow the rabbits, and the bear finds here the berries that tickle his palate,--blackberries, strawberries, cherries, cranberries, willow-berries, and saskatoons. [Illustration: Fort Dunvegan on the Peace] On September 24th we engage waggons to carry our dunnage a hundred miles south from Peace River Crossing to Lesser Slave Lake. This stands out in our memory as one of the most beautiful bits of the whole ten thousand miles that we travelled. With the cool mornings and evenings and the suggestion of frost in the air it is ideal walking and we tramp almost all of the hundred miles, letting the waggons overtake us at meal-times and waiting for them again when it is time to camp. The trail leads us through a rolling, lightly-wooded country, with many streams and open glades. At every lake and runway we flush ducks and wild-fowl, like us bound south, and like us, too, loath to leave the golden fulness of this land. The sun is strong, the stretch of woods on each side of the trail is a painter's palette splotched with vivid golds, greens, crimsons, and tawny russets. Robins, little moose-birds, and saucy whiskey-jacks are fairly revelling in the berries, crowding close to us, disputing the very berry we are popping into our mouths. Spring lingers late in this Land of Promise. Strawberry blossoms are around us everywhere, nestling amid the ripened fruit, and on September 25th in latitude 56° N. I pluck a little pasque-flower, one beautiful belated anemone. Next evening's tramp brings to view the little settlement of Lesser Slave, and we sigh to realise ourselves another one hundred miles nearer civilisation,--the "civilisation" of Chicago! A strong desire possesses us to about-face and back to the woods again. It is upon all the excitement of the Lesser Slave potato-harvest that we intrude. Every one is busy piling potatoes in heaps, putting them into sacks, wheel-barrowing the bags into winter storage,--men, women, children, cassocked priests, and nuns surrounded by their chattering flocks. A noise in the upper air causes everyone to stop work. We look up, to count a flock of high-sailing cranes floating far to the south,--one hundred and fifty-three of them. The observers make a pretty picture,--the rigid figures and uplifted faces of the monks, the nuns with their up-kilted skirts, the happy children. "It is the _Man with the Hoe_," I murmur. "Yes," assents the Kid, "and _The Angelus at Lesser Slave_." We are the guests at Hudson's Bay House of Mr. and Mrs. George Harvey. Mrs. Harvey is one of the best horsewomen in the North, and it is clear delight, with her as pilot, to find ourselves once more in the "horse latitudes"--though, indeed, it is no belt of cairns where Mrs. Harvey leads. The only real accident of the summer writes itself on this page. The day after our arrival we were incontinently spilled from a democrat and dragged half a mile through the muskeg, being saved only by Mrs. Harvey's splendid pluck and presence of mind. Climbing along the pole, this cool-nerved lady gathered up the lost lines, sawed the horses' mouths, and pulled our craft into the desired haven, incidentally in the act making possible the writing of this "immortal work"! [Illustration: Fort St. John on the Peace] Things are more on the move here than elsewhere we have been. Everybody rides, from grandmothers to two years' babies, and everybody handles a gun. Duck-shooting is at its height, for the wild-fowl linger to feed on their way south at Lesser Slave as they do at Chipewyan. Mr. Harvey and his assistants, Old Country boys, some of whom have seen service in Britain's foreign wars, are all wing-shots, and there is friendly rivalry among them regarding the season's scores. The ducks are shot at dusk. After office hours we watch each little group, equipped with the latest capers in London and Dublin sporting-irons, hie off to the vantage-points in the marshes. On the walls of the office each resultant bag is verified and recorded, the figures being kept from year to year. To make good at Lesser Slave, if you are a man you must ride well, shoot straight, honour The Company, and otherwise play the game. This is the healthy standard Mr. Harvey sets and follows himself. [Illustration: Where King Was Arrested] There is much to tempt the camera here. We see the identical shack in which Sergeant Anderson made his arrest of the murderer King, and, driving along a mile to the garden of the R.C. Mission, we photograph giant cabbages, one of which weighs full forty pounds. [Illustration: Alec Kennedy with His Two Sons] By special good luck we run across Alec Kennedy,--tall, straight, fifty-seven or thereabouts, with a face that shows the mixing of Scotch blood with Sioux. On his coat shine two African Service medals, one granted him by the British and one by the Egyptian government. His grandfather was one of those Selkirk Scots who colonised the Red River a century ago, but, in Kennedy, Indian blood far outweighs the white. He married a full-blood and has several splendid-looking children. At the time of Riel's first half-breed rising, Kennedy's services attracted the notice of Sir Garnet Wolseley. When, in 1844, Wolseley was detailed to lead an expedition for the relief of Chinese Gordon, then at Khartoum, he had to think of the details of river-transportation, and the flat-boats of the Nile recalled the Canadian batteaux and Alec Kennedy. It is a far call from the Lesser Slave to the Nile, but men who can navigate boats and manage crews are rare, and the outcome was that this Scots-Sioux,--strong, silent, faithful, was ordered to collect a party of Canadian voyageurs and report to the Commander-in-Chief. Reaching Egypt, Kennedy was at once attached to a young officer, Kitchener, who, too, was later to win his spurs. Round the camp-fire we induce Alec Kennedy, between puffs from a black pipe, to tell in short ruminating sentences of the hansoms slurring over London mud, of the yellow Nile, of Africa's big game, of the camel that takes the place of the moose, of the swart Arabs and Egyptians. But of his own deeds of derring-do Alec has little to say. It was of men such as Kennedy that Kipling warns, "Do not expect him to speak, has he not done the deed?" Lesser Slave holds many a person with a history behind him. As a young fellow of the H.B. Co. says, "It's beastly bad form to ask any man who comes in here anything about his former history. If he wants to be a wilful-missing, that's his privilege." However, fate has thrown in our way one person whom we will interview, bad form or not. From Chipewyan up the Peace we have traced the story of Louise the Wetigo, taking down at different posts, from the lips of nineteen different people, more or less garbled chapters of it. As great good luck will have it, Louise herself has to-day come in to within six miles of Lesser Slave. We soon make connection with her and at the same time with Archdeacon and Mrs. Scott, who are closely identified with the weird story. [Illustration: Cannibal Louise, Her Little Girl, and Miss Cameron] Stripped of the horrible details, these are the related facts. Twenty years ago Louise was a bride of seventeen. With her sister, aged eighteen, their respective husbands, father, mother, sisters, little brothers and cousins, _en famille_, they pitched off from Little Red River to make winter camp in the woods. The camp made, all the younger men set off to hunt meat for the others. Neither moose nor caribou was seen, and on and on they went. They shot one small beaver and ate it, and the white earth afforded no further food. Starving and hopeless, they stumbled on, finally to fall into a camp of stranger Indians, who nursed them back slowly through the winter to sane strength. How about their families, the camp of waiting ones left behind in the woods? With no one to hunt for them, gaunt Famine held these in her clutch. Grandmothers' faces grew weary, the sharpened eyes of the little children peered daily across the snow waiting, watching, for the hunters who were to bring food. The fires were made in readiness, but no meat came to those hanging kettles. Old and feeble, young and helpless, alike became weaker as they watched. One by one they died. The survivors ate of the dead bodies. At last, of the nineteen souls, Louise and her sister alone lived. Wild-eyed and starving, holding one old musket between them, these two sisters stumbled off together to try to make Little Red River, leaving behind them in the woods the most awful experience that two human beings could share. At the nightly camps each feared the other and neither dared to sleep. The third night out, thinking that Louise slept, the sister levelled the gun at her stooping companion, but Louise was watching through burnt holes in the canvas. The next day brought no food, and the nightly watch was repeated. Then the sister died. _How_ she died God and the watching stars alone know. Some say that Louise carried with her a piece of her sister's flesh as food when at last she staggered into Red River. This Louise denies, but admits freely the cannibalism of the winter's camp. Cannibalism! As we use this term we regret the paucity of a language which forces us, in describing the extremity of Louise, to use the same word which we apply to those inhuman monsters who, of their own volition, choose the flesh of man for food. It is an awful story. Human imagination and sympathy utterly fail to give a conception of the agony undergone by these poor creatures--women and children with affections like our own--shut for the greater part of a winter within that cruel camp of death! Coming back to the world of men and women, Louise was for years a recluse, shunned of all Indians as a "Wetigo" or "Cannibal." A friend was raised up to her in the person of Mrs. Scott, the wife of Archdeacon Scott, who took her in and made her a member of their household. Years passed, and Louise married a man whose Cree name is The-Man-Who-Looks-Like-Silver. To this marriage a little child has been born. As we arrange the little group for a photograph, the mother tenderly caresses the child and the father smiles kindly upon both. Louise the Cannibal! When we look on our joint picture, it might be somewhat difficult to distinguish the writer from the Indian woman. She is "even as you and me." CHAPTER XXIII LESSER SLAVE LAKE TO EDMONTON "I hear the tread of Nations yet to be, The first low wash of waves where soon shall roll a human sea." [Illustration: A Peace River Pioneer] Taking passage on the steamer _Northern Light_, we leave the settlement of Lesser Slave Lake, this world-in-small, on the first day of October, and, from here to Athabasca Landing, travel in company with Mr. J.K. Cornwall, President of the Northern Transportation Company. Between the time of our journey and this writing, Mr. Cornwall has been returned as Member of the Alberta Legislature for the district we are now traversing. He certainly knows his constituency better than most representatives do. There is scarcely a mile of these unmapped ways that he has not tramped alone; not an Indian guide in the North can last with "Jim" for a week, in summer, or on snow-shoes. When some Lesser Slave half-breeds were told that Mr. Cornwall was going to run for the legislature against Allie Brick, one of them said, "Jim wins. Allie Brick can't run. Not much fun in that race. No man on Peace River can run like Jim." Mr. Cornwall's pronouncement on the North Country can be taken as authoritative. He says, "Practically all the timber of any commercial value between the Great Lakes and the Rocky Mountains is in these northern watersheds. This timber will be a very important factor in the coming development of Prairie Canada to the south, and fortunately, too, it is most get-at-able. There are thirty-six hundred miles of river and lake in the North on which steamers are plying to-day and which are open for navigation for six months in every year. The first railway that comes in will tap a system of transporation equalled only on this continent by the Mississippi and St. Lawrence with the Great Lakes. The American Government has spent two hundred million dollars on the improvement of Mississippi navigation, and to-day it is not as valuable a national asset as the great Athabasca-Mackenzie-Peace system is as it came from the hand of Nature. Thirty thousand bushels of wheat that would grade 'No. 1 Northern' was produced in the Peace River Country this year, besides thousands of bushels of oats and barley. In this Northland there are 100,000,000 acres of land fit for the growing of grain." Charles Dickens used to carry a note-book in his vest-pocket in which he jotted down names that tickled his fancy. Were Dickens to travel this route with us, his name-note-books would bulge. Where Lesser Slave River issues out of Lesser Slave Lake, we found Tom Lilac in earnest conversation with Jilly Loo-bird. Jilly has navigated the North all the way from Athabasca Landing to Hudson's Hope on the Peace, seeking a wife, and still lacks his connubial rib. Being told that ladies are on board, he breathlessly asks, "What colour?" When he learns that we are white, Jilly makes a dash for some cache in the woods which takes the place of clothes-closet, but the steamer has passed on before he emerges. Another lost chance, both for Jilly and the writer! For two or three miles here, where the river runs out of the lake, it never freezes, and ducks and wild-fowl remain here all the winter in open water. Last month, in this immediate vicinity, no fewer than one hundred moose were killed. Lilac tells us that last winter there was no snow here until March, and two winters ago absolutely no snow fell whatever, so that the sleighs were not gotten out and all the freighting had to be done with waggons. "No need to starve here," says Lilac, "the trout run up to forty pounds each. There are whitefish and grayling, and I gather berries all the year round. In summer, I get the red and white currants, raspberries, saskatoons, blueberries, gooseberries, and strawberries, and all winter long there are both high-bush and low-bush cranberries." [Illustration: Three Generations] Travelling with us are Judge Noel and Judge Beck, making the first circuit of justice through this country. Although they had come all the way from Edmonton looking for trouble, so splendid has been the surveillance of the Mounted Police here that no one could scrape up one case for the judges to try. The Peace River people seemed somehow to think that in greeting the judges with an empty house the settlement had failed to make good. Some one comforts them with setting forth as the ethics of the case the fact that the judges should be presented with white gloves, as the traditional sign of an empty docket. Again is Peace River chagrined, neither The Company nor the French Company has white kids in stock. Each judge is made the recipient of a handsome pair of moose-skin gloves, as a substitute, ornamented with beads and quills of the porcupine. At Norris's, we leave the steamer and shoot the current of the swift Lesser Slave River in a cranky dugout. The Dominion Government, with a series of wing-dams, is putting this river to school, teaching it how to make its bed neatly and wash out its own channel. Where the Lesser Slave River runs into the Athabasca, we change the dugout for a scow, and from there to Athabasca Landing float down the last stretch of our northern waterways of delight. There is frost each night now and the deciduous trees on the banks are a rich riot of colour. We resurrect from the depths all the warm clothing available and have opportunity of testing in their own latitudes the lynx-paw robes, moose-skin hunting-coats, and other spoils that we are bringing out to civilisation. Every passenger who floats with us enlarges our knowledge and enriches our vocabulary. Judge Noel's bodyguard is a young stripling of the Mounted Police, born in dear old Lunnon. It is always interesting to note the different things of which people are proud. Old men boast of their age and young ones of their youth. The fat woman in the side-show is arrogant over her avoirdupois; the debutante glories in her slender waist; and the globe-trotter triumphs in the miles he has travelled. Wyllie claimed distinction in never having left Chipewyan. This Mounted Policeman, who stretches out on the scow, plumes himself on two things: "I 'old the dahnsin' championship of Edmonton. I got a gold watch lahst winter for waltzin'." We smile approval, and the constable continues, "I waltzed,--reversin',--an 'our-an'-a-'alf! And--," straightening himself up, "I am the best-tattooed man in the Province of Alberta." [Illustration: A Family on the Lesser Slave] Rich is the descriptive language of the North, and we lie awake on the scows, rolled in our blankets, loath to lose any of it. "Jim" is at the sweep. Many of the men are going out from the North for the first time in four or five years. They also seem too interested to slumber, and all night long the conversation goes on. A priest is describing some man who seems to be hard to identify. "You know him,--the son of the ole man with the patch on his nose wot died. I christen him last winter." No one is more apt at naming than these men. Two days ago, at the treaty at Lesser Slave, when a smiling couple drew five dollars for a baby one day old, a Cree bystander dubbed the baby "dat little meal-ticket." A young girl who came up to claim her money was nicknamed "Pee-shoo," or "The Lynx," because of her bad temper. So we see where all the old cats of the south come from. [Illustration: A One Night Stand] The scow glides on, and we doze, but do not sleep. In the dark she hits something and bumps us wide awake to hear the reassuring, "This is where Pat Cunningham's horses were drownded last week." Under Jim's command, everybody works, even learned judges from Edmonton. He says, "Take another shot at the oars, and then you can hit the feathers." In the morning, one half-breed fails to turn up for _meat-su_ and the comment is, "He feels the feathers pullin'." "Don't blime 'im," remarks the constable, passing the tea, "only fools and 'orses work." "He reached out his hand for a drink," rendered into trans-Athabascan would be, "He got his thievin' irons on the joy-juice," or "He stretched his mud-hooks for the fight-water." "He set him a-foot for his horse" means "He stole his horse," and from this we derive all such phrases as, "He set him a-foot for his blankets," "He set him a-foot for his furs," "He set him a-foot for his wife." The springy tussocks of grass growing in swampy places are _têtes des femmes_, a name that pleased our fancy and made us think each time we negotiated them of walking over the swaying heads of women in a crowd. To call the tribes together, Indians are wont to send out significant little pieces of wood. The announcement in the society columns, if the Indians had any, would be, "The Crees sent out chips for a crush." An Indian far down the Mackenzie had a name that kings might envy. He was known among his tribe as _The-Man-Who-Goes-Around-and-Helps_. When a beardless and ardent missionary approached this splendid chief, wanting to "convert" him to the Christian religion, the old man replied with indulgent dignity, "My son, for eighty years have I served the Great Spirit in my own way. I fear I am now too old to change." CHAPTER XXIV HOMES AMONG THE YELLOW WHEAT "The stranger that sojourneth with you shall be unto you as the homeborn among you, and thou shalt love him as thyself." --_Leviticus, XIX_, 34. [Illustration: A Rye Field in Brandon, Manitoba] Edmonton once more. Two Spanish sailors shipwrecked and navigating the Pacific on a log, search the shore for a sign. Into what land are they drifting? The one at the bow (does a log have a bow?) sees something through the haze--"_Gracias a Dios_! Praise be to God, it is a Christian country! I see the gallows!" We too get our sign. We reach Edmonton on Convocation Day. Most young countries for the first ten years of their lives confine their energies to roads, bridges, transportation--things of the market-place. Alberta has been a full-fledged Province of Canada for barely three years, and, coming out of the wilds, we sit on the back benches and see her open the doors of her first Provincial University. The record is unique and significant. On the banks of the Saskatchewan rise the walls of the new Parliament Buildings, a replica in small of Minnesota's State Capitol at St. Paul. This new Province, carved out of the heart of the world's biggest wheat-farm, would seem to hold within it all the elements that make for national greatness: the richest soil in the world, oil, timber, fur, fish, great underlying coal measures, a hinterland which is a very Pandora's box of gifts. Strong, sane, young people have the situation in hand, each alert to grasp the skirts of happy Chance. Peace walks within these western borders. What more would you? The very first man we hunt out in Edmonton is Mr. Wyllie of Chipewyan. On his promised visit to the Orkneys the old man had gotten as far as Winnipeg, where the crowds of the modern city affrighted him. "Miss Cameron, the men on the streets were as trees walking, and no man stopped to ask how the other was doing. If that is the world, I wanted to go no farther. I'm going back to Chipewyan, and I will take my family with me. We go home with dogs on the first ice!" Poor Wyllie! Before the bells rang out the Old Year, his soul heard the summons none may disregard, and alone he went out on the Long Journey. What of Inspector Pelletier, Walker, Joyce, and Conway, essaying the traverse from Resolution to Hudson Bay? For weeks after coming out we waited for news of the party. Month succeeded month and no word came out of the white silence. Hudson Bay has no daily mail service. "There ain't no busses runnin' from the Bank to Mandalay." It is not until March that the welcome word comes that the original party safely made salt water. The relieved tension at Regina headquarters and the joy of personal friends is dimmed by the news of the death of Corporal Donaldson, who joined the others at Chesterfield Inlet. Donaldson, in company with Corporal Reeves, started down Hudson Bay in an open boat and encountered a herd of walruses. Enraged and maddened at the shots of the men, one huge animal made a charge, the boat was upset, and Donaldson, trying to make shore, was drowned. Reeves survived. It seems to be a chapter of accidents. Just as this book goes to press we learn of a double fatality which attended the transport of the 1909 outfit of Count von Hammerstein. This plucky developer of McMurray oilfields, while running Grand Rapids on the Athabasca (the rapids which we had descended in an empty while the other sturgeon-heads were discharging freight at Grand Rapids Island), struck a boulder. The boat turned turtle and the three men were tossed into the torrent,--von Hamerstein, V. Volksooky, a young Russian, and a French half-breed, La France. The Count was washed ashore and escaped, but the others were drowned. Deaths such as these are the price of Empire. When the railroad reaches the Athabasca, the running of these dangerous rapids will no longer be necessary. [Illustration: Charles M. Hays, President of the Grand Trunk Railway] In the footprints of Back and Samuel Hearne, Alexander Mackenzie and Sir John Franklin, for six months we have been treading the silent places. We have thought much of these faith-possessed men who found the roads that others follow. In faith they wrought. Canada does well to honour these great of old, and that she appreciates the work of her early explorers is shown in the fact that British Columbia recently granted a pension to the granddaughter of Simon Fraser, the man who in 1808 first sailed down the great river that bears his name. But the day of our great men is not over; Canada still in her great North and West has Pathfinders of Empire. The early voyageurs made their quest in the dugout and the birchbark; and the tools of these are rails of steel and iron horses. [Illustration: William Mackenzie, President of the Canadian Northern Railway] We are accustomed to look upon a railroad as a cold thing of dirt and sand and rock, ties and steel,--a mechanical something associated with gradients and curves. But the history of railroading in Canada is one long romance; back of each line is its creative wizard. We are too near these men to get their proper measure; the historian of the future will place their names on Canada's bead-roll:--Charles M. Hays, the forceful President of the Grand Trunk Pacific; Mackenzie and Mann; William Whyte of the Canadian Pacific. Canada owes much to Caledonia. Nine-tenths of those pioneers of pioneers, the trading adventurers of the H.B. Company, came from Scotland, that grey land where a judicious mixture of Scripture and Shorter Catechism, oatmeal and austerity, breeds boys of dour determination and pawky wit, boys who, whatever their shortcomings, are not wont to carry their wishbone where their backbone ought to be. A conspicuous example of the dynamic Scottish Canadian, hale at sixty-six, is William Whyte, Vice-President of the Canadian Pacific Railway. At an age when most men are content to "drowse them close by a dying fire," William Whyte finds himself in complete charge of all the affairs of the Canadian Pacific Railway Company between the Great Lakes and the Pacific. Through the positions of brakemen, freight clerk, yard master, conductor, night station-agent, passenger agent, this man worked on his own passage along Fame's ladder. Twenty years of adolescence and preparation, twenty years with the Grand Trunk, a quarter of a century with the Canadian Pacific, this is William Whyte's record of splendid service. He has always played the game and he is still in the harness. [Illustration: Donald D. Mann, Vice-president of the Canadian Northern Railway] [Illustration: William Whyte, Second Vice-president of the Canadian Pacific Railway] When people enquired of the early Christians, "What do you call your new religion?" they answered, "We call it _The Road_." If religion is the best work of a man made visible, as I think it is, then the Canadian Northern Road may well stand for the religious expression of the men who made it. It takes more than money, more than dreams, more than ambition, for two men in twelve years to build, own, and personally control five thousand miles of railway. As Riley says, it takes sweat. A mile a day for twelve years,--this is the construction-record of the Canadian Northern. It sounds like the story of Jonah's gourd. In 1896, nothing. In 1909, a railroad line with earnings of ten million dollars a year west of Port Arthur alone, and twelve thousand people on the regular pay-roll. Beginning in Manitoba and operating in the three prairie Provinces, the Canadian Northern is primarily a western railway, its remarkable growth being coincident with and closely related to the tide of immigration. [Illustration: In the Wheat Fields] As a case in point, on our way south from Edmonton we pass through the divisional point of Vermilion on the Canadian Northern, which is not to be confounded with our Far North Vermilion-on-the-Peace. Vermilion exemplifies wonderfully the Go-Fever and the Grow-Fever of the Prairies. Before it was three months old its citizens had organised a Board of Trade, had given it a Methodist Church, a newspaper, a bank, a public school, three lumber-yards, three hotels, three restaurants, four implement warehouses, two hardware stores, two butcher shops, four real estate offices, a furniture store, a drugstore, a jewellery store, a steam laundry, a flour and feed store, a shoe-shop, a bakery, and a bookshop. Three barbers had hung out their signs, and so had two doctors, a photographer, a lawyer, a dentist, and an auctioneer. There were two pool-rooms and a bowling-alley. Farther south we reach the town of Vonda. The Canadian Northern reached this neighbourhood, and the town-site was surveyed in June, 1905. That year Vonda shipped over the line one hundred thousand bushels of wheat, and in 1906 her exports were five hundred thousand bushels. The Canadian farmer looks upon the railroad as his friend; you cannot expect _him_ to use the inclusive condemnation, "Corporations have no souls." The main line of the Canadian Northern runs from Port Arthur on Lake Superior--where, by the way, stands the world's largest grain elevator--to beyond Edmonton on the North Saskatchewan, operating in the heart of one gigantic wheat-farm. The method of construction has been unique. The owners commenced to build branch railways almost before they had a main line. Little spurs to small elevators grew into long branches flanked with bigger elevators, and the elevators evolved into villages, towns, and cities, until to-day the result of twelve years' growth shows a main line of thirteen hundred miles, with over three thousand miles of branch railways. An orchard tree is a good fruit-bearer when the thick clustering branches are more in evidence than the long thin trunk, and the same applies to railroads. But this main line will grow, too. Working out from its wheaten heart, its natural line of growth is east to Hudson Bay, north beyond Edmonton, and west to the Pacific. Surely the tentacles are pushing out. Already the Alberta Legislature has granted the Canadian Northern a charter to Athabasca Landing, and one hundred miles of steel will here tap all the lush land watered by the Peace and the Athabasca. More interesting than the line which gridirons the wheat-lands we are passing through, are the men who made it. To try to write the history of Western Canada's development and not speak of Mr. Mackenzie and Mr. Mann would be as difficult as Mr. Dick's efforts to tell his story without mentioning the unfortunate Charles I. William Mackenzie is the Cecil Rhodes of Canada--gentle, kindly, almost retiring in his manner, and with a glance as inscrutable as the sea. Beginning as a school-teacher, he early threw aside the ferule and the chalk, to get into the world of action. In his time he has built shacks, kept a country store, and run a saw-mill. Three things come to him as priceless treasure out of the self-discipline of these experiences: a rare aptitude to see and to focus the central idea of any proposition, quick and unerring decision, and the power of ready calculation. "I am seldom wrong in a figure," is one of his few admissions about himself. The President of the Canadian Northern travels without a secretary, dictates letters sparingly, and works in an office as bare of adornment as a monk's cell. And his working partner? Donald D. Mann is a man of deeds rather than words. James J. Hill has declared Mr. Mann to be the greatest railway builder in the world. Mr. Mann was born in Ontario not far from the sleepy town of Acton and just six miles east of Rockwood, the birthplace of James J. Hill. These two boys learned to swim in the same swimming-hole. One wonders from what roadside spring they quaffed the draught which sent them railroad-building. Mr. Mann thinks it a great advantage to be born a country boy, for he says it makes a lad frugal, strong, and resourceful. It worked out this way in his own case at least, for there is not a thing in railroad building that Mr. Mann cannot do with his own hands, from shoeing a mule to finding the best pass in the Rockies through which to slide his iron horse down to the sea. Direct, strong, simple, he knows how to control himself and manage others. D.D. Mann is a conspicuous example of what a Canadian boy has managed to accomplish by his own efforts. The beauty of this Western Canada is that it holds out opportunities to every plucky lad who has initiative and who is willing to work; nothing is stratified, the whole thing is formative. While the steel kings are letting the light of day into this great granary, they are being helped by a government representative, as democratic and direct as any of the pathmakers whose visible work we have been noticing. The Hon. Frank Oliver, Canada's Minister of the Interior, is essentially a self-made man. Before the railroad men realised their vision splendid, young Mr. Oliver and his bride rode into Edmonton on an ox-cart, with a modest little printing-press tucked away among the wedding-gifts and household goods. Oliver was a practical printer and soon issued a hand-dodger called by courtesy a newspaper. The editing habit sticks. The Minister of the Interior owns and publishes the Edmonton _Bulletin_. Mr. Mann says, "I like building railroads"; Mr. Oliver might parody him and say, "I like building newspapers." [Illustration: Hon. Frank Oliver, Minister of the Interior] Arrived at Winnipeg, we look back across this great prairie we have twice traversed. The land stands ready to produce bread for the nations; Nature has done her part, now man must do his. The two greatest needs of Western Canada to-day are transportation and immigration. Of the one we have spoken; the other claims our interest even more compelling, for man is more vital than machinery. Canada is a country with a meagre past, a solid present, and an illimitable future. She, moreover, is the last unstaked Empire under a white man's sky,--where wilderness and man are meeting. The flood of immigration hither is not the outcome of the temporary mood of mankind or of the immigration policy of a government. It is the natural sequence of the economic conditions of a continent seeking the outlet of least resistance to a more favourable situation. The people who are coming in are not dreamers but workers. "The world's greatest wheat-farm," says the economist. It is more than this: it is a human crucible, and we are witnessing here the birth-throes of an entirely new nation. [Illustration: Threshing Grain] While seventy-five per cent of Canada's wheat-farmers are either Canadian, American, or British-born, and of the class that preserves the homogeneity of the race, every country on the map pays tribute to the plains. Austrians are here and Galicians, Hungarians and Belgians, Dutch and French and Germans, Italians and Polish, the Russian Doukhobortsi, Finns and Danes and Icelanders, Swedes in thousands and stalwart Norwegians. South Africans and West Indians are coming in with Bermudians and Jamaicans and the bearded Spaniard. Far off on the Pacific Coast, strangers are knocking at the western gate,--Chinese, Japanese, and Hindoos. [Illustration: Doukhobors Threshing Flax] There is no Established Church in Canada; it is the freest land in the world. On his one hundred and sixty government-given acres, the new arrival may worship his God in his own way. The Greek Church in Winnipeg has a Bishop who one day each year makes holy water of the Red River when the Czar is performing the same blessing on the Neva. Down in Southern Alberta refugee Mormons from Salt Lake grow sugar-beets, revere the memory of Brigham Young, and multiply after their kind. Until within two years ago the expatriated Russian Doukhobors maintained a commonwealth of ten thousand souls, eschewing liquors and flesh-meats, making the prairie blossom into bumper harvests, and holding all things in common. Winnipeg has three thousand Icelanders who, every August, take a day off to celebrate the fact that the Danish King, in 1874, granted a constitution to Iceland. When you ask them why they came to America, they say, "Did not our Lief Ericcson discover this continent, why shouldn't we come?" The Icelanders boast two members in the Manitoba legislature. A Mennonite is a member of the Parliament of Alberta. The first graduate of Wesley College in Winnipeg to find a place on the staff of his Alma Mater is also a Mennonite. Winnipeg has several, Roman Catholic Polish lawyers. Statistics prove that the young Jewish people of Western Canada patronise the public libraries more than any other class or race. All the citizens-in-the-making are closely interested in politics. Recently there was chronicled the formation in Winnipeg of a Syrian Liberal Club and a Syrian Conservative Club. Up in Edmonton the Galicians (Ruthenians?) have just organised a corps of volunteer militia to serve the Canadian country of their adoption. [Illustration: Sir William Van Horne, First President of the Canadian Pacific Railway] The Americanisation of Canada? During the past seven years over three hundred and fifty thousand people have come to us from the United States. Is this American invasion to be feared politically? Western Canada has no more desirable citizens than those who come to us from the south. They are not failures, but are people who have made good, intent on making better. One generation at the most,--sometimes but a few years,--converts these into Canadian voters. The troubled English brother should remember that when "American" farmers in Canada pronounce on Canadian matters they do so constitutionally at the polls and as Canadian citizens. As Canadians we believe that our national institutions, though far from perfect, are in some respects superior to those of the United States. We believe they are at once more elastic, more responsive to the popular will, and more stable because more elastic. The west is gaining in political power as it gains in population and prosperity, and fortunately our government machinery has been well tested before it is called upon to feel the strain of our rapidly-increasing population. Canada may construct where older nations must reconstruct, and if we borrow an American institution or two, provided it be a good one, let no man hold up hands in holy horror. Japan has borrowed nationally whenever she saw, lying around loose, something she could use, and Japan is as Japanese at heart as she was in the days of the Tycoon and the two-sworded Samurai. Belgium to-day, after centuries of contiguity and intercourse, is not exactly France; and little Switzerland, surrounded by the Powers, will be Switzerland till the last curtain-fall. "Is Canada loyal to England?" is a question that sometimes meets us. No, Canada is loyal to the British Empire of which she forms a part. Let England see to it that she, too, is loyal. Canada has two hundred millions of arable acres south of the Saskatchewan. North of this river, in the pleasant valleys of the Peace, are one hundred million acres more. If Canada were as thickly populated as the British Isles it would have a billion people. The mind reels and the imagination staggers in thinking of the future of this rich land. God has intended this to be the cradle of a new race, a race born of the diverse entities now fusing in its crucible. Most of these people in time will intermarry,--Germans and Latins, Celts and Slavs, and with these the Semitic peoples, in varying proportions and combinations. Physically, what will be the result? Mentally and morally, what type will prevail? Drawn by the lure of the wheat, all pour themselves into the melting-pot. What of the new Canadian who will step out? In the point of population, Canada begins the twentieth century where the United States began the nineteenth. The race is ours to run. Wise the nation, as is the individual, who can learn his lesson from a page torn out of his neighbour's book, learn what to follow and what to avoid. Our fore-elders who laid the foundations for us laid them four-square. As Canadians, we owe a debt to the Fathers of Confederation and their successors. In the West, our particular thanks are due to the Hudson's Bay Company, the R.N.W.M.P., and all those factors which established British law "in the beginning." Canada has never seen a lynching; we have had no Indian war; with but one weak-kneed exception there has been no attempt to hold up a train within our Western borders. This is the inheritance of the people of this generation, and on this foundation we must build. Our hope is in the children. On the benches of one school-room in Edmonton I found children who had been born in Canada, the United States, England, Scotland, Russia, New Zealand, Poland, Switzerland, Australia, and Austro-Hungary. They were all singing "_The Maple Leaf Forever_." It is the lessons these children are to learn in that little red school-house which will determine the future of Western Canada, and not the yearly tale of forty-bushel wheat. In the past, nations out of their very fatness have decayed. Many signs are full of hope. Last winter Mrs. Ray travelled alone with dog-sled all the way from Hudson Bay to Winnipeg to place her children in school. Her husband is a fur-trader and could not leave his post. At all hazards the bairns must be educated, so the brave mother journeyed out with them! May I close with a purely personal note? At the end of a summer which had showered us with kindness, I was to hear from the lips of a Roman priest in St. Boniface the most delightful tribute I have had in my life. We had gone across the river to see the holy relics and skulls, the result of the La Verendrye research carried on by this clergy in the Lake of the Woods country. I was anxious to get the story of the recovery of these historic remains and also to secure photographs. But the Father was obdurate, for he thought his Bishop might not approve. We turned to go downstairs from the third story of the seminary. Looking in at an open door, my eye was caught by the familiar wording of a blackboard problem. "If 16 men and 4 boys working 4 hours a day dig a trench 82 yards long----." And I halted, as the one-time circus-horse stops when he hears the drum of a passing band. "You are interested?" queried the Father. "Yes," I acknowledged, "I once taught school." He, still in the trammels, looked the enquiry he did not utter. "I taught school for twenty-five years," I admitted. We walked on down the stairs to the next landing in silence, when he turned to me with, "And you taught school--for twen-ty five years?" I nodded my head, and we went on. At the next landing the remark was repeated. At the foot of the stairs he excused himself and came back with the photographs which he presented to me with an Old World courtesy and dignity. Grasping my hand in farewell, once more the man of God wondered, "And for twen-ty five years you taught school. And you remain so--" He hesitated for the word, and I wondered what it would be. At last it came,--the tribute of one who expected to teach school all his life to one who had put in a quarter of a century at the work and still survived,--"You have taught school for twen-ty five years, _and you remain so glad!_" And this is the keynote of what the summer has left with us. As Canadians, looking at this Western Canada which has arrived and thinking of the lands of Canada's fertile Northland far beyond, for the future we are full of optimism, and of the present we are _glad_. ROUTES OF TRAVEL ROUTE FROM EDMONTON TO THE ARCTIC VIA THE ATHABASCA AND MACKENZIE RIVER SYSTEMS. MILES PLACE PASSENGER FREIGHT TARIFF MODE OF TRAVEL TIMES TARIFF per cwt. 0 Edmonton 100 Athabasca Landing $8.00 $1.00 Mail stage, run by J.M. Kennedy Twice a week all year round DOWN RETURN DOWN RETURN STREAM UPSTREAM STREAM UPSTREAM 0 Athabasca Landing Northern Transportation Co.'s SS. 120 Pelican Rapids $ 7.50 $ 7.50 $ .75 $ .75 _Midnight Sun_ (when business offers) 165 Grand Rapids 10.00 15.00 1.50 1.50 or scows. From Athabasca Landing to Grand Rapids. 252 Fort McMurray 20.00 27.50 3.25 3.25 Scows from Grand Rapids to Fort McMurray 437 Fort Chipewyan 35.00 45.00 4.50 4.50 H.B. Co's SS. _Grahame_ (sternwheel 539 Smith's Landing 45.00 55.00 5.50 5.50 river steamer, 130 ft. x 28 ft.; accommodates 30 passengers; blankets supplied; bathroom; meals served 50 From June to cents each; 150 lbs. baggage free). August inclusive[1] From Fort McMurray to Smith's Landing. 555 Fort Smith 48.00 58.00 6.25 6.25 H.B. Co. Transport, portage by teams from Smith's Landing to Fort Smith. 749 Fort Resolution 56.00 68.00 7.25 8.25 H.B. Co's SS. _Mackenzie River_ 819 Hay River 59.00 73.00 7.75 9.25 (strong new sternwheel, lake and 869 Fort Rae 62.00 78.00 8.25 10.25 river steamer; accommodates 50 917 Fort Providence 65.00 82.00 8.25 10.25 passengers, same conditions as _Grahame_ 1078 Fort Simpson 73.00 92.00 9.25 12.25 above). From Fort Smith to Fort 1214 Fort Wrigley 80.00 102.00 10.25 14.25 Macpherson. 1398 Fort Norman 87.00 112.00 11.25 16.25 1572 Fort Good Hope 93.00 122.00 12.25 18.25 1780 Arctic Red River 100.00 130.00 13.00 19.50 1854 Fort Macpherson 103.00 133.00 13.75 21.25 (Peel's River) [Footnote 1: For further particulars regarding dates and rates, application should be made to the Hudson's Bay Company, Winnipeg; J.K. Cornwall, M.P.P., of the Northern Transportation Co. at Edmonton; or to A.G. Harrison, Secretary Edmonton Board of Trade, Edmonton, Alberta.] ROUTE FROM EDMONTON TO PEACE RIVER, VIA THE ATHABASCA RIVER (UP STREAM), LESSER SLAVE RIVER AND LESSER SLAVE LAKE. MILES PLACE PASSENGER FREIGHT TARIFF MODE OF TRAVEL TIMES TARIFF per cwt. 0 Edmonton 100 Athabasca Landing $8.00 $1.00 Mail stage, run by J.M. Kennedy Twice a week all year round 0 Athabasca Landing Northern Transportation Co.'s SS. 75 Mouth of Lesser Slave _Midnight Sun_ (sternwheel river River $6.00 $ .80 steamer, 120 ft. long x 24 ft. beam; accomodates 35 in staterooms; passengers supply their own blankets; meals served 50 cents each; freight-carrying capacity 50 tons). From Athabasca Landing to Mouth of Lesser Slave River. 91 Norris's (head of rapids) 8.00 1.40 Portage 16 miles in N.T. Co's passenger and freight waggons from From May 15 to Mouth of Lesser Slave River to Oct. 15.[2] Norris's (head of rapids). 194 Shaw's Point on Lesser Slave Lake 16.00 2.50 N.T. Co.'s SS. _Northern Light_ (sidewheel river and lake steamer, 100 ft. long x 26 ft. beam; accommodates 35 in staterooms; passengers supply their own blankets; meals served 50 cents each; freight capacity 30 tons). From Norris's to Shaw's Point. 201 Lesser Slave Lake Settlement Portage 7 miles to the settlement. 0 Lesser Slave Lake Settlement From Lesser Slave Lake Settlement to $10.00 2.00 Peace River Crossing, teams and to drivers may be hired; fare depends 25.00 on number of passengers; takes 3 All the year round according days. Stopping places at intermediate to number points, with stabling and hay; bunkhouses for travellers who supply 90 Peace River Crossing (Peace their own bedding and provisions. River Landing) [Footnote 2: For further particulars regarding dates and rates, application  should be made to the Hudson's Bay Company, Winnipeg; J.K. Cornwall, M.P.P., of the Northern Transportation Co. at Edmonton; or to A.G. Harrison,  Secretary Board of Trade, Edmonton, Alberta.] PEACE RIVER ROUTES:--(1) FROM PEACE RIVER CROSSING UP TO HUDSON'S HOPE. (2) FROM PEACE RIVER CROSSING DOWN TO FORT CHIPEWYAN. MILES PLACE PASSENGER FREIGHT TARIFF MODE OF TRAVEL TIMES TARIFF per cwt. UPSTREAM RETURN UPSTREAM RETURN Having arrived at Peace River Crossing, DOWN DOWN the traveller may go up the STREAM STREAM Peace by H.B. SS. _Peace River_ 0 Peace River Crossing (sternwheel river steamer, electric From June to August 70 Fort Dunvegan $10.00 $ 5.00 $1.00 $ .75 light, bathroom; accomodates 40 inclusive.[3] 200 Fort St. John's 25.00 15.00 3.00 2.25 passengers; blankets supplied; meals 240 Hudson's Hope 35.00 20.00 5.00 4.25 served 50 cents each; 150 lbs. baggage free). DOWN RETURN DOWN RETURN STREAM UPSTREAM STREAM UPSTREAM 0 Peace River Crossing Or, having arrived at Peace River 280 Fort Vermilion $15.00 $25.00 $1.00 $3.00 Crossing, the traveller may go down the Peace.-- 330 Chutes of the Peace 17.00 30.00 1.75 4.00 By the H.B. SS. _Peace River_, from From June to August Peace River Crossing to the Chutes inclusive.[3] of the Peace. 570 Fort Chipewyan 37.00 60.00 3.25 7.00 By H.B. SS. _Grahame_ or Tug _Primrose_, from Chutes of the Peace to Fort Chipewyan. [Footnote 3: For further particulars regarding dates and rates, application should be made to the Hudson's Bay Company, Winnipeg; J.K. Cornwall, M.P.P., of the Northern Transportation Co. at Edmonton; or to A.G. Harrison, Secretary Board of Trade, Edmonton, Alberta.] 
61658	----	[Illustration: Cover art] [Frontispiece: KA-KAKE AND THE BUFFALO--(See page 155).] FOREST, LAKE AND PRAIRIE TWENTY YEARS OF FRONTIER LIFE IN WESTERN CANADA--1842-62. BY JOHN McDOUGALL SECOND EDITION TORONTO: WILLIAM BRIGGS 1910 Entered, according to the Act of the Parliament of Canada, in the year one thousand eight hundred and ninety-five, by WILLIAM BRIGGS, Toronto, in the Office of the Minister of Agriculture, at Ottawa. TO My Dear Mother THIS BOOK is AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED BY THE AUTHOR. CONTENTS. CHAPTER I. Childhood--Indians--Canoes--"Old Isaiah"--Father goes to college CHAPTER II. Guardians--School--Trip to Nottawasaga--Journey to Alderville--Elder Case--The wild colt, etc CHAPTER III. Move into the far north--Trip from Alderville to Garden River--Father's work--Wide range of big steamboat--My trip to Owen Sound--Peril in storm--In store at Penetanguishene--Isolation--First boat--Brother David knocked down CHAPTER IV. Move to Rama--I go to college--My chum--How I cure him--Work in store in Orillia--Again attend college--Father receives appointment to "Hudson's Bay "--Asks me to accompany him. CHAPTER V. From Rama to St. Paul--Mississippi steamers--Slaves--Pilot--Race CHAPTER VI. Across the plains--Mississippi to the Red--Pemmican--Mosquitoes--Dogs--Hunting--Flat boat--Hostile Indians CHAPTER VII. From Georgetown on the Red to Norway House on the Nelson--Old Fort Garry--Governor MacTavish--York boats--Indian gamblers--Welcome by H. B. Co. people CHAPTER VIII. New mission--The people--School--Invest in pups--Dog-driving--Foot-ball--Beautiful aurora CHAPTER IX. First real winter trip--Start--Extreme fatigue--Conceit all gone--Cramps--Change--Will-power--Find myself--Am as capable as others--Oxford House--Jackson's Bay CHAPTER X. Enlarging church--Winter camp--How evenings are spent--My boys--Spring--The first goose, etc CHAPTER XI. Opening of navigation--Sturgeon fishing--Rafting timber--Sawing lumber CHAPTER XII. Summer transport--Voyageurs--Norway House--The meeting place of many brigades--Missionary work intensified CHAPTER XIII. Canoe trip to Oxford--Serious accident CHAPTER XIV. Establish a fishery--Breaking dogs--Dog-driving, etc. CHAPTER XV. Winter trip to Oxford--Extreme cold--Quick travelling CHAPTER XVI. Mother and baby's upset--My humiliation CHAPTER XVII. From Norway House to the great plains--Portaging--Pulling and poling against the strong current--Tracking CHAPTER XVIII. Enter the plains--Meet a flood--Reach Fort Carlton CHAPTER XIX. The Fort--Buffalo steak--"Out of the latitude of bread" CHAPTER XX. New surroundings--Plain Indians--Strange costumes--Glorious gallops--Father and party arrive CHAPTER XXI. Continue journey--Old "La Gress"--Fifty miles per day CHAPTER XXII. Fort Pitt--Hunter's paradise--Sixteen buffalo with seventeen arrows--"Big Bear" CHAPTER XXIII. On to White-fish Lake--Beautiful country--Indian camp--Strike northward into forest land CHAPTER XXIV. The new Mission--Mr. Steinhauer--Benjamin Sinclair CHAPTER XXV. Measurement of time--Start for Smoking Lake--Ka-Kake--Wonderful hunting feat--Lose horse--Tough meat CHAPTER XXVI. Mr. Woolsey--Another new mission CHAPTER XXVII. Strike south for buffalo and Indians--Strange mode of crossing "Big River"--Old Besho and his eccentricities--Five men dine on two small ducks CHAPTER XXVIII. Bear hunt--Big grizzlies--Surfeit of fat meat CHAPTER XXIX. The first buffalo--Father excited--Mr. Woolsey lost--Strike trail of big camp--Indians dash at us--Meet Maskepetoon CHAPTER XXX. Large camp--Meet Mr. Steinhauer--Witness process of making provisions--Strange life CHAPTER XXXI. Great meeting--Conjurers and medicine-men look on under protest--Father prophesies--Peter waxes eloquent as interpreter--I find a friend CHAPTER XXXII. The big hunt--Buffalo by the thousand--I kill my first buffalo--Wonderful scene CHAPTER XXXIII. Another big meeting--Move camp--Sunday service all day CHAPTER XXXIV. Great horse-race--"Blackfoot," "Moose Hair," and others--No gambling--How "Blackfoot" was captured CHAPTER XXXV. Formed friendships--Make a start--Fat wolves--Run one--Reach the Saskatchewan at Edmonton CHAPTER XXXVI. Swim horses--Cross in small boat--Dine at officers' table on pounded meat without anything else--Sup on ducks--No carving CHAPTER XXXVII. Start for new home--Miss seeing father--Am very lonely--Join Mr. Woolsey CHAPTER XXXVIII. William goes to the plains--I begin work at Victoria--Make hay--Plough--Hunt--Storm CHAPTER XXXIX. Establish a fishery--Build a boat--Neils becomes morbid--I watch him CHAPTER XL. Lake freezes--I go for rope--Have a narrow escape from wolf and drowning--We finish our fishing--Make sleds--Go home--Camp of starving Indians en route CHAPTER XLI. Mr. O. B.--The murderer--The liquor keg CHAPTER XLII. William comes back--Another refuge seeker comes to us--Haul our fish home--Hard work CHAPTER XLIII. Flying trip to Edmonton--No snow--Bare ice--Hard travel--A Blackfoot's prayer CHAPTER XLIV. Midnight mass--Little Mary--Foot-races--Dog-races, etc.--Reach my twentieth birthday--End of this book LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. Ka-Kake and the buffalo ... _Frontispiece_ Isaiah and the bear The _Traveller_ in distress How I cured my chum My delight was to drive the four-in-hand I had a big time keeping them out of our boat My first winter trip The upset I lose my balance--and some conceit Fort Carlton An expert hunter A new kind of boat I kill my first bear Buffalo and hunters disappeared in the hills from our view (missing from book) We were surprised by a troop of Indian cavalry Maskepetoon's camp The buffalo hunt When the camp moved, parallel columns were formed The horse-race "Gun-shock"--"Goose-comfort" The start to the fishery A big haul A close call Straight out from the danger the strong train drew us FOREST, LAKE AND PRAIRIE. CHAPTER I. Childhood--Indians--Canoes--"Old Isaiah"--Father goes to college. My parents were pioneers. I was born on the banks of the Sydenham River in a log-house, one of the first dwellings, a very few of which made up the frontier village of Owen Sound. This was in the year 1842. My earliest recollections are of stumps, log heaps, great forests, corduroy roads, Indians, log and birch-bark canoes, bateaux, Mackinaw boats, etc. I have also a very vivid recollection of deep snow in winter, and very hot weather and myriad mosquitoes in summer. My father was first settler, trapper, trader, sailor, and local preacher. He was one of the grand army of pioneers who took possession of the wilderness of Ontario, and in the name of God and country began the work of reclamation which has ever since gone gloriously on, until to-day Ontario is one of the most comfortable and prosperous parts of our great country. God fitted those early settlers for their work, and they did it like heroes. Mother was a strong Christian woman, content, patient, plodding, full of quiet, restful assurance, pre-eminently qualified to be the companion and helper of one who had to hew his way from the start out of the wildness of this new world. My mother says I spoke Indian before I spoke English. My first memories are of these original dwellers in the land. I grew up amongst them, ate corn-soup out of their wooden bowls, roasted green ears at their camp-fires, feasted with them on deer and bear's meat, went with them to set their nets and to spear fish at nights by the light of birch-bark flambeaux, and, later on, fat pine light-jack torches. Bows and arrows, paddles and canoes were my playthings, and the dusky forest children were my playmates. Father, very early in my childhood, taught me how to swim, and, later on, to shoot and skate and sail. Many a trip I had with my father on his trading voyages to the Manitoulin and other islands of Lake Huron and Georgian Bay, where he would obtain his loads of fish, furs and maple sugar, and sail with these to Detroit and other eastern and southern ports. Father had for cook and general servant a colored man, Isaiah by name. Isaiah was my special friend; I was his particular charge. His bigness and blackness and great kindness made him a hero in my boyish mind. My contact with Isaiah, and my association with the Indians, very early made a real democrat of me. I never could bear to hear a black man called a "nigger," nor yet an Indian a "buck." Isaiah was an expert sailor, as also a good cook, but it was his great big heart that won me to him, and which to-day, though nearly fifty years have passed since then, brings a dampness to my eye as I remember my "big black friend." On some of his voyages father had a tame bear with him. This bear was a source of great annoyance to Isaiah, for Bruin would be constantly smelling around the caboose in which the stove and cooking apparatus were placed, and where Isaiah would fain reign supreme. One evening Isaiah was cooking pancakes, and was, while doing so, absent-minded--perhaps thinking of those old slavery days when he had undergone terrible hardships and great cruelty from his ignorant and selfish brothers, who claimed to own him, "soul and body." Whatever it was, he forgot to watch his cakes sufficiently, for Mr. Bear was whipping them off the plate as fast as Isaiah was putting them on. Father and a fellow-passenger were looking on and enjoying the fun. By and by Isaiah was heard to say, "Guess he had enough for the gentlemans to begin with;" but, lo! to his wonderment when he went to take the cakes, they were gone; and in his surprise he looked around, but there was no one near but the bear, and he looked very innocent. So Isaiah seemed to conclude that he had not made any cakes, and accordingly went to work in earnest, but, at the same time, determined that there should be no mistake in the matter. Presently he caught the thief in the act of taking the cake from the plate, and then he went for the bear with the big spoon in his hand, with which he was dipping and beating the batter. The chase became exciting. Around the caboose, across the deck, up the rigging flew the bear. Isaiah was close after him, but finally found that the bear was too agile for him, for presently he came back, a wiser and, for the time, a more watchful man. When I was six years of age I had two little brothers, one between three and four, and the other a baby boy, about a year old--the older one named David, who is still living, and is now my nearest neighbor. The other we called Moses; he was a beautiful little fellow, and father almost idolized him. Once we lost him. What excitement we had, and also great alarm! By and by I found him in a sort of store-room behind the door, digging into a "mo-kuk," or bark vessel of maple sugar, face and hands smeared with it. What joy there was over the little innocent! But one summer, while father was away on one of his fishing and trading trips, our baby boy "sickened and died." This was my first contact with death; it was terrible to witness baby's pain and mother's grief. We buried our loved one in the Indian burying-ground at Newash (now Brook). [Illustration: ISAIAH AND THE BEAR] Two years ago I looked in vain for the grave; it is lost to view, but never will I forget those sad days and nights during my little brother's sickness. Our Indian neighbors did all they could to help and comfort. Neither will I forget the hard time of meeting father at the beach, when he came ashore and found that his darling boy was dead and buried. Often since then have I come into contact with death in many shapes, but this first experience stamped itself on my brain. Sometimes I went with father to his appointments to preach in the homes of the new settlers. What deep snow, what narrow roads, what great, dark, sombre woods we drove through! How solemn the meetings in those humble homes! How poor some of the people were--little clearings in great forests; rough, unhewn logs, with trough roofs. How those people did sing! What loud amens! I almost seem to hear them now. I had an uncle settled in the bush not far from Owen Sound. I remember distinctly going with him and his family to meeting one winter's day. We had a yoke of oxen and a big sleigh. "Whoa! Haw! Gee!" and the old woods rang as we drove slowly to that "Gospel meeting" through the deep, deep snow in those early days. Then, as now, the cursed liquor traffic was to the front, and many a white man went by the board and ruined himself and family under its baneful influence. Many a poor Indian was either burned, or drowned, or killed in some other way, because of the trade which was carried on through this death-dealing stuff. The white man's cupidity, and selfishness, and gross brutality too often found a victim in his weaker red brother. Very early in my childhood I was made to witness scenes and listen to sounds which were more of "hell than earth," and which made me, even then, a profound hater of the vile stuff, as also of the viler traffic. My father, who was a strong temperance man, had many a "close call" in his endeavors to stop this trade, and to save the Indians from its influence, incurring the hatred of both white and red men of the vilest class. Once when I was walking with him through the Indian village of Newash, I saw an Indian under the influence of liquor come at us with his gun pointed. I was greatly startled, and wondered what father would do; but he merely stood to face him, and, unbuttoning his coat, dared the Indian to shoot him. This bold conduct on father's part made the drunken fellow slink away, muttering as he went. Ah! thought I, what a brave man father is! and this early learned object-lesson was not lost on the little boy who saw it all. Whiskey, wickedness and cowardice were on one side, and on the other, manliness, pluck and righteousness. About this time, when I was between six and seven years of age, my father arranged to go to college. He left my brother David with our uncle, who lived up in the bush, and myself with a Mr. Cathey, who taught the Mission School at Newash. I well remember the stormy winter's morn, when father and mother started for the long journey, as it seemed to me, through the forests of Ontario, from Owen Sound to Cobourg. I thought my little heart would break, and mother was quite broken up with grief at the parting from her boys, and, no doubt, father felt it as keenly; but his strong will was master, and believing in Providence, he took this step, as he thought, in the path of duty and in the interest of each one of us. CHAPTER II. Guardians--School--Trip to Nottawasaga--Journey to Alderville--Elder Case--The wild colt, etc. My guardians were good and kind people, and I never can forget the interest they took in me; but they believed in industry and thrift, and indeed had sore need to, for the salary of a teacher on an Indian mission in those days was very small. My time was spent in going to school, in carrying wood and water, and running errands. During this time my guardians made a trip to the Nottawasaga country, and I went along. Our mode of transport was an open boat, and we coasted around Cape Rich and down the bay past Meaford and Thornbury. I remember one night we camped on the beach where the town of Collingwood now stands. There was nothing then but a "cedar swamp," as near as I can recollect. Finally we came to the mouth of the Nottawasaga River, where we left our boat, and made a walking trip across country to Sunnidale; and while to-day the whole journey is really very short by rail or steamboat, then, to my boyish mind, the distance was great and the enterprise something heroic. Those deep bays, those long points, those great sand-hills, how big then, and long, this all seemed to me; and yet, how all this has dwindled down with the larger experience of life. While at Sunnidale, I spent some of my time fishing for "chubb" in a small mill-pond, and one day, to my great surprise, caught a most wonderful fish or animal, I could not tell which. It finally turned out to be a "mud-turtle." How to carry it home puzzled me. However, eventually I succeeded in bringing the strange thing to the house. Somebody told me to put it down and stand on its back, and it was so strong and I so little that it could move with my weight. Often since then I have seen a big Indian, with a big saddle and load of buffalo meat, all on the back of a small pony, and I have thought of my "mud-turtle" and my ride on its back. Father did not remain very long at college. An opening came to him to go to Alderville and become the assistant of Elder Case, in the management of an industrial school situated at that place. Father in turn opened the way for my guardian, Mr. Cathey, who became teacher at this institution, and accordingly we moved to Alderville. This was a great trip for me--by steamboat from Owen Sound to Coldwater, by stage to Orillia, by steamboat to Holland Landing, by stage to Toronto, and by steamboat from Toronto to Cobourg. All this was an eye and mind opener--those wonderful steamboats, the stagecoach, the multitude of people, the great city of Toronto, for even in 1850 this was to me a wonderful place. To be with mother and father once more, what joy! New scenes, a new world, had opened to my boyish imagination. I felt pity for the people away there in Owen Sound, shut in by forests and rocks. I commiserated my little brother in thought, left as he was on the bush farm, under the limestone crags. What did he know? What could he see? Why, I was away up in experience and knowledge. In vain folks might call me "little Johnnie." I was not little in my own conceit, for I had travelled; I was somebody. Here I saw the venerable Elder Case, whom I may safely call the Apostle of Indian Missions in Canada. He took me on his knee, and placing his hand on my head, gave me his blessing. Then there was his sweet womanly daughter. She was as an "angel of grace" to my boyish heart. She lifted me into the realm of chivalry. I would have done all in my power at her bidding. These memories have been as a benediction all through life, and kept me from going astray many a time in my youth. In the meantime a little sister was born. We named her Eliza, after Miss Case. The Indians called her No-No-Cassa, or humming-bird, for she was a great crier; nevertheless, she grew to womanhood, became the wife of a Hudson's Bay Company's officer, who later on was made an Honorable Senator. To-day my sister is a widow, and is living near the historic city of Edinburgh, overseeing the education of her youngest son, who is attending one of the famous schools of old Scotland. Father's life at Alderville was a busy one: the boys to manage, and some of those grown into young men were very unruly; the farm to run, coupled with circuit and mission work. Many a ride I had with him to meetings in that vicinity. Elder Case had a fine mare; no one else could handle her like father. She had a colt, now grown to be a great big horse, black as coal and wild also. He had broken all his halters heretofore, but father made one of strong rope which held him, and then proceeded to break him in. One day as father was leading this colt, he called me to him, and lifted me on his back. Fear and pride alternated in my mind, but finally the latter ruled, for I was the first one to ride him. Many a broncho have I broken since then, but I never forget the ride on Elder Case's black colt. CHAPTER III. Move into the far north--Trip from Alderville to Garden River--Father's work--Wide range of big steamboat--My trip to Owen Sound--Peril in storm--In store at Penetanguishene--Isolation--First boat--Brother David knocked down. Our stay at Alderville was not a long one. Within a year my father was commissioned by the Church to open a mission somewhere in the north country, among the needy tribes who frequented the shores of lakes Huron and Superior. After prospecting, he determined to locate near the confluence of the "Soo" and Garden rivers. Behold us, then, moving out by wagon, on to Cobourg, and taking steamboat from there to Toronto; thence staging across to Holland Landing. Then going aboard the steamer Beaver, we landed one evening at Orillia, took stage at once, and pounded across many corduroy bridges to Coldwater, where, in the early morning, we went aboard the little side-wheeler Gore, and then out to Owen Sound, where my brother David joined us, and we sailed across Georgian Bay, up through the islands into the majestic river which connects these great lakes, and landed at the Indian village of Garden River. I am now in my ninth year, and, as father says, quite a help. We rented a small one-roomed house from an Indian, and into this we moved from the steamboat. Whiskey was king here. Nearly all the Indians were drunk the first night of our arrival. Such noise and din! We children were frightened, and very glad when morning dawned. Things became more quiet, and now we went to work to build a mission house, a church, and a school-house. Father was everywhere--in the bush chopping logs, among the Indians preaching the Gospel, and fighting the whiskey traffic. I drove the oxen and hauled the timber to its place. I interpreted for father in the home and by the wayside. My brother and myself fished, picked berries, did anything to supplement our scanty fare, for father's salary was only $320, and prices were very high. In our wanderings after berries I had to be responsible for my brother. The Indian boys would go with us. Every little while I would shout, "David, come on!" They would take it up, "Dape-tic-o-mon!" This was how the sounds came to their ears. This they would shout; and this they named my brother, and the name still sticks to him in that country. My Indian name was "Pa-ke-noh-ka" ("the Winner"). I earned this by leaving all boys of my age in foot-races. After some months of hard work we got the home up, and moved into it. Then the school-house was erected. A wonderful change was going on in the meantime. The people became sober. To see any drunk became the exception. A strong temperance feeling took hold of the Indians. Many of them were converted. Though but a boy, I could not help but see and note all the changes. What meetings I attended with father in the houses, and camps, and sugar-bushes of the people! Our means of transport were, in summer, by boat and canoe, and in winter, by sleigh and snow-shoes. Many a long trip I had with father in sail or Mackinaw boat, away up into Lake Superior, then down to the Bruce Mines, calling _en route_ and preaching to a few Indians who lived at Punkin Point. We sailed when the wind would let us. Then father would pull and I would steer, on into the night, across long stretches and along what seemed to me interminable shores. How sleepy I used to be! Often I wondered if father ever became tired. He would preach, and pray, and sing, and then pull, as if he were fresh all the time. Then, in winter, with our little white pony and jumper, which my father had made, we would take the same trips. Sometimes the ice would be very dangerous, and father would take the reins out of the rings and give them to me straight from the horse's mouth, saying, "If she breaks through, John, keep her head above water if you can." And then father would take the axe he carried and run ahead, trying the ice as he ran. And thus we would reach those early settlements and Indian camps, where father was always welcome. In summer, in coming to or from Lake Superior, we always portaged at the "Soo," on the American side. Coming down father would put me ashore at the head of the rapids, and he would run them. While we were in that country the Americans built their canal. Father was chaplain for the Canal Company for a time. I saw a big "side-wheeler" being portaged across for service on Lake Superior. It took months to do this. By and by I saw great vessels "locking" through the canal. Our Indians got out timber for the canal. Some of my first earnings I made in taking out timber to floor the canal. Father became well acquainted with the Canal Company. Once a number of the directors with the superintendent came to Garden River in one of their tugs, and prevailed on father to join the party. He took me along. Away we flew down the river, and when near the mouth on the American side, we met a yawl pulling up stream. Who should be in it but the Governor of the Hudson's Bay Company, Sir George Simpson. He stood up in his boat and hailed us, and told us that a big steamer named the Traveller was aground over between the islands. She had started to cross over to the Bruce Mines and come up the other channel. He said, "You will confer a great favor if you go over and give her all the help you can. She is loaded with passengers, and they are running great risks should a storm come on before she is got off." Accordingly we went to the rescue, and as a messenger from Providence were we welcomed by the great ship. We launched a nice little log canoe that father had taken along, and he got into it and felt and sounded a way for us, for our small vessel drew almost as much water as the big one; but father piloted our tug close to the great vessel. Soon we had a big hawser hitched to the stern of the steamer. [Illustration: THE "TRAVELLER" IN DISTRESS] I well remember the time, for I was in the cabin at supper when our tug, with all steam on and with a jump, gathered in all the slack. What a jerk! and then snap went the big rope as though it had been so much thread, and away I went to the other end of the small cabin. Crockery, cutlery, and boy brought up in a promiscuous heap. Then we broke another big rope in vain, and it was concluded that the most of our passengers should go on to the steamer, and father should pilot the tug over to the Canadian side, where there was a big scow or lighter, and bring the latter, and thus lighten the ship. Darkness was now on the scene, and the big ship, all lit up, presented a weird sight stuck on a bar and in great danger if the wind should come off the lake; which fortunately it did not. Father started with the tug at first peep of day, and about two o'clock in the afternoon came back to us with the big barge in tow. This was placed alongside the steamer, and all hands went to work to lighten her. In the meantime two anchors were got out astern. One of these was to be pulled upon by the windlass, and the other by the passengers--for there were some three hundred on board. Everybody worked with a will, and soon all was ready. Steam up on the steamer, our tug hitched to her ready to pull, the passengers ranged along the rope from one anchor away astern, the other rope from another anchor on the windlass. Some of the crew rolled the ballast barrels to and fro, to cause the ship to roll, if possible. When all was ready the whistle blew, and all steam was put on both big and little ships, the passengers pulled as for life, the capstan turned, the big vessel seemed to quiver and straighten, and after moments of great suspense began to move backwards off the shoal. What shouting, what cheering, once more the huge ship was afloat! As it was now late we started for the Bruce Mines, our tug taking the lead and the steamer following. About dark we reached the docks at the Bruce Mines, where we lay all night. Our watchman slept at his post, and allowed the big ship to get away ahead of us in the morning, but when we did start, we flew. Our superintendent was determined to overhaul her before she could reach the "Soo," and so he did, overtaking and passing her in Big Lake George, while she was scratching her way over the shoal, which at that time was not dredged out as now. Then, when the last boat went east in the fall, all that western and upper country was left without communication until spring opened again. Under these circumstances you can imagine with what eagerness we looked for the first boat of the season. I well remember I was hauling timber to the river bank with a yoke of oxen, some little ways down from the Mission, when the boat came along. All I could do was to wave my gad and shout her welcome. Looking up the river, I saw my brother Dave, with father's double-barrelled gun, standing to salute the first steamer. Dave either did not know or had forgotten that father had put in an unusual big charge for long shooting, and when the boat came opposite to him he fired the first barrel, and the gun knocked him over. The passengers and crew of the steamer cheered him, and, nothing daunted, he got up, fired the second barrel, and again was knocked over. This was great fun for the steamboat people, and they cheered David, and threw him some apples and oranges, which he, dropping the gun, and running to the canoe, was soon out in the river gathering. Some of this time mother was very sick, and David and I had all the work to do about the house--wash, scrub, bake, cook, inside and outside. We found plenty to do. When not wanted at home we went fishing and hunting. Then I found employment in teaming. I worked one winter for an Indian, hauling saw-logs out of the woods to the river bank. He gave me fifty cents per day and my board. In the summer I sometimes sold cordwood on commission for Mr. Church, the trader, and when he put up a saw-mill, a couple of miles down the river, I several times got out a lot of saw-logs and rafted them down to the mill. I also hauled cordwood on to the dock with our pony and a sleigh, for there were no carts or wagons in the country at that time, nor yet had we the means to buy them. I think I made a good investment with my first earnings, a part of which I expended in the purchase of a shawl for my mother, and a part I saved for the next missionary meeting as my subscription thereto. Father was stationed for six years at Garden River. During this time he sent me down to Owen Sound for one winter, in order that I might attend the public school, there being none nearer to which I might have access. I must have been eleven or twelve years of age at this time. My parents put me on the steamer--the _Kalloola_. I was placed in care of the mate, and away we went for the east. All went well until we reached Killarney; then we struck out into the wide stretch of Georgian Bay. It must have been the middle of the afternoon that we took our course out into the "Big Lake." In the evening the wind freshened, the sky became dark, the scuds thickened, and there was every indication of a storm. The captain shook his head; old Bob, the mate, looked solemn; everything was put ship-shape. Down came the storm, and for some hours it seemed doubtful whether we should weather it. Some of the bulwarks of our side-wheeler were smashed in. Our vessel labored heavily. Passengers were alarmed; some of them who had been gambling and cursing and swearing during the previous fine portion of the voyage, were the most excited and alarmed of the lot. The captain had to severely reprimand them at last. Again I took mental note that loudness and profanity are not evidences of pluck or manliness. Old Bob was about to lock me in my stateroom, but I pleaded to be allowed to remain with him on deck. Signals of distress were made. The captain thought we were in the vicinity of an island, and if we could be heard, some fishermen might light a beacon-fire, and thus we might be saved by getting under the lee of the island. The danger was imminent. Anxiety and sustained suspense were written on every face, when suddenly through the black night and raging storm there flashed in view a glimmer of light. Presently this assumed shape, and the captain was right--we were near an island; and in a little while, by dint of strong effort, we were in the lee of the same and safe for the while. Then I went to sleep, and when I awoke we were far on our course, and in due time reached Owen Sound. I went to my uncle's, about two miles in the country, but still it was hard to distinguish very much between town and country. From my uncle's kind but humble home I wended my way every school-day to the old log school-house in Owen Sound. The teacher believed in "pounding it in," for, like now, "_Children's heads were hollow._" I saw a great deal of flogging, but somehow or another missed being flogged at that school. Through the rain and mud, through the snow and slush, through the winter's cold, I plodded back and forth morning and evening from school to the little log-house under the limestone cliffs. This last autumn, in company with my cousin, Captain George MacDougall (who was born in this log-house), we drove out to look at the spot once more. The farm, hill, and cliffs were there, but the house was gone. Here we had sheltered and played and grown, and felt it was home--now it was gone. A strange home was built near the spot, stranger people lived in it, and with feelings of melancholy we turned away. Twice during that winter I had intermission from school. Another uncle came along and took me down to Meaford, where my grandparents lived, and this gave me a delightful visit and a holiday as well. Another time I was chopping and splitting wood in the morning, before starting for school, when the axe slipped, and I cut my foot almost in two. Alas! I had my new boots on--long boots at that. No one knows how much sacrifice my father and mother made to provide me with those boots. I went and got my measure taken. Every other day or so I went to see if the village shoemaker had finished them. At last, after weary waiting, they were finished. How proudly I carried them home! With what dignity I walked to school with them on! Very few boys in those days had "long boots," and now alas! alas! I had cut one of them almost in two. That was the thought that was uppermost in my mind, while my aunt was dressing my foot and saying "Poor Johnnie," and pitying me with her big heart; and I was, so far as my foot was concerned, rather glad, because it bespoke another holiday from school. But my boot--could it ever be mended? would it ever look as it had? Oh, this worried me a lot. Early next summer I went back to Garden River, and was delighted to be home again. Then father found a place for me in the store of Mr. Edward Jeffrey, at Penetanguishene, to which place I went on the same old steamer. We happened to reach there late one evening, when the whole town was in a blaze of burning tallow. Every window had a candle in it, and we on the boat, as we steamed up the bay, could not help but wonder what had happened. Presently as we neared the wharf someone shouted across to us, "Sebastopol is taken; Sebastopol is taken!" Here was a "national" spirit in earnest. Away in the heart of Europe British soldiers were in conflict; they and their allies won a victory, and out here in the heart of this continent, a hamlet on the shore of this distant bay is aflame with joy. Why, I walked from the wharf to my future home amid a blaze of light. Every seven-by-nine had a tallow-dip behind it. Here, for about nine months, I worked in the store and on the farm. The greater part of our customers were French, and I soon picked up the vernacular, and became quite at home in serving them. One day when I was in the store alone, a drunken Indian came in and wanted me to give him something; in fact, demanded it. I refused, and he drew his long knife and started around the counter after me. When he came near I vaulted over the counter, and for some time we kept this up, I hoping someone would come in, and failing that, I wanted time to reach the door, which I finally secured, and throwing it open, called for help, when the crazy fellow took to his heels. I would have thankfully informed on the man who gave him the liquor, but did not like to punish the poor Indian. Here I was given one suit of clothes and my board for my work, which always was so much; besides I learned much which has been useful to me all through life. Summer came, and with it my father, who took me home with him. This time we drove to Barrie, and then took the train to Collingwood. This was my first ride on a railroad; my thought was, how wonderfully the world is progressing. CHAPTER IV. Move to Rama--I go to college--My chum--How I cure him--Work in store in Orillia--Again attend college--Father receives appointment to "Hudson's Bay"--Asks me to accompany him. After six years of great toil, and a good deal of privation, father was moved to Rama, and now a bright new field was opening before me, for father had determined to send me to Victoria College. I was now nearly fourteen years old, and would have been better suited at some good public school, but father had great faith in "old Victoria," and at that time there was a preparatory department in connection with the college. So, soon after we were settled at Rama, I went on to Cobourg. I was early, and it was several days before college opened. Oh, how lonesome I was, completely lost in those strange surroundings. I had a letter to Dr. Nelles, and because of my father he received me graciously, and I felt it was something to have a grand, good father, such as I had; but it was days before I became in any way acquainted with the boys. I was looked upon as an Indian; in fact, I was pointed out by one boy to another as the "Indian fellow." "Oh," said the other boy, "where does he come from?" and to my amazement and also comfort, for it revealed to me that these very superior young gentlemen did not know as much as I gave them credit for, the other said, "Why, he comes from Lake Superior at the foot of the Rocky Mountains;" and yet this boy was about voicing the extent of general knowledge of our country in those days. I was given a chum, and he was as full of mischief and conceit as boys generally are in the presence of one not so experienced as they are. My father thought I might be able to go through to graduation, and therefore wanted me to take up studies accordingly. Latin was one of the first I was down for, this was in Professor Campbell's room. We filed in the first morning, and he took our names, and said he was glad to see us, hoped we would have a pleasant time together, etc., and then said, "Gentlemen, you can take the first declension for to-morrow." What was the first declension, what did you do with it, how learn it, how recite it? My, how these questions bothered me the rest of the day! I finally found the first declension. I made up my mind that I would be the first to be called on to-morrow. Oh, what a stew I was in! I dared not ask anybody for fear of ridicule, and thus I was alone. I staid in my room, I pored over that page of my Latin grammar, I memorized the whole page. I could have repeated it backwards. It troubled me all night, and next day I went to my class trembling and troubled; but, to my great joy, I was not called upon, and without having asked anyone, I saw through the lesson, and a load went off my mind. After that first hour in the class-room, I saw then that after all I was as capable as many others around me, and was greatly comforted. But my rascal of a chum, noticing that I stuck to my Latin grammar a great deal, one day, when I was out of the room, took and smeared the pages of my lesson with mucilage and shut the book, thus destroying that part for me, and putting me in another quandary. However, I got over that, and "laid low" for my chum, for he was soon at his tricks again. This time he knotted and twisted my Sunday clothes, as they hung in the room. And now my temper was up. I went out on to the playground, found him among a crowd, and caught him by the throat, tripped him up and got on him, and said, "You villain! You call me an Indian; I will Indian you, I will--scalp you!" And with this, with one hand on his throat, I felt for my knife with the other, when he began to call "Murder!" The boys took me off, and I laid my case before them, and showed them how the young rascal had treated me. And now the crowd took my part, and I was introduced. After that everybody knew me, and I had lots of friends. Before long I "cleaned out" the crowd in running foot-races, and proved myself the equal of any at "long jump" and "hop, step and jump." This made me one of the boys, and even my chum began to be proud of me. [Illustration: HOW I CURED MY CHUM] But my greatest hardship was lack of funds, even enough to obtain books, or paper and pencils. Once I borrowed twenty-five cents from one of the boys, and after a few days he badgered me for it, and kept it up until I was in despair and felt like killing him. Then I went to one of the "Conference students" and borrowed the twenty-five cents to give to my persecutor; and then daily I wended my way to the post-office, hoping for a remittance, but none came for weeks, and when one came, it had the great sum of _one dollar_ in it. How gladly I paid my twenty-five cents debt, and carefully hoarded the balance of my dollar. Christmas came, and most of the boys went home; but though I wanted to go home and my parents wanted me very much, and though it took but a few dollars to go from Cobourg to Barrie, the few were not forthcoming, and my holidays were to go back to Alan-wick amongst my father's old friends, those with whom he had worked during his time under Elder Case, and who received me kindly for my father's sake. Soon the busy months passed, and then convocation and holidays, and I went back to Rama and enjoyed a short holiday in canoeing down to Muskoka, having as my companions my cousin Charles and my brother David. We had a good time, and when we came home I engaged to work for Thomas Moffatt, of Orillia, for one year, for $5.00 per month and my board. My work was attending shop, and one part especially was trading with the Indians. Of these we had two classes--those who belonged to the reserve at Rama, and the pagans who roamed the "Muskoka country." Having the language and intimate acquaintance with the life and habits of these people, I was as "to the manner born," and thus had the advantage over many others. Many a wild ride I have had with those "Muskoka fellows." If we heard of them coming, I would go to meet them with a big team and sleigh, and bring them and their furs to town, and after they had traded would take them for miles on their way. While in town we would try and keep them from whiskey, but sometimes after we got started out some sly fellow would produce his bottle, and the drinking would begin, and with it the noise and bluster; and I would be very glad when I got them out of my sleigh and had put some distance between us. Right across from us was another store, the owner of which had been a "whiskey trader" the greater part of his life. One morning I was taking the shutters off our windows, when a man galloped up in great haste and told me he was after a doctor, that there was someone either freezing or frozen out on the ice in the bay, a little below the village; and away he flew on his errand. The old "whiskey trader" happened just then to come to the door of his store, and I told him what I had heard. With a laugh and an oath he said, "John, I'll bet that is old Tom Bigwind, the old rascal." (Poor Tom, an Indian, was the victim of drunkenness, and this man had helped to make him so.) "He owes me, and I suppose he owes you also. Well, I will tell you what we will do; you shall take his old squaw, and I will take his traps." My boyish blood was all ablaze at this, but as he was a white-headed old man, I turned away in disgust. I then went in to breakfast, and when I came out I had an errand down the street, and presently met the old trader, all broken up and crying like a child. I said, "What is the matter?" and he burst out, "Oh, it is George! Poor George!" "What George?" I asked; and he said, "My son! my son!" And then it flashed upon me--for I knew his son, like old Tom, the Indian, had become a victim of the same curse. Ah! thought I, this is retribution quick and sharp. I went on down to the town hall, into which the lifeless body had been brought, and there, sure enough, was _poor George's body, chilled to death out on the ice while drunk!_ One of the gentlemen present said to me, "John, you must go and break this sad event to his wife." I pleaded for someone else to go, but it was no use. I was acquainted with the family, had often received kind notice from this poor woman who now in this terrible manner was widowed, and with a troubled heart I went on my sad errand. What had spoken to her? No human being had been near the house that morning, and yet, with blanched face, as if in anticipation of woe, she met me at the door. I said, "Be calm, madam, and gather your strength," and I told her what had happened. It seemed to age me to do this; what must it have been to this loving wife to listen to my tale! She sat as dead for a minute, and then she spoke. "John, I will go with you to my husband;" and, leaning and tottering on my arm, I took her to where her dead husband lay. It is awful to stand by the honorable dead when suddenly taken from us while in the prime and vigor of life, but this seemed beyond human endurance. No wonder I hate this accursed traffic. I was very busy and happy during my stay in Orillia. My employer and his good wife were exceedingly kind, and I became acquainted with many whose friendship I value and esteem to-day. At the end of the year I had saved all but $10 of my $60 salary, and with this to the good and with father's hearty encouragement, I started for college once more. This time I was at home at once. Even the old halls and class-rooms seemed to welcome me. Dr. Nelles took me by the hand in a way which, in turn, took my heart. I received great kindness from Dr. Harris and Dr. Whitlocke, Mr. (now Dr.) Burwash and Mr. (now Dr.) Burns. I had these grand men before me as ideals, and I strove to hold their friendship. That year at college, 1859-60, is a green spot in my memory. It opened to me a new life; it gave me the beginnings of a grip of things; it originated, or helped to originate, within me a desire to think for myself. Everywhere--on the playground, in the class-rooms, in the college halls, in the students' room--I had a good time. I was strong and healthy, and, for my age, a more than average athlete. I could run faster and jump farther than most of the students or townboys. I knew my parents were making sacrifices to keep me at college, and I studied hard to make the most of my grand opportunity. Thus the months flew almost too quickly, and college closed and I went home; and, being still but a young boy, was glad to see my mother and brothers and sisters, and to launch the canoe and fish by the hour for bass and catfish, and even occasionally a maskinonge. Why, even now I seem to feel the thrill of a big black bass's bite and pull. What excitement, what intense anxiety, and what pride when a big fellow was safely landed in my canoe! One day I was lazily paddling around Limestone Point. The lake was like a mirror. I was looking into the depths of water, when presently I saw some dark objects. I slowly moved my canoe to obtain a right light, so as to see what they were, when to my surprise I made out the dark things to be three large catfish. Quietly I baited my hook and dropped it down, down, near the mouth of one. They seemed to be sleeping. I gently moved my baited hook, until I tickled the fellow's moustache. Then he slowly awoke and swallowed my hook. I pulled easily, and without disturbing the others put him in my canoe, and repeated this until the trio were again side by side. This was great sport--this was great luck for our table at home. In a little while Conference sat, and my father was appointed to Norway House, Hudson's Bay. This news came like a clap of thunder into our quiet home at Rama. Hudson's Bay--we had a very vague idea where that was; but Norway House, who could tell us about this? Now, it so happened that we were very fortunate, for right beside us lived Peter Jacobs. Peter had once been a missionary, and had been stationed at Norway House and Lac-la-Pliue; therefore to Peter I went for information. He told me Norway House was north of Lake Winnipeg, on one of the rivers which flow into the Nelson; that it was a large Hudson's Bay Company's fort, the head post of a large district; that our mission was within two miles of the fort; that the Indians were quiet, industrious, peaceable people; "in fact," said he, "the Indians at Norway House are the best I ever saw." All this was comforting, especially to mother. But as to the route to be travelled, Peter could give but little information. He had come and gone by the old canoe route, up the Kaministiqua and so on, across the height of land down to Lake Winnipeg. We were to go out by another way altogether. I began to study the maps. This was a route I had not been told anything about at school. In the meantime father came home. And though I did hope to work my way through college, when my father said, "My son, I want you to go with me," that settled it, and we began to make ready for our big translation. CHAPTER V. From Rama to St. Paul--Mississippi steamers--Slaves--Pilot--Race. Early in July, 1860, we started on our journey. I was then in my seventeenth year. We sailed from Collingwood on an American propeller, which brought us to Milwaukee, on Lake Michigan. Here we took a train through a part of Wisconsin to Lacrosse, on the Mississippi River, which place we reached about midnight, and immediately were transferred to a big Mississippi steamer. Here everything was new--the style and build of the boat, long and broad and flat, made to run in very shallow water. The manner of propelling this huge craft was a very large wheel, as wide as the boat, and fixed to the stern, and which in its revolutions fairly churned the waters in her wake. The system of navigation was so different; the pilot steered the boat, not by his knowledge of the fixed channel, but by his experience of the lights and shadows on the water which by day or night indicated to him the deep and shallow parts. Passengers and mails had no sooner been transferred, than tinkle! tinkle! went the bells, and our big steamer quivered from stem to stern, and then began to vibrate and shake as if in a fit of ague, and we were out in the stream and breasting the current of this mighty river. Dancing was going on in the cabin of the boat when we went on board; but soon all was quiet except the noise of the engines and the splash of the paddles. Next morning we were greeted with beautiful river scenery. Long stretches, majestic bends, terraced banks, abrupt cliffs, succeeded each other in grand array. During the day we came to Lake Pepin, and here were joined to another big steamer. The two were fastened together side by side to run the length of the lake, and also to give the passengers of the other boat opportunity to come aboard ours, and be entertained by music and dancing. The colored steward and waiters of our boat were a grand orchestra in themselves. One big colored man was master of ceremonies. Above the din of machinery and splashing of huge paddles rose his voice in stentorian tones: "Right!" "Left!" "Promenade!" "Change partners!" "Swing partners!" And thus the fun went on that bright afternoon; while, like a pair of Siamese twins, our big stern-wheelers ploughed up the current of the "Big River," this being the literal translation of the word Mississippi. Both boats had crowds of Southern people and their slaves as passengers; and if what we saw was the whole of slavery, these were having a good time. But, as the colored barber on our boat said to me, "This is the very bright side of it." And then he asked me if we were not English. And when I told him we were Canadians, he wanted me to ask father to help some of these slaves to freedom. But it was not long after this when the mighty struggle took place which resulted in the freeing of all the slaves. These were the days of steamboats on the Mississippi, which Mark Twain has immortalized. From port to port the pilot reigned supreme. What a lordly fellow he was! As soon as the boat was tied to the bank the captain and mate took the reins, and they drove with a vengeance, putting off or taking on freight at the stopping-places, and taking in cordwood from the barge towed alongside in order to save time. They made those "roust-abouts" jump. The captain would cuff, and the mate would kick, and the two would vie with each other in profanity, and thus they rushed things; and when ready, the pilot with quiet dignity would resume his throne. When the channel narrowed our boats parted, and to change the excitement began a race. Throw in the pitch pine-knots, fling in the chunks of bacon! Make steam! more steam! is the meaning of the ringing of bells and the messages which follow each other down from the pilot-house to the engine-room. This time we seemed as yet to be about matched, when our rival pilot undertook to run between us and the bar, and in doing so ran his boat hard and fast in the sand. We gave him a parting cheer and went on, reaching St. Paul some twenty-four hours ahead. St. Paul, now a fine city, was then a mere village. CHAPTER VI. Across the plains--Mississippi to the Red--Pemmican--Mosquitoes--Dogs--Hunting--Flat boat--Hostile Indians. We had reached the prairie country, woodland and plain intermixed. We were now at the end of our steam transport service for this trip. We did hope to catch the only steamer on the Red River of the North, but in this were disappointed. The next question was how to reach the Red River. Hundreds of miles intervened. We found on inquiry that there were two means of crossing the country in sight--one by stage-coach, the other by Red River cart. A brigade of these latter having just then come in from the north, father and I went out to the camp where these carts were, and the sight of them soon made father determine not to travel with them. Our first sight of these Red River chariots was not favorable. I climbed into one, but did so carefully, fearing it would collapse with my weight. All the iron on it was a thin hoop on the hub, the whole thing being bound together with rawhide. "No, gentlemen, we were as yet too much 'tender-feet' to risk such vehicles." Imagine mother and my sisters jogging hundreds of miles in those springless carts! Father then went to interview the proprietors of the stage line, and concluded a bargain with them to take us from St. Paul to Georgetown, which place is on the Red River. Accordingly, one morning bright and early, and long before breakfast, we were rolling away up the eastern bank of the Mississippi--father, mother and sisters inside the coach, and myself up with the driver. Our pace was good, the country we were travelling through beautiful in its scenic properties. We stopped for the first stage at St. Anthony's Falls. Here we had our breakfast. If anyone that morning had said, "Just across yonder will stand one of the finest cities in America, and that before many years," all the pessimists in the party would have laughed at such a prophecy, but I verily believe, father would have said, "Yes, it is coming." Our drive that day took us across the Mississippi to the village of St. Cloud, where father, learning that the steamer on the Red River would not come up to Georgetown for some time, concluded to stay over until the next coach, one week later. In the meantime we made a tent, and hunted prairie chicken, and studied German, or rather Germans, for these made up the greater part of the population. Taking the next coach the following week, we continued our journey. Soon we left settlement behind, the people of the stage-houses and stopping-places being the only inhabitants along the route. Many of these were massacred in the Sioux rising which took place shortly afterwards. Our stages ranged from twelve to twenty miles, and we averaged seventy miles per day. A great part of the route was beautifully undulating, and fresh scenes were before us all the while. [Illustration: MY DELIGHT WAS TO DRIVE THE FOUR-IN-HAND] My delight was to drive the four-in-hand, and the good-natured drivers would give me many an opportunity to do so. It seemed like living to hold those reins, and swing around those hills and bowl through those valleys at a brisk trot or quick gallop. By and by we reached the beginning of the Red River. We were across the divide; we were coursing down the country northward. Hitherto it had been "up north" with us, but now, for years, it would be "down north." These waters flowed into Hudson's Bay. Presently we were on the great flat plain, which largely constitutes the valley of the Red River. At the stopping-place, on the edge of this flat country, the stage people were about to leave the coach and hitch on to a broad-tired, springless wagon, but father simply put his foot down and we went on with our coach. Talk about mosquitoes! They were there by the million. Such a night as we put in on the Breckinridge flats! The stopping-place was unique of its kind--a dugout with a ridge-pole and small poles leaned against this on two sides, with earth and sods placed over these poles, and some canvas hung at either end. The night was hot, the dugout, because of the cook-stove, hotter still, and the mosquitoes in countless numbers. Mother and my sisters were in misery; indeed, we all were, but we comforted each other with the thought that it was for one night only, and that respite would come in the morning. My bed was under the table on the mud floor. My companion for the night was the proprietor of this "one-roomed mud hotel." The next morning the driver for that day said to me, "Now, young man, make a good square meal, for to-night we will reach Georgetown, and you will have only dogs and pemmican to cat." I asked him what pemmican was, but he could not tell me. All he could do was to talk about it. All day we drove over this great flat plain--rich soil, long grass; the only break was the fringing of timber along the river. We had dinner and then supper, and again the driver would admonish us to partake heartily of bacon and bread, for to-night, said he, "we reach the land of pemmican." My curiosity was greatly excited as to what pemmican might be. Late in the evening we reached Georgetown. Here we were on the banks of the Red River, and at the end of our stage journey, where we hoped to find a steamer to take us down to Fort Garry. Georgetown was situated a little north of the junction of Buffalo Creek with the Red River. The town consisted of one dwelling house and a storehouse, both belonging to the Hudson's Bay Company. Here, though not yet in the Hudson's Bay country, we were already in touch with this great company whose posts reached far on to the Arctic and dotted the country from Labrador to the Pacific coast. The gentleman in charge, a Mr. Murray, learning of our destination, with the usual courtesy of the Hudson's Bay Company's officers, welcomed us heartily, and gave up his room to our family, while he took up quarters with me in our tent, which we speedily pitched near the bank of the river. That night, before we went to sleep, I inquired of Mr. Murray if he knew anything about pemmican, and with a laugh he replied, "Yes, my boy, I was made acquainted with pemmican many years ago, and will be pleased to introduce you to some in the morning." I would fain have inquired about dogs, but my kind friend was already snoring. I could not sleep so soon. This strange, wild, new country we had travelled through for days, these Indian, and buffalo, and frontier stories I had listened to at the stopping-places, and heard from the drivers as we travelled--though born on the frontier yet all this was new to me. Such illimitable plains, such rich soil, such rank grass--there was a bigness about all this, and I could not help but speculate upon its future. With the early morn we were up, and using the Red River as our wash-dish, were soon ready to investigate our new surroundings. The first thing was pemmican. Mr. Murray took me to the storehouse, and here, sure enough, was pemmican in quantity. Cords of black and hairy bags were piled along the walls of the store. These bags were hard, and solid, and heavy. One which had been cut into was lying on the floor. Someone had taken an axe and chopped right through hair and hide and pemmican, and here it was spread before me. My friend stooped and took some and began to eat, and said to me, "Help yourself," but though I had not eaten since supper yesterday, and we had driven a long way after that, still the dirty floor, the hairy bag, the mixture of the whole, almost turned my stomach, and I merely said, "Thank you, sir." Ah! but soon I did relish pemmican, and for years it became my staple food. It was a wonderful provision of Providence for the aboriginal man and the pioneer of every class. For days we waited for the steamer; not a word reached us from anywhere. In the meantime, father and I hunted and fished; we shot duck and prairie chicken, and caught perch and pickerel and catfish and mud-turtles, and explored the country for miles, though we were cautioned about Indians, a war-party of whom one might strike anywhere and any time. The Red River was a sort of dividing line between the Ojibways and the Sioux, the former to the east and the latter to the west of this long liquid line of natural division. By and by the steamer came, and, to our great disappointment, the captain said he could not run her back down as the water was too low. This captain was not of the kind of pioneer men who laugh at impossibilities. The next thing was to load a flat-bottomed barge and float her down. We were allowed to erect our tent on a portion of the deck of the scow, and soon we were moving down stream, having as motive power human muscle applied to four long sweeps. Day and night, with change of men, our scow kept on down this slow-currented and tortuous stream. The only stop was to take on wood for our cooking stove. Here I learned to like pemmican. CHAPTER VII. From Georgetown on the Red to Norway House on the Nelson--Old Fort Garry--Governor MacTavish--York boats--Indian gamblers--Welcome by H. B. Co. people. I think it was the sixth day out from Georgetown that we again entered Canada. Late in the evening of the eighth day we rounded the point at the mouth of the Assiniboine, and landed at Fort Garry. It was raining hard, and mud was plentiful. I climbed the banks and saw the walls and bastions of the fort, and looked out northward on the plains and saw one house. Where that house stood, now stands the city of Winnipeg. Fortunately for us a brigade of York boats was then loading to descend the rivers and lakes, and cross the many portages to York Factory on Hudson's Bay. Father lost no time in securing a passage in one of these, which was to start the next morning. In the meantime, Governor MacTavish invited father and mother and sisters to quarters in his own home for the night. My work was to transfer our luggage to the York boat, and then stay and look after it, for it was evident that our new crew were pretty well drunk. Near dark we heard a strange noise up the Red, and one of the boatmen said, "Indians coming!" And sure enough a regular fleet of wild Red Lake Ojibways hove in sight, and, singing and paddling in time, came ashore right beside us. Painted and feathered, and strangely costumed, these were real specimens of North American Indians. As was customary, the Hudson's Bay Company served them out a "regale" of rum, and very soon the night was made hideous with the noise of their drunken bout. I had a big time keeping them out of our boat, but here my acquaintance with their language served me in good turn. [Illustration: I HAD A BIG TIME KEEPING THEM OUT OF OUR BOAT] Until near morning I kept my vigil in the bow of our boat, and then our steersman woke up, and was sufficiently sobered to relieve me, and I took his blanket and slept a short time. Early in the day we made our start for Norway House. This we trusted was our last transfer. Our craft was an agreeable change to the clumsy barge. This was more like a bateau built and used on our eastern lakes, but lighter and stronger, capable of standing a good sea, and making good time under sail. The boat was manned with eight men and a steersman. One of the eight was the bowman. With our eight big oars keeping stroke, we swept around the point and again took the Red for Lake Winnipeg and beyond. Our quarters in the open boat were small, and, for our party, crowded, but we hoped to reach our destination in a few days. We had but four hundred miles more to make to what was to be our new home. We were now passing through the old Red River settlement, St. John's, St. Boniface, Kildonan, the homes of the people on either bank, many of these making one think that these folk literally believed in the old saw, "Man wants but little here below, nor wants that little long." Here, as everywhere in the North-West, the influence of the great herds of buffalo on the plain, and big shoals of fish in the lakes and rivers, was detrimental to the permanent prosperity of a people. You cannot really civilize a hunter or a fisherman until you wean him from these modes of making a livelihood. We passed Stone Fort and Archdeacon Cowley's Mission, where for a lifetime this venerable servant of God labored for the good of men; then on to the mouth of the Red, which we camped at the second day. We had many delays coming through the settlements, but now were fairly off. Up to this time father and I had not let our crew know that we understood the Ojibway, or, as it was termed here, the Salteaux. Often had we been much amused at the remarks some of these men had made about us, but seeing a muskrat near the boat, I forgot all caution and shouted in Indian to a man with a gun to shoot it. The man let the muskrat go because of his wonder at my use of the language. "_Te wa_," said he, "this fellow speaks as ourselves;" and then we became great friends. Here for the first time in my life I found myself amongst Indian gamblers. Whenever we were wind-bound, some of the various crews (for there were a number of boats) would form gambling circles, and with drum and song play "odd or even," or something similar. Here the man most gifted with mind-reading power would invariably come off the winner. Our men seemed passionately fond of this kind of gambling, and it was one of the habits the missionary had to contend against, for to the Indian there was associated with this the supernatural and heathenish, and often these gambling circles would break up for the time with a stabbing or shooting scrape. Sometimes wind-bound, sometimes sailing, sometimes pulling, merely calling at Berens River post, where some ten or twelve years later Rev. E. R. Young began a mission, and presently we had gone the greater part of the length of Lake Winnipeg, had entered one of the outward and sea-bound branches of the Nelson, had crossed the island-dotted and picturesque Play-green Lake, had come down the Jack River, and on the tenth day from Fort Garry, pulled up at Norway House, and met a very kind welcome from the Hudson's Bay Factor and his lady, and indeed from everybody. We were still two miles from Rossville. Our new friends manned a boat and took us over. Here we found the Rev. Robt. Brooking and family; and as no news had preceded us, we brought them word of their being relieved. Great was their joy, and ours was not a little, for we had now reached our objective point for the present. Here was our home, and here were we to work and labor, each according to his ability. CHAPTER VIII. New mission--The people--School--Invest in pups--Dog-driving--Foot-ball--Beautiful aurora. Rossville is beautifully situated on a rocky promontory which stretches out into the lake. All around are coves, and bays, and islands, and rivers. The water is living and good, the fish are of first quality, and in the season fowl of many kinds were plentiful. Canoe and boat in summer, dog-train in winter--these were the means of transport. The only horse in the country belonged to the Mission, had been brought there by James Evans, and was now very old. We used him to plough our garden, and sometimes haul a little wood, but he was really a "superannuate." The Indians were of the Cree nation, and spoke a dialect of that language, known as the Swampy Cree. As there is a strong affinity between the Ojibway and the Cree, I began very soon to pick it up. As Peter Jacobs had told me, these Indians were the best we had ever seen--more teachable, more honest, more willing to work, more respectful than any we had as yet come across. Their occupation was, in summer, boating for the Hudson's Bay Company and free traders, and in winter, hunting. There were no better, no hardier tripmen in the whole Hudson's Bay country than these Norway House Indians. Between Lake Winnipeg and York Factory there are very many portages, and across these all the imports and exports for this part of the country must be carried on men's backs, and across some these big boats must be hauled. No men did the work more quickly or willingly than the men from our Mission at Rossville. When we went to them their great drawback was the rum traffic. This was a part of the trade, but I am glad to say that soon after this time of which I write, the Hudson's Bay Company gave up dealing in liquor among the Indians. This was greatly to their credit. No wonder the Indian drank, for almost all white men with whom he came in contact did so; and even some of our own missionaries, greatly to my surprise, had brought into this Indian country those Old Country ideas of the use of stimulants. But father soon inaugurated a new _régime_, and many of the Hudson's Bay people respected him for it, and helped him in his efforts against this truly accursed traffic. In a few days Mr. Brooking and family left on their long journey to Ontario, and we settled down to home-life at Rossville. My work was teaching, and I had my hands full, for my daily average was about eighty. I had no trouble, the two years I taught at Norway House, to gather scholars. They came from the mainland and from the islands and from the fort, by canoe and dog-train. My scholars were faithful in their attendance, but the responsibility was a heavy one for me, a mere boy. However, I was fresh from being taught and from learning, and I went to work enthusiastically, and was very much encouraged by the appreciation of the people. After school hours I either took my gun and went partridge-hunting, or went and set my net for white-fish, to help make our pot boil. On Saturdays I took one of my boys with me in my canoe, and we would paddle off down the lake or up the river, hunting ducks and other fowl. When winter came--which it does very early out there--I got some traps and set them for foxes. Many a winter morning I rose at four o'clock, harnessed my dogs and drove miles and back in visiting my traps, reaching home and having breakfast before daylight, as it was necessary, for a part of the winter, to begin school as soon as it was good daylight. Soon after we arrived I invested in four pups. I paid the mission interpreter, Mr. Sinclair, £2 sterling for the pups on condition that he fed them until they were one year old. In the meantime, for the first winter, Mr. Sinclair kindly lent me some of his dogs. Everybody had dogs, and my pups promised to make a good train when they grew. All my boy pupils were great "dog-drivers." Many a Saturday morning, bright and early, my boys would rendezvous at the Mission, and we would start with staked wood-sleighs across the lake or up the river to the nearest dry wood bluff. This, in my time, was three or four miles away, and what a string we would make--twenty-five or thirty boys of us, each with three or four dogs, all these hitched tandem; bells ringing, boys shouting, whips cracking, dogs yelping--away we would fly as fast as we could drive. What cared we for cold or storm! When we reached the wood we would race as to who could chop and split and load first. What shouting and laughter and fun! and, when all were loaded, back across the ice as fast as we could go, all running. Then we would pile our wood at the schoolhouse or church, and, again agreeing to meet at the mission house in the afternoon, away home to their dinner my boys would drive, and by and by turn up, this time with flat sleds or toboggans; and now we would race across to the Hudson's Bay Company's fort, every man for himself, and when we got there we would challenge the Company's employees to a game of foot-ball, for this was the national game of the North-West, and my boys were hard to beat. Then back home by moon or Northern Light, making this ice-bound land like day. Ah! those were great times for the cultivation of wind and muscle and speed--and better, sympathy and trust. Father, when home, held an English service at the fort once a week, and the largest room available was always full. Then we organized a literary society, which met weekly at the fort. Thus many a night we drove to and fro with our quick-moving dogs. At times we were surrounded by the "Aurora." Sometimes they seemed to touch us. One could hear the swish of the quick movement through the crisp, frosty atmosphere. What halos of many-colored light they would envelop us in! Forest and rock, ice and snow, would become radiant as with heavenly glory. One would for the time almost forget the intense cold. No wonder the Indian calls these wonderful phenomena "The Dancers," and says they are "the spirits of the departed." After all, who knows? I do not. CHAPTER IX. First real winter trip--Start--Extreme fatigue--Conceit all gone--Cramps--Change--Will-power--Find myself--Am as capable as others--Oxford House--Jackson's Bay. During our first winter I accompanied father on a trip to Jackson's Bay and Oxford House. This is about 180 miles almost due north of Norway House, making a trip of 360 miles. Our manner of starting out on the trip was as follows: William Bundle, father's hired man, went ahead on snow-shoes, for there was no track; then came John Sinclair, the interpreter, with his dogs hitched to a cariole, which is a toboggan with parchment sides and partly covered in, in which father rode, and on the tail of which some of the necessary outfit was tightly lashed; then came my train of dogs and sleigh, on which was lashed the load, consisting of fish for dogs and pemmican and food for men; kettles, axe, bedding--in short, everything for the trip; then myself on snow-shoes, bringing up the rear. [Illustration: MY FIRST WINTER TRIP] Now, the driver of a dog-sleigh must do all the holding back going down hill; must right the sleigh when it upsets; keep it from upsetting along sidehills, and often push up hills; and, besides all this, urge and drive the dogs, and do all he can to make good time. This was my first real winter trip with dogs, and I very soon found it to be no sinecure, but, on the contrary, desperately hard work. Many a time that first day I wished myself back at the Mission. The hauling of wood, the racing across to the fort--all that had been as child's play; this was earnest work, and tough at that. The big load would cause my sleigh to upset; my snow-shoes would likewise cause me to upset. The dogs began to think--indeed, soon knew--I was a "tenderfoot," and they played on me. Yonder was William, making a bee-line for the north, and stepping as if he were going to reach the pole, and that very soon, and Mr. Sinclair was close behind him; and I, oh! where was I, but far behind? Both spirit and flesh began to weaken. Then we stopped on an island and made a fire; that is, father and the men had the fire about made when I came up. Father looked mischievous. I had bothered him to let me go on this trip. However, the tea and pemmican made me feel better for a while, and away we went for the second spell, between islands, across portages, down forest-fringed rivers and bluffs casting sombre shadows. On my companions seemed to fly, while I dragged behind. Oh, how heavy those snow-shoes! Oh, how lazy those dogs! Oh, how often that old sleigh did upset! My! I was almost in a frenzy with mortification at my failure to be what I had presumed to think I was. But I did not seem to have enough spirit left to get into a frenzy about anything. When are they going to camp? Why don't they camp? These were questions I kept repeating to myself. We were going down a river. It was now late. I would expect to find them camped around the next point, but, alas! yonder they were disappearing around another point. Often I wished I had not come, but I was in for it, and dragged wearily on, legs aching, back aching, almost soul aching. Finally they did camp. I heard the axes ringing, and I came up at last. They had climbed the bank and gone into the forest. I pushed my sleigh up and unharnessed my dogs, and had just got the collar off the last one in time to hear father say, "Hurry, John, and carry up the wood." Oh, dear! I felt more like having someone carry me, but there was no help for it. Carrying ten and twelve foot logs, and you on snow-shoes, is no fun when you are an adept, but for a novice it is simply purgatory. At least I could not just then imagine anything worse than my condition was. By great dint of effort get the log on to your shoulder and then step out; snow deep and loose; bushes and limbs of trees, and your own limbs also all conspiring, and that successfully, to trip and bother. Many a fall is inevitable, and there are a great many logs to be carried in, for the nights are long and cold. William felled the trees and cut them into lengths, and I grunted and grumbled under their weight in to the pile beside the camp. At last I took off my snow-shoes and waded in the deep snow. Father and his interpreter, in the meanwhile, were making camp, which was no small job. First, they went to work, each with a snowshoe as a shovel, to clear the snow away for a space about twelve feet square, down to the ground or moss; the snow forming the walls of our camp. These walls were then lined with pine boughs, and the bottom was floored with the same material; then the fire was made on the side away from the wind. This would occupy the whole length of one side; except in the case of a snow-storm, there would be no covering overhead. If the snow was falling thick some small poles would be stuck in the snow-bank at the back of the camp, with a covering of canvas or blankets, which would form the temporary roof of the camp. At last we were done; that is, the camp was made, the wood was carried, the fire was blazing. Then the sleighs must be untied and what you wanted for that time taken from them, and then carefully must you re-wrap and re-tie your sleigh, and sometimes even make a staging on which to hang it to keep it and its contents from your dogs. Many a time when provisions were short, and our dogs were very hungry, I have had to hang up not only all eatables, but the sleighs and harness also, for these were largely bound and made of leather and rawhide, and the hungry dogs would eat all of this if they had the chance. Now comes supper, and while this is cooking we stand our frozen white-fish around the fire in order to thaw them, before we feed them to the dogs. These we feed at night only; the poor fellows must go the twenty-four hours on one meal. The ration at this time is six white-fish to each train of four dogs. Each driver takes his dogs apart and stands whip in hand to prevent them robbing one another. Supper and dogs fed, those who smoke light their pipes, and we dry our moccasins and duffils if these need it, and accounts of old trips and camp storms, etc., are in vogue. Our fire is a big one, but our room is a big one also, being all out of doors, and while your face and front are burning, your back is freezing, and you turn around every little while to equalize things. While all this is going on, my legs, unused to the snow-shoes' strain and the long tramp, are every little while causing me great pain by taking cramps. I do not say anything about this, but I think a lot. I know father understands the case, but except a twinkle of his eye he gives no sign that he thinks of it. Presently we make up our beds, and sing a hymn, and have prayer. We lie down as we travelled, except our belts--coats and caps all on--and in order to keep warm, we should lie perfectly still. The least move will let the cold in. But how was I to remain still when my legs refused to remain quiet. Every little while a cramp would take hold and the pain would be dreadful, but with desperation I would strive to keep still, for I was sleeping with father. I could not sleep, and when my legs ceased to pain, and I was about to fall asleep, father lit a match, looked at his watch, and said, "Hurrah, boys, it is time to get up." There was no help for it, and up we got. The extreme cold and the dire necessity there was to brace up kept me alive that morning. It was now about three o'clock, and we made a slight breakfast on pemmican and tea, had a short prayer, and tied on our bedding and camp outfit and harnessed our dogs--and mind you, this lashing and tying of sleds, and catching and harnessing of dogs, was hard on the fingers, and often very trying to the temper, for those cunning dogs would hide away in the bush, and sometimes we had to catch and tie the worst ones up before we made any move towards a start, or else they would run away. It was now about four o'clock or a little after, and we retraced our track to the river and again turned our faces northward. My companions seemed to leave me almost at once. The narrow winding river, with its forest-clad banks, was dark and very cold and dreary. My legs were stiff, and my feet were already sore with the snow-shoe strings. My dogs were indifferent to my urging. They knew I would not run out of the trail to get at them with my whip. I verily believe each dog thought he had a soft thing in having this "tenderfoot" as a driver. Many a time that cold, dark winter's morning I wished I was at home or in Ontario. I became sleepy. Even my slow-going dogs would leave me, and I would make a desperate effort to come up again, and thus the hours passed and we kept the river. After a long time, a terrible time to me, the day sky began to appear. Slowly the morning dawned, the cold intensified. I was in misery. I began to wonder where my friends would stop for breakfast. Presently we came to a large lake. Out a mile or two, I could discern an island. Oh! thought I, there is where they will stop. They were near it already, and I began to hope for transient help and rest. Again I looked, and straight past it William took his course, and away yonder, like a faint streak of blue, was a point he was making for. How my hopes were dashed, and it seemed for a little I would have to give up. I was now a considerable distance behind my dogs, when, all of a sudden, a feeling took hold of me, and I began to reason in this wise to myself. What is the matter with you? You are strong, you are capable. What are you doing behind here, ready to give up? Come! be a man. And I stepped out briskly--I began to run on those snow-shoes. I came up to those lazy dogs, and gave them such a shout they thought a small cyclone had struck them. Soon I was up opposite the island, and I ran away to its shore, broke a long dry pole, and after my dogs I went, and brought it down alongside of them with another shout, and made them bound off; then picking up the pieces of broken pole, I let them fly at those dogs, and away we went. Presently I was in a glow, and the stiffness in my limbs was gone, and soon I came up to my companions, and said, "Where are you going to have breakfast?" And they said, "Across yonder," pointing to the blue streak in the distance. "Well, then," said I, "why don't you travel faster, and let us get there?" William looked at me, and father turned round in his cariole to see if I was in earnest, and from thenceforth, on that trip as ever since, I was all right. I had found the secret. I had the capability to become a pioneer and frontiersman, and now I knew this a complete change came over me and has remained with me ever since. No more whining and dragging behind after that. My place was at the front, and in all the tripping and hardship and travel of the years I have kept there. When we stopped for breakfast, father smiled upon me in a kind, new way. I had come up in his estimation. I overheard William say to Mr. Sinclair, "John is all right, he has found his legs." Across Lake Winnipegoosis, over the portages, through the forests, up and down rivers, steadily we kept on our course. At one of our encampments we made a "cache" of some fish and some pemmican. This was for our return journey. The manner of our doing so was to rake away the embers and coals from where we had the fire during the night and morning, and then dig a hole in the thawed ground, and put our provisions in this hole; then cover with a few sticks, and put the earth back, until the place was full; then make a small fire just over the spot, and in going away kick some snow into the fire-place. This would soon freeze hard, and the ashes and embers would destroy the scent, and thus the cunning wolverine would not find our "cache." We saw tracks of moose and cariboo; also a few foxes, and hundreds of white partridge. At the southerly end of Oxford Lake we found a single camp of Indians, and stopped with them for the night. They feasted us on young beaver, which was an agreeable change from pemmican. There were seventeen of us in that camp for the night. It was circular, and may have been twelve feet in diameter. On the ground we lay, with our feet to the fire. During the night I felt my foot very hot, and springing up, found that my part of the blanket was burned through, and my duffil sock was on fire. This was another "tenderfoot" experience. These people were Christians, and delighted to see father and listen to his counsel and exhortation. The next day we reached Jackson's Bay, where we received from Mr. and Mrs. Stringfellow, the missionary and his wife, a very hearty welcome. If Norway House, with its one mail in six months and its small community of English-speaking people, is thought out of the world, where would you place Jackson Mission? This little man and his good wife (and for a good part of the year many of the Indians away from the mission) and the Hudson's Bay Company's post, with its small company, are fifteen miles distant in winter, and, I should judge, twice that in summer. Why, Norway House is on the front compared with this! We spent Saturday and part of Sunday here. Mr. Stringfellow went with us to the fort, and father held a service in the evening. His address, which was in English, Mr. Sinclair afterwards gave almost verbatim to those who understood only Cree, which seemed to me a remarkable feat of memory, seeing he had not taken other than mental notes. We returned on Monday to Jackson's Bay, and left on Tuesday for Norway House; found our "cache" all right, and reached home on Friday afternoon, averaging forty-five miles per day, which, considering there had been a good deal of storm and our down track in many places could not be seen, was very fair time. CHAPTER X. Enlarging church--Winter camp--How evenings are spent--My boys--Spring--The first goose, etc. Some time after this father determined to enlarge the church, and the Hudson's Bay Company offered to send their carpenters to do the work, if the missionary and Indians got out the timber and lumber. The Indians went into this work heartily. The first thing was to chop and hew the timber and saw-logs, and haul all these to some lake or river, from which it might be rafted to the Mission. Some good timber was found on an island in Play-green Lake, about twenty miles away. To this place we went by dog-train and on snowshoes, father and the men chopping and hewing the timber, and myself and my school-boys hauling this out to the shore and piling it ready for rafting in the summer. We were several days at this work--men, boys and dogs, all busy as we could be. The woods fairly rang with chopping and shouting. An Easterner would hardly credit the strength of a good big train of dogs, helped by a stout boy. Then, when the load is out, the return trip is made on the jump, there being no time lost by the way. My boys and I had the roads to make, as well as the timber to haul. Our open camp was a unique sight at night. Big fires stretched along the centre, a brush floor down both sides, fish thawing, fish boiling, fish roasting, fish frying. Our pemmican we saved for breakfast and dinner; it did not require time to cook. Then fish is more digestible, therefore better for supper. Men and boys sitting and standing, some cooking, some mending moccasins, others drying them--all good-natured and happy. Behind all this, but still in the light of the fire, are the dogs. These are of all breeds and of all colors; some lounging, some snarling, some fighting--all waiting, perforce of necessity, for their supper, which is being thawed at the fire. After supper the dogs are fed, and then the woods would echo with hearty singing. Father was a good singer, and between us we taught these people many new songs and hymns. Then father would open their eyes and minds by describing some Eastern lands and scenes; and thus the shorter evenings of slowly approaching spring would pass quickly, and all would stretch out to sleep, for all were tired. A few weeks after this there was great excitement in the village. The first goose of the season had been seen. To men who have been living for the most part on fish during the winter months, the coming of the geese from the south is a welcome change. Presently from all over the village the boys are imitating the wild goose's call, and the old hunters are getting their decoy heads ready. As for the bodies, they can make them out of logs near or at the place they may select for a hunting-ground. Father and I went several times to places near by. We would go Friday evening and come home Saturday evening. Father was an ardent sportsman and a good shot. I will never forget my first goose. I broke his wing, and he came down on the ice, and started to run out on the lake. I had a single-barrelled muzzle-loading gun, and I loaded it before starting after the big fellow. When he saw me coming he spurted, with legs and wing. He made good time, and I ran and doubled, and after a long chase came close enough to shoot him again, and stopped him. The Hudson's Bay factor and clerks went a long distance and were away some weeks on the goose hunt. CHAPTER XI. Opening of Navigation--Sturgeon fishing--Rafting timber--Sawing lumber. About the last of May the ice went off the lake, and navigation was open. We made up another bee to go to raft our timber down. Father sent William and I one day ahead of the party, in order that we might set nets for sturgeon, which we did; and when father and men came up next day, we had fourteen large sturgeon to begin with. While white-fish is the staple food in that north country, these sturgeon come in at seasons as an extra luxury; indeed, they are the beef and bacon of the northern Indian. Sturgeon oil is both lard and butter for these people, and blessed is the wife and mother who has many vessels full of it. We made a big raft of our timber, and both wind and current favoring us, we soon had it hauled out and piled up on the beach near the church. The sawing of the timber was gone into by the Indians in turn, each doing his share. This we carefully piled, to season, and in the autumn the Hudson's Bay Company, as per offer and promise, sent their carpenters, and the enlargement went on. There was great rejoicing and a grand reopening when the work was finished. CHAPTER XII. Summer transport--Voyageurs--Norway House--The meeting place of many brigades--Missionary work intensified. As the summer months are few in that northern climate, the need to push transport matter is imperative. Norway House was the first depot post in the interior, coming from York Factory on the Hudson's Bay. Here were wintered the most of the "green hands," those men who had been brought out by the ship the previous summer, and from this point these men were distributed to the various districts in the farther interior. To Norway House, in the early summer, came the brigade of boats from the Mackenzie River, the Athabasca, and English River, and Cumberland districts. Down from the west, the Saskatchewan and Swan River districts, came the "Braroes" (I give the word as it was pronounced), the men from the great plains. Down from the south, the Red River Brigade added their quota to these fleets of inland transport. For all these Norway House was the common centre. At those times the old fort was _en fete_. The river banks were lined far up and down with boats and tents. The smoke of many campfires hung over the place. The prattle of many tongues in different languages was heard. English and French, and Norwegian and Ojibway, or Salteaux, and Chippewayan, and Caughnawaga and Cree--these were most common at these gatherings, but through and over all the Cree dominated and was most generally understood and spoken. Here were the Governor and chief factors and chief traders and clerks of various grades in the service of this honorable Company. Here were the steersmen and bowsmen and middlemen, the hardy voyageurs whose strength of brain and muscle, and whose wonderful pluck and daring, as well as prudence, made possible the import and export traffic in vast regions which would have seemed to other men impossible and inaccessible. Some of these men would leave their distant inland posts on snow-shoes, and reaching what was the frontier post to them in their sublime isolation, would then take to the boats with the first break of navigation; then, descending rivers and running rapids and portaging falls, they would finally reach York Factory, and unloading and reloading, would turn and retrace their course, and only arrive at the frontier post of their own district at the beginning of winter. Then with snow-shoes and dog-train they would travel to their own homes. The toil and hardship of such a life is beyond the conception of most minds, and yet these men endured all this uncomplainingly and without a murmur, in their loyalty to the honorable Company they served. What an object-lesson they were and have been to me! These gatherings were periods of great responsibilities and also of intense anxiety to the missionary stationed at Norway House. These were the days of temptation to the people. Rum and evil association were rife during these days. Then there came within the range of his influence men who had seldom been at service and many who had not had the opportunity of attending a regular preaching service for a long time. To say the right word to those who in a few days would scatter, who in a few weeks would be located at widely distant posts, but who now gathered in the mission church and eagerly listened to the preached Gospel--truly this was a great responsibility for the missionary. Then the men of our own mission would now be starting with their brigade of boats for the summer's transport work. To counsel with these, to arrange the work of the class-leader and local preacher, to readmonish as to Sabbath observance and general deportment--all this kept the missionary busy and anxious. Father was instant in season and out of it. Both among Indians and white men, his influence was very apparent and became widespread in its effect for good. CHAPTER XIII. Canoe trip to Oxford--Serious accident. In the autumn of 1861, father and Mr. Sinclair and William made a canoe trip to Oxford House. On the return journey they had an accident in the upsetting of their canoe in a rapid. It was in the early morning, and father had his heavy coat on and was otherwise handicapped for such a time. But faithful William swam to the over-turned canoe, and then pushed it end on to father, at the same saying, "Keep up, master. I am coming!" and when near with the canoe, "Now, master, take hold. Hold hard, master!" and these two thus passed through the rapid, and swinging into an eddy at its foot were saved. Mr. Sinclair swam ashore at once, being in light working costume. [Illustration: THE UPSET] They lost most of their outfit, including my gun, which father had taken along. That same fall, William was bitten on the point of the finger by a jack-fish he was taking out of the net. He caught cold in the wound and inflammation set in, and though father and mother did all they could to help him, mortification followed and he died. Night and day father was with the poor fellow, and we all mourned for him, for his was a noble heart and he was one of God's heroes. CHAPTER XIV. Establish a fishery--Breaking dogs--Dog-driving, etc. This was just at the beginning of the fall fishing, and as the Indians were scattered for miles in every direction, my school was broken up, and my father sent me to establish a fishery. So with a young Indian as my companion we went into camp across the lake, and went to work setting our nets and making our stagings on which to hang the fish, as all fish caught before the ice makes are hung up on stagings. You put up good stout posts, on which you lay logs, and across these you place strong poles about two and a half feet apart; then you cut good straight willows about an inch in thickness and three feet long. You sharpen one end of these, and, punching a hole in the tail of the fish, you string the fish on the willows, ten to a stick, and with a forked pole you lift these to the staging, hanging them across between the poles; and there they hang, and dry, and freeze, until you haul them away to your storehouse. After ice makes, the fish freeze almost as soon as you take them out of the water, and are piled away without hanging. When the fish are plentiful you visit your nets two and three times in the night, in order to relieve them of the great weight and strain of so many fish. Overhauling the nets, taking care of the fish, mending and drying your nets--all this keeps you busy almost all the time. In taking whitefish out of the net, one uses teeth and hands. You catch the fish in your hand, lift it to your mouth, and, taking hold of its head with your teeth, you press down its length with both hands meeting, and thus force the fish from the net without straining your net. When the fish is loose from the net, you give a swing with your head, and thus toss the fish into the boat behind you or away out on the ice beside you. All of this, except mending the nets in the tent, is desperately cold work. The ice makes on your sleeves and clothing. Your hands would freeze were it not that you keep them in the water as much as possible. In my time hundreds of thousands of whitefish were thus taken every year for winter use, the principal food for men and dogs being fish. When the lakes and rivers are frozen over, you take a long rope, about a quarter of an inch in thickness, and pass it under the ice to the length of your net. To do this you take a long dry pole, and fasten your rope at one end of this; then you cut holes in the ice the length of your pole apart in the direction you want to set your net; you then pass this pole under the ice using a forked stick to push it along, and in this way bring your line out at the far end of where your net will be when set. One pulls the rope and the other sets the net, carefully letting floats and stones go as these should in order that the net hang right. My man and I put up about two thousand white-fish, besides a number of jack-fish. These were hauled home by dog-train. My four pups which I bought from Mr. Sinclair over a year since were now fine big dogs, but as wild as wolves. I had put up a square of logs for a dog-house, and by feeding, and coaxing, and decoying with old dogs, I finally succeeded in getting them into it. Then I would catch one at a time, and hitch him with some old and trained dogs. Father would go with me, and fight off the other three while I secured the one I was breaking in, and by and by, I had the whole four broken, and they turned out splendid fellows to pull and go. Very few, if any, trains could leave me in the race, and when I loaded them with two hundred hung fish, they would keep me on the dead run to follow. I was very proud of my first train of dogs, and also of my success in breaking them. Many a flying trip I gave father or mother and my sisters over to the fort or out among the Indians. Sometimes I went with father to visit Indian camps, and also to the Hudson's Bay shanties away up Jack River, where their men were taking out timber and wood for the fort. What cared we for the cold! Father was well wrapped in the cariole, and I, having to run and keep the swinging cariole right side up, had not time to get cold. CHAPTER XV. Winter trip to Oxford--Extreme cold--Quick travelling. During this second winter father sent me down to Oxford House. I had quite a load for the Rev. Mr. Stringfellow. One item was several cakes of frozen cream which mother sent to Mrs. Stringfellow. We had a cow; they had none. We happened to strike the very coldest part of the winter for our trip. There were four of us in the party--two Indians returning to Jackson's Bay, my man and myself. I was the only one of the party not badly frozen. When we reached the Bay, my companions were spotted with frost-bites--great black sears on forehead and cheeks and chin. I do not know how I escaped, except that I had been living better and my blood was younger and warmer. When we reached Mr. Stringfellow's in the morning, the thermometer registered 56° below zero. We had camped the night before on an island in Oxford Lake, and started out at three o'clock, and one can imagine what it must have been about daylight that morning with heavy snow-shoeing, making progress slow. Mr. Stringfellow asked me to accompany him to the fort. His man hitched up his dogs, tucked him into the cariole, and started to lead the way; but the dogs went off so slowly I concluded to stay for some time before I followed, so I sat and chatted with Mrs. Stringfellow. When I did start, my dogs soon brought me up, and I went flying past, and reached the fort a long time before Mr. Stringfellow. He said when he arrived that he would be afraid to ride behind such dogs. On the way back, my young Indian and I made the return trip in three days, averaging sixty miles per day. CHAPTER XVI. Mother and baby's upset--My humiliation. In the meantime there came to our house a baby brother. We named him George. My sisters were delighted with this new playfellow. When he was about two or three months old, I undertook to take mother and baby over to the fort for a ride and short visit. Father helped us to start, holding my leader until all was ready. The trail went down a considerable hill, and then turned sharply for a straight line to the portage between us and the fort Away we went, but in turning the curve I lost my balance, and over went the cariole, and out spilled mother and the babe into the snow. My heart was in my mouth. What if either or both should be hurt! What if father should have seen the accident! In a very short time I had the cariole turned right side up, and mother and baby seated and tucked in, and off we went, no one hurt, and father had not seen the upset. But a lot of my conceit as a skilful driver was gone, and I learned a lesson for the future; but, oh! those dogs were quick and speedy, and anyone driving them had to look sharp. [Illustration: I LOSE MY BALANCE--AND SOME CONCEIT] All of this fishing and dog-driving and travelling was just so much practice and experience for the years to come in farther and far more difficult fields. I did not know this at the time, but so it has turned out. CHAPTER XVII. From Norway House to the great plains--Portaging--Pulling and poling against the strong current--Tracking. As the missions on the Saskatchewan were under father's chairmanship, he concluded to visit them during the summer of 1862, and to take me along. He arranged for me to go as far as Fort Carlton on the Saskatchewan by boat, and he, at the invitation of the Hudson's Bay officers, went with them to Red River, and then rode on horseback across the plains to the same point. Bidding mother and sisters and little brother and many friends good-bye, behold me, then, taking passage in one of a fleet of boats, the destination of which was the Saskatchewan country. Our route was up the Jack River, across the Play-green Lake to Lake Winnipeg, and then across the northern end of Lake Winnipeg to the mouth of the Saskatchewan River, and on up this rapid river to our objective point. There were nine, and in some cases ten, men in each boat. There were perhaps a dozen passengers scattered through the fleet. I was alone in my boat, but nearly always at meal times and at night the fleet was together. Favoring winds and fine weather in two or three days brought us to the mouth of the Saskatchewan. Here are the Grand Rapids. They are about three miles long. Up the first two miles the boats are pulled and poled and tracked; then comes the tug-of-war. Everything must be taken out of the boat and carried across the portage. Then the pulling of the boats across comes next. This is done on skids and rollers, and all by man's strength alone. The ordinary load is two pieces. These pieces average one hundred pounds each. The man carries one piece on his back, sustained by a strap on his forehead; then upon this the other piece is placed. This leans up against his neck and head and acts as a brace; and away trots the man, with his two hundred pounds, on a run across the portage. Mosquitoes and "bull-dogs," and mud, valley and hill, it is all the same a necessity; he must "get there." Some men carried three pieces each trip, and thus got through more quickly. The whole matter was slavish, and in the long run costly; for, after all, there is no greater wealth in this world than humanity, if properly handled. The second day, in the evening, we were across and loaded up, all ready for a new start, which we made early next morning. Still the current was rapid and our progress was slow. Now poling, now pulling, then with a line out tracking, slowly we worked up the big Saskatchewan. Crossing Cedar Lake, we entered the steady current of this mighty river. Here we were overhauled one evening by a couple of big inland canoes, manned by Iroquois Indians, conveying Governor Dallas, who had succeeded Sir George Simpson as Governor of the Hudson's Bay Company, and who was now, in company with Chief Factor William Christie, as escort, on his way to visit the posts of the Company in the far north and west. These big birch-bark canoes formed a great contrast to our heavier and clumsier boats. They were manned by stalwart fellows, who knew well how to swing a paddle and handle their frail barque in either lake-storm or river-rapid. With grace and speed and regular dip of paddles, keeping time to their canoe-song, they hove in sight and came to land beside us, and we camped together for the night. Up and away they went early next morning to ascend the tributaries of the Saskatchewan which flow from the north country; then to make the "long portage," which would bring them to the head-waters of the great Mackenzie system; then up the Peace to the foot of the mountains, and from thence to return by the same route; while the dignitaries they have conveyed thus far will now turn southwards across long stretches of woodland prairie, and on horseback and with pack-saddles, will again come out on the Saskatchewan, at Edmonton. With a cheer from our crews, and a song from their lips as they bent to their paddles, they left us; but their coming and going had given us a unique experience, and a still further insight into the ways and means of transport and government which obtained in this great territory. For days our progress was very slow. Our men had to ply their oars incessantly. Many times in one day we crossed and recrossed the river, to take advantage of the weaker currents. From the break of day until the stars began to twinkle at night, only stopping for meals, our men kept at it, as if they were machines and not flesh and blood. The sweltering heat, the numberless mosquitoes--who can begin to describe them? But if these hardworked men can endure them, how much more we, who are but passengers, and have just now nothing else to do but endure. For myself, I now and then relieved one of the men at the oar, or took the sweep and steered the boat for hours, letting my steersman help his men. By and by we came to where there was a beach along the shore, and then our men gladly took to tracking instead of the oar. Four men would hitch themselves with their carrying-straps to the end of a long rope, and walk and run along the shore for miles, thus pulling their boat up the stream at a rapid rate. Then the other four would take the collars and our progress become faster. Sometimes we came to extra currents or rapids; then the rope was doubled, and all hands went on shore to pull and strain past the difficulty. Occasionally two crews had to come to each other's help, and take one boat at a time up the rapids, and though our men welcomed this as compared with the monotonous pull, pull at the oars, yet it was very hard work. Along miles of rocky beach, then up and over steep-cut banks, now ankle or knee-deep in mud and quicksands, then up to the armpits in crossing snags and channels, and mouths of tributary streams; then, "All aboard," and once more bend to the oars, to cross over to better tracking on the other side of the river: thus in constant hardship did our faithful crews slowly work their way up this mighty river. CHAPTER XVIII. Enter the plains--Meet a flood--Reach Fort Carlton. We now caught glimpses of prairie every little while. The country was changing, the banks were becoming higher, the soil richer. We were on the divide between the swampy and rocky regions of the east and north, and the rich pastures and agricultural lands of the Saskatchewan valley. Several times as the boats were being tracked up the river, I jumped ashore and ran across land, and was delighted to breathe the air of the plains, and scent the aroma of the wild roses, and behold for myself the rich grass and richer soils of this wonderland, for I had never dreamed of such a country as was now presenting itself on every hand. Being a loyal Canadian, I was delighted with what I saw, and already began to speculate on the great possibilities of such a land as I was now entering. We passed Fort la Corne, and later on the mouth of the south branch. I remember distinctly climbing the bank near where the town of Prince Albert is now situate, and the present terminus of the Regina and Prince Albert Railway. Then it was without a single settler; but the whole land seemed to me as speaking out in strong invitation to someone to come and occupy. When near Fort Carlton, we met a fresh volume of water. Suddenly the river rose, the current strengthened, and the work became harder. The summer heat had loosened the ice and snow in the distant mountains. Fortunately for us we were near our objective point when this heavy current met us, and presently the bows of our boats were hugging the bank at the landing-place at Fort Carlton. CHAPTER XIX. The Fort--Buffalo steak--"Out of the latitude of bread." Fort Carlton I found to consist of some dwellings and stores, crowded together and surrounded by a high palisade, with bastions at its four corners, and built on a low bench, on the south side of the river. The high banks of the river, alternating with prairie and woodland, formed a fine background to the scene. A few buffalo-skin lodges added a fresh item to my experience, and told me I was now in reality in the famous buffalo country. Very soon I had another proof of this, for on going ashore I was told to run up to the fort, as dinner was now on. Finding the dining-room, I sat down at the only vacant place, and was asked by the gentleman at the head of the table if I would have some buffalo steak. I assented gladly, and enjoyed it heartily. I had eaten pemmican and dried meat, but this was my first steak, and I relished it very much. Presently mine host asked me to have some more, but I thought I had eaten enough meat, and inadvertently I said to my nearest neighbor, "Will you please pass the bread." This produced a laugh all around the table, and an old gentleman said to me, "Young man, you are out of the latitude of bread." And so it was; for looking down the table, I saw there was no bread, no vegetables, only buffalo steak. This was an entirely new experience to me; though born on the frontier I had never until now got beyond bread. I was sorry I had not taken some more steak, but determined to be wiser next time. CHAPTER XX. New surroundings--Plain Indians--Strange costumes--Glorious gallops--Father and party arrive. Here I was to remain till father came across the plains, which might be any day now, as we had taken a long time to come up the river. My surroundings were now entirely different from anything heretofore in my life. The country was different, the food was different, and the Indians were distinctly different from all I had previously met. Their costume, or rather lack of any often, their highly painted faces and feathered and gew-gaw bedecked heads, their long plaits or loosely flowing hair, their gaudy blankets or fantastically painted buffalo robes, their ponies and saddles and buffalo hide and hair lines, their sinew-mounted and snakeskin-covered bows and shod arrows, their lodges and travois, both for horses and dogs--all these things were new to me. I was among a new people, and in a new land I had plenty to do in taking in my new surroundings. Previously canoe and dog-train had been our means of transport; now horses took the place of canoes. This was a big grass country. Horses and ponies were at a premium here. The gentlemen of the Hudson's Bay Company were exceedingly kind to me. Mr. P. Tait, who was in charge of the fort, lent me horses, and I took glorious rides out on the prairie. Some of us arranged a party to go and meet those we expected to be now near by on the long trail from Red River to this point. Some Hudson's Bay clerks and myself formed the party. Several horses had been driven into the yard, but I was not on the ground when they came, and when I got there all were taken but one, which seemed to me unfit to ride any distance. Just then Mr. Tait came along and whispered, "Take him, and when you reach the horse-guard, who is not far from here on your road, tell him to catch my horse Badger for you." I thanked him, and saddled the "old plug," and off we rode. Many a joke I took because of my sorry steed; but I could very well stand it all, for I had quietly asked the Indian boy if he knew the horse "Badger," and his eyes glistened as he said, "I think I do; he is one of the best saddle horses around here." So I was patiently waiting my turn; and it came, for we soon reached the horse-guard, and I told him what Mr. Tait had said. He took his lariat and went and caught a beautiful bay, "fat and slick," and handsome as a picture. I saddled him and came up to my companions on the jump, and astonished them with the magnificence of my mount. Now I was the envied of the party, and proud I was as my horse frisked and jumped and played under me. Ah, those first gallops on the plains! I will never forget them. They seemed to put new blood in me, and I felt even then how easy it would be for me to cast in my lot with such a life in such a land as this. We galloped past Duck Lake, which long years after became the scene of the first actual outbreak in the rebellion in 1885. We rode down to the north bank of the south Saskatchewan, and camped there without any bedding; and waiting part of the next day, finally turned back without any sign of our friends, and went into a grand duck hunt on the way back to Carlton, which we reached late in the evening. At this time the old fort and the plain around was a busy scene--our crews from the boats, hunters from the plains, parties of Indians in to trade, the air full of stories about the southern Indians and the tribal wars to and fro, scalps taken and horses stolen, the herds of buffalo said to be within a hundred miles from the fort, or less than two days out. Buffalo-skin lodges and canvas tents dotted the plain in every direction. Horse-races and foot-races were common occurrences. I championed older Canada against Indians, half-breeds and Hudson's Bay officials and employees, and in the foot-racing and jumping--high, long, and hop, step and jump--"cleaned out the crowd" and made a name for myself and country, and amid such doings spent fifteen days, when father and his party came up and we moved on. [Illustration: FORT CARLETON] Father told me that the first two days in the saddle had been trying times with him. The everlasting jog of the all-day journey made him feel so stiff and sore the first night that he was hardly able to mount his horse the next day. But after three or four days this wore off, and the trip had been to him not only a pleasant one, but a revelation as to the resources and beauty of our own country. "Why," said father, "every mile we came is abundantly fit for settlement, and the day will come when it will be taken up and developed." CHAPTER XXI. Continue journey--Old "La Gress"--Fifty miles per day. Mr. Hardisty, the Hudson's Bay officer who had brought father across the plains thus far, soon made arrangements for our continuing our journey westward. He furnished us with horses and saddles and a tent, and also a man as a guide. Swimming our horses across the North Saskatchewan opposite the fort, and crossing ourselves and saddles in a boat, we saddled up and packed our one pack-horse and set out up the big hill, ascending it with more ease than the American I once met at the top of it, who said to me, "That is the mostest biliousest hill I ever did climb." We were now on the north side of the North Saskatchewan, and away we went at the orthodox jog-trot for Fort Pitt, the next post in the chain established by the Hudson's Bay Company. Our guide was an old man with the name of La Gress, or as the Indians called him, "Grease." Mr. Hardisty had said of him, "He is a good traveller and a quick cook," all of which we found to be true. He was small and wiry, and sat his horse as if he had grown there. When on the jog his little legs incessantly moved, and his pipe seemed to everlastingly smoke. He had been to Red River and had crossed the mountains several times, had been on the plains and in the north, had been chased many a time by the enemy, had starved and almost perished once for the lack of food on one of his trips. He was the man of whom it is told that as he sat picking the bones of a raven, he vehemently maintained to his partner that "this was a clean bird." Indeed our guide was a man full of adventure and travel; to me he was full of interest, and I plied him with questions as we jogged side by side through the country. And what a country this was we were riding through--bluff and plain, valley and hill, lake and stream, beautiful nook, and then grand vistas covering great areas! Every little while father would say, "What a future this has before it!" We rode through the Thickwood Hills. We skirted the Bear's-paddling Lake. We passed the springs into which tradition said the buffalo disappeared and came out from occasionally. Trotting by Jack-fish Lake, on for miles through most magnificent land and grass and wood and water, we crossed the valley of the Turtle River. We rode at the foot of Red Deer Hill and Frenchman's Butte, where in 1885--just twenty-three years later--our troops retreated before an unknown and practically invisible foe. We picked up Peter Erasmus; who was associated with the Rev. Henry Steinhauer, and was now freighting for the latter from Red River to White-fish Lake. Peter was, and is, an "A1" interpreter, and father concluded to take him on as guide and interpreter for the rest of our journey. We ate up all the rations, consisting of a ham of buffalo meat and a chunk of hard grease. This we accomplished the last day at noon, and we rode into Fort Pitt the evening of the fourth day from Carlton, having averaged about fifty miles per day, which was not so bad for men new to the saddle. CHAPTER XXII. Fort Pitt--Hunter's paradise--Sixteen buffalo with seventeen arrows--"Big Bear." Fort Pitt we found on the north bank of the Saskatchewan, standing on a commanding bench near the river, and having a magnificent outlook--a wide, long valley, enclosed by high hills, which rose terrace beyond terrace in the distance, and the swiftly flowing river coming and going with majestic bends at its feet. This was then the buffalo fort of the Saskatchewan District, the great herds coming closer and oftener to this point than to any other of the Hudson's Bay posts. This was also a famous horse-breeding spot, the grasses in the vicinity being especially adapted for that business. Here was a hunter's paradise--plenty of buffalo and fine horses. No wonder good hunters would be the result! [Illustration: AN EXPERT HUNTER] From here the party went out which had the Indian with it, to whom the Hudson's Bay officer gave seventeen arrows, and said, "Now, let us see what you can do;" and the Indian modestly answered, "I can but try," and killed sixteen buffalo in the straight "race set before" him. This was the trading home of Big Bear, who for years was hunter for the fort, and who, later on, much against his own will, was deceived and persuaded to join the foolish rebellion of 1885. CHAPTER XXIII. On to White-fish Lake--Beautiful country--Indian camp--Strike northward into forest land. We remained over Sunday at the fort. Father held service, and Monday morning saw us away, mounted on fresh horses, which had been provided by the gentlemen in charge of the fort. Our course was now more northerly, and the country increased in interest as we travelled. Away in the distance to the south and west, we caught glimpses of the winding valley of the big river. Around us, on every hand, were beautiful lakes with lawn-like banks; gems of prairie with beautiful clumps of spruce and poplar, and birch and willow artistically intersecting them; great hills, and broad valleys, and gently rippling streams; a cloudless sky; an atmosphere surcharged with ozone above us; good horses under us; father, and guide, and myself all thoroughly optimistic in thought and outlook. No wonder that I, in the full tide of strength, and health, and youth, was fairly intoxicated amid such surroundings! Father was only a little more sober or a little less "drunk" than I was. We were travelling steadily and fast, and amused ourselves by locating farms and homesteads, and villages and centres of population, and running imaginary railroads through the country as we trotted and cantered from early morn until night, through those never-to-be-forgotten lovely August days of 1862. For food we had pemmican and dried meat. Occasionally we shot chickens or ducks, but the distance we had to travel and the limited time father had at his command forbade us doing much shooting while pemmican or dried meat lasted. We rode over the Two Hills; we galloped along the sandy beach of Sandy Lake; we saw Frog Lake away to the right; a few miles farther on we crossed Frog Creek, then Moose Creek, then the Dog Rump. Here I missed my first bear. He was down in a deep ravine, almost under me, and, as is usual with a "tenderfoot" at such a time, I shot over him, and as my gun was a single-barrelled muzzle-loader, the bear had plenty of time to disappear into the thick brush down the ravine. We had no time to follow him. On we went, over hills and across broad plains, thickly swarded with pea-vine and rich grasses, passing Egg Lake to the left. Early the third day we came to Saddle Lake, on the north side of which we found a camp of Cree Indians. Some of these belonged to White-fish Lake, and were nominally Christians. Others were wood and plain Indians, still pagan, and without any settled home, but all glad to see us. Most of the leading men and hunters had gone across the river and out on to the plains for a hunt. From these people we learned that Mr. Steinhauer and his people, still at the Mission, contemplated a trip out to the plains for provisions, and that they and these were but awaiting the return of the hunters to this camp to decide from the report they would bring as to the direction of their trip. This determined father to hurry on to White-fish Lake, and catch Mr. Steinhauer at home if possible. We spent about three hours with this camp, and had lunch in one of the tents, where we were the guests of Mrs. Hawke, who very kindly loaned father a fresh horse, a fine animal, to take him to the Mission. Father held a short service, and late in the afternoon we started on, two of the patriarchs of the camp accompanying us to where we stopped for the night. Many were the questions they asked, long was the talk father held with them, and it was late when we rolled into our blankets and went to sleep. Early next morning we parted company with our venerable friends and continued our journey. Our course lay almost north-east. We were entering the fringe of the forest lands of the north country. We were going farther out of the course of the war-paths of the plain Indians. The more bush and forest, the less danger from these lawless fellows. A plain Indian dreads a forest, does not feel at home in it, and this was the reason for the selection of White-fish Lake as a mission centre, a place where the incessant watchfulness and unrest (the prevailing condition of the times) on the plains south of the Saskatchewan might, for the time, at least, be largely laid aside. On into this thickening forest-land we trotted, a narrow bridle-path our road. Water became abundant, and mud correspondingly so. Within a few miles of the Mission we came to the thickly wooded banks of a stream where we had to swim our horses. Here we met some Indians who were starting out on a moose hunt, and, to my astonishment, one of them seemed to be speaking English--at least I thought so. He was shouting "_Dam, dam,_" but like all men who presume on a too hasty judgment, I was mistaken, for the old fellow was only calling to his horse, "Tom, Tom," urging him to swim across the stream. With his accent, "t" was "d." Resaddling and galloping on, early in the afternoon we came to the Mission, and found Mr. Steinhauer and family well; and as we had heard at Saddle Lake, Mr. Steinhauer and people were making preparations for a trip out to the plains for provisions. As with everybody in the West in those days, their storehouse and market was the buffalo, which, after all, was exceedingly precarious, for pemmican, dried meat, or any kind of provision, and even fish, were alike at a premium when we arrived at White-fish Lake, and it behoved all parties, both residents and visitors, to move somewhere very soon. CHAPTER XXIV. The new Mission--Mr. Steinhauer--Benjamin Sinclair. In the meantime father was delighted with what he saw. Here in the wilderness was the beginning of Christian civilization. Mr. Steinhauer had built a mission house and school-house, and also assisted quite a number of Indians to build comfortable houses. Quite a settlement had sprung up, and this mission seemed to have a bright future. Of course, the bulk of all effort had rested on the missionary, but he proved equal to his work. Preacher, judge, doctor, carpenter, sawyer, timberman, fisherman, hunter, and besides this a great deal of travel in that country of long distances. Mr. Steinhauer had his time fully occupied. Here we met Benjamin Sinclair, who had come into the Saskatchewan country as assistant to the Rev. Robert Rundel, who was the first missionary of any church to the tribes of this western country. Benjamin was a swampy half-breed from the Hudson's Bay region. Big, strong and honest, and a mighty hunter, was old Ben Sinclair. In his use of English he made "r" "n," and "t" "d," and used "he" for "she." For instance (introducing us to his wife), he said, "He very fine wo-man, my Mangened" (Margaret being his wife's name). He had settled close to the Mission, and was a great help to the missionary. Side by side these worthies labored, and side by side sorrowing families and a sorrowing people some years later laid them to rest. A few hours after our arrival, "the Hawk" and a few of the Indians whose families we had passed at Saddle Lake came in. They had returned from their hunt and had been successful, and brought Mr. Steinhauer some of the meat. They had been attacked by a crowd of Indians, who turned out to be friends from Maskepetoon's camp, and thus they brought us word of the whereabouts of the chief and his people, whom father was most anxious to see before he returned to Norway House. Accordingly it was arranged that we should meet some fifteen or twenty days later on the plains "somewhere." This was very indefinite, but as near as we could plan under the conditions of the time. Mr. Steinhauer would go with his people, and joining those at Saddle Lake, cross the Saskatchewan and on to the plains and buffalo; and we would go to Smoking Lake, and finding Mr. Woolsey, would then strike out also for the plains and buffalo, and there we hoped to meet in a large gathering before long. CHAPTER XXV. Measurement of time--Start for Smoking Lake--Ka-Kake--Wonderful hunting feat--Lose horse--Tough meat. Nights and days, and months and seasons, I found, were the measurements of time out here. Minutes and hours would come by and by with railroads and telegraphs. If you questioned anyone about time or distance, the answer would be, "In so many nights, or days, or moons." The Indian had no year; with him it was summer and winter. We left White-fish Lake Friday evening, having with us for the first few miles "Ka-Kake," or "the Hawk," and some of his people, who were returning to Saddle Lake. "Ka-Kake" was far more than an ordinary personality. His very appearance denoted this. The elasticity of his step, the flash of his eye, the ring of his voice--you had to notice him. To me he was a new type. He filled my ideal as a hunter and warrior. From Peter I learned that he was brave and kind, and full of resource, tact, strategy and pluck; these were the striking traits of this man, by whose side I loved to ride, and later on, in whose skin-lodge I delighted to camp. He had figured in many battles, and been the chief actor in many hunting fields. He had surpassed other famous buffalo hunters, inasmuch as he had ridden one buffalo to kill another. To do this, it is related that he and others were chasing buffalo on foot, and coming to an ice-covered lake, the surface of which was in spots like glass, some of the buffalo fell, and Ka-Kake, with the impetus of his run, went sliding on to one of them, and catching hold of the long, shaggy hair of its shoulders, seated himself astride of its back. Then the buffalo made an extra effort and got to its feet and dashed after the herd, and Ka-Kake kept his seat. In vain the animal, after reaching the ground, bucked and jumped and rushed about. Ka-Kake was there to stay--for a while, at any rate. Then the buffalo settled down to run and soon overtook the herd, which spurted on afresh, because of this strange-looking thing on the back of one of themselves. Now, thought Ka-Kake, is my chance. So he pulled his bow from his back, and springing it and taking an arrow from his quiver, he picked his animal, and sent the arrow up to the feather in its side, which soon brought his victim to a stop. Then he took his knife and drove it down into his wild steed, just behind his seat, and feeling that the buffalo was going to fall, he jumped off to one side, and thus had accomplished something unique in the hunting-field. Around at the end of the lake our roads diverged, or rather, our courses did, for we found very little road through the dense woods, as we bore away north and west for Smoking Lake, where we expected to find Rev. Mr. Woolsey. Pathless forests, and bridgeless streams, and bottomless muskegs were some of the features of the scene we now entered. Our progress was slow, and instead of reaching Mr. Woolsey's Saturday night, or early Sunday morning, we lost one of our horses by the way, and did not reach Smoking Lake until Monday afternoon. By this time our provisions were about finished, and had not Mr. Woolsey killed an ox the day we arrived, we, and others also, would have gone supperless to bed that night. As it was, we had the privilege of chewing at some of the toughest beef I ever tackled--and my experience along that line has been a very wide one. CHAPTER XXVI. Mr. Woolsey--Another now mission. Mr. Woolsey, his interpreter, and two hired men comprised this settlement at the time. One small house and a roofless stable were the only improvements. Mr. Woolsey had begun here within the year, and his difficulties had been neither few nor small. Any Indians who might look upon this place as a home in the future were now either moose-hunting in the north, or out on the plains after buffalo. The reason for establishing at this place was like that at White-fish Lake, to be somewhat out of the way of the contending tribes; and it was thought that thirty-five or forty miles into the wooded country north of the northernmost bend of the Saskatchewan would give some respite from the constant danger and dread which was a condition of this western country at that time. Father's plan was that Mr. Woolsey should accompany us out to the rendezvous, already arranged for with Mr. Steinhauer and his people, and as most of Mr. Woolsey's Indians were out on the plains, he expected to see the people of both missions as also the missionaries together. CHAPTER XXVII. Strike south for buffalo and Indians--Strange mode of crossing "Big River"--Old Besho and his eccentricities--Five men dine on two small ducks. Thursday evening found us striking southward, Mr. Woolsey and his interpreter, William Monckman, making our party up to five. Peter was guide and father's interpreter. Both positions he was well able to fill. Because of Mr. Woolsey's physical infirmity, we were obliged to travel more slowly than we had thus far. Our road ran along the east side of Smoking Lake, and down the creek which runs from the lake to the Saskatchewan. We had left most of the ox for the men at the Mission, and were to depend upon our guns for food until we should reach the Indian camp on the plains. We shot some ducks for supper and breakfast the first night out, and reached the north bank of the river Friday afternoon. The appearance of the country at this point and in its vicinity pleased father so much that he suggested to Mr. Woolsey the desirability of moving to this place and founding a mission and settlement right here on the banks of the river, all of which Mr. Woolsey readily acquiesced in. The two missionaries, moreover, decided that the name of the new mission should be Victoria. The next move was to cross this wide and swiftly flowing river. No ferryman appeared to answer our hail. No raft or canoe or boat was to be seen, no matter where you might look. Evidently something must be improvised, and, as it turned out, Peter was equal to the occasion. Father and Mr. Woolsey had gone to further explore the site of the new mission, William was guarding the horses, and Peter was left with myself to bridge the difficulty, which, to me, seemed a great one. If we had even a small dug-out or log canoe, I would have been at home. "But what is Peter going to do?" was the question I kept asking myself. Presently I said, "How are we going to cross?" "Never you mind," said he; "do as I tell you." "All right," said I; and soon I received my instructions, which were to go and cut two straight, long green willows about one and a half inches in diameter. I did so, and Peter took these and with them made a hoop. While he was making this he told me to bring the oilcloth we were carrying with us and to spread it on the beach. Then he placed the hoop in the centre of the oilcloth, and we folded it in on to the hoop from every side. Then we carried our saddles, and blankets, and tent, and kettle, and axe--in short, everything we had, and put them in this hoop. Then William came and helped us carry this strange thing into the water. When we lifted by the hoop or rim our stuff sagged down in the centre, and when we placed the affair in the water, to my great astonishment it floated nicely, and I was told to hold it in the current; and Peter, calling to the missionaries, said, "Take off your shoes, gentlemen, and wade out and step into the boat." I could hardly credit this; but the gentlemen did as bidden, and very soon were sitting in the hoop, and still, to my great wonder, it floated. [Illustration: A NEW KIND OF BOAT] Peter, in the meantime, took a "chawed line." This is made of buffalo hide, and is literally what its name signifies, having been made by cutting some green hide into a strand, about an inch or more wide, and stretching this, and as it dried, scraping the hair and flesh from it. When thoroughly dry the manufacturer began at one end and chewed it through to the other end, and then back again, and continued this until the line was soft and pliable and thoroughly tanned for the purpose. Great care was taken while chewing not to let the saliva touch the line. These lines were in great demand for lassos, and packing horses, and lashing dog-sleighs and as bridles. Peter tied one end of this securely to the rim of the hoop, and then brought a horse close and tied the other end of the line to the horse's tail; then fastening a leather hobble to the under jaw of the horse, he vaulted on to its back and rode out into the stream, saying to me, "Let go, John, when the line comes tight;" and gently and majestically, like a huge nest, with the two missionaries sitting as eaglets in it, this strange craft floated restfully on the current. For a moment I stood in amazement; then the fact that William and myself were still on this side made me shout to Peter, "How are we to cross?" By this time he was swimming beside his horse, and back over the water came the one word, "Swim!" then later, "Drive in the horses and take hold of the tail of one and he will bring you across." I could swim, but when it came to stemming the current of the Saskatchewan, that was another matter. However, William and I did as our guide ordered, and soon we were drying ourselves on the south bank, horses and men and kit safely landed. The willow pole and our oilcloth had borne our missionaries and guns and ammunition, and the whole of our travelling paraphernalia, without wet or loss in any way. As soon as the backs of our horses were dry, we saddled and packed, and climbing the high bank of the river, proceeded on our journey. Peter cautioned us by saying, "We must keep together as much as possible; there must be no shooting or shouting towards evening; we are now where we may strike a war party at any time." All this made the whole situation very interesting to me. I had read of these things; now I was among them. We stopped early for supper, and then went on late, and camped without fire, another precaution against being discovered by the enemy. Next morning we were away early, and were now reaching open country. Farms and homesteads ready made were by the hundred on every hand of us. Our step was the "all-day jog-trot." Presently father, looking around, missed Mr. Woolsey, and sent me back to look for him and bring him up. I went on the jump, thankful for the change, and finding Mr. Woolsey, I said, "What is the matter? They are anxious about you at the front." He replied by saying, "My horse is lazy." "Old Besho is terribly slow. Let me drive him for you," said I; and suiting the action to the word, I rode alongside and gave "Mr. Besho" a sharp cut with my "quirt." This Besho resented by kicking with both legs. The first kick came close to my leg, the second to my shoulder, the third to my head. This was a revelation to me of high-kicking power. Thinks I, Besho would shine on the stage; but in the meantime Mr. Woolsey was thrown forward, for the higher Besho's hind-quarters came, the lower went his front, and Mr. Woolsey was soon on his neck, and I saw I must change tactics. So I rode to a clump of trees, and securing a long, dry poplar, I came at Besho lance-like; but the cunning old fellow did not wait for me, but set off at a gallop on the trail of our party. Ah! thought I, we will soon come up, and I waved my poplar lance, and on we speeded; but soon Mr. Woolsey lost his stirrups and well-nigh his balance, and begged me to stop, and I saw the trouble was with my friend rather than his steed. However, we came up at last, and were careful after that to keep Mr. Woolsey in the party. This was Saturday, and we stopped for noon on the south side of Vermilion Creek, our whole larder consisting of two small ducks. These were soon cleaned and in the kettle and served, and five hearty men sat around them, and father asked Mr. Woolsey what part of the duck he should help him to. Mr. Woolsey answered, "Oh, give me a leg, and a wing, and a piece of the breast," and I quietly suggested to father to pass him a whole one. As we picked the duck bones, and I drank the broth, for I never cared for tea, we held a council, and finally, at father's suggestion, it was decided that Peter and John (that is, myself) should ride on ahead of the party and hunt, and if successful, we would stay over Sunday in camp; if not, we would travel. CHAPTER XXVIII. Bear hunt--Big grizzlies--Surfeit of fat meat. In accord with the plan mentioned in last chapter, Peter and I saddled up sooner than the rest, and rode on. I will never forget that afternoon. I was in perfect health. My diet for the last few weeks forbade anything like dyspepsia--the horseback travel, the constant change, the newness of my surroundings, this beautiful and wonderful country. Oh, how sweet life was to me! Then the day was superb--bright sunshine, fleecy clouds, and intensely exhilarating atmosphere; everywhere, above and around us, and before and beneath us, a rich and lovely country--quietly sloping plains, nicely rounded knolls, big hills on whose terraced heights woodland and prairie seemed to have scrambled for space, and someone, with wonderful artistic taste, had decided for them, and placed them as they were; lakelets at different altitudes glistening with sun rays, and that quiet afternoon sleeping as they shone; the early autumn tinting the now full-grown grass and foliage with colors the painter might well covet. As I rode in silence behind my guide, my eyes feasted on these panoramic views, and yet I was sharply and keenly looking for some game that might serve the purpose of our quest. When suddenly I saw a dark object in the distance, seeming to come out of a bluff of poplars on to the plain, I checked my horse and watched intently for a little and saw it move. I whistled to Peter, and he said, "What is it?" and I pointed out to him what I saw. Said he, "It is a buffalo." Ah! how my hunting instincts moved at those words. A buffalo on his native heath! Even the sight of him was something to be proud of. The plain this animal was crossing was on the farther side of a lake, and at the foot of a range of hills, the highest of which was called "Sickness Hill." It may have been about four or five miles from us to the spot where I had seen the dark object moving. After riding some distance, we came upon a ridge which enabled Peter to make up his mind that what he now saw was a bear and not a buffalo. This was to both of us somewhat of a disappointment, as it was food more than sport we wanted. I said to Peter, "Will the bear not be good to eat?" "Of course he will, and we will try and kill him," was Peter's reply; and carefully scanning the ground he laid his plan for doing this. The bear was lazily coming to the shore of the lake, and Peter said, "I think he is coming to bathe, and in all probability will swim across to this side of the lake." There was a gully running down through the hills to the lake, and Peter told me to follow that to the shore, and said he would ride around and thus give us a double chance. Accordingly we separated, and I made my way down the gully, and coming near the lake dismounted and crawled up the little hill which alone was my cover from that portion of the lake where I expected to see our game. Parting the grass at the summit of the hill, what I saw almost made my heart jump into my mouth, for here was Bruin swimming straight for me. How excited I was! I very much doubted my ability to shoot straight, even when I got the chance. Crawling back under cover I endeavored to quiet my nerves, and waited for my opportunity. Then, looking through the grass again, I saw the bear swimming, as hard as he could, back to the shore he had come from, and though he was far out I concluded to try a shot at him, and doing so, saw my ball strike the water just to the left of his head. Mine was but a single-barrelled shot-gun at best, and here I was with an empty gun and a restive horse, and looking for the reason of the bear's sudden change of front, I saw Peter galloping around the end of the lake to intercept the bear, if possible. Jumping on my horse, I followed as fast as I could, and began to load my gun as I rode. This was an entirely new experience for me, and took me some time to accomplish. I spilled the powder, and got some of it in my eyes. In putting the stopper of my powder-horn, which I held in my teeth, back into the horn, I caught some of the hairs of my young moustache, and felt smart pain as these were pulled out as the horn dropped. But, in the meantime, my horse was making good time, and at last I was loaded, and now nerved and calm and ready for anything. During all this I kept my eyes alternately between Peter and the bear; saw the bear reach the shore; saw Peter come close to him; saw Peter's horse plunge, and jump, and kick, and try to run away; saw Peter chance a shot while his horse was thus acting; saw that he tickled the bear's heel; saw the bear grab up its heel and, giving a cry of pain, settle down to run for the nearest woods; heard Peter shout to me, "Hurry, John; head him off;" and I was coming as fast as my horse could bring me, and thinking, far in advance of my pace, "What shall I do if I catch the bear before he reaches that thicket? My horse may act like Peter's has, and I will miss the bear, as sure as fate.". Just then I saw a lone tree standing on the plain right in the course the bear was taking and it flashed upon me what to do. I will ride up between the bear and the tree, jump off, let the bear come close, and then if I miss him I will drop my gun and make for that tree. I felt I could leave the bear in a fair run for that distance. We required the food, and I wanted to kill that bear. With all my heart I wished to do this, and now I was opposite, and my horse began to shy and jump; so I uncoiled my lariat and let it drag, to make it easier to catch my horse, and, jumping from his back, I let him go; and now the bear, seeing me between him and the brush, showed the white of his teeth, put back his ears, and came at me straight. I looked at the tree, measured the distance, cocked my gun, and let him come until he almost touched the muzzle, and then fired. Fortunately my bullet went into his brain, and down he dropped at my feet, and I was for the time the proudest man in Canada. Mark my astonishment when Peter came at me vehemently in this wise: "You young rascal! what made you jump off your horse? That bear might have killed you. It was all an accident, your killing him. Your father put you in my care. If anything had happened to you, what could I say to him?" [Illustration: I KILL MY FIRST BEAR] I stood there in my folly, yet proud of it; but I saw I must change the subject, so I looked innocently up at Peter, and said, "Do you think he is fat?" Then a smile lit up Peter's face, and he said, "Fat! Why, yes; he is shaking with fat;" and jumping from his horse, he grasped his knife and laid open the brisket of the bear to verify his words, and sure enough the fat was there. And now, as the food supply was fixed for a day or two, the next question was to bring our party together. For this purpose Peter said to me, "Gallop away to the top of yonder hill and look out for our people, and when you see them, ride your horse to and fro until they see you, and when they see you and turn toward you, you can come back to me." So I galloped away to the distant hill, and presently saw our party coming over another; and riding my horse to and fro in short space, soon attracted their attention, and they diverged towards me; and when I was sure of the direction, I rode back to Peter, who had the bear skinned and cut up by this time, and when our folks came to us, we concluded to camp right there for Sunday. We could not have had a lovelier spot to dwell in for a time. Very soon we had bear ribs roasting by the fire, and bear steak frying in the pan. After supper we saw three large "grizzlies" not far from us. They entered a small thicket, which we surrounded, but after waiting for the huge brutes to make a move, and taking into consideration that our guns were but shot, and muzzle-loading, that our camp was well supplied with bear meat, and that it is written, "Prudence is the better part of valor," we retired to our camp and left the bears alone. The fact of the matter was, as General Middleton would have described it, we "funked." Two nights and one whole day and parts of two other days on fat bear meat straight was quite enough for our party. We did not carry much with us as we left that camp next Monday morning bright and early. Our appetites for this special kind of food had changed since last Saturday evening. Then we ate a hearty supper, but less for breakfast Sunday morning, and this went on in a decreasing ratio at each subsequent meal. Even Mr. Woolsey, a hardened veteran and ordinarily fond of fat, weakened on this diet. How often did we think and even say, "If we only had some bread or some potatoes, or anything to eat with this;" but there was none, and gladly we left that camp and pushed on our way, hoping to reach the Indians or buffalo before long. CHAPTER XXIX. The first buffalo--Father excited--Mr. Woolsey lost--Strike trail of big camp--Indians dash at us--Meet Maskepetoon. I have noticed that while man's stomach seems to need a lot of stimulating, yet there are circumstances when this organ, in turn, becomes a great stimulator; and the slowest in our party seemed to me to feel this that day, so we rode steadily and fast. South-east was our course into the big bend of the Battle River. In the afternoon we did sight a buffalo. There he stood in his hugeness and ugliness, on a plain, without any cover. The only way was to run him; so father and Peter made ready for the race. Father was tremendously excited, and rushed around like a boy, pulled off his big riding-boots and left them on the prairie, then threw down his coat, untied his waterproof from his saddle and flung that down also, and putting on a pair of moccasins, he vaulted into the saddle with all the spring and vigor of youth, and rode off with Peter towards the bull, who presently noticed them, and lifting up his big, shaggy head, snuffed the air, and pawed the ground, and then started. His legs seemed to have no bend in them, and his gait at first was slow, but as the horses came near on the dead run his gait increased in speed. As he ran he turned his head from side to side to catch a glimpse of his pursuers. At first I thought I could catch him on foot; then he spurted, and the hunters drove their horses to their best. Still the brute was too far ahead for them to shoot, and thus buffalo and hunters disappeared in the hills from our view, and, after them, William; only our pack-horses, and Mr. Woolsey and myself, were left. I gathered up what remained, boots, coats, etc., tied them to my saddle, and we followed slowly at Mr. Woolsey's pace. "We are lost, John. We may never find our friends again." These were the comforting sentences Mr. Woolsey addressed to me, but I thought otherwise, and said so, and comforted my venerable companion, all the while keeping my eye on the spot where I had last seen our friends disappearing. On into the rolling hills we rode, and I did wish Mr. Woolsey would come faster. Repeatedly he broke out about our big loss. Then I heard voices, and we came up to our hunters and found them skinning the buffalo. Taking some of the meat, we pushed on. And now the whole country gave signs that recently large herds had been roaming and feeding here, and our guide said we might strike the Indians very soon. But it was not until Tuesday afternoon we came to a large trail; indeed, too many large trails, for these paralleled each other. Thus the large camp kept in a compact mass, which was wise, as the enemy was always on the lookout for stragglers, and as our party was small, we were constantly on the watch against surprise. But in the early afternoon, notwithstanding all our watchfulness, we were surprised by a troop of Indian cavalry dashing at us from out of the bluff on one side, and another from the other side. [Illustration: WE WERE SURPRISED BY A TROOP OF INDIAN CAVALRY] With whoops and yells and fine horsemanship they bore down upon us, and I did not know what to think for a while. But Peter did not seem to mind them; he only sat his horse straighter than before, and soon I knew these were friends sent out to escort us into camp. Then, as we kept on the trail, presently we saw a flag, and coming up over the hill a small body of riders, and in the centre a "kingly-looking man." "That is Maskepetoon," said Mr. Woolsey. We alighted as we met, and the chief, addressing the Deity, expressed his thankfulness because of father's coming, and invoked a blessing on our meeting. They all shook hands, and in company with the chief and escort, we continued on our way to the camp. I was taking stock of the Indians around us, as also of their horses. The men were fine specimens generally, a large percentage very good-looking; their costumes were varied and unique, and ranged from a breech-cloth and looking-glass on to perforated leather shirts and leggings. Also fancy-colored calico was common for little shirts, which were not more than waists, and the sleeves of which came a little past the elbow. Most of the young men had their hair "banged," and I believe that fashion, now so common everywhere, originally came from the plains. Most of them had brass pendants hanging from the hair and ears, also brass collars and armlets. Some had sea-shells on their necks. All were armed with either bow and quiver or flint-lock guns; nearly all were painted, red, yellow and blue being the chief colors, red predominating. The saddles were home-made--some with a bone and wood frame, covered with rawhide; others a pad of dressed leather, stuffed with moose or deer hair. Stirrups were wood, covered with rawhide; stirrup leathers and girths were softened rawhide. Saddle-cloths were home-made, consisting of the skins of bear, wolf, dog, buffalo, etc., and trimmed with strips of red and blue Hudson's Bay strouds (a strong kind of cloth made for this trade). Horses were of all colors and sizes, some very smart and frisky, and many of them exceedingly handsome. The whole scene was harmonious and picturesque, and highly interesting to me. All my previous life had been spent among Indians, but they were canoe men, and wood hunters, and fishermen, and for some generations at peace. Here were plain hunters, and buffalo Indians, and warriors. Some of these rode horses recently taken from the enemy. Some of them wore scalp-locks dangling from arm or leg, which not many moons since were the pride of the original owners, and on whose heads they had grown. But as I took in these new surroundings, we were approaching the camp, and the crowd around us had increased. Many more men had ridden out to meet us, and crowds of boys, two and three on one pony, were joining our _cortège_ all the while. So far as I could see, the ponies were as full of fun as the boys. Many of the latter were naked, except for the paint and brass ornaments and beads with which they were bedecked. CHAPTER XXX. Large camp--Meet Mr. Steinhauer--Witness process of making provisions--Strange life. Ascending a ridge, the large camp was before us--rings within rings of white tents, varying in size but all of one shape, and all made from the buffalo's hide; many of them covered with hieroglyphics and paintings indicative either of supernatural power or of martial achievement; their projecting ventilators tasselled with buffalo hair and gently flapping in the breeze. In and out among their tents, and beyond them for a mile all around, hundreds of horses were feeding, while on almost every knoll groups of guards could be seen, whose duty it was to watch over these herds of horses, and, in so doing, the camp also. [Illustration: MASKEPETOON'S CAMP] Everywhere among the tents were stagings made of peeled poles, on which was spread the meat of recent hunts in various stages of curing; for here meat was cured without either sugar or salt, with only the sun and wind and the chemicals which may be in the atmosphere; and this meat, either as dried meat, or pemmican, or pounded meat and grease, will keep for many years in a perfect state of preservation. Women were dressing skins, scraping hides, rendering tallow, pounding meat, making pemmican, slicing up the fresh meat and hanging it on the stages; some were cooking; some were sewing, with awl for needle and sinew for thread. Scores of naked children were playing and eating and crying in every direction. Hundreds of dogs, half wolf, were fighting and stealing and barking as we rode through the circle of lodges on into the centre, where a small cluster of large tents stood. Here we alighted, and again the chief welcomed the strangers to his country and camp, and once more invoked Heaven's blessings upon the meeting, and then invited us to enter a large tent, which was to be our home while in the camp. Here we found Mr. Steinhauer and his people, who had reached the rendezvous ahead of us. This was the first time in the history of the country that three Protestant missionaries had met on the plains. This was the first time in the history of the Methodist Church that a Chairman of a District had visited the Saskatchewan country. The lone and often very isolated missionary's heart was cheered, the Christian native was delighted, and the pagan people were profoundly interested at such an event. Conjurers and medicine-men looked askance, and may have felt premonitions that their craft was in danger; yet all were apparently friendly and courteous to us. Soon a steaming repast was served, consisting of buffalo tongues and "boss"; the latter is the third set or back ribs, in the possession of which the buffalo is alone among animals on this continent. To us this nice, fresh, delicious meat was a feast indeed. We had fed on comparatively nothing, then surfeited on fat bear meat, and made our jaws weary with tough bull meat; but this--no epicure could ask for more or better in the way of meat food. Our table was the ground, our mats buffalo robes, our dishes tin. Had we not brought a little salt and tea there would have been none, for you might have searched the whole camp in vain for these, to many, "indispensables"---the western Indian had not as yet acquired the taste for either. But the kindly manner and princely hospitality, and the delicious quality and large quantity of the meat our hosts served us with, more than made up for anything we might have thought necessary or lacking. CHAPTER XXXI. Great meeting--Conjurers and medicine-men look on under protest--Father prophesies--Peter waxes eloquent as interpreter--I find a friend. In due time, after our meal was over, the chief asked father when he would be ready to address his people; and father said as soon as the camp could be gathered he was ready. Then the chief summoned two men, and said to them, "Ride forth on either side and shout to my people, and say, Our friends, the praying men, have arrived. One of them is from afar. He is now about to speak to us words of truth and wisdom. All who can be spared from care of camp and guard of horses, come and listen." And the criers went forth and shouted as they rode, and presently from the whole circumference of the big camp, throngs of men and women and children gathered to where we were with the chief. The Christians were intensely interested, but the pagans were intensely curious. What a gathering of strange people, strange costumes, tattooed and painted faces, painted robes, grotesque and also picturesque headdresses! What diverse thought! Old pagans, and conjurers, and medicine-men, strongly conservative, and inclined to look upon these praying men and this meeting as altogether "unnecessary" and "unrequired." The religion of their fathers was good enough for their people. Let the white man keep his faith, and let them alone in theirs. These wondered that men of the type of Maskepetoon should bother themselves in any way with these new-fangled notions, and while they counselled kindness and courtesy, at the same time they said, "Listen only with your ears, and let your minds be unaffected by what these strangers may say." But notwithstanding this, the larger number were eager for something better and stronger and more certain than they had in the faith of their fathers, and these were ready to give close attention to the message of the missionary. All were reverent and respectful, for all were religious in their way. Our little company, with the native Christian following, sang some hymns while the crowd gathered. Then the Rev. Mr. Steinhauer prayed, after which father began his address. He told of the coming of Jesus, how He found the world in darkness, and men worshipping idols, etc.; of the commission given to man to preach the Gospel to every creature; what this Gospel had done for the nations who had accepted it. He showed that true civilization originated in and was caused by Christianity. He said that it was because of the command of Jesus, eastern Christians were constrained to send missionaries to the Saskatchewan; that the purpose was for the best good of the people, both present and eternal. He congratulated them on their country. He foretold the extinction of the buffalo, and the suppression of tribal war, and the necessity of this people's preparing for a great change in their mode and manner of life; that it was the business of himself and brethren to teach and prepare them for the change which was bound to come. He prophesied the ultimate settling of this country. He assured them that the Government would do the fair and just thing by them; that this had been the history of the British Government in her dealings with the Indians, always to do justly and rightly by them. He congratulated them on having a chief like Maskepetoon, who, while brave and strong, was a lover of peace, and earnestly desirous of helping his people in every way. He urged them to listen to him and obey him. He told them that, if God spared his life, his purpose was to come and dwell with them, and become one with them in this great country God had given them. He assured them of the profound interest all Christian people had in them, and urged them to have faith in the Great Spirit and in His Son Jesus. Peter waxed warm and eloquent in his interpreting. What signified it to him that Mr. Steinhauer and William and even myself were closely watching his rendering of this address to the people. He caught the thought and entered into the spirit and purpose of the speaker, and proved himself to be an earnest friend of this people and a prince of interpreters. And that congregation, assembled on the highlands of the continent, under the canopy of heaven, amid such strange, and, to me, new and crude surroundings, how they listened! With what reverence and decorum they gave attention! No getting up and going away, no restless movements. On the other hand, the instinctive courtesy of the natural man was clearly apparent. Civilization does a great deal for man, but it does not always make a gentleman of him. When the service was over, the chief arose, and with quiet dignity spoke to the crowd as follows: "My people, I told you that my friend from the east would speak to you words of wisdom and truth. You have listened to him, and I want you to think of what you have heard. Let this sink into your hearts, for all my friend has said will come to pass. The Great Spirit has sent these praying men to teach us His will. To-morrow we will show our friends our manner of obtaining a livelihood. My runners have brought word that the buffalo are in large numbers near by, and we will go on a grand hunt to-morrow. Only the necessary guards will remain with the camp. Now let the guards be set for to-night, and let there be no recurrence of what took place last night. Someone slept at his post, and the enemy came within the circle of tents, and if he had not been detected, would have stolen, and perhaps killed. Shame on the young man who would allow that to happen! Go now to your tents, put the camp in order, and remember our friends are tired; they have ridden far. Let there be no unnecessary noise, no drumming or gambling to-night. Let the camp be quiet; let our friends rest in peace." When I heard of the grand hunt planned for to-morrow, and of the great numbers of buffalo near by, my whole being was excited with the prospect of witnessing this, and perhaps participating in it. Ah, thought I, if I only had a fresh horse! And while I was wondering how to secure one, a young Indian, as if he divined my thought, said to me, "Will you go to-morrow? will you hunt with us?" I said I would like to, and he at once kindly offered me his horse. "Come and see him," said my new friend; and I went with him to his tent, where he showed me a beautiful little black, who was standing near the tent door, eating at a bundle of hay his owner had cut and carried in for him. The lariat around the horse's neck was passed into the door of the tent, and fastened near where my friend slept. He evidently was taking extra precaution for the safety of his beloved horse. I thanked him for his kindness in thus providing me a mount, and as I sauntered back to our tent I took in the scene. Horses were being driven in from all sides. Picket pins were being re-driven and made secure. Favorite steeds were being led up to tent doors. Women were busy putting away meat and hides. Others were cooking the evening meal over the flickering camp-fires. Old men were walking through the camp, urging to great caution about horses, and some of them enforcing the advice of the afternoon. Soon came darkness and quiet, but though tired I could not sleep. My thought was busy with all these new experiences, and then the hunt promised for to-morrow kept me awake. When I did sleep I dreamt of painted savages and buffalo. Soon it was morning, and with daylight the camp was astir again. Horses were turned loose under guard, breakfast was cooked and eaten and another service held, and then at the command of the chief, all who could go got ready for the hunt. CHAPTER XXXII. The big hunt--Buffalo by the thousand--I kill my first buffalo--Wonderful scene. My friend led up the little black, who in the morning light looked more beautiful than ever. I speedily saddled him, and awaited in nervous expectancy the start. At last the chief mounted, and in company with father and Messrs. Woolsey and Steinhauer, led the way; and from all parts of the camp riders came forth, many of them leading their runners, so as to have them as fresh as possible for the coming race. I found myself in the centre of a group of young men, and in a little while, without any formal introduction, we were quite acquainted and friendly. They plied me with questions about my previous life, the kind of country I had lived in, and how many people there were in "Mo-ne yang," which to them signified Older Canada. They were astonished when I said there were no buffalo there. "What did the people live on?" They were even more astonished when I explained that it was quite possible to live without buffalo. What about war? Did the people where I came from fight? Thus we rode through prairie and woods about evenly mixed; around us multiplying evidences of the recent presence of thousands of buffalo, the country in some places smelling like a barnyard. Then, after riding some five or six miles, we came upon a ridge which enabled us to look down and across a plain or open country, some ten by twenty miles in size, and which seemed to be literally full of buffalo. As I looked, I asked myself, "Am I dreaming? Is this so?" I never could have realized it had I not seen it. The whole country was a black, moving mass. The earth trembled to their tread and roar. Sometimes the clouds of dust from the dustpans as the bulls pawed the earth, rose in the air like smoke from a prairie-fire. It seemed impossible, and yet here was the fact, or rather thousands of them; for every bull and cow and calf was a reality, and so was this long line of strangely equipped Indians on either side of me, and so was I, for my horse became excited with the sight and smell of the great herds, and I found myself a living fact on a very lively steed. As our line moved down the slope, the outer fringe of buffalo fell back on the larger herds, until there seemed to be one living wall before us. Presently the captain of the hunt gave the command, "Alight! see to your girths and arms, and make ready!" I watched my companions, and as they did so did I. They tightened their girths, and then they began to look to their arms. Most of them had bow and quiver, and I turned to one with a gun and watched him. He rubbed his steel and pointed his flint, then took from his ball-pouch some balls, selected some of them, and put these in his mouth. I took several balls from my pouch, selected six, and put them in my mouth. These balls were heavy (twenty-eight to the pound), "but when you are in Rome you must do as Romans do." In a very short time our captain called, "Mount!" and we formed in one long line; and if it had been ten miles long the buffalo would have extended away beyond. If these huge animals had only known their power and estimated their numbers, our line would have been overwhelmed and trampled under foot in a very short time. Instead of this, they moved away as we advanced, increasing their speed as they went, and, following our captain, we increased ours. The horses were all excitement; the men were pale, nervous and quiet. Under foot was rough ground, and there were any number of badger holes. The possibilities were, being shot, or thrown, or gored. Now we were at half speed, line as yet unbroken, every eye on the captain. Suddenly he held his gun in the air and shouted, "Ah-ah-_how_," putting strong emphasis on the last syllable, and away we went, every man for himself. Whips flew; horses tried to. Men were sitting well forward, and seemed to go ahead of their steeds. We were in the dust-cloud, eyes and ears and nose filled with it; then we were through, and here were the buffalo speeding before us. Already the fast horses were into the herd. The swish of an arrow, the blast of an old flint-lock, and the wounded animals jumped aside, streams of blood gushing from their nostrils and mouths, showing that they were mortally hit; others fell dead as soon as shot; others had either a fore or hind leg broken, and stood around at bay challenging another shot--and thus the carnage went on, thicker and faster as the slow-mounted hunters came up. [Illustration: THE BUFFALO HUNT] As for myself, I soon found that six bullets in my mouth were at any rate five too many, and I slipped the five back into my shot-pouch. Then my horse would spring over several badger holes, and my hair would lift; I fancied he would come down in another. When I neared the buffalo, I cocked my gun, and in the intensity of my excitement, and because of an extra jump of my horse, I touched the trigger and off it went, fortunately into the air, and thus I lost my shot. I felt very much mortified at this, but hoped no one would notice what I had done; in fact, all had enough to do in looking after themselves and the game before them. To load under these conditions is no small matter--horse at full speed, greatly excited, and because of the nature of the ground, now making a plunge, now a short jump, and again a long one; and then a dead buffalo right in the way and your horse jumping over him, another struggling and rising and falling in the throes of death straight ahead of you, some winded bulls coming athwart your course, heads down and tails up, which you have been told are sure signs of a fight; and to put on the climax of difficulties, you a "tenderfoot," or, as in the Hudson's Bay country dialect, a "greenhorn." However, after spilling a lot of powder and getting some of it in my eyes, I was loaded at last, and now I saw that the buffalo were driven from me; but just then an Indian chased a cow at an angle towards me, and I also saw that his horse was winded, and I closed in. Yet I did not like to intrude, but the friendly fellow said, "Chase her, my brother," and then I went in gladly. Again he shouted, "That is a good horse you are on. Drive him!" I touched the black with my whip and he speeded. "Drive him!" shouted my friend, "go close!" and again I struck the black, and like the wind he carried me up, and I did go close, and shot the cow. Down she dropped, and I jumped to the ground beside her, a very proud boy. Ah, thought I, just give me a chance; I will make a hunter as good as the best. My friend came up and said, "You did well, my brother." I thought so too, and though I have killed many hundreds of buffalo since then, and often under far more difficult and trying circumstances, yet that first race and dead-shot can never be forgotten. My new brother would fain have me take part of the meat. I told him the animal was his, but if he would give me the tongue I would be thankful. This he did, and fastening it to my saddle, I rode on to look over the field of slaughter, as also to find father and party if I could. Ascending a hill, I could see men and women at work skinning and cutting up. In little groups they dotted the plain. The pack-horses were waiting for their loads, and the runners were feeding quietly beside them, their work for the day finished. I think I am within bounds when I say there must have been between eight hundred and a thousand buffalo slain in that run. Many of the hunters killed four, some of them six and seven. Hunting to kill was considered a small matter, but to kill real good animals was where the skill of the hunter came in. To select a fat one out of scores and hundreds, all on the dead run and mixing as they ran, and to keep your eye on that particular one, watch your horse, load your gun, and look out for wounded and enraged animals in your way, required both skill and nerve, and even among the Indians and mixed bloods born on the plains, there were but few who excelled. It was late in the afternoon when I found the chief and our party, and I was heartily glad to partake of some dried meat the chief had thoughtfully brought along for the strangers' benefit. Towards evening we were all converging in the direction of the camp and thousands of pounds of meat and many hides were being packed home by hundreds of horses. Much of this meat would be eaten fresh, but the greater portion would be cured for future use, or for sale to the Hudson's Bay Company and traders. CHAPTER XXXIII. Another big meeting--Move camp--Sunday service all day. Another even larger gathering took place in the evening, when father again addressed the motley crowd through Peter, and the interest deepened. The days were spent by the missionaries in a succession of services and councils. On Saturday the whole camp moved some twelve or fifteen miles farther east into a still more picturesque and beautiful country, rich in its changing variety of landscape and scenery. No wonder these aboriginal men are proud of their birthright, for it is indeed a goodly heritage. To witness this large camp moving was to me an object of great interest--the taking down of tents, the saddling and packing of horses and packing of dogs. Both horses and dogs pulled a sort of vehicle made of poles, termed in this country "travois," and thus they both packed and pulled. To these "travois" the lodge-poles were fastened by the small end and drawn along the ground. Many of the children and the aged and the sick were carried on the "travois." Indeed, the carrying and pulling capacity of an Indian pony seemed to be unlimited. Two or three children and a lot of lodge-poles on the "travois," and the mother and a couple more children on the horse's back, and the staunch little fellow ambled along at a quick step, without any trouble or fuss. When the camp moved, parallel columns were formed and all kept together, the riders and hunters keeping on either side and in front and in the rear. [Illustration: WHEN THE CAMP MOVED, PARALLEL COLUMNS WERE FORMED] In an incredibly short time the whole camp was in motion, and after we came to the spot selected for our new camp-ground, in a very little while tents were up, and stages standing, and meat drying, and work going on as at the other camp. In fact, were it not for the lay of the country one could imagine that the whole village had been lifted from yonder to here without disturbing anything. Long practice and generations of nomadic life had trained the people to constant moving. They were "itinerants" even more than the Methodist ministry. Sunday was a special day. The chief's influence and the presence of the missionaries caused the day to be respected by all, irrespective of creed; and prayer-meetings, and preaching, and song services were continued all day, and manifest interest was shown by the people. CHAPTER XXXIV. Great horse-race--"Blackfoot," "Moose Hair," and others--No gambling--How "Blackfoot" was captured. While we were in the camp a great race was run between some famous horses. This was a trial of endurance and wind as well as speed. The race was from camp straight out and around an island of timber, and back home. The whole distance must have been between five and six miles, and although many of these Indians were inveterate gamblers, yet because of the presence of the missionaries this was omitted from the programme. [Illustration: THE HORSE RACE] A bay horse called "Blackfoot" came in ahead, and the horse which Mrs. Hawke had loaned father from Saddle Lake to White-fish Lake, called "Moose Hair," came in second. Our missionary, Mr. Steinhauer, told me some of the history of "Blackfoot." Mr. Steinhauer was in the Cree camp when this was attacked by a large force of Blackfeet and their allies, and the fighting went on most of the day, the Crees, though driven in at times, still keeping the enemy away from their camp, and eventually repulsing them; and when the last successful rally was made by the Crees, one of our people gave chase to a Blackfoot, whose horse, after a long run, showed signs of distress. The "Chief Child," for that was the Cree's name, spurred on, and at last the Blackfoot abandoned his horse. "Chief Child" captured the animal, and very soon found he had a treasure, for the trouble with the horse was that his feet were worn down smooth, and he could not run. This horse, when he recuperated and his feet grew out, became famous, and was called "Blackfoot." Eventually he came into my hands, and later on I traded him to father, who kept him until "Old Blackfoot" died, and our whole family mourned for him. He was not only speedy, but the longest-winded horse I ever owned. Many a time when I had left the other hunters, even on the start, and when their horses were winded, "Old Blackfoot" seemed to be only getting down to his wind. I gave a splendid horse, a pair of blankets and £8 sterling for him, and he was worth it. Father prized him highly, and had him with him when, in 1867, he travelled with his own rigs from the Saskatchewan to St. Paul's, in Minnesota, and when he came back, in the autumn of 1868, he brought "Blackfoot" with him. At that race which we witnessed, "Blackfoot" came in an easy winner, and because of his reputation, the "Hawke" was quite satisfied to have his horse, "Moose Hair," come in second. CHAPTER XXXV. Formed friendships--Make a start--Fat wolves--Run one--Reach the Saskatchewan at Edmonton. We had now spent several days with this people, and had become acquainted with many of them. I had formed friendships with a number, which, grown stronger with the years, have helped me in my life-work ever so much. Now we must continue our journey. Father told them they might look for him next year about the same time, and as a pledge of this he was going to leave me with Mr. Woolsey in the meantime. Quite a large number escorted us for several miles on our way, and seemed reluctant to have us go. They had provisioned us with the choicest dried meat and pemmican, and our horses were rested and ready to go on. Our course was now westward up the Battle River, and then northward for Edmonton, or as the Indians term it, the "Beaver Hill House." As we journeyed we came near the scene of our hunt a few days since. A number of big prairie wolves were to be seen. They were glutting themselves on the offal and carcases left on the field. They were fat and could not run fast, and one could kill them with a club from his horse's back. I drove one up to our party, and Peter and William and I amused ourselves by making him trot between us for quite a distance; then we let him go, for wolf-skins in those days were not worth packing any distance. We went in by the "Bony Knoll" and what is now known as the "Hay Lake Trail," camped twice, and reached the Saskatchewan opposite the fort in the evening of the third day. CHAPTER XXXVI. Swim horses--Cross in small boat--Dine at officers' table on pounded meat without anything else--Sup on ducks--No carving. Swimming our horses, and crossing in a small boat, we resaddled and repacked and rode into the fort, where we were received kindly by the Hudson's Bay Company's officers and invited to partake of their fare, which was just then pounded meat straight--no bread, no vegetables, nothing else. Pounded meat with marrow-fat is very good fare, but alone it becomes monotonous, even before you get through the first meal. At this time Edmonton was without provisions, and only now was sending a party out to the plains to trade with the Indians for some. The next meal we dined on duck straight. No carving by the gentleman who served; he put a duck on each plate, and we picked the bones clean--at least, I did those of mine. Edmonton then consisted of the Hudson's Bay Company's fort, and this was all in the vicinity. Out north, about nine miles distant, was a newly commenced Roman Catholic mission; but here the four walls of the fort enclosed everything. Stores and dwelling-houses were packed in a small space, and when the trip-men and voyageurs were home for the winter the post would be crowded. I had now seen three Hudson's Bay Company's forts in the Saskatchewan--Carlton, Pitt, and Edmonton--all situate in one of the richest agricultural districts in Canada, but each and all striking evidence that the Hudson's Bay Company was nothing more than a fur-trading organization; they were not settlers nor farmers. Pelts and not bread, furs and not homes, were what they aimed at. Though only a boy, I could readily see that before many years this would be changed, for no power under heaven could keep settlement out of this country I had already been privileged with seeing a portion of. CHAPTER XXXVII. Start for new home--Miss seeing father--Am very lonely--Join Mr. Woolsey. Father was now at his objective point in the west, and as the season was advanced he must make haste to return to Norway House. His plan was to go down the river in a skiff. I was to remain with Mr. Woolsey as a sort of assistant and interpreter. Our present plan was for Mr. Woolsey to accompany father in the skiff to where we had crossed the river on our southward journey some weeks since, and Peter and I were to take the horses down on the north side to meet them at this point. William had gone on to Smoking Lake and would meet us there. We were to leave Edmonton the same day, and hoped to reach our rendezvous about the same time; but Peter and I had quite a bunch of horses to drive, and most of the road was dense forest, with the path narrow and almost overgrown with timber. Our horses, too, would run off into the thicket, so that when we came to an open space beyond, and counted up, we would generally find some were missing. While I guarded those we had, Peter would go back and patiently track up the rest. Thus, instead of reaching the spot where we were to meet father and party the second evening, it was long after dark on the third evening when we came there. I had not seen father to say "Good-bye," at Edmonton, and I had many things to say to him before we parted for the year, and now I expected to meet him camped on the banks of the river, but as we rode down the hill into the valley all was darkness. There could be no mistake; this was the spot, but no camp and no sign of father. We wondered what was up; presently I saw something white, and, riding to it, found a note stuck in the end of a small pole, and we lit a match and I read: "My DEAR BOY,-- "We came here early to-day and waited some hours, but the season urges me on. Am sorry to miss meeting you. Play the man. Do your best to help Mr. Woolsey. "God bless you, my son. Good-bye. "Your loving father, "G. McDOUGALL." If I had been alone I could have cried heartily in my great disappointment. Oh! what a fit of lonesomeness and homesickness came upon me, but there was no time for long lamentation. We found that Mr. Woolsey and William had gone on towards Smoking Lake, and we followed and came up with them late at night, and I began my service with Mr. Woolsey; but it took days of constant change to lift from my mind the shadow of my disappointment in missing father. CHAPTER XXXVIII. William goes to the plains--I begin work at Victoria--Make hay--Plough--Hunt--Storm. Father had suggested two plans for immediate action: One was to send William out to the plains to trade some provisions; the other was to send me to the site of the new mission, and have me make some hay and plough some land ready for next spring, and thus take up the ground. Mr. Woolsey decided to act on both. The former was very necessary, for we were living on duck, rabbits, etc., and the supply was precarious. William took an Indian as his companion, and I a white man, by the name of Gladstone, as mine. We travelled together as far as the river. This time we took a skiff Mr. Woolsey had on Smoking Lake. We took this as far as we could by water and then loaded it on to a cart, and when we reached the river we took William's carts apart and crossed them over, and he and his companion started out to look for provisions, while Gladstone and myself to put up hay and plough land. For the former we had two scythes, and for the latter a coulterless plough; but we had a tremendously big yoke of oxen. We pitched our lodge down on the bank of the river and went to work; but as we had to hunt our food as well as work, we did not rush things as I wanted to. My companion had been a long time in the Hudson's Bay Company's service, but was a boat-builder by trade, and knew little about either haymaking or ploughing or hunting; but he was a first-rate fellow, willing always to do his best. He told me that though he had been in the country for a long time, he had seldom fired a gun and had never set a net. We had between us a single-barrelled shotgun, percussion-lock, and a double-barrelled flint lock. The first thing we did was to make some floats and put strings on some stones, and I tied up a net we had and we crossed the river, and set it in an eddy; then we fixed up our scythes and started in to cut hay on the ground where we intended to plough. We had several horses with us, and these and the oxen gave us a lot of trouble. Many an hour we lost in hunting them, but we kept at it. At first our food supply was good. I caught several fine trout in my net, and shot some ducks and chickens. We succeeded in making two good-sized stacks of hay. Then we went to ploughing, but our oxen had never pulled together before--good in the cart, but hard to manage in double harness. It was not until the second day, after a great deal of hard work, that we finally got them to pull together. Then our plough, without a coulter, bothered us tremendously; but we staked out a plot of ground, and were determined, if possible, to tear it up. Once our oxen got away, and we lost them for three days. "Glad," as I called him, knew very little about tracking, and I very little at that time, but the third day, late in the evening, I came across the huge fellows, wallowing in pea-vine almost up to their backs, and away they went, with their tails up, and I had to run my horse to head them off for our tent. One morning, very early, I was across looking at my net, and caught a couple of fine large trout. Happening to look down the river, I saw some men in single file coming along our side, keeping well under the bank. My heart leaped into my mouth as I thought of a war-party; but as I looked, presently the prow of a boat came swinging into view around the point, and I knew these men I saw were tracking her up. What a relief, and how thankful I was to think I might hear some news of home and father and the outside world, for though it was now more than four months since I left home, I had not heard a word. I hurried up and fixed my net, and pulled across and told Glad the news about the boat, and he was as excited as myself. Isolation is all very fine, but most of us soon get very tired of it. I for one never could comprehend the fellow who sighed, "Oh, for a lodge in some vast wilderness!" Very soon the boat came to us, and we found that it contained the chief factor, William Christie, Esq., and his family, and was on its way to Edmonton. Mr. Christie told me about father passing Carlton in good time some weeks since, and assured me that he would now be safe at home at Norway House. He said that there was no late packet and he had no news from the east. He went up and looked at our ploughing, and laughed at our lack of coulter. "Just like Mr. Woolsey, to bring a plough without a coulter," said he; but the same gentleman bought a lot of barley of us some three years after this. They had hams of buffalo meat hanging over the prow and stern of their boat. I offered them my fish, hoping they would offer me some buffalo meat. They took my fish gladly, but did not offer us any meat. This was undoubtedly because they did not think of it, or they would have done so, but both Glad and I confessed to each other afterwards our sore disappointment. However, we ploughed on. One morning I had come ashore from the net with some fish in my boat, and, going up to the tent, Glad went down to the river to clean them. In a little while I looked over the bank, and, sitting within a few feet of Glad (who was engaged with the fish, just at the edge of the water), was a grey goose, looking earnestly at this object beside him; but as Glad made no sudden movement, the goose seemed to wonder whether this was alive or not. I slipped back for my gun and shot the goose, and Glad who thought somebody was shooting at him, jumped for his life, but I pointed to the dead goose and he was comforted. Philanthropists make a great mistake when they begin to comfort others through their heads. Let them begin at their stomachs, which makes straighter and quicker work. [Illustration: "GUN-SHOCK"--"GOOSE-COMFORT"] We were still three or four days away from our self-set task, when, as if by mutual agreement, the fish would not be caught, the ducks and geese took flight south, and the chickens left our vicinity. To use a western phrase, "The luck was agin' us." We had started with two salt buffalo tongues as our outfit, when we left Mr. Woolsey. We had still one of these left. We boiled it, and ate half the first day of our hard luck. We worked harder and later at our ploughing the second day. We finished the tongue and ploughed on. The third day we finished our task about two o'clock, and then I took my gun and hunted until dark, while Glad gathered and hobbled the horses close to camp. Not a rabbit or duck or chicken did I see. If I had been a pagan Indian, I would have said, "Mine enemy hath done this. Somebody is working bad medicine about me." But I had long before this found out that the larder of a hunter or fisherman is apt to be empty at times. Glad and I sat beside our camp-fire that night, and were solemn and quiet. There was a something lacking in our surroundings, and we felt it keenly. For a week we had been on very short "commons," and since yesterday had not tasted any food, and worked hard. In the meantime, there is no denying it, we were terribly hungry. Early next morning we took down our tent and packed our stuff. We had neither pack nor riding-saddles, as we had come this far with William, and we had hoped that he would have returned before we were through our work; but going on the plains was going into a large country. You might strike the camp soon, or you might be weeks looking for them, and when you found the Indians, they might be in a worse condition as to provisions than you were. This all depended on the buffalo in their migrations--sometimes here, and again hundreds of miles away. William may turn up any time, and it may be a month or six weeks before we hear from him. As it is, Glad and I do the best we can without saddles, and start for home. Having the oxen, we went slow. After travelling about ten miles, I saw someone coming towards us, and presently made out that it was a white man, and I galloped on to meet him, and found that it was Neils, the Norwegian, who was with Mr. Woolsey. He was on foot, but I saw he had a small pack on his back, and my first question was, "Have you anything to eat?" and he said he had a few boiled tongues on his back. Then I told him that Glad and I were very hungry, and would very soon lighten his pack. He told me Mr. Woolsey had become anxious about us, and at last sent him to see if we were still alive. When Glad came up, we soon showed Neils that our appetites were fully alive, for we each took a whole tongue and ate it; then we split another in two and devoured that. And now, in company with Neils, we continued our journey, reaching Mr. Woolsey's the same evening, but making great attempts to lower the lakes and creeks by the way, for our thirst after the salt tongues was intense. CHAPTER XXXIX. Establish a fishery--Build a boat--Neils becomes morbid--I watch him. The next thing was to establish a fishery. The buffalo might fail us, and so might the fish, but we must try both; and as I happened to be the only one in our party who knew anything about nets and fishing, this work came to me. So I began to overhaul what nets Mr. Woolsey had, and went to work mending and fixing them up. About twenty-five miles north of us was a lake, in which a species of white-fish were said to abound, and our plan was to make a road out to that and give it a fair trial. In the meantime, because of an extra soaking I got in a rain storm, I had a severe attack of inflammation, and, to use another western phrase, had a "close call." But Mr. Woolsey proved to be a capital nurse and doctor combined. He physicked, and blistered, and poulticed for day and night, and I soon got better, but was still weak and sore when we started for the lake. I took both Glad and Neils with me, our plan being to saw lumber and make a boat, and then send Glad back, and Neils and I go on with the fishing. Behold us then started, the invalid of the party on horseback, and Glad and Neils each with an axe in hand, and leading an ox on whose back our whole outfit was packed--buffalo lodge tents, bedding, ammunition, kettles, cups, whip-saw, nails, tools, everything we must have for our enterprise. These oxen had never been packed before, and were a little frisky about it, and several times made a scattering of things before they settled down to steady work. [Illustration: THE START TO THE FISHERY] We had to clear out a great deal of the way, and to find this way without any guide or previous knowledge of the place; but our frontier instinct did us good service, and early the third day we came out upon the lake, a beautiful sheet of water surrounded by high forest-clad hills. We had with us ten large sleigh dogs, and they were hungry, and for their sakes as well as our own, we hardly got the packs and saddles off our animals when we set to work to make a raft, manufacturing floats and tie-stones, and preparing all for going into the water. Very soon we had the net set; then we put up our lodge, and at once erected a saw-pit, and the men went to work to cut lumber for the boat we had to build. Before long, in looking out to where we had set the net, I saw that all the floats had disappeared under the water. This indicated that fish were caught, and I got on the raft and poled out to the net. My purpose was to merely overhaul it, and take the fish out, leaving the net set; but I very soon saw that this was impossible. I must take up the net as it was, or else lose the fish, for they would flop off my raft as fast as I took them out of the net; so I went back to the end of the net and untied it from the stake, and took in the whole thing. [Illustration: A BIG HAUL] Fortunately the net was short and the lake calm, for presently I was up to my knees in water, and fish, a living, struggling, slimy mass, all around me, so that my raft sank below the surface quite a bit. Fortunately, the fish were pulling in all possible contrary directions, for if they had swam in concert, they could have swum away with my raft and myself. As it was, I poled slowly to the shore, and shouted to my men to come to the rescue, and we soon had landed between two and three hundred fish--not exactly, but very nearly white-fish. As to quality, not first-class by any means; still, they would serve as dog food, and be a guarantee from starvation to man. We had found the lake. We had found the fish, and now knew them to be plentiful; so far, so good. After the dogs were fed and the fish hung up, and the net drying, I began to think that I was running the risk of a relapse. So I took my gun and started out along the lake to explore, and make myself warm with quick walking. I went to the top of a high hill, saw that the lake was several miles long, shot a couple of fall ducks, and came back to the camp in a glow; then changed my wet clothes, and was apparently all right. While the men were sawing lumber, and chopping trees, and building the boat, I was busy putting up a stage to hang fish on, and making floats and tying stones, and getting everything ready to go to work in earnest when the boat was finished. This was accomplished the fourth day after reaching the lake, and Glad took the oxen and horse and went back to Mr. Woolsey. Neils and I set our net and settled down to fishing in good style. We soon found that the lake abounded in worms, or small insects, and these would cling to the net, and if the net was left long in the water, would destroy it, so we had to take it up very often; and this with the drying and mending and setting of nets, and making of sticks and hanging of fish, kept us very busy. So far north as we were, and down in the valley, with hills all around us, and at the short-day season, our days were very short, and we had to work a lot by camp-fire, which also entailed considerable wood-cutting. Our isolation was perfect. We were twenty-five miles from Mr. Woolsey; he and Glad were sixty from White-fish Lake and 120 from Edmonton, and both of these places were out of the world of mail and telegraph connection, so our isolation can be readily imagined. Many a time I have been away from a mission or fort for months at a time, and as I neared one or other of these, I felt a hungering for intelligence from the outside or civilized world; but to my great disgust, when I did reach the place, I found the people as much in the dark as myself. But this isolation does not agree with some constitutions, for my Norwegian Neils began to become morbid and silent, and long after I rolled myself in my blanket he would sit over the fire brooding, and I would waken up and find him still sitting as if disconsolate. At last I asked him what was the matter, when he told me it was not right for us to be there alone. "You take your gun and go off. If a bear was to kill you?" (We had tracked some very big ones.) "You will go out in the boat when the lake is rough; if you were to drown, everybody would say, 'Neils did that--he killed him.'" On the surface I laughed at him, but in my heart was shocked at the fellow, and said, "If anything was to happen to you, would not people think the same of me? We are in the same boat, Neils, but we will hope for the best, and do our duty. So long as a man is doing his duty, no matter what happens, he will be all right. You and I have been sent here to put up fish; we are trying our best to do so; let us not borrow trouble." For a while Neils brightened up, but I watched him. CHAPTER XL. Lake freezes--I go for rope--Have a narrow escape from wolf and drowning--We finish our fishing--Make sleds--Go home--Camp of starving Indians en route. All of a sudden the lake froze over, and our nets were under, and we had no rope to pass under the ice. So, leaving my gun with Neils, for he had none, and whistling the dogs to me, I set out on a run for home; and as it was only twenty-five miles, my purpose was to be back in camp the same night, for I could conveniently make a fifty-mile run in those days. Down the valley and over the hills, through the dense forest we went--the ten dogs and myself. Presently, as we were coasting along the shore of a lake, we met a huge, gaunt timber wolf. Ah, thought I, if I only had my gun! I set the dogs on him, but he very soon drove them back, and came at me. I remembered seeing some lodge-poles a little way back on the trail, and I retreated to them, and securing one, came on to the attack again. Between the dogs and myself, we drove the wolf on to a little point jutting out into the lake, and he took to the ice. I foolishly followed him out, hoping to get a whack at him with my pole, but suddenly I awoke to the fact that the ice was giving way with me and the water was deep. Down I dropped, and stretched out, and leaned with the most of my weight on the pole, which, covering a good space of ice, fortunately held me up; so crawling and pushing, and anxiously looking through the transparent ice for the bottom, I made for the shore. How thankful I was when I did see the bottom, and presently was ashore once more! [Illustration: A CLOSE CALL] As I ran off on the trail, I seemed to take a fresh lease of life, for it seemed as if I had nearly lost my grip of it a few minutes since. I reached Mr. Woolsey's just as he was sitting down to lunch, and he was so glad to see me that he would not hear of my going back that afternoon. A few Indians had come and gone, and from these Mr. Woolsey had secured some dried meat, which to me was a great treat after so much fish. We were becoming fast friends, this old bachelor missionary and myself, for while he was anything but a pioneer, and altogether out of place in this wild country, yet he was thoroughly good, and as full of the milk of "human kindness" as men are ever made. Early the next morning I was away with the rope, and by night Neils and I had overhauled several of our nets and put some fresh ones in their place. And now winter set in, with no snow, but extreme cold, which soon thickened the ice, and Neils and I gave our spare time to making a couple of toboggans, for we purposed when we did go home, to take loads of fish with us. As the ice made, the fish went away, and soon our fishing was over for that time. We had put up about three thousand, and lived almost entirely on fish; the livers of some dog-fish we occasionally caught being our only change, except a very few fish-ducks, which were hardly a change. We had also fattened the ten dogs ready for winter work. This was no small item. Now we made a strong "log cache," and stored our fish in it, putting tent and nets and everything with the fish; and having finished our dog-sleighs, or toboggans, we contemplated starting in the morning for home, though there was as yet no snow. As it was moonlight, I proposed to Neils that we start at once. So we loaded up, hitched our dogs and set out. What a time we had--bare ground, fallen timber, stumps and hills; and, to make matters worse, while we were making a fire about midnight to cook our last duck, which we had saved for days for this very purpose, the dogs stole it, and our disappointment was bitter. We had cleaned that duck, and had it all ready to cook, and looked forward to picking its bones ourselves. We craved the change in diet, even if it was only from fish to a fishy duck; but just as we had the prize, the contemptible dogs stole it, and though it is now thirty-two years since this happened, I can still very strongly sympathize with Neils and myself. We thawed and roasted a fish, and started on, and about two o'clock in the morning came upon a solitary lodge right on the road. This proved to be a wood Stoney, Peter Pe-kah-ches. He and his family were starving. There was no snow, and everything being crisp with frost, he could not approach game. Peter was a renowned hunter, but the season was against him, and thus he was starving. We gave him part of our fish, and received the heart-felt blessings of the whole family, who hardly waited to thaw some of the fish until they ate them. This lightened our hearts and our loads also, and we went on and reached home before daylight. CHAPTER XLI. Mr. O. B.--The murderer--The liquor keg. In the meantime an old wandering-Jew kind of man, one of those human beings who seem to be trying to hide away from themselves, had turned up, and was domiciled with Mr. Woolsey. He had come across the plains from Fort Garry with a party of white men, who grew tired of him and dumped him at Fort Carlton, where I saw him when I landed from the boats in the summer. He had come on to Edmonton with the Hudson's Bay Company's carts, and there was thrown out by a rule made by the Hudson's Bay Company's Governor, Dallas, that no Hudson's Bay officer should allow any stragglers to stay around the post. The penalty for doing this was a fine upon the officer in charge of ten shillings sterling per day. Someone suggested Mr. Woolsey, and Mr. O. B. (for that was his name) came by first opportunity to Mr. Woolsey. An Indian was returning to Fort Pitt, and he was persuaded to bring Mr. O. B. to Mr. Woolsey; and when the two were starting, total strangers to each other, and not understanding each other's language, some heartless fellow whispered to Mr. O. B, "Watch that fellow, for he is a murderer." And so he was said to be, having been bribed (so the story went) to kill another man because the briber wanted the other's wife. Whether this was exactly true or not, poor Mr. O. B. had an awful time of watching his companion and guide, and was a very grateful man when he came to our home safe. He was an educated man, and should have been a gentleman in every sense. He also was a victim of the liquor curse. His was another life blasted with this demon from the bottomless pit. In rummaging around our quarters, he found a keg which some time or another had held liquor. I saw him smell this, and then fill it with water and put it in the cellar; then every little while he would go down and shake this keg. One day I heard him say, "It is getting good," so I thought I would make it better, and I took the keg and emptied it, and and filled it with fresh water. Mr. O. B. took great satisfaction in drinking this, though the taste must have become very faint indeed. CHAPTER XLII. William comes back--Another refuge seeker comes to us--Haul our fish home--Hard work. William had come back from the plains, bringing some provisions--not very much, but sufficient to make us all feel thankful. Mr. Woolsey had sent him to Edmonton to bring some horses he had left there, and when he returned he had another "refuge seeker," this time a young man, the son of one of our ministers in Ontario, Williston by name. He had started to cross the mountains with some others, but reaching the Kootanie Pass, their provisions and pluck both dwindled away. They wandered back along the mountains and came to Edmonton in a famished condition, and Williston, being "dead-broke," heard of Mr. Woolsey, and came down with William. Of course Mr. Woolsey, because of his being the son of a brother minister, took him in. And now snow came, and Williston and I, each with a dog-train, made several trips to the lake for fish. These trips were hard work; the man, besides walking and running all the time over the home stretch, had to push and pull and strain, and hold back to get his load up and down the many hills and over the logs, which were legion, and which would have taken more time than we had to clear out of the way. About this time we made a trip to White-fish Lake for some stuff Mr. Woolsey had in store there. We found Mr. Steinhauer and family well, and hard at work among their people, for things were now getting into shape at this mission, and the Indians were gathering in and looking upon it as a home. Mr. Steinhauer was an ideal missionary--capable and practical and earnest, a guide and leader in all matters to his people. Heart and soul, he was in his work. CHAPTER XLIII. Flying trip to Edmonton--No snow--Bare ice--Hard travel--A Blackfoot's prayer. It was now near Christmas, and Mr. Woolsey planned to spend the holidays at Edmonton. This was really his station. For years the minutes of yonder eastern Conference read: "Thomas Woolsey, Edmonton House, Rocky Mountains." Though these places were over two hundred miles apart then, the Hudson's Bay Company's officers and men came to Edmonton generally for the New Year, and this was the missionary's opportunity of reaching these outposts through these men. Our party now was made up of Mr. Woolsey, Mr. O. B., and Williston, William, Neils and myself. Gladstone had left some time since. Leaving Mr. O. B. to keep the house warm, and William and Neils to saw lumber, the rest of us started for Edmonton, Williston driving the baggage train, and myself the cariole in which Mr. Woolsey rode. We left long before daylight the Monday morning before Christmas, which came on Thursday that year. We had about four inches of snow to make the road through. This was hardly enough for good sleighing, but where there was prairie or ice, our dogs had good footing and made good time. Down the slope of country to Smoking Lake, and then along the full length of the lake we went; then straight across country, over logs and round the windings of the dim bridle-path for the Wah-suh-uh-de-now, or "Bay in the Hills" (which would bring us to the Saskatchewan River), to which place we came about daylight, having already made a good thirty-five miles of our journey. Mr. Woolsey had slept and snored most of the way. What cared he for precipitous banks, or tortuous trails, or the long hours of night! With sublime faith in his guide, he lay like a log. "Little he recked if we let him sleep on In the sleigh where his driver had wound him." After coming down the big hill into the valley at a break-neck pace, we came to the almost perpendicular bank of the stream, still seventy-five or eighty feet high, and here I roused Mr. Woolsey, and asked him to climb down, while Williston and I took the dogs off and let the cariole and sled down as easily as we could. Once down, we got Mr. Woolsey in again, and away we went up the river at a good smart run, my leader taking the way from point to point, and around the rapids and open water at the word. For another five miles we kept on, and stopped for breakfast before sunrise opposite Sucker Creek. To jerk these dogs out of their collars is the first thing. This gives them a chance to roll and run about, and supple up after the long pull of the morning. Then we make a big fire and cut some brush to put down in front of it; then help Mr. Woolsey out of his cariole, and next boil the kettle, and roast our dried meat and eat. Then after a short prayer, and while the "Amen" is still on our lips, we hitch up the dogs, tie the sleigh, help Mr. Woolsey into the cariole, tuck and wrap him in, and "Marse!" Away jump my dogs once more, and their bells ring out in the clear morning frost, and are echoed up and down the valley as we ascend, for even over the ice the ascension is very perceptible. On we went, steadily making those long stretches of river which are between Sucker Creek and the Vermilion. As we proceeded, we left the snow, and the ice became glare and very difficult to run on, especially when one had to constantly steady the cariole to keep it from upsetting in the drift ice, or from swinging into the open channel, where the current was too strong for ice to make. I slipped once badly, and gave myself a wrench, the effects of which I felt at times for many a long year. After stopping for lunch on an island, we pushed on, and, climbing the hill at the mouth of Sturgeon River, found the country bare of snow, and after going two or three miles in this way, I concluded to camp, and strike back for the river in the morning. If we could have gone on, we would have reached Edmonton the next day before noon. Mr. Woolsey was astonished at our progress. We had come full eighty miles, although the latter part of our road was very difficult to travel, the glare but uneven river ice being very hard on both dogs and men. We camped on a dry bluff. What a revelation this country is to me! This is now the 22nd of December, and the weather, while crisp and cold, beautifully fine--no snow--and we having to use exceedingly great caution in order not to set the prairie on fire. That night Mr. Woolsey, while rubbing some pain-killer into my sprained leg, told me about his life at Edmonton; how one day a Blackfoot came into his room, and was very friendly, and told him that he (the Blackfoot) was a very religious man; also that he loved to talk to the Great Spirit himself, would do so right then, thus giving Mr. Woolsey the benefit of his prayer. Mr. Woolsey sent for an interpreter, and the Blackfoot went on very much like the Pharisee of old. He was not as other men--the Cree, or Stoney, or even ordinary white men--he was a good man; his heart was good; he was thankful to meet this "good white man." He hoped their meeting would be blessed of the Great Spirit, and now that he had seen and spoken to this "good white man," he trusted that the Good Spirit would help him against his enemies, and aid him in his war expeditions, and thus he would bring home many horses and scalps. Above all things, the last was his strong desire. Mr. Woolsey also told me of a slight misunderstanding he had with a priest. Mr. Woolsey did not understand French, and the priest did not understand English. The cause of their trouble was about asking a blessing and returning thanks at the Hudson's Bay Company's mess table. The priest was a thorough monopolist. The officer in charge would say, "Mr. Woolsey, please ask a blessing," or "Mr. Woolsey, please return thanks;" but the priest would immediately begin a Latin grace or thanksgiving, and thus Mr. Woolsey was cut off before he could begin. At last his English blood could not stand it any longer, and one day he stopped the priest after the others had gone out of the room, and said to him in broken Cree: "You no good; you speak one, that good; you speak two, that no good." This, though spoken in the soft Cree, was emphasized in a strong English manner, and the little priest, becoming alarmed, ran for the gentleman in charge, who explained matters, and also sided with Mr. Woolsey, and this monopoly was broken up. No; from my two years' intimate acquaintance with Mr. Woolsey, he was not the man to stand any mere pretensions of superiority. The next morning we struck straight across country for the river, and kept the ice thence on to Edmonton, which, because of the windings of the stream, we did not reach until evening. We found the fort full, trappers and traders having returned from their long summer's journeyings; but we also found provisions scant, and Mr. Christie, the gentleman in charge, anxious as to the future. The buffalo were far out; the fisheries were not very successful. Here we met with clerks and post-masters from the inland and distant posts, and we and they but added to the responsibilities of the head officer, having so many more mouths to feed. Then there were all the dogs, and these were simply legion, as most of the winter transport and travel of those days was done with dogs, and their food supply was a serious question. I have often wondered since then why it was in a country with so much natural hay, where oats grew often at the rate of one hundred bushels to the acre, and where horses were cheap, that this dog business lasted as long as it did; but I suppose everything has its day, and even the dog had his. I fully believe that if there was one dog in the small compass of the fort at Edmonton, there were 150. When the bell rang for the men to go to work or come for their rations, the dogs would howl, and one would imagine bedlam let loose. Then the fights, which were taking place at all hours, day or night, became monotonous. The sole topic of conversation would be dogs. The speed and strength and endurance of a dog-train occupied the thoughts of most men, either sleeping or waking. Next to the dogs came the dog-runners. These were famous because of their ability to manage a train of dogs, and the wind and endurance and pluck they manifested in travel. Races were common--five miles, twenty miles, sixty miles, 150 miles, etc., and many of the feats performed by these dogs and dog-drivers would be thought impossible to-day. We were received very kindly by all parties, and I very soon felt at home with such men as R. Hardisty and Mr. MacDonald, and in the family of Mr. Flett, where I received great hospitality, and from being a total stranger was soon made to feel thoroughly intimate. CHAPTER XLIV. Midnight mass--Little Mary--Foot-races--Dog-races, etc.--Reach my twentieth birthday--End of this book. I found that the Roman Catholics had a church built in the fort, and Mr. MacDonald and I went to the celebration of midnight mass on Christmas eve. Our conduct was respectful and reverent. Indeed, graceless as I may have been, I always from early boyhood have respected the religious services of others. Often in the conjurer's camp, and at thirst and sun dances, I have preserved most perfect decorum and attention, and that night at Edmonton my friend and self behaved; but because someone saw MacDonald pass me a peppermint, it was noised abroad that we were mocking the passing of the wafer. Quite a _furore_ was caused by this, and the Catholics came to the Chief Factor to demand our expulsion from the fort, but he very justly refused to interfere, and the storm passed away without hurting us. But I was amused and delighted with my friend, Mr. Woolsey. Said he to me, while drawing himself up and squaring off, "I never yet struck a man, but if I did, it would be a mighty blow." Mr. Woolsey held service on Christmas morning, which was largely attended. In the afternoon, Mr. Hardisty and myself went for a drive on the river with our dog-trains. Mr. Hardisty took the little daughter of the Chief Factor with him, and we drove up the river, but when turning to come home, his dogs took a sweep out into the river and left him, and the course the dogs took was dangerous. There was a long stretch of open current. There sat the child perfectly unconscious of her danger. Hardisty was winded, and he shouted to me to catch his dogs. I saw that if I drove mine after his it would make matters worse, for his dogs would run the faster; so I left mine and ran after his, and here the constant training of the season did me good service. I had both wind and speed, but the time seemed dreadful. The dogs were nearing the current, and if the cariole should swing or upset, the child was doomed. If ever I ran, it was then, if ever I was thankful to be able to run, it was then. Little Mary was a favorite of mine, and her peril filled me with keen anguish; but I have always been thankful that my whole being responded as it did. Steadily I came up, and presently, before the dogs knew it, I was on the back of the sleigh; then, gripping the ground lashing, I let myself drag as a brake, and with a mighty "Chuh!" which made the leader jump quickly to the left, then a loud stern "Marse!" straight out from the danger the strong train drew us. [Illustration: STRAIGHT OUT FROM THE DANGER THE STRONG TRAIN DREW US] After we came home, I felt weak and exhausted because of the nervous strain; but the reward of having been instrumental in saving the little darling's life was sweet to me. The next day we had dog-races, and foot-races and football, and the fun was fast and furious. This social and pleasant intercourse with my fellowmen was especially agreeable to me after the isolation of the last few months. Then my new-found friends were exceedingly kind, and I was heartily glad Mr. Woolsey had brought me with him to Edmonton. The second day after Christmas was my birthday. I was then twenty years of age, and thus have reached the limit given to this book. As the reader will have noticed, I began life on the frontier, and here, after twenty years, am to be found on the still farther frontier. Then it was lake-shore and forest, now it is highland and prairie. Trusting the reader will have been interested sufficiently in this simple narrative to follow the author on into the more stirring recital of experiences on the plains during the "sixties," I remain, Yours truly, JOHN McDOUGALL. * * * * * * * * BOOKS ON THE WEST By the Well-Known Frontiersman and Writer JOHN McDOUGALL The author, John McDougall, was born on the frontier in 1842 and has had a lifetime on the frontier full of strange experiences and adventures such as fall to the lot of few men. These books give in graphic style an account of the early days of the Canadian North-West. FOREST, LAKE and PRAIRIE Twenty years of Frontier Life in Western Canada, 1842-62. Cloth. With 27 full page original illustrations. $1.00 net. SADDLE, SLED and SNOWSHOE Pioneering on the Saskatchewan in the Sixties. Cloth. Fully illustrated. $1.00 net. PATHFINDING ON PLAIN and PRAIRIE Stirring scenes of Life in the Canadian North-West. Cloth. With 12 full page illustrations. $1.00 net. IN THE DAYS OF THE RED RIVER REBELLION. Life and Adventure in the Far West of Canada. 1858-1872. Cloth. With 5 illustrations and 2 portraits. $1.00 net. ON WESTERN TRAILS in the EARLY SEVENTIES Frontier Pioneer Life in the Canadian North-West. $1.25 net. WA-PEE-MOOSTOOCH or WHITE BUFFALO A tale of life in Canada's Great West during the early years of the last century. (Fiction.) Cloth. With 5 illustrations. $1.25 net. Mr. Reginald Beatty, formerly of the Hudson's Bay Company, writes: "I do not know when I have read a book with more pleasure than your Wa-Pee-Moostooch. It is so true in every particular to the real life of the old Indian as we knew them." Mr. Herbert Stirling, Bright Bank, Alberta, writes: "I read your grand work on Western aboriginal life with intense interest, your work having a charm of its own in that a white man does not appear in the story." WILLIAM BRIGGS, Publisher 29-37 Richmond Street West - TORONTO 
6282	----	This eBook was produced by David Widger THE WORLD FOR SALE By Gilbert Parker BOOK II VIII. THE SULTAN IX. MATTER AND MIND AND TWO MEN X. FOR LUCK XI. THE SENTENCE OF THE PATRIN XII. "LET THERE BE LIGHT" XIII. THE CHAIN OF THE PAST XIV. SUCH THINGS MAY NOT BE XV. THE WOMAN FROM WIND RIVER XVI. THE MAYOR FILLS AN OFFICE XVII. THE MONSEIGNEUR AND THE NOMAD XVIII. THE BEACONS XIX. THE BEEPER OF THE BRIDGE CHAPTER VIII THE SULTAN Ingolby's square head jerked forwards in stern inquiry and his eyes fastened those of Jowett, the horsedealer. "Take care what you're saying, Jowett," he said. "It's a penitentiary job, if it can be proved. Are you sure you got it right?" Jowett had unusual shrewdness, some vanity and a humorous tongue. He was a favourite in both towns, and had had the better of both in horse- dealing a score of times. That did not make him less popular. However, it was said he liked low company, and it was true that though he had "money in the bank," and owned a corner lot or so, he seemed to care little what his company was. His most constant companion was Fabian Osterhaut, who was the common property of both towns, doing a little of everything for a living, from bill-posting to the solicitation of an insurance agent. For any casual work connected with public functions Osterhaut was indispensable, and he would serve as a doctor's assistant and help cut off a leg, be the majordomo for a Sunday-school picnic, or arrange a soiree at a meeting-house with equal impartiality. He had been known to attend a temperance meeting and a wake in the same evening. Yet no one ever questioned his bona fides, and if he had attended mass at Manitou in the morning, joined a heathen dance in Tekewani's Reserve in the afternoon, and listened to the oleaginous Rev. Reuben Tripple in the evening, it would have been taken as a matter of course. He was at times profane and impecunious, and he had been shifted from one boarding-house to another till at last, having exhausted credit in Lebanon, he had found a room in the house of old Madame Thibadeau in Manitou. She had taken him in because, in years gone by, he had nursed her only son through an attack of smallpox on the Siwash River, and somehow Osterhaut had always paid his bills to her. He was curiously exact where she was concerned. If he had not enough for his week's board and lodging, he borrowed it, chiefly of Jowett, who used him profitably at times to pass the word about a horse, or bring news of a possible deal. "It's a penitentiary job, Jowett," Ingolby repeated. "I didn't think Marchand would be so mad as that." "Say, it's all straight enough, Chief," answered Jowett, sucking his unlighted cigar. "Osterhaut got wind of it--he's staying at old Mother Thibadeau's, as you know. He moves round a lot, and he put me on to it. I took on the job at once. I got in with the French toughs over at Manitou, at Barbazon's Tavern, and I gave them gin--we made it a gin night. It struck their fancy--gin, all gin! 'Course there's nothing in gin different from any other spirit; but it fixed their minds, and took away suspicion. "I got drunk--oh, yes, of course, blind drunk, didn't I? Kissed me, half a dozen of the Quebec boys did--said I was 'bully boy' and 'hell-fellow'; said I was 'bon enfant'; and I said likewise in my best patois. They liked that. I've got a pretty good stock of monkey-French, and I let it go. They laughed till they cried at some of my mistakes, but they weren't no mistakes, not on your life. It was all done a-purpose. They said I was the only man from Lebanon they wouldn't have cut up and boiled, and they was going to have the blood of the Lebanon lot before they'd done. I pretended to get mad, and I talked wild. I said that Lebanon would get them first, that Lebanon wouldn't wait, but'd have it out; and I took off my coat and staggered about--blind-fair blind boozy. I tripped over some fool's foot purposely, just beside a bench against the wall, and I come down on that bench hard. They laughed--Lord, how they laughed! They didn't mind my givin' 'em fits--all except one or two. That was what I expected. The one or two was mad. They begun raging towards me, but there I was asleep on the bench-stony blind, and then they only spit fire a bit. Some one threw my coat over me. I hadn't any cash in the pockets, not much--I knew better than that--and I snored like a sow. Then it happened what I thought would happen. They talked. And here it is. They're going to have a strike in the mills, and you're to get a toss into the river. That's to be on Friday. But the other thing--well, they all cleared away but two. They were the two that wanted to have it out with me. They stayed behind. There was I snoring like a locomotive, but my ears open all right. "Well, they give the thing away. One of 'em had just come from Felix Marchand and he was full of it. What was it? Why, the second night of the strike your new bridge over the river was to be blown up. Marchand was to give these two toughs three hundred dollars each for doing it." "Blown up with what?" Ingolby asked sharply. "Dynamite." "Where would they get it?" "Some left from blasting below the mills." "All right! Go on." "There wasn't much more. Old Barbazon, the landlord, come in and they quit talking about it; but they said enough to send 'em to gaol for ten years." Ingolby blinked at Jowett reflectively, and his mouth gave a twist that lent to his face an almost droll look. "What good would it do if they got ten years--or one year, if the bridge was blown up? If they got skinned alive, and if Marchand was handed over to a barnful of hungry rats to be gnawed to death, it wouldn't help. I've heard and seen a lot of hellish things, but there's nothing to equal that. To blow up the bridge--for what? To spite Lebanon, and to hurt me; to knock the spokes out of my wheel. He's the dregs, is Marchand." "I guess he's a shyster by nature, that fellow," interposed Jowett. "He was boilin' hot when he was fifteen. He spoiled a girl I knew when he was twenty-two, not fourteen she was--Lil Sarnia; and he got her away before--well, he got her away East; and she's in a dive in Winnipeg now. As nice a girl--as nice a little girl she was, and could ride any broncho that ever bucked. What she saw in him--but there, she was only a child, just the mind of a child she had, and didn't understand. He'd ha' been tarred and feathered if it'd been known. But old Mick Sarnia said hush, for his wife's sake, and so we hushed, and Sarnia's wife doesn't know even now. I thought a lot of Lil, as much almost as if she'd been my own; and lots o' times, when I think of it, I sit up straight, and the thing freezes me; and I want to get Marchand by the scruff of the neck. I got a horse, the worst that ever was--so bad I haven't had the heart to ride him or sell him. He's so bad he makes me laugh. There's nothing he won't do, from biting to bolting. Well, I'd like to tie Mr. Felix Marchand, Esquire, to his back, and let him loose on the prairie, and pray the Lord to save him if he thought fit. I fancy I know what the Lord would do. And Lil Sarnia's only one. Since he come back from the States, he's the limit, oh, the damnedest limit. He's a pest all round- and now, this!" Ingolby kept blinking reflectively as Jowett talked. He was doing two things at once with a facility quite his own. He was understanding all Jowett was saying, but he was also weighing the whole situation. His mind was gone fishing, figuratively speaking. He was essentially a man of action, but his action was the bullet of his mind; he had to be quiet physically when he was really thinking. Then he was as one in a dream where all physical motion was mechanical, and his body was acting automatically. His concentration, and therefore his abstraction, was phenomenal. Jowett's reminiscences at a time so critical did not disturb him--did not, indeed, seem to be irrelevant. It was as though Felix Marchand was being passed in review before him in a series of aspects. He nodded encouragement to Jowett to go on. "It's because Marchand hates you, Chief. The bump he got when you dropped him on the ground that day at Carillon hurts still. It's a chronic inflammation. Closing them railway offices at Manitou, and dislodging the officials give him his first good chance. The feud between the towns is worse now than it's ever been. Make no mistake. There's a whole lot of toughs in Manitou. Then there's religion, and there's race, and there's a want-to-stand-still and leave-me-alone- feeling. They don't want to get on. They don't want progress. They want to throw the slops out of the top windows into the street; they want their cesspools at the front door; they think that everybody's got to have smallpox some time or another, and the sooner they have it the better; they want to be bribed; and they think that if a vote's worth having it's worth paying for--and yet there's a bridge between these two towns! A bridge--why, they're as far apart as the Yukon and Patagonia." "What'd buy Felix Marchand?" Ingolby asked meditatively. "What's his price?" Jowett shifted with impatience. "Say, Chief, I don't know what you're thinking about. Do you think you could make a deal with Felix Marchand? Not much. You've got the cinch on him. You could send him to quod, and I'd send him there as quick as lightning. I'd hang him, if I could, for what he done to Lil Sarnia. Years ago when he was a boy he offered me a gold watch for a mare I had. The watch looked as right as could be-- solid fourteen-carat, he said it was. He got my horse, and I got his watch. It wasn't any more gold than he was. It was filled--just plated with nine-carat gold. It was worth about ten dollars." "What was the mare worth?" asked Ingolby, his mouth twisting again with quizzical meaning. "That mare--she was all right." "Yes, but what was the matter with her?" "Oh, a spavin--she was all right when she got wound up--go like Dexter or Maud S." "But if you were buying her what would you have paid for her, Jowett? Come now, man to man, as they say. How much did you pay for her?" "About what she was worth, Chief, within a dollar or two." "And what was she worth?" "What I paid for her-ten dollars." Then the two men looked at each other full in the eyes, and Jowett threw back his head and laughed outright--laughed loud and hard. "Well, you got me, Chief, right under the guard," he observed. Ingolby did not laugh outright, but there was a bubble of humour in his eyes. "What happened to the watch?" he asked. "I got rid of it." "In a horse-trade?" "No, I got a town lot with it." "In Lebanon?" "Well, sort of in Lebanon's back-yard." "What's the lot worth now?" "About two thousand dollars!" "Was it your first town lot?" "The first lot of Mother Earth I ever owned." "Then you got a vote on it?" "Yes, my first vote." "And the vote let you be a town-councillor?" "It and my good looks." "Indirectly, therefore, you are a landowner, a citizen, a public servant, and an instrument of progress because of Felix Marchand. If you hadn't had the watch you wouldn't have had that town lot." "Well, mebbe, not that lot." Suddenly Ingolby got to his feet and squared himself, and his face became alight with purpose. His mind had come back from fishing, and he was ready now for action. His plans were formed. He was in for a fight, and he had made up his mind how, with the new information to his hand, he would develop his campaign further. "You didn't make a fuss about the watch, Jowett. You might have gone to Felix Marchand or to his father and proved him a liar, and got even that way. You didn't; you got a corner lot with it. That's what I'm going to do. I can have Felix Marchand put in the jug, and make his old father, Hector Marchand, sick; but I like old Hector Marchand, and I think he's bred as bad a pup as ever was. I'm going to try and do with this business as you did with that watch. I'm going to try and turn it to account and profit in the end. Felix Marchand's profiting by a mistake of mine--a mistake in policy. It gives him his springboard; and there's enough dry grass in both towns to get a big blaze with a very little match. I know that things are seething. The Chief Constable keeps me posted as to what's going on here, and pretty fairly as to what's going on in Manitou. The police in Manitou are straight enough. That's one comfort. I've done Felix Marchand there. I guess that the Chief Constable of Manitou and Monseigneur Lourde and old Mother Thibadeau are about the only people that Marchand can't bribe. I see I've got to face a scrimmage before I can get what I want." "What you want you'll have, I bet," was the admiring response. "I'm going to have a good try. I want these two towns to be one. That'll be good for your town lots, Jowett," he added whimsically. "If my policy is carried out, my town lot'll be worth a pocketful of gold- plated watches or a stud of spavined mares." He chuckled to himself, and his fingers reached towards a bell on the table, but he paused. "When was it they said the strike would begin?" he asked. "Friday." "Did they say what hour?" "Eleven in the morning." "Third of a day's work and a whole day's pay," he mused. "Jowett," he added, "I want you to have faith. I'm going to do Marchand, and I'm going to do him in a way that'll be best in the end. You can help as much if not more than anybody--you and Osterhaut. And if I succeed, it'll be worth your while." "I ain't followin' you because it's worth while, but because I want to, Chief." "I know; but a man--every man--likes the counters for the game." He turned to the table, opened a drawer, and took out a folded paper. He looked it through carefully, wrote a name on it, and handed it to Jowett. "There's a hundred shares in the Northwest Railway, with my regards, Jowett. Some of the counters of the game." Jowett handed it back at once with a shake of the head. "I don't live in Manitou," he said. "I'm almost white, Chief. I've never made a deal with you, and don't want to. I'm your man for the fun of it, and because I'd give my life to have your head on my shoulders for one year." "I'd feel better if you'd take the shares, Jowett. You've helped me, and I can't let you do it for nothing." "Then I can't do it at all. I'm discharged." Suddenly, however, a humorous, eager look shot into Jowett's face. "Will you toss for it?" he blurted out. "Certainly, if you like," was the reply. "Heads I win, tails it's yours?" "Good." Ingolby took a silver dollar from his pocket, and tossed. It came down tails. Ingolby had won. "My corner lot against double the shares?" Jowett asked sharply, his face flushed with eager pleasure. He was a born gambler. "As you like," answered Ingolby with a smile. Ingolby tossed, and they stooped over to look at the dollar on the floor. It had come up heads. "You win," said Ingolby, and turning to the table, took out another hundred shares. In a moment they were handed over. "You're a wonder, Jowett," he said. "You risked a lot of money. Are you satisfied?" "You bet, Chief. I come by these shares honestly now." He picked up the silver dollar from the floor, and was about to put it in his pocket. "Wait--that's my dollar," said Ingolby. "By gracious, so it is!" said Jowett, and handed it over reluctantly. Ingolby pocketed it with satisfaction. Neither dwelt on the humour of the situation. They were only concerned for the rules of the game, and both were gamesters in their way. After a few brief instructions to Jowett, and a message for Osterhaut concerning a suit of workman's clothes, Ingolby left his offices and walked down the main street of the town with his normal rapidity, responding cheerfully to the passers-by, but not encouraging evident desire for talk with him. Men half-started forward to him, but he held them back with a restraining eye. They knew his ways. He was responsive in a brusque, inquisitive, but good-humoured and sometimes very droll way; but there were times when men said to themselves that he was to be left alone; and he was so much master of the place that, as Osterhaut and Jowett frequently remarked, "What he says goes!" It went even with those whom he had passed in the race of power. He had had his struggles to be understood in his first days in Lebanon. He had fought intrigue and even treachery, had defeated groups which were the forces at work before he came to Lebanon, and had compelled the submission of others. All these had vowed to "get back at him," but when it became a question of Lebanon against Manitou they swung over to his side and acknowledged him as leader. The physical collision between the rougher elements of the two towns had brought matters to a head, and nearly every man in Lebanon felt that his honour was at stake, and was ready "to have it out with Manitou." As he walked along the main street after his interview with Jowett, his eyes wandered over the buildings rising everywhere; and his mind reviewed as in a picture the same thinly inhabited street five years ago when he first came. Now farmers' wagons clacked and rumbled through the prairie dust, small herds of cattle jerked and shuffled their way to the slaughter-yard, or out to the open prairie, and caravans of settlers with their effects moved sturdily forward to the trails which led to a new life beckoning from three points of the compass. That point which did not beckon was behind them. Flaxen-haired Swedes and Norwegians; square- jawed, round-headed North Germans; square-shouldered, loose-jointed Russians with heavy contemplative eyes and long hair, looked curiously at each other and nodded understandingly. Jostling them all, with a jeer and an oblique joke here and there, and crude chaff on each other and everybody, the settler from the United States asserted himself. He invariably obtruded himself, with quizzical inquiry, half contempt and half respect, on the young Englishman, who gazed round with phlegm upon his fellow adventurers, and made up to the sandy-faced Scot or the cheerful Irishman with his hat on the back of his head, who showed in the throng here and there. This was one of the days when the emigrant and settlers' trains arrived both from the East and from "the States," and Front Street in Lebanon had, from early morning, been alive with the children of hope and adventure. With hands plunged deep in the capacious pockets of his grey jacket, Ingolby walked on, seeing everything; yet with his mind occupied intently, too, on the trouble which must be faced before Lebanon and Manitou would be the reciprocating engines of his policy. Coming to a spot where a great gap of vacant land showed in the street-land which he had bought for the new offices of his railway combine--he stood and looked at it abstractedly. Beyond it, a few blocks away, was the Sagalac, and beyond the Sagalac was Manitou, and a little way to the right was the bridge which was the symbol of his policy. His eyes gazed almost unconsciously on the people and the horses and wagons coming and going upon the bridge. Then they were lifted to the tall chimneys rising at two or three points on the outskirts of Manitou. "They don't know a good thing when they get it," he said to himself. "A strike--why, wages are double what they are in Quebec, where most of 'em come from! Marchand--" A hand touched his arm. "Have you got a minute to spare, kind sir?" a voice asked. Ingolby turned and saw Nathan Rockwell, the doctor. "Ah, Rockwell," he responded cheerfully, "two minutes and a half, if you like! What is it?" The Boss Doctor, as he was familiarly called by every one, to identify him from the newer importations of medical men, drew from his pocket a newspaper. "There's an infernal lie here about me," he replied. "They say that I--" He proceeded to explain the misstatement, as Ingolby studied the paper carefully, for Rockwell was a man worth any amount of friendship. "It's a lie, of course," Ingolby said firmly as he finished the paragraph. "Well?" "Well, I've got to deal with it." "You mean you're going to deny it in the papers?" "Exactly." "I wouldn't, Rockwell." "You wouldn't?" "No. You never can really overtake a newspaper lie. Lots of the people who read the lie don't see the denial. Your truth doesn't overtake the lie--it's a scarlet runner." "I don't see that. When you're lied about, when a lie like that--" "You can't overtake it, Boss. It's no use. It's sensational, it runs too fast. Truth's slow-footed. When a newspaper tells a lie about you, don't try to overtake it, tell another." He blinked with quizzical good-humour. Rockwell could not resist the audacity. "I don't believe you'd do it just the same," he retorted decisively, and laughing. "I don't try the overtaking anyhow; I get something spectacular in my own favour to counteract the newspaper lie." "In what way?" "For instance, if they said I couldn't ride a moke at a village steeplechase, I'd at once publish the fact that, with a jack-knife, I'd killed two pumas that were after me. Both things would be lies, but the one would neutralize the other. If I said I could ride a moke, nobody would see it, and if it were seen it wouldn't make any impression; but to say I killed two mountain-lions with a jack-knife on the edge of a precipice, with the sun standing still to look at it, is as good as the original lie and better; and I score. My reputation increases." Nathan Rockwell's equilibrium was restored. "You're certainly a wonder," he declared. "That's why you've succeeded." "Have I succeeded?" "Thirty-three-and what you are!" "What am I?" "Pretty well master here." "Rockwell, that'd do me a lot of harm if it was published. Don't say it again. This is a democratic country. They'd kick at my being called master of anything, and I'd have to tell a lie to counteract it." "But it's the truth, and it hasn't to be overtaken." A grim look came into Ingolby's face. "I'd like to be master-boss of life and death, holder of the sword and balances, the Sultan, here just for one week. I'd change some things. I'd gag some people that are doing terrible harm. It's a real bad business. The scratch-your-face period is over, and we're in the cut-your-throat epoch." Rockwell nodded assent, opened the paper again, and pointed to a column. "I expect you haven't seen that. To my mind, in the present state of things, it's dynamite." Ingolby read the column hastily. It was the report of a sermon delivered the evening before by the Rev. Reuben Tripple, the evangelical minister of Lebanon. It was a paean of the Scriptures accompanied by a crazy charge that the Roman Church forbade the reading of the Bible. It had a tirade also about the Scarlet Woman and Popish idolatry. Ingolby made a savage gesture. "The insatiable Christian beast!" he growled in anger. "There's no telling what this may do. You know what those fellows are over in Manitou. The place is full of them going to the woods, besides the toughs at the mills and in the taverns. They're not psalm-singing, and they don't keep the Ten Commandments, but they're savagely fanatical, and--" "And there's the funeral of an Orangeman tomorrow. The Orange Lodge attends in regalia." Ingolby started and looked at the paper again. "The sneaking, praying liar," he said, his jaw setting grimly. "This thing's a call to riot. There's an element in Lebanon as well that'd rather fight than eat. It's the kind of lie that--" "That you can't overtake," said the Boss Doctor appositely; "and I don't know that even you can tell another that'll neutralize it. Your prescription won't work here." An acknowledging smile played at Ingolby's mouth. "We've got to have a try. We've got to draw off the bull with a red rag somehow." "I don't see how myself. That Orange funeral will bring a row on to us. I can just see the toughs at Manitou when they read this stuff, and know about that funeral." "It's announced?" "Yes, here's an invitation in the Budget to Orangemen to attend the funeral of a brother sometime of the banks of the Boyne!" "Who's the Master of the Lodge?" asked Ingolby. Rockwell told him, urging at the same time that he see the Chief Constable as well, and Monseigneur Lourde at Manitou. "That's exactly what I mean to do--with a number of other things. Between ourselves, Rockwell, I'd have plenty of lint and bandages ready for emergencies if I were you." "I'll see to it. That collision the other day was serious enough, and it's gradually becoming a vendetta. Last night one of the Lebanon champions lost his nose." "His nose--how?" "A French river-driver bit a third of it off." Ingolby made a gesture of disgust. "And this is the twentieth century!" They had moved along the street until they reached a barber-shop, from which proceeded the sound of a violin. "I'm going in here," Ingolby said. "I've got some business with Berry, the barber. You'll keep me posted as to anything important?" "You don't need to say it. Shall I see the Master of the Orange Lodge or the Chief Constable for you?" Ingolby thought for a minute. "No, I'll tackle them myself, but you get in touch with Monseigneur Lourde. He's grasped the situation, and though he'd like to have Tripple boiled in oil, he doesn't want broken heads and bloodshed." "And Tripple?" "I'll deal with him at once. I've got a hold on him. I never wanted to use it, but I will now without compunction. I have the means in my pocket. They've been there for three days, waiting for the chance." "It doesn't look like war, does it?" said Rockwell, looking up the street and out towards the prairie where the day bloomed like a flower. Blue above--a deep, joyous blue, against which a white cloud rested or slowly travelled westward; a sky down whose vast cerulean bowl flocks of wild geese sailed, white and grey and black, while the woods across the Sagalac were glowing with a hundred colours, giving tender magnificence to the scene. The busy eagerness of a pioneer life was still a quiet, orderly thing, so immense was the theatre for effort and movement. In these wide streets, almost as wide as a London square, there was room to move; nothing seemed huddled, pushing, or inconvenient. Even the disorder of building lost its ugly crudity in the space and the sunlight. "The only time I get frightened in life is when things look like that," Ingolby answered. "I go round with a life-preserver on me when it seems as if 'all's right with the world.'" The violin inside the barber-shop kept scraping out its cheap music--a coon-song of the day. "Old Berry hasn't much business this morning," remarked Rockwell. "He's in keeping with this surface peace." "Old Berry never misses anything. What we're thinking, he's thinking. I go fishing when I'm in trouble; Berry plays his fiddle. He's a philosopher and a friend." "You don't make friends as other people do." "I make friends of all kinds. I don't know why, but I've always had a kind of kinship with the roughs, the no-accounts, and the rogues." "As well as the others--I hope I don't intrude!" Ingolby laughed. "You? Oh, I wish all the others were like you. It's the highly respectable members of the community I've always had to watch." The fiddle-song came squeaking out upon the sunny atmosphere. It arrested the attention of a man on the other side of the street-- a stranger in strange Lebanon. He wore a suit of Western clothes as a military man wears mufti, if not awkwardly, yet with a manner not wholly natural--the coat too tight across the chest, too short in the body. However, the man was handsome and unusual in his leopard way, with his brown curling hair and well-cared-for moustache. It was Jethro Fawe. Attracted by the sound of the violin, he stayed his steps and smiled scornfully. Then his look fell on the two figures at the door of the barber-shop, and his eyes flashed. Here was the man he wished to see--Max Ingolby, the man who stood between him and his Romany lass. Here was a chance of speaking face to face with the man who was robbing him. What he should do when they met must be according to circumstances. That did not matter. There was the impulse storming in his brain, and it drove him across the street as the Boss Doctor walked away, and Ingolby entered the shop. All Jethro realized was that the man who stood in his way, the big, rich, masterful Gorgio was there. He entered the shop after Ingolby, and stood for an instant unseen. The old negro barber with his curly white head, slave-black face, and large, shrewd, meditative eyes was standing in a corner with a violin under his chin, his cheek lovingly resting against it, as he drew his bow through the last bars of the melody. He had smiled in welcome as Ingolby entered, instantly rising from his stool, but continuing to play. He would not have stopped in the middle of a tune for an emperor, and he put Ingolby higher than an emperor. For one who had been born a slave, and had still the scars of the overseer's whip on his back, he was very independent. He cut everybody's hair as he wanted to cut it, trimmed each beard as he wished to trim it, regardless of its owner's wishes. If there was dissent, then his customer need not come again, that was all. There were other barbers in the place, but Berry was the master barber. To have your head massaged by him was never to be forgotten, especially if you found your hat too small for your head in the morning. Also he singed the hair with a skill and care, which had filled many a thinly covered scalp with luxuriant growth, and his hair-tonic, known as "Smilax," gave a pleasant odour to every meeting-house or church or public hall where the people gathered. Berry was an institution even in this new Western town. He kept his place and he forced the white man, whoever he was, to keep his place. When he saw Jethro Fawe enter the shop he did not stop playing, but his eyes searched the newcomer. Following his glance, Ingolby turned round and saw the Romany. His first impression was one of admiration, but suspicion was quickly added. He was a good judge of men, and there was something secluded about the man which repelled him. Yet he was interested. The dark face had a striking racial peculiarity. The music died away, and old Berry lowered the fiddle from his chin and gave his attention to the Romany. "Yeth-'ir?" he said questioningly. For an instant Jethro was confused. When he entered the shop he had not made up his mind what he should do. It had been mere impulse and the fever of his brain. As old Berry spoke, however, his course opened out. "I heard. I am a stranger. My fiddle is not here. My fingers itch for the cat-gut. Eh?" The look in old Berry's face softened a little. His instinct had been against his visitor, and he had been prepared to send him to another shop-besides, not every day could he talk to the greatest man in the West. "If you can play, there it is," he said after a slight pause, and handed the fiddle over. It was true that Jethro Fawe loved the fiddle. He had played it in many lands. Twice, in order to get inside the palace of a monarch for a purpose--once in Berlin and once in London--he had played the second violin in a Tzigany orchestra. He turned the fiddle slowly round, looking at it with mechanical intentness. Through the passion of emotion the sure sense of the musician was burning. His fingers smoothed the oval brown breast of the instrument with affection. His eyes found joy in the colour of the wood, which had all the graded, merging tints of Autumn leaves. "It is old--and strange," he said, his eyes going from Berry to Ingolby and back again with a veiled look, as though he had drawn down blinds before his inmost thoughts. "It was not made by a professional." "It was made in the cotton-field by a slave," observed old Berry sharply, yet with a content which overrode antipathy to his visitor. Jethro put the fiddle to his chin, and drew the bow twice or thrice sweepingly across the strings. Such a sound had never come from Berry's violin before. It was the touch of a born musician who certainly had skill, but who had infinitely more of musical passion. "Made by a slave in the cotton-fields!" Jethro said with a veiled look, and as though he was thinking of something else: "'Dordi', I'd like to meet a slave like that!" At the Romany exclamation Ingolby swept the man with a searching look. He had heard the Romany wife of Ruliff Zaphe use the word many years ago when he and Charley Long visited the big white house on the hill. Was the man a Romany, and, if so, what was he doing here? Had it anything to do with Gabriel Druse and his daughter? But no--what was there strange in the man being a Romany and playing the fiddle? Here and there in the West during the last two years, he had seen what he took to be Romany faces. He looked to see the effect of the stranger's remark on old Berry. "I was a slave, and I was like that. My father made that fiddle in the cotton-fields of Georgia," the aged barber said. The son of a race which for centuries had never known country or flag or any habitat, whose freedom was the soul of its existence, if it had a soul; a freedom defying all the usual laws of social order--the son of that race looked at the negro barber with something akin to awe. Here was a man who had lived a life which was the staring antithesis of his own, under the whip as a boy, confined to compounds; whose vision was constricted to the limits of an estate; who was at the will of one man, to be sold and trafficked with like a barrel of herrings, to be worked at another's will--and at no price! This was beyond the understanding of Jethro Fawe. But awe has the outward look of respect, and old Berry who had his own form of vanity, saw that he had had a rare effect on the fellow, who evidently knew all about fiddles. Certainly that was a wonderful sound he had produced from his own cotton-field fiddle. In the pause Ingolby said to Jethro Fawe, "Play something, won't you? I've got business here with Mr. Berry, but five minutes of good music won't matter. We'd like to hear him play--wouldn't we, Berry?" The old man nodded assent. "There's plenty of music in the thing," he said, "and a lot could come out in five minutes, if the right man played it." His words were almost like a challenge, and it reached to Jethro's innermost nature. He would show this Gorgio robber what a Romany could do, and do as easily as the birds sing. The Gorgio was a money-master, they said, but he would find that a Romany was a master, too, in his own way. He thought of one of the first pieces he had ever heard, a rhapsody which had grown and grown, since it was first improvised by a Tzigany in Hungary. He had once played it to an English lady at the Amphitryon Club in London, and she had swooned in the arms of her husband's best friend. He had seen men and women avert their heads when he had played it, daring not to look into each other's eyes. He would play it now--a little of it. He would play it to her--to the girl who had set him free in the Sagalac woods, to the ravishing deserter from her people, to the only woman who had told him the truth in all his life, and who insulated his magnetism as a ground-wire insulates lightning. He would summon her here by his imagination, and tell her to note how his soul had caught the music of the spheres. He would surround himself with an atmosphere of his own. His rage, his love, and his malignant hate, his tenderness and his lust should fill the barber's shop with a flood which would drown the Gorgio raider. He laughed to himself, almost unconsciously. Then suddenly he leaned his cheek to the instrument and drew the bow across the strings with a savage softness. The old cottonfield fiddle cried out with a thrilling, exquisite pain, but muffled, as a hand at the lips turns agony into a tender moan. Some one--some spirit--in the fiddle was calling for its own. Five minutes later-a five minutes in which people gathered at the door of the shop, and heads were thrust inside in ravished wonder--the palpitating Romany lowered the fiddle from his chin, and stood for a minute looking into space, as though he saw a vision. He was roused by old Berry's voice. "Das a fiddle I wouldn't sell for a t'ousand dollars. If I could play like dat I wouldn't sell it for ten t'ousand. You kin play a fiddle to make it worth a lot--you." The Romany handed back the instrument. "It's got something inside it that makes it better than it is. It's not a good fiddle, but it has something--ah, man alive, it has something!" It was as though he was talking to himself. Berry made a quick, eager gesture. "It's got the cotton-fields and the slave days in it. It's got the whip and the stocks in it; it's got the cry of the old man that'd never see his children ag'in. That's what the fiddle's got in it." Suddenly, in an apparent outburst of anger, he swept down on the front door and drove the gathering crowd away. "Dis is a barber-shop," he said with an angry wave of his hand; "it ain't a circuse." One man protested. "I want a shave," he said. He tried to come inside, but was driven back. "I ain't got a razor that'd cut the bristle off your face," the old barber declared peremptorily; "and, if I had, it wouldn't be busy on you. I got two customers, and that's all I'm going to take befo' I have my dinner. So you git away. There ain't goin' to be no more music." The crowd drew off, for none of them cared to offend this autocrat of the shears and razor. Ingolby had listened to the music with a sense of being swayed by a wind which blew from all quarters of the compass at once. He loved music; it acted as a clearing-house to his mind; and he played the piano himself with the enthusiasm of a wilful amateur, who took liberties with every piece he essayed. There was something in this fellow's playing which the great masters, such as Paganini, must have had. As the music ceased, he did not speak, but remained leaning against the great red-plush barber's chair looking reflectively at the Romany. Berry, however, said to the still absorbed musician: "Where did you learn to play?" The Romany started, and a flush crossed his face. "Everywhere," he answered sullenly. "You've got the thing Sarasate had," Ingolby observed. "I only heard him play but once--in London years ago: but there's the same something in it. I bought a fiddle of Sarasate. I've got it now." "Here in Lebanon?" The eyes of the Romany were burning. An idea had just come into his brain. Was it through his fiddling that he was going to find a way to deal with this Gorgio, who had come between him and his own? "Only a week ago it came," Ingolby replied. "They actually charged me Customs duty on it. I'd seen it advertised, and I made an offer and got it at last." "You have it here--at your house here?" asked old Berry in surprise. "It's the only place I've got. Did you think I'd put it in a museum? I can't play it, but there it is for any one that can play. How would you like to try it?" he added to Jethro in a friendly tone. "I'd give a good deal to see it under your chin for an hour. Anyhow, I'd like to show it to you. Will you come?" It was like him to bring matters to a head so quickly. The Romany's eyes glistened. "To play the Sarasate alone to you?" he asked. "That's it-at nine o'clock to-night, if you can." "I will come--yes, I will come," Jethro answered, the lids drooping over his eyes in which were the shadows of the first murder of the created world. "Here is my address, then." Ingolby wrote something on his visiting- card. "My man'll let you in, if you show that. Well, good-bye." The Romany took the card, and turned to leave. He had been dismissed by the swaggering Gorgio, as though he was a servant, and he had not even been asked his name, of so little account was he! He could come and play on the Sarasate to the masterful Gorgio at the hour which the masterful Gorgio fixed--think of that! He could be--a servant to the pleasure of the man who was stealing from him the wife sealed to him in the Roumelian country. But perhaps it was all for the best--yes, he would make it all for the best! As he left the shop, however, and passed down the street his mind remained in the barber-shop. He saw in imagination the masterful Gorgio in the red-plush chair, and the negro barber bending over him, with black fingers holding the Gorgio's chin, and an open razor in the right hand lightly grasped. A flash of malicious desire came into his eyes as the vision shaped itself in his imagination, and he saw himself, instead of the negro barber, holding the Gorgio chin and looking down at the Gorgio throat with the razor, not lightly, but firmly grasped in his right hand. How was it that more throats were not cut in that way? How was it that while the scissors passed through the beard of a man's face the points did not suddenly slip up and stab the light from helpless eyes? How was it that men did not use their chances? He went lightly down the street, absorbed in a vision which was not like the reality; but it was evidence that his visit to Max Ingolby's house was not the visit of a virtuoso alone, but of an evil spirit. As the Romany disappeared, Max Ingolby had his hand on the old barber's shoulder. "I want one of the wigs you made for that theatrical performance of the Mounted Police, Berry," he said. "Never mind what it's for. I want it at once--one with the long hair of a French-Canadian coureur-de-bois. Have you got one?" "Suh, I'll send it round-no, I'll bring it round as I come from dinner. Want the clothes, too?" "No. I'm arranging for them with Osterhaut. I've sent word by Jowett." "You want me to know what it's for?" "You can know anything I know--almost, Berry. You're a friend of the right sort, and I can trust you." "Yeth-'ir, I bin some use to you, onct or twict, I guess." "You'll have a chance to be of use more than ever presently." "Suh, there's gain' to be a bust-up, but I know who's comin' out on the top. That Felix Marchand and his roughs can't down you. I hear and see a lot, and there's two or three things I was goin' to put befo' you; yeth-'ir." He unloaded his secret information to his friend, and was rewarded by Ingolby suddenly shaking his hand warmly. "That's the line," Ingolby said decisively. "When do you go over to Manitou again to cut old Hector Marchand's hair? Soon?" "To-day is his day--this evening," was the reply. "Good. You wanted to know what the wig and the habitant's clothes are for, Berry--well, for me to wear in Manitou. In disguise I'm going there tonight among them all, among the roughs and toughs. I want to find out things for myself. I can speak French as good as most of 'em, and I can chew tobacco and swear with the best." "You suhly are a wonder," said the old man admiringly. "How you fin' the time I got no idee." "Everything in its place, Berry, and everything in its time. I've got a lot to do to-day, but it's in hand, and I don't have to fuss. You'll not forget the wig--you'll bring it round yourself?" "Suh. No snoopin' into the parcel then. But if you go to Manitou to-night, how can you have that fiddler?" "He comes at nine o'clock. I'll go to Manitou later. Everything in its own time." He was about to leave the shop when some one came bustling in. Berry was between Ingolby and the door, and for an instant he did not see who it was. Presently he heard an unctuous voice: "Ah, good day, good day, Mr. Berry. I want to have my hair cut, if you please," it said. Ingolby smiled. The luck was with him to-day so far. The voice belonged to the Rev. Reuben Tripple, and he would be saved a journey to the manse. Accidental meetings were better than planned interviews. Old Berry's grizzled beard was bristling with repugnance, and he was about to refuse Mr. Tripple the hospitality of the shears when Ingolby said: "You won't mind my having a word with Mr. Tripple first, will you, Berry? May we use your back parlour?" A significant look from Ingolby's eyes gave Berry his cue. "Suh, Mr. Ingolby. I'm proud." He opened the door of another room. Mr. Tripple had not seen Ingolby when he entered, and he recognized him now with a little shock of surprise. There was no reason why he should not care to meet the Master Man, but he always had an uncanny feeling when his eye met that of Ingolby. His apprehension had no foundation in any knowledge, yet he had felt that Ingolby had no love for him, and this disturbed the egregious vanity of a narrow nature. His slouching, corpulent figure made an effort to resist the gesture with which Ingolby drew him to the door, but his will succumbed, and he shuffled importantly into the other room. Ingolby shut the door quietly behind him, and motioned the minister to a chair beside the table. Tripple sank down, mechanically smiling, placed his hat on the floor, and rested his hands on the table. Ingolby could not help but notice how coarse the hands were--with fingers suddenly ending as though they had been cut off, and puffy, yellowish skin that suggested fat foods, or worse. Ingolby came to grips at once. "You preached a sermon last night which no doubt was meant to do good, but will only do harm," he said abruptly. The flabby minister flushed, and then made an effort to hold his own. "I speak as I am moved," he said, puffing out his lips. "You spoke on this occasion before you were moved--just a little while before," answered Ingolby grimly. "The speaking was last night, the moving comes today." "I don't get your meaning," was the thick rejoinder. The man had a feeling that there was some real danger ahead. "You preached a sermon last night which might bring riot and bloodshed between these two towns, though you knew the mess that's brewing." "My conscience is my own. I am responsible to my Lord for words which I speak in His name, not to you." "Your conscience belongs to yourself, but your acts belong to all of us. If there is trouble at the Orange funeral to-morrow it will be your fault. The blame will lie at your door." "The sword of the Spirit--" "Oh, you want the sword, do you? You want the sword, eh?" Ingolby's jaw was set now like a millstone. "Well, you can have it, and have it now. If you had taken what I said in the right way, I would not have done what I'm going to do. I'm going to send you out of Lebanon. You're a bad and dangerous element here. You must go." "Who are you to tell me I must go?" The fat hands quivered on the table with anger and emotion, but also with fear of something. "You may be a rich man and own railways, but--" "But I am not rich and I don't own railways. Lately bad feeling has been growing on the Sagalac, and only a spark was needed to fire the ricks. You struck the spark in your sermon last night. I don't see the end of it all. One thing is sure--you're not going to take the funeral service to-morrow." The slack red lips of the man of God were gone dry with excitement, the loose body swayed with the struggle to fight it out. "I'll take no orders from you," the husky voice protested. "My conscience alone will guide me. I'll speak the truth as I feel it, and the people will stand by me." "In that case you WILL take orders from me. I'm going to save the town from what hurts it, if I can. I've got no legal rights over you, but I have moral rights, and I mean to enforce them. You gabble of conscience and truth, but isn't it a new passion with you--conscience and truth?" He leaned over the table and fastened the minister's eyes with his own. "Had you the same love of conscience and truth at Radley?" A whiteness passed over the flabby face, and the beady eyes took on a glazed look. Fight suddenly died out of them. "You went on a missionary tour on the Ottawa River. At Radley you toiled and rested from your toil--and feasted. The girl had no father or brother, but her uncle was a railway-man. He heard where you were, and he hired with my company to come out here as a foreman. He came to drop on you. The day after he came he had a bad accident. I went to see him. He told me all; his nerves were unstrung, you observe. He meant to ruin you, as you ruined the girl. He had proofs enough. The girl herself is in Winnipeg. Well, I know life, and I know man and man's follies and temptations. I thought it a pity that a career and a life like yours should be ruined--" A groan broke from the twitching lips before him, and a heavy sweat stood out on the round, rolling forehead. "If the man spoke, I knew it would be all up with you, for the world is very hard on men of God who fall. I've seen men ruined before this, because of an hour's passion and folly. I said to myself that you were only human, and that maybe you had paid heavy in remorse and fear. Then there was the honour of the town of Lebanon. I couldn't let the thing take its course. I got the doctor to tell the man that he must go for special treatment to a hospital in Montreal, and I--well, I bought him off on his promising to keep his mouth shut. He was a bit stiff in terms, because he said the girl needed the money. The child died, luckily for you. Anyhow I bought him off, and he went. That was a year ago. I've got all the proofs in my pocket, even to the three silly letters you wrote her when your senses were stronger than your judgment. I was going to see you about them to-day." He took from his pocket a small packet, and held them before the other's face. "Have a good look at your own handwriting, and see if you recognize it," Ingolby continued. But the glazed, shocked eyes did not see. Reuben Tripple had passed the several stages of horror during Ingolby's merciless arraignment, and he had nearly collapsed before he heard the end of the matter. When he knew that Ingolby had saved him, his strength gave way, and he trembled violently. Ingolby looked round and saw a jug of water. Pouring out a glassful, he thrust it into the fat, wrinkled fingers. "Drink and pull yourself together," he said sternly. The shaken figure straightened itself, and the water was gulped down. "I thank you," he said in a husky voice. "You see I treated you fairly, and that you've been a fool?" Ingolby asked with no lessened determination. "I have tried to atone, and--" "No, you haven't had the right spirit to atone. You were fat with vanity and self-conceit. I've watched you." "In future I will--" "Well, that rests with yourself, but your health is bad, and you're not going to take the funeral tomorrow. You've had a sudden breakdown, and you're going to get a call from some church in the East--as far East as Yokohama or Bagdad, I hope; and leave here in a few weeks. You understand? I've thought the thing out, and you've got to go. You'll do no good to yourself or others here. Take my advice, and wherever you go, walk six miles a day at least, work in a garden, eat half as much as you do, and be good to your wife. It's bad enough for any woman to be a parson's wife, but to be a parson's wife and your wife, too, wants a lot of fortitude." The heavy figure lurched to the upright, and steadied itself with a force which had not yet been apparent. "I'll do my best--so help me God!" he said and looked Ingolby squarely in the face for the first time. "All right, see you keep your word," Ingolby replied, and nodded good- bye. The other went to the door, and laid a hand on the knob. Suddenly Ingolby stopped him, and thrust a little bundle of bills into his hand. "There's a hundred dollars for your wife. It'll pay the expense of moving," he said. A look of wonder, revelation and gratitude crept into Tripple's face. "I will keep my word, so help me God!" he said again. "All right, good-bye," responded Ingolby abruptly, and turned away. A moment afterwards the door closed behind the Rev. Reuben Tripple and his influence in Lebanon. "I couldn't shake hands with him," said Ingolby to himself, "but I'm glad he didn't sniffle. There's some stuff in him--if it only has a chance." "I've done a good piece of business, Berry," he said cheerfully as he passed through the barber-shop. "Suh, if you say so," said the barber, and they left the shop together. CHAPTER IX MATTER AND MIND AND TWO MEN Promptly at nine o'clock Jethro Fawe knocked at Ingolby's door, and was admitted by the mulatto man-servant Jim Beadle, who was to Ingolby like his right hand. It was Jim who took command of his house, "bossed" his two female servants, arranged his railway tours, superintended his kitchen--with a view to his own individual tastes; valeted him, kept his cigars within a certain prescribed limit by a firm actuarial principle which transferred any surplus to his own use; gave him good advice, weighed up his friends and his enemies with shrewd sense; and protected him from bores and cranks, borrowers and "dead-beats." Jim was accustomed to take a good deal of responsibility, and had more than once sent people to the right-about who had designs on his master, even though they came accredited. On such occasions he did not lie to protect himself when called to account, but told the truth pertinaciously. He was obstinate in his vanity, and carried off his mistakes with aplomb. When asked by Ingolby what he called the Governor General when he took His Excellency over the new railway in Ingolby's private car, he said, "I called him what everybody called him. I called him 'Succelency.'" And "Succelency" for ever after the Governor General was called in the West. Jim's phonetic mouthful gave the West a roar of laughter and a new word to the language. On another occasion Jim gave the West a new phrase to its vocabulary which remains to this day. Having to take the wife of a high personage of the neighbouring Republic over the line in the private car, he had astounded his master by presenting a bill for finger-bowls before the journey began. Ingolby said to him, "Jim, what the devil is this--finger-bowls in my private car? We've never had finger-bowls before, and we've had everybody as was anybody to travel with us." Jim's reply was final. "Say," he replied, "we got to have 'em. Soon's I set my eyes on that lady I said: 'She's a finger-bowl lady.'" "'Finger-bowl lady' be hanged, Jim, we don't--" Ingolby protested, but Jim waved him down. "Say," he said decisively, "she'll ask for them finger-bowls--she'll ask for 'em, and what'd I do if we hadn't got 'em." She did ask for them; and henceforth the West said of any woman who put on airs and wanted what she wasn't born to: "She's a finger-bowl lady." It was Jim who opened the door to Jethro Fawe, and his first glance was one of prejudice. His quick perception saw that the Romany wore clothes not natural to him. He felt the artificial element, the quality of disguise. He was prepared to turn the visitor away, no matter what he wanted, but Ingolby's card handed to him by the Romany made him pause. He had never known his master give a card like that more than once or twice in the years they had been together. He fingered the card, scrutinized it carefully, turned it over, looked heavenward reflectively, as though the final permission for the visit remained with him, and finally admitted the visitor. "Mr. Ingolby ain't in," he said. "He went out a little while back. You got to wait," he added sulkily, as he showed the Romany into Ingolby's working-room. As Jim did so, he saw lying on a chair a suit of clothes on top of which were a wig and false beard and moustache. Instantly he got between the visitor and the make-up. The parcel was closed when he was in the room a half-hour before. Ingolby had opened it since, had been called out, and had forgotten to cover the things up or put them away. "Sit down," Jim said to the Romany, still covering the disguise. Then he raised them in his arms, and passed with them into another room, muttering angrily to himself. The Romany had seen, however. They were the first things on which his eyes had fallen when he entered the room. A wig, a false beard, and workman's clothes! What were they for? Were these disguises for the Master Gorgio? Was he to wear them? If so, he--Jethro Fawe--would watch and follow him wherever he went. Had these disguises to do with Fleda-- with his Romany lass? His pulses throbbed; he was in an overwrought mood. He was ready for any illusion, susceptible to any vagary of the imagination. He looked round the room. So this was the way the swaggering, masterful Gorgio lived? Here were pictures and engravings which did not seem to belong to a new town in a new land, where everything was useful or spectacular. Here was a sense of culture and refinement. Here were finished and unfinished water-colours done by Ingolby's own hand or bought by him from some hard- up artist earning his way mile by mile, as it were. Here were books, not many, but well-bound and important-looking, covering fields in which Jethro Fawe had never browsed, into which, indeed, he had never entered. If he had opened them he would have seen a profusion of marginal notes in pencil, and slips of paper stuck in the pages to mark important passages. He turned from them to the welcome array of weapons on the walls-rifles, shotguns, Indian bows, arrows and spears, daggers, and great sheath- knives such as are used from the Yukon to Bolivia, and a sabre with a faded ribbon of silk tied to the handle. This was all that Max Ingolby had inherited from his father--that artillery sabre which he had worn in the Crimea and in the Indian Mutiny. Jethro's eyes wandered eagerly over the weapons, and, in imagination, he had each one in his hand. From the pained, angry confusion he felt when he looked at the books had emerged a feeling of fanaticism, of feud and war, in which his spirit regained its own kind of self-respect. In looking at the weapons he was as good a man as any Gorgio. Brains and books were one thing, but the strong arm, the quick eye, and the deft lunge home with the sword or dagger were better; they were of a man's own skill, not the acquired skill of another's brains which books give. He straightened his shoulders till he looked like a modern actor playing the hero in a romantic drama, and with quick vain motions he stroked and twisted his brown moustache, and ran his fingers through his curling hair. In truth he was no coward; and his conceit would not lessen his courage when the test of it came. As his eyes brightened from gloom and sullenness to valiant enmity, they suddenly fell on a table in a corner where lay a black coffin-shaped thing of wood. In this case, he knew, was the Sarasate violin. Sarasate--once he had paid ten lira to hear Sarasate play the fiddle in Turin, and the memory of it was like the sun on the clouds to him now. In music such of him as was real found a home. It fed everything in him --his passion, his vanity; his vagabond taste, his emotions, his self- indulgence, his lust. It was the means whereby he raised himself to adventure and to pilgrimage, to love and license and loot and spying and secret service here and there in the east of Europe. It was the flagellation of these senses which excited him to do all that man may do and more. He was going to play to the masterful Gorgio, and he would play as he had never played before. He would pour the soul of his purpose into the music--to win back or steal back, the lass sealed to him by the Starzke River. "Kismet!" he said aloud, and he rose from the chair to go to the violin, but as he did so the door opened and Ingolby entered. "Oh, you're here, and longing to get at it," he said pleasantly. He had seen the look in the eyes of the Romany as he entered, and noted which way his footsteps were tending. "Well, we needn't lose any time, but will you have a drink and a smoke first?" he added. He threw his hat in a corner, and opened a spirittable where shone a half dozen cut-glass, tumblers and several well-filled bottles, while boxes of cigars and cigarettes flanked them. It was the height of modern luxury imported from New York, and Jethro eyed it with envious inward comment. The Gorgio had the world on his key-chain! Every door would open to him --that was written on his face--unless Fate stepped in and closed all doors! The door of Fleda's heart had already been opened, but he had not yet made his bed in it, and there was still time to help Fate, if her mystic finger beckoned. Jethro nodded in response to Ingolby's invitation to drink. "But I do not drink much when I play," he remarked. "There's enough liquor in the head when the fiddle's in the hand. 'Dadia', I do not need the spirit to make the pulses go!" "As little as you like then, if you'll only play as well as you did this afternoon," Ingolby said cheerily. "I will play better," was the reply. "On Sarasate's violin--well, of course." "Not only because it is Sarasate's violin, 'Kowadji'!" "Kowadji! Oh, come now, you may be a Gipsy, but that doesn't mean that you're an Egyptian or an Arab. Why Arabic--why 'kowadji'?" The other shrugged his shoulders. "Who can tell I speak many languages. I do not like the Mister. It is ugly in the ear. Monsieur, signor, effendi, kowadji, they have some respect in them." "You wanted to pay me respect, eh?" "You have Sarasate's violin!" "I have a lot of things I could do without." "Could you do without the Sarasate?" "Long enough to hear you play it, Mr.--what is your name, may I ask?" "My name is Jethro Fawe." "Well, Jethro Fawe, my Romany 'chal', you shall show me what a violin can do." "You know the Romany lingo?" Jethro asked, as Ingolby went over to the violin-case. "A little--just a little." "When did you learn it?" There was a sudden savage rage in Jethro's heart, for he imagined Fleda had taught Ingolby. "Many a year ago when I could learn anything and remember anything and forget anything." Ingolby sighed. "But that doesn't matter, for I know only a dozen words or so, and they won't carry me far." He turned the violin over in his hands. "This ought to do a bit more than the cotton-field fiddle," he said dryly. He snapped the strings, looking at it with the love of the natural connoisseur. "Finish your drink and your cigarette. I can wait," he added graciously. "If you like the cigarettes, you must take some away with you. You don't drink much, that's clear, therefore you must smoke. Every man has some vice or other, if it's only hanging on to virtue too tight." He laughed eagerly. Strange that he should have a feeling of greater companionship for a vagabond like this than for most people he met. Was it some temperamental thing in him? "Dago," as he called the Romany inwardly, there was still a bond between them. They understood the glory of a little instrument like this, and could forget the world in the light on a great picture. There was something in the air they breathed which gave them easier understanding of each other and of the world. Suddenly with a toss Jethro drained the glass of spirit, though he had not meant to do so. He puffed the cigarette an instant longer, then threw it on the floor, and was about to put his foot on it, when Ingolby stopped him. "I'm a slave," he said. "I've got a master. It's Jim. Jim's a hard master, too. He'd give me fits if we ground our cigarette ashes into the carpet." He threw the refuse into a flower-pot. "That squares Jim. Now let's turn the world inside out," he proceeded. He handed the fiddle over. "Here's the little thing that'll let you do the trick. Isn't it a beauty, Jethro Fawe?" The Romany took it, his eyes glistening with mingled feelings. Hatred was in his soul, and it showed in the sidelong glance as Ingolby turned to place a chair where he could hear and see comfortably; yet he had the musician's love of the perfect instrument, and the woods and the streams and the sounds of night and the whisperings of trees and the ghosts that walked in lonely places and called across the glens--all were pouring into his brain memories which made his pulses move far quicker than the liquor he had drunk could do. "What do you wish?" he asked as he tuned the fiddle. Ingolby laughed good-humouredly. "Something Eastern; something you'd play for yourself if you were out by the Caspian Sea. Something that has life in it." Jethro continued to tune the fiddle carefully and abstractedly. His eyes were half-closed, giving them a sulky look, and his head was averted. He made no reply to Ingolby, but his head swayed from side to side in that sensuous state produced by self-hypnotism, so common among the half- Eastern races. By an effort of the will they send through the nerves a flood of feeling which is half-anaesthetic, half-intoxicant. Carried into its fullest expression it drives a man amok or makes of him a howling dervish, a fanatic, or a Shakir. In lesser intensity it produces the musician of the purely sensuous order, or the dancer that performs prodigies of abandoned grace. Suddenly the sensuous exaltation had come upon Jethro Fawe. It was as though he had discharged into his system from some cells of his brain a flood which coursed like a stream of soft fire. In the pleasurable pain of such a mood he drew his bow across the strings with a sweeping stroke, and then, for an instant, he ran hither and thither on the strings testing the quality and finding the range and capacity of the instrument. It was a scamper of hieroglyphics which could only mean anything to a musician. "Well, what do you think of him?" Ingolby asked as the Romany lowered the bow. "Paganini--Joachim--Sarasate--any one, it is good enough," was the half-abstracted reply. "It is good enough for you--almost, eh?" Ingolby meant his question as a compliment, but an evil look shot into the Romany's face, and the bow twitched in his hand. He was not Paganini or Sarasate, but that was no reason why he should be insulted. Ingolby's quick perception saw, however, what his words had done, and he hastened to add: "I believe you can get more out of that fiddle than Sarasate ever could, in your own sort of music anyhow. I've never heard any one play half so well the kind of piece you played this afternoon. I'm glad I didn't make a fool of myself buying the fiddle. I didn't, did I? I gave five thousand dollars for it." "It's worth anything to the man that loves it," was the Romany's response. He was mollified by the praise he had received. He raised the fiddle slowly to his chin, his eyes wandering round the room, then projecting themselves into space, from which they only returned to fix themselves on Ingolby with the veiled look which sees but does not see--such a look as an oracle, or a death-god, or a soulless monster of some between-world, half-Pagan god would wear. Just such a look as Watts's "Minotaur" wears in the Tate Gallery in London. In an instant he was away in a world which was as far off from this world as Jupiter is from Mars. It was the world of his soul's origin--a place of beautiful and yet of noisome creations also; of white mountains and green hills, and yet of tarns in which crawled evil things; a place of vagrant, hurricanes and tidal-waves and cloud-bursts, of forests alive with quarrelling! and affrighted beasts. It was a place where birds sang divinely, yet where obscene fowls of prey hovered in the blue or waited by the dying denizens of the desert or the plain; where dark-eyed women heard, with sidelong triumph, the whispers of passion; where sweet- faced children fled in fear from terrors undefined; where harpies and witch-women and evil souls waited in ambush; or scurried through the coverts where men brought things to die; or where they fled for futile refuge from armed foes. It was a world of unbridled will, this, where the soul of Jethro Fawe had its origin; and to it his senses fled involuntarily when he put Sarasate's fiddle to his chin this Autumn evening. From that well of the First Things--the first things of his own life, the fount from which his forebears drew, backwards through the centuries, Jethro Fawe quickly drank his fill; and then into the violin he poured his own story--no improvisation, but musical legends and classic fantasies and folk-breathings and histories of anguished or joyous haters or lovers of life; treated by the impressionist who made that which had been in other scenes to other men the thing of the present and for the men who are. That which had happened by the Starzke River was now of the Sagalac River. The passions and wild love and irresponsible deeds of the life he had lived in years gone by were here. It was impossible for Ingolby to resist the spell of the music. Such abandonment he had never seen in any musician, such riot of musical meaning he had never heard. He was conscious of the savagery and the bestial soul of vengeance which spoke through the music, and drowned the joy and radiance and almost ghostly and grotesque frivolity of the earlier passages; but it had no personal meaning to him, though at times it seemed when the Romany came near and bent over him with the ecstatic attack of the music, as though there was a look in the black eyes like that of a man who kills. It had, of course, nothing to do with him; it was the abandonment of a highly emotional nature, he thought. It was only after he had been playing, practically without ceasing, for three-quarters of an hour, that there came to Ingolby the true interpretation of the Romany mutterings through the man's white, wolf- like teeth. He did not shrink, however, but kept his head and watched. Once, as the musician flung his body round in a sweep of passion, Ingolby saw the black eyes flash to the weapons on the wall with a malign look which did not belong to the music alone, and he took a swift estimate of the situation. Why the man should have any intentions against him, he could not guess, except that he might be one of the madmen who have a vendetta against the capitalist. Or was he a tool of Felix Marchand? It did not seem possible, and yet if the man was penniless and an anarchist maybe, there was the possibility. Or--the blood rushed to his face--or it might be that the Gipsy's presence here, this display of devilish antipathy, as though it were all part of the music, was due, somehow, to Fleda Druse. The music swelled to a swirling storm, crashed and flooded the feelings with a sense of shipwreck and chaos, through which a voice seemed to cry- the quiver and delicate shrillness of one isolated string--and then fell a sudden silence, as though the end of all things had come; and on the silence the trembling and attenuated note which had quivered on the lonely string, rising, rising, piercing the infinite distance and sinking into silence again. In the pause which followed the Romany stood panting, his eyes fixed on Ingolby with an evil exaltation which made him seem taller and bigger than he was, but gave him, too, a look of debauchery like that on the face of a satyr. Generations of unbridled emotion, of license of the fields and the covert showed in his unguarded features. "What did the single cry--the motif--express?" Ingolby asked coolly. "I know there was catastrophe, the tumblings of avalanches, but the voice that cried-the soul of a lover, was it?" The Romany's lips showed an ugly grimace. "It was the soul of one that betrayed a lover, going to eternal tortures." Ingolby laughed carelessly. "It was a fine bit of work. Sarasate would have been proud of his fiddle if he could have heard. Anyhow he couldn't have played that. Is it Gipsy music?" "It is the music of a 'Gipsy,' as you call it." "Well, it's worth a year's work to hear," Ingolby replied admiringly, yet acutely conscious of danger. "Are you a musician by trade?" he asked. "I have no trade." The glowing eyes kept scanning the wall where the weapons hung, and as though without purpose other than to get a pipe from the rack on the wall, Ingolby moved to where he could be prepared for any rush. It seemed absurd that there should be such a possibility; but the world was full of strange things. "What brought you to the West?" he asked as he filled a pipe, his back almost against the wall. "I came to get what belonged to me." Ingolby laughed ironically. "Most of us are here for that purpose. We think the world owes us such a lot." "I know what is my own." Ingolby lit his pipe, his eyes reflectively scanning the other. "Have you got it again out here--your own?" "Not yet, but I will." Ingolby took out his watch, and looked at it. "I haven't found it easy getting all that belongs to me." "You have found it easier getting what belongs to some one else," was the snarling response. Ingolby's jaw hardened. What did the fellow mean? Did he refer to money, or--was it Fleda Druse? "See here," he said, "there's no need to say things like that. I never took anything that didn't belong to me, that I didn't win, or earn or pay for--market price or 'founder's shares'"--he smiled grimly. "You've given me the best treat I've had in many a day. I'd walk fifty miles to hear you play my Sarasate--or even old Berry's cotton-field fiddle. I'm as grateful as I can be, and I'd like to pay you for it; but as you're not a professional, and it's one gentleman to another as it were, I can only thank you--or maybe help you to get what's your own, if you're really trying to get it out here. Meanwhile, have a cigar and a drink." He was still between the Romany and the wall, and by a movement forward sought to turn Jethro to the spirit-table. Probably this manoeuvring was all nonsense, that he was wholly misreading the man; but he had always trusted his instincts, and he would not let his reason rule him entirely in such a situation. He could also ring the bell for Jim, or call to him, for while he was in the house Jim was sure to be near by; but he felt he must deal with the business alone. The Romany did not move towards the spirit-table, and Ingolby became increasingly vigilant. "No, I can't pay you anything, that's clear," he said; "but to get your own--I've got some influence out here--what can I do? A stranger is up against all kinds of things if he isn't a native, and you're not. Your home and country's a good way from here, eh?" Suddenly the Romany faced him. "Yes. I come from places far from here. Where is the Romany's home? It is everywhere in the world, but it is everywhere inside his tent. Because his country is everywhere and nowhere, his home is more to him than it is to any other. He is alone with his wife, and with his own people. Yes, and by long and by last, he will make the man pay who spoils his home. It is all he has. Good or bad, it is all he has. It is his own." Ingolby had a strange, disturbing premonition that he was about to hear what would startle him, but he persisted. "You said you had come here to get your own--is your home here?" For a moment the Romany did not answer. He had worked himself into a great passion. He had hypnotized himself, he had acted for a while as though he was one of life's realities; but suddenly there passed through his veins the chilling sense of the unreal, that he was only acting a part, as he had ever done in his life, and that the man before him could, with a wave of the hand, raise the curtain on all his disguises and pretences. It was only for an instant, however, for there swept through him the feeling that Fleda had roused in him--the first real passion, the first true love--if what such as he felt can be love--that he had ever known; and he saw her again as she was in the but in the wood defying him, ready to defend herself against him. All his erotic anger and melodramatic fervour were alive in him once more. He was again a man with a wrong, a lover dispossessed. On the instant his veins filled with passionate blood. The Roscian strain in him had its own tragic force and reality. "My home is where my own is, and you, have taken my own from me, as I said," he burst out. "There was all the world for you, but I had only my music and my wife, and you have taken my wife from me. 'Mi Duvel', you have taken, but you shall give back again, or there will be only one of us in the world! The music I have played for you--that has told you all: the thing that was music from the beginning of Time, the will of the First of All. Fleda Druse, she was mine, she is my wife, and you, the Gorgio, come between, and she will not return to me." A sudden savage desire came to Ingolby to strike the man in the face-- this Gipsy vagabond the husband of Fleda Druse! It was too monstrous. It was an evil lie, and yet she had said she was a Romany, and had said it with apparent shame or anxiety. She had given him no promise, had pledged no faith, had admitted no love, and yet already in his heart of hearts he thought upon her as his own. Ever since the day he had held her in his arms at the Carillon Rapids her voice had sounded in his ears, and a warmth was in his heart which had never been there in all his days. This waif of barbarism even to talk of Fleda Druse as though he was of the same sphere as herself invited punishment-but to claim her as his wife! It was shameless. An ugly mood came on him, the force that had made him what he was filled all his senses. He straightened himself; contempt of the Ishmael showed at his lips. "I think you lie, Jethro Fawe," he said quietly, and his eyes were hard and piercing. "Gabriel Druse's daughter is not--never was--any wife of yours. She never called you husband. She does not belong to the refuse of the world." The Romany made a sudden rush towards the wall where the weapons hung, but two arms of iron were flung out and caught him, and he was hurled across the room. He crashed against a table, swayed, missed a chair where rested the Sarasate violin, then fell to the floor; but he staggered to his feet again, all his senses in chaos. "You almost fell on the fiddle. If you had hurt it I'd have hurt you, Mr. Fawe," Ingolby said with a grim smile. "That fiddle's got too much in it to waste it." "Mi Duvel! Mi Duvel!" gasped the Romany in his fury. "You can say that as much as you like, but if you play any more of your monkey tricks here, my Paganini, I will wring your neck," Ingolby returned, his six feet of solid flesh making a movement of menace. "And look," he added, "since you are here, and I said what I meant, that I'd help you to get your own, I'll keep my word. But don't talk in damned riddles. Talk white men's language. You said that Gabriel Druse's daughter was your wife. Explain what you meant, and no nonsense." The Romany made a gesture of acquiescence. "She was made mine according to Romany law by the River Starzke seventeen years ago. I was the son of Lemuel Fawe, rightful King of all the Romanys. Gabriel Druse seized the headship, and my father gave him three thousand pounds that we should marry, she and I, and so bring the headship to the Fawes again when Gabriel Druse should die; and so it was done by the River Starzke in the Roumelian country." Ingolby winced, for the man's words rang true. A cloud came over his face, but he said nothing. Jethro saw the momentary advantage. "You did not know?" he asked. "She did not tell you she was made my wife those years ago? She did not tell you she was the daughter of the Romany King? So it is, you see, she is afraid to tell the truth." Ingolby's knitted bulk heaved with desire to injure. "Your wife--you melodious sinner! Do you think such tomfoolery has any effect in this civilized country? She is about as much your wife as I am your brother. Don't talk your heathenish rot here. I said I'd help you to get your own, because you played the fiddle as few men can play it, and I owe you a lot for that hour's music; but there's nothing belonging to Gabriel Druse that belongs to you, and his daughter least of all. Look out-- don't sit on the fiddle, damn you!" The Romany had made a motion as if to sit down on the chair where the fiddle was, but stopped short at Ingolby's warning. For an instant Jethro had an inclination to seize the fiddle and break it across his knees. It would be an exquisite thing to destroy five thousand dollars' worth of this man's property at a single wrench and blow. But the spirit of the musician asserted itself before the vengeful lover could carry out his purpose; as Ingolby felt sure it would. Ingolby had purposely given the warning about the fiddle, in the belief that it might break the unwelcome intensity of the scene. He detested melodrama, and the scene came precious near to it. Men had been killed before his eyes more than once, but there had been no rodomontade even when there had been a woman in the case. This Romany lover, however, seemed anxious to make a Sicilian drama out of his preposterous claim, and it sickened him. Who was the fellow that he should appear in the guise of a rival to himself! It was humiliating and offensive. Ingolby had his own kind of pride and vanity, and they were both hurt now. He would have been less irritable if this rival had been as good a man as himself or better. He was so much a gamester that he would have said, "Let the best man win," and have taken his chances. His involuntary strategy triumphed for the moment. The Romany looked at the fiddle for an instant with murderous eyes, but the cool, quiet voice of Ingolby again speaking sprayed his hot virulence. "You can make a good musician quite often, but a good fiddle is a prize- packet from the skies," Ingolby said. "When you get a good musician and a good fiddle together it's a day for a salute of a hundred guns." Half-dazed with unregulated emotion, Jethro acted with indecision for a moment, and the fiddle was safe. But he had suffered the indignity of being flung like a bag of bones across the room, and the microbe of insane revenge was in him. It was not to be killed by the cold humour of the man who had worsted him. He returned to the attack. "She is mine, and her father knows it is so. I have waited all these years, and the hour has come. I will--" Ingolby's eyes became hard and merciless again. "Don't talk your Gipsy rhetoric. I've had enough. No hour has come that makes a woman do what she doesn't want to do in a free country. The lady is free to do what she pleases here within British law, and British law takes no heed of Romany law or any other law. You'll do well to go back to your Roumelian country or whatever it is. The lady will marry whom she likes." "She will never marry you," the Romany said huskily and menacingly. "I have never asked her, but if I do, and she said yes, no one could prevent it." "I would prevent it." "How?" "She is a Romany: she belongs to the Romany people; I will find a way." Ingolby had a flash of intuition. "You know well that if Gabriel Druse passed the word, your life wouldn't be worth a day's purchase. The Camorra would not be more certain or more deadly. If you do anything to hurt the daughter of Gabriel Druse, you will pay the full price, and you know it. The Romanys don't love you better than their rightful chief." "I am their rightful chief." "Maybe, but if they don't say so, too, you might as well be their rightful slave. You are a genius in your way. Take my advice and return to the trail of the Gipsy. Or, there's many an orchestra would give you a good salary as leader. You've got no standing in this country. You can't do anything to hurt me except try to kill me, and I'll take my chance of that. You'd better have a drink now and go quietly home to bed. Try and understand that this is a British town, and we don't settle our affairs by jumping from a violin rhapsody to a knife or a gun." He jerked his head backwards towards the wall. "Those things are for ornament, not for use. Come, Fawe, have a drink and go home like a good citizen for one night only." The Romany hesitated, then shook his head and muttered chaotically. "Very well," was the decisive reply. Ingolby pressed a bell, and, in an instant, Jim Beadle was in the room. He had evidently been at the keyhole. "Jim," he said, "show the gentleman out." But suddenly he caught up a box of cigars from the table and thrust it into the Romany's hands. "They're the best to be got this side of Havana," he said cheerily. "They'll help you put more fancy still into your playing. Good night. You never played better than you've done during the last hour, I'll stake my life on that. Good night. Show Mr. Fawe out, Jim." The Romany had not time to thrust back the cigars upon his host, and dazed by the strategy of the thing, by the superior force and mind of the man who a moment ago he would have killed, he took the box and turned towards the door, taking his hat dazedly from Jim. At the door, however, catching sight of the sly grin on the mulatto servant's face, his rage and understanding returned to him, and he faced the masterful Gorgio once again. "By God, I'll have none of it!" he exclaimed roughly and threw the box of cigars on the floor of the room. Ingolby was not perturbed. "Don't forget there's an east-bound train every day," he said menacingly, and turned his back as the door closed. In another minute Jim entered the room. "Get the clothes and the wig and things, Jim. I must be off," he said. "The toughs don't get going till about this time over at Manitou," responded Jim. Then he told his master about the clothes having been exposed in the room when the Romany arrived. "But I don't think he seen them," Jim added with approval of his own conduct. "I got 'em out quick as lightning. I covered 'em like a blanket." "All right, Jim; it doesn't matter. That fellow's got other things to think of than that." He was wrong, however. The Romany was waiting outside in the darkness not far away--watching and waiting. CHAPTER X FOR LUCK Felix Marchand was in the highest spirits. His clean-shaven face was wrinkled with smiles and sneers. His black hair was flung in waves of triumph over his heavily-lined forehead; one hand was on his hip with brave satisfaction, the other with lighted cigarette was tossed upwards in exultation. "I've got him. I've got him--like that!" he said transferring the cigarette to his mouth, and clenching his right hand as though it could not be loosed by an earthquake. "For sure, it's a thing finished as the solder of a pannikin--like that." He caught up a tin quart-pot from the bar-counter and showed the soldered bottom of it. He was alone in the bar of Barbazon's Hotel except for one person--the youngest of the officials who had been retired from the offices of the railways when Ingolby had merged them. This was a man who had got his position originally by nepotism, and represented the worst elements of a national life where the spoils system is rooted in the popular mind. He had, however, a little residue of that discipline which, working in a great industrial organization, begets qualms as to extreme courses. He looked reflectively at the leaden pot and said in reply: "I'd never believe in anything where that Ingolby is concerned till I had it in the palm of my hand. He's as deep as a well, and when he's quietest it's good to look out. He takes a lot of skinning, that badger." "He's skinned this time all right," was Marchand's reply. "To-morrow'll be the biggest day Manitou's had since the Indian lifted his wigwam and the white man put down his store. Listen--hear them! They're coming!" He raised a hand for silence, and a rumbling, ragged roar of voices could be heard without. "The crowd have gone the rounds," he continued. "They started at Barbazon's and they're winding up at Barbazon's. They're drunk enough to-night to want to do anything, and to-morrow when they've got sore heads they'll do anything. They'll make that funeral look like a squeezed orange; they'll show Lebanon and Master Ingolby that we're to be bosses of our own show. The strike'll be on after the funeral, and after the strike's begun there'll be--eh, bien sur!" He paused sharply, as though he had gone too far. "There'll be what?" whispered the other; but Marchand made no reply, save to make a warning gesture, for Barbazon, the landlord, had entered behind the bar. "They're coming back, Barbazon," Marchand said to the landlord, jerking his head towards the front door. The noise of the crowd was increasing, the raucous shouts were so loud that the three had to raise their voices. "You'll do a land-office business to-night," he declared. Barbazon had an evil face. There were rumours that he had been in gaol in Quebec for robbery, and that after he had served his time he had dug up the money he had stolen and come West. He had started the first saloon at Manitou, and had grown with the place in more senses than one. He was heavy and thick-set, with huge shoulders, big hands, and beady eyes that looked out of a stolid face where long hours, greed and vices other than drink had left their mark. He never drank spirits, and was therefore ready to take advantage of those who did drink. More than one horse and canoe and cow and ox, and acre of land, in the days when land was cheap, had come to him across the bar-counter. He could be bought, could Barbazon, and he sold more than wine and spirits. He had a wife who had left him twice because of his misdemeanours, but had returned and straightened out his house and affairs once again; and even when she went off with Lick Baldwin, a cattle-dealer, she was welcomed back without reproaches by Barbazon, chiefly because he had no morals, and her abilities were of more value to him than her virtue. On the whole, Gros Barbazon was a bad lot. At Marchand's words Barbazon shrugged his shoulders. "The more spent to-night, the less to spend to-morrow," he growled. "But there's going to be spending for a long time," Marchand answered. "There's going to be a riot to-morrow, and there's going to be a strike the next day, and after that there's going to be something else." "What else?" Barbazon asked, his beady eyes fastened on Marchand's face. "Something worth while-better than all the rest." Barbazon's low forehead seemed to disappear almost, as he drew the grizzled shock of hair down, by wrinkling his forehead with a heavy frown. "It's no damn good, m'sieu'," he growled. "Am I a fool? They'll spend money to-night, and tomorrow, and the next day, and when the row is on; and the more they spend then, the less they'll have to spend by-and-by. It's no good. The steady trade for me--all the time. That is my idee. And the something else--what? You think there's something else that'll be good for me? Nom de Dieu, there's nothing you're doing, or mean to do, but'll hurt me and everybody." "That's your view, is it, Barbazon?" exclaimed Marchand loudly, for the crowd was now almost at the door. "You're a nice Frenchman and patriot. That crowd'll be glad to hear you think they're fools. Suppose they took it into their heads to wreck the place?" Barbazon's muddy face got paler, but his eyes sharpened, and he leaned over the bar-counter, and said with a snarl: "Go to hell, and say what you like; and then I'll have something to say about something else, m'sieu'." Marchand was about to reply angrily, but he instantly changed his mind, and before Barbazon could stop him, he sprang over the counter and disappeared into the office behind the bar. "I won't steal anything, Barbazon," he said over his shoulder as he closed the door behind him. "I'll see to that," Barbazon muttered stolidly, but with malicious eyes. The front door was flung open now, and the crowd poured into the room, boisterous, reckless, though some were only sullen, watchful and angry. These last were mostly men above middle age, and of a fanatical and racially bitter type. They were not many, but in one sense they were the backbone and force of the crowd, probably the less intelligent but the more tenacious and consistent. They were black spots of gathering storm in an electric atmosphere. All converged upon the bar. Two assistants rushed the drinks along the counter with flourishes, while Barbazon took in the cash and sharply checked the rougher element, who were inclined to treat the bar as a place for looting. Most of them, however, had a wholesome fear of Barbazon, and also most of them wished to stand well with him--credit was a good thing, even in a saloon. For a little time the room was packed, then some of the more restless spirits, their thirst assuaged, sallied forth to taste the lager and old rye elsewhere, and "raise Cain" in the streets. When they went, it became possible to move about more freely in the big bar-room, at the end of which was a billiard-table. It was notable, however, that the more sullen elements stayed. Some of them were strangers to each other. Manitou was a distributing point for all radiations of the compass, and men were thrown together in its streets who only saw one another once or twice a year-when they went to the woods in the Fall or worked the rivers in the Summer. Some were Mennonites, Doukhobors and Finlanders, some Swedes, Norwegians and Icelanders. Others again were birds of passage who would probably never see Manitou in the future, but they were mostly French, and mostly Catholic, and enemies of the Orange Lodges wherever they were, east or west or north or south. They all had a common ground of unity--half-savage coureurs-de-bois, river-drivers, railway-men, factory hands, cattlemen, farmers, labourers; they had a gift for prejudice, and taking sides on something or other was as the breath of the nostrils to them. The greater number of the crowd were, however, excitable, good-natured men, who were by instinct friendly, save when their prejudices were excited; and their oaths and exclamations were marvels of droll ingenuity. Most of them were still too good-humoured with drink to be dangerous, but all hoped for trouble at the Orange funeral on principle, and the anticipated strike had elements of "thrill." They were of a class, however, who would swing from what was good-humour to deadly anger in a minute, and turn a wind of mere prejudice into a hurricane of life and death with the tick of a clock. They would all probably go to the Orange funeral to-morrow in a savage spirit. Some of them were loud in denunciation of Ingolby and "the Lebanon gang"; they joked coarsely over the dead Orangeman, but their cheerful violence had not yet the appearance of reality. One man suddenly changed all that. He was a river-driver of stalwart proportions, with a red handkerchief round his neck, and with loose corded trousers tucked into his boots. He had a face of natural ugliness made almost repulsive by marks of smallpox. Red, flabby lips and an overhanging brow made him a figure which men would avoid on a dark night. "Let's go over to Lebanon to-night and have it out," he said in French. "That Ingolby--let's go break his windows and give him a dip in the river. He's the curse of this city. Holy, once Manitou was a place to live in, now it's a place to die in! The factories, the mills, they're full of Protes'ants and atheists and shysters; the railway office is gone to Lebanon. Ingolby took it there. Manitou was the best town in the West; it's no good now. Who's the cause? Ingolby's the cause. Name of God, if he was here I'd get him by the throat as quick as winkin'." He opened and shut his fingers with spasmodic malice, and glared round the room. "He's going to lock us out if we strike," he added. "He's going to take the bread out of our mouths; he's going to put his heel on Manitou, and grind her down till he makes her knuckle to Lebanon--to a lot of infidels, Protes'ants, and thieves. Who's going to stand it? I say-bagosh, I say, who's going to stand it!" "He's a friend of the Monseigneur," ventured a factory-hand, who had a wife and children to support, and however partisan, was little ready for that which would stop his supplies. "Sacre bapteme! That's part of his game," roared the big river-driver in reply. "I'll take the word of Felix Marchand about that. Look at him! That Felix Marchand doesn't try to take the bread out of people's mouths. He gives money here, he gives it there. He wants the old town to stay as it is and not be swallowed up." "Three cheers for Felix Marchand !" cried some one in the throng. All cheered loudly save one old man with grizzled hair and beard, who leaned against the wall half-way down the room smoking a corncob pipe. He was a French Canadian in dress and appearance, and he spat on the floor like a navvy--he had filled his pipe with the strongest tobacco that one man ever offered to another. As the crowd cheered for Felix Marchand, he made his way up towards the bar slowly. He must have been tall when he was young; now he was stooped, yet there was still something very sinewy about him. "Who's for Lebanon?" cried the big river-driver with an oath. "Who's for giving Lebanon hell, and ducking Ingolby in the river?" "I am--I am--I am--all of us!" shouted the crowd. "It's no good waiting for to-morrow. Let's get the Lebs by the scruff to-night. Let's break Ingolby's windows and soak him in the Sagalac. Allons--allons gai!" Uproar and broken sentences, threats, oaths, and objurgations sounded through the room. There was a sudden movement towards the door, but the exit of the crowd was stopped by a slow but clear voice speaking in French. "Wait a minute, my friends!" it cried. "Wait a minute. Let's ask a few questions first." "Who's he?" asked a dozen voices. "What's he going to say?" The mob moved again towards the bar. The big river-driver turned on the grizzled old man beside the bar- counter with bent shoulders and lazy, drawling speech. "What've you got to say about it, son?" he asked threateningly. "Well, to ask a few questions first--that's all," the old man replied. "You don't belong here, old cock," the other said roughly. "A good many of us don't belong here," the old man replied quietly. "It always is so. This isn't the first time I've been to Manitou. You're a river-driver, and you don't live here either," he continued. "What've you got to say about it? I've been coming and going here for ten years. I belong--bagosh, what do you want to ask? Hurry up. We've got work to do. We're going to raise hell in Lebanon." "And give hell to Ingolby," shouted some one in the crowd. "Suppose Ingolby isn't there?" questioned the old man. "Oh, that's one of your questions, is it?" sneered the big river-driver. "Well, if you knew him as we do, you'd know that it's at night-time he sits studyin' how he'll cut Lebanon's throat. He's home, all right. He's in Lebanon anyhow, and we'll find him." "Well, but wait a minute--be quiet a bit," said the old man, his eyes blinking slowly at the big riverdriver. "I've been 'round a good deal, and I've had some experience in the world. Did you ever give that Ingolby a chance to tell you what his plans were? Did you ever get close to him and try to figure what he was driving at? There's no chance of getting at the truth if you don't let a man state his case--but no. If he can't make you see his case then is the time to jib, not before." "Oh, get out!" cried a rowdy English road-maker in the crowd. "We know all right what Ingolby's after." "Eh, well, what is he after?" asked the old man looking the other in the eye. "What's he after? Oof-oof-oof, that's what he's after. He's for his own pocket, he's for being boss of all the woolly West. He's after keeping us poor and making himself rich. He's after getting the cinch on two towns and three railways, and doing what he likes with it all; and we're after not having him do it, you bet. That's how it is, old hoss." The other stroked his beard with hands which, somehow, gave little indication of age, and then, with a sudden jerk forward of his head, he said: "Oh, it's like that, eh? Is that what M'sieu' Marchand told you? That's what he said, is it?" The big river-driver, eager to maintain his supreme place as leader, lunged forward a step, and growled a challenge. "Who said it? What does it matter if M'sieu' Marchand said it--it's true. If I said it, it's true. All of us in this room say it, and it's true. Young Marchand says what Manitou says." The old man's eyes grew brighter--they were exceedingly sharp for one so old, and he said quite gently now: "M. Marchand said it first, and you all say it afterwards--ah, bah! But listen to me; I know Max Ingolby that you think is such a villain; I know him well. I knew him when he was a little boy and--" "You was his nurse, I suppose!" cried the Englishman's voice amid a roar of laughter. "Taught him his A-B-C-was his dear, kind teacher, eh?" hilariously cried another. The old man appeared not to hear. "I have known him all the years since. He has only been in the West a few years, but he has lived in the world exactly thirty-three years. He never willingly did anybody harm--never. Since he came West, since he came to the Sagalac, he's brought work to Lebanon and to Manitou. There are hundreds more workmen in both the towns than there were when he came. It was he made others come with much money and build the factories and the mills. Work means money, money means bread, bread means life--so." The big river-driver, seeing the effect of the old man's words upon the crowd, turned to them with an angry gesture and a sneer. "I s'pose Ingolby has paid this old skeesicks for talking this swash. We know all right what Ingolby is, and what he's done. He's made war between the two towns--there's hell to pay now on both sides of the Sagalac. He took away the railway offices from here, and threw men out of work. He's done harm to Manitou--he's against Manitou every time." Murmurs of approval ran through the crowd, though some were silent, looking curiously at the forceful and confident old man. Even his bent shoulders seemed to suggest driving power rather than the weight of years. He suddenly stretched out a hand in command as it were. "Comrades, comrades," he said, "every man makes mistakes. Even if it was a mistake for Ingolby to take away the offices from Manitou, he's done a big thing for both cities by combining the three railways." "Monopoly," growled a voice from the crowd. "Not monopoly," the old man replied with a ring to his voice, which made it younger, fresher. "Not monopoly, but better management of the railways, with more wages, more money to spend on things to eat and drink and wear, more dollars in the pocket of everybody that works in Manitou and Lebanon. Ingolby works, he doesn't loaf." "Oh, gosh all hell, he's a dynamo," shouted a voice from the crowd. "He's a dynamo running the whole show-eh!" The old man seemed to grow shorter, but as he thrust his shoulders forward, it was like a machine gathering energy and power. "I'll tell you, friends, what Ingolby is trying to do," he said in a low voice vibrating with that force which belongs neither to age nor youth, but is the permanent activity uniting all ages of a man. "Of course, Ingolby is ambitious and he wants power. He tries to do the big things in the world because there is the big thing to do--for sure. Without such men the big things are never done, and other men have less work to do, and less money and poorer homes. They discover and construct and design and invent and organize and give opportunities. I am a working man, but I know what Ingolby thinks. I know what men think who try to do the big things. I have tried to do them." The crowd were absolutely still now, but the big river-driver shook himself free of the eloquence, which somehow swayed them all, and said: "You--you look as if you'd tried to do big things, you do, old skeesicks. I bet you never earned a hundred dollars in your life." He turned to the crowd with fierce gestures. "Let's go to Lebanon and make the place sing," he roared. "Let's get Ingolby out to talk for himself, if he wants to talk. We know what we want to do, and we're not going to be bossed. He's for Lebanon and we're for Manitou. Lebanon means to boss us, Lebanon wants to sit on us because we're Catholics, because we're French, because we're honest." Again a wave of revolution swept through the crowd. The big river-driver represented their natural instincts, their native fanaticism, their prejudices. But the old man spoke once more. "Ingolby wants Lebanon and Manitou to come together, not to fall apart," he declared. "He wants peace. If he gets rich here he won't get rich alone. He's working for both towns. If he brings money from outside, that's good for both towns. If he--" "Shut your mouth, let Ingolby speak for himself," snarled the big river- driver. "Take his dollars out of your pocket and put them on the bar, the dollars Ingolby gives you to say all this. Put them dollars of Ingolby's up for drinks, or we'll give you a jar that'll shake you, old wart-hog." At that instant a figure forced itself through the crowd, and broke into the packed circle which was drawing closer upon the old man. It was Jethro Fawe. He flung a hand out towards the old man. "You want Ingolby--well, that's Ingolby," he shouted. Like lightning the old man straightened himself, snatched the wig and beard away from his head and face, and with quiet fearlessness said: "Yes, I am Ingolby." For an instant there was absolute silence, in which Ingolby weighed his chances. He was among enemies. He had meant only to move among the crowd to discover their attitude, to find things out for himself. He had succeeded, and his belief that Manitou could be swayed in the right direction if properly handled, was correct. Beneath the fanaticism and the racial spirit was human nature; and until Jethro Fawe had appeared, he had hoped to prevent violence and the collision at to-morrow's funeral. Now the situation was all changed. It was hard to tell what sharp turn things might take. He was about to speak, but suddenly from the crowd there was spat out at him the words, "Spy! Sneak! Spy!" Instantly the wave of feeling ran against him. He smiled frankly, however, with that droll twist of his mouth which had won so many, and the raillery of his eyes was more friendly than any appeal. "Spy, if you like, my friends," he said firmly and clearly. "Moses sent spies down into the Land of Promise, and they brought back big bunches of grapes. Well, I've come down into a land of promise. I wanted to know just how you all feel without being told it by some one else. I knew if I came here as Max Ingolby I shouldn't hear the whole truth; I wouldn't see exactly how you see, so I came as one of you, and you must admit, my French is as good as yours almost." He laughed and nodded at them. "There wasn't one of you that knew I wasn't a Frenchman. That's in my favour. If I know the French language as I do, and can talk to you in French as I've done, do you think I don't understand the French people, and what you want and how you feel? I'm one of the few men in the West that can talk your language. I learned it when I was a boy, so that I might know my French fellow-countrymen under the same flag, with the same King and the same national hope. As for your religion, God knows, I wish I was as good a Protestant as lots of you are good Catholics. And I tell you this, I'd be glad to have a minister that I could follow and respect and love as I respect and love Monseigneur Lourde of Manitou. I want to bring these two towns together, to make them a sign of what this country is, and what it can do; to make hundreds like ourselves in Manitou and Lebanon work together towards health, wealth, comfort and happiness. Can't you see, my friends, what I'm driving at? I'm for peace and work and wealth and power--not power for myself alone, but power that belongs to all of us. If I can show I'm a good man at my job, maybe better than others, then I have a right to ask you to follow me. If I can't, then throw me out. I tell you I'm your friend--Max Ingolby is your friend." "Spy! Spy! Spy!" cried a new voice. It came from behind the bar. An instant after, the owner of the voice leaped up on the counter. It was Felix Marchand. He had entered by the door behind the bar into Barbazon's office. "When I was in India," Marchand cried, "I found a snake in the bed. I killed it before it stung me. There's a snake in the bed of Manitou-- what are you going to do with it?" The men swayed, murmured, and shrill shouts of "Marchand! Marchand! Marchand !" went up. The crowd heaved upon Ingolby. "One minute!" he called with outstretched arm and commanding voice. They paused. Something in him made him master of them even then. At that moment two men were fiercely fighting their way through the crowd towards where Ingolby was. They were Jowett and Osterhaut. Ingolby saw them coming. "Go back--go back!" he called to them. Suddenly a drunken navvy standing on a table in front of and to the left of Ingolby seized a horseshoe hanging on the wall, and flung it with an oath. It caught Ingolby in the forehead, and he fell to the floor without a sound. A minute afterwards the bar was empty, save for Osterhaut, Jowett, old Barbazon, and his assistants. Barbazon and Jowett lifted the motionless figure in their arms, and carried it into a little room. Then Osterhaut picked up the horseshoe tied with its gay blue ribbons, now stained with blood, and put it in his pocket. "For luck," he said. CHAPTER XI THE SENTENCE OF THE PATRIN Fleda waked suddenly, but without motion; just a wide opening of the eyes upon the darkness, and a swift beating of the heart, but not the movement of a muscle. It was as though some inward monitor, some gnome of the hidden life had whispered of danger to her slumbering spirit. The waking was a complete emergence, a vigilant and searching attention. There was something on her breast weighing it down, yet with a pressure which was not weight alone, and maybe was not weight at all as weight is understood. Instantly there flashed through her mind the primitive belief that a cat will lie upon the breasts of children and suck their breath away. Strange and even absurd as it was, it seemed to her that a cat was pressing and pressing down upon her breast. There could be no mistaking the feline presence. Now with a sudden energy of the body, she threw the Thing from her, and heard it drop, with the softness of feline feet, on the Indian rug upon the floor. Then she sprang out of bed, and, feeling for the matches, lit a candle on the small table beside her bed, and moved it round searching for what she thought to be a cat. It was not to be seen. She looked under the bed; it was not there: under the washstand, under the chest of drawers, under the improvised dressing-table; and no cat was to be found. She 173 looked under the chair over which hung her clothes, even behind the dresses and the Indian deerskin cape hanging on the door. There was no life of any kind save her own in the room, so far as she could see. She laughed nervously, though her heart was still beating hard. That it should beat hard was absurd, for what had she to fear--she who had lived the wild open-air life of many lands, had slept among hills infested by animals the enemy of man, and who when a little girl had faced beasts of prey alone. Yet here in her own safe room on the Sagalac, with its four walls, but its unlocked doors--for Gabriel Druse said that he could not bear that last sign of his exile--here in the fortress of the town-dweller there was a strange trembling of her pulses in the presence of a mere hallucination or nightmare--the first she had had ever. Her dreams in the past had always been happy and without the black fancies of nightmare. On the night that Jethro Fawe had first confronted her father and herself, and he had been carried to the hut in the Wood, her sleep had been disturbed and restless, but dreamless; in her sleep on the night of the day of his release, she had been tossed upon vague clouds of mental unrest; but that was the first really disordered sleep she had ever known. Holding the candle above her head, she looked in the mirror on her dressing-table, and laughed nervously at the shocked look in her eyes, at the hand pressed upon the bosom whose agitations troubled the delicate linen at her breast. The pale light of the candle, the reflection from the white muslin of her dressing-table and her nightwear, the strange, deep darkness of her eyes, the ungathered tawny hair falling to her shoulders, gave an unusual paleness to her face. "What a ninny I am!" she said aloud as she looked at herself, her tongue chiding her apprehensive eyes, her laugh contemptuously adding its comment on her tremulousness. "It was a real nightmare--a waking nightmare, that's what it was." She searched the room once more, however-every corner, under the bed, the chest of drawers and the dressing-table, before she got into bed again, her feet icily cold. And yet again before settling down she looked round, perplexed and inquiring. Placing the matches beside the candlestick, she blew out the light. Then, half-turning on her side with her face to the wall, she composed herself to sleep. Resolutely putting from her mind any sense of the supernatural, she shut her eyes with confidence of coming sleep. While she was, however, still within the borders of wakefulness, and wholly conscious, she felt the Thing jump from the floor upon her legs, and crouch there with that deadening pressure which was not weight. Now with a start of anger she raised herself, and shot out a determined hand to seize the Thing, whatever it was. Her hand grasped nothing, and again she distinctly heard a soft thud as of something jumping on the floor. Exasperated, she drew herself out of bed, lit the candle again, and began another search. Nothing was to be seen; but she had now the curious sense of an unseen presence. She went to the door, opened it, and looked out into the narrow hall. Nothing was to be seen there. Then she closed the door again, and stood looking at it meditatively for a moment. It had a lock and key; yet it had never been locked in the years they had lived on the Sagalac. She did not know whether the key would turn in the lock. After a moment's hesitation, she shrugged her shoulders and turned the key. It rasped, proved stubborn, but at last came home with a click. Then she turned to the window. It was open about three inches at the bottom. She closed it tight, and fastened it, then stood for a moment in the middle of the room looking at both door and window. She was conscious of a sense of suffocation. Never in her life had she slept with door or window or tentflap entirely closed. Never before had she been shut in all night behind closed doors and sealed windows. Now, as the sense of imprisonment was felt, her body protested; her spirit resented the funereal embrace of security. It panted for the freedom which gives the challenge to danger and the courage to face it. She went to the window and opened it slightly at the top, and then sought her bed again; but even as she lay down, something whispered to her mind that it was folly to lock the door and yet leave the window open, if it was but an inch. With an exclamation of self-reproach, and a vague indignation at something, she got up and closed the window once more. Again she composed herself to sleep, lying now with her face turned to the window and the door. She was still sure that she had been the victim of a hallucination which, emerging from her sleep, had invaded the borders of wakefulness, and then had reproduced itself in a waking illusion--an imitation of its original existence. Resolved to conquer any superstitious feeling, she invoked sleep, and was on its borders once more when she was startled more violently than before. The Thing had sprung again upon her feet and was crouched there. Wide awake, she waited for a moment to make sure that she was not mad, or that she was not asleep or in a half-dream. In the pause, she felt the Thing draw up towards her knees, dragging its body along with tiger-like closeness, and with that strange pressure which was not weight but power. With a cry which was no longer doubt, but agonized apprehension, she threw the Thing from her with a motion of both hands and feet; and, as she did so, she felt a horrible cold air breathing from a bloodless body, chill her hand. In another instant she was on her feet again. With shaking fingers she lighted the candle yet once more, after which she lighted a lamp standing upon the chest of drawers. The room was almost brilliantly bright now. With a gesture of incredulity she looked round. The doors and windows were sealed tight, and there was nothing to be seen; yet she was more than ever conscious of a presence grown more manifest. For a moment she stood staring straight before her at the place where it seemed to be. She realized its malice and its hatred, and an intense anger and hatred took possession of her. She had always laughed at such things even when thrilled by wonder and manufactured terrors. But now there was a sense of conflict, of evil, of the indefinable things in which so many believed. Suddenly she remembered an ancient Sage of her tribe, who, proficient in mysteries and secret rites gathered from nations as old as Phoenicia and Egypt and as modern as Switzerland, held the Romanys of the world in awe, for his fame had travelled where he could not follow. To Fleda in her earliest days he had been like one inspired, and as she now stood facing the intangible Thing, she recalled an exorcism which the Sage had recited to her, when he had sufficiently startled her senses by tales of the Between World. This exorcism was, as he had told her, more powerful than that which the Christian exorcists used, and the symbol of exorcism was not unlike the sign of the Cross, to which was added genuflection of Assyrian origin. At any other time Fleda would have laughed at the idea of using the exorcism; but all the ancient superstition of the Romany people latent in her now broke forth and held her captive. Standing with candle raised above her head, her eyes piercing the space before her, she recalled every word of the exorcism which had caught the drippings from the fountains of Chaldean, Phoenician, and Egyptian mystery. Solemnly and slowly the exorcism came from her lips, and at the end her right hand made the cabalistic sign; then she stood like one transfixed with her arm extended towards the Thing she could not see. Presently there passed from her a sense of oppression. The air seemed to grow lighter, restored self-possession came; there was a gentle breathing in the room like that of a sleeping child. It was a moment before she realized that the breathing was her own, and she looked round her like one who had come out of a trance. "It is gone," she said aloud. "It is gone." A great sigh came from her. Mechanically she put down the candle, smoothed the pillows of her bed, adjusted the coverings, and prepared to lie down; but, with a sudden impulse, she turned to the window and the door. "It is gone," she said again. With a little laugh of hushed triumph, she turned and made again the cabalistic sign at the bed, where the Thing had first assaulted her, and then at that point in the room near the door where she had felt it crouching. "Oh, Ewie Gal," she added, speaking to that Romany Sage long since laid to rest in the Roumelian country, "you did not talk to me for nothing. You were right--yes, you were right, old Ewie Gal. It was there,"--she looked again at the place where the Thing had been--"and your curse drove it away." With confidence she went to the door and unlocked it. Going to the window she opened it also, but she compromised sufficiently to open it at the top instead of at the bottom. Presently she laid her head on her pillow with a sigh of content. Once again she composed herself to sleep in the darkness. But now there came other invasions, other disturbers of the night. In her imagination a man came who had held her in his arms one day on the Sagalac River, who had looked into her eyes with a masterful but respectful tenderness. As she neared the confines of sleep, he was somehow mingled with visions of things which her childhood had known--moonlit passes in the Bosnian, Roumelian, and Roumanian hills, green fields by the Danube, with peasant voices drowsing in song before the lights went out; a gallop after dun deer far away up the Caspian mountains, over waste places, carpeted with flowers after a benevolent rain; mornings in Egypt, when the camels thudded and slid with melancholy ease through the sands of the desert, while the Arab drivers called shrilly for Allah to curse or bless; a tender sunset in England seen from the top of a castle when all the western sky was lightly draped with saffron, gold and mauve and delicate green and purple. Now she slept again, with the murmur of the Sagalac in her ears, and there was a smile at her lips. If one could have seen her through the darkness, one would have said that she was like some wild creature of a virgin world, whom sleep had captured and tamed; for, behind the refinement which education and the vigilant influence with which Madame Bulteel had surrounded her, there was in her the spirit of primitive things: of the open road and the wilderness, of the undisciplined and vagrant life, however marked by such luxury as the ruler of all the Romanys could buy and use in pilgrimage. There was that in her which would drag at her footsteps in this new life. For a full hour or more she slept, then there crept through the fantasies of sleep something that did not belong to sleep--again something from the wakeful world, strange, alien, troubling. At first it was only as though a wind stirred the air of dreams, then it was like the sounds that gather behind the coming rage of a storm, and again it was as though a night- prowler plucked at the sleeve of a home-goer. Presently, with a stir of fright and a smothered cry, she waked to a sound which was not of the supernatural or of the mind's illusions, but no less dreadful to her because of that. In some cryptic way it was associated with the direful experience through which she had just passed. What she heard in the darkness was a voice which sang there by her window--at it or beneath it--the words of a Romany song. It was a song of violence, which she had heard but a short time before in the trees behind her father's house, when a Romany claimed her as his wife: "Time was I went to my true love, Time was she came to me--" Only one man would sing that song at her window, or anywhere in this Western world. This was no illusion of her overwrought senses. There, outside her window, was Jethro Fawe. She sat up and listened, leaning on one arm, and staring into the half- darkness beyond the window, the blind of which she had not drawn down. There was no moon, but the stars were shining brightly, relieving the intensity of the dark. Through the whispering of the trees, and hushing the melancholy of a night-bird's song, came the wild low note of the Romany epic of vengeance. It had a thrill of exultation. Something in the voice, insistent, vibrating, personal, made every note a thrust of victory. In spite of her indignation at the insolent serenade, she thrilled; for the strain of the Past was in her, and it had been fighting with her all night, breaking in upon the Present, tugging at the cords of youth. The man's daring roused her admiration, even as her anger mounted. If her father heard the singing, there could be no doubt that Jethro Fawe's doom would be sealed. Gabriel Druse would resent this insolence to the daughter of the Ry of Rys. Word would be passed as silently as the electric spark flies, and one day Jethro Fawe would be found dead, with no clue to his slayer, and maybe no sign of violence upon him; for while the Romany people had remedies as old as Buddha, they had poisons as old as Sekhet. Suddenly the song ceased, and for a moment there was silence save for the whispering trees and the night-bird's song. Fleda rose from her bed, and was about to put on her dressing-gown, when she was startled by a voice loudly whispering her name at her window, as it seemed. "Daughter of the Ry of Rys !" it called. In anger she started forward to the window, then, realizing that she was in her nightgown, caught up her red dressing-gown and put it on. As she did so she understood why the voice had sounded so near. Not thirty feet from her window there was a solitary oak-tree among the pines, in which was a seat among the branches, and, looking out, she could see a figure that blackened the starlit duskiness. "Fleda--daughter of the Ry of Rys," the voice called again. She gathered her dressing-gown tight about her, and, going to the window, raised it high and leaned out. "What do you want?" she asked sharply. "Wife of Jethro Fawe, I bring you news," the voice said, and she saw a hat waved with mock courtesy. In spite of herself, Fleda felt a shiver of premonition pass through her. The Thing which had threatened her in the night seemed to her now like the soul of this dark spirit in the trees. Resentment seized her. "I have news for you, Jethro Fawe," she replied. "I set you free, and I gave my word that no harm should come to you, if you went your ways and did not come again. You have come, and I shall do nothing now to save you from the Ry's anger. Go at once, or I will wake him." "Will a wife betray her husband?" he asked in soft derision. Stung by his insolence, "I would not throw a rope to you, if you were drowning," she declared. "I am a Gorgio, and the thing that was done by the Starzke River is nothing to me. Now, go." "You have forgotten my news," he said: "It is bad news for the Gorgio daughter of the Romany Ry." She was silent in apprehension. He waited, but she did not speak. "The Gorgio of Gorgios of the Sagalac has had a fall," he said. Her heart beat fast for an instant, and then the presentiment came to her that the man spoke the truth. In the presence of the accomplished thing, she became calm. "What has happened?" she asked quietly. "He went prowling in Manitou, and in Barbazon's Tavern they struck him down." "Who struck him down?" she asked. It seemed to her that the night-bird sang so loud that she could scarcely hear her own voice. "A drunken Gorgio," he replied. "The horseshoe is for luck all the world over, and it brought its luck to Manitou to-night. It struck down a young Master Gorgio who in white beard and long grey hair went spying." She knew in her heart that he spoke the truth. "He is dead?" she asked in a voice that had a strange quietness. "Not yet," he answered. "There is time to wish him luck." She heard the ribald laugh with a sense of horror and loathing. "The hand that brought him down may have been the hand of a Gorgio, but behind the hand was Jethro Fawe," she said in a voice grown passionate again. "Where is he?" she added. "At his own house. I watched them take him there. It is a nice house-- good enough for a Gorgio house-dweller. I know it well. Last night I played his Sarasate fiddle for him there, and I told him all about you and me, and what happened at Starzke, and then--" "You told him I was a Romany, that I was married to you?" she asked in a low voice. "I told him that, and asked him why he thought you had deceived him, had held from him the truth. He was angry and tried to kill me." "That is a lie," she answered. "If he had tried to kill you he would have done so." Suddenly she realized the situation as it was--that she was standing at her window in the night, scantily robed, talking to a man in a tree opposite her window; and that the man had done a thing which belonged to the wild places which she had left so far behind. It flashed into her mind--what would Max Ingolby think of such a thing? She flushed. The new Gorgio self of her flushed, and yet the old Romany self, the child of race and heredity had taken no exact account of the strangeness of this situation. It had not seemed unnatural. Even if he had been in her room itself, she would have felt no tithe of the shame that she felt now in asking herself what the Master Gorgio would think, if he knew. It was not that she had less modesty, that any stir of sex was in her veins where the Romany chal was concerned; but in the life she had once lived less delicate cognizance was taken of such things, and something of it stayed. "Listen," Jethro said with sudden lowering of the voice, and imparting into his tones an emotion which was in part an actor's gift, but also in large degree a passion now eating at his heart, "you are my wife by all the laws of our people. Nothing can change it. I have waited for you, and I will wait, but you shall be mine in the end. You see to-night-- 'Mi Duvel', you see that fate is with me! The Gorgio has bewitched you. He goes down to-night in that tavern there by the hand of a Gorgio, and the Romany has his revenge. Fate is always with me, and I will be the gift of the gods to the woman that takes me. The luck is mine always. It will be always with me. I am poor to-day, I shall be rich to-morrow. I was rich, and I lost it all; and I was poor, and became rich again. Ah, yes, there are ways! Sometimes it is a Government, sometimes a prince that wants to know, and Jethro Fawe, the Romany, finds it out, and money fills his pockets. I am here, poor, because last year when I lost all, I said, 'It is because my Romany lass is not with me. I have not brought her to my tan, but when she comes then the gold will be here as before, and more when it is wanted.' So, I came, and I hear the road calling, and all the camping places over all the world, and I see the patrins in every lane, and my heart is lifted up. I am glad. I rejoice. My heart burns with love. I will forget everything, and be true to the queen of my soul. Men die, and Gabriel Druse, he will die one day, and when the time comes, then it would be that you and I would beckon, and all the world would come to us." He stretched out a hand to her in the half-darkness. "I send the blood of my heart to you," he continued. "I am a son of kings. Fleda, daughter of the Ry of Rys, come to me. I have been bad, but I can be good. I have killed, but I will live at peace. I have cursed, but I will speak the word of blessing. I have trespassed, but I will keep to my own, if you will come to me." Suddenly he dropped to the ground, lighting on his feet like an animal with a soft rebound. Stretching up his arms, he made soft murmuring of endearment. She had listened, fascinated in spite of herself by the fire and meaning of his words. She felt that in most part it was true, that it was meant; and, whatever he was, he was yet a man offering his heart and life, offering a love that she despised, and yet which was love and passion of a kind. It was a passion natural to the people from whom she came, and to such as Jethro Fawe it was something more than sensual longing and the aboriginal desire of possession. She realized it, and was not wholly revolted by it, even while her mind was fleeing to where the Master Gorgio lay wounded, it might be unto death; even while she knew that this man before her, by some means, had laid Ingolby low. She was all at once a human being torn by contending forces. Jethro's drop to the ground broke the sudden trance into which his words had thrown her. She shook herself as with an effort of control. Then leaning over the window-sill, and, looking down at him, now grown so distinct that she could see his features, her eyes having become used to the half-light of the approaching dawn, she said with something almost like gentleness: "Once more I say, you must go and come no more. You are too far off from me. You belong to that which is for the ignorant, or the low, the vicious and the bad. Behind the free life of the Romany is only the thing that the beasts of the field have. I have done with it for ever. Find a Romany who will marry you. As for me, I would rather die than do so, and I should die before it could come to pass. If you stay here longer I will call the Ry." Presently the feeling that he had been responsible for the disaster to Ingolby came upon her with great force, and as suddenly as she had softened towards this man she hardened again. "Go, before there comes to you the death you deserve," she added, and turned away. At that moment footsteps sounded near, and almost instantly there emerged from a pathway which made a short cut to the house, the figure of old Gabriel Druse. They had not heard him till he was within a few feet of where Jethro Fawe stood. His walking had been muffled in the dust of the pathway. The Ry started when he saw Jethro Fawe; then he made a motion as though he would seize the intruder, who was too dumbfounded to flee; but he recovered himself, and gazed up at the open window. "Fleda!" he called. She came to the window again. "Has this man come here against your will?" he asked, not as though seeking information, but confirmation of his own understanding. "He is not here by my will," she answered. "He came to sing the Song of Hate under my window, to tell me that he had--" "That I had brought the Master Gorgio to the ground," said Jethro, who now stood with sullen passiveness looking at Gabriel Druse. "From the Master Gorgio, as you call him, I have just come," returned the old man. "When I heard the news, I went to him. It was you who betrayed him to the mob, and--" "Wait, wait," Fleda cried in agitation. "Is--is he dead?" "He is alive, but terribly hurt; and he may die," was the reply. Then the old man turned to the Romany with a great anger and determination in his face. He stretched out an arm, making a sign as cabalistic as that which Fleda had used against her invisible foe in the bedroom. "Go, Jethro Fawe of all the Fawes," he said. "Go, and may no patrins mark your road!" Jethro Fawe shrank back, and half raised his arm, as though to fend himself from a blow. The patrin is the clue which Gipsies leave behind them on the road they go, that other Gipsies who travel in it may know they have gone before. It may be a piece of string, a thread of wool, a twig, or in the dust the ancient cross of the Romany, which preceded the Christian cross and belonged to the Assyrian or Phoenician world. The invocation that no patrins shall mark the road of a Romany is to make him an outcast, and for the Ry of Rys to utter the curse is sentence of death upon a Romany, for thenceforward every hand of his race is against him, free to do him harm. It was that which made Jethro Fawe shrink and cower for a moment. Fleda raised her hand suddenly in protest to Gabriel Druse. "No, no, not that," Fleda murmured brokenly to her father, with eyes that looked the pain and horror she felt. Though she repudiated the bond by which the barbarian had dared to call her wife, she heard an inner voice that said to her: "What was done by the Starzke River was the seal of blood and race, and this man must be nearer than the stranger, dearer than the kinsman, forgiven of his crimes like a brother, saved from shame, danger or death when she who was sealed to him can save him." She shuddered as she heard the inner voice. She felt that this Other Self of her, the inner-seeing soul which had the secret of the far paths, had spoken truly. Even as she begged her father to withdraw the sentence, it flashed into her mind that the grim Thing of the night was the dark spirit of hatred between Jethro Fawe and the Master Gorgio seeking embodiment, as though Jethro's evil soul detached itself from his body to persecute her. At her appeal, Jethro raised his head. His courage came back, the old insolent self-possession took hold of him again. The sentence which the Ry had passed was worse than death (and it meant death, too), for it made him an outcast from his people, and to be outcast was to be thrown into the abyss. It was as though a man without race or country was banished into desolate space. In a vague way he felt its full significance, and the shadow of it fell on him. "No, no, no," Fleda repeated hoarsely, with that new sense of responsibility where Jethro was concerned. Jethro's eyes were turned upon her now. In the starlit night, just yielding to the dawn, she could faintly see his burning look, could feel, as it were, his hands reach out to claim her; and she felt that while he lived she was not wholly free. She realized that the hand of nomad, disorderly barbarism was dragging her with a force which was inhuman, or, maybe, superhuman. Gabriel Druse could know nothing of the elements fighting in his daughter's soul; he only knew that her interest in the Master Gorgio was one he had never seen before, and that she abhorred the Romany who had brought Ingolby low. He had shut his eyes to the man's unruliness and his daughter's intervention to free him; but now he was without pity. He had come from Ingolby's bedside, and had been told a thing which shook his rugged nature to its centre--a thing sad as death itself, which he must tell his daughter. To Fleda's appeal he turned a stony face. There was none of that rage in his words which had marked the scene when Jethro Fawe first came to claim what he could not have. There was something in him now more deadly and inevitable. It made him like some figure of mythology, implacable, fateful. His great height, his bushy beard and stormy forehead, the eyes over which shaggy eyebrows hung like the shrubs on a cliff-edge, his face lined and set like a thing in bronze--all were signs of a power which, in passion, would be like that of OEdipus: in the moment of justice or doom would, with unblinking eyes, slay and cast aside as debris is tossed upon the dust-heap. As he spoke now his voice was toneless. His mind was flint, and his tongue was but the flash of the flint. He looked at his daughter for a moment with no light of fatherhood in his face, then turned from her to Jethro Fawe with slow decision and a gesture of authority. His eyes fastened on the face of the son of Lemuel Fawe, as though it was that old enemy himself. "I have said what I have said, and there is no more to be spoken. The rule of the Ry will be as water for ever after if these things may be done to him and his. For generations have the Rys of all the Rys been like the trees that bend only to the whirlwind; and when they speak there is no more to be said. When it ceases to be so, then the Rys will vanish from the world, and be as stubble of the field ready for the burning. I have spoken. Go! And no patrins shall lie upon your road." A look of savage obedience and sullen acquiescence came into Jethro Fawe's face, and he took off his hat as one who stands in the presence of his master. The strain of generations, the tradition of the race without a country was stronger than the revolt in his soul. He was young, his blood was hot and brawling in his veins, he was all carnal, with the superior intelligence of the trained animal, but custom was stronger than all. He knew now that whatever he might do, some time, not far, his doom would fall upon him suddenly, as a wind shoots up a ravine from the desert, or a nightbird rises from the dark. He set his feet stubbornly, and raised his sullen face and fanatical eyes. The light of morning was creeping through the starshine, and his features showed plainly. "I am your daughter's husband," he said. "Nothing can change that. It was done by the River Starzke, and it was the word of the Ry of Rys. It stands for ever. There is no divorce except death for the Romany." "The patrins cease to mark the way," returned the old man with a swift gesture. "The divorce of death will come." Jethro's face grew still paler, and he opened his lips to speak, but paused, seeing Fleda, with a backward look of pity and of horror, draw back into the darkness of her room. He made a motion of passion and despair. His voice was almost shrill when he spoke. "Till that divorce comes, the daughter of the Ry of Rys is mine!" he cried sharply. "I will not give my wife to a Gorgio thief. His hands shall not caress her, his eyes shall not feed upon her--" "His eyes will not feed upon her," interrupted the old man, "So cease the prattle which can alter nothing. Begone." For a moment Jethro Fawe stood like one who did not understand what was said to him, but suddenly a look of triumph and malice came into his face, and his eyes lighted with a reckless fire. He threw back his head, and laughed with a strange, offensive softness. Then, waving a hand to the window from which Fleda had gone, he swung his cap on his head and plunged into the trees. A moment afterwards his voice came back exultingly, through the morning air: "But a Gorgio sleeps 'neath the greenwood tree He'll broach my tan no more: And my love, she sleeps afar from me But near to the churchyard door." As the old man turned heavily towards the house, and opened the outer door, Fleda met him. "What did you mean when you said that Ingolby's eyes would not feed upon me?" she asked in a low tone of fear. A look of compassion came into the old man's face. He took her hand. "Come and I will tell you," he said. CHAPTER XII "LET THERE BE LIGHT" In Ingolby's bedroom, on the night of the business at Barbazon's Tavern, Dr. Rockwell received a shock. His face, naturally colourless, was almost white, and his eyes were moist. He had what the West called nerve. That the crisis through which he had passed was that of a friend's life did not lessen the poignancy of the experience. He had a singularly reserved manner and a rare economy of words; also, he had the refinement and distinction of one who had, oforetime, moved on the higher ranges of social life. He was always simply and comfortably and in a sense fashionably dressed, yet there was nothing of the dude about him, and his black satin tie gave him an air of old-worldishness which somehow compelled an extra amount of respect. This, in spite of the fact that he had been known as one who had left the East and come into the wilds because of a woman not his wife. It was not, however, strictly true to say that he had come West because of a woman, for it was on account of three women, who by sudden coincidence or collusion sprang a situation from which the only relief was flight. In that he took refuge, not because he was a coward, but because it was folly to fight a woman, or three women, and because it was the only real solution of an ungovernable situation. At first he had drifted from one town to another, dissolute and reckless, apparently unable to settle down, or to forget the unwholesome three. But one day there was a terrible railway accident on a construction train, and Lebanon and Manitou made a call upon his skill, and held him in bondage to his profession for one whole month. During this time he performed two operations which the surgeons who had been sent out by the Railway Directors at Montreal declared were masterpieces. When that month was up he was a changed man, and he opened an office in Lebanon. Men trusted him despite his past, and women learned that there was never a moment when his pulses beat unevenly in their presence. Nathan Rockwell had had his lesson and it was not necessary to learn it again. To him, woman, save as a subject of his skill, was a closed book. He regarded them as he regarded himself, with a kindly cynicism. He never forgot that his own trouble could and would have been avoided had it not been for woman's vanity and consequent cruelty. The unwholesome three had shared his moral lapse with wide-open eyes, and were in no sense victims of his; but, disregarding their responsibility, they had, from sheer jealousy, wrecked his past, and, to their own surprise, had wrecked themselves as well. They were of those who act first and then think--too late. Thus it was that both men and women called Rockwell a handsome man, but thought of him as having only a crater of exhausted fires in place of a heart. They came to him with their troubles--even the women of Manitou who ought to have gone to the priest. He moved about Lebanon as one who had authority, and desired not to use it; as one to whom life was like a case in surgery to be treated with scientific, coolness, with humanity, but not with undue sympathy; yet the early morning of the day after Ingolby had had his accident at Barbazon's Hotel found him the slave of an emotion which shook him from head to foot. He had saved his friend's life by a most skilful operation, but he had been shocked beyond control when, an hour after the operation was over, and consciousness returned to the patient in the brilliantly lighted room, Ingolby said: "Why don't you turn on the light?" It was thus Rockwell knew that the Master Man, the friend of Lebanon and Manitou, was stone blind. When Ingolby's voice ceased, a horrified silence filled the room for a moment. Even Jim Beadle, his servant, standing at the foot of the bed, clapped a hand to his mouth to stop a cry, and the nurse turned as white as the apron she wore. Dumbfounded as Rockwell was, with instant professional presence of mind he said: "No, Ingolby, you must be kept in darkness a while yet." Then he whipped out a silk handkerchief from his pocket. "We will have light," he continued, "but we must bandage you first to keep out the glare and prevent pain. The nerves of the eyes have been injured." Hastily and tenderly he bound the handkerchief round the sightless eyes. Having done so, he said to the nurse with unintentional quotation from the Gospel of St. John, and a sad irony: "Let there be light." It all gave him time to pull himself together and prepare for the moment when he must tell Ingolby the truth. In one sense the sooner it was told the better, lest Ingolby should suddenly discover it for himself. Surprise and shock must be avoided. So now he talked in his low, soothing voice, telling Ingolby that the operation had put him out of danger, that the pain now felt came chiefly from the nerves of the eye, and that quiet and darkness were necessary. He insisted on Ingolby keeping silent, and he gave a mild opiate which induced several hours' sleep. During this time Rockwell prepared himself for the ordeal which must be passed as soon as possible; gave all needed directions, and had a conference with the assistant Chief Constable to whom he confided the truth. He suggested plans for preserving order in excited Lebanon, which was determined to revenge itself on Manitou; and he gave some careful and specific instructions to Jowett the horse-dealer. Also, he had conferred with Gabriel Druse, who had helped bear the injured man to his own home. He had noted with admiration the strange gentleness of the giant Romany as he, alone, carried Ingolby in his arms, and laid him on the bed from which he was to rise with all that he had fought for overthrown, himself the blind victim of a hard fate. He had noticed the old man straighten himself with a spring and stand as though petrified when Ingolby said: "Why don't you turn on the light?" As he looked round in that instant of ghastly silence he had observed almost mechanically that the old man's lips were murmuring something. Then the thought of Fleda Druse shot into Rockwell's mind, and it harassed him during the hours Ingolby slept, and after the giant Gipsy had taken his departure just before the dawn. "I'm afraid it will mean more there than anywhere else," he said sadly to himself. "There was evidently something between those two; and she isn't the kind to take it philosophically. Poor girl! Poor girl! It's a bitter dose, if there was anything in it," he added. He watched beside the sick-bed till the dawn stared in and his patient stirred and waked, then he took Ingolby's hand, grown a little cooler, in both his own. "How are you feeling, old man?" he asked cheerfully. "You've had a good sleep-nearly three and a half hours. Is the pain in the head less?" "Better, Sawbones, better," Ingolby replied cheerfully. "They've loosened the tie that binds--begad, it did stretch the nerves. I had gripes of colic once, but the pain I had in my head was twenty times worse, till you gave the opiate." "That's the eyes," said Rockwell. "I had to lift a bit of bone, and the eyes saw it and felt it, and cried out-shrieked, you might say. They've got a sensitiveness all their own, have the eyes." "It's odd there aren't more accidents to them," answered Ingolby--"just a little ball of iridescent pulp with strings tied to the brain." "And what hurts the head may destroy the eyes sometimes," Rockwell answered cautiously. "We know so little of the delicate union between them, that we can't be sure we can put the eyes right again when, because of some blow to the head, the ricochet puts the eyes out of commission." "That's what's the matter with me, then?" asked Ingolby, feeling the bandage on his eyes feverishly, and stirring in his bed with a sense of weariness. "Yes, the ricochet got them, and has put them out of commission," replied Rockwell, carefully dwelling upon each word, and giving a note of meaning to his tone. Ingolby raised himself in bed, but Rockwell gently forced him down again. "Will my eyes have to be kept bandaged long? Shall I have to give up work for any length of time?" Ingolby asked. "Longer than you'll like," was the enigmatical reply. "It's the devil's own business," was the weary answer. "Every minute's valuable to me now. I ought to be on deck morning, noon, and night. There's all the trouble between the two towns; there's the strike on hand; there's that business of the Orange funeral, and more than all a thousand times, there's--" he paused. He was going to say, "There's that devil Marchand's designs on my bridge," but he thought better of it and stopped. It had been his intention to deal with Marchand directly, to get a settlement of their differences without resort to the law, to prevent the criminal act without deepening a feud which might keep the two towns apart for years. Bad as Marchand was, to prevent his crime was far better than punishing him for it afterwards. To have Marchand arrested for conspiracy to commit a crime was a business which would gravely interfere with his freedom of motion in the near future, would create complications which might cripple his own purposes in indirect ways. That was why he had declared to Jowett that even Felix Marchand had his price, and that he would try negotiations first. But what troubled him now, as he lay with eyes bandaged and a knowledge that to-morrow was the day fixed for the destruction of the bridge, was his own incapacity. It was unlikely that his head or his eyes would be right by to-morrow, or that Rockwell would allow him to get up. He felt in his own mind that the injury he had received was a serious one, and that the lucky horseshoe had done Maxchand's work for him all too well. This thought shook him. Rockwell could see his chest heave with an excitement gravely injurious to his condition; yet he must be told the worst, or the shock of discovery by himself that he was blind might give him brain fever. Rockwell felt that he must hasten the crisis. "Rockwell," Ingolby suddenly asked, "is there any chance of my discarding this and getting out to-morrow?" He touched the handkerchief round his eyes. "It doesn't matter about the head bandages, but the eyes--can't I slough the wraps to-morrow? I feel scarcely any pain now." "Yes, you can get rid of the bandages to-morrow--you can get rid of them to-day, if you really wish," Rockwell answered, closing in on the last defence. "But I don't mind being in the dark to-day if it'll make me fitter for to-morrow and get me right sooner. I'm not a fool. There's too much carelessness about such things. People often don't give themselves a chance to get right by being in too big a hurry. So, keep me in darkness to-day, if you want to, old man. For a hustler I'm not in too big a hurry, you see. I'm for holding back to get a bigger jump." "You can't be in a big hurry, even if you want to, Ingolby," rejoined Rockwell, gripping the wrist of the sick man, and leaning over him. Ingolby grew suddenly very still. It was as though vague fear had seized him and held him in a vice. "What is it? What do you want to say to me?" he asked in a low, nerveless tone. "You've been hit hard, Chief. The ricochet has done you up for some time. The head will soon get well, but I'm far from sure about your eyes. You've got to have a specialist about them. You're in the dark, and as for making you see, so am I. Your eyes and you are out of commission for some time, anyhow." He leaned over hastily, but softly and deftly undid the bandages over the eyes and took them off. "It's seven in the morning, and the sun's up, Chief, but it doesn't do you much good, you see." The last two words were the purest accident, but it was a strange, mournful irony, and Rockwell flushed at the thought of it. He saw Ingolby's face turn grey, and then become white as death itself. "I see," came from the bluish-white lips, as the stricken man made call on all the will and vital strength in him. For a long minute Rockwell held the cold hand in the grasp of one who loves and grieves, but even so the physician and surgeon in him were uppermost, as they should be, in the hour when his friend was standing on the brink of despair, maybe of catastrophe irremediable. He did not say a word yet, however. In such moments the vocal are dumb and the blind see. Ingolby heaved himself in the bed and threw up his arms, wresting them from Rockwell's grasp. "My God--oh, my God-blind!" he cried in agony. Rockwell drew the head with the sightless eyes to his shoulder. For a moment he laid one hand on the heart, that, suddenly still, now went leaping under his fingers. "Steady," he said firmly. "Steady. It may be only temporary. Keep your head up to the storm. We'll have a specialist, and you must not get mired till then. Steady, Chief." "Chief! Chief!" murmured Ingolby. "Dear God, what a chief! I risked everything, and I've lost everything by my own vanity. Barbazon's--the horseshoe--among the wolves, just to show I could do things better than any one else--as if I had the patent for setting the world right. And now--now--" The thought of the bridge, of Marchand's devilish design, shot into his mind, and once more he was shaken. "The bridge! Blind! Mother!" he called in a voice twisted in an agony which only those can feel to whom life's purposes are even more than life itself. Then, with a moan, he became unconscious, and his head rolled over against Rockwell's cheek. The damp of his brow was as the damp of death as Rockwell's lips touched it. "Old boy, old boy!" Rockwell said tenderly, "I wish it had been me instead. Life means so much to you--and so little to me. I've seen too much, and you've only just begun to see." Laying him gently down, Rockwell summoned the nurse and Jim Beadle and spoke to them in low tones. "He knows now, and it has hit him hard, but not so hard that he won't stiffen to it. It might have been worse." He gave instructions as to the care that should be taken, and replaced the bandages on the eyes. It was, however, long before Ingolby was restored to consciousness, and when it came, Rockwell put to his lips a cooling drink containing a powerful opiate. Ingolby drank it without protest and in silence. He was like one whose sense of life was automatic and of an inner rather than an outer understanding. But when he lay back on the pillow again, he said slowly: "I want the Chief Constable to come here to-night at eight o'clock. It will be dark then. He must come. It is important. Will you see to it, Rockwell?" He thrust out a hand as though to find Rockwell's, and there was a gratitude and an appeal in the pressure of his fingers which went to Rockwell's heart. "All right, Chief. I'll have him here," Rockwell answered briskly, but with tears standing in his eyes. Ingolby had, as it were, been stricken out of the active, sentient, companionable world into a world where he was alone, detached, solitary. His being seemed suspended in an atmosphere of misery and helplessness. "Blind! I am blind!" That was the phrase which kept beating with the pulses in Ingolby's veins, that throbbed, and throbbed, and throbbed like engines in a creaking ship which the storm was shaking and pounding in the vast seas between the worlds. Here was the one incomprehensible, stupefying fact: nothing else mattered. Every plan he had ever had, every design which he had made his own by an originality that even his foes acknowledged, were passing before his brain in swift procession, shining, magnified, and magnificent, and in that sudden clear-seeing of his soul he beheld their full value, their exact concrete force and ultimate effect. Yet he knew himself detached from them, inactive, incapable, because he could not see with the eyes of the body. The great essential thing to him was that one thing he had lost. A man might be a cripple and still direct the great concerns of life and the business of life. He might be shorn of limb and scarred of body, but with eye sight still direct the courses of great schemes, in whatever sphere of life his purposes were at work. He might be deaf to every sound and forever dumb, but seeing enabled him still to carry forward every enterprise. In darkness, however, those things were naught, because judgment must depend on the eyes and senses of others. The report might be true or false, the deputy might deceive, and his blind chief might never know the truth unless some other spectator of his schemes should report it; and the truth could not surely be checked, save by some one, perhaps, whose life was joined to his, by one that truly loved him, whose fate was his. His brain was afire. By one that truly loved him! Who was there that loved him? Who was there at one with him in all his deep designs, in all he had done and meant to do? Neither brother, nor sister, nor friend, nor any other. None of his blood was there who could share with him the constructive work he had set out to do. There was no friend whose fate was part of his own. There was the Boss Doctor: but Rockwell was tied to his own responsibilities, and he could not give up, of course, would not give up his life to the schemes of another. There were a dozen men whom he had helped to forge ahead by his own schemes, but their destinies were not linked with his. Only one whose life was linked with his could be trusted to be his eyes, to be the true reporter of all he did, had done, or planned to do. Only one who loved him. But even one who loved him could not carry through his incompleted work against the assaults of his enemies, who were powerful, watchful, astute, and merciless; who had a greed which set money higher than all else in the world. They were of the new order of things in the New World. The business of life was to them not a system of barter and exchange, a giving something of value to get something of value, with a margin of profit for each, and a sense of human equity behind; it was a cockpit where one man sought to get what another man had--and get it almost anyhow. It was the work of the faro-bank man, whose sleight of hand deceived the man that carried the gun. All the old humanity and good-fellowship of the trader, the man who exchanged, as it was in the olden days of the world and continued in greater or less degree till the present generation--all that was gone. It was held in contempt. It had prevailed when men were open robbers and filibusters and warriors, giving their lives, if need be, to get what they wanted, making force their god. It had triumphed over the violence and robbery of the open road until the dying years of one century and the young years of a new century. Then the day of the trickster came--and men laughed at the idea of fair exchange and strove to give an illusive value for a thing of real value--the remorseless sleight of hand which the law could not reach. The desire to get profit by honest toiling was dying down to ashes. Against such men had Ingolby worked--the tricksters, the manipulators. At the basis of his schemes was organization and the economy which concentrated and conserved energy begets, together with its profit. He had been the enemy of waste, the apostle of frugality and thrift; and it was that which had enabled him, in his short career, to win the confidence of the big men behind him in Montreal, to make good every step of the way. He had worked for profit out of legitimate product and industry and enterprise, out of the elimination of waste. It was his theory (and his practice) that no bit of old iron, no bolt or screw, no scrap of paper should be thrown away; that the cinders of the engines could and should be utilized for that which they would make; and that was why there was a paper-mill and foundry on the Sagalac at Manitou. That was why and how, so far, he had beaten the tricksters. But while his schemes flashed before his mind, as the opiate suspended him in the middle heaven between sleep and waking, the tricksters and manipulators came hurrying after him like marauders that waited for the moment when they could rush the camp in the watches of the night. His disordered imagination saw the ruin and wreck of his work, the seizure of what was his own--the place of control on his railways, the place of the Master Man who cared infinitely more to see his designs accomplished than for the profit they would bring to himself. Yesterday he had been just at the top of the hill. The key in his fingers was turning in the lock which would make safe the securities of his life and career, when it snapped, and the world grew dark as the black curtain fell and shut out the lighted room from the wayfarer in the gloom. Then, it was, came the opaque blackness which could be felt, and his voice calling in despair: "Blind! I am blind!" He did not know that he had taken an opiate, that his friend had mercifully atrophied his rebellious nerves. These visions he was seeing were terribly true, but they somehow gave him no physical torture. It was as though one saw an operation performed upon one's body with the nerves stilled and deadened by ether. Yet he was cruelly conscious of the disaster which had come to him. For a time at least. Then his mind seemed less acute, the visions came, then without seeing them go, they went. And others came in broken patches, shreds, and dreams, phantasmagoria of the brain, and at last all were mingled and confused; but as they passed they seemed to burn his sight. How he longed for a cool bandage over his eyes, for a soft linen which would shut out the cumuli of broken hopes and designs, life's goals obliterated! He had had enough of the black procession of futile things. His longing was not denied, for even as he roused himself from the oblivion coming on him, as though by a last effort to remember his dire misfortune, maybe his everlasting tragedy, something soothing and soft like linen dipped in dew was laid upon his forehead. A cool, delicious hand covered his eyes caressingly; a voice from spheres so far away that worlds were the echoing points of the sound, came whispering to him like a stir of wings in a singing grove. With a last effort to remain in the waking world, he raised his head so very little, but fell gently back again with one sighing word on his lips: "Fleda!" It was no illusion. Fleda had come from her own night of trouble to his motherless, wifeless home, and would not be denied admittance by the nurse. It was Jim Beadle who admitted her. "He'd be mad if he knew we wouldn't let her come," Jim had said to the nurse. It was Fleda who had warned Ingolby of the dangers that surrounded him --the physical as well as business dangers. She came now to serve the blind victim of that Fate which she had seen hovering over him. The renegade daughter of the Romanys, as Jethro Fawe had called her, was, for the first time, in the house of her master Gorgio. CHAPTER XIII THE CHAIN OF THE PAST For once in its career, Lebanon was absolutely united. The blow that had brought down the Master Man had also struck the town between the eyes, and there was no one--friend or foe of Ingolby--who did not regard it as an insult and a challenge. It was now known that the roughs of Manitou, led by the big river-driver, were about to start on a raid upon Lebanon and upon Ingolby at the very moment the horseshoe did its work. All night there were groups of men waiting outside Ingolby's house. They were of all classes-carters, railway workers, bartenders, lawyers, engineers, bankers, accountants, merchants, ranchmen, carpenters, insurance agents, manufacturers, millers, horse-dealers, and so on. Some prayed for Ingolby's life, others swore viciously; and those who swore had no contempt for those who prayed, while those who prayed were tolerant of those who swore. It was a union of incongruous elements. Men who had nothing in common were one in the spirit of faction; and all were determined that the Orangeman, whose funeral was fixed for this memorable Saturday, should be carried safely to his grave. Civic pride had almost become civic fanaticism in Lebanon. One of the men beaten by Ingolby in the recent struggle for control of the railways said to the others shivering in the grey dawn: "They were bound to get him in the back. They're dagos, the lot of 'em. Skunks are skunks, even when you skin 'em." When, just before dawn, old Gabriel Druse issued from the house into which he had carried Ingolby the night before, they questioned him eagerly. He had been a figure apart from both Lebanon and Manitou, and they did not regard him as a dago, particularly as it was more than whispered that Ingolby "had a lien" on his daughter. In the grey light, with his long grizzled beard and iron-grey, shaggy hair, Druse looked like a mystic figure of the days when the gods moved among men like mortals. His great height, vast proportions, and silent ways gave him a place apart, and added to the superstitious feeling by which he was surrounded. "How is he?" they asked whisperingly, as they crowded round him. "The danger is over," was the slow, heavy reply. He will live, but he has bad days to face." "What was the danger?" they asked. "Fever--maybe brain fever," he replied. "We'll see him through," someone said. "Well, he cannot see himself through," rejoined the old man solemnly. The enigmatical words made them feel there was something behind. "Why can't he see himself through?" asked Osterhaut the universal, who had just arrived from the City Hall. "He can't see himself through because he is blind," was the heavy answer. There was a moment of shock, of hushed surprise, and then a voice burst forth: "Blind--they've blinded him, boys! The dagos have killed his sight. He's blind, boys!" A profane and angry muttering ran through the crowd, who were thirsty, hungry, and weary with watching. Osterhaut held up the horseshoe which had brought Ingolby down. "Here it is, the thing that done it. It's tied with a blue ribbon-for luck," he added ironically. "It's got his blood on it. I'm keeping it till Manitou's paid the price of it. Then I'll give it to Lebanon for keeps." "That's the thing that did it, but where's the man behind the thing?" snarled a voice. Again there was a moment's silence, and then Billy Kyle, the veteran stage-driver, said: "He's in the jug, but a gaol has doors, and doors'll open with or without keys. I'm for opening the door, boys." "What for?" asked a man who knew the answer, but who wanted the thing said. "I spent four years in Arizona, same as Jowett," Billy Kyle answered, "and I got in the way of thinking as they do there, and acting just as quick as you think. I drove stage down in the Verde Valley. Sometimes there wasn't time to bring a prisoner all the way to a judge and jury, and people was busy, and hadn't time to wait for the wagon; so they done what was right, and there was always a tree that would carry that kind o' fruit for the sake of humanity. It's the best way, boys." "This isn't Arizona or any other lyncher's country," said Halliday, the lawyer, making his way to the front. "It isn't the law, and in this country it's the law that counts. It's the Gover'ment's right to attend to that drunken dago that threw the horseshoe, and we've got to let the Gover'ment do it. No lynching on my plate, thank you. If Ingolby could speak to us, you can bet your boots it's what he'd say." "What's your opinion, boss?" asked Billy Kyle of Gabriel Druse, who had stood listening, his chin on his breast, his sombre eyes fixed on them abstractedly. At Kyle's question his eyes lighted up with a fire that was struck from a flint in other spheres, and he answered: "It is for the ruler to take life, not the subject. If it is a man that rules, it is for him; if it is the law that rules, it is for the law. Here, it is the law. Then it is not for the subject, and it is not for you." "If he was your son?" asked Billy Kyle. "If he was my son, I should be the ruler, not the law," was the grim, enigmatic reply, and the old man stalked away from them towards the bridge. "I'd bet he'd settle the dago's hash that done to his son what the Manitou dagos done to Ingolby--and settle it quick," remarked Lick Farrelly, the tinsmith. "I bet he's been a ruler or something somewhere," remarked Billy Kyle. "I bet I'm going home to breakfast," interposed Halliday, the lawyer. "There's a straight day's work before us, gentlemen," he added, "and we can't do anything here. Orangemen, let's hoof it." Twenty Orangemen stepped out from the crowd. Halliday was a past master of their lodge, and they all meant what he meant. They marched away in procession--to breakfast and to a meeting of the lodge. Others straggled after, but a few waited for the appearance of the doctor. When the sun came up and Rockwell, pale and downcast, issued forth, they gathered round him, and walked with him through the town, questioning, listening and threatening. A few still remained behind at Ingolby's house. They were of the devoted slaves of Ingolby who would follow him to the gates of Hades and back again, or not back if need be. The nigger barber, Berry, was one; another was the Jack-of-all-trades, Osterhaut, a kind of municipal odd-man, with the well-known red hair, the face that constantly needed shaving, the blue serge shirt with a scarf for a collar, the suit of canvas in the summer and of Irish frieze in the winter; the pair of hands which were always in his own pocket, never in any one else's; the grey eye, doglike in its mildness, and the long nose which gave him the name of Snorty. Of the same devoted class also was Jowett who, on a higher plane, was as wise and discerning a scout as any leader ever had. While old Berry and Osterhaut and all the others were waiting at Ingolby's house, Jowett was scouting among the Manitou roughs for the Chief Constable of Lebanon, to find out what was forward. What he had found was not reassuring, because Manitou, conscious of being in the wrong, realized that Lebanon would try to make her understand her wrong- doing; and that was intolerable. It was clear to Jowett that, in spite of all, there would be trouble at the Orange funeral, and that the threatened strike would take place at the same time in spite of Ingolby's catastrophe. Already in the early morning revengeful spirits from Lebanon had invaded the outer portions of Manitou and had taken satisfaction out of an equal number of "Dogans," as they called the Roman Catholic labourers, one of whom was carried to the hospital with an elbow out of joint and a badly injured back. With as much information as he needed, Jowett made his way back to Lebanon, when, at the approach to the bridge, he met Fleda hurrying with bent head and pale, distressed face in his own direction. Of all Western men none had a better appreciation of the sex that takes its toll of every traveller after his kind than Aaron Jowett. He had been a real buck in his day among those of his own class, and though the storm of his romances had become but a faint stirring of leaves which had tinges of days that are sear, he still had an eye unmatched for female beauty. The sun which makes that northern land a paradise in summer caught the gold- brown hair of Gabriel Druse's daughter, and made it glint and shine. It coquetted with the umber of her eyes and they grew luminous as a jewel; it struck lightly across the pale russet of her cheek and made it like an apple that one's lips touch lovingly, when one calls it "too good to eat." It made an atmosphere of half-silver and half-gold with a touch of sunrise crimson for her to walk in, translating her form into melting lines of grace. Jowett knew that Druse's daughter was on her way to the man who had looked once, looked twice, looked thrice into her eyes and had seen there his own image; and that she had done the same; and that the man, it might be, would never look into their dark depths again. He might speak once, he might speak twice, he might speak thrice, but would it ever be the same as the look that needed no words? When he crossed Fleda Druse's pathway she stopped short. She knew that Jowett was Ingolby's true friend. She had seen him often, and he was intimately associated with that day when she had run the Carillon Rapids and had lain (for how long she never dared to think) in Ingolby's arms in the sight of all the world. First among those who crowded round her at Carillon that day were Jowett and Osterhaut, who had tried to warn her. "You are going to him?" she said now with confidence in her eyes, and by the intimacy of the phrase (as though she could speak of Ingolby only as him) their own understanding was complete. "To see how he is and then to do other things," Jowett answered. There was silence for a moment in which they moved slowly forward, and then she said: "You were at Barbazon's last night?" "When that Gipsy son of a dog gave him away!" he assented. "I never heard anything like the speech Ingolby made. He had them in the throat. The Gipsy would have had nothing out of it, if it hadn't been for the horseshoe. But in spite of the giveaway, Ingolby was getting them where they were soft-fairly drugging them with good news. You never heard such dope. My, he was smooth! The golden, velvet truth it was, too. That's the only kind he has in stock; and they were sort of stupefied and locoed as they chewed his word-plant. Cicero must have been a saucy singer of the dictionary, and Paul the Apostle had a dope of his own you couldn't buy, but the gay gamut that Ingolby run gives them all the cold good- bye." She held herself very still as he spoke. There was, however, a strange, lonely look in her eyes. The man lying asleep in the darkness of body and mind yonder was not really her lover, for he had said no word direct of love to her, and she knew him so little, how could she love him? Yet there was something between them which had its authority over their lives, overcoming even that maiden modesty which was in contrast to the bold, physical thing she had done in running the Carillon Rapids those centuries ago when she was young and glad-wistfully glad. So much had come since that day, she had travelled so far on the highway of Fate, that she looked back from peak to peak of happening to an almost invisible horizon. So much had occurred and she felt so old this morning; and yet there was in her heart the undefined feeling that she must keep her radiant Spring of life for the blind Gorgio if he needed it-if he needed it. Would he need it, robbed of sight and with his life- work murdered? She shuddered as she thought of what it meant to him. If a man is to work, he must have eyes to see. Yet what had she to do with it, after all? She had no right to go to him even as she was going. Yet had she not the right of common humanity? This Gorgio was her friend. Did not the world know that he had saved her life? As they came to the Lebanon end of the bridge, Fleda turned to Jowett and, commenting on his description of the scene at Barbazon, said: "He is a great man, but he trusts too much and risks too much. That was no place for him." "Big men like him think they can do anything," Jowett replied, a little ironically, subtly trying to force a confession of her preference for Ingolby. He succeeded. Her eye lighted with indignation. She herself might challenge him, but she would not allow another to do so. "It is not the truth," she rejoined sharply. "He does not measure himself against the world so. He is like--like a child," she added. "It seems to me all big men are like that," Jowett rejoined; "and he's the biggest man the West has seen. He knows about every man's business as though it was his own. I can get a margin off most any man in the West on a horse-trade, but I'd look shy about doing a trade with him. You can't dope a horse so he won't know. He's on to it, sees it-sees it like as if it was in glass. Sees anything and everything, and--" He stopped short. The Master Gorgio could no longer see, and his henchman flushed like a girl at his "break"; though, as a horse-dealer, he had in his time listened without shame to wilder, angrier reproaches than most men living. She glanced at him, saw his confusion, forgave and understood him. "It was not the horseshoe, it was not the Gipsy," she returned. "They did not set it going. It would not have happened but for one man." "Yes, it's Marchand, right enough," answered Jowett, "but we'll get him yet. We'll get him with the branding-iron hot." "That will not put things right if--" she paused, then with a great effort she added: "Does the doctor think he will get it back and that--" She stopped suddenly in an agitation he did not care to see and he turned away his head. "Doctor doesn't know," he answered. "There's got to be an expert. It'll take time before he gets here, but--" he could not help but say it, seeing how great her distress was--"but it's going to come back. I've seen cases--I saw one down on the Border"--how easily he lied!--"just like his. It was blasting that done it--the shock. But the sight come back all right, and quick too--like as I've seen a paralizite get up all at once and walk as though he'd never been locoed. Why, God Almighty don't let men like Ingolby be done like that by reptiles same's Marchand." "You believe in God Almighty?" she said half-wonderingly, yet with gratitude in her tone. "You understand about God?" "I've seen too many things not to try and deal fair with Him and not try to cheat Him," he answered. "I see things lots of times that wasn't ever born on the prairie or in any house. I've seen--I've seen enough," he said abruptly, and stopped. "What have you seen?" she asked eagerly. "Was it good or bad?" "Both," he answered quickly. "I was stalked once--stalked I was by night and often in the open day, by some sickly, loathsome thing, that even made me fight it with my hands--a thing I couldn't see. I used to fire buckshot at it, enough to kill an army, till I near went mad. I was really and truly getting loony. Then I took to prayin' to the best woman I ever knowed. I never had a mother, but she looked after me--my sister, Sara, it was. She brought me up, and then died and left me without anything to hang on to. I didn't know all I'd lost till she was gone. But I guess she knew what I thought of her; for she come back--after I'd prayed till I couldn't see. She come back into my room one night when the cursed 'haunt' was prowling round me, and as plain as I see you, I saw her. 'Be at peace,' she said, and I spoke to her, and said, 'Sara- why, Sara' and she smiled, and went away into nothing--like a bit o' cloud in the sun." He stopped, and was looking straight before him as though he saw a vision. "It went?" she asked breathlessly. "It went like that--" He made a swift, outward gesture. "It went and it never came back; and she didn't either--not ever. My idee is," he added, "that there's evil things that mebbe are the ghost-shapes of living men that want to do us harm; though, mebbe, too, they're the ghost-shapes of men that's dead, but that can't get on Over There. So they try to get back to us here; and they can make life Hell while they're stalking us." "I am sure you are right," she said. She was thinking of the loathsome thing which haunted her room last night. Was it the embodied second self of Jethro Fawe, doing the evil that Jethro Fawe, the visible corporeal man, wished to do? She shuddered, then bent her head and fixed her mind on Ingolby, whose house was not far away. She felt strangely, miserably alone this morning. She was in that fluttering state which follows a girl's discovery that she is a woman, and the feeling dawns that she must complete herself by joining her own life with the life of another. She showed no agitation, but her repression gave an almost statuesque character to her face and figure. The adventurous nature of her early life had given her a power to meet shock and danger with coolness, and though the news of Ingolby's tragedy had seemed to freeze the vital forces in her, and all the world became blank for a moment, she had controlled herself and had set forth to go to him, come what might. As she entered the street where Ingolby lived, she suddenly realized the difficulty before her. She might go to him, but by only one right could she stay and nurse him, and that right she did not possess. He would, she knew, understand her, no matter how the world babbled. Why should the world babble? What woman could have designs upon a blind man? Was not humanity alone sufficient warrant for staying by his side? Yet would he wish it? Suddenly her heart sank; but again she remembered their last parting, and once more she was sure he would be glad to have her with him. It flashed upon her how different it would have been, if he and she had been Romanys, and this thing had happened over there in the far lands she knew so well. Who would have hinted at shame, if she had taken him to her father's tan or gone to his tan and tended him as a man might tend a man? Humanity would have been the only convention; there would have been no sex, no false modesty, no babble, no reproach. If it had been a man as old as the oldest or as young as Jethro Fawe it would have made no difference. As young as Jethro Fawe! Why was it that now she could never think of the lost and abandoned Romany life without thinking also of Jethro Fawe? Why should she hate him, despise him, revolt against him, and yet feel that, as it were by invisible cords, he drew her back to that which she had forsworn, to the Past which dragged at her feet? The Romany was not dead in her; her real struggle was yet to come; and in a vague but prophetic way she realized it. She was not yet one with the settled western world. As they came close to Ingolby's house she heard marching footsteps, and in the near distance she saw fourscore or more men tramping in military order. "Who are they?" she asked of Jowett. "Men that are going to see law and order kept in Lebanon," he answered. CHAPTER XIV SUCH THINGS MAY NOT BE A few hours later Fleda slowly made her way homeward through the woods on the Manitou side of the Sagalac. Leaving Ingolby's house, she had seen men from the ranches and farms and mines beyond Lebanon driving or riding into the town, as though to a fair or fete-day. Word of anticipated troubles had sped through the countryside, and the innate curiosity of a race who greatly love a row brought in sensation-lovers. Some were skimming along in one-horse gigs, a small bag of oats dangling beneath like the pendulum of a great clock. Others were in double or triple- seated light wagons--"democrats" they were called. Women had a bit of colour in their hats or at their throats, and the men had on clean white collars and suits of "store-clothes"--a sign of being on pleasure bent. Young men and girls on rough but serviceable mounts cantered past, laughing and joking, and their loud talking grated on the ear of the girl who had seen a Napoleon in the streets of his Moscow. Presently there crossed her path a gruesomely ugly hearse, with glass sides and cheap imitation ostrich plumes drawn by gorged ravens of horses with egregiously long tails, and driven by an undertaker's assistant, who, with a natural gaiety of soul, displayed an idiotic solemnity by dragging down the corners of the mouth. She turned away in loathing. Her mind fled to a scene far away in the land of the Volga when she was a child, where she had seen buried two men, who had fought for their insulted honour till both had died of their wounds. She remembered the white and red sashes and the gay scarfs worn by the women at the burial, the jackets with great silver buttons worn by the men, and the silver- mounted pistols and bright steel knives in the garish belts. She saw again the bodies of the two gladiators, covered with crimson robes, carried shoulder-high on a soft bed of interlaced branches to the graves beneath the trees. There, covered with flowers and sprigs and evergreens, ribbons and favours, the kindly earth hid them, cloaked for their long sleep, while women wept, and men praised the dead, and went back to the open road again cheerily, as the dead would have them do. If he had died--the man she had just left behind in that torpid sleep which opiates bring--his body would have been carried to his last home in just such a hideous equipage as this hearse. A shiver of revolt went through her frame, and her mind went to him as she had seen him lying between the white sheets of his bed, his hands, as they had lain upon the coverlet, compact of power and grace, knit and muscular and vital--not the hand for a violin but the hand for a sword. As she had laid her hand upon his hot forehead and over his eyes, he had unconsciously spoken her name. That had told her more of what really was between them than she had ever known. In the presence of the catastrophe that must endanger, if not destroy the work he had done, the career he had made, he thought of her, spoke her name. What could she do to prevent his ruin? She must do something, else she had no right to think of him. As though her thoughts had summoned him, she came suddenly upon Felix Marchand at a point where her path resolved itself into two, one leading to Manitou, the other to her own home. There was a malicious glint in the greenish eyes of the dissolute demagogue as he saw her. His hat made a half-circle before it found his head again. "You pay early visits, mademoiselle," he said, his teeth showing rat- like. "And you late ones?" she asked meaningly. "Not so late that I can't get up early to see what's going on," he rejoined in a sour voice. "Is it that those who beat you have to get up early?" she asked ironically. "No one has got up earlier than me lately," he sneered. "All the days are not begun," she remarked calmly. "You have picked up quite an education since you left the road and the tan," he said with the look of one who delivers a smashing blow. "I am not yet educated enough to know how you get other people to commit your crimes for you," she retorted. "Who commits my crimes for me?" His voice was sharp and even anxious. "The man who told you I was once a Gipsy--Jethro Fawe." Her instinct had told her this was so. But had Jethro told all? She thought not. It would need some catastrophe which threw him off his balance to make him speak to a Gorgio of the inner things of Romany life; and child--marriage was one of them. He scoffed. "Once a Gipsy always a Gipsy. Race is race, and you can't put it off and on like--your stocking." He was going to say chemise, but race was race, and vestiges of native French chivalry stayed the gross simile on the lips of the degenerate. Fleda's eyes, however, took on a dark and brooding look which, more than anything else, showed the Romany in her. With a murky flood of resentment rising in her veins, she strove to fight back the half-savage instincts of a bygone life. She felt as though she could willingly sentence this man to death as her father had done Jethro Fawe that very morning. Another thought, however, was working and fighting in her--that Marchand was better as a friend than an enemy; and that while Ingolby's fate was in the balance, while yet the Orange funeral had not taken place and the strikes had not yet come, it might be that he could be won over to Ingolby. Her mind was thus involuntarily reproducing Ingolby's policy, as he had declared it to Jowett and Rockwell. It was to find Felix Marchand's price, and to buy off his enmity--not by money, for Marchand did not need that, but by those other coins of value which are individual to each man's desires, passions and needs. "Once a Frenchman isn't always a Frenchman," she replied coolly, disregarding the coarse insolence of his last utterance. "You yourself do not now swear faith to the tricolour or the fleur-de-lis." He flushed. She had touched a tender nerve. "I am a Frenchman always," he rejoined angrily. "I hate the English. I spit on the English flag." "Yes, I've heard you are an anarchist," she rejoined. "A man with no country and with a flag that belongs to no country--quelle affaire et quelle drolerie!" She laughed. Taken aback in spite of his anger, he stared at her. How good her French accent was! If she would only speak altogether in that beloved language, he could smother much malice. She was beautiful and-- well, who could tell? Ingolby was wounded and blind, maybe for ever, and women are always with the top dog--that was his theory. Perhaps her apparent dislike of him was only a mood. Many women that he had conquered had been just like that. They had begun by disliking him--from Lil Sarnia down--and had ended by being his. This girl would never be his in the way that the others had been, but--who could tell?--perhaps he would think enough of her to marry her? Anyway, it was worth while making such a beauty care for him. The other kind of women were easy enough to get, and it would be a piquant thing to have one irreproachable affaire. He had never had one; he was not sure that any girl or woman he had ever known had ever loved him, and he was certain that he had never loved any girl or woman. To be in love would be a new and piquant experience for him. He did not know love, but he knew what passion was. He had ever been the hunter. This trail might be dangerous, too, but he would take his chances. He had seen her dislike of him whenever they had met in the past, and he had never tried to soften her attitude towards him. He had certainly whistled, but she had not come. Well, he would whistle again--a different tune. "You speak French much?" he asked almost eagerly, the insolence gone from his tone. "Why didn't I know that?" "I speak French in Manitou," she replied, "but nearly all the French speak English there, and so I speak more English than French." "Yes, that's it," he rejoined almost angrily again. "The English will not learn French, will not speak French. They make us learn English, and--" "If you don't like the flag and the country, why don't you leave it?" she interrupted, hardening, though she had meant to try and win him over to Ingolby's side. His eyes blazed. There was something almost real in the man after all. "The English can kill us, they can grind us to the dust," he rejoined in French, "but we will not leave the land which has always been ours. We settled it; our fathers gave their lives for it in a thousand places. The Indians killed them, the rivers and the storms, the plague and the fire, the sickness and the cold wiped them out. They were burned alive at the stake, they were flayed; their bones were broken to pieces by stones--but they blazed trails with their blood in the wilderness from New Orleans to Hudson's Bay. They paid for the land with their lives. Then the English came and took it, and since that time--one hundred and fifty years--we have been slaves." "You do not look like a slave," she answered, "and you have not acted like a slave. If you were to do the things in France that you've done here, you wouldn't be free as you are to-day." "What have I done?" he asked darkly. "You were the cause of what happened at Barbazon's last night,"--he smiled evilly--"you are egging on the roughs to break up the Orange funeral to-day; and there is all the rest you know so well." "What is the rest I know so well?" He looked closely at her, his long, mongrel eyes half-closing with covert scrutiny. "Whatever it is, it is all bad and it is all yours." "Not all," he retorted coolly. "You forget your Gipsy friend. He did his part last night, and he's still free." They had entered the last little stretch of wood in which her home lay, and she slackened her footsteps slightly. She felt that she had been unwise in challenging him; that she ought to try persistently to win him over. It was repugnant to her, still it must be done even yet. She mastered herself for Ingolby's sake and changed her tactics. "As you glory in what you have done, you won't mind being responsible for all that's happened," she replied in a more friendly tone. She made an impulsive gesture towards him. "You have shown what power you have--isn't that enough?" she asked. "You have made the crowd shout, 'Vive Marchand !' You can make everything as peaceful as it is now upset. If you don't do so, there will be much misery. If peace must be got by force, then the force of government will get it in the end. You have the gift of getting hold of the worst men here, and you have done it; but won't you now master them again in the other way? You have money and brains; why not use them to become a leader of those who will win at last, no matter what the game may be?" He came close to her. She shrank inwardly, but she did not move. His greenish eyes were wide open in the fulness of eloquence and desire. "You have a tongue like none I ever heard," he said impulsively. "You've got a mind that thinks, you've got dash and can take risks. You took risks that day on the Carillon Rapids. It was only the day before that I'd met you by the old ford of the Sagalac, and made up to you. You choked me off as though I was a wolf or a devil on the loose. The next day when I saw Ingolby hand you out to the crowd from his arms, I got nasty--I have fits like that sometimes, when I've had a little too much liquor. I felt it more because you're the only kind of woman that could ever get a real hold on me. It was you made me get the boys rampaging and set the toughs moving. As you say, I can get hold of a crowd. It's not hard--with money and drink. You can buy human nature cheap. Every man has his price they say--and every woman too--bien sur! The thing is to find out what is the price, and then how to buy. You can't buy everyone in the same way, even if you use a different price. You've got to find out how they want the price--whether it's to be handed over the counter, so to speak, or to be kept on the window-sill, or left in a pocket, or dropped in a path, or dug up like a potato, with a funny make- believe that fools nobody, but just plays to the hypocrite in everyone everywhere. I'm saying this to you because you've seen more of the world, I bet, than one in a million, even though you're so young. I don't see why we can't come together. I'm to be bought. I don't say that my price isn't high. You've got your price, too. You wouldn't fuss yourself about things here in Manitou and Lebanon, if there wasn't something you wanted to get. Tout ca! Well, isn't it worth while making the bargain? You've got such gift of speech that I'm just as if I'd been drugged, and all round, face, figure, eyes, hair, foot, and girdle, you're worth giving up a lot for. I've seen plenty of your sex, and I've heard crowds of them talk, but they never had anything for me beyond the minute. You've got the real thing. You're my fancy. You've been thinking and dreaming of Ingolby. He's done. He's a back number. There's nothing he's done that isn't on the tumble since last night. The financial gang that he downed are out already against him. They'll have his economic blood. He made a splash while he was at it, but the alligator's got him. It's 'Exit Ingolby,' now." She made a passionate gesture, and seemed about to speak, but he went on: "No, don't say anything. I know how you feel. You've had your face turned his way, and you can't look elsewhere all at once. But Time cures quick, if you're a good healthy human being. Ingolby was the kind likely to draw a girl. He's a six-footer and over; he spangled a lot, and he smiled pretty--comme le printemps, and was sharp enough to keep clear of women that could hurt him. That was his strongest point after all, for a little, sly sprat of a woman that's made eyes at you and led you on, till you sent her a note in a hurry some time with some loose hot words in it, and she got what she'd wanted, will make you pay a hundred times for the goods you get. Ingolby was sharp enough to walk shy, until you came his way, and then he lost his underpinning. But last night got him in the vitals--hit him between the eyes; and his stock's not worth ten cents in the dollar to-day. But though the pumas are out, and he's done, and'll never see his way out of the hole he's in"--he laughed at his grisly joke"--it's natural to let him down easy. You've looked his way; he did you a good turn at the Carillon Rapids, and you'd do one for him if you could. I'm the only one can stop the worst from happening. You want to pay your debt to him. Good. I can help you do it. I can stop the strikes on the railways and in the mills. I can stop the row at the Orange funeral. I can stop the run on his bank and the drop in his stock. I can fight the gang that's against him--I know how. I'm the man that can bring things to pass." He paused with a sly, mean smile of self-approval and conceit, and his tongue licked the corners of his mouth in a way that drunkards have in the early morning when the effect of last night's drinking has worn off. He spread out his hands with the air of a man who had unpacked his soul, but the chief characteristic of his manner was egregious belief in himself. At first, in her desire to find a way to meet the needs of Ingolby, Fleda had listened to him with fortitude and even without revolt. But as he began to speak of women, and to refer to herself with a look of gloating which men of his breed cannot hide, her angry pulses beat hard. She did not quite know where he was leading, but she was sure he meant to say something which would vex her beyond bearing. At one moment she meant to cut short his narrative, but he prevented her, and when at last he ended, she was almost choking with agitation. It had been borne in upon her as his monologue proceeded, that she would rather die than accept anything from this man--anything of any kind. To fight him was the only thing. Nothing else could prevail in the end. His was the service of the unpenitent thief. "And what is it you want to buy from me?" she asked evenly. He did not notice, and he could not realize that ominous thing in her voice and face. "I want to be friends with you. I want to see you here in the woods, to meet you as you met Ingolby. I want to talk with you, to hear you talk; to learn things from you I never learned before; to--" She interrupted him with a swift gesture. "And then--after that? What do you want at the end of it all? One cannot spend one's time talking and wandering in the woods and teaching and learning. After that, what?" "I have a house in Montreal," he said evasively. "I don't want to live there alone." He laughed. "It's big enough for two, and at the end it might be us two, if--" With sharp anger, yet with coolness and dignity, she broke in on his words. "Might be us two!" she exclaimed. "I have never thought of making my home in a sewer. Do you think--but, no, it isn't any use talking! You don't know how to deal with man or woman. You are perverted." "I did not mean what you mean; I meant that I should want to marry you," he protested. "You think the worst of me. Someone has poisoned your mind against me." "Everyone has poisoned my mind against you," she returned, "and yourself most of all. I know you will try to injure Mr. Ingolby; and I know that you will try to injure me; but you will not succeed." She turned and moved away from him quickly, taking the path towards her own front door. He called something after her, but she did not or would not hear. As she entered the open space in front of the house, she heard footsteps behind her and turned quickly, not without apprehension. A woman came hurrying towards her. She was pale, agitated, haggard with fatigue. "May I speak with you?" she asked in French. "Surely," replied Fleda. CHAPTER XV THE WOMAN FROM WIND RIVER "What is it?" asked Fleda, opening the door of the house. "I want to speak to you about m'sieu'," replied the sad-faced woman. She made a motion of her head backwards towards the wood. "About M'sieu' Marchand." Fleda's face hardened; she had had more than enough of "M'sieu' Marchand." She was bitterly ashamed that she had, even for a moment, thought of using diplomacy with him. But this woman's face was so forlorn, apart, and lonely, that the old spirit of the Open Road worked its will. In far-off days she had never seen a human being turned away from a Romany tent, or driven from a Romany camp. She opened the door and stood aside to admit the wayfarer. A few moments later, the woman, tidied and freshened, sat at the ample breakfast which was characteristic of Romany home-life. The woman's plate was bountifully supplied by Fleda, and her cup filled more than once by Madame Bulteel, while old Gabriel Druse bulked friendly over all. His face now showed none of the passion and sternness which had been present when he passed the Sentence of the Patrin upon Jethro Fawe; nothing of the gloom filling his eyes as he left Ingolby's house. The gracious, bountiful look of the patriarch, of the head of the clan, was upon him. The husband of one wife, the father of one child, yet the Ry of Rys had still the overlooking, protective sense of one who had the care of great numbers of people. His keen eyes foresaw more of the story the woman was to tell presently than either of the women of his household. He had seen many such women as this, and had inflexibly judged between them and those who had wronged them. "Where have you come from?" he asked, as the meal drew to a close. "From Wind River and under Elk Mountain," the woman answered with a look of relief. Her face was of those who no longer can bear the soul's secrets. There was silence while the breakfast things were cleared away, and the window was thrown wide to the full morning sun. It broke through the branches of pine and cedar and juniper; it made translucent the leaves of the maples; it shimmered on Fleda's brown hair as she pulled a rose from the bush at the window, and gave it to the forlorn creature in the grey "linsey-woolsey" dress and the loose blue flannel jacket, whose skin was coarsened by outdoor life, but who had something of real beauty in the intense blue of her eyes. She had been a very comely figure in her best days, for her waist was small, her bosom gently and firmly rounded, and her hands were finer than those of most who live and work much in the open air. "You said there was something you wished to tell me," said Fleda, at last. The woman gazed slowly round at the three, as though with puzzled appeal. There was the look of the Outlander in her face; of one who had been exiled from familiar things and places. In manner she was like a child. Her glance wandered over the faces of the two women, then her eyes met those of the Ry, and stayed there. "I am old and I have seen many sorrows," said Gabriel Druse, divining what was in her mind. "I will try to understand." "I have known all the bitterness of life," interposed the low, soft voice of Madame Bulteel. "All ears are the same here," Fleda added, looking the woman in the eyes. "I will tell everything," was the instant reply. Her fingers twined and untwined in her lap with a nervousness shown by neither face nor body. Her face was almost apathetic in its despair, but her body had an upright courage. She sighed heavily and began. "My name is Arabella Stone. I was married from my home over against Wind River by the Jumping Sandhills. "My father was a lumberman. He was always captain of the gang in the woods, and captain of the river in the summer. My mother was deaf and dumb. It was very lonely at times when my father was away. I loved a boy--a good boy, and he was killed breaking horses. When I was twenty- one years old my mother died. It was not good for me to be alone, my father said, so he must either give up the woods and the river, or he or I must marry. Well, I saw he would not marry, for my mother's face was one a man could not forget." The old man stirred in his seat. "I have seen such," he said in his deep voice. "So it was I said to myself I would marry," she continued, "though I had loved the Boy that died under the hoofs of the black stallion. There weren't many girls at the Jumping Sandhills, and so there were men, now one, now another, to say things to me which did not touch my heart; but I did not laugh, because I understood that they were lonely. Yet I liked one of them more than all the others. "So, for my father's sake, I came nearer to Dennis, and at last it seemed I could bear to look at him any time of the day or night he came to me. He was built like a pine-tree, and had a playful tongue, and also he was a ranchman like the Boy that was gone. It all came about on the day he rode in from the range the wild wicked black stallion which all range- riders had tried for years to capture. It was like a brother of the horse which had killed my Boy, only bigger. When Dennis mastered him and rode him to my door I made up my mind, and when he whispered to me over the dipper of buttermilk I gave him, I said, 'Yes.' I was proud of him. He did things that a woman likes, and said the things a woman loves to hear, though they be the same thing said over and over again." Madame Bulteel nodded her head as though in a dream, and the Ry of Rys sat with his two great hands on the chair-arm and his chin dropped on his chest. Fleda's hands were clasped in her lap, and her big eyes never left the woman's face. "Before a month was gone I had married him," the, low, tired voice went on. "It was a gay wedding; and my father was very happy, for he thought I had got the desire of a woman's life--a home of her own. For a time all went well. Dennis was gay and careless and wilful, but he was easy to live with, too, except when he came back from the town where he sold his horses. Then he was different, because of the drink, and he was quarrelsome with me--and cruel, too. "At last when he came home with the drink upon him, he would sleep on the floor and not beside me. This wore upon my heart. I thought that if I could only put my hand on his shoulder and whisper in his ear, he would get better of his bad feeling; but he was sulky, and he would not bear with me. Though I never loved him as I loved my Boy, still I tried to be a good wife to him, and never turned my eyes to any other man." Suddenly she stopped as though the pain of speaking was too great. Madame Bulteel murmured something, but the only word that reached the ears of the others was the Arabic word 'mafish'. Her pale face was suffused as she said it. Two or three times the woman essayed to speak again, but could not. At last, however, she overcame her emotion and said: "So it was when M'sieu' Felix Marchand came up from the Sagalac." The old man started and muttered harshly, but Fleda had foreseen the entrance of the dissolute Frenchman into the tale, and gave no sign of surprise. "M'sieu' Marchand bought horses," the sad voice trailed on. "One day he bought the mining-claims Dennis had been holding till he could develop them or sell them for good money. When Dennis went to town again he brought me back a present of a belt with silver clasps; but yet again that night he slept upon the floor alone. So it went on. M. Marchand, he goes on to the mountains and comes back; and he buys more horses, and Dennis takes them to Yargo, and M. Marchand goes with him, but comes back before Dennis does. It was then M'sieu' begun to talk to me; to say things that soothe a woman when she is hurt. I knew now Dennis did not want me as when he first married me. He was that kind of man--quick to care and quicker to forget. He was weak, he could not fasten where he stood. It pleased him to be gay and friendly with me when he was sober, but there was nothing behind it--nothing, nothing at all. At last I began to cry when I thought of it, for it went on and on, and I was too much alone. I looked at myself in the glass, and I saw I was not old or lean. I sang in the trees beside the brook, and my voice was even a little better than in the days when Dennis first came to my father's house. I looked to my cooking, and I knew that it was as good as ever. I thought of my clothes, and how I did my hair, and asked myself if I was as fresh to see as when Dennis first came to me. I could see no difference. There was a clear pool not far away under the little hills where the springs came together. I used to bathe in it every morning and dry myself in the sun; and my body was like a child's. That being so, should my own man turn his head away from me day or night? What had I done to be used so, less than two years after I had married!" She paused and hung her head, weeping gently. "Shame stings a woman like nothing else," Madame Bulteel said with a sigh. "It was so with me," continued Dennis's wife. "Then at last the thought came that there was another woman. And all the time M. Marchand kept coming and going, at first when Dennis was there, and always with some good reason for coming--horses, cattle, shooting, or furs bought of the Indians. When Dennis was not there, he came at first for an hour or two, as if by chance, then for a whole day, because he said he knew I was lonely. One day, I was sitting by the pool--it was in the evening. I was crying because of the thought that followed me of another woman somewhere, who made Dennis turn from me. Then it was M'sieu' came and put a hand on my shoulder--he came so quietly that I did not hear him till he touched me. He said he knew why I cried, and it saddened his soul." "His soul--the jackal!" growled the old man in his beard. The woman nodded wearily and went on. "For all of ten days I had been alone, except for the cattlemen camping a mile away and an old Indian helper who slept in his tepee within call. Loneliness makes you weak when there's something tearing at the heart. So I let M'sieu' Marchand talk to me. At last he told me that there was a woman at Yargo--that Dennis did not go there for business, but to her. Everyone knew it except me, he said. He told me to ask old Throw Hard, the Indian helper, if he had spoken the truth. I was shamed, and angry and crazy, too, I think, so I went to old Throw Hard and asked him. He said he could not tell the truth, and that he would not lie to me. So I knew it was all true. "How do I know what was in my mind? Is a woman not mad at such a time! There I was, tossed aside for a flyaway, who was for any man that would come her way. Yes, I think I was mad. The pride in me was hurt--as only a woman can understand." She paused and looked at the two women who listened to her. Fleda's eyes were on the world beyond the window of the room. "Surely we understand," whispered Madame Bulteel. The woman's courage returned, and she continued: "I could not go to my father, for he was riding the river scores of miles away. I was terribly alone. It was then that M'sieu' Marchand, who had bribed the woman to draw Dennis away, begged me to go away with him. He swore I should marry him as soon as I could be free of Dennis. I scarcely knew what I said or thought; but the place I had loved was hateful to me, so I went away with him." A sharp, pained exclamation broke from the lips of Madame Bulteel, but presently she reached out and laid a hand upon the woman's arm. "Of course you went with him," she said. "You could not stay where you were and face the return of Dennis. There was no child to keep you, and the man that tempted you said he adored you?" The woman looked gratefully at her. "That was what he said," she answered. "He said he was tired of wandering, and that he wanted a home- and there was a big house in Montreal." She stopped suddenly upon an angry, smothered word from Fleda's lips. A big house in Montreal! Fleda's first impulse was to break in upon the woman's story and tell her father what had happened just now outside their own house; but she waited. "Yes, there was a big house in Montreal?" said Fleda, her eyes now resting sadly upon the woman. "He said it should be mine. But that did not count. To be far away from all that had been was more than all else. I was not thinking of the man, or caring for him, I was flying from my shame. I did not see then the shame to which I was going. I was a fool, and I was mad and bad also. When I waked--and it was soon--there was quick understanding between us. The big house in Montreal--that was never meant for me. He was already married." The old man stretched heavily to his feet, leaned both hands on the table, and looked at the woman with glowering eyes, while Fleda's heart seemed to stop beating. "Married!" growled Gabriel Druse, with a blur of passion in his voice. He knew that Felix Marchand had followed his daughter as though he were a single man. Fleda saw what was working in his mind. Since her father suspected, he should know all. "He almost offered me the big house in Montreal this morning," she said evenly and coldly. A malediction broke from the old man's lips. "He almost thought he wanted me to marry him," Fleda added scornfully. "And what did you say?" Druse asked. "There could only be one thing to say. I told him I had never thought of making my home in a sewer." A grim smile broke over the old man's face, and he sat down again. "Because I saw him with you I wanted to warn you," the woman continued. "Yesterday, I came to warn him of his danger, and he laughed at me. From Madame Thibadeau I heard he had said he would make you sing his song. When I came to tell you, there he was with you. But when he left you I was sure there was no need to speak. Still I felt I must tell you-- perhaps because you are rich and strong, and will stop him from doing more harm." "How do you know we are rich?" asked Druse in a rough tone. "It is what the world says," was the reply. "Is there harm in that? In any case it was right to tell you all; so that one who had herded with a woman like me should not be friends with you." "I have seen worse women than you," murmured the old man. "What danger did you come to warn M. Marchand about?" asked Fleda. "To his life," answered the woman. "Do you want to save his life?" asked the old man. "Ah, is it not always so?" intervened Madame Bulteel in a low, sad voice. "To be wronged like that does not make a woman just." "I am just," answered the woman. "He deserves to die, but I want to save the man that will kill him when they meet." "Who will kill him?" asked Fleda. "Dennis--he will kill Marchand if he can." The old man leaned forward with puzzled, gloomy interest. "Why? Dennis left you for another. You say he had grown cold. Was that not what he wanted--that you should leave him?" The woman looked at him with tearful eyes. "If I had known Dennis better, I should have waited. What he did is of the moment only. A man may fall and rise again, but it is not so with a woman. She thinks and thinks upon the scar that shows where she wounded herself; and she never forgets, and so her life becomes nothing--nothing." No one saw that Madame Bulteel held herself rigidly, and was so white that even the sunlight was gold beside her look. Yet the strangest, saddest smile played about her lips; and presently, as the eyes of the others fastened on the woman and did not leave her, she regained her usual composure. The woman kept looking at Gabriel Druse. "When Dennis found that I had gone, and knew why--for I left word on a sheet of paper--he went mad like me. Trailing to the south, to find M'sieu' Marchand, he had an accident, and was laid up in a shack for weeks on the Tanguishene River, and they could not move him. But at last a ranchman wrote to me, and the letter found me on the very day I left M'sieu'. When I got that letter begging me to go to the Tanguishene River, to nurse Dennis who loved me still, my heart sank. I said to myself I could not go; and Dennis and I must be apart always to the end of time. But then I thought again. He was ill, and his body was as broken as his mind. Well, since I could do his mind no good, I would try to help his body. I could do that much for him. So I went. But the letter to me had been long on the way, and when I got to the Tanguishene River he was almost well." She paused and rocked her body to and fro for a moment as though in pain. "He wanted me to go back to him then. He said he had never cared for the woman at Yargo, and that what he felt for me now was different from what it had ever been. When he had settled accounts we could go back to the ranch and be at peace. I knew what he meant by settling accounts, and it frightened me. That is why I am here. I came to warn the man, Marchand, for if Dennis kills him, then they will hang Dennis. Do you not see? This is a country of law. I saw that Dennis had the madness in his brain, and so I left him again in the evening of the day I found him, and came here--it is a long way. Yesterday, M'sieu' Marchand laughed at me when I warned him. He said he could take care of himself. But such men as Dennis stop at nothing; there will be killing, if M'sieu' stays here." "You will go back to Dennis?" asked Fleda gently. "Some other woman will make him happy when he forgets me," was the cheerless, grey reply. The old man got up and, coming over, laid a hand upon her shoulder. "Where did you think of going from here?" he asked. "Anywhere--I don't know," was the reply. "Is there no work here for her?" he asked, turning to Madame Bulteel. "Yes, plenty," was the reply. "And room also?" he asked again. "Was ever a tent too full, when the lost traveller stumbled into camp in the old days?" rejoined Fleda. The woman trembled to her feet, a glad look in her eyes. "I ought to go, but I am tired and I will gladly stay," she said and swayed against the table. Madame Bulteel and Fleda put their arms round her, steadying her. "This is not the way to act," said Fleda with a touch of sharp reproof. Had she not her own trouble to face? The stricken woman drew herself up and looked Fleda in the eyes. "I will find the right way, if I can," she said with courage. A half-hour later, as the old man sat alone in the room where he had breakfasted, a rifle-shot rang out in the distance. "The trouble begins," he said, as he rose and hastened into the hallway. Another shot rang out. He caught up his wide felt hat, reached for a great walking-stick in the corner, and left the house hurriedly. CHAPTER XVI THE MAYOR FILLS AN OFFICE It was a false alarm which had startled Gabriel Druse, but it had significance. The Orange funeral was not to take place until eleven o'clock, and it was only eight o'clock when the Ry left his home. A rifle-shot had, however, been fired across the Sagalac from the Manitou side, and it had been promptly acknowledged from Lebanon. There was a short pause, and then came another from the Lebanon side. It was merely a warning and a challenge. The only man who could have controlled the position was blind and helpless. As Druse walked rapidly towards the bridge, he met Jowett. Jowett was one of the few men in either town for whom the Ry had regard, and the friendliness had had its origin in Jowett's knowledge of horseflesh. This was a field in which the Ry was himself a master. He had ever been too high-placed among his own people to trade and barter horses except when, sending a score of Romanys on a hunt for wild ponies on the hills of Eastern Europe, he had afterwards sold the tamed herd to the highest bidders in some Balkan town; but he had an infallible eye for a horse. It was a curious anomaly also that the one man in Lebanon who would not have been expected to love and pursue horse-flesh was the Reverend Reuben Tripple to whom Ingolby had given his conge, but who loved a horse as he loved himself. He was indeed a greater expert in horses than in souls. One of the sights of Lebanon had been the appearance in the field of the "Reverend Tripple," who owned a great, raw-boned bay mare of lank proportions, the winner of a certain great trotting-race which had delighted the mockers. For two years Jowett had eyed Mr. Tripple's rawbone with a piratical eye. Though it had won only a single great race, that, in Jowett's view, was its master's fault. As the Arabs say, however, Allah is with the patient; and so it was that on the evening of the day in which Ingolby met disaster, Mr. Tripple informed Jowett that he was willing to sell his rawbone. He was mounted on the gawky roadster when he met Gabriel Druse making for the bridge. Their greeting was as cordial as hasty. Anxious as was the Ry to learn what was going on in the towns, Jowett's mount caught his eye. It was but a little time since they had met at Ingolby's house, and they were both full of the grave events afoot, but here was a horse-deal of consequence, and the bridle-rein was looseflung. "Yes, I got it," said Jowett, with a chuckle, interpreting the old man's look. "I got it for good--a wonder from Wonderville. Damned queer- looking critter, but there, I guess we know what I've got. Outside like a crinoline, inside like a pair of ankles of the Lady Jane Plantagenet. Yes, I got it, Mr. Druse, got it dead-on!" "How?" asked the Ry, feeling the clean fetlocks with affectionate approval. "He's off East, so he says," was the joyous reply; "sudden but sure, and I dunno why. Anyway, he's got the door-handle offered, and he's off without his camel." He stroked the neck of the bay lovingly. "How much?" Jowett held up his fingers. The old man lifted his eyebrows quizzically. "That-h'm! Does he preach as well as that?" he asked. Jowett chuckled. "He knows the horse-country better than the New Jerusalem, I guess; and I wasn't off my feed, nor hadn't lost my head neither. I wanted that dust-hawk, and he knew it; but I got in on him with the harness and the sulky. The bridle he got from a Mexican that come up here a year ago, and went broke and then went dead; and there being no padre, Tripple did the burying, and he took the bridle as his fee, I s'pose. It had twenty dollars' worth of silver on it--look at these conchs." He trifled with the big beautiful buttons on the head-stall. "The sulky's as good as new, and so's the harness almost; and there's the nose-bag and the blankets, and a saddle and a monkey-wrench and two bottles of horse-liniment, and odds and ends. I only paid that"--and he held up his fingers again as though it was a sacred rite--"for the lot. Not bad, I want to say. Isn't he good for all day, this one?" The old man nodded, then turned towards the bridge. "The gun-shots-- what?" he asked, setting forward at a walk which taxed the rawbone's stride. "An invite--come to the wedding; that's all. Only it's a funeral this time, and, if something good doesn't happen, there'll be more than one funeral on the Sagalac to-morrow. I've had my try, but I dunno how it'll come out. He's not a man of much dictionary is the Monseenoor." "The Monseigneur Lourde? What does he say?" "He says what we all say, that he is sorry. 'But why have the Orange funeral while things are as they are?' he says, and he asks for the red flag not to be shook in the face of the bull." "That is not the talk of a fool, as most priests are," growled the other. "Sure. But it wants a real wind-warbler to make them see it in Lebanon. They've got the needle. They'll pray to-day with the taste of blood in their mouths. It's gone too far. Only a miracle can keep things right. The Mayor has wired for the mounted police--our own battalion of militia wouldn't serve, and there'd be no use ordering them out--but the Riders can't get here in time. The train's due the very time the funeral's to start, but that train's always late, though they say the ingine-driver is an Orangeman! And the funeral will start at the time fixed, or I don't know the boys that belong to the lodge. So it's up to We, Us & Co. to see the thing through, or go bust. It don't suit me. It wouldn't have been like this, if it hadn't been for what happened to the Chief last night. There's no holding the boys in. One thing's sure, the Gipsy that give Ingolby away has got to lie low if he hasn't got away, or there'll be one less of his tribe to eat the juicy hedgehog. Yes, sir-ee!" To the last words of Jowett the Ry seemed to pay no attention, though his lips shut tight and a menacing look came into his eyes. They were now upon the bridge, and could see what was forward on both sides of the Sagalac. There was unusual bustle and activity in the streets and on the river-bank of both towns. It was noticeable also that though the mills were running in Manitou, there were fewer chimneys smoking, and far more men in the streets than usual. Tied up to the Manitou shore were a half- dozen cribs or rafts of timber which should be floating eastward down the Sagalac. "If the Monseenoor can't, or don't, step in, we're bound for a shindy over a corpse," continued Jowett after a moment. "Can the Monseigneur cast a spell over them all?" remarked the Ry ironically, for he had little faith in priests, though he had for this particular one great respect. "He's a big man, that preelate," answered Jowett quickly and forcibly. "He kept the Crees quiet when they was going to rise. If they'd got up, there'd have been hundreds of settlers massacreed. He risked his life to do that--went right into the camp in face of levelled rifles, and sat down and begun to talk. A minute afterwards all the chiefs was squatting, too. Then the tussle begun between a man with a soul and a heathen gang that eat dog, kill their old folks, their cripples and their deformed children, and run sticks of wood through their bleeding chests, just to show that they're heathens. But he won out, this Jesueete friend o' man. That's why I'm putting my horses and my land and my pants and my shirt and the buff that's underneath on the little preelate." Gabriel Druse's face did not indicate the same confidence. "It is not an age of miracles; the priest is not enough," he said sceptically. By twos, by threes, by tens, men from Manitou came sauntering across the bridge into Lebanon, until a goodly number were scattered at different points through the town. They seemed to distribute themselves by a preconceived plan, and they were all habitants. There were no Russians, Finns, Swedes, Norwegians, or Germans among them. They were low-browed, sturdy men, dressed in red or blue serge shirts, some with sashes around their waists, some with ear-rings in their ears, some in knee-boots, and some with the heavy spiked boots of the river-driver. None appeared to carry any weapon that would shoot, yet in their belts was the sheath- knife, the invariable equipment of their class. It would have seemed more suspicious if they had not carried them. The railwaymen, miners, carters, mill-hands, however, appeared to carry nothing save their strong arms and hairy hands, and some were as hairy as animals. These backwoodsmen also could, without weapons, turn a town into a general hospital. In battle they fought not only with hands but also with teeth and hoofs like wild stallions. Teeth tore off an ear or sliced away a nose, hands smote like hammers or gouged out eyes, and their nailed boots were weapons of as savage a kind as could be invented. They could spring and strike an opponent with one foot in the chest or in the face, and spoil the face for many a day, or for ever. It was a gift of the backwoods and the lumber-camps, practised in hours of stark monotony when the devils which haunt places of isolation devoid of family life, where men herd together like dogs in a kennel, break loose. There the man that dips his fingers "friendly-like" in the dish of his neighbour one minute wants the eye of that neighbour the next not so much in innate or momentary hatred, as in innate savagery and the primeval sense of combat, the war which was in the blood of the first man. The unarmed appearance of these men did not deceive the pioneer folk of Lebanon. To them the time had come when the reactionary forces of Manitou must receive a check. Even those who thought the funeral fanatical and provocative were ready to defend it. The person who liked the whole business least was Rockwell. He was subject to the same weariness of the flesh and fatigue of the spirit as all men; yet it was expected of him that at any hour he should be at the disposal of suffering humanity--of criminal or idiotic humanity--patient, devoted, calm, nervestrung, complete. He was the one person in the community who was the universal necessity, and yet for whom the community had no mercy in its troubles or out of them. There were three doctors in Lebanon, but none was an institution, none had prestige save Rockwell, and he often wished that he had less prestige, since he cared nothing for popularity. He had made his preparations for possible "accidents" in no happy mood. Fresh from the bedside of Ingolby, having had no sleep, and with many sick people on his list, he inwardly damned the foolishness of both towns. He even sharply rebuked the Mayor, who urged surgical preparations upon him, for not sending sooner to the Government for a force which could preserve order or prevent the procession. It was while he was doing so that Jowett appeared with Gabriel Druse to interview the Mayor. "It's like this," said Jowett. "In another hour the funeral will start. There's a lot of Manitou huskies in Lebanon now, and their feet is loaded, if their guns ain't. They're comin' by driblets, and by-and-bye, when they've all distributed themselves, there'll be a marching column of them from Manitou. It's all arranged to make trouble and break the law. It's the first real organized set-to we've had between the towns, and it'll be nasty. If the preelate doesn't dope them, there'll be pertikler hell to pay." He then gave the story of his visit to Monseigneur Lourde, and the details of what was going forward in Manitou so far as he had learned. Also the ubiquitous Osterhaut had not been idle, and his bulletin had just been handed to Jowett. "There's one thing ought to be done and has got to be done," Jowett added, "if the Monseenoor don't pull if off. The leaders have to be arrested, and it had better be done by one that, in a way, don't belong to either Lebanon or Manitou." The Mayor shook his head. "I don't see how I can authorize Marchand's arrest--not till he breaks the law, in any case." "It's against the law to conspire to break the law," replied Jowett. "You've been making a lot of special constables. Make Mr. Gabriel Druse here a special constable, then if the law's broke, he can have a right to take a hand in." The giant Ry had stood apart, watchful and ruminant, but he now stepped forward, as the Mayor turned to him and stretched out a hand. "I am for peace," the old man said. "To keep the peace the law must be strong." In spite of the gravity of the situation the Mayor smiled. "You wouldn't need much disguise to stand for the law, Mr. Druse," he remarked. "When the law is seven feet high, it stands well up." The Ry did not smile. "Make me the head of the constables, and I will keep the peace," he said. There was a sudden silence. The proposal had come so quietly, and it was so startling, that even the calm Rockwell was taken aback. But his eye and the eye of the Mayor met, and the look in both their faces was the same. "That's bold play," the Mayor said, "but I guess it goes. Yesterday it couldn't be done. To-day it can. The Chief Constable's down with smallpox. Got it from an Injun prisoner days ago. He's been bad for three days, but hung on. Now he's down, and there's no Chief. I was going to act myself, but the trouble was, if anything happened to me, there'd be no head of anything. It's better to have two strings to your bow. It's a go-it's a straight go, Mr. Druse. Seven foot of Chief Constable ought to have its weight with the roughnecks." A look of hopefulness came into his face. This sage, huge, commanding figure would have a good moral effect on the rude elements of disorder. "I'll have you read the Riot Act instead of doing it myself," added the Mayor. "It'll be a good introduction for you, and as you live in Manitou, it'll be a knock-out blow to the toughs. Sometimes one man is as good as a hundred. Come on to the Courthouse with me," he continued cheerfully. "We'll fix the whole thing. All the special constables are waiting there with the regular police. An extra foot on a captain's shoulders is as good as a battery of guns." "You're sure it's according to Hoyle?" asked Jowett quizzically. He was so delighted that he felt he must "make the Mayor show off self," as he put it afterwards. He did not miscalculate; the Mayor rose to his challenge. "I'm boss of this show," he said, "and I can go it alone if necessary when the town's in danger and the law's being hustled. I've had a meeting of the Council and I've got the sailing-orders I want. I'm boss of the place, and Mr. Druse is my--" he stopped, because there was a look in the eyes of the Ry which demanded consideration--"And Mr. Druse is lawboss," he added. The old ineradicable look of command shone in the eyes of Gabriel Druse. Leadership was written all over him. Power spoke in every motion. The square, unbowed shoulders, the heavily lined face, with the patriarchal beard, the gnarled hands, the rough-hewn limbs, the eye of bright, brooding force proclaimed authority. Indeed in that moment there came into the face of the old Nomad the look it had not worn for many a day. The self-exiled ruler had paid a heavy price for his daughter's vow, though he had never acknowledged it to himself. His self-ordained impotency, in a camp that was never moved, within walls which never rose with the sunset and fell with the morning; where his feet trod the same roadway day after day; where no man asked for justice or sought his counsel or fell back on his protection; where he drank from the same spring and tethered his horse in the same paddock from morn to morn: all these things had eaten at his heart and bowed his spirit in spite of himself. He was not now of the Romany world, and he was not of the Gorgio world; but here at last was the old thing come back to him in a new way, and his bones rejoiced. He would entitle his daughter to her place among the Gorgios. Perhaps also it would be given him, in the name of the law, to deal with a man he hated. "We've got Mister Marchand now," said Jowett softly to the old chieftain. The Ry's eyes lighted and his jaw set. He did not speak, but his hands clenched, opened and clenched again. Jowett saw and grinned. "The Mayor and the law-boss'll win out, I guess," he said to himself. CHAPTER XVII THE MONSEIGNEUR AND THE NOMAD Even more than Dr. Rockwell, Berry, the barber, was the most troubled man in Lebanon on the day of the Orange funeral. Berry was a good example of an unreasoning infatuation. The accident which had come to his idol, with the certain fall of his fortunes, hit him so hard, that, for the first time since he became a barber, his razor nipped the flesh of more than one who sat in his red-upholstered chair. In his position, Berry was likely to hear whatever gossip was going. Who shall have perfect self-control with a giant bib under the chin, tipped back on a chair that cannot be regulated, with a face covered by lather, and two plantation fingers holding the nose? In these circumstances, with much diplomacy, Berry corkscrewed his way into confidence, and when he dipped a white cloth in bay-rum and eau-de-cologne, and laid it over the face of the victim, with the finality of a satisfied inquisitor, it was like giving the last smother to human individuality. An artist after his kind, he no sooner got what he wanted than he carefully coaxed his victim away from thoughts of the disclosures into the vague distance of casual gossip once more. Gradually and slowly he shepherded his patient back to the realms of self-respect and individual personality. The border-line was at the point where the fingers of his customer fluttered at a collar-button; for Berry, who realized the power that lies in making a man look ridiculous, never allowed a customer to be shaved or have his hair cut with a collar on. When his customers had corns, off came the boots also, and then Berry's triumph over the white man was complete. To call attention to an exaggerated bunion when the odorous towel lay upon the hidden features of what once was a "human," was the last act in the drama of the Unmaking of Man. Only when the client had felt in his pocket for the price of the flaying, and laid it, with a ten-cent fee, on the ledge beneath the mirror, where all the implements of the inquisition and the restoration were assembled, did he feel manhood restored. If, however, he tried to keep a vow of silence in the chair of execution, he paid a heavy price; for Berry had his own methods of punishment. A little tighter grasp of the nose; a little rougher scrape of the razor, and some sharp, stinging liquid suddenly slapped with a cold palm on the excoriated spot, with the devilish hypocrisy of healing it; a longer smothering-period under the towel, when the corners of it were tucked behind the ears and a crease of it in the mouth-all these soon induced vocal expression again, and Berry started on his inquisition with gentle certainty. When at last he dusted the face with a little fine flour of oatmeal, "to heal the cuticle and 'manoor' the roots," and smelled with content the hands which had embalmed the hair in verbena-scented oil, a man left his presence feeling that he was ready for the wrath to come. Such was Berry when he had under his razor one of Ingolby's business foes of Manitou, who had of late been in touch with Felix Marchand. Both were working for the same end, but with different intentions. Marchand worked with that inherent devilishness which sometimes takes possession of low minds; but the other worked as he would have done against his own brother, for his own business success; and it was his view that one man could only succeed by taking the place of another, as though the Age of Expansion had ceased and the Age of Smother had begun. From this client while in a state of abject subjection, Berry, whose heart was hard that day, but whose diplomacy was impeccable, discovered a thing of moment. There was to be a procession of strikers from two factories in Manitou, who would throw down their tools or leave their machines at a certain moment. Falling into line these strikers would march across the bridge between the towns at such time as would bring them into touch with the line of the Orange funeral--two processions meeting at right angles. If neither procession gave way, the Orange funeral could be broken up, ostensibly not from religious fanaticism, but from the "unhappy accident" of two straight lines colliding. It was a juicy plot; and in a few minutes the Mayor and Gabriel Druse knew of it from the faithful Berry. The bell of the meeting-house began to toll as the Orangeman whose death had caused such commotion was carried to the waiting carriage where he would ride alone. Almost simultaneously with the starting of the gaudy yet sombre Orange cortege, with its yellow scarfs, glaring banners, charcoal plumes and black clothes, the labour procession approached the Manitou end of the Sagalac bridge. The strikers carried only three or four banners, but they had a band of seven pieces, with a drum and a pair of cymbals. With frequent discord, but with much spirit, the Bleaters, as these musicians were called in Lebanon, inspired the steps of the Manitou fanatics and toughs. As they came upon the bridge they were playing a gross paraphrase of The Marseillaise. At the head of the Orange procession was a silver-cornet band which the enterprise of Lebanon had made possible. Its leader was a ne'er-do-well young Welshman, who had been dismissed from leadership after leadership of bands in the East till at last he had drifted into Lebanon. Here, strange to say, he had never been drunk but once; and that was the night before he married the widow of a local publican, who had a nice little block of stock in one of Ingolby's railways, which yielded her seven per cent., and who knew how to handle the citizens of the City of Booze. When she married Tom Straker, her first husband, he drank on an average twenty whiskies a day. She got him down to one; and then he died and had as fine a funeral as a judge. There were those who said that if Tom's whiskies hadn't been cut down so--but there it was: Tom was in the bosom of Abraham, and William Jones, who was never called anything else than Willy Welsh, had been cut down from his unrecorded bibulations to none at all; but he smoked twenty-cent cigars at the ex-widow's expense. To-day Willy Welsh played with heart and courage, "I'm Going Home to Glory," at the head of the Orange procession; for who that has faced such a widow as was his for one whole year could fear the onset of faction fighters! Besides, as the natives of the South Seas will never eat a Chinaman, so a Western man will never kill a musician. Senators, magistrates, sheriffs, police, gamblers, horse-stealers, bankers, and broncho-riders all die unnatural deaths at times, but a musician in the West is immune from all except the hand of Fate. Not one can be spared. Even a tough convicted of cheating at cards, or breaking a boom on a river, has escaped punishment because he played the concertina. The discord and jangle between the two bands was the first collision of this fateful day. While yet there was a space between the two processions, the bands broke into furious contest. It was then that, through the long funeral line, men with hard-set faces came closer up together, and forty, detaching themselves from the well-kept run of marching lodgemen, closed up around the horses and the hearse, making a solid flanking force. At stated intervals also, outside the lodgemen in the lines, were special constables, many of whom had been the stage- drivers, hunters, cattlemen, prospectors, and pioneers of the early days. Most of them had come of good religious stock-Presbyterians, Baptists, Methodists, Unitarians; and though they had little piety, and had never been able to regain the religious customs and habits of their childhood, they "Stood for the Thing the Old Folks stand for." They were in a mood which would tear cotton, as the saying was. There was not one of them but expected that broken heads and bloodshed would be the order of the day, and they were stonily, fearlessly prepared for the worst. Since the appearance of Gabriel Druse on the scene, the feeling had grown that the luck would be with them. When he started at the head of the cortege, they could scarce forbear to cheer. Such a champion in appearance had never been seen in the West, and, the night before, he had proved his right to the title by shaking a knot of toughs into spots of disconcerted humanity. As they approached the crossroads of the bridge, his voice, clear and sonorous, could be heard commanding the Orange band to cease playing. When the head of the funeral procession was opposite the bridge--the band, the hearse, the bodyguard of the hearse--Gabriel Druse stood aside, and took his place at the point where the lines of the two processions would intersect. It was at this moment that the collision came. There were only about sixty feet of space between the two processions, when a voice rang out in a challenge so offensive, that the men of Manitou got their cue for attack without creating it themselves. Every Orangeman of the Lodge of Lebanon afterwards denied that he had raised the cry; and the chances are that every one spoke the truth. It was like Felix Marchand to arrange for just such an episode, and so throw the burden of responsibility on the Orangemen. "To hell with the Pope! To hell with the Pope!" the voice rang out, and it had hardly ceased before the Manitou procession made a rush forward. The apparent leader of the Manitou roughs was a blackbearded man of middle height, who spoke raucously to the crowd behind him. Suddenly a powerful voice rang out. "Halt, in the name of the Queen!" it called. Surprise is the very essence of successful war. The roughs of Manitou had not looked for this. They had foreseen the appearance of the official Chief Constable of Lebanon; they had expected his challenge and warning in the vernacular; but here was something which struck them with consternation --first, the giant of Manitou in the post of command, looking like some berserker; and then the formal reading of that stately document in the name of the Queen. Far back in the minds of every French habitant present was the old monarchical sense. He makes, at worst, a poor anarchist, though he is a good revolutionist; and the French colonials had never been divorced from monarchical France. In the eyes of the most forward of those on the Sagalac bridge, there was a sudden wonderment and confusion. To the dramatic French mind, ceremonial is ever welcome; and for a moment it had them in its grip, as old Gabriel Druse read out in his ringing voice, the trenchant royal summons. It was a strange and dramatic scene--the Orange funeral standing still, garish yet solemn, with hundreds of men, rough and coarse, quiet and refined, dissolute and careless, sober and puritanic, broad and tolerant, sharp and fanatical; the labour procession, polyglot in appearance, but with Gallic features and looseness of dress predominating; excitable, brutish, generous, cruel; without intellect, but with an intelligence which in the lowest was acute, and with temperaments responsive to drama. As Druse read, his eyes now and then flashed, at first he knew not why, to the slim, bearded figure of the apparent leader. At length he caught the feverish eye of the man, and held it for a moment. It was familiar, but it eluded him; he could not place it. He heard, however, Jowett's voice say to him, scarce above a whisper: "It's Felix Marchand, boss!" Jowett also had been puzzled at first by the bearded figure, but it suddenly flashed upon him that the beard and wig were a disguise, that Marchand had resorted to Ingolby's device. It might prove as dangerous a stratagem with him as it had to Ingolby. There was a moment's hesitation after Druse had finished reading--as though the men of Manitou had not quite recovered from their surprise-- then the man with the black beard said something to those nearest him. There was a start forward, and someone cried, "Down with the Orangemen --et bas l'Orange!" Like a well-disciplined battalion the Orangemen rolled up quickly into a compact mass, showing that they had planned their defence well, and the moment was black with danger, when, suddenly, Druse strode forward. Flinging right and left two or three river-drivers, he caught the man with the black beard, snatched him out from among the oncoming crowd, and tore off the black beard and wig. Felix Marchand stood exposed. A cry of fury rang out from the Orangemen behind, and a dozen men rushed forward, but Gabriel Druse acted with the instant decision of a real commander. Seeing that it would be a mistake to arrest Marchand at that moment, he raised the struggling figure of the wrecker above his head and, with Herculean effort, threw him up over the heads of the Frenchmen in front of him. So extraordinary was the sight that, as if fascinated, the crowd before and behind followed the action with staring eyes and tense bodies. The faces of all the contending forces were as concentrated for the instant, as though the sun were falling out of the sky. It was so great a feat, one so much in consonance with the spirit of the frontier world, that gasps of praise broke from both crowds. As though it were a thunderbolt, the Manitou roughs standing where Marchand was like to fall, instead of trying to catch him, broke away from beneath the bundle of falling humanity, and Marchand fell on the dusty cement of the bridge with a dull thud, like a bag of bones. For a moment there was no motion on the part of either procession. Banners drooped and swayed as the men holding them were lost in the excitement. Time had only been gained, however. There was no reason to think that the trouble was over, or that the special constables who had gathered close behind Gabriel Druse would not have to strike heavy blows for the cause of peace. The sudden appearance of a new figure in the narrow, open space between the factions in that momentary paralysis was not a coincidence. It was what Jowett had planned for, the factor for peace in which he most believed. A small, spare man in a scarlet cassock, white chasuble, and black biretta, suddenly stole out from the crowd on the Lebanon side of the bridge, carrying the elements of the Mass. His face was shining white, and in the eyes was an almost unearthly fire. It was the beloved Monseigneur Lourde. Raising the elements before him toward his own people on the bridge, he cried in a high, searching voice: "I prayed with you, I begged you to preserve the peace. Last night I asked you in God's name to give up your disorderly purposes. I thought then I had done my whole duty; but the voice of God has spoken to me. An hour ago I carried the elements to a dying woman here in Lebanon, and gave her peace. As I did so the funeral bell rang out, and it came to me, as though the One above had spoken, that peace would be slain and His name insulted by all of you--by all of you, Catholic and Protestant. God's voice bade me come to you from the bed of one who has gone hence from peace to Peace. In the name of Christ, peace, I say! Peace, in the name of Christ!" He raised the sacred vessel high above his head, so that his eyes looked through the walls of his uplifted arms. "Kneel!" he called in a clear, ringing voice which yet quavered with age. There was an instant's hush, and then great numbers of the crowd in front of him, toughs and wreckers, blasphemers, turbulent ones and evil-livers, yet Catholics all, with the ancient root of the Great Thing in them, sank down; and the banners of the labour societies drooped before the symbol of peace won by sacrifice. Even the Orangemen bared their heads in the presence of that Popery which was anathema to them, which they existed to combat, and had been taught to hate. Some, no doubt, would rather have fought than have had peace at the price; but they could not free their minds from the sacred force which had brought most of the crowd of faction-fighters to their knees. With a wave of the hand, Gabriel Druse ordered the cortege forward, and silently the procession with its yellow banners and its sable, drooping plumes moved on. Once on its way again, Willy Welsh and his silver-cornet band struck up the hymn, "Lead, Kindly Light." It was the one real coincidence of the day that this moving hymn was written by a cardinal of the Catholic Church. It was also an irony that, as the crowd of sullen Frenchmen turned back to Manitou, the train bearing the Mounted Police, for whom the Mayor had sent to the capital, steamed noisily in, and redcoats showed at its windows and on the steps of the cars. The only casualty that the day saw was the broken arm and badly bruised body of Felix Marchand, who was gloomily helped back to his home across the Sagalac. CHAPTER XVIII THE BEACONS There were few lights showing in Lebanon or Manitou; but here and there along the Sagalac was the fading glimmer of a camp-fire, and in Tekewani's reservation one light glowed softly like a star. It came from a finely-made and chased safety-lantern given to Tekewani by the Government, as a symbol of honour for having kept the braves quiet when an Indian and half-breed rising was threatened; and to the powerless chief it had become a token of his authority, the sign of the Great White Mother's approval. By day a spray of eagle's feathers waved over his tepee, but the gleam of the brass lantern every night was like a sentry at the doorway of a monarch. It was a solace to his wounded spirit; it allayed the smart of subjection; made him feel himself a ruler in retirement, even as Gabriel Druse was a self-ordained exile. These two men, representing the primitive nomad life, had been drawn together in friendship. So much so, that to Tekewani alone of all the West, Druse gave his confidence and told his story. It came in the springtime, when the blood of the young bucks was simmering and, the ancient spell was working. There had preceded them generations of hunters who had slain their thousands and their tens of thousands of wild animals and the fowls of the air; had killed their enemies in battle; had seized the comely women of their foes and made them their own. No thrill of the hunter's trail now drew off the overflow of desire. In the days of rising sap, there were only the young maidens or wives of their own tribe to pursue, and it lacked in glory. Also in the springtime, Tekewani himself had his own trials, for in his blood the old medicine stirred. His face turned towards the prairie North and the mountain West where yet remained the hunter's quarry; and he longed to be away with rifle and gun, with his squaw and the papooses trailing after like camp- followers, to eat the fruits of victory. But that could not be; he must remain in the place the Great White Mother had reserved for him; he and his braves must assemble, and draw their rations at the appointed times and seasons, and grunt thanks to those who ruled over them. It was on one of these virginal days, when there was a restless stirring among the young bucks, who smelled the wide waters, the pines and the wild shrubs; who heard the cry of the loon on the lonely lake and the whir of the wild duck's wings, who answered to the phantom cry of ancient war; it was on such a day that the two chiefs opened their hearts to each other. Near to the boscage on a little hill overlooking the great river, Gabriel Druse had come upon Tekewani seated in the pine-dust, rocking to and fro, and chanting a low, sorrowful refrain, with eyes fixed on the setting sun. And the Ry of Rys understood, with the understanding which only those have who live close to the earth, and also near to the heavens of their own gods. He sat down beside the forlorn chief, and in the silence their souls spoke to each other. There swept into the veins of the Romany ruler something of the immitigable sadness of the Indian chief; and, with a sudden premonition that he also was come to the sunset of his life, his big nomad eyes sought the westering rim of the heavens, and his breast heaved. In that hour the two men declared themselves to each other, and Gabriel Druse told Tekewani all that he had hidden from the people of the Sagalac, and was answered in kind. It seemed to them that they were as brothers who were one and who had parted in ages long gone; and having met were to part and disappear once more, beginning still another trail in an endless reincarnation. "Brother," said Tekewani, "it was while there was a bridge of land between the continents at the North that we met. Again I see it. I forgot it, but again I see. There was war, and you went upon one path and I upon another, and we met no more under all the moons till now." "'Dordi', so it was and at such a time," answered the Ry of Rys. "And once more we will follow after the fire-flies which give no light to the safe places but only lead farther into the night." Tekewani rocked to and fro again, muttering to himself, but presently he said: "We eat from the hands of those who have driven away the buffalo, the deer, and the beaver; and the young bucks do naught to earn the joy of women. They are but as lusting sheep, not as the wild-goat that chases its mate over the places of death, till it comes upon her at last, and calls in triumph over her as she kneels at his feet. So it is. Like tame beasts we eat from the hand of the white man, and the white man leaves his own camp where his own women are, and prowls in our camps, so that not even our own women are left to us." It was then that Gabriel Druse learned of the hatred of Tekewani for Felix Marchand, because of what he had done in the reservation, prowling at night like a fox or a coyote in the folds. They parted that hour, believing that the epoch of life in which they were and the fortunes of time which had been or were to come, were but turns of a wheel that still went on turning; and that whatever chanced of good or bad fortune in the one span of being, might be repaired in the next span, or the next, or the next; so, through their creed of reincarnation, taking courage to face the failure of the life they now lived. Not by logic or the teaching of any school had they reached this revelation, but through an inner sense. They were not hopeful and wondering and timid; they were only sure. Their philosophy, their religion, whether heathen or human, was inborn. They had comfort in it and in each other. After that day Gabriel Druse always set a light in his window which burned all night, answering to the lantern-light at the door of Tekewani's home--the lights of exile and of an alliance which had behind it the secret influences of past ages and vanished peoples. There came a night, however, when the light at the door of Tekewani's tepee did not burn. At sunset it was lighted, but long before midnight it was extinguished. Looking out from the doorway of his home (it was the night after the Orange funeral), Gabriel Druse, returned from his new duties at Lebanon, saw no light in the Indian reservation. With anxiety, he set forth in the shine of the moon to visit it. Arrived at the chief's tepee, he saw that the lantern of honour was gone, and waking Tekewani, he brought him out to see. When the old Indian knew his loss, he gave a harsh cry and stooped, and, gathering a handful of dust from the ground, sprinkled it on his head. Then with arms outstretched he cursed the thief who had robbed him of what had been to him like a never-fading mirage, an illusion blinding his eyes to the bitter facts of his condition. To his mind all the troubles come to Lebanon and Manitou had had one source; and now the malign spirit had stretched its hand to spoil those already dispossessed of all but the right to live. One name was upon the lips of both men, as they stood in the moonlight by Tekewani's tepee. "There shall be an end of this," growled the Romany. "I will have my own," said Tekewani, with malediction on the thief who had so shamed him. Black anger was in the heart of Gabriel Druse as he turned again towards his own home, and he was glad of what he had done to Felix Marchand at the Orange funeral. CHAPTER XIX THE KEEPER OF THE BRIDGE "Like the darkness of the grave, which is darkness itself--" Most of those who break out of the zareba of life, who lay violent hands upon themselves, do so with a complete reasoning, which in itself is proof of their insanity. It may be domestic tragedy, or ill-health, or crime, or broken faith, or shame, or insomnia, or betrayed trust-- whatever it is, many a one who suffers from such things, tries to end it all with that deliberation, that strategy, and that cunning which belong only to the abnormal. A mind which has known a score or more of sleepless nights acquires an invincible clearness of its own, seeing an end which is without peradventure. It finds a hundred perfect reasons for not going on, every one of which is in itself sufficient; every one of which knits into the other ninety and nine with inevitable affinity. To the mind of Ingolby came a hundred such reasons for breaking out of life's enclosure, as the effect of the opiate Rockwell had given him wore off, and he regained consciousness. As he did so, someone in the room was telling of that intervention of Gabriel Druse and the Monseigneur at the Orange funeral, which had saved the situation. At first he listened to what was said--it was the nurse talking to Jim Beadle with no sharp perception of the significance of the story; though it slowly pierced the lethargy of his senses, and he turned over in the bed to face the watchers. "What time is it, Jim?" he asked heavily. They told him it was sunset. "Is it quiet in both towns?" he asked after a pause. They told him that it was. "Any telegrams for me?" he asked. There was an instant's hesitation. They had had no instructions on this point, and they hardly knew what to say; but Jim's mind had its own logic, and the truth seemed best to him now. He answered that there were several wires, but that they "didn't amount to nothin'." "Have they been opened?" Ingolby asked with a frown, half-raising himself. It was hard to resign the old masterfulness and self-will. "I'd like to see anybody open 'em 'thout my pe'mision," answered Jim imperiously. "When you's asleep, Chief, I'm awake; and I take care of you' things, same as ever I done. There ain't no wires been opened, and there ain't goin' to be whiles I'm runnin' the show for you." "Open and read them to me," commanded Ingolby. Again Ingolby was conscious of hesitation on Jim's part. Already the acuteness of the blind was possessing him, sharpening the senses left unimpaired. Although Jim moved, presumably, towards the place where the telegrams lay, Ingolby realized that his own authority was being crossed by that of the doctor and the nurse. "You will leave the room for a moment, nurse," he said with a brassy vibration in the voice--a sign of nervous strain. With a smothered protest the nurse left, and Jim stood beside the bed with the telegrams. "Read them to me, Jim," Ingolby repeated irritably. "Be quick." They were not wires which Ingolby should have heard at the time, when his wound was still inflamed, when he was still on the outer circle of that artificial sleep which the opiates had secured. They were from Montreal and New York, and, resolved from their half-hidden suggestion into bare elements, they meant that henceforth others would do the work he had done. They meant, in effect, that save for the few scores of thousand dollars he had made, he was now where he was when he came West. When Jim had finished reading them, Ingolby sank back on the pillows and said quietly: "All right, Jim. Put them in the drawer of the table and I'll answer them to-morrow. I want to get a little more sleep, so give me a drink, and then leave me alone--both nurse and you--till I ring the bell. There's a bell on the table, isn't there?" He stretched out a hand towards the table beside the bed, and Jim softly pushed the bell under his fingers. "That's right," he added. "Now, I'm not to be disturbed unless the doctor comes. I'm all right, and I want to be alone and quiet. No one at all in the room is what I want. You understand, Jim?" "My head's just as good to get at what you want as ever it was, and you goin' have what you want, I guess, while I'm on deck," was Jim's reply. Jim put a glass of water into his hand. He drank very slowly, was indeed only mechanically conscious that he was drinking, for his mind was far away. After he had put the glass down, Jim still stood beside the bed, looking at him. "Why don't you go, as I tell you, Jim?" Ingolby asked wearily. "I'm goin'"--Jim tucked the bedclothes in carefully--"I'm goin', but, boss, I jes' want to say dat dis thing goin' to come out all right bime- by. There ain't no doubt 'bout dat. You goin' see everything, come jes' like what you want--suh!" Ingolby did not reply. He held out his hand, and black fingers shot over and took it. A moment later the blind man was alone in the room. The light of day vanished, and the stars came out. There was no moon, but it was one of those nights of the West when millions of stars glimmer in the blue vault above, and every planet and every star and cluster of stars are so near that it might almost seem they could be caught by an expert human hand. The air was very still, and a mantle of peace was spread over the tender scene. The window and the glass doors that gave from Ingolby's room upon the veranda on the south side of the house, were open, and the air was warm as in Midsummer. Now and then the note of a night-bird broke the stillness, but nothing more. It was such a night as Ingolby loved; it was such a night as often found him out in the restful gloom of the trees, thinking and brooding, planning, revelling in memories of books he had read, and in dreaming of books he might write-if there were time. Such a night insulated the dark moods which possessed him occasionally almost as effectively as fishing did; and that was saying much. But the darkest mood of all his days was upon him now. When Rockwell came, soon after Jim and the nurse left him, he simulated sleep, for he had no mind to talk; and the doctor, deceived by his even breathing, had left, contented. At last he was wholly alone with his own thoughts, as he desired. From the moment Jim had read him the wires, which were the real revelation of the situation to which he had come, he had been travelling hard on the road leading to a cul-de-sac, from which there was no egress save by breaking through the wall. Never, it might have seemed, had his mind been clearer, but it was a clearness belonging to the abnormal. It was a straight line of thought which, in its intensity, gathered all other thoughts into its wake, reduced them to the control of an obsession. It was borne in on his mind that his day was done, that nothing could right the disorder which had strewn his path with broken hopes and shattered ambitions. No life-work left, no schemes to accomplish, no construction to achieve, no wealth to gain, no public good to be won, no home to be his, no woman, his very own, to be his counsellor and guide in the natural way! As myriad thoughts drove through his brain on this Indian-summer night, they all merged into the one obsession that he could no longer stay. The irresistible logic of the brain stretched to an abnormal tenuity, and an intolerable brightness was with him. He was in the throes of that intense visualization which comes with insomnia, when one is awake yet apart from the waking world, where nothing is really real and nothing normal. He had a call to go hence, and he must go. Minute after minute passed, hours passed, and the fight of the soul to maintain itself against the disordered mind went on. All his past seemed but part of a desert, lonely and barren and strange. In the previous year he had made a journey to Arizona with Jowett, to see some railway construction there, and at a ranch he had visited he came upon some verses which had haunted his mind ever since. They fastened upon his senses now. They were like a lonesome monotone which at length gave calm to his torturing reflections. In his darkness the verses kept repeating themselves: "I heard the desert calling, and my heart stood still There was Winter in my world and in my heart: A breath came from the mesa and a message stirred my will, And my soul and I arose up to depart. I heard the desert calling; and I knew that over there, In an olive-sheltered garden where the mesquite grows, Was a woman of the sunrise, with the starshine in her hair, And a beauty that the almond-blossom blows. In the night-time when the ghost-trees glimmered in the moon, Where the mesa by the watercourse was spanned, Her loveliness enwrapped me like the blessedness of June, And all my life was thrilling in her hand. I hear the desert calling, and my heart stands still; There is Summer in my world and in my heart; A breath comes from the mesa, and a will beyond my will Binds my footsteps as I rise up to depart." This strange, half-mystic song of the mesa and the olive-groves, of the ghost-trees and the moon, kept playing upon his own heated senses like the spray from a cooling stream, and at last it quieted him. The dark spirit of self-destruction loosened its hold. His brain had been strained beyond the normal, almost unconsciously his fingers had fastened on the pistol in the drawer of the table by his bed. It had been there since the day when he had travelled down from Alaska-- loaded as it had been when he had carried it down the southern trail. But as his fingers tightened on the little engine of death, from the words which had been ringing in his brain came the flash of a revelation: ". . . And a will beyond my will Binds my footsteps as I rise up to depart." A will beyond his will! It was as though Fleda's fingers were laid upon his own; as though she whispered in his ear and her breath swept his cheek; as though she was there in the room beside him, making the darkness light, tempering the wind of chastisement to his naked soul. In the overstrain of his nervous system the illusion was powerful. He thought he heard her voice. The pistol slipped from his fingers, and he fell back on the pillow with a sigh. The will beyond his will bound his footsteps. Who can tell? The grim, malign experience of Fleda in her bedroom with the Thing she thought was from beyond the bounds of her own life; the voice that spoke to Ingolby, and the breath that swept over his cheek were, perhaps, as real in a sense as would have been the corporeal presence of Jethro Fawe in one case and of Fleda Druse in the other. It may be that in very truth Fleda Druse's spirit with its poignant solicitude controlled his will as he "rose up to depart." But if it was only an illusion, it was not less a miracle. Some power of suggestion bound his fleeing footsteps, drew him back from the Brink. He slept. Once the nurse came and looked at him and returned to the other room; and twice Jim stole in silently for a moment and retired again to his own chamber. The stars shone in at the doors that opened out from the quiet room into the night, the watch beside the bed ticked on, the fox-terrier which always slept on a mat at the foot of the bed sighed in content, while his master breathed heavily in a sleep full of dreams that hurried past like phantasmagoria--of a hundred things that had been in his life, and that had never been; of people he had known, distorted, ridiculous and tremendous. There were dreams of fiddlers and barbers, of crowds writhing in passion in a room where there was a billiard-table and a lucky horseshoe on the wall. There were dreams that tossed and mingled in one whirlpool vision; and then at last came a dream which was so cruel and clear that it froze his senses. It was the dream of a great bridge over a swiftflowing river; of his own bridge over the Sagalacof that bridge being destroyed by men who crept through the night with dynamite in their hands. With a hoarse, smothered cry he awoke. His eyes opened wide. His heart was beating like a hammer against his side. Only the terrier at his feet heard the muttered agony. With an instinct all its own, it slipped to the floor. It watched its master get out of bed, cross the room and feel for a coat along the wall--an overcoat which he used as a dressing-gown at times. Putting it on hastily, with outstretched hands Ingolby felt his way to the glass doors opening on the veranda. The dog, as though to let him know he was there, rubbed against his legs. Ingolby murmured a soft, unintelligible word, and, in his bare feet, passed out on to the veranda, and from there to the garden and towards the gate at the front of the house. The nurse heard the gate click lightly, but she was only half-awake, and as all was quiet in the next room, she composed herself in her chair again with the vain idea that she was not sleeping. And Jim the faithful one, as though under a narcotic of fate, was snoring softly beside the vacant room. The streets were still. No lights burned anywhere so far as eye could see. But now and then, in the stillness through which the river flowed on, murmuring and rhythmic, there rose the distant sounds of disorderly voices. Ingolby was in a state which was neither sleep nor waking, which was in part delirium, in part oblivion to all things in the world save one--an obsession so complete, that he moved automatically through the street in which he lived towards that which led to the bridge. His terrier, as though realizing exactly what he wished, seemed to guide him by rubbing against his legs, and even pressing hard against them when he was in any danger of losing the middle of the road, or swerving towards a ditch or some obstruction. Only once did they pass any human being, and that was when they came upon a camp of road-builders, where a red light burned, and two men slept in the open by a dying fire. One of them raised his head when Ingolby passed, but being more than half- asleep, and seeing only a man and a dog, thought nothing of it, and dropped back again upon his rough pillow. He was a stranger to Lebanon, and there was little chance of his recognizing Ingolby in the semi- darkness. As they neared the river, Ingolby became deeply agitated. He moved with his hands outstretched. Had it not been for his dog he would probably have walked into the Sagalac; for though he seemed to have an instinct that was extra-natural, he swayed and staggered in the delirium driving him on. There was one dreadful moment when, having swerved from the road leading on to the bridge, he was within a foot of the river-bank. One step farther, and he would have plunged down thirty feet into the stream, to be swept to the Rapids below. But for the first time the terrier made a sound. He gave a whining bark almost human in its meaning, and threw himself at the legs of his master, pushing him backwards and over towards the road leading upon the bridge, as a collie guides sheep. Presently Ingolby felt the floor of the bridge under his feet; and now he hastened on, with outstretched arms and head bent forward, listening intently, the dog trotting beside, with what knowledge working in him Heaven alone knew. The roar of the Rapids below was a sonorous accompaniment to Ingolby's wild thoughts. One thing only he felt, one thing only heard--the men in Barbazon's Tavern saying that the bridge should be blown up on the Saturday night; and this was Saturday night--the night of the day following that of the Orange funeral. He had heard the criminal hireling of Felix Marchand say that it should be done at midnight, and that the explosive should be laid under that part of the bridge which joined the Manitou bank of the Sagalac. As though in very truth he saw with his eyes, he stopped short not far from the point where the bridge joined the land, and stood still, listening. For several minutes he was motionless, intent, as an animal waiting for its foe. At last his newly-sensitive ears heard footsteps approaching and low voices. The footsteps came nearer, the voices, though so low, became more distinct. They were now not fifty feet away, but to the delirious Ingolby they were as near as death had been when his fingers closed on the pistol in his room. He took a step forward, and with passionate voice and arms outstretched, he cried: "You shall not do it-by God, you shall not touch my bridge! I built it. You shall not touch it. Back, you devils-back!" The terrier barked loudly. The two men in the semi-darkness in front of him cowered at the sight of this weird figure holding the bridge they had come to destroy. His words, uttered in so strange and unnatural a voice, shook their nerves. They shrank away from the ghostly form with the outstretched arms. In the minute's pause following on his words, a giant figure suddenly appeared behind the dynamiters. It was the temporary Chief Constable of Lebanon, returning from his visit to Tekewani. He had heard Ingolby's wild words, and he realized the situation. "Ingolby--steady there, Ingolby !" he called. "Steady! Steady! Gabriel Druse is here. It's all right." At the first sound of Druse's voice the two wreckers turned and ran. As they did so, Ingolby's hands fell to his side, and he staggered forward. "Druse--Fleda," he murmured, then swayed, trembled and fell. With words that stuck in his throat Gabriel Druse stooped and lifted him up in his arms. At first he turned towards the bridge, as though to cross over to Lebanon, but the last word Ingolby had uttered rang in his ears, and he carried him away into the trees towards his own house, the faithful terrier following. "Druse--Fleda !" They were the words of one who had suddenly emerged from the obsession of delirium into sanity, and then had fallen into as sudden unconsciousness. "Fleda! Fleda!" called Gabriel Druse outside the door of his house a quarter of an hour later, and her voice in reply was that of one who knew that the feet of Fate were at her threshold. ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS: They think that if a vote's worth having it's worth paying for You never can really overtake a newspaper lie 
5895	----	THE HONOR OF THE BIG SNOWS By JAMES OLIVER CURWOOD Author of "The Danger Trail," "The Courage of Captain Plum," etc. NEW YORK 1911 CHAPTER I THE MUSIC "Listen, John--I hear music--" The words came in a gentle whisper from the woman's lips. One white, thin hand lifted itself weakly to the rough face of the man who was kneeling beside her bed, and the great dark eyes from which he had hidden his own grew luminously bright for a moment, as she whispered again: "John--I hear--music--" A sigh fluttered from her lips. The man's head drooped until it rested very near to her bosom. He felt the quiver of her hand against his cheek, and in its touch there was something which told John Cummins that the end of all life had come for him and for her. His heart beat fiercely, and his great shoulders shook with the agony that was eating at his soul. "Yes, it is the pretty music, my Mélisse," he murmured softly, choking back his sobs. "It is the pretty music in the skies." The hand pressed more tightly against his face. "It's not the music in the skies, John. It is real--REAL music that I hear--" "It's the sky music, my sweet Mélisse! Shall I open the door so that we can hear it better?" The hand slipped from his cheek. Cummins lifted his head, slowly straightening his great shoulders as he looked down upon the white face, from which even the flush of fever was disappearing, as he had seen the pale glow of the northern sun fade before a thickening snow. He stretched his long, gaunt arms straight up to the low roof of the cabin, and for the first time in his life he prayed--prayed to the God who had made for him this world of snow and ice and endless forest very near to the dome of the earth, who had given him this woman, and who was now taking her from him. When he looked again at the woman, her eyes were open, and there glowed in them still the feeble fire of a great love. Her lips, too, pleaded with him in their old, sweet way, which always meant that he was to kiss them, and stroke her hair, and tell her again that she was the most beautiful thing in the whole world. "My Mélisse!" He crushed his face to her, his sobbing breath smothering itself in the soft masses of her hair, while her arms rose weakly and fell around his neck. He heard the quick, gasping struggle for breath within her bosom, and, faintly again, the words: "It--is--the--music--of--my--people!" "It is the music of the angels in the skies, my sweet Mélisse! It is OUR music. I will open the door." The arms had slipped from his shoulders. Gently he ran his rough fingers through the loose glory of the woman's hair, and stroked her face as softly as he might have caressed the cheek of a sleeping child. "I will open the door, Mélisse." His moccasined feet made no sound as he moved across the little room which was their home. At the door he paused and listened; then he opened it, and the floods of the white night poured in upon him as he stood with his eyes turned to where the cold, pale flashes of the aurora were playing over the pole. There came to him the hissing, saddening song of the northern lights--a song of vast, unending loneliness, which they two had come to know as the music of the skies. Beyond that mystery-music there was no sound. To the eyes of John Cummins there was no visible movement of life. And yet he saw signs of it--signs which drew his breath from him in choking gulps, and which sent him out into the night, so that the woman might not hear. It was an hour past midnight at the post, which had the Barren Lands at its back door. It was the hour of deep slumber for its people; but to-night there was no sleep for any of them. Lights burned dimly in the few rough log homes. The company's store was aglow, and the factor's office, a haven for the men of the wilderness, shot one gleaming yellow eye out into the white gloom. The post was awake. It was waiting. It was listening. It was watching. As the woman's door opened, wide and brimful of light, a door of one of the log houses opened, and then another, and out into the night, like dim shadows, trod the moccasined men from the factor's office, and stood there waiting for the word of life or death from John Cummins. In their own fashion these men, who, without knowing it, lived very near to the ways of God, sent mute prayers into the starry heavens that the most beautiful thing in the world might yet be spared to them. It was just two summers before that this beautiful thing had come into Cummins' life, and into the life of the post. Cummins, red-headed, lithe as a cat, big-souled as the eternal mountain of the Crees, and the best of the company's hunters, had brought Mélisse thither as his bride. Seventeen rough hearts had welcomed her. They had assembled about that little cabin in which the light was shining now, speechless in their adoration of this woman who had come among them, their caps in their hands, their faces shining, their eyes shifting before the glorious ones that looked at them and smiled at them as the woman shook their hands, one by one. Perhaps she was not strictly beautiful, as most people judge; but she was beautiful here, four hundred miles beyond civilization. Mukee, the half-Cree, had never seen a white woman, for even the factor's wife was part Chippewayan; and no one of the others went down to the edge of the southern wilderness more than once each twelvemonth or so. Melisse's hair was brown and soft, and it shone with a sunny glory that reached far back into their conception of things dreamed of but never seen. Her eyes were as blue as the early wild flowers that came after the spring floods, and her voice was the sweetest sound that had ever fallen upon their ears. So these men thought when Cummins first brought home his wife, and the masterpiece which each had painted in his soul and brain was never changed. Each week and month added to the deep-toned value of that picture, as the passing of a century might add to a Raphael or a Vandyke. The woman became more human, and less an angel, of course, but that only made her more real, and allowed them to become acquainted with her, to talk with her, and to love her more. There was no thought of wrong, for the devotion of these men was a great, passionless love unhinting of sin. Cummins and his wife accepted it, and added to it when they could, and were the happiest pair in all that vast Northland. The girl--she was scarce more than budding into womanhood--fell happily into the ways of her new life. She did nothing that was elementally unusual, nothing more than any pure woman reared in the love of God and of a home would have done. In her spare hours she began to teach the half-dozen wild little children about the post, and every Sunday she told them wonderful stories out of the Bible. She ministered to the sick, for that was a part of her code of life. Everywhere she carried her glad smile, her cheery greeting, her wistful earnestness, to brighten what seemed to her the sad and lonely lives of these silent men of the North. And she succeeded, not because she was unlike other millions of her kind, but because of the difference between the fortieth degree and the sixtieth--the difference in the viewpoint of men who fought themselves into moral shreds in the big game of life and those who lived a thousand miles nearer to the dome of the earth. A few days before there had come a wonderful event in the history of the company's post. A new life was born into the little cabin of Cummins and his wife. After this the silent, wordless worship of their people was filled with something very near to pathos. Cummins' wife was a mother! She was one of them now, an indissoluble part of their existence--a part of it as truly as the strange lights for ever hovering over the pole, as surely as the countless stars that never left the night skies, as surely as the endless forests and the deep snows! Then had come the sudden change, and the gloom, that brought with it the shadow of death, fell like a pall upon the post, stifling its life, and bringing with it a grief that those who lived there had never known before. There came to them no word from Cummins now. He stood for a moment before his lighted door, and then went back, and the word passed softly from one to another that the most beautiful thing in the world was still living her sweet life in that little cabin at the end of the clearing. "You hear the music in the skies--now, my Mélisse?" whispered the man, kneeling beside her again. "It is very pretty to-night!" "It was not that," repeated the woman. She attempted to stroke his face, but Cummins saw nothing of the effort, for the hand lay all but motionless. He saw nothing of the fading softness that glowed in the big, loving eyes, for his own eyes were blinded by a hot film. And the woman saw nothing of the hot film, so torture was saved them both. But suddenly the woman quivered, and Cummins heard a thrilling sound. "It is the music!" she panted. "John, John, it is--the music--of--my--people!" The man straightened himself, his face turned to the open door. He heard it now! Was it the blessed angels coming for his Mélisse? He rose, a sobbing note in his throat, and went, his arms stretched out, to meet them. He had never heard a sound like that--never in all his life in this endless wilderness. He went from the door out into the night, and, step by step, through the snow toward the black edge of the spruce forest. The sobs fell chokingly from his lips, and his arms were still reaching out to greet this messenger of the God of his beloved; for Cummins was a man of the wild and mannerless ways of a savage world, and he knew not what to make of this sweetness that came to them from out of the depths of the black forest. "My Mélisse! My Mélisse!" he sobbed. A figure came from the shadows, and with the figure came the music, sweet and soft and low. John Cummins stopped and turned his face straight up to the sky. His heart died within him. The music ceased, and when he looked again the figure was close to him, staggering as it walked, and a face white and thin and starved came with it. It was a boy's face. "For the museek of the violon--somet'ing to eat!" he heard, and the thin figure swayed and fell almost into his arms. The voice came weak again. "Thees is Jan--Jan Thoreau--and his violon--" The woman's bloodless face and her great staring dark eyes greeted them as they entered the cabin. As the man knelt beside her again, and lifted her head against his breast, she whispered once more: "It is the--music--of my people--the violin!" John Cummins turned his head. "Play!" he breathed. "Ah, the white angel is seek--ver' seek," murmured Jan, and he drew his bow gently across the strings of his violin. From the instrument there came something so soft and sweet that John Cummins closed his eyes as he held the woman against his breast and listened. Not until he opened them again, and felt a strange chill against his cheek, did he know that his beloved's soul had gone from him on the gentle music of Jan Thoreau's violin. CHAPTER II MUKEE'S STORY For many minutes after the last gentle breath had passed from the woman's lips, Jan Thoreau played softly upon his violin. It was the great, heart-broken sob of John Cummins that stopped him. As tenderly as if she had fallen into a sweet sleep from which he feared to awaken her, the man unclasped his arms and lowered his wife's head to the pillow; and with staring black eyes Jan crushed his violin against his ragged breast and watched him as he smoothed back the shimmering hair and looked long and hungrily into the still, white face. Cummins turned to him, and, in the dim light of the cabin, their eyes met. It was then that Jan Thoreau knew what had happened. He forgot his starvation. He crushed his violin closer, and whispered to himself: "The white angel ees--gone!" Cummins rose from the bedside, slowly, like a man who had suddenly grown old. His moccasined feet dragged as he went to the door. They stumbled when he went out into the pale star-glow of the night. Jan followed, swaying weakly, for the last of his strength had gone in the playing of the violin. Midway in the cabin he paused, and his eyes glowed with a wild, strange grief as he gazed down upon the still face of Cummins' wife, beautiful in death as it had been in life, and with the sweet softness of life still lingering there. Some time, ages and ages ago, he had known such a face, and had felt the great clutching love of it. Something drew him to where John Cummins had knelt, and he fell upon his knees and gazed hungrily and longingly where John Cummins had gazed. His pulse was beating feebly, the weakness of seven days' starvation blurred his eyes, and unconsciously he sank over the bed and one of his thin hands touched the soft sweep of the woman's hair. A stifled cry fell from him as he jerked himself rigidly erect; and as if for the desecration of that touch there was but one way of forgiveness, he drew his violin half to his shoulder, and for a few moments played so softly that none but the spirit of the woman and himself could hear. Cummins had partly closed the door after him; but watchers had seen the opening of it. A door opened here, and another there, and paths of yellow light flashed over the hard-trodden snow as shadowy life came forth to greet what message he brought from the little cabin. Beyond those flashes of light there was no other movement, and no sound. Dark figures stood motionless. The lonely howl of a sledge-dog ended in a wail of pain as some one kicked it into terrified silence. The hollow cough of Mukee's father was smothered in the thick fur of his cap as he thrust his head from his little shack in the edge of the forest. A score of eyes watched Cummins as he came out into the snow, and the rough, loyal hearts of those who looked throbbed in fearful anticipation of the word he might be bringing to them. Sometimes a nation ceases to breathe in the last moments of its dying chief, and the black wings of calamity gather over its people, enshrouding them in a strange gloom and a stranger fear; and so, because the greatest of all tragedies had come into their little world, Cummins' people were speechless in their grief and their waiting for the final word. And when the word came to them at last, and passed from lip to lip, and from one grim, tense face to another, the doors closed again, and the lights went out one by one, until there remained only the yellow eye of the factor's office and the faint glow from the little cabin in which John Cummins knelt with his sobbing face crushed close to that of his dead. There was no one who noticed Jan Thoreau when he came through the door of the factor's office. His coat of caribou-skin was in tatters. His feet thrust themselves from the toes of his moccasins. His face was so thin and white that it shone with the pallor of death from its frame of straight dark hair. His eyes gleamed like black diamonds. The madness of hunger was in him. An hour before, death had been gripping at his throat, when he stumbled upon the lights of the post, That night he would have died in the deep snows. Wrapped in its thick coat of bearskin he clutched his violin to his breast, and sank down in a ragged heap beside the hot stove. His eyes traveled about him in fierce demand. There is no beggary among these strong-souled men of the far North, and Jan's lips did not beg. He unwrapped the bearskin, and whispered: "For the museek of the violon--somet'ing to eat!" He played, even as the words fell from him, but only for a moment--for the bow slipped from his nerveless grip and his head sank forward upon his breast. In the half-Cree's eyes there was something of the wild beauty that gleamed in Jan's. For an instant those eyes had met in the savage recognition of blood; and when Jan's head fell weakly, and his violin slipped to the floor, Mukee lifted him in his strong arms and carried him to the shack in the edge of the spruce and balsam. And there was no one who noticed Jan the next day--except Mukee. He was fed. His frozen blood grew warm. As life returned, he felt more and more the pall of gloom that had settled over this spark of life in the heart of the wilderness. He had seen the woman, in life and in death, and he, too, loved her and grieved that she was no more. He said nothing; he asked nothing; but he saw the spirit of adoration in the sad, tense faces of the men. He saw it in the terror-stricken eyes of the wild little children who had grown to worship Cummins' wife. He read it in the slinking stillness of the dogs, in the terrible, pulseless quiet that had settled about him. It was not hard for Jan to understand, for he, too, worshiped the memory of a white, sweet face like the one that he had seen in the cabin. He knew that this worship at Lac Bain was a pure worship, for the honor of the big snows was a part of his soul. It was his religion, and the religion of these others who lived four hundred miles or more from a southern settlement. It meant what civilization could not understand--freezing and slow starvation rather than theft, and respect for the tenth commandment above all other things. It meant that up here, under the cold chill of the northern skies, things were as God meant them to be, and that a few of His creatures could live in a love that was neither possession nor sin. A year after Cummins brought his wife into the North, a man came to the post from Fort Churchill, on Hudson's Bay. He was an Englishman, belonging to the home office of the Hudson's Bay Company in London. He brought with him something new, as the woman had brought something new; only in this instance it was an element of life which Cummins' people could not understand. It breathed of tragedy from the first, to the men of the post. To the Englishman, on the other hand, it promised to be but an incident--a passing adventure in pleasure. Here again was that difference of viewpoint--the eternity of difference between the middle and the end of the earth. Cummins was away for a month on a trap-line that went into the Barren Lands. At these times the woman fell as a heritage to those who remained, and they watched over her as a parent might guard its child. Yet the keenest eyes would not have perceived that this was so. With Cummins gone, the tragedy progressed swiftly toward finality. The Englishman came from among women. For months he had been in a torment of desolation. Cummins' wife was to him like a flower suddenly come to relieve the tantalizing barrenness of a desert; and with the wiles and ways of civilization he sought to breathe its fragrance. In the days and weeks that followed, he talked a great deal, when heated by the warmth of the box stove and by his own thoughts; and this was because he had not yet measured the hearts of Cummins' people. And because the woman knew nothing of what was said about the box stove, she continued in the even course of her pure life, neither resisting nor encouraging the new-comer, yet ever tempting him with that sweetness which she gave to all alike. As yet there was no suspicion in her soul. She accepted the Englishman's friendship, for he was a stranger among her people. She did not hear the false note, she saw no step that promised evil. Only the men at the post heard, and saw, and understood. Like so many faithful beasts, they were ready to spring, to rend flesh, to tear life out of him who threatened the desecration of all that was good and pure and beautiful to them; and yet, dumb in their devotion and faith, they waited and watched for a sign from the woman. The blue eyes of Cummins' wife, the words of her gentle lips, the touch of her hands, had made law at the post. If she smiled upon the stranger and talked with him, and was pleased with him, that was only one other law that she had made for them to respect. So they were quiet, evaded the Englishman as much as possible, and watched--always watched. One day something happened. Cummins' wife came into the company's store; and a quick flush shot into her cheeks, and the glitter of blue diamonds into her eyes, when she saw the stranger standing there. The man's red face grew redder, and he shifted his gaze. When Cummins' wife passed him, she drew her skirt close to her; and there was the poise of a queen in her head, the glory of wife and womanhood, the living, breathing essence of all that was beautiful in her people's honor of the big snows. That night Mukee, the half-Cree, slunk around in the edge of the forest to see that all was well in Cummins' little home. Once Mukee had suffered a lynx-bite that went clear to the bone, and the woman had saved his hand. After that, the savage in him was enslaved to her like an invisible spirit. He crouched for a few minutes in the snow, looking at the pale filter of light that came through a hole in the curtain of the woman's window; and as he looked something came between him and the light. Against the cabin he saw the shadow of a sneaking human form; and as silently as the steely flash of the aurora over his head, as swiftly as a lean deer, he sped through the gloom of the forest's edge and came up behind the woman's home. With the caution of a lynx, his head close to the snow, he peered around the logs. It was the Englishman who stood looking through the tear in that curtained window. Mukee's moccasined feet made no sound. His hand fell as gently as a child's upon the stranger's arm. "Thees is not the honor of the beeg snows," he whispered. "Come!" A sickly pallor filled the other man's face; but Mukee's voice was soft and dispassionate, his touch was velvety in its hint, and he went with the guiding hand away from the curtained window, smiling in a companionable way. Mukee's teeth gleamed back. The Englishman chuckled. Then Mukee's hands changed. They flew to the thick, reddening throat of the man from civilization, and without a sound the two sank together upon the snow. The next day a messenger behind six dogs set out for Fort Churchill, with word for the company's home office that the Englishman had died in the big snow--which was true. Mukee told this to Jan, for there was the bond of blood between them. It was a painting of life, and love, and purity. Deep down in the loneliness of his heart, Jan Thoreau, in his own simple way, thanked the great God that it had been given to him to play his violin as the woman died. CHAPTER III LITTLE MELISSE The passing of Cummins' wife was as quiet as had been her coming. With bare heads, their shaggy hair falling wildly about their faces, their lips set tight to choke back their grief, the few at the post went, one by one, into the little cabin, and gazed for the last time upon her face. There was but one sound other than the gentle tread of their moccasined feet, and that was a catching, sobbing moan that fell from the thick gray beard of Williams, the old factor. After that they carried her to where a clearing had been cut in the edge of the forest; and at the foot of a giant spruce, towering sentinel-like to the sky, they lowered her into the frozen earth. Gaspingly, Williams stumbled over the words on a ragged page that had been torn from a Bible. The rough men who stood about him bowed their wild heads upon their breasts, and sobs broke from them. At last Williams stopped his reading, stretched his long arms above his head, and cried chokingly: "The great God keep Mees Cummins!" As the earth fell, there came from the edge of the forest the low, sweet music of Jan Thoreau's violin. No man in all the world could have told what he played, for it was the music of Jan's soul, wild and whispering of the winds, sweetened by some strange inheritance that had come to him with the picture which he carried in his throbbing heart. He played until only the tall spruce and John Cummins stood over the lone grave. When he stopped, the man turned to him, and they went together to the little cabin where the woman had lived. There was something new in the cabin now--a tiny, white, breathing thing over which an Indian woman watched. The boy stood beside John Cummins, looking down upon it, and trembling. "Ah," he whispered, his great eyes glowing. "It ees the LEETLE white angel!" "It is the little Mélisse," replied the man. He dropped upon his knees, with his sad face close to the new life that was to take the place of the one that had just gone out. Jan felt something tugging in a strange way at his heart, and he, too, fell upon his knees beside John Cummins in this first worship of the child. From this hour of their first kneeling before the little life in the cabin, something sprang up between Jan Thoreau and John Cummins which it would have been hard for man to break. Looking up after many moments' contemplation of the little Mélisse, Jan gazed straight into Cummins' face, and whispered softly the word which in Cree means "father." This was Jan's first word for Mélisse. When he looked back, the baby was wriggling and kicking as he had seen tiny wolf-whelps wriggle and kick before their eyes were open. His beautiful eyes laughed. As cautiously as if he were playing with hot iron, he reached out a thin hand, and when one of his fingers suddenly fell upon something very soft and warm, he jerked it back as quickly as if he had been burned. That night, when Jan picked up his violin to go back to Mukee's cabin, Cummins put his two big hands on the boy's shoulders and said: "Jan, who are you, and where did you come from?" Jan stretched his arm vaguely to the north. "Jan Thoreau," he replied simply. "Thees is my violon. We come alone through the beeg snow." Cummins stared as if he saw a wonderful picture in the boy's eyes. He dropped his hands, and walked to the door. When they stood alone outside, he pointed up to the stars, and to the mist-like veil of silver light that the awakening aurora was spreading over the northern skies. "Get your bearings, and tell me again where you came from, Jan!" Unhesitatingly the boy pointed into the north. "We starve seven day in the beeg snow. My violon keep the wolf off at night." "Look again, Jan! Didn't you come from there, or there, or there?" Cummins turned slowly, facing first to the east and Hudson's Bay, then to the south, and lastly to the west. There was something more than curiosity in the tense face that came back in staring inquiry to Jan Thoreau. The boy hunched his shoulders, and his eyes flashed. "It ees not lie that Jan Thoreau and hees violon come through the beeg snow," he replied softly. "It ees not lie!" There was more than gentleness in John Cummins' touch now. Jan could not understand it, but he yielded to it, and went back into the cabin. There was more than friendship in Cummins' eyes when he placed his hands again upon the boy's shoulders, and Jan could not understand that. "There is plenty of room here--now," said Cummins huskily. "Will you stay with the little Mélisse and me?" "With the leetle Mélisse!" gasped the boy. Softly he sped to the tiny cot and knelt beside it, his thin shoulders hunched over, his long black hair shining lustrously in the lamp-glow, his breath coming in quick, sobbing happiness. "I--I--stay with the leetle white angel for ever and ever!" he whispered, his words meant only for the unhearing ears of the child. "Jan Thoreau will stay, yes--and hees violon! I give it to you--and ze museek!" He laid his precious violin across the foot of the cot. CHAPTER IV THE PROBLEM In the days that followed, there came other things which Jan could not understand, and which he made no great effort to understand. He talked little, even to Cummins. He listened, and his eyes would answer, or he would reply with strange, eery little hunches of his shoulders, which ruffled up his hair. To the few simple souls at the post, he brought with him more than his starved body from out of the unknown wilderness. This was the chief cause of those things which he could not understand. No man learned more of him than had Cummins. Even to Mukee, his history was equally simple and short. Always he said that he came from out of the north--which meant the Barren Lands; and the Barren Lands meant death. No man had ever come across them as Jan had come; and at another time, and under other circumstances, Cummins and his people would have believed him mad. But others had listened to that strange, sweet music that came to them from out of the forest on the night when the woman died, and they, like Cummins, had been stirred by thrilling thoughts. They knew little of God, as God is preached; but they knew a great deal about Him in other ways. They knew that Jan Thoreau had come like a messenger from the angels, that the woman's soul had gone out to meet him, and that she had died sweetly on John Cummins' breast while he played. So the boy, with his thin, sensitive face and his great, beautiful eyes, became a part of what the woman had left behind for them to love. As a part of her they accepted him, without further questioning as to who he was or whence he came. In a way, he made up for her loss. The woman had brought something new and sweet into their barren lives, and he brought something new and sweet--the music of his violin. He played for them in the evening, in the factor's office; and at these times they knew that Cummins' wife was very near to them and that she was speaking to them through the things which Jan Thoreau played. Music had long passed out of their lives. Into some, indeed, it had never come. Years ago, Williams had been at a post where there was an accordion. Cummins had heard music when he went down to civilization for his wife, more than two years ago. To the others it was mystery which stirred them to the depths of their souls, and which revealed to them many things that had long been hidden in the dust of the past. These were hours of triumph for Jan in the factor's office. Perched on a box, with his back to the wall, his head thrown back, his black eyes shining, his long hair giving to his face a half savage beauty, he was more than king to the grim-visaged men about him. They listened, movelessly, soundlessly; and when he stopped there was still neither move nor sound until he had wrapped his violin in its bear-skin and had returned to John Cummins and the little Mélisse. Jan understood the silence, and took it for what it meant. But it was the audience in the little cabin that Jan liked best, and, most of all, he loved to have the little Mélisse alone. As the days of early spring trapping approached, and the wilderness for a hundred miles around the post was crisscrossed with the trails of the Cree and Chippewayan fur-seekers, Cummins was absent for days at a time, strengthening the company's friendships, and bargaining for the catch that would be coming to market about eight weeks later. This was a year of intense rivalry, for the Révillons, French competitors of the company, had established a post two hundred miles to the west, and rumor spread that they were to give sixty pounds of flour to the company's forty, and four feet of cloth to the yard. This meant action among Williams and his people, and the factor himself plunged into the wilderness. Mukee, the half-Cree, went among his scattered tribesmen along the edge of the barrens, stirring them by the eloquence of new promises and by fierce condemnation of the interlopers to the west. Old Per-ee, with a strain of Eskimo in him, went boldly behind his dogs to meet the little black people from farther north, who came down after foxes and half-starved polar bears that had been carried beyond their own world on the ice-floes of the preceding spring. Young Williams, the factor's son, followed after Cummins, and the rest of the company's men went into the south and east. The exodus left desolate lifelessness at the post. The windows of the fireless cabins were thick with clinging frost. There was no movement in the factor's office. The dogs were gone, and wolves and lynx sniffed closer each night. In the oppression of this desertion, the few Indian and half-breed children kept indoors, and Williams' Chippewayan wife, fat and lazy, left the company's store securely locked. In this silence and lifelessness Jan Thoreau felt a new and ever-increasing happiness. To him the sound of life was a thing vibrant with harshness; quiet--the dead, pulseless quiet of lifelessness--was beautiful. He dreamed in it, and it was then that his fingers discovered new things in his violin. He often sent Maballa, the Indian woman who cared for Mélisse, to gossip with Williams' wife, so that he was alone a great deal with the baby. At these times, when the door was safely barred against the outside world, it was a different Jan Thoreau who crouched upon his knees beside the cot. His face was aflame with a great, absorbing passion which at other times he concealed. His beautiful eyes glowed with hidden fires, and he whispered soothing, singsong things to the child, and played softly upon his violin, leaning his black head far down so that the baby Mélisse could clutch her appreciative fingers in his hair. "Ah, ze sweet leetle white angel!" he would cry, as she tugged and kicked. "I luf you so--I luf you, an' will stay always, ah' play ze violon! Ah, mon Dieu, you will be ze gr-r-r-eat bea-utiful white angel lak--HER!" He would laugh and coo like a mother, and talk, for at these times Jan Thoreau's tongue was as voluble as his violin. Sometimes Mélisse listened as if she understood the wonderful things he was telling her. She would lie upon her back with her eyes fixed upon him, her little red fists doubled over his bow, or a thumb thrust into her mouth. And the longer she lay like this, gazing at him blankly, the more convinced Jan became that she was understanding him; and his voice grew soft and low, and his eyes shone with a soft mist as he told her those things which John Cummins would have given much to know. "Some day you shall understand why it happened, sweet Mélisse," he whispered, bringing his eyes so near that she reached up an inquiring finger to them. "Then you will luf Jan Thoreau!" There were other times when Jan did not talk, but when the baby Mélisse talked to him; and these were moments of even greater joy. With the baby wriggling and kicking, and making queer noises in her tiny cot, he would sit silently upon his heels, watching her with the pride and happiness of a mother lynx in the first tumbling frolics of her kittens. Once, when Mélisse straightened herself for an instant, and half reached up her tiny arms to him, laughing and cooing into his face, he gave a glad cry, crushed his face down to hers, and did what he had not dared to do before--kissed her. There was something about it that frightened the little Mélisse, and she set up a wailing that sent Jan, in a panic of dismay, for Maballa. It was a long time before he ventured to kiss her again. It was during this fortnight of desolation at the post that Jan discovered the big problem for himself and John Cummins. In the last days of the second week, he spent much of his time skirting the edge of the barrens in search of caribou, that there might be meat in plenty when the dogs and men returned a little later. One afternoon, he returned early, while the pale sun was still in the sky, laden with the meat of a musk-ox. As he came from the edge of the forest, his slender body doubled over under the weight of his pack, a terrifying sight greeted him in the little clearing at the post. Upon her knees in front of their cabin was Maballa, industriously rolling the half-naked little Mélisse about in a soft pile of snow, and doing her work, as she firmly believed, in a most faithful and thorough manner. With a shriek, Jan threw off his pack and darted toward her like a wild thing. "Sacre bleu--you keel--keel ze leetle Mélisse!" he cried shrilly, snatching up the half-frozen child, "Mon Dieu, she ees not papoose! She ees ceevilize--ceevilize!" and he ran swiftly with her into the cabin, flinging back a torrent of Cree anathema at the dumbly bewildered Maballa. Jan left the rest of his musk-ox to the wolves and foxes. He went out into the snow, and found half a dozen other snow-wallows in which the helpless Mélisse had taken her chilling baths. He watched Maballa with a new growing terror, and fifty times a day he said to her: "Mélisse ees not papoose! She ees ceevilize--lak HER!" And he would point to the lonely grave under the guardian spruce. At last Maballa went into an ecstasy of understanding. Mélisse was not to be taken out and rolled in the snow; so she brought in the snow and rolled it over Mélisse! When Jan discovered this, his tongue twisted itself into sounds so terrible, and his face writhed so fiercely, that Maballa began to comprehend that thereafter no snow at all, either out doors or in, was to be used in the physical development of the little Mélisse. This was the beginning of the problem, and it grew and burst forth in all its significance on the day before Cummins came in from the wilderness. For a week Maballa had been dropping sly hints of a wonderful thing which she and the factor's half-breed wife were making for the baby. Jan had visions of a gorgeous garment covered with beads and gaudy braid, which would give the little Mélisse unending delight. On the day before Cummins' arrival, Jan came in from chopping wood, and went to the cot. It was empty. Maballa was gone. A sudden fear thrilled him to the marrow, and he sprang back to the cabin door, ready to shriek out the Indian woman's name. A sound stopped him--the softest, sweetest sound in all the world to Jan Thoreau--and he whirled around like a cat. Mélisse was smiling and making queer, friendly little signals to him from the table. She was standing upright, wedged in a coffin-shaped thing from which only her tiny white face peered out at him; and Jan knew that this was Maballa's surprise, Mélisse was in a papoose-sling! "Mélisse, I say you shall be no papoose!" he cried, running to the table. "You ees ceevilize! You shall be no papoose--not if twen' t'ous'nd devil come tak Jan Thoreau!" And he snatched her from her prison, flung Maballa's handiwork out into the snow, and waited impatiently for the return of John Cummins. CHAPTER V LOVE PATCHES Cummins returned the next day--not that his work among the wild trappers to the south was finished, but because he had suffered a hurt in falling from a slippery ledge. When Jan, from his wood-chopping in the edge of the forest, saw the team race up to the little cabin and a strange Cree half carry the wounded man through the door, he sped swiftly across the open with visions of new misfortune before him. What he saw when he reached the door was reassuring. Cummins was upon his knees beside the cot, his big shoulders hunched over, and Mélisse was welcoming him with her whole vocabulary of sound. The injury to Cummins' leg was not serious; and not being serious, it was accepted as a special incident of Providence by Jan, for the new thoughts that had come into his head were causing him great uneasiness. He lost no time in revealing his fears, after Maballa had been sent to the factor's wife. With graphic gesture he told of what had happened. Cummins hobbled to the door to look upon the wallows in the snow, and hobbled back to the table when Jan ran there in excited imitation of the way in which he had found the little Mélisse in Maballa's sling. "She ees ceevilize!" finished Jan hotly. "She ees not papoose! She mus' be lak--HER!" His great eyes shone, and Cummins felt a thickening in his throat as he looked into them and saw what the boy meant. "Maballa mak papoose out of Mélisse. She grow--know not'ing, lak papoose, talk lak papoose--" Jan's feelings overwhelmed his tongue. His shining hair rumpled thickly about his face as he leaned anxiously toward Cummins; and Cummins, in turn, stared down in dumb perplexity upon the joyful kickings and wrigglings of the growing problem. "Ees she not ceevilize?" demanded Jan ecstatically, bending his black head over her. "Ah, ze sweet Mélisse!" "Yes, she must be like HER, Jan--just as good and just as sweet and just as beautiful," interrupted Cummins gently. There was a quick intaking of his breath as he hobbled back to his own cot, leaving Jan at play with the baby. That night, in the dim, sputtering glow of an oil-lamp, John Cummins and Jan Thoreau solemnly set to work to thrash out the great problem that had suddenly entered into their existence. To these two there was no element of humor in what they were doing, for into their keeping had been given a thing for which God had not schemed them. The woman, had she been there, would have laughed at them, and in a dozen gentle breaths might have told them all that the world held in secret between mother and child; but, leaving them, she had passed on to them something that was life, like herself, and yet mystery. Had fate given Maballa to Mélisse for a mother there would have been no mystery. She would have developed as naturally as a wolf-whelp or a lynx-kitten, a savage breath of life in a savage world, waxing fat in snow-baths, arrow-straight in papoose-slings, a moving, natural thing in a desolation to which generations and centuries of forebears had given it birthright. But Mélisse was like her mother. In the dreams of the two who were planning out her fate, she was to be a reincarnation of her mother. That dream left a ray of comfort in Cummins' breast when his wife died. It stirred happy visions within Jan. And it ended with a serious shock when Maballa brought into their mental perspective of things the possibilities of environment. So far as Cummins knew, there was not a white woman nearer than Fort Churchill, two hundred miles away. In all that region he knew of only two full-white men, and they were Williams and himself. The baby Mélisse was hopelessly lost in a world of savagery; honest, loyal, big-souled savagery--but savagery for all that, and the thought of it brought the shadows of fear and foreboding to the two into whose lives the problem had just come. Long into the night they talked seriously of the matter, while Mélisse slept; and the longer they talked, the greater loomed the problem before them. Cummins fancied that he already began to see signs of the transformation in Mélisse. She was passionately fond of the gaudy things Maballa gave her, which was a sign of savagery. She was charmed by confinement in the papoose-sling, which was another sign of it; and she had not died in the snow-wallows--which was still another. So far back as he could remember, Cummins had never come into finger-touch of a white baby. Jan was as blissfully ignorant; so they determined upon immediate and strenuous action. Maballa would be ceaselessly watched and checked at every turn. The Indian children would not be allowed to come near Mélisse. They two--John Cummins and Jan Thoreau--would make her like the woman who slept under the sentinel spruce. "She ees ceevilize," said Jan with finality, "an' we mus' keep her ceevilize!" Cummins counted back gravely upon his fingers. The little Mélisse was four months and eighteen days old! "To-morrow we will make her one of those things with wheels--like the baby-wagons they have in the South," he said. "She must not go in the papoose-slings!" "An' I will teach her ze museek," whispered Jan, his eyes glowing. "That ees ceevilize!" Suddenly an eager light came into Cummins' face, and he pointed to a calico-covered box standing upon end in a corner of the room. "There are the books--HER books, Jan," he said softly, the trembling thrill of inspiration in his voice. He limped across the room, dropped upon his knees before the box, and drew back the curtain. Jan knelt beside him. "They were HER books," he repeated. There was a sobbing catch in his throat, and his head fell a little upon his breast. "Now--we will give them--to Mélisse." He drew the books out, one by one, his fingers trembling and his breath coming quickly as he touched them--a dozen worn, dusty things, holding within them more than John Cummins would ever know of the woman he had lost. These volumes of dead voices had come with her into the wilderness from that other world she had known. They breathed the pathos of her love from out of their ragged pages, mended in a hundred places to keep them from falling into utter ruin. Slowly the man gathered them against his breast, and held them there silently, as he might have held the woman, fighting hard to keep back his grief. Jan thrust a hand deeper into the box, and brought forth something else--a few magazines and papers, as ragged and worn as the books. In these other treasures there were pictures--pictures of the things in civilization, which Jan had never seen, and which were too wonderful for him to comprehend at first. His eyes burned excitedly as he held up a gaudily covered fashion paper to John Cummins. "Theese are picture for Mélisse!" he whispered tensely. "We teach her--we show her--we mak her know about ceevilize people!" Cummins replaced the books, one at a time, and each he held tenderly for a moment, wiping and blowing away the dust gathered upon it. At the last one of all, which was more ragged and worn than the others, he gazed for a long time. It was a little Bible, his wife's Bible, finger-worn, patched, pathetic in its poverty. The man gulped hard. "She loved this, Jan," he said huskily. "She loved this worn, old book more than anything else, and little Mélisse must love it also. Mélisse must be a Christian." "Ah, yes, ze leetle Mélisse mus' love ze great God!" said Jan softly. Cummins rose to his feet and stood for a moment looking at the sleeping baby. "A missionary is coming over from Fort Churchill to talk to our trappers when they come in. She shall be baptized!" Like a cat Jan was on his feet, his eyes flashing, his long, thin fingers clenched, his body quivering with a terrible excitement. "No--no--not baptize by missioner!" he cried. "She shall be good, an' love ze great God, but not baptize by missioner! No--no--no!" Cummins turned upon him in astonishment. Before him Jan Thoreau stood for a minute like one gone mad, his whole being consumed in a passion terrible to look upon. Lithe giant of muscle and, fearlessness that he was, Cummins involuntarily drew back a step, and the mainspring of instinct within him prompted him to lift a hand, as if to ward off a leaping thing from his breast. Jan noted the backward step, the guarded uplift of hand, and with an agonized cry he buried his face in his hands. In another instant he had turned, and, before Cummins' startled voice found words, had opened the door and run out into the night. The man saw him darting swiftly toward the forest, and called to him, but there was no response. There was a hot fire burning in Jan's brain, a blazing, writhing contortion of things that brought a low moaning from his lips. He ran tirelessly and swiftly until he sank down upon the snow in a silent place far from where he had left John Cummins. His eyes still blazed with their strange fire upon the desolation about him, his fingers clenched and unclenched themselves, digging their nails into his flesh, and he spoke softly to himself, over and over again, the name of the little Mélisse. Painting itself each instant more plainly through the tumult of his emotions was what Jan had come to know as the picture in his brain. Shadowy and indistinct at first, in pale, elusive lines of mental fabric, he saw the picture growing; and in its growth he saw first the soft, sweet outlines of a woman's face, and then great luring eyes, dark like his own--and before these eyes, which gazed upon him with overwhelming love, all else faded away from before Jan Thoreau. The fire went out of his eyes, his fingers relaxed, and after a little while he got up out of the snow, shivering, and went back to the cabin. Cummins asked no questions. He looked at Jan from his cot, and watched the boy silently as he undressed and went to bed; and in the morning the whole incident passed from his mind. The intangible holds but little fascination for the simple folk who live under the Arctic Circle. Their struggle is with life, their joys are in its achievement, in their constant struggle to keep life running strong and red within them. Such an existence of solitude and of strife with nature leaves small room for curiosity. So the nature of John Cummins led him to forget what had happened, as he would have forgotten the senseless running away of a sledge-dog, and its subsequent return. He saw no tragedy, and no promise of tragedy, in the thing that had occurred. There was no recurrence of the strange excitement in Jan. He gave no hint of it in word or action, and the thing seemed to be forgotten between the two. The education of the little Mélisse began at once, while the post was still deserted. It began, first of all, with Maballa. She stared dumbly and with shattered faith at these two creatures who told her of wonderful things in the upbringing of a child--things of which she had never so much as heard rumor before. Her mother instincts were aroused, but with Cree stoicism she made no betrayal of them. The leather-tanned immobility of her face underwent no whit of change when Cummins solemnly declared that the little Mélisse was about to begin teething. She sat grimly and watched them in silence when between them, upon a bearskin stretched on the floor, they tried vainly to persuade Mélisse to use her feet. It was great fun for Mélisse, and she enjoyed it immensely; so that as the days passed, and the post still remained deserted, John Cummins and Jan Thoreau spent much of their time upon their knees. In their eyes, the child's progress was remarkable. They saw in her an unceasing physical growth, and countless symptoms of forthcoming mental development. She delighted to pull the strings of Jan's violin, which was an unmistakable token of her musical genius. She went into ecstasies over the gaudy plates in the fashion paper. She fingered them in suggestive and inquiring silence, or with still more suggestive grunts, and made futile efforts to eat them, which was the greatest token of all. Weeks passed, and Williams came in from the southern forests. Mukee followed him from the edge of the barrens. Per-ee returned from the Eskimo people, three-quarters starved and with half of his dogs stolen. From the north, east, west, and south the post's fur-rangers trailed back. Life was resumed. There was a softness in the air, a growing warmth in the midday sun. The days of the big change were near. And when they came, John Cummins and Jan Thoreau, of all the factor's people, wore patches at their knee. CHAPTER VI DAYS OF TRIUMPH One afternoon, in the beginning of the mush-snow, a long team of rakish Malemutes, driven by an Athabasca French-Canadian, raced wildly into the clearing about the post. A series of yells, and the wild cracking of a thirty-foot caribou-gut whip, announced that the big change was at hand--that the wilderness was awakening, and life was drawing near. The entire post rushed out to meet the new-comer--men and dogs, the little black-and-tan children, and even Williams' fat and lethargic wife. For a few moments there was a scene of wild disorder, of fighting Malemutes buried under a rush of angry huskies, while men shouted, and the yelling Frenchman leaped about and cut his caribou-gut in vicious slashes over the wolfish horde around his heavily laden sledge. Partial order being restored, Mukee and Per-ee took charge of the snarling Malemutes, and, surrounded by Williams' men, the trapper stalked to the company's office. He was Jean de Gravois, the most important man in the Fond du Lac country, for whose good-will the company paid a small bonus. That he had made a record catch even the children knew by the size of the packs on his sledge and by the swagger in his walk. Gravois was usually one of the last to appear at the annual gathering of the wilderness fur-gatherers. He was a big man in reputation, as he was small in stature. He was known as far west as the Peace River, and eastward to Fort Churchill. He loved to make his appearance at the post in a wild and picturesque rush when the rest of the forest rovers were there to look on, and to envy or admire. He was one of the few of his kind who had developed personal vanity along with unerring cunning in the ways of the wild. Everybody liked Gravois, for he had a big soul in him and was as fearless as a lynx; and he liked everybody, including himself. He explained his early arrival by announcing in a nonchalant manner that after he had given his Malemutes a day's rest he was going on to Fort Churchill, to bring back a wife. He hinted, with a punctuating crack of his whip, that he would make a second visit, and a more interesting one, at just about the time when the trappers were there in force. Jan Thoreau listened to him, hunching his shoulders a little at the other's manifest air of importance. In turn, the French-Canadian scrutinized Jan good-naturedly. Neither of them knew the part which Jean de Gravois was to play in Jan's life. Every hour after the half-breed's arrival quickened the pulse of expectancy at the post. For six months it had been a small and solitary unit of life in the heart of a big desolation. The first snow had smothered it in a loneliness that was almost the loneliness of desertion. With that first snow began the harvest days of the people of the wilderness. Far and wide they were busy along their trap-lines, their lonely shacks hidden in the shelter of thick swamps, in deep chasms and dense forests. For six months the short days and the long nights had been days and nights of fur-gathering. During those months the post was silent. It lived and breathed, but that was all. Its life, for Williams and the few people whom the company kept with him, was a life of waiting. Now the change was at hand. It was like the breath of spring to the awakening wilderness. The forest people were moving. Trap-lines were being broken, shacks abandoned, sledge-dogs put to harness. On the day that Jean de Gravois left for Hudson's Bay, the company's supplies came in from Fort Churchill--seven toboggans drawn by Eskimo dogs, laden with flour and cloth; fifty pounds of beads, ammunition, and a hundred other things to be exchanged for the furs that would soon be in London and Paris. Fearfully Jan Thoreau ran out to meet the sledges. There were seven Indians and one white man. Jan thrust himself close to look at the white man. He wore two revolver-holsters and carried an automatic. Unquestionably he was not a missionary, but an agent of the company well prepared to care for the company's treasure. Jan hurried back to the cabin, his heart bubbling with a strange joy. "There ees no missioner, Mélisse!" he cried triumphantly, dropping beside her, his face glowing with the gladness of his tidings. "You shall be good and beautiful, lak HER, but you shall not be baptize by missioner! He has not come!" A few minutes later Cummins came in. One of his hands was torn and bleeding. "Those Eskimo dogs are demons!" he growled. "If they knew how to stand on their legs, they'd eat our huskies alive! Will you help me with this?" Jan was at work in an instant, bandaging the wounded hand. "It ees not deep," he said; and then, without looking up, he added: "The missioner did not come." "No," said Cummins shortly. "Neither has the mail. He is with that." He did not notice the sudden tremble of Jan's fingers, nor did he see the startled look that shot into the boy's down-turned eyes. Jan finished his bandaging without betraying his emotion, and went back with Cummins to the company's store. The next morning, two Chippewayans trailed in with a team of mongrel curs from the south. Thereafter Cummins found but little time to devote to Mélisse. The snow was softening rapidly, and the daily increasing warmth of the sun hastened the movement of the trappers. Mukee's people from the western Barren Lands arrived first, bringing with them great loads of musk-ox and caribou skins, and an army of big-footed, long-legged Mackenzie hounds that pulled like horses and wailed like whipped puppies when the huskies and Eskimo dogs set upon them. From east and west and south all trails now led to the post. By the end of the third day after the arrival of the company's supplies, a babel of fighting, yelling, ceaselessly moving discord had driven forth the peace and quiet in which Cummins' wife had died. The fighting and discord were among the dogs, and the yelling was a necessary human accompaniment. Half a hundred packs, almost as wild and as savage as the wolves from whom half of them possessed a strong inheritance of blood, were thrown suddenly into warring confusion. All the dogs were fighters except the big, soft-throated Mackenzie hounds, with the slow strength of oxen in their movements, and the quarter-strained and half-strained mongrels from the south; and upon these unfortunates the others preyed. Packs of fierce Labrador dogs, never vanquished except by death, came from close to Hudson's Bay. Team after team of the little yellow and gray Eskimo dogs, as quick with their fangs as were their black and swift-running masters with their hands and feet, met the much larger and darker-colored Malemutes from the Athabasca. Enemies of all these, fighting, snapping, and snarling, with the lust of killing deep born in them from their wolf progenitors, packs of fierce huskies trailed in from all sides. There was no cessation in the battle of the fangs. It began with the first brute arrivals. It continued from dawn through the day, and around the campfires at night. There was never an end to the strife between the dogs, and between the men and the dogs. The snow was stained and trailed with blood, and the scent of it added greater fierceness to the wolf-breeds. Half a dozen battles were fought to the death each day and night. Those that died were chiefly the south-bred curs--mixtures of mastiff, Great Dane, and sheep-dogs--and the fatally slow Mackenzie hounds. From its towering height the sentinel spruce frowned down upon the savage life that had come to outrage the grave it guarded. Yet beyond all this discord and bloody strife there was a great, throbbing human happiness--a beating of honest hearts filled to overflowing with the joys of the moment, a welding of new friendships, a renewal of old ones, a closer union of the brotherhood that holds together all things under the cold gray of the northern skies. There were no bickerings among the hunters, no anger of man against man in the fierce voices that emphasized the slashing cuts of the caribou-whips. If the fangs of a Hudson's Bay husky let out the life-blood from the soft throat of a Mackenzie hound, it was a matter of the dogs, and not of their owners. They did not quarrel. One day a fierce Eskimo pack cornered a giant husky under the big spruce, and slew him. When Cummins came from the company's store in the afternoon, he saw a number of men, with bared heads, working about the grave. He drew near enough to see that they were building around it a barricade of saplings; and his breath choked him as he turned to the cabin and Mélisse. He noticed, too, that no fires were built near the spot consecrated to the memory of the dead woman; and to his cabin the paths in the snow became deeper and wider where trod the wild forest men who came to look upon the little Mélisse. These were days of unprecedented prosperity and triumph for the baby, as they were for the company. The cabin was half filled with strange things, for all who came gave something to Mélisse. There were polar bears' teeth, brought down by the little black men who in turn had got them from the coast people; strange gods carved from wood; bits of fur, bushy fox tails, lynx paws, dried fruits, candy bought at fabulous prices in the store, and musk--always and incessantly musk--from Mukee's people of the west barrens. To Jan this homage to Mélisse was more than gratifying. It formed a bond between him and Cummins' people. His heart went out to them, and he went more freely among them, and made friends. CHAPTER VII THE CARIBOU CARNIVAL Jan had not played upon his violin since the coming of Jean de Gravois; but one evening he tuned his strings, and said to Mélisse: "They have been good to you, my Mélisse. I will give them ze museek of ze violon." It was the big night at the post--the night that is known from Athabasca to Hudson's Bay as the night of the caribou roast. A week had passed, and there were no more furs to be disposed of. In the company's ledger each man had received his credit, and in the company's store the furs were piled high and safe. Three caribou had been killed by Per-ee and his hunters; and on this night, when Jan took down his violin from its peg on the wall, a huge fire blazed in the open, and on spits six inches in diameter the caribou were roasting. The air was filled with the sound and odor of the carnival. Above the fighting and snarling of dogs, the forest people lifted their voices in wild celebration, forgetting, in this one holiday of the year, the silence that they would carry back into the solitudes with them. Numbers gave them courage of voice, and in its manifestation there was the savagery of the forests that hemmed them in. Shrill voices rose in meaningless cries above the roaring of the fire. Caribou whips snapped fiercely. Chippewayans, Crees, Eskimos, and breeds crowded in the red glare. The factor's men shouted and sang like mad, for this was the company's annual "good time"--the show that would lure many of these same men back again at the end of another trapping season. Huge boxes of white bread were placed near to the fire. A tub of real butter, brought five thousand miles from across the sea for the occasion, was set on a gun-case thrown where the heat played upon it in yellow glory. In a giant copper kettle, over a smaller fire, bubbled and steamed half a barrel of coffee. The richness of the odors that drifted in the air set the dogs gathering upon their haunches beyond the waiting circle of masters, their lips dripping, their fangs snapping in an eagerness that was not for the flesh of battle. And above it all there gleamed down a billion stars from out of the skies, the aurora flung its banners through the pale night, and softly the smoke rose straight up and then floated into the North, carried there by the gentle breath that spring was luring from out of the South. Jan picked his way through the cordon of dogs and the inner circle of men until he stood with the firelight flashing in his glossy hair and black eyes, and there, seated upon the edge of one of the bread-boxes, he began to play. It was not the low, sweet music of Cummins and the little Mélisse that he played now, but a wild, wailing song that he had found in the autumn winds. It burst above the crackling fire and the tumult of man and dog in a weird and savage beauty that hushed all sound; and life about him became like life struck suddenly dead. With his head bowed Jan saw nothing--saw nothing of the wonder in the faces of the half-cringing little black men who were squatted in a group a dozen feet away, nothing of the staring amazement in the eyes that were looking upon this miracle he was performing. He knew only that about him there was a deep hush, and after a while his violin sang a lower song, and sweeter; and still softer it became, and more sweet, until he was playing that which he loved most of all--the music that had filled the little cabin when Cummins' wife died. As he continued to play there came an interruption to the silence--a low refrain that was almost like that of the moaning wind. It grew beyond the tense circle of men, until a song of infinite sadness rose from the throats of a hundred dogs in response to Jan Thoreau's violin. To Jan, it was like the song of life. The unending loneliness and grief of it stirred him to the quick of his soul, and unconsciously his voice rose and fell softly with the wailing of the brute chorus. But to the others it was a thing that rose portentous above their understanding, a miracle of mystery that smote them with awe even as they surrendered themselves to the wonderful sweetness of the music. Cummins saw the change in his people, and understood what it meant. He saw the surrounding cordon become thinner as man crushed closer to man, and he saw strained faces turned from the player to where the dogs sat full-throated upon their haunches, with their heads pointed straight to the stars in the sky. Suddenly he burst into a volume of wild song, and made his way through the crouching Eskimos to Jan. "For the love of Heaven, play no more of that!" he cried in the boy's ear. "Play something fast!" Jan lifted his head as if from a dream. In an instant he perceived the strange effect of his music, and his bow raced across the strings of his violin in a rhythm swift and buoyant, his voice rising shrill and clear in words familiar to them all: "Oh, ze cariboo-oo-oo, ze cariboo-oo-oo, He roas' on high, Jes' under ze sky, Ze beeg white cariboo-oo-oo!" With a yell Cummins joined in, waving his arms and leaping in the firelight. The spell was broken. Williams and Mukee and the rest of the company's men burst forth in song; Jan's violin leaped in crescendos of stirring sound; and where before there had been a silent circle of awestruck men there was now a yelling din of voices. The dogs lowered their heads again, and licked their chops at the odors in the air. With a yell Mukee and three Crees dashed toward the fire, long-hooked poles in their hands; and as the caribou carcasses were turned upon their huge spits, and their dripping fat fell sizzling into the flames, the wild chorus of men and dogs and Jan's violin rose higher, until Cummins' great voice became only a whisper in the tumult. The third caribou had been twice turned upon its spit, and Mukee and his Crees paused in waiting silence, their hooked poles gripping the long bar that rested horizontally across the arms of two stout posts driven into the earth close to the fire. At this signal there was a final outburst from the waiting horde, and then a momentary silence fell as Cummins sprang upon one of the bread-boxes and waved his arms frantically above his head. "Now!" he shouted. "Now! 'Ze cariboo-oo-oo--'" With eyes flashing with excitement, Jan stood before Cummins, and his violin shrieked out the wild tune to a still wilder response of untamed voices. "Now!" yelled Cummins again. The wilderness song, that was known from Athabasca to Hudson's Bay, burst forth in a savage enthusiasm that reached to the skies: "Oh, ze cariboo-oo-oo, ze cariboo-oo-oo, He roas' on high, Jes' under ze sky, Ze beeg white cariboo-oo-oo!" Cummins drew his revolver and blazed fiercely into the air. "Now!" he shrieked. "Oh, ze cariboo-oo-oo, ze cariboo-oo-oo, He brown 'n' juice 'n' sweet! Ze cariboo-oo-oo, he ver' polite-- He roas' on high, Jes' under ze sky, He ready now to come 'n' eat!" With yells that rose above the last words of the song, Mukee and his Crees tugged at their poles, and the roasted caribou fell upon the snow. Jan drew back, and with his violin hugged under one arm, watched the wild revelers as, with bared knives flashing in the firelight, they crowded to the feast. Williams, the factor, who was puffing from his vocal exertions, joined him. "Looks like a fight, doesn't it, Jan? Once I saw a fight at a caribou roast." "So did I," said Jan, who had not taken his eyes from the jostling crowd. "It was far to the west and north," continued Williams; "beyond the Great Slave country." "Far beyond," said Jan, lifting his eyes quietly. "It was ver' near to ze Great Bear." The factor stared at him in amazement. "You saw it?" he exclaimed. But Jan turned away, as if he had heard nothing, and passed beyond the packs of waiting dogs to restore his precious violin to its peg on the cabin wall. The factor's words had stirred deep memories within him, and for the first time since he had come to the post he spoke no word to Mélisse when he found her wakeful and friendly in her cot. Neither was it the old Jan Thoreau who returned to the excitement about the great fire. With his long hunting-knife flashing above his head, he plunged into the throng around the caribou, crowding and jostling with the others, his voice rising in shrill cries as he forced himself through to the edge of the fire. Cummins was there, kneeling with turned-up sleeves and greasy hands beside the huge roast, and when he saw Jan he stared at him in wonder. There was neither laughter nor song in Jan Thoreau's voice. It was vibrant with a strange savageness which was more savage than the wildest yells of the half-breed Crees, and his great eyes burned fiercely as they rested for an instant upon Cummins' face. Close behind Cummins stood Williams. Jan saw him, and his knife dropped to his side. Then, so quickly that the startled factor drew back a step, Jan sprang to him. "Ze fight at ze Great Bear!" he cried in swift eagerness. "For who you fight at ze Great Bear?" The factor was silent, and the muscles of his arms grew like steel as he saw the madness in Jan's face. Suddenly he reached out and gripped the boy's wrists. Jan made no effort to evade the clutch. "For who you fight?" he cried again. "For who you fight at ze Great Bear?" "We tried to kill a man, but he got away," said Williams, speaking so low that only Jan heard. "He was--" The factor stopped. "Ze missioner!" panted Jan. The wild light went out of his eyes as he stared up at Williams, and the softer glow which came into them loosened at once the factor's grip on the boy's wrists. "Yes, the missioner!" Jan drew back. He evaded meeting the eyes of Cummins as he made his way among the men. There was a new burst of song as Mukee and his Crees pulled down a second caribou, but the boy paid no attention to the fresh excitement. He thrust his knife into its sheath and ran--ran swiftly through the packs of dogs fighting and snarling over the scraps that had beep thrown to them; past Maballa who was watching the savage banquet around the big fire, and into the little cabin, to Mélisse. Here he flung himself upon his knees, and for the first time he caught the baby in his arms, holding her close to him, and rocking her to and fro, as he cried out sobbingly the words which she did not understand. "An' when I fin' heem an' kill heem, I will come back to you, my angel Mélisse," he whispered. "And then you will luf Jan Thoreau for letting out the blood of a missioner!" He put her back into the little bed, kissed her again, took down his violin from its peg in the wall, and turned to the door. CHAPTER VIII THE FIGHT AT DAWN For a few moments Jan stood with his back to Mélisse and his eyes upon the carnival about the great fire. As he looked, the third caribou was pulled down from its spit, and the multitude of dogs rushed in upon the abandoned carcasses of the other two. He caught his breath quickly as a loud shout and the wailing yelp of a hurt dog rose for an instant above all other sounds. Only one thing was wanting to complete another picture in his brain--a scene which had burned itself into his life for ever, and which he strove to fight back as he stood staring from the doorway. He half expected it to come--the shrill scream of a boyish voice, an instant's sullen quiet, then the low-throated thunder of impending vengeance--and the fight! With marvelous quickness his excited mind reconstructed the scene before him into the scene that had been. He heard the scream again, which had been HIS voice; saw, as if in a dream, the frenzied rush of men and the flash of knives; and then, from where he lay trampled and bleeding in the snow, the long, lean team of swift huskies that had carried in mad flight the one whose life those knives sought. Williams had been there; he had seen the fight--his knife had flashed with the others in its demand for life. And yet he--Jan Thoreau--had not been recognized by the factor out there beside the caribou roast! He hurried toward the fire. Half-way across the open he stopped. From out of the forest opposite Cummins' cabin there trailed slowly a team of dogs. In the shadows of the spruce, hidden from the revelers, the team halted. Jan heard the low voices of men, and a figure detached itself from the gloom, walking slowly and in the manner of one near to exhaustion in the direction of the carnival. It was a new team. It had come from the trails to the east, and Jan's heart gave a sudden jump as he thought of the missionary who was expected with the overdue mail. At first he had a mind to intercept the figure laboring across the open, but without apparent reason he changed his course and approached the sledge. As he came nearer, he observed a second figure, which rose from behind the dogs and advanced to meet him. A dozen paces ahead of the team it stopped and waited. "Our dogs are so near exhaustion that we're afraid to take them any nearer," said a voice. "They'd die like puppies under those packs!" The voice thrilled Jan. He advanced with his back to the fire, so that he could see the stranger. "You come from Churchill?" he asked. His words were hardly a question. They were more of an excuse for him to draw nearer, and he turned a little, so that for an instant the glowing fire flashed in his eyes. "Yes, we started from the Etawney just a week ago to-day." Jan had come very near. The stranger interrupted himself to stare into the thin, fierce face that had grown like a white cameo almost within reach of him. With a startled cry, he drew a step back, and Jan's violin dropped to the snow. For no longer than a breath there was silence. The man wormed himself back into the shadows inch by inch, followed by the white face of the boy. Then there came shrilly from Jan's lips the mad shrieking of a name, and his knife flashed as he leaped at the other's breast. The stranger was quicker than he. With a sudden movement he cleared himself of the blow; and as Jan's arm went past him, the point of the knife ripping his coat-sleeve, he shot out a powerful fist and sent the boy reeling to the ground. Stunned and bleeding, Jan dragged himself to his knees. He saw the dogs turning, heard a low voice urging them to the trail, and saw the sledge disappear into the forest. He staggered from his knees to his feet, and stood swaying in his weakness. Then he followed. He forgot that he was leaving his knife in the snow, forgot that back there about the fire there were other dogs and other men. He only knew that once before he had seen a sledge slip off into the wilderness; that its going had left him a life of hatred and bitterness and desire for vengeance; and that this was the same man who was slipping away from him in the same way again. He followed, sickened by the blow, but gaining strength as he pursued. Ahead of him he could hear the sound of the toboggan and the cautious lashing of a whip over the backs of the tired huskies. The sounds filled him with fierce strength. He wiped away the warm trickle of blood that ran over his cheek, and began to run, slowly at first, swinging in the easy wolf-lope of the forest runner, with his elbows close to his sides. At that pace he could have followed for hours, losing when the pack took a spurt, gaining when they lagged, an insistent Nemesis just behind when the weighted dogs lay down in their traces. But there was neither the coolness of Mukee nor the cleverness of Jean de Gravois in the manner of Jan's running. When he heard the cracking of the whip growing fainter, he dropped his arms straight to his sides and ran more swiftly, his brain reeling with the madness of his desire to reach the sledge--to drag from it the man who had struck him, to choke life from the face that haunted that mental picture of his, grinning at him and gloating always from the shadow world, just beyond the pale, sweet loveliness of the woman who lived in it. That picture came to him now as he ran, more and more vividly, and from out of it the woman urged him on to the vengeance which she demanded of him, her great eyes glowing like fire, her beautiful face torn with the agony which he had last seen in it in life. To Jan Thoreau there seemed almost to come from that face a living voice, crying to him its prayer for retribution, pleading with him to fasten his lithe, brown hands about the throat of the monster upon the sledge ahead, and choke from it all life. It drove reason from him, leaving him with the one thought that the monster was almost within reach; and he replied to the prayer with the breath that came in moaning exhaustion from between his lips. He did not feel the soft, sun-packed snow under the beat of his feet. He received the lash of low-hanging bushes without experiencing the sensation of their sting. Only he knew that he wanted air--more and more air; and to get it he ran with open mouth, struggling and gasping for it, and yet not knowing that Jean de Gravois would have called him a fool for the manner in which he sought it. He heard more and more faintly the run of the sledge. Then he heard it no longer, and even the cracking of the whip died away. His heart swelled in a final bursting effort, and he plunged on, until at last his legs crumpled under him and he pitched face downward in the snow, like a thing stung by sudden death. It was then, with his scratched and bleeding face lying in the snow, that reason began to return to him. After a little while he dragged himself weakly to his knees, still panting from the mad effort he had made to overtake the sledge. From a great distance he heard faintly the noise of shouting, the whispering echo of half a hundred voices, and he knew that the sound came from the revelers at the post. It was proof to him that there had been no interruption to the carnival, and that the scene at the edge of the forest had been witnessed by none. Quickly his mental faculties readjusted themselves. He rose to his feet, and for a few moments stood hesitatingly. He had no weapon; but as his hand rested upon the empty knife-sheath at his belt, there came to him a thought of the way in which Mukee had avenged Cummins' wife, and he turned again upon the trail. He no longer touched the low-hanging bushes. He was no more than a shadow, appearing and disappearing without warning, trailing as the white ermine follows its prey, noiseless, alert, his body responding sinuously and without apparent effort to the working commands of his brain. Where the forest broke into an open, lighted by the stars, he found blood in the footprints of the leading dog. Half-way across the open, he saw where the leader had swung out from the trail and the others of the pack had crowded about him, to be urged on by the lashings of the man's whip. Other signs of the pack's growing exhaustion followed close. The man now traveled beside the sledge where the trail was rough, and rode where it was smooth and hard. The deep imprints of his heeled boots in the soft snow showed that he ran for only a short distance at a time--a hundred yards or less--and that after each running spell he brought the pack to a walk. He was heavy and lacked endurance, and this discovery brought a low cry of exultation to Jan's lips. He fell into a dog-trot. Mile after mile dropped behind him; other miles were ahead of him, an endless wilderness of miles, and through them the tired pack persisted, keeping always beyond sound and vision. The stars began fading out of the skies. The shadows of the forest grew deeper and blacker, and where the aurora had lightened the heavens there crept the somber gray film that preceded dawn by three hours. Jan followed more and more slowly. There was hard-breathing effort now in his running--effort that caused him physical pain and discomfort. His feet stumbled occasionally in the snow; his legs, from thigh to knee, began to ache with the gnawing torment that centers in the marrowbone; and with this beginning of the "runner's cramp" he was filled with a new and poignant terror. Would the dogs beat him out? Sloughing in the trail, bleeding at every foot, would they still drag their burden beyond the reach of his vengeance? The fear fastened itself upon him, urging him to greater effort, and he called upon the last of his strength in a spurt that carried him to where the thick spruce gave place to thin bush, and the bush to the barren and rocky side of a huge ridge, up which the trail climbed strong and well defined. For a few paces he followed it, then slipped and rolled back as the fatal paralysis deadened all power of movement in his limbs. He lay where he fell, moaning out his grief with his wide-staring eyes turned straight up into the cold gray of the starless sky. For a long time he was motionless. From the top of the ridge, where the trail cut over the mountain, he looked like a bit of fire-blackened wood half buried in the snow. Half-way up the ridge a wolf, slinking hungrily, sniffed first up the trail and then down, and broke the stillness of the gray night-end with a mournful howl. It did not stir Jan Thoreau. Long after the wolf had passed on, he moved a little, twisting himself so that his eyes could follow the tracks made by the sledge and dogs. When he came to where the snow-covered backbone of the ridge cut itself in faint outline against the desolate coldness of the sky, there fell from him the first sound of returning life. Up there he was sure that he had seen something move--an object which at first he had taken for a bush, and which he knew was not the wolf. He watched for its reappearance, until all sorts of gray dawn shadows danced before his eyes. Then he began slowly to crawl up the trail. Some of the dull, paralytic ache was gone from his limbs, and as he worked his blood began to warm them into new strength, until he stood up and sniffed like an animal in the wind that was coming over the ridge from the south. There was something in that wind that thrilled him. It stung his nostrils to a quick sensing of the nearness of something that was human. He smelled smoke. In it there was the pungent odor of green balsam, mixed with a faint perfume of pitch pine; and because the odor of pitch grew stronger as he ascended, he knew that it was a small fire that was making the smoke, with none of the fierce, dry woods to burn up the smell. It was a fire hidden among the rocks, a tiny fire, over which the fleeing missioner was cooking his breakfast. Jan almost moaned aloud in his gladness, and the old mad strength returned to his body. Near the summit of the ridge he picked up a club. It was a short, thick club, with the heavy end knotted and twisted. Cautiously he lifted his face over the rocks, and looked out upon a plateau, still deep in snow, swept bare by the winter's winds, and covered with rocks and bushes. His face was so white that at a little distance it might have been taken for a snow hare. It went whiter when, a few yards away, he saw the fire, the man, and the dogs. The man was close to the little blaze, his broad shoulders hunched over, steadying a small pot over the flame. Beyond him were the dogs huddled about the sledge, inanimate as death. Jan drew himself over the rocks. Once he had seen a big-footed lynx creep upon a wide-awake fox, and like that lynx he crept upon the man beside the fire. One of the tired dogs moved, and his pointed nostrils quivered in the air. Jan lay flat in the snow. Then the dog's muzzle dropped between his paws, and the boy moved on. Inch by inch he advanced. The inches multiplied themselves into a foot, the foot lengthened into yards, and still the man remained hunched over his simmering pot. Jan rose gently from his hands and knees to his feet, a furnace of madness blazing in his eyes. The restless dog raised his head again. He sniffed danger--near, menacing danger--and sprang up with a snarling cry that brought the man over the fire to quick attention. In a flash Jan took the last leap, and his club crashed down upon the missioner's head. The man pitched over like a log, and with a shrill cry the boy was at his throat. "I am Jan Thoreau!" he shrieked. "I am Jan Thoreau--Jan Thoreau--come to keel you!" He dropped his club, and was upon the man's chest, his slender fingers tightening like steel wire about the thick throat of his enemy. "I keel you slow--slow!" he cried, as the missioner struggled weakly. The great thick body heaved under him, and he put all his strength into his hands. Something struck him in the face. Something struck him again and again, but he felt neither the pain nor the force of it, and his voice sobbed out his triumph as he choked. The man's hands reached up and tore at his hair; but Jan saw only the missioner's mottled face growing more mottled, and his eyes staring in greater agony up into his own. "I am Jan Thoreau," he panted again and again. "I am Jan Thoreau, an' I keel you--keel you!" The blood poured from his face. It blinded him until he could no longer see the one from which he was choking life. He bent down his head to escape the blows. The man's body heaved more and more; it turned until he was half under it; but still he hung to the thick throat, as the weasel hangs in tenacious death to the jugular of its prey. The missioner's weight was upon him in crushing force now. His huge hands struck and tore at the boy's head and face, and then they had fastened themselves at his neck. Jan was conscious of a terrible effort to take in breath, but he was not conscious of pain. The clutch did not frighten him. It did not make him loosen his grip. His fingers dug deeper. He strove to cry out still his words of triumph; but he could make no sound, except a gasping like that which came from between the gaping jaws of the man whose life his body and soul were fighting to smother. There was death in each of the two grips; but the man's was the stronger, and his neck was larger and tougher, so that after a time he staggered to his knees and then to his feet, while Jan lay upon his back, his face and hair red with blood, his eyes wide open and with a lifeless glare in them. The missioner looked down upon his victim in horror. As the life that had nearly ebbed out of him poured back into his body, he staggered among the dogs, fastened them to the sledge, and urged them down the mountain into the plain. There was soon no sound of the sledge. From a bush a dozen yards away a wondering moose-bird had watched the terrible struggle. Now he hopped boldly upon Jan's motionless body, and perked his head inquisitively as he examined the strange face, covered with blood and twisted in torture. The gray film of dawn dissolved itself into the white beginning of day. Far to the south, a bit of the red sunrise was creeping into the northern world. CHAPTER IX JEAN AND JAN Half a mile down the ridge, where it sloped up gradually from the forests and swamps of the plain, a team of powerful Malemutes were running at the head of a toboggan. On the sledge was a young half-Cree woman. Now beside the sledge, now at the lead of the dogs, cracking his whip and shouting joyously, ran Jean de Gravois. "Is it not beautiful, my Iowaka?" he cried for the hundredth time, in Cree, leaping over a three-foot boulder in his boundless enthusiasm. "Is this not the glorious world, with the sun just rising off there, and spring only a few days away? It is not like the cold chills at Churchill, which come up with the icebergs and stay there all summer! What do you think of your Jean de Gravois and his country now?" Jean was bringing back with him a splendid young woman, with big, lustrous eyes, and hair that shone with the gloss of a raven's wing in the sun. She laughed at him proudly as he danced and leaped beside her, replying softly in Cree, which is the most beautiful language in the world, to everything that he said. Jean leaped and ran, cracked his caribou whip, and shouted and sang until he was panting and red in the face. Just as Iowaka had called upon him to stop and get a second wind, the Malemutes dropped back upon their haunches where Jan Thoreau lay, twisted and bleeding, in the snow. "What is this?" cried Jean. He caught Jan's limp head and shoulders up in his arms, and called shrilly to Iowaka, who was disentangling herself from the thick furs in which he had wrapped her. "It is the fiddler I told you about, who lives with Williams at Post Lac Bain!" he shouted excitedly in Cree. "He has been murdered! He has been choked to death, and torn to pieces in the face, as if by an animal!" Jean's eyes roved about as Iowaka kneeled beside him. "What a fight!" he gasped. "See the footprints--a big man and a small boy, and the murderer has gone on a sledge!" "He is warm," said Iowaka. "It may be that he is not dead." Jean de Gravois sprang to his feet, his little black eyes flashing with a dangerous fire. In a single leap he was at the side of the sledge, throwing off the furs and bundles and all other objects except his rifle. "He is dead, Iowaka. Look at the purple and black in his face. It is Jean de Gravois who will catch the murderer, and you will stay here and make yourself a camp. Hi-o-o-o-o!" he shouted to the Malemutes. The team twisted sinuously and swiftly in the trail as he sped over the edge of the mountain. Upon the plain below he knelt upon the toboggan, with his rifle in front of him; and at his low, hissing commands, which reached no farther than the dogs' ears, the team stretched their long bodies in pursuit of the missioner and his huskies. Jean knew that whoever was ahead of him was not far away, and he laughed and hunched his shoulders when he saw that his magnificent Malemutes were making three times the speed of the huskies. It was a short chase. It led across the narrow plain and into a dense tangle of swamp, where the huskies had picked their way in aimless wandering until they came out in thick balsam and Banksian pine. Half a mile farther on, and the trail broke into an open which led down to the smooth surface of a lake, and two-thirds across the lake was the fleeing missioner. The Malemute leader flung open his jaws in a deep baying triumph, and with a savage yell Jean cracked his caribou whip over his back. He saw the man ahead of him lean over the end of his sledge as he urged his dogs, but the huskies went no faster; and then he caught the glitter of something that flashed for a moment in the sun. "Ah!" said Jean softly, as a bullet sang over his head. "He fires at Jean de Gravois!" He dropped his whip, and there was the warm glow of happiness in his little dark face as he leveled his rifle over the backs of his Malemutes. "He fires at Jean de Gravois, and it is Jean who can hamstring a caribou at three hundred yards on the run!" For an instant, at the crack of his rifle, there was no movement ahead; then something rolled from the sledge and lay doubled up in the snow. A hundred yards beyond it, the huskies stopped in a rabble and turned to look at the approaching strangers. Beside it Jean stopped; and when he saw the face that stared up at him, he clutched his thin hands in his long black hair and cried out, in shrill amazement and horror: "The saints in Heaven, it is the missioner from Churchill!" He turned the man over, and found where his bullet had entered under one arm and come out from under the other. There was no spark of life left. The missioner was already dead. "The missioner from Churchill!" he gasped again. He looked up at the warm sun, and kicked the melting snow under his moccasined feet. "It will thaw very soon," he said to himself, looking again at the dead man, "and then he will go into the lake." He headed his Malemutes back to the forest. Then he ran out and cut the traces of the exhausted huskies, and with his whip scattered them in freedom over the ice. "Go to the wolves!" he shouted in Cree. "Hide yourselves from the post, or Jean de Gravois will cut out your tongues and take your skins off alive!" When he came back to the top of the mountain, Jean found Iowaka making hot coffee, while Jan was bundled up in furs near the fire. "It is as I said," she called. "He is alive!" Thus it happened that the return of Jean de Gravois to the post was even more dramatic than he had schemed it to be, for he brought back with him not only a beautiful wife from Churchill, but also the half dead Jan Thoreau from the scene of battle on the mountain. And in the mystery of it all he reveled for two days; for Jean de Gravois said not a word about the dead man on the lake beyond the forest, nor did the huskies come back into their bondage to give a hint of the missing missionary. CHAPTER X RED SNOW-FLOWERS From the day after the caribou roast the fur-gatherers began scattering. The Eskimos left the next morning. On the second day Mukee's people from the west set off along the edge of the barrens. Most of the others left by ones and twos into the wildernesses to the south and east. Less than a dozen still put off their return to the late spring trapping, and among these were Jean de Gravois and his wife. Jean waited until the third day. Then he went to see Jan. The boy was bolstered up in his cot, with Cummins balancing the little Mélisse on the edge of the bed when he came in. For a time Jean sat and watched them in silence; then he made a sign to Cummins, who joined him at the door. "I am going the Athabasca way to-day," he said. "I wish to talk with the boy before I go. I have a word to say to him which no ears should hear but his own. Will it be right?" "Talk to him as long as you like," said Cummins, "but don't worry him about the missionary. You'll not get a word from him." Jan's eyes spoke with a devotion greater than words as Jean de Gravois came and sat close beside him. He knew that it was Jean who had brought him alive into the post, and now there was something in the suggestive grimacing of the Frenchman's face, and in the eagerness with which he looked over his shoulder, as if he was not quite sure but that the walls held ears, that caused the boy's heart to beat a little faster as he speculated upon what Jean was going to say. For a few moments Jean looked at the other steadily, with his thin, black face propped in his hands and a curious smile on his lips. He twisted his face into a dozen expressions of a language as voluble as that of his tongue, hunched his shoulders up to his ears as he grinned at Jan, and chuckled between his grimaces. "Ah, it was wan be-e-a-u-tiful fight!" he said softly. "You are a brave boy, Jan Thoreau!" "You did not see it?" asked Jan. Unconsciously the words came from him in French. Jean caught one of his thin hands and laughed joyfully, for the spirit of him was French to the bottom of his soul. "I see it? No, neither I nor Iowaka; but there it was in the snow, as plain as the eyes in your face. And did I not follow the trail that staggered down the mountain, while Iowaka brought you back to life? And when I came to the lake, did I not see something black out upon it, like a charred log? And when I came to it, was it not the dead body of the missioner from Churchill? Eh, Jan Thoreau?" Jan sat up in his bed with a sharp cry. "Sh-h-h-h-h!" admonished Jean, pressing him back gently. "There is no need of telling what is out there on the lake. Only the Blessed Virgin made me dream last night that you would like to see with your own eyes that the missioner is dead. The thaw will open up the lake in a few days. Then he will go down in the first slush. And"--Jean looked about him cautiously again, and whispered low--"if you see anything about the dead missioner that you do not understand--THINK OF JEAN DE GRAVOIS!" He rose to his feet and bent over Jan's white face. "I am going the Athabasca way to-day," he finished. "Perhaps, Jan Thoreau, you will hear after a time that it would be best for Jean de Gravois never to return again to this Post Lac Bain. If so, you will find him between Fond du Lac and the Beaver River, and you can make it in four days by driving your dogs close to the scrub-edge of the barrens, keeping always where you can see the musk-ox to the north." He turned to the door, and hesitated there for a moment, smiling and shrugging his shoulders. "Jean de Gravois wonders if Jan Thoreau understands?" he said, and passed out. When Cummins returned, he found Jan's cheeks flushed and the boy in a fever. "Devil take that Gravois!" he growled. "He has been a brother to me," said Jan simply. "I love him." On the second day after the Frenchman's departure, Jan rose free of the fever which had threatened him for a time, and in the afternoon he harnessed Cummins' dogs. The last of the trappers had started from the post that morning, their sledges and dogs sinking heavily in the deepening slush; and Jan set off over the smooth toboggan trail made by the company's agent in his return to Fort Churchill. This trail followed close along the base of the ridge upon which he had fought the missionary, joining that of Jean de Gravois miles beyond. Jan climbed the ridge. From where he had made his attack, he followed the almost obliterated trail of the Frenchman and his Malemutes until he came to the lake; and then he knew that Jean de Gravois had spoken the truth, for he found the missionary with his face half buried in the slush, stark dead. He no longer had to guess at the meaning of Jean's words. The bullet-hole under the dead man's arms was too large to escape eyes like Jan's. Into the little hidden world which he treasured in his heart there came another face, to remain always with him--the face of the courageous little forest dandy who was hurrying with his bride back into the country of the Athabasca. Jan allowed his dogs to walk all the way back to the post, and it was dusk before they arrived. Maballa had prepared supper, and Cummins was waiting for him. He glanced sharply at the boy. There was a smile on Jan's lips, and there was something in his eyes which Cummins had never seen there before. From that night they were no longer filled with the nervous, glittering flashes which at times had given him an appearance almost of madness. In place of their searching suspicions, there was a warmer and more companionable glow, and Cummins felt the effect of the change as he ate his caribou steak and talked once more entirely of Mélisse. A Cree trapper had found Jan's violin in the snow, and had brought it to Maballa. Before Cummins finished his supper, the boy began to play, and he continued to play until the lights at the post went out and both the man and the child were deep in sleep. Then Jan stopped. There was the fire of a keen wakefulness in his eyes as he carefully unfastened the strings of his instrument, and held it close to the oil lamp, so that he could peer down through the narrow aperture in the box. He looked again at Cummins. The man was sleeping with his face to the wall. With the hooked wire which he used for cleaning his revolver Jan fished gently at the very end of the box, and after three or four efforts the wire caught in something soft, which he pulled toward him. Through the bulge in the F-hole he dragged forth a small, tightly rolled cylinder of faded red cloth. For a few moments he sat watching the deep breathing of Cummins, unrolling the cloth as he watched, until he had spread out upon the table before him a number of closely written pages of paper. He weighted them at one end with his violin, and held them down at the other with his hands. The writing was in French. Several of the pages were in a heavy masculine hand, the words running one upon another so closely that in places they seemed to be connected; and from them Jan took his fingers, so that they rolled up like a spring. Over the others he bent his head, and there came from him a low, sobbing breath. On these pages the writing was that of a woman, and from the paper there still rose a faint, sweet scent of heliotrope. For half an hour Jan gazed upon them, reading the words slowly, until he came to the last page. When there came a movement from over against the wall, he lifted for an instant a pair of startled eyes. Cummins was turning in his sleep. Soundlessly Jan tiptoed across the floor, opened the door, without disturbing the slumbering man and went out into the night. In the south and east there glowed a soft blaze of fire where the big spring moon was coming up over the forest. As Jan turned his face toward it, a new and strange longing crept into his heart. He stretched out his arms, with the papers and his violin clutched in his hands, as if from out of that growing glory a wonderful spirit was calling to him. For the first time in his lonely life it came to him--this call of the great world beyond the wilderness; and suddenly he crushed the woman's letter to his lips, and his voice burst from him in whispering, thrilling eagerness: "I will come to you--some day--w'en ze leetle Mélisse come too!" He rolled the written pages together, wrapped them in the faded red cloth, and concealed them again in the box of his violin before he reentered the cabin. The next morning Cummins stood in the door, and said: "How warm the sun is! The snow and ice are going, Jan. It's spring. We'll house the sledges to-day, and begin feeding the dogs on fish." Each day thereafter the sun rose earlier, the day was longer, and the air was warmer; and with the warmth there now came the sweet scents of the budding earth and the myriad sounds of the deep, unseen life of the forest, awakening from its long slumber in its bed of snow. Moose-birds chirped their mating songs and flirted from morning until night in bough and air; ravens fluffed themselves in the sun; and snowbirds--little black-and-white beauties that were wont to whisk about like so many flashing gems--changed their color from day to day until they became new creatures in a new world. The poplar buds swelled in their joy until they split like over fat peas. The mother bears come out of their winter dens, accompanied by little ones born weeks before, and taught them how to pull down the slender saplings for these same buds. The moose returned from the blizzardy tops of the great ridges, where for good reasons they had passed the winter, followed by the wolves who fed upon their weak and sick. Everywhere were the rushing torrents of melting snow, the crackle of crumbling ice, the dying frost-cries of rock and earth and tree; and each night the pale glow of the aurora borealis crept farther and farther toward the pole in its fading glory. The post fell back into its old ways. Now and then a visitor came in from out of the forest, but he remained for only a day or two, taking back into the solitude with him a few of the necessaries of life. Williams was busy preparing his books for the coming of the company's chief agent from London, and Cummins, who was helping the factor, had a good deal of extra time on his hands. Before the last of the snow was gone, he and Jan began dragging in logs for an addition which they planned for the little cabin. Basking out in the sun, with a huge bearskin for a floor, Mélisse looked upon the new home-building with wonderful demonstrations of interest. Cummins' face glowed with pleasure as she kicked and scrambled on the bearskin and gave shrill-voiced approval of their efforts. Jan was the happiest youth in the world. It was certain that the little Mélisse understood what they were doing, and the word passed from Cummins and Jan to the others at the post, so that it happened frequently during the building operations that Mukee and Per-ee, and even Williams himself, would squat for an hour at a time in the snow near Mélisse, marveling at the early knowledge which the great God saw fit to put into a white baby's brain. This miracle came to be a matter of deep discussion, in which there were the few words but much thought of men born to silence. One day Mukee brought two little Indian babies and set them on the bearskin, where they continued to sit in stoic indifference--a clear proof of the superior development of Mélisse. "I wouldn't be surprised to hear her begin talking at any time," confided Cummins to Jan, one evening when the boy was tuning his violin. "She is nearly six months old." "Do you suppose she would begin in French?" asked Jan, suddenly stopping the tightening of his strings. Cummins stared. "Why?" Jan dropped his voice to an impressive whisper. "Because I have heard her many times say, 'Bon-bon--bonbon--bonbon'--which means candee; and always I have given her candee, an' now ze leetle Mélisse say 'Bonbon' all of ze time." "Well," said Cummins, eying him in half belief. "Could it happen?" Like a shot Jan replied: "I began in Engleesh, an' Jan Thoreau is French!" He began playing, but Cummins did not hear much of the music. He went to the door, and stared in lonely grief at the top of the tall spruce over the grave. Later he said to Jan: "It would be bad if that were so. Give her no more sweet stuff when she says 'Bonbon,' Jan. She must forget!" The next day Jan tore down the sapling barricade around the woman's grave, and from noon until almost sunset he skirted the sunny side of a great ridge to the south. When he came back he brought with him a basket of the early red snow-flowers, with earth clinging to their roots. These he planted thickly over the mound under the spruce, and around its edge he put rows of the young shoots of Labrador tea and backneesh. As the weather grew warmer, and spring changed into summer, he took Mélisse upon short excursions with him into the forests, and together they picked great armfuls of flowers and Arctic ferns. The grave was never without fresh offerings, and the cabin, with its new addition complete, was always filled with the beautiful things that spring up out of the earth. Jan and Mélisse were happy; and in the joys of these two there was pleasure for the others of the post, as there had been happiness in the presence of the woman. Only upon Cummins had there settled a deep grief. The changes of spring and summer, bringing with them all that this desolate world held of warmth and beauty, filled him with the excruciating pain of his great grief, as if the woman had died but yesterday. When he first saw the red flowers glowing upon her grave, he buried his head in his arms and sobbed like a child. The woman had loved them. She had always watched for the first red blooms to shoot up out of the wet earth. A hundred times he had gone with her to search for them, and had fastened the first flower in the soft beauty of her hair. Those were the days when, like happy children, they had romped and laughed together out there beyond the black spruce. Often he had caught her up in his strong arms and carried her, tired and hungry but gloriously happy, back to their little home in the clearing, where she would sit and laugh at him as he clumsily prepared their supper. Thoughts and pictures like these choked him and drove him off alone into the depths of the wilderness. When this spirit impelled him his moccasined feet would softly tread the paths they had taken in their wanderings; and at every turn a new memory would spring up before him, and he longed to fling himself down there with the sweet spirit of the woman and die. Little did he dream, at these times, that Jan and Mélisse were to cherish these same paths, that out of the old, dead joys there were to spring new joys, and that the new joys were to wither and die, even as his own--for a time. Beyond his own great sorrow he saw nothing in the future. He gave up Mélisse to Jan. At last, his gaunt frame thinned by sleepless nights and days of mental torture, he said that the company's business was calling him to Churchill, and early in August he left for the bay. CHAPTER XI FOR HER Upon Jan now fell a great responsibility. Mélisse was his own. Days passed before he could realize the fullness of his possession. He had meant to go by the Athabasca water route to see Jean de Gravois, leaving Mélisse to Cummins for a fortnight or so. Now he gave this up. Day and night he guarded the child; and to Jan's great joy it soon came to pass that whenever he was compelled to leave her for a short time, Mélisse would cry for him. At least Maballa assured him that this was so, and Mélisse gave evidence of it by her ecstatic joy when he returned. When Cummins came back from Fort Churchill in the autumn, he brought with him a pack full of things for Mélisse, including new books and papers, for which he had spent a share of his season's earnings. As he was freeing these treasures from their wrapping of soft caribou skin, with Jan and Mélisse both looking on, he stopped suddenly and glanced from his knees up at the boy. "They're wondering over at Churchill what became of the missionary who left with the mail, Jan. They say he was last seen at the Etawney." "And not here?" replied Jan quickly. "Not that they know of," said Cummins, still keeping his eyes on the boy. "The man who drove him never got back to Churchill. They're wondering where the driver went, too. A company officer has gone up to the Etawney, and it is possible he may come over to Lac Bain. I don't believe he'll find the missionary." "Neither do I," said Jan quite coolly. "He is probably dead, and the wolves and foxes have eaten him before this--or mebby ze feesh!" Cummins resumed his task of unpacking, and among the books which he brought forth there were two which he gave to Jan. "The supply ship from London came in while I was at Churchill, and those came with it," he explained. "They're school-books. There's going to be a school at Churchill next winter, and the winter after that it will be at York Factory, down on the Hayes." He settled back on his heels and looked at Jan. "It's the first school that has ever come nearer than four hundred miles of us. That's at Prince Albert." For many succeeding days Jan took long walks alone in the forest trails, and silently thrashed out the two problems which Cummins had brought back from Churchill for him. Should he warn Jean de Gravois that a company officer was investigating the disappearance of the missionary? At first his impulse was to go at once into Jean's haunts beyond the Fond du Lac, and give him the news. But even if the officer did come to Post Lac Bain, how would he know that the missionary was at the bottom of the lake, and that Jean de Gravois was accountable for it? So in the end Jan decided that it would be folly to stir up the little hunter's fears, and he thought no more of the company's investigator who had gone up to the Etawney. But the second problem was one whose perplexities troubled him. Cummins' word of the school at Churchill had put a new and thrilling thought into his head, and always with that thought he coupled visions of the growing Mélisse. This year the school would be at Churchill, and the next at York Factory, and after that it might be gone for ever, so that when Mélisse grew up there would be none nearer than what Jan looked upon as the other end of the world. Why could not he go to school for Mélisse, and store up treasures which in time he might turn over to her? The scheme was a colossal one, by all odds the largest that had ever entered into his dreams of what life held for him--that he, Jan Thoreau, should learn to read and write, and do other things like the people of the far South, so that he might help to make the little creature in the cabin like her who slept under the watchful spruce. He was stirred to the depths of his soul, now with fear, again with hope and desire and ambition; and it was not until the first cold chills of approaching winter crept down from the north and east that the ultimate test came, and he told Cummins of his intention. Once his mind was settled, Jan lost no time in putting his plans into action. Mukee knew the trail to Churchill, and agreed to leave with him on the third day--which gave Williams' wife time to make him a new coat of caribou skin. On the second evening he played for the last time in the little cabin; and after Mélisse had fallen asleep he took her up gently in his arms and held her there for a long time, while Cummins looked on in silence. When he replaced her in the little bed against the wall, Cummins put one of his long arms about the boy's shoulders and led him to the door, where they stood looking out upon the grim desolation of the forest that rose black and silent against the starlit background of the sky. High above the thick tops of the spruce rose the lone tree over the grave, like a dark finger pointing up into the night, and Cummins' eyes rested there. "She heard you first that night, Jan," he spoke softly. "She knew that you were coming long before I could hear anything but the crackling in the skies. I believe--she knows--now--" The arm about Jan's shoulder tightened, and Cummins' head dropped until his rough cheek rested upon the boy's hair. There was something of the gentleness of love in what he did, and in response to it Jan caught the hand that was hanging over his shoulder in both his own. "Boy, won't you tell me who you are, and why you came that night?" "I will tell you, now, that I come from ze Great Bear," whispered Jan. "I am only Jan Thoreau, an' ze great God made me come that night because"--his heart throbbed with sudden inspiration as he looked up into his companion's face--"because ze leetle Mélisse was here," he finished. For a time Cummins made no move or sound; then he drew the boy back into the cabin, and from the little gingham-covered box in the corner he took a buckskin bag. "You are going to Churchill for Mélisse and for HER" he said in a voice pitched low that it might not awaken the baby. "Take this." Jan drew a step back. "No, I fin' work with ze compan-ee at Churchill. That is ze gold for Mélisse when she grow up. Jan Thoreau is no--what you call heem?" His teeth gleamed in a smile, but it lasted only for an instant. Cummins' face darkened, and he caught him firmly, almost roughly, by the arm. "Then Jan Thoreau will never come back to Mélisse," he exclaimed with finality. "You are going to Churchill to be at school, and not to work with your hands. THEY are sending you. Do you understand, boy? THEY!" There was a fierce tremor in his voice. "Which will it be? Will you take the bag, or will you never again come back to Lac Bain?" Dumbly Jan reached out and took the buckskin pouch. A dull flush burned in his cheeks. Cummins looked in wonder upon the strange look that came into his eyes. "I pay back this gold to you and Mélisse a hundred times!" he cried tensely. "I swear it, an' I swear that Jan Thoreau mak' no lie!" Unconsciously, with the buckskin bag clutched in one hand, he had stretched out his other arm to the violin hanging against the wall. Cummins turned to look. When he faced him again the boy's arm had fallen to his side and his cheeks were white. The next day he left. No one heard his last words to Mélisse, or witnessed his final leave-taking of her, for Cummins sympathized with the boy's grief and went out of the cabin an hour before Mukee was ready with his pack. The last that he heard was Jan's violin playing low, sweet music to the child. Three weeks later, when Mukee returned to Lac Bain, he said that Jan had traveled to Churchill like one who had lost his tongue, and that far into the nights he had played lonely dirges upon his violin. CHAPTER XII A RUMOR FROM THE SOUTH It was a long winter for Cummins and Mélisse. It was a longer one for Jan. He had taken with him a letter from the factor at Lac Bain to the factor at Churchill, and he found quarters with the chief clerk's assistant at the post--a young, red-faced man who had come over on the ship from England. He was a cheerful, good-natured young fellow, and when he learned that his new associate had tramped all the way from the Barren Lands to attend the new public school, he at once invested himself with the responsibilities of a private tutor. He taught Jan, first of all, to say "is" in place of "ees." It was a tremendous lesson for Jan, but he struggled with it manfully, and a week after his arrival, when one evening he was tuning his violin to play for young MacDonald, he said with eager gravity: "Ah, I have it now, Mr. MacDonald. It ees not 'EES,' it ees 'EES!'" MacDonald roared, but persisted, and in time Jan began to get the twist out of his tongue. The school opened in November, and Jan found himself one of twenty or so, gathered there from forty thousand square miles of wilderness. Two white youths and a half-breed had come from the Etawney; the factor at Nelson House sent up his son, and from the upper waters of the Little Churchill there came three others. From the first, Jan's music found him a premier place in the interest of the tutor sent over by the company. He studied by night as well as by day, and by the end of the second month his only competitor was the youth from Nelson House. His greatest source of knowledge was not the teacher, but MacDonald. There was in him no inherent desire for the learning of the people to the south. That he was storing away, like a faithful machine, for the use of Mélisse. But MacDonald gave him that for which his soul longed--a picture of life as it existed in the wonderful world beyond the wilderness, to which some strange spirit within him, growing stronger as the weeks and months passed, seemed projecting his hopes and his ambitions. Between his thoughts of Mélisse and Lac Bain, he dreamed of that other world; and several times during the winter he took the little roll from the box of his violin, and read again and again the written pages that it contained. "Some time I will go," he assured himself always. "Some time, when Mélisse is a little older, and can go too." To young MacDonald, the boy from Lac Bain was a "find." The Scottish youth was filled with an immense longing for home; and as his homesickness grew, he poured more and more into Jan's attentive ears his knowledge of the world from which he had come. He told him the history of the old brass cannon that lay abandoned among the vines and bushes, where a fort had stood at Churchill many years before. He described the coming of the first ship into the great bay; told of Hudson and his men, of great wars that his listener had never dreamed of, of kings and queens and strange nations. At night he read a great deal to Jan out of books that he had brought over with him. As the weeks and months passed, the strange spirit that was calling to the forest boy out of that other world stirred more restlessly within him. At times it urged him to confide in MacDonald what was hidden away in the box of his violin. The secret nearly burst from him one Sunday, when MacDonald said: "I'm going home on the ship that comes over next summer. What do you say to going back with me, Jan?" The spirit surged through Jan in a hot flood, and it was only an accident that kept him from saying what was in his heart. They were standing with the icy bay stretching off in interminable miles toward the pole. A little way from them, the restless tide was beating up through the broken ice, and eating deeper into the frozen shore. From out of the bank there projected, here and there, the ends of dark, box-like objects, which, in the earlier days of the company, had been gun-cases. In them were the bones of men who had lived and died an age ago; and as Jan looked at the silent coffins, now falling into the sea, another spirit--the spirit that bound him to Mélisse--entered into him, and he shuddered as he thought of what might happen in the passing of a year. It was this spirit that won. In the spring, Jan went back to Lac Bain with the company's supplies. The next autumn he followed the school to York Factory, and the third year he joined it at Nelson House. Then the company's teacher died, and no one came to fill his place. In midwinter of this third year, Jan returned to Lac Bain, and, hugging the delighted Mélisse close in his arms, he told her that never again would he go away without her. Mélisse, tightening her arms around his neck, made his promise sacred by offering her little rosebud of a mouth for him to kiss. Later, the restless spirit slumbering within his breast urged him to speak to Cummins. "When Mélisse is a little older, should we not go with her into the South?" he said. "She must not live for ever in a place like this." Cummins looked at him for an instant as if he did not understand. When Jan's meaning struck home, his eyes hardened, and there was the vibrant ring of steel in his quiet voice. "Her mother will be out there under the old spruce until the end of time," he said slowly; "and we will never leave her--unless, some day, Mélisse goes alone." From that hour Jan no longer looked into the box of his violin. He struggled against the desire that had grown with his years until he believed that he had crushed it and stamped it out of his existence. In his life there came to be but one rising and one setting of the sun. Mélisse was his universe. She crowded his heart until beyond her he began to lose visions of any other world. Each day added to his joy. He called her "my little sister," and with sweet gravity Mélisse called him "brother Jan," and returned in full measure his boundless love. He marked the slow turning of her flaxen hair into sunny gold, and month by month watched joyfully the deepening of that gold into warm shades of brown. She was to be like her mother! Jan's soul rejoiced, and in his silent way Cummins offered up wordless prayers of thankfulness. So matters stood at Post Lac Bain in the beginning of Mélisse's ninth year, when up from the south there came a rumor. As civil war spreads its deepest gloom, as the struggle of father against son and brother against brother stifles the breathing of nations, so this rumor set creeping a deep pall over the forest people. Rumor grew into rumor. From the east, the south and the west they multiplied, until on all sides the Paul Reveres of the wilderness carried news that the Red Terror was at their heels, and the chill of a great fear swept like a shivering wind from the edge of civilization to the bay. CHAPTER XIII THE RED TERROR Nineteen years before these same rumors had come up from the south, and the Red Terror had followed. The horror of it still remained with the forest people; for a thousand unmarked graves, shunned like a pestilence, and scattered from the lower waters of James Bay to the lake country of the Athabasca, gave evidence of the toll it demanded. From DuBrochet, on Reindeer Lake, authentic word first came to Lac Bain early in the winter. Henderson was factor there, and he passed up the warning that had come to him from Nelson House and the country to the southeast. "There's smallpox on the Nelson," his messenger informed Williams, "and it has struck the Crees on Wollaston Lake. God only knows what it is doing to the bay Indians, but we hear that it is wiping out the Chippewayans between the Albany and the Churchill." He left the same day with his winded dogs. "I'm off for the Révillon people to the west, with the compliments of our company," he explained. Three days later, word came from Churchill that all of the company's servants and her majesty's subjects west of the bay should prepare themselves for the coming of the Red Terror. Williams' thick face went as white as the paper he held, as he read the words of the Churchill factor. "It means dig graves," he said. "That's the only preparation we can make!" He read the paper aloud to the men at Lac Bain, and every available man was detailed to spread the warning throughout the post's territory. There was a quick harnessing of dogs, and on each sledge that went out was a roll of red cotton cloth. Williams' face was still white as he passed these rolls out from the company's store. They were ominous of death, lurid signals of pestilence and horror, and the touch of them sent shuddering chills through the men who were about to scatter them among the forest people. Jan went over the Churchill trail, and then swung southward along the Hasabala, where the country was crisscrossed with trap-lines of the half-breeds and the French. First, he struck the cabin of Croisset and his wife, and left part of his cloth. Then he turned westward, while Croisset harnessed his dogs and hurried with a quarter of the roll to the south. Between the Hasabala and Klokol Lake, Jan found three other cabins, and at each he left a bit of the red cotton. Forty miles to the south, somewhere on the Porcupine, were the lines of Henry Langlois, the post's greatest fox-hunter. On the morning of the third day, Jan set off in search of Langlois; and late in the afternoon of the same day he came upon a well-beaten snow-shoe trail. On this he camped until morning. When dawn came he began following it. He passed half a dozen of Langlois' trap-houses. In none of them was there bait. In three the traps were sprung. In the seventh he found the remains of a red fox that had been eaten until there was little but the bones left. Two houses beyond there was an ermine in a trap, with its head eaten off. With growing perplexity, Jan examined the snow-shoe trails in the snow. The most recent of them were days old. He urged on his dogs, stopping no more at the trap-houses, until, with a shrieking command, he brought them to a halt at the edge of a clearing cut in the forest. A dozen rods ahead of him was the trapper's cabin. Over it, hanging limply to a sapling pole, was the red signal of horror. With a terrified cry to the dogs, Jan ran back, and the team turned about and followed him in a tangled mass. Then he stopped. There was no smoke rising from the clay chimney on the little cabin. Its one window was white with frost. Again and again he shouted, but no sign of life responded to his cries. He fired his rifle twice, and waited with his mittened hand over his mouth and nostrils. There was no reply. Then, abandoning hope, he turned back into the north, and gave his dogs no rest until he had reached Lac Bain. His team came in half dead. Both Cummins and Williams rushed out to meet him as he drove up before the company's store. "The red flag is over Langlois' cabin!" he cried. "I fired my rifle and shouted. There is no life! Langlois is dead!" "Great God!" groaned Williams. His red face changed to a sickly pallor, and he stood with his thick hands clenched, while Cummins took charge of the dogs and Jan went into the store for something to eat. Mukee and Per-ee returned to the post the next day. Young Williams followed close after them, filled with terror. He had found the plague among the Crees of the Waterfound. Each day added to the gloom at Lac Bain. For a time Jan could not fully understand, and he still played his violin and romped joyfully with Mélisse in the little cabin. He had not lived through the plague of nineteen years before. Most of the others had, even to Mukee, the youngest of them all. Jan did not know that it was this Red Terror that came like a Nemesis of the gods to cut down the people of the great Northland, until they were fewer in number than those of the Sahara desert. But he learned quickly. In February, the Crees along Wollaston Lake were practically wiped out. Red flags marked the trail of the Nelson. Death leaped from cabin to cabin in the wilderness to the west. By the middle of the month, Lac Bain was hemmed in by the plague on all sides but the north. The post's trap-lines had been shortened; now they were abandoned entirely, and the great fight began. Williams assembled his men, and told them how that same battle had been fought nearly two decades before. For sixty miles about the post every cabin and wigwam that floated a red flag must be visited--and burned if the occupants were dead. In learning whether life or death existed in these places lay the peril for those who undertook the task. It was a dangerous mission. It meant facing a death from which those who listened to the old factor shrank with dread; yet, when the call came, they responded to a man. Cummins and Jan ate their last supper together, with Mélisse sitting between them and wondering at their silence. When it was over, the two went outside. "Mukee wasn't at the store," said Cummins in a thick, strained voice, halting Jan in the gloom behind the cabin. "Williams thought he was off to the south with his dogs. But he isn't. I saw him drag himself into his shack, like a sick dog, an hour before dusk. There'll be a red flag over Lac Bain in the morning." Jan stifled the sharp cry on his lips. "Ah, there's a light!" cried Cummins. "It's a pitch torch burning in front of his door!" A shrill, quavering cry came from the direction of Mukee's cabin, and the two recognized it as the voice of the half-breed's father--a wordless cry, rising and dying away again and again, like the wailing of a dog. Sudden lights flashed into the night, as they had flashed years ago when Cummins staggered forth from his home with word of the woman's death. He gripped Jan's arm in a sudden spasm of horror. "The flag is up NOW!" he whispered huskily. "Go back to Mélisse. There is food in the house for a month, and you can bring the wood in to-night. Bar the door. Open only the back window for air. Stay inside--with her--until it is all over. Go!" "To the red flags, that is where I will go!" cried Jan fiercely, wrenching his arm free. "It is your place to stay with Mélisse!" "My place is with the men." "And mine?" Jan drew himself up rigid. "One of us must shut himself up with her," pleaded Cummins. "It must be you." His face gleamed white in the darkness. "You came--that night--because Mélisse was here. SOMETHING sent you--SOMETHING--don't you understand? And since then she has never been near to death until now. You must stay with Mélisse--WITH YOUR VIOLIN!" "Mélisse herself shall choose," replied Jan. "We will go into the cabin, and the one to whom she comes first goes among the red flags. The other shuts himself in the cabin until the plague is gone." He turned swiftly back to the door. As he opened it, he stepped aside to let Cummins enter first, and behind the other's broad back he leaped quickly to one side, his eyes glowing, his white teeth gleaming in a smile. Unseen by Cummins, he stretched out his arms to Mélisse, who was playing with the strings of his violin on the table. He had done this a thousand times, and Mélisse knew what it meant--a kiss and a joyous toss halfway to the ceiling. She jumped from her stool and ran to him; but this time, instead of hoisting her above his head, he hugged her up close to his breast, and buried his face in her soft hair. His eyes looked over her in triumph to Cummins. "Up, Jan, up--'way up!" cried Mélisse. He tossed her until she half turned in midair, kissed her again as he caught her in his arms, and set her, laughing and happy, on the edge of the table. "I am going down among the sick Crees in Cummins' place," said Jan to Williams, half an hour later. "Now that the plague has come to Lac Bain, he must stay with Mélisse." CHAPTER XIV A LONG WAITING The next morning Jan struck out over his old trail to the Hasabala. The Crees were gone. He spent a day swinging east and west, and found old trails leading into the north. "They have gone up among the Eskimos," he said to himself. "Ah, Kazan, what in the name of the saints is that?" The leading dog dropped upon his haunches with a menacing growl as a lone figure staggered across the snow toward them. It was Croisset. With a groan, he dropped upon the sledge. "I am sick and starving!" he wailed. "The fiend himself has got into my cabin, and for three days I've had nothing but snow and a raw whisky-jack!" "Sick!" cried Jan, drawing a step away from him. "Yes, sick from an empty belly, and this, and this!" He showed a forearm done up in a bloody rag, and pointed to his neck, from which the skin was peeling. "I was gone ten days with that red cloth you gave me; and when I came back, if there wasn't the horror itself grinning at me from the top of my own shanty! I tried to get in, but my wife barred the door, and said that she would shoot me if I didn't get back into the woods. I tried to steal in at night through a window, and she drenched me in hot water. I built a wigwam at the edge of the forest, and stayed there for five days. Hon-gree! Blessed saints, I had no matches, no grub; and when I got close enough to yell these things to her, she kept her word and plunked me through a crack in the door, so that I lost a pint of blood from this arm." "I'll give you something to eat," laughed Jan, undoing his pack. "How long has the red flag been up?" "I've lost all count of time, but it's twelve days, if an hour, and I swear it's going to take all winter to get it down!" "It's not the plague. Go back and tell your wife so." "And get shot for my pains!" groaned Croisset, digging into meat and biscuit. "I'm bound for Lac Bain, if you'll give me a dozen matches. That whisky-jack will remain with me until I die, for when I ate him I forgot to take out his insides!" "You're a lucky man, Croisset. It's good proof that she loves you." "If bullets and hot water and an empty belly are proofs, she loves me a great deal, Jan Thoreau! Though I don't believe she meant to hit me. It was a woman's bad aim." Jan left him beside a good fire, and turned into the southwest to burn Langlois and his cabin. The red flag still floated where he had seen it weeks before. The windows were thicker with frost. He shouted, beat upon the door with the butt of his rifle and broke in the windows. The silence of death quickened the beating of his heart when he stopped to listen. There was no doubt that Langlois lay dead in his little home. Jan brought dry brushwood from the forest, and piled it high against the logs. Upon his sledge he sat and watched the fire until the cabin was a furnace of leaping flame. He continued westward. At the head of the Porcupine he found the remains of three burned wigwams, and from one of them he dug out charred bones. Down the Porcupine he went slowly, doubling to the east and west, until, at its junction with Gray Otter Creek, he met a Cree, who told him that twenty miles farther on there was an abandoned village of six teepees. Toward these he boldly set forth, praying as he went that the angels were guarding Mélisse at Post Lac Bain. Croisset reached the post forty-eight hours after he had encountered Jan. "The red flag is everywhere!" he cried, catching sight of the signal over Mukee's cabin. "It is to the east and west of the Hasabala as thick as jays in springtime!" The Cree from the Gray Otter drove in on his way north. "Six wigwams with dead in them," he reported in his own language to Williams. "A company man, with a one-eyed leader and four trailers, left the Gray Otter to burn them." Williams took down his birch-bark moose-horn and bellowed a weird signal to Cummins, who opened a crack of his door to listen, with Mélisse close beside him. "Thoreau is in the thick of it to the south," he called. "There's too much of it for him, and I'm going down with the dogs. Croisset will stay in the store for a few days." Mélisse heard the words, and her eyes were big with fear when her father turned from closing and bolting the door. In more than a childish way, she knew that Jan had gone forth to face a great danger. The grim laws of the savage world in which she lived had already begun to fix their influence upon her, quickening her instinct and reason, just as they hastened the lives of Indian children into the responsibilities of men and women before they had reached fifteen. She knew what the red flag over Mukee's cabin meant. She knew that the air of this world of hers had become filled with peril to those who breathed it, and that people were dying out in the forests; that all about them there was a terrible, unseen thing which her father called the plague, and that Jan had gone forth to fight it, to breathe it, and, perhaps, to die in it. Their own door was locked and bolted against it. She dared not even thrust her head from the window which was opened for a short time each day; and until Cummins assured her that there was no danger in the sunshine, she shunned the few pale rays that shot through the cabin-window at midday. Unconsciously, Cummins added to her fears in more ways than one, and as he answered her questions truthfully, her knowledge increased day by day. She thought more and more of Jan. She watched for him through the two windows of her home. Every sound from outside brought her to them with eager hope; and always, her heart sank with disappointment, and the tears would come very near to her eyes, when she saw nothing but the terrible red flag clinging to the pole over Mukee's cabin. In the little Bible which her mother had left there was written, on the ragged fly-leaf, a simple prayer. Each night, as she knelt beside her cot and repeated this prayer, she paused at the end, and added: "Dear Father in Heaven, please take care of Jan!" The days brought quick changes now. One morning the moose-horn called Cummins to the door. It was the fifth day after Williams had gone south. "There was no smoke this morning, and I looked through the window," shouted Croisset. "Mukee and the old man are both dead. I'm going to burn the cabin." A stifled groan of anguish fell from Cummins' lips as he went like a dazed man to his cot and flung himself face downward upon it. Mélisse could see his strong frame shaking, as if he were crying like a child; and twining her arms tightly about his neck, she sobbed out her passionate grief against his rough cheek. She did not know the part that Mukee had played in the life of the sweet woman who had once lived in this same little cabin; she knew only that he was dead; that the terrible thing had killed him and that, next to her father and Jan, she had loved him more than any one else in the world. Soon she heard a strange sound, and ran to the window. Mukee's cabin was in flames. Wild-eyed and tearless with horror, she watched the fire as it burst through the broken windows and leaped high up among the black spruce. In those flames was Mukee! She screamed, and her father sprang to her with a strange cry, running with her from the window into the little room where she slept. The next morning, when Cummins went to awaken her, his face went as white as death. Mélisse was not asleep. Her eyes were wide open and staring at him, and her soft cheeks burned with the hot glow of fire. "You are sick, Mélisse," he whispered hoarsely. "You are sick!" He fell upon his knees beside her, and lifted her face in his hands. The touch of it sent a chill to his heart--such as he had not felt since many years ago, in that other room a few steps away. "I want Jan," she pleaded. "I want Jan to come back to me!" "I will send for him, dear. He will come back soon. I will go out and send Croisset." He hid his face from her as he dragged himself away. Croisset saw him coming, and came out of the store to meet him. A hundred yards away Cummins stopped. "Croisset, for the love of God, take a team and go after Jan Thoreau," he called "Tell him that Mélisse is dying of the plague. Hurry, hurry!" "Night and day!" shouted Croisset. Twenty minutes later, from the cabin window, Cummins saw him start. "Jan will be here very soon, Mélisse," he said, running his fingers gently through her hair. It fell out upon the pillow in thick brown waves, and the sight of it choked him with the memory of another vision which would remain with him until the end of time. It was her mother's hair, shining softly in the dim light; her mother's eyes looked up at him as he sat beside her through all this long day. Toward evening there came a change. The fever left the child's cheeks. Her eyes closed, and she fell asleep. Through the night Cummins sat near the door, but in the gray dawn, overcome by his long vigil, his head dropped upon his breast, and he slumbered. When he awoke the cabin was filled with light He heard a sound, and, startled, sprang to his feet. Mélisse was at the stove building a fire! "I'm better this morning, father. Why didn't you sleep until breakfast was ready?" Cummins stared. Then he gave a shout, made a rush for her, and catching her up in his arms, danced about the cabin like a great bear, overturning the chairs, and allowing the room to fill with smoke in his wild joy. "It's what you saw through the window that made you sick, Mélisse," he cried, putting her down at last. "I thought--" He paused, and added, his voice trembling: "I thought you were going to be sick for more than one day, my sweet little woman!" He opened one of the windows to let in the fresh air of the morning. When Croisset returned, he did not find a red flag over Cummins' cabin; nor did he bring word of Jan. For three days he had followed the trails to the south without finding the boy. But he brought back other news. Williams was sick with the plague in a Cree wigwam on the lower Porcupine. It was the last they ever heard of the factor, except that he died some time in March, and was burned by the Crees. Croisset went back over the Churchill trail, and found his wife ready to greet him with open arms. After that he joined Per-ee, who came in from the north, in another search for Jan. They found neither trace nor word of him after passing the Gray Otter, and Cummins gave up hope. It was not for long that their fears could be kept from Mélisse. This first bitter grief that had come into her life fell upon her with a force which alarmed Cummins, and cast him into deep gloom. She no longer loved to play with her things in the cabin. For days at a time she would not touch the books which Jan had brought from Churchill, and which he had taught her to read. She found little to interest her in the things which had been her life a few weeks before. With growing despair, Cummins saw his own efforts fail. As the days passed Mélisse mingled more and more with the Indian and half-breed children, and spent much of her time at the company's store, listening to the talk of the men, silent, attentive, unresponsive to any efforts they might make to engage her smiles. From her own heart she looked out upon a world that had become a void for her. Jan had been mother, brother, and everything that was tender and sweet to her--and he was gone. Mukee, whom she had loved, was gone. Williams was gone. The world was changed, terribly and suddenly, and it added years to her perspective of things. Each day, as the weeks went on, and the spring sun began to soften the snow, she became a little more like the wild children at Lac Bain and in the forest. For Jan, she had kept her hair soft and bright, because he praised her for it and told her it was pretty. Now it hung in tangles down her back. There came a night when she forgot her prayer, and Cummins did not notice it. He failed to notice it the next night, and the next. Plunged deep in his own gloom, he was unobservant of many other things, so that, in place of laughter and joy and merry rompings, only gloomy and oppressive shadows of things that had come and gone filled the life of the little cabin. They were eating dinner, one day in the early spring, with the sunshine flooding in upon them, when a quick, low footfall caused Mélisse to lift her eyes in the direction of the open door. A strange figure stood there, with bloodless face, staring eyes, and garments hanging in tatters--but its arms were stretched out, as those same arms had been held out to her a thousand times before, and, with the old glad cry, Mélisse darted with the swiftness of a sun-shadow beyond Cummins, crying: "Jan, Jan--my Jan!" Words choked in Cummins' throat when he saw the white-faced figure clutching Mélisse to its breast. At last he gasped "Jan!" and threw out his arms, so that both were caught in their embrace. For an instant Jan turned his face up to the light The other stared and understood. "You have been sick," he said, "but it has left no marks." "Thank God!" breathed Jan. Mélisse raised her head, and stroked his cheeks with her two hands. That night she remembered her prayer, and at its end she added: "Dear Father in Heaven, thank you for sending back Jan!" CHAPTER XV ALMOST A WOMAN Peace followed in the blighted trails of the Red Terror. Again the forest world breathed without fear; but from Hudson's Bay to Athabasca, and as far south as the thousand waters of the Reindeer country, the winds whispered of a terrible grief that would remain until babes were men and men went to their graves. Life had been torn and broken in a cataclysm more fearful than that which levels cities and disrupts the earth. Slowly it began its readjustment. There was no other life to give aid or sympathy; and just as they had suffered alone, so now the forest people struggled back into life alone, building up from the wreck of what had been, the things that were to be. For months the Crees wailed their death dirges as they sought out the bones of their dead. Men dragged themselves into the posts, wifeless and childless, leaving deep in the wilderness all that they had known to love and give them comfort. Now and then came a woman, and around the black scars of burned cabins and teepees dogs howled mournfully for masters that were gone. The plague had taken a thousand souls, and yet the laughing, dancing millions in that other big world beyond the edge of the wilderness caught only a passing rumor of what had happened. Lac Bain suffered least of the far northern posts, with the exception of Churchill, where the icy winds down-pouring from the Arctic had sent the Red Terror shivering to the westward. In the late snows, word came that Cummins was to take Williams' place as factor, and Per-ee at once set off for the Fond du Lac to bring back Jean de Gravois as "chief man." Croisset gave up his fox-hunting to fill Mukee's place. The changes brought new happiness to Mélisse. Croisset's wife was a good woman who had spent her girlhood in Montreal, and Iowaka, now the mother of a fire-eating little Jean and a handsome daughter, was a soft-voiced young Venus who had grown sweeter and prettier with her years--which is not usually the case with half-breed women. "But it's good blood in her, beautiful blood," vaunted Jean proudly, whenever the opportunity came. "Her mother was a princess, and her father a pure Frenchman, whose father's father was a chef de bataillon. What better than that, eh? I say, what better could there be than that?" So, for the first time in her life, Mélisse discovered the joys of companionship with those of her own kind. This new companionship, pleasant as it was, did not come between her and Jan. If anything, they were more to each other than ever. The terrible months through which they had passed had changed them both, and had given them, according to their years, the fruits which are often ripened in the black gloom of disaster rather than in the sunshine of prosperity. To Mélisse they had opened up a new world of thought, a new vision of the things that existed about her. The sternest teacher of all had brought to her the knowledge that comes of grief, of terror, and of death, and she had passed beyond her years, just as the cumulative processes of generations made the Indian children pass beyond theirs. She no longer looked upon Jan as a mere playmate, a being whose diversion was to amuse and to love her. He had become a man. In her eyes he was a hero, who had gone forth to fight the death of which she still heard word and whisper all about her. Croisset's wife and Iowaka told her that he had done the bravest thing that a man might do on earth. She spoke proudly of him to the Indian children, who called him the "torch-bearer." She noticed that he was as tall as Croisset, and taller by half a head than Jean, and that he lifted her now with one arm as easily as if she were no heavier than a stick of wood. Together they resumed their studies, devoting hours to them each day, and through all that summer he taught her to play upon his violin. The warm months were a time of idleness at Lac Bain, and Jan made the most of them in his teaching of Mélisse. She learned to read the books which he had used at Fort Churchill, and by midsummer she could read those which he had used at York Factory. At night they wrote letters to each other and delivered them across the table in the cabin, while Cummins looked on and smoked, laughing happily at what they read aloud to him. One night, late enough in the season for a fire to be crackling merrily in the stove, Jan was reading one of these letters, when Mélisse cried: "Stop, Jan--stop THERE!" Jan caught himself, and he blushed mightily when he read the next lines: "'I think you have beautiful eyes. I love them.'" "What is it?" cried Cummins interestedly. "Read on, Jan." "Don't!" commanded Mélisse, springing to her feet and running around the table. "I didn't mean you to read that!" She snatched the paper from Jan's hand and threw it into the fire. Jan's blood filled with pleasure, and at the bottom of his next letter he wrote back: "I think you have beautiful hair. I love it." That winter Jan was appointed post hunter, and this gave him much time at home, for meat was plentiful along the edge of the barrens. The two continued at their books until they came to the end of what Jan knew in them. After that, like searchers in strange places, they felt their way onward, slowly and with caution. During the next summer they labored through all the books which were in the little box in the corner of the cabin. It was Mélisse who now played most on the violin, and Jan listened, his eyes glowing proudly as he saw how cleverly her little fingers danced over the strings, his face flushed with a joy that was growing stronger in him every day. One day she looked curiously into the F-hole of the instrument, and her pretty mouth puckered itself into a round, red "O" of astonishment when Jan quickly snatched the violin from her hands. "Excuses-moi, ma belle Mélisse," he laughed at her in French. "I am going to play you something new!" That same day he took the little cloth-covered roll from the violin and gave it another hiding-place. It recalled to him the strange spirit which had once moved him at Fort Churchill, and which had remained with him for a time at Lac Bain. That spirit was now gone, luring him no longer. Time had drawn a softening veil over things that had passed. He was happy. The wilderness became more beautiful to him as Mélisse grew older. Each summer increased his happiness; each succeeding winter made it larger and more complete. Every fiber of his being sang in joyful response as he watched Mélisse pass from childhood into young girlhood. He marked every turn in her development, the slightest change in her transformation, as if she had been a beautiful flower. He possessed none of the quick impetuosity of Jean de Gravois. Years gave the silence of the North to his tongue, and his exultation was quiet and deep in his own heart. With an eagerness which no one guessed he watched the growing beauty of her hair, marked its brightening luster when he saw it falling in thick waves over her shoulders, and he knew that at last it had come to be like the woman's. The changing lights in her eyes fascinated him, and he rejoiced again when he saw that they were deepening into the violet blue of the bakneesh flowers that bloomed on the tops of the ridges. To him, Mélisse was growing into everything that was beautiful. She was his world, his life, and at Post Lac Bain there was nothing to come between the two. Jan noticed that in her thirteenth year she could barely stand under his outstretched arm. The next year she had grown so tall that she could not stand there at all. Very soon she would be a woman! The thought leaped from his heart, and he spoke it aloud. It was on the girl's fifteenth birthday. They had come up to the top of the ridge on which he had fought the missionary, to gather red sprigs of the bakneesh for the festival that they were to have in the cabin that night. High up on the face of a jagged rock, Jan saw a bit of the crimson vine thrusting itself out into the sun, and, with Mélisse laughing and encouraging him from below, he climbed up until he had secured it. He tossed it down to her. "It's the last one," she cried, seeing his disadvantage, "and I'm going home. You can't catch me!" She darted away swiftly along the snow-covered ridge, taunting him with merry laughter as she left him clambering in cautious descent down the rock. Jan followed in pursuit, shouting to her in French, in Cree, and in English, and their two voices echoed happily in their wild frolic. Jan slackened his steps. It was a joy to see Mélisse springing from rock to rock and darting across the thin openings close ahead of him, her hair loosening and sweeping out in the sun, her slender figure fleeing with the lightness of the pale sun-shadows that ran up and down the mountain. He would not have overtaken her of his own choosing, but at the foot of the ridge Mélisse gave up. She returned toward him, panting and laughing, shimmering like a sea-naiad under the glistening veil of her disheveled hair. Her face glowed with excitement; her eyes, filled with the light of the sun, dazzled Jan in their laughing defiance. Before her he stopped, and made no effort to catch her. Never had he seen her so beautiful, still daring him with her laugh, quivering and panting, flinging back her hair. Half reaching out his arms, he cried: "Mélisse, you are beautiful--you are almost a woman!" The flush deepened in her cheeks, and there was no longer the sweet, taunting mischief in her eyes. She made no effort to run from him when he came to her. "Do you think so, Brother Jan?" "If you did your hair up like the pictures we have in the books, you would be a woman," he answered softly. "You are more beautiful than the pictures!" He drew a step back, and her eyes flashed at him again with the sparkle of the old fun in them. "You say that I am pretty, and that I am almost a woman," she pouted. "And yet--" She shrugged her shoulders at him in mock disdain. "Jan Thoreau, this is the third time in the last week that you have not played the game right! I won't play with you any more!" In a flash he was at her side, her face between his two hands and, bending down, he kissed her upon the mouth. "There," she said, as he released her. "Isn't that the way we have played it ever since I can remember? Whenever you catch me, you may have that!" "I am afraid, Mélisse," he said seriously. "You are growing so tall and so pretty that I am afraid." "Afraid! My brother afraid to kiss me! And what will you do when I get to be a woman, Jan--which will be very soon, you say?" "I don't know, Mélisse." She turned her back to him and flung out her hair; and Jan, who had done this same thing for her a hundred times before, divided the silken mass into three strands and plaited them into a braid. "I don't believe that you care for me as much as you used to, Jan. I wish I were a woman, so that I might know if you are going to forget me entirely!" Her shoulders trembled; and when he had finished his task, he found that she was laughing, and that her eyes were swimming with a new mischief which she was trying to hide from him. In that laugh there was something which was not like Mélisse. Slight as the change was, he noticed it; but instead of displeasing him, it set a vague sensation of pleasure trilling like a new song within him. When they reached the post, Mélisse went to the cabin with her bakneesh, and Jan to the company's store. Tossing the vines upon the table, Mélisse ran back to the door and watched him until he disappeared. Her cheeks were flushed, her lips half parted in excitement; and no sooner had he gone from view than she hurried to Iowaka's home across the clearing. It was fully three quarters of an hour later when Jan saw Mélisse, with Iowaka's red shawl over her head, walking slowly and with extreme precision of step back to the cabin. "I wonder if she has the earache," he said to himself, watching her curiously. "That is Iowaka's shawl, and she has it all about her head." "A clear half-inch of the rarest wool from London," added the cheery voice of Jean de Gravois, whose moccasins had made no sound behind him. He always spoke in French to Jan. "There is but one person in the world who looks better in it than your Mélisse, Jan Thoreau, and that is Iowaka, my wife. Blessed saints, man, but is she not growing more beautiful every day?" "Yes," said Jan. "She will soon be a woman." "A woman!" shouted Jean, who, not having his caribou whip, jumped up and down to emphasize his words. "She will soon be a woman, did you say, Jan Thoreau? And if she is not a woman at thirty, with two children--God send others like them!--when will she be, I ask you?" "I meant Mélisse," laughed Jan. "And I meant Iowaka," said Jean. "Ah, there she is now, come out to see if her Jean de Gravois is on his way home with the sugar for which she sent him something like an hour ago; for you know she is chef de cuisine of this affair to-night. Ah, she sees me not, and she turns back heartily disappointed, I'll swear by all the saints in the calendar! Did you ever see a figure like that, Jan Thoreau? And did you ever see hair that shines so, like the top-feathers of a raven who's nibbling at himself in the hottest bit of sunshine he can find? Deliver us, but I'll go with the sugar this minute!" The happy Jean hopped out, like a cricket over-burdened with life, calling loudly to his wife, who came to meet him. A few minutes later Jan thrust his head in at their door, as he was passing. "I knew I should get a beating, or something worse, for forgetting that sugar," cried the little Frenchman, holding up his bared arms. "Dough--dough--dough--I'm rolling dough--dough for the bread, dough for the cakes, dough for the pies--dough, Jan Thoreau, just common flour and water mixed and swabbed--I, Jean de Gravois, chief man at Post Lac Bain, am mixing dough! She is as beautiful as an angel and sweeter than sugar--my Iowaka, I mean; but there is more flesh in her earthly tabernacle than in mine, so I am compelled to mix this dough, mon ami. Iowaka, my dear, tell Jan what you were telling me, about Mélisse and--" "Hush!" cried Iowaka in her sweet Cree. "That is for Jan to find out for himself." "So--so it is," exclaimed the irrepressible Jean, plunging himself to the elbows in his pan of dough. "Then hurry to the cabin, Jan, and see what sort of a birthday gift Mélisse has got for you." CHAPTER XVI BIRTHDAYS The big room was empty when Jan came quietly through the open door. He stopped to listen, and caught a faint laugh from the other room, and then another; and to give warning of his presence, he coughed loudly and scraped a chair along the floor. A moment's silence followed. The farther door opened a little, and then it opened wide, and Mélisse came out. "Now what do you think of me, brother Jan?" She stood in the light of the window through which came the afternoon sun, her hair piled in glistening coils upon the crown of her head, as they had seen them in the pictures, her cheeks flushed, her eyes glowing questioningly at Jan. "Do I look--as you thought--I would, Jan?" she persisted, a little doubtful at his silence. She turned, so that he saw the cluster of soft curls that fell upon her shoulder, with sprigs of bakneesh half smothered in them. "Do I?" "You are prettier than I have ever seen you, Mélisse," he replied softly. There was a seriousness in his voice that made her come to him in her old impulsive, half-childish way. She lifted her hands and rested them on his shoulders, as she had always done when inviting him to toss her above his head. "If I am prettier--and you like me this way--why don't you--" She finished with a sweet, upturned pouting of her mouth, and, with a sudden, laughing cry, Jan caught her in his arms and kissed the lips she held up to him. It was but an instant, and he freed her, a hot blush burning in his brown cheeks. "My dear brother!" she laughed at him, gathering up the bakneesh on the table. "I love to have you kiss me, and now I have to make you do it. Father kisses me every morning when he goes to the store. I remember when you used to kiss me every time you came home, but now you forget to do it at all. Do brothers love their sisters less as they grow older?" "Sometimes they love the SISTER less and the OTHER GIRL more, ma belle Mélisse," came a quick voice from the door, and Jean de Gravois bounded in like a playful cat, scraping and bowing before Mélisse until his head nearly touched the floor. "Lovely saints, Jan Thoreau, but she IS a woman, just as my Iowaka told me! And the cakes--the bread--the pies! You must delay the supper my lady, for the good Lord deliver me if I haven't spilled all the dough on the floor! Swas-s-s-s-h--such a mess! And my Iowaka did nothing but laugh and call me a clumsy dear!" "You're terribly in love, Jean," cried Mélisse, laughing until her eyes were wet; "just like some of the people in the books which Jan and I read." "And I always shall be, my dear, so long as the daughter of a princess and the great-granddaughter of a chef de bataillon allows me to mix her dough!" Mélisse flung the red shawl over her head, still laughing. "I will go and help her, Jean." "Mon Dieu!" gasped Gravois, looking searchingly at Jan, when she had left. "Shall I give you my best wishes, Jan Thoreau? Does it signify?" "Signify--what?" The little Frenchman's eyes snapped. "Why, when our pretty Cree maiden becomes engaged, she puts up her hair for the first time, that is all, my dear Jan. When I asked my blessed Iowaka to be my wife, she answered by running away from me, taunting me until I thought my heart had shriveled into a bit of salt blubber; but she came back to me before I had completely died, with her braids done up on the top of her head!" He stopped suddenly, startled into silence by the strange look that had come into the other's face. For a full minute Jan stood as if the power of movement had gone from him. He was staring over the Frenchman's head, a ghastly pallor growing in his cheeks. "No--it--means--nothing," he said finally, speaking as if the words were forced from him one by one. He dropped into a chair beside the table like one whose senses had been dulled by an unexpected blow. With a great sighing breath that was almost a sob, he bowed his head upon his arms. "Jan Thoreau," whispered Jean softly, "have you forgotten that it was I who killed the missioner for you, and that through all of these years Jean de Gravois has never questioned you about the fight on the mountain top?" There was in his voice, as gentle as a woman's, the vibrant note of a comradeship which is next to love--the comradeship of man for man in a world where friendship is neither bought nor sold. "Have you forgotten, Jan Thoreau? If there is anything Jean de Gravois can do?" He sat down opposite Jan, his thin, eager face propped in his hands, and watched silently until the other lifted his head. Their eyes met, steady, unflinching, and in that look there were the oath and the seal of all that the honor of the big snows held for those two. Still without words, Jan reached within his breast and drew forth the little roll which he had taken from his violin. One by one he handed the pages over to Jean de Gravois. "Mon Dieu!" said Jean, when he had finished reading. He spoke no other words. White-faced, the two men stared, Jan's throat twitching, Gravois' brown fingers crushing the rolls he held. "That was why I tried to kill the missioner," said Jan at last. He pointed to the more coarsely written pages under Jean's hand. "And that--that--is why it could not signify that Mélisse has done up her hair." He rose to his feet, straining to keep his voice even, and gathered up the papers so that they shot back into the little cylinder-shaped roll again. "Now do you understand?" "I understand," replied Jean in a low voice, but his eyes glittered like dancing dragon-flies as he raised his elbows slowly from the table and stretched his arms above his head. "I understand, Jan Thoreau, and I praise the blessed Virgin that it was Jean de Gravois who killed the missioner out upon the ice of Lac Bain!" "But the other," persisted Jan, "the other, which says that I--" "Stop!" cried Jean sharply. He came around the table and seized Jan's hands in the iron grip of his lithe, brown fingers. "That is something for you to forget. It means nothing--nothing at all, Jan Thoreau! Does any one know but you and me?" "No one. I intended that some day Mélisse and her father should know; but I waited too long. I waited until I was afraid, until the horror of telling her frightened me. I made myself forget, burying it deeper each year, until to-day--on the mountain--" "And to-day, in this cabin, you will forget again, and you will bury it so deep that it will never come back. I am proud of you, Jan Thoreau. I love you, and it is the first time that Jean de Gravois has ever said this to a man. Ah, I hear them coming!" With an absurd bow in the direction of the laughing voices which they now heard, the melodramatic little Frenchman pulled Jan to the door. Half-way across the open were Mélisse and Iowaka, carrying a large Indian basket between them, and making merry over the task. When they saw Gravois and Jan, they set down their burden and waved an invitation for the two men to come to their assistance. "You should be the second happiest man in the world, Jan Thoreau," exclaimed Jean. "The first is Jean de Gravois!" He set off like a bolt from a spring-gun in the direction of the two who were waiting for them. He had hoisted the basket upon his shoulder by the time Jan arrived. "Are you growing old, too, Jan?" bantered Mélisse, as she dropped a few steps behind Jean and his wife. "You come so slowly!" "I think I'm twenty-nine." "You think!" Her dancing eyes shot up to his, bubbling over with the mischief which she had been unable to suppress that day. "Why, Jan--" He had never spoken to Mélisse as he did now. "I was born some time in the winter, Mélisse--like you. Perhaps it was yesterday, perhaps it is to-morrow. That is all I know." He looked at her steadily, the grief which he was fighting to keep back tightening the muscles about his mouth. Like the quick passing of sunshine, the fun swept from her face, leaving her blue eyes staring up at him, filled with a pain which he had never seen in them before. In a moment he knew that she had understood him, and he could have cut out his tongue. Her hand reached his arm, and she stopped him, her face lifted pleadingly, the tears slowly gathering in her eyes. "Forgive me!" she whispered, her voice breaking into a sob. "Dear, dear Jan, forgive me!" She caught one of his hands in both her own, and for an instant held it so that he could feel the throbbing of her heart. "To-day is your birthday, Jan--yours and mine, mine and yours--and we will always have it that way--always--won't we, Jan?" CHAPTER XVII THE RENUNCIATION Jan was glad when the evening came, and was gone. Not until Jean and Iowaka had said good night with Croisset and his wife, and both Cummins and Mélisse had gone to their rooms, did he find himself relieved of the tension under which he had struggled during all of that night's merry-making in the cabin. From the first he knew that his nerves were strung by some strange and indefinable sensation that was growing within him--something which he could hardly have explained at first, but which swiftly took form and meaning, and oppressed him more as the hours flew by. Almost fiercely he strove to fight back the signs of it from his face and voice. Never had he played as on this night. His violin leaped with life, his voice rose high in the wild forest songs of Jean de Gravois and Croisset, he sprang aloft in the caribou dance until the tips of his fingers touched the log beams overhead; and yet there was none of the flush of excitement in his face, no joyous fire flashing from his eyes upon Mélisse. She saw this, and wondered. A dozen times her eyes encountered his, straight and questioning, when the others were not looking. She saw in response only a dull, lusterless glow that was not like the Jan who had pursued her that day on the mountain-top. Jan was unaware of what was lacking in him. He smiled when she gave him these glances; deep down in him his heart trembled at the beauty of her flushed cheeks, the luster of her coiled hair, the swimming depths of her clear eyes; but the mask of the thing at which she wondered still remained. After the others had gone, Cummins sat up to smoke a pipe. When he had finished, he went to his room. Jan was now sleeping in a room at the company's store, and after a time he rose silently to take down his cap and coat. He opened the outer door quietly, so as not to arouse Mélisse, who had gone to bed half an hour before. As he was about to go out, there came a sound--a low, gentle, whispered word. "Jan!" He turned. Mélisse stood in her door. She had not undressed, and her hair was still done up in its soft coils, with the crimson bakneesh shining in it. She came to him hesitatingly, until she stood with her two hands upon his arm, gazing into his tense face with that same question in her eyes. "Jan, you were not pleased with me to-night," she whispered. "Tell me, why?" "I was pleased with you, Mélisse," he replied. He took one of the hands that was clinging to his arm, and turned his face to the open night. Countless stars gleamed in the sky, as they had shone on another night fifteen years ago. From where they stood they saw the pale flicker of the aurora, sending its shivering arrows out over the dome of the earth, with the same lonely song that it had played when the woman died. Gaunt and solitary, the tall spruce loomed up against the silver glow, its thick head sighing faintly in the night wind, as if in wailing answer to that far-away music in the skies. Suddenly there leaped up from Jan Thoreau's breast a breath that burst from his lips in a low cry. "Mélisse, Mélisse, it was just fifteen years ago that I came in through that forest out there, starved and dying, and played my violin when your mother died. You were a little baby then, and since that night you have never pleased me more than now!" He dropped her hand and turned squarely to the door, to hide what he knew had come into his face. He heard a soft, heart-broken little sob behind him, and something fell rustling upon his arm. "Jan, dear Jan!" Mélisse crowded herself into his arms, her hair torn down and tumbling about her shoulders. In her eyes there were the old pride and the old love, the love and pride of what seemed to Jan to be, years ago, the old, childish pleading for his comradeship, for the fun of his strong arms, the frolic of his laugh. Irresistibly they called to him, and in the old glad way he tightened his arms about her shoulders, his eyes glowing, and life leaping back, flushed and full, into his face. She laughed, happy and trembling, her lips held up to him. "I didn't please you to-day," she whispered. "I will never do up my hair again!" He kissed her, and his arms dropped from her shoulders. "Never, never again--until you have forgotten to love me," she repeated. "Good night, Brother Jan!" Across the open, through the thinned edge of the black spruce, deeper and deeper into the cold, unquivering lifelessness of the forest, Jan went from the door that closed between him and Mélisse, her last words still whispering in his ears, the warm touch of her hair on his cheeks--and the knowledge of what this day had meant for him swiftly surging upon him, bringing with it a torment which racked him to the soul. Fifteen years ago! He stopped and looked up, the starlight whitening his face. There was no change in this night from that other one of ages and ages ago. There were the same stars, like fierce eyes of pale fire, robbed of softness by the polar cold; there were the same cloudless blue space, the same hissing flashes of the aurora leaping through its infinity, the same trees that had listened to his moaning prayers on that night when he had staggered into Lac Bain. He went on until he came to where the beaten trail swept up and away from a swamp. As vividly as if it had happened but yesterday, he remembered how he had dragged himself through this swamp, bleeding and starving, his violin clutched to his breast, guided by the barking of dogs, which seemed to come from a million miles away. He plunged into it now, picking his tangled way until he stood upon a giant ridge, from which he looked out through the white night into the limitless barrens to the north. Along the edge of those barrens he had come, daring the hundred deaths between hunter's cabin and Indian wigwam, starving at times, almost dying of cold, building fires to keep the wolves back, and playing--always playing to keep up his courage, until he found Mélisse. Fifteen years had passed since then, and the cumulative force of the things that had grown out of those years had fallen upon him this day. He had felt it first when Mélisse turned upon him at the foot of the mountain; and after that in the cabin, in every breath he drew, in every look that he gave her. For him she had changed for all time. She was no longer the little Mélisse, his sister. And yet-- He was almost saying her last words aloud: "Good night, Brother Jan!" She had come to him that day to let him kiss her, as she had come to him a thousand times before; but he had not kissed her in the old way. It was a different love that his lips had given, and even now the hot blood surged again into his face as he thought of what he had done. His was a different idea of honor from that held by men born to the ways of passion. In that which had stirred his blood, thrilling him with strange joy as he held her in his arms, he saw more than the shadow of sin--sacrilege against a thing which was more precious to him than life. Mélisse came to him still as his sister, abiding in her glorious faith in him, unaware of his temptation; while he, Jan Thoreau-- He thrust a hand inside his coat and clutched at the papers that Jean de Gravois had read. Then he drew them forth, slowly, and held them crumpled in his fingers, while for many minutes he stared straight out into the gray gloom of the treeless plain. His eyes shifted. Searchingly they traveled up the face of the crags behind him. They hunted where the starlight made deep pits of gloom in the twisting edge of the mountains. They went from rock to rock and from tree to tree until at last they rested upon a giant spruce which hung out over the precipitous wall of the ridge, its thick top beckoning and sighing to the black rocks that shot up out of the snow five hundred feet below. It was a strange tree, weird and black, free of stub or bough for a hundred feet, and from far out on the barrens those who traveled their solitary ways east and west knew that it was a monument shaped by men. Mukee had told Jan its story. In the first autumn of the woman's life at Lac Bain, he and Per-ee had climbed the old spruce, lopping off its branches until only the black cap remained; and after that it was known far and wide as the "lobstick" of Cummins' wife. It was a voiceless cenotaph which signified that all the honor and love known to the wilderness people had been given to her. To it went Jan, the papers still held in his hand. He had seen a pair of whisky-jacks storing food in the butt of the tree, two or three summers before, and now his fingers groped for the hole. When he found it, he thrust in the papers, crowded them down, and filled the hole with chunks of bark. "Always my sister--and never anything more to Jan Thoreau," he said gently in French, as if he were speaking to a spirit in the old tree. "That is the honor of these snows; it is what the great God means us to be." The strife had gone from his voice; it rose strong and clear as he stretched his arms high up along the shorn side of the spruce, his eyes upon the silent plume that heard his oath. "I swear that Jan Thoreau will never do wrong to the little Mélisse!" With a face white and set in its determination, he turned slowly away from the tree. Far away, from the lonely depths of the swamp, there came the wailing howl of a wolf--a cry of hungerful savageness that died away in echoes of infinite sadness. It was like the howling of a dog at the door of a cabin in which his master lay dead, and the sound of it swept a flood of loneliness into Jan's heart. It was the death-wail of his own last hope, which had gone out of him for ever that night. He listened, and it came again; but in the middle of it, when the long, moaning grief of the voice was rising to its full despair, there broke in a sharp interruption--a shrieking, yelping cry, such as a dog makes when it is suddenly struck. In another moment the forest thrilled with the deep-throated pack-call of the wolf who has started a fresh kill. Hardly had its echoes died away when, from deeper in the swamp, there came another cry, and still another from the mountain; and up and out of the desolation rose the calls of others of the scattered pack, in quick response to the comrade who had first found meat. All the cries were alike, filled with that first wailing grief, except that of the swelling throat which was sending forth the call to food. A few minutes, and another of the mournful howls changed into the fierce hunt-cry; then a second, a third, and a fourth, and the sound of the chase swept swiftly from the swamp to the mountain, up the mountain and down into the barrens. "A caribou!" cried Jan softly. "A caribou, and he is going into the barrens. There is no water, and he is lost!" He ran and leaned over beside the old tree, so that the great plain stretched out below him. Into the west turned the pack, the hunt-cry growing fainter until it almost died away. Then, slowly, it grew again in volume, swinging into the north, then to the east--approaching nearer and nearer until Jan saw a dark, swiftly moving blot in the white gloom. The caribou passed by within half a rifle-shot of him; another half rifle-shot behind followed the wolves, flung out fan-shape, their gray bodies moving like specters in a half-moon cordon, and their leaders almost abreast the caribou a dozen rods to each side. There was no sound now. Below him, Jan could see the pale glimmer of ice and snow, where in summer there was a small lake. Desperately the caribou made an effort to reach this lake. The wolves drew in. The moon-shape of their bodies shrunk until it was nearer a circle. From the plain side the leading wolf closed until he was running at the caribou's forelegs. The mountain wolf responded on the opposite side. Then came the end, quick, decisive, and without sound. After a few moments there came faintly the snapping of jaws and the crunching of bones. Torn and bleeding, and yet quivering with life, the caribou was given up to the feast. Jan turned away from the scene. Torn and bleeding at his own heart, he went back to Lac Bain. CHAPTER XVIII BROTHER JAN When he came into the cabin for breakfast that morning, Jan's face showed signs of the struggle through which he had gone. Cummins had already finished, and he found Mélisse alone. Her hair was brushed back in its old, smooth way; and when she heard him, she flung her long braid over her shoulder, so that it fell down in front of her. He saw the movement, and smiled his thanks without speaking. "You don't look well, Jan," she said anxiously. "You are pale, and your eyes are bloodshot." "I am not feeling right," he admitted, trying to appear cheerful, "but this coffee will make a new man of me. You make the best coffee in the world, Mélisse?" "How do you know, brother?" she asked. "Have you drunk any other than mine since years ago at Churchill and York Factory?" "Only Iowaka's. But I know that yours is best, from what I remember of the coffee at the bay." "It was a long time ago, wasn't it?" she asked gently, looking at him across the table. "I dreamed of those days last night, Jan, though I don't remember anything about your going to Churchill. I must have been too young; but I remember when you went to Nelson House, and how lonely I was. Last night I dreamed that we both went, and that we stood together, looking out over the bay, where the tides are washing away the gun case coffins. I saw the ship that you described to me, too, and thought that we wanted to go out to it, but couldn't. Do you suppose we'll ever go to Churchill together, Jan, and ride on a wonderful ship like that?" "It may be, Mélisse." "And then I dreamed that you were gone, and I was alone; and some one else came to me, whom I didn't like at all, and tried to MAKE me go to the ship. Wasn't that strange?" She laughed softly, as she rose to give him another cup of coffee. "What did you mean, Jan Thoreau, by running away from me like that?" "To get even with you for running away from me on the mountain," he replied quickly. She paused, the cup half filled, and Jan, looking up, caught her eyes full of mock astonishment. "And were you sorry I ran away from you?" Despite himself, his pale cheeks flushed. "Do you think I was?" he replied equivocally. "I--don't--know," she answered slowly, filling his cup. "What are you going to do to-day, Jan?" "Drive out on the Churchill trail. Ledoq wants supplies, and he's too busy with his trap-lines to come in." "Will you take me?" "I'm afraid not, Mélisse. It's a twelve-mile run and a heavy load." "Very well. I'll get ready immediately." She jumped up from the table, darting fun at him with her eyes, and ran to her room. "It's too far, Mélisse," he called after her. "It's too far, and I've a heavy load--" "Didn't I take that twenty-mile run with you over to--Oh, dear! Jan, have you seen my new lynx-skin cap?" "It's out here, hanging on the wall," replied Jan, falling into her humor despite himself. "But I say, Mélisse--" "Are the dogs ready?" she called. "If they're not, I'll be dressed before you can harness them, Jan." "They'll be here within fifteen minutes," he replied, surrendering to her. Her merry face, laughing triumph at him through the partly open door, destroyed the last vestige of his opposition, and he left her with something of his old cheeriness of manner, whistling a gay forest tune as he hurried toward the store. When he returned with the team, Mélisse was waiting for him, a gray thing of silvery lynx fur, with her cheeks, lips and eyes aglow, her trim little feet clad in soft caribou boots that came to her knees, and with a bunch of the brilliant bakneesh fastened jauntily in her cap. "I've made room for you," he said in greeting, pointing to the sledge. "Which I'm not going to fill for five miles, at least," declared Mélisse. "Isn't it a glorious morning, Jan? I feel as if I can run from here to Ledoq's!" With a crack of his whip and a shout, Jan swung the dogs across the open, with Mélisse running lightly at his side. From their cabin Jean and Iowaka called out shrill adieus. "The day is not far off when they two will be as you and I, my Iowaka," said Jean in his poetic Cree. "I wager you that it will be before her next birthday!" And Mélisse was saying: "I wonder if there are many people as happy as Jean and Iowaka!" She caught her breath, and Jan cracked on the dogs in a spurt that left her panting, a full dozen rods behind him. With a wild halloo he stopped the team, and waited. "That's unfair, Jan! You'll have to put me on the sledge." He tucked her in among the furs, and the dogs strained at their traces, with Jan's whip curling and snapping over their backs, until they were leaping swiftly and with unbroken rhythm of motion over the smooth trail. Then Jan gathered in his whip and ran close to the leader, his moccasined feet taking the short, quick, light steps of the trained forest runner, his chest thrown a little out, his eyes upon the twisting trail ahead. It was a glorious ride, and Mélisse's eyes danced with joy. Her blood thrilled to the tireless effort of the grayish-yellow pack of magnificent brutes ahead of her. She watched the muscular play of their backs and legs, the eager outreaching of their wolfish heads, and their half-gaping jaws--and from them she looked to Jan. There was no effort in his running. His pale cheeks were flushed, his black hair swept back from the gray of his cap, gleaming in the sun. Like the dogs, there was music in his movement, there was the beauty of strength, of endurance, of manhood born to the forests. Her eyes shone proudly; the color deepened in her cheeks as she looked at him, wondering if there was another man in the world like Jan Thoreau. Mile after mile slipped behind, and not until they reached the mountain on which he had fought the missionary did Jan bring his dogs to a walk. Mélisse jumped from the sledge and ran quickly to his side. "I can beat you to the top now!" she cried. "If you catch me--" There was the old witching challenge in her eyes. She sped up the side of the ridge. Panting and breathless, Jan pursued with the dogs. Her advantage was too great for him to overcome this time, and she stood laughing down at him when he came to the top of the ridge. "You're as pretty as a fairy, Mélisse!" he exclaimed, his eyes shining with admiration. "Prettier than the fairy in the book!" "Thank you, brother! The one with golden hair?" "Yes, all of them." "I can't imagine how a girl would look with golden hair; can you, Jan?" Before he could answer she added mischievously: "Did you see any fairies at Churchill or York Factory?" "None that could compare with you, Mélisse." "Thank you again, brother mine! I believe you DO still love me a little." "More than ever in my life," replied Jan quickly, though he tried to hold his tongue. As they went on to Ledoq's, he found that the joyousness of the morning was giving way again to the old gloom and heartache. Brother Jan, Brother Jan, Brother Jan! The words pounded themselves incessantly in his brain until they seemed to keep time with his steps beside the sledge. They drove him back into his thoughts of the preceding night, and he felt a sense of relief when they reached the trapper's. Ledoq was stripping the hair-fat from a fox-skin when the team pulled up in front of his cabin. When he saw the daughter of the factor at Lac Bain with Jan, he jumped briskly to his feet, flung his cap through the door of the shack, and began bowing and scraping to her with all his might. It was well known in the province of Lac Bain that many years before Jean de Gravois had lost a little brother, who had disappeared one day in the woods; and there were those who hinted that Ledoq was that brother, for Jean and he were as like as two peas in the ready use of their tongues, and were of the same build and the same briskness. Mélisse laughed merrily as Ledoq continued to bow before her, rattling away in a delighted torrent of French. "Ah, thes ees wan gr-r-reat compleeman, M'selle Mélisse," he finished at last, breaking for an instant into English. He straightened like a spring and turned, to Jan. "Did you meet the strange team?" "We met no team." Ledoq looked puzzled. Half a mile away, the top of a snow-covered ridge was visible from the cabin. He pointed to it. "An hour ago I saw it going westward along the mountain--three men and six dogs. Whom have you out from Lac Bain?" "No one," replied Jan. "It must have been the new agent from Churchill. We expect him early this winter. Shall we hurry back, Mélisse, and see if he has brought our books and violin-strings?" "You must have dinner with me," objected Ledoq. Jan caught a quick signal from Mélisse. "Not to-day, Ledoq. It's early, and we have a lunch for the trail. What do you say, Mélisse?" "If you're not tired, Jan." "Tired!" He tossed the last package from the sledge and cracked his long whip over the dogs' backs as they both cried out their farewell to the little Frenchman. "Tired!" he repeated, running close beside her as the team swung lightly back into the trail, and laughing down into her face. "How could I ever get tired with you watching me run, Mélisse?" "I wouldn't mind if you did--just a little, Jan. Isn't there room for two?" She gave a coquettish little shrug of her shoulders, and Jan leaped upon the moving sledge, kneeling close behind her. "Always, always, I have to ask you!" she pouted. "You needn't get too near, you know, if you don't want to!" The old, sweet challenge in her voice was irresistible, and for a moment Jan felt himself surrendering to it. He leaned forward until his chin was buried in the silken lynx fur of her coat, and for a single breath he felt the soft touch of her cheek against his own. Then he gave a sudden shout to the dogs--so loud that it startled her--and his whip writhed and snapped twenty feet above their heads, like a thing filled with life. He sprang from the sledge and again ran with the team, urging them on faster and faster until they dropped into a panting walk when they came to the ridge along which Ledoq, two hours before, had seen the strangers hurrying toward Lac Bain. "Stop!" cried Mélisse, taking this first opportunity to scramble from the sledge. "You're cruel to the dogs, Jan! Look at their jaws--see them pant! Jan Thoreau, I've never seen you drive like that since the night we were chased in from the barrens by the wolves!" "And did you ever see me run any faster?" He struggled, dropping exhausted upon the sledge. "I remember only one other time." He took a long breath, flinging back his arms to bring greater volume of air into his lungs. "Wasn't that the night we heard the wolves howling behind us?" Mélisse asked. "No, it was many years ago, when I heard, far to the south, that my little Mélisse was dying of the plague." Mélisse sat down upon the sledge beside him without speaking, and nestled one of her hands a little timidly in one of his big, brown palms. "Tell me about it, Jan." "That was all--I ran." "You wouldn't run as fast for me now, would you?" He looked at her boldly, and saw that there was not half of the brilliant flush in her cheeks. "I ran for you, just now--and you didn't like it," he replied. "I don't mean that." She looked up at him, and her fingers tightened round his own. "Away back--years and years and years ago, Jan--you went out to fight the plague, and nearly died in it, for me. Would you do that much again?" "I would do more, Mélisse." She looked at him doubtfully, her eyes searching him as if in quest of something in his face which she scarce believed in his words. Slowly he rose to his feet, lifting her with him; and when he had done this he took her face between his two hands and looked straight into her eyes. "Some day I will do a great deal more for you than that, Mélisse, and then--" "What?" she questioned, as he hesitated. "Then you will know whether I love you as much now as I did years and years and years ago," he finished, gently repeating her words. There was something in his voice that held Mélisse silent as he turned to straighten out the dogs; but when he came back, making her comfortable on the sledge, she whispered: "I wish you would do it SOON, Brother Jan!" CHAPTER XIX THE NEW AGENT AND HIS SON They did not lunch on the trail, but drove into the post in time for dinner. Jean de Gravois and Croisset came forth from the store to meet them. "You have company, my dear!" cried Jean to Mélisse. "Two gentlemen fresh from London on the last boat, and one of them younger and handsomer than your own Jan Thoreau. They are waiting for you in the cabin, where mon pere is getting them dinner, and telling them how beautifully you would have made the coffee if you were there." "Two!" said Jan, as Mélisse left them. "Who are they?" "The new agent, M. Timothy Dixon, as red as the plague, and fatter than a spawning fish! And his son, who has come along for fun, he says; and I believe he will get what he's after if he remains here very long, Jan Thoreau, for he looked a little too boldly at my Iowaka when she came into the store just now!" "Mon Dieu!" laughed Jan, as Gravois took in the four quarters of the earth with a terrible gesture. "Can you blame him, Jean? I tell you that I look at Iowaka whenever I get the chance!" "Is she not worth it?" cried Jean in rapture. "You are welcome to every look that you can get, Jan Thoreau. But the foreigner--I will skin him alive and spit him with devil-thorn if he so much as peeps at her out of the wrong way of his eye!" Croisset spoke. "There was once a foreigner who came. You remember?" "I remember," said Jan. He looked to the white cross which marked Mukee's grave in the edge of the forest, where the shadow of the big spruce fell across it at the end of summer evenings. "And--he--died," said Jean de Gravois, his dark hands clenched. "God forgive me, but I hate these red-necked men from across the sea." Croisset shrugged his shoulders. "Breeders of two-legged carrion-eaters!" he exclaimed fiercely. "La charogne! There are two at Nelson House, and two on the Wholdaia, and one--" A sharp cry fell from Jan's lips. When Croisset whirled toward him, he stood among his dogs, as white as death, his black eyes blazing as if just beyond him he saw something which filled him with terror. As the man turned, startled by the look, Jean sprang to his side. "Saints preserve us, but that was an ugly twist of the hand!" he cried shrilly. "Next time, turn your sledge by the rib instead of the nose, when your dogs are still in the traces!" Under his breath he whispered, as he made pretense of looking at Jan's hand: "Le diable, do you want to tell HIM?" Jan tried to laugh as Croisset came to see what had happened. "Will you care for the dogs, Henri?" asked Jean. "It's only a trifling sprain of the wrist, which Iowaka can cure with one dose of her liniment." As they walked away, Jan's face still as pallid as the gray snow under their feet, Gravois added: "You're a fool, Jan Thoreau. There's a crowd at your cabin, and you'll have dinner with me." "La charogne!" muttered Jan. "Les bêtes de charogne!" Jean gripped him by the arm. "I tell you that it means nothing--nothing!" he said, repeating his words of the previous day in the cabin. "You are a man. You must fight it down, and forget. No one knows but you and me." "You will never tell what you read in the papers?" cried Jan quickly. "You swear it?" "By the blessed Virgin, I swear it!" "Then," said Jan softly, "Mélisse will never know!" "Never," said Jean. His dark face flashed joyously as Iowaka's sweet voice came to them, singing a Cree lullaby in the little home. "Some day Mélisse will be singing that same way over there; and it will be for you, Jan Thoreau, as my Iowaka is now singing for me!" An hour later Jan went slowly across the open to Cummins' cabin. As he paused for an instant at the door he heard a laugh that was strange to him, and when he opened it to enter he stood perplexed and undecided. Mélisse had risen from the table at the sound of his approach, and his eyes quickly passed from her flushed face to the young man who was sitting opposite her. He caught a nervous tremble in her voice when she said: "Mr. Dixon, this is my brother, Jan." The stranger jumped to his feet and held out a hand. "I'm glad to know you, Cummins." "Thoreau," corrected Jan quietly, as he took the extended hand. "Jan Thoreau." "Oh, I beg your pardon. I thought--" He turned inquiringly to Mélisse. The flush deepened in her cheeks as she began to gather up the dishes. "We are of no relation," continued Jan, something impelling him to speak the words with cool precision. "Only we have lived under the same roof since she was a baby, and so we have come to be like brother and sister." "Miss Mélisse has been telling me about your wonderful run this morning," exclaimed the young Englishman, his face reddening slightly as he detected the girl's embarrassment. "I wish I had seen it!" "There will be plenty of it very soon," replied Jan, caught by the frankness of the other's manner. "Our runners will be going out among the trappers within a fortnight." "And will they take me?" "You may go with me, if you can run. I leave the day after to-morrow." "Thanks," said Dixon, moving toward the door. Mélisse did not lift her head as he went out. Faintly she said: "I've kept your dinner for you, Jan. Why didn't you come sooner?" "I had dinner with Gravois," he replied. "Jean said that you would hardly be prepared for five, Mélisse, so I accepted his invitation." He took down from the wall a fur sledge-coat, in which Mélisse had mended a rent a day or two before, and, throwing it over his arm, turned to leave. "Jan!" He faced her slowly, knowing that in spite of himself there was a strangeness in his manner which she would not understand. "Why are you going away the day after to-morrow--two weeks before the others? You didn't tell me." "I'm going a hundred miles into the South," he answered. "Over the Nelson House trail?" "Yes." "Oh!" Her lips curled slightly as she looked at him. Then she laughed, and a bright spot leaped into either cheek. "I understand, brother," she said softly. "Pardon me for questioning you so. I had forgotten that the MacVeigh girl lives on the Nelson trail. Iowaka says that she is as sweet as a wild flower. I wish you would have her come up and visit us some time, Jan." Jan's face went red, then white, but Mélisse saw only the first effect of her random shot, and was briskly gathering up the dishes. "I turn off into the Cree Lake country before I reach MacVeighs'." he was on the point of saying; but the words hung upon his lips, and he remained silent. A few minutes later he was talking with Jean de Gravois. The little Frenchman's face was ominously dark, and he puffed furiously upon his pipe when Jan told him why he was leaving at once for the South. "Running away!" he repeated for the tenth time in French, his thin lips curling in a sneer. "I am sorry that I gave you my oath, Jan Thoreau, else I would go myself and tell Mélisse what I read in the papers. Pish! Why can't you forget?" "I may--some day," said Jan. "That is why I am going into the South two weeks early, and I shall be gone until after the big roast. If I remain here another week, I shall tell Mélisse, and then--" He shrugged his shoulders despairingly. "And then--what?" "I should go away for ever." Jean snapped his fingers with a low laugh. "Then remain another week, Jan Thoreau, and if it turns out as you say, I swear I will abandon my two Iowakas and little Jean to the wolves!" "I am going the day after to-morrow." The next morning Iowaka complained to Mélisse that Gravois was as surly as a bear. "A wonderful change has come over him," she said. "He does nothing but shrug his shoulders and say 'Le diable!' and 'The fool!' Last night I could hardly sleep because of his growling. I wonder what bad spirit has come into my Jean?" Mélisse was wondering the same of Jan. She saw little of him during the day. At noon, Dixon told her that he had made up his mind not to accompany Thoreau on the trip south. The following morning, before she was up, Jan had gone. She was deeply hurt. Never before had he left on one of his long trips without spending his last moments with her. She had purposely told her father to entertain the agent and his son at the store that evening, so that Jan might have an opportunity of bidding her good-by alone. Outside of her thoughts of Jan, the days and evenings that followed were pleasant ones for her. The new agent was as jolly as he was fat, and took an immense liking to Mélisse. Young Dixon was good-looking and brimming with life, and spent a great deal of his time in her company. For hours at a time she listened to his stories of the wonderful world across the sea. As MacDonald had described that life to Jan at Fort Churchill, so he told of it to Mélisse, filling her with visions of great cities, painting picture after picture, until her imagination was riot with the beauty and the marvel of it all, and she listened, with flaming cheeks and glowing eyes. One day, a week after Jan had gone, he told her about the women in the world which had come to be a fairy-land to Mélisse. "They are all beautiful over there?" she asked wonderingly, when he had finished. "Many of them are beautiful, but none so beautiful as you, Mélisse," he replied, leaning near to her, his eyes shining. "Do you know that you are beautiful?" His words frightened her so much that she bowed her head to hide the signs of it in her face. Jan had often spoken those same words--a thousand times he had told her that she was beautiful--but there bad never been this fluttering of her heart before. There were few things which Iowaka and she did not hold in secret between them, and a day or two later Mélisse told her friend what Dixon had said. For the first time Iowaka abused the confidence placed in her, and told Jean. "Le diable!" gritted Jean, his face blackening. He said no more until night, when the children were asleep. Then he drew Iowaka close beside him on a bench near the stove, and asked carelessly: "Mon ange, if one makes an oath to the blessed Virgin, and breaks it, what happens?" He evaded the startled look in his wife's big black eyes. "It means that one will be for ever damned unless he confesses to a priest soon after, doesn't it ma chérie? And if there is no priest nearer than four hundred miles, it is a dangerous thing to do, is it not? But--" He did not wait for an answer. "If one might have the oath broken, and not do it himself, what then?" "I don't know," said Iowaka simply, staring at him in amazed questioning. "Nor do I," said Jean, lighting his pipe. "But there is enough of the devil in Jean de Gravois to make him break a thousand oaths if it was for you, my Iowaka!" Her eyes glowed upon him softly. "A maiden's soul leaves her body when she becomes the wife of the man she loves," she whispered tenderly in Cree, resting her dark head on Jean's shoulder. "That is what my people believe, Jean; and if I have given my soul to you, why should I not break oath for you?" "For me alone, Iowaka?" "For you alone." "And not for a friend?" "For no one else in the world, Jean. You are the only one to whom the god of my people bids me make all sacrifice." "But you do not believe in that god, Iowaka!" "Sometimes it is better to believe in the god of my people than in yours," she replied gently. "I believed in him fifteen years ago at Churchill. Do you wish me to take back what I gave to you then?" With a low cry of happiness Jean crushed his face against her soft cheek. "Believe in him always, my Iowaka, and Jean de Gravois will cut the throat of any missioner who says you will not go to Paradise! But--this other. You are sure that you would break oath for none but me?" "And the children. They are a part of you, Jean." A fierce snarling and barking of dogs brought Gravois to the door. They could hear Croisset's raucous voice and the loud cracking of his big whip. "I'll be back soon," said Jean, closing the door after him; but instead of approaching Croisset and the fighting dogs he went in the direction of Cummins' cabin. "Devil take an oath!" he growled under his breath. "Neither one God nor the other will let me break it, and Iowaka least of all!" He gritted his teeth as young Dixon's laugh sounded loudly in the cabin. "Two fools!" he went on communing with himself. "Cummins--Jan Thoreau--both fools!" CHAPTER XX A KISS AND THE CONSEQUENCES During the week that followed, Jean's little black eyes were never far distant from Cummins' cabin. Without being observed, he watched Mélisse and Dixon, and not even to Iowaka did he give hint of his growing suspicions. Dixon was a man whom most other men liked. There were a fascinating frankness in his voice and manner, strength in his broad shoulders, and a general air of comradeship about him which won all but Jean. The trap-line runners began leaving the post at the end of the second week, and after this Mélisse and the young Englishman were more together than ever. Dixon showed no inclination to accompany the sledges, and when they were gone he and Mélisse began taking walks in the forest, when the sun was high and warm. It was on one of these days that Jean had gone along the edge of the caribou swamp that lay between the barrens and the higher forest. As he stopped to examine a fresh lynx trail that cut across the path beaten down by dog and sledge, he heard the sound of voices ahead of him; and a moment later he recognized them as those of Mélisse and Dixon. His face clouded, and his eyes snapped fire. "Ah, if I was only Jan Thoreau--a Jan Thoreau with the heart of Jean de Gravois--what a surprise I'd give that foreigner!" he said to himself, leaping quickly from the trail into the thicket. He peered forth from the bushes, his loyal heart beating a wrathful tattoo when he saw that Dixon dared put his hand on Mélisse�s arm. They were coming very slowly, the Englishman bending low over the girl's bowed head, talking to her with strange earnestness. Suddenly he stopped, and before Jean could comprehend what had happened he had bent down and kissed her. With a low cry, Mélisse tore herself free. For an instant she faced Dixon, who stood laughing into her blazing eyes. Then she turned and ran swiftly down the trail. A second cry fell from her startled lips when she found herself face to face with Jean de Gravois. The little Frenchman was smiling. His eyes glittered like black diamonds. "Jean, Jean!" she sobbed, running to him. "He has insulted you," he said softly, smiling into her white face. "Run along to the post, ma belle Mélisse." He watched her, half turned from the astonished Englishman, until she disappeared in a twist of the trail a hundred yards away. Then he faced Dixon. "It is the first time that our Mélisse has ever suffered insult," he said, speaking as coolly as if to a child. "If Jan Thoreau were here, he would kill you. He is gone, and I will kill you in his place!" He advanced, his white teeth still gleaming in a smile, and not until he launched himself like a cat at Dixon's throat was the Englishman convinced that he meant attack. In a flash Dixon stepped a little to one side, and sent out a crashing blow that caught Jean on the side of the head and sent him flat upon his back in the trail. Half stunned, Gravois came to his feet. He did not hear the shrill cry of terror from the twist in the trail. He did not look back to see Mélisse standing there. But Dixon both saw and heard, and he laughed tauntingly over Jean's head as the little Frenchman came toward him again, more cautiously than before. It was the first time that Jean had ever come into contact with science. He darted in again, in his quick, cat-like way, and received a blow that dazed him. This time he held to his feet. "Bah, this is like striking a baby!" exclaimed Dixon. "What are you fighting about, Gravois? Is it a crime up here to kiss a pretty girl?" "I am going to kill you!" said Jean as coolly as before. There was something terribly calm and decisive in his voice. He was not excited. He was not afraid. His fingers did not go near the long knife in his belt. Slowly the laugh faded from Dixon's face, and tense lines gathered around his mouth as Jean circled about him. "Come, we don't want trouble like this," he urged. "I'm sorry--if Mélisse didn't like it." "I am going to kill you!" repeated Jean. There was an appalling confidence in his eyes. From those eyes Dixon found himself retreating rather than from the man. They followed him, never taking themselves from his face. The fire in them grew deeper. Two dull red spots began to glow in Jean's cheeks, and he laughed softly when he suddenly leaped in so that the Englishman struck at him--and missed. It was the science of the forest man pitted against that of another world. For sport Jean had played with wounded lynx; his was the quickness of sight, of instinct--without the other's science; the quickness of the great loon that had often played this same game with his rifle-fire, of the sledge-dog whose ripping fangs carried death so quickly that eyes could not follow. A third and a fourth time he came within striking distance, and escaped. He half drew his knife, and at the movement Dixon sprang back until his shoulders touched the brush. Smilingly Gravois unsheathed the blade and tossed it behind him in the trail. His eyes were like a serpent's in their steadiness, and the muscles of his body were drawn as tight as steel springs, ready to loose themselves when the chance came. There were tricks in his fighting as well as in the other's, and a dawning of it began to grow upon Dixon. He dropped his arms to his side, inviting Jean within reach. Suddenly the little Frenchman straightened. His glittering eyes shot from the Englishman's face to the brush behind him, and a piercing yell burst from his lips. Involuntarily Dixon started, half turning his face, and before he had come to his guard Gravois flung himself under his arms, striking with the full force of his body against his antagonist's knees. Together they went down in the trail. There was only one science now--that of the forest man. The lithe, brown fingers, that could have crushed the life of a lynx, fastened themselves around the Englishman's man's throat, and there came one gasping, quickly throttled cry as they tightened in their neck-breaking grip. "I will kill you!" said Jean again. Dixon's arms fell limply to his side. His eyes bulged from their sockets, his mouth was agape, but Jean did not see. His face was buried on the other's shoulder, the whole life of him in the grip. He would not have raised his head for a full minute longer had there not come a sudden interruption--the terrified voice of Mélisse, the frantic tearing of her hands at his hands. "He is dead!" she shrieked. "You have killed him, Jean!" He loosed his fingers and sat up. Mélisse staggered back, clutching with her hands at her breast, her face as white as the snow. "You have killed him!" Jean looked into Dixon's eyes. "He is not dead," he said, rising and going to her side. "Come, ma chère, run home to Iowaka. I will not kill him." Her slender form shook with agonized sobs as he led her to the turn in the trail. "Run home to Iowaka," he repeated gently. "I will not kill him, Mélisse." He went back to Dixon and rubbed snow over the man's face. "Mon Dieu, but it was near to it!" he exclaimed, as there came a flicker of life into the eyes. "A little more, and he would have been with the missioner!" He dragged the Englishman to the side of the trail, and set his back to a tree. When he saw that fallen foeman's breath was coming more strongly, he followed slowly after Mélisse. Unobserved, he went into the store and washed the blood from his face, chuckling with huge satisfaction when he looked at himself in the little glass which hung over the wash-basin. "Ah, my sweet Iowaka, but would you guess now that Jean de Gravois had received two clouts on the side of the head that almost sent him into the blessed hereafter? I would not have had you see it for all the gold in this world!" A little later he went to the cabin. Iowaka and the children were at Croisset's, and he sat down to smoke a pipe. Scarce had he begun sending up blue clouds of smoke when the door opened and Mélisse came in. "Hello, ma chère," he cried gaily, laughing at her with a wave of his pipe. In an instant she had flung the shawl from her head and was upon her knees at his feet, her white face turned up to him pleadingly, her breath falling upon him in panting, sobbing excitement. "Jean, Jean!" she whispered, stretching up her hands to his face. "Please tell me that you will never tell Jan--please tell me that you never will, Jean--never, never, never!" "I will say nothing, Mélisse." "Never, Jean?" "Never." For a sobbing breath she dropped her head upon his knees. Then, suddenly, she drew down his face and kissed him. "Thank you, Jean, for what you have done!" "Mon Dieu!" gasped Jean when she had gone. "What if Iowaka had been here then?" CHAPTER XXI A BROKEN HEART The day following the fight in the forest, Dixon found Jean de Gravois alone, and came up to him. "Gravois, will you shake hands with me?" he said. "I want to thank you for what you did to me yesterday. I deserved it. I have asked Miss Mélisse to forgive me--and I want to shake hands with you." Jean was thunderstruck. He had never met this kind of man. "Que diantre!" he ejaculated, when he had come to his senses. "Yes, I will shake hands!" For several days after this Jean could see that Mélisse made an effort to evade him. She did not visit Iowaka when he was in the cabin. Neither did she and Dixon go again into the forest. The young Englishman spent more of his time at the store; and just before the trappers began coming in, he went on a three-days' sledge-trip with Croisset. The change delighted Jean. The first time he met Mélisse after the fight, his eyes flashed pleasure. "Jan will surely be coming home soon," he greeted her. "What if the birds tell him what happened out there on the trail?" She flushed scarlet. "Perhaps the same birds will tell us what has happened down on the Nelson House trail, Jean," she retorted. "Pouf! Jan Thoreau doesn't give the snap of his small finger for the MacVeigh girl!" Jean replied, warm in defense of his friend. "She is pretty," laughed Mélisse, "and I have just learned that is why men like to--like them, I mean." Jean strutted before her like a peacock. "Am I pretty, Mélisse?" "No-o-o-o." "Then why"--he shrugged his shoulders suggestively--"in the cabin--" "Because you were brave, Jean. I love brave men!" "You were glad that I pummeled the stranger, then?" Mélisse did not answer, but he caught a laughing sparkle in the corner of her eye as she left him. "Come home, Jan Thoreau," he hummed softly, as he went to the store. "Come home, come home, come home, for the little Mélisse has grown into a woman, and is learning to use her eyes!" Among the first of the trappers to come in with his furs was MacVeigh. He brought word that Jan had gone south, to spend the annual holiday at Nelson House, and Cummings told Mélisse whence the message came. He did not observe the slight change that came into her face, and went on: "I don't understand this in Jan. He is needed here for the carnival. Did you know that he was going to Nelson House?" Mélisse shook her head. "MacVeigh says they have made him an offer to go down there as chief man," continued the factor. "It is strange that he has sent no explanation to me!" It was a week after the big caribou roast before Jan returned to Lac Bain. Mélisse saw him drive in from the Churchill trail; but while her heart fluttered excitedly, she steeled herself to meet him with at least an equal show of the calm indifference with which he had left her six weeks before. The coolness of his leave-taking still rankled bitterly in her bosom. He had not kissed her; he had not even passed his last evening with her. But she was not prepared for the changed Jan Thoreau who came slowly through the cabin door. His hair and beard had grown, covering the smooth cheeks which he had always kept closely shaven. His eyes glowed with dull pleasure as she stood waiting for him, but there was none of the old flash and fire in them. There was a strangeness in his manner, an uneasiness in the shifting of his eyes, which caused the half-defiant flush to fade slowly from her cheeks before either had spoken. She had never known this Jan before, and her fortitude left her as she approached him, wonderingly, silent, her hands reaching out to him. "Jan!" she said. Her voice trembled; her lips quivered. There was the old glorious pleading in her eyes, and before it Jan bowed his unkempt head, and crushed her hands tightly in his own. For a half-minute there was silence, and in that half-minute there came a century between them. At last Jan spoke. "I'm glad to see you again, Mélisse. It has seemed like a very long time!" He lifted his eyes. Before them the girl involuntarily shrank back, and Jan freed her hands. In them she saw none of the old love-glow, nothing of their old comradeship. Inscrutable, reflecting no visible emotion, they passed from her to the violin hanging on the wall. "I have not played in so long," he said, turning from her, "that I believe I have forgotten." He took down the instrument, and his fingers traveled clumsily over the strings. His teeth gleamed at her from out his half-inch growth of beard, as he said: "Ah, you must play for me now, Mélisse! It has surely gone from Jan Thoreau." He held out the violin to her. "Not now, Jan," she said tremulously. "I will play for you to-night." She went to the door of her room, hesitating for a moment, with her back to him. "You will come to supper, Jan?" "Surely, Mélisse, if you are prepared." He hung up the violin as she closed the door, and went from the cabin. Jean de Gravois and Iowaka were watching for him, and Jean hurried across the open to meet him. "I am coming to offer you the loan of my razor," he cried gaily. "Iowaka says that you will be taken for a bear if the trappers see you." "A beard is good to keep off the black flies," replied Jan. "It is approaching summer, and the black flies love to feast upon me. Let us go down the trail, Jean. I want to speak with you." Where there had been wood-cutting in the deep spruce they sat down, facing each other. Jan spoke in French. "I have traveled far since leaving Lac Bain," he said. "I went first to Nelson House, and from here to the Wholdaia. I found them at Nelson House, but not on the Wholdaia." "What?" asked Jean, though he knew well what the other meant. "My brothers, Jean de Gravois," answered Jan, drawing his lips until his teeth gleamed in a sneering smile. "My brothers, les bêtes de charogne!" "Devil take Croisset for telling you where they were!" muttered Jean under his breath. "I saw the two at Nelson House," continued Jan. "One of them is a half-wit, and the other"--he hunched his shoulders--"is worse. Petraud, one of the two who were at Wholdaia, was killed by a Cree father last winter for dishonoring his daughter. The other disappeared." Jean was silent, his head leaning forward, his face resting in his hands. "So you see, Jean de Gravois, what sort of creature is your friend Jan Thoreau!" Jean raised his head until his eyes were on a level with those of his companion. "I see that you are a bigger fool than ever," he said quietly. "Jan Thoreau, what if I should break my oath--and tell Mélisse?" Unflinching the men's eyes met. A dull glare came into Jan's. Slowly he unsheathed his long knife, and placed it upon the snow between his feet, with the gleaming end of the blade pointing toward Gravois. With a low cry Jean sprang to his feet. "Do you mean that, Jan Thoreau? Do you mean to give the knife-challenge to one who has staked his life for you and who loves you as a brother?" "Yes," said Jan deliberately. "I love you, Jean more than any other man in the world; and yet I will kill you if you betray me to Mélisse!" He rose to his feet and stretched out his hands to the little Frenchman. "Jean, wouldn't you do as I am doing? Wouldn't you have done as much for Iowaka?" For a moment Gravois was silent. "I would not have taken her love without telling her," he said then. "That is not what you and I know as honor, Jan Thoreau. But I would have gone to her, as you should now go to Mélisse, and she would have opened her arms to me, as Mélisse would opens hers to you. That is what I would have done." "And that is what I shall never do," said Jan decisively, turning toward the post. "I could kill myself more easily. That is what I wanted to tell you, Jean. No one but you and I must ever know!" "I would like to choke that fool of a Croisset for sending you to hunt up those people at Nelson House and Wholdaia!" grumbled Jean. "It was best for me." They saw Mélisse leaving Iowaka's home when they came from the forest. Both waved their hands to her, and Jan cut across the open to the store. Jean went to the Cummins cabin as soon as he was sure that he was not observed. There was little of the old vivacity in his manner as he greeted Mélisse. He noted, too, that the girl was not her natural self. There was a redness under her eyes which told him that she had been crying. "Mélisse," he said at last, speaking to her with his eyes fixed on the cap he was twisting in his fingers, "there has come a great change over Jan." "A very great change, Jean. If I were to guess, I should say that his heart has been broken down on the Nelson trail." Gravois caught the sharp meaning in her voice, which trembled a little as she spoke. He was before her in an instant, his cap fallen to the floor, his eyes blazing as he caught her by the arms. "Yes, the heart of Jan Thoreau is broken!" he cried. "But it has been broken by nothing that lives on the Nelson House trail. It is broken because of--YOU!" "I!" Mélisse drew back from him with a breathless cry. "I--I have broken--" "I did not say that," interrupted Jean. "I say that it is broken because of you. Mon Dieu, if only I might tell you!" "Do-DO, Jean! Please tell me!" She put her hands on his shoulders. Her eyes implored him. "Tell me what I have done--what I can do, Jean!" "I can say that much to you, and no more," he said quietly. "Only know this, ma chère--that there is a great grief eating at the soul of Jan Thoreau, and that because of this grief he is changed. I know what this grief is, but I am pledged never to reveal it. It is for you to find out, and to do this, above all else--let him know that you love him!" The color had faded from her startled face, but now it came back again in a swift flood. "That I love him?" "Yes. Not as a sister any longer, Mélisse, but as a WOMAN!" CHAPTER XXII HER PROMISE Gravois did not stay to see the effect of his last words. Only he knew, as he went through the door, that her eyes were following him, and that if he looked at her she would call him back. So he shut the door quickly behind him, fearing that he had already said too much. Cummins and Jan came in together at suppertime. The factor was in high humor. An Indian from the Porcupine had brought in two silver fox that morning, and he was immensely pleased at Jan's return--a combination of incidents which put him in the best of moods. Mélisse sat opposite Jan at the table. She had twisted a sprig of red bakneesh into her glossy braid, and a cluster of it nestled at her throat, but Jan gave no sign that he had noticed this little favor, which was meant entirely for him. He smiled at her, but there was a clear coolness in the depths of his dark eyes which checked any of the old familiarity on her part. "Has MacVeigh put in his new trap-line?" Cummins inquired, after asking Jan many questions about his trip. "I don't know," replied Jan. "I didn't go to MacVeighs'." Purposely he held his eyes from Mélisse. She understood his effort, and a quick flush gathered in her cheeks. "It was MacVeigh who brought in word of you," persisted the factor, oblivious of the effect of his questions. "I met him in the Cree Lake country, but he said nothing of his trap-lines." He rose from the table with Cummins, and started to follow him from the cabin. Mélisse came between. For a moment her hand rested upon his arm. "You are going to stay with me, Jan," she smiled. "I want your help with the dishes, and then we're going to play on the violin." She pulled him into a chair as Cummins left, and tied an apron about his shoulders. "Close your eyes--and don't move!" she commanded, laughing into his surprised face as she ran into her room. A moment later she returned with one hand held behind her back. The hot blood surged through Jan's veins when he felt her fingers running gently through his long hair. There came the snip of scissors, a little nervous laugh close to his head, and then again the snip, snip, snip of the scissors. "It's terribly long, Jan!" Her soft hand brushed his bearded cheek. "Ugh!" she shuddered. "You must take that off your face. If you don't--" "Why?" he asked, through lack of anything else to say. She lowered her head until her cheek pressed against his own. "Because it feels like bristles," she whispered. She reddened fiercely when he remained silent, and the scissors snipped more rapidly between her fingers. "I'm going to prospect the big swamp along the edge of the Barrens this summer," he explained soon, laughing to relieve the tension. "A beard will protect me from the black flies." "You can grow another." She took the apron from about his shoulders, and held it so that he could see the result of her work. He looked up, smiling. "Thank you, Mélisse. Do you remember when you last cut my hair?" "Yes--it was over on the mountain. We had taken the scissors along for cutting bakneesh, and you looked so like a wild Indian that I made you sit on a rock and let me trim it." "And you cut my ear," he reminded. "For which you made me pay," she retorted quickly, almost under her breath. She went to the cupboard behind the stove, and brought out her father's shaving-mug and razor. "I insist that you shall use them," she said, stirring the soap into a lather, and noting the indecision in his face. "I am afraid of you!" "Afraid of me?" He stood for a moment in front of the little mirror, turning his face from side to side. Mélisse handed him the razor and cup. "You don't seem like the Jan that I used to know once upon a time. There has been a great change in you since--since--" She hesitated. "Since when, Mélisse?" "Since the day we came in from the mountain and I put up my hair." With timid sweetness she added: "I haven't had it up again, Jan." She caught a glimpse of his lathered face in the glass, staring at her with big, seeking eyes. He turned them quickly away when he saw that she was looking, and Mélisse set to work at the dishes. She had washed them before he finished shaving. Then she took down the old violin from the wall and began to play, her low, sweet voice accompanying the instrument in a Cree melody which Iowaka had taught her during Jan's absence at Nelson House and the Wholdaia. Surprised, he faced her, his eyes glowing as there fell from her lips the gentle love-song of a heart-broken Indian maiden, filled with its infinite sadness and despair. He knew the song. It was a lyric of the Crees. He had heard it before, but never as it came to him now, sobbing its grief in the low notes of the violin, speaking to him with immeasurable pathos from the trembling throat of Mélisse. He stood silent until she had finished, staring down upon her bowed head. When she lifted her eyes to him, he saw that her long lashes were wet and glistening in the lamp-glow. "It is wonderful, Mélisse! You have made beautiful music for it." "Thank you, Jan." She played again, her voice humming with exquisite sweetness the wordless music which he had taught her. At last she gave him the violin. "Now you must play for me." "I have forgotten a great deal, Mélisse." She was astonished to see how clumsily his brown fingers traveled over the strings. As she watched him, her heart thrilled uneasily. It was not the old Jan who was playing for her now, but a new Jan, whose eyes shone dull and passionless, in whom there was no stir of the old spirit of the violin. He wandered listlessly from one thing to another, and after a few minutes gave her the instrument again. Without speaking, she rose from her chair and hung the violin upon the wall. "You must practise a great deal," she said quietly. At her movement he, too, rose from his seat; and when she turned to him again he had his cap in his hand. A flash of surprise shot into her eyes. "Are you going so soon, Jan?" "I am tired," he said in excuse. "It has been two days since I have slept, Mélisse. Good night!" He smiled at her from the door, but the "Good night" which fell from her lips was lifeless and unmeaning. Jan shivered when he went out. Under the cold stars he clenched his hands, knowing that he had come from the cabin none too soon. Choking back the grief of this last meeting with Mélisse, he crossed to the company store. It was late when Cummins returned home. Mélisse was still up. He looked at her sharply over his shoulder as he hung up his coat and hat. "Has anything come between you and Jan?" he asked suddenly. "Why have you been crying?" "Sometimes the tears come when I am playing the violin, father. I know of nothing that has come between Jan and me, only I--I don't understand--" She stopped, struggling hard to keep back the sobs that were trembling in her throat. "Neither do I understand," exclaimed the factor, going to the stove to light his pipe. "He gave me his resignation as a paid servant of the company tonight!" "He is not going--to leave--the post?" breathed Mélisse. "He is leaving the service," reiterated her father. "That means he can not long live at Lac Bain. He says he is going into the woods, perhaps into Jean's country of the Athabasca. Has he told you more?" "Nothing," said Mélisse. She was upon her knees in front of the little bookcase. A blinding film burned in her eyes. She caught her breath, struggling hard to master herself before she faced her father again. For a moment the factor went into his room, and she took this opportunity of slipping into her own, calling "Good night" to him from the partly closed door. The next day it was Croisset who went along the edge of the Barrens for meat. Gravois found Jan filling a new shoulder-pack with supplies. It was their first encounter since he had learned that Jan had given up the service. "Diable!" he fairly hissed, standing over him as he packed his flour and salt in a rubber bag. "Diable, I say, M. Jan Thoreau!" Jan looked up, smiling, to see the little Frenchman fairly quivering with rage. "Bon jour, M. Jean de Gravois!" he laughed back. "You see I am going out among the foxes." "The devils!" snapped Jean. "No, the foxes, my dear Jean. I am tired of the post. I can make better wage for my time in the swamps to the west. Think of it, Jean! It has been many years since you have trapped there, and the foxes must be eating up the country!" Jean's thin lips were almost snarling. "Blessed saints, and it was I who--" He spun upon his heels without another word, and went straight to Mélisse. "Jan Thoreau is going to leave the post," he announced fiercely, throwing out his chest and glaring at her accusingly. "So father has told me," said Mélisse. Her cheeks were colorless, and there were purplish lines under her eyes, but she spoke with exceeding calmness. "Mon Dieu!" exclaimed Jean, whirling again, "you take it coolly!" A little later Mélisse saw Jan coming from the store. When he entered the cabin his dark face betrayed the strain under which he was laboring, but his voice was unnaturally calm. "I have come to say good-by, Mélisse," he said. "I am going to prospect for a good trap-line among the Barrens." "I hope you will have good luck, Jan." In her voice, too, was a firmness almost metallic. For the first time in his life Jan held out his hand to her. She started, and for an instant the blood surged from her heart to her face. Then she gave him her own and looked him squarely and unflinchingly in the eyes. "Will you wait a moment?" she asked. She hurried into her room, and scarcely had she gone before she reappeared again, this time with a flush burning in her cheeks and her eyes shining brightly. She had unbraided her hair, and it lay coiled upon the crown of her head, glistening with crimson sprigs of bakneesh. She came to him a second time, and once more gave him her hand. "I don't suppose you care now," she said coldly, and yet laughing in his face. "I have not broken my promise. It was silly, wasn't it?" He felt as if his blood had been suddenly chilled to water, and he fought to choke back the thick throbbing in his throat. "You promised--" He could not go further. "I promised that I would not do up my hair again until you had forgotten to love me," she finished for him. "I will do it up now." He bowed his head, and she could see his shoulders quiver under their thick caribou coat. Her tense lips parted, and she raised her arms as if on the point of stretching them out to him; but his voice came evenly, without a quiver, yet filled with the dispassionate truth of what he spoke. "I have not forgotten to love you, Mélisse. I shall never cease to love my little sister. But you are older now, and it is time for you to do up your hair." He turned, without looking at her again, leaving her standing with her arms still half stretched out to him, and went from the cabin. "Good-by, Jan!" The words fell in a sobbing whisper from her, but he had gone too far to hear. Through the window she saw him shake hands with Cummins in front of the company's store. She watched him as he went to the cabin of Iowaka and Jean. Then she saw him shoulder his pack, and, with bowed head, disappear slowly into the depths of the black spruce forest. CHAPTER XXIII JAN RETURNS All that spring and summer Jan spent in the thick caribou swamps and low ridge-mountains along the Barrens. It was two months before he appeared at the post again, and then he remained only long enough to patch himself up and secure fresh supplies. Mélisse had suffered quietly during these two months, a grief and loneliness filling her heart which none knew but herself. Even from Iowaka she kept her unhappiness a secret; and yet when the gloom had settled heaviest upon her, she was still buoyed up by a persistent hope. Until Jan's last visit to Lac Bain this hope never quite went out. The first evening after his arrival from the swamps to the west, he came to the cabin. His beard had grown again. His hair was long and shaggy, and fell in shining dishevelment upon his shoulders. The sensitive beauty of his great eyes, once responsive to every passing humor in Mélisse, flashing fun at her laughter, glowing softly in their devotion, was gone. His face was filled with the age-old silence of the forest man. Firmly and yet gently, it repelled whatever of the old things she might have said and done, holding her away from him as if by power of a strong hand. This time Mélisse knew that there was left not even the last comforting spark of hope within her bosom. Jan had gone out of her life for ever, leaving to her, as a haunting ghost of what they two had once been to each other, the old violin on the cabin wall. After he went away again, the violin became more and more to her what it had once been to him. She played it as he had played it, sobbing her loneliness and her heart-break through its strings, in lone hours clasping it to her breast and speaking to it as Jan had talked to it in years gone by. "If you could only tell me--if you only could!" she whispered to it one day, when the autumn was drawing near. "If you could tell me about him, and what I might do--dear old violin!" Once during the autumn Jan came in for supplies and traps, and his dogs and sledge. He was planning to spend the winter two hundred miles to the west, in the country of the Athabasca. He was at Lac Bain for a week, and during this time a mail-runner came in from Fort Churchill. The runner brought a new experience into the life of Mélisse--her first letter. It was from young Dixon--twenty or more closely written pages of it, in which he informed her that he was going to spend a part of the approaching winter at Lac Bain. She was reading the last page when Jan came into the cabin. Her cheeks were slightly flushed by this new excitement, which was reflected in her eyes as she looked at Jan. "A letter!" she cried, holding out her two hands filled with the pages. "A letter--to me, Jan, all the way from Fort Churchill!" "Who in the world--" he began, smiling at her; and stopped. "It's from Mr. Dixon," she said, the flush deepening in her cheeks. "He's going to spend part of the winter with us." "I'm glad of that, Mélisse," said Jan quietly. "I like him, and would like to know him better. I hope he will bring you some more books--and strings." He glanced at the old violin. "Do you play much?" "A great deal," she replied. "Won't you play for me, Jan?" "My hands are too rough; and besides, I've forgotten all that I ever knew." "Even the things you played when I was a baby?" "I think I have, Mélisse. But you must never forget them." "I shall remember them--always," she answered softly. "Some day it may be that I will teach them to you again." He did not see her again until six months later, when he came in to the caribou roast, with his furs. Then he learned that another letter had come to Mélisse, and that Dixon had gone to London instead of coming to Lac Bain. The day after the carnival he went back into the country of the Athabasca. Spring did not see him at Lac Bain. Early summer brought no news of him. In the floods, Jean went by the water-way to the Athabasca, and found Thoreau's cabin abandoned. There had not been life in it for a long time. The Indians said that since the melting snows they had not seen Jan. A half-breed whom Jean met at Fond du Lac said that he had found the bones of a white man on the Beaver, with a Hudson's Bay gun and a horn-handled knife beside them. Jean came back to Lac Bain heavy at heart. "There is no doubt but that he is dead," he told Iowaka. "I do not believe that it will hurt very much if you tell Mélisse." One day early in September a lone figure came in to the post at noon, when the company people were at dinner. He carried a pack, and six dogs trailed at his heels. It was Jan Thoreau. "I have been down to civilization," was his explanation. "I have returned to spend this winter at Lac Bain." CHAPTER XXIV THE RESCUE On the first snow came young Dixon from Fort Churchill. Jean de Gravois met him on the trail near Ledoq's. When the Englishman recognized the little Frenchman he leaped from his sledge and advanced with outstretched hand, his face lighting up with pleasure. "Bless me, if it isn't my old friend, Jean!" he cried. "I was just thinking of you, Gravois, and how you trimmed me to a finish two winters ago. I've learned a lot about you people up here in the snows since then, and I'll never do anything like that again." He laughed into Jean's face as they shook hands, and his voice was filled with unbounded sincerity. "How is Mrs. Gravois, and the little Gravois--and Mélisse?" he added, before Jean had spoken. "All well, M'seur Dixon," replied Jean. "Only the little Gravois have almost grown into a man and woman." An hour or so later he said to Iowaka: "I can't help liking this man Dixon, and yet I don't want to. Why is it, do you suppose?" "Is it because you are afraid that Mélisse will like him?" asked his wife, smiling over her shoulder. "Blessed saints, I believe that it is!" said Jean frankly. "I hate foreigners--and Mélisse belongs to Jan." "She did, once, but that was a long time ago, Jean." "It may be, and yet I doubt it, ma bien aimée. If Jan would tell her--" "A woman will not wait always," interrupted Iowaka softly. "Jan Thoreau has waited too long!" A week later, as they stood together in front of their door, they saw Dixon and Mélisse walking slowly in the edge of the forest. The woman laughed into Jean's face. "Did I not say that Jan had waited too long?" Jean's face was black with disapprobation. "Then you would have taken up with some foreigner if I had remained in the Athabasca country another year or two?" he demanded questioningly. "Very likely," retorted Iowaka mischievously, running into the cabin. "The devil!" said Jean sourly, stalking in the direction of the store. He was angered at the coolness with which Jan accepted the situation. "This Dixon is with Mélisse afternoon and evening, and they walk together every day in the bush," he said to him. "Soon there will be a wedding at Lac Bain!" "Mélisse deserves a good man," replied Jan, unmoved. "I like Dixon." Deep down in his soul he knew that each day was bringing the end of it all much nearer for him. He did not tell Mélisse that he had returned to Lac Bain to be near her once more, nor did he confide in Jean. He had anticipated that this winter at the post would be filled with a certain painful pleasure for him--but he had not anticipated Dixon. Day after day he saw Mélisse and the Englishman together, and while they awakened in him none of the fiery jealousy which might have rankled in the bosom of Jean de Gravois, the knowledge that the girl was at last passing from him for ever added a deeper grief to that which was already eating at his heart. Dixon made no effort to conceal his feelings. He loved Mélisse. Frankly he told this to Jean one day, when they were on the Churchill trail. In his honest way he said things which broke down the last of Jean's hereditary prejudices, and compelled him to admit that this was a different sort of foreigner than he had ever known before. "Diable, I like him," he said to himself; "and yet I would rather see him in the blessed hereafter than have him take Mélisse from Jan!" The big snow decided. It came early in December. Dixon had set out alone for Ledoq's early in the morning. By noon the sky was a leaden black, and a little later one could not see a dozen paces ahead of him for the snow. The Englishman did not return that day. The next day he was still gone, and Gravois drove along the top of the mountain ridge until he came to the Frenchman's, where he found that Dixon had started for Lac Bain the preceding afternoon. He brought word back to the post. Then he went to Mélisse. "It is as good as death to go out in search of him," he said. "We can no longer use the dogs. Snowshoes will sink like leaden bullets by morning, and to go ten miles from the post means that there will be bones to be picked by the foxes when the crust comes!" It was dark when Jan came into the cabin. Mélisse started to her feet with a little cry when he entered, covered white with the snow. A light pack was strapped to his back, and he carried his rifle in his hand. "I am going to hunt for him," he said softly. "If he is alive, I will bring him back to you." She came to him slowly, and the beating of Jan's heart sounded to him like the distant thrumming of partridge-wings. Ah, would he ever forget that look? The old glory was in her eyes, her arms were reaching out, her lips parted. Jan knew how the Great Spirit had once appeared to Mukee, and how a white mist, like a snow-veil, had come between the half-breed's eyes and the wondrous Thing he beheld. That same veil drifted between Jan and the girl. As in a vision, he saw her face so near to him that he felt the touch of her sweet breath, and he knew that one of his rough hands was clasped in both of her own, and that after a moment it was crushed tightly against her bosom. "Jan, my hero--" He struggled back, almost sobbing, as he plunged out into the night again. He heard her voice crying after him, but the wild wailing of the spruce, and the storm in his brain, drowned its words. He had seen the glorious light of love in her eyes--her love for Dixon! And he would find him! At last he, Jan Thoreau, would prove that the old love was not dead within him; he would do for Mélisse this night--to-morrow--the next day, and until he fell down to die--what he had promised to do on their sledge-ride to Ledoq's. And then-- He went to Ledoq's now, following the top of the mountain, and reached his cabin in the late dawn. The Frenchman stared at him in amazement when he learned that he was about to set out on a search for Dixon. "You will not find him," he said slowly in French; "but if you are determined to go, I will hunt with you. It is a big chance that we will not come back." "I don't want you to go," objected Jan. "One will do as much as two, unless we search alone. I came your way to find if it had begun to snow before Dixon left." "An hour after he had gone, you could not see your hand before your face," replied Ledoq, preparing his pack. "There is no doubt but that he circled out over Lac Bain. We will go that far together, and then search alone." They went back over the mountain, and stopped when instinct told them that they were opposite the spruce forests of the lake. There they separated, Jan going as nearly as he could guess into the northwest, Ledoq trailing slowly and hopelessly into the south. It was no great sacrifice for Jan, this struggle with the big snows for the happiness of Mélisse. What it was to Ledoq no man ever guessed or knew, for it was not until the late spring snows had gone that the people at Lac Bain found what the foxes and the wolves had left of him, far to the south. Fearlessly Jan plunged into the white world of the lake. There was neither rock nor tree to guide him, for everywhere was the heavy ghost-raiment of the Indian god. The balsams were bending under it, the spruces were breaking into hunchback forms, the whole world was twisted in noiseless torture under its increasing weight. Out through the still terror of it all Jan's voice went in wild, echoing shouts. Now and then he fired his rifle, and always he listened long and intently. The echoes came back to him, laughing, taunting, and then each time fell the mirthless silence of the storm. Day came, only a little lighter than the night. He crossed the lake, his snow-shoes sinking ankle-deep at every step, and once each half-hour he fired a single shot from his rifle. He heard shots to the south, and knew that it was Ledoq; each report coming to him more faintly than the last, until they had died away entirely. Across the lake he struck the forest again, and his shouts echoed in futile inquiry in its weird depths. About him there was no sign of life, no sound except the faint fluttering of falling snow. Under five feet of this snow the four-footed creatures of the wilderness were snugly buried; close against the trunks of the spruces, sheltered within their tent-like coverings, the birds waited like lifeless things for the breaking of the storm. At noon Jan stopped and ate his lunch. Then he went on, carrying his rifle always upon his right shoulder, so that the steps of his right leg would be shortened, and he would travel in a circle, as he believed Dixon had done. The storm thickened with the falling of night, and he burrowed himself a great hole in the soft snow and filled it with balsam boughs for a bed. When he awakened, hours later, he stood up, and thrust out his head, and found himself buried to the arm-pits. With the aid of his broad snow-shoes he drew himself out, until he stood knee-deep in the surface. He lifted his pack. As he swung it before him, one arm thrust through a strap, he gave a startled cry. Half of one side of the pack was eaten away! He thrust his hands through the breach, and a moan of despair sobbed on his lips when he found that his food was gone. A thin trickle of flour ran through his fingers upon the snow. He pulled out a gnawed pound of bacon, a little tea--and that was all. Frantically he ripped the rent wider in his search, and when he stood up, his wild face staring into the chaos about him, he held only the bit of bacon in his hand. In it were the imprints of tiny teeth--sharp little razor-edged teeth that told him what had happened. While he had slept a mink had robbed him of his food! With one of his shoes he began digging furiously in the snow. He tore his balsam bed to pieces. Somewhere--somewhere not very far away--the little animal must have cached its theft. He dug down until he came to the frozen earth. For an hour he worked and found nothing. Then he stopped. Over a small fire he melted snow for tea and broiled a slice of the bacon, which he ate with the few biscuit crumbs he found in the pack. Every particle of flour that he could find he scraped up with his knife and put into one of the deep pockets of his caribou coat. After that he set cut in the direction in which he thought he would find Lac Bain. Still he shouted for Dixon, and fired an occasional shot from his rifle. By noon he should have struck the lake. Noon came and passed; the gloom of a second night fell upon him. He built himself a fire, and ate two-thirds of what remained of the bacon. The handful of flour in his pocket he did not disturb. It was still night when he broke his rest and struggled on. His first fears were gone. In place of them, there filled him now a grim sort of pleasure. A second time he was battling with death for Mélisse. And this, after all, was not a very hard fight for him. He had feared death in the red plague, but he did not fear the thought of this death that threatened him in the big snows. It thrilled him, instead, with a strange sort of exhilaration. If he died, it would be for Mélisse, and for all time she would remember him for what he had done. When he ate the last bit of his bacon, he made up his mind what he would do when the end came. In the stock of his rifle he would scratch a few last words to Mélisse. He even arranged the words in his brain--four of them--"Mélisse, I love you." He repeated them to himself as he staggered on, and that night, beside the fire he built, he began by carving her name. "To-morrow," he said softly, "I will do the rest." He was growing very hungry, but he did not touch the flour. For six hours he slept, and then drank his fill of hot tea. "We will travel until day, Jan Thoreau," he informed himself, "and then, if nothing turns up, we will build our last camp, and eat the flour. It will be the last of us, for there will be no meat above this snow for days." His snow-shoes were an impediment now, and he left them behind, along with one of his two blankets, which had grown to be like lead upon his shoulders. He counted his cartridges--ten of them. One of these he fired into the air. Was that an echo he heard? A sudden thrill shot through him. He strained his ears to catch a repetition of the sound. In a moment it came again--clearly no echo this time. "Ledoq!" he cried aloud. He fired again. Back to him came the distant, splitting crack of a rifle. He forced his way toward it. After a little he heard the signal again, much nearer than before, and he fired in response. A few hundred yards farther on he came to a low mountain ridge, and lifted his voice in a loud shout. A shot came from just over the mountain. Waist deep in the light snow he began the ascent, dragging himself up by the tops of the slender saplings, stopping every few yards to half-stretch himself out in the soft mass through which he was struggling, panting with exhaustion. He shouted when he gained the top of the ridge. Up through the white blur of snow on the other side there came to him faintly a shout; yet, in spite of its faintness, Jan knew that it was very near. "Something has happened to Ledoq," he told himself, "but he surely has food, and we can live it out until the storm is over." It was easier going down the ridge, and he went quickly in the direction from which the voice had come, until a mass of huge boulders loomed up before him. There was a faint odor of smoke in the air, and he followed it in among the rocks, where it grew stronger. "Ho, Ledoq!" he shouted. A voice replied a dozen yards away. Slowly, as he advanced, he made out the dim shadow of life in the white gloom--a bit of smoke climbing weakly in the storm, the black opening of a brush shelter--and then, between the opening and the spiral of smoke, a living thing that came creeping toward him on all fours, like an animal. He plunged toward it, and the shadow staggered upward, and would have fallen had it not been for the support of the deep snow. Another step, and a sharp cry fell from Jan's lips. It was not Ledoq, but Dixon, who stood there with white, starved face and staring eyes in the snow gloom! "My God, I am starving--and dying for a drink of water!" gasped the Englishman chokingly, thrusting out his arms. "Thoreau, God be praised--" He staggered, and fell in the snow. Jan dragged him back to the shelter. "I will have water for you--and something to eat--very soon," he said. His voice sounded unreal. There was a mistiness before his eyes which was not caused by the storm, a twisting of strange shadows that bothered his vision, and made him sway dizzily when he threw off his pack to stir the fire. He suspended his two small pails over the embers, which he coaxed into a blaze. Both he filled with snow; into one he emptied the handful of flour that he had carried in his pocket--into the other he put tea. Fifteen minutes later he carried them to the Englishman. Dixon sat up, a glazed passion filling his eyes. He drank the hot tea greedily, and as greedily ate the boiled flour-pudding. Jan watched him hungrily until the last crumb of it was gone. He refilled the pails with snow, added more tea, and then rejoined the Englishman. New life was already shining in Dixon's eyes. "Not a moment too soon, Thoreau," he said thankfully, reaching over to grip the other's hand. "Another night and--" Suddenly he stopped. "Great Heaven, what is the matter?" He noticed for the first time the pinched torture in his companion's face. Jan's head dropped weakly upon his breast. His hands were icy cold. "Nothing," he murmured drowsily, "only--I'm starving, too, Dixon!" He recovered himself with an effort, and smiled into Dixon's startled face. "There is nothing to eat," he continued, as he saw the other direct his gaze toward the pack. "I gave you the last of the flour. There is nothing--but salt and tea." He rolled over upon the balsam boughs with a restful sigh. "Let me sleep!" Dixon went to the pack. One by one, in his search for food, he took out the few articles that it contained. After that he drank more tea, crawled back into the balsam shelter, and lay down beside Jan. It was broad day when he awoke, and he called hoarsely to his companion when he saw that the snow had ceased falling. Jan did not stir. For a moment Dixon leaned over to listen to his breathing, and then dragged himself slowly and painfully out into the day. The fire was out. A leaden blackness still filled the sky; deep, silent gloom hung in the wake of the storm. Suddenly there came to Dixon's ears a sound. It was a sound that would have been unheard in the gentle whispering of a wind, in the swaying of the spruce-tops; but in this silence it fell upon the starving man's hearing with a distinctness that drew his muscles rigid and set his eyes staring about him in wild search. Just beyond the hanging pails a moose-bird hopped out upon the snow. It chirped hungrily, its big, owl-like eyes scrutinizing Dixon. The man stared back, fearing to move. Slowly he forced his right foot through the snow to the rear of his left, and as cautiously brought his left behind his right, working himself backward step by step until he reached the shelter. Just inside was his rifle. He drew it out and sank upon his knees in the snow to aim. At the report of the rifle, Jan stirred but did not open his eyes; he made no movement when Dixon called out in shrill joy that he had killed meat. He heard, he strove to arouse himself, but something more powerful than his own will seemed pulling him down into oblivion. It seemed an eternity before he was conscious of a voice again. He felt himself lifted, and opened his eyes with his head resting against the Englishman's shoulder. "Drink this, Thoreau," he heard. He drank, and knew that it was not tea that ran down his throat. "Whisky-jack soup," he heard again. "How is it?" He became wide-awake. Dixon was offering him a dozen small bits of meat on a tin plate, and he ate without questioning. Suddenly, when there were only two or three of the smallest scraps left, he stopped. "Mon Dieu, it was whisky-jack!" he cried. "I have eaten it all!" The young Englishman's white face grinned at him. "I've got the flour inside of me, Thoreau--you've got the moose-bird. Isn't that fair?" The plate dropped between them. Over it their hands met in a great, clutching grip, and up from Jan's heart there welled words which almost burst from his lips in voice, words which rang in his brain, and which were an unspoken prayer--"Mélisse, I thank the great God that it is this man whom you love!" But it was in silence that he staggered to his feet and went out into the gloom. "This may be only a lull in the storm," he said. "We must lose no time. How long did you travel before you made this camp?" "About ten hours," said Dixon. "I made due west by compass until I knew that I had passed Lac Bain, and then struck north." "Ah, you have the compass," cried Jan, his eyes lighting up. "M'seur Dixon, we are very near to the post if you camped so soon! Tell me which is north." "That is north." "Then we go south--south and east. If you traveled ten hours, first west and then north, we are northwest of Lac Bain." Jan spoke no more, but got his rifle from the shelter and put only the tea and two pails in his pack; leaving the remaining blanket upon the snow. The Englishman followed close behind him, bending weakly under the weight of his gun. Tediously they struggled to the top of the ridge, and as Jan stopped to look through the gray day about him, Dixon sank down into the snow. When the other turned toward him he grinned up feebly into his face. "Bushed," he gasped. "Don't believe I can make it through this snow, Thoreau." There was no fear in his eyes; there was even a cheerful ring in his voice. A sudden glow leaped into Jan's face. "I know this ridge," he exclaimed. "It runs within a mile of Lac Bain. You'd better leave your rifle behind." Dixon made an effort to rise and Jan helped him. They went on slowly, resting every few hundred yards, and each time that he rose from these periods of rest, Dixon's face was twisted with pain. "It's the flour and water anchored amidships," he smiled grimly. "Cramps--Ugh!" "We'll make it by supper-time," assured Jan cheerfully. Dixon leaned heavily on his arm. "I wish you'd go on alone," he urged. "You could send help--" "I promised Mélisse that I would bring you back if I found you," replied Jan, his face turned away. "If the storm broke again, you would be lost." "Tell me--tell me--" he heard Dixon pant eagerly, "did she send you to hunt for me, Thoreau?" Something in the Englishman's voice drew his eyes to him. There was an excited flush in his starved cheeks; his eyes shone. "Did she send you?" Jan struggled hard to speak calmly. "Not in words, M'seur Dixon. But I know that if I get you safely back to Lac Bain she will be very happy." Something came in Dixon's sobbing breath which Jan did not hear. A little later he stopped and built a fire over which he melted more snow and boiled tea. The drink stimulated them, and they went on. A little later still and Jan hung his rifle in the crotch of a sapling. "We will return for the guns in a day or so," he said. Dixon leaned upon him more heavily now, and the distances they traveled between resting periods became shorter and shorter. Three times they stopped to build fires and cook tea. It was night when they descended from the ridge to the snow-covered ice of Lac Bain. It was past midnight when Jan dragged Dixon from the spruce forest into the opening at the post. There were no lights burning, and he went with his half-conscious burden to the company's store. He awakened Croisset, who let them in. "Take care of Dixon," said Jan, "and don't arouse any of the people to-night. It will be time enough to tell what has happened in the morning." Over the stove in his own room he cooked meat and coffee, and for a long time sat silent before the fire. He had brought back Dixon. In the morning Mélisse would know. First she would go to the Englishman, then--then--she would come to him! He rose and went to the rude board table in the corner of his room. "No, Mélisse must not come to me in the morning," he whispered to himself. "She must never again look upon Jan Thoreau." He took pencil and paper and wrote. Page after page he crumpled in his hand and flung into the fire. At last, swiftly and despairingly, he ended with half a dozen lines. What he said came from his heart, in French: "I have brought him back to you, my Mélisse, and pray that the good God may give you happiness. I leave you the old violin, and always when you play, it will tell you of the love of Jan Thoreau." He folded the page and sealed it in one of the company's envelopes. Very quietly he went from his room down into the deserted store. Without striking a light he found a new pack, a few articles of food, and ammunition. The envelope, addressed to Mélisse, he left where Croisset or the factor would find it in the morning. His dogs were housed in a shack behind the store, and he called out their names softly and warningly as he went among them. As stealthily as their master they trailed behind him to the edge of the forest, and close under the old spruce that guarded the grave Jan stopped, and silently he stretched out his arms to the little cabin. The dogs watched him. Kazan, the one-eyed leader, glared from him into the dimness of the night, whining softly. A low, mourning wind swept through the spruce tops, and from Jan's throat there burst sobbingly words which he had heard beside this same grave more than seventeen years before, when Williams' choking voice had risen in a last prayer for the woman. "May the great God care for Mélisse!" He turned into the trail upon which Jean de Gravois had fought the Englishman, led his dogs and sledge in a twisting path through the caribou swamp, and stood at last beside the lob-stick tree that leaned out over the edge of the white barrens. With his knife he dug out the papers which he had concealed in that whisky-jack hole. It was near dawn when he recovered the rifle which he had abandoned on the mountain top. A little later it began to snow. He was glad, for it would conceal his trail. For thirteen days he forced his dogs through the deep snows into the south. On the fourteenth they came to Le Pas, which is the edge of civilization. It was night when he came out of the forest, so that he could see the faint glow of lights beyond the Saskatchewan. For a few moments, before crossing, he stopped his tired dogs and turned his face back into the grim desolation of the North, where the aurora was playing feebly in the skies, and beckoning to him, and telling him that the old life of centuries and centuries ago would wait for him always at the dome of the earth. "The good God bless you, and keep you, and care for you ever more, my Mélisse," he whispered; and he walked slowly ahead of his dogs, across the river, and into the Other World. CHAPTER XXV JACK THORNTON There was music that night in Le Pas. Jan heard it before he came to the first of the scattered lights, and the dogs pricked up their ears. Kazan, the one-eyed, whined under his breath, and the weight at Jan's heart grew heavier as the dog turned up his head to him in the starlight. It was strange music, nothing like Jan had ever heard. It was strange to Kazan, and set him whining, and he thrust his muzzle up to his master's touch inquiringly. They passed on like shadows, close to a big, lighted log building from which the music came, and with it a tumult of laughter, of shuffling and stamping feet, of coarse singing and loud voices. A door opened and a man and a woman came out. The man was cursing, and the woman was laughing at him--laughing as Jan had never heard a woman laugh before, and he held his breath as he listened to the taunting mockery in it. Others followed the first man and the first woman. Some passed quietly. A woman, escorted between two men, screamed with merriment as she flung toward his shadowy figure an object which fell with a crash against the sledge. It was a bottle. Kazan snarled. The trace-dogs slunk close to the leader's heels. With a low word Jan led them on. Close down to the river, where the Saskatchewan swung in a half-moon to the south and west, he found a low, squat building with a light hung over the door illuminating a bit of humor in the form of a printed legend which said that it was "King Edward's Hotel." The scrub bush of the forest grew within a hundred yards of it, and in this bush Jan tied his dogs and left his sledge. It did not occur to him that now, when he had entered civilization, he had come also into the land of lock and bolt, of robbers and thieves. It was loneliness, and not suspicion, that sent him back to unleash Kazan and take him with him. They entered the hotel, Kazan with suspicious caution. The door opened into a big room lighted by an oil lamp, turned low. The room was empty except for a solitary figure sitting in a chair, facing a wide window which looked into the north. Making no sound, that he might not disturb this other occupant, Jan also seated himself before the window. Kazan laid his wolfish head across his master's knees, his one eye upon him steadily and questioningly. Never in all his years of life had Jan felt the depth of loneliness that swept upon him now, as he looked into the North. Below him the Saskatchewan lay white and silent; beyond it he could see the dark edge of the forest, and far, far, beyond that, hovering low in the sky, the polar star. It burned faintly now, almost like a thousand other stars that he saw, and the aurora was only a fading glow. Something rose up in Jan's throat and choked him, and he closed his eyes, with his fingers clutching Kazan's head. In spite of the battle that he had fought, his mind swept back--back through the endless silent spaces, over mountains and through forests, swift, resistless, until once more the polar star flashed in all its glory over his head, and he was at Lac Bain. He did not know that he was surrendering to hunger, exhaustion, the cumulative effects of his thirteen days' fight in the forests. He was with Mélisse again, with the old violin, with the things that they had loved. He forgot in these moments that there was another in the room; he heard no sound as the man shifted his position so that he looked steadily at him and Kazan. It was the low, heart-broken sob of grief that fell from his own lips that awakened him again to a consciousness of the present. He jerked himself erect, and found Kazan with his fangs gleaming. The stranger had risen. He was standing close to him, leaning down, staring at him in the dim lamplight, and as Jan lifted his own eyes he knew that in the pale, eager face of the man above him there was written a grief which might have been a reflection of his own. For a full breath or two they looked, neither speaking, and the hair along Kazan's spine stood stiff. Something reached out to Jan and set his tired blood tingling. He knew that this man was not a forest man. He was not of his people. His face bore the stamp of the people to the south, of civilization. And yet something passed between them, leaped all barriers, and made them friends before they had spoken. The stranger reached down his hand, and Jan reached up his. All of the loneliness, the clinging to hope, the starving desire of two men for companionship, passed in the long grip of their hands. "You have just come down," said the man, half questioningly. "That was your sledge--out there?" "Yes," said Jan. The stranger sat down in the chair next to Jan. "From the camps?" he questioned eagerly. "What camps, m'sieur?" "The railroad camps, where they are putting the new line through, beyond Wekusko." "I know of no camps," said Jan simply. "I know of no railroad, except this that comes to Le Pas. I come from Lac Bain, on the edge of the barren lands." "You have never been down before?" asked the stranger softly. Jan wondered at the light in his eyes. "A long time ago," he said, "for a day. I have passed all of my life--up there." Jan pointed to the north, and the other's eyes turned to where the polar star was fading low in the sky. "And I have passed all of my life DOWN THERE," he replied, nodding his head to the south. "A year ago I came up here for--for health and happiness," he laughed nervously. "I found them both. But I'm leaving them. I'm going back to-morrow. My name is Thornton," he added, holding out his hand again. "I come from Chicago." "My name is Thoreau--Jan Thoreau," said Jan. "I have read of Chicago in a book, and have seen pictures of it. Is it larger than the city that is called Winnipeg?" He looked at Thornton, and Thornton turned his head a little so that the light did not shine in his face. The grip of his fingers tightened about Jan's hand. "Yes, it is larger." "The officers of the great company are at Winnipeg, and Le Commissionaire, are they not, m'sieur?" "Of the Hudson's Bay Company--yes." "And if there was business to do--important business, m'sieur, would it not be best to go to Le Commissionaire?" questioned Jan. Thornton looked hard at the tense eagerness in Jan's face. "There are nearer headquarters, at Prince Albert," he said. "That is not far," exclaimed Jan, rising. "And they would do business there--important business?" He dropped his hand to Kazan's head, and half turned toward the door. "Perhaps better than the Commissioner," replied Thornton. "It might depend--on what your business is." To them, as each stood for a moment in silence, there came the low wailing of a dog out in the night. "They are calling for Kazan," said Jan quietly, as though he had not read the question in Thornton's last words. "Good night, m'sieur!" The dogs were sitting upon their haunches, waiting, when Jan and Kazan went back to them. Jan drew them farther back, where the thick spruce shut them out from the clearing, and built a fire. Over this he hung his coffee-pail and a big chunk of frozen caribou meat, and tossed frozen fish to the hungry dogs. Then he pulled down spruce boughs and spread his heavy blankets out near the fire, and waited for the coffee and meat to cook. The huskies were through when he began eating, and they lay on their bellies, close about his feet, ready to snap at the scraps which he threw them. Jan noticed, as he ate, that there was left in them none of the old, fierce, fighting spirit. They did not snap or snarl. There was no quarreling when he threw bits of meat to them, and he found himself wondering if they, too, were filled with the sickness which was eating at his own heart. With this sickness, this deathly feeling of loneliness and heartache, there had entered into Jan now a strange sensation that was almost excitement--an eagerness to fasten the dogs in their traces, to hurry on, in spite of his exhaustion, to that place which Thornton had told him of--Prince Albert, and to free himself there, for all time, of the thing which had oppressed him since that night many years ago, when he had staggered into Lac Bain to play his violin as Cummins' wife died. He reached inside his skin coat and there he felt papers which he had taken from the hole in the lob-stick tree. They were safe. For twenty years he had guarded them. To-morrow he would take them to the great company at Prince Albert. And after that--after he had done this thing, what would there remain in life for Jan Thoreau? Perhaps the company might take him, and he would remain in civilization. That would be best--for him. He would fight against the call of his forests as years and years ago he had fought against that call of the Other World that had filled him with unrest for a time. He had killed THAT. If he DID return to his forests, he would go far to the west, or far to the east. No one that had ever known him would hear again of Jan Thoreau. Kazan had crept to his blanket, daring to encroach upon it inch by inch, until his great wolf-head lay upon Jan's arm. It was ten years ago that Jan had taken Kazan, a little half-blind puppy that he and Mélisse had chosen from a litter of half a dozen stronger brothers and sisters. Kazan was all that was left to him now. He loved the other dogs, but they were not like Kazan. He tightened his arm about the dog's head. Exhaustion, and the warmth of the fire, made him drowsy, and, after a time, he slept, with his head thrown back against the tree. Something awoke him, hours afterward. He opened his eyes, and found that the fire was still burning brightly. On the far side of it, beyond the dogs, sat Thornton. A look at the sky, where the stars were dying, and Jan knew that it was just before the gray break of dawn. He sat upright. Thornton laughed softly at him, and puffed out clouds of smoke from his pipe. "You were freezing," he said, as Jan stared, "and sleeping like a dead man. I waited for you back there, and then hunted you up. You know--I thought--" He hesitated, and knocked the ash from his pipe bowl. Then he looked frankly and squarely at Jan. "See here, old man, if you're hard up--had trouble of any sort--bad luck--got no money--won't you let me help you out?" "Thank you, m'sieur--I have money," said Jan. "I prefer to sleep outside with the dogs. Mon Dieu, I guess I would have been stiff with the frost if you had not come. You have been here--all night?" Thornton nodded. "And it is morning," exclaimed Jan, rising and looking above the spruce tops. "You are kind, m'sieur. I wish I might do as much for you." "You can," said Thornton quietly. "Where are you going--from here?" "To the company's offices at Prince Albert. We will start within an hour." "Will you take me with you?" Thornton asked. "With pleasure!" cried Jan. "But it will be a hard journey, m'sieur. I must hurry, and you may not be accustomed to running behind the dogs." Thornton rose and stretched out a hand. "It can't be too hard for me," he said. "I wish--" He stopped, and something in his low voice made Jan look straight into his eyes. For a moment they gazed at each other in silence, and again Jan saw in Thornton's face the look of loneliness and grief which he had first seen in the half gloom of the hotel. It was the suppressed note in Thornton's voice, of despair almost, that struck him deepest, and made him hold the other's hand a moment longer. Then he turned to his pack upon the sledge. "I've got meat and coffee and hard biscuits," he said. "Will you have breakfast with me?" That day Jan and Thornton made fifty miles westward over the level surface of the Saskeram, and camped again on the Saskatchewan. The second day they followed the river, passed the Sipanock, and struck south and west over the snow-covered ice for Prince Albert. It was early afternoon of the fourth day when at last they came to the town. "We will go to the offices of the great company," said Jan. "We will lose no time." It was Thornton now who guided him to the century-old building at the west edge of the town. It was Thornton who led him into an office filled mostly with young women, who were laboring at clicking machines; and it was Thornton who presented a square bit of white card to a gray-haired man at a desk, who, after reading it, rose from his chair, bowed, and shook hands with him. And a few moments later a door opened, and Jan Thoreau, alone, passed through it, his heart quivering, his breath choking him, his hand clutching at the papers in his breast pocket. Outside Thornton waited. An hour passed and still the door did not reopen. The man at the desk glanced curiously at Thornton. Two girls at typewriters exchanged whispered opinions as to who might be this wild-looking creature from the north who was taking up an hour of the sub-commissioner's time. Nearly two hours passed before Jan appeared. Thornton, still patient, rose as the door opened. His eyes first encountered the staring face of the sub-commissioner. Then Jan came out. He had aged five years in two hours. There was a tired stoop to his shoulders, a strange pallor in his cheeks. To Thornton his thin face seemed to have grown thinner. With bowed head, looking nowhere but ahead of him, Jan passed on, and as the last door opened to let them out into the pale winter sun, Thornton heard the muffled sobbing of his breath. His fingers gripped Jan's arm, his eyes were blazing. "If you're getting the wrong end of anything up there," he cried fiercely; "if you're in trouble, and they're taking the blood out of you--tell me and I'll put the clamps on 'em, so 'elp me God! They'll buck the devil when they buck Jack Thornton, and if it needs money to show 'em so, I've got half a million to teach 'em the game!" "Thanks, m'sieur," struggled Jan, striving to keep a lump out of his throat. "It's nothing like that. I don't need money. Half a million would just about buy--what I've given away up there." He clutched his hand for an instant to the empty pocket where the papers had been. CHAPTER XXVI TEMPTATION That night, leaving Thornton still at supper in the little old Windsor Hotel, Jan slipped away, and with Kazan at his heels, crossed the frozen Saskatchewan to the spruce forest on the north shore. He wanted to be alone, to think, to fight with himself against a desire which was almost overpowering him. Once, long ago, he had laid his soul bare to Jean de Gravois, and Jean had given him comfort. To-night he longed to go to Thornton, as he had gone to Jean, and to tell him the same story, and what had passed that day in the office of the sub-commissioner. In his heart there had grown something for Thornton that was stronger than friendship--something that would have made him fight for him, and die for him, as he would have fought and died for Jean de Gravois. It was a feeling cemented by a belief that something was troubling Thornton--that he, too, was filled with a loneliness and a grief which he was trying to conceal. And yet he fought to restrain himself from confiding in his new friend. It would do no good, he knew, except by relieving him of a part of his mental burden. He walked along the shore of the river and recrossed it again near the company's offices. All were dark with the exception of the sub-commissioner's room. In that there glowed a light. The sub-commissioner was keeping his promise. He was working. He worked until late, for Jan came back two hours after and saw the light still there. A week--it might be ten days, the sub-commissioner had told him, and it would be over. Always something in the north drew Jan's eyes, and he looked there now, wondering what would happen to him after that week was over. Lights were out and people were in bed when he and Kazan returned to the hotel. But Thornton was up, sitting by himself in the gloom, as Jan had first seen him at Le Pas. Jan sat down beside him. There was an uneasy tremor in Thornton's voice when he said: "Jan, did you ever love a woman--love her until you were ready and willing to die for her?" The suddenness of the question wrung the truth from Jan's lips in a low, choking voice. For an instant he thought that Thornton must have guessed his secret. "Yes, m'sieur." Thornton leaned toward him, gripping his knees, and the misery in his face was deeper than Jan had ever seen it before. "I love a woman--like that," he went on tensely. "A girl--not a woman, and she is one of your people, Jan--of the north, as innocent as a flower, more beautiful to ME than--than all the women I have ever seen before. She is at Oxford House. I am going home to--to save myself." "Save yourself!" cried Jan. "Mon Dieu, m'sieur--does she not love you?" "She would follow me to the end of the earth!" "Then--" Thornton straightened himself and wiped his pale face. Suddenly he rose to his feet and motioned for Jan to follow him. He walked swiftly out into the night, and still faster after that, until they passed beyond the town. From where he stopped they could look over the forests far into the pale light of the south. "THAT'S hell for me!" said Thornton, pointing. "It's what we call civilization--but it's mostly hell, and it's all hell for me. It's a hell of big cities, of strife, of blood-letting, of wickedness. I never knew how great a hell it was until I came up here--among YOU. I wish to God I could stay--always!" "You love her," breathed Jan. "You can stay." "I can't," groaned Thornton. "I can't--unless--" "What, m'sieur?" "Unless I lose everything--but her." Jan's fingers trembled as they sought Thornton's hand. "And everything is--is--nothing when you give it for love and happiness," he urged. "The great God, I know--" "Everything," cried Thornton. "Don't you understand? I said EVERYTHING!" He turned almost fiercely upon his companion. "I'd give up my name--for HER. I'd bury myself back there in the forests and never go out of them--for HER. I'd give up fortune, friends, lose myself for ever--for HER. But I can't. Good God, don't you understand?" Jan stared. His eyes grew large and dark. "I've spent ten years of WORSE than hell down there--with a woman," went on Thornton. "It happens among us--frequently, this sort of hell. I came up here to get out of it for a time. You know--now. There is a woman down there who--who is my wife. She would be glad if I never returned. She is happy now, when I am away, and I have been happy--for a time. I know what love is. I have felt it. I have lived it. God forgive me, but I am almost tempted to go back--to HER!" He stopped at the change which had come in Jan, who stood as straight and as still as the blank spruce behind them, with only his eyes showing that there was life in him. Those eyes held Thornton's. They burned upon him through the gray gloom as he had never seen human eyes burn before. He waited, half startled, and Jan spoke. In his voice there was nothing of that which Thornton saw in his eyes. It was low, and soft, and though it had that which rung like steel, Thornton could not have understood or feared it more. "M'sieur, how far have you gone--WITH HER?" Thornton understood and advanced with his hands reaching out to Jan. "Only as far as one might go with the purest thing on earth," he said. "I have sinned--in loving her, and in letting her love me, but that is all, Jan Thoreau. I swear that is all!" "And you are going back into the south?" "Yes, I am going back into the south." The next day Thornton did not go. He made no sign of going on the second day. So it was with the third, the fourth, and the fifth. On each of these days Jan went once, in the afternoon, to the office of the sub-commissioner, and Thornton always accompanied him. At times, when Jan was not looking, there was a hungry light in his eyes as he followed the other's movements, and once or twice Jan caught what was left of this look when he turned unexpectedly. He knew what was in Thornton's mind, and he pitied him, grieved with him in his own heart until his own secret almost wrung itself from his lips. Somehow, in a way that he could not understand, Thornton's sacrifice to honor, and his despair, gave Jan strength, and a hundred times he asked himself if a confession of his own misery would do as much for the other. He repeated this thought to himself again and again on the afternoon of the ninth day, when he went to the sub-commissioner's office alone. This time Thornton had remained behind. He had left him in a gloomy corner of the hotel room from which he had not looked up when Jan went out with Kazan. This ninth day was the last day for Jan Thoreau. In a dazed sort of way he listened as the sub-commissioner told him that the work was ended. They shook hands. It was dark when Jan came out from the company's offices, dark with a pale gloom through which the stars were beginning to glow--with a ghostly gloom, lightened still more in the north with the rising fires of the northern lights. Alone Jan stood for a few moments close down to the river. Across from him was the forest, silent, black, reaching to the end of the earth, and over it, like a signal light, beckoning him back to his world, the aurora sent out its shafts of red and gold. And as he listened there came to him faintly a distant wailing sound that he knew was the voice from that world, and at the sound the hair rose along Kazan's spine, and he whined deep down in his throat. Jan's breath grew quicker, his blood warmer. Over there--across the river--his world was calling to him, and he, Jan Thoreau, was now free to go. This very night he would bury himself in the forest again, and when he lay down to sleep it would be with his beloved stars above him, and the winds whispering sympathy and brotherhood to him in the spruce tops. He would go--NOW. He would say good-by to Thornton--and GO. He found himself running, and Kazan ran beside him. He was breathless when he came to the one lighted street of the town. He hurried to the hotel and found Thornton sitting where he had left him. "It is ended, m'sieur," he cried in a low voice. "It is over, and I am going. I am going to-night." Thornton rose. "To-night," he repeated. "Yes, to-night--now. I am going to pick up my things. Will you come?" He went ahead of Thornton to the bare little room in which he had slept while at the hotel. He did not notice the change in Thornton until he had lighted a lamp. Thornton was looking at him doggedly. There was an unpleasant look in his face, a flush about his eyes, a rigid tenseness in the muscles of his jaws. "And I--I, too, am going to-night," he said. "Into the South, m'sieur?" "No, into the NORTH." There was a fierceness in Thornton's emphasis. He stood opposite Jan, leaning over the table on which the light was placed. "I've broken loose," he went on. "I'm not going south--back to that hell of mine. I'm never going south again. I'm dead down there--dead for all time. They'll never hear of me again. They can have my fortune--everything. I'm going North. I'm going to live with YOU people--and God--AND HER!" Jan sank into a chair, Thornton sat down in one across from him. "I am going back to her," he repeated. "No one will ever know." He could not account for the look in Jan's eyes nor for the nervous twitching of the lithe brown hands that reached half across the table. But Kazan's one eye told him more than Thornton could guess, and in response to it that ominous shivering wave rose along his spine. Thornton would never know that Jan's fingers twitched for an instant in their old mad desire to leap at a human throat. "You will not do that," he said quietly. "Yes, I will," replied Thornton. "I have made up my mind. Nothing can stop me but--death." "There is one other thing that can stop you, and will, m'sieur," said Jan as quietly as before. "I, Jan Thoreau, will stop you." Thornton rose slowly, staring down into Jan's face. The flush about his eyes grew deeper. "I will stop you," repeated Jan, rising also. "And I am not death." He went to Thornton and placed his two hands upon his shoulders, and in his eyes there glowed now that gentle light which had made Thornton love him as he had loved no other man on earth. "M'sieur, I will stop you," he said again, speaking as though to a brother. "Sit down. I am going to tell you something. And when I have told you this you will take my hand, and you will say, 'Jan Thoreau, I thank the Great God that something like this has happened before, and that it has come to my ears in time to save the one I love.' Sit down, m'sieur." CHAPTER XXVII JAN'S STORY Jan had aged five years during those two hours in the office of the sub-commissioner; he aged now as Thornton looked at him. There came the same tired, hopeless glow into his eyes, the same tense lines in his face. And yet, quickly, he changed as he had not changed on that afternoon. Two livid spots began to burn in his cheeks as he sat down opposite Thornton. He turned the light low, and his eyes glowed more darkly and with an animal-like luster in the half gloom. Something in him now, a quivering, struggling passion that lay behind those eyes, held Thornton white and silent. "M'sieur," he began in the low voice which Thornton was beginning to understand, "I am going to tell you something which I have told to but two other human beings. It is the story of another man--a man from civilization, like you, who came up into this country of ours years and years ago, and who met a woman, as you have met this girl at Oxford House, and who loved her as you love this one, and perhaps more. It is singular that the case should be so similar, m'sieur, and it is because of this that I believe Our Blessed Lady gives me courage to tell it to you. For this man, like you, left a wife--and two children--when he came into the North. M'sieur, I pray the Great God to forgive him, for he left a third child--unborn." Jan leaned upon his hand so that it shaded his face. "It is not so much of THAT as of what followed that I am going to tell you, m'sieur," he went on. "It was a beautiful love--on the woman's part, and it would have been a beautiful love on the man's part if it had been pure. For her he gave up everything, even his God--as you would give up everything--and your God--for this girl at Oxford House. M'sieur, I will speak mostly of the woman now. She was beautiful. She was one of the three most beautiful things that God ever placed in our world, and she loved this man. She married him, believed in him, was ready to die for him, to follow him to the ends of the earth, as our women will do for the men they love. God in Heaven, can you not guess what happened, m'sieur? A CHILD WAS BORN!" So fiercely did Jan cry out the words that Thornton jerked back as though a blow had been struck at him from out of the gloom. "A child was born!" repeated Jan, and Thornton heard his nails digging in the table. "That was the first curse of God--a child! La Charogne--les bêtes de charogne--that is what we call them--beasts of carrion and carrion eaters, breeders of devils and sin! Mon Dieu, that is what happened! A child was born, with the curse of God upon him!" Jan stopped, his nails digging deeper, his breath escaping from him as though he had been running. "Down in YOUR world he would have grown up a MAN," he continued, speaking more calmly. "I have heard that--since. It is common down there to be a two-legged carrion--a man or a woman born out of wedlock. I have been told so, and that it is a curse not without hope. But here it is different. The curse never dies. It follows, day after day, year after year. And this child--more unfortunate than the wild things, was born one of them. Do you understand, m'sieur? If the winds had whispered the secret nothing would have come near him--the Indian women would sooner have touched the plague--he would have been an outcast, despised as he grew older, pointed at and taunted, called names which are worse than those called to the lowest and meanest dogs. THAT is what it means to be born under that curse--up here." He waited for Thornton to speak, but the other sat silent and moveless across the table. "The curse worked swiftly, m'sieur. It came first--in remorse--to the man. It gnawed at his soul, ate him alive, and drove him from place to place with the woman and the child. The purity and love of the woman added to his suffering, and at last he came to know that the hand of God had fallen upon his head. The woman saw his grief but did not know the reason for it. And so the curse first came to her. They went north--far north, above the Barren Lands, and the curse followed there. It gnawed at his life until--he died. That was seven years after the child was born." The oil lamp sputtered and began to smoke, and with a quick movement Jan turned the wick down until they were left in darkness. "M'sieur, it was then that the curse began to fall upon the woman and the child. Do you not believe that about the sins of the fathers falling upon others? Mon Dieu, it is so--it is so. It came in many small ways--and then--the curse--it came suddenly--LIKE THIS." Jan's voice came in a hissing whisper now. Thornton could feel his hot breath as he leaned over the table, and in the darkness Jan's eyes shone like two coals of fire. "It came like THIS!" panted Jan. "There was a new missioner at the post--a--a Christian from the South, and he was a great friend to the woman, and preached God, and she BELIEVED him. The boy was very young, and saw things, but did not understand at first. He knew, afterward, that the missioner loved his mother's beauty, and that he tried hard to win it--and failed, for the woman, until death, would love only the one to whom she had given herself first. Great God, it happened THEN--one night when every soul was about the big fires at the caribou roast, and there was no one near the lonely little cabin where the boy and his mother lived. The boy was at the feast, but he ran home--with a bit of dripping meat as a gift for his mother--and he heard her cries, and ran in to be struck down by the missioner. It happened THEN, and even the boy knew, and followed the man, shrieking that he had killed his mother." There was a terrible calmness now in Jan's voice. "M'sieur, it was true. She wasted away like a flower after that night. She died, and left the boy alone with the curse. And that boy, m'sieur, was Jan Thoreau. The woman was his mother." There was silence now, a dead, pulseless quiet, broken after a moment by a movement. It was Thornton, groping across the table. Jan felt his hands touch his arm. They groped farther in the darkness, until Jan Thoreau's hands were clasped tightly in Thornton's. "And that--is all?" he questioned hoarsely. "No, it is but the beginning," said Jan softly. "The curse has followed me, m'sieur, until I am the unhappiest man in the world. To-day I have done all that is to be done. When my father died he left papers which my mother was to give to me when I had attained manhood. When she died they came to me. She knew nothing of that which was in them, and I am glad. For they told the story that I have told to you, m'sieur, and from his grave my father prayed to me to make what restitution I could. When he came into the North for good he brought with him most of his fortune--which was large, m'sieur--and placed it where no one would ever find it--in the stock of the Great Company. A half of it, he said, should be mine. The other half he asked me to return to his children, and to his real wife, if she were living. I have done more than that, m'sieur. I have given up all--for none of it is mine. A half will go to the two children whom he deserted. The other half will go to the child that was unborn. The mother--is--dead." After a time Thornton said, "There is more, Jan." "Yes, there is more, m'sieur," said Jan. "So much more that if I were to tell it to you it would not be hard for you to understand why Jan Thoreau is the unhappiest man in the world. I have told you that this is but the beginning. I have not told you of how the curse has followed me and robbed me of all that is greatest in life--how it has haunted me day and night, m'sieur, like a black spirit, destroying my hopes, turning me at last into an outcast, without people, without friends, without--that--which you, too, will give up in this girl at Oxford House. M'sieur, am I right? You will not go back to her. You will go south, and some day the Great God will reward you." He heard Thornton rising in the dark. "Shall I strike a light, m'sieur?" "No," said Thornton close to him. In the gloom their hands met. There was a change in the other's voice now, something of pride, of triumph, of a glory just achieved. "Jan," he said softly, "I thank you for bringing me face to face with a God like yours. I have never met Him before. We send missionaries up to save you, we look upon you as wild and savage and with only half a soul--and we are blind. You have taught me more than has ever been preached into me, and this great, glorious world of yours is sending me back a better man for having come into it. I am going--south. Some day I will return, and I will be one of this world, and one of your people. I will come, and I will bring no curse. If I could send this word to HER, ask her forgiveness, tell her what I have almost been and that I still have hope--faith--I could go easier down into that other world." "You can," said Jan. "I will take this word for you, m'sieur, and I will take more, for I will tell her what it has been the kind fate for Jan Thoreau to find in the heart of M'sieur Thornton. She is one of my people, and she will forgive, and love you more for what you have done. For this, m'sieur, is what the Cree god has given to his people as the honor of the great snows. She will still love you, and if there is to be hope it will burn in HER breast, too. M'sieur--" Something like a sob broke through Thornton's lips as he moved back through the darkness. "And you--I will find you again?" "They will know where I go from Oxford House. I will leave word--with HER," said Jan. "Good-by," said Thornton huskily. Jan listened until his footsteps had died away, and for a long time after that he sat with his head buried in his arms upon the little table. And Kazan, whining softly, seemed to know that in the darkened room had come to pass the thing which broke at last his master's overburdened heart. CHAPTER XXVIII THE MUSIC AGAIN That night Jan Thoreau passed for the last time back into the shelter of his forests; and all that night he traveled, and with each mile that he left behind him something larger and bolder grew in his breast until he cracked his whip in the old way, and shouted to the dogs in the old way, and the blood in him sang to the wild spirit of the wilderness. Once more he was home. To him the forest had always been home, filled with the low voice of whispering winds and trees, and to-night it was more his home than ever. Lonely and sick at heart, with no other desire than to bury himself deeper and deeper into it, he felt the life, and sympathy, and love of it creeping into his heart, grieving with him in his grief, warming him with its hope, pledging him again the eternal friendship of its trees, its mountains, and all of the wild that it held therein. And from above him the stars looked down like a billion tiny fires kindled by loving hands to light his way--the stars that had given him music, peace, since he could remember, and that had taught him more of the silent power of God than the lips of man could ever tell. From this time forth Jan Thoreau knew that these things would be his life, his god. A thousand times in fanciful play he had given life and form to the star-shadows about him, to the shadows of the tall spruce, the twisted shrub, the rocks and even the mountains. And now it was no longer play. With each hour that passed this night, and with each day and night that followed, they became more real to him, and his fires in the black gloom painted him pictures as they had never painted them before, and the trees and the rocks and the twisted shrub comforted him more and more in his loneliness, and gave to him the presence of life in their movement, in the coming and going of their shadow-forms. Everywhere they were the same old friends, unvarying and changeless. The spruce-shadow of to-night, nodding to him in its silent way, was the same that had nodded to him last night--a hundred nights ago; the stars were the same, the winds whispering to him in the tree-tops were the same, everything was as it was yesterday--years ago--unchanged, never leaving him, never growing cold in their devotion. He had loved the forest--NOW he worshipped it. In its vast silence he still possessed Mélisse. It whispered to him still of her old love, of their days and years of happiness, and with his forest he lived these days over and over again, and when he slept with his forest he dreamed of them. Nearly a month passed before he reached Oxford House and found the sweet-faced girl whom Thornton loved. He did as Thornton had asked, and went on--into the north and east. He had no mission now, except to roam in his forests. He went down the Hayes, getting his few supplies at Indian camps, and stopped at last, with the beginning of spring, far up on the Cutaway. Here he built himself a camp and lived for a time, setting dead-falls for bear. Then he struck north again, and still east--keeping always away from Lac Bain. When the first chill winds of the bay brought warning of winter down to him he was filled for a time with a longing to strike north--and WEST, to go once more back to his Barren Lands. But, instead, he went south, and so it came to pass that a year after he had left Lac Bain he built himself a cabin deep in the forest of God's River, fifty miles from Oxford House, and trapped once more for the company. He had not forgotten his promise to Thornton, and at Oxford House left word where he could be found if the man from civilization should return. In late mid-winter Jan returned to Oxford House with his furs. It was on the night of the day that he came into the post that he heard a Frenchman who had come down from the north speak of Lac Bain. None noticed the change in Jan's face as he hung back in the shadows of the company's store. A little later he followed the Frenchman outside, and stopped him where there were no others near to overhear. "M'sieur, you spoke of Lac Bain," he said in French. "You have been there?" "Yes," replied the other, "I was there for a week waiting for the first sledge snow." "It is my old home," said Jan, trying to keep his voice natural. "I have wondered--if there are changes. You saw--Cummins--the factor?" "Yes, he was there." "And--and Jean de Gravois, the chief man?" "He was away. Mon Dieu, listen to that! The dogs are fighting out there!" "A moment, m'sieur," begged Jan, as the Frenchman made a movement as if to run in the direction of the tumult. "The factor had a daughter--Mélisse--" "She left Lac Bain a long time ago, m'sieur," interrupted the trapper, making a tremendous effort to be polite as he edged toward the sound of battle. "M'sieur Cummins told me that he had not seen her in a long time--I believe it was almost a year. Sacre, listen to that! They are tearing one another to bits, and they are MY dogs, m'sieur, for I can tell their voices among a thousand!" He sprang through the darkness and Jan made a movement to follow. Then he stopped, and turned instead to the company's store. He took his pack to the sledge and dogs in the edge of the spruce, and Kazan leaped to greet him at the end of his babiche. This night as Jan traveled through the forest he did not notice the stars or the friendly shadows. "A year," he repeated to himself, again and again, and once, when Kazan rubbed against his leg and looked up into his face, he said, "Ah, Kazan, our Mélisse went away with the Englishman. May the Great God give them happiness!" The forest claimed him more than ever after this. He did not go back to Oxford House in the spring but sold his furs to a passing half-breed, and wandered through all of that spring and summer in the country to the west. It was January when he returned to his cabin, when the snows were deepest, and three days later he set out to outfit at the Hudson's Bay post on God's Lake instead of at Oxford House. It was while they were crossing a part of the lake that Kazan leaped aside for an instant in his traces and snapped at something in the snow. Jan saw the movement but gave no attention to it until a little later, when Kazan stopped and fell upon his belly, biting at the harness and whining in pain. The thought of Kazan's sudden snap at the snow came to him then like a knife-thrust, and with a low cry of horror and fear he fell upon his knees beside the dog. Kazan whimpered and his bushy tail swept the snow as Jan lifted his great wolfish head between his two hands. No other sound came from Jan's lips now, and slowly he drew the dog up to him until he held him in his arms as he might have held a child, Kazan stilled the whimpering sounds in his throat. His one eye rested on his master's face, faithful, watching for some sign--for some language there, even as the burning fires of a strange torture gnawed at his life, and in that eye Jan saw the deepening reddish film which he had seen a hundred times before in the eyes of foxes and wolves killed by poison bait. A moan of anguish burst from Jan's lips and he held his face close down against Kazan's head, and sobbed now like a child, while Kazan rubbed his hot muzzle against his cheek and his muscles hardened in a last desire to give battle to whatever was giving his master grief. It was a long time before Jan lifted his face from the shaggy head, and when he did he knew that the last of all love, of all companionship, of all that bound him to flesh and blood in his lonely world, was gone. Kazan was dead. From the sledge he took a blanket and wrapped Kazan in it, and carried him a hundred yards back from the trail. With bowed head he came behind his four dogs into God's House. Half an hour later he turned back into the wilderness with his supplies. It was dark when he returned to where he had left Kazan. He placed him upon the sledge and the four huskies whined as they dragged on their burden, from which the smell of death came to them. They stopped in the deep forests beyond the lake and Jan built a fire. This night, as on all nights in his lonely life, Jan drew Kazan close to him, and he shivered as the other dogs slunk back from him suspiciously and the fire and the spruce tops broke the stillness of the forest. He looked at the crackling flames, at the fitful shadows which they set dancing and grimacing about him, and it seemed to him now that they were no longer friends, but were taunting him--gloating in Kazan's death, and telling him that he was alone, alone, alone. He let the fire die down, stirring it into life only when the cold stiffened him, and when at last he fell into an unquiet slumber it was still to hear the spruce tops whispering to him that Kazan was dead, and that in dying he had broken the last fragile link between Jan Thoreau and Mélisse. He went on at dawn, with Kazan wrapped in his blanket on the sledge. He planned to reach the cabin that night, and the next day he would bury his old comrade. It was dark when he came to the narrow plain that lay between him and the river. The sky was brilliant with stars when he slowly climbed the big, barren ridge at the foot of which was his home. At the summit he stopped and seated himself on the edge of a rock, with nothing but a thousand miles of space between him and the pale glow of the northern lights. At his feet lay the forest, black and silent, and he looked down to where he knew his cabin was waiting for him, black and silent, too. For the first time it came upon him that THIS was home--that the forest, and the silence, and the little cabin hidden under the spruce tops below held a deeper meaning for him than a few hours before, when Kazan was a leaping, living comrade at his side. Kazan was dead. Down there he would bury him. And he had loved Kazan;--he knew, now, as he clutched his hands to his aching breast, that he would have fought for Kazan--given up his life for him--as he would have done for a brother. Down there, under the silent spruce, he would bury the last that had remained to him of the old life, and there swelled up in his heart a longing, almost a prayer, that Mélisse might know that he, Jan Thoreau, would have nothing left to him to-morrow but a grave, and that in that grave was their old chum, their old playmate--Kazan. Hot tears blinded Jan's eyes and he covered his face with his hands, and sobbed as he had sobbed years before, when in the southern wilderness word came to him that Mélisse was dying. "Mélisse--Mélisse--" He moaned her name aloud, and stared through the hot film in his eyes away into the north, sobbing to her, calling to her in his grief, and looking through that thousand miles of starlit space as though from out of it her sweet face would come to him once more. And as he called there seemed to come to him from out of that space a sound, so sweet, and low, and tender that his heart stood still and he stood up straight and stretched his arms up to Heaven, for Jan Thoreau knew that it was the sound of a violin that came to him from out of the north--that Mélisse, an infinity away, had heard his call, his prayer, and was playing for him and Kazan! And suddenly, as he listened, his arms fell to his sides, and there shot into his eyes all of the concentrated light of the stars, for the music came nearer and nearer, and still nearer to him, until he caught Kazan in his arms and ran with him down the side of the mountain. It died now in the forest--then rose again, softer and more distant it seemed to him, luring him on into the forest gloom. For a few moments consciousness of all else but that sound remained with him only in a dazed, half real way, and as John Cummins had called upon the angels at Lac Bain many years ago when he, too, had gone out into the night to meet this wonderful music, so Jan Thoreau's soul cried to them now as he clutched Kazan to him, and stumbled on. Then, suddenly, he came upon the cabin, and in the cabin there was a light! Gently he laid Kazan down upon the snow, and for a full minute he stood and listened, and heard, lower and sweeter still, the gentle music, of the violin. Some one was in his cabin--living hands were playing! After all it was not the spirit of Mélisse that had come to him in the hour of his deepest grief, and a sob rose in his throat. He went on, step by step, and at the door he stopped again, wondering if he was mad, if the spirits of the forest were taunting him still, if--if-- One step more-- The Great God, he heard it now--the low, sweet music of the old Cree love song, played in the old, old way, with all of its old sadness, its whispering joy, its weeping song of life, of death, of love! With a great cry he flung open the door and leaped in, with his arms reaching out, his eyes blinded for a moment by the sudden light--and with a cry as piercing as his own, something ran through that light to meet him--Mélisse, the old, glorious Mélisse, crushing her arms about his neck, sobbing his name, pleading with him in her old, sweet voice to kiss her, kiss her, kiss her--while Jan Thoreau for the first time in his life felt sweeping over him a resistless weakness, and in this vision he knew that Jean de Gravois came to him, too, and held him in his arms, and that as the light faded away from about him he still heard Mélisse calling to him, felt her arms about him, her face crushed to his own. And as the deep gloom enveloped him more densely, and he felt himself slipping down through it, he whispered to the faces which he could no longer see, "Kazan--died--to-night--" For a long time Jan fought to throw off the darkness, and when he succeeded, and opened his eyes again, he knew that it was Mélisse who was sitting beside him, and that it was Mélisse who flung her arms about him when he awoke from his strange sleep, and held his wild head pressed against her bosom--Mélisse, with her glorious hair flowing about her as he had loved it in their old days, and with the old love shining in her eyes, only more glorious now, as he heard her voice. "Jan--Jan--we have been hunting for you--so long," she cried softly. "We have been searching--ever since you left Lac Bain. Jan, dear Jan, I loved you so--and you almost broke my heart. Dear, dear Jan," she sobbed, stroking his face now, "I know why you ran away--I know, and I love you so that--that I will die if--you go away again." "You know!" breathed Jan. He was in his cot, and raised himself, clasping her beautiful face between his two hands, staring at her with the old horror in his eyes. "You know--and you come--to me!" "I love you," said Mélisse. She slipped up to him and laid her face upon his breast, and with her fingers clutched in his long hair she leaned over to him and kissed him. "I love you!" Jan's arms closed about her, and he bowed his face so that it was smothered in her hair and he felt against it the joyous tremble of her bosom. "I love you," she whispered again, and under her cloud of hair their lips met, and she whispered again, with her sweet breath still upon his lips, "I love you." Outside Jean de Gravois was dancing up and down in the starlit edge of the forest, and Iowaka was looking at him. "And NOW what do you think of your Jean de Gravois?" cried Jean for the hundredth time at least. "NOW what do you think of him, my beautiful one?" and he caught Iowaka's head in his arms, for the hundredth time, too, and kissed her until she pushed him away. "Was it not right for me to break my oath to the Blessed Virgin and tell Mélisse why Jan Thoreau had gone mad? Was it not right, I say? And did not Mélisse do as I told that fool of a Jan that she WOULD do? And didn't she HATE the Englishman all of the time? Eh? Can you not speak, my raven-haired angel?" He hugged Iowaka again in his arms, and this time he did not let her go, but turned her face so that the starlight fell upon it. "And NOW what if Jan Thoreau still feels that the curse is upon him?" he asked softly. "Ho, ho, we have fixed that--you, my sweet Iowaka, and your husband, Jean de Gravois. I have it--here--in my pocket--the letter signed by the sub-commissioner at Prince Albert, to whom I told Jan's story when I followed his trail down there--the letter which says that the other woman died BEFORE the man who was to be Jan Thoreau's father married the woman who was to be his mother. And NOW do you understand why I did not tell Mélisse of this letter, ma chérie? It was to prove to that fool of a Jan Thoreau that she loved him--WHATEVER HE WAS. NOW what do you think of Jean de Gravois, you daughter of a princess, you--you--" "Wife of the greatest man in the world," laughed Iowaka softly. "Come, my foolish Jean, we can not stand out for ever. I am growing cold. And besides, do you not suppose that Jan would like to see ME?" "Foolish--foolish--foolish--" murmured Jean as they walked hand in hand through the starlight. "She, my Iowaka, my beloved, says that I am foolish--AND AFTER THIS! Mon Dieu, what can a man do to make himself great in the eyes of his wife?" THE END 
61657	----	[Illustration: Cover art] [Frontispiece: "Here one of the bravest of our men was slain." (_Page 152._)] PATHFINDING ON PLAIN AND PRAIRIE: STIRRING SCENES OF LIFE IN THE CANADIAN NORTH-WEST. BY JOHN McDOUGALL, Author of "Forest, Lake and Prairie," "Saddle, Sled and Snowshoe," etc. _WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY J. E. LAUGHLIN._ TORONTO: WILLIAM BRIGGS, WESLEY BUILDINGS. MONTREAL: C. W. COATES. HALIFAX: S. F. HUESTIS. 1898. Entered according to Act of the Parliament of Canada, in the year one thousand eight hundred and ninety-eight, by WILLIAM BRIGGS, at the Department of Agriculture. CONTENTS. CHAPTER I. "Thin leather homes"--Drudgery of the Indian women--Occupations of the men--Hunting parties and scalping forays--Triumphs of endurance CHAPTER II. Camping in the snow--Our costume--Brilliant sunrise effects--Maple and her pups found at last--Striking example of "dog sense"--The Fort Garry packet CHAPTER III. We visit Edmonton--Nature's grand cathedral--Adventure with a buffalo bull--A trip to Pigeon Lake--Racing with dog-teams--An infidel blacksmith--Old Joseph proves an unerring guide--Caching our provisions CHAPTER IV. Epidemic breaks out among the Indians--Snow-blindness--I take to me a wife--Our modest dowry--My father officiates as a Stationing Committee--Fearful mortality among the Indians--Our journey to Pigeon Lake--The epidemic attacks our camp--A rude hospital--An exciting buffalo hunt--Chased by a maddened bull--Narrow escape CHAPTER V. Our caravan moves on--Difficulties of packing--Oliver's adventures with a buffalo--Novel method of "blazing" a path--Arrival at Pigeon Lake--House-building--Abundance of fish--Indians camp about the Mission--I form many enduring friendships--Indians taught fishing with nets CHAPTER VI. We are visited by a band of Crees--Our guests steal away with a bunch of horses--Stonies set out in hot pursuit--Little William's strategy--Horses recaptured--We begin farming operations--Arrival of Mr. Steinhauer--Home to Victoria again--A memorable Sabbath--My gun bursts--Narrow escape--My mother's cares and anxieties--Home-made furniture CHAPTER VII. I travel with Maskepetoon's camp--Effects of environment on the Indians--Nature's grandeur and beauty--Degradation through paganism--The noble Chief Maskepetoon--Indian councils--On the fringe of the buffalo herds--Indian boy lost--A false conjurer--The lad recovered CHAPTER VIII. The "Thirst Dance"--"Tobacco messages"--The head conjurer--"Dancing lodges"--The rendezvous--The "idol tree"--Meeting of the head conjurer and the chief of the warriors--An anxious moment--Building the "temple"--Self-torture, dancing and sacrifices--The festival concluded--Romantic situation for our camp CHAPTER IX. Our great camp a study of native types--I attend a "wolf feast"--A disgusting orgie--Paul and I start for home--Our horses stampede--Difficult tracking--Enormous herd of buffalo--Home again and all well--Party of half-breeds from the Red River settlement visit our Mission--Father returns, bringing a brother and sister from Ontario CHAPTER X. We return to Pigeon Lake--"Scarred Thigh" exchanged for "Blackfoot"--Planting Gospel seed--We organize a buffalo hunt--A moose chase--The buffalo as a "path-finder"--We encounter a hostile camp--All night on guard--My friend Mark's daring exploit--Wood Stonies visit the Mission--Gambling, polygamy and superstition among the Indians CHAPTER XI. We return to Victoria--War parties abroad--Father's influence over the Indians--We organize a big fresh meat hunt--David's first buffalo hunt--Mark's adventure with a war party--Surrounded by wolves--Incidents of our journey--Preparing for the winter CHAPTER XII. A visit to Whitefish Lake--A devoted Indian missionary--Mark and I go out after buffalo--Mark proves himself a brilliant hunter--Our camp visited by wolves--Muddy Bull's generosity--We reach home with full loads of meat CHAPTER XIII. A run to Edmonton--Mr. Hardisty and other Hudson's Bay Company officers spend New Year's with us--Sports and amusements--Our party sets out for Mountain House--I experience a "scare"--Intense cold--A cunning dog--Mishaps to a cariole--In the foot-hills--My first view of the Rockies--Hearty reception at Mountain House--Back to Victoria CHAPTER XIV. Home occupations--A course of lectures--Mark and Jimmie as _raconteurs_--Mark's success as a deer-killer--A buffalo chase on a dog-sled--Our first child is born--Chickens at eight shillings apiece! CHAPTER XV. David and I visit Lac la Biche--High-priced seed wheat--Our party sets out for Pigeon Lake--Old Joseph--Paul Chian--Samson--Our larder depleted--We organize a bunt--Precarious living--Old Paul proves himself a skilful guide--Samson tells of a tragic murder by Blackfeet--We move cautiously--Broiled owlets as a delicacy--I shoot an elk--Little Paul's flint-lock hangs fire--Samson's brilliant hunting feats--Feasting on antlers CHAPTER XVI. Samson and I go on a moose hunt--Samson's clever tracking--He comes up with the moose and tries a shot--No bullet in the gun--Two dejected hunters return to the camp--We have better luck next time--Roses make a thorny path--We disturb a band of wolves--Samson stampedes them with his riding-whip--"Firing Stony" and I go hunting--I bring down a noble elk--Novel method of fishing CHAPTER XVII. Our camp visited by a band of Mountain Stonies--My schooling in the university of frontier life--Back to our Mission again--Limited _cuisine_--Home-made agricultural implements--We visit Victoria--Off to Fort Carlton for Mission supplies--Inquisitive Chippewyans--My eldest sister married to Mr. Hardisty, of the Hudson's Bay Company--The honeymoon trip to Mountain House--Rival sportsmen--Charging a flock of wild geese at full gallop--Return to Pigeon Lake--Our work extending CHAPTER XVIII. Father visits our Mission--A dream that proved a portent--Drowning of Mr. Connor--"Straight fish" diet--We are visited by a war party of Crees--I am given a problem to solve--Francis and I set out to seek fresh provisions--Feasting on fat bear steaks--A lonely Christmas--Mr. Hardisty visits us--We in turn visit Mountain House--A hard winter in the Saskatchewan country--Rations on short allowance--A run to Victoria--David and I have a hard experience--Father and mother as "good Samaritans" CHAPTER XIX. We start out to hunt for buffalo--Fish and frozen turnips--A depleted larder--David's bag of barley meal--At the point of starvation--We strike Maskepetoon's camp--An Indian burial--Old Joseph dying--We leave the camp--Generous hospitality--A fortunate meeting--Frostbites--A bitterly cold night--Unexpected visitors--Striking instance of devotion--I suffer from snowshoe cramp--Arrival at Victoria--Old Joseph's burial--Back to Pigeon Lake CHAPTER XX. My brother a "ready-made pioneer"--Hunting rabbits--Two roasted rabbits per man for supper--I find my friend, Firing Stony, in a flourishing condition--Poisoning wolves--A good morning's sport--I secure a wolf, two foxes and a mink--Firing Stony poisons his best dog--I enjoy a meal of bear's ribs--I meet with a severe accident--Samson treats me to a memorable feast CHAPTER XXI. Alternate feasting and fasting--We start out on a buffalo hunt--Old Paul brings down a fine moose--Providential provision--Enoch Crawler kills another moose--Magnificent landscapes--Entering the great treeless plains---Wonderful mirages--We come upon the tracks of buffalo--Our men shoot a huge grizzly--Charging a bunch of cows--A lively chase--Samson's plucky plunge over a bank after the buffalo--I chase and kill a fine cow--The camp busy killing and making provisions--Guarding against hostile Indians CHAPTER XXII. A busy camp--Process of butchering and drying meat--How pemmican is made--Our camp in peril--Chasing a herd of buffalo up a steep bank--Mark scores a point on me--We encounter a war party of Blackfeet--A fortunate rain-storm--A mirage gives us a false alarm--Unwritten laws as to rights of hunters CHAPTER XXIII. Into the timber country again--Craving for vegetable food--Wild rhubarb a treat--I shoot a big beaver--My horse objects to carrying it--A race for the life of my child--Terrific fight between my dogs and a huge wolverine--Reach Pigeon Lake and find father there--Anxiety felt for our party--A meagre bill of fare--A visit to Victoria--I narrowly escape drowning--Father leaves for Ontario, taking with him my three sisters--Francis leaves us to return to Victoria--My varied offices among the Indians CHAPTER XXIV. Our first interment--Jacob's tragic death--Hostile Flatheads in quest of horses, scalps and glory--Stonies attacked by a party of Blackfeet--A hot fusilade--Mark's father is killed--Destitution prevalent--Hunting lynx--My dogs seized with distemper--All have to be shot--Another provision hunt organized--Among the buffalo--I narrowly escape being shot--Heterogeneous character of our camp--Mutual distrust and dislikes--United by fear of a common foe--The effects of Christianity CHAPTER XXV. Through new country--"Greater Canada"--Antelopes--Startling effects of mirage--War parties keep us on the alert--Remarkable speed of a plain Cree--A curious superstition--A Cree's gruesome story--Returning with carts fully loaded--Followed by hostile Indians--I sight and chase a "sitting" bull--My shot wounds him--Paul's son thrown under the brute's feet--Firing Stony's clever shot to the rescue--We arrive at the Mission--Road-making CHAPTER XXVI. Another visit to Victoria--Fall in with a war party of Kootenays and Flatheads--Samson and I go moose-hunting--A Sabbath afternoon experience--A band of moose enjoy Sabbath immunity--I start out to meet father returning from the East--The glorious Saskatchewan Valley--Call at Fort Pitt--Equinoctial storms--Entertained by a French half-breed family--Meet Mr. Hardisty and one of my sisters--Camp-fire chat--Meeting with father--Rev. Peter Campbell and others with his party--Father relates his experience in the East--Rev. Geo. Young sent to Red River Settlement and Rev. E. R. Young to Norway House CHAPTER XXVII. Father pushes on for home in advance--Hard times for the "tenderfeet"--A plunge into icy water--My brother David gallops into camp--His high spirits prove infectious--Kindness of the Hudson's Bay Company--Oxen sent to help us in to Victoria--A mutinous camp-follower--My threat of a sound thrashing subdues the mutineer--Our long journey is ended--Adieu to my readers ILLUSTRATIONS. "Here one of the bravest of our men was slain" ... Frontispiece "The brilliant flashes of the aurora light" "My cap ... falling right in the face of the bull, for the moment blinded him" "I saw more buffalo than I had ever dreamed of before" "I went at him with firebrands" "Rising up I let drive at the larger of the two" "Down we ran, and chased them across the full length of the bar" "We carried the haycocks in between us on two poles" "And now I ... tapped his nose for him so effectually that he was stunned" "I succeeded in getting hold of the end of a tree" "With unerring aim he shot the bull through the head" "He was a funny-looking specimen as he picked himself up out of the icy stream" PATHFINDING ON PLAIN AND PRAIRIE. CHAPTER I. "Thin leather homes"--Drudgery of the Indian women--Occupations of the men--Hunting parties and scalping forays--Triumphs of endurance. It was during the last days of January, 1865, in the story of my experiences in our great Canadian West, that I parted company for a time with my readers in "SADDLE, SLED AND SNOWSHOE." We were domiciled for the night in Muddy Bull's lodge. The weather was intensely cold. I believe I am safe in saying that all through January the mercury never rose above 10° below zero, and that it ranged from this down to 50° below. In our lodge, which was one of the best, with ordinary travelling costume on, a blanket or a robe over our shoulders, and a brisk fire in the centre of the tent, we were passably cosy; but even then we had to turn around every little while and "warm the other side." Great bright, brisk fires were kept up in those "thin leather homes" of our Indian people, entailing a vast amount of work upon the women and girls of the camps. Gradually, by example, perhaps, more than precept, we brought about a lessening of the labor of the women; but in the meantime, during the cold winter months, the furnishing of wood to keep those huge fires going gave them constant employment. It must be said, however, they accepted the labor and drudgery with cheerful alacrity, and could be seen at all hours of the day stringing over the hills and across the plains with dogs and horses and travois, their own backs loaded to the utmost carrying capacity with wood. The life of an Indian woman in those early days was, indeed, an extremely busy one. Packing and unpacking dogs and horses, making camps, providing wood, making and mending moccasins and wearing apparel, cooking, cutting up, drying and pounding meat, rendering grease, chopping bones to get out the marrow fat, making pemmican, stretching, scraping and dressing buffalo hides to make robes or leather--a long, tedious process, in which not only the brains of the worker were needed in order to excel, but also those of the dead animals as well--kept her going early and late. Besides all this, the manufacturing of saddles, travois, tents and shagganappi also devolved upon the women; and yet, notwithstanding all this, they seemed, generally speaking, to be contented and happy, and with true feminine resource still found time to give to attire and adornment, and the practising of all those mysterious arts which have charmed and magnetized the other sex, doubtless through all the past of our race. No wonder these women and girls were at a premium, and cost all the way from a blanket up to a band of stolen horses! The more of them a man had, then the greater man was he. Nor was the life of the male Indian altogether that of a sinecure. Somehow or other the idea has gone abroad that these Indians led a very lazy life. But if the man who thought this had spent some time with either wood or plain Indians, and had accompanied them on their hunting and war expeditions, he would have materially changed his views. To follow a wood hunter on foot from before daylight in the short days, through brush and copse and heavy timber, over big hills and across wide valleys, on and on for many miles, sometimes until noon or late in the afternoon before a "kill" is made; or, having started game, to run for miles at a terrific pace, hoping to head off the quarry and at last secure a shot; then, having killed, to butcher or secure from wolf, or coyote, or wolverine the desired meat and strike as straight as possible for the camp, sometimes many, many miles distant, with thick forest and dense darkness now intervening; or it may be to have all the labor and exhaustion of such a chase without the chance of a shot, reaching camp late at night wearied and disappointed. To continue this for days, sometimes feasting and again famishing--and all this not from choice but of necessity--could be counted no easy matter. It is not for fun, but life; health, income, influence, honor, respect, all these are dependent on your efforts. It may be with the same wood hunter you start a prime buck moose or elk during those glorious days in the beginning of autumn, and he bounds away in his strength and swiftness. Your Indian says, "We must run him down," and leads off in long, regular strides, and for a time you feel as if your lungs were in your throat and your heart is beating a double tattoo. Over and under fallen timber, down precipitous banks, up steep hills, and it takes some time for you to "catch your second wind," and to brace up your will and say to yourself, "I am also a man," and then settle down like your Indian to steady work. He, however, is doing more than you, who are but following him. He is noting lay of land and direction of wind, calculating in order to cut across where your game may have gone around, watching the tracks, gauging the distance the buck is ahead of you, noting the settling of the earth at edge of pool or creek where the big fellow left his tracks as he ran. and you are encouraged and spurred on, or contrariwise, as the crafty hunter tells you in hushed tones what he knows. Then, by and by, after an hour or two, or three, perhaps, of such work, you stand beside the fallen carcase and wipe your forehead and wish you had a dozen towels; but while your exultations and congratulations are hot within you, a word of caution comes from the Indian beside you: "The sun is low and the camp is far; let us hurry," and the work of butchering and skinning the meat goes on, till presently, with a load of meat on your back, you start for the distant camp. Suppose, as you tramped and climbed and panted, some one had said, "What a lazy life yours is," you would have shouted back, "No, sir; not in any sense is this a lazy life!" Or it may be your hunter friend is in for a "fur hunt," and you start with him to make a line of dead-falls for marten, or to hang a hundred or so of snares for lynx. The snow is deep, and at every step several pounds of it fall in on your snowshoe; but from early morn until late in the evening you tramp and toil, chopping and stooping and grunting over snare and deadfall, and when night is on, having carried your provisions, blanket and kettle all day, besides the baits for dead-falls and snares for lynx traps, you dig away the deep snow, cut some wood and make a fire for the night. While the fire burns, you doze and chill, and pile on fuel and wait for morning, only to repeat yesterday's work, and so on, until, having made a big detour and hung your snares and carefully fixed your deadfalls, you in three or four days reach home. Then in a short time you must visit all these, and in the intervening days make your forays for food. No one who has tried this manner of obtaining a living will pronounce it a lazy life. But suppose you were with some plain or buffalo Indians, and, as was about the average condition in the winter time, the buffalo were from fifty to two hundred miles from your camp--the rigor of the winter and the condition of grass and wood forbidding the camp moving any nearer to them--the hunting parties had constantly to be organized and the meat and robes brought from long distances home. Under such circumstances the hunter not only had to undergo great hardships, but also to run very great risks. Storms on the bleak, treeless plains, with deep snow, and travel of necessity slow and difficult, were indeed as "the powers of the air" and darkness to encounter and overcome, and the really indolent man was not in it when such work was engaged in. Then it was incumbent upon every able-bodied man, under the code of honor of the time, to make an annual or bi-annual or even more frequent foray for horses and scalps. These trips generally took place in the spring and fall. With the melting of snow and ice in spring, or the making of the same in autumn, parties large and small would be made up. Each with lariat and a few pairs of moccasins, and, if possessed of a gun, with as much ammunition as he could obtain, or armed with bow and quiver full of shod arrows, in the dead of night these men would start for the enemy's country, depending on sustaining life by the chase on their way. Journeying on, sometimes by day and sometimes by night, fording rapid streams and swimming wide rivers, what signified the breaking up of the season or the plunge into ice-cold water of river and swamp to them? These must be considered as trifles. By and by, when the enemy's presence is felt there will come the weary watching and waiting, amid cold and hunger, for cunning and strategy are now pitted the one against the other, and endurance and pluck must back these up or the trip will be a failure. One, two, three hundreds of miles of steady tramping, with your camp always facing in the direction of where your enemy is supposed to be. Every day or night the scouts, making thrice the distance covered by the party, keep up their constant effort to discover and forestall counter war-parties, or to find the enemy's camp; and when this is found sometimes to hang for days on its movements, and, following up, watch for a favorable spot and time either to make a charge or to steal in under cover of storm or darkness and drive off bands of horses. Then in either case to start for home, and push on regardless of weather so long as men and horses will hold out. After a successful raid those long runs for home were great tests of horse-flesh and human endurance. With scalded legs, blistered feet and weary limbs, and with eyes heavy for want of sleep, these men, now exultant with victory, would vie with each other in the race for camp. A lazy man assuredly had no place in such trials of endurance and of hardship. Furthermore, upon the men and boys of the camp devolved the care of the horses. The herding and guarding of these gave many a weary tramp or ride, and many a night in cold and storm, without sleep or rest. And finally, the constant need of protecting their camps from the wily enemy was a source of permanent worry, and always rested as a heavy responsibility upon these men. CHAPTER II. Camping in the snow--Our costume--Brilliant sunrise effects--Maple and her pups found at last--Striking example of "dog sense"--The Fort Garry packet. Just now we are surrounded by both wood and plain hunters. Maskepetoon in my time always had a following of both parties. The gambling and conjuring drums are beating in several lodges. In others, as in ours, the evening hymn is being sung and prayer offered, and presently we roll in our blankets and robes, and sleep, though it takes me some time to forget my lost train of Maple and her pups. By 2 a.m. we are up boiling our kettle and snatching a bite of breakfast. Then by the clear moonlight we begin the loading of our sleds. This is tedious work, and had it not been for the innumerable host of dogs, our own to boot, we would have had this over and all ready last evening. Now in the keen cold of early morn even old Joseph has to move quickly to keep from freezing. To put from five to six hundred pounds of frozen meat on a narrow dog-sled, and as nearly as possible to maintain the equilibrium is no light task. But by four o'clock sleds are loaded and dogs harnessed, we bid Mr. and Mrs. Muddy Bull a hasty good-bye, and are off to make the sixty-mile drive home in the day if we can. And who doubts our doing it? Not ourselves, at any rate, for the road is fair, our dogs fresh and strong, and we, costumed as we are, must move or freeze. Perhaps I am the best clad in the party, and my clothes altogether will not weigh much. A flannel shirt, moleskin pants, full length leggings with garters below the knees, duffil socks and neat moccasins, a Hudson's Bay capote, unlined and unpadded in any part, a light cap, and mittens which are most of the time tied on the load, while I wear a pair of thin unlined buckskin gloves. This is in a sense almost "laying aside every weight," but the race which was set before the ordinary dog-driver in the days I am writing of was generally sufficient to keep him warm. In my own case, I did not for several years wear any underclothing, and though in the buffalo country, and a buffalo hunter, I never had room or transport for a buffalo coat until the Canadian Pacific Railroad reached Alberta, and the era of heavy clothing and ponderous boots came in, with ever and anon men frozen to death in them! Not so with us; we run and lift and pull and push, and are warm. Old Joseph has for a leader a big dog called "Blucher," and every little while there rings out in the crisp air the call "Buchen," for in Joseph's soft, euphonious tongue there is no use for "l" and "r." Before daylight we have pulled up in the lee of a clump of poplars, and, kicking away the snow and gathering wood, have built a glorious fire. A hasty second breakfast, and again we are off, while the day-sky is still faint in the eastern horizon. And now the cold seems to double in rigor; old "Draffan's" breath solidifies ere it disappears into the infinity of frozen air on every hand. Even the smooth toboggan and the soft moccasin are not noiseless on the hard crisp snow of the road. It is cold, but the colder it becomes the harder we drive. "Marse, Buchen!" from old Joseph, "Yoh-ho! Put-eyo," from Susa. The only dog inclined to sneak in my train is "Grog." I ring out his name so sharply as to make him think his last day has come, and he springs into his collar with such vim as to quicken the whole train into a faster step. Now the morning is upon us, and presently the clear sunlight glorifies the waking world. Tiny shrub, willow bush, timber clump, valley and hill, with their millions of glittering ice crystals, are brilliantly illumined. The scene is dazzling and beautiful in the extreme. For miles on every hand as we run the shadows give way to the most brilliant light, and here and yonder the dark spots, denoting buffalo, singly or in groups, stand out with startling distinctness on the great white expanse. Stopping for our mid-day meal, we jerk our dogs out of their collars to give them a chance to lick snow and gambol around and freshen themselves generally, while we hurriedly boil our kettle and get out our supply of dried meat. While doing this we also give our dogs about two ounces each of the dried meat, just to liven them up and give them an agreeable anticipation of their supper--the one square meal in twenty-four hours they will have at the end of the day's journey. As we gnaw at our dried meat, thankful that what teeth we have left are sound, we drink hot tea and discuss dogs, Indians, white men, and the broad questions of civilization and Christianity. Susa is thoroughly optimistic and joyously sanguine. Joseph is also as to Christianity, but civilization and men and dogs, "well, he kinder doubts"--at any rate he will wait and see. But we cannot wait long now, so we tie on our kettle and cups, catch our dogs, and start away, leaving our camp-fire to burn itself out. As the shades of night are commencing to fall we turn our loads on their sides, and thus run them down the steep long banks of the Saskatchewan, then righting them at its foot, dash across the big river, and with dogs pulling for all they are worth, and we pushing behind, we climb the other more moderate bank, and are at home once more. There is general lamentation over the loss of Maple and her pups. The girls shed tears. Little George cannot understand how big brother John could lose a whole train of dogs and sled. Father had taken a great fancy to those pups ever since the Blackfoot trip, and he is sorry because of their loss. Never mind, we are at home, and we unharness and unload, pile away our meat and feed our dogs, visit with our friends, and long before daylight next morning are on the out-bound journey for more meat. Reaching the Indian camp that evening, I was disappointed at there being no tidings of my lost train. But again we loaded, and started home in the night, and before daylight we came to the camp of a solitary hunter, John Whitford by name, where to my great delight we found the missing team. They had come to John's camp a few hours before us. John said that he heard a jingle of bells, and expected some travellers were either coming to or passing his camp. Then, hearing no further sounds, he went out to see what it was, when he found Maple alone in harness, but dragging the other four sets of harness behind her. Evidently the sled had caught in some bush and the young dogs had become impatient, and one by one wriggled out of their bonds. Then the wise old mother dog had gone back to the sled and bitten off the traces close up to it, thus freeing herself from the sleigh and saving the harness. She then started for home, and concluding to rest by the way at John's camp, we found her there with her pups. One often hears about "horse sense," but here was a good large sample of dog sense. That this dog, with her own traces and those of four other dogs between her and the sleigh, should pass all these and go back to the sleigh to cut away and liberate herself, and thus save to us these harnesses, was amazing. I would have rejoiced over the dogs alone, but to receive these back with the harness was great good fortune. I hitched Maple and her pups beside my own train, and taking some meat from Joseph and Susa, lightened their loads and on we went at a much quicker step. On reaching home that evening I need not say there was general rejoicing over the recovery of our lost dogs. As the buffalo moved so did also the Indian camps, and gradually our meat trails went westward for the month of February. This trip it was fresh meat, and the next it would be a mixed load of pounded and dried meat cakes and bladders of grease and tongues, and as the distance was never more than a big day's run, we would put on tremendous loads, so that gradually our storehouse was being filled up. Through storm and cold, and sometimes very heavy roads, or no roads at all, Joseph, Susa and myself kept at the work of providing for our mission party. Those at home in the meantime were constantly busy holding meetings, doctoring the sick, taking out timber, whipsawing lumber, or hauling hay and wood. Indeed, there was no time to become lonely or to think of the onions and garlic of the former Egypt. Our party knew it was out in a larger wilderness, but, full of Christian resolution, each one felt as did Joshua and Caleb. The event of the winter was the arrival of the February packet from Fort Garry. A few letters from Eastern friends it might bring, with two or three newspapers several months old; but this was the one connecting link, and the dwellers in the Hudson's Bay posts and at mission stations in the North-West, though far apart, felt a common interest in this packet, for it not only brought news from the far East, but also from one another. For days before its expected arrival at the post or mission the packet was the chief item of conversation. Many an eye was turned to the direction whence it should come. Many a person the last thing at night would stand out in the cold and listen for the sound of bells which might indicate the approach of the eagerly looked-for mail. And when at last it came, how many were disappointed. The one lone chance, and still no news where so much had been expected. And for the swarthy-faced, wiry-built, hardy men who brought this packet, as you looked at them you could see fifty miles a day stamped on their every move; fifty miles and more through deep snow, blinding storms and piercing cold. Picked men these were, and they knew it, and held themselves accordingly, heroes for the time being at every post they touched. Nor did these faithful fellows tarry long at any one place. Arriving in the morning, they were away the same afternoon. Coming in late at night, off before daylight next morning. This was the manner of their faithful service to the great Company which somehow or other had the faculty of inspiring its employees with splendid loyalty to itself. CHAPTER III. We visit Edmonton--Nature's grand cathedral--Adventure with a buffalo bull--A trip to Pigeon Lake--Racing with dog-teams--An infidel blacksmith--Old Joseph proves an unerring guide--Caching our provisions. About the last of February father determined to visit Edmonton, and mother also went for a change. Father took Joseph's dogs, and drove himself. Peter, with the team Susa had been using, drove the cariole in which mother rode. I had charge of the baggage and camp equipage, the provisions, and the wood-work of a plough which we were taking to the blacksmith's to have ironed. We kept the river all the way and made the hundred or more miles in less than two days. It has always seemed to me in travelling, up or down our ice-bound northern rivers, either by night or by day, that a solemn, reverential feeling well befitted the scene. The long gentle sweeps, and the succeeding abrupt turnings of the river's windings; the high and sometimes precipitous forest-covered banks, always like great curtains casting shade and gloom and sombre colors; the fitful gleaming of sun or moon, or the brilliant flashes of the aurora light; the howling-of the timber wolf or the barking of a family of coyotes, sending echoes to reverberate through the canyons formed by tributary streams--all these could not fail to impress the traveller. To me, thoughtless and light-hearted as I was in those early days, there always came a feeling as though I were in the aisles of a tremendous cathedral. [Illustration: "The brilliant flashes of the aurora light."] The great temple was completed. The Master Architect was satisfied. The glorious creation calmly waited. By and by the thronging multitudes would enter. In the meantime in humble faith and trust we worshipped. From a little ledge of bank in the thickly clustering pines, while our camp-fire lit up the nook with ruddy glow of warm light, our evening song of praise made the steep banks and the tall woods ring with lofty cheer. We spent the Sabbath at Edmonton, father attending to his duties as chaplain and our whole party enjoying for a day or two the sojourn in the depot fort or miniature metropolis of this great West; then back down the great river, reaching home early the afternoon of the second day, which enabled Joseph, Susa, and myself to make ready for an early start the next morning to the Indian camps. During the first part of March we made several trips of various distances, and fairly rushed the provisions and meat into our storehouse at the Mission. On one occasion, on our outward journey, as we were dashing through some scrub timber, a small tree which had been bent almost to the ground by the weight of some horse-sleds passing in, and had its sharp end projecting into the narrow road, caught me on its point and tore me from the sled on which I was stretched. At first I feared my ribs were pierced, but on examination found only my coat and shirt torn and the skin but slightly abrased. Driving on, congratulating myself on my escape from what might have been serious injury, presently as my dogs swung round a point of bush what should I see but a great buffalo bull, standing with his nose right over the track. Already my dogs were beside him, and feeling that it was too late to attempt to stay our course, or to throw myself from the sled, I called to them to go on, which they did, jerking me along at a jump right under the monster's head. I can assure you, my reader, that for the moment my heart was in my mouth. But now as we were safe I stopped the dogs, and shouted to Susa, who was coming next, and in the meantime succeeded in driving the huge fellow away from our track. When we reached home from that trip, while I was unloading my sled, I told Larsen, the carpenter, about the bull blocking the road, and he, noticing that my coat and shirt were torn, rushed off and told our party that John had been gored by a mad bull. Mother came rushing out to see what was wrong with her boy, and I had quite a time explaining about the tree and the bull. I note this incident in passing to show how stories are made up from imagination. March of 1865 was a stormy month. The snow deepened, and many a hard piece of road we had to encounter. About the middle of the month we made another trip to Pigeon Lake. The readers of "SADDLE, SLED AND SNOWSHOE" will remember that Oliver and myself had visited the lake in December of 1864. Now our purpose was to take in some provisions, together with the plough, which was being ironed at Edmonton. As old Joseph knew the country well, we hoped to find a straighter road than the one we had taken before. It was storming heavily, with the snow drifting in good style, as early one morning we took the river for the journey. Our party had heavy loads, and we were glad when Smith, who was with us in 1863 and 1864, and who had recently come home from Edmonton, drove up with a flashing train of dogs and a light load, and signified his intention of accompanying us as far as Edmonton. We thought he would take a generous share in making the road, but in this we were sorely disappointed, for Mr. Smith and his five dogs kept well back in the rear. All day long Susa and I in turn ran ahead on snowshoes. The storm seemed to increase in strength, but our hardy dogs trotted steadily on up the river, and we camped for the night above the Vermilion, which was the half-way post on the road to Edmonton. The stormy March wind howled around in fierce gusts, and the snow swirled in all directions, but in the comparative shelter of our pine camp we were happy. Starting before daylight, on we went, Susa and myself in turn ahead, and our friend Smith never once offering to take the lead. The snow was growing deeper and our progress slower, and it was with glad hearts that about noon we saw the sign of sleigh tracks crossing the river, and soon were climbing the bank above the mouth of the Sturgeon, some twenty-three miles from Edmonton. "Now we will have a track; now we will make better time," we said to each other, as we climbed the bank. Then unhitching our dogs, we turned them loose to rest, while we chopped wood and made a fire in preparation for our dinner. After awhile Smith came up, and seeing the track ahead, had the impudence to drive his dogs past us and place his sled on the road ahead of ours, which action said louder than words, "Now, gentlemen, I will show you my heels from here to Edmonton." Susa and I looked at each other and winked, as much as to say, "Well, Mr. Smith, it is still twenty-three miles to the Fort, and perhaps we will be there as soon as you." While we felt rather hard toward this man, who with his light load and fresh dogs had sneaked behind thus far, still this was our camp, and for the present he was our guest, so we treated him accordingly. However, when lunch was over and he had his last dog hitched, ours was also, and old Joseph stood with whip in hand, putting the last coal into his pipe, and pressing it down with his fingers. In so doing there was a spirit manifest in the action and attitude of the old stoic which seemed to say, "Well, young man, when you reach Edmonton, I expect to be there also." When Smith said "Marse" John and Susa and Joseph said "Marse" likewise; and away we went, climbing the banks and on up the sloping valley of the Big Saskatchewan. It was a glorious day for the testing of muscle and wind and endurance on the part of men and dogs. The clouds hung low. The gusts came quick and strong. The track was fast drifting full, the footing was bad, the sleds pulled heavily. Even before we reached the summit of the long incline to the river, Smith's dogs began to show distress. Old Draffan was rubbing against his heels all the time with his traces loose, as much as to say to Smith and his dogs, "My three companions are more than able to keep up to you, though our load is much the heavier," and Susa and Joseph were right up. Presently Smith ran up to thrash his dogs, and I saw my chance; so did old Draffan, and with a quick "Chuh" my noble dogs sprang past, and once more we had the road, and on we went. Gradually widening the distance between us and Smith, I knew that both Susa and Joseph would also watch their opportunity to pass. At any rate with even one ahead our credit as a travelling party was safe. After two or three miles of steady run in the loose snow, I looked back, and was delighted to see that Susa and Joseph had passed Smith and were coming on splendidly; and now our quondam companion was far in the rear. I waited for my men, and when they came up we congratulated ourselves, while old Joseph made us laugh when he said, referring to Smith, "He likes being behind anyway; let him have what he likes so much." And on we went to the Fort, reaching there a long time before our friend did. The same evening I met with what was to me a new experience. I had gone to the blacksmith's shop to see about the plough, and the blacksmith began to question me as to what we intended to do at Pigeon Lake. I told him that father hoped to establish a Mission there. "Oh," said he, "you want to delude some more people with your fanciful stories about God and heaven and hell." "Why," said I, "do you not believe in God?" "No, I do not," was the emphatic answer I received, and a strange feeling came over me. I was afraid of that man, and took the plough away as quickly as I could. The wild storm, the lonely night, the savage beast, or even more savage man, how often I had come in contact with these, and all this had not worried me very much. But here was something new and awful to my young and unsophisticated mind. No God! I found it hard to shake off the thought suggested by that man's expression. The next day, when we were away from the Fort on our journey, I told my companions. Susa's eyes fairly bulged with astonishment, and Joseph said, "He must be without any mind," and we dismissed the subject; but as my father thoroughly believed in God, and we were abroad to do his bidding along the line of that faith, we tied on our snowshoes and took the straight course for Pigeon Lake. Old Joseph now became guide. This was the scene of his young manhood. Here he had trapped beaver (ever and anon we crossed the creeks and saw the dams), here he had tracked and slain many a moose and elk. In this vicinity huge grizzlies had licked the dust at the crack of his old flintlock. Long years ago he had helped to make this small winding trail which he now hoped to pick up and to keep to the lake. Big fires and wonderful growth had changed the scene. More than twenty years had elapsed since this road was frequented, but with unerring memory and skill the old man picked up the road, and on we went slowly through the deep snow, across bits of prairie, and while all around looked the same, without a miss we would again enter the bush on the unused trail. It must have taken centuries to develop a brain capable of thus having photographed upon it the topography of a country. Saturday night found us some seven or eight miles from the lake and in a dense forest, with the snow about three feet deep on the level. Here we camped for Sunday, and again I noticed Joseph's consistent Sabbatarianism, for except for supper he never ceased to chop and pack wood until midnight, and thus obviated our working any on the Sabbath. From early morn this Indian had been tramping down the deep snow ahead of our trains, and working his brain in order to pick up the old trail. He had lifted thousands of pounds of snow in the course of the long day's travel, and now he willingly and gladly works until midnight to provide wood for our camp, which, being an open one, consumes a very large quantity. And all because it is written, "Remember the Sabbath day to keep it holy." I do not know what my readers will think about this, but I do know what I thought at the time, and it was this: I would undergo hardship and danger with such a man beside me a great deal rather than live in the same house in comfort and plenty with the man who a few days since said to me, "I do not believe there is a God." We spent the Sabbath quietly, and early Monday morning continued our way, reaching the site of the proposed Mission about noon. Here we found the cache Oliver and I had made, still secure, but surrounded with the tracks of a wolverine, who thus far had been baffled. Into this cache we put the balance of the provisions we had brought, and making it doubly secure, as we thought, placed the plough on top, and then retraced our steps back to the camp we had left in the morning. From this we reached Edmonton Tuesday night, and were home early Thursday afternoon. CHAPTER IV. Epidemic breaks out among the Indians--Snow-blindness--I take to me a wife--Our modest dowry--My father officiates as a Stationing Committee--Fearful mortality among the Indians--Our journey to Pigeon Lake--The epidemic attacks our camp--A rude hospital--An exciting buffalo hunt--Chased by a maddened bull--Narrow escape. At Edmonton we heard an epidemic was raging among the southern Indians, and that many were dying. As to the nature of the disease or particulars concerning it we had no information. But even the rumor of its approach was startling, for in the absence of any Government or other quarantine regulations and with tribal war existing this disease would soon cover the whole country with its ravages. In the meantime, as the season was advancing, we redoubled our efforts to bring in supplies. To do this we had to travel largely at night, the March sun making it too warm for our dogs in the daytime. This night-work with the strong glare of the bright snow was exceedingly hard on the eyes. Many a poor fellow became snow-blind, and the pain of this was excruciating. Fortunately for myself, my eyes were never affected; but it made me feel miserable to witness so much suffering and be helpless to give relief. The Indians as a preventive would blacken their faces with charcoal or damped powder, but as nearly all the natives had dark eyes, they were most susceptible to snow-blindness. My experience was that those with lighter colored eyes were generally free from this dreaded malady. Old Joseph, Susa and myself made a number of quick trips to and from different camps during these March days and nights; and about the end of the month we gave this up for the season. Then it came to pass that I put into execution a project I had been contemplating for some time and that was to take unto me a wife. My bride to be was the daughter of the Rev. H. B. Steinhauer. I had met her in the autumn of 1862, when I accompanied father on his first visit to Whitefish Lake. Our acquaintance, which had grown into a courtship on my part, was now between two and three years old. Our parents willingly gave us their consent and blessing. Father and Peter accompanied us to Whitefish Lake, and father married us in the presence of my wife's parents and people. Our "honeymoon trip" was to drive from Whitefish Lake to Victoria with dog-train, when the season was breaking up, and in consequence the trip was a hard one. Then after a short sojourn at Victoria we set out for the purpose of establishing the new Mission at Pigeon Lake, father having signified his strong desire that such should be done, notwithstanding that the Board of Missions had not as yet either consented to or approved of such a course. But father was thoroughly impressed with the wisdom and necessity of such action, and finally told me I ought to go and begin work out there; and, said he, "You can live where any man can." Of course I was proud to have father think this of me. His knowledge of the work required, and his confidence in my ability to do this work, more than made up to me at the time for the fact that there was not a dollar of appropriation from the Missionary Society. But father gave us a pair of four-point Hudson's Bay blankets, two hundred ball and powder, and some net twine, together with his confidence and blessing; to which in all things mother said, "Amen." In the meantime the epidemic we had heard rumors of came to us, and proved to be a dangerous combination of measles and scarlet fever. Among the Black feet and the southern tribes hundreds had died, and already the mortality was large among the northern Crees. From camp to camp the disease spread. As winter still lingered and the deep snow was again turning into water on the plains and in the woods, these lawless, roving people without quarantine protection, lacking the means of keeping dry or warm, and altogether destitute of medicine or medical help, became an easy prey to the epidemic. Already many lodges of sick folk were camped close to the Mission, and others were coming in every day. Father and mother and Peter had their hands full in attending to the sick, ministering to the dying, and burying the dead. And as this was a white man's disease, there were plenty of the wilder Indians to magnify the wrongs these Indians were submitting to at the hands of the whites. Some of them were exceedingly impudent and ugly to deal with; indeed, if it were not for Maskepetoon and his own people, many a time our Mission party would have suffered. As it was life was constantly in danger. Men and women crazed and frenzied because of disease and death were beside us night and day. Nevertheless father said "Go," and we started from among such scenes on our journey to Pigeon Lake. Father had loaned us two oxen and carts for the trip. I had some eight or ten ponies, about all I had to show for five years' work; but as I had been helpful to father in educating my brother and sister in Ontario, I was thankful I had come off as well as I did. A great part of the way was under water. The streams were full, but on we rode and rolled and rafted and forded. Our party consisted of my wife and self, Oliver, a young Indian, Paul by name, and his wife. Our provisions were buffalo meat, fresh and dry and in pemmican. We had five bushels of potatoes with us, but these were saved for the purpose of starting the new Mission. I purposed having every Indian who might come to me begin a garden, and these potatoes were for seed, and should not be eaten. Paul and I supplemented our larders by hunting. Ducks and geese, chickens and rabbits saved the dried provisions and proved very good fare. We scouted carefully across and past those paths and roads converging from the plains and south country to Fort Edmonton. Not until we had made sure, so far as we could, that the enemy was not just then in the vicinity, did we venture our party across these highways of the lawless tribes. Then passing Edmonton we struck out south-westward, into a country wherein as yet no carts or waggons had ever rolled; and now it kept Paul and myself busy hunting and clearing the way, while Oliver and the women brought up the carts and loose horses. Our progress was slow and tedious, but we were working for the future as well as the present. When up here in the winter I concluded that we could on the first trip with carts take them to within some twenty-five miles of the lake to which we were going. Working along as best we could, Saturday night found us at this limit, and as we were very tired, and the weather was fine, we merely covered our carts, made an open fire in front, and thus prepared to spend the Sabbath in rest and quiet. Because of the dense forest and brush we had come through, and also as we were some thirty miles from Edmonton, we felt comparatively safe from any war parties of plain Indians that might be roaming the country, as these men were more or less afraid of the woods. Sunday was a beautiful day, but towards evening there came a change, and during the night a furious snowstorm set in. Monday morning there was nearly a foot of snow, and the storm continued all day and on into Tuesday night. We kept as quiet as possible under our humble shelter without fire or any warm food until Wednesday morning, when the sun came out and the storm was over. Then to our dismay Mrs. McDougall and Paul's wife were taken with the measles, and sending Oliver to look after the stock, Paul and I sought the highest ground in the vicinity, cleared away the snow, cut poles and put up our leather lodge. This we floored thickly with brush. Then we laid a brush causeway from our carts to the lodge, and moved our sick folk into the tent. In the meantime I had put some dried meat and pounded barley into a kettle to boil over the fire, and as the only medicine we had was cayenne pepper, I put some of this into the soup, and this was all we had for our sick ones. Just then Oliver came in, having found the stock, but was complaining of a sore back and headache. I gave him a cup of my hot soup to drink, and as he sat beside the fire warming his wet feet and limbs and drinking the soup, I saw he was covered with the measles. So I quietly told him to change his clothes and go into the tent. Thus in our small party of five three were down with the epidemic which was now universal in the North-West. For the next five or six days Paul and I had our hands full to attend to the sick night and day, to keep up the supply of firewood (for the nights were cold and we consumed a great amount) and to look after the stock. Our patients in the one-roomed buffalo-skin-walled hospital were very sick, and as we had no medicine to speak of, and nothing in the way of dainties to tempt their appetite, often caused us extreme anxiety. Hard grease pemmican, dried meat, or pounded meat and grease are all right when one is strong and well, but it was more than we could do to cook or fix these up for sick folk. When we could Paul and I took it in turn to seek for ducks and chickens to make broth with, but there were very few of these to be found near to us, and it was not until the fever abated that, by leaving wood and water ready and making our patients as comfortable as possible, we went farther afield for game, and were successful in finding ducks and geese and the eggs of wild-fowl as our reward. It was on one of these hunts, and while our sick people were steadily convalescing, that we came upon the fresh tracks of a buffalo bull. As we thought he might provide good meat we determined to follow him up. I think we had kept his track steadily for three hours, when all of a sudden my sleigh dogs, whom I had left as I thought secure at camp, came up to us on the jump, and now took the lead on the track, and very soon were at the bull, as we knew from their furious barking. We rode as fast as we could in the soft ground and through the dense bush, and presently galloped out on an old beaver-meadow. Sure enough the dogs had the bull at bay, and the old fellow as soon as we came in sight charged straight at us. As there was an opening into another part of the meadow I thought he was making for that, so sat my horse, gun in hand, ready to shoot him as he passed. But this was not in the bull's programme. He was in for a fight, and putting down his head came right at me. My horse knew what that meant, for he already had been gored by a mad bull, and the little fellow did not wait for a second dose, but bounded on as fast as he could. My gun was a single-barrelled, muzzle-loading shot-gun, and though I had a ball in, I did not care to risk my one shot under such circumstances. In fact I very soon had all I could do to sit on my horse, keep my gun, and save my head from being broken; for in a few bounds we were across the meadow and into the woods, where, the ground being soft, my horse was hard pressed by the big fellow, who was crashing along at his heels. Fortunately "Scarred Thigh," as the Indians called him, was no ordinary cayuse, but strong and quite speedy. Yet owing to soft ground and brush the bull seemed to be gaining on us at several times. Paul afterwards told me he was so close to me as to raise my pony's tail with his horn, but could not come nearer to his much desired victims. I knew that my horse could not, sinking as he was at every jump into the soft ground, keep this gait up much longer, and because of the trees and brush I had no chance to shoot back at the bull. I was momentarily expecting to feel him hoisting us, when I spied a thick cluster of big poplars just ahead. Now, I thought, if we can dodge behind these we may gain time on our enemy. So I urged on my noble beast, and as if to help us, just as I pulled him around the clump of poplars, a projecting limb knocked my cap off. This falling right in the face of the bull for the moment blinded him, and with an angry snort he went thundering past as I pulled behind the trees. [Illustration: "My cap ... falling right in the face of the bull, for the moment blinded him."] "That was close," said Paul, who was following up as fast as his pony would bring him; "if he had been a bear he would have bitten your horse, but every time he put his head down to toss you, your horse left him that much." I jumped from my horse and patted his neck, rubbed his nose, and felt thankful for our escape. Then we tied our animals in the shelter of the large trees, and followed after the bull on foot, for in such ground and such timber we were much safer on foot than on horseback. Already our dogs had again brought the bull to bay, as we could hear, and approaching with caution we soon saw him fighting desperately. Alert as we were he heard us coming and again charged, but we met him with two balls, and the old fellow staggered back to the middle of a swamp of ice and snow-water and fell dead. "That fellow had a bad heart, or he would not have gone out into the middle of a pond of water to die," said Paul; and it was cold enough work skinning and butchering him, with the ice-water up to our knees. But those were the days when stockings and boots and rubbers were beyond our reach in more ways than one. However, the meat was good and a providential supply to us and our sick folk. Moreover, our dogs needed an extra feed, and they got it. It was late in the day when two heavily laden horses and two tired men came in sight of camp, and it was as good medicine to Oliver, who saw us approaching and noted the fresh meat with a smile all over his gaunt and pale face, for the disease had wofully thinned the poor fellow. Only those who have been in such circumstances can truly appreciate the relief experienced by our sorely-tried party. CHAPTER V. Our caravan moves on--Difficulties of packing--Oliver's adventure with a buffalo--Novel method of "blazing" a path--Arrival at Pigeon Lake--House-building--Abundance of fish--Indians camp about the Mission--I form many enduring friendships--Indians taught fishing with nets. Now that our people were convalescing we began to make ready for a fresh start, this time without carts. Everything had to be packed on the backs of our oxen and horses, entailing no small amount of work on the part of Paul and myself. As the ground was everywhere wet, I was afraid to run the risk of a relapse with any of our patients, and would not let them step off the brush flooring we had placed to keep them out of the water. The distance we had to travel to bring us to the lake was about twenty-five miles, and we purposed making it in two days. Our sick folk would find twelve miles far enough for one day, and our thin and weak horses would also find the distance sufficient. Paul and I had two oxen and eight horses to saddle and pack with sick folk and tent and bedding and all our household stuff, and while we did not seem to be possessed of much of anything, yet it was quite a problem to arrange all on the backs of those ten animals. Sometimes while we were fastening the one pack on, three or four of our horses would lie down with their loads, and in thus getting down and up disorganize the whole work. We put our wives on the strongest and quietest horses, and placed Oliver on a quiet but very hungry Blackfoot cayuse, giving him our guns to carry in addition to his own. Thus we set out along the almost obliterated bridle-path which I had gone over but once and that in the winter time when the snow was deep, and which neither Paul nor Oliver had as yet seen. My memory was sorely taxed to make out the trail where there was open country to pass through. In single file and with slow and solemn steps our sick people rode their steeds, while our horses labored under the burdens of their weak packs. Paul and I were kept busy arranging these packs, for as our saddles were crude and our binding material rawhide, this would stretch, and the saddles or packs become loose, so that we were kept rushing from one to the other of our transports. This made progress so slow that it did seem as if even the twelve miles we hoped to cover would prove too much for the long spring day. But notwithstanding all the worrying and the work we had some fun as well. During the afternoon, while we were behind the rest fixing up a pack on one of the horses, I heard Oliver in a greatly excited voice shouting, "John! John! Hurry--come quick!" I sprang away to the front, and found that our train was crossing a small bit of prairie, and from one end of it, and coming out of the woods, there was a buffalo bull charging right straight for Oliver. My dogs were worrying the big fellow, but it was Oliver who demanded my attention. He had our three guns on the saddle before him, but seemingly never thinking of them, he kept shouting to me to "shoot the bull." In his excitement he had let go his bridle, and this had fallen on the ground, while his hungry horse was intent on cropping grass and would not budge from the spot. In vain Oliver kicked and shouted; what cared that Blackfoot pony for the charge of a buffalo? He was accustomed to this, and moreover was hungry, and here was grass, and so far as he was concerned all else might "go to grass." Not so philosophic, however, was his rider. He was all excitement. With a big muffler wrapped around his face, a blanket around his body and legs, and our three guns in his arms, he kept shouting vehemently for "John." As I ran, not even the possibility of the bull hurting some of us could keep me from laughing. Oliver dared not jump from his horse into the water that surrounded us, for I had threatened him all manner of punishment if he got wet and ran the risk of a relapse, and he was in mortal fear of the huge bull that was now coming quite close to him. But as I ran up, and before I could reach for my gun from Oliver, the brute took away in another direction, thus happily relieving the situation. He evidently was, as Paul put it, "a good-hearted fellow," and as we had all we could very well manage, we did not fire any shots after him. But this excitement and fun helped to break the monotony of our journey. It was late when we reached a point that I thought would be half way to the lake, and we hurriedly cut brush for our patients to alight on, and unsaddled the oxen and horses. I had put the whole of our seed potatoes on my saddle horse, "Scarred Thigh," and he had behaved extremely well all the day, carrying his load without a jar or disarrangement, as if he instinctively knew we had enough trouble with the rest. But now he insisted on my taking the load from him before I should relieve the others. As soon as I went to a horse to unpack him the little fellow would step in between me and the other horse, and plainly say by his actions that his was the first claim, so all our party said, "Help him first, he deserves it." To unsaddle the ten animals and unpack seven of them, to cut lodge-poles and erect the lodge and floor it with brush, to chop firewood and cook supper kept Paul and I on the jump until late, but our patients though tired were gaining strength and appetite, and we were thankful. The next day was a repetition of the one just described, only more so--water deeper, timber denser, and creeks multiplying. My wife and I each had an old-fashioned Hudson's Bay trunk. One was painted blue and the other red, and we packed these on the biggest of the oxen, firmly securing them by the handles before and behind, with collar straps and breeching of harness; and now as these boxes rubbed alternately on the trees on either side of the narrow path, one could track them by the paint, this side red and the other blue, which often was a source of wonder to travellers who came later along this path. When we came nearer the lake we were glad to find that the land around the lake, being higher than that over which we had come, was comparatively dry, and that spring was further advanced than anywhere else along our route. Thankful for this, we put up our skin lodge near the place where we proposed to build our house. We were not the first in the same line on this spot. Nearly twenty years before Benjamin Sinclair, a native lay agent, under the direction of the Rev. R. Rundle, began a Mission, but the coming into the vicinity of a party of Blackfeet, and their killing of some of the people, had created a stampede from here to Lac la Biche, some two hundred miles north-east, and this place was abandoned. The little clearing had well-nigh grown up again, and with the exception of the lake in front we were surrounded with dense forests. The surrounding country was altogether more like my native land than any other spot I had seen in the North-West. The lake was approximately some five by eighteen miles in size, and full of fish--too full of the whitefish for these to be of good quality. But just now we could not test them, as the ice was in such condition that it was not safe to attempt to set a net under it. There was nothing to do but to wait until it melted before attempting any fishing. Our first work was to put up a house. Humble though it might be, we hoped to make it better than the "smoking skin lodge." As we had most of the logs on the ground, we were not long in raising the shanty. It was another thing, however, to whip-saw the lumber for flooring, etc. The building of the chimney, too, was altogether a new experience to me; and when I had built this to the proper height, I was terribly disgusted to have it smoke worse than the lodge did. But I soon saw my mistake, and pulling the greater portion down began anew on a different plan, which proved a great success. One morning bright and early Providence sent us a deer. Paul took his gun and went towards the lake to get, as I thought, a shot at some ducks. But it was a deer he had seen, and soon he had it secured, for which we were very thankful, as our stock of fresh meat was now low. But what is the meat of a small deer to the eating capacity of five healthy people--especially those of our party who were now fairly over the epidemic? When you are on the one diet, and that wild meat, the consumption thereof is rather startling. In the meantime the ice melted, and we made a raft, set a net and caught some poor whitefish. We caught plenty of pike and suckers, too, and to ourselves and dogs these were a wholesome change. The first Indians to come to us were some pagans, having with them two genuine old conjurers, whose drums and rattles and medicine songs were thum-thumming and yah-yahing almost all the time they stayed with us. As some of the older members of this camp, and nearly all the younger ones, came to our services, which we held every evening and three times on Sunday, these "high priests of this old faith" renewed their efforts, if one might judge by the noise they made; but do what they would they could not keep their young people from our meetings. After a time a larger camp came to us, nearly all of whom were Mountain Stonies and mostly Christian or semi-Christian in adherence, and our gatherings became very much more interesting. But as all of these people had the measles or were convalescing from the epidemic, and had lost many friends because of the fearful mortality which this caused, we were hard worked in attending to the sick and in comforting the bereaved. As to the former, Providence smiled upon us, and all of our patients, young and old, recovered, which helped us in our first acquaintance and gave us the beginning of an influence which grew with the years. Here I first met many who became my warm friends and bosom companions around many a camp-fire and on many a hunting field, when danger and darkness and hunger and storm alternated with peace and sunlight and plenty and calm. Here was great big Adam, who from being a first-class Pharisee, with demeanor a voicing of "Lord, I thank Thee," etc., became, through the instrumentality of a hymn I taught him to sing, humbled and penitent, and sought forgiveness and light. He found it; and oh, how changed he became! And there was his son Jacob, one of the grandest men I have known, for whom both nature and grace had done great things. When I first saw him he was recovering from the prevailing scourge. A noble fellow he was in form and feature. He had a big record as a moose-hunter, and was famed as a long distance runner. As he spoke both Stony and Cree fluently, I very soon saw he was a man to be cultivated and made useful for God and country. Then there was "Little Beaver," a Southern Mountain Stony, who very soon let me know that while he was glad to see me, he could never make up his mind to live down here in the woods and lowlands, but was always sighing for the mountains and foot-hills of his own section of the country, and who by his descriptions made me wish to start west with him and view for myself the land he loved. Another genuine character was "Has-no-hole-in-his-ear," an old man with a large family of boys who became my allies and faithful friends. The father was an ardent Christian in his way, and thoroughly loyal to the new Mission and the young missionary. Later there came in a camp of Crees, amongst whom was Samson, then in his prime as a hunter, and who afterwards became the successor of Maskepetoon as chief of the wood Crees. Samson and I soon found that we were congenial spirits, and our warm friendship continues to this day. There was also Paul Chian, a French mixed blood, who had grown up amongst the Indians, and was one of them in everything but appearance. He had been a noted gambler and warrior, and the blood of men was on his hands; but he had found that the blood of Christ is efficacious to the cleansing from sin, and he became a splendid character, a solid man, a class leader and a local preacher, always in his place, and a "genuine stand-by." And there were many good women in these camps who became our staunch friends, and in whose lodges we received true hospitality and many real evidences of a solid appreciation of our work and message. These various people came and went at short intervals. I suppose during our stay at Pigeon Lake for about two months that spring of 1865 no camp of Indians remained longer than two weeks at a time. Until I provided them with nets they had none. Indeed, some of the plain and wood Indians did not know how to set a net, much less how to make or mend one. To provide twine and teach them to make nets was an undertaking that took time to accomplish. Then to live in one place very long was a hardship in itself to these nomads of wood and plain, while to live on fish alone would be foolish to them so long as buffalo were on the plains or moose and elk in the woods. No matter as to time in the obtaining of these animals. The days and months might come and go--these men did not value time; that appreciation is an evolution belonging to a permanent or settled life. CHAPTER VI. We are visited by a band of Crees--Our guests steal away with a bunch of horses--Stonies set out in hot pursuit--Little William's strategy--Horses recaptured--We begin farming operations--Arrival of Mr. Steinhauer--Home to Victoria again--A memorable Sabbath--My gun bursts--Narrow escape--My mother's cares and anxieties--Home-made furniture. CHAPTER VII. I travel with Maskepetoon's camp--Effects of environment on the Indians--Nature's grandeur and beauty--Degradation through paganism--The noble Chief Maskepetoon--Indian councils--On the fringe of the buffalo herds--Indian boy lost--A false conjurer--The lad recovered. Maskepetoon's camp had now been gone about two weeks, and my instructions were to accompany this camp for part of the summer in its movements, and to do what I could towards the Christianizing of the people. Accordingly, taking Paul with me, and leaving our wives and Oliver with mother, we started for the big camp. We took two oxen and carts and several horses, as father had made arrangements with Muddy Bull to make dried provisions for home use. Our course was down the valley of the Vermilion, and then out through the hilly country that runs by Birch Lake to Battle River. We killed several moulting geese as we travelled, and enjoyed them as food. On our fourth day out we came up to the camp, and turning the oxen and carts over to Muddy Bull, we domiciled ourselves in his lodge, and at once became part of this moving town. My work was all around me. Here was paganism intensely conservative, the outcome of many centuries of tradition. And here were its high priests, and the novitiate following which thronged after them, seeming to me as "the blind leading the blinder," if this were possible; the whole causing a devolution which was lowering the range of thought and life and ideal, and all the while producing a profundity of ignorance as to things moral and spiritual which in turn, as a logical sequence, affected the physical and material life of this people. Doubtless environment has a great deal to do with the formation of character and being, but in the environment of these men, outside of buffalo and tribal communism, I failed to find anything that might be thought degenerating in its tendencies. The great herds of buffalo as abused by man were hurtful to himself, and therefore in the fulness of time the Great Father, in the interests of His children, wiped them from the face of the earth. Tribal communism has always been hurtful to individuality, and without this no race of men can progress. But apart from these factors in the life of this people, the rest of their environment was, in my judgment, of the nature and kind to help them, and to give them large, broad and fine views of life and all things. Why, then, this degradation witnessed on every hand? This intense superstition and ignorance, to my mind, is all due to the faith and religion of this people. Their faith is a dead one; no wonder they are dead in trespasses and sins. We believe we are now coming to them with a living faith, but even then we require infinite patience. The change will come, no doubt, but when? O Lord, Thou alone knowest when. To come back to environment. So far as nature's realm affected the sojourners in this part of the valley of the Saskatchewan, these should be among the best of men. Beauty and wealth and power and a mighty purpose are apparent on every hand. These hundreds of miles of territory, these millions of acres of rich grass and richer soil, these hundreds of days of glorious sunshine in every year, these countless millions of cubic feet of healthful atmosphere, surcharged with ozone so that one ever and anon feels like "taking the wings of the morning"--what a splendid heritage! Look at this delightful spot where we are encamped for the day. It is now nearing the midsummer, and the hills and valleys are clothed in the richest verdure. Take note of these hills and valleys. Behold the shapeliness of yonder range of hills, and the sweep of this vale at your feet. See the exquisite carvings of this ascent, and the beautiful rounding of that summit. Drink in the wonderful symmetry displayed in planting those islands of timber. Behold as yon fleecy cloud comes between the sun and the scene of sylvan beauty, how the whole is hallowed and mellowed by the shading of light! Think of the corrosions of ice and the cleansings of flood necessary to create such a variety of hill and dale as this. Ponder over the ages of later development, and calculate the layers of vegetable matter needed to make this wealthy soil and produce this infinite variety of flora and herb and forest and grass. Now to my mind all this is exceedingly helpful, and every time I look upon such environment I am made a better and stronger man. Then why not all men be thus helped and made better? All?--there it is, our faiths are not alike. Even a wrong faith is mighty to the pulling down of "strongholds," and man under such influences descends. But even here there are exceptions, and environment has its way in a measure. Amongst these men and women you will come across those who are big and broad and grand and noble. Blessed be the Lord for this! And one of these latter even now is calling to me and speaking in broken English, "John Mak-e-doo-gal-un, come here now," with big emphasis on the "now," and I readily recognize the voice and walk over to the lodge of the old Chief Maskepetoon. "So you have come, John? I asked your father to let you come with my camp for a few weeks. There is plenty for you to do, my boy. But I called you just now, as my tent is empty, to tell you that I am sorry and ashamed that my son was with those young rascals who tried to steal horses from the Stonies at Pigeon Lake. "I told him that under the circumstances I could not have done anything if he and his party had been killed: that he must remember that all men were now my friends, and especially all missionaries, and if I ever fought again it would be on the side of the missionary. That he should have gone from your lodge to steal the horses of your people made me much ashamed and sorry in my heart. I told your father about it, and he said the young men were foolish to act in that way towards you--that you were the Indians' friend; and I believe that, and I want you to work hard, and will pray the Great Spirit to help you to gain a power over young men." I thanked the old Chief for his confidence, and told him I should always expect his advice and help in my work. Then I gave him my news, and he told me what the camp's movements were to be, and that there was to be an immense gathering of several camps for the holding of the annual festival and "Thirst Dance" of the pagan Indians. He also told me that the buffalo were coming northward and westward, and we should move slowly to give them a chance to come in; that the plain Crees who were coming up country to join us were behind the herd of buffalo; and further informed me that the peace was effectually broken on both sides, and we might expect more or less trouble all summer. I sat and chatted with the Chief and had supper in his lodge, and then arranged for an evening service in the open camp. These services elicited much interest. Paul, who was a good singer and a fine young fellow, would take his stand by my side. Then as we sang the people gathered, and our service would begin. I would take advantage of our surroundings or the occurrences of the day in the selection of my subject, and then call upon our old Chief or some one of our native Christians to lead in prayer. In the meantime warriors and hunters on horseback and on foot and curious women and children with "tattooed" and painted faces would come around and watch and listen, but with native courtesy keep silence and act orderly and seem interested. Thus day after day we publicly proclaimed the Gospel and teaching of the Master according to our ability, for I was but a child in these things myself; and yet the Lord did not despise the day of small beginnings, but blessed us and our work. While during the week conjuring and gambling and heathenish riots went on in many portions of the camp, such was the respect in which Maskepetoon was held by all these people that they desisted from these things on the Sabbath. They even gave up hunting on that day because he wished it. Not that he thus commanded. Oh, no; he was too much of a real gentleman and too wise in his ideas of chieftainship to do this. Slowly we moved out on the plains. Every day brought fresh scenes, and steadily I was becoming acquainted with these people. Maskepetoon always invited me to their councils, and seated beside him I listened to argument and oratory, and beheld genuine gesticulation, natural and true. Sometimes the Chief would ask me to tell about white men and how they conducted matters. I would respond with a short address on government and municipal organization, or at another time speak of civilization and some of its wonders, or give a talk on education, and Maskepetoon would say, "Listen to John. Although he is only a child in years he is a man in experience; he has seen far and wide, he has gone to school, he has listened for years to that wise man his father." Then at the closing up of these council gatherings Maskepetoon would give judgment on what had been said, either approving or condemning, and settle the matter in discussion in his own way, when the Council would break up for the time. Day after day we moved slowly out on the plains, the prairie openings growing larger. All this time strict guard was kept, and the camp travelled, when the country would permit of it, in several parallel lines of march. At night scouts were sent out in every direction, and all of the horses either tethered or hobbled up close within the circle of tents. On every hand were scenes which acted as stimulators in the exercise of care to most of the inhabitants of our moving village. Here had been a fight. Yonder some one would point out where many had been killed. "This is where the camp was when we brought in so many scalps and horses;" and as I listened to these people I could in a measure begin to realize how exceedingly romantic their lives had been, and how constantly the excitement of tribal war had followed them. One evening we were startled by the wail of a mother. Her eight-year-old son was missing. The camp was searched and the boy not found. For two nights and a day we remained in the one place and made diligent search; but as we were now in the fringings of the large herds of buffalo, and the whole country was tracked up, it was impossible to find any trace of the lad. One old conjurer drummed all night, and said that the boy was killed, locating the place of his death in a little valley near the line of our march the day the boy was missed. He was so particular in his description of the place and as to the manner in which the Blackfeet had waylaid the boy, that many thought the old conjurer was telling the truth, and quite a number went with the "Medicine Man" to the spot he had so vividly described. But while they found the spot just as he had indicated, there were no traces of the lost boy, nor yet any signs of the enemy. Needless to say, the party came back very much disgusted with their "false prophet." Another "sight-seer" went into his mysterious lodge, and when he came out he said the boy was alive, that he had passed to the east of our course, and gone on until he was bewildered, and continuing his wanderings he was found by Indians from another camp which was now coming up country from the east to intercept us. This was more comforting, but who could vouch for its truth! Nevertheless this did prove true, for some three or four days later, after we had encamped for the day, some strangers were seen approaching, and when they were formally seated, and each had taken a few whiffs of the big pipe, one of them deigned to open his lips and tell us that a strange boy had been found and was now in their camp; that at first he was quite out of his head, but after a day or two came to himself, and told them where he came from, and the place to which our camp was heading, and thus they had intercepted us. These couriers also told us of several other camps which were coming up to join ours for the Thirst Dance Festival. The poor mother was overjoyed to hear of her boy's safety, and our whole camp rejoiced with her. CHAPTER VIII. The "Thirst Dance"--"Tobacco messages"--The head conjurer--"Dancing lodges"--The rendezvous--The "idol tree"--Meeting of the head conjurer and the chief of the warriors--An anxious moment--Building the "temple"--Self-torture, dancing and sacrifices--The festival concluded--Romantic situation for our camp. We now were drawing close to the spot which had been indicated by the chief priest of the season as a desirable place for the annual religious festival. Couriers came and went from the several camps. The excitement intensified, and our camp was all astir in anticipation of meeting with the multitudes who, like us, were making for this common ground of appointment. I will here give my readers a brief description of this great festival, known as THE THIRST DANCE. This religious gathering has been for ages an annual occurrence. It is an occasion for the fulfilment of vows, and an opportunity for the more religious of this pagan people to make sacrifices and to endure self-inflicted torture and hardship in meeting the requirements of the traditional faith of their fathers. As the season for this approached some leading men sent "tobacco messages" to different camps near and far, intimating that the time had come for the annual festival, and suggesting the most desirable locality. This latter was determined largely by the proximity of buffalo and the conditions of tribal war. These tobacco messages were carefully worded and wrapped in the presence of trusty couriers, who would make all haste in reaching their several destinations, often travelling night and day, and generally on foot. When they reached the camps to which they were sent their message was received with solemn dignity and themselves treated with hospitable respect. Then in quiet council the tobacco was unwrapped and the proposition discussed. If assented to the tobacco was smoked and the head man commissioned to send a return message signifying assent and willingness to come to the appointed place. And now from long distances these camps would move steadily towards the location indicated. The big meeting, the rites to be observed, the blessings that would ensue, the character and prestige and the temporal and supernatural ability of those leaders expected to attend to all these things, were the constant topics of conversation of all these converging camps. The conjurer rehearsed his medicine hymns, sorted over his medicine bag, fixed his rattles and bells, and retouched his ghastly costume. The warrior went over in memory his bravest deeds and most notable exploits, and carefully arranged his war dress, mending here and fixing there, and generally burnishing up for this grand chance for glorious display. And the women and belles of the camp, notwithstanding all the work of constant moving and making extra provisions to be used during the festival, missed no opportunity to make ready their finery for special use on this great occasion, though all they might have would be contained in a small bag made of calfskin, and would consist mainly of beaded leggings and shoulder straps and a much-brassed leathern girdle. In the meantime the originator of this concentrative movement was having a hard time of it. The responsibility of the whole gathering rested heavily upon him, and to prepare himself for his duties he fasted and thirsted, left his home and camp, and stayed nights and days alone in cold and wet with little or no covering for his naked body. He petitioned and prayed to "the Spirits," and seemed to commune with them. He grew wan and wasted physically; but he developed spiritually, and there seemed to come to his very appearance that which was supernatural. As the time drew near this intensified. There was a weird mystery about this man, which was felt through all the camp. The conjurers prepared their medicines, and night and morning before camp moved the drums beat furiously, "dancing lodges" were erected at every encampment, and the four orders of dancers took their turns. The "wood partridges," the "prairie chickens," "medicine rattlers," and the "kid foxes," each in turn to vocal and drum music went through their evolutions of movement. Sacrifices were got ready and consecrated, and amidst night and day alarms from the enemy, and all the necessary hunting for the maintenance of these camps, this work of preparation went on for days and sometimes weeks. And now the chosen spot is reached, which is accomplished almost at the same time, for the scouts and couriers have kept the different camps in touch, and the movement of each has been governed for the purpose of reaching the rendezvous about the same day. But this strange crowd is gathered for a specific purpose, and no time is lost. The conjurers and medicine-men convene in one part of the camp, the warriors in another; and while the priests and medicine-men intensify their petitions and incantations, the warriors go out to scout the country and search for a suitable tree to be used as the centre or "idol tree." A sharp watch is kept for the scouts, and when these are seen returning to camp the medicine-men form in procession with their chief (_pro tem._), the originator of this whole movement, at their head, and march through camp singing and incanting and speaking in unknown tongues. The chief medicine-man holds a big pipe with a sacred stem in his hands, and with this he points heavenward and earthward and all around, following the sun, and thus in solemn aspect and with dignified movement these high priests of an old faith march out of camp to meet the warriors. Now comes the crucial time for this chief medicine-man. If these warriors accept the pipe from him then the success of his venture is assured. But if they do not take the pipe as he offers it to them the whole scheme is a failure, and a new chief priest and a new location will have to be sought. No wonder it is a tense moment for the would-be high priest of this great gathering. The two companies draw near to each other, and while the priests are chanting in doleful notes petitionary and sacrificial hymns, and the warriors are lustily singing songs of victory, the whole camp is hushed in silent expectation as to the outcome. The warriors know the issue lies with them, and carry themselves accordingly. In all the pride and pomp of martial dignity and costume they sit their picked steeds and await the priest's action. This personage is now almost unnerved. The long vigils and fastings and hardships have emaciated his body, and this is weak; but his communings with the spiritual have made him feel that he has a mission, and that he is essential to the well-being of his people. He has grown within the last few days to believe he is an apostle and a bringer of good, and in his mind he feels these warriors must in their own interest accept him. Nevertheless there is the possibility of their not doing so. No messenger has reached him from the secret conclave held yonder behind the hills. Soon he will know. And now he pulls himself together, and, at first with quavering voice and trembling limbs, he holds the sacred pipe aloft and prays. Immediately in front of him is the chosen chief of the warriors, who gives no indication of what he is going to do in this matter. In silence he and the entire assemblage listen as the aspirant for priestly honors seems to forget himself in the intenseness of his purpose. His voice gathers strength, his limbs cease to tremble, and with native and pure eloquence he calls upon the Deity to bless this gathering, to pity his children, to accept their sacrifices, to smile upon their effort. His metaphors are beautiful, his similes are fine; the range of his thought reaches the heavens above and covers the earth beneath. There is a spell that accompanies the prayer. His whole soul is in it. If you and I had been there, my reader friend, we would have seen the countenance of the warrior chief undergo a change. Fence as he will, he is caught, and as we look we say to ourselves, "He will accept the sacred pipe." And presently as the priest stops he steps forward, and with a majestic wave upward and downward and all around, he hands the sacred emblem to the warrior. While the crowd watch him in breathless expectancy the latter takes it from him, also lifts it heavenward and then earthward, and then all around the complete circle, and the air rings with joyous acclamations. The feast is to take place, and the time is now. This being settled the warriors parade around the camp in full review. Others go and cut down the "idol tree," and now the warriors break ranks, and dashing into the camp open the lodges and take from them the young women of the camp and hurry these along with them to haul home the idol tree. Many long lines are fastened to this tree, and the women on foot and the warriors on horseback take hold of these lines and pull together, and thus proceed homeward. Others act as drivers and shout and fire off their guns to urge on the men and women. As the camp is neared immense crowds of the old and infirm and of women and children join in the march, and thus the idol tree is brought to the spot where the temple is to stand. Meanwhile others are cutting and hauling home the posts and pillars and beams required for the "big lodge." Not a nail or pin is used in this structure. Each joint and splice is firmly secured with green hide, which as it dries becomes very tight and strong. All work with alacrity. Everything about the erection of the temple is done on the principle that "the king's business requires haste." When the idol tree is raised in place the conjurers make a special effort with medicine-rattles and religious singing. Some make the "nest" in the idol tree, or, as it might be called, the sacrificial table, and fasten in and on this the sacrifices which had been purchased long before at the trading-posts for this purpose. All the timbers in place, the whole is covered with the lodges of the principal men of the camp, it being thought an honor to have these used in this way. And now the high priest approaches. He has a big buffalo head mask, both himself and the head well covered with earth. Stepping slowly, and wailing as he walks, he enters the temple. Immediately on his entrance is made the inner circle for those who have vows and will dance through the long hours. Then a spot in the temple is selected for the drummers and singers, and these come in turns, so that the choir is continuous day and night during the festival. Fire is placed in four places, and on these fires are put sweet smelling herbs, which as they burn create incense. Then the high priest takes a whole parchment and speaks to the Great Spirit, and to all the lesser powers; then swings the parchment four times, while all the dancers blow their horn whistles. The high priest now throws the parchment into the centre, all the drummers and singers start up, and the entire company join in the chorus. In the inner circle, and immediately around the "idol tree," the real dancers who are to undergo torture are arranging themselves. Some of these attach long lines to the "idol tree," and then passing the end through the muscles of their arms thus dance and swing around the circle. Others hang guns to the tendons of their back, and dance with these swinging and jerking about them. Others go from out the camp, and finding a bull's skull with horns attached, pass a line through the eyelets, and then hitch themselves to the other end of the line through the tendons of the back, and drag the head to the temple, entering amongst the dancers for the rest of the festival. One man, at the time I am writing of, thus hitched himself to a big skull, and dragged this around the big encampment seven times, wailing as he pulled and tugged, and thus sought for forgiveness and salvation. The self-tortured and the dancers do not eat or drink until the afternoon of the third day. At that time the warriors in costume come in a body to the temple, the bravest ten in the lead, all singing as they march, either on foot or on horseback, and forming a circle just outside the "thirst lodge." Then come those who make gifts; and horses, guns, blankets, etc., are placed in the ring as a general offering, being afterwards distributed to the needy and the infirm. Then the bravest warriors are led out into the centre, and made to recite their exploits and escapades, and between these recitals the various orders of dancers alternate in exhibition of their peculiar skill. Inside the temple torture and thirst and exhaustion; outside, declamation and glory and joyous celebration. And as the sun draws near to the earth on the evening of the third day the annual festival is finished. A day or two later the big camp divides into several smaller camps, each going its own way, leaving only the bare poles around the "idol tree," from the tops of which flutter in the breeze the various-colored sacrificial cloths to remind of this great religious gathering of the wood and plain Crees. Our camp, having in it the high priest or chief conjurer for this year, might fittingly be called the "Convenor," and therefore it was in place for us to reach the rendezvous before the others. This we did one lovely afternoon, and I could not but admire the selection made by the high priest as the scene of this year's festival. We camped on the crest of a plateau or table-land, where to the south and west from our feet the country sloped gently to the valley of the Iron Creek, which wound its way from the west and then with a majestic sweep turned southward to the Battle River, its terraced banks with their beautifully timbered heights giving grace to the scene. Where we stood was a fine large plain, with very little, if any, cover for the wily enemy to approach from behind. But within a few miles, and thence on as far as the eye could reach, were ranges of hills, in the valleys of which, as also on their stately summits, prairie and timber were struggling for supremacy, each alternately being beaten, but the whole making a lovely picture. To-day we have the wild nomadic heathen life, but doubtless in the near to-morrow this will give way to permanent settlement, and the church and school will bring in the clearer light of a larger and fuller revelation. CHAPTER IX. Our great camp a study of native types--I attend a "wolf feast"--A disgusting orgie--Paul and I start for home--Our horses stampede--Difficult tracking--Enormous herd of buffalo--Home again and all well--Party of half-breeds from the Red River settlement at our Mission--Father returns, bringing a brother and sister from Ontario. In two or three days our camp grew immensely, and many distinct types of men were at hand for one to study and become acquainted with. The absorbing theme was the approaching festival. For this warriors were preparing, and many devotees were praying; for this every conjurer in the camp was making medicine, and day and night the tapping of drums and the intoning of religious songs went on. Morning and evening we also sang our hymns and held our services, and were ardently studying this new strange life--every day acquiring a better grip of the language and beginning to waken up to the largeness of its vocabulary. One day I was invited to a "wolf feast." Being a learner I went, and was both shocked and amused at what I saw. About two dozen sat around in the large buffalo lodge, and before each one a big wooden dish of thick soup was placed. This soup was made by boiling slices of fat buffalo meat and wild lily roots together. Neither Maskepetoon nor myself took part. When each guest was served an old medicine-man began to chant in an unknown tongue, accompanying himself by swinging his rattles. By and by all who were to partake joined in the song of blessing. This over, each one drew his big bowl to him and at a signal put both hands into the hot soup, and feeling all through it for chunks of meat, pulled these to pieces and then began to cram the contents of the dish down his throat. While doing this, each one made a noise like the growling of a wolf. And now the race was fast and furious as to who should soonest swallow all that was given to him. The growling and snarling and gulping was terrible, and I was glad when it was over and one and another turned his wooden dish over. I had seen a wolf feast, but, as I told my friend the old Chief, I did not wish to see another. It was almost as nauseating as a drunken carousal amongst the cultured white men in the east! I noticed that it was only a certain class of these pagan men who thus brutalized themselves--that even in those early days the larger percentage of the Indians held aloof from such beastly orgies. Muddy Bull, mine host, laughed when I told him what I had seen, and said that only a few of his people ever thus disgraced themselves. While the camp was all excitement in preparation for the annual festival, word was brought in that the buffalo had gone into the north between us and the Mission. This made it possible for war parties to go north also; and from what I heard in camp I began to be anxious about our folk at home. Finally I conferred with Maskepetoon and he said that it might be better for me to go in to the Mission. So I left the oxen and carts with Muddy Bull, held an evening service with our people, and then as darkness was coming on one night Paul and I left the large camp and took our course northward. We went out in the dark because signs of the enemy had been noted, and as our party was small we did not want to be seen by those hostile to us. Steadily and in silence we rode, taking a straight course for Victoria. Some time after midnight we stopped on a hill to rest our horses. We had one horse packed with dried provisions, stored in two large saddle-bags, and unpacking and unsaddling I tied the end of the lariat which was on my horse's neck to these saddle-bags, and with my gun at hand stretched myself beside them, while our horses fed around us. The night was very cloudy and dark, and both Paul and I dozed. Suddenly our horses stampeded and made back towards the camp. Seizing our guns we ran after them, but when we could not hear the sound of their hoofs any longer we sat down and waited for daylight. Whether it was hostiles or wolves or buffalo which had stampeded our horses we could not tell; there was nothing to do but wait for daylight, and be ready for anything that might turn up in the meantime. So we sat in silence and in profound darkness, for the clouds had thickened. Soon the rain came down, and in a very short time we were completely drenched. Several times there were noises near us, but these came from buffalo who were on the move past. After what appeared an interminable time, morning broke dark and cloudy, and we began a search for our horses. As the day grew lighter we found that great herds of buffalo had passed through the country, and it seemed as if every inch of ground was tracked up. The grass was cropped close, and for hours we walked to and fro, never far from where the last sound of our flying steeds had come. At last I caught sight of a buffalo chip which had been broken by something dragging over it, and then I found another, and concluded that my horse was dragging the saddle-bags behind him in his flight. I signalled to Paul, and he, after examining this clue, came to the same conclusion, and slowly we followed this our only sign. Slowly from one buffalo chip to another we travelled, and when baffled one would stay with the last trace and the other go on and look for another, and finding this we continued our anxious search until about noon, when we came upon all but one of our horses. As my saddle-horse was still fast to the saddle-bags, the first thing we did was to take out some dried meat to appease our ravenous appetites. Then we retraced our way to the place we had stayed during the night. Finding our outfit intact, we saddled up and continued our journey, hoping that the one stray horse would be found later by some friendly hunters. This actually did take place, for some months later I found the horse at Edmonton, to which place he had been brought by some French half-breeds who had recognized him. Now once more we were on our journey north. During the afternoon I had a revelation given me as to the number and nomadic character of the buffalo. I had by this time spent three years on the plains in the buffalo country, had seen great herds of these wild cattle, and thought I knew something about them. My food had consisted almost altogether of their meat. My bed, travelling or at home, was over and under their robes. But that afternoon, as we steadily trotted northward across country, and ever and anon broke into a canter, I saw more buffalo than I had ever dreamed of before. The woods and plains were full of them. During the afternoon we came to a large round plain, perhaps ten miles across, and as I sat my horse on the summit of a knoll looking over this plain, it did not seem possible to pack another buffalo into the space. The whole prairie was one dense mass, and as Paul and I rode around this large herd I could not but feel that my ideas concerning buffalo and the capability of this country to sustain them were very much enlarged. I had in the three years seen hundreds of thousands of buffalo, had travelled thousands of miles over new trails, but I had seen only a small number of the great herds, and but a very small portion of the great North-West. Truly these were God's cattle upon a thousand hills, and truly this greater Canada is an immense country. [Illustration: "I saw more buffalo that I had ever dreamed of before."] On we jogged, early and late, watching our horses carefully and taking extreme precaution against surprise. Nothing, however, occurred to disturb us, and by the evening of the third day we were in sight of home, and could see our loved ones moving in and out around the Mission premises. Crossing the big river we found all well and delighted to have us home again. We had been away a little over a month, and as yet there was no word from father or the east country. Our isolation during those early years was complete if not "splendid." We were in a big world, but it was distinct from the ordinary. No mails or telegrams disturbed its continuous monotony--and yet our life was never really monotonous. The very bigness of our isolation made the life unique and strange, and the constant watchfulness against surprise and danger seemed to give it zest. Then the struggle for food kept us constantly busy. One day, shortly after our return, we formed a party and made a flying horseback visit to the sister Mission at Whitefish Lake, and came back on the jump; my wife and sister being excellent horse-women, and a sixty-mile canter a common experience. In our party we had Mr. George Flett and wife. Mr. Flett at that time was post-trader for the Hudson's Bay Company. Later on he became a successful missionary in the Presbyterian Church. Settling down for a little on our return, we went to work cutting hay. Those were the days when men swung the scythe, and muscle and wind told on the unmeasured and unfenced hay-fields of the Saskatchewan. Hard work it was from early morn until evening; but we cut a good bit of hay, and had it stacked by the time father came home. In the meantime we were surprised and delighted by the arrival of a colony of some twenty-five or thirty families of English half-breeds, who had transplanted themselves from the valleys of the Red and Assiniboine rivers to this of the Saskatchewan. I well remember the first Sunday service after their arrival, how abashed I felt in the presence of these people who could speak both English and Cree, and some of whom had had special advantages in education. But they listened attentively to my preaching in the mother-tongue, and were regular in attendance upon all our services. Their presence, too, made us feel that we were stronger and more able to withstand the enemy than we had been. Many of these people made good neighbors, and all were kindly disposed to the Mission and its work. In the Red River country their bane had been the intoxicating cup. Here, far from the temptation, they hoped to better their circumstances. These also were buffalo people, and this was another consideration leading to their removal west. Immediately these people went to work to put up houses in the valley to the east of the Mission. I gave them to understand that the Indians desired the land to the west. It did us good to see these humble homes being erected beside us. Mother and wife and sisters all rejoiced that in a measure our loneliness was past; that a semi-civilization at least had come to us. Sometime in August we heard that father and party were not more than three days away, and with grateful heart I saddled up and set forth to meet them, which I did about fifty miles down the trail. Father had with him my brother David and sister Eliza. These we had left in Ontario five years before, mere boy and girl, but now they had grown into young manhood and young womanhood, and the long trip across the plains had done them a vast amount of good. My sister was rather astonished to meet her eldest brother clad as he was in leather and with long hair curling on his shoulders, but this was the western fashion, and anything else would have been singular at that time and amid those scenes. Within a couple of days we were once more a united family and mother's joy was full. I was particularly pleased to note the manner of both my sister and brother towards my wife. The fact of her being a native did not in anywise affect the kindliness of their conduct towards her, for which I was very thankful. CHAPTER X. We return to Pigeon Lake--"Scarred Thigh" exchanged for "Blackfoot"--Planting Gospel seed--We organize a buffalo hunt--A moose chase--The buffalo as a "path-finder"--We encounter a hostile camp--All night on guard--My friend Mark's daring exploit--Wood Stonies visit the Mission--Gambling, polygamy and superstition among the Indians. Now that father was home again I and my party were at liberty to start back to Pigeon Lake, which we did under instructions to remain there until the Indians should start out for the winter, when we were to return to Victoria. I was very sorry to part with Paul at this time, he having decided to go to the plains with the colony of half-breeds for the fall provision hunt. Also with him I separated from "Scarred Thigh," my horse for the last three years. My readers in "SADDLE, SLED AND SNOWSHOE" will remember that I mentioned a horse called "Blackfoot," taken in battle, and the winner of many a long race. This horse had come to Paul through his wife. He had been stolen from him by those who thought that might was right, but Paul, being a plucky fellow, had taken him back, and as he had more or less trouble guarding the horse, I happened to suggest to him one day that we might make an exchange. He gladly accepted my offer, and now instead of "Scarred Thigh" I had the noted "Blackfoot." Nevertheless I was sorry to see the little sorrel go. Many a glorious gallop we had had together, and I had grown to love the gentle fellow. But Paul was a natural gentleman, and he also must be considered. In the meantime Muddy Bull had come in from the plains with our oxen and carts, the latter loaded with fine dried provisions. Quite a large camp also had come to the Mission, and from these father traded more provisions. Thus we did not start empty-handed on our return trip to the Western Mission at the lake. Westward we rolled with our carts, every encampment our home for the time. Reaching the spot where we were detained by storm and sickness during the spring, we left the carts and packed on through the woods to the lake, where very soon our people began to settle down around us. Our gardens under the continued neglect now promised little result for the earlier efforts; but the fish in the lakes were exceedingly plentiful, and upon these we almost altogether subsisted. Our dried provisions we were obliged to share with the wandering people who came to us from the north and west, and who had not been out on the plains as we had. We held meetings twice a day on week-days, and, I might almost say, all day Sunday. What our ministrations lacked in quality they fully made up in quantity. And some of those simple services were blessed seasons where souls were born into the kingdom of our Christ. The conjurer might sing and drum as he would, and the intensely conservative pagan decry us as he pleased, our work kept growing as the weeks passed in quick succession, one camp going and another coming to take its place, and we putting in our best efforts to sow the seeds of Christianity. Presently some Mountain Stonies came to us, men whom I had never seen before. Among them was Mark, of whom I will have more to say as my narrative progresses. These brought word of buffalo near where the village of Lacombe now is, on the line of the Calgary and Edmonton Railway, and as my friend Jacob and his stalwart brothers and cousins were with us at the time, we concluded to take a run out for meat. Mrs. McDougall remained at the Mission with a few of the older people, and the most of the rest started off early one day. With these I sent my pack-horses and necessary outfit, and with Jacob, Mark and others I followed in the afternoon. Our course was around the north end of Pigeon Lake, then over the "divide" to Battle Lake, and thence down the Battle River. My companions and I had not yet reached the head of the lake, when we saw a big buck moose plunge into the water across the bay and strike out straight for a point of timber which was between us and the Mission. The huge animal was making quick time, and his great antlers and long ears were high out of the water as with strong strokes he cut through the lake. The nature of the ground where we were was such that we could make better time on foot than with horses. Accordingly we left our mounts, and ran back a distance of about a mile to intercept the moose. I was on the spot some time before the next best, and as the big buck was coming straight for where I was in hiding, I fully expected to have the first shot; but while he was still more than a hundred yards away, and fairly rushing through the water by the force of his swimming power, and even as I stood behind a tree admiring the noble fellow, suddenly there came a shot from down the shore and the moose fell over almost without a struggle, being fairly hit just under the butt of his big antler. I jumped out on the beach, and looking in the direction of the report saw my friend Jacob quietly loading his old flint-lock, a significant smile overspreading his face. I shouted to him, "If you did take my shot you made a very good one;" to which he answered, "It was enough for you to have left us in the race," and thus we were mutually appeased and complimented. But meanwhile Mark had divested himself of his clothing and was swimming out to the moose, which he soon towed into the shallow water, where we all took hold and pulled the immense carcase up the bank. While Jacob and Mark skinned and cut him up I went back for our horses. Bringing them up, we packed most of the meat back to the Mission, and late in the evening again started after our party of hunters, whom we came up with away down Battle River. Holding an open-air service and stationing our guards, we went to sleep, and with the first dawn of day were astir again. Holding a short morning service, we very soon were jogging down the winding saddle-path which was but the adoption and endorsation by man of the buffalo-path of the preceding ages. In the course of years I have travelled thousands of miles on buffalo-paths, and often I have wondered at and admired the instinctive knowledge of engineering skill manifested in the selection of ground and route made by those wandering herds of wild cattle. If one was in doubt as to a crossing let him follow the path of a buffalo. Gladly have I often taken to these in the winter time, when the snow was deep. Taking off my snow-shoes, I have run behind my dog-train on the packed trail made by the sharp hoofs of the migrating buffalo. But alas! as I write these paths are about all that we have left to remind us that a short time since these vast plains fairly trembled to the roar and tread of these wonderful herds of nature's stock. All day on the steady jog, our company of hardy men and women and little children rode down the valley of the Battle River on to Mossy Creek, thence on to Wolf Creek, and when in the evening we were expecting to see some buffalo, instead of these we met the small party Mark had come from, in hiding from a large camp of Blackfeet and Sarcees which in the meantime had come upon the scene. Again, alas for us, these enemies had driven the buffalo back, and, worse than this, were here in our vicinity in such numbers as to make our little party seem very small. As it was now evening we determined to select as strong a place of defence as possible for the night's bivouac. A brief search revealed a small thicket in a gently sloping hollow, with prairie all around it, into which we put the women and children, who, wearied with the hard day's travel, were soon sound asleep. The night was dark and long, for it was now the late autumn. Before twilight came we saw the enemy and knew we were discovered; but though they surrounded us for a good part of the night, they knew that we were posted all around our camp, and did not venture to attack, though we fully expected them to do so about day-break. However, they concluded to draw off before that time. Providence and our strong position, and, doubtless, the prestige of the Stony and wood Indians, influenced them, for when day came our scouts brought the welcome word of their departure. Their big camp was south-west of us only some ten miles, and we set off rapidly eastward to lengthen the distance between us, and also, if possible, secure buffalo, so that we should not go home empty-handed. It was during that long night that Mark, hearing me express my wish for a drink, took a small kettle, and, making his way stealthily through the lines of the enemy to a creek some distance beyond, surprised me by bringing back the kettle full of water. I was truly grateful for the refreshing draught, and could not but admire his pluck and scouting ability. Thus was begun a friendship which has continued through all these years. Full often in the bush and plain, in raging current and dangerous ford, Mark has been by my side, loyal and brave. As we journeyed next day we saw the many trails made by the Blackfoot and Sarcee camps, and from these could estimate their numbers, which were sufficiently formidable to stimulate us to increase the intervening distance. We camped that night across the narrows of what was called "the lake which runs through the hills," a long narrow body of fresh water, heavily timbered on every side. Here we felt comparative security from the plain Indians, for these dread the woods. The next day we moved on down and across Battle River, below where now our Mission is situate, and were fortunate in killing several bulls, with which we had to rest content and return homewards. If the Blackfeet had not taken this circle into the western timber country, which at this season was an unusual course for them, we would have had great luck; but their large camp effectually drove the game from us. However, we were thankful that there had been no actual collision and no lives lost. As it was we took home a little bull's meat instead of the loads of prime cow's meat we had hoped to bring to reinforce the Mission larder. Arriving at the lake we found all well, and noted that some more wood Stonies had come in. These latter were inveterate gamblers, and generally pretty wild fellows. Many of them were polygamists, and our hands were full doing what we could to withstand heathenism and ignorance. There was no rest day or night while these people were beside us. I had often to act as judge and arbiter. Old quarrels, domestic and tribal, were brought to me, and these I had to settle as best I could. I also had to act as doctor and surgeon, which taxed to the fullest limit my small store of knowledge and experience in this line. But gamble and conjure and quarrel as they would, nevertheless these people would come to our services and listen with close attention. Slowly but surely the seed took root as the more thoughtful began to consider the Gospel message. One idea we had great trouble with was that they believed all sickness and death was caused by hatred amongst themselves. Some one, they thought, was working bad medicine or casting a blight or spell upon those who were taken sick or in some way met with death. This would generate a strong desire for revenge, and was a source of constant trouble to the early missionary. One day when I had a large crowd of these people before me I said to them, "I have lived amongst different peoples, and in every case these at times have sickened and died, and from all I can learn this has been going on for thousands of years. These peoples expect this to take place at some time in their experience. Everywhere I have travelled I have seen graveyards, and plenty of evidence that all men in the countries that I have been in are visited by death. But now I have come among a people who, if they did not hate one another, and work bad medicines and poison on one another, would live always--at least, that is what you think and how you talk. You are different from all other men. How is this? Has the Great Spirit treated you with partiality? His word says, 'God is no respecter of persons.' Are you not foolish to think and act as you do? Come, now, think about this, and ask the Great Spirit to give you light." So at service and in the lodge and around the camp-fire we kept at them; but the implantings of centuries cannot be shaken off in one or two generations. CHAPTER XI. We return to Victoria--War parties abroad--Father's influence over the Indians--We organize a big fresh meat hunt--David's first buffalo hunt--Mark's adventure with a war party--Surrounded by wolves--Incidents of our journey--Preparing for the winter. Soon the autumn was past, the most of our wandering people had gone, and we made ready to travel back to Victoria. Mark, whose wife had died during the epidemic of the previous spring, left his motherless children with their grandparents and his brothers, and went with us. He said his heart was sore and he would go with us in order to be comforted. Carefully we scouted past Edmonton, for this was the season of activity for the scalp-taker and horse-thief, but we reached the older Mission without any mishap. Here we found everybody busy at the necessary work of preparing for the winter, which always involved a considerable amount of labor. The usual excitement over the coming and going of war parties had taken place. Mother and sisters had spent days and nights in a sort of semi-terror because of the wild conduct of these people, which even Maskepetoon's strong influence could not wholly control, though doubtless this grand old man's firm friendship for the white man, and especially for those of our Mission, was the main reason that no violence was attempted. Under such conditions we were at times glad to see the large camps break up and in sections depart for a season. The great country around us gave the more turbulent and restless of these nomads a fine field wherein to work off their surplus energy in war and hunting. In the management of affairs during the presence of complex multitudes of wild men at the Mission father was well qualified to act prudently. He knew when to concede as well as to demand, and thus wisely never ran the risk of having his authority and influence brought into question. Moreover, he was a thorough democrat. To him an Indian was as good as any other man, and was given precisely the same treatment. There was none of "the inflated, superior style of man" in father's manner to anybody, either white or red. And this was very soon noticed by these "quick-sighted students of their fellow-men." He was a friend, and as such he became known among these western tribes. Now the keen frosty nights were with us once more, and time was come for our fresh-meat hunt. In this we were joined by quite a number of the half-breeds. Our pickets of guards were more numerous, and larger, and thus one did not come on duty so often, an appreciable change; for it was dismal work during those long cold nights moving about the silent camp, keeping vigilant watch and looking with pardonable longing for the morning. Our course this time was south, and on the fourth day out we came upon the buffalo. At once the work of running, killing, butchering and hauling began. This was my brother David's first sight of this kind of game, and in the excitement he lost his hat and had to go the rest of the way bareheaded. But this was a small matter; many a man under like circumstances has lost his head for the time being. No wonder David lost his hat. The novelty and intense excitement of the whole thing and the hunter's rapture in bringing down such noble game was enough to make one's head too large for an ordinary hat. Our camp of an evening would be a strange sight to one unacquainted with life on the plains. The huge fires, sides of ribs, heads of buffalos, marrow bones, squares of tripe, and other portions of the carcase, all in various processes of cooking; every man armed and fully ready for an attack; the guards occasionally coming within the glare of the camp-fire; horses and cattle closely guarded, and a constant sense of insecurity evident on every hand; men with guns ready at hand eating and drinking, or mending harness, moccasins, or carts. After the evening song and prayer the men stretched themselves to sleep just as they had hunted and worked during the day. There was no taking off of moccasins or clothing. If one removed his powder-horn and shot-pouch he fastened both to his gun, so that with one quick grip he had the whole in his hand and was ready. My three years of constant life of this kind had made me somewhat familiar with it, but to my brother, fresh from the quiet and security of Ontario, this whole life was a revelation. Nevertheless by heredity and instinct alike he took to it like a native. When Sunday came we had been two days and a half among the herds and were pretty well loaded, and also pretty well tired, so that the Sabbath rest was exceedingly welcome. Breakfast and a short service, and all who could and were not on duty slept. In the afternoon strange Indians were sighted by our watchful guards, and my man Mark threw his lariat over the neck of "Ki-you-kenos"--the big American horse that ran away with Peter in "SADDLE, SLED AND SNOWSHOE"--and before anyone could stop him was away on the jump to reconnoitre more closely. In the meantime from our camp we could see these strangers gathering on the summit of a distant hill, and knew from their numbers and equipment that they were a war party. Mark, with only his lariat for a bridle, was going nearer to them at every jump. Those of us who knew the horse felt that there would be no stopping or turning him until he reached those men; and our hearts were in our mouths, so to speak, as we watched Mark's progress and realized his peril. We caught up our best horses, and saddling them as quickly as possible started after him. I well remember how I felt as with my horse bounding under me I made for that hill. Momentarily I expected to see the smoke of a flint-lock, and keenly I watched Mark as he sat on his flying steed, for pull up as he might I knew he could not stop him. In a few moments he was in the midst of the party, but to our great relief was given a friendly greeting instead of the fusilade we had feared. Presently he started to come back, and we pulled up our horses and waited to hear from him who these were. When we met Mark told us that the strangers were plain Crees on the war-path, going into the Blackfoot country, and though unacquainted with us still they were the allies of our people. Mark said they were coming down to visit us, so we returned to our camp. The war party came along in the course of an hour or so, and concluded to camp with us for the night, though I am sure no one in our party gave them a pressing invitation to do this. To be under the necessity of watching within as well as without your own camp becomes rather tiresome. We put on double guards that night, and were relieved when our friends started away bright and early Monday morning, allowing us to go on with our hunt. I have seen great numbers of grey wolves, but never, I think, did I see them more numerous than at this time. Troops of these native scavengers would hang around our encampment and prowl very close up during the long night watches. When we were butchering the animals we had killed, they would form a circle around us, and impatiently wait until we had our meat loaded into the carts. Then, as we moved away, they would rush in and scramble and fight for the offal which we left. Many a wild fight amongst them we witnessed, but as ammunition was none too plentiful, we seldom shot any. Their howling, especially at night, was blood-curdling and terrifying to the inexperienced. Indeed, one could not at any time hear their deep, long, mournful notes without a lonesome and uncanny feeling. There are two distinct kinds of these animals. The coyote and the big grey wolf belong to the plains and are altogether different from the timber or wood wolf. The latter can become dangerous, while the former never seem able to muster enough courage to attack human beings. By the middle of the following week our carts were loaded to their utmost capacity and were rolling homewards. As the days were short we generally started long before daylight, and while I have had plenty of this ante-dawn travel I confess I never relished it. To roll out of your blankets into the keen cold of a young winter's, morning, and then hastily roll up your bedding, place it in a cart, then rush out into the dark and catch and bring in the horses or oxen you drive, and with tingling fingers harness them into the carts committed to your care; and then as the leading cart begins to signal its onward move by its own peculiar squeak and squeal, to place your carts where they belong in the line of march; to come to ponds and creeks covered with ice as yet not strong enough to bear your weight, and yet through which you perforce must wade in order to secure the safe crossing of your loads, your wet moccasins and nether garments stiffening with the intense cold as you march,--I will say that while I in common with most pioneers in our Canadian North-West frequently did this, still I am free to admit that I was never in love with it. What a big market-square we have to take our winter's food from--hundreds of miles in length and breadth, with great widely distant valleys like stalls furnishing us with the food we seek, the quality of which depends on the skill of the hunter. And right here my friend Muddy Bull comes in as a reliable guarantor that what we take home will be first-class. On we roll. Our only delays are breaking axles and splitting felloes and snapping dowel-pins; but who cares for such trifles as these while we have the fresh green hides of the buffalos we have killed. The green hide serves as both wheelwright and blacksmith as it dries upon the weak portion of our vehicle. And while the kettle boils and the meat is roasting almost anyone in our party with axe and auger and saw will put a new axle in working trim. Ah! those were the days wherein to cultivate self-help and independence. The man who was not capable of this manner of evolution very soon drifted back into the older countries. But here is the river and we are almost home. Fording our stock in the rapids, about half a mile down, we unload the meat, "pack" it over in a skiff, and taking some carts to pieces we "pack" them over also in the skiff for use on the north side, leaving the rest until the ice-bridge forms. Then when all is safe on the stage at home we feel that unless a crowd of starving Indians come to us, we have our larder full for some time to come. And this was very satisfactory to us in those days when we were so far away from any outside help and so dependent on the movements of buffalo herds and contending tribes of Indians. Sometimes the buffalo were far out on the great plains, and inaccessible to us; sometimes hostile Indians intervened, so that we dare not leave our people or in any way divide our forces; but the opening of the winter of 1865 found our stage loaded with prime meat and our party together and in the enjoyment of many blessings. There generally is in our northern country a short period which is neither summer nor winter, and if possible all travel ceases for a time. It would not be prudent to start out with horses, and without snow and ice dogs are of no use. This time we made use of by making ready for the winter. Buildings were to be repaired and washed over with white mud, which by the way is a very good substitute for lime. Hay was to be hauled, fire-wood to be cut in the log and hauled home, then to be sawed and split for use. In the meantime, as now there was a permanent settlement at Victoria, and good congregations, meetings of various character had to be organized. Christianity, temperance, education, civilization must be inculcated, and on all these questions father was thoroughly alive. Then the snow fell and the ice made, and with Mark as my companion we began our evangelistic and missionary trips. Our first was to Edmonton, and thence to Pigeon Lake, during which time we tried to preach the Gospel to white men and Crees and Stonies. Even then it was becoming easier for me to speak in Cree than in English. My brain and voice functions were almost in constant use in the former, and but seldom did I require them in the language wherein I was born. Steadily I was becoming able to give the glorious Gospel of the Lord Jesus to others in the tongue and idiom of the language "wherein they were born." CHAPTER XII. A visit to Whitefish Lake--A devoted Indian missionary--Mark and I go out after buffalo--Mark proves himself a brilliant hunter--Our camp visited by wolves--Muddy Bull's generosity--We reach home with full loads of meat. The first or breaking-in trip for both men and dogs in the winter of 1865-66 was a three-hundred-mile run, and we lost no time between camps and posts. Although we had the roads to break, still the snow was not deep. Upon our return I took my wife over to Whitefish Lake to visit her parents and people, and we spent Sunday in Mr. Steinhauer's parish, where I learned more of the Cree language and acquired a clearer insight into the religious experience and life and language of these western people. As I have said before I will say here again, Mr. Steinhauer was an ideal missionary. He gave himself with entire devotion to his work. His best was always to the front, and God blessed his efforts. The cycles of eternity will reveal the good this faithful servant accomplished. It was always an inspiration to spend a few days on his mission. Hurrying back to Victoria, we made a dash out to see where the camps were south and east of us, and finding some of these after a two days' run, we held a series of meetings with them, and shared in their shortage of provisions, for we found that the buffalo had gone far out and there had been considerable hardship in consequence. Moreover Blackfeet and southern Indians had made several successful raids, in which quite a number of horses had been stolen. There had been some reciprocity indulged in, too, by the wood and plain Crees, and these marauding parties had effectually driven the buffalo farther out. "But," said the old men, "cold weather is near, and the men will stay at home, and the buffalo will come into this north country"; a prophecy that we heartily hoped would prove true. We visited several camps and were cordially welcomed, our message being eagerly listened to. Many in these lodges heard for the first time the story of redemption. It was on this trip that Mark and I, desiring to see for ourselves where the buffalo were, and if possible secure loads of meat to take home, started out bright and early one morning, and following a hunting trail, travelled fast plainward for the whole day. Just as night was setting in we met a small hunting party, and camping with them shared their hospitality, which, as their hunt had been a poor one, was very meagre fare indeed. But even poor meat is better than none, and as these Indians told us of buffalo which they had not disturbed because they were discouraged with poor guns and bad shooting, we went to sleep that night fully determined to have a trial of our luck on the morrow. Accordingly with the first peep of day we were off, and, continuing southward, about ten o'clock came to the edge of a large plain, away out in the centre of which we could see quite a herd of buffalo. Going to the last point of timber, we tied our dogs in the centre of a large bluff and started out on the plain. The buffalo were about five miles distant, but as we had to keep under cover behind hills and along valleys and small gullies--sometimes having to crawl at full length for a considerable distance, where it was impossible to go otherwise without being seen by the advance scouts of the wary herd--it was late in the afternoon when we came within four hundred yards of the nearest buffalo. Here Mark after carefully scanning the lay of the land said to me, "You had better stay here, and I will try and approach alone. You can watch the movement of the herd and follow up after I have shot." So I shoved up a small hummock of snow before me and quietly watched a fine sample of scouting. Centuries of heredity and years of practice were now in full play before my eager eyes. I was almost ravenous. Some poor meat eaten before daylight was all I had had to appease my hunger that day, and miles of travel in the sharp keen frosty air to where we left our dogs, and since then hours of running and walking and crawling to this point, had contributed to give me a tolerably keen appetite. We wanted meat for urgent present need, and we wanted loads of it to take home, and now the whole matter looked exceedingly doubtful. Yonder were the lines of great bulls, some of them standing and others lying down, some feeding and others quietly chewing their cuds, but all on the alert. Beyond these huge sentinels and surrounded by them were the cows, the meat of which was the object of our quest. Mark had but a smooth-bore single-barrelled flint-lock. No long distance shooting for him. He must get close. He must pass through the line of bulls. Could he do it? That was the question on my mind as I moved from side to side on my frozen snowy couch. With his white blanket belted around him, and the upper half covering his head and shoulders, Mark was steadily making towards the herd. Fortunately the day was calm, so that the danger of giving scent was small. For interminable periods, as it seemed to me, I lost sight of my companion, and then in a totally unexpected quarter he would reappear, but always nearer to our game. Now he was among the bulls, and I almost held my breath as I saw him push himself past a great big fellow where a blow from horn or hoof might be instant death to the brave hunter. But with consummate skill he made his way past the bull and was right in amongst the great black fellows and quite lost to sight. Darkness was coming on fast, and the suspense to me as I lay watching became almost unbearable. Cold, anxiety, hunger, each was doing its work on brain and heart and stomach. But presently I saw the whole herd start, and there came in sight a puff of smoke, followed by the report of Mark's first shot, and away I went after the flying buffalo. As I ran I heard another report, and then I came suddenly upon a dead cow. Concluding that this was the result of Mark's first shot, and that in good time he would come back to this point, I set to work to skin the carcase, and was thus engaged when I heard Mark approaching. He was glad to see me, and I delighted at his return in safety. He had killed two cows. This one we were at was his first. Then as the buffalo bunched up and fled he had run to one side and, reloading, had continued running until the herd slowed up. He had then drawn in under cover and shot the second cow. I admired his pluck and skill and speed, and told him so, but he only quietly replied, "These cows are fat, John, and we will have better meat to-night than we had last night." We were now on the southerly edge of the plain, and about eight miles from where we left our dogs early in the day. After brief deliberation it was decided that Mark should remain to butcher the cows and look up the nearest camping place, while I should cross the plains and bring back our dogs. Taking my direction, I availed myself of buffalo trails in the snow as much as possible, and when I left one to cross country to another, I marked the spot as strongly as I could upon my memory, and took my bearings of the place as well as I could in the winter's darkness which surrounded me. In a very short time I was at the bluff and found the dogs. Unfastening them I brought my train, with old Draffan still in the lead, and put them on my track, and then brought out Mark's train and shouted, "Marse, Draffan!" and away we went. Fortunately there was no wind, and though the night was dark Draffan's instinct and my memory as to where to cross from one buffalo path to another worked well. Once or twice I stopped the dogs and struck a match, and was delighted to find we were on a hard buffalo path. Thus we came at a good pace back to where the first cow was. But before we reached the spot Mark came looming up out of the darkness to meet us. The faithful fellow had been anxious; and now he thought it was his turn to tell me that I had done well in finding the dogs and returning them quick and straight. We used the hide of the cow as a floor for our camp, and soon we had a cheerful fire and meat cooking and dogs fed; and though it was long past midnight before we finished our meal and were ready for bed, yet with light hearts we sang a hymn and knelt in prayer and thankfully rested. We were now four days' journey from the Mission, but we had found the people and also the buffalo. We had loads of good cow meat to take home, where our supply was rapidly getting low, and as we turned under our blankets in that small bluff, with the canopy of the sky as our roof and the horizon as our walls, it might be cold, it certainly was isolated, and yet we were happy in the satisfaction of success. I, a Scotch-and-English-Canadian, and my Mountain Stony friend, I believe, did that early morning more than ever before appreciate the kingliness of God and the brotherhood of man. When daylight came Mark went out to see how the meat of our second cow had fared, for prairie wolves and coyotes were in great numbers around us. Mark had built a great fire before he left, and I was lazily dozing beside it waiting for his return, when presently there was a great commotion amongst our dogs. Jumping up, I saw a monster wolf just across the fire. He was snapping and snarling at the dogs, who were barking at him with much vigor, but prudently not venturing to attack him. For this I was abundantly glad, as undoubtedly he had some distemper or he would not have thus come into our camp. I could have shot him, but I was afraid to do so lest in his death-struggles he might wound some of our dogs; so I went at him with firebrands, and after some effort was glad to see him continue his course through the bluff. [Illustration: "I went at him with firebrands."] When Mark returned he reported that some of the meat had been taken by the wolves, but that these had come to the animal just a little before him, and had not had time to take much. We then hurriedly ate our breakfast and drove over to where the meat was, took this on, and started for home. Notwithstanding our loads we made good time, and reached the outer camp of Indians about 9 p.m. We found that Muddy Bull, who had been away on the chase while we passed, had returned and, as usual with him, had made a great hunt. He generously supplemented our loads with tongues and backfats and bosses, so that when we left his camp that night we were well provisioned. Continuing our journey we passed several small camps _en route_, and stopping about 2 a.m., slept for a few hours and were away again by daylight. Pushing on, we reached home the third day of the return journey, bringing word of Indians and buffalo, which missionaries and traders and settlers were all delighted to hear. CHAPTER XIII. A run to Edmonton--Mr. Hardisty and other Hudson's Bay Company officers spend New Year's with us--Sports and amusements--Our party sets out for Mountain House--I experience a "scare"--Intense cold--A cunning dog--Mishaps to a cariole--In the foot-hills--My first view of the Rockies--Hearty reception at Mountain House--Back to Victoria. It was now the middle of December, and father arranged to spend a Sabbath in Edmonton before the winter holidays came on. I went as cariole driver, and Mark brought on the provision and baggage sled. A little more than a day and a half brought us to the fort, and while we were there Mr. Hardisty and party arrived from the Rocky Mountain House. This fort and trading-post had been abandoned by the Hudson's Bay Company for some years, but in the summer of 1865 it was decided to reopen it in order to draw the trade of the surrounding Indian tribes--Blackfeet and Bloods, Piegans and Sarcees--as also to keep these turbulent tribes as much as possible from collision with the wood and plain Crees, their hereditary foes. Mr. Hardisty had been put in charge of this enterprise, and with a large complement of men and an ample outfit, had gone overland during the autumn to the site of the abandoned post. A temporary fort was built in the woods near by, and his men were now taking out timber and sawing lumber preparatory to the erection of permanent buildings during the next season. The old fort had been the scene of many a fight between the contending tribes, and as the Hudson's Bay Company invariably followed a "peace policy," not only between themselves and the various tribes, but also in preserving amity among the different races, they had given up the fort and in so doing lost a large portion of the southern trade. But now that the Crees had moved farther east, Victoria had become an important post, intermediate between Edmonton and Fort Pitt, and the reasonable conclusion presented itself that the Blackfeet and southern trade might now again be secured by rebuilding the Mountain Fort. Mr. Hardisty and Messrs. McAnley and MacDonald returned with us to spend the holidays at Victoria, father having promised to go to the Mountain Fort directly after New Year's day, for the two-fold purpose of meeting the Mountain Stonies, who were expected there then, and also of marrying Mr. McAuley to Miss Brazeau, the daughter of the second officer in charge of the fort. On our return trip to Victoria, in company with the Hudson's Bay officers, we did not camp, but leaving Edmonton in the evening we journeyed all night, reaching Victoria early next morning. As I had father in my cariole, and the rest of the party were comparatively light, the run of between ninety and a hundred miles was a hard one for my team. But old Draffan and his driver did not come in last by any means. Readers of "FOREST, LAKE AND PRAIRIE" will remember that in the autumn of 1862 Gladstone and I began this place. In loneliness sublime our leather lodge stood on the north bank of the big Saskatchewan. Little more than three years have passed, and this is now the rendezvous of several large camps of Indians. Wood and plain Crees and wood Stonies have frequented the spot. A colony of some twenty-five families of English half-breeds have settled beside us. The Hudson's Bay Company have established a post alongside the Mission. The Mission party has been augmented by the arrival of father and mother, and part of the family from Norway House, and of my brother and sister from Ontario. I have taken unto me a wife, and we are no more alone at Victoria. The holidays of 1865-66 were full of pleasurable excitement. Religious services and literary entertainments and concerts occupied the evenings, and out-door games, such as football, snowshoe and dog-train races and foot races, were provided for the day. Thus the fun and enjoyment were kept up. Then came watch-night with its solemnity and New Year's day as the culmination of our feasting and innocent frolic. The second day of January, 1866, found us driving our dog-teams westward for the Mountain House. Again I had father and the cariole as far as Edmonton, and from that point we had the Chief Factor of the Saskatchewan District, William Christie, Esq., as one of our company. The distance between Edmonton and the Mountain House is 180 miles. We left the fort about four o'clock one dark morning, our train comprising in all nine sleds. I had a load of baggage, a portion of which gave me quite a start. As I jumped on the sled while going down a gentle slope, there seemed to be a living, moving object lashed in my load, for it moved under my moccasined feet. Instantly I sprang into the snow, and then it flashed upon me that it was a bag of mashed potatoes which a friend was sending to the Mountain House and which had not yet frozen. I laughed at my scare, but at five o'clock on a dark stormy morning in a narrow winding forest path, a very little will startle one. The cold was intense, a keen cutting wind making us keep a sharp lookout for frostbites. The road was drifted and very heavy, so that when night came on we were glad enough to make camp, which we pitched in a spruce grove at the eastern base of the Woodpecker Hills. Pile on the logs as we would, still the cold was bound to assert itself, and our clothing alternately steamed and froze as we turned before that fire. The Chief Factor and father, who had been constrained to sit in one position in their coffin-like carioles since five o'clock in the morning, were now making up for it by indulging in lively anecdote and joke and repartee. Pemmican and hot tea went a long way towards heating the internal man, and the great fire did something for our extremities. But the cold was omnipresent. In great chunks, in morsels, in atoms, it was all about us. You could reach out and grasp it. You could shiver in your clothes and feel it. You could almost smell it and see it, and you could hear it plainly enough as with might and force it strained the very earth and made the forest monarchs crack as if these were so many ends to its lash. Hours before daybreak we were climbing the hills and crossing the ice-bound creeks and lakes, and those of us who had loads or carioles to drive were "running with patience" (at times) "the race set before us." The bridegroom-elect being the shortest-legged of the party, and I doubt not the shortest-winded also, generally brought up the rear. Even if he started out ahead, or in the middle of the procession, before many miles were passed he fell behind. The law of gravitation was doing its work. From the rear at frequent intervals would come the shout to Pat (his leading dog), "Marse!" uttered with a strong Scotch accent. Pat was a big white dog with a short bobtail. He also had a peculiar twist of the head and a squint of the eye which gave him a wise, knowing appearance. If he had lived in these latter days, and become possessed of eye-glasses, doubtless he would have been given a degree! The shrewd fellow seemed to know that his master was on an important mission, and the dignity of leading a train the owner and driver of which was on his way to be married, was fully apparent to "His Dogness." His demeanor _en route_ and around camp was simply taking. Pat and his master gave us endless fun on that trip. When these would come up, which was generally after camp was made, the Chief Factor, the Chairman of the Hudson's Bay Missions, and the rest of our party became all attention, and Pat and his master were the centre of joke and fun. Their account of the morning's or afternoon's run (I say their, for Pat would by nod and look confirm his master's recital) was sure to "bring the house down." We were unanimously thankful during the days and nights of that very cold trip for the stimulating presence of Pat and our short-limbed bridegroom-elect. During our second afternoon's run, while making through a rough country, we came to an exceedingly sidling place in the trail. Having sent my own load past and helped father over it, I thought I would wait and see what our rearguard was doing. After some time I heard "Marse, Pat!" coming from the little Scot's big lungs (for have you not noticed that Nature in the nice balance of her equity generally gives the little man a big pair of lungs), and soon Pat hove in sight, his tongue protruding, and the breath from his big mouth making little clouds of frozen vapor in the sharp cold air. The cunning old dog was making the appearance of doing it all, but all the while I could see that his traces were slack. Soon dogs and sled were on the sidling road down the hill, and over went the cariole and down the slope rolled its contents. Pat and his companions felt the load lighten, and just then remembered that they were far behind, and in vain my friend shouted "Whoa, Pat, whoa!" On went the train, and now I came upon the scene. The bridegroom-elect shouted, "Catch those dogs, John! I say, John, stop those dogs!" Laughing as I ran, I caught and pulled Pat up, righted the cariole and held the train while the little Celt gathered up the fragments, which I saw largely consisted of presents from Edmonton friends to the marriage supper, now nearly two days nearer in view than when we started. Nicely cut roasts of beef and pork, bottles of wine, and sundry parcels lay around in sweet confusion. It took some time to gather them up and pack them in place in that parchment-sided, primitive vehicle; and all this time his owner was discoursing on Pat's good qualities--"were it not for his big load he would take the lead," etc. After a time everything was adjusted again, and on we went, camping that night among the rolling hills west of Blindman's River. Another "stingo" night and away long before day. Roads heavy, snow deep, day so cloudy and stormy that the promised view of the Rockies failed to realize. There were some of us in the party who had travelled far and wide in the North-West for from five to fifteen years, and as yet had not seen the mountains. We were now looking keenly for the first glimpse of them, but the third night came, and still because of cloud and storm we had not beheld them. Our camp that night was made on the wooded summit of a foot-hill. We were climbing the world fast. If it had been moonlight or clear daylight we would have looked upon a sea of mountains, but darkness and storm and smoke were our portion instead. The smoke from our camp-fire found no vacuum in the overhanging atmosphere, but on the contrary was pressed to the ground about our camp. In fact the conditions were such that I think of that "hill summit camp" as one of the more disagreeable experiences of my frontier life. Gladly we left it while hours of the long night were still unspent, and as daylight came we were ascending another big foot-hill, from the summit of which I first beheld the glorious old Rockies. Spellbound and in rapture I gazed upon the sublime spectacle before me. How supremely beyond my largest imaginings those lofty ranges stood revealed to the delighted senses. The clouds had disappeared, and in clear, distinct outline hundreds of snow-clad peaks stood out as if cut by a mighty diamond upon the dimly lighted morning sky. The beauty of the scene intensely moved me. The majesty and power apparent were most satisfying to my soul. The God who made these made me also: I felt exultant in the thought. But now the morning sun had clearly risen, and as I looked the highest peaks were illumined as by electric touch, and scores of great beacon-fires seemed to have sprung into instantaneous being. And the great picture quickly grew. Snow-clad summit and glacier glint and granite wall and forest growth speedily became transformed as with the touches of a million brushes. Halos of light, radiant and grandly bright, spread themselves upon the mighty canvas. In rapture I beheld and worshipped. I had seen a glimpse of the glory of the Eternal, and still I lived. As I reluctantly left the scene and ran to catch up with our party over the foot-hills and across the wide valley beyond, I was elated above measure. What matter the cost in travel and cold and extreme hardship, I had seen the mountains, and the sight would be a perennial blessing in my life. When I came up to our party they were already descending the sloping bank of the Saskatchewan. Miles of this, and then an almost perpendicular jump or slide, and we were on the ice of the river, following up which for a couple of miles we reached the temporary fort. It was early morn, but up went the flag, and the little metropolis was all excitement in consequence of our arrival. The Chief Factor in those days was supreme in his own district. And what a district! From below the junction of the two Saskatchewans it stretched to the Columbia, and from the forty-ninth parallel it extended to the north tributaries of the Peace River. Father's field was still larger, in that it stretched eastward down to below Oxford House and close to Hudson Bay. No wonder the roughly built but strongly made fort was _en fete_ when such ecclesiastical and commercial dignity came suddenly upon it. Our welcome was hearty, and that of our "rearguard" doubly so. We were fortunate in meeting here numbers of Mountain Stonies and Blackfeet, hardy, muscular mountaineers and wild plain Indians, both comparatively new types to me. The temporary fort was built on a low flat near the river. The permanent new fort was to be placed on a higher bench. I found that the site of Mountain Fort was about sixty miles from the real base of the mountains and on the north bank of the North Saskatchewan. We spent a Sabbath at the fort. Father held services for both whites and Indians. In due time the marriage was solemnized, and the wedding supper eaten, and we began our return journey. As the cold had intensified there was no loitering by the way, and early the third day we were back at Edmonton. Sixty miles per day was not bad travelling in such hard weather. The last night we left camp about midnight. I wrapped father in his cariole and kept it right side up until we stopped for breakfast. The next day we started for Victoria, and camping once, arrived there early the second day, right glad to be at home once more. CHAPTER XIV. Home occupations--A course of lectures--Mark and Jimmie as raconteurs--Mark's success as a deer-killer--A buffalo chase on a dog-sled--Our first child is born--Chickens at eight shillings apiece! The big open fire-places in the Mission house were delightful spots beside which to spend a few hours after a trip such as we had just concluded; but such was the extent of our moving circuit, and such our circumstances, that we could spare but very few hours at home. Many camps must be visited and many mouths must be fed. Mark and I and a lad named Jimmie Horn were kept pretty constantly on the move, now bringing in loads of fresh meat, and the next trip loads of dried provisions wherewith to make pemmican for summer use. We generally managed to keep Sunday in some Indian camp or at the Mission. If the former, the whole day was one continuous series of meetings. I would go from one chief's tent to that of another, and the respective followers would crowd the lodges while I did my best to tell the pagan and barbarous people the old, old story of Jesus and His love. Many a night, at the close of a long day's run, I would give informal lectures on civilization and education, telling my eager listeners what Christianity was doing for man in other parts of the world; and all this time I was learning the language and studying the people. Old men and painted and feathered warriors and the youth of these camps crowded the lodges in which I made my temporary home. There was no rest while in Indian camps, and not until we were in our own seven-by-eight-foot hole in the snow, with wood cut and carried and piled at hand and dogs fed, would I sit down to rest both mind and body, and be free for a time from the inquisitive and eager listening and questionings of these people to whom we were sent. Then Mark and Jimmie would take their turn. Jimmie was a lad of nimble legs, but of much nimbler tongue. Had he not come from the famous Red River? He had even visited old Fort Garry, and he would fairly take Mark's breath as he drew from the range of his wide experience. Mark would tell of the mountains, and grizzlies and panthers and avalanches, and encounters with the enemy, till Jimmie's eyes would bulge with excitement. I would look on and listen and rest. Then before retiring Mark would lead in prayer in his mother-tongue, which neither Jimmie nor myself could understand, though we always said "Amen." During short intervals at the Mission Mark made several hunting excursions, and killed some moose and deer. One night he came home and reported one moose killed and another wounded. Early next morning we went out and killed the wounded moose and brought the meat of both home. Another time he killed two deer, and brought back word that the forest was so dense the meat would have to be packed to the river some miles above. Accordingly he and I took our dogs and drove up the river opposite to where the deer lay. Fastening the dogs, we struck into the forest, and coming across fresh tracks of more deer, we went after these and killed two more. It was midnight before we had packed the meat of the four deer to the place where our dogs and sleds were. Hard work it was, but the venison was good, and our larder was handsomely replenished. All that winter the wood Cree camps were from one hundred to one hundred and fifty miles distant from the Mission. The buffalo kept out south of these camps, and sometimes were a long distance from them. But now that there was a regularly established post beside the Mission, trading parties and settlers and Indians kept passing to and fro, giving us comparatively good roads, and thus enabling us to travel quickly. Once well loaded with either dried provisions or fresh meat, we lost no time on the road. It was on one of the trips we made at this time that we were stopping for the day in Ka-kake's camp, which was situated beside a pound for catching buffalo, when, hearing of another cluster of lodges some ten or twelve miles distant, I made a run over to see the people, and while coming back the same afternoon I ran across a fine herd of buffalo. As my leader was obedient to the word, I thought "now is my chance to run that herd over to the pound." I had no load whatever on the sled, so I gripped the ground-lashing with both hands and feet, and sent the dogs after the herd, or rather to one side of it. My dogs went into the hunt most heartily, and sometimes brought me dangerously near to the flying mass. Then I would get them under control again, and on we went from side to side, but always nearing the point of timber where the pound was. Presently we came within the lines of "dumb-watchers," and now these helped us, and I kept looking, when I could spare a glance, to see some move in camp. But as the lodges were behind the bluff, and the Indians did not look for buffalo at the time, no one saw us until it was too late to prepare and run the herd into the pound; so, after bringing the buffalo close up to camp, I had the bitterness of seeing them break through the "head sentinels" and dash away. But what a ride I had that afternoon, my big dogs jumping together, and with long leaps making the sled leap also. It required a firm grip to stay on that narrow sled, and also dexterous poising to keep right side up. Down hills, across valleys, over knolls, jumping the rough frozen snow where thousands of buffalo had rooted and tramped only a few days before, certainly that was a toboggan ride with a race against a herd of buffalo thrown in; and the only disappointment was that after bringing the bunch to the pound, the Indians were not there to receive them. When Ka-kake came in that evening he loudly lamented that we had not been seen in time, for, said he, "It would have given a name to this part of the country and to my camp, and men would have pointed to this as the place where John brought buffalo into the pound with his dog-train." One day in February, 1866, while I was at home, my mother, coming down stairs, congratulated me on the birth of a daughter, and when I knew that mother and child were well I mentally and consciously made a step forward in being. It was as God would have it. We gave our first-born the good old Scotch name of Flora, which also belonged to my youngest sister. About the middle of March father made another pastoral visit to Edmonton, and as we remained over for Monday, I went out to St. Albert, the Roman Catholic Mission north of Edmonton, to find, if I could, some domestic chickens, as mother had often expressed a strong desire for some. It took me all day to drive about twenty-five miles and find the chickens and buy them, the latter two enterprises being the most difficult of the three. At last I purchased three birds, two hens and a cock, paying for them eight shillings each--six dollars to start a poultry farm in our part of the country! Wild-duck eggs were very good in their place, but unfortunately for cooking purposes these were generally some way on in the process of incubation before we obtained them, and mother with her eastern ideas did long for a few fresh eggs occasionally. I was quite proud of my purchase, but was rather taken aback when at the supper table that evening the august Chief Factor inquired of me what I had paid for those chickens, and when I told him eight shillings each, he pooh-poohed the whole thing; and while I was not prepared for such criticism, I could but answer that this was largely a matter of sentiment, that I had often been where if I had it I would have given all that to hear a cock crow. The old gentleman gave me up as incorrigible. However, to the credit of humanity it must be said that we are not all Peters. The crow of a cock or the tinkling of a cow-bell often have been as sweetest music in the ear of a poor lost traveller. CHAPTER XV. David and I visit Lac la Biche--High-priced seed wheat--Our party sets out for Pigeon Lake--Old Joseph--Paul Chian--Samson--Our larder depleted--We organize a hunt--Precarious living--Old Paul proves himself a skilful guide--Samson tells of a tragic murder by Blackfeet--We move cautiously--Broiled owlets as a delicacy--I shoot an elk--Little Paul's flint-lock hangs fire--Samson's brilliant hunting feats--Feasting on antlers. Just before the winter was breaking up, my brother David and myself made a trip to Lac la Biche to try if we could procure some seed wheat. The Roman Catholic priest was the only person who had any to dispose of, and we traded a few bushels from him, giving him pemmican pound for pound. Very dear wheat that, costing us, independent of freight, at least ten cents per pound, besides a two hundred mile tramp to get it. But we needed it, and it was good grain. The reader will notice that here was wheat grown eight hundred miles west of the Red River, and one hundred miles north of the North Saskatchewan! The spring was now upon us, the Indians were coming in in large numbers, and the time was at hand for our going back to Pigeon Lake in accordance with our promise to the Crees and Stonies. Therefore our small party, consisting of my wife and young child, an elderly widow and her boy of some seven or eight years, and Mark and myself, bade the rest of the Mission party good-bye, and crossing the Saskatchewan just before the ice broke up, turned our faces westward on the southern trail. As food was limited, and our means of transport by no means large, we hunted on our way as much as possible, saving what dried provisions we had for future use. Ducks and rabbits formed the principal part of our fare. In due time we were at the end of the cart-road, and then packing the rest of the way we came to the new Mission, and found some Indians there already waiting for us. Among these were old Joseph and Paul Chian, the latter a French half-breed, but a staunch Protestant. The readers of "SADDLE, SLED AND SNOWSHOE" will remember Joseph as a consistent Sabbatarian and a really plucky fellow. Paul but now comes on the scene of our narrative. He was a true man, and having embraced Christianity and espoused Protestantism, was invaluable to me. These and others heartily welcomed us, and our daily meetings were seasons of blessing. Camp after camp came in, mountain and wood Stonies and Crees--pagans and Christians--ours was a truly cosmopolitan gathering. Gambling and conjuring, heathen feasts and our own singing and preaching and praying were interchanging exercises of day and night. When I was not holding meetings or attending councils I was hunting or fishing, or trying to garden; but as to the latter, our means were limited and seeds few. Among the wood Crees who came to us for the first time was one called Samson. He was old Paul's son-in-law, and he and I became fast friends from the first. There was an instinctive understanding between us. By the middle of May our nomadic congregation was scattering to the four winds. We had done what we could in sowing the seeds of truth and righteousness, as we understood it, though we were but babes ourselves in this great matter. All we could do was to leave our disappearing congregation to the Lord. In the meantime, as provisions were low, we concluded to pitch away on a hunting expedition, some six or seven lodges accompanying us on the trip. In our party were old Paul and Samson. As ours was what might be called a wood-hunt, it would not be practicable to go in large parties, for the reason that the food supply would be a difficulty. Drying some fish to start with, we left the lake and struck eastward across Battle River, below where our present Mission is situated. Though we were constantly on guard, day and night, yet we did not apprehend that the enemy were near, knowing that the buffalo were far out on the plains and that this was not the usual season for war parties. Our living for the first week or two was very precarious. We had with us my first cow, one I had traded from old Joseph. As there was no one left at the lake, we had to take her along with us; but as she gave no milk she was only a care and burden to the party. Rabbits, ducks, geese, owls, hawks, bear, beaver, badger, porcupine, skunk--there was certain variety in our bill of fare, but there was no certain quantity of it. Sometimes we were filled, and oftentimes we were empty, not knowing when or how we should get our next meal. Our mode of transport was on horseback or on foot. As yet there were no cart or waggon roads in or out of the Pigeon Lake country. Old Paul, who was an invalid and could move only with difficulty because of some spinal trouble, but who knew that part of the country as other men knew their quarter-sections, sat on his horse and led the way. Part of our able-bodied hunters scouted along the line of march, while the others struck out on either hand in search of game. Our whole camp, as to food supply, was communistic--we shared alike. Weather permitting and provisions allowing it, we generally held two services in the day. In the early morn, while the dew was on the grass, we sang our hymns and knelt together in prayer. And in the evening in camp, when the hunters had come in and our horses were picketed or driven close and hobbled, again we met. I would read a few verses and comment on them, and with hymn and prayer we closed the day. And old Paul, life-long warrior and scout and hunter, what delightful sites he chose for our camp! Security, utility and beauty were sure to harmonize in his selection. Beside rippling stream or glistening lakelet, with growing grass and budding flowers and leafy foliage, with Mother Nature's breath full and fragrant of early summer, how like hallowed sanctuaries those camping spots were! Verily God blessed us as we journeyed, and souls were born again. Samson and I were inseparable in those days. I wanted to be the friend of all, but I could not help being his friend. We became brothers in the regular native style, and cemented a bond which continues unto this day. Soon after we crossed the Battle River, one beautiful morning, bright and early, Samson and old Paul's son, whom we called "little Paul," and myself left our camp to come slowly on, while we set out on a scouting and hunting trip in advance. Steadily we jogged over hill and plain, through a lovely park-like country, Samson quietly regaling us with hunting and war exploits. On the brow of a mossy knoll, which still showed the travois markings which proved it to have been an old Blackfoot trail, Samson paused, and pointing to a spot just in front of us, said: "Right here one of the bravest of our men was slain. Crowds were in ambush for him, and, knowing the man, did not give him the slightest chance to resist. He was a Mountain Stony and an old friend of mine. He was one of that kind who know no fear. Men or beasts, it was all the same. Here he died, and the Blackfeet say that while they killed him he smiled upon them. He was one of those who listened to the first praying men." As we rode along past the spot where the brave man had died, one could not help but grip his gun and keep a sharp look-out, for the same conditions still governed this whole country. As we had set out without a mouthful of provision, and now had ridden some hours, I began to feel hungry. Fortunately about noon we came athwart an owl's nest, one of the largest kind, and though it was up in the top of a tall tree, we could see that the owlets were large. Little Paul climbed the tree and brought them down. There was one apiece, and in a very little time they were roasting on willow "broiling sticks" before a quick fire. The birds were fat and juicy, and most agreeably eased the pangs of hunger, after which we proceeded with better spirits. Our course was straight out toward the big plains. We did not see any game, nor did we stop to hunt, as Samson desired to travel a certain distance in order to determine if possible the presence or non-presence of hostile camps. Late in the evening we camped in a secluded spot. Little Paul drew the load from his flintlock, and putting in small charges of powder and shot, killed some rabbits, which we roasted for our supper. Tethering our horses close, little Paul and I stood guard the first part of the night. After midnight Samson went on guard while we slept, and with the first peep of day he woke us; but before we were fairly astir he said, "If we do not meet during the day, we will meet at this place to-night," and he was away. Little Paul and I saddled up and started out on our own line. We rode quietly, listening intently for a shot from Samson's gun. Presently as the sun was freshly gilding the hills, making millions of crystal dew-drops to reflect his rays, I caught sight of something over the brow of a knoll at the edge of some timber. We cautiously scouted for a closer view, and there before us were two large buck elk feeding on the browse and leaves. "Now, John, this is your chance," whispered my companion, and alighting from our horses we fastened them and crawled towards the elk. When we could see them plainly, we found that one was much larger than the other, and little Paul said to me, "You fire at the big fellow, and I will take the other." We were now at the end of our cover, and rising up I let drive at the larger of the two. But when little Paul attempted to shoot, his treacherous old flint-lock hung fire, and both man and beast had moved before it went off. Both elk jumped into the thicket, and reloading we rushed in after them. We soon came upon mine, still standing, but badly hurt. I let him have another shot, and this finished him. The other was gone on the jump through the woods. My companion and I straightened the dead elk for skinning, and then went for our horses. Having done this we began to skin and cut up our game, of course keeping watch all the time. Samson's blood-curdling facts, related so recently, made us more than ordinarily watchful, for we knew that our three shots fired in quick succession would be heard a long way in the clear morning air. [Illustration: "Rising up I let drive at the larger of the two."] We had scarcely got started at the work of skinning the elk, when the uneasiness of our horses indicated some movement in sight. We seized our guns and sprang to see what it was, when to our delight Samson rode up. "Well, what luck?" he asked. We showed him our "kill," and told him of the other elk. He said he had killed a large jumping deer, but that hearing our shots he had galloped to see what was the matter. "And now I am here," he added, "I will leave my horse with you and go on the track of the elk." Saying which, away he sprang into the thicket on the trail of the flying beast. We were not half through with our task when we heard a shot, and presently Samson was back with us to report the death of the other elk. "Now," said he, "the carcase is about half way from here to where my deer lies. Let us pack this one over to his comrade, and then have our breakfast, after which we can cache the meat of the three animals and take the hides and part of the meat and strike back to camp." As he was the captain of our hunt this was done. We had breakfast on elk horn and bits of tripe and the marrow of the shank bones. Then we made a temporary staging in the shade and packed our meat on it, taking care to secure it against the tireless wolverine. We also covered the meat with boughs laden with fresh leaves, and then with a hide on each saddle and a supply of meat we started back and found our people camped not far from where we had fared so sumptuously the day before on broiled owlets. The next day, while our camp moved steadily out, little Paul led a party of one from each lodge to bring in the meat from our cache. Samson went the other way on foot into a dense hill of timber which was situate west of us, and in the evening after we had camped he came in with the nose of a moose and some other titbits on his back. We were now beginning to live! The next day I went with Samson for the meat of the moose. We found this in a forest on the bank of a beautiful fresh-water lake. We lunched beside the carcase, and when we were through our meal Samson said, "You do not need me to take the meat home. I will take a turn through the timber." The result was that in the evening he brought in another moose nose, this time that of a big buck. Both moose and elk were in the season when their antlers were growing and were covered by a kind of plush or velvet which was considered very good eating. We would cut the antlers from the head and throw them into the fire, when the plush would singe off and each antler point split open in the process of cooking. The portion which split open, and all the skin covering on the antler, were thought good food. It seemed passing strange that the enormous antlers of both moose and elk should be of but a few months' growth. Nevertheless this was a fact, as on this trip I saw the horns or antlers in various stages of growth, and later on in complete condition. CHAPTER XVI. Samson and I go on a moose hunt--Samson's clever tracking--He comes up with the moose and tries a shot--No bullet in the gun--Two dejected hunters return to the camp--We have better luck next time--Roses make a thorny path--We disturb a band of wolves--Samson stampedes them with his riding-whip--"Firing Stony" and I go hunting--I bring down a noble elk--Novel method of fishing. One day I went with Samson on a moose hunt. We set out early in the morning, walking fast, and sometimes running for awhile. About ten o'clock, after hours of tramping through dense forest and wading through many swamps, we came upon the track of a big buck moose. Samson looked at the hoof-prints, and also at the ends of brush which had been bitten off by the huge fellow as he fed by the way. Finally he said, "Let us sit down for a little while, and let me think." I watched him as he lit his pipe and slowly puffed and thought out his plan of campaign. At last he rose and said, "That moose may be close to us. You stop right here, for should I miss him or only wound him, he is bound to run right past here. If so, you will have a good shot; so you stay here and wait for me." I therefore sat down at the root of a stout tree and waited and listened. Presently a fine large jumping deer came within two rods of me, and stood giving a long startled look around. I was strongly tempted to fire at the handsome creature, but refrained for fear of disturbing our larger game. Then the deer trotted on into the thicket, and I continued to wait. By and by Samson came back, and bidding me follow him, once more we took up the track. We strode along for perhaps an hour, when Samson remarked, "There, we will not follow the track any longer. He is resting, and I think he is in the centre of that clump of trees" (pointing to a dense body of timber not far from us). "See, his track passes straight on to the windward of that spot, and he will make a circle and come back close to his own track. I think he is there now. Let us go with the wind from here, and come around and meet his track." This we accordingly did, and sure enough, as we came in on our circle, which was opposite to that of the moose, we presently met his track. The canny fellow was outwitted and we had but to follow him to his lair, which we proceeded to do with great caution. As we approached the clump of trees close to the westward fringe of which his outgoing track passed, we were moving on tiptoe, I stepping very carefully in Samson's steps as he bent and wriggled around and through amongst the twigs and brush. Soon we came to where he had first lain down. Here was his bed. Samson looked troubled for a moment, and whispered, "He may have fled." Then he looked and said, "No, he is only moving his bed," and with renewed caution we moved on slowly and carefully. Presently we heard him cough as if a leaf had stuck in his throat. The brush was very close, and now we could hear him breathe, and Samson signed for me to step ahead and shoot him. But I considered that we had been out nearly all day, and as we wanted the meat badly, I did not want to take any chances on myself. So I signed back, "You shoot him." Samson thereupon stepped ahead and fired, and I jumped beside him. We heard the crash of the huge animal making from us, and sprang forward in his track; but to our surprise there was no blood to be seen. On we ran until we came to where I had sat and waited so long and patiently. Samson saw that the moose had passed within three yards of this place, and as there was still no sign of blood on his track we were forced to the conclusion that there could not have been a ball in Samson's gun. This might occur but once in a lifetime, yet it was the only way of explaining the case in hand. He could not miss him, the moose was so close and offered so large a target. Very much disappointed, we turned our steps homeward. It was dark before we reached the tents. We had gone far, the day had been long, and we had not eaten anything since early morn. But optimistic old Paul said, "The best of hunters often come home like you have. We are not starving, there is plenty in camp, let us be thankful." We could not but be cheered by the old man's words, but even to this day, though thirty years have gone since then, I repent me that I had not taken that shot. About this time my cow presented me with a fine calf, and from thence on we had milk as part of our provender. Of course the calf could not keep up when we moved camp, so an old widow woman, Maria, made a travois, and the calf was placed on it and thus was moved from camp to camp. One day Samson and I set off on horseback to reconnoitre the country down east of where we had been hunting, in order to assure ourselves that the enemy was not in the vicinity. We rode all day, and towards evening, when about to make camp, Samson killed a jumping deer. Next morning we shot a cow elk, and I found her calf, so we concluded that with these we had about all our horses could pack home. I had little Bob, or "Split Ear," as the Indians called him, and I put the two smaller skins and half of the meat of the three animals on him, all the time apologizing to the little fellow for doing so. Then we started for home, leading our loaded steeds. Everything went well until our moccasins gave out. The country we were in was rich in roses. Beautiful tiny prairie rose-bushes, crowded with crimson and pink and white blossoms with their delicate shadings and fragrant aroma, were all around us, and everywhere under us, as our bare and bleeding feet evidenced. Under such conditions we surely had "too much of a good thing." And yet we did not like to leave any of the meat. While we were thus proceeding painfully on our way we came upon a sleeping band of prairie wolves. They had evidently gorged themselves to the full and were now resting. I held both horses, and Samson tiptoed in amongst them as they snored, and fetching his riding-whip down full length across the side of a tremendous she-wolf, he brought out of her a howl of mingled surprise and pain, and then there was a stampede of wolves in every direction that was amusing to witness. But while we laughed heartily and trudged on, the rose-bushes seemed to multiply, and I bethought me of my saddle-blanket, and again apologizing to my horse, I tore a strip from it, and we wound that around our bleeding and bruised feet. Twice I did this, until no more of the blanket could be spared from the horse's back; and when the second wrapping was worn out I again made profound apologies to my horse, and mounted on top of the meat and hides. The sturdy little fellow, nothing daunted, trotted me into camp, I promising to give him many days of absolute rest. Another day I went out with one of our hunters called "Firing-at-a-mark Stony." We generally cut his name short, calling him "Firing Stony." He was a good hunter, but just then he was suffering with weak eyes and had not done much on this trip. We rode for miles, when presently I saw a buck elk in the distance, moving across our course. We headed him off, and I said to my companion, "Run to that bluff and shoot him." This he attempted to do, but missed the elk. Then said I, "You have had your chance; the next one is mine." We kept on a few miles farther, when suddenly I saw a monster elk feeding along the shore of a small lake. I seized my companion's rein and pulled both horse and man out of sight as quickly as I could. We hastily fastened our horses and approached the spot where I had seen the elk. There was quite a promontory or hill down to the spot where our game was feeding, and he seemed to be coming our way. So I crawled to the top of this hill, and Firing Stony came behind me. "If you miss him I will fire," he said. "Of course," said I, "you are Firing Stony; you cannot do anything else but fire. However, I am not going to miss him," and up to the top of the hill we crawled. When I peeped over the summit the big fellow was almost directly beneath me, and still calmly feeding; so I rose and shot him right through the back, and down he tumbled. Firing Stony then ran excitedly down and shot him in the head. "Why did you do that?" I enquired. "To make sure of him," he responded cheerfully, "we already missed one to-day." "You missed one, but I did not," said I, and we laughed as we reloaded our guns and straightened the immense creature preparatory to skinning him. We made a fire and roasted the antlers, and were hungry enough to heartily enjoy a substantial meal. Once more our horses were heavily laden, especially mine, for besides half of the meat I had the hide; but this time it was not little Bob, so I did not much care. [Illustration: "Down we ran, and chased them across the full length of the bar."] I had with me my train of dogs, and as we were drying all the meat we could spare for future use, I was glad to hear that there were fish in a creek which ran from Spotted Lake into Buffalo Lake. So one day I took a boy with me and a pack-horse, and whistling the dogs after us, we galloped on to the creek. This I found to be made up of a long bar on which the water was shallow, and deep holes, and sure enough in the deep holes the fish were found in great numbers. I saw these were suckers and jackfish; but while here were the fish in plenty, we had neither nets nor spear, nor even a hook. How were we to kill the fish? I sat down on the bank to study out some method for this purpose. The day was clear and fine, with small clouds scudding across the sky. Presently one of these clouds came between us and the sun. As the sky darkened, I saw to my delight that the fish came up out of the deep holes and started across the bar and down stream. They were in the process of migrating. I called to the boy to make ready, and he slipped off his leggings and I took off my trousers, and we got some sticks and watched the sky. Now another fleecy cloud was sailing athwart us and the sun, and up came the fish, and down we ran, and chased them across the full length of the bar, each of us killing quite a number as we ran. These we threw out to the dogs, who ate them eagerly, and in a few hours we had killed all our dogs could eat and all our horses could carry home. Indeed, the boy's horse seriously objected to carrying any, for no sooner had we got the animal packed and the boy astride of the pack, than there was the biggest kind of a circus, and presently down came both boy and fish. But we made the "bucking" brute pack most of the fish home, and the boy rode the other horse as we rode back to camp. CHAPTER XVII. Our camp visited by a band of Mountain Stonies--My schooling in the university of frontier life--Back to our Mission again--Limited _cuisine_--Home-made agricultural implements--We visit Victoria--Off to Fort Carlton for Mission supplies--Inquisitive Chippewyans--My eldest sister married to Mr. Hardisty, of the Hudson's Bay Company--The honeymoon trip to Mountain House--Rival sportsmen--Charging a flock of wild geese at full gallop--Return to Pigeon Lake--Our work extending. While we were near Spotted Lake we fell in with some five or six lodges of Mountain Stonies, who were so overjoyed to see us that they moved over and camped beside us for a time. Among them were the two young fellows who came to our camp at the bend of Battle River during the autumn of 1863, as readers of "SADDLE, SLED AND SNOWSHOE" may remember. This was our first meeting since that time, and we were naturally pleased. Here was my opportunity as a missionary, and I seized it with eagerness. In the tent, on the hunt, at our services, Sunday and Monday and all the week, we were watching our opportunities and preaching the gospel of peace and good-will, of a present and eternal salvation. What a school to be placed in by the order of God's providence! For the work I had to do I must acquire an actual knowledge of the country, I must gain the confidence of the people, I must learn their language and mode of life, I must become familiar with their history, their religion, and their idioms of thought; and here amongst these Crees and Stonies, living with them in their own way and in their own country, I was being educated for the work God had in hand for me to do. A short time ago, in one of the favored cities of older Canada, a prominent lawyer asked me at the close of the service one Sunday morning, "What university did you graduate from, Mr. McDougall?" "The largest on earth," I answered; "all out of doors, amid the varied experiences of frontier life." "Certainly," said the lawyer, "it was a grand schooling, and you have profited by it." Thus God was training me. My teachers were Samson and Paul, Cree and Stony, Blackfoot and Blood, Piegan and Sarcee, and every Hudson's Bay Company officer and employee, every cultivated traveller and hardy pioneer and wild western empire foundation layer; and along with these the grand pages of the older Bible, as written upon the mountains and plains and forests and streams of this big new country. I was learning every day some needed lesson. Our Sundays were busy times. When the weather permitted we held three open-air meetings. When it rained we went from lodge to lodge. Mrs. McDougall sang well and rendered effective aid. The Indians generally take to singing, and as some of the translations we used were full of the very pith of the gospel message, their hearts were reached; the men cried out for salvation, and through Jesus found it. For some two weeks the Stonies remained with us, we doing what we could for them in instruction in religious matters, as also awakening within them a desire for knowledge as to the world and things in general. When they left us to go back to the mountains we began to move northward, and I concluded to leave with Samson what horses of mine were still without loads, and move straight on to the lake, for the time was drawing near when other parties might visit the Mission. Accordingly we started, travelling as fast as our cow could keep pace. While we had open country we kept the calf on an ordinary travois, but when we came to the woods near Pigeon Lake, we made a narrower one to suit the more limited space of the bridle-path. Mrs. McDougall and our baby, old Maria and her boy, and myself constituted the party. Travelling as we did, we reached the Mission on the fifth day, and were glad to be at home once more. Our little one-roomed house seemed a palace beside the smoky lodge of our pilgrimage. We found everything as we left it. Apparently we were the first to come in to the Mission, but in a day or two others from the west and north came straggling in, and our work was ready to hand. In a couple of weeks Samson arrived with more dried meat, having killed several elk and moose after we had left him. The reader will be astonished at the amount of meat we got through with, but one must remember that our diet in those days was for the most part of the time "meat straight" or "fish straight," with duck and rabbit for an occasional change. It was one thing or the other; there were no courses at our meals. Not only, however, were we without variety of food, but we were as badly off for a change of dishes. Indeed, our outfit for household purposes was small, and unique of its kind. But our neighbors were even more poorly provided than we. Often when invited to a feast by some successful friend, the shout would come from the door of his lodge, "John, come along and bring your dish with you." And I would take my dish or plate with me as I went. [Illustration: "We carried the haycocks in between us on two poles."] As we contemplated wintering at this point, I took Samson and went to work making hay. Our implements were of the crudest sort. We had scythes with improvised handles and wooden pitchforks, and when stacking we carried the haycocks in between us on two poles. Samson had never swung a scythe before, and he soon broke his, but fortunately I had a spare one. He was apt, however, and learned quickly. We worked hard and "made hay while the sun shone," and when it rained we went hunting. When we had several good-sized stacks made and strongly fenced, the time was come to journey down to the older Mission, as per arrangement with our Chairman when we left there last spring. Our migratory people--for here people as well as preacher were itinerants--had scattered, some for the mountains, others into the northern forests, and quite a few to join the autumn hunt on the plains. And as my wife and I were owners of three wooden carts and three sets of rawhide cart harness, and a few cayuses, we concluded to let old Paul's wife have a cart and horse on shares for this "plain hunt." If the hunt was successful the outfit would bring us some provisions for the coming winter. I engaged Samson to go with us to Victoria, and when we left the lake old Paul and Samson's wife and children were the only residents of the Mission. Reaching Victoria, I found that father wanted me to take charge of the transports from Whitefish Lake and Victoria Missions and go with these to Fort Carlton, to bring from that point the supplies needed for these Missions; it having been arranged that the Hudson's Bay Company should bring these supplies to Carlton, but no farther. The party from the sister Mission joined forces with ours some little distance below Saddle Lake, and we journeyed on as fast as was consistent with conserving the strength of our stock for the return journey. I was glad to find my old friend Peter Erasmus in charge of the carts from Whitefish Lake Mission, and in great harmony and good-fellowship we journeyed eastward. My friend Samson was a decided acquisition on such a trip. He was dead sure on stock, up early and late, and was ever an inspiration to the rest of our Indian drivers. We made long days, and in short time compassed the three hundred and more miles to Fort Carlton. I camped my party on the north side of the river, at the foot of the high bank of the Saskatchewan, and crossing over I met the Chief Factor, who had just come across the plains from Fort Garry, and who told me that our supplies had not yet reached Carlton. This was a disappointment, but I at once asked him to give us Hudson's Bay Company freight instead, and have them bring ours on later, to which he at once acceded. Within an hour of our arrival we were carting H.B.C. freight from their storehouse within the fort to the river bank, and crossing this in a small boat and loading it into our own carts on the north side. It was while rushing this work that a small party of Chippewyans from the north were looking on as we worked, and speculating as to who I was. Was he a Hudson's Bay Company clerk, a free trader, or a traveller bent on sport? "Who is this fellow, anyway?" was the question which engaged their attention just then. Presently the "Solon" of the party, doubtless wishing to evidence the fact that the East had not a monopoly of wisdom, said, "I will tell you what he is," and stepping up to me he offered to shake hands, and in doing so, turned up the palm of my hand and saw the marks of blisters, for I had been working hard. Seeing the condition of my hand, he turned to his fellows and said, "He is only a common fellow." Like many another man who lives under more favorable conditions, his judgment of men was peculiar. Early the next day we were on the road westward, and with incidents no more exciting than breaking axles and splitting felloes and snapping dowel-pins and handling balky horses, and in my own case fighting a wretched toothache, we very soon rolled into the valley at Victoria, and were complimented by my father on having made an uncommonly quick trip. We remained at Victoria until the Hudson's Bay Company brought along father's outfit. Helping in all matters around the Mission kept us busy with hands and head and heart. While we were at Victoria my eldest sister, Eliza, was married to Richard Hardisty, of the Hudson's Bay Company's service, who was then in charge of the Mountain House. Immediately after the marriage they and Nellie, one of my younger sisters, started on their long overland trip to the distant trading-post. Some of us accompanied them out for a few miles, enjoying some good shooting by the way, for the fowl were now starting south. Hardisty and Philip Tait, another Hudson's Bay Company officer, challenged my brother David and myself as to size and quality of our several hunts, and we kept about even up to almost the last minute, when David and I luckily saw a flock of geese light in a shallow swamp at some distance from us. There was no cover whatever to aid our approach, so I said to David, "Let us separate and charge that swamp at full speed from two sides. Perhaps we will bamboozle those geese by so doing." This we proceeded to do, and urging our steeds to full speed, we came upon the birds so suddenly that they did not know what to do. When they rose on David's side he knocked two down; that sent them over to me, and I was equally successful, so that we were thus put four birds ahead of our competitors. This sport gave us a good time in giving our newly-married friends a "send-off" on their honeymoon trip. Away up at the foot of the Rockies, among the wild tribes of the mountains, my sisters were to make their home for a time; but we all had great faith in our new brother, so we wished them a hearty God-speed and returned to Victoria. When the goods came, father helped us all he could, and we soon were on the way back to Pigeon Lake. As I hoped to build a small church, I took with me an English half-breed, Francis Whitford by name, a handy fellow with an axe and saw, to aid in the building operations. It was now late in September, and we had a house to build for my man, and a stable for a couple of oxen I had secured and for the calf, whose mother we found had committed suicide while we were away! The foolish old thing had started off in search of a mate, and despairing of finding one, went into a miry lake some thirty-five miles from home and there died. And now that our Mission was permanently established, the Indians came from long distances to sojourn for a little time with us, to attend our meetings and listen to our message. Stonies and Crees and mixed bloods, pagan and Roman Catholic and Protestant, all came to us and were eager to learn. We were busy all day long and on into the night, when by the light of the camp or chimney fire we preached and lectured and sang and prayed, till out of the old life and old faith men and women came into the light of the Gospel and into the life that is born of the kingdom of Christ. CHAPTER XVIII. Father visits our Mission--A dream that proved a portent--Drowning of Mr. Connor--"Straight fish" diet--We are visited by a war party of Crees--I am given a problem to solve--Francis and I set out to seek fresh provisions--Feasting on fat bear steaks--A lonely Christmas--Mr. Hardisty visits us--We in turn visit Mountain House--A hard winter in the Saskatchewan country--Rations on short allowance--A run to Victoria--David and I have a hard experience--Father and mother as "good Samaritans." During the autumn father visited our Mission, and as a large camp of Stonies had gone westward, among whom there were children to be baptized and couples to be married, I prevailed upon him to follow them up. Accordingly we set out on their trail, and after two days of steady travel, during which we made a considerable detour, we came up to them at Buck Lake. We spent a day and night with them, father marrying several couples and baptizing some children. On our way back father had a strange dream, which he related to me the next morning as we rode along. It was to the effect that Mr. Connor, who had returned from Ontario and gone into Lac la Biche to trade for the winter, was drowned. Father said he could not shake off the spirit of depression which the dream had created in his mind. Reaching Edmonton, he met the word that Mr. Connor was drowned, and, strangely enough, this had occurred at the time we were camping between Buck and Pigeon lakes. Readers of "SADDLE, SLED AND SNOWSHOE" will remember Mr. Connor as the gentleman who travelled with my party across the plains in 1864. Cutting and hauling timber, building a stable, whip-sawing lumber, making dog-sleds and horse-sleds, and fishing entailed an immense amount of work as winter came on. We made new nets and mended our old ones, built stagings and hung the fish until the real cold weather set in, when we froze them on the ice and then packed our catch. But while the fish were plentiful, they were of a very poor quality, both wormy and lean, so that out of hundreds a very small percentage was fit to eat. It was a case of over-production. Later, when some scores of thousands had been caught, there was a very perceptible improvement in quality; but that took years to accomplish. It was at this time that a war party of Crees came to us. Fortunately there were quite a number of Stonies camped beside the Mission at this time. It was in the evening, as Francis and myself were working the whip-saw for all it was worth, in order to finish our number of planks for the day, that these fellows, some thirty in number, filed into our clearing. As the Stonies did not look upon them with favor, Fox, their leader, an old acquaintance of mine, brought the entire party of warriors into our house. Fortunately our one room was a big one, and in the interests of peace and the future of our work it was better to put up with a crowd for one night than to have turned them out, though the Stonies would have stood by us in such a case. We told them plainly, though, that we would have no nonsense this time; they might stay with us for the night, but I would issue ammunition to to the Stonies, and have them guard the place all the time that they were with us, and if they attempted to play any tricks their own lives would be the forfeit. Fox protested against any evil intention on their part. He said they were tired and hungry, and were on their way back home, disappointed in their attempt to make a foray against the Blackfeet. Said he, "Let us stay with you one night, John, and we will leave quietly in the morning." We therefore sheltered and fed them and guarded them from the Stonies, who very naturally were resentful of the conduct of the Crees at different times in the past. However, old Mark took charge of the watch, and assured me that it would be all right. I have no doubt that some of those men for the first time listened to the Gospel message sung and spoken in the language wherein they were born. We entertained our guests as best we could, and spent the long evening by the light of our big chimney fire, opening to their minds visions of peace and predicting to them the near approach of the time when they should go to war no more. During the evening an old warrior, who had evidently been listening to what we had to say in an unbelieving mood, said, "You white men think you are very wise; now I will give you something to count which you will never be able to find out." "Well, let us have it," I said, when I saw that the crowd was interested in the matter. So the old fellow propounded his great puzzle. Said he, "There were seven buffalo bulls. Each had two horns and two eyes and one tail, and each foot had a split hoof, and above the hoof were two little horns. Now, for the seven bulls what was the whole number?" and the painted warrior gave a contemptuous grin, as if to say, "There, take that for your boasted wisdom to grapple with." I mentally worked out the simple question, and quickly gave him the number, and then Fox laughed and said, "Did I not tell you you could not catch John? He is very much wiser than we are." But the old man, being much more obtuse and ignorant than Indians generally are, would not believe that I had answered his question, so he got a small pole and faced it on all sides with his knife. Then he took a piece of charcoal and began laboriously to make marks for the horns and eyes and tail, etc., of the bull. But his companions chafed him so unmercifully that he was soon lost in his calculations and gave up in chagrin. This incident gave me a chance to enlarge on the benefit of schools and of education. I told that old mathematician that the little boys and girls in our schools would laugh at such a simple question as he gave; that the white men went on into millions upon millions in their calculations. Fox then said, "We are worse than children in all these matters, and we are foolish to gainsay the white man. But I believe John when he says that what has been possible to the white man is also possible to us Indians, for I notice that in some things our minds are quicker than those of most white men. But as for John, you cannot play with him; he is both white man and Indian put together." I warmly protested that I was but a child in wisdom; that I was learning about the Indians every day, and wanted to be their friend in truth. Early next morning the party took their departure, and Mark and I saw them off some distance on their road, for it was hard to restrain some of the more turbulent and revengeful of the Stonies--they had too many old scores to wipe out. Winter was now upon us, and our people scattered in quest of food and furs, so that by the first of December Francis and myself and our families were the only ones left at the Mission. At times the solitude was oppressive, and would have been much worse but that we were constantly busy hunting and fishing, taking out timber, gathering in firewood, etc. Breaking in dogs also took some time, for the old stock was about used up. Old Draffan and his contemporaries were gone, either dead or now too old for hard service. About the middle of December Francis and I started out towards the plains with dog-trains. My object was two-fold--to visit the people, if I could find any, and also to try and obtain some provisions. We were growing tired of fish. We had about a foot of snow to break on the trail, and were glad towards the close of the third day to find the track of a solitary hunter, which we followed into his camp. Here we found Samson and old Paul and other of our own people, all very glad to see us, but, like ourselves, on "short commons." The buffalo were far out, and these people were barely existing on an occasional deer and a few porcupines. But, fortunately for us, someone had run across a deer and killed him just before we arrived in camp, and we feasted with the rest on good fat meat. It was a rare treat to taste some fatty substance once more. We held a meeting that night and another the next morning, and then went on, taking Samson with us, hoping to find some food. But after three days' steady travel all we got was a starving bull, which made both dogs and men sick, so we concluded to separate, Samson to strike straight for camp, and we for home. Snow had deepened, our dogs, like ourselves, were hungry and tired, and the miles seemed longer than usual, so that it was midnight on the fourth day on the home stretch before we reached the lake, glad enough to settle down again even to fish diet. Christmas of 1864 came, but no Santa Claus for any of our party. However, my frugal wife managed to contrive a plum-pudding, and our little company enjoyed immensely such a delightful break in the monotony of our daily fare. During the holidays I started alone for Edmonton, and there found my brother-in-law Hardisty from the Mountain House. He accompanied me to Victoria, where we spent New Year's day with father and mother and the rest of our family. We found that at Edmonton and Victoria there was the same scarcity of food as with us. The buffalo were as yet far out, and the Indians were between us and them, and in a semi-starving condition. Moreover, the winter was a hard one, the snow deep and the cold intense. Hardisty accompanied me back to Pigeon Lake on condition that I would go on with him to the Mountain Fort. "For," said he, "you should visit your sisters; our fort is part of your parish. You can preach to us--we need it--and you may meet some Indians in on a trade. Besides we can spare you a little provision." I here confess that while all the other reasons were true, the last one at that time was convincing and unanswerable. I took Francis along, and we fought our way through deep snow and extreme cold to the Mountain House, a distance from Pigeon Lake of one hundred and twenty miles, reaching there after dark the third day. For both Francis and myself, after the meagre piscatorial diet of some months, it was hard work. Heavy exertion such as this requires strong food. But while at the fort, where we spent part of three days, we fared sumptuously on good dried meat, which had been brought in from the plains by the Blackfeet. We had a delightful visit with my sisters and the people of the fort. Some Stonies came in to trade while we were there, and among these was my old friend Jonas, whom I was well pleased to see again. We held several services, and would gladly have stayed longer were it not that our families were in a state of semi-starvation at the distant lake. We had presented to us 125 pounds of dried meat, and with this carefully tied on our sleds we said good-bye and turned our faces homeward. Though the road was heavy, by travelling most of the night we were back at the Mission early the third day, where we found all well and exceedingly glad to see us. Not a single Indian put in an appearance. These were having all they could do to keep soul and body together. It was a hard winter all over the Saskatchewan country. We got up a lot of firewood and cut it into proper lengths, spending several days at this work. Meantime, we tried to fatten our dogs on fish, but even they would not thrive on these. Then we started for Victoria, hoping that by this time a change for the better in the provision line would have taken place. At Edmonton we found the people of the fort on limited rations. Pushing on we made a big day without any trail, from above Sturgeon River to Victoria, over sixty miles, and when comfortably seated in the Mission mother said, "I am sorry, John, but all I can give you for supper to-night is potatoes and milk." Both Francis and I vehemently asserted that this would be a glorious change for us, and so it was. Here also the whole settlement was on short allowance. Father had heard of Maskepetoon's camp being about 150 miles down country, but the reports were not encouraging. "Still," said he, "those Indians ought to be visited, and I am glad you have come, for now you can go to them." To do this we must have food, and as my brother David had made a fishery out at Long Lake that fall and his fish were still out there, we first went out to the lake, about sixty miles north, for the fish. On this trip David and father's Cree boy Job went with me. The round trip was only one hundred and twenty miles, but it still lingers in my memory as one of the hardest on record in my experience. The cold was so intense it worried our dogs to stand it, and the snow was so full of friction that our sleds seemed almost as though they were being pulled through sand. The camps were smoky, and on the whole it was a hard and disagreeable journey. In the Mission house at this time there lay upon his dying bed a poor young fellow who had wasted his substance in riotous living and was now paying the penalty in extreme physical prostration. He had gone out on the plains the same summer that I did, and wintered in the Saskatchewan the season of 1862-63. During that winter, while he and a companion were out hunting near Battle River, their camp was attacked one night by Indians. His companion was shot and killed, he himself wounded, and in making his escape, and in the subsequent journey to Edmonton, he underwent great hardship. It was after this, when he had thoroughly recovered, that I first met him. He was then a very strong man, one of the best swimmers I ever saw in the water. But he went across the mountains into the mining camps, and when he came back to our side his strength was about gone. Father found him in a room in the fort at Edmonton in sore straits, and arranged for his transport to Victoria. Both father and mother and all the rest were now doing everything they could to make him comfortable, but he was dying. He said to me as I bade him farewell for our trip to Maskepetoon's camp, "Good-bye, John, until we meet up yonder." "Why, Harry," I said, "I expect to come back soon." "Ah," he said, "but I will be dead before you come." And so it proved. Poor Harry was now all right. He had come to himself, and was born again. But it was a heaven-send to that young fellow in this wild country to fall at last into mother's hands. She in a multitude of ways soothed and comforted the last weeks of his life. CHAPTER XIX. We start out to hunt for buffalo--Fish and frozen turnips--A depleted larder--David's bag of barley meal--At the point of starvation--We strike Maskepetoon's camp--An Indian burial--Old Joseph dying--We leave the camp--Generous hospitality--A fortunate meeting--Frostbites--A bitterly cold night--Unexpected visitors--Striking instance of devotion--I suffer from snowshoe cramp--Arrival at Victoria--Old Joseph's burial--Back to Pigeon Lake. We started on our plain trip with commissariat promising nothing more delicate or appetizing than fish and frozen turnips! Our party consisted of my brother David, Francis, Job and myself. We took our course south-east, by Sickness Hill and Birch Lake, and failing to find any fresh tracks of Indians in that direction, we then made more easterly. While going down the north bank of the Battle River our fish ran out. This was serious, but we had the turnips left. Soon, however, we roasted the last of these, and pushed on our course amid deep snow and cold and stormy weather. An old bull was shot, but we could eat nothing of him except the heart and tripe and the tongue. Even our dogs declined the meat. Things were commencing to look blue. That night David produced a small bag of barley meal which my sister had ground in the coffee mill. Our camp was jubilant over this, and we heartily enjoyed the small tin of porridge provided for supper that night. Next day we travelled as rapidly as we could, but were not in condition for quick time. The barley was going fast, and we began anxiously to watch the doling out of the slender supply. In the stress of hunger we were becoming meaner and smaller. I caught myself looking to see that my brother did the square thing in serving out the little pot of meal gruel, for it was becoming thinner every time. I bit my lips and felt mortified at myself for being so contemptible. I began to realize what I had read of men's doings when in sore straits such as seemed to be coming on us. But we kept on, and the day after the meal was gone we struck the trail of a large camp, evidently some days ahead of us. The sight of the trail put new life into our whole party. We covered several of their day's journeys before we camped that night, and though hungry and weak were out early the next day. About ten o'clock we saw a column of smoke rising in the air, and as we drew nearer saw horses and people moving. Camp was being struck, and nearly all had gone from the spot as we came up. A little to one side, at the edge of a bluff of timber, a small group of men were engaged in burying one of their number. We were just in time to help in the last rites. Old Maskepetoon was there. "You come like a ray of sunshine to comfort us, John," whispered the old Chief, as he warmly gripped my hand. The work of interment went on in silence. I knew the deceased--son-in-law to old "Great One," one of my particular friends--a great strong man cut off suddenly in his prime. Sadly I watched the removing of the soil. The snow having been cleared away, the dried leaves and twigs were carefully placed in a hide and put aside. The earth, too, as it was loosened up, was placed in hides. Then the body was laid in the shallow grave, and the earth put back in and trampled down until level with the original surface, after which the leaves and twigs were scattered over the place, making it look as if it had not been disturbed. The unused earth was carried away and scattered so as not to appear. All this was done that the enemy might not discover the grave and desecrate the person of the dead. Needless to say the food placed before us by our kind friends was eagerly devoured, but we were discouraged to find that these people were living from hand to mouth--that while the buffalo were within from sixty to one hundred and fifty miles distant, they had not yet attempted to come north. The camp was still waiting and hoping for this, and in the meantime was existing on the game secured by hunting expeditions which were ever and anon sent out between the severe spells of weather. That the camp was sorely in need of food was very apparent to me as I passed on through the moving crowds to the spot designated for the fresh camping ground. Already a large number of tents were placed by those who moved earlier in the day. Reaching these we went at once into Muddy Bull's lodge, and were gladly received by my old friends Noah and Barbara. Here I was sorry to hear that old Joseph was in another lodge close to us, and in a dying condition. I went in to see our "old standby," and found him very weak, and yet glad to press my hand. "Ah, John," said he, "I am still a poor weak sinner, for I have longed to be released from this frail body. I have even asked the Lord to take me home. I feel I have done wrong. I should bide the Lord's own time." "My dear Joseph," I answered, "I am sure the good God well understands your case, and His big heart thoroughly sympathizes with you. He will not misjudge you. Do not worry about these matters. You have been a faithful servant, and your reward is near." "I am glad to hear you say so, John; it comforts me to see you once more. Give my warmest greetings to your father and mother and all our people at the Mission." Thus spoke my old friend and travelling companion. Many a long weary mile we had struggled over together, many a cold camp we had shared. A brave, true, hardy, consistent Christian man he was, and now here he lay dying of hunger and cold and disease. I would have delighted in helping him, but except a hymn and prayer, and a few visits during the two or three days we spent in the camp, I could not do much for him. It seemed hard to let him die in such straits, but we had neither medicine nor the food he needed. After several services, a council or two in Maskepetoon's tent, and visiting in many of the lodges, we started across country for our homeward trip. During our stay in camp the Indians had shared with us handsomely. The best they had was given to us, and both dogs and men felt revived and strengthened. Nor was this all, for when leaving the good-hearted people made a collection of provisions, and we had with us about quarter-loads when we left camp. Maskepetoon thoroughly enjoyed our visit, and it was at his suggestion that the collection of food was taken up. He said, "Tell your father that we are still hopeful of the buffalo taking a turn northward, and of making robes and provisions and coming into the Mission in the spring well loaded. Tell him to pray for us. We send him and those at the Mission our heartfelt greetings." We had not made more than eight or ten miles on our way when we had the good fortune to come across Maskepetoon's son just as he had killed two bulls. These were in fairly good flesh, and the generous fellow told us to help ourselves. We each took about a hundred pounds of fresh meat from his kill, and thanking him went on our way. That afternoon we had a wide plain to cross with snow deep and the cold searching. Frozen noses and chins and cheeks were common, and we were constantly telling one another to rub and helping to rub until the clear white gave place to the natural color. By dark we reached the first point of woods, and were disappointed to find that there was no dry timber of any size to be found; but as there was no road we concluded to camp and do the best we could. And now the cold was bitterly cutting. Work as hard as we might we still were constantly freezing. The few little dry willows we found were barely sufficient to start our fire, but the frost was so keen that the green trees blazed up as if dry, and in turns we cut them down and carried in and stood around that blaze. There was no thought of trying to sleep; we were afraid to risk it. We boiled some of the bull's meat, and I very well remember, as I stood before that big brush fire, with a robe over my shoulders to break the wind, that my piece of meat, but now out of the boiling soup, though not very big, was frozen before I had eaten more than half of it. I was astonished at this, but found that my companions were having similar experiences. No sleep, no rest; steadily all night long we fought the storm and cold. To make matters more dismal, if possible, about an hour after midnight we heard parties approaching our camp, and when these came up, found that they were bringing poor Joseph's frozen body to take it to the Mission for burial. It was all of one hundred and fifty miles to the Mission. There was no road, the snow was unusually deep and the weather intensely cold; yet here were two Indians with a dog-sled upon which was stretched the inanimate body of their friend, and they were willing in the face of great difficulty to undertake this long journey, just because their friend had signified a wish to be interred beside the Mission. Who will say after this that these people have no sentiment? Now there were six of us to keep the fire burning, and in relays of two we chopped and carried until daylight came, when in gladness we resumed our journey. At any rate we would have plenty of dry wood for the rest of the trip. What food we carried was not of the best. Having no fat in it, it had not the quality essential to keeping out the cold. It takes the heart out of most men to struggle on day after day under such conditions, and in my case there was a complication of troubles, for during the second day out of Maskepetoon's camp I was taken with my first and only attack of "snow-shoe sickness." This is a contraction of the tendons and sinews of the instep, and is exceedingly painful, worse, indeed, than toothache or even earache. It kept me from resting at night, and when we went out of our noon or night camps I would hop along on one foot with the help of a pole, until in sheer weariness I would force my foot to the ground. Our dogs were so thin and weak that they could not draw me on the sled. Five days of cold and pain and extreme hardship brought us to the Mission. While our friends were glad to see us, they were sorely disappointed that our food report was not more encouraging. There was nothing for the settlement but to be content with potatoes and parched barley for some time to come. During our absence young Hamilton had died, and we buried old Joseph beside him. For some years of this life he could say with him of old, "I know that my Redeemer liveth." And in full hope we laid his mortal remains in the ground, once more to recline on the breast of mother-earth. Two days at Victoria, and Francis and I and my brother David again set out for Pigeon Lake. There had been no travel, and the snow had deepened so that every step of the road had to be broken. But in spite of this we made the lake in four days, and found our families still alone but well. For thirty-three days their isolation had been complete, and during the latter half of the period their anxiety great. What signified that we had brought little or no provisions? We had reached home, and with four days' rations ahead. From the purely material standpoint our trip had been a miserable failure. We had spent our strength for naught, had undergone untold hardships, and the financial results were nil. But is it not written that "man doth not live by bread only"? We had brought consolation to the sorrowing and dying; we had conveyed to Maskepetoon and his large camp, during a desponding time in their experience, the kind brotherly greetings of the big Church we represented, and the love and profound sympathy of the larger Christianity we professed. We had preached the Gospel of hope and joy to multitudes; we had made men and women forget, for a time at least, their present hunger and cold and pain and suffering, as we told them of that better land where these conditions did not exist. We had been privileged during that trip to sound the glad tidings in ears hitherto strange to such sublime teaching. And if these were some of the present and tangible results of our journey, who will estimate the fruitage of eternity? Verily to men of humble faith such work as ours is a continual paradox. We are hungry, yet always feasting; we are tired and weary, yet constantly gaining strength; we are sad, yet full of joy; we are at times despondent, still ever rejoicing. Verily this Gospel of our Christ is a perennial benediction. CHAPTER XX. My brother a "ready-made pioneer"--Hunting rabbits--Two roasted rabbits per man for supper--I find my friend, Firing Stony, in a flourishing condition--Poisoning wolves--A good morning's sport--I secure a wolf, two foxes and a mink--Firing Stony poisons his best dog--I enjoy a meal of bear's ribs--I meet with a severe accident--Samson treats me to a memorable feast. This was my brother's first trip to Pigeon Lake. He had never been seen so far west in his life before. To him, as to myself, this big country was a constant revelation. After staying with us a few days, he returned alone to Victoria. Had he not been by nature and instinct a "ready-made pioneer," I should have hesitated to let him thus return alone, but in his case I felt no fear. And now my man and I settled down to taking out timber and whip-sawing lumber. Nor was this our only occupation, for we had nets to mend and clean and fish to catch; and to chop and chisel through the ice and set a net in the dead of a northern winter was not an easy or comfortable task. Rabbits, fortunately, were numerous about us at this time, and gave pleasing variety to our table fare. Taking our dogs and sleds, we would go out a few miles to where the nature of the country was favorable for these "jumping bits of food" for men and wildcats. Choosing a suitable spot for our camp we would fasten our dogs, and each go his own way and kill as many rabbits as he could before dark. Then returning laden to camp, we would gather a good supply of wood for our fire and settle ourselves for the night. As the fire grew strong we would stick each of us a rabbit on an improvised spit, and when these were roasted have supper. Then we cleaned our guns and fed our dogs, and by and by roasted another rabbit apiece and made our second supper. Even then we were not too well satisfied! Two rabbits of an evening per man may seem rather much to him who all his life has had his fresh meat, butter and bacon and beans and bread, and many other foods at each meal. But I will here place it on record that two rabbits straight in one evening, in the face of violent exercise and the all out-doors dining and living room we were in, did but barely satisfy the pangs of hunger for a short time. About the last of February something impelled me to make a trip out south-eastward of the lake. Taking Francis with me, we packed our sled with fish enough to provide for our dogs and ourselves for four or five days, and started. We took turns in going ahead on snowshoes, and as our dogs were fresh we made good time. Early the second day we came to a solitary lodge of Indians, and entering it found it was the home of Mr. Firing Stony, of whom I already have spoken in this book. He and his family were in a starving state, and they told us of others farther on similarly situated, whom they had seen some ten days before. We gave them some of our fish and told them to make all haste towards the lake, and then we pushed on. But, after two days' search, failing to find any more lodges, we turned back and again came to Firing Stony's camp. They had moved a short distance nearer the lake, but being exceedingly weak, could move only slowly. Firing Stony had tracked deer and hunted them for two days, but had failed to kill any, and now his large family was entirely without food. We had only two small fish left. These I gave to the mother to prepare, and we made our meal of them that night. Early next morning, taking Firing Stony with us, we set off for the lake, bidding the family follow us as fast as they could. I confess that I was never very much good at anything like vigorous exercise taken on an empty stomach, and while these thirty miles were long and difficult to Francis and myself, they must have been a very heavy strain upon our half-famished companion. He was plucky, though, and kept up well. Early in the afternoon we reached the Mission, and very soon my wife was preparing a good meal of such food as we had. We were hungry, but our guest was famishing and had to be carefully fed, especially after such a run through the deep snow. Towards evening he said he was all right, and would return to meet his family. So we loaded him with fish and told him to rest by the way, and we would come on the morrow and help him and his family into the Mission. To witness this man's intense interest in those dependent upon him, to see that he was willing to sacrifice himself, if necessary, on their behalf, was very stimulating to our optimism for the future of this people. In this man, notwithstanding the centuries of vice and ignorance, the germ of divinity was quite apparent. The next evening we had the entire family in camp beside us, and our women were doing what they could to relieve their necessities. In a few days the little ones and their elders began to look like different people. What was mere existence to us was to them a feast. During the early part of the season the wolves had killed several of the horses and colts of the Indians, so on one of my trips I secured a small vial of strychnine, and used it with deadly effect. By the middle of March I had poisoned twenty-eight wolves and several foxes, and with these was able to buy a few articles of clothing and two small sacks of barley meal. My plan was to put a little poison into a small cube of wildcat fat, which is very soft and melts with little heat. Then I would chop up some fish and scatter them around where I had placed the baits. I handled the poison very carefully, as I did not want to kill any dogs with it, and moreover, the natives had a prejudice against using it. Late in the evening I would drive with my dogs several miles to the end of the lake, and there place the baits, and next morning, before daylight, I would be making across the ice as fast as my dogs could carry me, gathering up the results in wolves or foxes, or untouched baits, with which I came home. In this way I ran but little risk of poisoning any other than the animals I was after. One day I had quite a run of good luck. The evening before I had noticed the tracks of a fox near home, and as I did not want to place poison so near the house, I set a small one-springed trap at the place. In the morning, on my way to where the baits were placed, I noticed that the little trap, to which I had fastened a short stick, had been dragged out on the lake. Farther on I again crossed the trail of the dragged trap, now striking for the shore. Continuing my course, I came to the baits, and found a big grey wolf and a red fox stiff and stark. Lashing these on my sled, I gathered up the unused bait, and returning drove to the spot where my trap had been pulled into the woods. Here I tied the dogs, put on my snowshoes, and started on the trail. I had not gone far when I found the stick which had been attached to the trap, and said to myself, "Now then for a long chase, for that trap is small and the chain attached is also small and short." But presently I came to where the heavy snow had bent a thick bush over, making a sort of den, into which my trap had been dragged. Picking up a stick I shoved it into the den. Immediately I heard the jingle of the chain of the trap, and before I could withdraw the stick a large fox jumped past me and made for the forest as fast as he could go. I saw that he was a fine fellow, beautifully marked. I saw also that he had the trap on one of his front feet, and, determined not to lose my quarry, I pushed after him as fast as I could. For the first hour or two, aided by the thick brush and the rabbit-paths, he kept ahead of me, but towards noon I chased him out into a more open country, where the snow was deep and loose, and here I saw plainly I was gaining ground. Presently I saw the snow flying ahead of me, and rushing in caught the fellow digging out an old burrow which was covered with snow, and had not been used that winter at least, but which must have been an old lair of his, as he had made straight for it. My first grip was at his tail, and the white tip of this came off in my hand. The next catch I had him by one of his hind legs, and then I paused and thought what I should do. If I pulled him out, he would doubtless bite me. I felt about in the snow and was fortunate in securing a small stick. And now I pulled Mr. Fox out, and tapped his nose for him so effectually that he was stunned, and then I killed him. [Illustration: "And now I ... tapped his nose for him so effectually that he was stunned."] Throwing the fox over my shoulder, I struck out straight for home. The sharp chase in the keen air had given me a rousing appetite, but before getting my dinner I thought I would bring in some fish to thaw, in order to have them ready to feed my dogs when I brought them home. As I entered the fish-house I heard something stir, and giving the pile of frozen fish a shake, saw a mink rush out of the pile and make for a small hole in the roof. Hurriedly grasping a fish-stick, I ran to meet him, and as he jumped from the roof I caught him and killed him. Thus I had as the result of one morning's sport a big wolf, a red fox, a cross fox, and a mink, which as things went in those days was a straight run of good luck. One evening Mr. Firing Stony came to me and said, "I wish you would give me a bait or two and let me try my luck with them. My snares and traps are of no use." I answered, "You are too careless; you would poison somebody." But he pressed for them, so I gave him three baits and he went away happy. But as soon as he saw the sparks flying out of my chimney the next morning, which was long before daylight, he came in laughing and said, "You knew better than I, for, just as you told me, I have poisoned my best dog. There she was, lying stiff dead when I made the fire just now." "Well," I said, "I did not want to give you those baits." "I know," he answered, "and I was careful, but that dog was a notorious thief." Not long after this Firing Stony invited me to his tent, and as I approached the spot I became aware through my olfactory nerves that he had made a successful hunt at last, for certainly something that smelled good was boiling in that kettle. Before I really knew what it was, a thrill of joy went through my whole being. Right here I want the reader to know that I am not more epicurean than most humanity; but when you are always hungry for change of fare, or for food itself, you become very susceptible to the smell of good food cooking. "You are welcome," said mine host, and I answered, "What strange thing have you been about?" His wife answered, "He has gone and found a bear." Sure enough, presently there were dished up to me some delicious bear ribs. I ate what I could and took the rest home with me, as this was an Indian custom and exceedingly convenient at times. I will never in this life while memory lasts forget how delicious that fat bear-meat was. It came out that my friend was tracking a moose, and in doing so came upon a bear's den and succeeded in killing the old one and two cubs. Next morning, taking my dogs, we went and brought in the rest of the meat, I getting half of it as my share, and the following day started early to intercept and follow up if possible the trail of the moose. But after hours of heavy snowshoeing and wading and crawling, we found that some wolves had run the moose away from us. Tired and disappointed, we reached home late that night. About the end of March Indians began to straggle in, bringing little or no provisions, but glad to fall back with us on the food supply of the lake. It was about this time, when Francis and I were rushing the whip-sawing, that one day the boxing came off in my hands and the back of the saw split my nose and lips, cut my chin, and pretty nearly knocked my front teeth down my throat. Fortunately we had a supply of sticking plaster, and while I held the parts together in turn my wife deftly fastened them with the plaster. I was unable either to speak or to masticate my food for several days, and was forced to subsist on sucker broth. But I could continue my work at the sawing, and my wounds closed and healed in an extraordinarily short time, demonstrating the fact that after all what we called hard fare was really health producing. I was but nicely over my painful wounds when Samson came in. His tent was hardly in place when I was invited over to have a meal with him. I had felt hungry all that winter, but the last few days of fish broth had intensified that feeling. Now here was what seemed to me a feast for a king--the tongue and boss of a fat buffalo, some pounded meat and marrow-fat, and the ham of a porcupine. Many a sumptuous repast have I since enjoyed in palatial homes, many a dining-car meal have I partaken of since that meal in my friend Samson's lodge, but of none of these have I such pleasant recollections as of this in the skin lodge, spread on newly cut spruce brush and served in homely style. Nevertheless, as Samson related his winter's experiences, and I listened and ate, this latter was done sparingly, for there were others to be thought of, and to these also such a spread would come as a heaven-send. CHAPTER XXI. Alternate feasting and fasting--We start out on a buffalo hunt--Old Paul brings down a fine moose--Providential provision--Enoch Crawler kills another moose--Magnificent landscapes--Entering the great treeless plains--Wonderful mirages--We come upon the tracks of buffalo--Our men shoot a huge grizzly--Charging a bunch of cows--A lively chase--Samson's plucky plunge over a bank after the buffalo--I chase and kill a fine cow--The camp busy killing and making provisions--Guarding against hostile Indians. All through April and May we had quite a multitude around the Mission, feasting or fasting with us, as circumstances dictated. Sometimes the moving ice on the lake kept us for days at a time from visiting our nets, and then there was hunger in the camp. But again the ice moved out, and we were provided with food sufficient in quantity if not all we would like in quality. About the end of May, after putting our garden in shape, with a few families we started for the big plains and the summer ranges of the buffalo. During the past winter the buffalo kept far out and great destitution consequently ensued. Spring came and found the forts and Mission stations without the usual stock of pemmican and dried meat. There was no use of our looking for help from these sources; we must act for ourselves. I had talked the plain trip up among our people, but only a few would attempt it with us. Nevertheless, these few were picked men. There was old Paul and Samson, and Mark and his father and brother, and a Mountain Stony, Enoch Crawler by name, and Francis and myself. We counted ten men in all and two boys, besides the women and children. The most of our party struck straight for the first edge of the thick woods, while Francis and others went around to bring our carts from where we had left them the previous autumn. We left the lake on Monday morning. Wednesday evening we were camped together a united party. Saturday afternoon we went into camp early, in order to give everyone a chance to do some hunting for Sunday. Our tents were pitched in a beautiful plain, by the shore of a stream called Pipe Stone. Thus far no large game had been killed. Rabbits and ducks and the few dried fish we had started with formed our food. Saturday evening I shot a brace of rabbits, and carrying them back to camp was surprised to find that nearly all the women had disappeared. Enquiring the reason, I was told that old Paul had killed a moose. Now, old Paul was our invalid. He could only by crawling or with crutches move in any way, and I was surprised that he of all our party should kill the moose. But presently my wife and the other women rode into camp bringing with them the most of old Paul's kill. The old man had crawled to the edge of a small lake to try and shoot some ducks, and while slowly approaching this had detected the splash of a large animal coming into the lake from the other side. He saw it was a moose, and taking in the lay of the country, he concluded that it would come out about where he was. Hastily seizing his gun-worm and fixing this to the ramrod he pulled out the charge of shot and put a ball in its place. Sure enough the old hunter's instinct had told him right, for presently the huge animal came out of the lake and through the fringing of the timber right up to where he lay. Old Paul's shot was straight and true, and our camp rejoiced in the prospect of moose steaks as a change of diet. As this came on the eve of the Sabbath, it was very significant to our simple faith as an evidence of the favor of Providence and an endorsation of our Sabbath observance. Early Monday morning the tents were folded and we were on our way south-eastward. Wednesday we were given another moose, this time Enoch Crawler being the fortunate hunter. Quite a number of beaver were caught and shot during the week's travel, and on Saturday, as we camped at the last point of woods, we killed our first buffalo. Here we organized our number into two watches, five men and one boy in each, to keep guard alternate nights. We spent a part of Monday in cutting and peeling poles and laying in a stock of dry wood; for while our fuel for some time would consist almost wholly of buffalo chips, yet it was essential to carry wood to guard against storms. We were now entering the treeless plains of the great North-West. During the week we got several straggling bulls, and another Sunday came without any recent signs of either men or buffalo in numbers. We were now three weeks from home. For the first two our course lay through woodland and prairie, an undulating country, rich in succulent verdure, beautifully watered and with magnificent scenic properties. If our living was often without change, nevertheless we always had a sumptuous variety, to serve as both tonic and dessert, in the exceeding beauty of the landscape through which we were passing. Speaking for myself, these scenes were a constant stimulus and blessing to me. My fare might have been hard, the crossing of a creek or the climbing of a hill difficult, a balky horse exceedingly trying, a childish and often unreasonable parishioner very perplexing, but as I stood on some noble vantage ground and "viewed the landscape o'er," I remembered these little worries no more for the time, but with intense pleasure drank in the scene before me. There lay spread a splendid panorama of slope and vale and natural lawn, of terraced banks and lofty hills, beaver meadows and grand prairies, mirrored lakes and gently flowing streams. The forces of Jehovah had been at work. His turning lathes had shaped and rounded. His storms and deluges had washed and laved for centuries. His gardening winds and currents had carried and planted germs and seeds. His rains and dews and light and heat had caused these to grow. His resurrection agencies had covered and swarded and forested and blossomed, and clothed the rich and lovely vales and hills. For man all nature and nature's God had thought and planned and carried into execution. In gratitude and thanksgiving I beheld and worshipped, and with a feeling of growing dignity moved on to another vantage ground. For the last week we had been out on the real plains. Nothing bigger there than herb plant or tiny rose-bush--grass, grass, everlasting grass, everywhere. Like ocean waves the plain dipped and rose. What gorgeous sunsets we witnessed; what surpassingly beautiful sunrises we beheld as we steadily pushed out on this great upland ocean of grass and plain. And those wonderful mirages, who can describe them? Here was photography on a magnificent scale. Here was direct substantiation of the old assertion, "There is no new thing under the sun." The focusing of light, the developing processes of the chemical properties of the atmosphere, verily we may believe these have been at work, if not before, at any rate ever since the "morning stars sang together." I had never until now launched out on the treeless plains. Though in the prairie country for five years of constant travel, yet this is my first trip into this bigness and wideness and strangeness of land and grass and mirage. By the agencies of the latter I have seen the facsimile of an immense district of country lifted into the heavens, and there upon atmospheric canvas were clearly reproduced hill and dale and stream, and herds of buffalo and camps of Indians. I believe I have seen in this way photographs of scenes that were from ten miles to six hundred distant from me. I have noticed that where this occurs there is a distinct condition of atmosphere and climate. It would seem as if a mysterious change were going on, and one could feel this in himself. One day, after a thunder-storm had passed, my wife and I were driving on the high land near the Red Deer River. The sun had come out clear and bright, and presently the whole country was under the spell of a mirage. We were one hundred and fifty miles from the mountains, but these were brought near to us--so close they seemed that, as our horses trotted along the highway, we felt as if we were driving right into them. Watching the wonderful panorama, I saw away beyond the mountains, and there was a body of water, with land and hills in the far background. Then on the water there came in view a steamship. There she stood on her course with a dark cloud of smoke falling astern. I said to my wife, "What do you see?" "Why," she exclaimed, "I see a big lake, and there is a steamer coming towards us." All this was real to our vision and sense. And if truly a picture of this world, that mirage was revealing to our vision scenes seven hundred miles distant. It had lifted those mountains thousands of feet into the heavens and drawn them within the scope of our natural sight. Verily this is a strange, mysterious world, even this wherein we now dwell. The Monday morning following our third Sunday out brought us sunshine and rain, one of those quick downpours you cannot make ready for as you travel. The cloud and mist from this had barely cleared away when I saw a dark object in a lake ahead of us. I pointed this out to an Indian who was with me. "Oh!" said he, "that is a big stone in the lake." I declared it looked like some large animal, but as we were still distant from the lake we went on, and suddenly came upon the tracks of a large herd of buffalo. These were travelling right out eastward, and must have numbered two hundred or more. As the tracks were quite fresh, I concluded to ride ahead and reconnoitre, for eight or nine miles from us was a range of hills, and the herd was making straight for these. When about five miles from our party I heard quick shooting in their vicinity, and concluding they were being attacked by hostile Indians, I immediately turned my horse and rode as fast as I could towards them. But meeting an Indian, he stayed my alarm by saying, "It was a bear they were shooting." The object I had seen in the lake was an enormous grizzly, and he had shown fight, which accounted for the fusilade I had heard. The Indians told me that they had killed him, and that his meat was quite fat. If I had not been so much taken up with the fresh buffalo tracks I would have had the first shot at that grizzly, an eccentric fellow evidently, or he would not thus have wandered so far from his native mountains. Our herd of buffalo were travelling fast, so fast indeed that we did not see either them or any of their relations that day, but were forced to content ourselves with roasted grizzly. The next day we came to a small bunch of cows that led us a lively chase. The land was broken and rolling, and the buffalo split up as we charged. Samson and I went after one portion at a breakneck speed down a range of hills into a valley, where I thought we were going to have a fair race, when suddenly the whole lot disappeared over a precipitous bank into a creek with a plunge and splash. I watched my companion to see what he would do, when I saw him urge his horse over the bank into about four feet of water. As he took the jump he held his gun up over his head to keep it dry, and I followed, doing the same. And now as the flying herd were rushing up the slope, Samson shouted, "That is a good one on your side; try and kill her." When I closed in the cow left the others and ran me a stiff chase up the hill. But I sent a bullet after her which made her slow up and presently stop and face me. Then I gave her another right in the head, and she dropped in her tracks. As my little horse was now well winded, I alighted by the side of the cow, and Samson came up, having killed two. The others also had done well, so we camped by that creek and began making provisions. Here we remained for several days, going out and killing and bringing the meat home, all the time constantly on guard to prevent our horses being stolen or our camp attacked, for we were now on the outer fringes of the great herds of buffalo and might come across enemies at any time. CHAPTER XXII. A busy camp--Process of butchering and drying meat--How pemmican is made--Our camp in peril--Chasing a herd of buffalo up a stiff bank--Mark scores a point on me--We encounter a war party of Blackfeet--A fortunate rain-storm--A mirage gives us a false alarm--Unwritten laws as to rights of hunters. There were no idle hours in our camp. Hunting by day, and on guard every other night; when not running buffalo or butchering and hauling and packing them into camp, then drying the meat and rendering grease and making pemmican, or mending carts and harness--there was always something to do. Some of our party had become rather alarmed at our venturing so far into the enemy's country, and already they were talking about returning. But I told them that we must load right up; that we had not come all this way merely to have a feed and turn back, but to prepare food for the next winter. So by precept and example we kept the whole camp stirring. Sunday was our only day of rest, when, outside the care of the horses and camp, we absolutely refrained from labor. And now as we are actually engaged in drying meat and making pemmican, I will describe this work in detail. In the first place, the Indian and plain hunter did not butcher the carcase in the white man's way, but followed the anatomy of the animal. There were the tongue and little boss, the big boss, the back and rump-fats, the sinew pieces, the shoulders and hams, the brisket and belly piece and ribs. Each of these came out separately under the skilful hand and knife of the hunter, and when brought to camp were cut into broad wide flakes, not more than a quarter of an inch in thickness. These flakes in turn were hung on stagings made of clean poles, and the wind and sun allowed free work at them. When dry on one side they were turned, and kept turned every hour or so during the day, and if the camp moved they were loaded into carts and taken to be spread out again on the clean grass, all being turned at some time during the day. Thus in two or three days, according to the weather, the first lot would be ready for sorting. The back-fats and rump-fats and the briskets and ribs and bosses would be folded into a regular size, and baled up into packs of from eighty to one hundred and twenty pounds weight. These bales were bound up with rawhide, and the contents were known in camp and Hudson's Bay posts, and everywhere in the Territories, as "dried meat." Though only air and sun were utilized in the curing, still this was sweet and perfect in its effect, and the meat would keep for years. The other parts of the meat--that is, those portions which came from the hams and shoulders, and the sinew pieces--were, when dry, taken and cooked over a slow fire. In our case we made a large gridiron by digging a long grave-like hole in the ground, in which we made a fire and across the top of it placed willows, whereon we spread the meat. After cooking it carefully and thoroughly it was put away to cool, and then pounded by flail until it became pulp. This when finished was termed "pounded meat." In the meantime all the tallow or hard fat of the animal killed was cut up into small pieces and cooked or rendered, and watched closely that it might not burn. This boiling tallow was then poured upon the pounded meat, about pound for pound, and the mass thoroughly stirred up until all the meat was saturated with the hot grease. Bags were made of the hide, nicely fleshed and prepared, and sewed with sinew. And now the hot mass of meat and grease was shovelled into the bags. Then these were quickly sewed up, and a level piece of ground was chosen, or a flooring of side-boards from the carts made, and these bags were placed on this and shaped and turned until cool and hard. A bag thirty inches long, eighteen wide and eight thick would weigh from 120 to 135 lbs. This was "hard grease pemmican." Sometimes dried berries, or the choke-cherry, would be mixed with the soft fat pemmican, and this would be called "berry pemmican." This pemmican, like the dried meat, without any spice or seasoning other than sun and wind or fire, would keep for years in a fresh wholesome state. Before we left the camp by the creek we had manufactured pemmican and dried meat and hide covers and parchment skins and many lines, and what with the hunting and doing all this work and looking constantly after our stock, we were pretty busy. We then moved farther out on the plains, when we made another home camp, and repeated the experience of the last one. But as the buffalo were much scattered, we had far and wide to hunt for them. We would take it in turns, and leaving camp early in the morning, sometimes would not return until dark. Under such circumstances, both with those at home and those hunting, the nervous strain was considerable, for now we had seen many signs of the enemy and several attempts had been made to steal our horses. Mine was the best gun in camp, and it was a double-barrelled percussion-lock muzzle loader. All the rest were armed with single-barrelled flint-lock guns. There was not one revolver or pistol among the whole party. One day we went as far as the Red Deer River, and finding a bunch of bulls right down on the river bottom near the water's edge, we made a big circuit and started the herd. They took up a deep ravine and soon began to climb the almost perpendicular banks to the uplands above. These banks were not small affairs, but were hundreds of feet in height. In our eagerness we followed close on their heels, and some of them would stop and look around at us as if the next move would be a charge down the steep upon us. Woe to the man or horse caught in such a fix. But then if these fellows should reach the level summit much in advance of us we might not catch them again, for our horses were pretty well blown by this run and climb. I am sure it must have taken from ten to fifteen minutes to follow those big monsters (for these were the fattest we had seen) up that hill, and of course every one of us secretly in his own mind wanted to kill the very fattest. I had already singled out mine and was keeping dangerously near him, but it would not do to fire at any on such a hill; we must let them reach the top. However, as I was next to the bulls, I thought mine would be the first chance. But in this I was beaten by old Mark, whose experienced eye had seen a better way. As we reached the summit and the bulls jumped into a hard race at once, as if the climb had been nothing, I was pushing my way after them when in came Mark ahead of me, and "bang" went his old flint-lock right into the best bull of the crowd. Of course I took the next one, and another also, and felt if I was to be beaten--why, I had rather it be by Mark than another. We took home more good meat and fat that day than at any time on our trip. Another time we went far from camp, and ran right into a hunting party of Blackfeet. They were more surprised than we were, and left their hunt on the field and fled. As we did not know how many there were, or how near the camp might be, we made haste to load our horses, and started for home by a roundabout way, but not until dark did we make direct for our camp. Here Providence interfered on our behalf, for before daylight next morning a heavy rain-storm set in and continued for two days and two nights, not only washing away all our tracks, but keeping the enemy pretty constantly under cover. We were thankful for the storm, and yet were miserable all through it, as we had not sufficient fuel to keep us warm. When the third day opened with bright sunshine the whole camp was glad. Not a soul in our party had even an overcoat, much less a waterproof. There were no long boots or rubbers to be found in our outfit at that time. And to remain out with those horses in the cold rain all night long was not child's play. With returning sunshine we moved camp westward and northward, and making a good long day settled at evening in as good a spot as we could find for the hiding and protection of our camp. Then we went to work finishing up our drying and pounding and preparing provisions, and arranged our loads in order to make them water-tight and storm-proof as much as possible with parchments and hides. When this was all done we resumed our homeward journey. When moving one day, word came in that we were being followed by a troop of Blackfeet, and immediately I sent Mark out to reconnoitre. Riding back a couple of miles he signalled to us "They are coming," and again he signalled, "They are many." The first was done by riding his horse to and fro, and the second by throwing dust in the air. This put us to making strenuous efforts to be ready for attack. We arranged our carts as a bulwark on one side at a spot where a small hill gave us protection on the other. We gathered and picketed our horses close up, saddling the speediest, and got all our ammunition ready. Then Samson went out to join Mark. Presently the two came in on the jump to tell us that a mirage had deceived everybody, that the trailing party was nothing more formidable than a big pack of wolves! Our alarm thus allayed, we journeyed on, not unmindful, however, of the episode, for I had run around rushing in the horses and placing the carts quite regardless of the numerous beds of cactus, and now the soles of my feet were like fire because of the many small points which had entered them. The unwritten law as to hunting rights which obtained at that time was as follows: When on the journey from one part of the country to another, say, to and from a Mission station or between Hudson's Bay posts to the herds of buffalo and back, everything killed was common property--that is, all who came to the kill had common share of the meat; but when fairly into the buffalo range, and at the work of making provisions, then each man handled and kept his own hunt. There was also a well understood law that the owner of a buffalo horse also owned whatever was killed from the back of his horse. Many a time after I became proficient in the art of selecting the fat ones, and had gained a reputation as a shot, Indians would bring me their best horses to ride in a hunt. And as I was often in camp merely visiting, many an exciting time I had with the strange horses, and many a man and his whole family came to hear me sing and preach because I had won their admiration by my handling of their pet horse. CHAPTER XXIII. Into the timber country again--Craving for vegetable food--Wild rhubarb a treat--I shoot a big beaver--My horse objects to carrying it--A race for the life of my child--Terrific fight between my dogs and a huge wolverine--Reach Pigeon Lake and find father there--Anxiety felt for our party--A meagre bill of fare--A visit to Victoria--I narrowly escape drowning--Father leaves for Ontario, taking with him my three sisters--Francis leaves us to return to Victoria--My varied offices among the Indians. On the twenty-sixth day from our leaving the points of timber we again entered them, and as all in our party were "forest people," there was joy in every heart. We are tremendously governed by sentiment. Our spirits like the barometer rise and fall, subject to environment. And now with carts and travois and pack-animals loaded, and with our stock and scalps intact, we were once more in the outer stretchings of the great northern woodlands. Moreover, we were so hungry for something vegetable that we eagerly partook of the first edible food that was found. We roasted and boiled and ate freely of what is known as the wild rhubarb, and also ate the inner bark of the poplar and drank the sap. I remember with what joy I came upon a bed of wild rhubarb as we were approaching the timber. Flinging myself from my horse, I cut a bunch of the rhubarb, and quickly making a willow fire, roasted and ate ravenously of it, and felt it did me good. The same afternoon, as our party was travelling on, I rode away to one side to watch for beaver. The ripple of the water breaking over the dam told me where they were. Fastening my horse I quietly drew near, and by and by heard the splash of one as he came out of his house into the pond. Presently I saw the beaver swimming towards me, and, waiting my chance as he drew near, I shot him. But now that I had my beaver I found that the horse I rode would not let me place him on his back. I worked for a long time to pacify the sensitive brute, but of no avail. Finally I determined to tie the end of my lariat to the beaver, and mounting first, pull him into the saddle; and after a lot of backing and plunging I finally succeeded in landing the beaver across in front of me, and thus rode on into camp, but determining all the way to take a quieter horse the next time I went beaver hunting. On we rolled, crossing the streams tributary to the Battle River, and when we had crossed the river, I concluded to send Francis round by the new cart road we had made in coming out, while with my own family I should strike straight in by Bear's Hill for Pigeon Lake and the Mission. All of the Indians who had not carts would come the same way, but follow more slowly. While on this trip I had two experiences worth relating. I was riding ahead and had my little daughter Flora in the saddle with me. My sleigh dogs, who were now big and fat, were with me. Presently, passing near a shallow lakelet, I caught sight of a moulting goose making for the grass. Dropping my little girl down by the path, and telling her to pick flowers and stay quiet, that "papa would come back soon," I galloped over to the spot where I saw the goose disappear. Of course, all the dogs came with me, and very soon we found the goose. I quickly wrung its neck, and remounting my horse dashed back to where my child was, and away bounded the pack of dogs also. The goose hunt had excited them, and they were racing one another; and now I saw that if I did not reach the child before they did, the strong possibility was the wild brutes would tear the little one to pieces. The race was short and quick, but my intense fear made it seem like an age. The dogs and I reached the child about the same time, and I flung myself from the horse and clutched my little girl, and then fairly danced for joy that I had her safe in my arms again. Going on we came to Bear's Hill Creek, and as the day was warm both horse and dogs began to drink. As I sat in the saddle talking to my child, I happened to look down the stream, and there I saw a big wolverine come out to the water's edge to quench its thirst. Close to me was a hound called Bruce. I quietly said "Bruce," and pointed down the creek. The quick-eyed fellow saw the wolverine, bounded away, and was close upon him before the wolverine saw him. Then he made a jump for the brush, but Bruce ran his nose between his enemy's hind legs and fairly turned him over with the impetus of his run. Then the whole pack came up, and I sat on my horse and looked on a terrific fight between the dozen dogs and the one wolverine. It did not seem fair, but the wolverine was a big fellow and a born fighter, and he was fighting for his life. He scratched and bit every one of those dogs, and held his own for some time, but at last a big black dog, a powerful brute, got his massive jaws on both sides of the wolverine's brain and crunched it right in, and the wild fellow was dead. I verily believe that in all the big North-West there will not be a single mourner for him, such is the Ishmaelitish record of these animals. As we were approaching the lake the next afternoon I noted fresh tracks coming up from the Edmonton and Victoria trail. Anxious to see whose these might be, I urged on my horse, and when I came in sight of the house I saw some horses standing at a smudge, and recognized them as belonging to our people at Victoria. This made me jubilant, and I gave a regular Indian "whoop," and then I heard father say, "There, that is John." As I jumped from my horse father and a young man, by the name of James Connor, ran out of our little home overjoyed to see me. Away down at Victoria word had come of several serious battles between the tribes. Scalps and horses had frequently changed owners, and strange rumors had come in from the plains. These had become connected with our small party, and our people were so intensely anxious about us that father and James had started for Pigeon Lake, and finding the place deserted were now setting nets and drying fish in order to go out on our trail and seek us. Father embraced me as if I had come from the dead, and James was only a little less demonstrative. They were at their meal when they heard my shout, and here is the bill of fare: WOODVILLE MISSION, PIGEON LAKE. DINNER, JULY, 1867. Boiled Jackfish without salt. Boiled Rhubarb without sugar. DESSERT. Thinking and planning and talking about loved ones, said to be massacred, but of which there is no certainty. Father brought us news from the outside world, and of the people on the Saskatchewan. He said he was ready to start for Ontario, and was going to take my three sisters with him that they might go to school. He was arranging with Mr. Steinhauer to come as often as he could to Victoria during his absence, and he hoped I would visit them when I could. The next afternoon I accompanied father and Jim on their return journey. We camped for the night with Francis at the edge of the dense and heavy timber, beyond which point we had not as yet been able to bring our carts. From here, as father said provisions were not plentiful at Victoria, we took a cart with about half a load, and went on in a blinding rain-storm, camping that night in a flood, with no tent and but a small covering for the cart. [Illustration: "I succeeded in getting hold of the end of a tree."] The next day we had a lively time crossing the White Mud. When, after packing everything across on horseback, and holding the provisions up over our shoulders, I afterwards undertook to drive across with the empty cart, we were swept away by the raging current, and I became separated from both horse and cart. My heavy leather clothes impeded my movements, and I came very near swinging around the point for the last time in this world. Finally, when nearly exhausted with fighting the wild stream, I succeeded in getting hold of the end of a tree which extended out into the stream, and made the shore in safety. Our horse and cart fortunately, too, came out on the right side, and after some mending of harness we proceeded on our way. We kept on the south side of the Saskatchewan and ferried at Victoria. Since father left to look for us no word had reached Victoria either of him or of us, and our arrival was hailed with joy. Everybody around the Mission was busy preparing for father's long trip east. He contemplated driving all the way to St. Paul on the Mississippi; and to start on such a trip in those days of bridgeless and ferryless streams, and with very few supply depots, required no little preparation, the chief items of which, however, were horses and pemmican, and plenty of self-help, backed up by a strong faith in God. Father was pretty well supplied with these essentials. He took with him my three sisters and Miss Tait, daughter of the Hudson's Bay Company officer stationed at Victoria. He also had two Indian boys he intended to leave where he might meet railway or steam transport. We were very busy for three or four days in getting things ready for this long trip, and then we saw them off, and came back to the Mission house feeling lonely enough, especially mother. Father would be at least a year absent, and she would sorely miss her three bright girls whose clatter and romp and play had gladdened and illumined the isolated home so often, in spite of many anxious periods of suspense and patient waiting. No doubt it was a tremendous sacrifice on her part to see them go so far away, and that for years; but, as was consistent with her whole life, she meekly bore these trials and went on with her work as usual. Returning, I fell in with a party travelling to Edmonton, and from there I struck out alone for Pigeon Lake, but chanced to meet Francis at the limit of our cart road, packing in the provisions, etc., to the Mission. I found all well, and quite a number of Indians in from different points, but these, as usual, did not remain long, but soon were scattered. It was about this time that Francis concluded to go back to Victoria, and with the exception of one Indian family and a couple of boys I was training we were alone; but as we knew camps were here and there to the south of us, we felt comparatively safe from the enemy. I say the enemy, but our enemies were not always easy to locate, for the whole country was in a lawless condition, and whims and moods, or trouble and disappointment, might make us enemies at any time. It was best always to be on the alert; to trust in Providence and "keep our powder dry" was always in order. To put up hay was the next consideration, and my boys and I went at it in earnest. Wooden forks, and poles wherewith to handle and stack, were all we had, but nevertheless we made a good supply of hay, and by the time we were through the Indians began to come in. From the last of August until winter was fairly upon us our congregations were usually large. Our work evidently was telling, for there was very much less conjuring and gambling, and the people were awakening to a better life. Our duties to and amongst these people were manifold. We had to supply the object lesson in all new industries. In fishing, net making and mending, chopping and sawing, planting and weeding, and even in economical hunting, we found that we must not only take a part but lead. I was doctor, lawyer, judge and arbitrator, peace commissioner, pastor, teacher and brother man. Many a perplexing case of sickness made us feel our ignorance, but we did our best. Crees and Stonies were constantly quarrelling over horses or women, and it was my duty (so everybody seemed to think) to step in and interfere and investigate. Charges of secret poisoning and of conjuring loved ones to their death were frequent, and many a solemn time we spent in disabusing ignorant minds of groundless suspicions, and also many an hour we labored to explain the benefit of Christian civilization in the ordering of the lives of a community. Some of the strongly conservative pagans and ardent gamblers and staunch polygamists and wild "devil-may-cares" at times vigorously resented (as well they might) our interference. But such men as Adam and Jacob and Mark, among the Stonies who then frequented that part of the country; and of the Crees, Samson, Paul and others stood by us loyally, and our influence grew apace. John, "the young preacher," was becoming quite an authority among the wandering tribes. CHAPTER XXIV. Our first interment--Jacob's tragic death--Hostile Flatheads in quest of horses, scalps and glory--Stonies attacked by a party of Blackfeet--A hot fusilade--Mark's father is killed--Destitution prevalent--Hunting lynx--My dogs seized with distemper--All have to be shot--Another provision hunt organized--Among the buffalo--I narrowly escape being shot--Heterogeneous character of our camp--Mutual distrust and dislikes--United by fear of a common foe--The effects of Christianity. That autumn one of our best young men, Jacob by name, was killed by the Flatheads. His friends sent me word that they were bringing the body into the Mission. We dug our first grave on the hill, and there in the quiet of this "God's acre" we laid to rest the remains of the brave young fellow who had died in defence of his people. This was our first interment, in the fall of 1867, and we came here in the spring of 1865. This was significant of the migratory character of the people, as also of the healthfulness of the highland country. Our Indians had camped about twenty-five miles from the Mission, and in a comparatively wooded section, where they believed themselves in large measure exempt from attacks of the plain Indians, and had no thought of attack by warriors from the Pacific slope. However, as one told me, they had "felt someone in the vicinity," and were watching their horses closely, keeping them staked right up to camp at night. One of our people, called William One-eye, was on guard when he saw what he took to be a stranger stooping at the feet of one of the horses. He approached quietly and spoke to him, as he wanted to make sure before firing at him. But the fellow answered by shooting at him, and with so good an aim that the hall grazed William's forehead, cutting away a tuft of his hair, which was bound with ermine skin, and stunning him for an instant. Ere he could recover himself the thief jumped on the horse and dashed away at furious speed. William soon gave the alarm, but already everybody was stirring because of the shot, and now it was found that several horses were gone. The whole camp was aroused and the pursuit became general. It was in this running fight that Jacob was shot. The Stonies, on their part, killed two of the Flatheads, bringing in their horses and saddles, and the ammunition and tent which were packed on these. The marauders had come hundreds of miles through the mountains on this quest for horses, scalps and glory, and as the trails were now becoming clearly defined from almost every direction into our Mission, it looked as if we might be visited at any time by these lawless scamps. Young Jacob came of a large and plucky family, and it was hard work to restrain these from going on a retaliatory expedition, but the leaven of Christianity was working sufficiently to keep them in check. Of this we had ample evidence some six weeks later, when the same camp of Stonies was attacked by a large war party of Crees, who said that they mistook them for Blackfeet. But this could hardly be possible, for the Stonies were having evening worship at the time and were singing and praying. Mark said this accounted for the small mortality of their fusilade on the camp, as most of them were low down on their knees and the balls passed over their heads, which the holes in their lodges plainly showed. The Stonies repulsed their foes, and heard them shouting back, "This was a mistake; we thought you were Blackfeet, our common enemies." It was only when the Stonies returned to camp they discovered that their aged patriarch, Mark's father, "The-man-without-a-hole-in-his-ear," was killed. The old man was on his knees praying when the ball went right through his vitals. Evidently he had died without a struggle. Mark said that if they had known this at the time they could not have spared the Crees, but coming back to camp and finding that their father had died on his knees while in the act of prayer, they felt that they must respect his act and faith and not take revenge. Surely this was strong evidence of a great change in the feelings of the Indians, bred as they had been to retaliation and deep hatred of their foes. All through the autumn we dwelt in the midst of alarms, and it was not until winter came, with its cold and snow, that we felt in a measure secure for a time from these wandering parties. On November 25th another little girl came to our humble home, and was given the name of Ruth. At this time, what with holding services at home and visiting camps in our vicinity, attending to the fall and winter fisheries, providing wood, and hauling hay (for we had secured another cow and a couple of oxen, and I was keeping a horse in the stable), my time was fully taken up. In fact I was hard driven, and was very glad when a sufficiency of fish was stored, so that I could pack my nets and other fishing paraphernalia away for a few months. Then, as per instructions from my Chairman, I made a dash for Victoria, spending two Sabbaths there, and taking Edmonton _en route_ both ways. At this time I did not dare attempt to preach in English, but felt quite at home in the Cree. During the winter of 1867-68, the buffalo still kept far out, and there was considerable destitution all over the country. Our storehouse and fish-house were ever and anon called upon to come to the rescue. We never failed to emphasize the stern necessity of making provision for the future, but with a people having no abiding place this was a hard lesson to learn. The rabbits, fortunately, were more numerous than usual, and with them came the lynx, both helping out in the preservation of life from actual starvation. I killed quite a number of lynx that winter, and got many of these on the ice of the lake. Whenever I saw an object moving on the snow-covered ice, I concluded it was either a lynx or a wolf, and as I had an opera glass I could very soon determine which, for the wolf had a long, bushy tail, and the lynx a very stumpy one--in fact, hardly any. Therefore, if the object I saw was tailless, I saddled my horse and rode for him. My dogs would also join the hunt, and when we came within a half-mile or so, the lynx generally noticed us and started off with tremendous leaps as if he would leave all creation behind. His strong feature, however, was in the height rather than the length of his jumping, and soon his half circles in the air came to a stop. While I was coming up on the steady jump, slow and sure, he would crook up his back, straighten up the fur on it and turn fiercely on me, but a shot from my gun would quickly keel him over. Later I found that one of my dogs could kill a lynx at one bite across the small of the back, and then I let him do the killing, for ammunition was none too plentiful in those days. I made several trips to Victoria and visited a number of camps, and in March took my family through to Whitefish Lake by dog-train. When we reached home, towards the last of the month, winter was breaking; but what nearly broke our hearts was an epidemic, a sort of distemper, that took hold of my sleigh-dogs, and one after the other I had to shoot the poor brutes. They seemed to have a kind of hydrophobia. They did not attack human beings, but we thought it best to kill them. I felt the parting with the faithful fellows more than the loss of their usefulness. A pagan Cree who had come to us asked permission to skin two of my biggest and swiftest dogs, and I told him he could. The reader will note this, and see later what his purpose was. And now our people were straggling in to the Mission. That spring a number of mountain Stonies visited us for the first time, and our week-day and Sabbath services were full of interest. More of our own people than ever before were desirous of doing some gardening, and we helped all as far as our means allowed us to do. Moreover, a good many expressed a desire to accompany us to the plains for an early summer provision trip, and as we wanted the provisions for the year, and as this was the very best way to have a number of our people with us for a time, I arranged for such a trip, to start about the middle of May. This time our camp was quite large, numbering about forty lodges, and we felt quite able to go anywhere on the plains. We followed for the first hundred and fifty miles our route of the previous summer. We lived on ducks, rabbits, beaver and a few deer and antelope, until about thirty miles out from the last point of woods, where we found our first buffalo, and from thence on until we reached herds of them we were never without food. At the spot where we found the first bulls Samson and little William and myself were of the party, and I came very near being killed. We had come suddenly upon the animals, and I was crossing in front of William to higher ground when he, not noticing me, fired at them, and the ball whizzed right past my ear. I turned and saw that William was fairly pale with fright. We were too much engaged for words. "Almost!" he cried, and I answered, "Yes, almost," and we dashed after the flying bulls. This narrow escape bothered poor William for some time, and I verily believe had he killed me by accident at that time Samson would have shot him right then and there, for he was angry at the other's carelessness, as he termed it. In our camp at that time we had seven distinct classes of men. There were mountain Stonies and wood Stonies, plain Crees and wood Crees, French and Indian mixed bloods, and English and Indian mixed bloods; myself the only white man in the party. Environment, language and dialect had each differentiated these people. And now we were, because of the Gospel and for Christ's sake, seeking to bring them together. It was serious work at times. They could not possibly see eye to eye. Old feuds kept stirring their bile. Old memories of wrongs and slights and bloody scenes were constantly being brought most vividly before their minds, and my every resource was tried in quieting and quelling and pacifying them. Even the children partook of mutual distrust and hatred. We were leagued against the common enemy; but we might have a row among ourselves at any time, and I was forever on my guard so as not to intensify or afford any excuse for what was clearly apparent. In fact I was hoping for signs of the enemy to help allay this condition for the time being, when sure enough we began to track fresh camps and hunting parties of the Blackfeet tribes. As I had thought, this brought our discordant elements more into line, and we organized and watched and hunted together under the spur of a common danger. Of course, our meetings every day and all through Sunday, our constant uplifting of the Gospel, and its resultant forces, were telling upon this conglomeration of humanity, but the inbreeding of centuries is not to be weeded out in a few weeks, nor yet in a few years. Early in life I was given to learn the lesson of patience. CHAPTER XXV. Through new country--"Greater Canada"--Antelopes--Startling effects of mirage--War parties keep us on the alert--Remarkable speed of a plain Cree--A curious superstition--A Cree's gruesome story--Returning with carts fully loaded--Followed by hostile Indians--I sight and chase a "sitting" bull--My shot wounds him--Paul's son thrown under the brute's feet--Firing Stony's clever shot to the rescue--We arrive at the Mission--Road-making. We were now in what was new country to me, and indeed to nearly all our camp. Few of these Stonies had ever been so far out on the plains before. We were crossing new valleys, climbing over new ranges of hills, camping by new creeks and springs, and every day I was turning over new leaves of the topography and geography of this "greater Canada." What an immense pasturage this, wherein the "cattle of the Lord upon a thousand hills" were grazing! There were millions of these cattle, and yet so big was the field that you might travel for days and weeks and not see one of them. But their tracks were everywhere--paths and dust-pans and bones and chips were omnipresent as you journeyed. Over these plains also roamed large and small flocks of antelopes. Beautiful, graceful and agile creatures these looked as they would gather on the crest of a hill and curiously survey our passing train. How often under the spell of the mirage these appeared as a body of Indian horsemen, and many an alarm they caused to the wandering bands of natives as they moved with their heads erect and on the steady regular lope across the plains. One would almost swear they were horsemen. It took a first-class horse to catch buffalo, but it required one of exceptional speed and wind to come up to these antelopes. Within three weeks of our start from the Mission we were hard at work making provisions. Several times the Blackfeet and their allies came close to us, but such under Providence was the care we took of our camp and hunting expedition that these did not dare to attack us. As our party would act only on the defensive, there was no collision between us. One evening some were seen close to the camp, and as I generally kept the saddle on one of my best horses, very soon I and some of my men were out in the direction they were seen; but darkness dropping fast, they easily disappeared. Our demonstration was largely for the purpose of letting the hostiles know they had been seen and that we were prepared for them. What did astonish me, however, was that the plain Cree whom I mentioned in the chapter preceding this was on the spot as quickly as any of our horsemen, though he was on foot. When I expressed surprise, he quietly pointed to the strip of dog-skin which he had over his shoulders with the tail attached hanging behind (this was the back of the dog-skin, from tip of nose to tip of tail, now nicely tanned and lined with colored cloth). "This," said he, "is the cause. If I had put on the swifter dog's skin I should have been here before you." I then noticed that he had the bigger and slower dog's skin as part of his dress, and he believed (if I did not) that the wearing of this gave him speed. He claimed that the spirit of his dream told him so. I told him that the "Great Spirit" had given him a good set of lungs and a pair of strong, quick legs, and that was why he could run with horses. This same fellow was a very good shot, and an expert at selecting fat animals--in which, after all, lies the real skill of a buffalo hunter. Many a man could kill on the dead jump, and by constant practice learn to load a gun quickly, but to pick good fat meat while dust and powder and perspiration were each doing what they could to blind your eyes, and while madly galloping over rough country with numberless badger-holes, dust-pans, cut-banks, etc., seemingly seeking to break either the horse's or the rider's neck or limbs, required practice, and quickness of vision, and ready judgment. This man had these qualities, and several times I put him on one of my buffalo runners. Thus we got acquainted, and presently he began to come to our meetings, where he was a thoughtful listener. Once he told me of a strange experience he had. Said he, "Several of us started in the depth of winter from the extreme point of timber on the Touchwood Hills to hunt for buffalo. Our camp was very short of meat. We carried wood on flat sleds, and when we killed the first buffalo I went back to camp with two sled loads for those at home. All day I travelled on the bare plain, hoping to reach timber that night; but my loads were heavy and my horses tired, and in the afternoon a storm came on, and I saw that I could not make the main woods that night. Then I bethought me of a small island of timber to one side of my course which would afford me shelter. But then I also knew, a couple of moons before this, a noted Indian had died at that point, and his tent was left standing for him to rest in; that his best horse had been led to the door and shot, and the line fastened round his neck passed to the dead man. Thinking of this I felt a strong reluctance to go near the place, but the storm was raging and my horses were tired, and at last I made up my mind to go and seek shelter with the dead man. "When I reached the spot there was the lodge, and I drew up my horses close to the door; but before I unhitched them I first addressed the occupant of the tent. I told him it was not in the spirit of curiosity or bravado or irreverence that I thus came near his resting-place, but that I was a poor lonely brother seeking shelter for the night; that if he would accord me hospitality I would be very careful and thankful. I then proceeded to unhitch my horses. I noticed that there was a fine pile of dry wood near the tent, and knew there would be more within, for such is the custom. After fixing my horses for the night I went to the door of the lodge and again apologized to my dead friend. Then I removed the fastening of the door and stood, fearing to enter. "It was now late at night and very dark outside, and how much darker it would be in the lodge I shuddered to think. But once more speaking humbly to the dead man I ventured in, and, as I had thought, there was plenty of dry wood near the door; so I made some shavings and took the dry grass I had carried for the purpose from my bosom, and soon I had a light, but did not dare to look up. As my fire brightened I took my pipe and filled it, and lighting it drew a few puffs and then looked up. There sat the dead man with the line from his horse's neck in his hand, and with his bow and quiver standing beside him. He looked as if alive, and I now held my pipe-stem toward him and said, 'Smoke, my brother, and believe me when I tell you that the storm has driven me to presume upon your good-nature. I hope you will not think strange of my venturing as I have into your home. I will bring in some meat and cook food that we may eat together.' This I began to do, and after awhile my feeling of dread began to wear away. When the meat was cooked I set a portion by the side of the dead man and then ate my own meal. While doing this I told him of our hunt. I talked to the dead man as if he were listening to me, and I think his spirit was. Then I again lit my pipe and offered him a smoke. Now as the night was far spent, I made my bed, stretched myself by the fire, and went to sleep. I did not wake until daylight, and there sat my friend looking at me, as I thought. I told him I was very tired and hoped he would not mind me sleeping so long as I had; now I would again cook, and we would eat together once more. This I did, placing his portion beside him. Then I thanked him for giving me shelter, and telling him I would often think of his goodness to me, bade him good-bye. Fixing the door of the tent as I had found it, I hunted up my horses and set out for the camp. When I told our people where I had spent the night, they were astonished at my foolhardiness and said, 'It was not right to thus trouble the departed.' I told them I would not do it again if I could help it." This poor fellow and his companion were killed some years afterwards by a war party rushing upon them, not far from the spot where we now were. The Blackfeet afterwards told me that he died bravely as became a man. Crowfoot himself was with the party which killed him. We were very fortunate in our hunting. The buffalo were not numerous, but we found enough to load us fully, and by the first of the sixth week from the Mission we were on the home-stretch, making for the woods as fast as our heavily laden carts would permit. The enemy followed us for several days, but we did not give them a chance to either steal horses or charge upon our camp. As we began to leave the buffalo far behind us they gave up the chase for the time; but we did not slacken our discipline one whit until far into the woods. Before we left the treeless plains we camped one afternoon near a big lake. On the side on which we were the country was low and flat for many miles. Riding on alone I came to a small knoll, and from this I saw a dark speck in the distance, which the more I looked at it the more it shaped into a "sitting" bull. Finally, as the sun was still well up, I rode towards the object, and then I saw some riders start straight from our camp for the same object. When we converged, I said to the leader, "Where are you going?" and he answered, "To the same place as you are." Then he asked, "What did you see that made you ride across this way?" and I answered, "What did you see that made you start out from camp at this hour?" I then told them that I thought there was a bull over there, but as the country was very flat no object at that distance could be seen. I galloped on and the Indians came after; but presently the older one said, "We had better go back to camp; we are now too far away from it. They may be attacked before we return. It is now evening." But we kept on, and soon my "sitting" bull was in sight, but there was an arm of the lake between us and him, and again the old Indian insisted on returning. "It is likely he will see you long before you come near; you cannot catch him to-night. Let us turn back." But I had gone too far to thus turn back, and I said "No," and suiting the action to the word got off my horse to lead him over the soft place. Firing Stony and old Paul's son followed me, while the others stayed with the old man. Then he, to balk us, when we were about two hundred yards from him, fired his gun to scare the bull, and sure enough the bull jumped up. Firing Stony said, "It's no use, he has frightened him, and the race will be too long." I was more determined than ever, and rather vexed with the rascal for firing his gun, so I said to those with me, "He will not have his way. My will shall overcome his in this matter. The bull will not frighten until we rush him," and sure enough the bull turned around and quietly sank into his bed. Then said I, "Do you see that? Come on, we will kill him." And while the others were now riding back fast to camp, we three went on picking our way around the soft places, and presently were across, and mounting our horses charged the bull. [Illustration: "With unerring aim he shot the bull through the head."] This time the bull was started in earnest and went for all his speed, but the ground was good, and as my little Bob very soon overhauled him, I saw he was fat and worth coming a great way for. I was now some distance in advance of my companions, as Bob was the speediest horse in camp. As I came up I shot the bull, but struck him too far behind, so that my ball only broke his thigh. He went squat at first, but flung himself around in a flash. I went flying past him with the impetus of my horse's speed, leaving the big fellow facing my companions, and as I pulled up I turned and saw young Paul being thrown straight at the bull's head. His horse had come up as the bull faced around, and was so startled by the brute's angry roar that he stopped quick, and, the saddle-girth snapping, the rider was thrown straight ahead. There he lay with the bull standing over him on three legs, trying to get his horns under his body. For a moment I was horrified, for I knew that all the blame would rest upon me if any hurt should come to our party. I shouted, "Lie still--keep flat!" and the boy heard me; and though the bull was nosing him, he failed to put his horns under the prostrate form. In the meantime Firing Stony was coming up as fast as his horse could run. I saw him lean over his pony and shove out his old flint-lock, and thought it looked as if he might shoot the lad, for the bull's head was right there also. But with unerring aim he shot the bull through the brain, and as Paul rolled away the animal dropped dead. We were thankful for this escape, and in a short time were on our way to camp with our horses heavily loaded with prime meat. Contrary to the old man's premonitions, too, we found all well when we reached there. In a few days we were in the woods and luxuriating again on wild rhubarb and poplar sap, but finding less enjoyment from the attentions of innumerable mosquitoes and "bulldogs," as this was one of the rainy seasons and insect life abounded. Out on the plains the buffalo were sufficient at that time to sanitate the land. They drank up the surface-water and ate the grass, and there was no necessity for the smaller insect life; but here in the woods, with surface-water and rank growth in rich abundance, Nature's force of sanitation was a tremendously big one, and they bled us on every hand. Our forty-lodge camp was but a speck on their big field of enterprise. We found the creeks full, and this caused no end of work in ferrying and bridging. Up to this time our cart road had terminated about fifteen miles from the Mission, but now I determined to chop a road right through; and when those who had no carts left us at Battle River to take the straight pack-trail to the lake, I told them to begin at that end and make the road to meet us. This they did, and after some days' hard work chopping out the forest, and corduroying swamps, and bridging streams, I had the pleasure of mounting the lead cart and drawing this right up to our Mission house door. In this humble instance the "star of empire" was trending westward. Soon the Indians who had been with us cached their provisions, and scattered into the woods to hunt moose and other wood game. But we were seldom without some of these restless nomads of the plains. CHAPTER XXVI. Another visit to Victoria--Fall in with a war party of Kootenays and Flatheads--Samson and I go moose-hunting--A Sabbath afternoon experience--A band of moose enjoy Sabbath immunity--I start out to meet father returning from the East--The glorious Saskatchewan Valley--Call at Fort Pitt--Equinoctial storms--Entertained by a French half-breed family--Meet Mr. Hardisty and one of my sisters--Camp-fire chat--Meeting with father--Rev. Peter Campbell and others with his party--Father relates his experience in the East--Rev. Geo. Young sent to Red River Settlement and Rev. E. R. Young to Norway House. When we were nicely settled at home I made a hurried trip on horseback to Victoria, for I knew mother and the rest of our people would be extremely anxious about us; and it was with joy they met me as I rode into the older Mission. Father was expected home in September, and mother said he hoped I would meet him somewhere down the Saskatchewan with some fresh horses. Here I learned that there had been considerable fighting on the plains east and south of where we had been. A number of scalps had been taken on both sides, and the reports of these encounters had made our people very anxious about our party. I spent a Sabbath with the Victoria people, and then made for home. At Edmonton I lost my horses for a whole day, and did not succeed in finding them until evening. In the meantime a war party of Southern Kootenays and Flatheads had come across and spent a few hours at the fort, where they were on their very good behavior. Had I not been delayed by the losing of my horses I should have been alone amongst them that morning, and when I sized the wild fellows up I was exceedingly thankful that I had been frustrated in my desire to push on. These strangers went back the same evening, but when I swam my horses across about sunrise the next morning, and started up the hill to take the trail for Pigeon Lake, I almost ran into the same war party. They had gone across my road just as I came up, as I could tell from the tracks on the grass, on which the dew was still heavy. I immediately took to cover, and went on the steady gallop, never stopping except to change horses until I was thirty-five or forty miles from Edmonton. The greater part of the time I kept away from the trail, and early in the afternoon was once more at home, having swam my horses across the big Saskatchewan that morning, and with the two made the sixty miles in less than three-quarters of a day. This same war party took a number of horses from a camp of Indians situated at the time some fifty miles south of us, and I was very thankful they did not take mine nor yet have a shot at myself. And now what with hay-making and doctoring and preaching and teaching, our time went quickly. Soon September was with us, and I was thinking of starting for Victoria, when Samson came in, and we went for a moose-hunt. On Saturday afternoon he killed a huge buck moose, and we camped beside the carcase and spent a very quiet Sunday in the woods. During the afternoon I took our horses down to a lake about half a mile from our camp, there being no water nearer, and while the horses were drinking I sat upon the bank admiring the scene. The lake before me was several miles long and about half a mile wide. The banks were quite high and densely covered with forest trees in the full rich glory of their autumn tints. The day was calm, and the whole picture was exceedingly beautiful, specially fitting to the Sabbath evening. My horses, having slaked their thirst, were lazily browsing on the rushes which grew on the edge of the water, and I was being lifted up into a higher, purer atmosphere of experience consistent with my environment, when suddenly my ear caught the splash of water, and looking across the lake I saw five moose doing exactly the same as my horses. Having waded out into the water they were biting at the rushes, and as I watched them one swam out into the lake straight for me. Soon the whole five were quietly and gracefully swimming towards me, and I confess that as I watched those fine big moose coming, I for a moment wished for my gun (which I had left in camp), and wished, also, that this was any other day than Sunday. But as all this was of no use, I decided to keep perfectly still and note how close those moose would come before detecting my presence. Soon they were touching bottom close to my horses, and then there was a moment of mutual surprise, as horses and moose stared at one another. Both, however, again took to nipping rushes, and by and by the big cow moose which was leading came up the bank within a few feet of where I was, and shook herself, sprinkling me copiously with the water from her big sides; another followed, and then all of them went on into the woods, quietly browsing as they disappeared from my sight. For them, also, it was the Sabbath day. Monday we went home, our four horses having all they wanted to carry in the meat of the one monster moose. The fellow was in such good condition that I made a big bag of pemmican with his inside fat. Soon after this I started with my family and two Indian boys for Victoria. Reaching that point, I took with me the two boys and started with the three carts and some loose horses to meet father. Mother had not heard from him since I was last at Victoria, but we thought he must now be on the north side of the Saskatchewan, between Carlton and Fort Pitt. Our horses were in good flesh, and this was hardened on them as we drove early and late down through the northern slopes of the great Saskatchewan valley, the lovely country which had so enamored my more youthful senses when first in 1862 I rode through its rich pastures and over its richer soils. Six years of wider range and larger view had been mine since then, but now as I ride over the many leagues my previous judgment is but strengthened. As we pass Saddle and Egg lakes and cross the Dog Rump, and Moose and Frog creeks, and wind between and over the Two Hills, and all the time behold fresh and picturesque landscapes, and note the wealth of nature's store, self-evident on every hand, my patriotism is enthused and my faith invigorated. And to one born on the frontier, and already having witnessed great changes, it is easy to imagine this easily reclaimed part of our great heritage dotted with prosperous homes. All day long (and somehow those autumn days were unsurpassable in the combination of their glorious make-up) as I rode on in advance of my boys and carts, I was locating homes, and selecting sites for village corners, and erecting school-houses and lifting church spires, and engineering railway routes, and hoping I might live to see some of this come to pass, for come it would. While my boys went straight on I rode in to Fort Pitt, hoping that I might find word of father's coming up the country, but receiving none, I spent an hour or two with my friend John Sinclair, who was for the summer in charge of the fort. Then I rode on fast and steady, and late in the evening rejoined my boys. On we went, leaving Frenchman's Butte far in the rear, across the Red Deer Creek, past Horse Hill, through Turtle River valley, and across the river, all the while constantly on the lookout for signs of our friends or tidings of them. Mornings and evenings and long nights and many miles came and were passed, and still no signs. Then the equinoctial storms burst upon us, with winds from the north and ice-cold rain in torrents. We drew up our carts in the shelter of bluffs of timber, and hastily covering them built our fire, and piling on the dry wood became ourselves the clothes-horses on which to dry our soaked garments. Then when partially warmed and dried we would resume our journey. And now our matches were all but run out, and wet and cold we sought shelter under the lee of a wooded hill, and making cover did what we could to ensure the success of our last match. But alas! the first scratch sent the brittle thing into many pieces, and it took time and preparation to ignite some old cotton with a percussion gun. Hands were cold and wet and everything was wet, but after what seemed hours our fire blazed, and all through that long night we kept it blazing as in turn we gathered wood and piled it on to slowly dry and burn. And those boys! children of the wood and plain, full of healthy optimism, "Theirs not to sulk or sigh, Theirs to grin, and bear, and fry." We kept those soaked logs frying until day came, and fortunately for us the storm stayed and we rolled on in hope. That afternoon we saw a lodge to one side of our course, and while the boys kept on, I rode over to it and found a French half-breed and his family, who received me gladly and treated me as if I was one of their family. They were on their way from the Red River to Edmonton. They made for me a pancake, for they had a small quantity of flour. What a treat this was may be imagined when it is considered that I had not tasted bread for months. They gave me a bunch of matches, and, better still, they told me that father was heard from at the South Branch; that in all probability he would now be this side of Fort Carlton. This was something definite to travel on, and thanking my kind entertainers, I hurried on, catching up with and passing the boys and carts. That same evening I met my brother-in-law, Mr. Hardisty, and one of my sisters, Georgiana, who, unable to stand the damp and cold of Ontario, was returning to the North-West. With these there were quite a number of Hudson's Bay Company gentlemen, and the whole party were posting westward in quick style. They had left father the day before. As my boys were far behind, I turned back with this company fresh from the outside world, to glean the news and to visit with my friends. When we met my boys I sent them on to camp at Bear's Paddling Lake, while I continued with Hardisty's party, camping with them for the night. Some of these had been at the Hudson's Bay council at Fort Garry. Others were returning from furlough in Eastern Canada and the Mother Country. My sister had spent the winter in Hamilton, and had come across with father's party from St. Paul. I alone was fresh from the West and the big plains. Around our campfire until late that night we exchanged news and related incidents, and before daylight next morning had breakfasted together and parted. I found my boys sleeping soundly when I rode in on them at the lake. From there we went for lunch to the forks of the road in the Thickwood Hills. Here I pitched camp and, as I was not sure which of these roads father would come by, I rode rapidly along the old trail, and reaching the eastern branching of the road, found that my friends had gone the other trail. Returning on this I came up to where they were "nooning," and was received by father with open arms. Job and Joseph, the two Indian boys father had with him, were also delighted, for I brought them tidings of their friends, and once more they had someone to talk to in their mother-tongue. I found that father had with him quite a number of Eastern people. There were the Rev. Peter Campbell and family, and the two Sniders, who subsequently became teachers in our Mission schools. There were also a cousin of mine, John Chantler, and a lad, Enoch Skinner, from Toronto. Besides those who belonged to the Mission party, there were three men from Minnesota, a father and his two sons, Barlett by name, who had accompanied them from the Mississippi to the Saskatchewan; also two families of Red River settlers, who had taken this opportunity of travelling in father's train to visit their friends in the Saskatchewan country, and take part once more in a buffalo hunt. We moved on almost immediately on my arrival, and camping short of where I left my boys I galloped ahead and brought them in. I had ridden in the saddle between ninety and one hundred miles that day, but so glad was I to meet father and these new friends from the East that I did not feel the least fatigue. The next day was Saturday, and by pushing through the Thickwood Hills we camped in the evening at Bear's Paddling Lake. All day as we travelled father and I rode in our saddles side by side, as he recounted to me the work of the year in Eastern Canada. He told me how he had pled with our missionary authorities until they concluded to establish in the Red River Valley, and had sent the Rev. George Young to that work, and the Rev. Egerton R. Young to Norway House. He gave me a description of the journey by steamer to the Upper Mississippi, and thence by carts and waggons through the plains of Minnesota and Dakota, and on into the Selkirk Settlement, where they parted from the Youngs, and, continuing the journey up the valley of the Assiniboine, had crossed the divide and the south branch of the great Saskatchewan. "And now," said he, "I am tired of the long journey, and of handling tenderfeet, and I purpose to start bright and early Monday morning for home, leaving the whole company and outfit to your care for the rest of the trip." I said that I thought I could handle the concern, and that he was welcome to my horses and one of my boys. I wished him a quick trip, and having been a sailor in his youth, he answered me, with a twinkle of his eye, "When I leave you next Monday morning I will not take a reef in my rigging until with the blessing of Heaven I reach Victoria." CHAPTER XXVII. Father pushes on for home in advance--Hard times for the "tenderfeet"--A plunge into icy water--My brother David gallops into camp--His high spirits prove infectious--Kindness of the Hudson's Bay Company--Oxen sent to help us in to Victoria--A mutinous camp-follower--My threat of a sound thrashing subdues the mutineer--Our long journey is ended--Adieu to my readers. We spent a quiet Sabbath on the shore of the lake, resting and worshipping. As some of the new-comers were quite songful, we enjoyed listening to and learning some of the beautiful hymns that had come in vogue since we left older Canada. Early Monday morning we were astir. Father, taking with him Mrs. Campbell and her two children and one of my boys, started on to make a flying trip home. Mrs. Campbell was glad to make a change from slow to fast travel, and I also was glad to see the lady and her children go, for this meant very much earlier starting for the rest of the party. Father had said to me, "The stock is in good shape, John; you can push from here." And push we did, sometimes too much so for the taste and convenience of the green hands amongst us. Already the later autumn was upon us with its cold nights, and to turn out long before daylight and prepare breakfast and harness up, and be rolling on sometimes hours before sunrise, was anything but pleasant to flesh and blood not inured to that kind of life. As with the "Ancient Pilgrims," murmurings and scoldings were frequent; but notwithstanding we continued to start early and drive late, and made good time westward. I well remember coming to Jackfish Creek early one morning. The crossing was rough with big boulders, and there was about an inch of ice on the water. I rode my horse several times through the ford to smash up the ice, and called to my cart driver to dismount and take his "lead" horse by the head and wade in, thus lessening the chances of an upset while passing through. Setting the example myself, I took the lead ox by the head, and wading beside him, passed him and his load safely over. But certain of our tenderfeet were afraid to step into the cold water, and the result was almost disastrous to some of the carts and loads. One of these gentlemen, having at last to jump down into the middle of the creek, made a misstep and fell full length into the ice and cold water; and not until then did he see that someone knew better than he did. He was a funny-looking specimen as he picked himself up out of the icy stream, and in a little while, when he was standing beside the big camp-fire warming himself, I said to him, "You richly deserved your ducking, young man; the next time do what you are told, and it will be better for you." [Illustration: "He was a funny-looking specimen as he picked himself up out of the icy stream."] Early and late we rolled up the north bank of the Saskatchewan, those of our company capable of estimating the natural advantages of a new country filled with admiration for the rich and lovely region we were traversing. Doubtless a trans-continental railroad will come along some day, and cross and recross this very trail we were using. Thousands of prosperous homes will dot these plains and fill these valleys with that stronger and more permanent life for which they are so richly endowed by nature's God. The whole land from Carlton to Victoria is one great ready-made farm. From the north branch of the Saskatchewan, extending a hundred miles north and then west up its whole length, is to be found one of the richest portions of Canada. And we were rolling steadily through this. Every hour a new scene, every turn a fresh view; the strength and endurance of our stock testifying to the quality of the natural grasses, the mud and dust on our wheels evidencing the wealth of soil, and the altitude and the large percentage of sunshine vouching for the pureness of atmosphere and healthy condition of climate. This is my sixth trip through this part of the North-West Territories, and as I felt in the morning of my first acquaintance with this immense garden, I now, as the sunlight of my growing knowledge of its many resources is rising and enlarging, am fully convinced as to its great wealth of soil and grass, its water and timber and climate, not to speak of the mineral developments which in all probability will come in the future. On the twelfth day after father left us, while breakfasting on the bank of Saddle Lake Creek, having come some eight miles already that morning, we were delighted to have my brother David gallop into our camp, bringing us word from home. Father had made a marvellously quick trip, and the whole settlement was now looking for our coming. David not only brought us news from home, but his jovial noise and wild western boisterous fun put new life into the tenderfeet of our party, who had begun to think the distance without end and the hardships too much to bear, and were constantly reverting to the "onions and garlic of former Egypts." Moreover, his coming lightened my work, for now the roads were newer and the necessity of careful driving more constantly with us. By noon of the thirteenth day of my taking over the party we had surmounted the worst place on the road, crossed the valley, pulled up the precipitous banks of the White Mud River, and were at our dinner, when an Indian came to us with several fresh oxen. These had been sent by Mr. Tait, the gentleman in charge of the Hudson's Bay Post at Victoria, to help us in at the end of our journey. And right here I want to say that this has been all through the years my uniform experience with the officers and employees of the Hudson's Bay Company. I cannot understand the venom and bitterness with which some missionaries always speak and write about this old and honorable company. These fresh oxen were indeed welcome aids to the more jaded and weaker of our stock, and very soon I had apportioned them to the several drivers, when the very tall gentleman of our party said he would take one for his cart. I said, "No, sir! Your horse is all right for Victoria." But he insisted, and I again refused. Then came a cry from another tenderfoot that his oxen were lost, and I jumped on my horse to hunt up the missing cattle. Having found them, I also found that my tall friend had persisted in taking the ox, and had him hitched to his cart. This nettled me, and I jumped right at him, and said, "Unhitch that ox as quick as you ever did anything in your life;" but the big mutineer simply smiled at me. "I mean it," I said; "unhitch that ox, or I will thrash you most warmly." And now his elongated highness saw I was in earnest, and made haste to turn out the ox. I then gave the animal over to the party to whom I had given him in the first place, at the same time telling my tall gentleman that in a few hours I hoped to bring this party to its destination. After that he could do as he pleased so far as I was concerned; but until then my word was law. Early that evening we reached Victoria, and the long wearisome overland journey was over, the months of continuous travel across bridgeless streams and lonely stretches of prairie and woodland. Everybody was thankful. That same evening, as usual with him, David got up some gymnastics. And when I had out-run and out-jumped and out-thrown and out-pulled my long friend, I verily believe he came to the conclusion that he did well to obey me as he did. And now that I have seen this spot (where in loneliness and poverty extreme I began work scarcely six years since) grow into a flourishing settlement, where Christianity and civilization are to the front as in no other place in this big western country; and now also that I am privileged to form one in the small company of Missionary agents and pioneers here assembled, but which, nevertheless, is the largest gathering of the kind the Saskatchewan country has ever yet seen; and furthermore, as I have many more stirring scenes and incidents to relate at some future time, I will here and now, in the late autumn of 1868, bid my readers a grateful adieu. JOHN McDOUGALL. * * * * * * * * Forest, Lake and Prairie TWENTY YEARS OF FRONTIER LIFE IN WESTERN CANADA, 1842-1862. By JOHN McDOUGALL. WITH 27 FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS BY J. E. LAUGHLIN. WILLIAM BRIGGS, Publisher, Toronto. Saddle, Sled and Snowshoe PIONEERING ON THE SASKATCHEWAN IN THE SIXTIES By JOHN McDOUGALL, Author of "FOREST, LAKE AND PRAIRIE." WITH 15 FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS BY J. E. LAUGHLIN. WILLIAM BRIGGS, Publisher, Toronto, BOOKS RELATING TO THE Canadian North-West Manitoba Memories. Leaves from My Life in the Prairie Province. By REV. GEORGE YOUNG, D.D. The Selkirk Settlers in Real Life, by REV. R. G. MACBETH, M.A. The Making of the Canadian West. By REV. R. G. MACBETH, M.A. The Warden of the Plains. Stories of Life in the Canadian North-West, by REV. JOHN MACLEAN, M.A., Ph.D. Life of James Evans. By REV. JOHN MACLEAN, Ph.D. Across the Sub-Arctics of Canada. Journey of 3,200 Miles by Snowshoe and Canoe Through the Barren Lands. By J. W. TYRRELL, C.E. Polson's Probation. A Story of Manitoba. By JAMES MORTON. History of Manitoba. By ROBERT R. HILL. Life of Rev. George McDougall. By REV. JOHN McDOUGALL. Forest, Lake and Prairie. By REV. JOHN MCDOUGALL. Saddle, Sled and Snowshoe. By REV. JOHN McDOUGALL. Pathfinding on Plain and Prairie. By REV. JOHN MCDOUGALL. Overland to Cariboo. By M. McNAUGHTON. WILLIAM BRIGGS Publisher 29-33 Richmond St. West, TORONTO 
21712	----	THE YOUNG FUR TRADERS, BY R.M. BALLANTYNE. Preface. In writing this book my desire has been to draw an exact copy of the picture which is indelibly stamped on my own memory. I have carefully avoided exaggeration in everything of importance. All the chief and most of the minor incidents are facts. In regard to unimportant matters, I have taken the liberty of a novelist--not to colour too highly, or to invent improbabilities, but--to transpose time, place, and circumstance at pleasure; while, at the same time, I have endeavoured to convey to the reader's mind a truthful impression of the _general effect_--to use a painter's language--of the life and country of the Fur-Trader. R.M. BALLANTYNE. EDINBURGH, 1856. CHAPTER ONE. PLUNGES THE READER INTO THE MIDDLE OF AN ARCTIC WINTER; CONVEYS HIM INTO THE HEART OF THE WILDERNESSES OF NORTH AMERICA; AND INTRODUCES HIM TO SOME OF THE PRINCIPAL PERSONAGES OF OUR TALE. Snowflakes and sunbeams, heat and cold, winter and summer, alternated with their wonted regularity for fifteen years in the wild regions of the Far North. During this space of time the hero of our tale sprouted from babyhood to boyhood, passed through the usual amount of accidents, ailments, and vicissitudes incidental to those periods of life, and finally entered upon that ambiguous condition that precedes early manhood. It was a clear, cold winter's day. The sunbeams of summer were long past, and snowflakes had fallen thickly on the banks of Red River. Charley sat on a lump of blue ice, his head drooping and his eyes bent on the snow at his feet with an expression of deep disconsolation. Kate reclined at Charley's side, looking wistfully up in his expressive face, as if to read the thoughts that were chasing each other through his mind, like the ever-varying clouds that floated in the winter sky above. It was quite evident to the most careless observer that, whatever might be the usual temperaments of the boy and girl, their present state of mind was not joyous, but, on the contrary, very sad. "It won't do, sister Kate," said Charley. "I've tried him over and over again--I've implored, begged, and entreated him to let me go; but he won't, and I'm determined to run away, so there's an end of it!" As Charley gave utterance to this unalterable resolution, he rose from the bit of blue ice, and taking Kate by the hand, led her over the frozen river, climbed up the bank on the opposite side--an operation of some difficulty, owing to the snow, which had been drifted so deeply during a late storm that the usual track was almost obliterated--and turning into a path that lost itself among the willows, they speedily disappeared. As it is possible our reader may desire to know who Charley and Kate are, and the part of the world in which they dwell, we will interrupt the thread of our narrative to explain. In the very centre of the great continent of North America, far removed from the abodes of civilised men, and about twenty miles to the south of Lake Winnipeg, exists a colony composed of Indians, Scotsmen, and French-Canadians, which is known by the name of Red River Settlement. Red River differs from most colonies in more respects than one--the chief differences being, that whereas other colonies cluster on the sea-coast, this one lies many hundreds of miles in the interior of the country, and is surrounded by a wilderness; and while other colonies, acting on the Golden Rule, export their produce in return for goods imported, this of Red River imports a large quantity and exports nothing, or next to nothing. Not but that it _might_ export, if it only had an outlet or a market; but being eight hundred miles removed from the sea, and five hundred miles from the nearest market, with a series of rivers, lakes, rapids, and cataracts separating from the one, and a wide sweep of treeless prairie dividing from the other, the settlers have long since come to the conclusion that they were born to consume their own produce, and so regulate the extent of their farming operations by the strength of their appetites. Of course, there are many of the necessaries, or at least the luxuries, of life which the colonists cannot grow--such as tea, coffee, sugar, coats, trousers, and shirts--and which, consequently, they procure from England, by means of the Hudson's Bay Fur Company's ships, which sail once a year from Gravesend, laden with supplies for the trade carried on with the Indians. And the bales containing these articles are conveyed in boats up the rivers, carried past the waterfalls and rapids overland on the shoulders of stalwart voyageurs, and finally landed at Red River, after a rough trip of many weeks' duration. The colony was founded in 1811, by the Earl of Selkirk, previously to which it had been a trading-post of the Fur Company. At the time of which we write, it contained about five thousand souls, and extended upwards of fifty miles along the Red and Assiniboine Rivers, which streams supplied the settlers with a variety of excellent fish. The banks were clothed with fine trees; and immediately behind the settlement lay the great prairies, which extend in undulating waves--almost entirely devoid of shrub or tree--to the base of the Rocky Mountains. Although far removed from the civilised world, and containing within its precincts much that is savage and very little that is refined, Red River is quite a populous paradise as compared with the desolate, solitary establishments of the Hudson's Bay Fur Company. These lonely dwellings of the trader are scattered far and wide over the whole continent-- north, south, east, and west. Their population generally amounts to eight or ten men--seldom to thirty. They are planted in the thick of an uninhabited desert--their next neighbours being from two to five hundred miles off; their occasional visitors, bands of wandering Indians; and the sole object of their existence being to trade the furry hides of foxes, martens, beavers, badgers, bears, buffaloes, and wolves. It will not, then, be deemed a matter of wonder that the gentlemen who have charge of these establishments, and who, perchance, may have spent ten or twenty years in them, should look upon the colony of Red River as a species of Elysium--a sort of haven of rest, in which they may lay their weary heads, and spend the remainder of their days in peaceful felicity, free from the cares of a residence among wild beasts and wild men. Many of the retiring traders prefer casting their lot in Canada; but not a few of them _smoke_ out the remainder of their existence in this colony--especially those who, having left home as boys fifty or sixty years before, cannot reasonably expect to find the friends of their childhood where they left them, and cannot hope to remodel tastes and habits long nurtured in the backwoods so as to relish the manners and customs of civilised society. Such an one was old Frank Kennedy, who, sixty years before the date of our story, ran away from school in Scotland; got a severe thrashing from his father for so doing; and having no mother in whose sympathising bosom he could weep out his sorrow, ran away from home, went to sea, ran away from his ship while she lay at anchor in the harbour of New York, and after leading a wandering, unsettled life for several years, during which he had been alternately a clerk, a day-labourer, a store-keeper, and a village schoolmaster, he wound up by entering the service of the Hudson's Bay Company, in which he obtained an insight into savage life, a comfortable fortune, besides a half-breed wife and a large family. Being a man of great energy and courage, and moreover possessed of a large, powerful frame, he was sent to one of the most distant posts on the Mackenzie River, as being admirably suited for the display of his powers both mental and physical. Here the smallpox broke out among the natives, and besides carrying off hundreds of these poor creatures, robbed Mr Kennedy of all his children save two, Charles and Kate, whom we have already introduced to the reader. About the same time the council which is annually held at Red River in spring for the purpose of arranging the affairs of the country for the ensuing year thought proper to appoint Mr Kennedy to a still more outlandish part of the country--as near, in fact, to the North Pole as it was possible for mortal man to live--and sent him an order to proceed to his destination without loss of time. On receiving this communication Mr Kennedy upset his chair, stamped his foot, ground his teeth, and vowed, in the hearing of his wife and children, that sooner than obey the mandate he would see the governors and council of Rupert's Land hanged, quartered, and boiled down into tallow! Ebullitions of this kind were peculiar to Frank Kennedy, and meant _nothing_. They were simply the safety-valves to his superabundant ire, and, like safety-valves in general, made much noise but did no damage. It was well, however, on such occasions to keep out of the old fur-trader's way; for he had an irresistible propensity to hit out at whatever stood before him, especially if the object stood on a level with his own eyes and wore whiskers. On second thoughts, however, he sat down before his writing-table, took a sheet of blue ruled foolscap paper, seized a quill which he had mended six months previously, at a time when he happened to be in high good-humour, and wrote as follows:-- To the Governor and Council of Rupert's Land, Red River Settlement. Fort Paskisegun, _June 15, 18 hundred and something_. GENTLEMEN,--I have the honour to acknowledge receipt of your favour of 26th April last, appointing me to the charge of Peel's River, and directing me to strike out new channels of trade in that quarter. In reply, I have to state that I shall have the honour to fulfil your instructions by taking my departure in a light canoe as soon as possible. At the same time I beg humbly to submit that the state of my health is such as to render it expedient for me to retire from the service, and I herewith beg to hand in my resignation. I shall hope to be relieved early next spring.--I have the honour to be, gentlemen, your most obedient humble servant, F. KENNEDY. "There!" exclaimed the old gentleman, in a tone that would lead one to suppose he had signed the death-warrant, and so had irrevocably fixed the certain destruction, of the entire council--"there!" said he, rising from his chair, and sticking the quill into the ink-bottle with a _dab_ that split it up to the feather, and so rendered it _hors de combat_ for all time coming. To this letter the council gave a short reply, accepting his resignation, and appointing a successor. On the following spring old Mr Kennedy embarked his wife and children in a bark canoe, and in process of time landed them safely in Red River Settlement. Here he purchased a house with six acres of land, in which he planted a variety of useful vegetables, and built a summer-house after the fashion of a conservatory, where he was wont to solace himself for hours together with a pipe, or rather with dozens of pipes, of Canada twist tobacco. After this he put his two children to school. The settlement was at this time fortunate in having a most excellent academy, which was conducted by a very estimable man. Charles and Kate Kennedy, being obedient and clever, made rapid progress under his judicious management, and the only fault that he had to find with the young people was that Kate was a little too quiet and fond of books, while Charley was a little too riotous and fond of fun. When Charles arrived at the age of fifteen and Kate attained to fourteen years, old Mr Kennedy went into his conservatory, locked the door, sat down on an easy-chair, filled a long clay pipe with his beloved tobacco, smoked vigorously for ten minutes, and fell fast asleep. In this condition he remained until the pipe fell from his lips and broke in fragments on the floor. He then rose, filled another pipe, and sat down to meditate on the subject that had brought him to his smoking apartment. "There's my wife," said he, looking at the bowl of his pipe, as if he were addressing himself to it, "she's getting too old to be looking after everything herself (_puff_), and Kate's getting too old to be humbugging any longer with books; besides, she ought to be at home learning to keep house, and help her mother, and cut the baccy (_puff_), and that young scamp Charley should be entering the service (_puff_). He's clever enough now to trade beaver and bears from the red-skins; besides, he's (_puff_) a young rascal, and I'll be bound does nothing but lead the other boys into (_puff_) mischief, although, to be sure, the master _does_ say he's the cleverest fellow in the school; but he must be reined up a bit now. I'll clap on a double curb and martingale. I'll get him a situation in the counting-room at the fort (_puff_), where he'll have his nose held tight to the grindstone. Yes, I'll fix both their flints to-morrow;" and old Mr Kennedy gave vent to another puff so thick and long that it seemed as if all the previous puffs had concealed themselves up to this moment within his capacious chest, and rushed out at last in one thick and long-continued stream. By "fixing their flints" Mr Kennedy meant to express the fact that he intended to place his children in an entirely new sphere of action; and with a view to this he ordered out his horse and cariole [A sort of sleigh.] on the following morning, went up to the school, which was about ten miles distant from his abode, and brought his children home with him the same evening. Kate was now formally installed as housekeeper and tobacco-cutter; while Charley was told that his future destiny was to wield the quill in the service of the Hudson's Bay Company, and that he might take a week to think over it. Quiet, warm-hearted, affectionate Kate was overjoyed at the thought of being a help and comfort to her old father and mother; but reckless, joyous, good-humoured, hare-brained Charley was cast into the depths of despair at the idea of spending the livelong day, and day after day, for years it might be, on the top of a long-legged stool. In fact, poor Charley said that he "would rather become a buffalo than do it." Now this was very wrong of Charley, for, of course, he didn't _mean_ it. Indeed, it is too much a habit among little boys, ay, and among grown-up people too, to say what they don't mean, as no doubt you are aware, dear reader, if you possess half the self-knowledge we give you credit for; and we cannot too strongly remonstrate with ourself and others against the practice--leading, as it does, to all sorts of absurd exaggerations, such as gravely asserting that we are "broiling hot" when we are simply "rather warm," or more than "half dead" with fatigue when we are merely "very tired." However, Charley _said_ that he would rather be "a buffalo than do it," and so we feel bound in honour to record the fact. Charley and Kate were warmly attached to each other. Moreover, they had been, ever since they could walk, in the habit of mingling their little joys and sorrows in each other's bosoms; and although, as years flew past, they gradually ceased to sob in each other's arms at every little mishap, they did not cease to interchange their inmost thoughts, and to mingle their tears when occasion called them forth. They knew the power, the inexpressible sweetness, of sympathy. They understood experimentally the comfort and joy that flow from obedience to that blessed commandment to "rejoice with those that do rejoice, and weep with those that weep." It was natural, therefore, that on Mr Kennedy announcing his decrees, Charley and Kate should hasten to some retired spot where they could commune in solitude; the effect of which communing was to reduce them to a somewhat calmer and rather happy state of mind. Charley's sorrow was blunted by sympathy with Kate's joy, and Kate's joy was subdued by sympathy with Charley's sorrow; so that, after the first effervescing burst, they settled down into a calm and comfortable state of flatness, with very red eyes and exceedingly pensive minds. We must, however, do Charley the justice to say that the red eyes applied only to Kate; for although a tear or two could without much coaxing be induced to hop over his sun-burned cheek, he had got beyond that period of life when boys are addicted to (we must give the word, though not pretty, because it is eminently expressive) _blubbering_. A week later found Charley and his sister seated on the lump of blue ice where they were first introduced to the reader, and where Charley announced his unalterable resolve to run away, following it up with the statement that _that_ was "the end of it." He was quite mistaken, however, for that was by no means the end of it. In fact it was only the beginning of it, as we shall see hereafter. CHAPTER TWO. THE OLD FUR-TRADER ENDEAVOURS TO "FIX" HIS SON'S "FLINT," AND FINDS THE THING MORE DIFFICULT TO DO THAN HE EXPECTED. Near the centre of the colony of Red River, the stream from which the settlement derives its name is joined by another, called the Assiniboine. About five or six hundred yards from the point where this union takes place, and on the banks of the latter stream, stands the Hudson's Bay Company's trading-post, Fort Garry. It is a massive square building of stone. Four high and thick walls enclose a space of ground on which are built six or eight wooden houses, some of which are used as dwellings for the servants of the Hudson's Bay Company, and others as stores, wherein are contained the furs, the provisions which are sent annually to various parts of the country, and the goods (such as cloth, guns, powder and shot, blankets, twine, axes, knives, etcetera, etcetera,) with which the fur-trade is carried on. Although Red River is a peaceful colony, and not at all likely to be assaulted by the poor Indians, it was, nevertheless, deemed prudent by the traders to make some show of power; and so at the corners of the fort four round bastions of a very imposing appearance were built, from the embrasures of which several large black-muzzled guns protruded. No one ever conceived the idea of firing these engines of war; and, indeed, it is highly probable that such an attempt would have been attended with consequences much more dreadful to those _behind_ than to those who might chance to be in front of the guns. Nevertheless they were imposing, and harmonised well with the flagstaff, which was the only other military symptom about the place. This latter was used on particular occasions, such as the arrival or departure of a brigade of boats, for the purpose of displaying the folds of a red flag on which were the letters H.B.C. The fort stood, as we have said, on the banks of the Assiniboine River, on the opposite side of which the land was somewhat wooded, though not heavily, with oak, maple, poplar, aspens, and willows; while at the back of the fort the great prairie rolled out like a green sea to the horizon, and far beyond that again to the base of the Rocky Mountains. The plains at this time, however, were a sheet of unbroken snow, and the river a mass of solid ice. It was noon on the day following that on which our friend Charley had threatened rebellion, when a tall elderly man might have been seen standing at the back gate of Fort Garry, gazing wistfully out into the prairie in the direction of the lower part of the settlement. He was watching a small speck which moved rapidly over the snow in the direction of the fort. "It's very like our friend Frank Kennedy," said he to himself (at least we presume so, for there was no one else within earshot to whom he could have said it, except the door-post, which every one knows is proverbially a deaf subject). "No man in the settlement drives so furiously. I shouldn't wonder if he ran against the corner of the new fence now. Ha! just so--there he goes!" And truly the reckless driver did "go" just at that moment. He came up to the corner of the new fence, where the road took a rather abrupt turn, in a style that ensured a capsize. In another second the spirited horse turned sharp round, the sleigh turned sharp over, and the occupant was pitched out at full length, while a black object, that might have been mistaken for his hat, rose from his side like a rocket, and, flying over him, landed on the snow several yards beyond. A faint shout was heard to float on the breeze as this catastrophe occurred, and the driver was seen to jump up and readjust himself in the cariole; while the other black object proved itself not to be a hat by getting hastily up on a pair of legs, and scrambling back to the seat from which it had been so unceremoniously ejected. In a few minutes more the cheerful tinkling of the merry sleigh-bells was heard, and Frank Kennedy, accompanied by his hopeful son Charles, dashed up to the gate, and pulled up with a jerk. "Ha! Grant, my fine fellow, how are you?" exclaimed Mr Kennedy, senior, as he disengaged himself from the heavy folds of the buffalo robe and shook the snow from his greatcoat. "Why on earth, man, don't you put up a sign-post and a board to warn travellers that you've been running out new fences and changing the road, eh?" "Why, my good friend," said Mr Grant, smiling, "the fence and the road are of themselves pretty conclusive proof to most men that the road is changed; and, besides, we don't often have people driving round corners at full gallop; but--" "Hollo! Charley, you rascal," interrupted Mr Kennedy--"here, take the mare to the stable, and don't drive her too fast. Mind, now, no going off upon the wrong road for the sake of a drive, you understand." "All right, father," exclaimed the boy, while a bright smile lit up his features and displayed two rows of white teeth: "I'll be particularly careful," and he sprang into the light vehicle, seized the reins, and with a sharp crack of the whip dashed down the road at a hard gallop. "He's a fine fellow that son of yours," said Mr Grant, "and will make a first-rate fur-trader." "Fur-trader!" exclaimed Mr Kennedy. "Just look at him! I'll be shot if he isn't thrashing the mare as if she were made of leather." The old man's ire was rising rapidly as he heard the whip crack every now and then, and saw the mare bound madly over the snow. "And see!" he continued, "I declare he _has_ taken the wrong turn after all." "True," said Mr Grant: "he'll never reach the stable by that road; he's much more likely to visit the White-horse Plains. But come, friend, it's of no use fretting. Charley will soon tire of his ride; so come with me to my room and have a pipe before dinner." Old Mr Kennedy gave a short groan of despair, shook his fist at the form of his retreating son, and accompanied his friend to the house. It must not be supposed that Frank Kennedy was very deeply offended with his son, although he did shower on him a considerable amount of abuse. On the contrary, he loved him very much. But it was the old man's nature to give way to little bursts of passion on almost every occasion in which his feelings were at all excited. These bursts, however, were like the little puffs that ripple the surface of the sea on a calm summer's day. They were over in a second, and left his good-humoured, rough, candid countenance in unruffled serenity. Charley knew this well, and loved his father tenderly, so that his conscience frequently smote him for raising his anger so often; and he over and over again promised his sister Kate to do his best to refrain from doing anything that was likely to annoy the old man in future. But, alas! Charley's resolves, like those of many other boys, were soon forgotten, and his father's equanimity was upset generally two or three times a day; but after the gust was over, the fur-trader would kiss his son, call him a "rascal," and send him off to fill and fetch his pipe. Mr Grant, who was in charge of Fort Garry, led the way to his smoking apartment, where the two were soon seated in front of a roaring log-fire, emulating each other in the manufacture of smoke. "Well, Kennedy," said Mr Grant, throwing himself back in his chair, elevating his chin, and emitting a long thin stream of white vapour from his lips, through which he gazed at his friend complacently--"well, Kennedy, to what fortunate chance am I indebted for this visit? It is not often that we have the pleasure of seeing you here." Mr Kennedy created two large volumes of smoke, which, by means of a vigorous puff, he sent rolling over towards his friend, and said, "Charley." "And what of Charley?" said Mr Grant, with a smile, for he was well aware of the boy's propensity to fun, and of the father's desire to curb it. "The fact is," replied Kennedy, "that Charley must be broke. He's the wildest colt I ever had to tame, but I'll do it--I will--that's a fact." If Charley's subjugation had depended on the rapidity with which the little white clouds proceeded from his sire's mouth, there is no doubt that it would have been a "fact" in a very short time, for they rushed from him with the violence of a high wind. Long habit had made the old trader and his pipe not only inseparable companions, but part and parcel of each other--so intimately connected that a change in the one was sure to produce a sympathetic change in the other. In the present instance, the little clouds rapidly increased in size and number as the old gentleman thought on the obstinacy of his "colt." "Yes," he continued, after a moment's silence, "I've made up my mind to tame him, and I want _you_, Mr Grant, to help me." Mr Grant looked as if he would rather not undertake to lend his aid in a work that was evidently difficult; but being a good-natured man, he said, "And how, friend, can I assist in the operation?" "Well, you see, Charley's a good fellow at bottom, and a clever fellow too--at least so says the schoolmaster; though I must confess that, so far as my experience goes, he's only clever at finding out excuses for not doing what I want him to. But still I'm told he's clever, and can use his pen well; and I know for certain that he can use his tongue well. So I want to get him into the service, and have him placed in a situation where he shall have to stick to his desk all day. In fact, I want to have him broken in to work; for you've no notion, sir, how that boy talks about bears and buffaloes and badgers, and life in the woods among the Indians. I do believe," continued the old gentleman, waxing warm, "that he would willingly go into the woods to-morrow, if I would let him, and never show his nose in the settlement again. He's quite incorrigible. But I'll tame him yet--I will!" Mr Kennedy followed this up with an indignant grunt, and a puff of smoke, so thick, and propelled with such vigour, that it rolled and curled in fantastic evolutions towards the ceiling, as if it were unable to control itself with delight at the absolute certainty of Charley being tamed at last. Mr Grant, however, shook his head, and remained for five minutes in profound silence, during which time the two friends puffed in concert, until they began to grow quite indistinct and ghostlike in the thick atmosphere. At last he broke silence. "My opinion is that you're wrong, Mr Kennedy. No doubt you know the disposition of your son better than I do; but even judging of it from what you have said, I'm quite sure that a sedentary life will ruin him." "Ruin him! Humbug!" said Kennedy, who never failed to express his opinion at the shortest notice and in the plainest language--a fact so well known by his friends that they had got into the habit of taking no notice of it. "Humbug!" he repeated, "perfect humbug! You don't mean to tell me that the way to break him in is to let him run loose and wild whenever and wherever he pleases?" "By no means. But you may rest assured that tying him down won't do it." "Nonsense!" said Mr Kennedy testily; "don't tell me. Have I not broken in young colts by the score? and don't I know that the way to fix their flints is to clap on a good strong curb?" "If you had travelled farther south, friend," replied Mr Grant, "you would have seen the Spaniards of Mexico break in their wild horses in a very different way; for after catching one with a lasso, a fellow gets on his back, and gives it the rein and the whip--ay, and the spur too; and before that race is over, there is no need for a curb." "What!" exclaimed Kennedy, "and do you mean to argue from that, that I should let Charley run--and _help_ him too? Send him off to the woods with gun and blanket, canoe and tent, all complete?" The old gentleman puffed a furious puff, and broke into a loud, sarcastic laugh. "No, no," interrupted Mr Grant; "I don't exactly mean that, but I think that you might give him his way for a year or so. He's a fine, active, generous fellow; and after the novelty wore off, he would be in a much better frame of mind to listen to your proposals. Besides" (and Mr Grant smiled expressively), "Charley is somewhat like his father. He has got a will of his own; and if you do not give him his way, I very much fear that he'll--" "What?" inquired Mr Kennedy abruptly. "Take it," said Mr Grant. The puff that burst from Mr Kennedy's lips on hearing this would have done credit to a thirty-six pounder. "Take it!" said he; "he'd _better_ not." The latter part of this speech was not in itself of a nature calculated to convey much; but the tone of the old trader's voice, the contraction of his eyebrows, and above all the overwhelming flow of cloudlets that followed, imparted to it a significance that induced the belief that Charley's taking his own way would be productive of more terrific consequences than it was in the power of the most highly imaginative man to conceive. "There's his sister Kate, now," continued the old gentleman; "she's as gentle and biddable as a lamb. I've only to say a word, and she's off like a shot to do my bidding; and she does it with such a sweet smile too." There was a touch of pathos in the old trader's voice as he said this. He was a man of strong feeling, and as impulsive in his tenderness as in his wrath. "But that rascal Charley," he continued, "is quite different. He's obstinate as a mule. To be sure, he has a good temper; and I must say for him he never goes into the sulks, which is a comfort, for of all things in the world sulking is the most childish and contemptible. He _generally_ does what I bid him, too. But he's _always_ getting into scrapes of one kind or other. And during the last week, notwithstanding all I can say to him, he won't admit that the best thing for him is to get a place in your counting-room, with the prospect of rapid promotion in the service. Very odd. I can't understand it at all;" and Mr Kennedy heaved a deep sigh. "Did you ever explain to him the prospects that he would have in the situation you propose for him?" inquired Mr Grant. "Can't say I ever did." "Did you ever point out the probable end of a life spent in the woods?" "No." "Nor suggest to him that the appointment to the office here would only be temporary, and to see how he got on in it?" "Certainly not." "Then, my dear sir, I'm not surprised that Charley rebels. You have left him to suppose that, once placed at the desk here, he is a prisoner for life. But see, there he is," said Mr Grant, pointing as he spoke towards the subject of their conversation, who was passing the window at the moment; "let me call him, and I feel certain that he will listen to reason in a few minutes." "Humph!" ejaculated Mr Kennedy, "you may try." In another minute Charley had been summoned, and was seated, cap in hand, near the door. "Charley, my boy," began Mr Grant, standing with his back to the fire, his feet pretty wide apart, and his coat-tails under his arms--"Charley, my boy, your father has just been speaking of you. He is very anxious that you should enter the service of the Hudson's Bay Company; and as you are a clever boy and a good penman, we think that you would be likely to get on if placed for a year or so in our office here. I need scarcely point out to you, my boy, that in such a position you would be sure to obtain more rapid promotion than if you were placed in one of the distant outposts, where you would have very little to do, and perhaps little to eat, and no one to converse with except one or two men. Of course, we would merely place you here on trial, to see how you suited us; and if you prove steady and diligent, there is no saying how fast you might get on. Why, you might even come to fill _my_ place in course of time. Come now, Charley, what think you of it?" Charley's eyes had been cast on the ground while Mr Grant was speaking. He now raised them, looked at his father, then at his interrogator, and said-- "It is very kind of you both to be so anxious about my prospects. I thank you, indeed, very much; but I--a--" "Don't like the desk?" said his father, in an angry tone. "Is that it, eh?" Charley made no reply, but cast down his eyes again and smiled (Charley had a sweet smile, a peculiarly sweet, candid smile), as if he meant to say that his father had hit the nail quite on the top of the head that time, and no mistake. "But consider," resumed Mr Grant, "although you might probably be pleased with an outpost life at first, you would be sure to grow weary of it after the novelty wore off, and then you would wish with all your heart to be back here again. Believe me, child, a trader's life is a very hard and not often a very satisfactory one--" "Ay," broke in the father, desirous, if possible, to help the argument, "and you'll find it a desperately wild, unsettled, roving sort of life, too, let me tell you! full of dangers both from wild beasts and wild men--" "Hush!" interrupted Mr Grant, observing that the boy's eye kindled when his father spoke of a wild, roving life and wild beasts.--"Your father does not mean that life at an outpost is wild and _interesting_ or _exciting_. He merely means that--a--it--" Mr Grant could not very well explain what it was that Mr Kennedy meant if he did not mean that, so he turned to him for help. "Exactly so," said that gentleman, taking a strong pull at the pipe for inspiration. "It's no ways interesting or exciting at all. It's slow, dull, and flat; a miserable sort of Robinson Crusoe life, with red Indians and starvation constantly staring you in the face--" "Besides," said Mr Grant, again interrupting the somewhat unfortunate efforts of his friend, who seemed to have a happy facility in sending a brilliant dash of romantic allusion across the dark side of his picture--"besides, you'll not have opportunity to amuse yourself, or to read, as you'll have no books, and you'll have to work hard with your hands oftentimes, like your men--" "In fact," broke in the impatient father, resolved, apparently, to carry the point with a grand _coup_--"in fact, you'll have to _rough it_, as I did, when I went up the Mackenzie River district, where I was sent to establish a new post, and had to travel for weeks and weeks through a wild country, where none of us had ever been before; where we shot our own meat, caught our own fish, and built our own house--and were very near being murdered by the Indians; though, to be sure, afterwards they became the most civil fellows in the country, and brought us plenty of skins. Ay, lad, you'll repent of your obstinacy when you come to have to hunt your own dinner, as I've done many a day up the Saskatchewan, where I've had to fight with red-skins and grizzly bears, and to chase the buffaloes over miles and miles of prairie on rough-going nags till my bones ached and I scarce knew whether I sat on--" "Oh" exclaimed Charley, starting to his feet, while his eyes flashed and his chest heaved with emotion, "that's the place for me, father!--Do, please, Mr Grant, send me there, and I'll work for you with all my might!" Frank Kennedy was not a man to stand this unexpected miscarriage of his eloquence with equanimity. His first action was to throw his pipe at the head of his enthusiastic boy; without worse effect, however, than smashing it to atoms on the opposite wall. He then started up and rushed towards his son, who, being near the door, retreated precipitately and vanished. "So," said Mr Grant, not very sure whether to laugh or be angry at the result of their united efforts, "you've settled the question now, at all events." Frank Kennedy said nothing, but filled another pipe, sat doggedly down in front of the fire, and speedily enveloped himself, and his friend, and all that the room contained, in thick, impenetrable clouds of smoke. Meanwhile his worthy son rushed off in a state of great glee. He had often heard the voyageurs of Red River dilate on the delights of roughing it in the woods, and his heart had bounded as they spoke of dangers encountered and overcome among the rapids of the Far North, or with the bears and bison-bulls of the prairie, but never till now had he heard his father corroborate their testimony by a recital of his own actual experience; and although the old gentleman's intention was undoubtedly to damp the boy's spirit, his eloquence had exactly the opposite effect--so that it was with a hop and a shout that he burst into the counting-room, with the occupants of which Charley was a special favourite. CHAPTER THREE. THE COUNTING-ROOM. Every one knows the general appearance of a counting-room. There are one or two peculiar features about such apartments that are quite unmistakable and very characteristic; and the counting-room at Fort Garry, although many hundred miles distant from other specimens of its race, and, from the peculiar circumstances of its position, not therefore likely to bear them much resemblance, possessed one or two features of similarity, in the shape of two large desks and several very tall stools, besides sundry ink-bottles, rulers, books, and sheets of blotting-paper. But there were other implements there, savouring strongly of the backwoods and savage life, which merit more particular notice. The room itself was small, and lighted by two little windows, which opened into the courtyard. The entire apartment was made of wood. The floor was of unpainted fir boards. The walls were of the same material, painted blue from the floor upwards to about three feet, where the blue was unceremoniously stopped short by a stripe of bright red, above which the somewhat fanciful decorator had laid on a coat of pale yellow; and the ceiling, by way of variety, was of a deep ochre. As the occupants of Red River office were, however, addicted to the use of tobacco and tallow candies, the original colour of the ceiling had vanished entirely, and that of the walls had considerably changed. There were three doors in the room (besides the door of entrance), each opening into another apartment, where the three clerks were wont to court the favour of Morpheus after the labours of the day. No carpets graced the floors of any of these rooms, and with the exception of the paint aforementioned, no ornament whatever broke the pleasing uniformity of the scene. This was compensated, however, to some extent by several scarlet sashes, bright-coloured shot-belts, and gay portions of winter costume, peculiar to the country, which depended from sundry nails in the bedroom walls; and as the three doors always stood open, these objects, together with one or two fowling-pieces and canoe-paddles, formed quite a brilliant and highly suggestive background to the otherwise sombre picture. A large open fireplace stood in one corner of the room, devoid of a grate, and so constructed that large logs of wood might be piled up on end to any extent. And really the fires made in this manner, and in this individual fireplace, were exquisite beyond description. A wood-fire is a particularly cheerful thing. Those who have never seen one can form but a faint idea of its splendour; especially on a sharp winter night in the arctic regions, where the thermometer falls to forty degrees below zero, without inducing the inhabitants to suppose that the world has reached its conclusion. The billets are usually piled up on end, so that the flames rise and twine round them with a fierce intensity that causes them to crack and sputter cheerfully, sending innumerable sparks of fire into the room, and throwing out a rich glow of brilliant light that warms a man even to look at it, and renders candles quite unnecessary. The clerks who inhabited this counting-room were, like itself, peculiar. There were three--corresponding to the bedrooms. The senior was a tall, broad-shouldered, muscular man--a Scotchman--very good-humoured, yet a man whose under-lip met the upper with that peculiar degree of precision that indicated the presence of other qualities besides that of good-humour. He was book-keeper and accountant, and managed the affairs entrusted to his care with the same dogged perseverance with which he would have led an expedition of discovery to the North Pole. He was thirty or thereabouts. The second was a small man--also a Scotchman. It is curious to note how numerous Scotchmen are in the wilds of North America. This specimen was diminutive and sharp. Moreover, he played the flute--an accomplishment of which he was so proud that he ordered out from England a flute of ebony, so elaborately enriched with silver keys that one's fingers ached to behold it. This beautiful instrument, like most other instruments of a delicate nature, found the climate too much for its constitution, and, soon after the winter began, split from top to bottom. Peter Mactavish, however, was a genius by nature, and a mechanical genius by tendency; so that, instead of giving way to despair, he laboriously bound the flute together with waxed thread, which, although it could not restore it to its pristine elegance, enabled him to play with great effect sundry doleful airs, whose influence, when performed at night, usually sent his companions to sleep, or, failing this, drove them to distraction. The third inhabitant of the office was a ruddy, smooth-chinned youth of about fourteen, who had left home seven months before, in the hope of gratifying a desire to lead a wild life, which he had entertained ever since he read "Jack the Giant Killer," and found himself most unexpectedly fastened, during the greater part of each day, to a stool. His name was Harry Somerville, and a fine, cheerful little fellow he was, full of spirits, and curiously addicted to poking and arranging the fire at least every ten minutes--a propensity which tested the forbearance of the senior clerk rather severely, and would have surprised any one not aware of poor Harry's incurable antipathy to the desk, and the yearning desire with which he longed for physical action. Harry was busily engaged with the refractory fire when Charley, as stated at the conclusion of the last chapter, burst into the room. "Hollo!" he exclaimed, suspending his operations for a moment, "what's up?" "Nothing," said Charley, "but father's temper, that's all. He gave me a splendid description of his life in the woods, and then threw his pipe at me because I admired it too much." "Ho!" exclaimed Harry, making a vigorous thrust at the fire, "then you've no chance now." "No chance! what do you mean?" "Only that we are to have a wolf-hunt in the plains tomorrow; and if you've aggravated your father, he'll be taking you home to-night, that's all." "Oh! no fear of that," said Charley, with a look that seemed to imply that there was very great fear of "that,"--much more, in fact, than he was willing to admit even to himself. "My dear old father never keeps his anger long. I'm sure that he'll be all right again in half an hour." "Hope so, but doubt it I do," said Harry, making another deadly poke at the fire, and returning, with a deep sigh, to his stool. "Would you like to go with us, Charley?" said the senior clerk, laying down his pen and turning round on his chair (the senior clerk never sat on a stool) with a benign smile. "Oh, very, very much indeed," cried Charley; "but even should father agree to stay all night at the fort, I have no horse, and I'm sure he would not let me have the mare after what I did to-day." "Do you think he's not open to persuasion?" said the senior clerk. "No, I'm sure he's not." "Well, well, it don't much signify; perhaps we can mount you." (Charley's face brightened.) "Go," he continued, addressing Harry Somerville--"go, tell Tom Whyte I wish to speak to him." Harry sprang from his stool with a suddenness and vigour that might have justified the belief that he had been fixed to it by means of a powerful spring, which had been set free with a sharp recoil, and shot him out at the door, for he disappeared in a trice. In a few minutes he returned, followed by the groom Tom Whyte. "Tom," said the senior clerk, "do you think we could manage to mount Charley to-morrow?" "Why, sir, I don't think as how we could. There ain't an 'oss in the stable except them wot's required and them wot's badly." "Couldn't he have the brown pony?" suggested the senior clerk. Tom Whyte was a cockney and an old soldier, and stood so bolt upright that it seemed quite a marvel how the words ever managed to climb up the steep ascent of his throat, and turn the corner so as to get out at his mouth. Perhaps this was the cause of his speaking on all occasions with great deliberation and slowness. "Why, you see, sir," he replied, "the brown pony's got cut under the fetlock of the right hind leg; and I 'ad 'im down to L'Esperance the smith's, sir, to look at 'im, sir; and he says to me, says he, `That don't look well, that 'oss don't,'--and he's a knowing feller, sir, is L'Esperance, though he _is_ an 'alf-breed--" "Never mind what he said, Tom," interrupted the senior clerk; "is the pony fit for use? that's the question." "No, sir, 'e hain't." "And the black mare, can he not have that?" "No, sir; Mr Grant is to ride 'er to-morrow." "That's unfortunate," said the senior clerk.--"I fear, Charley, that you'll need to ride behind Harry on his gray pony. It wouldn't improve his speed, to be sure, having two on his back; but then he's so like a pig in his movements at any rate, I don't think it would spoil his pace much." "Could he not try the new horse?" he continued, turning to the groom. "The noo 'oss, sir! he might as well try to ride a mad buffalo bull, sir. He's quite a young colt, sir, only 'alf broke--kicks like a windmill, sir, and's got an 'ead like a steam-engine; 'e couldn't 'old 'im in no'ow, sir. I 'ad 'im down to the smith t'other day, sir, an' says 'e to me, says 'e, `That's a screamer, that is.' `Yes,' says I, `that his a fact.' `Well,' says 'e--" "Hang the smith!" cried the senior clerk, losing all patience; "can't you answer me without so much talk? Is the horse too wild to ride?" "Yes, sir, 'e is," said the groom, with a look of slightly offended dignity, and drawing himself up--if we may use such an expression to one who was always drawn up to such an extent that he seemed to be just balanced on his heels, and required only a gentle push to lay him flat on his back. "Oh, I have it!" cried Peter Mactavish, who had been standing during the conversation with his back to the fire, and a short pipe in his mouth: "John Fowler, the miller, has just purchased a new pony. I'm told it's an old buffalo-runner, and I'm certain he would lend it to Charley at once." "The very thing," said the senior clerk.--"Run, Tom; give the miller my compliments, and beg the loan of his horse for Charley Kennedy.--I think he knows you, Charley?" The dinner-bell rang as the groom departed, and the clerks prepared for their mid-day meal. The senior clerk's order to "_run_" was a mere form of speech, intended to indicate that haste was desirable. No man imagined for a moment that Tom Whyte could by any possibility _run_. He hadn't run since he was dismissed from the army, twenty years before, for incurable drunkenness; and most of Tom's friends entertained the belief that if he ever attempted to run he would crack all over, and go to pieces like a disentombed Egyptian mummy. Tom therefore walked off to the row of buildings inhabited by the men, where he sat down on a bench in front of his bed, and proceeded leisurely to fill his pipe. The room in which he sat was a fair specimen of the dwellings devoted to the _employes_ of the Hudson's Bay Company throughout the country. It was large, and low in the roof, built entirely of wood, which was unpainted; a matter, however, of no consequence, as, from long exposure to dust and tobacco-smoke, the floor, walls, and ceiling had become one deep, uniform brown. The men's berths were constructed after the fashion of berths on board ship, being wooden boxes ranged in tiers round the room. Several tables and benches were strewn miscellaneously about the floor, in the centre of which stood a large double iron stove, with the word "_Carron_" stamped on it. This served at once for cooking, and warming the place. Numerous guns, axes, and canoe-paddles hung round the walls or were piled in corners, and the rafters sustained a miscellaneous mass of materials, the more conspicuous among which were snow-shoes, dog-sledges, axe handles, and nets. Having filled and lighted his pipe, Tom Whyte thrust his hands into his deerskin mittens, and sauntered off to perform his errand. CHAPTER FOUR. A WOLF-HUNT IN THE PRAIRIES--CHARLEY ASTONISHES HIS FATHER, AND BREAKS IN THE "NOO 'OSS" EFFECTUALLY. During the long winter that reigns in the northern regions of America, the thermometer ranges, for many months together, from zero down to 20, 30, and 40 degrees _below_ it. In different parts of the country the intensity of the frost varies a little, but not sufficiently to make any appreciable change in one's sensation of cold. At York Fort, on the shores of Hudson's Bay, where the winter is eight months long, the spirit-of-wine (mercury being useless in so cold a climate) sometimes falls so low as 50 degrees below zero; and away in the regions of Great Bear Lake it has been known to fall considerably lower than 60 degrees below zero of Fahrenheit. Cold of such intensity, of course, produces many curious and interesting effects, which, although scarcely noticed by the inhabitants, make a strong impression upon the minds of those who visit the country for the first time. A youth goes out to walk on one of the first sharp, frosty mornings. His locks are brown and his face ruddy. In half an hour he returns with his face blue, his nose frost-bitten, and his locks _white_--the latter effect being produced by his breath congealing on his hair and breast, until both are covered with hoar-frost. Perhaps he is of a sceptical nature, prejudiced, it may be, in favour of old habits and customs; so that, although told by those who ought to know that it is absolutely necessary to wear moccasins in winter, he prefers the leather boots to which he has been accustomed at home, and goes out with them accordingly. In a few minutes the feet begin to lose sensation. First the toes, as far as feeling goes, vanish; then the heels depart, and he feels the extraordinary and peculiar and altogether disagreeable sensation of one who has had his heels and toes amputated, and is walking about on his insteps. Soon, however, these also fade away, and the unhappy youth rushes frantically home on the stumps of his anklebones--at least so it appears to him, and so in reality it would turn out to be if he did not speedily rub the benumbed appendages into vitality again. The whole country during this season is buried in snow, and the prairies of Red River present the appearance of a sea of the purest white for five or six months of the year. Impelled by hunger, troops of prairie wolves prowl round the settlement, safe from the assault of man in consequence of their light weight permitting them to scamper away on the surface of the snow, into which man or horse, from their greater weight, would sink, so as to render pursuit either fearfully laborious or altogether impossible. In spring, however, when the first thaws begin to take place, and commence that delightful process of disruption which introduces this charming season of the year, the relative position of wolf and man is reversed. The snow becomes suddenly soft, so that the short legs of the wolf, sinking deep into it, fail to reach the solid ground below, and he is obliged to drag heavily along; while the long legs of the horse enable him to plunge through and dash aside the snow at a rate which, although not very fleet, is sufficient, nevertheless, to overtake the chase and give his rider a chance of shooting it. The inhabitants of Red River are not much addicted to this sport, but the gentlemen of the Hudson's Bay Service sometimes practise it; and it was to a hunt of this description that our young friend Charley Kennedy was now so anxious to go. The morning was propitious. The sun blazed in dazzling splendour in a sky of deep, unclouded blue, while the white prairie glittered as if it were a sea of diamonds rolling out in an unbroken sheet from the walls of the fort to the horizon, and on looking at which one experienced all the pleasurable feelings of being out on a calm day on the wide, wide sea, without the disagreeable consequence of being very, very sick. The thermometer stood at 39 in the shade, and "everythink," as Tom White emphatically expressed it, "looked like a runnin' of right away into slush." That unusual sound, the trickling of water, so inexpressibly grateful to the ears of those who dwell in frosty climes, was heard all around, as the heavy masses of snow on the housetops sent a few adventurous drops gliding down the icicles which depended from the ewes and gables; and there was a balmy softness in the air that told of coming spring. Nature, in fact, seemed to have wakened from her long nap, and was beginning to think of getting up. Like people, however, who venture to delay so long as to _think_ about it, Nature frequently turns round and goes to sleep again in her icy cradle for a few weeks after the first awakening. The scene in the courtyard of Fort Garry harmonised with the cheerful spirit of the morning. Tom Whyte, with that upright solemnity which constituted one of his characteristic features, was standing in the centre of a group of horses, whose energy he endeavoured to restrain with the help of a small Indian boy, to whom meanwhile he imparted a variety of useful and otherwise unattainable information. "You see, Joseph," said he to the urchin, who gazed gravely in his face with a pair of very large and dark eyes, "ponies is often skittish. Reason why one should be, an' another not, I can't comprehend. P'r'aps it's nat'ral, p'r'aps not, but howsomediver so 'tis; an' if it's more nor above the likes o' _me_, Joseph, you needn't be surprised that it's somethink haltogether beyond you." It will not surprise the reader to be told that Joseph made no reply to this speech, having a very imperfect acquaintance with the English language, especially the peculiar dialect of that tongue in which Tom Whyte was wont to express his ideas, when he had any. He merely gave a grunt, and continued to gaze at Tom's fishy eyes, which were about as interesting as the face to which they belonged, and _that_ might have been mistaken for almost anything. "Yes, Joseph," he continued, "that's a fact. There's the noo brown 'oss now, _it's_ a skittish 'un. And there's Mr Kennedy's gray mare, wot's a standin' of beside me, she ain't skittish a bit, though she's plenty of spirit, and wouldn't care hanythink for a five-barred gate. Now, wot I want to know is, wot's the reason why?" We fear that the reason why, however interesting it might prove to naturalists, must remain a profound secret for ever; for just as the groom was about to entertain Joseph with one of his theories on the point, Charley Kennedy and Harry Somerville hastily approached. "Ho, Tom!" exclaimed the former, "have you got the miller's pony for me?" "_Why_, no, sir; 'e 'adn't got his shoes on, sir, last night--" "Oh, bother his shoes!" said Charley, in a voice of great disappointment. "Why didn't you bring him up without shoes, man, eh?" "Well, sir, the miller said 'e'd get 'em put on early this mornin', an' I 'xpect 'e'll be 'ere in 'alf a hour at farthest, sir." "Oh, very well," replied Charley, much relieved, but still a little nettled at the bare possibility of being late.--"Come along, Harry; let's go and meet him. He'll be long enough of coming if we don't go to poke him up a bit." "You'd better wait," called out the groom, as the boys hastened away. "If you go by the river, he'll p'r'aps come by the plains; and if you go by the plains, he'll p'r'aps come by the river." Charley and Harry stopped and looked at each other. Then they looked at the groom, and as their eyes surveyed his solemn, cadaverous countenance, which seemed a sort of bad caricature of the long visages of the horses that stood around him, they burst into a simultaneous and prolonged laugh. "He's a clever old lamp-post," said Harry at last: "we had better remain, Charley." "You see," continued Tom Whyte, "the pony's 'oofs is in an 'orrible state. Last night w'en I seed 'im I said to the miller, says I, `John, I'll take 'im down to the smith d'rectly.' `Very good,' said John. So I 'ad 'im down to the smith--" The remainder of Tom's speech was cut short by one of those unforeseen operations of the laws of nature which are peculiar to arctic climates. During the long winter repeated falls of snow cover the housetops with white mantles upwards of a foot thick, which become gradually thicker and more consolidated as winter advances. In spring the suddenness of the thaw loosens these from the sloping roofs, and precipitates them in masses to the ground. These miniature avalanches are dangerous, people having been seriously injured and sometimes killed by them. Now it happened that a very large mass of snow, which lay on and partly depended from the roof of the house near to which the horses were standing, gave way, and just at that critical point in Tom Whyte's speech when he "'ad 'im down to the smith," fell with a stunning crash on the back of Mr Kennedy's gray mare. The mare was not "skittish"--by no means--according to Tom's idea, but it would have been more than an ordinary mare to have stood the sudden descent of half a ton of snow without _some_ symptoms of consciousness. No sooner did it feel the blow than it sent both heels with a bang against the wooden store, by way of preliminary movement, and then rearing up with a wild snort, it sprang over Tom Whyte's head, jerked the reins from his hand, and upset him in the snow. Poor Tom never _bent_ to anything. The military despotism under which he had been reared having substituted a touch of the cap for a bow, rendered it unnecessary to bend; prolonged drill, laziness, and rheumatism made it at last impossible. When he stood up, he did so after the manner of a pillar; when he sat down, he broke across at two points, much in the way in which a foot-rule would have done had _it_ felt disposed to sit down; and when he fell, he came down like an overturned lamp-post. On the present occasion Tom became horizontal in a moment, and from his unfortunate propensity to fall straight, his head, reaching much farther than might have been expected, came into violent contact with the small Indian boy, who fell flat likewise, letting go the reins of the horses, which latter no sooner felt themselves free than they fled, curvetting and snorting round the court, with reins and manes flying in rare confusion. The two boys, who could scarce stand for laughing, ran to the gates of the fort to prevent the chargers getting free, and in a short time they were again secured, although evidently much elated in spirit. A few minutes after this Mr Grant issued from the principal house, leaning on Mr Kennedy's arm, and followed by the senior clerk, Peter Mactavish, and one or two friends who had come to take part in the wolf-hunt. They were all armed with double or single barrelled guns or pistols, according to their several fancies. The two elderly gentlemen alone entered upon the scene without any more deadly weapons than their heavy riding-whips. Young Harry Somerville, who had been strongly advised not to take a gun, lest he should shoot himself or his horse or his companions, was content to take the field with a small pocket-pistol, which he crammed to the muzzle with a compound of ball and swan-shot. "It won't do," said Mr Grant, in an earnest voice, to his friend, as they walked towards the horses--"it won't do to check him too abruptly, my dear sir." It was evident that they were recurring to the subject of conversation of the previous day, and it was also evident that the father's wrath was in that very uncertain state when a word or a look can throw it into violent agitation. "Just permit me," continued Mr Grant, "to get him sent to the Saskatchewan or Athabasca for a couple of years. By that time he'll have had enough of a rough life, and be only too glad to get a berth at headquarters. If you thwart him now, I feel convinced that he'll break through all restraint." "Humph!" ejaculated Mr Kennedy, with a frown.--"Come here, Charley," he said, as the boy approached with a disappointed look to tell of his failure in getting a horse; "I've been talking with Mr Grant again about this business, and he says he can easily get you into the counting-room here for a year, so you'll make arrangements--" The old gentleman paused. He was going to have followed his wonted course by _commanding_ instantaneous obedience; but as his eye fell upon the honest, open, though disappointed face of his son, a gush of tenderness filled his heart. Laying his hand upon Charley's head, he said, in a kind but abrupt tone, "There now, Charley, my boy, make up your mind to give in with a good grace. It'll only be hard work for a year or two, and then plain sailing after that, Charley!" Charley's clear blue eyes filled with tears as the accents of kindness fell upon his ear. It is strange that men should frequently be so blind to the potent influence of kindness. Independently of the Divine authority, which assures us that "a soft answer turneth away wrath," and that "_love_ is the fulfilling of the law," who has not, in the course of his experience, felt the overwhelming power of a truly affectionate word; not a word which possesses merely an affectionate signification, but a word spoken with a gush of tenderness, where love rolls in the tone, and beams in the eye, and revels in every wrinkle of the face? And how much more powerfully does such a word or look or tone strike home to the heart if uttered by one whose lips are not much accustomed to the formation of honeyed words or sweet sentences! Had Mr Kennedy, senior, known more of this power, and put it more frequently to the proof, we venture to affirm that Mr Kennedy, junior, would have _allowed_ his "_flint to be fixed_" (as his father pithily expressed it) long ago. Ere Charley could reply to the question, Mr Grant's voice, pitched in an elevated key, interrupted them. "Eh! what?" said that gentleman to Tom Whyte. "No horse for Charley! How's that?" "No, sir," said Tom. "Where's the brown pony?" said Mr Grant, abruptly. "Cut 'is fetlock, sir," said Tom slowly. "And the new horse?" "'Tain't 'alf broke yet, sir." "Ah! that's bad.--It wouldn't do to take an unbroken charger, Charley; for although you are a pretty good rider, you couldn't manage him, I fear. Let me see." "Please, sir," said the groom, touching his hat, "I've borrowed the miller's pony for 'im, and 'e's sure to be 'ere in 'alf a hour at farthest." "Oh, that'll do," said Mr Grant; "you can soon overtake us. We shall ride slowly out, straight into the prairie, and Harry will remain behind to keep you company." So saying, Mr Grant mounted his horse and rode out at the back gate, followed by the whole cavalcade. "Now this is too bad!" said Charley, looking with a very perplexed air at his companion. "What's to be done?" Harry evidently did not know what was to be done, and made no difficulty of saying so in a very sympathising tone. Moreover, he begged Charley very earnestly to take _his_ pony, but this the other would not hear of; so they came to the conclusion that there was nothing for it but to wait as patiently as possible for the arrival of the expected horse. In the meantime Harry proposed a saunter in the field adjoining the fort. Charley assented, and the two friends walked away, leading the gray pony along with them. To the right of Fort Garry was a small enclosure, at the extreme end of which commences a growth of willows and underwood, which gradually increases in size till it becomes a pretty thick belt of woodland, skirting up the river for many miles. Here stood the stable belonging to the establishment; and as the boys passed it, Charley suddenly conceived a strong desire to see the renowned "noo 'oss," which Tom had said was only "'alf broke;" so he turned the key, opened the door, and went in. There was nothing _very_ peculiar about this horse, excepting that his legs seemed rather long for his body, and upon a closer examination, there was a noticeable breadth of nostril and a latent fire in his eye, indicating a good deal of spirit, which, like Charley's own, required taming. "Oh," said Charley, "what a splendid fellow! I say, Harry, I'll go out with _him_." "You'd better not." "Why not?" "Why? just because if you do Mr Grant will be down upon you, and your father won't be very well pleased." "Nonsense," cried Charley. "Father didn't say I wasn't to take him. I don't think he'd care much. He's not afraid of my breaking my neck. And then, Mr Grant seemed to be only afraid of my being run off with-- not of his horse being hurt. Here goes for it!" In another moment Charley had him saddled and bridled, and led him out into the yard. "Why, I declare he's quite quiet; just like a lamb," said Harry, in surprise. "So he is," replied Charley. "He's a capital charger; and even if he does bolt, he can't run five hundred miles at a stretch. If I turn his head to the prairies, the Rocky Mountains are the first things that will bring him up. So let him run if he likes, I don't care a fig." And springing lightly into the saddle, he cantered out of the yard, followed by his friend. The young horse was a well-formed, showy animal, with a good deal of bone--perhaps too much for elegance. He was of a beautiful dark brown, and carried a high head and tail, with a high-stepping gait, that gave him a noble appearance. As Charley cantered along at a steady pace, he could discover no symptoms of the refractory spirit which had been ascribed to him. "Let us strike out straight for the horizon now," said Harry, after they had galloped half a mile or so along the beaten track. "See, here are the tracks of our friends." Turning sharp round as he spoke, he leaped his pony over the heap that lined the road, and galloped away through the soft snow. At this point the young horse began to show his evil spirit. Instead of following the other, he suddenly halted and began to back. "Hollo, Harry!" exclaimed Charley; "hold on a bit. Here's this monster begun his tricks." "Hit him a crack with the whip," shouted Harry. Charley acted upon the advice, which had the effect of making the horse shake his head with a sharp snort, and back more vigorously than ever. "There, my fine fellow, quiet now," said Charley in a soothing tone, patting the horse's neck. "It's a comfort to know you can't go far in that direction, anyhow!" he added, as he glanced over his shoulder, and saw an immense drift behind. He was right. In a few minutes the horse backed into the snow-drift. Finding his hind-quarters imprisoned by a power that was too much even for _his_ obstinacy to overcome, he gave another snort and a heavy plunge, which almost unseated his young rider. "Hold on fast," cried Harry, who had now come up. "No fear," cried Charley, as he clinched his teeth and gathered the reins more firmly.--"Now for it, you young villain!" and raising his whip, he brought it down with a heavy slash on the horse's flank. Had the snow-drift been a cannon, and the horse a bombshell, he could scarcely have sprung from it with greater velocity. One bound landed him on the road; another cleared it; and in a second more he stretched out at full speed--his ears flat on his neck, mane and tail flying in the wind, and the bit tight between his teeth. "Well done," cried Harry, as he passed. "You're off now, old fellow; good-bye." "Hurrah!" shouted Charley, in reply, leaving his cap in the snow as a parting souvenir; while, seeing that it was useless to endeavour to check his steed, he became quite wild with excitement; gave him the rein; flourished his whip; and flew over the white plains, casting up the snow in clouds behind him like a hurricane. While this little escapade was being enacted by the boys, the hunters were riding leisurely out upon the snowy sea in search of a wolf. Words cannot convey to you, dear reader, an adequate conception of the peculiar fascination, the exhilarating splendour of the scene by which our hunters were surrounded. Its beauty lay not in variety of feature in the landscape, for there was none. One vast sheet of white alone met the view, bounded all round by the blue circle of the sky, and broken in one or two places by a patch or two of willows, which, rising on the plain, appeared like little islands in a frozen sea. It was the glittering sparkle of the snow in the bright sunshine; the dreamy haziness of the atmosphere, mingling earth and sky as in a halo of gold; the first taste, the first _smell_ of spring after a long winter, bursting suddenly upon the senses, like the unexpected visit of a long-absent, much-loved, and almost forgotten friend; the soft, warm feeling of the south wind, bearing on its wings the balmy influences of sunny climes, and recalling vividly the scenes, the pleasures, the bustling occupations of summer. It was this that caused the hunters' hearts to leap within them as they rode along--that induced old Mr Kennedy to forget his years, and shout as he had been wont to do in days gone by, when he used to follow the track of the elk or hunt the wild buffalo; and it was this that made the otherwise monotonous prairies on this particular day so charming. The party had wandered about, without discovering anything that bore the smallest resemblance to a wolf, for upwards of an hour; Fort Garry had fallen astern (to use a nautical phrase) until it had become a mere speck on the horizon, and vanished altogether; Peter Mactavish had twice given a false alarm in the eagerness of his spirit, and had three times plunged his horse up to the girths in a snow-drift; the senior clerk was waxing impatient, and the horses restive, when a sudden "Hollo!" from Mr Grant brought the whole cavalcade to a stand. The object which drew his attention, and to which he directed the anxious eyes of his friends, was a small speck, rather triangular in form, which overtopped a little willow bush not more than five or six hundred yards distant. "There he is!" exclaimed Mr Grant. "That's a fact," cried Mr Kennedy; and both gentlemen, instantaneously giving a shout, bounded towards the object; not, however, before the senior clerk, who was mounted on a fleet and strong horse, had taken the lead by six yards. A moment afterwards the speck rose up and discovered itself to be a veritable wolf. Moreover, he condescended to show his teeth, and then, conceiving it probable that his enemies were too numerous for him, he suddenly turned round and fled away. For ten minutes or so the chase was kept up at full speed, and as the snow happened to be shallow at the starting-point, the wolf kept well ahead of its pursuers--indeed, distanced them a little. But soon the snow became deeper, and the wolf plunged heavily, and the horses gained considerably. Although to the eye the prairie seemed to be a uniform level, there were numerous slight undulations, in which drifts of some depth had collected. Into one of these the wolf now plunged and laboured slowly through it. But so deep was the snow that the horses almost stuck fast. A few minutes, however, brought them out, and Mr Grant and Mr Kennedy, who had kept close to each other during the run, pulled up for a moment on the summit of a ridge to breathe their panting steeds. "What can that be?" exclaimed the former, pointing with his whip to a distant object which was moving rapidly over the plain. "Eh! what--where?" said Mr Kennedy, shading his eyes with his hand, and peering in the direction indicated. "Why, that's another wolf, isn't it? No; it runs too fast for that." "Strange," said his friend; "what _can_ it be?" "If I hadn't seen every beast in the country," remarked Mr Kennedy, "and didn't know that there are no such animals north of the equator, I should say it was a mad dromedary mounted by a ring-tailed roarer." "It can't be, surely--not possible!" exclaimed Mr Grant. "It's not Charley on the new horse!" Mr Grant said this with an air of vexation, that annoyed his friend a little. He would not have much minded Charley's taking a horse without leave, no matter how wild it might be; but he did not at all relish the idea of making an apology for his son's misconduct, and for the moment did not exactly know what to say. As usual in such a dilemma, the old man took refuge in a towering passion, gave his steed a sharp cut with the whip, and galloped forward to meet the delinquent. We are not acquainted with the general appearance of a "ring-tailed roarer;" in fact, we have grave doubts as to whether such an animal exists at all; but if it does, and is particularly wild, dishevelled, and fierce in deportment, there is no doubt whatever that when Mr Kennedy applied the name to his hopeful son, the application was singularly powerful and appropriate. Charley had had a long run since we last saw him. After describing a wide curve, in which his charger displayed a surprising aptitude for picking out the ground that was least covered with snow, he headed straight for the fort again at the same pace at which he had started. At first Charley tried every possible method to check him, but in vain; so he gave it up, resolving to enjoy the race, since he could not prevent it. The young horse seemed to be made of lightning, with bones and muscles of brass, for he bounded untiringly forward for miles, tossing his head and snorting in his wild career. But Charley was a good horseman, and did not mind _that_ much, being quite satisfied that the horse _was_ a horse, and not a spirit, and that therefore he could not run for ever. At last he approached the party, in search of which he had originally set out. His eyes dilated and his colour heightened as he beheld the wolf running directly towards him. Fumbling hastily for the pistol which he had borrowed from his friend Harry, he drew it from his pocket, and prepared to give the animal a shot in passing. Just at that moment the wolf caught sight of this new enemy in advance, and diverged suddenly to the left, plunging into a drift in his confusion, and so enabling the senior clerk to overtake him, and send an ounce of heavy shot into his side, which turned him over quite dead. The shot, however, had a double effect. At that instant Charley swept past; and his mettlesome steed swerved as it heard the loud report of the gun, thereby almost unhorsing his rider, and causing him unintentionally to discharge the conglomerate of bullets and swan-shot into the flank of Peter Mactavish's horse--fortunately at a distance which rendered the shot equivalent to a dozen very sharp and particularly stinging blows. On receiving this unexpected salute, the astonished charger reared convulsively, and fell back upon his rider, who was thereby buried deep in the snow, not a vestige of him being left, no more than if he had never existed at all. Indeed, for a moment it seemed to be doubtful whether poor Peter _did_ exist or not, until a sudden upheaving of the snow took place, and his dishevelled head appeared, with the eyes and mouth wide open, bearing on them an expression of mingled horror and amazement. Meanwhile the second shot acted like a spur on the young horse, which flew past Mr Kennedy like a whirlwind. "Stop, you young scoundrel!" he shouted, shaking his fist at Charley as he passed. Charley was past stopping, either by inclination or ability. This sudden and unexpected accumulation of disasters was too much for him. As he passed his sire, with his brown curls streaming straight out behind, and his eyes flashing with excitement, his teeth clinched, and his horse tearing along more like an incarnate fiend than an animal, a spirit of combined recklessness, consternation, indignation, and glee took possession of him. He waved his whip wildly over his head, brought it down with a stinging cut on the horse's neck, and uttered a shout of defiance that threw completely into the shade the loudest war-whoop that was ever uttered by the brazen lungs of the wildest savage between Hudson's Bay and Oregon. Seeing and hearing this, old Mr Kennedy wheeled about and dashed off in pursuit with much greater energy than he had displayed in chase of the wolf. The race bade fair to be a long one, for the young horse was strong in wind and limb; and the gray mare, though decidedly not the "better horse," was much fresher than the other. The hunters, who were now joined by Harry Somerville, did not feel it incumbent on them to follow this new chase; so they contented themselves with watching their flight towards the fort, while they followed at a more leisurely pace. Meanwhile Charley rapidly neared Fort Garry, and now began to wonder whether the stable door was open, and if so, whether it were better for him to take his chance of getting his neck broken, or to throw himself into the next snow-drift that presented itself. He had not to remain long in suspense. The wooden fence that enclosed the stable-yard lay before him. It was between four and five feet high, with a beaten track running along the outside, and a deep snow-drift on the other. Charley felt that the young horse had made up his mind to leap this. As he did not at the moment see that there was anything better to be done, he prepared for it. As the horse bent on his haunches to spring, he gave him a smart cut with the whip, went over like a rocket, and plunged up to the neck in the snow-drift, which brought his career to an abrupt conclusion. The sudden stoppage of the horse was one thing, but the arresting of Master Charley was _another_ and quite a different thing. The instant his charger landed, he left the saddle like a harlequin, described an extensive curve in the air, and fell head foremost into the drift, above which his boots and three inches of his legs alone remained to tell the tale. On witnessing this climax, Mr Kennedy, senior, pulled up, dismounted, and ran--with an expression of some anxiety on his countenance--to the help of his son; while Tom Whyte came out of the stable just in time to receive the "noo 'oss" as he floundered out of the snow. "I believe," said the groom, as he surveyed the trembling charger, "that your son has broke the noo 'oss, sir, better nor I could 'ave done myself." "I believe that my son has broken his neck," said Mr Kennedy wrathfully. "Come here and help me to dig him out." In a few minutes Charley was dug out, in a state of insensibility, and carried up to the fort, where he was laid on a bed, and restoratives actively applied for his recovery. CHAPTER FIVE. PETER MACTAVISH BECOMES AN AMATEUR DOCTOR; CHARLEY PROMULGATES HIS VIEWS OF THINGS IN GENERAL TO KATE; AND KATE WAXES SAGACIOUS. Shortly after the catastrophe just related, Charley opened his eyes to consciousness, and aroused himself out of a prolonged fainting fit, under the combined influence of a strong constitution and the medical treatment of his friends. Medical treatment in the wilds of North America, by the way, is very original in its character, and is founded on principles so vague that no one has ever keen found capable of stating them clearly. Owing to the stubborn fact that there are no doctors in the country, men have been thrown upon their own resources, and as a natural consequence _every_ man is a doctor. True, there _are_ two, it may be three, real doctors in the Hudson's Bay Company's employment; but as one of these is resident on the shores of Hudson's Bay, another in Oregon, and a third in Red River Settlement, they are not considered available for every case of emergency that may chance to occur in the hundreds of little outposts, scattered far and wide over the whole continent of North America, with miles and miles of primeval wilderness between each. We do not think, therefore, that when we say there are no doctors in the country, we use a culpable amount of exaggeration. If a man gets ill, he goes on till he gets better; and if he doesn't get better, he dies. To avert such an undesirable consummation, desperate and random efforts are made in an amateur way. The old proverb that "extremes meet" is verified. And in a land where no doctors are to be had for love or money, doctors meet you at every turn, ready to practise on everything, with anything, and all for nothing, on the shortest possible notice. As may be supposed, the practice is novel, and not unfrequently extremely wild. Tooth-drawing is considered child's play-- mere blacksmith's work; bleeding is a general remedy for everything, when all else fails; castor oil, Epsom salts, and emetics are the three keynotes, the foundations, and the copestones of the system. In Red River there is only one _genuine_ doctor; and as the settlement is fully sixty miles long, he has enough to do, and is not always to be found when wanted, so that Charley had to rest content with amateur treatment in the meantime. Peter Mactavish was the first to try his powers. He was aware that laudanum had the effect of producing sleep, and seeing that Charley looked somewhat sleepy after recovering consciousness, he thought it advisable to help out that propensity to slumber, and went to the medicine chest, whence he extracted a small phial of tincture of rhubarb, the half of which he emptied into a wineglass, under the impression that it was laudanum, and poured down Charley's throat! The poor boy swallowed a little, and sputtered the remainder over the bed-clothes. It may be remarked here that Mactavish was a wild, happy, half-mad sort of fellow--wonderfully erudite in regard to some things, and profoundly ignorant in regard to others. Medicine, it need scarcely be added, was not his _forte_. Having accomplished this feat to his satisfaction, he sat down to watch by the bedside of his friend. Peter had taken this opportunity to indulge in a little private practice just after several of the other gentlemen had left the office, under the impression that Charley had better remain quiet for a short time. "Well, Peter," whispered Mr Kennedy, senior, putting his head in at the door (it was Harry's room in which Charley lay), "how is he now?" "Oh! doing capitally," replied Peter, in a hoarse whisper, at the same time rising and entering the office, while he gently closed the door behind him. "I gave him a small dose of physic, which I think has done him good. He's sleeping like a top now." Mr Kennedy frowned slightly, and made one or two remarks in reference to physic which were not calculated to gratify the cars of a physician. "What did you give him?" he inquired abruptly. "Only a little laudanum." "_Only_, indeed! It's all trash together, and that's the worst kind of trash you could have given him. Humph!" and the old gentleman jerked his shoulders testily. "How much did you give him?" said the senior clerk, who had entered the apartment with Harry a few minutes before. "Not quite a wineglassful," replied Peter, somewhat subdued. "A what!" cried the father, starting from his chair as if he had received an electric shock, and rushing into the adjoining room, up and down which he raved in a state of distraction, being utterly ignorant of what should be done under the circumstances. "Oh dear!" gasped Peter, turning pale as death. Poor Harry Somerville fell rather than leaped off his stool, and dashed into the bedroom, where old Mr Kennedy was occupied in alternately heaping unutterable abuse on the head of Peter Mactavish, and imploring him to advise what was best to be done. But Peter knew not. He could only make one or two insane proposals to roll Charley about the floor, and see if _that_ would do him any good; while Harry suggested in desperation that he should be hung by the heels, and perhaps it would run out! Meanwhile the senior clerk seized his hat, with the intention of going in search of Tom Whyte, and rushed out at the door; which he had no sooner done than he found himself tightly embraced in the arms of that worthy, who happened to be entering at the moment, and who, in consequence of the sudden onset, was pinned up against the wall of the porch. "Oh, my buzzum!" exclaimed Tom, laying his hand on his breast; "you've a'most bu'st me, sir. W'at's wrong, sir?" "Go for the doctor, Tom, quick! run like the wind. Take the freshest horse; fly, Tom, Charley's poisoned--laudanum; quick!" "'Eavens an' 'arth!" ejaculated the groom, wheeling round, and stalking rapidly off to the stable like a pair of insane compasses; while the senior clerk returned to the bedroom, where he found Mr Kennedy still raving, Peter Mactavish still aghast and deadly pale, and Harry Somerville staring like a maniac at his young friend, as if he expected every moment to see him explode, although, to all appearance, he was sleeping soundly, and comfortably too, notwithstanding the noise that was going on around him. Suddenly Harry's eye rested on the label of the half-empty phial, and he uttered a loud, prolonged cheer. "It's only tincture of--" "Wild cats and furies!" cried Mr Kennedy, turning sharply round and seizing Harry by the collar, "why d'you kick up such a row, eh?" "It's only tincture of rhubarb," repeated the boy, disengaging himself and holding up the phial triumphantly. "So it is, I declare," exclaimed Mr Kennedy, in a tone that indicated intense relief of mind; while Peter Mactavish uttered a sigh so deep that one might suppose a burden of innumerable tons weight had just been removed from his breast. Charley had been roused from his slumbers by this last ebullition; but on being told what had caused it, he turned languidly round on his pillow and went to sleep again, while his friends departed and left him to repose. Tom Whyte failed to find the doctor. The servant told him that her master had been suddenly called to set a broken leg that morning for a trapper who lived ten miles _down_ the river, and on his return had found a man waiting with a horse and cariole, who carried him violently away to see his wife, who had been taken suddenly ill at a house twenty miles _up_ the river, and so she didn't expect him back that night. "An' where has 'e been took to?" inquired Tom. She couldn't tell; she knew it was somewhere about the White-horse Plains, but she didn't know more than that. "Did 'e not say w'en 'e'd be 'ome?" "No, he didn't." "Oh dear!" said Tom, rubbing his long nose in great perplexity. "It's an 'orrible case o' sudden and onexpected pison." She was sorry for it, but couldn't help that; and thereupon, bidding him good-morning, shut the door. Tom's wits had come to that condition which just precedes "giving it up" as hopeless, when it occurred to him that he was not far from Mr Kennedy's residence; so he stepped into the cariole again and drove thither. On his arrival, he threw poor Mrs Kennedy and Kate into great consternation by his exceedingly graphic, and more than slightly exaggerated, account of what had brought him in search of the doctor. At first Mrs Kennedy resolved to go up to Fort Garry immediately, but Kate persuaded her to remain at home, by pointing out that she could herself go, and if anything very serious had occurred (which she didn't believe), Mr Kennedy could come down for her immediately, while she (Kate) could remain to nurse her brother. In a few minutes Kate and Tom were seated side by side in the little cariole, driving swiftly up the frozen river; and two hours later the former was seated by her brother's bedside, watching him, as he slept, with a look of tender affection and solicitude. Rousing himself from his slumbers, Charley looked vacantly round the room. "Have you slept well, darling?" inquired Kate, laying her hand lightly on his forehead. "Slept--eh! oh yes, I've slept. I say, Kate, what a precious bump I came down on my head, to be sure!" "Hush, Charley!" said Kate, perceiving that he was becoming energetic. "Father said you were to keep quiet--and so do I," she added, with a frown. "Shut your eyes, sir, and go to sleep." Charley complied by shutting his eyes, and opening his mouth, and uttering a succession of deep snores. "Now, you bad boy," said Kate, "why _won't_ you try to rest?" "Because, Kate dear," said Charley, opening his eyes again--"because I feel as if I had slept a week at least; and not being one of the seven sleepers, I don't think it necessary to do more in that way just now. Besides, my sweet but particularly wicked sister, I wish just at this moment to have a talk with you." "But are you sure it won't do you harm to talk? do you feel quite strong enough?" "Quite: Samson was a mere infant compared to me." "Oh, don't talk nonsense, Charley dear, and keep your hands quiet, and don't lift the clothes with your knees in that way, else I'll go away and leave you." "Very well, my pet, if you do I'll get up and dress and follow you, that's all! But come, Kate, tell me first of all how it was that I got pitched off that long-legged rhinoceros, and who it was that picked me up, and why wasn't I killed, and how did I come here; for my head is sadly confused, and I scarcely recollect anything that has happened. And before commencing your discourse, Kate, please hand me a glass of water, for my mouth is as dry as a whistle." Kate handed him a glass of water, smoothed his pillow, brushed the curls gently off his forehead, and sat down on the bedside. "Thank you, Kate; now go on." "Well, you see--" she began. "Pardon me, dearest," interrupted Charley, "if you would please to look at me you would observe that my two eyes are tightly closed, so that I don't _see_ at all." "Well, then, you must understand--" "Must I? oh!--" "That after that wicked horse leaped with you over the stable fence, you were thrown high into the air, and turning completely round, fell head foremost into the snow, and your poor head went through the top of an old cask that had been buried there all winter." "Dear me!" ejaculated Charley; "did any one see me, Kate?" "Oh yes." "Who?" asked Charley, somewhat anxiously; "not Mrs Grant, I hope? for if she did she'd never let me hear the last of it." "No; only our father, who was chasing you at the time," replied Kate, with a merry laugh. "And no one else?" "No--oh yes, by-the-bye, Tom Whyte was there too." "Oh, he's nobody! Go on." "But tell me, Charley, why do you care about Mrs Grant seeing you?" "Oh! no reason at all, only she's such an abominable quiz." We must guard the reader here against the supposition that Mrs Grant was a quiz of the ordinary kind. She was by no means a sprightly, clever woman, rather fond of a joke than otherwise, as the term might lead you to suppose. Her corporeal frame was very large, excessively fat, and remarkably unwieldy; being an appropriate casket in which to enshrine a mind of the heaviest and most sluggish nature. She spoke little, ate largely, and slept much--the latter recreation being very frequently enjoyed in a large arm-chair of a peculiar kind. It had been a water-butt, which her ingenious husband had cut half-way down the middle, then half-way across, and in the angle thus formed fixed a bottom, which, together with the back, he padded with tow, and covered the whole with a mantle of glaring bed-curtain chintz, whose pattern alternated in stripes of sky-blue and china roses, with broken fragments of rainbow between. Notwithstanding her excessive slowness, however, Mrs Grant was fond of taking a firm hold of anything or any circumstance in the character or affairs of her friends, and twitting them thereupon in a grave but persevering manner that was exceedingly irritating. No one could ever ascertain whether Mrs Grant did this in a sly way or not, as her visage never expressed anything except unalterable good-humour. She was a good wife and an affectionate mother, had a family of ten children, and could boast of never having had more than one quarrel with her husband. This disagreement was occasioned by a rather awkward mischance. One day, not long after her last baby was born, Mrs Grant waddled towards her tub with the intention of enjoying her accustomed siesta. A few minutes previously her seventh child, which was just able to walk, had scrambled up into the seat and fallen fast asleep there. As has been already said, Mrs Grant's intellect was never very bright, and at this particular time she was rather drowsy, so that she did not observe the child, and on reaching her chair, turned round preparatory to letting herself plump into it. She always _plumped_ into her chair. Her muscles were too soft to lower her gently down into it. Invariably on reaching a certain point they ceased to act, and let her down with a crash. She had just reached this point, and her baby's hopes and prospects were on the eve of being cruelly crushed for ever, when Mr Grant noticed the impending calamity. He had no time to warn her, for she had already passed the point at which her powers of muscular endurance terminated; so grasping the chair, he suddenly withdrew it with such force that the baby rolled off upon the floor like a hedgehog, straightened out flat, and gave vent to an outrageous roar, while its horror-struck mother came to the ground with a sound resembling the fall of an enormous sack of wool. Although the old lady could not see exactly that there was anything very blameworthy in her husband's conduct upon this occasion, yet her nerves had received so severe a shock that she refused to be comforted for two entire days. But to return from this digression. After Charley had two or three times recommended Kate (who was a little inclined to be quizzical) to proceed, she continued-- "Well, then, you were carried up here by father and Tom Whyte, and put to bed, and after a good deal of rubbing and rough treatment you were got round. Then Peter Mactavish nearly poisoned you; but fortunately he was such a goose that he did not think of reading the label of the phial, and so gave you a dose of tincture of rhubarb instead of laudanum, as he had intended; and then father flew into a passion, and Tom Whyte was sent to fetch the doctor, and couldn't find him; but fortunately he found me, which was much better, I think, and brought me up here. And so here I am, and here I intend to remain." "And so that's the end of it. Well, Kate, I'm very glad it was no worse." "And I am very _thankful_," said Kate, with emphasis on the word, "that it's no worse." "Oh, well, you know, Kate, I _meant_ that, of course." "But you did not _say_ it," replied his sister earnestly. "To be sure not," said Charley gaily; "it would be absurd to be always making solemn speeches, and things of that sort, every time one has a little accident." "True, Charley; but when one has a very serious accident, and escapes unhurt, don't you think that _then_ it would be--" "Oh yes, to be sure," interrupted Charley, who still strove to turn Kate from her serious frame of mind; "but, sister dear, how could I possibly _say_ I was thankful, with my head crammed into an old cask and my feet pointing up to the blue sky, eh?" Kate smiled at this, and laid her hand on his arm, while she bent over the pillow and looked tenderly into his eyes. "O my darling Charley, you are disposed to jest about it; but I cannot tell you how my heart trembled this morning when I heard from Tom Whyte of what had happened. As we drove up to the fort, I thought how terrible it would have been if you had been killed; and then the happy days we have spent together rushed into my mind, and I thought of the willow creek where we used to fish for gold-eyes, and the spot in the woods where we have so often chased the little birds, and the lake in the prairies where we used to go in spring to watch the water-fowl sporting in the sunshine. When I recalled these things, Charley, and thought of you as dead, I felt as if I should die too. And when I came here and found that my fears were needless, that you were alive and safe, and almost well, I felt thankful--yes, very, very thankful--to God for sparing your life, my dear, dear Charley." And Kate laid her head on his bosom and sobbed, when she thought of what might have been, as if her very heart would break. Charley's disposition to levity entirely vanished while his sister spoke; and twining his tough little arm round her neck, he pressed her fervently to his heart. "Bless you, Kate," he said at length. "I am indeed thankful to God, not only for sparing my life, but for giving me such a darling sister to live for. But now, Kate, tell me, what do you think of father's determination to have me placed in the office here?" "Indeed, I think it's very hard. Oh, I do wish _so_ much that I could do it for you," said Kate, with a sigh. "Do _what_ for me?" asked Charley. "Why, the office work," said Kate. "Tuts! fiddlesticks! But isn't it, now, really a _very_ hard case?" "Indeed it is; but then, what can you do?" "Do?" said Charley impatiently; "run away, to be sure." "Oh, don't speak of that!" said Kate anxiously. "You know it will kill our beloved mother; and then it would grieve father very much." "Well, father don't care much about grieving me, when he hunted me down like a wolf till I nearly broke my neck." "Now, Charley, you must not speak so. Father loves you tenderly, although he _is_ a little rough at times. If you only heard how kindly he speaks of you to our mother when you are away, you could not think of giving him so much pain. And then the Bible says, `Honour thy father and thy mother, that thy days may be long in the land which the Lord thy God giveth thee;' and as God speaks in the Bible, _surely_ we should pay attention to it!" Charley was silent for a few seconds; then heaving a deep sigh, he said,--"Well, I believe you're right, Kate; but then, what am I to do? If I don't run away, I must live, like poor Harry Somerville, on a long--legged stool; and if I do _that_, I'll--I'll--" As Charley spoke, the door opened, and his father entered. "Well, my boy," said he, seating himself on the bedside and taking his son's hand, "how goes it now? Head getting all right again? I fear that Kate has been talking too much to you.--Is it so, you little chatterbox?" Mr Kennedy parted Kate's clustering ringlets and kissed her forehead. Charley assured his father that he was almost well, and much the better of having Kate to tend him. In fact, he felt so much revived that he said he would get up and go out for a walk. "Had I not better tell Tom Whyte to saddle the young horse for you?" said his father, half ironically. "No, no, boy; lie still where you are to-day, and get up if you feel better to-morrow. In the meantime, I've come to say goodbye, as I intend to go home to relieve your mother's anxiety about you. I'll see you again, probably, the day after to-morrow. Hark you, boy; I've been talking your affairs over again with Mr Grant, and we've come to the conclusion to give you a run in the woods for a time. You'll have to be ready to start early in spring with the first brigades for the north. So adieu!" Mr Kennedy patted him on the head, and hastily left the room. A burning blush of shame arose on Charley's cheek as he recollected his late remarks about his father; and then, recalling the purport of his last words, he sent forth an exulting shout as he thought of the coming spring. "Well now, Charley," said Kate, with an arch smile, "let us talk seriously over your arrangements for running away." Charley replied by seizing the pillow and throwing it at his sister's head; but being accustomed to such eccentricities, she anticipated the movement, and evaded the blow. "Ah, Charley," cried Kate, laughing, "you mustn't let your hand get out of practice! That was a shockingly bad shot for a man thirsting to become a bear and buffalo hunter!" "I'll make my fortune at once," cried Charley, as Kate replaced the pillow, "build a wooden castle on the shores of Great Bear Lake, take you to keep house for me, and when I'm out hunting you'll fish for whales in the lake, and we'll live there to a good old age; so good-night, Kate dear, and go to bed." Kate laughed, gave her brother a parting kiss, and left him. CHAPTER SIX. SPRING AND THE VOYAGEURS. Winter, with its snow and its ice; winter, with its sharp winds and white drifts; winter, with its various characteristic occupations and employments, is past, and it is spring now. The sun no longer glitters on fields of white; the wood-man's axe is no longer heard hacking the oaken billets, to keep alive the roaring fires. That inexpressibly cheerful sound the merry chime of sleigh-bells, that tells more of winter than all other sounds together, is no longer heard on the bosom of Red River; for the sleighs are thrown aside as useless-- lumber-carts and gigs have supplanted them. The old Canadian, who used to drive the ox with its water-barrel to the ice-hole for his daily supply, has substituted a small cart with wheels for the old sleigh that used to glide so smoothly over the snow, and grit so sharply on it in the more than usually frosty mornings in the days gone by. The trees have lost their white patches, and the clump of willows, that used to look like islands in the prairie, have disappeared, as the carpeting that gave them prominence has dissolved. The aspect of everything in the isolated settlement has changed. The winter is gone, and spring-- bright, beautiful, hilarious spring--has come again. By those who have never known an arctic winter, the delights of an arctic spring can never, we fear, be fully appreciated or understood. Contrast is one of its strongest elements; indeed, we might say, _the_ element which gives to all the others peculiar zest. Life in the arctic regions is like one of Turner's pictures, in which the lights are strong, the shadows deep, and the _tout ensemble_ hazy and romantic. So cold and prolonged is the winter, that the first mild breath of spring breaks on the senses like a zephyr from the plains of paradise. Everything bursts suddenly into vigorous life, after the long death-like sleep of Nature, as little children burst into the romping gaieties of a new day after the deep repose of a long and tranquil night. The snow melts, the ice breaks up, and rushes in broken masses, heaving and tossing in the rising flood, that grind and whirl them into the ocean, or into those great fresh-water lakes that vie with ocean itself in magnitude and grandeur. The buds come out and the leaves appear, clothing all nature with a bright, refreshing green, which derives additional brilliancy from sundry patches of snow that fill the deep creeks and hollows everywhere, and form ephemeral fountains whose waters continue to supply a thousand rills for many a long day, until the fierce glare of the summer sun prevails at last and melts them all away. Red River flows on now to mix its long-pent-up waters with Lake Winnipeg. Boats are seen rowing about upon its waters, as the settlers travel from place to place; and wooden canoes, made of the hollowed-out trunks of large trees, shoot across from shore to shore--these canoes being a substitute for bridges, of which there are none, although the settlement lies on both sides of the river. Birds have now entered upon the scene, their wild cries and ceaseless flight adding to it a cheerful activity. Ground squirrels pop up out of their holes to bask their round, fat, beautifully-striped little bodies in the sun, or to gaze in admiration at the farmer, as he urges a pair of _very_ slow-going oxen, that drag the plough at a pace which induces one to believe that the wide field _may_ possibly be ploughed up by the end of next year. Frogs whistle in the marshy ground so loudly that men new to the country believe they are being regaled by the songs of millions of birds. There is no mistake about their _whistle_. It is not merely _like_ a whistle, but it _is_ a whistle, shrill and continuous; and as the swamps swarm with these creatures, the song never ceases for a moment, although each individual frog creates only one little gush of music, composed of half a dozen trills, and then stops a moment for breath before commencing the second bar. Bull-frogs, too, though not so numerous, help to vary the sound by croaking vociferously, as if they understood the value of bass, and were glad of having an opportunity to join in the universal hum of life and joy which rises everywhere, from the river and the swamp, the forest and the prairie, to welcome back the spring. Such was the state of things in Red River one beautiful morning in April, when a band of voyageurs lounged in scattered groups about the front gate of Fort Garry. They were as fine a set of picturesque, manly fellows as one could desire to see. Their mode of life rendered them healthy, hardy, and good-humoured, with a strong dash of recklessness-- perhaps too much of it--in some of the younger men. Being descended, generally, from French-Canadian sires and Indian mothers, they united some of the good and not a few of the bad qualities of both, mentally as well as physically--combining the light, gay-hearted spirit and full, muscular frame of the Canadian with the fierce passions and active habits of the Indian. And this wildness of disposition was not a little fostered by the nature of their usual occupations. They were employed during a great part of the year in navigating the Hudson's Bay Company's boats, laden with furs and goods, through the labyrinth of rivers and lakes that stud and intersect the whole continent, or they were engaged in pursuit of the bisons, [these animals are always called buffaloes by American hunters and fur-traders] which roam the prairies in vast herds. They were dressed in the costume of the country: most of them wore light-blue cloth capotes, girded tightly round them by scarlet or crimson worsted belts. Some of them had blue, and others scarlet, cloth leggings, ornamented more or less with stained porcupine quills, coloured silk, or variegated beads; while some might be seen clad in the leathern coats of winter-deer-skin dressed like chamois leather, fringed all round with little tails, and ornamented much in the same way as those already described. The heavy winter moccasins and duffel socks, which gave to their feet the appearance of being afflicted with gout, were now replaced by moccasins of a lighter and more elegant character, having no socks below, and fitting tightly to the feet like gloves. Some wore hats similar to those made of silk or beaver which are worn by ourselves in Britain, but so bedizened with scarlet cock-tail feathers, and silver cords and tassels, as to leave the original form of the head-dress a matter of great uncertainty. These hats, however, are only used on high occasions, and chiefly by the fops. Most of the men wore coarse blue cloth caps with peaks, and not a few discarded head-pieces altogether, under the impression, apparently, that nature had supplied a covering which was in itself sufficient. These costumes varied not only in character but in quality, according to the circumstances of the wearer; some being highly ornamental and mended--evincing the felicity of the owner in the possession of a good wife--while others were soiled and torn, or but slightly ornamented. The voyageurs were collected, as we have said, in groups. Here stood a dozen of the youngest-- consequently the most noisy and showily dressed--laughing loudly, gesticulating violently, and bragging tremendously. Near to them were collected a number of sterner spirits--men of middle age, with all the energy, and muscle, and bone of youth, but without its swaggering hilarity; men whose powers and nerves had been tried over and over again amid the stirring scenes of a voyageur's life; men whose heads were cool, and eyes sharp, and hands ready and powerful, in the mad whirl of boiling rapids, in the sudden attack of wild beast and hostile man, or in the unexpected approach of any danger; men who, having been well tried, needed not to boast, and who, having carried off triumphantly their respective brides many years ago, needed not to decorate their persons with the absurd finery that characterised their younger brethren. They were comparatively few in number, but they composed a sterling band, of which every man was a hero. Among them were those who occupied the high positions of bowman and steersman, and when we tell the reader that on these two men frequently hangs the safety of a boat, with all its crew and lading, it will be easily understood how needful it is that they should be men of iron nerve and strength of mind. Boat-travelling in those regions is conducted in a way that would astonish most people who dwell in the civilised quarters of the globe. The country being intersected in all directions by great lakes and rivers, these have been adopted as the most convenient highways along which to convey the supplies and bring back the furs from outposts. Rivers in America, however, as in other parts of the world, are distinguished by sudden ebullitions and turbulent points of character, in the shape of rapids, falls, and cataracts, up and down which neither men nor boats can by any possibility go with impunity; consequently, on arriving at such obstructions, the cargoes are carried overland to navigable water above or below the falls (as the case may be), then the boats are dragged over and launched, again reloaded, and the travellers proceed. This operation is called "making a portage;" and as these portages vary from twelve yards to twelve miles in length, it may be readily conceived that a voyageur's life is not an easy one by any means. This, however, is only one of his difficulties. Rapids occur which are not so dangerous as to make a "portage" necessary, but are sufficiently turbulent to render the descent of them perilous. In such cases, the boats, being lightened of part of their cargo, are ran down, and frequently they descend with full cargoes and crews. It is then that the whole management of each boat devolves upon its bowman and steersman. The rest of the crew, or _middlemen_ as they are called, merely sit still and look on, or give a stroke with their oars if required; while the steersman, with powerful sweeps of his heavy oar, directs the flying boat as it bounds from surge to surge like a thing of life; and the bowman stands erect in front to assist in directing his comrade at the stern, having a strong and long pole in his hands, with which, ever and anon, he violently forces the boat's head away from sunken rocks, against which it might otherwise strike and be stove in, capsized, or seriously damaged. Besides the groups already enumerated, there were one or two others, composed of grave, elderly men, whose wrinkled brows, grey hairs, and slow, quiet step showed that the strength of their days was past; although their upright figures and warm, brown complexions gave promise of their living to see many summers still. These were the principal steersmen and old guides--men of renown, to whom the others bowed as oracles or looked up to as fathers; men whose youth and manhood had been spent in roaming the trackless wilderness, and who were, therefore, eminently qualified to guide brigades through the length and breadth of the land; men whose power of threading their way among the perplexing intricacies of the forest had become a second nature, a kind of instinct, that was as sure of attaining its end as the instinct of the feathered tribes, which brings the swallow, after a long absence, with unerring certainty back to its former haunts again in spring. CHAPTER SEVEN. THE STORE. At whatever establishment in the fur-trader's dominions you may chance to alight, you will find a particular building which is surrounded by a halo of interest; towards which there seems to be a general leaning on the part of everybody, especially of the Indians; and with which are connected, in the minds of all, the most stirring reminiscences and pleasing associations. This is the trading-store. It is always recognisable, if natives are in the neighbourhood, by the bevy of red men that cluster round it, awaiting the coming of the storekeeper or the trader with that stoic patience which is peculiar to Indians. It may be further recognised, by a close observer, by the soiled condition of its walls, occasioned by loungers rubbing their backs perpetually against it, and the peculiar dinginess round the keyhole, caused by frequent applications of the key, which renders it conspicuous beyond all its comrades. Here is contained that which makes the red man's life enjoyable; that which causes his heart to leap, and induces him to toil for months and months together in the heat of summer and amid the frost and snow of winter; that which _actually_ accomplishes, what music is _said_ to achieve, the "soothing of the savage breast:" in short, here are stored up blankets, guns, powder, shot, kettles, axes, and knives; twine for nets, vermilion for war-paint, fish-hooks and scalping-knives, capotes, cloth, beads, needles, and a host of miscellaneous articles, much too numerous to mention. Here, also, occur periodical scenes of bustle and excitement, when bands of natives arrive from distant hunting-grounds, laden with rich furs, which are speedily transferred to the Hudson's Bay Company's stores in exchange for the goods aforementioned. And many a tough wrangle has the trader on such occasions with sharp natives, who might have graduated in Billingsgate, so close are they at a bargain. Here, too, voyageurs are supplied with an equivalent for their wages, part in advance, if they desire it (and they generally do desire it), and part at the conclusion of their long and arduous voyages. It is to one of these stores, reader, that we wish to introduce you now, that you may witness the men of the North brigade receive their advances. The store at Fort Garry stands on the right of the fort, as you enter by the front gate. Its interior resembles that of the other stores in the country, being only a little larger. A counter encloses a space sufficiently wide to admit a dozen men, and serves to keep back those who are more eager than the rest. Inside this counter, at the time we write of, stood our friend Peter Mactavish, who was the presiding genius of the scene. "Shut the door now, and lock it" said Peter, in an authoritative tone, after eight or ten young voyageurs had crushed into the space in front of the counter. "I'll not supply you with so much as an ounce of tobacco if you let in another man." Peter needed not to repeat the command. Three or four stalwart shoulders were applied to the door, which shut with a bang like a cannon-shot, and the key was turned. "Come now, Antoine," began the trader, "we've lots to do, and not much time to do it in, so pray look sharp." Antoine, however, was not to be urged on so easily. He had been meditating deeply all morning on what he should purchase. Moreover, he had a sweetheart, and of course he had to buy something for her before setting out on his travels. Besides, Antoine was six feet high, and broad shouldered, and well made, with a dark face and glossy black hair; and he entertained a notion that there were one or two points in his costume which required to be carefully rectified, ere he could consider that he had attained to perfection: so he brushed the long hair off his forehead, crossed his arms, and gazed around him. "Come now, Antoine," said Peter, throwing a green blanket at him, "I know you want _that_ to begin with. What's the use of thinking so long about it, eh? And _that_, too," he added, throwing him a blue cloth capote. "Anything else?" "Oui, oui, monsieur," cried Antoine, as he disengaged himself from the folds of the coat which Peter had thrown over his head. "Tabac, monsieur, tabac!" "Oh, to be sure," cried Peter. "I might have guessed that _that_ was uppermost in your mind. Well, how much will you have?" Peter began to unwind the fragrant weed off a coil of most appalling size and thickness which looked like a snake of endless length. "Will that do?" and he flourished about four feet of the snake before the eyes of the voyageur. Antoine accepted the quantity, and young Harry Somerville entered the articles against him in a book. "Anything more, Antoine?" said the trader. "Ah, some beads and silks, eh? Oho, Antoine!--By the way, Louis, have you seen Annette lately?" Peter turned to another voyageur when he put this question, and the voyageur gave a broad grin as he replied in the affirmative, while Antoine looked a little confused. He did not care much, however, for jesting. So, after getting one or two more articles--not forgetting half a dozen clay pipes, and a few yards of gaudy calico, which called forth from Peter a second reference to Annette--he bundled up his goods, and made way for another comrade. Louis Peltier, one of the principal guides, and a man of importance therefore, now stood forward. He was probably about forty-five years of age; had a plain, olive-coloured countenance, surrounded by a mass of long jet-black hair, which he inherited, along with a pair of dark, piercing eyes, from his Indian mother; and a robust, heavy, yet active frame, which bore a strong resemblance to what his Canadian father's had been many years before. His arms, in particular, were of herculean mould, with large, swelling veins and strongly-marked muscles. They seemed, in fact, just formed for the purpose of pulling the heavy sweep of an inland boat among strong rapids. His face combined an expression of stern resolution with great good-humour; and truly his countenance did not belie him, for he was known among his comrades as the most courageous and at the same time the most peaceable man in the settlement. Louis Peltier was singular in possessing the latter quality, for assuredly the half-breeds, whatever other good points they boast, cannot lay claim to very gentle or dove-like dispositions. His grey capote and blue leggings were decorated with no unusual ornaments, and the scarlet belt which encircled his massive figure was the only bit of colour he displayed. The younger men fell respectfully into the rear as Louis stepped forward and begged pardon for coming so early in the day. "Mais, monsieur," he said, "I have to look after the boats to-day, and get them ready for a start to-morrow." Peter Mactavish gave Louis a hearty shake of the hand before proceeding to supply his wants, which were simple and moderate, excepting in the article of _tabac_, in the use of which he was immoderate, being an inveterate smoker; so that a considerable portion of the snake had to be uncoiled for his benefit. "Fond as ever of smoking, Louis?" said Peter Mactavish, as he handed him the coil. "Oui, monsieur--very fond," answered the guide, smelling the weed. "Ah, this is very good. I must take a good supply this voyage, because I lost the half of my roll last year;" and the guide gave a sigh as he thought of the overwhelming bereavement. "Lost the half of it, Louis!" said Mactavish. "Why, how was that? You must have lost _more_ than half your spirits with it!" "Ah, oui, I lost _all_ my spirits, and my comrade Francois at the same time!" "Dear me!" exclaimed the clerk, bustling about the store while the guide continued to talk. "Oui, monsieur, oui. I lost _him_, and my tabac, and my spirits, and very nearly my life, all in one moment!" "Why, how came that about?" said Peter, pausing in his work, and laying a handful of pipes on the counter. "Ah, monsieur, it was very sad (merci, monsieur, merci; thirty pipes, if you please), and I thought at the time that I should give up my voyageur life, and remain altogether in the settlement with my old woman. Mais, monsieur, that was not possible. When I spoke of it to my old woman, she called _me_ an old woman; and you know, monsieur, that _two_ old women never could live together in peace for twelve months under the same roof. So here I am, you see, ready again for the voyage." The voyageurs, who had drawn round Louis when he alluded to an anecdote which they had often heard before, but were never weary of hearing over again, laughed loudly at this sally, and urged the guide to relate the story to "_monsieur_," who, nothing loath to suspend his operations for a little, leaned his arms on the counter and said,--"Tell us all about it, Louis; I am anxious to know how you managed to come by so many losses all at one time." "Bien, monsieur, I shall soon relate it, for the story is very short." Harry Somerville, who was entering the pipes in Louis's account, had just set down the figures "30" when Louis cleared his throat to begin. Not having the mental fortitude to finish the line, he dropped his pen, sprang off his stool, which he upset in so doing, jumped up, sitting-ways, upon the counter, and gazed with breathless interest into the guide's face as he spoke. "It was on a cold, wet afternoon," said Louis, "that we were descending the Hill River, at a part of the rapids where there is a sharp bend in the stream, and two or three great rocks that stand up in front of the water, as it plunges over a ledge, as if they were put there a purpose to catch it, and split it up into foam, or to stop the boats and canoes that try to run the rapids, and cut them up into splinters. It was an ugly place, monsieur, I can tell you; and though I've run it again and again, I always hold my breath tighter when we get to the top, and breathe freer when we get to the bottom. Well, there was a chum of mine at the bow, Francois by name, and a fine fellow he was as I ever came across. He used to sleep with me at night under the same blanket, although it _was_ somewhat inconvenient; for being as big as myself and a stone heavier, it was all we could do to make the blanket cover us. However, he and I were great friends, and we managed it somehow. Well, he was at the bow when we took the rapids, and a first-rate bowman he made. His pole was twice as long and twice as thick as any other pole in the boat, and he twisted it about just like a fiddlestick. I remember well the night before we came to the rapids, as he was sitting by the fire, which was blazing up among the pine branches that overhung us, he said that he wanted a good pole for the rapids next day; and with that he jumped up, laid hold of an axe, and went back into the woods a bit to get one. When he returned, he brought a young tree on his shoulder, which he began to strip of its branches and bark. `Louis,' says he, `this is hot work; give us a pipe.' So I rummaged about for some tobacco, but found there was none left in my bag; so I went to my kit and got out my roll, about three fathoms or so, and cutting half of it off, I went to the fire and twisted it round his neck by way of a joke, and he said he'd wear it as a necklace all night--and so he did, too, and forgot to take it off in the morning; and when we came near the rapids I couldn't get at my bag to stow it away, so says I, `Francois, you'll have to run with it on, for I can't stop to stow it now.' `All right,' says he, `go ahead;' and just as he said it, we came in sight of the first run, foaming and boiling like a kettle of robbiboo. `Take care, lads,' I cried, and the next moment we were dashing down towards the bend in the river. As we came near to the shoot, I saw Francois standing up on the gunwale to get a better view of the rocks ahead, and every now and then giving me a signal with his hand how to steer. Suddenly he gave a shout, and plunged his long pole into the water, to fend off from a rock which a swirl in the stream had concealed. For a second or two his pole bent like a willow, and we could feel the heavy boat jerk off a little with the tremendous strain; but all at once the pole broke off short with a crack, Francois' heels made a flourish in the air, and then he disappeared head foremost into the foaming water, with my tobacco coiled round his neck! As we flew past the place, one of his arms appeared, and I made a grab at it, and caught him by the sleeve; but the effort upset myself, and over I went too. Fortunately, however, one of my men caught me by the foot, and held on like a vice; but the force of the current tore Francois' sleeve out of my grasp, and I was dragged into the boat again just in time to see my comrade's legs and arms going like the sails of a windmill, as he rolled over several times and disappeared. Well, we put ashore the moment we got into still water, and then five or six of us started off on foot to look for Francois. After half an hour's search, we found him pitched upon a flat rock in the middle of the stream like a bit of driftwood. We immediately waded out to the rock and brought him ashore, where we lighted a fire, took off all his clothes, and rubbed him till he began to show signs of life again. But you may judge, mes garcons, of my misery when I found that the coil of tobacco was gone. It had come off his neck during his struggles, and there wasn't a vestige of it left, except a bright red mark on the throat, where it had nearly strangled him. When he began to recover, he put his hand up to his neck as if feeling for something, and muttered faintly, `The tabac.' `Ah, morbleu!' said I, `you may say that! Where is it?' Well, we soon brought him round, but he had swallowed so much water that it damaged his lungs, and we had to leave him at the next post we came to; and so I lost my friend too." "Did Francois get better?" said Charley Kennedy, in a voice of great concern. Charley had entered the store by another door, just as the guide began his story, and had listened to it unobserved with breathless interest. "Recover! Oh oui, monsieur, he soon got well again." "Oh, I'm so glad," cried Charley. "But I lost him for that voyage," added the guide; "and I lost my tabac for ever!" "You must take better care of it this time, Louis," said Peter Mactavish, as he resumed his work. "That I shall, monsieur," replied Louis, shouldering his goods and quitting the store, while a short, slim, active little Canadian took his place. "Now then, Baptiste," said Mactavish, "you want a--" "Blanket, monsieur." "Good. And--" "A capote, monsieur." "And--" "An axe--" "Stop, stop!" shouted Harry Somerville from his desk. "Here's an entry in Louis's account that I can't make out--30 something or other; what can it have been?" "How often," said Mactavish, going up to him with a look of annoyance--"how often have I told you, Mr Somerville, not to leave an entry half finished on any account!" "I didn't know that I left it so," said Harry, twisting his features and scratching his head in great perplexity. "What _can_ it have been? 30-- 30--not blankets, eh?" (Harry was becoming banteringly bitter.) "He couldn't have got thirty guns, could he? or thirty knives, or thirty copper kettles?" "Perhaps it was thirty pounds of tea," suggested Charley. "No doubt it was thirty _pipes_," said Peter Mactavish. "Oh, that was it!" cried Harry, "that was it! thirty pipes, to be sure. What an ass I am!" "And pray what is _that_?" said Mactavish, pointing sarcastically to an entry in the previous account--"5 _yards of superfine Annette_? Really, Mr Somerville, I wish you would pay more attention to your work and less to the conversation." "Oh dear!" cried Harry, becoming almost hysterical under the combined effects of chagrin at making so many mistakes, and suppressed merriment at the idea of selling Annettes by the yard. "Oh, dear me--" Harry could say no more, but stuffed his handkerchief into his mouth and turned away. "Well, sir," said the offended Peter, "when you have laughed to your entire satisfaction, we will go on with our work, if you please." "All right," cried Harry, suppressing his feelings with a strong effort; "what next?" Just then a tall, raw-boned man entered the store, and rudely thrusting Baptiste aside, asked if he could get his supplies now. "No," said Mactavish, sharply; "you'll take your turn like the rest." The new-comer was a native of Orkney, a country from which, and the neighbouring islands, the Fur Company almost exclusively recruits its staff of labourers. These men are steady, useful servants, although inclined to be slow and lazy _at first_; but they soon get used to the country, and rapidly improve under the example of the active Canadians and half-breeds with whom they associate. Some of them are the best servants the Company possess. Hugh Mathison, however, was a very bad specimen of the race, being rough and coarse in his manners, and very lazy withal. Upon receiving the trader's answer, Hugh turned sulkily on his heel and strode towards the door. Now, it happened that Baptiste's bundle lay just behind him, and on turning to leave the place, he tripped over it and stumbled, whereat the voyageurs burst into an ironical laugh (for Hugh was not a favourite). "Confound your trash!" he cried, giving the little bundle a kick that scattered everything over the floor. "Crapaud!" said Baptiste, between his set teeth, while his eyes flashed angrily, and he stood up before Hugh with clinched fists, "what mean you by that, eh?" The big Scotchman held his little opponent in contempt; so that, instead of putting himself on the defensive, he leaned his back against the door, thrust his hands into his pockets, and requested to know "what that was to him." Baptiste was not a man of many words, and this reply, coupled with the insolent sneer with which it was uttered, caused him to plant a sudden and well-directed blow on the point of Hugh's nose, which flattened it on his face, and brought the back of his head into violent contact with the door. "Well done!" shouted the men; "bravo, Baptiste! _Regardez le nez, mes enfants_!" "Hold!" cried Mactavish, vaulting the counter, and intercepting Hugh as he rushed upon his antagonist; "no fighting here, you blackguards! If you want to do _that_, go outside the fort;" and Peter, opening the door, thrust the Orkneyman out. In the meantime, Baptiste gathered up his goods and left the store, in company with several of his friends, vowing that he would wreak his vengeance on the "gros chien" before the sun should set. He had not long to wait, however, for just outside the gate he found Hugh, still smarting under the pain and indignity of the blow, and ready to pounce upon him like a cat on a mouse. Baptiste instantly threw down his bundle, and prepared for battle by discarding his coat. Every nation has its own peculiar method of fighting, and its own ideas of what is honourable and dishonourable in combat. The English, as every one knows, have particularly stringent rules regarding the part of the body which may or may not be hit with propriety, and count it foul disgrace to strike a man when he is down; although, by some strange perversity of reasoning, they deem it right and fair to _fall_ upon him while in this helpless condition, and burst him if possible. The Scotchman has less of the science, and we are half inclined to believe that he would go the length of kicking a fallen opponent; but on this point we are not quite positive. In regard to the style adopted by the half-breeds, however, we have no doubt. They fight _any_ way and _every_ way, without reference to rules at all; and really, although we may bring ourselves into contempt by admitting the fact, we think they are quite right. No doubt the best course of action is _not_ to fight; but if a man does find it _necessary_ to do so, surely the wisest plan is to get it over at once (as the dentist suggested to his timorous patient), and to do it in the most effectual manner. Be this as it may, Baptiste flew at Hugh, and alighted upon him, not head first, or fist first, or feet first, or _anything_ first, but altogether in a heap, as it were; fist, feet, knees, nails, and teeth all taking effect at one and the same time, with a force so irresistible that the next moment they both rolled in the dust together. For a minute or so they struggled and kicked like a couple of serpents, and then, bounding to their feet again, they began to perform a war-dance round each other, revolving their fists at the same time in, we presume, the most approved fashion. Owing to his bulk and natural laziness, which rendered jumping about like a jack-in-the-box impossible, Hugh Mathison preferred to stand on the defensive; while his lighter opponent, giving way to the natural bent of his mercurial temperament and corporeal predilections, comported himself in a manner that cannot be likened to anything mortal or immortal, human or inhuman, unless it be to an insane cat, whose veins ran wild-fire instead of blood. Or perhaps we might liken him to that ingenious piece of fire-work called a zigzag cracker, which explodes with unexpected and repeated suddenness, changing its position in a most perplexing manner at every crack. Baptiste, after the first onset danced backwards with surprising lightness, glaring at his adversary the while, and rapidly revolving his fists as before mentioned; then a terrific yell was heard; his head, arms, and legs became a sort of whirling conglomerate; the spot on which he danced was suddenly vacant, and at the same moment Mathison received a bite, a scratch, a dab on the nose, and a kick on the stomach all at once. Feeling that it was impossible to plant a well-directed blow on such an assailant, he waited for the next onslaught; and the moment he saw the explosive object flying through the air towards him, he met it with a crack of his heavy fist, which, happening to take effect in the middle of the chest, drove it backwards with about as much velocity as it had approached, and poor Baptiste measured his length on the ground. "Oh pauvre chien!" cried the spectators, "c'est fini!" "Not yet," cried Baptiste, as he sprang with a scream to his feet again, and began his dance with redoubled energy, just as if all that had gone before was a mere sketch--a sort of playful rehearsal, as it were, of what was now to follow. At this moment Hugh stumbled over a canoe paddle, and fell headlong into Baptiste's arms, as he was in the very act of making one of his violent descents. This unlooked-for occurrence brought them both to a sudden pause, partly from necessity and partly from surprise. Out of this state Baptiste recovered first, and taking advantage of the accident, threw Mathison heavily to the ground. He rose quickly, however, and renewed the fight with freshened vigour. Just at this moment a passionate growl was heard, and old Mr Kennedy rushed out of the fort in a towering rage. Now Mr Kennedy had no reason whatever for being angry. He was only a visitor at the fort, and so had no concern in the behaviour of those connected with it. He was not even in the Company's service now, and could not, therefore, lay claim, as one of its officers, to any right to interfere with its men. But Mr Kennedy never acted much from reason; impulse was generally his guiding-star. He had, moreover, been an absolute monarch, and a commander of men, for many years past in his capacity of fur-trader. Being, as we have said, a powerful, fiery man, he had ruled very much by means of brute force--a species of suasion, by the way, which is too common among many of the gentlemen (?) in the employment of the Hudson's Bay Company. On hearing, therefore, that the men were fighting in front of the fort, Mr Kennedy rushed out in a towering rage. "Oh, you precious blackguards!" he cried, running up to the combatants, while with flashing eyes he gazed first at one and then at the other, as if uncertain on which to launch his ire. "Have you no place in the world to fight but _here_--eh, blackguards?" "O monsieur," said Baptiste, lowering his hands, and assuming that politeness of demeanour which seems inseparable from French blood, however much mixed with baser fluid, "I was just giving _that dog_ a thrashing, monsieur." "Go!" cried Mr Kennedy, in a voice of thunder, turning to Hugh, who still stood in a pugilistic attitude, with very little respect in his looks. Hugh hesitated to obey the order; but Mr Kennedy continued to advance, grinding his teeth and working his fingers convulsively, as if belonged to lay violent hold of the Orkney-man's swelled nose; so he retreated in his uncertainty, but still with his face to the foe. As has been already said, the Assiniboine River flows within a hundred yards of the gate of Fort Garry. The two men, in their combat, had approached pretty near to the bank, at a place where it descends somewhat precipitately into the stream. It was towards this bank that Hugh Mathison was now retreating, crab fashion, followed by Mr Kennedy, and both of them so taken up with each other that neither perceived the fact until Hugh's heel struck against a stone just at the moment that Mr Kennedy raised his clinched fist in a threatening attitude. The effect of this combination was to pitch the poor man head over heels down the bank, into a row of willow bushes, through which, as he rolled with great speed, he went with a loud crash, and shot head first, like a startled alligator, into the water, amid a roar of laughter from his comrades and the people belonging to the fort; most of whom, attracted by the fight, were now assembled on the banks of the river. Mr Kennedy's wrath vanished immediately, and he joined in the laughter; but his face instantly changed when he beheld Hugh sputtering in deep water, and heard some one say that he could not swim. "What! can't swim?" he exclaimed, running down the bank to the edge of the water. Baptiste was before him, however. In a moment he plunged in up to the neck, stretched forth his arm, grasped Hugh by the hair, and dragged him to the land. CHAPTER EIGHT. FAREWELL TO KATE--DEPARTURE OF THE BRIGADE--CHARLEY BECOMES A VOYAGEUR. On the following day at noon, the spot on which the late combat had taken place became the theatre of a stirring and animated scene. Fort Garry, and the space between it and the river, swarmed with voyageurs, dressed in their cleanest, newest, and most brilliant costume. The large boats for the north, six in number, lay moored to the river's bank, laden with bales of furs, and ready to start on their long voyage. Young men, who had never been on the road before, stood with animated looks watching the operations of the guides as they passed critical examination upon their boats, overhauled the oars to see that they were in good condition, or with crooked knives (a species of instrument in the use of which voyageurs and natives are very expert) polished off the top of a mast, the blade of an oar, or the handle of a tiller. Old men, who had passed their lives in similar occupations, looked on in silence--some standing with their heads bent on their bosoms, and an expression of sadness about their faces, as if the scene recalled some mournful event of their early life, or possibly reminded them of wild, joyous scenes of other days, when the blood coursed warmly in their young veins, and the strong muscles sprang lightly to obey their will; when the work they had to do was hard, and the sleep that followed it was sound--scenes and days that were now gone by for ever. Others reclined against the wooden fence, their arms crossed, their thin white hair waving gently in the breeze, and a kind smile playing on their sunburned faces, as they observed the swagger and coxcombry of the younger men, or watched the gambols of several dark-eyed little children--embryo buffalo-hunters and voyageurs--whose mothers had brought them to the fort to get a last kiss from papa, and witness the departure of the boats. Several tender scenes were going on in out-of-the-way places--in angles of the walls and bastions, or behind the gates--between youthful couples about to be separated for a season. Interesting scenes these of pathos and pleasantry--a combination of soft glances and affectionate, fervent assurances; alternate embraces (that were _apparently_ received with reluctance, but _actually_ with delight), and proffers of pieces of calico and beads and other trinkets (received both _apparently_ and _actually_ with extreme satisfaction) as souvenirs of happy days that were past, and pledges of unalterable constancy and bright hopes in days that were yet to come. A little apart from the others, a youth and a girl might be seen sauntering slowly towards the copse beyond the stable. These were Charley Kennedy and his sister Kate, who had retired from the bustling scene to take a last short walk together, ere they separated, it might be for years, perhaps for ever! Charley held Kate's hand, while her sweet little head rested on his shoulder. "O Charley, Charley, my own dear, darling Charley, I'm quite miserable, and you ought not to go away; it's very wrong, and I don't mind a bit what you say, I shall die if you leave me!" And Kate pressed him tightly to her heart, and sobbed in the depth of her woe. "Now, Kate, my darling, don't go on so! You know I can't help it--" "I _don't_ know," cried Kate, interrupting him, and speaking vehemently--"I don't know, and I don't believe, and I don't care for anything at all; it's very hard-hearted of you, and wrong, and not right, and I'm just quite wretched!" Poor Kate was undoubtedly speaking the absolute truth; for a more disconsolate and wretched look of woe-begone misery was never seen on so sweet and tender and lovable a little face before. Her blue eyes swam in two lakes of pure crystal, that overflowed continually; her mouth, which was usually round, had become an elongated oval; and her nut-brown hair fell in dishevelled masses over her soft cheeks. "O Charley," she continued, "why _won't_ you stay?" "Listen to me, dearest Kate," said Charley, in a very husky voice. "It's too late to draw back now, even if I wished to do so; and you don't consider, darling, that I'll be back again soon. Besides, I'm a man now, Kate, and I must make my own bread. Who ever heard of a man being supported by his old father?" "Well, but you can do that here." "Now, don't interrupt me, Kate," said Charley, kissing her forehead; "I'm quite satisfied with _two short_ legs, and have no desire whatever to make my bread on the top of _three long_ ones. Besides, you know I can write to you--" "But you won't; you'll forget." "No, indeed, I will not. I'll write you long letters about all that I see and do; and you shall write long letters to me about--" "Stop, Charley," cried Kate; "I won't listen to you. I hate to think of it." And her tears burst forth again with fresh violence. This time Charley's heart sank too. The lump in his throat all but choked him; so he was fain to lay his head upon Kate's heaving bosom, and weep along with her. For a few minutes they remained silent, when a slight rustling in the bushes was heard. In another moment a tall, broad-shouldered, gentlemanly man, dressed in black, stood before them. Charley and Kate, on seeing this personage, arose, and wiping the tears from their eyes, gave a sad smile as they shook hands with their clergyman. "My poor children," said Mr Addison, affectionately, "I know well why your hearts are sad. May God bless and comfort you! I saw you enter the wood, and came to bid you farewell, Charley, my dear boy, as I shall not have another opportunity of doing so." "O dear Mr Addison," cried Kate, grasping his hand in both of hers, and gazing imploringly up at him through a perfect wilderness of ringlets and tears, "do prevail upon Charley to stay at home; please do!" Mr Addison could scarcely help smiling at the poor girl's extreme earnestness. "I fear, my sweet child, that it is too late now to attempt to dissuade Charley. Besides, he goes with the consent of his father; and I am inclined to think that a change of life for a _short_ time may do him good. Come, Kate, cheer up! Charley will return to us again ere long, improved, I trust, both physically and mentally." Kate did _not_ cheer up, but she dried her eyes, and endeavoured to look more composed; while Mr Addison took Charley by the hand, and, as they walked slowly through the wood, gave him much earnest advice and counsel. The clergyman's manner was peculiar. With a large, warm, generous heart, he possessed an enthusiastic nature, a quick, brusque manner, and a loud voice, which, when his spirit was influenced by the strong emotions of pity or anxiety for the souls of his flock, sank into a deep, soft bass of the most thrilling earnestness. He belonged to the Church of England, but conducted service very much in the Presbyterian form, as being more suited to his mixed congregation. After a long conversation with Charley, he concluded by saying:-- "I do not care to say much to you about being kind and obliging to all whom you may meet with during your travels, nor about the dangers to which you will be exposed by being thrown into the company of wild and reckless, perhaps very wicked, men. There is but _one_ incentive to every good, and _one_ safeguard against all evil, my boy, and that is the love of God. You may perhaps forget much that I have said to you; but remember this, Charley, if you would be happy in this world, and have a good hope for the next, centre your heart's affection on our blessed Lord Jesus Christ; for believe me, boy, _His_ heart's affection is centred upon you." As Mr Addison spoke, a loud hollo from Mr Kennedy apprised them that their time was exhausted, and that the boats were ready to start. Charley sprang towards Kate, locked her in a long, passionate embrace, and then, forgetting Mr Addison altogether in his haste, ran out of the wood, and hastened towards the scene of departure. "Good-bye, Charley!" cried Harry Somerville, running up to his friend and giving him a warm grasp of the hand. "Don't forget me, Charley. I wish I were going with you, with all my heart; but I'm an unlucky dog. Good-bye." The senior clerk and Peter Mactavish had also a kindly word and a cheerful farewell for him as he hurried past. "Good-bye, Charley, my lad!" said old Mr Kennedy, in an _excessively_ loud voice, as if by such means he intended to crush back some unusual but very powerful feelings that had a peculiar influence on a certain lump in his throat. "Goodbye, my lad; don't forget to write to your old--Hang it!" said the old man, brushing his coat-sleeve somewhat violently across his eyes, and turning abruptly round as Charley left him and sprang into the boat.--"I say, Grant, I--I--What are you staring at, eh?" The latter part of his speech was addressed, in an angry tone, to an innocent voyageur, who happened accidentally to confront him at the moment. "Come along, Kennedy," said Mr Grant, interposing, and grasping his excited friend by the arm--"come with me." "Ah, to be sure!--yes," said he, looking over his shoulder and waving a last adieu to Charley. "Good-bye, God bless you, my dear boy!--I say, Grant, come along; quick, man, and let's have a pipe--yes, let's have a pipe." Mr Kennedy, essaying once more to crush back his rebellious feelings, strode rapidly up the bank, and entering the house, sought to overwhelm his sorrow in smoke: in which attempt he failed. CHAPTER NINE. THE VOYAGE--THE ENCAMPMENT--A SURPRISE. It was a fine sight to see the boats depart for the north. It was a thrilling, heart-stirring sight to behold these picturesque, athletic men, on receiving the word of command from their guides, spring lightly into the long, heavy boats; to see them let the oars fall into the water with a loud splash, and then, taking their seats, give way with a will, knowing that the eyes of friends and sweethearts and rivals were bent earnestly upon them. It was a splendid sight to see boat after boat shoot out from the landing-place, and cut through the calm bosom of the river, as the men bent their sturdy backs, until the thick oars creaked and groaned on the gunwales and flashed in the stream, more and more vigorously at each successive stroke, until their friends on the bank, who were anxious to see the last of them, had to run faster and faster in order to keep up with them, as the rowers warmed at their work, and made the water gurgle at the bows--their bright blue and scarlet and white trappings reflected in the dark waters in broken masses of colour, streaked with long lines of shining ripples, as if they floated on a lake of liquid rainbows. And it was a glorious thing to hear the wild, plaintive song, led by one clear, sonorous voice, that rang out full and strong in the still air, while at the close of every two lines the whole brigade burst into a loud, enthusiastic chorus, that rolled far and wide over the smooth waters--telling of their approach to settlers beyond the reach of vision in advance, and floating faintly back, a last farewell, to the listening ears of fathers, mothers, wives, and sisters left behind. And it was interesting to observe how, as the rushing boats sped onwards past the cottages on shore, groups of men and women and children stood before the open doors and waved adieu, while ever and anon a solitary voice rang louder than the others in the chorus, and a pair of dark eyes grew brighter as a voyageur swept past his home, and recognised his little ones screaming farewell, and seeking to attract their _sire's_ attention by tossing their chubby arms or flourishing round their heads the bright vermilion blades of canoe paddles. It was interesting, too, to hear the men shout as they ran a small rapid which occurs about the lower part of the settlement, and dashed in full career up to the Lower Fort--which stands about twenty miles down the river from Fort Garry--and then sped onward again with unabated energy, until they passed the Indian settlement, with its scattered wooden buildings and its small church; passed the last cottage on the bank; passed the low swampy land at the river's mouth; and emerged at last, as evening closed, upon the wide, calm, sea-like bosom of Lake Winnipeg. Charley saw and heard all this during the whole of that long, exciting afternoon, and as he heard and saw it his heart swelled as if it would burst its prison-bars, his voice rang out wildly in the choruses, regardless alike of tune and time, and his spirit boiled within him as he quaffed the first sweet draught of a rover's life--a life in the woods, the wild, free, enchanting woods, where all appeared in _his_ eyes bright, and sunny, and green, and beautiful! As the sun's last rays sank in the west, and the clouds, losing their crimson hue, began gradually to fade into grey, the boats' heads were turned landward. In a few seconds they grounded on a low point covered with small trees and bushes which stretched out into the lake. Here Louis Peltier had resolved to bivouac for the night. "Now then, mes garcons," he exclaimed, leaping ashore, and helping to drag the boat a little way on to the beach, "vite, vite! a terre, a terre!--Take the kettle, Pierre, and let's have supper." Pierre needed no second bidding. He grasped a large tin kettle and an axe, with which he hurried into a clump of trees. Laying down the kettle, which he had previously filled with water from the lake, he singled out a dead tree, and with three powerful blows of his axe brought it to the ground. A few additional strokes cut it up into logs, varying from three to five feet in length, which he piled together, first placing a small bundle of dry grass and twigs beneath them, and a few splinters of wood which he cut from off one of the logs. Having accomplished this, Pierre took a flint and steel out of a gaily ornamented pouch which depended from his waist, and which went by the name of a fire-bag in consequence of its containing the implements for procuring that element. It might have been as appropriately named tobacco-bag or smoking-bag, however, seeing that such things had more to do with it, if possible, than fire. Having struck a spark, which he took captive by means of a piece of tinder, he placed it in the centre of a very dry handful of soft grass, and whirled it rapidly round his head, thereby producing a current of air, which blew the spark into a flame; which, when applied, lighted the grass and twigs; and so, in a few minutes, a blazing fire roared up among the trees--spouted volumes of sparks into the air, like a gigantic squib, which made it quite a marvel that all the bushes in the neighbourhood were not burnt up at once--glared out red and fierce upon the rippling water, until it became, as it were, red hot in the neighbourhood of the boats, and caused the night to become suddenly darker by contrast; the night reciprocating the compliment, as it grew later, by causing the space around the fire to glow brighter and brighter, until it became a brilliant chamber, surrounded by walls of the blackest ebony. While Pierre was thus engaged there were at least ten voyageurs similarly occupied. Ten steels were made instrumental in creating ten sparks, which were severally captured by ten pieces of tinder, and whirled round by ten lusty arms, until ten flames were produced, and ten fires sprang up and flared wildly on the busy scene that had a few hours before been so calm, so solitary, and so peaceful, bathed in the soft beams of the setting sun. In less than half an hour the several camps were completed, the kettles boiling over the fires, the men smoking in every variety of attitude, and talking loudly. It was a cheerful scene; and so Charley thought as he reclined in his canvas tent, the opening of which faced the fire, and enabled him to see all that was going on. Pierre was standing over the great kettle, dancing round it, and making sudden plunges with a stick into it, in the desperate effort to stir its boiling contents--desperate, because the fire was very fierce and large, and the flames seemed to take a fiendish pleasure in leaping up suddenly just under Pierre's nose, thereby endangering his beard, or shooting out between his legs and licking round them at most unexpected moments, when the light wind ought to have been blowing them quite in the opposite direction; and then, as he danced round to the other side to avoid them, wheeling about and roaring viciously in his face, until it seemed as if the poor man would be roasted long before the supper was boiled. Indeed, what between the ever-changing and violent flames, the rolling smoke, the steam from the kettle, the showering sparks, and the man's own wild grimaces and violent antics, Pierre seemed to Charley like a raging demon, who danced not only round, but above, and on, and through, and _in_ the flames, as if they were his natural element, in which he took special delight. Quite close to the tent the massive form of Louis the guide lay extended, his back supported by the stump of a tree, his eyes blinking sleepily at the blaze, and his beloved pipe hanging from his lips, while wreaths of smoke encircled his head. Louis's day's work was done. Few could do a better; and when his work was over, Louis always acted on the belief that his position and his years entitled him to rest, and took things very easy in consequence. Six of the boat's crew sat in a semicircle beside the guide and fronting the fire, each paying particular attention to his pipe, and talking between the puffs to any one who chose to listen. Suddenly Pierre vanished into the smoke and flames altogether, whence in another moment he issued, bearing in his hand the large tin kettle, which he deposited triumphantly at the feet of his comrades. "Now, then," cried Pierre. It was unnecessary to have said even that much by way of invitation. Voyageurs do not require to have their food pressed upon them after a hard day's work. Indeed, it was as much as they could do to refrain from laying violent hands on the kettle long before their worthy cook considered its contents sufficiently done. Charley sat in company with Mr Park--a chief factor, on his way to Norway House. Gibault, one of the men who acted as their servant, had placed a kettle of hot tea before them, which, with several slices of buffalo tongue, a lump of pemmican, and some hard biscuit and butter, formed their evening meal. Indeed, we may add that these viands, during a great part of the voyage, constituted their every meal. In fact, they had no variety in their fare, except a wild duck or two now and then, and a goose when they chanced to shoot one. Charley sipped a pannikin of tea as he reclined on his blanket, and being somewhat fatigued in consequence of his exertions and excitement during the day, said nothing. Mr Park for the same reasons, besides being naturally taciturn, was equally mute; so they both enjoyed in silence the spectacle of the men eating their supper. And it _was_ a sight worth seeing. Their food consisted of robbiboo, a compound of flour, pemmican, and water, boiled to the consistency of very thick soup. Though not a species of food that would satisfy the fastidious taste of an epicure, robbiboo is, nevertheless, very wholesome, exceedingly nutritious, and withal palatable. Pemmican, its principal component, is made of buffalo flesh, which fully equals (some think greatly excels) beef. The recipe for making it is as follows:--First kill your buffalo--a matter of considerable difficulty, by the way, as doing so requires you to travel to the buffalo-grounds, to arm yourself with a gun, and mount a horse, on which you have to gallop, perhaps, several miles over rough ground and among badger-holes, at the imminent risk of breaking your neck. Then you have to run up alongside of a buffalo and put a ball through his heart, which, apart from the murderous nature of the action, is a difficult thing to do. But we will suppose that you have killed your buffalo. Then you must skin him; then cut him up, and slice the flesh into layers, which must be dried in the sun. At this stage of the process you have produced a substance which in the fur countries goes by the name of dried meat, and is largely used as an article of food. As its name implies, it is very dry, and it is also very tough, and very undesirable if one can manage to procure anything better. But to proceed. Having thus prepared dried meat, lay a quantity of it on a flat stone, and take another stone, with which pound it into shreds. You must then take the animal's hide, while it is yet new, and make bags of it about two feet and a half long by a foot and a half broad. Into this put the pounded meat loosely. Melt the fat of your buffalo over a fire, and when quite liquid pour it into the bag until full; mix the contents well together; sew the whole up before it cools, and you have a bag of pemmican of about ninety pounds weight. This forms the chief food of the voyageur, in consequence of its being the largest possible quantity of sustenance compressed into the smallest possible space, and in an extremely convenient, portable shape. It will keep fresh for years, and has been much used, in consequence, by the heroes of arctic discovery, in their perilous journeys along the shores of the frozen sea. The voyageurs used no plates. Men who travel in these countries become independent of many things that are supposed to be necessary here. They sat in a circle round the kettle, each man armed with a large wooden or pewter spoon, with which he ladled the robbiboo down his capacious throat, in a style that not only caused Charley to laugh, but afterwards threw him into a deep reverie on the powers of appetite in general, and the strength of voyageur stomachs in particular. At first the keen edge of appetite induced the men to eat in silence; but as the contents of the kettle began to get low, their tongues loosened, and at last, when the kettles were emptied and the pipes filled, fresh logs thrown on the fires, and their limbs stretched out around them, the babel of English, French, and Indian that arose was quite overwhelming. The middle-aged men told long stories of what they _had_ done; the young men boasted of what they _meant_ to do; while the more aged smiled, nodded, smoked their pipes, put in a word or two as occasion offered, and listened. While they conversed the quick ears of one of the men of Charley's camp detected some unusual sound. "Hist!" said he, turning his head aside slightly, in a listening attitude, while his comrades suddenly ceased their noisy laugh. "Do ducks travel in canoes hereabouts?" said the man, after a moment's silence; "for, if not, there's some one about to pay us a visit. I would wager my best gun that I hear the stroke of paddles." "If your ears had been sharper, Francois, you might have heard them some time ago," said the guide, shaking the ashes out of his pipe and refilling it for the third time. "Ah, Louis, I do not pretend to such sharp ears as you possess, nor to such sharp wit either. But who do you think can be _en route_ so late?" "That my wit does not enable me to divine," said Louis; "but if you have any faith in the sharpness of your eyes, I would recommend you to go to the beach and see, as the best and shortest way of finding out." By this time the men had risen, and were peering out into the gloom in the direction whence the sound came, while one or two sauntered down to the margin of the lake to meet the newcomers. "Who can it be, I wonder?" said Charley, who had left the tent, and was now standing beside the guide. "Difficult to say, monsieur. Perhaps Injins, though I thought there were none here just now. But I'm not surprised that we've attracted _something_ to us. Livin' creeturs always come nat'rally to the light, and there's plenty fire on the point to-night." "Rather more than enough," replied Charley, abruptly, as a slight motion of wind sent the flames curling round his head and singed off his eyelashes. "Why, Louis, it's my firm belief that if I ever get to the end of this journey, I'll not have a hair left on my head." Louis smiled. "O monsieur, you will learn to _observe_ things before you have been long in the wilderness. If you _will_ edge round to leeward of the fire, you can't expect it to respect you." Just at this moment a loud hurrah rang through the copse, and Harry Somerville sprang over the fire into the arms of Charley, who received him with a hug and a look of unutterable amazement. "Charley, my boy!" "Harry Somerville, I declare!" For at least five minutes Charley could not recover his composure sufficiently to _declare_ anything else, but stood with open mouth and eyes, and elevated eyebrows, looking at his young friend, who capered and danced round the fire in a manner that threw the cook's performances in that line quite into the shade, while he continued all the time to shout fragments of sentences that were quite unintelligible to any one. It was evident that Harry was in a state of immense delight at something unknown save to himself, but which, in the course of a few minutes, was revealed to his wondering friends. "Charley, I'm _going_! hurrah!" and he leaped about in a manner that induced Charley to say he would not only be going, but very soon _gone_, if he did not keep further away from the fire. "Yes, Charley, I'm going with you! I upset the stool, tilted the ink-bottle over the invoice-book, sent the poker almost through the back of the fireplace, and smashed Tom Whyte's best whip on the back of the `noo 'oss,' as I galloped him over the plains for the last time--all for joy, because I'm going with you, Charley, my darling!" Here Harry suddenly threw his arms round his friend's neck, meditating an embrace. As both boys were rather fond of using their muscles violently, the embrace degenerated into a wrestle, which caused them to threaten complete destruction to the fire as they staggered in front of it, and ended in their tumbling against the tent, and nearly breaking its poles and fastenings, to the horror and indignation of Mr Park, who was smoking his pipe within, quietly waiting till Harry's superabundant glee was over, that he might get an explanation of his unexpected arrival among them. "Ah, they will be good voyageurs!" cried one of the men, as he looked on at this scene. "Oui, oui! good boys, active lads," replied the others, laughing. The two boys rose hastily. "Yes," cried Harry, breathless, but still excited, "I'm going all the way, and a great deal farther. I'm going to hunt buffaloes in the Saskatchewan, and grizzly bears in the--the--in fact everywhere! I'm going down the Mackenzie River--I'm going _mad_, I believe;" and Harry gave another caper and another shout, and tossed his cap high into the air. Having been recklessly tossed, it came down into the fire. When it went in, it was dark blue; but when Harry dashed into the flames in consternation to save it, it came out of a rich brown colour. "Now, youngster," said Mr Park, "when you've done capering I should like to ask you one or two questions. What brought you here?" "A canoe," said Harry, inclined to be impudent. "Oh! and pray for what _purpose_ have you come here?" "These are my credentials," handing him a letter. Mr Park opened the note and read. "Ah! oh! Saskatchewan--hum--yes--outpost--wild boy--just so--keep him at it--ay, fit for nothing else. So," said Mr Park, folding the paper, "I find that Mr Grant has sent you to take the place of a young gentleman we expected to pick up at Norway House, but who is required elsewhere; and that he wishes you to see a good deal of rough life--to be made a trader of, in fact. Is that your desire?" "That's the very ticket!" replied Harry, scarcely able to restrain his delight at the prospect. "Well, then, you had better get supper and turn in, for you'll have to begin your new life by rising at three o'clock to-morrow morning. Have you got a tent?" "Yes," said Harry, pointing to his canoe, which had been brought to the fire and turned bottom up by the two Indians to whom it belonged, and who were reclining under its shelter enjoying their pipes, and watching with looks of great gravity the doings of Harry and his friend. "_That_ will return whence it came to-morrow. Have you no other?" "Oh yes," said Harry, pointing to the overhanging branches of a willow close at hand, "lots more." Mr Park smiled grimly, and turning on his heel re-entered the tent and continued his pipe, while Harry flung himself down beside Charley under the bark canoe. This species of "tent" is, however, by no means a perfect one. An Indian canoe is seldom three feet broad--frequently much narrower--so that it only affords shelter for the body as far down as the waist, leaving the extremities exposed. True, one _may_ double up as nearly as possible into half one's length, but this is not a desirable position to maintain throughout an entire night. Sometimes, when the weather is _very_ bad, an additional protection is procured by leaning several poles against the bottom of the canoe, on the weather side, in such a way as to slope considerably over the front; and over these are spread pieces of birch bark or branches and moss, so as to form a screen, which is an admirable shelter. But this involves too much time and labour to be adopted during a voyage, and is only done when the travellers are under the necessity of remaining for some time in one place. The canoe in which Harry arrived was a pretty large one, and looked so comfortable when arranged for the night that Charley resolved to abandon his own tent and Mr Park's society, and sleep with his friend. "I'll sleep with you, Harry, my boy," said he, after Harry had explained to him in detail the cause of his being sent away from Red River; which was no other than that a young gentleman, as Mr Park said, who _was_ to have gone, had been ordered elsewhere. "That's right, Charley; spread out our blankets, while I get some supper, like a good fellow." Harry went in search of the kettle while his friend prepared their bed. First, he examined the ground on which the canoe lay, and found that the two Indians had already taken possession of the only level places under it. "Humph!" he ejaculated, half inclined to rouse them up, but immediately dismissed the idea as unworthy of a voyageur. Besides, Charley was an amiable, unselfish fellow, and would rather have lain on the top of a dozen stumps than have made himself comfortable at the expense of any one else. He paused a moment to consider. On one side was a hollow "that" (as he soliloquised to himself) "would break the back of a buffalo." On the other side were a dozen little stumps surrounding three very prominent ones, that threatened destruction to the ribs of any one who should venture to lie there. But Charley did not pause to consider long. Seizing his axe, he laid about him vigorously with the head of it, and in a few seconds destroyed all the stumps, which he carefully collected, and, along with some loose moss and twigs, put into the hollow, and so filled it up. Having improved things thus far, he rose and strode out of the circle of light into the wood. In a few minutes he reappeared, bearing a young spruce fir tree on his shoulder, which with the axe he stripped of its branches. These branches were flat in form, and elastic--admirably adapted for making a bed on; and when Charley spread them out under the canoe in a pile of about four inches in depth by four feet broad and six feet long, the stumps and the hollow were overwhelmed altogether. He then ran to Mr Park's tent, and fetched thence a small flat bundle covered with oilcloth and tied with a rope. Opening this, he tossed out its contents, which were two large and very thick blankets--one green, the other white; a particularly minute feather pillow, a pair of moccasins, a broken comb, and a bit of soap. Then he opened a similar bundle containing Harry's bed, which he likewise tossed out; and then kneeling down, he spread the two white blankets on the top of the branches, the two green blankets above these, and the two pillows at the top, as far under the shelter of the canoe as he could push them. Having completed the whole in a manner that would have done credit to a chambermaid, he continued to sit on his knees, with his hands in his pockets, smiling complacently, and saying, "Capital--first-rate!" "Here we are, Charley. Have a second supper--do!" Harry placed the smoking kettle by the head of the bed, and squatting down beside it, began to eat as only a boy _can_ eat who has had nothing since breakfast. Charley attacked the kettle too--as he said, "out of sympathy," although he "wasn't hungry a bit." And really, for a man who was not hungry, and had supped half an hour before, the appetite of _sympathy_ was wonderfully strong. But Harry's powers of endurance were now exhausted. He had spent a long day of excessive fatigue and excitement, and having wound it up with a heavy supper, sleep began to assail him with a fell ferocity that nothing could resist. He yawned once or twice, and sat on the bed blinking unmeaningly at the fire, as if he had something to say to it which he could not recollect just then. He nodded violently, much to his own surprise, once or twice, and began to address remarks to the kettle instead of to his friend. "I say, Charley, this won't do. I'm off to bed!" and suiting the action to the word, he took off his coat and placed it on his pillow. He then removed his moccasins, which were wet, and put on a dry pair; and this being all that is ever done in the way of preparation before going to bed in the woods, he lay down and pulled the green blankets over him. Before doing so, however, Harry leaned his head on his hands and prayed. This was the one link left of the chain of habit with which he had left home. Until the period of his departure for the wild scenes of the North-west, Harry had lived in a quiet, happy home in the West Highlands of Scotland, where he had been surrounded by the benign influences of a family the members of which were united by the sweet bonds of Christian love--bonds which were strengthened by the additional tie of amiability of disposition. From childhood he had been accustomed to the routine of a pious and well-regulated household, where the Bible was perused and spoken of with an interest that indicated a genuine hungering and thirsting after righteousness, and where the name of JESUS sounded often and sweetly on the ear. Under such training Harry, though naturally of a wild, volatile disposition, was deeply and irresistibly impressed with a reverence for sacred things, which, now that he was thousands of miles away from his peaceful home, clung to him with the force of old habit and association, despite the jeers of comrades and the evil influences and ungodliness by which he was surrounded. It is true that he was not altogether unhurt by the withering indifference to God that he beheld on all sides. Deep impression is not renewal of heart. But early training in the path of Christian love saved him many a deadly fall. It guarded him from many of the grosser sins into which other boys, who had merely broken away from the _restraints_ of home, too easily fell. It twined round him--as the ivy encircles the oak--with a soft, tender, but powerful grasp, that held him back when he was tempted to dash aside all restraint; and held him up when, in the weakness of his human nature, he was about to fall. It exerted its benign sway over him in the silence of night, when his thoughts reverted to home, and during his waking hours, when he wandered from scene to scene in the wide wilderness; and in after years, when sin prevailed, and intercourse with rough men had worn off much of at least the superficial amiability of his character, and to some extent blunted the finer feelings of his nature, it clung faintly to him still, in the memory of his mother's gentle look and tender voice, and never forsook him altogether. Home had a blessed and powerful influence on Harry. May God bless such homes, where the ruling power is _love_! God bless and multiply such homes in the earth! Were there more of them there would be fewer heart-broken mothers to weep over the memory of the blooming, manly boys they sent away to foreign climes--with trembling hearts but high hopes--and never saw them more. They were vessels launched upon the troubled sea of time, with stout timbers, firm masts, and gallant sails--with all that was necessary above and below, from stem to stern, for battling with the billows of adverse fortune, for stemming the tide of opposition, for riding the storms of persecution, or bounding with a press of canvas before the gales of prosperity; but without the rudder--without the guiding principle that renders the great power of plank and sail and mast available; _with_ which the vessel moves obedient to the owner's will, _without_ which it drifts about with every current, and sails along with every shifting wind that blows. Yes, may the best blessings of prosperity and peace rest on such families, whose bread, cast continually on the waters, returns to them after many days. After Harry had lain down, Charley, who did not feel inclined for repose, sauntered to the margin of the lake, and sat down upon a rock. It was a beautiful calm evening. The moon shone faintly through a mass of heavy clouds, casting a pale light on the waters of Lake Winnipeg, which stretched, without a ripple, out to the distant horizon. The great fresh-water lakes of America bear a strong resemblance to the sea. In storms the waves rise mountains high, and break with heavy, sullen roar upon a beach composed in many places of sand and pebbles; while they are so large that one not only looks out to a straight horizon, but may even sail _out of sight of land_ altogether. As Charley sat resting his head on his hand, and listening to the soft hiss that the ripples made upon the beach, he felt all the solemnising influence that steals irresistibly over the mind as we sit on a still night gazing out upon the moonlit sea. His thoughts were sad; for he thought of Kate, and his mother and father, and the home he was now leaving. He remembered all that he had ever done to injure or annoy the dear ones he was leaving; and it is strange how much alive our consciences become when we are unexpectedly or suddenly removed from those with whom we have lived and held daily intercourse. How bitterly we reproach ourselves for harsh words, unkind actions; and how intensely we long for one word more with them, one fervent embrace, to prove at once that all we have ever said or done was not _meant_ ill, and, at any rate, is deeply, sincerely repented of now! As Charley looked up into the starry sky, his mind recurred to the parting words of Mr Addison. With uplifted hands and a full heart, he prayed that God would bless, for Jesus' sake, the beloved ones in Red River, but especially Kate; for whether he prayed or meditated, Charley's thoughts _always_ ended with Kate. A black cloud passed across the moon, and reminded him that but a few hours of the night remained; so hastening up to the camp again, he lay gently down beside his friend, and drew the green blanket over him. In the camp all was silent. The men had chosen their several beds according to fancy, under the shadow of a bush or tree. The fires had burned low--so low that it was with difficulty Charley, as he lay, could discern the recumbent forms of the men, whose presence was indicated by the deep, soft, regular breathing of tired but healthy constitutions. Sometimes a stray moonbeam shot through the leaves and branches, and cast a ghostlike flickering light over the scene, which ever and anon was rendered more mysterious by a red flare of the fire as an ember fell, blazed up for an instant, and left all shrouded in greater darkness than before. At first Charley continued his sad thoughts, staring all the while at the red embers of the expiring fire; but soon his eyes began to blink, and the stumps of trees began to assume the form of voyageurs, and voyageurs to look like stumps of trees. Then a moonbeam darted in, and Mr Addison stood on the other side of the fire. At this sight Charley started, and Mr Addison disappeared, while the boy smiled to think how he had been dreaming while only half asleep. Then Kate appeared, and seemed to smile on him; but another ember fell, and another red flame sprang up, and put her to flight too. Then a low sigh of wind rustled through the branches, and Charley felt sure that he saw Kate again coming through the woods, singing the low, soft tune that she was so fond of singing, because it was his own favourite air. But soon the air ceased; the fire faded away; so did the trees, and the sleeping voyageurs; Kate last of all dissolved, and Charley sank into a deep, untroubled slumber. CHAPTER TEN. VARIETIES, VEXATIONS, AND VICISSITUDES. Life is checkered--there is no doubt about that; whatever doubts a man may entertain upon other subjects, he can have none upon this, we feel quite certain. In fact, so true is it that we would not for a moment have drawn the reader's attention to it here, were it not that our experience of life in the backwoods corroborates the truth; and truth, however well corroborated, is none the worse of getting a little additional testimony now and then in this sceptical generation. Life is checkered, then, undoubtedly. And life in the backwoods strengthens the proverb, for it is a peculiarly striking and remarkable specimen of life's variegated character. There is a difference between sailing smoothly along the shores of Lake Winnipeg with favouring breezes, and being tossed on its surging billows by the howling of a nor'-west wind, that threatens destruction to the boat, or forces it to seek shelter on the shore. This difference is one of the checkered scenes of which we write, and one that was experienced by the brigade more than once during its passage across the lake. Since we are dealing in truisms, it may not, perhaps, be out of place here to say that going to bed at night is not by any means getting up in the morning; at least so several of our friends found to be the case when the deep, sonorous voice of Louis Peltier sounded through the camp on the following morning, just as a very faint, scarcely perceptible, light tinged the eastern sky. "Leve, leve, leve!" he cried, "leve, leve, mes enfants!" Some of Louis's _infants_ replied to the summons in a way that would have done credit to a harlequin. One or two active little Canadians, on hearing the cry of the awful word _leve_, rose to their feet with a quick bound, as if they had been keeping up an appearance of sleep as a sort of practical joke all night, on purpose to be ready to leap as the first sound fell from the guide's lips. Others lay still, in the same attitude in which they had fallen asleep, having made up their minds, apparently, to lie there in spite of all the guides in the world. Not a few got slowly into the sitting position, their hair dishevelled, their caps awry, their eyes alternately winking very hard and staring awfully in the vain effort to keep open, and their whole physiognomy wearing an expression of blank stupidity that is peculiar to man when engaged in that struggle which occurs each morning as he endeavours to disconnect and shake off the entanglement of nightly dreams and the realities of the breaking day. Throughout the whole camp there was a low, muffled sound, as of men moving lazily, with broken whispers and disjointed sentences uttered in very deep, hoarse tones, mingled with confused, unearthly noises, which, upon consideration, sounded like prolonged yawns. Gradually these sounds increased, for the guide's _leve_ is inexorable, and the voyageur's fate inevitable. "Oh dear!--yei a--a--ow" (yawning); "hang your _leve_!" "Oui, vraiment--yei a--a--ow--morbleu!" "Eh, what's that? Oh, misere." "Tare an' ages!" (from an Irishman), "an' I had only got to slaape yit! but--yei a--a--ow!" French and Irish yawns are very similar, the only difference being, that whereas the Frenchman finishes the yawn resignedly, and springs to his legs, the Irishman finishes it with an energetic gasp, as if he were hurling it remonstratively into the face of Fate, turns round again and shuts his eyes doggedly--a piece of bravado which he _knows_ is useless and of very short duration. "Leve! leve!! leve!!!" There was no mistake this time in the tones of Louis's voice. "Embark, embark! vite, vite!" The subdued sounds of rousing broke into a loud buzz of active preparation, as the men busied themselves in bundling up blankets, carrying down camp-kettles to the lake, launching the boats, kicking up lazy comrades, stumbling over and swearing at fallen trees which were not visible in the cold, uncertain light of the early dawn, searching hopelessly, among a tangled conglomeration of leaves and broken branches and crushed herbage, for lost pipes and missing tobacco-pouches. "Hollo!" exclaimed Harry Somerville, starting suddenly from his sleeping posture, and unintentionally cramming his elbow into Charley's mouth, "I declare they're all up and nearly ready to start." "That's no reason," replied Charley, "why you should knock out all my front teeth, is it?" Just then Mr Park issued from his tent, dressed and ready to step into his boat. He first gave a glance round the camp, to see that all the men were moving; then he looked up through the trees, to ascertain the present state, and, if possible, the future prospects of the weather. Having come to a satisfactory conclusion on that head, he drew forth his pipe and began to fill it, when his eye fell on the two boys, who were still sitting up in their lairs, and staring idiotically at the place where the fire had been, as if the white ashes, half-burned logs, and bits of charcoal were a sight of the most novel and interesting character, that filled them with intense amazement. Mr Park could scarce forbear smiling. "Hello, youngsters, precious voyageurs _you'll_ make, to be sure, if this is the way you're going to begin. Don't you see that the things are all aboard, and we'll be ready to start in five minutes, and you sitting there with your neckcloths off?" Mr Park gave a slight sneer when he spoke of _neckcloths_, as if he thought, in the first place, that they were quite superfluous portions of attire, and, in the second place, that having once put them on, the taking of them off at night was a piece of effeminacy altogether unworthy of a Nor'-wester. Charley and Harry needed no second rebuke. It flashed instantly upon them that sleeping comfortably under their blankets when the men were bustling about the camp was extremely inconsistent with the heroic resolves of the previous day. They sprang up, rolled their blankets in the oil-cloths, which they fastened tightly with ropes; tied the neckcloths, held in such contempt by Mr Park, in a twinkling; threw on their coats, and in _less_ than five minutes were ready to embark. They then found that they might have done things more leisurely, as the crews had not yet got all their traps on board; so they began to look around them, and discovered that each had omitted to pack up a blanket. Very much crestfallen at their stupidity, they proceeded to untie the bundles again, when it became apparent to the eyes of Charley that his friend had put on his capote inside out; which had a peculiarly ragged and grotesque effect. These mistakes were soon rectified, and shouldering their beds, they carried them down to the boat and tossed them in. Meanwhile Mr Park, who had been watching the movements of the boys with a peculiar smile, that filled them with confusion, went round the different camps to see that nothing was left behind. The men were all in their places with oars ready, and the boats floating on the calm water, a yard or two from shore, with the exception of the guide's boat, the stern of which still rested on the sand awaiting Mr Park. "Who does this belong to?" shouted that gentleman, holding up a cloth cap, part of which was of a mottled brown and part deep blue. Harry instantly tore the covering from his head, and discovered that among his numerous mistakes he had put on the head-dress of one of the Indians who had brought him to the camp. To do him justice, the cap was not unlike his own, excepting that it was a little more mottled and dirty in colour, besides being decorated with a gaudy but very much crushed and broken feather. "You had better change with our friend here, I think," said Mr Park, grinning from ear to ear, as he tossed the cap to its owner, while Harry handed the other to the Indian, amid the laughter of the crew. "Never mind, boy," added Mr Park, in an encouraging tone; "you'll make a voyageur yet.--Now then, lads, give way;" and with a nod to the Indians, who stood on the shore watching their departure, the trader sprang into the boat and took his place beside the two boys. "Ho! sing, mes garcons," cried the guide, seizing the massive sweep and directing the boat out to sea. At this part of the lake there occurs a deep bay or inlet, to save rounding which travellers usually strike straight across from point to point, making what is called in voyageur parlance a _traverse_. These traverses are subjects of considerable anxiety and frequently of delay to travellers, being sometimes of considerable extent, varying from four to five, and in such immense seas as Lake Superior to fourteen miles. With boats, indeed, there is little to fear, as the inland craft of the fur-traders can stand a heavy sea, and often ride out a pretty severe storm; but it is far otherwise with the bark canoes that are often used in travelling. These frail craft can stand very little sea--their frames being made of thin, flat slips of wood and sheets of bark, not more than a quarter of an inch thick, which are sewed together with the fibrous roots of the pine (called by the natives _wattape_), and rendered water-tight by means of melted gum. Although light and buoyant, therefore, and extremely useful in a country where portages are numerous, they require very tender usage; and when a traverse has to be made, the guides have always a grave consultation, with some of the most sagacious among the men, as to the probability of the wind rising or falling--consultations which are more or less marked by anxiety and tediousness in proportion to the length of the traverse, the state of the weather, and the courage or timidity of the guides. On the present occasion there was no consultation, as has been already seen. The traverse was a short one, the morning fine, and the boats good. A warm glow began to overspread the horizon, giving promise of a splendid day, as the numerous oars dipped with a plash and a loud hiss into the water, and sent the boats leaping forth upon the white wave. "Sing, sing!" cried the guide again, and clearing his throat, he began the beautiful, quick-tuned canoe-song "Rose Blanche," to which the men chorused with such power of lungs that a family of plovers, which up to that time had stood in mute astonishment on a sandy point, tumbled precipitately into the water, from which they rose with a shrill, inexpressibly wild, plaintive cry, and fled screaming away to a more secure refuge among the reeds and sedges of a swamp. A number of ducks, too, awakened by the unwonted sound, shot suddenly out from the concealment of their night's bivouac with erect heads and startled looks, sputtered heavily over the surface of their liquid bed, and rising into the air, flew in a wide circuit, with whistling wings, away from the scene of so much uproar and confusion. The rough voices of the men grew softer and softer as the two Indians listened to the song of their departing friends, mellowing down and becoming more harmonious and more plaintive as the distance increased, and the boats grew smaller and smaller, until they were lost in the blaze of light that now bathed both water and sky in the eastern horizon, and began rapidly to climb the zenith, while the sweet tones became less and less audible as they floated faintly across the still water, and melted at last into the deep silence of the wilderness. The two Indians still stood with downcast heads and listening ears, as if they loved the last echo of the dying music, while their grave, statue-like forms added to, rather than detracted from, the solitude of the deserted scene. CHAPTER ELEVEN. CHARLEY AND HARRY BEGIN THEIR SPORTING CAREER, WITHOUT MUCH SUCCESS-- WHISKY-JOHN CATCHING. The place in the boats usually allotted to gentlemen in the Company's service while travelling is the stern. Here the lading is so arranged as to form a pretty level hollow, where the flat bundles containing their blankets are placed, and a couch is thus formed that rivals Eastern effeminacy in luxuriance. There are occasions, however, when this couch is converted into a bed, not of thorns exactly, but of corners; and really it would be hard to say which of the two is the more disagreeable. Should the men be careless in arranging the cargo, the inevitable consequence is that "monsieur" will find the leg of an iron stove, the sharp edge of a keg, or the corner of a wooden box occupying the place where his ribs should be. So common, however, is this occurrence that the clerks usually superintend the arrangements themselves, and so secure comfort. On a couch, then, of this kind, Charley and Harry now found themselves constrained to sit all morning--sometimes asleep, occasionally awake, and always earnestly desiring that it was time to put ashore for breakfast, as they had now travelled for four hours without halt, except twice for about five minutes, to let the men light their pipes. "Charley," said Harry Somerville to his friend, who sat beside him, "it strikes me that we are to have no breakfast at all to-day. Here have I been holding my breath and tightening my belt, until I feel much more like a spider or a wasp than a--a--" "_Man_, Harry; out with it at once, don't be afraid," said Charley. "Well, no, I wasn't going to have said _that_ exactly, but I was going to have said a voyageur; only I recollected our doings this morning, and hesitated to take the name until I had won it." "It's well that you entertain so modest an opinion of yourself," said Mr Park, who still smoked his pipe as if he were impressed with the idea that to stop for a moment would produce instant death. "I may tell you for your comfort, youngsters, that we shan't breakfast till we reach yonder point." The shores of Lake Winnipeg are flat and low, and the point indicated by Mr Park lay directly in the light of the sun, which now shone with such splendour in the cloudless sky, and flashed on the polished water, that it was with difficulty they could look towards the point of land. "Where is it?" asked Charley, shading his eyes with his hand; "I cannot make out anything at all." "Try again, my boy; there's nothing like practice." "Ah, yes! I make it out now; a faint shadow just under the sun. Is that it?" "Ay, and we'll break our fast _there_." "I would like very much to break your head _here_," thought Charley, but he did not say it, as, besides being likely to produce unpleasant consequences, he felt that such a speech to an elderly gentleman would be highly improper; and Charley had _some_ respect for grey hairs for their own sake, whether the owner of them was a good man or a goose. "What shall we do, Harry? If I had only thought of keeping out a book." "I know what _I_ shall do," said Harry, with a resolute air: "I'll go and shoot!" "Shoot!" cried Charley. "You don't mean to say that you're going to waste your powder and shot by firing at the clouds! for, unless you take _them_, I see nothing else here." "That's because you don't use your eyes," retorted Harry. "Will you just look at yonder rock ahead of us, and tell me what you see." Charley looked earnestly at the rock, which to a cursory glance seemed as if composed of whiter stone on the top. "Gulls, I declare!" shouted Charley, at the same time jumping up in haste. Just then one of the gulls, probably a scout sent out to watch the approaching enemy, wheeled in a circle overhead. The two youths dragged their guns from beneath the thwarts of the boat, and rummaged about in great anxiety for shot-belts and powder-horns. At last they were found; and having loaded, they sat on the edge of the boat, looking out for game with as much--ay, with _more_ intense interest than a Blackfoot Indian would have watched for a fat buffalo cow. "There he goes," said Harry; "take the first shot, Charley." "Where? where is it?" "Right ahead. Look out!" As Harry spoke, a small white gull, with bright-red legs and beak, flew over the boat so close to them that, as the guide remarked, "he could see it wink!" Charley's equanimity, already pretty well disturbed, was entirely upset at the suddenness of the bird's appearance; for he had been gazing intently at the rock when his friend's exclamation drew his attention in time to see the gull within about four feet of his head. With a sudden "Oh!" Charley threw forward his gun, took a short, wavering aim, and blew the cocktail feather out of Baptiste's hat; while the gull sailed tranquilly away, as much as to say, "If _that's_ all you can do, there's no need for me to hurry!" "Confound the boy!" cried Mr Park. "You'll be the death of some one yet; I'm convinced of that." "Parbleu! you may say that, c'est vrai," remarked the voyageur, with a rueful gaze at his hat, which, besides having its ornamental feather shattered, was sadly cut up about the crown. The poor lad's face became much redder than the legs or beak of the gull as he sat down in confusion, which he sought to hide by busily reloading his gun; while the men indulged in a somewhat witty and sarcastic criticism of his powers of shooting, remarking, in flattering terms, on the precision of the shot that blew Baptiste's feather into atoms, and declaring that if every shot he fired was as truly aimed he would certainly be the best in the country. Baptiste also came in for a share of their repartee. "It serves you right," said the guide, laughing, "for wearing such things on the voyage. You should put away such foppery till you return to the settlement, where there are _girls_ to admire you." (Baptiste had continued to wear the tall hat, ornamented with gold cords and tassels, with which he had left Red River.) "Ah!" cried another, pulling vigorously at his oar, "I fear that Marie won't look at you, now that all your beauty's gone." "'Tis not quite gone," said a third; "there's all the brim and half a tassel left, besides the wreck of the remainder." "Oh, I can lend you a few fragments," retorted Baptiste, endeavouring to parry some of the thrusts. "They would improve you vastly." "No, no, friend, gather them up and replace them; they will look more picturesque and becoming now. I believe if you had worn them much longer all the men in the boat would have fallen in love with you." "By St. Patrick," said Mike Brady, an Irishman who sat at the oar immediately behind the unfortunate Canadian, "there's more than enough o' rubbish scattered over mysilf nor would do to stuff a fither-bed with." As Mike spoke, he collected the fragments of feathers and ribbons with which the unlucky shot had strewn him, and placed them slyly on the top of the dilapidated hat, which Baptiste, after clearing away the wreck, had replaced on his head. "It's very purty," said Mike, as the action was received by the crew with a shout of merriment. Baptiste was waxing wrathful under this fire, when the general attention was drawn again towards Charley and his friend, who, having now got close to the rock, had quite forgotten their mishap in the excitement of expectation. This excitement in the shooting of such small game might perhaps surprise our readers, did we not acquaint them with the fact that neither of the boys had, up to that time, enjoyed much opportunity of shooting. It is true that Harry had once or twice borrowed the fowling-piece of the senior clerk, and had sallied forth with a beating heart to pursue the grouse which are found in the belt of woodland skirting the Assiniboine River near to Fort Garry. But these expeditions were of rare occurrence, and they had not sufficed to rub off much of the bounding excitement with which he loaded and fired at anything and everything that came within range of his gun. Charley, on the other hand, had never fired a shot before, except out of an old horse-pistol; having up to this period been busily engaged at school, except during the holidays, which he always spent in the society of his sister Kate, whose tastes were not such as were likely to induce him to take up the gun, even if he had possessed such a weapon. Just before leaving Red River, his father presented him with his own gun, remarking, as he did so, with a sigh, that _his_ day was past now; and adding, that the gun was a good one for shot or ball, and if he (Charley) brought down _half_ as much game with it as he (Mr Kennedy) had brought down in the course of his life, he might consider himself a crack shot undoubtedly. It was not surprising, therefore, that the two friends went nearly mad with excitation when the whole flock of gulls rose into the air like a white cloud, and sailed in endless circles and gyrations above and around their heads--flying so close at times that they might almost have been caught by the hand. Neither was it surprising that innumerable shots were fired, by both sportsmen, without a single bird being a whit the worse for it, or themselves much the better; the energetic efforts made to hit being rendered abortive by the very eagerness which caused them to miss. And this was the less extraordinary, too, when it is remembered that Harry in his haste loaded several times without shot, and Charley rendered the right barrel of his gun _hors de combat_ at last, by ramming down a charge of shot and omitting powder altogether, whereby he snapped and primed, and snapped and primed again, till he grew desperate, and then suspicious of the true cause, which he finally rectified with much difficulty. Frequently the gulls flew straight over the heads of the youths,--which produced peculiar consequences, as in such cases they took aim while the birds were approaching; but being somewhat slow at taking aim, the gulls were almost perpendicularly above them ere they were ready to shoot, so that they were obliged to fire hastily in _hope_, feeling that they were losing their balance, or give up the chance altogether. Mr Park sat grimly in his place all the while, enjoying the scene, and smoking. "Now then, Charley," said he, "take that fellow." "Which? where? Oh, if I could only get _one_!" said Charley, looking up eagerly at the screaming birds, at which he had been staring so long, in their varying and crossing flight, that his sight had become hopelessly unsteady. "There! Look sharp: fire away!" Bang went Charley's piece, as he spoke, at a gull which flew straight towards him, but so rapidly that it was directly above his head; indeed, he was leaning a little backwards at the moment, which caused him to miss again, while the recoil of the gun brought matters to a climax, by toppling him over into Mr Park's lap, thereby smashing that gentleman's pipe to atoms. The fall accidentally exploded the second barrel, causing the butt to strike Charley in the pit of his stomach--as if to ram him well home into Mr Park's open arms--and hitting with a stray shot a gull that was sailing high up in the sky in fancied security. It fell with a fluttering crash into the boat while the men were laughing at the accident. "Didn't I say so?" cried Mr Park, wrathfully, as he pitched Charley out of his lap, and spat out the remnants of his broken pipe. Fortunately for all parties, at this moment the boat approached a spot on which the guide had resolved to land for breakfast; and seeing the unpleasant predicament into which poor Charley had fallen, he assumed the strong tones of command with which guides are frequently gifted, and called out,--"Ho, ho! a terre! a terre! to land! to land! Breakfast, my boys; breakfast!"--at the same time sweeping the boat's head shoreward, and running into a rocky bay, whose margin was fringed by a growth of small trees. Here, in a few minutes, they were joined by the other boats of the brigade, which had kept within sight of each other nearly the whole morning. While travelling through the wilds of North America in boats, voyageurs always make a point of landing to breakfast. Dinner is a meal with which they are unacquainted, at least on the voyage, and luncheon is likewise unknown. If a man feels hungry during the day, the pemmican-bag and its contents are there; he may pause in his work at any time, for a minute, to seize the axe and cut off a lump, which he may devour as he best can; but there is no going ashore--no resting for dinner. Two great meals are recognised, and the time allotted to their preparation and consumption held inviolable--breakfast and supper: the first varying between the hours of seven and nine in the morning; the second about sunset, at which time travellers usually encamp for the night. Of the two meals it would be difficult to say which is more agreeable. For our own part, we prefer the former. It is the meal to which a man addresses himself with peculiar gusto, especially if he has been astir three or four hours previously in the open air. It is the time of day, too, when the spirits are freshest and highest, animated by the prospect of the work, the difficulties, the pleasures, or the adventures of the day that has begun; and cheered by that cool, clear _buoyancy_ of Nature which belongs exclusively to the happy morning hours, and has led poets in all ages to compare these hours to the first sweet months of spring or the early years of childhood. Voyageurs, not less than poets, have felt the exhilarating influence of the young day, although they have lacked the power to tell it in sounding numbers; but where words were wanting, the sparkling eye, the beaming countenance, the light step, and hearty laugh, were more powerful exponents of the feelings within. Poet, and painter too, might have spent a profitable hour on the shores of that great sequestered lake, and as they watched the picturesque groups clustering round the blazing fires, preparing their morning meal, smoking their pipes, examining and repairing the boats, or sunning their stalwart limbs in wild, careless attitudes upon the greensward--might have found a subject worthy the most brilliant effusions of the pen or the most graphic touches of the pencil. An hour sufficed for breakfast. While it was preparing, the two friends sauntered into the forest in search of game, in which they were unsuccessful; in fact, with the exception of the gulls before mentioned, there was not a feather to be seen--save, always, one or two whisky-johns. Whisky-johns are the most impudent, puffy, conceited little birds that exist. Not much larger in reality than sparrows, they nevertheless manage to swell out their feathers to such an extent that they appear to be as large as magpies, which they further resemble in their plumage. Go where you will in the woods of Rupert's Land, the instant that you light a fire two or three whisky-johns come down and sit beside you, on a branch, it may be, or on the ground, and generally so near that you cannot but wonder at their recklessness. There is a species of impudence which seems to be specially attached to little birds. In them it reaches the highest pitch of perfection. A bold, swelling, arrogant effrontery--a sort of stark, staring, sell-complacent, comfortable, and yet innocent impertinence--which is at once irritating and amusing, aggravating and attractive, and which is exhibited in the greatest intensity in the whisky-john. He will jump down almost under your nose, and seize a fragment of biscuit or pemmican. He will go right into the pemmican-bag, when you are but a few paces off, and pilfer, as it were, at the fountain-head. Or if these resources are closed against him, he will sit on a twig, within an inch of your head, and look at you as only a whisky-john _can_ look. "I'll catch one of these rascals," said Harry, as he saw them jump unceremoniously into and out of the pemmican bag. Going down to the boat, Harry hid himself under the tarpaulin, leaving a hole open near to the mouth of the bag. He had not remained more than a few minutes in this concealment when one of the birds flew down, and alighted on the edge of the boat. After a glance round to see that all was right, it jumped into the bag. A moment after, Harry, darting his hand through the aperture, grasped him round the neck and secured him. Poor whisky-john screamed and pecked ferociously, while Harry brought him in triumph to his friend; but so unremittingly did the bird scream that his captor was fain at last to let him off, the more especially as the cook came up at the moment and announced that breakfast was ready. CHAPTER TWELVE. THE STORM. Two days after the events of the last chapter, the brigade was making one of the traverses which have already been noticed as of frequent occurrence in the great lakes. The morning was calm and sultry. A deep stillness pervaded nature, which tended to produce a corresponding quiescence in the mind, and to fill it with those indescribably solemn feelings that frequently arise before a thunderstorm. Dark, lurid clouds hung overhead in gigantic masses, piled above each other like the battlements of a dark fortress, from whose ragged embrasures the artillery of heaven was about to play. "Shall we get over in time, Louis?" asked Mr Park, as he turned to the guide, who sat holding the tiller with a firm grasp; while the men, aware of the necessity of reaching shelter ere the storm burst upon them, were bending to the oars with steady and sustained energy. "Perhaps," replied Louis, laconically.--"Pull, lads, pull! else you'll have to sleep in wet skins to-night." A low growl of distant thunder followed the guide's words, and the men pulled with additional energy; while the slow, measured hiss of the water, and the clank of oars, as they cut swiftly through the lake's clear surface, alone interrupted the dead silence that ensued. Charley and his friend conversed in low whispers; for there is a strange power in a thunderstorm, whether raging or about to break, that overawes the heart of man,--as if Nature's God were nearer then than at other times; as if He--whose voice indeed, if listened to, speaks even in the slightest evolution of natural phenomena--were about to tread the visible earth with more than usual majesty, in the vivid glare of the lightning flash, and in the awful crash of thunder. "I don't know how it is, but I feel more like a coward," said Charley, "just before a thunderstorm than I think I should do in the arms of a polar bear. Do you feel queer, Harry?" "A little," replied Harry, in a low whisper; "and yet I'm not frightened. I can scarcely tell what I feel, but I'm certain it's not fear." "Well, I don't know," said Charley. "When father's black bull chased Kate and me in the prairies, and almost overtook us as we ran for the fence of the big field, I felt my heart leap to my mouth, and the blood rush to my cheeks, as I turned about and faced him, while Kate climbed the fence; but after she was over, I felt a wild sort of wickedness in me, as if I should like to tantalise and torment him,--and I felt altogether different from what I feel now while I look up at these black clouds. Isn't there something quite awful in them, Harry?" Ere Harry replied, a bright flash of lightning shot athwart the sky, followed by a loud roar of thunder, and in a moment the wind rushed, like a fiend set suddenly free, down upon the boats, tearing up the smooth surface of the water as it flew, and cutting it into gleaming white streaks. Fortunately the storm came down behind the boats, so that, after the first wild burst was over, they hoisted a small portion of their lug sails, and scudded rapidly before it. There was still a considerable portion of the traverse to cross, and the guide cast an anxious glance over his shoulder occasionally, as the dark waves began to rise, and their crests were cut into white foam by the increasing gale. Thunder roared in continued, successive peals, as if the heavens were breaking up, while rain descended in sheets. For a time the crews continued to ply their oars; but as the wind increased, these were rendered superfluous. They were taken in, therefore, and the men sought partial shelter under the tarpaulin; while Mr Park and the two boys were covered, excepting their heads, by an oilcloth, which was always kept at hand in rainy weather. "What think you now, Louis?" said Mr Park, resuming the pipe which the sudden outburst of the storm had caused him to forget. "Have we seen the worst of it?" Louis replied abruptly in the negative, and in a few seconds shouted loudly, "Look out, lads! here comes a squall. Stand by to let go the sheet there!" Mike Brady, happening to be near the sheet, seized hold of the rope, and prepared to let go; while the men rose, as if by instinct, and gazed anxiously at the approaching squall, which could be seen in the distance extending along the horizon, like a bar of blackest ink, spotted with flakes of white. The guide sat with compressed lips, and motionless as a statue, guiding the boat as it bounded madly towards the land, which was now not more than half a mile distant. "Let go!" shouted the guide, in a voice that was heard loud and clear above the roar of the elements. "Ay, ay," replied the Irishman, untwisting the rope instantly, as with a sharp hiss the squall descended on the boat. At that moment the rope became entangled round one of the oars, and the gale burst with all its fury on the distended sail, burying the prow in the waves, which rushed inboard in a black volume, and in an instant half filled the boat. "Let go!" roared the guide again, in a voice of thunder; while Mike struggled with awkward energy to disentangle the rope. As he spoke, an Indian, who during the storm had been sitting beside the mast, gazing at the boiling water with a grave, contemplative aspect, sprang quickly forward, drew his knife, and with two blows (so rapidly delivered that they seemed but one) cut asunder first the sheet and then the halyards, which let the sail blow out and fall flat upon the boat. He was just in time. Another moment and the gushing water, which curled over the bow, would have filled them to the gunwale. As it was, the little vessel was so full of water that she lay like a log, while every toss of the waves sent an additional torrent into her. "Bail for your lives, lads!" cried Mr Park, as he sprang forward, and, seizing a tin dish, began energetically to bail out the water. Following his example, the whole crew seized whatever came first to hand in the shape of dish or kettle, and began to bail. Charley and Harry Somerville acted a vigorous part on this occasion--the one with a bark dish (which had been originally made by the natives for the purpose of holding maple-sugar), the other with his cap. For a time it seemed doubtful whether the curling waves should send most water _into_ the boat, or the crew should bail most out of it. But the latter soon prevailed, and in a few minutes it was so far got under that three of the men were enabled to leave off bailing and reset the sail, while Louis Peltier returned to his post at the helm. At first the boat moved but slowly, owing to the weight of water in her; but as this grew gradually less, she increased her speed and neared the land. "Well done, Redfeather," said Mr Park, addressing the Indian as he resumed his seat; "your knife did us good service that time, my fine fellow." Redfeather, who was the only pure native in the brigade, acknowledged the compliment with a smile. "_Ah, oui_," said the guide, whose features had now lost their stern expression. "Them Injins are always ready enough with their knives. It's not the first time my life has been saved by the knife of a redskin." "Humph! bad luck to them," muttered Mike Brady; "it's not the first time that my windpipe has been pretty near spiflicated by the knives o' the redskins, the murtherin' varmints!" As Mike gave vent to this malediction, the boat ran swiftly past a low, rocky point, over which the surf was breaking wildly. "Down with the sail, Mike," cried the guide, at the same time putting the helm hard up. The beat flew round, obedient to the ruling power, made one last plunge as it left the rolling surf behind, and slid gently and smoothly into still water under the lee of the point. Here, in the snug shelter of a little bay, two of the other boats were found, with their prows already on the beach, and their crews actively employed in landing their goods, opening bales that had received damage from the water, and preparing the encampment; while ever and anon they paused a moment, to watch the various boats as they flew before the gale, and one by one doubled the friendly promontory. If there is one thing that provokes a voyageur more than another, it is being wind-bound on the shores of a large lake. Rain or sleet, heat or cold, icicles forming on the oars, or a broiling sun glaring in a cloudless sky, the stings of sandflies, or the sharp probes of a million mosquitoes, he will bear with comparative indifference; but being detained by high wind for two, three, or four days together--lying inactively on shore, when everything else, it may be, is favourable: the sun bright, the sky blue, the air invigorating, and all but the wind propitious--is more than his philosophy can carry him through with equanimity. He grumbles at it; sometimes makes believe to laugh at it; very often, we are sorry to say, swears at it; does his best to sleep through it; but whatever he does, he does with a bad grace, because he's in a bad humour, and can't stand it. For the next three days this was the fate of our friends. Part of the time it rained, when the whole party slept as much as was possible, and then _endeavoured_ to sleep _more_ than was possible, under the shelter afforded by the spreading branches of the trees. Part of the time was fair, with occasional gleams of sunshine, when the men turned out to eat and smoke and gamble round the fires; and the two friends sauntered down to a sheltered place on the shore, sunned themselves in a warm nook among the rocks, while they gazed ruefully at the foaming billows, told endless stories of what they had done in time past, and equally endless _prospective_ adventures that they earnestly hoped should befall them in time to come. While they were thus engaged, Redfeather, the Indian who had cut the ropes so opportunely during the storm, walked down to the shore, and sitting down on a rock not far distant, fell apparently into a reverie. "I like that fellow," said Harry, pointing to the Indian. "So do I. He's a sharp, active man. Had it not been for him we should have had to swim for it." "Indeed, had it not been for him I should have had to sink for it," said Harry, with a smile, "for I can't swim." "Ah, true, I forgot that. I wonder what the redskin, as the guide calls him, is thinking about," added Charley, in a musing tone. "Of home, perhaps, `sweet home,'" said Harry, with a sigh. "Do you think much of home, Charley, now that you have left it?" Charley did not reply for a few seconds; he seemed to muse over the question. At last he said slowly-- "Think of home? I think of little else when I am not talking with you, Harry. My dear mother is always in my thoughts, and my poor old father. Home? ay; and darling Kate, too, is at my elbow night and day, with the tears streaming from her eyes, and her ringlets scattered over my shoulder, as I saw her the day we parted, beckoning me back again, or reproaching me for having gone away--God bless her! Yes, I often, very often, think of home, Harry." Harry made no reply. His friend's words had directed his thoughts to a very different and far-distant scene--to another Kate, and another father and mother, who lived in a glen far away over the waters of the broad Atlantic. He thought of them as they used to be when he was one of the number, a unit in the beloved circle, whose absence would have caused a blank there. He thought of the kind voice that used to read the Word of God, and the tender kiss of his mother as they parted for the night. He thought of the dreary day when he left them all behind, and sailed away, in the midst of strangers, across the wide ocean to a strange land. He thought of them now--_without_ him--accustomed to his absence, and forgetful, perhaps, at times that he had once been there. As he thought of all this a tear rolled down his cheek, and when Charley looked up in his face, that tear-drop told plainly that he too thought sometimes of home. "Let us ask Redfeather to tell us something about the Indians," he said at length, rousing himself. "I have no doubt he has had many adventures in his life. Shall we, Charley?" "By all means.--Ho, Redfeather! are you trying to stop the wind by looking it out of countenance?" The Indian rose, and walked towards the spot where the boys lay. "What was Redfeather thinking about?" said Charley, adopting the somewhat pompous style of speech occasionally used by Indians. "Was he thinking of the white swan and his little ones in the prairie; or did he dream of giving his enemies a good licking the next time he meets them?" "Redfeather has no enemies," replied the Indian. "He was thinking of the great Manito, [God] who made the wild winds, and the great lakes, and the forest." "And pray, good Redfeather, what did your thoughts tell you?" "They told me that men are very weak, and very foolish, and wicked; and that Manito is very good and patient to let them live." "That is to say," cried Harry, who was surprised and a little nettled to hear what he called the heads of a sermon from a redskin, "that _you_, being a man, are very weak, and very foolish, and wicked; and that Manito is very good and patient to let _you_ live?" "Good," said the Indian calmly; "that is what I mean." "Come, Redfeather," said Charley, laying his hand on the Indian's arm, "sit down beside us, and tell us some of your adventures. I know that you must have had plenty, and it's quite clear that we're not to get away from this place all day, so you've nothing better to do." The Indian readily assented, and began his story in English. Redfeather was one of the very few Indians who had acquired the power of speaking the English language. Having been, while a youth, brought much into contact with the fur-traders, and having been induced by them to enter their service for a time, he had picked up enough of English to make himself easily understood. Being engaged at a later period of life as guide to one of the exploring parties sent out by the British Government to discover the famous North-west Passage, he had learned to read and write, and had become so much accustomed to the habits and occupations of the "palefaces," that he spent more of his time, in one way or another, with them than in the society of his tribe, which dwelt in the thick woods bordering on one of the great prairies of the interior. He was about thirty years of age; had a tall, thin, but wiry and powerful frame; and was of a mild, retiring disposition. His face wore a habitually grave expression, verging towards melancholy; induced, probably, by the vicissitudes of a wild life (in which he had seen much of the rugged side of nature in men and things) acting upon a sensitive heart and a naturally warm temperament. Redfeather, however, was by no means morose; and when seated along with his Canadian comrades round the camp fire, he listened with evidently genuine interest to their stories, and entered into the spirit of their jests. But he was always an auditor, and rarely took part in their conversations. He was frequently consulted by the guide in matters of difficulty, and it was observed that the "redskin's" opinion always carried much weight with it, although it was seldom given unless asked for. The men respected him much because he was a hard worker, obliging, and modest--three qualities that ensure respect, whether found under a red skin or a white one. "I shall tell you," he began, in a soft, musing tone, as if he were wandering in memories of the past--"I shall tell you how it was that I came by the name of Redfeather." "Au!" interrupted Charley, "I intended to ask you about that; you don't wear one." "I did once. My father was a great warrior in his tribe," continued the Indian; "and I was but a youth when I got the name. "My tribe was at war at the time with the Chipewyans, and one of our scouts having come in with the intelligence that a party of our enemies was in the neighbourhood, our warriors armed themselves to go in pursuit of them. I had been out once before with a war-party, but had not been successful, as the enemy's scouts gave notice of our approach in time to enable them to escape. At the time the information was brought to us, the young men of our village were amusing themselves with athletic games, and loud challenges were being given and accepted to wrestle, or race, or swim in the deep water of the river, which flowed calmly past the green bank on which our wigwams stood. On a bank near to us sat about a dozen of our women--some employed in ornamenting moccasins with coloured porcupine quills; others making rogans of bark for maple sugar, or nursing their young infants; while a few, chiefly the old women, grouped themselves together and kept up an incessant chattering, chiefly with reference to the doings of the young men. "Apart from these stood three or four of the principal men of our tribe, smoking their pipes, and although apparently engrossed in conversation, still evidently interested in what was going forward on the bank of the river. "Among the young men assembled there was one of about my own age, who had taken a violent dislike to me because the most beautiful girl in all the village preferred me before him. His name was Misconna. He was a hot-tempered, cruel youth; and although I endeavoured as much as possible to keep out of his way, he sought every opportunity of picking a quarrel with me. I had just been running a race along with several other youths, and although not the winner, I had kept ahead of Misconna all the distance. He now stood leaning against a tree, burning with rage and disappointment. I was sorry for this, because I bore him no ill-will, and if it had occurred to me at the time, I would have allowed him to pass me, since I was unable to gain the race at any rate. "`Dog!' he said at length, stepping forward and confronting me, `will you wrestle?' "Just as he approached I had turned round to leave the place. Not wishing to have more to do with him, I pretended not to hear, and made a step or two towards the lodges. `Dog!' he cried again, while his eyes flashed fiercely, and he grasped me by the arm, `will you wrestle, or are you afraid? Has the brave boy's heart changed into that of a girl?' "`No, Misconna,' said I. `You _know_ that I am not afraid; but I have no desire to quarrel with you.' "`You lie!' cried he, with a cold sneer,--`you are afraid; and see,' he added, pointing towards the women with a triumphant smile, `the dark-eyed girl sees it and believes it too!' "I turned to look, and there I saw Wabisca gazing on me with a look of blank amazement. I could see, also, that several of the other women, and some of my companions, shared in her surprise. "With a burst of anger I turned round. `No, Misconna,' said I, `I am _not_ afraid, as you shall find;' and springing upon him, I grasped him round the body. He was nearly, if not quite, as strong a youth as myself; but I was burning with indignation at the insolence of his conduct before so many of the women,--which gave me more than usual energy. For several minutes we swayed to and fro, each endeavouring in vain to bend the other's back; but we were too well matched for this, and sought to accomplish our purpose by taking advantage of an unguarded movement. At last such a movement occurred. My adversary made a sudden and violent attempt to throw me to the left, hoping that an inequality in the ground would favour his effort. But he was mistaken. I had seen the danger, and was prepared for it, so that the instant he attempted it I threw forward my right leg, and thrust him backwards with all my might. Misconna was quick in his motions. He saw my intention--too late, indeed, to prevent it altogether, but in time to throw back his left foot and stiffen his body till it felt like a block of stone. The effort was now entirely one of endurance. We stood, each with his muscles strained to the utmost, without the slightest motion. At length I felt my adversary give way a little. Slight though the motion was, it instantly removed all doubt as to who should go down. My heart gave a bound of exultation, and with the energy which such a feeling always inspires, I put forth all my strength, threw him heavily over on his back, and fell upon him. "A shout of applause from my comrades greeted me as I rose and left the ground; but at the same moment the attention of all was taken from myself and the baffled Misconna by the arrival of the scout, bringing us information that a party of Chipewyans were in the neighbourhood. In a moment all was bustle and preparation. An Indian war-party is soon got ready. Forty of our braves threw off the principal parts of their clothing; painted their faces with stripes of vermilion and charcoal; armed themselves with guns, bows, tomahawks, and scalping-knives, and in a few minutes left the camp in silence, and at a quick pace. "One or two of the youths who had been playing on the river's bank were permitted to accompany the party, and among these were Misconna and myself. As we passed a group of women, assembled to see us depart, I observed the girl who had caused so much jealousy between us. She cast down her eyes as we came up, and as we advanced close to the group she dropped a white feather as if by accident. Stooping hastily down, I picked it up in passing, and stuck it in an ornamented band that bound my hair. As we hurried on, I heard two or three old hags laugh, and say, with a sneer, `His hand is as white as the feather: it has never seen blood.' The next moment we were hid in the forest, and pursued our rapid course in dead silence. "The country through which we passed was varied, extending in broken bits of open prairie, and partly covered with thick wood, yet not so thick as to offer any hindrance to our march. We walked in single file, each treading in his comrade's footsteps, while the band was headed by the scout who had brought the information. The principal chief of our tribe came next, and he was followed by the braves according to their age or influence. Misconna and I brought up the rear. The sun was just sinking as we left the belt of wood land in which our village stood, crossed over a short plain, descended a dark hollow, at the bottom of which the river flowed, and following its course for a considerable distance, turned off to the right and emerged upon a sweep of prairie-land. Here the scout halted, and taking the chief and two or three braves aside, entered into earnest consultation with them. "What they said we could not hear; but as we stood leaning on our guns in the deep shade of the forest, we could observe by their animated gestures that they differed in opinion. We saw that the scout pointed several times to the moon, which was just rising above the tree-tops, and then to the distant horizon; but the chief shook his head, pointed to the woods, and seemed to be much in doubt, while the whole band watched his motions in deep silence but evident interest. At length they appeared to agree. The scout took his place at the head of the line, and we resumed our march, keeping close to the margin of the wood. It was perhaps three hours after this ere we again halted to hold another consultation. This time their deliberations were shorter. In a few seconds our chief himself took the lead, and turned into the woods, through which he guided us to a small fountain which bubbled up at the root of a birch tree, where there was a smooth green spot of level ground. Here we halted, and prepared to rest for an hour, at the end of which time the moon, which now shone bright and full in the clear sky, would be nearly down, and we could resume our march. We now sat down in a circle, and taking a hasty mouthful of dried meat, stretched ourselves on the ground with our arms beside us, while our chief kept watch, leaning against the birch tree. It seemed as if I had scarcely been asleep five minutes when I felt a light touch on my shoulder. Springing up, I found the whole party already astir, and in a few minutes more we were again hurrying onwards. "We travelled thus until a faint light in the east told us that the day was at hand, when the scout's steps became more cautious, and he paused to examine the ground frequently. At last we came to a place where the ground sank slightly, and at the distance of a hundred yards rose again, forming a low ridge, which was crowned with small bushes. Here we came to a halt, and were told that our enemies were on the other side of that ridge; that they were about twenty in number, all Chipewyan warriors, with the exception of one paleface--a trapper and his Indian wife. The scout had learned, while lying like a snake in the grass around their camp, that this man was merely travelling with them on his way to the Rocky Mountains, and that, as they were a war-party, he intended to leave them soon. On hearing this the warriors gave a grim smile, and our chief, directing the scout to fall behind, cautiously led the way to the top of the ridge. On reaching it we saw a valley of great extent, dotted with trees and shrubs, and watered by one of the many rivers that flow into the great Saskatchewan. It was nearly dark, however, and we could only get an indistinct view of the land. Far ahead of us, on the right bank of the stream, and close to its margin, we saw the faint red light of watch-fires; which caused us some surprise, for watch-fires are never lighted by a war-party so near to an enemy's country. So we could only conjecture that they were quite ignorant of our being in that part of the country; which was, indeed, not unlikely, seeing that we had shifted our camp during the summer. "Our chief now made arrangements for the attack. We were directed to separate and approach individually as near to the camp as was possible without risk of discovery, and then, taking up an advantageous position, to await our chief's signal, which was to be the hooting of an owl. We immediately separated. My course lay along the banks of the stream, and as I strode rapidly along, listening to its low, solemn murmur, which sounded clear and distinct in the stillness of a calm summer night, I could not help feeling as if it were reproaching me for the bloody work I was hastening to perform. Then the recollection of what the old woman said of me raised a desperate spirit in my heart. Remembering the white feather in my head, I grasped my gun and quickened my pace. As I neared the camp I went into the woods and climbed a low hillock to look out. I found that it still lay about five hundred yards distant, and that the greater part of the ground between it and the place where I stood was quite flat, and without cover of any kind. I therefore prepared to creep towards it, although the attempt was likely to be attended with great danger, for Chipewyans have quick ears and sharp eyes. Observing, however, that the river ran close past the camp, I determined to follow its course as before. In a few seconds more I came to a dark, narrow gap where the river flowed between broken rocks, overhung by branches, and from which I could obtain a clear view of the camp within fifty yards of me. Examining the priming of my gun, I sat down on a rock to await the chief's signal. "It was evident, from the careless manner in which the fires were placed, that no enemy was supposed to be near. From my concealment I could plainly distinguish ten or fifteen of the sleeping forms of our enemies, among which the trapper was conspicuous, from his superior bulk, and the reckless way in which his brawny arms were flung on the turf, while his right hand clutched his rifle. I could not but smile as I thought of the proud boldness of the paleface--lying all exposed to view in the grey light of dawn while an Indian's rifle was so close at hand. One Indian kept watch, but he seemed more than half asleep. I had not sat more than a minute when my observations were interrupted by the cracking of a branch in the bushes near me. Starting up, I was about to bound into the underwood, when a figure sprang down the bank and rapidly approached me. My first impulse was to throw forward my gun, but a glance sufficed to show me that it was a woman. "`Wah!' I exclaimed, in surprise, as she hurried forward and laid her hand on my shoulder. She was dressed partly in the costume of the Indians, but wore a shawl on her shoulders and a handkerchief on her head that showed she had been in the settlements; and from the lightness of her skin and hair, I judged at once that she was the trapper's wife, of whom I had heard the scout speak. "`Has the light-hair got a medicine-bag, or does she speak with spirits, that she has found me so easily?' "The girl looked anxiously up in my face as if to read my thoughts, and then said, in a low voice,--`No, I neither carry the medicine-bag nor hold palaver with spirits; but I do think the good Manito must have led me here. I wandered into the woods because I could not sleep, and I saw you pass. But tell me,' she added, with still deeper anxiety, `does the white-feather come alone? Does he approach _friends_ during the dark hours with a soft step like a fox?' "Feeling the necessity of detaining her until my comrades should have time to surround the camp, I said: `The white-feather hunts far from his lands. He sees Indians whom he does not know, and must approach with a light step. Perhaps they are enemies.' "`Do Knisteneux hunt at night, prowling in the bed of a stream?' said the girl, still regarding me with a keen glance. `Speak truth, stranger,' (and she started suddenly back); `in a moment I can alarm the camp with a cry, and if your tongue is forked.--But I do not wish to bring enemies upon you, if they are indeed such. I am not one of them. My husband and I travel with them for a time. We do not desire to see blood. God knows,' she added in French, which seemed her native tongue, `I have seen enough of that already.' "As her earnest eyes looked into my face a sudden thought occurred to me. `Go,' said I, hastily, `tell your husband to leave the camp instantly and meet me here; and see that the Chipewyans do not observe your departure. Quick! his life and yours may depend on your speed.' "The girl instantly comprehended my meaning. In a moment she sprang up the bank; but as she did so the loud report of a gun was heard, followed by a yell, and the war-whoop of the Knisteneux rent the air as they rushed upon the devoted camp, sending arrows and bullets before them. "On the instant I sprang after the girl and grasped her by the arm. `Stay, white-cheek; it is too late now. You cannot save your husband, but I think he'll save himself. I saw him dive into the bushes like a caribou. Hide yourself here; perhaps you may escape.' "The half-breed girl sank on a fallen tree with a deep groan, and clasped her hands convulsively before her eyes, while I bounded over the tree, intending to join my comrades in pursuing the enemy. "As I did so a shrill cry arose behind me, and looking back, I beheld the trapper's wife prostrate on the ground, and Misconna standing over her, his spear uplifted, and a fierce frown on his dark face. "`Hold!' I cried, rushing back and seizing his arm. `Misconna did not come to kill _women_. She is not our enemy.' "`Does the young wrestler want _another_ wife?' he said, with a wild laugh, at the same time wrenching his arm from my gripe, and driving his spear through the fleshy part of the woman's breast and deep into the ground. A shriek rent the air as he drew it out again to repeat the thrust; but before he could do so, I struck him with the butt of my gun on the head. Staggering backwards, he fell heavily among the bushes. At this moment a second whoop rang out, and another of our band sprang from the thicket that surrounded us. Seeing no one but myself and the bleeding girl, he gave me a short glance of surprise, as if he wondered why I did not finish the work which he evidently supposed I had begun. "`Wah!' he exclaimed; and uttering another yell plunged his spear into the woman's breast, despite my efforts to prevent him--this time with more deadly effect, as the blood spouted from the wound, while she uttered a piercing scream, and twined her arms round my legs as I stood beside her, as if imploring for mercy. Poor girl! I saw that she was past my help. The wound was evidently mortal. Already the signs of death overspread her features, and I felt that a second blow would be one of mercy; so that when the Indian stooped and passed his long knife through her heart, I made but a feeble effort to prevent it. Just as the man rose, with the warm blood dripping from his keen blade, the sharp crack of a rifle was heard, and the Indian fell dead at my feet, shot through the forehead, while the trapper bounded into the open space, his massive frame quivering, and his sunburned face distorted with rage and horror. From the other side of the brake six of our band rushed forward and levelled their guns at him. For one moment the trapper paused to cast a glance at the mangled corpse of his wife, as if to make quite sure that she was dead; and then uttering a howl of despair, he hurled his axe with a giant's force at the Knisteneux, and disappeared over the precipitous bank of the stream. "So rapid was the action that the volley which immediately succeeded passed harmlessly over his head, while the Indians dashed forward in pursuit. At the same instant I myself was felled to the earth. The axe which the trapper had flung struck a tree in its flight, and as it glanced off the handle gave me a violent blow in passing. I fell stunned. As I did so my head alighted on the shoulder of the woman, and the last thing I felt, as my wandering senses forsook me, was her still warm blood flowing over my face and neck. "While this scene was going on, the yells and screams of the warriors in the camp became fainter and fainter as they pursued and fled through the woods. The whole band of Chipewyans was entirely routed, with the exception of four who escaped, and the trapper whose flight I have described; all the rest were slain, and their scalps hung at the belts of the victorious Knisteneux warriors, while only one of our party was killed. "Not more than a few minutes after receiving the blow that stunned me, I recovered, and rising as hastily as my scattered faculties would permit me, I staggered towards the camp, where I heard the shouts of our men as they collected the arms of their enemies. As I rose, the feather which Wabisca had dropped fell from my brow; and as I picked it up to replace it, I perceived that it was _red_, being entirely covered with the blood of the half-breed girl. "The place where Misconna had fallen was vacant as I passed, and I found him standing among his comrades round the camp fires, examining the guns and other articles which they had collected. He gave me a short glance of deep hatred as I passed, and turned his head hastily away. A few minutes sufficed to collect the spoils, and so rapidly had everything been done that the light of day was still faint as we silently returned on our track. We marched in the same order as before, Misconna and I bringing up the rear. As we passed near the place where the poor woman had been murdered, I felt a strong desire to return to the spot. I could not very well understand the feeling, but it lay so strong upon me that, when we reached the ridge where we first came in sight of the Chipewyan camp, I fell behind until my companions disappeared in the woods, and then ran swiftly back. Just as I was about to step beyond the circle of bushes that surrounded the spot, I saw that some one was there before me. It was a man, and as he advanced into the open space and the light fell on his face, I saw that it was the trapper. No doubt he had watched us off the ground, and then, when all was safe, returned to bury his wife. I crouched to watch him. Stepping slowly up to the body of his murdered wife, he stood beside it with his arms folded on his breast and quite motionless. His head hung down, for the heart of the white man was heavy, and I could see, as the light increased, that his brows were dark as the thunder-cloud, and the corners of his mouth twitched from a feeling that the Indian scorns to show. My heart is full of sorrow for him now," (Redfeather's voice sank as he spoke); "it was full of sorrow for him even _then_, when I was taught to think that pity for an enemy was unworthy of a brave. The trapper stood gazing very long. His wife was young; he could not leave her yet. At length a deep groan burst from his heart, as the waters of a great river, long held down, swell up in spring and burst the ice at last. Groan followed groan as the trapper still stood and pressed his arms on his broad breast, as if to crush the heart within. At last he slowly knelt beside her, bending more and more over the lifeless form, until he lay extended on the ground beside it, and twining his arms round the neck, he drew the cold cheek close to his, and pressed the blood-covered bosom tighter and tighter, while his form quivered with agony as he gave her a last, long embrace. Oh!" continued Redfeather, while his brow darkened, and his black eye flashed with an expression of fierceness that his young listeners had never seen before, "may the curse--" He paused. "God forgive them! how could they know better? "At length the trapper rose hastily. The expression of his brow was still the same, but his mouth was altered. The lips were pressed tightly like those of a brave when led to torture, and there was a fierce activity in his motions as he sprang down the bank and proceeded to dig a hole in the soft earth. For half an hour he laboured, shovelling away the earth with a large flat stone; and carrying down the body, he buried it there, under the shadow of a willow. The trapper then shouldered his rifle and hurried away. On reaching the turn of the stream which shuts the little hollow out from view, he halted suddenly, gave one look into the prairie he was thenceforth to tread alone, one short glance back, and then, raising both arms in the air, looked up into the sky, while he stretched himself to his full height. Even at that distance I could see the wild glare of his eye and the heaving of his breast. A moment after, and he was gone." "And did you never see him again?" inquired Harry Somerville eagerly. "No, I never saw him more. Immediately afterwards I turned to rejoin my companions, whom I soon overtook, and entered our village along with them. I was regarded as a poor warrior, because I brought home no scalps, and ever afterwards I went by the name of _Redfeather_ in our tribe." "But are you still thought a poor warrior?" asked Charley, in some concern, as if he were jealous of the reputation of his new friend. The Indian smiled. "No," he said: "our village was twice attacked afterwards, and in defending it Redfeather took many scalps. He was made a chief!" "Ah!" cried Charley, "I'm glad of that. And Wabisca, what came of her? Did Misconna get her?" "She is my wife," replied Redfeather. "Your wife! Why, I thought I heard the voyageurs call your wife the white swan." "_Wabisca_ is _white_ in the language of the Knisteneux. She is beautiful in form, and my comrades call her the white swan." Redfeather said this with an air of gratified pride. He did not, perhaps, love his wife with more fervour than he would have done had he remained with his tribe; but Redfeather had associated a great deal with the traders, and he had imbibed much of that spirit which prompts "_white men_" to treat their females with deference and respect--a feeling which is very foreign to an Indian's bosom. To do so was, besides, more congenial to his naturally unselfish and affectionate disposition, so that any flattering allusion to his partner was always received by him with immense gratification. "I'll pay you a visit some day, Redfeather, if I'm sent to any place within fifty miles of your tribe," said Charley, with the air of one who had fully made up his mind. "And Misconna?" asked Harry. "Misconna is with his tribe," replied the Indian, and a frown overspread his features as he spoke. "But Redfeather has been following in the track of his white friends; he has not seen his nation for many moons." CHAPTER THIRTEEN. THE CANOE--ASCENDING THE RAPIDS--THE PORTAGE--DEER-SHOOTING, AND LIFE IN THE WOODS. We must now beg the patient reader to take a leap with us, not only through space, but also through time. We must pass over the events of the remainder of the journey along the shore of Lake Winnipeg. Unwilling though we are to omit anything in the history of our friends that would be likely to prove interesting, we think it wise not to run the risk of being tedious, or of dwelling too minutely on the details of scenes which recall powerfully the feelings and memories of bygone days to the writer, but may nevertheless appear somewhat flat to the reader. We shall not, therefore, enlarge at present on the arrival of the boats at Norway House, which lies at the north end of the lake, nor on what was said and done by our friends and by several other young comrades whom they found there. We shall not speak of the horror of Harry Somerville, and the extreme disappointment of his friend Charley Kennedy, when the former was told that, instead of hunting grizzly bears up the Saskatchewan, he was condemned to the desk again at York Fort, the depot on Hudson's Bay--a low, swampy place near the seashore, where the goods for the interior are annually landed and the furs shipped for England, where the greater part of the summer and much of the winter is occupied by the clerks who may be doomed to vegetate there in making up the accounts of what is termed the Northern Department, and where the brigades converge from all the wide-scattered and far-distant outposts, and the _ship_ from England--that great event of the year--arrives, keeping the place in a state of constant bustle and effervescence until autumn, when ship and brigades finally depart, leaving the residents (about thirty in number) shut up for eight long, dreary months of winter, with a tenantless wilderness around and behind them, and the wide, cold, frozen sea before. This was among the first of Harry's disappointments. He suffered many afterwards, poor fellow! Neither shall we accompany Charley up the south branch of the Saskatchewan, where his utmost expectations in the way of hunting were more than realised, and where he became so accustomed to shooting ducks and geese, and bears and buffaloes, that he could not forbear smiling when he chanced to meet with a red-legged gull, and remembered how he and his friend Harry had comported themselves when they first met with these birds on the shores of Lake Winnipeg! We shall pass over all this, and the summer, autumn, and winter too, and leap at once into the spring of the following year. On a very bright, cheery morning of that spring, a canoe might have been seen slowly ascending one of the numerous streams which meander through a richly-wooded, fertile country, and mingle their waters with those of the Athabasca River, terminating their united career in a large lake of the same name. The canoe was small--one of the kind used by the natives while engaged in hunting, and capable of holding only two persons conveniently, with their baggage. To any one unacquainted with the nature or capabilities of a northern Indian canoe, the fragile, bright orange-coloured machine that was battling with the strong current of a rapid must indeed have appeared an unsafe and insignificant craft; but a more careful study of its performances in the rapid, and of the immense quantity of miscellaneous goods and chattels which were, at a later period of the day, disgorged from its interior, would have convinced the beholder that it was in truth the most convenient and serviceable craft that could be devised for the exigencies of such a country. True, it could only hold two men (it _might_ have taken three at a pinch), because men, and women too, are awkward, unyielding baggage, very difficult to stow compactly; but it is otherwise with tractable goods. The canoe is exceedingly thin, so that no space is taken up or rendered useless by its own structure, and there is no end to the amount of blankets, and furs, and coats, and paddles, and tent-covers, and dogs, and babies, that can be stowed away in its capacious interior. The canoe of which we are now writing contained two persons, whose active figures were thrown alternately into every graceful attitude of manly vigour, as with poles in hand they struggled to force their light craft against the boiling stream. One was a man apparently of about forty-five years of age. He was a square-shouldered, muscular man, and from the ruggedness of his general appearance, the soiled hunting-shirt that was strapped round his waist with a parti-coloured worsted belt, the leather leggings, a good deal the worse for wear, together with the quiet, self-possessed glance of his grey eye, the compressed lip and sunburned brow, it was evident that he was a hunter, and one who had seen rough work in his day. The expression of his face was pleasing, despite a look of habitual severity which sat upon it, and a deep scar which traversed his brow from the right temple to the top of his nose. It was difficult to tell to what country he belonged. His father was a Canadian, his mother a Scotchwoman. He was born in Canada, brought up in one of the Yankee settlements on the Missouri, and had, from a mere youth, spent his life as a hunter in the wilderness. He could speak English, French, or Indian with equal ease and fluency, but it would have been hard for any one to say which of the three was his native tongue. The younger man, who occupied the stern of the canoe, acting the part of steersman, was quite a youth, apparently about seventeen, but tall and stout beyond his years, and deeply sunburned. Indeed, were it not for this fact, the unusual quantity of hair that hung in massive curls down his neck, and the voyageur costume, we should have recognised our young friend Charley Kennedy again more easily. Had any doubts remained in our mind, the shout of his merry voice would have scattered them at once. "Hold hard, Jacques!" he cried, as the canoe trembled in the current; "one moment, till I get my pole fixed behind this rock. Now then, shove ahead. Ah!" he exclaimed, with chagrin, as the pole slipped on the treacherous bottom and the canoe whirled round. "Mind the rock," cried the bowsman, giving an energetic thrust with his pole, that sent the light bark into an eddy formed by a large rock which rose above the turbulent waters. Here it rested while Jacques and Charley raised themselves on their knees (travellers in small canoes always sit in a kneeling position) to survey the rapid. "It's too much for us, I fear, Mr Charles," said Jacques, shading his brow with his horny hand. "I've paddled up it many a time alone, but never saw the water so big as now." "Humph! we shall have to make a portage, then, I presume. Could we not give it one trial more? I think we might make a dash for the tail of that eddy, and then the stream above seems not quite so strong. Do you think so, Jacques?" Jacques was not the man to check a daring young spirit. His motto through life had ever been, "Never venture, never win,"--a sentiment which his intercourse among fur-traders had taught him to embody in the pithy expression, "Never say die;" so that, although quite satisfied that the thing was impossible, he merely replied to his companion's speech by an assenting "Ho," and pushed out again into the stream. An energetic effort enabled them to gain the tail of the eddy spoken of, when Charley's pole snapped across, and falling heavily on the gunwale, he would have upset the little craft, had not Jacques, whose wits were habitually on the _qui vive_, thrown his own weight at the same moment on the opposite side, and counterbalanced Charley's slip. The action saved them a ducking; but the canoe, being left to its own devices for an instant, whirled off again into the stream, and before Charley could seize a paddle to prevent it, they were floating in the still water at the foot of the rapids. "Now, isn't that a bore?" said Charley, with a comical look of disappointment at his companion. Jacques laughed. "It was well to _try_, master. I mind a young clerk who came into these parts the same year as I did, and _he_ seldom _tried_ anything. He couldn't abide canoes. He didn't want for courage neither; but he had a nat'ral dislike to them, I suppose, that he couldn't help, and never entered one except when he was obliged to do so. Well, one day he wounded a grizzly bear on the banks o' the Saskatchewan (mind the tail o' that rapid, Mr Charles; we'll land t'other side o' yon rock). Well, the bear made after him, and he cut stick right away for the river, where there was a canoe hauled up on the bank. He didn't take time to put his rifle aboard, but dropped it on the gravel, crammed the canoe into the water and jumped in, almost driving his feet through its bottom as he did so, and then plumped down so suddenly, to prevent its capsizing, that he split it right across. By this time the bear was at his heels, and took the water like a duck. The poor clerk, in his hurry, swayed from side to side tryin' to prevent the canoe goin' over. But when he went to one side, he was so unused to it that he went too far, and had to jerk over to the other pretty sharp; and so he got worse and worse, until he heard the bear give a great snort beside him. Then he grabbed the paddle in desperation, but at the first dash he missed his stroke, and over he went. The current was pretty strong at the place, which was lucky for him, for it kept him down a bit, so that the bear didn't observe him for a little; and while it was pokin' away at the canoe, he was carried downstream like a log and stranded on a shallow. Jumping up, he made tracks for the wood, and the bear (which had found out its mistake) after him; so he was obliged at last to take to a tree, where the beast watched him for a day and a night, till his friends, thinking that something must be wrong, sent out to look for him. (Steady, now, Mr Charles; a little more to the right. That's it.) Now, if that young man had only ventured boldly into small canoes when he got the chance, he might have laughed at the grizzly and killed him too." As Jacques finished, the canoe glided into a quiet bay formed by an eddy of the rapid, where the still water was overhung by dense foliage. "Is the portage a long one?" asked Charley, as he stepped out on the bank, and helped to unload the canoe. "About half a mile," replied his companion. "We might make it shorter by poling up the last rapid; but it's stiff work, Mr Charles, and we'll do the thing quicker and easier at one lift." The two travellers now proceeded to make a portage. They prepared to carry their canoe and baggage overland, so as to avoid a succession of rapids and waterfalls which intercepted their further progress. "Now, Jacques, up with it," said Charley, after the loading had been taken out and placed on the grassy bank. The hunter stooped, and seizing the canoe by its centre bar, lifted it out of the water, placed it on his shoulders, and walked off with it into the woods. This was not accomplished by the man's superior strength. Charley could have done it quite as well; and, indeed, the strong hunter could have carried a canoe of twice the size with perfect ease. Immediately afterwards Charley followed with as much of the lading as he could carry, leaving enough on the bank to form another load. The banks of the river were steep--in some places so much so that Jacques found it a matter of no small difficulty to climb over the broken rocks with the unwieldy canoe on his back; the more so that the branches interlaced overhead so thickly as to present a strong barrier, through which the canoe had to be forced, at the risk of damaging its delicate bark covering. On reaching the comparatively level land above, however, there was more open space, and the hunter threaded his way among the tree stems more rapidly, making a detour occasionally to avoid a swamp or piece of broken ground; sometimes descending a deep gorge formed by a small tributary of the stream they were ascending, and which, to an unpractised eye, would have appeared almost impassable, even without the encumbrance of a canoe. But the said canoe never bore Jacques more gallantly or safely over the surges of lake or stream than did he bear _it_ through the intricate mazes of the forest; now diving down and disappearing altogether in the umbrageous foliage of a dell; anon reappearing on the other side and scrambling up the bank on all-fours, he and the canoe together looking like some frightful yellow reptile of antediluvian proportions; and then speeding rapidly forward over a level plain until he reached a sheet of still water above the rapids. Here he deposited his burden on the grass, and halting only for a few seconds to carry a few drops of the clear water to his lips, retraced his steps to bring over the remainder of the baggage. Soon afterwards Charley made his appearance on the spot where the canoe was left, and throwing down his load, seated himself on it and surveyed the prospect. Before him lay a reach of the stream, which spread out so widely as to resemble a small lake, in whose clear, still bosom were reflected the overhanging foliage of graceful willows, and here and there the bright stem of a silver birch, whose light-green leaves contrasted well with scattered groups and solitary specimens of the spruce fir. Reeds and sedges grew in the water along the banks, rendering the junction of the land and the stream uncertain and confused. All this and a great deal more Charley noted at a glance; for the hundreds of beautiful and interesting objects in nature that take so long to describe even partially, and are feebly set forth after all even by the most graphic language, flash upon the _eye_ in all their force and beauty, and are drunk in at once in a single glance. But Charley noted several objects floating on the water which we have not yet mentioned. These were five grey geese feeding among the reeds at a considerable distance off, and all unconscious of the presence of a human foe in their remote domains. The travellers had trusted very much to their guns and nets for food, having only a small quantity of pemmican in reserve, lest these should fail--an event which was not at all likely, as the country through which they passed was teeming with wild-fowl of all kinds, besides deer. These latter, however, were only shot when they came inadvertently within rifle-range, as our voyageurs had a definite object in view, and could not afford to devote much of their time to the chase. During the day previous to that on which we have introduced them to our readers, Charley and his companion had been so much occupied in navigating their frail bark among a succession of rapids, that they had not attended to the replenishing of their larder, so that the geese which now showed themselves were looked upon by Charley with a longing eye. Unfortunately they were feeding on the opposite side of the river, and out of shot. But Charley was a hunter now, and knew how to overcome slight difficulties. He first cut down a pretty large and leafy branch of a tree, and placed it in the bow of the canoe in such a way as to hang down before it and form a perfect screen, through the interstices of which he could see the geese, while they could only see, what was to them no novelty, the branch of a tree floating down the stream. Having gently launched the canoe, Charley was soon close to the unsuspecting birds, from among which he selected one that appeared to be unusually complacent and self-satisfied, concluding at once, with an amount of wisdom that bespoke him a true philosopher, that such _must_ as a matter of course be the fattest. "Bang" went the gun, and immediately the sleek goose turned round upon its back and stretched out its feet towards the sky, waving them once or twice as if bidding adieu to its friend. The others thereupon took to flight, with such a deal of sputter and noise as made it quite apparent that their astonishment was unfeigned. Bang went the gun again, and down fell a second goose. "Ha!" exclaimed Jacques, throwing down the remainder of the cargo as Charley landed with his booty, "that's well. I was just thinking as I comed across that we should have to take to pemmican to-night." "Well, Jacques, and if we had, I'm sure an old hunter like you, who have roughed it so often, need not complain," said Charley, smiling. "As to that, master," replied Jacques, "I've roughed it often enough; and when it does come to a clear fix, I can eat my shoes without grumblin' as well as any man. But, you see, fresh meat is better than dried meat when it's to be had; and so I'm glad to see that you've been lucky, Mr Charles." "To say truth, so am I; and these fellows are delightfully plump. But you spoke of eating your shoes, Jacques; when were you reduced to that direful extremity?" Jacques finished reloading the canoe while they conversed, and the two were seated in their places, and quietly but swiftly ascending the stream again, ere the hunter replied. "You've heerd of Sir John Franklin, I s'pose?" he inquired, after a minute's consideration. "Yes, often." "An' p'r'aps you've heerd tell of his first trip of discovery along the shores of the Polar Sea?" "Do you refer to the time when he was nearly starved to death, and when poor Hood was shot by the Indian?" "The same," said Jacques. "Oh yes; I know all about that. Were you with them?" inquired Charley, in great surprise. "Why, no--not exactly _on_ the trip; but I was sent in winter with provisions to them--and much need they had of them, poor fellows! I found them tearing away at some old parchment skins that had lain under the snow all winter, and that an Injin's dog would ha' turned up his nose at--and they don't turn up their snouts at many things, I can tell ye. Well, after we had left all our provisions with them, we started for the fort again, just keepin' as much as would drive off starvation; for, you see, we thought that surely we would git something on the road. But neither hoof nor feather did we see all the way (I was travellin' with an Injin), and our grub was soon done, though we saved it up, and only took a mouthful or two the last three days. At last it was done, and we was pretty well used up, and the fort two days ahead of us. _So_ says I to my comrade--who had been looking at me for some time as if he thought that a cut off my shoulder wouldn't be a bad thing--says I, `Nipitabo, I'm afeard the shoes must go for it now;' so with that I pulls out a pair o' deerskin moccasins. `They looks tender,' said I, trying to be cheerful. `Wah!' said the Injin; and then I held them over the fire till they was done black, and Nipitabo ate one, and I ate the tother, with a lump o' snow to wash it down!" "It must have been rather dry eating," said Charley, laughing. "Rayther; but it was better than the Injin's leather breeches, which we took in hand next day. They was _uncommon_ tough, and very dirty, havin' been worn about a year and a half. Hows'ever, they kept us up; an' as we only ate the legs, he had the benefit o' the stump to arrive with at the fort next day." "What's yon ahead?" exclaimed Charley, pausing as he spoke, and shading his eyes with his hand. "It's uncommon like trees," said Jacques. "It's likely a tree that's been tumbled across the river; and from its appearance, I think we'll have to cut through it." "Cut through it!" exclaimed Charley; "if my sight is worth a gun-flint, we'll have to cut through a dozen trees." Charley was right. The river ahead of them became rapidly narrower; and, either from the looseness of the surrounding soil or the passing of a whirlwind, dozens of trees had been upset, and lay right across the narrow stream in terrible confusion. What made the thing worse was that the banks on either side, which were low and flat, were covered with such a dense thicket down to the water's edge, that the idea of making a portage to overcome the barrier seemed altogether hopeless. "Here's a pretty business, to be sure!" cried Charley, in great disgust. "Never say die, Mister Charles," replied Jacques, taking up the axe from the bottom of the canoe; "it's quite clear that cuttin' through the trees is easier than cuttin' through the bushes, so here goes." For fully three hours the travellers were engaged in cutting their way up the encumbered stream, during which time they did not advance three miles; and it was evening ere they broke down the last barrier and paddled out into a sheet of clear water again. "That'll prepare us for the geese, Jacques," said Charley, as he wiped the perspiration from his brow; "there's nothing like warm work for whetting the appetite and making one sleep soundly." "That's true," replied the hunter, resuming his paddle. "I often wonder how them white-faced fellows in the settlements manage to keep body and soul together--a-sittin', as they do, all day in the house, and a-lyin' all night in a feather bed. For my part, rather than live as they do, I would cut my way up streams like them we've just passed every day and all day, and sleep on top of a flat rock o' nights, under the blue sky, all my life through." With this decided expression of his sentiments, the stout hunter steered the canoe up alongside of a huge, flat rock, as if he were bent on giving a practical illustration of the latter part of his speech then and there. "We'd better camp now, Mister Charles; there's a portage o' two miles here, and it'll take us till sundown to get the canoe and things over." "Be it so," said Charley, landing. "Is there a good place at the other end to camp on?" "First-rate. It's smooth as a blanket on the turf, and a clear spring bubbling at the root of a wide tree that would keep off the rain if it was to come down like waterspouts." The spot on which the travellers encamped that evening overlooked one of those scenes in which vast extent, and rich, soft variety of natural objects, were united with much that was grand and savage. It filled the mind with the calm satisfaction that is experienced when one gazes on the wide lawns studded with noble trees; the spreading fields of waving grain that mingle with stream and copse, rock and dell, vineyard and garden, of the cultivated lands of civilised men: while it produced that exulting throb of freedom which stirs man's heart to its centre, when he casts a first glance over miles and miles of broad lands that are yet unowned, unclaimed; that yet lie in the unmutilated beauty with which the beneficent Creator originally clothed them--far away from the well-known scenes of man's chequered history; entirely devoid of those ancient monuments of man's power and skill that carry the mind back with feelings of awe to bygone ages, yet stamped with evidences of an antiquity more ancient still, in the wild primeval forests, and the noble trees that have sprouted, and spread, and towered in their strength for centuries--trees that have fallen at their posts, while others took their place, and rose and fell as they did, like long-lived sentinels whose duty it was to keep perpetual guard over the vast solitudes of the great American Wilderness. The fire was lighted, and the canoe turned bottom up in front of it, under the branches of a spreading tree that stood on an eminence, whence was obtained a bird's-eye view of the noble scene. It was a flat valley, on either side of which rose two ranges of hills, which were clothed to the top with trees of various kinds, the plain of the valley itself being dotted with clumps of wood, among which the fresh green foliage of the plane tree and the silver-stemmed birch were conspicuous, giving an airy lightness to the scene and enhancing the picturesque effect of the dark pines. A small stream could be traced winding out and in among clumps of willows, reflecting their drooping boughs and the more sombre branches of the spruce fir and the straight larch, with which in many places its banks were shaded. Here and there were stretches of clearer ground, where the green herbage of spring gave to it a lawn-like appearance, and the whole magnificent scene was bounded by blue hills that became fainter as they receded from the eye and mingled at last with the horizon. The sun had just set, and a rich glow of red bathed the whole scene, which was further enlivened by flocks of wild-fowls and herds of reindeer. These last soon drew Charley's attention from the contemplation of the scenery, and observing a deer feeding in an open space, towards which he could approach without coming between it and the wind, he ran for his gun and hurried into the woods, while Jacques busied himself in arranging their blankets under the upturned canoe, and in preparing supper. Charley discovered, soon after starting, what all hunters discover sooner or later--namely, that appearances are deceitful; for he no sooner reached the foot of the hill than he found, between him and the lawn-like country, an almost impenetrable thicket of underwood. Our young hero, however, was of that disposition which sticks at nothing, and instead of taking time to search for an opening, he took a race and sprang into the middle of it, in hopes of forcing his way through. His hopes were not disappointed. He got through--quite through--and alighted up to the armpits in a swamp, to the infinite consternation of a flock of teal ducks that were slumbering peacefully there with their heads under their wings, and had evidently gone to bed for the night. Fortunately he held his gun above the water and kept his balance, so that he was able to proceed with a dry charge, though with an uncommonly wet skin. Half an hour brought Charley within range, and watching patiently until the animal presented his side towards the place of his concealment, he fired and shot it through the heart. "Well done, Mister Charles," exclaimed Jacques, as the former staggered into camp with the reindeer on his shoulders. "A fat doe, too." "Ay," said Charley; "but she has cost me a wet skin. So pray, Jacques, rouse up the fire, and let's have supper as soon as you can." Jacques speedily skinned the deer, cut a couple of steaks from its flank, and placing them on wooden spikes, stuck them up to roast, while his young friend put on a dry shirt, and hung his coat before the blaze. The goose which had been shot earlier in the day was also plucked, split open, impaled in the same manner as the steaks, and set up to roast. By this time the shadows of night had deepened, and ere long all was shrouded in gloom, except the circle of ruddy light around the camp fire, in the centre of which Jacques and Charley sat, with the canoe at their backs, knives in their hands, and the two spits, on the top of which smoked their ample supper, planted in the ground before them. One by one the stars went out, until none were visible except the bright, beautiful morning star, as it rose higher and higher in the eastern sky. One by one the owls and the wolves, ill-omened birds and beasts of night, retired to rest in the dark recesses of the forest. Little by little the grey dawn overspread the sky, and paled the lustre of the morning star, until it faded away altogether; and then Jacques awoke with a start, and throwing out his arm, brought it accidentally into violent contact with Charley's nose. This caused Charley to awake, not only with a start, but also with a roar, which brought them both suddenly into a sitting posture, in which they continued for some time in a state between sleeping and waking, their faces meanwhile expressive of mingled imbecility and extreme surprise. Bursting into a simultaneous laugh, which degenerated into a loud yawn, they sprang up, launched and reloaded their canoe, and resumed their journey. CHAPTER FOURTEEN. THE INDIAN CAMP--THE NEW OUTPOST--CHARLEY SENT ON A MISSION TO THE INDIANS. In the councils of the fur-traders, on the spring previous to that about which we are now writing, it had been decided to extend their operations a little in the lands that lie in central America to the north of the Saskatchewan River; and in furtherance of that object, it had been intimated to the chief trader in charge of the district that an expedition should be set on foot, having for its object the examination of a territory into which they had not yet penetrated, and the establishment of an outpost therein. It was, furthermore, ordered that operations should be commenced at once, and that the choice of men to carry out the end in view was graciously left to the chief trader's well-known sagacity. Upon receiving this communication, the chief trader selected a gentleman named Mr Whyte to lead the party; gave him a clerk and five men; provided him with a boat and a large supply of goods necessary for trade, implements requisite for building an establishment, and sent him off with a hearty shake of the hand and a recommendation to "go and prosper." Charles Kennedy spent part of the previous year at Rocky Mountain House, where he had shown so much energy in conducting the trade, especially what he called the "rough and tumble" part of it, that he was selected as the clerk to accompany Mr Whyte to his new ground. After proceeding up many rivers, whose waters had seldom borne the craft of white men, and across innumerable lakes, the party reached a spot that presented so inviting an aspect that it was resolved to pitch their tent there for a time, and, if things in the way of trade and provision looked favourable, establish themselves altogether. The place was situated on the margin of a large lake, whose shores were covered with the most luxuriant verdure, and whose waters teemed with the finest fish, while the air was alive with wild-fowl, and the woods swarming with game. Here Mr Whyte rested awhile; and having found everything to his satisfaction, he took his axe, selected a green lawn that commanded an extensive view of the lake, and going up to a tall larch, struck the steel into it, and thus put the first touch to an establishment which afterwards went by the name of Stoney Creek. A solitary Indian, whom they had met with on the way to their new home, had informed them that a large band of Knisteneux had lately migrated to a river about four days' journey beyond the lake, at which they halted; and when the new fort was just beginning to spring up, our friend Charley and the interpreter, Jacques Caradoc, were ordered by Mr Whyte to make a canoe, and then, embarking in it, to proceed to the Indian camp, to inform the natives of their rare good luck in having a band of white men come to settle near their lands to trade with them. The interpreter and Charley soon found birch bark, pine roots for sewing it, and gum for plastering the seams, wherewith they constructed the light machine whose progress we have partly traced in the last chapter, and which, on the following day at sunset, carried them to their journey's end. From some remarks made by the Indian who gave them information of the camp, Charley gathered that it was the tribe to which Redfeather belonged, and furthermore that Redfeather himself was there at that time; so that it was with feelings of no little interest that he saw the tops of the yellow tents embedded among the green trees, and soon afterwards beheld them and their picturesque owners reflected in the clear river, on whose banks the natives crowded to witness the arrival of the white men. Upon the greensward, and under the umbrageous shade of the forest trees, the tents were pitched to the number of perhaps eighteen or twenty, and the whole population, of whom very few were absent on the present occasion, might number a hundred--men, women, and children. They were dressed in habiliments formed chiefly of materials procured by themselves in the chase, but ornamented with cloth, beads, and silk thread, which showed that they had had intercourse with the fur-traders before now. The men wore leggings of deerskin, which reached more than half-way up the thigh, and were fastened to a leathern girdle strapped round the waist. A loose tunic or hunting-shirt of the same material covered the figure from the shoulders almost to the knees, and was confined round the middle by a belt--in some cases of worsted, in others of leather gaily ornamented with quills. Caps of various indescribable shapes, and made chiefly of skin, with the animal's tail left on by way of ornament, covered their heads, and moccasins for the feet completed their costume. These last may be simply described as leather mittens for the feet, without fingers, or rather toes. They were gaudily ornamented, as was almost every portion of costume, with porcupines' quills dyed with brilliant colours, and worked into fanciful and in many cases extremely elegant figures and designs; for North American Indians oftentimes display an amount of taste in the harmonious arrangement of colour that would astonish those who fancy that _education_ is absolutely necessary to the just appreciation of the beautiful. The women attired themselves in leggings and coats differing little from those of the men, except that the latter were longer, the sleeves detached from the body, and fastened on separately; while on their heads they wore caps, which hung down and covered their backs to the waist. These caps were of the simplest construction, being pieces of cloth cut into an oblong shape, and sewed together at one end. They were, however, richly ornamented with silk-work and beads. On landing, Charley and Jacques walked up to a tall, good-looking Indian, whom they judged from him demeanour, and the somewhat deferential regard paid to him by the others, to be one of the chief men of the little community. "Ho! what cheer?" said Jacques, taking him by the hand after the manner of Europeans, and accosting him with the phrase used by the fur-traders to the natives. The Indian returned the compliment in kind, and led the visitors to his tent, where he spread a buffalo robe for them on the ground, and begged them to be seated. A repast of dried meat and reindeer tongues was then served, to which our friends did ample justice; while the women and children satisfied their curiosity by peering at them through chinks and holes in the tent. When they had finished, several of the principal men assembled, and the chief who had entertained them made a speech, to the effect that he was much gratified by the honour done to his people by the visit of his white brothers; that he hoped they would continue long at the camp to enjoy their hospitality; and that he would be glad to know what had brought them so far into the country of the red men. During the course of this speech the chief made eloquent allusion to all the good qualities supposed to belong to white men in general, and (he had no doubt) to the two white men before him in particular. He also boasted considerably of the prowess and bravery of himself and his tribe, launched a few sarcastic hits at his enemies, and wound up with a poetical hope that his guests might live for ever in these beautiful plains of bliss, where the sun never sets, and nothing goes wrong anywhere, and everything goes right at all times, and where, especially, the deer are outrageously fat, and always come out on purpose to be shot! During the course of these remarks his comrades signified their hearty concurrence in his sentiments, by giving vent to sundry low-toned "hums!" and "hahs!" and "wahs!" and "hohs!" according to circumstances. After it was over Jacques rose, and addressing them in their own language, said-- "My Indian brethren are great. They are brave, and their fame has travelled far. Their deeds are known even so far as where the Great Salt Lake beats on the shore where the sun rises. They are not women, and when their enemies hear the sound of their name they grow pale; their hearts become like those of the reindeer. My brethren are famous, too, in the use of the snow-shoe, the snare, and the gun. The fur-traders know that they must build large stores when they come into their lands. They bring up much goods, because the young men are active and require much. The silver fox and the marten are no longer safe when their traps and snares are set. Yes, they are good hunters; and we have now come to live among you" (Jacques changed his style as he came nearer to the point), "to trade with you, and to save you the trouble of making long journeys with your skins. A few days' distance from your wigwams we have pitched our tents. Our young men are even now felling the trees to build a house. Our nets are set, our hunters are prowling in the woods, our goods are ready, and my young master and I have come to smoke the pipe of friendship with you, and to invite you to come to trade with us." Having delivered this oration, Jacques sat down amid deep silence. Other speeches, of a highly satisfactory character, were then made, after which "the house adjourned," and the visitors, opening one of their packages, distributed a variety of presents to the delighted natives. Several times during the course of these proceedings Charley's eyes wandered among the faces of his entertainers, in the hope of seeing Redfeather among them, but without success; and he began to fear that his friend was not with the tribe. "I say, Jacques," he said, as they left the tent, "ask whether a chief called Redfeather is here. I knew him of old, and half expected to find him at this place." The Indian to whom Jacques put the question replied that Redfeather was with them, but that he had gone out on a hunting expedition that morning, and might be absent a day or two. "Ah!" exclaimed Charley, "I'm glad he's here. Come, now, let us take a walk in the wood; these good people stare at us as if we were ghosts." And taking Jacques's arm, he led him beyond the circuit of the camp, turned into a path which, winding among the thick underwood, speedily screened them from view, and led them into a sequestered glade, through which a rivulet trickled along its course, almost hid from view by the dense foliage and long grasses that overhung it. "What a delightful place to live in!" said Charley. "Do you ever think of building a hut in such a spot as this, Jacques, and settling down altogether?" Charley's thoughts reverted to his sister Kate when he said this. "Why, no," replied Jacques, in a pensive tone, as if the question had aroused some sorrowful recollections; "I can't say that I'd like to settle here _now_. There _was_ a time when I thought nothin' could be better than to squat in the woods with one or two jolly comrades, and--" (Jacques sighed); "but times is changed now, master, and so is my mind. My chums are most of them dead or gone, one way or other. No; I shouldn't care to squat alone." Charley thought of the hut _without_ Kate, and it seemed so desolate and dreary a dwelling, notwithstanding its beautiful situation, that he agreed with his companion that to "squat" _alone_ would never do at all. "No, man was not made to live alone," continued Jacques, pursuing the subject; "even the Injins draw together. I never knew but one as didn't like his fellows, and he's gone now, poor fellow. He cut his foot with an axe one day, while fellin' a tree. It was a bad cut; and havin' nobody to look after him, he half bled and half starved to death." "By the way, Jacques," said Charley, stepping over the clear brook, and following the track which led up the opposite bank, "what did you say to these redskins? You made them a most eloquent speech apparently." "Why, as to that, I can't boast much of its eloquence, but I think it was clear enough. I told them that they were a great nation--for you see, Mr Charles, the red men are just like the white in their fondness for butter; so I gave them some to begin with, though, for the matter o' that, I'm not overly fond o' givin' butter to any man, red or white. But I holds that it's as well always to fall in with the ways and customs o' the people a man happens to be among, so long as them ways and customs a'n't contrary to what's right. It makes them feel more kindly to you, an' don't raise any on-necessary ill-will. However, the Knisteneux _are_ a brave race; and when I told them that the hearts of their enemies trembled when they heard of them, I told nothing but the truth; for the Chipewyans are a miserable set, and not much given to fighting." "Your principles on that point won't stand much sifting, I fear," replied Charley: "according to your own showing, you would fall into the Chipewyans' way of glorifying themselves on account of their bravery, if you chanced to be dwelling among them, and yet you say they are not brave. That would not be sticking to truth, Jacques, would it?" "Well," replied Jacques, with a smile, "perhaps not exactly; but I'm sure there could be small harm in helping the miserable objects to boast sometimes, for they've little else than boasting to comfort them." "And yet, Jacques, I cannot help feeling that truth is a grand, a glorious thing, that should not be trifled with even in small matters." Jacques opened his eyes a little. "Then do you think, master, that a man should _never_ tell a lie, no matter what fix he may be in?" "I think not, Jacques." The hunter paused a few minutes, and looked as if an unusual train of ideas had been raised in his mind by the turn their conversation had taken. Jacques was a man of no religion, and little morality, beyond what flowed from a naturally kind, candid disposition, and entertained the belief that the _end_, if a good one, always justifies the _means_-- a doctrine which, had it been clearly exposed to him in all its bearings and results, would have been spurned by his straightforward nature with the indignant contempt that it merits. "Mr Charles," he said at length, "I once travelled across the plains to the head waters of the Missouri with a party of six trappers. One night we came to a part of the plains which was very much broken up with wood here and there, and bein' a good place for water we camped. While the other lads were gettin' ready the supper, I started off to look for a deer, as we had been unlucky that day--we had shot nothin'. Well, about three miles from the camp I came upon a band o' somewhere about thirty Sioux (ill-looking, sneaking dogs they are, too!) and before I could whistle they rushed upon me, took away my rifle and hunting-knife, and were dancing round me like so many devils. At last a big, black-lookin' thief stepped forward, and said in the Cree language, `White men seldom travel through this country alone; where are your comrades?' Now, thought I, here's a nice fix! If I pretend not to understand, they'll send out parties in all directions, and as sure as fate they'll find my companions in half an hour, and butcher them in cold blood (for, you see, we did not expect to find Sioux, or indeed any Injins, in them parts); so I made believe to be very narvous, and tried to tremble all over and look pale. Did you ever try to look pale and frightened, Mr Charles?" "I can't say that I ever did," said Charley, laughing. "You can't think how troublesome it is," continued Jacques, with a look of earnest simplicity. "I shook and trembled pretty well, but the more I tried to grow pale, the more I grew red in the face; and when I thought of the six broad-shouldered, raw-boned lads in the camp, and how easy they would have made these jumping villains fly like chaff, if they only knew the fix I was in, I gave a frown that had well-nigh showed I was shamming. Hows'ever, what with shakin' a little more and givin' one or two most awful groans, I managed to deceive them. Then I said I was hunter to a party of white men that were travellin' from Red River to St. Louis, with all their goods, and wives, and children, and that they were away in the plains about a league off. "The big chap looked very hard into my face when I said this, to see if I was telling the truth; and I tried to make my teeth chatter, but it wouldn't do, so I took to groanin' very bad instead. But them Sioux are such awful liars nat'rally that they couldn't understand the signs of truth, even if they saw them. `Whitefaced coward,' says he to me, `tell me in what direction your people are.' At this I made believe not to understand; but the big chap flourished his knife before my face, called me a dog, and told me to point out the direction. I looked as simple as I could, and said I would rather not. At this they laughed loudly, and then gave a yell, and said if I didn't show them the direction they would roast me alive. So I pointed towards a part of the plains pretty wide o' the spot where our camp was. `Now, lead us to them,' said the big chap, givin' me a shove with the butt of his gun; `an' if you have told lies--' he gave the handle of his scalpin'-knife a slap, as much as to say he'd tickle up my liver with it. Well, away we went in silence, me thinkin' all the time how I was to get out o' the scrape. I led them pretty close past our camp, hopin' that the lads would hear us. I didn't dare to yell out, as that would have showed them there was somebody within hearin', and they would have made short work of me. Just as we came near the place where my companions lay, a prairie wolf sprang out from under a bush where it had been sleepin'; so I gave a loud hurrah, and shied my cap at it. Giving a loud growl, the big Injin hit me over the head with his fist, and told me to keep silence. In a few minutes I heard the low, distant howl of a wolf. I recognised the voice or one of my comrades, and knew that they had seen us, and would be on our track soon. Watchin' my opportunity, and walkin' for a good bit as if I was awful tired--all but done up--to throw them off their guard, I suddenly tripped up the big chap as he was stepping over a small brook, and dived in among the bushes. In a moment a dozen bullets tore up the bark on the trees about me, and an arrow passed through my hair. The clump of wood into which I had dived was about half a mile long; and as I could run well (I've found in my experience that white men are more than a match for redskins at their own work), I was almost out of range by the time I was forced to quit the cover and take to the plain. When the blackguard got out of the cover, too, and saw me cuttin' ahead like a deer, they gave a yell of disappointment, and sent another shower of arrows and bullets after me, some of which came nearer than was pleasant. I then headed for our camp with the whole pack screechin' at my heels. `Yell away, you stupid sinners,' thought I; `some of you shall pay for your music.' At that moment an arrow grazed my shoulder, and looking over it, I saw that the black fellow I had pitched into the water was far ahead of the rest, strainin' after me like mad, and every now and then stopping to try an arrow on me; so I kept a look-out, and when I saw him stop to draw, I stopped too, and dodged, so the arrows passed me, and then we took to our heels again. In this way I ran for dear life till I came up to the cover. As I came close up I saw our six fellows crouchin' in the bushes, and one o' them takin' aim almost straight for my face. `Your day's come at last,' thought I, looking over my shoulder at the big Injin, who was drawing his bow again. Just then there was a sharp crack heard: a bullet whistled past my ear, and the big fellow fell like a stone, while my comrade stood coolly up to reload his rifle. The Injins, on seein' this, pulled up in a moment; and our lads stepping forward, delivered a volley that made three more o' them bite the dust. There would have been six in that fix, but, somehow or other, three of us pitched upon the same man, who was afterwards found with a bullet in each eye and one through his heart. They didn't wait for more, but turned about and bolted like the wind. Now, Mr Charles, if I had told the truth that time, we would have been all killed; and if I had simply said nothin' to their questions, they would have sent out to scour the country, and have found out the camp for sartin, so that the only way to escape was by tellin' them a heap o' downright lies." Charley looked very much perplexed at this. "You have indeed placed me in a difficulty. I know not what I would have done. I don't know even what I _ought to do_ under these circumstances. Difficulties may perplex me, and the force of circumstances might tempt me to do what I believed to be wrong. I am a sinner, Jacques, like other mortals, I know; but one thing I am quite sure of--namely, that when men speak it should _always_ be truth and _never_ falsehood." Jacques looked perplexed too. He was strongly impressed with the necessity of telling falsehood in the circumstances in which he had been placed, as just related, while at the same time he felt deeply the grandeur and the power of Charley's last remark. "I should have been under the sod _now_," said he, "if I had not told a lie _then_. Is it better to die than to speak falsehood?" "Some men have thought so," replied Charley. "I acknowledge the difficulty of _your_ case, and of all similar cases. I don't know what should be done; but I have read of a minister of the gospel whose people were very wicked and would not attend to his instructions, although they could not but respect himself, he was so consistent and Christianlike in his conduct. Persecution arose in the country where he lived, and men and women were cruelly murdered because of their religious belief. For a long time he was left unmolested; but one day a band of soldiers came to his house, and asked him whether he was a Papist or a Protestant (Papist, Jacques, being a man who has sold his liberty in religious matters to the Pope, and a Protestant being one who protests against such an ineffably silly and unmanly state of slavery). Well, his people urged the good old man to say he was a Papist, telling him that he would then be spared to live among them, and preach the true faith for many years perhaps. Now, if there was one thing that this old man would have toiled for and _died_ for, it was that his people should become true Christians--and he told them so; `but,' he added, `I will not tell a lie to accomplish that end, my children--no, not even to save my life.' So he told the soldiers that he was a Protestant, and immediately they carried him away, and he was soon afterwards burned to death." "Well," said Jacques, "_he_ didn't gain much by sticking to the truth, I think." "I'm not so sure of _that_. The story goes on to say that he _rejoiced_ that he had done so, and wouldn't draw back even when he was in the flames. But the point lies here, Jacques: so deep an impression did the old man's conduct make on his people, that from that day forward they were noted for their Christian life and conduct. They brought up their children with a deeper reverence for the truth than they would otherwise have done, always bearing in affectionate remembrance, and holding up to them as an example, the unflinching truthfulness of the good old man who was burned in the year of the terrible persecutions; and at last their influence and example had such an effect that the Protestant religion spread like wild-fire, far and wide around them, so that the very thing was accomplished for which the old pastor said he would have died-- accomplished, too, very much in consequence of his death, and in a way and to an extent that very likely would not have been the case had he lived and preached among them for a hundred years." "I don't understand it nohow," said Jacques; "it seems to me right both ways and wrong both ways, and all upside down everyhow." Charley smiled. "Your remark is about as clear as my head on the subject, Jacques; but I still remain convinced that truth is _right_ and that falsehood is _wrong_, and that we should stick to the first through thick and thin." "I s'pose," remarked the hunter, who had walked along in deep cogitation for the last five minutes, and had apparently come to some conclusion of profound depth and sagacity--"I s'pose that it's all human natur'; that some men takes to preachin' as Injins take to huntin', and that to understand sich things requires them to begin young, and risk their lives in it, as I would in followin' up a grizzly she-bear with cubs." "Yonder is an illustration of one part of your remark. They begin _young_ enough, anyhow," said Charley, pointing as he spoke to an opening in the bushes, where a particularly small Indian boy stood in the act of discharging an arrow. The two men halted to watch his movements. According to a common custom among juvenile Indians during the warm months of the year, he was dressed in _nothing_ save a mere rag tied round his waist. His body was very brown, extremely round, fat, and wonderfully diminutive, while his little legs and arms were disproportionately small. He was so young as to be barely able to walk, and yet there he stood, his black eyes glittering with excitement, his tiny bow bent to its utmost, and a blunt-headed arrow about to be discharged at a squirrel, whose flight had been suddenly arrested by the unexpected apparition of Charley and Jacques. As he stood there for a single instant, perfectly motionless, he might have been mistaken for a grotesque statue of an Indian cupid. Taking advantage of the squirrel's pause, the child let fly the arrow, hit it exactly on the point of the nose, and turned it over, dead--a consummation which he greeted with a rapid succession of frightful yells. "Cleverly done, my lad; you're a chip of the old block, I see," said Jacques, patting the child's head as he passed, and retraced his steps, with Charley, to the Indian camp. CHAPTER FIFTEEN. THE FEAST--CHARLEY MAKES HIS FIRST SPEECH IN PUBLIC, AND MEETS WITH AN OLD FRIEND--AN EVENING IN THE GRASS. Savages, not less than civilised men, are fond of a good dinner. In saying this, we do not expect our reader to be overwhelmed with astonishment. He might have guessed as much; but when we state that savages, upon particular occasions, eat six dinners in one, and make it a point of honour to do so, we apprehend that we have thrown a slightly new light on an old subject. Doubtless there are men in civilised society who would do likewise if they could; but they cannot, fortunately, as great gastronomic powers are dependent on severe, healthful, and prolonged physical exertion. Therefore it is that in England we find men capable only of eating about two dinners at once, and suffering a good deal for it afterward; while in the backwood we see men consume a week's dinner in one, without any evil consequences following the act. The feast which was given by the Knisteneux in honour of the visit of our two friends was provided on a more moderate scale than usual, in order to accommodate the capacities of the "white men;" three days' allowance being cooked for each man. (Women are never admitted to the public feasts.) On the day preceding the ceremony, Charley and Jacques had received cards of invitation from the principal chief, in the shape of two quills; similar invites being issued at the same time to all the braves. Jacques being accustomed to the doings of Indians, and aware of the fact that whatever was provided for each man _must_ be eaten before he quitted the scene of operations, advised Charley to eat no breakfast, and to take a good walk as a preparative. Charley had strong faith, however, in his digestive powers, and felt much inclined, when morning came, to satisfy the cravings of his appetite as usual; but Jacques drew such a vivid picture of the work that lay before him, that he forbore to urge the matter, and went off to walk with a light step, and an uncomfortable feeling of vacuity about the region of the stomach. About noon the chiefs and braves assembled in an open enclosure situated in an exposed place on the banks of the river, where the proceedings were watched by the women, children, and dogs. The oldest chief sat himself down on the turf at one end of the enclosure, with Jacques Caradoc on his right hand, and next to him Charley Kennedy, who had ornamented himself with a blue stripe painted down the middle of his nose, and a red bar across his chin. Charley's propensity for fun had led him thus to decorate his face, in spite of his companion's remonstrances,--urging, by way of excuse, that worthy's former argument, "that it was well to fall in with the ways o' the people a man happened to be among, so long as these ways and customs were not contrary to what was right." Now Charley was sure there was nothing wrong in his painting his nose sky-blue, if he thought fit. Jacques thought it was absurd, and entertained the opinion that it would be more dignified to leave his face "its nat'ral colour." Charley didn't agree with him at all. He thought it would be paying the Indians a high compliment to follow their customs as far as possible, and said that, after all, his blue nose would not be very conspicuous, as he (Jacques) had told him that he would "look blue" at any rate when he saw the quantity of deer's meat he should have to devour. Jacques laughed at this, but suggested that the bar across his chin was _red_. Whereupon Charley said that he could easily neutralise that by putting a green star under each eye; and then uttered a fervent wish that his friend Harry Somerville could only see him in that guise. Finding him incorrigible, Jacques, who, notwithstanding his remonstrances, was more than half imbued with Charley's spirit, gave in, and accompanied him to the feast, himself decorated with the additional ornament of a red night-cap, to whose crown was attached a tuft of white feathers. A fire burned in the centre of the enclosure, round which the Indians seated themselves according to seniority, and with deep solemnity; for it is a trait in the Indian's character that all his ceremonies are performed with extreme gravity. Each man brought a dish or platter, and a wooden spoon. The old chief, whose hair was very grey, and his face covered with old wounds and scars, received either in war or in hunting, having seated himself, allowed a few minutes to elapse in silence, during which the company sat motionless, gazing at their plates as if they half expected them to become converted into beef-steaks. While they were seated thus, another party of Indians, who had been absent on a hunting expedition, strode rapidly but noiselessly into the enclosure, and seated themselves in the circle. One of these passed close to Charley, and in doing so stooped, took his hand, and pressed it. Charley looked up in surprise, and beheld the face of his old friend Redfeather, gazing at him with an expression in which were mingled affection, surprise, and amusement at the peculiar alteration in his visage. "Redfeather!" exclaimed Charley in delight, half rising; but the Indian pressed him down. "You must not rise," he whispered, and giving his hand another squeeze, passed round the circle, and took his place directly opposite. Having continued motionless for five minutes with becoming gravity, the company began operations by proceeding to smoke out of the sacred stem-- a ceremony which precedes all occasions of importance, and is conducted as follows:--The sacred stem is placed on two forked sticks to prevent its touching the ground, as that would be considered a great evil. A stone pipe is then filled with tobacco, by an attendant appointed specially to that office, and affixed to the stem, which is presented to the principal chief. That individual, with a gravity and _hauteur_ that is unsurpassed in the annals of pomposity, receives the pipe in both hands, blows a puff to the east (probably in consequence of its being the quarter whence the sun rises), and thereafter pays a similar mark of attention to the other three points. He then raises the pipe above his head, points and balances it in various directions (for what reason and with what end in view is best known to himself), and replaces it again on the forks. The company meanwhile observe his proceedings with sedate interest, evidently imbued with the idea that they are deriving from the ceremony a vast amount of edification--an idea which is helped out, doubtless, by the appearance of the women and children, who surround the enclosure, and gaze at the proceedings with looks of awe-struck seriousness that are quite solemnising to behold. The chief then makes a speech relative to the circumstance which has called them together; and which is always more or less interlarded with boastful reference to his own deeds, past, present, and prospective, eulogistic remarks on those of his forefathers, and a general condemnation of all other Indian tribes whatever. These speeches are usually delivered with great animation, and contain much poetic allusion to the objects of nature that surround the homes of the savage. The speech being finished, the chief sits down amid a universal "Ho!" uttered by the company with an emphatic prolongation of the last letter--this syllable being the Indian substitute, we presume, for "rapturous applause." The chief who officiated on the present occasion, having accomplished the opening ceremonies thus far, sat down; while the pipe-bearer presented the sacred stem to the members of the company in succession, each of whom drew a few whiffs and mumbled a few words. "Do as you see the redskins do, Mr Charles," whispered Jacques, while the pipe was going round. "That's impossible," replied Charley, in a tone that could not be heard except by his friend. "I couldn't make a face of hideous solemnity like that black thief opposite if I was to try ever so hard." "Don't let them think you are laughing at them," returned the hunter; "they would be ill pleased if they thought so." "I'll try," said Charley, "but it is hard work, Jacques, to keep from laughing; I feel like a high-pressure steam-engine already. There's a woman standing out there with a little brown baby on her back; she has quite fascinated me; I can't keep my eyes off her, and if she goes on contorting her visage much longer, I feel that I shall give way." "Hush!" At this moment the pipe was presented to Charley, who put it to his lips, drew three whiffs, and returned it with a bland smile to the bearer. The smile was a very sweet one, for that was a peculiar trait in the native urbanity of Charley's disposition, and it would have gone far in civilised society to prepossess strangers in his favour: but it lowered him considerably in the estimation of his red friends, who entertained a whole some feeling of contempt for any appearance of levity on high occasions. But Charley's face was of that agreeable stamp that, though gentle and bland when lighted up with a smile, is particularly masculine and manly in expression when in repose, and the frown that knit his brows when he observed the bad impression he had given almost reinstated him in their esteem. But his popularity became great, and the admiration of his swarthy friends greater, when he rose and made an eloquent speech in English, which Jacques translated into the Indian language. He told them, in reply to the chief's oration (wherein that warrior had complimented his pale-faced brothers on their numerous good qualities), that he was delighted and proud to meet with his Indian friends; that the object of his mission was to acquaint them with the fact that a new trading-fort was established not far off, by himself and his comrades, for their special benefit and behoof; that the stores were full of goods which he hoped they would soon obtain possession of, in exchange for furs; that he had travelled a great distance on purpose to see their land and ascertain its capabilities in the way of fur-bearing animals and game; that he had not been disappointed in his expectations, as he had found the animals to be as numerous as bees, the fish plentiful in the rivers and lakes, and the country at large a perfect paradise. He proceeded to tell them further that he expected they would justify the report he had heard of them, that they were a brave nation and good hunters, by bringing in large quantities of furs. Being strongly urged by Jacques to compliment them on their various good qualities, Charley launched out into an extravagantly poetic vein, said that he had _heard_ (but he hoped to have many opportunities of seeing it proved) that there was no nation under the sun equal to them in bravery, activity, and perseverance; that he had heard of men in olden times who made it their profession to fight with wild bulls for the amusement of their friends, but he had no doubt whatever their courage would be made conspicuous in the way of fighting wild bears and buffaloes, not for the amusement but the benefit of their wives and children (he might have added, of the Hudson's Bay Company, but he didn't, supposing that that was self-evident, probably). He complimented them on the way in which they had conducted themselves in war in times past, comparing their stealthy approach to enemies camps to the insidious snake that glides among the bushes and darts unexpectedly on its prey; said that their eyes were sharp to follow the war-trail through the forest or over the dry sward of the prairie; their aim with gun or bow true and sure as the flight of the goose when it leaves the lands of the sun, and points its beak to the icy regions of the north; their war-whoops loud as the thunders of the cataract; and their sudden onset like the lightning flash that darts from the sky and scatters the stout oak in splinters on the plain. At this point Jacques expressed his satisfaction at the style in which his young friend was progressing. "That's your sort, Mr Charles. Don't spare the butter; lay it on thick. You've not said too much yet, for they _are_ a brave race, that's a fact, as I've good reason to know." Jacques, however, did not feel quite so well satisfied when Charley went on to tell them that, although bravery in war was an admirable thing, war itself was a thing not at all to be desired, and should only be undertaken in case of necessity. He especially pointed out that there was not much glory to be earned in fighting against the Chipewyans, who, everybody knew, were a poor, timid set of people, whom they ought rather to pity than to destroy; and recommended them to devote themselves more to the chase than they had done in times past, and less to the prosecution of war in time to come. All this, and a great deal more, did Charley say, in a manner, and with a rapidity of utterance, that surprised himself, when he considered the fact that he had never adventured into the field of public speaking before. All this, and a great deal more--a very great deal more--did Jacques Caradoc interpret to the admiring Indians, who listened with the utmost gravity and profound attention, greeting the close with a very emphatic "Ho!" Jacques's translation was by no means perfect. Many of the flights into which Charley ventured, especially in regard to the manners and customs of the _savages_ of ancient Greece and Rome, were quite incomprehensible to the worthy backwoodsman; but he invariably proceeded when Charley halted, giving a flight of his own when at a loss, varying and modifying when he thought it advisable, and altering, adding, or cutting off as he pleased. Several other chiefs addressed the assembly, and then dinner, if we may so call it, was served. In Charley's case it was breakfast; to the Indians it was breakfast, dinner, and supper in one. It consisted of a large platter of dried meat, reindeer tongues (considered a great delicacy), and marrowbones. Notwithstanding the graphic power with which Jacques had prepared his young companion for this meal, Charley's heart sank when he beheld the mountain of boiled meat that was placed before him. He was ravenously hungry, it is true, but it was patent to his perception at a glance that no powers of gormandising of which he was capable could enable him to consume the mass in the course of one day. Jacques observed his consternation, and was not a little entertained by it, although his face wore an expression of profound gravity while he proceeded to attack his own dish, which was equal to that of his friend. Before commencing, a small portion of meat was thrown into the fire, as a sacrifice to the Great Master of Life. "How they do eat, to be sure!" whispered Charley to Jacques, after he had glanced in wonder at the circle of men who were devouring their food with the most extraordinary rapidity. "Why, you must know," replied Jacques, "that it's considered a point of honour to get it over soon, and the man that is done first gets most credit. But it's hard work," (he sighed, and paused a little to breathe), "and I've not got half through yet." "It's quite plain that I must lose credit with them, then, if it depends on my eating that. Tell me, Jacques, is there no way of escape? Must I sit here till it is all consumed?" "No doubt of it. Every bit that has been cooked must be crammed down our throats somehow or other." Charley heaved a deep sigh, and made another desperate attack on a large steak, while the Indians around him made considerable progress in reducing their respective mountains. Several times Charley and Redfeather exchanged glances as they paused in their labours. "I say, Jacques," said Charley, pulling up once more, "how do you get on? Pretty well stuffed by this time, I should imagine?" "Oh no! I've a good deal o' room yet." "I give in. Credit or disgrace, it's all one. I'll not make a pig of myself for any redskin in the land." Jacques smiled. "See," continued Charley, "there's a fellow opposite who has devoured as much as would have served me for three days. I don't know whether it's imagination or not, but I do verily believe that he's _blacker_ in the face than when he sat down!" "Very likely," replied Jacques, wiping his lips. "Now I've done." "Done? you have left at least a third of your supply." "True, and I may as well tell you for your comfort that there is one way of escape open to you. It is a custom among these fellows, that when any one cannot gulp his share o' the prog, he may get help from any of his friends who can cram it down their throats; and as there are always such fellows among these Injins, they seldom have any difficulty." "A most convenient practice," replied Charley; "I'll adopt it at once." Charley turned to his next neighbour with the intent to beg of him to eat his remnant of the feast. "Bless my heart, Jacques, I've no chance with the fellow on my left hand; he's stuffed quite full already, and is not quite done with his own share." "Never fear," replied his friend, looking at the individual in question, who was languidly lifting a marrow-bone to his lips; "he'll do it easy. I knows the gauge o' them chaps, and for all his sleepy look just now he's game for a lot more." "Impossible," replied Charley, looking in despair at his unfinished viands and then at the Indian. A glance round the circle seemed further to convince him that if he did not eat it himself there were none of the party likely to do so. "You'll have to give him a good lump o' tobacco to do it, though; he won't undertake so much for a trifle, I can tell you." Jacques chuckled as he said this, and handed his own portion over to another Indian, who readily undertook to finish it for him. "He'll burst; I feel certain of that," said Charley, with a deep sigh, as he surveyed his friend on the left. At last he took courage to propose the thing to him, and just as the man finished the last morsel of his own repast, Charley placed his own plate before him, with a look that seemed to say, "Eat it, my friend, _if you can_." The Indian, much to his surprise, immediately commenced to it, and in less than half an hour the whole was disposed of. During this scene of gluttony, one of the chiefs entertained the assembly with a wild and most unmusical chant, to which he beat time on a sort of tambourine, while the women outside of the enclosure beat a similar accompaniment. "I say, master," whispered Jacques, "it seems to my observation that the fellow you called Redfeather eats less than any Injin I ever saw. He has got a comrade to eat more than half of his share; now that's strange." "It won't appear strange, Jacques, when I tell you that Redfeather has lived much more among white men than Indians during the last ten years; and although voyageurs eat an enormous quantity of food, they don't make it a point of honour, as these fellows seem to do, to eat much more than enough. Besides, Redfeather is a very different man from those around him: he has been partially educated by the missionaries on Playgreen Lake, and I think has a strong leaning towards them." While they were thus conversing in whispers, Redfeather rose, and holding forth his hand, delivered himself of the following oration:-- "The time has come for Redfeather to speak. He has kept silence for many moons now, but his heart has been full of words. It is too full; he must speak now. Redfeather has fought with his tribe, and has been accounted a brave, and one who loves his people. This is true. He _does_ love, even more than they can understand. His friends know that he has never feared to face danger or death in their defence, and that, if it were necessary, he would do so still. But Redfeather is going to leave his people now. His heart is heavy at the thought. Perhaps many moons will come and go, many snows may fall and melt away, before he sees his people again; and it is this that makes him full of sorrow, it is this that makes his head to droop like the branches of the weeping willow." Redfeather paused at this point, but not a sound escaped from the listening circle: the Indians were evidently taken by surprise at this abrupt announcement. He proceeded:-- "When Redfeather travelled not long since with the white men, he met with a paleface who came from the other side of the Great Salt Lake towards the rising sun. This man was called by some of the people a missionary. He spoke wonderful words in the ears of Redfeather. He told him of things about the Great Spirit which he did not know before, and he asked Redfeather to go and help him to speak to the Indians about these strange things. Redfeather would not go. He loved his people too much, and he thought that the words of the missionary seemed foolishness. But he has thought much about it since. He does not understand the strange things that were told to him, and he has tried to forget them, but he cannot. He can get no rest. He hears strange sounds in the breeze that shakes the pine. He thinks that there are voices in the waterfall; the rivers seem to speak. Redfeather's spirit is vexed. The Great Spirit, perhaps, is talking to him. He has resolved to go to the dwelling of the missionary and stay with him." The Indian paused again, but still no sound escaped from his comrades. Dropping his voice to a soft, plaintive tone, he continued:-- "But Redfeather loves his kindred. He desires very much that they should hear the things that the missionary said. He spoke of the happy hunting-grounds to which the spirits of our fathers have gone, and said that we required a _guide_ to lead us there; that there was but one guide, whose name, he said, was Jesus. Redfeather would stay and hunt with his people, but his spirit is troubled; he cannot rest; he must go!" Redfeather sat down, and a long silence ensued. His words had evidently taken the whole party by surprise, although not a countenance there showed the smallest symptom of astonishment, except that of Charley Kennedy, whose intercourse with Indians had not yet been so great as to have taught him to conceal his feelings. At length the old chief rose, and after complimenting Redfeather on his bravery in general, and admitting that he had shown much love to his people on all occasions, went into the subject of his quitting them at some length. He reminded him that there were evil spirits as well as good; that it was not for him to say which kind had been troubling him, but that he ought to consider well before he went to live altogether with palefaces. Several other speeches were made, some to the same effect, and others applauding his resolve. These latter had, perhaps, some idea that his bringing the pale-faced missionary among them would gratify their taste for the marvellous--a taste that is pretty strong in all uneducated minds. One man, however, was particularly urgent in endeavouring to dissuade him from his purpose. He was a tall, low-browed man; muscular and well built, but possessed of a most villainous expression of countenance. From a remark that fell from one of the company, Charley discovered that his name was Misconna, and so learned, to his surprise, that he was the very Indian mentioned by Redfeather as the man who had been his rival for the hand of Wabisca, and who had so cruelly killed the wife of the poor trapper the night on which the Chipewyan camp was attacked, and the people slaughtered. What reason Misconna had for objecting so strongly to Redfeather's leaving the community no one could tell, although some of those who knew his unforgiving nature suspected that he still entertained the hope of being able, some day or other, to wreak his vengeance on his old rival. But whatever was his object, he failed in moving Redfeather's resolution; and it was at last admitted by the whole party that Redfeather was a "wise chief," that he knew best what ought to be done under the circumstances, and it was hoped that his promised visit, in company with the missionary, would not be delayed many moons. That night, in the deep shadow of the trees, by the brook that murmured near the Indian camp, while the stars twinkled through the branches overhead, Charley introduced Redfeather to his friend Jacques Caradoc, and a friendship was struck up between the bold hunter and the red man that grew and strengthened as each successive day made them acquainted with their respective good qualities. In the same place, and with the same stars looking down upon them, it was further agreed that Redfeather should accompany his new friends, taking his wife along with him in another canoe, as far as their several routes led them in the same direction, which was about four or five days' journey; and that while the one party diverged towards the fort at Stoney Creek, the other should pursue its course to the missionary station on the shores of Lake Winnipeg. But there was a snake in the grass there that they little suspected. Misconna had crept through the bushes after them, with a degree of caution that might have baffled their vigilance, even had they suspected treason in a friendly camp. He lay listening intently to all their plans, and when they returned to their camp, he rose out from among the bushes, like a dark spirit of evil, clutched the handle of his scalping-knife, and gave utterance to a malicious growl; then walking hastily after them, his dusky figure was soon concealed among the trees. CHAPTER SIXTEEN. THE RETURN--NARROW ESCAPE--A MURDEROUS ATTEMPT, WHICH FAILS--AND A DISCOVERY. All nature was joyous and brilliant, and bright and beautiful. Morning was still very young--about an hour old. Sounds of the most cheerful, light-hearted character floated over the waters and echoed through the woods, as birds and beasts hurried to and fro with all the bustling energy that betokened preparation and search for breakfast. Fish leaped in the pools with a rapidity that brought forcibly to mind that wise saying, "The more hurry, the less speed;" for they appeared constantly to miss their mark, although they jumped twice their own length out of the water in the effort. Ducks and geese sprang from their liquid beds with an amazing amount of unnecessary sputter, as if they had awakened to the sudden consciousness of being late for breakfast, then alighted in the water again with a _squash_, on finding (probably) that it was too early for that meal, but, observing other flocks passing and repassing on noisy wing, took to flight again, unable, apparently, to restrain their feelings of delight at the freshness of the morning air, the brightness of the rising sun, and the sweet perfume of the dewy verdure, as the mists cleared away over the tree-tops and lost themselves in the blue sky. Everything seemed instinct not only with life, but with a large amount of superabundant energy. Earth, air, sky, animal, vegetable, and mineral, solid, and liquid, all were either actually in a state of lively, exulting motion, or had a peculiarly sprightly look about them, as if nature had just burst out of prison _en masse_, and gone raving mad with joy. Such was the delectable state of things the morning on which two canoes darted from the camp of the Knisteneux, amid many expressions of good-will. One canoe contained our two friends, Charley and Jacques; the other, Redfeather and his wife Wabisca. A few strokes of the paddle shot them out into the stream, which carried them rapidly away from the scene of their late festivities. In five minutes they swept round a point which shut them out from view, and they were swiftly descending those rapid rivers that had cost Charley and Jacques so much labour to ascend. "Look out for rocks ahead, Mr Charles," cried Jacques, as he steered the light bark into the middle of a rapid, which they had avoided when ascending by making a portage. "Keep well to the left o' yon swirl. _Parbleu_, if we touch the rock _there_, it'll be all over with us." "All right," was Charley's laconic reply. And so it proved, for their canoe, after getting fairly into the run of the rapid, was evidently under the complete command of its expert crew, and darted forward amid the foaming waters like a thing instinct with life. Now it careered and plunged over the waves where the rough bed of the stream made them more than usually turbulent. Anon it flew with increased rapidity through a narrow gap where the compressed water was smooth and black, but deep and powerful, rendering great care necessary to prevent the canoe's frail sides from being dashed on the rocks. Then it met a curling wave, into which it plunged like an impetuous charger, and was checked for a moment by its own violence. Presently an eddy threw the canoe a little out of its course, disconcerting Charley's intention of _shaving_ a rock which lay in their track, so that he slightly grazed it in passing. "Ah, Mr Charles," said Jacques, shaking his head, "that was not well done; an inch more would have sent us down the rapids like drowned cats." "True," replied Charley, somewhat crestfallen; "but you see the other inch was not lost, so we're not much the worse for it." "Well, after all, it was a ticklish bit, and I should have guessed that your experience was not up to it quite. I've seen many a man in my day who wouldn't ha' done it _half_ so slick, an' yet ha' thought no small beer of himself; so you needn't be ashamed, Mr Charles. But Wabisca beats you, for all that," continued the hunter, glancing hastily over his shoulder at Redfeather, who followed closely in their wake, he and his modest-looking wife guiding their little craft through the dangerous passage with the utmost _sangfroid_ and precision. "We've about run them all now," said Jacques, as they paddled over a sheet of still water which intervened between the rapid they had just descended and another which thundered about a hundred yards in advance. "I was so engrossed with the one we have just come down," said Charley, "that I quite forgot this one." "Quite right, Mr Charles," said Jacques, in an approving tone, "quite right. I holds that a man should always attend to what he's at, an' to nothin' else. I've lived long in the woods now, and that fact becomes more and more sartin every day. I've know'd chaps, now, as timersome as settlement girls, that were always in such a mortal funk about what _was_ to happen, or _might_ happen, that they were never fit for anything that _did_ happen; always lookin' ahead, and never around them. Of coorse, I don't mean that a man shouldn't look ahead at all, but their great mistake was that they looked out too far ahead, and always kep' their eyes nailed there, just as if they had the fixin' o' everything, an' Providence had nothin' to do with it at all. I mind a Canadian o' that sort that travelled in company with me once. We were goin' just as we are now, Mr Charles, two canoes of us--him and a comrade in one, and me and a comrade in t'other. One night we got to a lot o' rapids that came one after another for the matter o' three miles or thereabouts. They were all easy ones, however, except the last; but it _was_ a tickler, with a sharp turn o' the land that hid it from sight till ye were right into it, with a foamin' current, and a range o' ragged rocks that stood straight in front o' ye, like the teeth of a cross-cut saw. It was easy enough, however, if a man _knew_ it, and was a cool hand. Well, the _pauvre_ Canadian was in a terrible takin' about this shoot long afore he came to it. He had run it often enough in boats where he was one of a half-dozen men, and had nothin' to do but look on; but he had never _steered_ down it before. When he came to the top o' the rapids, his mind was so filled with this shoot that he couldn't attend to nothin', and scraped agin' a dozen rocks in almost smooth water, so that when he got little more than half-way down, the canoe was as rickety as if it had just come off a six months' cruise. At last we came to the big rapid, and after we'd run down our canoe I climbed the bank to see them do it. Down they came, the poor Canadian white as a sheet, and his comrade, who was brave enough, but knew nothin' about light craft, not very comfortable. At first he could see nothin' for the point, but in another moment round they went, end on, for the big rocks. The Canadian gave a great yell when he saw them, and plunged at the paddle till I thought he'd have capsized altogether. They ran it well enough, straight between the rocks (more by good luck than good guidance), and sloped down to the smooth water below; but the canoe had got such a battering in the rapids above, where an Injin baby could have steered it in safety, that the last plunge shook it all to pieces. It opened up, and lay down flat on the water; while the two men fell right through the bottom, screechin' like mad, and rolling about among shreds o' birch-bark!" While Jacques was thus descanting philosophically on his experiences in time past, they had approached the head of the second rapid, and in accordance with the principles just enunciated, the stout backwoodsman gave his undivided attention to the work before him. The rapid was short and deep, so that little care was required in descending it, excepting at one point, where the stream rushed impetuously between two rocks about six yards asunder. Here it was requisite to keep the canoe as much in the middle of the stream as possible. Just as they began to feel the drag of the water, Redfeather was heard to shout in a loud, warning tone, which caused Jacques and Charley to back their paddles hurriedly. "What can the Injin mean, I wonder?" said Jacques, in a perplexed tone. "He don't look like a man that would stop us at the top of a strong rapid for nothin'." "It's too late to do that now, whatever is his reason," said Charley, as he and his companion struggled in vain to paddle up stream. "It's o' no use, Mr Charles; we must run it now--the current's too strong to make head against. Besides, I do think the man has only seen a bear, or somethin' o' that sort, for I see he's ashore, and jumpin' among the bushes like a caribou." Saying this, they turned the canoe's head down stream again, and allowed it to drift, merely retarding its progress a little with the paddles. Suddenly Jacques uttered a sharp exclamation. "_Mon Dieu_!" said he, "it's plain enough now. Look there!" Jacques pointed as he spoke to the narrows which they were now approaching with tremendous speed, which increased every instant. A heavy tree lay directly across the stream, reaching from rock to rock, and placed in such a way that it was impossible for a canoe to descend without being dashed in pieces against it. This was the more curious that no trees grew in the immediate vicinity, so that this one must have been designedly conveyed there. "There has been foul work here," said Jacques, in a deep tone. "We must dive, Mr Charles; there's no chance any way else, and _that's_ but a poor one." This was true. The rocks on each side rose almost perpendicularly out of the water, so that it was utterly impossible to run ashore, and the only way of escape, as Jacques said, was by diving under the tree--a thing involving great risk, as the stream immediately below was broken by rocks, against which it dashed in foam, and through which the chances of steering one's way in safety by means of swimming were very slender indeed. Charley made no reply, but with tightly-compressed lips, and a look of stern resolution on his brow, threw off his coat, and hastily tied his belt tightly round his waist. The canoe was now sweeping forward with lightning speed; in a few minutes it would be dashed to pieces. At that moment a shout was heard in the woods, and Redfeather darting out, rushed over the ledge of rock on which one end of the tree rested, seized the trunk in his arms, and exerting all his strength, hurled it over into the river. In doing so he stumbled, and ere he could recover himself a branch caught him under the arm as the tree fell over, and dragged him into the boiling stream. This accident was probably the means of saving his life, for just as he fell the loud report of a gun rang through the woods, and a bullet passed through his cap. For a second or two both man and tree were lost in the foam, while the canoe dashed past in safety. The next instant Wabisca passed the narrows in her small craft, and steered for the tree. Redfeather, who had risen and sunk several times, saw her as she passed, and making a violent effort, he caught hold of the gunwale, and was carried down in safety. "I'll tell you what it is," said Jacques, as the party stood on a rock promontory after the events just narrated: "I would give a dollar to have that fellow's nose and the sights o' my rifle in a line at any distance short of two hundred yards." "It was Misconna," said Redfeather. "I did not see him, but there's not another man in the tribe that could do that." "I'm thankful we escaped, Jacques. I never felt so near death before, and had it not been for the timely aid of our friend here, it strikes me that our wild life would have come to an abrupt close.--God bless you, Redfeather," said Charley, taking the Indian's hand in both of his and kissing it. Charley's ebullition of feeling was natural. He had not yet become used to the dangers of the wilderness so as to treat them with indifference. Jacques, on the other hand, had risked his life so often that escape from danger was treated very much as a matter of course, and called forth little expression of feeling. Still, it must not be inferred from this that his nature had become callous. The backwoodsman's frame was hard and unyielding as iron, but his heart was as soft still as it was on the day on which he first donned the hunting-shirt, and there was much more of tenderness than met the eye in the squeeze that he gave Redfeather's hand on landing. As the four travellers encircled the fire that night, under the leafy branches of the forest, and smoked their pipes in concert, while Wabisca busied herself in clearing away the remnants of their evening meal, they waxed communicative, and stories, pathetic, comic, and tragic, followed each other in rapid succession. "Now, Redfeather," said Charley, while Jacques rose and went down to the luggage to get more tobacco, "tell Jacques about the way in which you got your name. I am sure he will feel deeply interested in that story-- at least I am certain that Harry Somerville and I did when you told it to us the day we were wind-bound on Lake Winnipeg." Redfeather made no reply for a few seconds. "Will Mr Charles speak for me?" he said at length; "his tongue is smooth and quick." "A doubtful kind of compliment," said Charley, laughing; "but I will, if you don't wish to tell it yourself." "And don't mention names. Do not let him know that you speak of me or my friends," said the Indian, in a low whisper, as Jacques returned and sat down by the fire again. Charley gave him a glance of surprise; but being prevented from asking questions, he nodded in reply, and proceeded to relate to his friend the story that has been recounted in a previous chapter. Redfeather leaned back against a tree, and appeared to listen intently. Charley's powers of description were by no means inconsiderable, and the backwoodsman's face assumed a look of good-humoured attention as the story proceeded. But when the narrator went on to tell of the meditated attack and the midnight march, his interest was aroused, the pipe which he had been smoking was allowed to go out, and he gazed at his young friend with the most earnest attention. It was evident that the hunter's spirit entered with deep sympathy into such scenes; and when Charley described the attack, and the death of the trapper's wife, Jacques seemed unable to restrain his feelings. He leaned his elbows on his knees, buried his face in his hands, and groaned aloud. "Mr Charles," he said, in a deep voice, when the story was ended, "there are two men I would like to meet with in this world before I die: one is the young Injin who tried to save that girl's life, the other is the cowardly villain that took it. I don't mean the one who finished the bloody work; my rifle sent his accursed spirit to its own place--" "_Your_ rifle!" cried Charley, in amazement. "Ay, mine! It was _my_ wife who was butchered by these savage dogs on that dark night. Oh, what avails the strength o' that right arm!" said Jacques bitterly, as he lifted up his clenched fist; "it was powerless to save her--the sweet girl who left her home and people to follow me, a rough hunter, through the lonesome wilderness!" He covered his face again, and groaned in agony of spirit, while his whole frame quivered with emotion. Jacques remained silent, and his sympathising friends refrained from intruding on a sorrow which they felt they had no power to relieve. At length he spoke. "Yes," said he; "I would give much to meet with the man who tried to save her. I saw him do it twice; but the devils about him were too eager to be balked of their prey." Charley and the Indian exchanged glances. "That Indian's name," said the former, "was _Redfeather_!" "What!" exclaimed the trapper, jumping to his feet, and grasping Redfeather, who had also risen, by the two shoulders, stared wildly into his face; "was it you that did it?" Redfeather smiled, and held out his hand, which the other took and wrung with an energy that would have extorted a cry of pain from any one but an Indian. Then dropping it suddenly and clinching his hands, he exclaimed:-- "I said that I would like to meet the villain who killed her--yes, I said it in passion, when your words had roused all my old feelings again; but I am thankful--I bless God that I did not know this sooner-- that you did not tell me of it when I was at the camp, for I verily believe that I would not only have fixed _him_, but half the warriors o' your tribe too, before they had settled _me_!" It need scarcely be added that the friendship which already subsisted between Jacques and Redfeather was now doubly cemented; nor will it create surprise when we say that the former, in the fullness of his heart, and from sheer inability to find adequate outlets for the expression of his feelings, offered Redfeather in succession all the articles of value he possessed, even to his much-loved rifle, and was seriously annoyed at their not being accepted. At last he finished off by assuring the Indian that he might look out for him soon at the missionary settlement, where he meant to stay with him evermore in the capacity of hunter, fisherman, and jack-of-all-trades to the whole clan. CHAPTER SEVENTEEN. THE SCENE CHANGES--BACHELOR'S HALL--A PRACTICAL JOKE AND ITS CONSEQUENCES--A SNOW-SHOE WALK AT NIGHT IN THE FOREST. Leaving Charley to pursue his adventurous career among the Indians, we will introduce our reader to a new scene, and follow for a time the fortunes of our friend Harry Somerville. It will be remembered that we left him labouring under severe disappointment at the idea of having to spend a year, it might be many years, at the depot, and being condemned to the desk, instead of realising his fond dreams of bear-hunting and deer-stalking in the woods and prairies. It was now the autumn of Harry's second year at York Fort. This period of the year happens to be the busiest at the depot, in consequence of the preparation of the annual accounts for transmission to England, in the solitary ship which visits this lonely spot once a year; so that Harry was tied to his desk all day and the greater part of the night too, till his spirits fell infinitely below zero, and he began to look on himself as the most miserable of mortals. His spirits rose, however, with amazing rapidity after the ship went away, and the "young gentlemen," as the clerks were styled _en masse_, were permitted to run wild in the swamps and woods for the three weeks succeeding that event. During this glimpse of sunshine they recruited their exhausted frames by paddling about all day in Indian canoes, or wandering through the marshes, sleeping at nights in tents or under the pine trees, and spreading dismay among the feathered tribes, of which there were immense numbers of all kinds. After this they returned to their regular work at the desk; but as this was not so severe as in summer, and was further lightened by Wednesdays and Saturdays being devoted entirely to recreation, Harry began to look on things in a less gloomy aspect, and at length regained his wonted cheerful spirits. Autumn passed away. The ducks and geese took their departure to more genial climes. The swamps froze up and became solid. Snow fell in great abundance, covering every vestige of vegetable nature, except the dark fir trees, that only helped to render the scenery more dreary, and winter settled down upon the land. Within the pickets of York Fort, the thirty or forty souls who lived there were actively employed in cutting their firewood, putting in double window-frames to keep out the severe cold, cutting tracks in the snow from one house to another, and otherwise preparing for a winter of eight months duration, as cold as that of Nova Zembla, and in the course of which the only new faces they had any chance of seeing were those of the two men who conveyed the annual winter packet of letters from the next station. Outside of the fort all was a wide, waste wilderness for _thousands_ of miles around. Deathlike stillness and solitude reigned everywhere, except when a covey of ptarmigan whirred like large snowflakes athwart the sky, or an arctic fox prowled stealthily through the woods in search of prey. As if in opposition to the gloom and stillness and solitude outside, the interior of the clerks' house presented a striking contrast of ruddy warmth, cheerful sounds, and bustling activity. It was evening; but although the sun had set, there was still sufficient daylight to render candles unnecessary, though not enough to prevent a bright glare from the stove in the centre of the hall taking full effect in the darkening chamber, and making it glow with fiery red. Harry Somerville sat in front, and full in the blaze of this stove, resting after the labours of the day; his arms crossed on his breast, his head a little to one side, as if in deep contemplation, as he gazed earnestly into the fire, and his chair tilted on its hind legs so as to balance with such nicety that a feather's weight additional outside its centre of gravity would have upset it. He had divested himself of his coat--a practice that prevailed among the young gentlemen when _at home_, as being free-and-easy as well as convenient. The doctor, a tall, broad-shouldered man, with red hair and whiskers, paced the room sedately, with a long pipe depending from his lips, which he removed occasionally to address a few remarks to the accountant, a stout, heavy man of about thirty, with a voice like a Stentor, eyes sharp and active as those of a ferret, and a tongue that moved with twice the ordinary amount of lingual rapidity. The doctor's remarks seemed to be particularly humorous, if one might judge from the peals of laughter with which they were received by the accountant, who stood with his back to the stove in such a position that, while it warmed him from his heels to his waist, he enjoyed the additional benefit of the pipe or chimney, which rose upwards, parallel with his spine, and, taking a sudden bend near the roof, passed over his head--thus producing a genial and equable warmth from top to toe. "Yes," said the doctor, "I left him hotly following up a rabbit-track, in the firm belief that it was that of a silver fox." "And did you not undeceive the greenhorn?" cried the accountant, with another shout of laughter. "Not I," replied the doctor. "I merely recommended him to keep his eye on the sun, lest he should lose his way, and hastened home; for it just occurred to me that I had forgotten to visit Louis Blanc, who cut his foot with an axe yesterday, and whose wound required redressing, so I left the poor youth to learn from experience." "Pray, who did you leave to that delightful fate?" asked Mr Wilson, issuing from his bedroom and approaching the stove. Mr Wilson was a middle-aged, good-humoured, active man, who filled the onerous offices of superintendent of the men, trader of furs, seller of goods to the Indians, and general factotum. "Our friend Hamilton," answered the doctor, in reply to his question. "I think he is, without exception, the most egregious nincompoop I ever saw. Just as I passed the long swamp on my way home, I met him crashing through the bushes in hot pursuit of a rabbit, the track of which he mistook for a fox. Poor fellow! he had been out since breakfast, and only shot a brace of ptarmigan, although they are as thick as bees and quite tame. `But then, do you see,' said he, in excuse, `I'm so very short-sighted! Would you believe it, I've blown fifteen lumps of snow to atoms, in the belief that they were ptarmigan!' and then he rushed off again." "No doubt," said Mr Wilson, smiling, "the lad is very green, but he's a good fellow for all that." "I'll answer for that," said the accountant; "I found him over at the men's houses this morning doing _your_ work for you, doctor." "How so?" inquired the disciple of Aesculapius. "Attending to your wounded man, Louis Blanc, to be sure; and he seemed to speak to him as wisely as if he had walked the hospitals, and regularly passed for an M.D." "Indeed!" said the doctor, with a mischievous grin. "Then I must pay him off for interfering with my patients." "Ah, doctor, you're too fond of practical jokes. You never let slip an opportunity of `paying off' your friends for something or other. It's a bad habit. Practical jokes are very bad things--shockingly bad," said Mr Wilson, as he put on his fur cap, and wound a thick shawl round his throat, preparatory to leaving the room. As Mr Wilson gave utterance to this opinion, he passed Harry Somerville, who was still staring at the fire in deep mental abstraction, and, as he did so, gave his tilted chair a very slight push backwards with his finger--an action which caused Harry to toss up his legs, grasp convulsively with both hands at empty air, and fall with a loud noise and an angry yell to the ground, while his persecutor vanished from the scene. "O you outrageous villain!" cried Harry, shaking his fist at the door, as he slowly gathered himself up: "I might have expected that." "Quite so," said the doctor; "you might. It was very neatly done, undoubtedly. Wilson deserves credit for the way in which it was executed." "He deserves to be executed for doing it at all," replied Harry, rubbing his elbow as he resumed his seat. "Any bark knocked off?" inquired the accountant, as he took a piece of glowing charcoal from the stove wherewith to light his pipe. "Try a whiff, Harry. It's good for such things. Bruises, sores, contusions, sprains, rheumatic affections of the back and loins, carbuncles, and earache--there's nothing that smoking won't cure; eh, doctor?" "Certainly. If applied inwardly, there's nothing so good for digestion when one doesn't require tonics.--Try it, Harry; it will do you good, I assure you." "No, thank you," replied Harry; "I'll leave that to you and the chimney. I don't wish to make a soot-bag of my mouth. But tell me, doctor, what do you mean to do with that lump of snow there?" Harry pointed to a mass of snow, of about two feet square, which lay on the floor beside the door. It had been placed there by the doctor some time previously. "Do with it? Have patience, my friend, and you shall see. It is a little surprise I have in store for Hamilton." As he spoke, the door opened, and a short, square-built man rushed into the room, with a pistol in one hand and a bright little bullet in the other. "Hullo, skipper!" cried Harry, "what's the row?" "All right," cried the skipper; "here it is at last, solid as the fluke of an anchor. Toss me the powder-flask, Harry; look sharp, else it'll melt." A powder-flask was immediately produced, from which the skipper hastily charged the pistol, and rammed down the shining bullet. "Now then," said he, "look out for squalls. Clear the decks there." And rushing to the door, he flung it open, took a steady aim at something outside, and fired. "Is the man mad?" said the accountant, as with a look of amazement he beheld the skipper spring through the doorway, and immediately return, bearing in his arms a large piece of fir plank. "Not quite mad yet," he said, in reply, "but I've sent a ball of quicksilver through an inch plank, and that's not a thing to be done every day--even _here_, although it _is_ cold enough sometimes to freeze up one's very ideas." "Dear me," interrupted Harry Somerville, looking as if a new thought had struck him, "that must be it! I've no doubt that poor Hamilton's ideas are _frozen_, which accounts for the total absence of any indication of his possessing such things." "I observed," continued the skipper, not noticing the interruption, "that the glass was down at 45 degrees below zero this morning, and put out a bullet-mould full of mercury, and you see the result." As he spoke he held up the perforated plank in triumph. The skipper was a strange mixture of qualities. To a wild, offhand, sailor-like hilarity of disposition in hours of leisure, he united a grave, stern energy of character while employed in the performance of his duties. Duty was always paramount with him. A smile could scarcely be extracted from him while it was in the course of performance. But the instant his work was done a new spirit seemed to take possession of the man. Fun, mischief of any kind, no matter how childish, he entered into with the greatest delight and enthusiasm. Among other peculiarities, he had become deeply imbued with a thirst for scientific knowledge, ever since he had acquired, with infinite labour, the small modicum of science necessary to navigation; and his doings in pursuit of statistical information relative to the weather, and the phenomena of nature generally, were very peculiar, and in some cases outrageous. His transaction with the quicksilver was in consequence of an eager desire to see that metal frozen (an effect which takes place when the spirit-of-wine thermometer falls to 39 degrees below zero of Fahrenheit), and a wish to be able to boast of having actually fired a mercurial bullet through an inch plank. Having made a careful note of the fact, with all the relative circumstances attending it, in a very much blotted book, which he denominated his scientific log, the worthy skipper threw off his coat, drew a chair to the stove, and prepared to regale himself with a pipe. As he glanced slowly round the room while thus engaged, his eye fell on the mass of snow before alluded to. On being informed by the doctor for what it was intended, he laid down his pipe and rose hastily from his chair. "You've not a moment to lose," said he. "As I came in at the gate just now, I saw Hamilton coming down the river on the ice, and he must be almost arrived now." "Up with it then," cried the doctor, seizing the snow, and lifting it to the top of the door. "Hand me those bits of stick, Harry; quick, man, stir your stumps.--Now then, skipper, fix them in so, while I hold this up." The skipper lent willing and effective aid, so that in a few minutes the snow was placed in such a position that upon the opening of the door it must inevitably fall on the head of the first person who should enter the room. "So," said the skipper; "that's rigged up in what I call a ship-shape fashion." "True," remarked the doctor, eyeing the arrangement with a look of approval; "it will do, I think, admirably." "Don't you think, skipper," said Harry Somerville gravely, as he resumed his seat in front of the fire, "that it would be worth while to make a careful and minute entry in your private log of the manner in which it was put up, to be afterwards followed by an account of its effect? You might write an essay on it now, and call it the extraordinary effects of a fall of snow in latitude so and so, eh? What think you of it?" The skipper vouchsafed no reply, but made a significant gesture with his fist, which caused Harry to put himself in a posture of defence. At this moment footsteps were heard on the wooden platform in front of the building. Instantly all became silence and expectation in the hall as the result of the practical joke was about to be realised. Just then another step was heard on the platform, and it became evident that two persons were approaching the door. "Hope it'll be the right man," said the skipper, with a look savouring slightly of anxiety. As he spoke the door opened, and a foot crossed the threshold; the next instant the miniature avalanche descended on the head and shoulders of a man, who reeled forward from the weight of the blow, and, covered from head to foot with snow, fell to the ground amid shouts of laughter. With a convulsive stamp and shake, the prostrate figure sprang up and confronted the party. Had the cast-iron stove suddenly burst into atoms and blown the roof off the house, it could scarcely have created greater consternation than that which filled the merry jesters when they beheld the visage of Mr Rogan, the superintendent of the fort, red with passion and fringed with snow. "So," said he, stamping violently with his foot, partly from anger, and partly with the view of shaking off the unexpected covering, which stuck all over his dress in little patches, producing a somewhat piebald effect,--"so you are pleased to jest, gentlemen. Pray, who placed that piece of snow over the door?" Mr Rogan glared fiercely round upon the culprits, who stood speechless before him. For a moment he stood silent, as if uncertain how to act; then turning short on his heel, he strode quickly out of the room, nearly overturning Mr Hamilton, who at the same instant entered it, carrying his gun and snow-shoes under his arm. "Dear me, what has happened?" he exclaimed, in a peculiarly gentle tone of voice, at the same time regarding the snow and the horror-stricken circle with a look of intense surprise. "You _see_ what has happened," replied Harry Somerville, who was the first to recover his composure; "I presume you intended to ask, `What has _caused_ it to happen?' Perhaps the skipper will explain; it's beyond me, quite." Thus appealed to, that worthy cleared his throat, and said:-- "Why, you see, Mr Hamilton, a great phenomenon of meteorology has happened. We were all standing, you must know, at the open door, taking a squint at the weather, when our attention was attracted by a curious object that appeared in the sky, and seemed to be coming down at the rate of ten knots an hour, right end-on for the house. I had just time to cry, `Clear out, lads,' when it came slap in through the doorway, and smashed to shivers there, where you see the fragments. In fact, it's a wonderful aerolite, and Mr Rogan has just gone out with a lot of the bits in his pocket, to make a careful examination of them, and draw up a report for the Geological Society in London. I shouldn't wonder if he were to send off an express to-night; and maybe you will have to convey the news to headquarters, so you'd better go and see him about it soon." _Soft_ although Mr Hamilton was supposed to be, he was not quite prepared to give credit to this explanation; but being of a peaceful disposition, and altogether unaccustomed to retort, he merely smiled his disbelief, as he proceeded to lay aside his fowling-piece, and divest himself of the voluminous out-of-door trappings with which he was clad. Mr Hamilton was a tall, slender youth, of about nineteen. He had come out by the ship in autumn, and was spending his first winter at York Fort. Up to the period of his entering the Hudson's Bay Company's service, he had never been more than twenty miles from home, and having mingled little with the world, was somewhat unsophisticated, besides being by nature gentle and unassuming. Soon after this the man who acted as cook, waiter, and butler to the mess, entered, and said that Mr Rogan desired to see the accountant immediately. "Who am I to say did it?" inquired that gentleman, as he rose to obey the summons. "Wouldn't it be a disinterested piece of kindness if you were to say it was yourself?" suggested the doctor. "Perhaps it would, but I won't," replied the accountant, as he made his exit. In about half an hour Mr Rogan and the accountant re-entered the apartment. The former had quite regained his composure. He was naturally amiable; which happy disposition was indicated by a habitually cheerful look and smile. "Now, gentlemen," said he, "I find that this practical joke was not intended for me, and therefore look upon it as an unlucky accident; but I cannot too strongly express my dislike to practical jokes of all kinds. I have seen great evil, and some bloodshed, result from practical jokes; and I think that, being a sufferer in consequence of your fondness for them, I have a right to beg that you will abstain from such doings in future--at least from such jokes as involve risk to those who do not choose to enter into them." Having given vent to this speech, Mr Rogan left his volatile friends to digest it at their leisure. "Serves us right," said the skipper, pacing up and down the room in a repentant frame of mind, with his thumbs hooked into the arm-holes of his vest. The doctor said nothing, but breathed hard and smoked vigorously. While we admit most thoroughly with Mr Rogan that practical jokes are exceedingly bad, and productive frequently of far more evil than fun, we feel it our duty, as a faithful delineator of manners, customs, and character in these regions, to urge in palliation of the offence committed by the young gentlemen at York Fort, that they had really about as few amusements and sources of excitement as fall to the lot of any class of men. They were entirely dependent on their own unaided exertions, during eight or nine months of the year, for amusement or recreation of any kind. Their books were few in number, and soon read through. The desolate wilderness around afforded no incidents to form subjects of conversation further than the events of a day's shooting, which, being nearly similar every day, soon lost all interest. No newspapers came to tell of the doings of the busy world from which they were shut out, and nothing occurred to vary the dull routine of their life; so that it is not matter for wonder that they were driven to seek for relaxation and excitement occasionally in most outrageous and unnatural ways, and to indulge now and then in the perpetration of a practical joke. For some time after the rebuke administered by Mr Rogan, silence reigned in _Bachelor's Hall_, as the clerks' house was termed. But at length symptoms of _ennui_ began to be displayed. The doctor yawned, and lay down on his bed to enjoy an American newspaper about twelve months old. Harry Somerville sat down to re-read a volume of Franklin's travels in the polar regions, which he had perused twice already. Mr Hamilton busied himself in cleaning his fowling-piece; while the skipper conversed with Mr Wilson, who was engaged in his room in adjusting an ivory head to a walking-stick. Mr Wilson was a jack-of-all-trades, who could make shift, one way or other, to do _anything_. The accountant paced the uncarpeted floor in deep contemplation. At length he paused, and looked at Harry Somerville for some time. "What say you to a walk through the woods to North River, Harry?" "Ready," cried Harry, tossing down the book with a look of contempt--"ready for anything." "Will _you_ come, Hamilton?" added the accountant. Hamilton looked up in surprise. "You don't mean, surely, to take so long a walk in the dark, do you? It is snowing, too, very heavily, and I think you said that North River was five miles off, did you not?" "Of course I mean to walk in the dark," replied the accountant, "unless you can extemporise an artificial light for the occasion, or prevail on the moon to come out for my special benefit. As to snowing, and a short tramp of five miles, why, the sooner you get to think of such things as _trifles_ the better, if you hope to be fit for anything in this country." "I _don't_ think much of them," replied Hamilton, softly, and with a slight smile; "I only meant that such a walk was not very _attractive_ so late in the evening." "Attractive!" shouted Harry Somerville from his bedroom, where he was equipping himself for the walk; "what can be more attractive than a sharp run of ten miles through the woods on a cool night to visit your traps, with the prospect of a silver fox or a wolf at the end of it, and an extra sound sleep as the result? Come, man, don't be soft; get ready, and go along with us." "Besides," added the accountant, "I don't mean to come back to-night. To-morrow, you know, is a holiday, so we can camp out in the snow after visiting the traps, have our supper, and start early in the morning to search for ptarmigan." "Well, I will go," said Hamilton, after this account of the pleasures that were to be expected; "I am exceedingly anxious to learn to shoot birds on the wing." "Bless me! have you not learned that yet?" asked the doctor, in affected surprise, as he sauntered out of his bedroom to relight his pipe. The various bedrooms in the clerks' house were ranged round the hall, having doors that opened directly into it, so that conversation carried on in a loud voice was heard in all the rooms at once, and was not unfrequently sustained in elevated tones from different apartments, when the occupants were lounging, as they often did of an evening, in their beds. "No," said Hamilton, in reply to the doctor's question, "I have not learned yet, although there were a great many grouse in the part of Scotland where I was brought up. But my aunt, with whom I lived, was so fearful of my shooting either myself or some one else, and had such an aversion to firearms, that I determined to make her mind easy, by promising that I would never use them so long as I remained under her roof." "Quite right; very dutiful and proper," said the doctor, with a grave, patronising air. "Perhaps you'll fall in with more _fox_ tracks of the same sort as the one you gave chase to this morning," shouted the skipper, from Wilson's room. "Oh! there's hundreds of them out there," said the accountant; "so let's off at once." The trio now proceeded to equip themselves for the walk. Their costumes were peculiar, and merit description. As they were similar in the chief points, it will suffice to describe that of our friend Harry. On his head he wore a fur cap made of otter-skin, with a flap on each side to cover the ears, the frost being so intense in these climates that without some such protection they would inevitably freeze and fall off. As the nose is constantly in use for the purposes of respiration, it is always left uncovered to fight with the cold as it best can; but it is a hard battle, and there is no doubt that, if it were possible, a nasal covering would be extremely pleasant. Indeed, several desperate efforts _have_ been made to construct some sort of nose-bag, but hitherto without success, owing to the uncomfortable fact that the breath issuing from that organ immediately freezes, and converts the covering into a bag of snow or ice, which is not agreeable. Round his neck Harry wound a thick shawl of such portentous dimensions that it entirely enveloped the neck and lower part of the face; thus the entire head was, as it were, eclipsed--the eyes, the nose, and the cheek-bones alone being visible. He then threw on a coat made of deer-skin, so prepared that it bore a slight resemblance to excessively coarse chamois leather. It was somewhat in the form of a long, wide sur-tout, overlapping very much in front, and confined closely to the figure by means of a scarlet worsted belt instead of buttons, and was ornamented round the foot by a number of cuts, which produced a fringe of little tails. Being lined with thick flannel, this portion of attire was rather heavy, but extremely necessary. A pair of blue cloth leggings having a loose flap on the outside, were next drawn over the trousers, as an additional protection to the knees. The feet, besides being portions of the body that are peculiarly susceptible of cold, had further to contend against the chafing of the lines which attach them to the snow-shoes, so that special care in their preparation for duty was necessary. First were put on a pair of blanketing or duffel socks, which were merely oblong in form, without sewing or making-up of any kind. These were wrapped round the feet, which were next thrust into a pair of made-up socks, of the same material, having ankle-pieces; above these were put _another_ pair, _without_ flaps for the ankles. Over all was drawn a pair of moccasins made of stout deer-skin, similar to that of the coat. Of course, the elegance of Harry's feet was entirely destroyed, and had he been met in this guise by any of his friends in the "old country," they would infallibly have come to the conclusion that he was afflicted with gout. Over his shoulders he slung a powder-horn and shot-pouch, the latter tastefully embroidered with dyed quill-work. A pair of deerskin mittens, having a little bag for the thumb and a large bag for the fingers, completed his costume. While the three were making ready, with a running accompaniment of grunts and groans at refractory pieces of apparel, the night without became darker, and the snow fell thicker, so that when they issued suddenly out of their warm abode, and emerged into the sharp, frosty air, which blew the snow-drift into their eyes, they felt a momentary desire to give up the project and return to their comfortable quarters. "What a dismal-looking night it is!" said the accountant, as he led the way along the wooden platform towards the gate of the fort. "Very!" replied Hamilton, with an involuntary shudder. "Keep up your heart," said Harry, in a cheerful voice; "you've no notion how your mind will change on that point when you have walked a mile or so and got into a comfortable heat. I must confess, however, that a little moonshine would be an improvement," he added, on stumbling, for the third time, off the platform into the deep snow. "It is full moon just now," said the accountant, "and I think the clouds look as if they would break soon. At any rate, I've been at North River so often that I believe I could walk out there blindfold." As he spoke they passed the gate, and diverging to the right, proceeded, as well as the imperfect light permitted, along the footpath that led to the forest. CHAPTER EIGHTEEN. THE WALK CONTINUED--FROZEN TOES--AN ENCAMPMENT IN THE SNOW. After quitting York Fort, the three friends followed the track leading to the spot where the winter's firewood was cut. Snow was still falling thickly, and it was with some difficulty that the accountant kept in the right direction. The night was excessively dark, while the dense fir forest, through which the narrow road ran, rendered the gloom, if possible, more intense. When they had proceeded about a mile, their leader suddenly came to a stand. "We must quit the track now," said he; "so get on your snow-shoes as fast as you can." Hitherto they had carried their snow-shoes under their arms, as the beaten track along which they travelled rendered them unnecessary; but now, having to leave the path and pursue the remainder of their journey through deep snow, they availed themselves of those useful machines by means of which the inhabitants of this part of North America are enabled to journey over many miles of trackless wilderness, with nearly as much ease as a sportsman can traverse the moors in autumn, and that over snow so deep that one hour's walk through it _without_ such aids would completely exhaust the stoutest trapper, and advance him only a mile or so on his journey. In other words, to walk without snow-shoes would be utterly impossible, while to walk with them is easy and agreeable. They are not used, after the manner of skates, with a _sliding_, but a _stepping_ action, and their sole use is to support the wearer on the top of snow, into which without them he would sink up to the waist. When we say that they support the wearer on the _top_ of the snow, of course we do not mean that they literally do not break the surface at all. But the depth to which they sink is comparatively trifling, and varies according to the state of the snow and the season of the year. In the woods they sink frequently about six inches, sometimes more, sometimes less; while on frozen rivers, where the snow is packed solid by the action of the wind, they sink only two or three inches, and sometimes so little as to render it preferable to walk without them altogether. Snow-shoes are made of a light, strong framework of wood, varying from three to six feet long by eighteen and twenty inches broad, tapering to a point before and behind, and turning up in front. Different tribes of Indians modify the form a little, but in all essential points they are the same. The framework is filled up with a netting of deer-skin threads, which unites lightness with great strength, and permits any snow that may chance to fall upon the netting to pass through it like a sieve. On the present occasion, the snow, having recently fallen, was soft, and the walking, consequently, what is called heavy. "Come on," shouted the accountant, as he came to a stand for the third time within half an hour, to await the coming up of poor Hamilton, who, being rather awkward in snow-shoe walking even in daylight, found it nearly impossible in the dark. "Wait a little, please," replied a faint voice in the distance; "I've got among a quantity of willows, and find it very difficult to get on. I've been down twice al--" The sudden cessation of the voice, and a loud crash as of breaking branches, proved too clearly that our friend had accomplished his third fall. "There he goes again," exclaimed Harry Somerville, who came up at the moment. "I've helped him up once already. We'll never get to North River at this rate. What _is_ to be done?" "Let's see what has become of him this time, however," said the accountant, as he began to retrace his steps. "If I mistake not, he made rather a heavy plunge that time, judging from the sound." At that moment the clouds overhead broke, and a moonbeam shot down into the forest, throwing a pale light over the cold scene. A few steps brought Harry and the accountant to the spot whence the sound had proceeded, and a loud, startling laugh rang through the night air, as the latter suddenly beheld poor Hamilton struggling, with his arms, head, and shoulders stuck into the snow, his snow-shoes twisted and sticking with the heels up and awry, in a sort of rampant confusion, and his gun buried to the locks beside him. Regaining one's perpendicular after a fall in deep snow, when the feet are encumbered by a pair of long snow-shoes, is by no means an easy thing to accomplish, in consequence of the impossibility of getting hold of anything solid on which to rest the hands. The depth is so great that the outstretched arms cannot find bottom, and every successive struggle only sinks the unhappy victim deeper down. Should no assistance be near, he will soon beat the snow to a solidity that will enable him to rise, but not in a very enviable or comfortable condition. "Give me a hand, Harry," gasped Hamilton, as he managed to twist his head upwards for a moment. "Here you are," cried Harry, holding out his hand and endeavouring to suppress his desire to laugh; "up with you," and in another moment the poor youth was upon his legs, with every fold and crevice about his person stuffed to repletion with snow. "Come, cheer up," cried the accountant, giving the youth a slap on the back; "there's nothing like experience--the proverb says that it even teaches fools, so you need not despair." Hamilton smiled as he endeavoured to shake off some of his white coating. "We'll be all right immediately," added Harry; "I see that the country ahead is more open, so the walking will be easier." "Oh, I wish that I had not come!" said Hamilton, sorrowfully, "because I am only detaining you. But perhaps I shall do better as we get on. At any rate I cannot go back now, as I could never find the way." "Go back! of course not," said the accountant; "in a short time we shall get into the old woodcutters' track of last year, and although it's not beaten at all, yet it is pretty level and open, so that we shall get on famously." "Go on then," sighed Hamilton. "Drive ahead," laughed Harry; and without further delay they resumed their march, which was soon rendered more cheerful as the clouds rolled away, the snow ceased to fall, and the bright, full moon poured its rays down upon their path. For a long time they proceeded in silence, the muffled sound of the snow, as it sank beneath their regular footsteps, being the only interruption to the universal stillness around. There is something very solemnising in a scene such as we are now describing--the calm tranquillity of the arctic night, the pure whiteness of the snowy carpet, which rendered the dark firs inky black by contrast; the clear, cold, starry sky, that glimmered behind the dark clouds, whose heavy masses, now rolling across the moon, partially obscured the landscape, and anon, passing slowly away, let a flood of light down upon the forest, which, penetrating between the thick branches, scattered the surface of the snow as it were with flakes of silver. Sleep has often been applied as a simile to nature in repose, but in this case death seemed more appropriate. So silent, so cold, so still was the scene, that it filled the mind with an indefinable feeling of dread, as if there was some mysterious danger near. Once or twice during their walk the three travellers paused to rest, but they spoke little, and in subdued voices, as if they feared to break the silence of the night. "It is strange," said Harry, in a low tone, as he walked beside Hamilton, "that such a scene as this always makes me think more than usual of home." "And yet it is natural," replied the other, "because it reminds us more forcibly than any other that we are in a foreign land--in the lonely wilderness--far away from home." Both Harry and Hamilton had been trained in families where the Almighty was feared and loved, and where their minds had been early led to reflect upon the Creator when regarding the works of His hand: their thoughts, therefore, naturally reverted to another home, compared with which this world is indeed a cold, lonely wilderness; but on such subjects they feared to converse, partly from a dread of the ridicule of reckless companions, partly from ignorance of each other's feelings on religious matters, and although their minds were busy their tongues were silent. The ground over which the greater part of their path lay was a swamp, which, being now frozen, was a beautiful white plain, so that their advance was more rapid, until they approached the belt of woodland that skirts North River. Here they again encountered the heavy snow, which had been such a source of difficulty to Hamilton at setting out. He had profited by his former experience, however, and by the exercise of an excessive degree of caution managed to scramble through the woods tolerably well, emerging at last, along with his companions, on the bleak margin of what appeared to be the frozen sea. North River, at this place, is several miles broad, and the opposite shore is so low that the snow causes it to appear but a slight undulation of the frozen bed of the river. Indeed, it would not be distinguishable at all, were it not for the willow bushes and dwarf pines, whose tops, rising above the white garb of winter, indicate that _terra firma_ lies below. "What a cold, desolate-looking place!" said Hamilton, as the party stood still to recover breath before taking their way over the plain to the spot where the accountant's traps were set. "It looks much more like the frozen sea than a river." "It can scarcely be called a river at this place," remarked the accountant, "seeing that the water hereabouts is brackish, and the tides ebb and flow a good way up. In fact, this is the extreme mouth of North River; and if you turn your eyes a little to the right, towards yonder ice-hummock in the plain, you behold the frozen sea itself." "Where are your traps set?" inquired Harry. "Down in the hollow, behind yon point covered with brushwood." "Oh, we shall soon get to them, then; come along," cried Harry. Harry was mistaken, however. He had not yet learned by experience the extreme difficulty of judging of distance in the uncertain light of night--a difficulty that was increased by his ignorance of the locality, and by the gleams of moonshine that shot through the driving clouds, and threw confused, fantastic shadows over the plain. The point which he had at first supposed was covered with low bushes, and about a hundred yards off, proved to be clad in reality with large bushes and small trees, and lay at a distance of two miles. "I think you have been mistaken in supposing the point so near, Harry," said Hamilton, as he trudged on beside his friend. "A fact evident to the naked eye," replied Harry. "How do your feet stand it, eh? Beginning to lose bark yet?" Hamilton did not feel quite sure. "I think," said he, softly, "that there is a blister under the big toe of my left foot. It feels very painful." "If you feel at all _uncertain_ about it, you may rest assured that there _is_ a blister. These things don't give much pain at first. I'm sorry to tell you, my dear fellow, that you'll be painfully aware of the fact to-morrow. However, don't distress yourself; it's a part of the experience that every one goes through in this country. Besides," said Harry, smiling, "we can send to the fort for medical advice." "Don't bother the poor fellow, and hold your tongue, Harry," said the accountant, who now began to tread more cautiously as he approached the place where the traps were set. "How many traps have you?" inquired Harry, in a low tone. "Three," replied the accountant. "Do you know I have a very strange feeling about my heels--or rather a want of feeling," said Hamilton, smiling dubiously. "A want of feeling! what do you mean?" cried the accountant, stopping suddenly and confronting his young friend. "Oh, I daresay it's nothing," he exclaimed, looking as if ashamed of having spoken of it; "only I feel exactly as if both my heels were cut off, and I were walking on tiptoe!" "Say you so? then right about wheel. Your heels are frozen, man, and you'll lose them if you don't look sharp." "Frozen!" cried Hamilton, with a look of incredulity. "Ay, frozen; and it's lucky you told me. I've a place up in the woods here, which I call my winter camp, where we can get you put to rights. But step out; the longer we are about it the worse for you." Harry Somerville was at first disposed to think that the accountant jested, but seeing that he turned his back towards his traps, and made for the nearest point of the thick woods with a stride that betokened thorough sincerity, he became anxious too, and followed as fast as possible. The place to which the accountant led his young friends was a group of fir trees which grew on a little knoll, that rose a few feet above the surrounding level country. At the foot of this hillock a small rivulet or burn ran in summer, but the only evidence of its presence now was the absence of willow bushes all along its covered narrow bed. A level tract was thus formed by nature, free from all underwood, and running inland about the distance of a mile, where it was lost in the swamp whence the stream issued. The wooded knoll or hillock lay at the mouth of this brook, and being the only elevated spot in the neighbourhood, besides having the largest trees growing on it, had been selected by the accountant as a convenient place for "camping out" on, when he visited his traps in winter, and happened to be either too late or disinclined to return home. Moreover, the spreading fir branches afforded an excellent shelter alike from wind and snow in the centre of the clump, while from the margin was obtained a partial view of the river and the sea beyond. Indeed, from this look-out there was a very fine prospect on clear winter nights of the white landscape, enlivened occasionally by groups of arctic foxes, which might be seen scampering about in sport, and gambolling among the hummocks of ice like young kittens. "Now we shall turn up here," said the accountant, as he walked a short way up the brook before mentioned, and halted in front of what appeared to be an impenetrable mass of bushes. "We shall have to cut our way, then," said Harry, looking to the right and left, in the vain hope of discovering a place where, the bushes being less dense, they might effect an entrance into the knoll or grove. "Not so. I have taken care to make a passage into my winter camp, although it was only a whim, after all, to make a concealed entrance, seeing that no one ever passes this way except wolves and foxes, whose noses render the use of their eyes in most cases unnecessary." So saying, the accountant turned aside a thick branch, and disclosed a narrow track, into which he entered, followed by his two companions. A few minutes brought them to the centre of the knoll. Here they found a clear space of about twenty feet in diameter, around which the trees circled so thickly that in daylight nothing could be seen but tree-stems as far as the eye could penetrate, while overhead the broad, flat branches of the firs, with their evergreen verdure, spread out and interlaced so thickly that very little light penetrated into the space below. Of course at night, even in moonlight, the place was pitch dark. Into this retreat the accountant led his companions, and bidding them stand still for a minute lest they should tumble into the fireplace, he proceeded to strike a light. Those who have never travelled in the wild parts of this world can form but a faint conception of the extraordinary and sudden change that is produced, not only in the scene, but in the mind of the beholder, when a blazing fire is lighted in a dark night. Before the fire is kindled, and you stand, perhaps (as Harry and his friend did on the present occasion) shivering in the cold, the heart sinks, and sad, gloomy thoughts arise, while your eye endeavours to pierce the thick darkness, which, if it succeed in doing so, only adds to the effect by disclosing the pallid snow, the cold, chilling beams of the moon, the white vistas of savage scenery, the awe-inspiring solitudes that tell of your isolated condition, or stir up sad memories of other and far-distant scenes. But the moment the first spark of fire sends a fitful gleam of light upwards, these thoughts and feelings take wing and vanish. The indistinct scenery is rendered utterly invisible by the red light, which attracts and rivets the eye as if by a species of fascination. The deep shadows of the woods immediately around you grow deeper and blacker as the flames leap and sparkle upwards, causing the stems of the surrounding trees, and the foliage of the overhanging branches, to stand out in bold relief, bathed in a ruddy glow, which converts the forest chamber into a snug, _home-like_ place, and fills the mind with agreeable, _home-like_ feelings and meditations. It seems as if the spirit, in the one case, were set loose and etherealised to enable it to spread itself over the plains of cold, cheerless, illimitable space, and left to dwell upon objects too wide to grasp, too indistinct to comprehend; while, in the other, it is recalled and concentrated upon matters circumscribed and congenial, things of which it has long been cognisant, and which it can appreciate and enjoy without the effort of a thought. Some such thoughts and feelings passed rapidly through the minds of Harry and Hamilton while the accountant struck a light and kindled a roaring fire of logs, which he had cut and arranged there on a previous occasion. In the middle of the space thus brilliantly illuminated, the snow had been cleared away till the moss was uncovered, thus leaving a hole of about ten feet in diameter. As the snow was quite four feet deep, the hole was surrounded with a pure white wall, whose height was further increased by the masses thrown out in the process of digging to nearly six feet. At one end of this space was the large fire which had just been kindled, and which, owing to the intense cold, only melted a very little of the snow in its immediate neighbourhood. At the other end lay a mass of flat pine branches, which were piled up so thickly as to form a pleasant elastic couch, the upper end being slightly raised so as to form a kind of bolster, while the lower extended almost into the fire. Indeed, the branches at the extremity were burnt quite brown, and some of them charred. Beside the bolster lay a small wooden box, a round tin kettle, an iron tea-kettle, two tin mugs, a hatchet, and a large bundle tied up in a green blanket. There were thus, as it were, two apartments, one within the other--namely, the outer one, whose walls were formed of tree-stems and thick darkness, and the ceiling of green boughs; and then the inner one, with walls of snow, that sparkled in the firelight as if set with precious stones, and a carpet of evergreen branches. Within this latter our three friends were soon actively employed. Poor Hamilton's moccasins were speedily removed, and his friends, going down on their knees, began to rub his feet with a degree of energy that induced him to beg for mercy. "Mercy!" exclaimed the accountant, without pausing for an instant; "faith, it's little mercy there would be in stopping just now.--Rub away, Harry. Don't give in. They're coming right at last." After a very severe rubbing, the heels began to show symptoms of returning vitality. They were then wrapped up in the folds of a thick blanket, and held sufficiently near to the fire to prevent any chance of the frost getting at them again. "Now, my boy," said the accountant, as he sat down to enjoy a pipe and rest himself on a blanket, which, along with the one wrapped round Hamilton's feet, had been extracted from the green bundle before mentioned--"now, my boy, you'll have to enjoy yourself here as you best can for an hour or two, while Harry and I visit the traps. Would you like supper before we go, or shall we have it on our return?" "Oh, I'll wait for it, by all means, till you return. I don't feel a bit hungry just now, and it will be much more cheerful to have it after all your work is over. Besides, I feel my feet too painful to enjoy it just now." "My poor fellow," said Harry, whose heart smote him for having been disposed at first to treat the thing lightly, "I'm really sorry for you. Would you not like me to stay with you?" "By no means," replied Hamilton quickly. "You can do nothing more for me, Harry; and I should be very sorry if you missed seeing the traps." "Oh, never mind the traps. I've seen traps, and set them too, fifty times before now. I'll stop with you, old boy, I will," said Harry doggedly, while he made arrangements to settle down for the evening. "Well, if _you_ won't go, I will," said Hamilton coolly, as he unwound the blanket from his feet and began to pull on his socks. "Bravo, my lad!" exclaimed the accountant, patting him approvingly on the back; "I didn't think you had half so much pluck in you. But it won't do, old fellow. You're in _my_ castle just now, and must obey orders. You couldn't walk half a mile for your life; so just be pleased to pull off your socks again. Besides, I want Harry to help me to carry up my foxes, if there are any;--so get ready, sirrah!" "Ay, ay, captain," cried Harry with a laugh, while he sprang up and put on his snow-shoes. "You needn't bring your gun," said the accountant, shaking the ashes from his pipe as he prepared to depart, "but you may as well shove that axe into your belt; you may want it--Now, mind, don't roast your feet," he added, turning to Hamilton. "Adieu!" cried Harry, with a nod and a smile, as he turned to go. "Take care the bears don't find you out." "No fear. Good-bye, Harry," replied Hamilton, as his two friends disappeared in the wood and left him to his solitary meditations. CHAPTER NINETEEN. SHOWS HOW THE ACCOUNTANT AND HARRY SET THEIR TRAPS AND WHAT CAME OF IT. The moon was still up, and the sky less overcast, when our amateur trappers quitted the encampment, and descending to the mouth of the little brook, took their way over North River in the direction of the accountant's traps. Being somewhat fatigued both in mind and body by the unusual exertions of the night, neither of them spoke for some time, but continued to walk in silence, contemplatively gazing at their long shadows. "Did you ever trap a fox, Harry?" said the accountant at length. "Yes; I used to set traps at Red River. But the foxes there are not numerous, and are so closely watched by the dogs that they have become suspicious. I caught but few." "Then you know how to _set_ a trap?" "Oh yes; I've set both steel and snow traps often. You've heard of old Labonte, who used to carry one of the winter packets from Red River until within a few years back?" "Yes, I've heard of him; his name is in my ledger--at least if you mean Pierre Labonte, who came down last fall with the brigade." "The same. Well, he was a great friend of mine. His little cabin lay about two miles from Fort Garry, and after work was over in the office I used to go down to sit and chat with him by the fire; and many a time I have sat up half the night listening to him as he recounted his adventures. The old man never tired of relating them, and of smoking twist tobacco. Among other things, he set my mind upon trapping, by giving me an account of an expedition he made, when quite a youth, to the Rocky Mountains; so I got him to go into the woods and teach me how to set traps and snares, and I flatter myself he found me an apt pupil." "Humph!" ejaculated the accountant; "I have no doubt you do _flatter_ yourself. But here we are. The traps are just beyond that mound; so look out, and don't stick your feet into them." "Hist!" exclaimed Harry, laying his hand suddenly on his companion's arm. "Do you see _that_?" pointing towards the place where the traps were said to be. "You have sharp eyes, younker. I _do_ see it, now that you point it out. It's a fox, and caught, too, as I'm a scrivener." "You're in luck to-night," exclaimed Harry eagerly. "It's a _silver_ fox. I see the white tip on its tail." "Nonsense," cried the accountant, hastening forward; "but we'll soon settle the point." Harry proved to be right. On reaching the spot they found a beautiful black fox, caught by the fore leg in a steel trap, and gazing at them with a look of terror. The skin of the silver fox--so called from a slight sprinkling of pure white hairs covering its otherwise jet-black body--is the most valuable fur obtained by the fur-traders, and fetches an enormous price in the British market, so much as thirty pounds sterling being frequently obtained for a single skin. The foxes vary in colour from jet black, which is the most valuable, to a light silvery hue, and are hailed as great prizes by the Indians and trappers when they are so fortunate as to catch them. They are not numerous, however, and being exceedingly wary and suspicious, are difficult to catch. It may be supposed, therefore, that our friend the accountant ran to secure his prize with some eagerness. "Now, then, my beauty, don't shrink," he said, as the poor fox backed at his approach as far as the chain, which fastened the trap to a log of wood, would permit, and then, standing at bay, showed a formidable row of teeth. That grin was its last; another moment, and the handle of the accountant's axe stretched it lifeless on the snow. "Isn't it a beauty!" cried he, surveying the animal with a look of triumphant pleasure; and then feeling as if he had compromised his dignity a little by betraying so much glee, he added, "But come now, Harry; we must see to the other traps. It's getting late." The others were soon visited; but no more foxes were caught. However, the accountant set them both off to see that all was right; and then re-adjusting one himself, told Harry to set the other, in order to clear himself of the charge of boasting. Harry, nothing loath, went down on his knees to do so. The steel trap used for catching foxes is of exactly the same form as the ordinary rat-trap, with this difference, that it has two springs instead of one, is considerably larger, and has no teeth, as these latter would only tend to spoil the skin. Owing to the strength of the springs, a pretty strong effort is required to set the trap, and clumsy fellows frequently catch the tails of their coats or the ends of their belts, and not unfrequently the ends of their fingers, in their awkward attempts. Having set it without any of the above untoward accidents occurring, Harry placed it gently on a hole which he had previously scraped--placing it in such a manner that the jaws and plate, or trigger, were a hairbreadth below the level of the snow. After this he spread over it a very thin sheet of paper, observing as he did so that hay or grass was preferable; but as there was none at hand, paper would do. Over this he sprinkled snow very lightly, until every vestige of the trap was concealed from view, and the whole was made quite level with the surrounding plain, so that even the accountant himself, after he had once removed his eyes from it, could not tell where it lay. Some chips of a frozen ptarmigan were then scattered around the spot, and a piece of wood left to mark its whereabouts. The bait is always scattered _round_ and not _on_ the trap, as the fox, in running from one piece to another, is almost certain to set his foot on it, and so get caught by the leg; whereas, were the bait placed _upon_ the trap, the fox would be apt to get caught, while in the act of eating, by the snout, which, being wedge-like in form, is easily dragged out of its gripe. "Now, then, what say you to going farther out on the river, and making a snow trap for white foxes?" said the accountant. "We shall still have time to do so before the moon sets." "Agreed," cried Harry. "Come along." Without further parley they left the spot and stretched out towards the sea. The snow on the river was quite hard on its surface, so that snow-shoes being unnecessary, they carried them over their shoulders, and advanced much more rapidly. It is true that their road was a good deal broken, and jagged pieces of ice protruded their sharp corners so as to render a little attention necessary in walking; but one or two severe bumps on their toes made our friends sensitively alive to these minor dangers of the way. "There goes a pack of them!" exclaimed Harry, as a troop of white foxes scampered past, gambolling as they went, and coming suddenly to a halt at a short distance, wheeled about and sat down on their haunches, apparently resolved to have a good look at the strangers who dared to venture into their wild domain. "Oh, they are the most stupid brutes alive," said the accountant, as he regarded the pack with a look of contempt. "I've seen one of them sit down and look at me while I set a trap right before his eyes; and I had not got a hundred yards from the spot when a yell informed me that the gentleman's curiosity had led him to put his foot right into it." "Indeed!" exclaimed Harry. "I had no idea that they were so tame. Certainly no other kind of fox would do that." "No, that's certain. But these fellows have done it to me again and again. I shouldn't wonder if we got one to-night in the very same way. I'm sure, by the look of these rascals, that they would do anything of a reckless, stupid nature just now." "Had we not better make our trap here, then? There is a point, not fifty yards off, with trees on it large enough for our purpose." "Yes; it will do very well here. Now, then, to work. Go to the wood, Harry, and fetch a log or two, while I cut out the slabs." So saying, the accountant drew the axe which he always carried in his belt; and while Harry entered the wood and began to hew off the branch of a tree, he proceeded, as he had said, to "cut out the slabs." With the point of his knife he first of all marked out an oblong in the snow, then cut down three or four inches with the axe, and putting the handle under the cut, after the manner of a lever, detached a thick, solid slab of about three inches thick, which, although not so hard as ice, was quite hard enough for the purpose for which it was intended. He then cut two similar slabs and a smaller one, the same in thickness and breadth, but only half the length. Having accomplished this, he raised himself to rest a little, and observed that Harry approached, staggering under a load of wood, and that the foxes were still sitting on their haunches, gazing at him with a look of deep interest. "If I only had my gun here!" thought he. But not having it, he merely shook his fist at them, stooped down again, and resumed his work. With Harry's assistance the slabs were placed in such a way as to form a sort of box or house, having one end of it open. This was further plastered with soft snow at the joinings, and banked up in such a way that no animal could break into it easily--at least such an attempt would be so difficult as to make an entrance into the interior by the open side much more probable. When this was finished, they took the logs that Harry had cut and carried with so much difficulty from the wood, and began to lop off the smaller branches and twigs. One large log was placed across the opening of the trap, while the others were piled on one end of it so as to press it down with their weight. Three small pieces of stick were now prepared--two of them being about half a foot long, and the other about a foot. On the long piece of stick the breast of a ptarmigan was fixed as a bait, and two notches cut, the one at the end of it, the other about four or five inches further down. All was now ready to set the trap. "Raise the log now while I place the trigger," said Harry, kneeling down in front of the door; while the accountant, as directed, lifted up the log on which the others lay so as to allow his companion to introduce the bait-stick, in such a manner as to support it, while the slightest pull on the bait would set the stick with the notches free, and thus permit the log to fall on the back of the fox, whose effort to reach the bait would necessarily place him under it. While Harry was thus engaged, the accountant stood up and looked towards the foxes. They had approached so near in their curiosity that he was induced to throw his axe frantically at the foremost of the pack. This set them galloping off, but they soon halted, and sat down as before. "What aggravating brutes they are, to be sure!" said Harry, with a laugh, as his companion returned with the hatchet. "Humph! yes, but we'll be upsides with them yet. Come along into the wood, and I wager that in ten minutes we shall have one." They immediately hurried towards the wood, but had not walked fifty paces when they were startled by a loud yell behind them. "Dear me!" exclaimed the accountant, while he and Harry turned round with a start. "It cannot surely be possible that they have gone in already." A loud howl followed the remark, and the whole pack fled over the plain like snow-drift, and disappeared. "Ah, that's a pity! something must have scared them to make them take wing like that. However, we'll get one to-morrow for certain; so come along, lad, let us make for the camp." "Not so fast," replied the other: "if you hadn't pored over the big ledger till you were blind, you would see that there is _one_ prisoner already." This proved to be the case. On returning to the spot they found an arctic fox in his last gasp, lying flat on the snow, with the heavy log across his back, which seemed to be broken. A slight tap on the snout with the accountant's deadly axe-handle completed his destruction. "We're in luck to-night," cried Harry, as he kneeled again to reset the trap. "But, after all, these white brutes are worth very little; I fancy a hundred of their skins would not be worth the black one you got first." "Be quick, Harry; the moon is almost down, and poor Hamilton will think that the polar bears have got hold of us." "All right! Now, then, step out;" and glancing once more at the trap to see that all was properly arranged, the two friends once more turned their faces homewards, and travelled over the snow with rapid strides. The moon had just set, leaving the desolate scene in deep gloom, so that they could scarcely find their way to the forest; and when they did at last reach its shelter, the night became so intensely dark that they had almost to grope their way, and would certainly have lost it altogether were it not for the accountant's thorough knowledge of the locality. To add to their discomfort, as they stumbled on snow began to fall, and ere long a pretty steady breeze of wind drove it sharply in their faces. However, this mattered but little, as they penetrated deeper in among the trees, which proved a complete shelter both from wind and snow. An hour's march brought them to the mouth of the brook, although half that time would have been sufficient had it been daylight, and a few minutes later they had the satisfaction of hearing Hamilton's voice hailing them as they pushed aside the bushes and sprang into the cheerful light of their encampment. "Hurrah!" shouted Harry, as he leaped into the space before the fire, and flung the two foxes at Hamilton's feet. "What do you think of _that_, old fellow? How are the heels? Rather sore, eh? Now for the kettle. `Polly, put the kettle on; we'll all have--' My eye! where's the kettle, Hamilton? have you eaten it?" "If you compose yourself a little, Harry, and look at the fire, you'll see it boiling there." "Man, what a chap you are for making unnecessary speeches! Couldn't you tell me to look at the fire, without the preliminary piece of advice to _compose_ myself! Besides, you talk nonsense, for I'm composed already, of blood, bones, flesh, sinews, fat, and--" "Humbug!" interrupted the accountant. "Lend a hand to get supper, you young goose!" "And so," continued Harry, not noticing the interruption, "I cannot be expected, nor is it necessary, to _compose_ myself over again. But to be serious," he added, "it was very kind and considerate of you, Hammy, to put on the kettle, when your heels were in a manner uppermost." "Oh, it was nothing at all; my heels are much better, thank you, and it kept me from wearying." "Poor fellow!" said the accountant, while he busied himself in preparing their evening meal, "you must be quite ravenous by this time--at least _I_ am, which is the same thing." Supper was soon ready. It consisted of a large kettle of tea, a lump of pemmican, a handful of broken biscuit, and three ptarmigan,--all of which were produced from the small wooden box which the accountant was wont to call his camp-larder. The ptarmigan had been shot two weeks before, and carefully laid up for future use; the intense frost being a sufficient guarantee for their preservation for many months, had that been desired. It would have done you good, reader (supposing you to be possessed of sympathetic feelings), to have witnessed those three nor'-westers enjoying their supper in the snowy camp. The fire had been replenished with logs, till it roared and crackled again, as if it were endued with a vicious spirit, and wished to set the very snow in flames. The walls shone like alabaster studded with diamonds, while the green boughs overhead and the stems around were of a deep red colour in the light of the fierce blaze. The tea-kettle hissed, fumed, and boiled over into the fire. A mass of pemmican simmered in the lid in front of it. Three pannikins of tea reposed on the green branches, their refreshing contents sending up little clouds of steam, while the ptarmigan, now split up, skewered, and roasted, were being heartily devoured by our three hungry friends. The pleasures that fall to the lot of man are transient. Doubtless they are numerous and oft recurring; still they are transient, and so--supper came to an end. "Now for a pipe," said the accountant, disposing his limbs at full length on a green blanket. "O thou precious weed, what should we do without thee!" "Smoke _tea_, to be sure," answered Harry. "Ah! true, it _is_ possible to exist on a pipe of tea-leaves for a time, but _only_ for a time. I tried it myself once, in desperation, when I ran short of tobacco on a journey, and found it execrable, but better than nothing." "Pity we can't join you in that," remarked Harry. "True; but perhaps since you cannot pipe, it might prove an agreeable diversification to dance." "Thank you, I'd rather not," said Harry; "and as for Hamilton, I'm convinced that _his_ mind is made up on the subject.--How go the heels now?" "Thank you, pretty well," he replied, reclining his head on the pine branches, and extending his smitten members towards the fire. "I think they will be quite well in the morning." "It is a curious thing," remarked the accountant, in a soliloquising tone, "that _soft_ fellows _never_ smoke!" "I beg your pardon," said Harry, "I've often seen hot loaves smoke, and they're soft enough fellows, in all conscience!" "Ah!" sighed the accountant, "that reminds me of poor Peterkin, who was _so_ soft that he went by the name of `Butter.' Did you ever hear of what he did the summer before last with an Indian's head?" "No, never; what was it?" "I'll tell you the story," replied the accountant, drawing a few vigorous whiffs of smoke, to prevent his pipe going out while he spoke. As the story in question, however, depicts a new phase of society in the woods, it deserves a chapter to itself. CHAPTER TWENTY. THE ACCOUNTANT'S STORY. "Spring had passed away, and York Fort was filled with all the bustle and activity of summer. Brigades came pouring in upon us with furs from the interior, and as every boat brought a CT or a clerk, our mess-table began to overflow. "You've not seen the summer mess-room filled yet, Hamilton. That's a treat in store for you." "It was pretty full last autumn, I think," suggested Hamilton, "at the time I arrived from England." "Full! why, man, it was getting to feel quite lonely at that time. I've seen more than fifty sit down to table there, and it was worth going fifty miles to hear the row they kicked up--telling stories without end (and sometimes without foundation) about their wild doings in the interior, where every man-jack of them having spent at least eight months almost in perfect solitude, they hadn't had a chance of letting their tongues go till they came down here. But to proceed. When the ship came out in the fall, she brought a batch of new clerks, and among them was this miserable chap Peterkin, whom we soon nicknamed _Butter_. He was the softest fellow I ever knew (far worse than you, Hamilton), and he hadn't been here a week before the wild blades from the interior, who were bursting with fun and mischief, began to play off all kinds of practical jokes upon him. The very first day he sat down at the mess-table, our worthy governor (who, you are aware, detests practical jokes) played him a trick, quite unintentionally, which raised a laugh against him for many a day. You know that old Mr Rogan is rather absent at times; well, the first day that Peterkin came to mess (it was breakfast), the old governor asked him, in a patronising sort of way, to sit at his right hand. Accordingly down he sat, and having never, I fancy, been away from his mother's apron-string before, he seemed to feel very uncomfortable, especially as he was regarded as a sort of novelty. The first thing he did was to capsize his plate into his lap, which set the youngsters at the lower end of the table into suppressed fits of laughter. However, he was eating the leg of a dry grouse at the time, so it didn't make much of a mess. "`Try some fish, Peterkin,' said Mr Rogan kindly, seeing that the youth was ill at ease. `That old grouse is tough enough to break your knife.' "`A very rough passage,' replied the youngster, whose mind was quite confused by hearing the captain of the ship, who sat next to him, giving to his next neighbour a graphic account of the voyage in a very loud key--`I mean, if you please, no, thank you,' he stammered, endeavouring to correct himself. "`Ah! a cup of tea perhaps.--Here, Anderson,' (turning to the butler), `a cup of tea to Mr Peterkin.' "The butler obeyed the order. "`And here, fill my cup,' said old Rogan, interrupting himself in an earnest conversation, into which he had plunged with the gentleman on his left hand. As he said this he lifted his cup to empty the slops, but without paying attention to what he was doing. As luck would have it, the slop-basin was not at hand, and Peterkin's cup _was_, so he emptied it innocently into that. Peterkin hadn't courage to arrest his hand, and when the deed was done he looked timidly round to see if the action had been observed. Nearly half the table had seen it, but they pretended ignorance of the thing so well that he thought no one had observed, and so went quietly on with his breakfast, and drank the tea! But I am wandering from my story. Well, about this time there was a young Indian who shot himself accidentally in the woods, and was brought to the fort to see if anything could be done for him. The doctor examined his wound, and found that the ball had passed through the upper part of his right arm and the middle of his right thigh, breaking the bone of the latter in its passage. It was an extraordinary shot for a man to put into himself, for it would have been next to impossible even for _another_ man to have done it, unless the Indian had been creeping on all fours. When he was able to speak, however, he explained the mystery. While running through a rough part of the wood after a wounded bird, he stumbled and fell on all fours. The gun, which he was carrying over his shoulder, holding it, as the Indians usually do, by the muzzle, flew forward, and turned right round as he fell, so that the mouth of it was presented towards him. Striking against the stem of a tree, it exploded, and shot him through the arm and leg as described ere he had time to rise. A comrade carried him to his lodge, and his wife brought him in a canoe to the fort. For three or four days the doctor had hopes of him, but at last he began to sink, and died on the sixth day after his arrival. His wife and one or two friends buried him in our graveyard, which lies, as you know, on that lonely-looking point just below the powder-magazine. For several months previous to this our worthy doctor had been making strenuous efforts to get an Indian skull to send home to one of his medical friends, but without success. The Indians could not be prevailed upon to cut off the head of one of their dead countrymen for love or money, and the doctor had a dislike to the idea, I suppose, of killing one for himself; but now here was a golden opportunity. The Indian was buried near to the fort, and his relatives had gone away to their tents again. What was to prevent his being dug up? The doctor brooded over the thing for one hour and a half (being exactly the length of time required to smoke out his large Turkey pipe), and then sauntered into Wilson's room. Wilson was busy, as usual, at some of his mechanical contrivances. "Thrusting his hands deep into his breeches pockets and seating himself on an old sea-chest, he began,-- "`I say, Wilson, will you do me a favour?' "`That depends entirely on what the favour is,' he replied, without raising his head from his work. "`I want you to help me to cut off an Indian's head!' "`Then I _won't_ do you the favour. But pray, don't humbug me just now; I'm busy.' "`No; but I'm serious, and I can't get it done without help, and I know you're an obliging fellow. Besides, the savage is dead, and has no manner of use for his head now.' "Wilson turned round with a look of intelligence on hearing this. "`Ha!' he exclaimed, `I see what you're up to; but I don't half like it. In the first place, his friends would be terribly cut up if they heard of it; and then I've no sort of aptitude for the work of a resurrectionist; and then, if it got wind, we should never hear the last of it; and then--' "`And then,' interrupted the doctor, `it would be adding to the light of medical science, you unaspiring monster.' "`A light,' retorted Wilson, `which, in passing through _some_ members of the medical profession, is totally absorbed, and reproduced in the shape of impenetrable darkness.' "`Now, don't object, my dear fellow; you _know_ you're going to do it, so don't coquette with me, but agree at once.' "`Well, I consent, upon one condition.' "`And what is that?' "`That you do not play any practical jokes on _me_ with the head when you have got it.' "`Agreed!' cried the doctor, laughing; `I give you my word of honour. Now he has been buried three days already, so we must set about it at once. Fortunately the graveyard is composed of a sandy soil, so he'll keep for some time yet.' "The two worthies then entered into a deep consultation as to how they were to set about this deed of darkness. It was arranged that Wilson should take his gun and sally forth a little before dark, as if he were bent on an hour's sport, and, not forgetting his game-bag, proceed to the graveyard, where the doctor engaged to meet him with a couple of spades and a dark lantern. Accordingly, next evening, Mr Wilson, true to his promise, shouldered his gun and sallied forth. "It soon became an intensely dark night. Not a single star shone forth to illumine the track along which he stumbled. Everything around was silent and dark, and congenial with the work on which he was bent. But Wilson's heart beat a little more rapidly than usual. He is a bold enough man, as you know, but boldness goes for nothing when superstition comes into play. However, he trudged along fearlessly enough till he came to the thick woods just below the fort, into which he entered with something of a qualm. Scarcely had he set foot on the narrow track that leads to the graveyard, when he ran slap against the post that stands there, but which, in his trepidation, he had entirely forgotten. This quite upset the small amount of courage that remained, and he has since confessed that if he had not had the hope of meeting with the doctor in a few minutes, he would have turned round and fled at _that_ moment. "Recovering a little from this accident, he hurried forward, but with more caution; for although the night seemed as dark as could possibly be while he was crossing the open country, it became speedily evident that there were several shades of darkness which he had not yet conceived. In a few minutes he came to the creek that runs past the graveyard, and here again his nerves got another shake; for slipping his foot while in the act of commencing the descent, he fell and rolled heavily to the bottom, making noise enough in his fall to scare away all the ghosts in the country. With a palpitating heart poor Wilson gathered himself up, and searched for his gun, which fortunately had not been injured, and then commenced to climb the opposite bank, starting at every twig that snapped under his feet. On reaching the level ground again he breathed a little more freely, and hurried forward with more speed than caution. Suddenly he came into violent contact with a figure, which uttered a loud growl as Wilson reeled backwards. "`Back, you monster,' he cried, with a hysterical yell, `or I'll blow your brains out!' "`It's little good _that_ would do ye,' cried the doctor, as he came forward. `Why, you stupid, what did you take me for? You've nearly knocked out my brains as it is,' and the doctor rubbed his forehead ruefully. "`Oh, it's _you_, doctor!' said Wilson, feeling as if a ton weight had been lifted off his heart; `I verily thought it was the ghost of the poor fellow we're going to disturb. I do think you had better give it up. Mischief will come of it, you'll see.' "`Nonsense,' cried the doctor; `don't be a goose, but let's to work at once. Why, I've got half the thing dug up already.' So saying, he led the way to the grave, in which there was a large opening. Setting the lantern down by the side of it, the two seized their spades and began to dig as if in earnest. "The fact is that the doctor was nearly as frightened as Wilson, and he afterwards confessed to me that it was an immense relief to him when he heard him fall down the bank of the creek, and knew by the growl he gave that it was he. "In about half an hour the doctor's spade struck upon the coffin lid, which gave forth a hollow sound. "`Now, then, we're about done with it,' said he, standing up to wipe away the perspiration that trickled down his face. `Take the axe and force up the lid, it's only fixed with common nails, while I--' He did not finish the sentence, but drew a large scalping-knife from a sheath which hung at his belt. "Wilson shuddered and obeyed. A good wrench caused the lid to start, and while he held it partially open the doctor inserted the knife. For five minutes he continued to twist and work with his arms, muttering between his teeth, every now and then, that he was a `tough subject,' while the crackling of bones, and other disagreeable sounds, struck upon the horrified ears of his companion. "`All right,' he exclaimed at last, as he dragged a round object from the coffin and let down the lid with a bang, at the same time placing the savage's head with its ghastly features full in the blaze of the lantern. "`Now, then, close up,' said he, jumping out of the hole and shovelling in the earth. "In a few minutes they had filled the grave up and smoothed it down on the surface, and then, throwing the head into the game-bag, retraced their steps to the fort. Their nerves were by this time worked up to such a pitch of excitement, and their minds filled with such a degree of supernatural horror, that they tripped and stumbled over stumps and branches innumerable in their double-quick march. Neither would confess to the other, however, that he was afraid. They even attempted to pass a few facetious remarks as they hurried along, but it would not do, so they relapsed into silence till they came to the hollow beside the powder-magazine. Here the doctor's foot happening to slip, he suddenly grasped Wilson by the shoulder to support himself--a movement which, being unexpected, made his friend leap, as he afterwards expressed it, nearly out of his skin. This was almost too much for them. For a moment they looked at each other as well as the darkness would permit, when all at once a large stone, which the doctor's slip had overbalanced, fell down the bank and through the bushes with a loud crash. Nothing more was wanting. All further effort to disguise their feelings was dropped. Leaping the rail of the open field in a twinkling, they gave a simultaneous yell of consternation, and fled to the fort like autumn leaves before the wind, never drawing breath till they were safe within the pickets." "But what has all this to do with Peterkin?" asked Harry, as the accountant paused to relight his pipe and toss a fresh log on the fire. "Have patience, lad; you shall hear." The accountant stirred the logs with his toe, drew a few whiffs to see that the pipe was properly ignited, and proceeded. "For a day or two after this, the doctor was observed to be often mysteriously engaged in an outhouse of which he kept the key. By some means or other, the skipper, who is always up to mischief, managed to discover the secret. Watching where the doctor hid the key, he possessed himself of it one day, and sallied forth, bent on a lark of some kind or other, but without very well knowing what. Passing the kitchen, he observed Anderson, the butler, raking the fire out of the large oven which stands in the back-yard. "`Baking again, Anderson?' said he in passing. `You get soon through with a heavy cargo of bread just now.' "`Yes, sir; many mouths to feed, sir,' replied the butler, proceeding with his work. "The skipper sauntered on, and took the track which leads to the boat-house, where he stood for some time in meditation. Casting up his eyes, he saw Peterkin in the distance, looking as if he didn't very well know what to do. "A sudden thought struck him. Pulling off his coat, he seized a mallet and a caulking-chisel, and began to belabour the side of a boat as if his life depended on it. All at once he stopped and stood up, blowing with the exertion. "`Hollo, Peterkin!' he shouted, and waved his hand. "Peterkin hastened towards him. "`Well, sir,' said he, `do you wish to speak to me?' "`Yes,' replied the skipper, scratching his head as if in great perplexity. `I wish you to do me a favour, Peterkin, but I don't know very well how to ask you.' "`Oh, I shall be most happy,' said poor Butter eagerly, `if I can be of any use to you.' "`I don't doubt your willingness,' replied the other; `but then--the doctor, you see--the fact is, Peterkin, the doctor being called away to see a sick Indian, has entrusted me with a delicate piece of business-- rather a nasty piece of business, I may say--which I promised to do for him. You must know that the Surgical Society of London has written to him, begging, as a great favour, that he would, if possible, procure them the skull of a native. After much trouble he has succeeded in getting one, but is obliged to keep it a great secret, even from his fellow-clerks, lest it should get wind; for if the Indians heard of it they would be sure to kill him, and perhaps burn the fort too. Now I suppose you are aware that it is necessary to boil an Indian's head in order to get the flesh clean off the skull?' "`Yes; I have heard something of that sort from the students at college, who say that boiling brings flesh more easily away from the bone. But I don't know much about it,' replied Peterkin. "`Well,' continued the skipper, `the doctor, who is fond of experiments, wishes to try whether _baking_ won't do better than _boiling_, and ordered the oven to be heated for that purpose this morning; but being called suddenly away, as I have said, he begged me to put the head into it as soon as it was ready. I agreed, quite forgetting at the time that I had to get this precious boat ready for sea this very afternoon. Now the oven is prepared, and I dare not leave my work; indeed, I doubt whether I shall have it quite ready and taut after all, and there's the oven cooling; so, if you don't help me, I'm a lost man.' "Having said this, the skipper looked as miserable as his jolly visage would permit, and rubbed his nose. "`Oh, I'll be happy to do it for you, although it is not an agreeable job,' replied Butter. "`That's right--that's friendly now!' exclaimed the skipper, as if greatly relieved. `Give us your flipper, my lad;' and seizing Peterkin's hand, he wrung it affectionately. `Now, here is the key of the outhouse; do it as quickly as you can, and don't let any one see you. It's in a good cause, you know, but the results might be terrible if discovered.' "So saying, the skipper fell to hammering the boat again with surprising vigour till Butter was out of sight, and then resuming his coat, returned to the house. "An hour after this, Anderson went to take his loaves out of the oven; but he had no sooner taken down the door than a rich odour of cooked meat greeted his nostrils. Uttering a deep growl, the butler shouted out, `Sprat!' "Upon this, a very thin boy, with arms and legs like pipe stems, issued from the kitchen, and came timidly towards his master. "`Didn't I tell you, you young blackguard, that the grouse-pie was to be kept for Sunday? and there you've gone and put it to fire to-day.' "`The grouse-pie!' said the boy, in amazement. "`Yes, the grouse-pie,' retorted the indignant butler; and seizing the urchin by the neck, he held his head down to the mouth of the oven. "`Smell _that_, you villain! What did you mean by it, eh?' "`Oh, murder!' shouted the boy, as with a violent effort he freed himself, and ran shrieking into the house. "`Murder!' repeated Anderson in astonishment, while he stooped to look into the oven, where the first thing that met his gaze was a human head, whose ghastly visage and staring eyeballs worked and moved about under the influence of the heat as if it were alive. "With a yell that rang through the whole fort, the horrified butler rushed through the kitchen and out at the front door, where, as ill-luck would have it, Mr Rogan happened to be standing at the moment. Pitching head first into the small of the old gentleman's back, he threw him off the platform and fell into his arms. Starting up in a moment, the governor dealt Anderson a cuff that sent him reeling towards the kitchen door again, on the steps of which he sat down, and began to sing out, `Oh, murder, murder! the oven, the oven!' and not another word, bad, good, or indifferent, could be got out of him for the next half-hour, as he swayed himself to and fro and wrung his hands. "To make a long story short, Mr Rogan went himself to the oven, and fished out the head, along with the loaves, which were, of course, all spoiled." "And what was the result?" inquired Harry. "Oh, there was a long investigation, and the skipper got a blowing-up, and the doctor a warning to let Indians' skulls lie at peace in their graves for the future; and poor Butter was sent to McKenzie's River as a punishment, for old Rogan could never be brought to believe that he hadn't been a willing tool in the skipper's hands; and Anderson lost his batch of bread and his oven, for it had to be pulled down and a new one built." "Humph! and I've no doubt the governor read you a pretty stiff lecture on practical joking." "He did," replied the accountant, laying aside his pipe, and drawing the green blanket over him, while Harry piled several large logs on the fire. "Good-night," said the accountant. "Good-night," replied his companions; and in a few minutes more they were sound asleep in their snowy camp, while the huge fire continued, during the greater part of the night, to cast its light on their slumbering forms. CHAPTER TWENTY ONE. PTARMIGAN-HUNTING--HAMILTON'S SHOOTING POWERS SEVERELY TESTED--A SNOWSTORM. At about four o'clock on the following morning, the sleepers were awakened by the cold, which had become very intense. The fire had burned down to a few embers, which merely emitted enough light to make darkness visible. Harry, being the most active of the party, was the first to bestir himself. Raising himself on his elbow, while his teeth chattered and his limbs trembled with cold, he cast a woebegone and excessively sleepy glance towards the place where the fire had been; then he scratched his head slowly; then he stared at the fire again; then he languidly glanced at Hamilton's sleeping visage; and then he yawned. The accountant observed all this; for although he appeared to be buried in the depths of slumber, he was wide awake in reality, and moreover intensely cold. The accountant, however, was sly--deep, as he would have said himself--and knew that Harry's active habits would induce him to rise, on awaking, and rekindle the fire,--an event which the accountant earnestly desired to see accomplished, but which he as earnestly resolved should not be performed by _him_. Indeed, it was with this end in view that he had given vent to the terrific snore which had aroused his young companion a little sooner than would have otherwise been the case. "My eye," exclaimed Harry, in an undertone, "how precious cold it is!" His eye making no reply to this remark, he arose, and going down on his hands and knees, began to coax the charcoal into a flame. By dint of severe blowing, he soon succeeded; and heaping on a quantity of small twigs, the fitful flame sprang up into a steady blaze. He then threw several heavy logs on the fire, and in a very short space of time restored it almost to its original vigour. "What an abominable row you are kicking up!" growled the accountant; "why, you would waken the seven sleepers. Oh! mending the fire," he added, in an altered tone; "ah! I'll excuse you, my boy, since that's what you're at." The accountant hereupon got up, along with Hamilton, who was now also awake, and the three spread their hands over the bright fire, and revolved their bodies before it, until they imbibed a satisfactory amount of heat. They were much too sleepy to converse, however, and contented themselves with a very brief inquiry as to the state of Hamilton's heels, which elicited the sleepy reply, "They feel quite well, thank you." In a short time, having become agreeably warm, they gave a simultaneous yawn, and lying down again fell into a sleep, from which they did not awaken until the red winter sun shot its early rays over the arctic scenery. Once more Harry sprang up, and let his hand fall heavily on Hamilton's shoulder. Thus rudely assailed, that youth also sprang up, giving a shout, at the same time, that brought the accountant to his feet in an instant; and so, as if by an electric spark, the sleepers were simultaneously roused into a state of wide-awake activity. "How excessively hungry I feel! isn't it strange?" said Hamilton, as he assisted in rekindling the fire, while the accountant filled his pipe, and Harry stuffed the tea-kettle full of snow. "Strange!" cried Harry, as he placed the kettle on the fire--"strange to be hungry after a five miles' walk and a night in the snow? I would rather say it was strange if you were _not_ hungry. Throw on that billet, like a good fellow, and spit those grouse, while I cut some pemmican and prepare the tea." "How are the heels now, Hamilton?" asked the accountant, who divided his attention between his pipe and his snowshoes, the lines of which required to be re-adjusted. "They appear to be as well as if nothing had happened to them," replied Hamilton. "I've been looking at them, and there is no mark whatever. They do not even feel tender." "Lucky for you, old boy, that they were taken in time, else you'd have had another story to tell." "Do you mean to say that people's heels really freeze and fall off?" inquired the other, with a look of incredulity. "Soft, very soft, and green," murmured Harry, in a low voice, while he continued his work of adding fresh snow to the kettle as the process of melting reduced its bulk. "I mean to say," replied the accountant, tapping the ashes out of his pipe, "that not only heels, but hands, feet, noses, and ears frequently freeze, and often fall off in this country, as you will find by sad experience if you don't look after yourself a little better than you have done hitherto." One of the evil effects of the perpetual jesting that prevailed at York Fort was, that "soft" (in other words, straightforward, unsuspecting) youths had to undergo a long process of learning-by-experience: first, _believing_ everything, and then _doubting_ everything, ere they arrived at that degree of sophistication which enabled them to distinguish between truth and falsehood. Having reached the _doubting_ period in his training, Hamilton looked down and said nothing, at least with his mouth, though his eyes evidently remarked, "I don't believe you." In future years, however, the evidence of these same eyes convinced him that what the accountant said upon this occasion was but too true. Breakfast was a repetition of the supper of the previous evening. During its discussion they planned proceedings for the day. "My notion is," said the accountant, interrupting the flow of words ever and anon to chew the morsel with which his mouth was filled--"my notion is, that as it's a fine, clear day we should travel five miles through the country parallel with North River. I know the ground, and can guide you easily to the spots where there are lots of willows, and therefore plenty of ptarmigan, seeing that they feed on willow tops; and the snow that fell last night will help us a little." "How will the snow help us?" inquired Hamilton. "By covering up all the old tracks, to be sure, and showing only the new ones." "Well, captain," said Harry, as he raised a can of tea to his lips, and nodded to Hamilton as if drinking his health, "go on with your proposals for the day. Five miles up the river to begin with, then--" "Then we'll pull up," continued the accountant; "make a fire, rest a bit, and eat a mouthful of pemmican; after which we'll strike across country for the southern woodcutter's track, and so home." "And how much will that be?" "About fifteen miles." "Ha!" exclaimed Harry; "pass the kettle, please. Thanks.--Do you think you're up to that, Hammy?" "I will try what I can do," replied Hamilton. "If the snow-shoes don't cause me to fall often, I think I shall stand the fatigue very well." "That's right," said the accountant; "`faint heart,' etcetera, you know. If you go on as you've begun, you'll be chosen to head the next expedition to the north pole." "Well," replied Hamilton good-humouredly, "pray head the present expedition, and let us be gone." "Right!" ejaculated the accountant, rising. "I'll just put my odds and ends out of the reach of the foxes, and then we shall be off." In a few minutes everything was placed in security, guns loaded, snow-shoes put on, and the winter camp deserted. At first the walking was fatiguing, and poor Hamilton more than once took a sudden and eccentric plunge; but after getting beyond the wooded country, they found the snow much more compact, and their march, therefore, much more agreeable. On coming to the place where it was probable that they might fall in with ptarmigan, Hamilton became rather excited, and apt to imagine that little lumps of snow which hung upon the bushes here and there were birds. "There, now," he cried, in an energetic and slightly positive tone, as another of these masses of snow suddenly met his eager eye--"that's one, I'm _quite_ sure." The accountant and Harry both stopped short on hearing this, and looked in the direction indicated. "Fire away, then, Hammy," said the former, endeavouring to suppress a smile. "But do you think it _really_ is one?" asked Hamilton anxiously. "Well, I don't _see_ it exactly, but then, you know, I'm near-sighted." "Don't give him a chance of escape," cried Harry, seeing that his friend was undecided. "If you really do see a bird, you'd better shoot it, for they've got a strong propensity to take wing when disturbed." Thus admonished, Hamilton raised his gun and took aim. Suddenly he lowered his piece again, and looking round at Harry, said in a low whisper-- "Oh, I should like _so_ much to shoot it while flying! Would it not be better to set it up first?" "By no means," answered the accountant. "`A bird in the hand,' etcetera. Take him as you find him--look sharp; he'll be off in a second." Again the gun was pointed, and, after some difficulty in taking aim, fired. "Ah, what a pity you've missed him!" shouted Harry. "But see, he's not off yet; how tame he is, to be sure! Give him the other barrel, Hammy." This piece of advice proved to be unnecessary. In his anxiety to get the bird, Hamilton had cocked both barrels, and while gazing, half in disappointment, half in surprise, at the supposed bird, his finger unintentionally pressed the second trigger. In a moment the piece exploded. Being accidentally aimed in the right direction, it blew the lump of snow to atoms, and at the same time, hitting its owner on the chest with the butt, knocked him over flat upon his back. "What a gun it is, to be sure!" said Harry, with a roguish laugh, as he assisted the discomfited sportsman to rise; "it knocks over game with butt and muzzle at once." "Quite a rare instance of one butt knocking another down," added the accountant. At this moment a large flock of ptarmigan, startled by the double report, rose with a loud, whirring noise about a hundred yards in advance, and after flying a short distance alighted. "There's real game at last, though," cried the accountant, as he hurried after the birds, followed closely by his young friends. They soon reached the spot where the flock had alighted, and after following up the tracks for a few yards further, set them up again. As the birds rose the accountant fired, and brought down two; Harry shot one and missed another; Hamilton being so nervously interested in the success of his comrades that he forgot to fire at all. "How stupid of me!" he exclaimed, while the others loaded their guns. "Never mind; better luck next time," said Harry, as they resumed their walk. "I saw the flock settle down about half a mile in advance of us; so step out." Another short walk brought the sportsmen again within range. "Go to the front, Hammy," said the accountant, "and take the first shot this time." Hamilton obeyed. He had scarcely made ten steps in advance, when a single bird, that seemed to have been separated from the others, ran suddenly out from under a bush, and stood stock-still, at a distance of a few yards, with its neck stretched out and its black eye wide open, as if in astonishment. "Now, then, you can't miss _that_." Hamilton was quite taken aback by the suddenness of this necessity for instantaneous action. Instead, therefore, of taking aim leisurely (seeing that he had abundant time to do so), he flew entirely to the opposite extreme--took no aim at all, and fired off both barrels at once, without putting the gun to his shoulder. The result of this was that the affrighted bird flew away unharmed, while Harry and the accountant burst spontaneously into fits of laughter. "How very provoking!" said the poor youth, with a dejected look. "Never mind--never say die--try again," said the accountant, on recovering his gravity. Having reloaded, they continued the pursuit. "Dear me!" exclaimed Harry suddenly, "here are three dead birds.--I verily believe, Hamilton, that you have killed them all at one shot by accident." "Can it be possible?" exclaimed his friend, as with a look of amazement he regarded the birds. There was no doubt about the fact. There they lay, plump and still warm, with one or two drops of bright red blood upon their white plumage. Ptarmigan are almost pure white, so that it requires a practised eye to detect them, even at a distance of a few yards; and it would be almost impossible to hunt them without dogs, but for the tell-tale snow, in which their tracks are distinctly marked, enabling the sportsman to follow them up with unerring certainty. When Hamilton made his bad shot, neither he nor his companions observed a group of ptarmigan not more than fifty yards before them, their attention being riveted at the time on the solitary bird; and the gun happening to be directed towards them when it was fired, three were instantly and unwittingly placed _hors de combat_, while the others ran away. This the survivors frequently do when very tame, instead of taking wing. Thus it was that Hamilton, to his immense delight, made such a successful shot without being aware of it. Having bagged their game, the party proceeded on their way. Several large flocks of birds were raised, and the gamebags nearly filled, before reaching the spot where they intended to turn and bend their steps homewards. This induced them to give up the idea of going further; and it was fortunate they came to this resolution, for a storm was brewing, which in the eagerness of pursuit after game they had not noticed. Dark masses of leaden-coloured clouds were gathering in the sky overhead, and faint sighs of wind came, ever and anon, in fitful gusts from the north-west. Hurrying forward as quickly as possible, they now pursued their course in a direction which would enable them to cross the woodcutters' track. This they soon reached, and finding it pretty well beaten, were enabled to make more rapid progress. Fortunately the wind was blowing on their backs, otherwise they would have had to contend not only with its violence, but also with the snow-drift, which now whirled in bitter fury among the trees, or scoured like driving clouds over the plain. Under this aspect, the flat country over which they travelled seemed the perfection of bleak desolation. Their way, however, did not lie in a direct line. The track was somewhat tortuous, and gradually edged towards the north, until the wind blew nearly in their teeth. At this point, too, they came to the stretch of open ground which they had crossed at a point some miles further to the north ward in their night march. Here the storm raged in all its fury, and as they looked out upon the plain, before quitting the shelter of the wood, they paused to tighten their belts and readjust their snow-shoe lines. The gale was so violent that the whole plain seemed tossed about like billows of the sea, as the drift rose and fell, curled, eddied, and dashed along, so that it was impossible to see more than half a dozen yards in advance. "Heaven preserve us from ever being caught in an exposed place on such a night as this!" said the accountant, as he surveyed the prospect before him. "Luckily, the open country here is not more than a quarter of a mile broad, and even that little bit will try our wind somewhat." Hamilton and Harry seemed by their looks to say, "We could easily face even a stiffer breeze than that, if need be." "What should we do," inquired the former, "if the plain were five or six miles broad?" "Do? why, we should have to camp in the woods till it blew over, that's all," replied the accountant; "but seeing that we are not reduced to such a necessity just now, and that the day is drawing to a close, let us face it at once. I'll lead the way; and see that you follow close at my heels. Don't lose sight of me for a moment, and if you do by chance, give a shout; d'ye hear?" The two lads replied in the affirmative, and then bracing themselves up as if for a great effort, stepped vigorously out upon the plain, and were instantly swallowed up in clouds of snow. For half an hour or more they battled slowly against the howling storm, pressing forward for some minutes with heads down, as if _boring_ through it, then turning their backs to the blast for a few seconds' relief, but always keeping as close to each other as possible. At length the woods were gained; on entering which it was discovered that Hamilton was missing. "Hollo! where's Hamilton?" exclaimed Harry; "I saw him beside me not five minutes ago." The accountant gave a loud shout, but there was no reply. Indeed, nothing short of his own stentorian voice could have been heard at all amid the storm. "There's nothing for it," said Harry, "but to search at once, else he'll wander about and get lost." Saying this, he began to retrace his steps, just as a brief lull in the gale took place. "Hollo! don't you hear a cry, Harry?" At this moment there was another lull; the drift fell, and for an instant cleared away, revealing the bewildered Hamilton, not twenty yards off, standing like a pillar of snow, in mute despair. Profiting by the glimpse, Harry rushed forward, caught him by the arm, and led him into the partial shelter of the forest. Nothing further befell them after this. Their route lay in shelter all the way to the fort. Poor Hamilton, it is true, took one or two of his occasional plunges by the way, but without any serious result--not even to the extent of stuffing his nose, ears, neck, mittens, pockets, gun-barrels, and everything else with snow, because, these being quite full and hard packed already, there was no room left for the addition of another particle. CHAPTER TWENTY TWO. THE WINTER PACKET--HARRY HEARS FROM OLD FRIENDS, AND WISHES THAT HE WAS WITH THEM. Letters from home! What a burst of sudden emotion--what a riot of conflicting feelings, of dread and joy,--expectation and anxiety--what a flood of old memories--what stirring up of almost forgotten associations these three words create in the hearts of those who dwell in distant regions of this earth, far, far away from kith and kin, from friends and acquaintances, from the much-loved scenes of childhood, and from _home_! Letters from home! How gratefully the sound falls upon ears that have been long unaccustomed to sounds and things connected with home, and so long accustomed to wild, savage sounds, that these have at length lost their novelty, and become everyday and commonplace, while the first have gradually grown strange and unwonted. For many long months home and all connected with it have become a dream of other days, and savage-land a present reality. The mind has by degrees become absorbed by surrounding objects--objects so utterly unassociated with or unsuggestive of any other land, that it involuntarily ceases to think of the scenes of childhood with the same feelings that it once did. As time rolls on, home assumes a misty, undefined character, as if it were not only distant in reality, but were also slowly retreating farther and farther away--growing gradually faint and dream-like, though not less dear, to the mental view. "Letters from home!" shouted Mr Wilson, and the doctor, and the skipper, simultaneously, as the sportsmen, after dashing through the wild storm, at last reached the fort, and stumbled tumultuously into Bachelors' Hall. "What!--Where!--How!--You don't mean it!" they exclaimed, coming to a sudden stand, like three pillars of snow-clad astonishment. "Ay," replied the doctor, who affected to be quite cool upon all occasions, and rather cooler than usual if the occasion was more than ordinarily exciting--"ay, we _do_ mean it. Old Rogan has got the packet, and is even now disembowelling it." "More than that," interrupted the skipper, who sat smoking as usual by the stove, with his hands in his breeches pockets--"more than that, I saw him dissecting into the very marrow of the thing; so if we don't storm the old admiral in his cabin, he'll go to sleep over these prosy yarns that the governor-in-chief writes to him, and we'll have to whistle for our letters till midnight." The skipper's remark was interrupted by the opening of the outer door and the entrance of the butler. "Mr Rogan wishes to see you, sir," said that worthy to the accountant. "I'll be with him in a minute," he replied, as he threw off his capote and proceeded to unwind himself as quickly as his multitudinous haps would permit. By this time Harry Somerville and Hamilton were busily occupied in a similar manner, while a running fire of question and answer, jesting remark and bantering reply, was kept up between the young men, from their various apartments and the hall. The doctor was cool, as usual, and impudent. He had a habit of walking up and down while he smoked, and was thus enabled to look in upon the inmates of the several sleeping-rooms, and make his remarks in a quiet, sarcastic manner, the galling effect of which was heightened by his habit of pausing at the end of every two or three words, to emit a few puffs of smoke. Having exhausted a good deal of small talk in this way, and having, moreover, finished his pipe, the doctor went to the stove to refill and relight. "What a deal of trouble you do take to make yourself comfortable!" said he to the skipper, who sat with his chair tilted on its hind legs, and a pillow at his back. "No harm in that, doctor," replied the skipper, with a smile. "No harm, certainly, but it looks uncommonly lazy-like." "What does?" "Why, putting a pillow at your back, to be sure." The doctor was a full-fleshed, muscular man, and owing to this fact it mattered little to him whether his chair happened to be an easy one or not. As the skipper sometimes remarked, he carried padding always about with him; he was, therefore, a little apt to sneer at the attempts of his brethren to render the ill-shaped, wooden-bottomed chairs, with which the hall was ornamented, bearable. "Well, doctor," said the skipper, "I cannot see how you make me out lazy. Surely it is not an evidence of laziness my endeavouring to render these instruments of torture less tormenting? Seeking to be comfortable, if it does not inconvenience any one else, is not laziness. Why, what _is_ comfort?" The skipper began to wax philosophical at this point, and took the pipe from his mouth as he gravely propounded the momentous question. "What _is_ comfort? If I go out to camp in the woods, and after turning in find a sharp stump sticking into my ribs on one side, and a pine root driving in the small of my back on the other side, is _that_ comfort? Certainly not. And if I get up, seize a hatchet, level the stump, cut away the root, and spread pine brush over the place, am I to be called lazy for doing so? Or if I sit down on a chair, and on trying to lean back to rest myself find that the stupid lubber who made it has so constructed it that four small hard points alone touch my person--two being at the hip-joints and two at the shoulder-blades; and if to relieve such physical agony I jump up and clap a pillow at my back, am I to be called lazy for doing _that_?" "What a glorious entry that would make in the log!" said the doctor, in a low tone, soliloquisingly, as if he made the remark merely for his own satisfaction, while he tapped the ashes out of his pipe. The skipper looked as if he meditated a sharp reply; but his intentions, whatever they might have been, were interrupted by the opening of the door, and the entrance of the accountant, bearing under his arm a packet of letters. A general rush was made upon him, and in a few minutes a dead silence reigned in the hall, broken only at intervals by an exclamation of surprise or pathos, as the inmates, in the retirement of their separate apartments, perused letters from friends in the interior of the country and friends at home: letters that were old--some of them bearing dates many months back--and travel-stained, but new and fresh and cheering, nevertheless, to their owners, as the clear, bright sun in winter or the verdant leaves in spring. Harry Somerville's letters were numerous and long. He had several from friends in Red River, besides one or two from other parts of the Indian country, and one--it was very thick and heavy--that bore the post-marks of Britain. It was late that night ere the last candle was extinguished in the hall, and it was late, too, before Harry Somerville ceased to peruse and re-peruse the long letter from home, and found time or inclination to devote to his other correspondents. Among the rest was a letter from his old friend and companion, Charley Kennedy, which ran as follows:-- MY DEAR HARRY,--It really seems more than an age since I saw you. Your last epistle, written in the perturbation of mind consequent upon being doomed to spend another winter at York Fort, reached me only a few days ago, and filled me with pleasant recollections of other days. Oh! man, how much I wish that you were with me in this beautiful country! You are aware that I have been what they call "roughing it" since you and I parted on the shores of Lake Winnipeg; but, my dear fellow, the idea that most people have of what that phrase means is a very erroneous one indeed. "Roughing it" I certainly have been, inasmuch as I have been living on rough fare, associating with rough men, and sleeping on rough beds under the starry sky; but I assure you that all this is not half so rough upon the constitution as what they call leading an _easy life_, which is simply a life that makes a poor fellow stagnate, body and spirit, till the one comes to be unable to digest its food, and the other incompetent to jump at so much as half an idea. Anything but an easy life, to my mind. Ah! there's nothing like roughing it, Harry, my boy. Why, I am thriving on it--growing like a young walrus, eating like a Canadian voyageur, and sleeping like a top! This is a splendid country for sport, and as our _bourgeois_ [the gentleman in charge of an establishment is always designated the bourgeois] has taken it into his head that I am a good hand at making friends with the Indians, he has sent me out on several expeditions, and afforded me some famous opportunities of seeing life among the redskins. There is a talk just now of establishing a new outpost in this district, so if I succeed in persuading the governor to let me accompany the party, I shall have something interesting to write about in my next letter. By the way, I wrote to you a month ago, by two Indians who said they were going to the missionary station at Norway House. Did you ever get it? There is a hunter here just now who goes by the name of Jacques Caradoc. He is a first-rater--can do anything, in a wild way, that lies within the power of mortal man, and is an inexhaustible anecdote-teller, in a quiet way. He and I have been out buffalo-hunting two or three times, and it would have done your heart good, Harry, my dear boy, to have seen us scouring over the prairie together on two big-boned Indian horses--regular trained buffalo-runners, that didn't need the spur to urge, nor the rein to guide them, when once they caught sight of the black cattle, and kept a sharp look-out for badger-holes, just as if they had been reasonable creatures. The first time I went out I had several rather ugly falls, owing to my inexperience. The fact is, that if a man has never run buffaloes before, he's sure to get one or two upsets, no matter how good a horseman he may be. And that monster Jacques, although he's the best fellow I ever met with for a hunting companion, always took occasion to grin at my mishaps, and gravely to read me a lecture to the effect that they were all owing to my own clumsiness or stupidity; which, you will acknowledge, was not calculated to restore my equanimity. The very first run we had cost me the entire skin of my nose, and converted that feature into a superb Roman for the next three weeks. It happened thus. Jacques and I were riding over the prairie in search of buffaloes. The place was interspersed with sundry knolls covered with trees, slips and belts of woodland, with ponds scattered among them, and open sweeps of the plain here and there; altogether a delightful country to ride through. It was a clear early morning, so that our horses were fresh and full of spirit. They knew, as well as we ourselves did, what we were out for, and it was no easy matter to restrain them. The one I rode was a great long-legged beast, as like as possible to that abominable kangaroo that nearly killed me at Red River; as for Jacques, he was mounted on a first-rate charger. I don't know how it is, but somehow or other everything about Jacques, or belonging to him, or in the remotest degree connected with him, is always first-rate! He generally owns a first-rate horse, and if he happens by any unlucky chance to be compelled to mount a bad one, it immediately becomes another animal. He seems to infuse some of his own wonderful spirit into it! Well, as Jacques and I curvetted along, skirting the low bushes at the edge of a wood, out burst a whole herd of buffaloes. Bang went Jacques's gun, almost before I had winked to make sure that I saw rightly, and down fell the fattest of them all, while the rest tossed up their tails, heels, and heads in one grand whirl of indignant amazement, and scoured away like the wind. In a moment our horses were at full stretch after them, on their _own_ account entirely, and without any reference to _us_. When I recovered my self-possession a little, I threw forward my gun and fired; but owing to my endeavouring to hold the reins at the same time, I nearly blew off one of my horse's ears, and only knocked up the dust about six yards ahead of us! Of course Jacques could not let this pass unnoticed. He was sitting quietly loading his gun, as cool as a cucumber, while his horse was dashing forward at full stretch, with the reins hanging loosely on his neck. "Ah, Mister Charles," said he, with the least possible grin on his leathern visage, "that was not well done. You should never hold the reins when you fire, nor try to put the gun to your shoulder. It an't needful. The beast'll look arter itself, if it's a riglar buffalo-runner; any ways, holdin' the reins is of no manner of use. I once know'd a gentleman that came out here to see the buffalo-huntin'. He was a good enough shot in his way, an' a first-rate rider. But he was full o' queer notions: he _would_ load his gun with the ramrod in the riglar way, instead o' doin' as we do, tumblin' in a drop powder, spittin' a ball out your mouth down the muzzle, and hittin' the stock on the pommel of the saddle to send it home. And he had them miserable things--the _somethin'_ 'cussion-caps, and used to fiddle away with them while we were knockin' over the cattle in all directions. Moreover, he had a notion that it was altogether wrong to let go his reins even for a moment, and so, what between the ramrod and the 'cussion-caps and the reins, he was worse than the greenest clerk that ever came to the country. He gave it up in despair at last, after lamin' two horses, and finished off by runnin' after a big bull, that turned on him all of a suddent, crammed its head and horns into the side of his horse, and sent the poor fellow head over heels on the green grass. He wasn't much the worse for it, but his fine double-barrelled gun was twisted into a shape that would almost have puzzled an Injin to tell what it was." Well, Harry, all the time that Jacques was telling me this we were gaining on the buffaloes, and at last we got quite close to them, and as luck would have it, the very thing that happened to the amateur sportsman happened to me. I went madly after a big bull in spite of Jacques's remonstrances, and just as I got alongside of him up went his tail (a sure sign that his anger was roused), and round he came, head to the front, stiff as a rock; my poor charger's chest went right between his horns, and, as a matter of course, I continued the race upon _nothing_, head first, for a distance of about thirty yards, and brought up on the bridge of my nose. My poor dear father used to say I was a bull-headed rascal, and, upon my word, I believe he was more literally correct than he imagined; for although I fell with a fearful crash, head first, on the hard plain, I rose up immediately, and in a few minutes was able to resume the chase again. My horse was equally fortunate, for although thus brought to a sudden stand while at full gallop, he wheeled about, gave a contemptuous flourish with his heels, and cantered after Jacques, who soon caught him again. My head bothered me a good deal for some time after this accident, and swelled up till my eyes became almost undistinguishable; but a few weeks put me all right again. And who do you think this man Jacques is? You'd never guess. He's the trapper whom Redfeather told us of long ago, and whose wife was killed by the Indians. He and Redfeather have met, and are very fond of each other. How often in the midst of these wild excursions have my thoughts wandered to you, Harry! The fellows I meet with here are all kind-hearted, merry companions, but none like yourself. I sometimes say to Jacques, when we become communicative to each other beside the camp-fire, that my earthly felicity would be perfect if I had Harry Somerville here; and then I think of Kate, my sweet, loving sister Kate, and feel that, even although I had you with me, there would still be something wanting to make things perfect. Talking of Kate, by the way, I have received a letter from her, the first sheet of which, as it speaks of mutual Red River friends, I herewith enclose. Pray keep it safe, and return per first opportunity. We've loads of furs here and plenty of deer-stalking, not to mention galloping on horseback on the plains in summer and dog-sledging in winter. Alas! my poor friend, I fear that it is rather selfish in me to write so feelingly about my agreeable circumstances, when I know you are slowly dragging out your existence at that melancholy place York Fort; but believe me, I sympathise with you, and I hope earnestly that you will soon be appointed to more genial scenes. I have much, very much, to tell you yet, but am compelled to reserve it for a future epistle, as the packet which is to convey this is on the point of being closed. Adieu, my dear Harry, and wherever you may happen to pitch your tent, always bear in kindly remembrance your old friend, CHARLES KENNEDY. The letter was finished, but Harry did not cease to hold intercourse with his friend. With his head resting on his two hands and his elbows on the table, he sat long, silently gazing on the signature, while his mind revelled in the past, the present, and the future. He bounded over the wilderness that lay between him and the beautiful plains of the Saskatchewan. He seized Charley round the neck, and hugged and wrestled with him as in days of yore. He mounted an imaginary charger, and swept across the plains along with him; listened to anecdotes innumerable from Jacques, attacked thousands of buffaloes, singled out scores of wild bulls, pitched over horses' heads and alighted precisely on the bridge of his nose, always in close proximity to his old friend. Gradually his mind returned to its prison-house, and his eye fell on Kate's letter, which he picked up and began to read.--It ran thus:-- MY DEAR, DEAR, DARLING CHARLEY,--I cannot tell you how much my heart has yearned to see you, or hear from you, for many long, long months past. Your last delightful letter, which I treasure up as the most precious object I possess, has indeed explained to me how utterly impossible it was to have written a day sooner than you did; but that does not comfort me a bit, or make those weary packets more rapid and frequent in their movements, or the time that passes between the periods of hearing from you less dreary and anxious. God bless and protect you, my darling, in the midst of all the dangers that surround you. But I did not intend to begin this letter by murmuring, so pray forgive me, and I shall try to atone for it by giving you a minute account of everybody here about whom you are interested. Our beloved father and mother, I am thankful to say, are quite well. Papa has taken more than ever to smoking since you went away. He is seldom out of the summer-house in the garden now, where I very frequently go, and spend hours together in reading to and talking with him. He very often speaks of you, and I am certain that he misses you far more than we expected, although I think he cannot miss you nearly so much as I do. For some weeks past, indeed ever since we got your last letter, papa was engaged all the forenoon in some mysterious work, for he used to lock himself up in the summer-house--a thing he never did before. One day I went there at my usual time, and instead of having to wait till he should unlock the door, I found it already open, and entered the room, which was so full of smoke that I could hardly see. I found papa writing at a small table, and the moment he heard my footstep he jumped up with a fierce frown and shouted, "Who's there?" in that terrible voice that he used to speak in long ago when angry with his men, but which he has almost quite given up for some time past. He never speaks to me, as you know very well, but in the kindest tones, so you may imagine what a dreadful fright I got for a moment; but it was only for a moment, because the instant he saw that it was me his dear face changed, and he folded me in his arms, saying, "Ah, Kate, forgive me, my darling! I did not know it was you, and I thought I had locked the door, and was angry at being so unceremoniously interrupted." He then told me he was just finishing a letter of advice to you, and going up to the table, pushed the papers hurriedly into a drawer. As he did so I guessed what had been his mysterious occupation, for he seemed to have covered _quires_ of paper with the closest writing. Ah, Charley, you're a lucky fellow to be able to extort such long letters from our dear father. You know how difficult he finds it to write even the shortest note, and you remember his old favourite expression, "I would rather skin a wild buffalo bull alive than write a long letter." He deserves long ones in return, Charley; but I need not urge you on that score--you are an excellent correspondent. Mamma is able to go out every day now for a drive in the prairie. She was confined to the house for nearly three weeks last month, with some sort of illness that the doctor did not seem to understand, and at one time I was much frightened, and very, very anxious about her, she became so weak. It would have made your heart glad to have seen the tender way in which papa nursed her through the illness. I had fancied that he was the very last man in the world to make a sick-nurse, so bold and quick in his movements, and with such a loud, gruff voice--for it _is_ gruff, although very sweet at the same time. But the moment he began to tend mamma he spoke more softly even than dear Mr Addison does, and he began to walk about the house on tiptoe, and persevered so long in this latter that all his moccasins began to be worn out at the toes, while the heels remained quite strong. I begged of him often not to take so much trouble, as _I_ was naturally the proper nurse for mamma; but he wouldn't hear of it, and insisted on carrying breakfast, dinner, and tea to her, besides giving her all her medicine. He was for ever making mistakes, however, much to his own sorrow, the darling man; and I had to watch him pretty closely, for more than once he has been on the point of giving mamma a glass of laudanum in mistake for a glass of port wine. I was a good deal frightened for him at first, as, before he became accustomed to the work, he tumbled over the chairs and tripped on the carpets while carrying trays with dinners and breakfasts, till I thought he would really injure himself at last; and then he was so terribly angry with himself at making such a noise and breaking the dishes--I think he has broken nearly an entire dinner and tea set of crockery. Poor George, the cook, has suffered most from these mishaps--for you know that dear papa cannot get angry without letting a _little_ of it out upon somebody; and whenever he broke a dish or let a tray fall, he used to rush into the kitchen, shake his fist in George's face, and ask him, in a fierce voice, what he meant by it. But he always got better in a few seconds, and finished off by telling him never to mind, that he was a good servant on the whole, and he wouldn't say any more about it just now, but he had better look sharp out and not do it again. I must say, in praise of George, that on such occasions he looked very sorry indeed, and said he hoped that he would always do his best to give him satisfaction. This was only proper in him, for he ought to be very thankful that our father restrains his anger so much; for you know he was rather violent _once_, and you've no idea, Charley, how great a restraint he now lays on himself. He seems to me quite like a lamb, and I am beginning to feel somehow as if we had been mistaken, and that he never was a passionate man at all. I think it is partly owing to dear Mr Addison, who visits us very frequently now, and papa and he are often shut up together for many hours in the smoking-house. I was sure that papa would soon come to like him, for his religion is so free from everything like severity or affected solemnity. The cook, and Rosa, and my dog that you named Twist, are all quite well. The last has grown into a very large and beautiful animal, something like the stag-hound in the picture-book we used to study together long ago. He is exceedingly fond of me, and I feel him to be quite a protector. The cocks and hens, the cow and the old mare, are also in perfect health; so now, having told you a good deal about ourselves, I will give you a short account of the doings in the colony. First of all, your old friend Mr Kipples is still alive and well, and so are all our old companions in the school. One or two of the latter have left, and young Naysmith has joined the Company's service. Betty Peters comes very often to see us, and she always asks for you with great earnestness. I think you have stolen the old woman's heart, Charley, for she speaks of you with great affection. Old Mr Seaforth is still as vigorous as ever, dashing about the settlement on a high-mettled steed, just as if he were one of the youngest men in the colony. He nearly poisoned himself, poor man, a month ago, by taking a dose of some kind of medicine by mistake. I did not hear what it was, but I am told that the treatment was rather severe. Fortunately the doctor happened to be at home when he was sent for, else our old friend would, I fear, have died. As it was, the doctor cured him with great difficulty. He first gave him an emetic, then put mustard blisters to the soles of his feet, and afterwards lifted him into one of his own carts, without springs, in which he drove him for a long time over all the ploughed fields in the neighbourhood. If this is not an exaggerated account, Mr Seaforth is certainly made of sterner stuff than most men. I was told a funny anecdote of him a few days ago, which I am sure you have never heard, otherwise you would have told it to me, for there used to be no secrets between us, Charley-- alas! I have no one to confide in or advise with now that you are gone. You have often heard of the great flood; not Noah's one, but the flood that nearly swept away our settlement and did so much damage before you and I were born. Well, you recollect that people used to tell of the way in which the river rose after the breaking up of the ice, and how it soon overflowed all the low points, sweeping off everything in its course. Old Mr Seaforth's house stood at that time on the little point, just beyond the curve of the river, at the foot of which our own house stands, and as the river continued to rise, Mr Seaforth went about actively securing his property. At first he only thought of his boat and canoes, which, with the help of his son Peter and a Canadian, who happened at the time to be employed about the place, he dragged up and secured to an iron staple in the side of his house. Soon however, he found that the danger was greater than at first he imagined. The point became completely covered with water, which brought down great numbers of half-drowned and quite-drowned cattle, pigs, and poultry, and stranded them at the garden fence, so that in a short time poor Mr Seaforth could scarcely move about his overcrowded domains. On seeing this, he drove his own cattle to the highest land in his neighbourhood, and hastened back to the house, intending to carry as much of the furniture as possible to the same place. But during his short absence the river had risen so rapidly that he was obliged to give up all thoughts of this, and think only of securing a few of his valuables. The bit of land round his dwelling was so thickly covered with the poor cows, sheep, and other animals, that he could scarcely make his way to the house, and you may fancy his consternation on reaching it to find that the water was more than knee-deep round the walls, while a few of the cows and a whole herd of pigs had burst open the door (no doubt accidentally) and coolly entered the dining-room, where they stood with drooping heads, very wet, and apparently very miserable. The Canadian was busy at the back of the house, loading the boat and canoe with everything he could lay hands on, and was not aware of the foreign invasion in front. Mr Seaforth cared little for this, however, and began to collect all the things he held most valuable, and threw them to the man, who stowed them away in the boat. Peter had been left in charge of the cattle, so they had to work hard. While thus employed the water continued to rise with fearful rapidity, and rushed against the house like a mill-race, so that it soon became evident that the whole would ere long be swept away. Just as they finished loading the boat and canoes, the staple which held them gave way; in a moment they were swept into the middle of the river, and carried out of sight. The Canadian was in the boat at the time the staple broke, so that Mr Seaforth was now left in a dwelling that bid fair to emulate Noah's ark in an hour or two, without a chance of escape, and with no better company than five black oxen in the dining-room, besides three sheep that were now scarcely able to keep their heads above water, and three little pigs that were already drowned. The poor old man did his best to push out the intruders, but only succeeded in ejecting two sheep and an ox. All the others positively refused to go, so he was fain to let them stay. By shutting the outer door he succeeded in keeping out a great deal of water. Then he waded into the parlour, where he found some more little pigs, floating about and quite dead. Two, however, more adventurous than their comrades, had saved their lives by mounting first on a chair and then upon the table, where they were comfortably seated, gazing languidly at their mother, a very heavy fat sow, which sat, with what seemed an expression of settled despair, on the sofa. In a fit of wrath, Mr Seaforth seized the young pigs and tossed them out of the window; whereupon the old one jumped down, and half walking, half swimming, made her way to her companions in the dining-room. The old gentleman now ascended to the garret, where from a small window he looked out upon the scene of devastation. His chief anxiety was about the foundation of the house, which, being made of a wooden framework, like almost all the others in the colony, would certainly float if the water rose much higher. His fears were better founded than the house. As he looked up the river, which had by this time overflowed all its banks and was spreading over the plains, he saw a fresh burst of water coming down, which, when it dashed against his dwelling, forced it about two yards from its foundation. Suddenly he remembered that there were a large anchor and chain in the kitchen, both of which he had brought there one day, to serve as a sort of anvil when he wanted to do some blacksmith work. Hastening down, he fastened one end of the chain to the sofa, and cast the anchor out of the window. A few minutes afterwards another rush of water struck the building, which yielded to pressure, and swung slowly down until the anchor arrested its further progress. This was only for a few seconds, however. The chain was a slight one. It snapped, and the house swept majestically down the stream, while its terrified occupants cowered within it. For two days nothing was heard of old Mr Seaforth. Indeed, the settlers had too much to do in saving themselves and their families to think of others; and it was not until the third day that people began to inquire about him. His son Peter had taken a canoe and made diligent search in all directions, but although he found the house sticking on a shallow point, neither his father nor the cat was on or in it. At last he was brought to the island, on which nearly half the colony had collected, by an Indian who had passed the house and brought him away in his canoe, along with the old cat. Is he not a wonderful man, to have come through so much in his old age? and he is still so active and hearty! Mr Swan of the mill is dead. He died of fever last week. Poor old Mr Cordon is also gone. His end was very sad. About a month ago he ordered his horse and rode off, intending to visit Fort Garry. At the turn of the road, just above Grant's House, the horse suddenly swerved, and its rider was thrown to the ground. He did not live more than half an hour after it. Alas! how very sad to see a man, after escaping all the countless dangers of a long life in the woods (and his, you know, was a very adventurous one), thus cut violently down in his old age! O Charley, how little we know what is before us! How needful to have our peace made with God through Jesus Christ, so that we may be ready at any moment when our Father calls us away! There are many events of great interest that have occurred here since you left. You will be glad to hear that Jane Patterson is married to our excellent friend Mr Cameron, who has taken up a store near to us, and intends to run a boat to York Fort next summer. There has been another marriage here which will cause you astonishment at least, if not pleasure. Old Mr Peters has married Marie Peltier! What _could_ have possessed her to take such a husband! I cannot understand it. Just think of her, Charley, a girl of eighteen, with a husband of seventy-five! ------------------------------------------------------------------------ At this point the writing, which was very close and very small, terminated. Harry laid it down with a deep sigh, wishing much that Charley had thought it advisable to send him the second sheet also. As wishes and regrets on this point were equally unavailing, he endeavoured to continue it in imagination, and was soon as deeply absorbed in following Kate through the well-remembered scenes of Red River as he had been, a short time before, in roaming with her brother over the wide prairies of the Saskatchewan. The increasing cold, however, soon warned him that the night was far spent. He rose and went to the stove; but the fire had gone out, and the almost irresistible frost of these regions was already cooling everything in Bachelors' Hall down to the freezing-point. All his companions had put out their candles, and were busy, doubtless, dreaming of the friends whose letters had struck and reawakened the long-dormant chords that used to echo to the tones and scenes of other days. With a slight shiver, Harry returned to his apartment, and kneeled to thank God for protecting and preserving his absent friends, and especially for sending him "good news from a far land." The letter with the British post-marks on it was placed under his pillow. It occupied his waking and sleeping thoughts that night, and it was the first thing he thought of and re-read on the following morning, and for many mornings afterwards. Only those can fully estimate the value of such letters who live in distant lands, where letters are few--very, very few--and far between. CHAPTER TWENTY THREE. CHANGES--HARRY AND HAMILTON FIND THAT VARIETY IS INDEED CHARMING--THE LATTER ASTONISHES THE FORMER CONSIDERABLY. Three months passed away, but the snow still lay deep and white and undiminished around York Fort. Winter--cold, silent, unyielding winter--still drew its white mantle closely round the lonely dwelling of the fur-traders of the Far North. Icicles hung, as they had done for months before, from the eaves of every house, from the tall black scaffold on which the great bell hung, and from the still taller erection that had been put up as an outlook for "_the ship_" in summer. At the present time it commanded a bleak view of the frozen sea. Snow covered every housetop, and hung in ponderous masses from their edges, as if it were about to fall; but it never fell--it hung there in the same position day after day, unmelted, unchanged. Snow covered the whole land, and the frozen river, the swamps, the sea-beach, and the sea itself, as far as the eye could reach, seemed like a pure white carpet. Snow lined the upper edge of every paling, filled up the key-hole of every door, embanked about half of every window, stuck in little knobs on the top of every picket, and clung in masses on every drooping branch of the pine trees in the forest. Frost--sharp, biting frost--solidified, surrounded, and pervaded everything. Mercury was congealed by it; vapour was condensed by it; iron was cooled by it until it could scarcely be touched without (as the men expressed it) "burning" the fingers. The water-jugs in Bachelors' Hall and the water-buckets were frozen by it, nearly to the bottom; though there was a good stove there, and the Hall was not _usually_ a cold place by any means. The breath of the inhabitants was congealed by it on the window-panes, until they had become coated with ice an inch thick. The breath of the men was rendered white and opaque by it, as they panted and hurried to and fro about their ordinary avocations; beating their gloved hands together, and stamping their well-wrapped-up feet on the hard-beaten snow to keep them warm. Old Robin's nose seemed to be entirely shrivelled up into his face by it, as he drove his ox-cart to the river to fetch his daily supply of water. The only things that were not affected by it were the fires, which crackled and roared as if in laughter, and twisted and leaped as if in uncontrollable glee at the bare idea of John Frost acquiring, by any artifice whatever, the smallest possible influence over _them_! Three months had elapsed, but frost and snow, instead of abating, had gone on increasing and intensifying, deepening and extending its work, and riveting its chains. Winter--cold silent, unyielding winter--still reigned at York Fort, as though it had made it a _sine qua non_ of its existence at all that it should reign there for ever! But although everything was thus wintry and cold, it was by no means cheerless or dreary. A bright sun shone in the blue heavens with an intenseness of brilliancy that was quite dazzling to the eyes, that elated the spirits, and caused man and beast to tread with a more elastic step than usual. Although the sun looked down upon the scene with an unclouded face, and found a mirror in every icicle and in every gem of hoar-frost with which the objects of nature were loaded, there was, however, no perceptible heat in his rays. They fell on the white earth with all the brightness of midsummer, but they fell powerless as moonbeams in the dead of winter. On the frozen river, just in front of the gate of the fort, a group of men and dogs were assembled. The dogs were four in number, harnessed to a small flat sledge of the slender kind used by Indians to drag their furs and provisions over the snow. The group of men was composed of Mr Rogan and the inmates of Bachelors' Hall, one or two men who happened to be engaged there at the time in cutting a new water-hole in the ice, and an Indian, who, to judge from his carefully-adjusted costume, the snow-shoes on his feet, and the short whip in his hand, was the driver of the sledge, and was about to start on a journey. Harry Somerville and young Hamilton were also wrapped up more carefully than usual. "Good-bye, then, good-bye," said Mr Rogan, advancing towards the Indian, who stood beside the leading dog, ready to start. "Take care of our young friends--they've not had much experience in travelling yet; and don't overdrive your dogs. Treat them well, and they'll do more work. They're like men in that respect." Mr Rogan shook the Indian by the hand, and the latter immediately flourished the whip and gave a shout, which the dogs no sooner heard than they uttered a simultaneous yell, sprang forward with a jerk, and scampered up the river, closely followed by their dark-skinned driver. "Now, lads, farewell," said the old gentleman, turning with a kindly smile to our two friends, who were shaking hands for the last time with their comrades. "I'm sorry you're going to leave us, my boys. You've done your duty well while here, and I would willingly have kept you a little longer with me, but our governor wills it otherwise. However, I trust that you'll be happy wherever you may be sent. Don't forget to write to me. God bless you. Farewell." Mr Rogan shook them heartily by the hand, turned short round, and walked slowly up to his house, with an expression of sadness on his mild face; while Harry and Hamilton, having once more waved farewell to their friends, marched up the river, side by side, in silence. They followed the track left by the dog-sledge, which guided them with unerring certainty, although their Indian leader and his team were out of sight in advance. A week previous to this time an Indian arrived from the interior, bearing a letter from headquarters, which directed that Messrs. Somerville and Hamilton should be forthwith dispatched on snow-shoes to Norway House. As this establishment is about three hundred miles from the sea-coast, the order involved a journey of nearly two weeks' duration through a country that was utterly destitute of inhabitants. On receiving a command from Mr Rogan to prepare for an early start. Harry retired precipitately to his own room, and there, after cutting unheard-of capers, and giving vent to sudden incomprehensible shouts, all indicative of the highest state of delight, he condescended to tell his companions of his good fortune, and set about preparations without delay. Hamilton, on the contrary, gave his usual quiet smile on being informed of his destination, and returning somewhat pensively to Bachelors' Hall, proceeded leisurely to make the necessary arrangements for departure. As the time drew on, however, a perpetual flush on his countenance, and an unusual brilliancy about his eye, showed that he was not quite insensible to the pleasures of a change, and relished the idea more than he got credit for. The Indian who had brought the letter was ordered to hold himself in readiness to retrace his steps and conduct the young men through the woods to Norway House, where they were to await further orders. A few days later the three travellers, as already related, set out on their journey. After walking a mile up the river, they passed a point of land which shut out the fort from view. Here they paused to take a last look, and then pressed forward in silence, the thoughts of each being busy with mingled recollections of their late home and anticipations of the future. After an hour's sharp walking they came in sight of the guide, and slackened their pace. "Well, Hamilton," said Harry, throwing off his reverie with a deep sigh, "are you glad to leave York Fort, or sorry?" "Glad, undoubtedly," replied Hamilton, "but sorry to part from our old companions there. I had no idea, Harry, that I loved them all so much. I feel as if I should be glad were the order for us to leave them countermanded even now." "That's the very thought," said Harry, "that was passing through my own brain when I spoke to you. Yet, somehow, I think I should be uncommonly sorry after all if we were really sent back. There's a queer contradiction, Hammy: we're sorry and happy at the same time! If I were the skipper now, I would found a philosophical argument upon it." "Which the skipper would carry on with untiring vigour," said Hamilton, smiling, "and afterwards make an entry of in his log. But I think, Harry, that to feel the emotion of sorrow and joy at the same time is not such a contradiction as it at first appears." "Perhaps not," replied Harry, "but it seems very contradictory to _me_; and yet it's an evident fact, for I'm _very_ sorry to leave _them_, and I'm _very_ happy to have you for my companion here." "So am I, so am I," said the other heartily. "I would rather travel with you, Harry, than with any of our late companions, although I like them all very much." The two friends had grown, almost imperceptibly, in each other's esteem during their residence under the same roof, more than either of them would have believed possible. The gay, reckless hilarity of the one did not at first accord with the quiet gravity and, as his comrades styled it, _softness_ of the other. But character is frequently misjudged at first sight, and sometimes men who on a first acquaintance have felt repelled from each other have, on coming to know each other better, discovered traits and good qualities that ere long formed enduring bonds of sympathy, and have learned to love those whom at first they felt disposed to dislike or despise. Thus Harry soon came to know that what he at first thought and, along with his companions, called softness in Hamilton was in reality gentleness of disposition and thorough good-nature, united in one who happened to be utterly unacquainted with the _knowing_ ways of this peculiarly sharp and clever world, while in the course of time new qualities showed themselves in a quiet, unobtrusive way that won upon his affections and raised his esteem. On the other hand, Hamilton found that, although Harry was volatile, and possessed of an irresistible tendency to fun and mischief, he never by any chance gave way to anger, or allowed malice to enter into his practical jokes. Indeed, he often observed him restrain his natural tendencies when they were at all likely to give pain, though Harry never dreamed that such efforts were known to any one but himself. Besides this, Harry was peculiarly _unselfish_, and when a man is possessed of this inestimable disposition, he is not _quite_ but _very nearly_ perfect! After another pause, during which the party had left the open river and directed their course through the woods, where the depth of the snow obliged them to tread in each other's footsteps, Harry resumed the conversation. "You have not yet told me, by-the-bye, what old Mr Rogan said to you just before we started. Did he give you any hint as to where you might be sent to after reaching Norway House?" "No; he merely said he knew that clerks were wanted both for Mackenzie River and the Saskatchewan districts, but he did not know which I was destined for." "Hum! exactly what he said to me, with the slight addition that he strongly suspected that Mackenzie River would be my doom. Are you aware, Hammy, my boy, that the Saskatchewan district is a sort of terrestrial paradise, and Mackenzie River equivalent to Botany Bay?" "I have heard as much during our conversations in Bachelors' Hall, but-- Stop a bit, Harry; these snow-shoe lines of mine have got loosened with tearing through this deep snow and these shockingly thick bushes. There--they are right now; go on. I was going to say that I don't--oh!" This last exclamation was elicited from Hamilton by a sharp blow caused by a branch which, catching on part of Harry's dress as he plodded on in front, suddenly rebounded and struck him across the face. This is of common occurrence in travelling through the woods, especially to those who from inexperience walk too closely on the heels of their companions. "What's wrong now, Hammy?" inquired his friend, looking over his shoulder. "Oh, nothing worth mentioning--rather a sharp blow from a branch, that's all." "Well, proceed; you've interrupted yourself twice in what you were going to say. Perhaps it'll come out if you try it a third time." "I was merely going to say that I don't much care where I am sent to, so long as it is not to an outpost where I shall be all alone." "All very well, my friend; but seeing that outposts are, in comparison with principal forts, about a hundred to one, your chance of avoiding them is rather slight. However, our youth and want of experience is in our favour, as they like to send men who have seen some service to outposts. But I fear that, with such brilliant characters as you and I, Hammy, youth will only be an additional recommendation, and inexperience won't last long.--Hollo! what's going on yonder?" Harry pointed as he spoke to an open spot in the woods about a quarter of a mile in advance, where a dark object was seen lying on the snow, writhing about, now coiling into a lump, and anon extending itself like a huge snake in agony. As the two friends looked, a prolonged howl floated towards them. "Something wrong with the dogs, I declare!" cried Harry. "No doubt of it," replied his friend, hurrying forward, as they saw their Indian guide rise from the ground and flourish his whip energetically, while the howls rapidly increased. A few minutes brought them to the scene of action, where they found the dogs engaged in a fight among themselves, and the driver, in a state of vehement passion, alternately belabouring and trying to separate them. Dogs in these regions, like the dogs of all other regions, we suppose, are very much addicted to fighting--a propensity which becomes extremely unpleasant if indulged while the animals are in harness, as they then become peculiarly savage, probably from their being unable, like an ill-assorted pair in wedlock, to cut or break the ties that bind them. Moreover, they twist the traces into such an ingeniously complicated mass that it renders disentanglement almost impossible, even after exhaustion has reduced them to obedience. Besides this, they are so absorbed in worrying each other that for the time they are utterly regardless of their driver's lash or voice. This naturally makes the driver angry, and sometimes irascible men practise shameful cruelties on the poor dogs. When the two friends came up they found the Indian glaring at the animals, as they fought and writhed in the snow, with every lineament of his swarthy face distorted with passion, and panting from his late exertions. Suddenly he threw himself on the dogs again, and lashed them furiously with the whip. Finding that this had no effect, he twined the lash round his hand, and struck them violently over their heads and snouts with the handle; then falling down on his knees, he caught the most savage of the animals by the throat, and seizing its nose between his teeth almost bit it off. The appalling yell that followed this cruel act seemed to subdue the dogs, for they ceased to fight, and crouched, whining, in the snow. With a bound like a tiger young Hamilton sprang upon the guide, and seizing him by the throat, hurled him violently to the ground. "Scoundrel!" he cried, standing over the crestfallen Indian with flushed face and flashing eyes, "how dare you thus treat the creatures of God?" The young man would have spoken more, but his indignation was so fierce that it could not find vent in words. For a moment he raised his fist, as if he meditated dashing the Indian again to the ground as he slowly arose; then, as if changing his mind, he seized him by the back of the neck, thrust him towards the panting dogs, and stood in silence over him with the whip grasped firmly in his hand, while he disentangled the traces. This accomplished, Hamilton ordered him in a voice of suppressed anger to "go forward"--an order which the cowed guide promptly obeyed, and in a few minutes more the two friends were again alone. "Hamilton, my boy," exclaimed Harry, who up to this moment seemed to have been petrified, "you have perfectly amazed me! I'm utterly bewildered." "Indeed, I fear that I have been very violent," said Hamilton, blushing deeply. "Violent!" exclaimed his friend. "Why, man, I've completely mistaken your character. I--I--" "I hope not, Harry," said Hamilton, in a subdued tone; "I hope not. Believe me, I am not naturally violent. I should be very sorry were you to think so. Indeed, I never felt thus before, and now that it is over I am amazed at myself; but surely you'll admit that there was great provocation. Such terrible cruelty to--" "My dear fellow, you quite misunderstand me. I'm amazed at your pluck, your energy. _Soft_, indeed! we have been most egregiously mistaken. Provocation! I just think you had; my only sorrow is that you didn't give him a little more." "Come, come, Harry; I see you would be as cruel to him as he was to the poor dog. But let us press forward; it is already growing dark, and we must not let the fellow out of sight ahead of us." "_Allons, donc_," cried Harry; and hastening their steps, they travelled silently and rapidly among the stems of the trees, while the shades of night gathered slowly round them. That night the three travellers encamped in the snow under the shelter of a spreading pine. The encampment was formed almost exactly in a similar manner to that in which they had slept on the night of their exploits at North River. They talked less, however, than on that occasion, and slept more soundly. Before retiring to rest, and while Harry was extended, half asleep and half awake, on his green blanket, enjoying the delightful repose that follows a hard day's march and a good supper, Hamilton drew near to the Indian, who sat sullenly smoking a little apart from the young men. Sitting down beside him, he administered a long rebuke in a low, grave tone of voice. Like rebukes generally, it had the effect of making the visage of the Indian still more sullen. But the young man did not appear to notice this; he still continued to talk. As he went on, the look grew less and less sullen, until it faded entirely away, and was succeeded by the grave, quiet, respectful expression peculiar to the face of the North American Indian. Day succeeded day, night followed night, and still found them plodding laboriously through the weary waste of snow, or encamping under the trees of the forest. The two friends went through all the varied stages of experience which are included in what is called "becoming used to the work," which is sometimes a modified meaning of the expression "used up." They started with a degree of vigour that one would have thought no amount of hard work could possibly abate. They became aware of the melancholy fact that fatigue unstrings the youngest and toughest sinews. They pressed on, however, from stern necessity, and found, to their delight, that young muscles recover their elasticity even in the midst of severe exertion. They still pressed on, and discovered, to their dismay, that this recovery was only temporary, and that the second state of exhaustion was infinitely worse than the first. Still they pressed on, and raised blisters on their feet and toes that caused them to limp woefully; then they learned that blisters break and take a long time to heal, and are much worse to walk upon during the healing process than they are at the commencement--at which time they innocently fancied that nothing could be more dreadful. Still they pressed on day after day, and found to their satisfaction that such things can be endured and overcome; that feet and toes can become hard like leather, that muscles can grow tough as india-rubber, and that spirits and energy can attain to a pitch of endurance which nothing within the compass of a day's march can by any possibility overcome. They found also, from experience, that their conversation changed, both in manner and subject, as they progressed on their journey. At first they conversed frequently and on various topics, chiefly on the probability of their being sent to pleasant places or the reverse. Then they spoke less frequently, and growled occasionally, as they advanced in the painful process of training. After that, as they began to get hardy, they talked of the trees, the snow, the ice, the tracks of wild animals they happened to cross, and the objects of nature generally that came under their observation. Then as their muscles hardened and their sinews grew tough, and the day's march at length became first a matter of indifference, and ultimately an absolute pleasure, they chatted cheerily on any and every subject, or sang occasionally, when the sun shone out and cast an _appearance_ of warmth across their path. Thus onward they pressed, without halt or stay, day after day, through wood and brake, over river and lake, on ice and on snow, for miles and miles together, through the great, uninhabited, frozen wilderness. CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR. HOPES AND FEARS--AN UNEXPECTED MEETING--PHILOSOPHICAL TALK BETWEEN THE HUNTER AND THE PARSON. On arriving at Norway House, Harry Somerville and his friend Hamilton found that they were to remain at that establishment during an indefinite period of time, until it should please those in whose hands their ultimate destination lay to direct them how and where to proceed. This was an unlooked-for trial of their patience; but after the first exclamation of disappointment, they made up their minds, like wise men, to think no more about it, but bide their time, and make the most of present circumstances. "You see," remarked Hamilton, as the two friends, after having had an audience of the gentleman in charge of the establishment, sauntered toward the rocks that overhang the margin of Playgreen Lake--"you see, it is of no use to fret about what we cannot possibly help. Nobody within three hundred miles of us knows where we are destined to spend next winter. Perhaps orders may come in a couple of weeks, perhaps in a couple of months, but they will certainly come at last. Anyhow, it is of no use thinking about it, so we had better forget it, and make the best of things as we find them." "Ah!" exclaimed Harry, "your advice is that we should by all means be happy, and if we can't be happy, be as happy as we can. Is that it?" "Just so. That's it exactly." "Ho! But then you see, Hammy, you're a philosopher, and I'm not, and that makes all the difference. I'm not given to anticipating evil, but I cannot help dreading that they will send me to some lonely, swampy, out-of-the-way hole, where there will be no society, no shooting, no riding, no work even to speak of--nothing, in fact, but the miserable satisfaction of being styled `bourgeois' by five or six men, wretched outcasts like myself." "Come, Harry," cried Hamilton, "you are taking the very worst view of it. There certainly are plenty of such outposts in the country, but you know very well that young fellows like you are seldom sent to such places." "I don't know that," interrupted Harry. "There's young McAndrew: he was sent to an outpost up the Mackenzie his second year in the service, where he was all but starved, and had to live for about two weeks on boiled parchment. Then there's poor Forrester: he was shipped off to a place--the name of which I never could remember--somewhere between the head-waters of the Athabasca Lake and the North Pole. To be sure, he had good shooting, I'm told, but he had only four labouring men to enjoy it with; and he has been there _ten_ years now, and he has more than once had to scrape the rocks of that detestable stuff called _tripe de roche_ to keep himself alive. And then there's--" "Very true," interrupted Hamilton. "Then there's your friend Charles Kennedy, whom you so often talk about, and many other young fellows we know, who have been sent to the Saskatchewan, and to the Columbia, and to Athabasca, and to a host of other capital places, where they have enough of society--male society, at least--and good sport." The young men had climbed a rocky eminence which commanded a view of the lake on the one side, and the fort, with its background of woods, on the other. Here they sat down on a stone, and continued for some time to admire the scene in silence. "Yes," said Harry, resuming the thread of discourse, "you are right: we have a good chance of seeing some pleasant parts of the country. But suspense is not pleasant. O man, if they would only send me up the Saskatchewan River! I've set my heart upon going there. I'm quite sure it's the very best place in the whole country." "You've told the truth that time, master," said a deep voice behind them. The young men turned quickly round. Close beside them, and leaning composedly on a long Indian fowling-piece, stood a tall, broad-shouldered, sunburned man, apparently about forty years of age. He was dressed in the usual leathern hunting-coat, cloth leggings, fur cap, mittens, and moccasins that constitute the winter garb of a hunter; and had a grave, firm, but good-humoured expression of countenance. "You've told the truth that time, master," he repeated, without moving from his place. "The Saskatchewan _is_, to my mind, the best place in the whole country; and havin' seen a considerable deal o' places in my time, I can speak from experience." "Indeed, friend," said Harry, "I'm glad to hear you say so. Come, sit down beside us, and let's hear something about it." Thus invited, the hunter seated himself on a stone and laid his gun on the hollow of his left arm. "First of all, friend," continued Harry, "do you belong to the fort here?" "No," replied the man; "I'm stayin' here just now, but I don't belong to the place." "Where do you come from, then, and what's your name?" "Why, I've comed d'rect from the Saskatchewan with a packet o' letters. I'm payin' a visit to the missionary village yonder"--the hunter pointed as he spoke across the lake--"and when the ice breaks up I shall get a canoe and return again." "And your name?" "Why, I've got four or five names. Somehow or other, people have given me a nickname wherever I ha' chanced to go. But my true name, and the one I hail by just now, is Jacques Caradoc." "Jacques Caradoc!" exclaimed Harry, starting with surprise. "You knew a Charley Kennedy in the Saskatchewan, did you?" "That did I. As fine a lad as ever pulled a trigger." "Give us your hand, friend," exclaimed Harry, springing forward and seizing the hunter's large, hard fist in both hands. "Why, man, Charley is my dearest friend, and I had a letter from him some time ago in which he speaks of you, and says you're one of the best fellows he ever met." "You don't say so," replied the hunter, returning Harry's grasp warmly, while his eyes sparkled with pleasure, and a quiet smile played at the corners of his mouth. "Yes I do," said Harry; "and I'm very nearly as glad to meet with you, friend Jacques, as I would be to meet with him. But come; it's cold work talking here. Let's go to my room; there's a fire in the stove.-- Come along, Hammy;" and taking his new friend by the arm, he hurried him along to his quarters in the fort. Just as they were passing under the fort gate, a large mass of snow became detached from a housetop and fell heavily at their feet, passing within an inch of Hamilton's nose. The young man started back with an exclamation, and became very red in the face. "Hollo!" cried Harry, laughing, "got a fright, Hammy! That went so close to your chin that it almost saved you the trouble of shaving." "Yes; I got a little fright from the suddenness of it," said Hamilton quietly. "What do you think of my friend there?" said Harry to Jacques in a low voice, pointing to Hamilton, who walked on in advance. "I've not seen much of him, master," replied the hunter. "Had I been asked the same question about the same lad twenty years agone, I should ha' said he was soft, and perhaps chicken-hearted. But I've learned from experience to judge better than I used to do. I niver thinks o' formin' an opinion o' any one till I've seen them called to sudden action. It's astonishin' how some faint-hearted men will come to face a danger and put on an awful look o' courage if they only get warnin'; but take them by surprise--that's the way to try them." "Well, Jacques, that is the very reason why I ask your opinion of Hamilton. He was pretty well taken by surprise that time, I think." "True, master; but _that_ kind o' start don't prove much. Hows'ever, I don't think he's easy upset. He does look uncommon soft, and his face grew red when the snow fell, but his eyebrow and his under lip showed that it wasn't from fear." During that afternoon and the greater part of that night the three friends continued in close conversation--Harry sitting in front of the stove, with his hands in his pockets, on a chair tilted as usual on its hind legs, and pouring out volleys of questions, which were pithily answered by the good-humoured, loquacious hunter, who sat behind the stove, resting his elbows on his knees, and smoking his much-loved pipe; while Hamilton reclined on Harry's bed, and listened with eager avidity to anecdotes and stories, which seemed, like the narrator's pipe, to be inexhaustible. "Good-night, Jacques, good-night," said Harry, as the latter rose at last to depart; "I'm delighted to have had a talk with you. You must come back to-morrow. I want to hear more about your friend Redfeather. Where did you say you left him?" "In the Saskatchewan, master. He said that he would wait there, as he'd heerd the missionary was comin' up to pay the Injins a visit." "By-the-bye, you're going over to the missionary's place to-morrow, are you not?" "Yes, I am." "Ah, then, that'll do. I'll go over with you. How far off is it?" "Three miles or thereabouts." "Very good. Call in here as you pass, and my friend Hamilton and I will accompany you. Good-night." Jacques thrust his pipe into his bosom, held out his horny hand, and giving his young friends a hearty shake, turned and strode from the room. On the following day Jacques called according to promise, and the three friends set off together to visit the Indian village. This missionary station was under the management of a Wesleyan clergyman, Pastor Conway by name, an excellent man, of about forty-five years of age, with an energetic mind and body, a bald head, a mild, expressive countenance, and a robust constitution. He was admirably qualified for his position, having a natural aptitude for every sort of work that man is usually called on to perform. His chief care was for the instruction of the Indians, whom he had induced to settle around him, in the great and all-important truths of Christianity. He invented an alphabet, and taught them to write and read their own language. He commenced the laborious task of translating the Scriptures into the Cree language; and being an excellent musician, he instructed his converts to sing in parts the psalms and Wesleyan hymns, many of which are exceedingly beautiful. A school was also established and a church built under his superintendence, so that the natives assembled in an orderly way in a commodious sanctuary every Sabbath day to worship God; while the children were instructed, not only in the Scriptures, and made familiar with the narrative of the humiliation and exaltation of our blessed Saviour, but were also taught the elementary branches of a secular education. But good Pastor Conway's energy did not stop here. Nature had gifted him with that peculiar genius which is powerfully expressed in the term "a _jack-of-all-trades_." He could turn his hand to anything; and being, as we have said, an energetic man, he _did_ turn his hand to almost everything. If anything happened to get broken, the pastor could either mend it himself or direct how it was to be done. If a house was to be built for a new family of red men, who had never handled a saw or hammer in their lives, and had lived up to that time in tents, the pastor lent a hand to begin it, drew out the plan (not a very complicated thing, certainly), set them fairly at work, and kept his eye on it until it was finished. In short, the worthy pastor was everything to everybody, "that by all means he might gain some." Under such management the village flourished as a matter of course, although it did not increase very rapidly owing to the almost unconquerable aversion of North American Indians to take up a settled habitation. It was to this little hamlet, then, that our three friends directed their steps. On arriving, they found Pastor Conway in a sort of workshop, giving directions to an Indian who stood with a soldering-iron in one hand and a sheet of tin in the other, which he was about to apply to a curious-looking, half-finished machine that bore some resemblance to a canoe. "Ah, my friend Jacques!" he exclaimed as the hunter approached him; "the very man I wished to see. But I beg pardon, gentlemen--strangers, I perceive. You are heartily welcome. It is seldom that I have the pleasure of seeing new friends in my wild dwelling. Pray come with me to my house." Pastor Conway shook hands with Harry and Hamilton with a degree of warmth that evinced the sincerity of his words. The young men thanked him and accepted the invitation. As they turned to quit the workshop, the pastor observed Jacques's eye fixed, with a puzzled expression of countenance, on his canoe. "You have never seen anything like that before, I dare say?" said he, with a smile. "No, sir; I never did see such a queer machine afore." "It is a tin canoe, with which I hope to pass through many miles of country this spring, on my way to visit a tribe of Northern Indians; and it was about this very thing that I wanted to see you, my friend." Jacques made no reply, but cast a look savouring very slightly of contempt on the unfinished canoe as they turned and went away. The pastor's dwelling stood at one end of the village, a view of which it commanded from the back windows, while those in front overlooked the lake. It was pleasantly situated and pleasantly tenanted, for the pastor's wife was a cheerful, active little lady, like-minded with himself, and delighted to receive and entertain strangers. To her care Mr Conway consigned the young men, after spending a short time in conversation with them; and then, requesting his wife to show them through the village, he took Jacques by the arm and sauntered out. "Come with me, Jacques," he began; "I have somewhat to say to you. I had not time to broach the subject when I met you at the Company's fort, and have been anxious to see you ever since. You tell me that you have met with my friend Redfeather?" "Yes, sir; I spent a week or two with him last fall. I found him stayin' with his tribe, and we started to come down here together." "Ah, that is the very point," exclaimed the pastor, "that I wished to inquire about. I firmly believe that God has opened that Indian's eyes to see the truth; and I fully expected, from what he said when we last met, that he would have made up his mind to come and stay here." "As to what the Almighty has done to him," said Jacques, in a reverential tone of voice, "I don't pretend to know; he did for sartin speak, and act too, in a way that I never see'd an Injin do before. But about his comin' here, sir, you were quite right: he did mean to come, and I've no doubt will come yet." "What prevented him coming with you, as you tell me he intended?" inquired the pastor. "Well, you see, sir, he and I and his squaw, as I said, set off to come here together; but when we got the length o' Edmonton House, we heerd that you were comin' up to pay a visit to the tribe to which Redfeather belongs; and so seein' that it was o' no use to come down hereaway just to turn about an' go up agin, he stopped there to wait for you, for he knew you would want him to interpret--" "Ay," interrupted the pastor, "that's true. I have two reasons for wishing to have him here. The primary one is, that he may get good to his immortal soul. And then he understands English so well that I want him to become my interpreter; for although I _understand_ the Cree language pretty well now, I find it exceedingly difficult to explain the doctrines of the Bible to my people in it. But pardon me, I interrupted you." "I was only going to say," resumed Jacques, "that I made up my mind to stay with him; but they wanted a man to bring the winter packet here, so, as they pressed me very hard, an' I had nothin' particular to do, I 'greed and came, though I would rather ha' stopped; for Redfeather an' I ha' struck up a friendship togither--a thing that I would niver ha' thought it poss'ble for me to do with a red Injin." "And why not with a red Indian, friend?" inquired the pastor, while a shade of sadness passed over his mild features, as if unpleasant thoughts had been roused by the hunter's speech. "Well, it's not easy to say why," rejoined the other. "I've no partic'lar objection to the redskins. There's only one man among them that I bears a grudge agin, and even that one I'd rayther avoid than otherwise." "But you should _forgive_ him, Jacques. The Bible tells us not only to bear our enemies no grudge, but to love them and to do them good." The hunter's brow darkened. "That's impossible, sir," he said; "I couldn't do _him_ a good turn if I was to try ever so hard. He may bless his stars that I don't want to do him mischief; but to _love him_, it's jist imposs'ble." "With man it is impossible, but with God all things are possible," said the pastor solemnly. Jacques's naturally philosophic though untutored mind saw the force of this. He felt that God, who had formed his soul, his body, and the wonderfully complicated machinery and objects of nature, which were patent to his observant and reflective mind wherever he went, must of necessity be equally able to alter, influence, and remould them all according to his will. Common-sense was sufficient to teach him this; and the bold hunter exhibited no ordinary amount of common-sense in admitting the fact at once, although in the case under discussion (the loving of his enemy) it seemed utterly impossible to his feelings and experience. The frown, therefore, passed from his brow, while he said respectfully, "What you say, sir, is true; I believe though I can't _feel_ it. But I s'pose the reason I niver felt much drawn to the redskins is, that all the time I lived in the settlements I was used to hear them called and treated as thievin' dogs, an' when I com'd among them I didn't see much to alter my opinion. Here an' there I have found one or two honest Injins, an' Redfeather is as true as steel; but the most o' them are no better than they should be. I s'pose I don't think much o' them just because they _are_ redskins." "Ah, Jacques, you will excuse me if I say that there is not much sense in _that_ reason. An Indian cannot help being a red man any more than you can help being a white one, so that he ought not to be despised on that account. Besides, God made him what he is, and to despise the _work_ of God, or to undervalue it, is to despise God himself. You may indeed despise, or rather abhor, the sins that red men are guilty of; but if you despise _them_ on this ground, you must much more despise white men, for _they_ are guilty of greater iniquities than Indians are. They have more knowledge, and are, therefore, more inexcusable when they sin; and any one who has travelled much must be aware that, in regard to general wickedness, white men are at least quite as bad as Indians. Depend upon it, Jacques, that there will be Indians found in heaven at the last day as well as white men. God is no respecter of persons." "I niver thought much on that subject afore, sir," returned the hunter; "what you say seems reasonable enough. I'm sure an' sartin, any way, that if there's a redskin in heaven at all, Redfeather will be there, an' I only hope that I may be there too to keep him company." "I hope so, my friend," said the pastor earnestly; "I hope so too, with all my heart. And if you will accept of this little book, it will show you how to get there." The missionary drew a small, plainly-bound copy of the Bible from his pocket as he spoke, and presented it to Jacques, who received it with a smile, and thanked him, saying, at the same time, that he "was not much up to book-larnin', but he would read it with pleasure." "Now, Jacques," said the pastor, after a little further conversation on the subject of the Bible, in which he endeavoured to impress upon him the absolute necessity of being acquainted with the blessed truths which it contains--"now, Jacques, about my visit to the Indians. I intend, if the Almighty spares me, to embark in yon tin canoe that you found me engaged with, and, with six men to work it, proceed to the country of the Knisteneux Indians, visit their chief camp, and preach to them there as long as the weather will permit. When the season is pretty well advanced, and winter threatens to cut off my retreat, I shall re-embark in my canoe and return home. By this means I hope to be able to sow the good seed of Christian truth in the hearts of men who, as they will not come to this settlement, have no chance of being brought under the power of the gospel by any other means." Jacques gave one of his quiet smiles on hearing this. "Right, sir-- right," he said, with some energy; "I have always thought, although I niver made bold to say it before, that there was not enough o' this sort o' thing. It has always seemed to me a kind o' madness (excuse my plainness o' speech, sir) in you pastors, thinkin' to make the redskins come an' settle round you like so many squaws, and dig up an' grub at the ground, when it's quite clear that their natur' and the natur' o' things about them meant them to be hunters. An' surely since the Almighty made them hunters, He intended them to _be_ hunters, an' won't refuse to make them Christians on _that_ account. A redskin's natur' is a huntin' natur', an' nothin' on arth'll ever make it anything else." "There is much truth in what you observe, friend," rejoined the pastor; "but you are not _altogether_ right. Their nature _may_ be changed, although certainly nothing on _earth_ will change it. Look at that frozen lake." He pointed to the wide field of thick, snow-covered ice that stretched out for miles like a sheet of white marble before them. "Could anything on earth break up or sink or melt that?" "Nothin'," replied Jacques laconically-- "But the warm beams of yon glorious sun can do it," continued the pastor, pointing upwards as he spoke, "and do it effectually, too; so that, although you can scarcely observe the process, it nevertheless turns the hard, thick, solid ice into limpid water at last. So is it in regard to man. Nothing on earth can change his heart or alter his nature; but our Saviour, who is called the Sun of Righteousness, can. When He shines into a man's soul it melts. The old man becomes a little child, the wild savage a Christian. But I agree with you in thinking that we have not been sufficiently alive to the necessity of seeking to convert the Indians before trying to gather them round us. The one would follow as a natural consequence, I think, of the other, and it is owing to this conviction that I intend, as I have already said, to make a journey in spring to visit those who will not or cannot come to visit me. And now, what I want to ask is, whether you will agree to accompany me as steersman and guide on my expedition." The hunter slowly shook his head. "I'm afeard not, sir; I have already promised to take charge of a canoe for the Company. I would much rather go with you, but I must keep my word." "Certainly, Jacques, certainly; that settles the question. You cannot go with me--unless--" the pastor paused as if in thought for a moment--"unless you can persuade them to let you off." "Well, sir, I can try," returned Jacques. "Do; and I need not say how happy I shall be if you succeed. Good-day, friend, good-bye." So saying, the missionary shook hands with the hunter and returned to his house, while Jacques wended his way to the village in search of Harry and Hamilton. CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE. GOOD NEWS AND ROMANTIC SCENERY--BEAR-HUNTING AND ITS RESULTS. Jacques failed in his attempt to break off his engagement with the fur-traders. The gentleman in charge of Norway House, albeit a good-natured, estimable man, was one who could not easily brook disappointment, especially in matters that involved the interests of the Hudson's Bay Company; so Jacques was obliged to hold to his compact, and the pastor had to search for another guide. Spring came, and with it the awakening (if we may use the expression) of the country from the long, lethargic sleep of winter. The sun burst forth with irresistible power, and melted all before it. Ice and snow quickly dissolved, and set free the waters of swamp and river, lake and sea, to leap and sparkle in their new-found liberty. Birds renewed their visits to the regions of the north; frogs, at last unfrozen, opened their leathern jaws to croak and whistle in the marshes, and men began their preparations for a summer campaign. At the commencement of the season an express arrived with letters from headquarters, which, among other matters of importance, directed that Messrs. Somerville and Hamilton should be dispatched forthwith to the Saskatchewan district, where, on reaching Fort Pitt, they were to place themselves at the disposal of the gentleman in charge of the district. It need scarcely be added that the young men were overjoyed on receiving this almost unhoped-for intelligence, and that Harry expressed his satisfaction in his usual hilarious manner, asserting somewhat profanely, in the excess of his glee, that the governor-in-chief of Rupert's Land was a "regular brick." Hamilton agreed to all his friend's remarks with a quiet smile, accompanied by a slight chuckle, and a somewhat desperate attempt at a caper, which attempt, bordering as it did on a region of buffoonery into which our quiet and gentlemanly friend had never dared hitherto to venture, proved an awkward and utter failure. He felt this, and blushed deeply. It was further arranged and agreed upon that the young men should accompany Jacques Caradoc in his canoe. Having become sufficiently expert canoemen to handle their paddles well, they scouted the idea of taking men with them, and resolved to launch boldly forth at once as _bona-fide_ voyageurs. To this arrangement Jacques, after one or two trials to test their skill, agreed; and very shortly after the arrival of the express, the trio set out on their voyage, amid the cheers and adieus of the entire population of Norway House, who were assembled on the end of the wooden wharf to witness their departure, and with whom they had managed, during their short residence at that place, to become special favourites. A month later, the pastor of the Indian village, having procured a trusty guide, embarked in his tin canoe with a crew of six men, and followed in their track. In process of time spring merged into summer--a season chiefly characterised in those climes by intense heat and innumerable clouds of mosquitoes, whose vicious and incessant attacks render life, for the time being, a burden. Our three voyageurs, meanwhile, ascended the Saskatchewan, penetrating deeper each day into the heart of the North American continent. On arriving at Fort Pitt, they were graciously permitted to rest for three days, after which they were forwarded to another district, where fresh efforts were being made to extend the fur-trade into lands hitherto almost unvisited. This continuation of their travels was quite suited to the tastes and inclinations of Harry and Hamilton, and was hailed by them as an additional reason for self-gratulation. As for Jacques, he cared little to what part of the world he chanced to be sent. To hunt, to toil in rain and in sunshine, in heat and in cold, at the paddle or on the snow-shoe, was his vocation, and it mattered little to the bold hunter whether he plied it upon the plains of the Saskatchewan or among the woods of Athabasca. Besides, the companions of his travels were young, active, bold, adventurous, and therefore quite suited to his taste. Redfeather, too, his best and dearest friend, had been induced to return to his tribe for the purpose of mediating between some of the turbulent members of it and the white men who had gone to settle among them, so that the prospect of again associating with his red friend was an additional element in his satisfaction. As Charley Kennedy was also in this district, the hope of seeing him once more was a subject of such unbounded delight to Harry Somerville, and so, sympathetically, to young Hamilton, that it was with difficulty they could realise the full amount of their good fortune, or give adequate expression to their feelings. It is, therefore, probable that there never were three happier travellers than Jacques, Harry, and Hamilton, as they shouldered their guns and paddles, shook hands with the inmates of Fort Pitt, and with light steps and lighter hearts launched their canoe, turned their bronzed faces once more to the summer sun, and dipped their paddles again in the rippling waters of the Saskatchewan River. As their bark was exceedingly small, and burdened with but little lading, they resolved to abandon the usual route, and penetrate the wilderness through a maize of lakes and small rivers well known to their guide. By this arrangement they hoped to travel more speedily, and avoid navigating a long sweep of the river by making a number of portages; while, at the same time, the changeful nature of the route was likely to render it more interesting. From the fact of its being seldom traversed, it was also more likely that they should find a supply of game for the journey. Towards sunset, one fine day, about two weeks after their departure from Fort Pitt, our voyageurs paddled their canoe round a wooded point of land that jutted out from, and partially concealed, the mouth of a large river, down whose stream they had dropped leisurely during the last three days, and swept out upon the bosom of a large lake. This was one of those sheets of water which glitter in hundreds on the green bosom of America's forests, and are so numerous and comparatively insignificant as to be scarce distinguished by a name, unless when they lie directly in the accustomed route of the fur-traders. But although, in comparison with the fresh-water oceans of the Far West, this lake was unnoticed and almost unknown, it would by no means have been regarded in such a light had it been transported to the plains of England. In regard to picturesque beauty it was perhaps unsurpassed. It might be about six miles wide, and so long that the land at the farther end of it was faintly discernible on the horizon. Wooded hills, sloping gently down to the water's edge; jutting promontories, some rocky and barren, others more or less covered with trees; deep bays, retreating in some places into the dark recesses of a savage-looking gorge, in others into a distant meadow-like plain, bordered with a stripe of yellow sand; beautiful islands of various sizes, scattered along the shores as if nestling there for security, or standing barren and solitary in the centre of the lake, like bulwarks of the wilderness, some covered with luxuriant vegetation, others bald and grotesque in outline, and covered with gulls and other waterfowl,--this was the scene that broke upon the view of the travellers as they rounded the point, and, ceasing to paddle, gazed upon it long and in deep silence, their hands raised to shade their eyes from the sun's rays, which sparkled in the water, and fell, here in bright spots and broken patches, and there in yellow floods, upon the rocks, the trees, the forest glades and plains around them. "What a glorious scene!" murmured Hamilton, almost unconsciously. "A perfect paradise!" said Harry, with a long-drawn sigh of satisfaction.--"Why, Jacques, my friend, it's a matter of wonder to me that you, a free man, without relations or friends to curb you, or attract you to other parts of the world, should go boating and canoeing all over the country at the beck of the fur-traders, when you might come and pitch your tent here for ever!" "For ever!" echoed Jacques. "Well, I mean as long as you live in this world." "Ah, master," rejoined the guide, in a sad tone of voice, "it's just because I have neither kith nor kin nor friends to draw me to any partic'lar spot on arth, that I don't care to settle down in this one, beautiful though it be." "True, true," muttered Harry; "man's a gregarious animal, there's no doubt of that." "Anon?" exclaimed Jacques. "I meant to say that man naturally loves company," replied Harry, smiling. "An' yit I've seen some as didn't, master; though, to be sure, that was onnat'ral, and there's not many o' them, by good luck. Yes, man's fond o' seein' the face o' man." "And woman too," interrupted Harry.--"Eh, Hamilton, what say you? "`O woman, in our hours of ease Uncertain, coy, and hard to please, When pain and anguish wring the brow, A ministering angel thou.' "Alas, Hammy! pain and anguish and everything else may wring our unfortunate brows here long enough before woman, `lovely woman,' will come to our aid. What a rare sight it would be, now, to see even an ordinary housemaid or cook out here! It would be good for sore eyes. It seems to me a sort of horrible untruth to say that I've not seen a woman since I left Red River; and yet it's a frightful fact, for I don't count the copper-coloured nondescripts one meets with hereabouts to be women at all. I suppose they are, but they don't look like it." "Don't be a goose, Harry," said Hamilton. "Certainly not, my friend. If I were under the disagreeable necessity of being anything but what I am, I should rather be something that is not in the habit of being shot," replied the other, paddling with renewed vigour in order to get rid of some of the superabundant spirits that the beautiful scene and brilliant weather, acting on a young and ardent nature, had called forth. "Some of these same redskins," remarked the guide, "are not such bad sort o' women, for all their ill looks. I've know'd more than one that was a first-rate wife an' a good mother, though it's true they had little edication beyond that o' the woods." "No doubt of it," replied Harry, laughing gaily. "How shall I keep the canoe's head, Jacques?" "Right away for the p'int that lies jist between you an' the sun." "Yes; I give them all credit for being excellent wives and mothers, after a fashion," resumed Harry. "I've no wish to asperse the character of the poor Indians; but you must know, Jacques, that they're very different from the women that I allude to and of whom Scott sung. His heroines were of a _very_ different stamp and colour!" "Did he sing of niggers?" inquired Jacques simply. "Of niggers!" shouted Harry, looking over his shoulder at Hamilton, with a broad grin; "no, Jacques, not exactly of niggers--" "Hist!" exclaimed the guide, with that peculiar, subdued energy that at once indicates an unexpected discovery, and enjoins caution, while at the same moment, by a deep, powerful back-stroke of his paddle, he suddenly checked the rapid motion of the canoe. Harry and his friend glanced quickly over their shoulders with a look of surprise. "What's in the wind now?" whispered the former. "Stop paddling, masters, and look ahead at the rock yonder, jist under the tall cliff. There's a bear a-sittin' there, an' if we can only get to shore afore he sees us, we're sartin sure of him." As the guide spoke he slowly edged the canoe towards the shore, while the young men gazed with eager looks in the direction indicated, where they beheld what appeared to be the decayed stump of an old tree or a mass of brown rock. While they strained their eyes to see it more clearly, the object altered its form and position. "So it is," they exclaimed simultaneously, in a tone that was equivalent to the remark, "Now we believe, because we see it." In a few seconds the bow of the canoe touched the land, so lightly as to be quite inaudible, and Harry, stepping gently over the side, drew it forward a couple of feet, while his companions disembarked. "Now, Mister Harry," said the guide, as he slung a powder-horn and shot-belt over his shoulder, "we've no need to circumvent the beast, for he's circumvented hisself." "How so?" inquired the other, drawing the shot from his fowling-piece, and substituting in its place a leaden bullet. Jacques led the way through the somewhat thinly scattered underwood as he replied, "You see, Mister Harry, the place where he's gone to sun hisself is jist at the foot o' a sheer precipice, which runs round ahead of him and juts out into the water, so that he's got three ways to choose between. He must clamber up the precipice, which will take him some time, I guess, if he can do it at all; or he must take to the water, which he don't like, and won't do if he can help it; or he must run out the way he went in, but as we shall go to meet him by the same road, he'll have to break our ranks before he gains the woods, an' that'll be no easy job." The party soon reached the narrow pass between the lake and the near end of the cliff, where they advanced with greater caution, and peeping over the low bushes, beheld Bruin, a large brown fellow, sitting on his haunches, and rocking himself slowly to and fro, as he gazed abstractedly at the water. He was scarcely within good shot, but the cover was sufficiently thick to admit of a nearer approach. "Now, Hamilton," said Harry, in a low whisper, "take the first shot. I killed the last one, so it's your turn this time." Hamilton hesitated, but could make no reasonable objection to this, although his unselfish nature prompted him to let his friend have the first chance. However, Jacques decided the matter by saying, in a tone that savoured strongly of command, although it was accompanied with a good-humoured smile-- "Go for'ard, young man; but you may as well put in the primin' first." Poor Hamilton hastily rectified this oversight with a deep blush, at the same time muttering that he never _would_ make a hunter; and then advanced cautiously through the bushes, slowly followed at a short distance by his companions. On reaching a bush within seventy yards of the bear, Hamilton pushed the twigs aside with the muzzle of his gun; his eye flashed and his courage mounted as he gazed at the truly formidable animal before him, and he felt more of the hunter's spirit within him at that moment than he would have believed possible a few minutes before. Unfortunately, a hunter's spirit does not necessarily imply a hunter's eye or hand. Having, with much care and long time, brought his piece to bear exactly where he supposed the brute's heart should be, he observed that the gun was on half-cock, by nearly breaking the trigger in his convulsive efforts to fire. By the time that this error was rectified, Bruin, who seemed to feel intuitively that some imminent danger threatened him, rose, and began to move about uneasily, which so alarmed the young hunter lest he should lose his shot that he took a hasty aim, fired, and _missed_. Harry asserted afterwards that he even missed the cliff! On hearing the loud report, which rolled in echoes along the precipice, Bruin started, and looking round with an undecided air, saw Harry step quietly from the bushes, and fire, sending a ball into his flank. This decided him. With a fierce growl of pain, he scampered towards the water; then changing his mind, he wheeled round, and dashed at the cliff, up which he scrambled with wonderful speed. "Come, Mister Hamilton, load again; quick. I'll have to do the job myself, I fear," said Jacques, as he leaned quietly on his long gun, and with a half-pitying smile watched the young man, who madly essayed to recharge his piece more rapidly than it was possible for mortal man to do. Meanwhile, Harry had reloaded and fired again; but owing to the perturbation of his young spirits, and the frantic efforts of the bear to escape, he missed. Another moment, and the animal would actually have reached the top, when Jacques hastily fired, and brought it tumbling down the precipice. Owing to the position of the animal at the time he fired, the wound was not mortal; and foreseeing that Bruin would now become the aggressor, the hunter began rapidly to reload, at the same time retreating with his companions, who in their excitement had forgotten to recharge their pieces. On reaching level ground, Bruin rose, shook himself, gave a yell of anger on beholding his enemies, and rushed at them. It was a fine sight to behold the bearing of Jacques at this critical juncture. Accustomed to bear-hunting from his youth, and utterly indifferent to consequences when danger became imminent, he saw at a glance the probabilities of the case. He knew exactly how long it would take him to load his gun, and regulated his pace so as not to interfere with that operation. His features wore their usual calm expression. Every motion of his hands was quick and sudden, yet not hurried, but performed in a way that led the beholder irresistibly to imagine that he could have done it even more rapidly if necessary. On reaching a ledge of rock that overhung the lake a few feet, he paused and wheeled about; click went the doghead, just as the bear rose to grapple with him; another moment, and a bullet passed through the brute's heart, while the bold hunter sprang lightly on one side, to avoid the dash of the falling animal. As he did so, young Hamilton, who had stood a little behind him with an uplifted axe, ready to finish the work should Jacques's fire prove ineffective, received Bruin in his arms, and tumbled along with him over the rock headlong into the water, from which, however, he speedily arose unhurt, sputtering and coughing, and dragging the dead bear to the shore. "Well done, Hammy," shouted Harry, indulging in a prolonged peal of laughter when he ascertained that his friend's adventure had cost him nothing more than a ducking; "that was the most amicable, loving plunge I ever saw." "Better a cold bath in the arms of a dead bear than an embrace on dry land with a live one," retorted Hamilton, as he wrung the water out of his dripping garments. "Most true, O sagacious diver! But the sooner we get a fire made the better; so come along." While the two friends hastened up to the woods to kindle a fire, Jacques drew his hunting-knife, and, with doffed coat and upturned sleeves, was soon busily employed in divesting the bear of his natural garment. The carcass, being valueless in a country where game of a more palatable kind was plentiful, they left behind as a feast to the wolves. After this was accomplished and the clothes dried, they re-embarked, and resumed their journey, plying the paddles energetically in silence, as their adventure had occasioned a considerable loss of time. It was late, and the stars had looked down for a full hour into the profound depths of the now dark lake ere the party reached the ground at the other side of the point, on which Jacques had resolved to encamp. Being somewhat wearied, they spent but little time in discussing supper, and partook of that meal with a degree of energy that implied a sense of duty as well as of pleasure. Shortly after, they were buried in repose, under the scanty shelter of their canoe. CHAPTER TWENTY SIX. AN UNEXPECTED MEETING, AND AN UNEXPECTED DEER-HUNT--ARRIVAL AT THE OUTPOST--DISAGREEMENT WITH THE NATIVES--AN ENEMY DISCOVERED, AND A MURDER. Next morning they rose with the sun, and therefore also with the birds and beasts. A wide traverse of the lake now lay before them. This they crossed in about two hours, during which time they paddled unremittingly, as the sky looked rather lowering, and they were well aware of the danger of being caught in a storm in such an egg-shell craft as an Indian canoe. "We'll put in here now, Mister Harry," exclaimed Jacques, as the canoe entered the mouth of one of those small rivulets which are called in Scotland _burns_, and in America _creeks_; "it's like that your appetite is sharpened after a spell like that. Keep her head a little more to the left--straight for the p'int--so. It's likely we'll get some fish here if we set the net." "I say, Jacques, is yon a cloud or a wreath of smoke above the trees in the creek?" inquired Harry, pointing with his paddle towards the object referred to. "It's smoke, master; I've see'd it for some time, and mayhap we'll find some Injins there who can give us news of the traders at Stoney Creek." "And, pray, how far do you think we may now be from that place?" inquired Harry. "Forty miles, more or less." As he spoke, the canoe entered the shallow water of the creek, and began to ascend the current of the stream, which at its mouth was so sluggish as to be scarcely perceptible to the eye. Not so, however, to the arms. The light bark, which, while floating on the lake, had glided buoyantly forward as if it were itself consenting to the motion, had now become apparently imbued with a spirit of contradiction, bounding convulsively forward at each stroke of the paddles, and perceptibly losing speed at each interval. Directing their course towards a flat rock on the left bank of the stream, they ran the prow out of the water and leaped ashore. As they did so, the unexpected figure of a man issued from the bushes and sauntered towards the spot. Harry and Hamilton advanced to meet him, while Jacques remained to unload the canoe. The stranger was habited in the usual dress of a hunter, and carried a fowling-piece over his right shoulder. In general appearance he looked like an Indian; but though the face was burned by exposure to a hue that nearly equalled the red skins of the natives, a strong dash of pink in it, and the mass of fair hair which encircled it, proved that, as Harry paradoxically expressed it, its owner was a _white_ man. He was young, considerably above the middle height, and apparently athletic. His address and language on approaching the young men put the question of his being a _white_ man beyond a doubt. "Good-morning, gentlemen," he began. "I presume that you are the party we have been expecting for some time past to reinforce our staff at Stoney Creek. Is it not so?" To this query young Somerville, who stood in advance of his friend, made no reply, but stepping hastily forward, laid a hand on each of the stranger's shoulders, and gazed earnestly into his face, exclaiming as he did so-- "Do my eyes deceive me? Is Charley Kennedy before me--or his ghost?" "What! eh," exclaimed the individual thus addressed, returning Harry's gripe and stare with interest, "is it possible? No--it cannot--Harry Somerville, my old, dear, unexpected friend!"--and pouring out broken sentences, abrupt ejaculations, and incoherent questions, to which neither vouchsafed replies, the two friends gazed at and walked round each other, shook hands, partially embraced, and committed sundry other extravagances, utterly unconscious of, or indifferent to, the fact that Hamilton was gazing at them, open-mouthed, in a species of stupor, and that Jacques was standing by, regarding them with a look of mingled amusement and satisfaction. The discovery of this latter personage was a source of renewed delight and astonishment to Charley, who was so much upset by the commotion of his spirits, in consequence of this, so to speak, double shot, that he became rambling and incoherent in his speech during the remainder of that day, and gave vent to frequent and sudden bursts of smothered enthusiasm, in which it would appear, from the occasional muttering of the names of Redfeather and Jacques, that he not only felicitated himself on his own good fortune, but also anticipated renewed pleasure in witnessing the joyful meeting of these two worthies ere long. In fact, this meeting did take place on the following day, when Redfeather, returning from a successful hunt, with part of a deer on his shoulders, entered Charley's tent, in which the travellers had spent the previous day and night, and discovered the guide gravely discussing a venison steak before the fire. It would be vain to attempt a description of all that the reunited friends said and did during the first twenty-four hours after their meeting: how they talked of old times, as they lay extended round the fire inside of Charley's tent, and recounted their adventures by flood and field since they last met; how they sometimes diverged into questions of speculative philosophy (as conversations _will_ often diverge, whether we wish it or not), and broke short off to make sudden inquiries after old friends; how this naturally led them to talk of new friends and new scenes, until they began to forecast their eyes a little into the future; and how, on feeling that this was an uncongenial theme under present circumstances, they reverted again to the past, and by a peculiar train of conversation--to retrace which were utterly impossible--they invariably arrived at _old_ times again. Having in course of the evening pretty well exhausted their powers, both mental and physical, they went to sleep on it, and resumed the colloquial _melange_ in the morning. "And now tell me, Charley, what you are doing in this uninhabited part of the world, so far from Stoney Creek," said Harry Somerville, as they assembled round the fire to breakfast. "That is soon explained," replied Charley. "My good friend and superior, Mr Whyte, having got himself comfortably housed at Stoney Creek, thought it advisable to establish a sort of half outpost, half fishing-station, about twenty miles below the new fort, and believing (very justly) that my talents lay a good deal in the way of fishing and shooting, sent me to superintend it during the summer months. I am, therefore, at present monarch of that notable establishment, which is not yet dignified with a name. Hearing that there were plenty of deer about twenty miles below my palace, I resolved the other day to gratify my love of sport, and at the same time procure some venison for Stoney Creek; accordingly, I took Redfeather with me, and--here I am." "Very good," said Harry; "and can you give us the least idea of what they are going to do with my friend Hamilton and me when they get us?" "Can't say. One of you, at any rate, will be kept at the creek, to assist Mr Whyte; the other may, perhaps, be appointed to relieve me at the fishing for a time, while _I_ am sent off to push the trade in other quarters. But I'm only guessing. I don't know anything definitely, for Mr Whyte is by no means communicative." "An' please, master," put in Jacques, "when do you mean to let us off from this place? I guess the bourgeois won't be over pleased if we waste time here." "We'll start this forenoon, Jacques. I and Redfeather shall go along with you, as I intended to take a run up to the creek about this time at any rate.--Have you the skins and dried meat packed, Redfeather?" To this the Indian replied in the affirmative, and the others having finished breakfast, the whole party rose to prepare for departure, and set about loading their canoes forthwith. An hour later they were again cleaving the waters of the lake, with this difference in arrangement, that Jacques was transferred to Redfeather's canoe, while Charley Kennedy took his place in the stern of that occupied by Harry and Hamilton. The establishment of which our friend Charley pronounced himself absolute monarch, and at which they arrived in the course of the same afternoon, consisted of two small log houses or huts, constructed in the rudest fashion, and without any attempt whatever at architectural embellishment. It was pleasantly situated on a small bay, whose northern extremity was sheltered from the arctic blast by a gentle rising ground clothed with wood. A miscellaneous collection of fishing apparatus lay scattered about in front of the buildings, and two men in a canoe completed the picture. The said two men and an Indian woman were the inhabitants of the place; the king himself, when present, and his prime minister, Redfeather, being the remainder of the population. "Pleasant little kingdom that of yours, Charley," remarked Harry Somerville, as they passed the station. "Very," was the laconic reply. They had scarcely passed the place above a mile, when a canoe, containing a solitary Indian, was observed to shoot out from the shore and paddle hastily towards them. From this man they learned that a herd of deer was passing down towards the lake, and would be on its banks in a few minutes. He had been waiting their arrival when the canoes came in sight, and induced him to hurry out so as to give them warning. Having no time to lose, the whole party now paddled swiftly for the shore, and reached it just a few minutes before the branching antlers of the deer came in sight above the low bushes that skirted the wood. Harry Somerville embarked in the bow of the strange Indian's canoe, so as to lighten the other, and enable all parties to have a fair chance. After snuffing the breeze for a few seconds, the foremost animal took the water, and commenced swimming towards the opposite shore of the lake, which at this particular spot was narrow. It was followed by seven others. After sufficient time was permitted to elapse to render their being cut off, in an attempt to return, quite certain, the three canoes darted from the shelter of the overhanging bushes, and sprang lightly over the water in pursuit. "Don't hurry, and strike sure," cried Jacques to his young friends, as they came up with the terrified deer that now swam for their lives. "Ay, ay," was the reply. In another moment they shot in among the struggling group. Harry Somerville stood up, and seizing the Indian's spear, prepared to strike, while his companions directed their course towards others of the herd. A few seconds sufficed to bring him up with it. Leaning backwards a little, so as to give additional force to the blow, he struck the spear deep into the animal's back. With a convulsive struggle, it ceased to swim, its head sank slowly, and in another second it lay dead upon the water. Without waiting a moment, the Indian immediately directed the canoe towards another deer; while the remainder of the party, now considerably separated from each other, dispatched the whole herd by means of axes and knives. "Ha!" exclaimed Jacques, as they towed their booty to the shore, "that's a good stock o' meat, Mister Charles. It will help to furnish the larder for the winter pretty well." "It was much wanted, Jacques: we've a good many mouths to feed, besides _treating_ the Indians now and then. And this fellow, I think, will claim the most of the hunt as his own. We should not have got the deer but for him." "True, true, Mister Charles. They belong to the redskin by rights, that's sartin." After this exploit, another night was passed under the trees; and at noon on the day following they ran their canoe alongside the wooden wharf at Stoney Creek. "Good-day to you, gentlemen," said Mr Whyte to Harry and Hamilton as they landed; "I've been looking out for you these two weeks past. Glad you've come at last, however. Plenty to do, and no time to lose. You have dispatches, of course. Ah! that's right," (Harry drew a sealed packet from his bosom and presented it with a bow), "that's right. I must peruse these at once.--Mr Kennedy, you will show these gentlemen their quarters. We dine in half an hour." So saying, Mr Whyte thrust the packet into his pocket, and without further remark strode towards his dwelling; while Charley, as instructed, led his friends to their new residence--not forgetting, however, to charge Redfeather to see to the comfortable lodgment of Jacques Caradoc. "Now it strikes me," remarked Harry, as he sat down on the edge of Charley's bed and thrust his hands doggedly down into his pockets, while Hamilton tucked up his sleeves and assaulted a washhand-basin which stood on an unpainted wooden chair in a corner--"it strikes me that if _that's_ his usual style of behaviour, old Whyte is a pleasure that we didn't anticipate." "Don't judge from first impressions; they're often deceptive," spluttered Hamilton, pausing in his ablutions to look at his friend through a mass of soap-suds--an act which afterwards cost him a good deal of pain and a copious flow of unbidden tears. "Right," exclaimed Charley, with an approving nod to Hamilton.--"You must not judge him prematurely, Harry. He's a good-hearted fellow at bottom; and if he once takes a liking for you, he'll go through fire and water to serve you, as I know from experience." "Which means to say _three_ things," replied the implacable Harry: "first, that for all his good-heartedness at _bottom_, he never shows any of it at top, and is therefore like unto truth, which is said to lie at the bottom of a well--so deep, in fact, that it is never got out, and so is of use to nobody; secondly, that he is possessed of that amount of affection which is common to all mankind (to a great extent even to brutes), which prompts a man to be reasonably attentive to his friends; and thirdly, that you, Master Kennedy, enjoy the peculiar privilege of being the friend of a two-legged polar bear!" "Were I not certain that you jest," retorted Kennedy, "I would compel you to apologise to me for insulting my friend, you rascal! But see, here's the cook coming to tell us that dinner waits. If you don't wish to see the teeth of the polar bear, I'd advise you to be smart." Thus admonished, Harry sprang up, plunged his hands and face in the basin and dried them, broke Charley's comb in attempting to pass it hastily through his hair, used his fingers savagely as a substitute, and overtook his companions just as they entered the messroom. The establishment of Stoney Creek was comprised within two acres of ground. It consisted of eight or nine houses--three of which, however, alone met the eye on approaching by the lake. The "great" house, as it was termed, on account of its relative proportion to the other buildings, was a small edifice, built substantially but roughly of unsquared logs, partially whitewashed, roofed with shingles, and boasting six small windows in front, with a large door between them. On its east side, and at right angles to it, was a similar edifice, but smaller, having two doors instead of one, and four windows instead of six. This was the trading-shop and provision-store. Opposite to this was a twin building which contained the furs and a variety of miscellaneous stores. Thus were formed three sides of a square, from the centre of which rose a tall flagstaff. The buildings behind those just described were smaller and insignificant--the principal one being the house appropriated to the men; the others were mere sheds and workshops. Luxuriant forests ascended the slopes that rose behind and encircled this oasis on all sides, excepting in front, where the clear waters of the lake sparkled like a blue mirror. On the margin of this lake the new arrivals, left to enjoy themselves as they best might for a day or two, sauntered about and chatted to their hearts' content of things past, present, and future. During these wanderings, Harry confessed that his opinion of Mr Whyte had somewhat changed: that he believed a good deal of the first bad impression was attributable to his cool, not to say impolite, reception of them; and that he thought things would go on much better with the Indians if he would only try to let some of his good qualities be seen through his exterior. An expression of sadness passed over Charley's face as his friend said this. "You are right in the last particular," he said, with a sigh. "Mr Whyte is so rough and overbearing that the Indians are beginning to dislike him. Some of the more clear-sighted among them see that a good deal of this lies in mere manner, and have penetration enough to observe that in all his dealings with them he is straightforward and liberal; but there are a set of them who either don't see this, or are so indignant at the rough speeches he often makes, and the rough treatment he sometimes threatens, that they won't forgive him, but seem to be nursing their wrath. I sometimes wish he was sent to a district where the Indians and traders are, from habitual intercourse, more accustomed to each other's ways, and so less likely to quarrel." "Have the Indians, then, used any open threats?" asked Harry. "No, not exactly; but through an old man of the tribe, who is well affected towards us, I have learned that there is a party among them who seem bent on mischief." "Then we may expect a row some day or other. That's pleasant!--What think you, Hammy?" said Harry, turning to his friend. "I think that it would be anything but pleasant," he replied; "and I sincerely hope that we shall not have occasion for a row." "You're not afraid of a fight, are you, Hamilton?" asked Charley. The peculiarly bland smile with which Hamilton usually received any remark that savoured of banter overspread his features as Charley spoke, but he merely replied,--"No, Charley, I'm not afraid." "Do you know any of the Indians who are so anxious to vent their spleen on our worthy bourgeois?" asked Harry, as he seated himself on a rocky eminence commanding a view of the richly-wooded slopes, dotted with huge masses of rock that had fallen from the beetling cliffs behind the creek. "Yes, I do," replied Charley; "and, by the way, one of them--the ringleader--is a man with whom you are acquainted, at least by name. You've heard of an Indian called Misconna?" "What!" exclaimed Harry, with a look of surprise; "you don't mean the blackguard mentioned by Redfeather, long ago, when he told us his story on the shores of Lake Winnipeg--the man who killed poor Jacques's young wife?" "The same," replied Charley. "And does Jacques know he is here?" "He does; but Jacques is a strange, unaccountable mortal. You remember that in the struggle described by Redfeather the trapper and Misconna had neither of them seen each other, Redfeather having felled the latter before the former reached the scene of action--a scene which, he has since told me, he witnessed at a distance, while rushing to the rescue of his wife--so that Misconna is utterly ignorant of the fact that the husband of his victim is now so near him; indeed, he does not know that she had a husband at all. On the other hand, although Jacques is aware that his bitterest enemy is within rifle-range of him at this moment, he does not know him by sight; and this morning he came to me, begging that I would send Misconna on some expedition or other, just to keep him out of his way." "And do you intend to do so?" "I shall do my best," replied Charley; "but I cannot get him out of the way till to-morrow, as there is to be a gathering of Indians in the hall this very day, to have a palaver with Mr Whyte about their grievances, and Misconna wouldn't miss that for a trifle. But Jacques won't be likely to recognise him among so many; and if he does, I rely with confidence on his powers of restraint and forbearance.--By the way," he continued, glancing upwards, "it is past noon, and the Indians will have begun to assemble; so we had better hasten back, as we shall be expected to help in keeping order." So saying, he rose, and the young men returned to the fort. On reaching it they found the hall crowded with natives, who sat cross-legged around the walls, or stood in groups conversing in low tones, and to judge from the expression of their dark eyes and lowering brows, they were in extremely bad humour. They became silent and more respectful, however, in their demeanour when the young men entered the apartment and walked up to the fireplace, in which a small fire of wood burned on the hearth, more as a convenient means of rekindling the pipes of the Indians when they went out than as a means of heating the place. Jacques and Redfeather stood leaning against the wall near to it, engaged in a whispered conversation. Glancing round as he entered, Charley observed Misconna sitting a little apart by himself, and apparently buried in deep thought. He had scarcely perceived him, and nodded to several of his particular friends among the crowd, when a side-door opened, and Mr Whyte, with an angry expression on his countenance, strode up to the fireplace, planted himself before it, with his legs apart and his hands behind him, while he silently surveyed the group. "So," he began, "you have asked to speak with me; well, here I am. What have you to say?" Mr Whyte addressed the Indians in their native tongue, having, during a long residence in the country, learned to speak it as fluently as English. For some moments there was silence. Then an old chief--the same who had officiated at the feast described in a former chapter--rose, and standing forth into the middle of the room, made a long and grave oration, in which, besides a great deal that was bombastic, much that was irrelevant, and more that was utterly fabulous and nonsensical, he recounted the sorrows of himself and his tribe, concluding with a request that the great chief would take these things into consideration--the principal "_things_" being that they did not get anything in the shape of gratuities, while it was notorious that the Indians in other districts did, and that they did not get enough of goods in advance, on credit of their future hunts. Mr Whyte heard the old man to the end in silence; then, without altering his position, he looked round on the assembly with a frown, and said, "Now listen to me; I am a man of few words. I have told you over and over again, and now repeat it, that you shall get no gratuities until you prove yourselves worthy of them. I shall not increase your advances by so much as half an inch of tobacco till your last year's debts are scored off, and you begin to show more activity in hunting and less disposition to grumble. Hitherto you have not brought in anything like the quantity of furs that the capabilities of the country led me to expect. You are lazy. Until you become better hunters you shall have no redress from me." As he finished, Mr Whyte made a step towards the door by which he had entered, but was arrested by another chief, who requested to be heard. Resuming his place and attitude, Mr Whyte listened with an expression of dogged determination, while guttural grunts of unequivocal dissatisfaction issued from the throats of several of the malcontents. The Indian proceeded to repeat a few of the remarks made by his predecessor, but more concisely, and wound up by explaining that the failure in the hunts of the previous year was owing to the will of the Great Manito, and not by any means on account of the supposed laziness of himself or his tribe. "That is false," said Mr Whyte; "you know it is not true." As this was said, a murmur of anger ran round the apartment, which was interrupted by Misconna, who, apparently unable to restrain his passion, sprang into the middle of the room, and confronting Mr Whyte, made a short and pithy speech, accompanied by violent gesticulation, in which he insinuated that if redress was not granted the white men would bitterly repent it. During his speech the Indians had risen to their feet and drawn closer together, while Jacques and the three young men drew near their superior. Redfeather remained apart, motionless, and with his eyes fixed on the ground. "And, pray, what dog--what miserable, thieving cur--are you, who dare to address me thus?" cried Mr Whyte, as he strode, with flashing eyes, up to the enraged Indian. Misconna clinched his teeth, and his fingers worked convulsively about the handle of his knife, as he exclaimed, "I am no dog. The palefaces are dogs. I am a great chief. My name is known among the braves of my tribe. It is Misconna--" As the name fell from his lips, Mr Whyte and Charley were suddenly dashed aside, and Jacques sprang towards the Indian, his face livid, his eyeballs almost bursting from their sockets, and his muscles rigid with passion. For an instant he regarded the savage intently as he shrank appalled before him; then his colossal fist fell like lightning, with the weight of a sledge-hammer, on Misconna's forehead, and drove him against the outer door, which, giving way before the violent shock, burst from its fastenings and hinges, and fell, along with the savage, with a loud crash to the ground. For an instant every one stood aghast at this precipitate termination to the discussion, and then, springing forward in a body, with drawn knives, the Indians rushed upon the white men, who in a close phalanx, with such weapons as came first to hand, stood to receive them. At this moment Redfeather stepped forward unarmed between the belligerents, and turning to the Indians, said-- "Listen: Redfeather does not take the part of his white friends against his comrades. You know that he never failed you in the war-path, and he would not fail you now if your cause were just. But the eyes of his comrades are shut. Redfeather knows what they do not know. The white hunter" (pointing to Jacques) "is a friend of Redfeather. He is a friend of the Knisteneux. He did not strike because you disputed with his bourgeois; he struck because Misconna _is his mortal foe_. But the story is long. Redfeather will tell it at the council fire." "He is right," exclaimed Jacques, who had recovered his usual grave expression of countenance, "Redfeather is right. I bear you no ill-will, Injins, and I shall explain the thing myself at your council fire." As Jacques spoke the Indians sheathed their knives, and stood with frowning brows, as if uncertain what to do. The unexpected interference of their comrade-in-arms, coupled with his address and that of Jacques, had excited their curiosity. Perhaps the undaunted deportment of their opponents, who stood ready for the encounter with a look of stern determination, contributed a little to allay their resentment. While the two parties stood thus confronting each other, as if uncertain how to act, a loud report was heard just outside the doorway. In another moment Mr Whyte fell heavily to the ground, shot through the heart. CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN. THE CHASE--THE FIGHT--RETRIBUTION--LOW SPIRITS AND GOOD NEWS. The tragical end of the consultation related in the last chapter had the effect of immediately reconciling the disputants. With the exception of four or five of the most depraved and discontented among them, the Indians bore no particular ill-will to the unfortunate principal of Stoney Creek; and although a good deal disappointed to find that he was a stern, unyielding trader, they had, in reality, no intention of coming to a serious rupture with him, much less of laying violent hands either upon master or men of the establishment. When, therefore, they beheld Mr Whyte weltering in his blood at their feet, a sacrifice to the ungovernable passion of Misconna, who was by no means a favourite among his brethren, their temporary anger was instantly dissipated, and a feeling of deepest indignation roused in their bosoms against the miserable assassin who had perpetrated the base and cowardly murder. It was, therefore, with a yell of rage that several of the band, immediately after the victim fell, sprang into the woods in hot pursuit of him whom they now counted their enemy. They were joined by several men belonging to the fort, who had hastened to the scene of action on hearing that the people in the hall were likely to come to blows. Redfeather was the first who had bounded like a deer into the woods in pursuit of the fugitive. Those who remained assisted Charley and his friends to convey the body of Mr Whyte into an adjoining room, where they placed him on a bed. He was quite dead, the murderer's aim having been terribly true. Finding that he was past all human aid, the young men returned to the hall, which they entered just as Redfeather glided quickly through the open doorway, and approaching the group, stood in silence beside them, with his arms folded on his breast. "You have something to tell, Redfeather," said Jacques, in a subdued tone, after regarding him a few seconds; "is the scoundrel caught?" "Misconna's foot is swift," replied the Indian, "and the wood is thick. It is wasting time to follow him through the bushes." "What would you advise, then?" exclaimed Charley, in a hurried voice. "I see that you have some plan to propose." "The wood is thick," answered Redfeather, "but the lake and the river are open. Let one party go by the lake, and one party by the river." "That's it, that's it, Injin," interrupted Jacques energetically; "yer wits are always jumpin'. By crossin' over to Duck River, we can start at a point five or six miles above the lower fall; an' as it's thereabouts he must cross, we'll be time enough to catch him. If he tries the lake, the other party'll _fix_ him there; an' he'll be soon poked up if he tries to hide in the bush." "Come, then; we'll all give chase at once," cried Charley, feeling a temporary relief in the prospect of energetic action from the depressing effects of the calamity that had so suddenly befallen him in the loss of his chief and friend. Little time was needed for preparation. Jacques, Charley, and Harry proceeded by the river; while Redfeather and Hamilton, with a couple of men, launched their canoe on the lake, and set off in pursuit. Crossing the country for about a mile, Jacques led his party to the point on the Duck River to which he had previously referred. Here they found two canoes, into one of which the guide stepped with one of the men, a Canadian, who had accompanied them, while Harry and Charley embarked in the other. In a few minutes they were rapidly descending the stream. "How do you mean to act, Jacques?" inquired Charley, as he paddled alongside of the guide's canoe. "Is it not likely that Misconna may have crossed the river already? in which case we shall have no chance of catching him." "Niver fear," returned Jacques. "He must have longer legs than most men if he gets to the flat-rock fall before us, an' as that's the spot where he'll nat'rally cross the river, being the only straight line for the hills that escapes the bend o' the bay to the south o' Stoney Creek, we're pretty sartin to stop him there." "True; but that being, as you you say, the _natural_ route, don't you think it likely he'll expect that it will be guarded, and avoid it accordingly?" "He _would_ do so, Mister Charles, if he thought we were _here_; but there are two reasons agin this. He thinks that he's got the start o' us, an' won't need to double by way o' deceivin' us; and then he knows that the whole tribe is after him, and consekintly won't take a long road when there's a short one, if he can help it. But here's the rock. Look out, Mister Charles. We'll have to run the fall, which isn't very big just now, and then hide in the bushes at the foot of it till the blackguard shows himself. Keep well to the right, an' don't mind the big rock; the rush o' water takes you clear o' that without trouble." With this concluding piece of advice, he pointed to the fall, which plunged over a ledge of rock about half a mile ahead of them, and which was distinguishable by a small column of white spray that rose out of it. As Charley beheld it his spirits rose, and forgetting for a moment the circumstances that called him there, he cried out-- "I'll run it before you, Jacques. Hurrah! Give way, Harry!" and in spite of a remonstrance from the guide, he shot the canoe ahead, gave vent to another reckless shout, and flew, rather than glided, down the stream. On seeing this the guide held back, so as to give him sufficient time to take the plunge ere he followed. A few strokes brought Charley's canoe to the brink of the fall, and Harry was just in the act of raising himself in the bow to observe the position of the rocks, when a shout was heard on the bank close beside them. Looking up they beheld an Indian emerge from the forest, fit an arrow to his bow, and discharge it at them. The winged messenger was truly aimed; it whizzed through the air and transfixed Harry Somerville's left shoulder just at the moment they swept over the fall. The arrow completely incapacitated Harry from using his arm, so that the canoe, instead of being directed into the broad current, took a sudden turn, dashed in among a mass of broken rocks, between which the water foamed with violence, and upset. Here the canoe stuck fast, while its owners stood up to their waists in the water, struggling to set it free--an object which they were the more anxious to accomplish that its stern lay directly in the spot where Jacques would infallibly descend. The next instant their fears were realised. The second canoe glided over the cataract, dashed violently against the first, and upset, leaving Jacques and his man in a similar predicament. By their aid, however, the canoes were more easily righted, and embarking quickly they shot forth again, just as the Indian, who had been obliged to make a detour in order to get within range of their position, reappeared on the banks above, and sent another shaft after them--fortunately, however, without effect. "This is unfortunate," muttered Jacques, as the party landed and endeavoured to wring some of the water from their dripping clothes; "an' the worst of it is that our guns are useless after sich a duckin', an' the varmint knows that, an' will be down on us in a twinklin'." "But we are four to one," exclaimed Harry. "Surely we don't need to fear much from a single enemy." "Humph!" ejaculated the guide, as he examined the lock of his gun. "You've had little to do with Injins, that's plain. You may be sure he's not alone, an' the reptile has a bow with arrows enough to send us all on a pretty long journey. But we've the trees to dodge behind. If I only had _one_ dry charge!" and the disconcerted guide gave a look, half of perplexity, half of contempt, at the dripping gun. "Never mind," cried Charley; "we have our paddles.--But I forgot, Harry, in all this confusion, that you are wounded, my poor fellow. We must have it examined before doing anything further." "Oh, it's nothing at all--a mere scratch, I think; at least I feel very little pain." As he spoke the twang of a bow was heard, and an arrow flew past Jacques's ear. "Ah, so soon!" exclaimed that worthy, with a look of surprise, as if he had unexpectedly met with an old friend. Stepping behind a tree, he motioned to his friends to do likewise; an example which they followed somewhat hastily on beholding the Indian who had wounded Harry step from the cover of the underwood and deliberately let fly another arrow, which passed through the hair of the Canadian they had brought with them. From the several trees behind which they had leaped for shelter they now perceived that the Indian with the bow was Misconna, and that he was accompanied by eight others; who appeared, however, to be totally unarmed--having, probably, been obliged to leave their weapons behind them, owing to the abruptness of their flight. Seeing that the white men were unable to use their guns, the Indians assembled in a group, and from the hasty and violent gesticulations of some of the party, especially of Misconna, it was evident that a speedy attack was intended. Observing this, Jacques coolly left the shelter of his tree, and going up to Charley, exclaimed, "Now, Mister Charles, I'm goin' to run away, so you'd better come along with me." "That I certainly will not. Why, what do you mean?" inquired the other, in astonishment. "I mean that these stupid redskins can't make up their minds what to do, an' as I've no notion o' stoppin' here all day, I want to make them do what will suit us best. You see, if they scatter through the wood and attack us on all sides, they may give us a deal o' trouble, and git away after all; whereas, if we run _away_, they'll bolt after us in a body, and then we can take them in hand all at once, which'll be more comfortable-like, an' easier to manage." As Jacques spoke they were joined by Harry and the Canadian; and being observed by the Indians thus grouped together, another arrow was sent among them. "Now, follow me," said Jacques, turning round with a loud howl and running away. He was closely followed by the others. As the guide had predicted, the Indians no sooner observed this than they rushed after them in a body, uttering horrible yells. "Now, then, stop here; down with you." Jacques instantly crouched behind a bush, while each of the party did the same. In a moment the savages came shouting up, supposing that the white men were still running on in advance. As the foremost, a tall, muscular fellow, with the agility of a panther, bounded over the bush behind which Jacques was concealed, he was met with a blow from the guide's fist, so powerfully delivered into the pit of his stomach, that it sent him violently back into the bush, where he lay insensible. This event, of course, put a check upon the headlong pursuit of the others, who suddenly paused, like a group of infuriated tigers unexpectedly balked of their prey. The hesitation, however, was but for a moment. Misconna, who was in advance, suddenly drew his bow again, and let fly an arrow at Jacques, which the latter dexterously avoided; and while his antagonist lowered his eyes for an instant to fit another arrow to the string, the guide, making use of his paddle as a sort of javelin, threw it with such force and precision that it struck Misconna directly between the eyes and felled him to the earth. In another instant the two parties rushed upon each other, and a general _melee_, ensued, in which the white men, being greatly superior to their adversaries in the use of their fists, soon proved themselves more than a match for them all, although inferior in numbers. Charley's first antagonist, making an abortive attempt to grapple with him, received two rapid blows, one on the chest and the other on the nose, which knocked him over the bank into the river, while his conqueror sprang upon another Indian. Harry, having unfortunately selected the biggest savage of the band as his special property, rushed upon him and dealt him a vigorous blow on the head with his paddle. The weapon, however, was made of light wood, and, instead of felling him to the ground, broke into shivers. Springing upon each other, they immediately engaged in a fierce struggle, in which poor Harry learned, when too late, that his wounded shoulder was almost powerless. Meanwhile, the Canadian, having been assaulted by three Indians at once, floored one at the onset, and immediately began an impromptu war-dance round the other two, dealing them occasionally a kick or a blow, which would speedily have rendered them _hors de combat_, had they not succeeded in closing upon him, when all three fell heavily to the ground. Jacques and Charley, having succeeded in overcoming their respective opponents, immediately hastened to his rescue. In the meantime, Harry and his foe had struggled to a considerable distance from the others, gradually edging towards the river's bank. Feeling faint from his wound, the former at length sank under the weight of his powerful antagonist, who endeavoured to thrust him over a kind of cliff which they had approached. He was on the point of accomplishing his purpose, when Charley and his friends perceived Harry's imminent danger, and rushed to the rescue. Quickly though they ran, however, it seemed likely that they would be too late. Harry's head already overhung the bank, and the Indian was endeavouring to loosen the gripe of the young man's hand from his throat, preparatory to tossing him over, when a wild cry rang through the forest, followed by the reports of a double-barrelled gun, fired in quick succession. Immediately after, young Hamilton bounded like a deer down the slope, seized the Indian by the legs, and tossed him over the cliff, where he turned a complete somersault in his descent, and fell with a sounding splash into the water. "Well done, cleverly done, lad!" cried Jacques, as he and the rest of the party came up and crowded round Harry, who lay in a state of partial stupor on the bank. At this moment Redfeather hastily but silently approached; his broad chest was heaving heavily, and his expanded nostrils quivering with the exertions he had made to reach the scene of action in time to succour his friends. "Thank God," said Hamilton, softly, as he kneeled beside Harry and supported his head, while Charley bathed his temples--"thank God that I have been in time! Fortunately I was walking by the river considerably in advance of Redfeather, who was bringing up the canoe, when I heard the sounds of the fray, and hastened to your aid." At this moment Harry opened his eyes, and saying faintly that he felt better, allowed himself to be raised to a sitting posture, while his coat was removed and his wound examined. It was found to be a deep flesh-wound in the shoulder, from which a fragment of the broken arrow still protruded. "It's a wonder to me, Mister Harry, how ye held on to that big thief so long," muttered Jacques, as he drew out the splinter and bandaged up the shoulder. Having completed the surgical operation after a rough fashion, they collected the defeated Indians. Those of them that were able to walk were bound together by the wrists and marched off to the fort, under a guard which was strengthened by the arrival of several of the fur-traders who had been in pursuit of the fugitives, and were attracted to the spot by the shouts of the combatants. Harry and such of the party as were more or less severely injured were placed in canoes and conveyed to Stoney Creek by the lake, into which Duck River runs at the distance of about half a mile from the spot on which the skirmish had taken place. Misconna was among the latter. On arriving at Stoney Creek, the canoe party found a large assemblage of the natives awaiting them on the wharf, and no sooner did Misconna land than they advanced to seize him. "Keep back, friends," cried Jacques, who perceived their intentions, and stepped hastily between them.--"Come here, lads," he continued, turning to his companions; "surround Misconna. He is _our_ prisoner, and must ha' fair justice done him, accordin' to white law." They fell back in silence on observing the guide's determined manner; but as they hurried the wretched culprit towards the house, one of the Indians pressed close upon their rear, and before any one could prevent him, dashed his tomahawk into Misconna's brain. Seeing that the blow was mortal, the traders ceased to offer any further opposition; and the Indians, rushing upon his body, bore it away, amid shouts and yells of execration, to their canoes, to one of which the body was fastened by a rope, and dragged through the water to a point of land that jutted out into the lake near at hand. Here they lighted a fire and burned it to ashes. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ There seems to be a period in the history of every one when the fair aspect of this world is darkened--when everything, whether past, present, or future, assumes a hue of the deepest gloom; a period when, for the first time, the sun, which has shone in the mental firmament with more or less brilliancy from childhood upwards, entirely disappears behind a cloud of thick darkness, and leaves the soul in a state of deep melancholy; a time when feelings somewhat akin to despair pervade us, as we begin gradually to look upon the past as a bright, happy vision, out of which we have at last awakened to view the sad realities of the present, and look forward with sinking hope to the future. Various are the causes which produce this, and diverse the effects of it on differently constituted minds; but there are few, we apprehend, who have not passed through the cloud in one or other of its phases, and who do not feel that this _first_ period of prolonged sorrow is darker, and heavier, and worse to bear, than many of the more truly grievous afflictions that sooner or later fall to the lot of most men. Into a state of mind somewhat similar to that which we have endeavoured to describe our friend Charley Kennedy fell immediately after the events just narrated. The sudden and awful death of his friend Mr Whyte fell upon his young spirit, unaccustomed as he was to scenes of bloodshed and violence, with overwhelming power. From the depression, however, which naturally followed he would probably soon have rallied had not Harry Somerville's wound in the shoulder taken an unfavourable turn, and obliged him to remain for many weeks in bed, under the influence of a slow fever; so that Charley felt a desolation creeping over his soul that no effort he was capable of making could shake off. It is true he found both occupation and pleasure in attending upon his sick friend; but as Harry's illness rendered great quiet necessary, and as Hamilton had been sent to take charge of the fishing-station mentioned in a former chapter, Charley was obliged to indulge his gloomy reveries in silence. To add to his wretchedness, he received a letter from Kate about a week after Mr Whyte's burial, telling him of the death of his mother. Meanwhile, Redfeather and Jacques--both of whom, at their young master's earnest solicitation, agreed to winter at Stoney Creek--cultivated each other's acquaintance sedulously. There were no books of any kind at the outpost, excepting three Bibles--one belonging to Charley, and one to Harry, the third being that which had been presented to Jacques by Mr Conway the missionary. This single volume, however, proved to be an ample library to Jacques and his Indian friend. Neither of these sons of the forest was much accustomed to reading, and neither of them would have for a moment entertained the idea of taking to literature as a pastime; but Redfeather loved the Bible for the sake of the great truths which he discovered in its inspired pages, though much of what he read was to him mysterious and utterly incomprehensible. Jacques, on the other hand, read it, or listened to his friend, with that philosophic gravity of countenance and earnestness of purpose which he displayed in regard to everything; and deep, serious, and protracted were the discussions they plunged into, as night after night they sat on a log, with the Bible spread out before them, and read by the light of the blazing fire in the men's house at Stoney Creek. Their intercourse, however, was brought to an abrupt conclusion by the unexpected arrival, one day, of Mr Conway, the missionary, in his tin canoe. This gentleman's appearance was most welcome to all parties. It was like a bright ray of sunshine to Charley to meet with one who could fully sympathise with him in his present sorrowful frame of mind. It was an event of some consequence to Harry Somerville, inasmuch as it provided him with an amateur doctor who really understood somewhat of his physical complaint, and was able to pour balm, at once literally and spiritually, into his wounds. It was an event productive of the liveliest satisfaction to Redfeather, who now felt assured that his tribe would have those mysteries explained which he only imperfectly understood himself; and it was an event of much rejoicing to the Indians themselves because their curiosity had been not a little roused by what they heard of the doings and sayings of the white missionary, who lived on the borders of the great lake. The only person, perhaps, on whom Mr Conway's arrival acted with other than a pleasing influence was Jacques Caradoc. This worthy, although glad to meet with a man whom he felt inclined both to love and respect, was by no means gratified to find that his friend Redfeather had agreed to go with the missionary on his visit to the Indian tribe, and thereafter to accompany him to the settlement on Playgreen Lake. But with the stoicism that was natural to him, Jacques submitted to circumstances which he could not alter, and contented himself with assuring Redfeather that if he lived till next spring he would most certainly "make tracks for the great lake," and settle down at the missionary's station along with him. This promise was made at the end of the wharf of Stoney Creek the morning on which Mr Conway and his party embarked in their tin canoe--the same tin canoe at which Jacques had curled his nose contemptuously when he saw it in process of being constructed, and at which he did not by any means curl it the less contemptuously now that he saw it finished. The little craft answered its purpose marvellously well, however, and bounded lightly away under the vigorous strokes of its crew, leaving Charley and Jacques on the pier gazing wistfully after their friends, and listening sadly to the echoes of their parting song as it floated more and more faintly over the lake. Winter came, but no ray of sunshine broke through the dark cloud that hung over Stoney Creek. Harry Somerville, instead of becoming better, grew worse and worse every day, so that when Charley dispatched the winter packet, he represented the illness of his friend to the powers at headquarters as being of a nature that required serious and immediate attention and change of scene. But the word _immediate_ bears a slightly different signification in the backwoods to what it does in the lands of railroads and steamboats. The letter containing this hint took many weeks to traverse the waste wilderness to its destination; months passed before the reply was written, and many weeks more elapsed ere its contents were perused by Charley and his friend. When they did read it, however, the dark cloud that had hung over them so long burst at last; a ray of sunshine streamed down brightly upon their hearts, and never forsook them again, although it did lose a little of its brilliancy after the first flash. It was on a rich, dewy, cheerful morning in early spring that the packet arrived, and Charley led Harry, who was slowly recovering his wonted health and spirits, to their favourite rocky resting-place on the margin of the lake. Here he placed the letter in his friend's hand with a smile of genuine delight. It ran as follows:-- MY DEAR SIR,--Your letter containing the account of Mr Somerville's illness has been forwarded to me, and I am instructed to inform you that leave of absence for a short time has been granted to him. I have had a conversation with the doctor here, who advises me to recommend that, if your friend has no other summer residence in view, he should spend part of his time in Red River settlement. In the event of his agreeing to this, I would suggest that he should leave Stoney Creek with the first brigade in spring, or by express canoe if you think it advisable. I am, etcetera. "Short but sweet--uncommonly sweet!" said Harry, as a deep flush of joy crimsoned his pale cheeks, while his own merry smile, that had been absent for many a weary day, returned once more to its old haunt, and danced round its accustomed dimples like a repentant wanderer who has been long absent from and has at last returned to his native home. "Sweet indeed!" echoed Charley. "But that's not all; here's another lump of sugar for you." So saying, he pulled a letter from his pocket, unfolded it slowly, spread it out on his knee, and, looking up at his expectant friend, winked. "Go on, Charley; pray, don't tantalise me." "Tantalise you! My dear fellow, nothing is farther from my thoughts. Listen to this paragraph in my dear old father's letter:-- "`So you see, my dear Charley, that we have managed to get you appointed to the charge of Lower Fort Garry; and as I hear that poor Harry Somerville is to get leave of absence, you had better bring him along with you. I need not add that my house is at his service as long as he may wish to remain in it.' "There! what think ye of that, my boy?" said Charley, as he folded the letter and returned it to his pocket. "I think," replied Harry, "that your father is a dear old gentleman, and I hope that you'll only be half as good when you come to his time of life; and I think I'm so happy to-day that I'll be able to walk without the assistance of your arm to-morrow; and I think we had better go beck to the house now, for I feel, oddly enough, as tired as if I had had a long walk. Ah, Charley, my dear fellow, that letter will prove to be the best doctor I have had yet. But now tell me what you intend to do." Charley assisted his friend to rise, and led him slowly back to the house, as he replied-- "Do, my boy? That's soon said. I'll make things square and straight at Stoney Creek. I'll send for Hamilton, and make him interim commander-in-chief. I'll write two letters--one to the gentleman in charge of the district, telling him of my movements; the other (containing a screed of formal instructions) to the miserable mortal who shall succeed me here. I'll take the best canoe in our store, load it with provisions, put you carefully in the middle of it, stick Jacques in the bow and myself in the stern, and start, two weeks hence, neck and crop, head over heels, through thick and thin, wet and dry, over portage, river, fall, and lake, for Red River settlement!" CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT. OLD FRIENDS AND SCENES--COMING EVENTS CAST THEIR SHADOWS BEFORE. Mr Kennedy, senior, was seated in his own comfortable armchair before the fire, in his own cheerful little parlour, in his own snug house, at Red River, with his own highly characteristic breakfast of buffalo steaks, tea, and pemmican before him, and his own beautiful, affectionate daughter Kate presiding over the teapot, and exercising unwarrantably despotic sway over a large grey cat, whose sole happiness seemed to consist in subjecting Mr Kennedy to perpetual annoyance, and whose main object in life was to catch its master and mistress off their guard, that it might go quietly to the table, the meat-safe, or the pantry, and there--deliberately--steal! Kate had grown very much since we saw her last. She was quite a woman now, and well worthy of a minute description here; but we never could describe a woman to our own satisfaction. We have frequently tried, and failed; so we substitute, in place, the remarks of Kate's friends and acquaintances about her--a criterion on which to form a judgment that is a pretty correct one, especially when the opinion pronounced happens to be favourable. Her father said she was an angel, and the only joy of his life. This latter expression, we may remark, was false; for Mr Kennedy frequently said to Kate, confidentially, that Charley was a great happiness to him; and we are quite sure that the pipe had something to do with the felicity of his existence. But the old gentleman _said_ that Kate was the _only_ joy of his life, and that is all we have to do with at present. Several ill-tempered old ladies in the settlement said that Miss Kennedy was really a quiet, modest girl-- testimony this (considering the source whence it came) that was quite conclusive. Then old Mr Grant remarked to old Mr Kennedy, over a confidential pipe, that Kate was certainly, in his opinion, the most modest and the prettiest girl in Red River. Her old school companions called her a darling. Tom Whyte said "he never see'd nothink like her nowhere." The clerks spoke of her in terms too glowing to remember; and the last arrival among them, the youngest, with the slang of the "old country" fresh on his lips, called her a _stunner_! Even Mrs Grant got up one of her half-expressed remarks about her, which everybody would have supposed to be quizzical in its nature, were it not for the frequent occurrence of the terms "good girl," "innocent creature," which seemed to contradict that idea. There were also one or two hapless swains who _said_ nothing, but what they _did_ and _looked_ was in itself unequivocal. They went quietly into a state of slow, drivelling imbecility whenever they happened to meet with Kate; looked as if they had become shockingly unwell, and were rather pleased than otherwise that their friends should think so too; and upon all and every occasion in which Kate was concerned, conducted themselves with an amount of insane stupidity (although sane enough at other times) that nothing could account for, save the idea that their admiration of her was inexpressible, and that _that_ was the most effective way in which they could express it. "Kate, my darling," said Mr Kennedy, as he finished the last mouthful of tea, "wouldn't it be capital to get another letter from Charley?" "Yes, dear papa, it would indeed. But I am quite sure that the next time we shall hear from him will be when he arrives here, and makes the house ring with his own dear voice." "How so, girl?" said the old trader, with a smile. It may as well be remarked here that the above opening of conversation was by no means new; it was stereotyped now. Ever since Charley had been appointed to the management of Lower Fort Garry, his father had been so engrossed by the idea, and spoke of it to Kate so frequently, that he had got into a way of feeling as if the event so much desired would happen in a few days, although he knew quite well that it could not, in the course of ordinary or extra-ordinary circumstances, occur in less than several months. However, as time rolled on he began regularly, every day or two, to ask Kate questions about Charley that she could not by any possibility answer, but which he knew from experience would lead her into a confabulation about his son, which helped a little to allay his impatience. "Why, you see, father," she replied, "it is three months since we got his last, and you know there has been no opportunity of forwarding letters from Stoney Creek since it was dispatched. Now, the next opportunity that occurs--" "Mee-aow!" interrupted the cat, which had just finished two pats of fresh butter without being detected, and began, rather recklessly, to exult. "Hang that cat!" cried the old gentleman angrily, "it'll be the death o' me yet;" and seizing the first thing that came to hand, which happened to be the loaf of bread, discharged it with such violence, and with so correct an aim, that it knocked, not only the cat, but the teapot and sugar-bowl also, off the table. "O dear papa!" exclaimed Kate. "Really, my dear," cried Mr Kennedy, half angry and half ashamed, "we must get rid of that brute immediately. It has scarcely been a week here, and it has done more mischief already than a score of ordinary cats would have done in a twelvemonth." "But then, the mice, papa--" "Well, but--but--oh, hang the mice!" "Yes; but how are we to catch them?" said Kate. At this moment the cook, who had heard the sound of breaking crockery, and judged it expedient that he should be present, opened the door. "How now, rascal!" exclaimed his master, striding up to him. "Did I ring for you, eh?" "No, sir; but--" "But! eh, but! no more `buts,' you scoundrel, else I'll--" The motion of Mr Kennedy's fist warned the cook to make a precipitate retreat, which he did at the same moment that the cat resolved to run for its life. This caused them to meet in the doorway, and making a compound entanglement with the mat, they both fell into the passage with a loud crash. Mr Kennedy shut the door gently, and returned to his chair, patting Kate on the head as he passed. "Now, darling, go on with what you were saying; and don't mind the teapot--let it lie." "Well," resumed Kate, with a smile, "I was saying that the next opportunity Charley can have will be by the brigade in spring, which we expect to arrive here, you know, a month hence; but we won't get a letter by that, as I feel convinced that he and Harry will come by it themselves." "And the express canoe, Kate--the express canoe," said Mr Kennedy, with a contortion of the left side of his head that was intended for a wink; "you know they got leave to come by express, Kate." "Oh, as to the express, father, I don't expect them to come by that, as poor Harry Somerville has been so ill that they would never think of venturing to subject him to all the discomforts, not to mention the dangers, of a canoe voyage." "I don't know that, lass--I don't know that," said Mr Kennedy, giving another contortion with his left cheek. "In fact, I shouldn't wonder if they arrived this very day; and it's well to be on the look-out, so I'm off to the banks of the river, Kate." Saying this, the old gentleman threw on an old fur cap with the peak all awry, thrust his left hand into his right glove, put on the other with the back to the front and the thumb in the middle finger, and bustled out of the house, muttering as he went, "Yes, it's well to be on the look-out for him." Mr Kennedy, however, was disappointed: Charley did not arrive that day, nor the next, nor the day after that. Nevertheless the old gentleman's faith each day remained as firm as on the day previous that Charley would arrive on _that_ day "for certain." About a week after this, Mr Kennedy put on his hat and gloves as usual, and sauntered down to the banks of the river, where his perseverance was rewarded by the sight of a small canoe rapidly approaching the landing-place. From the costume of the three men who propelled it, the cut of the canoe itself, the precision and energy of its movements, and several other minute points about it only apparent to the accustomed eye of a nor'-wester, he judged at once that this was a new arrival, and not merely one of the canoes belonging to the settlers, many of which might be seen passing up and down the river. As they drew near he fixed his eyes eagerly upon them. "Very odd," he exclaimed, while a shade of disappointment passed over his brow: "it ought to be him, but it's not like him; too big--different nose altogether. Don't know any of the three. Humph!--well, he's _sure_ to come to-morrow, at all events." Having come to the conclusion that it was not Charley's canoe, he wheeled sulkily round and sauntered back towards his house, intending to solace himself with a pipe. At that moment he heard a shout behind him, and ere he could well turn round to see whence it came, a young man bounded up the bank and seized him in his arms with a hug that threatened to dislocate his ribs. The old gentleman's first impulse was to bestow on his antagonist (for he verily believed him to be such) one of those vigorous touches with his clinched fist which in days of yore used to bring some of his disputes to a summary and effectual close; but his intention changed when the youth spoke. "Father, dear, dear father!" said Charley, as he loosened his grasp, and, still holding him by both hands, looked earnestly into his face with swimming eyes. Old Mr Kennedy seemed to have lost his powers of speech. He gazed at his son for a few seconds in silence, then suddenly threw his arms around him and engaged in a species of wrestle which he intended for an embrace. "O Charley, my boy!" he exclaimed, "you've come at last--God bless you! Let's look at you. Quite changed: six feet; no, not quite changed--the old nose; black as an Indian. O Charley, my dear boy! I've been waiting for you for months; why did you keep me so long, eh? Hang it, where's my handkerchief?" At this last exclamation Mr Kennedy's feelings quite overcame him; his full heart overflowed at his eyes, so that when he tried to look at his son, Charley appeared partly magnified and partly broken up into fragments. Fumbling in his pocket for the missing handkerchief, which he did not find, he suddenly seized his fur cap, in a burst of exasperation, and wiped his eyes with that. Immediately after, forgetting that it _was_ a cap, he thrust it into his pocket. "Come, dear father," cried Charley, drawing the old man's arm through his, "let us go home. Is Kate there?" "Ay, ay," cried Mr Kennedy, waving his hand as he was dragged away, and bestowing, quite unwittingly, a backhanded slap on the cheek to Harry Somerville, which nearly felled that youth to the ground. "Ay, ay! Kate, to be sure, darling. Yes, quite right, Charley; a pipe--that's it, my boy, let's have a pipe!" And thus, uttering incoherent and broken sentences, he disappeared through the doorway with his long-lost and now recovered son. Meanwhile Harry and Jacques continued to pace quietly before the house, waiting patiently until the first ebullition of feeling at the meeting of Charley with his father and sister should be over. In a few minutes Charley ran out. "Hollo, Harry! come in, my boy; forgive my forgetfulness, but--" "My dear fellow," interrupted Harry, "what nonsense you are talking! Of course you forgot me, and everybody and everything on earth, just now; but have you seen Kate? Is--" "Yes, yes," cried Charley, as he pushed his friend before him, and dragged Jacques after him into the parlour.--"Here's Harry, father, Jacques.--You've heard of Jacques, Kate?" "Harry, my dear boy!" cried Mr Kennedy, seizing his young friend by the hand; "how are you, lad? Better, I hope." At that moment Mr Kennedy's eye fell on Jacques, who stood in the doorway, cap in hand, with the usual quiet smile lighting up his countenance. "What! Jacques--Jacques Caradoc!" he cried, in astonishment. "The same, sir; you an' I have know'd each other afore now in the way o' trade," answered the hunter, as he grasped his old bourgeois by the hand and wrung it warmly. Mr Kennedy, senior, was so overwhelmed by the combination of exciting influences to which he was now subjected, that he plunged his hand into his pocket for the handkerchief again, and pulled out the fur hat instead, which he flung angrily at the cat; then using the sleeve of his coat as a substitute, he proceeded to put a series of abrupt questions to Jacques and Charley simultaneously. In the meantime Harry went up to Kate and _stared_ at her. We do not mean to say that he was intentionally rude to her. No! He went towards her intending to shake hands, and renew acquaintance with his old companion; but the moment he caught sight of her he was struck not only dumb, but motionless. The odd part of it was that Kate, too, was affected in precisely the same way, and both of them exclaimed mentally, "Can it be possible?" Their lips, however, gave no utterance to the question. At length Kate recollected herself, and blushing deeply, held out her hand, as she said-- "Forgive me, Har--Mr Somerville; I was so surprised at your altered appearance I could scarcely believe that my old friend stood before me." Harry's cheeks crimsoned as he seized her hand and said: "Indeed, Ka-- a--Miss--that is, in fact, I've been very ill, and doubtless have changed somewhat; but the very same thought struck me in regard to yourself, you are so--so--" Fortunately for Harry, who was gradually becoming more and more confused, to the amusement of Charley, who had closely observed the meeting of his friend and sister, Mr Kennedy came up. "Eh! what's that? What did you say _struck_ you, Harry, my lad?" "_You_ did, father, on his arrival," replied Charley, with a broad grin, "and a very neat back-hander it was." "Nonsense, Charley," interrupted Harry, with a laugh.--"I was just saying, sir, that Miss Kennedy is so changed that I could hardly believe it to be herself." "And I had just paid Mr Somerville the same compliment, papa," cried Kate, laughing and blushing simultaneously. Mr Kennedy thrust his hands into his pockets, frowned portentously as he looked from the one to the other, and said slowly, "_Miss_ Kennedy, _Mr_ Somerville!" then turning to his son, remarked, "That's something new, Charley lad; that girl is _Miss_ Kennedy, and that youth there is _Mr_ Somerville!" Charley laughed loudly at this sally, especially when the old gentleman followed it up with a series of contortions of the left cheek, meant for violent winking. "Right, father, right; it won't do here. We don't know anybody but Kate and Harry in this house." Harry laughed in his own genuine style at this. "Well, Kate be it, with all my heart," said he; "but, really, at first she seemed so unlike the Kate of former days that I could not bring myself to call her so." "Humph!" said Mr Kennedy. "But come, boys, with me to my smoking-room, and let's have a talk over a pipe, while Kate looks after dinner." Giving Charley another squeeze of the hand and Harry a pat on the shoulder, the old gentleman put on his cap (with the peak behind), and led the way to his glass divan in the garden. It is perhaps unnecessary for us to say that Kate Kennedy and Harry Somerville had, within the last hour, fallen deeply, hopelessly, utterly, irrevocably, and totally in love with each other. They did not merely fall up to the ears in love. To say that they fell _over_ head and ears in it would be, comparatively speaking, to say nothing. In fact they did not _fall_ into it at all. They went deliberately backwards, took a long race, sprang high into the air, turned completely round, and went down head first into the flood, descending to a depth utterly beyond the power of any deep-sea lead to fathom, or of any human mind adequately to appreciate. Up to that day Kate had thought of Harry as the hilarious youth who used to take every opportunity he could of escaping from the counting-room and hastening to spend the afternoon in rambling through the woods with her and Charley. But the instant she saw him a man, with a bright, cheerful countenance, on which rough living and exposure to frequent peril had stamped unmistakable lines of energy and decision, and to which recent illness had imparted a captivating touch of sadness--the moment she beheld this, and the undeniable scrap of whisker that graced his cheeks, and the slight _shade_ that rested on his upper lip, her heart leaped violently into her throat, where it stuck hard and fast, like a stranded ship on a lee-shore. In like manner, when Harry beheld his former friend a woman, with beaming eyes and clustering ringlets, and--(there, we won't attempt it!)--in fact, surrounded by every nameless and nameable grace that makes woman exasperatingly delightful, his heart performed the same eccentric movement, and he felt that his fate was sealed; that he had been sucked into a rapid which was too strong even for his expert and powerful arm to contend against, and that he must drift with the current now, _nolens volens_, and run it as he best could. When Kate retired to her sleeping-apartment that night, she endeavoured to comport herself in her usual manner; but all her efforts failed. She sat down on her bed, and remained motionless for half an hour; then she started and sighed deeply; then she smiled and opened her Bible, but forgot to read it; then she rose hastily, sighed again, took off her gown, hang it up on a peg, and, returning to the dressing-table, sat down on her best bonnet; then she cried a little, at which point the candle suddenly went out; so she gave a slight scream, and at last went to bed in the dark. Three hours afterwards, Harry Somerville, who had been enjoying a cigar and a chat with Charley and his father, rose, and bidding his friends good-night, retired to his chamber, where he flung himself down on a chair, thrust his hands into his pockets, stretched out his legs, gazed abstractedly before him, and exclaimed--"O Kate, my exquisite girl, you've floored me quite flat!" As he continued to sit in silence, the gaze of affection gradually and slowly changed into a look of intense astonishment as he beheld the grey cat sitting comfortably on the table, and regarding him with a look of complacent interest, as if it thought Harry's style of addressing it was highly satisfactory--though rather unusual. "Brute!" exclaimed Harry, springing from his seat and darting towards it. But the cat was too well accustomed to old Mr Kennedy's sudden onsets to be easily taken by surprise. With a bound it reached the floor, and took shelter under the bed, whence it was not ejected until Harry, having first thrown his shoes, soap, clothes-brush, and razor-strop at it, besides two or three books and several miscellaneous articles of toilet, at last opened the door (a thing, by the way, that people would do well always to remember before endeavouring to expel a cat from an impregnable position), and drew the bed into the middle of the room. Then, but not till then, it fled, with its back, its tail, its hair, its eyes--in short, its entire body--bristling in rampant indignation. Having dislodged the enemy, Harry replaced the bed, threw off his coat and waistcoat, untied his neckcloth, sat down on his chair again, and fell into a reverie; from which, after half an hour, he started, clasped his hands, stamped his foot, glared up at the ceiling, slapped his thigh, and exclaimed, in the voice of a hen, "Yes, I'll do it, or die!" CHAPTER TWENTY NINE. THE FIRST DAY AT HOME--A GALLOP IN THE PRAIRIE, AND ITS CONSEQUENCES. Next morning, as the quartette were at breakfast, Mr Kennedy, senior, took occasion to propound to his son the plans he had laid down for them during the next week. "In the first place, Charley, my boy," said he, as well as a large mouthful of buffalo steak and potato would permit, "you must drive up to the fort and report yourself. Harry and I will go with you; and after we have paid our respects to old Grant (another cup of tea, Kate, my darling)--you recollect _him_, Charley, don't you?" "Yes, perfectly." "Well, then, after we've been to see him, we'll drive down the river, and call on our friends at the mill. Then we'll look in on the Thomsons; and give a call, in passing, on old Neverin--he's always out, so he'll be pleased to hear we were there, and it won't detain us. Then--" "But, dear father--excuse my interrupting you--Harry and I are very anxious to spend our first day at home entirely with you and Kate. Don't you think it would be more pleasant? and then, to-morrow--" "Now, Charley, this is too bad of you," said Mr Kennedy, with a look of affected indignation: "no sooner have you come back than you're at your old tricks, opposing and thwarting your father's wishes." "Indeed, I do not wish to do so, father," replied Charley, with a smile; "but I thought that you would like my plan better yourself, and that it would afford us an opportunity of having a good long, satisfactory talk about all that concerns us, past, present, and future." "What a daring mind you have, Charley," said Harry, "to speak of cramming a _satisfactory_ talk of the past, the present, and the future all into _one_ day!" "Harry will take another cup of tea, Kate," said Charley, with an arch smile, as he went on-- "Besides, father, Jacques tells me that he means to go off immediately, to visit a number of his old voyageur friends in the settlement, and I cannot part with him till we have had one more canter together over the prairies. I want to show him to Kate, for he's a great original." "Oh, that _will_ be charming!" cried Kate. "I should like of all things to be introduced to the bold hunter.--Another cup of tea, Mr S--Harry, I mean?" Harry started on being thus unexpectedly addressed. "Yes, if you please--that is--thank you--no, my cup's full already, Kate!" "Well, well," broke in Mr Kennedy, senior, "I see you're all leagued against me, so I give in. But I shall not accompany you on your ride, as my bones are a little stiffer than they used to be," (the old gentleman sighed heavily), "and riding far knocks me up; but I've got business to attend to in my glass house which will occupy me till dinner-time." "If the business you speak of," began Charley, "is not incompatible with a cigar, I shall be happy to--" "Why, as to that, the business itself has special reference to tobacco, and, in fact, to nothing else; so come along, you young dog," and the old gentleman's cheek went into violent convulsions as he rose, put on his cap, with the peak very much over one eye, and went out in company with the young men. An hour afterwards four horses stood saddled and bridled in front of the house. Three belonged to Mr Kennedy; the fourth had been borrowed from a neighbour as a mount for Jacques Caradoc. In a few minutes more, Harry lifted Kate into the saddle, and having arranged her dress with a deal of unnecessary care, mounted his nag. At the same moment Charley and Jacques vaulted into their saddles, and the whole cavalcade galloped down the avenue that led to the prairie, followed by the admiring gaze of Mr Kennedy, senior, who stood in the doorway of his mansion, his hands in his vest pockets, his head uncovered, and his happy visage smiling through a cloud of smoke that issued from his lips. He seemed the very personification of jovial good-humour, and what one might suppose Cupid would become were he permitted to grow old, dress recklessly, and take to smoking! The prairies were bright that morning, and surpassingly beautiful. The grass looked greener than usual, the dewdrops more brilliant as they sparkled on leaf and blade and branch in the rays of an unclouded sun. The turf felt springy, and the horses, which were first-rate animals, seemed to dance over it, scarce crushing the wild-flowers beneath their hoofs, as they galloped lightly on, imbued with the same joyous feeling that filled the hearts of their riders. The plains at this place were more picturesque than in other parts, their uniformity being broken up by numerous clumps of small trees and wild shrubbery, intermingled with lakes and ponds of all sizes, which filled the hollows for miles around--temporary sheets of water these, formed by the melting snow, that told of winter now past and gone. Additional animation and life was given to the scene by flocks of water-fowl, whose busy cry and cackle in the water, or whirring motion in the air, gave such an idea of joyousness in the brute creation as could not but strike a chord of sympathy in the heart of man, and create a feeling of gratitude to the Maker of man and beast. Although brilliant and warm, the sun, at least during the first part of their ride, was by no means oppressive; so that the equestrians stretched out at full gallop for many miles over the prairie, round the lakes and through the bushes, ere their steeds showed the smallest symptoms of warmth. During the ride Kate took the lead, with Jacques on her left and Harry on her right, while Charley brought up the rear, and conversed in a loud key with all three. At length Kate began to think it was just possible the horses might be growing wearied with the slapping pace, and checked her steed; but this was not an easy matter, as the horse seemed to hold quite a contrary opinion, and showed a desire not only to continue but to increase its gallop--a propensity that induced Harry to lend his aid by grasping the rein and compelling the animal to walk. "That's a spirited horse, Kate," said Charley, as they ambled along; "have you had him long?" "No," replied Kate; "our father purchased him just a week before your arrival, thinking that you would likely want a charger now and then. I have only been on him once before.--Would he make a good buffalo-runner, Jacques?" "Yes, miss; he would make an uncommon good runner," answered the hunter, as he regarded the animal with a critical glance--"at least if he don't shy at a gunshot." "I never tried his nerves in that way," said Kate, with a smile; "perhaps he would shy at _that_. He has a good deal of spirit--oh, I do dislike a lazy horse, and I do delight in a spirited one!" Kate gave her horse a smart cut with the whip, half involuntarily, as she spoke. In a moment it reared almost perpendicularly, and then bounded forward; not, however, before Jacques's quick eye had observed the danger, and his ever-ready hand arrested its course. "Have a care, Miss Kate," he said, in a warning voice, while he gazed in the face of the excited girl with a look of undisguised admiration. "It don't do to wallop a skittish beast like that." "Never fear, Jacques," she replied, bending forward to pat her charger's arching neck; "see, he is becoming quite gentle again." "If he runs away, Kate, we won't be able to catch you again, for he's the best of the four, I think," said Harry, with an uneasy glance at the animal's flashing eye and expanded nostrils. "Ay, it's as well to keep the whip off him," said Jacques. "I know'd a young chap once in St. Louis who lost his sweetheart by usin' his whip too freely." "Indeed," cried Kate, with a merry laugh, as they emerged from one of the numerous thickets and rode out upon the open plain at a foot pace; "how was that, Jacques? Pray tell us the story." "As to that, there's little story about it," replied the hunter. "You see, Tim Roughead took arter his name, an' was always doin' some mischief or other, which more than once nigh cost him his life; for the young trappers that frequent St. Louis are not fellows to stand too much jokin', I can tell ye. Well, Tim fell in love with a gal there who had jilted about a dozen lads afore; an' bein' an oncommon handsome, strappin' fellow, she encouraged him a good deal. But Tim had a suspicion that Louise was rayther sweet on a young storekeeper's clerk there; so, bein' an offhand sort o' critter, he went right up to the gal, and says to her, says he, `Come, Louise, it's o' no use humbuggin' with _me_ any longer. If you like me, you like me; and if you don't like me, you don't. There's only two ways about it. Now, jist say the word at once, an' let's have an end on't. If you agree, I'll squat with you in whativer bit o' the States you like to name; if not, I'll bid you good-bye this blessed mornin', an' make tracks right away for the Rocky Mountains afore sundown. Ay or no, lass; which is't to be?' "Poor Louise was taken all aback by this, but she knew well that Tim was a man who never threatened in jest, an' moreover she wasn't quite sure o' the young clerk; so she agreed, an' Tim went off to settle with her father about the weddin'. Well, the day came, an' Tim, with a lot o' his comrades, mounted their horses, and rode off to the bride's house, which was a mile or two up the river out of the town. Just as they were startin', Tim's horse gave a plunge that well-nigh pitched him over its head, an' Tim came down on him with a cut o' his heavy whip that sounded like a pistol-shot. The beast was so mad at this that it gave a kind o' squeal an' another plunge that burst the girth, Tim brought the whip down on its flank again, which made it shoot forward like an arrow out of a bow, leavin' poor Tim on the ground. So slick did it fly away that it didn't even throw him on his back, but let him fall sittin'-wise, saddle and all, plump on the spot where he sprang from. Tim scratched his head an' grinned like a half-worried rattlesnake as his comrades almost rolled off their saddles with laughin'. But it was no laughin' job, for poor Tim's leg was doubled under him an' broken across at the thigh. It was long before he was able to go about again, and when he did recover he found that Louise and the young clerk were spliced an' away to Kentucky." "So you see what are the probable consequences, Kate, if you use your whip so obstreperously again," cried Charley, pressing his horse into a canter. Just at that moment a rabbit sprang from under a bush and darted away before them. In an instant Harry Somerville gave a wild shout, and set off in pursuit. Whether it was the cry or the sudden flight of Harry's horse we cannot tell, but the next instant Kate's charger performed an indescribable flourish with its hind legs, laid back its ears, took the bit between its teeth, and ran away. Jacques was on its heels instantly, and a few seconds afterwards Charley and Harry joined in the pursuit, but their utmost efforts failed to do more than enable them to keep their ground. Kate's horse was making for a dense thicket, into which it became evident they must certainly plunge. Harry and her brother trembled when they looked at it and realised her danger; even Jacques's face showed some symptoms of perturbation for a moment as he glanced before him in indecision. The expression vanished, however, in a few seconds, and his cheerful, self-possessed look returned, as he cried out-- "Pull the left rein hard, Miss Kate; try to edge up the slope." Kate heard the advice, and exerting all her strength succeeded in turning her horse a little to the left, which caused him to ascend a gentle slope, at the top of which part of the thicket lay. She was closely followed by Harry and her brother, who urged their steeds madly forward in the hope of catching her rein, while Jacques diverged a little to the right. By this manoeuvre the latter hoped to gain on the runaway, as the ground along which he rode was comparatively level, with a short but steep ascent at the end of it, while that along which Kate flew like the wind was a regular ascent, that would prove very trying to her horse. At the margin of the thicket grew a row of high bushes, towards which they now galloped with frightful speed. As Kate came up to this natural fence, she observed the trapper approaching on the other side of it. Springing from his jaded steed, without attempting to check its pace, he leaped over the underwood like a stag just as the young girl cleared the bushes at a bound. Grasping the reins, and checking the horse violently with one hand, he extended the other to Kate, who leaped unhesitatingly into his arms. At the same instant Charley cleared the bushes, and pulled sharply up; while Harry's horse, unable, owing to its speed, to take the leap, came crashing through them, and dashed his rider with stunning violence to the ground. Fortunately no bones were broken, and a draught of clear water, brought by Jacques from a neighbouring pond, speedily restored Harry's shaken faculties. "Now, Kate," said Charley, leading forward the horse which he had ridden, "I have changed saddles, as you see; this horse will suit you better, and I'll take the shine out of your charger on the way home." "Thank you, Charley," said Kate, with a smile. "I've quite recovered from my fright--if, indeed, it is worth calling by that name; but I fear that Harry has--" "Oh, I'm all right," cried Harry, advancing as he spoke to assist Kate in mounting. "I am ashamed to think that my wild cry was the cause of all this." In another minute they were again in their saddles, and turning their faces homeward, they swept over the plain at a steady gallop, fearing lest their accident should be the means of making Mr Kennedy wait dinner for them. On arriving, they found the old gentleman engaged in an animated discussion with the cook about laying the table-cloth, which duty he had imposed on himself in Kate's absence. "Ah, Kate, my love," he cried, as they entered, "come here, lass, and mount guard. I've almost broke my heart in trying to convince that thick-headed goose that he can't set the table properly. Take it off my hands, like a good girl.--Charley, my boy, you'll be pleased to hear that your old friend Redfeather is here." "Redfeather, father!" exclaimed Charley, in surprise. "Yes; he and the parson, from the other end of Lake Winnipeg, arrived an hour ago in a tin kettle, and are now on their way to the upper fort." "That is indeed pleasant news; but I suspect that it will give much greater pleasure to our friend Jacques, who, I believe, would be glad to lay down his life for him, simply to prove his affection." "Well, well," said the old gentleman, knocking the ashes out of his pipe, and refilling it so as to be ready for an after-dinner smoke, "Redfeather has come, and the parson's come too; and I look upon it as quite miraculous that they _have_ come, considering the _thing_ they came in. What they've come for is more than I can tell, but I suppose it's connected with church affairs.--Now then, Kate, what's come o' the dinner, Kate? Stir up that grampus of a cook! I half expect that he has boiled the cat for dinner, in his wrath, for it has been badgering him and me the whole morning.--Hollo, Harry, what's wrong?" The last exclamation was in consequence of an expression of pain which crossed Harry's face for a moment. "Nothing, nothing," replied Harry. "I've had a fall from my horse, and bruised my arm a little. But I'll see to it after dinner." "That you shall not," cried Mr Kennedy, energetically, dragging his young friend into his bedroom. "Off with your coat, lad. Let's see it at once. Ay, ay," he continued, examining Harry's left arm, which was very much discoloured, and swelled from the elbow to the shoulder, "that's a severe thump, my boy. But it's nothing to speak of; only you'll have to submit to a sling for a day or two." "That's annoying, certainly, but I'm thankful it's no worse," remarked Harry, as Mr Kennedy dressed the arm after his own fashion, and then returned with him to the dining-room. CHAPTER THIRTY. LOVE--OLD MR. KENNEDY PUTS HIS FOOT IN IT. One morning, about two weeks after Charley's arrival at Red River, Harry Somerville found himself alone in Mr Kennedy's parlour. The old gentleman himself had just galloped away in the direction of the lower fort, to visit Charley, who was now formally installed there; Kate was busy in the kitchen, giving directions about dinner; and Jacques was away with Redfeather, visiting his numerous friends in the settlement: so that, for the first time since his arrival, Harry found himself at the hour of ten in the morning utterly lone, and with nothing very definite to do. Of course, the two weeks that had elapsed were not without their signs and symptoms, their minor accidents and incidents, in regard to the subject that filled his thoughts. Harry had fifty times been tossed alternately from the height of hope to the depth of despair, from the extreme of felicity to the uttermost verge of sorrow, and he began seriously to reflect, when he remembered his desperate resolution on the first night of his arrival, that if he did not "do" he certainly would "die." This was quite a mistake, however, on Harry's part. Nobody ever did _die_ of unrequited love. Doubtless many people have hanged, drowned, and shot themselves because of it; but, generally speaking, if the patient can be kept from maltreating himself long enough, _time_ will prove to be an infallible remedy. O youthful reader, lay this to heart; but, pshaw! why do I waste ink on so hopeless a task? _Every_ one, we suppose, resolves once in a way to _die_ of love; so--die away, my young friends, only make sure that you don't _kill_ yourselves, and I've no fear of the result. But to return. Kate, likewise, was similarly affected. She behaved like a perfect maniac--mentally, that is--and plunged herself, metaphorically, into such a succession of hot and cold baths, that it was quite a marvel how her spiritual constitution could stand it. But we were wrong in saying that Harry was _alone_ in the parlour. The grey cat was there. On a chair before the fire it sat, looking dishevelled and somewhat _blase_ in consequence of the ill-treatment and worry to which it was continually subjected. After looking out of the window for a short time, Harry rose, and sitting down on a chair beside the cat, patted its head--a mark of attention it was evidently not averse to, but which it received, nevertheless, with marked suspicion, and some indications of being in a condition of armed neutrality. Just then the door opened, and Kate entered. "Excuse me, Harry, for leaving you alone," she said, "but I had to attend to several household matters. Do you feel inclined for a walk?" "I do indeed," replied Harry; "it is a charming day, and I am exceedingly anxious to see the bower that you have spoken to me about once or twice, and which Charley told me of long before I came here." "Oh, I shall take you to it with pleasure," replied Kate; "my dear father often goes there with me to smoke. If you will wait for two minutes I'll put on my bonnet," and she hastened to prepare herself for the walk, leaving Harry to caress the cat, which he did so energetically, when he thought of its young mistress, that it instantly declared war, and sprang from the chair with a remonstrative yell. On their way down to the bower, which was situated in a picturesque, retired spot on the river's bank about a mile below the house, Harry and Kate tried to converse on ordinary topics, but without success, and were at last almost reduced to silence. One subject alone filled their minds; all others were flat. Being sunk, as it were, in an ocean of love, they no sooner opened their lips to speak than the waters rushed in, as a natural consequence, and nearly choked them. Had they but opened their mouths wide and boldly, they would have been pleasantly drowned together; but as it was, they lacked the requisite courage, and were fain to content themselves with an occasional frantic struggle to the surface, where they gasped a few words of uninteresting air, and sank again instantly. On arriving at the bower, however, and sitting down, Harry plucked up heart, and heaving a deep sigh, said-- "Kate, there is a subject about which I have long desired to speak to you--" Long as he had been desiring it, however, Kate thought it must have been nothing compared with the time that elapsed ere he said anything else; so she bent over a flower which she held in her hand, and said in a low voice, "Indeed, Harry; what is it?" Harry was desperate now. His usually flexible tongue was stiff as stone and dry as a bit of leather. He could no more give utterance to an intelligible idea than he could change himself into Mr Kennedy's grey cat--a change that he would not have been unwilling to make at that moment. At last he seized his companion's hand, and exclaimed, with a burst of emotion that quite startled her-- "Kate, Kate! O dearest Kate, I love you! I _adore_ you! I--" At this point poor Harry's powers of speech again failed; so, being utterly unable to express another idea, he suddenly threw his arms round her, and pressed her fervently to his bosom. Kate was taken quite aback by this summary method of coming to the point. Repulsing him energetically, she exclaimed, while she blushed crimson, "O Harry--Mr Somerville!" and burst into tears. Poor Harry stood before her for a moment, his head hanging down, and a deep blush of shame on his face. "O Kate," said he, in a deep, tremulous voice, "forgive me; do--do forgive me! I knew not what I said. I scarce knew what I did" (here he seized her hand). "I know but one thing, Kate, and tell it you I _will_, if it should cost me my life. I love you, Kate, to distraction, and I wish you to be my wife. I have been rude, very rude. Can you forgive me, Kate?" Now, this latter part of Harry's speech was particularly comical, the comicality of it lying, in this, that while he spoke he drew Kate gradually towards him, and at the very time when he gave utterance to the penitential remorse for his rudeness, Kate was infolded in a much more vigorous embrace than at the first; and, what is more remarkable still, she laid her little head quietly on his shoulder, as if she had quite changed her mind in regard to what was and what was not rude, and rather enjoyed it than otherwise. While the lovers stood in this interesting position, it became apparent to Harry's olfactory nerves that the atmosphere was impregnated with tobacco smoke. Looking hastily up, he beheld an apparition that tended somewhat to increase the confusion of his faculties. In the opening of the bower stood Mr Kennedy, senior, in a state of inexpressible amazement. We say _inexpressible_ advisedly, because the extreme pitch of feeling which Mr Kennedy experienced at what he beheld before him cannot possibly be expressed by human visage. As far as the countenance of man could do it, however, we believe the old gentleman's came pretty near the mark on this occasion. His hands were in his coat pockets, his body bent a little forward, his head and neck outstretched a little beyond it, his eyes almost starting from the sockets, and certainly the most prominent feature in his face; his teeth firmly clinched on his beloved pipe, and his lips expelling a multitude of little clouds so vigorously that one might have taken him for a sort of self-acting intelligent steam-gun that had resolved utterly to annihilate Kate and Harry at short range in the course of two minutes. When Kate saw her father she uttered a slight scream, covered her face with her hands, rushed from the bower, and disappeared in the wood. "So, young gentleman," began Mr Kennedy, in a slow, deliberate tone of voice, while he removed the pipe from his mouth, clinched his fist, and confronted Harry, "you've been invited to my house as a guest, sir, and you seize the opportunity basely to insult my daughter!" "Stay, stay, my dear sir," interrupted Harry, laying his hand on the old man's shoulder and gazing earnestly into his face. "Oh, do not, even for a moment, imagine that I could be so base as to trifle with the affections of your daughter. I may have been presumptuous, hasty, foolish, mad if you will, but not base. God forbid that I should treat her with disrespect, even in thought! I love her, Mr Kennedy, as I never loved before. I have asked her to be my wife, and--she--" "Whew!" whistled old Mr Kennedy, replacing his pipe between his teeth, gazing abstractedly at the ground, and emitting clouds innumerable. After standing thus a few seconds, he turned his back slowly upon Harry, and smiled outrageously once or twice, winking at the same time, after his own fashion, at the river. Turning abruptly round, he regarded Harry with a look of affected dignity, and said, "Pray, sir, what did my daughter say to your very peculiar proposal?" "She said ye--ah! that is--she didn't exactly _say_ anything, but she-- indeed I--" "Humph!" ejaculated the old gentleman, deepening his frown as he regarded his young friend through the smoke. "In short, she said nothing, I suppose, but led you to infer, perhaps, that she would have said yes if I hadn't interrupted you." Harry blushed, and said nothing. "Now, sir," continued Mr Kennedy, "don't you think that it would have been a polite piece of attention on your part to have asked _my_ permission before you addressed my daughter on such a subject, eh?" "Indeed," said Harry, "I acknowledge that I have been hasty, but I must disclaim the charge of disrespect to you, sir. I had no intention whatever of broaching the subject to-day, but my feelings, unhappily, carried me away, and--and--in fact--" "Well, well, sir," interrupted Mr Kennedy, with a look of offended dignity, "your feelings ought to be kept more under control. But come, sir, to my house. I must talk further with you on this subject. I must read you a lesson, sir--a lesson, humph! that you won't forget in a hurry." "But, my dear sir--" began Harry. "No more, sir--no more at present," cried the old gentleman, smoking violently as he pointed to the footpath that led to the house. "Lead the way, sir; I'll follow." The footpath, although wide enough to allow Kate and Harry to walk beside each other, did not permit of two gentlemen doing so conveniently--a circumstance which proved a great relief to Mr Kennedy, inasmuch as it enabled him, while walking behind his companion, to wink convulsively, smoke furiously, and punch his own ribs severely, by way of opening a few safety-valves to his glee, without which there is no saying what might have happened. He was nearly caught in these eccentricities more than once, however, as Harry turned half round with the intention of again attempting to exculpate himself--attempts which were as often met by a sudden start, a fierce frown, a burst of smoke, and a command to "go on." On approaching the house, the track became a broad road, affording Mr Kennedy no excuse for walking in the rear, so that he was under the necessity of laying violent restraint on his feelings--a restraint which it was evident could not last long. At that moment, to his great relief, his eye suddenly fell on the grey cat, which happened to be reposing innocently on the doorstep. "_That's_ it! there's the whole cause of it at last!" cried Mr Kennedy, in a perfect paroxysm of excitement, flinging his pipe violently at the unoffending victim as he rushed towards it. The pipe missed the cat, but went with a sharp crash through the parlour window, at which Charley was seated, while his father darted through the doorway, along the passage, and into the kitchen. Here the cat, having first capsized a pyramid of pans and kettles in its consternation, took refuge in an absolutely unassailable position. Seeing this, Mr Kennedy violently discharged a pailful of water at the spot, strode rapidly to his own apartment, and locked himself in. "Dear me, Harry, what's wrong? my father seems unusually excited," said Charley, in some astonishment, as Harry entered the room and flung himself on a chair with a look of chagrin. "It's difficult to say, Charley; the fact is, I've asked your sister Kate to be my wife, and your father seems to have gone mad with indignation." "Asked Kate to be your wife!" cried Charley, starting up and regarding his friend with a look of amazement. "Yes, I have," replied Harry, with an air of offended dignity. "I know very well that I am unworthy of her, but I see no reason why you and your father should take such pains to make me feel it." "Unworthy of her, my dear fellow!" exclaimed Charley, grasping his hand and wringing it violently; "no doubt you are, and so is everybody, but you shall have her for all that, my boy. But tell me, Harry, have you spoken to Kate herself?" "Yes, I have." "And does she agree?" "Well, I think I may say she does." "Have you told my father that she does?" "Why, as to that," said Harry, with a perplexed smile, "he didn't need to be told; he made _himself_ pretty well aware of the facts of the case." "Ah! I'll soon settle _him_," cried Charley. "Keep your mind easy, old fellow; I'll very soon bring him round." With this assurance, Charley gave his friend's hand another shake that nearly wrenched the arm from his shoulder, and hastened out of the room in search of his refractory father. CHAPTER THIRTY ONE. THE COURSE OF TRUE LOVE, CURIOUSLY ENOUGH, RUNS SMOOTH FOR ONCE, AND THE CURTAIN FALLS. Time rolled on, and with it the sunbeams of summer went--the snowflakes of winter came. Needles of ice began to shoot across the surface of Red River, and gradually narrowed its bed. Crystalline trees formed upon the window-panes. Icicles depended from the eaves of the houses. Snow fell in abundance on the plains; liquid nature began rapidly to solidify, and not many weeks after the first frost made its appearance everything was (as the settlers expressed it) "hard and fast." Mr Kennedy, senior, was in his parlour, with his back to a blazing wood fire that seemed large enough to roast an ox whole. He was standing, moreover, in a semi-picturesque attitude, with his right hand in his breeches pocket and his left arm round Kate's waist. Kate was dressed in a gown that rivalled the snow itself in whiteness. One little gold clasp shone in her bosom; it was the only ornament she wore. Mr Kennedy, too, had somewhat altered his style of costume. He wore a sky-blue swallow-tailed coat, whose maker had flourished in London half a century before. It had a velvet collar about five inches deep, fitted uncommonly tight to the figure, and had a pair of bright brass buttons, very close together, situated half a foot above the wearer's natural waist. Besides this, he had on a canary-coloured vest, and a pair of white duck trousers, in the fob of which _evidently_ reposed an immense gold watch of the olden time, with a bunch of seals that would have served very well as an anchor for a small boat. Although the dress was, on the whole, slightly comical, its owner, with his full, fat, broad figaro, looked remarkably well in it, nevertheless. It was Kate's marriage-day, or rather marriage-evening; for the sun had set two hours ago, and the moon was now sailing in the frosty sky, its pale rays causing the whole country to shine with a clear, cold, silvery whiteness. The old gentleman had been for some time gazing in silent admiration on the fair brow and clustering ringlets of his daughter, when it suddenly occurred to him that the company would arrive in half an hour, and there were several things still to be attended to. "Hollo, Kate!" he exclaimed, with a start, "we're forgetting ourselves. The candles are yet to light, and lots of other things to do." Saying this, he began to bustle about the room in a state of considerable agitation. "Oh, don't worry yourself, dear father!" cried Kate, running after him, and catching him by the hand. "Miss Cookumwell and good Mrs Taddipopple are arranging everything about tea and supper in the kitchen, and Tom Whyte has been kindly sent to us by Mr Grant, with orders to make himself generally useful, so _he_ can light the candles in a few minutes, and you've nothing to do but to kiss me and receive the company." Kate pulled her father gently towards the fire again, and replaced his arm round her waist. "Receive company! Ah, Kate, my love, that's just what I know nothing about. If they'd let me receive them in my own way, I'd do it well enough; but that abominable Mrs Taddi--what's her name--has quite addled my brains and driven me distracted with trying to get me to understand what she calls _etiquette_." Kate laughed, and said she didn't care _how_ he received them, as she was quite sure that, whichever way he did it, he would do it pleasantly and well. At that moment the door opened, and Tom Whyte entered. He was thinner, if possible, than he used to be, and considerably stiffer, and more upright. "Please, sir," said he, with a motion that made you expect to hear his back creak (it was intended for a bow)--"please, sir, can I do hanythink for yer?" "Yes, Tom, you can," replied Mr Kennedy. "Light these candles, my man, and then go to the stable and see that everything there is arranged for putting up the horses. It will be pretty full to-night, Tom, and will require some management. Then, let me see--ah, yes, bring me my pipe, Tom, my big meerschaum.--I'll sport that to-night in honour of you, Kate." "Please, sir," began Tom, with a slightly disconcerted air, "I'm afeard, sir, that--um--" "Well, Tom, what would you say? Go on." "The pipe, sir," said Tom, growing still more disconcerted--"says I to cook, says I, `Cook, wot's been an' done it, d'ye think?' `Dun know, Tom,' says he, `but it's smashed, that's sartin. I think the gray cat--'" "What!" cried the old trader, in a voice of thunder, while a frown of the most portentous ferocity darkened his brow for an instant. It was only for an instant, however. Clearing his brow quickly, he said with a smile, "But it's your wedding-day, Kate, my darling. It won't do to blow up anybody to-day, not even the cat.--There, be off, Tom, and see to things. Look sharp! I hear sleigh-bells already." As he spoke Tom vanished perpendicularly, Kate hastened to her room, and the old gentleman himself went to the front door to receive his guests. The night was of that intensely calm and still character that invariably accompanies intense frost, so that the merry jingle of the sleigh-bells that struck on Mr Kennedy's listening ear continued to sound, and grow louder as they drew near, for a considerable time ere the visitors arrived. Presently the dull, soft tramp of horses' hoofs was heard in the snow, and a well-known voice shouted out lustily, "Now then, Mactavish, keep to the left. Doesn't the road take a turn there? Mind the gap in the fence. That's old Kennedy's only fault. He'd rather risk breaking his friends' necks than mend his fences!" "All right, here we are," cried Mactavish, as the next instant two sleighs emerged out of the avenue into the moonlit space in front of the house, and dashed up to the door amid an immense noise and clatter of bells, harness, hoofs, snorting, and salutations. "Ah, Grant, my dear fellow!" cried Mr Kennedy, springing to the sleigh and seizing his friend by the hand as he dragged him out. "This is kind of you to come early. And Mrs Grant, too. Take care, my dear madam, step clear of the haps; now, then--cleverly done" (as Mrs Grant tumbled into his arms in a confused heap). "Come along now; there's a capital fire in here.--Don't mind the horses, Mactavish--follow us, my lad; Tom Whyte will attend to them." Uttering such disjointed remarks, Mr Kennedy led Mrs Grant into the house, and made her over to Mrs Taddipopple, who hurried her away to an inner apartment, while Mr Kennedy conducted her spouse, along with Mactavish and our friend the head clerk at Fort Garry, into the parlour. "Harry, my dear fellow, I wish you joy," cried Mr Grant, as the former grasped his hand. "Lucky dog you are. Where's Kate, eh? Not visible yet, I suppose." "No, not till the parson comes," interrupted Mr Kennedy, convulsing his left cheek.--"Hollo, Charley, where are you? Ah! bring the cigars, Charley.--Sit down, gentlemen; make yourselves at home.--I say, Mrs Taddi--Taddi--oh, botheration--popple! that's it--your name, madam, _is_ a puzzler--but--we'll need more chairs, I think. Fetch one or two, like a dear!" As he spoke the jingle of bells was heard outside, and Mr Kennedy rushed to the door again. "Good-evening, Mr Addison," said he, taking that gentleman warmly by the hand as he resigned the reins to Tom Whyte. "I am delighted to see you, sir (look after the minister's mare, Tom), glad to see you, my dear sir. Some of my friends have come already. This way, Mr Addison." The worthy clergyman responded to Mr Kennedy's greeting in his own hearty manner, and followed him into the parlour, where the guests now began to assemble rapidly. "Father," cried Charley, catching his sire by the arm, "I've been looking for you everywhere, but you dance about like a will-o'-the-wisp. Do you know, I've invited my friends Jacques and Redfeather to come to-night, and also Louis Peltier, the guide with whom I made my first trip. You recollect him, father?" "Ay, that do I, lad, and happy shall I be to see three such worthy men under my roof as guests on this night." "Yes, yes, I know that, father; but I don't see them here. Have they come yet?" "Can't say, boy. By the way, Pastor Conway is also coming, so we'll have a meeting between an Episcopalian and a Wesleyan. I sincerely trust that they won't fight!" As he said this the old gentleman grinned and threw his cheek into convulsions--an expression which was suddenly changed into one of confusion when he observed that Mr Addison was standing close beside him, and had heard the remark. "Don't blush, my dear sir," said Mr Addison, with a quiet smile, as he patted his friend on the shoulder. "You have too much reason, I am sorry to say, for expecting that clergymen of different denominations should look coldly on each other. There is far too much of this indifference and distrust among those who labour in different parts of the Lord's vineyard. But I trust you will find that my sympathies extend a little beyond the circle of my own particular body. Indeed, Mr Conway is a particular friend of mine; so I assure you we won't fight." "Right, right," cried Mr Kennedy, giving the clergyman an energetic grasp of the hand; "I like to hear you speak that way. I must confess that I have been a good deal surprised to observe, by what one reads in the old-country newspapers, as well as by what one sees even hereaway in the backwood settlements, how little interest clergymen show in the doings of those who don't happen to belong to their own particular sect; just as if a soul saved through the means of an Episcopalian was not of as much value as one saved by a Wesleyan, or a Presbyterian, or a Dissenter. Why, sir, it seems to me just as mean-spirited and selfish as if one of our chief factors was so entirely taken up with the doings and success of his own particular district that he didn't care a gun-flint for any other district in the Company's service." There was at least one man listening to these remarks, whose naturally logical and liberal mind fully agreed with them. This was Jacques Caradoc, who had entered the room a few minutes before, in company with his friend Redfeather and Louis Peltier. "Right, sir! That's fact, straight up and down," said he, in an approving tone. "Ha! Jacques, my good fellow, is that you?--Redfeather, my friend, how are you?" said Mr Kennedy, turning round and grasping a hand of each.--"Sit down there, Louis, beside Mrs Taddi--eh!--ah!--popple.--Mr Addison, this is Jacques Caradoc, the best and stoutest hunter between Hudson's Bay and Oregon." Jacques smiled and bowed modestly as Mr Addison shook his hand. The worthy hunter did indeed at that moment look as if he fully merited Mr Kennedy's eulogium. Instead of endeavouring to ape the gentleman, as many men in his rank of life would have been likely to do on an occasion like this, Jacques had not altered his costume a hairbreadth from what it usually was, excepting that some parts of it were quite new, and all of it faultlessly clean. He wore the usual capote, but it was his best one, and had been washed for the occasion. The scarlet belt and blue leggings were also as bright in colour as if they had been put on for the first time; and the moccasins, which fitted closely to his well-formed feet, were of the cleanest and brightest yellow leather, ornamented, as usual, in front. The collar of his blue-striped shirt was folded back a little more carefully than usual, exposing his sunburned and muscular throat. In fact, he wanted nothing, save the hunting-knife, the rifle, and the powder-horn, to constitute him a perfect specimen of a thorough backwoodsman. Redfeather and Louis were similarly costumed; and a noble trio they looked as they sat modestly in a corner, talking to each other in whispers, and endeavouring, as much as possible, to curtail their colossal proportions. "Now, Harry," said Mr Kennedy, in a hoarse whisper, at the same time winking vehemently, "we're about ready, lad. Where's Kate, eh? shall we send for her?" Harry blushed, and stammered out something that was wholly unintelligible, but which, nevertheless, seemed to afford infinite delight to the old gentleman, who chuckled and winked tremendously, gave his son-in-law a facetious poke in the ribs, and turning abruptly to Miss Cookumwell, said to that lady, "Now, Miss Cookumpopple, we're all ready. They seem to have had enough tea and trash; you'd better be looking after Kate, I think." Miss Cookumwell smiled, rose, and left the room to obey; Mrs Taddipopple followed to help, and soon returned with Kate, whom they delivered up to her father at the door. Mr Kennedy led her to the upper end of the room; Harry Somerville stood by her side, as if by magic; Mr Addison dropped opportunely before them, as if from the clouds; there was an extraordinary and abrupt pause in the hum of conversation, and ere Kate was well aware of what was about to happen, she felt herself suddenly embraced by her husband, from whom she was thereafter violently torn and all but smothered by her sympathising friends. Poor Kate! she had gone through the ceremony almost mechanically-- recklessly, we might be justified in saying; for not having raised her eyes off the floor from its commencement to its close, the man whom she accepted for better or for worse might have been Jacques or Redfeather for all that she knew. Immediately after this there was heard the sound of a fiddle, and an old Canadian was led to the upper end of the room, placed on a chair, and hoisted, by the powerful arms of Jacques and Louis, upon a table. In this conspicuous position the old man seemed to be quite at his ease. He spent a few minutes in bringing his instrument into perfect tune; then looking round with a mild, patronising glance to see that the dancers were ready, he suddenly struck up a Scotch reel with an amount of energy, precision, and spirit that might have shot a pang of jealousy through the heart of Neil Gow himself. The noise that instantly commenced, and was kept up from that moment, with but few intervals, during the whole evening, was of a kind that is never heard in fashionable drawing-rooms. Dancing in the backwood settlements _is_ dancing. It is not walking; it is not sailing; it is not undulating; it is not sliding; no, it is _bona-fide_ dancing! It is the performance of intricate evolutions with the feet and legs that makes one wink to look at; performed in good time too, and by people who look upon _all_ their muscles as being useful machines, not merely things of which a select few, that cannot be dispensed with, are brought into daily operation. Consequently the thing was done with an amount of vigour that was conducive to the health of performers, and productive of satisfaction to the eyes of beholders. When the evening wore on apace, however, and Jacques's modesty was so far overcome as to induce him to engage in a reel, along with his friend Louis Peltier, and two bouncing young ladies whose father had driven them twenty miles over the plains that day in order to attend the wedding of their dear friend and former playmate, Kate--when these four stood up, we say, and the fiddler played more energetically than ever, and the stout backwoodsmen began to warm and grow vigorous, until, in the midst of their tremendous leaps and rapid but well-timed motions, they looked like very giants amid their brethren, then it was that Harry, as he felt Kate's little hand pressing his arm, and observed her sparkling eyes gazing at the dancers in genuine admiration, began at last firmly to believe that the whole thing was a dream; and then it was that old Mr Kennedy rejoiced to think that the house had been built under his own special directions, and he knew that it could not by any possibility be shaken to pieces. And well might Harry imagine that he dreamed; for besides the bewildering tendency of the almost too-good-to-be-true fact that Kate was really Mrs Harry Somerville, the scene before him was a particularly odd and perplexing mixture of widely different elements, suggestive of new and old associations. The company was miscellaneous. There were retired old traders, whose lives from boyhood had been spent in danger, solitude, wild scenes, and adventures to which those of Robinson Crusoe are mere child's play. There were young girls, the daughters of these men, who had received good educations in the Red River academy, and a certain degree of polish which education always gives, a very _different_ polish, indeed, from that which the conventionalities and refinements of the Old World bestow, but not the less agreeable on that account--nay, we might even venture to say, all the more agreeable on that account. There were Red Indians and clergymen--there were one or two ladies of a doubtful age, who had come out from the old country to live there, having found it no easy matter, poor things, to live at home; there were matrons whose absolute silence on every subject save "yes" or "no" showed that they had not been subjected to the refining influences of the academy, but whose hearty smiles and laughs of genuine good-nature proved that the storing of the brain has, after all, _very_ little to do with the best and deepest feelings of the heart. There were the tones of Scotch reels sounding-tones that brought Scotland vividly before the very eyes; and there were Canadian hunters and half-breed voyageurs, whose moccasins were more accustomed to the turf of the woods than the boards of a drawing-room, and whose speech and accents made Scotland vanish away altogether from the memory. There were old people and young folk; there were fat and lean, short and long. There were songs too--ballads of England, pathetic songs of Scotland, alternating with the French ditties of Canada, and the sweet, inexpressibly plaintive canoe-songs of the voyageur. There were strong contrasts in dress also: some wore the home-spun trousers of the settlement, a few the ornamented leggings of the hunter. Capotes were there--loose, flowing, and picturesque; and broadcloth tail-coats were there, of the last century, tight-fitting, angular--in a word, detestable; verifying the truth of the proverb that extremes meet, by showing that the _cut_ which all the wisdom of tailors and scientific fops, after centuries of study, had laboriously wrought out and foisted upon the poor civilised world as perfectly sublime, appeared in the eyes of backwoodsmen and Indians utterly ridiculous. No wonder that Harry, under the circumstances, became quietly insane, and went about committing _nothing_ but mistakes the whole evening. No wonder that he emulated his father-in-law in abusing the gray cat, when he found it surreptitiously devouring part of the supper in an adjoining room; and no wonder that, when he rushed about vainly in search of Mrs Taddipopple, to acquaint her with the cat's wickedness, he at last, in desperation, laid violent hands on Miss Cookumwell, and addressed that excellent lady by the name of Mrs Poppletaddy. Were we courageous enough to make the attempt, we would endeavour to describe that joyful evening from beginning to end. We would tell you how the company's spirits rose higher and higher, as each individual became more and more anxious to lend his or her aid in adding to the general hilarity; how old Mr Kennedy nearly killed himself in his fruitless efforts to be everywhere, speak to everybody, and do everything at once; how Charley danced till he could scarcely speak, and then talked till he could hardly dance; and how the fiddler, instead of growing wearied, became gradually and continuously more powerful, until it seemed as if fifty fiddles were playing at one and the same time. We would tell you how Mr Addison drew more than ever to Mr Conway, and how the latter gentleman agreed to correspond regularly with the former thenceforth, in order that their interest in the great work each had in hand for the _same_ Master might be increased and kept up; how, in a spirit of recklessness (afterwards deeply repented of), a bashful young man was induced to sing a song which in the present mirthful state of the company ought to have been a humorous song, or a patriotic song, or a good, loud, inspiriting song, or _anything_, in short, but what it was--a slow, dull, sentimental song, about wasting gradually away in a sort of melancholy decay, on account of disappointed love, or some such trash, which was a false sentiment in itself, and certainly did not derive any additional tinge of truthfulness from a thin, weak voice, that was afflicted with chronic flatness, and _edged_ all its notes. Were we courageous enough to go on, we would further relate to you how during supper Mr Kennedy, senior, tried to make a speech, and broke down amid uproarious applause; how Mr Kennedy, junior, got up thereafter--being urged thereto by his father, who said, with a convulsion of the cheek, "Get me out of the scrape, Charley, my boy!"-- and delivered an oration which did not display much power of concise elucidation, but was replete, nevertheless, with consummate impudence; how during this point in the proceedings the grey cat made a last desperate effort to purloin a cold chicken, which it had watched anxiously the whole evening, and was caught in the very act, nearly strangled, and flung out of the window, where it alighted in safety on the snow, and fled, a wiser, and, we trust, a better cat. We would recount all this to you, reader, and a great deal more besides; but we fear to try your patience, and we tremble violently--much more so, indeed, than you will believe--at the bare idea of waxing prosy. Suffice it to say that the party separated at an early hour--a good, sober, reasonable hour for such an occasion--somewhere before midnight. The horses were harnessed; the ladies were packed in the sleighs with furs so thick and plentiful as to defy the cold; the gentlemen seized their reins and cracked their whips; the horses snorted, plunged, and dashed away over the white plains in different directions, while the merry sleigh-bells sounded fainter and fainter in the frosty air. In half an hour the stars twinkled down on the still, cold scene, and threw a pale light on the now silent dwelling of the old fur-trader. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Ere dropping the curtain over a picture in which we have sought faithfully to portray the prominent features of those wild regions that lie to the north of the Canadas, and in which we have endeavoured to describe some of the peculiarities of a class of men whose histories seldom meet the public eye, we feel tempted to add a few more touches to the sketch; we would fain trace a little further the fortunes of one or two of the chief actors in our book. But this must not be. Snowflakes and sunbeams came and went as in days gone by. Time rolled on, working many changes in its course, and among others consigning Harry Somerville to an important post in Red River colony, to the unutterable joy of Mr Kennedy, senior, and of Kate. After much consideration and frequent consultation with Mr Addison, Mr Conway resolved to make another journey to preach the gospel of Jesus Christ to those Indian tribes that inhabit the regions beyond Athabasca; and being a man of great energy, he determined not to await the opening of the river navigation, but to undertake the first part of his expedition on snowshoes. Jacques agreed to go with him as guide and hunter, Redfeather as interpreter. It was a bright, cold morning when he set out, accompanied part of the way by Charley Kennedy and Harry Somerville, whose hearts were heavy at the prospect of parting with the two men who had guided and protected them during their earliest experience of a voyageur's life, when, with hearts full to overflowing with romantic anticipations, they first dashed joyously into the almost untrodden wilderness. During their career in the woods together, the young men and the two hunters had become warmly attached to each other; and now that they were about to part--it might be for years, perhaps for ever--a feeling of sadness crept over them which they could not shake off and which the promise given by Mr Conway to revisit Red River on the following spring served but slightly to dispel. On arriving at the spot where they intended to bid their friends a last farewell, the two young men held out their hands in silence. Jacques grasped them warmly. "Mister Charles, Mister Harry," said he, in a deep, earnest voice, "the Almighty has guided us in safety for many a day when we travelled the woods together; for which praised be His holy name! May He guide and bless you still, and bring us together in this world again, if in His wisdom He see fit." There was no answer save a deeply-murmured "Amen." In another moment the travellers resumed their march. On reaching the summit of a slight eminence, where the prairies terminated and the woods began, they paused to wave a last adieu; then Jacques, putting himself at the head of the little party, plunged into the forest, and led them away towards the snowy regions of the Far North. THE END. 
61659	----	[Illustration: Cover art] [Frontispiece: "I made a fire, and by melting snow boiled my kettle." (_Page 33._)] SADDLE, SLED AND SNOWSHOE: PIONEERING ON THE SASKATCHEWAN IN THE SIXTIES. BY JOHN McDOUGALL, Author of "Forest, Lake and Prairie: Twenty Years of Frontier Life in Western Canada," etc. _WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY J. E. LAUGHLIN._ TORONTO: WILLIAM BRIGGS, WESLEY BUILDINGS. MONTREAL: C. W. COATES. HALIFAX: S. F. HUESTIS. 1896. Entered according to Act of the Parliament of Canada, in the year one thousand eight hundred and ninety-six, by WILLIAM BRIGGS, at the Department of Agriculture. CONTENTS. CHAPTER I. Old Fort Edmonton--Early missionaries--Down the Saskatchewan by dog-train--Camp-fire experiences--Arrival at home--Daily occupations CHAPTER II. A foraging expedition--Our hungry camp--A welcome feast--Dogs, sleds and buffalo bull in a tangle--In a Wood Cree encampment--Chief Child, Maskepetoon and Ka-kake--Indian hospitality--Incidents of the return trip CHAPTER III. Scarcity of food--The winter packet--Start for Edmonton for the eastern mails--A lonely journey--Arrive at Fort Edmonton--Start for home--Camping in a storm--Improvising a "Berlin"--Old Draffan--Sleeping on a dog-sled en route--A hearty welcome home CHAPTER IV. Trip to Whitefish Lake--Mr. Woolsey as a dog-driver--Rolling down a side hill--Another trip to Edmonton--Mr. O. B. as a passenger--Perils of travel by ice--Narrow escape of Mr. O. B.--A fraud exposed--Profanity punished--Arrival at Edmonton--Milton and Cheadle--Return to Victoria CHAPTER V. Mr. Woolsey's ministrations--An exciting foot-race--Building operations--Gardening--Stolen (?) buffalo tongues--Addled duck eggs as a relish--A lesson in cooking--A lucky shot--Precautions against hostile Indians CHAPTER VI. The summer brigade--With the brigade down the Saskatchewan--A glorious panorama--Meet with father and mother on the way to Victoria--Privations of travel--A buffalo crossing--Arrival at Victoria--A church building begun--Peter Erasmus as interpreter CHAPTER VII. In search of the Stoneys--An Indian avenger--A Sunday at Fort Edmonton--Drunken Lake carousals--Indian trails--Canyon of the Red Deer--I shoot my father--Amateur surgeons--Prospecting for gold--Peter gets "rattled"--A mysterious shot--Friends or foes?--Noble specimens of the Indian race--A "kodak" needed--Among the Stoneys--Prospecting for a mission site--A massacre of neophytes--An Indian patriarch--Back at Victoria again CHAPTER VIII. Provisions diminishing--A buffalo hunt organized--Oxen and Red River carts--Our "buffalo runners"--Meet with Maskepetoon--Maskepetoon shakes hands with his son's murderer--An Indian's strange vow--Instance of Indian watchfulness--"Who-Talks-Past-All-Things"--Come upon the buffalo--An exciting charge--Ki-you-ken-os races the buffalo--Peter's exciting adventure--Buffalo dainties--Return home--War parties--Indian curiosity--Starving Young Bull's "dedication feast"--Missionary labors CHAPTER IX. The fall fishing--A relentless tooth-ache--Prairie and forest fire--Attacked by my dogs--A run home--A sleepless night--Father turns dentist--Another visit to Edmonton--Welcome relief--Final revenge on my enemy CHAPTER X. Casual visitors--The missionary a "medicine man"--"Hardy dogs and hardier men"--A buffalo hunt organized--"Make a fire! I am freezing!"--I thaw out my companion--Chief Child--Father caught napping--Go with Mr. Woolsey to Edmonton--Encounter between Blackfeet and Stoneys--A "nightmare" scare--My passenger scorched--Rolling down hill--Translating hymns CHAPTER XI. Visited by the Wood Stoneys--"Muddy Bull"--A noble Indian couple--Remarkable shooting--Tom and I have our first and only disagreement--A race with loaded dog-sleds--Chased by a wounded buffalo bull--My swiftest foot-race--Building a palisade around our mission home--Bringing in seed potatoes CHAPTER XII. Mr. Woolsey's farewell visit to Edmonton--Preparing for a trip to Fort Garry--Indians gathering into our valley--Fight between Crees and Blackfeet--The "strain of possible tragedy"--I start for Fort Garry--Joined by Ka-kake--Sabbath observance--A camp of Saulteaux--An excited Indian--I dilate on the numbers and resources of the white man--We pass Duck Lake--A bear hunt--"Loaded for b'ar"--A contest in athletics--Whip-poor-wills--Pancakes and maple syrup--Pass the site of Birtle--My first and only difference with Ka-kake CHAPTER XIII. Fall in with a party of "plain hunters"--Marvellous resources of this great country--A "hunting breed"--Astounding ignorance--Visit a Church of England mission--Have my first square meal of bread and butter in two years--Archdeacon Cochrane--Unexpected sympathy with rebellion and slavery--Through the White Horse Plains--Baptiste's recklessness and its punishment--Reach our destination--Present my letter of introduction to Governor McTavish--Purchasing supplies--"Hudson's Bay blankets"--Old Fort Garry, St. Boniface, Winnipeg, St. John's, Kildonan--A "degenerate" Scot--An eloquent Indian preacher--Baptiste succumbs to his old enemy--Prepare for our return journey CHAPTER XIV. We start for home--A stubborn cow--Difficulties of transport--Indignant travellers--Novel method of breaking a horse--Secure provisions at Fort Ellice--Lose one of our cows--I turn detective--Dried meat and fresh cream as a delicacy CHAPTER XV. Personnel of our party--My little rat terrier has a novel experience--An Indian horse-thief's visit by night--I shoot and wound him--An exciting chase--Saved by the vigilance of my rat terrier--We reach the South Branch of the Saskatchewan--A rushing torrent--A small skin canoe our only means of transport--Mr. Connor's fears of drowning--Get our goods over CHAPTER XVI. A raft of carts--The raft swept away--Succeed in recovering it--Getting our stock over--The emotionless Scot unbends--Our horses wander away--Track them up--Arrive at Carlton--Crossing the North Saskatchewan--Homes for the millions--Fall in with father and Peter--Am sent home for fresh horses--An exhilarating gallop--Home again CHAPTER XVII. Improvements about home--Mr. Woolsey's departure--A zealous and self-sacrificing missionary--A travelling college--I feel a twinge of melancholy--A lesson in the luxury of happiness--Forest and prairie fire--Father's visit to the Mountain Stoneys--Indians gathering about our mission--Complications feared CHAPTER XVIII. Maskepetoon--Council gatherings--Maskepetoon'a childhood--"Royal born by right Divine"--A father's advice--An Indian philosopher--Maskepetoon as "Peace Chief"--Forgives his father's murderer--Arrival of Rev. R. T. Rundle--Stephen and Joseph--Stephen's eloquent harangue--Joseph's hunting exploits--Types of the shouting Methodist and the High Church ritualist CHAPTER XIX. Muh-ka-chees, or "the Fox"--An Indian "dude"--A strange story--How the Fox was transformed--Mr. The-Camp-is-Moving as a magician CHAPTER XX. Victoria becomes a Hudson's Bay trading post--An adventure on a raft--The annual fresh meat hunt organized--Among the buffalo--Oliver misses his shot and is puzzled--My experience with a runaway horse--A successful hunt--My "bump of locality" surprises Peter--Home again CHAPTER XXI. Father and I visit Fort Edmonton--Peter takes to himself a wife--Mr. Connor becomes school teacher--First school in that part of the country--Culinary operations--Father decides to open a mission at Pigeon Lake--I go prospecting--Engage a Roman Catholic guide--Our guide's sudden "illness"--Through new scenes--Reach Pigeon Lake--Getting out timber for building--Incidents of return trip CHAPTER XXII. Another buffalo hunt--Visit Maskepetoon's camp--The old chief's plucky deed--Arrival of a peace party from the Blackfeet--A "peace dance"--Buffalo in plenty--Our mysterious visitor--A party of Blackfeet come upon us--Watching and praying--Arrive home with well-loaded sleds--Christmas festivities CHAPTER XXIII. We set out with Maskepetoon for the Blackfoot camp--A wife for a target--Indian scouts--Nearing the Blackfeet--Our Indians don paint and feathers--A picture of the time and place--We enter the Blackfoot camp--Three Bulls--Buffalo Indians--Father describes eastern civilization--The Canadian Government's treatment of the Indians a revelation--I am taken by a war chief as a hostage--Mine host and his seven wives--Bloods and Piegans--I witness a great dance--We leave for home--A sprained ankle--Arrival at the mission CHAPTER XXIV. We visit the Cree camp--I lose Maple and the pups--Find our Indian friends "pound-keeping"--The Indian buffalo pound--Consecrating the pound--Mr. Who-Brings-Them-In--Running the buffalo in--The herd safely coralled--Wholesale slaughter--Apportioning the hunt--Finis ILLUSTRATIONS. "I made a fire, and by melting snow boiled my kettle" ... Frontispiece "The dogs and sleds went sliding in around him" "There he sat, his eyes bulging out with fear" "The discharge of shot, bounding from this, struck both father and his horse" "To save my life I had to climb to the top of the staging" "I got Tom up, and held him close over the fire" "I bounded from before him for my life" "I headed her out again into the lake" "I took deliberate aim, and fired at him" "We went at a furious rate on that swirling, seething, boiling torrent" Rev. Thomas Woolsey "Tying our clothes in bundles above our heads, we started into the ice-cold current" "Slapping his head, I turned his course to smooth ground" "Maskepetoon calmly ...took out his Cree Testament ... and began to read" "This strange Indian, without looking at us, sang on" "Slapped-in-the-Face, take that one" SADDLE, SLED AND SNOWSHOE CHAPTER I. Old Fort Edmonton--Early missionaries--Down the Saskatchewan by dog-train--Camp-fire experiences--Arrival at home--Daily occupations. In my previous volume, "FOREST, LAKE AND PRAIRIE," which closed with the last days of 1862, I left my readers at Fort Edmonton. At that time this Hudson's Bay post was the chief place of interest in the great country known as the Saskatchewan Valley. To this point was tributary a vast region fully six hundred miles square, distinguished by grand ranges of mountains, tremendous foot hills, immense stretches of plain, and great forests. Intersecting it were many mighty rivers, and a great number of smaller streams. Lakes, both fresh and alkaline, dotted its broad surface. Over the entire length and breadth of this big domain coal seemed inexhaustible. Rich soil and magnificent pasturage were almost universal. But as yet there was no settlement. The peoples who inhabited the country were nomadic. Hunting, trapping, and fishing were their means of livelihood, and in all this they were encouraged by the great Company to whom belonged the various trading-posts scattered over the wide area, and of which Fort Edmonton was chief. For the collecting and shipping of furs Edmonton existed. For this one definite purpose that post lived and stood and had its being. A large annual output of the skins and furs of many animals was its highest ambition. Towards this goal men and dogs and horses and oxen pulled and strained and starved. For this purpose isolation and hardship almost inconceivable were undergone. For the securing and bringing in to Edmonton of the pelts of buffalo and bear, beaver and badger, martin and musk-rat, fisher and fox, otter and lynx, the interest of everyone living in the country was enlisted. Thirteen different peoples, speaking eight distinct languages, made this post their periodic centre; and while at Edmonton was shown the wonderful tact and skill of the Hudson's Bay Company in managing contending tribes, yet nevertheless many a frightful massacre took place under the shadow of its walls. This was the half-way house in crossing the continent. Hundreds of miles of wildness and isolation were on either hand. About midway between and two thousand feet above two great oceans--unique, significant, and alone, without telegraphic or postal communication--thus we found Fort Edmonton in the last days of the last month of the year 1862. Edmonton had been the home of the Rev. R. T. Rundle, the first missionary to that section, who from this point made journeys in every direction to the Hudson's Bay Company's posts and Indian camps. Following him, later on, the Roman Catholic Church sent in her missionaries. These, at the time of which I write, had a church in the Fort, and the beginning of a mission out north, about nine miles from the Fort; also one at Lake St. Ann's, some forty miles distant. When the Rev. Thomas Woolsey came into the North-West, he too made Edmonton his headquarters for some years, and, like his predecessor, travelled from camp to camp and from post to post. Even in those early days, one could not help predicting a bright future for this important point, for in every direction from Edmonton, as a centre, Nature has been lavish with her gifts. The physical foundations of empire are here to be found in rich profusion, and in 1862, having gone into and come out of Edmonton by several different directions, I felt that I would run but little risk in venturing to prophesy that it would by-and-by become a great metropolis. The second day of January, 1863, saw a considerable party of travellers wind out of the gate of the Fort and, descending the hill, take the ice and begin the race down the Big Saskatchewan; Mr. Chatelaine, of Fort Pitt, and Mr. Pambrun, of Lac-la-biche, with their men, making, with our party, a total of eight trains. There being no snow, we had to follow the windings of the river. For the first eighty or ninety miles our course was to be the same, and it was pleasant, in this land of isolation, to fall in with so many travelling companions. It was late in the day when we got away, but both men and dogs were fresh, so we made good time and camped for the night some twenty-five miles from the Fort. Climbing the first bank, we pulled into a clump of spruce, and soon the waning light of day gave place to the bright glare of our large camp-fire. Frozen ground and a few spruce boughs were beneath us and the twinkling stars overhead. There being at this time no snow, our home for the night is soon ready, the kettles boiled, the tea made and pemmican chopped loose, and though we are entirely without bread or fruit or vegetables, yet we drink our tea, gnaw our pemmican and enjoy ourselves. The twenty-five-mile run and the intense cold have made us very hungry. Most of our company are old pioneers, full of incident and story of life in the far north, or out on the "Big Plains" to the south. We feed our dogs, we tell our stories, we pile the long logs of wood on our big fire, and alternately change our position, back then front to the fire. We who have been running hard, and whose clothes are wet with perspiration, now become ourselves the clothes-horses whereon to dry these things before we attempt to sleep. Then we sing a hymn, have a word of prayer, and turn in. The great fire burns down, the stars glitter through the crisp, frosty air, the aurora dances over our heads and flashes in brilliant colors about our camp, the trees and the ice crack with the intense cold, but we sleep on until between one and two, when we are again astir. Our huge fire once more flings its glare away out through the surrounding trees and into the cold night. A hot cup of tea, a small chunk of pemmican, a short prayer, and hitching up our dogs, tying up our sled loads and wrapping up our passengers, we are away once more on the ice of this great inland river. The yelp of a dog as the sharp whip touches him is answered from either forest-clad bank by numbers of coyotes and wolves; but regardless of these, "Marse!" is the word, and on we run, making fast time. On our way up I had found a buck deer frozen into the ice, and had chopped the antlers from his head and "cached" them in a tree to take home with me; but when I told my new companions of my find, they were eager for the meat, which they said would be good. I had not yet eaten drowned meat, but when I came to think of it I saw there was reason in what they said, and so promised to do my best to find the spot where the buck was frozen in. As it was night--perhaps three o'clock--when we came to the place, I was a little dubious as to finding the deer. However, I was born with a large "bump of locality" and a good average memory, and presently we were chopping the drowned deer out of the ready-to-hand refrigerator. This done we drove on, and stopped for our second breakfast near the Vermilion. We were through and away from this before daylight, and hurrying on reached our turning-off point early in the afternoon, where we bade our friends good-bye, and, clambering up the north bank of the Saskatchewan, disappeared into the forest. Taking our course straight for Smoking Lake, the whole length of which we travelled on the ice, we climbed the gently-sloping hill for two miles and were home again, having made the 120 miles in less than two days. When I jumped out of bed next morning my feet felt as if I were foundered, because of the steady run on the frozen ground and harder ice; but this soon passed away. Mr. O. B., whom we had left at home, was greatly rejoiced at our return. He had been very lonely. I described to him our visit, and told him of the nice fat, tender beef on which the Chief Factor had regaled us on Christmas and New Year's day; and surely it was not my fault that, when the portion of the meat of the drowned deer which had been brought home was cooked, he thought it was Edmonton beef, and pronounced it "delicious," and partook largely of it, and later on was terribly put out to learn it was a bit of a drowned animal we had found in the river. Holidays past, we faced our work, which was varied and large: fish to be hauled home; provisions to be sought for, and, when found, traded from the Indians; timber to be got out and hauled some distance; lumber to be "whipped,"--that is, cut by the whip-saw; freight to be hauled for Mr. Woolsey, who had some in store or as a loan at Whitefish Lake--all this gave us no time for loitering. Men, horses, dogs, all had to move. Moreover, we had to make our own dog and horse sleds, and sew the harness for both dogs and horses. That for the dogs we made out of tanned moose skins; that for the horses and oxen, out of partly tanned buffalo hide, known as "power flesh," the significance of which I could never comprehend, unless the sewing of them, which was powerfully tedious, was what was meant. Turn which way you would there was plenty to do, and, from the present day standpoint, very little to do it with. Mr. Woolsey and Mr. O. B. kept down the shack, and the rest of us--that is, Williston, William, Neils and myself--went at the rest of the work. First we hauled the balance of our fish home, then we made a trip to Whitefish Lake and brought the freight which had been left there. Mr. Steinhauer and two of his daughters accompanied us back to Smoking Lake, the former to confer with his brother missionary, and the girls to become the pupils of Mr. Woolsey. The opportunity of being taught even the rudiments was exceedingly rare in those days in the North-West, and Mr. Steinhauer was only too glad to take the offer of his brother missionary to help in this way. The snow was now from a foot to twenty inches deep. The cold was keen. To make trails through dense forests and across trackless plains, to camp where night caught us, without tent or any other dwelling, and with only the blue sky above us and the crisp snow and frozen ground beneath, were now our every-day experience. CHAPTER II. A foraging expedition--Our hungry camp--A welcome feast--Dogs, sleds and buffalo bull in a tangle--In a Wood Cree encampment--Chief Child, Maskepetoon and Ka-kake--Indian hospitality--Incidents of the return trip. About the middle of January we started for the plains to find the Indians, and, if possible, secure provisions and fresh meat from them. William and Neils, with horses and sleds, preceded us some days. Williston and I in the meantime went for the last load of fish, then we followed our men out to the great plains. In those days travelling with horses was tedious. You had to give the animals time to forage in the snow, or they would not stand the trip. From forty to sixty miles per day would be ordinary progress for dogs and drivers, but from ten to twenty would be enough for horses in the deep snow and cold of winter; thus it came to pass that, although William and Neils had preceded us some days, nevertheless we camped with them our second night out, close beside an old buffalo pound which had been built by the Indians. It was said by the old Indians that if you took the wood of a pound for your camp-fire, a storm would be the result; and as we did take of the wood that night, a storm came sure enough, and William's horses were far away next morning. As we had but little provisions, Williston and I did not wait, but leaving the most of our little stock of dried meat with the horse party, we went on in the storm, and keeping at it all day, made a considerable distance in a south-easterly direction, where we hoped to fall in with Indians or buffaloes, or possibly a party bent on the same errand as ourselves from the sister mission at Whitefish Lake. That night both men and dogs ate sparingly, for the simple reason that we did not have any more to eat. In these northern latitudes a night in January in the snow with plenty of food is, under the best of circumstances, a hardship; but when both tired men and faithful dogs are on "short commons" the gloom seems darker, the cold keener, the loneliness greater than usual. At any rate, that is how Williston and I felt the night I refer to. The problem was clear on the blackboard before us as we sat and vainly tried to think it out, for there was very little talking round our camp-fire that night. The known quantities were: an immense stretch of unfamiliar country before us; deep, loose snow everywhere around us; our food all gone; both of us in a large measure "tenderfeet." The unknown: Where were the friendly Indians and the buffaloes, and where was food to be found? But being tired and young we went to sleep, and with the morning star were waiting for the daylight in a more hopeful condition of mind. Driving on in the drifting snow, about 10 a.m. we came upon a fresh track of dog-sleds going in our direction. This, then, must be the party from Whitefish Lake. The thought put new life both into us and our dogs. Closely watching the trail, which was being drifted over very fast by the loose snow, we hurried on, and soon came to where these people had camped the night before. Pushing on, we came up to them about the middle of the afternoon. They turned out to be Peter Erasmus and some Indians from Whitefish Lake Mission; but, alas for our hopes of food, like ourselves they were without provisions. However, we drove on as fast as we could, and had the supreme satisfaction of killing a buffalo cow just before sundown that same evening. Very soon the animal was butchered and on our sleds, and finding a suitable clump of timber, we camped for the night. Making a good large camp-fire, very soon we were roasting and boiling and eating buffalo meat, to the great content of our inner man. What a contrast our camp this night to that of the previous one! Then, hunger and loneliness and considerable anxiety; now, feasting and anecdote and joke and fun. Our dogs, also, were in better spirits. There was one drawback--we had no salt. My companion Williston had left what little we had in one of our camps. He pretended he did not care for salt, and he and the others laughed at me because I longed for it so much. The fresh meat was good, but "Oh, if I only had some salt!" was an oft-repeated expression from my lips. Later we fell in with old Ben Sinclair, who sympathized with me very much, and rummaging in the dirty, grimy sack in which he carried his tobacco and moccasins and mending material, he at last brought up a tiny bit of salt tied up in the corner of a small rag, saying: "My wife Magened, he very good woman, he put that there; you may have it;" and thankful I was for the few grains of salt. As Williston had lost ours, and had laughed at me for mourning over the loss, and especially as the few grains old Ben gave me would not admit of it, I did not offer him a share, but made my little portion last for the rest of that journey. Six hungry, hard-travelled men and twenty-four hungrier and also harder-travelled dogs left very little of that buffalo cow (though a big and fat animal) to carry out of the camp. Supper, or several suppers, for six men and twenty-four dogs, and then breakfast for six men, and the cow was about gone; but now we had pretty good hope of finding more. This we did as we journeyed on, and at the end of two days' travel we sighted the smoke of a large camp of Indians. [Illustration: "The dogs and sleds went sliding in around him."] Nothing special had happened during those two days, except that once our dogs and an old buffalo bull got badly tangled up, and we had to kill the bull to unravel the tangle. It happened in this wise: We started the bull, and he galloped off, almost on our course, so we let our dogs run after him, and the huge, clumsy fellow took straight across a frozen lake, and coming upon some glare ice just as the dogs came up to him, he slipped and fell, and the dogs and sleds went sliding in all around him. Thus the six trains got tangled up all around the old fellow, who snorted and shook his head, and kicked, but could not get up. We had to kill him to release our dogs and sleds. The camp we came to had about two hundred lodges, mostly Wood Crees. They were glad to see us, and welcomed us right hospitably. We went into Chief Child's tent, and made our home there for the short time we were in the camp; but we may be said to have boarded all over this temporary village, for I think I must have had a dozen suppers in as many different tents the first evening of our arrival; and I could not by any means accept all the invitations I had showered upon me. While eating a titbit of buffalo in one tent, and giving all the items of news from the north I knew, and asking and answering questions, behold! another messenger would come in, and tell me he had been sent to take me to another big man's lodge--and thus, until midnight, I went from tent to tent, sampling the culinary art of my Indian friends, and imparting and receiving information. I had a long chat with the grand old chief, Maskepetoon; renewed my acquaintance with the sharp-eyed and wiry hunter and warrior, Ka-kake, and made friends with a bright, fine-looking young man who had recently come from a war expedition. He had been shot right through his body, just missing the spine, and was now convalescing. My new friend, some four or five years after our first meeting, gave up tribal war and paganism, and heartily embraced Christianity. He became as the right hand of the missionary, and to-day is head man at Saddle Lake. Without recognizing the fact, I was now fairly in the field as a pioneer, and taking my first lessons in the university of God as a student in a great new land. Running after a dog-train all day, partaking of many suppers, talking more or less all the time until midnight, then to bed--thus the first night was spent in camp. Next morning we traded our loads of provisions--calfskin bags of pounded meat, cakes of hard tallow, bladders of marrow-fat, bales of dried meat, and buffalo tongues. In a short time Williston and I had all we could pack on our sleds, or at any rate all our dogs could haul home. And now it required some skill and planning to load our sleds. To pack and wrap and lash securely as a permanent load for home, some four hundred pounds of tongues and cakes and bladders of grease and bags of pounded meat, on a small toboggan, some eight feet by one foot in size; then on the top of this to tie our own and our dogs' provisions for the return journey, also axe, and kettle, and change of duffels and moccasins; and in the meantime answer a thousand questions that men and women and children who, as they looked on or helped, kept plying us with, took some time and patient work; but by evening we were ready to make an early start next day. In the meantime the hunters had been away killing and bringing in meat and robes. With the opening light, and all day long, the women had been busy scraping hides and dressing robes and leather, pounding meat, rendering tallow, chopping bones wherewith to make what was termed "marrow-fat," bringing in wood, besides sewing garments and making and mending moccasins. Only the men who had just come home from a war party, or those who came in the day before with a lot of meat and a number of hides, were now the loungers, resting from the heavy fatigues of the chase or war. The whole scene was a study of life under new phases, and as I worked and talked I was taking it all in and adapting language and idiom and thought to my new surroundings. Another long evening of many invitations and many suppers, also of continuous catechism and questionings, then a few hours' sleep, during which the temperature has become fearfully cold, and with early morn we are catching our dogs, who are now rested, and with what food we gave them and that which they have stolen have perceptibly fattened. Our Whitefish Lake friends are ready also, and we make a start. Our loads are high and heavy. Many an upset takes place. To right the load, to hold it back going down hill, to push up the steep hills, to run and walk all the time, to take our turn in breaking the trail (for we are going as straight as possible for home, and will not strike our out-bound trail for many miles, then only to find it drifted over)--all this soon takes the romance out of winter tripping with dogs; but we plod on and camp some thirty-five or forty miles from the Indian camp. The already tired drivers must work hard at making camp and cutting and packing wood before this day's work is done; then supper and rest, and prayer and bed, and long before daylight next morning we are away, and by pushing on make from forty to fifty miles our second day. That night we sent a message back to the Indian camp. The message was about buffaloes, of which we had seen quite a number of herds that afternoon. The messenger was a dog. Peter Erasmus had bought a very, fine-looking dog from an old woman, and I incidentally heard her, as she was catching the dog, say to him: "This is now the sixth time I have sold you, and you came home five times. I expect you will do so again." And sure enough the big fine-looking fellow turned out a fraud. Peter was tired of him, and was about to let him go, when I suggested using him to tell the Indians about the buffaloes we had seen; so a message in syllables was written and fastened to the dog's neck, and he was let loose. He very soon left our camp, and, as I found out later, was in the Indian camp when the people began to stir next morning. We let him go about eight o'clock at night, and before daylight next morning he had made the two days' journey traversed by us. As an Indian would say, "The old woman's medicine is strong!" There were six very weary men in our camp that night, thirty-three years ago. Floundering through the snow for two long days, pushing and righting and holding back those heavy sleds, whipping up lazy dogs, etc., chopping and carrying wood, shovelling snow--well, we wanted our supper. But after supper, what a change! Joke and repartee, incident and story followed, and while the wolves howled and the wind whistled and the cold intensified, with our big blazing fire we were, in measure, happy. Three of the six have been dead many years; the other three, though aging fast, are now and then camping as of old, still vigorous and hale. During the next morning's tramp we separated, each party taking the direct course for home. That afternoon we met William and Neils, who had been all this time finding their horses, which strayed away the night of the storm, when we camped together by the old pound. Surely the spirit of the old structure had been avenged because of our burning some of it, for the storm had come, the horses had been lost, and our men had been in a condition of semi-starvation for some days. We told them where they could find buffaloes and the Indian camp, gave them some provisions and drove on. Having the track, we made the old pound the same evening, and, nothing daunted, proceeded to make firewood of its walls. To our camp there came that night the tall young Indian Pakan, who is now the chief of the Whitefish and Saddle Lake Reserves. He seemed to resent the desecration of the pound, but our supper and company and the news of buffaloes made him forget this for the time. He and two or three others were camped not far off, on their way out to the plains. Two long days more, with the road very heavy, and sometimes almost no road at all, brought us late the second night to our shack, where Mr. Woolsey and Mr. O. B. were delighted to greet us once more. They had been lonely and were anxious about us. CHAPTER III. Scarcity of food--The winter packet--Start for Edmonton for the eastern mails--A lonely journey--Arrive at Fort Edmonton--Start for home--Camping in a storm--Improvising a "Berlin"--Old Draffan--Sleeping on a dog-sled en route--A hearty welcome home. That trip with dog-train was enough for Williston. He did not want any more of such work, so I took an Indian boy who had joined our party and started out again. Later on I traded Williston to William for Neils, the Norwegian, who made several trips with me. During that winter the Indian camps at which we could obtain provisions were never nearer than about 150 miles, and were sometimes much farther away; and as we intended building the next spring on the site of the new mission, at the river, we had to make every effort to secure a sufficiency of provisions. When we had neither flour nor vegetables, animal food alone went fast. Then, besides the hauling of food long distances, we had to transport lumber and timber and other material from where we were living to the new and permanent site on the river bank, which was some thirty-five miles distant. Sometimes with the dog-teams 'we took down a load' of lumber to the river and returned the same day, thus making the seventy-mile round trip in the day. The horses would take from three to four days for the same trip. It was some time in February that, having started from our first encampment on the way out, long before daylight one dark morning we saw the glimmer of a camp-fire, and wondered who it could be; but as the light was right on our road, we found when we came up that it was the one winter packet from the east on its way to Edmonton. Mr. Hardisty was in charge of the party, and the reason they had stopped and made a fire on our road--which they should have crossed at right angles--was that through the darkness of the winter morning they had missed their way, and were waiting for daylight to show them their course. Mr. Hardisty gave me some items of news from the outside world, and also told me, what was tantalizing in the extreme, that there were letters for Mr. Woolsey and myself in the packet, but that this was sealed and could not be opened until they reached Edmonton. How I did long for those letters from home and the loved ones there. But longing would not open the sealed packet box. With the first glimmering of day we parted, the winter packet to continue its way through the deep snow and uncertain trail on to Edmonton; we to make our way out to the Indian camps. These were continually moving with the buffalo, so that the place that knew them to-day might possibly never know them again forever, so big is this vast country, and so migratory in their habits are its peoples. In due time we found one of the camps, and trading our loads made for home; but as this was the stormy and windy season of the year, we made slow progress. Finally we reached Mr. Woolsey, and I importuned him to let me go for our mail, which he finally consented to do, but said he could not spare anyone to go with me. However, I was so eager that I resolved to go alone. My plan was to send Neils and the boy Ephraim out for more provisions, and I would accompany them as far as the spot where we had seen the packet men some two weeks before. Then I should take their trail, and try and keep it to Edmonton. Mr. Woolsey very reluctantly assented to all this. About three o'clock one dark, cloudy morning found us at the "parting of the ways," and bidding Neils and Ephraim good-bye, I put on my snowshoes and took the now more or less covered trail of the packet men. I had about 250 pounds of a load, consisting of ammunition and tobacco that Mr. Woolsey had borrowed from the Hudson's Bay Company, and was now returning by me. I had great faith in my lead dog "Draffan," a fine big black fellow, whose sleek coat had given him his name, "Fine-cloth." In fact, all four of my dogs were noble fellows, and away we went, Draffan smelling and feeling out the very indistinct trail, and I running behind on snowshoes. It was my first trip alone, and I could not repress a feeling of isolation: but then the object, "letters from home," was constantly in my thoughts and spurring me on. By daylight I came to the snow-drifted dinner camp of the packet men; by half-past ten I was at their night encampment. I am doing well, thought I, and here I unharnessed my dogs and made a fire, and by melting snow boiled my kettle, but did not feel very much like eating or drinking. The whole thing was inexpressibly lonely. The experience was a new one and not too pleasant. My dogs hardly had time to roll and shake themselves from the long run of the morning when I was sticking their heads into the collars again, and away jumped the faithful brutes, Draffan scenting and feeling the much-blinded road. On we went, the dogs with their load, and I on my light snowshoes, keeping up a smart run across plains, through bluffs of willow and poplar, over hills and along valleys. About the middle of the afternoon, or later, I noticed the snow was lessening, and presently I took off my snowshoes, and also my coat, and tying these on the sled, started up the dogs with a sudden sharp command, and away they jumped. We increased our speed, and went flying westward toward the setting sun; for though I had never been over this country before, I had an idea that Edmonton was about on our course. On towards sundown I noticed a well-timbered range of dark hills in the distance, and said to myself, "There is where we must camp," and I could not help already feeling a premonition of great loneliness coming over me. On we sped, the dogs at a sharp trot, with an occasional run, and I on what you might call two-thirds or three-fourths speed, when all of a sudden we came into a well-beaten road, which converged into our trail, and now, with the solid, smooth track under their feet, my noble team fairly raced away, making my sledge swing in good shape. Thinking to myself that I might catch up to or meet some party travelling in this evidently well-frequented road, I put on my coat, seated myself on the sled, and my hardy team went flying on the best tracked road they had struck that winter. Presently we came to the edge of a great hill, which I found to be but the beginning of a large, deep valley. Hardly had I time to get astride the sled, and with my feet brake or help to steer its course, when down, down, down, at a dead hard run, went my dogs. Then over a sloping bottom, and to my great astonishment out we came on the banks of a big river. "What is this?" thought I; "surely I have missed my way." I had never heard of a large stream emptying into the Saskatchewan from the south side. While thus perplexed and anxious, my dogs took a short jump over a cut bank, and I was landed, sled and dogs and all, on the ice of this big river. Then I looked up westward, and to my surprise saw in the waning light the wings or fans of the old wind-mill which stood on the hill back of Fort Edmonton. I could hardly believe my eyes, but on sped my eager dogs. Soon we were climbing the opposite bank, and presently, just as the guard was about to shut the eastern gate of the Fort, we dashed in and were at our journey's end. "Where did you come from to-day, John?" asked my friend, Mr. Hardisty. My reply was, "About fifteen miles north of where we saw you the other morning." "No," said he; but nevertheless it was true. They had travelled all that day after we had seen them, as they left us at the first approach of daylight; then they had started long before daylight the next morning, and it was evening when they reached Edmonton; while I had done the same distance and fifteen miles more--that is, I had made a good round hundred miles that day, my first trip alone. Right glad I was at being thus relieved from camping alone that night, and with my letters all cheering, and the kind friends of the place, I thoroughly enjoyed the hospitality of Old Fort Edmonton. It was Friday night when I reached the Fort. Spending Saturday and Sunday with the Hudson's Bay officers and men, I started on my return trip Monday, about 10.30 a.m., and by night had made the camp where I had lunched on the way out. To some extent I had got over the shrinking from being alone, so I chopped and carried wood for my camp, made myself as comfortable as I could, fed my dogs, and listened to the chorus of wolves and coyotes as they howled dismally around me. Then the wind got up, and with gusts of wild fury came whistling through the trees which composed the little bluff in which I was camped. Soon it began to drift, so I turned up my sled on its edge to the windward, and stretching my feet to the fire, wrapped myself in buffalo and blanket, and went to sleep. When I awoke I jumped up and made a fire, and looking at my watch, saw it was two o'clock. The wind had become a storm. I went out of the woods to where I thought the trail should be, and felt for it with my feet (for I had grown to have great faith in Draffan and his wonderful instinct, and thought that if I could start him right he would be likely to keep right), and there under the newly drifted snow was the frozen track. I then went back to the camp and harnessed my dogs, and as I had little or no load, I made an improvised cariole, or what was termed a "Berlin," out of my wrapper and sled lashings, and when ready drove out to where I had discovered the track. The storm was now raging, the night was wild, and the cold intense; but, wrapped in my warm robe, I stretched myself in the "Berlin," and getting as flat as possible in order to lessen the chances of upsetting, when ready I gave the word to Draffan, saw that he took the right direction, and then covering up went to sleep. With sublime faith in that dog I slept on. If I woke up for a moment, I merely listened for the jingle of my dog-bells, and by the sound satisfied myself that my team were travelling steadily, and then went to sleep again. When coming up I had noticed a long side hill, and I said to myself: "If we are on the right track I will most assuredly upset at that point"--and sure enough I did wake up to find myself rolling, robe and all, down the slope of the hill. I was compensated for the discomfort by being thus assured that my faithful dogs had kept the right track. Jumping up, I shook myself and the robe, righted the sled, stretched the robe into it, and then giving my leader a caress and a word of encouragement, I put on my snowshoes and away we went at a good run, old Draffan picking the way with unerring instinct. Thus we kept it up until daylight, when we stopped and I unharnessed the dogs, and, making a fire, boiled my kettle and had breakfast. Then, starting once more, I determined to cut across some of the points of the square we had made coming up; and for about four hours we went straight across country, and striking our provision trail opposite Egg Lake, I took off my snowshoes and got into the "Berlin." My dogs bounded away on the home-stretch, we still having about forty or forty-five miles to go, and it was already past noon. All day it had stormed, but now we were on familiar ground, and right merrily my noble dogs rang the bells, as across bits of prairie and through thickening woods we took our way northward. I was so elated at having successfully made the trip up to this point, that I could not sit still very long, but, running and riding, kept on, never stopping for lunch. Thus the early dusk of the stormy day found us at the southerly end of Smoking Lake, and some twelve or fifteen miles from home. Here I again wrapped myself in my robe, and lying flat in the sled, felt I could very safely leave the rest to old Draffan and a kind Providence, and go to sleep, which I did, to wake up as the dogs were climbing the steep little bank at the north end of the lake. Then a run of two miles and I was home again. Mr. Woolsey was so overjoyed he took me in his arms, and almost wept over me. He brought dogs, sled and my whole outfit into the house. The kind-hearted old man had passed a period of great anxiety; had been sorry a thousand times that he had consented to my going to Edmonton; had dreamed of my being lost, of my bleeding to death, of my freezing stiff; but now with the first tinkle of my dog-bells he was out peering into the darkness, and shouting, "Is that you, John?" and my answer, he assured me, filled him with joy. He did not ask for his mail, did not think of it for a long time, he was so thankful that the boy left in his care had come back to him safe and sound. For my part I was glad to be home again. The uncertain road, the long distance, the deep snow, the continuous drifting, storm, the awful loneliness, were all past. I had found Edmonton, had brought the mail, was home again beside our own cheery fire, and was a proud and happy boy. In a day or two Neils and Ephraim came in from the camp, and we once more, a reunited party, made another start for more provisions, and, later on, yet another for the same purpose, never finding the Indians in the same place, but always following them up. We were successful in reaching their camps and in securing our loads; so that my first winter on the Saskatchewan gave me the opportunity of covering a large portion of the country, and becoming acquainted with a goodly number of the Indian people. I also had constant practice in the language, and was now quite familiar with it. CHAPTER IV. Trip to Whitefish Lake--Mr. Woolsey as a dog-driver--Rolling down a side hill--Another trip to Edmonton--Mr. O. B. as a passenger--Perils of travel by ice--Narrow escape of Mr. O. B.--A fraud exposed--Profanity punished--Arrival at Edmonton--Milton and Cheadle--Return to Victoria. Some time in March, Mr. Woolsey, wishing to confer with his brother missionary, Mr. Steinhauer, concluded to go to Whitefish Lake, and to take the Steinhauer girls home at the same time. He, moreover, determined to take the train of dogs Neils had been driving, and drive himself; but as there had been no direct traffic from where we were to Whitefish Lake, and as the snow was yet quite deep, we planned to take our provision trail out south until we would come near to the point where our road converged with one which came from Whitefish Lake to the plains. This meant travelling more than twice the distance for the sake of a good road, but even this paid us when compared with making a new road through a forest country in the month of March, when the snow was deep. We were about two and a half days making the trip, travelling about 130 miles, but, burdened as Ephraim and I were with three passengers, "the longest way round proved the shortest way home." Mr. Woolsey was not a good dog-driver. He could not run, or even walk at any quick pace, so he had to sit wedged into his cariole, from start to finish, between camps, while I kept his train on the road ahead of mine; for if he upset--which he often did--he could not right himself, and I had to run ahead and fix him up. His dogs very soon got to know that their driver was a fixture on the sled, and also that I was away behind the next train and could not very well get at them because of the narrow road, and the great depth of snow on either side of it. However, things reached a climax when we were passing through a hilly, rolling country on the third morning of our trip. Those dogs would not even run down hill fast enough to keep the sleigh on its bottom, and I had to run forward and right Mr. Woolsey and his cariole a number of times. Presently, coming to a side hill, Mr. Woolsey, in his sled, rolled over and over, like a log, to the foot of the slope. There, fast in the cariole, and wedged in the snow, lay the missionary. The lazy dogs had gently accommodated themselves to the rolling of the sled, and also lay at the foot of the hill, seemingly quite content to rest for awhile. Now, thought I, is my chance, and without touching Mr. Woolsey or his sled, I went at those dogs, and in a very short time put the fear of death into them, so that when I spoke to them afterwards they jumped. Then I unravelled them and straightened them out, and rescuing Mr. Woolsey from his uncomfortable position, I spoke the word, and the very much quickened dogs sprang into their collars as if they meant it, and after this we made better time. Mr. and Mrs. Steinhauer were delighted to have their daughters home, and also glad to have a visit from our party. We spent two very pleasant days with these worthy people, who were missionaries of the true type. Going back I hitched my own dogs to Mr. Woolsey's cariole, and thus kept him right side up with much less trouble, and also made better time back to Smoking Lake. With the approach of spring we prepared to move down to the river. We put up a couple of stagings, also a couple of buffalo-skin lodges, in one of which Mr. Woolsey and Mr. O. B. took up their abode, while the rest of our party kept on the road, bringing down from the old place our goods and chattels, lumber and timber, etc. As the days grew warmer, we who were handling dogs had to travel most of the time in the night, as then the snow and track were frozen. While the snow lasted we slept and rested during the warm hours of the day, and in the cool of the morning and evening, and all night long, we kept at work transporting our materials to the site of the new mission. The last of the season is a hard time for the dog-driver. The night-work, the glare or reflection of the snow, both by sun and moonlight; the subsidence of the snow on either side of the road, causing constant upsetting of sleds; the melting of the snow, making your feet wet and sloppy almost all the time; then the pulling, and pushing, and lifting, and walking, and running,--these were the inevitable experiences. Indeed, one had to be tough and hardy and willing, or he would never succeed as a traveller and tripper in the "great lone land" in those days. The snow had almost disappeared, and the first geese and ducks were beginning to arrive, when suddenly one evening Mr. Steinhauer and Peter Erasmus turned up, _en route_ to Edmonton; and Mr. Woolsey took me to one side and said, "John, I am about tired of Mr. O. B. Could you not take him to Edmonton and leave him there. You might join this party now going there." In a very few hours I was ready, and the same night we started on the ice, intending to keep the river to Edmonton. The night was clear and cold, and for some time the travelling was good; but near daylight, when about thirty miles on our way, we met an overflow flood coming down on top of the ice. There must have been from sixteen to eighteen inches of water, creating quite a current, and as we were on the wrong side of the river it behoved us to cross as soon as possible, and go into camp. There was a thick scum of sharp float ice on the top of the flood, about half an inch thick. When I drove my dogs into the overflow they had almost to swim, and the cariole, notwithstanding I was steadying it, would float and wobble in the current. Unfortunately, as the cold water began to soak into the sled, and reached my passenger, Mr. O. B., he blamed me for it, and presently began to curse me roundly, declaring I was doing it on purpose. All this time I was wading in the water and keeping the sled from upsetting; but when he continued his profanity I couldn't stand it any longer, so just dumped him right out into the overflow and went on. However, when I looked back and saw the old fellow staggering through the water, and fending his legs with his cane from the sharp ice, I returned and helped him ashore, but told him I would not stand any more swearing. We then climbed the bank on the north side, and had to remain there for two days till the waters subsided. About eight o'clock the second night the ice was nearly dry, and frozen sufficiently for us to make a fresh start. We proceeded up the river, picking our way with great care, for there were now many holes in the ice, caused by the swift currents which had been above as well as beneath for the last two days. My passenger never slept, but sat there watching those holes, and dreading to pass near them, constantly afraid of drowning--in fact, I never travelled with anyone so much in dread of death as he was. Morning found us away above Sturgeon River, and as the indications pointed to a speedy "break up," we determined to push on. Presently we came to a place where the banks were steep and the river open on either side. The ice, though still intact in the middle, was submerged by a volume of water running nearly crossways in the river. Some of our party began to talk of turning back, but as we were now within twenty-five miles of Edmonton, I was loath to return with my old passenger, so concluded to risk the submerged ice-bridge before us. I told Mr. O. B. to get out of the cariole; then I fastened two lines to the sled, took hold of one myself, and gave him the other, telling him to hang on for dear life if he should break through. I then drove my dogs in. Away they went across, we following at the end of the lines, stepping as lightly as we could, and as the dogs got out on the strong ice they pulled us after them. Having crossed, I set to work to wring out the blankets and robes in the cariole, Mr. O. B. looking on. At the bottom there was a parchment robe--that is, an undressed hide. This, I said, I would not take any further, as it was comparatively useless anyway, but now, soaked and heavy, it was an actual encumbrance. "You will take it along," said Mr. O. B. "No, I will not," said I; but as there was good ice as far as I could see ahead, I told him to go on, and that I would overtake him as soon as I was through fixing the things in the sled. Reluctantly he started, and by-and-by when I came to the hide I found it so heavy that I did as I said I would, and pitched it into the stream. When I came up with Mr. O. B., instead of stepping into the cariole, he turned up everything to look for the hide, and, not finding it, began to rave at me, using the foulest and most blasphemous language. I merely looked at him and said, "Get in, or I will leave you here." He saw I was in earnest, and got into the sled in no good humor, and on we drove; but as I ran behind I was planning some punishment for the old sinner, who had posed as such a saint while with Mr. Woolsey. Very soon everything came as if ready to hand for my purpose. As we were skirting the bank we came to a place where the ice sloped to the current, and just there the water was both deep and rapid. Here I took a firm grip of the lines from the back of the cariole, and watching for the best place, shouted to the dogs to increase their speed. Then I gave a stern, quick "Chuh!" which made the leader jump close to the edge of the current, and as the sled went swinging down the sloping ice, I again shouted "Whoa!" and down in their tracks dropped my dogs. Out into the current, over the edge of the ice, slid the rear end of the cariole. Mr. O. B. saw he dare not jump out, for the ice would have broken, and he would have gone under into the strong current. There he sat, his eyes bulging out with fear as he cried, "For God's sake, John, what are you going to do?" while I stood holding the line, which, if I slackened, would let him into the rapid water, from which there seemed to be no earthly means of rescue. [Illustration: "There he sat, his eyes bulging out with fear."] After a while I said, "Well, Mr. O. B., are you ready now to apologize for, and take back the foul language you, without reason, heaped on me a little while since?" And Mr. O. B., in most abject tones and terms, did make ample apology. Then slackening the line a little, I let the sled flop up and down in the current, and finally accepted his apology on condition that he would behave himself in the future. My dogs quickly pulled him out of his peril, and on we went. Presently we were joined by Mr. Steinhauer and Peter, who had gone across a point, they having light sleds, which enabled them to make their way for a short distance on the bare ground. We reached Edmonton that evening, and I was glad to transfer my charge to some one else's care. I was not particular who took him, for, like Mr. Woolsey, I was tired of the old fraud. The Chief Factor said to me that evening, "So you brought Mr. O. B. to Edmonton. You will have to pay ten shillings for every day he remains in the Fort." "Excuse me, sir," I answered, "I brought him to the foot of the hill, down at the landing, and left him there. If he comes into the Fort I am not responsible." Shortly after this Lord Milton and Dr. Cheadle came along en route across the mountains, and Mr. O. B. joined their party. If any one should desire more of his history, these gentlemen wrote a book descriptive of their journey, and in this our hero appears. I am done with him, for the present at any rate. Spring was now open, the snow nearly gone, and we had to make our way back from Edmonton as best we could. I cached the cariole, hired a horse, packed him with my dog harness, blankets, and food, and thus reached Victoria, which father had designated as the name of the new mission. My dogs, having worked faithfully for many months, and having travelled some thousands of miles, sometimes under most trying circumstances, were now entering upon their summer vacation. How they gambolled and ran and hunted as they journeyed homeward! CHAPTER V. Mr. Woolsey's ministrations--An exciting foot-race--Building operations--Gardening--Stolen (?) buffalo tongues--Addled duck eggs as a relish--A lesson in cooking--A lucky shot--Precautions against hostile Indians. With the opening spring Indians began to come in from the plains, and for several weeks we had hundreds of lodges beside us. Mr. Woolsey was kept busy holding meetings, attending councils, visiting the sick, acting as doctor and surgeon, magistrate and judge; for who else had these people to come to but the missionary? A number of them had accepted Christianity, but the majority were still pagan, and these were full of curiosity as to the missionary and his work, and keenly watching every move of the "praying man" and his party. The preacher may preach ever so good, but he himself is to these people the exponent of what he preaches, and they judge the Gospel he presents by himself. If he fails to measure up in manliness and liberality and general manhood, then they think there is no more use in listening to his teaching. Very early in my experience it was borne in upon me that the missionary, to obtain influence on the people, must be fitted to lead in all matters. If short of this, their estimate of him would be low, and their respect proportionately small, and thus his work would be sadly handicapped all through. While Mr. Woolsey was constantly at work among the people, the rest of us were fencing and planting a field, whipsawing lumber, taking out timber up the river, and rafting it down to the mission, also building a house, and in many ways giving object lessons of industry and settled life to this nomadic and restless people. It was at this time that I got a name for myself by winning a race. The Indians had challenged two white men to run against two of their people. The race was to be run from Mr. Woolsey's tent to and around another tent that stood out on the plain, and back home again--a distance in all of rather more than two-thirds of a mile. I was asked to be one of the champions of the white men, and a man by the name of McLean was selected as the other. Men, women, and children in crowds came to see the race, and Mr. Woolsey seemed as interested as any. The two Indians came forth gorgeous in breech-cloth and paint. My partner lightened his costume, but I ran as I worked. At a signal we were away, and with ease I was soon ahead. When I turned the tent, I saw that the race was ours, for my partner was the first man to meet me, and he was a long distance ahead of the Indians. When within three hundred yards of the goal, a crack runner sprang out from before me. He had been lying in the grass, with his dressed buffalo-skin over him, and springing up he let the skin fall from his naked body, then sped away, with the intention of measuring his speed with mine. I had my race already won, and needed not to run this fellow, but his saucy action nettled me to chase him, and I soon came up and passed him easily, coming in about fifty yards ahead. Thus I had gained two races, testing both wind and speed. That race opened my way to many a lodge, and to the heart of many a friend in subsequent years. It was the best introduction I could have had to those hundreds of aborigines, among whom I was to live and work for years. A few weeks sufficed to consume all the provisions the Indians had brought with them, and a very large part of ours also; so the tents were furled, and the people recrossed the Saskatchewan, and, ascending the steep hill, disappeared from our view for another period, during which they would seek the buffalo away out on the plains. We went on with our work of planting this centre of Christian civilization. Though we had visits from small bands, coming and going all summer, the larger camps did not return until the autumn. All this time we were living in skin lodges. Mr. Woolsey aimed at putting up a large house, in the old-fashioned Hudson's Bay style--a frame of timber, with grooved posts in which tenoned logs were fitted into ten-foot spans--and as all the work of sawing and planing had to be done by hand, the progress was slow. My idea was to face long timber, and put up a solid blockhouse, which could be done so much more easily and quickly, and would be stronger in the end; but I was overruled, so we went on more slowly with the big house, and were smoked and sweltered in the tents all summer. However, taking out timber and rafting it down the river took up a lot of my time. Then there was our garden to weed and hoe. One day when I was at this, we dined on buffalo tongue. Quite a number of these had been boiled to be eaten cold, and as our sleigh dogs were always foraging, it was necessary to put all food up on the stagings, or else the dogs would take it. As soon as I was through dinner I went back to my hoeing and weeding, but looking over at the tent, I saw Mr. Woolsey leaving it, and thought he must have forgotten to put those tongues away. As our variety was not great, I did not want the dogs to have these, so I ran over to the tent just in time to save them. I thought it would be well to make Mr. Woolsey more careful in the future; so, putting away the tongues, I scattered the dishes around the tent, and left things generally upset, as if a dozen dogs had been there, and then went back to my work, keeping a sharp watch on the tent. When Mr. Woolsey came back he went into the tent, and very soon came out again shaking his fist at the dogs. Presently he shouted to me, "John, the miserable dogs have stolen all our tongues!" "That is too bad," said I; "did you not put them away?" "No, I neglected to," he answered. "I shall thrash every one of these thieving clogs." Of course I did not expect him to do this, but at any rate I did not want to see him touch Draffan, my old leader, so I ran over to the tent, and could not help but laugh when I saw Mr. Woolsey catch one of the dogs, and, turning to me, say, "This old Pembina was actually licking his lips when I came back to the tent. I all but caught him in the act of stealing the tongues." I can see old Pembina as he stood there looking very sheepish and guilty. Mr. Woolsey stood with one hand grasping the string, and with the other uplifted, holding in it a small riding whip; but just as he was about to bring it down, the expected relenting came, and he said, as he untied the dog, "Poor fellow, it was my fault, anyway." I let him worry over the thought that the tongues were gone until evening, when I brought them out, and Mr. Woolsey, being an Englishman, was glad they were saved for future use. Our principal food that summer was pemmican, or dried meat. We had neither flour nor vegetables, but sometimes, for a change, lived on ducks, and again varied our diet with duck eggs. We would boil the large stock ducks whole, and each person would take one, so that the individual occupying the head of the table was put to no trouble in carving. Each man in his own style did his own carving, and picked the bones clean at that. Then, another time, we would sit down to boiled duck eggs, many a dozen of these before us, and in all stages of incubation. While the older hands seemed to relish these, it took some time for me to learn that an egg slightly addled is very much improved in taste. Our horses often gave us a lot of trouble, because of the extent of their range, and many a long ride I had looking them up. On one of these expeditions I was accompanied by an Indian boy, and, having struck the track, we kept on through the thickets and around lakes and swamps, till, after a while, we became very hungry. As we had no gun with us, the question arose, how were we to procure anything for food? My boy suggested hunting for eggs. I replied, "We cannot eat them raw." "We will cook them," he answered. So we unsaddled and haltered our horses, and, stripping off our clothes, waded out into the rushes and grasses of the little lake we were then beside. We soon found some eggs, and while I made the fire, my companion proceeded with what, to me, was a new mode of cooking eggs. He took the bark off a young poplar, and of this made a long tube, tying or hooping it with willow-bark; then he stopped up one end with mud from the lake shore, and, as the hollow of the tube was about the diameter of the largest egg we had, he very soon had it full of eggs. Stopping up the other end also with mud, he moved the embers from the centre of the fire, laid the tube in the hot earth, covered it over with ashes and coals, and in a few minutes we had a deliciously-cooked lunch of wild duck eggs. I had learned another lesson in culinary science. On another horse-hunt we found the track late in the day, and, following it up, saw that we must either go back to the mission for the night, or camp without provisions or blankets. The latter we could stand, as it was summer, but the former was harder to bear. While we were discussing what to do, we heard the calling of sand-hill cranes, and presently saw five flying at a distance from us. Watching them, we saw them light on the point of a hill about half a mile off. Laughingly, I said to my boy in Indian phraseology, "I will make sacrifice of a ball." So I got my gun-worm, drew the shot from my old flintlock gun, and dropped a ball in its place; and as there was no chance of a nearer approach to the cranes, I sighted one from where I stood, then elevated my gun, and fired. As we watched, we saw the bird fall over, and my boy jumped on his horse and went for our game. We then continued on the track as long as we could see it, and, as night drew on, pitched our camp beside some water, and made the crane serve us for both supper and breakfast. I might try a shot under the same conditions a hundred times more, and miss every time, but that one lucky hit secured to us a timely repast, and enabled us to continue on the trail of our horses, which we found about noon the next day. We had to have lumber to make anything like a home for semi-civilized men and women to dwell in. In my humble judgment, the hardest labor of a physical kind one could engage in is dog-driving, and the next to that "whip-sawing" lumber. I have had to engage in all manner of work necessary to the establishing of a settlement in new countries, but found nothing harder than these. I had plenty of the former last winter, and now occasionally try the latter, and, in the hot days of summer, find it desperately hard work. In the midst of our building and manufacture of timber and lumber, rafting and hauling, fencing and planting, weeding and hoeing, every little while there would come in from the plains rumors of horse-stealing and scalp-taking. The southern Indians were coming north, and the northern Indians going south; and although we did not expect an attack, owing to our being so far north, and also because the Indian camps were between us and our enemies, nevertheless we felt it prudent to keep a sharp lookout, and conceal our horses as much as possible by keeping them some distance from where we lived. All this caused considerable riding and work and worry, and thus we were kept busy late and early. CHAPTER VI. The summer brigade--With the brigade down the Saskatchewan--A glorious panorama--Meet with father and mother on the way to Victoria--Privations of travel--A buffalo crossing--Arrival at Victoria--A church building begun--Peter Erasmus as interpreter. Along about the latter part of July, the "Summer Brigade," made up of several inland boats left at Edmonton, and manned by men who had been on the plains for the first or summer trip for provisions and freight, now returned, passing us on its way to Fort Carlton to meet the regular brigades from Norway House and York Factory, as also the overland transport from Fort Garry, which came by ox carts. Mr. Hardisty was with the boats, and he invited me to join him until he should meet the brigade in which my father and mother had taken passage from Norway House. Mr. Woolsey kindly consented, so I gladly took this opportunity of going down to meet my parents and friends. I had come up the Saskatchewan as far as Fort Carlton, and had gone three times on the ice up and down from Victoria to Edmonton; but this run down the river was entirely new to me and full of interest. The boats were fully manned, and the river was almost at flood-tide, so we made very quick time. Seven or eight big oars in the hands of those hardy voyageurs, keeping at it from early morning until late evening, with very little cessation, backed as they were by the rapid swirl of this mighty glacier-fed current, sent us sweeping around point after point in rapid succession, and along the lengths of majestic bends. A glorious panorama met our view: Precipitous banks, which the rolling current seemed to hug as it surged past them; then tumbling and flattening hills, which, pressing out, made steppes and terraces and bottoms, forming great points which, shoving the boisterous stream over to the other side, seemed to say to it, "We are not jealous; go and hug the farther bank, as you did us just now;" varied forest foliage, rank, rich prairie grass and luxuriant flora continuously on either bank, fresh from Nature's hand, delightfully arranged, and most pleasing to the eye and to the artistic taste. No wonder I felt glad, for amid these new and glorious scenes, with kind, genial companionship, I was on my way to meet my loved ones, from some of whom I had now been parted more than a year. At night our boats were tied together, and one or two men kept the whole in the current while the others slept. At meal times we put ashore for a few minutes while the kettles were boiled, and then letting the boats float, we ate our meal _en route_. Early in the middle of the second afternoon we sighted two boats tracking up the southerly bank of the river. Pulling over to intercept them, I was delighted to find my people with them. The Hudson's Bay Company had kindly loaded two boats and sent them on from Carlton, in advance of the brigade, so that father and family should have no delay in reaching their future home. Thanking my friend Hardisty for the very pleasant run of two hundred miles he had given me with him, I transferred to the boat father and mother and my brother and sisters were in. We were very glad to meet again. What sunburnt, but sturdy, happy girls my sisters were! How my baby brother had grown, and now was toddling around like a little man! Mother was looking forward eagerly to the end of the journey. Already it had occupied a month and more on the way up--half that time in the low country, where water and swamp and muskeg predominate; where flies and mosquitoes flourish and prosper, and reproduce in countless millions; where the sun in the long days of June and July sends an almost unsufferable heat down on the river as it winds its way between low forest-covered banks. The carpenter, Larsen, whom my father was bringing from Norway House, met with an accident, through the careless handling of his gun, and for days and nights mother had to help in nursing and caring for the poor fellow. No wonder she was anxious to reach Victoria, and have change and rest. Forty days and more from Norway House, by lake and river, in open boat--long hot days, long dark, rainy days--with forty very short nights, and yet many of these far too long, because of the never-ceasing mosquito, which, troublesome enough by day, seemed at night to bring forth endless resources of torture, and turn them loose with tireless energy upon suffering humanity. But no one could write up such experiences to the point of realization. You must go through them to know. Mother has had all this, and much more, to endure in her pioneering and missionary life. Only a day or two before I met them, our folks had the unique sight of witnessing the crossing through the river of thousands of buffalo. The boatmen killed several, and for the time being we were well supplied with fresh meat. Our progress now was very much different to mine coming down. The men kept up a steady tramp, tramp on the bank, at the end of seventy-five or one hundred yards of rope from the boat. Four sturdy fellows in turn kept it up all day, rain or shine, and though our headway was regular, yet because of the interminable windings of the shore, we did not seem to go very far in a day. Several times father and I took across country with our guns, and brought in some ducks and chickens, but the unceasing tramp of the boats' crews did not allow of our going very far from the river. I think it was the tenth day from my leaving Victoria that I was back again, and Mr. Woolsey welcomed his chairman and colleague with great joy. Mother was not loath to change the York boat for the large buffalo-skin lodge on the banks of the Saskatchewan. The first thing we went at was hay-making on the old plan, with snath and scythe and wooden forks, and as the weather was propitious we soon had a nice lot of hay put up in good shape; then as father saw at once that the house we were building would take a long time to finish, and as we had some timber in the round on hand, he proposed to at once put up a temporary dwelling-house and a store-house. At this work we went, and Mr. Woolsey looked on in surprise to see these buildings go up as by magic. It was a revelation to him, and to others, the way a man trained in the thick woods of Ontario handled his axe; for, without question, father was one of the best general-purpose axemen I ever came across. It was my privilege to take a corner on each of these buildings, which is something very different from a corner on wheat or any such thing, but, nevertheless, requires a sharp axe and a steady hand and keen eye; for you must keep your corner square and plumb--conditions which, I am afraid, other cornermen sometimes fail to observe. Then father sent me up the river with some men to take out timber and to manufacture some lumber for a small church. While we were away on this business, father and Larsen, the carpenter, were engaged in putting the roof on, laying the floors, putting in windows and doors to the log-house, and otherwise getting it ready for occupancy. Despatch was needed, for while a skin lodge may be passable enough for summer, it is a wretchedly cold place in winter, and father was anxious to have mother and the children fairly housed before the cold weather set in. In the meantime Peter Erasmus had joined our party as father's interpreter and general assistant, and was well to the front in all matters pertaining to the organization of the new mission. CHAPTER VII. In search of the Stoneys--An Indian avenger--A Sunday at Fort Edmonton--Drunken Lake carousals--Indian trails--Canyon of the Red Deer--I shoot my father--Amateur surgeons--Prospecting for gold--Peter gets "rattled"--A mysterious shot--Friends or foes?--Noble specimens of the Indian race--A "kodak" needed--Among the Stoneys--Prospecting for a mission site--A massacre of neophytes--An Indian patriarch--Back at Victoria again. Father had been much disappointed at not seeing the Mountain Stoneys on his previous trip west, as time did not permit of his going any farther than Edmonton; but now with temporary house finished, hay made, and other work well on, and as it was still too early to strike for the fresh meat hunt, he determined, with Peter as guide, to make a trip into the Stoney Indian country. Mr. Woolsey's descriptions of his visits to these children of the mountains and forests, of their manly pluck, and the many traits that distinguished them from the other Indians, had made father very anxious to visit them and see what could be done for their present and future good. Accordingly, one Friday morning early in September, father, Peter and I left the new mission, and taking the bridle trail on the north side, began our journey in search of the Stoneys. We had hardly started when an autumn rainstorm set in, and as our path often led through thick woods, we were soon well soaked and were glad to stop at noon and make a fire to warm and dry ourselves. Continuing our journey, about the middle of the afternoon we came upon a solitary Indian in a dense forest warming himself over a fire, for the rain was cold and had the chill of winter in it. This Indian proved to be a Plain Cree from Fort Pitt, on the trail of another man who had stolen his wife. He had tracked the guilty pair up the south side to Edmonton, and found that they had gone eastward from there. I told him that a couple had come to Victoria the day before, and he very significantly pointed to his gun and said: "I have that for the man you saw." We left him still warming himself over his fire, and, pushing on, reached Edmonton Saturday evening. Father held two services on Sunday in the officers' mess-room, both well attended. Monday morning we swam our horses across the Saskatchewan, and crossing ourselves in a small skiff, saddled and packed up, and struck south on what was termed the "Blackfoot Trail." Within ten minutes from leaving the bank of the river we were in a country entirely new to both father and me. We passed Drunken Lake, which Peter told us had been the usual camping-ground of the large trading parties of Indians who periodically came to Edmonton. They would send into the Fort to apprise the officer in charge of their coming to trade. He would then send out to them rum and tobacco, upon which followed a big carousal; then, when through trading, being supplied with more rum, they would come out to this spot, and again go on a big drunk, during which many stabbing and killing scenes were enacted. Thus this lake, on the sloping shores of which these disgraceful orgies had gone on for so long, came to be called Drunken Lake. Fortunately at the time we passed there the Hudson's Bay Company had already given up the liquor traffic in this country among Indians. We passed the spot where Mr. Woolsey and Peter had been held up by a party of Blackfeet, and where for a time things looked very squally, until finally better feelings predominated and the wild fellows concluded to let the "God white man" go with his life and property. Early in the second day from Edmonton, we left the Blackfoot trail, and started across country, our course being due south. That night we camped at the extreme point of Bear's Hill, and the next evening found us at the Red Deer, near the present crossing, where we found the first signs of Stoneys. The Stoneys made an entirely different trail from that of the Plain Indians. The latter left a broad road because of the _travois_ on both dogs and horses, and because of their dragging their lodge poles with them wherever they went. The Stoneys had neither lodge poles nor _travois_, and generally kept in single file, thus making a small, narrow trail, sometimes, according to the nature of the ground, very difficult to trace. The signs we found indicated that these Indians had gone up the north side of the Red Deer River, so we concluded to follow them, which we did, through a densely wooded country, until they again turned to the river, and crossing it made eastward into a range of hills which stretches from the Red Deer south. In vain we came to camping places one after another. The Indians were gone, and the tracks did not seem to freshen. It was late in the afternoon that the trail brought us down into the canyon of the Red Deer, perhaps twenty miles east of where the railroad now crosses this river. The banks were high, and in some places the view was magnificent. In the long ages past, the then mighty river had burst its way through these hills, and had in time worn its course down to the bed-rock, and in doing so left valleys and flats and canyons to mark its work. In the evolution of things these had become grown over with rich grass and forest timber, and now as we looked, the foliage was changing color, and power and majesty and beauty were before us. Presently we were at the foot of the long hill, or rather series of hills, and found ourselves on the beach of the river. Peter at once went to try the ford. Father and I sat on our horses side by side, watching him as he struck the current of the stream. Flocks of ducks were flying up and down temptingly near, so father shot at them as he sat on horse-back. I attempted to do the same, but the cap of my gun snapped. I was about to put on another cap when my horse jerked his head down suddenly, and as I had both bridle-lines and gun in the one hand, he jerked them out, and my gun fell on the stones, and, hitting the dog-head, went off. As there was a big rock between my horse and father's, slanting upwards, the discharge of shot bounding from this struck both father and his horse. [Illustration: "The discharge of shot, bounding from this, struck both father and his horse."] "You have hit me, my son!" cried my father. "Where?" I asked anxiously, as I sprang from my horse to my father's side, and as he pointed to his breast, I tore his shirt open, and saw that several pellets had entered his breast. "Are you hit anywhere else?" I asked; and then he began to feel pain in his leg, and turning up his trousers I found that a number of shot had lodged around the bone in the fleshy part of his leg below the knee. In the meantime the horse he was riding seemed as if he would bleed to death. His whole breast was like a sieve, and the blood poured in streams from him. Peter saw that something was up and came on the jump through the rapid current, and we bound up father's wounds, turned his horse loose to die--as we thought--and then saddling up another horse for father we crossed the river in order to secure a better place to camp than where we then were. To our astonishment, the horse followed us across, and went to feeding as though nothing had happened. We at once set to work taking out the pellets of shot. This was of a large size and made quite a wound. We took all out of his chest, and some from his leg, but the rest we could not extract, and father carried them for the rest of his life. We bandaged him with cold water and kept at this, more or less, all next day. During the intervals of waiting on father, we burned out our frying-pan, and prospected for gold. We found quite a quantity of colors, but as this was a dangerous country, it being the theatre of constant tribal war, a small party would not be safe to work here very long; so it will be some time before this gold is washed out. No one can tell how thankful I was that the accident was not worse. The gun was mine; the fault, if any there were, was mine. With mingled feelings of sorrow and gladness, I passed the long hours of that first night after the accident. Father was in great pain at times, but cold water was our remedy, and by the morning of the second day we moved camp out of the canyon up to near the mouth of the Blind Man's River. The next morning we were up early, and while I brought the horses in, father and Peter had determined our course. I modestly enquired where we were going, and they told me their plan was to come out at a place on our outbound trail, which we had named Goose Lakes, because of having dined on goose at that place. I ventured to give my opinion that the course they pointed out would not take us there, but in an altogether different direction. However, as it turned out, Peter was astray that morning, and got turned around, as will sometimes happen with the best of guides. After travelling for some time in the wrong direction, as we were about to enter a range of thickly-wooded hills, the brush of which hurt father very much, I ventured to again suggest we were out of our way. Peter then acknowledged he was temporarily "rattled," and asked me to go ahead, which I did, retracing our track out of the timber, and then striking straight for the Goose Lakes, where we came out upon our own trail about noon. After that both father and Peter began to appreciate my pioneering instincts as not formerly. Most of this time we had been living on our guns. In starting we had a small quantity of flour, about two pounds of which was now left in the little sack in which we carried it. Saturday afternoon we crossed Battle River, and arranging to camp at the "Leavings," that is, at a point where the trail which in after years was made between Edmonton and Southern Alberta, touched and left the Battle River, Peter followed down the river to look for game, while father and I went straight to the place where we intended to camp. Our intention was to not travel on Sunday, if we could in the meantime obtain a supply of food. Reaching this place, father said to me, "Never mind the horses, but start at once and see what you can do for our larder." I exchanged guns with father, as his was a double barrel and mine a single, and ran off to the river, where I saw a fine flock of stock ducks. Firing into them, I brought down two. Almost immediately I heard the report of a gun away down the river, and father called to me, "Did you hear that?" I said "Yes." Then he said, "Fire off the second barrel in answer," which I did, and there came over the hill the sound of another shot. Then we knew that people were near, but who they were was the question which interested us very much. By this time I had my gun loaded, and the ducks got out of the river, and had run back to father. Peter came up greatly excited, asking us if we had heard the shots. We explained that two came from us, and the others from parties as yet unknown to us. "Then," said he, "we will tie our horses, and be ready for either friends or foes." Presently we were hailed from the other bank of the river, and looking over we saw, peering from out the bush, two Indians, who proved to be Stoneys. When Peter told them who we were, there was mutual joy, and they at once plunged into the river, and came across to us. Their camp, they informed us, was near, and when we told them we were camped for Sunday, they said they would go back and bring up their lodges and people to where we were. They told us, moreover, that there were plenty of provisions in their camp, that they had been fortunate in killing several elk and deer very recently--all of which we were delighted to hear. If these had been the days of the "kodak," I would have delighted in catching the picture of those young Indians as they stood before us, exactly fitting into the scene which in its immensity and isolation lay all around us. Both were fine looking men. Their long black hair, in two neat braids, hung pendant down their breasts. The middle tuft was tied up off the forehead by small strings of ermine skin. Their necks were encircled with a string of beads, with a sea-shell immediately under the chin. A small thin, neatly made and neatly fitting leather shirt, reaching a little below the waist; a breech cloth, fringed leather leggings, and moccasins, would make up the costume; but these were now thrown over their shoulders as they crossed the river. Strong and well-built, with immense muscular development in the lower limbs, showing that they spent most of the time on their feet, and had climbed many a mountain and hill, as they stood there with their animated and joyous faces fairly beaming with satisfaction because of this glad meeting, and that the missionary and his party were going to stay some time with them and their people, they looked true specimens of the aboriginal man, and almost, or altogether (it seemed to me) just where the Great Spirit intended them to be. I could not help but think of the fearful strain, the terrible wrenching out of the very roots of being of the old life, there must take place before these men would become what the world calls civilized. Away bounded our visitors, and in a very short time our camp was a busy scene. Men, women, and children, dogs and horses! We were no more isolate and alone. Provisions poured in on us, and our commissariat was secure for that trip. To hold meetings, to ask and answer questions, to sit up late around the open camp-fire in the business of the Master, to get up early Sunday morning and hold services and catechize and instruct all the day until bedtime again came, was the constant occupation and joy of the missionary, and no man I ever travelled with seemed to enter into such work and be better fitted for it than my father. Though he never attempted to speak in the language of the Indian, yet few men knew how to use an interpreter as he did, and Peter was then and is now no ordinary interpreter. These Indians told us that the Mountain Stoneys were away south at the time, and that there would be no chance of our seeing them on this trip; that in all probability they would see the Mountain Indians during the coming winter, and would gladly carry to them any messages father might have to send. Father told them to tell their people that (God willing) he would visit their camps next summer; that they might be gathered and on the look-out for himself and party sometime during the "Egg Moon." He discussed with them the best site for a mission, if one should be established for them and their people. There being two classes of Stoneys, the Mountain and the Wood, it was desirable to have the location central. The oldest man in the party suggested Battle River Lake, the head of the stream on which we were encamped, and father determined to take this man as guide and explore the lake. Monday morning found us early away, after public prayer with the camp, to follow up the river to its source. Thomas, our guide for the trip to the lake, was one of those men who are instinctively religious. He had listened to the first missionary with profound interest, and presently, finding in this new faith that which satisfied his hungry soul, embraced it with all his heart. Thus we found him in his camp when first we met, and thus I have always found the faithful fellow, during thirty-two years of intimate knowledge and acquaintance with him. We saw the lake, and stood on the spot where some of Handle's neophytes were slaughtered by their enemies. This bloody act had nipped in the bud the attempt of Benjamin Sinclair, under Mr. Rundle, to establish a mission on the shore of Pigeon Lake, only some ten miles from the scene of the massacre, and drove Ben and his party over two hundred miles farther into the northern country. We were three days of steady travelling on this side trip, and reached our camp late the evening of the third day. Two more services with this interesting people, and bidding them good-bye, we started for home by a different route from that by which we had come. Going down Battle River, we passed outside the Beaver Hills, skirted Beaver Lake, and passing through great herds of buffalo without firing a shot--because we had provisions given us by the Indians--we found ourselves, at dusk Saturday night, about thirty-five miles from Victoria. Continuing our journey until after midnight, we unsaddled, and waited for the Sabbath morning light to go on into the mission. Early in the morning, as we were now about ten miles from home, we came upon a solitary lodge, and found there, with his family, "Old Stephen," another of the early converts of our missionaries. I had often heard Mr. Woolsey speak of the old man, but had never met him before. As he stood in the door of his tent, leaning on his staff, with his long white hair floating in the breeze, he looked a patriarch indeed. We alighted from our horses, and after singing a hymn father led in prayer. Old Stephen was profoundly affected at meeting with father. He welcomed him to the plains and the big Saskatchewan country, and prayed that his coming might result in great good. As we were mounting our horses to leave him, the old man said: "Yes, with you it is different; you have God's Word, can read it, and understand it. I cannot read, nor do I understand very much, but I am told that God said, 'Keep the praying day holy,' and, therefore, wherever the evening of the day before the praying day finds me, I camp until the light of the day after the praying day comes," and fully appreciating the old man's consistency, we also could not help but feel rebuked, though we were in time for morning service at the mission, and home again once more. CHAPTER VIII. Provisions diminishing--A buffalo hunt organized--Oxen and Red River carts--Our "buffalo runners"--Meet with Maskepetoon--Maskepetoon shakes hands with his son's murderer--An Indian's strange vow--Instance of Indian watchfulness--"Who-Talks-Past-All-Things"--Come upon the buffalo--An exciting charge--Ki-you-ken-os races the buffalo--Peter's exciting adventure--Buffalo dainties--Return home--War parties--Indian curiosity--Starving Young Bull's "dedication feast"--Missionary labors. Dried meat and pemmican, with fowl and fish now and then, make very good food, but when you have no vegetables or flour to give variety, you are apt to become tired of them. Our garden on the new land had done very well, but it was a mere bite for the many mouths it had to fill. Our own party was large, and then every little while starving Indians and passing travellers would call, and these must be fed. There was no Hudson's Bay post nearer than Edmonton and no stores. The new mission, already in its first season, had become the house of refuge for quite a number, both red and white. As near as I can remember, it was about the first of October that we organized our party for the plains. To do this there was a lot of work to be done in preparation--horses to hunt up, carts to mend, old axles to replace with new ones, harness to fix. We had one waggon. The rest of our vehicles were of the old Red River pattern, wood through and through, that screamed as it rolled. Some of these wanted new felloes, and others new spokes; another had a broken shaft. Then when all was ready we had the river to cross, and our only means of ferriage was a small skiff. This involved many trips, and when all the carts and our one waggon were over, then came the work of swimming our stock across. With the horses we had but little difficulty, but the oxen were loath to take the water, and we had to lead them over one by one. Then when all were across and hitched up, we had the big hill to pull up; for while the north bank of the Saskatchewan at this point has a naturally easy approach, the south bank is almost perpendicular. Even to-day, notwithstanding considerable grading, it is a bad hill, but at the time I write of we had to double up our teams to take a light cart to the summit. Mr. Woolsey remained in charge of the mission. Father was captain of the hunting party, with Erasmus second in command. The rest of us were teamsters, or guards, or privates, as the need might be. On the second day out we met the vanguard of Maskepetoon's camp on their way to the mission. From them we learned the glad news that we might expect to find buffalo about the fifth day out, or possibly sooner. Our rate of travel was governed by the oxen, but as we started very early and travelled late, we could cover a long distance in a day. In going out I drove the waggon and went ahead. Our "runners" ran and fed beside us as we travelled. Father and Peter were in the saddle, and drove up the loose stock, or were anywhere on the line of march as need might require. The buffalo runners need especial mention. There was Peter's horse, a handsome little roan, full of spirit, and yet gentle and easy to manage. Then there was old "Ki-you-ken-os," a big bay that had evidently been stolen from the Americans to the south and had been brought into Edmonton by a Blackfoot, after whom the horse was named. Later on he had come into Mr. Woolsey's hands, and thus we had him with us. He was a fine animal, but altogether too impetuous and strong-mouthed to make a good buffalo horse. I saw him run away with father one day, and although father was an exceptionally strong man, he had to let him go; he could not stop him, pull as he might. Then there was my saddle-horse, "The Scarred Thigh," as the Indians called him, because a mad bull had torn him with his horn. A fine little sorrel he was, and an A1 buffalo horse. These we seldom touched on the journey, except to give them a short run by way of exercise and to keep them in wind. About the middle of the afternoon of the second day out, we met Maskepetoon himself. He was delighted to again see father, and said he would send some of his young men with us to help in the hunt, as also to help guard our camp and party. For this purpose the old gentleman got into my waggon and rode with me a mile or two, to where the Indians were that he wanted to send with us. As we drove on, we kept meeting Indians, and Maskepetoon told me who they were, and introduced me to several. Presently I saw an old man, of singular appearance, approaching, and I said to Maskepetoon, "Who is that?" But he, when he saw who it was, did not reply, but turned the other way, which I thought strange. The old man came up to my side of the waggon, and said: "I am glad to see you, young white man." So we shook hands; and he made as if he would shake hands with the man beside me, for I knew he did not recognize Maskepetoon, not expecting to see him in my waggon, and going this way. The chief still kept his face turned away. I saw, however, that after shaking my hand, the old man would also shake hands with my companion, so I nudged Maskepetoon and said, "This man wants to shake hands with you." Then the chief, as if jerking himself from under a weight or strain, turned and gave his hand to the old fellow, who, on recognizing him grasped his hand and uttered the Indian form of thanksgiving, doing this in solemn earnest. It was some time before Maskepetoon spoke to me again: "John, that man killed my son, and I have often longed to kill him; but because I have wanted to embrace the Christian religion, I have with great effort kept from avenging my son's murder. I have never spoken to him or shaken hands with him until now. Meeting your father and sitting beside you has softened my heart, and now I have given him my hand. It was a hard thing to do, but it is done, and he need fear no longer so far as I am concerned." Later on, I found out that the man we saw and Maskepetoon's son had gone across the mountains to trade horses from the Kootenays, and on the return trip the old man had killed his companion, and given out that he had been attacked by other Indians; but afterwards it was found out that he had done the foul deed himself. No wonder my friend felt strongly. Any man would in such a case. Rundle and Woolsey and Steinhauer had not preached in vain, when such evidence of the lodgment of the Gospel seed was so distinctly apparent. Presently we came to the Indians Maskepetoon was in search of. He sent four with us--his son Joseph, his nephew Jack, a Blood man, and a Swamptree--fine fellows every one of them. Joseph was big, solid and staid--a man you could depend on. Jack was small, quick and wild--fond of war and given to excess. It was a long time before he gave up horse-stealing and polygamy. The Blood and the Swamptree were both typical wood and plain Indians, pagans still, but instinctively kind and well disposed. I had met all four several times during the previous year. They all had great respect for father, and would with alacrity seek to anticipate his wish while with us. The Blood man was under vows to his "familiar spirit," or "the one he dreams of," and one of the injunctions laid upon him was to give a whoop every little while, a very peculiar semi-peace, semi-war whoop. He said to me, in confidence, "John, you do not mind me, but I dare not make my whoop before your father. That is why I go away from camp now and then. I must whoop; it would choke me, kill me, if I did not." I told him to "whoop it up." I saw no harm in it, and the poor fellow was comforted. As a sample of the trained watchfulness of the men, I must relate an incident that occurred on our journey. The Swamptree was riding in the waggon with father and myself. On the fourth day out we were passing through bluffs of timber, thickly dotting the prairie, when suddenly I saw the Swamptree string his bow and throw an arrow into position in a flash. So quickly did he do this that I was startled, and exclaimed, "What do you see back there?" The answer, "Men!" came in a quiet tone, almost a whisper. "Where?" I asked. "At that point of bushes is one," said he. Looking to where he indicated I caught the glint of an eye, and telling father, our guns were soon brought to bear on the crouching Indian, who, seeing he was discovered, rose, with his hand up. Our friend recognized him as a Cree, and behind him stood a noted character who went by the name of "Who-Talks-Past-All-Things." He had French blood, was a Roman Catholic, and spent most of his time around the Roman Catholic missions. He sometimes imagined himself to be the Pope, and very often officiated among the Indians as priest. He had come out this time with a team and waggon from the Roman Catholic mission at Big Lake for a load of fresh meat, and was now returning. He and his companion were camped for dinner on the other side of the bluff of timber. They had heard us coming, and were bound to make sure who we were before showing themselves. They told us of buffalo, and we went on gladly; but as we were now outside of the Wood Cree camps we kept a sharp lookout for enemies, and a constant guard at night. The next day--the fifth out from the mission--we sighted buffalo, in "bunches" or bands, about noon. We had been seeing a few all morning, mostly bulls, but we were after cow meat, and about noon saw several bunches not far from us. The country was of a very rolling nature, and about half and half prairie and brush. Jack and Joseph and Peter and I saddled and made ready to run. Peter took Ki-you-ken-os and putting a big curb-bit in his mouth, I heard him say to the horse, "I will be bound to hold you with this." The rest of our party stayed with the carts. We charged at the buffalo as they were running down the slope of a hill towards an opening between two dense thickets of timber. The last I saw of Peter was when two bands of buffalo were meeting in their mad rush for this opening, and old Ki-you-ken-os seemed determined to take the gap before them. Peter had his gun stuck in his belt, had hold of the double reins from the big curb-bit with both hands, and was pulling with all his might, mouth wide open, and eyes bulging out; but the old horse did not seem to heed either Peter or his bit--he was running the buffalo a race for yonder gap. Peter and his horse were on the centre line of three converging forces: two bands of buffalo, perhaps two hundred in each, and Peter and his wild horse. I fully expected to see some buffalo killed by the collision, which was inevitable. I was terribly anxious for Peter. In a few moments the two herds came against each other. A moment later the horse and his rider were in the centre of the confused mass, and then all I could see was buffalo stampeding, and old Ki-you-ken-os leaping over and running amongst the wild herd, which was now tightly jamming its way through the narrow prairie lane. Then dust and distance hid the scene from me. This was my second run after buffalo. My first shot was a miss, and loading again I fired, only to miss again. I blamed badger-holes and brush and dust, but lack of experience was what did it. I had killed in my first race, but did not in my second. My horse was good, my gun, though single shot, was sure. It was my fault, and I felt it keenly. Peter also did not kill in that race--indeed, he was thankful, as was I, that he was not killed; but Joseph and Jack made up for it, and we were busy all the rest of the evening butchering and hauling in to where we camped for the night. We were now in the short day and long night season, which in these northern latitudes is especially marked. Moreover the nights were cold, and we must have a big camp-fire. So we got well down between the bluffs, in order that the glare of our fire would be hidden as much as possible, and arranged our carts around the camp so that these would act as a kind of barricade in case of attack. Tying our oxen up to ruminate on the grass they had eaten this day, and fall back on the fat they had made during the summer, we tethered our horses close, and alternating on guard over them, the balance busied themselves around the camp, putting away the meat and cooking supper. This latter process took hours to get through with, for everybody had his choice bit to roast. The cook for the evening would have a whole side of ribs swinging before the fire, and when these were cooked the ribs were parted along the whole length, and each man took one. When he had picked it clean he either turned his attention to his own independent roast, or took another rib. One had brought the head in, though generally when you took the tongue out you left the head for the wolves. Another had two or three fathoms of entrails, which he cleaned with fire, and then roasted, and cutting them up in lengths, passed these around to his friends. Another had a large piece of the stomach or tripe, which he also cleaned with fire, and relished as a favorite morsel. Still another was cracking marrow bones, and eating the marrow. Thus supper was prolonged far beyond the usual time. When those whose turn it was to sleep felt it was bed-time, we would sing a hymn, and father lead in prayer, then the bed-making began. With old hands this commenced by piling saddles and camp equipment, or logs of wood, behind the head and on each side of where you were going to sleep, for experience had taught these wary fellows that many a bullet and arrow had been stopped, or made to glance off, by such simple precautions. Fresh guards set, the rest lay down with clothes and moccasins on, so as to be ready to jump at any time, having carefully looked to arms before doing so. The next day we finished loading up and started homewards, but had not gone far when one of the oxen, with his heavily loaded cart, ran foul of our waggon and broke one of its axles. Fortunately there were some birch trees about a couple of miles from us, and father and one of the Indians rode over, and brought two sticks capable of being made into axles. An accident of this kind under ordinary circumstances would be a small thing, but with our lack of tools it meant something to fit a waggon axle. However, Peter and father fixed it up, and on we went, travelling early and late, which, by the way, is no light work, but sometimes exceedingly hard on flesh and blood. To start out from your camp-fire long before daylight on a cold, frosty morning, and perhaps have to break the new-made ice on some creek by jumping into it yourself in order to lead your carts safely across, and then to go on wet as well as cold--I say again, that this was felt to be very hard work by some of our party. Nevertheless, doing it, and keeping at it, we were back at the Saskatchewan on the thirteenth day from the start. Then we had to unload and take everything over in a small skiff, reload again and haul up to our staging, which at this season was a better place to keep the meat than in a store-house. A great change had come over the place since we left. Hundreds of lodges now dotted the valley, and Mr. Woolsey and Maskepetoon had been very busy keeping the camp in order. A great many Plain Crees were here mixed up with our quieter Wood Crees, and war parties were coming and going all the time. Mother and my sisters, though among Indians for many years--in fact, the girls had spent all their lives among them--had never seen anything like this before. Men and women would crowd around the little temporary mission house, and in full savage costume, and with faces painted in divers colors, peer into the windows, and darken the door, and look with the greatest curiosity on the white woman and her children. Paganism was rife. Conjuring and gambling were going on night and day. Dance feasts, and dog feasts, and wolf feasts, and new lodge dedication feasts were everyday occurrences. I was invited to join in one of the latter, by a Plain Cree, a warrior and a polygamist, and a dandy of the first circle, who had taken a fancy for me. His name was peculiar, and he, being a sleek and fine-looking fellow, most certainly belied it. "The Starving Young Bull" was the gentleman who honored me with an invitation to be present at the dedication feast of his new lodge, now about finished; and these new lodges were gorgeous things in their way. The twenty or more buffalo skins had been dressed soft and white as possible and then cut into shape by some pattern carried in the brain of one of the older women; then at a bee of women, where also a feast was provided, the skins were sewn together with the sinews of the buffalo, and when the new tent, tasseled with the tail of the same animal, was fully set, then the artist friends, or the proprietor himself, went to work to paint upon its outside walls the achievements of the warrior and hunter--scenes of plunder, blood, etc., military prowess, medicinal lore--so that in approaching a tent you could read the degree and dignity of the man you were about to visit. I accepted Mr. Starving Young Bull's kind invitation, and was on hand at the time he had indicated. "Just as the day is departing," was the hour he fixed. There may have been forty or more guests. We sat in a ring around the tent. Each man had before him his own dish, which he had brought with him, and when these had been heaped up with buffalo dainties and dried berries, four old conjurers, who sat at the head of the tent, each dressed in accord with the instructions of the "spirit of his dream," now began the dedication service. First the oldest conjurer took the big medicine pipe, with the long stem. This had been previously filled, and as he solemnly held it in both hands, another with his knife placed a live coal on the contents of the pipe. This done, the old man pulled at it until it was fairly alight, and then held the stem heavenwards, at the same time muttering what to us were unintelligible sounds. Next he pointed the stem to the earth, then slowly moved it around with the sun, and taking another whiff or two, passed it to his fellow-conjurers, who each in turn took long pulls at the big pipe. After this the four took their sacred rattles and began to sing and incant, keeping time with the rattles. Then they all began to speak in an unknown language, or as it is literally translated, "using a different language." When through with this, the old man in the language of the people (which I could understand) offered up a prayer--or rather expressed a wish-- "that this tent might be blessed; that its occupants might be prospered; that the owner, in his going out and coming in, whether for hunting or war, might be successful; that the kettles of the women of this tent might always boil with plenty; that the pipe of the owner might always be full;" all of which was responded to by the guests. Then we devoted ourselves to the feast, eating much or little as we chose, and taking home with us what we did not eat. In the midst of all these old institutions and rites, which these people had been bred in for centuries, our missionaries were hard at work, sowing the seeds of a brighter and better faith. Meetings and councils followed each other in quick succession, and early and late father and Mr. Woolsey were busy preaching the Gospel of Christianity and civilization to these men to whom they had been sent. In all this they were nobly backed by Maskepetoon, and such men as Stephen, and his son Joseph, Thomas Woolsey--a fine fellow, to whom Mr. Woolsey had given his name--and others who had already experienced the religion of the Lord Jesus, and were going on to know more of it. CHAPTER IX. The fall fishing--A relentless tooth-ache--Prairie and forest fire--Attacked by my dogs--A run home--A sleepless night--Father turns dentist--Another visit to Edmonton--Welcome relief--Final revenge on my enemy. In the meantime we were putting up stables and out-buildings, and going on with work on the mission house. We also put up the walls of a small church. Then the time came to look after the fall fishing, and we concluded to go to Saddle Lake for this purpose. Upon me fell the work of establishing the fishery, and to me was given as companion and fellow-worker a young Canadian, Thomas Kernan by name. Our plan was to go down the river in the skiff, as far as the Snake Hills, which were about opposite the lake, and then portage our boat over the hills the eight or ten miles to the lake. Peter was to meet us at the place of landing, and we took with us in our boat a pair of cart-wheels, on which to transport our boat from the river to the lake. An axe and an auger were all the tools we had. We took a skin lodge to live in at the fishery, and embarking one afternoon came to the place of meeting early the next day. Peter turned up in convenient time with a horse, and we went to work to make a frame and axle for the wheels, and soon had our boat loaded on this with our fishing outfit, tent, etc., and were tramping up the hills. On the way we killed five large geese and some ducks, and were at the lake in time to put up our tent and set one net that night, Peter being anxious to taste the fish before he returned to the mission. Peter had not to wait until the next morning for his fish, for we caught some that very night, and had them cooked for our second supper. He returned home the following day--some forty miles straight across country--and Tom and I were left to go on with our fishing operations. Making floats, tying stones, setting nets, putting up fish, taking up the nets, washing and drying and mending them, and resetting them--all this kept us busy from daylight until nine o'clock at night. Tom had never done any such work before, but he was teachable and diligent, and proved a splendid companion. All this time, however, I was in perfect misery with one of my teeth. It had been aching for over two months, and had, in a large measure, taken the pleasure out of all my later trips. Whether hunting the Stoneys, chasing buffalo, or at home at Victoria, that old tooth kept on the jump and made life miserable. I had burned it with a red-hot iron, had poulticed it, had done everything I could, but as there was not a pair of forceps in the country, I could not have it pulled. Now the overhauling of nets morning and night, working in the cold water, was making my tooth worse than ever. Sometimes I was almost distracted with the gnawing ache and pain. One day we had an experience which made me forget my tooth for the time. A great prairie and forest fire suddenly came sweeping down upon us. We had very little time to roll the tent up on the poles, gather our bedding and nets, our guns, ammunition, etc., into the boat, and shove off, before the fire was upon us. We got out to one of our net sticks, and I held on to it while the smoke and flame and the intense heat lasted. Sometimes I was so nearly choking that I almost let go my hold. Had I lost my grip, this would have run us, into another danger, a high wind having risen by this time. Our dogs must have taken to the water also, for when the smoke had cleared away they were on the spot waiting for us. [Illustration: "To save my life I had to climb to the top of the staging."] Some days later these very dogs made me again forget the tooth-ache for a little while. We had a small ham of buffalo meat left, which we were saving for Sundays and special occasions. Coming ashore one day I noticed fresh bones near the tent, and looking up on the stage where our meat ought to have been, I saw that the dogs had somehow or other got hold of it. This so incensed me that I determined to thrash everyone of them. I caught the one I knew to be the biggest thief of the lot, but at the first slap I gave him the whole pack of ten big dogs sprang at me. I might have fought them off if all had attacked me from one direction, but they came from all sides, and to save my life I had to climb to the top of the staging. In a flash I was occupying the place vacated by our unfortunate ham, and not until Tom, who was down at the lake cleaning fish, came to my rescue and whistled the dogs off, did I dare to leave my perch of safety. A long summer's idleness, and now being fat and strong, had made these dogs savage, but they came under all right when we began to work them. All this time my tooth was getting worse, and after putting in a terrible night, I said to Tom: "Are you willing to stay here alone while I go to the mission and see if I cannot in some way obtain relief from this tooth?" and the plucky fellow said, "Go ahead, John, and I will do the best I can until you send some one to help me." So away I ran, with only a light coat on, and but a small piece of dried meat stuck into my bosom. Of course I had my gun and some matches, but I fully expected to reach the mission that evening. I did not know how nearly used up I was by those days and nights of intense suffering. Before I had gone very far I began to lag. Then there was no road to follow, and never having been across that way before, I went too much to the north, was cut off my course by a chain of lakes, and had to retrace my way for a long distance. Evening came on, and with it cold and storm. I saw I would have to camp out. Sighting a fall duck, which was staying up in these latitudes longer than most of its kind, I shot it, and waded out after it up to my waist with clothes and all on, but finding the water deepening, I was forced after all to abandon my bird. Then, with clothes frozen, I travelled on in wretched discomfort until, darkness coming on, I camped in the lee of some scrub pines. Making a fire, I prepared to spend another even more miserable night, for with the tooth-ache there was now the undesirable accompaniment of cold, hunger and loneliness. As night wore on the storm increased, and the wind from the north grew bitterly cold. I was extremely glad that some of the dogs had followed me; and after drying my clothes I took two of the animals, and tying them together with my belt, I stretched them at my back, and, with the fire on one side and the dogs on the other, tried to get the much-needed rest and sleep. But between the cold and that relentless molar, there was no sleep to be had. Piling on the wood, I shivered and suffered over that fire through the long, tedious night. It was with great relief I saw the first glimmer of coming day; but not until it was fairly light did I venture forth, for I did not care to run any more risks as to my course. I was now both hungry and weak; and thus I travelled on until a little after sunrise, when I saw some horses ahead of me. While wondering how I might catch one, I came in sight of two lodges, and making for them, found that one of them belonged to the "Blood" man whom I have already introduced to my readers. He received me kindly, and fed me hospitably. He and the people in the other lodges were on their way to the lake where we had been fishing, and I begged them to hurry on, for my companion was there alone. Refreshed by the hearty breakfast, and having the track of this party to guide me, I then pursued my journey. I had still twenty miles to make. This in ordinary times with me would have been but a little run, but now it seemed a fearful distance. I fairly dragged my legs along, and was almost thoroughly played out when at last, late in the evening, I reached the mission. Father was away at Edmonton. Mother did all she could for me, but that tireless tooth simply ached on; there was no stopping it. When father came home, Peter, who was with him, went right on to the fishing to take my place, while father got a pair of pinchers, and, with the aid of the carpenter, Larsen, filed them into the shape of forceps. With this improvised instrument he set to work to extract the tooth, but after five fruitless efforts at this, he broke the tooth off square with the gums, and then it ached worse than ever! Winter had now set in, and the river soon was frozen over, so as to admit of travel. Mr. Woolsey having business at Edmonton, I took him with cariole and dogs, following the ice all the way there and back. That tooth kept up its aching, more or less, all the time until we came within thirty miles of home. The last day of the trip, while we were having lunch, I was eating a piece of pemmican, when all of a sudden my tooth stopped aching. I felt a hole in it, and also felt something queer in my mouth. Taking this out, I found it to be a piece of the nerve. The pain was gone, and my relief may be imagined. I think I must have gained about ten pounds in weight within the next two weeks. I owe it to dental history to record that nine years after, when paying my first flying visit to Ontario, I sat down in cold blood and told the dentist to dig out those roots; for verily there was deep rooted in me the desire for revenge on that tooth. He did dig it out, and I was pleased and satisfied to part with my old enemy. CHAPTER X. Casual visitors--The missionary a "medicine man"--"Hardy dogs and hardier men"--A buffalo hunt organized--"Make a fire! I am freezing!"--I thaw out my companion--Chief Child--Father caught napping--Go with Mr. Woolsey to Edmonton--Encounter between Blackfeet and Stoneys--A "nightmare" scare--My passenger scorched--Rolling down hill--Translating hymns. With the first approach of winter, the majority of the Indians re-crossed the Saskatchewan and pitched southward for buffalo. Some waited until the ice-bridge was formed, and a few went northward into the woods to trap and hunt for fur; but it rarely happened that there were no Indians about the place. Strangers, having heard that missionaries were settling on the river near the "Hairy Bag," (which was the old name for a valley just back of the mission house, given to it because it had been a favorite feeding-ground for buffalo) would come out of their way to camp for a day or two beside the new mission, and see for themselves what was going on and what was the purpose of such effort. Many a seed of truth found lodgment in the hearts of these wanderers, to bear rich fruit in soul-winning in later days. Then the missionary became noted as a "medicine man," able to help the divers diseased. Many of these were brought from afar that they might reap the benefit of his care. Then all the hungry and naked hunters, those out of luck, upon whom some spell had been cast (as they believed) so that their nets failed to catch, their guns missed fire, and their traps snapped, or their dead-falls fell without trapping anything--where else should these unfortunates go for help and advice and comfort but to the "praying man." And thus with our large party, and the very many other calls upon our commissariat, it kept some of us on the jump to gather provisions sufficient to "keep the pot boiling." Already, because of the snow coming earlier, we had hauled most of our fish from the lake, fairly rushing things after we had the road broken. Generally two trips were made in three days, and now and then a trip a day. Away at two or three o'clock in the morning; forty miles out light, then lashing a hundred or more frozen whitefish on our narrow dog-sled, and home again the same evening with the load, yoked to hardy dogs and still hardier men. One such trip was enough for any weakling or faint-heart who might try it. Owing to the great demands upon our larder, already referred to, early in December of this winter (1863) we found our supply of fresh meat nearly exhausted, and so determined to go out in search of a fresh supply. Already a good foot of snow was on the ground around Victoria, and there was more south and east, where the Indians and buffalo were, but this did not stop us from starting out. The party consisted of father, Peter, Tom, a man named Johnson, and myself. We took both horses and dogs. The second day out we encountered intensely cold weather, and this decided us to strike eastward into the hills along the south of the chain of lakes. The third day we killed two bulls, and as the meat was very good, father told Tom and I to load our sleds and return to the mission, and to come right back again. [Illustration: "I got Tom up, and held him close over the fire."] Off we started with our loads, but as we had a road to break across country our progress was slow. We had no snowshoes, and I had to wade ahead of the dogs, while Tom brought up the rear. That night was one of the coldest in my experience, and I know what cold means if any man does. Tom and I had each a small blanket. We made as good a camp as we could by clearing away the snow and putting down a lot of frozen willows. We kept up a good fire, but the heat did not seem to have any radiating power that night--an almost infinite wall of frosty atmosphere was pressing in on us from all sides. Putting our unlined capotes beneath and the two blankets over us, we tried to sleep, for we had travelled steadily and worked hard all the day. I went to sleep, but Tom shivered beside me, and presently woke me up by exclaiming: "John, for God's sake make a fire! I am freezing!" I hurried as fast as I could, and soon had a big blaze going. Then I got Tom up and held him close over the fire, rubbing and chafing, and turning him all the while, until the poor fellow was somewhat restored. Looking gratefully at me, he then noticed that I had neither coat nor mitts on. I had not felt the need of these, so startled and anxious was I because of my comrade's condition. We did not try to sleep any more that night, but busied ourselves in chopping and carrying logs for our fire, and religiously keeping this up. With the first glimmer of day we were away, and steadily kept our weary wading through the deep, loose snow. About eight in the evening we came out on the trail leading to the mission, and would have been home by midnight, only that I had to make another fire about ten o'clock, and give Tom another thawing out to save his life. He was a slight, slim fellow, and the bitter cold seemed to go right through him; but he was a lad of real grit and true pluck. Fortunately for Tom and I, it was between two and three o'clock Sunday morning when we reached the mission. This gave us the day's rest, otherwise we would have felt in duty bound to turn right around and go back to our party. Our people at home were glad to have the fresh meat, and though Mr. Woolsey had then spent eight years among the buffalo, he pronounced it "good cow's meat." We concluded thereupon that at any rate it was extra good "bull's meat," and were satisfied with our part of the work. A little after midnight Tom and I set forth on our return. The cold was intense, but we were light, and running and riding we made a tremendous day of it, coming about noon to where we had parted from our friends. Following them up we came to where they had found the trail of an Indian camp, and gone on it. Carrying on, we camped when night came, and as we had now a distinct trail, we left our camp in the night, and a little after daylight had the satisfaction of seeing the white smoke from many lodges rising high into the cold, clear air in the distance. This stimulated us, and within two hours we were in the camp and again with our friends. They had fallen in with a party of Indians from Whitefish Lake and north of it, and father and party were now in Chief Child's lodge. Both missionary and people had been having a good time together. These simple people, having been reached by the Gospel, and having accepted the truth, were never happier than when receiving an unexpected visit from a missionary. When the missionary delighted in his work and made himself as interesting as possible to the people, and spared no pains to make his visit profitable and educative, as father always did, then their satisfaction knew no bounds. With their teacher they all became optimistic, hopeful, and joyous. Father told me that Chief Child, our host, had given him some of the finest meat he had ever eaten, and that our hostess knew how to cook buffalo meat to perfection. Now, as my experience amongst buffalo-eating Indians was one year older than father's, I began to suspect that he had been caught napping, and had eaten what he would not have indulged in had he known; so I quietly enquired of Chief Child what he had fed father on. He replied, "We have no variety. He has had nothing but buffalo meat in my tent;" then, as if correcting himself, he added, "Perhaps it was the unborn calf meat he found so good." Just as I thought, said I to myself; now I have a good one on father! Later on, when he repeatedly spoke of Chief Child's hospitality, I mentioned this, and father opened his eyes, then quite philosophically said, "Can't help it--it was delicious anyway." Father and party were about ready to start back when we reached the camp, having secured fine loads of both fresh and dried meats, so we loaded up and started for home. As we with the dog-trains could travel faster, and make longer distances than the horses, Peter and Tom and I went on, leaving father and Johnson to come as they could. We were home, and had made another trip to the fishery and back, by the time they got in with their loads. Mr. Woolsey was now ready to set out on the missionary tour to Edmonton, usually taken during the holidays. It had become an established custom for the officers and employees of the Hudson's Bay Company who desired to come to Edmonton on business or pleasure to do so at that time, and the missionary had then the opportunity of meeting people from the outposts as well as those resident in the Fort. In accord with this purpose we left Victoria in time to reach Edmonton the day before Christmas. I drove the cariole as usual, and we had with us a newcomer, one "Billy" Smith, a man we had known at Norway House, and who had now, somehow or other, drifted into this upper country. Billy drove the baggage and "grub train." Simultaneous with our starting for Edmonton, father, Peter and the others also set out to procure, if possible, another load of meat, as there was no telling where the buffalo might be driven to in a short time. We went by the south side, taking the route I had followed on my lone trip, and arrived at Edmonton on time. Remaining there during the holiday week, we started back the day after New Year's. While we were there a small party of Mountain Stoneys came in on a trade to the Fort. With these was Jonas, one of Rundle's converts, who understood Cree well, and Mr. Woolsey arranged with him to return with us to Victoria, as father and he were very desirous of securing the translation of some hymns into Stoney. Thus our party was augmented by Jonas and a companion. The rest of this small party of Stoneys, on their return trip south, were attacked by the Blackfeet when about fifty miles from the Fort, and several were killed and wounded on both sides; but the Stoneys, though much outnumbered, eventually succeeded in driving their enemies away. It may be that Jonas saved his life that time by coming with our company. Just as we were starting from Edmonton, Billy Smith was bitten in the hand by one of the dogs. The wound became very bad almost immediately, and grew worse as we proceeded. The weather was now very cold, and I had a lively time with a helpless man in my cariole, and another, almost as helpless, behind with the baggage train. When the Indians came up to camp they helped me, but they were generally a long way in the rear. I shall never forget a scare Mr. Woolsey gave me on that trip. It was the next morning after leaving Edmonton. We had started early in the night, and I was running behind the cariole, holding the lines by which I kept it from upsetting. We had left the others far in the rear. Mr. Woolsey was fast asleep; myself and dogs were quietly pursuing the narrow trail, fringed here by dark rows of willows. The solitude was sublime. Suddenly from the earth beneath me, as it seemed, there came, unearthly in its sound, a most terrible cry. I dropped the line and leaped over a bunch of willows, feeling my cap lifting with the upward motion of my hair. My pulse almost ceased to beat. Then it flashed upon me it was Mr. Woolsey having the "nightmare." I was vexed with myself for being so startled, and vexed with him for committing so horrible a thing under such circumstances, and I have to confess it was no small shake that I gave that cariole, saying at the same time to Mr. Woolsey as he awoke, "Don't you do that again!" As he was feeling chilled I suggested that he alight and walk a bit, while I dashed on to make a fire; all of which we did, I having a big blazing fire on when Mr. Woolsey came up. I melted snow and boiled the kettle, and we had our second breakfast, though it was still a long time till daylight. The Indians did not come up at this spell, so we left some provisions beside the fire and went on. That was a very hard trip on all of us. Mr. Woolsey, wrap him as I would, seemed likely to freeze to death every little while. Smith's hand was growing worse, and he was in intense pain with it. I was in sore trouble with my passenger and my patient. Sometimes I had to roll Mr. Woolsey out of the cariole in order to get him on his feet and beside the fire. At times the condition of things was ludicrous in the extreme. Before daylight the second morning--for we were two nights on the way--I was a long distance ahead of Billy, and was becoming anxious about him. I knew Mr. Woolsey was cold, so I stopped in the lee of a bluff of timber, and making a big fire put down some brush, and then pulled the cariole up to this, and half lifted, half rolled Mr. Woolsey out beside the fire, and finally got him on his feet. Then I turned to get the kettle, for I had taken this and the axe and some food from Bill's provision sled because he was always so far behind. Just then I smelled something burning, and there was Mr. Woolsey standing over the fire, fairly smoking. His coat sleeves were singed, and when he sat down his trousers burst asunder at the knees, and the rent almost reached from the bottom hem to the waist band. We both laughed heartily. I could not help it, but Mr. Woolsey's "unmentionables" were certainly past mending. By-and-bye we came out upon our own provision trail, and I saw that father and party had passed on the day before; and now as we would make good time from this in to the mission, only twelve miles distant, I felt like waiting for Bill, so I said to Mr. Woolsey, "You had better walk on and warm up while I wait for our man, as the poor fellow wants all the encouragement he can get." With much bracing and lifting I got Mr. Woolsey to his feet, and expecting him to start on, busied myself with my dogs; when presently, looking up, I saw him walking out on the road to the plains. I shouted to him, "Where are you going?" And he answered back, "I am going homeward." I told him he was wrong, but he was stubborn in the thought that he was right, and I had to run after him, and fairly turn him around, and show him the track made by father and his party homewards, before I could convince him he was wrong. This was now his ninth winter in the West, and still his organ of locality was so defective that he would lose himself in a ten-acre field. Kind, noble, good man that he was, yet it was impossible for him to adapt himself to a new country. He would always be dependent on others. When Smith did come up, I encouraged him, telling him to pluck up--only twelve miles, and a passable road at that, then home, and nursing for him. Then I dashed after Mr. Woolsey, tucked him into the cariole, and in a short time was at the top of the very steep hill opposite the mission. Here I was in another box. I dare not go down with Mr. Woolsey in the cariole, yet the dogs saw home and were eager to jump over the brow, and dash down the precipice. I held them back, and called to my passenger to get out, which he essayed to do but could not. There was a coulee on one side of the road, and a brilliant idea struck me. Deciding to bring the force of gravity to aid me in my dilemma, I upset the cariole on to the side of the coulee. Out rolled Mr. Woolsey, and he kept on rolling until he reached the bottom of the gully. This suppled him somewhat, and now, with the sides of the gully to help him, he rose to his feet. I waited to see him stand, and then, almost weak with internal mirth, for I did not want him to see me laughing, I followed my dogs over the hill and drove on to the house. After unharnessing my dogs, I went back to meet poor Billy, and help him down the hill. Many a laugh Mr. Woolsey and I had afterwards over that trip, though at the time there were occasions when things looked serious. Poor Billy Smith had a terrible time with his hand. Inflammation set in, mortification threatened, and some of our party had to work day and night to save him. Jonas and his companion came in some hours after us, and for several days Peter and Jonas worked on the translation of some hymns into the Stoney language. Then Jonas, with such help as father and Mr. Woolsey could give him, and with a copy of these hymns in the syllabic characters in his bosom, set out on his three hundred mile tramp to his mountain home. Fortunately he missed any such mishap as that which his friends encountered on their return home, and reached his people in good time, and was able to teach others these Gospel hymns, for which he had travelled so far in the intense cold of a Northern winter. CHAPTER XI. Visited by the Wood Stoneys--"Muddy Bull"--A noble Indian couple--Remarkable shooting--Tom and I have our first and only disagreement--A race with loaded dog-sleds--Chased by a wounded buffalo bull--My swiftest foot-race--Building a palisade around our mission-house--Bringing in seed potatoes. During the winter of 1864 a camp of about forty lodges of Wood Stoneys came to the mission from the north, and stopping with us for a couple of days, pitched across to hunt for buffalo for a while. These people frequented the wooded country to the north of the Saskatchewan, and were known as "wood hunters." Moose and elk, deer and bear, and all manner of fur-bearing animals in this country were their legitimate prey, but occasionally they made a raid on the buffalo. They were great gamblers and polygamists, and generally a pretty wild lot. They spoke the same language as the Mountain Stoneys, with some shades of difference, mostly dialectical. These people had been gone about a month across into the buffalo country, when they sent us word to come for provisions. We went, and found them in a thicket of timber, among rolling hills, near Birch Lake, south-east of the mission about seventy-five miles. From them we secured four splendid loads of dried provisions and grease; but we had a time of it in getting out of those hills with our heavily-loaded sleds--many a pull and many a lift before we came to anything like a decent road. I want to introduce right here "The Muddy Bull," a gentleman I became acquainted with some time in January, 1864. When I say "gentleman," I mean it in its literal sense. He was one of "nature's noblemen." We came across him on one of our trips, and made arrangements with him to become our hunter. While we were hauling in meat, he and his family followed the buffalo, and he killed and hauled in and staged near his camp. Thus we lost no time in securing the meat, and very soon had a fine pile in our store-house. While we were hauling in we made his lodge our home. His wife was a natural lady, and I have often thought "Muddy Bull" and his wife gave as fine an example of married life, as it should be, as I ever saw. When I first knew these people, they were not nominal Christians, had not been married (though they had a fine family of children), had never been baptized; but for all that they were really good people. Later on father had the pleasure of marrying them, and of baptizing and receiving them into the Church. I had no doubt about their growth in grace, for I saw this take place. But the question which often puzzled me was, "When were they converted?" for it always seemed as if they were already converted when I first met them. Noah and Barbara became their Christian names. "Muddy Bull," as I shall still call him--for at the time of which I write he was not baptized--was a splendid hunter. He had made a study of the instincts of the animals within his range. Soon after the time of our first meeting he killed seven buffaloes within fifty feet square of ground, and that with an old pot-metal flint-lock gun, muzzle loading and single barrelled at that. I have seen him with the same gun, and with his horse at full gallop over a rough country, knock three buffaloes down, one after the other, almost as fast as an ordinary hunter would with a Winchester. Then the quality of the animals spoke the true hunter. Many men could kill, but not many could pick as "Muddy Bull" could. No wonder that, having found him, we retained him as our hunter for several years. It was while we were hauling meat home that Tom and I had our first and only disagreement. We had been bosom companions, had slept together and eaten together, had undergone all manner of hardship side by side; but one morning, before daylight, in driving out to where our loads were, Tom took offence at something, and right then and there challenged me and my dogs to race him and his dogs. I protested that we could do it anyway--I was stronger and swifter than he, and my dogs were better. "No, sir; you must prove it," was his answer. So we arranged each to load a cow, meat and head and tripe. The animals we were after were about half a mile apart. We were to see each other load, then come out to the road at a place twelve miles from home, and at a given word race the twelve miles in. We loaded and came out to the rendezvous arranged. There we boiled our kettle and ate our lunch in silence, then hitched up the dogs. I said, "Tom, are you ready?" He answered, "Yes!" The next word was a simultaneous "Marse!" and off we went. My dogs were ahead. I took the road and let them go at their own pace for a couple of miles. I did not even take off my coat, but ran along behind the dogs. Presently we came to a bit of plain, perhaps a quarter of a mile long, with bush at either end. As I reached the farther end, and was about to disappear in the woods, I cast a look behind, and saw that Tom was just about emerging on the plain at the other end. I saw I was already a long way ahead, but now my blood was up, and pulling off my coat I stuck it in the head of the sled, then made a jump for a small dry poplar, and with a terrific yell broke this against a tree. My dogs bounded away as if there were no load behind them, and we went flying through the woods and across bits of prairie. All of a sudden I met a procession of old women, each with several dogs attached to _travois_ following her. They had gone in to the mission with loads of provisions to cache in our store-house for use in the spring when the various camps would move in from the plains for a time. As the old ladies stood there effectually blocking the way, I shouted to them as I ran, "Grandmothers! all of you give me the road, I am running a race!" It was amusing to see the quick response of the old women. Those dogs and _travois_ were pitched into the snow in short order, and as I flew past them, thanking them as I flew, I could hear the words come after me: "May you win! may you win, my grandchild!" I was thankful that I had passed the old ladies so quickly and so easily, and could not help but speculate as to how my friend behind might find them. Reaching the big hill, I threw my load over on its side, and let it drag down like a log, then at the foot of the hill righted it up, and dashed on across the river, and up to the store-house. I then unharnessed my dogs, unloaded the sled, put away both harness and sled, went over to the house, washed and changed, and still there was no sign of my competitor. Days after I learned from Peter that when Tom met the old women, they stood in long line, women and dogs and _travois_, as if petrified, and quietly waited for him to break a road around them, through the deep snow. This had delayed him, and also worried his dogs considerably. Tom, like many another man, had brought on the trial, and later on saw his own presumption, and was sorry for it. He and I never spoke of the race, until he was going away for good, some two months later, when he mentioned it, and asked me to forgive him. I told him I had nothing to forgive, and we parted the best of friends. I have often thought of him, and hoped he would continue to be the same manly, honorable fellow he always was while with us. Father did not take very kindly to dog-driving, but occasionally he made a trip. "Muddy Bull" sent us word that the meat of four animals was staged at a certain place, about forty miles from the mission. Peter was busy at something else, so father took his train and went with Tom and me for the meat. We camped by the stage, had our supper, and then went to work to load our sleds. This was always careful work. There was no mere pitching things upon the dog-sled. You must load plumb and square with the centre of your narrow sled, and then lash securely, or there would be no end of trouble _en route_. We had loaded our sleds, and all was ready for a start in the morning, when father overheard Tom and me saying that if he were not with us, we would start now. "What is that? Don't let me hinder you, young men," said father, and hitching up, we started home, reaching there about two hours after midnight; but I think father did not feel like repeating the dose--for some time, at any rate. He was past the age when men feel capable of such work right along. However, he and Peter and I made another short trip with dog teams, across the White Mud River, in search of the white clay from which the river took its name. This clay was useful in whitening chimneys and walls, and made even a log-house look far more respectable. We found the clay deposit, and then as we tracked buffalo going northward, we concluded to camp and have a hunt. Tying up our dogs, we started out on snowshoes, each one taking a different direction. The snow was very deep. In the woods it was heavy, but on the plains, where it was better packed, one could make much faster time. Presently I heard a shot, and going to where the sound came from, I saw Peter standing at a little distance from a huge bull. The animal evidently was badly hit, and had settled himself into a bed in the deep snow. I went over to where Peter stood, and taking my snowshoes off, stuck them into the snow, and then walked up towards the head of the bull, never dreaming that the huge brute would again stand up. He was a magnificent animal, with fine horns, long shaggy beard, and very black woolly mane and neck. Thinking that he was dying, I stood admiring his beauty and powerful frame, when, without a moment's warning, he sprang at me--sprang something like the clay pigeon does when the trap is pulled--and I bounded from before him for my life. Down the slope, across a valley, up the opposite hill, I flew, nor did I even look back until I stood on the summit of the knoll. Then I saw the bull going back, and again settling himself in the same snowy bed. Gathering up my courage, I approached him more cautiously and shot him in the head, killing him instantly. When I saw my flying tracks in the snow I could hardly believe that I had made such leaps and bounds. Peter said he "never saw anything like it," and probably he never had. [Illustration: "I bounded from before him for my life."] For some time we had two men sawing out lumber at the old place beyond Smoking Lake, and at intervals we made flying trips out there for this lumber. For instance, if we reached home on Friday night, instead of starting back on Saturday to the plains, we would go out to the lumber shanty, thirty-five miles distant, and loading up, reach home with our loads of lumber the same evening. This would give us Sunday at home, which, though not happening often, was always a delight. Now, as the spring was drawing on, and the snow beginning to melt, we rushed this lumber out, and in doing so had to travel for the most part at night, as the snow would be too soft for dogs in the day. Besides this, we took out a large number of tamarac logs, to make a strong, high picket around the mission house. Father saw that this was prudent to do, from what our experience had been in the fall, when the large camps came in around us. Then the Indians to the south, the hereditary enemies of those we were amongst, would very soon know--if they did not now know--of our settlement. Already stolen horses and scalps had been brought into the camp beside the mission, and it would follow inevitably that the avenger would come along later. A large, strong palisade would command respect from the lawless around home, and be a great help from enemies who might come from a distance. In the meantime, Larson and father, and in fact everybody who had an odd hour to spare, had gone on with the work on the mission house. As we had no stoves, it was thought necessary to build two immense chimneys in the house, one at each end. This took time and heavy labor. Then the drying and dressing of the lumber for floors and ceilings and partitions was tedious work, as anyone knows who ever had anything to do with "whip-sawed" lumber. You could hardly give away such boards in these days of saw-mills and planing machines, but our party had to straighten and plane and groove and tongue and bead, all by hand, and out of very poor material. All were looking forward to the finishing of the new house, and none more than my mother. For seven months she had been obliged to put up with the crowded conditions of our comparatively small one-roomed log building. Thirteen of us called it home, ate there when we were at the mission, and nearly all slept there. All the cooking, washing, and other household work was done in this little place. Then strangers would come in for a night as they travelled to and fro. True, there were not many of these, and their coming was a welcome change, even if the house, already much crowded, became more so for the time being. Indians, too, would visit the missionary, and these must be welcomed to his home, or they would go away with a very low estimate of the faith he came to propagate; and of course upon mother came the brunt of the discomfort. No wonder she was looking ardently for the finishing of the new home. Father worked hard--indeed all did--but there were so many things to do, so many hundreds of miles to travel, so many mouths to feed, such crude material to work with, such economy to conserve, that we could not rush things, though we seemed to be rushing them all the time. The last trip of the season we made with dog-sled was to bring some seed potatoes from Whitefish Lake. We had deferred this on account of frost, but now were caught by heat. The snow melted before we were half way home, and we had to take poles and push behind those loads for long, weary miles before we struck the river, when we had the ice for the rest of the way home. Peter, Tom and I brought about twenty bushels between us, and by the time we got them to Victoria those potatoes were worth a great deal, for they had cost us many a push and tug and pull to get them through sound and safe. CHAPTER XII. Mr. Woolsey's farewell visit to Edmonton--Preparing for a trip to Fort Garry--Indians gathering into our valley--Fight between Crees and Blackfeet--The "strain of possible tragedy"--I start for Fort Garry--Joined by Ka-kake--Sabbath observance--A camp of Saulteaux--An excited Indian--I dilate on the numbers and resources of the white man--We pass Duck Lake--A bear hunt--"Loaded for b'ar"--A contest in athletics--Whip-poor-wills--Pancakes and maple syrup--Pass the site of Birtle--My first and only difference with Ka-kake. Early in April I took Mr. Woolsey and my sister Georgina to Edmonton. Mr. Woolsey expected to return east during the summer, and was to make his farewell visit. My sister was invited by the Chief Factor's lady, Mrs. Christie, to spend some time with her. We travelled on horseback with pack-horses. We were three days on the trip up, and I was two coming home, after safely delivering my passengers at Edmonton. Soon after I came back father startled me by saying he wanted me to go to Fort Garry to bring out the supplies for the two missions, Whitefish Lake and Victoria. He said that the Hudson's Bay Company had notified all missionaries that their transport was needed for their own business, and suggested that the missionaries make their own arrangements for obtaining supplies. Therefore he wanted me to go down and purchase and bring up what was needed for the Methodist missions on the Saskatchewan. I was to take horses and men from both missions, and also purchase some cattle down there to bring up for work and for dairy purposes. Thus I found my work cut out for me for several months ahead, and I immediately commenced making preparations. The Indians had now begun to come in in large bands, and very soon our valley was full of life. Men, both wild and partially civilized, surrounded the place, though a large number of the former, instead of coming in with the camp, had gone the other way, seeking for scalps and horses, and, if successful, would be drifting in later on. Already that spring there had been a big fight between a party from our camp and the Blackfeet. The Crees were surrounded and kept for two nights and nearly two days in the pits they had dug with their knives. The Blackfeet were ten times their number, and kept them well under cover, but did not muster courage sufficient to rush in, or the Crees would have been cleaned out in short order. As it was, several were killed. Of two I knew, one was killed and the other shot in the breast, but recovered as by a miracle. Father and Peter would now be on a continuous strain of work for the next six weeks, planting, hoeing, teaching, preaching, healing, counselling, civilizing and Christianizing. Night and day, constant watchfulness and care would be required. A very little thing might make a very big row. Life and death were in the balance, and the missionary had to be a man of fine tact and quick judgment as well as a man of prayer. The turbulent element was sometimes in the majority, for large numbers of Plain Crees had come in with the quieter Wood Indians. Saucy, proud, arrogant, lawless fellows they were, every one of them, yet, withal, courteous and kind if one only took them the right way; and to be able to do this we were studying all the time. Mother and my young sisters moved in and out among these painted and war-bedizened crowds, all unconscious of their danger, and it was well it was so; but father and myself, and others also, felt the strain of possible tragedy. Maskepetoon when at the mission was a tower of strength, and a great source of comfort; but there were a number of jealous factions even in his own camp, and born chief that he was, he often found them very hard to control. This was the first attempt by any Church to establish a mission among these people, and under such circumstances, we put our trust in Providence--but kept our powder dry. It was with an anxious yet sanguine mind that, during the last days of April, 1864, I left parents and mission party behind and started eastward for Fort Garry. I had with me a French half-breed, Baptiste by name, and we were to be joined by the men and horses from Mr. Steinhauer's mission some fifty or sixty miles farther east. We had a pack-horse to carry our food and bedding, and were in the saddle ourselves--that is, we had two Indian pads, as the Mexican saddle had not yet made its appearance so far north. The second day we were joined by our comrades from Whitefish Lake, my friend Ka-kake being one of the number. They had a cart with them. Our party now was complete, and consisted of five men and fifteen horses. As it was early in the season, and our horses had come through a pretty hard winter with considerable work, and consequently were somewhat run down, we travelled slowly, averaging about thirty miles per day. Our provision was pemmican, but we supplemented this as we travelled with ducks, geese, and chickens. Yet, notwithstanding all our efforts to procure variety of diet, many a meal was hard grease pemmican straight. We travelled only the six days, faithfully and rigidly observing the Sabbath, which told in the manifest improvement in the condition of our stock. We had prayer morning and night, my men taking turn in conducting worship. On Sunday we rested and sang a number of hymns, and as we were speaking Cree all the time, I was constantly improving myself in the language, and learning the idioms and traditions of the people amongst whom it would seem my lot was to be cast. We passed Fort Pitt, and continuing down the north side came to Jackfish Lake, where we found the camp of Salteaux that frequented this lake feasting on the carcases of a great herd of buffalo that had been drowned in the lake the previous winter. Too many had got together in some stampede across the ice and had broken through and were drowned; and now that the ice was off the lake, the carcases were drifting ashore. These improvident people were glad to get the meat. They offered us some, and though Ka-kake took it out of deference to their kindness, he watched his opportunity and threw it away. Some of the younger men came to our camp that night, and as Ka-kake was a sort of kinsman of theirs, he undertook to show them the folly of their course in some lawless acts which they were charged with perpetrating (for these fellows had a hard name). One of them, after listening to Ka-kake's talk, began to speak quite excitedly, and said: "You seem to make much ado about our taking some plunder and demanding tribute of parties passing through our country. What will you think when we really do something, for we are disposed to organize and take these Hudson's Bay forts, and drive all the white men out of this country; then you will have something to talk about!" Just here I thought it was my turn to join in the conversation, and quietly snatching a handful of blades of grass, I picked the shortest and smallest one of these and held it in my other hand, then looking at the excited Indian I said: "My friend, I have listened to you; now listen to me. Look at this handful of grass in my hand: These are many and big and strong, and this little one in my other hand is small and weak and alone. This little weak, lone grass represents the white man as he now is in this country. There are a few traders and a few missionaries, but they are as this little grass in strength and number, as you look at them; but if you hurt them in any wise, as you say you will, this bunch of many and strong grasses I hold in my hand represents the multitude your own conduct would bring into this country to avenge them. You say you can easily wipe out the white men now in this country--have you thought that they have the guns and the ammunition and the real strength? Can you or any of your people make guns or ammunition? Then why talk so foolishly and thoughtlessly?" Ka-kake in his own way strongly endorsed what I said. Then I began to tell those fellows something about civilization and the numbers and resources of the white man, and they opened their eyes at what I had to say. I wound up by telling them that though the white man was so numerous and strong, yet he did not want to take their country from them by force; but when the time came the Government would treat with the Indians for their country and their rights; that the missionaries were in the country sent by the "good white men" to prepare the Indians for a peaceful transition into a better condition than they now were in. "For instance," said I, "you people had plenty of buffalo near you last winter, and now you are living on rotten, drowned meat, and yet you are men. There is something wrong, and if you will only listen, and put away evil thoughts and bad talk, such as you gave us just now, we will show you something better." All of which Ka-kake strongly corroborated, and when the Salteaux went away he turned to me and thanked me for the way I had spoken to that man and his party. Said he, "It will do them good; they will think about it." At the same time we tethered our horses and guarded them well. Crossing the North Saskatchewan at Carlton by means of a small skiff and swimming our horses over, then passing Duck Lake, where I had hunted ducks two years before, and which, twenty years hence, was to become the scene of the first real outbreak, under Riel, in 1885, we crossed the south branch, where Batoche some years later settled and gave his name to the place. The next day we had a bear hunt, but did not get the bear, as the brush was too dense, and we had no dog. We killed several antelope, and (it seemed to me) ate them up in no time. Crossing the alkali plains we journeyed through the Touchwood Hills. Here we had another bear hunt, and this time Ka-kake killed the bear, and we put him, great big fellow that he was, into our cart to take him on to camp. Then followed a lively time with the hitherto very quiet old horse that was pulling the cart, for suddenly he seemed to find out what he was hauling, and attempted to run away. Failing in that he then tried to kick the cart to pieces, and in many ways showed his objections to the load. He might, if he had travelled in the East, have heard the phrase, "being loaded for b'ar," but if he had, he most emphatically drew the distinction between that and being loaded with bear. However, we got him to camp at last, and very carefully took him out of the shafts before we let him see the bear. Thus antelope steak and bear's ribs, with fowl occasionally, and eggs of more or less ancient date now and then, varied the monotony of the everlasting pemmican. We caught up to a party from Lac-la-biche going the same way. They were French half-breeds on their way into Red River with their furs. We found them first-rate travelling companions, and fully enjoyed their company. At one of our evening encampments, one party challenged the other to a contest in athletic sports, and we beat them badly, my man Baptiste leaving their best man easily in a footrace. He said to me, "Mr. John, I will run fust; if he leave me, then you will run." "All right, Baptiste," said I; but there was no need for my running, as Baptiste won the race for us. Of this I was very glad, for he also was a French mixed blood, and of themselves. Then, in jumping and throwing the stone we were far ahead, and my men were greatly pleased at our victory. I confess to feeling well pleased myself, for I delighted in these things at that time. Continuing our journey, we left these people to come on more slowly. We crossed Pheasant Plains and the Cut Arm Creek, and camped one evening on the high bank of the Qu'Appelle River, beside a spring. In the evening shade, as we were sitting beside our camp-fire, suddenly I heard a cry which thrilled through my whole being: "Whip-poor-will!" "Whip-poor-will!" came echoing through the woods and up the valley, and in a moment I was among the scenes of my childhood, paddling a birch canoe along the shores of the great lakes, rioting among the beech and maple woods of old Ontario. For years I had not heard a whip-poor-will, and now the once familiar sounds brought with them a feeling of home-sickness. The next afternoon Ka-kake and I, leaving our companions to cross the Assiniboine above the mouth of the Qu'Appelle, detoured by way of Fort Ellice, and here also I had another memorable experience. Mrs. MacKay, the wife of the gentleman in charge of the Fort, very kindly invited me to have supper with them. As we would have plenty of time to rejoin our party afterwards, I gladly accepted, and what should be on the table but pancakes and maple syrup! I had not tasted maple syrup for four years, had not had a slice of bread for two years, had not even tasted anything cooked from flour for some time. No wonder I can never forget those cakes and syrup! Verily the memory of them is still sweet to my taste. Not that I am an epicure--by no means--but these were things I had been accustomed to, almost bred on, all my life previous to coming to the North-West. We rejoined our companions at Bird Tail Creek, camping on the spot where now the town of Birtle stands. This was Saturday night, and during that Sunday camp on the bank of Bird Tail Creek I had my first and only difference with Ka-kake. Some hunters on the way out by Fort Ellice camped beside us, and from these Ka-kake learned that friends of his were camped about twenty miles farther on. About the middle of the afternoon, he and the two Indians from Whitefish Lake began to catch their horses, and make as if they were going to start. I asked what they meant, and Ka-kake told me that they were going on, and would wait for us in the morning. I said he might go on if he chose, but I would not consent to his taking the horses belonging to Mr. Steinhauer, as these were in my charge, and I did not intend to have them travel on Sunday. He was firm, but I was firmer; and finally Ka-kake turned the horses loose and gave it up. I do not think I would be so hard now that more than thirty years intervene and my outlook is broader, and my thought more liberal; nevertheless, I believed I was right at the time, and therefore acted as I did. CHAPTER XIII. Fall in with a party of "plain hunters"--Marvellous resources of this great country--A "hunting breed"--Astounding ignorance--Visit a Church of England mission--Have my first square meal of bread and butter in two years--Archdeacon Cochrane--Unexpected sympathy with rebellion and slavery--Through the White Horse Plains--Baptiste's recklessness and its punishment--Reach our destination--Present my letter of introduction to Governor McTavish--Purchasing supplies--"Hudson's Bay blankets"--Old Fort Garry, St. Boniface, Winnipeg, St. John's, Kildonan--A "degenerate" Scot--An eloquent Indian preacher--Baptiste succumbs to his old enemy--Prepare for our return journey. The next day Baptiste and I went ahead. We were now three-quarters of the way down, our horses had picked up well, and I wanted to hurry on so as to get through my business as quickly as possible, and give more time to the homeward trip, when we would have heavy loads. The first night we camped with a large party of plain hunters, on their way out for a summer hunt. These men were from all over the Red River settlement, from the White Horse plains, and Portage la Prairie. Their encampment was like a good-sized village. They must have had five hundred or more carts, besides many waggons. Then this number would be very much augmented from Fort Ellice and other points eastward. Looking on one of these parties, and remembering that two such parties went out on the plains after buffalo every summer for the purpose of making dried provision; that some of these would make fall and winter forays for fresh meat; that this same thing was going on in the Saskatchewan country among the same class of people, and that from Texas to the North Saskatchewan many Indian tribes were living on the buffalo, winter and summer;--I say, that if one thought of all this, he would begin to have some small conception of the extent and numbers of the buffalo. Moreover, if he continued to think, he would wake up to the appreciation of a country that could in its crude and wilderness condition maintain such countless and enormous supplies of food, and that of the choicest kind. These were the men who owned the rich portions of Manitoba, the Portage plains, and the banks of the Assiniboine and Red Rivers; but what cared they for rich homesteads so long as buffalo could be found within five or six hundred miles? These owners of the best wheat fields in the world very often started out to the plains and were willing to take their chance of a very risky mode of life, forsooth, because they came of a hunting breed, and "blood is thicker than water," and environment stamps itself deep upon the race. In going through the camps, eager as I was for eastern news, I could find none. What signified it to these men that the greatest of civil wars was then raging on the continent beside them? What thought they, or what did they know of the fact that they were on the eve of a great national and political change, and that the old life would soon have to give way to a new order of things? Their teachers either had not sought to enlighten them, or had failed to make them comprehend, if they did desire to do so. No wonder that in their ignorance they were led astray in 1869-70, and again in 1885. They could talk about horses and buffalo, and battle with the Sioux and Blackfeet, and count their beads and mutter prayers, but apparently were sublimely ignorant of all things else. Alas! that this should have been the case, for these men were and are full of fine traits of character. Kind, hospitable, chivalrous, brave, I have ever found them. Surely scores of years of preaching should have done something better for them. We jogged along, Baptiste and I, across the Little Saskatchewan, and by the two crossings of the White Mud, and coming to the third crossing in the evening, found a Church of England mission with the Rev. Mr. George in charge. Mrs. George was very kind, and for the first time in two years I had a square meal of bread and butter. Oh! how good it was! I had to fairly curb my appetite. Next morning Mrs. George gave us a fresh loaf of bread and some butter for our lunch that day. But do you think we could wait until noon? We had not gone a mile from her hospitable home when I said, "Baptiste, don't you think we could carry that bread and butter somewhere else very much better than on that pack-horse?" "Oh, yes, Mr. John," was his expressive answer. We thereupon alighted, took the tempting loaf from the pack, ate it with eager relish, and then went on quite satisfied. We rode through the Portage, finding at that time but two white men settled there. As I had a letter for Archdeacon Cochrane, we called for a few minutes on that venerable prelate. I found him quite an old man. That day he seemed somewhat discouraged, for he asked me if I did not think these people (meaning the mixed bloods among whom he was laboring) must first be civilized before they could be Christianized. I ventured to say that I thought Christianity was the main factor in real civilization. Then he asked me what my opinion was of the war in the States, and I told him that I knew very little about it, and had seen very few papers--none whatever for some months. Then he said he was in sympathy with the South. At this I was astonished, but did not venture to say anything, for he was an old man, and I but a boy. I wondered as I rode away how a gentleman of his age and experience and education and calling could hold such views as to be in sympathy with rebellion and slavery. There must be something in this I do not understand, thought I. But if there was any good reason for such a position I have never yet come across it. That night we camped with a brother-in-law of Peter's, living at the High Bluff, who received us kindly. The next day, continuing our journey, we jogged along the north bank of the Assiniboine, around the Big Bend, and through the White Horse Plains. As we were passing a house Baptiste said, "Mr. John, my friends used to live here; stop a minute and let me see." So we approached the house and found that the woman of this place was Baptiste's cousin, and though many years had elapsed since they had met, the recognition was mutual and joyous. As the day was extremely warm, this woman offered us some nice cold milk, of which I, remembering I had not had any for some years, drank very sparingly, but my man Baptiste indulged in it recklessly. Mounting our horses, we resumed the chronic jog, and had not gone many miles when I heard a groan, and looking back, saw Baptiste with his hand pressing his stomach, and looking woefully dismal. "What is the matter?" I enquired. "Oh! Mr. John, I am sore," was the woeful answer. "I thought so," said I. "You should not have drunk so much milk; you deserve to be sore." In the evening we came to the farm of Mr. Gowler, to whom I had letters from both father and Mr. Woolsey, and whose home I hoped to make my headquarters while doing my business and gathering my stock and loads for the West. Riding into the yard, we found the old farmer had just finished churning, and was enjoying a bowl of fresh buttermilk. He kindly offered me some. I declined with thanks, but said my man was very fond of milk. Mr. Gowler at once gave him a big bowl of it, and Baptiste dare not refuse. His code of etiquette would not allow him to decline, and, though in misery, he nevertheless drank it. Like many another simple person, he was the slave of social rule. Mr. Gowler had come out in the Hudson's Bay Company's service, by way of Hudson's Bay. In due time he had gone free, and settled on the Assiniboine, a few miles west of Fort Garry, and at this time had the largest farm in the Red River settlement. He was an English Wesleyan Methodist in the Old Country, and though he had allied himself to the Anglican Church when he came out here, yet he retained a warm feeling toward those of his early persuasion. Thus Mr. Woolsey and father had met him, and thus I had come to him to arrange for a camp, a pasture and a home while in the settlement, all of which Mr. Gowler heartily welcomed me to, and in such a way that I was at home at once. The next day I rode in to the Fort, and presented my letters of introduction and credit to Governor McTavish, who said he would help me in any way he could, inviting me at the same time to take my meals, when in the vicinity, with him and his officers. I also became acquainted with his nephew, John McTavish, who was at that time Chief Accountant, and who rendered me many kindnesses during my stay in the settlement. I had no trouble about the year's supplies for the missions, as these had all been requisitioned for, as usual, early in the year. My business was the arranging of transport. I must secure carts and harness and oxen, and, as the several plain-hunting parties had recently started out, I had some difficulty in finding enough for my needs. But after some days' hunting around, I secured all I wanted; had bought my oxen, fine big fellows, paying on an average £7 (about $35) apiece; also four quiet milch cows, for which I paid from $15 to $18 each, thinking as I bought them how much they would be welcomed by our people at yonder mission. I also bought ten sacks of flour, paying £1 12s. per sack of ninety-six pounds, and 2s. for the sack. Add to this the freight to Victoria, and the first cost there of each sack would be $18.50. I gave five sacks to each mission, which, allowing a sack for the men of each party en route, would give the missions four sacks of flour for the year. This would be a wonderful advance on any previous experience in the bread line at either of those places. I bought, too, a promising colt, descendant of "Fire Away," a very famous horse the Hudson's Bay Company had imported from the Old Country. For this three-year-old colt I paid £14, or $70 of our money. I handled, in making my purchases, the first "Hudson's Bay blankets" I had ever seen. These were large 5s. and £5 notes, issued by the Company, and which I drew from them on father's order. In the course of my business I was in Old Fort Garry a number of times. I saw St. Boniface, then a very small place, just across the river, and the home of Bishop Tache. I was in and out of the five or six houses which then formed the nucleus of the little village called Winnipeg. I rode frequently through the parish of St. John's, passing the house of Bishop Anderson, the Anglican head of Rupert's Land. I went down into Kildonan and spent a night in the home of the Rev. Dr. Black, who was one of father's dear friends. I also met there the Rev. Mr. Nisbet, who later on founded the mission work at Prince Albert. I visited some of the original Scotch settlers, and was looked upon by the elders as a degenerate, because, as they expressed it, "She couldna spoket the Gaelic." I spent two Sundays in this settlement, hearing Dr. Black the first Sunday, and remember thinking that his fine Gospel sermon was "broad" in more senses than one. The next Sabbath I worshipped with the Anglicans, and heard the Rev. Henry Cochrane preach an eloquent and inspiring sermon, and was glad that a genuine native had reached such a position. I have often felt sorry that the men who were instrumental in raising him to this height of development did not themselves keep ahead sufficiently in example, as well as in precept, but by their failure caused their weaker brother to offend, and later on to fall terribly from his high estate. It has taken many centuries of progressive development to give a very small percentage of the stronger races of men the will power and ability to understand and observe the meaning of the word temperance. It is a very small sacrifice (if it may be called such), yet an essential factor with missionaries in their work with the pagan races, that they themselves be through and through transparent and consistent, or else to these will come the greater condemnation. But, not to further moralize, I will go back to the loading of my carts and the gathering of my stock, preparatory to my journey westward. My man Baptiste had found his old associates and whiskey too much for him, and forgetting wife and children on the Saskatchewan, had disappeared. I could not give the time to looking for him, but hired instead one of Mr. Gowler's sons, Oliver by name, and as I was still short of help, was very glad that I came across a gentleman by the name of Connor, and his son, a young man about my age, who were desirous of making the trip to the Saskatchewan. As they had but one cart between them, I secured the son to drive carts for me. My party was also joined by a Scotchman who was desirous of crossing the mountains to British Columbia, and who, finding that we were starting westward, asked permission to travel with us. He also had but one cart. When we started, as the Whitefish Lake party had horses pulling their carts and would travel faster (especially in hot weather) than we could, I let them go on ahead of us. Our party was composed of Mr. Connor and the Scotchman, my two men and myself--five in all. CHAPTER XIV. We start for home--A stubborn cow--Difficulties of transport--Indignant travellers--Novel method of breaking a horse--Secure provisions at Fort Ellice--Lose one of our cows--I turn detective--Dried meat and fresh cream as a delicacy. I think it was about the last of June or the first of July that we rolled out of Mr. Gowler's farmyard on the trail leading across the plains. The first day or two we had considerable trouble with our cattle. One cow was determined to go back, so I caught her and tied her behind a cart to which was attached a ponderous ox. She rebelled at this, and threw herself down, but the ox kept on as if the weight dragging behind was a small matter. Coming to a shallow creek in which there were some sharp stones on the bottom, the cow, finding the action of being dragged over these too much, jumped to her feet, and after that led on as we wished. Very soon all broke in to the routine of the journey in good shape, and we had very little trouble after the first week with any of our loose stock. Let one of those ironless carts squeak, and the cows were up and alongside with all the alacrity of a soldier answering the bugle note. There had been considerable rain, and for the first three weeks after we started it rained very heavily at times. As there was not a tent in the party, we each got under a cart, and while the rain came perpendicularly we were passably dry; but the mosquitoes were sometimes awfully annoying. The copious rains made the roads very heavy in places, but we came along as far as the second crossing of the White Mud without having to move loads. Here we were forced to raft everything, which means a long delay, as also a great amount of labor. I made a raft of cart wheels, and pulling this to and fro with ropes we ferried our goods and chattels over. Having let the Indians go on, my party as now constituted was altogether "tenderfoot" in its make up, though with me my two years on the Saskatchewan modified this. As it was, I had all the planning and also a large portion of the work to do. To unload your carts and make your rafts, and ferry over by piecemeal your loads and harness and cart-boxes and whole travelling outfit; to watch your stock in the meantime, and that closely, or else lose hours or even days in hunting for them; to keep your stuff from the wet from above as well as beneath, and in doing so get more or less wet yourself; to make smudges to save your cattle and horses from being eaten alive by "bull-dogs"* and mosquitoes; to fight these exceedingly energetic denizens of the air the while you are trying to do this work I have just enumerated,--I say that if you have ever been, or ever will be, in such a case, you will have an idea of summer transport across bridgeless and ferryless streams in a new country. * A name given to a species of black fly common on the prairies, and significant of their ferocity and persistency in attack. Having passed the second, we went on to the third crossing of the "White Mud," and like the man with the two daughters whom he called Kate and Duplicate, we simply duplicated the last crossing here, only that it was "the same and more of it." The creeks had been very small on our way down, but now seeing them so full after the heavy rains, and giving us so much trouble to cross, I began to apprehend some difficulty at the Little Saskatchewan, for this was a river, and rapid at that. However, we stopped short of this one morning for breakfast, and while the boys were making a fire I walked on to the river, and was delighted to note that while it was muddy and swift, it was still fordable. This I knew without trying, as I had taken its measure on my way down. Just then, as I stood for a moment on its bank before returning to my camp, two travellers on horseback, with a pack-horse, came down the hill on the other side. They looked at the stream, and at once pronounced it unfordable; then, without stopping to ask me, got off their horses, and unsaddling and unpacking, took out their axe and went for some timber to make a raft. I thought I would have some fun with them, so waited until they had carried up some logs for the raft. Then as they stood on the bank resting for a little, I walked down into the stream and across to them. As I had estimated at first glance, there was no more than twenty or twenty-four inches of water. These travellers looked astonished, and seemed indignant that I had not told them. "Why did you not tell us the river was fordable?" said one. "Why did you not ask me?" I answered. Then one blamed the other who was acting as guide, and told him he ought to have known better than to let them make such fools of themselves. Here I spoke up and said, "Well, as it is fordable, you had better saddle up and come across and have some breakfast with us." But right here my reader will note the difference in men. One takes notice of the country he passes through, and hopes to recognize it when next he comes this way; another says he knows it all, and acts as this guide did. [Illustration: "I headed her out again into the lake."] Fording the Little Saskatchewan, we continued our journey. One day we stopped for noon on the shore of Shoal Lake, and here while our stock were resting I made an experiment. We had brought with us from the mission a fine strong mare about seven years of age, which had never been broken to either drive or ride, and was very wild. She would follow the carts and stay with our horses, that was all. My plan was to take her out into the lake and break her there. We made a corral with the carts, and I lassoed the mare, and haltering her, stripped off my clothes and swam out into the lake with her, then quietly slipped on her back. She gave a plunge or two, but only succeeded in ducking herself, and then settled down to straight swimming. After a while I headed her for the shore, but as soon as she got squarely on the bottom she began to buck, so I headed her out again into the lake, and presently I could take her out on the beach and canter up and down as nicely as with an old saddle-horse. Then I dressed, and putting a saddle-pad on, rode her all the afternoon. Rolling on as well as we could, heeding but little the mud and mosquitoes and pelting rains, in good time we reached the Assiniboine. We were two days rafting that stream, and the large part of another in doubling and portaging up the big sand hill which forms the north bank of the Assiniboine at this point. Leaving my party in camp on the bank of the Qu'Appelle, I forded this stream and rode over to Fort Ellice, hoping to secure some dried meat or pemmican, as we were living now entirely on flour and milk, and I wanted to use the flour as little as possible. On my way through the woods which thickly covered the hill between the Qu'Appelle and Fort Ellice, I met four white men on foot, carrying new flint-lock guns. The guns and their appearance branded them as belonging to the Hudson's Bay Company, and being "green hands," as all the newly received employees were called, I enquired of them where they were going. One of them answered, "The Lord knows, for we don't." My next question was, "What are you looking for?" and they answered in chorus, "Our supper." "Why," said I, "are there no provisions in the Fort?" "None," they answered; "we were given these guns and some shot and powder, and told to hunt for our suppers." This was poor encouragement for me in my quest for provisions. I had noticed that the leader, while he had a new gun on his shoulder, did not have any flint in the dog-head. "Well, my friend," I said, "you will never kill your supper with that gun you carry." "Why," he asked, "what is the matter?" I pointed out to him what the matter was, and then all began to look at their guns, and I went on, for about the most dangerous place you can be in is where a number of tenderfeet are handling guns. I confess I was disappointed about the provisions, and felt that it would be too bad to have to use up the little flour I was taking home, for it was three hundred miles to the next Fort on our way. However, being young and of a sanguine turn of mind, I galloped on to the Fort, and again called on Mrs. McKay, who corroborated what the men said, telling me that the Fort was in sore straits for food; but that she expected soon to hear from Mr. McKay, who had gone on to the plains. Fortunately for me, while we were talking a party drove into the Fort with several cartloads of provisions, and thus I secured both pemmican and dried meat, and those, poor "green hands" did not go supperless to bed that night. My two men and I went breadless to bed instead, and for many subsequent nights also, for I was determined to save the flour for mother and the others at home. Steadily we pushed our way westward, some days, when cool and cloudy, making good time, then, when it was hot, going more leisurely. Travelling early and late, we would keep at the long trail. Then an axle would break, and this would bring us up standing. Sometimes a dowel-pin snapped, or a felloe split, and mending and lashing still we rolled toward the setting sun. Once we lost one of our cows, and I had to retrace our way some miles in looking for her. The country we were passing through was dotted with dense brush, and as the "bull-dogs" were bad, the cow had gone into a clump of trees to rid herself, if possible, of her enemies, whose name truly was legion. Now, to gallop back farther on the trail would in all probability be futile in finding the cow. So I went to work on the detective plan, and first sought for a clue. This I got from Oliver and Jim, my men, who were positive as to when they had seen the cow last. So I went back on one side of the road, carefully watching for the track, and coming to the spot where the boys had seen the truant last, I then crossed the road, and keenly looked for a track on the back trail, but found none. I was now pretty sure that the cow was between me and the carts, and on the other side of the road from that I had come on. So, keeping a little way out from the road, I followed up the carts, and by-and-bye came to the track of the cow. She had turned out from the trail and gone into a thicket, and I had to leave my horse at its edge to follow her track into it; but keeping on the trail, I at last found her, almost enveloped in the foliage, and in the shadiest spot she could find. The next morning, while the others were supping their tea or drinking the new milk, I took some dried meat, and with this skimmed and ate the cream on the milk in the pail I had hung under the cart the night before. Dried meat and fresh cream might not be a "dainty dish" for an epicure, but then one must not forget the exquisite relish we had around us in our perfect freedom of out-door life; in our solid beds, wet or dry, on the bosom of "mother earth," under the carts; the pure atmosphere, the beautiful sunrise and sunset, the lovely undulating, park-like country we were travelling through, giving us constant change of scene; the many gems of lakes and lakelets we skirted, the superb health we generally enjoyed--each and all of these were the best of tonics, and under such conditions even hard grease pemmican was good. CHAPTER XV. Personnel of our party--My little rat terrier has a novel experience--An Indian horse-thief's visit by night--I shoot and wound him--An exciting chase--Saved by the vigilance of my rat terrier--We reach the South Branch of the Saskatchewan--A rushing torrent--A small skin canoe our only means of transport--Mr. Connor's fears of drowning--Get our goods We have now been nearly a month on the way, and are becoming well acquainted with each other, for there is no better place than around the camp-fire, and on a trip like ours, to size up men and display one's own idiosyncrasies. Mr. Connor, the gentleman who had joined me at the Red River, proves to be a very good companion. He has travelled and read; was at one time, in the early forties, a minister of the Methodist Church, but owing to some misunderstanding had given up the ministry and gone afloat--and is still floating. He is generally bright and cheerful, and very helpful, but sometimes falls into a streak of melancholy, which, after all, darkens his own day more than that of any one else. He drives his own cart. This he has shingled with pieces of tarred bale covers, and at night sleeps in it. His yoke of steers, though at first somewhat balky in mud-holes, after I have drilled them a few times, and got them to recognize my voice in a real western yell, come along all right. His son James, who is one of my men, is a short, sturdy fellow, and being strong and hearty, is fast adapting himself to this new life. My other man, Oliver, is but an over-grown boy; has had very little opportunity in life, no chance at school, and is rather simple-minded, but willing and strong. The Scotchman, who is on his way across the mountains, walks by his own cart and horse most of the day's march, and is "canny and carefu'" about the camp; for the most part silent and reserved, but in a pinch, and at river crossings, lends a strong hand. Such a journey as we are on is new to all but myself, and I, though all my life on the frontier, am but in my fourth year in this the greater West. We had three dogs with us, one belonging to the Scotchman, and the others to me. Both of mine were a present from a clergyman I met in the settlement, one a duck dog, and the other a small rat terrier. The latter supported the two former on the road by killing gophers for them. This little fellow was extremely agile. He would jump up on my foot in the stirrup, and at the next leap be in the saddle beside me. There he would rest for a little while, perhaps until the next gopher popped in sight, when with a bound he would be away; and this he would keep up the whole day long. At night I might wrap my blanket as tightly as I pleased about me; the little scamp would crawl in somehow and sleep in my bosom. One day when we were hunting moulting ducks during our noon spell, he got after a big stock duck, and taking hold of the tail feathers of the bird, the latter made for the lake with the dog in tow. The little fellow was gritty and held on while the duck towed him far out into the lake. It was highly amusing to see the small dog being whirled along by the duck, who was flapping his featherless wings and swimming at a great rate. Presently the dog, wanting to bark, opened his mouth, and the duck dove under immediately it was loose. My little pet swam ashore after affording us no little amusement by his unusual adventure. One Saturday evening we camped in the Touchwood Hills, and found ourselves in the vicinity of a solitary lodge occupied by an old Indian and his aged wife. They told us that their children and people had gone out on the plains. The report was that the buffalo were not far away, and they were hoping to hear from their friends before long. The mesas-koo-tom, or service berry, were very plentiful all through the hills, and this old couple had gathered and dried a large quantity. I was glad to trade a bag of these from them to take home to our people, for any kind of dried fruit had been a scarce article with us. On Sunday afternoon two boys came in from the plains with a horse-load of dried provisions. They were the old man's grandchildren, and had come for the old folks. The boys said the buffalo were a good day's journey south of us, which would be about fifty miles. Monday morning I traded some dried provisions from the old man, and we parted company. I think it was the fourth day afterwards that we camped in a small round prairie, backed by a range of hills and fringed around by willow and poplar brush. We had pulled our carts into a line, with our camp-fire in the centre. We were sufficiently north, as we thought, to be comparatively safe from horse-thieves and war parties, so we merely hobbled our horses, and making a good smudge near our own fire, we rolled in our blankets, each man under a cart, except Mr. Connor, who slept in his. Some time in the night I was awakened by my little dog, who had crept under my blanket as usual, and now startled me by springing forth and barking vigorously. As I raised myself on elbow, I saw that the two larger dogs were charging at something quite near. The moon was about three parts full, and the night quiet and almost clear. From under the shadow of the cart I could see our horses feeding near the smoke. Presently I discovered an object crawling up to come between the carts and the horses. At first I thought it was a big grey wolf, but as the dogs rushed at it, I saw that it did not recede, but came on. I reached for my gun and watched closely, and presently saw the object pick up a stick and throw it at the dogs. This convinced me that it was someone trying to steal our horses. His object evidently was to creep in between us and our stock, and gently driving them away, he would then cut the hobbles and run them off. [Illustration: "I took deliberate aim, and fired at him."] Having made sure that what I saw was a human being, and a would-be horse-thief, or worse, I immediately planned to intercept him. So I in turn began to crawl along the shade of the carts until I was under the last one, which was Mr. Connor's. Here I waited and watched until, seeing the fellow repeatedly frighten the dogs away, I was sure it was a man. He was slowly coming up on hands and knees, and was now near the first horse, when I took deliberate aim and fired at him. My gun was loaded with shot, and fortunately for him was only a single barrel, or I would have given him the other, for I was not at that moment in a mood to spare a horse-thief. My shot at once knocked him flat. When the smoke had cleared away I saw him starting to crawl off, so I jumped for him, on which he rose to his feet and ran for all he was worth towards the nearest brush. I dropped my gun and picked up a pole that lay in my way, and was overtaking him fast when he reached the thicket; then thinking he might not be alone, I ran back for my gun. My companions by this time were all up, and we made ready for an attack. Tying up our horses, we watched and guarded until daylight, but were not further molested. By this time I concluded that the thief was alone, and I became very anxious about him. I knew I had hit him, but to what extent I did not know; so taking a man with me, we went on his track and found that he had lost considerable blood, had rested and, we supposed, had in some way bound up his wound and then gone on. As we tracked him I concluded by his step that he was but slightly hurt, and would reach his camp all right. This relieved my mind considerably, but it was not until the next year we heard about the fellow. Then it came out that I blew the top off the man's shoulder, and after a hard journey back to camp, he lay some three months before recovering. Having ample opportunity for reflection, he saw the error of his former way and vowed to steal no more. This Indian had heard from the old man and his two grandchildren, whom we left in the Touchwood Hills, that a small party of white men had travelled west, having with them some good horses. He concluded that this would be a "soft snap," and acted accordingly. Had it not been for my vigilant little rat terrier, he would have taken our horses and left us in a pretty fix. I have always felt thankful I did not kill the fellow, but most certainly I wanted to at the time. If my gun had been loaded with ball, or that bit of prairie had been longer--for I was coming up on him fast, and the pole I carried was a strong one--the results might have been different. We were now approaching the South Branch of the Saskatchewan. The streams we had crossed thus far were as child's play compared to this. It was midsummer, and the snow and ice in yonder mountains, six or seven hundred miles away, would be melting, and the mighty river be a swollen torrent. Would we find a boat there or not? If not, how were we to cross? These were thoughts and questions which kept coming up in my mind all the time. It is very easy under some conditions to say to another man, "Do not cross the river until you come to it," but when you know the river to be big and wide, and the current like that of a mill-race; when you know that there is not a man in your party as good even as yourself in such a case; when you feel all the responsibility of life and property, involving the well-being of many others, you cannot help but worry. We were still several miles from the river, when I galloped ahead to find out the best or the worst that might be in store for us. Coming to the river I saw it was booming. Great trees and rafts of driftwood were being swept down by its swishing currents, and with a strain of anxiety I rode down the several hills to the river's brink, and felt almost sick at heart when I found there was no boat in sight. Very often the Hudson's Bay Company kept a boat at this point, but now, search as I would, there was none to be found, and I rode back up the hill with a heavy heart. However, at the top of the hill I now discerned a pole stuck in the ground, and thought I saw something white at the end of it. Galloping over, I found a note tied to the pole, which said, "Down in the woods in the direction this stick points, there is a skin canoe." This had been arranged by the Company people at Carlton for the benefit of Mr. Hardisty, whom they expected to be on his way west from an eastern visit. They had not a boat to spare, so they made this small skin canoe, brought it here and left it staged up in the trees for his use when he should come along. The note also said, "In the bow of the canoe you will find a chunk of hard grease." This was to pitch its seams with and make it waterproof if possible. Now for a light travelling party, with saddle and pack-horses, this would be sufficient, but for a heavily loaded train like ours it seemed like a "small hook to hang your hat on." But even this was something, and I soon went to the spot in the woods indicated and found the canoe placed high on the limbs, to keep it from the wolves and coyotes, who would soon gnaw its skin covering. I saw it was very small, being made of two buffalo cowhides, stretched over a frame of willows, and in it were two paddles and a parcel, which undoubtedly contained the grease. It was late Saturday evening when we camped upon the shore, and my companions were almost paralyzed by the appearance of the river. It was fortunate that they had all day Sunday to become somewhat familiar with the sight of this mad current and its tremendous volume of water. Monday morning I was up with the day, and calling my two men we boiled the kettle, chopped some chunks from our mass of pemmican, and sat down to breakfast. Presently Mr. Connor crawled out of his cart, and sitting on its edge, said "Good-morning." I invited him to a cup of tea and a piece of pemmican, but to my astonishment he very solemnly said, "Before I do anything to-day I want to come to an agreement with you men as to how long you are prepared to stay here and search for the body of anyone of us who may be drowned here to-day." It was very early in the morning, and myself and men were not very hungry--at any rate, the one dish of uncooked pemmican was not very appetizing--but when the above very anti-tonic remarks fell in sombre tones from the venerable-looking man's lips, I noticed that Oliver dropped his pemmican, while his eyes widened and his face blanched. I saw that I must do something, or else I would not be able to take Oliver near the river that day. So I laughed out a regular "Ha, ha!" at the old man's strange demand. "It is no laughing matter," said he. "Yes it is--a very laughable matter," I answered, "that a man of your age and experience should make such a proposition, for in the first place we do not expect anyone to be drowned here to-day, and more, if any of us should drown in that current, what would be the use of searching for the body? If I am the one to be drowned, don't you lose a minute looking for my body, but go on taking the stuff across, and take it to its destination; but my word for it, we will get across all right. Come along and have a cup of tea." This he did without saying any more about drowning, and he worked like a trooper all the rest of the day, helping in any way he could. Some years later Mr. Connor was drowned, and he may have felt premonitions of his coming fate that morning. Breakfast over, we immediately began operations. The first thing was to carry the canoe to the water's edge, then taking the grease, and biting off a mouthful, chew this until it became like gum; then with finger cover over the seams wherever they occurred in the canoe. When this was done we launched the canoe, and for the first trip put in about three hundred pounds, as this, we thought, with the two men necessary to work her, might be all she could carry. Then we had to track or trail our canoe up the river a long way, for the current would carry us down a great distance while crossing. This we did by one pulling on a line and the other wading along the shore and keeping the canoe out from the rocks; then when we did let go, the two in the canoe had to paddle as hard as they could, for the rough hide and flat shape of the clumsy thing made it very heavy in the water. Having reached the other side, and unloaded and carried up our goods out of the reach of a possible rise of water, we had to again pull our canoe a long way up the river on that side, in order to reach anywhere near where our stuff was in crossing again. After the first trip we found that we could average about four hundred pounds with the two men, and keeping hard at it the long summer's day, drying our boat while we lunched or dined or supped, and ever and anon repitching it with the grease, we had most of our stuff across by sundown, and were once more in camp--and no one drowned! CHAPTER XVI. A raft of carts--The raft swept away--Succeed in recovering it--Getting our stock over--The emotionless Scot unbends--Our horses wander away--Track them up--Arrive at Carlton--Crossing the North Saskatchewan--Homes for the millions--Fall in with father and Peter--Am sent home for fresh horses--An exhilarating gallop--Home again. The next morning we pulled our carts as far up the river as there was beach to move on, and then, crossing over several times, got the remainder of our freight, harness and camping outfit across. In the meantime we were making a raft of the carts. We took the wheels off and fastened them to the boxes, then tied the whole together, and as I purchased a long rope in the settlement, my plan was to fasten one end of this to the raft and carefully coiling up the rest, take a third man into the canoe to pay it out while we would paddle for the shore as fast as possible. Arrived there, we would jump out, and with the rope gently warp our raft to the shore. But that current was strong and treacherous, and when we, after a fearful struggle, did succeed in jumping ashore, to my dismay at the first strain the rope broke, and away with the rush of current went our raft of carts. [Illustration: "We went at a furious rate on that swirling, seething, boiling torrent."] There was just one spot, about a mile down, where we could land those carts. If we missed that the current would sweep them to the other side of the river, and on into a series of rapids below. To jump into the canoe, to chase that raft, to hitch to it, and then to paddle for the shore as we went at a furious rate on that swirling, seething, boiling torrent was our instant action. How we worked! How I watched that one spot where it was possible for us to land! How I calculated the time when I would pay out line, and once more try to warp our raft in! How as by a miracle we did make the one spot, and held our raft, and, securing it, sat down on the shore and rested, and were thankful! But our difficulties were not yet all mastered. At a glance I saw we had heavy work before us to take those carts out of the spot where we landed. A steep, almost perpendicular bank, covered with brush, must be climbed at the outset, and then a road of some two or three miles made in order to reach the spot where our goods were. Though I saw all this, yet as I lay there with the carts on the home side of the river at my feet, I felt profoundly thankful. The first thing to be done was to take the carts out of the water and put them together, then, by wading and tracking and pulling and pushing, to take the heavy skin canoe up stream, and again cross, as our stock were still on the south side. Here came the tug of war, for those cattle were afraid of the wide stream and the strong current. We drove them up and started them in at the spot where the flow of water struck for the other side, but all in vain; they kept coming back on us. We shouted and waded in after them. Many times we gave them a fresh send-off. Finally we towed one over after the canoe, and rushed the balance in after this one, but they went back on us again. We took another, and still the rest would not follow; but we gave them no peace, and finally, after hours of the hardest kind of work, they struck out and swam across, some of them going a long distance down stream. Eventually all crossed, and at a late hour on Tuesday evening we were camped--goods and carts and stock and men--on the north side of the South Branch, and as yet no one drowned! To say we were thankful is to say but little. Why, even the seemingly emotionless Scot of our party unbent that evening and became quite funny. But we also were very tired, and to add to this, in my case, the soles of my feet were badly cut with the sharp stones, and the fine sand had got into the wounds, causing me intense pain. The next morning my feet were badly swollen, and only with great difficulty could I put them to the ground, so I depended on Oliver and Jim to hunt up the stock. After being hours away they returned and reported the most of our horses lost. There was no other resource but to soak my swollen feet and moccasins in the river, and start out to look for them. By taking a big circle from the river, I finally found their track, and running or walking or crawling, as occasion required, I followed them up, my progress depending on the nature of the soil and the grass. Sometimes I was obliged to go on my hands and knees, in order to detect the faint tracks left by those unshod horses. After hours of such tracking and of closest scanning of the track, I came to the summit of a hill, and was exceedingly fortunate in catching a glimpse of my horses disappearing over the brow of a hill in the distance. My seeing them as I did saved me hours of tracking, and enabled me to catch up on them fast, for I did not stop my race until I reached the spot where they had disappeared from view. Then, as they were not in sight, I began my tracking again, and very soon came to the truants in a swamp. I caught one, and jumping on bare-back, made those horses fairly fly back to the river, where I was gladly welcomed by my companions, who had become anxious at my long absence. Working on into the night that evening, we succeeded in climbing the hill, and camped about three miles from the river. The next day we reached Carlton and the North Saskatchewan. Here we had a wider river to cross, but were fortunate in securing the loan of a boat which, although it was old and very leaky, yet enabled us to cross a cart and its load at each trip. Our cattle, too, did not give us so much trouble as at the South Branch. We were not quite two days in crossing. Here we had a long, high hill to double up with our loads, but finally were on the top of it, and on the home side of the two big Saskatchewans. I was a very glad man in consequence. The hundreds of miles yet to travel, the many smaller rivers and streams yet to cross, seemed as nothing to what we had passed; and we were all pleased that the backbone of the trip was now broken. Two years before this, father and I had ridden up this hill on our first trip to the plains. No change had taken place since then. Here were the thousands of homesteads and countless acres of rich grass and soil, verily homes for the millions; but as yet the units of men were not here, doubtless because there was a Providence in all this, and the time had not come for settlement. The same afternoon that we left the north side of the river, I came across an Indian who took a strong fancy to the horse I was riding, the one I had broken in in the lake, and which, though a fine animal, had caused me a deal of trouble, and had no doubt taken the lead in going so far a few days before. As the Indian had a stout grey horse which he said was good in the harness, we agreed to "swap even;" so, dismounting, we changed our saddles from one horse to the other, and each went his own way satisfied. My grey pony proved himself first-class in the cart. Early and late we rolled westward, across wide valleys and over great ranges of hills, from whose summits we looked out upon magnificent stretches of country, which made my companions, beholding it for the first time, open their eyes and exclaim in wonder at the wealth of soil and great variety of scenery on every hand. Travelling for days we reached and passed the rendezvous of the threatening Jackfish Lake Indians, and I was glad to note that there were no fresh tracks in the vicinity. They were either out on the plains after buffalo or in the north hunting moose. As we had a very small party I had felt anxious about these people and was thankful for their absence. However, the next day our number was strengthened by unexpectedly meeting father and Peter. Father had come to Fort Pitt on missionary work, and in doing so had met Ka-kake, who had told him that I could not be very many days behind; so he had come on, and thus we met, which was a source of profound satisfaction to me. Father and Peter were a host in themselves, and as we were now getting farther into the country where tribal war was rife and war parties from the south frequent, to have our little party so handsomely reinforced was a comfort and joy to us. Father was pleased with my purchases of cattle, and complimented me on the condition of the stock all round. He thought we could now afford to push them, as they would have plenty of time to fatten for winter after we reached the mission. From daylight until dark, therefore, stopping only to feed, we kept at it and made good time. The old landmarks of the bridle-path across the continent--Red Deer Hill, Frenchman's Butte, Fort Pitt, Two Hills, Moose Creek, the Dog Rump, Egg Lake--each in turn was left behind. Camping on the home side of the latter one evening, father said to me, "John, you may gallop on to the mission in the morning and see your mother and sisters; and if you can find them, bring us some fresh horses." We were now about fifty miles or more from the new mission, and had reached the limit of wheel-tracks on the north side of the Saskatchewan, so that our party would have to make the trail the rest of the way through a new country with more or less bush. Early the next morning found me astride of my little sorrel--the one the Indians had named "The Scarred Thigh," because he had once been tossed by a mad buffalo--and away we went on the steady jump. After a time, thinking I might be riding my horse too fast, looking at my watch I said to the sorrel, "We will trot for half an hour, and canter the other half;" but though I tried this several times, we would invariably be on the dead canter before the thirty minutes for trotting had nearly expired. So finally, as the little sorrel seemed ready for it and eager to go, I let him out. What a gallop we had that day! Soon we were past Saddle Lake, and had reached the summit of the Snake Hill. Every spot near the trail was now familiar to me, for I had walked and ran, and pulled and pushed, and frozen and starved between Saddle Lake and Victoria; but on this occasion my whole being was thrilled with the pleasant anticipation of seeing my loved ones. Possessed of a profound sense of gratitude for the mercies of the long trip now so nearly over; with a strong, springy, willing horse under me, a clear sky above, lovely landscapes on every hand, every foot of soil under my horse's feet full of great possibilities, an exhilarating atmosphere striking my face, filling my nostrils, inflating my lungs at every jump, it is no wonder that morning's ride is indelibly impressed on my memory. I thoroughly enjoyed it; and so far as I knew this was righteous joy, which methinks will live forever. I had a bit of dried meat with me, which I ate as I rode. About ten o'clock I stopped to grass my horse. Throwing the saddle down I turned him loose at the end of my lariat, and tying the end of this to my arm, flung myself on the grass and slept. If I had not been so much of a tenderfoot as I still was, I would not have fastened my horse to myself, for in doing so I was running great risks of being killed. Of this, however, I did not then think, but slept on, and presently waking with a start, saddled up and started into a lope once more. When fairly under way, looking at my watch, I saw we had not spent a full half hour at our resting and feeding-place. Then I apologized to the sorrel, but he kept on the steady canter all the same, and before noon we were at the mission, joyfully welcomed by mother and friends. Fifty miles before dinner, and both horse and rider as ready for work as ever, and I may be pardoned in saying "that was a horse, and this was a man." CHAPTER XVII. Improvements about home--Mr. Woolsey's departure--A zealous and self-sacrificing missionary--A travelling college--I feel a twinge of melancholy--A lesson in the luxury of happiness--Forest and prairie fire--Father's visit to the Mountain Stoneys--Indians gathering about our mission--Complications feared. Part of that afternoon I spent at home with mother, and during part of it hunted up our horses, and finding them, corralled them for the night. I noted the new house was finished and that mother was comfortably settled once more in a substantial home. True, it was without any furniture or stoves, but Larsen was hard at work at the former, and time and money would eventually bring the latter. (Mother, of all women I know, is most strongly possessed of patience and sublime resignation to the lot of the wife of a pioneer missionary.) I saw, also, that the stockade around the mission-house was finished; that another field had been fenced, broken and planted; that the prospect of a garden crop was good, and that our chance of barley for soup next winter was largely within the possibilities. I saw, too, a number of garden patches that the Indians had fenced in, hoed and planted with the small share of seeds the mission could give them. With most of these aborigines, this was the very first effort to till the land. In short, I saw that those at home had been at work, and that things were beginning to look like permanent occupancy. I missed the genial, kindly presence of my old friend, Mr. Woolsey. He had returned to Ontario, following the route down the river in one of the Hudson's Bay Company's boats, and thus I had failed to meet him. Nine years on the Saskatchewan, from 1855 to 1864, in Hudson's Bay fort, in Indian lodge, beside many a camp-fire, he had preached the living gospel of a loving Saviour. In doing this work he had undergone untold hardships, always and everywhere handicapped by physical infirmities. Transplanted from the city of London, Eng., into the wildness and wilderness of the far west; having had no experience or knowledge of the conditions of frontier life in a new country; with no knowledge of the language of the Indians--indeed, I venture to say he had seldom seen an Indian--in the presence of the physical difficulties which were as legion everywhere around him in his new field, he was altogether dependent on those around him. This, too, in a country where the horseman and the hunter, and the man ready in resource under every or all of the exigencies of real pioneer life on the frontier, were tried to the utmost. If upon such men as these there was the constant strain and burden of difficulty and great hardship, what must have been the experience of Mr. Woolsey, arriving there fresh from the comforts of English life. For nearly a decade this devoted servant of God had journeyed incessantly up and down through the length and breadth of the Upper Saskatchewan and among the foot-hills of the Rockies. He had alternately shivered and sweltered, starved and feasted. When freezing he was given a camp-fire in the frozen snow and colder air to thaw him. When scalding in the burning heat of the long midsummer day on the treeless plains, he had to refresh him a cup of tepid swamp water, in which any ordinary sight might behold extraordinary life. When starving, even he, notwithstanding his strong Sabbatarianism, was forced to travel on in quest of food. [Illustration: REV. THOMAS WOOLSEY. (_From a photograph taken soon after his return from the North-West._)] One cold winter day, he and his French half-breed guide and dog-driver were within a hard day's travel of the Rocky Mountain Fort. It was Sunday. They had food neither for dogs nor men. Mr. Woolsey would fain have kept the Sabbath, and gone hungry in so doing, but his materialistic guide and driver hitched up his dogs, and making ready, said: "Well, Mr. Woolsey, you stop here and pray; I will go to the Fort and eat." Mr. Woolsey then allowed himself to be wrapped in the cariole and taken to the Fort, where he could both eat and pray. When he feasted, he might sup and dine and breakfast for days on fish, another time on rabbits, another period on eggs, in all the various stages of incubation; for change he would pass from eggs to moulting ducks, and for days these would be his diet. Then would come the longer intervals of buffalo diet. Tongues and marrow-bones, and back fats and bosses both little and big, and dried meat and pemmican, either straight or disguised in _rush-o_ or _rab-aboo_, just as you please. Ah! then he was feasting indeed when he had buffalo meat. It is true at times there would come to him the strong craving of a true Englishman for slices of bread and butter, or chunks of plum pudding, or even a potato; but what was the use, my friend would heroically away with such longings, and content himself with his hard grease pemmican. He mastered the Syllabic system so that he could read and write in it, and also teach to others the use of this wonderful invention which God gave to James Evans. It was curious to listen to him reading a chapter in the Cree Testament to a group of Indians, himself not understanding ten words in the chapter, while his hearers were intelligently grasping every word. Scores are now in heaven whom he taught to read the words of the blessed Master. Under a blanket-covered tripod on the plains, at the foot of a tree in the woods, in the shade of a skin lodge, by the glare of a camp-fire, or in his little room at a Hudson's Bay Company's Fort, he held school, and the graduates in syllabic learning of his travelling college are scattered all through this western country to-day. He gained a smattering of the Cree, so as to make himself understood at a pinch. For instance, he and Susa, Samson's brother, were once camped in the woods near Pigeon Lake. When retiring for the night, Mr. Woolsey wanted to arrange an early start next morning, and spoke thus: "Susa, ke-yah ne-yah wa-buh-ke we-butch a-wass," (You me to-morrow soon get out); and Susa understood, and acted accordingly. Like my father, Mr. Woolsey never presumed on a knowledge of the language, never gave the shortest or simplest kind of an address or sermon without an interpreter, never made the too frequent mistake of attempting to speak of sacred and important matters in an unknown tongue. He was considerable of a medicine man, too, and many a poor Indian was relieved and aided by his hearty help in this way. Among the Hudson's Bay Company's employees he had quite a name as a kind physician. I have been Mr. Woolsey's interpreter, guide, and general "roust-about," his confidante and friend, for the past two years, and now he has gone into a far country; and as I look upon the valley, the scene of our association under strange and sometimes exciting circumstances, I feel a twinge of melancholy. But here are mother and sisters four, and little brother, and the evening passes quickly as we recount to each other the experiences of the summer. The next day I started back with some fresh horses, and met our party coming along famously. For picking a road Peter is a genius, and all hands worked willingly in chopping out the road, brushing swamps, and bridging creeks. Late in the evening of the next day we rolled down the hill into the beautiful valley of the Saskatchewan at Victoria, ours the first carts to ascend the north side of that great river so far west as this point. Slowly the star of empire was moving in the line of destiny. Fifty-six travelling days from Fort Garry--stock all right, carts sound, goods dry, and twenty-five pounds of flour still left in the bag we began on when we left the Red River settlements--such was our record, and father was pleased; and because he was pleased I was happy. I took the flour in to mother, and she and the children and Larsen luxuriated in hot rolls for supper. We unloaded the four sacks I had brought with me, and everybody felt good, for this seemed to us a great quantity at the time; though really, for our large party, taking into consideration, too, the fact that our house was the only one for miles, and that the Hudson's Bay Company officers and men, and brother missionaries, as well as occasional travellers and fur traders, stopped with us as they passed to and fro; that sometimes we had from five hundred to fifteen hundred Indians beside us, and more or less coming and going all the time, with many sick among these,--I say, when one thought of all this, the item of four hundred and nine pounds of flour for twelve months did not seem much. It was, however, the first time in the history of the place and vast surrounding country that so much breadstuff had been stored. Why, when you arithmetically calculated it, there was actually one and one-quarter pounds per day! No wonder mother saw a Christmas pudding, and no end of cake for the many sick folks to whom she so much delighted to minister. No wonder my sisters laughed, and the little baby brother gleefully shouted, "Cake! plenty cake!" If some of the pampered among men in centres of civilization, jaded with the ennui of plenty, had visited that lone mission on the evening of our arrival, they would have learned a lesson in the luxury of happiness that comes from contentment with little. The cows I had bought were also a great source of comfort to our party. These assured us of milk and butter, and if other resources failed, of beef also. Of those who came with me from Red River, the Scotchman traded his cart and harness to father, and packing his horse went on to Edmonton, thence taking the trail through the Yellowhead Pass for British Columbia, never to be heard of by us since; Mr. Connor and his son concluded to winter beside us, and went to work putting up a shanty to live in. Thus our small English-speaking company was augmented by two more, for which we were very thankful. One mishap had come upon us during my absence, in the burning of our saw-pit and saws, together with considerable lumber, by a forest and prairie fire which came in from the south "like the wolf on the fold." This was quite a set-back, as the getting out of lumber by hand is slow work. I found that father and Mr. Steinhauer, with Peter, had made a long trip among the Mountain Stoneys. Our visit of the last fall had resulted in bringing about half of these down country, as far as the upper crossing of Battle River. There father and party met them, and spending a few days with that camp, continued their journey, and found the rest of these "sons of the mountains and foot hills" in a valley some forty miles north of where our mission at Morley now is. Father was full of this visit to the Stoneys. Their hearty reception of the missionaries, their earnest and joyous listening to the teachings of the Gospel, their appearance and demeanor, had won his ardent sympathy. Then the country they lived in--lovely valleys, springs of water, beautiful hills, and in the background immense ranges of majestic mountains--father declared the whole country was one great revelation to him of Canada's rich heritage in this vast North-West. He said he would do what he could to urge upon the Mission Board the need of establishing a mission among these mountain people. Having more stock necessitated the making of more hay and providing more stable room; then we went to work at replacing the timber and lumber which had been burnt, for our purpose now was to build a church as soon as possible. The large one-roomed shanty we had lived in the previous winter was our place of worship in the meantime, and when the weather permitted and the Indians were in from the plains, some central spot out on the prairie was chosen for open-air meetings. With the advance of autumn our Indian friends began to gather in to the mission. Maskepetoon's following of Wood Crees, or "mountain men," as they were called by the other Indians, were followed by many of the Plain Crees, and for days the river-banks and crossing in front of the mission-house were alive with humanities, in all stages of growth. Horses there were in many hundreds, of all colors and grades, and dogs, it would seem, by the thousand. Shoutings and neighings and howlings incessant broke the quiet of our valley, while the smoke of myriad lodges hung over the scene. During the summer a number of skirmishes had taken place between the Crees and the Blackfeet. Scalps had been taken home and rejoiced over by both contending camps. Warriors had gone straight from the field of blood to the "Big Sand Hills," as the Blackfoot would say, or to the "Happier Spirit Land," and many a young fellow who had no horse last spring now rejoices in the ownership of a little band, the successful stealing of which gives him a place among men. These camps have been coming into the mission, while at the same time several parties have left the south to look for horses and scalps. As these return (if they ever do) they will follow straight into the mission, which will in time complicate us, and bring retaliatory measures to our very door; but as this is the condition of the times, we must take our chance, all the while laboring and praying for a better order of things. CHAPTER XVIII. Maskepetoon--Council gatherings--Maskepetoon's childhood--"Royal born by right Divine"--A father's advice--An Indian philosopher--Maskepetoon as "Peace Chief"--Forgives his father's murderer--Arrival of Rev. R. T. Rundle--Stephen and Joseph--Stephen's eloquent harangue--Joseph's hunting exploits--Types of the shouting Methodist and the High Church ritualist. Both father and mother have taken a strong liking to Maskepetoon, and have given the old gentleman a room in the new house, of which he is very proud. In this room he leaves his paper and books and clothes, and into it he often goes to read his Bible. His manly, courteous and kindly behavior makes it pleasant to have him in the house, and in every good work he is as the missionary's right hand. It is well it is so, for at this time the missionary needs all the help he can secure. This strange, promiscuous, turbulent crowd need careful handling. Men who have quarreled about a horse or a woman bring the case to the missionary to settle. Women whose husbands have, as they say, "thrown them away," come to him to reinstate them in their husband's favor and lodge. Widows who have been robbed by their late husband's relatives pour their complaints into his ear, and look to him to adjust their claims. Monogamy versus polygamy is a burning question, and very often the preacher is sorely puzzled to know what to do in the matter. All the sick in camp expect the praying man to help them. What with meetings all through the week and almost all day Sunday, father and Peter are constantly employed. Then comes the solemn gathering of the big Council, when the long-stemmed pipe is passed around, and every rite and ceremony religiously observed. It has often seemed to me that superstition and ritualism are synonymous in the minds and lives of men. Here were these most superstitious of beings, and in all their life intense ritualism had full sway. These council gatherings, however, were fine opportunities for the missionary, who, if in the vicinity, and if he had the confidence of the people, was always invited to be present. At these would assemble both friends and foes. Conjurers and medicine men were there, who felt their craft was in danger; warriors and horse-thieves, too, who loved their life of wild lawlessness, and readily foresaw that if this new faith should have sway their present mode of life would cease. Others there were who intensely hated the white man. His cupidity, sensuality and generally aggressive conduct had at some time in their history insulted and wronged their whole being, and now they fairly loathed the sight of the white portion of the race. On the other hand were the few who had embraced the new faith, and who were in hearty sympathy with the mission. War, peace, trade, the present, the future, their old faiths, the new one brought in by these missionaries, all these matters would be discussed at the councils, and the tactful exponent of Gospel teaching would watch his chance, and from the speeches and arguments of his audience turn the trend of thought to Christianity and civilization. It was fortunate that at this time our mission had a strong friend and ally such as Maskepetoon proved himself to be. With consummate tact he would preside over these council gatherings, and in every one of them score a point or more in favor of the missionary and the cause he represented. Tennyson says: "Here and there a cotter's babe is royal born By right Divine." I will say an Indian's babe was "royal born by right Divine," when the child who became this man Maskepetoon was born: his birthright the common heritage of natural man, his birthplace the Rocky Mountains, his cradle lullaby the crash of tumbling avalanches and the roarings of mighty "chinooks." The shrill cry of the mountain lion, the deep bass note of the buffalo, the ripplings of limpid streams and the ragings of mountain torrents in their wild race to a common level--these with the pagan's death wail, the rattle of the conjurer's drum, and the warrior's shout of triumph were sounds familiar to his baby ears. His childhood was passed in travellings constant and perilous. Winter or summer, his people had "no abiding place." He was always in the presence of the giant forces of Mother Nature. His youthful eye could ever and anon look out from some foot-hill height upon scenes which the varying shades of heaven's light so glorified that these became as pictures painted by the hand of God Himself. His young manhood was passed in those times when the rich premiums of life, love, respect, gratitude were lavishly bestowed upon the perfect horseman, the successful hunter, and the brave and victorious warrior. Maskepetoon had a free hand in all this, and brought to himself and people great glory. As was the manner of the period, he was a polygamist, and an inveterate hater of his tribal enemies. This he had drunk in with his mother's milk, and yet as he grew into strong manhood I can readily believe this unique man had his moments of longing for better things. The Divine would stir within him so strongly at times that the crusting of centuries of sin and darkness would crack, and the man would aspire and look and long for something that he instinctively knew would be infinitely better than his present. It is related of Maskepetoon that after he had become renowned as a victorious warrior, and already the Blackfeet tribes had given him the name of Mon-e-guh-ba-now (the Young Chief), his aged father said to him, "My son, you are making a great mistake. The glory you are now seeking will be short-lived. Delighting in war, taking pleasure in the spilling of man's blood, is all wrong. If you want to be a great man, if you want to be remembered long, turn about and work for peace. This is the only thing that will give you true fame." Six different times did this heathen philosopher thus address his beloved son, and this proud and haughty youthful chieftain would fold his arms around his head, and bowing himself sit in silent reverence and meekly listen; but his warlike spirit would rebel against this sage advice. Yet his father's words troubled him so that at last he filled a pipe and went over to the lodge of another aged man, who was said to be wise beyond the wisdom of other men, and lighting the pipe he handed it to the old man, and asked for counsel as to what was best in life, and what was evil and should be shunned. The humble-minded old Indian said, "Your father is more capable of advising you than I am;" but Maskepetoon persisted in seeking counsel, and then the aged philosopher cut eight small sticks of different lengths, and stood them in the ground four in a row. "Now," said this unschooled professor of ethical teaching, "these sticks represent two lines of life. I will give them names. These four are falsehood, dishonesty, hatred of fellowmen, war; those are truth, honesty, love of fellowmen, peace. I will speak of each one; and now since you have come to me, my son, I want you to open your ears and treasure in your heart what I have to say." Then in his own natural eloquence the aged man discoursed to his intent listener, and when finished he gathered the line of sticks ending in war, and said: "Shall we keep these, or shall I burn them?" "Burn them," came from the stern lips of the strong-willed young man. "Shall I bind these others ending in peace together, and give them to you in remembrance of what I have told you?" "Bind them well and give them to me," replied Maskepetoon, and thus he forsook war and became the champion of peace, and in this way became the forerunner of the Gospel of Peace which in a few years was to be preached for the first time in this new land. In the meantime Maskepetoon's reformation was put to severe tests by the murder of his friends and fellow tribesmen, and by the frequent stealing of his horses; but he stood firm. Then came the killing of his father by the Blackfeet, and while both friends and foes, knowing him as they did, watched and wondered, still, like the mountains under whose shade he was born, he was immovable, and remained loyal to his new position as the apostle of peace in this lawless country. It was soon after this that Maskepetoon placed himself upon record before all men as the "Peace Chief," and it happened in this wise. He and his people were encamped near the Peace Hills, close to where the little town of Wetaskewin now stands, when a large party of Blackfeet and their allies came in on their way to trade at Fort Edmonton. Under such circumstances the Blackfeet were only too glad to ask for a temporary peace, and this being arranged, they came into the Cree camp, seemingly forgetful that they had with them the very man who had killed Maskepetoon's father. Somehow this came out, and caused consternation in the minds of both parties. Said they, "If the young chief hears this, then there will be terrible war." But our hero did find out that the man who had killed his parent was in his camp. When he heard it he sent for his best horse, had him saddled and accoutred as for war, fastened him at his tent-door, and while intense anxiety prevailed, and all were nerved up for the struggle which they thought inevitable, Maskepetoon sent for his father's murderer. The man, an elderly warrior, came as to his death, and Maskepetoon waved him to a seat near himself in the tent. Passing him his own adorned chief's clothes, made of leather, decorated with beads and quills and fringed with human hair, he said to him, "Put those on." "Now," thought the frightened yet stolid murderer, "he is only dressing me out for my death," and brave men on both sides held their breath as they looked on, calmly making ready for the desperate struggle they believed was coming. Again Maskepetoon spoke: "You deprived me of my father, and there was a time when I would have gloried in taking your life and in drinking your blood, but that is past. What makes you pale? You need not fear; I will not kill you. You must now be to me as a father; wear my clothes, ride my horse, and tell your people when you go back to your camp this is the way Mon-e-guh-ba-now takes revenge." Then the old Blackfoot found speech and said, "You have killed me, my son. You are a great man. Never in the history of my people has such as this you have done been known. My people and all men will hear of this and say, 'The young chief is brave and strong and good; he stands alone.'" With this men breathed freely again, and women laughed for joy, and little children began to play once more among the lodges. No wonder that such a man was looking for something better than the old faith. But who was to reveal this better something to him? Thus far the white men he had met gave him no help. The trader's ambition, it would seem, reached no higher than muskrats and beaver, while the transient stay of the roystering, licentious, sporting aristocrat or eastern grandee, with his impudent assumption of superior make, did the Indian and white men who followed him great harm. But now in the fulness of time the same England that had sent to this new land rum and many a sample of spurious civilization, was sending a messenger of another type. The English Wesleyan Conference sent the Rev. R. T. Rundle to labor amongst the Indians of the Hudson's Bay Territory. His objective point was the Saskatchewan country, and presently it was rumored in the camps that a man who talked to "Him" (meaning the Deity) had arrived in the upper country. "Who is this mysterious being who talks with God?" "What are the limits of his power?" "What is his purpose in coming to this part of the country?" were questions frequently asked, and around many a camp-fire and in many a leather lodge this strange being was discussed. None was more curious and anxious than Maskepetoon, who finally saw Mr. Rundle at the Rocky Mountain House. Then the missionary visited his camp, which was at that time near Burnt Lake, a short distance west of where the Industrial School on the Red Deer now is. Old Chiniquay, one of our chiefs at Morley, who was brought up in Maskepetoon's camp, tells me that from that first visit of the preacher of this new faith there was a marked change in the conduct of the chief. Later on he learned the Syllabic system, taught him by Mr. Harriott, an officer of the Hudson's Bay Company, who was stationed for some time at the Mountain Fort. Then he became a student of the New Testament, translated by Steinhauer and Sinclair into a dialect of his mother tongue, and from that day took sides with the Gospel and became the true friend of the missionary. Two other friends of the pioneer preacher of the Gospel were Stephen and Joseph his son, whom I have already referred to in earlier chapters. The old man had been a mighty hunter. Grizzly bears, mountain lions, and all manner of game, big and little, had been his common prey, and of his pluck in battle there could be no question. With his left arm broken near the shoulder, he caught up the swinging limb, and gripping the sleeve of his leather shirt with his teeth, he charged the enemy, and in the defence of his camp did such heroic deeds with his one arm that his foes gave way, believing him to be possessed of "Spirit power." I will never forget the old hero's eloquent harangue before a council of excited warriors, who had been discussing the desirability of driving the white people out of the Saskatchewan country. Many had been the grunts of approval and assent, as one after another wrought upon the assembly in the endeavor to stir up strife. Then old Stephen got up, and leaning on his staff, spoke as follows: "Young men, your words have made me sad. I have said to myself, while I listened to you, These men do not think. Has it never come to your minds that this big country we live in is almost empty of men, that one can travel many nights between the dwellings and tents of men, and not see a human being; and do you think this can continue? Were not these broad plains and great hills, this good soil and rich grass, and these many trees made to be used for the good of the great Father's children? I think so. I am not selfish enough to believe that all this big land was for me and my people only. No, I seem to see great multitudes occupying where I have roamed alone. Young men, the change is near, and the Great Spirit has sent his servants to prepare us for its coming. Again, young men, your words are foolish, for you are not able to drive the white man out, nor yet keep him back from coming into this country. Can you"--(and here the old man's eye flashed, and his almost palsied arm took on fresh life, pointing to the mighty river flowing near)--"can you dam that river? Can you send those strong waters back up on the mountains from whence they came? No, you cannot do this; likewise you cannot keep the white men out of this land. Can you stop yonder sun from rising in the morning? Come, gather yourselves, make yourselves strong, stop him if you can! No; neither can you stop the incoming multitudes. It will be; it must be; it is destiny. Then, young men, be wise, and listen to those who can prepare you for these changes which are coming, surely coming." Ah, thought I, this man has attended the school of the prophets; the Infinite has spoken to him. And other men, notwithstanding the paint and feathers, and the centuries of war and ignorance, thought so too. Joseph also, like his father, was solidly on the side of the mission, and no other man I have ever been associated with lived so strictly and consistently as did this man. The law of God was to him supreme. He followed the letter as well as the spirit. The snow might be deep, the cold intense, the distance we had travelled for the day long, the way difficult; but if it was Saturday night, Joseph would work until midnight cutting and packing in wood, so that our supply would not need replenishing before midnight Sunday night. Legalism, you say. Never mind, this man was of the true Puritan stock, and his pedigree, is it not written in heaven? Joseph also was a mighty hunter. He told me (and this was fully corroborated by his contemporaries) that quite early in his career as a hunter he had kept count of his killing grizzlies up to forty-two, then he had lost count, but had killed a large number since that time. Think of this, you Nimrods who go afield with your big bores and modern repeating rifles! Joseph's best weapon was a pot-metal flintlock, single-barrel, and muzzle-loading at that. With such a gun it required pure pluck to tackle the big grizzlies of the mountains, but my old friend was full of it. There was another fine fellow, "The Red Bank," or, as he was baptized, Thomas Woolsey, a kind, cheerful, everyday Christian, one it did you good to meet, and from whose camp I always came away refreshed and made stronger in the faith. These men were some of the fruits of missionary labor. Rundle and Woolsey and Steinhauer had not visited distant camps and undergone all manner of hardship and risk without accomplishing good. These men I have mentioned and others, both men and women, were now the nucleus of a church, and the comfort and help of the new mission. Moreover, there were among the conservative pagans some good fellows, kindly disposed to all men, and these, too, became the friends of the mission party. There was the "Blood" man, whom I have already spoken of, who had to whoop every little while or else lose his soul, as he thought. He would have made a first-class shouting Methodist or Salvation Army man. I should not forget old Mah-mus, who could neither eat nor smoke without first ringing a small bell he constantly carried with him. He was an A1 ritualist, and would have done credit to an extremely High Church establishment. CHAPTER XIX. Muh-ka-chees, or "the Fox"--An Indian "dude"--A strange story--How the Fox was transformed--Mr. The-Camp-is-Moving as a magician. "Muh-ka-chees," or "the Fox," was another particular friend of ours, but one who clung to his old faith. He was quite a wag in his way and created a hearty laugh around our camp-fire by describing an imaginary scene, in which he was to have settled down beside the mission and gone into farming and stock-raising, but the crowd around us would go on in the old way, hunting and trapping. He would become wealthy, adopt the white man's mode of life, dress, etc. This would go on, and one day it would be reported that the York boats with their crews were coming up the river from their long and slavish trip to the Coast, the men in harness and working like beasts of burden as they were. He would drop his work for a bit, and dress up in a neat cut coat and white shirt, and with hat cocked on one side just a little, and tobacco rolled like a stick in his mouth, with cane in hand, he would walk down to the river bank, and as the boats came up he would carelessly look over at his old companions, still in their primitive costume and slaving for others, while he was independent, and then holding the rolled tobacco between two fingers and turning on his heel he would say, "Only a lot of savages, anyway," and then go back to his comfortable home. The point in the joke was that of the crowd the Fox himself was the least likely to change in a hurry. He was said to be able to transform himself in case of necessity into a fox; that is, the "spirit of his dream"--the power to whom he was under vow--had given him assurance that in his hour of extremity this spirit would come to his help, and enable him to thus change his visible appearance--the man Fox would become the animal fox in shape. This, it was told me, had actually taken place, and an eye-witness thus describes the circumstance: "The Fox and four others of us started out in the late autumn to steal horses or take scalps from the Blackfeet. The Fox was our leader and conjurer. He was ever and anon to look into the unknown and determine our course and movements. We left our camps between the Battle River and the North Saskatchewan, and travelled south for several days. We crossed the Red Deer below the big canyon, and keeping on came to the track of a large camp of Blackfeet travelling southerly. Now we began to move with extreme caution, and when south of Service Berry Creek I went on alone to scout, as the tracks were fresh, my companions remaining hidden while I was away. After a long, stealthy run I came in sight of the camp of the enemy, and taking stock of it and its locality, I went back to my companions, thinking to inspire them with great enthusiasm because of what I had seen; but though I sang the war song as I approached them, they did not stir, and I saw a gloom was upon the party. "Then the Fox spoke up and said, 'I am sorry, but it is no use; we must return from here. The Spirit has informed me that it would be utter ruin for us to advance. We must retrace our steps.' I was loath to do this. I wanted horses, and I upbraided Fox with deceiving us; but he was determined, as he said, to follow the guidance of the one he dreamt of, and finally I reluctantly joined my comrades, who had already started on the back trail. Sullenly and in quiet we moved northward. Presently the Fox began to limp, and finally sat down, saying, 'There is something in my knee; see if you can find a thorn or a splinter.' We could not find any such thing, and yet his knee was swollen and inflamed, and soon he could not put his foot to the ground. He said to us repeatedly, 'Leave me, let me die alone.' But we would not listen to that. I made him a crutch, and we moved on slowly, very slowly. We helped him from time to time, but his leg grew worse, and was terribly swollen. And now winter came upon us, and snow and cold increased. When we reached the Red Deer it was frozen out on both sides, and the channel was full of float ice. I said, 'I will cross first and have a fire ready for you.' So I stripped, forded the river, and made a camp on the north side in a clump of spruce. When this was ready, I shouted to my companions to come across. They took a long pole, and put the Fox in the centre, and all holding on to the pole waded abreast through the current and float ice, and thus brought our lame conjurer over. The snow was now deep and we were out of provisions. The next morning my brother and myself went to hunt for game, and we had not gone far when we saw tracks in the snow, which turned out to be those of buffalo. I succeeded in killing two, and our party packed all of the meat into our camp, and we busied ourselves in cutting up and drying this meat for our journey. "In the meantime the Fox's leg was growing worse, and he implored us to abandon him, but we could not do this. Then I fixed a strap of buffalo-hide to go across his shoulder, and fastening this to two crutches, we made another start. Climbing the steep banks of the Red Deer, and with many stops, we continued our way homeward. Our course was along the Buffalo Lake. One day we heard shooting in the distance, and scouting for the cause, found that the Sarcee camp was right in our way. This was very disappointing, as it compelled us to make a big detour to avoid this camp and its many hunters. Very slowly and stealthily we travelled among our enemies. There was no chance to steal horses, as the snow was too deep and our party too weak. They could track us at once, and then, situated as we were, our scalps would certainly be theirs. Several times we were nearly discovered, but the weather being cold and stormy, and at times misty, favored us, and we had got about opposite the camp one day when my brother filled a pipe, and handing it to the Fox, said to him: 'Here, smoke that and call upon your source of help, for you need this now, as we are likely to be tracked or seen at any time.' So the Fox smoked the pipe, and said, 'Well, leave me here alone and hurry on to yonder woods. Do not look back, but wait for me when you reach the woods.' "We left him and ran across the plain. I was ahead and did not look back, but as we ran all of a sudden I heard my brother cry out, 'Alas! alas! I have injured the Fox,' and without looking back, I said, 'What is it?' And my brother told me that he had looked back and seen the Fox coming on the dead run after us, but while he looked he saw him fall, as if struck down, and then he knew he had broken the charm or influence by his disobedience. "When we reached the woods we waited, and after a long time the Fox crawled up and at once charged us with looking back. 'I was coming on nicely when you looked back and spoiled me by your foolish curiosity.' My brother confessed at once that it was he who had done this, but said he was prompted to do so, as he thought we had left our friend alone, and our enemies might come upon him at any time. After this the Fox got worse, and his foot and all of his leg was fearfully swollen; and yet I could not find any sight of a healing or gathering of matter. After days of slow progress the weather became milder, and in some spots on the hills the snow went off. One day we came out upon the valley which is called, 'Where the buffalo hunters meet in running,' and we sat down on the hill above the valley. Here, I thought, I will try the Fox, and see if there is anything in his boasted association with the spirits. So I filled a pipe, and lighting it, said to him, 'Here, smoke this, and listen to me. You brought us out on this trip, you promised us horses, you led us to depend on your spiritual power; you have deceived us in every way, and for many days you have been a burden to us. Many times our lives have been in danger because of you. Why continue this any longer? Why not invoke the help you profess to be able to call to your aid? Do this now.' Then the Fox said, 'Your words are true, and you should have left me to die long ago, but you would not. I have been a burden and a danger to you. I will do as you say; possibly I may be heard.' "Baring his back, he said, 'Here, paint a fox on my back with this yellow earth. Let my head represent his head, let his forelegs go down on to my arms, and his hind legs on to my thighs. Make my head and back yellow, then take some powder and wet it, and darken the lower parts of his limbs and tail, and my nose and mouth, and take a little white earth and tip the tail.' I and my companions did as he told us. Then he said, 'Cross the valley, climb the hill; just over its brow wait for me, but mind, as you cross the valley and climb the hill, do not look back--remember that.' Then he held the pipe on high, and began to chant his invocation song, and thus we left him; nor did we look back as we ran across the valley, in which the buffalo were standing on both sides of us like a black wall. Climbing the hill, we went over its brow, and made a circle so as to command our track, and there waited. We were intensely anxious. By-and-bye we saw a stir among the buffalo in the valley, and then we discerned a small object coming on our track. It looked in the distance like a kit fox, then, when nearer, it appeared like an ordinary red fox. On it came at the gallop, and, keeping our track, climbed the hill, and was soon on its brow, and presently opposite to us. We were now in full view; then it saw us, and the Fox himself rose up, saying, 'Ah, you caught me in my other self.' "We did not say anything, we were so astonished. The Fox walked over to us as if there were nothing the matter with him. His leg, which had been big and swollen, was now down to its usual size. He pulled down his legging and said to me, 'Here, lance this, and I will be all right.' Sure enough, there was a bag of matter on his knee, but the swelling was gone. So I took an arrow, sharpened the point, bound it around with string a little distance from the point, and with this lanced his knee, from which the matter poured forth. Then I made a ring of twisted grass, bound this over the wound, and we continued our journey. The Fox delayed us no more, and in a few days was entirely recovered." Though well-nigh forty years have passed since the above experience, three out of the five actors are still living, and they say they must believe what they saw and felt. Another of our friends was called "The-Camp-is-Moving." He would shake his powder-horn and it would never empty. Like the widow's cruse of oil, it would replenish. It was said he had but to sing and shake his horn, and powder came at his bidding. Once "Mr. The-Camp-is-Moving" came to me at Pigeon Lake and begged for some shot. "You know," said he, "I am all right as to powder," giving his powder-horn a significant shake; and I ventured to say that it might be easier to make shot than powder, that if I could make powder I would try making shot also. "Ah, my grandchild," said the old man, "we must not be presuming. I am thankful it is given to me to make powder." After that what could I do but give him some shot. This same old man had a fashion of dying, or going into a trance, and to bring him out of this his brother conjurers had to gather to his tent, and bringing their drums and rattles, sing his own songs, which after a time would result in the old man's coming back to earth, when he would have wonderful things to tell his people. These men I have mentioned, and others widely differing from us in creed, were yet friendly and kind in their attitude to the members of our mission party. CHAPTER XX. Victoria becomes a Hudson's Bay trading post--An adventure on a raft--The annual fresh meat hunt organized--Among the buffalo--Oliver misses his shot and is puzzled--My experience with a runaway horse--A successful hunt--My "bump of locality" surprises Peter--Home again. The Indians, both Wood and Plain, pagan and Christian, were now flocking into Victoria in such numbers that the Hudson's Bay Company saw the necessity of establishing a trading post there. I was offered the charge of this, but father did not seem to relish the idea, so it dropped, and a Mr. Flett was sent to put up buildings and open trade with the Indians. Mr. Flett was a native of the Red River settlement, and thoroughly understood the Indians and their language. He was a warm friend of our mission, later on himself becoming an honored missionary of the Presbyterian Church to the Indians in another part of the country. Victoria had now (in 1864) the beginning of a Christian mission and the starting of a Hudson's Bay post, and was becoming known as a place on the Saskatchewan. For the month or six weeks that the large camps were there, spring and fall, it was a busy point. Travellers, traders, hunters and freighters were coming and going every little while all through the year. Already this new place had become the nucleus of a Christian civilization. One Hudson's Bay packet once in the year, and an occasional budget of mail by some unexpected traveller, were our sole means of communication with the outside world. In this matter we were farther away than Hong Kong or Bombay. As autumn merged into winter, the larger number of the Indians recrossed the Saskatchewan and struck for the buffalo. In the meantime some of us were busy getting out more timber and lumber. One night, when most of the Indians had gone, Peter, Oliver and I were coming down the river on a raft of timber. We had left early the previous morning, expecting to be back by evening, and therefore had not taken bedding with us. The carrying, rolling and handspiking of the timber to the water's edge, and the making of our raft, had kept us late, so before starting we put some earth on the raft, and throwing dry wood on this, as soon as the night grew cold we made a fire. When about half way home, while passing through a ripple, our raft grounded on the rocks, and do what we would in the night we could not get it off. Having neither provisions nor bedding, and our supply of wood on the raft but small, we concluded to wade or swim ashore. The river was broad, the distance to the shore long, and the depth uncertain. [Illustration: "Tying our clothes in bundles above our heads, we started into the ice-cold current."] Undressing, and tying our clothes in bundles above our heads, we started into the ice-cold current. Slowly we felt our way, for the bottom was full of boulders and stones, and irregular in depth. As I was the shortest of our party I came near having to swim. Down I went, and deeper still, until all but my head was submerged. Stepping slowly and carefully on my toes I made my way, longing for the shore. Many a river have I swam and waded in all kinds of weather, but that long, slow trip from raft to shore in the dark night, made darker still by the sombre shadows of the high wooded banks, I shall never forget. After an interminable time, as it seemed, we reached the shore and stepped out with bare feet and naked bodies on to the rough, stony beach, and into the keen, frosty air. But what a glow we were in when we did have our clothes on once more! We were in prime condition for a sharp run, and it did not take us long, inured as we were, to climb the steep bank and run the three or four miles to the mission house. The next day we towed a skiff to where our raft was, worked it off the rocks, and brought it down home. As the cold weather set in, it became necessary to organize for the "fresh meat hunt." In an isolated interior place like Victoria, where there are neither waggon nor cart makers, nor yet harness makers; where your wheels are wooden and your axles ironless, and wood grinds on wood; where your harness is of the skins of the wild animals around you, crudely and roughly home-made, it means something to get ready for a trip where you expect to find heavy loads and frozen ground, with winter perhaps setting in before you again reach home. To mend carts and harness, to hunt up horses and oxen, to transport your vehicles and equipment over a wide river in a small skiff, to swim your stock through the cold water--all of this takes some time and causes a great deal of hard work. But we must have the meat, and so in good time we are rolling south, hunters, running horses and cart drivers, all eager for the first glimpse of the buffalo. This time our course was more westerly, and on the third day we had our first run, near the "cross woods," on the plain which stretches from within a few miles of Victoria to the Battle River. Our chief hunters were "Muddy Bull" and Peter. The rest of us were kept busy butchering and hauling into camp, moving camp, guarding stock, providing wood, etc. From before daylight until late at night we were all on the jump, Sunday being our only rest, and then we took turns in guarding our stock. To work hard all day, and then guard stock and camp all night, those long fall nights, made one very "gapish" the next day, and gave him sound sleep the following night. In all this father took his share, and upon him rested the chief responsibility of the expedition. On these trips as much haste as was consistent with the success of the object in view was made in order to be as short a period as possible away from the mission, which was during this time almost without any human protection. My man Oliver, though a native of the Red River Settlement, and thus born in the great North-West, had never until now seen buffalo. In fact, all the experiences of this last summer had been new to him. We left him in charge of camp one morning, and went out some miles after buffalo. When towards evening I came in on a cart-load of meat, he exclaimed: "What kept you so long? I have been waiting to go for my buffalo." "Where are your buffalo?" I asked. "Oh! just over yon hill," he answered. "How many have you?" was my next question. "I don't know," was the answer. "How is that?" I queried. "Well," said Oliver, "a big band of buffalo came down to the creek near camp, and I jumped on the bay colt and charged them up yonder slope. There were hundreds of them, and just as they went over the ridge I fired into them, and I am sure there must be five or six dead buffalo lying over there." "Did you see any dead ones?" I asked. "No," said he, "for I hurried back to look after things, and have been anxiously waiting for some one to relieve me, so I might go and bring in my buffalo." As it was only a little way, I told Oliver to jump on one of the horses and see if there were any dead buffalo over the ridge. Presently he came back, quietly wondering how he could have missed the big herd. Many a man has had a similar experience. Over a rough country, with horse at full jump, inexperienced men have fired many a shot, and never even hit the carcase of a big bull. Then, as to killing more than one at a shot, this was seldom done. I have heard of an Indian in the Beaver Hills killing two bulls at one shot, and when his comrade came over the hill, and saw the two dead animals, he asked, "How is this? you fired but one shot." "Yes," said the other, "I did wait for some time to get three in a line, but finally had to be satisfied with two." This same fellow was possessed of some dry wit, for his friend asked him, as he was leaving the fire for a little, to turn his roast, if it needed turning; and when he came back the bare spit was over the fire, and the meat at the other end on the ground. "What is this?" he asked, with a touch of indignation in his voice. "What is the matter?" responded the wag. "You requested me to turn your roast, and I did so," and the victim had to swallow the joke. But it was harder to make Oliver understand how he could miss hundreds of buffalo bunched up as these were, and he could not but refer to this strange event ever and anon all the evening. Many a banter did he get from the rest of our party about his dead buffalo. "Where are you going?" one would shout to another, and the answer would come back, "After Oliver's buffalo." I had quite an experience the same afternoon in coming back to camp with my load of meat. The rather wild horse I was driving somehow or other shook off his bridle and started across the prairie at a gallop on his own course. So long as the plain was only slightly undulating this did not very much disturb me, but presently we came to buffalo trails and badger holes, and thump, bump, thump went the wooden cart, and piece by piece out tumbled the meat, and I began to speculate how long the cart would hold together. Then I saw we were making straight for the banks of a creek, where a decided smash would be inevitable. [Illustration: "Slapping his head, I turned his course to smooth ground."] I could have jumped out behind, and let the whole thing go, but I was loath to do this, so I finally mustered up courage to climb out on the brute's back. This only made him the more frantic for a while, but presently I got a line over his nose, and, slapping his head, turned his course to smooth ground, and finally stopped the excited animal. I then got things fixed up, drove back along the course of our wild race, gathered up my meat, and thus brought horse and cart, meat and self, without much damage, to camp. In those days we seldom bothered with the hides. Now and then we took some specially good ones and used them on the way home to cover the meat, and later on had them dressed; but generally, with the exception of what we used to mend carts or harness, we left the hides on the plain. Our need was meat, and for this we required the utmost capacity of our transport. On the third evening, after we got fairly among the buffalo, our carts were loaded, and we felt that we had been successful indeed. No lives lost, no limbs broken, no horses stolen. Our hunters had ridden without hurt over thousands of badger holes, across many miles of rough country, and amongst hundreds of wild, strong buffalo. Our cart drivers had gone in every direction, across country, to and fro, butchering the slain, and hauling in the meat to camp. Hundreds of great grey wolves, and--to judge, by the yelping--thousands of coyotes, had howled and snarled and fought all about us both day and night. Yet in a very short time we were loaded, all safe and sound; and feelingly we sang our praise, and father voiced our thanksgiving ere we retired to rest that night. It was on this hunt that Peter woke up to the fact that I had been born with the natural gift of a large "bump of locality." Three of us--"Muddy Bull," Peter and myself--charged a bunch of buffalo. Peter had a long flint-lock gun and a big percussion six-shooting revolver. I happened to be riding alongside of him when he fired his gun, and now that he pulled the revolver, the gun was in the way; so he handed it to me. Presently in the rush we were separated, and here I was with two guns. Not caring to be so hampered, as gently as I could I flung Peter's gun to the ground; but in doing so noticed the locality. Fortunately, also, I saw "Muddy Bull" directly opposite, about two hundred yards distant, knock a cow down. She could not get up, for I could see that he had broken her back. This was another mark to me, and I charged my memory with it as on we rushed in the mad race. By-and-bye I came across Peter some two miles from there, and the first question was, "Where is my gun?" "I threw it away, back yonder," I answered, and Peter blessed me warmly, declaring we would never find that gun again; and it did look like it, for here was all out doors and a thousand places looking alike. However, I took him straight back to his gun. He could hardly believe his own eyes, but as he picked it up he said, "You will do for the North-West." The next day our carts were creaking and squealing with their heavy loads on the home stretch. In the meantime winter was steadily creeping on. The ground was frozen, the ice on the lakes becoming thick and strong, and the nights were cold. If you were on guard, you felt the necessity of quick action to keep warm. If you were asleep under the carts, you very reluctantly turned out at four o'clock a.m. to gather up bedding, etc., hitch up your share of the brigade, and trudge on through the cold until near daylight, when you stopped for breakfast; but, as this was the regular thing, you soon came to the conclusion that the chicken-hearted and weak-willed had no place in this keenly new land--so new that the polish of nature was still bright and thick all over it. In a little more than two weeks from our start on the hunt, we are again letting our loads down the steep southern bank of the Saskatchewan, and yonder the smoke from the mission house chimneys and the ear-flaps of a few buffalo skin lodges meets our eyes, curling heavenward. I say "curling heavenward" because I have been bred to do so, but who knows where heaven is, especially when one thinks that what was up a little while ago, is down now? This time we ford our stock through a ripple, about half a mile below the mission, which is infinitely better than swimming them through the floating ice-cakes which are being hurried eastward by the rapid current. Then comes the hard and cold work of crossing carts and loads in the skiff; but finally the whole thing is done, and the product of our fall hunt is on the stage, and will become a prominent factor in the working of the mission for the next two months, unless an extra lot of starving people come upon us. CHAPTER XXI. Father and I visit Fort Edmonton--Peter takes to himself a wife--Mr. Connor becomes school teacher--First school in that part of the country--Culinary operations--Father decides to open a mission at Pigeon Lake--I go prospecting--Engage a Roman Catholic guide--Our guide's sudden "illness"--Through new scenes--Reach Pigeon Lake--Getting out timber for building--Incidents of return trip. Shortly after this I accompanied father and Peter to Edmonton. We left Friday morning and reached Edmonton the evening of the next day; spent Sunday, Monday, and part of Tuesday there, and were back at Victoria Wednesday night. The distance to and from Edmonton by the bridle-trail (for there was, as yet, no cart or waggon road on the north side of the river) was one hundred and eighty miles. Edmonton was then without a single settler, and unless you met or overtook some traveller or wandering Indian, you and your party, large or small, were entirely alone. Father was practically chaplain of the Fort, as his predecessors had been, but these visits meant more than this, for Edmonton was a centre, and ever and anon messengers from the camps came in there, and thus the missionary could send messages and counsel and keep in touch with a people scattered over a large area. Back once more at home we found plenty to do in making ready for winter. There were cattle to provide for and look after, horses to keep track of, dogs to feed, wood to cut, haul, and again split up at the door, timber to take out, and lumber to saw, dry, plane, groove and tongue. In the meantime Peter married a Whitefish Lake woman and brought her to the mission. She was a fine-looking Christian woman, and we all felt like congratulating our friend on his good fortune. Mr. Connor, who came up with me from the Red River in the summer, and whom I left some time since building a shack for the winter, took the work of harvesting and threshing our small field of barley on shares, and now has engaged to teach school for the winter months. Our shanty is to be the school-room, and Mr. Steinhauer's children, from Whitefish Lake, our family, and a few orphan Indian children, are to be the scholars. This will be the first institution of the kind in this part of the North-West. Our house is full and our larder precarious, but father and mother do not hesitate for a moment, but freely open their house to the children of a brother missionary, who otherwise would be without any such means of education. Moreover, father has accepted the little daughter of "Chief Child," who in dying besought him to take his much loved child, and train her in a Christian home. Thus our home will send nine scholars to the new school, and for the winter mother's responsibility will have increased greatly, while we who have to provide food for such an household will of necessity need to keep on the move. Our garden this year had given us a nice quantity of potatoes, and we have some barley, but meat will be our chief food. As we have no mill, the only way we can prepare barley is to soak it, and then, when partially dry, pound it in a wooden mortar to loosen the chaff and husks, and then winnow this. We boil the barley in soup, or else parch it and then grind it in our small coffee-mill, and make cake of the meal obtained, all of which is slow and tedious work. So long as we can get buffalo within three hundred miles we would prefer buffalo-steaks to barley-meal. The winter of 1864-5 came in bright and fine; clear, cold weather, but no snow or storm. In my spare time I broke in a train of young dogs. When I left Norway House, in 1862, I left at home a fine train of dogs. One of these, a handsome animal, my sisters had named "Maple." She had just enough of the "husky" strain of blood to make her hardy and strong. When father moved up in 1863 he brought Maple along, and that same autumn she made a den in the bank in front of the shanty and brought forth a fine litter of pups. Mother and the girls had taken good care of these, and they grew into strong, handsome dogs. They were now one year old, and I took pleasure in breaking them for the sled. Many a long run we had on the bare, frozen ground. My plan was to hitch the pups to a toboggan, and attached to this I had a long line, the end of which I kept in my hand, and as I ran behind I could, when I said "Whoa," stop the dogs. Soon they learned all the words of command, which, by the way, are but four. Then by holding the line I could regulate their step, and soon I had them trained down to trot a mile in a very short time. As I urged them forward, if any should break trot I would hold back on the line and pull the whole train into a regular step. My, how those pups did trot! Their legs would go like drumsticks, and I was proud of my success. By using them carefully this their first winter, if they lived they would make flyers. This was the opinion of experts. Father, mother, the girls, everybody in the settlement, all took a great interest in those pups. At last I got them down so that they could trot as fast as I could run, and that was making good time. About the first of December snow came, and father put into execution a project he had been thinking about for some time, and that was to begin a mission west of Edmonton, between that post and the mountains. He had about decided on Pigeon Lake as a suitable spot, so he told me he wanted me to look up the place, and, if feasible, take out some timber for a house, as he proposed to do something in the coming spring in the way of permanent occupancy. The Mountain and Wood Stoneys, and some Wood Crees, who frequented that country, were without a missionary. Accordingly, early in December, I took Oliver with me and started with two trains of dogs, carrying loads of dried provisions. In two days we reached Edmonton, where I hoped to secure a guide who could take me straight to Pigeon Lake; but there were very few Indians or half-breeds around the Fort, and only one who had ever been at Pigeon Lake. I hired this fellow at once, and we were to start as soon as the Fort gates were open the next morning. During the evening I went around to see how my guide was progressing in making ready for a start in the morning, when lo! I found him both sick and lame. This man, a few hours since all right and glad of the work offered, was now sick, lame and totally unable to travel. I thought this strange, and set to work to find out the secret cause of such a change. I pretty soon found that his spiritual adviser was at the bottom of it. He had put his foot on our enterprise, nipping it in the bud, as he thought. So I went back to my man and told him it was all up with our guide. "Will we go back?" enquired Oliver. "No, sir;" I said; "we will find Pigeon Lake, notwithstanding all the priests in Canada. Let us go to bed," which we did, and with the creaking of the heavy gates on their hinges in the morning we drove out of the Fort on our quest. The plan I had formed in the night was to follow a trail which led from Edmonton to the Mountain House, until we came to Battle River, then follow this up to Pigeon Creek, which ran out of Pigeon Lake. We would follow the creek up to the lake, and coast along the shore until I found the spot where it was proposed to establish a mission. This was a long distance around, but (D.V.) I had no doubt of succeeding. Away we went, all day on the west-bound trail, and camped for the night in a clump of spruce. Then, as the track could be plainly seen, we were off before daylight, and ere noon came upon a new-made road crossing ours at right angles. Here I stopped and pondered. Perhaps this road comes from Pigeon Lake. If it does it will save us four or five days' journey in going and coming. Finally I said to Oliver, "Here goes, we will take this trail and follow it until to-morrow night, or to its end; and at the worst we can come back and take up our original plan." So we turned up the new road and carried on faster than ever. All the way from Edmonton had been through a country entirely new to me. Now we were going into the forest, and travelling almost due west. When it came time to camp for the night, after selecting a suitable place and pulling my dogs out of their collars, I left Oliver to make camp, and running some distance climbed a tree and took a survey of the country. It was all forest and no sign of a lake to be seen. Next morning we were away early, and by noon had climbed a range of hills covered with dense timber. On reaching the summit we noticed a big depression not far ahead, and thought this might be the lake, which it proved to be, for in about an hour we were on the ice, and driving across the bay were at our destination. The Indians had made a cache and left some fish, and we considered ourselves fortunate in having these for our dogs. We spent the rest of the day in fixing up a camp. Next morning we went to work taking out timber, and in three days had nearly enough for two modest houses. We had not far to haul it, our dogs were quick, and we were both of us fairly good axemen. We had found the lake, had taken out the timber, and hauled it to the spot, and now, cacheing our provisions, we took some fish instead, and started about two o'clock one moonlight morning on our return trip. The rest and the change of diet had done our dogs good, and my old Draffan rang his bells in grand style as we followed the narrow trail through the forest, which crackled about us, for Jack Frost was now vigorously at work. In the meantime snow had fallen, and the roads were heavier; nevertheless we made Edmonton the same evening before the gates closed, and every Protestant in the Fort was glad we had found Pigeon Lake. Eighty miles at least in the time we had taken was considered good travelling. We spent most of the next day with friends at the Fort, and in the evening, just before the gates closed, drove out some five miles and camped for the night. Starting early next morning we made a trail through several inches of new snow, and pushing on made Victoria that evening, which was a better day than the one from Pigeon Lake to Edmonton. We took to the river at the mouth of the Sturgeon, and followed it all the way to the mission. When opposite the mouth of Sucker Creek, just a little while before dark, we boiled our kettle and ate some pemmican; then as I had run ahead all day, Oliver took his turn at the lead, but within a mile old Draffan passed him, and kept the lead himself the rest of the way. From point to point, prudently avoiding the open holes and dangerous spots, the wise old dog carried on for home, and between seven and eight we had reached the mission house. Father expressed himself as delighted with our report of the trip. We had found the lake, got out the timber, cached the provisions, and in a sense started the new mission. In the meantime those at home were preparing for the erection of a church in the spring, and Peter was making lumber as fast as this could be done by whip-sawing; we hauling the logs to the saw-pit at odd times between trips. CHAPTER XXII. Another buffalo hunt--Visit Maskepetoon's camp--The old chief's plucky deed--Arrival of a peace party from the Blackfeet--A "peace dance"--Buffalo in plenty--Our mysterious visitor--A party of Blackfeet come upon us--Watching and praying--Arrive home with well-loaded sleds--Christmas festivities. There had been no attempt to make a fishery that fall, and as our stock of meat was now growing small, father thought I had better go out to the plains and see how things were among the Indians, and if possible bring in a supply of meat. Accordingly, very soon after coming from Pigeon Lake, I arranged a party for this purpose. Old Joseph, whom the reader will have become familiar with, and a young Indian named "Tommy" went with me. We had four trains of dogs, the Indians one each while I had two, for I was taking "Maple" and her pups for their first "business" trip. James Connor also came with us on his own account. The third day out we came to Maskepetoon's camp, and found the Indians full of another of the old Chief's plucky deeds. During the late fall and early winter, the Blackfeet had become exceedingly troublesome. They were continually harassing the Wood Cree camp, until at last Maskepetoon determined to go with a party to the Blackfeet camp to arrange, if possible, a temporary peace which might last over the winter months, and thus give the Crees an opportunity to make robes and provisions for trade and home use. As winter advanced the buffalo had come north rapidly, and the Blackfeet tribes had of necessity to follow them. Fearful destitution had been the result to some of the large camps. They had eaten their dogs and begun upon their horses before they reached the south fringe of the large herds that were moving north into the rich and well-sheltered areas of the Saskatchewan country. It was well known in Maskepetoon'a camp that the Blackfeet were in strength not more than one hundred miles south, and that the Bloods and Piegans were within easy distance beyond them; but Maskepetoon had great faith in his record with these people, and at the head of a small party he set out to patch up a peace, even if it should be but short-lived. While on this expedition his little party was charged upon by a strong body of Blackfeet who were coming north on the war-path. Such was their number and the vigor and dash of their charge that, as they drew near, Maskepetoon's little company fled, all but himself and his grandson, a boy some fifteen or sixteen years of age. These alone stood the wild onslaught of their enemies. The veteran chief and the noble boy of like heroic blood stood like statues "when all but they had fled." Maskepetoon calmly put his hand in his bosom and took out his Cree Testament, and then coolly fixing on his glasses, opened and began to read. The grandson, in relating to us the incident afterwards, said, "There was no tremor in his voice; it was as if grandfather was reading to us in the quiet of his own tent." [Illustration: "Maskepetoon calmly ... took out his Cree Testament ... and began to read."] In the meantime the Blackfeet came on apace, and hoping to take their victims alive, refrained from firing a gun or speeding an arrow. Then they saw the majestic old man, indifferent to them, engaged in looking into something he held in his hand: "What manner of man is this?" "What is he doing?" "What is that he is holding in his hands?" They had seen flint-lock guns, and flint and steel-shod arrows, and battle-axes and scalping knives in men's hands under similar circumstances, but they had never beheld a New Testament. Thunderstruck they paused in the midst of their wild rush, and stared in utter astonishment. Presently the elders amongst them said to one another in whispers, "It is Mon-e-guh-ba-now" (the Young Chief), and then they began to shout, "Mon-e-guh-ba-now!" and this grand old man (for, blessed be the Lord, no nation or place has a monopoly of the qualities of true manhood) quietly looked up and in response to their shout, replied, "Yes, I am Mon-e-guh-ba-now." Then they rushed upon him with joy, and their leader, embracing him, said: "Our hearts are glad to make peace with you, Mon-e-guh-ba-now. You are a brave man. I am proud and glad to be the leader of a party that meets you thus. What is that you hold in your hand?" Maskepetoon told him that it was the word of the "Great Spirit," and the Blackfoot warrior said, "That explains your conduct. It is His will that we should meet as brothers to-day." And there on the snow-covered plain, these men, who by heredity and life-long habit were deadly enemies, smoked and talked and planned for peace. It was arranged that each party should return to their own people, and that if the Blackfeet desired peace they should send an embassy to the Cree camp; Maskepetoon giving his word as a guarantee for the safety of those who might be sent on this embassage. This had occurred a few days before our arrival in camp, and the Blackfeet were looked for at any time. Sure enough, we were hardly settled in Muddy Bull's hospitable lodge, when a scout reached camp, and announced that a party of Blackfeet were in sight. This threw the camp into a state of great excitement, and speculation was rife as to whether Maskepetoon would be able to make good his promise of safety. There were hundreds in that camp who lusted and thirsted for the blood of these men; many a boy or girl who had lost a father or mother or both; many a woman who had lost lover or husband; many parents who had lost their children at the hands of the people represented by these men who were now approaching camp. Many of these felt down in their hearts that this would be a fine opportunity to slake some of their thirst for revenge. Maskepetoon knew this full well. He at once sent his son out to meet the embassy, and attend them into camp, and in the meantime arranged his trusted men all through the camp to be ready to forestall any outbreak of frenzied hate. I ran out to see the incoming of the Blackfeet. Young Maskepetoon had arranged an escort. These men were on horseback, and ranged on either side of the Blackfeet, who were on foot. The latter were seven in number, big, fine-looking fellows, but one could see that they were under a heavy strain, and that it needed all their will power to nerve them up to the occasion. With regular and solemn step, in single file, they came, and as they walked they sang what I supposed was intended for a peace song. Young Maskepetoon took them straight to his father's lodge, and at once it was arranged to hold a reception meeting and a "peace dance." It was now evening, and at supper I enquired of old Joseph what he thought of my attending this dance. He said he was not going himself, but he thought Maskepetoon would like to have me there, and that I had better go and see for myself, so as to learn all I could about the Indians, for only in this way would I get to understand them. Accordingly, when the drums beat to announce the dance, I went, and was given a seat between Maskepetoon and the Blackfeet. Two large lodges had been put together to make room, but the main body of the company looked on from the outside. After a few short speeches the dancing began. Four men drummed and sang, and an Indian sprang into the ring, between the fire and the guests, leaped, jumped and whooped with great spirit, and presently gave his blanket to one of the Blackfeet. Then another did likewise, except that he varied the gift. This time it was his beaded shot-pouch and powder-horn, and strings also. Each one, it would seem, had his own peculiar dance. Then another would leap into the ring with several articles, and as he danced to the strong singing and vigorous drumming of the orchestra, he would give to a Blackfoot his contributions to this peace meeting. Then the drummers ceased for a little and the conductor shouted out: "The Sloping Bank is strong for peace. He had but one blanket, and he has given that." "The Red Sky Bird means what he says. He had but one gun, and he has given that." And again the leader tapped his drum, and the orchestra burst forth, and another and another dancer took the floor. Then a couple of young fellows, in fantastic costume, gave us the "buffalo dance," and did some tall jumping, such as would have pleased one of those "highly cultured audiences" in one of our eastern cities. Presently my friend Mr. Starving Young Bull (the gentleman who had honored me with an invitation to the dedication feast in his new lodge), took the floor. He was no small man, this Mr. Starving Young Bull. He had several new blankets on his shoulders, and a brand-new flint-lock gun in his hand, and as he danced and whooped and kept time to the furious drumming, he gave his gun to one of the Blackfeet as he whirled past him, and again gave one of the new blankets to another, and so on until he had spent all his gifts and strength, and sat down naked and tired, while the chief singer shouted out his name, and said, "The Starving Young Bull is a great man. He dances well and long. He goes in for peace strongly. He has given all his blankets and is naked; he has given his one gun, and is without arms himself," and the crowd sent up a chorus of applause which my friend drank in and was pleased, as many another man has been when the crowd cheered. The Blackfeet also in turn danced, and gave presents of what they had, and thus the peace dance went on. Long before it ended, however, I had slipped away to our camp and retired to rest, as we had travelled some distance that day and expected to travel farther on the morrow. We had heard of buffalo coming in from the south-east, and the Indians were waiting for them to pass on to the north, when they hoped to build pounds, and thus slaughter them wholesale. We promised to go around the head of the approaching herds, and not interfere with the projected plan. This would give us a longer trip, but it was the right thing to do. The next day we travelled through a wild storm, and camped in the rolling hills, which in that part of the country are seemingly without number. The next day the storm still raged, but on we travelled, and about noon came upon the buffalo. Killing a couple, we camped, and waited for a lull in the weather, which came that night. Next morning (Saturday) the sky was clear and the weather cold and crisp, but Tommy and I succeeded in killing enough buffalo to load and furnish provisions for men and dogs. That afternoon I made a chance shot, and killed a fine cow at a very long range with my smooth-bore gun. She fell dead in her tracks, and when we butchered the animal, we failed to find where the ball had struck; but later, when Joseph was arranging the head to roast by our camp fire, he found that my ball had entered the ear. We moved camp into a bluff of timber about the centre of our "kill," and while Joseph and Jim made camp and chopped and carried wood, Tommy and I hauled in the meat, which work kept us busy until near midnight. Then we had to stage it up and freeze it into shape for our narrow dog-sleds, as also in the interim keep it away from the dogs. Fortunately there was fine moonlight to aid us in our labor. Joseph worked like a good fellow at packing in logs to our woodpile, until the stars told him it was midnight and Sunday morning had begun. The night was one of keen cold, and the crisp-snow creaked as the buffalo, either in herds or singly, passed to the windward of our camp. Scores of wolves and coyotes barked and howled around us. Every little while our dogs would make a short rush at some of these that ventured too near, and yet we were so tired that not buffalo nor wolves nor the possibility of strange Indians being near, nor yet the severe cold of our open camp, upon which gusts of wintry wind ever and anon played, could deter us from sleeping on into the clear frosty Sabbath morning which all too soon came upon us. We made up our fire, cooked our food, sang some hymns, joined in prayer, with old Joseph leading, then thawed some meat and cut it up into morsels to feed our dogs. Alternately toasting or freezing as we sat or stood before that big camp-fire, which in turn we replenished and stirred and poked, we passed the morning hours. About noon the wind again blew up into a storm, and soon clouds of snow were swirling in every direction. We, in the comparative shelter of our carefully picked camp, were congratulating ourselves on the storm, for would it not cover our tracks, which diverged and converged to and from our temporary home for miles on every side, and had been as a big "give away" to any roaming band of hostile men. We were rather glad to hear the soughing and gusting of the wild winds, for there seemed to come with these a strange sense of security which was comforting. But alas for merely human calculation, even then the wily Blackfeet were closing in on us. We were just sitting down to our dinner when, with a weird, strange chanting song there came in out of the storm into the shelter of the camp a tall, wild-looking Blackfoot. We knew he was not alone. We knew that even then each one of us was covered by the gun or shod-arrow of his companions. Right across from us, beside our camp-fire, this strange Indian, without looking at us, sang on. I looked at my companions. Tommy was pale; Jim was white. Like myself, each was grasping his gun with one hand. I could not see myself, but I could feel my heart-beats, and it seemed as if my hair was lifting under my cap. It was a great stimulator to turn to Joseph, who was coolly eating his dinner. Not a muscle changed. Not the faintest appearance of a change of blood showed in his face. Like the stolid philosopher he was, he continued his meal. [Illustration: "This strange Indian, without looking at us, sang on."] The Blackfoot, having finished his song, made a short speech. Not a word all this time was uttered on our side. In silence (save for the sound of Joseph crunching his meat) we sat--verily, for three in the party it was a solemn time. Then our visitor, having finished his harangue, disappeared as he came, and I said to Joseph, who understood the language, "What did he say?" Old Joseph swallowed a mouthful of meat, cleared his throat, and said: "He says there are many of them; their hearts are for peace, and they will come into our camp." Presently they did come, some forty in all. Ten to one they stood around us, and I told them, through Joseph, about their friends we had met in Maskepetoon's camp, and how they had been treated; that the people in the north were all for peace; that it was our work to teach all men that peace and brotherhood was the right thing; that if they wished to camp beside us, we would share our meat with them; that the reason we were not travelling was this was the "God day," and we did not travel or hunt on that day; that the Indians who were with me were the near friends of Mon-e-guh-ba-now, and that Mon-e-guh-ba-now was my personal friend. Then the leader spoke up and said: "We also are for peace. We will camp beside you for to-night. We will not eat your meat. My young men will kill for us. We are glad to hear what you have to say about peace." Then he spoke to his following, and one went out into the storm, and the others went to work clearing away the snow and carrying in wood, and presently they had a big camp arranged within a few feet of ours. In the meantime, through Joseph, I was holding intercourse with the two or three older ones who sat beside our fire. Soon their hunter came in, and six or seven followed him out. In an incredibly short time back they came loaded, and the whole crowd was in a short while busy roasting and eating the rich buffalo meat. While all this was going on I could not help but reason as to why these men acted as they now did. A few months since, and they would have killed us. A few months hence, and they would do the same. Now the hard winter, the northerly trend of the buffalo, Maskepetoon's brave act--all this might and certainly did influence them; but so many do not think that far ahead of or around their present. Are these men moodish? Is this a peace mood? Are human passions subject to cycles? Is this the dip or the arch in the cycle influencing these men even against themselves to seek peace? How easily they could have killed us just now; forty to four, and fully half of these bigger than any of us. Do they want our guns and clothes, our blankets and ammunition? For less than this they have planned and killed many times ere this. What prevents them now? Is the hand of the Lord upon them? Has He a work for us to do? Are we immortal till that work is done, as this affects our present being? Ah! how fast one can think under pressure of circumstances. I watched those men. I tried to look beyond the paint and the feathers and the manner of their actions. I mentally photographed them, in groups and individually, and thus the long hours dragged on, as the Sabbath evening had lost its rest for us. Then one of them, who had stuck close to our camp for hours, suddenly revealed the fact that he could speak Cree well. I was glad then that none of us had said anything that might in any way reflect on these men, for undoubtedly he had watched for this. After he had spoken I questioned him and answered his questioning until late at night. When the Blackfeet began to stretch around the camp-fire, we did the same; but with the exception of Joseph (who snored) none of our company slept. At midnight we were astir, and harnessing our dogs, we took the meat down from our staging, and loaded our sleds, all the time watching our strange companions. There were three of us, in our party of four, who certainly in the letter carried out the first part of the injunction, "Watch and pray." Perhaps our prayer that night took the shape of constant watching. We ate and watched, we lay down and watched; we got up and ate, harnessed our dogs, loaded our sleds, and prepared to start, watching all the time. The Blackfeet stirred as soon as we did, and about two hours and a half after midnight we each took our own course. Ours was straight for yonder northern mission. Our friends went I knew not whither. With heavy loads we had to pick our way through the many hills. I sent Tommy ahead, my own veteran train was second in the line, then the pups. Joseph came after me with his and Tommy's trains, and Jim brought up the rear. Many an upset the alternately hard and soft drifts caused us, and very often Joseph and I had to strain in righting those heavy loads of frozen meat. The first two days we had no road, and our progress was slow. Then we struck a hunting trail from Maskepetoon's camp. This helped us, and following it we made better time. Then we left it and again went across country, leaving the camp to our left and coming out on the trail leading to the mission. We camped for the last night about forty-five miles from home. Starting out from this about two in the morning, we left Jim in the camp, and the last I saw of him for that trip was, as I drove my team away into the darkness he was running around catching his dogs. Before dark we were at the mission, and Jim came in sometime the next day. Our arrival was hailed with satisfaction, for we brought with us meat, and this told of buffalo being within reach. Then the reports we brought of the Indians we had met were gratifying. Father and mother were delighted to hear about Maskepetoon and how he brought about peace, for the present at least. Then to have our little party together again, especially as Christmas was near, was extremely pleasing. Our community at this time was made up of the mission party, the Hudson's Bay Company's postmaster and some employees, Mr. Connor and his son Jim. Besides these there were always some Indians camping near, coming and going. Peter had kept at the saw, and the lumber-pile was growing. Larsen was busy all the time making necessary furniture, and preparing material for the church which we hoped to build in the coming spring. Thus the holidays came upon us in 1864 on the banks of the big Saskatchewan, far from the busy haunts of men, cut off from mails and telegrams and newspapers and a thousand other things men hold dear; yet in our isolation and frequent discomfort and privation we were happy. As father would now and then tell us, we were "path-finders" for multitudes to follow; we were foundation builders of empire; we were forerunners of a Christian civilization destined to hallow and bless many homes, and we were exalted with the dignity and honor of our position, and humbly thanked God for it. Christmas found us all well, and our service, and the dinner and the games and drives which followed, though unique, were full of pleasant excitement. We had no organ or choir, but we all sang. We had no church, but the log shanty was as the vestibule of heaven. Our preacher was not robed in broadcloth, nor yet was he graced with linen collar, but his speech came with unction and power, and had in it the charm of a natural eloquence which stirred our hearts and stimulated our minds, and made us see before us grand ideals, towards which we felt we would fain strive. We had no roast beef nor pumpkin pie, nor plates of tempting fruit, but we had buffalo boss and tongue, and beaver tail, and moose nose, and wild cat, and prairie chicken, and rabbits, and backfats, and pemmican. We were fairly lost in the variety of this one-class food. We had no flashing cutters nor gaudily harnessed horses, but we had fast and strong dog teams, and we improvised carioles and had some wild driving over hill and dale. We ran foot races and snowshoe and dog-train races. We played football and made this part of the Saskatchewan valley ring with our shouting and fun. Mr. Steinhauer came over and joined us on New Year's Day, and entered into the sports with all the ardor of youth. In the intervening days we made short trips for saw-logs and lumber, and helped to haul home hay and wood. In this way we combined pleasure and profit, and thoroughly enjoyed ourselves. CHAPTER XXIII. We set out with Maskepetoon for the Blackfoot camp--A wife for a target--Indian scouts--Nearing the Blackfeet--Our Indians don paint and feathers--A picture of the time and place--We enter the Blackfoot camp--Three Bulls--Buffalo Indians--Father describes eastern civilization--The Canadian Government's treatment of the Indians a revelation--I am taken by a war chief as a hostage--Mine host and his seven wives--Bloods and Piegans--I witness a great dance--We leave for home--A sprained ankle--Arrival at the mission. The year 1865 had barely started on its way when there came a courier from Maskepetoon to father, requesting him if possible to come out and go with Maskepetoon to the Blackfoot camp. The old chief desired to ratify the peace treaty, and to lengthen its days as much as possible. Father at once sent him word to make ready, and that he would be out in a few days. He decided to take Peter and me with him. Mother and the rest of our women folk were naturally very anxious about this trip into the camp of the dreaded enemy, but this did not prevent their helping to make us ready for the journey, and soon we were off, father in his cariole, with Maple and her pups hitched to it, Peter and I with our dog sleds carrying the provisions and camp equipment. Starting early, travelling fast, and keeping at it late, we reached Maskepetoon's camp the second evening, and father and Peter worked late that night teaching and preaching. Next morning we were away with the chief and some forty of his warriors and head men. The weather was very cold, and the buffalo were now travelling north in large numbers, making their way into the Beaver Hills, and on to the Saskatchewan. It looked now as if we would not have to haul our meat from as long distances as last winter. Father was the only one in the party with a cariole, and this he shared ever and anon with Maskepetoon. The rest of us were on foot, and as the snow was deep, except where the buffalo had trampled it down, our progress was slow. Other Indians, from camps situated at different points along the eastern and southern fringe of the Beaver Hills, joined us. Among these was a Blackfoot who was taking back a Cree wife. I took occasion to say to her, "Are you not afraid this peace may not last very long?" She merely laughed at my suggestion; but later on it came to pass that this same woman fell a victim to the Blackfoot she had taken as her husband. It is related of them that a few months after this, he and some others were gambling on a hill while the camp was moving past, and as this Cree woman came opposite the gamblers, her husband said to his companions, "See how I can shoot," and aiming at the woman, shot her dead in her tracks. An unfeeling laugh from the crowd followed the shocking tragedy. As we journeyed the hunters of the party provided meat. The "cattle upon a thousand hills" were our storehouse, the hunters were our commissariat, and with sublime confidence in these we travelled on. The third day from Maskepetoon's lodges, we camped within a few miles of the Blackfeet, and early next morning our scouts were every little while bringing us news of the numbers and situation of the camp. Hardy fellows those scouts were. We were moving at a brisk, quiet walk, but they must run on for miles, and then double on their tracks back to us. While away they must be invisible; they must see all that is to be seen, but remain unseen themselves. To do this they must take the contour of the country, note the condition of the sun and wind, be on the lookout for buffalo, coyotes, wolves, dogs, and ravens, crows, and other fowl. They must keep a constant lookout for contra scouting, and for this the nose and ear and eye and mind must be always alert. I say, to do this well, as many of these fellows can, requires the quickening of every sense. Then while doing all this, at times to make ten miles an hour on foot also requires a depth of lung and strength of limb and purpose of will which heredity and constant practice alone can give. Our scouts that morning were like telegraph bulletins. We knew how the camp was arranged, and changed our course to suit this arrangement. We were told of the windings of the coulee, or valley, down which the Blackfeet lodges were standing. We were told of hunting parties that had gone out that morning; of the bands of horses, and how closely these were guarded; of the long strings of women and ponies, and dogs and _travois_, which were coming and going in various directions, packing wood to camp; all of which was literally true, for our scouts had been there and seen it all. When close we stopped behind a bluff, while our men put on their visiting paint and dress material, and in a few minutes, with the small circular mirrors and ochre bags, our company was transfigured in appearance and colors. Bright colors in garments and on face made a wonderful change, and to my eye this was exceedingly fitting. The scene was in accord with itself; it was natural. How often are we amused and then disgusted by merely made up scenes. Someone who has been just long enough in a new country to be made a victim of all the designing wags in it--who has just learned enough about Indians to make himself ridiculous every time he opens his mouth on the subject--will don the buckskins of a pioneer, or the costume of the aboriginal Indian, and pose for one or the other; but the whole thing is forced and unreal. Here we have the genuine article, and each factor in the picture is complete and natural and true: the sweep of the valley of the Battle River which slopes from our feet; the ranges of forest-dotted hills, climbing one above the other, from the river's brink even to the limit of our vision; the intersecting fields of snow-clad prairie, reflecting each in its turn the brilliant sunlight; the buffalo that here and there seem like ink dots on the vast ground of dazzling white that stretches far and wide; and the great solitude of primeval nature that broods over all. Then the curling heavenward of the smoke of our temporary fire, the athletic and well-proportioned physique of the men, their costumes and paint--I say all this was to my mind and eye, as I stood there and watched and waited that winter's day, as something just as it should be, belonging to the place and time. But now the last feather is tied on, the last touch of vermilion is in its place, and we move on for another hour's quick tramp. A hushed excitement is apparent. This whole thing is yet a very uncertain quantity. Will success or disaster be the result? The most thoughtless in our party is somewhat checked by the anxiety of the moment. In a few minutes the last scout will be in. "Here he is!" We are about to come in sight and be within a few hundred yards of the camp. Maskepetoon and father step to the front side by side, as the chief would have it. Next come the standard bearers, and the Union Jack and the Hudson's Bay Company's flag are unfurled to the breeze; then the head men and chief warriors; then the young men and scouts. Peter and I bring up the rear with our dog-trains, which we have difficulty in keeping in their place--old Draffan has been ahead so often, he cannot understand his having to stay behind now. The horse guards and wood carriers, and the children at play, were in full view of our advancing column, and at first there was a rushing of stock homewards, and a scrambling for the road by those engaged in hauling wood, while the children screamed and fled over the hill into the deep narrow valley in which the lodges were situated. An inexperienced person would never have thought that hundreds of tents, filled with warriors and women and children, were only a short distance from us; but presently up out of the valley came a swarm of men and boys, all armed and anxious. Then when the older ones recognized Maskepetoon, they began to shout "Mon-e-guh-ba-now!" and came to meet us gladly. As they came they fired their guns into the air, and our men did likewise, and sang as they marched, and in a few minutes we were on the brow of the hill and the Blackfoot camp lay at our feet. Maskepetoon and father, with Peter and myself, were taken to the head chief's tent, and hospitably entertained in the style and manner peculiar to this people. Buffalo meat and dried berries constituted the food. The former was served either fresh or dry, or as pounded meat and grease, or as pemmican. The latter were either boiled or eaten dry. The vessels the food was served in were wooden, and the ladles it was dipped with were made of horn. Neither of these, so far as I could see, were ever washed. The cooks would cut up the meat for the guests as is done for small children among the white people. While in the Blackfoot camp we had no use for a knife, though we would have infinitely preferred to cut and carve our own food. Father would quietly say, "Look the other way, John," and I would as quietly think, "If he can stand it, how much more can I." Three Bulls, the chief in whose tent we were, was a tall, dignified old man. His war and hunting days were over, but there was a prestige in his manner and presence which spoke of a history for this man, and it was this no doubt which kept him in the commanding position he occupied. He had three wives living with him in his tent. These might be described as old, older, oldest. There were two handsome young men, his sons, evidently the children of different mothers. Both father and mothers were very proud of these superb specimens of physical manhood. The work of the camp was done by the chief's daughters-in-law and granddaughters, who came and went without noise or fuss in the discharge of their duties, while the trio of wives sat and sewed moccasins or played the role of hostesses. These were thoroughly buffalo Indians. Without buffalo they would be helpless, and yet the whole nation did not own one. To look at them, and to hear them, one would feel as if they were the most independent of all men; yet the fact was they were the most dependent among men. Moccasins, mittens, leggings, shirts and robes--all buffalo. With the sinews of the buffalo they stitched and sewed these. Their lariats, bridle lines, stirrup-straps, girths and saddles were manufactured out of buffalo hide. Their women made scrapers out of the leg-bone for fleshing hides. The men fashioned knife-handles out of the bones, and the children made toboggans of the same. The horns served for spoons and powder flasks. In short, they lived and had their physical being in the buffalo. The Blackfoot word for buffalo in the mass in _enewh_. This same word in Cree means _man_. The Blackfoot word for buffalo bull is _stomach_, which in English means quite another thing. For the Blackfoot man the buffalo supplied the sole habiliment and the sole nutriment. During our stay in the camp the women and children were frequently sent out of the chief's tent, and then the lodge would be packed with minor chiefs and headmen and warriors, who would listen to Maskepetoon and father. Lively discussions there took place on the benefits of peace among men. Father's descriptions of eastern civilization and Christianity were as strange revelations to these men. They listened, and wondered if these things could be true, so different were their experiences of white men from what father had to tell them of the conduct of our Government and of Christian men to the Indians in general. He told them of the many villages and tribes of Indians who were living in harmony and peace right in the midst of the white people, in the country he came from. One could see that most of these men were glad of the present respite, and yet there were some who chafed under the necessity of even a short intermission from their business of horse-stealing and scalp-taking. There was one young war chief in camp who kept aloof from us, and as he had considerable influence and a large following, some anxiety was felt, both by our party and by the Blackfeet friendly to us. However, during the second evening of our stay, he came to the chief's tent, and it was announced that he was waiting outside. Our host gathered his robe around him and went out, and presently the proud young chieftain stepped in and took a seat beside us. Later on the old chief returned, and I enquired of Maskepetoon, "Why this unusual ceremony?" He told me that this young warrior chief was the son-in-law of the old man, and it was a rule of etiquette that the son-in-law should not come into a tent while his father-in-law was in it. So the old man had gone out until his son-in-law came in. Even here, as elsewhere, high-toned society must conform to rule. This war chief said that he was not very anxious for peace, that war to him was like eating good fruit--he loved it; but as the others were favorable, he would join them for a while. Then turning to father, he said, "You must, if you are in earnest, let your son come to my tent and live with me while in our camp." Father asked me if I was willing, and I said, "Yes." So it was arranged that I should go; and presently the young chief signed to me to follow him, and we started for his tent. It was dark as we wended our way in and out among the lodges in the windings of the valley, and it seemed to me that the dogs were without number; but a quiet, sharp word from my leader made them shrink away from us, and on we went for quite a distance. Presently we came to a large lodge, and entering this I found we were at home. The chief motioned me to a reclining couch of buffalo skins, and then began to speak to his wives and to a number of young men who seemed to be his dependents, and who were very obedient to his word. In the matter of wives he was four ahead of his father-in-law, having seven to own him lord, the last and youngest being the old chief's daughter. Mine host--for I would rather consider him as such than my captor--was a tall, athletic fellow, about thirty-five years of age. He had a wild, wicked look about him, was quick and nervous in movement, and was, from appearance at any rate, a man not to be trifled with. His wives' ages, I should judge, ranged all the way from eighteen to thirty years, and there were several children. The lodge was the largest I had ever been in, necessitating at times the making of two distinct fires in it to keep us warm; for all this time the cold was severe, and our northern January weather was in full sway over this land. Some of the women untied a bundle of newly dressed robes, and made up for me a couch next to the chief's. They handed me some dried meat and berries, and eating a late supper, I turned in for the night. The isolation from the rest of our party was complete, and I could not repress a feeling of loneliness; but as father had arranged the affair of my being thus alone in this man's camp, I felt it was all right, and went to sleep. Before daylight the camp was astir, and huge fires were burning in the centre of the lodge, but the keen cold was very apparent a few feet from these. As soon as I sat up in my couch one of the women brought me water in a wooden bowl for my morning ablutions, and I had my pocket-handkerchief to serve as a towel. Then they gave me for my breakfast boiled meat cut into small pieces. I longed for salt, but there was none. All day strangers kept coming and going in our tent. It seemed to me I was on exhibition. Once during the day my host signed to me to follow him, and we went out to the summit of a hill, where his band of horses were driven up by some young men who had them in charge, and I admired the number and quality of his stock. There must have been a hundred or more in the bunch, most of them, no doubt, the result of his stealings. Then we went back to the tent, and the day passed quietly away. In the evening a crowd of men occupied the space in our lodge, and much smoking and speech-making went on; but as I could catch a word only here and there, I did not understand what they said. As they talked and smoked I studied their faces and costumes, many of which were peculiar, inspiring me alternately with the feeling of dread and of curiosity. Everyone carried his weapons--bow and arrows, flint-lock gun, or war-club. I could readily see that the idea of placing confidence in anyone had not as yet entered the minds of these men. Sometimes they became greatly excited, and as they frequently nodded or pointed to me, I could not but imagine all manner of trouble. Finally the crowd dispersed, and I was still alive and quite ready for the second supper mine hostesses served me with. I found that I was by heredity and practice a confirmed salt eater, and to be without it for a few meals was a hardship. There had been no communication since last night with any of our party. So far as I was concerned they might as well have been back at the Cree camp or our mission. However, when all was quiet I settled down into a sound sleep, undisturbed by even the dream of being scalped by dusky Blackfoot braves. Long before daylight the big fires were blazing and crackling, faintly forcing back the fearful cold which had taken possession of the thin-walled and unfloored lodge during the few hours which the camp slept. I was up with the dawn trying to thaw myself out, but did not fully succeed until I had breakfasted. Another long day passed, much in the same way as the last, without any word from my party. In the evening a number of Blood Indians arrived, and a dance was organized in our tent. This was my first meeting with any of these people. So far as I could see, they were the same as the Blackfeet, only of a more pronounced type--that is, the difference between them and the northern Indians was more marked. Proud arrogance and intense self-sufficiency seemed to speak out in their every word and action. One would think they were the aristocracy of the plains. The meeting was more than a dance that night--it was an experience meeting; for each one recited his deeds of daring, and acted in pantomime the approach, the ambush, the charge, and the shooting, stabbing, scalping, and horse taking of his past. With frantic energy these men told of their various deeds of valor, and every now and then a comrade, a living witness, would shout, "It is true! I was there!" At this the crowd applauded, and the drums beat, while the next man sprang to his feet, and leaped, danced, whooped and sang; then when the drums ceased, he too would vaunt his feats of valor. All this was at first quite interesting to me, but as the hours went by, and it grew past midnight, I lost my interest, and wished the ball would break up. There seeming no immediate prospect of this, I stepped out, and running the risk of dogs and men, wended my way up the valley until I came to the old chief's tent, which I quietly entered, and raking the coals together made up a fire, as the night was bitterly cold. I saw that father and Peter were asleep, and Maskepetoon was stretched in his blanket between father and the fire; so I got down in front of Maskepetoon, and gradually crept under his blanket, until he gave it to me, after which he got up, made on more fire, and sat and smoked for the rest of the night, while I slept with a profound sense of rest and security beside my friends once more. Many a time in after days Maskepetoon would joke me about taking his blanket from him when in the Blackfoot camp. From the time of our arrival here I had taken particular notice to a fine, manly young Blackfoot, who seemed to me to have an unusual interest in Maskepetoon. He would get as near to him as he could, and occasionally lay his hand on the chief's arm or shoulder, and name him "Mon-e-guh-ba-now," "the great chief," "the strong man," "the brave man," and Maskepetoon would laughingly turn him aside with a wave of his hand, but always in a kindly way. I wondered what could be the bond between these two, and at last I asked Maskepetoon who that young man was. "Why," said he, "he was the leader of the crowd that rushed at me and my grandchild a few weeks since. He and I are great friends now." The old man's brave act had won the enemy's heart. The next day we started for home. We might have peace for three months or less. This was the impression on our minds. The people on both sides were too widely scattered and too independent of each other, and the range of country too big, to hope for any permanent peace under present conditions. In the meantime, even a short respite was something to be grateful for. Our route home was more direct, and we travelled much faster than in coming. The buffalo had been moving north, and in their progress trampled the snow for miles in many places, which helped us on our way. About the middle of the first afternoon I slipped on a lump of frozen snow and sprained my ankle, which made travelling for the rest of the evening a very painful matter, so that I was glad when we camped in the lee of a bluff of timber for the night. We had come a long distance, and it was pleasant to be in the open camp again. After the work was done and our dogs fed, I took off my moccasin and found my ankle blue and much swollen. Through the long winter evening I sat there applying snow to the inflamed parts. This took down the swelling and assuaged the pain considerably; but I did not sleep much that night, and limped along with difficulty the next day. In spite of this, however, we reached our camp before night, and found that Muddy Bull had several animals staged ready for us. So father piled the camp equipment and our provisions into his cariole, while Peter and I took loads of meat, and with them reached the mission the second evening from Maskepetoon's camp, finding all well, and everybody wonderfully pleased to see us back. Peter resumed his work of lumber making, and I that of bringing in provisions. CHAPTER XXIV. We visit the Cree camp--I lose Maple and the pups--Find our Indian friends "pound-keeping"--The Indian buffalo pound--Consecrating the pound--Mr. Who-Brings-Them-In--Running the buffalo in--The herd safely coralled--Wholesale slaughter--Apportioning the hunt--Finis. My party for the next two months was made up of my old friend Joseph and a young Indian named Susa. We started at once back to the Cree camp with four trains of dogs. On the second day out, near noon, we came to vast herds of buffalo, and my second train, composed of Maple and her pups, ran away with the buffalo. For a time we could see them, but soon they went out of sight in the distance, and leaving my old train of dogs to my men, I set out in pursuit of the runaway team. For miles I was able to track them; then the buffalo became so numerous ahead of me that all trace of the dogs was lost. As the course they ran nearly paralleled our road, I kept on until late, and after running some twenty miles, had to reluctantly give them up, and strike out to head off my men. We reached the Cree camp that night, and the Indians sympathized with me in my loss, and promised to keep on the lookout for the dogs. I felt the loss keenly, as the young dogs were developing handsomely, and were shaping to become "flyers." The camp we were now in was in their language engaged in "sitting by the place of bringing them in." This sentence of eight words in English is covered by one word of seven syllables in Cree, _Pe-tah-gionte-hon-uh-be-win_. This in short English would mean "pound-keeping." If the migration of the buffalo was west, then the mouth of the pound was west also. If this was north, the mouth of the pound was placed to the north, as it seemed to be the instinct of the buffalo when startled to run back in the direction whence he had recently come. In that direction he knew the great herds were roaming, and when startled he would fall back on these. Long before the white man came to the country, some Indians, more thoughtful than the rest, had noticed this, and concluded that a trap or corral might be built, wherein to catch them in larger numbers than they could be obtained by killing with the bow and arrows. Out of this happy thought was evolved the habit of building pounds, and killing buffalo wholesale in them. In connection with this there was another evolution of men who became experts in bringing buffalo into the pound. These men professed to be aided by the "spirits," or "familiars," of whom they dreamt. The conjurers were not slow to make use of the "pound" business, and claimed that they could by their medicine make a pound lucky or unlucky as they pleased; all of which, as time went on, wove itself into the faith and tradition of the people, and gave these cunning fellows revenue and influence in the camps of their tribes. Ecclesiasticism and sacerdotalism were to the front, as they always are among ignorant and passively religious people. The situation of a pound was generally on the south or east side of a gently rising hill, the west or north side of this hill being prairie or open country, and the east or south side of it timber. In this timber, not far from the summit, the Cree pound was erected. This was done by chopping and clearing away the timber from a circular space--say one hundred, or one hundred and twenty-five feet in diameter. From this circle all the brush and trees, with the exception of one tree in the centre, were cleared out, and around this circle a strong fence of logs and brush was built, strong enough and high enough to hold the buffalo. At the entrance, which was made about twenty feet wide, a causeway, or sloping corduroy bridge, was built up of timber, so that there was a "jump off" into the pound of about three feet. The idea of a gate or bars had not dawned upon the people, as I will presently show. From the entrance on either side a strong brush and log fence was run out towards the north or west as was convenient. These lines of fence gradually diverged as they left the corral, until, at the end of a hundred yards or more, they were almost that distance apart. From the ends of the fence bundles of willows were placed on end at regular intervals for a mile or more, their outside terminals being fully a mile apart. These were called "watching waiters." While the pound, the fence, and the "waiters" were being built and placed, the conjurers of the camp were making "strong medicine," wherewith to give luck and magnetism to the pound. For days and nights these medicine-makers and general dealers in the supernatural had pounded their drums and sang themselves hoarse; and now that the pound was ready for dedication, they organized a procession, and went on with the consecration of the pound and its accessories to the object in view. With solemn visages and in dignity of attitude, these priests of the old faith took their places at the head of the procession. With their medicine-bags in hand they stood like statues, while the rest formed in line, drummers and singers next to the priests. Then the whole camp, or as many as could attend, followed. At a signal the drums beat, the song was raised at the head, and then taken up all along the whole line, and to time they stepped away around the bluff, and turning into the fence, came down the lane, up over the causeway, and jumped into the pound. Turning to the left they marched around the circle of the pound, and then with short petitionary speeches, the conjurers proceeded to hang their medicine-bags on the limbs of the lone tree which stood in the centre. This done, the pound was dedicated, consecrated, and declared ready for work. The next thing needed was buffalo. If these were within a few miles of camp, the man who had fat horses, and desired the tongues of the buffalo, be they many or few, that might be brought into the pound in one "fetch," would take his horse, ready saddled and bridled, to the tent of an expert at "bringing in," and say to him, "Here is my horse; now then go after them." Then the O-noh-che-buh-how, or "Who-Goes-After-Them," makes ready slowly and with dignity, assuming the air of one upon whom a grave responsibility is thrust, but who nevertheless is perfectly conscious that he is the one man to bear it, and perform the task entrusted to him. Thus he mounts the horse and rides forth. This man is keenly watched by those who are on the lookout from the highest ground in the vicinity. The whole camp is in a flutter of excitement. Is the time propitious? Are the spirits friendly? Will the medicine work? Will "Who-Brings-Them-In" be wise in his handling of the buffalo? Is the pound properly located? Everybody is anxious about the new untried pound. As in the minds of other peoples the wide world over, here also was the strange mixing of reason and practice, and logic and superstition. But now those on the lookout are making signs, and it is shouted throughout the camp, "He has started a herd!" Again another sign. "The herd is a big one!" is the shout that electrifies every man, woman and child in the encampment; and while the thrill of this is still upon them, behold, there is another sign, and the joyful news rings forth: "They are coming straight!" Again the signal is given. "Make ready; to your places, O men!" and there is a movement by all the able-bodied men to the lines of fence which reach out from the door of the pound, where they place themselves opposite to one another. Behind the fence, and even beyond it, behind heaps of snow and brush, the men lie in waiting until the head of the herd passes them, when from each side they rise simultaneously and urge the buffalo on into the pound. While all this is going on near the pound and in the camp, "Mr. Who-Brings-Them-In" is doing his level best with brain and voice and horse. Lay of country and direction of wind are noted. As he rode out he looked at the position of the sun. He pulled a little of the hair off his robe and let it go above his head to determine the exact direction of the wind. This he did on a hill, so that the movement of air would not be influenced by hills and valleys. When he sighted the buffalo he stopped, and lighting his pipe thought out the whole plan as well as he could, with the known quantities before him. For what was as yet unknown he held his pipe-stem skyward, and humbly petitioned the spirits to help him. Then he shook his pipe, and detaching the stem, he put both into his fire-bag, and remounting his horse started for the buffalo. If these were scattered he set out to bunch them. Riding slightly to windward and dismounting, he pulled a small bunch of dried grass out of his bosom, and chipping off a bit of punk he placed it on his flint. Striking this with his steel, when the punk caught fire he dropped it into a little nest he had prepared in the grass; then he waved this to and fro, and if the grass caught fire soon he was satisfied. If not, he took a few grains of powder from his horn and dropped them on the spark of fire on the punk, making a flame which speedily fired the grass. In a very little time the keen scenting buffalo would notice the tiny puff of smoke and move together. Having bunched the buffalo, if they moved in the right direction he let them go and quietly watched them from a distance. If they went to one side, he headed them back either with a whiff of smoke as before, or by letting them catch a glimpse of himself. Thus he brings them within the long line of "watching waiters"; and now the herd is becoming excited, and begins to move rapidly. Riding close, he heads them on. If they rush too fast one way, he drops behind, and rides across their track the other way; and as he does this at a quick gallop, he utters a series of strange, queer cries which seem to be almost hypnotic in their influence, for the head of the bunch jumps his way as if in response to the weird cry. When the herd is going as he wants, he talks to them encouragingly: "That is right, O mother cow; you are doing well, keep right on; you will gladden many hearts, you will fill many stomachs, you will warm and cover many bodies." Then he would give his shrill cry, and as I have ridden beside these men when bringing in buffalo, it has seemed to me as if they had bridles in the mouths of the leaders of the herds, as these passively jumped to do their bidding. The man seemed transformed, energized, intensely consecrated to the object in view, and thus his spirit became masterful and strong in its purpose. Now the lines of "watching waiters" are rapidly converging. The side to side rushes of the excited herd are becoming shorter, and follow one another in quick succession. Both man and buffalo are fast approaching the crucial point. It is now but two or three hundred yards to the end of the lines of brush and humanity. If the herd should break to either side before these are reached, the driver will be humiliated, the new pound made unlucky, and the whole camp sadly disappointed. "Who-Brings-Them-In" feels all this and makes supreme effort--throws his whole soul into the work. He calls, he urges, he petitions, he rides fearlessly and recklessly. Now the head of the herd is past the first of the line of concealed men, and these rise together, and others, and others, and on in a mad, wild rush sweep the deceived and thoroughly affrighted buffalo over the "jump off" and into the pound. "Who-Brings-Them-In" stays not for congratulations, but gallops to his tent, leaps from the horse, rushes in to his couch and flings himself on it, exhausted but triumphant. Perhaps that afternoon, to help him fully recover, some old friend will give him a Turkish bath. I have described what happened when the buffalo were convenient to camp--say two or three hours' distant; but often they were a long distance away. Then the process was different. Another expert would start from camp on foot, and travel twenty, thirty or fifty miles into the north or west country, and at last, finding a suitable herd, he would slowly, by stratagem, by smoke and scent, work these toward the pound. Sometimes he would have to wait for hours for a "convenient season." Sometimes he would of necessity run for miles as fast as his strength and wind would permit, in order to turn the trend of movement into a more favorable direction for his object, and thus, after wearying days and nights, his bunch of buffalo would be sighted from the lookout, and "Who-Brings-Them-In" would ride forth and meet him, and take the herd in his turn, and the foot man would return to camp and rest. What surprised me was that these men who went after buffalo and endured such physical hardship and nervous strain, did not receive any more than the rest in the partition of what buffalo might be brought into the pound. The man who owned the horse got the tongues, but those men who did the wonderful work of bringing in had the glory. Like the chiefs, who planned and lived for the people without any remuneration, these were the patriots of the camp. But to return to my description of the pound. Soon the last buffalo was over the "jump off," and you may depend upon it, he was not far behind the rest, for the crowd of yelling Indians were at the heels of the herd. When all were in, the door or gap was suddenly filled by a solid line of men, who pulled their robes before them, and stood without a move as the mad herd settled into a gallop around the pound, always running as the medicine man had walked, and that was with the sun. In the meantime the pound was surrounded by the people of the camp, all rejoicing because of the success of the enterprise. Pound and medicine and men had all been blessed, and the hearts of the people were thankful. Presently the twing of an arrow told that the work of slaughter had begun, and this was continued with arrow and flint-lock until all the large animals in the herd were dead. Then the boys were turned into the pound to fight the calves, and many a chase the calves gave them; sometimes driving the boys back up on the timber and brush of the walls of the pound. When all were dead, someone deputed for the duty would mount the back of a dead bull or big cow, and apportion the hunt. [Illustration: "Slapped-in-the-Face, take that one."] "Slapped-in-the-Face, take that one." "Hollow Back, you take that one." "Who-is-Struck-in-the-Back, you have that one." "Crooked Legs, there is yours." "Red Bank, take that one." "The-Man-Who-Strikes-the-Sun, here is yours." "Bear's Child, this is for you." "Wolf Teeth, cut that one up," etc. In stentorian voice this man would divide the spoil, and soon the pound was full of men and women taking off the robes, cutting up the meat, and "packing" these to the tents. In a little while the new pound is left to the dogs, who in their turn hold high carnival among the refuse, fighting and feeding to the full. Not one buffalo is allowed to escape. The young and the poor must die with the strong and fat, for it is believed that if these were spared they would tell the rest, and so make it impossible to bring any more buffalo into a pound. How this absurd idea was exploded, and how I found my lost dogs, and how we lived, and what we did and saw and experienced in the ensuing months and years, I hope to tell in a subsequent volume. * * * * * * * * Forest, Lake and Prairie TWENTY YEARS OF FRONTIER LIFE IN WESTERN CANADA, 1842-1862. By JOHN McDOUGALL. WITH 27 FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS BY J. E. LAUGHLIN. * * * * * A STIRRING BIOGRAPHY. GEORGE MILLWARD McDOUGALL The Pioneer, Patriot and Missionary. BY HIS SON, REV. JOHN McDOUGALL, WITH INTRODUCTION BY REV. ALEX. SUTHERLAND, D.D. Cloth, with Portrait and Illustrations, WILLIAM BRIGGS, Publisher, Wesley Buildings, Toronto. Montreal; C. W. COATES, Halifax: S. F. HUESTIS. 
4702	----	THE FLAMING FOREST BY JAMES OLIVER CURWOOD AUTHOR OF THE VALLEY OF SILENT MEN, THE COUNTRY BEYOND, THE ALASKAN, ETC. THE FLAMING FOREST I An hour ago, under the marvelous canopy of the blue northern sky, David Carrigan, Sergeant in His Most Excellent Majesty's Royal Northwest Mounted Police, had hummed softly to himself, and had thanked God that he was alive. He had blessed McVane, superintendent of "N" Division at Athabasca Landing, for detailing him to the mission on which he was bent. He was glad that he was traveling alone, and in the deep forest, and that for many weeks his adventure would carry him deeper and deeper into his beloved north. Making his noonday tea over a fire at the edge of the river, with the green forest crowding like an inundation on three sides of him, he had come to the conclusion--for the hundredth time, perhaps--that it was a nice thing to be alone in the world, for he was on what his comrades at the Landing called a "bad assignment." "If anything happens to me," Carrigan had said to McVane, "there isn't anybody in particular to notify. I lost out in the matter of family a long time ago." He was not a man who talked much about himself, even to the superintendent of "N" Division, yet there were a thousand who loved Dave Carrigan, and many who placed their confidences in him. Superintendent Me Vane had one story which he might have told, but he kept it to himself, instinctively sensing the sacredness of it. Even Carrigan did not know that the one thing which never passed his lips was known to McVane. Of that, too, he had been thinking an hour ago. It was the thing which, first of all, had driven him into the north. And though it had twisted and disrupted the earth under his feet for a time, it had brought its compensation. For he had come to love the north with a passionate devotion. It was, in a way, his God. It seemed to him that the time had never been when he had lived any other life than this under the open skies. He was thirty-seven now. A bit of a philosopher, as philosophy comes to one in a sun-cleaned and unpolluted air, A good-humored brother of humanity, even when he put manacles on other men's wrists; graying a little over the temples--and a lover of life. Above all else he was that. A lover of life. A worshiper at the shrine of God's Country. So he sat, that hour ago, deep in the wilderness eighty miles north of Athabasca Landing, congratulating himself on the present conditions of his existence. A hundred and eighty miles farther on was Fort McMurray, and another two hundred beyond that was Chipewyan, and still beyond that the Mackenzie and its fifteen-hundred-mile trail to the northern sea. He was glad there was no end to this world of his. He was glad there were few people in it. But these people he loved. That hour ago he had looked out on the river as two York boats had forged up against the stream, craft like the long, slim galleys of old, brought over through the Churchill and Clearwater countries from Hudson's Bay. There were eight rowers in each boat. They were singing. Their voices rolled between the walls of the forests. Their naked arms and shoulders glistened in the sun. They rowed like Vikings, and to him they were symbols of the freedom of the world. He had watched them until they were gone up-stream, but it was a long time before the chanting of their voices had died away. And then he had risen from beside his tiny fire, and had stretched himself until his muscles cracked. It was good to feel the blood running red and strong in one's veins at the age of thirty-seven. For Carrigan felt the thrill of these days when strong men were coming out of the north--days when the glory of June hung over the land, when out of the deep wilderness threaded by the Three Rivers came romance and courage and red-blooded men and women of an almost forgotten people to laugh and sing and barter for a time with the outpost guardians of a younger and more progressive world. It was north of Fifty-Four, and the waters of a continent flowed toward the Arctic Sea. Yet soon would the strawberries be crushing red underfoot; the forest road was in bloom, scarlet fire-flowers reddened the trail, wild hyacinths and golden-freckled violets played hide-and-seek with the forget-me-nots in the meadows, and the sky was a great splash of velvety blue. It was the north triumphant--at the edge of civilization; the north triumphant, and yet paying its tribute. For at the other end were waiting the royal Upper Ten Thousand and the smart Four Hundred with all the beau monde behind them, coveting and demanding that tribute to their sex--the silken furs of a far country, the life's blood and labor of a land infinitely beyond the pale of drawing-rooms and the whims of fashion. Carrigan had thought of these things that hour ago, as he sat at the edge of the first of the Three Rivers, the great Athabasca. From down the other two, the Slave and the Mackenzie, the fur fleets of the unmapped country had been toiling since the first breakups of ice. Steadily, week after week, the north had been emptying itself of its picturesque tide of life and voice, of muscle and brawn, of laughter and song--and wealth. Through, long months of deep winter, in ten thousand shacks and tepees and cabins, the story of this June had been written as fate had written it each winter for a hundred years or more. A story of the triumph of the fittest. A story of tears, of happiness here and there, of hunger and plenty, of new life and quick death; a story of strong men and strong women, living in the faith of their forefathers, with the best blood of old England and France still surviving in their veins. Through those same months of winter, the great captains of trade in the city of Edmonton had been preparing for the coming of the river brigades. The hundred and fifty miles of trail between that last city outpost of civilization and Athabasca Landing, the door that opened into the North, were packed hard by team and dog-sledge and packer bringing up the freight that for another year was to last the forest people of the Three River country--a domain reaching from the Landing to the Arctic Ocean. In competition fought the drivers of Revillon Brothers and Hudson's Bay, of free trader and independent adventurer. Freight that grew more precious with each mile it advanced must reach the beginning of the waterway. It started with the early snows. The tide was at full by midwinter. In temperature that nipped men's lungs it did not cease. There was no let-up in the whip-hands of the masters of trade at Edmonton, Winnipeg, Montreal, and London across the sea. It was not a work of philanthropy. These men cared not whether Jean and Jacqueline and Pierre and Marie were well-fed or hungry, whether they lived or died, so far as humanity was concerned. But Paris, Vienna, London, and the great capitals of the earth must have their furs--and unless that freight went north, there would be no velvety offerings for the white shoulders of the world. Christmas windows two years hence would be bare. A feminine wail of grief would rise to the skies. For woman must have her furs, and in return for those furs Jean and Jacqueline and Pierre and Marie must have their freight. So the pendulum swung, as it had swung for a century or two, touching, on the one side, luxury, warmth, wealth, and beauty; on the other, cold and hardship, deep snows and open skies--with that precious freight the thing between. And now, in this year before rail and steamboat, the glory of early summer was at hand, and the wilderness people were coming up to meet the freight. The Three Rivers--the Athabasca, the Slave, and the Mackenzie, all joining in one great two-thousand-mile waterway to the northern sea--were athrill with the wild impulse and beat of life as the forest people lived it. The Great Father had sent in his treaty money, and Cree song and Chipewyan chant joined the age-old melodies of French and half-breed. Countless canoes drove past the slower and mightier scow brigades; huge York boats with two rows of oars heaved up and down like the ancient galleys of Rome; tightly woven cribs of timber, and giant rafts made tip of many cribs were ready for their long drift into a timberless country. On this two-thousand-mile waterway a world had gathered. It was the Nile of the northland, and each post and gathering place along its length was turned into a metropolis, half savage, archaic, splendid with the strength of red blood, clear eyes, and souls that read the word of God in wind and tree. And up and down this mighty waterway of wilderness trade ran the whispering spirit of song, like the voice of a mighty god heard under the stars and in the winds. But it was an hour ago that David Carrigan had vividly pictured these things to himself close to the big river, and many things may happen in the sixty minutes that follow any given minute in a man's life. That hour ago his one great purpose had been to bring in Black Roger Audemard, alive or dead--Black Roger, the forest fiend who had destroyed half a dozen lives in a blind passion of vengeance nearly fifteen years ago. For ten of those fifteen years it had been thought that Black Roger was dead. But mysterious rumors had lately come out of the North. He was alive. People had seen him. Fact followed rumor. His existence became certainty. The Law took up once more his hazardous trail, and David Carrigan was the messenger it sent. "Bring him back, alive or dead," were Superintendent McVane's last words. And now, thinking of that parting injunction, Carrigan grinned, even as the sweat of death dampened his face in the heat of the afternoon sun. For at the end of those sixty minutes that had passed since his midday pot of tea, the grimly, atrociously unexpected had happened, like a thunderbolt out of the azure of the sky. II Huddled behind a rock which was scarcely larger than his body, groveling in the white, soft sand like a turtle making a nest for its eggs, Carrigan told himself this without any reservation. He was, as he kept repeating to himself for the comfort of his soul, in a deuce of a fix. His head was bare--simply because a bullet had taken his hat away. His blond hair was filled with sand. His face was sweating. But his blue eyes were alight with a grim sort of humor, though he knew that unless the other fellow's ammunition ran out he was going to die. For the twentieth time in as many minutes he looked about him. He was in the center of a flat area of sand. Fifty feet from him the river murmured gently over yellow bars and a carpet of pebbles. Fifty feet on the opposite side of him was the cool, green wall of the forest. The sunshine playing in it seemed like laughter to him now, a whimsical sort of merriment roused by the sheer effrontery of the joke which fate had inflicted upon him. Between the river and the balsam and spruce was only the rock behind which he was cringing like a rabbit afraid to take to the open. And his rock was a mere up-jutting of the solid floor of shale that was under him. The wash sand that covered it like a carpet was not more than four or five inches deep. He could not dig in. There was not enough of it within reach to scrape up as a protection. And his enemy, a hundred yards or so away, was a determined wretch--and the deadliest shot he had ever known. Three times Carrigan had made experiments to prove this, for he had in mind a sudden rush to the shelter of the timber. Three times he had raised the crown of his hat slightly above the top of the rock, and three times the marksmanship of the other had perforated it with neatness and dispatch. The third bullet had carried his hat a dozen feet away. Whenever he showed a patch of his clothing, a bullet replied with unerring precision. Twice they had drawn blood. And the humor faded out of Carrigan's eyes. Not long ago he had exulted in the bigness and glory of this country of his, where strong men met hand to hand and eye to eye. There were the other kind in it, the sort that made his profession of manhunting a thing of reality and danger, but he expected these--forgot them--when the wilderness itself filled his vision. But his present situation was something unlike anything that had ever happened in his previous experience with the outlawed. He had faced dangers. He had fought. There were times when he had almost died. Fanchet, the half-breed who had robbed a dozen wilderness mail sledges, had come nearest to trapping him and putting him out of business. Fanchet was a desperate man and had few scruples. But even Fanchet--before he was caught--would not have cornered a man with such bloodthirsty unfairness as Carrigan found himself cornered now. He no longer had a doubt as to what was in the other's mind. It was not to wound and make merely helpless. It was to kill. It was not difficult to prove this. Careful not to expose a part of his arm or shoulder, he drew a white handkerchief from his pocket, fastened it to the end of his rifle, and held the flag of surrender three feet above the rock. And then, with equal caution, he slowly thrust up a flat piece of shale, which at a distance of a hundred yards might appear as his shoulder or even his head. Scarcely was it four inches above the top of the rock before there came the report of a rifle, and the shale was splintered into a hundred bits. Carrigan lowered his flag and gathered himself in tighter. The accuracy of the other's marksmanship was appalling. He knew that if he exposed himself for an instant to use his own rifle or the heavy automatic in his holster, he would be a dead man before he could press a trigger. And that time, he felt equally sure, would come sooner or later. His muscles were growing cramped. He could not forever double himself up like a four-bladed jackknife behind the altogether inefficient shelter of the rock. His executioner was hidden in the edge of the timber, not directly opposite him, but nearly a hundred yards down stream. Twenty times he had wondered why the fiend with the rifle did not creep up through that timber and take a good, open pot-shot at him from the vantage point which lay at the end of a straight line between his rock and the nearest spruce and balsam. From that angle he could not completely shelter himself. But the man a hundred yards below had not moved a foot from his ambush since he had fired his first shot. That had come when Carrigan was crossing the open space of soft, white sand. It had left a burning sensation at his temple--half an inch to the right and it would have killed him. Swift as the shot itself, he dropped behind the one protection at hand, the up-jutting shoulder of shale. For a quarter of an hour he had been making efforts to wriggle himself free from his bulky shoulder-pack without exposing himself to a coup-de-grace. At last he had the thing off. It was a tremendous relief when he thrust it out beside the rock, almost doubling the size of his shelter. Instantly there came the crash of a bullet in it, and then another. He heard the rattle of pans, and wondered if his skillet would be any good after today. For the first time he could wipe the sweat from his face and stretch himself. And also he could think. Carrigan possessed an unalterable faith in the infallibility of the mind. "You can do anything with the mind," was his code. "It is better than a good gun." Now that he was physically more at ease, he began reassembling his scattered mental faculties. Who was this stranger who was pot-shotting at him with such deadly animosity from the ambush below? Who-- Another crash of lead in tinware and steel put an unpleasant emphasis to the question. It was so close to his head that it made him wince, and now--with a wide area within reach about him--he began scraping up the sand for an added protection. There came a long silence after that third clatter of distress from his cooking utensils. To David Carrigan, even in his hour of deadly peril, there was something about it that for an instant brought back the glow of humor in his eyes. It was hot, swelteringly hot, in that packet of sand with the unclouded sun almost straight overhead. He could have tossed a pebble to where a bright-eyed sandpiper was cocking itself backward and forward, its jerky movements accompanied by friendly little tittering noises. Everything about him seemed friendly. The river rippled and murmured in cooling song just beyond the sandpiper. On the other side the still cooler forest was a paradise of shade and contentment, astir with subdued and hidden life. It was nesting season. He heard the twitter of birds. A tiny, brown wood warbler fluttered out to the end of a silvery birch limb, and it seemed to David that its throat must surely burst with the burden of its song. The little fellow's brown body, scarcely larger than a butternut, was swelling up like a round ball in his effort to vanquish all other song. "Go to it, old man," chuckled Carrigan. "Go to it!" The little warbler, that he might have crushed between thumb and forefinger, gave him a lot of courage. Then the tiny chorister stopped for breath. In that interval Carrigan listened to the wrangling of two vivid-colored Canada jays deeper in the timber. Chronic scolds they were, never without a grouch. They were like some people Carrigan had known, born pessimists, always finding something to complain about, even in their love days. And these were love days. That was the odd thought that came to Carrigan as he lay half on his face, his fingers slowly and cautiously working a loophole between his shoulder-pack and the rock. They were love days all up and down the big rivers, where men and women sang for joy, and children played, forgetful of the long, hard days of winter. And in forest, plain, and swamp was this spirit of love also triumphant over the land. It was the mating season of all feathered things. In countless nests were the peeps and twitters of new life; mothers of first-born were teaching their children to swim and fly; from end to end of the forest world the little children of the silent places, furred and feathered, clawed and hoofed, were learning the ways of life. Nature's yearly birthday was half-way gone, and the doors of nature's school wide open. And the tiny brown songster at the end of his birch twig proclaimed the joy of it again, and challenged all the world to beat him in his adulation. Carrigan found that he could peer between his pack and the rock to where the other warbler was singing--and where his enemy lay watching for the opportunity to kill. It was taking a chance. If a movement betrayed his loophole, his minutes were numbered. But he had worked cautiously, an inch at a time, and was confident that the beginning of his effort to fight back was, up to the present moment, undiscovered. He believed that he knew about where the ambushed man was concealed. In the edge of a low-hanging mass of balsam was a fallen cedar. From behind the butt of that cedar he was sure the shots had come. And now, even more cautiously than he had made the tiny opening, he began to work the muzzle of his rifle through the loophole. As he did this he was thinking of Black Roger Audemard. And yet, almost as quickly as suspicion leaped into his mind, he told himself that the thing was impossible. It could not be Black Roger, or one of Black Roger's friends, behind the cedar log. The idea was inconceivable, when he considered how carefully the secret of his mission had been kept at the Landing. He had not even said goodby to his best friends. And because Black Roger had won through all the preceding years, Carrigan was stalking his prey out of uniform. There had been nothing to betray him. Besides, Black Roger Audemard must be at least a thousand miles north, unless something had tempted him to come up the rivers with the spring brigades. If he used logic at all, there was but one conclusion for him to arrive at. The man in ambush was some rascally half-breed who coveted his outfit and whatever valuables he might have about his person. A fourth smashing eruption among his comestibles and culinary possessions came to drive home the fact that even that analysis of the situation was absurd. Whoever was behind the rifle fire had small respect for the contents of his pack, and he was surely not in grievous need of a good gun or ammunition. A sticky mess of condensed cream was running over Carrigan's hand. He doubted if there was a whole tin in his kit. For a few moments he lay quietly on his face after the fourth shot. His eyes were turned toward the river, and on the far side, a quarter of a mile away, three canoes were moving swiftly up the slow current of the stream. The sunlight flashed on their wet sides. The gleam of dripping paddles was like the flutter of silvery birds' wings, and across the water came an unintelligible shout in response to the rifle shot. It occurred to David that he might make a trumpet of his hands and shout back, but the distance was too great for his voice to carry its message for help. Besides, now that he had the added protection of the pack, he felt a certain sense of humiliation at the thought of showing the white feather. A few minutes more, if all went well, and he would settle for the man behind the log. He continued again the slow operation of worming his rifle barrel between the pack and the rock. The near-sighted little sandpiper had discovered him and seemed interested in the operation. It had come a dozen feet nearer, and was perking its head and seesawing on its long legs as it watched with inquisitive inspection the unusual manifestation of life behind the rock. Its twittering note had changed to an occasional sharp and querulous cry. Carrigan wanted to wring its neck. That cry told the other fellow that he was still alive and moving. It seemed an age before his rifle was through, and every moment he expected another shot. He flattened himself out, Indian fashion, and sighted along the barrel. He was positive that his enemy was watching, yet he could make out nothing that looked like a head anywhere along the log. At one end was a clump of deeper foliage. He was sure he saw a sudden slight movement there, and in the thrill of the moment was tempted to send a bullet into the heart of it. But he saved his cartridge. He felt the mighty importance of certainty. If he fired once--and missed--the advantage of his unsuspected loophole would be gone. It would be transformed into a deadly menace. Even as it was, if his enemy's next bullet should enter that way-- He felt the discomfort of the thought, and in spite of himself a tremor of apprehension ran up his spine. He felt an even greater desire to wring the neck of the inquisitive little sandpiper. The creature had circled round squarely in front of him and stood there tilting its tail and bobbing its head as if its one insane desire was to look down the length of his rifle barrel. The bird was giving him away. If the other fellow was only half as clever as his marksmanship was good-- Suddenly every nerve in Carrigan's body tightened. He was positive that he had caught the outline of a human head and shoulders in the foliage. His finger pressed gently against the trigger of his Winchester. Before he breathed again he would have fired. But a shot from the foliage beat him out by the fraction of a second. In that precious time lost, his enemy's bullet entered the edge of his kit--and came through. He felt the shock of it, and in the infinitesimal space between the physical impact and the mental effect of shock his brain told him the horrible thing had happened. It was his head--his face. It was as if he had plunged them suddenly into hot water, and what was left of his skull was filled with the rushing and roaring of a flood. He staggered up, clutching his face with both hands. The world about him was twisted and black, a dizzily revolving thing--yet his still fighting mental vision pictured clearly for him a monstrous, bulging-eyed sandpiper as big as a house. Then he toppled back on the white sand, his arms flung out limply, his face turned to the ambush wherein his murderer lay. His body was clear of the rock and the pack, but there came no other shot from the thick clump of balsam. Nor, for a time, was there movement. The wood warbler was cheeping inquiringly at this sudden change in the deportment of his friend behind the shoulder of shale. The sandpiper, a bit startled, had gone back to the edge of the river and was running a race with himself along the wet sand. And the two quarrelsome jays had brought their family squabble to the edge of the timber. It was their wrangling that roused Carrigan to the fact that he was not dead. It was a thrilling discovery--that and the fact that he made out clearly a patch of sunlight in the sand. He did not move, but opened his eyes wider. He could see the timber. On a straight line with his vision was the thick clump of balsam. And as he looked, the boughs parted and a figure came out. Carrigan drew a deep breath. He found that it did not hurt him. He gripped the fingers of the hand that was under his body, and they closed on the butt of his service automatic. He would win yet, if God gave him life a few minutes longer. His enemy advanced. As he drew nearer, Carrigan closed his eyes more and more. They must be shut, and he must appear as if dead, when the other came up. Then, when the scoundrel put down his gun, as he naturally would--his chance would be at hand. If a quiver of his eyes betrayed him-- He closed them tight. Dizziness began to creep over him, and the fire in his brain grew hot again. He heard footsteps, and they stopped in the sand close beside him. Then he heard a human voice. It did not speak in words, but gave utterance to a strange and unnatural cry. With a mighty effort Carrigan assembled his last strength. It seemed to him that he brought himself up quickly, but his movement was slow, painful--the effort of a man who might be dying. The automatic hung limply in his hand, its muzzle pointing to the sand. He looked up, trying to swing into action that mighty weight of his weapon. And then from his own lips, even in his utter physical impotence, fell a cry of wonder and amazement. His enemy stood there in the sunlight, staring down at him with big, dark eyes that were filled with horror. They were not the eyes of a man. David Carrigan, in this most astounding moment of his life, found himself looking up into the face of a woman. III For a matter of twenty seconds--even longer it seemed to Carrigan--the life of these two was expressed in a vivid and unforgettable tableau. One half of it David saw--the blue sky, the dazzling sun, the girl in between. The pistol dropped from his limp hand, and the weight of his body tottered on the crook of his under-elbow. Mentally and physically he was on the point of collapse, and yet in those few moments every detail of the picture was painted with a brush of fire in his brain. The girl was bareheaded. Her face was as white as any face he had ever seen, living or dead; her eyes were like pools that had caught the reflection of fire; he saw the sheen of her hair, the poise of her slender body--its shock, stupefaction, horror. He sensed these things even as his brain wobbled dizzily, and the larger part of the picture began to fade out of his vision. But her face remained to the last. It grew clearer, like a cameo framed in an iris--a beautiful, staring, horrified face with shimmering tresses of jet-black hair blowing about it like a veil. He noticed the hair, that was partly undone as if she had been in a struggle of some sort, or had been running fast against the breeze that came up the river. He fought with himself to hold that picture of her, to utter some word, make some movement. But the power to see and to live died out of him. He sank back with a queer sound in his throat. He did not hear the answering cry from the girl as she flung herself, with a quick little prayer for help, on her knees in the soft, white sand beside him. He felt no movement when she raised his head in her arm and with her bare hand brushed back his sand-littered hair, revealing where the bullet had struck him. He did not know when she ran back to the river. His first sensation was of a cool and comforting something trickling over his burning temples and his face. It was water. Subconsciously he knew that, and in the same way he began to think. But it was hard to pull his thoughts together. They persisted in hopping about, like a lot of sand-fleas in a dance, and just as he got hold of one and reached for another, the first would slip away from him. He began to get the best of them after a time, and he had an uncontrollable desire to say something. But his eyes and his lips were sealed tight, and to open them, a little army of gnomes came out of the darkness in the back of his head, each of them armed with a lever, and began prying with all their might. After that came the beginning of light and a flash of consciousness. The girl was working over him. He could feel her and hear her movement. Water was trickling over his face. Then he heard a voice, close over him, saying something in a sobbing monotone which he could not understand. With a mighty effort he opened his eyes. "Thank LE BON DIEU, you live, m'sieu," he heard the voice say, as if coming from a long distance away. "You live, you live--" "Tryin' to," he mumbled thickly, feeling suddenly a sense of great elation. "Tryin'--" He wanted to curse the gnomes for deserting him, for as soon as they were gone with their levers, his eyes and his lips shut tight again, or at least he thought they did. But he began to sense things in a curious sort of way. Some one was dragging him. He could feel the grind of sand under his body. There were intervals when the dragging operation paused. And then, after a long time, he seemed to hear more than one voice. There were two--sometimes a murmur of them. And odd visions came to him. He seemed to see the girl with shining black hair and dark eyes, and then swiftly she would change into a girl with hair like blazing gold. This was a different girl. She was not like Pretty Eyes, as his twisted mind called the other. This second vision that he saw was like a radiant bit of the sun, her hair all aflame with the fire of it and her face a different sort of face. He was always glad when she went away and Pretty Eyes came back. To David Carrigan this interesting experience in his life might have covered an hour, a day, or a month. Or a year for that matter, for he seemed to have had an indefinite association with Pretty Eyes. He had known her for a long time and very intimately, it seemed. Yet he had no memory of the long fight in the hot sun, or of the river, or of the singing warblers, or of the inquisitive sandpiper that had marked out the line which his enemy's last bullet had traveled. He had entered into a new world in which everything was vague and unreal except that vision of dark hair, dark eyes, and pale, beautiful face. Several times he saw it with marvelous clearness, and each time he drifted away into darkness again with the sound of a voice growing fainter and fainter in his ears. Then came a time of utter chaos and soundless gloom. He was in a pit, where even his subconscious self was almost dead under a crushing oppression. At last a star began to glimmer in this pit, a star pale and indistinct and a vast distance away. But it crept steadily up through the eternity of darkness, and the nearer it came, the less there was of the blackness of night. From a star it grew into a sun, and with the sun came dawn. In that dawn he heard the singing of a bird, and the bird was just over his head. When Carrigan opened his eyes, and understanding came to him, he found himself under the silver birch that belonged to the wood warbler. For a space he did not ask himself how he had come there. He was looking at the river and the white strip of sand. Out there were the rock and his dunnage pack. Also his rifle. Instinctively his eyes turned to the balsam ambush farther down. That, too, was in a blaze of sunlight now. But where he lay, or sat, or stood--he was not sure what he was doing at that moment--it was shady and deliciously cool. The green of the cedar and spruce and balsam was close about him, inset with the silver and gold of the thickly-leaved birch. He discovered that he was bolstered up partly against the trunk of this birch and partly against a spruce sapling. Between these two, where his head rested, was a pile of soft moss freshly torn from the earth. And within reach of him was his own kit pail filled with water. He moved himself cautiously and raised a hand to his head. His fingers came in contact with a bandage. For a minute or two after that he sat without moving while his amazed senses seized upon the significance of it all. In the first place he was alive. But even this fact of living was less remarkable than the other things that had happened. He remembered the final moments of the unequal duel. His enemy had got him. And that enemy was a woman! Moreover, after she had blown away a part of his head and had him helpless in the sand, she had--in place of finishing him there--dragged him to this cool nook and tied up his wound. It was hard for him to believe, but the pail of water, the moss behind his shoulders, the bandage, and certain visions that were reforming themselves in his brain convinced him. A woman had shot him. She had worked like the very devil to kill him. And afterward she had saved him! He grinned. It was final proof that his mind hadn't been playing tricks on him. No one but a woman would have been quite so unreasonable. A man would have completed the job. He began to look for her up and down the white strip of sand. And in looking he saw the gray and silver flash of the hard-working sandpiper. He chuckled, for he was exceedingly comfortable, and also exhilaratingly happy to know that the thing was over and he was not dead. If the sandpiper had been a man, he would have called him up to shake hands with him. For if it hadn't been for the bird getting squarely in front of him and giving him away, there might have been a more horrible end to it all. He shuddered as he thought of the mighty effort he had made to fire a shot into the heart of the balsam ambush--and perhaps into the heart of a woman! He reached for the pail and drank deeply of the water in it. He felt no pain. His dizziness was gone. His mind had grown suddenly clear and alert. The warmth of the water told him almost instantly that it had been taken from the river some time ago. He observed the change in sun and shadows. With the instinct of a man trained to note details, he pulled out his watch. It was almost six o'clock. More than three hours had passed since the sandpiper had got in front of his gun. He did not attempt to rise to his feet, but scanned with slower and more careful scrutiny the edge of the forest and the river. He had been mystified while cringing for his life behind the rock, but he was infinitely more so now. Greater desire he had never had than this which thrilled him in these present minutes of his readjustment--desire to look upon the woman again. And then, all at once, there came back to him a mental flash of the other. He remembered, as if something was coming back to him out of a dream, how the whimsical twistings of his sick brain had made him see two faces instead of one. Yet he knew that the first picture of his mysterious assailant, the picture painted in his brain when he had tried to raise his pistol, was the right one. He had seen her dark eyes aglow; he had seen the sunlit sheen of her black hair rippling in the wind; he had seen the white pallor in her face, the slimness of her as she stood over him in horror--he remembered even the clutch of her white hand at her throat. A moment before she had tried to kill him. And then he had looked up and had seen her like that! It must have been some unaccountable trick in his brain that had flooded her hair with golden fire at times. His eyes followed a furrow in the white sand which led from where he sat bolstered against the tree down to his pack and the rock. It was the trail made by his body when she had dragged him up to the shelter and coolness of the timber. One of his laws of physical care was to keep himself trained down to a hundred and sixty, but he wondered how she had dragged up even so much as that of dead weight. It had taken a great deal of effort. He could see distinctly three different places in the sand where she had stopped to rest. Carrigan had earned a reputation as the expert analyst of "N" Division. In delicate matters it was seldom that McVane did not take him into consultation. He possessed an almost uncanny grip on the working processes of a criminal mind, and the first rule he had set down for himself was to regard the acts of omission rather than the one outstanding act of commission. But when he proved to himself that the chief actor in a drama possessed a normal rather than a criminal mind, he found himself in the position of checkmate. It was a thrilling game. And he was frankly puzzled now, until--one after another--he added up the sum total of what had been omitted in this instance of his own personal adventure. Hidden in her ambush, the woman who had shot him had been in both purpose and act an assassin. Her determination had been to kill him. She had disregarded the white flag with which he had pleaded for mercy. Her marksmanship was of fiendish cleverness. Up to her last shot she had been, to all intent and purpose, a murderess. The change had come when she looked down upon him, bleeding and helpless, in the sand. Undoubtedly she had thought he was dying. But why, when she saw his eyes open a little later, had she cried out her gratitude to God? What had worked the sudden transformation in her? Why had she labored to save the life she had so atrociously coveted a minute before? If his assailant had been a man, Carrigan would have found an answer. For he was not robbed, and therefore robbery was not a motif. "A case of mistaken identity," he would have told himself. "An error in visual judgment." But the fact that in his analysis he was dealing with a woman made his answer only partly satisfying. He could not disassociate himself from her eyes--their beauty, their horror, the way they had looked at him. It was as if a sudden revulsion had come over her; as if, looking down upon her bleeding handiwork, the woman's soul in her had revolted, and with that revulsion had come repentance--repentance and pity. "That," thought Carrigan, "would be just like a woman--and especially a woman with eyes like hers." This left him but two conclusions to choose from. Either there had been a mistake, and the woman had shown both horror and desire to amend when she discovered it, or a too tender-hearted agent of Black Roger Audemard had waylaid him in the heart of the white strip of sand. The sun was another hour lower in the sky when Carrigan assured himself in a series of cautious experiments that he was not in a condition to stand upon his feet. In his pack were a number of things he wanted--his blankets, for instance, a steel mirror, and the thermometer in his medical kit. He was beginning to feel a bit anxious about himself. There were sharp pains back of his eyes. His face was hot, and he was developing an unhealthy appetite for water. It was fever and he knew what fever meant in this sort of thing, when one was alone. He had given up hope of the woman's return. It was not reasonable to expect her to come back after her furious attempt to kill him. She had bandaged him, bolstered him up, placed water beside him, and had then left him to work out the rest of his salvation alone. But why the deuce hadn't she brought up his pack? On his hands and knees he began to work himself toward it slowly. He found that the movement caused him pain, and that with this pain, if he persisted in movement, there was a synchronous rise of nausea. The two seemed to work in a sort of unity. But his medicine case was important now, and his blankets, and his rifle if he hoped to signal help that might chance to pass on the river. A foot at a time, a yard at a time, he made his way down into the sand. His fingers dug into the footprints of the mysterious gun-woman. He approved of their size. They were small and narrow, scarcely longer than the palm and fingers of his hand--and they were made by shoes instead of moccasins. It seemed an interminable time to him before he reached his pack. When he got there, a pendulum seemed swinging back and forth inside his head, beating against his skull. He lay down with his pack for a pillow, intending to rest for a spell. But the minutes added themselves one on top of another. The sun slipped behind clouds banking in the west. It grew cooler, while within him he was consumed by a burning thirst. He could hear the ripple of running water, the laughter of it among pebbles a few yards away. And the river itself became even more desirable than his medicine case, or his blankets, or his rifle. The song of it, inviting and tempting him, blotted thought of the other things out of his mind. And he continued his journey, the swing of the pendulum in his head becoming harder, but the sound of the river growing nearer. At last he came to the wet sand, and fell on his face, and drank. After this he had no great desire to go back. He rolled himself over, so that his face was turned up to the sky. Under him the wet sand was soft, and it was comfortingly cool. The fire in his head died out. He could hear new sounds in the edge of the forest evening sounds. Only weak little twitters came from the wood warblers, driven to silence by thickening gloom in the densely canopied balsams and cedars, and frightened by the first low hoots of the owls. There was a crash not far distant, probably a porcupine waddling through brush on his way for a drink; or perhaps it was a thirsty deer, or a bear coming out in the hope of finding a dead fish. Carrigan loved that sort of sound, even when a pendulum was beating back and forth in his head. It was like medicine to him, and he lay with wide-open eyes, his ears picking up one after another the voices that marked the change from day to night. He heard the cry of a loon, its softer, chuckling note of honeymoon days. From across the river came a cry that was half howl, half bark. Carrigan knew that it was coyote, and not wolf, a coyote whose breed had wandered hundreds of miles north of the prairie country. The gloom gathered in, and yet it was not darkness as the darkness of night is known a thousand miles south. It was the dusky twilight of day where the sun rises at three o'clock in the morning and still throws its ruddy light in the western sky at nine o'clock at night; where the poplar buds unfold themselves into leaf before one's very eyes; where strawberries are green in the morning and red in the afternoon; where, a little later, one could read newspaper print until midnight by the glow of the sun--and between the rising and the setting of that sun there would be from eighteen to twenty hours of day. It was evening time in the wonderland of the north, a wonderland hard and frozen and ridden by pain and death in winter, but a paradise upon earth in this month of June. The beauty of it filled Carrigan's soul, even as he lay on his back in the damp sand. Far south of him steam and steel were coming, and the world would soon know that it was easy to grow wheat at the Arctic Circle, that cucumbers grew to half the size of a man's arm, that flowers smothered the land and berries turned it scarlet and black. He had dreaded these days--days of what he called "the great discovery"--the time when a crowded civilization would at last understand how the fruits of the earth leaped up to the call of twenty hours of sun each day, even though that earth itself was eternally frozen if one went down under its surface four feet with a pick and shovel. Tonight the gloom came earlier because of the clouds in the west. It was very still. Even the breeze had ceased to come from up the river. And as Carrigan listened, exulting in the thought that the coolness of the wet sand was drawing the fever from him, he heard another sound. At first he thought it was the splashing of a fish. But after that it came again, and still again, and he knew that it was the steady and rhythmic dip of paddles. A thrill shot through him, and he raised himself to his elbow. Dusk covered the river, and he could not see. But he heard low voices as the paddles dipped. And after a little he knew that one of these was the voice of a woman. His heart gave a big jump. "She is coming back," he whispered to himself. "She is coming back!" IV Carrigan's first impulse, sudden as the thrill that leaped through him, was to cry out to the occupants of the unseen canoe. Words were on his lips, but he forced them back. They could not miss him, could not get beyond the reach of his voice--and he waited. After all, there might be profit in a reasonable degree of caution. He crept back toward his rifle, sensing the fact that movement no longer gave him very great distress. At the same time he lost no sound from the river. The voices were silent, and the dip, dip, dip of paddles was approaching softly and with extreme caution. At last he could barely hear the trickle of them, yet he knew the canoe was coming steadily nearer. There was a suspicious secretiveness in its approach. Perhaps the lady with the beautiful eyes and the glistening hair had changed her mind again and was returning to put an end to him. The thought sharpened his vision. He saw a thin shadow a little darker than the gloom of the river; it grew into shape; something grated lightly upon sand and pebbles, and then he heard the guarded plash of feet in shallow water and saw some one pulling the canoe up higher. A second figure joined the first. They advanced a few paces and stopped. In a moment a voice called softly, "M'sieu! M'sieu Carrigan!" There was an anxious note in the voice, but Carrigan held his tongue. And then he heard the woman say, "It was here, Bateese! I am sure of it!" There was more than anxiety in her voice now. Her words trembled with distress. "Bateese--if he is dead--he is up there close to the trees." "But he isn't dead," said Carrigan, raising himself a little. "He is here, behind the rock again!" In a moment she had run to where he was lying, his hand clutching the cold barrel of the pistol which he had found in the sand, his white face looking up at her. Again he found himself staring into the glow of her eyes, and in that pale light which precedes the coming of stars and moon the fancy struck him that she was lovelier than in the full radiance of the sun. He heard a throbbing note in her throat. And then she was down on her knees at his side, leaning close over him, her hands groping at his shoulders, her quick breath betraying how swiftly her heart was beating. "You are not hurt--badly?" she cried. "I don't know," replied David. "You made a perfect shot. I think a part of my head is gone. At least you've shot away my balance, because I can't stand on my feet!" Her hand touched his face, remaining there for an instant, and the palm of it pressed his forehead. It was like the touch of cool velvet, he thought. Then she called to the man named Bateese. He made Carrigan think of a huge chimpanzee as he came near, because of the shortness of his body and the length of his arms. In the half light he might have been a huge animal, a hulking creature of some sort walking upright. Carrigan's fingers closed more tightly on the butt of his automatic. The woman began to talk swiftly in a patois of French and Cree. David caught the gist of it. She was telling Bateese to carry him to the canoe, and to be very careful, because m'sieu was badly hurt. It was his head, she emphasized. Bateese must be careful of his head. David slipped his pistol into its holster as Bateese bent over him. He tried to smile at the woman to thank her for her solicitude--after having nearly killed him. There was an increasing glow in the night, and he began to see her more plainly. Out on the middle of the river was a silvery bar of light. The moon was coming up, a little pale as yet, but triumphant in the fact that clouds had blotted out the sun an hour before his time. Between this bar of light and himself he saw the head of Bateese. It was a wild, savage-looking head, bound pirate-fashion round the forehead with a huge Hudson's Bay kerchief. Bateese might have been old Jack Ketch himself bending over to give the final twist to a victim's neck. His long arms slipped under David. Gently and without effort he raised him to his feet. And then, as easily as he might have lifted a child, he trundled him up in his arms and walked off with him over the sand. Carrigan had not expected this. He was a little shocked and felt also the impropriety of the thing. The idea of being lugged off like a baby was embarrassing, even in the presence of the one who had deliberately put him in his present condition. Bateese did the thing with such beastly ease. It was as if he was no more than a small boy, a runt with no weight whatever, and Bateese was a man. He would have preferred to stagger along on his own feet or creep on his hands and knees, and he grunted as much to Bateese on the way to the canoe. He felt, at the same time, that the situation owed him something more of discussion and explanation. Even now, after half killing him, the woman was taking a rather high-handed advantage of him. She might at least have assured him that she had made a mistake and was sorry. But she did not speak to him again. She said nothing more to Bateese, and when the half-breed deposited him in the midship part of the canoe, facing the bow, she stood back in silence. Then Bateese brought his pack and rifle, and wedged the pack in behind him so that he could sit upright. After that, without pausing to ask permission, he picked up the woman and carried her through the shallow water to the bow, saving her the wetting of her feet. As she turned to find her paddle her face was toward David, and for a moment she was looking at him. "Do you mind telling me who you are, and where we are going?" he asked. "I am Jeanne Marie-Anne Boulain," she said. "My brigade is down the river, M'sieu Carrigan." He was amazed at the promptness of her confession, for as one of the working factors of the long arm of the police he accepted it as that. He had scarcely expected her to divulge her name after the cold-blooded way in which she had attempted to kill him. And she had spoken quite calmly of "my brigade." He had heard of the Boulain Brigade. It was a name associated with Chipewyan, as he remembered it--or Fort McMurray. He was not sure just where the Boulain scows had traded freight with the upper-river craft. Until this year he was positive they had not come as far south as Athabasca Landing. Boulain--Boulain--The name repeated itself over and over in his mind. Bateese shoved off the canoe, and the woman's paddle dipped in and out of the water beginning to shimmer in moonlight. But he could not, for a time, get himself beyond the pounding of that name in his brain. It was not merely that he had heard the name before. There was something significant about it. Something that made him grope back in his memory of things. Boulain! He whispered it to himself, his eyes on the slender figure of the woman ahead of him, swaying gently to the steady sweep of the paddle in her hands. Yet he could think of nothing. A feeling of irritation swept over him, disgust at his own mental impotency. And the dizzying sickness was brewing in his head again. "I have heard that name--somewhere--before," he said. There was a space of only five or six feet between them, and he spoke with studied distinctness. "Possibly you have, m'sieu." Her voice was exquisite, clear as the note of a bird, yet so soft and low that she seemed scarcely to have spoken. And it was, Carrigan thought, criminally evasive--under the circumstances. He wanted her to turn round and say something. He wanted, first of all, to ask her why she had tried to kill him. It was his right to demand an explanation. And it was his duty to get her back to the Landing, where the law would ask an accounting of her. She must know that. There was only one way in which she could have learned his name, and that was by prying into his identification papers while he was unconscious. Therefore she not only knew his name, but also that he was Sergeant Carrigan of the Royal Northwest Mounted Police. In spite of all this she was apparently not very deeply concerned. She was not frightened, and she did not appear to be even slightly excited. He leaned nearer to her, the movement sending a sharp pain between his eyes. It almost drew a cry from him, but he forced himself to speak without betraying it. "You tried to murder me--and almost succeeded. Haven't you anything to say?" "Not now, m'sieu--except that it was a mistake, and I am sorry. But you must not talk. You must remain quiet. I am afraid your skull is fractured." Afraid his skull was fractured! And she expressed her fear in the casual way she might have spoken of a toothache. He leaned back against his dunnage sack and closed his eyes. Probably she was right. These fits of dizziness and nausea were suspicious. They made him top-heavy and filled him with a desire to crumple up somewhere. He was clear-mindedly conscious of this and of his fight against the weakness. But in those moments when he felt better and his head was clear of pain, he had not seriously thought of a fractured skull. If she believed it, why did she not treat him a bit more considerately? Bateese, with that strength of an ox in his arms, had no use for her assistance with the paddle. She might at least have sat facing him, even if she refused to explain matters more definitely. A mistake, she called it. And she was sorry for him! She had made those statements in a matter-of-fact way, but with a voice that was like music. She had spoken perfect English, but in her words were the inflection and velvety softness of the French blood which must be running red in her veins. And her name was Jeanne Marie-Anne Boulain! With eyes closed, Carrigan called himself an idiot for thinking of these things at the present time. Primarily he was a man-hunter out on important duty, and here was duty right at hand, a thousand miles south of Black Roger Audemard, the wholesale murderer he was after. He would have sworn on his life that Black Roger had never gone at a killing more deliberately than this same Jeanne Marie-Anne Boulain had gone after him behind the rock! Now that it was all over, and he was alive, she was taking him somewhere as coolly and as unexcitedly as though they were returning from a picnic. Carrigan shut his eyes tighter and wondered if he was thinking straight. He believed he was badly hurt, but he was as strongly convinced that his mind was clear. And he lay quietly with his head against the pack, his eyes closed, waiting for the coolness of the river to drive his nausea away again. He sensed rather than felt the swift movement of the canoe. There was no perceptible tremor to its progress. The current and a perfect craftsmanship with the paddles were carrying it along at six or seven miles an hour. He heard the rippling of water that at times was almost like the tinkling of tiny bells, and more and more bell-like became that sound as he listened to it. It struck a certain note for him. And to that note another added itself, until in the purling rhythm of the river he caught the murmuring monotone of a name Boulain--Boulain--Boulain. The name became an obsession. It meant something. And he knew what it meant--if he could only whip his memory back into harness again. But that was impossible now. When he tried to concentrate his mental faculties, his head ached terrifically. He dipped his hand into the water and held it over his eyes. For half an hour after that he did not raise his head. In that time not a word was spoken by Bateese or Jeanne Marie-Anne Boulain. For the forest people it was not an hour in which to talk. The moon had risen swiftly, and the stars were out. Where there had been gloom, the world was now a flood of gold and silver light. At first Carrigan allowed this to filter between his fingers; then he opened his eyes. He felt more evenly balanced again. Straight in front of him was Jeanne Marie-Anne Boulain. The curtain of dusk had risen from between them, and she was full in the radiance of the moon. She was no longer paddling, but was looking straight ahead. To Cardigan her figure was exquisitely girlish as he saw it now. She was bareheaded, as he had seen tier first, and her hair hung down her back like a shimmering mass of velvety sable in the star-and-moon glow. Something told Carrigan she was going to turn her face in his direction, and he dropped his hand over his eyes again, leaving a space between the fingers. He was right in his guess. She fronted the moon, looking at him closely--rather anxiously, he thought. She even leaned a little toward him that she might see more clearly. Then she turned and resumed her paddling. Carrigan was a bit elated. Probably she had looked at him a number of times like that during the past half-hour. And she was disturbed. She was worrying about him. The thought of being a murderess was beginning to frighten her. In spite of the beauty of her eyes and hair and the slim witchery of her body he had no sympathy for her. He told himself that he would give a year of his life to have her down at Barracks this minute. He would never forget that three-quarters of an hour behind the rock, not if he lived to be a hundred. And if he did live, she was going to pay, even if she was lovelier than Venus and all the Graces combined. He felt irritated with himself that he should have observed in such a silly way the sable glow of her hair in the moonlight. And her eyes. What the deuce did prettiness matter in the present situation? The sister of Fanchet, the mail robber, was beautiful, but her beauty had failed to save Fanchet. The Law had taken him in spite of the tears in Carmin Fanchet's big black eyes, and in that particular instance he was the Law. And Carmin Fanchet was pretty--deucedly pretty. Even the Old Man's heart had been stirred by her loveliness. "A shame!" he had said to Carrigan. "A shame!" But the rascally Fanchet was hung by the neck until he was dead. Carrigan drew himself up slowly until he was sitting erect. He wondered what Jeanne Marie-Anne Boulain would say if he told her about Carmin. But there was a big gulf between the names Fanchet and Boulain. The Fanchets had come from the dance halls of Alaska. They were bad, both of them. At least, so they had judged Carmin Fanchet--along with her brother. And Boulain-- His hand, in dropping to his side, fell upon the butt of his pistol. Neither Bateese nor the girl had thought of disarming him. It was careless of them, unless Bateese was keeping a good eye on him from behind. A new sort of thrill crept into Carrigan's blood. He began to see where he had made a huge error in not playing his part more cleverly. It was this girl Jeanne who had shot him. It was Jeanne who had stood over him in that last moment when he had made an effort to use his pistol. It was she who had tried to murder him and who had turned faint-hearted when it came to finishing the job. But his knowledge of these things he should have kept from her. Then, when the proper moment came, he would have been in a position to act. Even now it might be possible to cover his blunder. He leaned toward her again, determined to make the effort. "I want to ask your pardon," he said. "May I?" His voice startled her. It was as if the stinging tip of a whip-lash had touched her bare neck. He was smiling when she turned. In her face and eyes was a relief which she made no effort to repress. "You thought I might be dead," he laughed softly. "I'm not, Miss Jeanne. I'm very much alive again. It was that accursed fever--and I want to ask your pardon! I think--I know--that I accused you of shooting me. It's impossible. I couldn't think of it--In my clear mind. I am quite sure that I know the rascally half-breed who pot-shotted me like that. And it was you who came in time, and frightened him away, and saved my life. Will you forgive me--and accept my gratitude?" There came into the glowing eyes of the girl a reflection of his own smile. It seemed to him that he saw the corners of her mouth tremble a little before she answered him. "I am glad you are feeling better, m'sieu." "And you will forgive me for--for saying such beastly things to you?" She was lovely when she smiled, and she was smiling at him now. "If you want to be forgiven for lying, yes," she said. "I forgive you that, because it is sometimes your business to lie. It was I who tried to kill you, m'sieu. And you know it." "But--" "You must not talk, m'sieu. It is not good for you: Bateese, will you tell m'sieu not to talk?" Carrigan heard a movement behind him. "M'sieu, you will stop ze talk or I brak hees head wit' ze paddle in my han'!" came the voice of Bateese close to his shoulder. "Do I mak' ze word plain so m'sieu compren'?" "I get you, old man," grunted Carrigan. "I get you--both!" And he leaned back against his dunnage-sack, staring again at the witching slimness of the lovely Jeanne Marie-Anne Boulain as she calmly resumed her paddling in the bow of the canoe. V In the few minutes following the efficient and unexpected warning of Bateese an entirely new element of interest entered into the situation for David Carrigan. He had more than once assured himself that he had made a success of his profession of man-hunting not because he was brighter than the other fellow, but largely because he possessed a sense of humor and no vanities to prick. He was in the game because he loved the adventure of it. He was loyal to his duty, but he was not a worshipper of the law, nor did he covet the small monthly stipend of dollars and cents that came of his allegiance to it. As a member of the Scarlet Police, and especially of "N" Division, he felt the pulse and thrill of life as he loved to live it. And the greatest of all thrills came when he was after a man as clever as himself, or cleverer. This time it was a woman--or a girl! He had not yet made up his mind which she was. Her voice, low and musical, her poise, and the tranquil and unexcitable loveliness of her face had made him, at first, register her as a woman. Yet as he looked at the slim girlishness of her figure in the bow of the canoe, accentuated by the soft sheen of her partly unbraided hair, he wondered if she were eighteen or thirty. It would take the clear light of day to tell him. But whether a girl or a woman, she had handled him so cleverly that the unpleasantness of his earlier experience began to give way slowly to an admiration for her capability. He wondered what the superintendent of "N" Division would say if he could see Black Roger Audemard's latest trailer propped up here in the center of the canoe, the prisoner of a velvety-haired but dangerously efficient bit of feminine loveliness--and a bull-necked, chimpanzee-armed half-breed! Bateese had confirmed the suspicion that he was a prisoner, even though this mysterious pair were bent on saving his life. Why it was their desire to keep life in him when only a few hours ago one of them had tried to kill him was a. question which only the future could answer. He did not bother himself with that problem now. The present was altogether too interesting, and there was but little doubt that other developments equally important were close at hand. The attitude of both Jeanne Marie-Anne Boulain and her piratical-looking henchman was sufficient evidence of that. Bateese had threatened to knock his head off, and he could have sworn that the girl--or woman--had smiled her approbation of the threat. Yet he held no grudge against Bateese. An odd sort of liking for the man began to possess him, just as he found himself powerless to resist an ingrowing admiration for Marie-Anne. The existence of Black Roger Audemard became with him a sort of indefinite reality. Black Roger was a long way off. Marie-Anne and Bateese were very near. He began thinking of her as Marie-Anne. He liked the name. It was the Boulain part of it that worked in him with an irritating insistence. For the first time since the canoe journey had begun, he looked beyond the darkly glowing head and the slender figure in the bow. It was a splendid night. Ahead of him the river was like a rippling sheet of molten silver. On both sides, a quarter of a mile apart, rose the walls of the forest, like low-hung, oriental tapestries. The sky seemed near, loaded with stars, and the moon, rising with almost perceptible movement toward the zenith, had changed from red to a mellow gold. Carrigan's soul always rose to this glory of the northern light. Youth and vigor, he told himself, must always exist under those unpolluted lights of the upper worlds, the unspeaking things which had told him more than he had ever learned from the mouths of other men. They stood for his religion, his faith, his belief in the existence of things greater than the insignificant spark which animated his own body. He appreciated them most when there was stillness. And tonight it was still. It was so quiet that the trickling of the paddles was like subdued music. From the forest there came no sound. Yet he knew there was life there, wide-eyed, questing life, life that moved on velvety wing and padded foot, just as he and Marie-Anne and the half-breed Bateese were moving in the canoe. To have called out in this hour would have taken an effort, for a supreme and invisible Hand seemed to have commanded stillness upon the earth. And then there came droning upon his ears a break in the stillness, and as he listened, the shores closed slowly in, narrowing the channel until he saw giant masses of gray rock replacing the thick verdure of balsam, spruce, and cedar. The moaning grew louder, and the rocks climbed skyward until they hung in great cliffs. There could be but one meaning to this sudden change. They were close to LE SAINT-ESPRIT RAPIDE--the Holy Ghost Rapids. Carrigan was astonished. That day at noon he had believed the Holy Ghost to be twenty or thirty miles below him. Now they were at its mouth, and he saw that Bateese and Jeanne Marie-Anne Boulain were quietly and unexcitedly preparing to run that vicious stretch of water. Unconsciously he gripped the gunwales of the canoe with both hands as the sound of the rapids grew into low and sullen thunder. In the moonlight ahead he could see the rock walls closing in until the channel was crushed between two precipitous ramparts, and the moon and stars, sending their glow between those walls, lighted up a frothing path of water that made Carrigan hold his breath. He would have portaged this place even in broad day. He looked at the girl in the bow. The slender figure Was a little more erect, the glowing head held a little higher. In those moments he would have liked to see her face, the wonderful something that must be in her eyes as she rode fearlessly into the teeth of the menace ahead. For he could see that she was not afraid, that she was facing this thing with a sort of exultation, that there was something about it which thrilled her until every drop of blood in her body was racing with the impetus of the stream itself. Eddies of wind puffing out from between the chasm walls tossed her loose hair about her back in a glistening veil. He saw a long strand of it trailing over the edge of the canoe into the water. It made him shiver, and he wanted to cry out to Bateese that he was a fool for risking her life like this. He forgot that he was the one helpless individual in the canoe, and that an upset would mean the end for him, while Bateese and his companion might still fight on. His thought and his vision were focused on the girl--and what lay straight ahead. A mass of froth, like a windrow of snow, rose up before them, and the canoe plunged into it with the swiftness of a shot. It spattered in his face, and blinded him for an instant. Then they were out of it, and he fancied he heard a note of laughter from the girl in the bow. In the next breath he called himself a fool for imagining that. For the run was dead ahead, and the girl became vibrant with life, her paddle flashing in and out, while from her lips came sharp, clear cries which brought from Eateese frog-like bellows of response. The walls shot past; inundations rose and plunged under them; black rocks whipped with caps of foam raced up-stream with the speed of living things; the roar became a drowning voice, and then--as if outreached by the wings of a swifter thing--dropped suddenly behind them. Smoother water lay ahead. The channel broadened. Moonlight filled it with a clearer radiance, and Carrigan saw the girl's hair glistening wet, and her arms dripping. For the first time he turned about and faced Bateese. The half-breed was grinning like a Cheshire cat! "You're a confoundedly queer pair!" grunted Carrigan, and he turned about again to find Jeanne Marie-Anne Boulain as unconcerned as though running the Holy Ghost Rapids in the glow of the moon was nothing more than a matter of play. It was impossible for him to keep his heart from beating a little faster as he watched her, even though he was trying to regard her in a most professional sort of way. He reminded himself that she was an iniquitous little Jezebel who had almost murdered him. Carmin Fanchet had been like her, an AME DAMNEE--a fallen angel--but his business was not sympathy in such matters as these. At the same time he could not resist the lure of both her audacity and her courage, and he found himself all at once asking himself the amazing question as to what her relationship might be to Bateese. It occurred to him rather unpleasantly that there had been something distinctly proprietary in the way the half-breed had picked her up on the sand, and that Bateese had shown no hesitation a little later in threatening to knock his head off unless he stopped talking to her. He wondered if Bateese was a Boulain. The two or three minutes of excitement in the boiling waters of the Holy Ghost had acted like medicine on Carrigan. It seemed to him that something had given way in his head, relieving him of an oppression that had been like an iron hoop drawn tightly about his skull. He did not want Bateese to suspect this change in him, and he slouched lower against the dunnage-pack with his eyes still on the girl. He was finding it increasingly difficult to keep from looking at her. She had resumed her paddling, and Bateese was putting mighty efforts in his strokes now, so that the narrow, birchbark canoe shot like an arrow with the down-sweeping current of the river. A few hundred yards below was a twist in the channel, and as the canoe rounded this, taking the shoreward curve with dizzying swiftness, a wide, still straight-water lay ahead. And far down this Carrigan saw the glow of fires. The forest had drawn back from the river, leaving in its place a broken tundra of rock and shale and a wide strip of black sand along the edge of the stream itself. Carrigan knew what it was--an upheaval of the tar-sand country so common still farther north, the beginning of that treasure of the earth which would some day make the top of the American continent one of the Eldorados of the world. The fires drew nearer, and suddenly the still night was broken by the wild chanting of men. David heard behind him a choking note in the throat of Bateese. A soft word came from the lips of the girl, and it seemed to Carrigan that her head was held higher in the moon glow. The chant increased in volume, a rhythmic, throbbing, savage music that for a hundred and fifty years had come from the throats of men along the Three Rivers. It thrilled Carrigan as they bore down upon it. It was not song as civilization would have counted song. It was like an explosion, an exultation of human voice unchained, ebullient with the love of life, savage in its good-humor. It was LE GAITE DE COEUR of the rivermen, who thought and sang as their forefathers did in the days of Radisson and good Prince Rupert; it was their merriment, their exhilaration, their freedom and optimism, reaching up to the farthest stars. In that song men were straining their vocal muscles, shouting to beat out their nearest neighbor, bellowing like bulls in a frenzy of sudden fun. And then, as suddenly as it had risen in the night, the clamor of voices died away. A single shout came up the river. Carrigan thought he heard a low rumble of laughter. A tin pan banged against another. A dog howled. The flat of an oar played a tattoo for a moment on the bottom of a boat. Then one last yell from a single throat--and the night was silent again. And that was the Boulain Brigade--singing at this hour of the night, when men should have been sleeping if they expected to be up with the sun. Carrigan stared ahead. Shortly his adventure would take a new twist. Something was bound to happen when they got ashore. The peculiar glow of the fires had puzzled him. Now he began to understand. Jeanne Marie-Anne Boulain's men were camped in the edge of the tar-sands and had lighted a number of natural gas-jets that came up out of the earth. Many times he had seen fires like these burning up and down the Three Rivers. He had lighted fires of his own; he had cooked over them and had afterward had the fun and excitement of extinguishing them with pails of water. But he had never seen anything quite like this that was unfolding itself before his eyes now. There were seven of the fires over an area of half an acre--spouts of yellowish flame burning like giant torches ten or fifteen feet in the air. And between them he very soon made out great bustle and activity. Many figures were moving about. They looked like dwarfs at first, gnomes at play in a little world made out of witchcraft. But Bateese was sending the canoe nearer with powerful strokes, and the figures grew taller, and the spouts of flame higher. Then he knew what was happening. The Boulain men were taking advantage of the cool hours of the night and were tarring up. He could smell the tar, and he could see the big York boats drawn up in the circle of yellowish light. There were half a dozen of them, and men stripped to the waist were smearing the bottoms of the boats with boiling tar and pitch. In the center was a big, black cauldron steaming over a gas-jet, and between this cauldron and the boats men were running back and forth with pails. Still nearer to the huge kettle other men were filling a row of kegs with the precious black GOUDRON that oozed up from the bowels of the earth, forming here and there jet-black pools that Carrigan could see glistening in the flare of the gas-lamps. He figured there were thirty men at work. Six big York boats were turned keel up in the black sand. Close inshore, just outside the circle of light, was a single scow. Toward this scow Bateese sent the canoe. And as they drew nearer, until the laboring men ashore were scarcely a stone's throw away, the weirdness of the scene impressed itself more upon Carrigan. Never had he seen such a crew. There were no Indians among them. Lithe, quick-moving, bare-headed, their naked arms and shoulders gleaming in the ghostly illumination, they were racing against time with the boiling tar and pitch in the cauldron. They did not see the approach of the canoe, and Bateese did not draw their attention to it. Quietly he drove the birchbark under the shadow of the big bateau. Hands were waiting to seize and steady it. Carrigan caught but a glimpse of the faces. In another instant the girl was aboard the scow, and Bateese was bending over him. A second time he was picked up like a child in the chimpanzee-like arms of the half-breed. The moonlight showed him a scow bigger than he had ever seen on the upper river, and two-thirds of it seemed to be cabin. Into this cabin Bateese carried him, and in darkness laid him upon what Carrigan thought must be a cot built against the wall. He made no sound, but let himself fall limply upon it. He listened to Bateese as he moved about, and closed his eyes when Bateese struck a match. A moment later he heard the door of the cabin close behind the half-breed. Not until then did he open his eyes and sit up. He was alone. And what he saw in the next few moments drew an exclamation of amazement from him. Never had he seen a cabin like this on the Three Rivers. It was thirty feet long if an inch, and at least eight feet wide. The walls and ceiling were of polished cedar; the floor was of cedar closely matched. It was the exquisite finish and craftsmanship of the woodwork that caught his eyes first. Then his astonished senses seized upon the other things. Under his feet was a soft rug of dark green velvet. Two magnificent white bearskins lay between him and the end of the room. The walls were hung with pictures, and at the four windows were curtains of ivory lace draped with damask. The lamp which Bateese had lighted was fastened to the wall close to him. It was of polished silver and threw a brilliant light softened by a shade of old gold. There were three other lamps like this, unlighted. The far end of the room was in deep shadow, but Carrigan made out the thing he was staring at--a piano. He rose to his feet, disbelieving his eyes, and made his way toward it. He passed between chairs. Near the piano was another door, and a wide divan of the same soft, green upholstery. Looking back, he saw that what he had been lying upon was another divan. And dose to this were book-shelves, and a table on which were magazines and papers and a woman's workbasket, and in the workbasket--sound asleep--a cat! And then, over the table and the sleeping cat, his eyes rested upon a triangular banner fastened to the wall. In white against a background of black was a mighty polar bear holding at bay a horde of Arctic wolves. And suddenly the thing he had been fighting to recall came to Carrigan--the great bear--the fighting wolves--the crest of St. Pierre Boulain! He took a quick step toward the table--then caught at the back of a chair. Confound his head! Or was it the big bateau rocking under his feet? The cat seemed to be turning round in its basket. There were half a dozen banners instead of one; the lamp was shaking in its bracket; the floor was tilting, everything was becoming hideously contorted and out of place. A shroud of darkness gathered about him, and through that darkness Carrigan staggered blindly toward the divan. He reached it just in time to fall upon it like a dead man. VI For what seemed to be an interminable time after the final breakdown of his physical strength David Carrigan lived in a black world where a horde of unseen little devils were shooting red-hot arrows into his brain. He did not sense the fact of human presence; nor that the divan had been changed into a bed and the four lamps lighted, and that wrinkled, brown hands with talon-like fingers were performing a miracle of wilderness surgery upon him. He did not see the age-old face of Nepapinas--"The Wandering Bolt of Lightning"--as the bent and tottering Cree called upon all his eighty years of experience to bring him back to life. And he did not see Bateese, stolid-faced, silent, nor the dead-white face and wide-open, staring eyes of Jeanne Marie-Anne Boulain as her slim, white fingers worked with the old medicine man's. He was in a gulf of blackness that writhed with the spirits of torment. He fought them and cried out against them, and his fighting and his cries brought the look of death itself into the eyes of the girl who was over him. He did not hear her voice nor feel the soothing of her hands, nor the powerful grip of Bateese as he held him when the critical moments came. And Nepapinas, like a machine that had looked upon death a thousand times, gave no rest to his claw-like fingers until the work was done--and it was then that something came to drive the arrow-shooting devils out of the darkness that was smothering Carrigan. After that Carrigan lived through an eternity of unrest, a life in which he seemed powerless and yet was always struggling for supremacy over things that were holding him down. There were lapses in it, like the hours of oblivion that come with sleep, and there were other times when he seemed keenly alive, yet unable to move or act. The darkness gave way to flashes of light, and in these flashes he began to see things, curiously twisted, fleeting, and yet fighting themselves insistently upon his senses. He was back in the hot sand again, and this time he heard the voices of Jeanne Marie-Anne and Golden-Hair, and Golden-Hair flaunted a banner in his face, a triangular pennon of black on which a huge bear was fighting white Arctic wolves, and then she would run away from him, crying out--"St. Pierre Boulain--St. Pierre Boulain--" and the last he could see of her was her hair flaming like fire in the sun. But it was always the other--the dark hair and dark eyes--that came to him when the little devils returned to assault him with their arrows. From somewhere she would come out of darkness and frighten them away. He could hear her voice like a whisper in his ears, and the touch of her hands comforted him and quieted his pain. After a time he grew to be afraid when the darkness swallowed her up, and in that darkness he would call for her, and always he heard her voice in answer. Then came a long oblivion. He floated through cool space away from the imps of torment; his bed was of downy clouds, and on these clouds he drifted with a great shining river under him; and at last the cloud he was in began to shape itself into walls and on these walls were pictures, and a window through which the sun was shining, and a black pennon--and he heard a soft, wonderful music that seemed to come to him faintly from another world. Other creatures were at work in his brain now. They were building up and putting together the loose ends of things. Carrigan became one of them, working so hard that frequently a pair of dark eyes came out of the dawning of things to stop him, and quieting hands and a voice soothed him to rest. The hands and the voice became very intimate. He missed them when they were not near, especially the hands, and he was always groping for them to make sure they had not gone away. Only once after the floating cloud transformed itself into the walls of the bateau cabin did the chaotic darkness of the sands fully possess him again. In that darkness he heard a voice. It was not the voice of Golden-Hair, or of Bateese, or of Jeanne Marie-Anne. It was close to his ears. And in that darkness that smothered him there was something terrible about it as it droned slowly the words--"HAS-ANY-ONE-SEEN-BLACK-ROGER-AUDEMARD?" He tried to answer, to call back to it, and the voice came again, repeating the words, emotionless, hollow, as if echoing up out of a grave. And still harder he struggled to reply to it, to say that he was David Carrigan, and that he was out on the trail of Black Roger Audemard, and that Black Roger was far north. And suddenly it seemed to him that the voice changed into the flesh and blood of Black Roger himself, though he could not see in the darkness--and he reached out, gripping fiercely at the warm substance of flesh, until he heard another voice, the voice of Jeanne Marie-Anne Boulain, entreating him to let his victim go. It was this time that his eyes shot open, wide and seeing, and straight over him was the face of Jeanne Marie-Anne, nearer him than it had been even in the visionings of his feverish mind. His fingers were clutching her shoulders, gripping like steel hooks. "M'sieu--M'sieu David!" she was crying. For a moment he stared; then his hands and fingers relaxed, and his arms dropped limply. "Pardon--I--I was dreaming," he struggled weakly. "I thought--" He had seen the pain in her face. Now, changing swiftly, it lighted up with relief and gladness. His vision, cleared by long darkness, saw the change come in an instant like a flash of sunshine. And then--so near that he could have touched her--she was smiling down into his eyes. He smiled back. It took an effort, for his face felt stiff and unnatural. "I was dreaming--of a man--named Roger Audemard," he continued to apologize. "Did I--hurt you?" The smile on her lips was gone as swiftly as it had come. "A little, m'sieu. I am glad you are better. You have been very sick." He raised a hand to his face. The bandage was there, and also a stubble of beard on his cheeks. He was puzzled. This morning he had fastened his steel mirror to the side of a tree and shaved. "It was three days ago you were hurt," she said quietly. "This is the afternoon of the third day. You have been in a great fever. Nepapinas, my Indian doctor, saved your life. You must lie quietly now. You have been talking a great deal." "About--Black Roger?" he said. She nodded. "And--Golden--Hair?" "Yes, of Golden--Hair." "And--some one else--with dark hair--and dark eyes--" "It may be, m'sieu." "And of little devils with bows and arrows, and of polar bears, and white wolves, and of a great lord of the north who calls himself St. Pierre Boulain?" "Yes, of all those." "Then I haven't anything more to tell you," grunted David. "I guess I've told you all I know. You shot me, back there. And here I am. What are you going to do next?" "Call Bateese," she answered promptly, and she rose swiftly from beside him and moved toward the door. He made no effort to call her back. His wits were working slowly, readjusting themselves after a carnival in chaos, and he scarcely sensed that she was gone until the cabin door closed behind her. Then again he raised a hand to his face and felt his beard. Three days! He turned his head so that he could take in the length of the cabin. It was filled with subdued sunlight now, a western sun that glowed softly, giving depth and richness to the colors on the floor and walls, lighting up the piano keys, suffusing the pictures with a warmth of life. David's eyes traveled slowly to his own feet. The divan had been opened and transformed into a bed. He was undressed. He had on somebody's white nightgown. And there was a big bunch of wild roses on the table where three days ago the cat had been sleeping in the work-basket. His head cleared swiftly, and he raised himself a little on one elbow, with extreme caution, and listened. The big bateau was not moving. It was still tied up, but he could hear no voices out where the tar-sands were. He dropped back on his pillow, and his eyes rested on the black pennon. His blood stirred again as he looked at the white bear and the fighting wolves. Wherever men rode the waters of the Three Rivers that pennon was known. Yet it was not common. Seldom was it seen, and never had it come south of Chipewyan. Many things came to Carrigan now, things that he had heard at the Landing and up and down the rivers. Once he had read the tail-end of a report the Superintendent of "N" Division had sent in to headquarters. "We do not know this St. Pierre. Few men have seen him out of his own country, the far headwaters of the Yellowknife, where he rules like a great overlord. Both the Yellowknives and the Dog Ribs call him KICHEOO KIMOW, or King, and the same rumors say there is never starvation or plague in his regions; and it is fact that neither the Hudson's Bay nor Revillon Brothers in their cleverest generalship and trade have been able to uproot his almost dynastic jurisdiction. The Police have had no reason to investigate or interfere." At least that was the gist of what Carrigan had read in McVane's report. But he had never associated it with the name of Boulain. It was of St. Pierre that he had heard stories, St. Pierre and his black pennon with its white bear and fighting wolves. And so--it was St. Pierre BOULAIN! He closed his eyes and thought of the long winter weeks he had passed at Hay River Post, watching for Fanchet, the mail robber. It was there he had heard most about this St. Pierre, and yet no one he had talked with had ever seen him; no one knew whether he was old or young, a pigmy or a giant. Some stories said that he was strong, that he could twist a gun-barrel double in his hands; others said that he was old, very old, so that he never set forth with his brigades that brought down each year a treasure of furs to be exchanged for freight. And never did a Dog Rib or a Yellowknife open his mouth about KICHEOO KIMOW St. Pierre, the master of their unmapped domains. In that great country north and west of the Great Slave he remained an enigma and a sphinx. If he ever came out with his brigades, he did not disclose his identity, so that if one saw a fleet of boats or canoes with the St. Pierre pennon, one had to make his own guess whether St. Pierre himself was there or not. But these things were known--that the keenest, quickest, and strongest men in the northland ran the St. Pierre brigades, that they brought out the richest cargoes of furs, and that they carried back with them into the secret fastnesses of their wilderness the greatest cargoes of freight that treasure could buy. So much the name St. Pierre dragged out of Carrigan's memory. It came to him now why the name "Boulain" had pounded so insistently in his brain. He had seen this pennon with its white bear and fighting wolves only once before, and that had been over a Boulain scow at Chipewyan. But his memory had lost its grip on that incident while retaining vividly its hold on the stories and rumors of the mystery-man, St. Pierre. Carrigan pulled himself a little higher on his pillow and with a new interest scanned the cabin. He had never heard of Boulain women. Yet here was the proof of their existence and of the greatness that ran in the red blood of their veins. The history of the great northland, hidden in the dust-dry tomes and guarded documents of the great company, had always been of absorbing interest to him. He wondered why it was that the outside world knew so little about it and believed so little of what it heard. A long time ago he had penned an article telling briefly the story of this half of a great continent in which for two hundred years romance and tragedy and strife for mastery had gone on in a way to thrill the hearts of men. He had told of huge forts with thirty-foot stone bastions, of fierce wars, of great warships that had fired their broadsides in battle in the ice-filled waters of Hudson's Bay. He had described the coming into this northern world of thousands and tens of thousands of the bravest and best-blooded men of England and France, and how these thousands had continued to come, bringing with them the names of kings, of princes, and of great lords, until out of the savagery of the north rose an aristocracy of race built up of the strongest men of the earth. And these men of later days he had called Lords of the North--men who had held power of life and death in the hollow of their hands until the great company yielded up its suzerainty to the Government of the Dominion in 1870; men who were kings in their domains, whose word was law, who were more powerful in their wilderness castles than their mistress over the sea, the Queen of Britain. And Carrigan, after writing of these things, had stuffed his manuscript away in the bottom of his chest at barracks, for he believed that it was not in his power to do justice to the people of this wilderness world that he loved. The powerful old lords were gone. Like dethroned monarchs, stripped to the level of other men, they lived in the memories of what had been. Their might now lay in trade. No more could they set out to wage war upon their rivals with powder and ball. Keen wit, swift dogs, and the politics of barter had taken the place of deadlier things. LE FACTEUR could no longer slay or command that others be slain. A mightier hand than his now ruled the destinies of the northern people--the hand of the Royal Northwest Mounted Police. It was this thought, the thought that Law and one of the powerful forces of the wilderness had met in this cabin of the big bateau, that came to Carrigan as he drew himself still higher against his pillow. A greater thrill possessed him than the thrill of his hunt for Black Roger Audemard. Black Roger was a murderer, a wholesale murderer and a fiend, a Moloch for whom there could be no pity. Of all men the Law wanted Black Roger most, and he, David Carrigan, was the chosen one to consummate its desire. Yet in spite of that he felt upon him the strange unrest of a greater adventure than the quest for Black Roger. It was like an impending thing that could not be seen, urging him, rousing his faculties from the slough into which they had fallen because of his wound and sickness. It was, after all, the most vital of all things, a matter of his own life. Jeanne Marie-Anne Boulain had tried to kill him deliberately, with malice and intent. That she had saved him afterward only added to the necessity of an explanation, and he was determined that he would have that explanation and settle the present matter before he allowed another thought of Black Roger to enter his head. This resolution reiterated itself in his mind as the machine-like voice of duty. He was not thinking of the Law, and yet the consciousness of his accountability to that Law kept repeating itself. In the very face of it Carrigan knew that something besides the moral obligation of the thing was urging him, something that was becoming deeply and dangerously personal. At least--he tried to think of it as dangerous. And that danger was his unbecoming interest in the girl herself. It was an interest distinctly removed from any ethical code that might have governed him in his experience with Carmin Fanchet, for instance. Comparatively, if they had stood together, Carmin would have been the lovelier. But he would have looked longer at Jeanne Marie-Anne Boulain. He conceded the point, smiling a bit grimly as he continued to study that part of the cabin which he could see from his pillow. He had lost interest--temporarily at least--in Black Roger Audemard. Not long ago the one question to which, above all others, he had desired an answer was, why had Jeanne Marie-Anne Boulain worked so desperately to kill him and so hard to save him afterward? Now, as he looked about him, the question which repeated itself insistently was, what relationship did she bear to this mysterious lord of the north, St. Pierre? Undoubtedly she was his daughter, for whom St. Pierre had built this luxurious barge of state. A fierce-blooded offspring, he thought, one like Cleopatra herself, not afraid to kill--and equally quick to make amends when there was a mistake. There came the quiet opening of the cabin door to break in upon his thought. He hoped it was Jeanne Marie-Anne returning to him. It was Nepapinas. The old Indian stood over him for a moment and put a cold, claw-like hand to his forehead. He grunted and nodded his head, his little sunken eyes gleaming with satisfaction. Then he put his hands under David's arms and lifted him until he was sitting upright, with three or four pillows at his back. "Thanks," said Carrigan. "That makes me feel better. And--if you don't mind--my last lunch was three days ago, boiled prunes and a piece of bannock--" "I have brought you something to eat, M'sieu David," broke in a soft voice behind him. Nepapinas slipped away, and Jeanne Marie-Anne stood in his place. David stared up at her, speechless. He heard the door close behind the old Indian. Then Jeanne Marie-Anne drew up a chair, so that for the first time he could see her clear eyes with the light of day full upon her. He forgot that a few days ago she had been his deadliest enemy. He forgot the existence of a man named Black Roger Audemard. Her slimness was as it had pictured itself to him in the hot sands. Her hair was as he had seen it there. It was coiled upon her head like ropes of spun silk, jet-black, glowing softly. But it was her eyes he stared at, and so fixed was his look that the red lips trembled a bit on the verge of a smile. She was not embarrassed. There was no color in the clear whiteness of her skin, except that redness of her lips. "I thought you had black eyes," he said bluntly. "I'm glad you haven't. I don't like them. Yours are as brown as--as--" "Please, m'sieu," she interrupted him, sitting down close beside him. "Will you eat--now?" A spoon was at his mouth, and he was forced to take it in or have its contents spilled over him. The spoon continued to move quickly between the bowl and his mouth. He was robbed of speech. And the girl's eyes, as surely as he was alive, were beginning to laugh at him. They were a wonderful brown, with little, golden specks in them, like the freckles he had seen in wood-violets. Her lips parted. Between their bewitching redness he saw the gleam of her white teeth. In a crowd, with her glorious hair covered and her eyes looking straight ahead, one would not have picked her out. But close, like this, with her eyes smiling at him, she was adorable. Something of Carrigan's thoughts must have shown in his face, for suddenly the girl's lips tightened a little, and the warmth went out of her eyes, leaving them cold and distant. He finished the soup, and she rose again to her feet. "Please don't go," he said. "If you do, I think I shall get up and follow. I am quite sure I am entitled to a little something more than soup." "Nepapinas says that you may have a bit of boiled fish for supper," she assured him. "You know I don't mean that. I want to know why you shot me, and what you think you are going to do with me." "I shot you by mistake--and--I don't know just what to do with you," she said, looking at him tranquilly, but with what he thought was a growing shadow of perplexity in her eyes. "Bateese says to fasten a big stone to your neck and throw you in the river. But Bateese doesn't always mean what he says. I don't think he is quite as bloodthirsty--" "--As the young lady who tried to murder me behind the rock," Carrigan interjected. "Exactly, m'sieu. I don't think he would throw you into the river--unless I told him to. And I don't believe I am going to ask him to do that," she added, the soft glow flashing back into her eyes for an instant. "Not after the splendid work Nepapinas has done on your head. St. Pierre must see that. And then, if St. Pierre wishes to finish you, why--" She shrugged her slim shoulders and made a little gesture with her hands. In that same moment there came over her a change as sudden as the passing of light itself. It was as if a thing she was hiding had broken beyond her control for an instant and had betrayed her. The gesture died. The glow went out of her eyes, and in its place came a light that was almost fear--or pain. She came nearer to Carrigan again, and somehow, looking up at her, he thought of the little brush warbler singing at the end of its birch twig to give him courage. It must have been because of her throat, white and soft, which he saw pulsing like a beating heart before she spoke to him. "I have made a terrible mistake, m'sieu David," she said, her voice barely rising above a whisper. "I'm sorry I hurt you. I thought it was some one else behind the rock. But I can not tell you more than that--ever. And I know it is impossible for us to be friends." She paused, one of her hands creeping to her bare throat, as if to cover the throbbing he had seen there. "Why is it impossible?" he demanded, leaning away from his pillows so that he might bring himself nearer to her. "Because--you are of the police, m'sieu." "The police, yes," he said, his heart thrumming inside his breast. "I am Sergeant Carrigan. I am out after Roger Audemard, a murderer. But my commission has nothing to do with the daughter of St. Pierre Boulain. Please--let's be friends--" He held out his hand; and in that moment David Carrigan placed another thing higher than duty--and in his eyes was the confession of it, like the glow of a subdued fire. The girl's fingers drew more closely at her throat, and she made no movement to accept his hand. "Friends," he repeated. "Friends--in spite of the police." Slowly the girl's eyes had widened, as if she saw that new-born thing riding over all other things in his swiftly beating heart. And afraid of it, she drew a step away from him. "I am not St. Pierre Boulain's daughter," she said, forcing the words out one by one. "I am--his wife." VII Afterward Carrigan wondered to what depths he had fallen in the first moments of his disillusionment. Something like shock, perhaps even more than that, must have betrayed itself in his face. He did not speak. Slowly his outstretched arm dropped to the white counterpane. Later he called himself a fool for allowing it to happen, for it was as if he had measured his proffered friendship by what its future might hold for him. In a low, quiet voice Jeanne Marie-Anne Boulain was saying again that she was St. Pierre's wife. She was not excited, yet he understood now why it was he had thought her eyes were very dark. They had changed swiftly. The violet freckles in them were like little flecks of gold. They were almost liquid in their glow, neither brown nor black now, and with that threat of gathering lightning in them. For the first time he saw the slightest flush of color in her cheeks. It deepened even as he held out his hand again. He knew that it was not embarrassment. It was the heat of the fire back of her eyes. "It's--funny," he said, making an effort to redeem himself with a lie and smiling. "You rather amaze me. You see, I have been told this St. Pierre is an old, old man--so old that he can't stand on his feet or go with his brigades, and if that is the truth, it is hard for me to picture you as his wife. But that isn't a reason why we should not be friends. Is it?" He felt that he was himself again, except for the three days' growth of beard on his face. He tried to laugh, but it was rather a poor attempt. And St. Pierre's wife did not seem to hear him. She was looking at him, looking into and through him with those wide-open glowing eyes. Then she sat down, out of reach of the hand which he had held toward her. "You are a sergeant of the police," she said, the softness gone suddenly out of her voice. "You are an honorable man, m'sieu. Your hand is against all wrong. Is it not so?" It was the voice of an inquisitor. She was demanding an answer of him. He nodded. "Yes, it is so." The fire in her eyes deepened. "And yet you say you want to be the friend of a stranger who has tried to kill you. WHY, m'sieu?" He was cornered. He sensed the humiliation of it, the impossibility of confessing to her the wild impulse that had moved him before he knew she was St. Pierre's wife. And she did not wait for him to answer. "This--this Roger Audemard--if you catch him--what will you do with him?" she asked. "He will be hanged," said David. "He is a murderer." "And one who tries to kill--who almost succeeds--what is the penalty for that?" She leaned toward him, waiting. Her hands were clasped tightly in her lap, the spots were brighter in her cheeks. "From ten to twenty years," he acknowledged. "But, of course, there may be circumstances--" "If so, you do not know them," she interrupted him. "You say Roger Audemard is a murderer. You know I tried to kill you. Then why is it you would be my friend and Roger Audemard's enemy? Why, m'sieu?" Carrigan shrugged his shoulders hopelessly. "I shouldn't," he confessed. "I guess you are proving I was wrong in what I said. I ought to arrest you and take you back to the Landing as soon as I can. But, you see, it strikes me there is a big personal element in this. I was the man almost killed. There was a mistake,--must have been, for as soon as you put me out of business you began nursing me back to life again. And--" "But that doesn't change it," insisted St. Pierre's wife. "If there had been no mistake, there would have been a murder. Do you understand, m'sieu? If it had been some one else behind that rock, I am quite certain he would have died. The Law, at least, would have called it murder. If Roger Audemard is a criminal, then I also am a criminal. And an honorable man would not make a distinction because one of them is a woman!" "But--Black Roger was a fiend. He deserves no mercy. He--" "Perhaps, m'sieu!" She was on her feet, her eyes flaming down upon him. In that moment her beauty was like the beauty of Carmin Fanchet. The poise of her slender body, her glowing cheeks, her lustrous hair, her gold-flecked eyes with the light of diamonds in them, held him speechless. "I was sorry and went back for you," she said. "I wanted you to live, after I saw you like that on the sand. Bateese says I was indiscreet, that I should have left you there to die. Perhaps he is right. And yet--even Roger Audemard might have had that pity for you." She turned quickly, and he heard her moving away from him. Then, from the door, she said, "Bateese will make you comfortable, m'sieu." The door opened and closed. She was gone. And he was alone in the cabin again. The swiftness of the change in her amazed him. It was as if he had suddenly touched fire to an explosive. There had been the flare, but no violence. She had not raised her voice, yet he heard in it the tremble of an emotion that was consuming her. He had seen the flame of it in her face and eyes. Something he had said, or had done, had tremendously upset her, changing in an instant her attitude toward him. The thought that came to him made his face burn under its scrub of beard. Did she think he was a scoundrel? The dropping of his hand, the shock that must have betrayed itself in his face when she said she was St. Pierre's wife--had those things warned her against him? The heat went slowly out of his face. It was impossible. She could not think that of him. It must have been a sudden giving way under terrific strain. She had compared herself to Roger Audemard, and she was beginning to realize her peril--that Bateese was right--that she should have left him to die in the sand! The thought pressed itself heavily upon Carrigan. It brought him suddenly back to a realization of how small a part he had played in this last half hour in the cabin. He had offered to Pierre's wife a friendship which he had no right to offer and which she knew he had no right to offer. He was the Law. And she, like Roger Audemard, was a criminal. Her quick woman's instinct had told her there could be no distinction between them, unless there was a reason. And now Carrigan confessed to himself that there had been a reason. That reason had come to him with the first glimpse of her as he lay in the hot sand. He had fought against it in the canoe; it had mastered him in those thrilling moments when he had beheld this slim, beautiful creature riding fearlessly into the boiling waters of the Holy Ghost. Her eyes, her hair, the sweet, low voice that had been with him in his fever, had become a definite and unalterable part of him. And this must have shown in his eyes and face when he dropped his hand--when she told him she was St. Pierre's wife. And now she was afraid of him! She was regretting that she had not left him to die. She had misunderstood what she had seen betraying itself during those few seconds of his proffered friendship. She saw only a man whom she had nearly killed, a man who represented the Law, a man whose power held her in the hollow of his hand. And she had stepped back from him, startled, and had told him that she was not St. Pierre's daughter, but his wife! In the science of criminal analysis Carrigan always placed himself in the position of the other man. And he was beginning to see the present situation from the view-point of Jeanne Marie-Anne Boulain. He was satisfied that she had made a desperate mistake and that until the last moment she had believed it was another man behind the rock. Yet she had shown no inclination to explain away her error. She had definitely refused to make an explanation. And it was simply a matter of common sense to concede that there must be a powerful motive for her refusal. There was but one conclusion for him to arrive at--the error which St. Pierre's wife had made in shooting the wrong man was less important to her than keeping the secret of why she had wanted to kill some other man. David was not unconscious of the breach in his own armor. He had weakened, just as the Superintendent of "N" Division had weakened that day four years ago when they had almost quarreled over Carmin Fanchet. "I'll swear to Heaven she isn't bad, no matter what her brother has been," McVane had said. "I'll gamble my life on that, Carrigan!" And because the Chief of Division with sixty years of experience behind him, had believed that, Carmin Fanchet had not been held as an accomplice in her brother's evildoing, but had gone back into her wilderness uncrucified by the law that had demanded the life of her brother. He would never forget the last time he had seen Carmin Fanchet's eyes--great, black, glorious pools of gratitude as they looked at grizzled old McVane; blazing fires of venomous hatred when they turned on him. And he had said to McVane, "The man pays, the woman goes--justice indeed is blind!" McVane, not being a stickler on regulations when it came to Carrigan, had made no answer. The incident came back vividly to David as he waited for the promised coming of Bateese. He began to appreciate McVane's point of view, and it was comforting, because he realized that his own logic was assailable. If McVane had been comparing the two women now, he knew what his argument would be. There had been no absolute proof of crime against Carmin Fanchet, unless to fight desperately for the life of her brother was a crime. In the case of Jeanne Marie-Anne Boulain there was proof. She had tried to kill. Therefore, of the two, Carmin Fanchet would have been the better woman in the eyes of McVane. In spite of the legal force of the argument which he was bringing against himself, David felt unconvinced. Carmin Fanchet, had she been in the place of St. Pierre's wife, would have finished him there in the sand. She would have realized the menace of letting him live and would probably have commanded Bateese to dump him in the river. St. Pierre's wife had gone to the other extreme. She was not only repentant, but was making restitution, for her mistake, and in making that restitution had crossed far beyond the dead-line of caution. She had frankly told him who she was; she had brought him into the privacy of what was undeniably her own home; in her desire to undo what she had done she had hopelessly enmeshed herself in the net of the Law--if that Law saw fit to act. She had done these things with courage and conviction. And of such a woman, Carrigan thought, St. Pierre must be very proud. He looked slowly about the cabin again and each thing that he saw was a living voice breaking up a dream for him. These voices told him that he was in a temple built because of a man's worship for a woman--and that man was St. Pierre. Through the two western windows came the last glow of the western sun, like a golden benediction finding its way into a sacred place. Here there was--or had been--a great happiness, for only a great pride and a great happiness could have made it as it was. Nothing that wealth and toil could drag up out of a civilization a thousand miles away had been too good for St. Pierre's wife. And about him, looking more closely, David saw the undisturbed evidences of a woman's contentment. On the table were embroidery materials with which she had been working, and a lamp-shade half finished. A woman's magazine printed in a city four thousand miles away lay open at the fashion plates. There were other magazines, and many books, and open music above the white keyboard of the piano, and vases glowing red and yellow with wild-flowers and silver birch leaves. He could smell the faint perfume of the fireglow blossoms, red as blood. In a pool of sunlight on one of the big white bear rugs lay the sleeping cat. And then, at the far end of the cabin, an ivory-white Cross of Christ glowed for a few moments in a last homage of the sinking sun. Uneasiness stole upon him. This was the woman's holy ground, her sanctuary and her home, and for three days his presence had driven her from it. There was no other room. In making restitution she had given up to him her most sacred of all things. And again there rose up in him that new-born thing which had set strange fires stirring in his heart, and which from this hour on he knew he must fight until it was dead. For an hour after the last of the sun was obliterated by the western mountains he lay in the gloom of coming darkness. Only the lapping of water under the bateau broke the strange stillness of the evening. He heard no sound of life, no voice, no tread of feet, and he wondered where the woman and her men had gone and if the scow was still tied up at the edge of the tar-sands. And for the first time he asked himself another question, Where was the man, St. Pierre? VIII It was utterly dark in the cabin, when the stillness was broken by low voices outside. The door opened, and some one came in. A moment later a match flared up, and in the shifting glow of it Carrigan saw the dark face of Bateese, the half-breed. One after another he lighted the four lamps. Not until he had finished did he turn toward the bed. It was then that David had his first good impression of the man. He was not tall, but built with the strength of a giant. His arms were long. His shoulders were stooped. His head was like the head of a stone gargoyle come to life. Wide-eyed, heavy-lipped, with the high cheek-bones of an Indian and uncut black hair bound with the knotted red MOUCHOIR, he looked more than ever like a pirate and a cutthroat to David. Such a man, he thought, might make play out of the business of murder. And yet, in spite of his ugliness, David felt again the mysterious inclination to like the man. Bateese grinned. It was a huge grin, for his mouth was big. "You ver' lucky fellow," he announced. "You sleep lak that in nice sof' bed an' not back on san'-bar, dead lak ze feesh I bring you, m'sieu. That ees wan beeg mistake. Bateese say, 'Tie ze stone roun' hees neck an' mak' heem wan ANGE DE MER. Chuck heem in ze river, MA BELLE Jeanne!' An' she say no, mak heem well, an' feed heem feesh. So I bring ze feesh which she promise, an' when you have eat, I tell you somet'ing!" He returned to the door and brought back with him a wicker basket. Then he drew up the table beside Carrigan and proceeded to lay out before him the boiled fish which St. Pierre's wife had promised him. With it was bread and an earthen pot of hot tea. "She say that ees all you have because of ze fever. Bateese say, 'Stuff heem wit' much so that he die queek!'" "You want to see me dead. Is that it, Bateese?" "OUI. You mak' wan ver' good dead man, m'sieu!" Bateese was no longer grinning. He stood back and pointed at the food. "You eat--queek. An' when you have finish' I tell you somet'ing!" Now that he saw the luscious bit of whitefish before him, Carrigan was possessed of the hungering emptiness of three days and nights. As he ate, he observed that Bateese was performing curious duties. He straightened a couple of rugs, ran fresh water into the flower vases, picked up half a dozen scattered magazines, and then, to David's increasing interest, produced a dust-cloth from somewhere and began to dust. David finished his fish, the one slice of bread, and his cup of tea. He felt tremendously good. The hot tea was like a trickle of new life through every vein in his body, and he had the desire to get up and try out his legs. Suddenly Bateese discovered that his patient was laughing at him. "QUE DIABLE!" he demanded, coming up ferociously with the cloth in his great hand. "You see somet'ing ver' fonny, m'sieu?" "No, nothing funny, Bateese," grinned Carrigan. "I was just thinking what a handsome chambermaid you make. You are so gentle, so nice to look at, so--" "DIABLE!" exploded Bateese, dropping his dust cloth and bringing his huge hands down upon the table with a smash that almost wrecked the dishes. "You have eat, an' now you lissen. You have never hear' before of Concombre Bateese. An' zat ees me. See! Wit' these two hands I have choke' ze polar bear to deat'. I am strongest man w'at ees in all nort' countree. I pack four hundre' pound ovair portage. I crack ze caribou bones wit' my teeth, lak a dog. I run sixt' or hundre' miles wit'out stop for rest. I pull down trees w'at oder man cut wit' axe. I am not 'fraid of not'ing. You lissen? You hear w'at I say?" "I hear you." "BIEN! Then I tell you w'at Concombre Bateese ees goin' do wit' you, M'sieu Sergent de Police! MA BELLE Jeanne she mak' wan gran' meestake. She too much leetle bird heart, too much pity for want you to die. Bateese say, 'Keel him, so no wan know w'at happen t'ree day ago behin' ze rock.' But MA BELLE Jeanne, she say, 'No, Bateese, he ees meestake for oder man, an' we mus' let heem live.' An' then she tell me to come an' bring you feesh, an' tell you w'at is goin' happen if you try go away from thees bateau. You COMPREN'? If you try run away, Bateese ees goin' keel you! See--wit' thees han's I br'ak your neck an' t'row you in river. MA BELLE Jeanne say do zat, an' she tell oder mans-twent', thirt', almos' hundre' GARCONS--to keel you if you try run away. She tell me bring zat word to you wit' ze feesh. You listen hard w'at I say?" If ever a worker of iniquity lived on earth, Carrigan might have judged Bateese as that man in these moments. The half-breed had worked himself up to a ferocious pitch. His eyes rolled. His wide mouth snarled in the virulence of its speech. His thick neck grew corded, and his huge hands clenched menacingly upon the table. Yet David had no fear. He wanted to laugh, but he knew laughter would be the deadliest of insults to Bateese just now. He remembered that the half-breed, fierce as a pirate, had a touch as gentle as a woman's. This man, who could choke an ox with his monstrous hands, had a moment before petted a cat, straightened out rugs, watered the woman's flowers, and had dusted. He was harmless--now. And yet in the same breath David sensed the fact that a single word from St. Pierre's wife would be sufficient to fire his brute strength into a blazing volcano of action. Such a henchman was priceless--under certain conditions! And he had brought a warning straight from the woman. "I think I understand what you mean, Bateese," he said. "She says that I am to make no effort to leave this bateau--that I am to be killed if I try to escape? Are you sure she said that?" "PAR LES MILLE CORNES DU DIABLE, you t'ink Bateese lie, m'sieu? Concombre Bateese, who choke ze w'ite bear wit' hees two ban', who pull down ze tree--" "No, no, I don't think you lie. But I am wondering why she didn't tell me that when she was here." "Becaus' she have too much leetle bird heart, zat ees w'y. She say: 'Bateese, you tell heem he mus' wait for St. Pierre. An' you tell heem good an' hard, lak you choke ze w'ite bear an' lak you pull down ze tree, so he mak' no meestake an' try get away.' An' she tell zat before all ze BATELIERS--all ze St. Pierre mans gathered 'bout a beeg fire--an' they shout up lak wan gargon that they watch an' keel you if you try get away." Carrigan reached out a hand. "Let's shake, Bateese. I'll give you my word that I won't try to escape--not until you and I have a good stand-up fight with the earth under our feet, and I've whipped you. Is it a go?" Bateese stared for a moment, and then his face broke into a wide grin. "You lak ze fight, m'sieu?" "Yes. I love a scrap with a good man like you." One of Bateese's huge hands crawled slowly over the table and engulfed David's. Joy shone on his face. "An' you promise give me zat fight, w'en you are strong?" "If I don't, I'll let you tie a stone around my neck and drop me into the river." "You are brave GARCON," cried the delighted Bateese. "Up an' down ze rivers ees no man w'at can whip Concombre Bateese!" Suddenly his face grew clouded. "But ze head, m'sieu?" he added anxiously. "It will get well quickly if you will help me, Bateese. Right now I want to get up. I want to stretch my legs. Was my head bad?" "NON. Ze bullet scrape ze ha'r off--so--so--an' turn ze brain seek. I t'ink you be good fighting man in week!" "And you will help me up?" Bateese was a changed man. Again David felt that mighty but gentle strength of his arms as he helped him to his feet. He was a trifle unsteady for a moment. Then, with the half-breed close at his side, ready to catch him if his legs gave way, he walked to one of the windows and looked out. Across the river, fully half a mile away, he saw the glow of fires. "Her camp?" he asked. "OUI, m'sieu." "We have moved from the tar-sands?" "Yes, two days down ze river." "Why are they not camping over here with us?" Bateese gave a disgusted grunt. "Becaus' MA BELLE Jeanne have such leetle bird heart, m'sieu. She say you mus' not have noise near, lak ze talk an' laugh an' ZE CHANSONS. She say it disturb, an' zat it mak you worse wit' ze fever. She ees mak you lak de baby, Bateese say to her. But she on'y laugh at zat an' snap her leetle w'ite finger. Wait St. Pierre come! He brak yo'r head wit' hees two fists. I hope we have ze fight before then, m'sieu!" "We'll have it anyway, Bateese. Where is St. Pierre, and when shall we see him?" Bateese shrugged his shoulders. "Mebby week, mebby more. He long way off." "Is he an old man?" Slowly Bateese turned David about until he was facing him. "You ask not'ing more about St. Pierre," he warned. "No mans talk 'bout St. Pierre. Only wan--MA BELLE Jeanne. You ask her, an' she tell you shut up. W'en you don't shut up she call Bateese to brak your head." "You're a--a sort of all-round head-breaker, as I understand it," grunted David, walking slowly back to his bed. "Will you bring me my pack and clothes in the morning? I want to shave and dress." Bateese was ahead of him, smoothing the pillows and straightening out the rumpled bed-clothes. His huge hands were quick and capable as a woman's, and David could not keep himself from chuckling at this feminine ingeniousness of the powerful half-breed. Once in the crush of those gorilla-like arms that were working over his bed now, he thought, and it would be all over with the strongest man in "N" Division. Bateese heard the chuckle and looked up. "Somet'ing ver' funny once more, is eet--w'at?" he demanded. "I was thinking, Bateese--what will happen to me if you get me in those arms when we fight? But it isn't going to happen. I fight with my fists, and I'm going to batter you up so badly that nobody will recognize you for a long time." "You wait!" exploded Bateese, making a horrible grimace. "I choke you lak w'ite bear, I t'row you ovair my should'r, I mash you lak leetle strawberr', I--" He paused in his task to advance with a formidable gesture. "Not now," warned Carrigan. "I'm still a bit groggy, Bateese." He pointed down at the bed. "I'm driving HER from that," he said. "I don't like it. Is she sleepin' over there--in the camp?" "Mebby--an' mebby not, m'sieu," growled Bateese. "You mak' guess, eh?" He began extinguishing the lights, until only the one nearest the door was left burning. He did not turn toward Carrigan or speak to him again. When he Went out, David heard the click of a lock in the door. Bateese had not exaggerated. It was the intention of St. Pierre's wife that he should consider himself a prisoner--at least for tonight. He had no desire to lie down again. There was an unsteadiness in his legs, but outside of that the evil of his sickness no longer oppressed him. The staff doctor at the Landing would probably have called him a fool for not convalescing in the usual prescribed way, but Carrigan was already beginning to feel the demand for action. In spite of what physical effort he had made, his head did not hurt him, and his mind was keenly alive. He returned to the window through which he could see the fires on the western shore, and found no difficulty in opening it. A strong screen netting kept him from thrusting out his head and shoulders. Through it came the cool night breeze of the river. It seemed good to fill his lungs with it again and smell the fresh aroma of the forest. It was very dark, and the fires across the river were brighter because of the deep gloom. There was no promise of the moon in the sky. He could not see a star. From far in the west he caught the low intonation of thunder. Carrigan turned from the window to the end of the cabin in which the piano stood. Here, too, was the second divan, and he saw the meaning now of two close-tied curtains, one at each side of the cabin. Drawn together on a taut wire stretched two inches under the ceiling, they shut off this end of the bateau and turned at least a third of the cabin into the privacy of the woman's bedroom. With growing uneasiness David saw the evidences that this had been her sleeping apartment. At each side of the piano was a small door, and he opened one of these just enough to discover that it was a wardrobe closet. A third door opened on the shore side of the bateau, but this was locked. Shut out from the view of the lower end of the cabin by a Japanese screen were a small dresser and a mirror. In the dim illumination that came from the distant lamp David bent over the open sheet of music on the piano. It was Mascagni's AVE MARIA. His blood tingled. His brain was stirred by a new emotion, a growing thing that made him uneasy and filled him with a strange restlessness. He felt as though he had come suddenly to the edge of a great danger; somewhere within him an intelligence seized upon it and understood. Yet it was not physical enough for him to fight. It was a danger which crept up and about him, something which he could not see or touch and yet which made his heart beat faster and the blood come into his face. It drew him, triumphed over him, dragged his hand forth until his fingers closed upon a lacy, crumpled bit of a handkerchief that lay on the edge of the piano keys. It was the woman's handkerchief, and like a thief he raised it slowly. It smelled faintly of crushed violets; it was as if she were bending over him in his sickness again, and it was her breath that came to him. He was not thinking of her as St. Pierre's wife. And then sharply he caught himself and placed the handkerchief back on the piano keys. He tried to laugh at himself, but there was an emptiness where a moment before there had been that thrill of which he was now ashamed. He turned back to the window. The thunder had come nearer. It was coming up fast out of the west, and with it a darkness that was like the blackness of a pit. A dead stillness was preceding it now, and in that stillness it seemed to Carrigan that he could hear the soapy, slitting sound of the streaming flashes of electrical fire that blazoned the advance of the storm. The camp-fires across the river were dying down. One of them went out as he looked at it, and he stared into the darkness as if trying to pierce distance and gloom to see what sort of a shelter it was that St. Pierre's wife had over there. And there came over him in these moments a desire that was almost cowardly. It was the desire to escape, to leave behind him the memory of the rock and of St. Pierre's wife, and to pursue once more his own great adventure, the quest of Black Roger Audemard. He heard the rain coming. At first the sound of it was like the pattering of ten million tiny feet in dry leaves; then, suddenly, it was like the roar of an avalanche. It was an inundation, and with it came crash after crash of thunder, and the black skies were illumined by an almost uninterrupted glare of lightning. It had been a long time since Carrigan had felt the shock of such a storm. He closed the window to keep the rain out, and after that stood with his face flattened against the glass, staring over the river. The camp-fires were all gone now, blotted out like so many candles snuffed between thumb and forefinger, and he shuddered. No canvas ever made would keep that deluge out. And now there was growing up a wind with it. The tents on the other side would be beaten down like pegged sheets of paper, ripped up and torn to pieces. He imagined St. Pierre's wife in that tumult and distress--the breath blown out of her, half drowned, blinded by deluge and lightning, broken and beaten because of him. Thought of her companions did not ease his mind. Human hands were entirely inadequate to cope with a storm like this that was rocking the earth about him. Suddenly he went to the door, determined that if Bateese was outside he would get some satisfaction out of him or challenge him to a fight right there. He beat against it, first with one fist and then with both. He shouted. There was no response. Then he exerted his strength and his weight against the door. It was solid. He was half turned when his eyes discovered, in a corner where the lamplight struck dimly, his pack and clothes. In thirty seconds he had his pipe and tobacco. After that for half an hour he paced up and down the cabin, while the storm crashed and thundered as if bent upon destroying all life off the face of the earth. Comforted by the company of his pipe, Carrigan did not beat at the door again. He waited, and at the end of another half-hour the storm had softened down into a steady patter of rain. The thunder had traveled east, and the lightning had gone with it. David opened the window again. The air that came in was rain-sweet, soft, and warm. He puffed out a cloud of smoke and smiled. His pipe always brought his good humor to the surface, even in the worst places. St. Pierre's wife had certainly had a good soaking. And in a way the whole thing was a bit funny. He was thinking now of a poor little golden-plumaged partridge, soaked to the skin, with its tail-feathers dragging pathetically. Grinning, he told himself that it was an insult to think of her and a half-drowned partridge in the same breath. But the simile still remained, and he chuckled. Probably she was wringing out her clothes now, and the men were cursing under their breath while trying to light a fire. He watched for the fire. It failed to appear. Probably she was hating him for bringing all this discomfort and humiliation upon her. It was not impossible that tomorrow she would give Bateese permission to brain him. And St. Pierre? What would this man, her husband, think and do if he knew that his wife had given up her bedroom to this stranger? What complications might arise IF HE KNEW! It was late--past midnight--when Carrigan went to bed. Even then he did not sleep for a long time. The patter of the rain grew less and less on the roof of the bateau, and as the sound of it droned itself off into nothingness, slumber came. David was conscious of the moment when the rain ceased entirely. Then he slept. At least he must have been very close to sleep, or had been asleep and was returning for a moment close to consciousness, when he heard a voice. It came several times before he was roused enough to realize that it was a voice. And then, suddenly, piercing his slowly wakening brain almost with the shock of one of the thunder crashes, it came to him so distinctly that he found himself sitting up straight, his hands clenched, eyes staring in the darkness, waiting for it to come again. Somewhere very near him, in his room, within the reach of his hands, a strange and indescribable voice had cried out in the darkness the words which twice before had beat themselves mysteriously into David Carrigan's brain--"HAS ANY ONE SEEN BLACK ROGER AUDEMARD? HAS ANY ONE SEEN BLACK ROGER AUDEMARD?" And David, holding his breath, listened for the sound of another breath which he knew was in that room. IX For perhaps a minute Carrigan made no sound that could have been heard three feet away from him. It was not fear that held him quiet. It was something which he could not explain afterward, the sensation, perhaps, of one who feels himself confronted for a moment by a presence more potent than that of flesh and blood. BLACK ROGER AUDEMARD! Three times, twice in his sickness, some one had cried out that name in his ears since the hour when St. Pierre's wife had ambushed him on the white carpet of sand. And the voice was now in his room! Was it Bateese, inspired by some sort of malformed humor? Carrigan listened. Another minute passed. He reached out a hand and groped about him, very careful not to make a sound, urged by the feeling that some one was almost within reach of him. He flung back his blanket and stood out in the middle of the floor. Still he heard no movement, no soft footfalls of retreat or advance. He lighted a match and held it high above his head. In its yellow illumination he could see nothing alive. He lighted a lamp. The cabin was empty. He drew a deep breath and went to the window. It was still open. The voice had undoubtedly come to him through that window, and he fancied he could see where the screen netting was crushed a bit inward, as though a face had pressed heavily against it. Outside the night was beautifully calm. The sky, washed by storm, was bright with stars. But there was not a ripple of movement that he could hear. After that he looked at his watch. He must have been sleeping for some time when the voice roused him, for it was nearly three o'clock. In spite of the stars, dawn was close at hand. When he looked out of the window again they were paler and more distant. He had no intention of going back to bed. He was restless and felt himself surrendering more and more to the grip of presentiment. It was still early, not later than six o'clock, when Bateese came in with his breakfast. He was surprised, as he had heard no movement or sound of voices to give evidence of life anywhere near the bateau. Instantly he made up his mind that it was not Bateese who had uttered the mysterious words of a few hours ago, for the half-breed had evidently experienced a most uncomfortable night. He was like a rat recently pulled out of water. His clothes hung upon him sodden and heavy, his head kerchief dripped, and his lank hair was wet. He slammed the breakfast things down on the table and went out again without so much as nodding at his prisoner. Again a sense of discomfort and shame swept over David, as he sat down to breakfast. Here he was comfortably, even luxuriously, housed, while out there somewhere St. Pierre's lovely wife was drenched and even more miserable than Bateese. And the breakfast amazed him. It was not so much the caribou tenderloin, rich in its own red juice, or the potato, or the pot of coffee that was filling the cabin with its aroma, that roused his wonder, but the hot, brown muffins that accompanied the other things. Muffins! And after a deluge that had drowned every square inch of the earth! How had Bateese turned the trick? Bateese did not return immediately for the dishes, and for half an hour after he had finished breakfast Carrigan smoked his pipe and watched the blue haze of fires on the far side of the river. The world was a blaze of sunlit glory. His imagination carried him across the river. Somewhere over there, in an open spot where the sun was blazing, Jeanne Marie-Anne was probably drying herself after the night of storm. There was but little doubt in his mind that she was already heaping the ignominy of blame upon him. That was the woman of it. A knock at his door drew him about. It was a light, quick TAP, TAP, TAP--not like the fist of either Bateese or Nepapinas. In another moment the door swung open, and in the flood of sunlight that poured into the cabin stood St. Pierre's wife! It was not her presence, but the beauty of her, that held him spellbound. It was a sort of shock after the vivid imaginings of his mind in which he had seen her beaten and tortured by storm. Her hair, glowing in the sun and piled up in shining coils on the crown of her head, was not wet. She was not the rain-beaten little partridge that had passed in tragic bedragglement through his mind. Storm had not touched her. Her cheeks were soft with the warm flush of long hours of sleep. When she came in, her lips greeting him with a little smile, all that he had built up for himself in the hours of the night crumbled away in dust. Again he forgot for a moment that she was St. Pierre's wife. She was woman, and as he looked upon her now, the most adorable woman in all the world. "You are better this morning," she said. Real pleasure shone in her eyes. She had left the door open, so that the sun filled the room. "I think the storm helped you. Wasn't it splendid?" David swallowed hard. "Quite splendid," he managed to say. "Have you seen Bateese this morning?" A little note of laughter came into her throat. "Yes. I don't think he liked it. He doesn't understand why I love storms. Did you sleep well, M'sieu Carrigan?" "An hour or two, I think. I was worrying about you. I didn't like the thought that I had turned you out into the storm. But it doesn't seem to have touched you." "No. I was there--quite comfortable." She nodded to the forward bulkhead of the cabin, beyond the wardrobe closets and the piano. "There is a little dining-room and kitchenette ahead," she explained. "Didn't Bateese tell you that?" "No, he didn't. I asked him where you were, and I think he told me to shut up." "Bateese is very odd," said St. Pierre's wife. "He is exceedingly jealous of me, M'sieu David. Even when I was a baby and he carried me about in his arms, he was just that way. Bateese, you know, is older than he appears. He is fifty-one." She was moving about, quite as if his presence was in no way going to disturb her usual duties of the day. She rearranged the damask curtains which he had crumpled with his hands, placed two or three chairs in their usual places, and moved from this to that with the air of a housewife who is in the habit of brushing up a bit in the morning. She seemed not at all embarrassed because he was her prisoner, nor uncomfortably restrained because of the message she had sent to him by Bateese. She was warmly and gloriously human. In her apparent unconcern at his presence he found himself sweating inwardly. A bit nervously he struck a match to light his pipe, then extinguished it. She noticed what he had done. "You may smoke," she said, with that little note in her throat which he loved to hear, like the faintest melody of laughter that did not quite reach her lips. "St. Pierre smokes a great deal, and I like it." She opened a drawer in the dressing-table and came to him with a box half filled with cigars. "St. Pierre prefers these--on occasions," she said, "Do you?" His fingers seemed all thumbs as he took a cigar from the proffered box. He cursed himself because his tongue felt thick. Perhaps it was his silence, betraying something of his mental clumsiness, that brought a faint flush of color into her cheeks. He noted that; and also that the top of her shining head came just about to his chin, and that her mouth and throat, looking down on them, were bewitchingly soft and sweet. And what she said, when her eyes opened wide and beautiful on him again, was like a knife cutting suddenly into the heart of his thoughts. "In the evening I love to sit at St. Pierre's feet and watch him smoke," she said. "I am glad it doesn't annoy you, because--I like to smoke," he replied lamely. She placed the box on the little reading table and looked at his breakfast things. "You like muffins, too. I was up early this morning, making them for you!" "You made them?" he demanded, as if her words were a most amazing revelation to him. "Surely, M'sieu David. I make them every morning for St. Pierre. He is very fond of them. He says the third nicest thing about me is my muffins!" "And the other two?" asked David. "Are St. Pierre's little secrets, m'sieu," she laughed softly, the color deepening in her cheeks. "It wouldn't be fair to tell you, would it?" "Perhaps it wouldn't," he said slowly. "But there are one or two other things, Mrs.--Mrs. Boulain--" "You may call me Jeanne, or Marie-Anne, if you care to," she interrupted him. "It will be quite all right." She was picking up the breakfast dishes, not at all perturbed by the fact that she was offering him a privilege which had the effect of quickening his pulse for a moment or two. "Thank you," he said. "I don't mind telling you it is going to be difficult for me to do that--because--well, this is a most unusual situation, isn't it? In spite of all your kindness, including what was probably your good-intentioned endeavor to put an end to my earthly miseries behind the rock, I believe it is necessary for you to give me some kind of explanation. Don't you?" "Didn't Bateese explain to you last night?" she asked, facing him. "He brought a message from you to the effect that I was a prisoner, that I must make no attempt to escape, and that if I did try to escape, you had given your men instructions to kill me." She nodded, quite seriously. "That is right, M'sieu David." His face flamed. "Then I am a prisoner? You threaten me with death?" "I shall treat you very nicely if you make no attempt to escape, M'sieu David. Isn't that fair?" "Fair!" he cried, choking back an explosion that would have vented itself on a man. "Don't you realize what has happened? Don't you know that according to every law of God and man I should arrest you and give you over to the Law? Is it possible that you don't comprehend my own duty? What I must do?" If he had noticed, he would have seen that there was no longer the flush of color in her cheeks. But her eyes, looking straight at him, were tranquil and unexcited. She nodded. "That is why you must remain a prisoner, M'sieu David, It is because I do realize, I shall not tell you why that happened behind the rock, and if you ask me, I shall refuse to talk to you. If I let you go now, you would probably have me arrested and put in jail. So I must keep you until St. Pierre comes. I don't know what to do--except to keep you, and not let you escape until then. What would you do?" The question was so honest, so like a question that might have been asked by a puzzled child, that his argument for the Law was struck dead. He stared into the pale face, the beautiful, waiting eyes, saw the pathetic intertwining of her slim fingers, and suddenly he was grinning in that big, honest way which made people love Dave Carrigan. "You're--doing--absolutely--right," he said. A swift change came in her face. Her cheeks flushed. Her eyes filled with a sudden glow that made the little violet-freckles in them dance like tiny flecks of gold. "From your point of view you are right," he repeated, "and I shall make no attempt to escape until I have talked with St. Pierre. But I can't quite see--just now--how he is going to help the situation." "He will," she assured him confidently. "You seem to have an unlimited faith in St. Pierre," he replied a little grimly. "Yes, M'sieu David. He is the most wonderful man in the world. And he will know what to do." David shrugged his shoulders. "Perhaps, in some nice, quiet place, he will follow the advice Bateese gave you--tie a stone round my neck and sink me to the bottom of the river." "Perhaps. But I don't think he will do that I should object to it." "Oh, you would!" "Yes. St. Pierre is big and strong, afraid of nothing in the world, but he will do anything for me. I don't think he would kill you if I asked him not to." She turned to resume her task of cleaning up the breakfast things. With a sudden movement David swung one of the' big chairs close to her. "Please sit down," he commanded. "I can talk to you better that way. As an officer of the law it is my duty to ask you a few questions. It rests in your power to answer all of them or none of them. I have given you my word not to act until I have seen St. Pierre, and I shall keep that promise. But when we do meet I shall act largely on the strength of what you tell me during the next tea minutes. Please sit down!" X In that big, deep chair which must have been St. Pierre's own, Marie-Anne sat facing Carrigan. Between its great arms her slim little figure seemed diminutive and out of place. Her brown eyes were level and clear, waiting. They were not warm or nervous, but so coolly and calmly beautiful that they disturbed Carrigan. She raised her hands, her slim fingers crumpling for a moment in the soft, thick coils of her hair. That little movement, the unconscious feminism of it, the way she folded her hands in her lap afterward, disturbed Carrigan even more. What a glory on earth it must be to possess a woman like that! The thought made him uneasy. And she sat waiting, a vivid, softly-breathing question-mark against the warm coloring of the upholstered chair. "When you shot me," he began, "I saw you, first, standing over me. I thought you had come to finish me. It was then that I saw something in your face--horror, amazement, as though you had done something you did not know you were doing. You see, I want to be charitable. I want to understand. I want to excuse you if I can. Won't you tell me why you shot me, and why that change came over you when you saw me lying there?" "No, M'sieu David, I shall not tell." She was not antagonistic or defiant. Her voice was not raised, nor did it betray an unusual emotion. It was simply decisive, and the unflinching steadiness of her eyes and the way in which she sat with her hands folded gave to it an unqualified definiteness. "You mean that I must make my own guess?" She nodded. "Or get it out of St. Pierre?" "If St. Pierre wishes to tell you, yes." "Well--" He leaned a little toward her. "After that you dragged me up into the shade, dressed my wound and made me comfortable. In a hazy sort of way I knew what was going on. And a curious thing happened. At times--" he leaned still a little nearer to her--"at times--there seemed to be two of you!" He was not looking at her hands, or he would have seen her fingers slowly tighten in her lap. "You were badly hurt," she said. "It is not strange that you should have imagined things, M'sieu David." "And I seemed to hear two voices," he went on. She made no answer, but continued to look at him steadily. "And the other had hair that was like copper and gold fire in the sun. I would see your face and then hers, again and again--and--since then--I have thought I was a heavy load for your hands to drag up through that sand to the shade alone." She held up her two hands, looking at them. "They are strong," she said. "They are small," he insisted, "and I doubt if they could drag me across this floor." For the first time the quiet of her eyes gave way to a warm fire. "It was hard work," she said, and the note in her voice gave him warning that he was approaching the dead-line again. "Bateese says I was a fool for doing it. And if you saw two of me, or three or four, it doesn't matter. Are you through questioning me, M'sieu David? If so, I have a number of things to do." He made a gesture of despair. "No, I am not through. But why ask you questions if you won't answer them?" "I simply can not. You must wait." "For your husband?" "Yes, for St. Pierre." He was silent for a moment, then said, "I raved about a number of things when I was sick, didn't I?" "You did, and especially about what you thought happened in the sand. You called this--this other person--the Fire Goddess. You were so near dying that of course it wasn't amusing. Otherwise it would have been. You see MY hair is black, almost!" Again, in a quick movement, her fingers were crumpling the lustrous coils on the crown of her head. "Why do you say 'almost'?" he asked. "Because St. Pierre has often told me that when I am in the sun there are red fires in it. And the sun was very bright that afternoon in the sand, M'sieu David." "I think I understand," he nodded. "And I'm rather glad, too. I like to know that it was you who dragged me up into the shade after trying to kill me. It proves you aren't quite so savage as--" "Carmin Fanchet," she interrupted him softly. "You talked about her in your sickness, M'sieu David. It made me terribly afraid of you--so much so that at times I almost wondered if Bateese wasn't right. It made me understand what would happen to me if I should let you go. What terrible thing did she do to you? What could she have done more terrible than I have done?" "Is that why you have given your men orders to kill me if I try to escape?" he asked. "Because I talked about this woman, Carmin Fanchet?" "Yes, it is because of Carmin Fanchet that I am keeping you for St. Pierre," she acknowledged. "If you had no mercy for her, you could have none for me. What terrible thing did she do to you, M'sieu?" "Nothing--to me," he said, feeling that she was putting him where the earth was unsteady under his feet again. "But her brother was a criminal of the worst sort. And I was convinced then, and am convinced now, that his sister was a partner in his crimes. She was very beautiful. And that, I think, was what saved her." He was fingering his unlighted cigar as he spoke. When he looked up, he was surprised at the swift change that had come into the face of St. Pierre's wife. Her cheeks were flaming, and there were burning fires screened behind the long lashes of her eyes. But her voice was unchanged. It was without a quiver that betrayed the emotion which had sent the hot flush into her face. "Then--you judged her without absolute knowledge of fact? You judged her--as you hinted in your fever--because she fought so desperately to save a brother who had gone wrong?" "I believe she was bad." The long lashes fell lower, like fringes of velvet closing over the fires in her eyes. "But you didn't know!" "Not absolutely," he conceded. "But investigations--" "Might have shown her to be one of the most wonderful women that ever lived, M'sieu David. It is not hard to fight for a good brother--but if he is bad, it may take an angel to do it!" He stared, thoughts tangling themselves in his head. A slow shame crept over him. She had cornered him. She had convicted him of unfairness to the one creature on earth his strength and his manhood were bound to protect--a woman. She had convicted him of judging without fact. And in his head a voice seemed to cry out to him, "What did Carmin Fanchet ever do to you?" He rose suddenly to his feet and stood at the back of his chair, his hands gripping the top of it. "Maybe you are right," he said. "Maybe I was wrong. I remember now that when I got Fanchet I manacled him, and she sat beside him all through that first night. I didn't intend to sleep, but I was tired--and did. I must have slept for an hour, and SHE roused me--trying to get the key to the handcuffs. She had the opportunity then--to kill me." Triumph swept over the face that was looking up at him. "Yes, she could have killed you--while you slept. But she didn't. WHY?" "I don't know. Perhaps she had the idea of getting the key and letting her brother do the job. Two or three days later I am convinced she would not have hesitated. I caught her twice trying to steal my gun. And a third time, late at night, when we were within a day or two of Athabasca Landing, she almost got me with a club. So I concede that she never did anything very terrible to me. But I am sure that she tried, especially toward the last." "And because she failed, she hated you; and because she hated you, something was warped inside you, and you made up your mind she should be punished along with her brother. You didn't look at it from a woman's viewpoint. A woman will fight, and kill, to save one she loves. She tried, perhaps, and failed. The result was that her brother was killed by the Law. Was not that enough? Was it fair or honest to destroy her simply because you thought she might be a partner in her brother's crimes?" "It is rather strange," he replied, a moment of indecision in his voice. "McVane, the superintendent, asked me that same question. I thought he was touched by her beauty. And I'm sorry--very sorry--that I talked about her when I was sick. I don't want you to think I am a bad sort--that way. I'm going to think about it. I'm going over the whole thing again, from the time I manacled Fanchet, and if I find that I was wrong--and I ever meet Carmin Fanchet again--I shall not be ashamed to get down on my knees and ask her pardon, Marie-Anne!" For the first time he spoke the name which she had given him permission to use. And she noticed it. He could not help seeing that--a flashing instant in which the indefinable confession of it was in her face, as though his use of it had surprised her, or pleased her, or both. Then it was gone. She did not answer, but rose from the big chair, and went to the window, and stood with her back toward him, looking out over the river. And then, suddenly, they heard a voice. It was the voice he had heard twice in his sickness, the voice that had roused him from his sleep last night, crying out in his room for Black Roger Audemard. It came to him distinctly through the open door in a low and moaning monotone. He had not taken his eyes from the slim figure of St. Pierre's wife, and he saw a little tremor pass through her now. "I heard that voice--again--last night," said David. "It was in this cabin, asking for Black Roger Audemard." She did not seem to hear him, and he also turned so that he was looking at the open door of the cabin. The sun, pouring through in a golden flood, was all at once darkened, and in the doorway--framed vividly against the day--was the figure of a man. A tense breath came to Carrigan's lips. At first he felt a shock, then an overwhelming sense of curiosity and of pity. The man was terribly deformed. His back and massive shoulders were so twisted and bent that he stood no higher than a twelve-year-old boy; yet standing straight, he would have been six feet tall if an inch, and splendidly proportioned. And in that same breath with which shock and pity came to him, David knew that it was accident and not birth that had malformed the great body that stood like a crouching animal in the open door. At first he saw only the grotesqueness of it--the long arms that almost touched the floor, the broken back, the twisted shoulders--and then, with a deeper thrill, he saw nothing of these things but only the face and the head of the man. There was something god-like about them, fastened there between the crippled shoulders. It was not beauty, but strength--the strength of rock, of carven granite, as if each feature had been chiseled out of something imperishable and everlasting, yet lacking strangely and mysteriously the warm illumination that comes from a living soul. The man was not old, nor was he young. And he did not seem to see Carrigan, who stood nearest to him. He was looking at St. Pierre's wife. The look which David saw in her face was infinitely tender. She was smiling at the misshapen hulk in the door as she might have smiled at a little child. And David, looking back at the wide, deep-set eyes of the man, saw the slumbering fire of a dog-like worship in them. They shifted slowly, taking in the cabin, questing, seeking, searching for something which they could not find. The lips moved, and again he heard that weird and mysterious monotone, as if the plaintive voice of a child were coming out of the huge frame of the man, crying out as it had cried last night, "HAS-ANY-ONE-SEEN-BLACK-ROGER-AUDEMARD?" In another moment St. Pierre's wife was at the deformed giant's side. She seemed tall beside him. She put her hands to his head and brushed back the grizzled black hair, laughing softly into his upturned face, her eyes shining and a strange glow in her cheeks. Carrigan, looking at them, felt his heart stand still. WAS THIS MAN ST. PIERRE? The thought came like a lightning flash--and went as quickly; it was impossible and inconceivable. And yet there was something more than pity in the voice of the woman who was speaking now. "No, no, we have not seen him, Andre--we have not seen Black Roger Audemard. If he comes, I will call you. I promise, Michiwan. I will call you!" She was stroking his bearded cheek, and then she put an arm about his twisted shoulders, and slowly she turned so that in a moment or two they were facing the sun--and it seemed to Carrigan that she was talking and sobbing and laughing in the same breath, as that great, broken hulk of a man moved out slowly from under the caress of her arm and went on his way. For a space she looked after him. Then in a swift movement she closed the door and faced Carrigan. She did not speak, but waited. Her head was high. She was breathing quickly. The tenderness that a moment before had filled her face was gone, and in her eyes was the blaze of fighting fires as she waited for him to speak--to give voice to what she knew was passing in his mind. XI For a space there was silence between Carrigan and St. Pierre's wife. He knew what she was thinking as she stood with her back to the door, waiting half defiantly, her cheeks still flushed, her eyes bright with the anticipation of battle. She was ready to fight for the broken creature on the other side of the door. She expected him to give no quarter in his questioning of her, to corner her if he could, to demand of her why the deformed giant had spoken the name of the man he was after, Black Roger Audemard. The truth hammered in David's brain. It had not been a delusion of his fevered mind after all; it was not a possible deception of the half-breed's, as he had thought last night. Chance had brought him face to face with the mystery of Black Roger. St. Pierre's wife, waiting for him to speak, was in some way associated with that mystery, and the cripple was asking for the man McVane had told him to bring in dead or alive! Yet he did not question her. He turned to the window and looked out from where Marie-Anne had stood a few moments before. The day was glorious. On the far shore he saw life where last night's camp had been. Men were moving about close to the water, and a York boat was putting out slowly into the stream. Close under the window moved a canoe with a single occupant. It was Andre, the Broken Man. With powerful strokes he was paddling across the river. His deformity was scarcely noticeable in the canoe. His bare head and black beard shone in the sun, and between his great shoulders his head looked more than ever to Carrigan like the head of a carven god. And this man, like a mighty tree stricken by lightning, his mind gone, was yet a thing that was more than mere flesh and blood to Marie-Anne Boulain! David turned toward her. Her attitude was changed. It was no longer one of proud defiance. She had expected to defend herself from something, and he had given her no occasion for defense. She did not try to hide the fact from him, and he nodded toward the window. "He is going away in a canoe. I am afraid you didn't want me to see him, and I am sorry I happened to be here when he came." "I made no effort to keep him away, M'sieu David. Perhaps I wanted you to see him. And I thought, when you did--" She hesitated. "You expected me to crucify you, if necessary, to learn the truth of what he knows about Roger Audemard," he said. "And you were ready to fight back. But I am not going to question you unless you give me permission." "I am glad," she said in a low voice. "I am beginning to have faith in you, M'sieu David. You have promised not to try to escape, and I believe you. Will you also promise not to ask me questions, which I can not answer--until St. Pierre comes?" "I will try." She came up to him slowly and stood facing him, so near that she could have reached out and put her hands on his shoulders. "St. Pierre has told me a great deal about the Scarlet Police," she said, looking at him quietly and steadily. "He says that the men who wear the red jackets never play low tricks, and that they come after a man squarely and openly. He says they are men, and many times he has told me wonderful stories of the things they have done. He calls it 'playing the game.' And I'm going to ask you, M'sieu David, will you play square with me? If I give you the freedom of the bateau, of the boats, even of the shore, will you wait for St. Pierre and play the rest of the game out with him, man to man?" Carrigan bowed his head slightly. "Yes, I will wait and finish the game with St. Pierre." He saw a quick throb come and go in her white throat, and with a sudden, impulsive movement she held out her hand to him. For a moment he held it close. Her little fingers tightened about his own, and the warm thrill of them set his blood leaping with the thing he was fighting down. She was so near that he could feel the throb of her body. For an instant she bowed her head, and the sweet perfume of her hair was in his nostrils, the lustrous beauty of it close under his lips. Gently she withdrew her hand and stood back from him. To Carrigan she was like a young girl now. It was the loveliness of girlhood he saw in the flush of her face and in the gladness that was flaming unashamed in her eyes. "I am not frightened any more," she exclaimed, her voice trembling a bit. "When St. Pierre comes, I shall tell him everything. And then you may ask the questions, and he will answer. And he will not cheat! He will play square. You will love St. Pierre, and you will forgive me for what happened behind the rock!" She made a little gesture toward the door. "Everything is free to you out there now," she added. "I shall tell Bateese and the others. When we are tied up, you may go ashore. And we will forget all that has happened, M'sieu David. We will forget until St. Pierre comes." "St. Pierre!" he groaned. "If there were no St. Pierre!" "I should be lost," she broke in quickly. "I should want to die!" Through the open window came the sound of a voice. It was the weird monotone of Andre, the Broken Man. Marie-Anne went to the window. And David, following her, looked over her head, again so near that his lips almost touched her hair. Andre had come back. He was watching two York boats that were heading for the bateau. "You heard him asking for Black Roger Audemard," she said. "It is strange. I know how it must have shocked you when he stood like that in the door. His mind, like his body, is a wreck, M'sieu David. Years ago, after a great storm, St. Pierre found him in the forest. A tree had fallen on him. St. Pierre carried him in on his shoulders. He lived, but he has always been like that. St. Pierre loves him, and poor Andre worships St. Pierre and follows him about like a dog. His brain is gone. He does not know what his name is, and we call him Andre. And always, day and night, he is asking that same question, 'Has any one seen Black Roger Audemard?' Sometime--if you will, M'sieu David--I should like to have you tell me what it is so terrible that you know about Roger Audemard." The York boats were half-way across the river, and from them came a sudden burst of wild song. David could make out six men in each boat, their oars flashing in the morning sun to the rhythm of their chant. Marie-Anne looked up at him suddenly, and in her face and eyes he saw what the starry gloom of evening had half hidden from him in those thrilling moments when they shot through the rapids of the Holy Ghost. She was girl now. He did not think of her as woman. He did not think of her as St. Pierre's wife. In that upward glance of her eyes was something that thrilled him to the depth of his soul. She seemed, for a moment, to have dropped a curtain from between herself and him. Her red lips trembled, she smiled at him, and then she faced the river again, and he leaned a little forward, so that a breath of wind floated a shimmering tress of her hair against his cheek. An irresistible impulse seized upon him. He leaned still nearer to her, holding his breath, until his lips softly touched one of the velvety coils of her hair. And then he stepped back. Shame swept over him. His heart rose and choked him, and his fists were clenched at his side. She had not noticed what he had done, and she seemed to him like a bird yearning to fly out through the window, throbbing with the desire to answer the chanting song that came over the water. And then she was smiling up again into his face hardened with the struggle which he was making with himself. "My people are happy," she cried. "Even in storm they laugh and sing. Listen, m'sieu. They are singing La Derniere Domaine. That is our song. It is what we call our home, away up there in the lost wilderness where people never come--the Last Domain. Their wives and sweethearts and families are up there, and they are happy in knowing that today we shall travel a few miles nearer to them. They are not like your people in Montreal and Ottawa and Quebec, M'sieu David. They are like children. And yet they are glorious children!" She ran to the wall and took down the banner of St. Pierre Boulain. "St. Pierre is behind us," she explained. "He is coming down with a raft of timber such as we can not get in our country, and we are waiting for him. But each day we must float down with the stream a few miles nearer the homes of my people. It makes them happier, even though it is but a few miles. They are coming now for my bateau. We shall travel slowly, and it will be wonderful on a day like this. It will do you good to come outside, M'sieu David--with me. Would you care for that? Or would you rather be alone?" In her face there was no longer the old restraint. On her lips was the witchery of a half-smile; in her eyes a glow that flamed the blood in his veins. It was not a flash of coquetry. It was something deeper and warmer than that, something real--a new Marie-Anne Boulain telling him plainly that she wanted him to come. He did not know that his hands were still clenched at his side. Perhaps she knew. But her eyes did not leave his face, eyes that were repeating the invitation of her lips, openly asking him not to refuse. "I shall be happy to come," he said. The words fell out of him numbly. He scarcely heard them or knew what he was saying, yet he was conscious of the unnatural note in his voice. He did not know he was betraying himself beyond that, did not see the deepening of the wild-rose flush in the cheeks of St. Pierre's wife. He picked up his pipe from the table and moved to accompany her. "You must wait a little while," she said, and her hand rested for an instant upon his arm. Its touch was as light as the touch of his lips had been against her shining hair, but he felt it in every nerve of his body. "Nepapinas is making a special lotion for your hurt. I will send him in, and then you may come." The wild chant of the rivermen was near as she turned to the door. From it she looked back at him swiftly. "They are happy, M'sieu David," she repeated softly. "And I, too, am happy. I am no longer afraid. And the world is beautiful again. Can you guess why? It is because you have given me your promise, M'sieu David, and because I believe you!" And then she was gone. For many minutes he did not move. The chanting of the rivermen, a sudden wilder shout, the voices of men, and after that the grating of something alongside the bateau came to him like sounds from another world. Within himself there was a crash greater than that of physical things. It was the truth breaking upon him, truth surging over him like the waves of a sea, breaking down the barriers he had set up, inundating him with a force that was mightier than his own will. A voice in his soul was crying out the truth--that above all else in the world he wanted to reach out his arms to this glorious creature who was the wife of St. Pierre, this woman who had tried to kill him and was sorry. He knew that it was not desire for beauty. It was the worship which St. Pierre himself must have for this woman who was his wife. And the shock of it was like a conflagration sweeping through him, leaving him dead and shriven, like the crucified trees standing in the wake of a fire. A breath that was almost a cry came from him, and his fists knotted until they were purple. She was St. Pierre's wife! And he, David Carrigan, proud of his honor, proud of the strength that made him man, had dared covet her in this hour when her husband was gone! He stared at the closed door, beginning to cry out against himself, and over him there swept slowly and terribly another thing--the shame of his weakness, the hopelessness of the thing that for a space had eaten into him and consumed him. And as he stared, the door opened, and Nepapinas came in. XII During the next quarter of an hour David was as silent as the old Indian doctor. He was conscious of no pain when Nepapinas took off his bandage and bathed his head in the lotion he had brought. Before a fresh bandage was put on, he looked at himself for a moment in the mirror. It was the first time he had seen his wound, and he expected to find himself marked with a disfiguring scar. To his surprise there was no sign of his hurt except a slightly inflamed spot above his temple. He stared at Nepapinas, and there was no need of the question that was in his mind. The old Indian understood, and his dried-up face cracked and crinkled in a grin. "Bullet hit a piece of rock, an' rock, not bullet, hit um head," he explained. "Make skull almost break--bend um in--but Nepapinas straighten again with fingers, so-so." He shrugged his thin shoulders with a cackling laugh of pride as he worked his claw-like fingers to show how the operation had been done. David shook hands with him in silence; then Nepapinas put on the fresh bandage, and after that went out, chuckling again in his weird way, as though he had played a great joke on the white man whom his wizardry had snatched out of the jaws of death. For some time there had been a subdued activity outside. The singing of the boatmen had ceased, a low voice was giving commands, and looking through the window, David saw that the bateau was slowly swinging away from the shore. He turned from the window to the table and lighted the cigar St. Pierre's wife had given him. In spite of the mental struggle he had made during the presence of Nepapinas, he had failed to get a grip on himself. For a time he had ceased to be David Carrigan, the man-hunter. A few days ago his blood had run to that almost savage thrill of the great game of one against one, the game in which Law sat on one side of the board and Lawlessness on the other, with the cards between. It was the great gamble. The cards meant life or death; there was never a checkmate--one or the other had to lose. Had some one told him then that soon he would meet the broken and twisted hulk of a man who had known Black Roger Audemard, every nerve in him would have thrilled in anticipation of that hour. He realized this as he paced back and forth over the thick rugs of the bateau floor. And he knew, even as he struggled to bring them back, that the old thrill and the old desire were gone. It was impossible to lie to himself. St. Pierre, in this moment, was of more importance to him than Roger Audemard. And St. Pierre's wife, Marie-Anne-- His eyes fell on the crumpled handkerchief on the piano keys. Again he was crushing it in the palm of his hand, and again the flood of humiliation and shame swept over him. He dropped the handkerchief, and the great law of his own life seemed to rise up in his face and taunt him. He was clean. That had been his greatest pride. He hated the man who was unclean. It was his instinct to kill the man who desecrated another man's home. And here, in the sacredness of St. Pierre's paradise, he found himself at last face to face with that greatest fight of all the ages. He faced the door. He threw back his shoulders until they snapped, and he laughed, as if at the thing that had risen up to point its finger at him. After all, it did not hurt a man to go through a bit of fire--if he came out of it unburned. And deep in his heart he knew it was not a sin to love, even as he loved, if he kept that love to himself. What he had done when Marie-Anne stood at the window he could not undo. St. Pierre would probably have killed him for touching her hair with his lips, and he would not have blamed St. Pierre. But she had not felt that stolen caress. No one knew--but himself. And he was happier because of it. It was a sort of sacred thing, even though it brought the heat of shame into his face. He went to the door, opened it, and stood out in the sunshine. It was good to feel the warmth of the sun in his face again and the sweet air of the open day in his lungs. The bateau was free of the shore and drifting steadily towards midstream. Bateese was at the great birchwood rudder sweep, and to David's surprise he nodded in a friendly way, and his wide mouth broke into a grin. "Ah, it is coming soon, that fight of ours, little coq de bruyere!" he chuckled gloatingly. "An' ze fight will be jus' lak that, m'sieu--you ze little fool-hen's rooster, ze partridge, an' I, Concombre Bateese, ze eagle!" The anticipation in the half-breed's eyes reflected itself for an instant in David's. He turned back into the cabin, bent over his pack, and found among his clothes two pairs of boxing gloves. He fondled them with the loving touch of a brother and comrade, and their velvety smoothness was more soothing to his nerves than the cigar he was smoking. His one passion above all others was boxing, and wherever he went, either on pleasure or adventure, the gloves went with him. In many a cabin and shack of the far hinterland he had taught white men and Indians how to use them, so that he might have the pleasure of feeling the thrill of them on his hands. And now here was Concombre Bateese inviting him on, waiting for him to get well! He went out and dangled the clumsy-looking mittens under the half-breed's nose. Bateese looked at them curiously. "Mitaines," he nodded. "Does ze little partridge rooster keep his claws warm in those in ze winter? They are clumsy, m'sieu. I can make a better mitten of caribou skin." Putting on one of the gloves, David doubled up his fist. "Do you see that, Concombre Bateese?" he asked. "Well, I will tell you this, that they are not mittens to keep your hands warm. I am going to fight you in them when our time comes. With these mittens I will fight you and your naked fists. Why? Because I do not want to hurt you too badly, friend Bateese! I do not want to break your face all to pieces, which I would surely do if I did not put on these soft mittens. Then, when you have really learned to fight--" The bull neck of Concombre Bateese looked as if it were about to burst. His eyes seemed ready to pop out of their sockets, and suddenly he let out a roar. "What!--You dare talk lak that to Concombre Bateese, w'at is great'st fightin' man on all T'ree River? You talk lak that to me, Concombre Bateese, who will kill ze bear wit' hees ban's, who pull down ze tree, who--who--" The word-flood of his outraged dignity sprang to his lips; emotion choked him, and then, looking suddenly over Carrigan's shoulder--he stopped. Something in his look made David turn. Three paces behind him stood Marie-Anne, and he knew that from the corner of the cabin she had heard what had passed between them. She was biting her lips, and behind the flash of her eyes he saw laughter. "You must not quarrel, children," she said. "Bateese, you are steering badly." She reached out her hands, and without a word David gave her the gloves. With her palm and fingers she caressed them softly, yet David saw little lines of doubt come into her white forehead. "They are pretty--and soft, M'sieu David. Surely they can not hurt much! Some day when St. Pierre comes, will you teach me how to use them?" "Always it is 'When St. Pierre comes,'" he replied. "Shall we be waiting long?" "Two or three days, perhaps a little longer. Are you coming with me to the proue, m'sieu?" She did not wait for his answer, but went ahead of him, dangling the two pairs of gloves at her side. David caught a last glimpse of the half-breed's face as he followed Marie-Anne around the end of the cabin. Bateese was making a frightful grimace and shaking his huge fist, but scarcely were they out of sight on the narrow footway that ran between the cabin and the outer timbers of the scow when a huge roar of laughter followed them. Bateese had not done laughing when they reached the proue, or bow-nest, a deck fully ten feet in length by eight in width, sheltered above by an awning, and comfortably arranged with chairs, several rugs, a small table, and, to David's amazement, a hammock. He had never seen anything like this on the Three Rivers, nor had he ever heard of a scow so large or so luxuriously appointed. Over his head, at the tip of a flagstaff attached to the forward end of the cabin, floated the black and white pennant of St. Pierre Boulain. And under this staff was a screened door which undoubtedly opened into the kitchenette which Marie-Anne had told him about. He made no effort to hide his surprise. But St. Pierre's wife seemed not to notice it. The puckery little lines were still in her forehead, and the laughter had faded out of her eyes. The tiny lines deepened as there came another wild roar of laughter from Bateese in the stern. "Is it true that you have given your word to fight Bateese?" she asked. "It is true, Marie-Anne. And I feel that Bateese is looking ahead joyously to the occasion." "He is," she affirmed. "Last night he spread the news among all my people. Those who left to join St. Pierre this morning have taken the news with them, and there is a great deal of excitement and much betting. I am afraid you have made a bad promise. No man has offered to fight Bateese in three years--not even my great St. Pierre, who says that Concombre is more than a match for him." "And yet they must have a little doubt, as there is betting, and it takes two to make a bet," chuckled David. The lines went out of Marie-Anne's forehead, and a half-smile trembled on her red lips. "Yes, there is betting. But those who are for you are offering next autumn's muskrat skins and frozen fish against lynx and fisher and marten. The odds are about thirty to one against you, M'sieu David!" The look of pity which was clearly in her eyes brought a rush of blood to David's face. "If only I had something to wager!" he groaned. "You must not fight. I shall forbid it!" "Then Bateese and I will steal off into the forest and have it out by ourselves." "He will hurt you badly. He is terrible, like a great beast, when he fights. He loves to fight and is always asking if there is not some one who will stand up to him. I think he would desert even me for a good fight. But you, M'sieu David--" "I also love a fight," he admitted, unashamed. St. Pierre's wife studied him thoughtfully for a moment. "With these?" she asked then, holding up the gloves. "Yes, with those. Bateese may use his fists, but I shall use those, so that I shall not disfigure him permanently. His face is none too handsome as it is." For another flash her lips trembled on the edge of a smile. Then she gave him the gloves, a bit troubled, and nodded to a chair with a deep, cushioned seat and wide arms. "Please make yourself comfortable, M'sieu David. I have something to do in the cabin and will return in a little while." He wondered if she had gone back to settle the matter with Bateese at once, for it was clear that she did not regard with favor the promised bout between himself and the half-breed. It was on the spur of a careless moment that he had promised to fight Bateese, and with little thought that it was likely to be carried out or that it would become a matter of importance with all of St. Pierre's brigade. He was evidently in for it, he told himself, and as a fighting man it looked as though Concombre Bateese was at least the equal of his braggadocio. He was glad of that. He grinned as he watched the bending backs of St. Pierre's men. So they were betting thirty to one against him! Even St. Pierre might be induced to bet--with HIM. And if he did-- The hot blood leaped for a moment in Carrigan's veins. The thrill went to the tips of his fingers. He stared out over the river, unseeing, as the possibilities of the thing that had come into his mind made him for a moment oblivious of the world. He possessed one thing against which St. Pierre and St. Pierre's wife would wager a half of all they owned in the world! And if he should gamble that one thing, which had come to him like an inspiration, and should whip Bateese-- He began to pace back and forth over the narrow deck, no longer watching the rowers or the shore. The thought grew, and his mind was consumed by it. Thus far, from the moment the first shot was fired at him from the ambush, he had been playing with adventure in the dark. But fate had at last dealt him a trump card. That something which he possessed was more precious than furs or gold to St. Pierre, and St. Pierre would not refuse the wager when it was offered. He would not dare refuse. More than that, he would accept eagerly, strong in the faith that Bateese would whip him as he had whipped all other fighters who had come up against him along the Three Rivers. And when Marie-Anne knew what that wager was to be, she, too, would pray for the gods of chance to be with Concombre Bateese! He did not hear the light footsteps behind him, and when he turned suddenly in his pacing, he found himself facing Marie-Anne, who carried in her hands the little basket he had seen on the cabin table. She seated herself in the hammock and took from the basket a bit of lace work. For a moment he watched her fingers flashing in and out with the needles. Perhaps his thought went to her. He was almost frightened as he saw her cheeks coloring under the long, dark lashes. He faced the rivermen again, and while he gripped at his own weakness, he tried to count the flashings of their oars. And behind him, the beautiful eyes of St. Pierre's wife were looking at him with a strange glow in their depths. "Do you know," he said, speaking slowly and still looking toward the flashing of the oars, "something tells me that unexpected things are going to happen when St. Pierre returns. I am going to make a bet with him that I can whip Bateese. He will not refuse. He will accept. And St. Pierre will lose, because I shall whip Bateese. It is then that these unexpected things will begin to happen. And I am wondering--after they do happen--if you will care so very much?" There was a moment of silence. And then, "I don't want you to fight Bateese," she said. The needles were working swiftly when he turned toward her again, and a second time the long lashes shadowed what a moment before he might have seen in her eyes. XIII The morning passed like a dream to Carrigan. He permitted himself to live and breathe it as one who finds himself for a space in the heart of a golden mirage. He was sitting so near Marie-Anne that now and then the faint perfume of her came to him like the delicate scent of a flower. It was a breath of crushed violets, sweet as the air he was breathing, violets gathered in the deep cool of the forest, a whisper of sweetness about her, as if on her bosom she wore always the living flowers. He fancied her gathering them last bloom-time, a year ago, alone, her feet seeking out the damp mosses, her little fingers plucking the smiling and laughing faces of the violet flowers to be treasured away in fragrant sachets, as gentle as the wood-thrush's note, compared with the bottled aromas fifteen hundred miles south. It seemed to be a physical part of her, a thing born of the glow in her cheeks, a living exhalation of her soft red lips--and yet only when he was near, very near, did the life of it reach him. She did not know he was thinking these things. There was nothing in his voice, he thought, to betray him. He was sure she was unconscious of the fight he was making. Her eyes smiled and laughed with him, she counted her stitches, her fingers worked, and she talked to him as she might have talked to a friend of St. Pierre's. She told him how St. Pierre had made the barge, the largest that had ever been on the river, and that he had built it entirely of dry cedar, so that it floated like a feather wherever there was water enough to run a York boat. She told him how St. Pierre had brought the piano down from Edmonton, and how he had saved it from pitching in the river by carrying the full weight of it on his shoulders when they met with an accident in running through a dangerous rapids bringing it down. St. Pierre was a very strong man, she said, a note of pride in her voice. And then she added, "Sometimes, when he picks me up in his arms, I feel that he is going to squeeze the life out of me!" Her words were like a sharp thrust into his heart. For an instant they painted a vision for him, a picture of that slim and adorable creature crushed close in the great arms of St. Pierre, so close that she could not breathe. In that mad moment of his hurt it was almost a living, breathing reality for him there on the golden fore-deck of the scow. He turned his face toward the far shore, where the wilderness seemed to reach off into eternity. What a glory it was--the green seas of spruce and cedar and balsam, the ridges of poplar and birch rising like silvery spume above the darker billows, and afar off, mellowed in the sun-mists, the guardian crests of Trout Mountains sentineling the country beyond! Into that mystery-land on the farther side of the Wabiskaw waterways Carrigan would have loved to set his foot four days ago. It was that mystery of the unpeopled places that he most desired, their silence, the comradeship of spaces untrod by the feet of man. And now, what a fool he was! Through vast distances the forests he loved seemed to whisper it to him, and ahead of him the river seemed to look back, nodding over its shoulder, beckoning to him, telling him the word of the forests was true. It streamed on lazily, half a mile wide, as if resting for the splashing and roaring rush it would make among the rocks of the next rapids, and in its indolence it sang the low and everlasting song of deep and slowly passing water. In that song David heard the same whisper, that he was a fool! And the lure of the wilderness shores crept in on him and gripped him as of old. He looked at the rowers in the two York boats, and then his eyes came back to the end of the barge and to St. Pierre's wife. Her little toes were tapping the floor of the deck. She, too, was looking out over the wilderness. And again it seemed to him that she was like a bird that wanted to fly. "I should like to go into those hills," she said, without looking at him. "Away off yonder!" "And I--I should like to go with you." "You love all that, m'sieu?" she asked. "Yes, madame!" "Why 'madame,' when I have given you permission to call me 'Marie-Anne'?" she demanded. "Because you call me 'm'sieu'." "But you--you have not given me permission--" "Then I do now," he interrupted quickly. "Merci! I have wondered why you did not return the courtesy," she laughed softly. "I do not like the m'sieu. I shall call you 'David'!" She rose out of the hammock suddenly and dropped her needles and lace work into the little basket. "I have forgotten something. It is for you to eat when it comes dinner-time, m'sieu--I mean David. So I must turn fille de cuisine for a little while. That is what St. Pierre sometimes calls me, because I love to play at cooking. I am going to bake a pie!" The dark-screened door of the kitchenette closed behind her, and Carrigan walked out from under the awning, so that the sun beat down upon him. There was no longer a doubt in his mind. He was more than fool. He envied St. Pierre, and he coveted that which St. Pierre possessed. And yet, before he would take what did not belong to him, he knew he would put a pistol to his head and blow his life out. He was confident of himself there. Yet he had fallen, and out of the mire into which he had sunk he knew also that he must drag himself, and quickly, or be everlastingly lowered in his own esteem. He stripped himself naked and did not lie to that other and greater thing of life that was in him. He was not only a fool, but a coward. Only a coward would have touched the hair of St. Pierre's wife with his lips; only a coward would have let live the thoughts that burned in his brain. She was St. Pierre's wife--and he was anxious now for the quick homecoming of the chief of the Boulains. After that everything would happen quickly. He thanked God that the inspiration of the wager had come to him. After the fight, after he had won, then once more would he be the old Dave Carrigan, holding the trump hand in a thrilling game. Loud voices from the York boats ahead and answering cries from Bateese in the stern drew him to the open deck. The bateau was close to shore, and the half-breed was working the long stern sweep as if the power of a steam-engine was in his mighty arms. The York boats had shortened their towline and were pulling at right angles within a few yards of a gravelly beach. A few strokes more, and men who were bare to the knees jumped out into shallow water and began tugging at the tow rope with their hands. David looked at his watch. It was ten o'clock. Never in his life had time passed so swiftly as that morning on the forward deck of the barge. And now they were tying up, after a drop of six or eight miles down the river, and he wondered how swiftly St. Pierre was overtaking them with his raft. He was filled with the desire to feel the soft crush of the earth under his feet again, and not waiting for the long plank that Bateese was already swinging from the scow to the shore, he made a leap that put him on the sandy beach, St. Pierre's wife had given him this permission, and he looked to see what effect his act had on the half-breed. The face of Concombre Bateese was like sullen stone. Not a sound came from his thick lips, but in his eyes was a deep and dangerous fire as he looked at Carrigan. There was no need for words. In them were suspicion, warning, the deadly threat of what would happen if he did not come back when it was time to return. David nodded. He understood. Even though St. Pierre's wife had faith in him, Bateese had not. He passed between the men, and to a man their faces turned on him, and in their quiet and watchful eyes he saw again that warning and suspicion, the unspoken threat of what would happen if he forgot his promise to Marie-Anne Boulain. Never, in a single outfit, had he seen such splendid men. They were not a mongrel assortment of the lower country. Slim, tall, clean-cut, sinewy--they were stock of the old voyageurs of a hundred years ago, and all of them were young. The older men had gone to St. Pierre. The reason for this dawned upon Carrigan. Not one of these twelve but could beat him in a race through the forest; not one that could not outrun him and cut him off though he had hours the start! Passing beyond them, he paused and looked back at the bateau. On the forward deck stood Marie-Anne, and she, too, was looking at him now. Even at that distance he saw that her face was quiet and troubled with anxiety. She did not smile when he lifted his hat to her, but gave only a little nod. Then he turned and buried himself in the green balsams that grew within fifty paces of the river. The old joy of life leaped into him as his feet crushed in the soft moss of the shaded places where the sun did not break through. He went on, passing through a vast and silent cathedral of spruce and cedar so dense that the sky was hidden, and came then to higher ground, where the evergreen was sprinkled with birch and poplar. About him was an invisible choir of voices, the low twittering of timid little gray-backs, the song of hidden--warblers, the scolding of distant jays. Big-eyed moose-birds stared at him as he passed, fluttering so close to his face that they almost touched his shoulders in their foolish inquisitiveness. A porcupine crashed within a dozen feet of his trail. And then he came to a beaten path, and other paths worn deep in the cool, damp earth by the hoofs of moose and caribou. Half a mile from the bateau he sat down on a rotting log and filled his pipe with fresh tobacco, while he listened to catch the subdued voice of the life in this land that he loved. It was then that the curious feeling came over him that he was not alone, that other eyes than those of beast and bird were watching him. It was an impression that grew on him. He seemed to feel their stare, seeking him out from the darkest coverts, waiting for him to shove on, dogging him like a ghost. Within him the hound-like instincts of the man-hunter rose swiftly to the suspicion of invisible presence. He began to note the changes in the cries of certain birds. A hundred yards on his right a jay, most talkative of all the forest things, was screeching with a new note in its voice. On the other side of him, in a dense pocket of poplar and spruce, a warbler suddenly brought its song to a jerky end. He heard the excited Pe-wee--Pe-wee--Pe-wee of a startled little gray-back giving warning of an unwelcome intruder near its nest. And he rose to his feet, laughing softly as he thumbed down the tobacco in his pipe. Jeanne Marie-Anne Boulain might believe in him, but Bateese and her wary henchmen had ways of their own of strengthening their faith. It was close to noon when he turned back, and he did not return by the moose path. Deliberately he struck out a hundred yards on either side of it, traveling where the moss grew thick and the earth was damp and soft. And five times he found the moccasin-prints of men. Bateese, with his sleeves up, was scrubbing the deck of the bateau when David came over the plank. "There are moose and caribou in there, but I fear I disturbed your hunters," said Carrigan, grinning at the half-breed. "They are too clumsy to hunt well, so clumsy that even the birds give them away. I am afraid we shall go without fresh meat tomorrow!" Concombre Bateese stared as if some one had stunned him with a blow, and he spoke no word as David went on to the forward deck. Marie-Anne had come out under the awning. She gave a little cry of relief and pleasure. "I am glad you have come back, M'sieu David!" "So am I, madame," he replied. "I think the woods are unhealthful to travel in!" Out of the earth he felt that a part of the old strength had returned to him. Alone they sat at dinner, and Marie-Anne waited on him and called him David again--and he found it easier now to call her Marie-Anne and look into her eyes without fear that he was betraying himself. A part of the afternoon he spent in her company, and it was not difficult for him to tell her something of his adventuring in the north, and how, body and soul, the northland had claimed him, and that he hoped to die in it when his time came. Her eyes glowed at that. She told him of two years she had spent in Montreal and Quebec, of her homesickness, her joy when she returned to her forests. It seemed, for a time, that they had forgotten St. Pierre. They did not speak of him. Twice they saw Andre, the Broken Man, but the name of Roger Audemard was not spoken. And a little at a time she told him of the hidden paradise of the Boulains away up in the unmapped wildernesses of the Yellowknife beyond the Great Bear, and of the great log chateau that was her home. A part of the afternoon he spent on shore. He filled a moosehide bag full of sand and suspended it from the limb of a tree, and for three-quarters of an hour pommeled it with his fists, much to the curiosity and amusement of St. Pierre's men, who could see nothing of man-fighting in these antics. But the exercise assured David that he had lost but little of his strength and that he would be in form to meet Bateese when the time came. Toward evening Marie-Anne joined him, and they walked for half an hour up and down the beach. It was Bateese who got supper. And after that Carrigan sat with Marie-Anne on the foredeck of the barge and smoked another of St. Pierre's cigars. The camp of the rivermen was two hundred yards below the bateau, screened between by a finger of hardwood, so that except when they broke into a chorus of laughter or strengthened their throats with snatches of song, there was no sound of their voices. But Bateese was in the stern, and Nepapinas was forever flitting in and out among the shadows on the shore, like a shadow himself, and Andre, the Broken Man, hovered near as night came on. At last he sat down in the edge of the white sand of the beach, and there he remained, a silent and lonely figure, as the twilight deepened. Over the world hovered a sleepy quiet. Out of the forest came the droning of the wood-crickets, the last twitterings of the day birds, and the beginning of night sounds. A great shadow floated out over the river close to the bateau, the first of the questing, blood-seeking owls adventuring out like pirates from their hiding-places of the day. One after another, as the darkness thickened, the different tribes of the people of the night answered the summons of the first stars. A mile down the river a loon gave its harsh love-cry; far out of the west came the faint trail-song of a wolf; in the river the night-feeding trout splashed like the tails of beaver; over the roof of the wilderness came the coughing, moaning challenge of a bull moose that yearned for battle. And over these same forest tops rose the moon, the stars grew thicker and brighter, and through the finger of hardwood glowed the fire of St. Pierre Boulain's men--while close beside him, silent in these hours of silence, David felt growing nearer and still nearer to him the presence of St. Pierre's wife. On the strip of sand Andre, the Broken Man, rose and stood like the stub of a misshapen tree. And then slowly he moved on and was swallowed up in the mellow glow of the night. "It is at night that he seeks," said St. Pierre's wife, for it was as if David had spoken the thought that was in his mind. David, for a moment, was silent. And then he said, "You asked me to tell you about Black Roger Audemard. I will, if you care to have me. Do you?" He saw the nodding of her head, though the moon and star-mist veiled her face. "Yes. What do the Police say about Roger Audemard?" He told her. And not once in the telling of the story did she speak or move. It was a terrible story at best, he thought, but he did not weaken it by smoothing over the details. This was his opportunity. He wanted her to know why he must possess the body of Roger Audemard, if not alive, then dead, and he wanted her to understand how important it was that he learn more about Andre, the Broken Man. "He was a fiend, this Roger Audemard," he began. "A devil in man shape, afterward called 'Black Roger' because of the color of his soul." Then he went on. He described Hatchet River Post, where the tragedy had happened; then told of the fight that came about one day between Roger Audemard and the factor of the post and his two sons. It was an unfair fight; he conceded that--three to one was cowardly in a fight. But it could not excuse what happened afterward. Audemard was beaten. He crept off into the forest, almost dead. Then he came back one stormy night in the winter with three strange friends. Who the friends were the Police never learned. There was a fight, but all through the fight Black Roger Audemard cried out not to kill the factor and his sons. In spite of that one of the sons was killed. Then the terrible thing happened. The father and his remaining son were bound hand and foot and fastened in the ancient dungeon room under the Post building. Then Black Roger set the building on fire, and stood outside in the storm and laughed like a madman at the dying shrieks of his victims. It was the season when the trappers were on their lines, and there were but few people at the post. The company clerk and one other attempted to interfere, and Black Roger killed them with his own hands. Five deaths that night--two of them horrible beyond description! Resting for a moment, Carrigan went on to tell of the long years of unavailing search made by the Police after that; how Black Roger was caught once and killed his captor. Then came the rumor that he was dead, and rumor grew into official belief, and the Police no longer hunted for his trails. Then, not long ago, came the discovery that Black Roger was still living, and he, Dave Carrigan, was after him. For a time there was silence after he had finished. Then St. Pierre's wife rose to her feet. "I wonder," she said in a low voice, "what Roger Audemard's own story might be if he were here to tell it?" She stepped out from under the awning, and in the full radiance of the moon he saw the pale beauty of her face and the crowning luster of her hair. "Good night!" she whispered. "Good night!" said David. He listened until her retreating footsteps died away, and for hours after that he had no thought of sleep. He had insisted that she take possession of her cabin again, and Bateese had brought out a bundle of blankets. These he spread under the awning, and when he drowsed off, it was to dream of the lovely face he had seen last in the glow of the moon. It was in the afternoon of the fourth day that two things happened--one that he had prepared himself for, and another so unexpected that for a space it sent his world crashing out of its orbit. With St. Pierre's wife he had gone again to the ridge-line for flowers, half a mile back from the river. Returning a new way, they came to a shallow stream, and Marie-Anne stood at the edge of it, and there was laughter in her shining eyes as she looked to the other side of it. She had twined flowers into her hair. Her cheeks were rich with color. Her slim figure was exquisite in its wild pulse of life. Suddenly she turned on him, her red lips smiling their witchery in his face. "You must carry me across," she said. He did not answer. He was a-tremble as he drew near her. She raised her arms a little, waiting. And then he picked her up. She was against his breast. Her two hands went to his shoulders as he waded into the stream; he slipped, and they clung a little tighter. The soft note of laughter was in her throat when the current came to his knees out in the middle of the stream. He held her tighter; and then stupidly, he slipped again, and the movement brought her lower in his arms, so that for a space her head was against his breast and his face was crushed in the soft masses of her hair. He came with her that way to the opposite shore and stood her on her feet again, standing back quickly so that she would not hear the pounding of his heart. Her face was radiantly beautiful, and she did not look at David, but away from him. "Thank you," she said. And then, suddenly, they heard running feet behind them, and in another moment one of the brigade men came dashing through the stream. At the same time there came from the river a quarter of a mile away a thunderous burst of voice. It was not the voice of a dozen men, but of half a hundred, and Marie-Anne grew tense, listening, her eyes on fire even before the messenger could get the words out of his mouth. "It is St. Pierre!" he cried then. "He has come with the great raft, and you must hurry if you would reach the bateau before he lands!" In that moment it seemed to David that Marie-Anne forgot he was alive. A little cry came to her lips, and then she left him, running swiftly, saying no word to him, flying with the speed of a fawn to St. Pierre Boulain! And when David turned to the man who had come up behind them, there was a strange smile on the lips of the lithe-limbed forest-runner as his eyes followed the hurrying figure of St. Pierre's wife. Until she was out of sight he stood in silence and then he said: "Come, m'sieu. We, also, must meet St. Pierre!" XIV David moved slowly behind the brigade man. He had no desire to hurry. He did not wish to see what happened when Marie-Anne met St. Pierre Boulain. Only a moment ago she had been in his arms; her hair had smothered his face; her hands had clung to his shoulders; her flushed cheeks and long lashes had for an instant lain close against his breast. And now, swiftly, without a word of apology, she was running away from him to meet her husband. He almost spoke that word aloud as he saw the last of her slim figure among the silver birches. She was going to the man to whom she belonged, and there was no hesitation in the manner of her going. She was glad. And she was entirely forgetful of him, Dave Carrigan, in that gladness. He quickened his steps, narrowing the distance between him and the hurrying brigade man. Only the diseased thoughts in his brain had made the happening in the creek anything but an accident. It was all an accident, he told himself. Marie-Anne had asked him to carry her across just as she would have asked any one of her rivermen. It was his fault, and not hers, that he had slipped in mid-stream, and that his arms had closed tighter about her, and that her hair had brushed his face. He remembered she had laughed, when it seemed for a moment that they were going to fall into the stream together. Probably she would tell St. Pierre all about it. Surely she would never guess it had been nearer tragedy than comedy for him. Once more he was convinced he had proved himself a weakling and a fool. His business now was with St. Pierre, and the hour was at hand when the game had ceased to be a woman's game. He had looked ahead to this hour. He had prepared himself for it and had promised himself action that would be both quick and decisive. And yet, as he went on, his heart was still thumping unsteadily, and in his arms and against his face remained still the sweet, warm thrill of his contact with Marie-Anne. He could not drive that from him. It would never completely go. As long as he lived, what had happened in the creek would live with him. He did not deny that crying voice inside him. It was easy for his mouth to make words. He could call himself a fool and a weakling, but those words were purely mechanical, hollow, meaningless. The truth remained. It was a blazing fire in his breast, a conflagration that might easily get the best of him, a thing which he must fight and triumph over for his own salvation. He did not think of danger for Marie-Anne, for such a thought was inconceivable. The tragedy was one-sided. It was his own folly, his own danger. For just as he loved Marie-Anne, so did she love her husband, St. Pierre. He came to the low ridge close to the river and climbed up through the thick birches and poplars. At the top was a bald knob of sandstone, over which the riverman had already passed. David paused there and looked down on the broad sweep of the Athabasca. What he saw was like a picture spread out on the great breast of the river and the white strip of shoreline. Still a quarter of a mile upstream, floating down slowly with the current, was a mighty raft, and for a space his eyes took in nothing else. On the Mackenzie, the Athabasca, the Saskatchewan, and the Peace he had seen many rafts, but never a raft like this of St. Pierre Boulain. It was a hundred feet in width and twice and a half times as long, and with the sun blazing down upon it from out of a cloudless sky it looked to him like a little city swept up from out of some archaic and savage desert land to be transplanted to the river. It was dotted with tents and canvas shelters. Some of these were gray, and some were white, and two or three were striped with broad bands of yellow and red. Behind all these was a cabin, and over this there rose a slender staff from which floated the black and white pennant of St. Pierre. The raft was alive. Men were running between the tents. The long rudder sweeps were flashing in the sun. Rowers with naked arms and shoulders were straining their muscles in four York boats that were pulling like ants at the giant mass of timber. And to David's ears came a deep monotone of human voices, the chanting of the men as they worked. Nearer to him a louder response suddenly made answer to it. A dozen steps carried him round a projecting thumb of brush, and he could see the open shore where the bateau was tied. Marie-Anne had crossed the strip of sand, and Bateese was helping her into a waiting York boat. Then Bateese shoved it off, and the four men in it began to row. Two canoes were already half-way to the raft, and David recognized the occupant of one of them as Andre, the Broken Man. Then he saw Marie-Anne rise in the York boat and wave something white in her hand. He looked again toward the raft. The current and the sweeps and the tugging boats were drawing it steadily nearer. Standing at the very edge of it he saw now a solitary figure, and in the clear sunlight the man stood out clean-cut as a carven statue. He was a giant in size. His head and arms were bare, and he was looking steadily toward the bateau and the approaching York boat. He raised an arm, and a moment later the movement was followed by a voice that rose above all other voices. It boomed over the river like the rumble of a gun. In response to it Marie-Anne waved the white thing in her hand, and David thought he heard her voice in an answering cry. He stared again at the solitary figure of the man, seeing nothing else, hearing no other sound but the booming of the deep cry that came again over the river. His heart was thumping. In his eyes was a gathering fire. His body grew tense. For he knew that at last he was looking at St. Pierre, chief of the Boulains, and husband of the woman he loved. As the significance of the situation grew upon him, a flash of his old humor returned. It was the same grim humor that had possessed him behind the rock, when he had thought he was going to die. Fate had played him a dishonest turn then, and it was doing the same thing by him now. Unless he deliberately turned his face away, he was going to see the reunion of Marie-Anne and St. Pierre. Yesterday he had strapped his binoculars to his belt. Today Marie-Anne had looked through them a dozen times. They had been a source of pleasure and thrill to her. Now, David thought, they would be good medicine for him. He would see the whole thing through, and at close range. He would leave himself no room for doubt. He had laughed behind the rock, when bullets were zipping close to his head, and the same grim smile came to his lips now as he focused his glasses on the solitary figure at the head of the raft. The smile died away when he saw St. Pierre. It was as if he could reach out and touch him with his hand. And never, he thought, had he seen such a man. A moment before, a flashing vision had come to him from out of an Arabian desert; the multitude of colored tents, the half-naked men, the great raft floating almost without perceptible motion on the placid breast of the river had stirred his imagination until he saw a strange picture. But there was nothing Arabic, nothing desert-like, in this man his binoculars brought within a few feet of his eyes. He was more like a viking pirate who had roved the sea a few centuries ago. One great, bare arm was raised as David looked, and his booming voice was rolling over the river again. His hair was shaggy, and untrimmed, and red; he wore a short beard that glistened in the sun--he was laughing as he waved and shouted to Marie-Anne--a joyous, splendid giant of a man who seemed almost on the point of leaping into the water in his eagerness to clasp in his naked arms the woman who was coming to him. David drew a deep breath, and there came an unconscious tightening at his heart as he turned his glasses upon Marie-Anne. She was still standing in the bow of the York boat, and her back was toward him. He could see the glisten of the sun in her hair. She was waving her handkerchief, and the poise of her slim body told him that in her eagerness she would have darted from the bow of the boat had she possessed wings. Again he looked at St. Pierre. And this was the man who was no match for Concombre Bateese! It was inconceivable. Yet he heard Marie-Anne's voice repeating those very words in his ear. But she had surely been joking with him. She had been storing up this little surprise for him. She had wanted him to discover with his own eyes what a splendid man was this chief of the Boulains. And yet, as David stared, there came to him an unpleasant thought of the incongruity of this thing he was looking upon. It struck upon him like a clashing discord, the fact of matehood between these two--a condition inconsistent and out of tune with the beautiful things he had built up in his mind about the woman. In his soul he had enshrined her as a lovely wildflower, easily crushed, easily destroyed, a sweet treasure to be guarded from all that was rough and savage, a little violet-goddess as fragile as she was brave and loyal. And St. Pierre, standing there at the edge of his raft, looked as if he had come up out of the caves of a million years ago! There was something barbaric about him. He needed only a club and a shield and the skin of a beast about his loins to transform him into prehistoric man. At least these were his first impressions--impressions roused by thought of Marie-Anne's slim, beautiful body crushed close in the embrace of that laughing, powerful-lunged giant. Then the reaction swept over him. St. Pierre was not a monster, even though his disturbed mind unconsciously made an effort to conceive him as such. There were gladness and laughter in his face. There was the contagion of joy and good cheer in the voice that boomed over the water. Laughter and shouts answered it from the shore. The rowers in Marie-Anne's York boat burst into a wild and exultant snatch of song and made their oars fairly crack. There came a solitary yell from Andre, the Broken Man, who was close to the head of the raft now. And from the raft itself came a slowly swelling volume of sound, the urge and voice and exultation of red-blooded men a-thrill with the glory of this day and the wild freedom of their world. The truth came to David. St. Pierre Boulain was the beloved Big Brother of his people. He waited, his muscles tense, his jaws set tight. Good medicine, he called it again, a righteous sort of punishment set upon him for the moral cowardice he had betrayed in falling down in worship at the feet of another man's wife. The York boat was very close to the head of the raft now. He saw Marie-Anne herself fling a rope to St. Pierre. Then the boat swung alongside. In another moment St. Pierre had leaned over, and Marie-Anne was with him on the raft. For a space everything else in the world was obliterated for David. He saw St. Pierre's arms gather the slim form into their embrace. He saw Marie-Anne's hands go up fondly to the bearded face. And then-- Carrigan cut the picture there. He turned his shoulder to the raft and snapped the binoculars in the case at his belt. Some one was coming in his direction from the bateau. It was the riverman who had brought to Marie-Anne the news of St. Pierre's arrival. David went down to meet him. From the foot of the ridge he again turned his eyes in the direction of the raft. St. Pierre and Marie-Anne were just about to enter the little cabin built in the center of the drifting mass of timber. XV It was easy for Carrigan to guess why the riverman had turned back for him. Men were busy about the bateau, and Concombre Bateese stood in the stern, a long pole in his hands, giving commands to the others. The bateau was beginning to swing out into the stream when he leaped aboard. A wide grin spread over the half-breed's face. He eyed David keenly and laughed in his deep chest, an unmistakable suggestiveness in the note of it. "You look seek, m'sieu," he said in an undertone, for David's ears alone, "You look ver' unhappy, an' pale lak leetle boy! Wat happen w'en you look t'rough ze glass up there, eh? Or ees it zat you grow frighten because ver' soon you stan' up an' fight Concombre Bateese? Eh, coq de bruyere? Ees it zat?" A quick thought came to David. "Is it true that St. Pierre can not whip you, Bateese?" Bateese threw out his chest with a mighty intake of breath. Then he exploded: "No man on all T'ree River can w'ip Concombre Bateese." "And St. Pierre is a powerful man," mused David, letting his eyes travel slowly from the half-breed's moccasined feet to the top of his head. "I measured him well through the glasses, Bateese. It will be a great fight. But I shall whip you!" He did not wait for the half-breed to reply, but went into the cabin and closed the door behind him. He did not like the taunting note of suggestiveness in the other's words. Was it possible that Bateese suspected the true state of his mind, that he was in love with the wife of St. Pierre, and that his heart was sick because of what he had seen aboard the raft? He flushed hotly. It made him uncomfortable to feel that even the half-breed might have guessed his humiliation. David looked through the window toward the raft. The bateau was drifting downstream, possibly a hundred feet from the shore, but it was quite evident that Concombre Bateese was making no effort to bring it close to the floating mass of timber, which had made no change in its course down the river. David's mind painted swiftly what was happening in the cabin into which Marie-Anne and St. Pierre had disappeared. At this moment Marie-Anne was telling of him, of the adventure in the hot patch of sand. He fancied the suppressed excitement in her voice as she unburdened herself. He saw St. Pierre's face darken, his muscles tighten--and crouching in silence, he seemed to see the misshapen hulk of Andre, the Broken Man, listening to what was passing between the other two. And he heard again the mad monotone of Andre's voice, crying plaintively, "HAS ANY ONE SEEN BLACK ROGER AUDEMARD?" His blood ran a little faster, and his old craft was a dominantly living thing within him once more. Love had dulled both his ingenuity and his desire. For a space a thing had risen before him that was mightier than the majesty of the Law, and he had TRIED to miss the bull's-eye--because of his love for the wife of St. Pierre Boulain. Now he shot squarely for it, and the bell rang in his brain. Two times two again made four. Facts assembled themselves like arguments in flesh and blood. Those facts would have convinced Superintendent McVane, and they now convinced David. He had set out to get Black Roger Audemard, alive or dead. And Black Roger, wholesale murderer, a monster who had painted the blackest page of crime known in the history of Canadian law, was closely and vitally associated with Marie-Anne and St. Pierre Boulain! The thing was a shock, but Carrigan no longer tried to evade the point. His business was no longer with a man supposed to be a thousand or fifteen hundred miles farther north. It was with Marie-Anne, St. Pierre, and Andre, the Broken Man. And also with Concombre Bateese. He smiled a little grimly as he thought of his approaching battle with the half-breed. St. Pierre would be astounded at the proposition he had in store for him. But he was sure that St. Pierre would accept. And then, if he won the fight with Bateese-- The smile faded from his lips. His face grew older as he looked slowly about the bateau cabin, with its sweet and lingering whispers of a woman's presence. It was a part of her. It breathed of her fragrance and her beauty; it seemed to be waiting for her, crying softly for her return. Yet once had there been another woman even lovelier than the wife of St. Pierre. He had not hesitated then. Without great effort he had triumphed over the loveliness of Carmin Fanchet and had sent her brother to the hangman. And now, as he recalled those days, the truth came to him that even in the darkest hour Carmin Fanchet had made not the slightest effort to buy him off with her beauty. She had not tried to lure him. She had fought proudly and defiantly. And had Marie-Anne done that? His fingers clenched slowly, and a thickening came in his throat. Would she tell St. Pierre of the many hours they had spent together? Would she confess to him the secret of that precious moment when she had lain close against his breast, her arms about him, her face pressed to his? Would she speak to him of secret hours, of warm flushes that had come to her face, of glowing fires that at times had burned in her eyes when he had been very near to her? Would she reveal EVERYTHING to St. Pierre--her husband? He was powerless to combat the voice that told him no. Carmin Fanchet had fought him openly as an enemy and had not employed her beauty as a weapon. Marie-Anne had put in his way a great temptation. What he was thinking seemed to him like a sacrilege, yet he knew there could be no discriminating distinctions between weapons, now that he was determined to play the game to the end, for the Law. When Carrigan went out on deck, the half-breed was sweating from his exertion at the stern sweep. He looked at the agent de police who was going to fight him, perhaps tomorrow or the next day. There was a change in Carrigan. He was not the same man who had gone into the cabin an hour before, and the fact impressed itself upon Bateese. There was something in his appearance that held back the loose talk at the end of Concombre's tongue. And so it was Carrigan himself who spoke first. "When will this man St. Pierre come to see me?" he demanded. "If he doesn't come soon, I shall go to him." For an instant Concombre's face darkened. Then, as he bent over the sweep with his great back to David, he chuckled audibly, and said: "Would you go, m'sieu? Ah--it is le malade d'amour over there in the cabin. Surely you would not break in upon their love-making?" Bateese did not look over his shoulder, and so he did not see the hot flush that gathered in David's face. But David was sure he knew it was there and that Concombre had guessed the truth of matters. There was a sly note in his voice, as if he could not quite keep to himself his exultation that beauty and bright eyes had played a clever trick on this man who, if his own judgment had been followed, would now be resting peacefully at the bottom of the river. It was the final stab to Carrigan. His muscles tensed. For the first time he felt the desire to shoot a naked fist into the grinning mouth of Concombre Bateese. He laid a hand on the half-breed's shoulder, and Bateese turned about slowly. He saw what was in the other's eyes. "Until this moment I have not known what a great pleasure it will be to fight you, Bateese," said David quietly. "Make it tomorrow--in the morning, if you wish. Take word to St. Pierre that I will make him a great wager that I win, a gamble so large that I think he will be afraid to cover it. For I don't think much of this St. Pierre of yours, Bateese. I believe him to be a big-winded bluff, like yourself. And also a coward. Mark my word, he will be so much afraid that he will not accept my wager!" Bateese did not answer. He was looking over David's shoulder. He seemed not to have heard what the other had said, yet there had come a sudden gleam of exultation in his eyes, and he replied, still gazing toward the raft, "Diantre, m'sieu coq de bruyere may keep ze beeg word in hees mout'! See!--St. Pierre, he ees comin' to answer for himself. Mon Dieu, I hope he does not wring ze leetle rooster's neck, for zat would spoil wan great, gran' fight tomorrow!" David turned toward the big raft. At the distance which separated them he could make out the giant figure of St. Pierre Boulain getting into a canoe. The humped-up form already in that canoe he knew was the Broken Man. He could not see Marie-Anne. Very lightly Bateese touched his arm. "M'sieu will go into ze cabin," he suggested softly. "If somet'ing happens, it ees bes' too many eyes do not see it. You understan', m'sieu agent de police?" Carrigan nodded. "I understand," he said. XVI In the cabin David waited. He did not look through the window to watch St. Pierre's approach. He sat down and picked up a magazine from the table upon which Marie-Anne's work-basket lay. He was cool as ice now. His blood flowed evenly and his pulse beat unhurriedly. Never had he felt himself more his own master, more like grappling with a situation. St. Pierre was coming to fight. He had no doubt of that. Perhaps not physically, at first. But, one way or another, something dynamic was bound to happen in the bateau cabin within the next half-hour. Now that the impending drama was close at hand, Carrigan's scheme of luring St. Pierre into the making of a stupendous wager seemed to him rather ridiculous. With calculating coldness he was forced to concede that St. Pierre would be somewhat of a fool to accept the wager he had in mind, when he was so completely in St. Pierre's power. For Marie-Anne and the chief of the Boulains, the bottom of the river would undoubtedly be the best and easiest solution, and the half-breed's suggestion might be acted upon after all. As his mind charged itself for the approaching struggle, David found himself staring at a double page in the magazine, given up entirely to impossibly slim young creatures exhibiting certain bits of illusive and mysterious feminine apparel. Marie-Anne had expressed her approbation in the form of pencil notes under several of them. Under a cobwebby affair that wreathed one of the slim figures he read, "St. Pierre will love this!" There were two exclamation points after that particular notation! David replaced the magazine on the table and looked toward the door. No, St. Pierre would not hesitate to put him at the bottom of the river, for her. Not if he, Dave Carrigan, made the solution of the matter a necessity. There were times, he told himself, when it was confoundedly embarrassing to force the letter of the law. And this was one of them. He was not afraid of the river bottom. He was thinking again of Marie-Anne. The scraping of a canoe against the side of the bateau recalled him suddenly to the moment at hand. He heard low voices, and one of them, he knew, was St. Pierre's. For an interval the voices continued, frequently so low that he could not distinguish them at all. For ten minutes he waited impatiently. Then the door swung open, and St. Pierre came in. Slowly and coolly David rose to meet him, and at the same moment the chief of the Boulains closed the door behind him. There was no greeting in Carrigan's manner. He was the Law, waiting, unexcited, sure of himself, impassive as a thing of steel. He was ready to fight. He expected to fight. It only remained for St. Pierre to show what sort of fight it was to be. And he was amazed at St. Pierre, without betraying that amazement. In the vivid light that shot through the western windows the chief of the Boulains stood looking at David. He wore a gray flannel shirt open at the throat, and it was a splendid throat David saw, and a splendid head above it, with its reddish beard and hair. But what he saw chiefly were St. Pierre's eyes. They were the sort of eyes he disliked to find in an enemy--a grayish, steely blue that reflected sunlight like polished flint. But there was no flash of battle-glow in them now. St. Pierre was neither excited nor in a bad humor. Nor did Carrigan's attitude appear to disturb him in the least. He was smiling; his eyes glowed with almost boyish curiosity as he stared appraisingly at David--and then, slowly, a low chuckle of laughter rose in his deep chest, and he advanced with an outstretched hand. "I am St. Pierre Boulain," he said. "I have heard a great deal about you, Sergeant Carrigan. You have had an unfortunate time!" Had the man advanced menacingly, David would have felt more comfortable. It was disturbing to have this giant come to him with an extended hand of apparent friendship when he had anticipated an entirely different sort of meeting. And St. Pierre was laughing at him! There was no doubt of that. And he had the colossal nerve to tell him that he had been unfortunate, as though being shot up by somebody's wife was a fairly decent joke! Carrigan's attitude did not change. He did not reach out a hand to meet the other. There was no responsive glimmer of humor in his eyes or on his lips. And seeing these things, St. Pierre turned his extended hand to the open box of cigars, so that he stood for a moment with his back toward him. "It's funny," he said, as if speaking to himself, and with only a drawling note of the French patois in his voice. "I come home, find my Jeanne in a terrible mix-up, a stranger in her room--and the stranger refuses to let me laugh or shake hands with him. Tonnerre, I say it is funny! And my Jeanne saved his life, and made him muffins, and gave him my own bed, and walked with him in the forest! Ah, the ungrateful cochon!" He turned, laughing openly, so that his deep voice filled the cabin. "Vous aves de la corde de pendu, m'sieu--yes, you are a lucky dog! For only one other man in the world would my Jeanne have done that. You are lucky because you were not ended behind the rock; you are lucky because you are not at the bottom of the river; you are lucky--" He shrugged his big shoulders hopelessly. "And now, after all our kindness and your good luck, you wait for me like an enemy, m'sieu. Diable, I can not understand!" For the life of him Carrigan could not, in these few moments, measure up his man. He had said nothing. He had let St. Pierre talk. And now St. Pierre stood there, one of the finest men he had ever looked upon, as if honestly overcome by a great wonder. And yet behind that apparent incredulity in his voice and manner David sensed the deep underflow of another thing. St. Pierre was all that Marie-Anne had claimed for him, and more. She had given him assurance of her unlimited confidence that her husband could adjust any situation in the world, and Carrigan conceded that St. Pierre measured up splendidly to that particular type of man. The smile had not left his face; the good humor was still in his eyes. David smiled back at him coldly. He recognized the cleverness of the other's play. St. Pierre was a man who would smile like that even as he fought, and Carrigan loved a smiling fighter, even when he had to slip steel bracelets over his wrists. "I am Sergeant Carrigan, of 'N' Division, Royal Northwest Mounted Police," he said, repeating the formula of the law. "Sit down, St. Pierre, and I will tell you a few things that have happened. And then--" "Non, non, it is not necessary, m'sieu. I have already listened for an hour, and I do not like to hear a story twice. You are of the Police. I love the Police. They are brave men, and brave men are my brothers. You are out after Roger Audemard, the rascal! Is it not so? And you were shot at behind the rock back there. You were almost killed. Ma foi, and it was my Jeanne who did the shooting! Yes, she thought you were another man." The chuckling, drum-like note of laughter came again out of St. Pierre's great chest. "It was bad shooting. I have taught her better, but the sun was blinding there in the hot, white sand. And after that--I know everything that has happened. Bateese was wrong. I shall scold him for wanting to put you at the bottom of the river--perhaps. Oui, ce que femme veut, Dieu le veut--that is it. A woman must have her way, and my Jeanne's gentle heart was touched because you were a brave and handsome man, M'sieu Carrigan. But I am not jealous. Jealousy is a worm that does not make friendship! And we shall be friends. Only as a friend could I take you to the Chateau Boulain, far up on the Yellowknife. And we are going there." In spite of what might have been the entirely proper thing to do at this particular moment, Carrigan's face broke into a smile as he drew a second chair up close to the table. He was swift to readjust himself. It came suddenly back to him how he had grinned behind the rock, when death seemed close at hand. And St. Pierre was like that now. David measured him again as the chief of the Boulains sat down opposite him. Such a man could not be afraid of anything on the face of the earth, even of the Law. The gleam that lay in his eyes told David that as they met his own over the table. "We are smiling now because it happens to please us," David read in them. "But in a moment, if it is necessary, we shall fight." Carrigan leaned a little over the table. "You know we are not going to the Chateau Boulain, St. Pierre," he said. "We are going to stop at Fort McMurray, and there you and your wife must answer for a number of things that have happened. There is one way out--possibly. That is largely up to you. Why did your wife try to kill me behind the rock? And what did you know about Black Roger Audemard?" St. Pierre's eyes did not for an instant leave Carrigan's face. Slowly a change came into them; the smile faded, the blue went out, and up from behind seemed to come another pair of eyes that were hard as steel and cold as ice. Yet they were not eyes that threatened, nor eyes that betrayed excitement or passion. And St. Pierre's voice, when he spoke, lacked the deep and vibrant note that had been in it. It was as if he had placed upon it the force of a mighty will, chaining it back, just as something hidden and terrible lay chained behind his eyes. "Why play like little children, M'sieu Carrigan?" he asked. "Why not come out squarely, honestly, like men? I know what has happened. Mon Dieu, it was bad! You were almost killed, and you heard that poor wreck, Andre, call for Roger Audemard. My Jeanne has told you about that--how I found him in the forest with his broken mind and body. And about my Jeanne--" St. Pierre's fists grew into knotted lumps on the table. "Non, I will die--I will kill you--before I will tell you why she shot at you behind the rock! We are men, both of us. We are not afraid. And you--in my place--what would YOU do, m'sieu?" In the moment's silence each man looked steadily at the other. "I would--fight," said David slowly. "If it was for her, I am pretty sure I would fight." He believed that he was drawing the net in now, that it would catch St. Pierre. He leaned a little farther over the table. "And I, too, must fight," he added. "You know our law, St. Pierre. We don't go back without our man--unless we happen to die. And I would be stupid if I did not understand the situation here. It would be quite easy for you to get rid of me. But I don't believe you are a murderer, even if your Jeanne tried to be." A flicker of a smile crossed his lips. "And Marie-Anne--I beg pardon!--your wife--" St. Pierre interrupted him. "It will please me to have you call her Marie-Anne. And it will please her also, m'sieu. Dieu, if we only had eyes that could see what is in a woman's heart! Life is funny, m'sieu. It is a great joke, I swear it on my soul!" He shrugged his shoulders, smiling again straight into David's eyes. "See what has happened! You set out for a murderer. My Jeanne makes a great mistake and shoots you. Then she pities you, saves your life, brings you here, and--ma foi! it is true--learns to care for you more than she should! But that does not make me want to kill you. Non, her happiness is mine. Dead men tell no tales, m'sieu, but there are times when living men also keep tales to themselves. And that is what you are going to do, M'sieu Carrigan. You are going to keep to yourself the thing that happened behind the rock. You are going to keep to yourself the mumblings of our poor mad Andre. Never will they pass your lips. I know. I swear it. I stake my life on it!" St. Pierre was talking slowly and unexcitedly. There was an immeasurable confidence in his deep voice. It did not imply a threat or a warning. He was sure of himself. And his eyes had deepened into blue again and were almost friendly. "You would stake your life?" repeated Carrigan questioningly. "You would do that?" St. Pierre rose to his feet and looked about the cabin with a shining light in his eyes that was both pride and exaltation. He moved toward the end of the room, where the piano stood, and for a moment his big fingers touched the keys; then, seeing the lacy bit of handkerchief that lay there, he picked it up--and placed it back again. Carrigan did not urge his question, but waited. In spite of his effort to fight it down he found himself in the grip of a mysterious and growing thrill as he watched St. Pierre. Never had the presence of another man had the same effect upon him, and strangely the thought came to him that he was matched--even overmatched. It was as if St. Pierre had brought with him into the cabin something more than the splendid strength of his body, a thing that reached out in the interval of silence between them, warning Carrigan that all the law in the world would not swerve the chief of the Boulains from what was already in his mind. For a moment the thought passed from David that fate had placed him up against the hazard of enmity with St. Pierre. His vision centered in the man alone. And as he, too, rose to his feet, an unconscious smile came to his lips as he recalled the boastings of Bateese. "I ask you," said he, "if you would really stake your life in a matter such as that? Of course, if your words were merely accidental, and meant nothing--" "If I had a dozen lives, I would stake them, one on top of the other, as I have said," interrupted St. Pierre. Suddenly his laugh boomed out and his voice became louder. "M'sieu Carrigan, I have come to offer you just that test! Oui, I could kill you now. I could put you at the bottom of the river, as Bateese thinks is right. Mon Dieu, how completely I could make you disappear! And then my Jeanne would be safe. She would not go behind prison bars. She would go on living, and laughing, and singing in the big forests, where she belongs. And Black Roger Audemard, the rascal, would be safe for a time! But that would be like destroying a little child. You are so helpless now. So you are going on to the Chateau Boulain with us, and if at the end of the second month from today you do not willingly say I have won my wager--why--m'sieu--I will go with you into the forest, and you may shoot out of me the life which is my end of the gamble. Is that not fair? Can you suggest a better way--between men like you and me?" "I can at least suggest a way that has the virtue of saving time," replied David. "First, however, I must understand my position here. I am, I take it, a prisoner." "A guest, with certain restrictions placed upon you, m'sieu," corrected St. Pierre. The eyes of the two men met on a dead level. "Tomorrow morning I am going to fight Bateese," said David. "It is a little sporting event we have fixed up between us for the amusement of--your men. I have heard that Bateese is the best fighting man along the Three Rivers. And I--I do not like to have any other man claim that distinction when I am around." For the first time St. Pierre's placidity seemed to leave him. His brow became clouded, a moment's frown grew in his face, and there was a certain disconsolate hopelessness in the shrug of his shoulders. It was as if Carrigan's words had suddenly robbed the day of all its sunshine for the chief of the Boulains. His voice, too, carried an unhappy and disappointed note as he made a gesture toward the window. "M'sieu, on that raft out there are many of my men, and they have scarcely rested or slept since word was brought to them that a stranger was to fight Concombre Bateese. Tonnerre, they have gambled without ever seeing you until the clothes on their backs are in the hazard, and they have cracked their muscles in labor to overtake you! They have prayed away their very souls that it would be a good fight, and that Bateese would not eat you up too quickly. It has been a long time since we have seen a good fight, a long time since the last man dared to stand up against the half-breed. Ugh, it tears out my heart to tell you that the fight can not be!" St. Pierre made no effort to suppress his emotion. He was like a huge, disappointed boy. He walked to the window, peered forth at the raft, and as he shrugged his big shoulders again something like a groan came from him. The thrill of approaching triumph swept through David's blood. The flame of it was in his eyes when St. Pierre turned from the window. "And you are disappointed, St. Pierre? You would like to see that fight!" The blue steel in St. Pierre's eyes flashed back. "If the price were a year of my life, I would give it--if Bateese did not eat you up too quickly. I love to look upon a good fight, where there is no venom of hatred in the blows!" "Then you shall see a good fight, St. Pierre." "Bateese would kill you, m'sieu. You are not big. You are not his match." "I shall whip him, St. Pierre--whip him until he avows me his master." "You do not know the half-breed, m'sieu. Twice I have tried him in friendly combat myself and have been beaten." "But I shall whip him," repeated Carrigan. "I will wager you anything--anything in the world--even life against life--that I whip him!" The gloom had faded from the face of St. Pierre Boulain. But in a moment it clouded again. "My Jeanne has made me promise that I will stop the fight," he said. "And why--why should she insist in a matter such as this, which properly should be settled among men?" asked David. Again St. Pierre laughed; with an effort, it seemed, "She is gentle-hearted, m'sieu. She laughed and thought it quite a joke when Bateese humbled me. 'What! My great St. Pierre, with the blood of old France in his veins, beaten by a man who has been named after a vegetable!' she cried. I tell you she was merry over it, m'sieu! She laughed until the tears came into her eyes. But with you it is different. She was white when she entreated me not to let you fight Bateese. Yes, she is afraid you will be badly hurt. And she does not want to see you hurt again. But I tell you that I am not jealous, m'sieu! She does not try to hide things from me. She tells me everything, like a little child. And so--" "I am going to fight Bateese," said David. He wondered if St. Pierre could hear the thumping of his heart, or if his face gave betrayal of the hot flood it was pumping through his body. "Bateese and I have pledged ourselves. We shall fight, unless you tie one of us hand and foot. And as for a wager--" "Yes--what have you to wager?" demanded St. Pierre eagerly. "You know the odds are great," temporized Carrigan. "That I concede, m'sieu." "But a fight without a wager would be like a pipe without tobacco, St. Pierre." "You speak truly, m'sieu." David came nearer and laid a hand on the other's arm. "St. Pierre, I hope you--and your Jeanne--will understand what I am about to offer. It is this. If Bateese whips me, I will disappear into the forests, and no word shall ever pass my lips of what has passed since that hour behind the rock--and this. No whisper of it will ever reach the Law. I will forget the attempted murder and the suspicious mumblings of your Broken Man. You will be safe. Your Jeanne will be safe--if Bateese whips me." He paused, and waited. St. Pierre made no answer, but amazement came into his face, and after that a slow and burning fire in his eyes which told how deeply and vitally Carrigan's words had struck into his soul. "And if I should happen to win," continued David, turning a bit carelessly toward the window, "why, I should expect as large a payment from you. If I win, your fulfillment of the wager will be to tell me in every detail why your wife tried to kill me behind the rock, and you will also tell me all that you know about the man I am after, Black Roger Audemard. That is all. I am asking for no odds, though you concede the handicap is great." He did not look at St. Pierre. Behind him he heard the other's deep breathing. For a space neither spoke. Outside they could hear the soft swish of water, the low voices of men in the stern, and a shout and the barking of a dog coming from the raft far out on the river. For David the moment was one of suspense. He turned again, a bit carelessly, as if his proposition were a matter of but little significance to him. St. Pierre was not looking at him. He was staring toward the door, as if through it he could see the powerful form of Bateese bending over the stern sweep. And Carrigan could see that his face was flaming with a great desire, and that the blood in his body was pounding to the mighty urge of it. Suddenly he faced Carrigan. "M'sieu, listen to me," he said. "You are a brave man. You are a man of honor, and I know you will bury sacredly in your heart what I am going to tell you now, and never let a word of it escape--even to my Jeanne. I do not blame you for loving her. Non! You could not help that. You have fought well to keep it within yourself, and for that I honor you. How do I know? Mon Dieu, she has told me! A woman's heart understands, and a woman's ears are quick to hear, m'sieu. When you were sick, and your mind was wandering, you told her again and again that you loved her--and when she brought you back to life, her eyes saw more than once the truth of what your lips had betrayed, though you tried to keep it to yourself. Even more, m'sieu--she felt the touch of your lips on her hair that day. She understands. She has told me everything, openly, innocently--yet her heart thrills with that sympathy of a woman who knows she is loved. M'sieu, if you could have seen the light in her eyes and the glow in her cheeks as she told me these secrets. But I am not jealous! Non! It is only because you are a brave man, and one of honor, that I tell you all this. She would die of shame did she know I had betrayed her confidence. Yet it is necessary that I tell you, because if we make the big wager we must drop my Jeanne from the gamble. Do you comprehend me, m'sieu? "We are two men, strong men, fighting men. I--Pierre Boulain--can not feel the shame of jealousy where a woman's heart is pure and sweet, and where a man has fought against love with honor as you have fought. And you, m'sieu--David Carrigan, of the Police--can not strike with your hard man's hand that tender heart, that is like a flower, and which this moment is beating faster than it should with the fear that some harm is going to befall you. Is it not so, m'sieu? We will make the wager, yes. But if you whip Bateese--and you can not do that in a hundred years of fighting--I will not tell you why my Jeanne shot at you behind the rock. Non, never! Yet I swear I will tell you the other. If you win, I will tell you all I know about Roger Audemard, and that is considerable, m'sieu. Do you agree?" Slowly David held out a hand. St. Pierre's gripped it. The fingers of the two men met like bands of steel. "Tomorrow you will fight," said St. Pierre. "You will fight and be beaten so terribly that you may always show the marks of it. I am sorry. Such a man as you I would rather have as a brother than an enemy. And she will never forgive me. She will always remember it. The thought will never die out of her heart that I was a beast to let you fight Bateese. But it is best for all. And my men? Ah! Diable, but it will be great sport for them, m'sieu!" His hand unclasped. He turned to the door. A moment later it closed behind him, and David was alone. He had not spoken. He had not replied to the engulfing truths that had fallen quietly and without a betrayal of passion from St. Pierre's lips. Inwardly he was crushed. Yet his face was like stone, hiding his shame. And then, suddenly, there came a sound from outside that sent the blood through his cold veins again. It was laughter, the great, booming laughter of St. Pierre! It was not the merriment of a man whose heart was bleeding, or into whose life had come an unexpected pain or grief. It was wild and free, and filled with the joy of the sun-filled day. And David, listening to it, felt something that was more than admiration for this man growing within him. And unconsciously his lips repeated St. Pierre's words. "Tomorrow--you will fight." XVII For many minutes David stood at the bateau window and watched the canoe that carried St. Pierre Boulain and the Broken Man back to the raft. It moved slowly, as if St. Pierre was loitering with a purpose and was thinking deeply of what had passed. Carrigan's fingers tightened, and his face grew tense, as he gazed out into the glow of the western sun. Now that the stress of nerve-breaking moments in the cabin was over, he no longer made an effort to preserve the veneer of coolness and decision with which he had encountered the chief of the Boulains. Deep in his soul he was crushed and humiliated. Every nerve in his body was bleeding. He had heard St. Pierre's big laugh a moment before, but it must have been the laugh of a man who was stabbed to the heart. And he was going back to Marie-Anne like that--drifting scarcely faster than the current that he might steal time to strengthen himself before he looked into her eyes again. David could see him, motionless, his giant shoulders hunched forward a little, his head bowed, and in the stern the Broken Man paddled listlessly, his eyes on the face of his master. Without voice David cursed himself. In his egoism he had told himself that he had made a splendid fight in resisting the temptation of a great love for the wife of St. Pierre. But what was his own struggle compared with this tragedy which St. Pierre was now facing? He turned from the window and looked about the cabin room again--the woman's room and St. Pierre's--and his face burned in its silent accusation. Like a living thing it painted another picture for him. For a space he lost his own identity. He saw himself in the place of St. Pierre. He was the husband of Marie-Anne, worshipping her even as St. Pierre must worship her, and he came, as St. Pierre had come, to find a stranger in his home, a stranger who had lain in his bed, a stranger whom his wife had nursed back to life, a stranger who had fallen in love with his most inviolable possession, who had told her of his love, who had kissed her, who had held her close, in his arms, whose presence had brought a warmer flush and a brighter glow into eyes and cheeks that until this stranger's coming had belonged only to him. And he heard her, as St. Pierre had heard her, pleading with him to keep this man from harm; he heard her soft voice, telling of the things that had passed between them, and he saw in her eyes-- With almost a cry he swept the thought and the picture from him. It was an atrocious thing to conceive, impossible of reality. And yet the truth would not go. What would he have done in St. Pierre's place? He went to the window again. Yes, St. Pierre was a bigger man than he. For St. Pierre had come quietly and calmly, offering a hand of friendship, generous, smiling, keeping his hurt to himself, while he, Dave Carrigan, would have come with the murder of man in his heart. His eyes passed from the canoe to the raft, and from the big raft to the hazy billows of green and golden forest that melted off into interminable miles of distance beyond the river. He knew that on the other side of him lay that same distance, north, east, south, and west, vast spaces in an unpeopled world, the same green and golden forests, ten thousand plains and rivers and lakes, a million hiding-places where romance and tragedy might remain forever undisturbed. The thought came to him that it would not be difficult to slip out into that world and disappear. He almost owed it to St. Pierre. It was the voice of Bateese in a snatch of wild and discordant song that brought him back into grim reality. There was, after all, that embarrassing matter of justice--and the accursed Law! After a little he observed that the canoe was moving faster, and that Andre's paddle was working steadily and with force. St. Pierre no longer sat hunched in the bow. His head was erect, and he was waving a hand in the direction of the raft. A figure had come from the cabin on the huge mass of floating timber. David caught the shimmer of a woman's dress, something white fluttering over her head, waving back at St. Pierre. It was Marie-Anne, and he moved away from the window. He wondered what was passing between St. Pierre and his wife in the hour that followed. The bateau kept abreast of the raft, moving neither faster nor slower than it did, and twice he surrendered to the desire to scan the deck of the floating timbers through his binoculars. But the cabin held St. Pierre and Marie-Anne, and he saw neither of them again until the sun was setting. Then St. Pierre came out--alone. Even at that distance over the broad river he heard the booming voice of the chief of the Boulains. Life sprang up where there had been the drowse of inactivity aboard the raft. A dozen more of the great sweeps were swiftly manned by men who appeared suddenly from the shaded places of canvas shelters and striped tents. A murmur of voices rose over the water, and then the murmur was broken by howls and shouts as the rivermen ran to their places at the command of St. Pierre's voice, and as the sweeps began to flash in the setting sun, it gave way entirely to the evening chant of the Paddling Song. David gripped himself as he listened and watched the slowly drifting glory of the world that came down to the shores of the river. He could see St. Pierre clearly, for the bateau had worked its way nearer. He could see the bare heads and naked arms of the rivermen at the sweeps. The sweet breath of the forests filled his lungs, as that picture lay before him, and there came into his soul a covetousness and a yearning where before there had been humiliation and the grim urge of duty. He could breathe the air of that world, he could look at its beauty, he could worship it--and yet he knew that he was not a part of it as those others were a part of it. He envied the men at the sweeps; he felt his heart swelling at the exultation and joy in their song. They were going home--home down the big rivers, home to the heart of God's Country, where wives and sweethearts and happiness were waiting for them, and their visions were his visions as he stared wide-eyed and motionless over the river. And yet he was irrevocably an alien. He was more than that--an enemy, a man-hound sent out on a trail to destroy, an agent of a powerful and merciless force that carried with it punishment and death. The crew of the bateau had joined in the evening song of the rivermen on the raft, and over the ridges and hollows of the forest tops, red and green and gold in the last warm glory of the sun, echoed that chanting voice of men. David understood now what St. Pierre's command had been. The huge raft with its tented city of life was preparing to tie up for the night. A quarter of a mile ahead the river widened, so that on the far side was a low, clean shore toward which the efforts of the men at the sweeps were slowly edging the raft. York boats shot out on the shore side and dropped anchors that helped drag the big craft in. Two others tugged at tow-lines fastened to the shoreside bow, and within twenty minutes the first men were plunging up out of the water on the white strip of beach and were whipping the tie-lines about the nearest trees. David unconsciously was smiling in the thrill and triumph of these last moments, and not until they were over did he sense the fact that Bateese and his crew were bringing the bateau in to the opposite shore. Before the sun was quite down, both raft and house-boat were anchored for the night. As the shadows of the distant forests deepened, Carrigan felt impending about him an oppression of emptiness and loneliness which he had not experienced before. He was disappointed that the bateau had not tied up with the raft. Already he could see men building fires. Spirals of smoke began to rise from the shore, and he knew that the riverman's happiest of all hours, supper time, was close at hand. He looked at his watch. It was after seven o'clock. Then he watched the fading away of the sun until only the red glow of it remained in the west, and against the still thicker shadows the fires of the rivermen threw up yellow flames. On his own side, Bateese and the bateau crew were preparing their meal. It was eight o'clock when a man he had not seen before brought in his supper. He ate, scarcely sensing the taste of his food, and half an hour later the man reappeared for the dishes. It was not quite dark when he returned to his window, but the far shore was only an indistinct blur of gloom. The fires were brighter. One of them, built solely because of the rivermen's inherent love of light and cheer, threw the blaze of its flaming logs twenty feet into the air. He wondered what Marie-Anne was doing in this hour. Last night they had been together. He had marveled at the witchery of the moonlight in her hair and eyes, he had told her of the beauty of it, she had smiled, she had laughed softly with him--for hours they had sat in the spell of the golden night and the glory of the river. And tonight--now--was she with St. Pierre, waiting as they had waited last night for the rising of the moon? Had she forgotten? COULD she forget? Or was she, as he thought St. Pierre had painfully tried to make him believe, innocent of all the thoughts and desires that had come to him, as he sat worshipping her in their stolen hours? He could think of them only as stolen, for he did not believe Marie-Anne had revealed to her husband all she might have told him. He was sure he would never see her again as he had seen her then, and something of bitterness rose in him as he thought of that. St. Pierre, could he have seen her face and eyes when he told her that her hair in the moonlight was lovelier than anything he had ever seen, would have throttled him with his naked hands in that meeting in the cabin. For St. Pierre's code would not have had her eyes droop under their long lashes or her cheeks flush so warmly at the words of another man--and he could not take vengeance on the woman herself. No, she had not told St. Pierre all she might have told! There were things which she must have kept to herself, which she dared not reveal even to this great-hearted man who was her husband. Shame, if nothing more, had kept her silent. Did she feel that shame as he was feeling it? It was inconceivable to think otherwise. And for that reason, more than all others, he knew that she would not meet him face to face again--unless he forced that meeting. And there was little chance of that, for his pledge with St. Pierre had eliminated her from the aftermath of tomorrow's drama, his fight with Bateese. Only when St. Pierre might stand in a court of law would there be a possibility of her eyes meeting his own again, and then they would flame with the hatred that at another time had been in the eyes of Carmin Fanchet. With the dull stab of a thing that of late had been growing inside him, he wondered what had happened to Carmin Fanchet in the years that had gone since he had brought about the hanging of her brother. Last night and the night before, strange dreams of her had come to him in restless slumber. It was disturbing to him that he should wake up in the middle of the night dreaming of her, when he had gone to his bed with a mind filled to overflowing with the sweet presence of Marie-Anne Boulain. And now his mind reached out poignantly into mysterious darkness and doubt, even as the darkness of night spread itself in a thickening canopy over the river. Gray clouds had followed the sun of a faultless day, and the stars were veiled overhead. When David turned from the window, it was so dark in the cabin that he could not see. He did not light the lamps, but made his way to St. Pierre's couch and sat down in the silence and gloom. Through the open windows came to him the cadence of the river and the forests. There was silence of human voice ashore, but under him he heard the lapping murmur of water as it rustled under the stern and side of the bateau, and from the deep timber came the never-ceasing whisper of the spruce and cedar tops, and the subdued voice of creatures whose hours of activity had come with the dying out of the sun. For a long time he sat in this darkness. And then there came to him a sound that was different than the other sounds--a low monotone of voices, the dipping of a paddle--and a canoe passed close under his windows and up the shore. He paid small attention to it until, a little later, the canoe returned, and its occupants boarded the bateau. It would have roused little interest in him then had he not heard a voice that was thrillingly like the voice of a woman. He drew his hunched shoulders erect and stared through the darkness toward the door. A moment more and there was no doubt. It was almost shock that sent the blood leaping suddenly through his veins. The inconceivable had happened. It was Marie-Anne out there, talking in a low voice to Bateese! Then there came a heavy knock at his door, and he heard the door open. Through it he saw the grayer gloom of the outside night partly shut out a heavy shadow. "M'sieu!" called the voice of Bateese. "I am here," said David. "You have not gone to bed, m'sieu?" "No." The heavy shadow seemed to fade away, and yet there still remained a shadow there. David's heart thumped as he noted the slenderness of it. For a space there was silence. And then, "Will you light the lamps, M'sieu David?" a soft voice came to him. "I want to come in, and I am afraid of this terrible darkness!" He rose to his feet, fumbling in his pocket for matches. XVIII He did not turn toward Marie-Anne when he had lighted the first of the great brass lamps hanging at the side of the bateau. He went to the second, and struck another match, and flooded the cabin with light. She still stood silhouetted against the darkness beyond the cabin door when he faced her. She was watching him, her eyes intent, her face a little pale, he thought. Then he smiled and nodded. He could not see a great change in her since this afternoon, except that there seemed to be a little more fire in the glow of her eyes. They were looking at him steadily as she smiled and nodded, wide, beautiful eyes in which there was surely no revelation of shame or regret, and no very clear evidence of unhappiness. David stared, and his tongue clove to the roof of his mouth. "Why is it that you sit in darkness?" she asked, stepping within and closing the door. "Did you not expect me to return and apologize for leaving you so suddenly this afternoon? It was impolite. Afterward I was ashamed. But I was excited, M'sieu David. I--" "Of course," he hurried to interrupt her. "I understand. St. Pierre is a lucky man. I congratulate you--as well as him. He is splendid, a man in whom you can place great faith and confidence." "He scolded me for running away from you as I did, M'sieu David. He said I should have shown better courtesy than to leave like that one who was a guest in our--home. So I have returned, like a good child, to make amends." "It was not necessary." "But you were lonesome and in darkness!" He nodded. "Yes." "And besides," she added, so quietly and calmly that he was amazed, "you know my sleeping apartment is also on the bateau. And St. Pierre made me promise to say good night to you." "It is an imposition," cried David, the blood rushing to his face. "You have given up all this to me! Why not let me go into that little room forward, or sleep on the raft and you and St. Pierre--" "St. Pierre would not leave the raft," replied Marie-Anne, turning from him toward the table on which were the books and magazines and her work-basket. "And I like my little room forward." "St. Pierre--" He stopped himself. He could see a sudden color deepening in the cheek of St. Pierre's wife as she made pretense of looking for something in her basket. He felt that if he went on he would blunder, if he had not already blundered. He was uncomfortable, for he believed he had guessed the truth. It was not quite reasonable to expect that Marie-Anne would come to him like this on the first night of St. Pierre's homecoming. Something had happened over in the little cabin on the raft, he told himself. Perhaps there had been a quarrel--at least ironical implications on St. Pierre's part. And his sympathy was with St. Pierre. He caught suddenly a little tremble at the corner of Marie-Anne's mouth as her face was turned partly from him, and he stepped to the opposite side of the table so he could look at her fairly. If there had been unpleasantness in the cabin on the raft, St. Pierre's wife in no way gave evidence of it. The color had deepened to almost a blush in her cheeks, but it was not on account of embarrassment, for one who is embarrassed is not usually amused, and as she looked up at him her eyes were filled with the flash of laughter which he had caught her lips struggling to restrain. Then, finding a bit of lace work with the needles meshed in it, she seated herself, and again he was looking down on the droop of her long lashes and the seductive glow of her lustrous hair. Yesterday, in a moment of irresistible impulse, he had told her how lovely it was as she had dressed it, a bewitching crown of interwoven coils, not drawn tightly, but crumpled and soft, as if the mass of tresses were openly rebelling at closer confinement. She had told him the effect was entirely accidental, largely due to carelessness and haste in dressing it. Accidental or otherwise, it was the same tonight, and in the heart of it were the drooping red petals of a flower she had gathered with him early that afternoon. "St. Pierre brought me over," she said in a calmly matter-of-fact voice, as though she had expected David to know that from the beginning. "He is ashore talking over important matters with Bateese. I am sure he will drop in and say good night before he returns to the raft. He asked me to wait for him--here." She raised her eyes, so clear and untroubled, so quietly unembarrassed under his gaze, that he would have staked his life she had no suspicion of the confessions which St. Pierre had revealed to him. "Do you care? Would you rather put out the lights and go to bed?" He shook his head. "No. I am glad. I was beastly lonesome. I had an idea--" He was on the point of blundering again when he caught himself. The effect of her so near him was more than ever disturbing, in spite of St. Pierre. Her eyes, clear and steady, yet soft as velvet when they looked at him, made his tongue and his thoughts dangerously uncertain. "You had an idea, M'sieu David?" "That you would have no desire to see me again after my talk with St. Pierre," he said. "Did he tell you about it?" "He said you were very fine, M'sieu David--and that he liked you." "And he told you it is determined that I shall fight Bateese in the morning?" "Yes." The one word was spoken with a quiet lack of excitement, even of interest--it seemed to belie some of the things St. Pierre had told him, and he could scarcely believe, looking at her now, that she had entreated her husband to prevent the encounter, or that she had betrayed any unusual emotion in the matter at all. "I was afraid you would object," he could not keep from saying. "It does not seem nice to pull off such a thing as that, when there is a lady about--" "Or LADIES." She caught him up quickly, and he saw a sudden little tightening of her pretty mouth as she turned her eyes to the bit of lace work again. "But I do not object, because what St. Pierre says is right--must be right." And the softness, he thought, went altogether out of the curve of her lips for an instant. In a flash their momentary betrayal of vexation was gone, and St. Pierre's wife had replaced the work-basket on the table and was on her feet, smiling at him. There was something of wild daring in her eyes, something that made him think of the glory of adventure he had seen flaming in her face the night they had run the rapids of the Holy Ghost. "Tomorrow will be very unpleasant, M'sieu David," she cried softly. "Bateese will beat you--terribly. Tonight we must think of things more agreeable." He had never seen her more radiant than when she turned toward the piano. What the deuce did it mean? Had St. Pierre been making a fool of him? She actually appeared unable to restrain her elation at the thought that Bateese would surely beat him up! He stood without moving and made no effort to answer her. Just before they had started on that thrilling adventure into the forest, which had ended with his carrying her in his arms, she had gone to the piano and had played for him. Now her fingers touched softly the same notes. A little humming trill came in her throat, and it seemed to David that she was deliberately recalling his thoughts to the things that had happened before the coming of St. Pierre. He had not lighted the lamp over the piano, and for a flash her dark eyes smiled at him out of the half shadow. After a moment she began to sing. Her voice was low and without effort, untrained, and subdued as if conscious and afraid of its limitations, yet so exquisitely sweet that to David it was a new and still more wonderful revelation of St. Pierre's wife. He drew nearer, until he stood close at her side, the dark luster of her hair almost touching his arm, her partly upturned face a bewitching profile in the shadows. Her voice grew lower, almost a whisper in its melody, as if meant for him alone. Many times he had heard the Canadian Boat Song, but never as its words came now from the lips of Marie-Anne Boulain. "Faintly as tolls the evening chime, Our voices keep tune, and our oars keep time. Soon as the woods on shore look dim, We'll sing at St. Ann's our parting hymn; Row, brothers, row, the stream runs fast, The rapids are near, and the daylight's past." She paused. And David, staring down at her shining head, did not speak. Her fingers trembled over the keys, he could see dimly the shadow of her long lashes, and the spirit-like scent of crushed violets rose to him from the soft lace about her throat and her hair. "It is your music," he whispered. "I have never heard the Boat Song like that!" He tried to drag his eyes from her face and hair, sensing that he was a near-criminal, fighting a mighty impulse. The notes under her fingers changed, and again--by chance or design--she was stabbing at him; bringing him face to face with the weakness of his flesh, the iniquity of his desire to reach out his arms and crumple her in them. Yet she did not look up, she did not see him, as she began to sing "Ave Maria." "Ave, Maria, hear my cry! O, guide my path where no harm, no harm is nigh--" As she went on, he knew she had forgotten to think of him. With the reverence of a prayer the holy words came from her lips, slowly, softly, trembling with a pathos and sweetness that told David they came not alone from the lips, but from the very soul of St. Pierre's wife. And then-- "Oh, Mother, hear me where thou art, And guard and guide my aching heart, my aching heart!" The last words drifted away into a whisper, and David was glad that he was not looking into the face of St. Pierre's wife, for there must have been something there now which it would have been sacrilege for him to stare at, as he was staring at her hair. No sound of opening door had come from behind them. Yet St. Pierre had opened it and stood there, watching them with a curious humor in eyes that seemed still to hold a glitter of the fire that had leaped from the half-breed's flaming birch logs. His voice was a shock to Carrigan. "PESTE, but you are a gloomy pair!" he boomed. "Why no light over there in the corner, and why sing that death-song to chase away the devil when there is no devil near?" Guilt was in David's heart, but there was no sting of venom in St. Pierre's words, and he was laughing at them now, as though what he saw were a pretty joke and amused him. "Late hours and shady bowers! I say it should be a love song or something livelier," he cried, closing the door behind him and coming toward them. "Why not En Roulant ma Boule, my sweet Jeanne? You know that is my favorite." He suddenly interrupted himself, and his voice rolled out in a wild chant that rocked the cabin. "The wind is fresh, the wind is free, En roulant ma boule! The wind is fresh--my love waits me, Rouli, roulant, ma boule roulant! Behind our house a spring you see, In it three ducks swim merrily, And hunting, the Prince's son went he, With a silver gun right fair to see--" David was conscious that St. Pierre's wife had risen to her feet, and now she came out of shadow into light, and he was amazed to see that she was laughing back at St. Pierre, and that her two fore-fingers were thrust in her ears to keep out the bellow of her husband's voice. She was not at all discomfited by his unexpected appearance, but rather seemed to join in the humor of the thing with St. Pierre, though he fancied he could see something in her face that was forced and uneasy. He believed that under the surface of her composure she was suffering a distress which she did not reveal. St. Pierre advanced and carelessly patted her shoulder with one of his big hands, while he spoke to David. "Has she not the sweetest voice in the world, m'sieu? Did you ever hear a sweeter or as sweet? I say it is enough to get down into the soul of a man, unless he is already half dead! That voice--" He caught Marie-Anne's eyes. Her cheeks were flaming. Her look, for an instant, flashed lightning as she halted him. "Ma foi, I speak it from the heart," he persisted, with a shrug of his shoulders. "Am I not right, M'sieu Carrigan? Did you ever hear a sweeter voice?" "It is wonderful," agreed David, wondering if he was hazarding too much. "Good! It fills me with happiness to know I am right. And now, cherie, good-night! I must return to the raft." A shadow of vexation crossed Marie-Anne's face. "You seem in great haste." "Plagues and pests! You are right, Pretty Voice! I am most anxious to get back to my troubles there, and you--" "Will also bid M'sieu Carrigan good-night," she quickly interrupted him. "You will at least see me to my room, St. Pierre, and safely put away for the night." She held out her hand to David. There was not a tremor in it as it lay for an instant soft and warm in his own. She made no effort to withdraw it quickly, nor did her eyes hide their softness as they looked into his own. Mutely David stood as they went out. He heard St. Pierre's loud voice rumbling about the darkness of the night. He heard them pass along the side of the bateau forward, and half a minute later he knew that St. Pierre was getting into his canoe. The dip of a paddle came to him. For a space there was silence, and then, from far out in the black shadow of the river, rolled back the great voice of St. Pierre Boulain singing the wild river chant, "En Roulant ma Boule." At the open window he listened. It seemed to him that from far over the river, where the giant raft lay, there came a faint answer to the words of the song, XIX With the slow approach of the storm which was advancing over the wilderness, Carrigan felt more poignantly the growing unrest that was in him. He heard the last of St. Pierre's voice, and after that the fires on the distant shore died out slowly, giving way to utter blackness. Faintly there came to him the far-away rumbling of thunder. The air grew heavy and thick, and there was no sound of night-bird over the breast of the river, and out of the thick cedar and spruce and balsam there came no cry or whisper of the nocturnal life waiting in silence for the storm to break. In that stillness David put out the lights in the cabin and sat close to the window in darkness. He was more than sleepless. Every nerve in his body demanded action, and his brain was fired by strange thoughts until their vividness seemed to bring him face to face with a reality that set his blood stirring with an irresistible thrill. He believed he had made a discovery, that St. Pierre had betrayed himself. What he had visioned, the conclusion he had arrived at, seemed inconceivable, yet what his own eyes had seen and his ears had heard pointed to the truth of it all. The least he could say was that St. Pierre's love for Marie-Anne Boulain was a strange sort of love. His attitude toward her seemed more like that of a man in the presence of a child of whom he was fond in a fatherly sort of way. His affection, as he had expressed it, was parental and careless. Not for an instant had there been in it a betrayal of the lover, no suggestion of the husband who cared deeply or who might be made jealous by another man. Sitting in darkness thickening with the nearer approach of storm, David recalled the stab of pain mingled with humiliation that had come into the eyes of St. Pierre's wife when she had stood facing her husband. He heard again, with a new understanding, the low note of pathos in her voice as in song she had called upon the Mother of Christ to hear her--and help her. He had not guessed at the tragedy of it then. Now he knew, and he thought of her lying awake in the gloom beyond the bulkhead, her eyes were with tears. And St. Pierre had gone back to his raft, singing in the night! Where before there had been sympathy for him, there rose a sincere revulsion. There had been a reason for St. Pierre's masterly possession of himself, and it had not been, as he had thought, because of his bigness of soul. It was because he had not cared. He was a splendid hypocrite, playing his game well at the beginning, but betraying the lie at the end. He did not love Marie-Anne as he, Dave Carrigan, loved her. He had spoken of her as a child, and he had treated her as a child, and was serenely dispassionate in the face of a situation which would have roused the spirit in most men. And suddenly, recalling that thrilling hour in the white strip of sand and all that had happened since, it flashed upon David that St. Pierre was using his wife as the vital moving force in a game of his own--that under the masquerade of his apparent faith and bigness of character he was sacrificing her to achieve a certain mysterious something it the scheme of his own affairs. Yet he could not forget the infinite faith Marie-Anne Boulain had expressed in her husband. There had been no hypocrisy in her waiting and her watching for him, or in her belief that he would straighten out the tangles of the dilemma in which she had become involved. Nor had there been make-believe in the manner she had left him that day in her eagerness to go to St. Pierre. Adding these facts as he had added the others, he fancied he saw the truth staring at him out of the darkness of his cabin room. Marie-Anne loved her husband. And St. Pierre was merely the possessor, careless and indifferent, almost brutally dispassionate in his consideration of her. A heavy crash of thunder brought Carrigan back to a realization of the impending storm. He rose to his feet in the chaotic gloom, facing the bulkhead beyond which he was certain St. Pierre's wife lay wide awake. He tried to laugh. It was inexcusable, he told himself, to let his thoughts become involved in the family affairs of St. Pierre and Marie-Anne. That was not his business. Marie-Anne, in the final analysis, did not appear to be especially abused, and her mind was not a child's mind. Probably she would not thank him for his interest in the matter. She would tell him, like any other woman with pride, that it was none of his business and that he was presuming upon forbidden ground. He went to the window. There was scarcely a breath of air, and unfastening the screen, he thrust out his head and shoulders into the night. It was so black that he could not see the shadow of the water almost within reach of his hands, but through the chaos of gloom that lay between him and the opposite shore he made out a single point of yellow light. He was positive the light was in the cabin on the raft. And St. Pierre was probably in that cabin. A huge drop of rain splashed on his hand, and behind him he heard sweeping over the forest tops the quickening march of the deluge. There was no crash of thunder or flash of lightning when it broke. Straight down, in an inundation, it came out of a sky thick enough to slit with a knife. Carrigan drew in his head and shoulders and sniffed the sweet freshness of it. He tried again to make out the light on the raft, but it was obliterated. Mechanically he began taking off his clothes, and in a few moments he stood again at the window, naked. Thunder and lightning had caught up with the rain, and in the flashes of fire Carrigan's ghost-white face stared in the direction of the raft. In his veins was at work an insistent and impelling desire. Over there was St. Pierre, he was undoubtedly in the cabin, and something might happen if he, Dave Carrigan, took advantage of storm and gloom to go to the raft. It was almost a presentiment that drew his bare head and shoulders out through the window, and every hunting instinct in him urged him to the adventure. The stygian darkness was torn again by a flash of fire. In it he saw the river and the vivid silhouette of the distant shore. It would not be a difficult swim, and it would be good training for tomorrow. Like a badger worming his way out of a hole a bit too small for him, Carrigan drew himself through the window. A lightning flash caught him at the edge of the bateau, and he slunk back quickly against the cabin, with the thought that other eyes might be staring out into that same darkness. In the pitch gloom that followed he lowered himself quietly into the river, thrust himself under water, and struck out for the opposite shore. When he came to the surface again it was in the glare of another lightning flash. He flung the water from his face, chose a point several hundred yards above the raft, and with quick, powerful strokes set out in its direction. For ten minutes he quartered the current without raising his head. Then he paused, floating unresistingly with the slow sweep of the river, and waited for another illumination. When it came, he made out the tented raft scarcely a hundred yards away and a little below him. In the next darkness he found the edge of it and dragged himself up on the mass of timbers. The thunder had been rolling steadily westward, and David crouched low, hoping for one more flash to illumine the raft. It came at last from a mass of inky cloud far to the west, so indistinct that it made only dim shadows out of the tents and shelters, but it was sufficient to give him direction. Before its faint glare died out, he saw the deeper shadow of the cabin forward. For many minutes he lay where he had dragged himself, without making a movement in its direction. Nowhere about him could he see a sign of light, nor could he hear any sound of life. St. Pierre's people were evidently deep in slumber. Carrigan had no very definite idea of the next step in his adventure. He had swum from the bateau largely under impulse, with no preconceived scheme of action, urged chiefly by the hope that he would find St. Pierre in the cabin and that something might come of it. As for knocking at the door and rousing the chief of the Boulains from sleep--he had at the present moment no very good excuse for that. No sooner had the thought and its objection come to him than a broad shaft of light shot with startling suddenness athwart the blackness of the raft, darkened in another instant by an obscuring shadow. Swift as the light itself David's eyes turned to the source of the unexpected illumination. The door of St. Pierre's cabin was wide open. The interior was flooded with lampglow, and in the doorway stood St. Pierre himself. The chief of the Boulains seemed to be measuring the weather possibilities of the night. His subdued voice reached David, chuckling with satisfaction, as he spoke to some one who was behind him in the cabin. "Pitch and brimstone, but it's black!" he cried. "You could carve it with a knife, and stand it on end, AMANTE. But it's going west. In a few hours the stars will be out." He drew back into the cabin, and the door closed. David held his breath in amazement, staring at the blackness where a moment before the light had been. Who was it St. Pierre had called sweetheart? AMANTE! He could not have been mistaken. The word had come to him clearly, and there was but one guess to make. Marie-Anne was not on the bateau. She had played him for a fool, had completely hoodwinked him in her plot with St. Pierre. They were cleverer than he had supposed, and in darkness she had rejoined her husband on the raft! But why that senseless play of falsehood? What could be their object in wanting him to believe she was still aboard the bateau? He stood up on his feet and mopped the warm rain from his face, while the gloom hid the grim smile that came slowly to his lips. Close upon the thrill of his astonishment he felt a new stir in his blood which added impetus to his determination and his action. He was not disgusted with himself, nor was he embittered by what he had thought of a moment ago as the lying hypocrisy of his captors. To be beaten in his game of man-hunting was sometimes to be expected, and Carrigan always gave proper credit to the winners. It was also "good medicine" to know that Marie-Anne, instead of being an unhappy and neglected wife, had blinded him with an exquisitely clever simulation. Just why she had done it, and why St. Pierre had played his masquerade, it was his duty now to find out. An hour ago he would have cut off a hand before spying upon St. Pierre's wife or eavesdropping under her window. Now he felt no uneasiness of conscience as he approached the cabin, for Marie-Anne herself had destroyed all reason for any delicate discrimination on his part. The rain had almost stopped, and in one of the near tents he heard a sleepy voice. But he had no fear of chance discovery. The night would remain dark for a long time, and in his bare feet he made no sound the sharpest ears of a dog ten feet away might have heard. Close to the cabin door, yet in such a way that the sudden opening of it would not reveal him, he paused and listened. Distinctly he heard St. Pierre's voice, but not the words. A moment later came the soft, joyous laughter of a woman, and for an instant a hand seemed to grip David's heart, filling it with pain. There was no unhappiness in that laughter. It seemed, instead, to tremble in an exultation of gladness. Suddenly St. Pierre came nearer the door, and his voice was more distinct. "Chere-coeur, I tell you it is the greatest joke of my life," he heard him say. "We are safe. If it should come to the worst, we can settle the matter in another way. I can not but sing and laugh, even in the face of it all. And she, in that very innocence which amuses me so, has no suspicion--" He turned, and vainly David keyed his ears to catch the final words. The voices in the cabin grew lower. Twice he heard the soft laughter of the woman. St. Pierre's voice, when he spoke, was unintelligible. The thought that his random adventure was bringing him to an important discovery possessed Carrigan. St. Pierre, he believed, had been on the very edge of disclosing something which he would have given a great deal to know. Surely in this cabin there must be a window, and the window would be open-- Quietly he felt his way through the darkness to the shore side of the cabin. A narrow bar of light at least partly confirmed his judgment. There was a window. But it was almost entirely curtained, and it was closed. Had the curtain been drawn two inches lower, the thin stream of light would have been shut entirely out from the night. Under this window David crouched for several minutes, hoping that in the calm which was succeeding the storm it might be opened. The voices were still more indistinct inside. He scarcely heard St. Pierre, but twice again he heard the low and musical laughter of the woman. She had laughed differently with HIM--and the grim smile settled on his lips as he looked up at the narrow slit of light over his head. He had an overwhelming desire to look in. After all, it was a matter of professional business--and his duty. He was glad the curtain was drawn so low. From experiments of his own he knew there was small chance of those inside seeing him through the two-inch slit, and he raised himself boldly until his eyes were on a level with the aperture. Directly in the line of his vision was St. Pierre's wife. She was seated, and her back was toward him, so he could not see her face. She was partly disrobed, and her hair was streaming loose about her. Once, he remembered, she had spoken of fiery lights that came into her hair under certain illumination. He had seen them in the sun, but never as they revealed themselves now in that cabin lamp glow. He scarcely looked at St. Pierre, who was on his feet, looking down upon her--not until St. Pierre reached out and crumpled the smothering mass of glowing tresses in his big hands, and laughed. It was a laugh filled with the unutterable joy of possession. The woman rose to her feet. Up through her hair went her two white, bare arms, encircling St. Pierre's neck. The giant drew her close. Her slim form seemed to melt in his, and their lips met. And then the woman threw back her head, laughing, so that her glory of hair fell straight down, and she was out of reach of St. Pierre's lips. They turned. Her face fronted the window, and out in the night Carrigan stifled a cry that almost broke from his lips. For a flash he was looking straight into her eyes. Her parted lips seemed smiling at him; her white throat and bosom were bared to him. He dropped down, his heart choking him as he stumbled through the darkness to the edge of the raft. There, with the lap of the water at his feet, he paused. It was hard for him to get Breath. He stared through the gloom in the direction of the bateau. Marie-Anne Boulain, the woman he loved, was there! In her little cabin, alone, on the bateau, was St. Pierre's wife, her heart crushed. And in this cabin on the raft, forgetful of her degradation and her grief, was the vilest wretch he had ever known--St. Pierre Boulain. And with him, giving herself into his arms, caressing him with her lips and hair, was the sister of the man he had helped to hang--CARMIN FANCHET! XX The shock of the amazing discovery which Carrigan had made was as complete as it was unexpected. His eyes had looked upon the last thing in the world he might have guessed at or anticipated when they beheld through the window of St. Pierre's cabin the beautiful face and partly disrobed figure of Carmin Fanchet. The first effect of that shock had been to drive him away. His action had been involuntary, almost without the benefit of reason, as if Carmin had been Marie-Anne herself receiving the caresses which were rightfully hers, and upon which it was both insult and dishonor for him to spy. He realized now that he had made a mistake in leaving the window too quickly. But he did not move back through the gloom, for there was something too revolting in what he had seen, and with the revulsion of it a swift understanding of the truth which made his hands clench as he sat down on the edge of the raft with his feet and legs submerged in the slow-moving current of the river. The thing was not uncommon. It was the same monstrous story, as old as the river itself, but in this instance it filled him with a sickening sort of horror which gripped him at first even more than the strangeness of the fact that Carmin Fanchet was the other woman. His vision and his soul were reaching out to the bateau lying in darkness on the far side of the river, where St. Pierre's wife was alone in her unhappiness. His first impulse was to fling himself in the river and race to her--his second, to go back to St. Pierre, even in his nakedness, and call him forth to a reckoning. In his profession of man-hunting he had never had the misfortune to kill, but he could kill St. Pierre--now. His fingers dug into the slippery wood of the log under him, his blood ran hot, and in his eyes blazed the fury of an animal as he stared into the wall of gloom between him and Marie-Anne Boulain. How much did she know? That was the first question which pounded in his brain. He suddenly recalled his reference to the fight, his apology to Marie-Anne that it should happen so near to her presence, and he saw again the queer little twist of her mouth as she let slip the hint that she was not the only one of her sex who would know of tomorrow's fight. He had not noticed the significance of it then. But now it struck home. Marie-Anne was surely aware of Carmin Fanchet's presence on the raft. But did she know more than that? Did she know the truth, or was her heart filled only with suspicion and fear, aggravated by St. Pierre's neglect and his too-apparent haste to return to the raft that night? Again David's mind flashed back, recalling her defense of Carmin Fanchet when he had first told her his story of the woman whose brother he had brought to the hangman's justice. There could be but one conclusion. Marie-Anne knew Carmin Fanchet, and she also knew she was on the raft with St. Pierre. As cooler judgment returned to him, Carrigan refused to concede more than that. For any one of a dozen reasons Carmin Fanchet might be on the raft going down the river, and it was also quite within reason that Marie-Anne might have some apprehension of a woman as beautiful as Carmin, and possibly intuition had begun to impinge upon her a disturbing fear of a something that might happen. But until tonight he was confident she had fought against this suspicion, and had overridden it, even though she knew a woman more beautiful than herself was slowly drifting down the stream with her husband. She had betrayed no anxiety to him in the days that had passed; she had waited eagerly for St. Pierre; like a bird she had gone to him when at last he came, and he had seen her crushed close in St. Pierre's arms in their meeting. It was this night, with its gloom and its storm, that had made the shadowings of her unrest a torturing reality. For St. Pierre had brought her back to the bateau and had played a pitiably weak part in concealing his desire to return to the raft. So he told himself Marie-Anne did not know the truth, not as he had seen it through the window of St. Pierre's cabin. She had been hurt, for he had seen the sting of it, and in that same instant he had seen her soul rise up and triumph. He saw again the sudden fire that came into her eyes when St. Pierre urged the necessity of his haste, he saw her slim body grow tense, her red lips curve in a flash of pride and disdain. And as Carrigan thought of her in that way his muscles grew tighter, and he cursed St. Pierre. Marie-Anne might be hurt, she might guess that her husband's eyes and thoughts were too frequently upon another's face--but in the glory of her womanhood it was impossible for her to conceive of a crime such as he had witnessed through the cabin window. Of that he was sure. And then, suddenly, like a blinding sheet of lightning out of a dark sky, came back to him all that St. Pierre had said about Marie-Anne. He had pitied St. Pierre then; he had pitied this great cool-eyed giant of a man who was fighting gloriously, he had thought, in the face of a situation that would have excited most men. Frankly St. Pierre had told him Marie-Anne cared more for him than she should. With equal frankness he had revealed his wife's confessions to him, that she knew of his love for her, of his kiss upon her hair. In the blackness Carrigan's face burned hot. If he had in him the desire to kill St. Pierre now, might not St. Pierre have had an equally just desire to kill him? For he had known, even as he kissed her hair, and as his arms held her close to his breast in crossing the creek, that she was the wife of St. Pierre. And Marie-Anne-- His muscles relaxed. Slowly he lowered himself into the cool wash of the river, and struck out toward the bateau. He did not breast the current with the same fierce determination with which he had crossed through the storm to the raft, but drifted with it and reached the opposite shore a quarter of a mile below the bateau. Here he waited for a time, while the thickness of the clouds broke, and a gray light came through them, revealing dimly the narrow path of pebbly wash along the shore. Silently, a stark naked shadow in the night, he came back to the bateau and crawled through his window. He lighted a lamp, and turned it very low, and in the dim glow of it rubbed his muscles until they burned. He was fit for tomorrow, and the knowledge of that fitness filled him with a savage elation. A good-humored love of sport had induced him to fling his first half-bantering challenge into the face of Concombre Bateese, but that sentiment was gone. The approaching fight was no longer an incident, a foolish error into which he had unwittingly plunged himself. In this hour it was the biggest physical thing that had ever loomed up in his life, and he yearned for the dawn with the eagerness of a beast that waits for the kill which comes with the break of day. But it was not the half-breed's face he saw under the hammering of his blows. He could not hate the half-breed. He could not even dislike him now. He forced himself to bed, and later he slept. In the dream that came to him it was not Bateese who faced him in battle, but St. Pierre Boulain. He awoke with that dream a thing of fire in his brain. The sun was not yet up, but the flush of it was painting the east, and he dressed quietly and carefully, listening for some sound of awakening beyond the bulkhead. If Marie-Anne was awake, she was very still. There was noise ashore. Across the river he could hear the singing of men, and through his window saw the white smoke of early fires rising above the tree-tops. It was the Indian who unlocked the door and brought in his breakfast, and it was the Indian who returned for the dishes half an hour later. After that Carrigan waited, tense with the desire for action to begin. He sensed no premonition of evil about to befall him. Every nerve and sinew in his body was alive for the combat. He thrilled with an overwhelming confidence, a conviction of his ability to win, an almost dangerous, self-conviction of approaching triumph in spite of the odds in weight and brute strength which were pitted against him. A dozen times he listened at the bulkhead between him and Marie-Anne, and still he heard no movement on the other side. It was eight o'clock when one of the bateau men appeared at the door and asked if he was ready. Quickly David joined him. He forgot his taunts to Concombre Bateese, forgot the softly padded gloves in his pack with which he had promised to pommel the half-breed into oblivion. He was thinking only of naked fists. Into a canoe he followed the bateau man, who turned his craft swiftly in the direction of the opposite shore. And as they went, David was sure he caught the slight movement of a curtain at the little window of Marie-Anne's forward cabin. He smiled back and raised his hand, and at that the curtain was drawn back entirely, and he knew that St. Pierre's wife was watching him as he went to the fight. The raft was deserted, but a little below it, on a wide strip of beach made hard and smooth by flood water, had gathered a crowd of men. It seemed odd to David they should remain so quiet, when he knew the natural instinct of the riverman was to voice his emotion at the top of his lungs. He spoke of this to the bateau man, who shrugged his shoulders and grinned. "Eet ees ze command of St. Pierre," he explained. "St. Pierre say no man make beeg noise at--what you call heem--funeral? An' theese goin' to be wan gran' fun-e-RAL, m'sieu!" "I see," David nodded. He did not grin back at the other's humor. He was looking at the crowd. A giant figure had appeared out of the center of it and was coming slowly down to the river. It was St. Pierre. Scarcely had the prow of the canoe touched shore when David leaped out and hurried to meet him. Behind St. Pierre came Bateese, the half-breed. He was stripped to the waist and naked from the knees down. His gorilla-like arms hung huge and loose at his sides, and the muscles of his hulking body stood out like carven mahogany in the glisten of the morning sun. He was like a grizzly, a human beast of monstrous power, something to look at, to back away from, to fear. Yet, David scarcely noticed him. He met St. Pierre, faced him, and stopped--and he had gone swiftly to this meeting, so that the chief of the Boulains was within earshot of all his men. St. Pierre was smiling. He held out his hand as he had held it out once before in the bateau cabin, and his big voice boomed out a greeting. Carrigan did not answer, nor did he look at the extended hand. For an instant the eyes of the two men met, and then, swift as lightning, Carrigan's arm shot out, and with the flat of his hand he struck St. Pierre a terrific blow squarely on the cheek. The sound of the blow was like the smash of a paddle on smooth water. Not a riverman but heard it, and as St. Pierre staggered back, flung almost from his feet by its force, a subdued cry of amazement broke from the waiting men. Concombre Bateese stood like one stupefied. And then, in another flash, St. Pierre had caught himself and whirled like a wild beast. Every muscle in his body was drawn for a gigantic, overwhelming leap; his eyes blazed; the fury of a beast was in his face. Before all his people he had suffered the deadliest insult that could be offered a man of the Three River Country--a blow struck with the flat of another's hand. Anything else one might forgive, but not that. Such a blow, if not avenged, was a brand that passed down into the second and third generations, and even children would call out "Yellow-Back--Yellow-Back," to the one who was coward enough to receive it without resentment. A rumbling growl rose in the throat of Concombre Bateese in that moment when it seemed as though St. Pierre Boulain was about to kill the man who had struck him. He saw the promise of his own fight gone in a flash. For no man in all the northland could now fight David Carrigan ahead of St. Pierre. David waited, prepared to meet the rush of a madman. And then, for a second time, he saw a mighty struggle in the soul of St. Pierre. The giant held himself back. The fury died out of his face, but his great hands remained clenched as he said, for David alone, "That was a playful blow, m'sieu? It was--a joke?" "It was for you, St. Pierre," replied Carrigan, "You are a coward--and a skunk. I swam to the raft last night, looked through your window, and saw what happened there. You are not fit for a decent man to fight, yet I will fight you, if you are not too great a coward--and dare to let our wagers stand as they were made." St. Pierre's eyes widened, and for a breath or two he stared at Carrigan, as if looking into him and not at him. His big hands relaxed, and slowly the panther-like readiness went out of his body. Those who looked beheld the transformation in amazement, for of all who waited only St. Pierre and the half-breed had heard Carrigan's words, though they had seen and heard the blow of insult. "You swam to the raft," repeated St. Pierre in a low voice, as if doubting what he had heard. "You looked through the window--and saw--" David nodded. He could not cover the sneering poison in his voice, his contempt for the man who stood before him. "Yes, I looked through the window. And I saw you, and the lowest woman on the Three Rivers--the sister of a man I helped to hang, I--" "STOP!" St. Pierre's voice broke out of him like the sudden crash of thunder. He came a step nearer, his face livid, his eyes shooting flame. With a mighty effort he controlled himself again. And then, as if he saw something which David could not see, he tried to smile, and in that same instant David caught a grin cutting a great slash across the face of Concombre Bateese. The change that came over St. Pierre now was swift as sunlight coming out from shadowing cloud. A rumble grew in his great chest. It broke in a low note of laughter from his lips, and he faced the bateau across the river. "M'sieu, you are sorry for HER. Is that it? You would fight--" "For the cleanest, finest little girl who ever lived--your wife!" "It is funny," said St. Pierre, as if speaking to himself, and still looking at the bateau. "Yes, it is very funny, ma belle Marie-Anne! He has told you he loves you, and he has kissed your hair and held you in his arms--yet he wants to fight me because he thinks I am steeped in sin, and to make me fight in place of Bateese he has called my Carmin a low woman! So what else can I do? I must fight. I must whip him until he can not walk. And then I will send him back for you to nurse, cherie, and for that blessing I think he will willingly take my punishment! Is it not so, m'sieu?" He was smiling and no longer excited when he turned to David. "M'sieu, I will fight you. And the wagers shall stand. And in this hour let us be honest, like men, and make confession. You love ma belle Jeanne--Marie-Anne? Is it not so? And I--I love my Carmin, whose brother you hanged, as I love no other woman in the world. Now, if you will have it so, let us fight!" He began stripping off his shirt, and with a bellow in his throat Concombre Bateese slouched away like a beaten gorilla to explain to St. Pierre's people the change in the plan of battle. And as that news spread like fire in the fir-tops, there came but a single cry in response--shrill and terrible--and that was from the throat of Andre, the Broken Man. XXI As Carrigan stripped off his shirt, he knew that at least in one way he had met more than his match in St. Pierre Boulain. In the splendid service of which he was a part he had known many men of iron and steel, men whose nerve and coolness not even death could very greatly disturb. Yet St. Pierre, he conceded, was their master--and his own. For a flash he had transformed the chief of the Boulains into a volcano which had threatened to break in savage fury, yet neither the crash nor destruction had come. And now St. Pierre was smiling again, as Carrigan faced him, stripped to the waist. He betrayed no sign of the tempest of passion that had swept him a few minutes before. His cool, steely eyes had in them a look that was positively friendly, as Concombre Bateese marked in the hard sand the line of the circle within which no man might come. And as he did this and St. Pierre's people crowded close about it, St. Pierre himself spoke in a low voice to David. "M'sieu, it seems a shame that we should fight. I like you. I have always loved a man who would fight to protect a woman, and I shall be careful not to hurt you more than is necessary to make you see reason--and to win the wagers. So you need not be afraid of my killing you, as Bateese might have done. And I promise not to destroy your beauty, for the sake of--the lady in the bateau. My Carmin, if she knew you spied through her window last night, would say kill you with as little loss of time as possible, for as regards you her sweet disposition was spoiled when you hung her brother, m'sieu. Yet to me she is an angel!" Contempt for the man who spoke of his wife and the infamous Carmin Fanchet in the same breath drew a sneer to Carrigan's lips. He nodded toward the waiting circle of men. "They are ready for the show, St. Pierre. You talk big. Now let us see if you can fight." For another moment St. Pierre hesitated. "I am so sorry, m'sieu-- "Are you ready, St. Pierre?" "It is not fair, and she will never forgive me. You are no match for me. I am half again as heavy." "And as big a coward as you are a scoundrel, St. Pierre." "It is like a man fighting a boy." "Yet it is less dishonorable than betraying the woman who is your wife for another who should have been hanged along with her brother, St. Pierre." Boulain's face darkened. He drew back half a dozen steps and cried out a word to Bateese. Instantly the circle of waiting men grew tense as the half-breed jerked the big handkerchief from his head and held it out at arm's length. Yet, with that eagerness for the fight there was something else which Carrigan was swift to sense. The attitude of the watchers was not one of uncertainty or of very great expectation, in spite of the staring faces and the muscular tightening of the line. He knew what was passing in their minds and in the low whispers from lip to lip. They were pitying him. Now that he stood stripped, with only a few paces between him and the giant figure of St. Pierre, the unfairness of the fight struck home even to Concombre Bateese. Only Carrigan himself knew how like tempered steel the sinews of his body were built. But to the eye, in size alone, he stood like a boy before St. Pierre. And St. Pierre's people, their voices stilled by the deadly inequality of it, were waiting for a slaughter and not a fight. A smile came to Carrigan's lips as he saw Bateese hesitating to drop the handkerchief, and with the swiftness of the trained fighter he made his first plan for the battle before the cloth fell from the half-breed's fingers, As the handkerchief fluttered to the ground, he faced St. Pierre, the smile gone. "Never smile when you fight," the greatest of all masters of the ring had told him. "Never show anger, Don't betray any emotion at all if you can help it." Carrigan wondered what the old ring-master would say could he see him now, backing away slowly from St. Pierre as the giant advanced upon him, for he knew his face was betraying to St. Pierre and his people the deadliest of all sins--anxiety and indecision. Very closely, yet with eyes that seemed to shift uneasily, he watched the effect of his trick on Boulain. Twice the huge riverman followed him about the ring of sand, and the steely glitter in his eyes changed to laughter, and the tense faces of the men about them relaxed. A subdued ripple of merriment rose where there had been silence. A third time David maneuvered his retreat, and his eyes shot furtively to Concombre Bateese and the men at his back. They were grinning. The half-breed's mouth was wide open, and his grotesque body hung limp and astonished. This was not a fight! It was a comedy--like a rooster following a sparrow around a barnyard! And then a still funnier thing happened, for David began to trot in a circle around St. Pierre, dodging and feinting, and keeping always at a safe distance. A howl of laughter came from Bateese and broke in a roar from the men. St. Pierre stopped in his tracks, a grin on his face, his big arms and shoulders limp and unprepared as Carrigan dodged in close and out again. And then-- A howl broke in the middle of the half-breed's throat. Where there had been laughter, there came a sudden shutting off of sound, a great gasp, as if made by choking men. Swifter than anything they had ever seen in human action Carrigan had leaped in. They saw him strike. They heard the blow. They saw St. Pierre's great head rock back, as if struck from his shoulders by a club, and they saw and heard another blow, and a third--like so many flashes of lightning--and St. Pierre went down as if shot. The man they had laughed at was no longer like a hopping sparrow. He was waiting, bent a little forward, every muscle in his body ready for action. They watched for him to leap upon his fallen enemy, kicking and gouging and choking in the riverman way. But David waited, and St. Pierre staggered to his feet. His mouth was bleeding and choked with sand, and a great lump was beginning to swell over his eye. A deadly fire blazed in his face, as he rushed like a mad bull at the insignificant opponent who had tricked and humiliated him. This time Carrigan did not retreat, but held his ground, and a yell of joy went up from Bateese as the mighty bulk of the giant descended upon his victim. It was an avalanche of brute-force, crushing in its destructiveness, and Carrigan seemed to reach for it as it came upon him. Then his head went down, swifter than a diving grebe, and as St. Pierre's arm swung like an oaken beam over his shoulder, his own shot in straight for the pit of the other's stomach. It was a bull's-eye blow with the force of a pile-driver behind it, and the groan that forced its way out of St. Pierre's vitals was heard by every ear in the cordon of watchers. His weight stopped, his arms opened, and through that opening Carrigan's fist went a second time to the other's jaw, and a second time the great St. Pierre Boulain sprawled out upon the sand. And there he lay, and made no effort to rise. Concombre Bateese, with his great mouth agape, stood for an instant as if the blow had stunned him in place of his master. Then, suddenly he came to life, and leaped to David's side. "Diable! Tonnerre! You have not fight Concombre Bateese yet!" he howled. "Non, you have cheat me, you have lie, you have run lak cat from Concombre Bateese, ze stronges' man on all T'ree River! You are wan' gran' coward, wan poltroon, an' you 'fraid to fight ME, who ees greates' fightin' man in all dees countree! Sapristi! Why you no hit Concombre Bateese, m'sieu? Why you no hit ze greates' fightin' man w'at ees--" David did not hear the rest. The opportunity was too tempting. He swung, and with a huge grunt the gorilla-like body of Concombre Bateese rolled over that of the chief of the Boulains. This time Carrigan did not wait, but followed up so closely that the half-breed had scarcely gathered the crook out of his knees when another blow on the jaw sent him into the sand again. Three times he tried the experiment of regaining his feet, and three times he was knocked down. After the last blow he raised himself groggily to a sitting posture, and there he remained, blinking like a stunned pig, with his big hands clutching in the sand. He stared up unseeingly at Carrigan, who waited over him, and then stupidly at the transfixed cordon of men, whose eyes were bulging and who were holding their breath in the astonishment of this miracle which had descended upon them. They heard Bateese muttering something incoherent as his head wobbled, and St. Pierre himself seemed to hear it, for he stirred and raised himself slowly, until he also was sitting in the sand, staring at Bateese. Carrigan picked up his shirt, and the riverman who had brought him from the bateau returned with him to the canoe. There was no demonstration behind them. To David himself the whole thing had been an amazing surprise, and he was not at all reluctant to leave as quickly as his dignity would permit, before some other of St. Pierre's people offered to put a further test upon his prowess. He wanted to laugh. He wanted to thank God at the top of his voice for the absurd run of luck that had made his triumph not only easy but utterly complete. He had expected to win, but he had also expected a terrific fight before the last blow was struck. And there had been no fight! He was returning to the bateau without a scratch, his hair scarcely ruffled, and he had defeated not only St. Pierre, but the giant half-breed as well! It was inconceivable--and yet it had happened; a veritable burlesque, an opera-bouffe affair that might turn quickly into a tragedy if either St. Pierre or Concombre Bateese guessed the truth of it. For in that event he might have to face them again, with the god of luck playing fairly, and he was honest enough with himself to confess that the idea no longer held either thrill or desire for him. Now that he had seen both St. Pierre and Bateese stripped for battle, he had no further appetite for fistic discussion with them. After all, there was a merit in caution, and he had several lucky stars to bless just at the present moment! Inwardly he was a bit suspicious of the ultimate ending of the affair. St. Pierre had almost no cause for complaint, for it was his own carelessness, coupled with his opponent's luck, that had been his undoing--and luck and carelessness are legitimate factors of every fight, Carrigan told himself. But with Bateese it was different. He had held up his big jaw, uncovered and tempting, entreating some one to hit him, and Carrigan had yielded to that temptation. The blow would have stunned an ox. Three others like it had left the huge half-breed sitting weak-mindedly in the sand, and no one of those three blows were exactly according to the rules of the game. They had been mightily efficacious, but the half-breed might demand a rehearing when he came fully into his senses. Not until they were half-way to the bateau did Carrigan dare to glance back over his shoulder at the man who was paddling, to see what effect the fistic travesty had left on him. He was a big-mouthed, clear-eyed, powerfully-muscled fellow, and he was grinning from ear to ear. "Well, what did you think of it, comrade?" The other gave his shoulders a joyous shrug. "Mon Dieu! Have you heard of wan garcon named Joe Clamart, m'sieu? Non? Well, I am Joe Clamart what was once great fightin' man. Bateese hav' whip' me five times, m'sieu--so I say it was wan gr-r-r-a-n' fight! Many years ago I have seen ze same t'ing in Montreal--ze boxeur de profession. Oui, an' Rene Babin pays me fifteen prime martin against which I put up three scrubby red fox that you would win. They were bad, or I would not have gambled, m'sieu. It ees fonny!" "Yes, it is funny," agreed David. "I think it is a bit too funny. It is a pity they did not stand up on their legs a little longer!" Suddenly an inspiration hit him. "Joe, what do you say--shall you and I return and put up a REAL fight for them?" Like a sprung trap Joe Clamart's grinning mouth dosed. "Non, non, non," he grunted. "Dere has been plenty fight, an' Joe Clamart mus' save hees face tor Antoinette Roland, who hate ze sign of fight lak she hate ze devil, m'sieu! Non, non!" His paddle dug deeper into the water, and David's heart felt lighter. If Joe was an average barometer, and he was a husky and fearless-looking chap, it was probable that neither St. Pierre nor Bateese would demand another chance at him, and St. Pierre would pay his wager. He could see no one aboard the bateau when he climbed from the canoe. Looking back, he saw that two other canoes had started from the opposite shore. Then he went to his cabin door, opened it, and entered, Scarcely had the door closed behind him when he stopped, staring toward the window that opened on the river. Standing full in the morning glow of it was Marie-Anne Boulain. She was facing him. Her cheeks were flushed. Her red lips were parted. Her eyes were aglow with a fire which she made no effort to hide from him. In her hand she still held the binoculars he had left on the cabin table. He guessed the truth. Through the glasses she had watched the whole miserable fiasco. He felt creeping over him a sickening shame, and his eyes fell slowly from her to the table. What he saw there caught his breath in the middle. It was the entire surgical outfit of Nepapinas, the old Indian doctor. And there were basins of water, and white strips of linen ready for use, and a pile of medicated cotton, and all sorts of odds and ends that one might apply to ease the agonies of a dying man, And beyond the table, huddled in so small a heap that he was almost hidden by it, was Nepapinas himself, disappointment writ in his mummy-like face as his beady eyes rested on David. The evidence could not be mistaken. They had expected him to come back more nearly dead than alive, and St. Pierre's wife had prepared for the thing she had thought inevitable. Even his bed was nicely turned down, its fresh white sheets inviting an occupant! And David, looking at St. Pierre's wife again, felt his heart beating hard in his breast at the look which was in her eyes. It was not the scintillation of laughter, and the flame in her cheeks was not embarrassment. She was not amused. The ludicrousness of her mislaid plans had not struck her as they had struck him. She had placed the binoculars on the table, and slowly she came to him. Her hands reached out, and her fingers rested like the touch of velvet on his arms. "It was splendid!" she said softly, "It was splendid!" She was very near, her breast almost touching him, her hands creeping up until the tips of her fingers rested on his shoulders, her scarlet mouth so close he could feel the soft breath of it in his face. "It was splendid!" she whispered again. And then, suddenly, she rose up on her tiptoes and kissed him. So swiftly was it done that she was gone before he sensed that wild touch of her lips against his own. Like a swallow she was at the door, and the door opened and closed behind her, and for a moment he heard the quick running of her feet. Then he looked at the old Indian, and the Indian, too, was staring at the door through which St. Pierre's wife had flown. XXII For many seconds that seemed like minutes David stood where she had left him, while Nepapinas rose gruntingly to his feet, and gathered up his belongings, and hobbled sullenly to the bateau door and out. He was scarcely conscious of the Indian's movement, for his soul was aflame with a red-hot fire. Deliberately--with that ravishing glory of something in her eyes--St. Pierre's wife had kissed him! On her tiptoes, her cheeks like crimson flowers, she had given her still redder lips to him! And his own lips burned, and his heart pounded hard, and he stared for a time like one struck dumb at the spot where she had stood by the window. Then suddenly, he turned to the door and flung it wide open, and on his lips was the reckless cry of Marie-Anne's name. But St. Pierre's wife was gone, and Nepapinas was gone, and at the tail of the big sweep sat only Joe Clamart, guarding watchfully. The two canoes were drawing near, and in one of them were two men, and in the other three, and David knew that--like Joe Clamart--they were watchers set over him by St. Pierre. Then a fourth canoe left the far shore, and when it had reached mid-stream, he recognized the figure in the stern as that of Andre, the Broken Man. The other, he thought, must be St. Pierre. He went back into the cabin and stood where Marie-Anne had stood--at the window. Nepapinas had not taken away the basins of water, and the bandages were still there, and the pile of medicated cotton, and the suspiciously made-up bed. After all, he was losing something by not occupying the bed--and yet if St. Pierre or Bateese had messed him up badly, and a couple of fellows had lugged him in between them, it was probable that Marie-Anne would not have kissed him. And that kiss of St. Pierre's wife would remain with him until the day he died! He was thinking of it, the swift, warm thrill of her velvety lips, red as strawberries and twice as sweet, when the door opened and St. Pierre came in. The sight of him, in this richest moment of his life, gave David no sense of humiliation or shame. Between him and St. Pierre rose swiftly what he had seen last night--Carmin Fanchet in all the lure of her disheveled beauty, crushed close in the arms of the man whose wife only a moment before had pressed her lips close to his; and as the eyes of the two met, there came over him a desire to tell the other what had happened, that he might see him writhe with the sting of the two-edged thing with which he was playing. Then he saw that even that would not hurt St. Pierre, for the chief of the Boulains, standing there with the big lump over his eye, had caught sight of the things on the table and the nicely turned down bed, and his one good eye lit up with sudden laughter, and his white teeth flashed in an understanding smile. "TONNERRE, I said she would nurse you with gentle hands," he rumbled. "See what you have missed, M'sieu Carrigan!" "I received something which I shall remember longer than a fine nursing," retorted David. "And yet right now I have a greater interest in knowing what you think of the fight, St. Pierre--and if you have come to pay your wager." St. Pierre was chuckling mysteriously in his throat. "It was splendid--splendid," he said, repeating Marie-Anne's words. "And Joe Clamart says she ran out, blushing like a red rose in August, and that she said no word, but flew like a bird into the white-birch ashore!" "She was dismayed because I beat you, St. Pierre." "Non, non--she was like a lark filled with joy." Suddenly his eyes rested on the binoculars. David nodded. "Yes, she saw it all through the glasses." St. Pierre seated himself at the table and heaved out a groan as he took one of the bandage strips between his fingers. "She saw my disgrace. And she didn't wait to bandage ME up, did she?" "Perhaps she thought Carmin Fanchet would do that, St. Pierre." "And I am ashamed to go to Carmin--with this great lump over my eye, m'sieu. And on top of that disgrace--you insist that I pay the wager?" "I do." St. Pierre's face hardened. "OUI, I am to pay. I am to tell you all I know about that BETE NOIR--Black Roger Audemard. Is it not so?" "That is the wager." "But after I have told you--what then? Do you recall that I gave you any other guarantee, M'sieu Carrigan? Did I say I would let you go? Did I promise I would not kill you and sink your body to the bottom of the river? If I did, I can not remember." "Are you a beast, St. Pierre--a murderer as well as--" "Stop! Do not tell me again what you saw through the window, for it has nothing to do with this. I am not a beast, but a man. Had I been a beast, I should have killed you the first day I saw you in this cabin. I am not threatening to kill you, and yet it may be necessary if you insist that I pay the wager. You understand, m'sieu. To refuse to pay a wager is a greater crime among my people than the killing of a man, if there is a good reason for the killing. I am helpless. I must pay, if you insist. Before I pay it is fair that I give you warning." "You mean?" "I mean nothing, as yet. I can not say what it will be necessary for me to do, after you have heard what I know about Roger Audemard. I am quite settled on a plan just now, m'sieu, but the plan might change at any moment. I am only warning you that it is a great hazard, and that you are playing with a fire of which you know nothing, because it has not burned you yet." Carrigan seated himself slowly in a chair opposite St. Pierre, with the table between them. "You are wasting time in attempting to frighten me," he said. "I shall insist on the payment of the wager, St Pierre." For a moment St. Pierre was clearly troubled. Then his lips tightened, and he smiled grimly over the table at David. "I am sorry, M'sieu David. I like you. You are a fighting man and no coward, and I should like to travel shoulder to shoulder with you in many things. And such a thing might be, for you do not understand. I tell you it would have been many times better for you had I whipped you out there, and it had been you--and not me--to pay the wager!" "It is Roger Audemard I am interested in, St. Pierre. Why do you hesitate?" "I? Hesitate? I am not hesitating, m'sieu. I am giving you a chance." He leaned forward, his great arms bent on the table. "And you insist, M'sieu David?" "Yes, I insist." Slowly the fingers of St. Pierre's hands closed into knotted fists, and he said in a low voice, "Then I will pay, m'sieu. _I_ AM ROGER AUDEMARD!" XXIII The astounding statement of the man who sat opposite him held David speechless. He had guessed at some mysterious relationship between St. Pierre and the criminal he was after, but not this, and Roger Audemard, with his hands unclenching and a slow humor beginning to play about his mouth, waited coolly for him to recover from his amazement. In those moments, when his heart seemed to have stopped beating, Carrigan was staring at the other, but his mind had shot beyond him--to the woman who was his wife. Marie-Anne AUDEMARD--the wife of Black Roger! He wanted to cry out against the possibility of such a fact, yet he sat like one struck dumb, as the monstrous truth took possession of his brain and a whirlwind of understanding swept upon him. He was thinking quickly, and with a terrific lack of sentiment now. Opposite him sat Black Roger, the wholesale murderer. Marie-Anne was his wife. Carmin Fanchet, sister of a murderer, was simply one of his kind. And Bateese, the man-gorilla, and the Broken Man, and all the dark-skinned pack about them were of Black Roger's breed and kind. Love for a woman had blinded him to the facts which crowded upon him now. Like a lamb he had fallen among wolves, and he had tried to believe in them. No wonder Bateese and the man he had known as St. Pierre had betrayed such merriment at times! A fighting coolness possessed him as he spoke to Black Roger. "I will admit this is a surprise. And yet you have cleared up a number of things very quickly. It proves to me again that comedy is not very far removed from tragedy at times." "I am glad you see the humor of it, M'sieu David." Black Roger was smiling as pleasantly as his swollen eye would permit. "We must not be too serious when we die. If I were to die a-hanging, I would sing as the rope choked me, just to show the world one need not be unhappy because his life is coming to an end." "I suppose you understand that ultimately I am going to give you that opportunity," said David. Almost eagerly Black Roger leaned toward him over the table. "You believe you are going to hang me?" "I am sure of it." "And you are willing to wager the point, M'sieu David?" "It is impossible to gamble with a condemned man." Black Roger chuckled, rubbing his big hands together until they made a rasping sound, and his one good eye glowed at Carrigan. "Then I will make a wager with myself, M'sieu David. MA FOI, I swear that before the leaves fall from the trees, you will be pleading for the friendship of Black Roger Audemard, and you will be as much in love with Carmin Fanchet as I am! And as for Marie-Anne--" He thrust back his chair and rose to his feet, the old note of subdued laughter rumbling in his chest. "And because I make this wager with myself, I cannot kill you, M'sieu David--though that might be the best thing to do. I am going to take you to the Chateau Boulain, which is in the forests of the Yellowknife, beyond the Great Slave. Nothing will happen to you if you make no effort to escape. If you do that, you will surely die. And that would hurt me, M'sieu David, because I love you like a brother, and in the end I know you are going to grip the hand of Black Roger Audemard, and get down on your knees to Carmin Fanchet. And as for Marie-Anne--" Again he interrupted himself, and went out of the cabin, laughing. And there was no mistake in the metallic click of the lock outside the door. For a time David did not move from his seat near the table. He had not let Roger Audemard see how completely the confession had upset his inner balance, but he made no pretense of concealing the thing from himself now. He was in the power of a cut-throat, who in turn had an army of cut-throats at his back, and both Marie-Anne and Carmin Fanchet were a part of this ring. And he was not only a prisoner. It was probable, under the circumstances, that Black Roger would make an end of him when a convenient moment came. It was even more than a probability. It was a grim necessity. To let him live and escape would be fatal to Black Roger. From back of these convictions, riding over them as if to demoralize any coherence and logic that might go with the evidence he was building up, came question after question, pounding at him one after the other, until his mind became more than ever a whirling chaos of uncertainty. If St. Pierre was Black Roger, why would he confess to that fact simply to pay a wager? What reason could he have for letting him live at all? Why had not Bateese killed him? Why had Marie-Anne nursed him back to life? His mind shot to the white strip of sand in which he had nearly died. That, at least, was convincing. Learning in some way that he was after Black Roger, they had attempted to do away with him there. But if that were so, why was it Bateese and Black Roger's wife and the Indian Nepapinas had risked so much to make him live, when if they had left him where he had fallen he would have died and caused them no trouble? There was something exasperatingly uncertain and illogical about it all. Was it possible that St. Pierre Boulain was playing a huge joke on him? Even that was inconceivable. For there was Carmin Fanchet, a fitting companion for a man like Black Roger, and there was Marie-Anne, who, if it had been a joke, would not have played her part so well. Suddenly his mind was filled only with her. Had she been his friend, using all her influence to protect him, because her heart was sick of the environment of which she was a part? His own heart jumped at the thought. It was easy to believe. In Marie-Anne he had faith, and that faith refused to be destroyed, but persisted--even clearer and stronger as he thought again of Carmin Fanchet and Black Roger. In his heart grew the conviction it was sacrilege to believe the kiss she had given him that morning was a lie. It was something else--a spontaneous gladness, a joyous exultation that he had returned unharmed, a thing unplanned in the soul of the woman, leaping from her before she could stop it. Then had come shame, and she had run away from him so swiftly he had not seen her face again after the touch of her lips. If it had been a subterfuge, a lie, she would not have done that. He rose to his feet and paced restlessly back and forth as he tried to bring together a few tangled bits of the puzzle. He heard voices outside, and very soon felt the movement of the bateau under his feet, and through one of the shoreward windows he saw trees and sandy beach slowly drifting away. On that shore, as far as his eyes could travel up and down, he saw no sign of Marie-Anne, but there remained a canoe, and near the canoe stood Black Roger Audemard, and beyond him, huddled like a charred stump in the sand, was Andre, the Broken Man. On the opposite shore the raft was getting under way. During the next half-hour several things happened which told him there was no longer a sugar-coating to his imprisonment. On each side of the bateau two men worked at his windows, and when they had finished, no one of them could be opened more than a few inches. Then came the rattle of the lock at the door, the grating of a key, and somewhat to Carrigan's surprise it was Bateese who came in. The half-reed bore no facial evidence of the paralyzing blows which had knocked him out a short time before. His jaw, on which they had landed, was as aggressive as ever, yet in his face and his attitude, as he stared curiously at Carrigan, there was no sign of resentment or unfriendliness. Nor did he seem to be ashamed. He merely stared, with the curious and rather puzzled eyes of a small boy gazing at an inexplicable oddity. Carrigan, standing before him, knew what was passing in the other's mind, and the humor of it brought a smile to his lips. Instantly Concombre's face split into a wide grin. "MON DIEU, w'at if you was on'y brother to Concombre Bateese, m'sieu. T'ink of zat--you--me--FRERE D'ARMES! VENTRE SAINT GRIS, but we mak' all fightin' men in nort' countree run lak rabbits ahead of ze fox! OUI, we mak' gr-r-r-eat pair, m'sieu--you, w'at knock down Bateese--an' Bateese, w'at keel polar bear wit hees naked hands, w'at pull down trees, w'at chew flint w'en hees tobacco gone." His voice had risen, and suddenly there came a laugh from outside the door, and Concombre cut himself short and his mouth closed with a snap. It was Joe Clamart who had laughed. "I w'ip heem five time, an' now I w'ip heem seex!" hissed Bateese in an undertone. "Two time each year I w'ip zat gargon Joe Clamart so he understan' w'at good fightin' man ees. An' you will w'ip heem, eh, m'sieu? Oui? An' I will breeng odder good fightin' mans for you to w'ip--all w'at Concombre Bateese has w'ipped--ten, dozen, forty--an' you w'ip se gran' bunch, m'sieu. Eh, shall we mak' ze bargain?" "You are planning a pleasant time for me, Bateese," said Carrigan, "but I am afraid it will be impossible. You see, this captain of yours, Black Roger Audemard--" "W'at!" Bateese jumped as if stung. "W'at you say, m'sieu?" "I said that Roger Audemard, Black Roger, the man I thought was St. Pierre Boulain--" Carrigan said no more. What he had started to say was unimportant compared with the effect of Roger Audernard's name on Concombre Bateese. A deadly light glittered in the half-breed's eyes, and for the first time David realized that in the grotesque head of the riverman was a brain quick to grip at the significance of things. The fact was evident that Black Roger had not confided in Bateese as to the price of the wager and the confession of his identity, and for a moment after the repetition of Audemard's name came from David's lips the half-breed stood as if something had stunned him. Then slowly, as if forcing the words in the face of a terrific desire that had transformed his body into a hulk of quivering steel, he said: "M'sieu--I come with message--from St. Pierre. You see windows--closed. Outside door--she locked. On bot' sides de bateau, all de time, we watch. You try get away, an' we keel you. Zat ees all. We shoot. We five mans on ze bateau, all ze day, TOUTE LA NUIT. You unnerstan'?" He turned sullenly, waiting for no reply, and the door opened and closed after him--and again came the snap of the lock outside. Steadily the bateau swept down the big river that day. There was no let-up in the steady creaking of the long sweep. Even in the swifter currents David could hear the working of it, and he knew he had seen the last of the more slowly moving raft. Near one of the partly open windows he heard two men talking just before the bateau shot into the Brule Point rapids. They were strange voices. He learned that Audemard's huge raft was made up of thirty-five cribs, seven abreast, and that nine times between the Point Brule and the Yellowknife the raft would be split up, so that each crib could be run through dangerous rapids by itself. That would be a big job, David assured himself. It would be slow work as well as hazardous, and as his own life was in no immediate jeopardy, he would have ample time in which to formulate some plan of action for himself. At the present moment, it seemed, the one thing for him to do was to wait--and behave himself, according to the half-breed's instructions. There was, when he came to think about it, a saving element of humor about it all. He had always wanted to make a trip down the Three Rivers in a bateau. And now--he was making it! At noon a guard brought in his dinner. He could not recall that he had ever seen this man before, a tall, lithe fellow built to run like a hound, and who wore a murderous-looking knife at his belt. As the door opened, David caught a glimpse of two others. They were business-like looking individuals, with muscles built for work or fight; one sitting cross-legged on the bateau deck with a rifle over his knees, and the other standing with a rifle in his hand. The man who brought his dinner wasted no time or words. He merely nodded, murmured a curt bonjour, and went out. And Carrigan, as he began to eat, did not have to tell himself twice that Audemard had been particular in his selection of the bateau's crew, and that the eyes of the men he had seen could be as keen as a hawk's when leveled over the tip of a rifle barrel. They meant business, and he felt no desire to smile in the face of them, as he had smiled at Concombre Bateese. It was another man, and a stranger, who brought in his supper. And for two hours after that, until the sun went down and gloom began to fall, the bateau sped down the river. It had made forty miles that day, he figured. It was still light when the bateau was run ashore and tied up, but tonight there were no singing voices or wild laughter of men whose hours of play-time and rest had come. To Carrigan, looking through his window, there was an oppressive menace about it all. The shadowy figures ashore were more like a death-watch than a guard, and to dispel the gloom of it he lighted two of the lamps in the cabin, whistled, drummed a simple chord he knew on the piano, and finally settled down to smoking his pipe. He would have welcomed the company of Bateese, or Joe Clamart, or one of the guards, and as his loneliness grew upon him there was something of companionship even in the subdued voices he heard occasionally outside. He tried to read, but the printed words jumbled themselves and meant nothing. It was ten o'clock, and clouds had darkened the night, when through his open windows he heard a shout coming from the river. Twice it came before it was answered from the bateau, and the second time Carrigan recognized it as the voice of Roger Audemard. A brief interval passed between that and the scraping of a canoe alongside, and then there was a low conversation in which even Audemard's great voice was subdued, and after that the grating of a key in the lock, and the opening of the door, and Black Roger came in, bearing an Indian reed basket under his arm. Carrigan did not rise to meet him. It was not like the coming of the old St. Pierre, and on Black Roger's lips there was no twist of a smile, nor in his eyes the flash of good-natured greeting. His face was darkly stern, as if he had traveled far and hard on an unpleasant mission, but in it there was no shadow of menace, as there had been in that of Concombre Bateese. It was rather the face of a tired man, and yet David knew what he saw was not physical exhaustion. Black Roger guessed something of his thought, and his mouth for an instant repressed a smile. "Yes, I have been having a rough time," he nodded, "This is for you!" He placed the basket on the table. It held half a bushel, and was filled to the curve of the handle. What lay in it was hidden under a cloth securely tied about it. "And you are responsible," he added, stretching himself in a chair with a gesture of weariness. "I should kill you, Carrigan. And instead of that I bring you good things to eat! Half the day she has been fussing with the things in the basket, and then insisted that I bring them to you. And I have brought them simply to tell you another thing. I am sorry for her. I think, M'sieu Carrigan, you will find as many tears in the basket as anything else, for her heart is crushed and sick because of the humiliation she brought upon herself this morning." He was twisting his big, rough hands, and David's own heart went sick as he saw the furrowed lines that had deepened in the other's face. Black Roger did not look at him as he went on. "Of course, she told me. She tells me everything. And if she knew I was telling you this, I think she would kill herself. But I want you to understand. She is not what you might think she is. That kiss came from the lips of the best woman God ever made, M'sieu Carrigan!" David, with the blood in him running like fire, heard himself answering, "I know it. She was excited, glad you had not stained your hands with my life--" This time Audemard smiled, but it was the smile of a man ten years older than he had appeared yesterday. "Don't try to answer, m'sieu. I only want you to know she is as pure as the stars. It was unfortunate, but to follow the impulse of one's heart can not be a sin. Everything has been unfortunate since you came. But I blame no one, except--" "Carmin Fanchet?" Audemard nodded. "Yes. I have sent her away. Marie-Anne is in the cabin on the raft now. But even Carmin I can not blame very greatly, m'sieu, for it is impossible to hold anything against one you love. Tell me if I am right? You must know. You love my Marie-Anne. Do you hold anything against her?" "It is unfair," protested David. "She is your wife, Audemard, is it possible you don't love her?" "Yes, I love her." "And Carmin Fanchet?" "I love her, too. They are so different. Yet I love them both. Is it not possible for a big heart like mine to do that, m'sieu?" With almost a snort David rose to his feet and stared through one of the windows into the darkness of the river. "Black Roger," he said without turning his head, "the evidence at Headquarters condemns you as one of the blackest-hearted murderers that ever lived. But that crime, to me, is less atrocious than the one you are committing against your own wife. I am not ashamed to confess I love her, because to deny it would be a lie. I love her so much that I would sacrifice myself--soul and body--if that sacrifice could give you back to her, clean and undefiled and with your hand unstained by the crime for which you must hang!" He did not hear Roger Audemard as he rose from his chair. For a moment the riverman stared at the back of David's head, and in that moment he was fighting to keep back what wanted to come from his lips in words. He turned before David faced him again, and did not pause until he stood at the cabin door with his hand at the latch. There he was partly in shadow. "I shall not see you again until you reach the Yellowknife," he said. "Not until then will you know--or will I know--what is going to happen. I think you will understand strange things then, but that is for the hour to tell. Bateese has explained to you that you must not make an effort to escape. You would regret it, and so would I. If you have red blood in you, m'sieu--if you would understand all that you cannot understand now--wait as patiently as you can. Bonne nuit, M'sieu Carrigan!" "Good night!" nodded David. In the pale shadows he thought a mysterious light of gladness illumined Black Roger's face before the door opened and closed, leaving him alone again. XXIV With the going of Black Roger also went the oppressive loneliness which had gripped Carrigan, and as he stood listening to the low voices outside, the undeniable truth came to him that he did not hate this man as he wanted to hate him. He was a murderer, and a scoundrel in another way, but he felt irresistibly the impulse to like him and to feel sorry for him. He made an effort to shake off the feeling, but a small voice which he could not quiet persisted in telling him that more than one good man had committed what the law called murder, and that perhaps he didn't fully understand what he had seen through the cabin window on the raft. And yet, when unstirred by this impulse, he knew the evidence was damning. But his loneliness was gone. With Audemard's visit had come an unexpected thrill, the revival of an almost feverish anticipation, the promise of impending things that stirred his blood as he thought of them. "You will understand strange things then," Roger Audemard had said, and something in his voice had been like a key unlocking mysterious doors for the first time. And then, "Wait, as patiently as you can!" Out of the basket on the table seemed to come to him a whispering echo of that same word--wait! He laid his hands upon it, and a pulse of life came with the imagined whispering. It was from Marie-Anne. It seemed as though the warmth of her hands were still there, and as he removed the cloth the sweet breath of her came to him. And then, in the next instant, he was trying to laugh at himself and trying equally hard to call himself a fool, for it was the breath of newly-baked things which her fingers had made. Yet never had he felt the warmth of her presence more strangely in his heart. He did not try to explain to himself why Roger Audemard's visit had broken down things which had seemed insurmountable an hour ago. Analysis was impossible, because he knew the transformation within himself was without a shred of reason. But it had come, and with it his imprisonment took on another form. Where before there had been thought of escape and a scheming to jail Black Roger, there filled him now an intense desire to reach the Yellowknife and the Chateau Boulain. It was after midnight when he went to bed, and he was up with the early dawn. With the first break of day the bateau men were preparing their breakfast. David was glad. He was eager for the day's work to begin, and in that eagerness he pounded on the door and called out to Joe Clamart that he was ready for his breakfast with the rest of them, but that he wanted only hot coffee to go with what Black Roger had brought to him in the basket. That afternoon the bateau passed Fort McMurray, and before the sun was well down in the west Carrigan saw the green slopes of Thickwood Hills and the rising peaks of Birch Mountains. He laughed outright as he thought of Corporal Anderson and Constable Frazer at Fort McMurray, whose chief duty was to watch the big waterway. How their eyes would pop if they could see through the padlocked door of his prison! But he had no inclination to be discovered now. He wanted to go on, and with a growing exultation he saw there was no intention on the part of the bateau's crew to loiter on the way. There was no stop at noon, and the tie-up did not come until the last glow of day was darkening into the gloom of night in the sky. For sixteen hours the bateau had traveled steadily, and it could not have made less than sixty miles as the river ran. The raft, David figured, had not traveled a third of the distance. The fact that the bateau's progress would bring him to Chateau Boulain many days, and perhaps weeks, before Black Roger and Marie-Anne could arrive on the raft did not check his enthusiasm. It was this interval between their arrivals which held a great speculative promise for him. In that time, if his efficiency had not entirely deserted him, he would surely make discoveries of importance. Day after day the journey continued without rest. On the fourth day after leaving Fort McMurray it was Joe Clamart who brought in David's supper, and he grunted a protest at his long hours of muscle-breaking labor at the sweeps. When David questioned him he shrugged his shoulders, and his mouth closed tight as a clam. On the fifth, the bateau crossed the narrow western neck of Lake Athabasca, slipping past Chipewyan in the night, and on the sixth it entered the Slave River. It was the fourteenth day when the bateau entered Great Slave Lake, and the second night after that, as dusk gathered thickly between the forest walls of the Yellowknife, David knew that at last they had reached the mouth of the dark and mysterious stream which led to the still more mysterious domain of Black Roger Audemard. That night the rejoicing of the bateau men ashore was that of men who had come out from under a strain and were throwing off its tension for the first time in many days. A great fire was built, and the men sang and laughed and shouted as they piled wood upon it. In the flare of this fire a smaller one was built, and kettles and pans were soon bubbling and sizzling over it, and a great coffee pot that held two gallons sent out its steam laden with an aroma that mingled joyously with the balsam and cedar smells in the air. David could see the whole thing from his window, and when Joe Clamart came in with supper, he found the meat they were cooking over the fire was fresh moose steak. As there had been no trading or firing of guns coming down, he was puzzled and when he asked where the meat had come from Joe Clamart only shrugged his shoulders and winked an eye, and went out singing about the allouette bird that had everything plucked from it, one by one. But David noticed there were never more than four men ashore at the same time. At least one was always aboard the bateau, watching his door and windows. And he, too, felt the thrill of an excitement working subtly within him, and this thrill pounded in swifter running blood when he saw the men about the fire jump to their feet suddenly and go to meet new and shadowy figures that came up indistinctly just in the edge of the forest gloom. There they mingled and were lost in identity for a long time, and David wondered if the newcomers were of the people of Chateau Boulain. After that, Bateese and Joe Clamart and two others stamped out the fires and came over the plank to the bateau to sleep. David followed their example and went to bed. The cook fires were burning again before the gray dawn was broken by a tint of the sun, and when the voices of many men roused David, he went to his window and saw a dozen figures where last night there had been only four. When it grew lighter he recognized none of them. All were strangers. Then he realized the significance of their presence. The bateau had been traveling north, but downstream. Now it would still travel north, but the water of the Yellow-knife flowed south into Great Slave Lake, and the bateau must be towed. He caught a glimpse of the two big York boats a little later, and six rowers to a boat, and after that the bateau set out slowly but steadily upstream. For hours David was at one window or the other, with something of awe working inside him as he saw what they were passing through--and between. He fancied the water trail was like an entrance into a forbidden land, a region of vast and unbroken mystery, a country of enchantment, possibly of death, shut out from the world he had known. For the stream narrowed, and the forest along the shores was so dense he could not see into it. The tree-tops hung in a tangled canopy overhead, and a gloom of twilight filled the channel below, so that where the sun shot through, it was like filtered moonlight shining on black oil. There was no sound except the dull, steady beat of the rowers' oars, and the ripple of water along the sides of the bateau. The men did not sing or laugh, and if they talked it must have been in whispers. There was no cry of birds from ashore. And once David saw Joe Clamart's face as he passed the window, and it was set and hard and filled with the superstition of a man who was passing through a devil-country. And then suddenly the end of it came. A flood of sunlight burst in at the windows, and all at once voices came from ahead, a laugh, a shout, and a yell of rejoicing from the bateau, and Joe Clamart started again the everlasting song of the allouette bird that was plucked of everything it had. Carrigan found himself grinning. They were a queer people, these bred-in-the-blood northerners--still moved by the superstitions of children. Yet he conceded that the awesome deadness of the forest passage had put strange thoughts into his own heart. Before nightfall Bateese and Joe Clamart came in and tied his arms behind him, and he was taken ashore with the rumble of a waterfall in his ears. For two hours he watched the labors of the men as they beached the bateau on long rollers of smooth birch and rolled it foot by foot over a cleared trail until it was launched again above the waterfall. Then he was led back into the cabin and his arms freed. That night he went to sleep with the music of the waterfall in his ears. The second day the Yellowknife seemed to be no longer a river, but a narrow lake, and the third day the rowers came into the Nine Lake country at noon, and until another dusk the bateau threaded its way through twisting channels and impenetrable forests, and beached at last at the edge of a great open where the timber had been cut. There was more excitement here, but it was too dark for David to understand the meaning of it. There were many voices; dogs barked. Then voices were at his door, a key rattled in the lock, and it opened. David saw Bateese and Joe Clamart first. And then, to his amazement, Black Roger Audemard stood there, smiling at him and nodding good-evening. It was impossible for David to repress his astonishment. "Welcome to Chateau Boulain," greeted Black Roger. "You are surprised? Well, I beat you out by half a dozen hours--in a canoe, m'sieu. It is only courtesy that I should be here to give you welcome!" Behind him Bateese and Joe Clamart were grinning widely, and then both came in, and Joe Clamart picked up his dunnage-sack and threw it over his shoulder. "If you will come with us, m'sieu--" David followed, and when he stepped ashore there were Bateese, and Joe Clamart and one other behind him, and three or four shadowy figures ahead, with Black Roger walking at his side. There were no more voices, and the dog had ceased barking. Ahead was a wall of darkness, which was the deep black forest beyond the clearing, and into it led a trail which they followed. It was a path worn smooth by the travel of many feet, and for a mile not a star broke through the tree-tops overhead, nor did a flash of light break the utter chaos of the way but once, when Joe Clamart lighted his pipe. No one spoke. Even Black Roger was silent, and David found no word to say. At the end of the mile the trees began to open above their heads, and they soon came to the edge of the timber. In the darkness David caught his breath. Dead ahead, not a rifle shot away, was the Chateau Boulain. He knew it before Black Roger had said a word. He guessed it by the lighted windows, full a score of them, without a curtain drawn to shut out their illumination from the night. He could see nothing but these lights, yet they measured off a mighty place to be built of logs in the heart of a wilderness, and at his side he heard Black Roger chuckling in low exultation. "Our home, m'sieu," he said. "Tomorrow, when you see it in the light of day, you will say it is the finest chateau in the north--all built of sweet cedar where birch is not used, so that even in the deep snows it gives us the perfume of springtime and flowers." David did not answer, and in a moment Audemard said: "Only on Christmas and New Year and at birthdays and wedding feasts is it lighted up like that. Tonight it is in your honor, M'sieu David." Again he laughed softly, and under his breath he added, "And there is some one waiting for you there whom you will be surprised to see!" David's heart gave a jump. There was meaning in Black Roger's words and no double twist to what he meant. Marie-Anne had come ahead with her husband! Now, as they passed on to the brilliantly lighted chateau, David made out the indistinct outlines of other buildings almost hidden in the out-creeping shadows of the forest-edges, with now and then a ray of light to show people were in them. But there was a brooding silence over it all which made him wonder, for there was no voice, no bark of dog, not even the opening or closing of a door. As they drew nearer, he saw a great veranda reaching the length of the chateau, with screening to keep out the summer pests of mosquitoes and flies and the night prowling insects attracted by light. Into this they went, up wide birch steps, and ahead of them was a door so heavy it looked like the postern gate of a castle. Black Roger opened it, and in a moment David stood beside him in a dimly lighted hall where the mounted heads of wild beasts looked down like startled things from the gloom of the walls. And then David heard the low, sweet notes of a piano coming to them very faintly. He looked at Black Roger. A smile was on the lips of the chateau master; his head was up, and his eyes glowed with pride and joy as the music came to him. He spoke no word, but laid a hand on David's arm and led him toward it, while Bateese and Joe Clamart remained standing at the entrance to the hall. David's feet trod in thick rugs of fur; he saw the dim luster of polished birch and cedar in the walls, and over his head the ceiling was rich and matched, as in the bateau cabin. They drew nearer to the music and came to a closed door. This Black Roger opened very quietly, as if anxious not to disturb the one who was playing. They entered, and David held his breath. It was a great room he stood in, thirty feet or more from end to end, and scarcely less in width--a room brilliant with light, sumptuous in its comfort, sweet with the perfume of wild-flowers, and with a great black fireplace at the end of it, from over which there stared at him the glass eyes of a monster moose. Then he saw the figure at the piano, and something rose up quickly and choked him when his eyes told him it was not Marie-Anne. It was a slim, beautiful figure in a soft and shimmering white gown, and its head was glowing gold in the lamplight. Roger Audemard spoke, "Carmin!" The woman at the piano turned about, a little startled at the unexpectedness of the voice, and then rose quickly to her feet--and David Carrigan found himself looking into the eyes of Carmin Fanchet! Never had he seen her more beautiful than in this moment, like an angel in her shimmering dress of white, her hair a radiant glory, her eyes wide and glowing--and, as she looked at him, a smile coming to her red lips. Yes, SHE WAS SMILING AT HIM--this woman whose brother he had brought to the hangman, this woman who had stolen Black Roger from another! She knew him--he was sure of that; she knew him as the man who had believed her a criminal along with her brother, and who had fought to the last against her freedom. Yet from her lips and her eyes and her face the old hatred was gone. She was coming toward him slowly; she was reaching out her hand, and half blindly his own went out, and he felt the warmth of her fingers for a moment, and he heard her voice saying softly, "Welcome to Chateau Boulain, M'sieu Carrigan." He bowed and mumbled something, and Black Roger gently pressed his arm, drawing him back to the door. As he went he saw again that Carmin Fanchet was very beautiful as she stood there, and that her lips were very red--but her face was white, whiter than he had ever seen the face of a woman before. As they went up a winding stair to the second floor, Roger Audemard said, "I am proud of my Carmin, M'sieu David. Would any other woman in the world have given her hand like that to the man who had helped to kill her brother?" They stopped at another door. Black Roger opened it. There were lights within, and David knew it was to be his room. Audemard did not follow him inside, but there was a flashing humor in his eyes. "I say, is there another woman like her in the world, m'sieu?" "What have you done to Marie-Anne--your wife?" asked David. It was hard for him to get the words out. A terrible thing was gripping at his throat, and the clutch of it grew tighter as he saw the wild light in Black Roger's eyes. "Tomorrow you will know, m'sieu. But not to-night. You must wait until tomorrow." He nodded and stepped back, and the door closed--and in the same instant came the harsh grating of a key in the lock. XXV Carrigan turned slowly and looked about his room. There was no other door except one opening into a closet, and but two windows. Curtains were drawn at these windows, and he raised them. A grim smile came to his lips when he saw the white bars of tough birch nailed across each of them, outside the glass. He could see the birch had been freshly stripped of bark and had probably been nailed there that day. Carmin Fanchet and Black Roger had welcomed him to Chateau Boulain, but they were evidently taking no chances with their prisoner. And where was Marie-Anne? The question was insistent, and with it remained that cold grip of something in his heart that had come with the sight of Carmin Fanchet below. Was it possible that Carmin's hatred still lived, deadlier than ever, and that with Black Roger she had plotted to bring him here so that her vengeance might be more complete--and a greater torture to him? Were they smiling and offering him their hands, even as they knew he was about to die? And if that was conceivable, what had they done with Marie-Anne? He looked about the room. It was singularly bare, in an unusual sort of way, he thought. There were rich rugs on the floor--three magnificent black bearskins, and two wolf. The heads of two bucks and a splendid caribou hung against the walls. He could see, from marks on the floor, where a bed had stood, but this bed was now replaced by a couch made up comfortably for one inclined to sleep. The significance of the thing was clear--nowhere in the room could he lay his hand upon an object that might be used as a weapon! His eyes again sought the white-birch bars of his prison, and he raised the two windows so that the cool, sweet breath of the forests reached in to him. It was then that he noticed the mosquito-proof screening nailed outside the bars. It was rather odd, this thinking of his comfort even as they planned to kill him! If there was truth to this new suspicion that Black Roger and his mistress were plotting both vengeance and murder, their plans must also involve Marie-Anne. Suddenly his mind shot back to the raft. Had Black Roger turned a clever coup by leaving his wife there, while he came on ahead of the bateau with Carmin Fanchet? It would be several weeks before the raft reached the Yellowknife, and in that time many things might happen. The thought worried him. He was not afraid for himself. Danger, the combating of physical forces, was his business. His fear was for Marie-Anne. He had seen enough to know that Black Roger was hopelessly infatuated with Carmin Fanchet. And several things might happen aboard the raft, planned by agents as black-souled as himself. If they killed Marie-Anne-- His hand gripped the knob of the door, and for a moment he was filled with the impulse to shout for Black Roger and face him with what was in his mind. And as he stood there, every muscle in his body ready to fight, there came to him faintly the sound of music. He heard the piano first, and then a woman's voice singing. Soon a man's voice joined the woman's, and he knew it was Black Roger, singing with Carmin Fanchet. Suddenly the mad impulse in his heart went out, and he leaned his head nearer to the crack of the door, and strained his ears to hear. He could make out no word of the song, yet the singing came to him with a thrill that set his lips apart and brought a staring wonder into his eyes. In the room below him, fifteen hundred miles from civilization, Black Roger and Carmin Fanchet were singing "Home, Sweet Home!" An hour later David looked through one of the barred windows upon a world lighted by a splendid moon. He could see the dark edge of the distant forest that rimmed in the chateau, and about him seemed to be a level meadow, with here and there the shadow of a building in which the lights were out. Stars were thick in the sky, and a strange quietness hovered over the world he looked upon. From below him floated up now and then a perfume of tobacco smoke. The guard under his window was awake, but he made no sound. A little later he undressed, put out the two lights in his room, and stretched himself between the cool, white sheets on the couch. After a time he slept, but it was a restless slumber filled with troubled dreams. Twice he was half awake, and the second time it seemed to him his nostrils sensed a sharper tang of smoke than that of burning tobacco, yet he did not fully rouse himself, and the hours passed, and new sounds and smells that rose in the night impinged themselves upon him only as a part of the troublous fabric of his dreams. But at last there came a shock, something which beat over these things which chained him, and seized upon his consciousness, demanding that he rouse himself, open his eyes, and get up. He obeyed the command, and before he was fully awake, found himself on his feet. It was still dark, but he heard voices, voices no longer subdued, but filled with a wild note of excitement and command. And what he smelled was not the smell of tobacco smoke! It was heavy in his room. It filled his lungs. His eyes were smarting with the sting of it. Then came vision, and with a startled cry he leaped to a window. To the north and east he looked out upon a flaming world! With his fist he rubbed his smarting eyes. The moon was gone. The gray he saw outside must be the coming of dawn, ghostly with that mist of smoke that had come into his room. He could see shadowy figures of men running swiftly in and out and disappearing, and he could hear the voices of women and children, and from beyond the edge of the forest to the west came the howling of many dogs. One voice rose above the others. It was Black Roger's, and at its commands little groups of figures shot out into the gray smoke-gloom and did not appear again. North and east the sky was flaming sullen red, and a breath of air blowing gently in David's face told him the direction of the wind. The chateau lay almost in the center of the growing line of conflagration. He dressed himself and went again to the window. Quite distinctly now, he could make out Joe Clamart under his window, running toward the edge of the forest at the head of half a dozen men and boys who carried axes and cross-cut saws over their shoulders. It was the last of Black Roger's people that he saw for some time in the open meadow, but from the front of the chateau he could hear many voices, chiefly of women and children, and guessed it was from there that the final operations against the fire were being directed. The wind was blowing stronger in his face. With it came a sharper tang of smoke, and the widening light of day was fighting to hold its own against the deepening pall of flame-lit gloom advancing with the wind. There seemed to come a low and distant sound with that wind, so indistinct that to David's ears it was like a murmur a thousand miles away. He strained his ears to hear, and as he listened, there came another sound--a moaning, sobbing voice below his window! It was grief he heard now, something that went to his heart and held him cold and still. The voice was sobbing like that of a child, yet he knew it was not a child's. Nor was it a woman's. A figure came out slowly in his view, humped over, twisted in its shape, and he recognized Andre, the Broken Man. David could see that he was crying like a child, and he was facing the flaming forests, with his arms reaching out to them in his moaning. Then, of a sudden, he gave a strange cry, as if defiance had taken the place of grief, and he hurried across the meadow and disappeared into the timber where a great lightning-riven spruce gleamed dully white through the settling veil of smoke-mist. For a space David looked after him, a strange beating in his heart. It was as if he had seen a little child going into the face of a deadly peril, and at last he shouted out for some one to bring back the Broken Man. But there was no answer from under his window. The guard was gone. Nothing lay between him and escape--if he could force the white birch bars from the window. He thrust himself against them, using his shoulder as a battering-ram. Not the thousandth part of an inch could he feel them give, yet he worked until his shoulder was sore. Then he paused and studied the bars more carefully. Only one thing would avail him, and that was some object which he might use as a lever. He looked about him, and not a thing was there in the room to answer the purpose. Then his eyes fell on the splendid horns of the caribou head. Black Roger's discretion had failed him there, and eagerly David pulled the head down from the wall. He knew the woodsman's trick of breaking off a horn from the skull, yet in this room, without log or root to help him, the task was difficult, and it was a quarter of an hour after he had last seen the Broken Man before he stood again at the window with the caribou horn in his hands. He no longer had to hold his breath to hear the low moaning in the wind, and where there had been smoke-gloom before there were now black clouds rolling and twisting up over the tops of the north and eastern forests, as if mighty breaths were playing with them from behind. David thrust the big end of the caribou horn between two of the white-birch bars, but before he had put his weight to the lever he heard a great voice coming round the end of the chateau, and it was calling for Andre, the Broken Man. In a moment it was followed by Black Roger Audemard, who ran under the window and faced the lightning-struck spruce as he shouted Andre's name again. Suddenly David called down to him, and Black Roger turned and looked up through the smoke-gloom, his head bare, his arms naked, and his eyes gleaming wildly as he listened. "He went that way twenty minutes ago," David shouted. "He disappeared into the forest where you see the dead spruce yonder. And he was crying, Black Roger--he was crying like a child." If there had been other words to finish, Black Roger would not have heard them. He was running toward the old spruce, and David saw him disappear where the Broken Man had gone. Then he put his weight on the horn, and one of the tough birch bars gave way slowly, and after that a second was wrenched loose, and a third, until the lower half of the window was free of them entirely. He thrust out his head and found no one within the range of his vision. Then he worked his way through the window, feet first, and hanging the length of arms and body from the lower sill, dropped to the ground. Instantly he faced the direction taken by Roger Audemard, it was HIS turn now, and he felt a savage thrill in his blood. For an instant he hesitated, held by the impulse to rush to Carmin Fanchet and with his fingers at her throat, demand what she and her paramour had done with Marie-Anne. But the mighty determination to settle it all with Black Roger himself overwhelmed that impulse like an inundation. Black Roger had gone into the forest. He was separated from his people, and the opportunity was at hand. Positive that Marie-Anne had been left with the raft, the thought that the Chateau Boulain might be devoured by the onrushing conflagration did not appal David. The chateau held little interest for him now. It was Black Roger he wanted. As he ran toward the old spruce, he picked up a club that lay in the path. This path was a faintly-worn trail where it entered the forest beyond the spruce, very narrow, and with brush hanging close to the sides of it, so that David knew it was not in general use and that but few feet had ever used it. He followed swiftly, and in five minutes came suddenly out into a great open thick with smoke, and here he saw why Chateau Boulain would not burn. The break in the forest was a clearing a rifle-shot in width, free of brush and grass, and partly tilled; and it ran in a semi-circle as far as he could see through the smoke in both directions. Thus had Black Roger safeguarded his wilderness castle, while providing tillable fields for his people; and as David followed the faintly beaten path, he saw green stuffs growing on both sides of him, and through the center of the clearing a long strip of wheat, green and very thick. Up and down through the fog of smoke he could hear voices, and he knew it was this great, circular fire-clearing the people of Chateau Boulain were watching and guarding. But he saw no one as he trailed across the open. In soft patches of the earth he found footprints deeply made and wide apart, the footprints of hurrying men, telling him Black Roger and the Broken Man were both ahead of him, and that Black Roger was running when he crossed the clearing. The footprints led him to a still more indistinct trail in the farther forest, a trail which went straight into the face of the fire ahead. He followed it. The distant murmur had grown into a low moaning over the tree-tops, and with it the wind was coming stronger, and the smoke thicker. For a mile he continued along the path, and then he stopped, knowing he had come to the dead-line. Over him was a swirling chaos. The fire-wind had grown into a roar before which the tree-tops bent as if struck by a gale, and in the air he breathed he could feel a swiftly growing heat. For a space he stood there, breathing quickly in the face of a mighty peril. Where had Black Roger and the Broken Man gone? What mad impulse could it be that dragged them still farther into the path of death? Or had they struck aside from the trail? Was he alone in danger? As if in answer to the questions there came from far ahead of him a loud cry. It was Black Roger's voice, and as he listened, it called over and over again the Broken Man's name, "Andre--Andre--Andre--" Something in the cry held Carrigan. There was a note of terror in it, a wild entreaty that was almost drowned in the trembling wind and the moaning that was in the air. David was ready to turn back. He had already approached too near to the red line of death, yet that cry of Black Roger urged him on like the lash of a whip. He plunged ahead into the chaos of smoke, no longer able to distinguish a trail under his feet. Twice again in as many minutes he heard Black Roger's voice, and ran straight toward it. The blood of the hunter rushed over all other things in his veins. The man he wanted was ahead of him and the moment had passed when danger or fear of death could drive him back. Where Black Roger lived, he could live, and he gripped his club and ran through the low brush that whipped in stinging lashes against his face and hands. He came to the foot of a ridge, and from the top of this he knew Black Roger had called. It was a huge hog's-back, rising a hundred feet up out of the forest, and when he reached the top of it, he was panting for breath. It was as if he had come suddenly within the blast of a hot furnace. North and east the forest lay under him, and only the smoke obstructed his vision. But through this smoke he could make out a thing that made him rub his eyes in a fierce desire to see more clearly. A mile away, perhaps two, the conflagration seemed to be splitting itself against the tip of a mighty wedge. He could hear the roar of it to the right of him and to the left, but dead ahead there was only a moaning whirlpool of fire-heated wind and smoke. And out of this, as he looked, came again the cry, "Andre--Andre--Andre!" Again he stared north and south through the smoke-gloom. Mountains of resinous clouds, black as ink, were swirling skyward along the two sides of the giant wedge. Under that death-pall the flames were sweeping through the spruce and cedar tops like race-horses, hidden from his eyes. If they closed in there could be no escape; in fifteen minutes they would inundate him, and it would take him half an hour to reach the safety of the clearing. His heart thumped against his ribs as he hurried down the ridge in the direction of Black Roger's voice. The giant wedge of the forest was not burning--yet, and Audemard was hurrying like mad toward the tip of that wedge, crying out now and then the name of the Broken Man. And always he kept ahead, until at last--a mile from the ridge--David came to the edge of a wide stream and saw what it was that made the wedge of forest. For under his eyes the stream split, and two arms of it widened out, and along each shore of the two streams was a wide fire-clearing made by the axes of Black Roger's people, who had foreseen this day when fire might sweep their world. Carrigan dashed water into his eyes, and it was warm. Then he looked across. The fire had passed, the pall of smoke was clearing away, and what he saw was the black corpse of a world that had been green. It was smoldering; the deep mold was afire. Little tongues of flame still licked at ten thousand stubs charred by the fire-death--and there was no wind here, and only the whisper of a distant moaning sweeping farther and farther away. And then, out of that waste across the river, David heard a terrible cry. It was Black Roger, still calling--even in that place of hopeless death--for Andre, the Broken Man! XXVI Into the stream Carrigan plunged and found it only waist-deep in crossing. He saw where Black Roger had come out of the water and where his feet had plowed deep in the ash and char and smoldering debris ahead. This trail he followed. The air he breathed was hot and filled with stifling clouds of ash and char-dust and smoke. His feet struck red-hot embers under the ash, and he smelled burning leather. A forest of spruce and cedar skeletons still crackled and snapped and burst out into sudden tongues of flame about him, and the air he breathed grew hotter, and his face burned, and into his eyes came a smarting pain--when ahead of him he saw Black Roger. He was no longer calling out the Broken Man's name, but was crashing through the smoking chaos like a great beast that had gone both blind and mad. Twice David turned aside where Black Roger had rushed through burning debris, and a third time, following where Audemard had gone, his feet felt the sudden stab of living coals. In another moment he would have shouted Black Roger's name, but even as the words were on his lips, mingled with a gasp of pain, the giant river-man stopped where the forest seemed suddenly to end in a ghostly, smoke-filled space, and when David came up behind him, he was standing at the black edge of a cliff which leaped off into a smoldering valley below. Out of this narrow valley between two ridges, an hour ago choked with living spruce and cedar, rose up a swirling, terrifying heat. Down into this pit of death Black Roger stood looking, and David heard a strange moaning coming in his breath. His great, bare arms were black and scarred with heat; his hair was burned; his shirt was torn from his shoulders. When David spoke--and Black Roger turned at the sound--his eyes glared wildly out of a face that was like a black mask. And when he saw it was David who had spoken, his great body seemed to sag, and with an unintelligible cry he pointed down. David, staring, saw nothing with his half-blind eyes, but under his feet he felt a sudden giving way, and the fire-eaten tangle of earth and roots broke off like a rotten ledge, and with it both he and Black Roger went crashing into the depths below, smothered in an avalanche of ash and sizzling earth. At the bottom David lay for a moment, partly stunned. Then his fingers clutched a bit of living fire, and with a savage cry he staggered to his feet and looked to see Black Roger. For a space his eyes were blinded, and when at last he could see, he made out Black Roger, fifty feet away, dragging himself on his hands and knees through the blistering muck of the fire. And then, as he stared, the stricken giant came to the charred remnant of a stump and crumpled over it with a great cry, moaning again that name-- "Andre--Andre--" David hurried to him, and as he put his hands under Black Roger's arms to help him to his feet, he saw that the charred stump was not a stump, but the fire-shriveled corpse of Andre, the Broken Man! Horror choked back speech on his own lips. Black Roger looked up at him, and a great breath came in a sob out of his body. Then, suddenly, he seemed to get grip of himself, and his burned and bleeding fingers closed about David's hand at his shoulder. "I knew he was coming here," he said, the words forcing themselves with an effort through his swollen lips. "He came home--to die." "Home--?" "Yes. His mother and father were buried here nearly thirty years ago, and he worshiped them. Look at him, Carrigan. Look at him closely. For he is the man you have wanted all these years, the finest man God ever made, Roger Audemard! When he saw the fire, he came to shield their graves from the flames. And now he is dead!" A moan came to his lips, and the weight of his body grew so heavy that David had to exert his strength to keep him from falling. "And YOU?" he cried. "For God's sake, Audemard--tell me--" "I, m'sieu? Why, I am only St. Pierre Audemard, his brother." And with that his head dropped heavily, and he was like a dead man in David's arms. How at last David came to the edge of the stream again, with the weight of St. Pierre Audemard on his shoulders, was a torturing nightmare which would never be quite clear in his brain. The details were obliterated in the vast agony of the thing. He knew that he fought as he had never fought before; that he stumbled again and again in the fire-muck; that he was burned, and blinded, and his brain was sick. But he held to St. Pierre, with his twisted, broken leg, knowing that he would die if he dropped him into the flesh-devouring heat of the smoldering debris under his feet. Toward the end he was conscious of St. Pierre's moaning, and then of his voice speaking to him. After that he came to the water and fell down in the edge of it with St. Pierre, and inside his head everything went as black as the world over which the fire had swept. He did not know how terribly he was hurt. He did not feel pain after the darkness came. Yet he sensed certain things. He knew that over him St. Pierre was shouting. For days, it seemed, he could hear nothing but that great voice bellowing away in the interminable distance. And then came other voices, now near and now far, and after that he seemed to rise up and float among the clouds, and for a long time he heard no other sound and felt no movement, but was like one dead. Something soft and gentle and comforting roused him out of darkness. He did not move, he did not open his eyes for a time, while reason came to him. He heard a voice, and it was a woman's voice, speaking softly, and another voice replied to it. Then he heard gentle movement, and some one went away from him, and he heard the almost noiseless opening and closing of a door. A very little he began to see. He was in a room, with a patch of sunlight on the wall. Also, he was in a bed. And that gentle, comforting hand was still stroking his forehead and hair, light as thistledown. He opened his eyes wider and looked up. His heart gave a great throb. Over him was a glorious, tender face smiling like an angel into his widening eyes. And it was the face of Carmin Fanchet! He made an effort, as if to speak. "Hush," she whispered, and he saw something shining in her eyes, and something wet fell upon his face. "She is returning--and I will go. For three days and nights she has not slept, and she must be the first to see you open your eyes." She bent over him. Her soft lips touched his forehead, and he heard her sobbing breath. "God bless you, David Carrigan!" Then she was going to the door, and his eyes dropped shut again. He began to experience pain now, a hot, consuming pain all over him, and he remembered the fight through the path of the fire. Then the door opened very softly once more, and some one came in, and knelt down at his side, and was so quiet that she scarcely seemed to breathe. He wanted to open his eyes, to cry out a name, but he waited, and lips soft as velvet touched his own. They lay there for a moment, then moved to his closed eyes, his forehead, his hair--and after that something rested gently against him. His eyes shot open. It was Marie-Anne, with her head nestled in the crook of his arm as she knelt there beside him on the floor. He could see only a bit of her face, but her hair was very near, crumpled gloriously on his breast, and he could see the tips of her long lashes as she remained very still, seeming not to breathe. She did not know he had roused from his sleep--the first sleep of those three days of torture which he could not remember now; and he, looking at her, made no movement to tell her he was awake. One of his hands lay over the edge of the bed, and so lightly he could scarce feel the weight of her fingers she laid one of her own upon it, and a little at a time drew it to her, until the bandaged thing was against her lips. It was strange she did not hear his heart, which seemed all at once to beat like a drum inside him! Suddenly he sensed the fact that his other hand was not bandaged. He was lying on his side, with his right arm partly under him, and against that hand he felt the softness of Marie-Anne's cheek, the velvety crush of her hair! And then he whispered, "Marie-Anne--" She still lay, for a moment, utterly motionless. Then, slowly, as if believing he had spoken her name in his sleep, she raised her head and looked into his wide-open eyes. There was no word between them in that breath or two. His bandaged hand and his well hand went to her face and hair, and then a sobbing cry came from Marie-Anne, and swiftly she crushed her face down to his, holding him close with both her arms for a moment. And after that, as on that other day when she kissed him after the fight, she was up and gone so quickly that her name had scarcely left his lips when the door closed behind her, and he heard her running down the hall. He called after her, "Marie-Anne! Marie-Anne!" He heard another door, and voices, and quick footsteps again, coming his way, and he was waiting eagerly, half on his elbow, when into his room came Nepapinas and Carmin Fanchet. And again he saw the glory of something in the woman's face. His eyes must have burned strangely as he stared at her, but it did not change that light in her own, and her hands were wonderfully gentle as she helped Nepapinas raise him so that he was sitting up straight, with pillows at his back. "It doesn't hurt so much now, does it?" she asked, her voice low with a mothering tenderness. He shook his head. "No. What is the matter?" "You were burned--terribly. For two days and nights you were in great pain, but for many hours you have been sleeping, and Nepapinas says the burns will not hurt any more. If it had not been for you--" She bent over him. Her hand touched his face, and now he began to understand the meaning of that glory shining in her eyes. "If it hadn't been for you--he would have died!" She drew back, turning to the door. "He is coming to see you--alone," she said, a little broken note in her throat. "And I pray God you will see with clear understanding, David Carrigan--and forgive me--as I have forgiven you--for a thing that happened long ago." He waited. His head was in a jumble, and his thoughts were tumbling over one another in an effort to evolve some sort of coherence out of things amazing and unexpected. One thing was impressed upon him--he had saved St. Pierre's life, and because he had done this Carmin Fanchet was very tender to him. She had kissed him, and Marie-Anne had kissed him, and-- A strange dawning was coming to him, thrilling him to his finger-tips. He listened. A new sound was approaching from the hall. His door was opened, and a wheel-chair was rolled in by old Nepapinas. In the chair was St. Pierre Audemard. Feet and hands and arms were wrapped in bandages, but his face was uncovered and wreathed in smiling happiness when he saw David propped up against his pillows. Nepapinas rolled him close to the bed and then shuffled out, and as he closed the door, David was sure he heard the subdued whispering of feminine voices down the hall. "How are you, David?" asked St. Pierre. "Fine," nodded Carrigan. "And you?" "A bit scorched, and a broken leg." He held up his padded hands. "Would be dead if you hadn't carried me to the river. Carmin says she owes you her life for having saved mine." "And Marie-Anne?" "That's what I've come to tell you about," said St. Pierre. "The instant they knew you were able to listen, both Carmin and Marie-Anne insisted that I come and tell you things. But if you don't feel well enough to hear me now--" "Go on!" almost threatened David. The look of cheer which had illumined St. Pierre's face faded away, and David saw in its place the lines of sorrow which had settled there. He turned his gaze toward a window through which the afternoon sun was coming, and nodded slowly. "You saw--out there. He's dead. They buried him in a casket made of sweet cedar. He loved the smell of that. He was like a little child. And once--a long time ago--he was a splendid man, a greater and better man than St. Pierre, his brother, will ever be. What he did was right and just, M'sieu David. He was the oldest--sixteen--when the thing happened. I was only nine, and didn't fully understand. But he saw it all--the death of our father because a powerful factor wanted my mother. And after that he knew how and why our mother died, but not a word of it did he tell us until years later--after the day of vengeance was past. "You understand, David? He didn't want me in that. He did it alone, with good friends from the upper north. He killed the murderers of our mother and father, and then he buried himself deeper into the forests with us, and we took our mother's family names which was Boulain, and settled here on the Yellowknife. Roger--Black Roger, as you know him--brought the bones of our father and mother and buried them over in the edge of that plain where he died and where our first cabin stood. Five years ago a falling tree crushed him out of shape, and his mind went at the same time, so that he has been like a little child, and was always seeking for Roger Audemard--the man he once was. That was the man your law wanted. Roger Audemard. Our brother." "OUR brother," cried David. "Who is the other?" "My sister." "Yes?" "Marie-Anne." "Good God!" choked David. "St. Pierre, do you lie? Is this another bit of trickery?" "It is the truth," said St. Pierre. "Marie-Anne is my sister, and Carmin--whom you saw in my arms through the cabin window--" He paused, smiling into David's staring eyes, taking full measure of recompense in the other's heart-breaking attitude as he waited. "--Is my wife, M'sieu David." A great gasp of breath came out of Carrigan. "Yes, my wife, and the greatest-hearted woman that ever lived, without one exception in all the world!" cried St. Pierre, a fierce pride in his voice. "It was she, and not Marie-Anne, who shot you on that strip of sand, David Carrigan! Mon Dieu, I tell you not one woman in a million would have done what she did--let you live! Why? Listen, m'sieu, and you will understand at last. She had a brother, years younger than she, and to that brother she was mother, sister, everything, because they had no parents almost from babyhood. She worshiped him. And he was bad. Yet the worse he became, the more she loved him and prayed for him. Years ago she became my wife, and I fought with her to save the brother. But he belonged to the devil hand and foot, and at last he left us and went south, and became what he was when you were sent out to get him, Sergeant Carrigan. It was then that my wife went down to make a last fight to save him, to bring him back, and you know how she made that fight, m'sieu--until the day you hanged him!" St. Pierre was leaning from his chair, his face ablaze. "Tell me, did she not fight?" he cried. "And YOU, until the last--did you not fight to have her put behind prison bars with her brother?" "Yes, it is so," murmured Carrigan. "She hated you," went on St. Pierre. "You hanged her brother, who was almost a part of her flesh and body. He was bad, but he had been hers from babyhood, and a mother will love her son if he is a devil. And then--I won't take long to tell the rest of it! Through friends she learned that you, who had hanged her brother, were on your way to run down Roger Audemard. And Roger Audemard, mind you, was the same as myself, for I had sworn to take my brother's place if it became necessary. She was on the bateau with Marie-Anne when the messenger came. She had but one desire--to save me--to kill you. If it had been some other man, but it was you, who had hanged her brother! She disappeared from the bateau that day with a rifle. You know, M'sieu David, what happened. Marie-Anne heard the shooting and came--alone--just as you rolled out in the sand as if dead. It was she who ran out to you first, while my Carmin crouched there with her rifle, ready to send another bullet into you if you moved. It was Marie-Anne you saw standing over you, it was she who knelt down at your side, and then--" St. Pierre paused, and he smiled, and then grimaced as he tried to rub his two bandaged hands together. "David, fate mixes things up in a funny way. My Carmin came out and stood over you, hating you; and Marie-Anne knelt down there at your side, loving you. Yes, it is true. And over you they fought for life or death, and love won, because it is always stronger than hate. Besides, as you lay there bleeding and helpless, you looked different to my Carmin than as you did when you hanged her brother. So they dragged you up under a tree, and after that they plotted together and planned, while I was away up the river on the raft. The feminine mind works strangely, M'sieu David, and perhaps it was that thing we call intuition which made them do what they did. Marie-Anne knew it would never do for you to see and recognize my Carmin, so in their scheming of things she insisted on passing herself off as my wife, while my Carmin came back in a canoe to meet me. They were frightened, and when I came, the whole thing had gone too far for me to mend, and I knew the false game must be played out to the end. When I saw what was happening--that you loved Marie-Anne so well that you were willing to fight for her honor even when you thought she was my wife--I was sure it would all end well. But I could take no chances until I knew. And so there were bars at your windows, and--" St. Pierre shrugged his shoulders, and the lines of grief came into his face again, and in his voice was a little break as he continued: "If Roger had not gone out there to fight back the flames from the graves of his dead, I had planned to tell you as much as I dared, M'sieu David, and I had faith that your love for our sister would win. I did not tell you on the river because I wanted you to see with your own eyes our paradise up here, and I knew you would not destroy it once you were a part of it. And so I could not tell you Carmin was my wife, for that would have betrayed us--and--besides--that fight of yours against a love which you thought was dishonest interested me very much, for I saw in it a wonderful test of the man who might become my brother if he chose wisely between love and what he thought was duty. I loved you for it, even when you sat me there on the sand like a silly loon. And now, even my Carmin loves you for bringing me out of the fire--But you are not listening!" David was looking past him toward the door, and St. Pierre smiled when he saw the look that was in his face. "Nepapinas!" he called loudly. "Nepapinas!" In a moment there was shuffling of feet outside, and Nepapinas came in. St. Pierre held out his two great, bandaged hands, and David met them with his own, one bandaged and one free. Not a word was spoken between them, but their eyes were the eyes of men between whom had suddenly come the faith and understanding of a brotherhood as strong as life itself. Then Nepapinas wheeled St. Pierre from the room and David straightened himself against his pillows, and waited, and listened, until it seemed two hearts were thumping inside him in the place of one. It was an interminable time, he thought, before Marie-Anne stood in the doorway. For a breath she paused there, looking at him as he stretched out his bandaged arm to her, moved by every yearning impulse in her soul to come in, yet ready as a bird to fly away. And then, as he called her name, she ran to him and dropped upon her knees at his side, and his arms went about her, insensible to their hurt--and her hot face was against his neck, and his lips crushed in the smothering sweetness of her hair. He made no effort to speak, beyond that first calling of her name. He could feel her heart throbbing against him, and her hands tightened at his shoulders, and at last she raised her glorious face so near that the breath of it was on his lips. Then, seeing what was in his eyes, her soft mouth quivered in a little smile, and with a broken throb in her throat she whispered, "Has it all ended--right--David?" He drew the red mouth to his own, and with a glad cry which was no word in itself he buried his face in the lustrous tresses he loved. Afterward he could not remember all it was that he said, but at the end Marie-Anne had drawn a little away so that she was looking at him, her eyes shining gloriously and her cheeks beautiful as the petals of a wild rose. And he could see the throbbing in her white throat, like the beating of a tiny heart. "And you'll take me with you?" she whispered joyously. "Yes; and when I show you to the old man--Superintendent Me Vane, you know--and tell him you're my wife, he can't go back on his promise. He said if I settled this Roger Audemard affair, I could have anything I might ask for. And I'll ask for my discharge, I ought to have it in September, and that will give us time to return before the snow flies. You see--" He held out his arms again. "You see," he cried, his face smothered in her hair again, "I've found the place of my dreams up here, and I want to stay--always. Are you a little glad, Marie-Anne?" In a great room at the end of the hall, with windows opening in three directions upon the wilderness, St. Pierre waited in his wheel-chair, grunting uneasily now and then at the long time it was taking Carmin to discover certain things out in the hall. Finally he heard her coming, tiptoeing very quietly from the direction of David Carrigan's door, and St. Pierre chuckled and tried to rub his bandaged hands when she came in, her face pink and her eyes shining with the greatest thrill that can stir a feminine heart. "If we'd only known," he tried to whisper, "I would have had the keyhole made larger, Cherie! He deserves it for having spied on us at the cabin window. But--tell me!--Could you see? Did you hear? What--" Carmin's soft hand went over his mouth. "In another moment you'll be shouting," she warned. "Maybe I didn't see, and maybe I didn't hear, Big Bear--but I know there are four very happy people in Chateau Boulain. And now, if you want to guess who is the happiest--" "I am, chere-coeur." "No." "Well, then, if you insist--YOU are." "Yes. And the next?" St. Pierre chuckled. "David Carrigan," he said. "No, no, no! If you mean that--" "I mean--always--that I am second, unless you will ever let me be first," corrected St. Pierre, kissing the hand that was gently stroking his cheek. And then he leaned his great head back against her where she stood behind him, and Carmin's fingers ran where his hair was crisp with the singe of fire, and for a long time they said no other word, but let their eyes rest upon the dim length of the hall at the far end of which was David Carrigan's room. 
6715	----	Isobel A Romance of the Northern Trail by James Oliver Curwood, 1913 TO CARLOTTA WHO IS WITH ME AND TO VIOLA WHO FILLS FOR ME A DREAM OF THE FUTURE I AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATE THIS BOOK I THE MOST TERRIBLE THING IN THE WORLD At Point Fullerton, one thousand miles straight north of civilization, Sergeant William MacVeigh wrote with the stub end of a pencil between his fingers the last words of his semi-annual report to the Commissioner of the Royal Northwest Mounted Police at Regina. He concluded: "I beg to say that I have made every effort to run down Scottie Deane, the murderer. I have not given up hope of finding him, but I believe that he has gone from my territory and is probably now somewhere within the limits of the Fort Churchill patrol. We have hunted the country for three hundred miles south along the shore of Hudson's Bay to Eskimo Point, and as far north as Wagner Inlet. Within three months we have made three patrols west of the Bay, unraveling sixteen hundred miles without finding our man or word of him. I respectfully advise a close watch of the patrols south of the Barren Lands." "There!" said MacVeigh aloud, straightening his rounded shoulders with a groan of relief. "It's done." From his bunk in a corner of the little wind and storm beaten cabin which represented Law at the top end of the earth Private Pelliter lifted a head wearily from his sick bed and said: "I'm bloomin' glad of it, Mac. Now mebbe you'll give me a drink of water and shoot that devilish huskie that keeps howling every now and then out there as though death was after me." "Nervous?" said MacVeigh, stretching his strong young frame with another sigh of satisfaction. "What if you had to write this twice a year?" And he pointed at the report. "It isn't any longer than the letters you wrote to that girl of yours--" Pelliter stopped short. There was a moment of embarrassing silence. Then he added, bluntly, and with a hand reaching out: "I beg your pardon, Mac. It's this fever. I forgot for a moment that-- that you two-- had broken." "That's all right," said MacVeigh, with a quiver in his voice, as he turned for the water. "You see," he added, returning with a tin cup, "this report is different. When you're writing to the Big Mogul himself something gets on your nerves. And it has been a bad year with us, Pelly. We fell down on Scottie, and let the raiders from that whaler get away from us. And-- By Jo, I forgot to mention the wolves!" "Put in a P. S.," suggested Pelliter. "A P. S. to his Royal Nibs!" cried MacVeigh, staring incredulously at his mate. "There's no use of feeling your pulse any more, Pelly. The fever's got you. You're sure out of your head." He spoke cheerfully, trying to bring a smile to the other's pale face. Pelliter dropped back with a sigh. "No-- there isn't any use feeling my pulse," he repeated. "It isn't sickness, Bill-- not sickness of the ordinary sort. It's in my brain-- that's where it is. Think of it-- nine months up here, and never a glimpse of a white man's face except yours. Nine months without the sound of a woman's voice. Nine months of just that dead, gray world out there, with the northern lights hissing at us every night like snakes and the black rocks staring at us as they've stared for a million centuries. There may be glory in it, but that's all. We're 'eroes all right, but there's no one knows it but ourselves and the six hundred and forty-nine other men of the Royal Mounted. My God, what I'd give for the sight of a girl's face, for just a moment's touch of her hand! It would drive out this fever, for it's the fever of loneliness, Mac-- a sort of madness, and it's splitting my 'ead." "Tush, tush!" said MacVeigh, taking his mate's hand. "Wake up, Pelly! Think of what's coming. Only a few months more of it, and we'll be changed. And then-- think of what a heaven you'll be entering. You'll be able to enjoy it more than the other fellows, for they've never had this. And I'm going to bring you back a letter-- from the little girl--" Pelliter's face brightened. "God bless her!" he exclaimed. "There'll be letters from her-- a dozen of them. She's waited a long time for me, and she's true to the bottom of her dear heart. You've got my letter safe?" "Yes." MacVeigh went back to the rough little table and added still further to his report to the Commissioner of the Royal Mounted in the following words: "Pelliter is sick with a strange trouble in his head. At times I have been afraid he was going mad, and if he lives I advise his transfer south at an early date. I am leaving for Churchill two weeks ahead of the usual time in order to get medicines. I also wish to add a word to what I said about wolves in my last report. We have seen them repeatedly in packs of from fifty to one thousand. Late this autumn a pack attacked a large herd of traveling caribou fifteen miles in from the Bay, and we counted the remains of one hundred and sixty animals killed over a distance of less than three miles. It is my opinion that the wolves kill at least five thousand caribou in this patrol each year. "I have the honor to be, sir, "Your obedient servant, " WILLIAM MACVEIGH, Sergeant, "In charge of detachment." He folded the report, placed it with other treasures in the waterproof rubber bag which always went into his pack, and returned to Pelliter's side. "I hate to leave you alone, Pelly," he said. "But I'll make a fast trip of it-- four hundred and fifty miles over the ice, and I'll do it in ten days or bust. Then ten days back, mebbe two weeks, and you'll have the medicines and the letters. Hurrah!" "Hurrah!" cried Pelliter. He turned his face a little to the wall. Something rose up in MacVeigh's throat and choked him as he gripped Pelliter's hand. "My God, Bill, is that the sun?" suddenly cried Pelliter. MacVeigh wheeled toward the one window of the cabin. The sick man tumbled from his bunk. Together they stood for a moment at the window, staring far to the south and east, where a faint red rim of gold shot up through the leaden sky. "It's the sun," said MacVeigh, like one speaking a prayer. "The first in four months," breathed Pelliter. Like starving men the two gazed through the window. The golden light lingered for a few moments, then died away. Pelliter went back to his bunk. Half an hour later four dogs, a sledge, and a man were moving swiftly through the dead and silent gloom of Arctic day. Sergeant MacVeigh was on his way to Fort Churchill, more than four hundred miles away. This is the loneliest journey in the world, the trip down from the solitary little wind-beaten cabin at Point Fullerton to Fort Churchill. That cabin has but one rival in the whole of the Northland-- the other cabin at Herschel Island, at the mouth of the Firth, where twenty-one wooden crosses mark twenty-one white men's graves. But whalers come to Herschel. Unless by accident, or to break the laws, they never come in the neighborhood of Fullerton. It is at Fullerton that men die of the most terrible thing in the world-- loneliness. In the little cabin men have gone mad. The gloomy truth oppressed MacVeigh as he guided his dog team over the ice into the south. He was afraid for Pelliter. He prayed that Pelliter might see the sun now and then. On the second day he stopped at a cache of fish which they had put up in the early autumn for dog feed. He stopped at a second cache on the fifth day, and spent the sixth night at an Eskimo igloo at Blind Eskimo Point. Late on the ninth day he came into Fort Churchill, with an average of fifty miles a day to his credit. From Fullerton men came in nearer dead than alive when they made the hazard in winter. MacVeigh's face was raw from the beat of the wind. His eyes were red. He had a touch of runner's cramp. He slept for twenty-four hours in a warm bed without stirring. When he awoke he raged at the commanding officer of the barrack for letting him sleep so long, ate three meals in one, and did up his business in a hurry. His heart warmed with pleasure when he sorted out of his mail nine letters for Pelliter, all addressed in the same small, girlish hand. There was none for himself-- none of the sort which Pelliter was receiving, and the sickening loneliness within him grew almost suffocating. He laughed softly as he broke a law. He opened one of Pelliter's letters-- the last one written-- and calmly read it. It was filled with the sweet tenderness of a girl's love, and tears came into his red eyes. Then he sat down and answered it. He told the girl about Pelliter, and confessed to her that he had opened her last letter. And the chief of what he said was that it would be a glorious surprise to a man who was going mad (only he used loneliness in place of madness) if she would come up to Churchill the following spring and marry him there. He told her that he had opened her letter because he loved Pelliter more than most men loved their brothers. Then he resealed the letter, gave his mail to the superintendent, packed his medicines and supplies, and made ready to return. On this same day there came into Churchill a halfbreed who had been hunting white foxes near Blind Eskimo, and who now and then did scout work for the department. He brought the information that he had seen a white man and a white woman ten miles south of the Maguse River. The news thrilled MacVeigh. "I'll stop at the Eskimo camp," he said to the superintendent. "It's worth investigating, for I never knew of a white woman north of sixty in this country. It might be Scottie Deane." "Not very likely," replied the superintendent. "Scottie is a tall man, straight and powerful. Coujag says this man was no taller than himself, and walked like a hunchback. But if there are white people out there their history is worth knowing." The following morning MacVeigh started north. He reached the half-dozen igloos which made up the Eskimo village late the third day. Bye-Bye, the chief man, offered him no encouragement, MacVeigh gave him a pound of bacon, and in return for the magnificent present Bye-Bye told him that he had seen no white people. MacVeigh gave him another pound, and Bye-Bye added that he had not heard of any white people. He listened with the lifeless stare of a walrus while MacVeigh impressed upon him that he was going inland the next morning to search for white people whom he had heard were there. That night, in a blinding snow-storm, Bye-Bye disappeared from camp. MacVeigh left his dogs to rest up at the igloo village and swung northwest on snow-shoes with the break of arctic dawn, which was but little better than the night itself. He planned to continue in this direction until he struck the Barren, then patrol in a wide circle that would bring him back to the Eskimo camp the next night. From the first he was handicapped by the storm. He lost Bye-Bye's snow-shoe tracks a hundred yards from the igloos. All that day he searched in sheltered places for signs of a camp or trail. In the afternoon the wind died away, the sky cleared, and in the wake of the calm the cold became so intense that trees cracked with reports like pistol shots. He stopped to build a fire of scrub bush and eat his supper on the edge of the Barren just as the cold stars began blazing over his head. It was a white, still night. The southern timberline lay far behind him, and to the north there was no timber for three hundred miles. Between those lines there was no life, and so there was no sound. On the west the Barren thrust itself down in a long finger ten miles in width, and across that MacVeigh would have to strike to reach the wooded country beyond. It was over there that he had the greatest hope of discovering a trail. After he had finished his supper he loaded his pipe, and sat hunched close up to his fire, staring out over the Barren. For some reason he was filled with a strange and uncomfortable emotion, and he wished that he had brought along one of his tired dogs to keep him company. He was accustomed to loneliness; he had laughed in the face of things that had driven other men mad. But to-night there seemed to be something about him that he had never known before, something that wormed its way deep down into his soul and made his pulse beat faster. He thought of Pelliter on his fever bed, of Scottie Deane, and then of himself. After all, was there much to choose between the three of them? A picture rose slowly before him in the bush-fire, and in that picture he saw Scottie, the man-hunted man, fighting a great fight to keep himself from being hung by the neck until he was dead; and then he saw Pelliter, dying of the sickness which comes of loneliness, and beyond those two, like a pale cameo appearing for a moment out of gloom, he saw the picture of a face. It was a girl's face, and it was gone in an instant. He had hoped against hope that she would write to him again. But she had failed him. He rose to his feet with a little laugh, partly of joy and partly of pain, as he thought of the true heart that was waiting for Pelliter. He tied on his snow-shoes and struck out over the Barren. He moved swiftly, looking sharply ahead of him. The night grew brighter, the stars more brilliant. The zipp, zipp, zipp of the tails of his snow-shoes was the only sound he heard except the first faint, hissing monotone of the aurora in the northern skies, which came to him like the shivering run of steel sledge runners on hard snow. In place of sound the night about him began to fill with ghostly life. His shadow beckoned and grimaced ahead of him, and the stunted bush seemed to move. His eyes were alert and questing. Within himself he reasoned that he would see nothing, and yet some unusual instinct moved him to caution. At regular intervals he stopped to listen and to sniff the air for an odor of smoke. More and more he became like a beast of prey. He left the last bush behind him. Ahead of him the starlit space was now unbroken by a single shadow. Weird whispers came with a low wind that was gathering in the north. Suddenly MacVeigh stopped and swung his rifle into the crook of his arm. Something that was not the wind had come up out of the night. He lifted his fur cap from his ears and listened. He heard it again, faintly, the frosty singing of sledge runners. The sledge was approaching from the open Barren, and he cleared for action. He took off his heavy fur mittens and snapped them to his belt, replaced them with his light service gloves, and examined his revolver to see that the cylinder was not frozen. Then he stood silent and waited. II BILLY MEETS THE WOMAN Out of the gloom a sledge approached slowly. It took form at last in a dim shadow, and MacVeigh saw that it would pass very near to him. He made out, one after another, a human figure, three dogs, and the toboggan. There was something appalling in the quiet of this specter of life looming up out of the night. He could no longer hear the sledge, though it was within fifty paces of him. The figure in advance walked slowly and with bowed head, and the dogs and the sledge followed in a ghostly line. Human leader and animals were oblivious to MacVeigh, silent and staring in the white night. They were opposite him before he moved. Then he strode out quickly, with a loud holloa. At the sound of his voice there followed a low cry, the dogs stopped in their traces, and the figure ran back to the sledge. MacVeigh drew his revolver. Half a dozen long strides and he had reached the sledge. From the opposite side a white face stared at him, and with one hand resting on the heavily laden sledge, and his revolver at level with his waist, MacVeigh stared back in speechless astonishment. For the great, dark, frightened eyes that looked across at him, and the white, staring face he recognized as the eyes and the face of a woman. For a moment he was unable to move or speak, and the woman raised her hands and pushed back her fur hood so that he saw her hair shimmering in the starlight. She was a white woman. Suddenly he saw something in her face that struck him with a chill, and he looked down at the thing under his hand. It was a long, rough box. He drew back a step. "Good God!" he said. "Are you alone?" She bowed her head, and he heard her voice in a half sob. "Yes-- alone." He passed quickly around to her side. "I am Sergeant MacVeigh, of the Royal Mounted," he said, gently. "Tell me, where are you going, and how does it happen that you are out here in the Barren-- alone." Her hood had fallen upon her shoulder, and she lifted her face full to MacVeigh. The stars shone in her eyes. They were wonderful eyes, and now they were filled with pain. And it was a wonderful face to MacVeigh, who had not seen a white woman's face for nearly a year. She was young, so young that in the pale glow of the night she looked almost like a girl, and in her eyes and mouth and the upturn of her chin there was something so like that other face of which he had dreamed that he reached out and took her two hesitating hands in his own, and asked again: "Where are you going, and why are you out here-- alone?" "I am going-- down there," she said, turning her head toward the timber-line. "I am going with him-- my husband--" Her voice choked her, and, drawing her hands suddenly from him, she went to the sledge and stood facing him. For a moment there was a glow of defiance in her eyes, as though she feared him and was ready to fight for herself and her dead. The dogs slunk in at her feet, and MacVeigh saw the gleam of their naked fangs in the starlight. "He died three days ago," she finished, quietly, "and I am taking him back to my people, down on the Little Seul." "It is two hundred miles," said MacVeigh, looking at her as if she were mad. "You will die." "I have traveled two days," replied the woman. "I am going on." "Two days-- across the Barren!" MacVeigh looked at the box, grim and terrible in the ghostly radiance that fell upon it. Then he looked at the woman. She had bowed her head upon her breast, and her shining hair fell loose and disheveled. He saw the pathetic droop of her tired shoulders, and knew that she was crying. In that moment a thrilling warmth flooded every fiber of his body, and the glory of this that had come to him from out of the Barren held him mute. To him woman was all that was glorious and good. The pitiless loneliness of his life had placed them next to angels in his code of things, and before him now he saw all that he had ever dreamed of in the love and loyalty of womanhood and of wifehood. The bowed little figure before him was facing death for the man she had loved, and who was dead. In a way he knew that she was mad. And yet her madness was the madness of a devotion that was beyond fear, of a faithfulness that made no measure of storm and cold and starvation; and he was filled with a desire to go up to her as she stood crumpled and exhausted against the box, to take her close in his arms and tell her that of such a love he had built for himself the visions which had kept him alive in his loneliness. She looked pathetically like a child. "Come, little girl," he said. "We'll go on. I'll see you safely on your way to the Little Seul. You mustn't go alone. You'd never reach your people alive. My God, if I were he--" He stopped at the frightened look in the white face she lifted to him. "What?" she asked. "Nothing-- only it's hard for a man to die and lose a woman like you," said MacVeigh. "There-- let me lift you up on the box." "The dogs cannot pull the load," she objected. "I have helped them--" "If they can't, I can," he laughed, softly; and with a quick movement he picked her up and seated her on the sledge. He stripped off his pack and placed it behind her, and then he gave her his rifle. The woman looked straight at him with a tense, white face as she placed the weapon across her lap. "You can shoot me if I don't do my duty," said MacVeigh. He tried to hide the happiness that came to him in this companionship of woman, but it trembled in his voice. He stopped suddenly, listening. "What was that?" "I heard nothing," said the woman. Her face was deadly white. Her eyes had grown black. MacVeigh turned, with a word to the dogs. He picked up the end of the babiche rope with which the woman had assisted them to drag their load, and set off across the Barren. The presence of the dead had always been oppressive to him, but to-night it was otherwise. His fatigue of the day was gone, and in spite of the thing he was helping to drag behind him he was filled with a strange elation. He was in the presence of a woman. Now and then he turned his head to look at her. He could feel her behind him, and the sound of her low voice when she spoke to the dogs was like music to him. He wanted to burst forth in the wild song with which he and Pelliter had kept up their courage in the little cabin, but he throttled his desire and whistled instead. He wondered how the woman and the dogs had dragged the sledge. It sank deep in the soft drift-snow, and taxed his strength. Now and then he paused to rest, and at last the woman jumped from the sledge and came to his side. "I am going to walk," she said. "The load is too heavy." "The snow is soft," replied MacVeigh. "Come." He held out his hand to her; and, with the same strange, white look in her face, the woman gave him her own. She glanced back uneasily toward the box, and MacVeigh understood. He pressed her fingers a little tighter and drew her nearer to him. Hand in hand, they resumed their way across the Barren. MacVeigh said nothing, but his blood was running like fire through his body. The little hand he held trembled and started uneasily. Once or twice it tried to draw itself away, and he held it closer. After that it remained submissively in his own, warm and thrilling. Looking down, he could see the profile of the woman's face. A long, shining tress of her hair had freed itself from under her hood, and the light wind lifted it so that it fell across his arm. Like a thief he raised it to his lips, while the woman looked straight ahead to where the timber-line began to show in a thin, black streak. His cheeks burned, half with shame, half with tumultuous joy. Then he straightened his shoulders and shook the floating tress from his arm. Three-quarters of an hour later they came to the first of the timber. He still held her hand. He was still holding it, with the brilliant starlight falling upon them, when his chin shot suddenly into the air again, alert and fighting, and he cried, softly: "What was that?" "Nothing," said the woman. "I heard nothing-- unless it was the wind in the trees." She drew away from him. The dogs whined and slunk close to the box. Across the Barren came a low, wailing wind. "The storm is coming back," said MacVeigh. "It must have been the wind that I heard." III IN HONOR OF THE LIVING For a few moments after uttering those words Billy stood silent listening for a sound that was not the low moaning of the wind far out on the Barren. He was sure that he had heard it-- something very near, almost at his feet, and yet it was a sound which he could not place or understand. He looked at the woman. She was gazing steadily at him. "I hear it now," she said. "It is the wind. It has frightened me. It makes such terrible sounds at times-- out on the Barren. A little while ago-- I thought-- I heard-- a child crying--" Billy saw her clutch a hand at her throat, and there were both terror and grief in the eyes that never for an instant left his face. He understood. She was almost ready to give way under the terrible strain of the Barren. He smiled at her, and spoke in a voice that he might have used to a little child. "You are tired, little girl?" "Yes-- yes-- I am tired--" "And hungry and cold?" "Yes." "Then we will camp in the timber." They went on until they came to a growth of spruce so dense that it formed a shelter from both snow and wind, with a thick carpet of brown needles under foot. They were shut out from the stars, and in the darkness MacVeigh began to whistle cheerfully. He unstrapped his pack and spread out one of his blankets close to the box and wrapped the other about the woman's shoulders. "You sit here while I make a fire," he said. He piled up dry needles over a precious bit of his birchbark and struck a flame. In the glowing light he found other fuel, and added to the fire until the crackling blaze leaped as high as his head. The woman's face was hidden, and she looked as though she had fallen asleep in the warmth of the fire. For half an hour Mac-Veigh dragged in fuel until he had a great pile of it in readiness. Then he forked out a deep bed of burning coals and soon the odor of coffee and frying bacon aroused his companion. She raised her head and threw back the blanket with which he had covered her shoulders. It was warm where she sat, and she took off her hood while he smiled at her companionably from over the fire. Her reddish-brown hair tumbled about her shoulders, rippling and glistening in the fire glow, and for a few moments she sat with it falling loosely about her, with her eyes upon MacVeigh. Then she gathered it between her fingers, and MacVeigh watched her while she divided it into shining strands and pleated it into a big braid. "Supper is ready," he said. "Will you eat it there?" She nodded, and for the first time she smiled at him. He brought bacon and bread and coffee and other things from his pack and placed them on a folded blanket between them. He sat opposite her, cross-legged. For the first time he noticed that her eyes were blue and that there was a flush in her cheeks. The flush deepened as he looked at her, and she smiled at him again. The smile, the momentary drooping of her eyes, set his heart leaping, and for a little while he was unconscious of taste in the food he swallowed. He told her of his post away up at Point Fullerton, and of Pelliter, who was dying of loneliness. "It's been a long time since I've seen a woman like you," he confided. "And it seems like heaven. You don't know how lonely I am!" His voice trembled. "I wish that Pelliter could see you-- just for a moment," he added. "It would make him live again." Something in the soft glow of her eyes urged other words to his lips. "Mebbe you don't know what it means not to see a white woman in-- in-- all this time," he went on. "You won't think that I've gone mad, will you, or that I'm saying or doing anything that's wrong? I'm trying to hold myself back, but I feel like shouting, I'm that glad. If Pelliter could see you--" He reached suddenly in his pocket and drew out the precious packet of letters. "He's got a girl down south-- just like you," he said. "These are from her. If I get 'em up in time they'll bring him round. It's not medicine he wants. It's woman-- just a sight of her, and sound of her, and a touch of her hand." She reached across and took the letters. In the firelight he saw that her hand was trembling. "Are they-- married?" she asked, softly. "No, but they're going to be," he cried, triumphantly. "She's the most beautiful thing in the world, next to--" He paused, and she finished for him. "Next to one other girl-- who is yours." "No, I wasn't going to say that. You won't think I mean wrong, will you, if I tell you? I was going to say next to-- you. For you've come out of the blizzard-- like an angel to give me new hope. I was sort of broke when you came. If you disappeared now and I never saw you again I'd go back and fight the rest of my time out, an' dream of pleasant things. Gawd! Do you know a man has to be put up here before he knows that life isn't the sun an' the moon an' the stars an' the air we breathe. It's woman-- just woman." He was returning the letters to his pocket. The woman's voice was clear and gentle. To Billy it rose like sweetest music above the crackling of the fire and the murmuring of the wind in the spruce tops. "Men like you-- ought to have a woman to care for," she said. "He was like that." "You mean--" His eyes sought the long, dark box. "Yes-- he was like that." "I know how you feel," he said; and for a moment he did not look at her. "I've gone through-- a lot of it. Father an' mother and a sister. Mother was the last, and I wasn't much more than a kid-- eighteen, I guess-- but it don't seem much more than yesterday. When you come up here and you don't see the sun for months nor a white face for a year or more it brings up all those things pretty much as though they happened only a little while ago.'" "All of them are-- dead?" she asked. "All but one. She wrote to me for a long time, and I thought she'd keep her word. Pelly-- that's Pelliter-- thinks we've just had a misunderstanding, and that she'll write again. I haven't told him that she turned me down to marry another fellow. I didn't want to make him think any unpleasant things about his own girl. You're apt to do that when you're almost dying of loneliness." The woman's eyes were shining. She leaned a little toward him. "You should be glad," she said. "If she turned you down she wouldn't have been worthy of you-- afterward. She wasn't a true woman. If she had been, her love wouldn't have grown cold because you were away. It mustn't spoil your faith-- because that is-- beautiful." He had put a hand into his pocket again, and drew out now a thin package wrapped in buckskin. His face was like a boy's. "I might have-- if I hadn't met you," he said. "I'd like to let you know-- some way-- what you've done for me. You and this." He had unfolded the buckskin, and gave it to her. In it were the big blue petals and dried stem of a blue flower. "A blue flower!" she said. "Yes. You know what it means. The Indians call it i-o-waka, or something like that, because they believe that it is the flower spirit of the purest and most beautiful thing in the world. I have called it woman." He laughed, and there was a joyous sort of note in the laugh. "You may think me a little mad," he said, "but do you care if I tell you about that blue flower?" The woman nodded. There was a little quiver at her throat which Billy did not see. "I was away up on the Great Bear," he said, "and for ten days and ten nights I was in camp-- alone-- laid up with a sprained ankle. It was a wild and gloomy place, shut in by barren ridge mountains, with stunted black spruce all about, and those spruce were haunted by owls that made my blood run cold nights. The second day I found company. It was a blue flower. It grew close to my tent, as high as my knee, and during the day I used to spread out my blanket close to it and lie there and smoke. And the blue flower would wave on its slender stem, an' bob at me, an' talk in sign language that I imagined I understood. Sometimes it was so funny and vivacious that I laughed, and then it seemed to be inviting me to a dance. And at other times it was just beautiful and still, and seemed listening to what the forest was saying-- and once or twice, I thought, it might be praying. Loneliness makes a fellow foolish, you know. With the going of the sun my blue flower would always fold its petals and go to sleep, like a little child tired out by the day's play, and after that I would feel terribly lonely. But it was always awake again when I rolled out in the morning. At last the time came when I was well enough to leave. On the ninth night I watched my blue flower go to sleep for the last time. Then I packed. The sun was up when I went away the next morning, and from a little distance I turned and looked back. I suppose I was foolish, and weak for a man, but I felt like crying. Blue flower had taught me many things I had not known before. It had made me think. And when I looked back it was in a pool of sunlight, and it was waving at me! It seemed to me that it was calling-- calling me back-- and I ran to it and picked it from the stem, and it has been with me ever since that hour. It has been my Bible an' my comrade, an' I've known it was the spirit of the purest and the most beautiful thing in the world-- woman. I--" His voice broke a little. "I-- I may be foolish, but I'd like to have you take it, an' keep it-- always-- for me." He could see now the quiver of her lips as she looked across at him. "Yes, I will take it," she said. "I will take it and keep it-- always." "I've been keeping it for a woman-- somewhere," he said. "Foolish idea, wasn't it? And I've been telling you all this, when I want to hear what happened back there, and what you are going to do when you reach your people. Do you mind-- telling me?" "He died-- that's all," she replied, fighting to speak calmly. "I promised to take him back-- to my people, And when I get there-- I don't know-- what I shall-- do--" She caught her breath. A low sob broke from her lips. "You don't know-- what you will do--" Billy's voice sounded strange even to himself. He rose to his feet and looked down into her upturned face, his hands clenched, his body trembling with the fight he was making. Words came to his lips and were forced back again-- words which almost won in their struggle to tell her again that she had come to him from out of the Barren like an angel, that within the short space since their meeting he had lived a lifetime, and that he loved her as no man had ever loved a woman before. Her blue eyes looked at him questioningly as he stood above her. And then he saw the thing which for a moment he had forgotten-- the long, rough box at the woman's back. His fingers dug deeper into his palms, and with a gasping breath he turned away. A hundred paces back in the spruce he had found a bare rock with a red bakneesh vine growing over it. With his knife he cut off an armful, and when he returned with it into the light of the fire the bakneesh glowed like a mass of crimson flowers. The woman had risen to her feet, and looked at him speechlessly as he scattered the vine over the box. He turned to her and said, softly: "In honor of the dead!" The color had faded from her face, but her eyes shone like stars. Billy advanced toward her with his hands reaching out. But suddenly he stopped and stood listening. After a moment he turned and asked again: "What was that?" "I heard the dogs-- and the wind," she replied. "It's something cracking in my head, I guess," said MacVeigh. "It sounded like--" He passed a hand over his forehead and looked at the dogs huddled in deep sleep beside the sledge. The woman did not see the shiver that passed through him. He laughed cheerfully, and seized his ax. "Now for the camp," he announced. "We're going to get the storm within an hour." On the box the woman carried a small tent, and he pitched it close to the fire, filling the interior two feet deep with cedar and balsam boughs. His own silk service tent he put back in the deeper shadows of the spruce. When he had finished he looked questioningly at the woman and then at the box. "If there is room-- I would like it in there-- with me," she said, and while she stood with her face to the fire he dragged the box into the tent. Then he piled fresh fuel upon the fire and came to bid her good night. Her face was pale and haggard now, but she smiled at him, and to MacVeigh she was the most beautiful thing in the world. Within himself he felt that he had known her for years and years, and he took her hands and looked down into her blue eyes and said, almost in a whisper: "Will you forgive me if I'm doing wrong? You don't know how lonesome I've been, and how lonesome I am, and what it means to me to look once more into a woman's face. I don't want to hurt you, and I'd-- I'd"-- his voice broke a little--"I'd give him back life if I could, just because I've seen you and know you and-- and love you." She started and drew a quick, sharp breath that came almost in a low cry. "Forgive me, little girl," he went on. "I may be a little mad. I guess I am. But I'd die for you, and I'm going to see you safely down to your people-- and-- and-- I wonder-- I wonder-- if you'd kiss me good night--" Her eyes never left his face. They were dazzlingly blue in the firelight. Slowly she drew her hands away from him, still looking straight into his eyes, and then she placed them against each of his arms and slowly lifted her face to him. Reverently he bent and kissed her. "God bless you!" he whispered. For hours after that he sat beside the fire. The wind came up stronger across the Barren; the storm broke fresh from the north, the spruce and the balsam wailed over his head, and he could hear the moaning sweep of the blizzard out in the open spaces. But the sounds came to him now like a new kind of music, and his heart throbbed and his soul was warm with joy as he looked at the little tent wherein there lay sleeping the woman whom he loved. He still felt the warmth of her lips, he saw again and again the blue softness that had come for an instant into her eyes, and he thanked God for the wonderful happiness that had come to him. For the sweetness of the woman's lips and the greater sweetness of her blue eyes told him what life held for him now. A day's journey to the south was an Indian camp. He would take her there, and would hire runners to carry up Pelliter's medicines and his letters. Then he would go on-- with the woman-- and he laughed softly and joyously at the glorious news which he would take back to Pelliter a little later. For the kiss burned on his lips, the blue eyes smiled at him still from out of the firelit gloom, and he knew nothing but hope. It was late, almost midnight, when he went to bed. With the storm wailing and twisting more fiercely about him, he fell asleep. And it was late when he awoke. The forest was filled with a moaning sound. The fire was low. Beyond it the flap of the woman's tent was still down, and he put on fresh fuel quietly, so that he would not awaken her. He looked at his watch and found that he had been sleeping for nearly seven hours. Then he returned to his tent to get the things for breakfast. Half a dozen paces from the door flap he stopped in sudden astonishment. Hanging to his tent in the form of a great wreath was the red bakneesh which he had cut the night before, and over it, scrawled in charcoal on the silk, there stared at him the crudely written words: "In honor of the living." With a low cry he sprang back toward the other tent, and then, as sudden as his movement, there flashed upon him the significance of the bakneesh wreath. The woman was saying to him what she had not spoken in words. She had come out in the night while he was asleep and had hung the wreath where he would see it in the morning. The blood rushed warm and joyous through his body, and with something which was not a laugh, but which was an exultant breath from the soul itself, he straightened himself, and his hand fell in its old trick to his revolver holster. It was empty. He dragged out his blankets, but the weapon was not between them. He looked into the corner where he had placed his rifle. That, too, was gone. His face grew tense and white as he walked slowly beyond the fire to the woman's tent. With his ear at the flap he listened. There was no sound within-- no sound of movement, of life, of a sleeper's breath; and like one who feared to reveal a terrible picture he drew back the flap. The balsam bed which he had made for the woman was empty, and across it had been drawn the big rough box. He stepped inside. The box was open-- and empty, except for a mass of worn and hard-packed balsam boughs in the bottom. In another instant the truth burst in all its force upon MacVeigh. The box had held life, and the woman-- Something on the side of the box caught his eyes. It was a folded bit of paper, pinned where he must see it. He tore it off and staggered with it back into the light of day. A low, hard cry came from his lips as he read what the woman had written to him: "May God bless you for being good to me. In the storm we have gone-- my husband and I. Word came to us that you were on our trail, and we saw your fire out on the Barren. My husband made the box for me to keep me from cold and storm. When we saw you we changed places, and so you met me with my dead. He could have killed you-- a dozen times, but you were good to me, and so you live. Some day may God give you a good woman who will love you as I love him. He killed a man, but killing is not always murder. We have taken your weapons, and the storm will cover our trail. But you would not follow. I know that. For you know what it means to love a woman, and so you know what life means to a woman when she loves a man. MRS. ISOBEL DEANE." IV THE MAN-HUNTERS Like one dazed by a blow Billy read once more the words which Isobel Deane had left for him. He made no sound after that first cry that had broken from his lips, but stood looking into the crackling flames of the fire until a sudden lash of the wind whipped the note from between his fingers and sent it scurrying away in a white volley of fine snow. The loss of the note awoke him to action. He started to pursue the bit of paper, then stopped and laughed. It was a short, mirthless laugh, the kind of a laugh with which a strong man covers pain. He returned to the tent again and looked in. He flung back the tent flaps so that the light could enter and he could see into the box. A few hours before that box had hidden Scottie Deane, the murderer. And she was his wife! He turned back to the fire, and he saw again the red bakneesh hanging over his tent flap, and the words she had scrawled with the end of a charred stick, "In honor of the living." That meant him. Something thick and uncomfortable rose in his throat, and a blur that was not caused by snow or wind filled his eyes. She had made a magnificent fight. And she had won. And it suddenly occurred to him that what she had said in the note was true, and that Scottie Deane could easily have killed him. The next moment he wondered why he had not done that. Deane had taken a big chance in allowing him to live. They had only a few hours' start of him, and their trail could not be entirely obliterated by the storm. Deane would be hampered in his flight by the presence of his wife. He could still follow and overtake them. They had taken his weapons, but this would not be the first time that he had gone after his man without weapons. Swiftly the reaction worked in him. He ran beyond the fire, and circled quickly until he came upon the trail of the outgoing sledge. It was still quite distinct. Deeper in the forest it could be easily followed. Something fluttered at his feet. It was Isobel Deane's note. He picked it up, and again his eyes fell upon those last words that she had written: But you would not follow. I know that. For you know what it means to love a woman, and so you know what life means to a woman when she loves a man. That was why Scottie Deane had not killed him. It was because of the woman. And she had faith in him! This time he folded the note and placed it in his pocket, where the blue flower had been. Then he went slowly back to the fire. "I told you I'd give him back his life-- if I could," he said. "And I guess I'm going to keep my word." He fell into his old habit of talking to himself-- a habit that comes easily to one in the big open spaces-- and he laughed as he stood beside the fire and loaded his pipe. "If it wasn't for her!" he added, thinking of Scottie Deane. "Gawd-- if it wasn't for her!" He finished loading his pipe, and lighted it, staring off into the thicker spruce forest into which Scottie and his wife had fled. The entire force was on the lookout for Scottie Deane. For more than a year he had been as elusive as the little white ermine of the woods. He had outwitted the best men in the service, and his name was known to every man of the Royal Mounted from Calgary to Herschel Island. There was a price on his head, and fame for the man who captured him. Those who dreamed of promotions also dreamed of Scottie Deane; and as Billy thought of these things something that was not the man-hunting instinct rose in him and his blood warmed with a strange feeling of brotherhood. Scottie Deane was more than an outlaw to him now, more than a mere man. Hunted like a rat, chased from place to place, he must be more than those things for a woman like Isobel Deane still to cling to. He recalled the gentleness of her voice, the sweetness of her face, the tenderness of her blue eyes, and for the first time the thought came to him that such a woman could not love a man who was wholly bad. And she did love him. A twinge of pain came with that truth, and yet with it a thrill of pleasure. Her loyalty was a triumph-- even for him. She had come to him like an angel out of the storm, and she had gone from him like an angel. He was glad. A living, breathing reality had taken the place of the dream vision in his heart, a woman who was flesh and blood, and who was as true and as beautiful as the blue flower he had carried against his breast. In that moment he would have liked to grip Scottie Deane by the hand, because he was her husband and because he was man enough to make her love him. Perhaps it was Deane who had hung the wreath of bakneesh on his tent and who had scribbled the words in charcoal. And Deane surely knew of the note his wife had written. The feeling of brotherhood grew stronger in Billy, and thought of their faith in him filled him with a strange elation. The fire was growing low, and he turned to add fresh fuel. His eyes caught sight of the box in the tent, and he dragged it out. He was about to throw it on the fire when he hesitated and examined it more closely. How far had they come, he wondered? It must have been from the other side of the Barren, for Deane had built the box to protect Isobel from the fierce winds of the open. It was built of light, dry wood, hewn with a belt ax, and the corners were fastened with babiche cord made of caribou skin in place of nails. The balsam that had been placed in it for Isobel was still in the box, and Billy's heart beat a little more quickly as he drew it out. It had been Isobel's bed. He could see where the balsam was thicker, where her head had rested. With a sudden breathless cry he thrust the box on the fire. He was not hungry, but he made himself a pot of coffee and drank it. Until now he had not observed that the storm was growing steadily worse. The thick, low-hanging spruce broke the force of it. Beyond the shelter of the forest he could hear the roar of it as it swept through the thin scrub and open spaces of the edge of the Barren. It recalled him once more to Pelliter. In the excitement of Isobel's presence and the shock and despair that had followed her flight he had been guilty of partly forgetting Pelliter. By the time he reached the Eskimo igloos there would be two days lost. Those two days might mean everything to his sick comrade. He jumped to his feet, felt in his pocket to see that the letters were safe, and began to arrange his pack. Through the trees there came now fine white volleys of blistering snow. It was like the hardest granulated sugar. A sudden blast of it stung his eyes; and, leaving his pack and tent, he made his way anxiously toward the more open timber and scrub. A few hundred yards from the camp he was forced to bow his head against the snow volleys and pull the broad flaps of his cap down over his cheeks and ears. A hundred yards more and he stopped, sheltering himself behind a gnarled and stunted banskian. He looked out into the beginning of the open. It was a white and seething chaos into which he could not see the distance of a pistol shot. The Eskimo igloos were twenty miles across the Barren, and Billy's heart sank. He could not make it. No man could live in the storm that was sweeping straight down from the Arctic, and he turned back to the camp. He had scarcely made the move when he was startled by a strange sound coming with the wind. He faced the white blur again, a hand dropping to his empty pistol holster. It came again, and this time he recognized it. It was a shout, a man's voice. Instantly his mind leaped to Deane and Isobel. What miracle could be bringing them back? A shadow grew out of the twisting blur of the storm. It quickly separated itself into definite parts-- a team of dogs, a sledge, three men. A minute more and the dogs stopped in a snarling tangle as they saw Billy. Billy stepped forth. Almost instantly he found a revolver leveled at his breast. "Put that up, Bucky Smith," he called. "If you're looking for a man you've found the wrong one!" The man advanced. His eyes were red and staring. His pistol arm dropped as he came within a yard of Billy. "By-- It's you, is it, Billy MacVeigh!" he exclaimed. His laugh was harsh and unpleasant. Bucky was a corporal in the service, and when Billy had last heard of him he was stationed at Nelson House. For a year the two men had been in the same patrol, and there was bad blood between them. Billy had never told of a certain affair down at Norway House, the knowledge of which at headquarters would have meant Bucky's disgraceful retirement from the force. But he had called Bucky out in fair fight and had whipped him within an inch of his life. The old hatred burned in the corporal's eyes as he stared into Billy's face. Billy ignored the look, and shook hands with the other men. One of them was a Hudson's Bay Company's driver, and the other was Constable Walker, from Churchill. "Thought we'd never live to reach shelter," gasped Walker, as they shook hands. "We're out after Scottie Deane, and we ain't losing a minute. We're going to get him, too. His trail is so hot we can smell it. My God, but I'm bushed!" The dogs, with the company man at their head, were already making for the camp. Billy grinned at the corporal as they followed. "Had a pretty good chance to get me, if you'd been alone, didn't you, Bucky?" he asked, in a voice that Walker did not hear. "You see, I haven't forgotten your threat." There was a steely hardness behind his laugh. He knew that Bucky Smith was a scoundrel whose good fortune was that he had never been found out in some of his evil work. In a flash his mind traveled back to that day at Norway House when Rousseau, the half Frenchman, had come to him from a sick-bed to tell him that Bucky had ruined his young wife. Rousseau, who should have been in bed with his fever, died two days later. Billy could still hear the taunt in Bucky's voice when he had cornered him with Rousseau's accusation, and the fight had followed. The thought that this man was now close after Isobel and Deane filled him with a sort of rage, and as Walker went ahead he laid a hand on Bucky's arm. "I've been thinking about you of late, Bucky," he said. "I've been thinking a lot about that affair down at Norway, an' I've been lacking myself for not reporting it. I'm going to do it-- unless you cut a right-angle track to the one you're taking. I'm after Scottie Deane myself!" In the next breath he could have cut out his tongue for having uttered the words. A gleam of triumph shot into Bucky's eyes. "I thought we was right," he said. "We sort of lost the trail in the storm. Glad we found you to set us right. How much of a start of us has he and that squaw that's traveling with him got?" Billy's mittened hands clenched fiercely. He made no reply, but followed quickly after Walker. His mind worked swiftly. As he came in to the fire he saw that the dogs had already dropped down in their traces and that they were exhausted. Walker's face was pinched, his eyes half closed by the sting of the snow. The driver was half stretched out on the sledge, his feet to the fire. In a glance he had assured himself that both dogs and men had gone through a long and desperate struggle in the storm. He looked at Bucky, and this time there was neither rancor nor threat in his voice when he spoke. "You fellows have had a hard time of it," he said. "Make yourselves at home. I'm not overburdened with grub, but if you'll dig out some of your own rations I'll get it ready while you thaw out." Bucky was looking curiously at the two tents. "Who's with you?" he asked. Billy shrugged his shoulders. His voice was almost affable. "Hate to tell you who was with me, Bucky," he laughed, "I came in late last night, half dead, and found a half-breed camped here-- in that silk tent. He was quite chummy-- mighty fine chap. Young fellow, too-- almost a kid. When I got up this morning--" Billy shrugged his shoulders again and pointed to his empty pistol holster. "Everything was gone-- dogs, sledge, extra tent, even my rifle and automatic. He wasn't quite bad, though, for he left me my grub. He was a funny cuss, too. Look at that!" He pointed to the bakneesh wreath that still hung to the front of his tent. "'In honor of the living,'" he read, aloud, "Just a sort of reminder, you know, that he might have hit me on the head with a club if he'd wanted to." He came nearer to Bucky, and said, good-naturedly: "I guess you've got me beat this time, Bucky. Scottie Deane is pretty safe from me, wherever he is. I haven't even got a gun!" "He must have left a trail," remarked Bucky, eying him shrewdly. "He did-- out there!" As Bucky went to examine what was left of the trail Billy thanked Heaven that Deane had placed Isobel on the sledge before he left camp. There was nothing to betray her presence. Walker had unlaced their outfit, and Billy was busy preparing a meal when Bucky returned. There was a sneer on his lips. "Didn't know you was that easy," he said. "Wonder why he didn't take his tent! Pretty good tent, isn't it?" He went inside. A minute later he appeared at the flap and called to Billy. "Look here!" he said, and there was a tremble of excitement in his voice. His eyes were blazing with an ugly triumph. "Your half-breed had pretty long hair, didn't he?" He pointed to a splinter on one of the light tent-poles. Billy's heart gave a sudden jump. A tress of Isobel's long, loose hair had caught in the splinter, and a dozen golden-brown strands had remained to give him away. For a moment he forgot that Bucky Smith was watching him. He saw Isobel again as she had last entered the tent, her beautiful hair flowing in a firelit glory about her, her eyes still filled with tender gratitude. Once more he felt the warmth of her lips, the touch of her hand, the thrill of her presence near him. Perhaps these emotions covered any suspicious movement or word by which he might otherwise have betrayed himself. By the time they were gone he had recovered himself, and he turned to his companion with a low laugh. "It's a woman's hair, all right, Bucky. He told me all sorts of nice things about a girl `back home.' They must have been true." The eyes of the two men met unflinchingly. There was a sneer on Buck's lips; Billy was smiling. "I'm going to follow this Frenchman after we've had a little rest," said the corporal, trying to cover a certain note of excitement and triumph in his voice. "There's a woman traveling with Scottie Deane, you know-- a white woman-- and there's only one other north of Churchill. Of course, you're anxious to get back your stolen outfit?" "You bet I am," exclaimed Billy, concealing the effect of the bull's-eye shot Bucky had made. "I'm not particularly happy in the thought of reporting myself stripped in this sort of way. The breed will hang to thick cover, and it won't be difficult to follow his trail." He saw that Bucky was a little taken aback by his ready acquiescence, and before the other could reply he hurried out to join Walker in the preparation of breakfast. He made a gallon of tea, fried some bacon, and brought out and toasted his own stock of frozen bannock. He made a second kettle of tea while the others were eating, and shook out the blankets in his own tent. Walker had told him that they had traveled nearly all night. "Better have an hour or two of sleep before you go on," he invited. The driver's name was Conway. He was the first to accept Billy's invitation. When he had finished eating, Walker followed him into the tent. When they were gone Bucky looked hard at Billy. "What's your game?" he asked. "The Golden Rule, that's all," replied Billy, proffering his tobacco. "The half-breed treated me square and made me comfortable, even if he did take his pay afterward. I'm doing the same." "And what do you expect to take-- afterward?" Billy's eyes narrowed as he returned the other's searching look. "Bucky, I didn't think you were quite a fool," he said. "You've got a little decency in your hide, haven't you? A man might as well be in jail as up here without a gun. I expect you to contribute one-- when you go after the half-breed-- you or Walker. He'll do it if you won't. Better go in with the others. I'll keep up the fire." Bucky rose sullenly. He was still suspicious of Billy's hospitality, but at the same time he could see the strength of Billy's argument and the importance of the price he was asking. He joined Walker and Conway. Fifteen minutes later Billy approached the tent and looked in. The three men were in the deep sleep of exhaustion. Instantly Billy's actions changed. He had thrown his pack outside the tent to make more room, and he quickly slipped a spare blanket in with his provisions. Then he entered the other tent, and a flush spread over his face, and he felt his blood grow warmer. "You may be a fool, Billy MacVeigh," he laughed, softly. "You may be a fool, but we're going to do it!" Gently he disentangled the long silken strands of golden brown from the tent-pole. He wound the hair about his fingers, and it made a soft and shining ring. It was all that he would ever possess of Isobel Deane, and his breath came more quickly as he pressed it for a moment to his rough and storm-beaten face. He put it in his pocket, carefully wrapped in Isobel's note, and then once more he went back to the tent in which the three men were sleeping. They had not moved. Walker's holster was within reach of his hand. For a moment the temptation to reach out and pluck the gun from it was strong. He pulled himself away. He would win in this fight with Bucky as surely as he had won in the other, and he would win without theft. Quickly he threw his pack over his shoulder and struck the trail made by Deane in his flight. On his snow-shoes he followed it in a long, swift pace. A hundred yards from the camp he looked back for an instant. Then he turned, and his face was grim and set. "If you've got to be caught, it's not going to be by that outfit back there, Mr. Scottie Deane," he said to himself. "It's up to yours truly, and Billy MacVeigh is the man who can do the trick, if he hasn't got a gun!" V BILLY FOLLOWS ISOBEL From the first Billy could see the difficulty with which Deane and his dogs had made their way through the soft drifts of snow piled up by the blizzard. In places where the trees had thinned out Deane had floundered ahead and pulled with the team. Only once in the first mile had Isobel climbed from the sledge, and that was where traces, toboggan, and team had all become mixed up in the snow-covered top of a fallen tree. The fact that Deane was compelling his wife to ride added to Billy's liking for the man. It was probable that Isobel had not gone to sleep at all after her hard experience on the Barren, but had lain awake planning with her husband until the hour of their flight. If Isobel had been able to travel on snow-shoes Billy reasoned that Deane would have left the dogs behind, for in the deep, soft snow he could have made better time without them, and snow-shoe trails would have been obliterated by the storm hours ago. As it was, he could not lose them. He knew that he had no time to lose if he made sure of beating out Bucky and his men. The suspicious corporal would not sleep long. While he had the advantage of being comparatively fresh, Billy's snow-shoes were smoothing and packing the trail, and the others, if they followed, would be able to travel a mile or two an hour faster than himself. That Bucky would follow he did not doubt for a moment. The corporal was already half convinced that Scottie Deane had made the trail from camp and that the hair he had found entangled in the splinter on the tent-pole belonged to the outlaw's wife. And Scottie Deane was too big a prize to lose. Billy's mind worked rapidly as he bent more determinedly to the pursuit. He knew that there were only two things that Bucky could do under the circumstances. Either he would follow after him with Walker and the driver or he would come alone. If Walker and Conway accompanied him the fight for Scottie Deane's capture would be a fair one, and the man who first put manacles about the outlaw's wrists would be the victor. But if he left his two companions in camp and came after him alone-- The thought was not a pleasant one. He was almost sorry that he had not taken Walker's gun. If Bucky came alone it would be with but one purpose in mind-- to make sure of Scottie Dean by "squaring up" with him first. Billy was sure that he had measured the man right, and that he would not hesitate to carry out his old threat by putting a bullet into him at the first opportunity. And here would be opportunity. The storm would cover up any foul work he might accomplish, and his reward would be Scottie Deane-- unless Deane played too good a hand for him. At thought of Deane Billy chuckled. Until now he had not taken him fully into consideration, and suddenly it dawned upon him that there was a bit of humor as well as tragedy in the situation. He cheerfully conceded to himself that for a long time Deane had proved himself a better man than either Bucky or himself, and that, after all, he was the man who held the situation well in hand even now. He was well armed. He was as cautions as a fox, and would not be caught napping. And yet this thought filled Billy with satisfaction rather than fear. Deane would be more than a match for Bucky alone if he failed in beating out the corporal. But if he did beat him out-- Billy's lips set grimly, and there was a hard light in his eyes as he glanced back over his shoulder. He would not only beat him out, but he would capture Scottie Deane. It would be a game of fox against fox, and he would win. No one would ever know why he was playing the game as he had planned to play it. Bucky would never know. Down at headquarters they would never know. And yet deep down in his heart he hoped and believed that Isobel would guess and understand. To save Deane, to save Isobel, he must keep them out of the hands of Bucky Smith, and to do that he must make them his own prisoners. It would be a terrible ordeal at first. A picture of Isobel rose before him, her faith and trust in him broken, her face white and drawn with grief and despair, her blue eyes flashing at him-- hatred. But he felt now that he could stand those things. One moment-- the fatal moment, when she would understand and know that he had remained true-- would repay him for what he might suffer. He traveled swiftly for an hour, and paused then to get his wind where the partly covered trail dipped down into a frozen swamp. Here Isobel had climbed from the sledge and had followed in the path of the toboggan. In places where the spruce and balsam were thick overhead Billy could make out the imprints of her moccasins. Deane had led the dogs in the darkness of the storm, and twice Billy found the burned ends of matches, where he had stopped to look at his compass. He was striking a course almost due west. At the farther edge of the swamp the trail struck a lake, and straight across this Deane had led his team. The worst of the storm was over now. The wind was slowly shifting to the south and east, and the fine, steely snow had given place to a thicker and softer downfall. Billy shuddered as he thought of what this lake must have been a few hours before, when Isobel and Deane had crossed it in the thick blackness of the blizzard that had swept it like a hurricane. It was half a mile across the lake, and here, fifty yards from shore, the trail was completely covered. Billy lost no time by endeavoring to find signs of it in the open, but struck directly for the opposite timber field and swung along in the shelter of the scrub forest. He picked up the trail easily. Half an hour later he stopped. Spruce and balsam grew thick about him, shutting out what was left of the wind. Here Scottie Deane had stopped to build a fire. Close to the charred embers was a mass of balsam boughs on which Isobel had rested. Scottie had made a pot of boiling tea and had afterward thrown the grounds on the snow. The warm bodies of the dogs had made smooth, round pits in the snow, and Billy figured that the fugitives had rested for a couple of hours. They had traveled eight miles through the blizzard without a fire, and his heart was filled with a sickening pain as he thought of Isobel Deane and the suffering he had brought to her. For a few moments there swept over him a revulsion for that thing which he stood for-- the Law. More than once in his experience he had thought that its punishment had been greater than the crime. Isobel had suffered, and was suffering, far more than if Deane had been captured a year before and hanged. And Deane himself had paid a penalty greater than death in being a witness of the suffering of the woman who had remained loyal to him. Billy's heart went out to them in a low, yearning cry as he looked at the balsam bed and the black char of the fire. He wished that he could give them, life and freedom and happiness, and his hands clenched tightly as he thought that he was willing to surrender everything, even to his own honor, for the woman he loved. Fifteen minutes after he had struck the shelter of the camp he was again in pursuit. His blood leaped a little excitedly when he found that Scottie Deane's trail was now almost as straight as a plumb-line and that the sledge no longer became entangled in hidden windfalls and brush. It was proof that it was light when Deane and Isobel had left their camp. Isobel was walking now, and their sledge was traveling faster. Billy encouraged his own pace, and over two or three open spaces he broke into a long, swinging run. The trail was comparatively fresh, and at the end of another hour he knew that they could not be far ahead of him. He had followed through a thin swamp and had climbed to the top of a rough ridge when he stopped. Isobel had reached the bald cap of the ridge exhausted. The last twenty yards he could see where Deane had assisted her; and then she had dropped down in the snow, and he had placed a blanket under her. They had taken a drink of tea made back over the fire, and a little of it had fallen into the snow. It had not yet formed ice, and instinctively he dropped behind a rock and looked down into the wooded valley at his feet. In a few moments he began to descend. He had almost reached the foot of the ridge when he brought himself short with a sudden low cry of horror. He had reached a point where the side of the ridge seemed to have broken off, leaving a precipitous wall. In a flash he realized what had happened. Deane and Isobel had descended upon a "snow trap," and it had given way under their weight, plunging them to the rocks below. For no longer than a breath he stood still, and in that moment there came a sound from far behind that sent a strange thrill through him. It was the howl of a dog. Bucky and his men were in close pursuit, and they were traveling with the team. He swung a little to the left to escape the edge of the trap and plunged recklessly to the bottom. Not until he saw where Scottie Deane and the team had dragged themselves from the snow avalanche did he breathe freely again. Isobel was safe! He laughed in his joy and wiped the nervous sweat from his face as he saw the prints of her moccasins where Deane had righted the sledge. And then, for the first time, he observed a number of small red stains on the snow. Either Isobel or Deane had been injured in the fall, perhaps slightly. A hundred yards from the "trap" the sledge had stopped again, and from this point it was Deane who rode and Isobel who walked! He followed more cautiously now. Another hundred yards and he stopped to sniff the air. Ahead of him the spruce and balsam grew close and thick, and from that shelter he was sure that something was coming to him on the air. At first he thought it was the odor of the balsam. A moment later he knew that it was smoke. Force of habit brought his hand for the twentieth time to his empty pistol holster. Its emptiness added to the caution with which he approached the thick spruce and balsam ahead of him. Taking advantage of a mass of low snow-laden bushes, he swung out at a right angle to the trail and began making a wide circle. He worked swiftly. Within half or three-quarters of an hour Bucky would reach the ridge. Whatever he accomplished must be done before then. Five minutes after leaving the trail he caught his first glimpse of smoke and began to edge in toward the fire. The stillness oppressed him. He drew nearer and nearer, yet he heard no sound of voice or of the dogs. At last he reached a point where he could look out from behind a young ground spruce and see the fire. It was not more than thirty feet away. He held his breath tensely at what he saw. On a blanket spread out close to the fire lay Scottie Deane, his head pillowed on a pack-sack. There was no sign of Isobel, and no sign of the sledge and dogs. Billy's heart thumped excitedly as he rose to his feet. He did not stop to ask himself where Isobel and the dogs had gone. Deane was alone, and lay with his back toward him. Fate could not have given him a better opportunity, and his moccasined feet fell swiftly and quietly in the snow. He was within six feet of Scottie before the injured man heard him, and scarcely had the other moved when he was upon him. He was astonished at the ease with which he twisted Deane upon his back and put the handcuffs about his wrists. The work was no sooner done than he understood. A rag was tied about Deane's head, and it was stained with blood. The man's arms and body were limp. He looked at Billy with dulled eyes, and as he slowly realized what had happened a groan broke from his lips. In an instant Billy was on his knees beside him. He had seen Deane twice before, over at Churchill, but this was the first time that he had ever looked closely into his face. It was a face worn by hardship and mental torture. The cheeks were thinned, and the steel-gray eyes that looked up into Billy's were reddened by weeks and months of fighting against storm. It was the face, not of a criminal, but of a man whom Billy would have trusted-- blonde-mustached, fearless, and filled with that clean-cut strength which associates itself with fairness and open fighting. Hardly had he drawn a second breath when Billy realized why this man had not killed him when he had the chance. Deane was not of the sort to strike in the dark or from behind. He had let Billy live because he still believed in the manhood of man, and the thought that he had repaid Deane's faith in him by leaping upon him when he was down and wounded filled Billy with a bitter shame. He gripped one of Deane's hands in his own. "I hate to do this, old man," he cried, quickly. "It's hell to put those things on a man who's hurt. But I've got to do it. I didn't mean to come-- no, s'elp me God, I didn't-- if Bucky Smith and two others hadn't hit your trail back at the old camp. They'd have got you-- sure. And she wouldn't have been safe with them. Understand? She wouldn't have been safe! So I made up my mind to beat on ahead and take you myself. I want you to understand. And you do know, I guess. You must have heard, for I thought you were sure-enough dead in the box, an' I swear to Heaven I meant all I said then. I wouldn't have come. I was glad you two got away. But this Bucky is a skunk and a scoundrel-- and mebbe if I take you-- I can help you-- later on. They'll be here in a few minutes." He spoke quickly, his voice quivering with the emotion that inspired his words, and not for an instant did Scottie Deane allow his eyes to shift from Billy's face. When Billy stopped he still looked at him for a moment, judging the truth of what he had heard by what he saw in the other's face. And then Billy felt his hand tighten for an instant about his own. "I guess you're pretty square, MacVeigh," he said, "and I guess it had to come pretty soon, too. I'm not sorry that it's you-- and I know you'll take care of her." "I'll do it-- if I have to fight-- and kill!" Billy had withdrawn his hand, and both were clenched. Into Deane's eyes there leaped a sudden flash of fire. "That's what I did," he breathed, gripping his fingers hard. "I killed-- for her. He was a skunk-- and a scoundrel-- too. And you'd have done it!" He looked at Billy again. "I'm glad you said what you did-- when I was in the box," he added. "If she wasn't as pure and as sweet as the stars I'd feel different. But it's just sort of in my bones that you'll treat her like a brother. I haven't had faith in many men. I've got it in you." Billy leaned low over the other. His face was flushed, and his voice trembled. "God bless you for that, Scottie!" he said. A sound from the forest turned both men's eyes. "She took the dogs and went out there a little way for a load of wood," said Deane. "She's coming back." Billy had leaped to his feet, and turned his face toward the ridge. He, too, had heard a sound-- another sound, and from another direction. He laughed grimly as he turned to Deane. "And they're coming, too, Scottie," he replied. "They're climbing the ridge. I'll take your guns, old man. It's just possible there may be a fight!" He slipped Deane's revolver into his holster and quickly emptied the chamber of the rifle that stood near. "Where's mine?" he asked. "Threw 'em away," said Deane. "Those are the only guns in the outfit." Billy waited while Isobel Deane came through low-hanging spruce with the dogs. VI THE FIGHT There was a smile for Deane on Isobel's lips as she struggled through the spruce, knee-deep in snow, the dogs tugging at the sledge behind her. And then in a moment she saw MacVeigh, and the smile froze into a look of horror on her face. She was not twenty feet distant when she emerged into the little opening, and Billy heard the rattling cry in her throat. She stopped, and her hands went to her breast. Deane had half raised himself, his pale, thin face smiling encouragingly at her; and with a wild cry Isobel rushed to him and flung herself upon her knees at his side, her hands gripping fiercely at the steel bands about his wrists. Billy turned away. He could hear her sobbing, and he could hear the low, comforting voice of the injured man. A groan of anguish rose to his own lips, and he clenched his hands hard, dreading the terrible moment when he would have to face the woman he loved above all else on earth. It was her voice that brought him about. She had risen to her feet, and she stood before him panting like a hunted animal, and Billy saw in her face the thing which he had feared more than the sting of death. No longer were her blue eyes filled with the sweetness and faith of the angel who had come to him from out of the Barren. They were hard and terrible and filled with that madness which made him think she was about to leap upon him. In those eyes, in the quivering of her bare throat, in the sobbing rise and fall of her breast were the rage, the grief, and the fear of one whose faith had turned suddenly into the deadliest of all emotions; and Billy stood before her without a word on his lips, his face as cold and as bloodless as the snow under his feet. "And so you-- you followed-- after-- that!" It was all she said, and yet the voice, the significance of the choking words, hurt him more than if she had struck him. In them there was none of the passion and condemnation he had expected. Quietly, almost whisperingly uttered, they stung him to the soul. He had meant to say to her what he had said to Deane-- even more. But the crudeness of the wilderness had made him slow of tongue, and while his heart cried out for words Isobel turned and went to her husband. And then there came the thing he had been expecting. Down the ridge there raced a flurry of snow and a yelping of dogs. He loosened the revolver in his holster, and stood in readiness when Bucky Smith ran a few paces ahead of his men into the camp. At sight of his enemy's face, torn between rage and disappointment, all of Billy's old coolness returned to him. With a bound Bucky was at Scottie Deane's side. He looked down at his manacled hands and at the woman who was clasping them in her own, and then he whirled on Billy with the quickness of a cat. "You're a liar and a sneak!" he panted. "You'll answer for this at headquarters. I understand now why you let 'em go back there. It was her! She paid you-- paid you in her own way-- to free him! But she won't pay you again--" At his words Deane had started as if stung by a wasp. Billy saw Isobel's whitened face. The meaning of Buck's words had gone home to her as swiftly as a lightning flash, and for an instant her eyes had turned to him! Bucky got no further than those last words. Before he could add another syllable Billy was upon him. His fist shot out-- once, twice-- and the blows that fell sent Bucky crashing through the fire. Billy did not wait for him to regain his feet. A red light blazed before his eyes. He forgot the presence of Deane and Walker and Conway. His one thought was that the scoundrel he had struck down had flung at Isobel the deadliest insult that a man could offer a woman, and before either Conway or Walker could make a move he was upon Bucky. He did not know how long or how many times he struck, but when at last Conway and Walker succeeded in dragging him away Bucky lay upon his back in the snow, blood gushing from his mouth and nose. Walker ran to him. Panting for breath, Billy turned toward Isobel and Deane. He was almost sobbing. He made no effort to speak. But he saw that the thing he had dreaded was gone. Isobel was looking at him again-- and there was the old faith in her eyes. At last-- she understood! Dean's handcuffed hands were clenched. The light of brotherhood shone in his eyes, and where a moment before there had been grief and despair in Billy's heart there came now a warm glow of joy. Once more they had faith in him! Walker had raised Bucky to a sitting posture, and was wiping the blood from his face when Billy went to them. The corporal's hand made a limp move toward his revolver. Billy struck it away and secured the weapon. Then he spoke to Walker. "There is no doubt in your mind that I hold a sergeancy in the service, is there, Walker?" he asked. His tone was no longer one of comradeship. In it there was the ring of authority. Walker was quick to understand. "None, sir!" "And you are familiar with our laws governing insubordination and conduct unbecoming an officer of the service?" Walker nodded. "Then, as a superior officer and in the name of his Majesty the King, I place Corporal Bucky Smith under arrest, and commission you, under oath of the service, to take him under your guard to Churchill, along with the letter which I shall give you for the officer in charge there. I shall appear against him a little later with the evidence that will outlaw him from the service. Put the handcuffs on him!" Stunned by the sudden change in the situation, Walker obeyed without a word. Billy turned to Conway, the driver. "Deane is too badly injured to travel," he explained, " Put up your tent for him and his wife close to the fire. You can take mine in exchange for it as you go back." He went to his kit and found a pencil and paper. Fifteen minutes later he gave Walker the letter in which he described to the commanding officer at Churchill certain things which he knew would hold Bucky a prisoner until he could personally appear against him. Meanwhile Conway had put up the tent and had assisted Deane into it. Isobel had accompanied him. Billy then had a five-minute confidential talk with Walker, and when the constable gave instructions for Conway to prepare the dogs for the return trip there was a determined hardness in his eyes as he looked at Bucky. In those five minutes he had heard the story of Rousseau, the young Frenchman down at Norway House, and of the wife whose faithlessness had killed him. Besides, he hated Bucky Smith, as all men hated him. Billy was confident that he could rely upon him. Not until dogs and sledge were ready did Bucky utter a word. The terrific beating he had received had stunned him for a few minutes; but now he jumped to his feet, not waiting for the command from Walker, and strode up close to Billy. There was a vengeful leer on his bloody face and his eyes blazed almost white, but his voice was so low that Conway and Walker could only hear the murmur of it. His words were meant for Billy alone. "For this I'm going to kill you, MacVeigh," he said; and in spite of Billy's contempt for the man there was a quality in the low voice that sent a curious shiver through him. "You can send me from the service, but you're going to die for doing it!" Billy made no reply, and Bucky did not wait for one. He set off at the head of the sledge, with Conway a step behind them. Billy followed with Walker until they reached the foot of the ridge. There they shook hands, and Billy stood watching them until they passed over the cap of the ridge. He returned to the camp slowly. Deane had emerged from the tent, supported by Isobel. They waited for him, and in Deane's face he saw the look that had filled it after he had struck down Bucky Smith. For a moment he dared not look at Isobel. She saw the change in him, and her cheeks flushed. Deane would have extended his hands, but she was holding them tightly in her own. "You'd better go into the tent and keep quiet," advised Billy. "I haven't had time yet to see if you're badly hurt." "It's not bad," Deane assured him. "I bumped into a rock sliding down the ridge, and it made me sick for a few minutes." Billy knew that Isobel's eyes were on him, and he could almost feel their questioning. He began to take wood from the sledge she had loaded and throw it on the fire. He wished that Scottie and she had remained in the tent for a little longer. His face burned and his blood seemed like fire when he caught a glimpse of the steel cuffs about Deane's wrists. Through the smoke he saw Isobel still clasping her husband. He could see one of her little hands gripping at the steel band, and suddenly he sprang across and faced them, no longer fearing to meet Isobel's eyes or Deane's. Now his face was aflame, and he half held out his arms to them as he spoke, as though he would clasp them both to him in this moment of sacrifice and self-abnegation and the dawning of new life. "You know-- you both know why I've done this!" he cried, "You heard what I said back there, Deane-- when you was in the box; an' all I said was true. She came to me out of that storm like an angel-- an' I'll think of her as an angel all my life. I don't know much about God-- not the God they have down there, where they take an eye for an eye an' a tooth for a tooth and kill because some one else has killed. But there's something up here in the big open places, something that makes you think and makes you want to do what's right and square; an' she's got all I know of God in that little Bible of mine-- the blue flower. I gave the blue flower to her, an' now an' forever she's my blue flower. I ain't ashamed to tell you, Deane, because you've heard it before, an' you know I'm not thinking it in a sinful way. It 'll help me if I can see her face an' hear her voice and know there's such love as yours after you're gone. For I'm going to let you go, Deane, old man. That's what I came for, to save you from the others an' give you back to her. I guess mebbe you'll know-- now-- how I feel--" His voice choked him. Isobel's glorious eyes were looking into his soul, and he looked straight back into them and saw all his reward there. He turned to Deane. His key clicked in the locks to the handcuffs, and as they fell into the snow the two men gripped hands, and in their strong faces was that rarest of all things-- love of man for man. "I'm glad you know," said Billy, softly. "It wouldn't be fair if you didn't, Scottie. I can think of her now, an' it won't be mean and low. And if you ever need help-- if you're down in South America or Africa-- anywhere-- I'll come if you send word. You'd better go to South America. That's a good place. I'll report to headquarters that you died-- from the fall. It's a lie, but blue flower would do it, and so will I. Sometimes, you know, the friend who lies is the only friend who's true-- and she'd do it-- a thousand times-- for you." "And for you," whispered Isobel. She was holding out her hands, her blue eyes streaming with tears of happiness, and for a moment Billy accepted one of them and held it in his own. He looked over her head as she spoke. "God will bless you for this-- some day," she said; and a sob broke in her voice. "He will bring you happiness-- happiness-- in what you have dreamed of. You will find a blue flower-- sweet and pure and loyal-- and then you will know, even more fully, what life means to me with him." And then she broke down, sobbing like a child, and with her face buried in her hands turned into the tent. "Gawd!" whispered Billy, drawing a deep breath. He looked Deane in the eyes; and Deane smiled, a rare and beautiful smile. For a quarter of an hour they talked alone, and then Billy drew a wallet from his pocket. "You'll need money, Scottie," he said. "I don't want you to lose a minute in getting out of the country. Make for Vancouver. I've got three hundred dollars here. You've got to take it or I'll shoot you!" He thrust the money into Deane's hands as Isobel came out of the tent. Her eyes were red, but she was smiling; and she held something in her hand. She showed it to the two men. It was the blue flower Billy had given her. But now its petals were torn apart, and nine of them lay in the palm of her hand. "It can't go with one." She spoke softly and the smile died on her lips. "There are nine petals, three for each of us." She gave three to her husband and three to Billy, and for a moment the men stared at them as they lay in their rough and calloused palms. Then Billy drew out the bit of buckskin in which he had placed the strands of Isobel's hair and slipped the blue petals in with them. Deane had drawn a worn envelope from his pocket. Billy spoke low to Deane. "I want to be alone for a while-- until dinner-time. Will you go into the tent-- with her?" When they were gone Billy went to the spot where he had dropped his pack before crawling up on Deane. He picked it up and slipped it over his shoulders as he walked. He went swiftly back over his old trail, and this time it was with a heart leaden with a deep and terrible loneliness. When he reached the ridge he tried to whistle, but his lips seemed thick, and there was something in his throat that choked him. From the cap of the ridge he looked down. A thin mist of smoke was rising from out of the spruce. It blurred before his eyes, and a sobbing break came in his low cry of Isobel's name. Then he turned once more back into the loneliness and desolation of his old life. "I'm coming, Pelly," he laughed, in a strained, hard way. "I haven't given you exactly a square deal, old man, but I'll hustle and make up for lost time!" A wind was beginning to moan in the spruce tops again. He was glad of that. It promised storm. And a storm would cover up all trails. VII THE MADNESS OF PELLITER Away up at Fullerton Point amid the storm and crash of the arctic gloom Pelliter fought himself through day after day of fever, waiting for MacVeigh. At first he had been filled with hope. That first glimpse of the sun they had seen through the little window on the morning that Billy left for Fort Churchill had come just in time to keep reason from snapping in his head. For three days after that he looked through the window at the same hour and prayed moaningly for another glimpse of that paradise in the southern sky. But the storm through which Isobel had struggled across the Barren gathered over his head and behind him, day after day of it, rolling and twisting and moaning with the roar of the cracking fields of ice, bringing back once more the thick death-gloom of the arctic night that had almost driven him mad. He tried to think only of Billy, of his loyal comrade's race into the south, and of the precious letters he would bring back to him; and he kept track of the days by making pencil marks on the door that opened out upon the gray and purple desolation of the arctic sea. At last there came the day when he gave up hope. He believed that he was dying. He counted the marks on the door and found that there were sixteen. Just that many days ago Billy had set off with the dogs. If all had gone well he was a third of the way back, and within another week would be "home." Pelliter's thin, fever-flushed face relaxed into a wan smile as he counted the pencil marks again. Long before that week was ended he figured that he would be dead. The medicines-- and the letters-- would come too late, probably four or five days too late. Straight out from his last mark he drew a long line, and at the end of it added in a scrawling, almost unintelligible, hand: "Dear Billy, I guess this is going to be my last day." Then he staggered from the door to the window. Out there was what was killing him-- loneliness, a maddening desolation, a lifeless world that reached for hundreds of miles farther than his eyes could see. To the north and east there was nothing but ice, piled-up masses and grinning mountains of it, white at first, of a somber gray farther off, and then purple and almost black. There came to him now the low, never-ceasing thunder of the undercurrents fighting their way down from the Arctic Ocean, broken now and then by a growling roar as the giant forces sent a crack, like a great knife, through one of the frozen mountains. He had listened to those sounds for five months, and in those five months he had heard no other voice but his own and MacVeigh's and the babble of an Eskimo. Only once in four months had he seen the sun, and that was on the morning that MacVeigh went south. So he had gone half mad. Others had gone completely mad before him. Through the window his eyes rested on the five rough wooden crosses that marked their graves. In the service of the Royal Northwest Mounted Police they were called heroes. And in a short time he, Constable Pelliter, would be numbered among them. MacVeigh would send the whole story down to her, the true little girl a thousand miles south; and she would always remember him-- her hero-- and his lonely grave at Point Fullerton, the northernmost point of the Law. But she would never see that grave. She could never come to put flowers on it, as she put flowers on the grave of his mother; she would never know the whole story, not a half of it-- his terrible longing for a sound of her voice, a touch of her hand, a glimpse of her sweet blue eyes before he died. They were to be married in August, when his service in the Royal Mounted ended. She would be waiting for him. And in August-- or July-- word would reach her that he had died. With a dry sob he turned from the window to the rough table that he had drawn close to his bunk, and for the thousandth time he held before his red and feverish eyes a photograph. It was a portrait of a girl, marvelously beautiful to Tommy Pelliter, with soft brown hair and eyes that seemed always to talk to him and tell him how much she loved him. And for the thousandth time he turned the picture over and read the words she had written on the back: "My own dear boy, remember that I am always with you, always thinking of you, always praying for you; and I know, dear, that you will always do what you would do if I were at your side." "Good Lord!" groaned Pelliter. "I can't die! I can't! I've got to live-- to see her--" He dropped back on his bunk exhausted. The fires burned in his head again. He grew dizzy, and he talked to her, or thought he was talking, but it was only a babble of incoherent sound that made Kazan, the one-eyed old Eskimo dog, lift his shaggy head and sniff suspiciously. Kazan had listened to Pelliter's deliriums many times since MacVeigh had left them alone, and soon he dropped his muzzle between his forepaws and dozed again. A long time afterward he raised his head once more. Pelliter was quiet. But the dog sniffed, went to the door, whined softly, and nervously muzzled the sick man's thin hand. Then he settled back on his haunches, turned his nose straight up, and from his throat there came that wailing, mourning cry, long-drawn and terrible, with which Indian dogs lament before the tepees of masters who are newly dead. The sound aroused Pelliter. He sat up again, and he found that once more the fire and the pain had gone from his head. "Kazan, Kazan," he pleaded, weakly, "it isn't time-- yet!" Kazan had gone to the window that looked to the west, and stood with his forefeet on the sill. Pelliter shivered. "Wolves again," he said, "or mebbe a fox." He had grown into that habit of talking to himself, which is as common as human life itself in the far north, where one's own voice is often the one thing that breaks a killing monotony. He edged his way to the window as he spoke and looked out with Kazan. Westward there stretched the lifeless Barren illimitable and void, without rock or bush and overhung by a sky that always made Pelliter think of a terrible picture he had once seen of Doré's "Inferno." It was a low, thick sky, like purple and blue granite, always threatening to pitch itself down in terrific avalanches, and between the earth and this sky was the thin, smothered world which MacVeigh had once called God's insane asylum. Through the gloom Kazan's one eye and Pelliter's feverish vision could not see far, but at last the man made out an object toiling slowly toward the cabin. At first he thought it was a fox, and then a wolf, and then, as it loomed larger, a straying caribou. Kazan whined. The bristles along his spine rose stiff and menacing. Pelliter stared harder and harder, with his face pressed close against the cold glass of the window, and suddenly he gave a gasping cry of excitement. It was a man who was toiling toward the cabin! He was bent almost double, and he staggered in a zigzag fashion as he advanced. Pelliter made his way feebly to the door, unbarred it, and pushed it partly open. Overcome by weakness he fell back then on the edge of his bunk, It seemed an age before he heard steps. They were slow and stumbling, and an instant later a face appeared at the door. It was a terrible face, overgrown with beard, with wild and staring eyes; but it was a white man's face. Pelliter had expected an Eskimo, and he sprang to his feet with sudden strength as the stranger came in. "Something to eat, mate, for the love o' God give me something to eat!" The stranger fell in a heap on the floor and stared up at him with the ravenous entreaty of an animal. Pelliter's first move was to get whisky, and the other drank it in great gulps. Then he dragged himself to his feet, and Pelliter sank in a chair beside the table. "I'm sick," he said. "Sergeant MacVeigh has gone to Churchill, and I guess I'm in a bad way. You'll have to help yourself. There's meat-- 'n' bannock--" Whisky had revived the new-comer. He stared at Pelliter, and as he stared he grinned, ugly yellow teeth leering from between his matted beard. The look cleared Pelliter's brain. For some reason which he could not explain, his pistol hand fell to the place where he usually carried his holster. Then he remembered that his service revolver was under the pillow. "Fever," said the sailor; for Pelliter knew that he was a sailor. He took off his heavy coat and tossed it on the table. Then he followed Pelliter's instructions in quest of food, and for ten minutes ate ravenously. Not until he was through and seated opposite him at the table did Pelliter speak. "Who are you, and where in Heaven's name did you come from?" he asked. "Blake-- Jim Blake's my name, an' I come from what I call Starvation Igloo Inlet, thirty miles up the coast. Five months ago I was left a hundred miles farther up to take care of a cache for the whaler John B. Sidney, and the cache was swept away by an overflow of ice. Then we struck south, hunting and starving, me 'n' the woman--" "The woman!" cried Pelliter. "Eskimo squaw," said Blake, producing a black pipe. "The cap'n bought her to keep me company-- paid four sacks of flour an' a knife to her husband up at Wagner Inlet. Got any tobacco?" Pelliter rose to get the tobacco. He was surprised to find that he was steadier on his feet and that Blake's words were clearing his brain. That had been his and MacVeigh's great fight-- the fight to put an end to the white man's immoral trade in Eskimo women and girls, and Blake had already confessed himself a criminal. Promise of action, quick action, momentarily overcame his sickness. He went back with the tobacco, and sat down. "Where's the woman?" be asked. "Back in the igloo," said Blake, filling his pipe. "We killed a walrus up there and built an icehouse. The meat's gone. She's probably gone by this time." He laughed coarsely across at Pelliter as he lighted his pipe. "It seems good to get into a white man's shack again." "She's not dead?" insisted Pelliter. "Will be-- shortly," replied Blake. "She was so weak she couldn't walk when I left. But them Eskimo animals die hard, 'specially the women." "Of course you're going back for her?" The other stared for a moment into Pelliter's flushed face, and then laughed as though he had just heard a good joke. "Not on your life, my boy. I wouldn't hike that thirty miles again-- an' thirty back-- for all the Eskimo women up at Wagner." The red in Pelliter's eyes grew redder as he leaned over the table. "See here," he said, "you're going back-- now! Do you understand? You're going back!" Suddenly he stopped. He stared at Blake's coat, and with a swiftness that took the other by surprise he reached across and picked something from it. A startled cry broke from his lips. Between his fingers he held a single filament of hair. It was nearly a foot long, and it was not an Eskimo woman's hair. It shone a dull gold in the gray light that came through the window. He raised his eyes, terrible in their accusation of the man opposite him. "You lie!" he said. "She's not an Eskimo!" Blake had half risen, his great hands clutching the ends of the table, his brutal face thrust forward, his whole body in an attitude that sent Pelliter back out of his reach. He was not an instant too soon. With an oath Blake sent the table crashing aside and sprang upon the sick man. "I'll kill you!" he cried. "I'll kill you, an' put you where I've put her, 'n' when your pard comes back I'll--" His hands caught Pelliter by the throat, but not before there had come from between the sick man's lips a cry of "Kazan! Kazan!" With a wolfish snarl the old one-eyed sledge-dog sprang upon Blake, and the three fell with a crash upon Pelliter's bunk. For an instant Kazan's attack drew one of Blake's powerful hands from Pelliter's throat, and as he turned to strike off the dog Pelliter's hand groped out under his flattened pillow. Blake's murderous face was still turned when he drew out his heavy service revolver; and as Blake cut at Kazan with a long sheath-knife which he had drawn from his belt Pelliter fired. Blake's grip relaxed. Without a groan he slipped to the floor, and Pelliter staggered back to his feet. Kazan's teeth were buried in Blake's leg. "There, there, boy," said Pelliter, pulling him away. "That was a close one!" He sat down and looked at Blake. He knew that the man was dead. Kazan was sniffing about the sailor's head with stiffened spines. And then a ray of light flashed for an instant through the window. It was the sun-- the second time that Pelliter had seen it in four months. A cry of joy welled up from his heart. But it was stopped midway. On the floor close beside Blake something glittered in the fiery ray, and Pelliter was upon his knees in an instant. It was the short golden hair he had snatched from the dead man's coat, and partly covering it was the picture of his sweetheart which had fallen when the table was overturned. With the photograph in one hand and that single thread of woman's hair between the fingers of his other Pelliter rose slowly to his feet and faced the window. The sun was gone. But its coming had put a new life into him. He turned joyously to Kazan. "That means something, boy," he said, in a low, awed voice, "the sun, the picture, and this! She sent it, do you hear, boy? She sent it! I can almost hear her voice, an' she's telling me to go. `Tommy,' she's saying, `you wouldn't be a man if you didn't go, even though you know you're going to die on the way. You can take her something to eat,' she's saying, boy, `an' you can just as well die in an igloo as here. You can leave word for Billy, an' you can take her grub enough to last until he comes, an' then he'll bring her down here, an' you'll be buried out there with the others just the same.' That's what she's saying, Kazan, so we're going!" He looked about him a little wildly. "Straight up the coast," he mumbled. "Thirty miles. We might make it." He began filling a pack with food. Outside the door there was a small sledge, and after he had bundled himself in his traveling-clothes he dragged the pack to the sledge, and behind the pack tied on a bundle of firewood, a lantern, blankets, and oil. After he had done this he wrote a few lines to MacVeigh and pinned the paper to the door. Then he hitched old Kazan to the sledge and started off, leaving the dead man where he had fallen. "It's what she'd have us do," he said again to Kazan. "She sure would have us do this, Kazan. God bless her dear little heart!" VIII LITTLE MYSTERY Pelliter hung close to the ice-bound coast. He traveled slowly, leading the way for Kazan, who strained every muscle in his aged body to drag the sledge. For a time the excitement of what had occurred gave Pelliter a strength which soon began to ebb. But his old weakness did not entirely return. He found that his worst trouble at first was in his eyes. Weeks of fever had enfeebled his vision until the world about him looked new and strange. He could see only a few hundred paces ahead, and beyond this little circle everything turned gray and black. Singularly enough, it struck him that there was some humor as well as tragedy in the situation, that there was something to laugh at in the fact that Kazan had but one eye, and that he was nearly blind. He chuckled to himself and spoke aloud to the dog. "Makes me think of the games o' hide-'n'-seek we used to play when we were kids, boy," he said. "She used to tie her handkerchief over my eyes, 'n' then I'd follow her all through the old orchard, and when I caught her it was a part of the game she'd have to let me kiss her. Once I bumped into an apple tree--" The toe of his snow-shoe caught in an ice-hummock and sent him face downward into the snow. He picked himself up and went on. "We played that game till we was grown-ups, old man," he went on. "Last time we played it she was seventeen. Had her hair in a big brown braid, an' it all came undone so that when I caught her an' took off the handkerchief I could just see her eyes an' her mouth laughing at me, and it was that time I hugged her up closer than ever and told her I was going out to make a home for us. Then I came up here." He stopped and rubbed his eyes; and for an hour after that, as he plodded onward, he mumbled things which neither Kazan nor any other living thing could have understood. But whatever delirium found its way into his voice, the fighting spark in his brain remained sane. The igloo and the starving woman whom Blake had abandoned formed the one living picture which he did not for a moment forget. He must find the igloo, and the igloo was close to the sea. He could not miss it-- if he lived long enough to travel thirty miles. It did not occur to him that Blake might have lied-- that the igloo was farther than he had said, or perhaps much nearer. It was two o'clock when he stopped to make tea. He figured that he had traveled at least eighteen miles; the fact was he had gone but a little over half that distance. He was not hungry, and ate nothing, but he fed Kazan heartily of meat. The hot tea, strengthened with a little whisky, revived him for the time more than food would have done. "Twelve miles more at the most," he said to Kazan. "We'll make it. Thank God, we'll make it!" If his eyes had been better he would have seen and recognized the huge snow-covered rock called the Blind Eskimo, which was just nine miles from the cabin. As it was, he went on, filled with hope. There were sharper pains in his head now, and his legs dragged wearily. Day ended at a little after two, but at this season there was not much change in light and darkness, and Pelliter scarcely noted the difference. The time came when the picture of the igloo and the dying woman came and went fitfully in his brain. There were dark spaces. The fighting spark was slowly giving way, and at last Pelliter dropped upon the sledge. "Go on, Kazan!" he cried, weakly. "Mush it-- go on!" Kazan tugged, with gaping jaws; and Pelliter's head dropped upon the food-filled pack. What Kazan heard was a groan. He stopped and looked back, whining softly. For a time he sat on his haunches, sniffing a strange thing which had come to him in the air. Then he went on, straining a little faster at the sledge and still whining. If Pelliter had been conscious he would have urged him straight ahead. But old Kazan turned away from the sea. Twice in the next ten minutes he stopped and sniffed the air, and each time he changed his course a little. Half an hour later he came to a white mound that rose up out of the level waste of snow, and then he settled himself back on his haunches, lifted his shaggy head to the dark night sky, and for the second time that day he sent forth the weird, wailing, mourning death-howl. It aroused Pelliter. He sat up, rubbed his eyes, staggered to his feet, and saw the mound a dozen paces away. Rest had cleared his brain again. He knew that it was an igloo. He could make out the door, and he caught up his lantern and stumbled toward it. He wasted half a dozen matches before he could make a light. Then he crawled in, with Kazan still in his traces close at his heels. There was a musty, uncomfortable odor in the snow-house. And there was no sound, no movement. The lantern lighted up the small interior, and on the floor Pelliter made out a heap of blankets and a bearskin. There was no life, and instinctively he turned his eyes down to Kazan. The dog's head was stretched out toward the blankets, his ears were alert, his eyes burned fiercely, and a low, whining growl rumbled in his throat. He looked at the blankets again, moved slowly toward them. He pulled back the bearskin and found what Blake had told him he would find-- a woman. For a moment he stared, and then a low cry broke from his lips as he fell upon his knees. Blake had not lied, for it was an Eskimo woman. She was dead. She had not died of starvation. Blake had killed her! He rose to his feet again and looked about him. After all, did that golden hair, that white woman's hair, mean nothing? What was that? He sprang back toward Kazan, his weakened nerves shattered by a sound and a movement from the farthest and darkest part of the igloo. Kazan tugged at his traces, panting and whining, held back by the sledge wedged in the door. The sound came again, a human, wailing, sobbing cry. With his lantern in his hand Pelliter darted across to it. There was another roll of blankets on the floor, and as he looked he saw the bundle move. It took him but an instant to drop beside it, as he had dropped beside the other, and as he drew back the damp and partly frozen covering his heart leaped up and choked him. The lantern light fell full upon the thin, pale face and golden head of a little child. A pair of big frightened eyes were staring up at him; and as he knelt there, powerless to move or speak in the face of this miracle, the eyes closed again, and there came again the wailing, hungry note which Kazan had first heard as they approached the igloo. Pelliter flung back the blanket and caught the child in his arms. "It's a girl-- a little girl!" he almost shouted to Kazan. "Quick, boy-- go back-- get out!" He laid the child upon the other blankets, and then thrust back Kazan. He seemed suddenly possessed of the strength of two men as he tore at his own blankets and dumped the contents of the pack out upon the snow. "She sent us, boy," he cried, his breath coming in sobbing gasps. "Where's the milk 'n' the stove--" In ten seconds more he was back in the igloo with a can of condensed cream, a pan, and the alcohol lamp. His fingers trembled so that he had difficulty in lighting the wick, and as he cut open the can with his knife he saw the child's eyes flutter wide for an instant and then close again. "Just a minute, a half minute," he pleaded, pouring the cream into the pan. "Hungry, eh, little one? Hungry? Starving?" He held the pan close down over the blue flame and gazed terrified at the white little face near him. Its thinness and quiet frightened him. He thrust his finger into the cream and found it warm. "A cup, Kazan! Why didn't I bring a cup?" He darted out again and returned with a tin basin. In another moment the child was in his arms, and he forced the first few drops of cream between her lips. Her eyes shot open. Life seemed to spring into her little body; and she drank with a loud noise, one of her tiny hands gripping him by the wrist. The touch, the sound, the feel of life against him thrilled Pelliter. He gave her half of what the basin contained, and then wrapped her up warmly in his thick service blanket, so that all of her was hidden but her face and her tangled golden hair. He held her for a moment close to the lantern. She was looking at him now, wide-eyed and wondering, but not frightened. "God bless your little soul!" he exclaimed, his amazement growing. "Who are you, 'n' where'd you come from? You ain't more'n three years old, if you're an hour. Where's your mama 'n' your papa?" He placed her back on the blankets. "Now, a fire, Kazan!" he said. He held the lantern above his head and found the narrow vent through the snow-and-ice wall which Blake had made for the escape of smoke. Then he went outside for the fuel, freeing Kazan on the way. In a few minutes more a small bright blaze of almost smokeless larchwood was lighting up and warming the interior of the igloo. To his surprise, Pelliter found the child asleep when he went to her again. He moved her gently and carried the dead body of the little Eskimo woman through the opening and half a hundred paces from the igloo. Not until then did he stop to marvel at the strength which had returned to him. He stretched his arms above his head and breathed deeply of the cold air. It seemed as though something had loosened inside of him, that a crushing weight had lifted itself from his eyes. Kazan had followed him, and he stared down at the dog. "It's gone, Kazan," he cried, in a low, half-credulous voice. "I don't feel-- sick-- any more. It's her--" He turned back to the igloo. The lantern and the fire made a cheerful glow inside, and it was growing warm. He threw off his heavy coat, drew the bearskin in front of the fire, and sat down with the child in his arms. She still slept. Like a starving man Pelliter stared down upon the little thin face. Gently his rough fingers stroked back the golden curls. He smiled. A light came into his eyes. His head bent lower and lower, slowly and a little fearfully. At last his lips touched the child's cheek. And then his own rough grizzled face, toughened by wind and storm and intense cold, nestled against the little face of this new and mysterious life he had found at the top of the world. Kazan listened for a time, squatted on his haunches. Then he curled himself near the fire and slept. For a long time Pelliter sat rocking gently back and forth, thrilled by a happiness that was growing deeper and stronger in him each instant. He could feel the tiny beat of the little one's heart against his breast; he could feel her breath against his cheek; one of her little hands had gripped him by his thumb. A hundred questions ran through his mind now. Who was this little abandoned mite? Who were her father and her mother, and where were they? How had she come to be with the Eskimo woman and Blake? Blake was not her father; the Eskimo woman was not her mother. What tragedy had placed her here? Somehow he was conscious of a sensation of joy as he reasoned that he would never be able to answer these questions. She belonged to him. He had found her. No one would ever come to dispossess him. Without awakening her, he thrust a hand into his breast pocket and drew out the photograph of the sweet-faced girl who was going to be his wife. It did not occur to him now that he might die. The old fear and the old sickness were gone. He knew that he was going to live. "You," he breathed, softly, "you did it, and I know you'll be glad when I bring her down to you." And then to the little sleeping girl: "And if you ain't got a name I guess I'll have to call you Mystery-- how is that?-- my Little Mystery." When he looked from the picture again Little Mystery's eyes were open and gazing up at him. He dropped the picture and made a lunge for the pan of cream warming before the fire. The child drank as hungrily as before, with Pelliter babbling incoherent nonsense into her baby ears. When she had done he picked up the photograph, with a sudden and foolish inspiration that she might understand. "Looky," he cried. "Pretty--" To his astonishment and joy, Little Mystery put out a hand and placed the tip of her tiny forefinger on the girl's face. Then she looked up into Pelliter's eyes. "Mama," she lisped. Pelliter tried to speak, but something rose like a knot in his throat and choked him. A fire leaped all at once through his body; the joy of that one word blinded him with hot tears. When he spoke at last his voice was broken, like a sobbing woman's. "That's it." he said. "You're right, little one. She's your mama!" IX THE SECRET OF THE DEAD On the eighth day after Pelliter found the Eskimo igloo Billy MacVeigh came up through a gray dawn with his footsore dogs, his letters, and his medicines. He had traveled all of the preceding night, and his feet dragged heavily. It was with a feeling of fear that he at last saw the black cliffs of Fullerton rising above the ice. He dreaded the first opening of the cabin door. What would he find? During the past forty-eight hours he had figured on Pelliter's chances, and they were two to one that he would find his partner dead in his bunk. And if not, if Pelliter still lived, what a tale there would be to tell the sick man! For he knew that he must tell some one, and Pelliter would keep his secret. And he would understand. Day after day, as he had hurried straight into the north, Billy's loneliness and heartbreak weighed more and more heavily upon him. He tried to force Isobel out of his thoughts, but it was impossible. A thousand visions of her rose before him, and each mile that he drew himself farther away from her seemed only to add to the nearness of her spirit at his side and to the strange pain in his heart that rose now and then to his lips in sobbing breaths that he fought with himself to stifle. And yet, with his own grief and hopelessness, he experienced more and more each day a compensating joy. It was the joy of knowing that he had given back life and hope to Isobel and her husband. Each day he figured their progress along with his own. From the Eskimo village he had sent a messenger back to Churchill with a long report for the officer in command there, and in that report he had lied. He reported Scottie Deane as having died of the injury he had received in the snow-slide. Not for a moment had he regretted the falsehood. He also promised to report at Churchill to testify against Bucky Smith as soon as he reached Pelliter and put him on his feet. On this last day, as he saw the towering cliffs of Fullerton ahead of him, he wondered how much he would tell to Pelliter if he found him alive. Mentally he rehearsed the amazing story of what came to him that night on the Barren, of the dogs coming across the snow, the great, dark, frightened eyes of the woman, and the long, narrow box on the sledge. He would tell pelliter all that. He would tell how he had made a camp for her that night, and how, later, he had told her that he loved her and had begged one kiss. And then the disclosures of the morning, the deserted tent, the empty box, the little note from Isobel, and the revelation that the box had contained the living body of the man for whom he and Pelliter had patrolled this desolate country for two thousand miles. But would he tell the truth of what had happened after that? He quickened his tired pace as the dogs climbed up from the ice of the Bay to the sloping ridge, and stared hard ahead of him. The dogs tugged harder as the smell of home entered their nostrils. At last the roof of the cabin came in view. MacVeigh's bloodshot eyes were like an animal's in their eagerness. "Pelly, old boy," he gasped to himself. "Pelly--" He stared harder. And then he spoke a low word to the dogs and stopped. He wiped his face. A deep breath of relief fell from his lips. Straight up from the chimney of the cabin there rose a thick column of smoke! He came up to the door of the cabin quietly, wondering why Pelliter did not see him or hear the three or four sharp yelps the dogs had given. He twisted off his snow-shoes, chuckling as he thought of the surprise he would give his mate. His hand was on the door latch when he stopped. The smile left his lips. Startled wonderment filled his face as he bent close to the door and listened, and for a moment his heart throbbed with a terrible fear. He had returned too late-- perhaps a day-- two days. Pelliter had gone mad! He could hear him raving inside, filling the cabin with a laughter that sent a chill of horror through his veins. Mad! A sob broke from his lips, and he turned his face up to the gray sky. And then the laughter turned to song. It was the sweet love song which Pelliter had told him that the girl down south used to sing to him when they were alone out under the stars. Suddenly it broke off short, and in its place he heard another sound. With a cry he opened the door and burst in. "My God!" he cried. "Pelly-- Pelly--" Pelliter was on his knees in the middle of the floor. But it was not the look of wonderment and joy in his face that Billy saw first. He stared at the little golden-haired creature on the floor in front of him. He had traveled hard, almost day and night, and for an instant it flashed upon him that what he saw was not real. Before he could move or speak again Pelliter was on his feet, wringing his hands and almost crying in his gladness. There was no sign of fever or madness in his face now. Like one in a dream Billy heard what he said. "God bless you, Billy! I'm glad you've come!" he cried. "We've been waiting 'n' watching, and not more'n a minute ago we were at the window looking along the edge of the Bay through the binoculars. You must have been under the ridge. My God! A little while ago I thought I was dying-- I thought I was alone in the world-- alone-- alone. But look-- look, Billy, I've got a fam'ly!" Little Mystery had climbed to her feet. She was looking at Billy wonderingly, her golden curls tousled about her pretty face, and gripping two or three of Pelliter's old letters in her tiny hand. And then she smiled at Billy and held out the letters to him. In an instant he had dropped Pelliter's hands and caught her up in his arms. "I've got letters for you in my pocket, Pelly," he gasped. "But-- first-- you've got to tell me who she is and where you got her--" Briefly Pelliter told of Blake's visit, the fight, and of the finding of Little Mystery. "I'd have died if it hadn't been for her, Billy," he finished. "She brought me back to life. But I don't know who she is or where she came from. There wasn't anything in his pockets or in the igloo to tell. I buried him out there-- shallow-- so you could take a look when you came back." He snatched like a starving man for food at the letters MacVeigh pulled from his pocket. While he read Billy sat down with Little Mystery on his knees. She laughed and put her warm little hands up to his rough face. Her eyes were blue, like Isobel's; and suddenly he crushed his face close down against her soft curls and held her so close to him that for a moment she was frightened. A little later Pelliter looked up. His eyes shone, his thin face was radiant with joy. "God bless the sweetest little girl in the world, Billy!" he whispered, huskily. "She says she's lonely for me. She tells me to hurry-- hurry down there to her. She says that if I don't come soon she'll come up to me! Read 'em, Billy!" He looked in astonishment at the change which he saw in MacVeigh's face. Billy accepted the letters mechanically and placed them on the edge of the bunk near which he was sitting. "I'll read them-- after a while," he said, slowly. Little Mystery clambered from his knee and ran to Pelliter. Billy was staring straight into the other's face. "You're sure you've told me everything, Pelly? There wasn't anything in his pockets? You searched well?" "Yes. There was nothing." "But-- you were sick--" "That's why I buried him shallow," interrupted Pelliter. "He's close to the last cross, just under the ice and snow. I wanted you to look-- for yourself." Billy rose to his feet. He took Little Mystery in his arms again and looked closely in her face. There was a strange look in his eyes. She laughed at him, but he did not seem to notice it. And then he held her out to Pelliter. "Pelly, did you ever-- ever notice eyes-- very closely?" he asked. "Blue eyes?" Pelliter stared at him amazed. "My Jeanne has blue eyes--" "And have they little brown dots in them like a wood violet?" "No-o-o--" "They're blue, just blue, ain't they?" "Yes." "And I suppose most all blue eyes are just blue, without the little brown spots. Wouldn't you think so?" "What in Heaven's name are you driving at?" demanded Pelliter. "I just wanted you to notice that her eyes have little brown spots in them," replied Billy. "I've only seen one other pair of eyes-- just like hers." He turned toward the door. "I'm going out to care for the dogs and dig up Blake," he added. "I can't rest until I've seen him." Pelliter placed Little Mystery on her feet. "I'll see to the dogs," he said. "But I don't want to look at Blake again." The two men went out, and while Pelliter led the dogs to a lean-to behind the cabin Billy began to work with an ax and spade at the spot his comrade had pointed out to him. Ten minutes later he came to Blake. An excitement which he had tried to hide from Pelliter overcame his sense of horror as he dragged out the stiff and frozen corpse of the man. It was a terrible picture that the dead man made, with his coarse bearded face turned up to the sky and his teeth still snarling as they had snarled on the day he died. Billy knew most men who had come into the north above Churchill, but he had never looked upon Blake before. It was probable that the dead man had told a part of the truth, and that he was a sailor left on the upper coast by some whaler. He shivered as he began going through his pockets. Each moment added to his disappointment. He found a few things-- a knife, two keys, several coins, a fire-flint, and other articles-- but there was no letter or writing of any kind, and that was what he had hoped to find. There was nothing that might solve the mystery of the miracle that had descended upon them. He rolled the dead man into the grave, covered him over, and went into the cabin. Pelliter was in his usual place-- on his hands and knees, with Little Mystery astride his back. He paused in a mad race across the cabin floor and looked up with inquiring eyes. The little girl held up her arms, and MacVeigh tossed her half-way to the ceiling and then hugged her golden head close up to his chilled face. Pelliter jumped to his feet; his face grew serious as Billy looked at him over the child's tousled curls. "I found nothing-- absolutely nothing of any account," he said. He placed Little Mystery on one of the bunks and faced the other with a puzzled look in his eyes. "I wish you hadn't been in a fever on that day of the fight, Pelly," he said. "He must have said something-- something that would give us a clue." "Mebbe he did, Billy," replied Pelliter, looking with a shiver at the few things MacVeigh had placed on the cabin table. "But there's no use worrying any more about it. It ain't in reason that she's got any people up here, six hundred miles from the shack of a white man that 'd own a little beauty like her. She's mine. I found her. She's mine to keep." He sat down at the table, and MacVeigh sat down opposite him, smiling sympathetically into Pelliter's eyes. "I know you want her-- want her bad, Pelly," he said. "And I know the girl would love her. But she's got people-- somewhere, and it's our duty to find 'em. She didn't drop out of a balloon, Pelly. Do you suppose-- the dead man-- might be her father?" It was the first time he had asked this question, and he noted the other's sudden shudder of revulsion. "I've thought of that. But it can't be. He was a beast, and she-- she's a little angel. Billy, her mother must have been beautiful. And that's what made me guess-- fear--" Pelliter wiped his face uneasily, and the two young men stared into each other's eyes. MacVeigh leaned forward, waiting. "I figured it all out last night, lying awake there in my bunk," continued Pelliter, "and as the second best friend I have on earth I want to ask you not to go any farther, Billy. She's mine. My Jeanne, down there, will love her like a real mother, and we'll bring her up right. But if you go on, Billy, you'll find something unpleasant-- I-- I-- swear you will!" "You know--" "I've guessed," interrupted the other. "Billy, sometimes a beast-- a man beast-- holds an attraction for a woman, and Blake was that sort of a beast. You remember-- two years ago-- a sailor ran away with the wife of a whaler's captain away up at Narwhale Inlet. Well--" Again the two men stared silently at each other. MacVeigh turned slowly toward the child. She had fallen asleep, and he could see the dull shimmer of her golden curls as they lay scattered over Pelliter's pillow. "Poor little devil!" he exclaimed, softly. "I believe that woman was Little Mystery's mother," Pelliter went on. "She couldn't bear to leave the little kid when she went with Blake, so she took her along. Some women do that. And after a time she died. Then Blake took up with an Eskimo woman. You know what happened after that. We don't want Little Mystery to know all this when she grows up. It's better not. She's too little to remember, ain't she? She won't ever know." "I remember the ship," said Billy, not taking his eyes off Little Mystery. "She was the Silver Seal. Her captain's name was Thompson." He did not look at Pelliter, but he could feel the quick, tense stiffening of the other's body. There was a moment's silence. Then Pelliter spoke in a low, unnatural voice. "Billy, you ain't going to hunt him up, are you? That wouldn't be fair to me or to the kid. My Jeanne 'll love her, an' mebbe-- mebbe some day your kid 'll come along an' marry her--" MacVeigh rose to his feet. Pelliter did not see the sudden look of grief that shot into his face. "What do you say, Billy?" "Think it over, Pelly," came back Billy's voice, huskily. "Think it over. I don't want to hurt you, and I know you think a lot of her, but-- think it over. You wouldn't rob her father, would you? An' she's all he's got left of the woman. Think it over, Pelly, good 'n' hard. I'm going to bed an' sleep a week!" X IN DEFIANCE OF THE LAW Billy slept all that day and the night that followed, and Pelliter did not awaken him. He aroused himself from his long sleep of exhaustion an hour or two before dawn of the following morning, and for the first time he had the opportunity of going over with himself all the things that had happened since his return to Fullerton Point. His first thought was Pelliter and Little Mystery. He could hear his comrade's deep breathing in the bunk opposite him, and again he wondered if Pelliter had told him everything. Was it possible that Blake had said nothing to reveal Little Mystery's identity, and that the igloo and the dead Eskimo woman had not given up the secret? It seemed inconceivable that there would not be something in the igloo that would help to clear up the mystery. And yet, after all, he had faith in Pelliter. He knew that he would keep nothing from him even though it meant possession of the child. And then his mind leaped to Isobel Deane. Her eyes were blue, and they had in them those same little spots of brown he had found in Little Mystery's. They were unusual eyes, and he had noticed the brown in them because it had added to their loveliness and had made him think of the violets he had told Pelliter about. Was it possible, he asked himself, that there could be some association between Isobel and Little Mystery? He confessed that it was scarcely conceivable, and yet it was impossible for him to get the thought out of his mind. Before Pelliter awoke he had determined upon his own course of action. He would say nothing of what had happened to himself on the Barren, at least not for a time. He would not tell of his meeting with Isobel and her husband or of what had followed. Until he was absolutely certain that Pelliter was keeping nothing from him he would not confide the secret of his own treachery to him. For he had been a traitor-- to the Law. He realized that. He could tell the story, with its fictitious ending, before they set out for Churchill, where he would give evidence against Bucky Smith. Meanwhile he would watch Pelliter, and wait for him to reveal whatever he might have hidden from him. He knew that if Pelliter was concealing something he was inspired by his almost insane worship of the little girl he had found who had saved him from madness and death. He smiled in the darkness as he thought that if Pelliter were working to achieve his own end-- possession of Little Mystery-- he was inspired by emotions no more selfish than his own in giving back life to Isobel Deane and her husband. On that score they were even. He was up and had breakfast started before Pelliter awoke. Little Mystery was still sleeping, and the two men moved about softly in their moccasined feet. On this morning the sun shone brilliantly over the southern ice-fields, and Pelliter aroused Little Mystery so that she might see it before it disappeared. But to-day it did not drop below the gray murkiness of the snow-horizon for nearly an hour. After breakfast Pelliter read his letters again, and then Billy read them. In one of the letters the girl had put a tress of sunny hair, and Pelliter kissed it shamelessly before his comrade. "She says she's making the dress she's going to wear when we're married, and that if I don't come home before it's out of style she'll never marry me at all," he cried, joyously. "Look there, on that page she's told me all about it. You're-- you're goin' to be there, ain't you, Billy?" "If I can make it, Pelly." "If you can make it! I thought you was going out of the Service when I did." "I've sort of changed my mind." "And you're going to stick?" "Mebbe for another three years." Life in the cabin was different after this. Pelliter and Little Mystery were happy, and Billy fought with himself every hour to keep down his own gloom and despair. The sun helped him. It rose earlier each day and remained longer in the sky, and soon the warmth of it began to soften the snow underfoot. The vast fields of ice began to give evidence of the approach of spring, and the air was more and more filled with the thunderous echoes of the "break up." Great floes broke from the shore-runs, and the sea began to open. Down from the north the powerful arctic currents began to move their grinding, roaring avalanches. But it was a full month before Billy was sure that Pelliter was strong enough to begin the long trip south. Even then he waited for another week. Late one afternoon he went out alone and stood on the cliff watching the thunderous movement of arctic ice out in the Roes Welcome. Standing motionless fifty paces from the little storm-beaten cabin that represented Law at this loneliest outpost on the American continent, he looked like a carven thing of dun-gray rock, with a dun-gray world over his head and on all sides of him, broken only in its terrific monotony of deathlike sameness by the darker gloom of the sky and the whiter and ghostlier gloom that hung over the ice-fields. The wind was still bitter, and his vision was shut in by a near horizon which Billy had often thought of as the rim of hell. On this afternoon his heart was as leaden as the day. Under his feet the frozen earth shivered with the rumbling reverberations of the crashing and breaking mountains of ice. His ears were filled with a dull and steady roar, like the echoes of distant thunder, broken now and then-- when an ice-mountain split asunder-- with a report like that of a thirteen-inch gun. There were curious wailings, strange screeching sounds, and heartbreaking moanings in the air. Two days before MacVeigh had heard the roar of the ice ten miles inland, where he had gone for caribou. But he scarcely heard that roar now. He was looking toward the warring fields of ice, but he did not see them. It was not the dead gloom and the gray monotony that weighted his heart, but the sounds that he heard now and then in the cabin-- the laughing of Little Mystery and of Pelliter. A few days more and he would lose them. And after that what would be left for him? A cry broke from his lips, and he gripped his hands in despair. He would be alone. There was no one waiting for him down in that world to which Pelliter was going, no girl to meet him, no father, no mother-- nothing. He laughed in his pain as he faced the cold wind from the north. The sting of that wind was like the mocking ghost of his own past life. For all his life he had known only the stings of pain and of loneliness. And then, suddenly, there came Pelliter's words to him again-- "Mebbe some day you'll have a kid." A flood of warmth swept through his veins, and in the moment of forgetfulness and hope which came with it he turned his eyes into the south and west and saw the sweet face and upturned lips of Isobel Deane. He pulled himself together with a low laugh and faced the breaking seas of ice and the north. The gloom of night had drawn the horizon nearer. The rumble and thunder of crumbling floes came from out of a purple chaos that was growing blue-black in the distance. For several minutes he stood listening and looking into nothingness. The breaking of the ice, the moaning discontent in the air, and the growling monotone of the giant currents had driven other men mad; but they held a fascination for him. He knew what was happening, and he could almost measure the strength of the unseen hands of nature. No sound was new or strange to him. But now, as he stood there, there rose above all the other tumult a sound that he had not heard before. His body became suddenly tense and alert as he faced squarely to the north. For a full minute he listened, and then turned and ran to the cabin. Pelliter had lighted a lamp, and in its glow Billy's face shone white with excitement. "Good God, Pelly, come here!" he cried from the door. As Pelliter ran out he gripped him by the shoulders. "Listen!" he commanded. "Listen to that!" "Wolves!" said Pelliter. The wind was rising, and sent a whistling blast through the open door of the cabin. It awakened Little Mystery, who sat up with frightened cries. "No, it's not wolves," cried MacVeigh, and it did not sound like MacVeigh's voice that spoke. "I never heard wolves like that. Listen!" He clutched Pelliter's arm as on a fresh burst of the wind there came the strange and terrible sound from out of the night. It was rapidly drawing nearer-- a wailing burst of savage voice, as if a great wolf pack had struck the fresh and blood-stained trail of game. But with this there was the other and more fearful sound, a shrieking and yelping as if half-human creatures were being torn by the fangs of beasts. As Pelliter and MacVeigh stood waiting for something to appear out of the gray-and-black mystery of the night they heard a sound that was like the slow tolling of a thing that was half bell and half drum. "It's not wolves," shouted Billy. "Whatever it is, there's men with it! Hurry, Pelly, into the cabin with our dogs and sledge! Those are dogs we hear-- dogs who are howling because they smell us-- and there are hundreds of 'em! Where there's dogs there's men-- but who in Heaven's name can they be?" He dragged the sledge into the cabin while Pelliter unleashed the huskies from the lean-to. When he came in with the dogs Pelliter locked and bolted the door. Billy slipped a clipful of cartridges into his big-game Remington. His carbine was already on the table, and as Pelliter stood staring at him in indecision he pulled out two Savage automatics from under his bunk and gave one of them to his companion. His face was white and set. "Better get ready, Pelly," he said, quietly. "I've been in this country a long time, and I tell you they're dogs and men. Did you hear the drum? It's made of seal belly, and there's a bell on each side of it. They're Eskimos, and there isn't an Eskimo village within two hundred miles of us this winter. They're Eskimos, and they're not on a hunt, unless it's for us!" In an instant Pelliter was buckling on his revolver and cartridge-belt. He grinned as he looked at the wicked little blue-steeled Savage. "I hope you ain't mistaken, Billy," he said, "for it 'll be the first excitement we've had in a year." None of his enthusiasm revealed itself in MacVeigh's face. "The Eskimo never fights until he's gone mad, Pelly," he said, "and you know what madmen are. I can't guess what they've got to fight over, unless they want our grub. But if they do--" He moved toward the door, his swift-firing Remington in his hand. "Be ready to cover me, Pelly. I'm going out. Don't fire until you hear me shoot." He opened the door and stepped out. The howling had ceased now, but there came in its place strange barking voices and a cracking which Billy knew was made by the long Eskimo whips. He advanced to meet many dim forms which he saw breaking out of the wall of gloom, raising his voice in a loud holloa. From the Doorway Pelliter saw him suddenly lost in a mass of dogs and men, and half flung his carbine to his shoulder. But there was no shooting from MacVeigh. A score of sledges had drawn up about him, and the whips of dozens of little black men cracked viciously as their dogs sank upon their bellies in the snow. Both men and dogs were tired, and Billy saw that they had been running long and hard. Still as quick as animals the little men gathered about him, their white-and-black eyes staring at him out of round, thick, dumb-looking faces. He noted that they were half a hundred strong, and that all were armed, many with their little javelin-like narwhal harpoons, some with spears, and others with rifles. From the circle of strangely dressed and hideously visaged beings that had gathered about him one advanced and began talking to him in a language that was like the rapid clack of knuckle bones. "Kogmollocks!" Billy groaned, and he lifted both hands to show that he did not understand. Then he raised his voice. "Nuna-talmute," he cried. "Nuna-talmute-- Nuna-talmute! Ain't there one of that lingo among you?" He spoke directly to the chief man, who stared at him in silence for a moment and then pointed both short arms toward the lighted cabin. "Come on!" said Billy. He caught the little Eskimo by one of his thick arms and led him boldly through the breach that was made for them in the circle. The chief man's voice broke out in a few words of command, like a dozen quick, sharp yelps of a dog, and six other Eskimos dropped in behind them. "Kogmollocks-- the blackest-hearted little devils alive when it comes to trading wives and fighting," said MacVeigh to Pelliter, as he came up at the head of the seven little black men. " Watch the door, Pelly. They're coming in." He stepped into the cabin, and the Eskimos followed. From Pelliter's bunk Little Mystery looked at the strange visitors with eyes which suddenly widened with surprise and joy, and in another moment she had given the strange story that Pelliter or Billy had ever heard her utter. Scarcely had that cry fallen from her lips when one of the Eskimos sprang toward her. His black hands were already upon her, dragging the child from the bunk, when with a warning yell of rage Pelliter leaped from the door and sent him crashing back among his companions. In another instant both men were facing the seven Eskimos with leveled automatics. "If you fire don't shoot to kill!" commanded MacVeigh. The chief man was pointing to Little Mystery, his weird voice rising until it was almost a scream. Suddenly he doubled himself back and raised his javelin. Simultaneously two streams of fire leaped from the automatics. The javelin dropped to the floor, and with a shrill cry which was half pain and half command the leader staggered back to the door, a stream of blood running from his wounded hand. The others sprang out ahead of him, and Pelliter closed and bolted the door. When he turned MacVeigh was closing and slipping the bolts to the heavy barricades of the two windows. From Pelliter's bunk Little Mystery looked at them and laughed. "So it's you?" said Billy, coming to her, and breathing hard. "It's you they want, eh? Now, I wonder why?" Pelliter's face was flushed with excitement. He was reloading his automatic. There was almost a triumph in his eyes as he met MacVeigh's questioning gaze. They stood and listened, heard only the rumbling monotone of the drifting ice-- not the breath of a sound from the scores of men and dogs. "We've given them a lesson," said Pelliter, at last, smiling with the confidence of a man who was half a tenderfoot among the little brown men. Billy pointed to the door. "That door is about the only place vulnerable to their bullets," he said, as though he had not heard Pelliter. "Keep out of its range. I don't believe what guns they've got are heavy enough to penetrate the logs. Your bunk is out of line and safe." He went to Little Mystery, and his stern face relaxed into a smile as she put up her arms to greet him. "So it's you, is it?" he asked again, taking her warm little face and soft curls between his two hands. "They want you, an' they want you bad. Well, they can have grub, an' they can have me, but"-- he looked up to meet Pelliter's eyes-- "I'm damned if they can have you," he finished. Suddenly the night was broken by another sound, the sharp, explosive crack of rifles. They could hear the beat of bullets against the log wall of the cabin. One crashed through the door, tearing away a splinter as wide as a man's arm, and as MacVeigh nodded to the path of the bullet he laughed. Pelliter had heard that laugh before. He knew what it meant. He knew what the death-whiteness of MacVeigh's face meant. It was not fear, but something more terrible than fear. His own face was flushed. That is the difference in men. MacVeigh suddenly darted across the danger zone to the opposite half of the cabin. "If that's your game, here goes," he cried. "Now, damn y', you're so anxious to fight-- get at it 'n' fight!" He spoke the last words to Pelliter. Billy always swore when he went into action. XI THE NIGHT OF PERIL On his own side of the cabin Pelliter began tugging at a small, thin block laid between two of the logs. The shooting outside had ceased when the two men opened up the loopholes that commanded a range seaward. Almost immediately it began again, the dull red flashes showing the location of the Eskimos, who had drawn back to the ridge that sloped down to the Bay. As the last of five shots left his Remington Billy pulled in his gun and faced across to Pelliter, who was already reloading. "Pelly, I don't want to croak," he said, "but this is the last of Law at Fullerton Point-- for you and me. Look at that!" He raised the muzzle of his rifle to one of the logs over his head. Pelliter could see the fresh splinters sticking out. "They've got some heavy calibers," continued Billy, "and they've hidden behind the slope, where they're safe from us for a thousand years. As soon as it grows light enough to see they'll fill this shack as full of holes as an old cheese." As if to verify his words a single shot rang out and a bullet plowed through a log so close to Pelliter that the splinters flew into his face. "I know these little devils, Pelly," went on MacVeigh. "If they were Nuna-talmutes you could scare 'em with a sky-rocket. But they're Kogmollocks. They've murdered the crews of half a dozen whalers, and I shouldn't wonder if they'd got the kid in some such way. They wouldn't let us off now, even if we gave her up. It wouldn't do. They know better than to let the Law get any evidence against them. If we're killed and the cabin burned, who's going to say what happened to us? There's just two things for us to do--" Another fusillade of shots came from the snow ridge, and a third bullet crashed into the cabin. "Just two things," Billy went on, as he completely shaded the dimly burning lamp. "We can stay here 'n' die-- or run." "Run!" This was an unknown word in the Service, and in Pelliter's voice there were both amazement and contempt. "Yes, run," said Billy, quietly. "Run-- for the kid's sake." It was almost dark in the cabin, and Pelliter came close to his companion. "You mean--" "That it's the only way to save the kid. We might give her up, then fight it out, but that means she'd go back to the Eskimos, 'n' mebbe never be found again. The men and dogs out there are bushed. We are fresh. If we can get away from the cabin we can beat 'em out." "We'll run, then," said Pelliter. He went to Little Mystery, who sat stunned into silence by the strange things that were happening, and hugged her up in his arms, his back turned to the possible bullet that might come through the wall. "We're going to run, little sweetheart," he mumbled, half laughingly, in her curls. Billy began to pack, and Pelliter put Little Mystery down on the bunk and started to harness the six dogs, ranging them close along the wall, with old one-eyed Kazan, the hero who had saved him from Blake, in the lead. Outside the firing had ceased. It was evident that the Eskimos had made up their minds to save their ammunition until dawn. Fifteen minutes sufficed to load the sledge; and while Pelliter was fastening the sledge traces MacVeigh bundled Little Mystery into her thick fur coat. The sleeves caught, and he turned it back, exposing the white edge of the lining. On that lining was something which drew him down close, and when the strange cry that fell from his lips drew Pelliter's eyes toward him he was staring down into Little Mystery's upturned face with the look of one who saw a vision. "Mother of Heaven!" he gasped, "she's--" He caught himself, and smothered Little Mystery up close to him for a moment before he brought her to the sledge. "She's the bravest little kid in the world," he finished; and Pelliter wondered at the strangeness of his voice. He tucked her into a nest made of blankets and then tied her in securely with babiche rope. Pelliter stood up first and saw the hungry, staring look in MacVeigh's face as he kept his eyes steadily upon Little Mystery. "What's the matter, Mac?" he asked. "Are you very much afraid-- for her?" "No," said MacVeigh, without lifting his head. "If you're ready, Pelly, open the door." He rose to his feet and picked up his rifle. He did not seem like the old MacVeigh; but the dogs were nipping and whining, and there was no time for Pelliter's questions. "I'm going out first, Billy," he said. "You can make up your mind they're watching the cabin pretty close, and as soon as the dogs nose the open air they'll begin yapping 'n' let 'em on to us. We can't risk her under fire. So I'm going to back along the edge of the ridge and give it to 'em as fast as I can work the gun. They'll all turn to me, and that's the time for you to open the door and make your getaway. I'll be with you inside of five minutes." He turned out the lights as he spoke. Then he opened the door and slipped out into the darkness without a protesting word from MacVeigh. Hardly had he gone when the latter fell upon his knees beside Little Mystery and in the deep gloom crushed his rough face down against her soft, warm little body. "So it's you, is it?" he cried, softly; and then he mumbled things which the little girl could not possibly have understood. Suddenly he sprang to his feet and ran to the door with a word to faithful old Kazan, the leader. From far down the snow-ridge there came the rapid firing of Pelliter's rifle. For a moment Billy waited, his hand on the door, to give the watching Eskimos time to turn their attention toward Pelliter. He could perhaps have counted fifty before he gave Kazan the leash and the six dogs dragged the sledge out into the night. With his humanlike intelligence old Kazan swung quickly after his master, and the team darted like a streak into the south and west, giving tongue to that first sharp, yapping voice which it is impossible to beat or train out of a band of huskies. As he ran Billy looked back over his shoulder. In the hundred-yard stretch of gray bloom between the cabin and the snow-ridge he saw three figures speeding like wolves. In a flash the meaning of this unexpected move of the Eskimos dawned upon him. They were cutting Pelliter off from the cabin and his course of flight. "Go it, Kazan!" he cried, fiercely, bending low over the leader. "Moo-hoosh-- moo-hoosh-- moo-hoosh, old man!" And Kazan leaped into a swift run, nipping and whining at the empty air. Billy stopped and whirled about. Two other figures had joined the first three, and he opened fire. One of the running Eskimos pitched forward with a cry that rose shrill and scarcely human above the moaning and roar of the ice-fields, and the other four fell flat upon the snow to escape the hail of lead that sang close over their heads. From the snow-ridge there came a fusillade of shots, and a single figure darted like a streak in MacVeigh's direction. He knew that it was Pelliter; and, running slowly after Kazan and the sledge, he rammed a fresh clipful of cartridges into the chamber of his rifle. The figures in the open had risen again, and Pelliter's automatic Savage trailed out a stream of fire as he ran. He was breathing heavily when he reached Billy. "Kazan has got the kid well in the lead," shouted the latter. "God bless that old scoundrel! I believe he's human." They set off swiftly, and the thick night soon engulfed all signs of the Eskimos. Ahead of them the sledge loomed up slowly, and when they reached it both men thrust their rifles under the blanket straps. Thus relieved of their weight, they forged ahead of Kazan. "Moo-hoosh-- moo-hoosh!" encouraged Billy. He glanced at Pelliter on the opposite side. His comrade was running with one arm raised at the proper angle to reserve breath and endurance; the other hung straight and limp at his side. A sudden fear shot through him, and he darted ahead of the lead dog to Pelliter's side. He did not speak, but touched the other's arm. "One of the little devil's winged me," gasped Pelliter. "It's not bad." He was breathing as though the short run was already winding him, and without a word Billy ran up to Kazan's head and stopped the team within twenty paces. The open blade of his knife was ripping up Pelliter's sleeve before his comrade could find words to object. Pelliter was bleeding, and bleeding hard. His face was shot with pain. The bullet had passed through the fleshy part of his forearm, but had fortunately missed the main artery. With the quick deftness of the wilderness-trained surgeon Billy drew the wound close and bound it tightly with his own and Pelliter's handkerchiefs. Then he thrust Pelliter toward the sledge. "You've got to ride, Pelly," he said. "If you don't you'll go under, and that means all of us." Far behind them there rose the yapping and howling of dogs. "They're after us with the dogs!" groaned Pelliter. "I can't ride. I've got to run-- and fight!" "You get on the sledge, or I'll stave your head in!" commanded MacVeigh. "Face the enemy, Pelly, and give 'em hell. You've got three rifles there. You can do the shooting while I hustle on the dogs. And keep yourself in front of her," he added, pointing to the almost completely buried Little Mystery. XII LITTLE MYSTERY FINDS HER OWN After convincing Pelliter that he must ride on the sledge Billy ran on ahead, and the dogs started with their heavier load. "Now for the timber-line," he called down to Kazan. "It's fifty miles, old boy, and you've got to make it by dawn. If we don't--" He left the words unfinished, but Kazan tugged harder, as if he had heard and understood. The sledge had reached the unbroken sweep of the Barren now, and MacVeigh felt the wind in his face. It was blowing from the north and west, and with it came sudden gusts filled with fine particles of snow. After a few moments he fell back to see that Little Mystery's face was completely covered. Pelliter was crouching low on the sledge, his feet braced in the blanket straps. His wound and the uncomfortable sensation of riding backward on a swaying sledge were making him dizzy, and he wondered if what he saw creeping up out of the night was a result of this dizziness or a reality. There was no sound from behind. But a darker spot had grown within his vision, at times becoming larger, then almost disappearing. Twice he raised his rifle. Twice he lowered it again, convinced that the thing behind was only a shadowy fabric of his imagination. It was possible that their pursuers would lose trace of them in the darkness, and so he held his fire. He was staring at the shadow when from out of it there leaped a little spurt of flame, and a bullet sang past the sledge, a yard to the right. It was a splendid shot. There was a marksman with the shadow, and Pelliter replied so quickly that the first shot had not died away before there followed the second. Five times his automatic sent its leaden messengers back into the night, and at the fifth shot there came a wild outburst of pain from one of the Eskimo dogs. "Hurrah!" shouted Billy. "That's one team out of business, Pelly. We can beat 'em in a running fight!" He heard the quick metallic snap of fresh cartridges as Pelliter slipped them into the chamber of his rifle, but beyond that sound, the wind, and the straining of the huskies there was no other. A grim silence fell behind. The roar of the distant ice grew less. The earth no longer seemed to shudder under their feet at the terrific explosions of the crumbling bergs. But in place of these the wind was rising and the fine snow was thickening. Billy no longer turned to look behind. He stared ahead and as far as he could see on each side of them. At the end of half an hour the panting dogs dropped into a walk, and he walked close beside his comrade. "They've given it up," groaned Pelliter, weakly. "I'm glad of it, Mac, for I'm-- I'm-- dizzy." He was lying on the sledge now, with his head bolstered up on a pile of blankets. "You know how the wolves hunt, Pelly," said MacVeigh-- "in a moon-shape half circle, you know, that closes in on the running game from in front? Well, that's how the Eskimos hunt, and I'm wondering if they're trying to get ahead of us-- off there, and off there." He motioned to the north and the south. "They can't," replied Pelliter, raising himself to his elbow with an effort. "Their dogs are bushed. Let me walk, Mac. I can--" He fell back with a sudden low cry. "Gawd, but I'm dizzy--" MacVeigh halted the dogs, and while they dropped upon their bellies, panting and licking up the snow, he kneeled beside Pelliter. Darkness concealed the fear in his eyes and face. His voice was strong and cheerful. "You've got to lie still, Pelly," he warned, arranging the blankets so that the wounded man could rest comfortably. "You've got a pretty bad nip, and it's best for all of us that you don't make a move. You're right about the Eskimos and their dogs. They're bushed, and they've given the chase up as a bad job, so what's the use of making a fool of yourself? Ride it out, Pelly. Go to sleep with Little Mystery if you can. She thinks she's in a cradle." He got up and started the dogs. For a long time he was alone. Little Mystery was sleeping and Pelliter was quiet. Now and then he dropped his mittened hand on Kazan's head, and the faithful old leader whined softly at his touch. With the others it was different. They snapped viciously, and he kept his distance. He went on for hours, halting the team now and then for a few minutes' rest. He struck a match each time and looked at Pelliter. His comrade breathed heavily, with his eyes closed. Once, long after midnight, he opened them and stared at the flare of the match and into MacVeigh's white face. "I'm all right, Billy," he said. "Let me walk--" MacVeigh forced him back gently, and went on. He was alone until the first cold, gray break of dawn. Then he stopped, gave each of the dogs a frozen fish, and with the fuel on the sledge built a small fire. He scraped up snow for tea, and hung the pail over the fire. He was frying bacon and toasting hard bannock biscuits when Pelliter aroused himself and sat up. Billy did not see him until he faced about. "Good morning, Pelly," he grinned. "Have a good nap?" Pelliter groped about on the sledge. "Wish I could find a club," he growled. "I'd-- I'd brain you! You let me sleep!" He thrust out his uninjured arm, and the two shook hands. Once or twice before they had done this after hours of great peril. It was not an ordinary handshake. Billy rose to his feet. Half a mile away the edge of the big forest for which they had been fighting rose out of the dawn gloom. "If I'd known that," he said, pointing, "we'd have camped in shelter. Fifty miles, Pelly. Not so bad, was it?" Behind them the gray Barren was lifting itself into the light of day. The two men ate and drank tea. During those few minutes neither gave attention to the forest or the Barren. Billy was ravenously hungry. Pelliter could not get enough of the tea. And then their attention went to Little Mystery, who awoke with a wailing protest at the smothering cover of blankets over her face. Billy dug her out and held her up to view the strange change since yesterday. It was then that Kazan stopped licking his ashy chops to send up a wailing howl. Both men turned their eyes toward the forest. Halfway between a figure was toiling slowly toward them. It was a man, and Billy gave a low cry of astonishment. But Kazan was facing the gray Barren, and he howled again, long and menacingly. The other dogs took up the cry, and when Pelliter and MacVeigh followed the direction of their warning they stood for a full quarter of a minute as if turned into stone. A mile away the Barren was dotted with a dozen swiftly moving sledges and a score of running men! After all, their last stand was to be made at the edge of the timber-line! In such situations men like MacVeigh and Pelliter do not waste precious moments in prearranging actions in words. Their mental processes are instantaneous and correlative-- and they act. Without a word Billy replaced Little Mystery in her nest without even giving her a sip of the warm tea, and by the time the dogs were straightened in their traces Pelliter was handing him his Remington. "I've ranged it for three hundred and fifty yards," he said. "We won't want to waste our fire until they come that near." They set out at a trot, Pelliter running with his wounded arm down at his side. Suddenly the lone figure between them and the forest disappeared. It had fallen flat in the snow, where it lay only a black speck. In a moment it rose again and advanced. Both Pelliter and Billy were looking when it fell for a second time. An unpleasant laugh came from MacVeigh's lips. The figure was climbing to its feet for the fifth time, and was only on its hands and knees when the sledge drew up. It was a white man. His head was bare, his face deathlike. His neck was open to the cold wind, and, to the others' astonishment, he wore no heavier garment over his dark flannel shirt. His eyes burned wildly from out of a shaggy growth of beard and hair, and he was panting like one who had traveled miles instead of a few hundred yards. All this Billy saw at a glance, and then he gave a sudden unbelieving cry. The man's red eyes rested on his, and every fiber in his body seemed for a moment to have lost the power of action. He gasped and stared, and Pelliter started as if stung at the words which came first from his lips. "Deane-- Scottie Deane!" An amazed cry broke from Pelliter. He looked at MacVeigh, his chief. He made an involuntary movement forward, but Billy was ahead of him. He had flung down his rifle, and in an instant was on his knees at Deane's side, supporting his emaciated figure in his arms. "Good God! what does this mean, old man?" he cried, forgetting Pelliter. "What has happened? Why are you away up here? And where-- where-- is she?" He had gripped Deane's hand. He was holding him tight; and Deane, looking up into his eyes, saw that he was no longer looking into the face of the Law, but that of a brother. He smiled feebly. "Cabin-- back there-- in edge-- woods," he gasped. "Saw you-- coming. Thought mebbe you'd pass-- so-- came out. I'm done for-- dying." He drew a deep breath and tried to assist himself as Billy raised him to his feet. A little wailing cry came from the sledge. Startled, Deane turned his eyes toward that cry. "My God!" he screamed. He tore himself away from Billy and flung himself upon his knees beside Little Mystery, sobbing and talking like a madman as he clasped the frightened child in his arms. With her he leaped to his feet with new strength. "She's mine-- mine!" he cried, fiercely. "She's what brought me back! I was going for her! Where did you get her? How--" There came to them now in sudden chorus the wild voice of the Eskimo dogs out on the plain. Deane heard the cry and faced with the others in their direction. They were not more than half a mile away, bearing down upon them swiftly. Billy knew that there was not a moment to lose. In a flash it had leaped upon him that in some way Deane and Isobel and Little Mystery were associated with that avenging horde, and as quickly as he could he told Deane what had happened. Sanity had come back into Deane's eyes, and no sooner had he heard than he ran out in the face of the army of little brown men with Little Mystery in his arms. MacVeigh and Pelliter could hear him calling to them from a distance. They were in the edge of the forest when Deane met the Eskimos. There was a long wait, and then Deane and Little Mystery came back-- on a sledge drawn by Eskimo dogs. Beside the sledge walked the chief who had been wounded in the cabin at Fullerton Point. Deane was swaying, his head was bowed half upon his breast, and the chief and another Eskimo were supporting him. He nodded to the right, and a hundred yards away they found a cabin. The powerful little northerners carried him in, still clutching Little Mystery in his arms, and he made a motion for Billy to follow him-- alone. Inside the cabin they placed him on a low bunk, and with a weak cough he beckoned Billy to his side. MacVeigh knew what that cough meant. The sick man had suffered terrible exposure, and the tissue of his lungs was sloughing away. It was death, the most terrible death of the north. For a few moments Deane lay panting, clasping one of Billy's hands. Little Mystery slipped to the floor and began to investigate the cabin. Deane smiled into Billy's eyes. "You've come again-- just in time," he said, quite steadily. "Seems queer, don't it, Billy?" For the first time he spoke the other's name as if he had known him a lifetime. Billy covered him over gently with one of the blankets, and in spite of himself his eyes sought about him questioningly. Deane saw the look. "She didn't come," he whispered. "I left her--" He broke off with a racking cough that brought a crimson stain to his lips. Billy felt a choking grief. "You must be quiet," he said. "Don't try to talk now. You have no fire, and I will build one. Then I'll make you something hot." He went to move away, but one of Deane's hands detained him. "Not until I've said something to you, Billy," he insisted. "You know-- you understand. I'm dying. It's liable to come any minute now, and I've got to tell you-- things. You must understand-- before I go. I won't be long. I killed a man, but I'm-- not sorry. He tried to insult her-- my wife-- an' you-- you'd have killed him, too. You people began to hunt me, and for safety we went far north-- among the Eskimos-- an' lived there-- long time. The Eskimos-- they loved the little girl an' wife, specially little Isobel. Thought them angels-- some sort. Then we heard you were goin' to hunt for me-- up there-- among the Eskimos. So we set out with the box. Box was for her-- to keep her from fearful cold. We didn't dare take the baby-- so we left her up there. We were going back-- soon-- after you'd made your hunt. When we saw your fire on the edge of the Barren she made me get in the box-- an' so-- so you found us. You know-- after that. You thought it was-- coffin-- an' she told you I was dead. You were good-- good to her-- an' you must go down there where she is, and take little Isobel. We were goin' to do as you said-- an' go to South America. But we had to have the baby, an' I came back. Should have told you. We knew that-- afterward. But we were afraid-- to tell the secret-- even to you--" He stopped, panting and coughing. Billy was crushing both his thin, cold hands in his own. He found no word to say. He waited, fighting to stifle the sobbing grief in his breath. "You were good-- good-- good-- to her," repeated Deane, weakly, "You loved her-- an' it was right-- because you thought I was dead an' she was alone an' needed help. I'm glad-- you love her. You've been good-- 'n' honest-- an I want some one like you to love her an' care for her. She ain't got nobody but me-- an' little Isobel. I'm glad-- glad-- I've found a man-- like you!" He suddenly wrenched his hands free and took Billy's tense face between them, staring straight into his eyes. "An'-- an'-- I give her to you," he said. "She's an angel, and she's alone-- needs some one-- an' you-- you'll be good to her. You must go down to her-- Pierre Couchée's cabin-- on the Little Beaver. An' you'll be good to her-- good to her--" "I will go to her," said Billy, softly. "And I swear here on my knees before the great and good God that I will do what an honorable man should do!" Deane's rigid body relaxed, and he sank back on his blankets with a sigh of relief. "I worried-- for her," he said. "I've always believed in a God-- though I killed a man-- an' He sent you here in time!" A sudden questioning light came into his eyes. "The man who stole little Isobel," he breathed-- "who was he?" "Pelliter-- the man out there-- killed him when he came to the cabin," said Billy. "He said his name was Blake-- Jim Blake." "Blake! Blake! Blake!" Again Deane's voice rose from the edge of death to a shriek. "Blake, you say? A great coarse sailorman, with red hair-- red beard-- yellow teeth like a walrus! Blake-- Blake--" He sank back again, with a thrilling, half-mad laugh. "Then-- then it's all been a mistake-- a funny mistake," he said; and his eyes closed, and his voice spoke the words as though he were uttering them from out of a dream. Billy saw that the end was near. He bent down to catch the dying man's last words. Deane's hands were as cold as ice. His lips were white. And then Deane whispered: "We fought-- I thought I killed him-- an' threw him into the sea. His right name was Samuelson. You knew him-- by that name-- but he went often-- by Blake-- Jim Blake. So-- so-- I'm not a murderer-- after all. An' he-- he came back for revenge-- and-- stole-- little-- Isobel. I'm-- I'm-- not-- a-- murderer. You-- you-- will-- tell-- her. You'll tell her-- I didn't kill him-- after all. You'll tell her-- an'-- be-- good-- good--" He smiled. Billy bent lower. "Again I swear before the good God that I will do what an honorable man should do," he replied. Deane made no answer. He did not hear. The smile did not fade entirely from his lips. But Billy knew that in this moment death had come in through the cabin door. With a groan of anguish he dropped Deane's stiffening hand. Little Isobel pattered across the floor to his side. She laughed; and suddenly Billy turned and caught her in his arms, and, crumpled down there on the floor beside the one brother he had known in life, he sobbed like a woman. XIII THE TWO GODS It was little Isobel who pulled MacVeigh together, and after a little he rose with her in his arms and turned her from the wall while he covered Deane's face with the end of a blanket. Then he went to the door. The Eskimos were building fires. Pelliter was seated on the sledge a short distance from the cabin, and at Billy's call he came toward him. "If you don't mind, you can take her over to one of the fires for a little while," said Billy. "Scottie is dead. Try and make the chief understand," He did not wait for Pelliter to question him, but closed the door quietly and went back to Deane. He drew off the blanket and gazed for a moment into the still, bearded face. "My Gawd, an' she's waitin' for you, 'n' looking for you, an' thinks you're coming back soon," he whispered. "You 'n' the kid!" Reverently he began the task ahead of him. One after another he went into Deane's pockets and drew forth what he found. In one pocket there was a small knife, some cartridges, and a match box. He knew that Isobel would prize these and keep them because her husband had carried them, and he placed them in a handkerchief along with other things he found. Last of all he found in Deane's breast pocket a worn and faded envelope. He peered into the open end before he placed it on the little pile, and his heart gave a sudden throb when he saw the blue flower petals Isobel had given him. When he was done he crossed Deane's hands upon his breast. He was tying the ends of the handkerchief when the door opened softly behind him. The little dark chief entered. He was followed by four other Eskimos. They had left their weapons outside. They seemed scarcely to breathe as they ranged themselves in a line and looked down upon Scottie Deane. Not a sign of emotion came into their expressionless faces, not the flicker of an eyelash did the immobility of their faces change. In a low, clacking monotone they began to speak, and there was no expression of grief in their voices. Yet Billy understood now that in the hearts of these little brown men Scottie Deane stood enshrined like a god. Before he was cold in death they had come to chant his deeds and his virtues to the unseen spirits who would wait and watch at his side until the beginning of the new day. For ten minutes the monotone continued. Then the five men turned and without a word, without looking at him, went out of the cabin. Billy followed them, wondering if Deane had convinced them that he and Pelliter were his friends. If he had not done that he feared that there would still be trouble over little Isobel. He was delighted when he found Pelliter talking with one of the men. "I've found a flunkey here whose lingo I can get along with," cried Pelliter. "I've been telling 'em what bully friends we are, and have made 'em understand all about Blake. I've shaken hands with them all three or four times, and we feel pretty good. Better mix a little. They don't like the idea of giving us the kid, now that Scottie's dead. They're asking for the woman." Half an hour later MacVeigh and Pelliter returned to the cabin. At the end of that time he was confident that the Eskimos would give them no further trouble and that they expected to leave Isobel in their possession. The chief, however, had given Billy to understand that they reserved the right to bury Deane. Billy felt that he was now in a position where he would have to tell Pelliter some of the things that had happened to him on his return to Churchill. He had reported Deane's death as having occurred weeks before as the result of a fall, and when he returned to Fort Churchill he knew that he would have to stick to that story. Unless Pelliter knew of Isobel, his love for her, and his own defiance of the Law in giving them their freedom, his comrade might let out the truth and ruin him. In the cabin they sat down at the table. Pelliter's arm was in a sling. His face was drawn and haggard and blackened by powder. He drew his revolver, emptied it of cartridges, and gave it to little Isobel to play with. He kept up his spirits among the Eskimos, but he made no effort to conceal his dejection now. "I've lost her," he said, looking at Billy. "You're going to take her to her mother?" "Yes." "It hurts. You don't know how it's goin' to hurt to lose her," he said. MacVeigh leaned across the table and spoke earnestly. "Yes, I know what it means, Pelly," he replied. "I know what it means to love some one-- and lose. I know. Listen." Quickly he told Pelliter the story of the Barren, of the coming of Isobel, the mother, of the kiss she had given him, and of the flight, the pursuit, the recapture, and of that final moment when he had taken the steel cuffs from Deane's wrists. Once he had begun the story he left nothing untold, even to the division of the blue-flower petals and the tress of Isobel's hair. He drew both from his pocket and showed them to Pelliter, and at the tremble in his voice there came a mistiness in his comrade's eyes. When he had finished Pelliter reached across with his one good arm and gripped the other's hand. "An' what she said about the blue flower is comin' true, Billy," he whispered. "It's bringing happiness to you, just as she said, for you're going down to her--" MacVeigh interrupted him. "No, it's not," he said, softly. "She loved him-- as much as the girl down there will ever love you, Pelly, and when I tell her what has happened-- her heart will break. That can't bring happiness-- for me !" The hours of that day bore leaden weights for Billy. The two men made their plans. A number of the Eskimos agreed to accompany Pelliter as far as Eskimo Point, whence he would make his way alone to Churchill. Billy would strike south to the Little Beaver in search of Couchée's cabin and Isobel. He was glad when night came. It was late when he went to the door, opened it, and looked out. In the edge of the timber-line it was black, black not only with the gloom of night, but with the concentrated darkness of spruce and balsam and a sky so low and thick that one could almost hear the wailing swish of it overhead like the steady sobbing of surf on a seashore. It was black, save for the small circles of light made by the Eskimo fires, about which half a hundred of the little brown men sat or crouched. The masters of the camp were all awake, but twice as many dogs, exhausted and footsore, lay curled in heaps, as inanimate as if dead. There was present a strange silence and a strange and unnatural gloom that was not of the night alone, a silence broken only by the low moaning of the wind out on the Barren, the restlessness in the air above the tree-tops, and the crackling of the fires. The Eskimos were as motionless as so many dead men. Their round, expressionless eyes were wide open. They sat or crouched with their backs to the Barren, their faces turned into the still deeper blackness of the forest. Some distance away, like a star, there gleamed the small and steady light in the cabin window. For two hours the eyes of those about the fires had been fixed on that light. And at intervals there had risen from among the stony-faced watchers the little chief, whose clacking voice joined for a few moments each time the wailing of the wind, the swish of the low-hanging sky, and the crackling of the fires. But there was sound of no other voice or movement. He alone moved and spoke, for to the others the clacking sounds he made was speech, words spoken each time for the man who lay dead in the cabin. A dozen times Pelliter and MacVeigh had looked out to the fires, and looked each time at the hour. This time Billy said: "They're moving, Pelly! They're jumping to their feet and coming this way!" He looked at his watch again. "They're mighty good guessers. It's a quarter after twelve. When a chief or a big man dies they bury him in the first hour of the new day. They're coming after Deane." He opened the door and stepped out into the night. Pelliter joined him. The Eskimos advanced without a sound and stopped in a shadowy group twenty paces from the cabin. Five of these little fur-clad men detached themselves from the others and filed into the cabin, with the chief man at their head. As they bent over Deane they began to chant a low monotone which awakened little Isobel, who sat up and stared sleepily at the strange scene. Billy went to her and gathered her close in his arms. She was sleeping again when he put her down among the blankets. The Eskimos were gone with their burden. He could hear the low chanting of the tribe. "I found her, and I thought she was mine," said Pelliter's low voice at his side. "But she ain't, Billy. She's yours." MacVeigh broke in on him as though he had not heard. "You better get to bed, Pelly," he warned. "That arm needs rest. I'm going out to see where they bury him." He put on his cap and heavy coat and went as far as the door, then turned back. From his kit he took a belt-ax and nails. The wind was blowing more strongly over the Barren, and MacVeigh could no longer hear the low lament of the Eskimos. He moved toward their fires, and found them deserted of men, only the dogs remained in their deathlike sleep. And then, far down the edge of the timber, he saw a flare of light. Five minutes later he stood hidden in a deep shadow, a few paces from the Eskimos. They had dug the grave early in the evening, out on the great snow-plain, free of the trees; and as the fire they had built lighted up their dark, round faces MacVeigh saw the five little black men who had borne forth Scottie Deane leaning over the shallow hole in the frozen earth. Scottie was already gone. The earth and ice and frozen moss were falling in upon him, and not a sound fell now from the thick lips of his savage mourners. In a few minutes the crude work was done, and like a thin black shadow the natives filed back to their camp. Only one remained, sitting cross-legged at the head of the grave, his long narwhal spear at his back. It was O-gluck-gluck, the Eskimo chief, guarding the dead man from the devils who come to steal body and soul during the first few hours of burial. Billy went deeper into the forest until he found a thin, straight sapling, which he cut down with half a dozen strokes of his belt-ax. From the sapling he stripped the bark, and then he chopped off a third of its length and nailed it crosswise to what remained. After that he sharpened the bottom end and returned to the grave, carrying the cross over his shoulder. Stripped to whiteness, it gleamed in the firelight. The Eskimo watcher stared at it for a moment, his dull eyes burning darker in the night, for he knew that after this two gods, and not one, were to guard the grave. Billy drove the cross deep, and as the blows of his ax fell upon it the Eskimo slunk back until he was swallowed in the gloom. When MacVeigh was done he pulled off his cap. But it was not to pray. "I'm sorry, old man," he said to what was under the cross. "God knows I'm sorry. I wish you was alive. I wish you was going back to her-- with the kid-- instid o' me. But I'll keep that promise. I swear it. I'll do-- what's right-- by her." From the forest he looked back. The Eskimo chief had returned to his somber watch. The cross gleamed a ghostly white against the thick blackness of the Barren. He turned his face away for the last time, and there filled him the oppression of a leaden hand, a thing that was both dread and fear. Scottie Deane was dead-- dead and in his grave, and yet he walked with him now at his side. He could feel the presence, and that presence was like a warning, stirring strange thoughts within him. He turned back to the cabin and entered softly. Pelliter was asleep. Little Isobel was breathing the sweet forgetfulness of childhood. He stooped and kissed her silken curls, and for a long time he stood with one of those soft curls between his fingers. In a few years more, he thought, it would be the darker gold and brown of the woman's hair-- of the woman he loved. Slowly a great peace entered into him. After all, there was more than hope ahead for him. She-- the older Isobel-- knew that he loved her as no other man in the world could love her. He had given proof of that. And now he was going to her. XIV THE SNOW-MAN After his return from the scene of burial Billy undressed, put out the light, and went to bed. He fell asleep quickly, and his slumber was filled with many dreams. They were sweet and joyous at first, and he lived again his first meeting with the woman; he was once more in the presence of her beauty, her purity, her faith and confidence in him. And then more trouble visions came to him. He awoke twice, and each time he sat up, filled with the shuddering dread that had come to him at the graveside. A third time he awakened, and he struck a match to look at his watch. It was four o'clock. He was still exhausted. His limbs ached from the tremendous strain of the fifty-mile race across the Barren, but he could no longer sleep. Something-- he did not attempt to ask himself what it was-- was urging him to action. He got up and dressed. When Pelliter awoke two hours later MacVeigh's pack and sledge were ready for the trip south. While they ate their breakfast the two men finished their plans. When the hour of parting came Billy left his comrade alone with little Isobel and went out to hitch up the dogs. When he returned there was a fresh redness in Pelliter's eyes, and he puffed out thick clouds of smoke from his pipe to hide his face. MacVeigh thought of that parting often in the days that followed. Pelliter stood last in the door, and in his face was a look which MacVeigh wished that he had not seen. In his own heart was the dread and the fear, the thing which he could not name. For hours he could not shake off the gloom that oppressed him. He strode at the head of old Kazan, the leader, striking a course due south by compass. When he fell back for the third time to look at little Isobel he found the child buried deep in her blankets sound asleep. She did not awake until he stopped to make tea at noon. It was four o'clock when he halted again to make camp in the shelter of a clump of tall spruce. Isobel had slept most of the day. She was wide awake now, laughing at him as he dug her out of her nest. "Give me a kiss," he demanded. Isobel complied, putting her two little hands to his face. "You're a-- a little peach," he cried. "There ain't been a whimper out of you all day. And now we're going to have a fire-- a big fire." He set about his work, whistling for the first time since morning. He set up his silk Service tent, cut spruce and balsam boughs until he had them a foot deep inside, and then dragged in wood for half an hour. By that time it was dark and the big fire was softening the snow for thirty feet around. He had taken off Isobel's thick, swaddling coat, and the child's pretty face shone pink in the fireglow. The light danced red and gold in her tangled curls, and as they ate supper, both on the same blanket, Billy saw opposite him more and more of what he knew he would find in the woman. When they had finished he produced a small pocket comb and drew Isobel close up to him. One by one he smoothed the tangles out of her curls, his heart beating joyously as the silken touch of them ran through his fingers. Once he had felt that same soft touch of the woman's hair against his face. It had been an accidental caress, but he had treasured it in his memory. It seemed real again now, and the thrill of it made him place little Isobel alone again on the blanket, while he rose to his feet. He threw fresh fuel on the fire, and then he found that the warmth had softened the snow until it clung to his feet. The discovery gave him an inspiration. A warmth that was not of the fire leaped into his face, and he gathered up the softened snow, raking it into piles with a snow-shoe; and before Isobel's astonished and delighted eyes there grew into shape a snow-man almost as big as himself. He gave it arms and a head, and eyes of charred wood, and when it was done he placed his own cap on the crown of it and his pipe in its mouth. Little Isobel screamed with delight, and together, hand in hand, they danced around and around it, just as he and the other girls and boys had danced years and years ago. And when they stopped there were tears of laughter and joy in the child's eyes and a filmy mist of another sort in Billy's. It was the snow-man that brought back to him years and years of lost hopes. They flooded in upon him until it seemed as though the old life was the life of yesterday and waiting for him now just beyond the edge of the black forest. Long after Isobel was asleep in the tent he sat and looked at the snow-man; and more and more his heart sang with a new joy, until it seemed as though he must rise and cry out in the eagerness and hope that filled him. In the snow-man, slowly melting before the fire, there was a heart and a soul and voice. It was calling to him, urging him as nothing in the world had ever urged him before. He would go back to the old home down in God's country, to the old playmates who were men and women now. They would welcome him-- and they would welcome the woman. For he would take her. For the first time he made himself believe that she would go. And there, hand in hand, they would follow his boyhood footprints over the meadows and through the hills, and he would gather flowers for her in place of the mother that was gone, and he would tell her all the old stories of the days that were passed. It was the snow-man! XV LE MORT ROUGE-- AND ISOBEL Until late that night Billy sat beside his campfire with the snow-man. Strange and new thoughts had come to him, and among these was the wondering one asking himself why he had never built a snow-man before. When he went to bed he dreamed of the snow-man and of little Isobel; and the little girl's laughter and happiness when she saw the curious form the dissolving snow-man had taken in the heat of the fire when she awoke the following morning filled him again with those boyish visions of happiness that he had seen just ahead of him. At other times he would have told himself that he was no longer reasonable. After they had breakfasted and started on the day's journey he laughed and talked with baby Isobel, and a dozen times in the forenoon he picked her up in his arms and carried her behind the dogs. "We're going home," he kept telling her over and over again. "We're going home-- down to mama-- mama-- mama!" He emphasized that; and each time Isobel's pretty mouth formed the word mama after him his heart leaped exultantly. By the end of that day it had become the sweetest word in the world to him. He tried mother, but his little comrade looked at him blankly, and he did not like it himself. "Mama, mama, mama," he said a hundred times that night beside their campfire, and before he tucked her away in her warm blankets he said something to her about "Now I lay me down to sleep." Isobel was too tired and sleepy to comprehend much of that. Even after she was deep in slumber and Billy sat alone smoking his pipe he whispered that sweetest word in the world to himself, and took out the tress of shining hair and gazed at it joyously in the glow of the fire. By the end of the next day little Isobel could say almost the whole of the prayer his own mother had taught him years and years and years ago, so far back that his vision of her was not that of a woman, but of an elusive and wonderful angel; and the fourth day at noon she lisped the whole of it without a word of assistance from him. On the morning of the fifth day Billy struck the Gray Beaver, and little Isobel grew serious at the change in him. He no longer amused her, but urged the dogs along, never for an instant relaxing his vigilant quest for a sign of smoke, a trail, a blazed tree. At his heart there began to burn a suspense that was almost suffocating. In these last hours before he was to see Isobel there came the inevitable reaction within him. Gloom oppressed him where a little while before joyous anticipation had given him hope. The one terrible thought drove out all others now-- he was bringing her news of death, her husband's death. And to Isobel he knew that Deane had meant all that the world held of joy or hope-- Deane and the baby. It was like a shock when he came suddenly upon the cabin, in the edge of a small clearing. For a moment he hesitated. Then he took Isobel in his arms and went to the door. It was slightly ajar, and after knocking upon it with his fist he thrust it open and entered. There was no one in the room in which he found himself, but there was a stove and a fire. At the end of the room was a second door, and it opened slowly. In another moment Isobel stood there. He had never seen her as he saw her now, with the light from a window falling upon her. She was dressed in a loose gown, and her long hair fell in disheveled profusion over her shoulders and bosom. MacVeigh would have cried out her name-- he had told himself a hundred times what he would first say to her-- but what he saw in her face startled him and held him silent while their eyes met. Her cheeks were flushed. Her lips burned an unnatural red. Her eyes were glowing with strange fires. She looked at him first, and her hands clutched at her bosom, crumpling the masses of her lustrous hair. Not until she had looked into his eyes did she recognize what he carried in his arms. When he held the child out to her she sprang forward with the strangest cry he had ever heard. "My baby!" she almost shrieked. "My baby-- my baby--" She staggered back and sank into a chair near a table, with little Isobel clasped to her breast. For a time Billy heard only those words in her dry, sobbing voice as she crushed her burning face down against her child's. He knew that she was sick, that it was fever which had sent the hot flush into her cheeks. He gulped hard, and went near to her. Trembling, he put out a hand and touched her. She looked up. A bit of that old, glorious light leaped into her eyes, the light which he had seen when in gratitude she had given him her lips to kiss. "You?" she whispered. "You-- brought her--" She caught his hand, and the soft smother of her loose hair fell over it. He could feel the quick rise and fall of her bosom. "Yes," he said. There was a demand in her face, her eyes, her parted lips. He went on, her hand clasping his tighter, until he could feel the swift beating of her heart. He had never thought that he could tell the story in as few words as he told it now, with more and more of the glorious light creeping into Isobel's eyes. She stopped breathing when he told her of the fight in the cabin and the death of the man who had stolen little Isobel. A hundred words more brought him to the edge of the forest. He stopped there. But she still questioned him in silence. She drew him down nearer, until he could feel her breath. There was something terrible in the demand of her eyes. He tried to find words to say, but something rose up in his throat and choked him. She saw his effort. "Go on," she said, softly. "And then-- I brought her to you," he said. "You met him?" Her question was so sudden that it startled him, and in an instant he had betrayed himself. Little Isobel slipped to the floor, and Isobel stood up. She came near to him, as she came that marvelous night out on the Barren, and in her eyes there was the same prayer as she put her two hands up to him and looked straight into his face. He thought it would be easier. But it was terrible. She did not move. No sound came from her tight-drawn lips as he told her of the meeting with Deane, and of her husband's illness. She guessed what was coming before he had spoken it. At his words, telling of death, she drew away from him slowly. She did not cry out. Her only evidence that she had heard and understood was the low moan that fell from her lips. She covered her face with her hands and stood for a moment an arm's length away, and in that moment all the force of his great love for her swept upon MacVeigh in an overwhelming flood. He opened his arms, longing to gather her into them and comfort her as he would have comforted a little child. In that love he would willingly have dropped dead at her feet if he could have given back to her the man she had lost. She raised her head in time to see his outstretched arms, she saw the love and the pleading in his face, and into her own eyes there leaped the fire of a tigress. "You-- you--" she cried. "It was you who killed him! He had done no wrong-- save to protect me and avenge me from the insult of a brute! He had done no wrong. But the Law-- your Law-- set you after him, and you hunted him like a beast; you drove him from our home, from me and the baby. You hunted him until he died up there-- alone. You-- you killed him." With a sudden cry she turned and caught up little Isobel and ran toward the other door. And as she disappeared into the room from which she had first appeared Billy heard her moaning those terrible words. "You-- you-- you--" Like a man who had been struck a blow he swayed back to the outer door. Near his dogs and sledge he met Pierre Couchée and his half-French wife coming in from their trap line. He scarcely knew what explanation he gave to the half-breed, who helped him to put up his tent. But when the latter left to follow his wife into the cabin he said: "She ess seek, ver' seek. An' she grow more seek each day until-- mon Dieu!-- my wife, she ess scare!" He cut a few balsam boughs and spread out his blankets, but did not trouble to build a fire. When the half-breed returned to say that supper was waiting he told him that he was not hungry, and that he was going to sleep. He doubled himself up under his blankets, silent and staring, even neglecting to feed the dogs. He was awake when the stars appeared. He was awake when the moon rose. He was still awake when the light went out in Pierre Couchée's cabin. The snow-man was gone from his vision-- home and hope. He had never been hurt as he was hurt now. He was yet awake when the moon passed far over his head, sank behind the wilderness to the west, and blackness came. Toward dawn he fell into an uneasy slumber, and from that sleep he was awakened by Pierre Couchée's voice. When he opened his eyes it was day, and the half-breed stood at the opening of the tent. His face was filled with horror. His voice was almost a scream when he saw that MacVeigh was awake and sitting up. "The great God in heaven!" he cried. "It is the plague, m'sieur-- le mort rouge-- the small pox! She is dying--" MacVeigh was on his feet, gripping him by the arms. He turned and ran toward the cabin, and Billy saw that the half-breed's team was harnessed, and that Pierre's wife was bringing forth blankets and bundles. He did not wait to question them, but hurried into the plague-stricken cabin. From the woman's room came a low moaning, and he rushed in and fell upon his knees at her side. Her face was flushed with the fever, half hidden in the disheveled masses of her hair. She recognized him, and her dark eyes burned madly. "Take-- the baby!" she panted. "My God-- go-- go with her!" Tenderly he put out a hand and stroked back her hair from her face. "You are sick-- sick with the bad fever," he said, gently. "Yes-- yes, it is that. I did not think-- until last night-- what it might be. You-- you love me! Then take her-- take the baby and go-- go-- go!" All his old strength came back to him now. He felt no fear. He smiled down into her face, and the silken touch of her hair set his heart leaping and the love into his eyes. "I will take her out there," he said. "But she is all right-- Isobel." He spoke her name almost pleadingly. "She is all right. She will not take the fever." He picked up the child and carried her out into the larger room. Pierre and his wife were at the door. They were dressed for travel, as he had seen them come in off the trap line the evening before. He dropped Isobel and sprang in front of them. "What do you mean?" he demanded. "You are not going away! You cannot go!" He turned almost fiercely upon the woman. "She will die-- if you do not stay and care for her. You shall not run away!" "It is the plague," said Pierre. "It is death to remain!" "You shall stay!" said MacVeigh, still speaking to Pierre's wife. "You are the one woman-- the only woman-- within a hundred miles. She will die without you. You shall stay if I have to tie you!" With the quickness of a cat Pierre raised the butt of the heavy dog-whip which he held in his hand and it came down with a sickening thud on Billy's head. As he staggered into the middle of the cabin floor, groping blindly for a moment before he fell, he heard a strange, terrified cry, and in the open inner door he saw the white-robed figure of Isobel Deane. Then he sank down into a pit of blackness. It was Isobel's face that he first saw when he came from out of that black pit. He knew that it was her voice calling to him before he had opened his eyes. He felt the touch of her hands, and when he looked up her loose, soft hair swept his breast. His head was bolstered up, and so he could look straight into her face. It frightened him. He knew now what she had been saying to him as he lay there upon the floor. "You must get up! You must go!" he heard her mooning. "You must take my baby away. And you-- you-- must go!" He pulled himself half erect, then rose to his feet, swaying a little. He came to her then, with the look in his face she had first seen out on the Barren when he had told her that he was going with her through the forest. "No, I am not going away," he said, firmly, and yet with that same old gentleness in his voice. "If I go you will die. So I am going to stay." She stared at him, speechless. "You-- you can't," she gasped, at last. "Don't you see-- don't you understand? I'm a woman-- and you can't. You must take her-- my baby-- and go for help." "There is no help," said MacVeigh, quietly. "Within a few hours you will be helpless. I am going to stay and-- and-- I swear to God I will care for you-- as he-- would have done. He made me promise that-- to care for you-- to stick by you--" She looked straight into his eyes. He saw the twitching of her throat, the quiver of her lips. In another moment she would have fallen if he had not put a supporting arm about her. "If-- anything-- happens," she gasped, brokenly, "you will take care-- of her-- my baby--" "Yes-- always." "And if I-- get well--" Her head swayed dizzily and dropped to his breast. "If I get-- well--" "Yes," he urged. "Yes--" "If I--" He saw her struggle and fail. "Yes, I know-- I understand," he cried, quickly, as she grew heavier in his arms. "If you get well I will go. I swear to do that. I will go away. No one will ever know-- no one-- in the whole world. And I will be good to you-- and care for you--" He stopped, brushed back her hair, and looked into her face. Then he carried her into the inner room; and when he came out little Isobel was crying. "You poor little kid," he cried, and caught her up in his arms. "You poor little--" The child smiled at him through her tears, and Billy suddenly sat down on the edge of the table. "You've been a little brick from the beginning, and you're going to keep it up, little one," he said, taking her pretty face between his two big hands. "You've got to be good, for we're going to have a-- a--" He turned away, and finished under his breath. "We're going to have a devil of a time!" XVI THE LAW-- MURDERER OF MEN Seated on the table, little Isobel looked up into Billy's face and laughed, and when the laugh ended in a half wail Billy found that his fingers had tightened on her little shoulder until they hurt. He tousled her hair to bring back her good-humor, and put her on the floor. Then he went back to the partly open door. It was quiet in the darkened room. He listened for a breath or a sob, and could hear neither. A curtain was drawn over the one window, and he could but indistinctly make out the darker shadow where Isobel lay on the bed. His heart beat faster as he softly called Isobel's name. There was no answer. He looked back. Little Isobel had found something on the floor and was amusing herself with it. Again he called the mother, and still there was no answer. He was filled with a sort of horror. He wanted to go over to the dark shadow and assure himself that she was breathing, but a hand seemed to thrust him back. And then, piercing him like a knife, there came again those low, moaning words of accusation: "It was you-- it was you-- it was you--" In that voice, low and moaning as it was, he recognized some of Pelliter's madness. It was the fever. He fell back a step and drew a hand across his forehead. It was damp, clammy with a cold perspiration. He felt a burning pain where he had been struck, and a momentary dizziness made him stagger. Then, with a tremendous effort, he threw himself together and turned to the little girl. As he carried her out through the door into the fresh air Isobel's feverish words still followed him: "It was you-- you-- you-- you!" The cold air did him good, and he hurried toward the tent with baby Isobel. As he deposited her among the blankets and bearskins the hopelessness of his position impressed itself swiftly upon him. The child could not remain in the cabin, and yet she would not be immune from danger in the tent, for he would have to spend a part of his time with her. He shuddered as he thought of what it might mean. For himself he had no fear of the dread disease that had stricken Isobel. He had run the risk of contagion several times before and had remained unscathed, but his soul trembled with fear as he looked into little Isobel's bright blue eyes and tenderly caressed the soft curls about her face, If Couchée and his wife had only taken her! At thought of them he sprang suddenly to his feet. "Looky, little one, you've got to stay here!" he commanded. "Understand? I'm going to pin down the tent-flap, and you mustn't cry. If I don't get that damned half-breed, dead or alive, my name ain't Billy MacVeigh." He fastened the tent-flap so that Isobel could not escape, and left her alone, quiet and wondering. Loneliness was not new to her. Solitude did not frighten her; and, listening with his ear close to the canvas, Billy soon heard her playing with the armful of things he had scattered about her. He hurried to the dogs and harnessed them to the sledge. Couchée and his wife did not have over half an hour the start of him-- three-quarters at the most. He would run the race of his life for an hour or two, overtake them, and bring them back at the point of his revolver. If there had to be a fight he would fight. Where the trail struck into the forest he hesitated, wondering if he would not make better speed by leaving the team and sledge behind. The excited actions of the dogs decided him. They were sniffing at the scent left in the snow by the rival huskies, and were waiting eagerly for the command to pursue. Billy snapped his whip over their heads. "You want a fight, do you, boys?" he cried. "So do I. Get on with you! M'hoosh! M'hoosh!" Billy dropped upon his knees on the sledge as the dogs leaped ahead. They needed no guidance, but followed swiftly in Couchée's trail. Five minutes later they broke into thin timber, and then came out into a narrow plain, dotted with stunted scrub, through which ran the Beaver. Here the snow was soft and drifted, and Billy ran behind, hanging to the tail-rope to keep the sledge from leaving him if the dogs should develop an unexpected spurt. He could see that Couchée was exerting every effort to place distance between himself and the plague-stricken cabin, and it suddenly struck Billy that something besides fear of le mort rouge was adding speed to his heels. It was evident that the half-breed was spurred on by the thought of the blow he had struck in the cabin. Possibly he believed that he was a murderer, and Billy smiled as he observed where Couchée had whipped his dogs at a run through the soft drifts. He brought his own team down to a walk, convinced that the half-breed had lost his head, and that he would bush himself and his dogs within a few miles. He was confident, now that he would overtake them somewhere on the plain. With the elation of this thought there came again the sudden, sickening pain in his head. It was over in an instant, but in that moment the snow had turned black, and he had flung out his arms to keep himself from falling. The babiche rope had slipped from his hand, and when things cleared before his eyes again the sledge was twenty yards ahead of him. He overtook it, and dropped upon it, panting as though he had run a race. He laughed as he recovered himself, and looked over the gray backs of the tugging dogs, but in the same breath the laugh was cut short on his lips. It was as if a knife-blade had run in one lightning thrust from the back of his neck to his brain, and he fell forward on his face with a cry of pain. After all, Couchée's blow had done the work. He realized that, and made an effort to call the dogs to a stop. For five minutes they went on, unheeding the half-dozen weak commands that he called out from the darkness that had fallen thickly about him. When at last he pulled himself up from his face and the snow turned white again, the dogs had halted. They were tangled in their traces and sniffing at the snow. Billy sat up. Darkness and pain left him as swiftly as they had come. He saw Couchée's trail ahead, and then he looked at the dogs. They had swung at right angles to the sledge and had pulled the nose of it deep into a drift. With a sharp cry of command he sent the lash of his whip among them and went to the leader's head. The dogs slunk to their bellies, snarling at him. "What the devil--" he began, and stopped. He stared at the snow. Straight out from Couchée's trail there ran another-- a snow-shoe trail. For a moment he thought that Couchée or his wife had for some reason struck out a distance from their sledge. A second glance assured him that in this supposition he was wrong. Both the half-breed and his wife wore the long, narrow "bush" snow-shoes, and this second trail was made by the big, basket-shaped shoes worn by Indians and trappers on the Barrens. In addition to this, the trail was well beaten. Whoever had traveled it recently had gone over it many times before, and Billy gave utterance to his joy in a low cry. He had struck a trap line. The trapper's cabin could not be far away, and the trapper himself had passed that way not many minutes since. He examined the two trails and found where the blunt, round point of a snow-shoe had covered an imprint left by Couchée, and at this discovery Billy made a megaphone of his mittened hands and gave utterance to the long, wailing holloa of the forest man. It was a cry that would carry a mile. Twice he shouted, and the second time there came a reply. It was not far distant, and he responded with a third and still louder shout. In a flash there came again the terrible pain in his head, and he sank down on the sledge. This time he was roused from his stupor by the barking and snarling of the dogs and the voice of a man. When he lifted his head out of his arms he saw some one close to the dogs. He made an effort to rise, and staggered half to his feet. Then he fell back, and the darkness closed in about him more thickly than before. When he opened his eyes again he was in a cabin. He was conscious of warmth. The first sound that he heard was the crackling of a fire and the closing of a stove door. And then he heard some one say: "S'help me God, if it ain't Billy MacVeigh!" He stared up into the face that was looking down at him. It was a white man's face, covered with a scrubby red beard. The beard was new, but the eyes and the voice he would have recognized anywhere. For two years he had messed with Rookie McTabb down at Norway and Nelson House. McTabb had quit the Service because of a bad leg. "Rookie!" he gasped. He drew himself up, and McTabb's hands grasped his shoulders. "S'help me, if it ain't Billy MacVeigh!" he exclaimed again, amazement in his voice and face. "Joe brought you in five minutes ago, and I ain't had a straight squint at you until now. Billy MacVeigh! Well, I'm--" He stopped to stare at Billy's forehead, where there was a stain of blood. "Hurt?" he demanded, sharply. "Was it that damned half-breed?" Billy was gripping his hands now. Over near the stove, still kneeling before the closed door, he saw the dark face of an Indian turned toward him. "It was Couchée," he said. "He hit me with the butt of his whip, and I've had funny spells ever since. Before I have another I want to tell you what I'm up against, Rookie. My Gawd, it's a funny chance that ran me up against you-- just in time! Listen." He told McTabb briefly of Scottie Deane's death, of Couchée's flight from the cabin, and the present situation there. "There isn't a minute to lose," he finished, tightening his hold on McTabb's hand. "There's the kid and the mother, and I've got to get back to them, Rookie. The rest is up to you. We've got to get a woman. If we don't-- soon--" He rose to his feet and stood there looking at McTabb. The other nodded. "I understand," he said. "You're in a bad fix, Billy. It's two hundred miles to the nearest white woman, away over near Du Brochet. You couldn't get an Indian to go within half a mile of a cabin that's struck by the plague, and I doubt if this white woman would come. The only game I can see is to send to Fort Churchill or Nelson House and have the force send up a nurse. It will take two weeks." Billy gave a gesture of despair. Indian Joe had listened attentively, and now rose quietly from his position in front of the stove. "There's Indian camp over on Arrow Lake," he said, facing Billy. "I know squaw there who not afraid of plague." "Sure as fate!" cried McTabb, exultantly. "Joe's mother is over there, and if there is anything on earth she won't do for Joe I can't guess what it is. Early this winter she came a hundred and fifty miles-- alone-- to pay him a visit. She'll come. Go after her, Joe. I'll go Billy MacVeigh's bond to get the Service to pay her five dollars a day from the hour she starts!" He turned to Billy. "How's your head?" he asked. "Better. It was the run that fixed me, I guess." "Then we'll go over to Couchée's cabin and I'll bring back the kid." They left Joe preparing for his three-day trip into the south and east, and outside the cabin McTabb insisted on Billy riding behind the dogs. They struck back for Couchée's trail, and when they came to it McTabb laughed. "I'll bet they're running like rabbits," he said. "What in thunder did you expect to do if you caught 'em, Billy? Drag the woman back by the hair of 'er 'ead? I'm glad you tumbled where you did. You've got to beat a lynx to beat Couchée. He'd have perforated you from behind a snow-drift sure as your name's Billy MacVeigh." Billy felt that an immense load had been lifted from him, and he was partly inclined to tell his companion more about Isobel and himself. This, however, he did not do. As McTabb strode ahead and urged on the dogs he figured on the chances of Joe and his mother returning within a week. During that time he would be alone with Isobel, and in spite of the horrible fear that never for a moment left his heart it was impossible for him not to feel a thrill of pleasure at the thought. Those would be days of agony for himself as well as for her, and yet he would be near, always near, the woman he loved. And little Isobel would be safe in Rookie's cabin. If anything happened-- His hands gripped the edges of the sledge at the thought that leaped into his brain. It was Pelliter's thought. If anything happened to Isobel the little girl would be his own, forever and forever. He thrust the thought from him as if it were the plague itself. Isobel would live. He would make her live, If she died-- McTabb heard the low cry that broke from his lips. He could not keep it back. Good God, if she went, how empty the world would be! He might never see her again after these days of terror that were ahead of him; but if she lived, and he knew that the sun was shining in her bright hair, and that her blue eyes still looked up at the stars, and that in her sweet prayers she sometimes thought of him-- along with Deane-- life could not be quite so lonely for him. McTabb had dropped back to his side. "Head hurt?" he asked. "A little," lied Billy. "There's a level stretch ahead, Rookie. Hustle up the dogs!" Half an hour later the sledge drew up in front of Couchée's cabin. Billy pointed to the tent. "The little one is in there," he said. "Go over an' get acquainted, Rookie. I'm going to take a look inside to see if everything is all right." He entered the cabin quietly and closed the door softly behind him. The inner door was as he had left it, partly open, and he looked in, with a wildly beating heart. He could no longer hesitate. He stepped in and spoke her name. "Isobel!" There was a movement on the bed, and he was startled by the suddenness with which Isobel sprang to her feet. She drew aside the heavy curtain from the window and stood in the light. For a moment Billy saw her blue eyes filled with a strange fire as she stared at him. There was a wild flush in her cheeks, and he could hear her dry breath as it came from between her parted lips. Her hair was still undone and covered her in a shimmering veil. "I've found a trapper's cabin, Isobel, and we're taking the baby there," he went on. "She will be safe. And we're sending for help-- for a woman--" He stopped, horror striking him dumb. He saw more plainly the feverish madness in Isobel's eyes. She dropped the curtain, and they were in gloom. The whispered words he heard were more terrible than the madness in her eyes. "You won't kill her?" she pleaded. "You won't kill my baby? You won't kill her--" She staggered, back toward the bed, whispering the words over and over again. Not until she had dropped upon it did Billy move. The blood in his body seemed to have turned cold. Be dropped upon his knees at her side. His hand buried itself in the soft smother of her hair, but he no longer felt the touch of it. He tried to speak, but words would not come. And then, suddenly, she thrust him back, and he could see the glow of her eyes in the half darkness. For a moment she seemed to have fought herself out of her delirium. "It was you-- you-- who helped to kill him!" she panted. "It was the Law-- and you are the Law. It kills-- kills-- kills-- and it never gives back when it makes a mistake. He was innocent, but you and the Law hounded him until he died. You are the murderers. You killed him. You have killed me. And you will never be punished-- never-- never-- because you are the Law-- and because the Law can kill-- kill-- kill--" She dropped back, moaning, and MacVeigh crouched at her side, his fingers buried in her hair, with no words to say. In a moment she breathed easier. He felt her tense body relax. He forced himself to his feet and dragged himself into the outer room, closing the door after him. Even in her delirium Isobel had spoken the truth. Forever she had digged for him a black abyss between them. The Law had killed Scottie Deane. And he was the Law. And for the Law there was no punishment, even though it took the life of an innocent man. He went outside. McTabb was in the tent. The gloom of evening was closing in on a desolate world. Overhead the sky was thick, and suddenly, with a great cry, Billy flung his arms straight up over his head and cursed that Law which could not be punished, the Law that had killed Scottie Deane. For he was that Law, and Isobel had called him a murderer. XVII ISOBEL FACES THE ABYSS It was not the face of MacVeigh-- the old MacVeigh-- that Rookie McTabb, the ex-constable, looked into a few moments later. Days of sickness could have laid no heavier hand upon him than had those few minutes in the darkened room of the cabin. His face was white and drawn. There were tense lines at the corners of his mouth and something strange and disquieting in his eyes. McTabb did not see the change until he came out into what remained of the day with little Isobel in his arms. Then he stared. "That blow got you bad," he said. "You look sick. Mebbe I'd better stay with you here to-night." "No, you hadn't," replied Billy, trying to throw off what he knew the other saw. "Take the kid over to the cabin. A night's sleep and I'll be as lively as a cat. I'm going to vaccinate her before you go." He went into the tent and dug out from his pack the small rubber pouch in which he carried a few medicines and a roll of medicated cotton. In a small bottle there were three vaccine points. He returned with these and the cotton. "Watch her close," he said, as he rolled back the child's sleeve. "I'm going to give you an extra point, and if this doesn't work by the seventh or eighth day you must do the job over again." With the point of his knife he began to work gently on baby Isobel's tender pink skin. He had expected that she would cry. But she was not frightened, and her big blue eyes followed his movements wonderingly. At last it began to hurt, and her lips quivered. But she made no sound, and as tears welled into her eyes Billy dropped his knife and caught her up close to his breast. "God bless your dear little heart," he cried, smothering his face in her silken curls. "You've been hurt so much, an' you've froze, an' you've starved, an' you ain't never said a word about it since that day up at Fullerton! Little sweetheart--" McTabb heard him whispering things, and little Isobel's arms crept tightly about his neck. After a little Billy held her out to him again, and a part of what Rookie had seen in his face was gone. "It won't hurt any more," he said, as he rubbed the vaccine point over the red spot on her arm. "You don't want to be sick, do you? And that 'll keep you from being sick. There--" He wound a strip of the cotton about her arm, tied it, and gave part of what remained to McTabb. Then he took her in his arms again and kissed her warm face and her soft curls, and after that bundled her in furs and put her on the sledge. Rookie was straightening out the dogs when, like a thief, he clipped off one of the curls with his knife. Isobel laughed gleefully when she saw the curl between his fingers. Before McTabb had turned it was in his pocket. "I won't see her again-- soon," MacVeigh said; and he tried to keep a thickness out of his voice. "That is, I-- I won't see her to-- to handle her. I'll come over now and then an' look at her from the edge of the woods. You bring 'er out, Rookie, an' don't you dare to let her know I'm out there. She wouldn't know what it meant if I didn't come to her." He watched them as they disappeared into the gloom of night, and when they had gone a groan of anguish broke from his lips. For he knew that little Isobel was going from him forever. He would see her again-- from the edge of the forest; but he would never hold her in his arms, nor feel again her tender arms about his neck or the soft smother of her hair against his face. Long before the dread menace of the plague was lifted from the cabin and from himself he would be gone. For that was what Isobel, the mother, had demanded, and he would keep his promise to her. She would never know what happened in these days of her delirium. She would not have to face him afterward. He knew already how he would go. When help came he would slip away quietly some night, and the big wilderness would swallow him up. His plans seemed to come without thought on his own part. He would go to Fort Churchill and testify against Bucky Smith. And then he would quit the Service. His term of enlistment expired in a month, and he would not re-enlist. "It was the Law that killed him-- and you are the Law. It kills-- kills-- kills-- and it never gives back when it makes a mistake." Under the dark sky those words seemed never to end in his ears, and each moment they added to his hatred of the thing of which he had been a part for years. He seemed to hear Isobel's accusing voice in the low soughing of the night wind in the spruce tops; and in the stillness of the world that hung heavy and close about him the words chased each other through his brain until they seemed to leave behind them a path of fire. "It kills-- kills-- kills-- and it never gives back when it makes a mistake." His lips were set tensely as he faced the cabin. He remembered now more than one instance where the Law had killed and had never given back. That was a part of the game of man-hunting. But he had never thought of it in Isobel's way until she had painted for him in those few half-mad, accusing words a picture of himself. The fact that he had fought for Scottie Deane and had given him his freedom did not exonerate himself in his own eyes now. It was because of himself and Pelliter chiefly that Deane and Isobel had been forced to seek refuge among the Eskimos. From Fullerton they had watched and hunted for him as they would have hunted for an animal. He saw himself as Isobel must see him now-- the murderer of her husband. He was glad, as he returned to the cabin, that he had happened to come in the second or third day of her fever. He dreaded her sanity now more than her delirium, He lighted a tin lamp in the cabin and listened for a moment at the inner door. Isobel was quiet. For the first time he made a more careful note of the cabin. Couchée and his wife had left plenty of food. He had noticed a frozen haunch of venison hanging outside the cabin, and he went out and chopped off several pieces of the meat. He did not feel hungry enough to prepare food for himself, but put the meat in a pot and placed it on the stove, that he might have broth for Isobel. He began to find signs of her presence in the room as he moved about. Hanging on a wooden peg in the log wall he saw a scarf which he knew belonged to her. Under the scarf there was a pair of her shoes, and then he noticed that the crude cabin table was covered with a litter of stuff which he had not observed before. There were needles and thread, some cloth, a pair of gloves, and a red bow of ribbon which Isobel had worn at her throat. What held his eyes were two bundles of old letters tied with blue ribbon, and a third pile, undone and scattered. In the light of the lamp he saw that all of the writing on the envelopes was in the same hand. The top envelope on the first pile was addressed to "Mrs. Isobel Deane, Prince Albert, Saskatchewan"; the first envelope of the other bundle to "Miss Isobel Rowland, Montreal, Canada." Billy's heart choked him as he gathered the loose letters in his hands and placed them, with the others, on a little shelf above the table. He knew that they were letters from Deane, and that in her fever and loneliness Isobel had been reading them when he brought to her news of her husband's death. He was about to remove the other articles from the table where a folded newspaper clipping was uncovered by the removal of the cloth. It was a half page from a Montreal daily, and out of it there looked straight up at him the face of Isobel Deane. It was a younger, more girlish-looking face, but to him it was not half so beautiful as the face of the Isobel who had come to him from out of the Barren. His fingers trembled and his breath came more quickly as he held the paper in the light and read the few lines under the picture: ISOBEL ROWLAND, ONE OF THE LAST OF MONTREAL'S DAUGHTERS OF THE NORTH, WHO HAS SACRIFICED A FORTUNE FOR LOVE OF A YOUNG ENGINEER In spite of the feeling of shame that crept over him at thus allowing himself to be drawn into a past sacred to Isobel and the man who had died, Billy's eyes sought the date-line. The paper was eight years old. And then he read what followed. In those few minutes, as the cold, black type revealed to him the story of Isobel and Deane, he forgot that he was in the cabin, and that he could almost hear the breathing of the woman whose sweet romance had ended now in tragedy. He was with Deane that day, years ago, when he had first looked into Isobel's eyes in the little old cemetery of nameless and savage dead at Ste. Anne de Beaupré; he heard the tolling of the ancient bell in the church that had stood on the hillside for more than two hundred and fifty years; and he could hear Deane's voice as he told Isobel the story of that bell and how, in the days of old, it had often called the settlers in to fight against the Indians. And then, as he read on, he could feel the sudden thrill in Deane's blood when Isobel had told him who she was, and that Pierre Radisson, one of the great lords of the north, had been her great-grandfather; that he had brought offerings to the little old church, and that he had fought there and died close by, and that his body was somewhere among the nameless and unmarked dead. It was a beautiful story, and MacVeigh saw more of it between the lines than could ever have been printed. Once he had gone to Ste. Anne de Beaupré to see the pilgrims and the miracles there, and there flashed before him the sunlit slope overlooking the broad St. Lawrence, where Isobel and Deane had afterward met, and where she had told him how large a part the little old cracked bell, the ancient church, and the plot of nameless dead had played in her life ever since she could remember. His blood grew hot as he read of what followed the beginning of love at the pilgrims' shrine. Isobel had no father or mother, the paper said. Her uncle and guardian was an iron master of the old blood-- the blood that had been a part of the wilderness and the great company since the day the first "gentlemen adventurers" came over with Prince Rupert. He lived alone with Isobel in a big white house on the top of a hill, shut in by stone walls and iron pickets, and looked out upon the world with the cold hauteur of a feudal lord. He was young David Deane's enemy from the moment he first heard about him, largely because he was nothing more than a struggling mining engineer, but chiefly because he was an American and had come from across the border. The stone walls and iron pickets were made a barrier to him. The heavy gates never opened for him. Then had come the break. Isobel, loyal in her love, had gone to Deane. The story ended there. For a few moments Billy stood with the paper in his hand, the type a blur before his eyes. He could almost see Isobel's old home in Montreal. It was on the steep, shaded road leading up to Mount Royal, where he had once watched a string of horses "tacking" with their two-wheeled carts of coal in their arduous journey to Sir George Allen's basement at the end of it. He remembered how that street had held a curious sort of fascination for him, with its massive stone walls, its old French homes, and that old atmosphere still clinging to it of the Montreal of a hundred years ago. Twelve years before he had gone there first and carved his name on the wooden stairway leading to the top of the mountain. Isobel had been there then. Perhaps it was she he had heard singing behind one of the walls. He put the paper with the letters, making a note of the uncle's name. If anything happened it would be his duty to send word to him-- perhaps. And then, deliberately, he tore into little pieces the slip of paper on which he had written the name. Geoffrey Renaud had cast off his niece. And if she died why should he-- Billy MacVeigh-- tell him anything about little Isobel? Since Isobel's terrible castigation of himself and the Law duty had begun to hold a diferent meaning for him. Several times during the next hour Billy listened at the door. Then he made some tea and toast and took the broth from the stove. He went into the room, leaving these on the hearth of the stove so that they would not grow cold. He heard Isobel move, and as he went to her side she gave a little breathless cry. "David-- David-- is it you?" she moaned. "Oh, David, I'm so glad you have come!" Billy stood over her. In the darkness his face was ashen gray, for like a flash of fire in the lightless room the truth rushed upon him. Shock and fever had done their work. And in her delirium Isobel believed that he was Deane, her husband. In the gloom he saw that she was reaching up her arms to him. "David!" she whispered; and in her voice there were a love and gladness that thrilled and terrified him to the quick of his soul. XVIII THE FULFILMENT OF A PROMISE In the space of silence that followed Isobel's whispered words there came to Billy a realization of the crisis which he faced. The thought of surrendering himself to his first impulse, and of taking Deane's place in these hours of Isobel's fever, filled him instantly with a revulsion that sent him back a step from the bed, his hands clenched until his nails hurt his calloused palms. "No, no, I am not David," he began, but the words died in his throat. To tell her that, to make her know the truth-- that her husband was dead-- might kill her now. Hope, belief that he was alive and with her, would help to make her live. So quickly that he could not have spoken his thoughts in words these things flashed upon him. If Deane were alive and at her side his presence would save her. And if she believed that he was Deane he would save her. In the end she would never know. He remembered how Pelliter had forgotten things that had happened in his delirium. To Isobel, when she awakened into sanity, it would only seem like a dream at most. A few words from him then would convince her of that. If necessary, he would tell her that she had talked much about David in her fever and had imagined him with her. She would have no suspicion that he had played that part. Isobel had waited a moment, but now she whispered again, as if a little frightened at his silence. "David-- David--" He stepped back quickly to the bed and his hands met those reaching up to him. They were hot and dry, and Isobel's fingers tightened about his own almost fiercely, and drew his hands down on her breast. She gave a sigh, as though she would rest easier now that his hands were touching her. "I have been making some broth for you," he said, scarcely daring to speak. "Will you take some of it, Isobel? You must-- and sleep." He felt the pressure of Isobel's hands, and she spoke to him so calmly that for a breath he thought that she must surely be herself again. "I don't like the dark, David," she said. "I can't see you. And I want to do up my hair. Will you bring in a light?" "Not until you are better," he whispered. "A light will hurt your eyes. I will stay with you-- near you--" She raised a hand in the darkness, and it stroked his face. In that touch were all the love and gentleness that had lived for the man who was dead, and the caress thrilled Billy until it seemed as though what was in his heart must burst forth in a sobbing breath. Suddenly her hand left his face, and he heard her moving restlessly. "My hair-- David--" He put out a hand, and it fell in the soft smother of her hair. It was tangled about her face and neck, and he lifted her gently while he drew out the thick masses of it. He did not dare to speak while he smoothed out the rich tresses and pleated them into a braid. Isobel sighed restfully when he had done. "I am going to get the broth now," he said then. He went into the outer room where the lamp was lighted. Not until he took up the cup of broth did he notice how his hand trembled. A bit of the broth spilled on the floor, and he dropped a piece of the toast. He, too, was passing through the crucible with Isobel Deane. He went back and lifted her so that her head rested against his shoulder and the warmth of her hair lay against his cheek and neck. Obediently she ate the half-dozen bits of toast he moistened in the broth, and then drank a few sips of the liquid. She would have rested there after that, with her face turned against his, and Billy knew that she would have slept. But he lowered her gently to the pillow. "You must go to sleep now," he urged, softly. "Good night--" "David!" "Yes--" "You-- you-- haven't-- kissed-- me--" There was a childish plaint in her voice, and with a sob in his own breath he bent over her. For an instant her arms clung about his neck. He felt the sweet, thrilling touch of her warm lips, and then he drew himself back; and, with her "Good night, David" following him to the door, he went into the outer room, and with a strange, broken cry flung himself on the cot in which Couchée had slept. It was an hour before he raised his face from the blankets. Yet he had not slept. In that hour, and in the half-hour that had preceded it in Isobel's room, there had come lines into his face which made him look older. Once Isobel had kissed him, and he had treasured that kiss as the sweetest thing that had come to him in all his life. And to-night she had given him more than that, for there had been love, and not gratitude alone, in the warmth of her lips, in the caress of her hands and arms, and in the pressure of her feverish face against his own. But they brought him none of the pleasure of that which she had given to him on the Barren. Grief-stricken, he rose and faced the door. In spite of the fact that he knew there was no alternative for him, he regarded himself as worse than a thief. He was taking an advantage of her which filled him with a repugnance for himself, and he prayed for the hour when sanity would return to her, though it brought back the heartbreak and despair that were now lost in the oblivion of her fever. Always in the northland there is somewhere the dread trail of le mort rouge, the "red death," and he was well acquainted with the course it would have to run. He believed that the fever had stricken Isobel the third or fourth day before, and there would follow three or four days more in which she would not be herself. Then would come the reaction. She would awaken to the truth then that her husband was dead, and that he had been with her alone all that time. He listened for a moment at the door. Isobel was resting quietly, and he went out of the cabin without making a sound. The night had grown blacker and gloomier. There was not a rift in the sullen darkness of the sky over him. A wind had risen from out of the north and east, just enough of a wind to set the tree-tops moaning and fill the closed-in world about him with uneasy sound. He walked toward the tent where little Isobel had been, and there was something in the air that choked him. He wished that he had not sent all of the dogs with McTabb. A terrible loneliness oppressed him. It was like a clammy hand smothering his heart in its grip, and it made him sick. He turned and looked at the light in the cabin. Isobel was there, and he had thought that where she was he could never be lonely. But he knew now that there lay between them a gulf which an eternity could not bridge. He shuddered, for with the night wind it seemed to him that there came again the presence of Scottie Deane. He gripped his hands and stared out into a pit of blackness. It was as if he had heard the Wild Horsemen passing that way, panting and galloping through the spruce tops on their mission of gathering the souls of the dead. Deane was with him, as his spirit had been with him on that night he had returned to Pelliter after putting the cross over Scottie's grave. And in a moment or two the feeling of that presence seemed to lift the smothering weight from his heart. He knew that Deane could understand, and the presence comforted him. He went to the tent and looked in, though there was nothing to see. And then he turned back to the cabin. Thought of the grave with its sapling cross brought home to him his duty to the woman. From the rubber pouch he brought forth his pad of paper and a pencil. For more than an hour after that he worked. steadily in the dull glow of the lamp. He knew that Isobel would return to Deane. It might be soon-- or a long time from now. But she would go. And step by step he mapped out for her the trail that led to the little cabin on the edge of the Barren. And after that he wrote in his big, rough hand what was overflowing from his heart. "May God take care of you always. I would give my life to give you back his. I won't let his grave be lost. I will go back some day and plant blue flowers over it. I guess you will never know what I would do to give him back to you and make you happy." He knew that he had not promised what he would fail to do. He would return to the lonely grave on the edge of the Barren. There was something that called him to it now, something that he could not understand, and which came of his own desolation. He folded the pages of paper, wrapped them in a clean sheet, and wrote Isobel Deans's name on the outside. Then he placed the packet with the letters on the shelf over the table. He knew that she would find it with them. What happened during the terrible week that followed that night no one but MacVeigh would ever know. To him they were seven days of a fight whose memory would remain with him until the end of time. Sleepless nights and almost sleepless days. A bitter struggle, almost without rest, with the horrible specter that ever hovered within the inner room. A struggle that drew his cheeks in and put deep lines in his face; a struggle during which Isobel's voice spoke tenderly and pleadingly with him in one hour and bitterly in the next. He felt the caress of her hands. More than once she drew him down to the soft thrill of her feverish lips. And then, in more terrible moments, she accused him of hunting to death the man who lay back under the sapling cross. The three days of torment lengthened into four, and the four into seven, To the bottom of his soul he suffered, for he understood what it all meant for him. On the third and the fifth and the seventh days he went over to McTabb's cabin, and Rookie came out and talked with him at a distance through a birchbark megaphone. On the seventh day there was still no news of Indian Joe and his mother. And on this day Billy played his last part as Deane. He went into her room at noon with broth and toast and a dish of water, and after she had eaten a little he lifted her and made a prop of blankets at her back so that he could brush out and braid her beautiful hair. It was light in the room in spite of the curtain which he kept closely drawn. Outside the sun was shining brightly, and the pale luster of it came through the curtain and lit up the rich tresses he was brushing. When he was done he lowered her gently to her pillow. She was looking at him strangely. And then, with a shock that seemed to turn him cold to the depths of his soul, he saw what was in her eyes. Sanity and reason. He saw swiftly gathering in them the old terror, the old grief-- recognition of his true self! He waited to hear no word, but turned as he had done a hundred times before and left the room. In the outer room he stood for a few silent minutes, gathering strength for the ordeal that was near. The end was at hand-- for him. He choked back his weakness, and after a time returned to the inner door. But now he did not go in as he had entered before. He knocked. It was the first time. And Isobel's voice bade him enter. His heart was filled with a sudden throbbing pain when he saw that she had turned so that she lay with her face turned away from him. He bent over her and said, softly: "You are better. The danger is past." "I am better and-- and-- it is over?" he heard her whisper. "Yes." "The-- the baby?" "Is well-- yes." There was a moment's silence. The room seemed to tremble with it. Then she said, faintly: "You have been alone?" "Yes-- alone-- for seven days." She turned her eyes upon him fully. He could see the glow of them in the faint light. It seemed to him that she was reading him to the depths of his soul, and that in this moment she knew! She knew that he had taken the part of David, and suddenly she turned her face away from him again with a strange, choking sob. He could feel her trembling. She seemed, struggling for breath and strength, and he heard again the words "You-- you-- you--" "Yes, yes-- I know-- I understand," he said, and his heart choked him. "You must be quiet-- now. I promised you that if you got well I would go. And-- I will. No one will ever know. I will go." "And you will never come to me again?" Her voice was terribly quiet and cold. "Never," he said. "I swear that." She had drawn away from him now until he could see nothing of her but the shimmer of her thick braid where it lay in a ray of light. But he could hear her sobbing breath. She scarcely knew when he left the room, he went so quietly. He closed her door after him, and this time he latched it. The outer door was open, and suddenly he heard that for which he had been waiting and listening-- the short, sharp yelping of dogs, and a human voice. In three leaps he was out in the open. Halfway across the narrow clearing Indian Joe had halted with his team. One glance at the sledge showed Billy that Joe's mother had not failed him. A thin, weazened little old woman scrambled from a pile of bearskins as he ran toward them. She had sunken eyes that watched his approach with a ratlike glitter, and her naked hands were so emaciated that they looked like claws; but in spite of her unprepossessing appearance Billy almost hugged her in his delight at their coming. Maballa was her name, Rookie had told him, and she understood and could talk English better than her son. Billy told her of the condition in the cabin, and when he had finished she took a small pack from the sledge, cackled a few words to Indian Joe, and followed him without a moment's hesitation. That she had no fear of the plague added to Billy's feeling of relief. As soon as she had taken off her hood and heavy blanket she went fearlessly into the inner room, and a moment later Billy heard her talking to Isobel. It took him but a few moments to gather up the few things he possessed and put them in his pack. Then he went out and took down his tent. Indian Joe had already gone, and he followed in his trail. An hour later McTabb appeared at the door of his cabin, summoned by Billy's shout. He circled about and came up with the wind, until he stood within fifty paces of MacVeigh. Billy told him what he was going to do. He was going to Churchill, and would leave Isobel and the baby in his care. From Fort Churchill he would send back an escort to take the woman and little Isobel down to civilization. He wanted fresh clothes-- anything he could wear. Those he had on he would be compelled to burn. He suggested that he could get into one of Indian Joe's outfits, if he had any spare garments, and McTabb went back to the cabin, returning a few minutes later with an armful of clothes. "Here's everything you'll need, except an undershirt an' drawers," said McTabb, placing them in a pile on the snow. "I'll wait a little while you're changing. Better burn those quick. The wind might change, and I don't want to be caught in a whiff of it." He moved to a safe distance while Billy secured the clothes and went into the timber. From a birch tree he pulled off a pile of bark, and as he stripped he put his old clothes on it. McTabb could hear the crackling and snapping of the fire when Billy reappeared arrayed in Indian Joe's "second best"-- buckskin trousers, a worn and tattered fur coat, a fisher-skin cap, and moccasins a size too small for him. For fifteen minutes the two men talked, McTabb still drawing the dead-line at fifty paces. Then he went back and brought up Billy's dogs and sledge. "I'd like to shake hands with you, Billy," he apologized, "but I guess it's best not to. I don't suppose-- we'd dare-- bring out the kid?" "No," said Billy. "Good-by, Mac. I'll see you-- sometime-- later. Just go back-- an' bring her to the door, will you? I don't want her to know I'm here, an' I'll take a look at her from the bush. She wouldn't understand, you know, if she knew I was here an' wouldn't come up an' see her." He concealed himself among the spruce as McTabb went into the cabin. A moment later he reappeared. Isobel was in his arms, and Billy gulped back a sob. For an instant she turned her face his way, and he could see that she was pointing in his direction as Rookie talked to her, and then for another instant the sun lit up the child's hair with a golden fire, as he had first seen it on that wonderful day at Fullerton. He wanted to cry out one word to her-- at least one-- but what came was only the sob he had fought to keep back. He turned his face into the forest. And this time he knew that the parting was final. XIX A PILGRIMAGE TO THE BARREN The fourth night after he had left the plague-stricken cabin Billy was camped on Lame Otter Creek, one hundred and eighty miles from Fort Churchill, over on Hudson's Bay. He had eaten his supper, and was smoking his pipe. It was a clear and glorious night, with the sky afire with stars and a full moon. Several times Billy had stared at the moon. It was what the Indians called "the bleeding moon"-- red as blood, with an uneven, dripping edge. It was the Indian superstition that it meant misfortune to those who did not keep it at their backs. For seven consecutive nights it had made a red trail through the skies in that terrible year of plague nineteen years before, when a quarter of the forest population of the north had died. Since then it had been known as the "plague moon." Billy had seen it only twice before. He was not superstitious, but to-night he was filled with a strange sensation of uneasiness. He laughed an unpleasant laugh as he stared into the crackling birch flames and wondered what new misfortune could come to him. And then, slowly, something seemed to come to him from out of the wonderful night like a quieting hand to still the pain in his broken heart. At last, once more, he was home. For the wind-swept Barrens and the forest had been his home, and more than once he had told himself that life away from them would be impossible for him. More deeply than ever this thought came to him to-night. He had become a part of them and they a part of him. And as he looked up again at the red moon the sight of it no longer brought him uneasiness, but a strange sort of joy. For an hour he sat there, and the fire died down. About him the rustle and whisper of the wild closed in nearer. It was his world, and he breathed more deeply and listened. Lonely and sick at heart, he felt the life and sympathy and love of it creeping into him, grieving with him in his grief, warming him with its hope, pledging him again the eternal friendship of its trees, its mountains, and all of the wild that it held therein. A hundred times, in that strange man-play that comes of loneliness in the far north, he had given life and form to the star shadows about him, to the shadows of the tall spruce, the twisted shrub, the rocks, and even the mountains. And now it was no longer play. With each hour that passed this night, and with each day and night that followed, they became more real to MacVeigh; and the fires he built in the black gloom painted him pictures as they had never painted them before; and the trees and the rocks and the twisted shrub comforted him more and more in his loneliness, and gave to him the presence of life in their movement, in the coming and going of their shadow forms. Everywhere they were the same old friends, unvarying and changeless. The spruce shadow of to-night, nodding to him in its silent way, was the same that nodded to him last night-- a hundred nights ago; the stars were the same, the winds whispering to him in the tree-tops were the same, everything was as it was yesterday-- years ago. He knew that in these things, and in these things alone, he would always possess Isobel. She would return to civilization, and the shifting scenes of life down there would soon make her forget him-- almost. But in his world there was no change. Ten years from now he might go over their old trail and still find the charred remains of the campfire he had built for her that night beside the Barren. The wilderness would bear memory of her so long as he was a part of it; and now, as he came nearer to Churchill, he knew that he would always be a part of it. Three weeks after he had left Couchée's cabin he came into Fort Churchill. A month had changed him so that the factor did not recognize him at first. The inspector in charge stared at him twice, and then cried, "My God, is it you, MacVeigh?" To Pelliter alone, who was waiting for him, did Billy tell all that had happened down on the Little Beaver. There were several letters waiting for him at Churchill, and one of these told him that a silver property in which he was interested over at Cobalt had turned out well and that his share in the sale was something over ten thousand dollars. He used this unexpected piece of good-fortune as an excuse to the inspector when he refused to re-enlist. A week after his arrival at Churchill Bucky Smith was dishonorably discharged from the Service. There were several near them when Bucky came up to him with a smile on his face and offered to shake hands. "I don't bear you any ill-will, Billy," he said, loud enough for the others to hear. "Only you've made a big mistake." And then, in words for Billy's ears alone, he added: "Remember what I promised you! I'll kill you for this if I have to hunt you round the world!" A few days later Pelliter left on the last of the slush snows in an effort to reach Nelson House before the sledging was gone. "I wish you'd go with me, Billy," he entreated for the hundredth time. "My girl 'd love to have you come, an' you know how I'd like it." But Billy could not be moved. "I'll come and see you some day-- when you've got the kid," he promised, trying to laugh, as he shook hands for the last time with his old comrade. For three days after Pelliter's departure he remained at the post. On the morning of the fourth, with his pack on his back and without dogs, he struck off into the north and west. "I think I'll spend next winter at Fond du Lac," he told the inspector. "If there's any mail for me you can send it there if you have a chance, and if I'm not at Fond du Lac it can be returned to Churchill." He said Fond du Lac because Deane's grave lay between Churchill and the old Hudson's Bay Company's post over in the country of the Athabasca. The Barrens were the one thing that called to him now-- the one thing to which he dared respond. He would keep his promise to Isobel and visit Scottie's grave. At least he tried to make himself believe that he was keeping a promise. But deep in him there was an undercurrent of feeling which he could not explain. It was as if there were a spirit with him at times, walking at his side, and hovering about his campfire at nights, and when he gave himself up to the right mood he felt that it was the presence of Deane. He believed in strong friendship, but he had never believed in the love of man for man. He had not thought that such a thing could exist, except, perhaps, between father and son. With him, in all the castles he had built and the dreams he had dreamed, the alpha and omega of love had remained with woman. For the first time he knew what it meant to love a man-- the memory of a man. Something held him from telling the secret of his mission at Churchill even to Pelliter. The evening before he left he had smuggled an ax into the edge of the forest, and the second day he found use for this. He came to a straight-grained, thick birch, eighteen inches in diameter, and he put up his tent fifty paces from it. Before he rolled himself in his blankets that night he had cut down the tree. The next day he chopped off the butt, and before another nightfall had hewn out a slab two inches thick, a foot wide, and three feet long. When he took up the trail into the north and west again the following morning he left the ax behind. The fourth night he worked with his hunting-knife and his belt-ax, thinning down the slab and making it smooth. The fifth and the sixth nights he passed in the same way, and he ended the sixth night by heating the end of a small iron rod in the fire and burning the first three letters of Deane's epitaph on the slab. For a time he was puzzled, wondering whether he should use the name Scottie or David. He decided on David. He did not travel fast, for to him spring was the most beautiful of all seasons in the wilderness. It was underfoot and overhead now. The snow-floods were singing between the ridges and gathering in the hollows. The poplar buds were swollen almost to the bursting point, and the bakneesh vines were as red as blood with the glow of new life. Seventeen days after he left Churchill he came to the edge of the big Barren. For two days he swung westward, and early in the forenoon of the third looked out over the gray waste, dotted with moving caribou, over which he and Pelliter had raced ahead of the Eskimos with little Isobel. He went to the cabin first and entered. It was evident that no one had been there since he had left, On the bunk where Deane had died he found one of baby Isobel's little mittens. He had wondered where she had lost it, and had made her a new one of lynx-skin on the way down to Couchée's cabin. The tiny bed that he had made for her on the floor was as she had last slept in it, and in the part of a blanket that he had used as a pillow was still the imprint of her head. On the wall hung a pair of old trousers that Deane had worn. Billy looked at these things, standing silently, with his pack at his feet. There was something in the cabin that closed in about him and choked him, and he struggled to overcome it by whistling. His lips seemed thick. At last he turned and went to the grave. The foxes had been there, and had dug a little about the sapling cross. There was no other change. During the remainder of the forenoon Billy cut down a heavier sapling and sunk the butt of it three feet into the half-frozen earth at the head of Deane's grave. Then, with spikes he had brought with him, he nailed on the slab. He believed that no one would ever know what the words on that slab meant-- no one except himself and the spirit of Scottie Deane. With the end of the heated rod he had burned into the wood: DAVID DEANE Died Feb. 27, 1908 BELOVED OF ISOBEL AND THE ONE WHO WISHES HE COULD TAKE YOUR PLACE AND GIVE YOU BACK TO HER W. M. April 15, 1908 He did not stop when it was time for dinner, but carried rocks from a ridge a couple of hundred yards away, and built a cairn four feet high around the sapling, so that storm or wild animals could not knock it down. Then he began a search in the warmest and sunniest parts of the forest, where the green tips of plant life were beginning to reveal themselves. He found snowflowers, redglow, and bakneesh, and dug up root after root, and at last, peeping out from between two rocks, he found the arrowlike tip of a blue flower. The bakneesh roots he planted about the cairn, and the blue flower he planted by itself at the head of the grave. It was long past midday when he returned to the cabin, and once more he was oppressed by the appalling loneliness of it. It was not as he had thought it would be. Deane's spirit and companionship had seemed to be nearer to him beside his campfires and in the forest. He cooked a meal over the stove, but the snapping of the fire seemed strange and unnatural in the deserted room. Even the air he breathed was heavy with the oppression of death and broken hopes. He found it difficult to swallow the food he had cooked, though he had eaten nothing since morning. When he was done he looked at his watch. It was four o'clock. The northern sun had dropped behind the distant forests and was followed now by the thickening gloom of early evening. For a few moments Billy stood motionless outside the cabin. Behind him an owl hooted its lonely mating-song. Over his head a brush sparrow twittered. It was that hour, just between the end of day and the beginning of night, when the wilderness holds its breath and all is still. Billy clenched his hands and listened. He could not keep back the break that was in his breath. Something out there in the silence and the gathering darkness was calling him-- calling him away from the cabin, away from the grave, and the gray, dead waste of the Barren. He turned back into the cabin and put his things into the pack. He took the little mitten to keep with his other treasures, and then he went out and closed the door behind him. He passed close to the grave and for the last time gazed upon the spot where Deane lay buried. "Good-by, old man," he whispered. Goodby--" The owl hooted louder as he turned his face into the west. It made him shiver, and he hurried his steps into the unbroken wilderness that lay for hundreds of miles between him and the post at Fond du Lac. XX THE LETTER Days and weeks and months of a loneliness which Billy had never known before followed after his pilgrimage to Deane's grave. It was more than loneliness. He had known loneliness, the heartbreak and the longing of it, in the black and silent chaos of the arctic night; he had almost gone mad of it, and he had seen Pelliter nearly die for a glimpse of the sun and the sound of a voice. But this was different. It was something that ate deeper at his soul each day and each night that he lived. He had believed that thought of Isobel and his memories of her would make him happier, even though he never saw her again. But in this he was mistaken. The wilderness does not lend to forgetfulness, and each day her voice seemed nearer and more real to him, and she became more and more insistently a part of his thoughts. Never an hour of the day passed that he did not ask himself where she was. He hoped that she and the baby Isobel had returned to the old home in Montreal, where they would surely find friends and be cared for. And yet the dread was upon him that she had remained in the wilderness, that her love for Deane would keep her there, and that she would find a woman's work at some post between the Height of Land and the Barrens. At times there possessed him an overwhelming desire to return to McTabb's cabin and find where they had gone. But he fought against this desire as a man fights against death. He knew that once he surrendered himself to the temptation to be near her again he would lose much that he had won in his struggle during the days of plague in Couchée's cabin. So his feet carried him steadily westward, while the invisible hands tugged at him from behind. He did not go straight to Fond du Lac, but spent nearly three weeks with a trapper whom he ran across on the Pipestone River. It was June when he struck Fond du Lac, and he remained there a month. He had more than half expected to pass the winter there, but the factor at the post proved a disagreeable acquaintance, and he did not like the country. So early in July he set out deeper into the Athabasca country to the west, followed the northern shore of the big lake, and two months later came to Fort Chippewyan, near the mouth of the Slave River. He struck Chippewyan at a fortunate time. A government geological and map-making party was just preparing to leave for the terra incognita between the Great Slave and the Great Bear, and the three men who had come up from Ottawa urged Billy to join them. He jumped at the opportunity, and remained with them until the party returned to the Mackenzie River by the way of Fort Providence five months later. He remained at Fort Providence until late spring, and then came down to Fort Wrigley, where he had several friends in the service. Fifteen months of wandering had had their effect upon him. He could no longer resist the call of the wanderlust. It urged him from place to place, and stronger and stronger grew in him the desire to return to his old country along the shores of the big Bay far to the west. He had partly planned to join the railroad builders on the new trans-continental in the mountains of British Columbia, but in August, instead of finding himself at Edmonton or Tête Jaune Cache, he was at Prince Albert, three hundred and fifty miles to the east. From this point he struck northward with a party of company men into the Lac La Ronge country, and in October swung eastward alone through the Sissipuk and Burntwood waterways to Nelson House. He continued northward after a week's rest, and on the eighteenth of December the first of the two great storms which made the winter of 1909-10 one of the most tragic in the history of the far northern people overtook him thirty miles from York Factory. It took him five days to reach the post, where he was held up for several weeks. These were the first of those terrible weeks of famine and intense cold during which more than fifteen hundred people died in the north country. From the Barren Lands to the edge of the southern watershed the earth lay under from four to six feet of snow, and from the middle of December until late in January the temperature did not rise above forty degrees below zero, and remained for the most of the time between fifty and sixty. From all points in the wilderness reports of starvation and death came to the company's posts. Trap lines could not be followed because of the intense cold. Moose, caribou, and even the furred animals had buried themselves under the snow. Indians and half-breeds dragged themselves into the posts. Twice at York Factory Billy saw mothers who brought dead babies in their arms. One day a white trapper came in with his dogs and sledge, and on the sledge, wrapped in a bearskin, was his wife, who had died fifty miles back in the forest. During these terrible weeks Billy found it impossible to keep Isobel and the baby Isobel out of his mind night or day. The fear grew in him that somewhere in the wilderness they were suffering as others were suffering. So obsessed did he become with the thought that he had a terrible dream one night, and in that dream baby Isobel's face appeared to him, a deathlike mask, white and cold and thinned by starvation. The vision decided him. He would go to Fort Churchill, and if McTabb had not been driven in he would go to his cabin, over on the Little Beaver, and learn what had become of Isobel and the little girl. A few days later, on the twenty-seventh day of January, there came a sudden rise in the temperature, and Billy prepared at once to take advantage of the change. A half-breed, on his way to Churchill, accompanied him, and they set out together the following morning. On the twentieth of February they arrived at Fort Churchill. Billy went immediately to detachment headquarters. There had been several changes in two years, and there was only one of the old force to shake hands with him. His first inquiry was about McTabb and Isobel Deane. Neither was at Churchill, nor had been there since the arrival of the new officer in charge. But there was mail for Billy-- three letters. There had been half a dozen others, but they were now following up his old trails somewhere out in the wilderness. These three had been returned recently from Fond du Lac. One was from Pelliter, the fourth he had written, he said, without an answer. The "kid" had come-- a girl-- and he wondered if Billy was dead. The second letter was from his Cobalt partner. The third he turned over several times before he opened it. It did not look much like a letter. It was torn and ragged at the edges, and was so soiled and water-stained that the address on it was only partly legible. It had been to Fond du Lac, and from there it had followed him to Fort Chippewyan. He opened it and found that the writing inside was scarcely more legible than the inscription on the envelope. The last words were quite plain, and he gave a low cry when he found that it was from Rookie McTabb. He went close to a window and tried to make out what McTabb had written. Here and there, where water had not obliterated the writing, he could make out a line or a few words. Nearly all was gone but the last paragraph, and when Billy came to this and read the first words of it his heart seemed all at once to die within him, and he could not see. Word by word he made out the rest after that, and when he was done he turned his stony face to the white whirl of the storm outside the window, his lips as dry as though he had passed through a fever. A part of that last paragraph was unintelligible, but enough was left to tell him what had happened in the cabin down on the Little Beaver. McTabb had written: "We thought she was getting well... took sick again.... did everything... could. But it didn't do any good,... died just five weeks to a day after you left. We buried her just behind the cabin. God... that kid... You don't know how I got to love her, Billy.... give her up..." McTabb had written a dozen lines after that, but all of them were a water-stained and unintelligible blur. Billy crushed the letter in his hand. The new inspector wondered what terrible news he had received as he walked out into the blinding chaos of the storm. XXI THE FIGHTING SPARK For ten minutes Billy buried himself blindly in the storm. He scarcely knew which direction he took, but at last he found himself in the shelter of the forest, and he was whispering Isobel's name over and over again to himself. "Dead-- dead--" he moaned. "She is dead-- dead--" And then there rushed upon him, crushing back his deeper grief, a thought of the baby Isobel. She was still with McTabb down on the Little Beaver. In the blur of the storm he read again what he could make out of Rookie's letter. Something in that last paragraph struck him with a deadly fear. "God... that kid... You, don't know how I got to love her, Billy,... give her up..." What did it mean? What had McTabb told him in that part of the letter that was gone? The reaction came as he put the letter back into his pocket. He walked swiftly back to the inspector's office. "I'm going down to the Little Beaver. I'm going to start to-day," he said. "Who is there in Churchill that I can get to go with me?" Two hours later Billy was ready to start, with an Indian as a companion. Dogs could not be had for love or money, and they set out on snowshoes with two weeks' supply of provisions, striking south and west. The remainder of that day and the next they traveled with but little rest. Each hour that passed added to Billy's mad impatience to reach McTabb's cabin. With the morning of the third day began the second of those two terrible storms which swept over the northland in that winter of famine and death. In spite of the Indian's advice to build a permanent camp until the temperature rose again Billy insisted on pushing ahead. The fifth night, in the wild Barren country west of the Etawney, his Indian failed to keep up the fire, and when Billy investigated he found him half dead with a strange sickness. He made the Indian's balsam shelter snow and wind proof, cut wood, and waited. The temperature continued to fall, and the cold became intense. Each day the provisions grew less, and at last the time came when Billy knew that he was standing face to face with the Great Peril. He went farther and farther from camp in his search for game. Even the brush sparrows and snow-hawks were gone. Once the thought came to him that be might take what food was left and accept the little chance that remained of saving himself. But the idea never got farther than a first thought. On the twelfth day the Indian died. It was a terrible day. There was food for another twenty-four hours. Billy packed it, together with his blankets and a few pieces of tinware. He wondered if the Indian had died of a contagious disease. Anyway, he made up his mind to put out the warning for others if they came that way, and over the dead Indian's balsam shelter he planted a sapling, and at the end of the sapling he fastened a strip of red cotton cloth-- the plague signal of the north. Than he struck out through the deep snows and the twisting storm, knowing that there was no more than one chance in a thousand ahead of him, and that the one chance was to keep the wind at his back. At the end of his first day's struggle Billy built himself a camp in a bit of scrub timber which was not much more than bush. He had observed that the timber and that every tree and bush he had passed since noon was stripped and dead on the side that faced the north. He cooked and ate his last food the following day, and went on. The small timber turned to scrub, and the scrub, in time, to vast snow wastes over which the storm swept mercilessly. All this day he looked for game, for a flutter of bird life; he chewed bark, and in the afternoon got a mouthful of foxbite, which made his throat swell until he could scarcely breathe. At night he made tea, but had nothing to eat. His hunger was acute and painful. It was torture the next day-- the third-- for the process of starvation is a rapid one in this country where only the fittest survive on from four to five meals a day. He camped, built a small bush-fire at night, and slept. He almost failed to rouse himself on the morning that followed, and when he staggered to his feet and felt the cutting sting of the storm still in his face and heard the swishing wail of it over the Barren he knew that at last the hour had come when he was standing face to face with the Almighty. For some strange reason he was not frightened at the situation. He found that even over the level spaces he could scarce drag his snow-shoes, but this had ceased to alarm him as he had been alarmed at first. He went on, hour after hour, weaker and weaker. Within himself there was still life which reasoned that if death were to come it could not come in a better way. It at least promised to be painless-- even pleasant. The sharp, stinging pains of hunger, like little electrical knives piercing him, were gone; he no longer experienced a sensation of intense cold; he almost felt that he could lie down in the drifted snow and sleep peacefully. He knew what it would be-- a sleep without end, with the arctic foxes to pick his bones afterward-- and so he resisted the temptation and forced himself onward. The storm still swept straight west from Hudson's Bay, bringing with it endless volleys of snow, round and hard as fine shot, snow that had at first seemed to pierce his flesh and which swished past his feet as if trying to trip him and tossed itself in windrows and mountains in his path. If he could only find timber, shelter! That was what he worked for now. When he had last looked at his watch it was nine o'clock in the morning; now it was late in the afternoon. It might as well have been night. The storm had long since half blinded him. He could not see a dozen paces ahead. But the little life in him still reasoned bravely. It was a heroic spark of life, a fighting spark, and hard to put out. It told him that when he came to shelter he would at least feel it, and that he must fight until the last. The pack on his back held no significance and no weight for him. He might have traveled a mile or ten miles an hour and he would not have sensed the difference. Most men would have buried themselves in the snow and died in comfort, dreaming the pleasant dreams that come as a sort of recompense to the unfortunate who dies of starvation and cold. But the fighting spark commanded Billy to die upon his feet if he died at all. It was this spark which brought him at last to a bit of timber thick enough to give him shelter from wind and snow. It burned a little more warmly then. It flared up and gave him new vision. And then, for the first time, he realized that it must be night. For a light was burning ahead of him, and all else was gloom. His first thought was that it was a campfire miles and miles away. Then it drew nearer, until he knew that it was a light in a cabin window. He dragged himself toward it, and when he came to the door he tried to shout. But no sound fell from his swollen lips. It seemed an hour before he could twist his feet out of his snow-shoes. Then he groped for a latch, pressed against the door, and plunged in. What he saw was like a picture suddenly revealed for an instant by a flashlight. In the cabin there were four men. Two sat at a table directly in front of him. One held a dice box poised in the air, and had turned a rough, bearded face toward him. The other was a younger man, and in this moment it struck Billy as strange that he should be clutching a can of beans between his hands. A third man stared from where he had been looking down upon the dice-play of the other two. As Billy came in he was in the act of lowering a half-filled bottle from his lips. The fourth man sat on the edge of a bunk, with a face so white and thin that he might have been taken for a corpse if it had not been for the dark glare in his sunken eyes. Billy smelled the odor of whisky; he smelled food. He saw no sign of welcome in the faces turned toward him, but he advanced upon them, mumbling incoherently. And then the spark, the fighting spark in him, gave out, and he crumpled down on the floor. He heard a voice which came to him from a great distance, and which said, "Who the hell is this?" and then, after what seemed to be a long time, he heard that same voice say, "Pitch him back into the snow." After that he lost consciousness. But in that last moment between light and darkness he experienced a strange thrill that made him want to spring to his feet, for it seemed to him that he had recognized the voice that had said "Pitch him back into the snow." XXII INTO THE SOUTH A long time before he awoke Billy knew that he was not in the snow, and that hot stuff was running down his throat. When he opened his eyes there was no longer a light burning in the cabin. It was day. He felt strangely comfortable, but there was something in the cabin that stirred him from his rest. It was the odor of frying bacon. All of his hunger had come back. The joy of life, of anticipation, shone in his thin face as he pulled himself up. Another face-- the bearded face-- red-eyed, almost animal-like in its fierce questioning, bent over him. "Where's your grub, pardner?" The question was like a stab. Billy did not hear his own voice as he explained. "Got none!" The bearded man's voice was like a bellow as he turned upon the others, "He's got no grub!" In that moment Billy choked back the cry on his lips. He knew the voice now-- and the man. It was Bucky Smith! He half rose to his feet and then dropped back. Bucky had not recognized him. His own beard, shaggy hair, and pinched face had saved him from recognition. Fate had played his way. "We'll divvy up, Bucky," came a weak voice. It was from the thin, white-faced man who had sat corpselike on the edge of his bunk the night before. "Divvy hell!" growled the other. "It's up to you-- you 'n' Sweedy. You're to blame!" You're to blame! The words struck upon Billy's ears with a chill of horror. Starvation was in the cabin. He had fallen among animals instead of men. He saw the thin-faced man who had spoken for him sitting again on the edge of his bunk. Mutely he looked to the others to see who was Sweedy. He was the young man who had clutched the can of beans. It was he who was frying bacon over the sheet-iron stove. "We'll divvy, Henry and I," he said. "I told you that last night." He looked over at Billy. "Glad you're better," he greeted. "You see, you've struck us at a bad time. We're on our last legs for grub. Our two Indians went out to hunt a week ago and never came back. They're dead, or gone, and we're as good as dead if the storm doesn't let up pretty soon. You can have some of our grub-- Henry's and mine." It was a cold invitation, lacking warmth or sympathy, and Billy felt that even this man wished that he had died before he reached the cabin. But the man was human; he had at least not cast his voice with the one that had wanted to throw him back into the snow, and he tried to voice his gratitude and at the same time to hide his hunger. He saw that there were three thin slices of bacon in the frying-pan, and it struck him that it would be bad taste to reveal a starvation appetite in the face of such famine. Bucky was looking straight at him as he limped to his feet, and he was sure now that the man he had driven from the Service had not recognized him. He approached Sweedy. "You saved my life," he said, holding out a hand. "Will you shake?" Sweedy shook hands limply. "It's hell," he said, in a low voice. "We'd have had beans this morning if I hadn't shook dice with him last night." He nodded toward Bucky, who was cutting open the top of a can. "He won!" "My God--" began Billy. He didn't finish. Sweedy turned the meat, and added: "He won a square meal off me yesterday-- a quarter of a pound of bacon. Day before that he won Henry's last can of beans. He's got his share under his blanket over there, and swears he'll shoot any one who goes to monkeyin' with his bed-- so you'd better fight shy of it. Thompson-- he isn't up yet-- chose the whisky for his share, so you'd better fight shy of him, too. Henry and I'll divvy up with you." "Thanks," said Billy, the one word choking him. Henry came from his bunk, bent and wabbling. He looked like a dying man, and for the first time Billy noticed that his hair was gray. He was a little man, and his thin hands shook as he held them out over the stove and nodded to Billy. Bucky had opened his can, and approached the stove with a pan of water, coming in beside Billy without noticing him. He brought with him a foul odor of stale tobacco smoke and whisky. After he had put his water over the fire he turned to one of the bunks and with half a dozen coarse epithets roused Thompson, who sat up stupidly, still half drunk. Henry had gone to a small table, and Sweedy followed him with the bacon. Billy did not move. He forgot his hunger. His pulse was beating quickly. Sensations filled him which he had never known or imagined before. Was it possible that these were people of his own kind? Had a madness of some sort driven all human instincts from them? He saw Thompson's red eyes fastened upon him, and he turned his face to escape their questioning, stupid leer. Bucky was turning out the can of beans he had won. Beyond him the door creaked, and Billy heard the wail of the storm. It came to him now as a friendly sort of sound. "Better draw up, pardner," he heard Sweedy say. "Here's your share." One of the thin slices of bacon and a hard biscuit were waiting for him on a tin plate. He ate as ravenously as Henry and Sweedy, and drank a cup of hot tea. In two minutes the meal was over. It was terribly inadequate. The few mouthfuls of food stirred up all his craving, and he found it impossible to keep his eyes from Bucky Smith and his beans. Bucky was the only one who seemed well fed, and his horror increased when Henry bent over him and said, in a low whisper: "He didn't get my beans fair. I had three aces and a pair, of deuces, an' he took it on three fives and two sixes. When I objected he called me a liar an' hit me. Them's my beans, or Sweedy's!" There was something almost like murder in the little man's red eyes. Billy remained silent. He did not care to talk or question. No one asked him who he was or whence he came, and he felt no inclination to know more of the men he had fallen among. Bucky finished, wiped his mouth with his hand, and looked across at Billy. "How about going out with me to get some wood?" he demanded. "I'm ready," replied Billy. For the first time he took notice of himself. He was lame and sickeningly weak, but apparently sound in other ways. The intense cold had not frozen his ears or feet. He put on his heavy moccasins, his thick coat and fur cap, and followed Bucky to the door. He was filled with a strange uneasiness. He was sure that his old enemy had not recognized him, and yet he felt that recognition might come at any moment. If Bucky recognized him-- when they were out alone-- He was not afraid, but he shivered. He was too weak to put up a fight. He did not catch the ugly leer which Bucky turned upon Thompson. But Henry did, and his little eyes grew smaller and blacker. On snow-shoes the two men went out into the storm, Bucky carrying an ax. He led the way through the bit of thin timber, and across a wide open over which the storm swept so fiercely that their trail was covered behind them as they traveled. Billy figured that they had gone a quarter of a mile when they came to the edge of a ravine so steep that it was almost a precipice. For the first time Bucky touched him. He seized him by the arm, and in his voice there was an inhuman, taunting triumph. "Didn't think I knew you, did you, Billy?" he asked. "Well, I did, and I've just been waiting to get you out alone. Remember my promise, Billy? I've changed my mind since then. I ain't going to kill you. It's too risky. It's safer to let you die-- by yourself-- as you're goin' to die to-day or to-night. If you come back to the cabin-- I'll shoot you!" With a movement so quick that Billy had no chance to prepare himself for it Bucky sent him plunging headlong down the side of the ravine. The deep snow saved him in the long fall. For a few moments Billy lay stunned. Then he staggered to his feet and looked up. Bucky was gone. His first thought was to return to the cabin. He could easily find it and confront Bucky there before the others. And yet he did not move. His inclination to go back grew less and less, and after a brief hesitation he made up his mind to continue the struggle for life by himself. After all, his situation would not be much more desperate than that of the men he was leaving behind in the cabin. He buttoned himself up closely, saw that his snow-shoes were securely fastened, and climbed the opposite side of the ridge. The timber thinned out again, and Billy struck out boldly into the low bush. As he went he wondered what would happen in the cabin. He believed that Henry, of the four, would not pull through alive, and that Bucky would come out best. It was not until the following summer that he learned the facts of Henry's madness, and of the terrible manner in which he avenged himself on Bucky Smith by sticking a knife under the latter's ribs. Billy now found himself in a position to measure the amount of energy contained in a slice of bacon and a cold biscuit. It was not much. Long before noon his old weakness was upon him again. He found even greater difficulty in dragging his feet over the snow, and it seemed now as though all ambition had left him, and that even the fighting spark was becoming disheartened. He made up his mind to go on until the beginning of night, then he would stop, build a fire, and go to sleep in its warmth. During the afternoon he passed out of the scrub into a rougher country. His progress was slower, but more comfortable, for at times he found himself protected from the wind. A gloom darker and more somber than that of the storm was falling about him when he came to what appeared to be the end of the Barren country. The earth dropped away from under his feet, and far below him, in a ravine shut out from wind and storm, he saw the black tops of thick spruce. He began to scramble downward. His eyes were no longer fit to judge distance or chance, and he slipped. He slipped a dozen times in the first five minutes, and then there came the time when he did not make a recovery, but plunged down the side of the mountain like a rock. He stopped with a terrific jar, and for the first time during the fall he wanted to cry out with pain. But the voice that he heard did not come from his own lips. It was another voice-- and then two, three, many of them, it seemed to him. His dazed eyes caught glimpses of dark objects floundering in the deep snow about him, and just beyond these objects were four or five tall mounds of snow, like tents, arranged in a circle. He knew what they meant. He had fallen into an Indian camp. In his joy he tried to call out words of greeting, but he had no tongue. Then the floundering figures caught him up, and he was carried to the circle of snow mounds. The last that he knew was that warmth was entering his lungs. It was a face that he first saw after that, a face that seemed to come to him slowly from out of night, approaching nearer and nearer until he knew that it was a girl's face, with great, dark, strangely shining eyes. In these first moments of his returning consciousness the whimsical thought came to him that he was dying and the face was a part of a pleasant dream. If that were not so, he had fallen at last among friends. His eyes opened wider, he moved, and the face drew back. Movement stimulated returning life, and reason rehabilitated itself in great bounds. In a dozen flashes he went over all that had happened up to the point where he had fallen down the mountain and into the Cree camp. Straight above him he saw the funnel-like peak of a large birch wigwam, and beyond his feet he saw an opening in the birch-bark wall through which there drifted a blue film of smoke. He was in a wigwam. It was warm and exceedingly comfortable. Wondering if he was hurt, he moved. The movement drew a sharp exclamation of pain from him. It was the first real sound he had made, and in an instant the face was over him again. He saw it plainly this time, with its dark eyes and oval cheeks framed between two great braids of black hair. A hand touched his brow, cool and gentle, and a low voice soothed him in half a dozen musical words. The girl was a Cree. At the sound of her voice an indian woman came up beside the girl, looked down at him for a moment, and then went to the door of the wigwam, speaking in a low voice to some one who was outside. When she returned a man followed in after her. He was old and bent, and his face was thin. His cheek-bones shone, so tightly was the skin drawn over them. Behind him came a younger man, as straight as a tree, with strong shoulders and a head set like a piece of bronze sculpture. This man carried in his hand a frozen fish, which he gave to the woman. As he gave it to her he spoke words in Cree which Billy understood. "It is the last fish." For a moment a terrible hand gripped at Billy's heart and almost stopped its beating. He saw the woman take the fish and cut it into two equal parts with a knife, and one of these parts she dropped into a pot of boiling water which hung over the stone fireplace built under the vent in the wall. They were dividing with him their last fish! He made an effort and sat up. The younger man came to him and put a bearskin at his back. He had picked up some of the patois of half-blood French and English. "You seek," he said, "you hurt-- and hungry! You have eat soon." He motioned with his hand to the boiling pot. There was not a flicker of animation in his splendid face. There was something god-like in his immobility, something that was awesome in the way he moved and breathed. He sat in silence as the half of the last fish was brought by the girl; and not until Billy stopped eating, choked by the knowledge that he was taking life from these people, did he speak, and then it was to urge him to finish the fish. When he had done, Billy spoke to the Indian in Cree. Instantly the Indian reached over his hand, his face lighting up, and Billy gripped it hard. Mukoki told him what had happened. There had been a camp of twenty-two, and there were now fifteen. Seven had died-- four men, two women, and one child. Each day during the great storm the men had gone out on their futile search for game, and every few days one of them had failed to return. Thus four had died. The dogs were eaten. Corn and fish were gone; there remained but a little flour, and this was for the women and the children. The men had eaten nothing but bark and roots for five days. And there seemed to be no hope. It was death to stray far from camp. That morning two men had set out for the nearest post, but Mukoki said calmly that they would never return. That night and the next day and the terrible night and day that followed were filled with hours that Billy would never forget. He had sprained one hip badly in his fall, and could not rise from the cot Mukoki was often at his side, his face thinner, his eyes more lusterless. The second day, late in the afternoon, there came a low wailing grief from one of the tepees, a moaning sound that pitched itself to the key of the storm until it seemed to be a part of it. A child had died, and the mother was mourning. That night another of the camp huntsmen failed to return at dusk. But the next day there came at the same time the end of both storm and famine. With dawn the sun shone. And early in the day one of the hunters ran in from the forest nearly crazed with joy. He had ventured farther away than the others, and had found a moose-yard. He had killed two of the animals and brought with him meat for the first feast. This last great storm of the winter of 1910 passed well into the "break-up" season, and, once the temperature began to rise, the change was swift. Within a week the snow was growing soft underfoot. Two days later Billy hobbled from his cot for the first time. And then, in the passing of a single day and night, the glory of the northern spring burst upon the wilderness. The sun rose warm and golden. From the sides of the mountains and in the valleys water poured forth in rippling, singing floods. The red bakneesh glowed on bared rocks. Moose-birds and jays and wood-thrushes flitted about the camp, and the air was filled with the fragrant smells of new life bursting from earth and tree and shrub. With return of health and strength Billy's impatience to reach McTabb's cabin grew hourly. He would have set out before his hip was in condition to travel had not Mukoki kept him back. At last the day came when he bade his forest friends good-by and started into the south. XXIII AT THE END OF THE TRAIL The long days and nights of inactivity which Billy had passed in the Indian camp had given him the opportunity to think more calmly of the tragedy which had come into his life, and with returning strength he had drawn himself partly out from the pit of hopelessness and despair into which he had fallen. Deane was dead. Isobel was dead. But the baby Isobel still lived; and in the hope of finding and claiming her for his own he built other dreams for himself out of the ashes of all that had gone for him. He believed that he would find McTabb at the cabin and he would find the child there. So confident had he been that Isobel would live that he had not told McTabb of the uncle who had driven her from the old home in Montreal. He was glad that he had kept this to himself, for there would not be much of a chance of Rookie having found the child's relative. And he made up his mind that he would not give the little Isobel up. He would keep her for himself. He would return to civilization, for he would have her to live for. He would build a home for her, with a garden and dogs and birds and flowers. With his silver-claim money he had fifteen thousand dollars laid away, and she would never know what it meant to be poor. He would educate her and buy her a piano and she would have no end of pretty dresses and things to make her a lady. They would be together and inseparable always, and when she grew up he prayed deep down in his soul that she would be like the older Isobel, her mother. His grief was deep. He knew that he could never forget, and that the old memories of the wilderness and of the woman he had loved would force themselves upon him, year after year, with their old pain. But these new thoughts and plans for the child made his grief less poignant. It was late in the afternoon of a day that had been filled with sunlight and the warmth of spring that he came to the Little Beaver, a short distance above McTabb's cabin. He almost ran from there to the clearing, and the sun was just sinking behind the forest in the west when he paused on the edge of the break in the forest and saw the cabin. It was from here that he had last seen little Isobel. The bush behind which he had concealed himself was less than a dozen paces away. He noticed this, and then he observed things which made his heart sink in a strange, cold way. A path had led into the forest at the point where he stood. Now it was almost obliterated by a tangle of last year's weeds and plants. Rookie must have made a new path, he thought. And then, fearfully, he looked about the clearing and at the cabin. Everywhere there was the air of desolation. There was no smoke rising from the chimney. The door was closed. There were no evidences of life outside. Not the sound of a dog, of a laugh, or of a voice broke the dead stillness. Scarcely breathing, Billy advanced, his heart choked more and more by the fear that gripped him. The door to the cabin was not barred. He opened it. There was nothing inside. The old stove was broken. The bare cots had not been used for months-- perhaps for two years. As he took another step an ermine scampered away ahead of him. He heard the mouselike squeal of its young a moment later under the sapling floor. He went back to the door and stood in the open. "My God!" he moaned. He looked in the direction of Couchée's cabin, where Isobel had died. Was there a chance there, he wondered? There was little hope, but he started quickly over the old trail. The gloom of evening fell swiftly about him. It was almost dark when he reached the other clearing. And again his voice broke in a groaning cry. There was no cabin here. McTabb had burned it after the passing of the plague. Where it had stood was now a black and charred mass, already partly covered by the verdure of the wilderness. Billy gripped his hands hard and walked back from it searchingly. A few steps away he found what McTabb had told him that he would find, a mound and a sapling cross. And then, in spite of all the fighting strength that was in him, he flung himself down upon Isobel's grave, and a great, broken cry of grief burst from his lips. When he raised his head a long time afterward the stars were shimmering in the sky. It was a wonderfully still night, and all that he could hear was the ripple and song of the spring floods in the Little Beaver. He rose silently to his feet and stood for a few moments as motionless as a statue over the grave. Then he turned and went back over the old trail, and from the edge of the clearing he looked back and whispered to himself and to her: "I'll come back for you, Isobel. I'll come back." At McTabb's cabin he had left his pack. He put the straps over his shoulder and started south again. There was but one move for him to make now. McTabb was known at Le Pas. He got his supplies and sold his furs there. Some one at Le Pas would know where he had gone with little Isobel. Not until he was several miles distant from the scene of death and his own broken hopes did he spread out his blanket and lie down for the night. He was up and had breakfast at dawn. On the fourth day he came to the little wilderness outpost-- the end of rail-- on the Saskatchewan. Within an hour he discovered that Rookie McTabb had not been to Le Pas for nearly two years. No one had seen him with a child. That same night a construction train was leaving for Etomami, down on the main line, and Billy lost no time in making up his mind what he would do. He would go to Montreal. If little Isobel was not there she was still somewhere in the wilderness with McTabb. Then he would return, and he would find her if it took him a lifetime. Days and nights of travel followed, and during those days and nights Billy prayed that he would not find her in Montreal. If by some chance McTabb had discovered her relatives, if Isobel had revealed her secret to him before she died, his last hope in life was gone. He did not think of wasting time in the purchase of new clothes. That would have meant the missing of a train. He still wore his wilderness outfit, even to his fur cap. As he traveled farther eastward people began to regard him curiously. He got the porter to shave off his beard. But his hair was long. His moccasins and German socks were ragged and torn, and there were rents in his caribou-skin coat and his heavy Hudson's Bay sweater-shirt. The hardships he had gone through had left their lines in his face. There was something about him, outside of his strange attire, that made men look at him more than once. Women, more keenly observant than the men, saw the deep-seated grief in his eyes. As he approached Montreal he kept himself more and more aloof from the others. When at last the train came to a stop at the big station in the heart of the city he walked through the gates and strode up the hill toward Mount Royal. It was an hour or more past noon, and he had eaten nothing since morning. But he had no thought of hunger. Twenty minutes later he was at the foot of the street on which Isobel had told him that she had lived. One by one he passed the old houses of brick and stone, sheltered behind their solid walls. There had been no change in the years since he had been there. Half-way up the hill to the base of the mountain he saw an old gardener trimming ivy about an ancient cannon near a driveway. He stopped and asked: "Can you tell me where Geoffrey Renaud lives?" The old gardener looked at him curiously for a moment without speaking. Then he said: "Renaud? Geoffrey Renaud? That is his house up there behind the red-sandstone wall. Is it the house you want to see-- or Renaud?" "Both," said Billy. "Geoffrey Renaud has been dead for three years," informed the gardener. "Are you a-- relative?" "No, no," cried Billy, trying to keep his voice steady as he asked the next question. "There are others there. Who are they?" The old man shook his head. "I don't know." "There is a little girl there-- four-- five years old, with golden hair--" "She was playing in the garden when I came along a few moments ago," replied the gardener. "I heard her-- with the dog--" Billy waited to hear no more. Thanking his informant, he walked swiftly up the hill to the red-sandstone wall. Before he came to the rusted iron gate he, too, heard a child's laughter, and it set his heart beating wildly. It was just over the wall. In his eagerness he thrust the toe of his moccasined foot into a break in the stone and drew himself up. He looked down into a great garden, and a dozen steps away, close to a thick clump of shrubbery, he saw a child playing with a little puppy. The sun gleamed in her golden hair. He heard her joyous laughter; and then, for an instant, her face was turned toward him. In that moment he forgot everything, and with a great, glad cry he drew himself up and sprang to the ground on the other side. "Isobel-- Isobel-- my little Isobel!" He was beside her, on his knees, with her in his hungry arms, and for a brief space the child was so frightened that she held her breath and stared at him without a sound. "Don't you know me-- don't you know me--" he almost sobbed. "Little Mystery-- Isobel--" He heard a sound, a strange, stifled cry, and he looked up. From behind the shrubbery there had come a woman, and she was staring at Billy MacVeigh with a face as white as chalk. He staggered to his feet, and he believed that at last he had gone mad. For it was the vision of Isobel Deane that he saw there, and her blue eyes were glowing at him as he had seen them for an instant that night a long time ago on the edge of the Barren. He could not speak. And then, as he staggered another step back toward the wall, he held out his ragged arms, without knowing what he was doing, and called her name as he had spoken it a hundred times at night beside his lonely campfires. Starvation, his injury, weeks of illness, and his almost superhuman struggle to reach McTabb's cabin, and after that civilization, had consumed his last strength. For days he had lived on the reserve forces of a nervous energy that slipped away from him now, leaving him dizzy and swaying. He fought to overcome the weakness that seemed to have taken the last ounce of strength from his exhausted body, but in spite of his strongest efforts the sunlit garden suddenly darkened before his eyes. In that moment the vision became real, and as he turned toward the wall Isobel Deane called him by name; and in another moment she was at his side, clutching him almost fiercely by the arms and calling him by name over and over again. The weakness and dizziness passed from him in a moment, but in that space he seemed only to realize that he must get back-- over the wall. "I wouldn't have come-- but-- I-- I-- thought you were-- dead," he said. "They told me-- you were dead. I'm glad-- glad-- but I wouldn't have come--" She felt the weight of him for an instant on her arm. She knew the things that were in his face-- starvation, pain, the signs of ravage left behind by fever. In these moments Billy did not see the wonderful look that had come into her own face or the wonderful glow in her eyes. "It was Indian Joe's mother who died," he heard her say. "And since then we have been waiting-- waiting-- waiting-- little Isobel and I. I went away north, to David's grave, and I saw what you had done, and what you had burned into the wood. Some day, I knew, you'd come back to me. We've been waiting-- for you--" Her voice was barely more than a whisper, but Billy heard it; and all at once his dizziness was gone, and he saw the sunlight shining in Isobel's bright hair and the look in her face and eyes. "I'm sorry-- sorry-- so sorry I said what I did-- about you-- killing him," she went on. "You remember-- I said that if I got well--" "Yes--" "And you thought I meant that if I got well you should go away-- and you promised-- and kept your promise. But I couldn't finish. It didn't seem right-- then. I wanted to tell you-- out there-- that I was sorry-- and that if I got well you could come to me again-- some day somewhere-- and then--" "Isobel!" "And now-- you may tell me again what you told me out on the Barren-- a long time ago." "Isobel-- Isobel--" "You understand"-- she spoke softly-- "you understand, it cannot happen now-- perhaps not for another year. But now"-- she drew a little nearer-- "you may kiss me," she said. "And then you must kiss little Isobel. And we don't want you to go very far away again. It's lonely-- terribly lonely all by ourselves in the city-- and we're glad you've come-- so glad--" Her voice broke to a sobbing whisper, and as Billy opened his great, ragged arms and caught her to him he heard that whisper again, saying, "We're glad-- glad-- glad you've come back to us." "And I-- may-- stay?" She raised her face, glorious in its welcome. "If you want me-- still." At last he believed. But he could not speak. He bent his face to hers, and for a moment they stood thus, while from behind the shrubbery came the sound of little Isobel's joyous laughter. THE END 
33467	----	Transcriber's note: The original makes extensive use of sidenotes, and several sidenotes are often associated with a single paragraph, especially within the final chapter. Because of this, inline sidenotes have been used and are positioned as close to the relevant passage as was possible during proofing. NARRATIVE OF A SECOND EXPEDITION TO THE SHORES OF THE POLAR SEA, IN THE YEARS 1825, 1826, AND 1827, BY JOHN FRANKLIN, CAPT. R.N., F.R.S., &C. AND COMMANDER OF THE EXPEDITION. INCLUDING AN ACCOUNT OF THE PROGRESS OF A DETACHMENT TO THE EASTWARD, BY JOHN RICHARDSON, M.D., F.R.S., F.L.S., &c. SURGEON AND NATURALIST TO THE EXPEDITION. PUBLISHED BY AUTHORITY OF THE RIGHT HONOURABLE THE SECRETARY OF STATE FOR COLONIAL AFFAIRS. Philadelphia: CAREY, LEA, AND CAREY--CHESNUT STREET. SOLD IN NEW YORK BY G. AND C. CARVILL--IN BOSTON BY MUNROE AND FRANCIS. 1828. * * * * * W. PILKINGTON & CO. PRINTERS. * * * * * TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE THE EARL BATHURST, K.G., LORD PRESIDENT OF HIS MAJESTY'S COUNCIL, &c. &c. &c. THE FOLLOWING NARRATIVE OF A SECOND JOURNEY OF DISCOVERY ALONG THE NORTHERN COAST OF AMERICA, UNDERTAKEN BY ORDER AND UNDER THE AUSPICES OF HIS LORDSHIP, IS, BY PERMISSION, INSCRIBED WITH GREAT RESPECT AND GRATITUDE, BY THE AUTHOR. CONTENTS. _Page_ Introductory Chapter ix Official Instructions xix CHAPTER I. Join the Boats in the Methye River--Cross the Long Portage--Arrival at Fort Chipewyan--Departure from thence with the whole party for Mackenzie River--Arrangements at Fort Norman--Descent to the Sea--Return to the Winter Quarters at Great Bear Lake 23 CHAPTER II. Transactions at Fort Franklin, 1825-6 61 CHAPTER III. Voyage to the Sea--Part from the Eastern Detachment at Point Separation--Reach the Mouth of the Mackenzie--Interview and Contest with the Esquimaux--Detained by Ice--Meet friendly Esquimaux--Point Sabine 87 CHAPTER IV. Babbage River--Meet Natives at Herschel Island--Their Trade with the Russians, through the Western Esquimaux--Ascend Mount Conybeare--Boundary of the British Dominions on this Coast--Delayed at Icy Reef--Barter Island--Detention at Foggy Island--Return Reef--Limit of outward Voyage 114 CHAPTER V. Commence Return to the Mackenzie--Delayed again at Foggy Island--Ice packed on the Reefs near Beaufort Bay, and on the Coast about Clarence River--Pass the Channels near Herschel Island in a Gale and Fog--A sudden Gale--Escape an Attack which the Mountain Indians meditated--Enter the Mackenzie--Peel River--Arrival at Fort Franklin 141 * * * * * _Dr. Richardson's Narrative of the Proceedings of the Eastern Detachment of the Expedition._ CHAPTER I. Leave Point Separation, and descend the Eastern Channel of the Mackenzie--Arrive at Sacred Island--Esquimaux Graves--Interview with the Natives; their thievish disposition--Attempt to gain possession of the Union--Heavy Gale--Find shelter in Refuge Cove--Low Coast--Mirage--Stopped by Ice at Point Toker--Reach the Sea 162 CHAPTER II. Detention by wind--Visited by the Esquimaux--Cross a large Stream of Fresh Water--Winter Houses on Atkinson Island--Gale of Wind and Fog--Run into Browell Cove--Double Cape Dalhousie--Liverpool Bay and Esquimaux Lake--Icy Cliffs--Meet another party of Esquimaux--Cape Bathurst 180 CHAPTER III. Double Cape Bathurst--Whales--Bituminous-shale Cliffs on Fire--Enter Franklin Bay--Heavy Gale--Peninsula of Cape Parry--Perforated Rock--Detention at Cape Lyon by Wind--Force of an Esquimaux Arrow--Meet with heavy Ice--Pass Union and Dolphin Straits--Double Cape Krusenstern, and enter George the Fourth's Coronation Gulph--Reach the Coppermine River--Remarks--Meteorological Table 193 CHAPTER IV. Ascend the Coppermine River--Abandon the Boats and Stores--Commence the Land Journey--Cross the Copper Mountains and Height of Land--Meet Indians who bring Provisions--Arrive at Great Bear Lake--Detained by want of a Boat--Send out Hunters--Arrival of Beaulieu--Collect the Party, and proceed to Fort Franklin--Conclusion 222 * * * * * _Captain Franklin's Narrative resumed._ CHAPTER VI. Brief Notices of the Second Winter at Bear Lake--Traditions of the Dog-Ribs--Leave Fort Franklin--Winter Journey to Fort Chipewyan--Remarks on the progress of improvement in the Fur Countries--Set out in Canoes on the Voyage Homeward--Join Dr. Richardson at Cumberland House--Mr. Drummond's Narrative--Arrival in Canada, at New York, and London 238 * * * * * APPENDIX. Topographical and Geological Notices, by Dr. Richardson, R.N. 263 * * * * * An account of the objects of Natural History, collected on our journey being too voluminous to be inserted in the Appendix, has been reserved for a separate work which will be published as soon as possible, by Dr. Richardson and Professor Hooker, under the sanction, and by the assistance, of His Majesty's Government. INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER. His Majesty's Government having, towards the close of the year 1823, determined upon another attempt to effect a northern passage by sea between the Atlantic and Pacific Oceans, and Captain Parry, the highly distinguished Commander of the two preceding Expeditions, having been again entrusted with its execution, success, as far as ability, enterprise, and experience could ensure it, appeared likely to be the result. Yet, as the object was one for which Great Britain had thought proper to contend for upwards of three centuries, it seemed to me that it might be desirable to pursue it by more ways than one; I therefore ventured to lay before His Majesty's Government a plan for an Expedition overland to the mouth of the Mackenzie River, and thence, by sea, to the northwestern extremity of America, with the combined object, also, of surveying the coast between the Mackenzie and Coppermine Rivers. I was well aware of the sympathy excited in the British public by the sufferings of those engaged in the former overland Expedition to the mouth of the Coppermine River, and of the humane repugnance of His Majesty's Government to expose others to a like fate; but I was enabled to show satisfactorily that, in the proposed course, similar dangers were not to be apprehended, while the objects to be attained were important at once to the naval character, scientific reputation, and commercial interests of Great Britain; and I received directions from the Right Honourable Earl Bathurst to make the necessary preparations for the equipment of the Expedition, to the command of which I had the honour to be nominated. My much valued friend, Dr. Richardson, offered his services as Naturalist and Surgeon, and also volunteered to undertake the survey of the coast between the Mackenzie and Coppermine Rivers, while I should be occupied in endeavouring to reach Icy Cape. Lieutenant Bushnan, who had served under Captains Ross and Parry on their voyages of discovery, was also appointed to accompany me; but, long before the party was to leave England, I had to lament the premature death of that excellent young officer, who was eminently qualified for the situation, by his skill in astronomical observations, surveying, and drawing. Many naval officers, distinguished for their talent and ability, were desirous of filling the vacancy; but my friend and former companion, Lieutenant Back, having returned from the West Indies, the appointment was offered to him, and accepted with his wonted zeal. Mr. E.N. Kendall, Admiralty Mate, and recently assistant Surveyor with Captain Lyon, was appointed to accompany Dr. Richardson in his voyage to the eastward, and to do the duty of an Assistant-Surveyor to the Expedition at large, whilst it continued united. Lastly, Mr. Thomas Drummond, of Forfar, was appointed Assistant Naturalist, on the recommendation of Professor Hooker, and other eminent scientific men. A residence in the northern parts of America, where the party must necessarily depend for subsistence on the daily supply of fish, or on the still more precarious success of Indian hunters, involves many duties which require the superintendence of a person of long experience in the management of the fisheries, and in the arrangement of the Canadian voyagers and Indians: we had many opportunities, during the former voyage, of being acquainted with the qualifications of Mr. Peter Warren Dease, Chief Trader of the Hudson's Bay Company, for these services, and I therefore procured the sanction of His Majesty's Government for his being employed on the Expedition. As soon as I had authority from Earl Bathurst, I entered into a correspondence with the Governor and Directors of the Hudson's Bay Company; and these gentlemen, taking the most lively interest in the objects of the Expedition, promised their utmost support to it, and forthwith sent injunctions to their officers in the Fur Countries to provide the necessary depôts of provision at the places which I pointed out, and to give every other aid in their power. I also wrote to the different Chief Factors and Chief Traders of the Company, who resided on the route of the Expedition, explaining its objects, and requesting their co-operation. _Pemmican_, the principal article of provision used in travelling, being made during the winter and spring, the orders for providing the extra quantity required for the Expedition, though sent out from England by the earliest conveyance, so as to reach the provision posts in the summer of 1824, could not be put into effect sooner than the spring of 1825; hence, it was not proper that the main body of the Expedition should reach the Fur Countries before the latter period. Some stores were forwarded from England, by way of New York, in March 1824, under charge of Mr. Robert M'Vicar, Chief Trader, for the purpose of relieving the Expedition as much as possible from the incumbrance of heavy baggage, and thus enabling it, by marching quickly, to reach its intended winter-quarters at Great Bear Lake, as well as to provide for its more comfortable reception at that place. These stores, with the addition of other articles obtained in Canada, sufficed to load three north canoes, manned by eighteen voyagers; and they were delivered by Mr. M'Vicar, before the winter set in, to Mr. Dease, at the Athabasca Lake. Mr. Dease was instructed to support his party by fishing at Great Slave Lake, during the winter of 1824-25; and, early in the spring of 1825, to proceed to Great Bear Lake, and commence the necessary buildings for the reception of the Expedition. I may here cursorily remark that, in selecting Great Bear Lake as our winter residence, I was influenced by the information I had obtained of its being the place nearest to the mouth of the Mackenzie, known to the traders, where a sufficient supply of fish could be procured for the support of so large a party. Three light boats, which I shall soon more particularly describe, were also sent out to York Factory, in June 1824, in the annual Hudson's Bay ship, together with a further supply of stores, two carpenters, and a party of men, with a view of their reaching Cumberland House, on the Saskatchawan River, the same season; and starting from thence as soon as the navigation opened in the following spring, that they might be as far as possible advanced on their way to Bear Lake before they were overtaken by the Officers of the Expedition. The latter proceeding by way of New York and Canada, would have the advantage of an earlier spring in travelling through the more southern districts; and, further to expedite their progress, I directed two _large_ canoes (canôts de maître,) with the necessary equipments and stores, to be deposited at Penetanguishene, the naval depôt of Lake Huron, in the autumn of 1824, to await our arrival in the following spring; having been informed that, in ordinary seasons, we should, by commencing our voyage at that place, arrive in the north-west country ten days earlier than by the usual way of proceeding up the Utawas River from Montreal. The return of the Hudson's Bay ship towards the close of the year 1824, brought me satisfactory intelligence of the progress of the above-mentioned parties, together with the most pleasing assurances from the Gentlemen of the Company to whom I had written, of their zeal in our cause; and here I must express the deep sense I have of the kindness of the late Honourable William M'Gillivray, of Montreal, whose experience enabled him to give me many valuable suggestions relating to the clothing and subsistence of the party, and to the supplies proper for the Indians. In connexion with the above sketch of the preparatory steps taken in the course of the year 1824, it may be proper to give, in this place, a short account of the general equipments of the Expedition. And first, with regard to the vessels intended for the navigation of the Arctic Sea: birch-bark canoes, uniting lightness and facility of repair with speed, are certainly well adapted for navigating the rivers of America, but they are much too slight to bear the concussion of waves in a rough sea, and they are still less fitted, from the tenderness of the bark, for coming in contact with ice. I therefore requested of the Lords Commissioners of the Admiralty that _three_ boats might be constructed under my superintendence; and they were immediately ordered and promptly finished under the directions of the Commissioners of the Navy. To fit them for the ascent and descent of the many rapids between York Factory and Mackenzie River; and to render their transport over the numerous portages more easy, it was necessary to have them as small, and of as light a construction as possible; and, in fact, as much like a north canoe as was consistent with the stability and capacity required for their voyage at sea. They were built of mahogany, with timbers of ash, both ends exactly alike, and fitted to be steered either with a sweep-oar or a rudder. The largest, twenty-six feet long, and five feet four inches broad, was adapted for six rowers, a steersman, and an officer; it could be borne on the shoulders of six men, and was found, on trial, to be capable of carrying three tons weight in addition to the crew. The two others were each twenty-four feet long, four feet ten inches broad, and were capable of receiving a crew of five men, a steersman, and an officer, with an additional weight of two and a half tons. The greatest care was paid to their construction by Mr. Cow, boat-builder of Woolwich Yard; and, as I could not often be present, my friend Captain Buchan, R.N., kindly undertook to report their progress; and I am further indebted to him for many valuable suggestions which were acted upon. When the boats were finished, they were tried at Woolwich, in the presence of many naval and military officers, as to their qualities of sailing, rowing, and paddling, and found to answer fully the expectations that had been formed of them. At the same time we tried another little vessel belonging to the Expedition, named the Walnut-Shell, the invention and construction of which I owe to my friend Lieutenant-Colonel Pasley, of the Royal Engineers. Its length was nine feet, its breadth four feet four inches, and it was framed of well-seasoned ash, fastened with thongs, covered with Mr. Mackintosh's prepared canvas, and shaped like one valve of a walnut-shell, whence its appellation. It weighed only eighty-five pounds, could, when taken to pieces, be made up in five or six parcels, and was capable of being put together in less than twenty minutes. So secure was this little vessel, that several ladies, who had honoured the trial of the boats with their presence, fearlessly embarked in it, and were paddled across the Thames in a fresh breeze. It was intended to provide against a similar detention in crossing rivers to that which proved so fatal to our party on the former journey; and it was also thought, that this little bark would be found useful in procuring water-fowl on the small lakes, to which the boats could not be conveyed. In the choice of astronomical instruments I was necessarily guided by their portability. Our stock consisted of two small sextants, two artificial horizons, two altitude instruments, a repeating circle for lunar observations, and a small transit telescope for ascertaining the rates of the chronometers. We had a dipping needle mounted on Meyer's plan, a plain needle very delicately fitted for observing the diurnal variation; two of Kater's azimuth compasses, and a pocket compass for each officer. The atmospherical instruments were two electrometers, two of Daniel's hygrometers, Leslie's photometer and hygrometer, besides a good supply of mercurial and spirit thermometers of different sizes. The magnetic instruments were examined in concert with my friend Captain Sabine, previous to my departure from London; and the observations that were obtained for dip and intensity, served as points of comparison for our future results. The stores consisted of bedding and clothing, including two suits of waterproof dresses for each person, prepared by Mr. Mackintosh, of Glasgow; our guns had the same bore with the fowling-pieces, supplied by the Hudson's Bay Company to the Indian hunters, that is, twenty-eight balls to the pound; their locks were tempered to withstand the cold of the winter; and a broad Indian dagger, which could also be used as a knife, was fitted to them, like a bayonet. Ammunition of the best quality was provided by the Ordnance, the powder being secured in small field or boat magazines. A quantity of wheaten-flour, arrow-root, macaroni, portable-soup, chocolate, essence of coffee, sugar, and tea, calculated to last two years, was also supplied, made up into packages of eighty-five pounds, and covered with three layers of prepared waterproof canvas, of which material coverings for the cargo of each boat were also made. There was likewise an ample stock of tobacco, a small quantity of wine and spirits, marquees and tents for the men and officers, some books, writing and drawing paper, a considerable quantity of cartridge-paper, to be used in preserving specimens of plants; nets, twine, fishing-lines and hooks, together with many articles to be used at winter-quarters, for the service of the post, and for the supply of our Indian hunters, such as cloth, blankets, shirts, coloured belts, chiefs' dresses, combs, looking-glasses, beads, tapes, gartering, knives, guns and daggers, hatchets, awls, gun-worms, flints, fire-steels, files, whip and hand-saws, ice-chisels and trenching-irons, the latter to break open the beaver lodges. As the mode of travelling through the Hudson's Bay territories, with all its difficulties and hazards, is now well known to the public, I think it better to give in this Introductory Chapter a slight outline of our route through the United States, Upper Canada, and Southern part of the Fur Countries, and to commence the detailed Narrative of the proceedings of the Expedition with its arrival in Methye River, where the officers joined the boats that had been sent out from England in the preceding year. On the 16th of February, 1825, I embarked with Lieutenant Back, Dr. Richardson, Mr. Kendall, Mr. Drummond, and four marines, at Liverpool, on board the American packet-ship, Columbia, Captain Lee; and, on quitting the pier, we were honoured by a salute of three animating cheers, from a crowd of the principal inhabitants, who had assembled to witness our departure. The passage across the Atlantic was favourable and pleasant, and our reception at New York kind in the extreme. We landed at that city on the 15th of March, and our baggage and stores were instantly passed through the Custom-House without inspection. Cards of admission to the Public Scientific Institutions were forwarded to us the same evening, and during our stay every other mark of attention was shown by the civil and naval authorities, as well as by private individuals, indicating the lively interest which they took in our enterprise. James Buchanan, Esq., the British Consul, in addition to many other attentions, kindly undertook to accommodate a journey he had to make to Upper Canada, so as to accompany us through the State of New York. After a stay of eight days in the city, for the purpose of obtaining the rates of the chronometers, and for making some other observations with Meyer's dipping needle, we embarked under the Consul's guidance, in the steam-boat Olive Branch, and ascended the Hudson River, to Albany, where we experienced similar civilities to those we had received at New York. Every body seemed to desire our success, and a fervent prayer for our preservation and welfare was offered up by the Reverend Dr. Christie, the minister of the church that we attended. The Honourable De Witt Clinton, the Governor of the State, assured me, that had we not been accompanied by a gentleman so conversant in the different routes and modes of travelling as Mr. Buchanan, he would have sent his son with us, or would himself have conducted us to the confines of the State. From Albany, we travelled through Utica, Rochester, and Geneva, to Leweston, in coaches, with more or less rapidity, according to the condition of the roads; and, crossing the river Niagara, entered Canada, and visited the Falls so justly celebrated as the first in the world for grandeur. We next crossed Lake Ontario in a sailing boat, and came to York the capital of Upper Canada, where we were kindly received by the Lieutenant-Governor Sir Peregrine Maitland, and by Colonel Cockburn and the Commissioners then employed on an inquiry respecting the value of the Crown Lands. From York we passed on to Lake Simcoe, in carts and other conveyances, halting for a night at the hospitable house of Mr. Robinson of Newmarket. We crossed Lake Simcoe in canoes and boats, and landed near the upper part of Kempenfeldt Bay, but not without being obliged to break our way through the ice for a short distance. A journey of nine miles, performed on foot, brought us to the River Nattawassaga, which we descended in a boat; and passing through a part of Lake Huron, arrived at Penetanguishene. At this place, we were hospitably entertained by Lieutenant, now Captain Douglass, during eight days that we waited for the arrival of our Canadian voyagers from Montreal. We left Penetanguishene on St. George's day (23d April) in the two large canoes, which had been deposited at that place in the preceding autumn, our party, by the accession of the voyagers, now amounted to thirty-three; and after a few days detention by ice, and bad weather, we reached Sault de St. Marie on the 1st of May, being ten days or a fortnight earlier than the oldest resident remembered a canoe from Canada to have arrived. From the Sault de St. Marie, we coasted the northern shore of Lake Superior to Fort William, formerly the great depôt of the N.W. Company, where we arrived on the 10th of May. We now exchanged our two _canôts de maître_ for four small north canoes, in one of which, more lightly laden, Dr. Richardson and I embarked, with the view of proceeding as rapidly as possible to arrange supplies of provision at the different posts, while Lieutenant Back was left to bring up the three remaining and more deeply laden canoes. We proceeded by the route delineated in the maps through Rainy Lake, the Lake of the Woods, Lake Winipeg, and the Saskatchawan River to Cumberland House, where we arrived on the 15th of June, and learned that our boats had left that place on the 2d of the same month. We found also with deep regret, that Thomas Mathews, the principal carpenter who had accompanied the boats from England, had had the misfortune to break his leg the evening before their departure. But, fortunately, an officer of the Hudson's Bay Company then present, had sufficient skill to set it, and Dr. Richardson now pronounced that in two months he would be able to come on in one of the Company's canoes, and join us at Bear Lake, which he was very desirous of doing. I therefore made arrangements to this effect, and also concerning supplies for Mr. Drummond the Assistant Naturalist, who was to be employed, during our stay in the north, in making collections in the vicinity of the Rocky Mountains. Having remained one night at Cumberland House, we resumed our voyage, and passing through Pine Island Lake, Beaver Lake, crossing the Frog Portage, and ascending the English River, with its dilatations, named Bear Island, Sandfly, Serpent, Primeau, and Isle à la Crosse Lakes, we came to the post situated on, and named from the latter sheet of water, at four P.M. on the 25th June. In the course of this voyage, we met the Gentlemen of the Hudson's Bay Company proceeding from the interior with various brigades of canoes, carrying the returns of trade for the year to York Factory, and I had not only the satisfaction of hearing frequent news of the progress of our boats, but that the deposits of provisions I had requested, and the other arrangements I had made, were all punctually carried into effect. Mr. Spencer, the gentleman in charge at Isle à la Crosse, informed us, that the boats had gone off a few hours previous to our arrival, with the addition of a bateau laden with pemmican, under the charge of Mr. Fraser, a clerk of the Hudson's Bay Company. I waited at this establishment one night to obtain astronomical observations, and to bespeak an additional quantity of provisions, &c., which being satisfactorily done, we resumed our voyage on the 27th, and, passing through Deep River, Clear and Buffalo Lakes, overtook the boats in Methye River, at sunrise on the 29th of June. Having brought this preliminary sketch up to the date at which the ensuing Narrative of the proceedings of the Expedition commences, I turn to the pleasing duty of rendering my best thanks to the many gentlemen who have assisted me in forwarding its progress. To the Right Honourable Earl Bathurst, I am greatly indebted for the readiness with which he attended to every suggestion I had to make regarding the equipment of the Expedition, and to the Right Honourable Wilmot Horton, the Under Colonial Secretary, for his kindness and promptitude in facilitating all my views. Nor can I feel less grateful to Lord Viscount Melville, and to the Lords Commissioners of the Admiralty for their patronage and support, as well as to Sir Byam Martin, the Comptroller, and to the Commissioners of the Navy and Victualling offices, for the arrangements depending on their boards. Mr. Pelly, the Governor of the Hudson's Bay Company, and Mr. Garry, the Deputy-Governor, as well as every Member of its Committee, claim my most sincere thanks for their unremitting endeavours to promote the welfare of the Expedition through its whole progress; and I feel truly obliged to Mr. Simpson, the Governor in the Fur Countries; to Mr. M'Tavish, Mr. Haldane, Mr. M'Donald, Mr. Leith, Mr. Stuart, and Messrs. James and George Keith, Chief Factors, who, acting in the spirit of their instructions, were very assiduous in collecting provisions and stores for the use of my party, and in forwarding all our supplies. There were other gentlemen resident in the more northern parts of the country, to whom I am no less obliged for advice and assistance; but the brevity requisite in this place necessarily compels me to refer to the Narrative, where their names, and the services they rendered, are mentioned. I cannot, however, close this introductory Chapter, without expressing the deepest obligation to those kind friends and excellent officers with whom I had the happiness of being associated, who constantly aided me by their most cordial co-operation, and whose best efforts were devotedly applied to every pursuit which could be interesting to science. Nor can I omit to mention the gratitude I owe to each of the seamen, marines, British and Canadian voyagers who composed our party at the winter-quarters, for their steady obedience and truly good conduct, whether in the days of relaxation during the winter, or in the more arduous exertions of our summer occupations. OFFICIAL INSTRUCTIONS. _Downing-street, 31st Jan. 1825._ SIR, His Majesty's Government having decided that an Expedition should be set forth, for the purpose of exploring the Northern Coast of America, between the Mouth of Mackenzie's River, and the Strait of Behring; and confiding in your zeal and experience for the due execution of this service, I have recommended you as a proper person to be charged with the same. You are, therefore, to proceed with your party (a list of whom is annexed) by the Packet from Liverpool to New York, and from thence make the best of your way to Lake Huron, where the stores necessary for your journey have already been sent. Embarking in Canoes, you are from thence to follow the water communication to the western side of the Great Bear Lake, where you are to establish your winter-quarters; and having so done, your first care should be to endeavour to open a friendly communication with the Esquimaux. Early in the Spring of 1826, you are to proceed down the Mackenzie River with all the necessary stores and provisions, in order to be prepared to take advantage of the first opening of the ice on the Polar Sea, so as to enable you to prosecute your voyage along the coast to Icy Cape, round which you are to proceed to Kotzebue's Inlet, where you may expect to find His Majesty's Ship Blossom, which the Lords Commissioners of the Admiralty will order to proceed to that rendezvous, in the Summer of 1826. But if, on your arrival at Icy Cape, or the northern point of Behring's Strait, you should be of opinion that you could, with safety, return the same season to the established winter-quarters, you are at liberty to do so, instead of proceeding to join the Blossom. You will, therefore, without loss of time, settle with Captain Beechey, her commander, such a plan as may appear to you, both, best adapted for ensuring your meeting together, and establish a code of signals, or devise such other means as may tend to give you information, if possible, previous to your reaching the longitude of Icy Cape. On your arrival at the mouth of Mackenzie River, you are to despatch Dr. Richardson with Mr. Kendall and five or six men, in one of the boats, to examine the intermediate coast between the Mackenzie and Coppermine Rivers; but if you should find that the stores and provisions you have been able to accumulate are not sufficient for your own and Dr. Richardson's party, you are, in that case, to direct Dr. Richardson to employ himself and party on shore, in examining the country contiguous to the Mackenzie River, the Rocky Mountains, the shores of the Great Bear Lake, the Copper Mountains, and as far round as he can with safety, collecting specimens of the animals, plants, and minerals, and also laying in a stock of provisions sufficient for both parties, if, by any unforeseen accident, you should find yourself compelled to return without reaching the Blossom. If, in proceeding westerly towards Icy Cape, you should make but slow progress, and find yourself impeded by ice or land jutting out to the northward farther than is calculated upon, or from accidents to the boats, or any other unforeseen circumstance, so that it remains doubtful whether you will be able to reach the neighbourhood of Kotzebue's Inlet the same season, you are not to consider yourself authorized to risk yourself and party to the chance of being obliged to winter on the coast, but commence your return about the 15th or 20th of August to the established winter-quarters on Bear Lake, unless you should be satisfied that yourself and party could pass the winter with safety among the Esquimaux, and that there was afforded a certainty of your reaching Behring's Strait the following Season, when the Blossom will again proceed to the appointed rendezvous. In the event of your reaching Kotzebue's Inlet, the first season, Captain Beechey will be instructed to convey you and your party in the Blossom to the Sandwich Islands or Canton, as may seem most advisable to you, from whence you will be able to take a passage to England in one of the Company's Ships or Private Traders; and you will leave such instructions with Dr. Richardson for his guidance, in the event of your being able to accomplish this point, as you may deem fit and proper for his return to England. In the event of your death, or any accident which may prevent your proceeding, the command of the Expedition must necessarily devolve on Lieutenant Back, who is to follow these Instructions; but he is not to alter any arrangement with regard to Dr. Richardson's proceedings which you may have settled for him to pursue, the principal object of Dr. Richardson's accompanying you, being that of completing, as far as can be done, our knowledge of the Natural History of North America. Lieutenant Back will, therefore, in the event above-mentioned, act in concert with Dr. Richardson, but not direct him and his party from any plan of operations which he and you may previously have settled. You will take care to inform me from time to time, as opportunities may occur, of your proceedings, and the progress made in the Expedition, with the direction of which you are hereby entrusted. I have the honour to be, Sir, Your most obedient Servant, BATHURST. _To Captain Franklin, R.N., &c. &c. &c._ SECOND JOURNEY TO THE SHORES OF THE POLAR SEA. CHAPTER I. Join the boats in the Methye River--Cross the Long Portage--Arrival to Fort Chipewyan--Departure from thence with the whole party for Mackenzie River--Arrangements at Fort Norman--Descent to the Sea--Return to the Winter Quarters at Great Bear Lake. The boats of the Expedition had advanced from Hudson's Bay into the interior, twelve hundred miles, before they were joined by the officers; whilst the latter, from taking a more circuitous route by New York and Canada, as shown in the introductory chapter, travelled two thousand and eight hundred miles, to reach the same point. [Sidenote: June 29.] This junction took place early in the morning of the 29th of June, 1825, in the Methye River, latitude 56 degrees 10 minutes N., longitude 108 degrees 55 minutes W., which is almost at the head of the waters that flow from the north into Hudson's Bay. In no part of the journey was the presence of the officers more requisite to animate and encourage the crews, because the river itself, beside being obstructed by three impassable rapids, is usually so shallow, through its whole course of forty miles, as scarcely to admit of a flat-bottomed bateau floating with half its cargo, much less our boats, which drew, when loaded, from eighteen to twenty inches. This river and its impediments being surmounted, the Methye Portage, ten miles and three quarters long, was at no great distance, which is always held up to the inexperienced voyager as the most laborious part of the journey. But whatever apprehensions the men might have entertained on this subject, seemed to vanish on our landing amongst them; and Dr. Richardson and myself were received by all with cheerful, delighted countenances, and by none more warmly than by our excellent friend and former interpreter Augustus the Esquimaux, and Ooligbuck, whom he had brought from Churchill, as his companion. A breakfast was quickly prepared by Mr. Fraser, a clerk of the Hudson's Bay Company, under whose charge the boats had been, since their departure from Cumberland House; and I then inspected the boats and stores, which I was rejoiced to find were in good order. We had brought letters from the relatives of several of the party, and another hour was allowed to read them. At ten A.M. we began to ascend the stream, but very soon found that it was necessary for the whole party to walk in the water, and drag the boats through the mud. Nor could we long advance even by this mode, but were compelled either to carry some of the cargo along the shore, where walking was at all practicable, or else to take half the lading in a boat to a part where the river was deeper, and then return for the remainder. From thus travelling the distance twice over, it was the fifth day before we reached the lake from whence its waters flow. [Sidenote: Thursday, 30.] On the evening of the 30th of June, we witnessed one of those violent but momentary gusts of wind which occur not unfrequently in the spring and autumn, and which prove so destructive to the forests in this country. It was preceded by calm and very sultry weather, with loud thunder and vivid lightning. In an instant the tents were overthrown, and even very large trees were bent by its force into a horizontal position; indeed, for a few seconds, the scene around us appeared one of almost entire devastation. When the violence of the squall was past, we had great reason to be pleased at its occurrence, for the strong steady breeze and heavy rain that succeeded, carried away the myriads of musquitoes by which we had been tormented the whole day. [Sidenote: Monday, 4.] Having crossed the Methye Lake, we arrived at the portage of that name. Here it was necessary to make an equal division of the cargoes, and to devise means for the conveyance of the boats. The packages amounted to one hundred and sixteen, weighing from seventy to ninety pounds each, exclusive of the three boats and the men's personal luggage; and there were nineteen men of the boats' crews, two Canadians, and two boys, to carry these burdens. At first the packages were equally distributed among this party; but several of the men, who had been reduced by their previous exertions, became lame: among these were the Esquimaux, and we were, therefore, compelled to make other arrangements, and ultimately to employ the crew of my canoe, though the great fatigue they had suffered in our rapid journey from Penetanguishene, made me desirous of sparing them for the present. The boats were the heaviest and most difficult articles to transport. One of the small boats was carried on the shoulders of eight men, of whom Mr. Fraser undertook to be one, as an example to the rest. Another of the same size was dragged by another eight men; and the largest was conveyed on a truck made for the purpose on the spot, to which service the lame were attached. Each day's journey, and also the intermediate stages, were determined by the places where water could be procured, and our mode of travelling was as follows:--Rising at three A.M., the men carried a part of their burden to the first stage, and continued to go backwards and forwards till the whole was deposited. They then slept for a few hours, and in the cool of the evening the boats were brought up. [Sidenote: Monday, 11th.] By these means every thing was ready at the western end of the portage early on Monday, the 11th of July. The slight injuries which the boats had received, principally from exposure to the sun, were soon repaired; they were put into the water to tighten, and the whole party were allowed to rest. With reference to the Methye Portage I may remark, that, except the steep hill at its western extremity, the road is good and tolerably level, and it appeared to us that much fatigue and suffering might have been spared by using trucks. Accordingly two were made by our carpenters at Fort Chipewyan, in 1827, for the return of the Expedition, and they answered extremely well. I mention this circumstance, in the hope that some such expedient will be adopted by the Traders for the relief of their voyagers, who have twice in every year to pass over this ridge of hills. [Sidenote: Tuesday 12th.] Being now in a fair way to reach the Athabasca Lake, Dr. Richardson and I embarked, on the 12th, in the canoe, to proceed to Fort Chipewyan, for the purpose of preparing the gentleman in charge for the reception of the party. By noon we got over the four Portages on Clear-Water river, and descended, with some trouble, the series of rapids that follow them. Once below these, the passage to the lake is generally considered as free from fatigue; but we did not find it so, for, owing to the shallowness of the water, the men had to get out and drag the canoe in several places. The difference between the depth of water now and in other years at the same period, was attributed to the snow having fallen in the preceding autumn before the frost was sufficiently intense to harden the ground, and, consequently, much of the moisture had penetrated the earth, which, under other circumstances, would have remained in a frozen state, for the supply of the river at the spring thaw. In the course of the night we were under much alarm for one of our men, who having incautiously lain down to sleep under a wet sail, while the rain was pouring heavily, was seized with a cramp in the stomach, and violent pain in the head. Having been brought into the tent and covered with blankets, he became better before morning, but not sufficiently strong to allow of our setting off at the usual hour. [Sidenote: Wednesday, 13th.] We entered the Elk, or Athabasca River, at three P.M., on the 13th, and were carried swiftly down by its current to the Hudson's Bay Company's post named Berens House, where we stayed the night. Here we received a supply of dried meat. [Sidenote: Friday, 15th.] We safely arrived in the Athabasca Lake on the 15th, by the channel of the "Rivière des Eaux remuées;" but in the subsequent traverse between Bustard Island and Fort Chipewyan the canoe was in danger of foundering in a sudden gale. Two large waves broke with full force into it, and obliged us to bear away and steer for the nearest shore; but the men having soon rested, and being now sheltered by islands, we pushed on to Fort Chipewyan. Our arrival there caused great surprise to its inmates, when they learned that we had come from England to that advanced post so early in the season, being only two days later than the time at which Dr. Richardson and Mr. Hood had arrived in 1819, though they passed the winter at Cumberland House. The stores at Fort Chipewyan being well furnished with warm clothing, and other articles, which we required for the use of the men and Indians at winter-quarters, I availed myself of the permission which the chief factor of this department, Mr. James Keith, had given me to complete our stock of cloth, blankets, nets, and twine, to a quantity sufficient for two years' consumption. A supply of twine was indispensable, because, by a letter from Mr. Dease, I had learned that the meshes of the nets made in England, of the size generally required for fishing throughout this country, were too large for the smaller fish that frequent that part of Bear Lake where our house was to be constructed. Mr. Campbell, the clerk in charge, cheerfully gave me the benefit of his experience in making out lists of such things as we were likely to want, and in assorting and packing them. [Sidenote: Monday, 18th.] The boats rejoined on the 18th, and the crews were allowed the following day to recruit themselves. A party of Indians came very opportunely with fresh meat, which is always an agreeable change to the voyager, who has generally to live on dried provision. The Indians, as well as the women and children of the fort, spent the greater part of the day by the side of our boats, admiring their whole equipment, but more especially the gay figures painted on them. Many of these were different from any animals or representations they had seen, and, judging from the bursts of laughter, some curious remarks were made on them. [Sidenote: Wednesday, 20th.] It being necessary that I should await the arrival of Lieutenant Back's canoes, Dr. Richardson undertook to proceed with the boats towards Slave Lake. Their lading was now increased by the bales already mentioned, as well as by several bags of pemmican, which Mr. Keith had stored up for our use. The crews, however, were reduced by the discharge of three Englishmen, at their own desire, who thought themselves unequal to the fatigue of the service. [Sidenote: Saturday, 23d.] I had the happiness, on the 23rd, of welcoming my friends, Lieutenant Back and Mr. Kendall, on their arrival with three canoes. Their journey from Fort William had been expeditious, notwithstanding the detention of eighteen days, by bad weather, on the road. A serious misfortune had happened at the very outset of the journey, through the unskilfulness of one of the bowmen, in allowing his canoe to turn round and get before the current, while attempting to ascend the Barrier Rapid, by which it was driven against a stone with such force, as to be overset and broken. The stores were fortunately saved, though completely drenched; but many of the delicate atmospherical instruments were broken. Mr. Kendall was despatched to Fort William for another canoe while the things were drying. On a subsequent occasion, in the Winipeg River, the same man placed his canoe in such a situation, as to endanger its being hurried down a steep fall, and had it not been for the coolness of a man, named Lavallé, who jumped into the water and held the canoe, while the rest of the crew arranged themselves so as to drag it into a place of safety, every life must have been sacrificed. The success, indeed the safety of this kind of river navigation, among currents and rapids, depends on the skill of the bowman; and after these proofs of his incapacity, Lieutenant Back very properly engaged a substitute at the first fort to which he came. At another time, in the Sturgeon-weir River, the canoe in which Mr. Kendall was embarked, having been accidentally driven before the current, she was only saved from destruction by his own powerful exertion and activity. These short details will convey an idea of the anxiety and trouble these officers experienced in their journey to Chipewyan. The party and the stores having now passed the more difficult part of the road, I discharged as many of the Canadians as could be spared, and furnished them with a canoe to take them home. Some went to Montreal; and they were the first persons who had ever gone from that place to Chipewyan, and returned in the same season. [Sidenote: Monday, 25th.] The greater part of the 25th was employed in obtaining astronomical observations, the results of which, we were delighted to find, placed Fort Chipewyan within a few seconds of longitude of the position in which it had been laid down on the former Expedition. Our present azimuth compasses showed an increase in variation, since 1820, of 2 degrees 16 minutes E. The dip was observed 81 degrees 26 minutes 47 seconds. Fort Chipewyan was this summer visited, for the first time, by a large flight of swallows, resembling the house-martins of England. They came in a body on the 25th of June, and immediately began to construct their earthy nests under the ledge of the south-front of the house. Some barn or forked-tail swallows also arrived on the 15th of June, and took possession of the store-houses and garrets, as they had in former years done. Some of the young of the last-mentioned birds were sporting on the tops of the houses as early as the 17th of July. At sunset we embarked in four canoes, one having been procured here. The descent to Slave Lake occupied four days, and was unattended with any circumstance deserving mention, except that two of the canoes were broken in consequence of the guide mistaking the proper channel in a rapid; fortunately, these bark vessels are soon repaired, and we had only to regret the delay the accident occasioned. We halted at the Salt River to take in salt, as we found, by a note left here, Dr. Richardson had done. The geese were moulting at this time, and unable to fly; they afforded us much sport in their chase, and an excellent supper every night. A body of Indians were waiting near the entrance of the lake to welcome our arrival; they were so numerous, that we were forced to omit our general custom of giving a small present to each native, and thus incurred the charge of stinginess, which the loud vociferations they raised on our setting sail, were probably meant to convey. [Sidenote: Friday, 29th.] At six, on the evening of the 29th, we reached Fort Resolution, the only establishment now at Slave Lake, and we felt happy in being once more under the roof of our hospitable friend, Mr. Robert M'Vicar, to whom I am much indebted for the excellent order in which he had brought up our supplies from Canada in the preceding year. Dr. Richardson, after a halt of two days, had gone forward with the boats. All the portages on the road to Bear Lake being now passed, the Canadians made a request, that we would allow them to commemorate the event by a dance. It met with a ready compliance; and though they had been paddling for thirty-six out of the thirty-nine preceding hours, they kept up their favourite amusement until daylight, to the music of bagpipes, relieved occasionally by the Jews' harp. We rejoiced to find at this post our worthy old Copper-Indian friends, Keskarrah and Humpy, the brother of Akaitcho, who had been waiting two months for the express purpose of seeing us. These excellent men showed that their gratification equalled ours, by repeatedly seizing our hands and pressing them against their hearts, and exclaiming, "How much we regret that we cannot tell what we feel for you here!" Akaitcho had left the fort about two months on a hunting excursion, hoping to return, with plenty of provision for our use, by the middle of August, which was as early as he thought we should arrive. Keskarrah confirmed the melancholy report we had heard in the more southern districts, that most of the hunters who had been in our service at Fort Enterprise, had been treacherously murdered, with many others of the tribe, by the Dog-Ribs, with which nation we also learned the Copper-Indians had been at war, since the year of our departure from them, till the last spring. The peace had been effected through the mediation of Messrs. Dease and M'Vicar, and we were gratified to find that Akaitcho and his tribe had been principally induced to make this reconciliation, by a desire that no impediment might be placed in the way of our present expedition. "We have too much esteem," said Akaitcho, "for our father, and for the service in which he is about to be again engaged, to impede its success by our wars, and, therefore, they shall cease;" and on being asked by Mr. Dease whether he and some of his young men would go to hunt for the party at our winter quarters, he replied, "Our hearts will be with them, but we will not go to those parts where the bones of our murdered brethren lie, for fear our bad passions should be aroused at the sight of their graves, and that we should be tempted to renew the war by the recollection of the manner of their death. Let the Dog-Ribs who live in the neighbourhood of Bear Lake furnish them with meat, though they are our enemies." Such sentiments would do honour to any state of civilization, and show that the most refined feelings may animate the most untutored people. Happily we were now so circumstanced as to be able to reward the friendship of these good men by allotting from our stores a liberal present to the principal persons. On the delivery of the articles to Keskarrah and Humpy, I desired them to communicate to Akaitcho, and the whole tribe, the necessity of their strictly adhering to the terms of peace, and assured them that I should not fail to urge the same obligations on the Dog-Ribs. A silver royal medal, such as is given to the Indian chiefs in Upper Canada, was likewise left with Mr. M'Vicar, to be presented to Akaitcho, as a further mark of our regard for his former services and present good wishes. [Sidenote: Sunday, 31st.] The party was detained at Fort Resolution until this morning by a strong south-west gale; and even when we embarked, the wind and waves were still high, but time was too precious to allow of our waiting when there was a prospect of making any advance. As our future course inclined to the westward, we now quitted the track of the former journey to Fort Enterprise, along which we had been travelling from Lake Winipeg. We first steered for the Buffalo River, and then along the south shore of Slave Lake, obtained the latitude 61 degrees 1 minute N. at noon, and afterwards the longitude 114 degrees 18-1/2 minutes W. at the Isle of the Dead. The islands and shores of this part of the lake are composed of horizontal beds of limestone, containing pitch and shells. A small party of Chipewyan Indians, with their principal chief, joined us at the encampment, from whom we learned that they had supplied Dr. Richardson with dried meat the preceding noon, at Hay River. The Chief was very importunate for rum, but I steadily adhered to the determination I had formed this time, on my entering the Fur Country, of not giving spirits to any Indian. A share of our supper and tea, and some tobacco, were offered to him, and accepted, though with a bad grace. The Fur Company ceased the following season to bring any rum to this quarter, and I learned that this man was one of the few natives who were highly displeased at this judicious change. [Sidenote: Monday, 1st.] We coasted this day along the low shore of the lake, steering from point to point to avoid the sinuosities of several deep bays, and passed the mouth of the Sandy and Hay Rivers, whose positions we settled by astronomical observations. [Sidenote: Tuesday, 2nd.] On the 2nd we came to the narrow part between the Big Island of Mackenzie, and the main shore, and perceived that a gentle current was setting towards the Mackenzie river. The water in this strait is very shallow, and also in many places near the south shore, though we know, from trial, on the former Expedition, that the depth of the east end of the lake, at a distance from the land, exceeds sixty and seventy fathoms. The beach, both of the north and south shores of the strait, is strewed with drift timber. In clear weather the north shore is visible from the point of the south shore nearest Big Island. Below this _detroit_ the shores recede so as to form a small shallow lake, about twenty-four miles long, by from four to twelve miles broad, near the north-west end of which we encamped, in latitude 61 degrees 15 minutes N., longitude 117 degrees 6 minutes W. This spot may be considered as the commencement of Mackenzie River. The ground is very swampy, and nourishes willows only; but inland, at a short distance from the beach, grow plenty of the spruce-fir, poplar, aspen, and birch trees; and among the underwood, numerous shrubs and berry-bearing plants. [Sidenote: Wednesday, 3rd.] On the 3rd we travelled to another contraction of the river about one mile broad, through which the current sets between high banks with such force as to form strong eddies. There are likewise in this part many sandy islands, and through the channels between them the current rushed with no less rapidity than in that we descended. For distinction's sake, these islands have been named the "Isles of the Rapid:" below them occurs another expansion, which is called by the voyagers "The Little Lake;" and Sandy Point at its north-west end, is considered by them as the commencement of the Mackenzie River. When abreast of this point, a favouring breeze enabled us to use the sail as well as the paddles, and with the assistance of the current great progress was made. We had occasional glimpses of the Horn and Rein-Deer Mountains as we passed along; but, until we were some way below the rapids, our view was very limited, owing to the woods being on fire in almost every direction. This I should have mentioned to have been the case in many parts between Isle à la Crosse and the Mackenzie. The cause of these extensive conflagrations I could not learn; some attributed them to voluntary acts of the Indians, and others to their negligence in leaving their fires burning. We put up at sunset on a beach of gravel under a well-wooded bank of moderate height, and the party regaled themselves with raspberries and other indigenous fruits. [Sidenote: Thursday, 4th.] At half past two A.M., on the 4th, the canoes were again on the water, and being driven by sail and current, made good way. We stopped at the Trout River, which flows in from the southward, and ascertained its longitude 119 degrees 47 minutes W. The breadth of the Mackenzie is here about two miles, and its banks are composed of a muddy clay: the stones on the beach mostly limestone, with some boulders of primitive rocks. The trees are of the kinds we had seen north of the Athabasca Lake: they are here of a smaller size. Five miles below this part, the Mackenzie is divided into several channels by islands, and the current runs with increased swiftness, and strong eddies. The latitude 61 degrees 26 minutes 30 seconds N. was obtained at noon; it was the same as on the preceding day; so that our course, in the interval, had been due west. The banks now were higher, and for the next forty miles the breadth of the stream did not exceed one mile, nor was less than half a mile; its course inclined more to the north. We passed the site of the first establishment that the North-West Company had made in these parts, which was erected by Mr. Livingstone, one of the partners, who, with the whole of the crew of his canoe, except one individual, were massacred by the Esquimaux on the first attempt to open a trade with them. At three P.M. a picturesque view opened upon us of a distant range of mountains running east and west, and nearly at right angles to the course of the river. The current being considerably increased by the contribution of some streams near this place, we descended very swiftly. Six miles below Pine Island, there is a strong but not a dangerous rapid; and about fifteen miles farther is Fort Simpson, the principal depôt of the Hudson Bay Company for this department, at which we arrived by eight P.M., and thus escaped a very wet, comfortless night. Dr. Richardson had departed for Fort Norman the preceding day. This establishment, three hundred and thirty-eight miles from Fort Resolution on Slave Lake, is situated at the confluence of the River of the Mountains and the Mackenzie. The former is the channel of communication with a fur post not far distant from the Rocky Mountain Range, from whence the residents here procure much of their provision, including a tolerable supply of potatoes, which have been recently introduced from the southern parts. Mr. Smith, the chief factor of the district, was fortunately at Fort Simpson, so that I had the opportunity of arranging with him as to supplies of provision or stores that my party might require during its residence at Bear Lake. He cheerfully acceded to every suggestion that was made, and likewise furnished me with a letter of instruction to the same effect, addressed to the gentleman in charge of the lower posts. I learned from Mr. Smith that, as yet, a few only of the Indians who live nearest the mouth of the river, and none of the Esquimaux, had been apprized of our intended visit, the traders at the lower posts having considered that it would be better to defer this communication until we should arrive in the river, for fear of disappointing these people, which might have been attended with unpleasant results. There were two Canadians here belonging to the Expedition, whom Mr. Dease had sent to serve as guides to Bear Lake. By letters which they brought, I was informed that Indian hunters were engaged, and the necessary buildings in course of preparation for our reception. As Fort Simpson had been short of ammunition during the summer from some accidental cause, I was glad to find that Mr. Dease had been enabled to lend from our stores a barrel of powder, and a bag of balls and I now increased the loan, so as to meet the probable demands of the Indians, until the Company's supplies should arrive, when they would return to Fort Norman the whole of what we had lent. Cloudy weather limited our astronomical observations at this place to the dip of the needle, which was observed 81 degrees 54 minutes. [Sidenote: Friday, 5th.] We quitted the fort on the 5th, soon after noon, whence the river preserving nearly a straight course for fifteen miles, gradually extends itself to nearly two miles in breadth; in its channel there are three islands. At two P.M. we obtained the first glimpse of the Rocky Mountains, and kept them in view until we encamped, which was early, as the canoes required gumming. The outline of the mountains was very peaked, and at their easternmost part was a cone-shaped hill, higher than the rest, whose summit was veiled by clouds. The general appearance of the range somewhat reminded me of the east end of Jamaica. [Sidenote: Saturday, 6th.] The morning of the 6th was beautifully fine: we embarked at 2h 30m A.M., and by seven came within six or seven miles of the mountain range, where the river suddenly changes its course from W.b.N. to north, in longitude 123 degrees 31 minutes W. A distinct stratification was perceptible on the face of the nearest mountain: on one side of a nearly perpendicular ravine the strata dip to the southward at an angle of 25 degrees; whilst on the other they are nearly horizontal. There was a large accumulation of debris at its base: every part of the hill was destitute of vegetation. Its altitude was guessed at one thousand two hundred feet. At noon, in latitude 62 degrees 49 minutes N., we saw a chain of mountains, on the eastern side of the river, similar in their outline and general character to those hitherto seen only on the opposite bank. Between these ranges the river flowed in a channel two miles broad; but as we advanced we receded from those on the western side, their direction being W.N.W. In the brilliancy of the sunshine, the surfaces of some of the eastern hills, which were entirely bare, appeared white as marble, and for some time we fancied them to be covered with snow. By four P.M. we reached the Rocky Island mentioned by Mackenzie, where, from the river being contracted, the current flowed with great rapidity, and soon brought us opposite to the remarkable hill close by the river side, which that persevering traveller ascended in July, 1789. His account renders a description of it unnecessary. It is composed of limestone, and is about four hundred feet high. We continued a N.b.W. course for eight miles, and encamped at sunset, having travelled this day one hundred and twenty miles. A small supply of fresh deer's meat was obtained from some Dog-Rib Indians. Their canoes were made of the bark of the pine-tree, sewn at the ends and top with the fibrous parts of the root of that tree, leaving only a space sufficient for the legs of the sitter. [Sidenote: Sunday, 7th.] We pursued our course at dawn of day, and at the end of a few miles came to a more winding part of the river, where the stream is interrupted by numerous sand banks and shoals which we had some trouble to get round. Mr. Kendall, in his Journal, remarks of this part, "That bubbles of air continually rose to the surface with a hissing noise resembling the effervescence produced by pouring water on quick lime." We arrived at Fort Norman at ten, A.M., distant two hundred and thirty-six miles from Fort Simpson, and five hundred and seventy-four from Fort Resolution. Being now only four days' journey from Bear Lake, and there remaining yet five or six weeks of open season, I resolved on following up a plan of a voyage to the sea, which I had cherished ever since leaving England, without imparting it to my companions, until our departure from Fort Chipewyan, because I was apprehensive that some unforeseen accident might occur in the course of the very intricate and dangerous river navigation between Fort William and the Athabasca Lake, which might delay our arrival here to too late a period of the year. It was arranged, _first_, that I should go down to the sea, accompanied by Mr. Kendall, and collect whatever information could be obtained, either from actual observation, or from the intelligence of the Loucheux Indians, or the Esquimaux, respecting the general state of the ice in the summer and autumn; the direction of the coast, east and west of the Mackenzie; and whether we might calculate upon any supply of provision. _Secondly_, Dr. Richardson, on his own suggestion was to proceed in a boat along the northern shore of Bear Lake, to the part where it approached nearest to the Coppermine River, and there fix upon a spot to which he might bring the party the following year, on its return from the mouth of that river. And, _thirdly_, that these undertakings might not interfere with the important operations necessary for the comfortable residence and subsistence of the Expedition during the following winter, Lieutenant Back was to superintend them during my absence, with the assistance of Mr. Dease, chief trader of the Hudson Bay Company, whose suggestions, relative to the proper distribution of the Indian hunters, and the station of the fishermen, he was to follow. Accordingly, Dr. Richardson, on his quitting this place two days previous to our arrival, had left the largest of the boats, the Lion, for my use and a well-selected crew of six Englishmen, and Augustus the Esquimaux. Lieutenant Back was directed to take the canoes forward to Bear Lake, laden with such supplies as would be required for the winter, and was further instructed to furnish Dr. Richardson with one of the boats, and a good crew. The services of the Canadians who had brought the canoes from Penetanguishene, being no longer required, I desired Lieutenant Back to discharge them, and also all the voyagers of Mr. Dease's party who could be spared. They were sent in canoes to Slave Lake, where I had arranged with Mr. M'Vicar for their being supplied with the means of gaining subsistence by fishing, during the winter; and the following spring, they were to be forwarded to Canada, at the expense of Government, according to the terms of their agreement. Fort Norman being situated in our way to the sea, the pemmican and other stores, intended for the voyage along the coast next season, were deposited here, by permission of Mr. Smith, under the care of Mr. Brisbois, the clerk in charge. Our observations place this establishment in latitude 64 degrees 40 minutes 30 seconds N., and longitude 124 degrees 53 minutes 22 seconds W. [Sidenote: Monday, 8th.] The above matters being satisfactorily settled, and a few articles packed up as presents to the Indians and Esquimaux, Mr. Kendall and I embarked on the 8th, at noon, taking, in addition to our crew, a voyager, who was reported to be able to guide us through the proper channels to Fort Good Hope, of which, however, we found him altogether ignorant. We were accompanied by Lieutenant Back, with the three canoes, each manned by five men. The crews of the canoes imagining they could easily pass our English boat, were much surprised, on putting it to the proof, to find the boat take and maintain the lead, both under sail and with oars. A few miles above the Bear Lake River, and near its mouth, the banks of the Mackenzie contain much wood coal, which was on fire at the time we passed, as it had been observed to be by Mackenzie in his voyage to the sea. Its smell was very disagreeable. On a subsequent trial of this coal at our winter quarters, we found that it emitted little heat, and was unfit for the blacksmith's use. The banks likewise contain layers of a kind of unctuous mud, similar, perhaps, to that found on the borders of the Orinoco, which the Indians, in this neighbourhood, use occasionally as food during seasons of famine, and even, at other times, chew as an amusement. It has a milky taste, and the flavour is not disagreeable. We used it for whitening the walls of our dwellings; for which purpose it is well adapted. The entrance of the Bear Lake River is distinguished by a very remarkable mountain, whose summit displays a variety of insulated peaks, crowded in the most irregular manner. It is composed of limestone; and from the lower cliffs, which front the river, a dark, bituminous liquid oozes and discolours the rock. There are likewise two streams of sulphureous water that flow from its base into the Mackenzie. At this place we parted from our friend, Lieutenant Back, who entered the clear and beautiful stream that flows from Bear Lake, of whose pure waters we had also the benefit, till they were overpowered by the muddy current of the Mackenzie. The day was fine, the wind fair, the current swift, and every circumstance concurred to put the party in high glee. There was little in the scenery to attract our attention, now that we had become familiar with the general appearance of the Mackenzie, and we passed island after island, of the same alluvial mud, without further regard than the delineation of them in the survey book. At length, however, a most picturesque view of the Rocky Mountain range opened before us, and excited general admiration, and we had also some portions of the mountain range on the eastern side of the river, in view for the remainder of the day's journey. The outline of these mountains is very irregular, the highest parts being peaked hills. The general direction of the ranges is between N.W. and N.W.b.W. Being unwilling to lose the advantage of the wind, we only put ashore to sup, and after two hours' delay, resumed our voyage under easy sail. [Sidenote: Tuesday, 9th.] When the sun rose, the oars were used; and then, as the current set at the rate of two miles and a half per hour, the boat travelled swiftly down the stream. The eastern bank of the river, along which we were passing, is about one hundred and twenty feet high, almost perpendicular, and is composed of thin strata of bituminous shale. Amongst the fragments of shale which strewed the beach, we found many pieces of brown wood-coal. A reach, eighteen miles in length, followed. It is bounded on both sides by high cliffs of sand-stone. We landed to breakfast, and to obtain the longitude, 128 degrees 23 minutes W. From the reach here described, are seen two hills, named by me the East and West Mountains of the rapid, which seem to present a barrier to the further progress of the stream; but the river, bending suddenly between them to the north, dilates into a kind of basin, and, by so doing, opens by far the most interesting view of the Rocky Mountains which the Mackenzie affords. The river, too, makes its nearest approach to those mountains at this spot, and probably, the easiest communication with them would be by ascending a small stream that flows in here on the western side. Here too are found the first rapids mentioned by Mackenzie, which continue in succession for two miles, when the water is low. The centre of the basin is occupied by low sandy islands; and the channel on the western side is the deepest. The beauty of this scene furnished employment for the able pencil of Lieutenant Back, on a subsequent occasion. As the Mackenzie, in its further descent, continues to hold a northerly course, and the range of mountains runs N.W.b.N., we did not obtain any other view of them till we approached the sea. At one P.M. we saw a party of Indians encamped on the beach of a small stream, whom we invited to come off to us. They hesitated at first, being doubtful who we were, from our boat being different in shape from any they had seen, and carrying two sails; but after some time they launched their canoes, and brought us a good supply of fresh deer's meat. The sight of our boats seemed to delight them as much as the ammunition and tobacco which they received. These were Hare Indians, the tribe that follows next to the Dog-Ribs, in the line of country below Bear Lake; and, like them, they speak a dialect of the Chipewyan language. We admired the shape and appearance of their canoes, which were larger than those used by the Chipewyans, and had the fore part covered with bark, to fit them for the navigation of this broad river, where the waves are often high. The river varied from two to four miles in breadth, and its course was interrupted by several small islands and sand-banks. At six P.M. we came to an open space, bounded by lofty walls of sandstone. In this expansion are found the second rapids of Mackenzie: at the first appearance they seem dangerous, but are not so. The river becomes again contracted, and rushes with great force for the space of seven miles through a kind of defile, varying in breadth from four hundred to eight hundred yards, which has been appropriately named "The Ramparts," by the traders. The walls of this defile are from eighty to one hundred and fifty feet high, and are composed of limestone, containing numerous shells: for a part of the way the stone is very white, and in the rest it is blue. Several streams of water were running over the summits of the cliffs, which had worn the stone in some places, into a turreted shape; while the heaps, overthrown by its action at their base, resemble mounds for defence. To these appearances were occasionally added cavernous openings, and other hollow parts, not unlike the arched windows or gateways of a castellated building. I could not help fancying what delight a visit to this spot would afford to any person of a romantic turn, especially at the time we first saw it, when the broad shadows of a declining sun gave effect to the picture. This is a place of resort for the Hare Indians to fish, and we were visited by a large party of men and women of that tribe, who brought fish, berries, and meat. They were all neatly clothed in new leathern dresses, highly ornamented with beads and porcupine quills. The paintings of animals on the sides of our boats were very attractive to them; they scanned every figure over and over, bursting into laughter whenever they recognised any of the animals. We encamped near a small river below the ramparts, one hundred and ninety-three miles from Fort Norman. Two young Indians followed us in their canoes, bringing some musk-rat skins, and fish for sale. We purchased the fish, but declined taking the furs. They were so pleased with their reception, that they passed the night by our fire. [Sidenote: Wednesday, 10th.] At daylight we again embarked, and descended the river pleasantly and swiftly under sail, having the benefit of a strong current, especially where it was narrowed by islands or sand-banks. The sides of the river are generally high cliffs of limestone or sandstone, and its breadth from two to three miles. The intervals between these cliffs are mostly occupied by hills of sand, from eighty to one hundred feet high, whose intermediate valleys are well wooded; and whenever these occur, the channel of the river is much interrupted by banks, on which, as well as on the beach, there are vast collections of drift timber, piled, in some places, twenty feet high, by the spring floods. At eleven P.M. we arrived at Fort Good Hope, the lowest of the Company's establishments; it is distant from Fort Norman three hundred and twelve miles, and is in latitude 67 degrees 28 minutes 21 seconds N., and longitude 130 degrees 51 minutes 38 seconds W.: the variation of the compass being 47 degrees 28 minutes 41 seconds E. Our arrival at this period of the year, at least two months earlier than that of the Company's boats from York Factory, caused great astonishment to the few inmates of this dreary dwelling, and particularly to its master, Mr. Charles Dease, who scarcely recovered from his surprise until we had been seated some time in his room. But this over, he quickly put every one in motion to prepare a meal for us, of which we stood in much need, as it was then verging on midnight, and we had breakfasted at eight in the morning. This post had been but recently established for the convenience of the tribe of Indians whom Mackenzie calls the Quarrellers, but whom the traders throughout the fur country name Loucheux. As this name is now in general use, I shall adopt it, though it is but justice to the people to say, that they have bright sparkling eyes, without the least tendency to that obliquity which might be inferred from the term. The fact is, that Loucheux, or Squinter, was intended to convey the sense of the Indian name of the tribe--Deguthée Dennee, which means "the people who avoid the arrows of their enemies, by keeping a look out on both sides." None of the tribe was at this time at the fort; but from Mr. Dease we learned the interesting fact, that the Loucheux and Esquimaux, who are generally at war, had met amicably the preceding spring, and that they were now at peace. We procured from the store an assortment of beads, and such things as were most in request with the Loucheux, and made up a small package of clothing to be presented to each chief of that tribe, whose favour it was thought advisable by this means to propitiate, as they were the next neighbours to the Esquimaux. [Sidenote: Thursday, 11th.] After the latitude had been observed, we embarked, and were accompanied by Mr. Dease as far as Trading River, where he expected there might still be a party of Indians, which did not prove the case. This river being the usual limit of the trader's travels towards the sea, the voyager who had come with us from Fort Norman declined going any farther, and by permission of Mr. Dease he was exchanged for a young half-breed named Baptiste, the interpreter of the fort, who went under the promise of being left with the chief of the Loucheux, to whom he was to introduce the party. The reach below Trading River is remarkable, from the banks on the eastern side consisting of hills of a light yellow marl-slate, nearly uniform in shape, and strongly resembling piles of cannon shot. The name of Cannon-Shot Reach was, therefore, bestowed on it. The channel of the river is very intricate, winding amongst numerous sand-banks, and some low alluvial islands, on which willows only grow. Its breadth is about two miles, and the depth of water, in the autumn, from six to twelve feet. In passing through Cannon-Shot Reach, we were hailed by an Indian from the shore, and landed immediately, to inform him of the purport of our visit. As soon as Baptiste had explained these matters to him, the man, deeming it of importance that we should be properly introduced to his relatives, offered to accompany us to the next party, providing we would undertake to carry his baggage. This we consented to do, little expecting, from the appearance of poverty in himself and his family, and still less from that of his tent, a mere covering of bark and pine branches, supported on three poles, that load upon load of unsavoury fish would be tossed into the boat. However, we were unwilling to retract our promise, and suffered our vessel to be completely lumbered. We then pushed off, leaving the family to follow in the canoe, but in a short time our ears were assailed by the loud cries of the man demanding that we should stop. On his coming up, we found he was apprehensive of the canoe sinking, it being very leaky and overloaded, and of his losing his wife and infant child. The water being thrown out, the man proposed going forward and keeping by our side. There was nothing now to fear, yet the lamentations of the woman became louder and louder, and at last the poor creature threw off her only covering, raised the most piteous cries, and appeared a perfect object of despair. We learned from Baptiste that she was mourning the loss of two near relatives who had recently died near the spot we were passing. In this manner do these simple people show their sorrow for the death of their connexions. As we drew near the tents of the party on shore, the husband proclaimed with a stentorian voice who we were; this produced a long reply, of which Baptiste could only collect enough to inform us that many persons were lying sick in the lodges, and that two had died the preceding day. Not choosing to expose ourselves to the hazard of contagion, we put the baggage of our friend on shore at some distance below the lodges. All those who were able to manage a canoe, came off to receive presents, and to see Augustus, the principal object of attraction. Each person crowded to the side on which he sat to shake him by the hand; and two of the party, who had been occasionally with the Esquimaux, contrived to make him understand that, being accompanied by him, we need apprehend no violence from them, though they were a treacherous people. At the end of five miles farther we put on shore to sup, and afterwards slept in the boat; but Augustus spread his blankets on the beach before the fire, and allowed four of the Loucheux, who had followed us from the tents, to share them with him. [Sidenote: Friday, 12th.] At daylight we loosened from the beach, and continued with the descent of the river; winding, in our course, as numerous sand-banks rendered necessary. In a few hours we descried another collection of Indian lodges. One of the party happened to be examining his nets nearer to us than the tents; on espying the boat, he immediately desisted, and paddled towards his friends with the utmost speed, bawling the whole way for them to arm. The women and children were seen hurrying up the bank to hide themselves; and by the time we had got abreast of the lodges, the whole party were in a state of defence. They stood on the beach gazing at us evidently with much distrust; and for some time no one would accept our invitations to approach. At length an adventurous youth, distinguishable among the rest by the gaiety of his dress, and the quantity of beads that were suspended around his neck, launched his canoe and paddled gently towards the boat, till he discovered Augustus, whom he knew by his countenance to be an Esquimaux; then rising from his seat, he threw up his hands for joy, and desired every one of the party to embark at once. The summons was instantly obeyed, and a friendly intercourse followed; each person that had a gun discharging its contents, and taking the iron heads and barbs from the arrows, to show their entire confidence. On landing to breakfast, we found that the dialect of this party was different from that of the men we had seen yesterday, and that Baptiste did not understand their language; consequently our communications were carried on by signs, except when they attempted to speak Esquimaux, which Augustus, with difficulty, made out. He was still the centre of attraction, notwithstanding Mr. Kendall and myself were dressed in uniform, and were distributing presents to them. They caressed Augustus, danced and played around him, to testify their joy at his appearance among them, and we could not help admiring the demeanour of our excellent little companion under such unusual and extravagant marks of attention. He received every burst of applause, every shake of the hand, with modesty and affability, but would not allow them to interrupt him in the preparation of our breakfast, a task which he always delighted to perform. As soon as we had finished our meal, he made his friends sit down, and distributed to each person a portion of his own, but without any affectation of superiority. When we were on the point of embarking, the oldest Indian of the party intimated his desire that we should stop until some one whom he had sent for should come. This proved to be his son, in a very sickly state. Though the day was warm, the lad was shivering with cold, and it was evident he was suffering from fever, which the father had no doubt we could cure. The only remedy we could apply was some warm tea, with a little brandy in it, which we afterwards learned had the desired effect of restoring the invalid. Again we were preparing to set off, when the same old man begged us to stop until the women should come; these were no less pleased with Augustus, and with the presents they received, than the men had been. This good-natured tribe is distinguished by the traders as the Lower Loucheux, but the literal meaning of their Indian name is the Sharp Eyes. They are decidedly a well-looking people: in manner, and general appearance, they resemble the Esquimaux near the mouth of the Mackenzie, though not in their eyes, which are prominent and full. Their canoes, too, are shaped like those of the Esquimaux, and made of birch bark, which, by some process, is striped from the gunwale perpendicularly downwards, for the purpose of ornament. Their summer dress, like that of the Upper Loucheux and Esquimaux, is a jacket of leather, prolonged to a point before and behind: the leggings, of the same material, are sewn to the shoes, and tied by a string round the waist. The outer edges of their dress are cut into fringes, coloured with red and yellow earth, and generally decorated with beads. Beads are so much coveted by them, that, for some years, they were the principal article of trade exchanged for their furs; and even now the successful hunter, or the favourite son, may be known by the quantity of strings of different coloured beads which he has about his neck. These Indians are the only natives of America, except the Esquimaux, whom I have seen with the septum of the nose perforated, through which, like the Esquimaux, they thrust pieces of bone, or small strings of shells, which they purchase from that people. Few of them have guns, but each man is armed with a bow and arrows. The bows are constructed of three pieces of wood, the middle one straight, and those at each end crooked, and bound with sinews, of which the string is also made. The dress of the women only differs from that of the men by the hood being made sufficiently wide to admit of their carrying a child on their back. At ten A.M. we resumed our journey, followed by the young man who had first spoken to us, and his brother, in their canoes, and in the course of two hours came abreast of a remarkable round-backed hill, on which we were informed Mr. Livingstone and his party had encamped in 1795, the night before they were massacred. This hill marks the commencement of another contraction of the river, which is here pent in between very steep cliffs of blue limestone, which I have denominated the Narrows. The Red River contributes its waters to the Mackenzie at the lower part of the Narrows, in latitude 67 degrees 27 minutes N., longitude 133 degrees 31 minutes W.; and, though of inconsiderable size, is remarkable as being the boundary between the lands claimed by the Loucheux Indians and those of the Esquimaux, and likewise as the spot where the amicable meeting between these tribes had been held in the preceding spring. We did not find the chief of the Loucheux here, as had been expected, and therefore passed on. The banks of the river, now entirely composed of sand and sandstone, became gradually lower, and more bare of trees. At the end of eight miles we arrived at a very spacious opening, in which were numerous well-wooded islands, and various channels. The rocky mountains on the west once more appeared in view, extending from S.W. to N.W. and preserving a N.W.1/2W. direction; and of this range a very lofty peak, and a table mountain, which I have named after the late Mr. Gifford, form the most conspicuous features. We steered into the eastern channel, as being that through which the current seemed to run swiftest; and as soon as we came to a high bank we landed, for the purpose of taking a survey of the surrounding scene. But even from its summit our view was very limited, and all we could discover was, that we were certainly in that expansion of the river that Mackenzie delineates in his chart, and, therefore, in the fair way to the sea, whatever channel we took. This might have been inferred, from the sudden departure of our two Indian companions, who dropped behind and turned their canoes round, without further ceremony, as soon as they saw our intention of entering the eastern channel. Baptiste, who was asleep at the time, expressed surprise at their having gone back, but consoled himself with the idea of meeting the Indian chief the next morning, at a place he called the Forks. We were amused at conjecturing how great his surprise would be should he next be disturbed by the hallowing of a party of Esquimaux, whom he greatly dreaded. At the end of twenty-three miles descent in the middle channel, having passed one that branched off to the eastward, we put up at an early hour, and caused the guns to be cleaned, and two sentinels appointed to watch, lest the Esquimaux should come upon us unawares. The banks of the river, as well as the islands, are entirely alluvial, and support willows at the lower parts, and the spruce-fir trees at the summits. The beach on which we were encamped was much intersected with the recent tracts of the moose and rein-deer. [Sidenote: Saturday, 13th.] We embarked at three A.M. on the 13th; and as we were in momentary expectation of meeting the Esquimaux with whom I wished to have an interview, the masts were struck, lest they should discover the boat at a distance, and run off. We soon passed two of their huts, which did not seem to have been recently inhabited. The longitude 134 degrees 20 minutes 30 seconds W., and variation 51 degrees 4 minutes 20 seconds E., were observed at the time we halted to breakfast, and the latitude 68 degrees 15 minutes 50 seconds N., at noon. The Rein-deer mountains on the eastern side, came in view before noon. The range on the west was also occasionally visible: we were descending between the M'Gillivray and Simpson islands, in a channel that did not exceed half a mile in breadth. A fine breeze sprung up after noon, of which we took advantage by setting the sails, not having seen any recent traces of the Esquimaux. At the extremity of Simpson island there is a broad channel, which pours its waters into the one in which we were, at a place where the stream is contracted by a small island, and a strong rapid is the consequence of this junction. Here we found many huts, and other indications of its being a place of resort for fishing; here, too, it is supposed Mr. Livingstone and his crew fell a sacrifice to the first party of Esquimaux whom they met. Several other openings branched off to the eastward; but we continued to follow the largest channel, in which the current was very strong, and kept nearly parallel to, and about ten miles from, the Rein-deer mountains. Their outline, viewed from this distance, appeared very regular, the only remarkable parts being some eminences that were tinged with a deep pink colour. Sailing by one of the huts at a quick rate, every one's attention was arrested at hearing a shrill sound, which was supposed to be a human voice; but on landing to ascertain the fact, we could find no person, nor any footsteps. We, therefore, continued our journey. As we proceeded, the river became more devious in its course, the huts on the Esquimaux were now more frequent; none of them, however, seemed to have been recently inhabited. The islands were of the same alluvial kind as those seen yesterday, and the wood on them equally plentiful and large. We stopped to sup at nine, extinguished the fire as soon as we had finished, and then retired to sleep in the boat, keeping two men on guard. [Sidenote: Sunday, 14th.] We set off aided by a fresh breeze this morning, and at the end of seven miles came to the last of the fir trees, in latitude 68 degrees 40 minutes N., the only wood beyond this being stunted willows, which became still more dwarfish at thirty miles from the mouth of the river. There was plenty of drift-wood on the borders of the islands, and some even on the higher parts, at a distance from the water; from which it would appear that at certain seasons they are inundated. At length the main stream took a turn to the S.S.W., which we followed, though there was a branch northwards, but it seemed to be much impeded by mud-banks.[1] At the end of eight miles the river again inclined to the north of west, round the southern extremity of Halkett island, and there were openings to the north and south, which we did not stop to examine. A fog-bank hung over the northern horizon, which gave us no little uneasiness, from its strong resemblance to a continuous line of ice-blink; and the clouds, from the sun-beams falling on them, had the exact appearance of icebergs. However, the sun became sufficiently powerful in the afternoon to dissipate the cause of this illusion, and relieve us from anxiety on that score. A body of water, nearly equal to that we were descending, poured in between the Colville and Halkett islands with such force as to cause a very strong ripple at the point of junction, which we avoided by keeping close to the shore of Langley island. The channel, after the union of these streams, increased to a breadth of two miles, preserving a N.N.W. course. We stood twelve miles in this direction, and two to the westward, when we were gratified by the delightful prospect of the shore suddenly diverging, and a wide space of open water to the northward, which we doubted not would prove to be the sea. Just at this time a seal made its appearance, and sported about the boat as if in confirmation of this opinion. We attempted to coast along the shore of Ellice island, but found the water too shallow, and that the boat grounded whenever we got out of the channel of the river, which was near the western side. The wind and waves were too high for us to make any progress in the middle of the stream, and as the clouds threatened more boisterous weather, we went to Pitt island to encamp. The haze which had hidden all distant objects since five P.M. passed off as the sun set, and we gained a very magnificent view of that portion of the rocky mountain which I have called after my companion Dr. Richardson, and of which the remarkable conical peak, named in honour of my friend Dr. Fitton, President of the Geological Society, and the Cupola mountain, are the most conspicuous objects. These were subsequently found to be near sixty miles distant. The water was entirely fresh, and there was no perceptible rise of tide. Our drowsy companion Baptiste, when he looked upon the vast expanse of water, for the first time, expressed some apprehension that we had passed the Forks, and that there was a doubt of our seeing the Indian chief; but he was by no means convinced of the fact until the following day, when he tasted salt water, and lost sight of the main shore. After our Sunday evening's supper, the party assembled in the tent to read prayers, and return thanks to the Almighty, for having thus far crowned our labours with success. [Sidenote: Monday, 15th.] In the morning of the fifteenth the wind blew a gale, as it had done through the night, and every object was obscured by a thick fog. About six A.M. we took advantage of a temporary abatement of the wind to cross over to some higher land on the eastern side, which we had seen the preceding evening, appearing like islands. Owing to the thickness of the fog, we were guided in our course at starting solely by the compass. When we reached the channel of the river, the gale returned with increased violence, and its direction being opposite to the current, such high waves were raised, that the boat took in a good deal of water. The fog now cleared away, and the three eminences mistaken for islands were ascertained to be conical hummocks, rising above the low eastern shore. We pushed for the nearest, and landed a short distance from its base at eight A.M. On going to the summit of this eminence, in the expectation of obtaining the bearings of several distant points, we were a little disappointed to find that only the low shores of Pitt Island were visible, extending from S.E. to W.N.W., though we were repaid for our visit by observing two moose deer quietly browsing on the tops of the willows, a short distance from us. Mr. Kendall hastened down to despatch Baptiste in pursuit of them, who returned an hour afterwards to inform us that he had wounded one, which he had been prevented from following by the loss of his powder-horn. As there was no possibility of our getting forward until the gale abated, Baptiste and Augustus were sent out to hunt, there being numerous tracks of moose and rein-deer in the neighbourhood of the tent. I also despatched Mr. Kendall, with two seamen, to walk some distance into the interior, and endeavour to clear up the doubt whether we were upon the main shore, or upon an island. The astronomical observations obtained at the encampment place it in latitude 69 degrees 3 minutes 45 seconds N., longitude 135 degrees 44 minutes 57 seconds W. A tide-pole was put up immediately on our landing, and we perceived the water to rise about three inches in the course of the forenoon, and to fall the same quantity in the evening. The temperature of the air did not exceed forty-eight degrees all this day: when in the river, it used to vary from 55 degrees to 70 degrees. Mr. Kendall came back in the evening, bringing the agreeable intelligence that he had assisted in killing a female moose and her calf, and that Augustus had shot a rein-deer. Some men were sent to carry the meat to the borders of a river which Mr. Kendall had discovered, while the boat went round to its entrance about one mile from the encampment. They returned at sunset. Many geese and ducks were seen by our hunters. Throughout the whole of Mr. Kendall's walk, of twelve or fourteen miles, he saw only the same kind of flat land, covered with the dwarf willow and the moose-berry plant, as was discovered from the tent, except one small lake, and the river that has been mentioned, issuing from it. [Sidenote: Tuesday, 16th.] The atmosphere was so thick on the morning of the 16th as to confine our view to a few yards; we therefore remained at the encampment till the sun had sufficient power to remove the fog: temperature of the air 39 degrees. Embarking at eleven A.M., we continued our course along the shore of Ellice Island, until we found its coast trending southward of east. There we landed, and were rejoiced at the sea-like appearance to the northward. This point is in latitude 69 degrees 14 minutes N., longitude 135 degrees 57 minutes W., and forms the north-eastern entrance to the main channel of the Mackenzie River, which, from Slave Lake to this point, is one thousand and forty-five miles according to our survey. An island was now discovered to the N.E., looking blue from its distance, towards which the boat was immediately directed. The water, which for the last eight miles had been very shallow, became gradually deeper, and of a more green colour, though still fresh, even when we had entirely lost sight of the eastern land. In the middle of the traverse, we were caught by a strong contrary wind, against which our crews cheerfully contended for five hours, though drenched by the spray, and even by the waves, which came into the boat. Unwilling to return without attaining the object of our search, when the strength of the rowers was nearly exhausted, as a last resource, the sails were set double-reefed, and our excellent boat mounted over the waves in the most buoyant manner. An opportune alteration of the wind enabled us, in the course of another hour, to fetch into smoother water, under the shelter of the island. We then pulled across a line of strong ripple which marked the termination of the fresh water, that on the seaward side being brackish; and in the further progress of three miles to the island, we had the indescribable pleasure of finding the water decidedly salt. The sun was setting as the boat touched the beach, and we hastened to the most elevated part of the island, about two hundred and fifty feet high, to look around; and never was a prospect more gratifying than that which lay open to us. The Rocky Mountains were seen from S.W. to W.1/2N.; and from the latter point, round by the north, the sea appeared in all its majesty, entirely free from ice, and without any visible obstruction to its navigation. Many seals, and black and white whales were sporting on its waves; and the whole scene was calculated to excite in our minds the most flattering expectations as to our own success, and that of our friends in the Hecla and the Fury. There were two groups of islands at no great distance; to the one bearing south-east I had the pleasure of affixing the name of my excellent friend and companion Mr. Kendall, and to that bearing north-east the name of Pelly was given, as a tribute justly due to the Governor of the Hudson Bay Company, for his earnest endeavours to promote the progress and welfare of the Expedition. A similar feeling towards my much esteemed friend Mr. Garry, the Deputy Governor of the Company, prompted me to appropriate his name to the island on which we stood,--a poor, indeed, but heartfelt expression of gratitude, for all his active kindness and indefatigable attention to the comfort of myself and my companions. During our absence the men had pitched the tent on the beach, and I caused the silk union-flag to be hoisted, which my deeply-lamented wife had made and presented to me, as a parting gift, under the express injunction that it was not to be unfurled before the Expedition reached the sea. I will not attempt to describe my emotions as it expanded to the breeze--however natural, and, for the moment, irresistible, I felt that it was my duty to suppress them, and that I had no right, by an indulgence of my own sorrows, to cloud the animated countenances of my companions. Joining, therefore, with the best grace that I could command, in the general excitement, I endeavoured to return with corresponding cheerfulness, their warm congratulations on having thus planted the British flag on this remote island of the Polar Sea. Some spirits, which had been saved for the occasion, were issued to the men; and with three fervent cheers they drank to the health of our beloved monarch, and to the continued success of our enterprize. Mr. Kendall and I had also reserved a little of our brandy, in order to celebrate this interesting event; but Baptiste, in his delight of beholding the sea, had set before us some salt water, which having been mixed with the brandy before the mistake was discovered, we were reluctantly obliged to forego the intended draught, and to use it in the more classical form of a libation poured on the ground. Baptiste, on discovering that he had actually reached the ocean, stuck his feathers in his hat, and exultingly exclaimed, "Now that I am one of the _Gens de la mer_, you shall see how active I will be, and how I will crow over the _Gens du nord_," the name by which the Athabasca voyagers are designated. No fresh water was found on Garry Island until Augustus discovered a small lake, the streams that poured down from the cliffs being as salt as the sea. The temperature of the sea water was 51 degrees; the fresh water we had left at five miles from the island 55 degrees; and that of the air 52 degrees. Garry Island is about five miles long, by two broad, and seems to be a mass of frozen mud, which, in the parts exposed to the air and sun, has a black earthy appearance. It is terminated to the north-west by a steep cliff, through which protrude, in a highly inclined position, several layers of wood-coal, similar to that found in the Mackenzie. There was likewise observed a bituminous liquid trickling down in many parts, but particularly near the south-west point of the cliff where the bank had been broken away, and a hollow cavity was formed. The ravines and gullies were still filled with ice, though none was seen on the level ground. There were no stones above the sea level; those on the beach consisted of granite, greenstone, quartz, and lydian-stone, of a small size and completely rounded. The vegetable productions were grasses, a few mosses, and some shrubs, the latter in flower. Four foxes were the only land animals we saw; and a small hawk, some gulls, dotterels, and phaleropes, composed the list of birds. A large medusa was found on the beach. [Sidenote: Wednesday, 17th.] The sky was cloudless on the morning of the 17th, which enabled us to ascertain the position of our encampment to be in latitude 69 degrees 29 minutes N., longitude 135 degrees 41 minutes W., and the variation of the magnetic needle to be 51 degrees 42 minutes E. We likewise found that it was high water that day at one P.M. with a rise and fall of eight inches, but the direction of the flood could not be ascertained. I wrote for Captain Parry an account of our progress, with such information as he might require, in case he wished to communicate either with the Company's Post at Fort Good Hope, or our party, and deposited my letter, with many others that I had in charge for himself and the officers of the ships, under a pole erected for the purpose, on which we left a blue and red flag flying, to attract his attention. Another statement of our proceedings was encased in a waterproof box, and committed to the sea, a mile to the northward of the island. The wind blew strong off the land at the time, and there was a gale from the north-west the next day, so that there is every chance of the letter having made good way to the eastward. Having completed the observations, we embarked at two P.M., and pulled along the western shore of the island three miles to the sandy spit at its south-west end, on which there was a vast quantity of drift-wood piled by the action of the waves. From this point we launched forth to cross towards the Mackenzie under double-reefed sails, as the wind was blowing strong, and the waves high in the offing; but finding the boat very stiff and buoyant, the sail was increased, and reaching the eastern point of Ellice Island by seven P.M. we encamped at the foot of the outermost of the three hummocks mentioned on the 15th of August. As we passed along the shore of the island, we disturbed some moose and rein-deer, and several geese, cranes, and swans, that were quietly feeding near the water. At this period of the year, therefore, there would be no lack of food, in this country, for the skilful hunter. In the course of the evening I found that a piece of the wood-coal from Garry's Island, which I had placed in my pocket, had ignited spontaneously, and scorched the metal powder-horn by its side. Our enterprising precursor, Sir Alexander Mackenzie, has been blamed for asserting that he had reached the sea, without having ascertained that the water was salt. He, in fact, clearly states that he never did reach the salt water. The danger to which his canoe was exposed in venturing two or three miles beyond Whale Island, (which lies to the eastward of our route,) at a time when the sea was covered with ice to the north, is a sufficient reason for his turning back; and we can abundantly testify that those frail vessels are totally unfitted to contend against such winds and seas as we experienced in advancing beyond the volume of fresh water poured out by the Mackenzie. It is probable, therefore, that even had the sea been free from ice at the time of his visit, he could not have gone far enough to prove its saltness, though the boundless horizon, the occurrence of a tide, and the sight of porpoises and whales, naturally induced him to say that he had arrived at the ocean. The survey of the Mackenzie made on this Expedition, differs very little in its outline from that of its discoverer, whose general correctness we had often occasion to admire. We had, indeed, to alter the latitude and longitude of some of its points, which he most probably laid down from magnetic bearings only; and it is proper to remark, that in comparing our magnetic bearings with his, throughout the whole course of the river, they were found to be about fifteen degrees more easterly; which may, therefore, be considered as the amount of increase in variation since 1789. In justice to the memory of Mackenzie, I hope the custom of calling this the Great River, which is in general use among the traders and voyagers, will be discontinued, and that the name of its eminent discoverer may be universally adopted. [Sidenote: Thursday, 18th.] The excursions to Garry Island having made us acquainted with the state of the sea to the northward, and having shown that, the bank at the mouth of the river being passed, there was no visible impediment to a boat's proceeding eastward, I was desirous of making further examination in aid of the future operations of the Expedition, by going over to the western shore, and of reaching, if possible, the foot of the Rocky Mountains. With these intentions we embarked at nine A.M., but before we could get half way to the nearest part of Pitt Island, a gale of wind came on from N.W., followed by violent squalls, which, from the threatening appearance of the clouds, and the rapid descent of the thermometer from 68 degrees to 51 degrees, seemed likely to be of some continuance. The design was, therefore, abandoned, and the boat's head directed towards the entrance of the river. It proved, however, no easy task to get into the proper channel; and to effect this object the officers and crew had to drag the boat half a mile over a bar, while the waves were beating into it with such force as to make us apprehensive of its being swamped. As soon as we were in deep water, all the sail was set that the boat could bear, and at two P.M. we arrived at the narrow part. Here, likewise, the waves were high and breaking, and for the purpose of avoiding these and the strength of the current, we kept as close to the shore as possible, going through the water at seven miles an hour, and about four over the current. The wild fowl, warned by the sudden change of the weather, took advantage of this fair wind, and hastened away in large flights to the southward. At ten P.M., the boat having twice grounded, from our not being able to see our way clearly, we halted to sup, and laid down to sleep before a good fire. Temperature at 45 degrees. [Sidenote: Friday, 19th.] When daylight permitted us to distinguish the channels, we embarked again, and scudded under the foresail before the gale, which this day blew with increased violence. We halted to breakfast near some winter habitations of the Esquimaux, which we supposed, from the freshness of the wood-shavings, and the implements of fishing that were scattered about them, had been abandoned only in the preceding spring; and as it was probable they would revisit this spot, we fixed to the pole of a tent a present of a kettle, knife, hatchet, file, ice-chisel, some beads, and pieces of red and blue cloth. These huts were constructed of drift wood, in a similar manner to those which will be described in a subsequent part of the narrative. A second present was deposited at some other huts, and a third at those below the rapids. We imagined that some, if not all, of these would be found by the Esquimaux, and would make them acquainted with our visit. By noon we had advanced as far as the rapid, which we ascended under sail; and at a few miles above this point, owing to the fogginess of the atmosphere, we took a more western channel than that by which we descended. This proved circuitous, though it ultimately brought us to the former route. It was quite dark before we could find a secure place for the boat, and a sheltered spot for the tent. The gale continued without abatement, the weather was raw and cold, and it was with difficulty we collected some sticks to kindle a fire. Temperature 40 degrees. [Sidenote: Saturday, 20th.] On the 20th the wind was moderate. We resumed our journey at four A.M.; past our sleeping-place of the 12th by noon, and at sunset encamped at the narrow part of the river where the numerous channels commence. Large flights of geese and swans were observed passing to the southward all this day. The musquitoes again made their appearance, though the temperature was at 45 degrees: scarcely any of them had been seen on the descent to the sea. [Sidenote: Sunday, 21st.] Temperature at day light, on the 21st, 37 degrees. We commenced our labour under oars, but a strong gale from the southward soon rendered this mode of ascending the river ineffectual. The men were, therefore, divided into two parties, who towed the boat by line, relieving each other at intervals of an hour and a half. At fifty minutes past one P.M. we were abreast of the Red River, and there met a large party of the lower Loucheux Indians, who had assembled to wait our arrival. They welcomed our return with every demonstration of joy, more particularly that of Augustus and Baptiste, and at first cheerfully assisted the men in towing, but, like Indians in general, they soon became tired of this labour, and rather impeded than forwarded our progress. So we distributed to each a present; made known as well as well as we could by signs, that at our next visit we would purchase whatever fish or meat they might collect, and took our leave of them. Owing to the detention these men and another party occasioned, we were caught by a heavy gale from N.W. before we could reach our encampment at the head of the Narrows, and had to pitch the tent in pelting rain. Temperature 43 degrees. [Sidenote: Monday, 22nd.] On the 22nd, we started at four in a thick wet fog, which gave place to snow and sleet, and sailed the whole day before a strong N.W. wind, much to the annoyance of several Indians who tried to keep pace with the boat, by running along the shore: each of them had a present of tobacco thrown to him. We encamped near the bottom of Cannon-Shot Reach; the weather was extremely cold, and, during the night, ice was formed in the kettle. [Sidenote: Tuesday, 23rd.] On the next day the wind came contrary from S.E., which obliged us to have recourse to the tow-line. The frequent recurrence of sand-banks, to avoid which we had either to pull round or cross the river, made this day's operations very tedious. In turning round one of the points, we came suddenly upon a party of Indians, who had not seen us on our way down. Our appearance, therefore, created great alarm; the women and children were instantly despatched to the woods, and the men came down to the beach with their guns and arrows prepared, and knives drawn; but the explanation that Baptiste gave, soon allayed their fears. They were, indeed, objects of pity; all their property had been destroyed to testify their grief at the death of some of their relations, and the bodies of several were still sore from the deep gashes they had inflicted on themselves in their demonstrations of sorrow. We distributed such useful articles among them as we had remaining, but the supply was not at all equal to their necessities. Several of them attempted to follow us in their canoes by poling, which they dexterously perform by pushing at the same time with a pole or paddle in each hand; the boat however, was towed faster than they could ascend the stream, and they were soon far behind. We arrived at six P.M. at the Trading River, and there met another party of the Loucheux, among whom was the woman whose tears had excited our sympathy on the 11th, now in high glee, and one of the most importunate for beads. The boy was likewise there to whom the tea had been given as a remedy for his fever, completely recovered, which was, no doubt, ascribed to the efficacy of the medicine. Not choosing to encamp near these people, we crossed the river, and towed four hours longer, when we reached Fort Good Hope. Mr. Dease, and all his fort, were overjoyed on seeing us again, because the Indians had begun to surmise, and in fact had brought a report that we had all been massacred by the Esquimaux; and had we been detained another week, this statement would have gained entire credence, and, in all probability, spread throughout the country. The Indian whose fish we carried on our way down, happened to be at the fort, and he cheerfully communicated, through the interpreter, a female, all the information that he or his tribe possessed respecting the mouth of the river, the sea-coast, and the Esquimaux, all topics highly interesting to us, but we subsequently found that his knowledge of these matters was very imperfect. We made known to him our wish that the Esquimaux should be informed of our arrival as soon as possible, and signified that a very substantial present would be given to any person that would carry the intelligence to them in the course of the following winter. Mr. Dease pressed this point strongly on his consideration. This gentleman, indeed, was anxious to promote our desires in every respect, and promised that his utmost exertions should be used to procure a good supply of provision for our next summer's voyage, though he represented the hunters in this vicinity as unskilful and inactive, and begged of me not to rely too much on his collection. We left in his charge five bags of pemmican, and the superfluous stores, to lighten the boats. We quitted the fort in the afternoon with a contrary wind, and towed twenty miles up the stream before we encamped, though the beach was composed of sharp stones, which rendered walking very unpleasant. The wind being contrary during the four following days, we could only ascend the river by using the tracking line. Our crew cheerfully performed this tedious service, though three of them had been much reduced by dysentery, brought on by previous fatigue, exposure to wet, and by their having lived for some time on dried provision. These men, however, had gradually been gaining strength since the fresh meat was procured on Ellice Island. On the 25th we came to the aspen, poplar, and larch, in latitude 67 degrees 10 minutes N., and were not a little surprised to observe the change in their foliage within the last fortnight. Their leaves had assumed the autumnal tint, and were now fast falling. The wild fowl were hastening in large flocks to the south, and every appearance warned us that the fine season drew near its close. [Sidenote: 28th.] In the passage through the rampart defile, several families of the Hare Indians were observed encamped on the heights, for the purpose of gathering berries which were at this time ripe, and in the best flavour. At the first sight of the boat the women and children scampered down wherever descent was practicable, to get at their canoes, that they might cross over to us, but we travelled so fast that only a few could overtake the boat. The Indians who reside near this river, from their want of skill in hunting, principally subsist, from spring to autumn, on the produce of their fishing nets, and on wild berries. At the influx of small streams, or wherever there is any eddy, a net is set. In shallow water it is suspended upon sticks planted in a semicircle, so as to enclose the mouth of the river, or the sweep of the eddy; but where the water is deep, and the shore bold or rocky, two stout poles are firmly secured at a short distance from the water's edge, the breadth of a net apart, to the ends of which pliable rods are fastened, of a length sufficient to hang over the water, and to these the net is attached. In the winter these Indians snare hares, which are very abundant in this quarter. [Sidenote: 29th.] On the 29th we arrived at the upper rapids, which were scarcely discernible at the time of our descent; but from the falling of the water since that time, there was a dry sand-bank of considerable extent in the centre, and the waters on each side of it were broken and covered with foam. Augustus being tired with tracking, had wandered from us to the extremity of this bank, from whence he could not be extricated without great hazard, unless by making him return to the bottom of the rapid. As this, however, would have compelled the poor fellow to pass the night upon the sand-bank, Mr. Kendall undertook to bring him off, by running with the current to the point at the commencement of the rapids, which he effected in a masterly manner, although the boat struck twice, and was in considerable danger from the violence of the eddies. We found, at the place of our encampment, a solitary old woman, sitting by a small fire, who seemed somewhat alarmed at her visitors, until she was joined, after dark, by her husband and son. As soon as the man understood from our signs that we were desirous of having some fish for supper, he instantly embarked to examine his nets; but as they proved to be empty, the woman generously dragged a pike out of a bundle on which she was sitting, and presented it to us, though it was evidently reserved for their own meal. In return we furnished them with a more substantial supper, and made them some useful presents. The weather was extremely sultry throughout this day; at two P.M. the thermometer stood in the shade at 66 degrees, and at 76 degrees when exposed to the sun. The refraction of the atmosphere, which we had often remarked to be unusually great since we had entered the Mackenzie, was this day particularly powerful. The mountains were distorted into the most extraordinary shapes, and the banks of the river, which we knew to be only from thirty to sixty feet high, appeared to have such an elevation, that it would have been impossible for us to recognise the land. The air became cooler in the evening, and the atmosphere less refractive. Soon after sunset the objects appeared in their proper form, and we enjoyed the prospect of the delightful mountain scenery that distinguishes this rapid. [Sidenote: Tuesday, 30th.] Favoured by a N.W. gale, we made great progress on the 30th. The temperature of the air varied in the course of the day from 62 degrees to 41 degrees. The brulôts and sand-flies were very teazing wherever we landed; but these, unlike the musquitoes, disappear with the sun. The upper parts of the Rocky Mountains on the western side of the river were, at this time, covered with snow, but not those of the eastern side, which are, probably, less elevated than the former. We had no opportunity of ascertaining their height, though we conjectured that the loftiest did not exceed two thousand feet, as it was free from snow in the early part of August. [Sidenote: September, 1st.] At sunset this evening we quitted the muddy waters of the Mackenzie, and entered the clear stream that flows from the Great Bear Lake; but owing to the shallowness of the water near its mouth, and the beach being a mere collection of stones, we had to grope our way long after dark in search of a place for an encampment, stumbling and falling at every step. At length we espied a light about a mile further up the river on the opposite shore; we, therefore, crossed over, at the expense of some heavy blows to the boat, and tracked along the base of a steep bank, until we reached the fire. There we found a Canadian and two Indian boys who had been sent from Bear Lake three days before in a canoe, to procure some white mud from the banks of the MacKenzie to decorate our house. This man was the bearer of a letter from Lieutenant Back to me, which detailed the proceedings at the Fort. [Sidenote: Friday, 2nd.] We embarked at daylight, having the canoe in company. The weather was cold and raw throughout the day; the temperature from 34 degrees to 45 degrees; but the party were kept in constant exercise, either in tracking or walking; the steersman and bowman only being required in the boat. Except where the river was bounded by steep cliffs, the path was pretty good. Its general breadth varied from three hundred to five hundred yards, and its banks were tolerably well wooded, but the trees were small. [Sidenote: Saturday, 3rd.] This morning the ground was firmly frozen, and the thermometer stood at 28 degrees, when we commenced our operations. Early in the afternoon we arrived at the lower part of the mountain, and which we had kept in view this day, and the greater part of the preceding. As we had now to ascend a succession of rapids for fifteen miles, and two of our crew were lame, I directed the canoe to be laid up on the shore, and took the Canadian and the boys to assist at the tow-line. We had not advanced more than two miles before we met with an accident that was likely to have been attended with serious consequences: in the act of hauling round a projecting point, and in the strength of the current, the tow-line broke, and the boat was driven with great force against a large stone at some distance from the shore, having deep water on every side. There it lay with the broadside exposed to the whole pressure of the current, beating violently against the stone; and from this situation it could not have been extricated, had not Gustavus Aird, the strongest man of the party, ventured to wade into the river at the imminent risque of being swept off his feet, until he could catch the rope that was thrown to him from the boat. As soon as it was dragged to the shore, we found that part of the keel was gone, and the remainder much twisted, and all the fastenings of the lowest plank were loosened. The carpenter set to work to repair this mischief in the best manner he could with the materials he had, and before night the boat was again launched. The leaks, however, could not be quite stopped, and in our further progress one of the men was constantly employed baling out the water. [Sidenote: Sunday, 4th.] The next day's operations were tedious and hazardous as long as the rapids continued. The men had to walk with the tow-line along a narrow ledge that jutted out from the base of a steep rocky cliff, which was very slippery from the rain that had fallen in the night: a false step might have proved fatal; and we rejoiced when, having passed the rapids, we found earthy banks and a better path. The services of Augustus and the Indian lads being no longer required, I despatched them to the Fort, to apprize the party there of our approach. We had a severe frost this night: at daylight in the morning the thermometer was down to 20 degrees, and a raw fog contributed to make the weather very cold and comfortless. The sun shone forth about eleven, and soon dispersed the fog, and then the temperature gradually rose to 54 degrees. [Sidenote: Monday, 5th.] At four P.M. we arrived at the foot of the upper rapid, and in two hours afterwards entered the Great Bear Lake, and reached the house at seven. Dr. Richardson having returned from his voyage to the northern part of the lake, the members of the Expedition were now, for the first time, all assembled. We heartily congratulated each other on this circumstance, and also on the prospect of being snugly settled in our winter-quarters before the severe weather. Dr. Richardson had surveyed the Bear Lake to the influx of Dease's River, near its N.E. termination, at which point it is nearest to the Coppermine River. He fixed upon the first rapid in Dease River as the best point to which the eastern detachment of the Expedition could direct its steps, on its return from the mouth of the Coppermine River the following season. The rapid was, by observation, in latitude 66 degrees 53 minutes N., and longitude 118 degrees 35 minutes W., and the variation of the magnetic needle there, was 47 degrees 29 minutes E. THE FOLLOWING TABLE CONTAINS THE DISTANCES TRAVELLED BY THE EXPEDITION DURING THE SUMMER OF 1825. Principal Places. Statute Miles. ---------------------------------------------------------------------- From New York to Penetanguishene, by the route we travelled 760 Lake Huron 250 Lake Superior 406 From Fort William to Cumberland House 1018 Cumberland House to Fort Chipewyan 840 Chipewyan to Fort Resolution, Slave Lake 240 Fort Resolution to the commencement of the Mackenzie 135 Head of the Mackenzie to Fort Simpson 103 Fort Simpson to Bear Lake River 271 Bear Lake River to, and the return from, Garry Island 1206 Length of the Bear Lake River to the Fort 91 Dr. Richardson's excursion to the north-east termination of } Bear Lake } 483 ---- Distance travelled 5803 ---- Number of Miles surveyed 2593 FOOTNOTES: [1] An attentive perusal of Sir Alexander Mackenzie's Narrative leads me to the conclusion, that it was this northern branch which that traveller pursued in his voyage to Whale Island. CHAPTER II. TRANSACTIONS AT FORT FRANKLIN, 1825-26. Mr. Dease having passed the winter of 1824-25 at the Big Island of Mackenzie, arrived here with fifteen Canadian voyagers, Beaulieu, the interpreter, and four Chipewyan hunters, on the twenty-seventh of July, 1825; which, on account of the drifting of the ice, was as soon as he could, with safety, ascend the Bear Lake River. Several of the Dog-Rib Indians were on the spot, which enabled him to take immediate steps towards procuring a supply of dried meat for our winter use, as well as of fresh meat for present consumption. It having been ascertained that the Rein-deer are most abundant in the north-east quarter of the lake, during the months of August and September, a select party of Indians was despatched to hunt thereabout, under the direction of the interpreter, who took a large canoe for the purpose of bringing home the produce of their hunt. Other men were sent to inform the Hare Indians of our wish to purchase any meat they might bring to the establishment. Our principal subsistence, however, was, to be derived from the water, and Mr. Dease was determined in the selection of the spot on which our residence was to be erected, by its proximity to that part of the lake where the fish had usually been abundant. The place decided upon was the site of an old fort belonging to the North-West Company, which had been abandoned many years; our buildings being required of a much larger size, we derived very little benefit from its materials. The wood in the immediate vicinity having been all cut down for fuel by the former residents, the party was obliged to convey the requisite timber in rafts from a considerable distance, which, of course, occasioned trouble and delay. We found, however, on our arrival, all the buildings in a habitable state, but wanting many internal arrangements to fit them for a comfortable winter residence. They were disposed so as to form three sides of a square, the officers' house being in the centre, those for the men on the right, with a house for the interpreter's family, and the store on the left. A blacksmith's shop and meat store were added, and the whole was inclosed by the stockading of the original fort, which we found highly serviceable in screening us from the snow-drift and wintry blasts. The officers' dwelling measured forty-four feet by twenty-four, and contained a hall and four apartments, beside a kitchen. That of the men was thirty-six feet by twenty-three, and was divided into three rooms. These buildings were placed on a dry sandy bank, about eighty yards from the lake, and twenty-five feet above it; at the distance of a half a mile in our rear, the ground rose to the height of one hundred and fifty feet, and continued in an even ridge, on which, though the timber had been felled, we found plenty of small trees for fuel. This ridge bounded our view to the north; and to the west, though confined to less than two miles, the prospect was pretty, from its embracing a small lake, and the mouth of a narrow stream that flowed in at its head. Our southern view commanded the south-west arm of Bear Lake, which is here four miles wide, and not deeper than from three to five fathoms, except in the channel of the river, which conveys its waters to the Mackenzie. We had also, in front, the Clark-hill, a mountain about thirty-six miles distant, which was always visible in clear weather. When the refraction was great, we saw the tops of some other hills, belonging to the range that extends from Clark-hill to the rapid in Bear Lake River. Immediately under the sandy soil on which the house stood, there is a bed of tenacious bluish clay, of unknown thickness, which, even in the months of August and September, was firmly frozen at the depth of twenty-one inches from the surface. No rocks were exposed in any part, and wherever the surface had been torn up, a clayey soil appeared. Many boulder stones of granite, limestone, sandstone and trap rocks, were scattered about the lake, not far from the shore. The trees at some distance from our fort consisted of black and white spruce, and larch, generally small, though a few of the better grown measured from four to five feet in girth, and were from fifty to fifty-five feet high. Dr. Richardson ascertained, by counting the annual rings, that some of them, in a sound state, were upwards of one hundred and thirty years old; while others, which were not much greater in size, had two hundred and fifty rings, but these were decayed at the heart. The officers had done me the honour, previous to my arrival, of giving the name of Franklin to the fort, which I felt a grateful pleasure in retaining at their desire, though I had intended naming it Fort Reliance. The number of persons belonging to the establishment amounted to fifty: consisting of five officers, including Mr. Dease; nineteen British seamen, marines, and voyagers; nine Canadians; two Esquimaux; Beaulieu, and four Chipewyan hunters; three women, six children, and one Indian lad; besides a few infirm Indians, who required temporary support. This party was far too large to gain subsistence by fishing at one station only; two houses were, therefore, constructed at four and seven miles distance, from the fort, to which parties were sent, provided with the necessary fishing implements; and not more than thirty persons were left to reside at the principal establishment. From fifteen to twenty nets were kept in use, under the superintendence of Pascal Coté, an experienced fisherman, who had two assistants. These were placed opposite the house, and towards the end of summer, and in autumn, they yielded daily from three to eight hundred fish, of the kind called "the Herring Salmon of Bear Lake," and occasionally some trout, tittameg, and carp. Four Dog-Rib Indians, who were engaged to hunt the Rein-deer in the neighbourhood of the fort, from want of skill, contributed very little fresh meat to our store. Augustus and Ooligbuck employed themselves in the same service, but from not being accustomed to hunt in a woody country, they were not more successful. The consideration of next importance to furnishing the party with food, was to provide regular occupation for the men, who had not the resources to employ their time which the officers possessed. Accordingly, some were appointed to attend exclusively to the fishing nets, others to bring home the meat whenever the hunters killed any deer; some were stationed to fell wood for fuel, others to convey it to the house, and a third set to split it for use. Two of the most expert travellers on snow-shoes were kept in nearly constant employment conveying letters to and from the posts in the Mackenzie and Slave Lake. As the days shortened, it was necessary to find employment during the long evenings, for those resident at the house, and a school was, therefore, established on three nights of the week, from seven o'clock to nine, for their instruction, in reading, writing, and arithmetic; and it was attended by most of the British party. They were divided in equal portions amongst the officers, whose labour was amply repaid by the advancement their pupils made: some of those who began with the alphabet, learned to read and write with tolerable correctness. Sunday was a day of rest; and, with the exception of two or three of the Canadians, the whole party uniformly attended Divine service, morning and evening. If, on the other evenings for which no particular occupation was appointed, the men felt the time tedious, or if they expressed a wish to vary their employments, the hall was at their service, to play any game they might choose; and on these occasions they were invariably joined by the officers. By thus participating in their amusements, the men became more attached to us, at the same time that we contributed to their health and cheerfulness. The hearts and feelings of the whole party were united into one common desire to make the time pass as agreeably as possible to each other, until the return of spring should enable them to resume the great object of the Expedition. The officers found employment in making and registering the thermometrical, magnetical, and atmospherical observations, which were hourly noted from eight A.M. to midnight; and, in addition to the duties which they had in common, each had a peculiar department allotted to him. Lieutenant Back had the superintendence of the men; and the accurate drawings which he finished during the winter, from sketches taken on the voyage, afford ample proof of his diligence and skill. Dr. Richardson, besides the duties of medical officer, which, from the numerous applications made by the natives, were not inconsiderable, devoted his attention to natural history, as well as to a series of observations on the force of the sun's radiation. Mr. Kendall constructed all the charts after the data had been recalculated by myself; he also made several drawings; and he undertook an interesting series of observations on the velocity of sound. To Mr. Dease the charge was committed of whatever related to the procuring and issuing of provision, and the entire management of the Canadian voyagers and Indians. Previous to the officers leaving London, Dr. Fitton, President of the Geological Society, had the kindness to devote much of his time to their instruction in geology; and having furnished them with a portable collection for the purpose of reference on the voyage, Dr. Richardson, when he had leisure, explained these specimens, weekly, to the party, and assisted them in reading on this science, which proved a most agreeable and useful recreation to us all. Some of the preceding remarks refer to a period of our residence later than that which I am about to enter upon; but I thought it best to insert them here, that the mention of them might not interrupt the narrative of occurrences which I shall now resume. [Sidenote: Thursday, 8th.] On September 8th, two men were sent off to Slave Lake, in a canoe, with a despatch, containing an account of our proceedings, addressed to His Majesty's Secretary of State for the Colonies; and as we expected letters from England, by the way of Hudson's Bay, they directed to await their arrival at Slave Lake. There was almost constant rain from the 11th to the 14th, which much retarded the work going on out of doors, and particularly the construction of an observatory, which we were desirous of completing as soon as possible, that the magnetical observations might be commenced. We found employment, however, in whitewashing and fitting up the interior of the different houses. The 15th proving fine, we established a meridian line, and ascertained the variation by each of the compasses. [Sidenote: Tuesday, 20th.] Beaulieu returned with his family, the Chipewyan hunters, and some Dog-Ribs, bringing a supply of dried meat, rein-deer tongues, and fat, sufficient for a month's consumption, which was reserved for use when the fishing should become unproductive. These men reported, that at the time they quitted the northern shores of the lake, the deer were retiring towards this quarter; which intelligence accounted for the Indians having killed four within a day's march from the house. [Sidenote: Friday, 23rd.] The chimney of the last of the buildings being completed this morning, the flag-staff erected, and all the men assembled, we commemorated these events by the festivities usual on the opening of a new establishment in this country. The first part of the ceremony was to salute the flag; the men having drawn themselves up in line, and the women and children, and all the Indians resident at the fort, being disposed in groups by their side, a deputation came to solicit the presence of the officers. When we appeared, we found our guns ornamented with blue ribbons, and we were requested to advance and fire at a piece of money which was fastened to the flag-staff. The men then fired two volleys and gave three hearty cheers, after which Wilson the piper struck up a lively tune, and placing himself at the head of his companions, marched with them round to the entrance of the hall, where they drank to His Majesty's health, and to the success of the Expedition. In the evening the hall was opened for a dance, which was attended by the whole party, dressed in their gayest attire. The dancing was kept up with spirit to the music of the violin and bagpipes, until daylight. [Sidenote: Monday, 26th.] These entertainments over, Beaulieu and the hunters were despatched to the chase, and they soon added two moose-deer to our store. [Sidenote: Tuesday, 27th.] There had been much rain in the course of the preceding week, and the temperature was generally mild, but a fall of snow took place on the 27th. Some Dog-Ribs came to the fort on that day with the produce of their autumnal hunt, which was very inconsiderable, but they rendered good service to us by taking away with them several of their relations, who had been subsisting on our bounty for some time. After their departure there only remained one man of the tribe, who, being afflicted with rheumatic fever, was retained under the care of Dr. Richardson. Warm clothing was provided for him, and a comfortable leathern lodge was erected for himself and family. [Sidenote: October, 1st.] The month of October commenced with frost and snow, and the party were now furnished with fur caps, leathern mittens and trowsers, and the rest of their warm winter-clothing. This day we completed the erection of the observatory, and adjusted an instrument to the magnetic meridian, for the purpose of observing the variations of the needle. [Sidenote: Tuesday, 11th.] Much snow fell on the night of the 7th, and on the 11th the small lake was firmly frozen over, and the ground in the same state. All the migratory birds being now gone, except a few ducks, which still lingered in the open water of Bear Lake, we considered this day to be the first of the winter. It was remarkably clear and fine, and we hailed the commencement of this season with a degree of pleasure, from its contrast with the wet unsettled weather which marks the close of summer. A few clouds passing over the sun's disk, produced an instantaneous depression of ten degrees of the mercury in a thermometer exposed to the sun's rays. The atmospherical refraction was remarkably strong at this time. We had repeated opportunities, in the course of the winter, of observing it to be greatest in similar states of the atmosphere. The boats were now secured for the winter in a sheltered place, and screened as much as possible from the effects of the wind and snow drift, by a strong fence made of boughs and branches. [Sidenote: Friday, 14th.] We were surprised on the 14th by the arrival of two Canadians from Fort Norman, with letters from Governor Simpson, and other gentlemen in the southern districts, containing satisfactory answers to the requisitions for stores that I had made in my passage through the country. We were also pleased to learn that Thomas Matthews, the carpenter, whom we had left at Cumberland House, on account of his leg being broken, had reached Fort Norman, in the Company's canoe; and I felt much indebted to Mr. James Keith, and Mr. Smith, Chief Factors, for the care and tenderness with which they had conveyed him through the country. The season at which the ice begins to form, is the most favourable for fishing in the lakes of this country, and we then procured from four to five hundred daily. Those not required for immediate consumption, were hung on a stage to freeze, in which state they keep until the following spring. But we could not derive the full advantage from the season, because the drift ice, making it unsafe to keep the nets set in Bear Lake, they were taken up on the 18th. Near a month elapsed before they could be set with safety under the ice; our first attempts resulting in the loss of three nets. We procured, however, a few fish from the small lake, during this interval, and the rest of our food was supplied from the store of dried meat. [Sidenote: Thursday, 20th.] We were visited on the 20th by a storm of snow, which continued, without intermission, for thirty-six hours. Although it put an end to the skating, and the games on the ice, which had been our evenings' amusement for the preceding week, yet the change made every one glad, because the snow was now deep enough for winter travelling. We had learned, some days before, that the hunters had stored fifteen rein-deer in the woods, and on the 22nd four men were despatched with sledges to bring them to the fort. The first throw off of the dog-sledges for the season never fails to attract general attention; accordingly the whole party was collected to witness it on this occasion. They set off at full speed, and were soon out of sight. From this time dog-sledges were used to drag the fuel, which had been hitherto done by the men. We sent a party to cut down timber, and saw it into planks, fit for the construction of another boat. [Sidenote: Wednesday, 26th.] On the 26th the thermometer first fell below zero, but the month closed with a very calm, mild day. Mr. Kendall and I were employed in measuring a geographical mile on the small lake, preparatory to a series of observations on the velocity of sound. The only ferine companions we now had were a few hardy quadrupeds and birds, capable of enduring the winter. The variety of the former was confined to wolves, foxes, martens, hares, mice, and a few rein-deer. Of the feathered tribe, there were the raven and Canadian crow, some snow-birds, wood-peckers, red-caps, crossbeaks, Canada, rock, and willow partridges, and a few hawks and owls. [Sidenote: November, 9th.] Having received information that the Hudson's Bay Company intended sending their annual despatch from the Mackenzie River to York Factory, by the close of this month, and the ice on Bear Lake and the Mackenzie River being, on the 9th, sufficiently strong, we forwarded a packet of letters to Fort Norman, and a dog-sledge to convey Thomas Matthews to this place. On the 15th the nets were reset under the ice, and we were relieved from the necessity of putting the party on short allowance. We had the additional pleasure of learning that the hunters had killed ten rein-deer. The men returned from Fort Norman on the 18th, accompanied by Thomas Matthews, whose leg was yet too weak for him to walk more than a short distance. During the middle, and towards the close of November, parheliæ were frequent; the most brilliant appeared on the 27th; it continued as long as the sun was above the horizon. The atmosphere was cloudless, and apparently free from haze, except just about the sun, which seemed to gleam through a fog. The surrounding circle was nearly complete, and displayed the prismatic colours vividly; from the centre of the sun's disk a beam of bright light extended upwards several degrees beyond the circle. The inner radius of the circle measured 21 degrees 34 minutes, and the outer 22 degrees 50 minutes. The wind blew fresh all the day from E.N.E., and the temperature was 10 degrees. In the evening the moon was encircled by two distinct halos; temperature 7 degrees. [Sidenote: Tuesday, 29th.] This morning the principal leader of the Dog-Ribs, and a large party of his tribe, came to the Fort. It is usual for Indians, on the first visit to an establishment, to make their approach in line, with much formality; but on this occasion our visitors showed an unusual degree of caution. Their distrust had originated in a very trifling occurrence at the close of our house-warming festivities on the 23rd of September. Some of the Canadians having asked Mr. Dease if our Highlandmen did not come from the same country with the rest of the English party, were told that they were natives of the mountainous lands, or _Montagnards_. This name unfortunately being used by the voyagers to designate the Dog-Ribs, was considered by the Highlanders to be a term of reproach when applied to themselves, and a scuffle ensued. Harmony was soon restored by the officers sending the most noisy to bed, and next morning the true meaning of the word Montagnard was explained to the Highlandmen, and the party set about their usual occupations with their wonted good feeling towards each other. Not so with an unlucky Dog-Rib, who had been attracted to the scene by hearing the name applied by the voyagers to his countrymen bandied about from one to the other, and thrusting his head into the crowd had received a blow. This at once confirmed all his fears, and he fled to spread a report amongst his countrymen that the white people intended to destroy the Indians. Although his report was not fully believed, yet it produced the feeling of distrust which the Indians manifested on their approach to the house. It was entirely removed by the explanation we gave. These Indians having brought a quantity of furs for the Hudson's Bay Company, as well as dried meat for ourselves, and I having understood from Mr. Dease that it would be an accommodation to them if they were permitted to deposit their furs at this place, instead of carrying them to Fort Norman, I acceded to this suggestion, and directed Mr. Dease to advance from our stores the goods required for the purchase of the furs, which were to be returned when we should visit that fort in the spring. An old man belonging to the Company's establishment at Fort Norman arrived this day with his wife, to stay some time with us, because the supply of provision had failed at that post. We felt much pleasure in sharing our means with this aged couple, who were much reduced by their late scanty fare. The close of November was marked by a succession of strong east winds, and a mildness of temperature, rare at this season. On the 30th the thermometer rose from +18 degrees to 29 degrees above zero, on the occurrence of a gale from the north. [Sidenote: December, 1st.] The first of December being a cloudless day, we endeavoured to observe the latitude at noon, but failed, owing to the extraordinary atmospherical refraction. [Sidenote: Friday, 2nd.] At midnight, on the 2nd, there was a shower of hail, so small that we could hardly distinguish it from rain. Dr. Richardson thought he perceived lightning. Temperature +22 degrees, calm. On the night of the 4th another instance of a sudden increase of temperature from +7 degrees to 26 degrees was observed, on a north wind succeeding a calm. The fishery having gradually declined for some days, our nets were removed nearer to the entrance of Bear Lake River, where the current continued to keep the water open for a considerable space. We then procured a daily supply of fish sufficient for the rations of the household, as well as the dogs, though our number was now increased by the party from the more distant fishery, which had proved unproductive. The allowance was seven of the herring salmon to a man per day, and two to each dog. The shortness of the days now precluding the Indians from hunting, many came, according to their custom, to spear fish at the head of Bear Lake River, and their numbers gradually increased. They were not, however, successful, nor diligent, preferring to beg what they could from us, and sending their women and children to subsist on the offal of the fish used at the fort. To encourage them to greater exertion, I provided them with nets, and other fishing materials, but their indolence led them to make a very ungrateful return; for on several occasions they emptied our nets in the night, and thus not only robbed us of what they took away, but, by deranging the nets, deprived us of the whole of that day's supply. We never could ascertain the perpetrators of these thefts. The blame was invariably thrown on some aged and infirm men, who denied it. Notwithstanding the straits to which they became reduced, they could not be persuaded to go off to a more productive fishery, until we were compelled to withhold all supplies, from fear of starving our own party. These Indians showed more indolence, and less regard for truth and honesty, than any other tribes with which we had dealings. Their sufferings are often extreme, and some of them perish every year from famine; although, from the abundance of fish in this country, but slight exertion would be required to lay up, at the proper seasons, a stock for the whole year. The difficulty of procuring nourishment frequently induces the women of this tribe to destroy their female children. Two pregnant women of the party then at the fort, made known their intention of acting on this inhuman custom, though Mr. Dease threatened them with our heaviest displeasure if they put it into execution: we learned that, after they left us, one actually did destroy her child; the infant of the other woman proved to be a boy. Infanticide is mentioned by Hearne as a common crime amongst the northern Indians, but this was the first instance that came under our notice, and I understand it is now very rare amongst the Chipewyan tribes;--an improvement in their moral character which may be fairly attributed to the influence of the traders resident among them. [Sidenote: Sunday, 18th.] On the 18th a party of sixteen Hare Indians, two Copper Indians, and a Loucheux, arrived with sledges of dried rein-deer meat and furs. While the house was in confusion from the unpacking of their lading, a melancholy scene took place, which excited the warmest sympathy. The wife of one of our Dog-Rib hunters brought her only child, a female, for medical advice. As she entered the room it was evident that the hand of death was upon it. In the absence of Dr. Richardson, who happened to be out, all the remedies were applied that were judged likely to be of service; and as soon as he returned, there being yet a faint pulsation, other means were tried, but in vain. So gentle was its last sigh, that the mother was not at first aware of its death, and continued to press the child against her bosom. As soon, however, as she perceived that life had fled, she cast herself on the floor in agony, heightened by the consciousness of having delayed to seek relief till too late, and by apprehension of the anger of her husband, who was doatingly attached to the child. The Indians evinced their participation in her affliction by silence, and a strong expression of pity in their countenances. At the dawn of day the poor creature, though almost exhausted by her ceaseless lamentation, carried the body across the lake for interment. [Sidenote: Tuesday, 20th.] The 20th being a very stormy day, we were surprised at the arrival of two voyagers from Fort Good Hope, bearers of letters from Mr. C. Dease, conveying the gratifying intelligence that the Loucheux had seen the Esquimaux since the autumn, and that the latter had found the presents which had been left at their huts, and would be delighted to welcome the return of the white people to the Esquimaux lands next spring. [Sidenote: Thursday, 22d.] Our constant occupations had made the time pass so swiftly, that the shortest day came almost unexpectedly upon us. The sun rose this morning, (the 22d,) at 10h 24m, thirteen minutes earlier than its appearance was expected from calculation, owing to the great refraction. Mr. Kendall and I measured its meridional altitude from the lake with two instruments, the one bringing its upper limb to the top of the land four miles distant, the elevation of which had been ascertained to be eight minutes, and the other to its base, the depression of which was two minutes. The mean of both these observations, corrected for refraction by the tables in the Nautical Almanack, gave a result of 65 degrees 11 minutes 56 seconds N., which latitude exactly corresponds with the best observations made in the preceding autumn. At 8h 30m P.M. a halo was observed, whose radius measured 28 degrees 40 minutes from the moon; and at an equal altitude with the latter body there were two paraselenæ, which, as well as the moon, were intersected by a luminous circle, having the zenith for its centre, and a diameter of 94 degrees 15 minutes. The length of our shortest day did not exceed five hours, but the long nights were enlivened by most brilliant moon-light, and we had frequent and very fine appearances of the Aurora Borealis. The latter phenomenon made some of its grandest displays on the 26th of October, the 2d of November, and the 7th of December. On all these occasions the disturbed motions of the magnetic needle were very remarkable, and a most careful series of observations convinced the party that they had a close connexion with the direction of the beams of light of which the aurora was composed. My observations also led me to conclude that the deviations of the needle were, in a certain degree, connected with changes in the weather; for, previous to a gale or a snow-storm, the deviations were always considerable; but during the continuance of the gale, the needle almost invariably remained stationary. Preparations were made for the celebration of Christmas. The house was replastered with mud, all the rooms whitewashed and repainted, and Matthews displayed his taste by ornamenting a chandelier with cut paper, and trinkets. On the evening of the 24th the Indian hunters' women and children were invited to share in a game of snap-dragon, to them an entire novelty. It would be as difficult to describe the delight which the sport afforded them after they recovered their first surprise, as to convey the full effect of the scene. When the candles were extinguished, the blue flame of the burning spirits shone on the rude features of our native companions, in whose countenances were pourtrayed the eager desire of possessing the fruit, and the fear of the penalty. Christmas Day falling on a Sunday, the party were regaled with the best fare our stores could supply; and on the following evening a dance was given, at which were present sixty persons, including the Indians, who sat as spectators of the merry scene. Seldom, perhaps, in such a confined space as our hall, or in the same number of persons, was there greater variety of character, or greater confusion of tongues. The party consisted of Englishmen, Highlanders, (who mostly conversed with each other in Gaelic,) Canadians, Esquimaux, Chipewyans, Dog-Ribs, Hare Indians, Cree women and children, mingled together in perfect harmony. The amusements were varied by English, Gaelic, and French songs. After these holidays were over, the Dog-Ribs at length yielded to the repeated solicitations of Mr. Dease, and removed in a body to a distant part of the lake, where they now confessed the fishery was more abundant. As the hunters were drawing rations from our store, he despatched them in quest of deer, furnishing them also with nets. After which there remained at the establishment, only one infirm Indian and his wife. [Sidenote: January, 1st.] January 1st, 1826. This morning the men called in the hall to offer the congratulations of the season to the officers, and we afterwards assembled to read divine service. On the evening of the 2nd, similar festivities were held to those at Christmas, to welcome the new year. The temperature was at -49 degrees on the 1st, which was its lowest state during this winter. This severe weather was of short continuance, for on the 3rd there was a storm of snow, and the thermometer rose to -9 degrees. [Sidenote: 4th.] Accompanied by Mr. Dease, and Fuller, the carpenter, I walked several miles in search of birch-trees fit for the keel and timbers of the new boat. We found some that would answer for the latter purpose, but none for the keel; we, therefore, substituted pine. The general depth of snow in the woody and sheltered parts was two feet. [Sidenote: Monday, 16th.] On the 16th, by the return of the two men who had been sent to Slave Lake, we had the happiness of receiving a packet of letters, which left England in the preceding June. Beside the more interesting private communications, our friends had been kind enough to forward piles of newspapers, and several periodical publications. The 'Quarterly Review,' the 'Edinburgh Philosophical Journal,' and a series of the 'Literary Gazette,' and the 'Mechanics' Magazine,' were spread upon the table, and afforded us the most agreeable amusement, as well as never-failing topics for conversation. Could any of our friends have dropped in upon us, in the evening, they would have found us discussing the events of the by-gone year, with all the earnestness and interest which we could have shown had they been the occurrences of the day, and depended upon our decision. This valuable packet had nigh been lost on its way through the interior, owing to the treachery of an Indian. The fellow had undertaken to guide the Canadian servants of the Hudson Bay Company, who had it in charge, from York Factory to Cumberland House; but supposing, from its being unusual to forward packets at that season, that it must contain something of value, he seized an opportunity, when the two men had gone a little way from the river side, to steal the canoe, with its contents, and cross the river. There were no means of pursuit, and the poor men, destitute of food, without a gun, or even the means of making a fire, were obliged to march to the nearest establishment, through a very rugged and thickly-wooded country. They reached it after many days travelling, and much suffering, and as soon as they arrived, Mr. Mackintosh, the chief of the department, immediately sent off different parties in search of the culprit. They did not find him, though they got possession of the packet, which was torn open, and the letters scattered upon the ground. I need hardly mention that I afterwards remunerated the Canadians for their sufferings and good conduct on this occasion. [Sidenote: Sunday, 22nd.] On the morning of the 22nd we perceived a gray wolf crossing the lake, and Augustus and Ooligbuck went in pursuit. The speed of the animal, however, so much outstripped theirs, that it cooly halted to snap up an unfortunate fox which happened to cross its path, and bore it off in triumph. The visits of this animal were repeated for three successive days, and it at last became so bold as to steal fish, on two occasions, from a sledge which the dogs were accustomed to draw home from the nets, without a driver. The dogs were not touched, but this was accounted for when the wolf was killed, and found to be a female, as Mr. Dease informed us that at this season of the year the female wolves never attack the dog. [Sidenote: February.] The month of February was a very anxious period of our winter's residence. The produce of the nets and fishing lines had been gradually diminishing during January, until the supply did not afford more than three or four of the small herrings per man; and none could be furnished to the dogs. The stock of dried meat was expended, and serious apprehensions were entertained of the party's suffering from want of food. The fish too, from being out of season, afforded very little nourishment, and frequent indisposition was the consequence with us all. Three of the stoutest men with whom this diet particularly disagreed, suffered very much from diarrhoea. It became, therefore, necessary to draw upon the stores of provision which had been set apart for the voyage along the sea-coast, and, on the 6th, we despatched three sledges to Fort Norman, for some pemmican, arrow root, and portable soup: they were likewise to bring any iron that could be procured from that establishment fit for being converted into nails or fastenings for the intended boat. This being the last opportunity of the season for forwarding letters to the southern department, I wrote to Governor Simpson and the council at York Factory, requesting that supplies of provisions might be stored for the Expedition, on the route to Canada and York Factory, and that the necessary means of conveyance might be provided for its return in 1827. All these arrangements requiring to be made a year in advance, I included the whole party in the estimate of the numbers to be provided for, that there might be no want of provision, if the western part of the Expedition should, from any cause, be obliged to retrace its steps. By the same conveyance I sent an account of our proceedings, with maps and drawings, to be forwarded to the Colonial Office. [Sidenote: Saturday, 4th.] On the 4th of this month, when all were heartily tired of short allowance, a report was brought of the traces of a moose deer having been seen about twelve miles from the fort. Had the days been longer, and a crust formed upon the snow, the hunters would have found no great difficulty in running down the animal, but our principal hope lay in their getting within shot without "raising it,"--the expression used when a deer is scared. Beaulieu being the most expert moose-hunter, went out on this occasion, accompanied by two others, Landré a Chipewyan lad, and a Dog-Rib hunter. When they arrived on the deer's track, they found that it had been raised, probably by the Indians who first discovered it; but anxious to procure meat for the fort, they commenced the pursuit. From their knowledge of the habits of the animal, and of the winding course it takes, they were enabled to shorten the distance; but after running four successive days without coming in sight, Beaulieu had the misfortune to fall over the stump of a tree, and sprain his ankle; the other two hunters being previously tired out. When this accident happened, they knew they were near the deer, and that it would soon give in, because its footsteps were stained with blood. Beaulieu, however, on account of his lameness, returned to the house, and his companions came with him. During the chase they bivouacked on the snow, and subsisted on a few ptarmigan which they killed. Landré after a night's rest, again set out, and was successful after two more day's running; not, however, without having nearly lost his life, for the moose, on receiving a shot, made a rush at him, striking furiously with his fore feet. He had just time to shelter himself behind a tree, upon which the animal spent its efforts, until his gun was again ready. Landré's arrival with the joyful intelligence of his success, was hailed as the commencement of a season of plenty. When the moose meat was brought in, we had not an ounce of provision in store, and it was, therefore, most acceptable; although, from the manner in which it was hunted down, it proved exceedingly tough. [Sidenote: Friday, 10th.] In the evening, to increase our satisfaction, an Indian arrived with the information that the fish were plentiful at the station to which the Dog-Ribs had removed, and likewise that the hunters belonging to the fort had killed some rein-deer near their lodges. We immediately equipped four men with nets and lines, and sent them back with the Indian, giving them directions to report whether more persons could gain subsistence there. Their report, a few days afterwards, being favourable, four more men were despatched thither. They sent us some tittameg, weighing from six to eight pounds, which were the more acceptable, because none of that kind had been taken in our nets since the lake had been frozen over. By the time the moose was finished, the men came back from Fort Norman, with three bags of pemmican, which enabled us to continue the daily issue of rations, though the fare was still scanty. [Sidenote: Saturday, 25th] On the 25th, Beaulieu, accompanied by two men, went off in one direction, and the Dog-Rib hunters in another, in search of deer. Both parties were successful. From the former we received a summons, after four days' absence, to send sledges for meat, but not so from the Dog-Ribs, for they, to compensate for their long abstinence, consumed almost all the meat, and gorged themselves to such a degree, that they were unable to move, and became quite ill. From this period we had a sufficient supply of provision, because the fisheries improved, and we received deer from time to time. The men who had been indisposed gained strength, from the increased quantity, and amended quality, of their food; and we had also the gratification of seeing the dogs daily fatten, amidst the general plenty. The conduct of the men during the season of scarcity was beyond all praise; and the following anecdote is worthy of record, as displaying the excellent feeling of a British seaman, and as speaking the sentiments of the whole party. Talking with Robert Spinks as to the difference of his present food, from that to which he had been accustomed on board ship, I said I was glad the necessity was over of keeping them on short allowance. "Why, sir," said he, "we never minded about the short allowance, but were fearful of having to use the pemmican intended for next summer; we only care about the next voyage, and shall all be glad when the spring comes, that we may set off; besides, at the worst time, we could always spare a fish for each of our dogs." During the period of short allowance, the three dogs under the charge of this man were kept in better condition than any of the others. We now called the men home from the nearest fishery, and set their nets near the Bear Lake River, but the men at the distant station with the Indians were kept there, and occasionally supplied the fort with fine tittameg and trout. The otters did considerable mischief to our nets at this time; six of these animals were seen in one day. Many parheliæ were observed this month. On the 14th, at forty-five minutes after nine A.M., the arched form of the clouds, and the appearance of a collection of rays projected from the sun's disk in the shape of a fan, strongly resembled the coruscations of the aurora. The atmosphere was misty; temperature in the shade +8 degrees 5 minutes; and when the thermometer with a blackened bulb was exposed to the sun's rays, it rose to +43 degrees. The magnetic needle, at nine A.M., was perceived to have made a greater deviation to the westward than usual at that hour, and I imagine that the cause of this increase probably arose from the atmosphere being then in a state of electricity, similar to that in which it is when the aurora appears in hazy weather; on which occasions we have observed that its coruscations have the strongest effect in causing aberrations of the needle. A violent gale from the north-west commenced on the 26th, and lasted, without intermission, for thirty-six hours. [Sidenote: March, 1st.] The early part of this month was marked by a succession of gales from the N.W., with a few intervals of moderate weather, in which the wind came from the east, and was attended by a clearer atmosphere than usually accompanies easterly winds in the colder months. We observed, with pleasure, on the 7th, that the sun had sufficient power to soften the snow in exposed places, and to form icicles from the roofs which had a southern aspect, but the return of strong winds from the W.N.W. brought back severe weather. [Sidenote: Saturday, 11th.] On the 11th there was a violent gust of wind, which, in its passage over the lake, gathered up the snow in a column, similar to that of a waterspout. Dr. Richardson made an excursion for the purpose of examining the rocks to the north of the establishment. He returned after two days, the snow being too deep for him to obtain specimens. The description he gave of a view from an eminence nine miles behind the fort, induced Lieutenant Back and me to visit the spot, and we were amply repaid for the walk. The view embraced the mountains on the borders of the Mackenzie to the west, a considerable portion of Bear Lake River, with the mountains near its rapids, Clark's Hill to the south, and the range of elevated land stretching to the east till they were lost in the distance. To the N.E. there appeared several small lakes, and the view was terminated by a portion of Bear Lake. [Sidenote: Tuesday, 21st.] The Chipewyan hunters who had been absent since Christmas, returned to us with their families, and brought with them a Dog-Rib girl, about twelve years old, who had been deserted by her tribe. When they found her, she was in the last stage of weakness, from famine, sitting by the expiring embers of a fire, and but for their timely appearance, death must soon have ended her sufferings. They fed and clothed her, and waited until she gained strength to accompany them. The wretches who had abandoned the poor creature, were on their way to a fishing station, which they knew to be very productive, and not above a day's march distant. She was unable to keep the pace at which they chose to proceed, and having no near relation but an aged aunt, who could not assist her, they left her at an encampment without any food. The hunters met this party of Indians about a month afterwards, when they were living in abundance. The girl, by that time, had perfectly recovered her strength, and they desired that she should be restored to them, but the hunters firmly resisted their importunity, and one of them adopted her as his own child. It is singular that she was the only female of the tribe that could be called good-looking. Her Indian name was Aton-larree, which the interpreter translated, Burnt-weed. Lieutenant Back made a sketch of her, in the dress which the hunter's wife gave to her on their first meeting. When the Indians came to the fort, I took the first opportunity of their being assembled in the hall, to send for the hunters and their wives, and to reward them by a substantial present of clothing and ammunition. I also gave to them some neat steel instruments, consisting of gimblets, and other useful articles, which they were desired to preserve, and show to other Indians, as a testimony of our approbation of their humanity. A present was also bestowed upon the girl, and then the Dog-Ribs were addressed as to their unfeeling conduct towards her. They listened quietly, and merely stated her weakness as the cause. There is little doubt but that the transactions of this day were canvassed afterwards, and it is to be hoped that the knowledge of our sentiments gaining circulation, may induce a discontinuance of their inhuman practices. [Sidenote: Wednesday, 22nd.] By the men who had conveyed our last packet to Fort Simpson, we received intelligence that some Chipewyans had brought information to the Athabasca and Slave Lakes, of their having seen many indications of a party of white people on the sea coast eastward of the Coppermine River. The report stated, that they had found, in the preceding autumn, on the borders of a river near the sea-coast, a sawpit, some saws, and axes, and a store of deer's meat. There was snow on the ground, and the footsteps of the party appeared recent. We concluded from these statements, that Captain Parry had laid up his ships in the vicinity of Bathurst's Inlet, and sent hunting-parties up the river to augment his stock of provision. I therefore despatched two men with letters to Mr. M'Vicar, at Slave Lake, containing a series of questions, that the matter might be thoroughly investigated, and requested him to transmit the answers to the Admiralty. I likewise begged of him immediately to procure a party of Indians to go to the spot, and convey a letter from me to Captain Parry, in order that they might either be employed as hunters for the ships, or carry their letters to the nearest establishment for conveyance to England. Had the information reached us sooner, so that a party could have gone from Bear Lake to the point at which the ships were, and returned before the men were wanted, I should have sent to ascertain the fact. The idea of the ships being on the northern coast, the prospect of their success, and the expectation of the eastern detatchment meeting them in the summer, afforded enlivening topics of conversation for several days, and on the day the intelligence came, we celebrated its arrival with a bowl of punch. The health of Captain Parry, and his party, as well as that of Captain Beechey, was drank with enthusiasm. [Sidenote: Thursday, 23rd.] We obtained observations for the time, from which it appeared that the chronometer, No. 1733, generously lent to the Expedition by my friend the late Mr. Moore, had only varied its rate two hundredths of a second, since the 3rd of November. I had worn it next my skin, suspended round my neck, the whole time; and, consequently, it was not exposed to much variation of temperature. After the middle of this month the N.W. winds gave place to a succession of easterly breezes; whenever these prevailed, we observed the terrestrial refraction was much increased; double refraction of the land was not unfrequent, and twice the mist arising from the open water, appeared like a wall of ice. When the moon shone, halos, and occasionally paraselenæ, were visible; and towards the close of the month the coruscations of the aurora were often very brilliant. During this month I noticed that on several occasions the magnetic needle oscillated when I approached it in a dress of waterproof cloth, although it remained stationary when others of the party examined it in their ordinary garments. The waterproof dress probably acted by exciting electricity in the body, although this opinion is rather contradicted by the fact of a fur cap, which had been rubbed by the hand until it affected the gold leaf electrometer, producing no change in the needle, and my approach to the electrometer not causing the gold-leaf to expand. [Sidenote: April, 6th.] Having failed in an attempt to make charcoal for the blacksmith's use at this place, we despatched William Duncan, and the blacksmith, to make some at Fort Norman, where birch trees are plentiful; and on the 6th of April we were glad to see them return with the first load. The carpenters had already prepared the timbers and the keel for the new boat, and we were waiting for the coals to get the iron-work forward. [Sidenote: Monday, 10th.] On the 10th Dr. Richardson and Mr. Kendall left the fort on snow-shoes, accompanied by an Indian guide, and a man driving a dog-sledge with provisions, for the purpose of completing the survey of Great Bear Lake, which Dr. Richardson had commenced the preceding autumn. The day was remarkably warm; the blackened thermometer, exposed to the sun, rose to +90; and we hailed with delight a complete thaw. Cheered by the prospect, a spot was cleared of snow, the keel of the boat laid down, and that there might be no delay, all the sledges we could spare were despatched to fetch the remainder of the charcoal from Fort Norman. [Sidenote: Tuesday, 11th.] On the following day water was dripping from the roofs, and the flies were active within the rooms. The continuance of mild weather for six days caused a rapid decay of the snow, but no spots of land became visible. The men returned with the charcoal, and from them we learned that the season was more backward here than in the vicinity of Fort Norman. In the evening of the 17th, a telescope was put up in the meridian for finding the rates of the chronometers by the transit of Arcturus. [Sidenote: Wednesday, 19th.] On the 19th, thirty Hare-Indians arrived with sledges, bringing their winter's collection of furs for the Hudson Bay Company, and a large supply of dried meat for us, which, with the stock already in store, put us quite at ease respecting food until the season for our departure. The party consisted mostly of young lads, who, very good-naturedly, sang and danced for our amusement all the evening. They also gave us specimens of the dances in use among the Loucheux, which were more graceful than their own. The tune they sung to the Medicine-dance of the Loucheux, struck me as being soft and pretty. The ludicrous attitudes and grotesque figures of the dancers, as they wheeled in a circle, shaking the knives and feathers which they had between their fingers were happily sketched by Lieutenant Back. As the fish had withdrawn from the open water at the commencement of the fine weather, the nets were brought nearer to the house; but we did not obtain more than thirty fish daily. This diminution, however, gave us no concern, as we had plenty of meat. Shortly afterwards the trout began again to take bait, and we caught several of large size. Easterly winds prevailed this month, and they blew uninterruptedly from the 21st to the last day. A storm, on the 28th and 29th, delayed the carpenters working at the boat: the patches of ground which had for the last few days been visible, were again covered with snow, and the general aspect was bleak and wintry. Dr. Richardson and Mr. Kendall returned on the 1st of May, and we were furnished with the following particulars of their journey. Their course, on leaving us, was first directed to the fishery in Mac Vicar's Bay, which they reached on the fourth day, and from whence, taking with them another sledge-load of provisions and an additional attendant, they continued their journey to the bottom of Mac Tavish Bay, the most easterly part of the Lake. The reduction in their stock of provisions now caused them to commence their return, and they reached the fort after an absence of three weeks, during which, in very unfavourable weather, they travelled about three hundred and eighty miles. Dr. Richardson had sailed four hundred and eighty miles through the lake in the autumn, and in the two excursions, five hundred miles of its shores were delineated, and the positions of many points established by astronomical observations. About twenty miles of the north shore of Mac Tavish Bay are the only parts of the Bear Lake remaining unsurveyed. [Sidenote: May, 1st.] The following brief description of Bear Lake is extracted from Dr. Richardson's Journal:-- "Great Bear Lake is formed by the union of five arms or bays, which were named after Messrs. Keith, Smith, Dease, Mac Tavish, and Mac Vicar, of the Hudson's Bay Company. The principal feeding-stream, named Dease River, rises in the Copper Mountains, and falls into the upper end of Dease Bay, which is the most northern part of the lake, and Bear Lake River, which conveys the waters of the lake to the Mackenzie, issues from Keith Bay, the most southerly arm. Mac Tavish Bay is the most easterly portion of the lake, and Smith Bay, which lies opposite to it, runs to the westward. Mac Vicar Bay has a southerly direction nearly parallel to Keith Bay. The length of the lake, from Dease River to Bear Lake River, is about one hundred and seventy-five miles; and its breadth, from the bottom of Smith Bay to the bottom of Mac Tavish Bay, is one hundred and fifty miles. A range of granite hills skirts the bottom of Mac Tavish Bay. The Great Bear Mountain, at whose base some bituminous shale cliffs are exposed, is about nine hundred feet high, and separates Mac Vicar and Keith Bays; a similar mountain lies betwixt Keith and Smith Bays. In Dease Bay, limestone and sandstone are the prevailing rocks. The waters of the lake are very clear, and of unknown depth; forty-fathoms of line were let down near the shore, in Mac Tavish Bay, without reaching the bottom. There is a considerable quantity of good wood, principally white spruce, in the vicinity of the lake; but there is reason to believe that, before many years elapse, it will become scarce, for it is very slow of growth, and the natives every year set fire to it in various quarters, and thus destroy it for many miles. The finest timber was observed on the west side of Great Bear Lake Mountain. There are good fisheries in Dease Bay, and in various other quarters of the lake; but the fish taken in Mac Vicar Bay are remarkably fine and abundant at all seasons of the year. The principal advantage of the site chosen for Fort Franklin, is its vicinity to the Bear Lake River, and the great quantity of fish that can be procured at certain seasons, although they are small and of inferior quality." On the 5th of this month, the men being called in from the fishery in Mac Vicar Bay, the whole party was once more assembled at the house, anxiously looking forward to the arrival of spring. We hailed the appearance of swans, on the following day, as a sure sign of its approach. A goose was seen on the 7th, two ducks on the 8th, and on the 9th several gulls were observed in the open water near the Bear Lake River. The snow, at this time, was rapidly diminishing from the surface of the lake, and there were many spots of ground visible. We, therefore, commenced the preparations for the summer's voyage. The seamen were employed in repairing the coverings and sails of the boats, as well as in refitting their rigging, and occupation was allotted to every person in the establishment. These operations requiring the constant superintendence of the officers, the observations of the magnetic-needle were discontinued. After the middle of the month, we were visited by occasional showers of rain, which removed the snow, and produced a perceptible decay of the ice. On the 23d, the ice broke away from the shore of the small lake, and also of Bear Lake, in front of the house. Swans and geese were now daily passing to the northward; many shots were fired at them, both by the Indians and our own party, but only a few were killed. The geese were principally of the kind known to naturalists by the name of Canada geese, and denominated bustards by the voyagers. Numbers of white geese also passed; we saw only two flocks of laughing-geese. The first swallow came on the 16th, and, on the following day, many others arrived. A variety of ducks, gulls, and many of the small aquatic birds, now frequented the marshy borders of the little lake, which afforded constant amusement to the sportsmen, and full occupation to Dr. Richardson in preparing the skins for specimens. [Sidenote: Wednesday, 24th.] On the 24th, the musquitoes appeared, feeble at first, but, after a few days, they became vigorous and tormenting. The first flower, a tussilago, was gathered on the 27th. Before the close of the month, several others were in bloom, of which the most abundant was the white anemone (_anemone tenella_.) The leaf-buds had not yet burst, though just ready to open. The carpenters had now finished the new boat, which received the name of the Reliance. It was constructed of fir, with birch timbers, after the model of our largest boat, the Lion, but with a more full bow, and a finer run abaft. Its length was about twenty-six feet, and breadth five feet eight inches. It was fastened in the same manner as the other boats, but with iron instead of copper, and to procure sufficient nails we were obliged to cut up all the spare axes, trenches[2], and ice-chisels. Being without tar, we substituted strips of waterproof canvas, soaked in some caoutchouc varnish, which we had brought out, to lay between the seams of the planks; and for paint, we made use of resin, procured from the pine-trees, boiled and mixed with grease. The other boats were afterwards put in complete repair. The Lion required the most, in consequence of the accident in Bear Lake River. The defects in the other two principally arose from their having been repaired at Cumberland House with the elm that grows in its vicinity, and is very spongy. We now substituted white spruce fir, which, when grown in these high latitudes, is an excellent wood for boat-building. We were surprised to find, that, notwithstanding the many heavy blows these boats had received in their passage to this place, there was not a timber that required to be changed. In our bustle, we would gladly have dispensed with the presence of the Dog-Ribs, who now visited us in great numbers, without bringing any supplies. They continued hanging about the fort, and their daily drumming and singing over the sick, the squalling of the children, and bawling of the men and women, proved no small annoyance. We were pleased, however, at perceiving that the ammunition we had given to them in return for meat, had enabled them to provide themselves with leathern tents. Their only shelter from the wind, snow, or rain, before this season, had been a rude barricade of pine branches. Fortunately, for our comfort, they were obliged to remove before the expiration of the month to a distant fishery to procure provision. [Sidenote: June, 1st.] The preparations for the voyage along the coast being now in a state of forwardness, my attention was directed to the providing for the return of Dr. Richardson's party to this establishment in the following autumn, and to the securing means of support for all the members of the Expedition at this place, in the event of the western party being likewise compelled to return to it. Respecting the first point, it was arranged that Beaulieu the interpreter, and four Canadians, should quit Fort Franklin on the 6th of August, and proceed direct to Dease River with a bateau, and wait there until the 20th of September, when, if Dr. Richardson did not appear, they were to come back to the fort in canoes, and to leave the boat, with provision and other necessaries, for the use of the eastern detachment. All these points were explained to Beaulieu, and he not only understood every part of the arrangement, but seemed very desirous to perform the important duty entrusted to him. I next drew up written instructions for the guidance of Mr. Dease, during the absence of the Expedition, directing his attention first to the equipment and despatch of Beaulieu on the 6th of August, and then to the keeping the establishment well stored with provision. He was aware of the probability that the western party would meet his Majesty's ship Blossom, and go to Canton in her. But as unforeseen circumstances might compel us to winter on the coast, I considered it necessary to warn him against inferring, from our not returning in the following autumn, that we had reached the Blossom. He was, therefore, directed to keep Fort Franklin complete, as to provision, until the spring of 1828. Dr. Richardson was likewise instructed, before he left the fort in 1827, on his return to England, to see that Mr. Dease fully understood my motives for giving these orders, and that he was provided with the means of purchasing the necessary provision from the Indians. [Sidenote: Wednesday, 7th.] The long reign of the east wind was at length terminated by a fresh N.W. breeze, and the ice yet remaining on the small lake soon disappeared, under the softening effects of this wind. This lake had been frozen eight months, wanting three days. A narrow channel being opened along the western border of Bear Lake, on the 14th Dr. Richardson took advantage of it, and went in a small canoe with two men to examine the mountains on the borders of Bear Lake River, and to collect specimens of the plants that were now in flower, intending to rejoin the party at Fort Norman. On the same day, in 1821, the former Expedition left Fort Enterprize for the sea. [Sidenote: Thursday, 15th.] The equipments of the boats being now complete, they were launched on the small lake, and tried under oars and sails. In the afternoon the men were appointed to their respective stations, and furnished with the sky-blue waterproof uniforms, and feathers, as well as with the warm clothing which had been provided for the voyage. I acquainted them fully with the object of the Expedition, and pointed out their various duties. They received these communications with satisfaction, were delighted with the prospect of the voyage, and expressed their readiness to commence it immediately. Fourteen men, including Augustus, were appointed to accompany myself and Lieutenant Back, in the Lion and Reliance, the two larger boats; and ten, including Ooligbuck, to go with Dr. Richardson and Mr. Kendall, in the Dolphin and Union. In order to make up the complement of fourteen for the western party, I proposed to receive two volunteers from the Canadian voyagers; and to the credit of Canadian enterprise, every man came forward. I chose François Felix and Alexis Vivier, because they were the first who offered their services, and this too without any stipulation as to increase of wages. Spare blankets, and every thing that could be useful for the voyage, or as presents to the Esquimaux, which our stores could furnish, were divided between the eastern and western parties, and put up into bales of a size convenient for stowage. This interesting day was closed by the consumption of a small quantity of rum, reserved for the occasion, followed by a merry dance, in which all joined with great glee, in their working dresses. On the following Sunday the officers and men assembled at Divine service, dressed in their new uniforms; and in addition to the ordinary service of the day, the special protection of Providence was implored on the enterprise we were about to commence. The guns were cleaned the next day, and stowed in the arm chests, which had been made to fit the boats. Tuesday and Wednesday were set apart for the officers and men to pack their own things. A strong western breeze occurred on the 21st, which removed the ice from the front of the house and opened a passage to the Bear Lake River. The men were sent with the boats and stores to the river in the evening, and were heartily cheered on quitting the beach. The officers remained to pack up the charts, drawings, and other documents, which were to be left at the fort; and, in the event of none of the officers returning, Mr. Dease was directed to forward them to England. We quitted the house at half past ten, on Thursday morning, leaving Coté, the fisherman, in charge, until Mr. Dease should return from Fort Norman. This worthy old man, sharing the enthusiasm that animated the whole party, would not allow us to depart without giving his hearty, though solitary cheer, which we returned in full chorus. The position of Fort Franklin was determined to be in latitude 65 degrees 11 minutes 56 seconds N., longitude 123 degrees 12 minutes 44 seconds W.; variation of the compass 39 degrees 9 minutes E.; dip of the needle 82 degrees 58 minutes 15 seconds. FOOTNOTES: [2] Used by the Indians to break up the beaver lodges. CHAPTER III. Voyage to the Sea--Part from the Eastern Detachment at Point Separation--Reach the Mouth of the Mackenzie--Interview and Contest with the Esquimaux--Detained by Ice--Meet friendly Esquimaux--Point Sabine. [Sidenote: Thursday, 22nd.] On our arrival at the Bear Lake River, we were mortified to find the ice drifting down in large masses, with such rapidity as to render embarkation unsafe. The same cause detained us the whole of the following day; and as we had brought no more provision from the house than sufficient for an uninterrupted passage to Fort Norman, we sent for a supply of fish. This was a very sultry day, the thermometer in the shade being 71 degrees at noon, and 74 degrees at three P.M. The descent of the ice having ceased at eight in the morning of the 24th, we embarked. The heavy stores were put into a bateau, manned by Canadians, who were experienced in the passage through rapids, and the rest of the boats were ordered to follow in its wake, keeping at such a distance from each other as to allow of any evolution that might be necessary to avoid the stones. The boats struck several times, but received no injury. At the foot of the rapid we met a canoe, manned by four of our Canadian voyagers, whom Dr. Richardson had sent with some letters that had arrived at Fort Norman from the Athabasca Lake; and as the services of the men were wanted, they were embarked in the boats, and the canoe was left. Shortly afterwards we overtook Beaulieu, who had just killed a young moose deer, which afforded the party two substantial meals. At this spot, and generally along the river, we found abundance of wild onions. We entered the Mackenzie River at eight in the evening, and the current being too strong for us to advance against the stream with oars, we had recourse to the tracking line, and travelled all night. It was fatiguing, owing to large portions of the banks having been overthrown by the disruption of the ice, and from the ground being so soft that the men dragging the rope sank up to the knees at every step; but these impediments were less regarded than the ceaseless torment of the musquitoes. We halted to sup at the spot where Sir A. Mackenzie saw the flame rising from the bank in 1789. The precipice was still on fire, the smoke issuing through several apertures. Specimens of the coal were procured. [Sidenote: Sunday, 25th.] We reached Fort Norman at noon on the 25th. On the following morning the provision and stores which had been left at this place were examined, and found to be in excellent order, except the powder in one of the magazines, which had become caked from damp. I had ordered a supply of iron-work, knives, and beads, for the sea voyage from Fort Simpson; they had arrived some days before us, and with our stock thus augmented, we were well furnished with presents for the natives. The packages being finished on the 27th, the boats received their respective ladings, and we were rejoiced to find that each stowed her cargo well, and with her crew embarked floated as buoyantly as our most sanguine wishes had anticipated. The heavy stores, however, were afterwards removed into a bateau that was to be taken to the mouth of the river, to prevent the smaller boats from receiving injury in passing over the shoals. We waited one day to make some pounded meat we had brought into pemmican. In the mean time the seamen enlarged the foresail of the Reliance. The letters which I received from the Athabasca department informed me that the things I had required from the Company in February last, would be duly forwarded; they likewise contained a very different version of the story which had led us to suppose that Captain Parry was passing the winter on the northern coast. We now learned that the Indians had only seen some pieces of wood recently cut, and a deer that had been killed by an arrow; these things we concluded were done by the Esquimaux. Three men from Slave Lake, whom I had sent for to supply the place of our Chipewyan hunters, who were very inactive last winter, joined us at this place. They were to accompany Mr. Dease and the Canadians to Fort Franklin; and that they, as well as the Indians, might have every encouragement to exert themselves in procuring provisions during the summer, I directed a supply of the goods they were likely to require, to be sent from Fort Simpson, as soon as possible. The longitude of Fort Norman was observed to be 124 degrees 44 minutes 47 seconds W., its latitude 64 degrees 40 minutes 38 seconds N.; variation 39 degrees 57 minutes 52 seconds E. [Sidenote: Wednesday, 28th.] Early this morning the boats were laden and decorated with their ensigns and pendants, and after breakfast we quitted the fort, amidst the hearty cheers of our friends Mr. Dease, Mr. Brisbois, and the Canadians, and I am sure carried their best wishes for our success. We halted at noon to obtain the latitude, which placed the entrance of Bear Lake River in 64 degrees 55 minutes 37 seconds N.; and Dr. Richardson took advantage of this delay to visit the mountain at that point, but his stay was short, in consequence of a favourable breeze springing up. We perceived that the four boats sailed at nearly an equal rate in light breezes, but that in strong winds the two larger ones had the advantage. When we landed to sup the musquitoes beset us so furiously that we hastily despatched the meal and re-embarked, to drive under easy sail before the current. They continued, however, to pursue us, and deprived us of all rest. On our arrival, next morning, at the place of the first rapids, there was scarcely any appearance of broken water, and the sand-bank on which Augustus had been so perilously situated in the preceding autumn, was entirely covered. This was, of course, to be ascribed to the spring floods; the increase of water to produce such a change, must have exceeded six feet. In the afternoon we were overtaken by a violent thunder-storm, with heavy rain, which made us apprehensive for the pemmican, that spoils on being wet. [Sidenote: Friday, 30th.] It unfortunately happened that a convenient place for spreading out the bags that were injured could not be found, until we reached the Hare-Skin River, below the Rampart Defile, which was at nine o'clock. They were spread out the next morning, with the other perishable parts of the cargo, and we remained until they were dry. We embarked at ten, and, aided by a favourable breeze, made good progress until six P.M., when the threatening appearance of the clouds induced us to put on shore, and we had but just covered the baggage before heavy rain fell, that continued throughout the night. Four Hare Indians came to the encampment, to whom dried meat and ammunition were given, as they were in want of food from being unable to set their nets in the present high state of the water. These were the only natives seen since our departure from Fort Norman; they informed us, that, in consequence of not being able to procure a sufficiency of fish in the Mackenzie at this season, their companions had withdrawn to gain their subsistence from the small lakes in the interior. [Sidenote: July, 1st.] We embarked at half past one on the morning of the 1st of July. The sultry weather of the preceding day made us now feel more keenly the chill of a strong western breeze, and the mist which it brought on, about four hours after our departure. This wind being contrary to the current, soon raised such high waves that the boats took in a great deal of water; and as we made but little progress, and were very cold, we landed to kindle a fire, and prepare breakfast; after which we continued the voyage to Fort Good Hope, without any of the interruptions from sand-banks that we had experienced in the autumn. On our arrival we were saluted with a discharge of musketry by a large party of Loucheux, who had been some time waiting at the fort, with their wives and families, for the purpose of seeing us. After a short conference with Mr. Bell, the master of the post, we were informed that these Indians had lately met a numerous party of Esquimaux at the Red River, by appointment, to purchase their furs; and that in consequence of a misunderstanding respecting some bargain, a quarrel had ensued between them, which fortunately terminated without bloodshed. We could not, however, gain any satisfactory account of the movements of the Esquimaux. The only answers to our repeated questions on these points were, that the Esquimaux came in sixty canoes to Red River, and that they supposed them to have gone down the eastern channel, for the purpose of fishing near its mouth. The chief, however, informed us that he had mentioned our coming to their lands this spring, and that they had received the intelligence without comment; but from his not having alluded to this communication until the question was pressed upon him, and from the manner of his answering our inquiries, I thought it doubtful whether such a communication had really been made. We had been led to expect much information from the Loucheux respecting the channels of the river, and the coast on the east and west side near its mouth, but we were greatly disappointed. They were ignorant of the channel we ought to follow in order to arrive at the western mouth of the river; and the only intelligence they gave us respecting the coast on that side was, that the Esquimaux represented it to be almost constantly beset by ice. They said also that they were unacquainted with the tribes who reside to the westward. Several of the party had been down the eastern channel, of which they made a rude sketch; and their account of the coast on that side was, that, as far as they were acquainted with it, it was free from ice during the summer. Mr. C. Dease, the former master of Fort Good Hope, had retained two of the Loucheux to accompany the Expedition until we should meet the Esquimaux: they spoke a few words of the language, which they had learned during an occasional residence with the tribe that resides on the eastern border of the river. But the knowledge of the recent transactions at Red River had convinced us that their presence would be more likely to irritate than pacify the Esquimaux. We also discovered that their sole motive for accompanying us was the desire of trading with that people; and further, that they expected we should take their families and baggage in the boats. Their services were therefore declined; and a compensation was offered to them for their loss of time in waiting for us; but having fixed their minds on the gain to be derived from us and from the trade with the Esquimaux, they expressed great disappointment, and were very intemperate in their language. As I was anxious, for the sake of the trade at the post, to leave them no room to complain either of us, or of Mr. Dease who had acted for us, I spent several hours in debate with them to very little purpose, and at last discovered that the whole scene was got up for the purpose of obtaining a few more goods. My compliance with their wish rendered them quite contented. I afterwards added a present to the principal chief of the party, who still expressed a wish to accompany us, but he frankly said that if he went, all his young men must go also. They came in the evening in great good humour to exhibit their dances in front of our tent, a compliment we could well have dispensed with, as we were busy. Having ascertained that the Esquimaux were likely to be seen in greater numbers than had been at first imagined, I increased the stock of presents from the store at this place, and exchanged two of our guns, which were defective, that the party might have entire confidence in their arms. And to provide against the casualty of either or both branches of the Expedition having to return this way, I requested Mr. Bell to store up as much meat as he could during the summer. We learned from this gentleman that the supply of meat at this post was very precarious, and that had we not left the five bags of pemmican in the autumn, the residents would have been reduced to great distress for food during the winter. These bags were now replaced. The arrangements being concluded, we spent the greater part, of the night in writing to England. I addressed to the Colonial Secretary an account of our proceedings up to this time, and I felt happy to be able to state that we were equipped with every requisite for the Expedition. [Sidenote: Sunday, 2nd.] We quitted Fort Good Hope at five on the 2nd. In the passage down the river we were visited by several Loucheux, who, the instant we appeared, launched their canoes, and came off to welcome us. We landed, at their request, to purchase fish; yet, after the bargain had been completed, an old woman stepped forward, and would only allow of our receiving two fish: she maintained her point, and carried off the rest in spite of all remonstrance. The natives were all clothed in new leathern dresses, and looked much neater, and in better health, than last autumn. Being anxious to reach the Red River, we continued rowing against the wind until after midnight. On reaching that place, the ground proved too wet for us to encamp; we, therefore, proceeded a short distance lower down, and put up under some sandstone cliffs, where there was but just room for the tents. As we were now on the borders of the Esquimaux territory, we devoted the following morning to cleaning the arms; and a gun, dagger, and ammunition, were issued to each person. We had no reason, indeed, to apprehend hostility from the Esquimaux, after the messages they had sent to Fort Franklin, but vigilance and precaution are never to be omitted in intercourse with strange tribes. [Sidenote: Monday, 3rd.] Embarking at two in the afternoon of the 3rd, we soon entered the expansion of the river whence the different channels branch off, and steering along the western shore, we came to the head of a branch that flowed towards the Rocky Mountain range. Being anxious not to take the eastern detachment out of their course, I immediately encamped to make the necessary arrangements for the separation of the parties. The warm clothing, shoes, and articles for presents, had been previously put up in separate packages, but the provisions remained to be divided, which was done in due proportion. Twenty-six bags of pemmican, and two of grease, were set apart for the Dolphin and Union, with a supply of arrow-root, macaroni, flour, and portable soup, making in all eighty days' provision, with an allowance for waste. The Lion and Reliance received thirty-two bags of pemmican, and two of grease, with sufficient arrow-root, &c., to make their supply proportionate to that of the eastern party. Provided no accident occurred, neither party could be in absolute want for the whole summer, because at two-thirds allowance the pemmican could be made to last one hundred days; and we had reason to expect to meet with deer occasionally. In the evening I delivered my instructions to Dr. Richardson; they were in substance as follows:--He was to take under his charge Mr. E.N. Kendall, and ten men, and proceed in the Dolphin and Union to survey the coast between the Mackenzie and Copper-Mine Rivers. On reaching the latter river, he was to travel by land to the north-east arm of Great Bear Lake, where Beaulieu was under orders to meet him with a boat for the conveyance of his party to Fort Franklin. But if he should be so much delayed on the coast as to have no prospect of reaching the Copper-Mine River by the close of August, or the Bear Lake Portage by the 20th of September, he was not to expose himself or his party to risk by persevering beyond the 15th or 20th of August, but was to return to Fort Franklin by way of the Mackenzie, or by any other route he might discover. The only cause of regret I had respecting the equipment of the eastern party was my being unable to provide Dr. Richardson with a chronometer, the main-springs of two out of the three chronometers furnished to us having been broken. I borrowed, however, from Mr. Dease, a watch, made by Barraud, to enable Mr. Kendall to obtain the longitude by lunar distances. They were likewise provided with that excellent instrument Massey's Log; and knowing Mr. Kendall's intimate acquaintance with marine surveying, I had no doubt of his being able to make a correct survey of the coast. The spot where the above arrangements were made, bears the name of Point Separation, and lies in latitude 67 degrees 38 minutes N., longitude 133 degrees 53 minutes W. As the parties entertained for each other sentiments of true friendship and regard, it will easily be imagined that the evening preceding our separation was spent in the most cordial and cheerful manner. We felt that we were only separating to be employed on services of equal interest; and we looked forward with delight to our next meeting, when, after a successful termination, we might recount the incidents of our respective voyages. The best supper our means afforded was provided, and a bowl of punch crowned the parting feast. We were joined by an elderly Loucheux, who gave us a better account of the eastern and western channels than we had hitherto obtained. "The west branch," he said, "would take us to the sea, and flowed the whole way at no great distance from the mountains." "The eastern was a good channel, and passed close to the hills on that side." He further informed us that the Esquimaux were generally to be found on an island in the eastern channel, but were seldom seen in the western branch. He was, however, unacquainted with the coast, and we found afterwards that he knew little about the movements of the Esquimaux. [Sidenote: Tuesday, 4th.] By six in the morning of the 4th the boats were all laden, and ready for departure. It was impossible not to be struck with the difference between our present complete state of equipment and that on which we had embarked on our former disastrous voyage. Instead of a frail bark canoe, and a scanty supply of food, we were now about to commence the sea voyage in excellent boats, stored with three months' provision. At Dr. Richardson's desire the western party embarked first. He and his companions saluted us with three hearty cheers, which were warmly returned; and as we were passing round the point that was to hide them from our view, we perceived them also embarking. Augustus was rather melancholy, as might have been expected, on his parting from Ooligbuck, to proceed he knew not whither; but he recovered his wonted flow of spirits by the evening. The western party were distributed as follows:-- LION. RELIANCE. John Franklin, _Captain R.N._ George Back, _Lieutenant R.N._ William Duncan, _Cockswain_. Robert Spinks, _Cockswain_. Thomas Matthews, _Carpenter_. Robert Hallom, _Corpl. of Marines_. Gustavus Aird, _Bowman_. Charles Mackenzie, _Bowman_. George Wilson, _Marine_. Alexander Currie, _Middle Man_. Archibald Stewart, _Soldier_. Robert Spence, _Ditto_. Neil Mac Donald, _Voyager_. Alexis Vivier, _Canadian_. Augustus, _Esquimaux_. François Felix, _Ditto_. Our course was directly towards the Rocky Mountain range, till we came near the low land that skirts its base; where, following the deepest channel, we turned to the northward. I was desirous of coasting the main shore, but finding some of the westernmost branches too shallow, we kept on the outside of three islands for about twelve miles, when we entered the channel that washes the west side of Simpson's Island. It was winding, and its breadth seldom exceeded a quarter of a mile. During our progress we occasionally caught a glimpse of the Rocky Mountains, which was an agreeable relief to the very dull picture that the muddy islands in our neighbourhood afforded. We halted to breakfast just before noon, and observed the latitude 67 degrees 51 minutes N. In the afternoon one deer was seen, and many swans and geese; we did not fire at them, for fear of alarming any Esquimaux that might be near. Encamped at eight P.M., opposite Simpson's Island, in latitude 68 degrees 13 minutes N., longitude 134 degrees 27 minutes W. The boats were secured without discharging the cargoes, and two men were placed on guard, to be relieved every two hours. [Sidenote: Wednesday, 5th.] We set forward at four A.M., with a favourable breeze, and made good progress, though the river was very winding. At eight we entered a branch that turned to the westward round the point of Halkett Island into the channel washing the main shore. We soon afterwards arrived at a spot where a large body of Esquimaux had been encamped in the spring, and supposing that they might revisit this place, a present of an ice-chisel, kettle, and knife, was hung up in a conspicuous situation. Soon after we had entered the channel that flows by the main shore, we first perceived lop-sticks, or pine trees, divested of their lower branches, for the purpose of land-marks, and therefore concluded it was much frequented by the Esquimaux. Our course was then altered to N.W., and we soon passed the last of the well-wooded islands. The spruce fir-trees terminated in latitude 68 degrees 36 minutes N.; and dwarf willows only grew below this part. A very picturesque view was obtained of the Rocky Mountains, and we saw the entire outline of their peaked hills, table-land, and quoin shaped terminations. Two lofty ranges were fronted by a lower line of round-backed hills, in which we perceived the strata to be horizontal, and the stone of a yellow colour. A few miles lower down we found hills of sand close to the west border of the river. We passed several deserted huts, and in one spot saw many chips and pieces of split drift-wood, that appeared to have been recently cut. The channel varied in breadth from a half to three-quarters of a mile, but, except in the stream of the current, the water was so shallow as scarcely to float the boats, and its greatest depth did not exceed five feet. We landed at eight P.M., on Halkett Island, intending to encamp, but owing to the swampiness of the ground the tent could not be pitched. Having made a fire and cooked our supper, we retired to sleep under the coverings of the boats, which afforded us good shelter from a gale and heavy rain that came on before midnight. Latitude 68 degrees 39 minutes N., longitude 135 degrees 35 minutes W. [Sidenote: Thursday, 6th.] The continuance of stormy weather detained us until two P.M. of the 9th, when the rain ceasing, we embarked. After passing through the expansion of the river near the west extreme of Halkett Island, we turned into the narrower and more winding channel, between Colvill Island and the main. A fog coming on at eight P.M. we encamped, in latitude 68 degrees 48 minutes N., longitude 136 degrees 4 minutes W.; temperature of the air 42 degrees, that of the water being 47 degrees in the middle of the stream. Several of the glaucous gulls were seen, and this circumstance, as well as a line of bright cloud to the N.W. resembling the ice-blink, convinced us that the sea was not far off. A rein-deer appearing near the encampment, two men were sent after it, who returned unsuccessful. Augustus obtained a goose for supper. Many geese, swans, and ducks, had been seen on the marshy shores of the island in the course of the day. [Sidenote: Friday, 7th.] The night was cold, and at daylight on the 7th the thermometer indicated 36 degrees. Embarking at four A.M. we sailed down the river for two hours, when our progress was arrested by the shallowness of the water. Having endeavoured, without effect, to drag the boats over the flat, we remounted the stream to examine an opening to the westward, which we had passed. On reaching the opening we found the current setting through it into the Mackenzie, by which we knew that it could not afford a passage to the sea, but we pulled up it a little way, in the hope of obtaining a view over the surrounding low grounds from the top of an Esquimaux house which we saw before us. A low fog, which had prevailed all the morning, cleared away, and we discovered that the stream we had now ascended issued from a chain of lakes lying betwixt us and the western hills, which were about six miles distant, the whole intervening country between the hills and the Mackenzie being flat. After obtaining an observation for longitude in 136 degrees 19 minutes W., and taking the bearing of several remarkable points of the Rocky Mountain range, we returned to the Mackenzie, and passing the shallows which had before impeded us, by taking one half the boats' cargoes over at a time, we came in sight of the mouth of the river. Whilst the crews were stowing the boats, I obtained an observation for latitude in 68 degrees 53 minutes N., and having walked towards the mouth of the river, discovered on an island, which formed the east side of the bay into which the river opened, a crowd of tents, with many Esquimaux strolling amongst them. I instantly hastened to the boats, to make preparations for opening a communication with them, agreeably to my instructions. A selection of articles for presents and trade being made, the rest of the lading was closely covered up; the arms were inspected, and every man was directed to keep his gun ready for immediate use. I had previously informed Lieutenant Back of my intention of opening the communication with the Esquimaux by landing amongst them, accompanied only by Augustus; and I now instructed him to keep the boats afloat, and the crews with their arms ready to support us in the event of the natives proving hostile; but on no account to fire until he was convinced that our safety could be secured in no other way. Having received an impression from the narratives of different navigators that the sacrifices of life which had occurred in their interviews with savages, had been generally occasioned by the crews mistaking noise and violent gestures for decided hostility, I thought it necessary to explain my sentiments on this point to all the men, and peremptorily forbade their firing till I set the example, or till they were ordered to do so by Lieutenant Back. They were also forbidden to trade with the natives on any pretence, and were ordered to leave every thing of that kind to the officers. On quitting the channel of the river we entered into the bay, which was about six miles wide, with an unbounded prospect to seaward, and steered towards the tents under easy sail, with the ensigns flying. The water became shallow as we drew towards the island, and the boats touched the ground when about a mile from the beach; we shouted, and made signs to the Esquimaux to come off, and then pulled a short way back to await their arrival in deeper water. Three canoes instantly put off from the shore, and before they could reach us others were launched in such quick succession, that the whole space between the island and the boats was covered by them. The Esquimaux canoes contain only one person, and are named _kaiyacks_; but they have a kind of open boat capable of holding six or eight people, which is named _oomiak_. The men alone use the kaiyacks, and the oomiaks are allotted to the women and children. We endeavoured to count their numbers as they approached, and had proceeded as far as seventy-three canoes, and five oomiaks, when the sea became so crowded by fresh arrivals, that we could advance no farther in our reckoning. The three headmost canoes were paddled by elderly men, who, most probably, had been selected to open the communication. They advanced towards us with much caution, halting when just within speaking distance, until they had been assured of our friendship, and repeatedly invited by Augustus to approach and receive the present which I offered to them. Augustus next explained to them in detail the purport of our visit, and told them that if we succeeded in finding a navigable channel for large ships, a trade highly beneficial to them would be opened. They were delighted with this intelligence, and repeated it to their countrymen, who testified their joy by tossing their hands aloft, and raising the most deafening shout of applause I ever heard. After the first present, I resolved to bestow no more gratuitously, but always to exact something, however small, in return; the three elderly men readily offered the ornaments they wore in their cheeks, their arms, and knives, in exchange for the articles I gave them. Up to this time the first three were the only kaiyacks that had ventured near the boats, but the natives around us had now increased to two hundred and fifty or three hundred persons, and they all became anxious to share in the lucrative trade which they saw established, and pressed eagerly upon us, offering for sale their bows, arrows, and spears, which they had hitherto kept concealed within their canoes. I endeavoured in vain, amidst the clamour and bustle of trade, to obtain some information respecting the coast, but finding the natives becoming more and more importunate and troublesome, I determined to leave them, and, therefore, directed the boats' heads to be put to seaward. Notwithstanding the forwardness of the Esquimaux, which we attributed solely to the desire of a rude people to obtain the novel articles they saw in our possession, they had hitherto shown no unfriendly disposition; and when we told them of our intention of going to sea, they expressed no desire to detain us, but, on the contrary, when the Lion grounded in the act of turning, they assisted us in the kindest manner by dragging her round. This manoeuvre was not of much advantage to us, for, from the rapid ebbing of the tide, both boats lay aground; and the Esquimaux told us, through the medium of Augustus, that the whole bay was alike flat, which we afterwards found to be correct. An accident happened at this time, which was productive of unforeseen and very annoying consequences. A kaiyack being overset by one of the Lion's oars, its owner was plunged into the water with his head in the mud, and apparently in danger of being drowned. We instantly extricated him from his unpleasant situation, and took him into the boat until the water could be thrown out of his kaiyack, and Augustus, seeing him shivering with cold, wrapped him up in his own great coat. At first he was exceedingly angry, but soon became reconciled to his situation, and looking about, discovered that we had many bales, and other articles, in the boat, which had been concealed from the people in the kaiyacks, by the coverings being carefully spread over all. He soon began to ask for every thing he saw, and expressed much displeasure on our refusing to comply with his demands; he also, as we afterwards learned, excited the cupidity of others by his account of the inexhaustible riches in the Lion, and several of the younger men endeavoured to get into both our boats, but we resisted all their attempts. Though we had not hitherto observed any of them stealing, yet they showed so much desire to obtain my flag, that I had it furled and put out of sight, as well as every thing else that I thought could prove a temptation to them. They continued, however, to press upon us so closely, and made so many efforts to get into the boats, that I accepted the offer of two chiefs, who said that if they were allowed to come in, they would keep the others out. For a time they kept their word, and the crews took advantage of the respite thus afforded, to endeavour to force the boats towards the river into deeper water. The Reliance floated, but the Lion was immoveable, and Lieutenant Back dropping astern again made his boat fast to the Lion by a rope. At this time one of the Lion's crew perceived that the man whose kaiyack had been upset had a pistol under his shirt, and was about to take it from him, but I ordered him to desist, as I thought it might have been purchased from the Loucheux. It had been, in fact, stolen from Lieutenant Back, and the thief, perceiving our attention directed to it, leaped out of the boat, and joined his countrymen, carrying with him the great coat which Augustus had lent him. The water had now ebbed so far, that it was not knee deep at the boats, and the younger men wading in crowds around us, tried to steal every thing within their reach; slyly, however, and with so much dexterity, as almost to escape detection. The moment this disposition was manifested, I directed the crews not to suffer any one to come alongside, and desired Augustus to tell the two chiefs, who still remained seated in the Lion, that the noise and confusion occasioned by the crowd around the boats greatly impeded our exertions; and that if they would go on shore and leave us for the present, we would hereafter return from the ship which we expected to meet near this part of the coast, with a more abundant supply of goods. They received this communication with much apparent satisfaction, and jumping out of the boats repeated the speech aloud to their companions. From the general exclamation of "_teyma_," which followed, and from perceiving many of the elderly men retire to a distance, I conceived that they acquiesced in the propriety of the suggestion, and that they were going away, but I was much deceived. They only retired to concert a plan of attack, and returned in a short time shouting some words which Augustus could not make out. We soon, however, discovered their purport, by two of the three chiefs who were on board the Reliance, jumping out, and, with the others who hurried to their assistance, dragging her towards the south shore of the river. Lieutenant Back desired the chief who remained with him to tell them to desist, but he replied by pointing to the beach, and repeating the word _teyma_, _teyma_, with a good-natured smile. He said, however, something to those who were seated in the canoes that were alongside, on which they threw their long knives and arrows into the boat, taking care, in so doing, that the handles and feathered ends were turned towards the crew, as an indication of pacific intentions. As soon as I perceived the Reliance moving under the efforts of the natives, I directed the Lion's crew to endeavour to follow her, but our boat remained fast until the Esquimaux lent their aid and dragged her after the Reliance. Two of the most powerful men, jumping on board at the same time, seized me by the wrists and forced me to sit between them; and as I shook them loose two or three times, a third Esquimaux took his station in front to catch my arm whenever I attempted to lift my gun, or the broad dagger which hung by my side. The whole way to the shore they kept repeating the word "_teyma_," beating gently on my left breast with their hands, and pressing mine against their breasts. As we neared the beach, two oomiaks, full of women, arrived, and the "_teymas_" and vociferation were redoubled. The Reliance was first brought to the shore, and the Lion close to her a few seconds afterwards. The three men who held me now leaped ashore, and those who had remained in their canoes taking them out of the water, carried them to a little distance. A numerous party then drawing their knives, and stripping themselves to the waist, ran to the Reliance, and having first hauled her as far up as they could, began a regular pillage, handing the articles to the women, who, ranged in a row behind, quickly conveyed them out of sight. Lieutenant Back and his crew strenuously, but good-humouredly, resisted the attack, and rescued many things from their grasp, but they were overpowered by numbers, and had even some difficulty in preserving their arms. One fellow had the audacity to snatch Vivier's knife from his breast, and to cut the buttons from his coat, whilst three stout Esquimaux surrounded Lieutenant Back with uplifted daggers, and were incessant in their demands for whatever attracted their attention, especially for the anchor buttons which he wore on his waistcoat. In this juncture a young chief coming to his aid, drove the assailants away. In their retreat they carried off a writing desk and cloak, which the chief rescued, and then seating himself on Lieutenant Back's knee, he endeavoured to persuade his countrymen to desist by vociferating "_teyma teyma_," and was, indeed, very active in saving whatever he could from their depredations. The Lion had hitherto been beset by smaller numbers, and her crew, by firmly keeping their seats on the cover spread over the cargo, and by beating the natives off with the butt-ends of their muskets, had been able to prevent any article of importance from being carried away. But as soon as I perceived that the work of plunder was going on so actively in the Reliance, I went with Augustus to assist in repressing the tumult; and our bold and active little interpreter rushed among the crowd on shore, and harangued them on their treacherous conduct, until he was actually hoarse. In a short time, however, I was summoned back by Duncan, who called out to me that the Esquimaux had now commenced in earnest to plunder the Lion, and on my return, I found the sides of the boat lined with men as thick as they could stand, brandishing their knives in the most furious manner, and attempting to seize every thing that was moveable; whilst another party was ranged on the outside ready to bear away the stolen goods. The Lion's crew still kept their seats, but as it was impossible for so small a number to keep off such a formidable and determined body, several articles were carried off. Our principal object was to prevent the loss of the arms, oars, or masts, or any thing on which the continuance of the voyage, or our personal safety, depended. Many attempts were made to purloin the box containing the astronomical instruments, and Duncan, after thrice rescuing it from their hands, made it fast to his leg with a cord, determined that they should drag him away also if they took it. In the whole of this unequal contest, the self-possession of our men was not more conspicuous than the coolness with which the Esquimaux received the heavy blows dealt to them with the butts of the muskets. But at length, irritated at being so often foiled in their attempts, several of them jumped on board and forcibly endeavoured to take the daggers and shot-belts that were about the men's persons; and I myself was engaged with three of them who were trying to disarm me. Lieutenant Back perceiving our situation, and fully appreciating my motives in not coming to extremities, had the kindness to send to my assistance the young chief who had protected him, and who, on his arrival, drove my antagonists out of the boat. I then saw that my crew were nearly overpowered in the fore part of the boat, and hastening to their aid, I fortunately arrived in time to prevent George Wilson from discharging the contents of his musket into the body of an Esquimaux. He had received a provocation of which I was ignorant until the next day, for the fellow had struck at him with a knife, and cut through his coat and waistcoat; and it was only after the affray was over that I learned that Gustavus Aird, the bowman of the Lion, and three of the Reliance's crew, had also narrowly escaped from being wounded, their clothes being cut by the blows made at them with knives. No sooner was the bow clear of one set of marauders, than another party commenced their operations at the stern. My gun was now the object of the struggle, which was beginning to assume a more serious complexion, when the whole of the Esquimaux suddenly fled, and hid themselves behind the drift timber and canoes on the beach. It appears that by the exertions of the crew, the Reliance was again afloat, and Lieutenant Back wisely judging that this was the proper moment for more active interference, directed his men to level their muskets, which had produced that sudden panic. The Lion happily floated soon after, and both were retiring from the beach, when the Esquimaux having recovered from their consternation, put their kaiyacks in the water, and were preparing to follow us; but I desired Augustus to say that I would shoot the first man who came within range of our muskets, which prevented them. It was now about eight o'clock in the evening, and we had been engaged in this harrassing contest for several hours, yet the only things of importance which they had carried off were the mess canteen and kettles, a tent, a bale containing blankets and shoes, one of the men's bags, and the jib-sails. The other articles they took could well be spared, and they would, in fact, have been distributed amongst them, had they remained quiet. The place to which the boats were dragged is designated by the name of Pillage Point. I cannot sufficiently praise the fortitude and obedience of both the boats' crews in abstaining from the use of their arms. In the first instance I had been influenced by the desire of preventing unnecessary bloodshed, and afterwards, when the critical situation of my party might have well warranted me in employing more decided means for their defence, I still endeavoured to temporize, being convinced that as long as the boats lay aground, and we were beset by such numbers, armed with long knives, bows, arrows, and spears, we could not use fire-arms to advantage. The howling of the women, and the clamour of the men, proved the high excitement to which they had wrought themselves; and I am still of opinion that, mingled as we were with them, the first blood we had shed would have been instantly revenged by the sacrifice of all our lives. The preceding narrative shows that, bad as the general conduct of the Esquimaux was, we had some active friends amongst them; and I was particularly desirous of cultivating a good understanding with them, for we were as yet ignorant of the state of the ice at sea, and did not know how long we should have to remain in their neighbourhood. I was determined, however, now to keep them at bay, and to convince them, if they made any further attempts to annoy us, that our forbearance had proceeded from good-will, and not from the want of power to punish them. We had not gone above a quarter of a mile from Pillage Point before the boats again took the ground at the distance of one hundred and fifty yards from the shore; and having ascertained by the men wading in every direction, that there was no deeper water, we made the boats fast side by side, and remained in that situation five hours. Shortly after the boats had been secured, seven or eight of the natives walked along the beach, and carrying on a conversation with Augustus, invited him to a conference on shore. I was at first very unwilling to permit him to go, but the brave little fellow entreated so earnestly that I would suffer him to land and reprove the Esquimaux for their conduct, that I at length consented, and the more readily, on seeing that the young chief who had acted in so friendly a manner was amongst the number on the beach. By the time that Augustus reached the shore, the number of Esquimaux amounted to forty, and we watched with great anxiety the animated conversation he carried on with them. On his return he told us that its purport was as follows:--"Your conduct," said he, "has been very bad, and unlike that of all other Esquimaux. Some of you even stole from me, your countryman, but that I do not mind; I only regret that you should have treated in this violent manner the white people who came solely to do you kindness. My tribe were in the same unhappy state in which you now are, before the white people came to Churchill, but at present they are supplied with every thing they need, and you see that I am well clothed; I get all that I want, and am very comfortable. You cannot expect, after the transactions of this day, that these people will ever bring goods to your country again, unless you show your contrition by returning the stolen goods. The white people love the Esquimaux, and wish to show them the same kindness that they bestow upon the Indians: do not deceive yourselves, and suppose that they are afraid of you; I tell you they are not, and that it is entirely owing to their humanity that many of you were not killed to-day; for they have all guns, with which they can destroy you either when near or at a distance. I also have a gun, and can assure you that if a white man had fallen, I would have been the first to have revenged his death." The veracity of Augustus was beyond all question with us; such a speech delivered in a circle of forty armed men, was a remarkable instance of personal courage. We could perceive, by the shouts of applause with which they filled the pauses in his harangue, that they assented to his arguments, and he told us that they had expressed great sorrow for having given us so much cause of offence, and pleaded, in mitigation of their conduct, that they had never seen white people before, that every thing in our possession was so new to them, and so desirable, that they could not resist the temptation of stealing, and begged him to assure us that they never would do the like again, for they were anxious to be on terms of friendship with us, that they might partake of the benefits which his tribe derived from their intercourse with the white people. I told Augustus to put their sincerity to the test by desiring them to bring back a large kettle and the tent, which they did, together with some shoes, having sent for them to the island whither they had been conveyed. After this act of restitution, Augustus requested to be permitted to join a dance to which they had invited him, and he was, for upwards of an hour, engaged in dancing and singing with all his might in the midst of a company who were all armed with knives, or bows and arrows. He afterwards told us that he was much delighted on finding that the words of the song, and the different attitudes of the dances, were precisely similar to those used in his own country when a friendly meeting took place with strangers. Augustus now learned from them that there was a regular ebb and flow of the tide in this bay, and that when the sun came round to a particular point there would be water enough to float the boats, if we kept along the western shore. This communication relieved me from much anxiety, for the water was perfectly fresh, and from the flood-tide having passed unperceived whilst we were engaged with the Esquimaux, it appeared to us to have been subsiding for the preceding twelve hours, which naturally excited doubts of our being able to effect a passage to the sea in this direction. The Esquimaux gradually retired as the night advanced; and when there were only a few remaining, two of our men were sent to a fire which they had made, to prepare chocolate for the refreshment of the party. Up to this period we remained seated in the boats, with our muskets in our hands, and keeping a vigilant look out on Augustus, and the natives around him. [Sidenote: Saturday, 8th.] As they had foretold, the water began to flow about midnight, and by half past one in the morning of the 8th it was sufficiently deep to allow of our dragging the boats forward to a part where they floated. We pulled along the western shore about six miles, till the appearance of the sky bespoke the immediate approach of a gale; and we had scarcely landed before it came on with violence, and attended with so much swell as to compel us to unload the boats and drag them up on the beach. The whole party having been exhausted by the labour and anxiety of the preceding twenty-four hours, two men were appointed to keep watch, and the rest slept until eleven o'clock in the morning, when we began to repair the damage which the sails and rigging had sustained from the attempts made by the Esquimaux to cut away the copper thimbles. We were thus employed when Lieutenant Back espied, through the haze, the whole body of the Esquimaux paddling towards us. Uncertain of the purport of their visit, and not choosing to open a conference with so large a body in a situation so disadvantageous as our present one, we hastened to launch the boats through the surf, and load them with our utmost speed; conceiving that when once fairly afloat, we could keep any number at bay. We had scarcely pulled into deep water before some of the kaiyacks had arrived within speaking distance, and the man in the headmost one, holding out a kettle, called aloud that he wished to return it, and that the oomiak which was some distance behind, contained the things that had been stolen from us, which they were desirous of restoring, and receiving in return any present that we might be disposed to give. I did not deem it prudent, however, for the sake of the few things in their possession which we required, to hazard their whole party collecting around us, and, therefore, desired Augustus to tell them to go back; but they continued to advance until I fired a ball ahead of the leading canoe, which had the desired effect--the whole party veering round, except four, who followed us for a little way, and then went back to join their companions. I have been minute in my details of our proceedings with these Esquimaux, for the purpose of elucidating the character of the people we had to deal with; and I feel that the account would be incomplete without the mention, in this place, of some communications made to us in the month of August following, which fully explained the motives of their conduct. We learned that up to the time that the kaiyack was upset, the Esquimaux were actuated by the most friendly feelings towards us, but that the fellow whom we had treated so kindly after the accident, discovering what the boats contained, proposed to the younger men to pillage them. This suggestion was buzzed about, and led to the conference which the old men held together when I desired them to go away, in which the robbery was decided upon, and a pretty general wish was expressed that it should be attended with the total massacre of our party. Providentially a few suggested the impropriety of including Augustus; and for a reason which could scarcely have been imagined. "If we kill him," said they, "no more white people will visit our lands, and we shall lose the opportunity of getting a supply of their valuable goods; but if we spare him, he can be sent back with a story which we shall invent to induce another party of white people to come among us." This argument prevailed at the time; but after the interviews with Augustus at the dance, they retired to their island, where they were so much inflamed by the sight of the valuable articles which they had obtained, that they all, without exception, regretted that they had allowed us to escape. While in this frame of mind the smoke of our fire being discovered, a consultation was immediately held, and a very artful plan laid for the destruction of the party, including Augustus, whom they conceived to be so firmly attached to us that it was in vain to attempt to win him to their cause. They expected to find us on shore; but to provide against the boats getting away if we should have embarked, they caused some kettles to be fastened conspicuously to the leading kaiyack, in order to induce us to stop. The kaiyacks were then to be placed in such a position as to hamper the boats, and their owners were to keep us in play until the whole party had come up, when the attack was to commence. Through the blessing of Providence, their scheme was frustrated. But to resume the narrative of the voyage. The breeze became moderate and fair; the sails were set, and we passed along the coast in a W.N.W. direction, until eleven in the evening, when we halted on a low island, covered with drift wood, to repair the sails, and to put the boats in proper order for a sea voyage. [Sidenote: Sunday, 9th.] The continuance and increase of the favourable wind urged us to make all possible despatch, and at three in the morning of the 9th again embarking, we kept in three fathoms water at the distance of two miles from the land. After sailing twelve miles, our progress was completely stopped by the ice adhering to the shore, and stretching beyond the limits of our view to seaward. We could not effect a landing until we had gone back some miles, as we had passed a sheet of ice which was fast to the shore; but at length a convenient spot being found, the boats were hauled up on the beach. We quickly ascended to the top of the bank to look around, and from thence had the mortification to perceive that we had just arrived in time to witness the first rupture of the ice. The only lane of water in the direction of our course was that from which we had been forced to retreat: in every other part the sea appeared as firmly frozen as in winter; and even close to our encampment the masses of ice were piled up to the height of thirty feet. Discouraging as was this prospect, we had the consolation to know that our store of provision was sufficiently ample to allow of a few days' detention. The coast in this part consists of black earth, unmixed with stones of any kind, and its general elevation is from sixty to eighty feet, though in some places it swells into hills of two hundred and fifty feet. A level plain, abounding in small lakes, extends from the top of these banks to the base of a line of hills which lie in front of the Rocky Mountains. The plain was clothed with grass and plants, then in flower, specimens of which were collected. We recognised in the nearest range of the Rocky Mountains, which I have named after my much-esteemed companion Dr. Richardson, the Fitton and the Cupola Mountains, which we had seen from Garry Island at the distance of sixty miles. Few patches of snow were visible on any part of the range. Having obtained observations for longitude and variation, we retired to bed about eight A.M., but had only just fallen asleep when we were roused by the men on guard calling out that a party of Esquimaux were close to the tents; and, on going out, we found the whole of our party under arms. Three Esquimaux had come upon us unawares, and, in terror at seeing so many strangers, they were on the point of discharging their arrows, when Augustus's voice arrested them, and by explaining the purpose of our arrival, soon calmed their fears. Lieutenant Back and I having made each of them a present, and received in return some arrows, a very amicable conference followed, which was managed by Augustus with equal tact and judgment. It was gratifying to observe our visitors jumping for joy as he pointed out the advantages to be derived from an intercourse with the white people, to whom they were now introduced for the first time. We found that they belonged to a party whose tents were pitched about two miles from us; and as they were very desirous that their friends might also enjoy the gratification of seeing us, they begged that Augustus would return with them to convey the invitation; which request was granted at his desire. Before their departure, marks being set up on the beach one hundred and fifty yards in front of the tent, and twice that distance from the boats, they were informed that this was the nearest approach which any of their party would be permitted to make; and that at this boundary only would gifts be made, and barter carried on. Augustus was likewise desired to explain to them the destructive power of our guns, and to assure them that every person would be shot who should pass the prescribed limit. This plan was adopted in all succeeding interviews with the Esquimaux. After five hours' absence Augustus returned, accompanied by twenty men and two elderly women, who halted at the boundary. They had come without bows or arrows, by the desire of Augustus, and, following his instruction, each gave Lieutenant Back and myself a hearty shake of the hand. We made presents to every one, of beads, fish-hooks, awls, and trinkets; and that they might have entire confidence in the whole party, our men were furnished with beads to present to them. The men were directed to advance singly, and in such a manner as to prevent the Esquimaux from counting our number, unless they paid the greatest attention, which they were not likely to do while their minds were occupied by a succession of novelties. Our visitors were soon quite at ease, and we were preparing to question them respecting the coast, and the time of removal of the ice, when Augustus begged that he might put on his gayest dress, and his medals, before the conference began. This was the work of a few seconds; but when he returned, surprise and delight at his altered appearance and numerous ornaments so engaged their minds, that their attention could not be drawn to any other subject for the next half hour. "Ah," said an old man, taking up his medals, "these must have been made by such people as you have been describing, for none that we have seen could do any thing like it;" then taking hold of his coat, he asked "what kind of animal do these skins which you and the chiefs wear belong to? we have none such in our country." The anchor buttons also excited their admiration. At length we managed to gain their attention, and were informed that, as soon as the wind should blow strong from the land, the ice might be expected to remove from the shore, so as to open a passage for boats, and that it would remain in the offing until the reappearance of the stars. "Further to the westward," they continued, "the ice often adheres to the land throughout the summer; and when it does break away, it is carried but a short distance to seaward, and is brought back whenever a strong wind blows on the coast. If there be any channels in these parts, they are unsafe for boats, as the ice is continually tossing about." "We wonder, therefore," they said, "that you are not provided with sledges and dogs, as our men are, to travel along the land, when these interruptions occur." They concluded by warning us not to stay to the westward after the stars could be seen, because the winds would then blow strong from the sea, and pack the ice on the shore. On further inquiry we learned that this party is usually employed, during the summer, in catching whales and seals, in the vicinity of the Mackenzie, and that they seldom travel to the westward beyond a few days' journey. We were, therefore, not much distressed by intelligence which we supposed might have originated in exaggerated accounts received from others. In the evening Augustus returned with them to their tents, and two of the men undertook to fetch a specimen of the rock from Mount Fitton, which was distant about twenty miles. The following observations were obtained:--Latitude 69 degrees 1 minute 24 seconds N.; longitude 137 degrees 35 minutes W.; variation 46 degrees 41 minutes E.; dip 82 degrees 22 minutes. The party assembled at divine service in the evening. The wind blew in violent squalls during the night, which brought such a heavy swell upon the ice, that the larger masses near the encampment were broken before the morning of the 10th, but there was no change in the main body. [Sidenote: Monday, 10th.] The Esquimaux revisited us in the morning, with their women and children; the party consisted of forty-eight persons. They seated themselves as before, in a semicircle, the men being in front, and the women behind. Presents were made to those who had not before received any; and we afterwards purchased several pairs of seal-skin boots, a few pieces of dressed seal-skin, and some deer-skin cut and twisted, to be used as cords. Beads, pins, needles, and ornamental articles, were most in request by the women, to whom the goods principally belonged, but the men were eager to get any thing that was made of iron. They were supplied with hatchets, files, ice chisels, fire-steels, Indian awls, and fish-hooks. They were very anxious to procure knives, but as each was in possession of one, I reserved the few which we had for another occasion. The quarter from whence these knives were obtained, will appear in a subsequent part of the narrative. It was amusing to see the purposes to which they applied the different articles given to them; some of the men danced about with a large cod-fish hook dangling from the nose, others stuck an awl through the same part, and the women immediately decorated their dresses with the ear-rings, thimbles, or whatever trinkets they received. There was in the party a great proportion of elderly persons, who appeared in excellent health, and were very active. The men were stout and robust, and taller than Augustus, or than those seen on the east coast by Captain Parry. Their cheek-bones were less projecting than the representations given of the Esquimaux on the eastern coast, but they had the small eye, and broad nose, which ever distinguish that people. Except the young persons, the whole party were afflicted with sore eyes, arising from exposure to the glare of ice and snow, and two of the old men were nearly blind. They wore the hair on the upper lip and chin; the latter, as well as that on their head, being permitted to grow long, though in some cases a circular spot on the crown of the head was cut bare, like the tonsure of the Roman catholic clergy. Every man had pieces of bone or shells thrust through the septum of his nose; and holes were pierced on each side of the under lip, in which were placed circular pieces of ivory, with a large blue bead in the centre, similar to those represented in the drawings of the natives on the N.W. coast of America, in Kotzebue's Voyage. These ornaments were so much valued, that they declined selling them; and when not rich enough to procure beads or ivory, stones and pieces of bone were substituted. These perforations are made at the age of puberty; and one of the party, who appeared to be about fourteen years old, was pointed out, with delight, by his parents, as having to undergo the operation in the following year. He was a good-looking boy, and we could not fancy his countenance would be much improved by the insertion of the bones or stones, which have the effect of depressing the under lip, and keeping the mouth open. Their dress consisted of a jacket of rein-deer skin, with a skirt behind and before, and a small hood; breeches of the same material, and boots of seal-skin. Their weapons for the chase were bows and arrows, very neatly made; the latter being headed with bone or iron; and for fishing, spears tipped with bone. They also catch fish with nets and lines. All were armed with knives, which they either keep in their hand, or thrust up the sleeve of their shirt. They had received from the Loucheux Indians some account of the destructive effects of guns. The dress of the women differed from that of the men only in their wearing wide trowsers, and in the size of their hoods, which do not fit close to the head, but are made large, for the purpose of receiving their children. These are ornamented with stripes of different coloured skins, and round the top is fastened a band of wolf's hair, made to stand erect. Their own black hair is very tastefully turned up from behind to the top of the head, and tied by strings of white and blue beads, or cords of white deer-skin. It is divided in front, so as to form on each side a thick tail, to which are appended strings of beads that reach to the waist. The women were from four feet and a half to four and three quarters high, and generally fat. Some of the younger females, and the children, were pretty. It would appear that the walrus does not visit this part of the coast, as none of these people recognised a sketch of one, which Lieutenant Back drew; but they at once knew the seal and rein-deer. We learned that the polar bear is seldom seen, and only in the autumn; and likewise that there are very few of the brown bears, which we frequently saw on the coast eastward of the Coppermine River. We had already seen a few white whales, and we understood that they would resort to this part of the coast in greater numbers with the following moon. The habits of these people were similar, in every respect, to those of the tribes described by Captain Parry, and their dialect differed so little from that used by Augustus, that he had no difficulty in understanding them. He was, therefore, able to give them full particulars relative to the attack made by the other party, and they expressed themselves much hurt at their treacherous conduct. "Those are bad men," they said, "and never fail either to quarrel with us, or steal from us, when we meet. They come, every spring, from the eastern side of the Mackenzie, to fish at the place where you saw them, and return as soon as the ice opens. They are distinguished from us, who live to the westward of the river, by the men being tattoed across the face. Among our tribes the women only are tattoed;" having five or six blue lines drawn perpendicular from the under lip to the chin. The speaker added, "If you are obliged to return by this way, before these people remove, we, with a reinforcement of young men, will be in the vicinity, and will willingly accompany you to assist in repelling any attack." Augustus returned with the Esquimaux to their tents, as there was not the least prospect of our getting forward, though the ice was somewhat broken. [Sidenote: Tuesday, 11th.] A strong breeze from the westward during the night, contributed, with the swell, to the further reduction of the ice, in front of the encampment; and on the morning of the 11th, the wind changed to the eastward, and removed the pieces a little way off shore, though they were tossing too violently for the boats to proceed. The swell having subsided in the afternoon, we embarked; but at the end of a mile and a half were forced to land again, from the ice being fixed to the shore; and as the wind had now become strong, and was driving the loose pieces on the land, the boats were unloaded and landed on the beach. From the summit of an adjoining hill we perceived an unbroken field of ice to the west, and, consequently, a barrier to our progress. We encamped on the spot which our Esquimaux friends had left in the morning, to remove in their oomiaks and kaiyacks towards the Mackenzie, where they could set their fishing nets, and catch whales and seals. One of them showed his honesty, by returning some arrows, and a piece of a pemmican bag, that we had left at our last resting-place. The men also joined us here with specimens of rock from Mount Fitton. The Esquimaux winter residences at this spot were constructed of drift timber, with the roots of the trees upwards, and contained from one to three small apartments, beside a cellar for their stores. There were generally two entrances, north and south, so low as to make it necessary to crawl through them. The only aperture was a hole at the top for the smoke, which, as well as the doorways, could be filled up with a block of snow at pleasure. When covered with snow, and with lamps of fire burning within, these habitations must be extremely warm, though to our ideas rather comfortless. Lofty stages were erected near them for the purpose of receiving their canoes, and bulky articles. A north-east gale came on in the evening, and rolled such a heavy surf on the beach, that twice, during the night, we were obliged to drag the boats and cargoes higher up. [Sidenote: Wednesday, 12th.] About three the next morning a heavy rain commenced, and continued, without intermission, through the day; at which we were delighted, however comfortless it made our situation, because we saw the ice gradually loosening from the land under its effects. We found the keeping a tide-pole fixed in the loose gravel beach impracticable here, as well as at the last resting-place, on account of the swell. It appeared to be high water this morning at half past one A.M., and that the rise of tide was about two feet. I need hardly observe that we had the sun constantly above the horizon, were it not for the purpose of mentioning the amusing mistakes which the men made as to the hour. In fact, when not employed, a question as to the time of day never failed to puzzle them, except about midnight, when the sun was near the northern horizon. Lieutenant Back missing the protractor which he used for laying down his bearings on the map, Augustus set off in the rain early this forenoon to recover it from an Esquimaux woman, whom he had seen pick it up. The rain ceased in the afternoon, the wind gradually abated, and by eight in the evening it was calm. A south wind followed, which opened a passage for the boat, but Augustus was not in sight. [Sidenote: Thursday, 13th.] At midnight we became greatly alarmed for his safety, having now found that he had taken his gun, which we supposed the natives might have endeavoured to wrest from him, and we were on the point of despatching a party in search of him, when he arrived at four in the morning of the 13th, much fatigued, accompanied by three of the natives. His journey had been lengthened by the Esquimaux having gone farther to the eastward than he had expected, but he had recovered the protractor which had been kept in their ignorance of its utility to us. His companions brought five white fish, and some specimens of crystal, with other stones, from the mountains, which we purchased, and further rewarded them for their kindness in not allowing Augustus to return alone. The boats were immediately launched, and having pulled a short distance from the land, we set the sails, our course being directed to the outer point in view, to avoid the sinuosities of the coast. We passed a wide, though not deep bay, whose points were named after my friends Captains Sabine and P.P. King; and we were drawing near the next projection, when a compact body of ice was discovered, which was joined to the land ahead. At the same time a dense fog came on, that confined our view to a few yards; it was accompanied by a gale from the land, and heavy rain. We had still hopes of getting round the point, and approached the shore in that expectation, but found the ice so closely packed that we could neither advance nor effect a landing. We, therefore, pulled to seaward, and turned the boat's head to the eastward, to trace the outer border of the ice. In this situation we were exposed to great danger from the sudden change of wind to S.E., which raised a heavy swell, and brought down upon us masses of ice of a size that, tossed as they were by the waves, would have injured a ship. We could only catch occasional glimpses of the land through the fog, and were kept in the most anxious suspense, pulling in and out between the floating masses of ice, for five hours, before we could get near the shore. We landed a little to the west of Point Sabine, and only found sufficient space for the boats and tents between the bank and the water. The rain ceased for a short time in the evening, and during this interval, we perceived, from the top of the bank, that the whole space between us and the distant point, as well as the channel by which we had advanced to the westward, were now completely blocked; so that we had good reason to congratulate ourselves on having reached the shore in safety. CHAPTER IV. Babbage River--Meet Natives at Herschel Island--Their Trade with the Russians, through the Western Esquimaux--Ascend Mount Conybeare--Boundary of the British Dominions on this Coast--Delayed at Icy Reef--Barter Island--Detention at Foggy Island--Return Reef--Limit of outward Voyage. [Sidenote: Friday, 14th.] Although it rained heavily during the night, and the wind blew strong off the land for some hours, there was no other change in the state of the ice on the morning of the 14th, than that the smaller pieces were driven a short way from the beach. The day was foggy and rainy, but the evening fine. The bank under which we were encamped is of the same earthy kind as that described on the 9th, but rather higher and steeper. It contains much wood coal, similar to that found in the Mackenzie River, and at Garry's Island. The beach and the beds of the rivulets that flow through the ravines, consist of coarse gravel. Specimens of its stones, of the coal, and of the plants in flower, were added to the collection. We saw two marmots, and two rein-deer, which were too wary to allow of our getting within shot of them. Between noon and ten P.M. the loose ice was driving in front of the encampment from the N.W. to S.E., and at the latter hour it stopped. We could not detect any difference in the height of the water, and there was a calm the whole time. A light breeze from S.E. after midnight, brought the masses close to the beach. [Sidenote: Saturday, 15th.] On the morning of the 15th, having perceived that the ice was loosened from the land near the outer point, to which I have given the name of Kay, after some much esteemed relatives, we embarked, and in the course of a few hours succeeded in reaching it, by passing between the grounded masses of ice. On landing at Point Kay, we observed that our progress must again be stopped by a compact body of ice that was fast to the shore of a deep bay, and extended to our utmost view seaward; and that we could not advance farther than the mouth of a river which discharged its waters just round the point. The boats were, therefore, pulled to its entrance, and we encamped. Former checks had taught us to be patient, and we, therefore, commenced such employments as would best serve to beguile the time, consoling ourselves with the hope that a strong breeze would soon spring up from the land and open a passage. Astronomical observations were obtained, the map carried on, and Lieutenant Back sketched the beautiful scenery afforded by a view of the Rocky Mountains, while I was employed in collecting specimens of the plants in flower. The men amused themselves in various ways, and Augustus went to visit an Esquimaux family that were on an island contiguous to our encampment. We now discovered that the Rocky Mountains do not form a continuous chain, but that they run in detached ranges at unequal distances from the coast. The Richardson chain commencing opposite the mouth of the Mackenzie, terminates within view of our present situation. Another range, which I have named in honour of Professor Buckland, begins on the western side of Phillips Bay, and extending to the boundary of our view, is terminated by the Conybeare Mountain. It gave me great pleasure to affix the name of my friend Mr. Babbage to the river we had discovered, and that of Mr. Phillips, Professor of Painting at the Royal Academy, to the bay into which its waters are emptied. We learned from the Esquimaux that this river, which they call Cook-Keaktok, or Rocky River, descends from a very distant part of the interior, though they are unacquainted with its course beyond the mountains. It appeared to us to flow between the Cupola and Barn mountains of the Richardson chain. There are many banks of gravel near its mouth, but above these obstructions the channel appeared deep, and to be about two miles broad. There were no rocks _in sitû_, or large stones, near the encampment; the rolled pebbles on the beach were sandstone of red and light brown colours, greenstone, and slaty limestone. We gathered a fine specimen of tertiary pitch-coal. Augustus returned in the evening with a young Esquimaux and his wife, the only residents at the house he had visited. They had now quite recovered the panic into which they had been thrown on our first appearance, which was heightened by their being unable to escape from us owing to the want of a canoe. We made them happy by purchasing the fish they brought, and giving them a few presents; they continued to skip and laugh as long as they staid. The man informed us that judging from the rapid decay of the ice in the few preceding days, we might soon expect it to break from the land, so as to allow of our reaching Herschel Island, which was in view; but he represented the coast to the westward of the island as being low, and so generally beset with ice, that he was of opinion we should have great difficulty in getting along. This couple had been left here to collect fish for the use of their companions, who were to rejoin them for the purpose of killing whales, as soon as the ice should break up; and they told us the black whales would soon come after its rupture took place. It would be interesting to ascertain where the whales retire in the winter, as they require to inhale the air frequently. Those of the white kind make their appearance when there are but small spaces of open water; and we afterwards saw two black whales in a similar situation. One might almost infer from these circumstances that they do not remove very far. Is it probable that they go, at the close of the autumn, to a warmer climate? or can the sea be less closely covered with ice in the high northern latitudes? The situation of our encampment was observed to be, latitude 69 degrees 19 minutes N.; longitude 138 degrees 10-1/2 minutes W.; variation 46 degrees 16 minutes E.; and a rise and fall of nine inches in the water. The wind blew from the west during the night, and drove much ice near the boats; but as the masses took ground a little way from the shore, we were spared the trouble of removing the boats higher up the beach. [Sidenote: Sunday, 16th.] We were favoured in the forenoon of the 16th by a strong breeze from the land, which, in the course of a few hours, drove away many of these pieces towards Point Kay, and opened a passage for the boats. We immediately embarked to sail over to the western side of Phillips Bay, concluding, from the motion of the ice, that it must now be detached from that shore. On reaching it, we had the pleasure of finding an open channel close to the beach, although the entrance was barred by a stream of ice lying aground on a reef. The boats being forced by poles over this obstruction, we stood under sail along the coast to about five miles beyond Point Stokes; but there we were again compelled by the closeness of the ice to stop, and from the top of a sand-hill we could not discover any water in the direction of our course. The tents were therefore pitched, and the boats unloaded, and hauled on the beach. Heavy rain came on in the evening, by which we indulged the hope that the ice might be loosened. We were encamped on a low bank of gravel which runs along the base of a chain of sand-hills about one hundred and fifty feet high, and forms the coast line. The bank was covered with drift timber, and is the site of a deserted Esquimaux village. The snow still remaining in the ravines was tinged with light red spots. [Sidenote: Monday, 17th.] The night was calm, and the ice remained in the same fixed state until six in the morning of the 17th, when, perceiving the pieces in the offing to be in motion we launched the boats, and by breaking our way at first with hatchets, and then forcing with the poles through other streams of ice, we contrived to reach some lanes of water, along which we navigated for four hours. A strong breeze springing up from seaward, caused the ice to close so fast upon the boat, that we were obliged to put again to the shore, and land on a low bank, similar to that on which we had rested the night before. It was intersected, however, by many pools and channels of water, which cut off our communication with the land. As we could not obtain, from our present station, any satisfactory view of the state of the ice to the westward, I despatched Duncan and Augustus to take a survey of it from Point Catton, while Lieutenant Back and I made some astronomical observations. They returned after an absence of two hours, and reported that there was water near Herschel Island, and a channel in the offing that appeared to lead to it. We, therefore, embarked; and by pushing the boats between the masses that lay aground, for some distance, we succeeded in reaching open water at the entrance of the strait which lies between the island and the main, and through which the loose pieces of ice were driving fast to the westward. Having now the benefit of a strong favourable breeze, we were enabled to keep clear of them, and made good progress. Arriving opposite the S.E. end of Herschel Island, we perceived a large herd of rein-deer just taking the water, and on approaching the shore to get within shot, discovered three Esquimaux in pursuit. These men stood gazing at the boats for some minutes, and after a short consultation, we observed them to change the heads of their arrows, and prepare their bows. They then walked along the south shore, parallel to our course, for the purpose, as we soon found, of rejoining their wives. We reached the place at which the ladies were before them, and though invited to land, we were not able, on account of the surf. Augustus was desired to assure them of our friendship, and of our intention to stop at the first sheltered spot, to which they and their husbands might come to receive a present. More than this our little friend could not be prevailed upon to communicate, because they were "old wives;" and it was evident that he considered any further conversation with women to be beneath his dignity. On passing round the point we discovered that the ice was closely packed to leeward, and such a heavy swell setting upon it, that it was unsafe to proceed. We, therefore, encamped, and Augustus set off immediately to introduce himself to the Esquimaux. The tents were scarcely pitched, and the sentinels placed, before he returned, accompanied by twelve men and women, each bringing a piece of dried meat, or fish, to present to us. We learned from them that the boats, when at a distance, had been taken for pieces of ice; but when we drew near enough for them to distinguish the crews, and they perceived them clothed differently from any men they had seen, they became alarmed, and made ready their arrows, as we had observed. On receiving some presents, they raised a loud halloo, which brought five or six others from an adjoining island, and in the evening there was a further addition to the party of some young men, who had been hunting, and who afterwards sent their wives to bring us a part of the spoils of their chase. They remained near the tents the greater part of the night, and testified their delight by dancing and singing. An old woman, whose hair was silvered by age, made a prominent figure in these exhibitions. The information we obtained from them confirmed that which we had received from the last party, namely, that they procure the iron, knives, and beads, through two channels, but principally from a party of Esquimaux who reside a great distance to the westward, and to meet whom they send their young men every spring with furs, seal-skins, and oil, to exchange for those articles; and also from the Indians, who come every year from the interior to trade with them by a river that was directly opposite our encampment; which I have, therefore, named the Mountain Indian River. These Indians leave their families and canoes at two days' march from the mouth of the river, and the men come alone, bringing no more goods than they intend to barter. They were represented to be tall stout men, clothed in deer-skins, and speaking a language very dissimilar to their own. They also said that the Esquimaux to the westward, speak a dialect so different from theirs, that at the first opening of the communication, which was so recent as to be within the memory of two of our present companions, they had great difficulty in understanding them. Several quarrels took place at their first meetings, in consequence of the western party attempting to steal; but latterly there has been a good understanding between them, and the exchanges have been fairly made. Our visitors did not know from what people either the Indians or the Esquimaux obtained the goods, but they supposed from some "Kabloonacht," (white people,) who reside far to the west. As the articles we saw were not of British manufacture, and were very unlike those sold by the Hudson's Bay Company to the Indians, it cannot be doubted that they are furnished by the Russian Fur Traders, who receive in return for them all the furs collected on this northern coast. Part of the Russian iron-work is conveyed to the Esquimaux dwelling on the coast east of the Mackenzie. The western Esquimaux use tobacco, and some of our visitors had smoked it, but thought the flavour very disagreeable. Until I was aware of their being acquainted with the use of it, I prohibited my men from smoking in their presence, and afterwards from offering their pipes to the Esquimaux at any time. At the conclusion of this conference, our visitors assured us, that having now become acquainted with white people, and being conscious that the trade with them would be beneficial, they would gladly encourage a further intercourse, and do all in their power to prevent future visitors from having such a reception as we had on our arrival in these seas. We learned that this island, which has been distinguished by the name of Herschel, is much frequented by the natives at this season of the year, as it abounds with deer, and its surrounding waters afford plenty of fish. It is composed of black earth, rises, in its highest point, to about one hundred feet, and at the time of our visit was covered with verdure. The strait between it and the main shore, is the only place that we had seen, since quitting the Mackenzie, in which a ship could find shelter; but even this channel is much interrupted by shoals. Latitude 69 degrees 33-1/2 minutes N.; longitude 139 degrees 3 minutes W.; were observed at the encampment. [Sidenote: Tuesday, 18th.] On the morning of the 18th the fog was so thick that we could not see beyond the beach. It dispersed about noon, and we discovered that there was a channel of open water near the main shore, though in the centre of the strait the ice was heavy, and driving rapidly to the north-west. We embarked at once, in the expectation of being able to penetrate between the drift ice and the land, but the attempt was frustrated by the shallowness of the water; and the fog again spreading as thick as before, we landed on a sand-bank. We were soon visited by another party of the Esquimaux, who brought deer's meat for sale; and although the whole quantity did not amount to a deer, we had to purchase it in small pieces. This practice of dividing the meat among the party, we found to prevail throughout the voyage; and they avowed as their reason for it, the desire that every one might obtain a share of the good things we distributed. One of the men drew on the sand a sketch of the coast to the westward, as far as he was acquainted with it; from which it appeared that there was a line of reefs in front of the coast the whole way; the water being deep on the outside of them, but on the inside too shallow even for their oomiaks to float. We subsequently found that his knowledge of the coast did not extend beyond a few days' march. The atmosphere becoming more clear about two P.M., we again embarked, and endeavoured to get to seaward. The boats, however, soon grounded; and finding all our attempts to push through any of the channels between the reefs ineffectual, we pulled back close to Herschel Island. Following, then, the course of the drift ice, we passed near to its south-west point, which was found to be the only deep passage through the strait. We afterwards entered into a fine sheet of open water, the main body of the ice being about half a mile to seaward, and only a few bergs lying aground in the direction of our course. The outer parts of the island appeared closely beset with it. At the end of five miles we discerned another large party of Esquimaux, encamped on a reef; they waved their jackets as signals for us to land, which we declined doing, as we perceived the water to be shallow between us and them. They ran along the beach as far as the end of the reef, tempting us by holding up meat. Only two of the party were provided with canoes, and they followed us to a bluff point of the main shore, on which we landed. These proved to be persons whom we had seen at Herschel Island, and who had visited the Esquimaux in this quarter on purpose to make them acquainted with our arrival. We were happy to learn from them that we should not see any more of their countrymen for some time, because, while surrounded by them, the necessity of closely watching their motions, prevented us from paying due attention to other objects. Resuming our voyage, we pulled along the outer border of a gravel reef, about two hundred yards broad, that runs parallel to, and about half a mile from, the coast, having a line of drift ice on the outside of us. The wind being contrary, and the evening cold, temperature 40 degrees, we encamped on the reef at eight P.M., where we found plenty of drift timber; the water was brackish. The distance travelled this day was eight miles and a half. The main shore opposite the encampment was low to a great distance from the coast; it then appeared to ascend gradually to the base of the Buckland chain of mountains. [Sidenote: Wednesday, 19th.] The following morning being calm, and very fine, the boats were launched at three A.M., and we set off in high spirits; but after pulling three miles, we perceived the channel of open water becoming narrow, and the pieces of ice heavier than any we had before seen, some of them being aground in three fathoms water. At six A.M., after having gone five miles and a half, we were stopped by the ice which adhered to the reef, and was unbroken to seaward. Imagining we saw water at some distance beyond this barrier, we were induced to drag the boats across the reef, and launch them into the channel on the inside, in the hope of reaching it. This proved to be a bay, at the head of which we arrived in a short time. It was then discovered that a fog hanging over the ice had been mistaken for water. The boats were, therefore, reconveyed across the reef, the tents pitched, and we had to draw largely on our nearly exhausted stock of patience, as we contemplated the dreary view of this compact icy field. A herd of rein-deer appeared very opportunely to afford some employment, and most of the men were despatched on the chase, but only one was successful. The following observations were obtained:--Latitude 69 degrees 36 minutes N.; longitude 139 degrees 42 minutes W.; variation 46 degrees 13 minutes E. Being now abreast of Mount Conybeare, Lieutenant Back and I were on the point of setting out to visit its summit, when we were stopped by a very dense fog that accompanied a fresh breeze from the N.W., followed by heavy rain. [Sidenote: Thursday, 20th.] The weather continued bad, until ten the following morning; the ice near the beach was broken into smaller pieces, but as yet too closely packed for our proceeding. The water being brackish in front of the reef, we despatched two men to bring some from the pools at a distance inland, which was found to have the same taste; from this circumstance, as well as from the piles of drift wood, thrown up far from the coast, one may infer that the sea occasionally washes over this low shore. The ice broken off from large masses, and permitted to drain before it was melted, did not furnish us with better water. A couple of pin-tailed ducks were shot, the only pair seen; the black kind were more numerous, but were not fired at, as they are fishing ducks, and, therefore, not good to eat. We also saw a few geese and swans. [Sidenote: Friday, 21st.] The atmosphere was calm, and perfectly clear, on the morning of the 21st; and as there was not any change in the position of the ice, I visited Mount Conybeare, accompanied by Duncan and Stewart. Though its distance was not more than twelve miles from the coast, the journey proved to be very fatiguing, owing to the swampiness of the ground between the mountain and the sea. We had also the discomfort of being tormented the whole way by myriads of musquitoes. The plain was intersected by a winding river, about forty yards broad, which we forded, and on its western side found a thicket of willows, none of which were above seven inches in circumference, and only five or six feet high. At the foot of the mountain were three parallel platforms, or terraces, whose heights we estimated at fifty, eighty, and one hundred and thirty feet; composed of transition slate, the stone of the lowest being of the closest texture. We found the task of climbing above the upper terraces difficult, in consequence of the looseness of the stones, which did not afford a firm footing, but after an hour's labour, we succeeded in reaching the top. The mountain is also composed of slate, but so much weathered near the summit, as to appear a mere collection of stones. Its height above the sea we estimated at eight hundred feet. Two or three hardy plants were in flower, at the highest elevation, which we gathered, though they were of the same kind that had been collected in the lower lands; and during the whole march we did not meet with any plant different from the specimens we had already obtained. On arriving at the top of the mountain, we were refreshed by a strong south wind, which we fondly hoped might reach to the coast, and be of service, by driving the ice from the land. This hope, however, lasted only a few minutes; for, on casting our eyes to seaward, there appeared no open water into which it could be moved, except near Herschel Island. The view into the interior possessed the charm of novelty, and attracted particular regard. We commanded a prospect over three ranges of mountains, lying parallel to the Buckland chain, but of less altitude. The view was bounded by a fourth range of high-peaked mountains, for the most part covered with snow. This distant range was afterwards distinguished by the name of the British Chain; and the mountains at its extremities were named in honour of the then Chancellor of the Exchequer, and President of the Board of Trade--the Right Honourable Mr. Robinson, now Lord Goderich, and Mr. Huskisson. When seen from the coast, the mountains of the Buckland chain appeared to form a continuous line, extending from N.W. by N., to S.E. by S.; but from our present situation we discovered that they were separated from each other by a deep valley, and a rivulet, and that their longest direction was N.N.E. and S.S.W. The same order prevailed in the three ranges behind the Buckland chain; and the highest of their mountains, like Mount Conybeare, were round and naked at the top; the vallies between them were grassy. We erected a pile of stones of sufficient height to be seen from the sea, and deposited underneath it a note, containing the latitude, longitude, and some particulars relative to the Expedition. [Sidenote: Saturday, 22nd.] The 22nd was a calm sultry day, the temperature varying between 58 degrees and 63 degrees, and we were tormented by musquitoes. The ice remained very close to the beach. [Sidenote: Sunday, 23rd.] Impatient of our long detention, we gladly availed ourselves, at three in the morning of the 23rd, of a small opening in the ice, to launch the boats, and push them forward as far as we could get them. We thus succeeded in reaching a lane of water, through which we made tolerable progress, though after two hours and a half of exertion, we were gradually hemmed in, and forced again to encamp at the mouth of a small stream westward of Sir Pulteney Malcolm River. We had, however, the satisfaction of finding, by the observations, that we had gained ten miles. Latitude 69 degrees 36 minutes N.; longitude 140 degrees 12 minutes W.; variation 45 degrees 6 minutes E. The temperature of the water at the surface a quarter of a mile from the shore was 40 degrees, that of the air being 49 degrees. The water was two fathoms deep, ten yards from the beach. The coast here was about fifteen feet high; and from the top of the bank a level plain extended to the base of the mountains, which, though very swampy, was covered with verdure. At this place we first found boulder stones, which were deeply seated in the gravel of the beach. They consisted of greenstone, sandstone, and limestone; the first mentioned being the largest, and the last the most numerous. Having seen several fish leaping in the river, a net was set across its mouth, though without success, owing to the meshes being too large. Two men were despatched to examine the state of the ice; and on their return from a walk of several miles, they reported that, with the exception of a small spot close to the beach, it was quite compact. They had observed, about two miles from the encampment, stumps of drift wood fixed in the ground at certain distances, extending from the coast across the plain towards the Rocky Mountains, in the direction of two piles of stones, which were erected on the top of the latter. We were at a loss to conjecture what motive the Esquimaux could have had for taking so much trouble, unless these posts were intended to serve as decoys for the rein-deer. The party assembled at divine service in the evening, as had been our practice every Sunday. [Sidenote: Monday, 24th.] On the morning of the 24th we were able to make a further advance of two miles and three quarters, by forcing the boats between the masses of ice, as far as the debouche of another rivulet, in latitude 69 degrees 36-1/2 minutes N., and longitude 140 degrees 19-1/2 minutes W. Under any other circumstance than that of being beset by ice, the beautifully calm and clear weather we then had would have been delightful; but as our hope of being released rested solely on a strong wind, we never ceased to long for its occurrence. A breeze would have been, at any rate, beneficial in driving away the musquitoes, which were so numerous as to prevent any enjoyment of the open air, and to keep us confined to a tent filled with smoke, the only remedy against their annoyance. [Sidenote: Tuesday, 25th.] We were still detained the two following days, and the only things we saw were a grey wolf, some seals, and some ducks. More tedious hours than those passed by us in the present situation, cannot well be imagined. After the astronomical observations had been obtained and worked, the survey brought up, a sketch made of the encampment, and specimens of the plants and stones in the vicinity collected, there was, literally, nothing to do. The anxiety which was inseparable from such an enterprize as ours, at such an advanced period of the season, left but little disposition to read, even if there had been a greater choice of books in our travelling library, and still less composure to invent amusement. Even had the musquitoes been less tormenting, the swampiness of the ground, in which we sank ankle deep at every step, deprived us of the pleasure of walking. A visit to the Rocky Mountains was often talked of, but they were now at a distance of two days' journey, and we dared not to be absent from the boats so long, lest the ice, in its fickle movements, should open for a short time. Notwithstanding the closeness of the ice, we perceived a regular rise and fall of the water, though it amounted only to seven inches, except on the night of the 24th, when the rise was two feet; but the direction of the flood was not yet ascertained. We found a greater proportion of birch-wood, mixed with the drift timber to the westward of the Babbage than we had done before; between the Mackenzie and that river it had been so scarce, that we had to draw upon our store of bark to light the fires. Some lunar observations were obtained in the afternoon of the 25th, and their results assured us that the chronometers were going steadily. At midnight we were visited by a strong S.W. breeze, accompanied by rain, thunder, and lightning. This weather was succeeded by calm, and a fog that continued throughout the next day, and confined our view to a few yards. Temperature from 41 degrees to 43 degrees. [Sidenote: Wednesday, 26th.] On the atmosphere becoming clear about nine in the evening of the 26th, we discovered a lane of water, and immediately embarking, we pulled, for an hour, without experiencing much interruption from the ice. A fresh breeze then sprung up from the N.W., which brought with it a very dense fog, and likewise caused the ice to close so fast upon us, that we were compelled to hasten to the shore. We had just landed, when the channel was completely closed. We encamped on the western side of a river about two hundred yards broad, which, at the request of Lieutenant Back, was named after Mr. Backhouse, one of the under Secretaries of State for Foreign Affairs. It appeared that the water that flowed from this channel had caused the opening by which we had travelled from our last resting-place; for beyond it, the ice was closely packed. [Sidenote: Thursday, 27th.] Some heavy rain fell in the night, and the morning of the 27th was foggy; but the sun, about noon, having dispersed the fog, we discovered an open channel about half a mile from the shore. No time was lost in pushing the boats into it. By following its course to the end, and breaking our way through some streams of ice, we were brought, at the end of eight miles, to the mouth of a wide river that flows from the British range of mountains. This being the most westerly river in the British dominions on this coast, and near the line of demarcation between Great Britain and Russia, I named it the Clarence, in honour of His Royal Highness the Lord High Admiral. Under a pile of drift timber which we erected on the most elevated point of the coast near its mouth, was deposited a tin box, containing a royal silver medal, with an account of the proceedings of the Expedition; and the union flag was hoisted under three hearty cheers, the only salute that we could afford. This ceremony did not detain us longer than half an hour; when we launched into a larger space of open water than we had seen since the 9th of the month. This circumstance, together with the appearance of several seals, and the water becoming more salt, created a hope that we should soon enter upon a brisker navigation. But this too sanguine expectation was dispelled in little more than an hour, by a close and heavy field of ice, which obliged us to pull to the shore. The tent was pitched under a steep bank of mud, in latitude 69 degrees 38 minutes N.; longitude 140 degrees 46 minutes W. The soundings this day varied from two to ten fathoms; and the temperature of the air from 37 degrees to 45 degrees. [Sidenote: Friday, 28th.] The ice having opened near the beach by noon of the 28th, so as to admit the boats, we embarked, to try if we could not advance by thrusting the masses aside with poles. After spending several hours in this labour, and gaining only two miles, further exertion became ineffectual, owing to the ice being closely packed, and many of the pieces from fifteen to twenty feet high, lying aground. We had however, gained by the removal the comforts of dry ground, and good water, which had been wanting at the last encampment. Among the drift timber on the beach was a pine tree, seven feet and a quarter in girth, by thirty-six long. We had previously seen several, little inferior in size. The temperature this day varied from 39 degrees to 48 degrees. We had observed, for the preceding fortnight, that the musquitoes assailed us as soon as the temperature rose to 45 degrees, and that they retired quickly on its descending below that height. [Sidenote: Saturday, 29th.] The morning of the 29th opened with heavy rain and fog; the precursors of a strong gale from E.N.E., which brought back the ice we had already passed, and closely packed it along the beach, but we could not perceive that the wind had the slightest effect on the main body at a distance from the shore. This was a very cold, comfortless day, the temperature between 38 degrees and 42 degrees. [Sidenote: Sunday, 30th.] On the following morning a brilliant sun contributed with the gale to the dispersion of the mist which had, for some days past, overhung the Rocky Mountains, and we had the gratification of seeing, for the first time, the whole length of the British Chain of Mountains, which are more peaked and irregular in their outline, and more picturesque than those of the Buckland Range. The following observations were obtained here:--Latitude 69 degrees 38 minutes N.; longitude 140 degrees 51 minutes W.; variation 45 degrees 43 minutes E.; dip 83 degrees 27 minutes. In exploring the bed of a rivulet we found several pieces of quartz, containing pyrites of a very bright colour, which so much attracted the attention of the crews, that they spent several hours in examining every stone, expecting to have their labour rewarded by the discovery of some precious metal. The gale having abated in the evening, we quickly loaded the boats, and pulled them into a lane of water that we had observed about half a mile from the shore. This, however, extended only a short way to the west, and at the end of a mile and a half inclined towards the beach, the ice beyond it being closely packed. Before the boats could be brought to the land, they received several heavy blows in passing through narrow channels, and over tongues of grounded ice. I walked to the extreme point that we had in view from the tent, and was rejoiced by the sight of a large space of water in the direction of our course; but up to the point the ice was still compact, and heavy. On my way I passed another Esquimaux village, where there were marks of recent visitors. We witnessed the setting of the sun at eleven P.M.; an unwelcome sight, which the gloomy weather had, till then, spared us; for it forced upon our minds the conviction that the favourable season for our operations was fast passing away, though we had, as yet, made so little progress. This was not the only uncomfortable circumstance that attended us this evening. Our friend Augustus was seized with a shivering fit, in consequence of having imprudently rushed, when in full perspiration, into a lake of cold water, to drag out a rein-deer which he had killed. He was unable to walk on coming out of the water, and the consequence would have been more serious had it not been for the kindness of his companion, Wilson, who deprived himself of his flannels and waistcoat to clothe him. On their arrival at the tent, Augustus was put between blankets, and provided with warm chocolate, and the only inconvenience that he felt next morning was pain in his limbs. [Sidenote: Monday, 31st.] We had several showers of rain during the night, with a steady S.W. breeze, and in the morning of the 31st were delighted by perceiving the ice loosening and driving off the land. We were afloat in a few minutes, and enjoyed the novelty of pulling through an uninterrupted channel as far as Point Demarcation, which has been so named from its being situated in longitude 141 degrees W., the boundary between the British and Russian dominions on the northern coast of America. This point seems to be much resorted to by the Esquimaux, as we found here many winter houses, and four large stages. On the latter were deposited several bundles of seal and deer skins, and several pair of snow-shoes. The snow-shoes were netted with cords of deer-skin, and were shaped like those used by the Indians near the Mackenzie. A favourable breeze now sprang up; and having ascertained, by mounting one of the Esquimaux stages, that there was still a channel of open water between a low island and the main shore, we set sail to follow its course. At the end of three miles we found the water gradually to decrease from three fathoms to as many feet, and shortly afterwards the boats repeatedly took the ground. In this situation we were enveloped by a thick fog, which limited our view to a few yards. We, therefore, dragged the boats to the land, until we could see our way; this did not happen before ten in the evening, when it was discovered from the summit of an eminence, about two miles distant, that though the channel was of some extent, it was very shallow, and seemed to be barred by ice to the westward. We also ascertained that it was bounded to the seaward by a long reef. The night proved very stormy, and we were but scantily supplied with drift wood. [Sidenote: August 1st.] Though the morning of the 1st of August commenced with a heavy gale from E.N.E., and very foggy weather, we proceeded to the reef, after much fatigue in dragging the boats over the flats, under the supposition that our best chance of getting forward would be by passing on the outside of it. But there finding heavy ice lying aground, and so closely packed as to preclude the possibility of putting the boats into the water, it was determined to examine the channel by walking along the shore of the reef. An outlet to the sea was discovered, but the channel was so flat that gulls were, in most parts, wading across; and there was, therefore, no other course than to await the separation of the ice from the reef. On the dispersion of the fog in the afternoon, we perceived that some of the masses of ice were from twenty to thirty feet high; and we derived little comfort from beholding, from the top of one of them, an unbroken surface of ice to seaward. [Sidenote: Wednesday, 2nd.] The gale blew without the least abatement throughout the night, and until noon of the 2nd, when it terminated in a violent gust, which overthrew the tents. The field of ice was broken in the offing, and the pieces put in motion; and in the evening there appeared a large space of open water, but we could not take advantage of these favourable circumstances, in consequence of the ice still closely besetting the reef. We remarked large heaps of gravel, fifteen feet above the surface of the reef, on the largest iceberg, which must have been caused by the pressure of the ice; and from the top of this berg we had the satisfaction of discovering that a large herd of rein-deer were marching in line towards the opposite side of the channel. Our party was instantly on the alert, and the best hunters were sent in the Reliance in chase of them. The boat grounded about midway across, and the eager sportsmen jumped overboard and hastened to the shore; but such was their want of skill, that only three fawns were killed, out of a herd of three or four hundred. The supply, however, was sufficient for our present use, and the circumstances of the chase afforded amusing conversation for the evening. The astronomical observations place our encampment in latitude 69 degrees 43 minutes N.; longitude 141 degrees 30 minutes W. The temperature this day varied from 40 degrees to 42 degrees. [Sidenote: Thursday, 3rd.] On the morning of the 3rd a strong breeze set in from the east, which we were rejoiced to find caused a higher flood in the channel than we had yet seen, and the hope of effecting a passage by its course was revived; as the ice was still fast to the reef, and likely to continue so, it was considered better to occupy ourselves in dragging the boats through the mud, than to continue longer in this irksome spot, where the wood was already scarce, and the water indifferent. The boats, therefore, proceeded with four men in each, while the rest of the crew walked along the shore, and rendered assistance wherever it was necessary, to drag them over the shallow parts. After four hours' labour, we reached the eastern part of the bay, which I have had the pleasure of naming after my friend Captain Beaufort, R.N., and which was then covered with ice. We had also the happiness of finding a channel that led to seaward, which enabled us to get on the outside of the reef; but as we pushed as close as we could to the border of the packed ice, our situation, for the next four hours, was attended with no little anxiety. The appearance of the clouds bespoke the return of fog, and we were sailing with a strong breeze through narrow channels, between heavy pieces of drift ice, on the outside of a chain of reefs that stretched across Beaufort Bay, which we knew could not be approached within a mile, owing to the shallowness of the water. Beyond Point Humphrys, the water being deep close to the coast, we travelled in more security, though the ice was less open than before. We halted to sup on a gravel reef that extends from the main shore to Point Griffin, having run twenty-eight miles, the greatest distance we had made on one day since our departure from the Mackenzie. A black whale, and several seals, having been seen just before we landed, the water now decidedly salt, and the ice driving with great rapidity to the westward, were circumstances that we hailed with heartfelt joy; as affording the prospect of getting speedily forward, and in the evening we lost sight of Mount Conybeare, which had been visible since the 9th of July. There were several huts on the reef, and one large tent, capable of holding forty persons, which appeared to have been lately occupied, besides eighteen sledges, that we supposed to have been left by the men who had gone from Herschel Island, to exchange their furs with the western Esquimaux. Among the baggage we found a spoon, made out of the musk ox horn, like those used by the Canadian voyagers. At six this evening we passed the termination of the British Chain of Mountains, and had now arrived opposite the commencement of another range, which I named after the late Count Romanzoff, Chancellor of the Russian Empire, as a tribute of respect to the memory of that distinguished patron and promoter of discovery and science. Having taken the precaution of supplying ourselves with fresh water, we quitted the reef, to proceed on our voyage under sail, but shortly afterwards arrived at very heavy ice, apparently packed. We found, however, a narrow passage, and by forcing the boats through it, reached a more open channel, where the oars could be used. This extended along a reef, so that we could pursue our course with safety, being ready to land in the event of the ice drifting upon us. [Sidenote: Friday, 4th.] The sun set this evening at half past ten P.M.; and the temperature of the air during its disappearance was 38 degrees. Between the reefs and the low main land the water was entirely free from ice. After passing Point Sir Henry Martin, we were tempted, by the appearance of a bay, to steer within the reefs, as we could then use the sails, and make a more direct course than by winding among the ice. The water proved so shallow that the boats took the ground, at the distance of three miles from the shore, which caused us to alter our plan, and follow the line of drift ice near the border of the pack. The breeze died away; and in proceeding under oars beyond Point Manning, we descried a collection of tents planted on a low island, with many oomiaks, kaiyacks, and dogs around them. The Esquimaux being fast asleep, Augustus was desired to hail them, and after two or three loud calls, a female appeared in a state of nudity; after a few seconds she called out to her husband, who awoke at the first sound of her voice, and shouting out that strangers were close at hand, the whole space between the tents and the water was, in a few minutes, covered with armed, though naked, people. Their consternation on being thus suddenly roused by strangers, of whose existence they had never heard, can be better imagined than described. We drew near the shore, to let Augustus inform them who we were, and of the purpose of our visit, which produced a burst of acclamation, and an immediate invitation to land. This we declined doing, having counted fifty-four grown persons, and knowing that we had not the means of furnishing such a number with the articles they might crave. Besides, it was evident, from their hurried manner, that they were in a state of high excitement, and might then, perhaps, have been disposed to seize upon everything within their grasp. Four of the kaiyacks being launched, after we had receded to a proper distance from the island, we allowed them to come alongside; and presents were given to the men. We then learned that these were the people who had conveyed the furs, &c., from Herschel Island, and that the exchange with the Esquimaux had been made at the place where they were encamped, only a few days before. They intended to commence their return this day to Herschel Island, where the iron and beads would be distributed among their relations, according to the furs, &c. they had supplied. The Esquimaux saluted us at parting with many vociferations of _teyma_, and we continued our journey for five miles; at the end of which, the wind setting in strongly against us, we landed at the western part of Barter Island, to refresh the crew. We then found that a rapid tide was running to the eastward, and at eleven the water had risen one foot, from the time of our landing. The tents were scarcely pitched before we saw two kaiyacks coming towards us from the westward, and the man in the headmost accepted, without hesitation, our invitation to land. His companion was asleep, and his canoe was driving with the wind and tide; but when awaked by the voice of Augustus, he also came. These were young men returning from hunting to the tents that we had passed; and being much fatigued, they made but a short stay. The only information collected from them was, that the coast before us was similar to that along which we had been travelling, and that the ice was broken from the shore. The latitude 70 degrees 5 minutes N.; longitude 143 degrees 55 minutes W.; variation 45 degrees 36 minutes E.; were observed. As soon as the latitude had been obtained, we embarked, favoured by wind and tide, to cross the bay, which has been named in honour of the Marquess Camden. The water was of a seagreen colour, perfectly salt, and from three to five fathoms deep; the temperature 35 degrees at the surface, that of the air, 43 degrees. The day was very clear, and exposed to our view the outline of the Romanzoff chain of Mountains, whose lofty peaks were covered with snow. At the end of ten miles we observed four tents planted on a reef, and several women standing about them, who made many signs for us to land, but the surf was rolling too heavily on the beach. As we proceeded, their husbands were perceived on the main shore, in pursuit of a large herd of rein-deer, which they seemed to be surrounding so as to drive the deer into the water, where they would probably spear them to more advantage. Continuing along the shore beyond the reef at the distance of two miles from the land, the boats touched the ground several times, which made us conclude we were steering into a bay, though its outline could not be seen. The wind changed at the time to the north, blew strong, and raised a heavy swell, which induced us to haul out to seaward, and we soon afterwards discovered an island, which we just reached under sail. From its summit we perceived a chain of low reefs, extending from its northern point for several miles to the westward, on which the wind was then blowing, and bringing down the drift ice. We were, therefore, compelled to halt, and await more moderate weather. This island, like the projecting points of the main shore, is a mere deposit of earthly mud, covered with verdure, about twenty or twenty-five feet high. There was another island adjoining, which seemed to be a collection of boulder stones; from whence it was named. The ice appeared closely packed to the seaward; nearer to the island were icebergs aground, and within these, streams of loose pieces driving towards the reefs. In the hurry of embarkation from Barter Island, one of the crew of the Reliance left his gun and ammunition, which we regretted the more, from being apprehensive that an accident might happen to the natives. The circumstance was not known before the boats were a great distance from the island, or we should have put back to have recovered it. A very thick fog came on in the evening. This weather, however, did not prevent our receiving a visit from two of the natives about midnight, who told Augustus that, having scented the smoke of a fire from the opposite side of the bay, they had come to ascertain who had made it. They were armed with bows and arrows, and advanced towards the tent without any alarm. We found that they had been hunting, with several other men, at the foot of the Romanzoff Mountains, and that they were now going to rejoin their friends at Barter Island, with the fruits of a successful chase. Their knowledge of the coast terminated at this place, which is as far to the westward as any of the party from Herschel Island travel. The western Esquimaux had parted from them seven nights before, but they supposed that they had not made much progress, as their oomiaks were heavily laden. Those people had informed them that the coast to the westward was low, and fronted by reefs, like that we had already passed; the water also was very shallow; they therefore recommended that we should keep on the outside of every reef. Our visitors had no sooner received their presents than they raised a loud cry, which was intended to bring their friends. On the dispersion of the fog at the time, we discovered an oomiak, filled with people paddling, and some other men wading towards us. [Sidenote: Saturday, 5th.] It being calm, and the swell having abated, we did not wait for their arrival, but embarked at one in the morning of the 5th, and pursued our course to the westward, keeping on the outside of the reefs. The water, however, was very shallow, even at the distance of two miles, and we were much teased by the boats repeatedly touching the ground. This was particularly the case when we arrived opposite to the large river, which was named in honour of the late Mr. Canning, where we found the water perfectly fresh, three miles from the land. The ice being more loose abreast of this river, we pulled out to seaward into deep water. The land was then hidden from our view by the haze, though not more than four miles distant, and our course was directed by the masses of ice lying aground; but at the end of three miles, our further progress was stopped at six A.M., by the ice being closely packed on the outer border of a reef, in latitude 70 degrees 7 minutes N.; longitude 145 degrees 27 minutes W. We perceived, on landing, by the driving of the loose pieces of ice, that the tide was running strongly to the eastward, through the channel we had passed along, and that it continued to do so, until ten this morning, during which time the water was falling. It changed at ten, and the water rose one foot before one P.M. This observation would indicate the flood to come from the eastward, though contrary to what was remarked at Barter Island the day before; but in a sea so closely beset with ice, no accurate observations as to the direction of the tide could be obtained. The Rocky Mountains either terminated abreast of our present situation, or receded so far to the southward as to be imperceptible from the coast a few miles beyond this reef. The ice being somewhat loosened by the flood tide, we embarked at one P.M., to force the boats through the narrow channels, and in the course of two hours reached Point Brownlow, where we landed, for the purpose of ascertaining whether the ice could be avoided by passing into the bay that then opened to our view, trending to the south. We perceived that this bay was in every part flat, and strewed with stones; and that the only prospect of getting forward was by entering the ice again, and pushing to an island about two miles further to the west, which we reached after receiving several heavy blows in passing through the loose ice at the entrance of the strait, between the central reef and the island, where the pieces were much tossed by the tide. The view from the south-east part of the island led us, at first, to suppose that we might proceed by keeping close to its south shore; but in making the attempt, the boats repeatedly took the ground, and we were obliged to seek a passage by the north side of the island. At the end of a mile in that direction we were stopped by the ice being unbroken from the shore, and closely packed to seaward. Since the day after our departure from the Mackenzie, when we first came to the ice, we had not witnessed a more unfavourable prospect than that before us. No water was to be seen, either from the tents, or from the different points of the island which we visited, for the purpose of examining into the state of the ice. We were now scantily supplied with fuel; the drift timber being covered by the ice high up the bank, except just where the boat had landed. [Sidenote: Sunday, 6th.] In the evening a gale came on from the east, and blew throughout the following day: we vainly hoped this would produce some favourable change; and the water froze in the kettle on the night of the 5th. The position of the encampment was ascertained by observation to be, latitude 70 degrees 11 minutes N.; longitude 145 degrees 50 minutes W.; variation 42 degrees 56 minutes E.; so that notwithstanding the obstructions we had met, an advance of two degrees of longitude had been made in the two preceding days. This island received the name of Flaxman, in honour of the late eminent sculptor. It is about four miles long and two broad, and rises, at its highest elevation, about fifty feet. In one of the ravines, where a portion of the bank had been carried away by the disruption of the ice, we perceived that the stratum of loose earth was not more than eighteen inches thick, the lower bed being frozen mud; yet this small quantity of soil, though very swampy, nourished grasses, several of the arctic plants, and some few willows, that were about three inches high. Several boulder stones were scattered on its beach, and also in the channel that separates it from the main shore. [Sidenote: Monday, 7th.] An easterly wind gave place to a calm on the morning of the 7th: and as this change, though it produced no effect in loosening the ice to the north, caused more water to flow into the channel between the island and the main, we succeeded with little difficulty in crossing the flats that had before impeded us. Beyond this bar the water gradually deepened to three fathoms; and a favourable breeze springing up, we set the sail, and steered for the outer point of land in sight. We continued in smooth water until we reached Point Thompson, when, having lost the shelter of the ice which was aground on a tongue of gravel projecting from Flaxman Island, we became exposed to an unpleasant swell. The Lion was very leaky, in consequence of the blows she had received from the ice; but as we could keep her free by baling, we did not lose the favourable moment by stopping to repair her. Our course was continued past Point Bullen, until we came to an island lying three miles from the shore, which proved to be connected with the main land by a reef. Dazzled by the glare of the sun in our eyes, the surf, which was breaking on this reef, was mistaken for a ripple of the tide; and although the sails were lowered, as a measure of precaution, we were so near before the mistake was discovered, that the strength of the wind drove the Lion aground, by which accident she took in much water. The exertions of the crew soon got her afloat, and both boats were pulled to windward of the island. The sails were then set, but as the wind had by this time increased to a strong gale, they were close reefed. We stood along the coast, looking for a favourable landing place, that we might obtain shelter from an approaching storm which the appearance of the sky indicated, and to repair the damage which the Lion had sustained. At length, some posts that had been erected by the Esquimaux on a point, denoted an approachable part of the coast, and we effected a landing after lightening the boats, by carrying part of the cargo two hundred yards through the water. The main shore to the westward of Flaxman Island is so low that it is not visible at the distance of three miles, with the exception of three small hummocks, which look like islands. [Sidenote: Tuesday, 8th.] The carpenter had finished the repairs of the boat by midnight, and we were prepared to go forward, but were prevented from moving by a very thick fog, which continued throughout the night, and till eleven on the morning of the 8th. The storm continued violent throughout the day, but the fog cleared away for the space of two hours, and enabled us to perceive that the ice, which in the preceding evening had been at a considerable distance from the land, was now tossing about, in large masses, close to the border of the shallow water. We were also enabled, during the interval of clear weather, to ascertain, by astronomical observations, the latitude 70 degrees 16 minutes 27 seconds N.; longitude 147 degrees 38 minutes W.; and variation 43 degrees 15 minutes E. The hunters were sent out in pursuit of some deer that were seen, and Augustus killed one. They ascertained, during the chase, that we were on an island, separated from the main shore by a channel, fordable at low water. At this encampment we remarked the first instance of regularity in the tide. It was low water at half past nine on the evening of the 7th, and high water at half past two the following morning; the rise being sixteen inches. An equally regular tide was observed on the 8th, but we could not ascertain the direction of the flood. [Sidenote: Wednesday, 9th.] After sunset the squalls became extremely violent; and until three in the afternoon of the 9th, the fog was so dense that every object more distant than forty yards, was hidden. After that period, a partial clearness of the atmosphere discovered to us the waves more high than the day before, and beating heavily against the weather beach of the island. We rejoiced, however, at seeing a large stream of ice to windward, supposing that its presence there would cause the swell to go down, and that we should be able to proceed as soon as the wind should fall. We employed ourselves in observing the dip with Meyer's and the common needles, as well as the magnetic force. The mean dip was 82 degrees 26 minutes. The temperature of the air this day varied from 38 degrees to 45 degrees. High water took place at fifteen minutes after three P.M., the rise being two feet. The water did not fall so low as yesterday, owing to the wind blowing more across the mouth of the bay. [Sidenote: Thursday, 10th.] On the 10th, the continuance of the gale, and of the fog more opaque, if possible, than before, and more wet, were not only productive of irksome detention, but they prevented us from taking exercise; our walks being confined to a space between the marks which the Esquimaux had put up on two projecting points, whither we went at every glimpse of clearness, to examine into the state of the waves. We witnessed with regret, in these short rambles, the havoc which this dreary weather made amongst the flowers. Many that had been blooming on our arrival, were now lying prostrate and withered. These symptoms of decay could not fail painfully to remind us that the term of our operations was fast approaching; and often, at this time, did every one express a wish that we had some decked vessel, in which the provision could be secured from the injury of salt water, and the crew sheltered when they required rest, that we might quit this shallow coast, and steer at once towards Icy Cape. We designated this dreary place by the name of Foggy Island. As an instance of the illusion occasioned by the fog, I may mention that our hunters sallied forth, on more than one occasion, to fire at what they supposed to be deer, on the bank about one hundred yards from the tents, which, to their surprise, took wing, and proved to be cranes and geese. [Sidenote: Friday, 11th.] The wind changed from east to west in the course of the night, and at eight in the morning of the 11th, the fog dispersed sufficiently to allow of our seeing a point bearing N.W. by W., about three miles and a half distant which we supposed to be an island. We, therefore, hastened to embark; but before the boats could be dragged so far from the shore that they would float, the fog returned. The wind, however, being light, we resolved to proceed, and steer by compass, to the land that had been seen. Soon after quitting the beach we met with shoals, which forced us to alter the course more to the north; and having made the distance at which we estimated the point to be, and being ignorant which way the coast trended beyond it, we rested for some time upon the oars, in the hope that the fog would clear away, even for a short time, to enable us to shape our course anew; but in vain; all our movements in the bay being impeded by the flats that surrounded us, we were compelled to return to Foggy Island. Scarcely had the men made a fire to dry their clothes, which were thoroughly wet from wading over the flats, than the fog again dispersing, we pushed off once more. On this occasion we arrived abreast of the point whilst the weather continued clear, but found a reef, over which the waves washed, stretching to the north-west, beyond the extent of our view. Just as we began to proceed along the reef, the recurrence of the fog rendered it necessary for us to seek for shelter on the shore; and as we were heartily tired of our late encampment, we endeavoured to find another, but the shoals prevented our reaching any landing-place. We, therefore, retraced our course, though with much reluctance, to Foggy Island, which the men declared to be an enchanted island. Though our wanderings this day did not exceed seven miles, the crews were employed upwards of two hours in dragging the boats through the mud, when the temperature of the water was at 40 degrees, and that of the air 41 degrees. They endured this fatigue with the greatest cheerfulness, though it was evident they suffered very much from the cold; and in the evening we witnessed the ill effects of this kind of labour by finding their legs much swelled and inflamed. The fear of their becoming ill from a frequent repetition of such operations made me resolve not to attempt the passage of these flats again till the weather should be so clear that we might ascertain their extent, and see in what way they might be passed with less risk. Fog is, of all others, the most hazardous state of the atmosphere for navigation in an icy sea, especially when it is accompanied by strong breezes, but particularly so for boats where the shore is unapproachable. If caught by a gale, a heavy swell, or drifting ice, the result must be their wreck, or the throwing the provisions overboard to lighten them, so as to proceed into shoal water. Many large pieces of ice were seen on the borders of the shallow water; and from the lowness of the temperature, we concluded that the main body was at no great distance. We had also passed through a stream of perfectly fresh water, which we supposed was poured out from a large river in the intermediate vicinity, but the fog prevented our seeing its outlet. [Sidenote: Saturday, 12th.] The atmosphere was equally foggy throughout the night, and all the 12th, although the wind had changed to the east, and blew a strong breeze. Winds from this quarter had been extremely prevalent since the preceding April: but on our former visit to the Polar Sea, they had been of rare occurrence, and confined to the spring months, which we passed at Fort Enterprize. The obstinate continuance of fog forms another material difference between this season and the same period of 1821. We were only detained three times in navigating along the coast that year to the east of the Coppermine River; but on this voyage hardly a day passed after our departure from the Mackenzie that the atmosphere was not, at some time, so foggy as to hide every object more distant than four or five miles. The day that I visited Mount Conybeare, and that spent on Flaxman Island, form the only exceptions to this remark. A question, therefore, suggests itself:--Whence arises this difference? which, I presume, can be best answered by reference to the greater accumulation of ice on this coast, and to the low and very swampy nature of the land. There is a constant exhalation of moisture from the ice and swamps during the summer months, which is, perhaps, prevented from being carried off by the vicinity of the Rocky Mountains, and, therefore, becomes condensed into a fog. The coast to the eastward of the Coppermine River is high and dry, and far less encumbered with ice. Some deer appearing near the encampment, a party was despatched in pursuit of them; but having been previously fired at by Augustus, they proved too wary. The exertions of the men were, however, rewarded by the capture of some geese and ducks. The whole of the vegetation had now assumed the autumnal tint. [Sidenote: Sunday, 13th.] There was not the least abatement in the wind, or change in the murky atmosphere, throughout the 13th. The party assembled at divine service, and afterwards amused themselves as they could in their tents, which were now so saturated with wet as to be very comfortless abodes; and in order to keep ourselves tolerably warm we were obliged to cover the feet with blankets; our protracted stay having caused such a great expenditure of the drift-wood, that we found it necessary to be frugal in its use, and only to light the fire when we wanted to cook the meals. The nights, too, we regretted to find, were lengthening very fast; so that from ten P.M. to two A.M., there was too little light for proceeding in any unknown tract. [Sidenote: Monday, 14th.] The wind this day was moderate, but the fog was more dense, and very wet. Tired, however, of the confinement of the tent, most of the party wandered out in search of amusement, though we could not see one hundred yards; and some partridges, ducks, and geese, were shot. [Sidenote: Tuesday, 15th.] The fog was dispersed at seven in the morning of the 15th, by a north-east gale, which created too great a surf on the beach for us to launch the boats, and the fog returned in the evening. The temperature fell to 35 degrees, and in the course of the night ice was formed on the small pools near the encampment. Augustus set off in the afternoon to cross over to the main shore for the purpose of hunting, and to see whether there were any traces of the western Esquimaux, but he found none, and only saw three rein-deer. [Sidenote: Wednesday, 16th.] The weather again became clear, after the sun rose, on the 16th, and we embarked as soon as the flowing of the tide enabled us to launch the boats, all in the highest spirits at the prospect of escaping from this detestable island. We took advantage of the fair wind, set the sails, and steered to the westward parallel to the coast. We had never more than from three to six feet water, for the first seven miles, until we had passed round the reef that projects from the point we had so often attempted to reach, and which was named Point Anxiety. Between Point Anxiety and Point Chandos, which is eight miles further to the westward, the land was occasionally seen; but after rounding the latter point we lost sight of it, and steered to the westward across the mouth of Yarborough Inlet, the soundings varying from five feet to five fathoms. The fog returned, and the wind freshening, soon created such a swell upon the flats, that it became necessary to haul further from the land; but the drift ice beginning to close around us, we could no longer proceed with safety, and, therefore, endeavoured to find a landing-place. An attempt was made at Point Herald, and another on the western point of Prudhoe bay, but both were frustrated by the shoalness of the water, and the height of the surf. The increasing violence of the gale, however, and density of the fog, rendering it absolutely necessary for us to obtain some shelter, we stood out to seaward, with the view of making fast to a large piece of ice. In our way we fell among gravelly reefs, and arriving at the same time suddenly in smooth water, we effected a landing on one of them. A temporary dispersion of the fog showed that we were surrounded with banks nearly on a level with the water, and protected to seaward by a large body of ice lying aground. The patch of gravel on which we were encamped, was about five hundred yards in circumference, destitute of water, and with no more drift wood than a few willow branches, sufficient to make one fire. CHAPTER V. Commence Return to the Mackenzie--Delayed again at Foggy Island--Ice packed on the Reefs near Beaufort Bay, and on the Coast about Clarence River--Pass the Channels near Herschel Island in a Gale and Fog--A sudden Gale--Escape an Attack which the Mountain Indians meditated--Enter the Mackenzie--Peel River--Arrival at Fort Franklin. [Sidenote: Wednesday, 16th.] The period had now arrived when it was incumbent on me to consider, whether the prospect of our attaining the object of the voyage was sufficiently encouraging to warrant the exposure of the party to daily increasing risk, by continuing on. We were now only half way from the Mackenzie River to Icy Cape; and the chance of reaching the latter, depended on the nature of the coast that was yet unexplored, and the portion of the summer which yet remained for our operations. I knew, from the descriptions of Cook and Burney, that the shore about Icy Cape resembled that we had already passed, in being flat, and difficult of approach; while the general trending of the coast from the Mackenzie to the west-north-west, nearly in the direction of Icy Cape, combined with the information we had collected from the Esquimaux, led me to conclude that no material change would be found in the intermediate portion. The preceding narrative shows the difficulties of navigating such a coast, even during the finest part of the summer; if, indeed, any portion of a season which had been marked by a constant succession of fogs and gales could be called fine. No opportunity of advancing had been let slip, after the time of our arrival in the Arctic Sea; and the unwearied zeal and exertion of the crews had been required, for an entire month, to explore the ten degrees of longitude between Herschel Island and our present situation, I had, therefore, no reason to suppose that the ten remaining degrees could be navigated in much less time. The ice, it is true, was more broken up, and the sea around our present encampment was clear; but we had lately seen how readily the drift ice was packed upon the shoals by every breeze of wind blowing towards the land. The summer, bad as it had been, was now nearly at an end, and on this point I had the experience of the former voyage for a guide. At Point Turn-again, two degrees to the south of our present situation, the comparatively warm summer of 1821 was terminated on the 17th of August, by severe storms of wind and snow; and in the space of a fortnight afterwards, winter set in with all its severity. Last year, too, on the 18th and following days of the same month, we had a heavy gale at the mouth of the Mackenzie; and appearances did not indicate that the present season would prove more favourable. The mean temperature of the atmosphere had decreased rapidly since the sun had begun to sink below the horizon, and the thermometer had not lately shown a higher temperature than 37 degrees. Ice, of considerable thickness, formed in the night, and the number of the flocks of geese which were hourly seen pursuing their course to the westward, showed that their autumnal flight had commenced. While a hope remained of reaching Behring Straits, I looked upon the hazard to which we had, on several occasions, been exposed, of shipwreck on the flats, or on the ice, as inseparable from a voyage of the nature of that which we had undertaken; and if such an accident had occurred, I should have hoped, with a sufficient portion of the summer before me, to conduct my party in safety back to the Mackenzie. But the loss of the boats when we should have been far advanced, and at the end of the season, would have been fatal. The deer hasten from the coast as soon as the snow falls; no Esquimaux had been lately seen, nor any winter-houses, to denote that this part of the coast was much frequented; and if we did meet them under adverse circumstances, we could not, with safety, trust to their assistance for a supply of provision; nor do I believe that, if willing, even they would have been able to support our party for any length of time. Till our tedious detention at Foggy Island, we had had no doubt of ultimate success; and it was with no ordinary pain that I could now bring myself even to think of relinquishing the great object of my ambition, and of disappointing the flattering confidence that had been reposed in my exertions. But I had higher duties to perform than the gratification of my own feelings; and a mature consideration of all the above matters forced me to the conclusion, that we had reached that point beyond which perseverance would be rashness, and our best efforts must be fruitless. In order to put the reader completely in possession of the motives which would have influenced me, had I been entirely a free agent, I have mentioned them without allusion to the clause in my instructions which directed me to commence my return on the 15th or 20th of August, "if, in consequence of slow progress, or other unforeseen accident, it should remain doubtful whether we should be able to reach Kotzebue's Inlet the same season." In the evening I communicated my determination to the whole party; they received it with the good feeling that had marked their conduct throughout the voyage, and they assured me of their cheerful acquiescence in any order I should give. The readiness with which they would have prosecuted the voyage, had it been advisable to do so, was the more creditable, because many of them had their legs swelled and inflamed from continually wading in ice-cold water while launching the boats, not only when we accidentally ran on shore, but every time that it was requisite to embark, or to land upon this shallow coast. Nor were these symptoms to be overlooked in coming to a determination; for though no one who knows the resolute disposition of British sailors can be surprised at their more than readiness to proceed, I felt that it was my business to judge of their capability of so doing, and not to allow myself to be seduced by their ardour, however honourable to them, and cheering to me. Compelled as I was to come to the determination of returning, it is a great satisfaction to me to know, as I now do, that the reasons which induced me to take this step were well-founded. This will appear by the following extract from Captain Beechey's official account of his proceedings in advancing eastward from Icy Cape, with which I have been favoured. "Mr. Elson, (the master,) after quitting the ship off Icy Cape, on the 18th August, had proceeded along the coast without interruption, until the 22nd of the month, when he arrived off a very low sandy spit, beyond which, to the eastward, the coast formed a bay, with a more easterly trending than that on the west side; but it was so low that it could not be traced far, and became blended with the ice before it reached the horizon. It was found impossible to proceed round the spit, in consequence of the ice being grounded upon it, and extending to the horizon in every direction, except that by which the boat had advanced, and was so compact that no openings were seen in any part of it. This point, which is the most northern part of the continent yet known, lies in latitude, by meridian altitude of the sun, 71 degrees 23 minutes 39 seconds N.; and longitude, by several sets of lunar distances, both observed on an iceberg, 156 degrees 21 minutes W.; and is situated one hundred and twenty miles beyond Icy Cape. Between these two stations, and, indeed, to the southward of the latter, the coast is very flat, abounding in lakes and rivers, which are too shallow to be entered by anything but a baidar. The greater part of the coast is thickly inhabited by Esquimaux, who have their winter-habitations close to the beach. "The barge had not been off this point sufficiently long to complete the necessary observations, when the same westerly wind, which had induced me to proceed round Cape Lisburn, brought the ice down upon the coast, and left the boat no retreat. It at the same time occasioned a current along shore to the northward, at the rate of three and four miles per hour. The body of ice took the ground in six and seven fathoms water, but pieces of a lighter draft filled up the space between it and the shore, and, hurried along by the impetuosity of the current, drove the barge ashore, but fortunately without staving her. By the exertions of her officers and crew she was extricated from this perilous situation, and attempts were made to track her along the land wherever openings occurred, in execution of which the greatest fatigue was endured by all her crew. At length all efforts proving ineffectual, and the spaces between the ice and the shore becoming frozen over, it was proposed to abandon the boat, and the crew to make their way along the coast to Kotzebue Sound, before the season should be too far advanced. Preparations were accordingly made; and that the boat might not be irrevocably lost to the ship, it was determined to get her into one of the lakes, and there sink her, that the natives might not break her up, and from which she might be extricated the following summer, should the ship return. During this period of their difficulties they received much assistance from the natives, who, for a little tobacco, put their hands to the tow-rope. Their conduct had, in the first instance, been suspicious; but in the time of their greatest distress, they were well disposed, bringing venison, seal's flesh, oil, &c., and offered up a prayer that the wind would blow off the shore, and liberate the boat from her critical situation. Before the necessary arrangements were made respecting the barge, appearances took a more favourable turn; the ice began to move off shore, and after much tracking, &c., the boat was got clear, and made the best of her way toward the sound; but off Cape Lisburn she met with a gale of wind, which blew in eddies so violently, that it is said the spray was carried up to the tops of the mountains; and the boat, during this trial, behaved so well, that not a moment's anxiety for her safety was entertained. I must not close the account without expressing my warm approbation of the conduct of Mr. Elson." The barge rejoined Captain Beechey on the 10th September, at Chamisso Island, the Blossom having gone thither to wood and water, and being further forced to quit the coast to the northward, in consequence of strong westerly winds. Could I have known, or by possibility imagined, that a party from the Blossom had been at the distance of only one hundred and sixty miles from me, no difficulties, dangers, or discouraging circumstances, should have prevailed on me to return; but taking into account the uncertainty of all voyages in a sea obstructed by ice, I had no right to expect that the Blossom had advanced beyond Kotzebue Inlet, or that any party from her had doubled Icy Cape. It is useless now to speculate on the probable result of a proceeding which did not take place; but I may observe, that, had we gone forward as soon as the weather permitted, namely, on the 18th, it is scarcely possible that any change of circumstances could have enabled us to overtake the Blossom's barge.[3] [Sidenote: Thursday, 17th.] The wind changed to N.E. after midnight, the squalls were more violent, and in the morning of the 17th such a surf was beating on the borders of the reef, that the boats could not be launched. The fog disappeared before the gale about eleven, and during the afternoon we enjoyed the clearest atmosphere that we had witnessed since our departure from Mount Conybeare. This was the first opportunity there had been, for the seven preceding days, of making astronomical observations, and we gladly took advantage of it, to observe the latitude, 70 degrees 26 minutes N.; longitude 148 degrees 52 minutes W.; and variation 41 degrees 20 minutes E. We had likewise the gratification of being able to trace the land round Gwydyr Bay, to its outer point, bearing S. 79 W. ten miles, which I have named after my excellent companion Lieutenant Back, and of seeing a still more westerly hummock, bearing S. 84 W., about fifteen miles, that has been distinguished by the name of my friend Captain Beechey; at which point, in latitude 70 degrees 24 minutes N., longitude 149 degrees 37 minutes W., our discoveries terminated. The fog returned at sunset, and as the wind was piercingly cold, and we had neither fire nor room for exercise, we crept between the blankets, as the only means of keeping ourselves warm. [Sidenote: Friday, 18th.] The gale having considerably abated, and the weather being clear, we quitted Return Reef on the morning of the 18th, and began to retrace our way towards the Mackenzie. As the waves were still very high to seaward, we attempted to proceed inside of the reefs, but as the boats were constantly taking the ground, we availed ourselves of the first channel that was sufficiently deep to pull on the outside of them. The swell being too great there for the use of the oars, the sails were set double reefed, and the boats beat to the eastward against the wind, between the drift ice and the shallow water. A gale rose after noon from N.E. by N., which enabled us to shape a course for Foggy Island, where we arrived at three P.M., just at a time when the violence of the squalls, and the increased height of the swell, would have rendered further proceeding very hazardous. We now enjoyed the comforts of a good fire and a warm meal, which we had not had since the evening of the 16th. The men were afterwards employed in erecting a square pile of drift timber, on the highest part of the island fronting the sea, on which a red cornet flag was left flying, and underneath it was deposited, in a tin case, a letter for Captain Parry, containing an account of our proceedings; also a silver medal and a halfpenny: and in order that government might have some chance of hearing of our proceedings, should any accident subsequently befal the party, there was also deposited an unsealed letter, wrapped in bark, addressed to the Russian Fur Traders, in the expectation that the Esquimaux might probably convey it to their Establishment. An ice-chisel, a knife, a file, and a hatchet, were hung up on the pile, for the Esquimaux. On digging to erect these posts, the ground was found frozen at the depth of sixteen inches; and the thermometer, during the day, seldom rose above 37 degrees. This evening the temperature was 33 degrees. [Sidenote: Saturday, 19th.] We were vexatiously detained the 19th, and following day, by the continuance of the gale, and a thick fog; during which time many large flocks of geese were observed passing away to the westward. The tides were now much higher than during our first visit. [Sidenote: Monday, 21st.] The breeze was moderate on the morning of the 21st, yet we were prevented from embarking until ten o'clock, by the return of the fog. We then hastened to escape from this ill-omened island. The boats were pulled to seaward, so as to gain a sufficient offing for them to pass on the outside of the shallow water; and by the aid of the oars and sails we made good progress, and encamped within sight of Flaxman Island. A black whale, a seal of the largest kind, and numerous flocks of geese were seen in the course of this day. Several stars were visible after ten P.M. [Sidenote: Tuesday, 22nd.] Showers of snow fell during the night, but the morning of the 22nd was calm and clear. We embarked at daylight, and in the course of three hours arrived abreast of the east end of Flaxman Island. The ice had broken from the northern shore during our absence, and was now lying about a mile from the land, apparently aground on reefs, as we had observed it to be along the outer border of the one at the west end of the island. The water was much deeper between Flaxman Island and the main than when we passed in the early part of August. Eastward of Point Brownlow there was an open channel of three or four miles wide. And by keeping close to the borders of the drift ice we avoided the shallows at the mouth of the Canning River, and arrived at Boulder Island about noon. Here we found an Esquimaux grave, containing three bodies, covered with drift timber, and by their side there were placed the canoes, arrows, and fishing implements of the deceased. Not being able to procure fresh water here, we set forward to cross Camden Bay, touched at one of the points to fill the water-casks, and reached Barter Island after dark; the crews much fatigued, having been pulling for nineteen hours. We regretted to find the Esquimaux had visited this spot during our absence, and carried away the gun and ammunition which had been left by mistake at the encampment on the 4th of August, because we were not only apprehensive that some accident might have occurred in the attempt to discharge the gun, but were desirous to prevent the introduction of fire-arms among these people. [Sidenote: Wednesday, 23rd.] Being now near the point of the coast at which we had seen a considerable number of the natives, we remained at the encampment until ten o'clock on the morning of the 23d, to clean the guns and issue a fresh supply of ammunition to the party. The day was calm and cloudless; the whole range of the Romanzoff Mountains was in sight, and they appeared to be more covered with snow than when we passed to the westward. A few musquitoes made their appearance, but they were very feeble. Having landed at Point Manning to replenish the water-casks, we afterwards pulled throughout the day close to the edge of the ice, which was still heavy, though loose, and encamped near Point Griffin. Some large-sized medusæ, and several of the gelatinous substances known to seamen by the name of blubber, were found on the beach, which accounted for the number of black ducks that had been seen in the course of the day, as they feed on those substances. The temperature varied this day from 35 degrees to 46 degrees; and the thermometer rose to 64 degrees at two P.M., when exposed to the sun's rays. [Sidenote: Thursday, 24th.] The morning of the 24th was calm; we set forward at daylight, and having proceeded a few miles between heavy floating ice, about half a mile from the shore we met with a large sheet of bay ice of last night's formation, of sufficient thickness to impede though not to stop the boats. Having arrived abreast of Point Humphrys, we steered out to seaward, for the purpose of avoiding the shallows that extend across Beaufort Bay, intending to direct our course in a line for Mount Conybeare, which was in sight. We were then exposed to a long rolling swell, and we soon afterwards perceived that it had driven the ice upon the reefs at the eastern extremity of the bay, which would have precluded our retreat to the shore in the event of the wind rising. It therefore became necessary to penetrate into the pack, and keep by the side of the reefs; but in doing so, the boats were exposed to no little danger of being broken in passing through the narrow channels between the masses of ice which were tossing with the swell, and from which large pieces frequently fell. At six P.M. we passed our former encampment on Icy Reef, and afterwards proceeded through an open space to Demarcation Point, where we encamped, and hauled up the boats to prevent them from being injured by the surf. We found here two families of Esquimaux, which belonged to the party that had been to Barter Island, waiting the return of a man from hunting, in order to follow their companions to the eastward. They showed much joy at seeing us again, and remained the greater part of the night talking with Augustus. The most active young man of the party, not thinking himself sufficiently smart for the occasion, retired to the oomiak to change his dress and mouth ornaments, capering about on his return, evidently proud of his gayer appearance. [Sidenote: Friday, 25th.] The morning was foggy, but there being little wind, we launched the boats, and pulled for an hour close to the shore, when we came to a body of ice so closely packed as scarcely to afford a passage, and it was with difficulty that we arrived at Clarence River. There we perceived four tents; near which we had been warned by our visitors last night not to land, as the party had recently lost their parents, and it was feared that, in the state of mind in which they then were, they might be disposed to do us some injury. We pulled near enough to inquire about the gun, and learned that the person who had it was farther to the eastward. The difficulties of forcing a passage were not diminished beyond this place, and we were further impeded in our advance by new ice formed between the larger masses, which required additional labour to break through. The fog cleared away at ten; we halted to breakfast at Backhouse River, and remained whilst Augustus went in pursuit of two rein-deer, one of which he killed. Renewing our course, we passed on the outside of the ice until we were nearly abreast of Mount Conybeare, when the wind came strong from the eastward, and obliged us to have recourse again to its shelter. This barrier, however, terminated at the end of five miles, and being then exposed to the wind and swell, against which the men were unable to pull, we encamped. The experience we had now gained of the ice being packed upon this shore by a wind from the sea, assured us of the correctness of the report which the Esquimaux had given, and likewise afforded a reason for their expression of surprise at our being unprovided with sledges, as it was evident, unless a strong wind blew from the land, that the new ice would soon unite the pack with the shore, and preclude the possibility of making the passage in boats, unless by going outside of the ice, which would be extremely hazardous, from the want of shelter in the event of a gale springing up. The pieces of ice were generally from ten to fifteen feet in height, many of them were from twenty to thirty feet: their length was from twenty to one hundred yards. We saw several white whales in the open water, and a flock of white geese at the encampment, which were the first noticed on this coast. The rising of the wind from E.N.E. this afternoon was accompanied by an increase of temperature from 43 degrees to 53 degrees, and we felt a comfortable sensation of warmth, to which we had been strangers for the preceding month. [Sidenote: Saturday, 26th.] We took advantage of a favourable breeze to embark before daylight on the morning of the 26th; at sunrise it increased to a gale, and raised a heavy sea. In two hours we ran to the commencement of the intricate channels leading to Herschel Island, where the Esquimaux seen at Barter Island were encamped on a reef, and apparently gazing in astonishment at the speed of our boats. They made many signs for us to land, which we were desirous of doing had it been practicable for the surf. That the boats might be perfectly manageable, we took two reefs in the sails, and shaped the course for Herschel Island; but scarcely were the sails reset before a fog came on that hid every mark that could guide us; a heavy swell was rolling at the time, and to arrive at the island we had to pass through a channel only about two hundred yards broad. To find this, surrounded as it was by shoals, in the midst of a dense fog, was a task of considerable anxiety and danger, and our situation was not rendered more agreeable by being assailed the whole way with continued shouting from persons to us invisible; our arrival having been communicated by the Esquimaux who first descried us, to their companions on the neighbouring reefs. We effected it, however, and landed in safety, though we did not discover the island till we were within forty yards of its shore. We had scarcely landed before the fog dispersed, and discovered to us a solitary tent on an adjacent point. Three men soon paid us a visit, whom we had not seen before, and they informed us that nearly the whole of the tribe was now collected in the vicinity for the purpose of hunting deer, and catching whales and seals for the winter's consumption. We quitted the island at ten A.M., and steered directly for Point Kay, to avoid the sinuosities of the coast, and the frequent interruption of the Esquimaux, whose tents were observed to be scattered on the beach nearly the whole way to Babbage River. Three men and some women came off to bring us fish, and being liberally rewarded, they went away perfectly happy, singing the praises of the white people. We passed round Point Kay at four P.M., with a moderate breeze from W.N.W., and steered for Point King, keeping about two miles from the land. As the afternoon wore away, gloomy clouds gathered in the north-west; and at six a violent squall came from that quarter, attended with snow and sleet. The gale increased with rapidity: in less than ten minutes the sea was white with foam, and such waves were raised as I had never before been exposed to in a boat. The spray and sea broke over us incessantly, and it was with difficulty that we could keep free by baling. Our little vessels went through the water with great velocity under a close-reefed sail, hoisted about three feet up the main-mast, and proved themselves to be very buoyant. Their small size, however, and the nature of their construction, necessarily adapted for the navigation of shallow rivers, unfitting them for withstanding the sea then running, we were in imminent danger of foundering. I therefore resolved on making for the shore, as the only means of saving the party, although I was aware that, in so doing, I incurred the hazard of staving the boats, there being few places on this part of the coast where there was sufficient beach under the broken cliffs. The wind blowing along the land we could not venture on exposing the boat's side to the sea by hauling directly in, but, edging away with the wind on the quarter, we most providentially took the ground in a favourable spot. The boats were instantly filled with the surf, but they were unloaded and dragged up without having sustained any material damage. Impressed with a sense of gratitude for the signal deliverance we had experienced on this and other occasions, we assembled in the evening to offer up praise and thanksgiving to the Almighty. [Sidenote: Sunday, 27th.] On the 27th the weather was calm; but as a heavy surf prevented our embarkation, we took advantage of the delay to dry our bedding, clothes, and pemmican. The guns were likewise cleaned, and every thing put in order. There was an Esquimaux party at this spot, which had witnessed the landing of the boats in the storm with astonishment, having expected to see every man drowned. Augustus passed the night at their tents; and having brought the whole party to our encampment, the women, with much good nature, sewed soles of seal-skins to the men's mocassins, in order to fit them better for the operation of tracking, in which they were soon to be employed. These Esquimaux had recently returned from a visit to the gang that had pillaged the boats at the mouth of the Mackenzie; and we now learned the intention that had been entertained of destroying our party, along with the other particulars that have been already mentioned. [Sidenote: Monday, 28th.] Our approach to the Mackenzie was marked by the quantity of drift timber floating about. We passed several families of the natives, without visiting them, until we perceived one party taking some fish from their nets, which tempted us to land. The fish were large _tittameg_ and _inconnû_, and proved remarkably fine. We again embarked, but having to pull head to the sea, we took in much water, and were glad to seek shelter on a gravel reef, where three Esquimaux tents were pitched. The whole party quickly mustered around us, and we were not a little surprised to find so many inhabitants as twenty-seven, including women and children, in three tents only; but on inquiry we found that the number was not greater than usual. Two of the men were very aged and feeble, the rest were young and active. They practise jumping, as an amusement, from their youth; and we had an opportunity of witnessing some of their feats, which displayed much agility. The women cheerfully repaired our mocassins, and their industry, as well as the good conduct of the men, were rewarded by some valuable presents. We were astonished to learn that there had been fog only a day and a half in this neighbourhood since we passed, but the wind had been generally strong. Augustus gained some information respecting the western Esquimaux, and the coast to the westward, which he did not communicate to me until some days afterwards, otherwise I should have endeavoured to elicit more satisfactory details. It was to the following purport:--The western Esquimaux having purchased the furs from those men that dwell near the Mackenzie, at Barter Island, proceed to the westward again without delay. A few days journey beyond a part of the coast which Augustus understood from description to be Return Reef, the sea is still more shallow than that which we had navigated, and the water is still, except at certain periods of the year, when it is agitated like a strong rapid, by the efflux of the waters of a deep inlet, or strait. The land is visible on both sides from the middle of this opening; the Esquimaux make for the west side, and on reaching it relinquish their canoes, and drag their furs overland to the Russian establishments, which are situated in the interior, where the land is more elevated than on the coast. The Mountain Indians come down annually in large parties to this inlet, and warm contests often arise between them and the Esquimaux. The latter are frequently worsted, from their inferior numbers, and lose their property, which the Indians bring by land to the neighbourhood of Herschel Island, to dispose of to the Esquimaux in that quarter. The direction of the inlet was supposed, by Augustus, to be about south-west. I am inclined to think that it is the estuary of a large river, flowing to the west of the Rocky Mountains, obstructed by sand-banks, like the mouth of the Mackenzie. In the course of the day three Esquimaux, who had seen our tent from a distance, came to visit us. One of them was recognised to have been of the party which attacked us at the mouth of the Mackenzie. He gave Augustus a detailed account of their schemes on that occasion, which exactly corresponded with that we had received on the preceding day. He further told us that the party which had assailed us had certainly removed to the eastward; but if any of them should have remained, to watch our motions, they could be avoided by entering the river by a more westerly branch than the one which we had descended, and offered to guide us thither. This man was very intelligent, and having carefully examined the boats, intimated that he would construct an oomiak after the same plan. We embarked at four in the evening with our new friend for a guide, and in a short time arrived at the main shore where his tent stood, and where he asked the party to encamp, as he intended to go no farther. We were not, however, so disposed; and having filled the casks with fresh water, and made some presents to the women, we pushed off to take advantage of the remaining daylight in getting round a reef which projected far seaward. We could not effect this, and at sunset, not being able to land on the reef on account of the shallowness of the water, we put back to within a mile and a half of the Esquimaux tents. Garry Island was seen soon after sunset; and the aurora borealis appeared in the night for the first time this season. The temperature of the air varied from 30 degrees to 49 degrees, and that of the sea water was 37 degrees 2 minutes, a quarter of a mile from the shore. [Sidenote: Tuesday, 29th.] A gale coming on in the night, and continuing till the following evening, detained us on shore. During our stay we were visited by a numerous party of Esquimaux, and found it necessary to draw a line round the tents, which they were not permitted to pass. These people told us that Dr. Richardson's party had been seen clear of the Mackenzie, and had given kettles to men in three canoes, after escaping an attempt made by the Esquimaux to drag the boats on shore. This account, showing that the propensity to plunder was not confined to the Esquimaux with whom we had met, excited painful apprehensions for the safety of the eastern party, if they should find it necessary to return by the Mackenzie, because we now learned that the natives collect in numbers near its mouth at the close of summer. In ordinary seasons the weather is mild, and the winds variable until the ice breaks up, which is usually about the end of August, when north-west winds, and stormy weather, are expected. In this season, however, the winds had been so boisterous that the Esquimaux had seldom been able to venture out to sea, and their whale fishery had consequently failed. Our visitors left us about two P.M.; but, shortly afterwards, we heard loud cries, and on looking round saw two young Esquimaux running in breathless haste to announce that a large party of Indians had come down from the mountains with the express purpose of attacking the boats and killing every man of the party. They desired us to embark instantly, as the only means of escape; for the Indians, they said, were already at the tents within our view, and when they left them they were on the point of spreading round us to commence the onset. They further said, that the Indians, having been provoked by our trading with the Esquimaux, had been along the coast in search of us, and that it was only this afternoon they had espied our tents, which, by the fluttering in the wind, they knew did not belong to the Esquimaux. On this discovery they had come to the nearest party of Esquimaux to make known their intention, and to request their aid. They were met by our two young friends, who were out hunting, but who returned with them to their tents, and after learning the plans in agitation, had stolen off to apprize us of our danger. As soon as Spinks returned, who had gone to shoot, we shoved off; and never were men more delighted than our two Esquimaux friends seemed to be at our escape; and especially at that of Augustus, to save whom, they asserted more than once, was their principal motive in coming to us. While Spinks was out of sight, they climbed up to the top of an old house to look for him, with the greatest apparent solicitude, and were the first to discover him returning. Up to the time of his arrival they kept repeating every particular respecting the Indians, and pointing out the mode of avoiding them. It was their intention, they said, to pursue us to the Mackenzie, but that we should get there before them, because there were two rivers in the way which the Indians would have great difficulty in crossing, being unprovided with canoes. They urged us to make all speed, and not to halt in the night, nor to go to sleep; but, if the crew became tired, to put up on an island out of gun-shot of the main shore, because the Indians were armed with guns as well as bows. They instructed Augustus minutely as to the course we were to steer round the reef, and directed us to keep along the main shore until we should come to a large opening, which was the western outlet of the Mackenzie, and had a deep channel. We rewarded their friendly conduct by a considerable present of iron, which they received with an indifference that showed them not to have been actuated by interested motives in making the communications. Previous to the arrival of these men we had perceived the smoke of a distant fire, which we had little regarded, supposing it to have been made by some Esquimaux who were hunting, but which, it seems, was the fire of the Indians. Having pulled round the reef, and being aided by a westerly breeze, we soon regained the main shore, and passed the mouth of the two rivers of which the Esquimaux had spoken. The night beginning to close in we pulled up to the head of an inlet; when heavy rain and squalls coming on, we determined to halt. [Sidenote: Wednesday, 30th.] As soon as the day dawned, which was about half-past two in the morning, we returned to Shoal Water Bay; and, sailing along the coast for two or three miles to the eastward, arrived at another opening, in which the water was fresh, and we did not doubt but it would prove the deep channel by which we had been instructed to ascend. There was plenty of water near its mouth, but it gradually shoaled; and, at the distance of four miles, we ascertained that this promising opening was likewise an inlet. I now relinquished the search for a more westerly outlet than the one by which we had descended, and, therefore, steered for Pillage Point, which soon afterwards came in sight. After dragging the boats for two hours, over the shoals, we rounded Pillage Point at ten A.M., and reached the deep water most opportunely; for, almost at the instant, a violent north-west gale came on, attended by thunder, lightning, and torrents of rain. The wind, however, was fair, and brought so much water into the channel of the river, that we passed, without obstruction, the shallow parts above Pillage Point. A temporary cessation of the rain at noon enabled us to land to breakfast; and we afterwards continued to scud before the gale until sunset, when we encamped. The temperature fell from 48 degrees to 40 degrees in the gale, and we had several showers of snow. During the above run Augustus entertained us with an account, which he had learned from the two Esquimaux, respecting the Mountain Indians; the substance was as follows:--Seven men of that tribe had been to Herschel Island to trade with the Esquimaux, who showed them the different articles they had received from us, and informed them of our being still on the coast, and that our return by this route was not improbable. This intelligence they set off at once to communicate to the rest of their tribe, who, supposing that we should ruin their trade with the Esquimaux, resolved on coming down in a body to destroy us; and that they might travel with expedition, their wives and families were left behind. They came to the sea coast by the Mountain Indian River, opposite Herschel Island, and finding that we had not returned, but supposing it possible that we might pass them there, as they had no canoes to intercept us, they determined on travelling to the mouth of the Mackenzie, where they could conveniently subsist by fishing and hunting until our arrival. They had been informed of the manner in which we had been robbed by the Esquimaux at that place, and they formed a similar plan of operations. When our crews were wading and launching the boats over the flats in Shoal Water Bay, a few of them were to have offered their assistance, which they imagined would be readily accepted, as we should probably take them for Indians belonging to the Loucheux tribe, with whom we were acquainted. While pretending to aid us they were to have watched an opportunity of staving the boats, so as to prevent them from floating in the deeper channel, which runs close to the land near Pillage Point. The rest of the party, on a signal being given, were then to rush forth from their concealment, and join in the assault. They were, in pursuance of this plan, travelling towards the Mackenzie, when they discovered our tents; and it appeared that the two young men who brought us the intelligence, had been sent as an act of gratitude by an old Esquimaux, to whom we had given a knife and some other things, on the preceding day. After hearing the plans of the Indians, he called the young men aside and said to them, "These white people have been kind to us, and they are few in number, why should we suffer them to be killed? You are active young men, run and tell them to depart instantly." The messengers suggested that we had guns, and could defend ourselves. "True," said he, "against a small force, but not against so large a body of Indians as this, who are likewise armed with guns, and who will crawl under cover of the drift timber, so as to surround them before they are aware; run, therefore, and tell them not to lose a moment in getting away, and to be careful to avoid the flats at the mouth of the river by entering the western channel." As the goods which the Mountain Indians exchange with the Esquimaux at Herschel Island, are very unlike those issued from any of the Hudson's Bay Company's posts, I conclude that they obtain them from the Russians; but the traders of that nation being prohibited by their government from supplying guns to any Indians, I am at a loss to account for these people having them;--perhaps, the prohibition only applies to the Esquimaux, or the people on the sea coast. That the Mountain Indians have fire-arms we learned, not only on the present occasion, but in our first interview with the Esquimaux, at Herschel Island. The few general remarks which I have to offer, on the subject of a North-West Passage, will appear in a subsequent part of the narrative; and here I shall only state, that we traced the coast, westward from the mouth of the Mackenzie, three hundred and seventy-four miles, without having found one harbour in which a ship could find shelter. [Sidenote: Thursday, 31st.] On the 31st, we continued the ascent of the river, and encamped in the evening within the limit of the spruce fir trees. [Sidenote: September 1st.] Favoured by a strong north-west gale, on the 1st of September, we sailed the whole day along the western main shore, and, generally, within view of the Rocky Mountains. One of the numerous bends of the river took us within eight miles of part of the mountains, which appeared to be composed of a yellow stone, and was from eight hundred to a thousand feet in height. In the course of the day we came to the most northerly poplars, where the foliage had now assumed the yellow autumnal hue. [Sidenote: Saturday, 2nd.] The gale continued with strong squalls on the 2nd, and we advanced rapidly under double-reefed sails, though the course of the river was very winding. The temperature of the air varied from 41 degrees to 35 degrees. [Sidenote: Sunday, 3rd.] On the third we had calm weather, and still keeping the western land aboard, we were led into a river which we had not discovered in our descent. The course of this river, was, for a time, parallel to our route, and we took it at first for one of the channels of the Mackenzie; but, in the afternoon, we saw a mountain to the eastward, and ascertained that we were to the Southward of Point Separation. We, therefore, began to descend the river again, and encamped shortly after sunset. Just after it became dark, voices were heard on the opposite side of the river, to which we replied, and soon afterwards, three Indians were observed crossing towards us in canoes. They approached cautiously, but on being invited to land, they did so, though one of them was so great a cripple as to require being carried from the canoe to the fire-side. The alarm these poor people had felt, was soon dissipated by kind treatment. They were armed with bows and arrows only, and clothed in hare skins and leather. Their trowsers were similar to those worn by the lower Loucheux, to which tribe they, probably, belonged. We could communicate with them only by signs, except by using a few words of Chipewyan, which one of them appeared to understand. We collected from them that they knew of Fort Good Hope, but none of them seemed to have visited it, as they had not a single article of European manufacture about their persons. They delineated on a stone the course of the Mackenzie, and of the river we had newly discovered, which appears to flow from the Rocky Mountains, and to break through the same ridge of hill that the Mackenzie does at the Narrows. It is probable, that it was to this river the Loucheux alluded, when they told Sir Alexander Mackenzie, opposite the present site of Fort Good Hope, that there was a river which conducted them to the sea in five days. I have distinguished this river by the name of Peel, in honour of His Majesty's Secretary of State for the Home Department. It is from a quarter to half a mile wide, and its banks are clothed with spruce, birch, and poplar trees, like those of the Mackenzie in the same parallel. [Sidenote: Monday, 4th.] We set forward at four A.M. on the 4th, with a strong favourable breeze, and in an hour, passed another river descending from the Rocky Mountains, and nearly as large as the Peel, into which it flows. We regained the Mackenzie at noon, and at five P.M. arrived at Point Separation, where we encamped. Here we found the boat, rope, and kettle, in the same state in which we had deposited them. The kettle was a great acquisition to us, because we had suffered much inconvenience in having only one for cooking, after the Esquimaux had robbed us of the others. The temperature varied during the day from 29 degrees to 55 degrees, and, in the evening, the sand flies were troublesome. [Sidenote: Tuesday, 5th.] We quitted our encampment at day light on the 5th, and crossed the river to look for a mark which Dr. Richardson was to have erected, if he returned by the Mackenzie; but not finding any, we deposited a letter and a bag of pemmican, in case he should come at a later period, and that his party should be in want of provision. In the vicinity of the Red River, we met Barbue, the Chief of the Loucheux, and two or three families, who seemed in a sorry condition from want of food, the water being too low for fishing. The chief appeared very anxious to communicate some intelligence, which he evidently considered important, but we could not understand him. We learned afterwards at the fort, that it related to the death of a chief by violence on the sea coast; this had given rise to a rumour of the death of myself, and afterwards of Dr. Richardson, which occasioned us, for a time, much anxiety. The weather, on this and several days, was remarkably fine; berries of various kinds were very abundant on the banks, and quite ripe. [Sidenote: Thursday, 7th.] By the aid of the tracking line, with the occasional use of the oars and sails, we proceeded up the river at a quick rate, and reached Fort Good Hope, at half-past four on the 7th. In consequence of the above-mentioned rumour, I requested Mr. Bell, the gentleman in charge of the fort, to despatch two of the Loucheux as quickly as possible to the eastern mouth of the river, in order to gain any information the Esquimaux could give regarding Dr. Richardson's party; and, that the messengers might not be delayed by hunting on the way, I left a bag of pemmican for their use. We were sorry to learn that there was some apprehension of a serious quarrel arising between the upper and lower Loucheux, in consequence of one of Barbue's sons having killed his wife, a woman of the latter tribe. [Sidenote: Friday, 8th.] We quitted Fort Good Hope at noon on the 8th, arrived at the entrance of Bear Lake River on the 16th, and on the 21st reached Fort Franklin, where we had the happiness of meeting our friends in safety. [Sidenote: Thursday, 21st.] The eastern detachment had arrived on the 1st of September, after a most successful voyage; and Dr. Richardson being anxious to extend his geological researches, as far as the season would permit, had gone in a canoe to the Great Slave Lake, having previously sent a report of his proceedings, to meet me at Fort Good Hope, in case of our being obliged to return by the Mackenzie; but the bearer of them passed us without being seen. Having read Mr. Kendall's journal, I drew up a brief account of the proceedings of both parties for the information of His Majesty's Government, and transmitted it by canoe, to Slave Lake on the following morning. The distance travelled in the three months of our absence from Fort Franklin, amounted to two thousand and forty-eight statute miles, of which six hundred and ten were through parts not previously discovered. I cannot close this account of our sea voyage without expressing the deep obligation I feel to Lieutenant Back for his cordial co-operation, and for his zealous and unwearied assiduity during its progress. Beside the daily delineation of the coast in the field book, the service is indebted to him for numerous drawings of scenery, as well as of the natives; and for an interesting collection of plants. My warmest thanks are likewise due to the men of my party, who met every obstacle with an ardent desire to surmount it, and cheerfully exerted themselves to the utmost of their power. Their cool, steady conduct is the more commendable, as the sea navigation was entirely novel to the whole, except the seamen Duncan and Spinks, and Hallom, the corporal of Marines. The Canadian voyagers, Felix and Vivier, first saw the ocean on this occasion. The following Chapters contain the narrative of the proceedings of Dr. Richardson in his own words; and I embrace this opportunity of conveying my sincere thanks to him, to Mr. Kendall, and to their respective crews. I may be allowed to bear my testimony to the union of caution, talent, and enterprise in the former, which enabled him to conduct, with singular success, an arduous service of a kind so foreign from his profession and ordinary pursuits; and to the science and skill, combined with activity, of Mr. (now Lieutenant) Kendall, which must heighten the character he has already obtained for general ability and energy in his profession. I must not omit to state, that these officers describe the conduct of their crews to have been excellent. _ABSTRACT of the Mean Temperature for each Day during the Voyage along the Sea Coast west of the Mackenzie, and on the return to Bear Lake._ 1826. Daily Date. Mean Wind and Weather. Situation. ---------------------------------------------------------------------- July. degs. 1 52.8 NNW, WNW, moderate, gloomy Fort Good Hope 2 58.3 West, fresh, clear } Mackenzie River, 3 50.3 WNW, fresh, clear } betwn lat. 67 deg. 4 55.8 West, SSW, N, light, gloomy } 28 min., & 60 deg. 5 53.7 SW, NE, moderate, gloomy, foggy } 53 min. N., longitude 6 45.1 NNW, ENE, fresh, moderate, rain } 130-1/2 deg. & 7 41.6 SE, moderate, clear } 136-1/2 deg. W. 8 } Not Mouth of the } regist'd. Mackenzie. 9 } Thermom. ENE, strong, fog and rain 10 } stolen by } Between the 11 } Esquimaux. } Mackenzie & 12 51.6 EbyN. fresh, gloomy } Herschel Isld. 13 53.3 Variable, fog and rain } lat 68 deg. 53 min. & 14 50.5 Calm, rain, ENE, moderate, clear } 60 deg. 34 min. N., 15 48.6 Calm, clear, NW, moderate, foggy } long. 136 deg. 19. min 16 47.3 SSE, moderate, snow, fog } & 139 deg. 5 min. W. 17 44.8 NW, North, moderate, hazy Herschel Island. 18 43.6 NW, moderate, clear } 19 43.4 NW, moderate, heavy rain and fog } 20 39.3 NW, fresh, fog } 21 51.3 East, SE, clear } 22 58.5 SE, light, clear } Between Icy Reef & 23 51.6 West, calm, East, clear } Herschel Island, 24 45.6 Calm, variable, clear } latitude 69 deg. 34 25 42.0 West, light, calm, foggy } min. & 69 deg. 44 26 44.3 Calm, NW, fog } min. N., longitude 139 27 41.4 West, NW, moderate, fog } deg. 5 min. and 141 28 43.2 ENE, light, gloomy } deg. 30 min. W. 29 41.6 ENE, strong, misty } 30 40.3 ENE, fresh, moderate, clear } 31 42.7 NE, moderate, clear, fresh and } ----- foggy } Mean 47.61 ---------------------------------------------------------------------- Aug. 1 42.0 NE, gale, foggy } Between Icy Reef & 2 44.6 ENE, strong, moderate, clear } Flaxman's Island, lat. 3 44.1 ENE, moderate, clear } 69 deg. 44 min. & 70 4 40.7 East, moderate, clear } deg. 11 min. N., long. 5 42.6 Calm, WbyN, moderate } 141 deg. 30 min. & 145 6 43.2 Calm, ESE, light, clear } deg. 50 min. W. 7 42.8 ENE, fresh, clear _} 8 42.9 ENE, strong, fog } 9 41.6 NE, strong, fog } 10 39.5 ENE, strong, fog } Foggy Island, lat. 11 41.1 NE, moderate, fog } 70 deg. 16 min. N. 12 41.1 East, moderate, very foggy } longitude 147 deg. 13 41.6 NE, strong, foggy } 38 min. W. 14 41.3 ENE, NE, moderate, foggy } 15 38.1 NE, fresh, hazy } _ABSTRACT the Mean Temperature for each Day during the Voyage along the Sea Coast west of the Mackenzie, and on the return to Bear Lake._ 1826. Daily Date. Mean Wind and Weather. Situation. ---------------------------------------------------------------------- Aug. degs. 16 35.0 ENE, fresh, foggy } Return Reef, lat. 17 37.4 NE, gale, very foggy } 70 deg. 26 min. N. lg. 18 36.2 NE, strong, clear _} 148 deg. 52 min. W. 19 36.4 NE, strong, foggy } Foggy 20 36.4 NE, fresh, foggy _} Island. 21 35.7 NNE, North, moderate, clear } 22 37.6 North, NE, light, clear } Between Foggy Island & 23 41.0 Calm, clear } the Mouth of the 24 39.4 Calm, clear, foggy in the night } Mackenzie, lat. 70 25 41.2 Calm, fog, NE, light, ESE, strong} deg. 16 min. and 68 26 39.6 WNW, NW, heavy gale, snow, sleet } deg. 53 min. N. lon. 27 39.8 Calm, ESE, light, clear } 147 deg. 38 min. and 28 43.0 SW, strong, clear } 136 deg. 19 min. W. 29 52.5 SSW, heavy gale _} 30 45.6 NW, Heavy gale, rain } Mackenzie 31 42.4 Calm, SW, gloomy } River. ----- Mean 40.85 ---------------------------------------------------------------------- Sept. 1 38.3 NW, gale, snow } 2 38.6 NW, strong, clear } 3 41.1 Calm, moderate, SE, clear } 4 41.3 SE, NW, moderate, clear } 5 45.9 SE, light, clear } 6 51.0 Variable, light, clear } 7 44.8 SE, light, NW, strong } 8 41.0 NW, strong, snow } 9 39.3 East, moderate, clear } 10 45.8 SE, light, clear } Mackenzie 11 45.8 NW, moderate rain } River. 12 37.3 NW, moderate, gloomy } 13 37.2 Calm, SE, light, clear } 14 37.9 ESE, moderate, clear } 15 42.7 Calm, moderate, fresh, gloomy } 16 44.5 Variable, light, gloomy } 17 36.9 Variable, moderate, rain } 18 29.4 NW, fresh, gloomy } 19 24.6 NW, moderate, gloomy } 20 29.2 ESE, fresh, clear } 21 31.1 ENE, fresh, clear Fort Franklin. ----- Mean 39.22 ---------------------------------------------------------------------- NOTE.--The thermometer used in this register, was compared with those in use at Fort Franklin during ten days after our return, and found to coincide with them. FOOTNOTES: [3] I have recently learned, by letter from Captain Beechey, that the barge turned back on the 25th of August, having been several days beset by the ice. He likewise informs me, that the summer of 1827 was so unfavourable for the navigation of the northern coast of America, that the Blossom did not reach so high a latitude as in the preceding year; nor could his boat get so far to the east of Icy Cape, by one hundred miles. The natives, he says, were numerous, and, in some instances, ill-disposed. DR. RICHARDSON'S NARRATIVE OF THE PROCEEDINGS OF THE EASTERN DETACHMENT OF THE EXPEDITION. CHAPTER I. Leave Point Separation and descend the Eastern Channel of the Mackenzie--Arrive at Sacred Island--Esquimaux Graves--Interview with the Natives; their thievish disposition--Attempt to gain possession of the Union--Heavy Gale--Find Shelter in Refuge Cove--Low Coast--Mirage--Stopped by Ice at Point Toker--Reach the Sea. [Sidenote: July 4th.] The two parties of which the Expedition was composed, having spent the evening of the 3rd of July in cheerful conversation about their future prospects, prepared to separate on the morning of the 4th. By six o'clock all the boats were stowed; and Captain Franklin, Lieutenant Back, and their party, had committed themselves to the stream in the Lion and Reliance; while the Eastern Detachment, drawn up on the beach, cheered them on their departure with three hearty huzzas. The voices of our friends were heard in reply until the current had carried their boats round a projecting point of land, when we also embarked to proceed on our voyage. Our detachment was composed of twelve individuals, distributed in two boats, named the Dolphin and Union. IN THE DOLPHIN. IN THE UNION. Dr. Richardson. Mr. Kendall. Thomas Gillet, _Coxswain_. John M'Leay, _Coxswain_. John M'Lellan, _Bowman_. George Munroe, _Bowman_. Shadrach Tysoe, _Marine_. William Money, _Marine_. Thomas Fuller, _Carpenter_. John M'Duffey. Ooligbuck, _Esquimaux_. George Harkness. The instructions we received were, to trace the coast between the Mackenzie and Coppermine Rivers, and to return from the latter overland to Great Bear Lake. Ice was the only impediment we dreaded as likely to prove an obstacle to the execution of these orders. We knew that the direct distance between the two rivers did not amount to five hundred miles; and, having provisions for upwards of eighty days stowed in the boats, we were determined not to abandon the enterprize on light grounds, especially after we had seen the friends that had just parted from us embark with so much cheerfulness in their more arduous undertaking. On leaving Point Separation we pulled, for two hours, against the current, to regain the entrance of the "Middle Channel," which was first explored by Mackenzie, on his way to the sea, in 1798, and more perfectly surveyed by Captain Franklin, on his voyage to Garry's Island, last autumn. It has a breadth of nearly a mile, and a depth of from three to five fathoms; though in one place, where there was a ripple, the sounding lead struck against a flat bed of stone in nine feet water. Having proceeded about ten miles in this channel, we entered a branch flowing to the eastward, with the view of tracing the course of the main land. Mackenzie, on his return from the sea by this route, observed many trees having their upper branches lopped off by the Esquimaux, and we saw several such trees in the course of the day. The lands are low and marshy, and inclose small lakes which are skirted by willows. The summits of the banks are loaded with drift-timber, showing that they are all inundated by the spring floods, except a few sandy ridges which bound the principal channels, and which are clothed with well-grown white spruce trees. Our voyage amongst these uninteresting flats was greatly enlivened by the busy flight and cheerful twittering of the sand-martins, which had scooped out thousands of nests in the banks of the river, and we witnessed with pleasure their activity in thinning the ranks of our most tormenting foes the musquitoes. When our precursor, Sir Alexander Mackenzie, passed through these channels on the 10th of July, 1789, they were bounded by walls of ice veined with black earth, but the present season was so much milder, that the surface of the banks was every where thawed. An hour before noon we put ashore to cook our breakfast, near a clump of spruce trees, where several fires had recently been made by a party which had left many foot-prints on the sand; probably a horde of Esquimaux, on their return from trading with the Indians at the Narrows. A thunder storm that obscured the sky, prevented Mr. Kendall from ascertaining the latitude at noon, which was the hour we chose for breakfast throughout the voyage, in order to economize time, as it was necessary to land to obtain the meridian observation of the sun. In the afternoon we continued to descend the same channel, which has a smooth and moderately rapid current, and a general depth of two or three fathoms. At four P.M. we obtained a view of a ridge of land to the eastward, which we have since learned is named by the natives the Rein-Deer Hills, and at seven encamped near two conical hills of limestone, about two hundred feet high, and clothed with trees to their tops. The length of the day's voyage was forty-two miles. We selected a sandy bank, covered with willows sixteen feet high, for our encamping place; and here again we found that a party of Esquimaux had lately occupied the same spot, the ashes of their fires being still fresh, and the leaves of the willow poles to which they had attached their nets, unwithered. Before we retired to bed, the arms were examined, and a watch was set; a practice which we kept up for the remainder of the voyage. Much rain fell in the night. [Sidenote: Wednesday, 5th.] On the 5th we embarked at four in the morning, and soon afterwards, the channel conducting us to the base of the Rein-Deer Hills, Mr. Kendall and I ascended an eminence, which was about four hundred feet high. Its summit was thinly coated with gravel, and its sides were formed of sand and clay, inclosing some beds of brownish-red sandstone, and of gray-coloured slate-clay. Clumps of trees grew about half way up, but the top produced only a thin wiry grass. At eleven A.M. we landed to breakfast, and remained on shore until noon, in the hope of obtaining an observation for latitude, but the sun was obscured by clouds. In the afternoon I had an extensive view from the summit of a hill of flat alluvial lands, divided into islands by inosculations of the channels of the river, and bounded, at the distance of about forty miles to the westward, by the Rocky Mountains. As we advanced to the northward, we perceived the trees to diminish in size, becoming more scattered, and ascend a shorter way up the sides of the hills, and they altogether terminated in latitude 68 degrees 40 minutes, in an even line running across the islands; though one solitary spruce fir was seen in 68 degrees 53 minutes. Perhaps the lands to the northward of this abrupt line were too low and wet for the growth of the white spruce, the tree which attains the highest latitude on this continent. We pitched our tents for the night on the site of another Esquimaux encampment, where a small bit of moose deer's meat was still attached to a piece of wood at the fire-place; and we saw, from the tracks of the people and dogs in the sand, that a party had left the river here to cross the Rein-Deer Hills. From information obtained through the Sharp-eyed, or Quarreller tribe of Indians, this appears to be one of the Esquimaux routes to a large piece of brackish water named Esquimaux Lake, and alluded to by Mackenzie in several parts of his narrative. The length of our voyage this day was forty-four miles, and our encampment was opposite to an island named by Captain Franklin after William Williams, Esq., late governor of Prince Rupert's land. We observed here an unusually large spruce tree, considering the high latitude in which it grew; it measured seven feet in circumference, at the height of four feet from the ground. A hole was dug at the foot of the hill, in sandy soil, to the depth of three feet without reaching frozen ground. [Sidenote: Thursday, 6th.] On the 6th, heavy and continued rain delayed our embarkation until ten o'clock in the forenoon, and the weather, during the rest of the day, was hazy, with occasional showers of small rain. Before leaving the encampment, we lopped the branches from a tree, and suspended to it a small kettle, a hatchet, an ice-chisel, and a few strings of beads, together with a letter written in hieroglyphics, by Mr. Kendall, denoting that a party of white people presented these articles to the Esquimaux as a token of friendship.[4] As we advanced, we came to the union of several ramifications of the middle channel with the eastern branch of the river, and the breadth of the latter increased to two miles; its depth of water being rarely less than three fathoms. In latitude 69 degrees, the eastern channel of the Mackenzie makes a turn round the end of the Rein-deer-hills which terminate there, having previously diminished in height to about two hundred feet. At the commencement of this turn, there is a small island nearly equal to the main land in height, and appearing when viewed from the southward, to be a continuation of it. Its position pointing it out to be the one described by Mackenzie as possessing "a sacred character," and being still a burial place of the Esquimaux, I named it Sacred Island. We saw here two recent, and several more ancient graves. The bodies were wrapped in skins closely covered with drift-wood, and laid with their heads to the west; so that the rule mentioned by Captain Lyon in his account of Melville peninsula, does not obtain on this part of the coast; for there none but the bodies of infants are placed in that direction. Various articles, such as canoes, sledges, and fishing nets, were deposited near the graves. Sacred Island is formed entirely of layers of fine sand of different colours, covered by a little vegetable mould. One of its sides being steeply escarped by the waves, showed its structure completely. Amongst the vegetable productions of this spot, we noticed the perennial lupine, the narrow-leaved epilobium, and some currant bushes in full flower, and growing with great luxuriance. From its summit we had a view of the river flowing in many channels, both to the eastward and westward. The islands lying in sight to the westward are low, and apparently inundated when the river is flooded; but to the eastward, there are many islands having hummocks as high as Sacred Island, and judging from those that were near, they are, like it, composed of sand. The channels surrounding the island appear to be shallow. After leaving that island, we steered along the main shore to a sandy point about four miles distant, and encamped near a very recent resting place of a large party of Esquimaux, not fewer than ten fires having been made since the heavy rain of the morning. There was also vestiges of five or six winter-houses on this point. Richards' Island, which was named in honour of the Governor of the Bank of England, forms the opposite bank of the channel here, and exhibits, like the neighbouring islands, some sandy hummocks and cliffs. The length of the day's voyage was twenty-five miles, and our encampment was situated in lat. 69 degrees 4 minutes N., long. 134 degrees 10 minutes W. [Sidenote: Friday, 7th.] We embarked on the morning on the 7th at four o'clock, in cold, hazy weather, and soon came to a point of Richards' Island, on which there were four or five Esquimaux tents, with several skin canoes, and boats lying on the beach. I had previously arranged that on our first interview with the Esquimaux, I was to land with Ooligbuck, whilst Mr. Kendall kept the boats afloat ready to lend us such aid as might be required; conceiving that this was the best way of inspiring the natives with confidence, should they be distrustful, or of securing freedom of action to our crews should they prove unfriendly. The muskets were kept in the arm-chest out of sight, but ready for instant use. As we drew near the point, two women, who were walking along the shore, looked at us with amazement for some minutes, and then ran into the tents and alarmed their inmates. Several men instantly rushed out, nearly naked, with their bows and quivers in their hands, making furious gestures and apparently much frightened. I desired Ooligbuck to speak to them, and called to them myself in their own language that we were friends; but their terror and confusion was so great, that they did not appear to comprehend us. I then took a few beads, files, and knives, in my hand, and landing with Ooligbuck, made some presents to the men, and told them I was come to trade. The moment I mentioned the word "trade" (_noowoerlook_), their fears subsided, and they sent away their bows, but retained their long knives; those that were clothed thrusting them into their pockets or up their sleeves. An old woman who seemed to have greater self-possession than the rest, and to understand my meaning more readily, ran and fetched some dried fish, for which I gave her beads; and the others then began to manifest an eager desire of exchanging their fish for any thing that I offered. More people coming from the tents, a crowd was formed, who obtained all the trading articles I had brought on shore. As their surprise subsided, their boldness and clamour increased, and some few of them began again to use threatening expressions and gestures, either from a dislike to strangers coming into their country, or for the purpose of intimidation and extortion. When the interview assumed this disagreeable character, Ooligbuck said that they were very bad people, and entreating me to embark, took me on his back and carried me on board. At the same time, several of the natives ran into the water and attempted to drag the boat ashore, but on my calling to them they desisted. One fellow, whose countenance, naturally disagreeable, had been rendered hideous by the insertion of a large brass thimble into a perforation in the under lip, seized upon our tea-kettle, and endeavoured to conceal it under water, but being seen from the Union, he was made to return it. When we left the shore, all the males, twenty-one in number, embarked in their small canoes or kaiyacks and accompanied us; and in less than a quarter of an hour, the women had struck the tents and embarked them, together with their children, dogs, and luggage, in their row boats or oomiaks, and were in close pursuit. For a time we proceeded down the river together in an amicable manner, bartering beads, steels, flints, files, knives, hatchets, and kettles, for fish, adzes, spears, and arrows. The natives seemed to have a correct idea of property, and showed much tact in their commerce with us; circumstances which have been held by an eminent historian to be evidences of a considerable progress towards civilization[5]. They were particularly cautious not to glut the market by too great a display of their stock in trade; producing only one article at a time, and not attempting to out-bid each other; nor did I ever observe them endeavour to deprive one another of any thing obtained in barter or as a present. As is usual with other tribes of Esquimaux, they asked our names and told us theirs, a practice diametrically opposite to that of the Indians, who conceive it to be improper to mention a man's name in his presence, and will not, on any account, designate their near relatives, except by some indirect phrase. They showed much more curiosity respecting the construction of our boats than any of the tribes of Indians we had seen, and expressed great admiration of the rudder, soon comprehending its mode of action, although it is a contrivance of which they were previously ignorant. They were incessant in their inquiries as to the use of every thing they saw in our possession, but were sometimes content with an answer too brief to afford much explanation; as in the following instance. Ooligbuck had lighted his pipe and was puffing the smoke from his mouth, when they shouted "_ookah, ookah_," (fire, fire,) and demanded to be told what he was doing. He replied with the greatest gravity, "_poo-yoo-al-letchee-rawmah_" (I smoke); and this answer sufficed. On my referring to an Esquimaux vocabulary, Ooligbuck, in answer to their questions, told them that the book spoke to me, when they entreated me to put it away. I afterwards detected the rogue with the brass thimble endeavouring to steal this book, and placed it, as I thought, out of his reach; it was missing in the evening, but I never ascertained whether it had been purloined by the Esquimaux or had fallen overboard in moving some of the stores. Seeing me use my pocket telescope, they speedily comprehended its use, and called it "_eetee-yawgah_" (far eyes) the name that they give to the wooden shade which is used to protect their eyes from the glare of the snow; and which, from the smallness of its aperture, enables them to see distant objects more clearly. Of our trading articles, light copper kettles were in the greatest request, and we were often asked for the long knives which are used for flinching whales. It is creditable to the Esquimaux habits of cleanliness, that combs were in great demand, and we saw wooden ones of their own manufacture, not dissimilar to ours in form. I distributed looking-glasses to some of the young men, but they were mostly returned again, although I do not know on what account. This party of Esquimaux, being similar in features and dress to the tribe seen by Captain Franklin, and not differing materially from the Esquimaux inhabiting Melville peninsula which have been so fully described by Captains Parry and Lyon, it is not necessary to enter into any detail here on those points. Ooligbuck's dialect and theirs differed a little, but they mutually understood one another. I observed that they invariably sounded the letter _m_ instead of _g_, when in the middle of a word, calling Ooligbuck, Oolimbauk. Ooligbuck's attempts to pronounce "Doctor" were sufficiently imperfect, but to our visitors, the word seemed utterly unattainable, and they could designate me only by the term _Eheumattak_ or chief. They succeeded better with the names of some of the men, readily naming Tysoe, and calling Gillet "_Hillet_." The females, as they passed in their oomiaks, bestowed on us some glances that could scarcely be misconstrued,--their manners, in this respect, differed widely from those of the Indian women, who have a modest and even shy demeanour. Some of the young girls had a considerable share of beauty, and seemed to have spared no pains in ornamenting their persons. Their hair was turned up in a neat knot, on the crown of the head, and a lock or queue, tied by a fillet of beads, hung down by the ears, on each side. Mr. Nuttall, in his account of the Quapaws or Arkansas, mentions that the unmarried women wear their hair braided into two parts, brought round to either ear in a cylindrical form and ornamented with beads; and a similar attention to head-dress is paid by some of the Indian women inhabiting the borders of the great Canada lakes, and also by the Tawcullies or Carriers of New Caledonia;[6] but the females of all the tribes of Indians that we saw in our route through the northern parts of the fur countries, suffer their hair to hang loose about their ears, and, in general, adorn their persons less than the men of the same tribes. The Esquimaux women dressing better, and being required to labour less, than the Indian females, may be considered as a proof that the former nation has made the greater progress towards civilization; and I am of opinion that the Esquimaux would adopt European habits and customs much more readily than the Indians. Though there are many circumstances which widely distinguish the Esquimaux from their Indian neighbours, they might all, possibly, be traced to the necessity of associating in numbers for the capture of the whale, and of laying up large hoards of blubber for winter consumption. Thus have they been induced to build villages for their common residence, and from thence have originated those social habits which are incompatible with the wandering and precarious life of an Indian hunter. It would lead, however, to too long a digression, were I to enter into details on this subject, and I resume, therefore, the narrative of the voyage.[7] In the course of the morning we came to several other encampments, one of them consisting of nine tents; and each party no sooner learnt who we were, than they embarked bag and baggage and followed us. Some of the new comers were shy, and kept aloof, but in general they were too forward. Emboldened by their increase of numbers, they gradually became more daring, and running their kaiyacks alongside, laid hold of the boat's gunwale, and attempted to steal any thing within their reach. To lessen their opportunities of annoying us, I was obliged to keep the crews constantly rowing, for when we attempted to rest, three or four fellows would instantly seize the opportunity of lifting the blades of the oars and pushing their kaiyacks alongside, whilst others would cling on by the bows and quarters, nor could they be dislodged without much trouble. They manifested great cunning and dexterity in their pilfering attempts, and frequently acted in concert. Thus, one fellow would lay hold of the boat with both his hands; and while the coxswain and I were disengaging them, his comrade on the other side would make the best use of his time in transferring some of our property into his canoe, with all the coolness of a practised thief. The smaller things being, however, put as well out of the way as possible, and a strict look-out kept, they were, in almost every instance, detected; and they restored, with the most perfect good humour, every article they had taken, as soon as it was demanded, often laughing heartily at their own want of address. They succeeded only in purloining a bag of ball, and a powder-horn, as the theft was not perceived at the time. I was unwilling to check this conduct by a display of arms, because I was desirous of gaining the natives by kindness and forbearance, the more especially, as our ignorance of the state of the ice rendered it doubtful, whether we might not be under the necessity of encamping, for some time, in their neighbourhood. Had we resented their pilfering attempts too hastily, we should have appeared the aggressors, for they expressed great good-will towards us, readily answered such questions as we were able to put to them about the course of the river, pointed out to us the deepest channels, invited us to go ashore to cook our breakfast, and even offered to provide us with wives, if we would pass the night at their tents. For very obvious reasons we declined all their invitations; but our crews being fatigued with continual rowing, and faint from want of food, we halted at one P.M., by the side of a steep bank, and breakfasted in the boats, insisting on the Esquimaux keeping aloof whilst we were so engaged. In the afternoon we had to search for a passage amongst islands, there being no longer water enough near the main shore to float our boats. The Esquimaux undertook to guide us, but whether through accident or design, they led us, on one occasion, into a shallow channel, where we grounded on a sand-bank, over which there was a strong current setting; and we had not only much difficulty in getting afloat, but had to pull, for an hour, against the stream, to regain the passage we had left. Soon after this, one of the natives made a forcible attempt to come into the Dolphin, under the pretext of bartering two large knives which he held in his hand; and the dexterity with which he leaped from his kaiyack was remarkable. There were three other kaiyacks betwixt him and our boats, which, on his giving the signal, were, by their owners laying their broad paddles across, instantly converted into a platform, over which he ran with velocity and sprang upon the stern seat of the Dolphin, but he was immediately tumbled out again. Judging from the boldness of this fellow's behaviour, and the general tenour of the conduct of the natives, that sooner or later they might be tempted to make an attack upon us, I adopted, as a measure of precaution, the plan of purchasing their bows, which are their most powerful weapons. They were at first unwilling to part with them; but finding that we would take nothing else in exchange for the articles we had to dispose of, they ultimately let us have a good number. The Esquimaux bows are formed of spruce-fir, strengthened on the back by cords made of the sinews of the rein-deer, and would have been prized, even beyond their favourite yew, by the archers of Sherwood. They are far superior to the bows of the Indians, and are fully capable of burying "the goose-wing of a cloth-yard shaft" in the heart of a deer. Several of the young men tried the speed of their kaiyacks against our boats, and seemed to delight in showing us how much their little vessels excelled ours in velocity. Towards evening the women's oomiaks had all gone ahead, and we were given to understand that they were about to encamp for the night. Thinking that they would choose the best route, we followed them into a channel, which proved too shallow; and when we put about to try another, the natives became more urgent than ever that we should land and encamp along with them. Just as we were about to enter a passage which the Esquimaux, doubtless, knew was deep enough, and led by the shortest route to the sea, the Union grounded upon a bank, about half a bow-shot from the shore. Seven or eight of the natives instantly jumped out of their kaiyacks, and laying hold of the boat's bow and steering-sweep, attempted to drag her ashore. They were speedily joined by others, who hurried from the beach with knives in their hands; and Mr. Kendall seeing that he would almost immediately be surrounded by a force too great to permit his men to act, called to me that he should be obliged to fire. Fully aware of the necessity of prompt measures, I answered that he was at liberty to fire if necessary. Upon which, snatching up his fowling-piece, he presented it at three of the most daring who had hold of the sweep-oar, and his crew who were now in the water endeavouring to shove the boat off, and struggling with the natives, jumped on board and seized their muskets. The crew of the Dolphin likewise displayed their arms and stood ready, but I ordered that no individual should fire until called upon by name. They were, however, the instant that a shot was fired from the Union, to lay the Dolphin aground alongside of her, that thus we might present only two assailable sides to the enemy. Happily there was no occasion to fire at all; the contests of the Esquimaux with the Indians had taught them to dread fire-arms, and on the sudden sight of every man armed with a musket, they fled to the shore. Until that moment we had kept our guns carefully concealed in the arm-chest, to prevent any of the natives from snatching them away and disarming us, and also that they might not deem our intentions to be other than pacific. I do not believe that the natives had matured a plan of attack, but the stranding of a boat on their own shore was too great a temptation to be resisted. Some individuals had previously shown unequivocal signs of good feeling towards us, such as bringing back the Union's sweep-oar, which had slipped from the coxswain's hands; and also in pointing out the channel we afterwards pursued to the sea, as preferable to the one which the oomiaks had taken. Even the better-disposed, however, would, doubtless, have joined the others, had they began to plunder with success; for they told us in the forenoon that there was no one of their horde acknowledged as a chief. It is probable that the Esquimaux were doubtful as to the sex of some of our party, until they saw them prepare for battle. None but women row in their oomiaks, and they had asked Ooligbuck if all the white women had beards. The crews on this occasion behaved with a coolness and resolution worthy of the utmost praise, executing without the slightest confusion the orders they received. Mr. Kendall acted with his usual judgment; and his prudence and humanity, in refraining from firing, merit the highest encomiums. The Union being speedily set afloat by her crew, we pulled together through a wide channel, three feet deep. The spot where this transaction took place has been named Point Encounter, and is in latitude 69 degrees 16 minutes N., and longitude 136 degrees 20 minutes W. The Esquimaux seemed to hold a consultation on the beach after we left them; but, as none attempted to follow us immediately, we enjoyed the respite from their forwardness and clamour, which had become very harrassing, particularly to Mr. Kendall and myself, who had other duties to attend to. He had full occupation in surveying and delineating the route; and as the Dolphin led the way through a shoal and intricate navigation, it was requisite that I should keep the sounding-lead constantly going, and be on the watch for any change in the appearance of the current which might indicate shoal water, the smallness of our crews preventing me from appointing any man to that service. In about an hour after leaving Point Encounter, we observed ten kaiyacks coming towards us from a cluster of islands; they soon overtook us, but kept at a reasonable distance, and no longer gave us any trouble by coming alongside. We wished to show that we had no desire to hurt them, notwithstanding their past conduct, and, therefore, began again to trade with them; yet we were naturally anxious that they should leave us before we encamped, because, from the fleetness of their kaiyacks, they could soon collect a great number of their countrymen, and give us much annoyance in the night. Our wishes were seconded by a fresh breeze of wind springing up and enabling us to set the sails, by which the crews enjoyed a rest, after fourteen hours' labour at the oars; and the Esquimaux had greater difficulty in keeping up with the increased velocity of our boats. Thinking that they would quit us as soon as they lost the hope of getting more goods, I desired Ooligbuck to tell them I would trade no more, and they accordingly, one by one, dropped behind and left us. Three followed us longer than the others, and as they were not of the party which attacked the Union, and had hitherto received nothing from us, I made each of them a small present of beads and fire-steels, when they also took leave, calling out "_teymah, peechaw-ooloo_," "friendship is good." We learned in the course of the day, from the natives, that they call themselves _Kitte-garroe-oot_, (inhabitants of the land near the mountains,) and that they were now on their way to a place favourable for the capture of white whales, as in the sea, which they said was many days' march distant, there was too much ice to take the black whales at this season. It also appeared that they annually ascend to the Narrows of Mackenzie River, for the purpose of trading with the Quarrellers, and were accustomed to spend their summers in a large lake of brackish water, (Esquimaux Lake,) lying to the eastward, where they occasionally meet parties of Loucheux. They informed us that the land to the eastward of Encounter Point is a collection of islands, and that there were many of their countrymen fishing in the rivers which separate them. They had heard of the Esquimaux at the mouth of the Coppermine River, and knew them by their name of _Naggoe-ook-tor-moe-oot_, (or Deer-horns,) but said they were very far off, and that they had no intercourse with them; adding, that all the inhabitants of the coast to the eastward were bad people. They knew white people by the name of _Kabloonacht_, and Indians by that of _Eitkallig_, the same appellations that are used by the Esquimaux of Hudson's Bay; but their name for the black whale was different from that given to it by Ooligbuck; and they also gave names to some of their utensils which he had never heard before. Ooligbuck was not of much use as an interpreter, in our intercourse with these people, for he spoke no English; but his presence answered the important purpose of showing that the white people were on terms of friendship with the distant tribes of Esquimaux. As a boatman he was of the greatest service, being strongly attached to us, possessing an excellent temper, and labouring cheerfully at his oar. We could not ascertain the numbers of Esquimaux we saw in the course of the day, because they were always coming and going, but we passed at least thirty tents, and had reason to believe that on some of the islands there were tents which we did not see. Four grown people is, perhaps the average number of the inhabitants of each tent. A short time before the attack on the Union, I counted forty kaiyacks round the two boats. The wind freshened, and the night began to look stormy, as we stood across a wide sound which was open from the N.W. to the N.E., and had a depth of water varying from three to seven feet. White whales were seen; and some of the crew thought the water tasted brackish. About nine P.M. a drizzling rain came on, attended with very dark weather, which induced us to make for a round islet, with a view of encamping, and securing the boats for the night; it was skirted by shoals that prevented us from landing, and we therefore anchored the boats by poles stuck in the mud, raised the coverings of the cargo on masts and oars, so as to turn off the rain; and after eating our supper and setting a watch, we endeavoured to get some repose by lying down in our clothes, wet as they were. We had scarcely laid down, however, before the wind changed and began to blow with violence directly on the shore, so as to render it necessary for us to shift our situation without delay. An attempt was made to row the boats round to the other side of the islet, but they drifted upon the shoals in spite of the exertions of the crew, and began to strike violently. [Sidenote: Saturday, 8th.] In this perilous situation we perceived some smooth water to leeward, upon which setting the foresails, the boats were pushed over a sandy bar into two fathoms water. We then stood towards the eastern shore, and keeping in deep water, entered a small inlet, which received the name of Refuge Cove; where having made fast the boats to the beach, pitched a tent on the shore, and set a watch, we attempted a second time to obtain some rest. We were not, however, destined to enjoy much repose that night, for we had scarcely overcome the chilliness occasioned by lying down in wet clothes, when the Union broke from her moorings in a violent gust of wind, and began to drive across the inlet towards the lee-shore, on which there was a considerable surf. Mr. Kendall and one of the crew, who were sleeping on board, to be ready in case of accident, lowered the covering with the utmost expedition, and taking the oars, kept her from driving far, until the rest of the party arrived to their assistance in the Dolphin. The boats were brought to the beach and secured, and we had again retired to rest, when the tent-pegs, although loaded with drift timber, were drawn up by the force of the wind, and the tent, drenched with rain, fell upon us. It was in vain to attempt to sleep after this, benumbed as we were by the coldness of the weather; but the rain ceasing about four in the morning of the 8th, we were enabled to make a good fire, and dry our clothes. The cargo of the boats was then landed, the wet packages spread out to dry, and the boats were drawn upon the beach so as to form, with the baggage, a three-sided breast-work, to which we could retreat, should the Esquimaux pay us a hostile visit. These arrangements being made, the tent was removed to a more sheltered spot, and we slept quietly until ten o'clock in the morning. In the night an accident happened to Mr. Kendall, which might have had fatal consequences, and alarmed us at the time exceedingly. The point of a small two-edged knife which he wore in a sheath slung from his neck, was, by his falling against one of the tent-poles, forced through the sheath into his side, exactly in the region of the heart. Through the mercy of Providence, its progress was arrested by one of the ribs, and the wound healed in the course of a few days. At noon a meridian observation was obtained, which placed the mouth of Refuge Cove in latitude 69 degrees 29 minutes N.; and the sun's bearing showed the variation of the magnetic needle to be 49-1/2 degrees easterly. The length of our voyage the preceding day was fifty-seven miles. Refuge Cove has an irregular form; its length is about two miles and a half, and its greatest width one mile. It is upwards of two fathoms deep at the entrance, and for some distance within; but a bar runs from Shoal Islet to its north side. Its shores are flat and sandy, but here and there hummocks rise abruptly to the height of one hundred feet, resembling the downs on the Norfolk coast. The sandy hummocks are bound together by the creeping fibrous roots of a species of grass, named _Elymus mollis_; and many of them are covered by a coat of black vegetable mould. Ruins of Esquimaux houses, that appeared to have been deserted for many years, were scattered along the borders of the cove, and much drift-timber lay on the low grounds. We saw some ducks and geese, and two of the crew went to hunt round the harbour for deer, but they had no success. The wind having moderated in the evening, we prepared to resume the voyage, and had begun to load the boats, when I thought I saw a _kaiyack_ paddle across the mouth of the cove. It was followed by many others, that were in succession lost behind the point, with the exception of one which seemed to return and look into the inlet. I concluded that the natives were in search of us; and, as it was desirable to have all the cargo on board when they arrived, the utmost despatch was used in loading the boats. Before this operation was completed, Mr. Kendall, on attentively examining one of the objects with his telescope, suggested that it was not a kaiyack; and accompanying me to a sandy eminence nearer the entrance of the cove, we ascertained that the whole was an optical deception, caused by the haze of an easterly wind magnifying the stumps of drift wood, over which the surf was rolling. The imagination, no doubt, assisted in completing the resemblance, but the deception, for a few minutes, was perfect. We quitted Refuge Cove at nine o'clock in the evening, and rounding Shoal Islet, steered to the northward along the coast. The circuit of Shoal Islet was made because there was too little water to float our boats over the bar, which we had crossed the preceding evening. The temperature of the air on leaving the cove, was 36 degrees, but it fell at midnight to 32 degrees; and the night proved fine. When resting on our oars, the boats were drifted to the westward, by a current which we ascertained, by subsequent observations, to be the flood tide. [Sidenote: Sunday, 9th.] After pulling along the coast for some time, the ice-blink appeared in the horizon, and about one o'clock in the morning on the 9th, we could perceive a stream of ice lying at the distance of eight or nine miles from the shore, and inclosing several small icebergs. At four o'clock, a northerly breeze springing up, brought a quantity of loose ice down upon us, and we made for the shore. This part of the coast is skirted to the distance of two miles by flat sands, on which there is not more than a foot or eighteen inches of water. The depth of water gradually increases to four fathoms, which it attains at the distance of six or seven miles from the shore, and the heavy ice we saw outside, showed that the depth there was considerable. Esquimaux winter-huts occur frequently on the coast, and the rows of drift-trees planted in the sand with the roots uppermost, in their vicinity, assume very curious forms, when seen through a hazy atmosphere. They frequently resembled a crowd of people, and sometimes we fancied they were not unlike the spires of a town just appearing above the horizon. We learnt by experience that the shore was more approachable at the points on which the Esquimaux had built, and we effected a landing at one of those places, when, having discharged the cargoes, we hauled the boats up, and pitched the tents. The water at our landing-place was fresh, but too hard to make tea; and at four or five miles from the shore, it was disagreeable to drink. Out of respect to Captain Toker of the Royal Navy, under whom I had once the honour to serve, his name was given to this Point. Mr. Kendall ascertained its latitude to be 69 degrees 38 minutes N.; its longitude by reckoning, 132 degrees 18 minutes W.; and the variation of the magnetic needle 50-1/2 degrees easterly. The distance rowed from Refuge Cove was about twelve miles. A tide pole was erected, by which it appeared that the ebb ran from four o'clock, the time at which we landed, until ten in the morning, producing a fall of eighteen inches; but the afternoon tide did not rise so high, and at 10h. 50 minutes P.M. it was low water again, the wind blowing fresh from the northward all the time. The vicinity of Point Toker, like the rest of the lands to the eastward of Point Encounter, consists of level sands, inclosing pieces of water which communicate with the estuary of the river, and interspersed with detached conical hills rising from one to two hundred feet above the general level. These hills are sometimes escarped by the action of the water, and are then seen to consist of sand of various colours, in which very large logs of drift-timber are imbedded. They are covered by a coat of black vegetable earth, from six inches to a foot in thickness, which shows that they cannot be of very recent formation, though at some distant period they may have been formed by the drifting of moveable sands. At present, the highest floods reach only to the foot of the hills, where they deposit a thick layer of drift-timber. One straight log of spruce fir, thirty feet long, was seven feet in circumference at the small end, and twelve a short distance above the root. The branches and bark are almost always rubbed off from the drift-timber which reaches the sea, but a few of the main divisions of the root are generally left. Various instruments tied up in bundles were suspended to poles near some of the Esquimaux houses, such as spear-heads and ice chisels made from the tooth of the narwhal, and spoons of musk-ox horn. The marine animals that frequent this part of the coast, according to the information we obtained from the Esquimaux, are, the white whale, the narwhal, large and small seals, (_oggoe-ook_ and _nat-choe-ook_,) and a species of black whale, named _aggee-woerk_. There are also many sea-fish, of which the capeline (_ang-mag-goe-ook_,) that abound on the shoals at this season, are most easily caught. The natives are unacquainted with sea-horses. Swans, Canada and white geese, and Arctic ducks, are numerous, and we killed several. Ooligbuck likewise killed a rein-deer, which afforded us an agreeable change of diet. In the evening, having assembled in one of the tents, prayers were read, a practice to which we adhered on every Sunday evening during the voyage. At 10h. 45m. P.M., I lighted a piece of touchwood with a convex lens, an inch in diameter, the altitude of the sun being then 3 degrees 6 minutes. It is seldom that the sun in warmer climates affords so much heat at so low an altitude. [Sidenote: Monday, 10th.] The ice opening a little, we resumed the voyage at five o'clock in the morning of the 10th, but had not rowed above five miles, when our further progress was impeded by a ridge of grounded-ice, extending apparently far out to sea. We landed to obtain a view from a height, and took advantage of the opportunity to prepare breakfast. Whilst thus engaged, we discovered, on the opposite side of a bay which we had just crossed, two of the natives couched upon the sand, and evidently watching us; but before we had concluded our meal, they went off. On re-embarking, we went round the ice which was aground on extensive sandy spits, and then pulled in for the shore; but a fresh breeze of wind created such a swell, that we did not advance above three miles in two hours. Deeming it unadvisable to fatigue the crews, while the progress was so small, we pulled into a sandy bay, and made the boats fast to one of many large pieces of ice which were stranded on the beach, having gained since setting out in the morning, eight miles. Just as we made for the shore, we observed three Esquimaux regarding us from an eminence, and two others soon afterwards joined them: the latter being, as we discovered from the direction of their path over the sands, the two we had seen at breakfast-time. They retired as we drew near the beach, and on reconnoitring the neighbourhood, we discovered three skin-tents, whose owners were running off with their effects in great alarm. As we had experienced how troublesome the natives were, when relieved from their fears, we did not seek an interview at this time; and to guard against accidents from parties of them way-laying our men, I determined that, while we remained in this anchorage, the crews should land only to cook their provisions and then be accompanied either by Mr. Kendall or myself. The water at our anchorage was decidedly brackish, the beach was strewed with _sertulariæ_ and other marine productions, and several white whales were seen in the offing; all which circumstances being considered as decided evidences of our having reached the mouth of the river, that event was celebrated by issuing to each of the men a glass of grog, which had been reserved for the occasion. FOOTNOTES: [4] As the reader may desire to know what hieroglyphics were used to express our intentions, a copy of the letter is annexed. [Illustration] [5] Robertson's _History of America_. [6] _Harmon's Journal_, p. 288. [7] The Esquimaux method of settling disputes, which we learned from Augustus, deserves to be mentioned, not only as being very different from the sullen conduct of an affronted Indian, but from its coincidence with the practice of a people widely separated from them--the native inhabitants of Sydney, in New South Wales. Mr. Cunningham, in his entertaining work on New South Wales, says, "The common practice of fighting amongst the natives is still with the _waddie_, each alternately stooping the head to receive the other's blows, until one tumbles down, it being considered cowardly to evade a stroke." The Esquimaux use the fist instead of the waddie, in these singular duels, but there is no other difference betwixt their practice and that of the New South Wales' people. Another coincidence betwixt the Esquimaux and the inhabitants of Australasia, is the use of the throwing stick for discharging their spears. CONTINUATION OF THE PROCEEDINGS OF THE EASTERN DETACHMENT. CHAPTER II. Detention by wind--Visited by Esquimaux--Cross a large Stream of fresh Water--Winter Houses on Atkinson Island--Gale of Wind, and Fog--Run into Browell Cove--Double Cape Dalhousie--Liverpool Bay and Esquimaux Lake--Icy Cliffs--Meet another Party of Esquimaux--Cape Bathurst. [Sidenote: Tuesday, 11th.] The wind blew so strongly during the 11th, that we remained in our mooring-place, landing occasionally to take a little exercise on the beach; and as it continued to freshen from the north-east in the evening, most of the ice in the offing had drifted out of sight, while a great reduction took place at the same time in the number and size of the pieces of stranded ice. One of them which had grounded about a mile outside of us, and rose fifteen feet above the water, fell over and floated away with the ebb tide. Mr. Kendall obtained a meridian observation for latitude, and afterwards took several sets of lunar distances, whose results placed our anchorage in latitude 69 degrees 42-1/2 minutes N., and longitude 131 degrees 58 minutes W. In the afternoon two Esquimaux were seen walking fast over a hill, and often stopping and looking anxiously around them. About midnight two black foxes carried off the scraps of meat that had been left at our cooking-place, and buried them carefully in the sand above high-water mark. We observed that they dug separate hiding-places for each piece, and that they were careful to carry the largest bits farthest from the sea. The time spent inactively at the anchorage was so irksome, that even the movements of these animals were a subject of much interest to us, and we felt great regret when they were scared away by the talking of the men in the boats. [Sidenote: Wednesday, 12th.] No material alteration took place in the weather on the 12th. The temperature was 45 degrees; but from the force of the wind, and our confinement in the boats, we felt cold. In the evening two elderly Esquimaux came to us in their kaiyacks, shouting as they approached the boats, and paddling boldly alongside. They told us that they were the same two whom we had seen in the morning of the 10th watching us while at breakfast, though they had first discovered us on the 9th, and had seen Ooligbuck kill the deer, which had alarmed them greatly; they had since been to inquire about us from the party at Point Encounter, and having learnt that we were well-disposed, they had come to open a communication. In allusion, I suppose, to the attempt on the Union, they often said that the Esquimaux at the river's mouth were bad people, but that they themselves were good-hearted men; and they struck their breasts forcibly with their hands, to give energy to their assurances. They told us that a large party of their countrymen, who were at present fishing at the mouth of a river to the eastward, would soon move in this direction to kill white whales. Eetkoo-yak, the principal spokesman, invited us to go to his tents, where he said, the women would be glad to receive us; and added, that next day he would bring four of his countrymen to visit us. We made them a handsome present of iron-work; and having paid, with beads, for some dried fish, sent them away highly contented. [Sidenote: Thursday, 13th.] At seven o'clock in the morning of the 13th, nine Esquimaux came to us, amongst whom were our two acquaintances of yesterday. Some of the young men inquired when we were going away, and seemed to be anxious that we should depart; but our friend Eetkoo-yak gave us a pressing invitation to his tents, and wished to embark in the boats to conduct us thither. We declined his proposal, and the wind having moderated, we unmoored the boats, and rowed along the coast. The natives followed us, and soon afterwards four women and two boys came off in an oomiak, and exchanged some boots, pieces of leather, deer's meat, and fish for beads. The point on which their tents were pitched was named Point Warren after my friend Captain Samuel Warren, R.N. As we continued our course the oomiak returned to the shore, and the men also left us soon afterwards, apparently pleased with our departure; for the knowledge of the effect of our muskets seemed to have impressed them with some dread. They were tattooed across the cheeks. The tribes to the westward of the Mackenzie are described by Captain Franklin, (p. 111,) as following a different fashion in the application of this ornament. We coasted this day a flat shore, with dry sands running off to the distance of two or three miles, and we passed within several shoals, on which some heavy ice had grounded. Only a few small streams of ice were seen, although the ice-blink was visible the whole day. Soon after rounding Point Warren, we crossed the mouth of a large river, the water being muddy and fresh for a breadth of three miles, and the sounding lead was let down to the depth of five fathoms, without striking the bottom. This river is, perhaps, a branch of the Mackenzie, and falls into a bay, on which I have bestowed the name of my esteemed friend Copland Hutchinson, Esq. Surgeon Extraordinary to His Royal Highness the Duke of Clarence. On its east side there is an island, which was named after Captain Charles Phillips, R.N. to whom the nautical world is indebted for the double-capstan, and many other important inventions. At five o'clock in the afternoon, rainy weather setting in, we made for a small island, and mooring the boats as near the beach as we could, covered them up, and landed to prepare supper. The length of the day's voyage was twenty-eight miles and a half. Mr. Kendall named the island in honour of Mr. Atkinson, of Berry-House; it is situated in latitude 69 degrees 55 minutes N., longitude 130 degrees 43 minutes W., and is separated from a flat, and occasionally inundated shore, by a narrow creek. It is bounded towards the sea by a bulwark of sand-hills, drifted by the wind to the height of 30 feet. Under their shelter 17 winter-houses have been erected by the natives besides a large building which from its structure, seemed to be intended for a place of assembly for the tribe. Ooligbuck thought it was a general eating-room, but he was not certain, as his tribe erect no such buildings. I annex a section and ground plan of one of the largest of the dwelling-houses. The centre (A) is a square of ten feet, having a level flooring, with a post at each corner (D,D) to support the ridge-poles,[8] on which the roof rests. The recesses (B) are intended for sleeping-places. Their floors have a gentle inclination inwards, and are raised a foot above the central flooring. Their back walls are a foot high, and incline outwards like the back of a chair. The ridge-poles are six feet above the floor, the roof being flat in the centre, and sloping over the recesses. The inside of the building is lined with split-wood, and the outside is strongly but roughly built of logs, the whole being covered with earth. An inclined platform (C) forms the ascent to the door, which is in the middle of one of the recesses, and is four feet high; and the threshold, being on a level with the central flooring, is raised three feet above the surrounding ground, to guard against inundations. There is a square hole in the roof, near the door, intended for ventilation, or for an occasional entrance. As we observed no fire-places in these dwellings, it is probable that they are heated, and the cookery performed in the winter, with lamps. Some of the houses were built front to front, with a very narrow passage between them leading to the doors, which were opposite to each other. This passage must form a snug porch in the winter when it is covered with slabs of frozen snow, and one end stopped up. Some of the larger houses which stood single, had log-porches to shelter their doors; and near each house there was a square or oblong pit, four feet beneath the surface of the ground, lined and covered with drift timber, which was evidently intended for a store-house. [Illustration] The large building for an assembly-room was, in the interior, a square of 27 feet, having the log-roof supported on two strong ridge poles, two feet apart, and resting on four upright posts. The floor in the centre, formed of split logs, dressed and laid with great care, was surrounded by a raised border about three feet wide, which was, no doubt, meant for seats. The walls, three feet high, were inclined outwards, for the convenience of leaning the back against them, and the ascent to the door, which was on the south side was formed of logs. The outside, covered with earth, had nearly a hemispherical form, and round its base there were ranged the skulls of 21 whales. There was a square hole in the roof, and the central log of the floor had a basin-shaped cavity, one foot in diameter, which was, perhaps, intended for a lamp. The general attention to comfort in the construction of the village, and the erection of a building of such magnitude, requiring a union of purpose in a considerable number of people, are evidences of no small progress towards civilization. Whale skulls were confined to the large building, and to one of the dwelling-houses, which had 3 or 4 placed round it. Many wooden trays, and hand-barrows for carrying whale blubber, were lying on the ground, most of them in a state of decay. Myriads of musquitoes, which reposed among the grass, rose in clouds when disturbed, and gave us much annoyance. Many snow birds were hatching on the Point, and we saw swans, Canada geese, eider, king, arctic, and surf ducks; several glaucous, silvery, black-headed, and ivory gulls, together with terns and northern divers. Some laughing geese passed to the northward in the evening, which may be considered as a sure indication of land in that direction. The sea-water at Atkinson Island being quite salt, and the ponds on the shore brackish, we had recourse to the ice that lay aground for a supply of fresh water. Strong gales of wind, with heavy rain, continued all night. [Sidenote: Friday, 14th.] The rain ceasing at four o'clock in the morning of the 14th, we embarked, and pulled along a sandy bar which projected five or six miles from Atkinson Island, and was covered by masses of ice. We had not left the beach above an hour, when a thick fog hid the land from our view, and a noise of breakers being at the same time heard, we deemed it prudent to moor the boats to a piece of grounded ice, and wait for clear weather. After a time, the fog dispersing partially, we made sail before a fresh breeze towards the most easterly point of land in sight, but we had not advanced above five or six miles before the looming of the shore on the larboard bow made it necessary to haul to the wind; and the fog becoming as dense as ever, we ran aground on some flats, where the surf nearly filled the boats. On lowering the sails, deeper water was attained, but the wind began to blow hard directly upon the shore, and we could not discover a landing-place, nor did we even know our distance from the beach. In this dilemma we saw a long line of floating sea-weed, and Ooligbuck suggesting that it came from the mouth of a river, we followed its direction, and, with the aid of the sounding lead, groped our way betwixt two shoals into a well sheltered inlet. Here there was a good landing-place, and we deemed ourselves peculiarly fortunate in reaching so snug a harbour, for the fog continued all day, and the wind increased to a heavy gale. The inlet was named Browell Cove, in honour of the Lieutenant-Governor of the Royal Hospital at Greenwich, and the bay to the westward of it, M'Kinley Bay, out of respect to Captain George M'Kinley, of the Naval Asylum. The latitude of the mouth of Browell Cove is 70 degrees N., and the longitude 130 degrees 19 minutes W. We did not ascertain its extent, but as its water is brackish, it probably communicates with Esquimaux Lake, which, according to Indian report, lies behind the islands that form this part of the coast. Several large basins of salt water communicate with the cove. Some herds of deer were seen, but too many hunters going in pursuit of them they were frightened away. The temperature throughout the day was 42 degrees. I observed forty species of plants in flower here, of which nearly one-third were grasses and carices. The Thrift common on the sandy parts of the British coast is a frequent ornament of Browell Cove; and seven or eight of the other plants seen there, are natives of the Scottish hills. Two dwarf species of willows were the only shrubs. [Sidenote: Saturday, 15th.] The fog clearing away, and the wind moderating, we embarked about three in the morning of the 15th; and steering along the coast, came to a group of low sandy islands, that were separated by wide but very shallow channels, and skirted, to the distance of five or six miles, by sand-banks, which were nearly dry at low water. In rounding these banks our soundings varied from two feet to two fathoms, and we were occasionally led almost out of sight of the land. During the whole day we saw much ice to seaward, and in some places it was so closely packed as to render it doubtful whether a ship would have been able to make way through it. The line of deep water was marked by large masses of ice lying aground, and was about ten miles from the shore. As we could not reach the beach, we disembarked upon a piece of ice at noon, and cutting up a spare seat for fire-wood, proceeded to cook our breakfast, and make observations for latitude and magnetic variation. After rounding the shoals, we made a traverse of ten miles across an inlet, where the water ran out with a strong current; and, though five fathoms deep, it was nearly fresh. This I supposed to be another communication betwixt Esquimaux Lake and the sea, and named it Russel Inlet, after the distinguished Professor of Clinical Surgery in the University of Edinburgh. The land on its western side was called Cape Brown, out of respect to the eminent botanist, whose scientific researches reflect so much credit on British talent; and that to the eastward of the inlet received the name of Dalhousie, in honour of His Excellency the Governor-in-Chief of the Canadas. Cape Dalhousie consists of a number of high, sandy islands, resembling those seen from Sacred Island, in the mouth of the Mackenzie. We entered some deep inlets amongst them, in search of a landing-place, but the beach was every where too flat. At length, after dragging the boats through the mud for a considerable way, and carrying the cargoes for a quarter of a mile over a flat sand, we reached the shore, and pitched the tents. The island on which we encamped was similar to the others, being from one hundred to one hundred and fifty feet high above the water, and bounded on all sides by steep, sandy cliffs, which were skirted by flat sands. From the summit of the island we had the unpleasant view of a sea covered with floating ice, as far as the eye could reach to the eastward. Temperature during the greater part of the day 55 degrees; at nine P.M. 52 degrees. Wind easterly. The length of this day's voyage was thirty miles and a half; the latitude of the encampment 70 degrees 12 minutes, and longitude 129 degrees 21 minutes W. [Sidenote: Sunday, 16th.] On the 16th the boats were afloat, and loaded by seven in the morning, when we pulled round Cape Dalhousie, and found the land trending as we wished to the south-east. Since reaching the sea, the coast had gradually inclined to the northward, which with the increased quantity of ice seen on the two or three last days, led us to fear that a cape might exist, extending so far to the northward, as to prevent us from reaching the Coppermine River within the period to which our voyage was limited. It was, therefore, with peculiar satisfaction, that, on putting ashore to cook breakfast, we saw distant land to the S.E., apparently of greater height than that which we had recently coasted; and we now flattered ourselves that we were about to leave behind us the low coasts and shoals, which render the boat navigation across the mouths of the Mackenzie and Esquimaux Lake so perplexing and hazardous. Many deer were seen at our breakfasting-place, and the musquitoes annoyed them so much that there would have been no difficulty in approaching them, if we could have spared time to send out the hunters. Having obtained an observation for latitude, we directed our course to a projecting point across an inlet, with no land visible towards its bottom. The soundings in the middle of the opening exceeded nine fathoms; the water became less salt as we advanced, and at last could only be termed brackish. The point proved to be an Island sixteen miles distant from our breakfasting-place; and as we approached it, we had the mortification to perceive a coast seven or eight miles beyond it, apparently continuous, and trending away to the north-north-west. The island was named Nicholson Island, as a mark of my esteem for William Nicholson, Esq., of Rochester. It is bounded by high cliffs of sand and mud, and rises in the interior to the height of four hundred feet above the sea. The cliffs were thawed to the depth of three feet, but frozen underneath, and the water issuing from the thawing ground caused the mud to boil out and flow down the banks. There were many small lakes on the island, and a tolerably good vegetation. Amongst other plants I gathered here a very beautiful American cowslip, (_dodecatheon_,) which grew in the moist valleys. From the summit of the island a piece of water, resembling a large river, and bearing south, was seen winding through a country pleasantly varied by gently swelling hills and dales, and differing so much in character from the alluvial islands we had just left, that I thought myself justified in considering it to be part of the main land. From S.W. to W.N.W. open water was seen, broken only by a few islands, that were named after Major-General Campbell, of the Royal Marines. This large sheet of water is undoubtedly the Esquimaux Lake, which, according to the natives, not only communicates with the eastern branch of the Mackenzie, but receives, besides, two large rivers; and, consequently, the whole of the land which we coasted from Point Encounter, is a collection of islands. The temperature varied this day from 38 degrees to 55 degrees. The length of the day's voyage was thirty-three miles, the latitude of our encampment 69 degrees 57 minutes, and longitude 128 degrees 18 minutes W. [Sidenote: Monday, 17th.] On the 17th a thick fog detained us until nine o'clock in the morning, when it dispersed, and we left our encampment. About two miles from Nicholson's Island the water was nine fathoms deep, and had a brackish taste; but as we continued our course to the northward, it became shoaler and salter. This added to the probability of the winding channel, which bore south, being a large river; and that opinion was further strengthened by our observing, when we landed to breakfast, the shore to be strewed with tide-wrack, resembling that which is generally found on the banks of rivers in this country, such as pieces of willows, fragments of fresh-water plants, and lumps of peat earth. We were delighted to find here a beach of sand and fine gravel, bold enough to admit of our running the boats upon it. The fresh footsteps of a party of Esquimaux were seen on the sand. After obtaining an observation for latitude, we embarked, and continued our course along the coast until we came to the extremity of a cape, which was formed by an island separated from the main by a shallow channel. The cliffs of this island were about forty feet high, and the snow which had accumulated under them in the winter, was not yet dissolved, but, owing to the infiltration and freezing of water, now formed an inclined bank of ice, nearly two-thirds of the height of the cliff. This bank, or iceberg, being undermined by the action of the waves, maintained its position only by its adhesion to the frozen cliffs behind it. In some places large masses had broken off and floated away, whilst in others the currents of melting snow floating from the flat land above, had covered the ice with a thick coating of earth; so that at first sight it appeared as if the bank had broken down; the real structure of the iceberg being perceptible only where rents existed. In a similar manner the frozen banks, or icebergs, covered with earth, mentioned by Lieutenant Kotzebue, in his voyage to Behring Straits, might have been formed. Had the whole mass of frozen snow broken off from this bank, an iceberg would have been produced thirty feet wide at its base, and covered on one side to the depth of a foot, or more, with black earth. The island was composed of sand and slaty clay, into which the thaw had not penetrated above a foot. The ravines were lined with fragments of compact white limestone, and a few dwarf-birches and willows grew on their sides. The sun's rays were very powerful this day, and the heat was oppressive, even while sitting at rest in the boat; the temperature of the air at noon being, in the shade, 62 degrees, and that of the surface water, where the soundings were three fathoms, 55 degrees. Immediately after rounding the cape, which was named after His Excellency Sir Peregrine Maitland, Lieutenant-Governor of Upper Canada, we entered a channel ten miles wide, running to the eastward, with an open horizon in that direction; and a doubt arose as to whether it was a strait, or merely a bay. Many large masses of ice were floating in it, which proved to us that it had considerable depth; but the water being only brackish, excited a suspicion that there was no passage through it. While we were hesitating whether to hazard a loss of time by exploring the opening, or to cross over at once to the northern land, several deer were seen, and the hope of procuring a supply of fresh meat, induced us to put ashore and encamp for the night, that the hunters might go in chase. The beach here was strewed with fragments of dark-red sandstone, white sandstone, white compact limestone, and a few pieces of syenite. There were many large trunks of spruce-firs lying on the sand, completely denuded of their bark and branches; and numerous exuviæ of a marine crustaceous animal (_gammarus borealis_) lay at high water mark. Our hunters were successful, Ooligbuck and M'Leay each killing a deer. Many of these animals had fled to the cool moist sands on the coast, but even there the musquitoes tormented them so much as to render them regardless of the approach of the hunters. The latitude of our encampment was 70 degrees 7 minutes, longitude 127 degrees 45 minutes; and the length of the day's voyage twenty-three miles. The temperature varied from 52 degrees to 63 degrees. By watching the motion of the tide for the greater part of the night, I fully satisfied myself that the ebb set out of the opening, and that the flood came round the land on the north side; hence I concluded that there could be no passage to the eastward in this direction, and that the opening led into a bay, to which the name of Harrowby was given, in honour of the Right Honourable the Earl of Harrowby. [Sidenote: Tuesday, 18th.] Embarking on the 18th at three in the morning, we set the sails to a favourable though light breeze, and using the oars at the same time, crossed Harrowby Bay, at its mouth. During the traverse, land was seen round the bottom of the bay. On nearing the shore we distinguished twelve Esquimaux tents on an eminence; and a woman who was walking on the beach gave the alarm, but not until we were near enough to speak to her, her surprise having fixed her to the spot for a time. The men then rushed out, brandishing their knives, and, using the most threatening expressions, forbade us to land, and desired us to return by the way we came. Ooligbuck endeavoured to calm their fears, by telling them that we were friends, but they replied only by repeating their threats, and by hideous grimaces and gestures, which displayed great agility; frequently standing on one foot and throwing the other nearly as high as the head. At length on my bawling "_noowoerlawgo_," (I wish to barter,) they became quiet at once, and one of them running to his kaiyack, and paddling off to us, was followed by many of the others, even before they could witness the reception we gave him. They came boldly alongside, and exchanged their spears, arrows, bows, and some pieces of well-dressed seal-skin, for bits of old iron-hoop, files and beads. They were not so well furnished with iron-work as the Esquimaux we had seen further to the westward, and very eagerly received a supply from us. In our intercourse with them we experienced much advantage from a simple contrivance suggested by Mr. Kendall, and constructed during our halt in Refuge Cove: it was a barricade formed by raising the masts and spare oars eighteen inches above the gunwale on two crutches or davits, which not only prevented our Esquimaux visitors from stealing out of the boats, but, in the event of a quarrel, could have been rendered arrow proof by throwing the blankets or sails over it. On a light breeze springing up we set the sails, and continuing to ply the oars, advanced at the rate of four miles an hour, attended by eleven kaiyacks. Three oomiaks with the women followed us, and we found that, when rowed by two women, and steered by a third, they surpassed our boats in speed. The females, unlike those of the Indian tribes, had much handsomer features than the men; and one young woman of the party would have been deemed pretty even in Europe. Our presents seemed to render them perfectly happy, and they danced with such ecstasy in their slender boats as to incur, more than once, great hazard of being overset. A bundle of strings of beads being thrown into an oomiak, it was caught by an old woman, who hugged the treasure to her breast with the strongest expression of rapture, while another elderly dame, who had stretched out her arms in vain, became the very picture of despair. On my explaining, however that the present was for the whole, an amicable division instantly took place; and to show their gratitude, they sang a song to a pleasing air, keeping time with their oars. They gave us many pressing invitations to pass the night at their tents, in which they were joined by the men; and to excite our liberality the mothers drew their children out of their wide hoods, where they are accustomed to carry them naked, and holding them up begged beads for them. Their entreaties were, for a time, successful; but being desirous of getting clear of our visitors before breakfast-time, we at length told them that our stock was exhausted, and they took leave. These Esquimaux were as inquisitive as the others we had seen respecting our names, and were very desirous of teaching us the true pronunciation of theirs. They informed us that they had seen Indians, and had heard of white people, but had never seen any before. My giving a little deer's meat to one of them in exchange for fish, led to an inquiry as to how we killed the animal. On which Ooligbuck showed them his gun, and obtaining permission, fired it off after cautioning them not to be alarmed. The report astonished them much, and an echo from some neighbouring pieces of ice made them think that the ball had struck the shore, then upwards of a mile distant. The women had left us previously; several of the men departed the instant they heard the report; and the rest, in a short time, followed their example. They applied to the gun the same name they give to their harpoons for killing whales. We learned from these people that the shore we were now coasting was part of the main land, and that some land to the northward, which appeared soon after we had passed their tents, consisted of two islands; between which and the main shore, there was a passage leading to the open sea. On landing to cook breakfast and obtain a meridian observation for latitude, we observed the interior of the country to be similar to that seen from Nicholson's Island. The soil was in some spots sandy, but, generally, it consisted of a tenacious clay which cracks in the sun. The air was perfumed by numerous tufts of a beautiful phlox, and of a still handsomer and very fragrant cruciform flower, of a genus hitherto undescribed. On re-embarking we pulled about eight miles farther betwixt the islands and the main, and found a narrow opening to the sea nearly barred up. The bottom was so soft and muddy that the poles sunk deep into it, and we could not carry the cargo ashore to lighten the boats. We succeeded, however, in getting through, after much labour, and the moment we crossed the bar, the water was greenish, and perfectly salt. The cape forming the eastern point of this entrance lies in latitude 70 degrees 36 minutes N., longitude 127 degrees 35 minutes W. and proved to be the most northerly part of the main shore which we saw during the voyage. It is a few miles farther north than Return Reef of Captain Franklin, and is most probably, with the exception of the land near Icy Cape, since discovered by Captain Beechey, in the Blossom, the most northern point of the American Continent. It was called Cape Bathurst, in honour of the Right Honourable the Earl of Bathurst, and the islands lying off it were named after George Baillie, Esq., of the Colonial Office. I could not account in any other way for the comparative freshness of the sheet of water we had left, than by supposing that a sand-bank extended from Cape Dalhousie to Baillie's Islands, impeding the communication with the sea, and this notion was supported by a line of heavy ice which was seen both from Cape Bathurst and Cape Dalhousie, in the direction of the supposed bar, and apparently aground. Taking for granted that the accounts we received from the natives were (as our own observations led us to believe) correct, Esquimaux Lake is a very extensive and curious piece of water. The Indians say that it reaches to within four days' march of Fort Good Hope; and the Esquimaux informed us that it extends from Point Encounter to Cape Bathurst, thus ascribing to it an extent from north to south of more than one hundred and forty miles, and from east to west of one hundred and fifty. It is reported to be full of islands, to be every where brackish; and, besides its communication with the eastern branch of the Mackenzie, to receive two other large rivers. If a conjecture may be hazarded about the original formation of a lake which we had so few opportunities of examining, it seems probable that the alluvial matters brought down by the Mackenzie, and other rivers, have gradually formed a barrier of islands and shoals, which, by preventing the free access of the tide, enables the fresh water to maintain the predominance behind it. The action of the waves of the sea has a tendency to increase the height of the barrier, while the currents of the rivers and ebb-tide preserve the depth of the lake. A great formation of wood-coal will, I doubt not, be ultimately formed by the immense quantities of drift-timber annually deposited on the borders of Esquimaux Lake. FOOTNOTES: [8] The ridge-poles were omitted in the section by mistake. CONTINUATION OF THE PROCEEDINGS OF THE EASTERN DETACHMENT. CHAPTER III. Double Cape Bathurst--Whales--Bituminous-shale Cliffs on Fire--Enter Franklin Bay--Heavy Gale--Peninsula of Cape Parry--Perforated Rock--Detention at Cape Lyon by Wind--Force of an Esquimaux Arrow--Meet with heavy Ice--Pass Union and Dolphin Straits--Double Cape Krusenstern, and enter George the Fourth's Coronation Gulph--Reach the Coppermine River--Remarks--Meteorological Table. As soon as we entered the clear green water off Cape Bathurst, we perceived a strong flood tide setting against us, and saw several white whales, and some black ones of a large size, but of a species unknown to Ooligbuck.[9] The natives term them _aggeewoerk_, which is the name given, by the Esquimaux of Hudson's Bay, to the black whales that frequent the Welcome. Many large masses of ice were floating about, but they were no impediment to the boats. The beach, from the time we left Esquimaux Lake, was bold, there being two or three fathoms water close to the shore. We hailed this change of circumstances with pleasure, for the shoals and islands skirting Esquimaux Lake had embarrassed us much, and the brackishness of the water, combined with the trending of the coast to the northward, and even westward, had excited in our minds an apprehension, that we might possibly be obliged to make a great circuit in search of a passage, out of that extraordinary piece of water, and that the opening, when found, might lie so far to the northward as to be obstructed by an icy sea. Fortunately our fears were groundless; and, to increase our joy, the coast-line from Cape Bathurst appeared to run in a straight direction for Coppermine River. There were many winter-houses built by the Esquimaux on Cape Bathurst. The cliffs facing the sea were still frozen, but the water trickling down their sides showed that they were thawing rapidly. We encamped on the beach in latitude 70 degrees 32-1/2 minutes N., longitude 127 degrees 21 minutes W., having sailed that day thirty-seven miles. A plentiful supply of very fine sorrel (_oxyria reniformis_) being obtained from the banks, proved an agreeable addition to our supper. [Sidenote: Wednesday, 19th.] Embarking at four o'clock in the morning of the 19th, we rowed along the coast close to the beach, in from two to three fathoms water. We landed at noon to observe the latitude; and at four P.M. a thunder-storm coming on, induced us to encamp for the night. The day's voyage was thirty-two miles, and our encampment was situated in latitude 70 degrees 11 minutes N., longitude 126 degrees 15 minutes W., on a point which was named after Dr. Fitton, the distinguished President of the Geological Society. No land was visible to seaward, nor were any fields of ice or large floes seen, but we passed many smaller pieces and some masses, that, having stranded on the beach, were dissolving with great rapidity. A regular tide of six hours affecting the rate of our progress, an allowance was made for it in the reckoning. The coast consists of precipitous banks, similar in structure to the bituminous-shale cliffs at Whitby, in Yorkshire. They gradually increase in altitude from Cape Bathurst, and near our encampment their height exceeded two hundred and fifty feet. The shale was in a state of ignition in many places, and the hot sulphureous airs from the land were strongly contrasted with cold sea-breezes with which, in the morning, they alternated. The combustion had proceeded to a considerable extent on the point where we landed at noon. Much alum had formed, and the baked clays of yellow, brown, white, and red colours, caused the place to resemble a brick-field or a pottery. This point, which was named after Dr. Traill, of Liverpool, lies in latitude 70 degrees 19 minutes N. The interior of the country, as seen from the top of the cliffs, appeared to be nearly level, and to abound in small lakes. The soil was clayey, and from the recent thaw wet and soft. Tufts of the beautiful phlox, before mentioned, were scattered over these, otherwise unsightly wastes; and, notwithstanding the scanty vegetation, rein-deer were numerous. Some of the young ones, to whom man was doubtless a novel object, came trotting up to gratify their curiosity, and were suffered to depart unmolested. The sea here abounds in molluscæ, and many black whales were seen; also king-ducks, eiders, snow-birds, hawks, and a large moth. [Sidenote: Thursday, 20th.] We embarked at half-past two on the morning of the 20th, and ran alongshore for two hours with a strong and favourable breeze, when shoals lying off the mouth of a pretty large river, led us six or seven miles from the coast. The breeze, which was off the land, freshened considerably, and raised a short breaking sea, through which we attempted to pull towards the shore, but the boats shipped much water, and made little head-way. We, therefore, set the sails again, and, fortunately fetched under a headland, and effected a landing. The whole of the pemmican in the Union, and some of that in the Dolphin, was wet on this occasion. In the morning we had passed two Esquimaux tents, pitched on the beach, but the inmates seeming to be asleep, we did not disturb them, being unwilling to lose the fair wind by any delay. Soon after landing the weather became very foggy, and the wind increased to a heavy gale. The cliffs at our encampment consisted of slate-clay, and bituminous alum-slate, and were six hundred feet high. The river, whose mouth we passed, ran close behind them, having a course parallel to the coast for some miles before it makes its way to the sea. It was named Wilmot Horton River, in honour of the Under Secretary of State for the Colonial Department. Its breadth is about three hundred yards, and it seems, from the quantity of drift-timber that was piled on the shoals at its mouth, to flow through a wooded country. The length of this day's voyage was twenty-four miles, and the position of our encampment was in latitude 69 degrees 50 minutes N., longitude 125 degrees 55 minutes W. At high-water, which took place at a quarter past four in the afternoon, the small slip of beach on which we had encamped was almost covered, and we had to pile the baggage on the shelving cliff. A very showy species of gromwell grew near our encampment, in company with the common sea-gromwell, (_lithospermum maritimum_.) [Sidenote: Friday, 21st.] On the 21st strong winds and foggy weather, with a considerable surf on the beach, detained us until after eight o'clock in the morning, when many large masses of ice coming in, took the ground near the shore, and smoothed the water sufficiently to enable us to embark. The fog was dense to seaward and over the land, but the height of the cliffs left a space of about a mile from the beach, over which it was carried by the violence of the wind. About two miles from our late encampment, the bituminous shale was again noticed to be on fire, giving out much smoke; and as we advanced, the cliffs became less precipitous, appearing as if they had fallen down from the consumption of the combustible strata. They gradually terminated in a green and sloping bank, whose summit, about two miles from the sea, rose to the height of about six hundred feet. For the information of the general reader, I may mention that the shale takes fire in consequence of its containing a considerable quantity of sulphur in a state of such minute division, that it very readily attracts oxygen from the atmosphere, and inflames. The combustion is rendered more lively by the presence of bitumen; and the sulphuric acid, which is one of its products, unites with the alumina of the shale to form, with the addition of a small quantity of potass, the triple salt, well known by the name of alum. The moistening of the strata by the sea-spray accelerates the process. In some alum-works, where nature has not been so favourable as in the cliffs of Cape Bathurst, a deficiency of the bituminous matter requisite to keep up the proper intensity of combustion, is supplied by brush-wood, which is strewed in alternate layers with shale that has been previously much divided by long exposure to the weather, and the whole is then moistened with salt-water. A further account of these cliffs is given in page xl. of the Appendix. In the forenoon we passed the mouths of two small rivers, which were designated after Sir Henry Jardine, Bart., King's Remembrancer in the Court of Exchequer for Scotland; and Dr. Burnett, Commissioner of the Victualling Board. A meridian observation was obtained in latitude 69 degrees 38 minutes N. In the afternoon the wind blowing more on the shore, caused a tumbling sea. We sailed amongst much stranded ice, and, following the line of coast, were gradually led into a deep bay, whose east side, having a northerly direction, was formed by low land, and so much broken by numerous and extensive inlets, as to look more like a collection of islands than a part of the main land. We were now, reckoning by degrees of longitude, fully half way from Point Separation to the Coppermine River, and the coast from Cape Bathurst had been so exactly in the proper direction, as to excite high hopes of a short and prosperous voyage: it was, therefore, no pleasant sight to us to behold land running out at right angles to our course, and we were willing to believe that a passage existed betwixt it and the main. This opinion was supported by the direction of the high land, which had hitherto skirted the shore, continuing to be south-easterly, until lost to the sight at the distance of fifteen or twenty miles. We, therefore, endeavoured to find a passage, but the first opening that we came to, led into a circular basin of water, apparently land-locked, and about five miles in diameter. We halted at its entrance to cook our supper, and, during our stay, perceiving that the ebb-tide set out of it, we determined on searching for a passage elsewhere. This inlet is six fathoms deep at its entrance, and would prove an excellent harbour for a ship, only for the sand-banks, which skirt this part of the coast, and which render the passage into it too intricate for vessels having a greater draught of water than our boats. It was named Langton Harbour, after the agent for the Hudson's Bay Company at Liverpool. Leaving this harbour, and steering to the northward, we passed several inlets, into which the flood-tide set with a strong current. We could not see land towards their bottoms, but their mouths were shoal, and we felt convinced that there was no passage through them, because the flood-tide entered them from the westward. [Sidenote: Saturday, 22nd.] We, therefore, proceeded on our voyage without wasting time in examining them; and at two o'clock, on the morning of the 22nd, having come fifty-four miles, we encamped on a beach composed of small fragments of limestone, and strewed with sea-weed. This beach, which received the name of Point Stivens, separates an extensive sheet of salt-water from the sea, and is similar in character to the Chesil Beach, that connects the Isle of Portland to the shore. It varies in breadth from one hundred yards to a quarter of a mile, is several miles long, has a northern direction, and seems to have been formed by the sweep of the tide round the bay, meeting the ebb from the basins that intersects the peninsular promontory with which it is connected. There are several narrow breaches in it through which the tide flows. Anxious to discover the termination of this promontory which was leading us so much out of the direct course to the Coppermine, I went to the summit of a rising ground, about five miles distant, but the view was closed by some small hills, two or three miles off. The soil was clayey, and vegetation scanty. In taking wood to make a fire, from a large pile of drift-timber which had been collected by the Esquimaux, the nest of a snow-bird, containing four young, was discovered. The parent bird was at first scared away, but affection for its offspring at length gave it courage to approach them with food; and as it was not molested it soon became quite fearless, and fed them with the larvæ of insects, whilst the party were seated at breakfast close by the nest. At nine o'clock, A.M., we embarked again, and running before a favourable breeze, came to a point consisting of cliffs of limestone, twenty feet high, with a small island of the same kind of rock at its extremity. Many large boulders of greenstone were seen here. After ascertaining the latitude by meridian observation to be 69 degrees 42 minutes N., we continued our voyage along a bold shore, consisting of precipices of limestone, forty or fifty feet high, with three or four fathoms of water at the base. In the evening, having reached a projection which appeared to be the western pitch of the cape, we encamped in a bay near a remarkable perforated rock, having come twenty-six miles since leaving Point Stivens. In the course of the day's voyage we had to make our way through some pretty extensive streams of ice, composed of pieces which rose eight or ten feet above the water; and we saw a considerable quantity of what is termed sailing ice to seaward, being such as a ship could make her way through. I had now the gratification of naming the extensive bay we had been coasting for three days, after my friend and commanding officer; and to the several inlets on its eastern side I assigned the names of Wright, Cracroft, and Sellwood, in honour of his near relatives. A group of islands to the northward was named Booth Islands on the same account. In bestowing the name of Franklin on this remarkable bay, I paid an appropriate compliment to the officer, under whose orders and by whose arrangements the delineation of all that is known of the northern coast of the American Continent has been effected; with the exception of the parts in the vicinity of Icy Cape discovered by Captain Beechey. It would not be proper, nor is it my intention, to descant on the professional merits of my superior officer; but after having served under Captain Franklin for nearly seven years, in two successive voyages of discovery, I trust I may be allowed to say, that however high his brother officers may rate his courage and talents, either in the ordinary line of his professional duty, or in the field of discovery, the hold he acquires upon the affections of those under his command, by a continued series of the most conciliating attentions to their feelings, and an uniform and unremitting regard to their best interests, is not less conspicuous. I feel that the sentiments of my friends and companions, Captain Back and Lieutenant Kendall, are in unison with my own, when I affirm, that gratitude and attachment to our late commanding officer will animate our breasts to the latest period of our lives. After this feeble but sincere tribute of respect and regard, in which I hope I have not overstepped the proper bounds of a narrative, I hasten to resume the details of the voyage. The country in the neighbourhood of the encampment consisted entirely of limestone, mostly of the variety named dolomite, and, as is usual where that stone prevails, it was extremely barren. The cliffs and points of land present many caverns and perforated rocks, which have very strong resemblances to the windows and crypts of Gothic buildings. The common kittiwake breeds in great numbers on the rocky ledges in this quarter, and their young were already fledged. The temperature during the day was nearly stationary at 46 degrees, the wind south. The evening being very fine, the pemmican was taken out of the bags, which were scraped and dried; and our loss of provision, by the wetting it sustained in the gale of the 20th, proved to be less than we had expected. [Sidenote: Sunday, 23rd.] Embarking at four o'clock, A.M. of the 23d, we sailed with a favourable breeze for nine miles, betwixt Booth Islands and a shore presenting alternately projecting rocky shoals and narrow inlets. We then landed, and ascended a hill, about seven hundred feet high, to ascertain the direction of the coast, and had the satisfaction of finding that we had now reached the northern extremity of this remarkable promontory. It was named Cape Parry after the distinguished navigator whose skill and perseverance have created an era in the progress of northern discovery, and a letter addressed to him, containing information of our proceedings and of Captain Franklin's as far as was known to us, was deposited under a pile of stones which we erected on the summit of the hill. From this elevated situation, land was faintly seen bearing S.E. by S., about forty miles distant; and from thence round to Booth Islands there appeared an open sea, merely studded with a few streams of sailing ice, but no islands were seen in that direction. There are many well sheltered coves in the vicinity of Cape Parry and amongst Booth Islands, but the bottom is rocky, and numerous reefs render the navigation unsafe for a ship. The eastern side of Cape Parry exhibits a succession of limestone cliffs, similar to those which form its western shores; and as we continued our voyage, we passed many excavations ornamented by graceful slender pillars, and exhibiting so perfect a similarity to the pure Gothic arch, that had Nature made many such displays in the Old world, there would be but one opinion as to the origin of that style of architecture. A small island, on which we landed to cook breakfast, was named after the late Daniel Moore, Esq., of Lincoln's Inn. It was composed of a cellular limestone, containing many crystals of quartz. The whole party went in pursuit of a polar hare which was seen here, but, although it had no other shelter than the rocks, it contrived to escape from us all. In the evening we encamped on an island, which was named by Mr. Kendall after the Reverend Dr. Burrow of Epping. It is situated in latitude 69 degrees 49 minutes N., longitude 123 degrees 33 minutes W. The length of the day's voyage was thirty-one miles. Fine weather, and a temperature of 52 degrees, entailed upon us a visit from the musquitoes. The sea water here is of a light blue colour and clear, the bottom being distinctly visible in five fathoms. Pieces of ice still adhered to the cliffs. [Sidenote: Monday, 24th.] We were detained in the morning of the 24th by a thick fog, which cleared up about eight o'clock; but the moon being then in distance, we remained until noon, that Mr. Kendall might take observations for lunars and latitude. These necessary operations being completed, a short voyage of nine miles brought us to an island on which we encamped, and which obtained from us the name of Clapperton, in honour of the undaunted explorer of central Africa. In our way we passed through several streams of ice, composed of pieces of considerable size, but all evidently in a state of rapid dissolution, under a bright sun; the water flowing from their surfaces in rivulets. Many black whales, and various kinds of seals, were seen this day. We saw no black whales farther to the eastward. From Clapperton Island we had a view of a ridge of hills, which, from their direction, appeared to be a continuation of those on the west side on Franklin Bay. The island itself, like the neighbouring coast, is composed of limestone, and many detached rocks skirt it, rising from water that is beautifully clear. When we landed there was a strong current setting to the eastward, round the end of the island, but it ceased at four P.M., the time of low water, and was probably produced by the ebb setting out of some of the inlets of Cape Parry. In the evening the ice made a noise so like the regular firing of half-minute guns, as to excite, at first, an idea that we heard the guns of a ship. The temperature at six o'clock in the evening was as high as 74 degrees in the shade. Clapperton Island lies in latitude 69 degrees 41-1/2 minutes N., and nearly in the longitude of Fort Franklin, from which it is distant three hundred and thirteen miles in a straight line; but the distance between the nearer part of the Great Bear Lake and the Arctic Sea here, does not much exceed one hundred and ninety miles. [Sidenote: Tuesday, 25th.] Taking advantage of a light breeze and very fine weather, we embarked at midnight, and crossed over to the east side of the bay, passing through some heavy streams of ice by rather intricate channels. At half past five in the morning of the 25th, we landed on a point of the main shore, and Mr. Kendall took observations for three sets of lunars. On re-embarking we proceeded a few miles further, when a heavy gale of wind suddenly springing up, we ran for shelter into a small creek at the extremity of a cape, which I named after the distinguished traveller Captain G.F. Lyon, R.N. The bay which lies betwixt it and Cape Parry, was called Darnley, in honour of the Earl of Darnley. The distance from Clapperton Island to Cape Lyon is fourteen miles. The country in the neighbourhood of Cape Lyon presents a surface varied by gently swelling eminences, covered with a grassy sward, and intersected by several narrow ridges of naked trap rocks, rising about one hundred and fifty feet above the general level. The trap ridges, when they reach the coast, form high cliffs, and the clay-slate and limestone lie in nearly horizontal strata beneath them. The view inland was terminated by the range of hills which we had seen at the bottom of Darnley Bay, to which the name of Melville Range was now given, in honour of the Right Honourable the Lord Viscount Melville. From the top of the highest trap-hill, near the extremity of the cape, we saw some heavy ice to seaward, but with enough of open water for the passage of a ship; and, occasionally, during our stay, there was an appearance of land to the north-westward, occupying two points of the compass; but we were uncertain whether it might not be a fog-bank hanging over a field of ice. If it was land, it could not be less than twenty-five or thirty miles distant, and must, from the portion of the horizon it occupied, be a large island. Upon the summit of the hill we erected a pile of stones, and deposited another letter for Captain Parry, containing a short account of our proceedings. A gale of wind detained us two days at Cape Lyon, during which Ooligbuck supplied us with rein-deer meat, and Mr. Kendall obtained several sets of lunars. The latitude of our encampment, by the mean of three meridian observations, was 69 degrees 46-1/2 minutes N.; and the longitude, by lunar distances, 122 degrees 51 minutes W. The temperature of the air, during the gale, was about 45 degrees, that of the water 35 degrees. During our stay at Cape Lyon the tides were regular, but the rise and fall were short of twenty inches. At midnight on the 26th of July, the sun's lower limb was observed to touch the horizon for the first time since our arrival on the coast. Some old winter houses were seen in our walks, but we perceived no indications of the Esquimaux having recently visited this quarter. [Sidenote: Thursday, 27th.] The gale moderated on the 27th, and at eight in the evening it was sufficiently abated to permit us to proceed on our voyage. After rowing about two miles, the horns of a deer were seen over a rock at the summit of a cliff, on which M'Leay, the coxswain of the Union, landed and killed it. This poor animal had been previously wounded by an Esquimaux arrow, which had broken its shoulder bone. The jagged bone-head of the arrow was buried in the flesh, and its copper point bent up where it had struck the bone. The wound was open, and seemed to have been inflicted at least a fortnight before, but the animal was still fat. The extremity of Cape Lyon lies about three miles north-east of the encampment we had left, and in its neighbourhood the cliffs form bold headlands and several small rocky islands. Soon after rounding it we came to a projecting point, consisting of cliffs of limestone, in which there was a remarkable cave, opening to the sea by an archway, fifty feet high and twenty wide. The walls of the cavern were two hundred feet high, and a large circular aperture in the roof gave free admission to the daylight. Mr. Kendall named this point after Mr. Pearce, a particular friend of his. The night was fine but cold, the temperature having fallen to 35 degrees soon after we started, and at midnight the sun sunk for nearly half an hour beneath the horizon. [Sidenote: Friday, 28th.] We passed much heavy stream-ice, and towards the morning a quantity of new, or, as the seamen term it, "bay ice," having formed on the surface on the sea, the boats were so much retarded that we put ashore at four o'clock of the 28th, to wait until the increasing heat of the day dissolved it. The point on which we landed was named after Admiral Sir Richard Godwin Keats, G.C.B., Governor of Greenwich Hospital, and lies in latitude 69 degrees 49 minutes N. and longitude 122 degrees W., being about eighteen miles distant from our encampment on Cape Lyon. The rocks at Point Keats consist of flesh-coloured sandstone. The Melville range of hills approaches there within eight or ten miles of the sea, and the intervening country is traversed by ridges of greenstone. On the coast from Cape Lyon to Point Keats there is a line of large drift timber, evidently thrown up by the waves, about twelve feet perpendicular height, above the ordinary spring tides: a sufficient proof of the sea being nearly clear of ice at the time it was thrown up; for the presence of any considerable quantity, even of stream-ice, prevents the waves from rising high. After two hours halt, the bay-ice having dissolved we re-embarked. From Cape Lyon to Point Keats the coast runs nearly east; after quitting the latter we found it trending a little to the southward, and from a point, which was named in honour of John Deas Thompson, Esq., Commissioner of His Majesty's Navy, it has nearly a south-east direction. We landed a little to the eastward of Point Deas Thompson, to take a meridian observation for latitude, in a small bay, bounded by cliffs of limestone, one hundred and forty feet high, in which the waves had sculptured some beautiful Gothic arches. From the summit of the cliffs we saw a dark appearance in the eastern horizon, but it was too indistinct to permit us to decide whether it was land or merely a fog-bank. To the eastward of these cliffs the coast decreased in height, and, at the distance of five miles, we passed a small river, which was named after Francis Palgrave, Esq. Near this river, on the summit of a cliff, which was twenty-five feet high, we noticed several large logs of drift timber, with some hummocks of gravel, that appeared to have been thrown up by the waves. A portion of the Melville Range lies within three miles of the shore there; and one of its most remarkable hills was named after my esteemed friend, William Jackson Hooker, LL.D., Regius Professor of Botany in the University of Glasgow; and another after Colonel Colby, of the Royal Engineers, one of the Members of the Board of Longitude. About four o'clock in the afternoon we came to a stream flowing from a lake, and as it was an excellent boat harbour, we entered it and encamped. It was named Roscoe, after the eloquent historian of the Medici; and a conical hill of the Melville Range, visible from its mouth, received the name of the venerable geographer Major Rennel. We passed this day through heavier and more crowded streams of ice than any we had previously seen on the voyage. The navigation amongst it was tedious and difficult, and just before we put ashore much motion was imparted to it by a fresh south-west wind. The temperature during the day varied from 35 degrees to 50 degrees. The mouth of Roscoe River lies in latitude 69 degrees 41 minutes N., longitude 121 degrees 2 minutes W., and is forty-eight miles distant from Cape Lyon. [Sidenote: Saturday, 29th.] We embarked on the 29th, with a fair wind; but the ice lay so close, that we could not venture to set more than a reefed foresail, and were ultimately obliged to lower the sail entirely, and to find a passage through ice with oars and poles. The pieces of ice were of sufficient magnitude to deserve the name of floes, and were sometimes several fathoms thick. They were all moving before the breeze, which caused them to arrange themselves in the form of streams parallel to the coast, and, consequently, left lanes of open water in the direction of our course. These lanes, however, were continually changing their form; and, on several occasions, when we had been tempted by the favourable appearance of a piece of open water to venture from the coast, we had great difficulty in extricating ourselves from the ice which closed around us. The thickness of the ice led me to conclude that the sea had not been long open in this quarter; and I observed that the vegetation was later on this part of the coast than on the western side of Cape Parry. For the first twelve miles after leaving our encampment, the coast was low and sandy; the Melville Range still forming the back-ground, at the distance of four or five miles from the sea. The low beaches were terminated by a rocky headland, which obtained from us the name of De Witt Clinton, as a testimony of our sense of the urbanity and love of science which had prompted his Excellency the Governor of the state of New York[10] to show so much attention to the members of the Expedition, in their passage through his government. Some miles beyond Point De Witt Clinton we came to a steep cliff, where the ice was so closely packed that we could not force a passage. The cargoes were, therefore, carried along the foot of the cliff, and the boats launched for a few yards over a piece of ice. In this operation, the shelving base of an iceberg, which had formed under the cliff, and still adhered to it, but which was undermined by the waves, gave way whilst several of the men were standing upon it; but, fortunately, it did not overset, and they received no injury, as it was large enough to support them in the water. At nine o'clock, A.M., we were stopped by the closeness of the ice, and put ashore until the tide or wind should produce some change. The tides, since leaving the Mackenzie, had never been observed to have a greater rise than eighteen inches: but in the neighbourhood of our encampment, the sea-wrack and lines of drift timber indicated a washing of the sea to the perpendicular height of twenty feet. The country in this vicinity consists of a bluish limestone, interstratified with slate-clay: and naked and rugged ridges of trap rocks rise in various places above the general level. The soil is composed of clay and limestone gravel. The latitude of our encampment was ascertained, by meridian observation, to be 69 degrees 29 minutes N.; its longitude was 120 degrees 20 minutes W.; and its distance from Roscoe River was twenty-five miles. [Sidenote: Sunday, 30th.] A breeze of wind from the land having opened a passage two miles wide, we embarked at two o'clock in the morning of the 30th, and ran seven miles under sail; when, having overtaken the ice which had passed in the night, we found it too closely packed to allow us to proceed. In making for the beach, the Union narrowly escaped being crushed by two large floes of ice, which came together with violence just as she was about to run betwixt them. The Dolphin had sailed through the same passage not two minutes before. From an eminence near our encampment, we had the unpleasant view of a sea covered, as far as the eye could reach, with ice, excepting a few lanes of open water far to seaward. The tide fell here seven inches in the morning, and eleven in the evening, although the north-west wind increased in the afternoon to a pretty strong gale. The greater fall of the water with that wind, showing that it found an exit to the eastward, relieved us from an apprehension, which we had begun to entertain, that we were entering a deep bay, which might be encumbered by the drift-ice for many days. Much ice drove past us in the course of the day, before a west-north-west wind, its progress being only slightly checked for a time by the flood tide. Recent footsteps of a small party of Esquimaux were seen on the beach. Our encampment was situated in latitude 69 degrees 24 minutes N., and longitude 120 degrees 03 minutes W. [Sidenote: Monday, 31st.] Embarking on the 31st, at two o'clock in the morning, we succeeded in getting about six miles through the ice: when we were again obliged to put ashore at the mouth of a small river, which was named after James Buchanan, Esq., his Majesty's Consul at New York, whose friendly attention to the officers of the Expedition well entitled him to their gratitude. After waiting for a while the tide loosened the ice a little, and we made some progress by debarking upon the floes, and pushing them apart with poles, until a sufficient opening was made. This operation was tedious, and not devoid of hazard to the boats, arising from the rotatory motion frequently given to the floes, by the pressure of the body of the ice. At noon, an observation for latitude was obtained on a projecting point, which was named after William Tinney, Esq., of Lincoln's Inn. At three in the afternoon, our progress being again arrested by the compactness of the ice, we hauled the boats upon the beach, and M'Leay having killed a fat buck rein-deer, the party had an excellent supper after the fatigues of the day. The length of the day's voyage was twenty-two miles; the latitude of our encampment, 69 degrees 17-1/2 minutes N., and its longitude 119 degrees 27 minutes W. The coast line in this quarter is lower, few of the cliffs exceeding forty feet in height, and there is a greater proportion of flat beach than occurs nearer Cape Lyon. The ground is strewed with gravel, apparently arising from a limestone conglomerate which exists there in considerable quantity. The Melville Range is within four or five miles of the shore at this place, and does not rise more than five hundred feet above the sea. Many small rivulets flow from the rising grounds into the sea, through wide gravelly beds, indicating that at times they swell into large torrents. [Sidenote: August 1st.] A light westerly wind having opened a narrow channel between the ice and the shore, we embarked early in the morning of the 1st of August, and, three miles from our encampment, came to a river, which discharged itself by various shallow mouths, separated by sand banks. Its westernmost and easternmost mouths were five miles apart; and the latter, which was the largest, was one hundred and fifty yards wide. Although the outlet of this river is so much barred up, it discharges a considerable volume of water, and probably has its sources in the hills which are visible from the northern shores of Great Bear Lake. It was named after John Wilson Croker, Esq., Secretary to the Admiralty. Further on we had a view of a high island, lying ten or twelve miles from the shore, which received the appellation of Sir George Clerk's Island. M'Leay, who was now acknowledged to be our best hunter, was sent in pursuit of a deer, which we saw from the boats, and being successful, we landed to cook our breakfast, after having rowed twenty miles in the course of the morning. An observation for latitude was obtained a mile further at a point which was named after Waller Clifton, Esq., Secretary to the Victualling Board, The coast here makes a turn to the southward, and about six miles further on, where it resumes its easterly direction, a river about one hundred yards wide flows into the sea, betwixt two sand hills. To this river Mr. Kendall gave the name of Inman, out of respect to the Reverend and Learned Professor of the Royal Naval College at Portsmouth. A conical hill, about ten miles distant, in a south-west direction, was named after the late President of the Royal Society, the highly distinguished Sir Humphry Davy, Baronet. This was the last part we saw of the Melville Chain. We encamped at half past seven in the evening, under a high cliff of limestone, having advanced during the day thirty-seven miles. The point on which we encamped, received from Mr. Kendall, the name of Wise, after Captain M.F. Wise, of the Royal Navy, under whose command he sailed in His Majesty's ship Spartan. It is situated in latitude 69 degrees 03-1/2 minutes N., longitude 118 degrees W. The coast from Cape Clifton to Point Wise consists of limestone in horizontal layers, forming cliffs, which are separated from each other by intervening shelving beaches, and it is skirted to the distance of a quarter of a mile by rocky shoals, having sufficient water on them for our boats, but not enough to admit the heavy ice. This was the cause of our making greater progress than we had been led to expect from the appearance of the ice in the morning. The cliffs at Point Wise are two hundred feet high, and from their summits, the ice appeared closely packed, as far as the eye could reach; no lanes of open water being visible. It was, however, composed of pieces, and not a continuous field, for we could distinctly perceive that several of the hummocks it inclosed were in motion. This was the first time during the voyage that we saw ice so closely packed, as to appear impenetrable to a ship when impelled by a good breeze, but it is necessary to state that, even from a considerable height, we could not tell with certainty the state of the ice six miles off; scattered pieces at that distance assuming the appearance of a close pack. The weather this day was fine, the temperature varying from 43 degrees to 50 degrees. [Sidenote: Wednesday, 2d.] Soon after setting out on the 2d, the temperature, which had been about 40 degrees throughout the night, fell to 34 degrees, and a fog came on. The wind also freshening and putting the ice in motion, the boats received some heavy blows; but we continued to advance, though slowly, and with much caution. About ten miles from our encampment, we passed the mouth of a small river, which was named after Captain Hoppner, of the Royal Navy, second in command to Captain Parry, on his third voyage of discovery. Towards noon the fog cleared away, and a meridian observation was obtained in latitude 68 degrees 56 minutes N. Three miles further on we arrived at the mouth of a wide but shallow river, which flowed over a rocky bottom, betwixt two sand hills, and joined the sea by several mouths, separated by shoals. To this river Mr. Kendall gave the name of his friend, Lieutenant Harding, of the Royal Navy. Five miles beyond this river, on the extremity of a rocky cape, the Esquimaux had constructed several store-houses, of drift timber, which were filled with dried deer-meat and seal-blubber; along with which, cooking kettles, and lamps made of potstone, copper-headed spears, and various other articles, were carefully laid up. The ashes of the recently extinguished fires showed that the natives had quitted this place only a few days, and we felt much pleasure in figuring to ourselves the surprise and joy with which they would behold, on their return, the iron utensils that we deposited in the store-houses for their use. The cape received the name of "Young," after the learned Secretary to the Board of Longitude. From Cape Young we had a view of the sea thickly covered with ice, of a greater thickness than any we had previously encountered; and we perceived that there was a deeply indented bay lying in our route, and so filled with ice, that our only method of passing it appeared to be by keeping close to the shore, although under the disadvantage of trebling the distance. The coast in this quarter is similar to that which we had passed on the two or three preceding days, and is formed of high limestone cliffs, with intervening shingly beaches; but the country is still more barren, the quantity of limestone debris almost excluding any soil. Flat limestone rocks, having only a few inches of water upon them, skirt the beach, and terminate like a wall in four or five fathoms water. The ice was closely packed against these rocks, and for five miles after passing Cape Young, we made a way for the boats only by the constant use of the hatchet and ice-chisel, and gladly encamped at six o'clock in the evening, after a day's voyage of thirty-one miles. A herd of twenty rein-deer were grazing on the beach, but our hunters were too much fatigued to go in pursuit of them. The encampment was situated in latitude 68 degrees 53 minutes N., and longitude 116 degrees 50 minutes W. The temperature varied in the course of the day from 34 degrees to 50 degrees. We observed that the ice continued to dissolve, but not so rapidly as in the month of July, when the sun did not sink below the horizon. [Sidenote: Thursday, 3rd.] We resumed our operations on the morning of the 3d at the usual hour, and with great labour made a passage for the boats. At eleven o'clock we landed to refresh ourselves on a projecting point at the western entrance of a deep bay, having previously passed a river which was about one hundred yards wide, but very shallow. After breakfasting, and obtaining a meridian observation in latitude 68 degrees 53 minutes N., we pushed off again, and for some time made very slow progress. The shores of the bay consisted of beds of limestone, which, shelving into the water, were covered with masses of ice, forced up by the pressure of the pack outside. We were, therefore, compelled to work our way in deeper water, and there the boats, which led by turns, were occasionally exposed to the hazard of being overset by pieces of buoyant ice, which frequently broke off from the bases of the floes. In the language of the whalers, the ice is said to _calf_, when masses are detached in this manner, and they are sometimes of sufficient magnitude in the Greenland seas to endanger large vessels. The Dolphin was, at one time, nearly crushed to pieces by the closing of two floes; but, fortunately, she had reached a small recess, just as they came in contact, and they recoiled sufficiently to leave a passage for her exit, after she had sustained the trifling damage of a few cracks in the upper planks. The rays of the sun, and the waves acting on the surface of the floes, had, by thawing them irregularly, formed lakes of fresh water of some extent upon their surface. When these pieces of water were of sufficient depth, we availed ourselves of them to make some progress in our voyage, and in this way we frequently sailed over a considerable thickness of ice. At four o'clock P.M. we had advanced five miles, when to our joy we found a lane of open water, which permitted us to cross to the other side of the bay, where we encamped in latitude 68 degrees 51-1/2 minutes N., and longitude 116 degrees 03 minutes W., having sailed in the course of the day eighteen miles and a half. The bay was named Stapylton in honour of Major-General the Honourable G.A.C. Stapylton, Chairman of the Victualling Board; and on ascending a rising ground we perceived that it communicates with a long, narrow lake. A few miles from the coast the land rises from three to five hundred feet above the sea, and presents many precipitous limestone cliffs, and chains of small lakes. The country is very barren, the only plant we gathered being the yellow poppy, (_papaver nudicaule_.) By our reckoning we were now nearly in the longitude of the mouth of the Coppermine River, but about seventy miles to the northward of it, we, therefore, entertained an opinion that we were coasting a narrow peninsula, and that we should soon have the pleasure of perceiving the coast take a southerly direction. It was, consequently, with some hopes of beholding the sea on the opposite side of the peninsula that I walked seven or eight miles to the eastward in the night, but I was disappointed. In my way I had occasion to wade through a small lake, when two birds, about the size of the _northern diver_, and apparently of that genus, swam, with bold and angry gestures, to within a few yards of me, evidently very impatient of any intruder on their domain. Their necks were of a beautiful pale yellow colour, their bodies black with white specks. I considered them to belong to a species not yet described, and regretted that, having left my gun at the tent, it was not in my power to procure one of them for a specimen. [Sidenote: Friday, 4th.] Embarking at three A.M. on the 4th, we found little difficulty in reaching the eastern cape of Stapylton Bay, the wind having formed a narrow channel between the ice and the shore in the night. The temperature was low, and in the morning some new ice was formed which we easily broke. We noticed several eider ducks breaking a way through the thin ice for their young ones with their wings, and in this operation they made greater progress than we did in the boats. On reaching the cape[11] which was named after Vice-Admiral Sir William Johnstone Hope, G.C.B., we descried another point about four or five leagues distant, bearing east-north-east, the intervening bay being filled with closely packed ice. We were now within twelve miles of Cape Young, after a laborious navigation of four times that distance, and the prospect of another bay, equally unpromising, was very vexatious; but our apprehensions were increased by the view of a continuous line of land, extending from north-north-west until it was hid behind the nearer cape, which bore east-north-east, for we feared that it might prove to be a continuation of the main shore. Our crews, though concerned at the delay that so much ice was likely to occasion, set about overcoming the obstacle with a hearty good will, and after an intricate and troublesome navigation of ten or twelve miles amongst the ice, we found the bottom of the bay more open, and were enabled to cross over to the eastern side where we encamped. This bay received the name of the eminent astronomer James South, Esq. Mr. Kendall having gone to ascertain from the higher ground the trending of the coast, returned in about two hours with the cheering intelligence that the land to the northward was unconnected with the main shore, and that he had seen the latter inclining to the south-east, with a much more open sea than we had lately been accustomed to. As soon as supper was over, I also set out to enjoy the gratifying prospect, and from the extremity of the cape on which we were encamped, and which was named in honour of the Right Honourable Lord Bexley, I beheld the northern land running from north-north-west till it was lost in the horizon on a north 73 degrees east bearing. It seemed to be pretty high but not mountainous; and although broken towards the east, the principal portion of it appeared to be continuous. This island, by far the largest one that was seen, either in the present voyage or on Captain Franklin's former Expedition, was named after that most distinguished philosopher Dr. Hyde Wollaston. The main shore had a direction nearly parallel to Wollaston Land, its most distant point in sight, which I estimated to be fifteen miles off, bearing S. 61 degrees E. On the strait, separating the two shores, I bestowed the names of our excellent little boats, the Dolphin and Union. It varies in width from twelve to twenty miles, and to the eastward seemed to contain merely detached streams of ice, not likely to obstruct the progress of a vessel; but to the westward lay the closely packed ice, filling South's Bay, and extending to seaward. The ice did not, however, entirely close the strait, for I could discern lanes of open water towards Wollaston Land. The packed ice which we had seen lining the coast between Point Clifton and Cape Bexley, may be perhaps considered as an illustration of the remark made by Captain Parry, that the western sides of seas and inlets in those latitudes are more encumbered with ice than the opposite sides; and it is very probable that a ship might have found a passage by keeping along Wollaston Land, an opinion which the appearance of the ice as seen from Cape Bexley, tended to confirm. The latitude of our encampment was 68 degrees 58 minutes N., and its longitude 115 degrees 47 minutes W.; it was within ten miles of our encampment of the preceding night, although we had travelled twenty-five miles in the course of the day. [Sidenote: Saturday, 5th.] The party embarked on the 5th, at the usual hour in the morning, with their spirits pleasantly excited by the intelligence of the favourable trending of the coast, communicated by Mr. Kendall, and after doubling Cape Bexley, proceeded under sail, before a west-north-west wind, with a rapidity to which they had lately been unaccustomed. The point of land which Cape Bexley terminates, consists entirely of horizontal beds of limestone, and is nowhere more than three hundred feet above the sea. On the west side, the water is two or three fathoms deep, close to the shore, and the land attains its greatest elevation by a steep rise from the beach. On the east side there are some precipitous cliffs, but the coast in general is skirted by shelving rocks. No soil was seen on the Cape, nor any appearance of vegetation, the ground being every where covered, to the depth of a foot, by fragments of limestone, which are detached by the frost from the solid strata lying beneath. We were much puzzled at first with the appearance of several parallel trenches, a foot deep, running for a great distance amongst the fragments, but on examination they were ascertained to originate in fissures of the subjacent strata. Much quartz being intermixed with the limestone of Cape Bexley, the fragments which covered the ground had, by the action of the weather, lost most of the softer calcareous matter, and were converted into a kind of rasp, very annoying to pedestrians, being capable of destroying a pair of stout English shoes in a walk of a few hours. At eleven o'clock we came to a pack of ice abutting against the shore, but while we halted to cook breakfast, the wind opened a way for us. In the course of the morning we passed many heavy streams of ice, separated by lanes of open water, which would have afforded an easy passage for a ship. Having obtained a meridian observation for latitude, we re-embarked, and pulled for five miles through an open channel, to Point Cockburn, on the opposite side of a bay, which appeared to be four or five miles deep, and to be quite filled with drift-ice. Many deer were seen grazing near this point, but we did not stop to send a hunter in pursuit of them. We afterwards crossed several other indentations of the coast, skirted by reefs of limestone and low islets, and encamped on Chantry Island, lying close to the main shore, in latitude 68 degrees 45 minutes N., longitude 114 degrees 23 minutes W., having sailed thirty-nine miles in the course of the day. Two islands, lying opposite to our encampment, received the appellations of Manners Sutton and Sir Robert Liston's Islands. The degree of motion in the ice, which was drifting between these islands and the shore, indicated a stronger current of both flood and ebb than we had hitherto seen. [Sidenote: Sunday, 6th.] On the 6th, we commenced the day's voyage at three in the morning, but were compelled to put ashore soon afterwards by a stream of ice barring our way. At six o'clock, however, the flowing tide opened it sufficiently to enable us to push the boats along with poles, our progress being occasionally facilitated by the rocky reefs, which kept the heavier masses from pressing down upon us. Much of the ice lay aground, in nine fathoms, but none of it rose more than five or six feet above the surface of the water. We estimated the velocity of the flood tide, off some of the rocky points, at three miles an hour, and at such places we had much trouble in endeavouring to keep the boats clear of the drifting ice. The circular motion which the pieces occasionally acquired was particularly difficult to guard against, and had we not depended on the tongues of ice, which, lying deep under water, prevented the upper parts of the floes to which they belonged from coming in contact, we should scarcely have ventured amongst them. We did not, however, entirely escape, for the Dolphin was caught between a floe and a piece that lay aground, and fairly raised out of the water by the pressure, which broke one of her timbers and several of her planks. We put ashore on a small island to repair the damage, and during our stay Mr. Kendall had a meridian observation in latitude 68 degrees 36-1/2 minutes N. Another island, lying about two miles from the main land, was distinguished by the name of Aylmer Bourke Lambert, Esq., Vice-President of the Linnean Society. The sea water there was beautifully clear. At half-past one, the Dolphin being again rendered sea-worthy, we prosecuted our voyage until five P.M., when the flood-tide set with such velocity round a rocky point, and brought so much ice with it, that we considered it prudent to put ashore. The violent eddies in the currents there, and the sudden approach and collision of the large masses of ice, reminded us forcibly of the poet's description of Scylla and Charybdis. The length of the day's voyage was twenty-one miles, and our encampment was situated in latitude 68 degrees 32 minutes N., longitude 113 degrees 53 minutes W. The temperature at nine P.M. was 60 degrees. Mr. Kendall and I took a walk of some miles along the shore, and were happy to observe the coast inclining to the southward, although no doubt now existed as to our accomplishing the voyage sufficiently early to allow us to cross the barren grounds, to the eastward of Great Bear Lake, before the cold weather set in. The flowering season for most of the plants on the coast was already past, but our route for the remainder of the distance to Bear Lake, inclining much to the southward, would naturally have the effect of prolonging to us the duration of the summer. A conspicuous hill, discovered in our walk, received the name of Mount Barrow, in honour of John Barrow, Esq., Secretary to the Admiralty; and two islands in the offing were named after Commanders Bayfield and Douglas, of the Royal Navy, to both of whom the officers of the Expedition were indebted for much assistance and personal kindness, in their progress through Canada. The interior of the country was flat, but the limestone formed cliffs on the shore two hundred feet high. From the form of the islands, I was led to believe that they consisted of trap rocks. Wollaston Land, as seen from this encampment, appeared to recede gradually from the main, and it sunk under the horizon, on a north-east bearing. By estimation, the most easterly part of it which we saw, is in latitude 68 degrees 45 minutes N., and longitude 113 degrees 53 minutes W. The navigation of the Dolphin and Union Straits would be dangerous to ships, from the many sunken rocks which we observed near the southern shore. [Sidenote: Monday, 7th.] Embarking at two A.M. on the 7th, we crossed a deeply indented bay, which was named after Lieutenant-Colonel Pasley, of the Royal Engineers, to whose invention we owe the portable boat, named the Walnut-shell, which we carried out with us. On the east side of Pasley Cove there are some bold limestone cliffs, that form the extremity of a promontory, to which we gave the name of Cape Krusenstern, in honour of the distinguished Russian hydrographer. It lies in latitude 68 degrees 23 minutes N., longitude 113 degrees 45 minutes W., and is the most eastern part of the main land which we coasted. From a cliff, two hundred feet high, two miles to the southward of Cape Krusenstern, we had a distinct view of the high land about Inman's Harbour, on the western side of Cape Barrow, which was the most easterly land seen on this voyage, and lies in longitude 111 degrees 20 minutes W. The space between Capes Barrow and Krusenstern is crowded with islands. By entering George the Fourth's Coronation Gulf at Cape Krusenstern, we connected the discoveries of this voyage with those made by Captain Franklin on his former expedition, and had the honour of completing a portion of the north-west passage, for which the reward of five thousand pounds was established by his Majesty's Order in Council, but as it was not contemplated, in framing the Order, that the discovery should be made from west to east, and in vessels so small as the Dolphin and Union, we could not lay claim to the pecuniary reward. While the party were at breakfast I visited Mount Barrow, which is a steep hill about three hundred feet high, surrounded by a moat fifty or sixty feet wide and twenty deep, and having a flat summit bounded by precipices of limestone. Three banks, like causeways, afforded the means of crossing the moat, and the hill altogether formed a remarkably complete natural fortification. The Esquimaux had marked most of the prominent points in this quarter, by erecting piles of stones similar to the cairns built for land-marks by the shepherds in Scotland. These erections were occasionally noticed, after doubling Cape Parry, but they were more numerous here. The ice which we saw this day was in form of loose streams, and offered no material impediment. Several wreaths of snow lay at the base of the cliffs that had a northern exposure, being the remains of that which had accumulated in the winter. The latitude 68 degrees 13 minutes N. was observed at noon on a low point which projected from some higher lands. From this point, which was named after Edward H. Locker, Esq., Secretary to the Royal Hospital at Greenwich, we had a view of Cape Hearne, the form of which I thought I recognised from my recollections of it on the former voyage. We reached Cape Hearne in the evening, having in the afternoon skirted a low and indented coast; a bay immediately to the north of it was named after Captain Basil Hall, of the Royal Navy. Cape Hearne itself is a low point, not visible from the mouth of the Coppermine; but the high land behind it, when seen from a distance, appears like a steep promontory, and is that designated as Cape Hearne in Captain Franklin's chart of his former voyage. The latitude of this cape is 68 degrees 11 minutes N., and its longitude 114 degrees 54 minutes W. The length of the day's voyage was forty miles. Many deer were seen here, and Ooligbuck killed a very fine one in the evening. After encamping I went a few miles into the interior, and found that the country was composed of limestone, which rose by a succession of terraces to the height of about three hundred feet above the sea. The heat of the day was considerable, the thermometer, when exposed to the rays of the sun, indicating 86 degrees, without the bulb being blackened, or any other means used to retain the heat. [Sidenote: Tuesday, 8th.] Embarking early on the eighth, and passing through several loose streams of ice, some pieces of which were twenty-four feet thick, we landed at nine o'clock on a bold cape to prepare breakfast. It is formed of columnar greenstone, reposing on slaty limestone, and rising precipitously from the sea to the height of three hundred and fifty feet. I named this well marked point Cape Kendall, after my highly esteemed friend and companion, and had the pleasure of pointing out to him, from its summit, the gap in the hills at Bloody Fall, through which the Coppermine River flows. Mr. Kendall having taken the necessary bearings and sketches for the completion of his chart, we descended the hill to announce to the men, that a short traverse would bring us to the mouth of the Coppermine River. As we were aware of the disappointment which often springs from the premature excitement of hope, we had not previously acquainted them with our near approach to the termination of our voyage; fearing that an unfavourable trending of coast, or an intervening body of ice, might protract it some days longer than we expected. The gratifying intelligence that we now conveyed to them, was, therefore, totally unexpected, and the pleasure they experienced found vent in heartfelt expressions of gratitude to the Divine Being, for his protection on the voyage. At noon the latitude of Cape Kendall was ascertained to be 67 degrees 58 minutes N., and its longitude by reckoning was 115 degrees 18 minutes W. Re-embarking, we steered for the mouth of the Coppermine River with the sails set to a fine breeze, plying the oars at the same time, and on rounding Cape Kendall, we opened a magnificent inlet, or bay, rendered very picturesque by the manner in which its lofty cliffs came successively in sight as we crossed its mouth. We distinguished it by the name of our mutual friend and companion Captain Back. One of Couper's Islands, on which we landed, consists of greenstone, rising from the water like steps of a stair; and from its summit we perceived that a low piece of land, which, on the former voyage, had been mistaken for an island, was, in fact, the extremity of Point Mackenzie, and that Richardson River was merely a ravine, now dry.[12] Having reached the mouth of the Coppermine River, we encamped within a hundred yards of the position of the tents on Captain Franklin's former Expedition. Some half-burnt wood, the remains of the fires then made, were still lying on the spot; and I also recognised the Esquimaux stage, which we visited on that occasion, but there were no skins nor utensils on it now. The completion of our sea voyage so early in the season was a subject of mutual congratulation to us all; and to Mr. Kendall and myself it was highly gratifying to behold our men still fresh and vigorous, and ready to commence the laborious march across the barren grounds, with the same spirit that they had shown in overcoming the obstacles which presented themselves to their progress by sea. We all felt that the comfort and ease with which the voyage had been performed, were greatly owing to the judicious and plentiful provision of stores and food which Captain Franklin had made for us; and gratitude for his care mingling with the pleasure excited by our success, and directing our thoughts more strongly to his party, the most ardent wishes were expressed that they might prove equally fortunate. The correctness of Mr. Kendall's reckoning was another source of pleasure. Having been deprived of the aid of chronometers, by the breaking of the two intended for the eastern detachment of the Expedition, during the intense winter cold, our only resource for correcting the dead reckoning was lunar observations, made as frequently as opportunities offered; yet when we approached the Coppermine River, Mr. Kendall's reckoning differed from the position of that place, ascertained on Captain Franklin's former Expedition, only twenty seconds of time, or about two miles and a half of distance, which is a very trifling difference when the length of the voyage and the other circumstances are taken into consideration. The distance between Point Separation and the mouth of the Coppermine River, by the route we pursued, is nine hundred and two geographical miles. In our progress along the coast no opportunity was omitted of noting the times of high-water, and a tide-table drawn up by Mr. Kendall, is given in pages 236, 237. We nowhere observed the rise of the tide to exceed twenty-two inches, and in some places it was not more than eight or nine; but the velocity of the flood and ebb was greater than could have been expected from so small a rise. Off the Alluvial Islands, lying between the outlets of the Mackenzie River and Esquimaux Lake, it was in the strength of the flood about a mile an hour; at Cape Bathurst it exceeded a mile and a half; and in the Dolphin and Union Straits it was fully three miles. The stream of the flood set every where from the eastward. The variation of the magnetic needle, which was forty-six degrees easterly at Point Separation, attained to 50 degrees at Refuge Cove, 53 degrees at Point Maitland, and 56 degrees at Cape Parry; after which it gradually decreased as we went to the south-east; and at the mouth of the Coppermine, it was 48 degrees. We saw no ice that would have much impeded a ship, except between Sir George Clerk's Island and Cape Bexley, where it was heavy and closely packed. The appearance, however, of lanes of open water towards Wollaston Land, opposite to Cape Bexley, induced us to think that there might be a good passage for a ship on the outside of the ice, which lined the south shore, and which seems to have been packed into the indentations of the coast by the strong north-west winds that had prevailed for some days. A ship would find shelter amongst the islands of George the Fourth's Coronation Gulf, in Back's Inlet, in Darnley Bay, and amongst Booth's Islands, lying off Cape Parry; but the bottom, at the latter place, is rocky, and there are many sunken rocks along the whole of that coast. To the westward of Cape Parry, we saw no ship harbours, and the many sand-banks skirting the outlets of Esquimaux Lake would render it dangerous for a ship to approach the shore in that quarter. There is such an abundance of drift-timber on almost every part of the coast, that a sufficient supply of fuel for a ship might easily be collected, and wherever we landed on the main shore we found streams or small lakes of fresh water. Should the course of events ever introduce a steam-vessel into those seas, it may be important to know that in coasting the shores between Cape Bathurst and the Mackenzie, fire-wood sufficient for her daily consumption may be gathered, and that near the Babbage River, to the westward of the Mackenzie, a tertiary pitch-coal exists of excellent quality, which Captain Franklin describes as forming extensive beds. The height to which the drift-timber is thrown up on the shores at the western entrance of the Dolphin and Union Straits is, I think, an indication of an occasional great rise in the sea, which, as the tides are in comparison so insignificant, I can ascribe only to the north-west winds driving the waters of an open sea towards the funnel-shaped entrance of the straits. If this view is correct, Wollaston Land probably extends far to the north, and closely adjoins to Banks' Land, or is connected with it. Captain Parry found the strait between Melville Island and Banks' Land obstructed by ice, and this will naturally be generally the case, both there and in the Dolphin and Union Straits, if they form the principal openings through a range of extensive islands, which run north and south, and bound a large tract of sea, comparatively free from land. The heat of the summer in that quarter seems to be always or almost always sufficient to admit of the ice breaking up, but not powerful enough to dissolve it entirely. Hence the loose ice driven about by the winds, and carried to the lee-side of the wider expanses of sea, is firmly packed in the narrow straits and winding passages amongst the islands, from whence it can be dislodged only by a concurrence of very favourable circumstances, and where the waste by the solar rays is replaced by every breeze blowing from the open sea. The north-west winds being the strongest and most prevalent in the latter part of the summer, it is at the western end of a strait that the ice is most frequently and closely packed. Captain Parry remarks that "there was something peculiar about the south-west extremity of Melville Island, which made the icy sea there extremely unfavourable to navigation, and which seemed to bid defiance to all efforts to proceed farther to the westward in that parallel of latitude." The Dolphin and Union Straits hold out greater prospects of success for a similar attempt, not only from their more southern position, but from the strong current of flood and ebb which flows through them and keeps the ice in motion. We noticed on the coast about one hundred and seventy _phænogamous_, or flowering plants, being one-fifth of the number of species which exist fifteen degrees of latitude farther to the southward. The grasses, bents, and rushes, constitute only one-fifth of the number of species on the coast, but the two former tribes actually cover more ground than all the rest of the vegetation. The cruciferous, or cress-like tribes afford one-seventh of the species, and the compound flowers are nearly as numerous. The _shrubby plants_ that reach the sea-coast are the common juniper, two species of willow, the dwarf Birch (_betula glandulosa_), the common alder, the hippophae, a gooseberry, the red bearberry (_arbutus uva ursi_), the Labrador tea plant, (_ledum palustre_,) the Lapland rose (_rhododendron lapponicum_,) the bog whortleberry (_vaccinium uliginosum_,) and the crow-berry (_empetrum nigrum_.) The kidney-leaved oxyria grows in great luxuriance there, and occasionally furnished us with an agreeable addition to our meals, as it resembles the garden sorrel in flavour, but is more juicy and tender. It is eaten by the natives, and must, as well as many of the cress-like plants, prove an excellent corrective of the gross, oily, rancid, and frequently putrid meat, on which they subsist. The small bulbs of the Alpine bistort (_polygonum viviparum_,) and the long, succulent, and sweet roots of many of the _astragaleæ_, which grow on the sandy shores, are eatable; but we did not learn that the Esquimaux were acquainted with their use. A few clumps of white spruce-fir, with some straggling black spruces and canoe birches, grow at the distance of twenty or thirty miles from the sea, in sheltered situations, on the banks of rivers. _ABSTRACT of the Meteorological Register, kept by the Eastern Detachment, in their Voyage between the Mouths of the Mackenzie and Coppermine Rivers._ Temperature in the Shade. Highest. Direction of Date. Lowest. Mean. the Winds. Weather and Remarks. ---------------------------------------------------------------------- July 9 32 38 35 East; NEbE. Fresh breezes. Clear sky with fog over the ice. 10 45 57 51 ESE. Strong breezes, clear weather. 11 42 51 43 East. Strong breezes, clear sky, and bright sun. 12 45 50 47 Do. Ditto, ditto. 13 46 57 52 East; SE. Moderate breezes. Clear sky; rain in the night. 14 42 42 42 West. Heavy gales. Thick fog. 15 52 57 55 Nearly calm. Very fine weather. 16 38 55 47 South. Moderate breezes. Cloudy A.M., clear P.M. 17 50 62 54 West; North. Fog A.M. When wind veered to north cleared up. Temperature of sea 55 degrees. 18 45 56 50 South; East. Light airs A.M.; fresh breezes P.M.; calm in the night. 19 44 54 49 East; West. Fresh breezes and cloudy A.M. Four P.M. West wind and foggy weather. 20 46 50 48 NW., WNW. Foggy; fresh breezes A.M. Increased to a strong gale P.M. 21 42 48 46 WNW.; NW. Fresh breezes and foggy A.M. Fine and clear P.M. 22 45 47 46 South. Fresh breezes A.M. Fine weather P.M. 23 46 58 52 SW. Moderate and cloudy. Many Musquitoes. _Meteorological Register, &c.--Concluded._ Temperature in the Shade. Highest. Direction of Date. Lowest. Mean. the Winds. Weather and Remarks. ---------------------------------------------------------------------- July 24 50 76 66 West. Moderate breezes. Foggy A.M. Occasionally hazy P.M. Myriads of Musquitoes. 25 45 66 55 South; NE. Fine A.M. Strong gales and partial fogs P.M. 26 35 47 41 NE. Strong gales and clear. Temperature of sea 35 deg. 27 35 45 40 ENE. Moderate. 28 35 50 42 Calm; North. Fine clear weather. 29 37 41 38 WNW. Moderate breezes; foggy. 30 36 40 38 WNW. Fog hanging over the ice; clear inland; moderate breezes. 31 38 45 41 NW. Moderate breezes; occasionally hazy, fog over the ice. Aug. 1 43 50 48 West. Moderate breezes; hazy to seaward. 2 34 50 41 West; variable. Hazy and occasionally foggy. 3 38 43 40 NE.; East. Light breezes and clear. 4 38 55 46 NE.; ESE. Fine clear weather. 5 39 56 47 EbS.; WSW. Do. Moderate P.M. 6 42 56 47 South; variable. Do. 7 36 68 52 SSE. Fine and very clear. Temperature in the sun 86 deg. 8 44 60 52 North. Do. ----------------- 41.45 51.92 46.48 FOOTNOTES: [9] The appearance of whales on the north coast, nearly midway between the nearest passages into Behring's and Barrow's Straits, and upwards of a thousand miles distant from either, affords subject for interesting speculation. It is known that they must come frequently to the surface to breathe, and the following questions naturally arise:--Are there at all seasons large spaces of open water in the Arctic Seas? or do these animals travel from the Atlantic or Pacific Oceans immediately on the breaking up of the ice off Cape Bathurst, and so early in the season as the middle of July; while the sea, to the eastward and westward, is still covered with ice? if the latter is the fact, it is a very curious part of the natural history of these animals. The Esquimaux informed us, that they are rarely seen when the ice lies close, and in accordance with this remark Captain Franklin saw few to the westward, and we also lost them as we approached the Coppermine River, and met with more ice. [10] Since the above passage was written, the world has had to mourn the loss of this distinguished statesman and philosopher. [11] Its latitude was ascertained by meridional observations to be 68 degrees 58 minutes N. [12] Captain Franklin has since transferred the name of Richardson to the Bay between Point Mackenzie and the mouth of the Coppermine River. PROCEEDINGS OF THE EASTERN DETACHMENT CONCLUDED. CHAPTER IV. Ascend the Coppermine River--Abandon the Boats and Stores--Commence the Land Journey--Cross the Copper Mountains and Height of Land--Meet Indians who bring Provisions--Arrive at Great Bear Lake--Detained by want of a Boat--Send out Hunters--Arrival of Beaulieu--Collect the Party, and proceed to Fort Franklin--Conclusion. [Sidenote: Wednesday, 9th.] At four o'clock in the morning of the 9th of August, we left our encampment at the mouth of the Coppermine River, and proceeded in the boats to Bloody Fall, a distance of about eleven miles. The river was very low, and, in many places, there was scarcely water enough for our boats, which did not draw more than fourteen inches. On the preceding evening an Esquimaux dog had come to our encampment: his meagre aspect showed that he had fared badly, and hunger had rendered him so tame that he readily ate from our hands. After following us a considerable way up the river he left us; and we found, on our arrival at Bloody Fall, that a party of Esquimaux had just quitted that place; probably having discovered us from a distance. The Coppermine River, for forty miles above Bloody Fall, flows over an uneven stony bed, betwixt precipitous rocky walls, and is full of rapids. It is totally impracticable to ascend it in boats having a greater draught of water than a few inches; and even a small canoe must be frequently carried over land for considerable distances, to avoid the numerous obstacles which occur. It was necessary, therefore, that we should leave at this place the Dolphin and Union, and every thing that was not absolutely necessary for our journey. We determined, however, on taking with us Colonel Pasley's canvass boat, the Walnut-shell, in the hope of its occasionally relieving the men of their burdens for a short time, should any part of the river admit of its use. The afternoon was employed in arranging the loads for crossing the barren grounds. Twenty pounds of pemmican were allotted to each man, and the packages of maccaroni, arrow-root, portable-soup, chocolate, sugar, and tea, were equally distributed; together with the nautical almanack, astronomical tables, charts, two fishing nets, the collection of plants, specimens of rocks, and the portable boat, kettles, and hatchets; all of which, with the blankets, spare shoes, guns, and ammunition, made a load of about seventy-two pounds a man. Mr. Kendall undertook to carry the sextant and azimuth-compass; and I took the artificial horizon and a package of paper for drying plants, besides which we each carried a blanket, gun, and ammunition. As I feared that some of the party would over-rate their strength, and, through a desire of saving some favourite article, load themselves too heavily at the outset, which could not fail to prove very injurious to the regularity and speed of our march, I informed them, that, as soon as we were at a convenient distance from our present encampment, I should halt and examine all their bundles. The boats were drawn up on shore, out of the reach of any flood, and the remainder of the articles, that we had brought to give the Esquimaux, were put into boxes and placed in the tents, that they might be readily found by the first party of that nation that passed this way. They consisted of fish-hooks, lines, hatchets, knives, files, fire-steels, kettles, combs, awls, needles, thread, blue and red cloth, gartering, and beads, sufficient to serve a considerable number of Esquimaux for several years. The tents were securely pitched, and the Union Jack hoisted, partly for the purpose of attracting the attention of the natives, and partly to show them the mode of using the tents, which may prove to be very useful in their summer journeys. That no accident might occur from the natives finding any of our powder, all that we did not require to take with us was thrown into the river. [Sidenote: Thursday, 10th.] At six o'clock on the morning of the 10th, after the men had been down to the beach to take a last look of our little boats, we began our march to Bear Lake, intending to keep on the banks of the Coppermine as far as its bend at the Copper Mountains, and to strike from thence straight across the hills for the mouth of Dease's River, which falls into the north-east arm of Bear Lake. We set off at a pretty quick pace, and the first hill, after leaving our encampment, being steep, tried the wind of most of the party, so that the few who had loaded themselves with superfluous articles, were glad to throw them away during a short halt on its summit, and when I examined their packages, at the next resting-place, I found little to reject. A path beaten by the rein-deer and the Esquimaux conducted us down the southern face of this range of hill to the plain beneath, when we halted to prepare breakfast, and to make some further arrangements, as several of the party, being unaccustomed to carry loads, advanced slowly. After breakfast the portable boat was put together, and the baggage being placed in it, we endeavoured to tow it up the river, but found this to be impracticable, owing to the badness of the towing-path, the numerous high cliffs which bound the stream, and the form of the boat, which permitted the water in strong rapids to flow over its bows. This boat was admirably adapted for the purpose for which it was constructed by Colonel Pasley, that of crossing a river or lake, as we had ascertained by previous trials; but we knew that no river, except such as we could ford, could occur on our route to Bear Lake; and I, therefore, determined on leaving it, together with half a bag of arrow-root, and five muskets, by which the loads were reduced about fifteen pounds a man. The march was then resumed with alacrity, and, notwithstanding that the day was hot and sultry, we proceeded with greater speed and satisfaction. Mr. Kendall walked at the head of the line at a steady pace, halting for five minutes every half hour to rest the party, and prevent straggling. At five we encamped, having marched about six miles in a direct line. The route throughout the journey was regulated, from time to time, by our taking the bearing of a distant hill, or other conspicuous object, by the compass, and walking directly for it; and the distance was estimated by noting the time and guessing the rate of our march. Of this, which was in general a little more than two miles an hour, previous practice had enabled us to judge so correctly, that the estimate seldom erred more than a mile a day. The error, whatever it was, was always corrected at noon, when the latitude was observed, and the course and distance were then calculated anew. During the day several small herds of rein-deer were seen, but I would not permit any one to leave the line of march to go in pursuit of them; after encamping, however, M'Leay killed a fine buck. A solitary stunted spruce-fir grew near our encampment, and the most northerly clump on the river was seen about two miles to the southward. When supper was over and a watch set, we stretched ourselves on the ground, and soon sunk into sound sleep. The temperature at sunset was 62 degrees. [Sidenote: Friday, 11th.] Setting out on the 11th, at six in the morning, we halted to breakfast at nine, and Mr. Kendall took an observation at noon, in latitude 67 degrees 33 minutes N. We encamped at half past five P.M. amongst some small pines. The day was fine, and a fresh easterly wind rendered it agreeable for walking; but the men were much annoyed by their burdens, and appeared jaded when we halted for the night. Their loads could not have exceeded fifty-two pounds each, but the frequent ascent and descent in crossing the small hills that lay in our way, and the occasional sponginess of the ground, and insecurity of footing, rendered marching much more laborious than it would have been on a hard English highway. The direct distance travelled this day was about twelve miles. We saw many gray Arctic marmots (_Arctomys Parryi_,) sporting near their burrows, and a little terrier dog, which had been our fellow voyager from England, showed much dexterity in cutting off their retreat, and succeeded in catching several of them. The dog's long confinement in the boat rendered the exercise he now took very fatiguing, and when we halted for the night he was the most tired of the party. Many young rein-deer were also seen, and after we encamped Ooligbuck killed one. The temperature in the evening was 50 degrees, but the night was cold. [Sidenote: Saturday, 12th.] Our march on the 12th was rendered pleasant by a cool northerly breeze, and the men being now familiar with their loads, which had also suffered some diminution by the preceding evening's repast, we made a more rapid progress. The length of the march was seventeen miles, being, exclusive of the half hourly halts and the time occupied by breakfast, at the rate of two miles and a half an hour. In the course of the day we crossed several ridges of the Copper Mountains to avoid a bend of the river. The Whisky-John (_corvus Canadensis_) visited our encampment in the evening for the first time since we left the Mackenzie. [Sidenote: Sunday, 13th.] On the 13th, commencing the day's march at five A.M., we walked along the banks of the river until nine, when we halted to prepare breakfast, at the place where Captain Franklin encamped on the 11th of July 1821. After breakfast we forded the small stream, on the banks of which several pieces of native copper and some copper ore were found on the former Expedition. A quantity of ice formed by snow, consolidated by the oozing of the stream, still remained in the bed of this rivulet. At noon the latitude was observed in 67 degrees 13 minutes N., and as we were now on the spot where the Coppermine makes the nearest approach to the north-east arm of Bear Lake, we decided on striking directly from this place to the mouth of Dease's River, and the course and distance were accordingly calculated. Our route lay over rocks of old red sandstone, clay-slate, and greenstone disposed in ridges, which had a direction from E.S.E. to W.N.W. The sides of many of the ridges were precipitous, and their uneven and stony summits were two hundred or two hundred and fifty feet high. The valleys were generally swampy and abounded in small lakes. A few scattered and thin clumps of pines existed in the more sheltered spots, but the country was, in general, naked. Several burrows of wolves were seen in the mountains. We crossed two small streams in the course of the day, flowing towards the Coppermine, and encamped at four P.M. on the banks of a small lake. Sand-flies, the first we had seen this season, were numerous and troublesome in the evening, the temperature then being 53 degrees. [Sidenote: Monday, 14th.] Setting out at five A.M. on the 14th, we halted to breakfast at nine, after a pretty brisk walk through a country entirely destitute of wood. Some partridges, which were so tame as to be easily killed with stones, furnished us with an agreeable variety of diet. A meridional observation was obtained in latitude 67 degrees 10 minutes N. In endeavouring to get round the south end of a small chain of lakes, which lay in our route, we were stopped by a narrow stream about six feet deep, flowing from them towards the Coppermine River; but, on sounding the lake a little way from the head of the stream, we found that it was fordable without difficulty. We marched to a late hour in search of fuel to cook some deer's meat, which M'Leay had procured in the course of the day, and were fortunate in at length finding a wooded valley on the banks of a small stream, that fell into the chain of lakes which we had crossed. It is probably this river, and chain of lakes, that the Indians ascend from the Coppermine River in canoes to the height of land which they cross on their route to Bear Lake.[13] The ridges of hill over which we marched on this day consisted of spotted sandstone and porphyry. The temperature in the evening was 47 degrees, and the night was frosty. Two white wolves took a survey of our bivouack, but did not venture within gun-shot. [Sidenote: Tuesday, 15th.] Starting on the 15th at five o'clock, we marched until eight, when we halted to breakfast. The air felt very cold, although the thermometer was not below 39 degrees. In the early part of the day we crossed some ridges of sandstone, and towards noon we travelled over granite, similar to that which abounds in the neighbourhood of Fort Enterprize. Much wood was seen in a valley far to the westward, but the hills over which our course lay were quite naked. The bog whortleberry (_vaccinium uliginosum_,) however, grew abundantly on these hills, and as its fruit was now in the highest perfection, the men at every resting-place threw themselves down, and indulged freely, without sustaining any injury. In the afternoon our route was over nearly horizontal strata of spotted sandstone and conglomerate. About three o'clock we had gained the summit of the height of land separating the Coppermine River from Great Bear Lake, and obtained from it an extensive view of a lower and well wooded country; but all the grounds in our immediate neighbourhood consisted of barren sandstone strata. After looking in vain for a comfortable sleeping-place, as the night threatened to be stormy, and a moist and cold fog was setting in, we were obliged to content ourselves with building a rude shelter with blocks of sandstone; and to use for firing a black lichen (_cornicularia divergens_,) which, fortunately, grew plentifully in the crevices of the rock. The distance walked this day was about fourteen miles. We had no meridional observations, because the sky was obscured. We had supped, and most of the men had retired to rest, when Mr. Kendall, in sweeping the horizon with his telescope, saw three Indians coming down a hill, and directing their steps towards us. More moss was immediately thrown on the fire, and the St. George's ensign hoisted on the end of a musquet, to point out to the comers who we were; but as they hid the youngest of their number in a ravine, at the foot of the hill, and the two seniors seemed to approach slowly and with suspicion, Mr. Kendall and I went unarmed to meet them. They came up, one with his bow and arrows in his hand, and the other with his gun cocked; but as soon as they recognised our dress, which was the same that I had worn in our voyage round Bear Lake, the preceding autumn, when I had seen most of the Hare Indian tribe, they shouted in an ecstasy of joy, shook hands most cordially with us, and called loudly for the young lad to come up. The meeting was no less gratifying to us: these people had brought furs and provisions to Fort Franklin in the winter, and they now seemed to be friends come to rejoice with us on the termination of our voyage. We learned from them, partly by signs, and partly from the little we understood of their language, that by the advice of It-chinnah, the Hare Indian Chief, they had been hunting for some time in this neighbourhood, in the hopes of falling in with us on our way from the sea; that they would give us all the provision they had collected, accompany us to Bear Lake, and warn all the Indians in the neighbourhood of our arrival. They appeared much surprised, when, placing the compass on the ground, we showed them the exact bearing of the mouth of Dease's River; and they were not able to comprehend how we knew the way in a quarter through which we had never travelled. They said, however, that they would conduct us in the morning to the Indian portage road, where we would have better walking than by keeping the direct route across the hills. We had reserved but little that we could present to these kind people, though every one contrived to muster some small article for them, which they gratefully received. They were dressed, after the manner of their tribe, with fillets of deer-skin round their heads and wrists, and carried in their hands a pair of deer's horns and a few willow twigs, which are all serviceable in enabling them to approach the rein-deer, in the way described by Mr. Wentzel in the Narrative of Captain Franklin's former voyage. Ooligbuck, who had gone out to hunt, returned in the night. He met an Indian who had just killed a deer with an arrow, and had tried to persuade him to come to us; but neither of them understood the other's language, and the Indian, probably terrified by the sight of an Esquimaux armed with a gun, presented him with a piece of the deer's meat, and then made off in an opposite direction. Many of the Hare Indians abstain from visiting the forts for several years, and it is possible that this one had not heard of us, or at least had not received a distinct account of our intention of returning his way, and of our having an Esquimaux with us. Our Indian friends told us that they did not know that any of their countrymen were hunting in the direction which Ooligbuck pointed out. [Sidenote: Wednesday, 16th.] On the 16th a thick fog prevented us from quitting our bivouack until seven o'clock, when the Indians led us down the hill about a mile to the portage road, and we resumed the precise line of march that we had followed from the Coppermine River, (S. 63 degrees W.) Such of our Highlandmen as had been in the service of the Hudson's Bay Company, and, consequently knew from experience the difficulty of travelling through a country without guides, could not help expressing their surprise at the justness of the course we had followed. We had not concealed from them, that from want of observations, or from the difficulty of estimating the distance walked, we might err a mile or two in our reckoning, so that they were prepared, on our reaching Bear Lake, to turn a little to the right or left in search of the river; but they had scarcely hoped to have reached that point without having to perform a single mile of unnecessary walking. The portage-road conducted us in a short time to the principal branch of Dease's River, on the banks of which, at the distance of six miles from our encampment, we halted to breakfast. The stream there receives another branch, but it is fordable without difficulty, being nowhere much above knee-deep. A little way further to the westward, however, it is less rapid, and forms frequent lake-like expansions. Our march from last night's encampment was over sandstone rocks, and down a pretty rapid ascent. The ground was barren in the extreme, except at our breakfasting place, where there was a convenient clump of wood and a profusion of whortleberries. Having finished this meal, we resumed the march, with the intention of halting a few miles further on, that our Indian friends might rejoin us with their provision, which lay in store to the southward of our route. We therefore encamped at half past two o'clock in a pleasant pine clump, and immediately set fire to a tree to apprize the Indians of our situation. They arrived at sunset, heavily laden with tongues, fat, and half-dried meat; and M'Leay also killed two deer after we encamped, so that we revelled in abundance. The length of the day's journey was fourteen miles, and the estimated distance of the mouth of Dease's River twenty miles. [Sidenote: Thursday, 17th.] The provisions obtained from the Indians being distributed amongst the men, we commenced the march at five o'clock in the morning, and walked, until the usual breakfasting hour, over a piece of fine level ground. A range of sandstone hills rose on our left, and the river ran nearly parallel to our course on the right, but we walked at the distance of one or two miles from it, to avoid its windings and the swampy grounds on its borders. Pine-trees grow only in small detached clumps on its south bank; but the uneven valley, which we saw spreading for ten or twelve miles to the northward, was well wooded. The Needagazza Hills, which lie on the north shore of the Bear Lake, closed the view to the westward. Several columns of smoke were seen to the westward, and one to the southward; the latter, the Indians informed us, was made by It-chinnah. We breakfasted on the banks of a small stream, where the whortleberry bushes were loaded with fruit of a finer flavour than any we had previously met with. At noon we crossed a hill, on the summit of which Mr. Kendall had an observation, that placed it in 66 degrees 58 minutes of north latitude. Our route afterwards led us across several deep ravines close to the river, which there runs by the base of some lofty cliffs, of light red sandstone, and we pushed on in great spirits, and at a rapid pace, with the intention of reaching Bear Lake that evening; but the Indians complaining that they were unable to keep up with us, we halted at three P.M. Several trees were then set on fire to apprize It-chinnah and his party of our approach; and, after supper, I went to the summit of a hill, and readily recognised the islands in Dease's Bay of Bear Lake, from their peculiar form and disposition. [Sidenote: Friday, 18th.] Setting out at three A.M. on the 18th, the Indians conducted us over a rising ground, covered with white spruces, to a bay of the Great Bear Lake, about a mile from Dease's River. After breakfast, our stock of provisions being examined, it was found that we had two days' allowance remaining. A party was next sent to Dease's River to make a raft for setting the two nets, and they were also directed to look for traces of Beaulieu and his party. He had been ordered by Captain Franklin to leave the fort on the 6th of August, and to make the best of his way to the rendezvous, where he was to remain to the 20th of September. The length of his voyage, allowing for two or three days detention by adverse winds, was not expected to exceed seven or eight days, nor to be protracted, under any circumstances, beyond ten or twelve. We had, therefore, reason to suppose that he might have reached Dease's River by this time. He was fully aware of the inconvenience that we might experience, should we reach the appointed spot and find no provisions there; and to stimulate him to make as much haste as possible, I had promised him a fowling-piece, on condition that we found him waiting for us on our arrival. Huts were made to sleep in, and several trees set on fire to point out our position to the Indians in the neighbourhood. [Sidenote: Saturday, 19th.] The mossy ground near our encampment caught fire in the night, and the flames spread so rapidly that we were obliged on the morning of the 19th, to move to the banks of the river, where we made new huts. Owing to the loss of a hatchet in driving the stakes, only one net had been set the preceding evening, and in it we took eight carp. The raft being made of green wood was not sufficiently buoyant, and a new one was, therefore, constructed this day of dried timber. The carp afforded a breakfast for the party, and supper consumed all our deer's meat, together with a portion of the remainder of the pemmican. The young Indian went off in the afternoon in quest of It-chinnah's party. A strong easterly wind blowing all this day, was adverse to Beaulieu's advance. [Sidenote: Sunday, 20th.] On Sunday, the 20th, prayers were read, and thanks returned to the Almighty for his gracious protection and the success which had attended our voyage. The nets yielding seventeen pike, carp, and white fish, provided an ample breakfast for the party, and before supper time the young Indian returned with two of his countrymen, bringing meat sufficient for three days consumption. Part of it was the flesh of the musk-ox, which was fat and juicy, but had a high musky flavour. We had seen none of these animals on our march from the Coppermine River, although we frequently noticed their foot marks. Frequent squalls during the day brought much rain, but the huts which we had made of pine branches kept us dry. We could not but consider ourselves fortunate in having had no rain in the journey overland, when there was not sufficient wood to afford us the shelter we now experienced. [Sidenote: Monday, 21st.] On the 21st the nets yielded sixteen fish, which were enough for breakfast. Mr. Kendall crossed the river on a raft, and went to the top of a hill to the westward to look for Beaulieu; and, by way of keeping the men employed, I sent M'Leay and some of our best hunters in quest of deer, and set the carpenter and the remainder of the party to make oars. Our Indian friends left us to warn some more of their countrymen, of our situation, and five others arrived in the evening, bringing meat and large basketfuls of whortleberries. M'Leay and the other hunters returned without having seen any deer. [Sidenote: Tuesday, 22nd.] To secure a stock of provision for our journey to the fort, in the event of any accident preventing the arrival of the boat, I resolved to send half the party on a distant excursion, and on the 22nd, Gillet, M'Leay, M'Duffie, M'Lellan, and Ooligbuck, were despatched to hunt in the neighbourhood of Limestone Point, on the north shore of the lake, with orders not to extend their excursions beyond Haldanes River, which falls into the lake about sixty miles to the westward of Dease River. If they went on to Haldanes River, they were to set up a mark on Limestone Point, that I might know whether they had passed or not. They took with them a small supply of provision, and an Indian guide. In the evening two Indians came with more meat. They were desirous of being paid with ammunition, which they much needed, but we had none to give them, and they cheerfully took our notes of hand for payment, on their arrival at the fort in the winter. [Sidenote: Wednesday, 23rd.] The 23d day of August having passed away like the four preceding ones, in anxious expectation of Beaulieu's arrival, I began to apprehend that some serious accident had happened to his boat, and to fear that we should be obliged to walk round the Lake to the Fort. The distance exceeding three hundred miles, we could not expect to accomplish it in less than three weeks, and not without much fatigue and suffering, for the men's stock of shoes was nearly exhausted, their clothing ill adapted for the frosty nights that occur in September, and deer do not frequent, at this season, much of the country through which our route lay. I naturally looked forward to such a march with uneasiness, yet, as the season was drawing to a close, I determined not to delay setting out beyond the 28th, when I intended to engage some Indians as guides, and to take with us as much dried meat as we could carry. The wind blew from the south-west this day, and we were much tormented by sand-flies. [Sidenote: Thursday, 24th.] On the evening of the 24th, as we were about to retire to bed, having given up all hopes of Beaulieu's arrival that day, we heard people talking in the direction of the mouth of the river, and soon afterwards saw a boat and several canoes. A musket being fired to show them our position, they steered for the encampment, and landed opposite to the huts. They proved to be Beaulieu's party, consisting of four Canadians, four Chipewyan hunters, and ten Dog-Ribs, which, with their wives and children, amounted to about thirty in all. We learnt from Beaulieu, that he had been sent off from the Fort by Mr. Dease, on the 6th, with strict injunctions to proceed to the rendezvous with his utmost speed; but he pleaded the badness of the weather and the adverse winds as the cause of his delay. He had not seen the five men I sent off on the 22d, though he had noticed a fire in a bay near Limestone Point, which I had no doubt was made by them; I therefore embarked directly to rejoin them at that place, accompanied by Mr. Kendall and the remainder of our party, two of the Canadians, and an Indian named the Babillard; directing Beaulieu to stay at the huts until he heard from us again. We rowed all night, and soon after day-break reached the spot where the fire had been made, but found no marks to indicate which way our men had gone: neither was there any mark at Limestone Point; I therefore caused a large fire to be made at the latter place, and remained there the whole day. [Sidenote: Saturday, 26th.] Our people not appearing on the 26th, I returned in the boat to Dease River, leaving Mr. Kendall and the Babillard at Limestone Point. Beaulieu had seen nothing of the absentees, and it was therefore evident that they had gone on to Haldane River, whither I resolved to proceed in search of them; but that they might not suffer from want of food, if by any chance we missed them, I directed Beaulieu's party to remain where they were, until I sent them permission to depart by two Canadians, whom I took with me on purpose in a small canoe. Mr. Dease had directed Beaulieu to go to M'Tavish Bay to hunt deer, and dry meat for the fort, as soon as we arrived; and as the boat was well adapted for carrying dried provision, I now exchanged it with his north canoe. [Sidenote: Sunday, 27th.] We rejoined Mr. Kendall at Limestone Point at day-break on the morning of the 27th, and afterwards paddled along the coast until two P.M., when a strong head-wind obliged us to put ashore. As soon as we landed, I set out with the Babillard for Haldane River, carrying a small quantity of pemmican, lest the people should be in want of food; and after a walk, or rather a run, of five miles, I had the happiness of finding them all well, and with plenty of provisions, as they had killed six deer. Their Indian guide had taken them a little inland, by which they had missed Limestone Point; but they were very sorry it had so happened, when they learned the anxiety they had occasioned to Mr. Kendall and myself, by their not erecting the mark there as they had been directed to do. The wind moderating after sunset, Mr. Kendall joined us with the two canoes, so that the party was again happily reunited. [Sidenote: Monday, 28th.] On Monday the 28th, I sent back the small canoe with the Babillard and two Canadians, to join Beaulieu, and proceed with the rest of the party in the larger canoe to Fort Franklin, where we arrived on Friday, the 1st of September, and received a warm welcome from Mr. Dease, after an absence of seventy-one days, during which period we had travelled by land and water one thousand seven hundred and nine geographical, or nineteen hundred and eighty statute miles. Having now brought the Narrative of the proceedings of the Eastern Detachment to a conclusion, the pleasing duty remains of expressing my gratitude to the party for their cheerful and obedient conduct. Not a murmur of discontent was heard throughout the voyage, but every individual engaged with alacrity in the laborious tasks he was called upon to perform. Where all behaved with the greatest zeal, it would be invidious to particularize any; and I am happy in having it in my power to add, that since our return to England, Gillet, Fuller and Tysoe, who were in His Majesty's service previous to their being employed on the Expedition, have been rewarded by promotion. Our good-natured and faithful Esquimaux friend Ooligbuck, carried with him to his native lands the warmest wishes and esteem of the whole party. His attachment to us was never doubtful, even when we were surrounded by a tribe of his own nation. The general abilities and professional skill of my companion, Lieutenant Kendall, are duly appreciated in higher quarters, and can derive little lustre from any eulogium from me; but I cannot deny myself the gratification of recording my deep sense of the good fortune and happiness I experienced in being associated with a gentleman of such pleasing manners, and one upon whose friendly support and sound judgment I could with confidence rely, on occasions of difficulty and doubt inseparable from such a voyage. _End of Dr. Richardson's Narrative of the Proceedings of the Eastern Detachment._ _TABLE of the distances travelled by both Branches of the Expedition, and of the extent of their Discoveries in 1827._ BY THE WESTERN PARTY. _Statute Miles._ ---------------------------------------------------------------------- From Fort Franklin, by Fort Norman, to Point Separation (river course) 525 Point Separation to Pillage Point, at the Mouth of the Mackenzie 129 Pillage Point to Return reef (sea-voyage out) 374 Return Reef, back to Fort Franklin, including Peel River 1020 ---- Distance travelled by the Western Party in July, August, September, 1826. 2048 BY THE EASTERN PARTY. ---------------------------------------------------------------------- From Fort Franklin to Point Separation, along with the western party 525 Point Separation to Point Encounter (river course.) 159 Encounter to the Coppermine River (sea-voyage[14]) 863 The mouth of the Coppermine, over land to Fort Franklin 433 ---- Distance travelled by the Eastern Party in July and August, 1826 1980 EXTENT OF THE DISCOVERIES OF THE WESTERN PARTY IN 1826. ---------------------------------------------------------------------- From Point Separation to the mouth of the Mackenzie, by a western branch, not previously known 129 Pillage Point by the sea-coast to Point Beechey, which was seen from Return Reef 391 Peel River and a branch of the Mackenzie surveyed for the first time, on the return 90 ---- 610 EXTENT OF THE DISCOVERIES OF THE EASTERN PARTY IN 1826. ---------------------------------------------------------------------- From Sacred Island to Point Encounter, being a portion of the river lying to the eastward of Mackenzie's route 37 Point Encounter, along the coast to the Coppermine River 863 The Copper Mountains, overland to Bear Lake 115 ---- 1015 _TABLE of Times of High Water, reduced to Full and Change, by E.N. Kendall, Lieutenant, R.N._ Geographic Times of High Water. Winds. Position. Reduced Names of Places Lat Lon. to full Direction. Date. of Observations. N. W. Observed & change. Force. General Remarks. ---------------------------------------------------------------------- 1825. d. m. d. m. h. m. h. m. Aug. 16 Garry Island 69 29 135 41 1 0 P.M. 10 19 N.E. 6 No ice visible. 1826. July 9 Point Toker 69 38 132 18 4 25 P.M. 1 45 N.E.b.E. 5 Loose ice covering the sea. Rise of water 20 in. 10 } Bay between } { 5 0 P.M. 0 56 East. 8 } Points Toker } 69 43 131 58 { Heavy pieces of ice. 12 } and Warren } { 6 48 P.M. 1 48 - 5 Little ice visible. 13 Atkinson Island 69 55 130 43 7 0 P.M. 0 32 S.E. 1 Rise and fall 18 inches. 14 Browell Cove 70 00 130 20 7 0 P.M. 1 12 West. 6 Very little rise and fall. 18 Point Sir 70 08 127 45 3 15 A.M. 3 47 Calm. - P. Maitland 19 Near Cape Bathurst 70 33 127 21 1 30 A.M. 1 28 E.S.E. 6 { In the mouth of Harrowby Bay, round (18 & 19) { which the tide appeared to flow. { Flood setting from the Eastward. { Rise and fall 14-1/2 inches. 20 Point Fitton 70 11 126 14 4 00 A.M. 3 18 N.W. 6 Rise and fall 13 inches. _TABLE of Times of High Water, &c.--Concluded._ Geographic Times of High Water. Winds. Position. Reduced Names of Places Lat Lon. to full Direction. Date. of Observations. N. W. Observed & change. Force. General Remarks. ---------------------------------------------------------------------- 1826. d. m. d. m. h. m. h. m. July 20 W. Horton River 69 50 125 55 4 15 P.M. 3 15 W.N.W. 9 21 - - - - - 5 0 A.M. 3 49 - 7 27 Cape Lyon 69 46 122 51 {11 50 A.M. 6 33 E.N.E. 8 { Stream of flood from the { Eastward. Rise and fall 30 {Three miles from } { 14 inches. {Buchanan River } 69 24 120 03 { 5 0 P.M. 8 20 W.N.W. 8 Ice close and heavy, Rise and fall 9 inches. Aug. 1 Point Wise 69 03 119 00 8 30 P.M. 7 04 West. 4 Compact ice. 3 Stapylton Bay 68 52 116 03 9 0 P.M. 8 22 East. 2 In a bay filled with ice. 4 { Between C. Hope } { and C. Bexley } 68 57 115 48 3 15 P.M. 8 25 E.S.E. 4 Ice to seaward. 5 Chantry Island 68 45 114 23 8 30 P.M. 7 22 W.S.W. 3 Loose masses of ice. 6 {Seven miles from } {C. Krusenstern } 68 32 113 53 9 00 P.M. 7 13 Variable. - Flood from the S.E. Velocity 3 miles an hour. FOOTNOTES: [13] Franklin's First Journey to the Polar Sea, p. 337. [14] All the distances mentioned in the narrative of the proceedings of the eastern detachment, are geographical miles. CAPTAIN FRANKLIN'S NARRATIVE RESUMED. CHAPTER VI. Brief Notices of the Second Winter at Bear Lake--Traditions of the Dog-Ribs--Leave Fort Franklin--Winter Journey to Fort Chipewyan--Remarks on the progress of improvement in the Fur Countries--Set out in Canoes on the Voyage Homeward--Join Dr. Richardson at Cumberland House--Mr. Drummond's Narrative--Arrival in Canada, at New York, and London. [Sidenote: Thursday, 21st] During our absence on the sea-coast, Mr. Dease had employed the Canadians in making such repairs about the buildings as to fit them for another winter's residence, but he had not been able to complete his plans before the arrival of Dr. Richardson's party, through whose assistance they were finished shortly after our return. The inconvenience arising from the unfinished state of the houses was a trifle, when compared to the disappointment we felt at the poverty of our store, which contained neither meat nor dried fish, and the party was living solely on the daily produce of the nets, which, at this time, was barely sufficient for its support. Notwithstanding the repeated promises which the Fort hunters and the Dog-Ribs in general had given us, of exerting themselves to collect provisions during the summer, we found that they had not supplied more than three deer since our departure. The only reason they assigned to Mr. Dease, on his remonstrating with them, was, that they had been withheld from hunting at any great distance from the Fort, by the fear of meeting the Copper Indians, who, they fancied, would be lying in wait to attack them. This excuse, however, had been so often alleged without a cause, that it was considered mere evasion, and we attributed their negligence to the indolence and apathy which mark the character of this tribe. I need not dilate upon the anxieties which we felt at the prospect of commencing the winter with such a scanty supply of food. We at once sent off five men, provided with nets and lines, to the fishery in M'Vicar's Bay, which had been so productive in the preceding year, in the hope that, besides gaining their own subsistence, they might store up some fish for us, which could be brought to the Fort when the lake was frozen. Our anxiety was, in some measure, relieved on the 28th of September, by the arrival of Beaulieu and some hunters, from the north side of Bear Lake, with a supply of dried meat. The term of Beaulieu's engagement being now expired, he was desirous of quitting our service; and though he was our best hunter, Mr. Dease advised me to comply with his request, as he had collected a number of useless followers, whom we must have fed during the short days. He accordingly took his departure, accompanied by seventeen persons, which was a very important relief to our daily issue of provision. I furnished them with ammunition from the store to enable them to hunt on their way to Marten Lake, where they intended to fish until the return of spring. [Sidenote: October.] Calculating that the stores, which had been ordered from York Factory, must have arrived at Fort Norman, I despatched Mr. Kendall for them; and he returned on the 8th of October, with as much of them as his canoe would carry. The men were immediately furnished with warm clothing, of which the eastern party were in great need, having left every thing on quitting the sea-coast, except one suit each. We were rejoiced at the receipt of a large packet of letters from England, dated in the preceding February. They brought out the gratifying intelligence that my friend Lieutenant Back had been promoted, in December, 1825, to the rank of Commander. I likewise received a large packet of news papers from his Excellency the Earl of Dalhousie, Governor-in-Chief of Canada, to whom I take this opportunity of returning my best thanks for the warm interest he took in the welfare of the Expedition. I shall now briefly trace the advance of winter: the nights were frosty and the weather was unsettled and gloomy, from the time of our arrival to the close of September. Heavy rain fell on the 2nd of October, which on the following day was succeeded by hard frost and much snow. The snow which fell on the 8th remained on the ground for the rest of the season. The small lake was frozen on the 12th, from which day we dated the commencement of winter as we had done in the preceding year. There was a succession of gales, and almost constant snow from that time to the close of the month; and on the 30th the thermometer first descended below zero. The snow then was much deeper than at the close of November in the former year. The last of the migratory birds, which were a few hardy ducks, took their departure on the 18th of October. [Sidenote: November.] Stormy weather kept the Bear Lake open until the 16th of November, nine days later than the year before; and for some weeks we received no assistance from the nets, which again reduced our stock of meat to a small quantity. The same occupations, amusements, and exercise, were followed by the officers and men as in the former residence; and the occurrences were so similar, that particular mention of them is unnecessary. On the 25th of November we despatched some men with dogs and sledges to bring the remainder of the stores from Fort Norman. As it was my intention, as soon as the maps and drawings could be finished, to proceed on the ice to Fort Chipewyan, in order to secure provisions for the out-going of the party, and to reach England by the earliest conveyance, I requested of Mr. Brisbois to provide a cariole, sledges, and snow-shoes, for my journey, the birch of which they are made being plentiful in the neighbourhood of Fort Norman, and he having a better workman than any at our establishment. On the 28th Mackenzie arrived from M'Vicar's Bay, with an acceptable supply of fine white-fish. We learned from him that our party, as well as the Indians, were living in abundance; and that the latter had shown their wisdom this season, not only in taking up their quarters at that place, instead of remaining about the Fort, as they had done in the former year, but also in building themselves houses like those of our men, and thus having more comforts and better shelter than they had ever before enjoyed. The fishery opposite the Fort was now sufficiently productive for our wants, though the fish, from being out of season, disagreed so much with several of the men as to cause great debility, which was the more distressing to us, as we were unable to supply the invalids with meat on more than two days in the week. Contrary to what had happened last season, we did not receive meat this year from more than six or seven persons of either the Hare Indians or Dog-Rib tribes, after the ice set in; this happened, probably, from our being now unprovided with goods to exchange for their furs; though they had been expressly told in the spring, that we should have abundance of ammunition, tobacco, and other supplies, to purchase all the meat they would bring. By the return of our men from Fort Norman, we learned that one of our Dog-Rib hunters had murdered a man of his tribe, in the autumn, near the mouth of the Bear Lake River. The culprit being at the house, we inquired into the truth of the report, which was found correct; and he was in consequence instantly discharged from our service. His victim had been a man of notoriously loose habits, and in this instance had carried off the hunter's wife and child, while he was in pursuit of deer, at a great distance from the Fort. The husband pursued the guilty pair the moment he discovered their flight, and, on overtaking them, instantly shot the seducer; but the woman escaped a similar fate, by having the presence of mind to turn aside the muzzle of the gun when in the act of being discharged. She did not, however, escape punishment: her husband struck her senseless to the ground with the stock of his gun, and would have completed her destruction, but for the cries and intreaties of their only child. This transaction adds another to the melancholy list of about thirty murders which have been perpetrated on the borders of this lake since 1799, when the first trading post was established. The Dog-Rib Indians, being derived from the same stock with the Chipewyans, have many traditions and opinions in common with that people. I requested Mr. Dease to obtain answers from the old men of the tribe to a few queries which I drew up, and the following is the substance of the information he procured, which may be compared with the more extended statements by Hearne and Mackenzie, of the general belief of the Chipewyans. The _first man_, they said, was, according to the tradition of their fathers, named Chapewee. He found the world well stocked with food, and he created children, to whom he gave two kinds of fruit, the black and the white, but forbade them to eat the black. Having thus issued his commands for the guidance of his family, he took leave of them for a time, and made a long excursion for the purpose of conducting the sun to the world. During this, his first absence, his children were obedient, and ate only the white fruit, but they consumed it all; the consequence was, that when he a second time absented himself to bring the moon, and they longed for fruit, they forgot the orders of their father, and ate of the black, which was the only kind remaining. He was much displeased on his return, and told them that in future the earth would produce bad fruits, and that they would be tormented by sickness and death--penalties which have attached to his descendants to the present day. Chapewee himself lived so long that his throat was worn out, and he could no longer enjoy life; but he was unable to die, until, at his own request, one of his people drove a beaver-tooth into his head. The same, or another Chapewee (for there is some uncertainty on this head,) lived with his family on a strait between two seas. Having there constructed a weir to catch fish, such a quantity were taken, that the strait was choked up, and the water rose and overflowed the earth. Chapewee embarked with his family in a canoe, taking with them all manner of birds and beasts. The waters covered the earth for many days, but, at length, Chapewee said, we cannot live always thus, we must find land again, and he accordingly sent a beaver to search for it. The beaver was drowned, and his carcase was seen floating on the water; on which Chapewee despatched a musk-rat on the same errand. The second messenger was long absent, and when he did return was near dying with fatigue, but he had a little earth in his paws. The sight of the earth rejoiced Chapewee, but his first care was about the safety of his diligent servant, the rat, which he rubbed gently with his hands, and cherished in his bosom, until it revived. He next took up the earth, and mouldering it with his fingers, placed it on the water, where it increased by degrees until it formed an island in the ocean. A wolf was the first animal Chapewee placed on the infant earth, but the weight proving too great, it began to sink on one side, and was in danger of turning over. To prevent this accident the wolf was directed to move round the island, which he did for a whole year, and in that time the earth increased so much in size, that all on board the canoe were able to disembark on it. Chapewee, on landing, stuck up a piece of wood, which became a fir-tree, and grew with amazing rapidity, until its top reached the skies. A squirrel ran up this tree, and was pursued by Chapewee, who endeavoured to knock it down, but could not overtake it. He continued the chase, however, until he reached the stars, where he found a fine plain, and a beaten road. In this road he set a snare made of his sister's hair, and then returned to the earth. The sun appeared as usual in the heavens in the morning, but at noon it was caught by the snare which Chapewee had set for the squirrel, and the sky was instantly darkened. Chapewee's family on this said to him, you must have done something wrong when you were aloft, for we no longer enjoy the light of day; "I have," replied he, "but it was unintentionally." Chapewee then endeavoured to repair the fault he had committed, and sent a number of animals up the tree to release the sun, by cutting the snare, but the intense heat of that luminary reduced them all to ashes. The efforts of the more active animals being thus frustrated, a ground mole, though such a grovelling and awkward beast, succeeded by burrowing under the road in the sky, until it reached and cut asunder the snare which bound the sun. It lost its eyes, however, the instant it thrust its head into the light, and its nose and teeth have ever since been brown, as if burnt. Chapewee's island, during these transactions, increased to the present size of the American Continent; and he traced the course of the rivers, and scraped out the lakes by drawing his fingers through the earth. He next allotted to the quadrupeds, birds, and fishes, their different stations, and endowing them with certain capacities, he told them that they were in future to provide for their own safety, because man would destroy them whenever he found their tracks; but to console them, he said, that when they died they should be like a seed of grass, which, when thrown into the water, springs again into life. The animals objected to this arrangement, and said, let us when we die be as a stone which, when thrown into a lake, disappears forever from the sight of man. Chapewee's family complained of the penalty of death entailed upon them for eating the black fruit, on which he granted that such of them as dreamed certain dreams should be men of medicine, capable of curing diseases and of prolonging life. In order to preserve this virtue, they were not to tell their dreams until a certain period had elapsed. To acquire the power of foretelling events, they were to take an ant alive, and insert it under the skin of the palm of the hand, without letting any one know what they had done. For a long time Chapewee's descendants were united as one family, but at length some young men being accidentally killed in a game, a quarrel ensued, and a general dispersion of mankind took place. One Indian fixed his residence on the borders of the lake, taking with him a dog big with young. The pups in due time were littered, and the Indian, when he went out to fish, carefully tied them up to prevent their straying. Several times as he approached his tent, he heard a noise of children talking and playing; but on entering it he only perceived the pups tied up as usual. His curiosity being excited by the noises he had heard, he determined to watch, and one day pretending to go out and fish, according to custom, he concealed himself in a convenient place. In a short time he again heard voices, and rushing suddenly into the tent, beheld some beautiful children sporting and laughing, with the dog-skins lying by their side. He threw the skins into the fire, and the children, retaining their proper forms, grew up, and were the ancestors of the Dog-Rib nation. On Mr. Dease questioning some of the elderly men as to their knowledge of a supreme Being, they replied--"We believe that there is a Great Spirit, who created every thing, both us and the world for our use. We suppose that he dwells in the lands from whence the white people come, that he is kind to the inhabitants of those lands, and that there are people there who never die: the winds that blow from that quarter (south) are always warm. He does not know the wretched state of our island, nor the pitiful condition in which we are." To the question, whom do your medicine men address when they conjure? They answered,--"We do not think that they speak to the master of life, for if they did, we should fare better than we do, and should not die. He does not inhabit our lands." [Sidenote: December.] On the evening of the 1st of December a brilliant comet appeared in the western quarter, which had been indistinctly seen the two preceding nights. A line drawn through alpha and eta Ursæ Majoris led to its position; it also formed a trapezium with alpha Aquilæ and alpha Lyræ and alpha Coronæ Borealis. This was the last night of its being visible. The temperature had been unusually high for several days, about this time +18 above zero; and, with the exception of the night of the 1st, the atmosphere gloomy; and we amused ourselves with conjecturing, whether this extraordinary warmth, and the density of the clouds, could in any way be ascribed to the comet. At Christmas we were favoured by a visit from Mr. Brisbois, to whom we felt much obliged for the care he had taken of our sea-stores, beside many personal civilities. The visit of a stranger is always heartily welcomed in such a desolate region, and to provide for the entertainment of the party during Mr. Brisbois's stay, Captain Back and Mr. Kendall displayed their ingenuity in cutting out several pasteboard figures, to represent behind an illuminated screen the characters of a comic piece, which Captain Back had written for the occasion. The exhibition was entirely new to most of the party, and its execution afforded such general amusement, that it was repeated on three nights at the request of the men. [Sidenote: January.] The New Year was celebrated by a dance, which closed our festivities; and on Mr. Brisbois quitting us the following day, we resumed our ordinary occupations. Two Hare Indians arrived at the fort, whom Mr. Kendall recognised as the persons who had brought provisions to Dr. Richardson's party, as soon as they had heard of his having reached the Bear Lake Portage; and we had much pleasure in rewarding their promptitude on that occasion, by a substantial present and a silver medal. They were particularly pleased at the medals, and assured us that they should be proud to show them to the rest of their tribe as tokens of our approbation. On the evening of the 4th of January, the temperature being -52.2 degrees, Mr. Kendall froze some mercury in the mould of a pistol bullet, and fired it against a door at the distance of six paces. A small portion of the mercury penetrated to the depth of one eighth of an inch, but the remainder only just lodged in the wood. Much snow fell in the second week of January; and on the 12th, we ascertained that its average depth was two feet in the sheltered parts of the woods. The weather became mild after the 20th; and on the 22nd, the sun's rays were so powerful as to raise a spirit thermometer with a blackened bulb, to +30.5 degrees, when the temperature of the air was -3.5 degrees. A very brilliant and clearly defined parhelion was visible at the time, and there were only a few light clouds. The wind was east, and as usual, with the wind from that quarter when the sky is clear, the distant land appeared much distorted by refraction. The documents which had been preparing being now nearly finished, we sent for the cariole, &c. from Fort Norman. [Sidenote: 18th.] When the men came back, they brought the information, that, according to the report of the Indians, the ice was so rough on the Mackenzie above Fort Norman, that travelling would be extremely difficult. I therefore abandoned the intention of proceeding by that way, and resolved on passing through the woods to Fort Simpson, as soon as guides could be procured. The delay afforded me the opportunity of registering the lowest temperature we had witnessed in this country. [Sidenote: February.] At a quarter after eight in the morning of the 7th of February, the thermometer descended to -58 degrees; it had been -57.5 degrees, and 57.3 degrees thrice in the course of this and the preceding day--between the 5th and 8th, its general state was from -48 degrees to -52 degrees, though it occasionally rose to -43 degrees. At Fort Enterprise, during a similar degree of cold, the atmosphere had been calm: but here we had a light wind, which sometimes approached to a fresh breeze. The sky was cloudless the whole time. Some of our men, as well as the Indians, were travelling on the lake during this cold without experiencing any greater inconvenience than having their faces frost bitten. The dogs, however, suffered severely, three being completely lamed by the frost, and all of them becoming much thinner.[15] These cold days were followed by windy though mild weather, which brought the rein-deer nearer to the Establishment; and our hunters killed seven within a day's march. Their reappearance in our neighbourhood was very gratifying to the whole party, as we were heartily tired of a fish-diet, and I felt an especial pleasure at being able to quit the place without the least apprehension of the party being in want of provision. The following is a list of the amount of provision we obtained at Fort Franklin, from the time of Mr. Dease's arrival to the close of January 1827; independent of the supplies of pemmican, &c. for the sea voyage, which were procured from the Hudson's Bay Company. Small Fish, Bear Lake Herring, 79,440.--Trout, 3,475.--Pounds of fresh meat, 24,053.--Dried ribs of Rein Deer, 2,370.--Pounds of pounded deer's meat, 1,744.--Pounds of fat or tallow, 2,929.--Rein-deer tongues, 1,849.--Beaver, 12.--Partridges, 386.--Hares, 52. On the 16th of February, Augustus and two Dog-Ribs were sent forward to be at the track in the line of my intended route. My departure being fixed for the 20th, the charts, drawings, journals, and provisions were distributed between the cariole and three sledges of which my train consisted; and as the dogs were in too weak a condition for drawing heavy burdens, two Indians were engaged, to accompany us four days, for the purpose of carrying part of the pemmican. I afterwards delivered written instructions to Captain Back, directing him to proceed to York Factory as soon as the ice should break, and from thence, by the Hudson's Bay ship, to England, taking with him the British party, but to send the Canadians to Montreal. Augustus and Ooligbuck were to be forwarded to Churchill, that they might rejoin their relatives. [Sidenote: Tuesday, 20th.] At ten A.M., I quitted the Fort, accompanied by five of our men and the two Indians, the latter dragging each sixty pounds of pemmican on their sledges. Captain Back, the officers, and men assembled to give us a farewell salute of three hearty cheers, which served to renew my regret at leaving a society whose members had endeared themselves to me by unremitting attention to their duties, and the greatest personal kindness. We crossed the lake expeditiously, favoured by a north-west gale, and then continued our course to the southward until sunset. The mode of bivouacking in the winter, as well as the course of proceeding, having been so fully described in my former Narrative, and by several other travellers in this country, I need not repeat them. We usually set forward at the first appearance of light and marched until sunset, halting an hour to breakfast. The rate of walking depended on the depth of snow; where the track was good, we made about two miles in the hour. On the evening of the second day, we were deserted by our Indian companions, who, as we afterwards learned, took advantage of the rest of the party being some distance in advance of them, to turn back to the nearest wood, and there deposit the pemmican on a stage which they constructed by the road side. Supposing that they had only halted in consequence of the gale that was then blowing, we did not send to look after them before the following morning, when every trace of their path was covered with the snow drift; and as I considered we might possibly spend some time in a fruitless search, I thought the wisest course was to put the party and dogs on a shorter allowance than usual, and proceed on our journey. Their conduct affords another instance of the little dependence that ought to be placed on the Indians of this country, when more than ordinary exertion is required. [Sidenote: March.] We travelled fifty miles through a swampy level country, thinly wooded, with a few ridges of hills visible in the distance, east and west of our course. The country was uneven and better wooded for the succeeding thirty miles. We next crossed a steep range of hills elevated about eight hundred feet above the surrounding land, and then passing over a succession of lower hills and vallies, descended to the Mackenzie, and following that river for thirty miles, came to Fort Simpson on the 8th of March; the whole distance being two hundred and twenty miles, and for the last one hundred and seventy miles, through a well wooded country. We crossed several rivers which flow into the Mackenzie, and some considerable lakes which are laid down in the map. But one solitary family of Indians were seen on the journey, and these were stationed within a day's march of Fort Simpson. They had inclosed large tracts of ground with hedges, in which they set snares for hares, and, being very successful, were living in abundance, and were well clothed, their dress consisting principally of hare skins. As soon as Mr. Smith, the chief Factor of the District, was informed of our approach, and that we were short of provisions, in consequence of the Indians having made off with the pemmican, he kindly sent a supply of fresh meat for our use; and on our arrival at the Fort, he gave us the most friendly reception. Our Indian guide had never been nearer to Fort Simpson by land, than the Lake of the Elevated Land, and only once by the course of the Mackenzie, many years before the Fort was built; and yet if he had not been led aside by falling upon the track leading to the Indians above-mentioned, he would have come upon the Mackenzie, directly opposite Fort Simpson. His course he told me was governed by his recollection of a particular mountain, which he remembered to have noticed from the Mackenzie, and which we now passed within two miles, but on his former visit, he did not approach it nearer than eighteen miles. Its outline must have appeared so different when seen from these distances, that one can hardly imagine a less observant eye than that of an Indian recognising any of its distinguishing points, especially as it was not a detached mountain, but formed one of a line of hills of considerable extent. Our dogs being completely tired, I remained a week to recruit their strength. During this interval I had the opportunity of examining all the accounts which the Hudson's Bay Company had to present for supplies to the Expedition from this department, and of making provision for the outward journey of Captain Back and his party. Arrangements were also made, that the Hudson's Bay Company should take, at a valuation, the spare stores of the Expedition on its quitting Bear Lake. I accompanied Mr. Smith to a part of the River of the Mountains, where a portion of the bank, several acres in extent, had been torn off, and thrown a considerable distance into the channel of the river. The disruption took place in the preceding November, some days after the water had been frozen, and when there was no apparent cause for its separation. When the water is flowing over the banks, and the earth is in consequence loosened, the falling of the bank is not unfrequent in the Mackenzie, though on a much smaller scale than in this instance. I can only account for the separation of the mass after the ground had been frozen, by the supposition, that there was some spring of warm water in its rear, which loosened the soil, and that the pressure of the ice contributed, with the weight of snow at the top, to its overthrow. At the time of my visit, an Indian woman committed suicide, by hanging herself, in a fit of jealousy, at an encampment a short distance from the Fort. I had thought that suicide was extremely rare among the Northern Indians; but I subsequently learned that it was not so uncommon as I had imagined, and I was informed of two instances that occurred in the year of 1826. The weather was remarkably mild; during my stay icicles were formed on the southern front of the house, and there were many other indications of an early spring. [Sidenote: Thursday, 15th.] On the afternoon of the 15th of March I took leave of Mr. Smith, who kindly furnished me with his best dog for my cariole, one of mine having proved unfit for the journey to Slave Lake; we were also indebted to him for the skin of a mountain goat and a lynx; and to Mr. M'Pherson for the skins of several smaller animals and birds, from the neighbourhood of the Rocky Mountains, which they added to our collection. Having sent back one of my men with the Indian guides to Bear Lake, we had now only two sledges; but as we were unable to carry the whole of our lading, Mr. Smith had the goodness to send a sledge and one of his men to convey a part of the provisions for four days. At the distance of eight miles we met two men with a cariole and sledge, which Mr. M'Vicar had sent for my use from Slave Lake; but being well provided I did not require the services of this party, though we derived great benefit from their track as we proceeded, and also from some deposits of provision which they had made on the route. [Sidenote: Wednesday, 21st.] Following the course of the Mackenzie, we arrived, on the 21st, at the expansion of the river called the Little Lake, and there had the pleasure of meeting two Canadians, on their way to Bear Lake, with a packet of letters from England. We hastened towards the shore and encamped; and though the night was piercingly cold, I spent the greatest part of it most agreeably, scanning the contents of the box by the unsteady light of a blazing fire. After breakfast next morning I despatched the packet to its destination, under the charge of M'Leay, who had accompanied me from Bear Lake, and retained one of the Canadians in his stead. We arrived at Fort Resolution, on the Slave Lake to breakfast, on the 26th, and I once more had the happiness of receiving the friendly attentions of Mr. M'Vicar, to whom it will be remembered by the readers of my last Narrative, that the members of that Expedition were so greatly indebted for his tender care of them after their sufferings. Dr. Richardson had quitted this place in the preceding December, for the purpose of joining Mr. Drummond, the Assistant Botanist in the Saskatchawan River, and that he might have the benefit of an earlier spring than in this quarter to collect plants. The prospect here being completely wintry, I made another halt of eight days, being desirous of remaining as long as I could, without incurring the risk of exposure to the thaw on my way to Fort Chipewyan. I was glad to find that the Chipewyans and Copper Indians were at length employing dogs to drag their sledges. A superstitious belief that their own origin was derived from those animals, had for several years past thrown this laborious and degrading occupation on the poor women, who, by the change, experienced a most happy relief. It was indeed, highly gratifying to observe that these Indians no longer beat their wives in the cruel manner to which they had been formerly accustomed; and that, in the comparative tenderness with which they now treat the sex, they have made the first and greatest step to all moral and general improvement. It will be recollected that on receiving, at Bear Lake, a report of the traces of white people having been seen near the sea-coast, I had requested that Mr. M'Vicar would collect a party of Indians, and send them to the spot to convey a letter from me to Captain Parry. Mr. M'Vicar now informed me that some Indians had left his Fort for the purpose, under the charge of a Canadian, named Joseph St. Pierre, who volunteered for the occasion, but the Indians continued with him only for a short distance beyond the east end of Slave Lake, when they became weary of their journey, and dropping off one by one, left him alone. St. Pierre, however, having determined to deliver the letter to Captain Parry, if possible, persevered for many days in a fruitless search for the river on the banks of which the marks were reported to have been seen; even after he had sustained the loss of all his clothes (except those on his person,) by the grass catching fire when he was asleep; but at length, being short of food, his shoes worn out, and almost without covering for his feet, he was compelled to return to the Fort. He was not at the house at the time of my visit, but I left an order with Mr. M'Vicar, that he might be rewarded for his zeal and exertions, and handsomely remunerated for his loss. [Sidenote: April.] The subsequent journey to the Athabasca Lake occupied eight days; we arrived at Fort Chipewyan in the afternoon of the 12th of April. I found Mr. Stewart, the Chief Factor of the Department, surrounded by a large body of Indians, who quitted the Fort as soon as they had exchanged their furs, in order to seek their living by fishing and hunting wild fowl, instead of passing four or five weeks in indolence about the Establishment, as had been their custom at this season for many preceding years. This beneficial change of conduct, on their part, is owing to the Hudson's Bay Company having ceased to bring spirits into the northern department; and to some other judicious regulations which the Directors have made respecting the trade with the natives. The plans now adopted offer supplies of clothes, and of every necessary, to those Indians who choose to be active in the collection of furs; and it was pleasing to learn, that the natives in this quarter had shown their acquiescence in these measures by increased exertion during the preceding winter. Some other very wholesome regulations have been introduced by the Company; amongst others, the Sabbath is ordered to be properly observed, and Divine Service to be read at every post. They have also directed, where the soil will allow, a portion of ground to be cultivated for the growth of culinary vegetables at each of their establishments, and I witnessed the good effects of this order, even at this advanced post, where the ground is rocky; the tables of the officers being supplied daily, and those of the men frequently, with potatoes and barley. Such luxuries were very rarely found beyond Cumberland House, on the route that we travelled during my former journey. Feeling a deep interest in the welfare of this country, in which I have spent a large portion of the last seven years, I have much pleasure in recording these improvements; and in stating my conviction, that the benevolent wishes of the Directors, respecting the inhabitants of their territories, will be followed up with corresponding energy by the resident Governor, the chief factors, and the traders of the Company. I mentioned in my former Narrative, that the Northern Indians had cherished a belief for some years, that a great change was about to take place in the natural order of things, and that among other advantages arising from it, their own condition of life was to be materially bettered. This story, I was now informed by Mr. Stewart, originated with a woman, whose history appears to me deserving of a short notice. While living at the N.W. Company's Post, on the Columbia River, as the wife of one of the Canadian servants, she formed a sudden resolution of becoming a warrior; and throwing aside her female dress, she clothed herself in a suitable manner. Having procured a gun, a bow and arrows, and a horse, she sallied forth to join a party of her countrymen then going to war; and, in her first essay, displayed so much courage as to attract general regard, which was so much heightened by her subsequent feats of bravery, that many young men put themselves under her command. Their example was soon generally followed, and, at length she became the principal leader of the tribe, under the designation of the "Manlike Woman." Being young, and of a delicate frame, her followers attributed her exploits to the possession of supernatural power, and, therefore, received whatever she said with implicit faith. To maintain her influence during peace, the lady thought proper to invent the above-mentioned prediction, which was quickly spread through the whole northern district. At a later period of her life, our heroine undertook to convey a packet of importance from the Company's Post on the Columbia to that in New Caledonia, through a tract of country which had not, at that time, been passed by the traders, and which was known to be infested by several hostile tribes. She chose for her companion another woman, whom she passed off as her wife. They were attacked by a party of Indians, and though the Manlike Woman received a wound in the breast, she accomplished her object, and returned to the Columbia with answers to the letters. When last seen by the traders, she had collected volunteers for another war excursion, in which she received a mortal wound. The faith of the Indians was shaken by her death, and soon afterwards the whole of the story she had invented fell into discredit. In the Athabasca department, which includes Slave Lake and Peace River, as well as in the more southern districts, the autumn of 1826, and the following winter, were unusually mild. Near the Saskatchawan River, there was so little snow before the middle of January, that the sledges could not be used; but at Bear Lake, and throughout the Mackenzie, the weather was severe during the same periods, and the snow came early; hence it would appear, that even in this climate the meteorological register kept at any one place, affords no index from whence we can judge of the season at another. In my journey from Slave Lake to the Athabasca we had a snow-storm for three days, which we found did not extend beyond sixty miles; and on our arrival at Fort Chipewyan, we learned there had not been a single shower during these days. The only coinciding circumstance, at the different stations this year, was the prevalence of north-east winds. [Sidenote: Sunday, 15th.] We welcomed the appearance of two of the large-sized swans on the 15th April, as the harbingers of spring; the geese followed on the 20th; the robins came on the 7th May; the house martins appeared on the 12th, and in the course of a week were busily employed repairing their nests; and the barn or forked-tail swallows arrived on the 20th; and on the same day, the small-sized swans were seen, which the traders consider the latest of the migratory birds. [Sidenote: May, 20th.] The only symptoms of reviving vegetation at this period, were a few anemones in flower, and the bursting of some catkins of willows; but we learned by an arrival of a boat from the Peace River that, even so early as the 14th, the trees were in full foliage at not more than a day's journey from the lake. The barley was sown at Fort Chipewyan on the 15th May, potatoes on the 21st, and the garden seeds on the 22d, which were expected to be ready for use by the close of the following September. As an experiment, whether the barley would yield a better crop by remaining in the ground through the winter, some had been sown in the preceding autumn, but only a few of the plants appeared at the close of this month, and the crop did not promise favourably. Some canoes having arrived on the 26th of May with the furs from Slave Lake, the last of the Company's brigade of boats was despatched to York Factory. Augustus, who was desirous of seeing Dr. Richardson again before his departure from the country, and two other men of the Expedition, embarked in them. I embarked on the 31st May in the Company's light canoe with Mr. Stewart and Mr. M'Vicar, having previously made the necessary arrangements for the passage of Captain Back and his party. We reached Cumberland House on the 18th June, where I had the happiness of meeting Dr. Richardson after a separation of eleven months. I learned from him that during our absence in the north, Mr. Drummond the Assistant Botanist had been indefatigable in collecting specimens of Natural History, having been sent for that purpose to the Rocky Mountains at the head of the Athabasca River; in the course of which service, he had been exposed to very great privations. To his perseverance and industry, science is indebted for the knowledge of several new and many rare quadrupeds, birds, and plants. That the reader may form some notion of the labour he sustained, and the zeal he displayed in making his very valuable and highly interesting collections, and to point out to the naturalist, the districts from whence they were brought, I subjoin his brief account of his journey in his own words. [Sidenote: 1825, June.] "I remained at Cumberland House about six weeks after the departure of Captain Back and Mr. Kendall, in June, 1825, when the Company's boats with the brigade of traders for the Columbia, arriving from York Factory, I accompanied them up the Saskatchawan River two hundred and sixty miles to Carlton House. The unsettled state of the Indians in that neighbourhood rendering excursions over the plains very unsafe, I determined on proceeding with the brigade as far as the Rocky Mountains. We left Carlton House on the 1st of September, and reached Edmonton, which is about four hundred miles distant on the 20th of the same month. Sandy plains extend without material alteration the whole way, and there is, consequently, little variety in the vegetation; indeed, I did not find a single plant that I had not seen within ten miles of Carlton House, although I had an opportunity of examining the country carefully, having performed the greater part of the journey on foot. After a halt of two days at Edmonton, we continued our route one hundred miles farther to Fort Assinaboyn on the Red Deer River, one of the branches of the Athapescow. This part of the journey was performed with horses through a swampy and thickly wooded country, and the path was so bad, that it was necessary to reduce the luggage as much as possible. I therefore took with me only one bale of paper for drying plants, a few shirts, and a blanket; Mr. M'Millan, one of the Company's chief traders, who had charge of the brigade, kindly undertaking to forward the rest of my baggage in the ensuing spring. [Sidenote: October, 2d.] We left Fort Assinaboyn to proceed up the Red Deer River to the Mountains, on the 2d of October; but the Canoe appointed for this service being very much lumbered, it was necessary that some of the party should travel by land, and of that number, I volunteered to be one. A heavy fall of snow, on the third day after setting out, rendered the march very fatiguing, and the country being thickly wooded and very swampy, our horses were rendered useless before we had travelled half the distance." "We reached the mountains on the 14th, and I continued to accompany the brigade, for fifty miles of the Portage-road, to the Columbia, when we met a hunter whom Mr. M'Millan hired to supply me with food during the winter. The same gentleman having furnished me with horses and a man to take care of them, I set out with the hunter and his family towards the Smoking River, one of the eastern branches of the Peace River, on which we intended to winter. [Sidenote: December.] My guide, however, loitered so much on the way, that the snow became too deep to admit of our proceeding to our destination, and we were under the necessity of leaving the Mountains altogether, and taking up our winter-quarters about the end of December, on the Baptiste, a stream which falls into the Red Deer River. During the journey, I collected a few specimens of the birds that pass the winter in the country, and which belong principally to the genera _tetrao_ and _strix_. I also obtained a few mosses, and on Christmas day, I had the pleasure of finding a very minute _gymnostomum_, hitherto undescribed." "In the winter, I felt the inconvenience of the want of my tent, the only shelter I had from the inclemency of the weather being a hut built of the branches of trees. Soon after reaching our wintering ground, provisions became very scarce, and the hunter and his family went off in quest of animals, taking with them the man who had charge of my horses to bring me a supply as soon as they could procure it. I remained alone for the rest of the winter, except when my man occasionally visited me with meat; and I found the time hang very heavy, as I had no books, and nothing could be done in the way of collecting specimens of Natural History. I took however, a walk every day in the woods to give me some practice in the use of snow shoes. The winter was very severe, and much snow fell until the end of March, when it averaged six feet in depth; in consequence of this, I lost one of my horses, and the two remaining ones became exceedingly poor. The hunter was still more unfortunate, ten of his young colts having died." [Sidenote: April 1826.] "In the beginning of April, 1826, setting out for the Columbia Portage road, I reached it after a fatiguing march on the sixth day, and two days afterwards, had the pleasure of meeting Mr. M'Millan, who brought me letters from Dr. Richardson, informing me of the welfare of the Expedition; and he also placed me in comparatively comfortable circumstances by bringing my tent, a little tea and sugar, and some more paper. [Sidenote: May, 6th.] I remained on the Portage preparing specimens of birds until the 6th of May, when the brigade from the Columbia arrived. On that day the _Anemone cuneifolia_, and _Ludoviciana_ and _Saxifraga oppositifolia_, began to flower in favourable situations. My hunter, who had, in the mean time, returned to our late wintering ground, now sent me word that he had changed his mind, and would not accompany me into the Mountains, as he had engaged to do. His fickleness deranged my plans, and I had no alternative but to remain with the man who had charge of the horses used on the Columbia Portage, and botanize in that neighbourhood." [Sidenote: August.] "On the 10th of August, I set out with another hunter, upon whom I had prevailed to conduct me to the Smoking River, although, being disappointed in a supply of ammunition, we were badly provided. We travelled for several days without meeting with any animals, and I shared the little dried provision which I had with the hunter's family. On the 15th we killed a Mountain sheep, which was quickly devoured, there not being the smallest apprehension at the time that famine would overtake us--day after day, however, passed away without a single head of game of any description being seen, and the children began to complain loudly; but the hunter's wife, a young half-breed woman, bore the abstinence with indifference, although she had two infant twins at the breast. On the 21st, we found two young porcupines, which were shared amongst the party, and two or three days afterwards, a few fine trout were caught. We arrived in the Smoking River on the 5th of September, where the hunter killed two sheep, and a period was put to our abstinence, for before the sheep were eaten, he shot several buffaloes." [Sidenote: September.] "We proceeded along the Mountains until the 24th of September, and had reached the head waters of the Peace River, when a heavy fall of snow stopped my collecting plants for that season. I was, however, very desirous of crossing the Mountains to obtain some knowledge of the vegetation on the Columbia River, and, accordingly, I commenced drying provisions to enable me to accompany the Columbia brigade, when it arrived from Hudson's Bay. [Sidenote: October.] I reached the Portage on the 9th of October, and on the 10th the brigade arrived, and I received letters from Captain Franklin, instructing me to descend in the spring of 1827, time enough to rejoin the Expedition on its way to York Factory. It was, therefore, necessary that I should speedily commence my return, and having gone with the brigade merely to the west-end of the Portage, I came back again on the 1st of November. The snow covered the ground too deeply to permit me to add much to my collections in this hasty trip over the Mountains, but it was impossible to avoid remarking the great superiority of climate on the western side of that lofty range. From the instant the descent toward the Pacific commences, there is a visible improvement in the growth of timber, and the variety of forest trees greatly increases. The few mosses that I gleaned in the excursion were so fine, that I could not but deeply regret that I was unable to pass a season or two in that interesting region." "Having packed up all my specimens, I embarked on the Red Deer River, with Mr. M'Donald, one of the Company's officers, who was returning from a long residence on the Columbia with his family, and continued to descend the stream until we were set fast by the frost. I then left Mr. M'Donald in the charge of the baggage, and, proceeding on foot to Fort Assinaboyn, for the purpose of procuring horses, I reached it on the fifth day. It was several days before the horses could be obtained, and they were several more in travelling from the Fort to Mr. M'Donald, during which time that gentleman and his family were very short of provisions. The relief, however, arrived opportunely, and they reached the Fort in safety. After resting a few days, I set out for Edmonton, where I remained for some months." [Sidenote: March.] "The winter express brought me a letter from Dr. Richardson, requesting me to join him at Carlton House in April, and I accordingly set out for that place on snow shoes, on the 17th of March, taking with me single specimens of all the plants gathered on the Mountains, lest any accident should happen to the duplicates which were to come by canoe in the spring. [Sidenote: April.] Two men with a sledge drawn by dogs accompanied me, but the Indian inhabitants of the plains being very hostile, we made a large circuit to avoid them, and did not reach Carlton House before the 5th of April. We suffered much from snow-blindness on the march, the dogs failed from want of food, we had to carry the baggage on our backs, and had nothing to eat for seven days. These sufferings were, however, soon forgotten in the kind welcome I received from Dr. Richardson, and Mr. Prudens, the Company's Chief Trader at Carlton, and the hospitable entertainment and good fare of the latter gentleman's table enabled me speedily to recruit my lost strength." "My collections on the Mountains amounted to about fifteen hundred species of plants, one hundred and fifty birds, fifty quadrupeds, and a considerable number of insects." [Sidenote: June.] There being yet two months in which Mr. Drummond might continue his researches, before Captain Back could arrive at Cumberland House, Dr. Richardson had left him on the Saskatchawan River. [Sidenote: 18th.] After remaining part of a day at Cumberland House, we proceeded on our journey, Dr. Richardson following in one of the Company's boats. I reached Norway House on the 24th of June, and Dr. Richardson on the third day after. Mr. Simpson, the resident Governor of the Company, was absent on urgent business at York Factory; but, previous to his departure, he had provided a canoe, and some additional men, with every other requisite for my journey. We found here Mr. Douglass, who had been sent to the Columbia River by the Horticultural Society, as a Collector of Natural History, and who had recently crossed the Rocky Mountains, for the purpose of proceeding to England from Hudson's Bay. This gentleman being desirous of occupying himself previous to the arrival of the ship, in making an addition to his collection from the neighbourhood of the Red River Colony, I felt happy in being able to give him a conveyance, in the canoe with Dr. Richardson and myself, through Lake Winipeg, to Fort Alexander, where he met another canoe that was going to the Colony. On quitting Norway House we took leave of our worthy companion, Augustus, who was to wait there until Captain Back should arrive. The tears which he shed at our parting, so unusual in those uncultivated tribes, showed the strength of his feelings, and I have no doubt, they proceeded from a sincere affection; an affection which, I can venture to say, was mutually felt by every individual. With great regret he learned that there was no immediate prospect of our again meeting, and he expressed a very strong desire to be informed, if another Expedition should be sent to any of the northern parts of America, whether by sea or land; and repeatedly assured me, that he and Ooligbuck would be ready at any time to quit their families and their country, to accompany any of their present officers, wherever the Expedition might be ordered.[16] We reached Fort Alexander on the 8th of July, and Mr. Douglass having left us, I was enabled to offer a passage, as far as Montreal, to Monsieur Picard, one of the clergymen attached to the Roman Catholic Mission at the Red River Colony. [Sidenote: August.] We arrived at Lachine, near Montreal, on the 18th of August, and were hospitably entertained by Mr. James Keith, Chief Factor, and Agent of the Hudson's Bay Company, with whom we remained five days, to settle the accounts of the Expedition. After I had paid my respects to his Excellency, the Earl of Dalhousie, Governor in Chief of Canada, we proceeded to New York by the way of Lake Champlain. In our passage through the United States, we received the same kind attentions we had before experienced; our personal baggage, and the collections of Natural History, were forwarded by the officers of the customs without examination, and every assistance we required was promptly rendered. [Sidenote: September.] Having embarked, in the packet ship, on the 1st of September, we reached Liverpool on the 26th, after an absence of two years, seven months and a half. Captain Back, Lieutenant Kendall, and Mr. Drummond, with the rest of the British party, arrived at Portsmouth on the 10th of October. I then received the distressing intelligence of the death of two excellent men, on their homeward passage from Bear Lake to York Factory; Archibald Stewart, who died from consumption; and Gustavus Aird, who was drowned in consequence of his jumping out of the boat, in his exertions to save her, when she was hurrying down the Pelican Fall, in Slave River. Until this account reached me, I had cherished the hope that our Expedition would have terminated without my having to record a single casualty. The loss of these men was the more deeply felt by me, from their uniform, steady, obedient, and meritorious conduct, which I had repeated opportunities of observing and admiring, while they were my companions in the Lion, during the voyage along the coast. I must be allowed to add, that in this long homeward journey, in which there were no fresh discoveries to be made, nor any of those excitements that relieve the monotony of constant labour, and in which they had to contend with a succession of dangerous rapids, there was the same masterly skill and exemplary conduct evinced by Captain Back and Lieutenant Kendall; and the same patient and ready obedience by the men[17], which had marked their whole conduct, while more immediately under my own observation. On my arrival in London, on the 29th of September, accompanied by Dr. Richardson, I had the honour of laying the charts and drawings before his Royal Highness the Lord High Admiral, and Mr. Secretary Huskisson; and, from the latter, I received directions to publish an account of our proceedings. * * * * * In concluding this Narrative, I feel it incumbent on me to offer a few remarks on the subject of a _North-West Passage_, which, though it has not been the immediate object of the enterprises in which I have been engaged, is yet so intimately connected with them, as to have naturally excited in my mind, a strong and permanent interest. It is scarcely necessary to remark, that the opinion I ventured to express in my former work, as to the practicability of the passage[18], has been considerably strengthened by the information obtained during the present Expedition. The Northern Coast of America has now been actually surveyed from the meridian of 109 degrees to 149-1/2 degrees west; and again by the exertions of Captain Beechey, in His Majesty's ship the Blossom, from Icy Cape eastward to about 156 degrees west, leaving not more than fifty leagues of unsurveyed coast, between Point Turnagain and Icy Cape. Further, the delineation of the west side of Melville Peninsula, in the chart of Captain Parry's Second Voyage, conjoined with information which we obtained from the Northern Indians, fairly warrants the conclusion, that the coast preserves an easterly direction from Point Turnagain towards Repulse Bay; and that, in all probability, there are no insurmountable obstacles between this part of the Polar Sea and the extensive openings into the Atlantic, through Prince Regent Inlet and the Strait of the Fury and Hecla. Whenever it may be considered desirable to complete the delineation of the coast of the American Continent, I conceive that another attempt should be made to connect Point Turnagain with the important discoveries of Captain Parry, by renewing the Expedition which was undertaken by Captain Lyon, and which, but for the boisterous weather that disabled the Griper, must have long since repaid his well known zeal and enterprize with discoveries of very great interest. In considering the best means of effecting the North-West Passage in a ship, it has hitherto been impossible not to assent to the opinion so judiciously formed, and so convincingly stated, by Captain Parry, that the attempt should be made from the Atlantic rather than by Behring's Straits, because the enterprise is then commenced after a voyage of short duration, subject to comparatively few vicissitudes of climate, and with the equipments thoroughly effective. But important as these advantages are, they may, perhaps, be more than balanced by some circumstances which have been brought to light by our Expedition. The prevalence of north-west winds during the season that the ice is in the most favourable state for navigation, would greatly facilitate the voyage of a ship to the eastward, whilst it would be equally adverse to her progress in the opposite direction. It is also well known, that the coast westward of the Mackenzie is almost unapproachable by ships, and it would, therefore, be very desirable to get over that part of the voyage in the first season. Though we did not observe any such easterly current as was found by Captain Parry in the Fury and Hecla Strait, as well as by Captain Kotzebue, on his voyage through Behring's Straits; yet this may have arisen from our having been confined to the navigation of the flats close to the shore; but if such a current does exist throughout the Polar Sea, it is evident that it would materially assist a ship commencing the undertaking from the Pacific, and keeping in the deep water, which would, no doubt, be found at a moderate distance from the shore. The closeness and quantity of the ice in the Polar Seas vary much in different years; but, should it be in the same state that we found it, I would not recommend a ship's leaving Icy Cape earlier than the middle of August, for after that period the ice was not only broken up within the sphere of our vision, but a heavy swell rolling from the northward, indicated a sea unsheltered by islands, and not much encumbered by ice. By quitting Icy Cape at the time specified, I should confidently hope to reach a secure wintering place to the eastward of Cape Bathurst, in the direct route to the Dolphin and Union Straits, through which I should proceed.[19] If either, or both, of the plans which I have suggested be adopted, it would add to the confidence and safety of those who undertake them, if one or two depôts of provisions were established in places of ready access, through the medium of the Hudson's Bay Company. Arctic discovery has been fostered principally by Great Britain; and it is a subject of just pride that it has been prosecuted by her from motives as disinterested as they are enlightened; not from any prospect of immediate benefit to herself, but from a steady view to the acquirement of useful knowledge, and the extension of the bounds of science. Each succeeding attempt has added a step towards the completion of northern geography; and the contributions to natural history and science have excited a general interest throughout the civilized world. It is, moreover, pleasing to reflect that the loss of life which has occurred in the prosecution of these discoveries does not exceed the average number of deaths in the same population at home under circumstances the most favourable. And it is sincerely to be hoped that Great Britain will not relax her efforts until the question of a north-west passage has been satisfactorily set at rest, or at least until those portions of the northern shores of America, which are yet unknown, be laid down in our maps; and which with the exception of a small space on the Asiatic continent eastward of Shelatskoi Noss, are the only intervals wanting to complete the outline of Europe, Asia, and America. END OF THE NARRATIVE. _Summary of the Distances travelled by the Expedition, from its Landing in America, until its Embarkation._ _Statute Miles._ Distance travelled in 1825, as given in page 60 5,803 Dr. Richardson and Mr. Kendall's excursion on the ice to the eastern parts of Bear Lake, in the Spring of 1826 359 Distance travelled by the Western Party in 1826 (given in p. 235.) 2,048 Distance travelled by the Eastern Party in 1826, after its separation from the Western Party 1,455 Return from Fort Franklin to New York 4,000 Captain Back and Lieutenant Kendall's journey to York Factory, after quitting Captain Franklin's route 520 ------ Distance travelled by the Expedition in going and returning, including the excursions of detached parties 14,185 ------ Number of miles surveyed and laid down in the maps, but not all included under the head of discoveries, because the routes have been traversed by Traders 5,000 FOOTNOTES: [15] Notwithstanding the severity of the weather, we had great difficulty in causing these animals to depart from their usual custom of sleeping in the snow, and in inducing them to occupy the warm houses which were built for them. [16] I have pleasure in mentioning that, by permission of Government, the pay which was due to Augustus and Ooligbuck, has been delivered to the Directors of the Hudson's Bay Company, who have undertaken to distribute it to them annually, in the way suited to their wants. [17] I am happy to add, that those men who had been in His Majesty's service before the present Expedition, have been rewarded by promotion. [18] See page 388. [19] See Dr. Richardson's opinion in favour of this route, p. 218. APPENDIX. TOPOGRAPHICAL AND GEOLOGICAL NOTICES, BY JOHN RICHARDSON, M.D., F.R.S., &c. SURGEON AND NATURALIST TO THE EXPEDITION. [_Read before the Geological Society._] A very limited portion of my time could be allotted to geological inquiries. For eight months in the year the ground in the northern parts of America is covered with snow; and during the short summer, the prosecution of the main object of the expedition rendered the slightest delay in our journey unadvisable. The few hours that could be stolen from the necessary halts, for rest and refreshment, were principally occupied in the collection of objects for the illustration of botany and zoology. It is evident, that an account of the rock formations, drawn up under such circumstances, cannot be otherwise than very imperfect; but I have been led to publish it from the belief that, in the absence of more precise information, even the slightest notice of the rocks of the extreme northern parts of the American continent would be useful to those employed in developing the structure of the crust of the earth; the more especially, as it is not probable that the same tract of country will soon be trod by an expert geologist. The specimens of rocks I obtained have been deposited in the Museum of the Geological Society, and are referred to in the ensuing pages by the numbers affixed to them. The notices are arranged nearly in the order of the route of the expedition, commencing with Great Bear Lake, where our winter quarters were situated. GREAT BEAR LAKE. Great Bear Lake is an extensive sheet of water, of a very irregular shape, being formed by the union of five arms or bays in a common centre. The greatest diameter of the lake, measuring about one hundred and fifty geographical miles, runs from the bottom of Dease Bay, which receives the principal feeding stream, to the bottom of Keith Bay, from whence the Bear Lake River issues, and has a direction from N.E. to S.W. The transverse diameter has a direction from N.W. by W. to S.E. by E., through Smith and M'Tavish Bays, and is upwards of one hundred and twenty miles in length. M'Vicar Bay, the fifth arm of the lake, is narrower than the others, and being a little curved at its mouth, appears less connected with the main body of water. The light bluish-coloured water of Great Bear Lake is every where transparent, and is particularly clear near some primitive mountains, which exist in M'Tavish Bay. A piece of white rag, let down there, did not disappear until it descended fifteen fathoms. The depth of water, in the centre of the lake was not ascertained; but it is known to be very considerable. Near the shore, in M'Tavish Bay, forty-five fathoms of line did not reach the bottom. Owing to the barometers supplied to the expedition having been broken in an early period of its progress, the height of the surface of Bear Lake above the Arctic Sea could not be ascertained; but it is, probably, short of two hundred feet.[20] If this supposition comes near the truth, the bottom of M'Tavish Bay is below the level of the sea, and towards the centre of the basin of the lake the depression is probably still greater. The great lakes, Huron, Michigan, and Superior, which discharge their waters into the St. Lawrence, are reported to sink three hundred feet below the level of the ocean; and the Lake of the Mountains, or Chipewyan Lake and Great Slave Lake,[21] through which the Mackenzie flows, have, it is highly probable, some portions of their beds below the sea level. In the autumn of 1825, I coasted the western and northern shores of the Great Bear Lake; and in the spring of 1826, travelled on the ice along its eastern and southern arms, leaving no part of its shores unexamined on these two surveys, except the north side of M'Tavish Bay. I did not, however, on these occasions, make excursions inland. PRIMITIVE ROCKS.--GREAT BEAR LAKE. At the south-east corner of M'Tavish Bay, primitive rocks form a hilly range which, at the distance of a mile or two from the shore, attains an elevation of eight hundred or one thousand feet. The steep face of the range forms the shore of the lake for fifteen miles, and perhaps further, on a direction from N.W. by W. to S.E. by E., and is prolonged on the latter bearing, at the back of the lower country lying towards Point Leith. The general form of the hills is obtuse-conical, in some instances approaching to dome-shaped. None of them rise much above the others, and the vallies between them are seldom wide or deep. At a distance, some of the masses of rock appear round-backed; and in certain points of view, the crest of the ridge seems to consist of mammillary peaks. On a nearer approach, the individual hills are found to be composed of rounded eminences, having summits, generally, of an oblong form, and consisting of smooth, naked rock. Small mural precipices are frequent, and many detached blocks of stone lie beneath them. Between the eminences, there are level spots destitute of vegetation, and covered with small stones or gravel not much worn. A considerable portion of the gravel is granite or quartz, the debris, perhaps, of the rocks, of which the hills consist; it contains also some pieces of slate, and not a few of quartzose sandstone, neither of which I observed _in situ_. In the course of a walk of two miles over these hills, the only rock I observed was granite, verging in a few places towards gneiss, and generally whitish, with black mica. Sometimes the felspar is brownish-red, and the rock not unfrequently contains disseminated augite? The weathered surface of the stone was every where of a brick-red colour. In many spots the rocks split into such thin slaty looking tables that they have the appearance of being stratified. The slaty masses are, generally, vertical; but in one hill they were observed dipping 80 degrees to the south-east. The direction of the tabular masses is mostly across the oblong summits of the hills. The appearances of stratification were not observed to extend through a whole hill, and seemed, in fact, to be confined to the more decomposable granites; but the naked rocks are every where traversed by smooth fissures. The blocks, which lie under the cliffs, have sometimes a tabular form, but more generally come nearer to a cube or rhomboid, and present one or two very even faces. Few veins were noticed. In the more sheltered vallies, some clumps of white or black spruce trees occur; but the hills are barren. The point of land which lies between M'Tavish and M'Vicar Bays has low shores; but five or six miles inland, an even-backed ridge rises gradually to the height of three or four hundred feet, and abuts obliquely against the primitive hills. I did not visit this ridge, and the snow prevented me from seeing any flat beds of rocks, if such exist on the shore. On one point, however, near the north end of Dease Bay, many large angular blocks of whitish dolomite were piled up, and I have little doubt of the rock existing _in situ_ in that immediate neighbourhood. M'Tavish Bay is forty miles long, and twenty wide, and its depth of water, near the eastern shore, exceeds forty-five fathoms. Some shoals of boulders skirt the coast near Point Leith. M'Vicar Bay is about seventy miles long, and from eight to twelve wide; and at the "fishery," in a narrow part, not far from its bottom, its depth of water, two miles from the shore, is twelve fathoms. Dease Bay is equal to M'Tavish Bay in extent, and opens to the S.W. into the body of the lake. The high lands at the N.E. end, or bottom of this bay, have an even outline, and appear to attain an elevation of eight or nine hundred feet, at the distance of six or seven miles from the shore. Near its east side lie the lofty islands of Narrakazzæ which rise seven hundred feet above the lake. Dease River, the principal feeder of the lake, falls into the bottom of Dease Bay. It is two hundred yards wide, and from one to three fathoms deep near its mouth. A few miles up this river a formation of soft red sandstone occurs, which will be noticed hereafter. LIMESTONE.--GREAT BEAR LAKE. [Sidenote: 228*] At the mouth of Dease river there are hills five or six hundred feet high, composed principally, or entirely, of dolomite in horizontal strata. Some of the beds consist of a thick-slaty, fine-grained dolomite, containing dispersed scales of mica, which is most abundant on the surfaces of the slates. [Sidenote: 228] Most of the beds, however, consist of a thin-slaty, dull, purplish dolomite, traversed by veins of calc-spar. The structure of this rock is compact, approaching to fine granular; and some of the beds have what quarry-men term "clay-facings," that is, they are encrusted with a thin film of indurated clay. Greenstone slate? occurs in horizontal beds on the north shore, eight or nine miles to the westward of Dease River: and at Limestone Point,[22] about twenty miles from the river, a small range of hills terminates on the borders of the lake, in shelving, broken cliffs, about two hundred feet high. These cliffs consist chiefly of nearly compact light-coloured dolomite, interstratified with greenstone, and a brownish-red limestone, such as occurs in the hills at the mouth of the Dease River. In contact with the greenstone, there is a bed of talcose limestone, having a curved, slaty structure; most of the beds of dolomite are hard, and pass into chert. ALUMINOUS SHALE.--GREAT BEAR LAKE. The north shore of Bear Lake is low, and is skirted by many shoals, formed by boulders of limestone. No rocks, _in situ_, are exposed between Limestone Point and the Scented Grass Hill, a remarkable promontory, which separates Smith and Keith bays. Its height above the lake is betwixt eight and nine hundred feet, and in form and altitude it corresponds with the Great Bear Mountain, which, lying opposite to it, separates M'Vicar and Keith bays. I did not ascend either of these hills; but cliffs, corresponding in character to those of the aluminous shale-banks at Whitby, flank their bases; and the same formation probably extends along the north shore of Keith Bay, and some way down Bear Lake River. The ground skirting the Scented Grass and Great Bear Mountains is much broken, and consists of small, rounded and steep eminences, separated by narrow vallies and small lakes. Several shelving cliffs, about one hundred feet high, and some miles in extent are washed by Bear Lake. [Sidenote: 251] They consist of slate-clay and shale, more or less bituminous, and the dip of the strata is in several places to the N.W. by N. [Sidenotes: 244, 246, 247] At the foot of the Scented Grass Hill a rivulet has made a section to the depth of one hundred feet, and here the shaly beds are interstratified with thin layers of blackish-brown, earthy-looking swinestone, containing selenite and pyrites. Globular concretions of the same stone, and of a poor clay iron-stone, also occur in beds in the shale. [Sidenotes: 249, 250, 248] The surfaces of the slates were covered with an efflorescence of alum and sulphur. Many crystals of sulphate of iron lie at the bottom of the cliff, and several layers of plumose alum, half an inch thick, occur in the strata. At the base of Great Bear Mountain, the bituminous shale is interstratified with slate-clay, and I found imbedded in the former a single piece of brown coal, in which the fibrous structure of wood is apparent. Sections of slate-clay banks, and more rarely of bituminous shale, occur in several places on the north shore of Keith Bay. In one place, about seven or eight miles from Bear Lake River, a bed of plastic and bituminous clay occurs, and in another, near Fort Franklin, there is a deposit of an earthy coal, which possesses the characters of _black chalk_. It is probable that a magnesian limestone underlies this formation of bituminous shale. I have already mentioned the beds of dolomite, which are exposed on the north side of Bear Lake, and similar beds occur to the southward of the Great Bear Mountain, forming cliffs on the shores of M'Vicar Bay. At Manito Point, on the west side of the isthmus that connects Great Bear Mountain to the main shore, a low ridge of limestone rocks terminates on the borders of the lake, forming some bold cliffs and a remarkable cave. The stone has a gray colour and bituminous smell, and contains much interspersed calc-spar. The strata dip to the north-west. VICINITY OF FORT FRANKLIN, GREAT BEAR LAKE. Fort Franklin stands on the northern shore of Keith Bay, about four miles from Bear Lake River, upon a small terrace, which is elevated twenty-five or thirty feet above the lake. The bay, contracting towards the river, is about four miles wide opposite to the fort, and the depth of water there does not exceed four fathoms. Farther from the river, the east and west shores of Keith Bay recede to the distance of thirty miles from each other, and the depth of water in the centre of the channel greatly increases. The bottom of this bay, wherever it could be distinguished, was observed to be sandy, and thickly strewed with round boulders[23] of various primitive rocks of large size, which were particularly abundant near the river, and with large square blocks of limestone, most plentiful near the cape formed by the Scented Grass Hill. In the small bay between the fort and the river, shoals are formed by accumulations of boulders, and the shores are thickly strewed with them. [Sidenote: 261 to 308] Many of these travelled blocks consist of flesh-red granite, having only a small quantity of black mica, exactly resembling the primitive rocks seen in M'Tavish Bay, but noticed no where else near the lake. Boulders of the same description occur in shoals at the mouth of M'Tavish Bay, and on the shores which skirt the Scented Grass Hill which faces that bay, to all which places they may have been brought from the parent rock, by a current flowing from the east. On the northern shore of Bear Lake the great majority of the boulders consists of limestone. [Sidenote: 266 282] Two varieties of granite, which occur amongst the boulders, were recognised as being abundant rocks at Fort Enterprise, which is situated about one hundred and seventy miles south-east from M'Tavish Bay. Some of the boulders were of a peculiar-looking porphyry exactly resembling that which occurs in the height of land betwixt the Coppermine River and Dease Bay; several of sandstone and conglomerate, which probably came from the same quarter; of greenstone, perhaps, from the Copper Mountains, and of limestone from the northern shores of the lake, and from the isthmus of the Great Bear Mountain; all these places lying to the eastward or north-east. The soil in the immediate vicinity of Fort Franklin is sandy, or gravelly, and covers, to the depth of one or two feet, a bed of clay of unknown thickness. Gravel taken from a spot thirty feet above the present high-water level of the lake, and out of the reach of any stream or torrent, contained rounded pebbles of granite, of greenstone, of quartz rock, of lydian stone, and of various sandstones, of which some were spotted, and others presented zones of different colours. These sandstones form a considerable portion of the gravel.[24] The clay which lies under the soil is of a bluish-gray colour, and is plastic but not very tenacious. It is more or less mixed with gravel. During the greater part of the year it is firmly frozen; the thaw in the two seasons we remained there never penetrating more than twenty-one inches from the surface of the earth. In spots where the sandy soil is wanting, the clay is covered a foot deep, or more, by mosses, mostly _bryum palustre_, and some marsh _hypna_ and _dicrana_, in a living state, for they seem to be converted very slowly into peat in this climate. The ground rises gradually behind the fort, until it attains, at the distance of half a mile from the lake, the height of two hundred feet, forming, when viewed from the southward, an even ridge, running nearly east and west--which ridge is, in fact, the high bank of the lake, as it corresponds in height with the summit level of the banks of Bear Lake River, and of the southern shore of Keith Bay. The country extending to the northward, from the top of the bank, is nearly level, or has a very gentle ascent for about five miles, when a more abrupt ridge rises to perhaps three hundred or four hundred feet above the lake. The view from the summit of this second eminence is very extensive, the whole country as far as the eye can reach appearing to be a level, from which several narrow precipitous ridges of limestone arise. But, although the country around these ridges appears from a distance to be level, or very slightly undulated, yet it abounds in small eminences and steep-sided vallies of various shapes, some being rounded and basin-shaped, others long and narrow. Lakes and swamps are here so numerous, that the country, for at least sixty miles to the northward, is impassable in summer, even to the natives. There are many mounds of sand and gravel, and fragments of sandstone are frequent; but having travelled in this direction only in winter, when the ground was covered to the depth of upwards of three feet with snow, I had not an opportunity of examining its geological structure. White spruces cover the drier spots; larches, black spruces, and willows abound in moist places; the sandy hillocks are clothed with aspens, and the sides of the vallies support some canoe birches, with a thick undergrowth of dwarf birches, alders, and rose-bushes. The eminence from whence the view just described was obtained, appears like a ridge only in approaching it from the lake, for it rises very little above the general level of the country behind it. It has a direction from N.W. by N. to S.E. by S., and terminates about eight miles to the eastward of the fort, in a small bluff point on the shores of the lake and there the strata consist of slate-clay slightly bituminous. The banks immediately behind the fort also exhibit, in their ravines, a bluish slate-clay. The land on the south side, or bottom, of Keith Bay, presents a nearly similar aspect to that just described, rising, on the borders of the lake, to the height of one hundred and fifty feet, and then running back to a great distance nearly level. It may be characterized as full of hollows, narrow vallies, ravines, and lakes; but it is not hilly, although it is traversed by ridges of limestone, which rise like walls through the flat country. The nearest of these ridges terminates on the borders of the lake at the _Manito Point_, (noticed in page vii.) It may be proper to remark here, that, in addition to the limestone ridges visible from Fort Franklin, or from the heights behind it, the summit of Clark Hill, bearing south, and forming part of a ridge about fifty miles distant, was distinctly seen. This hill lies behind Old Fort Norman on the Mackenzie, and has more the outline of a granitic rock, although some of the peaks which skirt it have the serrated crests which the limestone ridges in this quarter show. It was guessed to be 1500 feet high above the Mackenzie. This sketch of the general features of the country about Fort Franklin being premised, the ensuing geological notices follow in the order of the route of the Expedition. BEAR LAKE RIVER--SANDSTONE, LIMESTONE. Bear Lake River is about seventy miles long, from its origin in the lake till it falls into the Mackenzie, and throughout its whole length, its breadth is never less than one hundred and fifty yards, except at the _Rapid_, a remarkable place, about the middle of its course. It is from one to three fathoms deep, and very rapid, its velocity being estimated at six miles in the hour. Its waters are clear as they issue from the lake, but several branches of considerable size bring down muddy water, particularly one which flows from the north, and falls in below the rapid. Above the rapid, the valley of the river is very narrow, the banks every where sloping steeply from the level of the country. Their summit line, which is nearly straight, is about one hundred and fifty feet above the bed of the river. In some places they have an even face elevated at an angle of about forty-five degrees, and they are not unfrequently cut by ravines into pretty regular figures, resembling hay-ricks, or the parapet of a fort, the ravines representing the embrasures. Sections made by the river presented generally sand or clay; the sand probably proceeding from the disintegration of a friable, gray sandstone, which showed itself occasionally in a more solid form. The rapidity of our voyage, however, afforded us little opportunity of searching for the solid strata which are generally hid by the debris of the bank. About twelve miles above the rapid, a small-grained, friable sandstone, of a yellowish gray colour, and irregular earthy fracture, is associated with beds of bluish-gray slate-clay. These beds consist of concretions of various sizes and irregular shapes, but which may be said to approach in general to a depressed orbicular form; their surfaces are coloured purplish-brown by iron, and studded with crystals of sulphate of lime. This slate-clay contains many small round grains of quartz, and is exactly similar to that which occurs at the rapid, and which will be afterwards noticed. In other places the banks are covered by the debris of a slate-clay slightly bituminous, resembling wacke in its mode of disintegrating. The _Rapid_ is caused by the river struggling through a chasm bounded by two perpendicular walls of sandstone, over an uneven bed of the same material. On escaping from this narrow passage, it winds round the end of a lofty cliff of limestone, which forms part of a ridge that is continued through the country on both sides of the river. Viewed from the summit of this ridge, which rises about eight hundred feet above the river, the country towards Bear Lake appears level. The view down the river presents also a plain country, bounded on the Mackenzie by another limestone ridge, which, unless the eye was deceived by the distance, gradually inclined to the one at the rapid, and appeared, by joining it to the northward, to form a great basin. These ridges are also prolonged to the southward. The plain is covered with wood, intersected by chains of lakes, and seemed to lie rather below the summit level of the banks of Bear Lake River. It is only comparatively, that the country deserves the name of plain, for its surface is much varied by depressions, ravines, and small eminences, that do not, however, destroy the general level appearance when seen from a distance. The view from the hill is terminated, to the westward, by the distant chain of the Rocky Mountains, running nearly N.W. by N. A little below the rapid, a small stream from the southward flows into the Bear Lake River, near whose sources the Indians procure an excellent common salt, which is deposited from the springs by spontaneous evaporation. The walls of the rapid are about three miles long, and 120 feet high. [Sidenote: 25] They are composed of horizontal beds, the lower of which consist of an earthy-looking stone, intermediate between slate-clay and sandstone, having interiorly a dull yellowish-gray colour. Concretions, with smooth surfaces, about the thickness of a swan's quill, pass perpendicularly through the beds like pins, are prolonged beyond the partings, and bear some resemblance to portions of the roots or branches of a tree. The seam surfaces are very uneven. [Sidenote: 18] These beds are parted by thin, slaty layers, of a stone similar in appearance, but rather harder, and containing many interspersed scales of mica, and also some minute portions of carbonaceous matter in the form of lignite. [Sidenotes: 19, 1827] The thin layers contain impressions of ferns, and from the debris at the bottom of the cliff I gathered impressions of the bark of a tree (lepidodendron) and some ammonites in a brown iron-shot sandstone.[25] [Sidenote: 18, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 26, 27, 28] The upper beds are composed of a fine grained, quartzose, gray sandstone, having an earthy basis, and occasionally interspersed carbonaceous matter. Some of the beds are a foot and a half thick, and have sufficient tenacity to be fitted for making grindstones; most of the sandstone is, however, rather friable. Near the summit there is interposed a bed of fine-grained dolomite, and a friable sandstone, which forms the crest of the cliff, and exhibits in its weathering battlement-shaped projections and pinnacles. [Sidenote: 29] Covering this sandstone, but not quite to the margin of the cliff, there is a layer of slaty limestone, having a bluish or blackish-gray colour, a dull fracture, and rather compact structure. [Sidenote: 30] In the lower beds of the cliff there are some globular and disk-shaped concretions, of an indurated iron-shot slate-clay, or poor clay-iron-stone, containing pyrites. They vary in magnitude from six inches to a foot and a half in diameter, and appear to be formed of concentric layers, which are rendered apparent by the weathering of the stone. The sandstones and shales of the rapid have a strong resemblance in appearance to those of the coal measures; but pitch-coal was not detected at this place. Several distinct concretions of indurated slate-clay, assuming the appearance termed _cone in cone_, were picked up among the boulders on the banks of Bear Lake River, some way below the rapid, but they were not traced to their parent beds. They effervesce with acids. Between the walls of the rapid and the limestone ridge there is a piece of meadow-ground, having a soft, clayey soil, in which, near the base of the hill, a small rivulet flows to join the river. The bed of this rivulet presents accumulations of boulders of large size, arranged so as to form two terraces, the upper of which is considerably above the highest level either of the rivulet, or of Bear Lake River. The boulders consist of varieties of granite, gneiss, mica-slate with garnets, greenstone and porphyry. [Sidenote: 50] One of the porphyries is a beautiful stone, composed of hyacinth-red felspar, and irregular crystals of milky quartz, with a few specks of a dark green mineral, and very much resembles a rock which is not uncommon in the gneiss districts about Fort Enterprize. [Sidenotes: 45, 47, 50, 51, 49] Many of the boulders consist of conglomerates and sandstones that strongly resemble those of the old red sandstone formation, which forms the height of land between Dease Bay and Coppermine rivers. Also some flinty slates, mixed, in thin layers, with compact, yellowish limestone, and some pebbles of jasper interleaved with flinty slate. The limestone ridge below the rapid stands on a narrow base, whose transverse diameter does not exceed a quarter of a mile. Its summits are generally conical, but very rugged and craggy; the highest peak I had an opportunity of visiting is about a mile from Bear Lake River, and it has been already stated to be estimated at eight hundred feet above that stream, or nine hundred and fifty above the sea. The general direction of the ridge is from S.E. by S. to N.W. by N., or nearly parallel to the great Rocky Mountain chain, and to the smaller ridges betwixt it and that chain. Its prolongation through the flat surrounding strata, to the southward of Bear Lake River, can be traced for at least forty miles, and it is visible at nearly an equal distance, as it runs through the still more level country to the northward; but here, as has been already said, it appears to incline towards the similar ridge which is cut by the Mackenzie, at the mouth of the Bear Lake River, and is about twenty-five miles to the W.S.W., in a direct line. That part of the ridge which I had an opportunity of visiting, consisted entirely of limestone, generally in thick beds. Its stratification was not very evident, and in my very cursory examination the general dip was not clearly ascertained. A precipitous cliff, four hundred feet high, facing the S.E., and washed by the Bear Lake River, presents strata, inclined to the S.W. at an angle of 45 degrees, which may be perhaps considered as the general dip; for the ridge on that side slopes down to the surrounding country at an angle of about 30 degrees or 40 degrees, while on the N.E. side it presents lofty precipices formed by the cropping out of the strata. [Sidenote: 39, 34] Many of the beds in this hill consisted of a blackish-gray fine grained limestone, intersected by veins of calc-spar; [Sidenotes: 40; 35, 36; 42, 43, 44] but several layers of gray and dark coloured dolomites, and some of a yellowish-gray _rauchwacke_, were interstratified with them, and the upper parts of the precipitous cliff, [Sidenote: 35, 36] and also of the highest peak, consisted of a calcareous breccia, containing rounded pieces of brown limestone, and angular fragments of chert; and the faces of some cliffs, on the N.E. side of the hill, were incrusted with a fine crystalline gypsum to the depth of from one to two feet.[26] The banks of Bear Lake River below the rapid have a more gentle declivity than those above it, and they occasionally recede from the stream, so as to leave a grassy slope varying from a few yards to half a mile in breadth. The sections of these banks by torrents present only sand or clay; and the hollows of the ravines are lined with boulders principally of primitive rocks. No stone was observed _in situ_ from the rapid until we came to the junction of the river with the Mackenzie. The Bear Lake River flows into the Mackenzie at a right angle, and on its north bank, at its mouth, there is a hill, which has been already noticed as forming part of a ridge visible from the one at the rapid, with which it probably unites to form a great basin. These two hills seem to belong to the same formation. [Sidenote: 61, 62, 60] The body of the hill consists of highly-inclined beds of blackish-gray limestone, with sparry veins, and of brownish-gray dolomite, which cannot be distinguished in hand specimens from that of the hill at the rapid. The superior beds are formed of a calcareous breccia.[27] [Sidenote: 57, 58, 59, 63, 64, 65] Associated with these strata, however, there are beds of limestone, highly charged with bitumen; and at the base of the hill there are beds of bituminous shale, some of which effervesce with acids, whilst others approach in hardness, and other characters, to flinty slate. These shaly beds were seen by Captain Franklin and Mr. Kendall in autumn 1825, and they also saw, at that time, some sulphureous springs and streams of mineral pitch issuing from the lower parts of the limestone strata: but the whole of them were hid by the height of the waters of the Mackenzie in the spring of 1826.[28] [Sidenote: 69, 66, 67, 68] The same cause prevented me from seeing some beds of lignite and sandstone, at the same place, of which Captain Franklin obtained specimens. LIGNITE FORMATION.--MACKENZIE'S RIVER. Having noticed the general features of this portion of the river, I have next to state, that the formation constituting its banks may be characterized as consisting of wood-coal in various states, alternating with beds of pipe-clay, potter's clay, which is sometimes bituminous, slate-clay, gravel, sand, and friable sandstones, and occasionally with porcelain earth. The strata are generally horizontal, and as many as four beds of lignite are exposed in some parts, the upper of which are above the level of the highest river-floods of the present day. The _lignite_, when recently detached from the beds, is pretty compact, but soon splits into rhomboidal pieces, which again separate into slates more or less fine. It burns with a very fetid smell, somewhat resembling that of phosphorus, with little smoke or flame, leaving a brownish-red ash, not one-tenth of the original bulk of the coal. The blacksmith found it unfit for welding iron when used alone, but it answered when mixed with charcoal, although the stench it created was a great annoyance. [Sidenote: 48] Different beds, and even different parts of the same bed, presented specimens of the fibrous brown-coal, earth-coal, conchoidal brown-coal, and trapezoidal brown-coal of Jameson. Some of the pieces have the external appearance of compact bitumen, but they generally exhibit, in the cross fracture, the fibrous structure of wood in concentric layers, apparently much compressed. Other specimens have a strong external resemblance to charcoal in structure, colour, and lustre. A frequent form of the lignite is that of slate, of a dull, brownish-black colour, but yielding a shining streak. The slate is composed of fragments, resembling charred wood, united together by a paste of more comminuted woody matter, mixed, perhaps, with a small portion of clay. In the paste there are some transparent crystals of sulphate of lime, and occasionally some minute portions of a substance like resin. These shaly beds bear a strong resemblance to peat, not only in structure but also in the mode of burning, and in the light whitish ashes which are left. The external shape of stems or branches of trees, is best preserved in some fragments impregnated with slate-clay, and occasionally with siliceous matter, which occur imbedded in the coal. The bark of these pieces has been converted into lignite. Some of them exhibit knots, such as occur where a branch has decayed, and others represent the twists and contortions of wood of stunted growth. The lignite is generally penetrated by fibrous roots, probably _rhizomorpha_, which insinuate their ramifications into every crevice. The beds of lignite appear to take fire spontaneously when exposed to the atmosphere. They were burning when Sir Alexander Mackenzie passed down the river in 1789, and have been on fire, in some part or other of the formation, ever since. In consequence of the destruction of the coal, large slips of the bank take place, and it is only where the debris has been washed away by the river that good sections are visible. The beds were on fire when we visited them, and the burnt clays, vitrified sand, agglutinated gravel, &c. gave many spots the appearance of an old brick-field. [Sidenote: 81] The _gravel_ interstratified with the lignite, consists of smooth pebbles of Lydian stone, of flinty slate, of white quartz, of quartzose sandstone, and conglomerate, like the sandstones and conglomerates of the old red sandstone formation, of claystone, and of slate-clay, varying in size from a pea to that of an orange. The gravel is often intermixed with a little clay, which gives the bed sufficient tenacity to form cliffs, but does not prevent the pebbles from separating, in the attempt to break off hand specimens. It is seamed by thin layers of fine sand: beds of sandstone are of occasional occurrence. _Potter's clay_ occurs in thick beds, has generally a gray or brown colour, and passes, in some places, into a highly bituminous thick-slaty clay, penetrated by ramifications of carbonaceous matter resembling the roots of vegetables. The _pipe-clay_ is deserving of particular notice. It is found in beds from six inches to a foot thick, and mostly in contact with the lignite. It has commonly a yellowish-white colour, but in some places its hue is light lake-red. The natives use it as an article of food in times of scarcity and it is said to have sustained life for a considerable time. It is termed _white mud_ by the traders, who whitewash their houses with it. It occurs also in lignite deposits on the upper branches of the Saskatchewan, and is associated with bituminous shale on the coast of the Arctic Sea. Mr. Nuttall mentions a similar substance, under the name of pink-clay, as being found in the lignite deposits on the Arkansa.[29] The _porcelain earth_ was observed only at one place where the beds were highly inclined, and there it appeared to replace the sandstones of other parts of the deposit. It has a whitish colour, and the appearance, at first sight, of chalk; but some of its beds, from the quantity of carbonaceous matter interspersed through them, having a grayish hue. Its beds are from two to three yards thick. In a note[30] I have mentioned the most remarkable sections of this formation which occur on the banks of the Mackenzie. The depth of the formation was not ascertained, but the sections will show the thickness of the beds which were exposed. The height above the sea of the summit of the banks it forms on the Mackenzie, was estimated to be from two hundred and fifty to three hundred feet. NOTICES OF OTHER LIGNITE FORMATIONS. Similar formations of lignite occur near the foot of the Rocky Mountain range farther to the southward; but I have not, after many inquiries, heard of any traces of them in the eastern parts of the Hudson's Bay lands. Sir Alexander Mackenzie, after describing the general course of the Rocky Mountains, says that "along their eastern edge, there occurs a narrow strip of marshy, boggy, and uneven ground, which produces coal and bitumen;" and that "he saw these on the banks of the Mackenzie in lat. 66 degrees, and, in his second journey, on the Peace River, in lat. 56 degrees and 146 degrees W. long.;" and further, that "the same was observed by Mr. Fidler, on the south branch of the Saskatchewan, in lat. 52 degrees long. 112-1/2 degrees W." Mr. Alexander Stewart, an intelligent chief factor of the Hudson's Bay Company, and well acquainted with those countries, informs me that there are beds of coal on fire, on the Smoking River, or east branch of the Peace River, and on the upper parts of the _Rivière la biche_, or Elk River; and that coal, although not on fire, occurs at Lesser Slave Lake, on a line with the other two localities. Mr. Small, a clerk to the Hudson's Bay Company, likewise acquaints me, that coal occurs at Edmonton, on the north branch of the Saskatchewan, in beds, sometimes seven or eight feet thick. Most of the coal is thin-slaty; but some beds yield shining, thick lumps, which break, as he expresses it, like Spanish liquorice. It lies over beds of bluish-gray sandstone, and is associated with a white clay, which froths in water and adheres to the fingers. Mr. Drummond brought specimens from the spot which Mr. Small alludes to and remarks, that the lignite occurs in beds from six inches to two feet thick, separated by clay and sandstones. [Sidenote: 1051, 1052, 1053] His specimens of the lignite are precisely similar to the slaty and conchoidal varieties, which occur at the mouth of the Bear Lake River; [Sidenote: 1055] and there is an equal resemblance betwixt the sandstones from the two places. [Sidenote: 1053] The slaty beds of lignite, at Edmonton, pass into a thin, slaty, friable sandstone, much impregnated by carbonaceous matter, and containing pieces of fibrous lignite. [Sidenote: 1056, 1062] In the neighbourhood of the lignite there are some beds of rather indurated, but highly bituminous shale, and the clayey banks contain clay-iron stones, in form of septaria. Mr. Drummond likewise found beds of a beautiful bituminous coal, which Professor Buckland, from its peculiar fracture, considers to be tertiary pitch-coal. [Sidenote: 1058, 1059, 1060] The banks of the Saskatchewan, near the same place, exhibit beds of a very compact stone, having a brown colour, and inclosing many fragments of bituminous limestone and some organic remains; likewise beds of a somewhat similar stone, but full of drusy cavities, and more resembling a recent calcareous tufa. I could not learn how far these beds were connected with the lignite deposit. Captain Franklin[31] saw beds of lignite and tertiary pitch-coal at Garry's Island, off the mouth of the Mackenzie, and there is an extensive deposit of it near the Babbage River, on the coast of the Arctic Sea, opposite to the termination of the Richardson chain of the Rocky Mountains. MACKENZIE RIVER FROM SLAVE LAKE TO THE BASE OF THE ROCKY MOUNTAINS. Having now described the strata in Bear Lake River, together with the exposed beds of the lignite at its mouth, as far as opportunities of observation enable me, and also added a slight account of similar formations which occupy a like situation at the foot of the Rocky Mountain range, were I to adapt the order of my notices strictly to the route of the expedition, I should next describe the banks of the Mackenzie from the junction of the Bear Lake River downwards to the Arctic Sea. It seems, however, more advisable to commence at the origin of the Mackenzie, in Great Slave Lake, and give as connected a view as I can of the principal geological features of that great river. The west end of Slave Lake is bounded by horizontal strata of a limestone, whose characters shall be afterwards given in detail; and I have merely to remark, at present, that it forms flat shores, which are skirted by shoals of boulders of limestone, and of primitive rocks. Much drift timber is accumulated in the small bays at this end of the lake, which, in process of time, is converted into a substance like peat. A chain of islands extends obliquely across the lake at the origin of the river, or where the current is first felt; and the depth of the water there is less than six feet. Below this, there is a dilatation termed the _first little lake_, and the river afterwards contracts to less than a mile in breadth; forming in one place, when the water is low, a strong rapid. A second dilatation, about twenty-five miles below the first, is termed the _second little lake_. The shores throughout this distance are generally flat and covered with boulders of limestone, compact felspar, granite, gneiss, and sienite, and there are many of these stones imbedded in a tenacious clay, which forms the beach. A ridge, having an even outline, and apparently of small elevation, commences behind Stony Point, in Slave Lake, some distance inland, and, running nearly parallel to the river, disappears about Fishing River, a stream which joins the Mackenzie, below the Second Little Lake. The Horn Mountains, a ridge of hills, of considerably greater elevation, and having a more varied outline than that on the south shore, are first visible on the north side of the Second Little Lake, and continue in sight nearly as far as the junction of the "River of the Mountains," or "Forks, of the Mackenzie," as the traders term the union of the two rivers. [Sidenote: 120, 121] The only rocks seen _in situ_ between Slave Lake and the Forks, were a bituminous shale of a brownish-black colour, in thin slates, and a slate-clay of a pure yellowish-gray colour, which, as well as the bituminous shale, forms steep banks. ROCKY MOUNTAINS. About twenty-five or thirty miles below the forks, the first view is obtained of the Rocky Mountains, which there appear to consist of short-conical peaks, scarcely rising two thousand feet above the river. Some distance lower down, the river, changing its course from W.N.W. to N.N.E., turns sharply round the mountains, which are there disposed in ridges, having bases from one to two miles wide, and a direction of S.S.W. or S.W. by S. being nearly at right angles to the general course of the great range to which they belong. The eastern sides of the ridges present a succession of wall-sided precipices, having beneath them shelving acclivities formed by debris, and exhibiting on their faces regular lines of stratification. The western sides of the ridges are of more easy ascent. The vallies which separate these ridges and open successively to the river, are narrow, with pretty level bottoms, but very steep sides well clothed with trees. In the first ridge, the strata seemed to dip to the northward at an angle of 35 degrees. In some of the others they were horizontal, or had a southerly dip. The third ridge presents, when viewed from the westward, a magnificent precipice, seemingly about one thousand two hundred feet high, and which extends for at least fifteen miles. After passing this ridge, the river inclines to the eastward, and the forms of the hills are less distinctly seen. As I could not visit the Rocky Mountains, I know nothing of their structure except from report. An interpreter in the Hudson's Bay Company's service, who had travelled over them, informed me that there are fourteen or fifteen ridges, of which the three easternmost are the most rugged, those that succeed being broader and more rounded. [Sidenote: 122] This man gave me a specimen of a pearl-gray semi-opal, resembling obsidian, brought from the third or fourth ridge. The natives, by means of fire, cause this stone to break off in thin, flat, conchoidal fragments, with which they form arrow-heads and knives. The thin pieces are nearly transparent on the edges. [Sidenote: 123] He also gave me a specimen of plumbago, from the same quarter, and some specular iron. Mr. Macpherson, of the Hudson's Bay Company, in a letter respecting the Rocky Mountains, near _Fort au Liard_, on the River of the Mountains, or south branch of the Mackenzie, informs me, that "these mountains may be traced into somewhat uniform ranges, extending north-westerly and south-easterly, nearly parallel with the River of the Mountains, and are in appearance confusedly scattered and broken, rising here and there into high peaks." [Sidenote: 124, 125] This gentleman had the kindness to send me specimens of a cherty rock, some of which, he states, were from the third range westward from the river, and others from a spur which projects in a southern direction from the fourth range, and rises about six hundred feet above the adjacent valley. These specimens cannot be distinguished from those of Limestone Point, on the north shore of Great Bear Lake[32], Mounts Fitton and Conybeare, two remarkable peaks which terminate the Eastern range of the Rocky Mountains on the shores of the Arctic sea, were found by Captain Franklin to consist of transition rocks, of which an account is given in the subjoined note.[33] Sir Alexander Mackenzie, towards the conclusion of the interesting narrative of his voyages, says, of the Rocky Mountain range, "The last line of division is, the immense ridge, or succession of ridges of the stony mountains, whose northern extremity dips in the Arctic Sea in latitude 70 degrees north, and longitude 135 degrees west, running nearly south-east, and begins to be parallel to the coast of the Pacific ocean from Cook's inlet, and so onwards to the Columbia. From thence it appears to quit the coast, but still continuing with less elevation to divide the waters of the Atlantic from those of the Pacific. In these snow-clad mountains rises the Mississippi, if we admit the Missouri to be its source, which flows into the Gulph of Mexico; the river Nelson which is lost in Hudson's Bay; Mackenzie's river that discharges itself into the North Sea, and the Columbia emptying itself into the Pacific Ocean. The breadth of the mountains from Cook's inlet to the Columbia is from four to eight degrees easterly." I may add, that the great rivers mentioned by Mackenzie not only take their origin from the same range of mountains, but almost from the same hill; the head waters of the Columbia and Mackenzie being only about two hundred yards apart in latitude 54-1/2 degrees. Mr. Drummond, who crossed the mountains at that place, informs me, that the Eastern side of the range consists of conglomerate and sandstone, to which succeed limestone hills exceedingly barren, and afterwards clay-slate and granite. James, the intelligent naturalist, who accompanied Major Long on his first expedition, says of the Rocky Mountains to the southward of the Missouri, "They rise abruptly out of the plains which lie extended at their base on the east side, towering into peaks of great height, which renders them visible at the distance of more than one hundred miles from their base. They consist of ridges, knobs, and peaks, variously disposed, among which are interspersed many broad and fertile valleys. James's peak, one of the more elevated, was ascertained by trigonometrical measurement to rise 8500 feet above the common level. The rocky formations are uniformly of a primitive character, but a deep crust of secondary rocks appears to recline on the east side of the mountains, extending upwards from their base many hundred feet." In another place, he says, "The woodless plain is terminated by a range of naked and almost perpendicular rocks, visible at the distance of several miles, and resembling a vast wall parallel to the base of the mountain. These rocks are sandstone, and rise abruptly to an elevation of one hundred and fifty or two hundred feet." The sandstone walls seem to present an appearance not very dissimilar to some of the cliffs seen from the Mackenzie. Having thus mentioned as briefly as I could the extent of the information I was able to collect, respecting the Rocky Mountain range, I may remark, that a formation of primitive rocks, but little elevated above the general level of the country, appears to run from near the west end of Lake Superior, gradually and slightly converging towards the Rocky Mountains, until it attains the east side of Great Bear Lake. In lat. 50 degrees, the two ranges are nearly seven hundred miles apart, and there, and as far as lat. 60 degrees, the space between them is principally occupied by horizontal strata of limestone. There is also much limestone in the narrower interval north of 60 degrees, but the strata are more inclined, and form abrupt hills and ridges, particularly about lat. 66 degrees, where the primitive rocks on the east of Bear Lake are within two hundred miles of the Rocky Mountains. Sir Alexander Mackenzie has noticed that a chain of great lakes skirts this eastern range of primitive rocks, where they are approached by the flat limestone strata which lie to west of them. Thus the primitive rocks bound Great Slave Lake to the eastward of Slave River, and the flat limestone strata occupy the country westward of that lake, as has been already mentioned. After this digression, which seemed necessary for the purpose of giving a general idea of the structure of the country, I return to the description of the banks of the Mackenzie. MACKENZIE RIVER FROM THE FIRST SIGHT OF THE ROCKY MOUNTAINS TO BEAR LAKE RIVER. At the sharp turn of the river round the Rocky Mountains, its east bank swells gently into a hill several feet high. Below this the banks are broken into conical masses by ravines, and present a finely variegated outline. A pretty high ridge, looking like a continuation of the Horn Mountains, is visible on the east side some distance inland. Opposite to the Big Island there is a green hill three or four hundred feet high, which, as we descended the river, showed itself to be part of a range that had a direction apparently to the N.N.W., and towards its northern end became more rugged and craggy, exhibiting cliffs and rude embrasures, at the same time increasing in height to eight hundred or one thousand feet. The boulders on the beach change their character considerably about this place. Farther up, the yellowish-white limestone which occurs in Slave Lake formed a great portion of them; but here a greenish-gray, and rather dark-coloured, compact limestone, with a flat conchoidal fracture, replaces it. Variegated-sandstone, and some purplish, felspathose-sandstone, or compact felspar, also occur pretty frequently, together with slaty limestone, bituminous-shale, lydian-stone, pitchstone-porphyry, and various sienites, granites, and greenstones, almost all porphyritic. The Rock by the river's side presents the first solid strata that occur on the immediate banks of the river after passing the Forks. It is a round bluff hill about five hundred feet high, with a short obtuse-conical summit. A precipice three hundred feet high, washed by the river, is composed of strata of limestone, dipping N.W. by W. at an angle of 70 degrees; but the strata in other parts of the hill have in appearance the saddle-formed arrangement. [Sidenote: 127] The limestone is of a blackish-gray colour, slightly crystalline structure, and much resembles the stone of the principal beds in the hills at the rapid and mouth of Bear Lake River. Its beds are from one to two feet thick, and much intersected by small veins of calc-spar. There are also some larger veins a foot and a half thick, which traverse the strata obliquely, having their sides lined with calc-spar, and their centres filled with transparent gypsum. [Sidenote: 128] I observed a small imbedded pebble of white sandstone in the gypsum. [Sidenote: 127] Some of the beds of limestone consist of angular distinct concretions. [Sidenotes: 131, 132] A small island lying off this rock, having its strata dipping south at an angle of 20 degrees, presents a bed a foot thick, entirely composed of these angular concretions, covered by a thin-slaty limestone, and reposing on thicker beds, all of which are dark-coloured. No organic remains were observed. A few miles below the "Rock by the river side," a very rugged ridge appears on the eastern bank. It has sharp craggy summits, and is about five or six hundred feet high. For nearly sixty miles below this place the river continues about eight hundred yards wide, bounded by banks chiefly of clay; but in some places of a clayey shale having a bluish colour. The banks are in many places one hundred and fifty feet high, with a beach beneath covered with boulders. A little above the site of the Old Fort Norman the river dilates, and is full of islands; and a short way inland, on the east side, stands Clark's Hill, which is visible from Fort Franklin, and is supposed to be near 1500 feet high. It is shaped somewhat like the amphibolic-granite mountain of Criffel in Galloway, and in its immediate neighbourhood there are some less lofty, but very rugged and precipitous hills, resembling in outline the ridges of limestone on Bear Lake River. From this place to the commencement of the lignite formation, already described, the banks of the Mackenzie are high and clayey. MACKENZIE RIVER FROM BEAR LAKE RIVER TO THE NARROWS. Below Bear Lake River the general course of the Mackenzie for eighty miles is about N.W. by W., when a remarkable rapid is produced by ledges of stone which cross its channel. The width of the river varies in this distance from one to three miles, but the water-course is narrowed by numerous islands, and the current continues strong. The Rocky Mountains are visible, running in a direction from S.E. to N.W. Judging merely by the eye, we did not estimate their altitude above four thousand feet, and I may remark, that the snow disappears from their summits early in the summer. A back view of the hill at the mouth of Bear Lake River is also obtained for upwards of twenty miles, but the ridge of which it forms a part curves inland, probably uniting, as was formerly remarked, with the one which crosses Bear Lake River near the middle of its course. The banks of the Mackenzie are in general from one hundred and twenty to one hundred and fifty feet high in this part, and there are occasional sections of them, but we had little leisure to examine their structure. In the voyage of 1826 we drifted down the stream night and day, landing only when necessary to cook our provisions; and in the following geological notices, as far as the passage of the river named the _Narrows_, I have done little more than describe the specimens collected by Captain Franklin, when he ascended the river by the tow-line in 1825. The few notes that the rapidity of our voyage permitted me to make, as to the direction of the strata, &c., were inserted in the book that was purloined by the Esquimaux at the mouth of the river. About fifty miles below Bear Lake River there is an almost precipitous cliff of bituminous-shale, one hundred and twenty feet high, strongly resembling the cliffs which occur near the bases of the hill of Scented-Grass and Great Bear Mountain in Bear Lake already described[34], and at the mouth of the Clear Water River in lat. 56-1/2 degrees. In the two former localities the shale is in the neighbourhood of horizontal strata of limestone; and in the latter it actually reposes on the limestone, which extends in horizontal strata as far as Great Slave Lake, is connected with many salt springs, and possesses many of the characters ascribed to the zechstein formation. [Sidenote: 133] Captain Franklin observed the beach under the shale cliffs of the Mackenzie to be strewed not only with fragments of the shale, but also with much lignite, similar to that which occurs at the mouth of the Bear Lake River. Twelve or fourteen miles below these cliffs there is a reach seventeen or eighteen miles long, bounded by walls of sandstone in horizontal beds. [Sidenotes: 134, 135] Specimens obtained by Captain Franklin at the upper end of the reach consist of fine-grained quartzose sandstone[35] of a gray colour, and having a clayey basis, resembling those which occur in the middle of Bear Lake River. At the commencement of the "Great Rapid of the Mackenzie" there is a hill on each side of the river, named by Captain Franklin the eastern[36] and Western mountains of the Rapid. The Rocky Mountains appear at no great distance from this place, running about N.W. by W., until lost to the sight; and as the Mackenzie for forty or fifty miles below, winds away to the northward, and, in some reaches, a little to the eastward, they are not again visible, until the river has made a bend to the westward, and emerges from the defile termed "the Narrows." The "Eastern mountain of the rapid" seems to have a similar structure, with the "Hill by the River's side," the hill at the mouth of Bear Lake River, and the other limestone ridges which traverse this part of the country. [Sidenote: 136] From some highly inclined beds near its base I broke off specimens of a limestone, having an imperfectly crystalline structure, and a brown colour, which deepens into dull black on the surfaces of its natural seams. [Sidenotes: 137, 138, 139, 141] A piece of dark-gray, compact limestone, having the peculiar structure to which the name of "_cone in cone_" has been given, was found on the beach; also several pieces of chert, and some fragments of a trap-rock, consisting of pieces of greenstone, more or less iron-shot, cemented by calc-spar. Immediately below the rapid there are horizontal layers of sandstone which form cliffs, and also the bed of the river. Captain Franklin obtained specimens of this stone, which do not differ from the sandstones above the rapid. [Sidenote 142, 143, 140] And amongst the debris of the cliff he found other specimens of the "_cone in cone_," such as it occurs in the clayey beds of the coal measures, and also some pieces of crystallized pyrites. [Sidenote: 144, 144a, 145, 146, 147, 144b] About forty miles below the rapid, the river flows through a narrow defile formed by the approach of two lofty banks of limestone in highly-inclined strata, above which there is a dilatation of the river, bounded by the walls of sandstone, which have weathered, in many places, into pillars, castellated forms, caves, &c. The sandstone strata are horizontal, have slate-clay partings, and seams of a poor clay-iron stone, but do not differ in general appearance from the sandstone beds at the rapid, except that a marly stone containing corallines, and having the general colour and aspect of the sandstone beds, is associated with them at this place. The very remarkable defile, below these sandstone beds, is designated "the _second rapid_" by Sir Alexander Mackenzie, and "the _ramparts_" by the traders, a name adopted by Captain Franklin. Mackenzie states it to be three hundred yards wide, three miles long, and to have fifty fathoms depth of water. If he is correct in his soundings, its bed is probably two hundred and fifty feet below the level of the sea. The walls of the defile rise from eighty to one hundred and fifty feet above the river, and the strata are inclined to the W.N.W., at an angle of seventy or eighty degrees. It is worthy of remark, that the course of the river through this chasm is E.N.E., and that just above the eastern mountain of the rapid it runs about W.S.W. through the sandstone strata, as if it had found natural rents by which to make its escape through the ridge of hills which cross its course here. Similar elbows occur in various parts of the River, and they may be almost always traced to some peculiarity in the disposition of the hills which traverse the country. Captain Franklin gathered many specimens of the limestone strata of the Ramparts, which are specified in a note.[37] [Sidenote: 148, 149] Some of the beds at the upper part of the Ramparts consist of a granular foliated limestone, which was not noticed elsewhere on the banks of the river, but the greater part are of limestone, strongly resembling that which has been already described, as forming the ridges in this quarter. Most of the beds are impregnated wholly, or in patches, with bitumen. Some of these specimens contain corallines and terebratulæ; and at the lower end of the defile there are horizontal strata of limestone, covered by a thin layer of flinty slate. Below the _ramparts_ the river expands to the width of two miles, and for a reach or two its banks are less elevated. In lat. 66-3/4 degrees, about thirty miles from the ramparts, there are cliffs which Captain Franklin in his notes, remarks, "run on an E. by S. course for four miles, are almost perpendicular, about one hundred and sixty feet high, and present the same castellated appearances that are exhibited by the sandstone above the defile of the "ramparts." [Sidenote: 159, 160, 161, 162] The cliffs[38] are, in fact, composed of sandstones similar, in general appearance, to those which occur higher up the river; but some of the beds contain the quartz in coarser grains, with little or no cement. [Sidenote: 163, 164, 165, 166] The beds are horizontal, and repose on horizontal limestone,[39] from which Captain Franklin broke many specimens in 1825. [Sidenote: 167, 168, 169, 170] We landed at this place in 1826 to see the junction of the two rocks, but the limestone was concealed by the high waters of the river. Captain Franklin's specimens are full of shells, many of which are identical with those of the flat limestone strata of the Athabasca River. [Sidenote: 171] One bed appears to be almost entirely composed of a fine large species of terebratula, not yet described, but of which Mr. Sowerby has a specimen from the carboniferous limestone of Neho, in Norway. Some of the beds contain the shells in fragments; in others, the shells are very entire. About forty miles below these sandstone walls the banks of the river are composed of marl-slate, which weathers so readily, that it forms shelving acclivities. [Sidenote: 172] In one reach the soft strata are cut by ravines into very regular forms, resembling piles of cannon shot in an arsenal, whence it was named _Shot-reach_. The river makes a short turn to the north below Shot Reach, and a more considerable one to the westward, in passing the present site of Fort Good Hope. The banks in that neighbourhood are mostly of clay, but beds of sandstone occasionally show themselves. The Indians travel from Fort Good Hope nearly due north, reach the summit of a ridge of land on the first night, and from thence following the course of a small stream they are conducted to the river _Inconnu_, and on the evening of the 4th day they reach the shores of Esquimaux Lake. Its water is brackish, the tide flowing into it. The neck of land which the Indians cross from Fort Good Hope is termed "isthmus" on Arrowsmith's map, from Mackenzie's information; and its breadth, from the known rate at which the Indians are accustomed to travel, cannot exceed sixty miles. The ridge is named the Carreboeuf, or Rein-deer Hills, and runs to lat. 69 degrees, forming a peninsula between the eastern channel of the Mackenzie and Esquimaux Lake. A small stream flows into the Mackenzie some way below Fort Good Hope, on the banks of which, according to Sir Alexander Mackenzie, the Indians and Esquimaux collect flints. He describes these banks as composed of "a high, steep, and soft rock, variegated with red, green, and yellow hues; and that, from the continual dripping of the water, parts of it frequently fall, and break into small, stony flakes, like slate, but not so hard. Amongst these are found pieces of petroleum, which bears a resemblance to yellow wax, but is more pliable." The flint he speaks of is most probably flinty-slate; but I do not know what the yellow petroleum is, unless it be the variety of alum, named rock-butter, which was observed in other situations, forming thin layers in bituminous shale. About twenty miles below Fort Good Hope there are some sandstone cliffs,[40] which Captain Franklin examined in 1825. [Sidenote: 173, 174] The sandstones are similar to those occurring higher up the river, but some of the beds contain small pieces of bituminous shale; and they are interstratified with thin layers of flinty-slate, and of flinty-state passing into bituminous shale. [Sidenote: 175, 176] The flinty-slate contains iron pyrites, and its layers are covered with a sulphureous efflorescence. Some of the beds pass into a slate-clay, which contains vegetable impressions, and some veins of clay-iron stone also appear in the cliff. Sixty miles below Fort Good Hope the river turns to the northward, and makes a sharp elbow betwixt walls of sandstone eighty or ninety feet high, which continue for fifteen or twenty miles. Captain Franklin named this passage of the river "The Narrows."[41] [Sidenotes: 178, 179] The sandstones of the _Narrows_ lie in horizontal beds, and have generally a dark gray colour. [Sidenotes: 180, 181, 182] They are parted by thin slaty beds of sandstone, containing small pieces apparently of bituminous coal, and some casts of vegetables. [Sidenote: 183] Most of the beds contain scales of mica, and some of them have nodules of indurated iron-shot clay which exhibit obscure impressions of shells. A bed of imperfectly crystalline limestone was seen by Captain Franklin underlying the sandstones. MACKENZIE RIVER BELOW "THE NARROWS." The Mackenzie, on emerging from the Narrows, separates into many branches, which flow to the sea through alluvial or diluvial deltas and islands. The Rocky Mountains are seen on the western bank of the river, forming the boundary of those low lands; and the lower, but decided ridge, of the Rein-deer Hills holds nearly a parallel course on the east bank. The estuary lying between these two ranges, opens to the N.W. by N. into the Arctic Sea. I have already mentioned the specimens of rocks obtained at the few points of the Rocky Mountains that were visited,[42] and therefore shall now speak only of the Rein-deer Hills. We did not approach them until we had passed for thirty miles down a branch of the river which winds through alluvial lands. At this place there are several conical hills about two hundred feet high, which appeared to consist of limestone. Specimens taken from some slightly-inclined beds near their bases, consisted of a fine-grained, dark, bluish-gray limestone. After passing these limestone rocks, the Rein-deer Hills were pretty uniform in appearance, having a steep acclivity with rounded summits. Their height, on the borders of the river, is about four hundred feet, but a mile or two inland they attain an elevation of perhaps two hundred feet more. Their sides are deeply covered with sand and clay, arising most probably from the disintegration of the subjacent rocks. [Sidenote: 184, 185] A section made by a torrent, showed the summit of one of the hills to be formed of gray slate-clay, its middle of friable gray sandstone much iron-shot, and its base of dark bluish-gray slaty clay. The sandstone predominates in some parts of the range, forming small cliffs, underneath which there are steep acclivities of sand. It contains nearly an equal quantity of black flinty slate, or lydian stone, and white quartz in its composition, and greatly resembles the friable sandstones of the lignite formation at the mouth of Bear Lake River. [Sidenote: 186] In some parts the soil has a red colour from the disintegration of a reddish-brown slate-clay. [Sidenote: 187] The summits of the hills that were visited were thinly coated with loose gravel, composed of smooth pebbles of lydian-stone, intermixed with some pieces of green felspar, white quartz, limestone, and chert. In some places almost all the pebbles were as large as a goose-egg, in others none of them exceeded the size of a hazel nut. The Rein-deer Mountains terminate in lat. 69 degrees, having previously diminished in altitude to two hundred feet, and the eastern branch of the river turns round their northern extremity. White spruce trees grow at the base of these hills as far as lat. 68-1/2 degrees; north of which they become very stunted and straggling, and very soon disappear, none reaching to lat. 69 degrees. Sir Alexander Mackenzie, who, on his return from the sea, walked over these hills, says, "Though the country is so elevated, it is one continued morass, except on the summits of some barren hills. As I carried my hanger in my hand, I frequently examined if any part of the ground was in a state of thaw, but could never force the blade into it beyond the depth of six or eight inches. The face of the high land towards the river is, in some places, rocky, and in others a mixture of sand and stone, veined with a kind of red earth, with which the natives bedaub themselves." It was on the 14th of July that he made these observations. On the 5th of the same month, in a milder year, we found that the thaw had penetrated nearly a foot into the beds of clay at the base of the hills. ALLUVIAL ISLANDS AT THE MOUTH OF THE MACKENZIE. The space between the Rocky Mountains and Rein-deer Hills, ninety miles in length from lat. 67 degrees 40 minutes to 69 degrees 10 minutes, and from fifteen to forty miles in width, is occupied by flat alluvial islands, which separate the various branches of the river. Most of these islands are partially or entirely flooded in the spring, and have their centres depressed and marshy, or occupied by a lake; whilst their borders are higher and well clothed by white spruce trees. The spring floods find their way, through openings in these higher banks, into the hollow centres of the islands, carrying with them a vast quantity of drift timber, which, being left there, becomes water-soaked, and, finally, firmly impacted in the mud. The young willows, which spring up rapidly, contribute much towards raising the borders of the stream, by intercepting the drift sand which the wind sweeps from the margin of the shallow ponds as they dry up in summer. The banks, being firmly frozen in spring, are enabled to resist the weight of the temporary floods which occur in that season, and before they are thawed the river has resumed its low summer level. The trees which grow on the islands terminate suddenly, in lat. 68 degrees 40 minutes. I have already mentioned, that a large sheet of brackish water, named Esquimaux Lake, lies to the eastward of the Rein-deer Mountains, running to the southward, and approaching within sixty miles of the bend of Mackenzie's River at Fort Good Hope. This lake has a large outlet into Liverpool Bay, to the westward of Cape Bathurst, and there are many smaller openings betwixt that bay and Point Encounter, near the north end of the Rein-deer Hills, which are also supposed to form communications betwixt the lake and the sea. The whole coast-line from Cape Bathurst to the mouth of the Mackenzie, and the islands skirting it, as far as Garry and Sacred Islands, present a great similarity in outline and structure. They consist of extensive sandy flats, from which there arise, abruptly, hills of an obtuse conical form, from one to two hundred feet above the general level. Sandy shoals skirt the coast, and numerous inlets and basins of water divide the flat lands, and frequently produce escarpments of the hills, which show them to be composed of strata of sand of various colours, sometimes inclosing very large logs of drift timber. There is a coating of black vegetable earth, from six inches to a foot in thickness, covering these sandy hummocks, and some of the escarped sides appeared black, which was probably caused by soil washed from the summit. It is possible that the whole of these eminences may, at some distant period, have been formed by the drifting of moveable sands. At present the highest floods reach only to their bases, their height being marked by a thick layer of drift timber. When the timber has been thrown up beyond the reach of ordinary floods, it is covered with sand, and, in process of time, with vegetable mould. The _Elymus mollis_, and some similar grasses with long fibrous roots, serve to prevent the sand-hills from drifting away again. Some of the islands, however, consist of mud or clay. Captain Franklin describes Garry's Island as presenting cliffs, two hundred feet high, of black mud, in which there were inclined beds of lignite. [Sidenote: 188] Specimens of this lignite have the same appearance with the fibrous wood-coal occurring in the formation at the mouth of Bear Lake River, and, like it, contain resin. [Sidenotes: 189, 190] Imbedded in the same bank, there were large masses of a dark-brown calc-tuff, full of cavities containing some greenish earthy substance. Some boulders of lydian stone strew the beach. The cliffs of Nicholson's Island also consisted of sand and mud, which, at the time of our visit, (July 16th,) had thawed to the depth of three feet. This island rises four hundred feet above the level of the sea, and is covered with a thin sward of grasses and bents. SEA-COAST.--BITUMINOUS ALUM SHALE. The main land to the east of Nicholson's Island, as far as Cape Bathurst, presents gently swelling hills, which attain the height of two hundred feet at the distance of two miles from the beach, and the ground is covered with a sward of moss and grasses. At Point Sir Peregrine Maitland there are cliffs forty-feet high of sand and slaty clay, and the ravines are lined with fragments of whitish compact limestone, exactly resembling that which occurs in Lakes Huron and Winipeg, and which was afterwards seen forming the promontory of Cape Parry, bearing E.N.E. from this place. The beach, on the south side of Harrowby Bay, not far from Point Maitland, was thickly strewed with fragments of dark red and of white sandstone, together with some blocks of the above-mentioned limestone, and a few boulders of sienite. From Cape Bathurst the coast line has a S.E. direction, and is formed by precipitous cliffs, which gradually rise in height from thirty feet to six hundred. The beds composing these cliffs appear to be analogous to those of the alum-shale banks at Whitby, and similar to those which skirt the Scented-grass Hill and Great Bear Mountain, in Great Bear Lake. The Scented-grass Hill is distant from Cape Bathurst about three hundred miles, on a S.E. bearing, which corresponds, within a point, with the direction of the principal mountain chains in the country. [Sidenote: 191] There is evidently a striking similarity in the form of the ground plan of these two promontories. At the extremity of Cape Bathurst the cliffs consist of slaty-clay, which, when dry, has a light bluish-gray colour, a slightly greasy feel, and falls down in flakes. The rain-water had penetrated the cliff to the depth of three yards from the summit; and this portion was frozen, on the 17th July, into an icy wall, which crumbled down as it thawed. On proceeding a little further along the coast, some beds were observed that possessed, when newly exposed to the air, tenacity enough to be denominated stone, but which, under the action of water, speedily softened into a tenacious bluish-clay. [Sidenotes: 192, 193, 197, 198, 199] At Point Traill we were attracted by the variegated colours of the cliff, and on landing found that they proceeded from clays baked by the heat of a bed of bituminous-alum-shale which had been on fire. Some parts of the earth were still warm. The shale is of a brown colour and thin slaty structure, with an earthy fracture. It contains many interspersed crystals of selenite; between its lamina there is much powdery alum, mixed with sulphur, and it is traversed by veins of brown selenite, in slender prismatic crystals. [Sidenotes: 200, 194, 195, 196] The bed was much broken down, and hid by the debris of the bank, but in parts it was several yards thick, and contained layers of the wax-coloured variety of alum, named Rock-butter. The shale is covered by a bed of stone, chiefly composed of oval distinct concretions of a poor calcareous clay-iron stone. These concretions have a straight cleavage in the direction of their short axis, and are often coated by fibrous calc-sinter and calcedony. The upper part of the cliff is clay and sand passing into a loosely cohering sandstone. The strata are horizontal, except in the neighbourhood of ravines, or of consumed shale, when they are often highly inclined, apparently from partial subsidence. The debris of the cliff form declivities, having an inclination of from fifty to eighty degrees, and the burnt clays variously coloured, yellow, white, and deep red, give it much the appearance of the rubbish of a brick-field. The view of the interior, from the summit of the cliff, presents a surface slightly varied by eminences, which swell gently to the height of fifty or sixty feet above the general level. The soil is clayey, with a very scanty vegetation, and there are many small lakes in the country. [Sidenote: 201] Ten miles further on, the alum-shale forms a cliff two hundred feet high, and presents layers of the Rock-butter about two inches thick, with many crystals of selenite on the surfaces of the slates. The summit of the cliff consists of a bed of marly gravel two yards thick, which is composed of pebbles of granite, sienite, quartz, lydian-stone, and compact limestone, all coated by a white powdery marl. The dip of the strata at this place is slightly to the northward. A few miles to the south-east of Wilmot Horton River the cliffs are six hundred feet high, and present acclivities having an inclination of from thirty to sixty degrees, formed of weathered slate-clay. Some beds of alum-shale are visible at the foot of these cliffs, containing much sulphate of alumina and masses of baked clay. Two miles further along the coast the shaly strata were on fire, giving out smoke, and beyond this the cliffs become much broken but less precipitous, having fallen down in consequence of the consumption of the combustible strata. These ruined cliffs gradually terminated in green and sloping banks, whose summit was from one to two miles inland, and about six hundred feet above the sea level. Considerable tracts of level ground occurred occasionally betwixt these banks and the beach. Wherever the ground was cut by ravines, beds of slate-clay were exposed. On reaching the bottom of Franklin Bay, we observed the higher grounds keeping an E.S.E. direction until lost to the view, becoming, however, somewhat peaked in the outline. SEA COAST.--LIMESTONE. Parry's Peninsula, where it joins the mainland, is very low, consisting mostly of gravel and sand, and is there greatly indented by shallow bays, but it gradually increases in height towards Cape Parry. The bays and inlets are separated from the sea by beaches composed of rolled pieces of compact limestone; and which, although they are in places only a few yards across, are several miles in length. The northern part of Parry's Peninsula belongs entirely to a formation which appears from the mineralogical characters of the stone composing the great mass of the strata, and the organic remains observed in it, to be identical with the limestone formations of Lakes Winipeg and Huron. [Sidenotes: 202, 204] On the north side of Sellwood Bay, in lat. 69 degrees 42 minutes, cliffs about twenty feet high are composed of a fine-grained[43] brownish dolomite, in angular distinct concretions, and containing corallines and veins of calc-spar. [Sidenote: 203] In the same neighbourhood there is a bed of grayish-black compact luculite with drusses of calc-spar, very similar to the limestone which occurs in highly inclined strata at the "Rock by the River Side," on the Mackenzie, and in horizontal strata in an island near that rock, where it forms angular concretions. After passing Sellwood Bay, the north and east shores of Cape Parry, and the islands skirting them, present magnificent cliffs of limestone, which, from the weathering action of the waves of the sea, assume curious architectural forms. Many of the insulated rocks are perforated. Between the bold projecting cliffs of limestone there are narrow shelving beaches, formed of its debris, that afford access to the interior. The strata have generally a slight dip to the northward, and the most common Rock is a yellowish-gray dolomite which has a very compact structure, but presents some shining facets of disseminated calc-spar. This stone, which is not to be distinguished by its mineralogical characters from the prevailing limestone of Lake Winipeg, and at the passage of _La cloche_ in Lake Huron, forms beds six or eight feet thick, and is frequently interstratified with a cellular limestone, approaching to chert in hardness, and exhibiting the characters of rauchwacke. In some parts, the rauchwacke is the predominating rock, and has its cells beautifully powdered with crystals of quartz or of calc-spar, and contains layers of chert of a milky colour. The chert has sometimes the appearance of calcedony, and is finely striped. [Sidenote: 208, 209] The extremity of Cape Parry is a hill about seven hundred feet high, in which beds of brownish dolomite, impregnated with silica, are interstratified with a thin-slaty, gray limestone, having a compact structure.[44] The vegetation is very scanty, and there are some spots covered with fragments of dolomite, on which there is not the vestige even of a lichen. Many large boulders of greenstone were thrown upon the N.W. point of Cape Parry. The islands in Darnley Bay, between Capes Parry and Lyon, are composed of limestone. SEA-COAST.--FORMATION OF SLATE-CLAY, SANDSTONE, AND LIMESTONE, WITH TRAP-ROCKS. From Cape Lyon to Point Tinney, the rocks forming the coast-line are slate-clay, limestone, greenstone, sandstone, and calcareous puddingstone. [Sidenote: 214] Near the extremity of Cape Lyon the _slate-clay_ predominates, occurring in straight, thin, bluish-gray layers, which are interspersed with detached scales of mica. [Sidenote: 215] It sometimes forms thicker slates, that are impregnated with iron, and occurs alone, or interstratified in thin beds with a reddish, small-grained limestone. The strata, in general, dip slightly to the N.E., and form gently-swelling grounds, which at the distance of about fifteen miles to the southward terminate in hills, named the Melville Range. These hills are apparently connected with those which skirt the coast to the westward of Parry's Peninsula, have rather a soft outline, and do not appear to attain an altitude of more than seven or eight hundred feet above the sea. Ridges of naked trap-rocks, which traverse the lower country betwixt the Melville hills and the extremity of the Cape, rise abruptly to the height of one hundred or one hundred and fifty feet, and have, in general, an E.N.E. direction. When these trap ridges reach the coast, they form precipices which frequently have a columnar structure, and the nearly horizontal strata of slate-clay are generally seen underlying the precipices. In many places the softer clay strata are worn considerably away, and the columns of greenstone hang over the beach. Columns of this description occur at the north-eastern extremity of the Cape, and the slate-clay is not altered at its point of contact with the greenstone. The soil in this neighbourhood is clayey, and some small streams have pretty lofty and steep clayey banks; the shaly strata appearing only at their base. A better sward of grasses and carices exists at Cape Lyon, than is usual on those shores. Many boulders of greenstone and large fragments of red sandstone strew the beach. At Point Pearce, four or five miles to the eastward of Cape Lyon, a reddish, small-grained limestone forms perpendicular cliffs two hundred feet high, in which a remarkable cavern occurs. Near these cliffs the slate-clay and reddish limestone are interstratified, and form a bold rocky point, in which the strata dip to the N.E. at an angle of 20 degrees. The coast line becomes lower to the eastward, and at Point Keats a fine-grained, flesh-coloured sandstone occurs. This sandstone is quartzose, does not possess much tenacity, and is without any apparent basis. At Point Deas Thompson the limestone re-appears, having reddish-brown and flesh-red colours, and a splintery fracture. There are some beautiful Gothic arches formed in the cliffs there by the weathering of the strata. Five miles farther along the coast, near Roscoe River, the same kind of limestone forms cliffs twenty-five feet high, and is covered by thin layers of soft slate-clay. On the top of these cliffs we observed a considerable quantity of drift-timber and some hummocks of gravel. The spring tides do not rise above two feet. The Melville Range approaches within three miles of the coast there, and presents a few short conical summits, although the hills composing it are mostly round-backed. [Sidenotes: 217, 218, 219] At Point De Witt Clinton, a compact blackish-blue limestone, traversed by veins of calc-spar, forms a bed thirty feet thick, which reposes on thin layers of a soft, compact, light, bluish-gray limestone or marl. The cliffs at this place are altogether about seventy feet high, but their bases were concealed by accumulations of ice. Veins filled with compact and fibrous gypsum traverse the upper limestone. Naked and barren ridges of greenstone, much iron-shot, cross the country here, in the same manner as at Cape Lyon. The soil consists of gravel and clay; the former mostly composed of whitish magnesian limestone; and the vegetation is very scanty. At Point Tinney, in lat. 69 degrees 20 minutes, cliffs of a calcareous puddingstone, about forty feet high, extend for a mile along the coast. The basis, in most of the beds, is calc-spar; but in some small layers it is calcareous sand. The imbedded pebbles are smooth, vary in magnitude, from the size of a pea to that of a man's hand, and are mostly or entirely of chert, which approaches to calcedony, and, when striped, to agate in its characters. Perhaps, much of the gravel which covers the country is derived from the destruction of this conglomerate rock. SEA COAST.--LIMESTONE. From Point Clifton to Cape Hearne, the whole coast consists of a formation of limestone precisely similar to that which occurs on Lake Winipeg and Parry's Peninsula. Dolomite, the prevailing rock in this formation, is generally in thin layers, and has a light smoke-gray colour, varying occasionally to yellowish gray, and buff. Its structure is compact, with little lustre, except from facets of disseminated calc-spar. It sometimes passes into milk-white chert, which forms beds. In some places the dolomite alternates with cellular limestone, which is generally much impregnated with quartz, and has its cavities powdered with crystals of that mineral. No organic remains were observed in the strata, but fragments, evidently derived from some beds of the formation, contained orthoceratites, like those of Lake Huron. The strata, though nearly horizontal, appear to crop out towards the north and east, forming precipices about ten feet high, facing in that direction, and running like a wall across the country. In many places, however, and particularly at Cape Krusenstern, the strata terminate in magnificent cliffs upwards of two hundred feet high, the country in the interior remaining level. Mount Barrow is a small hill of limestone, of a remarkable form, being a natural fortification surrounded by a moat. The coast line is indented by shallow bays, and skirted by rocks and islands. In the whole country occupied by this formation, the ground is covered with slaty fragments, sometimes to the depth of three feet or more. These slates appear to have been detached from the strata they cover, by the freezing of the water, which insinuates itself betwixt their layers. At Cape Bexley, the fragments of dolomite cover the ground to the exclusion of all other soil; and in a walk of several miles, I did not see the vestige of a vegetable, except a small green scum upon some stones that formed the lining of a pond which had dried up. In this neighbourhood there are a number of straight furrows a foot deep, as if a plough had been drawn through the loose fragments. After many conjectures as to the cause of this phenomenon, I ascertained that the furrows had their origin in fissures of the strata lying underneath. At the commencement of this formation between Point Tinney and Point Clifton, the coast is low, and a stream of considerable magnitude, named Croker River, together with many rivulets, flow into the sea. Its termination to the southward of Cape Hearne is also marked by a low coast line, which is bounded by the bold rocky hills of Cape Kendall. FORMATION SIMILAR TO THAT AT CAPE LYON. The beach between Cape Hearne and Cape Kendall is in some places composed of slate-clay, and of a clay resembling wacke. Many large boulders of greenstone occur there. Cape Kendall is a projecting rocky point, about five or six hundred feet high, and nearly precipitous on three sides, which are washed by the sea. On the north, its rocks consist entirely of greenstone, but on the south side of the Cape the greenstone in lofty columns reposes on thin-slaty beds of fine-grained, bluish-gray limestone. Back's Inlet presents on each side a succession of lofty precipitous headlands, which have the shape termed, by seamen, "the gunner's quoin." Most of the islands and points near the mouth of the Coppermine have this form, and are composed of trap rocks. [Sidenote: 220] One of Cowper's islands on which we landed consists of beds of greenstone cropping out like the steps of a stair. A low ridge of greenstone exists at the mouth of the Coppermine river, and from thence to Bloody-fall, a distance of ten miles, the country is nearly level, with the exception of some low ridges of trap which run through it. The channel of the river is sunk about one hundred and fifty feet below the surrounding country, and is bounded by cliffs of yellowish white sand, and sometimes of clay, from beneath which, beds of greenstone occasionally crop out. At Bloody-fall, a round-backed ridge of land, seven or eight hundred feet high, crosses the country. It has a gentle ascent on the north, but is steep towards the south. The river at the fall makes its way through a narrow gap, whose nearly precipitous sides consist of tenacious clay, the bed and immediate borders of the stream being formed of greenstone.[45] From thence to the Copper Mountains, gently undulated plains occur, intersected in various parts by precipitous ridges of trap rocks, and the river flows in a narrow chasm, sunk about one hundred feet below their level. A few miles above Bloody-fall, strata of light gray clay-slate, dipping to the north-east, at an angle of 20 degrees, support some greenstone cliffs on the banks of the river. [Sidenotes: 222, 223, 224] From this place to the Copper Mountains the rocks observed in the ravines were a dark reddish-brown, felspathose sandstone, and gray slate-clay, in horizontal strata, with greenstone rising in ridges. The soil is sandy, and in many places clayey, with a pretty close grassy sward. Straggling spruce trees begin to skirt the banks of the river about eighteen or twenty miles from the sea. COPPER MOUNTAINS. The Copper Mountains rise perhaps eight or nine hundred feet above the bed of the river, and at a distance, present a somewhat soft outline, but on a nearer view they appear to be composed of ridges which have a direction from W.N.W. to E.S.E. Many of the ridges have precipitous sides, and their summits, which are uneven and stony, do not rise more than two hundred, or two hundred and fifty feet above the vallies, which are generally swampy and full of small lakes. The only rocks noticed when we crossed these hills on the late journey, were clay-slate, greenstone, and dark red sandstone, sometimes containing white calcareous concretions, resembling an amygdaloidal rock. On our first journey down the Coppermine River, we visited a valley where the Indians had been accustomed to look for native copper, and we found there many loose fragments of a trap rock, containing native copper, green malachite, copper glance, and iron-shot copper green; also trap containing greenish-gray prehnite with disseminated native copper, which, in some specimens was crystallized in rhomboidal dodecahedrons. Tabular fragments of prehnite, associated with calc-spar and native copper, were also picked up, evidently portions of a vein, but we did not discover the vein in its original repository. The trap-rock, whose fragments strewed the valley, consists of felspar, deeply coloured by hornblende. A few clumps of white spruce trees occur in the vallies of the Copper Mountains, but the country is in general naked. The Coppermine River makes a remarkable bend round the end of these hills. After quitting the Copper Mountains, and passing a valley occupied by a chain of small lakes in lat. 67 degrees 10 minutes, long. 116 degrees 45 minutes, we travelled over a formation whose prevailing rocks are spotted sandstone and conglomerate, and which forms the _height of land_ betwixt Bear Lake and the Coppermine River. The ascent to this height from the eastward is gradual, but the descent towards Bear Lake is more rapid. The country is broken and hilly, though the height of the hills above the sea is perhaps inferior to that of the Copper Mountains. The vallies through which the small streams that water the country flow, are narrow and deep, resembling ravines, and their sides are clayey. The ground is strewed with gravel. The _sandstone_ has very generally a purplish colour, with gray spots of various magnitudes. It is fine grained, hard, has a somewhat vitreous lustre and contains little or no disseminated mica. The _conglomerate_ consists of oval pebbles of white quartz, sometimes of very considerable magnitude, imbedded in an iron-shot cement. Many of the pebbles appear as if they had been broken and firmly re-united again. The conglomerate passes into a coarse sandstone. Porphyry and granite form hills amongst the sandstone strata. The _porphyry_ has a compact basis, like hornstone, of a dull brown colour, which contains imbedded crystals of felspar and quartz, and occasionally of augite. It forms some dome-shaped and short conical hills. The _granite_ is disposed in oblong ridges, with small mural precipices. It has, generally, a flesh-red colour, and contains some specks of augite, but little or no mica. The granite and porphyry were observed only on the east side of the height of land, the brow of which, and its whole western declivity, is formed of sandstone. Boulders of granite and porphyry, precisely similar to the varieties which occur _in situ_ on the height of land, are common on the beach at Fort Franklin, and on the banks of the Mackenzie above Bear Lake. To the westward of the height of land, the country on the banks of Dease River is more level, and few rocks _in situ_ were seen, until within five or six miles of Bear Lake, where the stream flows through a chasm, whose sides are composed of a soft, fine-grained red sandstone, like that which occurs in the vale of Dumfries, in Scotland. Several ravines here have their sides composed of fine sand, inclosing fragments of soft sandstone. About three miles from the mouth of Dease River we came to a limestone formation, which has been already noticed in the account of the geological structure of the shores of Great Bear Lake. EASTERN CHAIN OF PRIMITIVE ROCKS. The preceding part of the paper describing the rock formations which were noticed on the route of the expedition from Great Slave Lake down the Mackenzie along the shores of the Arctic Sea, the Coppermine, Great Bear Lake, and Great Bear River, being a distance of three thousand miles, I shall, by way of supplement, mention very briefly some of the more southern deposits. The first I have to speak of is the chain of primitive rocks to which I have alluded in page 289, as extending for a very great distance in a north-west direction, and inclining in the northern parts slightly towards the Rocky Mountain Chain. Dr. Bigsby, in his account of the geology of Lake Huron says, that "The primitive rocks on the northern shores of that lake are part of a vast chain, of which the southern portion, extending probably uninterruptedly from the north and east of Lake Winipeg, passes thence along the northern shores of Lakes Superior, Huron, and Simcoe, and after forming the granitic barrier of the Thousand Isles, at the outlet of Lake Ontario, spreads itself largely throughout the state of New York, and there joins with the Alleghanies, and their southern continuations." It is not my intention to say any thing further of the rocks in the districts of which Dr. Bigsby speaks, although in travelling from the United States to Lake Winipeg the expedition passed over them. That zealous geologist has already given, in various publications, many interesting and accurate details of the formations on the borders of the great lakes; an account of those which lie some degrees farther to the north is inserted in the second volume of the Geological Transactions,--and there are some notices of them in the Appendix to the narrative of Captain Franklin's First Journey. My object at present is, merely to trace the western boundary of the primitive rocks in their course through the more northerly parts of the American continent. I have already quoted Sir Alexander Mackenzie's original and important remark, of the principal lakes in those quarters being interposed betwixt the primitive rocks and the secondary strata, lying to the westward of them--Lake Winipeg is an instance in point. It is a long, narrow lake, and is bounded throughout on its east side by primitive rocks, mostly granitic, whilst its more indented western shore is formed of horizontal limestone strata. The western boundary of the primitive rocks, extending on this lake about two hundred and eighty miles, has nearly a north-north-west direction. From Norway Point, at the north end of the lake, to Isle à la Crosse, a distance of four hundred and twenty miles in a straight line, the boundary has a west-north-west direction. For two hundred and forty miles from Isle à la Crosse to Athabasca Lake, the course of the primitive rocks is unknown to me; but from Athabasca Lake to M'Tavish's Bay, in Great Bear Lake, a distance of five hundred miles, their western edge runs about north-west-by-west, and is marked by the Slave River, a deep inlet on the north side of Great Slave Lake, and a chain of rivers and lakes, (including great Marten Lake,) which discharge themselves into that inlet. Captain Franklin on his voyage crossed this primitive chain nearly at right angles to its line of direction, in proceeding from Hudson's Bay to Lake Winipeg--it was there two hundred and twenty miles wide. The hills composing the chain are of small elevation, none of them rising much above the surrounding country. They have mostly rounded summits, and they do not form continuous ridges; but are detached from each other, by vallies of various breadth, though generally narrow, and very seldom level. The sides of the hills are steep, often precipitous. When the vallies are of considerable extent, they are almost invariably occupied by a lake, the proportion of water in this primitive district being very great; from the top of the highest hill on the Hill River, which has not a greater altitude than six hundred feet, thirty-six lakes are said to be visible. The small elevation of the chain may be inferred from an examination of the map, which shows that it is crossed by several rivers, that rise in the Rocky Mountains, the most considerable of which are the Churchill and the Saskatchewan, or Nelson River. These great streams have, for many hundred miles from their origin, the ordinary appearance of rivers, in being bounded by continuous parallel banks; but on entering the primitive district, they present chains of lake-like dilatations, which are full of islands, and have a very irregular outline. Many of the numerous arms of these expansions wind for miles through the neighbouring country, and the whole district bears a striking resemblance, in the manner in which it is intersected by water, to the coast of Norway and the adjoining part of Sweden. The successive dilatations of the rivers have scarcely any current, but are connected to each other by one or more straits, in which the water-course is more or less obstructed by rocks, and the stream is very turbulent and rapid. The most prevalent rock in the chain is gneiss; but there is also granite and mica-slate, together with numerous beds of amphibolic rocks. LIMESTONE OF LAKE WINIPEG. To the westward of the chain of primitive rocks, through a great part, if not through the whole of its course, lies an extensive horizontal deposit of limestone. Dr. Bigsby, in the Geological Transactions, has described, in detail, the limestone of Lake Huron, and is disposed to refer "the cavernous and brecciated limestone of Michilimackinac to the magnesian breccia, which is in England connected with the red marl;" whilst the limestones of St. Joseph, and the northern isles, he considers as more resembling the well-known formation of Dudley, in Staffordshire. The limestone of Thessalon Isle, in which there occurs the remarkable species of orthoceratite which he has figured, he describes as decidedly magnesian. I observed this orthoceratite in the limestone strata of one of the isles forming the passage of La Cloche in Lake Huron. The limestone deposits of Lake Winipeg and Cape Parry exactly resemble that of La Cloche in mineralogical characters, and in containing the same orthoceratite which was also found by Captains Parry and Lyon at Igloolik. The colour of the limestone of Lake Winipeg is very generally yellowish-white, passing into buff, on the one hand, and into ash-gray on the other. A reddish tinge is also occasionally observed. Much of it has a flat fracture, with little or no lustre, and a fine-grained arenacious structure. A great portion of it, however, is compact, and has a flat conchoidal and slightly splintery fracture. This variety passes into a beautiful china-like chert. [Sidenote: 1001, 1014] Many of the beds are full of long, narrow vesicular cavities, which are lined sometimes with calc-spar, but more frequently with minute crystals of quartz. The beds of this formation seldom exceed a foot in thickness, and are often very thin and slaty. The arenacious and cherty varieties frequently occur in the same bed; sometimes they form distinct beds. The softer kinds weather readily into a white marl, which is used by the residents to whitewash their houses. Wherever extensive surfaces of the strata were exposed, as in the channels of rivers, they were observed to be traversed by rents crossing each other at various angles. The larger rents, which were sometimes two yards or more in width, were however, generally parallel to each other for a considerable distance. Professor Jameson enumerates _terebratulæ_, _orthoceratites_, _encrinites_, _caryophyllitæ_, and _lingulæ_, as the organic remains in the specimens brought home by Captain Franklin on his first expedition. Mr. Stokes and Mr. James De Carle Sowerby have examined those which we procured on the last expedition, and found amongst them _terebratulites_, _spirifers_, _maclurites_, and _corallines_. The maclurites belonging to the same species, with specimens from Lakes Erie and Huron, and also from Igloolik, are perhaps referrible to the _Maclurea magna_ of Le Sueur. [Sidenote: 1015, 1019] Mr. Sowerby determined a shell, occurring in great abundance in the strata at Cumberland-house, about one hundred and twenty miles to the westward of Lake Winipeg, to be the _Pentamerus Aylesfordii_. The extent to the westward of the limestone deposit of Lake Winipeg is not well known to me; but I have traced it as far up the Saskatchewan as Carlton House, and its breadth there is at least two hundred and eighty miles. For about one hundred miles below Carlton House, the river Saskatchewan flows betwixt banks from one to two hundred feet in height, consisting of clay or sand, and the beds of limestone are exposed in very few places. The plains in the neighbourhood of Carlton abound in small lakes, some of which are salt. The country which the Saskatchewan waters for one hundred and ninety miles before it enters Lake Winipeg, is of a different kind. It is still more flat than that about Carlton, and is so little raised above the level of the river, that in the spring-floods the whole is inundated, and in several places the river sends off branches which reunite with it after a course of many miles. In this quarter the soil is generally thin, and the limestone strata are almost every where extensively exposed. To the southward of Cumberland House, the Basquiau Hill has considerable elevation. I had not an opportunity of visiting it; but in the flat limestone strata, near its foot, there are salt springs, from which the Indians sometimes procure a considerable quantity of salt by boiling; and there are several sulphureous springs within the formation. I observed no beds of conglomerate in it, and no sandstone associated with it; but the extensive plains which lie betwixt Carlton House and the Rocky Mountains are sandy, and beds of sandstone are said to be visible in some of the ravines. The line of contact of the limestone with the primitive rocks of Lake Winipeg, is covered with water; but at the Dog's-Head, and near the north end of Beaver Lake, they are exposed within less than a mile of each other. To the southward of the Dog's-Head in Lake Winipeg, and in a few other quarters, some schistose rocks, belonging to the transition series, are interposed between the two formations. Before quitting the formations of Lake Winipeg, I may remark, that the height of that lake above the sea is perhaps equal to that of Lake Superior, which is eight hundred feet. LIMESTONE OF THE ELK AND SLAVE RIVERS. The next formation I have to mention is one which appears to possess most of the characters ascribed by German geologists to the zechstein. It extends from the north side of the Methy carrying-place down the Clearwater, Elk, and Slave Rivers, and along the south shore of Great Slave Lake to the efflux of the Mackenzie. The line I have traced was the route of the expedition, and is also very nearly that of the eastern boundary of the limestone. Primitive rocks occur in Lake Mammawee, Athabasca Lake, and on the Stony River; and on several parts of the Slave River they are separated from the limestone only by the breadth of the stream. On Great Slave Lake, the Stony Island, on the north-east side of the mouth of Slave River, is composed of granite, whilst the limestone strata are exposed at Fort Resolution on the south-west side. [Sidenote: 1027, 1028] The limestone in this extensive tract is commonly in thin and nearly horizontal beds, and much of it exactly resembles in mineralogical characters the dolomite and chert of Lake Winipeg. It is interstratified with thin beds of soft white marl; and in a few places with a marly sandstone. Extensive beds of stinkstone also occur, and many beds of limestone containing fluid bitumen in cavities. The bitumen is in such quantity, in some quarters, as to flow in streams from fissures in the rock; and in an extensive district, around Pierre au Calumet on the Elk River, slaggy mineral pitch fills the crevices in the soil, and may be collected in large quantities by digging a well. A calcareous breccia also exists in various places, particularly on the Slave River. Springs depositing from their waters sulphur, and sulphate of lime, slightly mixed with sulphate of magnesia, muriate of soda, and iron, are common and copious. A few miles to the westward of the Slave River, there is a ridge of hills several miles long, and about two hundred feet high, having several beds of compact, grayish gypsum exposed on its sides. From the base of this hill there issue seven or eight very copious, and many smaller springs, whose waters deposit a great quantity of very fine muriate of soda by spontaneous evaporation. The collected rivulets from these springs form a stream which is, at its junction with the Slave River, sixty yards wide and eight or ten feet deep. [Sidenote: 1020 to 1026] The organic remains, in this deposit, according a list kindly furnished by Mr. Sowerby, consist of _spirifers_, [Sidenote: 1029 to 1032] one of which is the _spirifer acuta_; several new _terebratulæ_, of which one resembles the _T. resupinata_, a _cirrus_, some crinoidal remains, and corals. At the union of Clearwater and Elk Rivers, the limestone beds are covered to the depth of one hundred and fifty feet with bituminous shale. I have stated, that on Slave River this limestone formation succeeds immediately to primitive rocks, but I am not acquainted with the rocks that lie to the eastward of it on the Elk River. The traders report that there are extensive deposits of sandstone on the eastern arm of the Athabasca Lake, and, perhaps, these sandstones extend nearly to Clearwater River. Sand covers the limestone on that river to the depth of eight or nine hundred feet, and the fragments of sandstone in it are large, numerous, and not worn. The quantity of gypsum in immediate connection with extremely copious and rich salt springs, and the great abundance of petroleum in this formation, together with the arenacious, soft, marly, and brecciated beds interstratified with the dolomite, and above all, the circumstance of the latter being by far the most common and extensive rock in the deposit, led me to think that the limestone of the Elk and Slave Rivers was equivalent to the zechstein of the continental geologists. My opinion, however, on this subject is, from a total want of practical acquaintance with the European rock formations, of little weight; and several eminent geologists are, after an examination of the organic remains and mineralogical characters of the specimens brought home, inclined to consider the formation as analogous to the carboniferous or mountain-limestone of England. As to the limestone formation of Lake Winipeg, I have no doubt of its identity with that occurring in the islands at the passage of La Cloche, in Lake Huron, and also with that at Cape Parry and at Cape Krusenstern, on the coast of the Arctic Sea. It is probable, also, that these four deposits belong to the same epoch with the limestone of Elk and Slave Rivers, although they differ in containing little or no petroleum. It is proper to mention, however adverse it may be to the opinion I have ventured to hint at above, of these extensive horizontal deposits of limestone being referable to the zechstein, that the limestone of Lake Huron is generally considered as belonging to the mountain-limestone; and Professor Jameson, from a review of the organic remains occurring in the Lake Winipeg deposit, considered that it also belonged to that formation. The formation of Cape Lyon may be, with less danger of a mistake, referred to the transition or mountain-limestone. THE END. [Illustration] FOOTNOTES: [20] This was estimated by allowing one foot descent per mile for Bear Lake River, whose length is seventy miles; and three inches per mile for the descent of Mackenzie River, from the junction of the former river to the sea, being a distance of five hundred miles. [21] In our former journey, we sounded near the Rein-Deer Islands in Slave Lake, with sixty-five fathoms line, without reaching the bottom. [22] Section of the cliffs at Limestone Point--strata dipping to the N.N.W. [Illustration] In the section the strata are represented much more inclined than they really are. 231 Fine-grained, nearly compact, yellowish-gray dolomite, forming the summit of the hill, but the first, or lowest stratum, in the language of geologists. 232 Compact, splintery dolomite, with a conchoidal fracture, and wax-yellow colour--second stratum. 233 A cherty dolomite; containing calc-spar--third stratum. 234 Bluish-gray dolomite, traversed by calc-spar--is nearly compact, and has an uneven, splintery fracture--forms the uppermost portion of the fourth stratum. 235 Talcose? limestone, having a curved slaty structure, and containing cherty portions--from the lower part of the fourth stratum. 236, 237 Earthy greenstone? forms the fifth stratum. 238 Brownish-red dolomite, with an uneven fracture; scarcely splintery. It has a compact structure, and is intersected by veins of calc-spar--from the sixth stratum. 239 Light yellowish gray dolomite, passing into chert--seventh stratum. 240, 241 Thin slaty beds of brownish-red dolomite, like 238--eighth stratum. 242 Bluish-white porcelain chert, sometimes mixed with red dolomite--243--ninth stratum. [23] _List of boulders gathered on the beach at Fort Franklin._ 261 Coarse crystalline granite; felspar flesh-red in large crystals; quartz gray; mica black. 262 Granite; felspar paler, and less distinctly crystallized; quartz in small quantity, gray; mica blackish, and rather abundant. 263 Granite; felspar partly reddish, partly yellowish-white, quartz in small grains; mica equalling the quartz in quantity, black. 264 Granite, fine-grained: quartz and felspar, white, the former nearly transparent, black mica in small specks, garnets. 265, 268 Granite; quartz in regular crystals; mica blackish, in small quantity. 266 Granite? red felspar in large crystals; quartz gray; mica replaced by chlorite? 267 Granite; felspar gray; chlorite? in small quantity. 269 Granite, small grained, passing into gneiss; reddish-brown felspar and gray quartz, intimately mixed, and having in the aggregate, a vitreous lustre; mica in layers. 270 Granite coarser grained than the preceding, containing more quartz; the mica disseminated. 271, 273 Granite with little mica, some portions of the felspar tinged green. 272, 274, 275, 277, 278, 279, 280, Granite grayish and small grained mica black. 276 Granite; brick-red felspar; quartz; and augite?--no mica. The mica is mostly black in all the granite boulders that occur here, the felspar most frequently reddish. 281 Porphyritic granite? felspar imperfectly crystallized, containing large, imbedded crystals; quartz; and chlorite? 282 Granite? composed of felspar, of quartz, with, perhaps, a few minute grains of chlorite? 283 Granite? contains little quartz, and a few scales of mica, with some chlorite? 284 Sienite; felspar somewhat granular, a little quartz and chlorite? 285 Porphyritic sienite? having a basis of slightly granular felspar, with light-coloured crystals of felspar, some quartz and disseminated grains of chlorite? 286 Reddish-brown hornstone porphyry. 287 Crystalline greenstone. 288 Fine-grained greenstone. 289 Porphyritic greenstone. 290 Pitchstone porphyry. 291 Greenstone slate with pyrites. 292 Amygdaloidal claystone porphyry. 293 Compact grayish-blue dolomite. 294 Splintery dolomite. 295 Cellular dolomite. 296 Swinestone. 297 Limestone with corallines. 298 Chert. 299 White quartz. 300 Quartz-rock. 301 Coarse sandstone. 302 Fine-grained white sandstone. 303 Fine-grained red sandstone. 304 Fine-grained striped sandstone. 305 Fine-grained spotted sandstone. 306 Slaty sandstone verging towards slate-clay. 307 Dark-red claystone. 308 Light-coloured claystone. [24] _List of Specimens from Diluvial Gravel, Fort Franklin._ 1 Amphibolic granite, rather coarse crystalline, felspar flesh-red. 2 Ditto, approaching to gneiss. 3 Gneiss approaching to mica-slate, felspar white, and in small quantity. 4 Greenstone with much felspar and minute disseminated pyrites. 5 Quartz rock? having brownish and imperfect crystals, and a reddish disintegrated mineral disseminated. 6 Brownish-red and fine granular quartz-rock, with a somewhat splintery fracture. It has the aspect of compact felspar. 7 Quartz rock, reddish crystalline texture, and vitreous lustre, but with small rounded grains imbedded in it, bringing it near to sandstone. 8 Coarse sandstone; rounded grains of quartz united by a clayey basis. 9 Fine-grained purplish sandstone, with grayish spots. This sandstone occurs _in situ_ near the Copper Mountains, between Dease Bay and the Coppermine River. 10 Fine-grained yellowish-white sandstone. 11 Yellowish-gray sandstone, composed of small rounded grains of quartz united by a powdery white basis. 12 Yellowish-gray sandstone, composed of fine grains of vitreous quartz. 13 Sandstone, having different shades of brownish-red colour, in layers. 14 Lydian stone. [25] Mr. Sowerby, who inspected all the specimens containing organic remains, says of this species of ammonite, "it is, as far as I can discover, new. It contains sulphate of barytes, and is probably referrible to some of the Oolites near the Oxford clay." Although it was found lying on the beach, I have no doubt of its having fallen from some of the beds of clayey sandstone, which form the walls of the rapid. [26] 33 This limestone appears as if composed of an aggregate of small crystals, and presents many drusy cavities. 34 Is an adjoining bed of a similar colour, of a fine crystalline texture, but without the drusy cavities. It appears to be a dolomite. These two beds dip to the northward. 35, 36 Calcareous breccia. The two preceding beds (33 and 34) were from the summit of the portion of the hill which forms the cliff, but taken a little farther to the N.W. In the cliff the beds dip, as has been stated, to the S.W. The following beds occur in going to the north-westward, towards the summit of the highest peak, commencing near its base, in a valley behind the cliff. 37 A fine-grained blackish-gray dolomite, having interspersed many nodules of chert, or grayish-white quartz, not crystallized. 38 A very compact, opaque limestone, of a smoke-gray colour, having a flat and slightly splintery fracture. Effervesces briskly. 39 Blackish-gray rather compact limestone, having a flat and dull fracture, and intersected by small veins of calc-spar. This is a prevalent stone in the hill, and also occurs in quantity in other limestone ridges in the neighbourhood. 40 An ash-gray, fine-granular dolomite. 41 A conglomerate, forming the summit of the highest peak. [27] 57 This breccia has a white calcareous basis, which incloses angular fragments of compact, yellowish-gray limestone, with smooth dull surfaces. 58 Grayish-white limestone, having a fine crystalline texture, with drusy cavities, incrusted with bitumen. 59 Limestone, apparently composed of crystalline fragments, highly charged with bitumen, cemented by a whitish carbonate of lime in minute crystals. I could not satisfy myself whether this variety of colour proceeded from partial impregnations of bitumen, or from a brecciated structure. Specimens 58 and 59 were from beds near the western part of the hill. 60 A fine-grained dolomite, approaching to compact, having a flat and somewhat splintery fracture, and a brownish-gray colour. 61, 62 Limestone in the body of the hill, resembling No. 39 in the hill at the rapid in Bear Lake River, but with larger veins of calc-spar. 63, 64 Dark blackish-brown bituminous shale, veined with calc-spar, and passing into bituminous marl-slate. It contains nodules of iron pyrites. 65 Thin bed of indurated shale, approaching to flinty-slate, lying at the foot of some beds of bituminous limestone. Their connection not clearly made out. 66, 67, 68 Bluish-gray, fine-grained sandstone, some of them passing into slate-clay, and scarcely to be distinguished from those at the rapid in Bear Lake River. Capt. Franklin took these specimens from horizontal beds at the foot of the hill facing Bear Lake River. [28] Sir Alexander Mackenzie, in p. 95 of his Voyage to the Arctic Sea, states, that he saw several small mineral springs running from the foot of this mountain, and found lumps of iron ore on the beach. [29] Travels in the Arkansa, p. 52-54. [30] Section I. The section of the bank at the mouth of the Bear Lake River is as follows, beginning with the lowest bed:-- 81 Gravel, with thin layers of sand rising from the water's edge in a perpendicular cliff, to the height of 30 feet Lignite (70 to 80 and 84) 1 83 Potter's clay of a bluish gray colour, alternating with layers of sand 40 A sloping uneven brow, covered with soil, extends to the summit of the bank 20 ---- 91 Lydian stone is the most abundant, and whitish quartz the least so of the pebbles mentioned in the text as entering into the composition of the gravel. [Sidenote: 82] A little farther up the Mackenzie, this bed of gravel passes into sand, which, in some spots, has sufficient coherence to merit for it the name of sandstone. During a great part even of the summer season, all the beds of sand are frozen into a hard sandstone; but a piece having been broken off and put into the pocket, speedily thawed into sand. [Sidenote: 83] Specimens of the clay, which I have denominated potter's clay, taken from near the beds of lignite, have a colour intermediate between yellowish-gray and clove-brown, a dull earthy fracture, and a slightly greasy feel. It is not gritty under the knife, and acquires a slightly shining smooth surface, adheres slightly to the tongue, and, when moistened with water, assumes a darker colour, and becomes plastic. Section II. About five miles above Bear Lake River, the cliff consists of Slaty sandstone evidently composed of the same materials with the friable kinds described in the text, but having tenacity enough to form a building stone. It incloses some seams of lignite 10 feet Lignite 4-1/2 Clay and Sand 50 Irregular slope from top of cliff to summit of bank 90 --------- 154-1/2 Section III. A little farther up the river than the preceding:-- 85 Pipe-clay on a level with the water 1 foot 86 Lignite 1 90 Potter's clay 14 feet 87 Pipe-clay 1 foot 89 Lignite 1 91 Potter's clay 10 feet Lignite 1 foot Sandstone 8 feet Lignite 2-1/2 Potter's clay 10 94 Friable sandstone and clay 20 Sandstone a little more durable 12 Sloping Summit 40 --------- 121-1/2 The pipe-clay, when taken newly from the bed, is soft and plastic, has little grittiness, and when chewed for a little time, a somewhat unctuous but not unpleasant taste. When dried in the air it acquires the hardness of chalk, adheres to the tongue, and has the appearance of the whiter kinds of English pipe-clay, but is more meagre. Section IV. A little above the preceding:-- A precipitous bank of gravel 12 feet Lignite and clay, the beds concealed by debris 40 Friable sandstone 30 ---- Height of the cliff 82 Section V. Ten miles above Bear Lake River, at the junction of a small torrent with the Mackenzie, there is a cliff about forty feet high, in which the strata have a dip of sixty degrees to the southward. 98 Bed, No. 1 Porcelain clay 2 yards 2 Potter's clay slightly bituminous 99 3 Thin-slaty lignite, with two seams of 2-1/2 100, 101 clay-iron stone, an inch thick 4 Pipe clay, (nine inches) 1/4 104 5 Porcelain clay 3 105 6 Bituminous clay 3 106 7 Lignite, with a conchoidal fracture 2 8 Pipe clay 1/4 107 9 Porcelain clay 3 10 Bituminous clay 3 110 11 Lignite, earthy paste, enclosing 2 fibrous fragments 12 Porcelain earth } 13 Bituminous clay } 9 14 Porcelain earth } ---------- 31 yards. The three last beds it is probable, once inclosed seams of coal which have been consumed, but the quantity of debris prevented this from being ascertained satisfactorily during the hurried visit I paid to them. [Sidenote: 108] Over these inclined beds there is a shelving and crumbling cliff of sand and clay covered by a sloping bank of vegetable earth. A layer of peat at the summit has a thin slaty structure, and presents altogether, except in colour and lustre, a striking resemblance to the shaly lignite, forming bed No. 3 in the preceding Section. 104, 98. The substance composing beds Nos. 1 and 5, which I have denominated Porcelain clay, has a fine, granular texture, and the appearance of some varieties of chalk. It adheres slightly to the tongue, yields readily to the nail, is meagre, and soils the fingers slightly. There are many specks of coaly matter disseminated through it, and some minute scales of mica, and perhaps of quartz. When moistened with water, it becomes more friable, and is not plastic. It does not effervesce with acids. Bed No. 9 is the same mineral that forms beds 1 and 5; but it has a grayer colour from the greater quantity of coaly particles, and its structure is slightly slaty. The bituminous clay of bed No. 6, has a thick-slaty structure, a grayish-black colour, and a shining resinous streak. It is sectile, but does not yield to the nail. Pieces of lignite occur imbedded in it, and it is traversed by fibrous ramifications of carbonaceous matter. Specimens 115, 116, 117, 118, 119, are of substances altered by contact with beds of burning coal. [31] See Page 50 of the Narrative. [32] Noticed in page 267. [33] List of specimens, collected by Captain Franklin, on the sea-coast, to the westward of the Mackenzie. _From Mount Fitton in the Richardson Chain._ 344 Grauwacke-slate in columnar concretions, detached from the rocky strata by an Esquimaux. 348 Grauwacke-slate, resembling the preceding, from the same place. Used by the Esquimaux as a whetstone. 345, 346 Globular balls of dark, blackish-gray, splintery limestone, and of flinty-slate, traversed by minute veins of calc-spar. Picked up at the base of the mountain. 347 Worn pebbles of quartz, lydian stone, splintery limestone, and grauwacke, from the same spot. 349 Fine-grained, mountain-green clay-slate, approaching to potstone; quarried by the Esquimaux in the Cupola Mountain of the same chain, and used to form utensils. 350 Rock-crystal from the same chain of mountains. _From the beach between Point Sabine and Point King._ 351 Brown-coal, woody structure scarcely perceptible. There are beds of this coal in the earthy cliffs where the party was encamped on the 13th and 14th July near Point King. 352 Clay-iron stone, forming boulders in the channels of the rills, which cut the earthy banks containing coal. 353, 354 Pitch-coal, having a fibrous structure and a very beautiful fracture, presenting a congeries of circles. (This coal was recognised by Professor Buckland to be a tertiary pitch-coal, and is precisely similar to specimens brought from the upper branches of the Saskatchewan, by Mr. Drummond: see page 284.) The specimen was picked up from the gravelly beach at the mouth of the Babbage River. 355 Greenish-gray limestone, with a somewhat earthy granular aspect; containing shells which Mr. Sowerby considers to be very like the _cyclas medius_ of the Sussex weald-clay. Picked up at the same place with the preceding specimen. Captain Franklin remarks, that "the Babbage flows between the mountains of the Richardson Chain, and that there were no solid strata nor any large boulders near its mouth. The gravel consisted of pebbles of red and white sandstone, slaty limestone, greenstone, and porphyry, much worn by attrition." _From Mount Conybeare, in the Buckland Chain._ 356 Greenish-gray grauwacke slate, (resembling No. 348,) with specks of effervescent carbonate of lime. The surfaces of the slates exhibit interspersed scales of mica. The specimens were broken from the summit of Mount Conybeare, at the western extreme of the Buckland Chain: latitude 69 degrees 27 minutes, longitude 139 degrees 53 minutes west. 358 Fine-grained grauwacke-slate in columnar concretions, from the same place with specimen 356. 357 Grauwacke-slate, in thick slaty columnar concretions, besprinkled with scales of mica. Taken from a bed about the middle of Mount Conybeare. The resemblance of this stone to that of Mount Fitton (No. 344) is very remarkable. 360 Similar rock to 358, with an adhering portion of a vein of crystallized quartz, and on one side a bit of bluish-gray slate. From the middle of Mount Conybeare. 359 Columnar concretion of a slaty rock, like 356, but more quartzose, breaking into rhomboidal fragments. From the middle of Mount Conybeare. 361, 362 Grauwacke-slate, with a thin adhering vein of carbonate of lime and numerous particles of disseminated mica. From the middle of Mount Conybeare. 363 Bluish-gray grauwacke-slate, resembling Nos. 348 and 344. From the Upper Terrace, at the base of Mount Conybeare. 364 Dark-bluish gray and very fine-grained grauwacke-slate, with a glimmering lustre, traversed by a vein of quartz. From the same place. 365 A thick-slaty angular concretion of a very quartzose grauwacke-slate, (similar to Nos. 348 and 358,) decomposed on the surface and breaking into rhomboidal fragments. From the middle Terrace at the base of Mount Conybeare. 366 A somewhat rhomboidal portion of flinty-slate, apparently part of a bed. From the Lower Terrace of Mount Conybeare, which is composed of this rock. The terrace is ten miles distant from the sea-coast, and the intervening ground is swampy. The whole series of specimens from Mount Conybeare, (Nos. 356 to 366,) appear to belong to transition rocks; and the continuity of the formation with that of Mount Fitton is rendered probable, both by the resemblance of the specimens and the geographical situation of the mountains. Captain Franklin saw no rocks, _in situ_, on the coast to the westward of the Richardson Chain; but he gathered boulders of the following rocks from the bed of the Net-setting Rivulet, which flows from the British Chain of the Rocky Mountains, and falls into the Arctic Sea, between Sir P. Malcolm River and Backhouse River. 367 Greenstone; 368, yellowish-gray sandstone; 369, dark-coloured splintery-limestone; 370, 371, 372, dolomite; 373, quartzose sandstone, like the old red sandstone; 374, grauwacke-slate; 375, quartz and iron pyrites. Boulders of the under-mentioned rocks were gathered on Flaxman Island. 378 Fine-grained, greenish clay-slate, obviously of primitive rock, abundant in the neighbourhood, and supposed to have been brought down by the rivulets which flow from the Romanzoff Chain. 379, quartz. 376 and 377 were from Foggy Island, and are rolled specimens of flinty-slate; one of them containing corallines. [34] Page 268. [35] 134. These specimens have a wood-brown colour internally, and appear to be composed of minute grains of quartz, variously coloured, white, yellowish-brown and black, cemented together by an earthy basis. It is a hard and apparently durable stone, occurring in layers an inch thick, and having its seam-surfaces of a grayish-black colour, with little lustre, as if from a thin coating of bituminous clay. 135, are specimens of a more compact, harder, and finer-grained quartzose sandstone, with less cement, and of a deeper bluish-gray colour. [36] Mackenzie attempted to ascend this hill, but was compelled to desist by clouds of musquitoes, (July 6th, 1789. _Voyage to the Arctic Sea_, p. 40.) 136 This limestone effervesces strongly with acids, breaks into irregular fragments, but with an imperfect slaty structure, and has a brown colour, with considerable lustre in the cross fracture. The specimens collected by Captain Franklin were as follows:-- 144a Sandstone of an ash-gray colour, composed of rounded grains of semi-transparent quartz of various sizes, imbedded in a considerable proportion of a powdery basis which effervesces with acids. This bed weathers readily. 145 Thick-slaty sandstone passing into slate-clay, having a very fine-grained earthy fracture, and a light bluish-gray colour. It is very similar to some of the softer sandstones that occur in the coal field at Edinburgh, particularly in the Calton Hill. 146 Sectile ash-gray slate-clay which forms the partings of the beds. 144b Bluish-gray marl, impregnated with quartz, forming a moderately hard stone, and containing corallines (_amplexus_.) [37] _Upper part of the ramparts._ 148 A fine-granular, foliated limestone, of a white colour, having large patches stained yellowish-brown, apparently by bitumen. 149 A yellowish-gray slightly granular limestone, with disseminated calc-spar. 150 Compact, white limestone, which, when examined with a lens, appears to be entirely composed of madrepores. 151 Specimens of limestone, having a crystalline texture, a brownish colour and slaty structure. 152 The seams are dark, as if from the carbonaceous matter--portions of this bed have the appearance of old mortar; but contain obscure madrepores. _From the middle of the ramparts._ 153 Fine-granular limestone, having a pale, wood-brown colour, and a splintery fracture. It resembles the limestone of the hill at the mouth of Bear Lake River. 154 Pale yellowish-brown limestone, with a dull fracture, but interspersed with small, shining, sparry plates, and traversed by concretions of calc-spar, that appear to have originated in corallines. 155 Yellowish-gray limestone, passing into a soft marl slate. 156 Some beds contain a shell, which Mr. Sowerby refers, though with doubt, to the species named terebratula sphæroidalis, a fossil of the cornbrash. The substance of the shells is preserved. Some of the specimens contain _producti_, and fragments of the coral named _amplexus_. _Lower end of the ramparts._ 157 Fine-grained limestone, of a dark-brown colour, containing some small, round, smooth balls of dark limestone--occurs in horizontal strata. 158 Brownish-black flinty-slate, which forms a layer an inch thick, and covers the horizontal beds of limestone last mentioned. (157.) [38] _Specimens from the cliffs in lat. 66-3/4 degrees._ 159 Very fine-grained sandstone, with much clayey basis--portions of the bed iron-shot. 160 Sandstone fine-grained, and appearing, when examined with a lens, to be composed of minute grains of whitish translucent quartz, black Lydian stone, and ochre-coloured grains, probably of disintegrated felspar. 161 Rounded grains of nearly transparent quartz united without cement--this stone is friable. 162 Sandstone composed of grains like the preceding, united by a basis, and forming a firmer stone. 163 Hard, thin, slaty, bluish-gray sandstone, much iron-shot. 164 Fine-grained, bluish-gray sandstone, not to be distinguished in hand-specimens from some of the sandstones which occur at the rapid in Bear Lake River. [39] _Horizontal limestone beds lying under the sandstone._ 166 Fine-grained limestone, with an earthy fracture, coloured brown and grayish-white in patches. 167, 168 Similar stone to preceding, containing many shells. Some beds contain only broken shells. 169 Bed of imperfectly crystalline limestone, of a brownish-gray colour, traversed by veins of calc-spar. 170 Fragments containing madrepores and chain coral--occur amongst the debris of the limestone cliffs. [40] _Sandstone cliffs twenty miles below Fort Good Hope._ 173 Friable sandstone, composed of grayish-white quartz, in smooth, rounded grains, cemented by a brownish basis. Some carbonaceous matter is interspersed through the stone, and it contains small fragments of bituminous shale. 174 Calcareous sandstone passing into slate-clay--bluish-gray colour. 175 Black, flinty-slate, with a flat conchoidal cross fracture. Some of the pieces appear to be rhomboidal distinct concretions. 176 Dull, flinty-slate, with an even fracture. 178 Thin-slaty blackish-gray sandstone, much indurated, containing scales of mica. 179, 180 Bluish-gray sandstone, containing many minute specks of carbonaceous matter; also, in patches, grains of chert, and flinty-slate, and imbedded pieces of iron-shot clay, which has obscure casts of shells. Scales of mica are interspersed through this stone. 181, 182 Sandstone containing specks of bituminous? coal, and casts of some vegetable? substance. 183 Gray limestone, much impregnated with quartz, and having an imperfect crystalline structure. [41] Mackenzie notices the precipices of "gray stone," which bound the river here, p. 71. [42] See page 288. [43] Specimens from Sellwood Bay. 202 Fine-grained dark brownish-gray dolomite, with corallines filled with white calc-spar. 203 Lucullite grayish-black, compact, and without lustre. 204 Gray dolomite. 205 A rolled piece, evidently of the same rock with the preceding, containing the impression of a _cardium_. 206 [44] Specimens from the Promontory of Cape Parry, which rises into a hill, seven hundred feet high. Strata dipping lightly to the northward. 207 Yellowish-gray dolomite, imperfectly crystalline, being similar to the limestone of Lake Winipeg. 208 Brownish dolomite impregnated with silica. 209 Thin-slaty, gray limestone. Very common also in Lake Winipeg. 210, 211 Boulders of dolomite. 212 213 Brown dolomite, with drusy cavities and veins, lined by calc-spar. [45] In the geological notices appended to the narrative of Captain Franklin's Journey to the Coppermine, I have termed this rock a dark purplish-red felspar rock. On examining it again on this journey, I perceived it to be a greenstone, whose surfaces weather of a rusty brown colour. Transcriber's Notes: The original makes extensive use of sidenotes, and several sidenotes are often associated with a single paragraph, especially within the final chapter. Because of this, inline sidenotes have been used and are positioned as close to the relevant passage as was possible during proofing. Old spellings are retained, e.g. musquitoes, felspar, Esquimaux, kaiyacks, imbedded, incloses, inclosing, inquiry, inquiries, moveable, incrusted, trowsers, bivouack, referrible, teazing. Both vallies and valleys are used interchangably and this has not altered. Names with suffixes "Mc" or "Mac" written as "M'" throughout text; this convention is retained. Only printer's errors have been corrected. "A.M." and "P.M." are shown without an internal space--spaces have been removed where they were present in manuscript. Usage was inconsistent, perhaps to better justify text. Internal spaces have also been removed from initials such as R.N., F.R.S., K.G., &c., to improve rewrap behaviour. Decimal points were locally denoted by commas. This convention is replaced by standard decimal point notation throughout. Degree, minute and second have been spelled out, replacing symbols in the original. Lengthy quotations were denoted by a leading quotation mark in the first column of each line. They are replaced with standard opening and closing quotation marks for each quoted passage. Italic text is surrounded by _underscores_. Greek letters are only used in a single paragraph concerning astronomy on page 244 and have been written as their English names. Small caps have been rendered as upper case. The oe ligature symbol in the original is represented by oe in this text. "Dog-Rib" Indians were sometimes referred to as "Dog-rib". Usage is now "Dog-Rib" throughout. Specific corrections made to text follow. Note that examples are given after a colon and are the corrected text. All other printer's errors remain. Page Comment ---------------------------------------------------------------------- 14,51,79 "water-proof" changed to "waterproof". 16 "depot" changed to "depôt". 17 "Hudsons's Bay Company" corrected to "Hudson's Bay Company". "bat-/teau" corrected to "bateau" to be consistent with rest of text. Typo was across end of line hyphen. 24 "Hudson's Bay-Company" corrected to "Hudson's Bay Company". 25 "was dragged by other eight men" corrected to "was dragged by another eight men". 26 "Riviere" corrected to "Rivière". "Hudson" corrected to "Hudson's". 27 "or" corrected to "on": "live on dried provision". 28 "depend" corrected to "depends". 29 "chace" corrected to "chase". Whilst both forms are acceptable for the time, both were used in the book. The change makes everything consistent. See also page 65. "of" inserted: "under the roof of our hospitable friend". 30 "Winnipeg" corrected to "Winipeg" to be consistent with rest of manuscript. 32,51 "northwest" corrected to "north-west" for consistency. 34 "eastermost" corrected to "easternmost". 39,53,65,96,202 "day-light" changed to daylight". 42 "sandbanks" changed to "sand-banks" for consistency with rest of manuscript. 48,51 "rein deer" corrected to "rein-deer" twice on this page to be consistent with rest of manuscript. 52,299 "lydianstone" corrected to "lydian-stone". 49 "Rocky mountains" capitalised to "Rocky Mountains". 52 "occurence" corrected to "occurrence". 53 "chissel" changed to "chisel": "ice-chisel". Inserted comma after "ice-chisel" to correct list punctuation. 54 "Cannon-shot" changed to "Cannon-Shot" for consistency in place name "Cannon-Shot Reach". 56 "where-ever" across end of line changed to "wherever" twice on this page. 62 "skreening" amended to "screening": "screening us from the snow". 65 "bag-pipes" to "bagpipes". "chace" corrected to "chase". 70 "Chepewyan" corrected to "Chipewyan". "invariable" corrected to "invariably": "the needle almost invariably remained stationary". 77 "temperature in the shade +8 degrees 5 minutes": odd use of minutes noted. It is not immediately obvious what is intended. 80 "dimunition" corrected to "diminution". 83 "canvass" corrected to "canvas": "waterproof canvas". 88 "aud" corrected to "and": "iron-work, knives, and beads". 92 "northeast" changed to "north-east". 94 "Francois" changed to "François". "westermost" changed to "westernmost". 95 "36' N" changed to "36' N.". 101 "mall" corrected to "small": "so small a number". 109 "mases" to "masses": "the larger masses". 111 "Copper-mine" to "Coppermine": "the Coppermine River". "tatoed" to "tattoed": "men being tattoed". 112,119,130,132,172,173,190 "oomiacks" changed to "oomiaks". 115 "Rocky mountains" capitalised to "Rocky Mountains". 117 "liittle" to "little": "our little friend". 122 "seperated" corrected to "separated". 124 "ancle" amended to "ankle". 126 "Dip" made lower-case "dip" since mid-sentence. 129 "British chain" changed to "British Chain" for consistency. 132 "visiters" corrected to "visitors". "oomiack" corrected to "oomiak". 132,148,152,190 "oomiack" corrected to "oomiak". 146 "ice chissel" changed to "ice-chisel". 147 "and the main, that when" changed to "and the main than when" to correct typos. 148 "Humphreys" changed to "Humphrys" to be consistent. 156 "Capitalised start of sentence: "be killed? You are active". Added closing quotation marks after "depart instantly". 157 "hair skins" changed to "hare skins" since "their dress consisting principally of hare skins" is noted on page 247. 160 Degree symbol used instead of minute symbol. Correct form: "latitude 69 deg 34 min & 69 deg 44 min N." 163 Comma changed to full-stop since it occurs at end of sentence: "white spruce trees. Our voyage amongst these". 166 "Richard's" changed to "Richards'" since the governor was John Baker Richards. "island" changed to "Island": "Richards' Island". 167 Comma changed to full-stop since it occurs at end of sentence: "intimidation and extortion. When the interview". "kaiyaks" changed to "kaiyacks". 173 "harassing" changed to "harrassing". 174 It is unclear whether these Eskimo words were meant to have oe or ae. The printer seems to have used the oe ligature indifferently for ae, as sometimes happened at this period. Cf. sertulariæ p. 179 etc. And the only such word in non-italic has ae: Narrakazzæ p. 266. At any rate, later writers certainly seem to have read them all as oe. "peechaw-ooloo" has a macron (overscore) diacritical mark on its final letter; this has been omitted. 177 "ice-bergs" changed to "icebergs". 180 "Wednesday 12th" changed to "Wednesday, 12th" to be consistent with other sidenotes. 184 "grounded-ice" amended to "grounded ice". 185 "K'Kinley" corrected to "M'Kinley": "Captain George M'Kinley". 189 "sine" changed to "side". 190 "ecstacy" changed to "ecstasy". "their wide boots" changed to "their wide hoods", cf. pp. 44, 110. 195 "head-land" changed to "headland". 199 "preservance" corrected to "perseverance". "from" changed to "form": "those which form its western". 200 "short-voyage" changed to "short voyage". Comma changed to full-stop since it occurs at end of sentence: "south-east direction. We landed a little to the eastward". 202 "head-lands" changed to "headlands". "day-light" changed to daylight". 204 "closenes" corrected to "closeness". 207 "lime-stone" corrected to "limestone". 208 "deers-meat" corrected to "deer-meat". 211 "semed" corrected to "seemed": "seemed to contain". 214 "lime-stone" corrected to "limestone". 225 "several of of them" changed to "several of them". Word was repeated across end of line. "dimunition" corrected to "diminution": "suffered some diminution". 226 Comma changed to full-stop since it occurs at end of sentence: "on their route to Bear Lake. The ridges of hill". 227 "ecstacy" corrected to "ecstasy". 230 "68" changed to "66": 3 days ago they were at 67° 10', heading SW; the northernmost point of Great Bear Lake is at about 67°. 232 "Thursday 24th" changed to "Thursday, 24th" to be consistent with other sidenotes. "I I therefore embarked" changed to "I therefore embarked"; repeat was across line break. 237 "Krusensten" changed to "Krusenstern" since the latter is used in the rest of the text. 240 "indvalids" corrected to "invalids". 244 "extrordinary" corrected to "extraordinary" "Corona" corrected to "Coronæ". 245 "+30.5 degrees." changed to "+30.5 degrees,". 246 "re-appearance" corrected to "reappearance". 257 "house changed to "House". 261 "depots" changed to "depôts". 268 "sulphat" corrected to "sulphate": "crystals of sulphate of iron". 271 "moses" corrected to "mosses": "is covered a foot deep, or more, by mosses". 274 "off" corrected to "of": "at the bottom of the cliff". 278 "sandsone" corrected to "sandstone". 279 "sand-stones" corrected to "sandstones". "oscasionally" corrected to "occasionally". 280 "clay-stone" to "claystone". 283 "long;" changed to "long.;". 284 "formation" corrected to "formations": "similar formations which occupy". 285 "limetone" corrected to "limestone". 290 "swells gently into a hill several feet high"; should this be "several hundred feet high"? "Horn Mountain" changed to "Horn Mountains". "sienities" changed to "sienites". 293 "in some, reaches" changed to "in some reaches,". Footnote 36: "very-fine grained" changed to "very fine-grained. 295 "specifind" corrected to "specified". "sphoeroidalis" corrected to "sphæroidalis". "corbrash" corrected to "cornbrash". 296 Removed spurious opening quotation mark before "ramparts", thereby balancing quotation marks. 297 "terrebratula" corrected to "terebratula". 303 "coasted" changed to "coated". 308 "othoceratites" changed to "orthoceratites". 318 "Sowbery" changed to "Sowerby". 
20418	----	(This file was produced from images generously made available by the Canadian Institute for Historical Microreproductions (www.canadiana.org)) LORDS OF THE NORTH BY A. C. LAUT TORONTO WILLIAM BRIGGS Entered according to Act of the Parliament of Canada, in the year one thousand nine hundred, by WILLIAM BRIGGS, at the Department of Agriculture. [Illustration: LORDS of the NORTH by A. C. LAUT] TO THE Pioneers and their Descendants WHOSE HEROISM WON THE LAND, THIS WORK IS RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED. ACKNOWLEDGMENT. The author desires to express thanks to pioneers and fur traders of the West for information, details and anecdotes bearing on the old life, which are herein embodied; and would also acknowledge the assistance of the history of the North-West Company and manuscripts of the _Bourgeois_, compiled by Senator L. R. Masson; and the value of such early works as those of Dr. George Bryce, Gunn, Hargraves, Ross and others. THE TRAPPER'S DEFIANCE. "The adventurous spirits, who haunted the forest and plain, grew fond of their wild life and affected a great contempt for civilization." You boxed-up, mewed-up artificials, Pent in your piles of mortar and stone, Hugging your finely spun judicials, Adorning externals, externals alone, Vaunting in prideful ostentation Of the Juggernaut car, called Civilization-- What know ye of freedom and life and God? Monkeys, that follow a showman's string, Know more of freedom and less of care, Cage birds, that flutter from perch to ring, Have less of worry and surer fare. Cursing the burdens, yourselves have bound, In a maze of wants, running round and round-- Are ye free men, or manniken slaves? Costly patches, adorning your walls, Are all of earth's beauty ye care to know; But ye strut about in soul-stifled halls To play moth-life by a candle-glow-- What soul has space for upward fling, What manhood room for shoulder-swing, Coffined and cramped from the vasts of God? The Spirit of Life, O atrophied soul, In trappings of ease is not confined; That touch from Infinite Will 'neath the Whole In Nature's temple, not man's, is shrined! From hovel-shed come out and be strong! Be ye free! Be redeemed from the wrong, Of soul-guilt, I charge you as sons of God! INTRODUCTION. I, Rufus Gillespie, trader and clerk for the North-West Company, which ruled over an empire broader than Europe in the beginning of this century, and with Indian allies and its own riotous _Bois-Brulés_, carried war into the very heart of the vast territory claimed by its rivals, the Honorable Hudson's Bay Company, have briefly related a few stirring events of those boisterous days. Should the account here set down be questioned, I appeal for confirmation to that missionary among northern tribes, the famous priest, who is the son of the ill-fated girl stolen by the wandering Iroquois. Lord Selkirk's narration of lawless conflict with the Nor'-Westers and the verbal testimony of Red River settlers, who are still living, will also substantiate what I have stated; though allowance must be made for the violent partisan leaning of witnesses, and from that, I--as a Nor'-Wester--do not claim to be free. On the charges and counter-charges of cruelty bandied between white men and red, I have nothing to say. Remembering how white soldiers from eastern cities took the skin of a native chief for a trophy of victory, and recalling the fiendish glee of Mandanes over a victim, I can only conclude that neither race may blamelessly point the finger of reproach at the other. Any variations in detail from actual occurrences as seen by my own eyes are solely for the purpose of screening living descendants of those whose lives are here portrayed from prying curiosity; but, in truth, many experiences during the thrilling days of the fur companies were far too harrowing for recital. I would fain have tempered some of the incidents herein related to suit the sentiments of a milk-and-water age; but that could be done only at the cost of truth. There is no French strain in my blood, so I have not that passionate devotion to the wild daring of _l'ancien régime_, in which many of my rugged companions under _Les Bourgeois de la Compagnie du Nord-Ouest_ gloried; but he would be very sluggish, indeed, who could not look back with some degree of enthusiasm to the days of gentlemen adventurers in no-man's-land, in a word, to the workings of the great fur trading companies. Theirs were the trappers and runners, the _Coureurs des Bois_ and _Bois-Brulés_, who traversed the immense solitudes of the pathless west; theirs, the brigades of gay _voyageurs_ chanting hilarious refrains in unison with the rhythmic sweep of paddle blades and following unknown streams until they had explored from St. Lawrence to MacKenzie River; and theirs, the merry lads of the north, blazing a track through the wilderness and leaving from Atlantic to Pacific lonely stockaded fur posts--footprints for the pioneers' guidance. The whitewashed palisades of many little settlements on the rivers and lakes of the far north are poor relics of the fur companies' ancient grandeur. That broad domain stretching from Hudson Bay to the Pacific Ocean, reclaimed from savagery for civilization, is the best monument to the unheralded forerunners of empire. RUFUS GILLESPIE. WINNIPEG--ONE TIME FORT GARRY FORMERLY RED RIVER SETTLEMENT, _19th June, 18--_ Transcriber's note: Minor typos have been corrected. CONTENTS PAGE CHAPTER I. WHEREIN A LAD SEES MAKERS OF HISTORY 9 CHAPTER II. A STRONG MAN IS BOWED 23 CHAPTER III. NOVICE AND EXPERT 38 CHAPTER IV. LAUNCHED INTO THE UNKNOWN 55 CHAPTER V. CIVILIZATION'S VENEER RUBS OFF 70 CHAPTER VI. A GIRDLE OF AGATES RECALLED 92 CHAPTER VII. THE LORDS OF THE NORTH IN COUNCIL 99 CHAPTER VIII. THE LITTLE STATUE ANIMATE 118 CHAPTER IX. DECORATING A BIT OF STATUARY 131 CHAPTER X. MORE STUDIES IN STATUARY 144 CHAPTER XI. A SHUFFLING OF ALLEGIANCE 163 CHAPTER XII. HOW A YOUTH BECAME A KING 181 CHAPTER XIII. THE BUFFALO HUNT 200 CHAPTER XIV. IN SLIPPERY PLACES 220 CHAPTER XV. THE GOOD WHITE FATHER 234 CHAPTER XVI. LE GRAND DIABLE SENDS BACK OUR MESSENGER 246 CHAPTER XVII. THE PRICE OF BLOOD 253 CHAPTER XVIII. LAPLANTE AND I RENEW ACQUAINTANCE 266 CHAPTER XIX. WHEREIN LOUIS INTRIGUES 281 CHAPTER XX. PLOTS AND COUNTER-PLOTS 297 CHAPTER XXI. LOUIS PAYS ME BACK 313 CHAPTER XXII. A DAY OF RECKONING 327 CHAPTER XXIII. THE IROQUOIS PLAYS HIS LAST CARD 341 CHAPTER XXIV. FORT DOUGLAS CHANGES MASTERS 350 CHAPTER XXV. HIS LORDSHIP TO THE RESCUE 368 CHAPTER XXVI. FATHER HOLLAND AND I IN THE TOILS 378 CHAPTER XXVII. UNDER ONE ROOF 389 CHAPTER XXVIII. THE LAST OF LOUIS' ADVENTURES 409 CHAPTER XXIX. THE PRIEST JOURNEYS TO A FAR COUNTRY 433 LORDS OF THE NORTH CHAPTER I WHEREIN A LAD SEES MAKERS OF HISTORY "Has any one seen Eric Hamilton?" I asked. For an hour, or more, I had been lounging about the sitting-room of a club in Quebec City, waiting for my friend, who had promised to join me at dinner that night. I threw aside a news-sheet, which I had exhausted down to minutest advertisements, stretched myself and strolled across to a group of old fur-traders, retired partners of the North-West Company, who were engaged in heated discussion with some officers from the Citadel. "Has any one seen Eric Hamilton?" I repeated, indifferent to the merits of their dispute. "That's the tenth time you've asked that question," said my Uncle Jack MacKenzie, looking up sharply, "the tenth time, Sir, by actual count," and he puckered his brows at the interruption, just as he used to when I was a little lad on his knee and chanced to break into one of his hunting stories with a question at the wrong place. "Hang it," drawled Colonel Adderly, a squatty man with an over-fed look on his bulging, red cheeks, "hang it, you don't expect Hamilton? The baby must be teething," and he added more chaff at the expense of my friend, who had been the subject of good-natured banter among club members for devotion to his first-born. I saw Adderly's object was more to get away from the traders' arguments than to answer me; and I returned the insolent challenge of his unconcealed yawn in the faces of the elder men by drawing a chair up to the company of McTavishes and Frobishers and McGillivrays and MacKenzies and other retired veterans of the north country. "I beg your pardon, gentlemen," said I, "what were you saying to Colonel Adderly?" "Talk of your military conquests, Sir," my uncle continued, "Why, Sir, our men have transformed a wilderness into an empire. They have blazed a path from Labrador on the Atlantic to that rock on the Pacific, where my esteemed kinsman, Sir Alexander MacKenzie, left his inscription of discovery. Mark my words, Sir, the day will come when the names of David Thompson and Simon Fraser and Sir Alexander MacKenzie will rank higher in English annals than Braddock's and----" "Egad!" laughed the officer, amused at my uncle, who had been a leading spirit in the North-West Company and whose enthusiasm knew no bounds, "Egad! You gentlemen adventurers wouldn't need to have accomplished much to eclipse Braddock." And he paused with a questioning supercilious smile. "Sir Alexander was a first cousin of yours, was he not?" My uncle flushed hotly. That slighting reference to gentlemen adventurers, with just a perceptible emphasis of the _adventurers_, was not to his taste. "Pardon me, Sir," said he stiffly, "you forget that by the terms of their charter, the Ancient and Honorable Hudson's Bay Company have the privilege of being known as gentlemen adventurers. And by the Lord, Sir, 'tis a gentleman adventurer and nothing else, that stock-jobbing scoundrel of a Selkirk has proved himself! And he, sir, was neither Nor'-Wester, nor Canadian, but an Englishman, like the commander of the Citadel." My uncle puffed out these last words in the nature of a defiance to the English officer, whose cheeks took on a deeper purplish shade; but he returned the charge good-humoredly enough. "Nonsense, MacKenzie, my good friend," laughed he patronizingly, "if the Right Honorable, the Earl of Selkirk, were such an adventurer, why the deuce did the Beaver Club down at Montreal receive him with open mouths and open arms and----" "And open hearts, Sir, you may say," interrupted my Uncle MacKenzie. "And I'd thank you not to 'good-friend' me," he added tartly. Now, the Beaver Club was an organization at Nor'-Westers renowned for its hospitality. Founded in 1785, originally composed of but nineteen members and afterwards extended only to men who had served in the _Pays d'En Haut_, it soon acquired a reputation for entertaining in regal style. Why the vertebrae of colonial gentlemen should sometimes lose the independent, upright rigidity of self-respect on contact with old world nobility, I know not. But instantly, Colonel Adderly's reference to Lord Selkirk and the Beaver Club called up the picture of a banquet in Montreal, when I was a lad of seven, or thereabouts. I had been tricked out in some Highland costume especially pleasing to the Earl--cap, kilts, dirk and all--and was taken by my Uncle Jack MacKenzie to the Beaver Club. Here, in a room, that glittered with lights, was a table steaming with things, which caught and held my boyish eyes; and all about were crowds of guests, gentlemen, who had been invited in the quaint language of the club, "To discuss the merits of bear, beaver and venison." The great Sir Alexander MacKenzie, with his title fresh from the king, and his feat of exploring the river now known by his name and pushing through the mountain fastnesses to the Pacific on all men's lips--was to my Uncle Jack's right. Simon Fraser and David Thompson and other famous explorers, who were heroes to my imagination, were there too. In these men and what they said of their wonderful voyages I was far more interested than in the young, keen-faced man with a tie, that came up in ruffles to his ears, and with an imperial decoration on his breast, which told me he was Lord Selkirk. I remember when the huge salvers and platters were cleared away, I was placed on the table to execute the sword dance. I must have acquitted myself with some credit; for the gentlemen set up a prodigious clapping, though I recall nothing but a snapping of my fingers, a wave of my cap and a whirl of lights and faces around my dizzy head. Then my uncle took me between his knees, promising to let me sit up to the end if I were good, and more wine was passed. "That's enough for you, you young cub," says my kinsman, promptly inverting the wine-glass before me. "O Uncle MacKenzie," said I with a wry face, "do you measure your own wine so?" Whereat, the noble Earl shouted, "Bravo! here's for you, Mr. MacKenzie." And all the gentlemen set up a laugh and my uncle smiled and called to the butler, "Here, Johnson, toddy for one, glass of hot water, pure, for other." But when Johnson brought back the glasses, I observed Uncle MacKenzie kept the toddy. "There, my boy, there's Adam's ale for you," said he, and into the glass of hot water he popped a peppermint lozenge. "Fie!" laughed Sir Alexander to my uncle's right, "Fie to cheat the little man!" "His is the best wine of the cellar," vowed His Lordship; and I drank my peppermint with as much gusto and self-importance as any man of them. Then followed toasts, such a list of toasts as only men inured to tests of strength could take. Ironical toasts to the North-West Passage, whose myth Sir Alexander had dispelled; toasts to the discoverer of the MacKenzie River, which brought storms of applause that shook the house; toasts to "our distinguished guest," whose suave response disarmed all suspicion; toasts to the "Northern winterers," poor devils, who were serving the cause by undergoing a life-long term of Arctic exile; toasts to "the merry lads of the north," who only served in the ranks without attaining to the honor of partnership; toasts enough, in all conscience, to drown the memory of every man present. Thanks to my Uncle Jack MacKenzie, all my toasts were taken in peppermint, and the picture in my mind of that banquet is as clear to-day as it was when I sat at the table. What would I not give to be back at the Beaver Club, living it all over again and hearing Sir Alexander MacKenzie with his flashing hero-eyes and quick, passionate gestures, recounting that wonderful voyage of his with a sulky crew into a region of hostiles; telling of those long interminable winters of Arctic night, when the great explorer sounded the depths of utter despair in service for the company and knew not whether he faced madness or starvation; and thrilling the whole assembly with a description of his first glimpse of the Pacific! Perhaps it was what I heard that night--who can tell--that drew me to the wild life of after years. But I was too young, then, to recognize fully the greatness of those men. Indeed, my country was then and is yet too young; for if their greatness be recognized, it is forgotten and unhonored. I think I must have fallen asleep on my uncle's knee; for I next remember sleepily looking about and noticing that many of the gentlemen had slid down in their chairs and with closed eyes were breathing heavily. Others had slipped to the floor and were sound asleep. This shocked me and I was at once wide awake. My uncle was sitting very erect and his arm around my waist had the tight grasp that usually preceded some sharp rebuke. I looked up and found his face grown suddenly so hard and stern, I was all affright lest my sleeping had offended him. His eyes were fastened on Lord Selkirk with a piercing, angry gaze. His Lordship was not nodding, not a bit of it. How brilliant he seemed to my childish fancy! He was leaning forward, questioning those Nor'-Westers, who had received him with open arms, and open hearts. And the wine had mounted to the head of the good Nor'-Westers and they were now also receiving the strange nobleman with open mouths, pouring out to him a full account of their profits, the extent of the vast, unknown game preserve, and how their methods so far surpassed those of the Hudson's Bay, their rival's stock had fallen in value from 250 to 50 per cent. The more information they gave, the more His Lordship plied them with questions. "I must say," whispered Uncle Jack to Sir Alexander MacKenzie, "if any Hudson's Bay man asked such pointed questions on North-West business, I'd give myself the pleasure of ejecting him from this room." Then, I knew his anger was against Lord Selkirk and not against me for sleeping. "Nonsense," retorted Sir Alexander, who had cut active connection with the Nor'-Westers some years before, "there's no ground for suspicion." But he seemed uneasy at the turn things had taken. "Has your Lordship some colonization scheme that you ask such pointed questions?" demanded my uncle, addressing the Earl. The nobleman turned quickly to him and said something about the Highlanders and Prince Edward's Island, which I did not understand. The rest of that evening fades from my thoughts; for I was carried home in Mr. Jack MacKenzie's arms. And all these things happened some ten or twelve years before that wordy sword-play between this same uncle of mine and the English colonel from the Citadel. "We erred, Sir, through too great hospitality," my uncle was saying to the colonel. "How could we know that Selkirk would purchase controlling interest in Hudson's Bay stock? How could we know he'd secure a land grant in the very heart of our domain?" "I don't object to his land, nor to his colonists, nor to his dower of ponies and muskets and bayonets to every mother's son of them," broke in another of the retired traders, "but I do object to his drilling those same colonists, to his importing a field battery and bringing out that little ram of a McDonell from the Army to egg the settlers on! It's bad enough to pillage our fort; but this proclamation to expel Nor'-Westers from what is claimed as Hudson's Bay Territory----" "Just listen to this," cries my uncle pulling out a copy of the obnoxious proclamation and reading aloud an order for the expulsion of all rivals to the Hudson's Bay Company from the northern territory. "Where can Hamilton be?" said I, losing interest in the traders' quarrel as soon as they went into details. "Home with his wifie," half sneered the officer in a nagging way, that irritated me, though the remark was, doubtless, true. "Home with his wifie," he repeated in a sing-song, paying no attention to the elucidation of a subject he had raised. "Good old man, Hamilton, but since marriage, utterly gone to the bad!" "To the what?" I queried, taking him up short. This officer, with the pudding cheeks and patronizing insolence, had a provoking trick of always keeping just inside the bounds of what one might resent. "To the what, did you say Hamilton had gone?" "To the domestics," says he laughing, then to the others, as if he had listened to every word of the explanations, "and if His Little Excellency, Governor MacDonell, by the grace of Lord Selkirk, ruler over gentlemen adventurers in no-man's-land, expels the good Nor'-Westers from nowhere to somewhere else, what do the good Nor'-Westers intend doing to the Little Tyrant?" "Charles the First him," responds a wag of the club. "Where's your Cromwell?" laughs the colonel. "Our Cromwell's a Cameron, temper of a Lucifer, oaths before action," answers the wag. "Tuts!" exclaims Uncle Jack testily. "We'll settle His Lordship's little martinet of the plains. Warrant for his arrest! Fetch him out!" "Warrant 43rd King George III. will do it," added one of the partners who had looked the matter up. "43rd King George III. doesn't give jurisdiction for trial in Lower Canada, if offense be committed elsewhere," interjects a lawyer with show of importance. "A Daniel come to judgment," laughs the colonel, winking as my uncle's wrath rose. "Pah!" says Mr. Jack MacKenzie in disgust, stamping on the floor with both feet. "You lawyers needn't think you'll have your pickings when fur companies quarrel. We'll ship him out, that's all. Neither of the companies wants to advertise its profits--" "Or its methods--ahem!" interjects the colonel. "And its private business," adds my uncle, looking daggers at Adderly, "by going to court." Then they all rose to go to the dining-room; and as I stepped out to have a look down the street for Hamilton, I heard Colonel Adderly's last fling--"Pretty rascals, you gentlemen adventurers are, so shy and coy about law courts." It was a dark night, with a few lonely stars in mid-heaven, a sickle moon cutting the horizon cloud-rim and a noisy March wind that boded snow from The Labrador, or sleet from the Gulf. When Eric Hamilton left the Hudson's Bay Company's service at York Factory on Hudson Bay and came to live in Quebec, I was but a student at Laval. It was at my Uncle MacKenzie's that I met the tall, dark, sinewy, taciturn man, whose influence was to play such a strange part in my life; and when these two talked of their adventures in the far, lone land of the north, I could no more conceal my awe-struck admiration than a girl could on first discovering her own charms in a looking-glass. I think he must have noticed my boyish reverence, for once he condescended to ask about the velvet cap and green sash and long blue coat which made up the Laval costume, and in a moment I was talking to him as volubly as if he were the boy and I, the great Hudson's Bay trader. "It makes me feel quite like a boy again," he had said on resuming conversation with Mr. MacKenzie. "By Jove! Sir, I can hardly realize I went into that country a lad of fifteen, like your nephew, and here I am, out of it, an old man." "Pah, Eric man," says my uncle, "you'll be finding a wife one of these days and renewing your youth." "Uncle," I broke out when the Hudson's Bay man had gone home, "how old is Mr. Hamilton?" "Fifteen years older than you are, boy, and I pray Heaven you may have half as much of the man in you at thirty as he has," returns my uncle mentally measuring me with that stern eye of his. At that information, my heart gave a curious, jubilant thud. Henceforth, I no longer looked upon Mr. Hamilton with the same awe that a choir boy entertains for a bishop. Something of comradeship sprang up between us, and before that year had passed we were as boon companions as man and boy could be. But Hamilton presently spoiled it all by fulfilling my uncle's prediction and finding a wife, a beautiful, fair-haired, frail slip of a girl, near enough the twenties to patronize me and too much of the young lady to find pleasure in an awkward lad. That meant an end to our rides and walks and sails down the St. Lawrence and long evening talks; but I took my revenge by assuming the airs of a man of forty, at which Hamilton quizzed me not a little and his wife, Miriam, laughed. When I surprised them all by jumping suddenly from boyhood to manhood--"like a tadpole into a mosquito," as my Uncle Jack facetiously remarked. Meanwhile, a son and heir came to my friend's home and I had to be thankful for a humble third place. And so it came that I was waiting for Eric's arrival at the Quebec Club that night, peering from the porch for sight of him and calculating how long it would take to ride from the Chateau Bigot above Charlesbourg, where he was staying. Stepping outside, I was surprised to see the form of a horse beneath the lantern of the arched gateway; and my surprise increased on nearer inspection. As I walked up, the creature gave a whinny and I recognized Hamilton's horse, lathered with sweat, unblanketed and shivering. The possibility of an accident hardly suggested itself before I observed the bridle-rein had been slung over the hitching-post and heard steps hurrying to the side door of the club-house. "Is that you, Eric?" I called. There was no answer; so I led the horse to the stable boy and hurried back to see if Hamilton were inside. The sitting room was deserted; but Eric's well-known, tall figure was entering the dining-room. And a curious figure he presented to the questioning looks of the club men. In one hand was his riding whip, in the other, his gloves. He wore the buckskin coat of a trapper and in the belt were two pistols. One sleeve was torn from wrist to elbow and his boots were scratched as if they had been combed by an iron rake. His broad-brimmed hat was still on, slouched down over his eyes like that of a scout. "Gad! Hamilton," exclaimed Uncle Jack MacKenzie, who was facing Eric as I came up behind, "have you been in a race or a fight?" and he gave him the look of suspicion one might give an intoxicated man. "Is it a cold night?" asked the colonel punctiliously, gazing hard at the still-strapped hat. Not a word came from Hamilton. "How's the cold in your head?" continued Adderly, pompously trying to stare Hamilton's hat off. "Here I am, old man! What's kept you?" and I rushed forward but quickly checked myself; for Hamilton turned slowly towards me and instead of erect bearing, clear glance, firm mouth, I saw a head that was bowed, eyes that burned like fire, and parched, parted, wordless lips. If the colonel had not been stuffing himself like the turkey guzzler that he was, he would have seen something unspeakably terrible written on Hamilton's silent face. "Did the little wifie let him off for a night's play?" sneered Adderly. Barely were the words out, when Hamilton's teeth clenched behind the open lips, giving him an ugly, furious expression, strange to his face. He took a quick stride towards the officer, raised his whip and brought it down with the full strength of his shoulder in one cutting blow across the baggy, purplish cheeks of the insolent speaker. CHAPTER II A STRONG MAN IS BOWED The whole thing was so unexpected that for one moment not a man in the room drew breath. Then the colonel sprang up with the bellow of an enraged bull, overturning the table in his rush, and a dozen club members were pulling him back from Eric. "Eric Hamilton, are you mad?" I cried. "What do you mean?" But Hamilton stood motionless as if he saw none of us. Except that his breath was labored, he wore precisely the same strange, distracted air he had on entering the club. "Hold back!" I implored; for Adderly was striking right and left to get free from the men. "Hold back! There's a mistake! Something's wrong!" "Reptile!" roared the colonel. "Cowardly reptile, you shall pay for this!" "There's a mistake," I shouted, above the clamor of exclamations. "Glad the mistake landed where it did, all the same," whispered Uncle Jack MacKenzie in my ear, "but get him out of this. Drunk--or a scandal," says my uncle, who always expressed himself in explosives when excited. "Side room--here--lead him in--drunk--by Jove--drunk!" "Never," I returned passionately. I knew both Hamilton and his wife too well to tolerate either insinuation. But we led him like a dazed being into a side office, where Mr. Jack MacKenzie promptly turned the key and took up a posture with his back against the door. "Now, Sir," he broke out sternly, "if it's neither drink, nor a scandal----" There, he stopped; for Hamilton, utterly unconscious of us, moved, rather than walked, automatically across the room. Throwing his hat down, he bowed his head over both arms above the mantel-piece. My uncle and I looked from the silent man to each other. Raising his brows in question, Mr. Jack MacKenzie touched his forehead and whispered across to me--"Mad?" At that, though the word was spoken barely above a breath, Eric turned slowly round and faced us with blood-shot, gleaming eyes. He made as though he would speak, sank into the armchair before the grate and pressed both hands against his forehead. "Mad," he repeated in a voice low as a moan, framing his words slowly and with great effort. "By Jove, men, you should know me better than to mouth such rot under your breath. To-night, I'd sell my soul, sell my soul to be mad, really mad, to know that all I think has happened, hadn't happened at all--" and his speech was broken by a sharp intake of breath. "Out with it, man, for the Lord's sake," shouted my uncle, now convinced that Eric was not drunk and jumping to conclusions--as he was wont to do when excited--regarding a possible scandal. "Out with it, man! We'll stand by you! Has that blasted red-faced turkey----" "Pray, spare your histrionics, for the present," Eric cut in with the icy self-possession bred by a lifetime's danger, dispelling my uncle's second suspicion with a quiet scorn that revealed nothing. "What the----" began my kinsman, "what did you strike him for?" "Did I strike somebody?" asked Hamilton absently. Again my uncle flashed a questioning look at me, but this time his face showed his conviction so plainly no word was needed. "Did I strike somebody? Wish you'd apologize----" "Apologize!" thundered my uncle. "I'll do nothing of the kind. Served him right. 'Twas a pretty way, a pretty way, indeed, to speak of any man's wife----" But the word "wife" had not been uttered before Eric threw out his hands in an imploring gesture. "Don't!" he cried out sharply in the suffering tone of a man under the operating knife. "Don't! It all comes back! It is true! It is true! I can't get away from it! It is no nightmare. My God, men, how can I tell you? There's no way of saying it! It is impossible--preposterous--some monstrous joke--it's quite impossible I tell you--it couldn't have happened--such things don't happen--couldn't happen--to her--of all women! But she's gone--she's gone----" "See here, Hamilton," cried my uncle, utterly beside himself with excitement, "are we to understand you are talking of your wife, or--or some other woman?" "See here, Hamilton," I reiterated, quite heedless of the brutality of our questions and with a thousand wild suspicions flashing into my mind. "Is it your wife, Miriam, and your boy?" But he heard neither of us. "They were there--they waved to me from the garden at the edge of the woods as I entered the forest. Only this morning, both waving to me as I rode away--and when I returned from the city at noon, they were gone! I looked to the window as I came back. The curtain moved and I thought my boy was hiding, but it was only the wind. We've searched every nook from cellar to attic. His toys were littered about and I fancied I heard his voice everywhere, but no! No--no--and we've been hunting house and garden for hours----" "And the forest?" questioned Uncle Jack, the trapper instinct of former days suddenly re-awakening. "The forest is waist-deep with snow! Besides we beat through the bush everywhere, and there wasn't a track, nor broken twig, where they could have passed." His torn clothes bore evidence to the thoroughness of that search. "Nonsense," my uncle burst out, beginning to bluster. "They've been driven to town without leaving word!" "No sleigh was at Chateau Bigot this morning," returned Hamilton. "But the road, Eric?" I questioned, recalling how the old manor-house stood well back in the center of a cleared plateau in the forest. "Couldn't they have gone down the road to those Indian encampments?" "The road is impassable for sleighs, let alone walking, and their winter wraps are all in the house. For Heaven's sake, men, suggest something! Don't madden me with these useless questions!" But in spite of Eric's entreaty my excitable kinsman subjected the frenzied man to such a fire of questions as might have sublimated pre-natal knowledge. And I stood back listening and pieced the distracted, broken answers into some sort of coherency till the whole tragic scene at the Chateau on that spring day of the year 1815, became ineffaceably stamped on my memory. Causeless, with neither warning nor the slightest premonition of danger, the greatest curse which can befall a man came upon my friend Eric Hamilton. However fond a husband may be, there are things worse for his wife than death which he may well dread, and it was one of these tragedies which almost drove poor Hamilton out of his reason and changed the whole course of my own life. In broad daylight, his young wife and infant son disappeared as suddenly and completely as if blotted out of existence. That morning, Eric light-heartedly kissed wife and child good-by and waved them a farewell that was to be the last. He rode down the winding forest path to Quebec and they stood where the Chateau garden merged into the forest of Charlesbourg Mountain. At noon, when he returned, for him there existed neither wife nor child. For any trace of them that could be found, both might have been supernaturally spirited away. The great house, that had re-echoed to the boy's prattle, was deathly still; and neither wife, nor child, answered his call. The nurse was summoned. She was positive _Madame_ was amusing the boy across the hall, and reassuringly bustled off to find mother and son in the next room, and the next, and yet the next; to discover each in succession empty. Alarm spread to the Chateau servants. The simple _habitant_ maids were questioned, but their only response was white-faced, blank amazement. _Madame_ not returned! _Madame_ not back! Mon Dieu! What had happened? And all the superstition of hillside lore added to the fear on each anxious face. Shortly after Monsieur went to the city, _Madame_ had taken her little son out as usual for a morning airing, and had been seen walking up and down the paths tracked through the garden snow. Had _Monsieur_ examined the clearing between the house and the forest? _Monsieur_ could see for himself the snow was too deep and crusty among the trees for _Madame_ to go twenty paces into the woods. Besides, foot-marks could be traced from the garden to the bush. He need not fear wild animals. They were receding into the mountains as spring advanced. Let him take another look about the open; and Hamilton tore out-doors, followed by the whole household; but from the Chateau in the center of the glade to the encircling border of snow-laden evergreens there was no trace of wife or child. Then Eric laughed at his own growing fears. Miriam must be in the house. So the search of the old hall, that had once resounded to the drunken tread of gay French grandees, began again. From hidden chamber in the vaulted cellar to attic rooms above, not a corner of the Chateau was left unexplored. Had any one come and driven her to the city? But that was impossible. The roads were drifted the height of a horse and there were no marks of sleigh runners on either side of the riding path. Could she possibly have ventured a few yards down the main road to an encampment of Indians, whose squaws after Indian custom made much of the white baby? Neither did that suggestion bring relief; for the Indians had broken camp early in the morning and there was only a dirty patch of littered snow, where the wigwams had been. The alarm now became a panic. Hamilton, half-crazed and unable to believe his own senses, began wondering whether he had nightmare. He thought he might waken up presently and find the dead weight smothering his chest had been the boy snuggling close. He was vaguely conscious it was strange of him to continue sleeping with that noise of shouting men and whining hounds and snapping branches going on in the forest. The child's lightest cry generally broke the spell of a nightmare; but the din of terrified searchers rushing through the woods and of echoes rolling eerily back from the white hills convinced him this was no dream-land. Then, the distinct crackle of trampled brushwood and the scratch of spines across his face called him back to an unendurable reality. "The thing is utterly impossible, Hamilton," I cried, when in short jerky sentences, as if afraid to give thought rein, he had answered my uncle's questioning. "Impossible! Utterly impossible!" "I would to God it were!" he moaned. "It was daylight, Eric?" asked Mr. Jack MacKenzie. He nodded moodily. "And she couldn't be lost in Charlesbourg forest?" I added, taking up the interrogations where my uncle left off. "No trace--not a footprint!" "And you're quite sure she isn't in the house?" replied my relative. "Quite!" he answered passionately. "And there was an Indian encampment a few yards down the road?" continued Mr. MacKenzie, undeterred. "Oh! What has that to do with it?" he asked petulantly, springing to his feet. "They'd moved off long before I went back. Besides, Indians don't run off with white women. Haven't I spent my life among them? I should know their ways!" "But my dear fellow!" responded the elder trader, "so do I know their ways. If she isn't in the Chateau and isn't in the woods and isn't in the garden, can't you see, the Indian encampment is the only possible explanation?" The lines on his face deepened. Fire flashed from his gleaming eyes, and if ever I have seen murder written on the countenance of man, it was on Hamilton's. "What tribe were they, anyway?" I asked, trying to speak indifferently, for every question was knife-play on a wound. "Mongrel curs, neither one thing nor the other, Iroquois canoemen, French half-breeds intermarried with Sioux squaws! They're all connected with the North-West Company's crews. The Nor'-Westers leave here for Fort William when the ice breaks up. This riff-raff will follow in their own dug-outs!" "Know any of them?" persisted my uncle. "No, I don't think I--Let me see! By Jove! Yes, Gillespie!" he shouted, "Le Grand Diable was among them!" "What about Diable?" I asked, pinning him down to the subject, for his mind was lost in angry memories. "What about him? He's my one enemy among the Indians," he answered in tones thick and ominously low. "I thrashed him within an inch of his life at Isle à la Crosse. Being a Nor'-Wester, he thought it fine game to pillage the kit of a Hudson's Bay; so he stole a silver-mounted fowling-piece which my grandfather had at Culloden. By Jove, Gillespie! The Nor'-Westers have a deal of blood to answer for, stirring up those Indians against traders; and if they've brought this on me----" "Did you get it back?" I interrupted, referring to the fowling-piece, neither my uncle, nor I, offering any defense for the Nor'-Westers. I knew there were two sides to this complaint from a Hudson's Bay man. "No! That's why I nearly finished him; but the more I clubbed, the more he jabbered impertinence, '_Cooloo! cooloo! qu' importe!_ It doesn't matter!' By Jove! I made it matter!" "Is that all about Diable, Eric?" continued my uncle. He ran his fingers distractedly back through his long, black hair, rose, and, coming over to me, laid a trembling hand on each shoulder. "Gillespie!" he muttered through hard-set teeth. "It isn't all. I didn't think at the time, but the morning after the row with that red devil I found a dagger stuck on the outside of my hut-door. The point was through a fresh sprouted leaflet. A withered twig hung over the blade." "Man! Are you mad?" cried Jack MacKenzie. "He must be the very devil himself. You weren't married then--He couldn't mean----" "I thought it was an Indian threat," interjected Hamilton, "that if I had downed him in the fall, when the branches were bare, he meant to have his revenge in spring when the leaves were green; but you know I left the country that fall." "You were wrong, Eric!" I blurted out impetuously, the terrible significance of that threat dawning upon me. "That wasn't the meaning at all." Then I stopped; for Hamilton was like a palsied man, and no one asked what those tokens of a leaflet pierced by a dagger and an old branch hanging to the knife might mean. Mr. Jack MacKenzie was the first to pull himself together. "Come," he shouted. "Gather up your wits! To the camping ground!" and he threw open the door. Thereupon, we three flung through the club-room to the astonishment of the gossips, who had been waiting outside for developments in the quarrel with Colonel Adderly. At the outer porch, Hamilton laid a hand on Mr. MacKenzie's shoulder. "Don't come," he begged hurriedly. "There's a storm blowing. It's rough weather, and a rough road, full of drifts! Make my peace with the man I struck." Then Eric and I whisked out into the blackness of a boisterous, windy night. A moment later, our horses were dashing over iced cobble-stones with the clatter of pistol-shots. "It will snow," said I, feeling a few flakes driven through the darkness against my face; but to this remark Hamilton was heedless. "It will snow, Eric," I repeated. "The wind's veered north. We must get out to the camp before all traces are covered. How far by the Beauport road?" "Five miles," said he, and I knew by the sudden scream and plunge of his horse that spurs were dug into raw sides. We turned down that steep, break-neck, tortuous street leading from Upper Town to the valley of the St. Charles. The wet thaw of mid-day had frozen and the road was slippery as a toboggan slide. We reined our horses in tightly, to prevent a perilous stumbling of fore-feet, and by zigzagging from side to side managed to reach the foot of the hill without a single fall. Here, we again gave them the bit; and we were presently thundering across the bridge in a way that brought the keeper out cursing and yelling for his toll. I tossed a coin over my shoulder and we galloped up the elm-lined avenue leading to that Charlesbourg retreat, where French Bacchanalians caroused before the British conquest, passed the thatch-roofed cots of _habitants_ and, turning suddenly to the right, followed a seldom frequented road, where snow was drifted heavily. Here we had to slacken pace, our beasts sinking to their haunches and snorting through the white billows like a modern snow-plow. Hamilton had spoken not a word. Clouds were massing on the north. Overhead a few stars glittered against the black, and the angry wind had the most mournful wail I have ever heard. How the weird undertones came like the cries of a tortured child, and the loud gusts with the shriek of demons! "Gillespie," called Eric's voice tremulous with anguish, "listen--Rufus--listen! Do you hear anything? Do you hear any one calling for help? Is that a child crying?" "No, Eric, old man," said I, shivering in my saddle. "I hear--I hear nothing at all but the wind." But my hesitancy belied the truth of that answer; for we both heard sounds, which no one can interpret but he whose well beloved is lost in the storm. And the wind burst upon us again, catching my empty denial and tossing the words to upper air with eldritch laughter. Then there was a lull, and I felt rather than heard the choking back of stifled moans and knew that the man by my side, who had held iron grip of himself before other eyes, was now giving vent to grief in the blackness of night. At last a red light gleamed from the window of a low cot. That was the signal for us to turn abruptly to the left, entering the forest by a narrow bridle-path that twisted among the cedars. As if to look down in pity, the moon shone for a moment above the ragged edge of a storm cloud, and all the snow-laden evergreens stood out stately, shadowy and spectral, like mourners for the dead. Again the road took to right-about at a sharp angle and the broad Chateau, with its noble portico and numerous windows all alight, suddenly loomed up in the center of a forest-clearing on the mountain side. Where the path to the garden crossed a frozen stream was a small open space. Here the Indians had been encamped. We hallooed for servants and by lantern light examined every square inch of the smoked snow and rubbish heaps. Bits of tin in profusion, stones for the fire, tent canvas, ends of ropes and tattered rags lay everywhere over the black patch. Snow was beginning to fall heavily in great flakes that obscured earth and air. Not a thing had we found to indicate any trace of the lost woman and child, until I caught sight of a tiny, blue string beneath a piece of rusty metal. Kicking the tin aside, I caught the ribbon up. When I saw on the lower end a child's finely beaded moccasin, I confess I had rather felt the point of Le Grand Diable's dagger at my own heart than have shown that simple thing to Hamilton. Then the snow-storm broke upon us in white billows blotting out everything. We spread a sheet on the ground to preserve any marks of the campers, but the drifting wind drove us indoors and we were compelled to cease searching. All night long Eric and I sat before the roaring grate fire of the hunting-room, he leaning forward with chin in his palms and saying few words, I offering futile suggestions and uttering mad threats, but both utterly at a loss what to do. We knew enough of Indian character to know what not to do. That was, raise an outcry, which might hasten the cruelty of Le Grand Diable. CHAPTER III. NOVICE AND EXPERT. Though many years have passed since that dismal storm in the spring of 1815, when Hamilton and I spent a long disconsolate night of enforced waiting, I still hear the roaring of the northern gale, driving round the house-corners as if it would wrench all eaves from the roof. It shrieked across the garden like malignant furies, rushed with the boom of a sea through the cedars and pines, and tore up the mountain slope till all the many voices of the forest were echoing back a thousand tumultuous discords. Again, I see Hamilton gazing at the leaping flames of the log fire, as if their frenzied motion reflected something of his own burning grief. Then, the agony of our utter helplessness, as long as the storm raged, would prove too great for his self-control. Rising, he would pace back and forward the full length of the hunting-room till his eye would be caught by some object with which the boy had played. He would put this carefully away, as one lays aside the belongings of the dead. Afterwards, lanterns, which we had placed on the oak center table on coming in, began to smoke and give out a pungent, burning smell, and each of us involuntarily walked across to a window and drew aside the curtains to see how daylight was coming on. The white glare of early morning flooded the room, but the snow-storm had changed to driving sleet and the panes were iced from corner to corner with frozen rain-drift. How we dragged through two more days, while the gale raved with unabated fury, I do not know. Poor Eric was for rushing into the blinding whirl, that turned earth and air into one white tornado; but he could not see twice the length of his own arm, and we prevailed on him to come back. On the third night, the wind fell like a thing that had fretted out its strength. Morning revealed an ocean of billowy drifts, crusted over by the frozen sleet and reflecting a white dazzle that made one's eyes blink. Great icicles hung from the naked branches of the sheeted pines and snow was wreathed in fantastic forms among the cedars. We had laid our plans while we waited. After lifting the canvas from the camping-ground and seeking in vain for more trace of the fugitives, we despatched a dozen different search-parties that very morning, Eric leading those who were to go on the river-side of the Chateau, and I some well-trained bushrangers picked from the _habitants_ of the hillside, who could track the forest to every Indian haunt within a week's march of the city. After putting my men on a trail with instructions to send back an Indian courier to report each night, I hunted up an old _habitant_ guide, named Paul Larocque, who had often helped me to thread the woods of Quebec after big game. Now Paul was habitually as silent as a dumb animal, and sportsmen had nicknamed him The Mute; but what he lacked in speech he made up like other wild creatures in a wonderful acuteness of eye and ear. Indeed, it was commonly believed among trappers that Paul possessed some nameless sense by which he could actually _feel_ the presence of an enemy before ordinary men could either see, or hear. For my part, I would be willing to pit that "feel" of Paul's against the nose of any hound that dog-fanciers could back. "Paul," said I, as the _habitant_ stood before me licking the short stem of an inverted clay pipe, "there's an Indian, a bad Indian, an Iroquois, Paul,"--I was particular in describing the Indian as an Iroquois, for Paul's wife was a Huron from Lorette--"An Iroquois, who stole a white woman and a little boy from the Chateau three days ago, in the morning." There, I paused to let the facts soak in; for The Mute digested information in small morsels. Grizzled, stunted and chunky, he was not at all the picturesque figure which fancy has painted of his class. Instead of the red toque, which artists place on the heads of _habitants_, he wore a cloth cap with ear flaps coming down to be tied under his chin. His jacket was an ill-fitting garment, the cast-off coat of some well-to-do man, and his trousers slouched in ample folds above brightly beaded moccasins. When I paused, Paul fixed his eyes on an invisible spot in the snow and ruminated. Then he hitched the baggy trousers up, pulled the red scarf, that held them to his waist, tighter, and, taking his eyes off the snow, looked up for me to go on. "That Iroquois, who belongs to the North-West trappers----" "_Pays d'En Haut?_" asks Paul, speaking for the first time. "Yes," I answered, "and they all disappeared with the woman and the child the day before the storm." The Mute's eyes were back on the snow. "Now," said I, "I'll make you a rich man if you take me straight to the place where he's hiding." Paul's eyes looked up with the question of how much. "Five pounds a day." This was four more than we paid for the cariboo hunts. Again he stood thinking, then darted off into the forest like a hare; but I knew his strange, silent ways, and confidently awaited his return. How he could get two pair of snow-shoes and two poles inside of five minutes, I do not attempt to explain, unless some of his numerous half-breed youngsters were at hand in the woods; but he was back again all equipped for a long tramp, and as soon as I had laced on the racquets, we were skimming over the drift like a boat on billows. In the mazy confusion of snow and underbrush, no one but Paul would have found and kept that tangled, forest path. Where great trunks had fallen across the way, Paul planted his pole and took the barrier at a bound. Then he raced on at a gait which was neither a run nor a walk, but an easy trot common to the _coureurs-des-bois_. The encased branches snapped like glass when we brushed past, and so heavily were snow and icicles frozen to the trees we might have been in some grotesque crystal-walled cavern. The _habitant_ spoke not a word, but on we pressed over the brushwood, now so packed with snow and crusted ice, our snow-shoes were not once tripped by loose branches, and we glided from drift to drift. In vain I tried to discern a trail by the broken thicket on either side, and I noticed that my guide was keeping his course by following the marks blazed on trees. At one place we came to a steep, clear slope, where the earth had fallen sheer away from the hillside and snow had filled the incline. First prodding forward to feel if the snow-bank were solid, Paul promptly sat down on the rear end of his snow-shoes, and, quicker than I can tell it, tobogganed down to the valley. I came leaping clumsily from point to point with my pole, like a ski-jumping Norwegian, risking my neck at every bound. Then we coursed along the valley, the _habitant's_ eyes still on the trees, and once he stopped to emit a gurgling laugh at a badly hacked trunk, beneath which was a snowed-up sap trough; but I could not divine whether Paul's mirth were over a prospect of sugaring-off in the maple-woods, or at some foolish _habitant_ who had tapped the maple too early. How often had I known my guide to exhaust city athletes in these swift marches of his! But I had been schooled to his pace from boyhood and kept up with him at every step, though we were going so fast I lost all track of my bearings. "Where to, Paul?" I asked with a vague suspicion that we were heading for the Huron village at Lorette. "To Lorette, Paul?" But Paul condescended only a grunt and whisked suddenly round a headland up a narrow gorge, which seemed to lead to the very heart of the mountains and might have sheltered any number of fugitives. In the gorge we stopped to take a light meal of gingerbread horses--a cake that is the peculiar glory of the _habitant_--dried herrings and sea biscuits. By the sun, I knew it was long past noon and that we had been traveling northwest. I also vaguely guessed that Paul's object was to intercept the North-West trappers, if they had planned to slip away from the St. Lawrence through the bush to the Upper Ottawa, where they could meet north-bound boats. But not one syllable had my taciturn guide uttered. Clambering up the steep, snowy banks of the gorge, we found ourselves in the upper reaches of a mountain, where the trees fell away in scraggy clumps and the snow stretched up clear and unbroken to the hill-crest. Paul grunted, licked his pipe-stem significantly and pointed his pole to the hill-top. The dark peak of a solitary wigwam appeared above the snow. He pointed again to the fringe of woods below us. A dozen wigwams were visible among the trees and smoke curled up from a central camp-fire. "_Voilà, Monsieur?_" said the _habitant_, which made four words for that day. The Mute then fell to my rear and we first approached the general camp. The campers were evidently thieves as well as hunters; for frozen pork hung with venison from the branches of several trees. The sap trough might also have belonged to them, which would explain Paul's laugh, as the whole paraphernalia of a sugaring-off was on the outskirts of the encampment. "Not the Indians we're after," said I, noting the signs of permanency; but Paul Larocque shoved me forward with the end of his pole and a curious, almost intelligent, expression came on the dull, pock-pitted face. Strangely enough, as I looked over my shoulder to the guide, I caught sight of an Indian figure climbing up the bank in our very tracks. The significance of this incident was to reveal itself later. As usual, a pack of savage dogs flew out to announce our coming with furious barking. But I declare the _habitant_ was so much like any ragged Indian, the creatures recognized him and left off their vicious snarl. Only the shrill-voiced children, who rushed from the wigwams; evinced either surprise or interest in our arrival. Men and women were haunched about the fire, above which simmered several pots with the savory odor of cooking meat. I do not think a soul of the company as much as turned a head on our approach. Though they saw us plainly, they sat stolid and imperturbable, after the manner of their race, waiting for us to announce ourselves. Some of the squaws and half-breed women were heaping bark on the fire. Indians sat straight-backed round the circle. White men, vagabond trappers from anywhere and everywhere, lay in all variety of lazy attitudes on buffalo robes and caribou skins. I had known, as every one familiar with Quebec's family histories must know, that the sons of old seigneurs sometimes inherited the adventurous spirit, which led their ancestors of three centuries ago to exchange the gayeties of the French court for the wild life of the new world. I was aware this spirit frequently transformed seigneurs into bush-rangers and descendants of the royal blood into _coureurs-des-bois_. But it is one thing to know a fact, another to see that fact in living embodiment; and in this case, the living embodiment was Louis Laplante, a school-fellow of Laval, whom, to my amazement, I now saw, with a beard of some months' growth and clad in buckskin, lying at full length on his back among that villainous band of nondescript trappers. Something of the surprise I felt must have shown on my face, for as Louis recognized me he uttered a shout of laughter. "Hullo, Gillespie!" he called with the saucy nonchalance which made him both a favorite and a torment at the seminary. "Are you among the prophets?" and he sat up making room for me on his buffalo robe. "I'll wager, Louis," said I, shaking his hand heartily and accepting the proffered seat, "I'll wager it's prophets spelt with an 'f' brings you here." For the young rake had been one of the most notorious borrowers at the seminary. "Good boy!" laughed he, giving my shoulder a clap. "I see your time was not wasted with me. Now, what the devil," he asked as I surveyed the motley throng of fat, coarse-faced squaws and hard-looking men who surrounded him, "now, what the devil's brought you here?" "What's the same, to yourself, Louis lad?" said I. He laughed the merry, heedless laugh that had been the distraction of the class-room. "Do you need to ask with such a galaxy of nut-brown maidens?" and Louis looked with the assurance of privileged impudence straight across the fire into the hideous, angry face of a big squaw, who was glaring at me. The creature was one to command attention. She might have been a great, bronze statue, a type of some ancient goddess, a symbol of fury, or cruelty. Her eyes fastened themselves on mine and held me, whether I would or no, while her whole face darkened. "The lady evidently objects to having her place usurped, Louis," I remarked, for he was watching the silent duel between the native woman's questioning eyes and mine. "The gentleman wants to know if the lady objects to having her place usurped?" called Louis to the squaw. At that the woman flinched and looked to Laplante. Of course, she did not understand our words; but I think she was suspicious we were laughing at her. There was a vindictive flash across her face, then the usual impenetrable expression of the Indian came over her features. I noticed that her cheeks and forehead were scarred, and a cut had laid open her upper lip from nose to teeth. "You must know that the lady is the daughter of a chief and a fighter," whispered Louis in my ear. I might have known she was above common rank from the extraordinary number of trinkets she wore. Pendants hung from her ears like the pendulum of a clock. She had a double necklace of polished bear's claws and around her waist was a girdle of agates, which to me proclaimed that she was of a far-western tribe. In the girdle was an ivory-handled knife, which had doubtless given as many scars as its owner displayed. "What tribe, Louis?" I asked. "I'll be hanged, now, if I'm not jealous," he began. "You'll stare the lady out of countenance----" But at this moment the Indian who had come up the bank behind us came round and interrupted Laplante's merriment by tossing a piece of bethumbed paper between my comrade's knees. "The deuce!" exclaimed Louis, bulging his tongue into one cheek and glancing at me with a queer, quizzical look as he unfolded and read the paper. If he had not spoken I might not have turned; but having turned I could not but notice two things. Louis jerked back from me, as if I might try to read the soiled note in his hand, and in raising the paper displayed on the back the stamp of the commissariat department from Quebec Citadel. Neither Laplante's suppressed surprise, nor my observations of his movement, escaped the big squaw. She came quickly round the fire to us both. "Give me that," she commanded, holding out her hand to the French youth. "The deuce I will," he returned, twisting the paper up in his clenched fist. Half in jest, half in earnest, just as Louis used to be punished at the seminary, she gave him a prompt box on the ear. He took it in perfect good-nature. And the whole encampment laughed. The squaw went back to the other side of the fire. Laplante leaned forward and threw the paper towards the flames; but without his knowledge, he overshot the mark; and when the trader was looking elsewhere the big squaw stooped, picked up the coveted note and slipped it into her skirt pocket. "Now, Louis, nonsense aside," I began. "With all my soul, if I have one," said he, lying back languidly with a perceptible cooling of the cordiality he had first evinced. I told him my errand, and that I wished to search every wigwam for trace of the lost woman and child. He listened with shut eyes. "It isn't," I explained in a low voice, eager to arouse his interest, "it isn't in the least, Laplante, that we suspect these people; but you know the kidnappers might have traded the clothing to your people----" "Oh! Go ahead!" he interjected impatiently. "Don't beat round the bush! What do you want of me?" "To go through the tents with me and help me. By Jove! Laplante! I thought at least a spark of the man would suggest that without my speaking," I broke out hotly. He was on his feet with an alacrity that brought old Paul Larocque round to my side and the squaw to his. "Curse you," he cried out roughly, shoving the squaw back. For a moment I was uncertain whether he were addressing the woman or myself. "You mind your own business and go to your Indian! Here, Gillespie, I'll do the tents with you. Get off with you," he muttered at the squaw, rumbling out a lingo of persuasive expletives; and he led the way to the first wigwam. But the squaw was not to be dismissed; for when I followed the Frenchman, she closed in behind looking thunder, not at her abuser, but at me; and The Mute, fearing foul play and pole in hand, loyally brought up the rear of our strange procession. I shall not retail that search through robes and skins and blankets and boxes, in foul-smelling, vermin-infested wigwams. It was fruitless. I only recall the lowering face of the big squaw looking over my shoulder at every turn, with heavy brows contracted and gashed lips grinning an evil, malicious challenge. I thought she kept her hands uncomfortably near the ivory handle in the agate belt; but Larocque, good fellow, never took his beady eyes off those same hands and kept a grip of the leaping pole. Thus we examined the tents and made a circuit of the people round the fire, but found nothing to reveal the whereabouts of Miriam and the child. Laplante and I were on one side of the robe, Larocque and the squaw on the other. "And why is that tent apart from the rest and who is in it?" I asked Laplante, pointing to the lone tepee on the crest of the hill. The fire cracked so loudly I became aware there was ominous silence among the loungers of the camp. They were listening as well as watching. Up to this time I had not thought they were paying the slightest attention to us. Laplante was not answering, and when I faced him suddenly I found the squaw's eyes fastened on his, holding them whether he would or no, just as she had mine. "Eh! man?" I cried, seizing him fiercely, a nameless suspicion getting possession of me. "Why don't you answer?" The spell was broken. He turned to me nonchalantly, as he used to face accusers in the school-days of long ago, and spoke almost gently, with downcast eyes, and a quiet, deprecating smile. "You know, Rufus," he answered, using the schoolboy name. "We should have told you before. But remember we didn't invite you here. We didn't lead you into it." "Well?" I demanded. "Well," he replied in a voice too low for any of the listeners but the squaw to hear, "there's a very bad case of smallpox up in that tent and we're keeping the man apart till he gets better. That, in fact, is why we're all here. You must go. It is not safe." "Thanks, Laplante," said I. "Good-by." But he did not offer me his hand when I made to take leave. "Come," he said. "I'll go as far as the gorge with you;" and he stood on the embankment and waved as we passed into the lengthening shadows of the valley. Now, in these days of health officers and vaccination, people can have no idea of the terrors of a smallpox scourge at the beginning of this century. The _habitant_ is as indifferent to smallpox as to measles, and accepts both as dispensations of Providence by exposing his children to the contagion as early as possible; but I was not so minded, and hurried down the gorge as fast as my snow-shoes would carry me. Then I remembered that the Indian population of the north had been reduced to a skeleton of its former numbers by the pestilence in 1780, and recalled that my Uncle Jack had said the native's superstitious dread of this disease knew no bounds. That recollection checked my sudden flight. If the Indians had such fear, why had this band camped within a mile of the pest tent? It would be more like Indian character to reverse Samaritan practises and leave the victim to die. This man might, of course, be a French-Canadian trapper, but I would take no risks of a trick, so I ordered Paul to lead me back to that tepee. The Mute seemed to understand I had no wish to be seen by the campers. He skirted round the base of the hill till we were on the side remote from the tribe. Then he motioned me to remain in the gorge while he scrambled up the cliff to reconnoitre. I knew he received a surprise as soon as his head was on a level with the top of the bank; for he curled himself up behind a snow-pile and gave a low whistle for me. I was beside him with one bound. We were not twenty pole-lengths from the wigwam. There was no appearance of life. The tent flaps had been laced up and a solitary watch-dog was tied to a stake before the entrance. Down the valley the setting sun shone through the naked trees like a wall of fire, and dyed all the glistening snow-drifts primrose and opal. At one place in the forest the red light burst through and struck against the tent on the hill-top, giving the skins a peculiar appearance of being streaked with blood. The faintest breath of wind, a mere sigh of moving air-currents peculiar to snow-padded areas, came up from the woods with far-away echoes of the trappers' voices. Perhaps this was heard by the watch-dog, or it may have felt the disturbing presence of my half-wild _habitant_ guide; for it sat back on its haunches and throwing up its head, let out the most doleful howlings imaginable. "Oh! _Monsieur_," shuddered out the superstitious habitant shivering like an aspen leaf, "sick man moan,--moan,--moan hard! He die, _Monsieur_, he die, he die now when dog cry lak dat," and full of fear he scrambled down into the gorge, making silent gestures for me to follow. For a time--but not long, I must acknowledge--I lay there alone, watching and listening. Paul's ears might hear the moans of a sick man, mine could not: nor would I return to the Chateau without ascertaining for a certainty what was in that wigwam. Slipping off the snow-shoes, I rose and tip-toed over the snow with the full intention of silencing the dog with my pole; but I was suddenly arrested by the distinct sound of pain-racked groaning. Then the brute of a dog detected my approach and with a furious leaping that almost hung him with his own rope set up a vicious barking. Suddenly the black head of an Indian, or trapper, popped through the tent flaps and a voice shouted in perfect English--"Go away! Go away! The pest! The pest!" "Who has smallpox?" I bawled back. "A trader, a Nor'-Wester," said he. "If you have anything for him lay it on the snow and I'll come for it." As honor pledged me to serve Hamilton until he found his wife, I was not particularly anxious to exchange civilities at close range with a man from a smallpox tent; so I quickly retraced my way to the gorge and hurried homeward with The Mute. My old school-fellow's sudden change towards me when he received the letter written on Citadel paper, and the big squaw's suspicion of my every movement, now came back to me with a significance I had not felt when I was at the camp. Either intuitions like those of my _habitant_ guide, which instinctively put out feelers with the caution of an insect's antennæ for the presence of vague, unknown evil, lay dormant in my own nature and had been aroused by the incidents at the camp, or else the mind, by the mere fact of holding information in solution, widens its own knowledge. For now, in addition to the letter from the Citadel and the squaw's animosity, came the one missing factor--Adderly. I felt, rather than knew, that Louis Laplante had deceived me. Had he lied? A lie is the clumsy invention of the novice. An expert accomplishes his deceit without anything so grossly and tangibly honest as a lie; and Louis was an expert. Though I had not a vestige of proof, I could have sworn that Adderly and the squaw and Louis were leagued against me for some dark purpose. I was indeed learning the first lessons of the trapper's life: never to open my lips on my own affairs to another man, and never to believe another man when he opened his lips to me. CHAPTER IV LAUNCHED INTO THE UNKNOWN "You should have knocked that blasted quarantine's head off," ejaculated Mr. Jack MacKenzie, with ferocious emphasis. I had been relating my experience with the campers; and was recounting how the man put his head out of the tent and warned me of smallpox. But my uncle was a gentleman of the old school and had a fine contempt for quarantine. "Knocked his head off, knocked his head off, Sir," he continued, explosively. "Make it a point to knock the head off anything that stands in your way, Sir----" "But you don't suppose," I expostulated, about to voice my own suspicions. "_Suppose!_" he roared out. "I make it a point never to _suppose_ anything. I act on facts, Sir! You wanted to go into that wigwam; didn't you? Well then, why the deuce didn't you go, and knock the head off anything that opposed you?" Being highly successful in all his own dealings, Mr. Jack MacKenzie could not tolerate failure in other people. A month of vigilant searching had yielded not the slightest inkling of Miriam and the child; and this fact ignited all the gunpowder of my uncle's fiery temperament. We had felt so sure Le Grand Diable's band of vagabonds would hang about till the brigades of the North-West Company's tripmen set out for the north, all our efforts were spent in a vain search for some trace of the rascals in the vicinity of Quebec. His gypsy nondescripts would hardly dare to keep the things taken from Miriam and the child. These would be traded to other tribes; so day and night, Mr. MacKenzie, Eric and I, with hired spies, dogged the footsteps of trappers, who were awaiting the breaking up of the ice; shadowed _voyageurs_, who passed idle days in the dram-shops of Lower Town, and scrutinized every native who crossed our path, ever on the alert for a glimpse of Diable, or his associates. Diligently we tracked all Indian trails through Charlesbourg forest and examined every wigwam within a week's march of the city. Le Grand Diable was not likely to be among his ancestral enemies at Lorette, but his half-breed followers might have traded with the Hurons; and the lodges at Lorette were also searched. Watches were set along the St. Lawrence, so no one could approach an opening before the ice broke up, or launch a canoe after the water had cleared, without our knowledge. But Le Grand Diable and his band had vanished as mysteriously as Miriam. It was as impossible to learn where the Iroquois had gone as to follow the wind. His disappearance was altogether as unaccountable as the lost woman's, and this, of itself, confirmed our suspicions. Had he sold, or slain his captives, he would not have remained in hiding; and the very fruitlessness of the search redoubled our zeal. The conviction that Louis Laplante had, somehow or other, played me false, stuck in my mind like the depression of a bad dream. Again and again, I related the circumstances to my uncle; but he "pished," and "tushed," and "pooh-poohed," the very idea of any kidnappers remaining so near the city and giving me free run of their wigwams. My reasonless persistence was beginning to irritate him. Indeed, on one occasion, he informed me that I had as many vagaries in my head as a "bed-ridden hag," and with great fervor he "wished to the Lord there was a law in this land for the ham-stringing of such fool idiots, as that _habitant_ Mute, who led me such a wild-goose chase." In spite of this and many other jeremiades, I once more donned snow-shoes and with Paul for guide paid a second visit to the campers of the gorge. And a second time, I was welcomed by Louis and taken through the wigwams. The smallpox tent was no longer on the crest of the hill; and when I asked after the patient, Louis without a word pointed solemnly to a snow-mound, where the man lay buried. But I did not see the big squaw, nor the face that had emerged from the tent flaps to wave me off; and when I also inquired after these, Louis' face darkened. He told me bluntly I was asking too many questions and began to swear in a mongrel jargon of French and English that my conduct was an insult he would take from no man. But Louis was ever short of temper. I remembered that of old. Presently his little flare-up died down, and he told me that the woman and her husband had gone north through the woods to join some crews on the Upper Ottawa. From the talk of the others, I gathered that, having disposed of their hunt to the commissariat department at the Citadel, they intended to follow the same trail within a few days. I tried without questioning to learn what crews they were to join; but whether with purpose, or by chance, the conversation drifted from my lead and I had to return to the city without satisfaction on that point. Meanwhile, Hamilton rested neither night nor day. In the morning with a few hurried words he would outline the plan for the day. At night he rode back to the Chateau with such eager questioning in his eyes when they met mine, I knew he had nothing better to report to me, than I to him. After a silent meal, he would ride through the dark forest on a fresh mount. How and where he passed those sleepless nights, I do not know. Thus had a month slipped away; and we had done everything and accomplished nothing. Baffled, I had gone to confer with Mr. Jack MacKenzie and had, as usual, exasperated him with the reiterated conviction that Adderly and the Citadel writing paper and Louis Laplante had some connection with the malign influence that was balking our efforts. "Fudge!" exclaims my uncle, stamping about his study and puffing with indignation. "You should have knocked that blasted quarantine's head off!" "You've said that several times already, Mr. MacKenzie," I put in, having a touch of his own peppery temper from my mother's side. "What about Adderly's rage?" "Adderly's been in Montreal since the night of the row. For the Lord's sake, boy, do you expect to find the woman by believing in that bloated bugaboo?" "But the Citadel paper?" I persisted. "Of course you've never been told, Rufus Gillespie," he began, choking down his impatience with the magnitude of my stupidity, "that the commissariat buys supplies from hunters?" "That doesn't explain the big squaw's suspicions and Louis' own conduct." "That Louis!" says my uncle. "Pah! That son of an inflated old seigneur! A fig for the buck! Not enough brains in his pate to fill a peanut!" "But there might be enough evil in his heart to wreck a life," and that was the first argument to pierce my uncle's scepticism. The keen eyes glanced out at me as if there might be some hope for my intelligence, and he took several turns about the room. "Hm! If you're of that mind, you'd better go out and excavate the smallpox," was his sententious conclusion. "And if it's a hoax, you'd better----" and he puckered his brows in thought. "What?" I asked eagerly. "Join the traders' crews and track the villains west," he answered with the promptitude of one who decides quickly and without vacillation. "O Lord! If I were only young! But to think of a man too stout and old to buckle on his own snow-shoes hankering for that life again!" And my uncle heaved a deep sigh. Now, no one, who has not lived the wild, free life of the northern trader, can understand the strange fascinations which for the moment eclipsed in this courteous and chivalrous old gentleman's mind all thought of the poor woman, with whom my own fate was interwoven. But I, who have lived in the lonely fastnesses of the splendid freedom, know full well what surging recollections of danger and daring, of success and defeat, of action in which one faces and laughs at death, and calm in which one sounds the unutterable depths of very infinity--thronged the old trader's soul. Indeed, when he spoke, it was as if the sentence of my own life had been pronounced; and my whole being rose up to salute destiny. I take it, there is in every one some secret and cherished desire for a chosen vocation to which each looks forward with hope up to the meridian of life, and to which many look back with regret after the meridian. Of prophetic instincts and intuitions and impressions and feelings and much more of the same kind going under a different name, I say nothing, I only set down as a fact, to be explained how it may, that all the way out to the gorge, with Paul, The Mute leading for a third time, I could have sworn there would be no corpse in that snow-covered grave. For was it not written in my inner consciousness that destiny had appointed me to the wild, free life of the north? So I was not surprised when Paul Larocque's spade struck sharply on a box. Indians sleep their last sleep in the skins of the chase. Nor was I in the least amazed when that same spade pried up the lid of cached provisions instead of a coffin. Then I had ocular proof of what I knew before, that Louis in word and conduct--but chiefly in conduct, which is the way of the expert had--lied outrageously to me. When the ice broke up at the end of April, hunters were off for their summer retreats and _voyageurs_ set out on the annual trip to the _Pays d'En Haut_. This year the Hudson's Bay Company had organized a strong fleet of canoemen under Mr. Colin Robertson, a former Nor'-Wester, to proceed to Red River settlement by way of the Ottawa and the Sault instead of entering the fur preserve by the usual route of Hudson Bay and York Factory. From Le Grand Diable's former association with the North-West Company it was probable he would be in Robertson's brigade. Among the _voyageurs_ of both companies there was not a more expert canoeman than this treacherous, thievish Iroquois. As steersman, he could take a crew safely through knife-edge rocks with the swift certainty of arrow flight. In spite of a reputation for embodying the vices of white man and red--which gave him his unsavory title--it seemed unlikely that the Hudson's Bay Company, now in the thick of an aggressive campaign against its great rival, and about to despatch an important flotilla from Montreal to Athabasca by way of the Nor'-Westers' route, would dispense with the services of this dexterous _voyageur_. On the other hand, the Nor'-Westers might bribe the Iroquois to stay with them. Acting on these alternative possibilities, Hamilton and I determined to track the fugitives north. We could leave hirelings to shadow the movements of Indian bands about Quebec. Eric could re-engage with the Hudson's Bay and get passage north with Colin Robertson's brigade, which was to leave Lachine in a few weeks. My uncle had been a famous _Bourgeois_ of the great North-West Company in his younger days, and could secure me an immediate commission in the North-West Company. Thus we could accompany the _voyageurs_ and runners of both companies. Hamilton's arrangements were easily made; and my uncle not only obtained the commission for me, but, with a hearty clap on my back and a "Bravo, boy! I knew the fur trader's fever would break out in you yet!" pinned to the breast of my inner waistcoat the showy gold medallion which the _Bourgeois_ wore on festive occasions. In very truth I oft had need of its inspiriting motto: _Fortitude in Distress_. Feudal lords of the middle ages never waged more ruthless war on each other than the two great fur trading companies of the north at the beginning of the nineteenth century. Pierre de Raddison and Grosselier, gentlemen adventurers of New France, first followed the waters of the Outawa (Ottawa) northward, and passed from Lake Superior (the _kelche gamme_ of Indian lore) to the great unknown fur preserve between Hudson Bay and the Pacific Ocean; but the fur monopolists of the French court in Quebec jealously obstructed the explorers' efforts to open up the vast territory. De Raddison was compelled to carry his project to the English court, and the English court, with a liberality not unusual in those days, promptly deeded over the whole domain, the extent, locality and wealth of which there was utter ignorance, to a fur trading organization,--the newly formed "Company of Adventurers of England, trading into Hudson's Bay," incorporated in 1670 with Prince Rupert named as first governor. If monopolists of New France, through envy, sacrificed Quebec's first claim to the unknown land, Frontenac made haste to repair the loss. Father Albanel, a Jesuit, and other missionaries led the way westward to the _Pays d'En Haut_. De Raddison twice changed his allegiance, and when Quebec fell into the hands of the British nearly a century later, the French traders were as active in the northern fur preserve as their great rivals, the Ancient and Honorable Hudson's Bay Company; but the Englishmen kept near the bay and the Frenchmen with their _coureurs-des-bois_ pushed westward along the chain of water-ays leading from Lake Superior and Lake Winnipeg to the Saskatchewan and Athabasca. Then came the Conquest, with the downfall of French trade in the north country. But there remained the _coureurs-des-bois_, or wood-rangers, the _Metis_, or French half-breeds, the _Bois-Brulés_, or plain runners--so called, it is supposed, from the trapper's custom of blazing his path through the forest. And on the ruins of French barter grew up a thriving English trade, organized for the most part by enterprising citizens of Quebec and Montreal, and absorbing within itself all the cast-off servants of the old French companies. Such was the origin of the X. Y. and North-West Companies towards the beginning of the nineteenth century. Of these the most energetic and powerful--and therefore the most to be feared by the Ancient and Honorable Hudson's Bay Company--was the North-West Company, "_Les Bourgeois de la Compagnie du Nord-Ouest_," as the partners designated themselves. From the time that the North-Westers gratuitously poured their secrets into the ears of Lord Selkirk, and Lord Selkirk shrewdly got control of the Hudson's Bay Company and began to infuse Nor'-Westers' zeal into the stagnant workings of the older company, there arose such a feud among these lords of the north as may be likened only to the pillaging of robber barons in the middle ages. And this feud was at its height when I cast in my lot with the North-West Fur Company, Nor'-Westers had reaped a harvest of profits by leaving the beaten track of trade and pushing boldly northward into the remote MacKenzie River region. This year the Hudson's Bay had determined to enter the same area and employed a former Nor'-Wester, Mr. Colin Robertson, to conduct a flotilla of canoes from Lachine, Montreal, by way of the Nor'-Westers' route up the Ottawa to the Saskatchewan and Athabasca. But while the Hudson's Bay Company could ship their peltries directly to England from the bay, the Nor'-Westers labored under the disadvantage of many delays and trans-shipments before their goods reached seaboard at Montreal. Indeed, I have heard my uncle tell of orders which he sent from the north to England in October. The things ordered in October would be sent from London in March to reach Montreal in mid-summer. There they would be re-packed in small quantities for portaging and despatched from Montreal with the Nor'-Western _voyageurs_ the following May, and if destined for the far north would not reach the end of their long trip until October--two years from the time of the order. Yet, under such conditions had the Nor'-Westers increased in prosperity, while the Hudson's Bay, with its annual ships at York Factory and Churchill, declined. When Lord Selkirk took hold of the Hudson's Bay there was a change. Once a feud has begun, I know very well it is impossible to apportion the blame each side deserves. Whether Selkirk timed his acts of aggression during the American war of 1812-1814, when the route of the Nor'-Westers was rendered unsafe--who can say? Whether he brought colonists into the very heart of the disputed territory for the sake of the colonists, or to be drilled into an army of defense for The Hudson's Bay Company--who can say? Whether he induced his company to grant him a vast area of land at the junction of the Red and Assiniboine rivers--against which a minority of stockholders protested--for the sake of these same colonists, or to hold a strategical point past which North-Westers' cargoes must go--who can say? On these subjects, which have been so hotly discussed both inside and outside law courts, without any definite decision that I have ever heard, I refuse to pass judgment. I can but relate events as I saw them and leave to each the right of a personal decision. In 1815, Nor'-Westers' canoes were to leave Ste. Anne de Beaupré, twenty miles east of Quebec, instead of Ste. Anne on the Ottawa, the usual point of departure. We had not our full complement of men. Some of the Indians and half-breeds had gone northwest overland through the bush to a point on the Ottawa River north of Chaudière Falls, where they were awaiting us, and Hamilton, through the courtesy of my uncle, was able to come with us in our boats as far as Lachine. I was never a grasping trader, but I provided myself before setting out with every worthless gew-gaw and flashy trifle that could tempt the native to betray Indian secrets. Lest these should fail, I added to my stock a dozen as fine new flint-locks as could corrupt the soul of an Indian, and without consideration for the enemy's scalp also equipped myself with a box of wicked-looking hunting-knives. These things I placed in square cases and sat upon them when we were in barges, or pillowed my head upon them at night, never losing sight of them except on long portages where Indians conveyed our cargo on their backs. A man on a less venturesome quest than mine could hardly have set out with the brigades of canoemen for the north country and not have been thrilled like a lad on first escape from school's leading strings. There we were, twenty craft strong, with clerks, traders, one steersman and eight willowy, copper-skin paddlers in each long birch canoe. No oriental prince could be more gorgeously appareled than these gay _voyageurs_. Flaunting red handkerchiefs banded their foreheads and held back the lank, black hair. Buckskin smocks, fringed with leather down the sleeves and beaded lavishly in bright colors, were drawn tight at the waist by sashes of flaming crimson, green and blue. In addition to the fringe of leather down the trouser seams, some in our company had little bells fastened from knee to ankle. It was a strange sight to see each of these reckless denizens of forest and plain pause reverently before the chapel of _La Bonne Sainte Anne_, cross himself, invoke her protection on the voyage and drop some offering in the treasury box before hurrying to his place in the canoe. One Indian left the miniature of a carved boat in the hands of the priest at the porch. It was his votive gift to the saint and may be seen there to this day. As we were embarking I noticed Eric had not come down and the canoes were already gliding about the wharf awaiting the head steersman's signal. I had last seen him on the church steps and ran back from the river to learn the cause of his delay. Now Hamilton is not a Catholic; neither is he a Protestant; but I would not have good people ascribe his misfortunes to this lack of creed, for a trader in the far north loses denominational distinctions and a better man I have never known. What, then, was my surprise to meet him face to face coming out of the chapel with tears coursing down his cheeks and floor-dust thick upon his knees? Women know what to do and say in such a case. A man must be dumb, or blunder; so I could but link my arm through his and lead him silently down to my own canoe. A single wave of the chief steersman's hand, and out swept the paddles in a perfect harmony of motion. Then someone struck up a _voyageurs'_ ballad and the canoemen unconsciously kept time with the beat of the song. The valley seemed filled with the voices of those deep-chested, strong singers, and the chimes of Ste. Anne clashed out a last sweet farewell. "Cheer up, old man!" said I to Eric, who was sitting with face buried in his hands. "Cheer up! Do you hear the bells? It's a God-speed for you!" CHAPTER V CIVILIZATION'S VENEER RUBS OFF My uncle accompanied our flotilla as far as Lachine and occupied a place in my division of canoes. Many were the admonitions he launched out like thunderbolts whenever his craft and mine chanced to glide abreast. "If you lay hands on that skunk," he had said, the malodorous epithet being his designation for Louis Laplante, "If you lay hands on that skunk, don't be a simpleton. Skin him, Sir, by the Lord, skin him! Let him play the ostrich act! Keep your own counsel and work him for all you're worth! Let him play his deceitful game! By Jove! Give the villain rope enough to hang himself! Gain your end! Afterwards forget and forgive if you like; but, by the Lord, remember and don't ignore the fact, that repentance can't turn a skunk into an innocent, pussy cat!" And so Mr. Jack MacKenzie continued to warn me all the way from Quebec to Montreal, mixing his metaphors as topers mix drinks. But I had long since learned not to remonstrate against these outbursts of explosive eloquence--not though all the canons of Laval literati should be outraged. "What, Sir?" he had roared out when I, in full conceit of new knowledge, had audaciously ventured to pull him up, once in my student days. "What, Sir? Don't talk to me of your book-fangled balderdash! Is language for the use of man, or man for the use of language?" and he quoted from Hamlet's soliloquy in a way that set me packing my pedant lore in the unused lumber-room of brain lobes. And so, I say, Mr. Jack MacKenzie continued to pour instructions into my ear for the venturesome life on which I had entered. "The lad's a fool, only a fool," he said, still harping on Louis, "and mind you answer the fool according to his folly!" "Most men are fools first, and then knaves, knaves because they have been fools," I returned to my uncle, "and I fancy Laplante has graduated from the fool stage by this time, and is a full diploma knave!" "That's all true," he retorted, "but don't you forget there's always fool enough left in the knave to give you your opportunity, if you're not a fool. Joint in the armor, lad! Use your cutlass there." Apart from the peppery discourses of my kinsman, I remember very little of the trip up the St. Lawrence from Ste. Anne to Lachine with Eric sitting dazed and silent opposite me. We, of course, followed the river channel between the Island of Orleans and the north shore; and whenever our boats drew near the mainland, came whiffs of crisp, frosty air from the dank ravines, where snow patches yet lay in the shadow. Then the fleet would sidle towards the island and there would be the fresh, spring odor of damp, uncovered mold, with a vague suggestiveness of violets and May-flowers and ferns bursting with a rush through the black clods. The purple folds of the mountains, with their wavy outlines fading in the haze of distance, lay on the north as they lie to-day; and everywhere on the hills were the white cots of _habitant_ hamlets with chapel spires pointing above tree-tops. At the western end of the island, where boats sheer out into mid-current, came the dull, heavy roar of the cataract and above the north shore rose great, billowy clouds of foam. With a sweep of our paddles, we were opposite a cleft in the vertical rock and saw the shimmering, fleecy waters of Montmorency leap over the dizzy precipice churning up from their own whirling depths and bound out to the river like a panther after prey. Now the Isle of Orleans was vanishing on our rear and the bold heights of Point Levis had loomed up to the fore; and now we had poked our prows to the right and the sluggish, muddy tide of the St. Charles lapped our canoes, while a forest of masts and yard-arms and flapping sails arose from the harbor of Quebec City. The great walls of modern Quebec did not then exist; but the rude fortifications, that sloped down from the lofty Citadel on Cape Diamond and engirt the whole city on the hillside, seemed imposing enough to us in those days. It was late in the afternoon when we passed. The sunlight struck across the St. Charles, brightening the dull, gray stone of walls and cathedrals and convents, turning every window on the west to fire and transforming a multitude of towers and turrets and minarets to glittering gold. Small wonder, indeed, that all our rough tripmen stopped paddling and with eyes on the spire of Notre Dame des Victoires muttered prayers for a prosperous voyage. For some reason or other, I found my own hat off. So was Mr. Jack MacKenzie's, so was Eric Hamilton's. Then the _voyageurs_ fell to work again. The canoes spread out. We rounded Cape Diamond and the lengthening shadow of the high peak darkened the river before us. Always the broad St. Lawrence seemed to be winding from headland to headland among the purple hills, in sunlight a mirror between shadowy, forest banks, at night, molten silver in the moon-track. Afternoon slipped into night and night to morning, and each hour of daylight presented some new panorama of forests and hills and torrents. Here the river widened into a lake. There the lake narrowed to rapids; and so we came to Lachine--La Chine, named in ridicule of the gallant explorer, La Salle, who thought these vast waterways would surely lead him to China. At Lachine, Mr. Jack MacKenzie, with much brusque bluster to conceal his longings for the life he was too old to follow and many cynical injunctions about "skinning the skunk" and "knocking the head off anything that stood in my way" and "always profiting from the follies of other men"--"mind, have none yourself,"--parted from us. Here, too, Eric gripped my hand a tense, wordless farewell and left our party for the Hudson's Bay brigade under Colin Robertson. It has always been a mystery to me why our rivals sent that brigade to Athabasca by way of Lachine instead of Hudson Bay, which would have been two thousand miles nearer. We Nor'-Westers went all the way to and from Montreal, solely because that was our only point of access to the sea; but the Hudson's Bay people had their own Hudson Bay for a starting place. Why, in their slavish imitation of the methods, which brought us success, they also adopted our disadvantages, I could never understand. Birch canoes and good tripmen could, of course, as the Hudson's Bay men say, be most easily obtained in Quebec; but with a good organizer, the same could have been gathered up two thousand miles nearer York Factory, on Hudson Bay. Indeed, I have often thought the sole purpose of that expedition was to get Nor'-Westers' methods by employing discarded Nor'-Westers as trappers and _voyageurs_. Colin Robertson, the leader, had himself been a Nor'-Wester; and all the men with him except Eric Hamilton were renegades, "turn-coat traders," as we called them. But I must not be unjust; for neither company could possibly exceed the other in its zeal to entice away old trappers, who would reveal opponents' secrets. Acting on my uncle's advice, I made shift to pick up a few crumbs of valuable information. Had the Hudson's Bay known, I suppose they would have called me a spy. That was the name I gave any of them who might try such tricks with me. The General Assembly of the North-West partners was to meet at Fort William, at the head of Lake Superior. I learned that Robertson's brigade were anxious to slip past our headquarters at Fort William before the meeting and would set out that very day. I also heard they had sent forward a messenger to notify the Hudson's Bay governor at Fort Douglas of their brigade's coming. Almost before I realized it, we were speeding up the Ottawa, past a second and third and fourth Ste. Anne's; for she is the _voyageurs'_ patron saint and her name dots Canada's map like ink-blots on a boy's copybook. Wherever a Ste. Anne's is now found, there has the _voyageur_ of long ago passed and repassed. In places the surface of the river, gliding to meet us, became oily, almost glassy, as if the wave-current ran too fast to ripple out to the banks. Then little eddies began whirling in the corrugated water and our paddlers with labored breath bent hard to their task. By such signs I learned to know when we were stemming the tide of some raging waterfall, or swift rapid. There would follow quick disembarking, hurried portages over land through a tangle of forest, or up slippery, damp rocks, a noisy launching far above the torrent and swifter progress when the birch canoes touched water again. Such was the tireless pace, which made North-West _voyageurs_ famous. Such was the work the great _Bourgeois_ exacted of their men. A liberal supply of rum, when stoppages were made, and of bread and meat for each meal--better fare than was usually given by the trading companies--did much to encourage the tripmen. Each man was doing his utmost to out-distance the bold rivals following by our route. The _Bourgeois_ were to meet at Fort William early in June. At all hazards we were determined to notify our company of the enemy's invading flotilla; and without margin for accidents we had but a month to cross half a continent. At nightfall the fourth day from the shrine, after a tiresome nine-mile traverse past the Chaudière Falls of the Ottawa, glittering camp-fires on the river bank ahead showed where a fresh relay of canoemen awaited us. They were immediately taken into the different crews and night-shifts of paddlers put to work. It was quite dark, when the new hands joined us; but in the moonlight, as the chief steersman told off the men by name, I watched each tawny figure step quickly to his place in the canoes, with that gliding Indian motion, which scarcely rocked the light craft. There came to my crew Little Fellow, a short, thick-set man, with a grinning, good-natured face, who--despite his size--would solemnly assure people he was equal in force to the sun. With him was La Robe Noire, of grave aspect and few words, mighty in stature and shoulder power. There were five or six others, whose names in the clangor of voices I did not hear. Of these, one was a tall, lithe, swift-moving man, whose cunning eyes seemed to gleam with the malice of a serpent. This canoeman silently twisted into sleeping posture directly behind me. The signal was given, and we were in mid-stream again. Wrapping my blanket about me, half propped by a bale of stuff and breathing deep of the clear air with frequent resinous whiffs from the forest I drowsed off. The swish of waters rushing past and the roar of torrents, which I had seen and heard during the day, still sounded in my ears. The sigh of the night-wind through the forest came like the lonely moan of a far-distant sea, and I was sleepily half conscious that cedars, pines and cliffs were engaged in a mad race past the sides of the canoe. A bed in which one may not stretch at random is not comfortable. Certainly my cramped limbs must have caused bad dreams. A dozen times I could have sworn the Indian behind me had turned into a snake and was winding round my chest in tight, smothering coils. Starting up, I would shake the weight off. Once I suddenly opened my eyes to find blanket thrown aside and pistol belt unstrapped. Lying back eased, I was dozing again when I distinctly felt a hand crawl stealthily round the pack on which I was pillowed and steal towards the dagger handle in the loosened belt. I struck at it viciously only to bruise my fist on my dagger. Now wide awake, I turned angrily towards the Indian. Not a muscle of the still figure had changed from the attitude taken when he came into the canoe. The man was not asleep, but reclined in stolid oblivion of my existence. His head was thrown back and the steely, unflinching eyes were fixed on the stars. "It may not have been you, my scowling sachem," said I to myself, "but snakes have fangs. Henceforth I'll take good care you're not at my back." I slept no more that night. Next day I asked the fellow his name and he poured out such a jumbled mouthful of quick-spoken, Indian syllables, I was not a whit the wiser. I told him sharply he was to be Tom Jones on my boat, at which he gave an evil leer. Without stay we still pushed forward. The arrowy pace was merciless to red men and white; but that was the kind of service the great North-West Company always demanded. Some ten miles from the outlet of Lake Nipissangue (Nipissing) foul weather threatened delay. The _Bourgeois_ were for proceeding at any risk; but as the thunder-clouds grew blacker and the wind more violent, the head steersman lost his temper and grounded his canoe on the sands at _Point à la Croix_. Springing ashore he flung down his pole and refused to go on. "Sacredie!" he screamed, first pointing to the gathering storm and then to the crosses that marked the fate of other foolhardy _voyageurs_, "Allez si vous voulez! Pour moi je n'irai pas; ne voyez pas le danger!" A hurricane of wind, snapping the great oaks as a chopper breaks kindling wood, enforced his words. Canoes were at once beached and tarpaulins drawn over the bales of provisions. The men struggled to hoist a tent; but gusts of wind tossed the canvas above their heads, and before the pegs were driven a great wall of rain-drift drenched every one to the skin. By sundown the storm had gone southeast and we unrighteously consoled ourselves that it would probably disorganize the Hudson's Bay brigade as much as it had ours. Plainly, we were there for the night. _Point à la Croix_ is too dangerous a spot for navigation after dark. With much patience we kindled the soaked underbrush and finally got a pile of logs roaring in the woods and gathered round the fire. The glare in the sky attracted the lake tribes from their lodges. Indians, half-breeds and shaggy-haired whites--degenerate traders, who had lost all taste for civilization and retired with their native wives after the fashion of the north country--came from the Nipissangue encampments and joined our motley throng. Presently the natives drew off to a fire by themselves, where there would be no white-man's restraint. They had either begged or stolen traders' rum, and after the hard trip from Ste. Anne, were eager for one of their mad _boissons_--a drinking-bout interspersed with jigs and fights. Stretched before our camp, I watched the grotesque figures leaping and dancing between the firelight and the dusky woods like forest demons. With the leaves rustling overhead, the water laving the pebbles on the shore, and the washed pine air stimulating one's blood like an intoxicant, I began wondering how many years of solitary life it would take to wear through civilization's veneer and leave one content in the lodges of forest wilds. Gradually I became aware of my sulky canoeman's presence on the other side of the camp-fire. The man had not joined the revels of the other _voyageurs_ but sat on his feet, oriental style, gazing as intently at the flames as if spellbound by some fire-spirit. "What's wrong with that fellow, anyhow?" I asked a veteran trader, who was taking last pulls at a smoked-out pipe. "Sick--home-sick," was the laconic reply. "You'd think he was near enough nature here to feel at home! Where's his tribe?" "It ain't his tribe he wants," explained the trader. "What, then?" I inquired. "His wife, he's mad after her," and the trader took the pipe from his teeth. "Faugh!" I laughed. "The idea of an Indian sentimental and love-sick for some fat lump of a squaw! Come! Come! Am I to believe that?" "Don't matter whether you do, or not," returned the trader. "It's a fact. His wife's a Sioux chief's daughter. She went north with a gang of half-breeds and hunters last month; and he's been fractious crazy ever since." "What's his name?" I called, as my informant vanished behind the tent flaps. Again that mouthful of Indian syllables, unintelligible and unspeakable for me was tumbled forth. Then I turned to the fantastic figures carousing around the other camp fire. One form, in particular, I seemed to distinguish from the others. He was gathering the Indians in line for some native dance and had an easy, rakish sort of grace, quite different from the serpentine motions of the redskins. By a sudden turn, his profile was thrown against the fire and I saw that he wore a pointed beard. He was no Indian; and like a flash came one of those strange, reasonless intuitions, which precede, or proceed from, the slow motions of the mind. Was this the _avant-courier_ of the Hudson's Bay, delayed, like ourselves, by the storm? I had hardly spelled out my own suspicion, when to the measured beatings of the tom-tom, gradually becoming faster, and with a low, weird, tuneless chant, like the voices of the forest, the Indians began to tread a mazy, winding pace, which my slow eyes could not follow, but which in a strange way brought up memories of snaky convolutions about the naked body of some Egyptian serpent-charmer. The drums beat faster. The suppressed voices were breaking in shrill, wild, exultant strains, and the measured tread had quickened from a walk to a run and from a swaying run to a swift, labyrinthine pace, which has no name in English, and which I can only liken to the wiggling of a green thing under leafy covert. The coiling and circling and winding of the dancers became bewildering, and in the centre, laughing, shouting, tossing up his arms and gesticulating like a maniac, was the white man with the pointed beard. Then the performers broke from their places and gave themselves with utter abandon to the wild impulses of wild natures in a wild world; and there was such a scene of uncurbed, animal hilarity as I never dreamed possible. Savage, furious, almost ferocious like the frisking of a pack of wolves, that at any time may fall upon and destroy a weaker one, the boisterous antics of these children of the forest fascinated me. Filled with the curiosity that lures many a trader to his undoing, I rose and went across to the thronging, shouting, shadowy figures. A man darted out of the woods full tilt against me. 'Twas he of the pointed beard, my _suspect_ of the Hudson's Bay Company. Quick as thought I thrust out my foot and tripped him full length on the ground. The light fell on his upturned face. It was Louis Laplante, that past-master in the art of diplomatic deception. He snarled out something angrily and came to himself in sitting posture. Then he recognized me. "_Mon Dieu!_" he muttered beneath his breath, momentarily surprised into a betrayal of astonishment. "You, Gillespie?" he called out, at once regaining himself and assuming his usual nonchalance. "Pardon, my solemncholy! I took you for a tree." "Granted, your impudence," said I, ignoring the slight but paying him back in kind. I was determined to follow my uncle's advice and play the rascal at his own game. "Help you up?" said I, as pleasantly as I could, extending my hand to give him a lift; and I felt his palm hot and his arm tremble. Then, I knew that Louis was drunk and this was the fool's joint in the knave's armor, on which Mr. Jack MacKenzie bade me use my weapons. "Tra-la!" he answered with mincing insult. "Tra-la, old tombstone! Good-by, my mausoleum! Au revoir, old death's-head! Adieu, grave skull!" With an absurdly elaborate bow, he reeled back among the dancers. "Get up, comrade," I urged, rushing into the tent, where the old trader I had questioned about my canoeman was now snoring. "Get up, man," and I shook him. "There's a Hudson's Bay spy!" "Spy," he shouted, throwing aside the moose-skin coverlet. "Spy! Who?" "It's Louis Laplante, of Quebec." "Louis Laplante!" reiterated the trader. "A Frenchman employed by the Hudson's Bay! Laplante, a trapper, with them! The scoundrel!" And he ground out oaths that boded ill for Louis. "Hold on!" I exclaimed, jerking him back. He was for dashing on Laplante with a cudgel. "He's playing the trapper game with the lake tribes." "I'll trapper him," vowed the trader. "How do you know he's a spy?" "I don't _know_, really know," I began, clumsily conscious that I had no proof for my suspicions, "but it strikes me we'd better not examine this sort of suspect at too long range. If we're wrong, we can let him go." "Bag him, eh?" queried the trader. "That's it," I assented. "He's a hard one to bag." "But he's drunk." "Drunk, Oh! Drunk is he?" laughed the man. "He'll be drunker," and the trader began rummaging through bales of stuff with a noise of bottles knocking together. He was humming in a low tone, like a grimalkin purring after a full meal of mice-- "Rum for Indians, when they come, Rum for the beggars, when they go, That's the trick my grizzled lads To catch the cash and snare the foe." "What's your plan?" I asked with a vague feeling the trader had some shady purpose in mind. "Squeamish? Eh? You'll get over that, boy. I'll trap your trapper and spy your spy, and Nor'-Wester your H. B. C.! You come down to the sand between the forest and the beach in about an hour and I'll have news for you," and he brushed past me with his arms full of something I could not see in the half-light. Then, as a trader, began my first compromise with conscience, and the enmity which I thereby aroused afterwards punished me for that night's work. I knew very well my comrade, with the rough-and-ready methods of traders, had gone out to do what was not right; and I hung back in the tent, balancing the end against the means, our deeds against Louis' perfidy, and Nor'-Westers' interests against those of the Hudson's Bay. It is not pleasant to recall what was done between the cedars and the shore. I do not attempt to justify our conduct. Does the physician justify medical experiments on the criminal, or the sacrificial priest the driving of the scape-goat into the wilderness? Suffice it to say, when I went down to the shore, Louis Laplante was sitting in the midst of empty drinking-flasks, and the wily, old Nor'-Wester was tempting the silly boy to take more by drinking his health with fresh bottles. But while Louis Laplante gulped down his rum, becoming drunker and more communicative, the tempter threw glass after glass over his shoulder and remained sober. The Nor'-Wester motioned me to keep behind the Frenchman and I heard his drunken lips mumbling my own name. "Rufush--prig--stuck-up prig--serve him tam right! Hamilton's--sh--sh--prig too--sho's his wife. Serve 'em all tam right!" "Ask him where she is," I whispered over his head. "Where's the gal?" demanded the trader, shoving more liquor over to Louis. "Shioux squaw--Devil's wife--how you say it in English? Lah Grawnd Deeahble," and he mouthed over our mispronunciation of his own tongue "Joke, isn't it?" he went on. "That wax-face prig--slave to Shioux Squaw. Rufush--a fool. Stuffed him to hish--neck. Made him believe shmall-pox was Hamilton's wife. I mean, Hamilton's wife was shmall-pox. Calf bellowed with fright--ran home--came back--'tamme,' I say, 'there he come again' 'shmall-pox in that grave,' say I. Joke--ain't it?" and he stopped to drain off another pint of rum. "Biggest joke out of jail," said the Nor'-Wester dryly, with meaning which Louis did not grasp. "Ask him where she is," I whispered, "quick! He's going to sleep." For Louis wiped his beard on his sleeve and lay back hopelessly drunk. "Here you, waken up," commanded the Nor'-Wester, kicking him and shaking him roughly. "Where's the gal?" "Shioux--_Pays d'En Haut_," drawled the youth. "Take off your boots! Don't wear boots. _Pays d'En Haut_--moccasins--softer," and he rolled over in a sodden sleep, which defied all our efforts to shake him into consciousness. "Is that true?" asked the Nor'-Wester, standing above the drunk man and speaking across to me. "Is that true about the Indian kidnapping a woman?" "True--too terribly true," I whispered back. "I'd like to boot him into the next world," said the trader, looking down at Louis in a manner that might have alarmed that youth for his safety. "I've bagged H. B. dispatches anyway," he added with satisfaction. "What'll we do with him?" I asked aimlessly. "If he had anything to do with the stealing of Hamilton's wife----" "He hadn't," interrupted the trader. "'Twas Diable did that, so Laplante says." "Then what shall we do with him?" "Do--with--him," slowly repeated the Nor'-Wester in a low, vibrating voice. "Do--with--him?" and again I felt a vague shudder of apprehension at this silent, uncompromising man's purpose. The camp fires were dead. Not a sound came from the men in the woods and there was a gray light on the water with a vague stirring of birds through the foliage overhead. Now I would not have any man judge us by the canons of civilization. Under the ancient rule of the fur companies over the wilds of the north, 'twas bullets and blades put the fear of the Lord in evil hearts. As we stooped to gather up the tell-tale flasks, the drunken knave, who had lightly allowed an innocent white woman to go into Indian captivity, lay with bared chest not a hand's length from a knife he had thrown down. Did the Nor'-Wester and I hesitate, and look from the man to the dagger, and from the dagger to the man; or is this an evil dream from a black past? Miriam, the guiltless, was suffering at his hands; should not he, the guilty, suffer at ours? Surely Sisera was not more unmistakably delivered into the power of his enemies by the Lord than this man; and Sisera was discomfited by Barak and Jael. Heber's wife--says the Book--drove a tent nail--through the temples--of the sleeping man--and slew him! Day was when I thought the Old Volume recorded too many deeds of bloodshed in the wilderness for the instruction of our refined generation; but I, too, have since lived in the wilderness and learned that soft speech is not the weapon of strong men overmastering savagery. I know the trader and I were thinking the same thoughts and reading each other's thoughts; for we stood silent above the drunk man, neither moving, neither uttering a word. "Well?" I finally questioned in a whisper. "Well," said he, and he knelt down and picked up the knife. "'Twould serve him right." He was speaking in the low, gentle, purring voice he had used in the tent. "'Twould serve him jolly right," and he knelt over Louis hesitating. My eyes followed his slow, deliberate motions with horror. Terror seemed to rob me of the power of speech. I felt my blood freeze with the fear of some impending crime. There was the faintest perceptible fluttering of leaves; and we both started up as if we had been assassins, glancing fearfully into the gloom of the forest. All the woods seemed alive with horrified eyes and whisperings. "Stop!" I gasped, "This is madness, the madness of the murderer. What would you do?" And I was trying to knock the knife out of his hand, when among the shadowy green of the foliage, an open space suddenly resolved itself into a human face and there looked out upon us gleaming eyes like those of a crouching panther. "Squeamish fool!" muttered the Nor'-Wester, raising his arm. "Stop!" I implored. "We are watched. See!" and I pointed to the face, that as suddenly vanished into blackness. We both leaped into the thicket, pistol in hand, to wreak punishment on the interloper. There was only an indistinct sound as of something receding into the darkness. "Don't fire," said I, "'twill alarm the camp." At imminent risk to our own lives, we poked sticks through the thicket and felt for our unseen enemy, but found nothing. "Let's go back and peg him out on the sand, where the Hudson's Bay will see him when they come this way," suggested the Nor'-Wester, referring to Laplante. "Yes, or hand-cuff him and take him along prisoner," I added, thinking Louis might have more information. But when we stepped back to the beach, there was no Louis Laplante. "He was too drunk to go himself," said I, aghast at the certainty, which now came home to me, that we had been watched. "I wash my hands of the whole affair," declared the trader, in a state of high indignation, and he strode off to his tent, I, following, with uncomfortable reflections trooping into my mind. Compunctions rankled in self-respect. How near we had been to a brutal murder, to crime which makes men shun the perpetrators. Civilization's veneer was rubbing off at an alarming rate. This thought stuck, but for obvious reasons was not pursued. Also I had learned that the worst and best of outlaws easily justify their acts at the time they commit them; but afterwards--afterwards is a different matter, for the thing is past undoing. I heard the trader snorting out inarticulate disgust as he tumbled into his tent; but I stood above the embers of the camp fire thinking. Again I felt with a creepiness, that set all my flesh quaking, felt, rather than saw, those maddening, tiger eyes of the dark foliage watching me. Looking up, I found my morose canoeman on the other side of the fire, leaning so close to a tree, he was barely visible in the shadows. Thinking himself unseen by me, he wore such an insolent, amused, malicious expression, I knew in an instant, who the interloper had been, and who had carried Louis off. Before I realized that such an act entails life-long enmity with an Indian, I had bounded over the fire and struck him with all my strength full in the face. At that, instead of knifing me as an Indian ordinarily would, he broke into hyena shrieks of laughter. He, who has heard that sound, need hear it only once to have the echo ring forever in his ears; and I have heard it oft and know it well. "Spy! Sneak!" I muttered, rushing upon him. But he sprang back into the forest and vanished. In dodging me, he let fall his fowling-piece, which went off with a bang into the fire. "Hulloo! What's wrong out there?" bawled the trader's voice from the tent. "Nothing--false alarm!" I called reassuringly. Then there caught my eyes what startled me out of all presence of mind. There, reflecting the glare of the firelight was the Indian's fowling-piece, richly mounted in burnished silver and chased in the rare design of Eric Hamilton's family crest. The morose canoeman was Le Grand Diable. * * * * * A few hours later, I was in the thick of a confused re-embarking. Le Grand Diable took a place in another boat; and a fresh hand was assigned to my canoe. Of that I was glad; I could sleep sounder and he, safer. The _Bourgeois_ complained that too much rum had been given out. "Keep a stiffer hand on your men, boy, or they'll ride over your head," one of the chief traders remarked to me. CHAPTER VI A GIRDLE OF AGATES RECALLED To unravel a ball of yarn, with which kittens have been making cobwebs, has always seemed to me a much easier task than to unknot the tangled skein of confused influences, that trip up our feet at every step in life's path. Here was I, who but a month ago had a supreme contempt for guile and a lofty confidence in uprightness and downrightness, transformed into a crafty trader with all the villainous tricks of the bargain-maker at my finger-tips. We had befooled Louis into a betrayal of his associates but how much reliance could be placed on that betrayal? Had he incriminated Diable to save himself? Then, why had Diable rescued his betrayer? Where was Louis in hiding? Was the Sioux wife with her white slave really in the north country, or was she near, and did that explain my morose Iroquois' all-night vigils? We had cheated Laplante; but had he in turn cheated us? Would I be justified in taking Diable prisoner, and would my company consent to the demoralization of their crews by such a step? Ah, if life were only made up of simple right and simple wrong, instead of half rights and half wrongs indistinguishably mingled, we could all be righteous! If the path to the goal of our chosen desire were only as straight as it is narrow, instead of being dark, mysterious and tortuous, how easily could we attain high ends! I was launched on the life for which I had longed, but strange, shadowy forms like the storm-fiends of sailors' lore, drunkenness, deceit and crime--on whose presence I had not counted--flitted about my ship's masthead. And there was not one guiding star, not one redeeming influence, except the utter freedom to be a man. I was learning, what I suppose everyone learns, that there are things which sap success of its sweets. Such were my thoughts, as our canoes sped across the northern end of Lake Huron, heading for the Sault. The Nor'-Westers had a wonderful way of arousing enthusiastic loyalty among their men. Danger fanned this fealty to white-heat. In the face of powerful opposition, the great company frequently accomplished the impossible. With half as large a staff in the service as its rivals boasted, it invaded the hunting-ground of the Hudson's Bay Company, and outrunning all competition, extended fur posts from the heart of the continent to the foot-hills to the Rockies, and from the international boundary to the Arctic Circle. I had thought no crews could make quicker progress than ours from Lachine to _Point à la Croix_; but the short delay during the storm occasioned faster work. More _voyageurs_ were engaged from the Nipissangue tribes. As soon as one lot fagged fresh shifts came to the relief. Paddles shot out at the rate of modern piston rods, and the waters whirled back like wave-wash in the wake of a clipper. Except for briefest stoppages, speed was not relaxed across the whole northern end of those inland seas called the Great Lakes. With ample space on the lakes, the brigades could spread out and the canoes separated, not halting long enough to come together again till we reached the Sault. Here, orders were issued for the maintenance of rigid discipline. We camped at a distance from the lodges of local tribes. No grog was given out. Camp-fire conviviality was forbidden, and each man kept with his own crew. We remained in camp but one night; and though I searched every tent, I could not find Le Grand Diable. This worried and puzzled me. All night, I lay awake, stretching conscience with doubtful plans to entrap the knave. Rising with first dawn-streak, I was surprised to find Little Fellow and La Robe Noire, two of my canoemen, setting off for the woods. They had laid a snare--so they explained--and were going to examine it. Of late I had grown distrustful of all natives. I suspected these two might be planning desertion; so I went with them. The way led through a dense thicket of ferns half the height of a man. Only dim light penetrated the maze of foliage; and I might easily have lost myself, or been decoyed--though these possibilities did not occur to me till we were at least a mile from the beach. Little Fellow was trotting ahead, La Robe Noire jogging behind, and both glided through the brake without disturbing a fern branch, while I--after the manner of my race--crunched flags underfoot and stamped down stalks enough to be tracked by keen-eyed Indians for a week afterwards. Twice I saw Little Fellow pull up abruptly and look warily through the cedars on one side. Once he stooped down and peered among the fern stems. Then he silently signaled back to La Robe Noire, pointed through the undergrowth and ran ahead again without explanation. At first I could see nothing, and regretted being led so far into the woods. I was about to order both Indians back to the tent, when Little Fellow, with face pricked forward and foot raised, as if he feared to set it down--for the fourth time came to a dead stand. Now, I, too, heard a rustle, and saw a vague sinuous movement distinctly running abreast of us among the ferns. For a moment, when we stopped, it ceased, then wiggled forward like beast, or serpent in the underbrush. Little Fellow placed his forefinger on his lips, and we stood noiseless till by the ripple of the green it seemed to scurry away. "What is it, Little Fellow, a cat?" I asked; but the Indian shook his head dubiously and turned to the open where the trap had been set. Bending over the snare he uttered an Indian word, that I did not understand, but have since heard traders use, so conclude it was one of those exclamations, alien races learn quickest from one another, but which, nevertheless, are not found in dictionaries. The trap had been rifled of game and completely smashed. "Wolverine!" muttered the Indian, making a sweep of his dagger blade at an imaginary foe. "No wolverine! Bad Indians!" Scarcely had he spoken when La Robe Noire leaped into the air like a wounded rabbit. An arrow whizzed past my face and glanced within a hair's-breadth of the Indian's head. Both men were dumb with amazement. Such treachery would have been surprising among the barbarous tribes of the Athabasca. The Sault was the dividing line between Canada and the Wilderness, between the east and the west, and there were no hostiles within a thousand miles of us. Little Fellow would have dragged me pell-mell back to the beach, but I needed no persuasion. La Robe Noire tore ahead with the springs of a hunted lynx. Little Fellow loyally kept between me and a possible pursuer, and we set off at a hard run. That creature, I fancied, was again coursing along beneath the undergrowth; for the foliage bent and rose as we ran. Whether it were man or beast, we were three against one, and could drive it out of hiding. "See here, Little Fellow!" I cried, "Let's hunt that thing out!" and I wheeled about so sharply the chunky little man crashed forward, knocking me off my feet and sending me a man's length farther on. That fall saved my life. A flat spear point hissed through the air above my head and stuck fast in the bark of an elm tree. Scrambling up, I promptly let go two or three shots into the fern brake. We scrutinized the underbrush, but there was no sign of human being, except the fern stems broken by my shots. I wrenched the stone spear-head from the tree. It was curiously ornamented with such a multitude of intricate carvings I could not decipher any design. Then I discovered that the medley of colors was produced by inlaying the flint with small bits of a bright stone; and the bright stones had been carved into a rude likeness of some birds. "What are these birds, Little Fellow?" I asked. He fingered them closely, and with bulging eyes muttered back, "L'Aigle! L'Aigle!" "Eagles, are they?" I returned, stupidly missing the possible meaning of his suppressed excitement. "And the stone?" "Agate, _Monsieur_." Agate! Agate! What picture did agate call back to my mind? A big squaw, with malicious eyes and gaping upper lip and girdle of agates, watching Louis Laplante and myself at the encampment in the gorge. "Little Fellow!" I shouted, not suppressing my excitement. "Who is Le Grand Diable's wife?" And the Indian answered in a low voice, with a face that showed me he had already penetrated my discovery, "The daughter of L'Aigle, chief of the Sioux." Then I knew for whom those missiles had been intended and from whom they had come. It was a clever piece of rascality. Had the assassin succeeded, punishment would have fallen on my Indians. CHAPTER VII THE LORDS OF THE NORTH IN COUNCIL Beyond the Sault, the fascinations of the west beckoned like a siren. Vast waterways, where a dozen European kingdoms could be dropped into one lake without raising a sand-bar, seemed to sweep on forever and call with the voice of enchantress to the very ends of the earth. With the purple recesses of the shore on one side and the ocean-expanse of Lake Superior on the other, all the charms of clean, fresh freedom were unveiling themselves to me and my blood began to quicken with that fevered delight, which old lands are pleased to call western enthusiasm. Lake Huron, with its greenish-blue, shallow, placid waters and calm, sloping shores, seemed typical of the even, easy life I had left in the east. How those choppy, blustering, little waves resembled the jealousies and bickerings and bargainings of the east; but when one came to Lake Superior, with its great ocean billows and slumbering, giant rocks and cold, dark, fathomless depths, there was a new life in a hard, rugged, roomy, new world. We hugged close to the north coast; and the numerous rocky islands to our left stood guard like a wall of adamant between us and the heavy surf that flung against the barrier. We were rapidly approaching the headquarters of our company. When south-bound brigades, with prisoners in hand-cuffs, began to meet us, I judged we were near the habitation of man. "Bad men?" I asked Little Fellow, pointing to the prisoners, as our crews exchanged rousing cheers with the Nor'-Westers now bound for Montreal. "_Non, Monsieur!_ Not all bad men," and the Indian gave his shoulders an expressive shrug, "_Les traitres anglais_." To the French _voyageur_, English meant the Hudson's Bay people. The answer set me wondering to what pass things had come between the two great companies that they were shipping each other's traders gratuitously out of the country. I recalled the talk at the Quebec Club about Governor McDonell of the Hudson's Bay trying to expel Nor'-Westers and concluded our people could play their own game against the commander of Red River. We arrived in Fort William at sundown, and a flag was flying above the courtyard. "Is that in our honor?" I asked a clerk of the party. "Not much it is," he laughed. "We under-strappers aren't oppressed with honors! It warns the Indians there's no trade one day out of seven." "Is this Sunday?" I suddenly recollected as far as we were concerned the past month had been entirely composed of week-days. "Out of your reckoning already?" asked the clerk with surprise. "Wonder how you'll feel when you've had ten years of it." Situated on the river bank, near the site of an old French post, Fort William was a typical traders' stronghold. Wooden palisades twenty feet high ran round the whole fort and the inner court enclosed at least two hundred square yards. Heavily built block-houses with guns poking through window slits gave a military air to the trading post. The block-houses were apparently to repel attack from the rear and the face of the fort commanded the river. Stores, halls, warehouses and living apartments for an army of clerks, were banked against the walls, and the main building with its spacious assembly-room stood conspicuous in the centre of the enclosure. As we entered the courtyard, one of the chief traders was perched on a mortar in the gate. The little magnate condescended never a smile of welcome till the _Bourgeois_ came up. Then he fawned loudly over the chiefs and conducted them with noisy ostentation to the main hall. Indians and half-breed _voyageurs_ quickly dispersed among the wigwams outside the pickets, while clerks and traders hurried to the broad-raftered dining-hall. Fatigued from the trip, I took little notice of the vociferous interchange of news in passage-way and over door-steps. I remember, after supper I was strolling about the courtyard, surveying the buildings, when at the door of a sort of barracks where residents of the fort lived, I caught sight of the most grateful object my eye had lighted upon since leaving Quebec. It was a tin basin with a large bar of soap--actual soap. There must still have been some vestige of civilization in my nature, for after a delightful half-hour's intimate acquaintance with that soap, I came round to the groups of men rehabilitated in self-respect. "Athabasca, Rocky Mountain and Saskatchewan brigades here to-morrow," remarked a boyish looking Nor'-Wester, with a mannish beard on his face. Involuntarily I put my hand to my chin and found a bristling growth there. That was a land where young men could become suddenly very old; and many a trader has discovered other signs of age than a beard on his face when he first looked at a mirror after life in the _Pays d'En Haut_. "I say," blurted out another young clerk. "There's a man here from Red River, one of the Selkirk settlers. He's come with word if we'll supply the boats, lots of the colonists are ready to dig out. General Assembly's going to consider that to-morrow." "Oh! Hang the old Assembly if it ships that man out! He's got a pretty daughter, perfect beauty, and she's here with him!" exclaimed the lad with the mannish beard. "Go to, thou light-head!" declared the other youth, with the air of an elder in Israel. "Go to! You paraded beneath her window for an hour to-day and she never once laid eyes on you." All the men laughed. "Hang it!" said the first speaker. "We don't display our little amours----" "No," broke in the other, "we just display our little contours and get snubbed, eh?" The bearded youth flushed at the sally of laughter. "Hang it!" he answered, pulling fiercely at his moustache. "She is a bit of statuary, so she is, as cold as marble. But there is no law against looking at a pretty bit of statuary, when it frames itself in a window in this wilderness." To which, every man of the crowd said a hearty amen; and I walked off to stretch myself full length on a bench, resolving to have out a mirror from my packing case and get rid of those bristles that offended my chin. The men began to disperse to their quarters. The tardy twilight of the long summer evenings, peculiar to the far north, was gathering in the courtyard. As the night-wind sighed past, I felt the velvet caress of warm June air on my face and memory reverted to the innocent boyhood days of Laval. How far away those days seemed! Yet it was not so long ago. Surely it is knowledge, not time, that ages one, knowledge, that takes away the trusting innocence resulting from ignorance and gives in its place the distrustful innocence resulting from wisdom. I thought of the temptations that had come to me in the few short weeks I had been adrift, and how feebly I had resisted them. I asked myself if there were not in the moral compass of men, who wander by land, some guiding star, as there is for those who wander over sea. I gazed high above the sloping roofs for some sign of moon, or star. The sky was darkling and overcast; but in lowering my eyes from heaven to earth, I saw what I had missed before--a fair, white face framed in a window above the stoop directly opposite my bench. The face seemed to have a background of gold; for a wonderful mass of wavy hair clustered down from the blue-veined brow to the bit of white throat visible, where a gauzy piece of neck wear had been loosened. Evidently, this was the statuary described by the whiskered youth. But the statuary breathed. A bloom of living apple-blossoms was on the cheeks. The brows were black and arched. The very pose of the head was arch, and in the lips was a suggestion of archery, too,--Cupid's archery, though the upper lip was drawn almost too tight for the bow beneath to discharge the little god's shaft. Why did I do it? I do not know. Ask the young Nor'-Wester, who had worn a path beneath the selfsame window that very day, or the hosts of young men, who are still wearing paths beneath windows to this very day. I coughed and sat bolt upright on the bench with unnecessarily loud intimations of my presence. The fringe of black lashes did not even lift. I rose and with great show of indifference paraded solemnly five times past that window; but, in spite of my pompous indifference, by a sort of side-signalling, I learned that the owner of the heavy lashes was unaware of my existence. Thereupon, I sat down again. It _was_ a bit of statuary and a very pretty bit of statuary. As the youth said, there was no law against looking at a bit of statuary in this wilderness, and as the statuary did not know I was looking at it, I sat back to take my fill of that vision framed in the open window. The statuary, unknown to itself, had full meed of revenge; for it presently brought such a flood of longing to my heart, longings, not for this face, but for what this face represented--the innocence and love and purity of home, that I bowed dejectedly forward with moist eyes gazing at the ground. "Hullo!" whispered a deep voice in my ear. "Are you mooning after the Little Statue already?" When I looked up, the man had passed, but the head in the window was leaning out and a pair of swimming, lustrous, gray eyes were gazing forward in a way that made me dizzy. "Ah," they said in a language that needed no speaking, "there are two of us, very, very home-sick." "The guiding star for my moral compass," said I, under my breath. Then the statue in a live fashion suddenly drew back into the dark room. The window-shutter flung to, with a bang, and my vision was gone. I left the bench, made a shake-down on one of the store counters, and knew nothing more till the noise of brigades from the far north aroused the fort at an early hour Monday morning. The arrival of the Athabasca traders was the signal for tremendous activity. An army returning from victory could not have been received with greater acclaim. _Bourgeois_ and clerks tumbled promiscuously from every nook in the fort and rushing half-dressed towards the gates shouted welcome to the men, who had come from the outposts of the known world. They were a shaggy, ragged-looking rabble, those traders from mountain fastnesses and the Arctic circle. With long white hair, hatless some of them, with beards like oriental patriarchs, and dressed entirely in skins of the chase, from fringed coats to gorgeous moccasins, the unkempt monarchs of northern realms had the imperious bearing of princes. "Is it you, really you, looking as old as your great grandfather? By Gad! So it is," came from one quondam friend. "Powers above!" ejaculated another onlooker, "See that old Father Abraham! It's Tait! As you live, it's Tait! And he only went to the Athabasca ten years ago. He was thirty then, and now he's a hundred!" "That's Wilson," says another. "Looks thin, doesn't he? Slim fare! He's the only man from Great Slave Lake that escaped being a meal for the Crees,--year of the famine; and they hadn't time to pick his bones!" A running fire of such comments went along the spectators lining each side of the path. There was a sad side to the clamorous welcomes and handshakes and surprised recognitions. Had not these men gone north young and full of hope, as I was going? Now, news of the feud with the Hudson's Bay brought them out old before their time and more like the natives with whom they had traded than the white race they had left. Here and there, strong men would fall in each other's arms and embrace like school-girls, covering their emotion with rounded oaths instead of terms of endearment. All day the confusion of unloading boats continued. The dull tread of moccasined feet as Indians carried pack after pack from river bank to the fort, was ceaseless. Faster than the clerks could sort the furs great bundles were heaped on the floor. By noon, warehouses were crammed from basement to attic. Ermine taken in mid-winter, when the fur was spotlessly white, but for the jet tail-tip, otter cut so deftly scarcely a tuft of fur had been wasted along the opened seam, silver fox, which had made the fortune of some lucky hunter--these and other rare furs, that were to minister to the luxury of kings, passed from tawny carriers to sorters. Elsewhere, coarse furs, obtained at greater risk, but owing to the abundance of big game, less valuable for the hunter, were sorted and valued. With a reckless underestimate of the beaver-skin, their unit of currency, Indians hung over counters bartering away the season's hunt. I frankly acknowledge the Company's clerks on such occasions could do a rushing business selling tawdry stuff at fabulous prices. Meanwhile, in the main hall, the _Bourgeois_, or partners, of the great North-West Company were holding their annual General Assembly behind closed doors. Clerks lowered their voices when they passed that room, and well they might; for the rulers inside held despotic sway over a domain as large as Europe. And what were they decreeing? Who can tell? The archives of the great fur companies are as jealously guarded as diplomatic documents, and more remarkable for what they omit than what they state. Was the policy, that ended so tragically a year afterwards, adopted at this meeting? Great corporations have a fashion of keeping their mouths and their council doors tight shut and of leaving the public to infer that catastrophes come causeless. However that may be, I know that Duncan Cameron, a fiery Highlander and one of the keenest men in the North-West service, suddenly flung out of the Assembly room with a pleased, determined look on his ruddy face. "Are ye Rufus Gillespie?" he asked. "That's my name, Sir." "Then buckle on y'r armor, lad; for ye'll see the thick of the fight. You're appointed to my department at Red River." And he left us. "Lucky dog! I envy you! There'll be rare sport between Cameron and McDonell, when the two forts up in Red River begin to talk back to each other," exclaimed a Fort William man to me. "Are you Gillespie?" asked a low, mellow, musical voice by my side. I turned to face a tall, dark, wiry man, with the swarthy complexion and intensely black eyes of one having strains of native blood. Among the _voyageurs_, I had become accustomed to the soft-spoken, melodious speech that betrays Indian parentage; and I believe if I were to encounter a descendant of the red race in China, or among the Latin peoples of Southern Europe, I could recognize Indian blood by that rhythmic trick of the native tongue. "I'm Gillespie," I answered my keen-eyed questioner. "Who are you?" "Cuthbert Grant, warden of the plains and leader of the _Bois-Brulés_," was his terse response. "You're coming to our department at Fort Gibraltar, and I want you to give Father Holland a place in your canoes to come north with us. He's on his way to the Missouri." At that instant Duncan Cameron came up to Grant and muttered something. Both men at once went back to the council hall of the General Assembly. I heard the courtyard gossips vowing that the Hudson's Bay would cease its aggressions, now that Cameron and Cuthbert Grant were to lead the Nor'-Westers; but I made no inquiry. Next to keeping his own counsel and giving credence to no man, the fur trader learns to gain information only with ears and eyes, and to ask no questions. The scurrying turmoil in the fort lasted all day. At dusk, natives were expelled from the stockades and work stopped. Grand was the foregathering around the supper table of the great dining hall that night. _Bourgeois_, clerks and traders from afar, explorers, from the four corners of the earth--assembled four hundred strong, buoyant and unrestrained, enthusiastically loyal to the company, and tingling with hilarious fellowship over this, the first reunion for twenty years. Though their manner and clothing be uncouth, men who have passed a lifetime exploring northern wilds have that to say, which is worth hearing. So the feast was prolonged till candles sputtered low and pitch-pine fagots flared out. Indeed, before the gathering broke up, flagons as well as candles had to be renewed. Lanterns swung from the black rafters of the ceiling. Tallow candles stood in solemn rows down the centre of each table, showing that men, not women, had prepared the banquet. Stuck in iron brackets against the walls were pine torches, that had been dipped in some resinous mixture and now flamed brightly with a smell not unlike incense. Tables lined the four walls of the hall and ran in the form of a cross athwart the middle of the room. Backless benches were on both sides of every table. At the end, chairs were placed, the seats of honor for famous _Bourgeois_. British flags had been draped across windows and colored bunting hung from rafter to rafter. "Ah, mon! Is no this fine? This is worth living for! This is the company to serve!" Duncan Cameron exclaimed as he sank into one of the chairs at the head of the centre table. The Scotchman's heart softened before those platters of venison and wild fowl, and he almost broke into geniality. "Here, Gillespie, to my right," he called, motioning me to the edge of the bench at his elbow. "Here, Grant, opposite Gillespie! Aye! an' is that you, Father Holland?" he cried to the stout, jovial priest, with shining brow and cheeks wrinkling in laughter, who followed Grant. "There's a place o' honor for men like you, Sir. Here!" and he gave the priest a chair beside himself. The _Bourgeois_ seated, there was a scramble for the benches. Then the whole company with great zest and much noisy talk fell upon the viands with a will. "Why, Cameron," began a northern winterer a few places below me, "it's taken me three months fast travelling to come from McKenzie River to Fort William. By Jove! Sir, 'twas cold enough to freeze your words solid as you spoke them, when we left Great Slave Lake. I'll bet if you men were up there now, you'd hear my voice thawing out and yelling get-epp to my huskies, and my huskies yelping back! Used a dog train, whole of March. Tied myself up in bag of buffalo robes at night and made the huskies lie across it to keep me from freezing. Got so hot, every pore in my body was a spouting fountain, and in the morning that moisture would freeze my buckskin stiff. Couldn't stand that; so I tried sleeping with my head out of the bag and froze my nose six nights out of seven." The unfortunate nose corroborated his evidence. "Ice was sloppy on the Saskatchewan, and I had to use pack-horses and take the trail. I was trusting to get provisions at Souris. You can imagine, then, how we felt towards the Hudson's Bays when we found they'd plundered our fort. We were without a bite for two days. Why, we took half a dozen Hudson's Bays in our quarters up north last winter, and saved them from starvation; and here we were, starving, that they might plunder and rob. I'm with you, Sir! I'm with you to the hilt against the thieves! There's a time for peace and there's a time for war, and I say this is a very good time for war!" "Here's confusion to the old H. B. C's! Confusion, short life, no prosperity, and death to the Hudson's Bay!" yelled the young whiskered Nor'-Wester, springing to his feet on the bench and waving a drinking-cup round his head. Some of the youthful clerks were disposed to take their cue from this fire-eater and began strumming the table and applauding; but the _Bourgeois_ frowned on forward conduct. "Check him, Grant!" growled Cameron in disapproval. "Sit down, bumptious babe!" said the priest, tugging the lad's coat. "Here, you young show-off," whispered Grant, leaning across the priest, and he knocked the boy's feet from under him bringing him down to the bench with a thud. "He needs more outdoor life, that young one! It goes to his head mighty fast," remarked Cameron. "What were you saying about your hard luck?" and he turned to the northern winterer again. "Call that hard luck?" broke in a mountaineer, laughing as if he considered hardships a joke. "We lived a month last winter on two meals a day; soup, out of snow-shoe thongs, first course; fried skins, second go; teaspoonful shredded fish, by way of an entrée!" The man wore a beaded buckskin suit, and his mellow intonation of words in the manner of the Indian tongue showed that he had almost lost English speech along with English customs. His recital caused no surprise. "Been on short, rations myself," returned the northerner. "Don't like it! Isn't safe! Rips a man's nerves to the raw when Indians glare at him with hungry eyes eighteen hours out of the twenty-four." "What was the matter?" drawled the mountaineer. "Hudson's Bay been tampering with your Indians? Now if you had a good Indian wife as I have, you could defy the beggars to turn trade away----" "Aye, that's so," agreed the winterer, "I heard of a fellow on the Athabasca who had to marry a squaw before he could get a pair of racquets made; but that wasn't my trouble. Game was scarce." "Game scarce on MacKenzie River?" A chorus of voices vented their surprise. To the outside world game is always scarce, reported scarce on MacKenzie River and everywhere else by the jealous fur traders; but these deceptions are not kept up among hunters fraternizing at the same banquet board. "Mighty scarce. Some of the tribe died out from starvation. The Hudson's Bay in our district were in bad plight. We took six of them in--Hadn't heard of the Souris plunder, you may be sure." "More fools they to go into the Athabasca," declared the mountaineer. "Bigger fools to send another brigade there this year when they needn't expect help from us," interjected a third trader. "You don't say they're sending another lot of men to the Athabasca!" exclaimed the winterer. "Yes I do--under Colin Robertson," affirmed the third man. "Colin Robertson--the Nor'-Wester?" "Robertson who used to be a Nor'-Wester! It's Selkirk's work since he got control of the H. B." "Robertson should know better," said the northerner. "He had experience with us before he resigned. I'll wager he doesn't undertake that sort of venture! Surely it's a yarn!" "You lose your bet," cried the irrepressible Fort William lad. "A runner came in at six o'clock and reported that the Hudson's Bay brigade from Lachine would pass here before midnight. They're sooners, they are, are the H. B. C's.," and the clerk enjoyed the sensation of rolling a big oath from his boyish lips. "Eric Hamilton passing within a stone's throw of the fort!" In astonishment I leaned forward to catch every word the Fort William lad might say. "To Athabasca by our route--past this fort!" Such temerity amazed the winterer beyond coherent expression. "Good thing for them they're passing in the night," continued the clerk. "The half-breeds are hot about that Souris affair. There'll be a collision yet!" The young fellow's importance increased in proportion to the surprise of the elder men. "There'll be a collision anyway when Cameron and Grant reach Red River--eh, Cuthbert?" and the mountaineer turned to the dark, sharp-featured warden of the plains. Cuthbert Grant laughed pleasantly. "Oh, I hope not--for their sakes!" he said, and went on with the story of a buffalo hunt. The story I missed, for I was deep in my own thoughts. I must see Eric and let him know what I had learned; but how communicate with the Hudson's Bay brigade without bringing suspicion of double dealing on myself? I was turning things over in my mind in a stupid sort of way like one new at intrigue, when I heard a talker, vowing by all that was holy that he had seen the rarest of hunter's rarities--a pure white buffalo. The wonder had appeared in Qu'Appelle Valley. "I can cap that story, man," cried the portly Irish priest who was to go north in my boat. "I saw a white squaw less than two weeks ago!" He paused for his words to take effect, and I started from my chair as if I had been struck. "What's wrong, young man?" asked the winterer. "We lonely fellows up north see visions. We leap out of our moccasins at the sound of our own voices; but you young chaps, with all the world around you"--he waved towards the crowded hall as though it were the metropolis of the universe--"shouldn't see ghosts and go jumping mad." I sat down abashed. "Yes, a white squaw," repeated the jovial priest. "Sure now, white ladies aren't so many in these regions that I'd be likely to make a mistake." "There's a difference between squaws and white ladies," persisted the jolly father, all unconscious that he was emphasizing a difference which many of the traders were spelling out in hard years of experience. "I've seen papooses that were white for a day or two after they were born----" "Effect of the christening," interrupted the youth, whose head, between flattered vanity and the emptied contents of his drinking cup, was very light indeed. "Take that idiot out and put him to bed, somebody," commanded Cameron. "For a day or two after they were born," reiterated the priest; "but I never saw such a white-skinned squaw!" "Where did you see her?" I inquired in a voice which was not my own. "On Lake Winnipeg. Coming down two weeks ago we camped near a band of Sioux, and I declare, as I passed a tepee, I saw a woman's face that looked as white as snow. She was sleeping, and the curtain had blown up. Her child was in her arms, and I tell you her bare arms were as white as snow." "Must have been the effect of the moonlight," explained some one. "Moonlight didn't give the other Indians that complexion," insisted the priest. It was my turn to feel my head suddenly turn giddy, though liquor had not passed my lips. This information could have only one meaning. I was close on the track of Miriam, and Eric was near; yet the slightest blunder on my part might ruin all chance of meeting him and rescuing her. CHAPTER VIII THE LITTLE STATUE ANIMATE The men began arguing about the degrees of whiteness in a squaw's skin. Those, married to native women, averred that differences of complexion were purely matters of temperament and compared their dusky wives to Spanish belles. The priest was now talking across the table to Duncan Cameron, advocating a renewal of North-West trade with the Mandanes on the Missouri, whither he was bound on his missionary tour. To venture out of the fort through the Indian encampments, where natives and outlaws were holding high carnival, and my sleepless foe could have a free hand, would be to risk all chance of using the information that had come to me. I did not fear death--fear of death was left east of the Sault in those days. On my preservation depended Miriam's rescue. Besides, if either Le Grand Diable or myself had to die, I came to the conclusion of other men similarly situated--that my enemy was the one who should go. Violins, flutes and bag-pipes were striking up in different parts of the hall. Simple ballads, smacking of old delights in an older land, songs, with which home-sick white men comforted themselves in far-off lodges--were roared out in strident tones. Feet were beating time to the rasp of the fiddles. Men rose and danced wild jigs, or deftly executed some intricate Indian step; and uproarious applause greeted every performer. The hall throbbed with confused sounds and the din deadened my thinking faculties. Even now, Eric might be slipping past. In that deafening tumult I could decide nothing, and when I tried to leave the table, all the lights swam dizzily. "Excuse me, Sir!" I whispered, clutching the priest's elbow. "You're Father Holland and are to go north in my boats. Come out with me for a moment." Thinking me tipsy, he gave me a droll glance. "'Pon my soul! Strapping fellows like you shouldn't need last rites----" "Please say nothing! Come quickly!" and I gripped his arm. "Bless us! It's a touch of the head, or the heart!" and he rose and followed me from the hall. In the fresh air, dizziness left me. Sitting down on the bench, where I had lain the night before, I told him my perplexing mission. At first, I am sure he was convinced that I was drunk or raving, but my story had the directness of truth. He saw at once how easily he could leave the fort at that late hour without arousing suspicion, and finally offered to come with me to the river bank, where we might intercept Hamilton. "But we must have a boat, a light cockle-shell thing, so we can dart out whenever the brigade appears," declared the priest, casting about in his mind for means to forward our object. "The canoes are all locked up. Can't you borrow one from the Indians? Don't you know any of them?" I asked with a sudden sinking of heart. "And have the whole pack of them sneaking after us? No--no--that won't do. Where are your wits, boy! Arrah! Me hearty, but what was that?" We both heard the shutter above our heads suddenly thrown open, but darkness hid anyone who might have been listening. "Hm!" said the priest. "Overheard! Fine conspirators we are! Some eavesdropper!" "Hush!" and remembering whose window it was, I held him; for he would have stalked away. "Are you there?" came a clear, gentle voice, that fell from the window in the breaking ripples of a fountain plash. The bit of statuary had become suddenly animate and was not so marble-cold to mankind as it looked. Thinking we had been taken for an expected lover, I, too, was moving off, when the voice, that sounded like the dropping golden notes of a cremona, called out in tones of vibrating alarm: "Don't--don't go! Priest! Priest! Father! It's you I'm speaking to. I've heard every word!" Father Holland and I were too much amazed to do aught but gape from each other to the dark window. We could now see the outlines of a white face there. "If you'd please put one bench on top of another, and balance a bucket on that, I think I could get down," pleaded the low, thrilling voice. "An' in the name of the seven wonders of creation, what for would you be getting down?" asked the astonished priest. "Oh! Hurry! Are you getting the bench?" coaxed the voice. "Faith an' we're not! And we have no thought of doing such a thing!" began the good man with severity. "Then, I'll jump," threatened the voice. "And break your pretty neck," answered the ungallant father with indignation. There was a rustling of skirts being gathered across the window sill and outlines of a white face gave place to the figure of a frail girl preparing for a leap. "Don't!" I cried, genuinely alarmed, with a mental vision of shattered statuary on the ground. "Don't! I'm getting the benches," and I piled them up, with a rickety bucket on top. "Wait!" I implored, stepping up on the bottom bench. "Give me your hand," and as I caught her hands, she leaped from the window to the bucket, and the bucket to the ground, with a daintiness, which I thought savored of experience in such escapades. "What do you mean, young woman?" demanded Father Holland in anger. "I'll have none of your frisky nonsense! Do you know, you baggage, that you are delaying this young man in a matter that is of life-and-death importance? Tell me this instant, what do you want?" "I want to save that woman, Miriam! You're both so slow and stupid! Come, quick!" and she caught us by the arms. "There's a skiff down among the rushes in the flats. I can guide you to it. Cross the river in it! Oh! Quick! Quick! Some of the Hudson's Bay brigades have already passed!" "How do you know?" we both demanded as in one breath. "I'm Frances Sutherland. My father is one of the Selkirk settlers and he had word that they would pass to-night! Oh! Come! Come!" This girl, the daughter of a man who was playing double to both companies! And her service to me would compel me to be loyal to him! Truly, I was becoming involved in a way that complicated simple duty. But the girl had darted ahead of us, we following by the flutter of the white gown, and she led us out of the courtyard by a sally-port to the rear of a block-house. She paused in the shadow of some shrubbery. "Get fagots from the Indians to light us across the flats," she whispered to Father Holland. "They'll think nothing of your coming. You're always among them!" "Mistress Sutherland!" I began, as the priest hurried forward to the Indian camp-fires, "I hate to think of you risking yourself in this way for----" "Stop thinking, then," she interrupted abruptly in a voice that somehow reminded me of my first vision of statuary. "I beg your pardon," I blundered on. "Father Holland and I have both forgotten to apologize for our rudeness about helping you down." "Pray don't apologize," answered the marble voice. Then the girl laughed. "Really you're worse than I thought, when I heard you bungling over a boat. I didn't mind your rudeness. It was funny." "Oh!" said I, abashed. There are situations in which conversation is impossible. "I didn't mind your rudeness," she repeated, "and--and--you mustn't mind mine. Homesick people aren't--aren't--responsible, you know. Ah! Here are the torches! Give me one. I thank you--Father Holland--is it not? Please smother them down till we reach the river, or we'll be followed." She was off in a flash, leading us through a high growth of rushes across the flats. So I was both recognized and remembered from the previous night. The thought was not displeasing. The wind moaned dismally through the reeds. I did not know that I had been glancing nervously behind at every step, with uncomfortable recollections of arrows and spear-heads, till Father Holland exclaimed: "Why, boy! You're timid! What are you scared of?" "The devil!" and I spoke truthfully. "Faith! There's more than yourself runs from His Majesty; but resist the devil and he will flee from you." "Not the kind of devil that's my enemy," I explained. I told him of the arrow-shot and spear-head, and all mirth left his manner. "I know him, I know him well. There's no greater scoundrel between Quebec and Athabasca." "My devil, or yours?" "Yours, lad. Let your laughter be turned to mourning! Beware of him! I've known more than one murder of his doing. Eh! But he's cunning, so cunning! We can't trip him up with proofs; and his body's as slippery as an eel or we might----" But a loon flapped up from the rushes, brushing the priest's face with its wings. "Holy Mary save us!" he ejaculated panting to keep up with our guide. "Faith! I thought 'twas the devil himself!" "Do you really mean it? Would it be right to get hold of Le Grand Diable?" I asked. Frances Sutherland had slackened her pace and we were all three walking abreast. A dry cane crushed noisily under foot and my head ducked down as if more arrows had hissed past. "Mane it?" he cried, "mane it? If ye knew all the evil he's done ye'd know whether I mane it." It was his custom when in banter to drop from English to his native brogue like a merry-andrew. "But, Father Holland, I had him in my power. I struck him, but I didn't kill him, more's the pity!" "An' who's talking of killin', ye young cut-throat? I say get howld of his body and when ye've got howld of his body, I'd further advise gettin' howld of the butt end of a saplin'----" "But, Father, he was my canoeman. I had him in my power." Instantly he squared round throwing the torchlight on my face. "Had him in your power--knew what he'd done--and--and--didn't?" "And didn't," said I. "But you almost make me wish I had. What do you take traders for?" "You're young," said he, "and I take traders for what they are----" "But I'm a trader and I didn't----" Though a beginner, I wore the airs of a veteran. "Benedicite!" he cried. "The Lord shall be your avenger! He shall deliver that evil one into the power of the punisher!" "Benedicite!" he repeated. "May ye keep as clean a conscience in this land as you've brought to it." "Amen, Father!" said I. "Here we are," exclaimed Frances Sutherland as we emerged from the reeds to the brink of the river, where a skiff was moored. "Go, be quick! I'll stay here! 'Twill be better without me. The Hudson's Bay are keeping close to the far shore!" "You can't stay alone," objected Father Holland. "I shall stay alone, and I've had my way once already to-night." "But we don't wish to lose one woman in finding another," I protested. "Go," she commanded with a furious little stamp. "You lose time! Stupids! Do you think I stay here for nothing? We may have been followed and I shall stay here and watch! I'll hide in the rushes! Go!" And there was a second stamp. That stamp of a foot no larger than a boy's hand cowed two strong men and sent us rowing meekly across the river. "Did ye ever--did ever ye see such a little termagant, such a persuasive, commanding little queen of a termagant?" asked the priest almost breathless with surprise. "Queen of courage!" I answered back. "Queen of hearts, too, I'm thinking. Arrah! Me hearty, to be young!" She must have smothered her torch, for there was no light among the reeds when I looked back. We crossed the river slowly, listening between oar-strokes for the paddle-dips of approaching canoes. There was no sound but the lashing of water against the pebbled shore and we lay in a little bay ready to dash across the fleet's course, when the boats should come abreast. We had not long to wait. A canoe nose cautiously rounded the headland coming close to our boat. Instantly I shot our skiff straight across its path and Father Holland waved the torches overhead. "Hist! Hold back there--have a care!" I called. "Clear the way!" came an angry order from the dark. "Clear--or we fire!" "Fire if you dare, you fools!" I retorted, knowing well they would not alarm the fort, and we edged nearer the boat. "Where's Eric Hamilton?" I demanded. "A curse on you! None of your business! Get out of the way! Who are you?" growled the voice. "Answer--quick!" I urged Father Holland, thinking they would respect holy orders; and I succeeded in bumping my craft against their canoe. "Strike him with your paddle, man!" yelled the steersman, who was beyond reach. "Give 'im a bullet!" called another. "For shame, ye saucy divils!" shouted the priest, shaking his torch aloft and displaying his garb. "Shame to ye, threatenin' to shoot a missionary! Ye'd be much better showin' respect to the Church. Whur's Eric Hamilton?" he demanded in a fine show of indignation, and he caught the edge of their craft in his right hand. "Let go!" and the steersman threateningly raised a pole that shone steel-shod. "Let go--is ut ye're orderin' me?" thundered the holy man, now in a towering rage, and he flaunted the torch over the crew. "Howld y'r imp'dent tongues!" he shouted, shaking the canoe. "Be civil this minute, or I'll spill ye to the bottom, ye load of cursin' braggarts! Faith an' ut's a durty meal ye'd make for the fush! Foine answers ye give polite questions! How d'y' know we're not here to warn ye about the fort? For shame to ye. Whur's Eric Hamilton, I say?" Some of the canoemen recognized the priest. Conciliatory whispers passed from man to man. "Hamilton's far ahead--above the falls now," answered the steersman. "Then, as ye hope to save your soul," warned Father Holland not yet appeased, "deliver this young man's message!" "Tell Hamilton," I cried, "that she whom he seeks is held captive by a band of Sioux on Lake Winnipeg and to make haste. Tell him that and he'll reward you well!" "Vary by one word from the message," added the priest, "and my curses'll track your soul to the furnace." Father Holland relaxed his grasp, the paddles dipped down and the canoe was lost in the darkness. More than once I thought that a shadowy thing like an Indian's boat had hung on our rear and the craft seemed to be dogging us back to the flats. Father Holland raised his torch and could see nothing on the water but the glassy reflection of our own forms. He said it was a phantom boat I had seen; and, truly, visions of Le Grande Diable had haunted me so persistently of late, I could scarcely trust my senses. Frances Sutherland's torch suddenly appeared waving above the flats. I put muscle to the oar and before we had landed she called out-- "An Indian's canoe shot past a moment ago. Did you see it?" "No," returned Father Holland. "I think we did," said I. * * * * * "How can I thank you for what you have done?" I was saying to Frances Sutherland as we entered the fort by the same sally-port. "Do you really want to know how?" "Do I?" I was prepared to offer dramatic sacrifice. "Then never think of it again, nor speak of it again, nor know me any more than if it hadn't happened----" "The conditions are hard." "And----" "And what?" I asked eagerly. "And help me back the way I came down. For if my father--oh! if my father knew--he would kill me!" "Faith! So he ought!" ejaculated the priest. "Risking such precious treasure among vandals!" Again I piled up the benches. From the bench, she stepped to the bucket, and from the bucket to my shoulder, and as the light weight left my shoulder for the window sill, unknown to her, I caught the fluffy skirt, now bedraggled with the night dew, and kissed it gratefully. "Oh--ho--and oh-ho and oh-ho," hummed the priest. "Do _I_ scent matrimony?" "Not unless it's in your nose," I returned huffily. "Show me a man of all the hundreds inside, Father Holland, that wouldn't go on his marrow-bones to a woman who risks life and reputation, which is dearer than life, to save another woman!" "Bless you, me hearty, if he wouldn't, he'd be a villain," said the priest. CHAPTER IX DECORATING A BIT OF STATUARY I frequently passed that window above the stoop next day. Once I saw a face looking down on me with such withering scorn, I wondered if the disgraceful scene with Louis Laplante had become noised about, and I hastened to take my exercise in another part of the courtyard. Thereupon, others paid silent homage to the window, but they likewise soon tired of that parade ground. Eastern notions of propriety still clung to me. Of this I had immediate proof. When our rough crews were preparing to re-embark for the north, I was shocked beyond measure to see this frail girl come down with her father to travel in our company. Not counting her father, the priest, Duncan Cameron, Cuthbert Grant and myself, there were in our party three-score reckless, uncurbed adventurers, who feared neither God nor man. I thought it strange of a father to expose his daughter to the bold gaze, coarse remarks, and perhaps insults of such men. Before the end of that trip, I was to learn a lesson in western chivalry, which is not easily explained, or forgotten. As father and daughter were waiting to take their places in a boat, a shapeless, flat-footed woman, wearing moccasins--probably the half-breed wife of some trader in the fort--ran to the water's edge with a parcel of dainties, and kissing the girl on both cheeks, wished her a fervent God-speed. "Oh!" growled the young Nor'-Wester, who had been carried from the banquet hall, and now wore the sour expression that is the aftermath of banquets. "Look at that fat lump of a bumblebee distilling honey from the rose! There are others who would appreciate that sort of thing! This _is_ the wilderness of lost opportunities!" The girl seated herself in a canoe, where the only men were Duncan Cameron, her father and the native _voyageurs_; and I dare vouch a score of young traders groaned at the sight of this second lost opportunity. "Look, Gillespie! Look!" muttered my comrade of the banquet hall. "The Little Statue set up at the prow of yon canoe! I'll wager you do reverence to graven images all the way to Red River!" "I'll wager we all do," said I. And we did. To change the metaphor--after the style of Mr. Jack MacKenzie's eloquence--I warrant there was not a young man of the eight crews, who did not regard that marble-cold face at the prow of the leading canoe, as his own particular guiding star. And the white face beneath the broad-brimmed hat, tied down at each side in the fashion of those days, was as serenely unconscious of us as any star of the heavenly constellations. If she saw there were objects behind her canoe, and that the objects were living beings, and the living beings men, she gave no evidence of it. Nor was the Little Statue--as we had got in the habit of calling her--heartless. In spite of the fears which she entertained for her stern father, her filial affection was a thing to turn the lads of the crews quite mad. Scarcely were we ashore at the different encampments before father and daughter would stroll off arm in arm, leaving the whole brigade envious and disconsolate. Was it the influence of this slip of a girl, I wonder, that a curious change came over our crews? The men still swore; but they did it under their breath. Fewer yarns of a quality, which need not be specified, were told; and certain kinds of jokes were no longer greeted with a loud guffaw. Still we all thought ourselves mightily ill-used by that diminutive bundle of independence, and some took to turning the backs of their heads in her direction when she chanced to come their way. One young spark said something about the Little Statue being a prig, which we all invited him to repeat, but he declined. Had she played the coquette under the innocent mask of sympathy and all other guiles with which gentle slayers ambush strong hearts, I dare affirm there would have been trouble enough and to spare. Suicides, fights, insults and worse, I have witnessed when some fool woman with a fair face came among such men. "Fool" woman, I say, rather than "false"; for to my mind falsity in a woman may not be compared to folly for the utter be-deviling of men. With our guiding star at the prow of the fore canoe, we continued to wind among countless islands, through narrow, rocky channels and along those endless water-ways, that stretch like a tangled, silver chain with emerald jewels, all the way from the Great Lakes to the plains. Somewhere along Rainy River, where there is an oasis of rolling, wooded meadows in a desert of iron rock, we pitched our tents for the night. The evening air was fragrant with the odor of summer's early flowers. I could not but marvel at the almost magical growth in these far northern latitudes. Barely a month had passed since snow enveloped the earth in a winding sheet, and I have heard old residents say that the winter's frost penetrated the ground for a depth of four feet. Yet here we were in a very tropic of growth run riot and the frost, which still lay beneath the upper soil, was thawing and moistening the succulent roots of a wilderness of green. The meadow grass, swaying off to the forest margin in billowy ripples, was already knee-high. The woods were an impenetrable mass of foliage from the forest of ferns about the broad trunks to the high tree-tops, nodding and fanning in the night breeze like coquettish dames in an eastern ball-room. Everywhere--at the river bank, where our tents stood, above the long grass, and in the forest--clear, faint and delicate, like the bloom of a fair woman's cheek, or the pensive theme of some dream fugue, or the sweet notes of some far-off, floating harmonies, was an odor of hidden flowers. A trader's nature is, of necessity, rough in the grain, but it is not corrupt with the fevered joys of the gilded cities. Even we could feel the call of the wilds to come and seek. It was not surprising, therefore, that after supper father and daughter should stroll away from the encampment, arm in arm, as usual. As their figures passed into the woods, the girl broke away from her father's arm and stooped to the ground. "Pickin' flowers," was the laconic remark of the trader, who had helped me with Louis Laplante on the beach; and the man lay back full length against a rising knoll to drink in the delicious freshness of the night. Every man of us watched the vanishing forms. "Smell violets?" asked a heterogeneous combination of sun-brown and buckskin. "This ground's a perfect wheat-field of violets," exclaimed the whiskered youngster. "Lots o' Mayflowers and night-shades in the bush," declared a ragged man, who was one of the worst gamblers in camp, and was now aimlessly shuffling a greasy, bethumbed pack of cards. "Oh!" came simultaneously from half a dozen. Personally, it struck me one might pick flowers for a certain purpose in the bush without being observed. "Mayflowers in June!" scoffed the boy. "Aye, babe! Mayflowers in June! May is June in these here regions," asserted the man. "Ladies-and-gentlemen, too, many's you could pick in the bush!" "Ladies-and-gentlemen! Sounds funny in this desert, don't it?" asked the lad. "What _are_ ladies-and-gentlemen?" "Don't you know?" continued the gambler, unfolding a curious lore of flowers. "Those little potty, white things, split up the middle with a green head on top--grow under ferns. Come on. Cards are ready! Who's going to play?" "Durn it! Them's Dutchman's breeches!" exclaimed the sun-browned trapper. "O Goll! If that Little Stature finds any Dutchman's breeches, she that's so scared of us men! O Goll! Won't she blush? Say, babe, why don't y'r fill y'r hat with 'em and put 'em in her tent?" and the big trapper set up a hoarse guffaw which led a general chorus. Then the men gathered round, to play. "Faith, lads!" interrupted the voice of the Irish priest, who had come upon the group so quietly the gambler scarcely had time to tuck the tell-tale cards under his buckskin smock, "I'm thinking ye've all developed a mighty sudden interest in botany. Are there any bleeding hearts in the bush?" "There may be here," suggested the boy. "It all comes of the Little Statute!" declared the big trapper. "Oh! You and your Stature and Statute! Why can't you say Statue?" asked the lad with the pompous scorn of youthful knowledge. "Because, oh, babe with the chicken-down," answered the man, giving his corrector a thud with his broad palm and sticking heroically by his slip of the tongue, "I says the words I means and don't play no prig. She don't pay more attention to you than if you wuz a stump, that's why she's a statue, ain't it? And the fellows've got to stretch their necks to come up to her ideas of what's proper, that's why she's a stature, ain't it? And not a man of us, if His Reverence'll excuse me for saying so, dare let out a cuss afore her. That's why she's a statute, ain't it?" And when I walked off to the bush with as great a show of indifference as I could muster, I heard the priest crying "Bravo!" to the man's defence. How came it that I was in the woods slushing through damp mold up to my ankles in black ooze? I no longer had any fear of an ambushed enemy; for Le Grand Diable, the knave, had forfeited his wages and deserted at Fort William. He was not seen after the night of the meeting with the Hudson's Bay canoe off the flats. I drew Father Holland's attention to this, and the priest was no longer so sceptical about that phantom boat. But it was not of these things I thought, as I tore a great strip of bark from the trunk of a birch tree and twisted the piece into a huge cornucopia. Nor had I the slightest expectation of encountering father and daughter in the woods. That marble face was too much in earnest for the vainest of men to suppose its indifference assumed; and no matter how fair the eyes, no man likes to be looked at, by eyes that do not see him, or see him only as a blur on the landscape. Still that marble face stood for much that is dear to the roughest of hearts and about which men do not talk. So I went on packing damp moss into the bottom of the bark horn, arranging frail lilies and night shades about the rim and laying a solid pyramid of violets in the centre. The mold, through which I was floundering, seemed to merge into a bog; but the lower reaches were hidden by a thicket of alder bushes and scrub willows. I mounted a fallen tree and tried to get cautiously down to some tempting lily-pads. Evidently some one else on the other side of the brush was after those same bulbs; for I heard the sucking sound of steps plunging through the mire of water and mud. "Why, Gillespie," called a voice, "what in the world are you doing here?" and the boy emerged through the willows gaping at me in astonishment. "Just what I want to know of you," said I. He presented a comical figure. His socks and moccasins had been tied and slung round his neck. With trousers rolled to his knees, a hatful of water-lilies in one hand and a sheaf of ferns in the other, he was wading through the swamp. "You see," he began sheepishly. "I thought she couldn't--couldn't conveniently get these for herself, and it would be kind of nice--kind of nice--you know--to get some for her----" "Don't explain," I blurted out. "I was trying that same racket myself." "You know, Gillespie," he continued quite confidentially, "when a man's been away from his mother and sisters for years and years and years----" "Yes, I know, babe; you're an octogenarian," I interrupted. "And feels himself going utterly to the bow-wows without any stop-gear to keep him from bowling clean to the bottom, a person feels like doing something decent for a girl like the Little Statue," and the youth plucked half a dozen yellow flowers as well as the coveted white ones. "Have some for your basket," said he. His face was puckered into pathetic gravity. "It's so hanged easy to go to the bow-wows out here," he added. "Not so easy as in the towns," I interjected. "Ah! but I've been there, gone all through 'em in the towns," he explained. "That's why the pater packed me off to this wilderness." And that, thought I, is why the west gets all the credit for the wild oats gathered in old lands and sown in the new world. I pulled him up to the log on which I was balanced, and seating himself he dangled his feet down and began to souse the mud off his toes. "Say!" he exclaimed. "How are you going to get 'em to her?" "Take them to the tent." "Well, Gillespie, when you take yours up, take mine along, too, will you? There's a good fellow! Do!" He was drawing on his socks. "Not much I will. If there's any proxy, you can take mine," I returned. "Say! Do you think Father Holland would take 'em up?" He had tied his moccasins and was standing. "Can't say I think he would." "He'd let you hear about it to all eternity, too, wouldn't he?" reflected the lad. "Come on, then; but you go first." And he followed me up the log, both of us feeling like shame-faced schoolboys. We stole into the tent, the one tent of all others that had interest for us that night, and deposited our burden of flowers on the couch of buffalo robes. "Hurry," whispered my companion. "Stack these ferns round somewhere! Hurry! She'll be back." And leaving me to do the arranging he bolted for the tent flaps. "Oh! Open earth and swallow me!" he almost screamed, and I heard the sound of two persons coming in violent collision at the entrance. "The babe, as I live! The rascally young broth of a babe! Ye rogue, ye!" burred the deep bass tones of the trader whom I had met over Louis Laplante. "What are ye doin' here?" "Oh, is it only you? Thank fortune!" ejaculated the boy, dodging back. "What are you doing yourself? Great guns! You scared the wits out of me! Ho! Here's a lark! Gillespie, my pal, look here!" I turned to see the sheepish, guilty, smirking faces of the trader, the rough-tongued, sunburned trapper and the ragged gambler grouped at the entrance, and each man's arms were full of flowers. "Well, I'm durned!" began the rough man. "As she's jack-spotted us all," drawled the gentle, liquid tones of the gambler, "we'd better go ahead and----" "And decorate a bit of statuary," shouted the lad with a laugh. It was a long tent, like the booth of a fair, with supports at each end, and we were festooning it from pole to pole with moss and ferns when somebody rasped at the door. "Mon alive! What's goin' on here?" We started from our work with the guilty alacrity of burglars. There stood Frances Sutherland's father, much aghast at the proceedings, and by his side was a face with cheeks flaming poppy red and lips twitching in merriment. There was a sudden snow-storm of flowers being tossed down, and five men brushed past the two spectators and dashed into the hiding of gathering dusk. At the foot of the knoll I ran against the priest. "That," roared Father Holland, shaking with laughter. "That's what I call good stuff in the rough! Faith, but ye'll give me good stuff in the rough. I want none o' yer gilded chivalry from the tinsel towns!" There was a wreath of night-shades in the Little Statue's hat when the canoes set out next morning. Mayflowers were at her throat, violets in her girdle and I know not what in a basket at her feet. The face was unconscious of us as ever, but about the downcast eyelids played a tender gentleness which was not there before. Once I caught her glancing back among us as if she would pick out the culprits; and when her eyes for a moment rested on me, my heart set up a silly thumping. But she looked just as pointedly at the others, and I know every man's heart of them responded; for the boy began such a floundering I thought he would spill his canoe. A quick trip brought us to the mouth of Red River, where the Hudson's Bay _voyageurs_ under Colin Robertson were resting. Here I was surprised to learn that Eric Hamilton had not waited but had hastened up Red River to Fort Douglas. I could not but connect this southward move of his with the sudden flight of Le Grand Diable from Fort William. After brief pause at the foot of Lake Winnipeg, our brigade turned southward and made speed up the Red through the rush-grown sedgy swamps which over-flood the river bed. Farther south the banks towered high and smoke curled up from the huts of Lord Selkirk's settlers. Women with nets in their hands to scare off myriad blackbirds that clouded the air, and men from the cornfields ran to the river edge and cheered us as we passed. Here the Sutherlands landed. Some of the traders thought it a good omen, that Hudson's Bay settlers cheered Nor'-Wester brigades; but in one bend of the muddy Red, the bastions of Fort Douglas, where Governor McDonell of the rival company ruled, loomed up and the guns pointing across the river wore anything but a welcome look. We passed Fort Douglas unmolested, followed the Red a mile farther to its junction with the Assiniboine and here disembarked at Fort Gibraltar, the headquarters of the Nor'-Westers in Red River. CHAPTER X MORE STUDIES IN STATUARY "So he laughs at our warrant?" exclaimed Duncan Cameron. "Hut-tut! We'll teach him to respect warrants issued under authority of 43d King George III.," and the dictator of Fort Gibraltar fussed angrily among the papers of his desk and beat a threatening tattoo with knuckles and heels. The Assiniboine enters the Red at something like a right angle and in this angle was the Nor'-Westers' fort, named after an old-world stronghold, because we imagined our position gave us the same command of the two waterways by which the _voyageurs_ entered and left the north country as Gibraltar has of the Mediterranean. Governor McDonell had thought to outwit us by building the Hudson's Bay fort a mile further down the current of the Red. It was a sharp trick, for Fort Douglas could intercept Nor'-West brigades bound from Montreal to Fort Gibraltar, or from Fort Gibraltar to the Athabasca. Two days after our arrival, Cuthbert Grant, with a band of _Bois-Brulés_, had gone to Fort Douglas to arrest Captain Miles McDonell for plundering Nor'-West posts. The doughty governor took Grant's warrant as a joke and scornfully turned the whole North-West party out of Fort Douglas. On the stockades outside were proclamations commanding settlers to take up arms in defense of the Hudson's Bay traders and forbidding natives to sell furs to any but our rivals. These things added fuel to the hot anger of the chafing _Bois-Brulés_. A curious race were these mongrel plain-rangers, with all the savage instincts of the wild beast and few of the brutal impulses of the beastly man. The descendants of French fathers and Indian mothers, they inherited all the quick, fiery daring of the Frenchman, all the endurance, craft and courage of the Indian, and all the indolence of both white man and red. One might cut his enemy's throat and wash his hands in the life blood, or spend years in accomplishing revenge; but it is a question if there is a single instance on record of a _Bois-Brulé_ molesting an enemy's family. When the Frenchman married a native woman, he cast off civilization like an ill-fitting coat and virtually became an Indian. When the Scotch settler married a native woman, he educated her up to his own level and if she did not become entirely civilized, her children did. One was the wild man, the Ishmaelite of the desert, the other, the tiller of the soil, the Israelite of the plain. Such were the tameless men, of whom Cuthbert Grant was the leader, the leader solely from his fitness to lead. It was late in the afternoon when the warden returned from Fort Douglas. I was busy over my desk. Father Holland was still with us awaiting the departure of traders to the south, and Duncan Cameron was stamping about the room like a caged lion. There came a quick, angry tramp from the hall. "That's Grant back, and there's no one with him," muttered Cameron with suppressed anger; and in burst the warden himself, his heavy brows dark with fury and his eyes flashing like the fire at a pistol point. Involuntarily I stopped work and the priest glanced across at me with a look which bespoke expectation of an explosion. Grant did not storm. That was not his way. He took several turns about the room, mastered himself, and speaking through his teeth said quietly, "There be some fools that enjoy playing with gunpowder. I'm not one of them! There be some idiots that like teasing tigers. 'Tis not sport to my fancy! There be some pot-valiant braggarts that defy the law. Let them enjoy the breaking of the law!" "What--what--what?" sputtered the Highland governor, springing first on one side of Grant and then on the other, all the while rumbling out maledictions on Lord Selkirk, and Governor McDonell and Fort Douglas. "What do ye say, mon? Do I understand ye clearly, there's no prisoners with ye?" "Laughs at the _Bois-Brulés_. The fool laughs at the _Bois-Brulés_! I've seen gophers cock their eye at a wolf, before that same wolf made a breakfast of gophers! The fool laughs at your warrant, Sir! Scouted it, Sir! Bundled us out of Fort Douglas like cattle!" The warden went on in a bitter strain to tell of the effect of the posted proclamations on his followers. "So the lordly Captain Miles McDonell of the Queen's Rangers, generalissimo of all creation, defies us, does he?" demanded Cameron in great dudgeon, scarcely crediting his ears. "Aye!" answered Grant, "but he can ill afford to be so high and mighty. We went through the settlement and half the people are with us----" "That's good! That's good!" responded Cameron with keen relish. "They're heartily sick of the country," continued the warden, "and would leave to-morrow if we'd supply the boats. Last winter they nearly starved. The company's generous supply was rancid grease and wormy flour." "Fine way o' colonizing a country," stormed Cameron, "bring men out as settlers and arm them to fight! We'll spike his guns by shipping a score more away." "We've spiked his guns in a better way," said Grant dryly. "Some of the friendlies are so afraid he'll take their guns away and leave them defenceless unless they fight us, they've sent their arms here for safekeeping. We'll keep them safe, I'll warrant." Grant smiled, showing his white teeth in a way that was not pleasant to see, and somehow reminded me of a dog's snarl. "Good! Good! Excellent, Grant." Such strategy pleased Cameron. "See here, mon, Cuthbert, we've the law on our side--we've the warrants to back the law! We'd better give yon dour fool a lesson. He's broken the peace. We haven't. Come out, an' I'll talk it over with ye!" The two went out, Grant saying as they passed the window--"Let him tamper with the fur trade among the Indians and I'll not answer for it! That last order not to sell----" The rest of the remark I lost. "'Twould serve him well right if they did," returned Cameron, and both men walked beyond hearing. Father Holland and I were left alone. The fort became ominously still. There was a distant clatter of receding hoofs; but we were on the south side of the warehouse and could not see which way the horses were galloping. "I'm afraid--I'm afraid both sides will be rash," observed the priest. The sun-dial indicated six o'clock. I closed and locked the office desks. We had supper in the deserted dining-hall. Afterwards we strolled to the northeast gate, and looking in the direction of Fort Douglas, wondered what scheme could be afoot. Here my testimony need not be taken for, or against, either side. All I saw was Duncan Cameron with the other white men of the fort standing on a knoll some distance from Fort Gibraltar, evidently gazing towards Fort Douglas. Against the sky, above the settlement, there were clouds of rising smoke. "Burning hay-ricks?" I questioned. "Aye, and houses! 'Tis shameless work leaving the people exposed to the blasts of next winter! Shameless, shameless work! Y'r company'll gain nothing by it, Rufus!" Across the night came faint, short snappings like a fusillade of shots. "Looting the neutrals," said the priest. "God grant there be no blood on the plains this night! These fool traders don't realize what it means to rouse blood in an Indian! They'll get a lesson yet! Give the red devils a taste of blood and there won't be a white unscalped to the Rockies! I've seen y'r fine, clever rascals play the Indian against rivals, and the game always ends the same way. The Indian is a weapon that's quick to cut the hand of the user." Little did I realize my part in the terrible fulfilment of that prophecy. "Look alive, lad! Where are y'r wits? What's that?" he cried, suddenly pointing to the river bank. Up from the cliff sprang a form as if by magic. It came leaping straight to the fort gate. "Some frightened half-breed wench," surmised the priest. I saw it was a woman with a shawl over her head like a native. "_Bon soir!_" said I after the manner of traders with Indian women; but she rushed blindly on to the gate. The fort was deserted. Suspicion of treachery flashed on me. How many more half-breeds were beneath that cliff? "Stop, huzzie!" I ordered, springing forward and catching her so tightly by the wrist that she swung half-way round before she could check herself. She wrenched vigorously to get free. "Stop! Be still, you huzzie!" "Be still--you what?" asked a low, amazed voice that broke in ripples and froze my blood. A shawl fluttered to the ground, and there stood before us the apparition of a marble face. "The Little Statue!" I gasped in sheer horror at what I had done. "The little--what?" asked the rippling voice, that sounded like cold water flowing under ice, and a pair of eyes looked angrily down at the hand with which I was still unconsciously gripping her arm. "I'd thank you, Sir," she began, with a mock courtesy to the priest, "I'd thank you, Sir, to call off your mastiff." "Let her go, boy!" roared the priest with a hammering blow across my forearm that brought me to my senses and convinced me she was no wraith. Mastiff! That epithet stung to the quick. I flung her wrist from me as if it had been hot coals. Now, a woman may tread upon a man--also stamp upon him if she has a mind to--but she must trip it daintily. Otherwise even a worm may turn against its tormentor. To have idolized that marble creature by day and night, to have laid our votive offerings on its shrine, to have hungered for the sound of a woman's lips for weeks, and to hear those lips cuttingly call me a dog--were more than I could stand. "Ten thousand pardons, Mistress Sutherland!" I said with a pompous stiffness which I intended should be mighty crushing. "But when ladies deck themselves out as squaws and climb in and out of windows,"--that was brutal of me; she had done it for Miriam and me--"and announce themselves in unexpected ways, they need not hope to be recognized." And did she flare back at me? Not at all. "You waste time with your long speeches," she said, turning from me to Father Holland. Thereupon I strode off angrily to the river bank. "Oh, Father Holland," I heard her say as I walked away, "I must go to Pembina! I'm in such trouble! There's a Frenchman----" Trouble, thought I; she is in trouble and I have been thinking only of my own dignity. And I stood above the river, torn between desire to rush back and wounded pride, that bade me stick it out. Over the plains came the shout of returning plunderers. I could hear the throb, throb of galloping hoofs beating nearer and nearer over the turf, and reflected that I might make the danger from returning _Bois-Brulés_ the occasion of a reconciliation. "Come here, lad!" called Father Holland. I needed no urging. "Ye must rig up in tam-o'-shanter and tartan, like a Highland settler, and take Mistress Sutherland back to Fort Douglas. She's going to Pembina to meet her father, lad, when I go south to the Missouri. And, lad," the priest hesitated, glancing doubtfully from Miss Sutherland to me, "I'm thinking there's a service ye might do her." The Little Statue was looking straight at me now, and there were tear-marks about the heavy lashes. Now, I do not pretend to explain the power, or witchery, a gentle slip of a girl can wield with a pair of gray eyes; but when I met the furtive glance and saw the white, veined forehead, the arched brows, the tremulous lips, the rounded chin, and the whole face glorified by that wonderful mass of hair, I only know, without weapon or design, she dealt me a wound which I bear to this day. What a ruffian I had been! I was ashamed, and my eyes fell before hers. If a libation of blushes could appease an offended goddess, I was livid evidence of repentance. I felt myself flooded in a sudden heat of shame. She must have read my confusion, for she turned away her head to hide mantling forgiveness. "There's a crafty Frenchman in the fort has been troubling the lassie. I'm thinking, if ye worked off some o' your anger on him, it moight be for the young man's edification. Be quick! I hear the breeds returning!" "But I have a message," she said in choking tones. "From whom?" I asked aimlessly enough. "Eric Hamilton!" she answered. "Eric Hamilton!" both the priest and I shouted. "Yes--why? What--what--is it? He's wounded, and he wants a Rufus Gillespie, who's with the Nor'-Westers. The _Bois-Brulés_ fired on the fort. Where _is_ Rufus Gillespie?" "Bless you, lassie! Here--here--here he is!" The holy father thumped my back at every word. "Here he is, crazy as a March hare for news of Hamilton!" "You--Rufus--Gillespie!" So she did not even know my name. Evidently, if she troubled my thoughts, I did not trouble hers. "He's told me so much about you," she went on, with a little pant of astonishment. "How brave and good----" "Pshaw!" I interrupted roughly. "What's the message?" "Mr. Hamilton wishes to see you at once," she answered coldly. "Then kill two birds with one stone! Take her home and see Hamilton--and hurry!" urged the priest. The half-breeds were now very near. "Put it over your head!" and Father Holland clapped the shawl about Frances Sutherland after the fashion of the half-breed women. She stood demurely behind him while I ran up-stairs in the warehouse to disguise myself in tartan plaid. When I came out, Duncan Cameron was in the gateway welcoming Cuthbert Grant and the _Bois-Brulés_, as if pillaging defenceless settlers were heroic. Victors from war may be inspiring, but a half-breed rabble, red-handed from deeds of violence, is not a sight to edify any man. "What's this ye have, Father?" bawled one impudent fellow, and he pointed sneeringly at the figure in the folds of the shawl. "Let the wench be!" was the priest's reply, and the half-breed lounged past with a laugh. I was about to offer Frances Sutherland my arm to escort her from the mob, when I felt Father Holland's hard knuckles dig viciously into my ribs. "Ye fool ye! Ye blundering idiot!" he whispered, "she's a half-breed. Och! But's time y'r eastern greenness was tannin' a good western russet! Let her follow with bowed head, or you'll have the whole pack on y'r heels!" With that admonition I strode boldly out, she behind, humble, with downcast eyes like a half-breed girl. We ran down the river path through the willows and jumping into a canoe swiftly rounded the forks of the Assiniboine and Red. There we left the canoe and fled along a trail beneath the cliff till the shouting of the half-breeds could be no longer heard. At once I turned to offer her my arm. She must have bruised her feet through the thin moccasins, for the way was very rough. I saw that she was trembling from fatigue. "Permit me," I said, offering my arm as formally as if she had been some grand lady in an eastern drawing-room. "Thank you--I'm afraid I must," and she reluctantly placed a light hand on my sleeve. I did not like that condescending compulsion, and now out of danger, I became strangely embarrassed and angry in her presence. The "mastiff" epithet stuck like a barb in my boyish chivalry. Was it the wind, or a low sigh, or a silent weeping, that I heard? I longed to know, but would not turn my head, and my companion was lagging just a step behind. I slackened speed, so did she. Then a voice so low and soft and golden it might have melted a heart of stone--but what is a heart of stone compared to the wounded pride of a young man?--said, "Do you know, I think I rather like mastiffs?" "Indeed," said I icily, in no mood for raillery. "Like _them_ for friends, not enemies, to be protected by _them_, not--not bitten," the voice continued with a provoking emphasis of the plural "_them_." "Yes," said I, with equal emphasis of the obnoxious plural. "Ladies find _them_ useful at times." That fling silenced her and I felt a shiver run down the arm on my sleeve. "Why, you're shivering," I blundered out. "You must let me put this round you," and I pulled off the plaid and would have placed it on her shoulders, but she resisted. "I am not in the least cold," she answered frigidly--which is the only untruth I ever heard her tell--"and you shall not say '_must_' to me," and she took her hand from my arm. She spoke with a tremor that warned me not to insist. Then I knew why she had shivered. "Please forgive, Miss Sutherland," I begged. "I'm such a maladroit animal." "I quite agree with you, a maladroit mastiff with teeth!" Mastiff! That insult again! I did not reproffer my arm. We strode forward once more, she with her face turned sideways remote from me, I with my face sideways remote from her, and the plaid trailing from my hand by way of showing her she could have it if she wished. We must have paced along in this amiable, post-matrimonial fashion for quite a quarter of the mile we had to go, and I was awkwardly conscious of suppressed laughing from her side. It was the rippling voice, that always seemed to me like fountain splash in the sunshine, which broke silence again. "Really," said the low, thrilling, musical witchery by my side, "really, it's the most wonderful story I have ever heard!" "Story?" I queried, stopping stock still and gaping at her. "Perfectly wonderful! So intensely interesting and delightful." "Interesting and delightful?" I interrogated in sheer amazement. This girl utterly dumfounded me, and in the conceit of youth I thought it strange that any girl could dumfound me. "What an interesting life you have had, to be sure!" "I have had?" "Yes, don't you know you've been talking in torrents for the past ten minutes? No? Do you forget?" and she laughed tremulously either from embarrassment, or cold. "Well!" said I, befooled into good-humor and laughing back. "If you give me a day's warning, I'll try to keep up with you." "Ah! There! I've put you through the ice at last! It's been such hard work!" "And I come up badly doused!" "Stimulated too! You're doing well already!" "My thanks to my instructor," and catching the spirit of her mockery, I swept her a courtly bow. "There! There!" she cried, dropping raillery as soon as I took it up. "You were cross at the window. I was cross on the flats. You nearly wrenched my hand off----" "Can you blame me?" I asked. "And to pay me back you turned my head and stole my heart----" "Hush!" she interrupted. "Let's clean the slate and begin again." "With all my heart, if you'll wear this tartan and stop shivering." I was not ready to consent to an unconditional surrender. "I hate your 'ifs' and 'buts' and so-much-given-for-so-much-got," she exclaimed with an impatient, little stamp, "but--but--" she added inconsistently, "if--if--you'll keep one end of the plaid for yourself, I'll take the other." "Ho--ho! I like 'ifs' and 'buts.' Have you more of that kind?" I laughed, whisking the fold about us both. Drawing her hand into mine, I kept it there. "It isn't so cold as--as that, is it?" asked the voice under the plaid. "Quite," I returned valiantly, tightening my clasp. She laughed a low, mellow laugh that set my heart beating to the tune of a trip-hammer. I felt a great intoxication of strength that might have razed Fort Douglas to the ground and conquered the whole world, which, I dare say, other young men have felt when the same kind of weight hung upon their protection. "Oh! Little Statue! Why have you been so hard on us?" I began. "_Us?_" she asked. "Me--then," and I gulped down my embarrassment. "Because----" "Because what?" "No _what_. Just because!" She was astonished that her decisive reason did not satisfy. "Because! A woman's reason!" I scoffed. "Because! It's the best and wisest and most wholesome reason ever invented. Think what it avoids saying and what wisdom may be behind it!" "Only wisdom?" "You be careful! There'll be another cold plunge! Tell me about your friend's wife, Miriam," she answered, changing the subject. And when I related my strange mission and she murmured, "How noble," I became a very Samson of strength, ready to vanquish an army of Philistine admirers with the jawbone of my inflated self-confidence--provided, always, one queen of the combat were looking on. "Are you cold, now?" I asked, though the trembling had ceased. No, she was not cold. She was quite comfortable, and the answer came in vibrant tones which were as wine to a young man's heart. "Are you tired, Frances?" and the "No" was accompanied by a little laugh, which spurred more questioning for no other purpose than to hear the music of her voice. Now, what was there in those replies to cause happiness? Why have inane answers to inane, timorous questions transformed earth into paradise and mortals into angels? "Do you find the way very far--Frances?" The flavor of some names tempts repeated tasting. "Very far?" came the response in an amused voice, "find it very far? Yes I do, quite far--oh! No--I don't. Oh! I don't know!" She broke into a joyous laugh at her own confusion, gaining more self-possession as I lost mine; and out she slipped from the plaid. "I wish it were a thousand times farther," and I gazed ruefully at the folds that trailed empty. What other absurd things I might have said, I cannot tell; but we were at the fort and I had to wrap the tartan disguise about myself. Stooping, I picked a bunch of dog-roses growing by the path, then felt foolish, for I had not the courage to give them to her, and dropped them without her knowledge. She gave the password at the gate. I was taken for a Selkirk Highlander and we easily gained entrance. A man brushed past us in the gloom of the courtyard. He looked impudently down into her face. It was Laplante, and my whole frame filled with a furious resentment which I had not guessed could be possible with me. "That Frenchman," she whispered, but his figure vanished among the buildings. She showed me the council hall where Eric could be found. "And where do you go?" I asked stupidly. She indicated the quarters where the settlers had taken refuge. I led her to the door. "Are you sure you'll be safe?" "Oh! Yes, quite, as long as the settlers are here; and you, you will let me know when the priest sets out for Pembina?" I vowed more emphatically than the case required that she should know. "Are there no dark halls in there, unsafe for you?" I questioned. "None," and she went up the first step of the doorway. "Are you sure you're safe?" I also mounted a step. "Yes, quite, thank you," and she retreated farther, "and you, have you forgotten you came to see Mr. Hamilton?" "Why--so I did," I stammered out absently. She was on the top step, pulling the latch-string of the great door. "Stop! Frances--dear!" I cried. She stood motionless and I felt that this last rashness of an unruly tongue--too frank by far--had finished me. "What? Can I do anything to repay you for your trouble in bringing me here?" "I've been repaid," I answered, "but indeed, indeed, long live the Queen! May it please Her Majesty to grant a token to her leal and devoted knight----" "What is thy request?" she asked laughingly. "What token doth the knight covet?" "The token that goes with _good-nights_," and I ventured a pace up the stairs. "There, Sir Knight," she returned, hastily putting out her hand, which was not what I wanted, but to which I gratefully paid my devoir. "Art satisfied?" she asked. "Till the Queen deigns more," and I paused for a reply. She lingered on the threshold as if she meant to come down to me, then with a quick turn vanished behind the gloomy doors, taking all the light of my world with her; but I heard a voice, as of some happy bird in springtime, trilling from the hall where she had gone, and a new song made music in my own heart. CHAPTER XI A SHUFFLING OF ALLEGIANCE Time was when Fort Douglas rang as loudly with mirth of assembled traders as ever Fort William's council hall. Often have I heard veterans of the Hudson's Bay service relate how the master of revels used to fill an ample jar with corn and quaff a beaker of liquor for every grain in the drinker's hour-glass. "How stands the hour-glass?" the governor of the feast, who was frequently also the governor of the company, would roar out in stentorian tones, that made themselves heard above the drunken brawl. "High, Your Honor, high," some flunkey of the drinking bout would bawl back. Thereupon, another grain was picked from the jar, another flagon tossed down and the revel went on. This was a usual occurrence before and after the conflict with the Nor'-Westers. But the night that I climbed the stairs of the main warehouse and, mustering up assurance, stepped into the hall as if I belonged to the fort, or the fort belonged to me, there was a different scene. A wounded man lay on a litter at the end of the long, low room; and the traders sitting on the benches against the walls, or standing aimlessly about, were talking in suppressed tones. Scotchmen, driven from their farms by the _Bois-Brulés_, hung around in anxious groups. The lanterns, suspended on iron hooks from mid-rafter, gave but a dusky light, and I vainly scanned many faces for Eric Hamilton. That he was wounded, I knew. I was stealing stealthily towards the stretcher at the far end of the place, when a deep voice burred rough salutation in my ear. "Hoo are ye, gillie?" It was a shaggy-browed, bluff Scotchman, who evidently took me in my tartan disguise for a Highland lad. Whether he meant, "How are you," or "Who are you," I was not certain. Afraid my tongue might betray me, I muttered back an indistinct response. The Scot was either suspicious, or offended by my churlishness. I slipped off quickly to a dark corner, but I saw him eying me closely. A youth brushed past humming a ditty, which seemed strangely out of place in those surroundings. He stood an elbow's length from me and kicked moccasined heels against the floor in the way of light-headed lads. Both the air and figure of the young fellow vaguely recalled somebody, but his back was towards me. I was measuring my comrade, wondering if I might inquire where Hamilton could be found, when the lad turned, and I was face to face with the whiskered babe of Fort William. He gave a long, low whistle. "Gad!" he gasped. "Do my eyes tell lies? As I live, 'tis your very self! Hang it, now, I thought you were one of those solid bodies wouldn't do any turn-coating----" "Turn-coating!" I repeated in amazement. "One of those dray-horse, old reliables, wouldn't kick over the traces, not if the boss pumped his arms off licking you! Hang it! I'm not that sort! By gad, I'm not! I've got too many oats! I can't stand being jawed and gee-hawed by Dunc. Cameron; so when the old Gov. threatened to dock me for being full, I just kicked up my heels and came. But say! I didn't think you would, Gillespie!" "No?" said I, keeping my own counsel and waiting for the Nor'-West deserter to proceed. "What 'd y' do it for, Gillespie? You're as sober as cold water! Was it old Cameron?" "You're not talking straight, babe," said I. "You know Cameron doesn't nag his men. What did _you_ do it for?" "Eh?" and the lad gave a laugh over my challenge of his veracity. "See here, old pal, I'll tell you if you tell me." "Go ahead with your end of the contract!" "Well, then, look here. We're not in this wilderness for glory. I knock down to the highest bidder----" "Hudson's Bay is _not_ the highest bidder." "Not unless you happen to have information they want." "Oh! That's the way of it, is it?" So the boy was selling Nor'-Westers' secrets. "You can bet your last beaver-skin it is! Do you think I was old Cam's private secretary for nothin'? Not I! I say--get your wares as you may and sell 'em to the highest bidder. So here I am, snugly berthed, with nothing to do but twiddle my thumbs, all through judicious--distribution--of--information." And the boy gurgled with pleasure over his own cleverness. "And say, Gillespie, I'm in regular clover! The Little Statue's here, all alone! Dad's gone to Pembina to the buffalo hunt. I've got ahead of all you fellows. I'm going to introduce a French-chap, a friend of mine." "You'd much better break his bones," was my advice. It needed no great speculation to guess who the Frenchman was; and in the hands of that crafty rake this prattling babe would be as putty. "Pah! You're jealous, Gillespie! We're right on the inside track!" "Lots of confidential talks with her, I suppose?" "Talks! Pah! You gross fatty! Why, Gillespie, what do you know of such things? Laplante can win a girl by just looking at her--French way, you know--he can pose better than a poem!" "Blockhead," I ground out between my teeth, a feeling taking possession of me, which is designated "indignation" in the first person but jealousy in the second and third. "You stupid simpleton, that Laplante is a villain who will turn your addled pate and work you as an old wife kneads dough." "What do you know about Laplante?" he demanded hotly. "I know he is an accomplished blackguard," I answered quietly, "and if you want to spoil your chances with the Little Statue, just prance round in his company." The lad was too much surprised to speak. "Where's Hamilton?" I asked. "Find him for yourself," said he, going off in a huff. I edged cautiously near enough the wounded man to see that he was not Hamilton. Near the litter was a group of clerks. "They're fools," one clerk was informing the others. "Cameron sent word he'd have McDonell dead or alive. If he doesn't give himself up, this fort'll go and the whole settlement be massacred." "Been altogether too high-handed anyway," answered another. "I'm loyal to my company; but Lord Selkirk can't set up a military despotism here. Been altogether better if we'd left the Nor'-Westers alone." "It's all the fault of that cocky little martinet," declared a third. "I say," exclaimed a man joining the group, "d' y' hear the news? All the chiefs in there--" jerking his thumb towards a side door--"are advising Captain McDonell to give himself up and save the fort." "Good thing. Who'll miss him? He'll only get a free trip to Montreal," remarked one of the aggressives in this group. "I tell you, men, both companies have gone a deal too far in this little slap-back game to be keen for legal investigation. Why, at Souris, everybody knows----" He lowered his voice and I unconsciously moved from my dark corner to hear the rest. "Hoo are ye, gillie?" said the burly Scot in my ear. Turning, I found the canny swain had followed me on an investigating tour. Again I gave him an inarticulate reply and lost myself among other coteries. Was the man spying on me? I reflected that if "the chiefs"--as the Hudson's Bay man had called them--were in the side room, Eric Hamilton would be among these conferring with the governor. As I approached the door, I noticed my Scotch friend had taken some one into his confidence and two men were now on my tracks. Lifting the latch, I gave a gentle, cautious push and the hinges swung so quietly I had slipped into the room before those inside or out could prevent me. I found myself in the middle of a long apartment with low, sloping ceiling, and deep window recesses. It had evidently been partitioned off from the main hall; for the wall, ceiling and floor made an exact triangle. At one end of the place was a table. Round this was a group of men deeply engrossed in some sort of conference. Sitting on the window sills and lounging round the box stove behind the table were others of our rival's service. I saw at once it would be difficult to have access to Hamilton. He was lying on a stretcher within talking range of the table and had one arm in a sling. Now, I hold it is harder for the unpractised man to play the spy with everything in his favor, than for the adept to act that rôle against the impossible. One is without the art that foils detection. The other can defy detection. So I stood inside with my hand on the door lest the click of the closing latch should rouse attention, but had no thought of prying into Hudson's Bay secrets. "Your Honor," began Hamilton in a lifeless manner, which told me his search had been bootless, and he turned languidly towards a puffy, crusty, military gentleman, whom, from the respect shown him, I judged to be Governor McDonell. "Duncan Cameron's warrant for the arrest is perfectly legal. If Your Honor should surrender yourself, you will save Fort Douglas for the Hudson's Bay Company. Besides, the whole arrest will prove a farce. The law in Lower Canada provides no machinery for the trial of cases occurring----" Here Hamilton came to a blank and unexpected stop, for his eyes suddenly alighted on me with a look that forbade recognition, and fled furtively back to the group it the table. I understood and kept silent. "For the trial of cases occurring?" asked the governor sharply. "Occurring--here," added Hamilton, shooting out the last word as if his arm had given him a sudden twinge. "And so I say, Your Honor will lose nothing by giving yourself up to the Nor'-Westers, and will save Fort Douglas for the Hudson's Bay." "The doctor tells me it's a compound fracture. You'll find it painful, Mr. Hamilton," said Governor McDonell sympathetically, and he turned to the papers over which the group were conferring. "I'm no great hand in winning victories by showing the white flag," began the gallant captain, "but if a free trip from here to Montreal satisfies those fools, I'll go." "Well said! Bravo! Your Honor," exclaimed a shaggy member of the council, bringing his fist down on the table with a thud. "I call that diplomacy, outmanoeuvring the enemy! Your Honor sets an example for abiding by the law; you obey the warrant. They must follow the example and leave Fort Douglas alone." "Besides, I can let His Lordship know from Montreal just what reinforcements are needed here," continued Captain McDonell, with a curious disregard for the law which he professed to be obeying, and a faithful zeal for Lord Selkirk. Hamilton was looking anxiously at me with an expression of warning which I could not fully read. Then I felt, what every one must have felt at some time, that a third person was watching us both. Following Eric's glance to a dark window recess directly opposite the door where I stood, I was horrified and riveted by the beady, glistening, insolent eyes of Louis Laplante, gazing out of the dusk with an expression of rakish amusement, the amusement of a spider when a fly walks into its web. Taken unawares I have ever been more or less of what Mr. Jack MacKenzie was wont to call "a stupid loon!" On discovering Laplante I promptly sustained my reputation by letting the door fly to with a sharp click that startled the whole room-full. Whereat Louis Laplante gave a low, soft laugh. "What do you want here, man?" demanded Governor McDonell's sharp voice. Jerking off my cap, I saluted. "My man, Your Honor," interjected Eric quietly. "Come here, Rufus," he commanded, motioning me to his side with the hauteur of a master towards a servant. And Louis Laplante rose and tip-toed after me with a tigerish malice that recalled the surly squaw. "Oh, Eric!" I cried out eagerly. "Are you hurt, and at such a time?" Unconsciously I was playing into Louis' hands, for he stood by the stove, laughing nonchalantly. Thereupon Eric ground out some imprecation at my stupidity. "There's been a shuffling of allegiance, I hear," he said with a queer misleading look straight at Laplante. "We've recruits from Fort Gibraltar." Eric's words, curiously enough, banished triumph from Laplante's face and the Frenchman's expression was one of puzzled suspicion. From Eric's impassive features, he could read nothing. What Hamilton was driving at, I should presently learn; but to find out I would no more take my eyes from Laplante's than from a tiger about to spring. At once, to get my attention, Hamilton brought a stick down on my toes with a sharpness that made me leap. By all the codes of nudges and kicks and such signaling, it is a principle that a blow at one end of human anatomy drives through the density of the other extremity. It dawned on me that Eric was trying to persuade Laplante I had deserted Nor'-Westers for the Hudson's Bay. The ethics of his attempt I do not defend. It was after the facile fashion of an intriguing era. A sharper weapon was presently given us against Louis Laplante; for when I grasped Eric's stick to stay the raps against my feet, I felt the handle rough with carving. "What are these carvings, may I inquire, Sir?" I asked, assuming the strangeness, which Eric's signals had directed, but never moving my eyes from Laplante. The villain who had befooled me in the gorge and eluded me in the forest, and now tormented Frances Sutherland, winced under my watchfulness. "The carvings!" answered Eric, annoyed that I did not return his plain signals and determined to get my eye. "Pray look for yourself! Where are your eyes?" "I can't see in this poor light, Sir; but I also have a strangely carved thing--a spear-head. Now if this head has no handle and this handle has no head--they might fit," I went on watching Laplante, whose saucy assurance was deserting him. "Spear-head!" exclaimed Hamilton, beginning to understand I too had my design. "Where did you find it?" "Trying to bury itself in my head." I returned. At this, Laplante, the knave, smiled graciously in my very face. "But it didn't succeed?" asked Hamilton. "No--it mistook me for a tree, missed the mark and went into the tree; just as another friend of mine mistook me for a tree, hit the mark and ran into me," and I smiled back at Laplante. His face clouded. That reference to the scene on the beach, where his Hudson's Bay despatches were stolen, was too much for his hot blood. "Here it is," I continued, pulling the spear-head out of my plaid. I had brought it to Hamilton, hoping to identify our enemy, and we did. "Please see if they fit, Sir? We might identify our--friends!" and I searched the furtive, guilty eyes of the Frenchman. "Dat frien'," muttered Louis with a threatening look at me, "dat frien' of Mister Hamilton he spike good English for Scot' youth." Now Louis, as I remembered from Laval days, never mixed his English and French, except when he was in passion furious beyond all control. "Fit!" cried Hamilton. "They're a perfect fit, and both carved the same, too." "With what?" "Eagles," answered Eric, puzzled at my drift, and Louis Laplante wore the last look of the tiger before it springs. "And eagles," said I, defying the spring, "signify that both the spear-head and the spear-handle belong to the Sioux chief whose daughter"--and I lowered my voice to a whisper which only Laplante and Hamilton could hear--"is married--to Le--Grand--Diable!" "What!" came Hamilton's low cry of agony. Forgetting the fractured arm, he sprang erect. And Louis Laplante staggered back in the dark as if we had struck him. "Laplante! Laplante! Where's that Frenchman? Bring him up here!" called Governor McDonell's fussy, angry tones. Coming when it did, this demand was to Louis a bolt of judgment; and he joined the conference with a face as gray as ashes. "Now about those stolen despatches! We want to know the truth! Were you drunk, or were you not? Who has them?" Captain McDonell arraigned the Frenchman with a fire of questions that would have confused any other culprit but Louis. "Eric," I whispered, taking advantage of the respite offered by Louis' examination. "We found Laplante at _Pointe a la Croix_. He was drunk. He confessed Miriam is held by Diable's squaw. Then we discovered someone was listening to the confession and pursued the eavesdropper into the bush. When we came back, Laplante had been carried off. I found one of my canoemen had your lost fowling-piece, and it was he who had listened and carried off the drunk sot and tried to send that spear-head into me at the Sault. 'Twas Diable, Eric! Father Holland, a priest in our company, told me of the white woman on Lake Winnipeg. Did you find this--" indicating the spear handle--"there?" Eric, cold, white and trembling, only whispered an affirmative. "Was that all?" "All," he answered, a strange, fierce look coming over his face, as the full import of my news forced home on him. "Was--was--Laplante--in that?" he asked, gripping my arm in his unwounded hand with foreboding force. "Not that we know of. Only Diable. But Louis is friendly with the Sioux, and if we only keep him in sight we may track them." "I'll--keep--him--in sight," muttered Hamilton in low, slow words. "Hush, Eric!" I whispered. "If we harm him, he may mislead us. Let us watch him and track him!" "He's asking leave to go trapping in the Sioux country. Can you go as trader for your people? To the buffalo hunt first, then, south? I'll watch here, if he stays; you, there, if he goes, and he shall tell us all he knows or--" "Hush, man," I urged. "Listen!" "Where," Governor McDonell was thundering at Laplante, "where are the parties that stole those despatches?" The question brought both Hamilton and myself to the table. We went forward where we could see Laplante's face without being seen by his questioners. "If I answer, Your Honor," began the Frenchman, taking the captain's bluster for what it was worth and holding out doggedly for his own rights, "I'll be given leave to trap with the Sioux?" "Certainly, man. Speak out." "The parties--that stole--those despatches," Laplante was answering slowly. At this stage he looked at his interlocutor as if to question the sincerity of the guarantee and he saw me standing screwing the spear-head on the tell-tale handle. I patted the spear-head, smiled blandly back, and with my eyes dared him to go on. He paused, bit his lip and flushed. "No lies, no roguery, or I'll have you at the whipping-post," roared the governor. "Speak up. Where are the parties?" "Near about here," stammered Louis, "and you may ask your new turn-coat." I was betrayed! Betrayed and trapped; but he should not go free! I would have shouted out, but Hamilton's hand silenced me. "Here!" exclaimed the astounded governor. "Go call that young Nor'-Wester! If _he_ backs up y'r story, _he_ was Cameron's secretary, you can go to the buffalo hunt." That response upset Louis' bearings. He had expected the governor would refer to me; but the command let him out of an awkward place and he darted from the room, as Hamilton and I supposed,--simpletons that we were with that rogue!--to find the young Nor'-Wester. This turn of affairs gave me my chance. If the young Nor'-Wester and Laplante came together, my disguise as Highlander and turn-coat would be stripped from me and I should be trapped indeed. "Good-by, old boy!" and I gripped Hamilton's hand. "If he stays, he's your game. When he goes, he's mine. Good luck to us both! You'll come south when you're better." Then I bolted through the main hall thinking to elude the canny Scots, but saw both men in the stairway waiting to intercept me. When I ran down a flight of side stairs, they dashed to trap me at the gate. At the doorway a man lounged against me. The lantern light fell on a pointed beard. It was Laplante, leaning against the wall for support and shaking with laughter. "You again, old tombstone! Whither away so fast?" and he made to hold me. "I'm in a hurry myself! My last night under a roof, ha! ha! Wait till I make my grand farewell! We both did well, did the grand, ho! ho! But I must leave a fair demoiselle!" "Let go," and I threw him off. "Take that, you ramping donkey, you Anglo-Saxon animal," and he aimed a kick in my direction. Though I could ill spare the time to do it, I turned. All the pent-up strength, from the walk with Frances Sutherland rushed into my clenched fist and Louis Laplante went down with a thud across the doorway. There was the sish-rip of a knife being thrust through my boot, but the blade broke and I rushed past the prostrate form. Certain of waylaying me, the Scots were dodging about the gate; but by running in the shadow of the warehouse to the rear of the court, I gave both the slip. I had no chance to reconnoitre, but dug my hunting-knife into the stockade, hoisted myself up the wooden wall, got a grip of the top and threw myself over, escaping with no greater loss than boots pulled off before climbing the palisade, and the Highland cap which stuck fast to a picket as I alighted below. At dawn, bootless and hatless, I came in sight of Fort Gibraltar and Father Holland, who was scanning the prairie for my return, came running to greet me. "The tip-top o' the mornin' to the renegade! I thought ye'd been scalped--and so ye have been--nearly--only they mistook y'r hat for the wool o' y'r crown. Boots gone too! Out wid your midnight pranks." A succession of welcoming thuds accompanied the tirade. As breath returned, I gasped out a brief account of the night. "And now," he exclaimed triumphantly, "I have news to translate ye to a sivinth hiven! Och! But it's clane cracked ye'll be when ye hear it. Now, who's appointed to trade with the buffalo hunters but y'r very self?" It was with difficulty I refrained from embracing the bearer of such good tidings. "Be easy," he commanded. "Ye'll need these demonstrations, I'm thinkin'--huntin' one lass and losin' y'r heart to another." We arranged he should go to Fort Douglas for Frances Sutherland and I was to set out later. They were to ride along the river-path south of the forks where I could join them. I, myself, picked out and paid for two extra horses, one a quiet little cayuse with ambling action, the other, a muscular broncho. I had the satisfaction of seeing Father Holland mounted on the latter setting out for Fort Douglas, while the Indian pony wearing an empty side-saddle trotted along in tow. The information I brought back from Fort Douglas delayed any more hostile demonstrations against the Hudson's Bay. That very morning, before I had finished breakfast, Governor McDonell rode over to Fort Gibraltar, and on condition that Fort Douglas be left unmolested gave himself up to the Nor'-Westers. At noon, when I was riding off to the buffalo hunt and the Missouri, I saw the captain, smiling and debonair, embarking--or rather being embarked--with North-West brigades, to be sent on a free trip two thousand five hundred miles to Montreal. "A safe voyage to ye," said Duncan Cameron, commander of Nor'-Westers, as the ex-governor of Red River settled himself in a canoe. "A safe voyage to ye, mon!" "And a prosperous return," was the ironical answer of the dauntless ruler over the Hudson's Bay. "Sure now, Rufus," said Father Holland to me a year afterwards, "'twas a prosperous return he had!" Fortunately, I had my choice of scouts, and, by dangling the prospects of a buffalo hunt before La Robe Noire and Little Fellow, tempted them to come with me. CHAPTER XII HOW A YOUTH BECAME A KING When the prima-donna of some vauntful city trills her bird-song above the foot-lights, or the cremona moans out the sigh of night-winds through the forest, artificial townsfolk applaud. Yet a nesting-tree, a thousand leagues from city discords, gives forth better music with deeper meaning and higher message--albeit the songster sings only from love of song. The fretted folk of the great cities cannot understand the witching fascinations of a wild life in a wild, free, tameless land, where God's own hand ministers to eye and ear. To fare sumptuously, to dress with the faultless distinction that marks wealth, to see and above all to be seen--these are the empty ends for which city men engage in a mad, feverish pursuit of wealth, trample one another down in a strife more ruthless than war and gamble away gifts of mind and soul. These are the things for which they barter all freedom but the name. Where one succeeds a thousand fail. Those with higher aims count themselves happy, indeed, to possess a few square feet of canvas, that truly represents the beauty dear to them, before weeds had undermined and overgrown and choked the temple of the soul. That any one should exchange gilded chains for freedom to give manhood shoulder swing, to be and to do--without infringing on the liberty of others to be and to do--is to such folk a matter of no small wonderment. For my part, I know I was counted mad by old associates of Quebec when I chose the wild life of the north country. But each to his taste, say I; and all this is only the opinion of an old trader, who loved the work of nature more than the work of man. Other voices may speak to other men and teach them what the waterways and forests, the plains and mountains, were teaching me. If "ologies" and "ics," the lore of school and market, comfort their souls--be it so. As for me, it was only when half a continent away from the jangle of learning and gain that I began to stir like a living thing and to know that I existed. The awakening began on the westward journey; but the new life hardly gained full possession before that cloudless summer day on the prairie, when I followed the winding river trail south of the forks. The Indian scouts were far to the fore. Rank grass, high as the saddle-bow, swished past the horse's sides and rippled away in an unbroken ocean of green to the encircling horizon. Of course allowance must be made for a man in love. Other men have discovered a worldful of beauty, when in love; but I do not see what difference two figures on horseback against the southern sky-line could possibly make to the shimmer of purple above the plains, or the fragrance of prairie-roses lining the trail. It seems to me the lonely call of the meadow-lark high overhead--a mote in a sea of blue--or the drumming and chirruping of feathered creatures through the green, could not have sounded less musical, if I had not been a lover. But that, too, is only an opinion; for one glimpse of the forms before me brought peace into the whole world. Father Holland evidently saw me, for he turned and waved. The other rider gave no sign of recognition. A touch of the spur to my horse and I was abreast of them, Frances Sutherland curveting her cayuse from the trail to give me middle place. "Arrah, me hearty, here ye are at last! Och, but ye're a skulkin' wight," called the priest as I saluted both. "What d'y' say for y'rself, ye belated rascal, comin' so tardy when ye're headed for Gretna Green--Och! 'Twas a _lapsus linguæ_! 'Tis Pembina--not Gretna Green--that I mean." Had it been half a century later, when a little place called Gretna sprang up on this very trail, Frances Sutherland and I need not have flinched at this reference to an old-world Mecca for run-away lovers. But there was no Gretna on the Pembina trail in those days and the Little Statue's cheeks were suddenly tinged deep red, while I completely lost my tongue. "Not a word for y'rself?" continued the priest, giving me full benefit of the mischievous spirit working in him. "He, who bearded the foe in his den, now meeker than a lambkin, mild as a turtle-dove, timid as a pigeon, pensive as a whimpering-robin that's lost his mate----" "There ought to be a law against the jokes of the clergy, Sir," I interrupted tartly. "The jokes aren't funny and one daren't hit back." "There ought to be a law against lovers, me hearty," laughed he. "They're always funny, and they can't stand a crack." "Against all men," ventured Frances Sutherland with that instinctive, womanly tact, which whips recalcitrant talkers into line like a deft driver reining up kicking colts. "All men should be warranted safe, not to go off." "Unless there's a fair target," and the priest looked us over significantly and laughed. If he felt a gentle pull on the rein, he yielded not a jot. Unluckily there are no curb-bits for hard-mouthed talkers. "Rufus, I don't see that ye wear a ticket warranting ye'll not go off," he added merrily. Red became redder on two faces, and hot, hotter with at least one temper. "And womankind?" I managed to blurt out, trying to second her efforts against our tormentor. "What guarantee against dangers from them? The pulpit silenced--though that's a big contract--mankind labeled, what for women?" "Libeled," she retorted. "Men say we don't hit straight enough to be dangerous." "The very reason ye are dangerous," the priest broke in. "Ye aim at a head and hit a heart! Then away ye go to Gretna Green--och! It's Pembina, I mean! Marry, my children----" and he paused. "Marry!--What?" I shouted. Thereupon Frances Sutherland broke into peals of laughter, in which I could see no reason, and Father Holland winked. "What's wrong with ye?" asked the priest solemnly. "Faith, 'tis no advice I'm giving; but as I was remarking, marry, my children, I'd sooner stand before a man not warranted safe than a woman, who might take to shying pretty charms at my head! Faith, me lambs, ye'll learn that I speak true." As Mr. Jack MacKenzie used to put it in his peppery reproof, I always did have a knack of tumbling head first the instant an opportunity offered. This time I had gone in heels and all, and now came up in as fine a confusion as any bashful bumpkin ever displayed before his lady. Frances Sutherland had regained her composure and came to my rescue with another attempt to take the lead from the loquacious churchman. "I'm so grateful to you for arranging this trip," and she turned directly to me. "Hm-m," blurted Father Holland with unutterable merriment, before I could get a word in, "he's grateful to himself for that same thing. Faith! He's been thankin' the stars, especially Venus, ever since he got marching orders!" "How did you reach Fort Gibraltar?" she persisted. "Sans boots and cap," I promptly replied, determined to be ahead of the interloper. "Sans heart, too," and the priest flicked my broncho with his whip and knocked the ready-made speech, with which I had hoped to silence him, clean out of my head. Frances Sutherland took to examining remote objects on the horizon. Hers was a nature not to be beaten. "Let us ride faster," she suddenly proposed with a glance that boded roguery for the priest's portly form. She was off like a shaft from a bow-string, causing a stampede of our horses. That was effective. A hard gallop against a stiff prairie wind will stop a stout man's eloquence. "Ho youngsters!" exclaimed the priest, coming abreast of us as we reined up behind the scouts. "If ye set me that gait--whew--I'll not be left for Gretna Green--Faith--it's Pembina, I mean," and he puffed like a cargo boat doing itself proud among the great liners. He was breathless, therefore safe. Frances Sutherland was not disposed to break the accumulating silence, and I, for the life of me, could not think of a single remark appropriate for a party of three. The ordinary commonplaces, that stop-gap conversation, refused to come forth. I rehearsed a multitude of impossible speeches; but they stuck behind sealed lips. "Silence is getting heavy, Rufus," he observed, enjoying our embarrassment. Thus we jogged forward for a mile or more. "Troth, me pet lambs," he remarked, as breath returned, "ye'll both bleat better without me!" Forthwith, away he rode fifty yards ahead, keeping that distance beyond us for the rest of the day and only calling over his shoulder occasionally. "Och! But y'r bronchos are slow! Don't be telling me y'r bronchos are not slow! Arrah, me hearties, be making good use o' the honeymoon,--I mean afternoon, not honeymoon. Marry, me children, but y'r bronchos are bog-spavined and spring-halted. Jiggle-joggle faster, with ye, ye rascals! Faith, I see ye out o' the tail o' my eye. Those bronchos are nosing a bit too close, I'm thinkin'! I'm going to turn! I warn ye fair--ready! One--shy-off there! Two--have a care! Three--I'm coming! Four--prepare!" And he would glance back with shouts of droll laughter. "Get epp! We mustn't disturb them! Get epp!" This to his own horse and off he would go, humming some ditty to the lazy hobble of his nag. "Old angel!" said I, under my breath, and I fell to wondering what earthly reason any man had for becoming a priest. He was right. Talk no longer lagged, whatever our bronchos did; but, indeed, all we said was better heard by two than three. Why that was, I cannot tell, for like beads of a rosary our words were strung together on things commonplace enough; and fond hearts, as well as mystics, have a key to unlock a world of meaning from meaningless words. Tufts of poplars, wood islands on the prairie, skulking coyotes, that prowled to the top of some earth mound and uttered their weird cries, mud-colored badgers, hulking clumsily away to their treacherous holes, gophers, sly fellows, propped on midget tails pointing fore-paws at us--these and other common things stole the hours away. The sun, dipping close to the sky-line, shone distorted through the warm haze like a huge blood shield. Far ahead our scouts were pitching tents on ground well back from the river to avoid the mosquitoes swarming above the water. It was time to encamp for the night. Those long June nights in the far north with fire glowing in the track of a vanished sun and stillness brooding over infinite space--have a glory, that is peculiarly their own. Only a sort of half-darkness lies between the lingering sunset and the early sun-dawn. At nine o'clock the sun-rim is still above the western prairie. At ten, one may read by daylight, and, if the sky is clear, forget for another hour that night has begun. After supper, Father Holland sat at a distance from the tents with his back carefully turned towards us, a precaution on his part for which I was not ungrateful. Frances Sutherland was throned on the boxes of our quondam table, and I was reclining against saddle-blankets at her feet. "Oh! To be so forever," she exclaimed, gazing at the globe of solid gold against the opal-green sky. "To have the light always clear, just ahead, nothing between us and the light, peace all about, no care, no weariness, just quiet and beauty like this forever." "Like this forever! I ask nothing better," said I with great heartiness; but neither her eyes nor her thoughts were for me. Would the eyes looking so intently at the sinking sun, I wondered, condescend to look at a spot against the sun. In desperation I meditated standing up. 'Tis all very well to talk of storming the citadel of a closed heart, but unless telepathic implements of war are perfected to the same extent as modern armaments, permitting attack at long range, one must first get within shooting distance. Apparently I was so far outside the defences, even my design was unknown. "I think," she began in low, hesitating words, so clear and thrilling, they set my heart beating wildly with a vague expectation, "I think heaven must be very, very near on nights like this, don't--you--Rufus?" I wasn't thinking of heaven at all, at least, not the heaven she had in mind; but if there is one thing to make a man swear white is black and black white and to bring him to instantaneous agreement with any statement whatsoever, it is to hear his Christian name so spoken for the first time. I sat up in an electrified way that brought the fringe of lashes down to hide those gray eyes. "Very near? Well rather! I've been in heaven all day," I vowed. "I've been getting glimpses of paradise all the way from Fort William----" "Don't," she interrupted with a flash of the imperious nature, which I knew. "Please don't, Mr. Gillespie." "Please don't Mister Gillespie me," said I, piqued by a return to the formal. "If you picked up Rufus by mistake from the priest, he sets a good example. Don't drop a good habit!" That was my first step inside the outworks. "Rufus," she answered so gently I felt she might disarm and slay me if she would, "Rufus Gillespie"--that was a return of the old spirit, a compromise between her will and mine--"please don't begin saying that sort of thing--there's a whole day before us----" "And you think I can't keep it up?" "You haven't given any sign of failing. You know, Rufus," she added consolingly, "you really must not say those things, or something will be hurt! You'll make me hurt it." "Something is hurt and needs mending, Miss Sutherland----" "Don't Miss Sutherland me," she broke in with a laugh, "call me Frances; and if something is hurt and needs mending, I'm not a tinker, though my father and the priest--yes and you, too--sometimes think so. But sisters do mending, don't they?" and she laughed my earnestness off as one would puff out a candle. "No--no--no--not sisters--not that," I protested. "I have no sisters, Little Statue. I wouldn't know how to act with a sister, unless she were somebody else's sister, you know. I can't stand the sisterly business, Frances----" "Have you suffered much from the sisterly?" she asked with a merry twinkle. "No," I hastened to explain, "I don't know how to play the sisterly touch-and-go at all, but the men tell me it doesn't work--dead failure, always ends the same. Sister proposes, or is proposed to----" "Oh!" cried the Little Statue with the faintest note of alarm, and she moved back from me on the boxes. "I think we'd better play at being very matter-of-fact friends for the rest of the trip." "No, thank you, Miss Sutherland--Frances, I mean," said I. "I'm not the fool to pretend that----" "Then pretend anything you like," and there was a sudden coldness in her voice, which showed me she regarded my refusal and the slip in her name as a rebuff. "Pretend anything you like, only don't say things." That was a throwing down of armor which I had not expected. "Then pretend that a pilgrim was lost in the dark, lost where men's souls slip down steep places to hell, and that one as radiant as an angel from heaven shone through the blackness and guided him back to safe ground," I cried, taking quick advantage of my fair antagonist's sudden abandon and casting aside all banter. "Children! children!" cried the priest. "Children! Sun's down! Time to go to your trundles, my babes!" "Yes, yes," I shouted. "Wait till I hear the rest of this story." At my words she had started up with a little gasp of fright. A look of awe came into her gray eyes, which I have seen on the faces of those who find themselves for the first time beside the abyss of a precipice. And I have climbed many lofty peaks, but never one without passing these places with the fearful possibilities of destruction. Always the novice has looked with the same unspeakable fear into the yawning depths, with the same unspeakable yearning towards the jewel-crowned heights beyond. This, or something of this, was in the startled attitude of the trembling figure, whose eyes met mine without flinching or favor. "Or pretend that a traveler had lost his compass, and though he was without merit, God gave him a star." "Is it a pretty story, Rufus?" called the priest. "Very," I cried out impatiently. "Don't interrupt." "Or pretend that a poor fool with no merit but his love of purity and truth and honor lost his way to paradise, and God gave him an angel for a guide." "Is it a long story, Rufus?" called the priest. "It's to be continued," I shouted, leaping to my feet and approaching her. "And pretend that the pilgrim and the traveler and the fool, asked no other privilege but to give each his heart's love, his life's devotion to her who had come between him and the darkness----" "Rufus!" roared the priest. "I declare I'll take a stick to you. Come away! D' y' hear? She's tired." "Good-night," she answered, in a broken whisper, so cold it stabbed me like steel; and she put out her hand in the mechanical way of the well-bred woman in every land. "Is that all?" I asked, holding the hand as if it had been a galvanic battery, though the priest was coming straight towards us. "All?" she returned, the lashes falling over the misty, gray eyes. "Ah, Rufus! Are we playing jest is earnest, or earnest is jest?" and she turned quickly and went to her tent. How long I stood in reverie, I do not know. The priest's broad hand presently came down on my shoulder with a savage thud. "Ye blunder-busticus, ye, what have ye been doing?" he asked. "The Little Statue was crying when she went to her tent." "Crying?" "Yes, ye idiot. I'll stay by her to-morrow." And he did. Nor could he have contrived severer punishment for the unfortunate effect of my words. Fool, that I was! I should keep myself in hand henceforth. How many men have made that vow regarding the woman they love? Those that have kept it, I trow, could be counted easily enough. But I had no opportunity to break my vow; for the priest rode with Frances Sutherland the whole of the second day, and not once did he let loose his scorpion wit. She had breakfast alone in her tent next morning, the priest carrying tea and toast to her; and when she came out, she leaped to her saddle so quickly I lost the expected favor of placing that imperious foot in the stirrup. We set out three abreast, and I had no courage to read my fate from the cold, marble face. The ground became rougher. We were forced to follow long detours round sloughs, and I gladly fell to the rear where I was unobserved. Clumps of willows alone broke the endless dip of the plain. Glassy creeks glittered silver through the green, and ever the trail, like a narrow ribbon of many loops, fled before us to the dim sky-line. When we halted for our nooning, Frances Sutherland had slipped from her saddle and gone off picking prairie roses before either the priest or I noticed her absence. "If you go off, you nuisance, you," said the priest rubbing his bald pate, and gazing after her in a puzzled way, when we had the meal ready, "I think she'll come back and eat." I promptly took myself off and had the glum pleasure of hearing her chat in high spirits over the dinner table of packing boxes; but she was on her cayuse and off with the scouts long before Father Holland and I had mounted. "Rufus," said the priest with a comical, quizzical look, as we set off together. "Rufus, I think y'r a fool." "I've thought that several hundred thousand times myself, this morning." "Have ye as much as got a glint of her eye to-day?" "No. I can't compete against the Church with women. Any fool knows that, even as big a fool as I." "Tush, youngster! Don't take to licking your raw tongue up and down the cynic's saw edge! Put a spur to your broncho there and ride ahead with her." "Having offended a goddess, I don't wish to be struck dead by inviting her wrath." "Pah! I've no patience with y'r ramrod independence! Bend a stiff neck, or you'll break a sore heart! Ride ahead, I tell you, you young mule!" and he brought a smart flick across my broncho. "Father Holland," I made answer with the dignity of a bishop and my nose mighty high in the air, "will you permit me to suggest that people know their own affairs best----" "Tush, no! I'll permit you to do nothing of the kind," said he, driving a fly from his horse's ear. "Don't you know, you young idiot, that between a man surrendering his love, and a woman surrendering hers, there's difference enough to account for tears? A man gives his and gets it back with compound interest in coin that's pure gold compared to his copper. A woman gives hers and gets back----" the priest stopped. "What?" I asked, interest getting the better of wounded pride. "Not much that's worth having from idiots like you," said he; by which the priest proved he could deal honestly by a friend, without any mincing palliatives. His answer set me thinking for the best part of the afternoon; and I warrant if any man sets out with the priest's premises and thinks hard for an afternoon he will come to the same conclusion that I did. "Let's both poke along a little faster," said I, after long silence. "Oho! With all my heart!" And we caught up with Frances Sutherland and for the first time that day I dared to look at her face. If there were tear marks about the wondrous eyes, they were the marks of the shower after a sun-burst, the laughing gladness of life in golden light, the joyous calm of washed air when a storm has cleared away turbulence. Why did she evade me and turn altogether to the priest at her right? Had I been of an analytical turn of mind, I might, perhaps, have made a very careful study of an emotion commonly called jealousy; but, when one's heart beats fast, one's thoughts throng too swiftly for introspection. Was I a part of the new happiness? I did not understand human nature then as I understand it now, else would I have known that fair eyes turn away to hide what they dare not reveal. I prided myself that I was now well in hand. I should take the first opportunity to undo my folly of the night before. * * * * * It was after supper. Father Holland had gone to his tent. Frances Sutherland was arranging a bunch of flowers in her lap; and I took my place directly behind her lest my face should tell truth while my tongue uttered lies. "Speaking of stars, you know Miss Sutherland," I began, remembering that I had said something about stars that must be unsaid. "Don't call me _Miss_ Sutherland, Rufus," she said, and that gentle answer knocked my grand resolution clean to the four winds. "I beg your pardon, Frances----" Chaos and I were one. Whatever was it I was to say about stars? "Well?" There was a waiting in the voice. "Yes--you know--Frances." I tried to call up something coherent; but somehow the thumping of my heart set up a rattling in my head. "No--Rufus. As a matter of fact, I don't know. You were going to tell me something." "Bother my stupidity, Miss--Miss--Frances, but the mastiff's forgotten what it was going to bow-wow about!" "Not the moon this time," she laughed. "Speaking of stars," and she gave me back my own words. "Oh! Yes! Speaking of stars! Do you know I think a lot of the men coming up from Fort William got to regarding the star above the leading canoe as their own particular star." I thought that speech a masterpiece. It would convince her she was the star of all the men, not mine particularly. That was true enough to appease conscience, a half-truth like Louis Laplante's words. So I would rob my foolish avowal of its personal element. A flush suffused the snowy white below her hair. "Oh! I didn't notice any particular star above the leading canoe. There were so very, very many splendid stars, I used to watch them half the night!" That answer threw me as far down as her manner had elated me. "Well! What of the stars?" asked the silvery voice. I was dumb. She flung the flowers aside as though she would leave; but Father Holland suddenly emerged from the tent fanning himself with his hat. "Babes!" said he. "You're a pair of fools! Oh! To be young and throw our opportunities helter-skelter like flowers of which we're tired," and he looked at the upset lapful. "Children! children! _Carpe Diem! Carpe Diem!_ Pluck the flowers; for the days are swifter than arrows," and he walked away from us engrossed in his own thoughts, muttering over and over the advice of the Latin poet, "_Carpe Diem! Carpe Diem!_" "What is _Carpe Diem_?" asked Frances Sutherland, gazing after the priest in sheer wonder. "I wasn't strong on classics at Laval and I haven't my crib." "Go on!" she commanded. "You're only apologizing for my ignorance. You know very well." "It means just what he says--as if each day were a flower, you know, had its joys to be plucked, that can never come again." "Flowers! Oh! I know! The kind you all picked for me coming up from Fort William. And do you know, Rufus, I never could thank you all? Were those _Carpe Diem_ flowers?" "No--not exactly the kind Father Holland means we should pick." "What then?" and she turned suddenly to find her face not a hand's length from mine. "This kind," I whispered, bending in terrified joy over her shoulder; and I plucked a blossom straight from her lips and another and yet another, till there came into the deep, gray eyes what I cannot transcribe, but what sent me away the king of all men--for had I not found my Queen? And that was the way I carried out my grand resolution and kept myself in hand. CHAPTER XIII THE BUFFALO HUNT I question if Norse heroes of the sea could boast more thrilling adventure than the wild buffalo hunts of American plain-rangers. A cavalcade of six hundred men mounted on mettlesome horses eager for the furious dash through a forest of tossing buffalo-horns was quite as imposing as any clash between warring Vikings. Squaws, children and a horde of ragged camp-followers straggled in long lines far to the hunters' rear. Altogether, the host behind the flag numbered not less than two thousand souls. Like any martial column, our squad had captain, color-bearer and chaplain. Luckily, all three were known to me, as I discovered when I reached Pembina. The truce, patched up between Hudson's Bay and Nor'-Westers after Governor McDonell's surrender, left Cuthbert Grant free to join the buffalo hunt. Pursuing big game across the prairie was more to his taste than leading the half-breeds during peace. The warden of the plains came hot-foot after us, and was promptly elected captain of the chase. Father Holland was with us too. Our course lay directly on his way to the Missouri and a jolly chaplain he made. In Grant's company came Pierre, the rhymster, bubbling over with jingling minstrelsy, that was the delight of every half-breed camp on the plains. Bareheaded, with a red handkerchief banding back his lank hair, and clad in fringed buckskin from the bright neck-cloth to the beaded moccasins, he was as wild a figure as any one of the savage rabble. Yet this was the poet of the plain-rangers, who caught the song of bird, the burr of cataract through the rocks, the throb of stampeding buffalo, the moan of the wind across the prairie, and tuned his rude minstrelsy to wild nature's fugitive music. Viking heroes, I know, chanted their deeds in songs that have come down to us; but with the exception of the Eskimo, descendants of North American races have never been credited with a taste for harmony. Once I asked Pierre how he acquired his art of verse-making. With a laugh of scorn, he demanded if the wind and the waterfalls and the birds learned music from beardless boys and draggle-coated dominies with armfuls of books. However, it may have been with his Pegasus, his mount for the hunt was no laggard. He rode a knob-jointed, muscular brute, that carried him like poetic inspiration wherever it pleased. Though Pierre's right hand was busied upholding the hunters' flag, and he had but one arm to bow-string the broncho's arching neck, the half-breed poet kept his seat with the easy grace of the plainsman born and bred in the saddle. "Faith, man, 'tis the fate of genius to ride a fractious steed," said Father Holland, when the bronchos of priest and poet had come into violent collision with angry squeals for the third time in ten minutes. "And what are the capers of this, my beast, compared to the antics of fate, Sir Priest?" asked Pierre with grave dignity. The wind caught his long hair and blew it about his face till he became an equestrian personification of the frenzied muse. I had become acquainted with his trick of setting words to the music of quaint rhymes; but Father Holland was taken aback. "By the saints," he exclaimed, "I've no mind to run amuck of Pegasus! I'll get out of your way. Faith, 'tis the first time I've seen poetry in buckskin of this particular binding," and he wheeled his broncho out, leaving me abreast of the rhymster. Pierre's lips began to frame some answer to the churchman. "Have a care, Father," I warned. "You've escaped the broncho; but look out for the poet." "Save us! What's coming now?" gasped the priest. "Ha! I have it!" and Pierre turned triumphantly to Father Holland. "The Lord be praised that poetry's free, Or you'd bottle it up like a saint's thumb-bone, That beauty's beauty for eyes that see Without regard to a priestly gown----" "Hold on," interrupted Father Holland. "Hold on, Pierre!" "'Your double-quick Peg Has a limp of one leg!' "'Bone' and 'gown' don't fit, Mr. Rhymster." "Upon my honor! You turned poet, too, Father Holland!" said I. "We might be on a pilgrimage to Helicon." "To where?" says Grant, whose knowledge of classics was less than my own, which was precious little indeed. "Helicon." At that Father Holland burst in such roars of laughter, the rhymster took personal offense, dug his moccasins against the horse's sides and rode ahead. His fringed leggings were braced straight out in the stirrups as if he anticipated his broncho transforming the concave into the convex,--known in the vernacular as "bucking." "Mad as a hatter," said Grant, inferring the joke was on Pierre. "Let him be! Let him be! He'll get over it! He's working up his rhymes for the feast after the buffalo hunt." And we afterwards got the benefit of those rhymes. The tenth day west from Pembina our scouts found some herd's footprints on soggy ground. At once word was sent back to pitch camp on rolling land. A cordon of carts with shafts turned outward encircled the camping ground. At one end the animals were tethered, at the other the hunter's tents were huddled together. All night mongrel curs, tearing about the enclosure in packs, kept noisy watch. Twice Grant and I went out to reconnoitre. We saw only a whitish wolf scurrying through the long grass. Grant thought this had disturbed the dogs; but I was not so sure. Indeed, I felt prepared to trace features of Le Grand Diable under every elk-hide, or wolf-skin in which a cunning Indian could be disguised. I deemed it wise to have a stronger guard and engaged two runners, Ringing Thunder and Burnt Earth, giving them horses and ordering them to keep within call during the thick of the hunt. At daybreak all tents were a beehive of activity. The horses, with almost human intelligence, were wild to be off. Riders could scarcely gain saddles, and before feet were well in the stirrups, the bronchos had reared and bolted away, only to be reined sharply in and brought back to the ranks. The dogs, too, were mad, tearing after make-believe enemies and worrying one another till there were several curs less for the hunt. Inside the cart circle, men were shouting last orders to women, squaws scolding half-naked urchins, that scampered in the way, and the whole encampment setting up a din that might have scared any buffalo herd into endless flight. Grant gave the word. Pierre hoisted the flag, and the camp turmoil was left behind. The _Bois-Brulés_ kept well within the lines and observed good order; but the Indian rabble lashed their half-broken horses into a fury of excitement, that threatened confusion to all discipline. The camp was strongly guarded. Father Holland remained with the campers, but in spite of his holy calling, I am sure he longed to be among the hunters. Scouts ahead, we followed the course of a half-dried slough where buffalo tracks were visible. Some two miles from camp, the out-runners returned with word that the herds were browsing a short distance ahead, and that the marsh-bed widened to a banked ravine. The buffalo could not have been found in a better place; for there was a fine slope from the upper land to our game. We at once ascended the embankment and coursed cautiously along the cliff's summit. Suddenly we rounded an abrupt headland and gained full view of the buffalo. The flag was lowered, stopping the march, and up rose our captain in his stirrups to survey the herd. A light mist screened us and a deep growth of the leathery grass, common to marsh lands, half hid a multitude of broad, humped, furry backs, moving aimlessly in the valley. Coal-black noses poked through the green stalks sniffing the air suspiciously and the curved horns tossed broken stems off in savage contempt. From the headland beneath us to the rolling prairie at the mouth of the valley, the earth swayed with giant forms. The great creatures were restless as caged tigers and already on the rove for the day's march. I suppose the vast flocks of wild geese, that used to darken the sky and fill the air with their shrill "hunk, hunk," when I first went to the north, numbered as many living beings in one mass as that herd; but men no more attempted to count the creatures in flock or herd, than to estimate the pebbles of a shore. Protruding eyes glared savagely sideways. Great, thick necks hulked forward in impatient jerks; and those dagger-pointed horns, sharper than a pruning hook, promised no boy's sport for our company. The buffalo sees best laterally on the level, and as long as we were quiet we remained undiscovered. At the prospect, some of the hunters grew excitedly profane. Others were timorous, fearing a stampede in our direction. Being above, we could come down on the rear of the buffaloes and they would be driven to the open. Grant scouted the counseled caution. The hunters loaded guns, filled their mouths with balls to reload on the gallop and awaited the captain's order. Wheeling his horse to the fore, the warden gave one quick signal. With a storm-burst of galloping hoofs, we charged down the slope. At sound of our whirlwind advance, the bulls tossed up their heads and began pawing the ground angrily. From the hunters there was no shouting till close on the herd, then a wild halloo with unearthly screams from the Indians broke from our company. The buffaloes started up, turned panic-stricken, and with bellowings, that roared down the valley, tore for the open prairie. The ravine rocked with the plunging monsters, and reëchoed to the crash of six-hundred guns and a thunderous tread. Firing was at close range. In a moment there was a battle royal between dexterous savages, swift as tigers, and these leviathans of the prairie with their brute strength. A quick fearless horse was now invaluable; for the swiftest riders darted towards the large buffaloes and rode within a few yards before taking aim. Instantly, the ravine was ablaze with shots. Showers of arrows from the Indian hunters sung through the air overhead. Men unhorsed, ponies thrown from their feet, buffaloes wounded--or dead--were scattered everywhere. One angry bull gored furiously at his assailant, ripping his horse from shoulder to flank, then, maddened by the creature's blood, and before a shot from a second hunter brought him down, caught the rider on its upturned horns and tossed him high. By keeping deftly to the fore, where the buffalo could not see, and swerving alternately from side to side as the enraged animals struck forward, trained horses avoided side thrusts. The saddle-girths of one hunter, heading a buffalo from the herd, gave way as he was leaning over to send a final ball into the brute's head. Down he went, shoulders foremost under its nose, while the horse, with a deft leap cleared the vicious drive of horns. Strange to say, the buffalo did not see where he fell and galloped onward. Carcasses were mowed down like felled trees; but still we plunged on and on, pursuing the racing herd; while the ground shook in an earthquake under stampeding hoofs. I had forgotten time, place, danger--everything in the mad chase and was hard after a savage old warrior that outraced my horse. Gradually I rounded him closer to the embankment. My broncho was blowing, almost wind-spent, but still I dug the spurs into him, and was only a few lengths behind the buffalo, when the wily beast turned. With head down, eyes on fire and nostrils blood-red, he bore straight upon me. My broncho reared, then sprang aside. Leaning over to take sure aim, I fired, but a side jerk unbalanced me. I lost my stirrup and sprawled in the dust. When I got to my feet, the buffalo lay dead and my broncho was trotting back. Hunters were still tearing after the disappearing herd. Riderless horses, mad with the smell of blood and snorting at every flash of powder, kept up with the wild race. Little Fellow, La Robe Noire, Burnt Earth, and Ringing Thunder, had evidently been left in the rear; for look where I might I could not see one of my four Indians. Near me two half-breeds were righting their saddles. I also was tightening the girths, which was not an easy matter with my excited broncho prancing round in a circle. Suddenly there was the whistle of something through the air overhead, like a catapult stone, or recoiling whip-lash. The same instant one of the half-breeds gave an upward toss of both arms and, with a piercing shriek, fell to the ground. The fellow caught at his throat and from his bared chest protruded an arrow shaft. I heard his terrified comrade shout, "The Sioux! the Sioux!" Then he fled in a panic of fear, not knowing where he was going and staggering as he ran; and I saw him pitch forward face downwards. I had barely realized what had happened and what it all meant, before an exultant shout broke from the high grass above the embankment. At that my horse gave a plunge and, wrenching the rein from my grasp, galloped off leaving me to face the hostiles. Half a score of Indians scrambled down the cliff and ran to secure the scalps of the dead. Evidently I had not been seen; but if I ran I should certainly be discovered and a Sioux's arrow can overtake the swiftest runner. I was looking hopelessly about for some place of concealment, when like a demon from the earth a horseman, scarlet in war-paint appeared not a hundred yards away. Brandishing his battle-axe, he came towards me at furious speed. With weapons in hand I crouched as his horse approached; and the fool mistook my action for fear. White teeth glistened and he shrieked with derisive laughter. I knew that sound. Back came memory of Le Grand Diable standing among the shadows of a forest camp-fire, laughing as I struck him. The Indian swung his club aloft. I dodged abreast of his horse to avoid the blow. With a jerk he pulled the animal back on its haunches. Quick, when it rose, I sent a bullet to its heart. It lurched sideways, reared straight up and fell backwards with Le Grand Diable under. The fall knocked battle-axe and club from his grasp; and when his horse rolled over in a final spasm, two men were instantly locked in a death clutch. The evil eyes of the Indian glared with a fixed look of uncowed hatred and the hands of the other tightened on the redman's throat. Diable was snatching at a knife in his belt, when the cries of my Indians rang out close at hand. Their coming seemed to renew his strength; for with the full weight of an antagonist hanging from his neck, the willowy form squirmed first on his knees, then to his feet. But my men dashed up, knocked his feet from under him and pinioned him to the ground. La Robe Noire, with the blood-lust of his race, had a knife unsheathed and would have finished Diable's career for good and all; but Little Fellow struck the blade from his hand. That murderous attempt cost poor La Robe Noire dearly enough in the end. Hare-skin thongs of triple ply were wound about Diable's crossed arms from wrists to elbows. Burnt Earth gagged the knave with his own moccasin, while Ringing Thunder and Little Fellow quickly roped him neck and ankles to the fore and hind shanks of the dead buffalo. This time my wily foe should remain in my power till I had rescued Miriam. "_Monsieur! Monsieur!_" gasped Little Fellow as he rose from putting a last knot to our prisoner's cords. "The Sioux!" and he pointed in alarm to the cliff. True, in my sudden conflict, I had forgotten about the marauding Sioux; but the fellows had disappeared from the field of the buffalo hunt and it was to the embankment that my Indians were anxiously looking. Three thin smoke lines were rising from the prairie. I knew enough of Indian lore to recognize this tribal signal as a warning to the Sioux band of some misfortune. Was Miriam within range of those smoke signals? Now was my opportunity. I could offer Diable in exchange for the Sioux captives. Meanwhile, we had him secure. He would not be found till the hunt was over and the carts came for the skins. Mounting the broncho, which Little Fellow had caught and brought back, I ordered the Indians to get their horses and follow; and I rode up to the level prairie. Against the southern horizon shone the yellow birch of a wigwam. Vague movements were apparent through the long grass, from which we conjectured the raiders were hastening back with news of Diable's capture. We must reach the Sioux camp before these messengers caused another mysterious disappearing of this fugitive tribe. We whipped our horses to a gallop. Again thin smoke lines arose from the prairie and simultaneously the wigwam began to vanish. I had almost concluded the tepee was one of those delusive mirages which lead prairie riders on fools' errands, when I descried figures mounting ponies where the peaked camp had stood. At this we lashed our horses to faster pace. The Sioux galloped off and more smoke lines were rising. "What do those mean, Little Fellow?" I asked; for there was smoke in a dozen places ahead. "The prairie's on fire, _Monsieur_! The Sioux have put burnt stick in dry grass! The wind--it blow--it come hard--fast--fast this way!" and all four Indians reined up their horses as if they would turn. "Coward Indians," I cried. "Go on! Who's put off the trail by the fire of a fool Sioux? Get through the fire before it grows big, or it will catch you all and burn you to a crisp." The gathering smoke was obscuring the fugitives and my Indians still hung back. Where the Indian refuses to be coerced, he may be won by reward, or spurred by praise of bravery. "Ten horses to the brave who catches a Sioux!" I shouted. "Come on, Indians! Who follows? Is the Indian less brave than the pale face?" and we all dashed forward, spurring our hard-ridden horses without mercy. Each Indian gave his horse the bit. Beating them over the head, they craned flat over the horses' necks to lessen resistance to the air. A boisterous wind was fanning the burning grass to a great tide of fire that rolled forward in forked tongues; but beyond the flames were figures of receding riders; and we pressed on. Cinders rained on us like liquid fire, scorching and maddening our horses; but we never paused. The billowy clouds of smoke that rolled to meet us were blinding, and the very atmosphere, livid and quivering with heat, seemed to become a fiery fluid that enveloped and tortured us. Involuntarily, as we drew nearer and nearer the angry fire-tide, my hand was across my mouth to shut out the hot burning air; but a man must breathe, and the next intake of breath blistered one's chest like live coals on raw flesh. Little wonder our poor beasts uttered that pitiful scream against pain, which is the horse's one protest of suffering. Presently, they became wildly unmanageable; and when we dismounted to blindfold them and muffle their heads in our jackets, they crowded and trembled against us in a frenzy of terror. Then we tied strips torn from our clothing across our own mouths and, remounting, beat the frantic creatures forward. I have often marveled at the courage of those four Indians. For me, there was incentive enough to dare everything to the death. For them, what motive but to vindicate their bravery? But even bravery in its perfection has the limitation of physical endurance; and we had now reached the limit of what we could endure and live. The fire wave was crackling and licking up everything within a few paces of us. Live brands fell thick as a rain of fire. The flames were not crawling in the insidious line of the prairie fire when there is no wind, but the very heat of the air seemed to generate a hurricane and the red wave came forward in leaps and bounds, reaching out cloven fangs that hissed at us like an army of serpents. I remember wondering in a half delirium whether parts of Dante's hell could be worse. With the instinctive cry to heaven for help, of human-kind world over, I looked above; but there was only a great pitchy dome with glowing clouds rolling and heaving and tossing and blackening the firmament. Then I knew we must choose one of three things, a long detour round the fire-wave, one dash through the flames--or death. I shouted to the men to save themselves; but Burnt Earth and Ringing Thunder had already gone off to skirt the near end of the fire-line. Little Fellow and La Robe Noire stuck staunchly by me. We all three paused, facing death; and the Indians' horses trembled close to my broncho till I felt the burn of hot stirrups against both ankles. Our buckskin was smoking in a dozen places. There was a lull of the wind, and I said to myself, "The calm before the end; the next hurricane burst and those red demon claws will have us." But in the momentary lull, a place appeared through the trough of smoke billows, where the grass was green and the fire-barrier breached. With a shout and heads down, we dashed towards this and vaulted across the flaming wall, our horses snorting and screaming with pain as we landed on the smoking turf of the other side. I gulped a great breath of the fresh air into my suffocating lungs, tore the buckskin covering from my broncho's head and we raced on in a swirl of smoke, always following the dust which revealed the tracks of the retreating Sioux. There was a whiff of singed hair, as if one of the horses had been burnt, and Little Fellow gave a shout. Looking back I saw his horse sinking on the blackened patch; but La Robe Noire and I rode on. The fugitives were ascending rising ground to the south. They were beating their horses in a rage of cruelty; but we gained at every pace. I counted twenty riders. A woman seemed to be strapped to one horse. Was this Miriam? We were on moist grass and I urged La Robe Noire to ride faster and drove spurs in my own beast, though I felt him weakening under me. The Sioux had now reached the crest of the hill. Our horses were nigh done, and to jade the fagged creatures up rising ground was useless. When we finally reached the height, the Sioux were far down in the valley. It was utterly hopeless to try to overtake them. Ah! It is easy to face death and to struggle and to fight and to triumph! But the hardest of all hard things is to surrender, to yield to the inevitable, to turn back just when the goal looms through obscurity! I still had Diable in my power. We headed about and crawled slowly back by unburnt land towards the buffalo hunters. Little Fellow, we overtook limping homeward afoot. Burnt Earth and Ringing Thunder awaited us near the ravine. The carts were already out gathering hides, tallow, flesh and tongues. We made what poor speed we could among the buffalo carcasses to the spot where we had left Le Grand Diable. It was Little Fellow, who was hobbling ahead, and the Indian suddenly turned with such a cry of baffled rage, I knew it boded misfortune. Running forward, I could hardly believe my eyes. Fools that we were to leave the captive unguarded! The great buffalo lay unmolested; but there was no Le Grand Diable. A third time had he vanished as if in league with the powers of the air. Closer examination explained his disappearance. A wet, tattered moccasin, with the appearance of having been chewed, lay on the turf. He had evidently bitten through his gag, raised his arms to his mouth, eaten away the hare thongs, and so, without the help of the Sioux raiders, freed his hands, untied himself and escaped. Dumfounded and baffled, I returned to the encampment and took counsel with Father Holland. We arranged to set out for the Mandanes on the Missouri. Diable's tribe had certainly gone south to Sioux territory. The Sioux and the Mandanes were friendly enough neighbors this year. Living with the Mandanes south of the Sioux country, we might keep track of the enemy without exposing ourselves to Sioux vengeance. Forebodings of terrible suffering for Miriam haunted me. I could not close my eyes without seeing her subjected to Indian torture; and I had no heart to take part in the jubilation of the hunters over their great success. The savory smell of roasting meat whiffed into my tent and I heard the shrill laughter of the squaws preparing the hunters' feast. With hard-wood axles squeaking loudly under the unusual burden, the last cart rumbled into the camp enclosure with its load of meat and skins. The clamor of the people subsided; and I knew every one was busily gorging to repletion, too intent on the satisfaction of animal greed to indulge in the Saxon habit of talking over a meal. Well might they gorge; for this was the one great annual feast. There would follow a winter of stint and hardship and hunger; and every soul in the camp was laying up store against famine. Even the dogs were happy, for they were either roving over the field of the hunt, or lying disabled from gluttony at their masters' tents. Father Holland remained in the tepee with me talking over our plans and plastering Indian ointment on my numerous burns. By and by, the voices of the feasters began again and we heard Pierre, the rhymester, chanting the song of the buffalo hunt: Now list to the song of the buffalo hunt, Which I, Pierre, the rhymester, chant of the brave! We are _Bois-Brulés_, Freemen of the plains, We choose our chief! We are no man's slave! Up, riders, up, ere the early mist Ascends to salute the rising sun! Up, rangers, up, ere the buffalo herds Sniff morning air for the hunter's gun! They lie in their lairs of dank spear-grass, Down in the gorge, where the prairie dips. We've followed their tracks through the sucking ooze, Where our bronchos sank to their steaming hips. We've followed their tracks from the rolling plain Through slime-green sloughs to a sedgy ravine, Where the cat-tail spikes of the marsh-grown flags Stand half as high as the billowy green. The spear-grass touched our saddle-bows, The blade-points pricked to the broncho's neck; But we followed the tracks like hounds on scent Till our horses reared with a sudden check. The scouts dart back with a shout, "They are found!" Great fur-maned heads are thrust through reeds, A forest of horns, a crunching of stems, Reined sheer on their haunches are terrified steeds! Get you gone to the squaws at the tents, old men, The cart-lines safely encircle the camp! Now, braves of the plain, brace your saddle-girths! Quick! Load guns, for our horses champ! A tossing of horns, a pawing of hoofs, But the hunters utter never a word, As the stealthy panther creeps on his prey, So move we in silence against the herd. With arrows ready and triggers cocked, We round them nearer the valley bank; They pause in defiance, then start with alarm At the ominous sound of a gun-barrel's clank. A wave from our captain, out bursts a wild shout, A crash of shots from our breaking ranks, And the herd stampedes with a thunderous boom While we drive our spurs into quivering flanks. The arrows hiss like a shower of snakes, The bullets puff in a smoky gust, Out fly loose reins from the bronchos' bits And hunters ride on in a whirl of dust. The bellowing bulls rush blind with fear Through river and marsh, while the trampled dead Soon bridge safe ford for the plunging herd; Earth rocks like a sea 'neath the mighty tread. A rip of the sharp-curved sickle-horns, A hunter falls to the blood-soaked ground! He is gored and tossed and trampled down, On dashes the furious beast with a bound, When over sky-line hulks the last great form And the rumbling thunder of their hoofs' beat, beat, Dies like an echo in distant hills, Back ride the hunters chanting their feat. Now, old men and squaws, come you out with the carts! There's meat against hunger and fur against cold! Gather full store for the pemmican bags, Garner the booty of warriors bold. So list ye the song of the _Bois-Brulés_, Of their glorious deeds in the days of old, And this is the tale of the buffalo hunt Which I, Pierre, the rhymester, have proudly told. CHAPTER XIV IN SLIPPERY PLACES A more desolate existence than the life of a fur-trading winterer in the far north can scarcely be imagined. Penned in some miserable lodge a thousand miles from human companionship, only the wild orgies of the savages varied the monotony of dull days and long nights. The winter I spent with the Mandanes was my first in the north. I had not yet learned to take events as the rock takes wave-blows, and was still at that mawkish age when a man is easily filled with profound pity for himself. A month after our arrival, Father Holland left the Mandane village. Eric Hamilton had not yet come; so I felt much like the man whom a gloomy poet describes as earth's last habitant. I had accompanied the priest half-way to the river forks. Here, he was to get passage in an Indian canoe to the tribes of the upper Missouri. After an affectionate farewell, I stood on a knoll of treeless land and watched the broad-brimmed hat and black robe receding from me. "Good-by, boy! God bless you!" he had said in broken voice. "Don't fall to brooding when you're alone, or you'll lose your wits. Now mind yourself! Don't mope!" For my part, I could not answer a word, but keeping hold of his hand walked on with him a pace. "Get away with you! Go home, youngster!" he ordered, roughly shaking me off and flourishing his staff. Then he strode swiftly forward without once looking back, while I would have given all I possessed for one last wave. As he plunged into the sombre forest, where the early autumn frost of that north land had already tinged the maple woods with the hectic flush of coming death, so poignant was this last wresting from human fellowship, I could scarcely resist the impulse to desert my station and follow him. Poorer than the poorest of the tribes to whom he ministered, alone and armed only with his faith, this man was ready to conquer the world for his Master. "Would that I had half the courage for my quest," I mused, and walked slowly back to the solitary lodge. Black Cat, Chief of the Mandane village, in a noisy harangue, adopted me as his son and his brother and his father and his mother and I know not what; but apart from trade with his people, I responded coldly to these warm overtures. From Father Holland's leave-taking to Hamilton's coming, was a desolately lonesome interval. Daily I went to the north hill and strained my eyes for figures against the horizon. Sometimes horsemen would gradually loom into view, head first, then arms and horse, like the peak of a ship preceding appearance of full canvas and hull over sea. Thereupon I would hurriedly saddle my own horse and ride furiously forward, feeling confident that Hamilton had at last come, only to find the horsemen some company of Indian riders. What could be keeping him? I conjectured a thousand possibilities; but in truth there was no need for any conjectures. 'Twas I, who felt the days drag like years. Hamilton was not behind his appointed time. He came at last, walking in on me one night when I least expected him and was sitting moodily before my untouched supper. He had nothing to tell except that he had wasted many weeks following false clues, till our buffalo hunters returned with news of the Sioux attack, Diable's escape and our bootless pursuit. At once he had left Fort Douglas for the Missouri, pausing often to send scouts scouring the country for news of Diable's band; but not a trace of the rascals had been found; and his search seemed on the whole more barren of results than mine. Laplante, he reported, had never been seen the night after he left the council hall to find the young Nor'-Wester. In my own mind, I had no doubt the villain had been in that company we pursued through the prairie fire. Altogether, I think Hamilton's coming made matters worse rather than better. That I had failed after so nearly effecting a rescue seemed to embitter him unspeakably. Out of deference to the rival companies employing us, we occupied different lodges. Indeed, I fear poor Eric did but a sorry business for the Hudson's Bay that winter. I verily believe he would have forgotten to eat, let alone barter for furs, had I not been there to lug him forcibly across to my lodge, where meals were prepared for us both. Often when I saw the Indian trappers gathering before his door with piles of peltries, I would go across and help him to value the furs. At first the Indian rogues were inclined to take advantage of his abstraction and palm off one miserable beaver skin, where they should have given five for a new hatchet; and I began to understand why they crowded to his lodge, though he did nothing to attract them, while they avoided mine. Then I took a hand in Hudson's Bay trade and equalized values. First, I would pick over the whole pile, which the Indians had thrown on the floor, putting spoiled skins to one side, and peltries of the same kind in classified heaps. "Lynx, buffalo, musk-ox, marten, beaver, silver fox, black bear, raccoon! Want them all, Eric?" I would ask, while the Indians eyed me with suspicious resentment. "Certainly, certainly, take everything," Eric would answer, without knowing a word of what I had said, and at once throwing away his opportunity to drive a good bargain. Picking over the goods of Hamilton's packet, the Mandanes would choose what they wanted. Then began a strange, silent haggling over prices. Unlike Oriental races, the Indian maintains stolid silence, compelling the white man to do the talking. "Eric, Running Deer wants a gun," I would begin. "For goodness' sake, give it to him, and don't bother me," Eric would urge, and the faintest gleam of amused triumph would shoot from the beady eyes of Running Deer. Running Deer's peltries would be spread out, and after a half hour of silent consideration on his part and trader's talk on mine, furs to the value of so many beaver skins would be passed across for the coveted gun. I remember it was a wretched old squaw with a toothless, leathery, much-bewrinkled face and a reputation for knowledge of Indian medicines, who first opened my eyes to the sort of trade the Indians had been driving with Hamilton. The old creature was bent almost double over her stout oak staff and came hobbling in with a bag of roots, which she flung on the floor. After thawing out her frozen moccasins before the lodge fire and taking off bandages of skins about her ankles, she turned to us for trade. We were ready to make concessions that might induce the old body to hurry away; but she demanded red flannel, tea and tobacco enough to supply a whole family of grandchildren, and sat down on the bag of roots prepared to out-siege us. "What's this, Eric?" I asked, knowing no more of roots than the old woman did of values. "Seneca for drugs. For goodness' sake, buy it quick and don't haggle." "But she wants your whole kit, man," I objected. "She'll have the whole kit and the shanty, too, if you don't get her out," said Hamilton, opening the lodge door; and the old squaw presently limped off with an armful of flannel, one tea packet and a parcel of tobacco, already torn open. Such was the character of Hamilton's bartering up to the time I elected myself his first lieutenant; but as his abstractions became almost trance-like, I think the superstition of the Indians was touched. To them, a maniac is a messenger of the Great Spirit; and Hamilton's strange ways must have impressed them, for they no longer put exorbitant values on their peltries. After the day's trading Eric would come to my hut. Pacing the cramped place for hours, wild-eyed and silent, he would abruptly dash into the darkness of the night like one on the verge of madness. Thereupon, the taciturn, grave-faced La Robe Noire, tapping his forehead significantly, would look with meaning towards Little Fellow; and I would slip out some distance behind to see that Hamilton did himself no harm while the paroxysm lasted. So absorbed was he in his own gloom, for days he would not utter a syllable. The storm that had gathered would then discharge its strength in an outburst of incoherent ravings, which usually ended in Hamilton's illness and my watching over him night and day, keeping firearms out of reach. I have never seen--and hope I never may--any other being age so swiftly and perceptibly. I had attributed his worn appearance in Fort Douglas to the cannon accident and trusted the natural robustness of his constitution would throw off the apparent languor; but as autumn wore into winter, there were more gray hairs on his temple, deeper lines furrowed his face and the erect shoulders began to bow. When days slipped into weeks and weeks into months without the slightest inkling of Miriam's whereabouts to set at rest the fear that my rash pursuit had caused her death, I myself grew utterly despondent. Like all who embark on daring ventures, I had not counted on continuous frustration. The idea that I might waste a lifetime in the wilderness without accomplishing anything had never entered my mind. Week after week, the scouts dispatched in every direction came back without one word of the fugitives, and I began to imagine my association with Hamilton had been unfortunate for us both. This added to despair the bitterness of regret. The winter was unusually mild, and less game came to the Missouri from the mountains and bad lands than in severe seasons. By February, we were on short rations. Two meals a day, with cat-fish for meat and dried skins in soup by way of variety, made up our regular fare for mid-winter. The frequent absence of my two Indians, scouring the region for the Sioux, left me to do my own fishing; and fishing with bare hands in frosty weather is not pleasant employment for a youth of soft up-bringing. Protracted bachelordom was also losing its charms; but that may have resulted from a new influence, which came into my life and seemed ever present. At Christmas, Hamilton was threatened with violent insanity. As the Mandanes' provisions dwindled, the Indians grew surlier toward us; and I was as deep in despondency as a man could sink. Frequently, I wondered whether Father Holland would find us alive in the spring, and I sometimes feared ours would be the fate of Athabasca traders whose bodies satisfied the hunger of famishing Crees. How often in those darkest hours did a presence, which defied time and space, come silently to me, breathing inspiration that may not be spoken, healing the madness of despair and leaving to me in the midst of anxiety a peace which was wholly unaccountable! In the lambent flame of the rough stone fireplace, in the darkness between Hamilton's hut and mine, through which I often stole, dreading what I might find--everywhere, I felt and saw, or seemed to see, those gray eyes with the look of a startled soul opening its virgin beauty and revealing its inmost secrets. A bleak, howling wind, with great piles of storm-scud overhead, raved all the day before Christmas. It was one of those afternoons when the sombre atmosphere seems weighted with gloom and weariness. On Christmas eve Hamilton's brooding brought on acute delirium. He had been more depressed than usual, and at night when we sat down to a cheerless supper of hare-skin soup and pemmican, he began to talk very fast and quite irrationally. "See here, old boy," said I, "you'd better bunk here to-night. You're not well." "Bunk!" said he icily, in the grand manner he sometimes assumed at the Quebec Club for the benefit of a too familiar member. "And pray, Sir, what might 'bunk' mean?" "Go to bed, Eric," I coaxed, getting tight hold of his hands. "You're not well, old man; come to bed!" "Bed!" he exclaimed with indignation. "Bed! You're a madman, Sir! I'm to meet Miriam on the St. Foye road." (It was here that Miriam lived in Quebec, before they were married.) "On the St. Foye road! See the lights glitter, dearest, in Lower Town," and he laughed aloud. Then followed such an outpouring of wild ravings I wept from very pity and helplessness. "Rufus! Rufus, lad!" he cried, staring at me and clutching at his forehead as lucid intervals broke the current of his madness. "Gillespie, man, what's wrong? I don't seem able to think. Who--are--you? Who--in the world--are you? Gillespie! O Gillespie! I'm going mad! Am I going mad? Help me, Rufus! Why can't you help me? It's coming after me! See it! The hideous thing!" Tears started from his burning eyes and his brow was knotted hard as whipcord. "Look! It's there!" he screamed, pointing to the fire, and he darted to the door, where I caught him. He fought off my grasp with maniacal strength, and succeeded in flinging open the door. Then I forgot this man was more than brother to me, and threw myself upon him as against an enemy, determined to have the mastery. The bleak wind roared through the open blackness of the doorway, and on the ground outside were shadows of two struggling, furious men. I saw the terrified faces of Little Fellow and La Robe Noire peering through the dark, and felt wet beads start from every pore in my body. Both of us were panting like fagged racers. One of us was fighting blindly, raining down aimless blows, I know not which, but I think it must have been Hamilton, for he presently sank in my arms, limp and helpless as a sick child. Somehow I got him between the robes of my floor mattress. Drawing a box to the bedside I again took his hands between mine and prepared for a night's watch. He raved in a low, indistinct tone, muttering Miriam's name again and again, and tossing his head restlessly from side to side. Then he fell into a troubled sleep. The supper lay untouched. Torches had burned black out. One tallow candle, that I had extravagantly put among some evergreens--our poor decorations for Christmas Eve--sputtered low and threw ghostly, branching shadows across the lodge. I slipped from the sick man's side, heaped more logs on the fire and stretched out between robes before the hearth. In the play of the flame Hamilton's face seemed suddenly and strangely calm. Was it the dim light, I wonder. The furrowed lines of sorrow seemed to fade, leaving the peaceful, transparent purity of the dead. I could not but associate the branched shadows on the wall with legends of death keeping guard over the dying. The shadow by his pillow gradually assumed vague, awesome shape. I sat up and rubbed my eyes. Was this an illusion, or was I, too, going mad? The filmy thing distinctly wavered and receded a little into the dark. An unspeakable fear chilled my veins. Then I could have laughed defiance and challenged death. Death! Curse death! What had we to fear from dying? Had we not more to fear from living? At that came thought of my love and the tumult against life was quieted. I, too, like other mortals, had reason, the best of reason, to fear death. What matter if a lonely one like myself went out alone to the great dark? But when thought of my love came, a desolating sense of separation--separation not to be bridged by love or reason--overwhelmed me, and I, too, shrank back. Again I peered forward. The shadow fluttered, moved, and came out of the gloom, a tender presence with massy, golden hair, white-veined brow, and gray eyes, speaking unutterable things. "My beloved!" I cried. "Oh, my beloved!" and I sprang towards her; but she had glided back among the spectral branches. The candle tumbled to the floor, extinguishing all light, and I was alone with the sick man breathing heavily in the darkness. A log broke over the fire. The flames burst up again; but I was still alone. Had I, too, lost grip of reality; or was she in distress calling for me? Neither suggestion satisfied; for the mean lodge was suddenly filled with a great calm, and my whole being was flooded and thrilled with the trancing ecstasy of an ethereal presence. If I remember rightly--and to be perfectly frank, I do--though I was in as desperate straits as a man could be, I lay before the hearth that Christmas Eve filled with gratitude to heaven--God knows such a gift must have come from heaven!--for the love with which I had been dowered. How it might have been with other men I know not. For myself, I could not have come through that dreary winter unscathed without the influence of her, who would have been the first to disclaim such power. Among the velvet cushions of the east one may criticise the lapse of white man to barbarity; but in the wilderness human voice is as grateful to the ear as rain patter in a drouth. There, men deal with facts, not arguments. Natives break the loneliness of an isolated life by not unwelcomed visits. Comes a time when they tarry over long in the white man's lodge. Other men, who have scouted the possibility of sinking to savagery, have forsaken the ways of their youth. Who can say that I might not have departed from the path called rectitude? Religion may keep a holy man upright in slippery places; but for common mortals, devotion to a being, whom, in one period of their worship men rank with angels, does much to steady wavering feet. Hers was the influence that aroused loathing for the drunken debauches, the cheating, the depraved living of the Indian lodges: hers, the influence that kept the loathing from slipping into indifference, the indifference from becoming participation. Indeed, I could wish a young man no better talisman against the world, the flesh and the devil, than love for a pure woman. How we dragged through the hours of that night, of Christmas and the days that followed, I do not attempt to set down here. Hamilton's illness lasted a month. What with trading and keeping our scouts on the search for Miriam and waiting on the sick man, I had enough to busy me without brooding over my own woes. Hard as my life was, it was fortunate I had no time for thoughts of self and so escaped the melancholy apathy that so often benumbs the lonely man's activities. And when Eric became convalescent, I had enough to do finding diversion for his mind. Keeping record of our doings on birch-bark sheets, playing quoits with the Mandanes and polo with a few fearless riders, helped to pass the long weary days. So the dismal winter wore away and spring was drizzling into summer. Within a few weeks we should be turning our faces northward for the forks of the Red and Assiniboine. The prospect of movement after long stagnation cheered Hamilton and fanned what neither of us would acknowledge--a faint hope that Miriam might yet be alive in the north. I verily believe Eric would have started northward with restored courage had not our plans been thwarted by the sinister handiwork of Le Grand Diable. CHAPTER XV THE GOOD WHITE FATHER For a week Hamilton and I had been busy in our respective lodges getting peltries and personal belongings into shape for return to Red River. On Saturday night, at least I counted it Saturday from the notches on my doorpost, though Eric, grown morose and contradictory, maintained that it was Sunday--we sat talking before the fire of my lodge. A dreary raindrip pattered through the leaky roof and the soaked parchment tacked across the window opening flapped monotonously against the pine logs. Unfastening the moon-shaped medallion, which my uncle had given me, I slowly spelled out the Nor'-Westers' motto--"Fortitude in Distress." "For-ti-tude in Dis-tress," I repeated idly. "By Jove, Hamilton, we need it, don't we?" Eric's lips curled in scorn. Without answering, he impatiently kicked a fallen brand back to the live coals. I know old saws are poor comfort to people in distress, being chiefly applicable when they are not needed. "What in the world can be keeping Father Holland?" I asked, leading off on another tack. "Here we are almost into the summer, and never a sight of him." "Did you really expect him back alive from the Bloods?" sneered Hamilton. He had unconsciously acquired a habit of expecting the worst. "Certainly," I returned. "He's been among them before." "Then all I have to say is, you're a fool!" Poor Eric! He had informed me I was a fool so often in his ravings I had grown quite used to the insult. He glared savagely at the fire, and if I had not understood this bitterness towards the missionary, the next remark was of a nature to enlighten me. "I don't see why any man in his senses wants to save the soul of an Indian," he broke out. "Let them go where they belong! Souls! They haven't any souls, or if they have, it's the soul of a fiend----" "By the bye, Eric," I interrupted, for this petulant ill-humor, that saw naught but evil in everything, was becoming too frequent and always ended in the same way--a night of semi-delirium, "by the bye, did you see those fellows turning up soil for corn with a buffalo shoulder-blade as a hoe?" "I wish every damn Red a thousand feet under the soil, deeper than that, if the temperature increases." It was impossible to talk to Hamilton without provoking a quarrel. Leaning back with hands clasped behind my head, I watched through half-closed eyes his sad face darkling under stormy moods. At last the rain succeeded in soaking through the parchment across the window and the wind drove through a great split in chilling gusts that added to the cabin's discomfort. I got up and jammed an old hat into the hole. At the window I heard the shouting of Indians having a hilarious night among the lodges and was amazed at the sound of discharging firearms above the huzzas, for ammunition was scarce among the Mandanes. The hubbub seemed to be coming towards our hut. I could see nothing through the window slit, and lighting a pine fagot, shot back the latch-bolt and threw open the door. A multitude of tawny, joyous, upturned faces thronged to the steps. The crowd was surging about some newcomer, and Chief Black Cat was prancing around in an ecstasy of delight, firing away all his gunpowder in joyous demonstration. I lifted my torch. The Indians fell back and forth strode Father Holland, his face shining wet and abeam with pleasure. The Indians had been welcoming "their good white father." As he dismissed his Mandane children we drew him in and placed his soaked over-garments before the fire. Then we proffered him all the delicacies of bachelors' quarters, and filled and refilled his bowl with soup, and did not stop pouring out our lye-black tea till he had drained the dregs of it. Having satisfied his inner-man, we gave him the best stump-tree seat in the cabin and sat back to listen. There was the awkward pause of reunion, when friends have not had time to gather up the loose threads of a parted past and weave them anew into stronger bands of comradeship. Hamilton and the priest were strangers; but if the latter were as overcome by the meeting after half a year's isolation as I was, the silence was not surprising. To me it seemed the genial face was unusually grave, and I noticed a long, horizontal scar across his forehead. "What's that, Father?" I asked, indicating the mark on his brow. "Tush, youngster! Nothing! Nothing at all! Sampled scalping-knife on me; thought better of it, kept me out of the martyr's crown." "And left you your own!" cried Hamilton astonished at the priest's careless stoicism. "Left me my own," responded Father Holland. "Do you mean to say the murderous----" I began. "Tush, youngster! Be quiet!" said he. "Haven't many brethren come from the same tribe more like warped branches than men? What am I, that I should escape? Never speak of it again," and he continued his silent study of the flames' play. "Where are your Indians?" he asked abruptly. "In the lodges. Shall I whistle for them?" He did not answer, but leaned forward with elbows on his knees, rubbing his chin vigorously first with one hand, then the other, still studying the fire. "How strong are the Mandanes?" he asked. "Weak, weak," I answered. "Few hundred. It hasn't been worth while for traders to come here for years." "Was it worth while this year?" "Not for trade." "For anything else?" and he looked at Eric's dejected face. "Nothing else," I put in hastily, fearing one of Hamilton's outbreaks. "We've been completely off the track, might better have stayed in the north----" "No, you mightn't, not by any means," was his sharp retort. "I've been in the Sioux lodges for three weeks." With an inarticulate cry, Hamilton sprang to his feet. He was trembling from head to foot and caught Father Holland roughly by the shoulder. "Speak out, Sir! What of Miriam?" he demanded in dry, hard, rasping tones. "Well, well, safe and inviolate. So's the boy, a big boy now! May ye have them both in y'r arms soon--soon--soon!" and again he fell to studying the fire with an unhurried deliberation, that was torture to Hamilton. "Are they with you? Are they with you?" shouted Hamilton, hope bounding up elastically to the wildest heights after his long depression. "Don't keep me in suspense! I cannot bear it. Tell me where they are," he pleaded. "Are they with you?" and his eyes burned into the priest's like live coals. "Are--they--with--you?" "No--Lord--no!" roared Father Holland, alarmed at Hamilton's violent condition. "But," he added, seeing Eric reel dizzily, "but they're all right! Now you keep quiet and don't scare the wits out of a body! They're all right, I tell you, and I've come straight from them for the ransom price." "Get it, Rufus, get it!" shouted Hamilton to me, throwing his hands distractedly to his head, a habit too common with him of late. "Get it! Get it!" he kept calling, utterly beside himself. "Sit down, will you?" thundered the priest, as if Eric's sitting down would calm all agitation. "Sit down! Behave! Keep quiet, both of you, or my tongue'll forget holy orders and give ye some good Irish eloquence! What d' y' mane, scarin' the breath out of a body and blowing his ideas to limbo? Keep quiet, now, and listen!" "And did they," I cried, in spite of the injunction, "did they do that to you?" pointing to the scar on his brow. "Yes, they did." "Because they saw you with me?" "No, that's a brand for the faith, you conceited whelp, you--they stopped their tortures because they saw you with me. Now, swell out, Rufus, and gloat over your importance! I tell you it was the devil, himself, snatched my martyr's crown." "Le Grand Diable?" "Le Grand Diable's own minion. I saw his devilish eyes leering from the back o' the crowd, when I was tied to a stake. 'Bring that Indian to me,' sez I, transfixing him with my gaze; for--you understand--I couldn't point, my hands being tied. Troth! But ye should 'a' seen their looks of amazement at me boldness! There was I, roped to that tree, like a pig for the boiling pot, and sez I, 'Bring--that Indian--to me!' just as though I was managing the execution," and the priest paused to enjoy the recollection of the effects of his boldness. "A squaw up with an old clout," he continued, "and slashed it across my face, saying, 'Take that, pale face! Take that, man with a woman's skirts on!' and 'Take that!' howled a young buck, fetching the flat of his dagger across me forehead, close-cropped hair giving no grip for scalping, not to mention a pate as bald as mine," and the priest roared at his own joke, patting his bare crown affectionately. "Though the blood was boilin' in me enraged veins and dribblin' down my face like the rain to-night, by the help o' the Lord, I felt no pain. Never flinchin' nor takin' heed o' that bold baste of a squaw, I bawled like a bull of Bashan, 'Bring--that Indian--to me, coward-hearted Sioux--d' y' fear an Iroquois? Bring him to me and I'll make him enrich your tribe!' "Faith! Their eyes grew big as a harvest moon and they brought Le Grand Diable to me. Knowing his covetous heart, I told him if he still had the woman and the child, I'd get him a big ransom. At that they all jangled a bit, the old squaw clouting me with her filthy rag as if she wanted to slap me to a peak. At length they let Le Grand Diable unfasten the bands. With my hands tied behind my back, I was taken to his lodge. Miriam and the boy were kept in a place behind the Sioux squaw's hut. Once when the skin tied between blew up, I caught a glimpse of her poor white face. The boy was playing round her feet. I was in a corner of the lodge but was so grimed with grease and dirt, if she saw me she thought I was some Indian captive and turned away her head. I told Le Grand Diable in _habitant_ French--which the rascal understands--that I could obtain a good ransom for his prisoners. He left me alone in the lodge for some hours, I think to spy upon me and learn if I tried to speak to Miriam; but I lay still as a log and pretended to sleep. When he came back, he began bartering for the price; but I could make him no promises as to the amount or time of payment, for I was not sure you were here, and would not have him know where you are. "He kept me hanging on for his answer during the whole week, and many a time Miriam brushed past so close her skirts touched me; but that she-male devil of his--may the Lord give them both a warm, front seat!--was always watching and I could not speak. Miriam's face was hidden under her shawl and she looked neither to the right, nor to the left. I don't think she ever saw me. On condition you stay in your camp and don't go to meet her, but send your two Indians alone for her with your offer, he let me go. Here I am! Now, Rufus, where are your men? Off with them bearing more gifts than the Queen of Sheba carried to Solomon!" * * * * * From the hour that La Robe Noire and Little Fellow, laden with gaudy trinkets and hunting outfits, departed for the Sioux lodges, Hamilton was positively a madman. In the first place, he had been determined to disguise himself as an Indian and go instead of La Robe Noire, whose figure he resembled. To this, we would not listen. Le Grand Diable was not the man to be tricked and there was no sense in ransoming Miriam for a captive husband. Then, he persisted in riding part of the way with our messengers, which necessitated my doing likewise. I had to snatch his horse's bridle, wheel both our horses round and head homeward at a gallop, before he would listen to reason and come back. Round the lodges he was a ramping tiger. Twenty times a day he went from our hut to the height of land commanding the north country, keeping me on the run at his heels; and all night he beat around the cramped shack as if it had been a cage. On the fourth day from the messengers' departure, chains could not bind him. If all went well, they should be with us at night. In defiance of Le Grand Diable's conditions, which an arrow from an unseen marksman might enforce, Eric saddled his mare and rode out to meet the men. Of course Father Holland and I peltered after him; but it was only because gathering darkness prevented travel that we prevailed on him to dismount and await the Indians' coming at the edge of the village. At last came the clank, clank of shod hoofs in the valley. The natives used only unshod animals, so we recognized our men. Hamilton darted away like a hare racing for cover. "The Lord have mercy upon us!" groaned Father Holland. "Listen, lad! There's only one horse!" I threw myself to the earth and laying my ear to the turf strained for every sound. The thud, thud of a single horse, fore and hind feet striking the beaten trail in quick gallop, came distinctly up from the valley. "It may not be our men," said I, with sickening forebodings tugging at throat and heart. "I mistrusted them! I mistrusted the villains!" repeated the priest. "If only you had enough Mandanes to ride down on them, but you're too weak. There are at least two thousand Sioux." Hamilton and Little Fellow, talking loudly and gesticulating, rode crashing through the furze. "I knew it! I knew it!" shouted Hamilton fiercely, "One of us should have gone." "What's wrong?" came from Father Holland in a voice so low and unnaturally calm, I knew he feared the worst. "Wrong!" yelled Hamilton, "They hold La Robe Noire as hostage and demand five hundred pounds of ammunition, twenty guns and ten horses. Of course, I should have gone----" "And would it have mended matters if you'd been held hostage too?" I demanded, utterly out of patience and at that stage when a little strain makes a man strike his best friends. "You know very well, the men were only sent to make an offer. You'd no right to expect everything on one trip without any bargaining----" "Shut up, boy!" exclaimed Father Holland. "Just when ye both need all y'r wits, y'r scattering them to the four winds. Now, mind yourselves! I don't like these terms! 'Tis the devil's own doing! Let's talk this over!" With a vast deal of the wordy eloquence that characterizes Indian diplomacy, the tenor of Le Grand Diable's message was "His shot pouch was light and his pipe cold; he hung down his head and the pipe of peace had not been in the council; the Sioux were strangers and the whites were their enemies; the pale-faces had been in their power and they had always conveyed them on their journey with glad hearts and something to eat." Finally, the Master of Life, likewise Earth, Air, Water, and Fire were called on to witness that if the white men delivered five hundred rounds of ammunition, twenty guns and ten horses, the white woman and her child, likewise the two messengers, would be sent safely back to the Mandane lodge; none but these two messengers would be permitted in the Sioux camp; also, the Sioux would not answer for the lives of the white men if they left the Mandane lodges. Let the white men, therefore, send back the full ransom by the hands of the same messenger. CHAPTER XVI LE GRAND DIABLE SENDS BACK OUR MESSENGER Father Holland advised caution and consideration before acting. A policy of bargaining was his counsel. "I don't like those terms, at all," he said, "too much like giving your weapons to the enemy. I don't like all this." He would temporize and rely on Le Grand Diable's covetous disposition bringing him to our terms; but Hamilton would hear of neither caution nor delay. The ransom price was at once collected. Next morning, Little Fellow, on a fresh mount with a string of laden horses on each side, went post haste back to the Sioux. In all conscience, Hamilton had been wild enough during the first parley. His excitement now exceeded all bounds. The first two days, when there was no possibility of Miriam's coming and Little Fellow could not yet have reached the Sioux, I tore after Eric so often I lost count of the races between our lodge and the north hill. The performance began again on the third day, and I broke out with a piece of my mind, which surprised him mightily. "Look you here, Hamilton!" I exclaimed, rounding him back from the hill, "Can't you stop this nonsense and sit still for only two days more, or must I tie you up? You've tried to put me crazy all winter and, by Jove, if you don't stop this, you'll finish the job----" He gazed at me with the dumb look of a wounded animal and was too amazed for words. Leaving me in mid-road, feeling myself a brute, he went straight to his own hut. After that incident, he gave us no further anxiety and kept an iron grip on his impatience. With me, anger had given place to contrition. He remained much by himself until the night, when our messengers were expected. Then he came across to my quarters, where Father Holland and I were keyed up to the highest pitch. Putting out his hand he said-- "Is it all right with us again, Rufus, old man?" That speech nigh snapped the strained cords. "Of course," said I, gripping the extended hand, and I immediately coughed hard, to explain away the undue moisture welling into my eyes. We all three sat as still and silent as a death-watch, Father Holland fumbling and pretending to pore over some holy volume, Eric with fingers tightly interlaced and upper teeth biting through lower lip, and I with clenched fists dug into jacket pockets and a thousand imaginary sounds singing wild tunes in my ears. How the seconds crawled, and the minutes barely moved, and the hours seemed to heap up in a blockade and crush us with their leaden weight! Twice I sought relief for pent emotion by piling wood on the fire, though the night was mild, and by breaking the glowing embers into a shower of sparks. The soft, moccasined tread of Mandanes past our door startled Father Holland so that his book fell to the floor, while I shook like a leaf. Strange to say, Hamilton would not allow himself the luxury of a single movement, though the lowered brows tightened and teeth cut deeper into the under lip. Dogs set up a barking at the other end of the village--a common enough occurrence where half-starved curs roved in packs--but I could not refrain from lounging with a show of indifference to the doorway, where I peered through the moon-silvered dusk. As usual, the Indians with shrill cry flew at the dogs to silence them. The noise seemed to be annoying my companions and was certainly unnerving me, so I shut the door and walked back to the fire. The howl of dogs and squaws increased. I heard the angry undertone of men's voices. A hoarse roar broke from the Mandane lodges and rolled through the village like the sweep of coming hurricane. There was a fleet rush, a swift pattering of something pursued running round the rear of our lodge, with a shrieking mob of men and squaws after it. The dogs were barking furiously and snapping at the heels of the thing, whatever it was. "A hostile!" exclaimed Hamilton, leaping up. Hardly knowing what I did, I bounded towards the door and shot forward the bolt, with a vague fear that blood might be spilled on our threshold. "For shame, man!" cried Father Holland, making to undo the latch. But the words had not passed his lips when the parchment flap of the window lifted. A voice screamed through the opening and in hurtled a round, nameless, blood-soaked horror, rolling over and over in a red trail, till it stopped with upturned, dead, glaring eyes and hideous, gaping mouth, at the very feet of Hamilton. It was the scalpless head of La Robe Noire. Our Indian had paid the price of his own blood-lust and Diable's enmity. Before the full enormity of the treachery--messengers murdered and mutilated, ransom stolen and captives kept--had dawned on me, Father Holland had broken open the door. He was rushing through the night screaming for the Mandanes to catch the miscreant Sioux. When I turned back, not daring to look at that awful object, Hamilton had fallen to the hut floor in a dead faint. * * * * * And now may I be spared recalling what occurred on that terrible night! Women luxuriate and men traffic in the wealth of the great west, but how many give one languid thought to the years of bloody deeds by which the west was won? * * * * * Before restoring Hamilton, it was necessary to remove that which was unseemly; also to wash out certain stains on the hearth-stones; and those things would have tried the courage of more iron-nerved men than myself. I should not have been surprised if Eric had come out of that faint, a gibbering maniac; but I toiled over him with the courage of blank hopelessness, pumping his arms up and down, forcing liquor between the clenched teeth, splashing the cold, clammy face with water, and laving his forehead. At last he opened his eyes wearily. Like a man ill at ease with life, moaning, he turned his face to the wall. Outside, it was as if the unleashed furies of hell fought to quench their thirst in human blood. The clamor of those red demons was in my ears and I was still working over Hamilton, loosening his jacket collar, under-pillowing his chest, fanning him, and doing everything else I could think of, to ease his labored breathing, when Father Holland burst into the lodge, utterly unmanned and sobbing like a child. "For the Lord's sake, Rufus," he cried, "for the Lord's sake, come and help! They're murdering him! They're murdering him! 'Twas I who set them on him, and I can't stop them! I can't stop them!" "Let them murder him!" I returned, unconsciously demonstrating that the civilized heart differs only in degree from the barbarian. "Come, Rufus," he pleaded, "come, for the love of Frances, or your hands will not be clean. There'll be blood on your hands when you go back to her. Come, come!" Out we rushed through the thronging Mandanes, now riotous with the lust of blood. A ring of young bucks had been formed round the Sioux to keep the crowd off. Naked, with arms pinioned, the victim stood motionless and without fear. "Good white father, he no understand," said the Mandanes, jostling the weeping priest back from the circle of the young men. "Good white father, he go home!" In spite of protest by word and act they roughly shoved us to our lodge, the doomed man's death chant ringing in our ears as they pushed us inside and clashed our door. In vain we had argued they would incur the vengeance of the Sioux nation. Our voices were drowned in the shout for blood--for blood! The sigh of the wind brought mournful strains of the victim's dirge to our lodge. I fastened the door, with robes against it to keep the sound out. Then a smell of burning drifted through the window, and I stop-gapped that, too, with more robes. * * * * * That the Sioux would wreak swift vengeance could not be doubted. As soon as the murderous work was over, guides were with difficulty engaged. Having fitted up a sort of prop in which I could tie Hamilton to the saddle, I saw both Father Holland and Eric set out for Red River before daybreak. It was best they should go and I remain. If Miriam were still in the country, stay I would, till she were safe; but I had no mind to see Eric go mad or die before the rescue could be accomplished. As they were leaving I took a piece of birch bark. On it I wrote with a charred stick:-- "Greetings to my own dear love from her ever loyal and devoted knight." This, Father Holland bore to Frances Sutherland from me. CHAPTER XVII THE PRICE OF BLOOD How many shapeless terrors can spring from the mind of man I never knew till Eric and the priest left me alone in the Mandane village. Ever, on closing my eyes, there rolled and rolled past, endlessly, without going one pace beyond my sight, something too horrible to be contemplated. When I looked about to assure myself the thing was not there--could not possibly be there--memory flashed back the whole dreadful scene. Up started glazed eyes from the hearth, the floor, and every dim nook in the lodge. Thereupon I would rush into the village road, where the shamefaced greetings of guilty Indians recalled another horror. If I ventured into Le Grand Diable's power a fate worse than La Robe Noire's awaited me. That there would be a hostile demonstration over the Sioux messenger's death I was certain. Nothing that I offered could induce any of the Indians to act as scouts or to reconnoiter the enemy's encampment. I had, of my own will, chosen to remain, and now I found myself with tied hands, fuming and gnashing against fate, conjuring up all sorts of projects for the rescue of Miriam, and butting my head against the impossible at every turn. Thus three weary days dragged past. Having reflected on the consequences of their outrage, the Mandanes exhibited repentance of a characteristically human form--resentment against the cause of their trouble. Unfortunately, I was the cause. From the black looks of the young men I half suspected, if the Sioux chief would accept me in lieu of material gifts, I might be presented as a peace-offering. This would certainly not forward my quest, and prudence, or cowardice--two things easily confused when one is in peril--counseled discretion, and discretion seemed to counsel flight. "Discretion! Discretion to perdition!" I cried, springing up from a midnight reverie in my hut. Every selfish argument for my own safety had passed in review before my mind, and something so akin to judicious caution, which we trappers in plain language called "cowardice," was insidiously assailing my better self, I cast logic's sophistries to the winds, and dared death or torture to drive me from my post. Whence comes this sublime, reasonless _abandon_ of imperiled human beings, which casts off fear and caution and prudence and forethought and all that goes to make success in the common walks of life, and at one blind leap mounts the Sinai of duty? To me, the impulse upwards is as mysterious as the impulse downwards, and I do not wonder that pagans ascribe one to Ormuzd, the other to Ahriman. 'Tis ours to yield or resist, and I yielded with the vehemence of a passionate nature, vowing in the darkness of the hut--"Here, before God, I stay!" Swift came test of my oath. While the words were yet on my lips, stealthy steps suddenly glided round the lodge. A shuffling stopped at the door, while a chilling fear took possession of me lest the mutilated form of my other Indian should next be hurled through the window. I had not time to shoot the door-bolt to its catch before a sharp click told of lifted latch. The hinge creaked, and there, distinct in the starlight, that smote through the open, stood Little Fellow, himself, haggard and almost naked. "Little Fellow! Good boy!" I shouted, pulling him in. "Where did you come from? How did you get away? Is it you or your ghost?" Down he squatted with a grunt on one of the robes, answering never a word. The gaunt look of the man declared his needs, so I prepared to feed him back to speech. This task kept me busy till daybreak, for the filling capacity of a famishing Indian may not be likened to any other hungry thing on earth without doing the red man grave injustice. "Hoohoo! Hoohoo! But I be sick man to-morrow!" and he rubbed himself down with a satisfied air of distension, declining to have his plate reloaded for the tenth time. I noticed the poor wretch's skin was cut to the bone round wrists and ankles. Chafed bandage marks encircled the flesh of his neck. "What did this, Little Fellow?" and I pointed to the scars. A grim look of Indian gratitude for my interest came into the stolid face. "Bad Indians," was the terse response. "Did they torture you?" He grunted a ferocious negative. "You got away too quick for them?" An affirmative grunt. "Le Grand Diable--did you see him?" At that name, his white teeth snapped shut, and from the depths of the Indian's throat came the vicious snarl of an enraged wolf. "Come," I coaxed, "tell me. How long since you left the Sioux?" "Walkee--walkee--walkee--one sleep," and rising, he enacted a hobbling gait across the cabin in unison with the rhythmic utterance of his words. "Walkee--walkee--walkee--one." "Traveled at night!" I interrupted. "Two nights! You couldn't do it in two nights!" "Walkee--walkee--walkee--one sleep," he repeated. "Three nights!" Four times he hobbled across the floor, which meant he had come afoot the whole distance, traveling only at night. Sitting down, he began in a low monotone relating how he had returned to La Robe Noire with the additional ransom demanded by Le Grand Diable. The "pig Sioux, more gluttonous than the wolverine, more treacherous than the mountain cat," had come out to receive them with hootings. The plunder was taken, "as a dead enemy is picked by carrion buzzards." He, himself, was dragged from his horse and bound like a slave squaw. La Robe Noire had been stripped naked, and young men began piercing his chest with lances, shouting, "Take that, man who would scalp the Iroquois! Take that, enemy to the Sioux! Take that, dog that's friend to the white man!" Then had La Robe Noire, whose hands were bound, sprung upon his torturers and as the trapped badger snaps the hand of the hunter so had he buried his teeth in the face of a boasting Sioux. Here, Little Fellow's teeth clenched shut in savage imitation. Then was Le Grand Diable's knife unsheathed. More, my messenger could not see; for a Sioux bandaged his eyes. Another tied a rope round his neck. Thus, like a dead stag, was he pulled over the ground to a wigwam. Here he lay for many "sleeps," knowing not when the great sun rose and when he sank. Once, the lodges became very still, like many waters, when the wind slumbers and only the little waves lap. Then came one with the soft, small fingers of a white woman and gently, scarcely touching him, as the spirits rustle through the forest of a dark night, had these hands cut the rope around his neck, and unbound him. A whisper in the English tongue, "Go--run--for your life! Hide by day! Run at night!" The skin of the tent wall was lifted by the same hands. He rolled out. He tore the blind from his eyes. It was dark. The spirits had quenched their star torches. No souls of dead warriors danced on the fire plain of the northern sky! The father of winds let loose a blast to drown all sound and help good Indian against the pig Sioux! He ran like a hare. He leaped like a deer. He came as the arrows from the bow of the great hunter. Thus had he escaped from the Sioux! Little Fellow ceased speaking, wrapped himself in robes and fell asleep. I could not doubt whose were the liberator's hands, and I marveled that she had not come with him. Had she known of our efforts at all? It seemed unlikely. Else, with the liberty she had, to come to Little Fellow, surely she would have tried to escape. On the other hand, her immunity from torture might depend on never attempting to regain freedom. Now I knew what to expect if I were captured by the Sioux. Yet, given another stormy night, if Little Fellow and I were near the Sioux with fleet horses, could not Miriam be rescued in the same way he had escaped? Until Little Fellow had eaten and slept back to his normal condition of courage, it would be useless to propose such a hazardous plan. Indeed, I decided to send him to some point on the northern trail, where I could join him and go alone to the Sioux camp. This would be better than sitting still to be given as a hostage to the Sioux. If the worst happened and I were captured, had I the courage to endure Indian tortures? A man endures what he must endure, whether he will, or not; and I certainly had not courage to leave the country without one blow for Miriam's freedom. With these thoughts, I gathered my belongings in preparation for secret departure from the Mandanes that night. Then I prepared breakfast, saw Little Fellow lie back in a dead sleep, and strolled out among the lodges. Four days had passed without the coming of the avengers. The villagers were disposed to forget their guilt and treat me less sulkily. As I sauntered towards the north hill, pleasant words greeted me from the lodges. "Be not afraid, my son," exhorted Chief Black Cat. "Lend a deaf ear to bad talk! No harm shall befall the white man! Be not afraid!" "Afraid!" I flouted back. "Who's afraid, Black Cat? Only white-livered cowards fear the Sioux! Surely no Mandane brave fears the Sioux--ugh! The cowardly Sioux!" My vaunting pleased the old chief mightily; for the Indian is nothing if not a boaster. At once Black Cat would have broken out in loud tirade on his friendship for me and contempt for the Sioux, but I cut him short and moved towards the hill, that overlooked the enemy's territory. A great cloud of dust whirled up from the northern horizon. "A tornado the next thing!" I exclaimed with disgust. "The fates are against me! A fig for my plans!" I stooped. With ear to the ground I could hear a rumbling clatter as of a buffalo stampede. "What is it, my son?" asked the voice of the chief, and I saw that Black Cat had followed me to the hill. "Are those buffalo, Black Cat?" and I pointed to the north. As he peered forward, distinguishing clearly what my civilized eyes could not see, his face darkened. "The Sioux!" he muttered with a black look at me. Turning, he would have hurried away without further protests of friendship, but I kept pace with him. "Pooh!" said I, with a lofty contempt, which I was far from feeling. "Pooh! Black Cat! Who's afraid of the Sioux? Let the women run from the Sioux!" He gave me a sidelong glance to penetrate my sincerity and slackened his flight to the proud gait of a fearless Indian. All the same, alarm was spread among the lodges, and every woman and child of the Mandanes were hidden behind barricaded doors. The men mounted quickly and rode out to gain the vantage ground of the north hill before the enemy's arrival. Another cross current to my purposes! Fool that I was, to have dilly-dallied three whole days away like a helpless old squaw wringing her hands, when I should have dared everything and ridden to Miriam's rescue! Now, if I had been near the Sioux encampment, when all the warriors were away, how easily could I have liberated Miriam and her child! * * * * * Always, it is the course we have not followed, which would have led on to the success we have failed to grasp in our chosen path. So we salve wounded mistrust of self and still, in spite of manifest proof to the contrary, retain a magnificent conceit. I cursed my blunders with a vehemence usually reserved for other men's errors, and at once decided to make the best of the present, letting past and future each take care of itself, a course which will save a man gray hairs over to-morrow and give him a well-provisioned to-day. Arming myself, I resolved to be among the bargain-makers of the Mandanes rather than be bargained by the Sioux. Wakening Little Fellow, I told him my plan and ordered him to slip away north while the two tribes were parleying and to await me a day's march from the Sioux camp. He told me of a wooded valley, where he could rest with his horses concealed, and after seeing him off, I rode straight for the band of assembled Mandanes and surprised them beyond all measure by taking a place in the forefront of Black Cat's special guard. The Sioux warriors swept towards us in a tornado. Ascending the slope at a gallop, whooping and beating their drums, they charged past us, and down at full speed through the village, displaying a thousand dexterities of horsemanship and prowess to strike terror to the Mandanes. Then they dashed back and reined up on the hillside beneath our forces. The men were naked to the waist and their faces were blackened. Porcupine quills, beavers' claws, hooked bones, and bears' claws stained red hung round their necks in ringlets, or adorned gorgeous belts. Feathered crests and broad-shielded mats of willow switches, on the left arm, completed their war dress. The leaders had their buckskin leggings strung from hip to ankle with small bells, and carried firearms, as well as arrows and stone lances; but the majority had only Indian weapons. In that respect--though we were not one third their number--we had the advantage. All the Mandanes carried firearms; but I do not believe there was enough ammunition to average five rounds a man. Luckily, this was unknown to the Sioux. I scanned every face. Diable was not there. Scarcely were the ranks in position, when both Sioux and Mandane chiefs rode forward, and there opened such a harangue as I have never heard since, and hope I never may. "Our young man has been killed," lamented the Sioux. "He was a good warrior. His friends sorrow. Our hearts are no longer glad. Till now our hands have been white, and our hearts clean. But the young man has been slain and we are grieved. Of the scalps of the enemy, he brought many. We hang our heads. The pipe of peace has not been in our council. The whites are our enemies. Now, the young man is dead. Tell us if we are to be friends or enemies. We have no fear. We are many and strong. Our bows are good. Our arrows are pointed with flint and our lances with stone. Our shot-pouches are not light. But we love peace. Tell us, what doth the Mandane offer for the blood of the young man? Is it to be peace or war? Shall we be friends or enemies? Do you raise the tomahawk, or pipe of peace? Say, great chief of the Mandanes, what is thy answer?" This and more did the Sioux chief vauntingly declaim, brandishing his war club and addressing the four points of the compass, also the sun, as he shouted out his defiance. To which Black Cat, in louder voice, made reply. "Say, great chief of the Sioux, our dead was brought into the camp. The body was yet warm. It was thrown at our feet. Never before did it enter the heart of a Missouri to seek the blood of a Sioux! Our messengers went to your camp smoking the sacred calumet of peace. They were sons of the Mandanes. They were friends of the white men. The white man is like magic. He comes from afar. He knows much. He has given guns to our warriors. His shot bags are full and his guns many. But his men, ye slew. We are for peace, but if ye are for war, we warn you to leave our camp before the warriors hidden where ye see them not, break forth. We cannot answer for the white man's magic," and I heard my power over darkness and light, life and death, magnified in a way to terrify my own dreams; but Black Cat cunningly wound up his bold declamation by asking what the Sioux chief would have of the white man for the death of the messenger. A clamor of voices arose from the warriors, each claiming some relationship and attributing extravagant virtues to the dead Sioux. "I am the afflicted father of the youth ye killed," called an old warrior, putting in prior claim for any forthcoming compensation and enhancing its value by adding, "and he had many feathers in his cap." "He, who was killed, I desired for a nephew," shouted another, "and an ivory wand he carried in his hand." "He who was killed was my brother," cried a third, "and he had a new gun and much powder." "He was braver than the buffalo," declared another. "He had three wounds!" "He had scars!" "He wore many scalps!" came the voices of others. "Many bells and beads were on his leggings!" "He had garnished moccasins!" "He slew a bear with his own hands!" "His knife had a handle of ivory!" "His arrows had barbs of beavers' claws!" If the noisy claimants kept on, they would presently make the dead man a god. I begged Black Cat to cut the parley short and demand exactly what gift would compensate the Sioux for the loss of so great a warrior. After another half-hour's jangling, in which I took an animated part, beating down their exorbitant request for two hundred guns with beads and bells enough to outfit the whole Sioux tribe, we came to terms. Indeed, the grasping rascals well-nigh cleared out all that was left of my trading stock; but when I saw they had no intention of fighting, I held back at the last and demanded the surrender of Le Grand Diable, Miriam and the child in compensation for La Robe Noire. Then, they swore by everything, from the sun and the moon to the cow in the meadow, that they were not responsible for the doings of Le Grand Diable, who was an Iroquois. Moreover, they vowed he had hurriedly taken his departure for the north four days before, carrying with him the Sioux wife, the strange woman and the white child. As I had no object in arousing their resentment, I heard their words without voicing my own suspicions and giving over the booty, whiffed pipes with them. But I had no intention of being tricked by the rascally Sioux, and while they and the Mandanes celebrated the peace treaty, I saddled my horse and spurred off for their encampment, glad to see the last of a region where I had suffered much and gained nothing. CHAPTER XVIII LAPLANTE AND I RENEW ACQUAINTANCE The warriors had spoken truth to the Mandanes. Le Grand Diable was not in the Sioux lodges. I had been at the encampment for almost a week, daily expecting the warriors' return, before I could persuade the people to grant me the right of search through the wigwams. In the end, I succeeded only through artifice. Indeed, I was becoming too proficient in craft for the maintenance of self-respect. A child--I explained to the surly old men who barred my way--had been confused with the Sioux slaves. If it were among their lodges, I was willing to pay well for its redemption. The old squaws, eying me distrustfully, averred I had come to steal one of their naked brats, who swarmed on my tracks with as tantalizing persistence as the vicious dogs. The jealous mothers would not hear of my searching the tents. Then I was compelled to make friends with the bevies of young squaws, who ogle newcomers to the Indian camps. Presently, I gained the run of all the lodges. Indeed, I needed not a little diplomacy to keep from being adopted as son-in-law by one pertinacious old fellow--a kind of embarrassment not wholly confined to trappers in the wilds. But not a trace of Diable and his captives did I find. I had hobbled my horses--a string of six--in a valley some distance from the camp and directly on the trail, where Little Fellow was awaiting me. Returning from a look at their condition one evening, I heard a band of hunters had come from the Upper Missouri. I was sitting with a group of men squatted before my fatherly Indian's lodge, when somebody walked up behind us and gave a long, low whistle. "Mon Dieu! Mine frien', the enemy! Sacredie! 'Tis he! Thou cock-brained idiot! Ho--ho! Alone among the Sioux!" came the astonished, half-breathless exclamation of Louis Laplante, mixing his English and French as he was wont, when off guard. Need I say the voice brought me to my feet at one leap? Well I remembered how I had left him lying with a snarl between his teeth in the doorway of Fort Douglas! Now was his chance to score off that grudge! I should not have been surprised if he had paid me with a stab in the back. "What for--come you--here?" he slowly demanded, facing me with a revengeful gleam in his eyes. His English was still mixed. There was none of the usual light and airy impudence of his manner. "You know very well, Louis," I returned without quailing. "Who should know better than you? For the sake of the old days, Louis, help to undo the wrong you allowed? Help me and before Heaven you shall command your own price. Set her free! Afterwards torture me to the death and take your full pleasure!" "I'll have it, anyway," retorted Louis with a hard, dry, mirthless laugh. "Know they--what for--you come?" He pointed to the Indians, who understood not a word of our talk; and we walked a pace off from the lodges. "No! I'm not always a fool, Louis," said I, "though you cheated me in the gorge!" "See those stones?" There was a pile of rock on the edge of the ravine. "I do. What of them?" "All of your Indian--left after the dogs--it lie there!" His eye questioned mine; but there was not a vestige of fear in me towards that boaster. This, I set down not vauntingly, but fully realizing what I owe to Heaven. "Poor fellow," said I. "That was cruel work." "Your other man--he fool them----" "All the better," I interrupted. "They not be cheated once more again! No--no--mine frien'! To come here, alone! Ha--ha! Stupid Anglo-Saxon ox!" "Don't waste your breath, Louis," I quietly remarked. "Your names have no more terror for me now than at Laval! However big a knave you are, Louis, you're not a fool. Why don't you make something out of this? I can reward you. Hold _me_, if you like! Scalp me and skin me and put me under a stone-pile for revenge! Will it make your revenge any sweeter to torture a helpless, white woman?" Louis winced. 'Twas the first sign of goodness I had seen in the knave, and I credited it wholly to his French ancestors. "I never torture white woman," he vehemently declared, with a sudden flare-up of his proud temper. "The son of a seigneur----" "The son of a seigneur," I broke in, "let an innocent woman go into captivity by lying to me!" "Don't harp on that!" said Louis with a scornful laugh--a laugh that is ever the refuge of the cornered liar. "You pay me back by stealing despatches." "Don't harp on that, Louis!" and I returned his insolence in full measure. "I didn't steal your despatches, though I know the thief. And you paid me back by almost trapping me at Fort Douglas." "But I didn't succeed," exclaimed Laplante. "Mon Dieu! If I had only known you were a spy!" "I wasn't. I came to see Hamilton." "And you pay me back as if I had succeed," continued Louis, "by kicking me--me--the son of a seigneur--kicking me in the stomach like a pig, which is no fit treatment for a gentleman!" "And you paid me back by sticking your knife in my boot----" "And didn't succeed," broke in Louis regretfully. At that, we both laughed in spite of ourselves, laughed as comrades. And the laugh brought back memories of old Laval days, when we used to thrash each other in the schoolyard, but always united in defensive league, when we were disciplined inside the class-room. "See here, old crony," I cried, taking quick advantage of his sudden softening and again playing suppliant to my adversary. "I own up! You owe me two scores, one for the despatches I saw taken from you, one for knocking you down in Fort Douglas; for your knife broke and did not cut me a whit. Pay those scores with compound interest, if you like, the way you used to pummel me black and blue at Laval; but help me now as we used to help each other out of scrapes at school! Afterwards, do as you wish! I give you full leave. As the son of a seigneur, as a gentleman, Louis, help me to free the woman!" "Pah!" cried Louis with mingled contempt and surrender. "I not punish you here with two thousand against one! Louis Laplante is a gentleman--even to his enemy!" "Bravo, comrade!" I shouted out, full of gratitude, and I thrust forward my hand. "No--no--thanks much," and Laplante drew himself up proudly, "not till I pay you well, richly,--generous always to mine enemy!" "Very good! Pay when and where you will." "Pay how I like," snapped Louis. With that strange contract, his embarrassment seemed to vanish and his English came back fluently. "You'd better leave before the warriors return," he said. "They come home to-morrow!" "Is Diable among them?" "No." "Is Diable here?" "No." His face clouded as I questioned. "Do you know where he is?" "No." "Will he be back?" "Dammie! How do I know? He will if he wants to! I don't tell tales on a man who saved my life." His answer set me to wondering if Diable had seen me hold back the trader's murderous hand, when Louis lay drunk, and if the Frenchman's knowledge of that incident explained his strange generosity now. "I'll stay here in spite of all the Sioux warriors on earth, till I find out about that knave of an Indian and his captives," I vowed. Louis looked at me queerly and gave another whistle. "You always were a pig-head," said he. "I can keep them from harming you; but remember, I pay you back in your own coin. And look out for the daughter of L'Aigle, curse her! She is the only thing I ever fear! Keep you in my tent! If Le Grand Diable see you----" and Louis touched his knife-handle significantly. "Then Diable _is_ here!" "I not say so," but he flushed at the slip of his tongue and moved quickly towards what appeared to be his quarters. "He is coming?" I questioned, suspicious of Louis' veracity. "Dolt!" said Louis. "Why else do I hide you in my tent? But remember I pay you back in your own coin afterwards! Ha! There they come!" A shout of returning hunters arose from the ravine, at which Louis bounded for the tent on a run, dashing inside breathlessly, I following close behind. "Stay you here, inside, mind! Mon Dieu! If you but show your face; 'tis two white men under one stone-pile! Louis Laplante is a fool--dammie--a fool--to help you, his enemy, or any other man at his own risk." With these enigmatical words, the Frenchman hurried out, fastening the tent flap after him and leaving me to reflect on the wild impulses of his wayward nature. Was his strange, unwilling generosity the result of animosity to the big squaw, who seemed to exercise some subtle and commanding influence over him; or of gratitude to me? Was the noble blood that coursed in his veins, directing him in spite of his degenerate tendencies; or had the man's heart been touched by the sight of a white woman's suffering? If his alarm at the sound of returning hunters had not been so palpably genuine--for he turned pale to the lips--I might have suspected treachery. But there was no mistaking the motive of fear that hurried him to the tent; and with Le Grand Diable among the hunters, Louis might well fear to be seen in my company. There was a hubbub of trappers returning to the lodges. I heard horses turned free and tent-poles clattering to the ground; but Laplante did not come back till it was late and the Indians had separated for the night. "I can take you to her!" he whispered, his voice thrilling with suppressed emotion. "Le Grand Diable and the squaw have gone to the valley to set snares! And when I whistle, come out quickly! Mon Dieu! If you're caught, both our scalps go! Dammie! Louis is a fool. I take you to her; but I pay you back all the same!" "To whom?" The question throbbed with a rush to my lips. "Stupid dolt!" snarled Louis. "Follow me! Keep your ears open for my whistle--one--they return--two--come you out of the tent--three, we are caught, save yourself!" I followed the Frenchman in silence. It was a hazy summer night with just enough light from the sickle moon for us to pick our way past the lodges to a large newly-erected wigwam with a small white tent behind. "This way," whispered Louis, leading through the first to an opening hidden by a hanging robe. Raising the skin, he shoved me forward and hastened out to keep guard. The figure of a woman with a child in her arms was silhouetted against the white tent wall. She was sitting on some robes, crooning in a low voice to the child, and was unaware of my presence. "And was my little Eric at the hunt, and did he shoot an arrow all by himself?" she asked, fondling the face that snuggled against her shoulder. The boy gurgled back a low, happy laugh and lisped some childish reply, which only a mother could translate. "And he will grow big, big and be a great warrior and fight--fight for his poor mother," she whispered, lowering her voice and caressing the child's curls. The little fellow sat up of a sudden facing his mother and struck out squarely with both fists, not uttering a word. "My brave, brave little Eric! My only one, all that God has left to me!" she sobbed hiding her weeping face on the child's neck. "O my God, let me but keep my little one! Thou hast given him to me and I have treasured him as a jewel from Thine own crown! O my God, let me but keep my darling, keep him as Thy gift--and--and--O my God!--Thy--Thy--Thy will be done!" The words broke in a moan and the child began to cry. "Hush, dearie! The birds never cry, nor the beavers, nor the great, bold eagle! My own little warrior must never cry! All the birds and the beasts and the warriors are asleep! What does Eric say before he goes to sleep?" A pair of chubby arms were flung about her neck and passionate, childish kisses pressed her forehead and her cheeks and her lips. Then he slipped to his knees and put his face in her lap. "God bless my papa--and keep my mamma--and make little Eric brave and good--for Jesus' sake----" the child hesitated. "Amen," prompted the gentle voice of the mother. "And keep little Eric for my mamma so she won't cry," added the child, "for Jesus' sake--Amen," and he scrambled to his feet. A low, piercing whistle cut the night air like the flight of an arrow-shaft. It was Louis Laplante's signal that Diable and the squaw were coming back. At the sound, mother and child started up in alarm. Then they saw me standing in the open way. A gasp of fright came from the white woman's lips. I could tell from her voice that she was all a-tremble, and the little one began to whimper in a smothered, suppressed way. I whispered one word--"Miriam!" With a faint cry of anguish, she leaped forward. "Is it you, Eric? O Eric! is it you?" she asked. "No--no, Miriam, not Eric, but Eric's friend, Rufus Gillespie." She tottered as if I had struck her. I caught her in my arms and helped her to the couch of robes. Then I took up my station facing the tent entrance; for I realized the significance of Laplante's warning. "We have hunted for more than a year for you," I whispered, bending over her, "but the Sioux murdered our messenger and the other you yourself let out of the tent!" "That--your messenger for me?" she asked in sheer amazement, proving what I had suspected, that she was kept in ignorance of our efforts. "I have been here for a week, searching the lodges. My horses are in the valley, and we must dare all in one attempt." "I have given my word I will not try," she hastily interrupted, beginning to pluck at her red shawl in the frenzied way of delirious fever patients. "If we are caught, they will torture us, torture the child before my eyes. They treat him well now and leave me alone as long as I do not try to break away. What can you, one man, do against two thousand Sioux?" and she began to weep, choking back the anguished sobs, that shook her slender frame, and picking feverishly at the red shawl fringe. To look at that agonized face would have been sacrilege, and in a helpless, nonplussed way, I kept gazing at the painful workings of the thin, frail fingers. That plucking of the wasted, trembling hands haunts me to this day; and never do I see the fingers of a nervous, sensitive woman working in that delirious, aimless fashion but it sets me wondering to what painful treatment from a brutalized nature she has been subjected, that her hands take on the tricks of one in the last stages of disease. It may be only the fancy of an old trader; but I dare avow, if any sympathetic observer takes note of this simple trick of nervous fingers, it will raise the veil on more domestic tragedies and heart-burnings than any father-confessor hears in a year. "Miriam," said I, in answer to her timid protest, "Eric has risked his life seeking you. Won't you try all for Eric's sake? There'll be little risk! We'll wait for a dark, boisterous, stormy night, and you will roll out of your tent the way you thrust my Indian out. I'll have my horses ready. I'll creep up behind and whisper through the tent." "Where _is_ Eric?" she asked, beginning to waver. Two shrill, sharp whistles came from Louis Laplante, commanding me to come out of the tent. "That's my signal! I must go. Quick, Miriam, will you try?" "I will do what you wish," she answered, so low, I had to kneel to catch the words. "A stormy night our signal, then," I cried. Three, sharp, terrified whistles, signifying, "We are caught, save yourself," came from Laplante, and I flung myself on the ground behind Miriam. "Spread out your arms, Miriam! Quick!" I urged. "Talk to the boy, or we're trapped." With her shawl spread out full and her elbows sticking akimbo, she caught the lad in her arms and began dandling him to right, and left, humming some nursery ditty. At the same moment there loomed in the tent entrance the great, statuesque figure of the Sioux squaw, whom I had seen in the gorge. I kicked my feet under the canvas wall, while Miriam's swaying shawl completely concealed me from the Sioux woman and thus I crawled out backwards. Then I lay outside the tent and listened, listened with my hand on my pistol, for what might not that monster of fury attempt with the tender, white woman? "There were words in the tepee," declared the angry tones of the Indian woman. "The pale face was talking! Where is the messenger from the Mandanes?" At that, the little child set up a bitter crying. "Cry not, my little warrior! Hush, dearie! 'Twas only a hunter whistling, or the night hawk, or the raccoon! Hush, little Eric! Warriors never cry! Hush! Hush! Or the great bear will laugh at you and tell his cubs he's found a coward!" crooned Miriam, making as though she neither heard, nor saw the squaw; but Eric opened his mouth and roared lustily. And the little lad unconsciously foiled the squaw; for she presently took herself off, evidently thinking the voices had been those of mother and son. I skirted cautiously around the rear of the lodges to avoid encountering Diable, or his squaw. The form of a man hulked against me in the dark. 'Twas Louis. "Mon Dieu, Gillespie, I thought one scalp was gone," he gasped. "What are you here for? You don't want to be seen with me," I protested, grateful and alarmed for his foolhardiness in coming to meet me. "Sacredie! The dogs! They make pretty music at your shins without me," and Louis struck boldly across the open for his tent. "Fool to stay so long!" he muttered. "I no more ever help you once again! Mon Dieu! No! I no promise my scalp too! They found your horses in the valley! They--how you say it?--think for some Mandane is here and fear. They rode back fast on your horses. 'Twas why I whistle for, twice so quick! They ride north in the morning. I go too, with the devil and his wife! I be gone to the devil this many a while! But I must go, or they suspect and knife me. That vampire! Ha! she would drink my gore! I no more have nothing to do with you. Before morning, you must do your own do alone! Sacredie! Do not forget, I pay you back yet!" So he rattled on, ever keeping between me and the lodges. By his confused words, I knew he was in great trepidation. "Why, there are my horses!" I exclaimed, seeing all six standing before Diable's lodge. "You do your do before morning! Take one of my saddles!" said Louis. Sure enough, all my saddles were piled before the Iroquois' wigwam; and there stood my enemy and the Sioux squaw, talking loudly, pointing to the horses and gesticulating with violence. "Mon Dieu! Prenez garde! Get you in!" muttered Louis. We were at his tent door, and I was looking back at my horses. "If they see you, all is lost," he warned. And the warning came just in time. With that animal instinct of nearness, which is neither sight, nor smell, my favorite broncho put forward his ears and whinnied sharply. Both Diable and the squaw noted the act and turned; but Louis had knocked me forward face down into the tent. With an oath, he threw himself on his couch. "Take my saddle," he said. "I steal another. Do your do before morning. I no more have nothing to do with you, till I pay you back all the same!" And he was presently fast asleep, or pretending to be. CHAPTER XIX WHEREIN LOUIS INTRIGUES Next morning Le Grand Diable would set out for the north. This night, then, was my last chance to rescue Miriam. "Do your do before morning!" How Laplante's words echoed in my ears! I had told Miriam a stormy night was to be the signal for our attempt; and now the rising moon was dispelling any vague haziness that might have helped to conceal us. In an hour, the whole camp would be bright as day in clear, silver light. Presently, the clatter of the lodges ceased. Only an occasional snarl from the dogs, or the angry squeals of my bronchos kicking the Indian ponies, broke the utter stillness. There was not even a wind to drown foot-treads, and every lodge of the camp was reflected across the ground in elongated shadows as distinct as a crayon figure on white paper. What if some watchful Indian should discover our moving shadows? La Robe Noire's fate flashed back and I shuddered. Flinging up impatiently from the robes, I looked from the tent way. Some dog of the pack gave the short, sharp bark of a fox. Then, but for the crunching of my horses over the turf some yards away, there was silence. I could hear the heavy breathing of people in near-by lodges. Up from the wooded valley came the far-off purr of a stream over stony bottom and the low washing sound only accentuated the stillness. The shrill cry of some lonely night-bird stabbed the atmosphere with a throb of pain. Again the dog snapped out a bark and again there was utter quiet. "One chance in a thousand," said I to myself, "only one in a thousand; but I'll take it!" And I stepped from the tent. This time the wakeful dog let out a mouthful of quick barkings. Jerking off my boots--I had not yet taken to the native custom of moccasins--I dodged across the roadway into the exaggerated shadow of some Indian camp truckery. Here I fell flat to the ground so that no reflection should betray my movements. Then I remembered I had forgotten Louis Laplante's saddle. Rising, I dived back to the tepee for it and waited for the dogs to quiet before coming out again. That alert canine had set up a duet with a neighboring brute of like restless instincts and the two seemed to promise an endless chorus. As I live, I could have sworn that Louis Laplante laughed in his sleep at my dilemma; but Louis was of the sort to laugh in the face of death itself. A man flew from a lodge and dealing out stout blows quickly silenced the vicious curs; but I had to let time lapse for the man to go to sleep before I could venture out. Once more, chirp of cricket, croak of frog and the rush of waters through the valley were the only sounds, and I darted across to the camp shadow. Lying flat, I began to crawl cautiously and laboriously towards my horses. One gave a startled snort as I approached and this set the dogs going again. I lay motionless in the grass till all was quiet and then crept gently round to the far side of my favorite horse and caught his halter strap lest he should whinny, or start away. I drew erect directly opposite his shoulders, so that I could not be seen from the lodges and unhobbling his feet, led him into the concealment of a group of ponies and had the saddle on in a trice. To get the horse to the rear of Miriam's tent was no easy matter. I paced my steps so deftly with the broncho's and let him munch grass so often, the most watchful Indian could not have detected a man on the far side of the horse, directing every move. Behind the Sioux lodge, the earth sloped abruptly away, bare and precipitous; and I left the horse below and clambered up the steep to the white wall of Miriam's tent. Once the dogs threatened to create a disturbance, but a man quieted them, and with gratitude I recognized the voice of Laplante. Three times I tapped on the canvas but there was no response. I put my arm under the tent and rapped on the ground. Why did she not signal? Was the Sioux squaw from the other lodge listening? I could hear nothing but the tossings of the child. "Miriam," I called, shoving my arm forward and feeling out blindly. Thereupon, a woman's hand grasped mine and thrust it out, while a voice so low it might have been the night breeze, came to my ear--"We are watched." Watched? What did it matter if we were? Had I not dared all? Must not she do the same? This was the last chance. We must not be foiled. My horse, I knew, could outrace any cayuse of the Sioux band. "Miriam," I whispered back, lifting the canvas, "they will take you away to-morrow--my horse is here! Come! We must risk all!" And I shoved myself bodily in under the tent wall. She was not a hand's length away, sitting with her face to the entrance of Diable's lodge, her figure rigid and tense with fear. In the half light I could discern the great, powerful, angular form of a giantess in the opening. 'Twas the Sioux squaw. Miriam leaned forward to cover the child with a motion intended to conceal me, and I drew quickly out. I thought I had not been detected; but the situation was perilous enough, in all conscience, to inspire caution, and I was backing away, when suddenly the shadows of two men coming from opposite sides appeared on the white tent, and something sprang upon me with tigerish fury. There was the swish of an unsheathing blade, and I felt rather than saw Le Grand Diable and Louis Laplante contesting over me. "Never! He's mine, my captive! He stole my saddle! He's mine, I tell you," ground out the Frenchman, throwing off my assailant. "Keep him for the warriors and let him be tortured," urged Louis, snatching at the Indian's arm. I sprang up. It was Louis, who tripped my feet from under me, and we two tumbled to the bottom of the cliff, while the Indian stood above snarling out something in the Sioux tongue. "Idiot! Anglo-Saxon ox!" muttered Louis, grappling with me as we fell. "Do but act it out, or two scalps go! I no promise mine when I say I help you, bah----" That was the last I recall; for I went down head backwards, and the blow knocked me senseless. When I came to, with an aching neck and a humming in my ears, there was the gray light of a waning moon, and I found myself lying bound in Miriam's tent. Her child was whimpering timidly and she was hurriedly gathering her belongings into a small bundle. "Miriam, what has happened?" I asked. Then the whole struggle and failure came back to me with an overwhelming realization that torture and death would be our portion. "Try no more," she whispered, brushing past me and making as though she were gathering things where I lay. "Never try, for my sake, never try! They will torture you. I shall die soon. Only save the child! For myself, I am past caring. Good-by forever!" and she dashed to the other side of the tent. At that, with a deal of noisy mirth, in burst Laplante and the Sioux squaw. "Ho-ho! My knight-errant has opened his eyes! Great sport for the braves, say I! Fine mouse-play for the cat, ho-ho!" and Louis looked down at me with laughing insolence, that sent a chill through my veins. 'Twas to save his own scalp the rascal was acting and would have me act too; but I had no wish to betray him. Striking at her captives and rudely ordering them out, the Sioux led the way and left Louis to bring up the rear. "Leave this, lady," said Louis with an air that might have been impudence or gallantry; and he grabbed the bundle from Miriam's hand and threw it over his shoulder at me. This was greeted with a roar of laughter from the Sioux woman and one look of unspeakable reproach from Miriam. Whistling gaily and turning back to wink at me, the Frenchman disappeared in Diable's lodge. For my part, I was puzzled. Did Louis act from the love of acting and trickery and intrigue? Was he befooling the daughter of L'Aigle, or me? They tore down Diable's tepee, stringing the poles on the bronchos stolen from me and leaving Miriam's white tent with the Sioux. I saw them mount with my horses to the fore, and they set out at a sharp trot. From the hoof-beats, I should judge they had not gone many paces, when one rider seemed to turn back, and Louis ran into the tent where I lay. I did not utter one word of pleading; but as he stooped for Miriam's bundle, he whisked out a jack-knife and my heart bounded with a great hope. I suppose, involuntarily, I must have lifted my arms to have the bonds severed; for Laplante shook his head. "No--mine frien'--not now--I not scalp Louis Laplante for your sake,--no, never. Use your teeth--so!" said he, laying the blade of the knife in his own teeth to show me how; and he slipped the thing into hiding under my armpits. "The warriors--they come back to-day," he warned. "You wait till we are far, then cut quick, or they do worse to you than to La Robe Noire! I leave one horse for you in the valley beyond the beaver-dam. Tra-la, comrade, but not forget you. I pay you back yet all the same," and with a whistle, he had vanished. I hung upon the Frenchman's words as a drowning sailor to a life-line, and heard the hoof-beats grow fainter and fainter in the distance, hardly daring to realize the fearful peril in which I lay. By the light at the tent opening, I knew it was daybreak. Already the Sioux were stirring in their lodges and naked urchins came to the entrance to hoot and pelt mud. Somehow, I got into sitting posture, with my head bowed forward on my arms, so I could use the knife without being seen. At that, the impertinent brats became bolder and swarming into the tent began poking sticks. I held my arm closer to my side, and felt the hard steel's pressure with a pleasure not to be marred by that tantalizing horde. There seemed to be a gathering hubbub outside. Indians, squaws and children were rushing in the direction of the trail to the Mandanes. The children in my tent forgot me and dashed out with the rest. I could not doubt the cause of the clamor. This was the morning of the warriors' return; and getting the knife in my teeth, I began filing furiously at the ropes about my wrists. Man is not a rodent; but under stress of necessity and with instruments of his own designing, he can do something to remedy his human helplessness. To the din of clamoring voices outside were added the shouts of approaching warriors, the galloping of a multitude of horses and the whining yells of countless dogs. While all the Sioux were on the outskirts of the encampment, I might yet escape unobserved, but the returning braves were very near. Putting all my strength in my wrists, I burst the half-cut bonds; and the rest was easy. A slash of the knife and my feet were free and I had rolled down the cliff and was running with breathless haste over fallen logs, under leafy coverts, across noisy creeks, through the wooded valley to the beaver dam. How long, or how far, I ran in this desperate, heedless fashion, I do not know. The branches, that reached out like the bands of pursuers, caught and ripped my clothing to shreds. I had been bootless, when I started; but my feet were now bare and bleeding. A gleam of water flashed through the green foliage. This must be the river, with the beaver-dam, and to my eager eyes, the stream already appeared muddy and sluggish as if obstructed. My heart was beating with a sensation of painful, bursting blows. There was a roaring in my ears, and at every step I took, the landscape swam black before me and the trees racing into the back ground staggered on each side like drunken men. Then I knew that I had reached the limit of my strength and with the domed mud-tops of the beaver-dam in sight half a mile to the fore, I sank down to rest. The river was marshy, weed-grown and brown; but I gulped down a drink and felt breath returning and the labored pulse easing. Not daring to pause long, I went forward at a slackened rate, knowing I must husband my strength to swim or wade across the river. Was it the apprehension of fear, or the buzzing in my ears, that suggested the faint, far-away echo of a clamoring multitude? I stopped and listened. There was no sound but the lapping of water, or rush of wind through the leaves. I went on again at hastened pace, and distinctly down the valley came echo of the Sioux war-whoop. I was pursued. There was no mistaking that fact, and with a thrill, which I have no hesitancy in confessing was the most intense fear I have ever experienced in my life, I broke into a terrified, panic-stricken run. The river grew dark, sluggish and treacherous-looking. By the blood flowing from my feet, Indian scouts could track me for leagues. I looked to the river with the vague hope of running along the water bed to throw my pursuers off the trail; but the water was deep and I had not strength to swim. The beaver-dam was huddled close to the clay bank of the far side and on the side, where I ran, the current spread out in a flaggy marsh. Hoping to elude the Sioux, I plunged in and floundered blindly forward. But blood trails marked the pond behind and the soft ooze snared my feet. I was now opposite the beaver-dam and saw with horror there were branches enough floating in mid-stream to entangle the strongest swimmer. The shouts of my pursuers sounded nearer. They could not have known how close they were upon me, else had they ambushed me in silence after Indian custom, shouting only when they sighted their quarry. The river was not tempting for a fagged, breathless swimmer, whose dive must be short and sorry. I had nigh counted my earthly course run, when I caught sight of a hollow, punky tree-trunk standing high above the bank. I could hear the swiftest runners behind splashing through the marsh bed. Now the thick willow-bush screened me, but in a few moments they would be on my very heels. With the supernatural strength of a last desperate effort, I bounded to the empty trunk and like some hounded, treed creature, clambered up inside, digging my wounded feet into the soft, wet wood-rot and burrowing naked fingers through the punk of the rounded sides till I was twice the height of a man above the blackened opening at the base. Then a piece of wood crumbled in my right hand. Daylight broke through the trunk and I found that I had grasped the edge of a rotted knot-hole. Bracing my feet across beneath me like tie beams of raftered scaffolding, I craned up till my eye was on a level with the knot-hole and peered down through my lofty lookout. Either the shouting of the Sioux warriors had ceased, which indicated they had found my tracks and knew they were close upon me, or my shelter shut out the sound of approaching foes. I broke more bark from the hole and gained full view of the scene below. A crested savage ran out from the tangled foliage of the river bank, saw the turgid settlings of the rippling marsh, where I had been floundering, and darted past my hiding-place with a shrill yell of triumph. Instantaneously the woods were ringing, echoing and re-echoing with the hoarse, wild war-cries of the Sioux. Band after band burst from the leafy covert of forest and marsh willows, and dashed in full pursuit after the leading Indian. Some of the braves still wore the buckskin toggery of their visit to the Mandanes; but the swiftest runners had cast off all clothing and tore forward unimpeded. The last coppery form disappeared among the trees of the river bank and the shoutings were growing fainter, when, suddenly, there was such an ominous calm, I knew they were foiled. Would they return to the last marks of my trail? That thought sent the blood from my head with a rush that left me dizzy, weak and shivering. I looked to the river. The floating branches turned lazily over and over to the lapping of the sluggish current, and the green slime oozing from the clustered beaver lodges of the far side might hide either a miry bottom, or a treacherous hole. A naked Indian came pattering back through the brush, looking into every hollow log, under fallen trees, through clumps of shrub growth, where a man might hide, and into the swampy river bed. It was only a matter of time when he would reach my hiding-place. Should I wait to be smoked out of my hole, like a badger, or a raccoon? Again I looked hopelessly to the river. A choice of deaths seemed my only fate. Torture, burning, or the cool wash of a black wave gurgling over one's head? A broad-girthed log lay in the swamp and stretched out over mid-stream in a way that would give a quick diver at least a good, clean, clear leap. A score more savages had emerged from the woods and were eagerly searching, from the limbs of trees above, where I might be perched, to the black river-bed below. However much I may vacillate between two courses, once my decision is taken, I have ever been swift to act; and I slipped down the tree-trunk with the bound of a bullet through a gun-barrel, took one last look from the opening, which revealed pursuers not fifty yards away, plunged through the marsh, dashed to the fallen log and made a rush to the end. A score of brazen throats screeched out their baffled rage. There was a twanging of bow-strings. The humming of arrow flight sung about my head. I heard the crash of some savage blazing away with his old flintlock. A deep-drawn breath, and I was cleaving the air. Then the murky, greenish waters splashed in my face, opened wide and closed over me. A tangle of green was at the soft, muddy bottom. Something living, slippery, silky and furry, that was neither fish, nor water snake, got between my feet; but countless arrows, I knew, were aimed and ready for me, when I came to the surface. So I held down for what seemed an interminable time, though it was only a few seconds, struck for the far shore, and presently felt the green slime of the upper water matting in my hair. Every swimmer knows that rich, sweet, full intake of life-giving air after a long dive. I drew in deep, fresh breaths and tried to blink the slime from my eyes and get my bearings. There were the howlings of baffled wolves from what was now the far side of the river bank; but domed clay mounds, mossy, floating branches and a world of willows shrubs were about my head. Then I knew what the furry thing among the tangle at the river bottom was, and realized that I had come up among the beaver lodges. The dam must have been an old one; for the clay houses were all overgrown with moss and water-weeds. A perfect network of willow growth interlaced the different lodges. I heard the splash as of a diver from the opposite side. Was it a beaver, or my Indian pursuers? Then I could distinctly make out the strokes of some one swimming and splashing about. My foes were determined to have me, dead, or alive. I ducked under, found shallow, soft bottom, half paddled, half waded, a pace more shoreward, and came up with my head in utter darkness. Where was I? I drew breath. Yes, assuredly, I was above water; but the air was fetid with heavy, animal breath and teeth snarled shut in my very face. Somehow, I had come up through the broken bottom of an old beaver lodge and was now in the lair of the living creatures. What was inside, I cannot record; for to my eyes the blackness was positively thick. I felt blindly out through the palpable darkness and caught tight hold of a pole, that seemed to reach from side to side. This gave me leverage and I hoisted myself upon it, bringing my crown a mighty sharp crack as I mounted the perch; for the beaver lodge sloped down like an egg shell. I must have seemed some water monster to the poor beaver; for there was a scurrying, scampering and gurgling off into the river. Then my own breathing and the drip of my clothes were all that disturbed the lodge. Time, say certain philosophers, is the measure of a man's ideas marching along in uniform procession. But I hold they are wrong. Time is nothing of the sort; else had time stopped as I hung panting over the pole in the beaver lodge; for one idea and one only, beat and beat and beat to the pulsing of the blood that throbbed through my brain--"I am safe--I am safe--I am safe!" How can I tell how long I hung there? To me it seemed a century. I do not even know whether I lost consciousness. I am sure I repeatedly awakened with a jerk back from some hazy, far-off, oblivious realm, shut off even in memory from the things of this life. I am sure I tried to burrow my hand through the clammy moss-wall of the beaver lodge to let in fresh air; but my spirit would be suddenly rapt away to that other region. I am sure I felt the waters washing over my head and sweeping me away from this world to another life. Then I would lose grip of the pole and come to myself clutching at it with wild terror; and again the drowse of life's borderland would overpower me. And all the time I was saying over and over, "I am safe! I am safe!" How many of the things called hours slipped past, I do not know. As I said before, it seemed to me a century. Whether it was mid-day, or twilight, when I let myself down from the pole and crawled like a bedraggled water-rat to the shore, I do not know. Whether it was morning, or night, when I dragged myself under the fern-brake and fell into a death-like sleep, I do not know. When I awakened, the forest was a labyrinth of shafted moonlight and sombre shadows. All that had happened in the past twenty-four hours came back to me with vivid reality. I remembered Laplante's promise to leave a horse for me in the valley beyond the beaver dam. With this hope in my heart I crawled cautiously down through the silent shadows of the night. At daybreak I found Louis had made good his promise, and I was speeding on horseback towards the trail, where Little Fellow awaited me. CHAPTER XX PLOTS AND COUNTER-PLOTS He who would hear that paradox of impossibilities--silence become vocal--must traverse the vast wastes of the prairie by night. As a mother quiets a fretful child, so the illimitable calm lulls tumultuous thoughts. The wind moving through empty solitudes comes with a sigh of unutterable loneliness. Unconsciously, men listen for some faint rustling from the gauzy, wavering streamers that fire northern skies. The dullest ear can almost fancy sounds from the noiseless wheeling of planets through the overspanning vaulted blue; and human speech seems sacrilege. Though the language of the prairie be not in words, some message is surely uttered; for the people of the plains wear the far-away look of communion with the unseen and the unheard. The fine sensibility of the white woman, perhaps, shows the impress of the vast solitudes most readily, and the gravely repressed nature of the Indian least; but all plain-dwellers have learned to catch the voice of the prairie. I, myself, know the message well, though I may no more put it into words than the song love sings in one's heart. Love, says the poet, is infinite. So is the space of the prairie. That, I suppose, is why both are too boundless for the limitation of speech. Night after night, with only a grassy swish and deadened tread over the turf breaking stillness, we journeyed northward. Occasionally, like the chirp of cricket in a dry well, life sounded through emptiness. Skulking coyotes, seeking prey among earth mounds, or night hawks, lilting solitarily in vaulted mid-heaven, uttered cries that pierced the vast blue. Owls flapped stupidly up from our horses' feet. Hungry kites wheeled above lonely Indian graves, or perched on the scaffolding, where the dead lay swathed in skins. Reflecting on my experiences with the Mandanes and the Sioux, I was disposed to upbraid fate as a senseless thing with no thread of purpose through life's hopeless jumble. Now, something in the calm of the plains, or the certainty of our unerring star-guides, quieted my unrest. Besides, was I not returning to one who was peerless? That hope speedily eclipsed all interests. That was purpose enough for my life. Forthwith, I began comparing lustrous gray eyes to the stars, and tracing a woman's figure in the diaphanous northern lights. One face ever gleamed through the dusk at my horse's head and beckoned northward. I do not think her presence left me for an instant on that homeward journey. But, indeed, I should not set down these extravagances, which each may recall in his own case, only I would have others judge whether she influenced me, or I, her. Thus we traveled northward, journeying by night as long as we were in the Sioux territory. Once in the land of the Assiniboines, we rode day and night to the limit of our horses' endurance. Remembering the Hudson's Bay outrage at the Souris, and having also heard from Mandane runners of a raid planned by our rivals against the North-West fort at Pembina, I steered wide of both places, following the old Missouri trail midway between the Red and Souris rivers. It may have been because we traveled at night, but I did not encounter a single person, native or white, till we came close to the Red and were less than a day's journey from Fort Gibraltar. On the river trail, we overtook some Hudson's Bay trappers. The fellows would not answer a single question about events during the year and scampered away from us as if we carried smallpox, which had thinned the population a few years before. "That's bad!" said I aloud, as the men fled down the river bank, where we could not follow. Little Fellow looked as solemn as a grave-stone. He shook his head with ominous wisdom that foresees all evil but refuses to prophesy. "Bother to you, Little Fellow!" I exclaimed. "What do you mean? What's up?" Again the Indian shook his head with dark mutterings, looking mighty solemn, but he would not share his foreknowledge. We met more Hudson's Bay men, and their conduct was unmistakably suspicious. On a sudden seeing us, they reined up their horses, wheeled and galloped off without a word. "I don't like that! I emphatically don't!" I piloted my broncho to a slight roll of the prairie, where we could reconnoitre. Distinctly there was the spot where the two rivers met. Intervening shrubbery confused my bearings. I rose in my stirrups, while Little Fellow stood erect on his horse's back. "Little Fellow!" I cried, exasperated with myself, "Where's Fort Gibraltar? I see where it ought to be, where the towers ought to be higher than that brush, but where's the fort?" The Indian screened his eyes and gazed forward. Then he came down with a thud, abruptly re-straddling his horse, and uttered one explosive word--"Smoke." "Smoke? I don't see smoke! Where's the fort?" "No fort," said he. "You're daft!" I informed him, with the engaging frankness of a master for a servant. "There--is--a fort, and you know it--we're both lost--that's more! A fine Indian you are, to get lost!" Little Fellow scrambled with alacrity to the ground. Picking up two small switches, he propped them against each other. "Fort!" he said, laconically, pointing to the switches. "L'anglais!" he cried, thrusting out his foot, which signified Hudson's Bay. "No fort!" he shouted, kicking the switches into the air. "No fort!" and he looked with speechless disgust at the vacancy. Now I knew what he meant. Fort Gibraltar had been destroyed by Hudson's Bay men. We had no alternative but to strike west along the Assiniboine, on the chance of meeting some Nor'-Westers before reaching the company's quarters at the Portage. That post, too, might be destroyed; but where were Hamilton and Father Holland? Danger, or no danger, I must learn more of the doings in Red River. Also, there were reasons why I wished to visit the settlers of Fort Douglas. We camped on the south side of the Assiniboine a few miles from the Red, and Little Fellow went to some neighboring half-breeds for a canoe. And a strange story he brought back! A great man, second only to the king--so the half-breeds said--had come from England to rule over Assiniboia. He boasted the shock of his power would be felt from Montreal to Athabasca. He would drive out all Nor'-Westers. This personage, I afterwards learned, was the amiable Governor Semple, who succeeded Captain Miles McDonell. Already, as a hunter chases a deer, had the great governor chased Nor'-Westers from Red River. Did Little Fellow doubt their word? Where was Fort Gibraltar? Let Little Fellow look and see for himself if aught but masonry and charred walls stood where Fort Gibraltar had been! Let him seek the rafters of the Nor-Westers' fort in the new walls of Fort Douglas! Pembina, too, had fallen before the Hudson's Bay men. Since the coming of the great governor, nothing could stand before the English. But wait! It was not all over! The war drum was beating in the tents of all the _Bois-Brulés_! The great governor should be taught that even the king's arms could not prevail against the _Bois-Brulés_! Was there smoke of battle? The _Bois-Brulés_ would be there! The _Bois-Brulés_ had wrongs to avenge. They would not be turned out of their forts for nothing! Knives would be unsheathed. There were full powder-bags! There was a grand gathering of _Bois-Brulés_ at the Portage. They, themselves, were on the way there. Let Little Fellow and the white trader join them! Let them be wary; for the English were watchful! Great things were to be done by the _Bois-Brulés_ before another moon--and Little Fellow's eyes snapped fire as he related their vauntings. I was inclined to regard the report as a fairy tale. If the half-breeds were arming and the English watchful, the distrust of the Hudson's Bay men was explained. A nomad, himself, the Indian may be willing enough to share running rights over the land of his fathers; but when the newcomer not only usurps possession, but imposes the yoke of laws on the native, the resentment of the dusky race is easily fanned to that point which civilized men call rebellion. I could readily understand how the Hudson's Bay proclamations forbidding the sale of furs to rivals, when these rivals were friends by marriage and treaty with the natives, roused all the bloodthirsty fury of the Indian nature. Nor'-Westers' forts were being plundered. Why should the _Bois-Brulés_ not pillage Hudson's Bay posts? Each company was stealing the cargo of its rival, as boats passed and repassed the different forts. Why should the half-breed not have his share of the booty? The most peace-loving dog can be set a-fighting; and the fight-loving Indian finds it very difficult indeed, to keep the peace. This, the great fur companies had not yet realized; and the lesson was to be driven home to them with irresistible force. The half-breeds also had news of a priest bringing a delirious man to Fort Douglas. The description seemed to fit Hamilton and Father Holland. Whatever truth might be in the rumors of an uprising, I must ascertain whether or not Frances Sutherland would be safe. Leaving Little Fellow to guard our horses, at sundown I pushed my canoe into the Assiniboine just east of the rapids. Paddling swiftly with the current, I kept close to the south bank, where overhanging willows concealed one side of the river. As I swung out into the Red, true to the _Bois-Brulés'_ report, I saw only blackened chimneys and ruined walls on the site of Fort Gibraltar. Heading towards the right bank, I hugged the naked cliff on the side opposite Fort Douglas, and trusted the rising mist to conceal me. Thus, I slipped past cannon, pointing threateningly from the Hudson's Bay post, recrossed to the wooded west bank again, and paddled on till I caught a glimpse of a little, square, whitewashed house in a grove of fine old trees. This I knew, from Frances Sutherland's description, was her father's place. Mooring among the shrubbery I had no patience to hunt for beaten path; but digging my feet into soft clay and catching branches with both hands, I clambered up the cliff and found myself in a thicket not a stone's throw from the door. The house was in darkness. My heart sank at a possibility which hardly framed itself to a thought. Was the apparition in the Mandane lodge some portent? Had I not read, or heard, of departed spirits hovering near loved ones? I had no courage to think more. Suddenly the door flung open. Involuntarily, I slipped behind the bushes, but dusk hid the approaching figure. Whoever it was made no noise. I felt, rather than heard, her coming, and knew no man could walk so silently. It must be a woman. Then my chest stifled and I heard my own heart-beats. Garments fluttered past the branches of my hiding-place. She of whom I had dreamed by night and thought by day and hoped whether sleeping, or waking, paused, not an arm's length away. Toying with the tip of the branch, which I was gripping for dear life, she looked languorously through the foliage towards the river. At first I thought myself the victim of another hallucination, but would not stir lest the vision should vanish. She sighed audibly, and I knew this was no spectre. Then I trembled all the more, for my sudden appearance might alarm her. I should wait until she went back to the house--another of my brave vows to keep myself in hand!--then walk up noisily, giving due warning, and knock at the door. The keeping of that resolution demanded all my strength of will; for she was so near I could have clasped her in my arms without an effort. Indeed, it took a very great effort to refrain from doing so. "Heigh-ho," said a low voice with the ripple of a sunny brook tinkling over pebbles, "but it's a long day--and a long, long week--and a long, long, long month--and oh!--a century of years since----" and the voice broke in a sigh. I think--though I would not set this down as a fact--that a certain small foot, which once stamped two strong men into obedience, now vented its impatience at a twig on the grass. By the code of eastern proprieties, I may not say that the dainty toe-tip first kicked the offensive little branch and then crunched it deep in the turf. "I hate this lonely country," said the voice, with the vim of water-fret against an obstinate stone. "Wonder what it's like in the Mandane land! I'm sure it's nicer there." Now I affirm there is not a youth living who would not at some time give his right hand to know a woman's exact interpretation of that word "nicer." For my part, it set me clutching the branch with such ferocity, off snapped the thing with the sharp splintering of a breaking stick. The voice gave a gasp and she jumped aside with nervous trepidation. "Whatever--was that? I am--not frightened." No one was accusing her. "I won't go in! I won't let myself be frightened! There! The very idea!" And three or four sharp stamps followed in quick succession; but she was shivering. "I declare the house is so lonely, a ghost would be live company." And she looked doubtfully from the dark house to the quivering poplars. "I'd rather be out here with the tree-toads and owls and bats than in there alone, even if they do frighten me! Anyway, I'm not frightened! It's just some stupid hop-and-go-spring thing at the base of our brains that makes us jump at mice and rats." But the hands interlocking at her back twitched and clasped and unclasped in a way that showed the automatic brain-spring was still active. "It's getting worse every day. I can't stand it much longer, looking and looking till I'm half blind and no one but Indian riders all day long. Why doesn't he come? Oh! I know something is wrong." "Afraid of the Metis," thought I, "and expecting her father. A fine father to leave his daughter alone in the house with the half-breeds threatening a raid. She needs some one else to take care of her." This, on after thought, I know was unjust to her father; for pioneers obey necessity first and chivalry second. "If he would only come!" she repeated in a half whisper. "Hope he doesn't," thought I. "For a week I've been dreaming such fearful things! I see him sinking in green water, stretching his hands to me and I can't reach out to save him. On Sunday he seemed to be running along a black, awful precipice. I caught him in my arms to hold him back, but he dragged me over and I screamed myself awake. Sometimes, he is in a black cave and I can't find any door to let him out. Or he lies bound in some dungeon, and when I stoop to cut the cords, he begins to sink down, down, down through the dark, where I can't follow. I leap after him and always waken with such a dizzy start. Oh! I know he has been in trouble. Something is wrong! His thoughts are reaching out to me and I am so gross and stupid I can't hear what his spirit says. If I could only get away from things, the clatter of everyday things that dull one's inner hearing, perhaps I might know! I feel as if he spoke in a foreign language, but the words he uses I can't make out. All to-day, he has seemed so near! Why does he not come home to me?" "Mighty fond daughter," thought I, with a jealous pang. She was fumbling among the intricate draperies, where women conceal pockets, and presently brought out something in the palm of her hand. "I wouldn't have him know how foolish I am," and she laid the thing gently against her cheek. Now I had never given Frances Sutherland a gift of any sort whatever; and my heart was pierced with anguish that cannot be described. I was, indeed, falling over a precipice and her arms were not holding me back but dragging me over. Would that I, like the dreamer, could awaken with a start. In all conscience, I was dizzy enough; and every pressure of that hateful object to her face bound me faster in a dungeon of utter hopelessness. My sweet day-dreams and midnight rhapsodies trooped back to mock at me. I felt that I must bow broken under anguish or else steel myself and shout back cynical derision to the whole wan troop of torturing regrets. And all the time, she was caressing that thing in her hand and looking down at it with a fondness, which I--poor fool--thought that I alone could inspire. I suppose if I could have crept away unobserved, I would have gone from her presence hardened and embittered; but I must play out the hateful part of eavesdropper to the end. She opened the hand to feast her eyes on the treasure, and I craned forward, playing the sneak without a pang of shame, but the dusk foiled me. Then the low, mellow, vibrant tones, whose very music would have intoxicated duller fools than I--'tis ever a comfort to know there are greater fools--broke in melody: "To my own dear love from her ever loyal and devoted knight," and she held her opened hand high. 'Twas my birch-bark message which Father Holland had carried north. I suddenly went insane with a great overcharge of joy, that paralyzed all motion. "Dear love--wherever are you?" asked a voice that throbbed with longing. Can any man blame me for breaking through the thicket and my resolution and discretion and all? "Here--beloved!" I sprang from the bush. She gave a cry of affright and would have fallen, but my arms were about her and my lips giving silent proof that I was no wraith. What next we said I do not remember. With her head on my shoulder and I doing the only thing a man could do to stem her tears, I completely lost track of the order of things. I do not believe either of us was calm enough for words for some time after the meeting. It was she who regained mental poise first. "Rufus!" she exclaimed, breaking away from me, "You're not a sensible man at all." "Never said I was," I returned. "If you do _that_," she answered, ignoring my remark and receding farther, "I'll never stop crying." "Then cry on forever!" With womanly ingratitude, she promptly called me "a goose" and other irrelevant names. The rest of our talk that evening I do not intend to set down. In the first place, it was best understood by only two. In the second, it could not be transcribed; and in the third, it was all a deal too sacred. We did, however, become impersonal for short intervals. "I feel as if there were some storm in the air," said Frances Sutherland. "The half-breeds are excited. They are riding past the settlement in scores every day. O, Rufus, I know something is wrong." "So do I," was my rejoinder. I was thinking of the strange gossip of the Assiniboine encampment. "Do you think the _Bois-Brulés_ would plunder your boats?" she asked innocently, ignorant that the malcontents were Nor'-Westers. "No," said I. "What boats?" "Why, Nor'-West boats, of course, coming up Red River from Fort William to go up the Assiniboine for the winter's supplies. They're coming in a few days. My father told me so." "Is Mr. Sutherland an H. B. C. or Nor'-Wester?" I asked in the slang of the company talk. "I don't know," she answered. "I don't think he knows himself. He says there are numbers of men like that, and they all know there is to be a raid. Why, Rufus, there are men down the river every day watching for the Nor'-Westers' Fort William express." "Where do the men come from?" I questioned, vainly trying to patch some connection between plots for a raid on North-West boats and plots for a fight by Nor'-West followers. "From Fort Douglas, of course." "H. B. C.'s, my dear. You must go to Fort Douglas at once. There will be a fight. You must go to-morrow with your father, or with me to-night," I urged, thinking I should take myself off and notify my company of the intended pillaging. "With you?" she laughed. "Father will be home in an hour. Are you sure about a fight!" "Quite," said I, trembling for her safety. This certainty of mine has been quoted to prove premeditation on the Nor'-Westers' part; but I meant nothing of the sort. I only felt there was unrest on both sides, and that she must be out of harm's way. Truly, I have seldom had a harder duty to perform than to leave Frances alone in that dark house to go and inform my company of the plot. Many times I said good-by before going to the canoe and times unnumbered ran back from the river to repeat some warning and necessitate another farewell. "Rufus, dear," she said, "this is about the twentieth time. You mustn't come back again." "Then good-by for the twenty-first," said I, and came away feeling like a young priest anointed for some holy purpose. * * * * * I declare now, as I declared before the courts of the land, that in hastening to the Portage with news of the Hudson's Bay's intention to intercept the Nor'-Westers' express from Fort William, I had no other thought but the faithful serving of my company. I knew what suffering the destruction of Souris had entailed in Athabasca, and was determined our brave fellows should not starve in the coming winter through my negligence. Could I foresee that simple act of mine was to let loose all the punishment the Hudson's Bay had been heaping up against the day of judgment? CHAPTER XXI LOUIS PAYS ME BACK What tempted me to moor opposite the ruins of Fort Gibraltar? What tempts the fly into the spider's web and the fish with a wide ocean for play-ground into one small net? I know there is a consoling fashion of ascribing our blunders to the inscrutable wisdom of a long-suffering Providence; but common-sense forbids I should call evil good, deify my errors, and give thanks for what befalls me solely through my own fault. Bare posts hacked to the ground were all that remained of Fort Gibraltar's old wall. I had not gone many paces across the former courtyard, when voices sounded from the gravel-pit that had once done duty as a cellar. The next thing I noticed was the shaggy face of Louis Laplante bobbing above the ground. With other vagabond wanderers, the Frenchman had evidently been rummaging old Nor'-West vaults. "Tra-la, comrade," he shouted, leaping out of the cellar as soon as he saw me. "I, Louis Laplante, son of a seigneur, am resurrecting. I was a Plante! Now I'm a _Louis d'or_, fresh coined from the golden vein of dazzling wit. Once we were men, but they drowned us in a wine-barrel like your lucky dog of an English prince. Now we're earth-goblins re-incarnate! Behold gnomes of the mine! Knaves of the nethermost depths, tra-la! Vampires that suck the blood of whisky-cellars and float to the skies with dusky wings and dizzy heads! Laugh with us, old solemncholy! See the ground spin! Laugh, I say, or be a hitching-post, and we'll dance the May-pole round you! We're vampires, comrade, and you're our cousin, for you're a bat," and Louis applauded his joke with loud, tipsy laughter and staggered up to me drunk as a lord. His heavy breath and bloodshot eyes testified what he had found under the rubbish heaps of Fort Gibraltar's cellar. Embracing me with the affection of a long-lost brother, he rattled on with a befuddled, meaningless jargon. "So the knife cut well, did it? And the Sioux did not eat you by inches, beginning with your thumbs? Ha! Très bien! Very good taste! You were not meant for feasts, my solemncholy? Some men are monuments. That's you, mine frien'! Some are champagne bottles that uncork, zip, fizz, froth, stars dancing round your head! That's me! 'Tis I, Louis Laplante, son of a seigneur, am that champagne bottle!" Pausing for breath, he drew himself erect with ridiculous pomposity. Now there are times when the bravest and wisest thing a brave and wise man can do is take to his heels. I have heard my Uncle Jack MacKenzie say that vice and liquor and folly are best frustrated by flight; and all three seemed to be embodied in Louis Laplante that night. A stupid sort of curiosity made me dally with the mischief brewing in him, just as the fly plays with the spider-web, or the fish with a baited hook. "There's a fountain-spout in Nor'-West vaults for those who know where to tap the spigot, eh, Louis?" I asked. "I'm a Hudson's Bay man and to the conqueror comes the tribute," returned Louis, sweeping me a courtly bow. "I hope such a generous conqueror draws all the tribute he deserves. Do you remember how you saved my life twice from the Sioux, Louis?" "Generous," shouted the Frenchman, drawing himself up proudly, "generous to mine enemy, always magnificent, grand, superb, as becomes the son of a seigneur! Now I pay you back, rich, well, generous." "Nonsense, Louis," I expostulated. "'Tis I who am in your debt. I owe you my life twice over. How shall I pay you?" and I made to go down to my canoe. "Pay me?" demanded Louis, thrusting himself across my path in a menacing attitude. "Stand and pay me like a man!" "I am standing," I laughed. "Now, how shall I pay you?" "Strike!" ordered Louis, launching out a blow which I barely missed. "Strike, I say, for kicking me, the son of a seigneur, like a pig!" At that, half a dozen more drunken vagabonds of the Hudson's Bay service reeled up from the cellar pit; and I began to understand I was in for as much mischief as a young man could desire. The fellows were about us in a circle, and now, that it was too late, I was quite prepared like the fly and the fish to seek safety in flight. "Sink his canoe," suggested one; and I saw that borrowed craft swamped. "Strike! _Sacredie!_ I pay you back generous," roared Louis. "How can I, Louis Laplante, son of a seigneur, strike a man who won't hit back?" "And how can I strike a man who saved my life?" I urged, trying to mollify him. "See here, Louis, I'm on a message for my company to-night. I can't wait. Some other day you can pay me all you like--not to-night, some-other-time----" "Some-oder-time! No--never! Some-oder-time--'tis the way I pay my own debts, always some-oder-time, and I never not pay at all. You no some-oder-time me, comrade! Louis knows some-oder-time too well! He quit his cups some-oder-time and he never quit, not at all! He quit wild Indian some-oder-time, and he never quit, not at all! And he go home and say his confess to the curé some-oder-time, and he never go, not at all! And he settle down with a wife and become a grand seigneur some-oder-time, and he never settle down at all!" "Good night, Laplante! I have business for the company. I must go," I interrupted, trying to brush through the group that surrounded us. "So have we business for the company, the Hudson's Bay Company, and you can't go," chimed in one of the least intoxicated of the rival trappers; and they closed about me so that I had not striking room. "Are you men looking for trouble?" I asked, involuntarily fingering my pistol belt. "No--we're looking for the Nor'-West brigade billed to pass from Fort William to Athabasca," jeered the boldest of the crowd, a red-faced, middle-aged man with blear eyes. "We're looking for the Nor'-Westers' express," and he laughed insolently. "You don't expect to find our brigades in Fort Gibraltar's cellar," said I, backing away from them and piecing this latest information to what I had already heard of plots and conspiracies. Forthwith I felt strong hands gripping both my arms like a vise and the coils of a rope were about me with the swiftness of a lasso. My first impulse was to struggle against the outrage; but I was beginning to learn the service of open ears and a closed mouth was often more valuable than a fighter's blows. Already I had ascertained from their own lips that the Hudson's Bay intended to molest our north-bound brigade. "Well," said I, with a laugh, which surprised the rascals mightily, "now you've captured your elephant, what do you propose to do with him?" Without answering, the men shambled down to the landing place of the fort, jostling me along between the red-faced man and Louis Laplante. "I consider this a scurvy trick, Louis," said I. "You've let me into a pretty scrape with your idiotic heroics about paying back a fancied grudge. To save a mouse from the tigers, Louis, and then feed him to your cats! Fie, man! I like your son-of-a-seigneur ideas of honor!" "Ingrate! Low-born ingrate," snapped the Frenchman, preparing to strike one of his dramatic attitudes, "if I were not the son of a seigneur, and you a man with bound arms, you should swallow those words," and he squared up to me for a second time. "If you won't fight, you shan't run away----" "Off with your French brag," ordered the soberest of the Hudson's Bay men, catching Louis by the scruff of his coat and spinning him out of the way. "There'll be neither fighting nor running away. It is to Fort Douglas we'll take our fine spy." The words stung, but I muffled my indignation. "I'll go with pleasure," I returned, thinking that Frances Sutherland and Hamilton and Father Holland were good enough company to compensate for any captivity. "With pleasure, and 'tis not the first time I'll have found friends in the Hudson's Bay fort." At that speech, the red-faced man, who seemed to be the ringleader, eyed me narrowly. We all embarked on a rickety raft, that would, I declare, have drowned any six sober men who risked their lives on it; but drunk men and children seem to do what sober, grown folk may not are. How Louis Laplante was for fighting a duel _en route_ with the man, who spoke of "French brag" and was only dissuaded from his purpose by the raft suddenly teetering at an angle of forty-five degrees with the water, which threatened to toboggan us all into mid-river; how I was then stationed in the centre and the other men distributed equally on each side of the raft to maintain balance; how we swung out into the Red, rocking with each shifting of the crew and were treated to a volley of objurgations from the red-faced man--I do not intend to relate. This sort of melodrama may be seen wherever there are drunken men, a raft and a river. The men poled only fitfully, and we were driven solely by the current. It was dark long before we had neared Fort Douglas and the waters swished past with an inky, glassy sheen that vividly recalled the murky pool about the beaver-dam. And yet I had no fear, but drifted along utterly indifferent to the termination of the freakish escapade in which I had become involved. Nature mercifully sets a limit to human capacity for suffering; and I felt I had reached that limit. Nothing worse could happen than had happened, at least, so I told myself, and I awaited with cynical curiosity what might take place inside the Hudson's Bay fort. Then a shaft of lantern light pierced the dark, striking aslant the river, and the men began poling hard for Fort Douglas wharf. We struck the landing with a bump, disembarked, passed the sentinel at the gate and were at the entrance to the main building. "You kick me here," said Louis. "I pay you back here!" "What are you going to do with him?" asked the soberest man of the red-faced leader. "Hand him over to Governor Semple for a spy." "The governor's abed. Besides, they don't want him about to hear H. B. secrets when the Nor'-West brigade's a-coming! You'd better get sobered up, yez hed! That's my advice to yez, before going to Governor Semple," and the prudent trapper led the way inside. To the fore was the main stairway, on the right the closed store, and on the left a small apartment which the governor had fitted up as a private office. For some unaccountable reason--the same reason, I suppose, that mischief is always awaiting the mischief-maker--the door to this office had been left ajar and a light burned inside. 'Twas Louis, ever alert, when mischief was abroad, who tip-toed over to the open door, poked his head in and motioned his drunken companions across the sacred precincts of Governor Semple's private room. I was loath to be a party to this mad nonsense, but the fly and the fish should have thought of results before venturing too near strange coils. The red-faced fellow gave me a push. The sober man muttered, "Better come, or they'll raise a row," and we were all within the forbidden place, the door shut and bolted. To city folk, used to the luxuries of the east, I dare say that office would have seemed mean enough. But the men had been so long away from leather chairs, hair-cloth sofa, wall mirror, wine decanter and other odds and ends which furnish a gentleman's living apartments that the very memory of such things had faded, and that small room, with its old-country air, seemed the vestibule to another world. "Sump--too--uss--ain't it?" asked the sober man with bated breath and obvious distrust of his tongue. "Mag--nee--feque! M. Louis Laplante, look you there," cried the Frenchman, catching sight of his full figure in the mirror and instantly striking a pose of admiration. Then he twirled fiercely at both ends of his mustache till it stood out with the wire finish of a Parisian dandy. The red-faced fellow had permitted me, with arms still tied, to walk across the room and sit on the hair-cloth sofa. He was lolling back in the governor's armchair, playing the lord and puffing one of Mr. Semple's fine pipes. "We are gentlemen adventurers of the ancient and honorable Hudson's Bay Company, gentlemen adventurers," he roared, bringing his fist down with a thud on the desk. "We hereby decree that the Fort William brigade be captured, that the whisky be freely given to every dry-throated lad in the Hudson's Bay Company, that the Nor'-Westers be sent down the Red on a raft, that this meeting raftify this dissolution, afterwards moving--seconding--and unanimously amending----" "Adjourning--you mean," interrupted one of the orator's audience. "I say," called one, who had been dazed by the splendor, "how do you tell which is the lookin' glass and which is the window?" And he looked from the window on one side to its exact reflection, length and width, directly opposite. The puzzle was left unsolved; for just then Louis Laplante found a flask of liquor and speedily divided its contents among the crowd--which was not calculated to clear up mysteries of windows and mirrors among those addle-pates. Dull wit may be sport for drunken men, but it is mighty flat to an onlooker, and I was out of patience with their carousal. "The governor will be back here presently, Louis," said I. "Tired of being a tombstone, ha--ha! Better be a champagne bottle!" he laughed with slightly thickened articulation and increased unsteadiness in his gait. "If you don't hide that bottle in your hand, there'll be a big head and a sore head for you men to-morrow morning." I rose to try and get them out of the office; but a sober man with tied arms among a drunken crew is at a disadvantage. "Ha--old--wise--sh--head! To--be--sh--shure! Whur--d'--y'--hide--it?" "Throw it out of the window," said I, without the slightest idea of leading him into mischief. "Whish--whish--ish--the window, Rufush?" asked Louis imploringly. The last potion had done its work and Louis was passing from the jovial to the pensive stage. He would presently reach a mood which might be ugly enough for a companion in bonds. Was it this prospect, I wonder, or the mischievous spirit pervading the very air from the time I reached the ruins that suggested a way out of my dilemma? "Throw it out of the window," said I, ignoring his question and shoving him off. "Whish--ish--the window--dammie?" he asked, holding the bottle irresolutely and looking in befuddled distraction from side to side of the room. "Thur--both--windows--fur as I see," said the man, who had been sober, but was no longer so. "Throw it through the back window! Folks comin' in at the door won't see it." The red-faced man got up to investigate, and all faith in my plan died within me; but the lantern light was dusky and the red-faced man could no longer navigate a course from window to mirror. "There's a winder there," said he, scratching his head and looking at the window reflected in perfect proportion on the mirrored surface. "And there's a winder there," he declared, pointing at the real window. "They're both winders and they're both lookin'-glasses, for I see us all in both of them. This place is haunted. Lem-me out!" "Take thish, then," cried Louis, shoving the bottle towards him and floundering across to the door to bar the way. "Take thish, or tell me whish--ish--the window." "Both winders, I tell you, and both lookin'-glasses," vowed the man. The other four fellows declined to express an opinion for the very good reason that two were asleep and two befuddled beyond questioning. "See here, Louis," I exclaimed, "there's only one way to tell where to throw that bottle." "Yesh, Rufush," and he came to me as if I were his only friend on earth. "The bottle will go through the window and it won't go through the mirror," I began. "Dammie--I knew that," he snapped out, ready to weep. "Well--you undo these things," nodding to the ropes about my arms, "and I'll find out which opens, and the one that opens is the window, and you can throw out the bottle." "The very thing, Rufush, wise--sh--head--old--old--ol' solemncholy," and he ripped the ropes off me. Now I offer no excuse for what I did. I could have opened that window and let myself out some distance ahead of the bottle, without involving Louis and his gang in greater mischief. What I did was not out of spite to the governor of a rival company; but mischief, as I said, was in the very air. Besides, the knaves had delayed me far into midnight, and I had no scruples about giving each twenty-four hours in the fort guardroom. I took a precautionary inspection of the window-sash. Yes, I was sure I could leap through, carrying out sash and all. "Hurry--ol' tombshtone--governor--sh-comin'," urged Louis. I made towards the window and fumbled at the sash. "This doesn't open," said I, which was quite true, for I did not try to budge it. Then I went across to the mirror. "Neither does this," said I. "Wha'--wha'--'ll--we do--Rufush?" "I'll tell you. You can jump through a window but not through a glass. Now you count--one two--three,"--this to the red-faced man--"and when you say 'three' I'll give a run and jump. If I fall back, you'll know it's the mirror, and fling the bottle quick through the other. Ready, count!" "One," said the red-faced man. Louis raised his arm and I prepared for a dash. "Two!" Louis brought back his arm to gain stronger sweep. "Three!" I gave a leap and made as though I had fallen back. There was the pistol-shot splintering of bottle and mirror crashing down to the floor. The window frame gave with a burst, and I was outside rushing past the sleepy sentinel, who poured out a volley of curses after me. CHAPTER XXII A DAY OF RECKONING As well play pussy-wants-a-corner with a tiger as make-believe war with an Indian. In both cases the fun may become ghastly earnest with no time for cry-quits. So it was with the great fur-trading companies at the beginning of this century. Each held the Indian in subjection and thought to use him with daring impunity against its rival. And each was caught in the meshes of its own merry game. I, as a Nor'-Wester, of course, consider that the lawless acts of the Hudson's Bay had been for three years educating the natives up to the tragedy of June 19, 1816. But this is wholly a partisan, opinion. Certainly both companies have lied outrageously about the results of their quarrels. The truth is Hudson's Bay and Nor'-Westers were playing war with the Indian. Consequences having exceeded all calculation, both companies would fain free themselves of blame. For instance, it has been said the Hudson's Bay people had no intention of intercepting the North-West brigade bound up the Red and Assiniboine for the interior--this assertion despite the fact our rivals had pillaged every North-West fort that could be attacked. Now I acknowledge the Nor'-Westers disclaim hostile purpose in the rally of three hundred _Bois-Brulés_ to the Portage; but this sits not well with the warlike appearance of these armed plain rangers, who sallied forth to protect the Fort William express. Nor does it agree with the expectations of the Indian rabble, who flocked on our rear like carrion birds keen for the spoils of battle. Both companies had--as it were--leveled and cocked their weapon. To send it off needed but a spark, and a slight misunderstanding ignited that spark. My arrival at the Portage had the instantaneous effect of sending two strong battalions of _Bois-Brulés_ hot-foot across country to meet the Fort William express before it could reach Fort Douglas. They were to convoy it overland to a point on the Assiniboine where it could be reshipped. To the second of these parties, I attached myself. I was anxious to attempt a visit to Hamilton. There was some one else whom I hoped to find at Fort Douglas; so I refused to rest at the Portage, though I had been in my saddle almost constantly for twenty days. When we set out, I confess I did not like the look of things. Those Indians smeared with paint and decked out with the feathered war-cap kept increasing to our rear. There were the eagles! Where was the carcass? The presence of these sinister fellows, hot with the lust of blood, had ominous significance. Among the half-breeds there was unconcealed excitement. Shortly before we struck off the Assiniboine trail northward for the Red, in order to meet the expected brigade beyond Fort Douglas, some of our people slipped back to the Indian rabble. When they reappeared, they were togged out in native war-gear with too many tomahawks and pistols for the good of those who might interfere with our mission. There was no misunderstanding the ugly temper of the men. Here, I wish to testify that explicit orders were given for the forces to avoid passing near Fort Douglas, or in any way provoking conflict. There was placed in charge of our division the most powerful plain-ranger in the service of the company, the one person of all others, who might control the natives in case of an outbreak--and that man was Cuthbert Grant. Pierre, the minstrel, and six clerks were also in the party; but what could a handful of moderate men do with a horde of Indians and Metis wrought up to a fury of revenge? "Now, deuce take those rascals! What are they doing?" exclaimed Grant angrily, as we left the river trail and skirted round a slough of Frog Plains on the side remote from Fort Douglas. Our forces were following in straggling disorder. The first battalions of the _Bois-Brulés_, which had already rounded the marsh, were now in the settlement on Red River bank. It was to them that Grant referred. Commanding a halt and raising his spy-glass, he took an anxious survey of the foreground. "There's something seriously wrong," he said. "Strikes me we're near a powder mine! Here, Gillespie, you look!" He handed the field-glass to me. A great commotion was visible among the settlers. Ox-carts packed with people were jolting in hurried confusion towards Fort Douglas. Behind, tore a motley throng of men, women and children, running like a frightened flock of sheep. Whatever the cause of alarm, our men were not molesting them; for I watched the horsemen proceeding leisurely to the appointed rendezvous, till the last rider disappeared among the woods of the river path. "Scared! Badly scared! That's all, Grant," said I. "You've no idea what wild stories are going the rounds of the settlement about the _Bois-Brulés_!" "And you've no idea, young man, what wild stories are going the rounds of the _Bois-Brulés_ about the settlement," was Grant's moody reply. My chance acquaintance with the Assiniboine encampment had given me some idea, but I did not tell Grant so. "Perhaps they've taken a few old fellows prisoners to ensure the fort's good behavior, while we save our bacon," I suggested. "If they have, those Highlanders will go to Fort Douglas shining bald as a red ball," answered the plain-ranger. In this, Grant did his people injustice; for of those prisoners taken by the advance guard, not a hair of their heads was injured. The warden was nervously apprehensive. This was unusual with him; and I have since wondered if his dark forebodings arose from better knowledge of the _Bois-Brulés_ than I possessed, or from some premonition. "There'd be some reason for uneasiness, if you weren't here to control them, Grant," said I, nodding towards the Indians and Metis. "One man against a host! What can I do?" he asked gloomily. "Good gracious, man! Do! Why, do what you came to do! Whatever's the matter with you?" The swarthy face had turned a ghastly, yellowish tint and he did not answer. "'Pon my honor," I exclaimed. "Are you ill, man?" "'Tisn't that! When I went to sleep, last night, there were--corpses all round me. I thought I was in a charnel house and----" "Good gracious, Grant!" I shuddered out. "Don't you go off your head next! Leave that for us green chaps! Besides, the Indians were raising stench enough with a dog-stew to fill any brain with fumes. For goodness' sake, let's go on, meet those fellows with the brigade, secure that express and get off this 'powder mine'--as you call it." "By all means!" Grant responded, giving the order, and we moved forward but only at snail pace; for I think he wanted to give the settlers plenty of time to reach the fort. By five o'clock in the afternoon we had almost rounded the slough and were gradually closing towards the wooded ground of the river bank. We were within ear-shot of the settlers. They were flying past with terrified cries of "The half-breeds! The half-breeds!" when I heard Grant groan from sheer alarm and mutter-- "Look! Look! The lambs coming to meet the wolves!" To this day I cannot account for the madness of the thing. There, some twenty, or thirty Hudson's Bay men--mere youths most of them--were coming with all speed to head us off from the river path, at a wooded point called Seven Oaks. What this pigmy band thought it could do against our armed men, I do not know. The blunder on their part was so unexpected and inexcusable, it never dawned on us the panic-stricken settlers had spread a report of raid, and these poor valiant defenders had come out to protect the colony. If that be the true explanation of their rash conduct in tempting conflict, what were they thinking about to leave the walls of their fort during danger? My own opinion is that with Lord Selkirk's presumptuous claims to exclusive possession in Red River and the recent high-handed success of the Hudson's Bay, the men of Fort Douglas were so flushed with pride they did not realize the risk of a brush with the _Bois-Brulés_. Much, too, may be attributed to Governor Semple's inexperience; but it was very evident the purpose of the force deliberately blocking our path was not peaceable. If the Hudson's Bay blundered in coming out to challenge us, so did we, I frankly admit; for we regarded the advance as an audacious trick to hold us back till the Fort William express could be captured. Now that the thing he feared had come, all hesitancy vanished from Grant's manner. Steeled and cool like the leader he was, he sternly commanded the surging Metis to keep back. Straggling Indians and half-breeds dashed to our fore-ranks with the rush of a tempest and chafed hotly against the warden. At a word from Grant, the men swung across the enemy's course sickle-shape; but they were furious at this disciplined restraint. From horn to horn of the crescent, rode the plain-ranger, lashing horses back to the circle and shaking his fist in the quailing face of many a bold rebel. Both sides advanced within a short distance of each other. We could see that Governor Semple, himself, was leading the Hudson's Bay men. Immediately, Boucher, a North-West clerk, was sent forward to parley. Now, I hold the Nor'-Westers would not have done that if their purpose had been hostile; but Boucher rode out waving his hand and calling-- "What do you want? What do you want?" "What do you want, yourself?" came Governor Semple's reply with some heat and not a little insolence. "We want our fort," demanded Boucher, slightly taken aback, but thoroughly angered. His horse was prancing restively within pistol range of the governor. "Go to your fort, then! Go to your fort!" returned Semple with stinging contempt in manner and voice. He might as well have told us to go to Gehenna; for the fort was scattered to the four winds. "The fool!" muttered Grant. "The fool! Let him answer for the consequences. Their blood be on their own heads." Whether the _Bois-Brulés_, who had lashed their horses into a lather of foam and were cursing out threats in the ominous undertone that precedes a storm-burst, now encroached upon the neutral ground in spite of Grant, or were led gradually forward by the warden as the Hudson's Bay governor's hostility increased, I did not in the excitement of the moment observe. One thing is certain, while the quarrel between the Hudson's Bay governor and the North-West clerk was becoming more furious, our surging cohorts were closing in on the little band like an irresistible tidal wave. I could make out several Hudson's Bay faces, that seemed to remind me of my Fort Douglas visit; but of the rabble of Nor'-Westers and _Bois-Brulés_ disguised in hideous war-gear, I dare avow not twenty of us were recognizable. "Miserable rogue!" Boucher was shouting, utterly beside himself with rage and flourishing his gun directly over the governor's head, "Miserable rogue! Why have you destroyed our fort?" "Call him off, Grant! Call him off, or it's all up!" I begged, seeing the parley go from bad to worse; but Grant was busy with the _Bois-Brulés_ and did not hear. "Wretch!" Governor Semple exclaimed in a loud voice. "Dare you to speak so to me!" and he caught Boucher's bridle, throwing the horse back on its haunches. Boucher, agile as a cat, slipped to the ground. "Arrest him, men!" commanded the governor. "Arrest him at once!" But the clerk was around the other side of the horse, with his gun leveled across its back. Whether, when Boucher jumped down, our bloodthirsty knaves thought him shot and broke from Grant's control to be avenged, or whether Lieutenant Holt of the Hudson's Bay at that unfortunate juncture discharged his weapon by accident, will never be known. Instantaneously, as if by signal, our men with a yell burst from the ranks, leaped from their saddles and using horses as breast-work, fired volley after volley into the governor's party. The neighing and plunging of the frenzied horses added to the tumult. The Hudson's Bay men were shouting out incoherent protest; but what they said was drowned in the shrill war-cry of the Indians. Just for an instant, I thought I recognized one particular voice in that shrieking babel, which flashed back memory of loud, derisive laughter over a camp fire and at the buffalo hunt; but all else was forgotten in the terrible consciousness that our men's murderous onslaught was deluging the prairie with innocent blood. Throwing himself between the _Bois-Brulés_ and the retreating band, the warden implored his followers to grant truce. As well plead with wild beasts. The half-breeds were deaf to commands, and in vain their leader argued with blows. The shooting had been of a blind sort, and few shots did more than wound; but the natives were venting the pent-up hate of three years and would give no quarter. From musketry volleys the fight had become hand-to-hand butchery. I had dismounted and was beating the scoundrels back with the butt end of my gun, begging, commanding, abjuring them to desist, when a Hudson's Bay youth swayed forward and fell wounded at my feet. There was the baffled, anguished scream of some poor wounded fellow driven to bay, and I saw Laplante across the field, covered with blood, reeling and staggering back from a dozen red-skin furies, who pressed upon their fagged victim, snatching at his throat like hounds at the neck of a beaten stag. With a bound across the prostrate form of the youth, I ran to the Frenchman's aid. Louis saw me coming and struck out so valiantly, the wretched cowards darted back just as I have seen a miserable pack of open-mouthed curs dodge the last desperate sweep of antlered head. That gave me my chance, and I fell on their rear with all the might I could put in my muscle, bringing the flat of my gun down with a crash on crested head-toggery, and striking right and left at Louis' assailants. "Ah--_mon Dieu_--comrade," sobbed Louis, falling in my arms from sheer exhaustion, while the tears trickled down in a white furrow over his blood-splashed cheeks, "_mon Dieu_--comrade, but you pay me back generous!" "Tutts, man, this is no time for settling old scores and playing the grand! Run for your life. Run to the woods and swim the river!" With that, I flung him from me; for I heard the main body of our force approaching. "Run," I urged, giving the Frenchman a push. "The run--ha--ha--my old spark," laughed Louis with a tearful, lack-life sort of mirth, "the run--it has all run out," and with a pitiful reel down he fell in a heap. I caught him under the armpits, hoisted him to my shoulders, and made with all speed for the wooded river bank. My pace was a tumble more than a run down the river cliff, but I left the man at the very water's edge, where he could presently strike out for the far side and regain Fort Douglas by swimming across again. Then I hurried to the battle-field in search of the wounded youth whom I had left. As I bent above him, the poor lad rolled over, gazing up piteously with the death-look on his face; and I recognized the young Nor'-Wester who had picked flowers with me for Frances Sutherland and afterwards deserted to the Hudson's Bay. The boy moaned and moved his lips as if speaking, but I heard no sound. Stooping on one knee, I took his head on the other and bent to listen; but he swooned away. Afraid to leave him--for the savages were wreaking indescribable barbarities on the fallen--I picked him up. His arms and head fell back limply as if he were dead, and holding him thus, I again dashed for the fringe of woods. Rogers of the Hudson's Bay staggered against me wounded, with both hands thrown up ready to surrender. He was pleading in broken French for mercy; but two half-breeds, one with cocked pistol, the other with knife, rushed upon him. I turned away that I might not see; but the man's unavailing entreaties yet ring in my ears. Farther on, Governor Semple lay, with lacerated arm and broken thigh. He was calling to Grant, "I'm not mortally wounded! If you could get me conveyed to the fort I think I would live!" Then I got away from the field and laid my charge in the woods. Poor lad! The pallor of death was on every feature. Tearing open his coat and taking letters from an inner pocket to send to relatives, I saw a knife-stab in his chest, which no mortal could survive. Battle is pitiless. I hurriedly left the dying boy and went back to the living, ordering a French half-breed to guard him. "See that no one mutilates this body," said I, "and I'll reward you." My shout seemed to recall the lad's consciousness. Whether he fully understood the terrible significance of my words, I could not tell; but he opened his eyes with a reproachful glazed stare; and that was the last I saw of him. Knowing Grant would have difficulty in obtaining carriers for Governor Semple, and only too anxious to gain access to Fort Douglas, I ran with haste towards the recumbent form of the fallen leader. Grant was at some distance scouring the field for reliable men, and while I was yet twenty or thirty yards away an Indian glided up. "Dog!" he hissed in the prostrate man's face. "You have caused all this! You shall not live! Dog that you are!" Then something caught my feet. I stumbled and fell. There was the flare of a pistol shot in Governor Semple's face and a slight cry. The next moment I was by his side. The shot had taken effect in the breast. The body was yet hot with life; but there was neither breath, nor heart beat. A few of the Hudson's Bay band gained hiding in the shrubbery and escaped by swimming across to the east bank of the Red, but the remnant tried to reach the fort across the plain. Calling me, Grant, now utterly distracted, directed his efforts to this quarter. I with difficulty captured my horse and galloped off to join the warden. Our riders were circling round something not far from the fort walls and Grant was tearing over the prairie, commanding them to retire. It seems, when Governor Semple discovered the strength of our forces, he sent some of his men back to Fort Douglas for a field-piece. Poor Semple with his European ideas of Indian warfare! The _Bois-Brulés_ did not wait for that field-piece. The messengers had trundled it out only a short distance from the gateway, when they met the fugitives flying back with news of the massacre. Under protection of the cannon, the men made a plucky retreat to the fort, though the _Bois-Brulés_ harassed them to the very walls. This disappearance--or rather extermination--of the enemy, as well as the presence of the field-gun, which was a new terror to the Indians, gave Grant his opportunity. He at once rounded the men up and led them off to Frog Plains, on the other side of the swamp. Here we encamped for the night, and were subsequently joined by the first division of _Bois-Brulés_. CHAPTER XXIII THE IROQUOIS PLAYS HIS LAST CARD The _Bois-Brulés_ and Indian marauders, who gathered to our camp, were drunk with the most intoxicating of all stimulants--human blood. This flush of victory excited the redskins' vanity to a boastful frenzy. There was wild talk of wiping the pale-face out of existence; and if a weaker man than Grant had been at the head of the forces, not a white in the settlement would have escaped massacre. In spite of the bitterness to which the slaughter at Seven Oaks gave rise, I think all fair-minded people have acknowledged that the settlers owed their lives to the warden's efforts. That night pandemonium itself could not have presented a more hideous scene than our encampment. The lust of blood is abhorrent enough in civilized races, but in Indian tribes, whose unrestrained, hard life abnormally develops the instincts of the tiger, it is a thing that may not be portrayed. Let us not, with the depreciatory hypocrisy, characteristic of our age, befool ourselves into any belief that barbaric practices were more humane than customs which are the flower of civilized centuries. Let us be truthful. Scientific cruelty may do its worst with intricate armaments; but the blood-thirst of the Indian assumed the ghastly earnest of victors drinking the warm life-blood of dying enemies and of torturers laving hands in a stream yet hot from pulsing hearts. Decked out in red-stained trophies with scalps dangling from their waists, the natives darted about like blood-whetted beasts; and the half-breeds were little better, except that they thirsted more for booty than life. There was loud vaunting over the triumph, the ignorant rabble imagining their warriors heroes of a great battle, instead of the murderous plunderers they were. Pierre, the rhymester, according to his wont, broke out in jubilant celebration of the half-breeds' feat:[A] Ho-ho! List you now to a tale of truth Which I, Pierre, the rhymester, proudly sing, Of the _Bois-Brulés_, whose deeds dismay The hearts of the soldiers serving the king! Swift o'er the plain rode our warriors brave To meet the gay voyageurs come from the sea. Out came the bold band that had pillaged our land, And we taught them the plain is the home of the free. We were passing along to the landing-place, Three hostile whites we bound on the trail. The enemy came with a shout of acclaim, We flung back their taunts with the shriek of a gale. "They have come to attack us," our people cry. Our cohorts spread out in a crescent horn, Their path we bar in a steel scimitar, And their empty threats we flout with scorn. They halt in the face of a dauntless foe, They spit out their venom of baffled rage! Honor, our breath to the very death! So we proffer them peace, or a battle-gage. The governor shouts to his soldiers, "Draw!" 'Tis the enemy strikes the first, fateful blow! Our men break from line, for the battle-wine Of a fighting race has a fiery glow. The governor thought himself mighty in power. The shock of his strength--Ha-ha!--should be known From the land of the sea to the prairie free And all free men should be overthrown![B] But naked and dead on the plain lies he, Where the carrion hawk, and the sly coyote Greedily feast on the great and the least, Without respect for a lord of note. The governor thought himself mighty in power. He thought to enslave the _Bois-Brulés_, "Ha-ha," laughed the hawk. Ho-ho! Let him mock. "Plain rangers ride forth to slay, to slay." Whose cry outpierces the night-bird's note? Whose voice mourns sadly through sighing trees? What spirits wail to the prairie gale? Who tells his woes to the evening breeze? Ha-ha! We know, though we tell it not. We fought with them till none remained. The coyote knew, and his hungry crew Licked clean the grass where the turf was stained. Ho-ho! List you all to my tale of truth. 'Tis I, Pierre, the rhymester, this glory tell Of freedom saved and brave hands laved In the blood of tyrants who fought and fell! The whole scene was repugnant beyond endurance. My ears were so filled with the death cries heard in the afternoon, I had no relish for Pierre's crude recital of what seemed to him a glorious conquest. I could not rid my mind of that dying boy's sad face. Many half-breeds were preparing to pillage the settlement. Intending to protect the Sutherland home and seek the dead lad's body, I borrowed a fresh horse and left the tumult of the camp. I made a detour of the battle-field in order to reach the Sutherland homestead before night. I might have saved myself the trouble; for every movable object--to the doors and window sashes--had been taken from the little house, whether by father and daughter before going to the fort, or by the marauders, I did not know. It was unsafe to return by the wooded river trail after dark and I struck directly to the clearing and followed the path parallel to the bush. When I reached Seven Oaks, I was first apprised of my whereabouts by my horse pricking forward his ears and sniffing the air uncannily. I tightened rein and touched him with the spur, but he snorted and jumped sideways with a suddenness that almost unseated me, then came to a stand, shaking as if with chill. Something skulked across the trail and gained cover in the woods. With a reassuring pat, I urged my horse back towards the road, for the prairie was pitted with badger and gopher holes; but the beast reared, baulked and absolutely refused to be either driven, or coaxed. "Wise when men are fools!" said I, dismounting. Bringing the reins over his head, I tried to pull him forward; but he planted all fours and jerked back, almost dragging me off my feet. "Are you possessed?" I exclaimed, for if ever horror were plainly expressed by an animal, it was by that horse. Legs rigid, head bent down, eyes starting forward and nostrils blowing in and out, he was a picture of terror. Something wriggled in the thicket. The horse rose on his hind legs, wrenched the rein from my hand and scampered across the plain. I sent a shot into the bush. There was a snarl and a scurrying through the underbrush. "Pretty bold wolf! Never saw a broncho act that way over a coyote before!" I might as well find the body of the English lad before trying to catch my horse, so I walked on. Suddenly, in the silver-white of a starry sky, I saw what had terrified the animal. Close to the shrubbery lay the stark form of a white man, knees drawn upwards and arms spread out like the bars of a cross. Was that the lad I had known? I rushed towards the corpse--but as quickly turned away. From downright lack of courage, I could not look at it; for the body was mutilated beyond semblance to humanity. Would that I had strength and skill to paint that dead figure as it was! Then would those, who glory in the shedding of blood, glory to their shame; and the pageant of war be stripped of all its false toggery revealing carnage and slaughter in their revolting nakedness. I could not look back to know if that were the lad, but ran aimlessly towards the scene of the Seven Oaks fray. As I approached, there was a great flapping of wings. Up rose buzzards, scolding in angry discord at my interruption. A pack of wolves skulked a few feet off and eyed me impatiently, boldly waiting to return when I left. The impudence of the brutes enraged me and I let go half a dozen charges, which sent them to a more respectful distance. Here were more bodies like the first. I counted eight within a stone's throw, and there were twice as many between Seven Oaks and the fort. Where they lay, I could tell very well; for hawks wheeled with harsh cries overhead and there was a vague movement of wolfish shapes along the ground. What possessed me to hover about that dreadful scene, I cannot imagine, unless the fear of those creatures returning; but I did not carry a thing with which I could bury the dead. Involuntarily, I sought out Rogers and Governor Semple; for I had seen the death of each. It was when seeking these, that I thought I distinguished the faintest motion of one figure still clothed and lying apart from the others. The sight riveted me to the spot. Surely it was a mistake! The form could not have moved! It must have been some error of vision, or trick of the shadowy starlight; but I could not take my eyes from the prostrate form. Again the body moved--distinctly moved--beyond possibility of fancy, the chest heaving up and sinking like a man struggling but unable to rise. With the ghastly dead and the ravening wolves all about, the movement of that wounded man was strangely terrifying and my knees knocked with fear, as I ran to his aid. The man was an Indian, but his face I could not see; for one hand staunched a wound in his head and the other gripped a knife with which he had been defending himself. My first thought was that he must be a Nor'-Wester, or his body would not have escaped the common fate; but if a Nor'-Wester, why had he been left on the field? So I concluded he was one of the camp-followers, who had joined our forces for plunder and come to a merited end. Still he was a man; and I stooped to examine him with a view to getting him on my horse and taking him back to the camp. At first he was unconscious of my presence. Gently I tried to remove the left hand from his forehead, but at the touch, out struck the right hand in vicious thrusts of the hunting-knife, one blind cut barely missing my arm. "Hold, man!" I cried, "I'm no foe, but a friend!" and I caught the right arm tightly. At the sound of my voice, the left hand swung out revealing a frightful gash; and the next thing I knew, his left arm had encircled my neck like the coil of a strangler, five fingers were digging into the flesh of my throat and Le Grand Diable was making frantic efforts to free his right hand and plunge that dagger into me. The shock of the discovery threw me off guard, and for a moment there was a struggle, but only for a moment. Then the wounded man fell back, writhing in pain, his face contorted with agony and hate. I do not think he could see me. He must have been blind from that wound. I stood back, but his knife still cut the air. "Le Grand Diable! Fool!" I said, "I will not harm you! I give you the white man's word, I will not hurt you!" The right arm fell limp and still. Had I, by some strange irony, been led to this spot that I might witness the death of my foe? Was this the end of that long career of evil? "Le Grand Diable!" I cried, going a pace nearer, which seemed to bring back the ebbing life. "Le Grand Diable! You cannot stay here among the wolves. Tell me whereto find Miriam and I'll take you back to the camp! Tell me and no one shall harm you! I will save you!" The thin lips moved. He was saying, or trying to say, something. "Speak louder!" and I bent over him. "Speak the truth and I take you to the camp!" The lips were still moving, but I could not hear a sound. "Speak louder!" I shouted. "Where is Miriam? Where is the white woman?" I put my ear to his lips, fearful that life might slip away before I could hear. There was a snarl through the glistening set teeth. The prostrate body gave an upward lurch. With one swift, treacherous thrust, he drove his knife into my coat-sleeve, grazing my forearm. The effort cost him his life. He sank down with a groan. The sightless, bloodshot eyes opened. Le Grand Diable would never more feign death. I jerked the knife from my coat, hurled it from me, sprang up and fled from the field as if it had been infected with a pest, or I pursued by gends. Never looking back and with superstitious dread of the dead Indian's evil spirit, I tore on and on till, breath-spent and exhausted, I threw myself down with the North-West camp-fires in sight. FOOTNOTES: [A] It should scarcely be necessary for the author to state that these are the sentiments of the Indian poet expressing the views of the savage towards the white man, and not the white man towards the savage. The poem is as close a translation of the original ballad sung by Pierre in Metis dialect the night of the massacre, as could be given. The Indian nature is more in harmony with the hawk and the coyote than with the white man; hence the references. Other thoughts embodied in this crude lay are taken directly from the refrains of the trappers chanted at that time. [B] Governor Semple unadvisedly boasted that the shock of his power would be felt from Montreal to Athabasca. CHAPTER XXIV FORT DOUGLAS CHANGES MASTERS I suppose there are times in the life of every one, even the strongest--and I am not that--when a feather's weight added to a burden may snap power of endurance. I had reached that stage before encountering Le Grand Diable on the field of massacre at Seven Oaks. With the events in the Mandane country, the long, hard ride northward and this latest terrible culmination of strife between Nor'-Westers and Hudson's Bay, the past month had been altogether too hard packed for my well-being. The madness of northern traders no longer amazed me. An old nurse of my young days, whom I remember chiefly by her ramrod back and sharp tongue, used to say, "Nerves! nerves! nothing but nerves!" She thanked God she was born before the doctors had discovered nerves. Though neurotic theories had not been sufficiently elaborated for me to ascribe my state to the most refined of modern ills--nervous prostration--I was aware, as I dragged over the prairie with the horse at the end of a trailing bridle rein, that something was seriously out of tune. It was daylight before I caught the frightened broncho and no knock-kneed coward ever shook more, as I vainly tried to vault into the saddle, and after a dozen false plunges at the stirrup, gave up the attempt and footed it back to camp. There was a daze between my eyes, which the over-weary know well, and in the brain-whirl, I could distinguish only two thoughts, Where was Miriam--and Father Holland's prediction--"Benedicite! The Lord shall be your avenger! He shall deliver that evil one into the power of the punisher." Thus, I reached the camp, picketed the horse, threw myself down in the tent and slept without a break from the morning of the 20th till mid-day of the 21st. I was awakened by the _Bois-Brulés_ returning from a demonstration before the gateway of Fort Douglas. Going to the tent door, I saw that Pritchard, one of the captive Hudson's Bay men, had been brought back from a conference with the enemy. From his account, the Hudson's Bay people seemed to be holding out against us; but the settlers, realizing the danger of Indian warfare, to a man favored surrender. Had it not been for Grant, there would have been no farther parley; but on news that settlers were pressing for capitulation, the warden again despatched Pritchard to the Hudson's Bay post. In the hope of gaining access to Frances Sutherland and Eric Hamilton I accompanied him. Such was the terror prevailing within the walls, in spite of Pritchard's assurance regarding my friendly purpose, admission was flatly denied me. I contented myself with verbal messages that Hamilton and Father Holland must remain. I could guarantee their safety. The same offer I made to Frances, but told her to do what was best for herself and her father. When Pritchard came out, I knew from his face that Fort Douglas was ours. Hamilton and Father Holland would stay, he reported; but Mistress Sutherland bade him say that after Seven Oaks her father had no friendly feeling for Nor'-Westers, and she could not let him go forth alone. Terms were stipulated between the two companies with due advantage to our side from the recent victory and the formal surrender of Fort Douglas took place the following day. "What are you going to do with the settlers, Cuthbert?" I asked of the warden before the capitulation. "Aye! That's a question," was the grim response. "Why not leave them in the fort till things quiet down?" "With all the Indians of Red River in possession of that fort?" asked Grant, sarcastically. "Were a few Nor'-Westers so successful in holding back the Metis at Seven Oaks, you'd like to see that experiment repeated?" "'Twill be worse, Grant, if you let them go back to their farms." "They'll not do that, if I'm warden of the plains," he declared with great determination. "We'll have to send them down the Red to the lake till that fool of a Scotch nobleman decides what to do with his fine colonists." "But, Grant, you don't mean to send them up north in this cold country. They may not reach Hudson's Bay in time to catch the company ship to Scotland! Why, man, it's sheer murder to expose those people to a winter up there without a thing to shelter them!" "To my mind, freezing is not quite so bad as a massacre. If they won't take our boats to the States, or Canada, what else can Nor'-Westers do?" And what else, indeed? I could not answer Grant's question, though I know every effort we made to induce those people to go south instead of north has been misrepresented as an infamous attempt to expel Selkirk settlers from Red River. Truly, I hope I may never see a sadder sight than the going forth of those colonists to the shelterless plain. It was disastrous enough for them to be driven from their native heath; but to be lured away to this far country for the purpose of becoming buffers between rival fur-traders, who would stop at nothing, and to be sacrificed as victims for their company's criminal policy--I speak as a Nor'-Wester--was immeasurably cruel. Grant was, of course, on hand for the surrender, and he wisely kept the plain-rangers at a safe distance. Clerks lined each side of the path to the gate, and I pressed forward for a glimpse of Frances Sutherland. There was the jar of a heavy bolt shot back. Confused noises sounded from the courtyard. The gates swung open, and out marched the sheriff of Assiniboia, bearing in one hand a pole with a white sheet tacked to the end for a flag of truce, and in the other the fort keys. Behind, sullen and dejected, followed a band of Hudson's Bay men. Grant stepped up to meet the sheriff. The terms of capitulation were again stated, and there was some signing of paper. Of those things my recollection is indistinct; for I was straining my eyes towards the groups of settlers inside the walls. When I looked back to the conferring leaders the silence was so intense a pinfall could have been heard. The keys of the fort were being handed to the Nor'-Westers and the Hudson's Bay men had turned away their faces that they might not see. The vanquished then passed quickly to the barges at the river. Each of the six drunken fellows, whom I had last seen in the late Governor Semple's office, the Highlanders who had spied upon me when I visited Fort Douglas but a year before, the clerks whom I had heard talking that night in the great hall, and many others with whom I had but a chance acquaintance, filed down to the river. Seeing all ready, with a North-West clerk at the prow of each boat to warn away marauders, the men came back for settlers and wounded comrades. I would have proffered my assistance to some of the burdened people on the chance of a word with Frances Sutherland, but the colonists proudly resented any kind offices from a Nor'-Wester. I saw Louis Laplante come limping out, leaning on the arm of the red-faced man, whose eye quailed when it met mine. Poor Louis looked sadly battered, with his head in a white bandage, one arm in a sling, and a dejected stoop to his shoulders that was unusual with him. "This is too bad, Louis," said I, hurrying forward. "I forgot to send word about you. You might as well have stayed in the fort till your wounds healed. Won't you come back?" Louis stole a furtive, sheepish glance at me, hung his head and looked away with a suspicion of moisture about his eyes. "You always were a brute to fight at Laval! I might trick you at first, but you always ended by giving me the throw," he answered disconsolately. "Nonsense, Louis." I was astounded at the note of reproach in his voice. "We're even now--let by-gones be by-gones! You helped me, I helped you. You trapped me into the fort, I tricked you into breaking a mirror and laying up a peck of trouble for yourself. Surely you don't treasure any grudge yet?" He shook his head without looking at me. "I don't understand. Let us begin over again. Come, forget old scores, come back to the fort till you're well." "Pah!" said Louis with a sudden, strange impatience which I could not fathom. "You understand some day and turn upon me and strike and give me more throw." "All right, comrade, treasure your wrath! Only I thought two men, who had saved each other's lives, might be friends and bury old quarrels." "You not know," he blurted out in a broken voice. "Not know what?" I asked impatiently. "I tell you I forgive all and I had thought you might do as much----" "Do as much!" he interrupted fiercely. "_O mon Dieu!_" he cried, with a sob that shook his frame. "Take me away! Take me away!" he begged the man on whose arm he was leaning; and with those enigmatical words he passed to the nearest boat. While I was yet gazing in mute amazement after Louis Laplante, wondering whether his strange emotion were revenge, or remorse, the women and children marched forth with the men protecting each side. The empty threats of half-breeds to butcher every settler in Red River had evidently reached the ears of the women. Some trembled so they could scarcely walk and others stared at us with the reproach of murder in their eyes, gazing in horror at our guilty hands. At last I caught sight of Frances Sutherland. She was well to the rear of the sad procession, leaning on the arm of a tall, sturdy, erect man whom I recognized as her father. I would have forced my way to her side at once, but a swift glance forbade me. A gleam of love flashed to the gray eyes for an instant, then father and daughter had passed. "Little did I think," the harsh, rasping voice of the father was saying, "that daughter of mine would give her heart to a murderer. Which of these cut-throats may I claim for a son?" "Hush, father," she whispered. "Remember he warned us to the fort and took me to Pembina." She was as pale as death. "Aye! Aye! We're under obligations to strange benefactors when times go awry!" he returned bitterly. "O father! Don't! You'll think differently when you know----" but a hulking lout stumbled between us, and I missed the rest. They were at the boats and an old Highlander was causing a blockade by his inability to lift a great bale into the barge. "Let me give you a lift," said I, stepping forward and taking hold of the thing. "Friend, or foe?" asked the Scot, before he would accept my aid. "Friend, of course," and I braced myself to give the package a hoist. "Hudson's Bay, or Nor'-Wester?" pursued the settler, determined to take no help from the hated enemy. "Nor'-Wester, but what does that matter? A friend all the same! Yo heave! Up with it!" "Neffer!" roared the man in a towering passion, and he gave me a push that sent me knocking into the crowd on the landing. Involuntarily, I threw out my arm to save a fall and caught a woman's outstretched hand. It was Frances Sutherland's and I thrilled with the message she could not speak. "I beg your pardon, Mistress Sutherland," said I, as soon as I could find speech, and I stepped back tingling with embarrassment and delight. "A civil-tongued young man, indeed," remarked the father, sarcastically, with a severe scrutiny of my retreating person. "A civil-tongued young man to know your name so readily, Frances! Pray, who is he?" "Oh! Some Nor'-Wester," answered Frances, the white cheeks blushing red, and she stepped quickly forward to the gang-plank. "Some Nor'-Wester, I suppose!" she repeated unconcernedly, but the flush had suffused her neck and was not unnoticed by the father's keen eyes. Then they seated themselves at the prow beside the Nor'-Wester appointed to accompany the boat; and I saw that Louis Laplante was sitting directly opposite Frances Sutherland, with his eyes fixed on her face in a bold gaze, that instantly quenched any kindness I may have felt towards him. How I regretted my thoughtlessness in not having forestalled myself in the Sutherlands' barge. The next best thing was to go along with Grant, who was preparing to ride on the river bank and escort the company beyond all danger. "You coming too?" asked Grant sharply, as I joined him. "If you don't mind." "Think two are necessary?" "Not when one of the two is Grant," I answered, which pleased him, "but as my heart goes down the lake with those barges----" "Hut-tutt--man," interrupted Grant. "War's bad enough without love; but come if you like." As the boats sheered off from the wharf, Grant and I rode along the river trail. I saw Frances looking after me with surprise, and I think she must have known my purpose, though she did not respond when I signalled to her. "Stop that!" commanded Grant peremptorily. "You did that very slyly, Rufus, but if they see you, there'll be all sorts of suspicion about collusion." The river path ran into the bush, winding in and out of woods, so we caught only occasional glimpses of the boats; but I fancied her eyes were ever towards the bank where we rode, and I could distinctly see that the Frenchman's face was buried in his arms above one of the squarish packets opposite the Sutherlands. "Is it the same lass," asked Grant, after we had been riding for more than an hour, "is it the same lass that was disguised as an Indian girl at Fort Gibraltar?" His question astonished me. I thought her disguise too complete even for his sharp penetration; but I was learning that nothing escaped the warden's notice. Indeed, I have found it not unusual for young people at a certain stage of their careers to imagine all the rest of the world blind. "The same," I answered, wondering much. "You took her back to Fort Douglas. Did you hear anything special in the fort that night?" "Nothing but that McDonell was likely to surrender. How did you know I was there?" "Spies," he answered laconically. "The old _voyageurs_ don't change masters often for nothing. If you hadn't been stuck off in the Mandane country, you'd have learned a bit of our methods. Her father used to favor the Nor'-Westers. What has changed him?" "Seven Oaks changed him," I returned tersely. "Aye! Aye! That was terrible," and his face darkened. "Terrible! Terrible! It will change many," and the rest of his talk was full of gloomy portents and forebodings of blame likely to fall upon him for the massacre; but I think history has cleared and justified Grant's part in that awful work. Suddenly he turned to me. "There's pleasure in this ride for you. There's none for me. Will ye follow the boats alone and see that no harm comes to them?" "Certainly," said I, and the warden wheeled his horse and galloped back towards Fort Douglas. For an hour after he left, the trail was among the woods, and when I finally reached a clearing and could see the boats, there was cause enough for regret that the warden had gone. A great outcry came from the Sutherlands' boat and Louis Laplante was on his feet gesticulating excitedly and talking in loud tones to the rowers. "Hullo, there!" I shouted, riding to the very water's edge and flourishing my pistol. "Stop your nonsense, there! What's wrong?" "There's a French papist demands to have speech wi' ye," called Mr. Sutherland. "Bring him ashore," I returned. The boat headed about and approached the bank. Then the rowers ceased pulling; for the water was shallow, and we were within speaking distance. "Now, Louis, what do you mean by this nonsense?" I began. In answer, the Frenchman leaped out of the boat and waded ashore. "Let them go on," he said, scrambling up the cliff in a staggering, faint fashion. "If you meant to stay at the fort, why didn't you decide sooner?" I demanded roughly. "I didn't." This doggedly and with downcast eyes. "Then you go down the lake with the rest and no skulking!" "Gillespie," answered Louis in a low tone, "there's strength of an ox in you, but not the wit. Let them go on! Simpleton, I tell you of Miriam." His words recalled the real reason of my presence in the north country; for my quest had indeed been eclipsed by the fearful events of the past week. I signalled the rowers to go without him, waved a last farewell to Frances Sutherland, and turned to see Louis Laplante throw himself on the grass and cry like a schoolboy. Dismounting I knelt beside him. "Cheer up, old boy," said I, with the usual vacuity of thought and stupidity of expression at such times. "Cheer up! Seven Oaks has knocked you out. I knew you shouldn't make this trip till you were strong again. Why, man, you have enough cuts to undo the pluck of a giant-killer!" Louis was not paying the slightest attention to me. He was mumbling to himself and I wondered if he were in a fever. "The priest, the Irish priest in the fort, he say to me: 'Wicked fellow, you be tortured forever and ever in the furnace, if you not undo what you did in the gorge!' What care Louis Laplante for the fire? Pah! What care Louis for wounds and cuts and threats? Pah! The fire not half so hot as the hell inside! The cuts not half so sharp as the thinks that prick and sting and lash from morn'g to night, night to morn'g! Pah! Something inside say: 'Louis Laplante, son of a seigneur, a dog! A cur! Toad! Reptile!' Then I try stand up straight and give the lie, but it say: 'Pah! Louis Laplante!' The Irish priest, he say, 'You repent!' What care Louis for repents? Pah! But her eyes, they look and look and look like two steel-gray stars! Sometime they caress and he want to pray! Sometime they stab and he shiver; but they always shine like stars of heaven and the priest, he say, 'You be shut out of heaven!' If the angel all have stars, steel glittering stars, for eyes, heaven worth for trying! The priest, he say, 'You go to abode of torture!' Torture! Pah! More torture than 'nough here. Angels with stars in their heads, more better. But the stars stab through--through--through----" "Bother the stars," said I to myself. "What of Miriam?" I asked, interrupting his penitential confidences. His references to steel-gray eyes and stars and angels somehow put me in no good mood, for a reason with which most men, but few women, will sympathize. "Stupid ox!" He spat out the words with unspeakable impatience at my obtuseness. "What of Miriam! Why the priest and the starry eyes and the something inside, they all say, 'Go and get Miriam! Where's the white woman? You lied! You let her go! Get her--get her--get her!' What of Miriam? Pah!" After that angry outburst, the fountains of his sorrow seemed to dry up and he became more the old, nonchalant Louis whom I knew. "Where is Miriam?" I asked. He ignored my question and went on reasoning with himself. "No more peace--no more quiet--no more sing and rollick till he get Miriam!" Was the fellow really delirious? The boats were disappearing from view. I could wait no longer. "Louis," said I, "if you have anything to say, say it quick! I can't wait longer." "You know I lie to you in the gorge?" and he looked straight at me. "Certainly," I answered, "and I punished you pretty well for it twice." "You know what that lie mean"--and he hesitated--"mean to her--to Miriam?" "Yes, Louis, I know." "And you forgive all? Call all even?" "As far as I'm concerned--yes--Louis! God Almighty alone can forgive the suffering you have caused her." Then Louis Laplante leaped up and, catching my hand, looked long and steadily into my eyes. "I go and find her," he muttered in a low, tense voice. "I follow their trail--I keep her from suffer--I bring them all back--back here in the bush on this river--I bring her back, or I kill Louis Laplante!" "Old comrade--you were always generous," I began; but the words choked in my throat. "I know not where they are, but I find them! I know not how soon--perhaps a year--but I bring them back! Go on with the boats," and he dropped my hand. "I can't leave you here," I protested. "You come back this way," he said. "May be you find me." Poor Louis! His tongue tripped in its old evasive ways even at the moment of his penitence, which goes to prove--I suppose--that we are all the sum total of the thing called habit, that even spontaneous acts are evidences of the summed result of past years. I did not expect to find him when I came back, and I did not. He had vanished into the woods like the wild creature that he was; but I was placing a strange, reasonless reliance on his promise to find Miriam. When I caught up with the boats, the river was widening so that attack would be impossible, and I did not ride far. Heading my horse about, I spurred back to Fort Douglas. Passing Seven Oaks, I saw some of the Hudson's Bay men, who had remained burying the dead--not removing them. That was impossible after the wolves and three days of a blistering sun. I told Hamilton of neither Le Grand Diable's death, nor Louis Laplante's promise. He had suffered disappointments enough and could ill stand any sort of excitement. I found him walking about in the up-stairs hall, but his own grief had deadened him to the fortunes of the warring companies. "Confound you, boy! Tell me the truth!" said Father Holland to me afterwards in the courtyard. Le Grand Diable's death and Louis Laplante's promise seemed to make a great impression on the priest. "I tell you the Lord delivered that evil one into the hands of the punisher; and of the innocent, the Lord, Himself, is the defender. Await His purpose! Await His time!" "Mighty long time," said I, with the bitter impatience of youth. "Quiet, youngster! I tell you she shall be delivered!" * * * * * At last the Nor-Westers' Fort William brigade with its sixty men and numerous well-loaded canoes--whose cargoes had been the bone of contention between Hudson's Bay and Nor'-Westers at Seven Oaks--arrived at Fort Douglas. The newcomers were surprised to find us in possession of the enemy's fort. The last news they had heard was of wanton and successful aggression on the part of Lord Selkirk's Company; and I think the extra crews sent north were quite as much for purposes of defence as swift travel. But the gravity of affairs startled the men from Fort William; for they, themselves, had astounding news. Lord Selkirk was on his way north with munitions of war and an army of mercenaries formerly of the De Meurons' regiment, numbering two hundred, some said three or four hundred men; but this was an exaggeration. For what was he coming to Red River in this warlike fashion? His purpose would probably show itself. Also, if his intent were hostile, would not Seven Oaks massacre afford him the very pretence he wanted for chastising Nor'-Westers out of the country? The canoemen had met the ejected settlers bound up the lake; and with them, whom did they see but the bellicose Captain Miles McDonell, given free passage but a year before to Montreal and now on "the prosperous return," which he, himself, had prophesied? The settlers' news of Seven Oaks sent the brave captain hurrying southward to inform Lord Selkirk of the massacre. We had had a victory; but how long would it last? Truly the sky was darkening and few of us felt hopeful about the bursting of the storm. CHAPTER XXV HIS LORDSHIP TO THE RESCUE Even at the hour of our triumph, we Nor'-Westers knew that we had yet to reckon with Lord Selkirk; and a speedy reckoning the indomitable nobleman brought about. The massacre at Seven Oaks afforded our rivals the very pretext they desired. Clothed with the authority of an officer of the law, Lord Selkirk hurried northward; and a personage of his importance could not venture into the wilderness without a strong body-guard. At least, that was the excuse given for the retinue of two or three hundred mercenaries decked out in all the regimentals of war, whom Lord Selkirk brought with him to the north. A more rascally, daring crew of ragamuffins could not have been found to defend Selkirk's side of the gentlemen adventurers' feud. The men were the offscourings of European armies engaged in the Napoleonic wars, and came directly from the old De Meurons' regiment. The information which the Fort William brigade brought of Selkirk's approach, also explained why that same brigade hastened back to the defence of Nor'-West quarters on Lake Superior; and their help was needed. News of events at Fort William came to us in the Red River department tardily. First, there was a vague rumor among the Indian _voyageurs_, who were ever gliding back and forward on the labyrinthine waters of that north land like the birds of passage overhead. Then came definite reports from freemen who had been expelled from Fort William; and we could no longer doubt that Nor'-West headquarters, with all the wealth of furs and provisions therein had fallen into the hands of the Hudson's Bay forces. Afterwards came warning from our _Bourgeois_, driven out of Fort William, for Fort Douglas to be prepared. Lord Selkirk would only rest long enough at Fort William to take possession of everything worth possessing, in the name of the law--for was he not a justice of the peace?--and in the name of the law would he move with like intent against Fort Douglas. To the earl's credit, be it said, that his victories were bloodless; but they were bloodless because the Nor'-Westers had no mind to unleash those redskin bloodhounds a second time, preferring to suffer loss rather than resort to violence. Nevertheless, we called in every available hand of the Nor'-West staff to man Fort Douglas against attack. But summer dragged into autumn and autumn into winter, and no Lord Selkirk. Then we began to think ourselves secure; for the streams were frozen to a depth of four feet like adamant, and unless Selkirk were a madman, he would not attempt to bring his soldiers north by dog-train during the bitter cold of mid-winter. But 'tis ever the policy of the astute madman to discount the enemy's calculations; and Selkirk utterly discounted ours by sending his hardy, dare-devil De Meurons across country under the leadership of that prince of braggarts, Captain D'Orsonnens. Indeed, we had only heard the rumor of their coming, when we awakened one morning after an obscure, stormy night to find them encamped at St. James, westward on the Assiniboine River. Day after day the menacing force remained quiet and inoffensive, and we began to look upon these notorious ruffians as harmless. For our part, vigilance was not lacking. Sentinels were posted in the towers day and night. Nor'-West spies shadowed every movement of the enemy; and it was seriously considered whether we should not open communication with D'Orsonnens to ascertain what he wanted; but, truth to say, we knew very well what he wanted, and had had such a surfeit of blood, we were not anxious to re-open hostilities. As for Hamilton, I can hardly call his life at Fort Douglas anything more than a mere existence. A blow stuns, but one may recover. Repeated failure gradually benumbs hope and willpower and effort, like some ghoulish vampire sucking away a man's life-blood till he faint and die from very inanition. The blow, poor Eric had suffered, when he lost Miriam; the repeated failure, when we could not restore her; and I saw this strong, athletic man slowly succumb as to some insidious, paralyzing disease. The thought of effort seemed to burden him. He would silently mope by the hour in some dark corner of Fort Douglas, or wander aimlessly about the courtyard, muttering and talking to himself. He was weary and fatigued without a stroke of work; and what little sleep he snatched from wakeful vigils seemed to give him no rest. His food, he thrust from him with the petulance of a child; and at every suggestion I could make, he sneered with a quiet, gentle insistence that was utterly discomfiting. To be sure, I had Father Holland's boisterous good cheer as a counter-irritant; for the priest had remained at Fort Douglas, and was ministering to the tribes of the Red and Assiniboine. But it was on her, who had been my guiding star and hope and inspiration from the first, that I mainly depended. As hard, merciless winter closed in, I could not think of those shelterless colonists driven to the lake, without shuddering at the distress I knew they must suffer; and I despatched a runner, urging them to return to Red River, and giving personal guarantee for their safety. Among those, who came back, were the Sutherlands; and if my quest had entailed far greater hardship than it did, that quiet interval with leisure to spend much time at the Selkirk settlement would have repaid all suffering. After sundown, I was free from fort duties. Tying on snow-shoes after the manner of the natives, I would speed over the whitened drifts of billowy snow. The surface, melted by the sun-glare of mid-day and encrusted with brittle, glistening ice, never gave under my weight; and, oddly enough, my way always led to the Sutherland homestead. After the coming of the De Meurons, Frances used to expostulate against what she called my foolhardiness in making these evening visits; but their presence made no difference to me. "I don't believe those drones intend doing anything very dreadful, after all, sir," I remarked one night to Frances Sutherland's father, referring to the soldiers. Following his daughter's directions I had been coming very early, also very often, with the object of accustoming the dour Scotchman to my staying late; and he had softened enough towards me to take part in occasional argument. "Don't believe they intend doing a thing, sir," I reiterated. Pushing his spectacles up on his forehead, he closed the book of sermons, which he had been reading, and puckered his brows as if he were compromising a hard point with conscience, which, indeed, I afterwards knew, was exactly what he had been doing. "Aye," said he, "aye, aye, young man. But I'm thinking ye'll no do y'r company ony harm by speerin' after the designs o' fightin' men who make ladders." "Oh!" I cried, all alert for information. "Have they been making ladders?" He pulled the spectacles down on his nose and deliberately reopened the book of sermons. "Of that, I canna say," he replied. Only once again did he emerge from his readings. I had risen to go. Frances usually accompanied me to the outer door, where I tied my snow-shoes and took a farewell unobserved by the father; but when I opened the door, such a blast of wind and snow drove in, I instantly clapped it shut again and began tying the racquets on inside. "O Rufus!" exclaimed Frances, "you can't go back to Fort Douglas in that storm!" Then we both noticed for the first time that a hurricane of wind was rocking the little house to its foundations. "Did that spring up all of a sudden?" I cried. "I never saw a blizzard do that before." "I'm afraid, Rufus, we were not noticing." "No, we were otherwise interested," said I, innocently enough; but she laughed. "You can't go," she declared. "The wind will be on my back," I assured her. "I'll be all right," and I went on lacing the snow-shoe thongs about my ankle. The book of sermons shut with a snap and the father turned towards us. "Let no one say any man left the Sutherland hearth on such a night! Put by those senseless things," and he pointed to the snow-shoes. "But those ladders," I interposed. "Let no one say when the enemy came Rufus Gillespie was absent from his citadel!" The wind roared round the house corners like a storm at sea; and the father looked down at me with a strange, quizzical expression. "Ye're a headstrong young man, Rufus Gillespie," said the hard-set mouth. "Ye maun knock a hole in the head, or the wall! Will ye go?" "Knock the hole in the wall," I laughed back. "Of course I go." "Then, tak' the dogs," said he, with a sparkle of kindliness in the cold eyes. So it came that I set out in the Sutherlands' dog-sled with a supply of robes to defy biting frost. And I needed them every one. Old settlers, describing winter storms, have been accused of an imagination as expansive as the prairie; but I affirm no man could exaggerate the fury of a blizzard on the unbroken prairie. To one thing only may it be likened--a hurricane at sea. People in lands boxed off at short compass by mountain ridges forget with what violence a wind sweeping half a continent can disport itself. In the boisterous roar of the gale, my shouts to the dogs were a feeble whisper caught from my lips and lost in the shrieking wind. The fine snowy particles were a powdered ice that drove through seams of clothing and cut one's skin like a whip lash. Without the fringe of woods along the river bank to guide me, it would have been madness to set out by day, and worse than madness by night; but I kept the dogs close to the woods. The trees broke the wind and prevented me losing all sense of direction in the tornado whirl of open prairie. Not enough snow had fallen on the hard-crusted drifts to impede the dogs. They scarcely sank and with the wind on their backs dashed ahead till the woods were passed and we were on the bare plains. No light could be seen through the storm, but I knew I was within a short distance of the fort gate and wheeled the dogs toward the river flats of the left. The creatures seemed to scent human presence. They leaped forward and brought the sleigh against the wall with a knock that rolled me out. "Good fellows;" I cried, springing up, uncertain where I was. The huskies crouched around my feet almost tripping me and I felt through the snowy darkness against the stockades, stake by stake. Ah! There was a post! Here were close-fitted boards--here, iron-lining--this must be the gate; but where was the lantern that hung behind? A gust of wind might have extinguished the light; so I drubbed loudly on the gate and shouted to the sentry, who should have been inside. The wind lulled for a moment and up burst wild shouting from the courtyard intermingled with the jeers of Frenchmen and cries of terror from our people. Then I knew judgment had come for the deeds at Seven Oaks. The gale broke again with a hissing of serpents, or red irons, and the howling wind rose in shrill, angry bursts. Hugging the wall, while the dogs whined behind, I ran towards the rear. Men jostled through the snowy dark, and I was among the De Meurons. They were too busy scaling the stockade on the ladders of which I had heard to notice an intruder. Taking advantage of the storm, I mounted a ladder, vaulted over the pickets and alighted in the courtyard. Here all was noise, flight, pursuit and confusion. I made for the main hall, where valuable papers were kept, and at the door, cannoned against one of our men, who shrieked with fright and begged for mercy. "Coward!" said I, giving him a cuff. "What has happened?" A flare fell on us both, and he recognized me. "The De Meurons!" he gasped. "The De Meurons!" I left him bawling out his fear and rushed inside. "What has happened?" I asked, tripping up a clerk who was flying through the hallway. "The De Meurons!" he gasped. "The De Meurons!" "Stop!" I commanded, grasping the lap of his coat. "What--_has_--happened?" "The De Meurons!" This was fairly screamed. I shook him till he sputtered something more. "They've captured the fort--our people didn't want to shed blood----" "And threw down their guns," I interjected, disgusted beyond word. "Threw down their guns," he repeated, as though that were a praiseworthy action. "The s-s-sentinels--saw the court--full--full--full of s-soldiers!" "Full of soldiers!" I thundered. "There are not a hundred in the gang." Thereupon I gave the caitiff a toss that sent him reeling against the wall, and dashed up-stairs for the papers. All was darkness, and I nigh broke my neck over a coffin-shaped rough box made for one of the trappers, who had died in the fort. Why was the thing lying there, anyway? The man should have been put into it and buried at once without any drinking bout and dead wake, I reflected with some sharpness, as I rubbed my bruised shins and shoved the box aside. Shouts rang up from the courtyard. Heavy feet trampled in the hall below. Hamilton, as a Hudson's Bay man, and Father Holland, I knew, were perfectly safe. But I was far from safe. Why were they not there to help me, I wondered, with the sort of rage we all vent on our friends when we are cornered and they at ease. I fumbled across the apartment, found the right desk, pried the drawer open with my knife, and was in the very act of seizing the documents when I saw my own shadow on the floor. Lantern light burst with a glare through the gloom of the doorway. CHAPTER XXVI FATHER HOLLAND AND I IN THE TOILS Behind the lantern was a face with terrified eyes and gaping mouth. It was the priest, his genial countenance a very picture of fear. "What's wrong, Father?" I asked. "You needn't be alarmed; you're all right." "But I am alarmed, for you're all wrong! Lord, boy, why didn't ye stay with that peppery Scotchman? What did Frances mane by lettin' you out to-night?" and he shaded the light of the lantern with his hand. "I wanted these things," I explained. "Ye want a broad thumpin', I'm thinkin', ye rattle-pate, to risk y'r precious noodle here to-night," he whispered, coming forward and fussing about me with all the maternal anxiety of a hen over her only chicken. "Listen," said I. "The whole mob's coming in." "Go!" he urged, pushing me from the desk over which I still fumbled. "Run for those dogs of mercenaries!" I protested. "Ye swash-buckler! Ye stiff-necked braggart!" bawled the priest. "Out wid y'r nonsense, and what good are y' thinkin' ye'll do--? Stir your stumps, y' stoopid spalpeen!" "Listen," I urged, undisturbed by the tongue-thrashing that stormed about my ears. In the babel of voices I thought I had heard some one call my name. "Run, Rufus! Run for y'r life, boy!" urged Father Holland, apparently thinking the ruffians had come solely for me. "Run yourself, Father; run yourself, and see how you like it," and I tucked the documents inside my coat. "Divil a bit I'll run," returned the priest. "Hark!" The De Meurons' leaders were shouting orders to their men. Above the screams of people fleeing in terror through passage-ways, came a shrill bugle-call. "Go--go--go--Rufus!" begged Father Holland in a paroxysm of fear. "Go!" he pleaded, pushing me towards the door. "I won't!" and I jerked away from him. "There, now." I caught up a club and loaded pistol. The Nor'-Westers had no time to defend themselves. Almost before my stubborn defiance was uttered, the building was filled with a mob of intoxicated De Meurons. Rushing everywhere with fixed bayonets and cursing at the top of their voices, they threatened death to all Nor'-Westers. There was a loud scuffling of men forcing their way through the defended hall downstairs. "Go, Rufus, go! Think of Frances! Save yourself," urged the priest. It was too late. I could not escape by the hall. Noisy feet were already trampling up the stairs and the clank of armed men filled every passage. "Jee-les-pee! Jee-les-pee! Seven Oaks!" bawled a French voice from the half-way landing, and a multitude of men with torches dashed up the stairs. I took a stand to defend myself; for I thought I might be charged with implication in the massacre. "Jee-les-pee," roared the voices. "Where is Gillespie?" thundered a leader. "That's you, Rufus, lad! Down with you!" muttered the priest. Before I knew his purpose, he had tripped my feet from under me and knocked me flat on the floor. Overturning the empty coffin-box, he clapped it above my whole length, imprisoning me with the snap and celerity of a mouse-trap. Then I heard the thud of two hundred avoirdupois seating itself on top of the case. The man above my person had whisked out a book of prayers, and with lantern on the desk was conning over devotions, which, I am sure, must have been read with the manual upside down; for bits of the _pater noster_, service of the mass, and vesper psalms were uttered in a disconnected jumble, though I could not but apply the words to my own case. "_Libera nos a malo--ora pro nobis, peccatoribus--ab hoste maligno defende me--ab homine iniquo et doloso erue me--peccator videbit et irascetur--desiderium peccatorum peribit_----" came from the priest with torrent speed. "Jee-les-pee! Jee-les-pee!" roared a dozen throats above the half-way landing. Then came the stamp of many feet to the door. "Wait, men!" Hamilton's voice commanded. "I'll see if he's here!" "_Simulacra gentium argentum et aurum, opera manuum hominum_," like hailstones rattled the Latin words down on my prison. "One moment, men," came Eric's voice; but he could not hold them back. In burst the door with a rush, and immediately the room was crowded with vociferating French soldiers. "_Manus habent, et non palpabunt; pedes_----" "Is Gillespie here?" interrupted Hamilton, without the slightest recognition of the priest in his tones. "_Pedes habent et non ambulabunt; non clamabunt in gutture suo_," muttered the priest, finishing his verse; then to the men with a stiffness which I did not think Father Holland could ever assume-- "How often must I be disturbed by men seeking that young scoundrel? Look at this place, fairly topsy-turvy with their hunt! Faith! The room is before you. Look and see!" and with a great indifference he went on with his devotions. "_Similes illis fiant qui faciunt ea_----" "Some one here before us?" interrupted an Englishman with some suspicion. "Two parties here before ye," answered the priest, icily, as if these repeated questions rumpled ecclesiastical dignity, and he gabbled on with the psalm, "_similes illis fiant qui faciunt ea, et omnes_----" "If we lifted that box," interrupted the persistent Englishman, "what might there be?" "If ye lift that box," answered Father Holland with massive solemnity--and I confess every hair on my body bristled as he rose--"If ye lift that box there might be a powr--dead--body," which was very true; for I still held the cocked pistol in hand and would have shot the first man daring to molest me. But the priest's indifference was not so great as it appeared. I could tell from a tremor in his voice that he was greatly disturbed; and he certainly lost his place altogether in the vesper psalm. "_Requiescat in pace_," were his next words, uttered in funereal gravity. Singularly enough, they seemed to fit the situation. Father Holland's prompt offer to have the rough box examined satisfied the searchers, and there were no further demands. "Oh," said the Englishman, taken aback, "I beg your pardon, sir! No offence meant." "No offence," replied the priest, reseating himself. "_Benedicite_----" "Sittin' on the coffin!" blurted out the voice of an English youth as the weight of the priest again came down heavily on my prison; and again I breathed easily. "Come on, men!" shouted Hamilton, apprehensive of more curiosity. "We're wasting time! He may be escaping by the basement window!" "_Jam hiems transiit, imber abiit et recessit; surge, amica mea, et veni!_" droned the priest, and the whole company clattered downstairs. "Quick!--Out with you!" commanded Father Holland. "Speed to y'r heels, and blessing on the last o' ye!" I dashed down the stairs and was bolting through the doorway when some one shouted, "There he is!" "Run, Gillespie!" cried some one else--one of our men, I suppose--and I had plunged into the storm and raced for the ladders at the rear stockades with a pack of pursuers at my heels. The snow drifts were in my favor, for with my moccasins, I leaped lightly forward, while the booted soldiers floundered deep. I eluded my pursuers and was half-way up a ladder when a soldier's head suddenly appeared above the wall on the other side. Then a bayonet prodded me in the chest and I fell heavily backwards to the ground. * * * * * I was captured. That is all there is to say. No man dilates with pleasure over that part of his life when he was vanquished. It is not pleasant to have weapons of defence wrested from one's hands, to feel soldiers standing upon one's wrists and rifling pockets. It is hard to feel every inch the man on the horizontal. In truth, when the soldiers picked me up without ceremony, or gentleness, and bundling me up the stairs of the main hall, flung me into a miserable pen, with windows iron-barred to mid-sash, I was but a sorry hero. My tormentors did not shackle me; I was spared that humiliation. "There!" exclaimed a Hudson's Bay man, throwing lantern-light across the dismal low roof as I fell sprawling into the room. "That'll cool the young hot-head," and all the French soldiers laughed at my discomfiture. They chained and locked the door on the outside. I heard the soldiers' steps reverberating through the empty passages, and was alone in a sort of prison-room, used during the régime of the petty tyrant McDonell. It was cold enough to cool any hot-head, and mine was very hot indeed. I knew the apartment well. Nor'-Westers had used it as a fur storeroom. The wind came through the crevices of the board walls and piled miniature drifts on the floor-cracks, all the while rattling loose timbers like a saw-mill. The roof was but a few feet high, and I crept to the window, finding all the small panes coated with two inches of hoar-frost. Whether the iron bars outside ran across, or up and down, I could not remember; but the fact would make a difference to a man trying to escape. Much as I disliked to break the glass letting in more cold, there was only one way of finding out about those bars. I raised my foot for an outward kick, but remembering I wore only the moccasins with which I had been snowshoeing, I struck my fist through instead, and shattered the whole upper half of the window. I broke away cross-pieces that might obstruct outward passage, and leaning down put my hand on the sharp points of upright spikes. So intense was the frost, the skin of my finger tips stuck to the iron, and I drew my hand in, with the sting of a fresh burn. It was unfortunate about those bars. I could not possibly get past them down to the ground without making a ladder from my great-coat. I groped round the room hoping that some of the canvas in which we tied the peltries, might be lying about. There was nothing of the sort, or I missed it in the dark. Quickly tearing my coat into strips, I knotted triple plies together and fastened the upper end to the crosspiece of the lower window. Feet first, I poked myself out, caught the strands with both hands, and like a flash struck ground below with badly skinned palms. That reminded me I had left my mits in the prison room. The storm had driven the soldiers inside. I did not encounter a soul in the courtyard, and had no difficulty in letting myself out by the main gate. I whistled for the dogs. They came huddling from the ladders where I had left them, the sleigh still trailing at their heels. One poor animal was so benumbed I cut him from the traces and left him to die. Gathering up the robes, I shook them free of snow, replaced them in the sleigh and led the string of dogs down to the river. It would be bitterly cold facing that sweep of unbroken wind in mid-river; but the trail over ice would permit greater speed, and with the high banks on each side the dogs could not go astray. To an overruling Providence, and to the instincts of the dogs, I owe my life. The creatures had not gone ten sleigh-lengths when I felt the loss of my coat, and giving one final shout to them, I lay back on the sleigh and covered myself, head and all, under the robes, trusting the huskies to find their way home. I do not like to recall that return to the Sutherlands. The man, who is frozen to death, knows nothing of the cruelties of northern cold. The icy hand, that takes his life, does not torture, but deadens the victim into an everlasting, easy, painless sleep. This I know, for I felt the deadly frost-slumber, and fought against it. Aching hands and feet stopped paining and became utterly feelingless; and the deadening thing began creeping inch by inch up the stiffening limbs the life centres, till a great drowsiness began to overpower body and mind. Realizing what this meant, I sprang from the sleigh and stopped the dogs. I tried to grip the empty traces of the dead one, but my hands were too feeble; so I twisted the rope round my arm, gave the word, and raced off abreast the dog train. The creatures went faster with lightened sleigh, but every step I took was a knife-thrust through half-frozen awakening limbs. Not the man who is frozen to death, but the man who is half-frozen and thawed back to life, knows the cruelties of northern cold. In a stupefied way, I was aware the dogs had taken a sudden turn to the left and were scrambling up the bank. Here my strength failed or I tripped; for I only remember being dragged through the snow, rolling over and over, to a doorway, where the huskies stopped and set up a great whining. Somehow, I floundered to my feet. With a blaze of light that blinded me, the door flew open and I fell across the threshold unconscious. * * * * * Need I say what door opened, what hands drew me in and chafed life into the benumbed being? "What was the matter, Rufus Gillespie?" asked a bluff voice the next morning. I had awakened from what seemed a long, troubled sleep and vaguely wondered where I was. "What happened to ye, Rufus Gillespie?" and the man's hand took hold of my wrist to feel my pulse. "Don't, father! you'll hurt him!" said a voice that was music to my ears, and a woman's hand, whose touch was healing, began bathing my blistered palms. At once I knew where I was and forgot pain. In few and confused words I tried to relate what had happened. "The country's yours, Mr. Sutherland," said I, too weak, thick-tongued and deliriously happy for speech. "Much to be thankful for," was the Scotchman's comment. "Seven Oaks is avenged. It would ill 'a' become a Sutherland to give his daughter's hand to a conqueror, but I would na' say I'd refuse a wife to a man beaten as you were, Rufus Gillespie," and he strode off to attend to outdoor work. And what next took place, I refrain from relating; for lovers' eloquence is only eloquent to lovers. CHAPTER XXVII UNDER ONE ROOF Nature is not unlike a bank. When drafts exceed deposits comes a protest, and not infrequently, after the protest, bankruptcy. From the buffalo hunt to the recapture of Fort Douglas by the Hudson's Bay soldiers, drafts on that essential part of a human being called stamina had been very heavy with me. Now came the casting-up of accounts, and my bill was minus reserve strength, with a balance of debt on the wrong side. The morning after the escape from Fort Douglas, when Mr. Sutherland strode off, leaving his daughter alone with me, I remember very well that Frances abruptly began putting my pillow to rights. Instead of keeping wide awake, as I should by all the codes of romance and common sense, I--poor fool--at once swooned, with a vague, glimmering consciousness that I was dying and this, perhaps, was the first blissful glimpse into paradise. When I came to my senses, Mr. Sutherland was again standing by the bedside with a half-shamed look of compassion under his shaggy brows. "How far," I began, with a curious inability to use my wits and tongue, "how far--I mean how long have I been asleep, sir?" "Hoots, mon! Dinna claver in that feckless fashion! It's months, lad, sin' ye opened y'r mouth wi' onything but daft gab." "Months!" I gasped out. "Have I been here for months?" "Aye, months. The plain was snaw-white when ye began y'r bit nappie. Noo, d'ye no hear the clack o' the geese through yon open window?" I tried to turn to that side of the little room, where a great wave of fresh, clear air blew from the prairie. For some reason my head refused to revolve. Stooping, the elder man gently raised the sheet and rolled me over so that I faced the sweet freshness of an open, sunny view. "Did I rive ye sore, lad?" asked the voice with a gruffness in strange contradiction to the gentleness of the touch. Now I hold that however rasping a man's words may be, if he handle the sick with gentleness, there is much goodness under the rough surface. Thoughtlessness and stupidity, I know, are patent excuses for half the unkindness and sorrow of life. But thoughtlessness and stupidity are also responsible for most of life's brutality and crime. Not spiteful intentions alone, but the dulled, brutalized, deadened sensibilities--that go under the names of thoughtlessness and stupidity--make a man treat something weaker than himself with roughness, or in an excessive degree, qualify for murder. When the harsh voice asked, "Do I rive ye sore?" I began to understand how surface roughness is as often caused by life's asperities as by the inner dullness akin to the brute. Indeed, if my thoughts had not been so intent on the daughter, I could have found Mr. Sutherland's character a wonderfully interesting study. The infinite capacity of a canny Scot for keeping his mouth shut I never realized till I knew Mr. Sutherland. For instance, now that consciousness had returned, I noticed that the father himself, and not the daughter, did all the waiting on me even to the carrying of my meals. "How is your daughter, Mr. Sutherland?" I asked, surely a natural enough question to merit a civil reply. "Aye--is it Frances y'r speerin' after?" he answered, meeting my question with a question; and he deigned not another word. But I lay in wait for him at the next meal. "I haven't seen your daughter yet, Mr. Sutherland," I stuttered out with a deal of blushing. "I haven't even heard her about the house." "No?" he asked with a show of surprise. "Have ye no seen Frances?" And that was all the satisfaction I got. Between the dinner hour and supper time I conjured up various plots to hoodwink paternal caution. "Mr. Sutherland," I began, "I have a message for your daughter." "Aye," said he. "I wish her to hear it personally." "Aye." "When may I see her?" "Ye maun bide patient, lad!" "But the message is urgent." That was true; for had not forty-eight hours passed since I had regained consciousness and I had heard neither her footsteps nor her voice? "Aye," said the imperturbable father. "Very urgent, Mr. Sutherland," I added. "Aye." "When may I see her, Sir?" "All in guid time. Ye maun bide quiet, lad." "The message cannot wait," I declared. "It must be given at once." "Then deleever it word for word to me, young mon, and I'll trudge off to Frances." "Your daughter is not at home?" "What words wu'l ye have me bear to her, lad?" he asked. That was too much for a youth in a peevish state of convalescence. What lover could send his heart's eloquence by word of mouth with a peppery, prosaic father? "Tell Mistress Sutherland I must see her at once," I quickly responded with a flash of temper that was ever wont to flare up when put to the test. "Aye," he answered, with an amused look in the cold, steel eyes. "I'll deleever y'r message when--when"--and he hesitated in a way suggestive of eternity--"I'll deleever y'r message when I see her." At that I turned my face to the wall in the bitterness of spirit which only the invalid, with all the strength of a man in his whims and the weakness of an infant in his body, knows. I spent a feverish, restless night, with the hard-faced Scotchman watching from his armchair at my bedside. Once, when I suddenly awakened from sleep, or delirium, his eyes were fastened on my face with a gleam of grave kindliness. "Mr. Sutherland," I cried, with all the impatience of a child, "please tell me, where is your daughter?" "I sent her to a neighbor, sin' ye came to y'r senses, lad," said he. "Ye hae kept her about ye night and day sin' ye gaed daft, and losh, mon, ye hae gabbled wild talk enough to turn the head o' ony lassie clean daft. An' ye claver sic' nonsense when ye're daft, what would ye say when ye're sane? Hoots, mon, ye maun learn to haud y'r tongue----" "Mr. Sutherland," I interrupted in a great heat, quite forgetful of his hospitality, "I'm sorry to be the means of driving your daughter from her home. I beg you to send me back to Fort Douglas----" "Haud quiet," he ordered with a wave of his hand. "An' wa'd ye have me expose the head of a mitherless bairn to a' the clack o' the auld geese in the settlement? Temper y'r ardor wi' discretion, lad! 'Twas but the day before yesterday she left and she was sair done wi' nursing you and losing of sleep! Till ye're fair y'rsel' again and up, and she's weel and rosy wi' full sleep, bide patient!" That speech sent my face to the wall again; but this time not in anger. And that dogged fashion Mr. Sutherland had of taking his own way did me many a good turn. Often have I heard those bragging captains of the Hudson's Bay mercenaries swagger into the little cottage sitting-room, while I lay in bed on the other side of the thin board partition, and relate to Mr. Sutherland all the incidents of their day's search for me. "So many pounds sterling for the man who captures the rascal," declares D'Orsonnens. "Aye, 'tis a goodly price for one poor rattle-pate," says Mr. Sutherland. Whereupon, D'Orsonnens swears the price is more than my poor empty head is worth, and proceeds to describe me in terms which Mr. Sutherland will only tolerate when thundered from an orthodox pulpit. "I'd have ye understand, Sir," he would declare with great dignity, "I'll have no papistical profanity under my roof." Forthwith, he would show D'Orsonnens the door, lecturing the astonished soldier on the errors of Romanism; for whatever Mr. Sutherland deemed evil, from oaths to theological errors, he attributed directly to the pope. "The ne'er-do-weel can hawk naething frae me," said he when relating the incident. Once I heard a Fort Douglas man observe that, as the search had proved futile, I must have fallen into one of the air-holes of the ice. "Nae doot the headstrong young mon is' gettin' what he deserves. I warrant he's warm in his present abode," answered Mr. Sutherland. On another occasion D'Orsonnens asked who the man was that Mr. Sutherland's daughter had been nursing all winter. "A puir body driven from Fort Douglas by those bloodthirsty villains," answered Mr. Sutherland, giving his visitor a strong toddy; and he at once improved the occasion by taking down a volume and reading the French officer a series of selections against Romanism. After that D'Orsonnens came no more. "I hope I did not tell Nor'-West secrets in a Hudson's Bay house when I was delirious, Mr. Sutherland," I remarked. The Scotchman had lugged me from bed in a gentle, lumbering, well-meant fashion, and I was sitting up for the first time. "Ye're no the mon wi' a leak t' y'r mouth. I dinna say, though, ye're aye as discreet wi' the thoughts o' y'r heart as y'r head! Ye need na fash y'r noodle wi' remorse aboot company secrets. I canna say ye'll no fret aboot some other things ye hae told. A' the winter lang, 'twas Frances and stars and spooks and speerits and bogies and statues and graven images--wha' are forbidden by the Holy Scriptures--till the lassie thought ye gane clean daft! 'Twas a bonnie e'e, like silver stars; or a bit blush, like the pippin; or laughter, like a wimplin' brook; or lips, like posies; or hair, like links o' gold; and mair o' the like till the lassie came rinnin' oot o' y'r room, fair red wi' shame! Losh, mon, ye maun keep a still tongue in y'r head and not blab oot y'r thoughts o' a wife till she believes na mon can hae peace wi'out her. I wad na hae ye abate one jot o' all ye think, for her price is far above rubies; but hae a care wi' y'r grand talk! After ye gang to the kirk, lad, na mon can keep that up." His warning I laughed to the winds, as youth the world over has ever laughed sage counsels of chilling age. I can compare my recovery only to the swift transition of seasons in those northern latitudes. Without any lingering spring, the cold grayness of long, tense winter gives place to a radiant sun-burst of warm, yellow light. The uplands have long since been blown bare of snow by the March winds, and through the tangle of matted turf shoot myriad purple cups of the prairie anemone, while the russet grass takes on emerald tints. One day the last blizzard may be sweeping a white trail of stormy majesty across the prairie; the next a fragrance of flowers rises from the steaming earth and the snow-filled ravines have become miniature lakes reflecting the dazzle of a sunny sky and fleece clouds. My convalescence was similar to the coming of summer. Without any weary fluctuation from well to ill, and ill to well--which sickens the heart with a deferred hope--all my old-time strength came back with the glow of that year's June sun. "There's nae accountin' for some wilful folk, lad," was Mr. Sutherland's remark, one evening after I was able to leave my room. "Ye hae risen frae y'r bed like the crocus frae snaw. An' Frances were hangin' aboot y'r pillow, lad, I'm nae sure y'd be up sae dapper and smart." "I thought my nurse was to return when I was able to be up," I answered, strolling to the cottage door. "Come back frae the door, lad. Dinna show y'rsel' tae the enemy. There be more speerin' for ye than hae love for y'r health. Have y'r wits aboot ye! Dinna be frettin' y'rsel' for Frances! The lassies aye rin fast enow tae the mon wi' sense to hold his ain!" With that advice he motioned me to the only armchair in the room, and sitting down on the outer step to keep watch, began reading some theological disputation aloud. "Odds, lad, ye should see the papist so'diers rin when I hae Calvin by me," he remarked. "It's a pity you can't lay the theological thunderers on the doorstep to drive stray De Meurons off. Then you could come in and take this chair yourself," I answered, sitting back where no visitor could see me. But Mr. Sutherland did not hear. He was deep in polemics, rolling out stout threats, that used Scriptural texts as a cudgel, with a zest that testified enjoyment. "The wicked bend their bow," began the rasping voice; but when he cleared his throat, preparatory to the main argument, my thoughts went wandering far from the reader on the steps. As one whose dream is jarred by outward sound, I heard his tones quaver. "Aye, Frances, 'tis you," he said, and away he went, pounding at the sophistries of some straw enemy. A shadow was on the threshold, and before I had recalled my listless fancy, in tripped Frances Sutherland, herself, feigning not to see me. The gray eyes were veiled in the misty fashion of those fluffy things women wear, which let through all beauty, but bar out intrusion. I do not mean she wore a veil: veils and frills were not seen among the colonists in those days. But the heavy lashes hung low in the slumbrous, dreamy way that sees all and reveals nothing. Instinctively I started up, with wild thoughts thronging to my lips. At the same moment Mr. Sutherland did the most chivalrous thing I have seen in homespun or broadcloth. "Hoots wi' y'r giddy claver," said he, before I had spoken a word; and walking off, he sat down at some distance. Thereupon his daughter laughed merrily with a whole quiver of dangerous archery about her lips. "That is the nearest to an untruth I have ever heard him tell," she said, which mightily relieved my embarrassment. "Why did he say that?" I asked, with my usual stupidity. "I am sure I cannot say," and looking straight at me, she let go the barbed shaft, that lies hidden in fair eyes for unwary mortals. "Sit down," she commanded, sinking into the chair I had vacated. "Sit down, Rufus, please!" This with an after-shot of alarm from the heavy lashes; for if a woman's eyes may speak, so may a man's, and their language is sometimes bolder. "Thanks," and I sat down on the arm of that same chair. For once in my life I had sense to keep my tongue still; for, if I had spoken, I must have let bolt some impetuous thing better left unsaid. "Rufus," she began, in the low, thrilling tones that had enthralled me from the first, "do you know I was your sole nurse all the time you were delirious?" "No wonder I was delirious! Dolt, that I was, to have been delirious!" thought I to myself; but I choked down the foolish rejoinder and endeavored to look as wise as if my head had been ballasted with the weight of a patriarch's wisdom instead of ballooning about like a kite run wild. "I think I know all your secrets." "Oh!" A man usually has some secrets he would rather not share; and though I had not swung the full tether of wild west freedom--thanks solely to her, not to me--I trembled at recollection of the passes that come to every man's life when he has been near enough the precipice to know the sensation of falling without going over. "You talked incessantly of Miriam and Mr. Hamilton and Father Holland." "And what did I say about Frances?" "You said things about Frances that made her tremble." "Tremble? What a brute, and you waiting on me day and----" "Hush," she broke in. "Tremble because I am just a woman and not an angel, just a woman and not a star. We women are mortals just as you men are. Sometimes we're fools as well as mortals, just as you men are; but I don't think we're knaves quite so often, because we're denied the opportunity and hedged about and not tempted." As she gently stripped away the pretty hypocrisies with which lovers delude themselves and lay up store for disappointment, I began to discount that old belief about truth and knowledge rendering a woman mannish and arrogant and assertive. "You men marry women, expecting them to be angels, and very often the angel's highest ambition is to be considered a doll. Then your hope goes out and your faith----" "But, Frances," I cried, "if any sensible man had his choice of an angel and a fair, good woman----" "Be sure to say fair, or he'd grumble because he hadn't a doll," she laughed. "No levity! If he had choice of angels and stars and a good woman, he'd choose the woman. The star is mighty far away and cold and steely. The angel's a deal too perfect to know sympathy with faults and blunders. I tell you, Little Statue, life is only moil and toil, unless love transmutes the base metal of hard duty into the pure gold of unalloyed delight." "That's why I tremble. I must do more than angel or star! Oh, Rufus, if I can only live up to what you think I am--and you can live up to what I think you are, life will be worth living." "That's love's leverage," said I. Then there was silence; for the sun had set and the father was no longer reading. Shadows deepened into twilight, and twilight into gloaming. And it was the hour when the brooding spirit of the vast prairie solitudes fills the stillness of night with voiceless eloquence. Why should I attempt to transcribe the silent music of the prairie at twilight, which every plain-dweller knows and none but a plain-dweller may understand? What wonder that the race native to this boundless land hears the rustling of spirits in the night wind, the sigh of those who have lost their way to the happy hunting-ground, and the wail of little ones whose feet are bruised on the shadow trail? What wonder the gauzy northern lights are bands of marshaling warriors and the stars torches lighting those who ride the plains of heaven? Indeed, I defy a white man with all the discipline of science and reason to restrain the wanderings of mystic fancy during the hours of sunset on the prairie. There is, I affirm, no such thing as time for lovers. If they have watches and clocks, the wretched things run too fast; and if the sun himself stood still in sympathy, time would not be long. So I confess I have no record of time that night Frances Sutherland returned to her home and Mr. Sutherland kept guard at the door. When he had passed the threshold impatiently twice, I recollected with regret that it was impossible to read theology in the dark. The third time he thrust his head in. "Mind y'rselves," he called. "I hear men coming frae the river, a pretty hour, indeed, for visitin'. Frances, go ben and see yon back window's open!" "The soldiers from the fort," cried Frances with a little gasp. "Don't move," said I. "They can't see me here. It's dark. I want to hear what they say and the window is open. Indeed, Frances, I'm an expert at window-jumping," and I had begun to tell her of my scrape with Louis' drunken comrades in Fort Douglas, when I heard Mr. Sutherland's grating tones according the newcomers a curious welcome. "Ye swearin', blasphemin', rampag'us, carousin' infidel, ye'll no darken my doorway this night. Y'r French gab may be foul wi' oaths for all I ken; but ye'll no come into my hoose! An' you, Sir, a blind leader o' the blind, a disciple o' Beelzebub, wi' y'r Babylonish idolatries, wi' y'r incense that fair stinks in the nostrils o' decent folk, wi' y'r images and mummery and crossin' o' y'rsel', wi' y'r pagan, popish practises, wi' y'r skirts and petticoats, I'll no hae ye on my premises, no, not an' ye leave y'r religion outside! An' you, Meester Hamilton, a respectable Protestant, I'm fair surprised to see ye in sic' company." "'Tis Eric and Father Holland and Laplante," I shouted, springing to my feet and rushing to the doorway, but Frances put herself before me. "Keep back," she whispered. "The priest and Mr. Hamilton have been here before; but father would not let them in. The other man may be a De Meuron. Be careful, Rufus! There's a price on your head." "Ho--ho--my _Ursus Major_, prime guardian of _Ursa Major_, first of the heavenly constellations in the north," insolently laughed Louis Laplante through the dusk. "Let me pass, Frances," I begged, thrusting her gently aside, but her trembling hands still clung to my arm. "Impertinent rascal," rasped the irate Scotchman. "I'd have ye understand my name's Sutherland, not _Major Ursus_. I'll no bide wi' y'r impudence! Leave this place----" "The Bruin growls," interrupted Louis with a laugh, and I heard Mr. Sutherland's gasp of amazed rage at the lengths of the Frenchman's insolence. "I must, dearest," I whispered, disengaging the slender hands from my arm; and I flung out into the dusk. In the gloom, my approach was unnoticed; and when I came upon the group, Father Holland had laid his hand upon Mr. Sutherland's shoulder and in a low, tense voice was uttering words, which--thank an all-bountiful Providence!--have no sectarian limits. "And the King shall answer and say unto them, 'I was a stranger and ye took me not in: naked and ye clothed me not: sick and in prison and ye visited me not. Verily I say unto you, inasmuch as ye did it not to one of the least of these, ye did it not to me'----" "Dinna con Holy Writ to me, Sir," interrupted Mr. Sutherland, throwing the priest's hand off and jerking back. Then Louis Laplante saw me. There was a long, low whistle. "Ye daft gommerel," gasped Mr. Sutherland, facing me with unutterable disgust. "Ye daft gommerel! A' my care and fret, waste--gane clean to waste. I wash m' hands o' ye----" But Louis had knocked the Scotchman aside and tumbled into my arms, half laughing, half crying and altogether as hysterical as was his wont. "I pay you back at las', my comrade! Ha--old solemncholy! You thought the bird of passage, he come not back at all! But the birds return! So does Louis! He decoy-duck the whole covey! You generous? No more not generous than the son of a seigneur, mine enemy! You give life? He give life! You give liberty! So does Louis! You help one able help himself? Louis help one not able help himself! Ha! _Très bien! Noblesse oblige! La Gloire!_ She--near! She here! She where I, Louis Laplante, son of a seigneur, snare that she-devil, trap that fox, trick the tigress! Ha--ol' tombstone! _Noblesse oblige_--I say! She near--she here," and he flung up both arms like a frenzied maniac. "Man! Are you mad?" I demanded, uncertain whether he were apostrophizing Diable's squaw, or abstract glory. "Speak out!" I shouted, shaking him by the shoulder. "These--are they all friends?" asked Louis, suddenly cooled and looking suspiciously at the group. "All," said I, still holding him by the shoulder. "That--that thing--that bear--that bruin--he a friend?" and Louis pointed to Mr. Sutherland. "Friend to the core," said I, laying both hands upon his shoulders. "Core with prickles outside," gibed Louis. "Louis," I commanded, utterly out of patience, "what of Miriam? Speak plain, man! Have you brought the tribe as you promised?" It must have been mention of Miriam's name, for the white, drawn face of Eric Hamilton bent over my shoulder and fiery, glowing eyes burned into the very soul of the Frenchman. Louis staggered back as if red irons had been thrust in his face. "_Sacredie_," said he, backing against Father Holland, "I am no murderer." It was then I observed that Frances Sutherland had followed me. Her slender white fingers were about the bronzed hand of the French adventurer. "Monsieur Laplante will tell us what he knows," she said softly, and she waited for his answer. "The daughter of _L'Aigle_," he replied slowly and collectedly, all the while feasting upon that fair face, "comes down the Red with her tribe and captives, many captive women. They pass here to-night. They camp south the rapids, this side of the rapids. Last night I leave them. I run forward, I find Le Petit Garçon--how you call him?--Leetle Fellow? He take me to the priest. He bring canoe here. He wait now for carry us down. We must go to the rapids--to the camp! There my contract! My bargain, it is finished," and he shrugged his shoulders, for Frances had removed her hand from his. Whether Louis Laplante's excitable nature were momentarily unbalanced by the success of his feat, I leave to psychologists. Whether some premonition of his impending fate had wrought upon him strangely, let psychical speculators decide. Or whether Louis, the sly rogue, worked up the whole situation for the purpose of drawing Frances Sutherland into the scene--which is what I myself suspect--I refer to private judgment, and merely set down the incidents as they occurred. That was how Louis Laplante told us of bringing Diable's squaw and her captives back to Red River. And that was how Father Holland and Eric and Louis and Mr. Sutherland and myself came to be embarking with a camping outfit for a canoe-trip down the river. "Have the Indians passed, or are they to come?" I asked Louis as Mr. Sutherland and Eric settled themselves in a swift, light canoe, leaving the rest of us to take our places in a larger craft, where Little Fellow, gurgling pleased recognition of me, acted as steersman. "They come later. The fast canoe go forward and camp. We watch behind," ordered Louis, winking at me significantly. I saw Frances step to her father's canoe. "You're no coming, Frances," he protested, querulously. "Don't say that, father. I never disobeyed you in my life, and I _am_ coming! Don't tell me not to! Push out, Mr. Hamilton," and she picked up a paddle and I saw the canoe dart swiftly forward into mid-current, where the darkness enveloped it; and we followed fast in its wake. "Louis," said I, trying to fathom the meaning of his wink, "are those Indians to come yet?" "No. Simpleton--you think Louis a fool?" he asked. "Why did you lie to them?" "Get them out of the way." "Why?" "Because, stupid, some ones they be killed to-night! The Englishman, he have a wife--he not be killed! Mademoiselle--she love a poor fool--or break her pretty heart! The father--he needed to stick-pin you both--so you never want for to fight each other," and Louis laughed low like the purr of water on his paddle-blade. "Faith, lad," cried the priest, who had been unnaturally silent, because, I suppose, he was among aliens to his faith, "faith, lad, 'tis a good heart ye have, if ye'd but cut loose from the binding past. May this night put an end to your devil pranks!" * * * * * And that night did! CHAPTER XXVIII THE LAST OF LOUIS' ADVENTURES I think, perhaps, the reason good enterprises fail so often where evil ventures succeed, is that the good man blunders forward, trusting to the merits of his cause, where the evil manipulator proceeds warily as a cat over broken glass. And so, altogether apart from his services as guide, I felt Louis Laplante's presence on the river a distinct advantage. "The Lord is with us, lad. She shall be delivered! The Lord is with us; but don't you bungle His plans!" ejaculated Father Holland for the twentieth time; and each time the French trapper looked waggishly over his shoulder at me and winked. "Bungle! Pah!" Louis clapped his paddle athwart the canoe and laughed a low, sly, defiant laugh. "Bungle! Pah! Catch Louis bungle his cards, ha, ha! Trumps! He play trumps--he hold his hand low--careless--nodings in it--he keep quiet--nodings worth play in his hand--but his sleeve--ha, ha!" and Louis laughed softly and winked at the full moon. "The daughter of L'Aigle, she cuff Louis, she slap his cheek, she call him lump--lout--slouch! Ha, ha!--Louis no fool--he pare the claws of L'Aigle to-night!" At that, Little Fellow's stolid face took on a vindictive gleam, and he snapped out something in Indian tongue which set Louis to laughing. Suddenly the Indian's paddle was suspended in mid-air, and Little Fellow bent over the prow, gazing at the moon-tracked water. "_Sacredie!_" cried Louis, catching up water that trickled through his fingers, "'tis dried rabbit thong! They are ahead of us! They have passed while that Scotch mule was balk! We must catch the Englishman," and he began hitting out with his paddle at a great rate. We had overtaken Mr. Sutherland's canoe within half an hour of Louis' discovery, and Eric wheeled about with a querulous demand. "What's wrong? Are they ahead? I thought you said they were behind," and he turned suspiciously to Laplante. "You thought wrong," said Louis, ever facile with subterfuges. "You thought wrong, Mister High-and-Mighty! Camp here and watch; they come before morning!" "No lies to me," shouted Eric, becoming uncontrollably excited. "If you mislead us, your life shall----" "Pig-head! I no save your wife for back chin! Camp here, I say," and Louis' fitful temper began to show signs of sulking. "For goodness' sake, Eric, do what you're told! We've made a bad enough business of it----" "Give the Frenchman a chance! Do what you're told, I say, ye blunderers! Troth, the Lord Himself couldn't bring success to such blundering idiots," was Father Holland's comment. "I'll take na orders frae meddlesome papists," began the Scotchman; but Little Fellow had forcibly turned the prow of the canoe shoreward. I gave them a shove with my paddle. Frances took the cue, and while her father was yet scolding raised her paddle and had them close to the river bank. "Get your tent up here," I called to conciliate them. "Then come to the bank and watch for the Indians." A bit of clean gravel ran out from the clay cliff. "That's the ground," said I, as the other canoe bumped over the pebbles; and I stopped paddling and dangled my hand in the water. Something in the dark drifted wet and soft against my fingers. Ordinarily such an incident would not have alarmed me; but instantly a shudder of apprehension ran through my frame. I scarce had courage to look into the river lest the white face of a woman should appear through the watery depths. Clutching the water-soaked tangle, I jerked it up. Something gave with a rip, and my hand was full of shawl fringe. "What's that, Rufus?" asked Father Holland. "Don't know." I motioned him to be silent and held it up in the moonlight. Distinctly it was, or had been, red fringe. "Do you think--" he began, then stopped. Our keel had rubbed bottom and Hamilton was springing out of the other canoe. "Yes, I do," I replied, choking with dread. "This is too terrible! He'll kill himself! Go up the bank with him! Keep him busy at the tent! Little Fellow and I'll pole for it. The water's shallow there----" "What do _you_ think?" said the priest to Laplante. "T'ink! I never t'ink! I finds out." But all the same, Louis' assurance was shaken and he peered searchingly into the river. "Aren't you coming? What's your plan?" called Eric. "Certainly we are, but get this truck to higher ground, will you?" I hoisted out the camp trappings. "I want to paddle out for something." "What is it?" he asked. "Something lost out there. I lost it out of my hand." Frances Sutherland, I know, suspected trouble from the alarm which I could not keep out of my speech; for she pressed to the water's edge. "Get the tent ready," I urged. "What's the meaning of this mystery?" persisted Hamilton sharply. "What have you lost?" "Don't press him too closely. Faith, it may be a love token," interjected Father Holland, as he stepped ashore; but he whispered in my ear as he passed, "You're wrong, lad! You're on the wrong track!" I leaped back to the canoe, Little Fellow and the Frenchman following, and we paddled to the shallows where I had caught the fringe. I prodded the soft mud below and trailed the paddle back and forward over the clay bottom. Louis did likewise; but in vain. Only soft ooze came up on the blade. Then Little Fellow stripped and dived. Of course it was dark under water, as it always is dark under the muddy Red, and the Indian could not feel a thing from which fringe could have ripped. Had my jerk disturbed whatever it was and sent it rolling down to mid-current? I asked Father Holland this when I came back. "Tush, faint-heart," he muttered, drawing me aside. "'Tis only a trial of your faith." I said something about trials of faith which I shall not repeat here, but which the majority of people, who are on the tenter-hooks of such trials, have said for themselves. "Faith! Pah!" exclaimed Louis, joining our whispered conference, while Eric and Mr. Sutherland were hoisting a tent. "That shawl, it mean nodings of things heavenly! It only mean rag stuck in the mud and reds nearabouts here! I have told the Great Bear and his snarl Englishman the Indians not come till morning. They get tent ready and watch! You follow Louis, he lead you to camp. The priest--he good for say a little prayer; the Indian for fight; Louis--for swear; Rufus--to snatch the Englishwoman, he good at snatching the fair, ha-ha." He darted to the shore, calling Little Fellow from the canoe and leaving Father Holland and me to follow as best we could. "We'll be back soon, Eric," I shouted. "We're going to get the lie of the land. Keep watch here," and I broke into a run to keep up with the French trapper and the Indian, who were leading into the woods away from the river. I could hear Father Holland puffing behind like a wind-blown racer. Abruptly the priest came to a stop. "By all the saints," he ordered. "Go back to the tent!" I turned. A white form emerged from the foliage and Frances was beside me. "May I not come?" she asked. "No--dearest, there will be fighting." "No--Lord--no," panted Father Holland coming up to us. "We're not swapping one woman for another. What would Rufus do without ye?" "You are going for Miriam?" she questioned, holding my hand. "God speed you and bring you back safely!" "Say rather--bring Miriam," and I unfastened the clinging hand almost roughly. "Come on, slugs, sloths, laggards," commanded Laplante impatiently, and we dashed into the thick of the woods, leaving the white figure alone against the shadowy thicket. She called out something, of which I heard only two words, "Miriam" and "Rufus"; but I knew those names were uttered in supplication and they filled my heart with daring hope. Surely, we must succeed--for the Little Statue's prayers were following me--and I bounded on with a faith as buoyant as the priest's blind trust. Thus we ran through the moon-shafted woods pursuing the flitting, lithe figures of trapper and Indian, who scarce disturbed a fern leaf, while Father Holland and I floundered through the underbrush like ramping elephants. Then I found myself panting as hard as the priest and clinging to his arm for support; for illness had taken all the bravery out of my muscles, like champagne uncorked and left in the heat. "Brace yourself, lad," said the priest. "The Lord is with us, but don't you bungle." A long, low whistle came through the dark, a whistle that was such a perfect imitation of the night hawk, no spy might detect it for the signal of a runner. After the whistle, was the soft, ominous hiss of a serpent in the grass; and we were abreast of Louis Laplante and Little Fellow standing stock still sniffing forward as hounds might scent a foe. "She may not be there! She may be drown;" whispered Louis, "but we creep on, quiet like hare, no noise like deer, stiller than mountain cat, hist--what that?" The night breeze set the leaves all atremble--clapping their hands, as the Indians call it--and a whiff of burning bark tainted the air. "That's it," said I under my breath. The smoke was blowing from wooded flats between us and the river. Cautiously parting interlaced branches and as carefully replacing each bough to prevent backward snap, we turned down the sloping bank. I suppose necessity's training in the wilds must produce the same result in man and beast; and from that fact, faddists of the various "osophies" and "ologies" may draw what conclusions they please; but I affirm that no panther could creep on its prey with more stealth, caution and cunning than the trapper and Indian on the enemy's camp. I have seen wild creatures approaching a foe set each foot down with noiseless tread; but I have never seen such a combination of instincts, brute and human, as Louis and Little Fellow displayed. The Indian felt the ground for tracks and pitfalls and sticks, that might crackle. Louis, with his whole face pricked forward, trusted more to his eyes and ears and that sense of "feel," which is--contradictory as it may seem--utterly intangible. Once the Indian picked up a stick freshly broken. This was examined by both, and the Indian smelt it and tried his tongue on the broken edge. Then both fell on all fours, creeping under the branches of the thicket and pausing at every pace. "Would that I had taken lessons in forest lore before I went among the Sioux," I thought to myself. Now I knew what had been incomprehensible before--why all my well-laid plans had been detected. A wind rustled through the foliage. That was in our favor; for in spite of our care the leaves crushed and crinkled beneath us. At intervals a glimmer of light shone from the beach. Louis paused and listened so intently our breathing was distinctly audible. A vague murmur of low voices--like the "talking of the trees" in Little Fellow's language--floated up from the river; and in the moonlight I saw Laplante laugh noiselessly. Trees stood farther apart on the flats and brushwood gave place to a forest of ferns, that concealed us in their deep foliage; but the thick growth also hid the enemy, and we knew not at what moment we might emerge in full view of the camp. So we stretched out flat, spying through the fern stalks before we parted the stems to draw ourselves on a single pace. Presently, the murmur separated into distinct voices, with much low laughing and the bitter jeers that make up Indian mirth. We could hear the crackling of the fire, and wormed forward like caterpillars. There was a glare of light through the ferns, and Louis stopped. We all three pulled abreast of him. Lying there as a cat watches a mouse, we parted first one and then another of the fronds till the Indian encampment could be clearly seen. "Is that the tribe?" I whispered; but Louis gripped my arm in a vice that forbade speech. The camp was not a hundred feet away. Fire blazed in the centre. Poles were up for wigwams, and already skins had been overlaid, completing several lodges. Men lay in lazy attitudes about the fire. Squaws were taking what was left of the evening meal and slave-women were putting things to rights for the night. Sitting apart, with hands tied, were other slaves, chiefly young women taken in some recent fray and not yet trusted unbound. Among these was one better clad than the others. Her wrists were tied; but her hands managed to conceal her face, which was bowed low. In her lap was a sleeping child. Was this Miriam? Children were with the other captives; but to my eyes this woman's torn shawl appeared reddish in the fire glow. "Let's go boldly up and offer to buy the slaves," I suggested; but Louis' grip tightened forbiddingly and Little Fellow's forefinger pointed towards a big creature, who was ordering the others about. 'Twas a woman of giant, bronzed form, with the bold stride of a conquering warrior and a trophy-decked belt about her waist. The fire shone against her girdle and the stones in the leather strap glowed back blood-red. Father Holland breathed only one word in my ear, "Agates;" and the fire of the red stones flashed like some mystic flame through my being till brain and heart were hot with vengeance and my hands burned as if every nerve from palm to finger-tips were a blade point reaching out to destroy that creature of cruelty. "Diable's squaw," I gasped out, beside myself with anger and joy. "Let me but within arm's length of her----" "Hold quiet," the priest hissed low and angry, gripping my shoulder like a steel winch. "'Vengeance is mine,' saith the Lord! See that you save the white woman! Leave the evil-doer to God! The Lord's with us, but I tell you, don't you bungle!" "Bungle!" I could have shouted out defiance to the whole band. "Let go!" I ordered, trying to struggle up; for the iron hand still held me. "Let go, or I'll----" But Louis Laplante's palm was forcibly slapped across my mouth and his other hand he laid significantly on his dagger, giving me one threatening look. By the firelight I saw his lips mechanically counting the numbers of the enemy and mechanically I audited his count. "Twenty men, thirty squaws and the slaves," said he under his breath. An Indian left the fire and approached the captives. "See! Watch! Is that woman Miriam?" demanded the priest. "She'll take her hands from her face now." "Of course it is!" I was furious at the restraint and hesitancy; but as I said before, the experienced intriguer proceeds as warily as a cat. "You not sure--not for sure--_Mon Dieu_--no," muttered Laplante; and he was right. With the forest shadows across the captives, it was impossible to distinguish the color of their faces. Taking a knife from his belt, the Indian cut the cords of all but the woman with her hands across her face. A girl brought refuse of food; but this woman took no notice, never moving her hands. Thereupon the young squaw sneered and the Indian idlers jeered loud in harsh, strident laughter. This roused the big squaw. She strode up, Little Fellow all the while with glistening teeth following her motions as a cat's head turns to a mouse. With the flat of her hand she struck the silent woman, who leaped up and ran to a wigwam. In speechless fear, the child had scrambled to its feet and backed away from the angry group towards the ferns; but the light was fitful and shadowy, and we could recognize neither woman, nor child. "I can't stand this any longer," I declared. "I must know if that's Miriam. Let's draw closer." Father Holland and I crawled stealthily to the very border of fern growth, Louis and the Indian lying still and muttering over some plan of action. "Hist," said the priest, "we'll try the child." Unlike naked Indian children, the little thing had a loose garment banded about its waist; but its feet were bare and its hair as raven black as that of any young savage. It stood like some woodland elf in the maze of heavy sleepiness, at each harsh word from the camp, sidling shyly closer to our hiding-place. We dragged forward till I could have touched the child, but feared to startle it. Putting his hand out slowly, Father Holland caught the little creature's arm. It gave a start, jerked back and looked in mute wonderment at our strange hiding-place. "Pretty boy," crooned the priest in low, coaxing tones, gently tightening his hold. "Is it white?" I whispered. "I can't see." "Good little man," he went on, slowly folding his hands about it. Drawing quickly back, he lifted the child completely into his arms. "Is boy sleepy?" he asked. "Call him 'Eric,'" I urged. "Is Eric sleepy?" The child's head fell wearily against the priest's shoulder. Snuggling closer, he lisped back in perfect English, "Eric's tired." At once Father Holland's free hand caught my arm as if he feared I might rush out. For a moment neither of us spoke. Then he said, "Give me your coat." I ripped off my buckskin-smock. Wrapping the sleeping boy about, the priest laid him gently among the ferns. "Where's the mother?" asked Father Holland with a catching intake of breath. I pointed to the wigwam. The big squaw had come out, leaving Miriam alone and was engaged in noisy dispute with the men. Louis and Little Fellow had now wriggled abreast of us. "Ha, ha, _mon brave_--your time, it come now! You save the white woman! I pay my devoirs to the lady, ha, ha--I owe her much--I pay you both back with one stroke, one grand stroke. Little Fellow, he watch for spring surprise and help us both! Swoop--snitch--snatch--snap her up! 'Tis done--tra-la!" and Louis drew up for all the world like a tiger about to spring, but the priest drew him down. "Listen," commanded the churchman, in the slow, tense way of one who intended to be obeyed. "I'll go back and come up by the beach. I'll brow-beat them and tongue-whack them for having slaves. They'll offer fight; so'll I. They'll all run down; that's your chance. Wait till they all go. I'll make them, every one. That's your chance. You rush! Try that! If it fail, in the name of the Lord, have y'r weapons ready--and the Lord be with us!" "They'll kill you," I protested. "Let me go!" "You? What about Frances?" "Pah!" said Louis. "I go myself--I trick--I trap--I snare 'em----" "Hush to ye, ye braggart," interrupted the priest. "Gillespie is as flabby as dough from an illness. 'Tis here you sit quiet, and help with Miriam as ye'd save y'r soul! Howld down with y'r bouncing nonsense, lad, and the saints be with ye; for it's a fight there'll be, and there is the fightin' stuff of a soldier in ye! Never turn to me--mind ye never turn to help me, or the curse of the fool be on y'r head--and the Lord be with us!" "Amen." But I spoke to vacancy. While a rising wind set the branches overhead grating noisily, he had risen and darted away. Louis Laplante, contrary to the priest's orders, also rose and disappeared in the woods. Little Fellow still lay by me, but I could not rely on him for intelligent action, and there came over me that sense of aloneness in danger, which I knew so well in the Mandane country. The child's slightest cry might alarm the camp, and I shivered when he breathed heavily, or turned in his sleep. The Indians might miss the boy and search the woods. Instinctively my hand was on my pistol. It was well to be as near Miriam's tent as possible; and I, too, took advantage of the wind to change my place. I moved back, signalling the Indian to follow, and skirted round the open till I was directly opposite Miriam's wigwam. Why had Louis gone off, and why did he not come back? Had he gone to keep secret guard over the priest, or to decoy the vigilant Sioux woman? In his intentions I had confidence enough, but not in his judgment. At that moment my speculations were interrupted by a loud shout from the beach. Every Indian in camp started up as if hostiles had uttered their war-cry. "Hallo, there! Hallo! Hallo!" called the priest. Indians dashed to the river, while bedraggled squaws and naked children rushed from wigwams and stood in clamorous groups between the lodges and the water. The topmost branches of the trees swayed back and forward in the wind, alternately throwing shafts of moonlight and shadows across the opening of Miriam's wigwam. When the light flooded the tent a solitary, white-faced form appeared in dark, sharp outline. The bare arms were tied at the wrists, and beat aimlessly through the darkness. And there was a sound of piteous weeping. Should I make the final, desperate dash now? "Don't bungle His plans," came the priest's warning; and I waited. The squaws were very near; and the angular figure of Diable's wife hung on the rear of the group. She was scolding like a termagant in the Sioux tongue, ordering the other women to the fray; but still she kept back, looking over her shoulder suspiciously at Miriam's tent, uncertain whether to go or stay. We had failed in every other attempt to rescue Miriam. If the Lord--as the priest believed--had planned the sufferer's aid, His instruments had blundered badly. There must be no more feeble-fingering. "Thieves! Thieves! Cut-throats!" bawled Father Holland in a storm of abuse. "Ye rascals," he thundered, cutting the air with his stick and purposely backing away from the camp to draw the Indians off. Then his voice was lost in a chorus of shrill screams. The moonlight shone across the wigwam opening. The captive had heard the English tongue, and was listening. But the Sioux squaw had also heard and recognized the voice of a former prisoner. She ran forward a pace, then hesitated, looking back doubtfully. As she turned her head, out from the gloom of the thicket with the leap of a lynx, lithe and swift, sprang the crouching form of Louis Laplante. I felt Little Fellow all in a tremor by my side; the tremor not of fear, but of the couchant panther; and he uttered the most vicious snarl I have ever heard from human throat. Louis alighted neatly and noiselessly, directly behind the Sioux woman. She must have felt his presence, for she turned round and round expectantly. Louis, silent and elusive as a shadow, circled about her, tripping from side to side as she turned her head. But the fire betrayed him. She had wheeled towards the forest as if spying for the unseen presence among the foliage, and Louis deftly dodged behind. The move put him between the fire and his antagonist, and the full profile of his queer, bending figure was shadowed clear past the woman. She turned like some vengeful, malign goddess, and I thought it all up with the daring trapper; but he doffed his red toque and swept the advancing fury the low bow of a French courtier. Then he drew himself erect and laughed insolently in the woman's face. His careless assurance allayed her suspicions. "Oh, 'tis you!" she growled. "'Tis I, fleet-foot, winged messenger, humble slave," laughed Louis, with another grotesque bow; but the rogue had cleverly put himself between the squaw and Miriam's tent. I should have rushed to Miriam's rescue long since, instead of watching this by-play between trapper and mountain cat; but as the foray waxed hotter with the priest, the young braves had run back to their tents for guns and clubs. "Stand off, ye scoundrels," roared the priest, in tones of genuine anger; for the Indians were closing threateningly about him. "Stand back, ye knaves, ye sons of Satan," and every soul but Louis Laplante and the Sioux squaw ran with querulous shouts to the river. "Cruel! Cruel! Cruel!" sobbed a voice from the wigwam; and there was a straining to break the thongs which bound her. "Cruel! Cruel! Hast Thou no pity? O my God! Hast Thou no pity? Shall not a sparrow fall to the ground without Thy knowledge? Is this Thy pity? O my God!" The voice broke in a torrent of heart-piercing cries. I could endure it no longer. "Have at ye, ye villains! Come out like men! Now, me brave bhoys, show the stuff that's in ye! A fig for y'r valor if ye fail! The curse o' the Lord on the coward heart! Back with ye; ye red divils! Out with ye, Rufus! The Lord shall deliver the captive! What, 'an wuld ye dare strike a servant o' the Lord? Let the deliverer appear, I say," he shouted, weaving in commands to us as he dealt stout blows about him and receded down the river bank. "Take that--and that--and that," I heard him shout, with a rat-tat-too of sharp thuds from the staff accompanying each word. Then I knew the quarrel on the beach was at its height; and Louis Laplante was still foiling the Sioux's approach to Miriam's wigwam like a deft fencer. "Follow me, Little Fellow," I commanded. "Have your knife ready," and I had not finished speaking when three shrill whistles came from Louis. 'Twas his old-time signal of danger. Above the hubbub at the river the Sioux squaw was screaming to the braves. Bounding from concealment, I tore off the layer roofing of the wigwam, plunged through the tapering pole frame, shaking the frail lean-to like a house of cards, and was beside Miriam. Again I heard Louis' whistle and again the squaw's angry scream; but Little Fellow had followed on my heels and stood with knife-blade glittering bare at the tent-entrance. "Hush," I whispered, slashing my dagger through the thongs around her hands and cutting the rope that held her to the central stake. "We've found you at last. Come! Come!" and I caught her up. "O my God!" she cried. "At last! At last! Where is the child? They have taken little Eric!" "We have him safe! His father is waiting! Don't hesitate, Miriam!" "Run, Little Fellow," I ordered, "Across the camp. Get the child," and I sprang from the wigwam, which crashed to the ground behind me. I had thought to save skirting the woods by a run across the camping-ground; but when my Indian dashed for the child and the Sioux saw me undefended with the white woman in my arms, she made a desperate lunge at Laplante and called at the top of her voice for the braves. Louis, with weapons in hand, still kept between the fury and Miriam; but I think his French chivalry must have been restraining him. Though the Sioux offered him many opportunities and was doing her best to sheathe a knife in his heart, he seemed to refrain from using either dagger or pistol. An insolent laugh was on his face. The life-and-death game which he was playing was to his daring spirit something novel and amusing. "The lady is--perturbed," he laughed, dodging a thrust at his neck; "she fences wide, tra-la," this as the barrel of his pistol parried a drive of her knife; "she hits afar--ho--ho--not so fast, my fury--not so furious, my fair--zipp, ha--ha--ha--another miss--another miss--the lady's a-miss," for the squaw's weapon struck fire against his own. "Look out for the braves, have a care," I shouted; for a dozen young bucks were running up behind to the woman's aid. "Ha--ha---_prenez garde_--my tiger-cat has kittens," he laughed; and he looked over his shoulder. That backward look gave the fury her opportunity. In the firelight blue steel flashed bright. The Frenchman reeled, threw up his arms, and fell. One sharp, deep, broken draw of breath, and with a laugh on his lips, Louis Laplante died as he had lived. Then the tiger-cat leaped over the dead form at Miriam and me. What happened next I can no more set down consecutively than I can distinguish the parts in a confused picture with a red-eyed fury striking at me, naked Indians brandishing war-clubs, flashes of powder smoke, a circle of gesticulating, screeching dark faces in the background, my Indian fighting like a very fiend, and a pale-faced woman with a little curly-headed boy at her feet standing against the woods. "Run, _Monsieur_; I keep bad Indians off," urged Little Fellow. "Run--save white squaw and papoose--run, _Monsieur_." Now, whatever may be said to the contrary, however brave two men may be, they cannot stand off a horde of armed savages. I let go my whole pistol-charge, which sent the red demons to a distance and intended dashing for the woods, when the Sioux woman put her hand in her pocket and hurled a flint head at Little Fellow. The brave Indian sprang aside and the thing fell to the ground. With it fell a crumpled sheet of paper. I heard rather than saw Little Fellow's crouching leap. Two forms rolled over and over in the camp ashes; and with Miriam on my shoulder and the child under the other arm, I had dashed into the thicket of the upper ground. Overhead tossed the trees in a swelling wind, and up from the shore rushed the din of wrangling tongues, screaming and swearing in a clamor of savage wrath. The wind grew more boisterous as I ran. Behind the Indian cries died faintly away; but still with a strength not my own, always keeping the river in view, and often mistaking the pointed branches, which tore clothing and flesh from head to feet, for the hands of enemies--I fled as if wolves had been pursuing. Again and again sobbed Miriam--"O, my God! At last! At last! Thanks be to God! At last! At last!" We were on a hillock above our camp. Putting Miriam down, I gave her my hand and carried the child. When I related our long, futile search and told her that Eric was waiting, agitation overcame her, and I said no more till we were within a few feet of the tents. "Please wait." I left her a short distance from the camp that I might go and forewarn Eric. Frances Sutherland met me in the way and read the news which I could not speak. "Have you--oh--have you?" she asked. "Who is that?" and she pointed to the child in my arms. "Where's Hamilton? Where's your father?" I demanded, trembling from exhaustion and all undone. "Mr. Hamilton is in his tent priming a gun. Father is watching the river. And oh, Rufus! is it really so?" she cried, catching, sight of Miriam's stooped, ragged figure. Then she darted past me. Both her arms encircled Miriam, and the two began weeping on each other's shoulders after the fashion of women. I heard a cough inside Hamilton's tent. Going forward, I lifted the canvas flap and found Eric sitting gloomily on a pile of robes. "Eric," I cried, in as steady a voice as I command, which indeed, was shaking sadly, and I held the child back that Hamilton might not see, "Eric, old man, I think at last we've run the knaves down." "Hullo!" he exclaimed with a start, not knowing what I had said. "Are you men back? Did you find out anything?" "Why--yes," said I: "we found this," and I signalled Frances to bring Miriam. This was no way to prepare a man for a shock that might unhinge reason; but my mind had become a vacuum and the warm breath of the child nestling about my neck brought a mist before my eyes. "What did you say you had found?" asked Hamilton, looking up from his gun to the tent-way; for the morning light already smote through the dark. "This," I said, lifting the canvas a second time and drawing Miriam forward. I could but place the child in her arms. She glided in. The flap fell. There was the smothered outcry of one soul--rent by pain. "Miriam--Miriam--my God--Miriam!" "Come away," whispered a choky voice by my side, and Frances linked her arm through mine. Then the tent was filled and the night air palpitated with sounds of anguished weeping. And with tears raining from my eyes, I hastened away from what was too sacred for any ear but a pitying God's. That had come to my life which taught me the depths of Hamilton's suffering. "Dearest," said I, "now we understand both the pain and the joy of loving," and I kissed her white brow. CHAPTER XXIX THE PRIEST JOURNEYS TO A FAR COUNTRY Again the guest-chamber of the Sutherland home was occupied. How came it that a Catholic priest lay under a Protestant roof? How comes it that the new west ever ruthlessly strips reality naked of creed and prejudice and caste, ever breaks down the barrier relics of a mouldering past, ever forces recognition of men as individuals with individual rights, apart from sect and class and unmerited prerogatives? The Catholic priest was wounded. The Protestant home was near. Manhood in Protestant garb recognized manhood in Roman cassock. Necessity commanded. Prejudice obeyed as it ever obeys in that vast land of untrameled freedom. So Father Holland was cared for in the Protestant home with a tenderness which Mr. Sutherland would have repudiated. For my part, I have always thanked God for that leveling influence of the west. It pulls the fools from high places and awards only one crown--merit. It was Little Fellow who had brought Father Holland, wounded and insensible, from the Sioux camp. "What of Louis Laplante's body, Little Fellow?" I asked, as soon as I had seen all the others set out for the settlement with Father Holland lying unconscious in the bottom of the canoe. "The white man, I buried in the earth as the white men do--deep in the clay to the roots of the willow, so I buried the Frenchman," answered the Indian. "And the squaw, I weighted with stones at her feet; for they trod on the captives. And with stones I weighted her throat, which was marked like the deer's when the mountain cat springs. With the stones at her throat and her feet, the squaw, I rolled into the water." "What, Little Fellow," I cried, remembering how I had seen him roll over and over through the camp-fire, with his hands locked on the Sioux woman's throat, "did you kill the daughter of L'Aigle?" "Non, _Monsieur_; Little Fellow no bad Indian. But the squaw threw a flint and the flint was poison, and my hands were on her throat, and the squaw fell into the ashes, and when Little Fellow arose she was dead. Did she not slay La Robe Noire? Did she not slay the white man before Monsieur's eyes? Did she not bind the white woman? Did she not drag me over the ground like a dead stag? So my fingers caught hard in her throat, and when I arose she lay dead in the ashes. So I fled and hid till the tribe left. So I shoved her into the water and pushed her under, and she sank like a heavy rock. Then I found the priest." I had no reproaches to offer Little Fellow. He had only obeyed the savage instincts of a savage race, exacting satisfaction after his own fashion. "The squaw threw a flint. The flint was poison. Also the squaw threw this at Little Fellow, white man's paper with signs which are magic," and the Indian handed me the sheet, which had fallen from the woman's pocket as she hurled her last weapon. Without fear of the magic so terrifying to him, I took the dirty, crumpled missive and unfolded it. The superscription of Quebec citadel was at the top. With overwhelming revulsion came memory of poor Louis Laplante lying at the camp-fire in the gorge tossing a crumpled piece of paper wide of the flames, where the Sioux squaw surreptitiously picked it up. The paper was foul and tattered almost beyond legibility; but through the stains I deciphered in delicate penciling these words: "In memory of last night's carouse in Lower Town, (one favor deserves another, you know, and I got you free of that scrape), spike the gun of my friend the enemy. If R-f-s G--p--e, E. H--l-t-n, J--k MacK, or any of that prig gang come prying round your camp for news, put them on the wrong track. I owe the whole ---- ---- set a score. Pay it for me, and we'll call the loan square." No name was signed; but the scene in the Quebec club three years before, when Eric had come to blows with Colonel Adderly, explained not only the authorship but Louis' treachery. 'Tis the misfortune of errant rogues like poor Louis that to get out of one scrape ever involves them in a worse. Now I understood the tumult of contradictory emotions that had wrought upon him when I had saved his life and he had resolved to undo the wrong to Miriam. Little Fellow put the small canoe to rights, and I had soon joined the others at the Sutherland homestead. But for two days the priest lay as one dead, neither moaning nor speaking. On the morning of the third, though he neither opened his eyes nor gave sign of recognition, he asked for bread. Then my heart gave a great bound of hope--for surely a man desiring food is recovering!--and I sent Frances Sutherland to him and went out among the trees above the river. That sense of resilient relief which a man feels on discharging an impossible task, or throwing off too heavy a burden, came over me. Miriam was rescued, the priest restored, and I dowered with God's best gift--the love of a noble, fair woman. Hard duty's compulsion no longer spurred me; but my thoughts still drove in a wild whirl. There was a glassy reflection of a faded moon on the water, and daybreak came rustling through the trees which nodded and swayed overhead. A twittering of winged things arose in the branches, first only the cadence of a robin's call, an oriole's flute-whistle, the stirring wren's mellow note. Then, suddenly, out burst from the leafed sprays a chorus of song that might have rivaled angels' melodies. The robin's call was a gust of triumph. The oriole's strain lilted exultant and a thousand throats gushed out golden notes. "Now God be praised for love and beauty and goodness--and above all--for Frances--for Frances," were the words that every bird seemed to be singing; though, indeed, the interpretation was only my heart's response. I know not how it was, but I found myself with hat off and bowed head, feeling a gratitude which words could not frame--for the splendor of the universe and the glory of God. "Rufus," called a voice more musical to my ear than any bird song; and Frances was at my side with a troubled face. "He's conscious and talking, but I can't understand what he means. Neither can Miriam and Eric. I wish you would come in." I found the priest pale as the pillows against which he leaned, with glistening eyes gazing fixedly high above the lintel of the door. Miriam, with her snow-white hair and sad-lined face, was fanning the air before him. At the other side stood Eric with the boy in his arms. Mr. Sutherland and I entered the room abreast. For a moment his wistful gaze fell on the group about the bed. First he looked at Eric and the child, then at Miriam, and from Miriam to me, then back to the child. The meaning of it all dawned, gleamed and broke in full knowledge upon him; and his face shone as one transfigured. "The Lord was with us," he muttered, stroking Miriam's white hair. "Praise be to God! Now I can die in peace----" "No, you can't, Father," I cried impetuously. "Ye irriverent ruffian," he murmured with a flash of old mirth and a gentle pressure of my hand. "Ye irriverent ruffian. Peace! Peace! I die in peace," and again the wistful eyes gazed above the door. "Rufus," he whispered softly, "where are they taking me?" "Taking you?" I asked in surprise; but Frances Sutherland's finger was on her lips, and I stopped myself before saying more. "Troth, yes, lad, where are they taking me? The northern tribes have heard not a word of the love of the Lord; and I must journey to a far, far country." At that the boy set up some meaningless child prattle. The priest heard him and listened. "Father," asked the child in the language of Indians when referring to a priest, "Father, if the good white father goes to a far, far away, who'll go to northern tribes?" "And a little child shall lead them," murmured the priest, thinking he, himself, had been addressed and feeling out blindly for the boy. Eric placed the child on the bed, and Father Holland's wasted hands ran through the lad's tangled curls. "A little child shall lead them," he whispered. "Lord, now lettest Thou Thy servant depart in peace, for mine eyes have seen Thy salvation. A light to lighten the Gentiles--and a little child shall lead them." Then I first noticed the filmy glaze, as of glass, spreading slowly across the priest's white face. Blue lines were on his temples and his lips were drawn. A cold chill struck to my heart, like icy steel. Too well I read the signs and knew the summons; and what can love, or gratitude, do in the presence of that summons? Miriam's face was hidden in her hands and she was weeping silently. "The northern tribes know not the Lord and I go to a far country; but a little child shall lead them!" repeated the priest. "Indeed, Sir, he shall be dedicated to God," sobbed Miriam. "I shall train him to serve God among the northern tribes. Do not worry! God will raise up a servant----" But her words were not heeded by the priest. "Rufus, lad," he said, gazing afar as before, "Lift me up," and I took him in my arms. "My sight is not so good as it was," he whispered. "There's a dimness before my face, lad! Can _you_ see anything up there?" he asked, staring longingly forward. "Faith, now, what might they all be doing with stars for diadems? What for might the angels o' Heaven be doin' going up and down betwane the blue sky and the green earth? Faith, lad, 'tis daft ye are, a-changin' of me clothes! Lave the black gown, lad! 'Tis the badge of poverty and He was poor and knew not where to lay His head of a weary night! Lave the black gown, I say! What for wu'd a powr Irish priest be doin' a-wearin' of radiant white? Where are they takin' me, Rufus? Not too near the light, lad! I ask but to kneel at the Master's feet an' kiss the hem of His robe!" There was silence in the room, but for the subdued sobbing of Miriam. Frances had caught the priest's wrists in both her hands, and had buried her face on the white coverlet. With his back to the bed, Mr. Sutherland stood by the window and I knew by the heaving of his angular shoulders that flood-gates of grief had opened. There was silence; but for the hard, sharp, quick, short breathings of the priest. A crested bird hopped to the window-sill with a chirp, then darted off through the quivering air with a glint of sunlight from his flashing wings. I heard the rustle of morning wind and felt the priest's face growing cold against my cheek. "I must work the Master's work," he whispered, in short broken breaths, "while it is day--for the night cometh--when no man--can work.--Don't hold me back, lad--for I must go--to a far, far country--It's cold, cold, Rufus--the way is--rugged--my feet are slipping--slipping--give a hand--lad!--Praise to God--there's a resting-place--somewhere!--Farewell--boy--be brave--farewell--I may not come back soon--but I must--journey--to--a----far----far----" There was a little gasp for breath. His head felt forward and Frances sobbed out, "He is gone! He is gone!" And the warmth of pulsing life in the form against my shoulder gave place to the rigid cold of motionless death. "May the Lord God of Israel receive the soul of His righteous servant," cried Mr. Sutherland in awesome tones. With streaming eyes he came forward and helped me to lay the priest back. Then we all passed out from that chamber, made sacred by an invisible presence. * * * * * VALEDICTORY. 'Twas twenty years after Father Holland's death that a keen-eyed, dark-skinned, young priest came from Montreal on his way to Athabasca. This was Miriam's son. To-day it is he, the missionary famous in the north land, who passing back and forward between his lonely mission in the Athabasca and the headquarters of his order, comes to us and occupies the guest-chamber in our little, old-fashioned, vine-grown cottage. The retaking of Fort Douglas virtually closed the bitter war between Hudson's Bay and Nor'-Westers. To both companies the conflict had proved ruinous. Each was as anxious as the other for the terms of peace by which the great fur-trading rivals were united a few years after the massacre of Seven Oaks. So ended the despotic rule of gentlemen adventurers in the far north. The massacre turned the attention of Britain to this unknown land and the daring heroism of explorers has given place to the patient nation-building of multitudes who follow the pioneer. Such is the record of a day that is done. 
42279	----	available by Internet Archive (https://archive.org) Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this file which includes the numerous original illustrations. See 42279-h.htm or 42279-h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/42279/42279-h/42279-h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/42279/42279-h.zip) Images of the original pages are available through Internet Archive. See https://archive.org/details/cu31924028902216 Transcriber's note: Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_). A list of corrections will be found at the end of the e-book. [Illustration: LORD STRATHCONA AND MOUNT ROYAL _Present Governor of the Hudson's Bay Company_.] THE GREAT COMPANY Being a History of the Honourable Company of Merchants-Adventurers Trading into Hudson's Bay by BECKLES WILLSON With an Introduction by Lord Strathcona And Mount Royal Present Governor of the Hudson's Bay Company With Original Drawings by Arthur Heming and Maps, Plans and Illustrations New York Dodd, Mead & Company 1900 Entered according to Act of the Parliament of Canada, in the year one thousand eight hundred and ninety-nine, by the Copp, Clark Company, Limited, Toronto, in the Office of the Minister of Agriculture. TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE SIR WILFRID LAURIER, G.C.M.G., TO WHOSE GENEROUS SUGGESTION AND CONTINUED ENCOURAGEMENT IS SO LARGELY DUE THE COMPILATION OF THESE ANNALS. PREFACE. Praiseworthy as the task is of unifying the scattered elements of our Canadian story, yet it will hardly be maintained that such historical studies ought not to be preceded by others of a more elementary character. Herein, then, are chronicled the annals of an institution coherent and compact--an isolated unit. The Hudson's Bay Company witnessed the French dominion in Northamerica rise to its extreme height, decline and disappear; it saw new colonies planted by Britain; it saw them quarrel with the parent State, and themselves become transformed into States. Wars came and passed--European Powers on this continent waxed and waned, rose and faded away; remote forests were invaded by loyal subjects who erected the wilderness into opulent provinces. Change, unceasing, never-ending change, has marked the history of this hemisphere of ours; yet there is one force, one institution, which survived nearly all conditions and all _régimes_. For two full centuries the Hudson's Bay Company existed, unshorn of its greatness, and endures still--the one enduring pillar in the New World mansion. In pondering the early records of the Company, one truth will hardly escape observation. It did not go forth amongst the savages with the Bible in its hand. Elsewhere, an old axiom, and true--first the missionary, then the soldier, then the trader. In the case of the Company, this order has been reversed. The French associations in Canada for the collection and sale of furs were preceded by the Jesuits--brave, fearless, self-denying--whose deeds form the theme of some of Parkman's most thrilling pages. A few years since, in the solitudes of the West, two European tourists were struck by the frequency with which they encountered a certain mystic legend. Eager to solve its meaning, they addressed a half-breed lounger at a small station on the Canadian Pacific Railway. "Tell us, my friend," they said, "what those three letters yonder signify. Wherever we travel in this country we encounter 'H. B. C.' We have seen the legend sewn on the garments of Indians; we have seen it flying from rude forts; it has been painted on canoes; it is inscribed on bales and boxes. What does 'H. B. C.' mean?" "That's _the Company_," returned the native grimly, "Here Before Christ." Might not the first missionary who, in 1818, reached York Factory contemplate his vast cure, and say: Here, bartering, civilizing, judging, corrupting, revelling, slaying, marching through the trackless forest, making laws and having dominion over a million souls--_here before Christ!_ It is probable a day is at hand when all this area will be dotted with farms, villages and cities, a time when its forests will be uprooted and the plains of Rupert's Land and the North-West Territory tilled by the husbandman, its hills and valleys exploited by the miner; yet, certain spots in this vast region must ever bear testimony to the hunter of furs. Remote, solitary, often hungry and not seldom frozen--the indomitable servant of the Great Fur Company lived here his life and gave his name to mountain, lake and river. Whatsoever destiny has in store for this country, it can never completely obliterate either the reverence and admiration we have for brave souls, or those deeper feelings which repose in the bosoms of so many Canadian men and women whose forefathers lent their arms and their brains to the fur-trade. The beaver and the marten, the fox and the mink, may soon be as extinct as the bison, or no more numerous than the fox and the beaver are to-day in the British Isles; but this volume, imperfect as it is, may serve as a reminder that their forbears long occupied the minds and energies of a hardy race of men, the like of whose patience, bravery and simple honest careers may not soon again be seen. He who would seek in these pages the native romance, the vivid colour, the absorbing drama of the Great North-West, will seek, I fear, in vain. My concern has been chiefly with the larger annals of the Hudson's Bay Company, its history proper, which until now has not been compiled. TORONTO, 27th June, 1899. INTRODUCTION. Mr. Beckles Willson has asked me to write a short introduction for his forthcoming book on the Hudson's Bay Company, and it gives me great pleasure to comply with his request. It is gratifying to know that this work has been undertaken by a young Canadian, who has for some years had a laudable desire to write the history of what he appropriately calls "The Great Company," with whose operations the development of the Western parts of Canada has been so closely connected. The history of the Company during the two centuries of its existence must bring out prominently several matters which are apt now to be lightly remembered. I refer to the immense area of country--more than half as large as Europe--over which its control eventually extended, the explorations conducted under its auspices, the successful endeavours, in spite of strenuous opposition, to retain its hold upon what it regarded as its territory, its friendly relations with the Indians, and, finally, the manner in which its work prepared the way for the incorporation of the "illimitable wilderness" within the Dominion. It is not too much to say that the fur-traders were the pioneers of civilization in the far West. They undertook the most fatiguing journeys with the greatest pluck and fortitude; they explored the country and kept it in trust for Great Britain. These fur-traders penetrated to the Rocky Mountains, and beyond, into what is now known as British Columbia, and even to the far north and northwest, in connection with the extension of trade, and the establishment of the famous "H. B. C." posts and forts, which were the leading features of the maps of the country until comparatively recent times. The names of many of these early explorers are perpetuated in its rivers and lakes; and many important Arctic discoveries are associated with the names of officers of the Company, such as Hearne, Dease, and Simpson, and, in later times, Dr. John Rae. The American and Russian Companies which were seeking trade on the Pacific Coast, in the early days of the present century, were not able to withstand the activity and enterprise of their British rivals, but for whose discoveries and work even British Columbia might not have remained British territory. For many years the only civilized occupants of both banks of the Columbia River were the fur-traders, and it is not their fault that the region between it and the international boundary does not now belong to Canada. Alaska was also leased by the Hudson's Bay Company from Russia, and one cannot help thinking that if that country had been secured by Great Britain, we should probably never have heard of the Boundary Question, or of disputes over the Seal Fisheries. However, these things must be accepted as they are; but it will not, in any case, be questioned that the work of the Company prepared the way for the consolidation of the Dominion of Canada, enabling it to extend its limits from the Atlantic to the Pacific, and from the international boundary to the far north. The principal business of the Company in the early days was, of course, the purchasing of furs from the Indians, in exchange for arms, ammunition, clothes and other commodities imported from the United Kingdom. Naturally, therefore, the prosperity of the Company depended largely upon good relations being maintained with the Indians. The white man trusted the Indians, and the Indians trusted the white man. This mutual confidence, and the friendly relations which were the result, made the transfer of the territory to Canada comparatively easy when the time for the surrender came. It is interesting to note also, that while intent upon trading with the Indians, the Company did not neglect the spread of civilizing influences among them. The result of their wise policy is seen in the relations that have happily existed since 1870 between the Government and the Indians. There has been none of the difficulties which gave rise to so many disasters in the western parts of the United States. Even in the half-breed disturbance in 1869-70, and in that of 1885, the Indians (with very few exceptions) could not be induced to take arms against the forces of law and order. Although the Red River settlement was inaugurated and carried out under its auspices, it has been stated, and in terms of reproach, that the Company did not encourage settlement or colonization. The statement may have an element of truth in it, but the condition of the country at the time must be borne in mind. Of course, the fur trade and settlement could not go on side by side. On the other hand, until the country was made accessible, colonization was not practicable. Settlers could not reach it without the greatest difficulty, even for many years after the transfer of the territory took place, or get their produce away. Indeed, until the different Provinces of Canada became federated, and were thus in a position to administer the country and to provide it with the necessary means of communication, the opening up of its resources was almost an impossibility. No single province of Canada could have undertaken its administration or development, and neither men nor money were available, locally, to permit of its blossoming out separately as a Colony, or as a series of Provinces. The work of the Company is still being continued, although, of course, under somewhat different conditions. The fur trade is quite as large as ever it was, and the relations of the Company are as cordial as of old with the Indians and other inhabitants in the districts remote from settlement, in which this part of the business is largely carried on. It has also adapted itself to the times, and is now one of the leading sources of supplies to the settlers in Manitoba, the North-West Territories, and British Columbia, and to the prospectors and miners engaged in developing the resources of the Pacific province. Besides, it has a very large stake in the North-West, in the millions of acres of land handed over to it, according to agreement, as the country is surveyed. In fact, it may be stated that the Hudson's Bay Company is as inseparably bound up with the future of Western Canada as it has been with its past. There are, of course, many other things that might be mentioned in an introduction of this kind, and there is room especially for an extended reference to the great and wonderful changes that have been apparent in Manitoba, the North-West Territories, and British Columbia, since, in the natural order of things, those parts of Canada passed out of the direct control of the Company. The subject is so fascinating to me, having been connected with the Company for over sixty years, that the tendency is to go on and on. But the different details connected with it will doubtless be dealt with by Mr. Beckles Willson himself much better than would be possible in the limited time at my disposal, and I shall therefore content myself with stating, in conclusion, that I congratulate the author on the work he has undertaken, and trust that it will meet with the success it deserves. It cannot fail to be regarded as an interesting contribution to the history of Canada, and to show, what I firmly believe to be the case, that the work of the Hudson's Bay Company was for the advantage of the Empire. [Illustration: SIGNATURE OF LORD STRATHCONA AND MOUNT ROYAL.] LONDON, June 23rd, 1899. CONTENTS. PAGE. CHAPTER I.--1660-1667. Effect of the Restoration on Trade -- Adventurers at Whitehall -- The East India Company Monopoly -- English Interest in North America -- Prince Rupert's Claims -- The Fur Trade of Canada -- Aim of the Work. 17 CHAPTER II.--1659-1666. Groseilliers and Radisson -- Their Peregrinations in the North-West -- They Return to Quebec and Lay their Scheme before the Governor -- Repulsed by him they Proceed to New England -- And thence Sail for France, where they Endeavour to Interest M. Colbert. 23 CHAPTER III.--1667-1668. Prince Rupert -- His Character -- Serves through the Civil War -- His Naval Expedition in the West Indies -- Residence in France -- And ultimately in London -- He receives Groseilliers and introduces him to the King. 35 CHAPTER IV.--1668-1670. The Prince Visits the _Nonsuch_ -- Arrival in the Bay -- Previous Voyages of Exploration -- A Fort Commenced at Rupert's River -- Gillam's Return -- Dealing with the Nodwayes -- Satisfaction of the Company -- A Royal Charter granted. 44 CHAPTER V.--1668-1670. Danger Apprehended to French Dominion -- Intendant Talon -- Fur Trade Extended Westward -- News of the English Expedition Reaches Quebec -- Sovereign Rights in Question -- English Priority Established. 52 CHAPTER VI.--1671. First Public Sale at Garraway's -- Contemporary Prices of Fur -- The Poet Dryden -- Meetings of the Company -- Curiosity of the Town -- Aborigines on View. 60 CHAPTER VII.--1671-1673. Mission of the Père Albanel -- Apprehension at Fort Charles -- Bailey's Distrust of Radisson -- Expedition to Moose River -- Groseilliers and the Savages -- The Bushrangers Leave the Company's Service -- Arrival of Governor Lyddal. 69 CHAPTER VIII.--1673-1682. Progress of the Company -- Confusion as to the Names and Number of the Tribes -- Radisson goes to Paris -- His Efforts to Obtain Support there, and from Prince Rupert, in England, Fail -- Arrival of M. de la Chesnaye -- With his help Radisson Secures Support -- And Sails for Quebec -- Thence Proceeds with Two Ships to Attack the English Ports in Hudson's Bay -- His Encounters with Gillam's Expedition from London, and his Son's, from New England. 80 CHAPTER IX.--1682-1683. Death of Prince Rupert -- The Company's Difficulty in Procuring Proper Servants -- Radisson at Port Nelson -- The two Gillams -- Their Meeting -- Capture of the New England Party -- The First Scotchman in the Bay -- Governor Bridgar Carried off Prisoner -- Indian Visitors to the Fort -- Disasters to the Ships -- The French Burn the Island Fort -- Radisson's Harangue to the Indians -- Return to France. 94 CHAPTER X.--1684-1687. Hays writes to Lord Preston -- Godey sent to Radisson's lodgings -- La Barre's strenuous efforts -- Radisson Returns to the English -- He leaves for the Bay -- Meets his nephew, Chouart -- Fort Bourbon Surrendered to the Company -- Radisson's dramatic Return to London. 112 CHAPTER XI.--1683-1686. Feigned Anger of Lewis -- He writes to La Barre -- Importance Attached to Indian Treaties -- Duluth's Zeal -- Gauthier de Comportier -- Denonville made Governor -- Capture of the _Merchant of Perpetuana_ -- Expedition of Troyes against the Company's Posts in the Bay -- Moose Fort Surrendered. 125 CHAPTER XII.--1686-1689. The French Attack upon Fort Rupert -- Governor Sargeant Apprised -- Intrepidity of Nixon -- Capture of Fort Albany -- Disaster to the _Churchill_ -- The Company Hears the ill News -- Negotiations for Colonial Neutrality -- Destruction of New Severn Fort -- Loss of the _Hampshire_ -- The Revolution. 134 CHAPTER XIII.--1689-1696. Company's Claims Mentioned in Declaration of War -- Parliament Grants Company's Application for Confirmation of its Charter -- Implacability of the Felt-makers -- Fort Albany not a Success in the hands of the French -- Denonville urges an Attack upon Fort Nelson -- Lewis Despatches Tast with a Fleet to Canada -- Iberville's Jealousy prevents its Sailing to the Bay -- Governor Phipps Burns Fort Nelson -- Further Agitation on the part of the French to Possess the West Main -- Company Makes another Attempt to Regain Fort Albany -- Fort Nelson Surrendered to Iberville -- Its Re-conquest by the Company. 146 CHAPTER XIV.--1696-1697. Imprisoned French Fur-Traders Reach Paris -- A Fleet under Iberville Despatched by Lewis to the Bay -- Company's four Ships precede them through the Straits -- Beginning of a Fierce Battle -- The _Hampshire_ Sinks -- Escape of the _Dering_ and capture of the _Hudson's Bay_ -- Dreadful Storm in the Bay -- Losses of the Victors -- Landing of Iberville -- Operations against Fort Nelson -- Bailey Yields -- Evacuation by the English. 158 CHAPTER XV.--1698-1713. Petition Presented to Parliament Hostile to Company -- Seventeenth Century Conditions of Trade -- _Coureurs de Bois_ -- Price of Peltries -- Standard of Trade Prescribed -- Company's Conservatism -- Letters to Factors -- Character of the Early Governors -- Henry Kelsey -- York Factory under the French -- Massacre of Jérémie's Men -- Starvation amongst the Indians. 169 CHAPTER XVI.--1697-1712. Company Seriously Damaged by Loss of Port Nelson -- Send an Account of their Claims to Lords of Trade -- Definite Boundary Propositions of Trade -- Lewis anxious to Create Boundaries -- Company look to Outbreak of War -- War of Spanish Succession Breaks Out -- Period of Adversity for the Company -- Employment of Orkneymen -- Attack on Fort Albany -- Desperate Condition of the French at York Fort -- Petition to Anne. 187 CHAPTER XVII.--1712-1720. Queen Anne Espouses the Cause of the Company -- Prior's View of its Wants -- Treaty of Utrecht -- Joy of the Adventurers -- Petition for Act of Cession -- Not Pressed by the British Government -- Governor Knight Authorized to take Possession of Port Nelson -- "Smug Ancient Gentlemen" -- Commissioners to Ascertain Rights -- Their Meeting in Paris -- Matters Move Slowly -- Bladen and Pulteney return to England. 198 CHAPTER XVIII.--1719-1727. The South Sea Bubble -- Nation Catches the Fever of Speculation -- Strong Temptation for the Company -- Pricking of the Bubble -- Narrow Escape of the Adventurers -- Knight and his Expedition -- Anxiety as to their Fate -- Certainty of their Loss -- Burnet's Scheme to Cripple the French -- It Forces them Westward into Rupert's Land. 208 CHAPTER XIX.--1687-1712. Hudson's Bay Tribes Peaceful -- Effect of the Traders' Presence -- Depletion of Population -- The Crees and Assiniboines -- Their Habits and Customs -- Their Numbers -- No Subordination Amongst Them -- Spirituous Liquors -- Effect of Intemperance upon the Indian. 217 CHAPTER XX.--1685-1742. Errant Tribes of the Bay -- The Goose Hunt -- Assemblage at Lake Winnipeg -- Difficulties of the Voyage -- Arrival at the Fort -- Ceremony followed by Debauch -- Gifts to the Chief -- He makes a Speech to the Governor -- Ceremony of the Pipe -- Trading Begun. 230 CHAPTER XXI.--1725-1742. System of Licenses re-adopted by the French -- Verandrye Sets Out for the Pacific -- His Son Slain -- Disappointments -- He reaches the Rockies -- Death of Verandrye -- Forts in Rupert's Land -- Peter the Great and the Hudson's Bay Company -- Expeditions of Bering -- A North-West Passage -- Opposition of the Company to its Discovery -- Dobbs and Middleton -- Ludicrous distrust of the Explorer -- An Anonymous Letter. 240 CHAPTER XXII.--1744-1748. War again with France -- Company takes Measures to Defend its Forts and Property -- "Keep Your Guns Loaded" -- Prince "Charlie" -- His Stock in the Company Confiscated -- Further Instructions to the Chief Factors -- Another Expedition to Search for a North-West Passage -- Parliament Offers Twenty Thousand Pounds Reward -- Cavalier Treatment from Governor Norton -- Expedition Returns -- Dobbs' Enmity -- Privy Council Refuse to Grant his Petition -- Press-gang Outrages -- Voyage of the _Seahorse_. 257 CHAPTER XXIII.--1748-1760. Parliamentary Committee of Enquiry Appointed -- Aim of the Malcontents -- Lord Strange's Report -- Testimony of Witnesses -- French Competition -- Lords of Plantations Desire to Ascertain Limits of Company's Territory -- Defeat of the Labrador Company -- Wolfe's Victory -- "Locked up in the Strong Box" -- Company's Forts -- Clandestine Trade -- Case of Captain Coats. 269 CHAPTER XXIV.--1763-1770. Effect of the Conquest on the Fur-trade of the French -- Indians again Seek the Company's Factories -- Influx of Highlanders into Canada -- Alexander Henry -- Mystery Surrounding the _Albany_ Cleared Up -- Astronomers Visit Prince of Wales' Fort -- Strike of Sailors -- Seizure of Furs -- Measures to Discourage Clandestine Trade. 286 CHAPTER XXV.--1768-1773. Reports of the "Great River" -- Company Despatch Samuel Hearne on a Mission of Discovery -- Norton's Instructions -- Saluted on his Departure from the Fort -- First and Second Journeys -- Matonabee -- Results of the Third Journey -- The Company's Servants in the Middle of the Century -- Death of Governor Norton. 299 CHAPTER XXVI.--1773-1782. Company Suffers from the Rivalry of Canadians -- Cumberland House Built -- Debauchery and License of the Rivals -- Frobisher Intercepts the Company's Indians -- The Smallpox Visitation of 1781 -- La Pérouse appears before Fort Prince of Wales -- Hearne's Surrender -- Capture of York Fort by the French -- The Post Burned and the Company's Servants carried away Prisoners. 314 CHAPTER XXVII.--1783-1800. Disastrous Effects of the Competition -- Montreal Merchants Combine -- The North-Westers -- Scheme of the Association -- Alexander Mackenzie -- His two Expeditions Reach the Pacific -- Emulation Difficult -- David Thompson. 327 CHAPTER XXVIII.--1787-1808. Captain Vancouver -- La Pérouse in the Pacific -- The Straits of Anian -- A Fantastic Episode -- Russian Hunters and Traders -- The Russian Company -- Dissensions amongst the Northmen -- They Send the _Beaver_ to Hudson's Bay -- The Scheme of Mackenzie a Failure -- A Ferocious Spirit Fostered -- Abandoned Characters -- A Series of Outrages -- The Affair at Bad Lake. 344 CHAPTER XXIX.--1808-1812. Crisis in the Company's Affairs -- No Dividend Paid -- Petition to Lords of the Treasury -- Factors Allowed a Share in the Trade -- Canada Jurisdiction Act -- The Killing of MacDonnell -- Mowat's Ill-treatment -- Lord Selkirk -- His Scheme laid before the Company -- A Protest by Thwaytes and others -- The Project Carried -- Emigrants sent out to Red River -- Northmen Stirred to Reprisal. 361 CHAPTER XXX.--1812-1815. The Bois-Brulés -- Simon McGillivray's Letter -- Frightening the Settlers -- A Second Brigade -- Governor McDonnell's Manifesto -- Defection of Northmen to the Company -- Robertson's Expedition to Athabasca -- Affairs at Red River -- Cameron and McDonell in Uniform -- Cuthbert Grant -- Miles McDonnell Arrested -- Fort William -- News brought to the Northmen -- Their confiscated account-books -- War of 1812 concluded. 383 CHAPTER XXXI.--1816-1817. A New Brigade of Immigrants -- Robert Semple -- Cuthbert Grant's Letter -- The De Meuron Regiment -- Assembling of the Bois-Brulés -- Tragedy at Seven Oaks -- Selkirk at Fort William -- McGillivray Arrested -- Arrest of the Northmen -- Selkirk Proceeds to Red River. 404 CHAPTER XXXII.--1817-1821. The English Government Intervenes -- Selkirk at Red River -- Makes a Treaty with the Indians -- Hostilities at Peace River -- Governor Williams makes Arrests -- Franklin at York Factory -- The Duke of Richmond Interferes -- Trial of Semple's Murderers -- Death of Selkirk -- Amalgamation. 423 CHAPTER XXXIII.--1821-1847. The Deed Poll -- A Governor-in-Chief Chosen -- A Chaplain Appointed -- New License from George IV. -- Trade on the Pacific Coast -- The Red River Country Claimed by the States -- The Company in California -- The Oregon Question -- Anglo-Russian Treaty of 1825 -- The _Dryad_ Affair -- Lieutenant Franklin's two Expeditions -- Red River Territory Yielded to Company -- Enterprise on the Pacific. 436 CHAPTER XXXIV.--1846-1863. The Oregon Treaty -- Boundary Question Settled -- Company Proposes Undertaking Colonization of North America -- Enmity and Jealousy Aroused -- Attitude of Earl Grey -- Lord Elgin's Opinion of the Company -- Amended Proposal for Colonization Submitted -- Opposition of Mr. Gladstone -- Grant of Vancouver Island Secured, but Allowed to Expire in 1859 -- Dr. Rae's Expedition -- The Franklin Expedition and its Fate -- Discovery of the North-West Passage -- Imperial Parliament Appoints Select Committee -- Toronto Board of Trade Petitions Legislative Council -- Trouble with Indians -- Question of Buying Out the Company -- British Government Refuses Help -- "Pacific Scheme" Promoters Meet Company in Official Interview -- International Financial Association Buys Company's Rights -- Edward Ellice, the "Old Bear." 459 CHAPTER XXXV.--1863-1871. Indignation of the Wintering-Partners -- Distrust and Misgivings Arise -- Proposals of Governor Dallas for the Compensation of the Wintering-Partners in Exchange for their Abrogation of Deed Poll -- Threatened Deadlock -- Position of those in Authority Rendered Untenable -- Failure of Duke of Newcastle's Proposals for Surrender of Territorial Rights -- The Russo-American Alaskan Treaty -- The Hon. W. McDougall's Resolutions -- Deputation Goes to England -- Sir Stafford-Northcote becomes Governor -- Opinion of Lord Granville as to the Position of Affairs -- Lack of Military System Company's Weakness -- Cession now Inevitable -- Terms Suggested by Lord Granville Accepted -- First Riel Rebellion -- Wolseley at Fort Garry. 481 CHAPTER XXXVI.--1821-1871. The Company still King in the North-West -- Its Forts Described -- Fort Garry -- Fort Vancouver -- Franklin -- Walla Walla -- Yukon -- Kamloops -- Samuel Black -- Mountain House -- Fort Pitt -- Policy of the Great Company. 497 The Hudson's Bay Posts. 509 APPENDIX. Royal Charter Incorporating the Hudson's Bay Company 515 The Alaska Boundary 527 Governors of the Hudson's Bay Company 531 Deputy-Governors of the Hudson's Bay Company 532 INDEX 533 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. FULL PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS. Lord Strathcona and Mount Royal FRONTISPIECE. FACING PAGE Prince Rupert 32 Original Charter of The Great Company 48 Capt. Godey and Radisson 112 Marching out of the English Garrison 160 The Massacre of Jérémie's Men 192 The Bushranger and the Indians 337 Dog Brigade in the Far North 304 Tracking Canoes up the Rapids 368 Murder of Governor Semple 416 Sir George Simpson 432 Sir George Simpson receiving a Deputation 464 Interior Hudson's Bay Post 496 ILLUSTRATIONS IN THE TEXT. PAGE Early Map of North America 19 Radisson 25 Chart of Hudson's Straits 30 Prince Rupert 36 English Map of 1782 57 The Beaver 60 Arms of the Hudson's Bay Co. 67 Type of Early Trading Post 71 Bark Canoe of Indians on Hudson's Bay 74 Landing of Iberville's Men at Port Nelson 155 Ships on Hudson's Bay 160 French Encampment 163 Capture of Port Nelson by the French 167 Trading with the Indians 171 A Coureur des Bois 173 An Early River Pioneer 178 Facsimile of the Company's Standard of Trade 181 French Map of the Bay and Vicinity 215 Indian Tepee 218 An Assiniboine Indian 219 Indian with Tomahawk 220 Esquimau with Dogs 223 Modern Type of Indian 231 Type of Cree Indian 234 An Old Chief 237 Maldonado's Strait of Anian 246 Lapie's Map of 1821 247 Plans of York and Prince of Wales Forts 262 Map showing the Hays River 265 Fort Prince of Wales 281 A Blackfoot Brave 289 Alexander Henry 291 Dobbs' Map, 1744 301 Visit to an Indian Encampment 315 Indian Trappers 318 Ruins of Fort Prince of Wales 322 Sir Alexander Mackenzie 330 A Portage 337 De L'Isle's Map, 1752 345 The Rival Traders 353 York Factory 355 Lord Selkirk 372 Stornaway 380 A Bois-Brulé 384 Fort George (Astoria) 387 Arrival of the Upland Indians 388 On the way to Fort William 390 The Company's Ships in 1812 392 Fort Douglas, Red River 394 Scene of Red River Tragedy 411 Vicinity of Fort Douglas 414 Board Room, Hudson's Bay House 438 Red River Cart 441 Fur Train from the far North 446 Sir George Back, R.N. 451 Thomas Simpson 454 Hudson's Bay Company's Trade Tokens 458 Hudson's Bay Employees on their Annual Expedition 460 Opening of Cairn on Point Victory 467 Discovery of Relics of Franklin Expedition 468 Fort Prince of Wales 477 Fort Garry 482 Arrival of Hudson's Bay Ships at York Factory 498 Fort Pelly 499 Fort Simpson 501 York Factory 502 Father Lacombe 504 Gateway to Fort Garry 507 Sketch Map of South-East Alaska 527 THE GREAT COMPANY. CHAPTER I. 1660-67. Effect of the Restoration on Trade -- Adventurers at Whitehall -- The East India Company Monopoly -- English interest in North America -- Prince Rupert's claims -- The Fur Trade of Canada -- Aim of the Work. That page in the nation's history which records the years immediately following the Restoration of the Stewarts to the English throne, has often been regarded as sinister and inauspicious. Crushed and broken by the long strain of civil war, apparently bankrupt in letters, commerce and arms, above all, sick of the restraints imposed upon them by the Roundheads, the nation has too often been represented as abandoning itself wholly to the pursuit of pleasure, while folly and license reigned supreme at court. The almost startling rapidity with which England recovered her pride of place in the commercial world has been too little dwelt upon. Hardly had Charles the Second settled down to enjoy his heritage when the spirit of mercantile activity began to make itself felt once more. The arts of trade and commerce, of discovery and colonization, which had languished under the Puritan ascendancy, revived; the fever of "Imperial Expansion" burst out with an ardour which no probability of failure was able to cool; and the court of the "Merry Monarch" speedily swarmed with adventurers, eager to win his favour for the advancement of schemes to which the chiefs of the Commonwealth would have turned but a deaf ear. Of just claimants to the royal bounty, in the persons of ruined cavaliers and their children, there was no lack. With these there also mingled, in the throng which daily beset the throne with petitions for grants, charters, patents and monopolies,--returned free-booters, buccaneers in embryo, upstarts and company-promoters. Every London tavern and coffee-house resounded with projects for conquest, trade, or the exploitation of remote regions. From the news-letters and diaries of the period, and from the minutes of the Council of Trade and the Royal Society, one may form an excellent notion of the risks which zealous capital ran during this memorable decade. For two centuries and more mercantile speculation had been busy with the far East. There, it was believed, in the realms of Cathay and Hindustan, lay England's supreme market. A large number of the marine expeditions of the sixteenth century were associated with an enterprise in which the English nation, of all the nations in Europe, had long borne, and long continued to bear, the chief part. From the time of Cabot's discovery of the mainland in 1498, our mariners had dared more and ventured oftener in quest of that passage through the ice and barren lands of the New World which should conduct them to the sunny and opulent countries of the East. [Sidenote: English right to Hudson's Bay.] The mercantile revival came; it found the Orient robbed of none of its charm, but monopoly had laid its hand on East India. For over half a century the East India Company had enjoyed the exclusive right of trading in the Pacific between the Cape of Good Hope and Cape Horn, and the merchants of London therefore were forced to cast about for other fields of possible wealth. As far as North America was concerned, the merest reference to a map of this period will reveal the very hazy conception which then prevailed as to this vast territory. Few courtiers, as yet, either at Whitehall or Versailles, had begun to concern themselves with nice questions of frontier, or the precise delimitation of boundaries in parts of the continent which were as yet unoccupied, still less in those hyperborean regions described by the mariners Frobisher, Button and Fox. To these voyagers, themselves, the northern half of the continent was merely a huge barrier to the accomplishment of their designs. [Illustration: EARLY MAP OF NORTH AMERICA.] Yet in spite of this destructive creed, it had long been a cardinal belief in the nation that the English crown had by virtue of Cabot's, and of subsequent discoveries, a right to such territories, even though such right had never been actively affirmed.[1] In the year 1664 the King granted the territory now comprised in the States of New York, New Jersey and Delaware to his brother, the Duke of York, and the courtiers became curious to know what similar mark of favour would be bestowed upon his Majesty's yet unrewarded cousin, Prince Rupert, Duke of Cumberland and Count Palatine of the Rhine.[2] The Duke of York succeeded in wresting his new Transatlantic possession from the Dutch, and the fur-trade of New Amsterdam fell into English hands. Soon afterwards the first cargo of furs from that region arrived in the Thames. Naturally, it was not long before some of the keener-sighted London merchants began to see behind this transaction vast possibilities of future wealth. The extent of the fur-trade driven in Canada by the French was no secret.[3] Twice annually, for many years, had vessels anchored at Havre, laden with the skins of fox, marten and beaver, collected and shipped by the Company of the Hundred Associates or their successors in the Quebec monopoly. A feeling was current that England ought by right to have a larger share in this promising traffic, but, it was remarked, "it is not well seen by those cognizant of the extent of the new plantations how this is to be obtained, unless we dislodge the French as we have the Dutch, which his present Majesty would never countenance." Charles had little reason to be envious of the possession by his neighbour Lewis, of the country known as New France. [Sidenote: French fur-trade.] Those tragic and melancholy narratives, the "Relations des Jesuites," had found their way to the English Court. From these it would seem that the terrors of cold, hunger, hardships, and Indian hostility, added to the cost and difficulties of civil government, and the chronic prevalence of official intrigue, were hardly compensated for by the glories of French ascendancy in Canada. The leading spirits of the fur-trade then being prosecuted in the northern wilds, were well aware that they derived their profits from but an infinitesimal portion of the fur-trading territory; the advantages of extension and development were perfectly apparent to them; but the difficulties involved in dealing with the savage tribes, and the dangers attending the establishment of further connections with the remote interior, conspired to make them content with the results attained by the methods then in vogue. The security from rivalry which was guaranteed to them by their monopoly did not fail to increase their aversion to a more active policy. Any efforts, therefore, which were made to extend the French Company's operations were made by Jesuit missionaries, or by individual traders acting without authority. Such, in brief, was the state of affairs in the year 1666 when two intrepid bushrangers, employees of the old Company,[4] dissatisfied with their prospects under the new _régime_, sought their way out from the depths of the wilderness to Quebec, and there propounded to the Intendant, Jean Talon, a scheme for the extension of the fur-trade to the shores of Hudson's Bay. This enterprising pair saw their project rejected, and as a sequel to this rejection came the inception and establishment of an English association,[5] which subsequently obtained a charter from the King, under the name and title of "The Governor and Company of Merchants-Adventurers trading into Hudson's Bay." To narrate the causes which first led to the formation of this Company, the contemporary interest it excited, the thrilling adventures of its early servants, of the wars it waged with the French and drove so valiantly to a victorious end; its vicissitudes and gradual growth; the fierce and bloody rivalries it combated and eventually overbore; its notable expeditions of research by land and sea; the character of the vast country it ruled and the Indians inhabiting it; and last but not least, the stirring and romantic experiences contained in the letters and journals of the Great Company's factors and traders for a period of above two centuries--such will be the aim and purpose of this work. FOOTNOTES: [1] "The great maritime powers of Europe," said Chief Justice Marshall, "discovered and visited different parts of this Continent at nearly the same time. The object was too immense for any of them to grasp the whole; and the claimants were too powerful to submit to the exclusive or unreasonable pretensions of any single potentate. To avoid bloody conflicts, which might terminate disastrously to all, it was necessary for the nations of Europe to establish some principle which all would acknowledge and which would decide their respective rights as between themselves. This principle, suggested by the actual state of things, was, 'that discovery gave title to the Government by whose subjects or by whose authority it was made, against all other European governments, which title might be consummated by possession.'" [2] "Prince Rupert, we hear, is of no mind to press his Plantation claims until this Dutch warre is over. A Jamaica pattent is spoke of."--_Pleasant Passages_, 1665. [3] As early as 1605, Quebec had been established, and had become an important settlement; before 1630, the Beaver and several other companies had been organized, at Quebec, for carrying on the fur-trade in the West, near and around the Great Lakes and in the North-West Territory; that the enterprise and trading operations of these French Companies, and of the French colonists generally, extended over vast regions of the northern and the north-western portions of the continent; that they entered into treaties with the Indian tribes and nations, and carried on a lucrative and extensive fur-trade with the natives. In the prosecution of their trade and other enterprises these adventurers evinced great energy, courage and perseverance. They had, according to subsequent French writers, extended their hunting and trading operations to the Athabasca country. It was alleged that some portions of the Athabasca country had before 1640 been visited and traded in, and to some extent occupied by the French traders in Canada and their Beaver Company. From 1640 to 1670 these discoveries and trading settlements had considerably increased in number and importance. [4] In 1663 the charter of the Compagnie des Cents Assocés, granted by Richelieu in 1627, was ceded to the Crown. In 1665 the new Association "La Compagnie des Indes Occidentals" received its charter. [5] "Several noblemen and other public-spirited Englishmen, not unmindful of the discovery and right of the Crown of England to those parts in America, designed at their own charge to adventure the establishing of a regular and constant trade in Hudson's Bay, and to settle forts and factories, whereby to invite the Indian nations (who live like savages, many hundred leagues up the country), down to their factories, for a constant and yearly intercourse of trade, which was never attempted by such settlements, and to reside in that inhospitable country, before the aforesaid English adventurers undertook the same."--_Company's Memorial_, 1699. CHAPTER II. 1659-1666. Groseilliers and Radisson -- Their Peregrinations in the North-West -- They Return to Quebec and lay their Scheme before the Governor -- Repulsed by him they Proceed to New England -- And thence Sail for France, where they Endeavour to Interest M. Colbert. The year 1659, notable in England as the last of the Puritan ascendancy and the herald of a stirring era of activity, may be reckoned as the first with which the annals of the Great Company are concerned. It is in this year that we first catch a glimpse of two figures who played an important part in shaping its destinies. Little as they suspected it, the two intrepid fur-traders, Groseilliers and Radisson, who in the spring of that year pushed their way westward from Quebec to the unknown shores of Lake Superior, animated in this, as in all their subsequent exploits, by a spirit of adventure as well as a love of gain, were to prove the ancestors of the Great Company. [Sidenote: Groseilliers' first marriage.] Medard Chouart, the first of this dauntless pair, was born in France, near Meaux, and had emigrated to Quebec when he was a little over sixteen years old. His father had been a pilot, and it was designed that the son should succeed him in the same calling. But long before this intention could be realized he fell in with a Jesuit, returned from Canada, who was full of thrilling tales about the New France beyond the seas; and so strongly did these anecdotes, with their suggestion of a rough and joyous career in the wilderness, appeal to his nature, that he determined to take his own part in the glowing life which the priest depicted. In 1641 he was one of the fifty-two _emigrés_ who sailed with the heroic Maissoneuve from Rochelle. Five years later we find him trading amongst the Hurons, the tribe whose doom was already sealed by reason of the enmity and superior might of the Iroquois; and at the close of another year comes the record of his first marriage. The bride is Etienne, the daughter of a pilot, Abraham Martin of Quebec, the "eponymous hero" of that plateau adjoining Quebec where, a century later, was to take place the mortal struggle between Wolfe and Montcalm. It was probably soon after this marriage that Chouart adopted the title "des Groseilliers," derived from a petty estate which his father had in part bequeathed to him. Not long did his wife survive the marriage; and she died without leaving any legacy of children to alleviate his loss. But the young adventurer was not destined to remain for any length of time disconsolate. Within a year of his wife's death, there arrived in the colony a brother and sister named Pierre and Marguerite Radisson, Huguenots of good family, who had been so persistently hounded in France by the persecution which sought to exterminate their community, that the one key to happiness had seemed to them to lie beyond the seas. No sooner had their father died than they bade farewell to France and sailed for Canada, there to start a new life amidst new and more tranquil surroundings. With this couple young Groseilliers soon struck up an acquaintance; and so rapidly did the intimacy ripen that before long he was united, to the sister in matrimony, and to the brother in a partnership for the pursuit of commercial adventure. The double union proved doubly fortunate; for Marguerite seems to have made a well-suited wife, and Pierre, though in birth and education superior to Groseilliers, was no whit less hardy and adventurous, nor in any respect less fitted for the arduous tasks which their rough life imposed upon them. The two speedily became fast friends and associates in enterprise, and thus united they soon took their place as the leading spirits of the settlement at Three Rivers. Here, in 1656, Radisson married for the first time, his bride being a Mlle. Elizabeth Herault, one of the few Protestant young women in the whole of Canada. Groseilliers, who had been long disgusted at the priestly tyranny of which he had seen so much in Canada, probably needed but little inducement to embrace the Protestant religion, if indeed this had not been stipulated upon at the time of his marriage. At all events, we now find him reputed to be among the Protestants of the Colony; some of whom were, in spite of the bitter prejudice against them, the boldest and most successful spirits the fur-trading community of that period had to show. [Illustration: RADISSON. (_After an old print._)] [Sidenote: Radisson weds Miss Kirke.] Radisson, like Groseilliers,[6] had the misfortune to lose his wife soon after their marriage; but, like his comrade, he too sought consolation in a fresh marriage. This time he allied himself with the daughter of a zealous English Protestant, who afterwards became Sir John Kirke. It was to the brothers of this Kirke that the great Champlain, thirty years before, had surrendered Quebec. With this introduction to the characters of the two remarkable men whose fortunes were to become so closely entwined with that of the Hudson's Bay Company, we may pass to their early efforts to extend the fur-trade beyond those limits which the distracted and narrow-minded officers of the Compagnie des Cent Assocés, thought it necessary to observe. Reaching the shore of Lake Superior in the early summer of 1659, Radisson and Groseilliers travelled for six days in a south-westerly direction, and then came upon a tribe of Indians incorporated with the Hurons, known as the Tionnontates, or the Tobacco Nation. These people dwelt in the territory between the sources of the Black and Chippeway rivers, in what is now the State of Wisconsin, whence, in terror of the bloody enmity of the Iroquois, they afterwards migrated to the small islands in Lake Michigan at the entrance of Green Bay. During their temporary sojourn with this branch of the unhappy Hurons the two pioneering traders heard constant mention of a deep, wide, and beautiful river--comparable to the St. Lawrence--to the westward, and for a time they were half tempted by their ever-present thirst for novelty to proceed in that direction. Other counsels, however, seem to have prevailed; for instead of striking out for the unknown river of the west they journeyed northward, and wintered with the Nadouechiouecs or Sioux, who hunted and fished among the innumerable lakes of Minnesota. Soon afterwards they came upon a separate band of war-like Sioux, known as the Assiniboines, a prosperous and intelligent tribe, who lived in skin and clay lodges and were "familiar with the use of charcoal." [Sidenote: A Route to the Bay.] From these Assiniboines, Radisson and Groseilliers first heard of the character and extent of that great bay to the north, named by the English marine explorers "Hudson's Bay," which was to be the scene of their later labours; and not only did they glean news of its nature, but they also succeeded in obtaining information as to the means of reaching it. In August, 1660, the two adventurers found their way back to Montreal, after over a year's absence. They were accompanied by three hundred Indians, and in possession of sixty canoes laden with furs, which they undertook to dispose of to the advantage of the savages and themselves. As they had anticipated, they found the little colony and its leaders deeply interested in their reports of the extent and richness of the fur-producing countries to the westward, as well as in their description of the unfamiliar tribes inhabiting that region. The sale of the furs having resulted in a handsome profit, Groseilliers announced to his brother-in-law his intention of making the journey on his own account. There was no dearth of volunteers eager to embark in the enterprise, and from those who offered their services he chose six Frenchmen--_coureurs des bois_ or bushrangers; and having provided himself with an ample outfit, turned his footsteps once more to the prairies of the west, while Radisson went to rejoin his wife and sister at Three Rivers. On the eve of his departure the Jesuit Fathers, distrusting Groseilliers' religious proclivities and suspecting that he might attempt to influence the Assiniboines, insisted upon one of their number accompanying him. The priest chosen for this arduous mission was the aged missionary Réné Ménard, who, in spite of his physical frailty was still undaunted by any prospect of peril; though he was, on this occasion, prevailed upon to allow his servant Guérin to accompany him. It was the priest's last journey. When Groseilliers again reached Montreal, after a season in the wilderness as prosperous as its forerunner, he bore the mournful news that Ménard had been massacred and his body, beyond question, devoured by a fierce band of Indians. This voyage, besides showing lucrative results, also proved a memorable one for Groseilliers, inasmuch as it was during his winter's sojourn with the distant Assiniboines that he acquired information which affected his whole subsequent career. There can be no question that it was the knowledge he obtained from this tribe of a convenient route to Hudson's Bay, by way of Lake Superior, and of a system of trade with the tribes dwelling on or in proximity to that unknown sea, that caused him to set out once again in May, 1662, for the west. He was accompanied by ten men, all of whom were disaffected towards the powers which then controlled the fur-trade in New France, and the combination of good fortune and _esprit de corps_ among his followers proved so successful that when, after a year's absence, he returned to the eastern colonies, the number of furs he brought back was sufficiently great to render a simultaneous disposal of all the packs inadvisable. He adopted the wise course of dividing them into three consignments, and these were sold respectively at Montreal, Three Rivers, and Quebec. Henceforward, but one idea possessed Groseilliers--a journey to the great fur-lands of the north. It should be his life's work to exploit the fur-trade of Hudson's Bay. Already he saw himself rich--richer even than the merchant-princes of old Rochelle. [Sidenote: A new fur Company.] But alas for his plans, the official laxity and dissensions which had made it possible for himself and others thus to infringe with impunity, the general monopoly granted by the King came to a sudden end. A fresh patent for a new Company was issued by the Crown; a new Governor, M. d'Avagour, entered upon the scene, and the rigorous measures enacted against private traders drove many of these over to the English and the Dutch. A commission from M. d'Avagour, dated the 10th of May, 1663, conveyed permission to one M. Couture to remove with five men to the bottom of the Great Bay to the North of Canada, consequent upon the requisition of some Indians, who had returned to Quebec to ask for aid to conduct and assist them in their affairs. This same Couture afterwards certified, or the French Government certified in his stead, that he really undertook this voyage, and "erected anew upon the lands at the bottom of the said Bay a cross and the arms of the King engraved on copper, and placed between two plates of lead at the foot of a large tree." Much justifiable doubt has been cast upon this story, and at a much later period, when French and English interests were contesting hotly for the sovereignty of the territory surrounding Hudson's Bay, an expedition was sent in search of the boasted memorials, but no trace of the cross or the copper escutcheon could be found. There seems every probability that the allegation, or the subsequent statement of an allegation of this description, was false. Groseilliers had thus to reckon with the new fur-trading proprietors of Quebec, who were to prove themselves less complaisant than the old. They instantly interdicted traders from going in search of peltries; reasoning that the produce would ultimately find its way into their hands, without the need of any such solicitation. And though Groseilliers persistently explained to them that their policy of interdiction was really a short-sighted one; that the Indians could not be always depended upon to bring their own furs to the Company's mart; and that no great time would elapse before the English or Dutch would push their way westward to Lake Superior, and so acquire an unequalled opportunity of developing the resources of the northern regions; neither his criticism and advice (founded on personal knowledge of the unstable Indian character) nor the apprehensions of rivalry, which he showed good grounds for entertaining, had any power to move the officials of the Hundred Associates. Neither argument, entreaty, nor prognostications of danger would induce them to look with any favour upon Groseilliers' project, or even entertain his proposals. [Sidenote: Groseilliers in Boston.] Groseilliers afterwards hinted that it was prejudice against his adopted religion which really lay at the bottom of this complete rejection of his scheme, and also accounted for the Company's refusal to avail themselves of his services, otherwise than as a mere salaried servant. It was at this juncture that he sought the advice of Radisson, and it is not unlikely that it was the counsels of his brother-in-law which induced him to resolve upon a bold step in the furtherance of his cherished project. It was well-known that the English colonists settled in New England were putting forth the strongest efforts to secure a share of the fur-trade of the North. Their allies, the redoubtable Iroquois, had upon several occasions way-laid and plundered the Huron tribes, who were conveying their cargoes to Quebec and Montreal, and had delivered these into the hands of the English. Farther westward, the Dutch were indefatigable in their endeavours to divert the fur-traffic of the North from the St. Lawrence to the Hudson. But the Dutch had been vanquished by the English; New Amsterdam was now New York; and it was English brains and English money which now controlled the little colony and the untravelled lands which lay beyond it. It was to the English, therefore, that the indomitable adventurer now determined to apply. Madame Radisson had relatives in Boston; her father was an intimate friend of the Governor. Relying on such influences as these, but still more on the soundness of his project, Groseilliers made his way to Boston by way of Acadia. [Illustration: A CHART OF HUDSON'S STREIGHTS AND BAY OF DAVIS STREIGHTS, AND BAFFIN'S BAY; AS PUBLISHED IN THE YEAR 1668. ] Early in 1664 we find the Mother Superior of the Ursuline Nuns at Quebec writing thus of Groseilliers: "As he had not been successful in making a fortune, he was seized with a fancy to go to New England to better his condition. He excited a hope among the English that he had found a passage to the Sea of the North." The good Mother Superior was deceived. It was no part of Groseilliers' plan to seek a passage to the Sea of the North; but one can hardly doubt that he found it highly politic that such a report should obtain currency in Quebec. The fur-trade of the North, and the fur-trade alone, was Groseilliers' lode-stone; but in spite of all it had cost him to acquire the knowledge he already possessed, he was ready to abandon the land and fresh water route, and seek the shores of Hudson's Bay from the side of the Atlantic Ocean. Doubtless many causes operated to alter his original plan; but there can be little question that the most potent was the opposition of the Canadian Company. Yet had the sea route not existed, even the opposition of the Company would not have sufficed to baulk him of a fulfilment of his designs. He would not have been the first French trader, even at that early day in the history of the rival colonies, to circumvent his countrymen, and, taking advantage of their confined area of activity, to conduct negotiations with the Indians surrounding the most distant outposts of their territory. The proceeding would have been hazardous had the Company possessed the force necessary to assert its rights to the trade of the whole northern and north-western country; but the new company would not as yet possess the force. The most real danger Groseilliers had to fear was that, if he persisted in his endeavours to draw away the trade of the northern tribes, he might be outlawed and his property, and that of his brother-in-law Radisson, confiscated. Groseilliers had left his wife and his son in Canada, and he therefore went to work with considerable caution. It has been asserted, and perhaps with excellent point, that Groseilliers may have been very powerfully influenced in the abandonment of his land and fresh water route by obtaining an entirely new idea of the configuration of northern North America. In the maps which were likely at that time to have found their way to Quebec, the northern regions are but very dimly defined; and with the knowledge of geography gained only from these maps Groseilliers could hardly have realized the accessibility of the approach by sea. It seems likely therefore that the change of route was not even thought of until Groseilliers had had his interview with Radisson; it was probably Radisson--with his superior geographical knowledge and more thorough comprehension (through his kinship with the Kirkes, all famous mariners) of the discoveries made by the English in the northern parts--who advocated the sea-route. The idea must have grown upon him gradually. His countrymen took it for granted that the whole northern country was theirs, apparently assuming the sole mode of access to be by land. The sea route never seems to have occurred to them, or if they thought of it at all, it was dismissed as dangerous and impracticable for purposes of commerce. The configuration of the northern country, the form and extent of the seas, certainly the character of the straits and islands, were to them little known. Secure in what they regarded as nominal possession, forgetful that English mariners had penetrated and named these northern waters, the officials of the Canada Company were content to pursue a policy of _laissez faire_ and to deprecate all apprehensions of rivalry. Singular coincidence! More than a century was to elapse and another Company with ten times the wealth, the power, the sovereignty wielded by this one: not French--for France had then been shorn of her dominion and authority--but English, scorning the all-conquering, all-pervading spirit of mercantile England, was to pursue the same policy, and to suffer the loss of much blood and treasure in consequence of such pursuit. [Sidenote: Groseilliers finds no patrons.] In Boston, the main difficulty which Groseilliers encountered was a scarcity of wealth. His scheme was approved by many of the leading spirits there, and his assertions as to the wealth of the fur-bearing country were not doubted. But at that period the little Puritan colony was much put to it to carry out projects for its own security and maintenance, not to mention plans for enrichment much nearer home. And it was pointed out to him that so long as schemes which were regarded as essential to safety could only be with difficulty supported, no pecuniary assistance could be rendered for an extraneous project, however promising its nature.[7] [Illustration: PRINCE RUPERT. (_After the painting by Sir P. Lely._)] There were in Boston at this time, however, four personages whom the King had sent as envoys, in 1664, to force the Dutch to evacuate Manhattan, and who were also a kind of commission instructed to visit the English colonies, and to hear and rule their complaints. They were Richard Nichols, Robert Carr, George Cartwright and Samuel Maverick. One of these, Colonel Carr, it is said, strongly urged Groseilliers to proceed to England and offer his services to the King. [Sidenote: Zachary Gillam.] Although, therefore, he was unable to secure there the patronage he desired, Groseilliers' visit to Boston was not quite barren of profit. He fell in besides with an intelligent sea-faring man, Zachary Gillam, who was then captain and part-owner of a small vessel, the _Nonsuch_, with which he plied a trade between the colony and the mother country. Gillam expressed himself eager to assist in the project as far as lay in his power, and offered his services in case an equipment could be found. A long correspondence passed between Groseilliers and his brother-in-law in Canada, the latter very naturally urging that as the New England project had failed, it would be advisable not to seek further aid from the English, but that, as nothing was to be expected from the Canada Company, or the merchants of Canada, it would be as well to journey to France, and put the matter before the French Court. Groseilliers seems to have agreed to this; and he wrote back begging Radisson to join him in Boston with the object of accompanying him to France. In June, 1665, both the adventurers set sail in the _Nonsuch_ for Plymouth, whence in all likelihood they proceeded direct to Havre. It would be unprofitable, and at best but a repetition, to describe the difficulties Groseilliers and his brother-in-law met with in Paris, the petitions they presented and the many verbal representations they made. In the midst of their ill-success Colonel Carr came to Paris. There is extant a letter of his to Lord Arlington. "Having heard," says he, "by the French in New England of a great traffic in beavers" to be got in the region of Hudson's Bay, and "having had proofs of the assertions" of the two adventurers, he thought "the finest present" he could make to his majesty was to despatch these men to him. The ambassador pondered on this and at last decided to entrust Groseilliers with a letter to a certain prince--a friend of his--and a patron of the Arts and Sciences. Leaving Radisson despondent in Paris, therefore, the other adventurer crossed the Channel and found himself, with a beating heart, for the first time in the English capital. FOOTNOTES: [6] Each writer seems to have followed his own fancy in spelling our hero's name, I find Groiseliez, Grozeliers, Groseliers, Groiziliers, Grosillers, Groiseleiz, and Groseillers. Charlevoix spells it Groseilliers. Dr. Dionne, following Radisson's Chouard, writes Chouart. But as Dr. Brymner justly observes "he is as little known by that name as Voltaire by his real name of Arouet, he being always spoken of by the name of des Groseilliers, changed in one affidavit into 'Gooseberry.'" The name literally translated is, of course, Gooseberry-bushes. [7] For example, the adjoining colony of Connecticut had appealed to them for help in their laudable enterprise of despoiling the Dutch of their possessions. Raids upon the territory and trading-posts controlled by the Dutch were a constantly recurring feature in the history of those times, and nearly the whole of the zeal and substance remaining to the English colonists in Connecticut and Virginia, after their periodical strifes with the Indians, were devoted to forcing the unhappy Hollanders to acknowledge the sovereignty of King Charles of England. CHAPTER III. 1667-1668. Prince Rupert -- His Character -- Serves through the Civil War -- His Naval Expedition in the West Indies -- Residence in France -- And ultimately in London -- He receives Groseilliers and introduces him to the King. It was a fortunate chance for Medard Chouart des Groseilliers that threw him, as we shall see, into the hands of such a man as Rupert, Prince of England and Bohemia. A dashing soldier, a daring sailor, a keen and enlightened student, a man of parts, and at the age of forty-seven still worshipping adventure as a fetish and irresistibly attracted by anything that savoured of novelty, there was perhaps no other noble in England more likely to listen to such a project as the Canadian was prepared to pour into his ear, no prince in the whole of Europe more likely to succumb to its charm. Rupert may, on good grounds, be considered one of the most remarkable men of that age. He was the third son of the King of Bohemia by the Princess Elizabeth Stuart, eldest daughter of James I. In common with most German princes he had been educated for the army; and, as he used to observe himself in after years, there was no profession better fitted for a prince provided he could be allowed to fight battles. It was a maxim of his that the arts of patience, of strategy, and parleying with the enemy should be left to statesmen and caitiffs; and it can be said with truth of Rupert that no one could possibly have acted more completely in accordance with his rule than himself. "Than Prince Rupert," wrote a chronicler at his death, "no man was more courageous or intrepid. He could storm a citadel but, alas, he could never keep it. A lion in the fray, he was a very lamb, tho' a fuming one, if a siege was called for." [Illustration: PRINCE RUPERT. (_After a painting by Vandyke._)] Youthful, high-spirited and of comely appearance, Rupert found his way to England during his twentieth year to offer his services to his royal uncle, King Charles I. The country was then on the brink of a civil war. Parliament had proved refractory. The Puritan forces had already assembled; and in a few months the first blow was struck. The young Prince placed himself at the head of a troop of cavaliers and soon all England was ringing with the fame of his exploits. On more than one occasion did Cromwell have reason to remember the prowess of "fiery Prince Rupert." [Sidenote: The Great Company's Founder.] Such dashing tactics and spontaneous strategy, however, could not always prevail. He was charged with the defence of Bristol, with what result is a matter of common historical knowledge. His own observation on this episode in his career is an admirable epitome of his character, as comprehensive as it is brief, "I have no stomach for sieges." Charles wrote him a letter of somewhat undue severity, in which he exhibited all the asperity of his character as well as his ignorance of the situation. Perhaps if he had realized that the circumstances would have rendered the retention of Bristol impossible even to a Caesar or a Turenne, he might have written in a more tolerant strain; but it is not very probable. In any case the letter cut Rupert to the heart. Before his final overthrow Charles, indeed, relented from his severity, and created his nephew Earl of Holdernesse and Duke of Cumberland, granting him also a safe conduct to France, which was honoured by the Parliamentary leaders. Thenceforward for a few years Rupert's career is directly associated with the high seas. On the revolt of the fleet from the control of the Commonwealth he made his way on board of one of the King's vessels, and figured in several naval battles and skirmishes. But even here the result was a foregone conclusion. The bulk of the ships and crews still remaining loyal were rapidly captured or sunk, and the remnant, of which Rupert assumed command, was exceedingly small. He began by sailing to Ireland, whither he was pursued by Popham and Blake, who very quickly blocked him up in the harbour of Kinsale. But the Puritan captains were deceived if, as it appears, they fancied the Prince an easy prey. Rupert was no more the sailor than he had been the soldier to brook so facile a capture. He effected a bold escape, just under their guns. But realizing his helplessness to engage the Puritan fleet in open combat, he inaugurated a series of minor conflicts, a kind of guerilla warfare, which, to our modern notions, would best be classified under the head of privateering, to use no harsher term. [Sidenote: A resemblance to piracy.] The Spanish Main was at that period an excellent ground for operations of this kind, and with very little delay Rupert was soon very busy with his small but gallant fleet in those waters. Here the commander of the little _Reformation_ and his convoys spent three years with no little pecuniary profit to himself and crew. On more than one occasion his exploits in the neighbourhood of the West Indies bore no distant resemblance to piracy, as he boarded impartially not only English, Dutch and Spanish ships, but also those flying the English colours. Howbeit on one occasion, being advised that the master of one craft was a Frenchman, he generously forebore to reap the profits of his valour out of respect to the monarch with whom both his cousins, Charles and James, had found a refuge. He insisted that the plunder should be restored. On the whole, however, Rupert seems to have had little conscience in the matter. The mere excitement of such adventures alone delighted him, although it would scarce have satisfied his crews. There is reason to suppose that he himself was not actuated primarily by the mere love of gain. It is known that several of his captains returned with large fortunes; Rupert's own profits were long a matter for conjecture. Even at his death they could not be approximately ascertained; for while he left a goodly fortune, comprising jewels valued at twenty thousand pounds, much of this fortune was acquired legitimately since these stirring days of his youth; and no small part was derived from his share in the Hudson's Bay Company. The exiled prince, in whose name Rupert was always extremely careful to conduct his depredations on the prosperous commerce of the West Indies, does not appear himself to have derived much material advantage therefrom. It was true the terror of his name was already industriously spread in those waters, and this perhaps was some consolation for the contempt with which it was regarded by the insolent and usurping Puritans. In a newspaper of the period, "Pleasant Passages," I find under date of October 15, 1652, the following quaint comment: "Prince Rupert hath lately seized on some good prizes and he keeps himself far remote; and makes his kinsman, Charles Stuart, make a leg for some cullings of his windfalls." [Sidenote: Loss of the "Reformation."] Rupert after a time transferred the scene of his operations to the Azores, where after some collisions with the Portuguese, he met with a catastrophe so severe as to compel him to permanently desist from his predatory operations. A violent storm came on, and the _Reformation_ and his entire fleet perished, no fewer than 360 souls being lost on the flagship. It was with difficulty that the Prince and twelve of his companions, including his brother Maurice, escaped with a portion of the treasure. A contemporary news-writer records that Rupert had landed at Nantes with ten thousand pounds or so, "'tis said by those best informed. The King hath sent his carriage to meet him at Orleans." Charles, who was of course the King mentioned, was then in high hopes of obtaining funds from his cousin Rupert, which might enable him to make an effort for the recovery of his crown. But the king, minus a throne, was destined to be disappointed. Rupert did not yet seem prepared to disgorge, acting, it is easy to see, on advice.[8] "No money for his Majesty out of all this," forms the burden of numerous letters written by the faithful Edward Hyde, afterwards to become the Lord Chancellor Clarendon. "The money the King should have received!" he complains, in an epistle addressed to Sir Richard Browne. "Why, Rupert is so totally governed by the Lord Keeper, Sir Edward Herbert, that the King knows him not. The King hasn't had a penny, and Rupert pretends the King owes him more than ever I was worth." Hyde had no love for the Lord Keeper of the exiled court; but according to several contemporary writers, the buccaneering Prince looked upon Herbert as "an oracle," (to quote the diarist Evelyn) and chose for a time at least to spend most of his gains in his own way. But Rupert did not persist in the course suggested by his friend Herbert. Soon afterwards he is announced to have made Charles a present of two thousand pounds, for which the King expressed his profound satisfaction by attaching him immediately to the royal household. A little later, in 1654, there is recorded the following, printed in the "Loyal Gentleman at Court." "Prince Rupert flourishes highly here, with his troop of blackamoors; and so doth his cousin Charles, they having shared the money made of his prize goods at Nantz." [Sidenote: Rupert's Secretary.] It was in this year that Rupert seems to have engaged one William Strong, a cavalier who had lost all he possessed, to replace John Holder as his private secretary, a circumstance worthy of mention, inasmuch as it was Strong who was to figure later as the intermediary between his master and the adventurer Groseilliers in London. There is a passage of this period which describes Rupert as he appeared in Paris, "a straight and comely man, very dark-featured," probably owing to exposure in warm climates, "with jet black hair and a great passion for dress." He is often referred to in news-letters and diaries of the time under the sobriquet of the "Black Prince." "Our Black Prince Ruperte" records one, "has had a narrow escape from drowning in the Seine; but by the help of one of his blackamoors escaped." This was perhaps the period of the closest friendship between Charles and his Bohemian cousin; inasmuch as a decided coolness had already arisen on the part of the exiled monarch and his brother, the Duke of York. This coolness at length terminated in a quarrel, and a separation in the ensuing year at Bruges. Indeed, the Duke advised Rupert to have no further dealings with his royal brother, a proposition which the Prince wisely, and fortunately for himself, neglected to entertain, for had he acted otherwise, it is extremely doubtful if at the Restoration he would have been in a position to demand any favours at the monarch's hands. James, probably on this score, never afterwards professed much cordiality towards his kinsman, Rupert. [Sidenote: A patron of commerce.] In the years between 1656 and 1665, Rupert spent much of his time in cultivating science and the arts. There are a hundred evidences of his extraordinary ingenuity. A mere list of his devices and inventions, as printed at his decease in 1682, almost entitles him to be considered the Edison of his day, a day in which inventors were rare. Yet in the period before the outbreak of the Dutch war his activity was by no means limited to the laboratory which he had constructed for himself in Kings' Bench Walk, Temple, or to his study at Windsor. None could have exhibited greater versatility. In April, 1662, he was sworn a member of the Privy Council; he also became a member of the Tangier Commission; and in December of the same year he was unanimously elected a Fellow of the Royal Society. He already cut a prominent figure as a patron of commerce, being appointed a member of the Council of Trade, and taking an active part in the promotion of commerce with Africa as a member of the Royal African Company. With all his sympathies and activities, however, it is very clear that Rupert did not enjoy very great favour at Court. He was suspected of holding his royal cousin in not very high esteem, and of entertaining pronounced opinions on the subject of the royal prerogative; whatever the cause, his influence at Whitehall was not always fortunate. Seeing his councils neglected on several occasions, he kept aloof, and the courtiers, taking as they supposed their cue from their master, made light of his past achievements, finding in his surrender of the city of Bristol, a specially suitable subject for their derision. In 1664 we find in Pepys' Diary that Rupert had been "sent to command the Guinny Fleet. Few pleased, as he is accounted an unhappy [_i.e._, unlucky] man." As a consequence of these sentiments, which Rupert was soon destined by his valour to alter, one Captain Holmes was sent instead. Nevertheless it was known at Court that Rupert desired a naval employment, and as the authorities found that their estimate of his abilities was not mistaken, he was in 1666 selected to command the fleet against the Dutch, in conjunction with the Duke of Albemarle. His conduct was most exemplary. On one occasion he wrested a victory from the Dutch, and again in the month of June beat them soundly, pursuing them into their own harbour. Returning to England on the cessation of hostilities, he found himself in much higher favour at Court. But with a single exception, which I will proceed to relate, Rupert sought no favours at the hands of his royal relations from this moment until the day of his death. He was content to pursue an even career in comparative solitude, a circumstance for which a serious physical ailment, which soon overtook and for a time threatened his life, was no doubt in some measure responsible. The fire which distinguished his youth was exchanged, we are told, for good temper and sedateness. He was credited with writing an autobiography, but if the report be true, it is a pity there remains no tangible evidence of such an intention. It is certain that his correspondence was so large as to entail the continuous employment of a secretary, William Strong; but prior to the inception of the Hudson's Bay project, it probably related almost entirely to his chemical and scientific researches and achievements. In May, 1667, the Prince's secretary opened a letter from Lord Preston, then English ambassador at Paris, intimating that one M. des Groseilliers, a Canadian fur-trader, would be the bearer of an introductory letter from himself to his highness. He was convinced that the French were managing the fur-trade of New France very clumsily, and he added that Monsieur des Groseilliers seemed as much disaffected towards the new company lately chartered by the French king as towards the old. There is no reason, in the writer's opinion, why English men of commerce should not avail themselves of opportunities and instruments, such as the weak policy of their rivals now afforded, for obtaining a share in the northern fur-trade. [Sidenote: Rupert sends for Groseilliers.] Unfortunately Rupert was at first unable to see the adventurer who had travelled so far. The cause of the delay is not quite clear, but it appears plausible to suppose that it was due to the Prince's illness. He had already undergone the operation of trepanning, and it was found necessary to still continue treatment for the disease to which he had been subject. At any rate it was a fortnight or three weeks before the first interview took place, and the Prince and the French trader did not meet until the 4th of June. The result of this interview was that Prince Rupert promised his credit for the scheme. Three days later he sent for Groseilliers, who found on his arrival in the Prince's apartments several gentlemen, among whom Lord Craven, Sir John Robinson and Mr. John Portman appear to have been numbered. In a week from this conference both Radisson, Groseilliers and Portman travelled to Windsor Castle at the request of the Prince. There is no record of what then passed, but there is mention of a further meeting in a letter written by Oldenburgh, the secretary of the Royal Society to Robert Boyle, in America. "Surely I need not tell you from hence" he wrote, "what is said here with great joy of the discovery of a north-west passage by two Englishmen and one Frenchman, lately represented by them to his Majesty at Oxford and, answered by the grant of a vessel to sail into Hudson's Bay and channel into the South Sea." From this it would appear that Radisson was then popularly supposed to be an Englishman, probably on account of his being Sir John Kirke's son-in-law, and also that the matter was not settled at Windsor, but at Oxford. Then came a long delay--during which there is nothing worthy of record. It was too late to attempt a voyage to the Bay in 1667, but during the autumn and winter Groseilliers and Radisson could console themselves with the assurance that their scheme had succeeded. For at last the adventurers had met with a tangible success. A ship was engaged and fitted out for them; and it was none other than that commanded by their Boston friend, Captain Zachary Gillam. FOOTNOTE: [8] "We have another great officer," records "Pleasant Passages" in another budget of news from Paris, "Prince Ruperte, Master of the Horse." CHAPTER IV. 1668-1670. The Prince Visits the _Nonsuch_ -- Arrival in the Bay -- Previous Voyages of Exploration -- A Fort Commenced at Rupert's River -- Gillam's Return -- Dealing with the Nodwayes -- Satisfaction of the Company -- A Royal Charter Granted. Early in the morning of the 3rd of June, 1668, without attracting undue attention from the riparian dwellers and loiterers, a small skiff shot out from Wapping Old Stairs. The boatman directed its prow towards the _Nonsuch_, a ketch of fifty tons, then lying at anchor in mid-Thames, and soon had the satisfaction of conveying on board in safety his Highness Prince Rupert, Lord Craven, and Mr. Hays, the distinguished patrons of an interesting expedition that day embarking for the New World. Radisson was to have accompanied the expedition but he had met with an accident and was obliged to forego the journey until the following year. All hands being piped on deck, a salute was fired in honour of the visitors. Captain Zachary Gillam and the Sieur des Groseilliers received the Prince, and undertook to exhibit, not without a proper pride, their craft and its cargo. Subsequently a descent was made to the captain's cabin, where a bottle of Madeira was broached, and the success of the voyage toasted by Rupert and his companions. The party then returned to Wapping, amidst a ringing cheer from captain and crew. By ten o'clock the _Nonsuch_ had weighed anchor and her voyage had begun. The passage across the Atlantic was without any incident worthy of record. The vessel was fortunate in encountering no gales or rough seas. The leisure of Groseilliers and Captain Gillam was employed chiefly in discussing the most advantageous landfall, and in drawing up plans for a settlement for fort-building and for trade with the tribes. By the 4th of August they sighted Resolution Isle, at the entrance of Hudson's Straits. They continued fearlessly on their course. During their progress the shores on either hand were occasionally visible; and once a squall compelled them to go so near land as to descry a band of natives, the like of whom for bulk and singularity of costume, Groseilliers and the captain had never clapped eyes upon. They were right in judging these to be Esquimaux. [Sidenote: The "Nonsuch" in the Bay.] On the seventh day of their passage amongst those narrow channels and mountains of ice which had chilled the enthusiasm and impeded the progress of several daring navigators before them, the forty-two souls on board the _Nonsuch_ were rewarded with a sight of Hudson's Bay.[9] Already, and long before the advent of the _Nonsuch_, Hudson's Bay had a history and a thrilling one. In 1576 Sir Martin Frobisher made his first voyage for the discovery of a passage to China and Cathay by the north-west, discovering and entering a strait to which he gave his name. In the following year he made a second voyage, "using all possible means to bring the natives to trade, or give him some account of themselves, but they were so wild that they only studied to destroy the English." Frobisher remained until winter approached and then returned to England. A further voyage of his in 1578-79 made no addition to the knowledge already derived. Six years later Captain John Davis sailed from Dartmouth, and in that and succeeding voyages reached the Arctic circle through the straits bearing his name. He related having found an open sea tending westward, which he hoped might be the passage so long sought for; but the weather proved too tempestuous, and, the season being far advanced, he likewise returned to a more hospitable clime. After this there were no more adventures in this quarter of the world until 1607, when Captain Hudson explored as far north as 80 degrees 23 minutes. On his third voyage, two years later, he proceeded a hundred leagues farther along the strait, and arriving at the Bay resolved to winter there. Hudson was preparing for further exploration when Henry Green, a profligate youth, whom he had taken into his house and preserved from ruin by giving him a berth on board without the knowledge of the owners, conspired with one Robert Ivett, the mate, whom Captain Hudson had removed, to mutiny against Hudson's command. These turned the captain, with his young son John, a gentleman named Woodhouse, who had accompanied the expedition, together with the carpenter and five others, into a long-boat, with hardly any provisions or arms. The inhuman crew suffered all the hardships they deserved, for in a quarrel they had with the savages Green and two of his companions were slain. As for Ivett, who had made several voyages with Hudson, and was the cause of all the mischief, he died on the passage home. Habbakuk Prickett, one of the crew, who wrote all the account we have of the latter part of the voyage, was a servant of Sir Dudley Diggs. Probably his master's influence had something to do with his escape from punishment. [Sidenote: Henry Hudson's fate.] This was the last ever seen or heard, by white men, of Henry Hudson, and there is every likelihood that he and the others drifted to the bottom of the Bay and were massacred by the savages. In the year of Hudson's death Sir Thomas Button, at the instigation of that patron of geographical science, Prince Henry, pursued the dead hero's discoveries. He passed Hudson's Straits and, traversing the Bay, settled above two hundred leagues to the south-west from the straits, bestowing upon the adjacent region the name of New Wales. Wintering in the district afterwards called Port Nelson, Button made an investigation of the boundaries of this huge inland sea, from him named Button's Bay. In 1611 came the expedition of Baffin; and in 1631 Captain James sailed westward to find the long-sought passage to China, spending the winter at Charlton Island, which afterwards became a depot of the Company. Captain Luke Fox went out in the same year, but his success was no greater than his predecessors in attaining the object of his search. He landed at Port Nelson and explored the country round about, without however much advantage either to himself or to his crew. When the _Nonsuch_ arrived a quarter of a century had passed since an European had visited Hudson's Bay. After much consultation, the adventurers sailed southward from Cape Smith, and on Sept. 29 decided to cast anchor at the entrance to a river situated in 51 degrees latitude. The journey was ended; the barque's keel grated on the gravel, a boat was lowered and Gillam and Groseilliers went promptly ashore. The river was christened Rupert's River,[10] and it being arranged to winter here, all hands were ordered ashore to commence the construction of a fort and dwellings, upon which the name of King Charles was bestowed. Thus our little ship's-load of adventurers stood at last on the remotest shores of the New World; all but two of them strangers in a strange land. [Sidenote: The first Fort.] For three days after their arrival Groseilliers and his party beheld no savages. The work of constructing the fort went on apace. It was, under Groseilliers' direction, made of logs, after the fashion of those built by the traders and Jesuits in Canada; a stockade enclosing it, as some protection from sudden attack. The experienced bushranger deemed it best not to land the cargo until communication had been made with the natives; and their attitude, friendly or otherwise, towards the strangers ascertained. No great time was spent in waiting; for on the fourth day a small band of the tribe called Nodwayes appeared, greatly astonished at the presence of white settlers in those parts. After a great deal of parleying, the Indians were propitiated by Groseilliers with some trifling gifts, and the object of their settlement made known. The Indians retired, promising to return before the winter set in with all the furs in their possession, and also to spread the tidings amongst the other tribes. The autumn supply proved scanty enough; but the adventurers being well provisioned could afford to wait until the spring. Groseilliers' anticipations were realized; but not without almost incredible activity on his part. He spent the summer and autumn, and part of the ensuing winter, in making excursions into the interior. He made treaties with the Nodwayes, the Kilistineaux, the Ottawas, and other detachments of the Algonquin race. Solemn conclaves were held, in which the bushranger dwelt--with that rude eloquence of which he was master, and which both he and Radisson had borrowed from the Indians--on the superior advantages of trade with the English. Nor did his zeal here pause; knowing the Indian character as he did, he concocted stories about the English King and Prince Rupert; many a confiding savage that year enriched his pale-face vocabulary by adding to it "Charles" and "Rupert," epithets which denoted that transcendent twain to whom the French bushranger had transferred his labours and his allegiance. The winter of 1668-69 dragged its slow length along, and in due course the ground thawed and the snow disappeared. No sooner had the spring really arrived than strange natives began to make their appearance, evincing a grotesque eagerness to strike bargains with the whites for the pelts which they brought from the bleak fastnesses. By June it was thought fit that Captain Gillam should return with the _Nonsuch_, leaving Groseilliers and others at the fort. Gillam accordingly sailed away with such cargo as they had been able to muster, to report to the Prince and his company of merchants the excellent prospects afforded by the post on Rupert's River, provided only the Indians could be made aware of its existence, and the French trade intercepted. [Illustration: THE ORIGINAL CHARTER OF THE GREAT COMPANY. (_From a Photograph._)] [Sidenote: Groseilliers' presence of mind.] Chouart des Groseilliers in all his transactions with the natives exhibited great hardihood of speech and action; and few indeed were the occasions which caught him unawares. It happened more than once, for instance, that some of the wandering Algonquins or Hurons recognized in this smooth-tongued leader of the English fort the same French trader they had known at Montreal, and the French posts on the western lakes, and marvelled much that he who had then been loudly crying "up King Lewis and the Fleur-de-lis," should now be found surrounded by pale-faces of a different speech, known to be the allies of the terrible Iroquois. Groseilliers met their exclamations with a smile; he represented himself as profoundly dissatisfied with the manner in which the French traders treated his friends the Indians, causing them to travel so far and brave such perils to bring their furs, and giving them so little in return. "Tell all your friends to come hither," he cried, "and King Charles will give you double what King Lewis gives." In August, 1669, a gun was heard by Groseilliers and his English and native companions. With great joy the bushranger ran from the fort to the point of land commanding the Bay, thinking to welcome back Gillam and the expected _Nonsuch_. But as the vessel came nearer he saw it was not the _Nonsuch_, and for a moment he was dismayed, uncertain whether or not to make himself known. But the colour of the flag she carried reassured him; he caused a fire to be made, that the attention of those on board might be attracted by the smoke; and was soon made aware that his signal had been seen. The sloop headed up Rupert's River, and a boat containing three men was lowered from her side. Greater still was Groseilliers' joy when he recognized amongst the approaching party in the boat his brother-in-law, Pierre Radisson. These two sturdy children of the wilderness embraced one another with great affection and set to work diligently to barter. The _Nonsuch_ arrived safely in the Thames in the month of August. [Sidenote: Satisfaction of the Adventurers.] It would be difficult to exaggerate the satisfaction of the company of London merchants at hearing the results of their first venture. They had taken counsel together, and considering the importance of securing a charter of monopoly from the King to be paramount, Prince Rupert was persuaded to use his good offices to this end. Charles was doubtless relieved to hear that his cousin Rupert desired no greater favour. He expressed himself ready to grant such a patent, provided the Lord Chancellor approved. A charter was accordingly drawn up forthwith at the instance of the Prince, in the usual form of such charters; but the winter of 1669-70 elapsed without its having received the royal assent. Indeed it was not until the second day of May that Prince Rupert, presenting himself at Whitehall, received from the King's own hands one of the most celebrated instruments which ever passed from monarch to subject, and which, though almost incessantly in dispute, was perpetuated in full force throughout two centuries.[11] [Sidenote: The Charter.] This document was granted to Prince Rupert and seventeen nobles and gentlemen, comprising the Duke of Albemarle,[12] Earls Craven and Arlington, Lord Ashley,[13] Sir John Robinson, Sir Robert Vyner, Sir Peter Colleton, Sir Edward Hungerford, Sir Paul Neele, Sir John Griffith, Sir Philip Carteret, Knights and Baronets; James Hays, John Kirke, Francis Wellington, William Prettyman, John Fenn, Esquires, and John Portman, "Citizen and Goldsmith," incorporated into a company, with the exclusive right to establish settlements and carry on trade at Hudson's Bay. The charter recites that those adventurers having, at their own great cost, undertaken an expedition to Hudson's Bay in order to discover a new passage into the South Sea, and to find a trade for furs, minerals and other commodities, and having made such discoveries as encouraged them to proceed in their design, his Majesty granted to them and their heirs, under the name of "The Governor and Company of Merchants-Adventurers trading into Hudson's Bay," the power of holding and alienating lands, and the sole right of trade in Hudson's Strait, and with the territories upon the coasts of the same. They were authorized to get out ships of war, to erect forts, make reprisals, and send home all English subjects entering the Bay without their license, and to declare war and make peace with any prince or people not Christian. The territory described as Rupert's Land consisted of the whole region whose waters flowed into Hudson's Bay. It was a vast tract--perhaps as vast as Europe--how much vaster was yet to be made known, for the breadth of the Continent of North America had not yet been even approximately ascertained. For all the Adventurers knew the Pacific Ocean was not distant more than one hundred miles west of the Bay. In the same merry month of May the _Prince Rupert_ set sail from Gravesend, conveying a new cargo, a new crew, and a newly appointed overseer of trade, to the Company's distant dominions. FOOTNOTES: [9] The proportions of this inland sea are such as to give it a prominent place among the geographical features of the world. One thousand three hundred miles in length, by six hundred miles in breadth, it extends over twelve degrees of latitude, and covers an area not less than half a million square miles. Of the five basins into which Canada is divided, that of Hudson's Bay is immeasurably the largest, the extent of country draining into it being estimated at three million square miles. To swell the mighty volume of its waters there come rivers which take their rise in the Rocky Mountains on the west, and the Labrador wilderness on the east; while southward its river roots stretch far down below the forty-ninth parallel, reaching even to the same lake source whence flows a stream into the Gulf of Mexico. A passing breath of wind may determine whether the ultimate destiny of the rain drop falling into the little lake be the bosom of the Mexican Gulf or the chilly grasp of the Arctic ice-floe. [10] Known afterwards as Nemiscau by the French. [11] See Appendix. [12] The second Duke, Charles' old friend, General George Monk, known to all the leaders of English history as the brave restorer of the King, afterwards created Duke of Albemarle, died in the year the charter was granted. [13] Lord Ashley, the ancestor of the present Earl of Shaftsbury, and one of the ruling spirits of the reign of Charles II., will also be remembered as the Achitophel of Dryden. "A man so various that he seemed to be Not one; but all mankind's epitome." Arlington, another of the Honourable Adventurers, was also a member of the celebrated Cabal. CHAPTER V. 1668-1670. Danger Apprehended to French Dominion -- Intendant Talon -- Fur Trade Extended Westward -- News of the English Expedition Reaches Quebec -- Sovereign Rights in Question -- English Priority Established. [Sidenote: French activity.] Although neither the Governor, the Fur Company nor the officials of the Most Christian King at Quebec, had responded favourably to the proposals of Groseilliers, yet they were not long in perceiving that a radical change in their trade policy was desirable. Representations were made to M. Colbert and the French Court. It was even urged that France's North American dominions were in danger, unless a more positive and aggressive course were pursued with regard to extension. These representations, together with the knowledge that the Dutch on the south side of the St Lawrence and in the valley of the Hudson had unexpectedly acknowledged allegiance to the King of England, determined Lewis to evince a greater interest in Canadian affairs than he had done hitherto. Mezy was recalled, to die soon afterwards; and Daniel de Remin, Seigneur de Courcelles, was despatched as Provincial Governor. A new office was created, that of Intendant of Justice, Police and Finance; and Jean Talon--a man of ability, experience and energy--was made the first Intendant. Immediately upon his arrival, he took steps to confirm the sovereignty of his master over the vast realms in the West; and to set up the royal standard in the region of the Great Lakes. In 1668 Talon returned to France, taking with him one of those hardy bushrangers (_coureurs de bois_) who passed nearly the whole of their lives in the interior and in the company of the Hurons. This man seems to have cut a very picturesque figure. He had been scalped, and bore about his person many grim mutilations and disfigurements, to bear witness to his adventures amongst unfriendly tribes. He accompanied Talon in the capacity of servant or bodyguard, and appears to have had little difficulty in making himself an object of infinite interest to the lackeys and concierges of Paris. On the Intendant's return to Canada, this daring personage, Peray by name, is alluded to as Talon's most trusted adviser with regard to the western country and the tribes inhabiting it. In one of the Intendant's letters, dated February 24th, 1669, he writes that Peray had "penetrated among the western nations farther than any Frenchman; and had seen the copper mine on Lake Huron. This man offers to go to that mine and explore either by sea, or by the lake and river--such communication being supposed to exist between Canada and the South Sea--or to the Hudson's Bay." French activity had never been so great in the new world as in the years between Groseilliers' departure from Quebec and the period when the English fur-traders first came in contact with the French on the shores of Hudson's Bay, thirteen years later. In the summer of 1669, the active and intelligent Louis Joliet, with an outfit of 4,000 livres, supplied him by the Intendant, penetrated into an unknown region and exhibited the white standard of France before the eyes of the astonished natives. This also was the period which witnessed the exploits of La Salle, and of Saint Lusson. Trade followed quickly on their heels. In March, 1670, five weeks before the charter was granted to the Great Company, a party of Jesuits arriving at Sault Ste. Marie found twenty-five Frenchmen trading there with the Indians. These traders reported that a most lucrative traffic had sprung up in that locality. Coincident with the tidings they thus conveyed to Talon, the Intendant learnt from some Algonquins who had come to Quebec to trade, that two European vessels had been seen in Hudson's Bay. [Sidenote: Colbert and the Company.] "After reflecting," he wrote to Colbert, "on all the nations that might have penetrated as far north as that, I can only fall back on the English, who, under the conduct of one named Groseilliers, in former times an inhabitant of Canada, might possibly have attempted that navigation, of itself not much known and not less dangerous. I design to send by land some men of resolution to invite the Kilistinons,[14] who are in great numbers in the vicinity of that Bay, to come down to see us as the Ottawas do, in order that we may have the first handling of what the savages bring us, who, acting as retail dealers between ourselves and those natives (_i.e._, the Kilistinons), make us pay for this roundabout way of three or four hundred leagues." The rivalry of French and English north of the St. Lawrence had begun. With that rivalry began also from this moment that long series of disputes concerning the sovereignty of the whole northern territories, which has endured down to our own generation. [Sidenote: A much vexed controversy.] Few historical themes have ever been argued at greater length or more minutely than this--the priority of discovery, occupation, and active assumption of sovereignty over those lands surrounding Hudson's Bay, which for two centuries were to be held and ruled by the Hudson's Bay Company. The wisest jurists, the shrewdest intellects, the most painstaking students were destined to employ themselves for over a century in seeking to establish by historical evidence, by tradition and by deduction, the "rights" of the English or of the French to those regions. A great deal of importance has been attached to the fact that in 1627 a charter had been granted by Lewis XIII. to a number of adventurers sent to discover new lands to the north of the River of St. Lawrence. The clause of the charter reads as follows:--"Le fort et habitation de Quebec, avec tout le pays de la Nouvelle France dite Canada, tant le long des Cotes depuis la Floride que les predecesseurs Rois de Sa Majeste ont fait habiter en rangeant les Cotes de la Mer jusqu'au Cercle Artique pour latitude, et de longitude depuis l'Ile de Terreneuve tirant a l'ouest au Grand Lac dit la Mer douce et au dela que de dans les terres, et le long des Rivieres qui y passant et se dechargent dans le fleuve dit St. Laurent, ou autrement la grande Riviere du Canada, et dans tous les autres fleuves qui se portent a la mer." But most writers have omitted to verify the fact that in this charter to the French Company, the only portions of land granted to the French Company are the lands or portions of lands which had already been occupied by the Kings of France, and the object of the charter was simply to give them an exclusive right of trade therein. Thus it was clearly indicated that the charter did not go further than the land occupied by the predecessors of Lewis XIV. "New France was then understood to include the whole region of Hudson's Bay, as the maps and histories of the time, English and French, abundantly prove." This is a broad assertion, which is not supported by the early discoverers nor by the historians of that time. Charlevoix in his history described New France as being an exceedingly limited territory. There is in l'Escarbot a description which shows that at that time the whole territory known as New France extended but a few miles on each side of the St. Lawrence. Charlevoix says regretfully at that time that the giving up of this territory did not amount to much, as New France was circumscribed by very narrow limits on either side of the St Lawrence. When an examination is made into the facts of the voyages and expeditions alleged to have been undertaken by the French prior to 1672, it is difficult to arrive at any but a certain conclusion--that the French claims had no foundation in fact. It was then asserted, and long afterwards repeated, that Jean Bourdon, the Attorney-General in 1656, explored the entire coast of Labrador and entered Hudson's Bay. For this assertion one is unable to find any historical support; certainly no record of any kind exists of such a voyage. There is a record in 1655, it is true, that Sieur Bourdon, then Attorney-General, was authorized to make a discovery of _Mer du Nord_; and in order to comply with that _arrét_ of the Sovereign Council at Quebec, he actually made an attempt at such discovery. Bourdon left Quebec on May 2nd, 1657, and an entry in the records proves his return on August 11th of the same year. It is manifestly impossible that such a voyage could have been accomplished between these dates. But a reference to this business in the Jesuit relations of the succeeding year is sufficiently convincing.[15] It is there recorded that on the "11th of August, there appeared the barque of M. Bourdon, which having descended the Grand River on the north side, sailed as far as the 55th degree, where it encountered a great bank of ice, which caused it to return, having lost two Hurons that it had taken as guides. The Esquimaux savages of the north massacred them and wounded a Frenchman with three arrows and one cut with a knife." Another statement employed to strengthen the French claim to sovereignty was, that Father Dablon and Sieur de Valiere were ordered in 1661 to proceed to the country about Hudson's Bay, and that they accordingly went thither. All accounts available to the historian agree that the worthy father never reached the Bay. [Sidenote: La Couture's mythical voyage.] Another assertion equally long-lived and equally ill-founded, was to the effect that one Sieur La Couture, with five men, proceeded overland to the Bay, and there took possession of it in the King's name. There is no account of this voyage in _Charlevoix_, or in the "Relations des Jesuites," or in the memoir furnished by M. de Callieres to the Marquis de Denonville. This memoir, which was penned in 1685, or twenty-one years after the time of which it treated, set forth that La Couture made the journey for purposes of discovery. Under the circumstances, particularly owing to the strong necessity under which the French were placed to find some shadow of right for their pretensions, M. de Callieres' memoir has been declared untrustworthy by competent authorities. [Illustration: ENGLISH MAP OF 1782.] In 1663, Sieur Duquet, the King's Attorney for Quebec, and Jean L'Anglois, a Canadian colonist, are said to have gone to Hudson's Bay by order of Sieur D'Argenson, and to have renewed possession by setting up the King's arms there a second time. Such an order could hardly have been given by D'Argenson, because he had left Canada on September 16th, 1671, two years before this pretended order was given to Sieur Duquet. [Sidenote: French falsehoods and fallacies.] It has been attempted to explain the silence of the "Relations of the Jesuits" concerning Bourdon's voyage, by asserting that they were naturally anxious that members of their own society should be the pioneers in discovery, and that therefore many important discoveries were never brought to light in their relations because they were not made by Jesuits. It is enough to say that such an argument cannot apply to the voyage of Dablon. He was a Jesuit, a man in whom the interests of the society were centred, and if a voyage had been made by him, no doubt a great deal of prominence would have been given to it. On the contrary, in the third volume of the "Jesuit Relations," 1662, we find this Jesuit, Father Dablon, describing an unsuccessful voyage that he made. There can be no doubt that he attempted a voyage. A portion of this relation is written by himself, and he calls it, "Journal du Premier Voyage Fait Vers la Mer du Nord." The first portion of it is most important and conclusive, as showing that De Callieres, in his memoir to M. De Seignely, twenty-one years afterwards, must have been speaking from hearsay, and without any authentic documents on which to base his assertions. Dablon says that the highest point which he did reach was Nekauba, a hundred leagues from Tadoussac, and that subsequently he returned; and this is from a report of this journey written by himself. Some have attempted to raise a doubt as to the identity of the Dablon in De Callieres' memoir, with the Dablon of the "Relations des Jesuites." But at the end of one of the volumes is a complete list of all the Jesuits, pioneers both of the faith and in the way of discovery, and there is only one Dablon mentioned. Another inaccuracy of this memoir is as to the trip of Duquet, under an order said to have been given by Sieur D'Argenson. There can be no doubt that at the time this pretended order was given, D'Argenson had left Canada. On the whole it may be as well for the reader to dismiss the French pretensions. They are no longer of interest, save to the hair-splitting student of the country's annals: but in their day they gave rise to a wilderness of controversy, through which we in the twentieth century may yet grope vainly for the light. For all practical purposes the question of priority was settled forever by the Ontario Boundary Commission of 1884. Let us turn rather to behold to what account the Honourable Adventurers turned their new property. FOOTNOTES: [14] Kristineaux, Crees. [15] Jean Bourdon was of the Province of Quebec; he was well known to the Jesuits and trusted by them. He subsequently accompanied Father Jacques on an embassy to Governor Dongan, the Governor of the Province of New York. In Shea's _Charlevoix_, Vol. III, pp. 39, 40, it is stated that Père Dablon attempted to penetrate to the northern ocean by ascending the Saguenay. Early in June, two months after they set out, they found themselves at the head of the Nekauba river, 300 miles from Lake St. John. Warned of the approach of the Iroquois, they dared not proceed farther. In the New York Historical Documents (p. 97) there is an account of Dablon from the time of his arrival in Canada in 1655. He was immediately sent missionary to Onondaga, where he continued with a brief interval until 1658. In 1661 he set out overland for Hudson's Bay, but succeeded only in reaching the head waters of the Nekauba, 300 miles from Lac St. Jean. CHAPTER VI. 1671. First Public Sale at Garraway's -- Contemporary Prices of Fur -- The Poet Dryden -- Meetings of the Company -- Curiosity of the Town -- Aborigines on View. On the seventeenth day of November, 1671, the wits, beaux and well-to-do merchants who were wont to assemble at Garraway's coffee-house, London, were surprised by a placard making the following announcement:--"On the fifth of December, ensuing, There Will Be Sold, in the Greate Hall of this Place, 3,000 weight of Beaver Skins,[16] comprised in thirty lotts, belonging to the Honourable, the Governour and Company of Merchants-Adventurers Trading into Hudson's Bay." [Illustration: THE BEAVER.] Such was the notice of the first official sale of the Company. Up to this date, the peltries brought back in their ships had been disposed of by private treaty, an arrangement entrusted chiefly to Mr. John Portman and Mr. William Prettyman, both of whom appear to have had considerable familiarity with the European fur-trade. The immediate occasion of this sale is a trivial matter. The causes lying behind it are of interest. Among the numerous houses which cured and dealt in furs at this period, both in London and Bristol, there were none whose business seems to have been comparable, either in quantity or quality, to that of the great establishments which flourished in Leipsic and Amsterdam, Paris and Vienna. Indeed, it was a reproach continually levelled at the English fur-dressers that such furs as passed through their hands were vastly inferior to the foreign product; and it is certain that it was the practice of the nobles and wealthier classes, as well as the municipal and judicial dignitaries, for whose costume fur was prescribed by use and tradition, to resort not to any English establishment, but to one of the cities above-mentioned, when desirous of replenishing this department of their wardrobe. Hitherto, then, the Company had had but little opportunity of extending its trade, and but little ground to show why an intending purchaser should patronize its wares. But the superiority both in the number and quality of the skins which now began to arrive seems to have encouraged the directors to make a new bid for public custom; and as the purchasing public showed no disposition to visit their warehouses they determined to take their wares to the public. [Sidenote: First sale well attended.] This sale of the Company, however, the first, as it subsequently proved, of a series of great transactions which during the past two centuries have made London the centre of the world's fur-trade, did not take place until the twenty-fourth of January. It excited the greatest interest. Garraway's was crowded by distinguished men, and both the Prince of Wales and the Duke of York, besides Dryden, the poet, were among the spectators. There are some lines attributed to him, under date of 1672, which may have been improvised on this occasion. "Friend, once 'twas Fame that led thee forth To brave the Tropic Heat, the Frozen North, Late it was Gold, then Beauty was the Spur; But now our Gallants venture but for Fur." A number of purchases seem to have been made by private parties; but the bulk of the undressed beaver-skins probably went to fur merchants, and there is good reason to believe that the majority found their way into the hands of Portman and Prettyman. Beaver seems on this occasion to have fetched from thirty-five to fifty-five shillings--a high figure, which for a long time was maintained. But the Company showed considerable sagacity by not parting with its entire stock of furs at once. Only the beaver-skins were disposed of at this sale; the peltries of moose, marten, bear and otter were reserved for a separate and subsequent auction. [Sidenote: Meeting at John Horth's.] Prior to its incorporation, and for a year afterwards, the Company does not seem to have pursued any formal course with regard to its meetings. At first, they met at the Tower, at the Mint, or at Prince Rupert's house in Spring Garden. Once or twice they met at Garraway's. But at a conclave held on November 7th, 1671, it was resolved that a definite procedure should be established with regard both to the time and place of meeting, and to the keeping of the minutes and accounts. These latter, it was ordered, were forthwith to be rendered weekly to the General Court, so that the adventurers might be conversant with all sales, orders and commissions included in the Company's dealings. Employees' accounts were also to be posted up; and the same regulation was applied to the lists of goods received for the two ships then lying in the Thames. It was further decreed that the weekly meetings should take place at Mr. John Horth's office, "The Excise Office," in Broad Street, pending the building of a "Hudson's Bay House." Soon afterwards, a "General Court" of the adventurers was held, at which the Prince, Lord Ashley, Sir John Robinson, Sir Peter Colleson, Sir Robert Viner, Mr. Kirke and Mr. Portman were in attendance. We catch a thoroughly typical glimpse of Prince Rupert at this meeting; sober business was not at all to his taste, and at a very early stage in the proceedings he feigned either indisposition or another appointment, and took his departure. A hint, however, may possibly have been given to him to do so, for, no sooner was the door closed behind him, than his friend Lord Ashley introduced a very delicate topic which was entered into by all those present. It concerned nothing less than Prince Rupert's profits, which up to this time seem to have been very vaguely defined. Lord Ashley spoke for the Prince and he seems to have demanded some definite payment besides a share in the enterprise; but there is no record of an agreement or of any exact sum, nor is there any basis for the conjecture that his share was ten thousand pounds. The charter of monopoly was an important one, and the King certainly not the man to fail in appreciating its value; but how much he did out of good will to his kinsman, and how much out of consideration for his own profit, will never be known. A perusal of the vast quantity of manuscript matter which exists relating to this arrangement leads to the conclusion that Charles sold the charter out of hand. And indeed one pamphleteer, intent on defaming the Company in 1766, even goes so far as to profess actual knowledge of the sum paid to his Majesty by the adventurers. Upon a consideration of all the speculations advanced, I have come to the conclusion that it is highly improbable that the King received any immediate pecuniary advantage whatever on account of the charter. There is no shadow of evidence to support the charge; and there is at least some presumptive evidence against it. Charters were both commonly and cheaply given in those days. Even where consideration was given, the amount was insignificant. In 1668, for example, Charles transferred the province of Bombay, which had come to the British Crown as portion of the dower of Catherine of Braganza, to the East India Company for an annual rent of no more than £10. On the whole then the data, such as they are, strongly favour the belief that he granted the charter simply in the cause of friendship and at the urgent instance of his cousin; while, as an additional motive, it was probably also urged upon him that a charter boasting the royal signature would be a virtual assertion of his dominion over territory which was always somewhat in dispute. Prince Rupert himself in any case was paid a lump sum by the adventurers, but the amount will probably never be known. The early meetings of the Company seem to have been largely occupied in considering the question of cargoes. This was, no doubt, a very important business. The Company appear to have had two precedents which, in part, they naturally adopted, those of the Dutch (or West India Company) and the French Company. The East India Company's practice could have afforded them little assistance. They also struck out a line for themselves, and in their selection of goods for the purposes of barter they were greatly guided by the advice of Radisson, who had a very sound conception of the Indian character. From the first the Company rejected the policy of seeking to exchange glass beads and gilded kickshaws for furs. Not that they found it inexpedient to include these trifles in their cargoes: for we read in one of the news-letters of 1671, speaking of the doings at Garraway's:-- "Hither came Mr. Portman, to whom, reports says, is entrusted the purchase of beads and ribbons for the American savages by the new Adventurers, and who is charged with being in readiness to bargain for sackfuls of child's trinkets as well as many outlandish things, which are proper for barter. He takes the rallying in great good-humour." [Sidenote: Solid character of the merchandise.] Long before the Company was thought of, the manufacture of beads and wampum for the New England trade had been going on in London. But beads and jewellery, it was argued, were better suited for the African and East Indian trade. It was Radisson who pointed out with great propriety that the northern tribes would become most useful to the Company if they were provided with weapons for killing or ensnaring the game, as well as with the knives, hatchets and kettles, which were indispensable for dressing it, and for preparing pemmican. And his advice was taken on this, as on most other points. Thus for the _Prince Rupert_ and the _Imploy_, which were to sail in the following spring, the following cargo was prescribed by Radisson and Captain Gillam:-- 500 fowling pieces, and powder and shot in proportion. 500 brass kettles, 2 to 16 gallons apiece. 30 gross of knives. 2,000 hatchets. But it is curious to note how this list of exports was continually added to. For instance, one of the Company on one occasion rose at the weekly meeting and stated that he had been told by an experienced Indian trader that scarlet cloth was very highly esteemed among the Indians. "I hear," said he, "that an Indian will barter anything he possesses for a couple of yards of scarlet cloth and a few dyed feathers." Whereupon, the chairman turned to the original adventurer in the region controlled by the Company. "What does Mr. Radisson say to this?" "I think," said Mr. Radisson, "that the honourable adventurer does not understand the Indian trade as well as I do. He forgets that Indians are of many races; and that what will suit the case and attract the cupidity of an Indian far to the south, will have little effect on the northern tribes. An Iroquois would think more of a brass nail than of twenty yards of scarlet cloth. In the north, where we have built a factory, the Indians are more peaceful; but they do not care much for kickshaws and coloured rags. They, too, esteem powder and shot and the means of discharging them. But they are just as fond, particularly Eskimaux, of knives and kettles and hatchets." On a subsequent occasion, a third as many again of these implements were taken as cargo. [Sidenote: Ships besieged by peddlers.] In the meantime, it was not to be supposed that the rumours of the great value put upon petty merchandise by the hyperborean savages, could fail to excite the cupidity of London merchants and dealers in these things. The ships that sailed in the spring of 1671 were besieged by peddlers and small dealers, who were prepared to adventure their property in the wilds. Not only the ships, but the houses selected for the Company's meetings were beset with eager throngs, praying the adventurers, collectively and individually, to act as middlemen for their trumpery merchandise. Not only did the ships and the place of meeting suffer siege, but as many as thirty persons shipped out to Hudson's Bay in the first two voyages after the granting of the charter, while twenty-one of them returned in the next two vessels fully determined, apparently, to repeat a journey which had proved so lucrative. To abate this nuisance, it was enacted that no persons would "hereafter be employed to stay in the country or otherwise but by consent of the Committee, nor any goods be put aboard the ships but with their knowledge and consent, to the end that the ships be not hereafter pestered as they were the last voyage." This enactment may have had its rise in the dishonesty of these self-appointed adventurers. On several occasions on unshipping the cargo, boxes and barrels containing valuable furs would be found missing, or their loss would coincide with the disappearance of a reprobate who had joined the ship without a character. Thus we read in the minutes that at one meeting it was ordered that enquiry be made as to sixty beaver skins, "very good and large, packed up with the others, in one of the casks, which were not found." One Jeremiah Walker, a second mate and supercargo was required to state which cask they were taken in, and his cross-examination reveals the loose and unbusiness-like methods then in vogue. Nothing could be more entertaining than the character of these meetings, as compared with a modern board-meeting of a joint stock enterprise. A great air of mystery was kept up. The novelty of the undertaking was so great as to imbue the committee with a high sense of the importance and interest of their weekly conclaves. The length of the speeches bears witness to this spirit. A member had been known to speak for a whole hour on the edifying theme as to whether the furs should be placed in barrels or boxes. [Illustration: ARMS OF THE HUDSON'S BAY COMPANY.] Vague rumours of these secret proceedings permeated the town. They became a standing topic at the places where men foregathered. To the popular imagination, the north was a land of fable. The denizens of those countries were invested with strange attributes and clothed in weird and wonderful garments. The Hudson's Bay Company dealt with picturesque monarchs and a fierce, proud and noble people, whose ordinary attire was the furs of sable, of ermine, of fox, and of otter; who made treaties and exacted tributes after the fashion of the ceremonial East. Petty chiefs and sachems were described as kings and emperors; the wretched squaws of a redskin leader as queens. It was, perhaps, only natural for a generation which banqueted its imagination on the seductive fable of a North-West Passage to confuse the Red Indians of North America with the inhabitants of the East; a very long period was to pass away before the masses were able to distinguish between the tawny-skinned Indian of the North American continent and the swarthy servants of the East India Company. Nor were the masses alone sinners in this respect. The Indians of Dryden, of Congreve, of Steele, and even of writers so late as Goldsmith no more resembled the real Red-men than the bison of the western prairies was akin to the buffalo of the Himalayas. For such reasons as these, the Adventurers kept their ways and their superior knowledge with superior discretion to themselves. [Sidenote: Capital of the Company.] It was never known in the seventeenth century what actually constituted the original capital of the Adventurers. So small was it that when, in the course of the Parliamentary Committee of Enquiry in 1749, nearly eighty years after the Company had received its charter, the figures were divulged, the pettiness of the sum occasioned universal surprise. Each adventurer was apparently required to pay £300, sterling; and the gross sum was divided into thirty-four equal shares. Besides Prince Rupert's "sundry charges" (the euphemism employed to describe the sum paid him for his interest in obtaining the charter), his Highness was offered a share amounting to one equal share. "He having graciously signified his acceptance thereof," says the secretary in the minute-book, "credit given him for three hundred pounds." The capital thus stood at £10,500. FOOTNOTE: [16] The beaver, amphibious and intelligent, had for centuries a considerable place in commerce: and also a celebrity of its own as the familiar synonym for the common covering of a man's head, and here the animal becomes historic. By royal proclamation in 1638, Charles I., of England, prohibited the use of any material in the manufacture of hats "except beaver stuff or beaver wool." This proclamation was the death-warrant of beavers innumerable, sacrificed to the demands of the trade. CHAPTER VII. 1671-1673. Mission of the Père Albanel -- Apprehension at Fort Charles -- Bailey's Distrust of Radisson -- Expedition to Moose River -- Groseilliers and the Savages -- The Bushrangers Leave the Company's Service -- Arrival of Governor Lyddal. While the Honourable Company of Adventurers was holding its meetings in Mr. Alderman Horth's house, and gravely discussing its huge profits and its motley wares, an event was happening some thousands of miles away which was to decide the fate, for some years at least, of the two picturesque figures to whom the inception of the whole enterprise was due. In August, 1671, M. Talon, the Intendant of New France, sent for a certain Father Albanel and a young friend of his, the Sieur de St. Simon, and after embracing them sent both forth on a perilous mission to the North. They were directed to "penetrate as far as the Mer du Nord; to draw up a memoir of all they would discover, drive a trade in fur with the Indians, and especially reconnoitre whether there be any means of wintering ships in that quarter." Such were the injunctions bestowed upon these hardy spirits on the eve of their errand. To recur to a theme already touched upon, if the French Government of the day had previously caused visits to be made to Hudson's Bay in the manner described several years later, all this knowledge would have been already acquired; and there would have been no necessity to despatch either priest or layman thither to make that discovery anew. [Sidenote: Father Albanel's journey.] In the "Jesuit Relations" for 1672 is found Father Albanel's own narration of his journey: "Hitherto this voyage had been considered impossible for Frenchmen, who, after having undertaken it three times and not having been able to surmount the obstacles, had seen themselves to abandon it in despair of success. What appears as impossible is found not to be so when it pleases God. The conduct of it was reserved to me after eighteen years' prosecution that I had made, and I have very excellent proofs that God reserved the execution of it for me, after the singular favour of a sudden and marvellous, not to say miraculous, recovery that I received as soon as I devoted myself to this mission at the solicitation of my Superior; and in fact I have not been deceived in my expectation; I have opened the road, in company with two Frenchmen and six savages." Thus it is made apparent that so far as the Jesuits, pioneers of this country, were concerned, no knowledge of any of their compatriots having penetrated to Hudson's Bay had ever reached them. The letter that M. Talon was writing to his royal master is proof that he, too, was unaware of any prior discovery. No doubt remains that the worthy priest and the young chevalier, his servant, were the first party travelling overland from Quebec to penetrate into those regions and to behold that vast expanse of water. The little band of English at Fort Charles, under Charles Bailey, who had been sent out as Governor of Rupert's Land by the Company, were soon made aware of the proximity of the French, and no one seems to have been more affected by the news than Radisson and Groseilliers. The two brothers-in-law indulged in many anxious surmises. Radisson offered to go and find out who the intruders were, but the Governor by no means favoured the idea. In those days, when national rivalries and prejudices were so intense, and especially so among the English middle classes, Bailey seems to have felt a great deal of distrust with regard to the two Frenchmen; and he early made up his mind to let them know his opinion and feel his authority. The two parties were continually at loggerheads; the Frenchmen naturally resenting the Governor's unjust suspicions, and the Governor retorting by a ponderous irony and a surly and continual surveillance of their speech and movements. [Sidenote: Rivals on the scene.] In the following year, 1673, the occupants of the Company's post, at Rupert's River, were made aware of the neighbourhood of their trade rivals in no pleasant manner. The Indians of the country round about began to show signs of disaffection. On being questioned, some of the more friendly ones were induced to betray the cause. They had been informed by the Frenchmen, who in that and the previous years had reached the shores of the Bay, distant some twenty or thirty leagues, that the English were not to be trusted, that their firearms were bewitched, and their religion was that of the evil one. Peaceably inclined, the Nodwayes, who were the principal inhabitants of that region, fell an easy prey to the proselytism of the indomitable Jesuits, and many of their younger braves had journeyed to Quebec and taken part in the mission services there, and at Montreal, before the arrival of Dablon in their midst. But they were readily adaptable to the racial and commercial antagonisms of their teachers; and late in 1673 Governor Bailey was informed that they contemplated an attack on the fort. [Illustration: TYPE OF EARLY TRADING POST. (_From an old print._)] On this, the Company's servants began the task of strengthening their frail defences. The Governor alleged that he had received instructions from England to despatch Groseilliers to the other side of the Bay, called the "West Main." Radisson sought to accompany his kinsman, but was met with a peremptory refusal. This action by no means increased the amity between him and his rather stupid and choleric superior. Nevertheless the winter passed without any open exhibition of hostility between the two men; and it seemed likely that no difficulties would arise while the cold weather continued. The ground was, however, still covered with snow when several Indians appeared and asked to be allowed to take up their abode at the east end of the fort, that they might be ready for trade in the spring. Bailey, with his customary sagacity in such matters, suspected some treachery in this; but on the active expostulations of Radisson the simple request was granted, and the Indians immediately proceeded to erect their wigwams. On the 25th of March, when the thaw commenced, six savages, announcing themselves as ambassadors from Kas-Kidi-dah, the chief of the tribe, (referred to by Bailey's secretary as "King Cusciddidah,") came to herald the approach of that potentate. It so chanced that both the Governor and Radisson were absent, having gone out to reconnoitre and to obtain an addition to their now slender stock of meat. In all these little expeditions the Governor and Radisson were inseparable. The former swore privately he could never bring himself to trust the fort in the hands of a Frenchman; and, although there was no reason whatever to apprehend such consequences, the Governor constantly acted as if any such show of confidence on his part would emphatically jeopardize the interests of the Company. [Sidenote: Governor Bailey's distrust.] King Cusciddidah arrived on the following day. "His Majestie brought a retinue with him," records Thomas Gorst, the Governor's secretary, "but very little beaver, the Indians having already sent their best to Canada." In the absence of the Governor, the occupants of the fort regarded Captain Cole as their superior. Cole did not place much confidence in the pacific mien of the savages surrounding the fort, and a guard was kept up night and day. Under cover of darkness two sailors were despatched to find the Governor; but scarcely had they departed on their quest than Cusciddidah proposed that two of his Indians should go on the same errand. The acting commandant of the fort could not well decline this offer, and on the 31st of March the second party returned, bringing with them the Governor. To the surprise of all Radisson did not accompany him. No explanation was offered; but the next day the rumour ran that they had quarrelled in the wilderness, that from words they came to blows, and that finally Radisson had attempted to shoot the Governor. Filled with a natural alarm, Groseilliers made several attempts to obtain from Bailey the true story of the affair, but the Governor declined to affirm or confirm anything, saying that he had no doubt Groseilliers knew quite as much of the matter as himself. Groseilliers' anxiety, however, was considerably lessened when at a formal conference with the Indian king, held at the latter's wigwams near the fort, he learnt that the French had made a settlement not above eight days' journey from Rupert's River. Hither, in effect, Radisson had repaired; and afterwards from thence made his way back to Quebec. Of his subsequent adventures mention will be made later in the narrative. [Sidenote: First French rivalry.] Cusciddidah openly demanded the English protection. He declared his apprehension of being attacked by other Indians, whom the French had animated against the English and all who dealt with them. He even gave a description of the fort the French had erected on the banks of Moose River, and the contents of its store-house. Already the French were resorting to many artifices to hinder the natives from trading with the heretic pale-faces; they gave higher value for the furs brought them, and lost no opportunity of instilling into the minds of the Indians a far from flattering opinion of their trade rivals, the English. One hearer received these tidings with complete equanimity. That which surprised and confounded his companions, filled the bosom of Chouart des Groseilliers with a secret joy. The Governor's high-handed deportment had oppressed, if it had not angered him; and he had, together with his brother-in-law, begun to suspect that this policy of enmity was dictated by a desire to rid himself and the Company of them both. But in the proximity of the French he found a weapon of great utility in his relations with the Governor, his superior officer. On the third of April a council was held, to debate upon the advisability of the Company's agents removing from Rupert's to Moose River, thus to prevent their traffic being intercepted by the French. The Governor adopted a tone of great cordiality towards Groseilliers, and listened with deference to his advice. Groseilliers boldly counselled giving up the present fort and establishing themselves close to the French. Bailey, much to Captain Cole's astonishment, instantly approved of the plan. In vain did Cole protest against the course as dangerous; the Governor professed his confidence in Groseilliers' wisdom, and ordered the sloop to be got ready for the journey. [Illustration: BARK CANOE OF INDIANS ON HUDSON'S BAY.] In the meantime the Indians in the neighbourhood of Fort Charles continued building their wigwams. They raised their wauscohegein or fort so near the English that the palisades joined. As their numbers increased, Groseilliers advised putting off their own expedition until the savages were gone hunting, so that Fort Charles and those left in charge might not be surprised in their absence. On the 20th of May, seven canoes containing more subjects of Cusciddidah arrived, bringing the news to the English that few, if any, Upland Indians might be expected to visit them that season, the French having persuaded them to journey with their goods to Canada instead. Indeed, said they, the tribes had already left, so that even if the English expedition were made, it would be fruitless. At this depressing intelligence Bailey again sought Groseilliers' advice, and this being still in favour of advancing to Moose River, it was adopted. Before the departure, on the 27th of May, a band of about fifty men, women and children appeared, anxious to trade; but instead of furs they offered wampum, feathers, and a few small canoes, for none of which merchandise the Company's agents had need. They were of the nation called Pishapocanoes, a tribe allied to the Esquimaux, and like them, a "poor, beggarly people; by which," adds one of the party, "we may perceive the French ran away with the best of the trade." Everything being now in readiness, the expedition started, but without Bailey. The Governor, at the last moment, decided to remain behind at Fort Charles and await their return. [Sidenote: First visit to Moose River.] The voyage across the Bay was made in safety, and on the very day of landing at the mouth of Moose River, a band of Tabiti Indians were encountered, from whom they obtained about two hundred pelts. The chief of this band denied that the French had bribed them or the other Indians not to trade with the English. They declared that as yet their intercourse had been almost entirely with the Jesuits, one of whom was Father Albanel, who had merely urged them to live on terms of friendship with the nations in league with the French. The chief blamed the English for trading with such pitiful tribes as Cusciddidah's and the Pishapocanoes, advising them instead to settle at Moose River, where, he asserted, the Upland Indians would come and trade with them. One curious incident occurred in the course of this parley. The Tabiti chief, who had been for some time looking rather sharply at Groseilliers, suddenly broke off the intercourse. When Captain Cole demanded the reason, the chief declared that it was on Groseilliers' account, whom he had recognized as the Frenchman with whom he had had dealings many years before. Groseilliers, nothing loth, stepped forward, and declared that the chief might possess himself in easiness on that score, as he was now to all intents and purposes an Englishman; and that he would always trade with the Tabitis as such. "But you drove hard bargains," returned the chief. "You took our silkiest, softest and richest furs, and you gave us but beads and ribbons. You told us the skins of the sable, and marten, and beaver were of little account to you, whereas the English give us, and the French traders as well, guns and hatchets in exchange." This harangue does not seem to have particularly disconcerted Groseilliers; he was an old Indian trader; he returned a polite answer, renewing his expressions of amity. Nevertheless, it made a profound impression upon the other members of the party, who reported to Bailey on their return that the Indians thought Groseilliers too hard on them, and refused to deal with him. Indeed, they did not scruple to assert that the comparative failure of their expedition was owing to Groseilliers' presence; that both the Tabitis and the Shechittiwans, hard by, were really possessed of peltries which they chose to conceal. [Sidenote: Bailey at Moose River.] On hearing this intelligence, Bailey himself was induced to set out for Moose River. By rare good fortune, he found the Tabitis reinforced by a numerous band of Shechittiwans, who had journeyed thither some fifty leagues and were eager to trade. From this tribe, the Governor procured no fewer than fifteen hundred skins on very good terms. Charmed with his adventure, he decided to pursue his course, discover the Chechouan River, and thence coast along the west shore of the Bay, to Port Nelson, where there was, as yet, no fort. On the 18th of July, he arrived at Chechouan River, "where no Englishman had been before," but secured little or no beaver. He treated with the chief of the tribe he found there and with his son, who exacted from him a promise that he would come with a ship and trade the next year. In return, they assured him they would provide a quantity of beaver and induce the Upland tribes to travel thence. Hardly had the sloop departed than, on the 27th, it ran upon a mass of floating ice and narrowly escaped foundering. This catastrophe precipitated the Governor's return to Rupert's River. He arrived to find Groseilliers and his protégé Gorst at daggers drawn, and the factors, traders and sailors almost at the point of mutiny, and all this because they objected to serve under a Frenchman. [Sidenote: Jesuit priest at Fort Charles.] Bailey now seems to have made up his mind what course to pursue with regard to Groseilliers; but if anything were wanting to complete his decision, he had not long to wait. On the next day but one, that is to say the 30th of August, a messenger came to him to announce the arrival of a canoe. In it was a Jesuit missionary, accompanied by one of Cusciddidah's own sons. The worthy priest was in a sorry condition with regard to his apparel, most of which he had either been robbed of or been compelled to barter for food during his long sojourn in the wilderness. He had left Quebec during the preceding October, but had been detained for many months owing to the impassability of the route. He bore with him letters; one of them for Mr. Bailey from the Governor of Quebec. This epistle seems to have given Bailey a great deal of pleasure, and as a communication from one great man to another, he caused it to be publicly read out in the fort. The French Governor desired Bailey to treat the priest civilly "on account of the amity between the two crowns"; and the bearer of this letter had no reason to complain of a lack of hospitality. He was clothed and entertained with great kindness. Unhappily, on the very evening of his arrival, the Governor was made aware that the Jesuit had brought other letters, and that these had been delivered into the hands of Groseilliers. Always suspicious, he now became convinced of treachery. He saw in this harmless visit of a pious missionary a deep-laid plot to capture the fort and allow it to be pillaged by the hostile Indians. He ordered Groseilliers to appear before him. But Groseilliers was not to be found, and Gorst returned to say that both the Frenchmen were out walking together. Bailey, taking several men with him, now went himself in search of the pair; he confronted Groseilliers, and hurled a host of accusations at his head. To these accusations, all ill-founded and ill-advised, Groseilliers very promptly responded by knocking the Governor down. He then returned calmly to the fort, demanded his wages and possessions, and calling three of the Indians to his side, including the young brave who had accompanied the priest, set off valiantly into the wilderness. In due time he reached Quebec, where he rendered a faithful account to the authorities of what had transpired. He also forwarded to England, by way of New England, a minute account of his experiences, which was duly read out at one of the meetings of the Company. The Jesuit, who had offered to proceed with Groseilliers, had been detained. He seems to have made himself very useful to the English in their dealings with the Indians, although he was thoroughly distrusted, as was to be expected, by the Governor. [Sidenote: Arrival of the "Prince Rupert."] On the 24th of September, a sloop was descried in the river, which, with joy, they soon made out to be the _Prince Rupert_, just arrived from England. She was commanded by Captain Gillam, and with her came the new Governor, William Lyddal, to supersede Bailey. Captain Gillam reported that the sister-ship, the _Shaftesbury_, commanded by Captain Shepherd, was likewise at the mouth of the river. The new Governor's commission and instructions being read, all hands were immediately put to work, with the intention of unloading and reloading the ships for the return voyage immediately. Bailey seems to have expressed the greatest anxiety to proceed to London without delay; but at length he was induced to listen to reason. It was pointed out to him that the season would be far spent before the work of equipment could be properly concluded. After several councils, it was resolved that they should winter at Rupert's River; and no effort was made to unload the vessels until the following spring. In the meantime, the crews were not idle. Under Lyddal's direction they found employment in cutting timber and building houses, more particularly a bake-house and a brew-house, which latter added greatly to the comfort of the fort. CHAPTER VIII. 1673-1682. Progress of the Company -- Confusion as to the Names and Number of the Tribes -- Radisson goes to Paris -- His Efforts to Obtain Support there, and from Prince Rupert, in England, Fail -- Arrival of M. de la Chesnaye -- With his help Radisson Secures Support -- And Sails for Quebec -- Thence Proceeds with Two Ships to Attack the English Ports in Hudson's Bay -- His Encounters with Gillam's Expedition from London, and his Son's, from New England. Rapidly advancing in prosperity and reputation, and possessed of a basis of credit which gave it a welcome sense of solidity, the Company now renewed its efforts to extend its trade and settlements. The weekly meetings in Mr. John Horth's house, which were so full of mystery to the public, continued to bear fruit; and at length a regular system was determined for the organization and government of its distant dependencies. [Sidenote: Ignorance of the geography of Hudson's Bay.] All ships bound for Hudson's Bay were now ordered to visit Charlton Island, which lies about forty miles from the mouth of Rupert's River, in the extreme south of the Bay; and the island was also made a rendezvous whither all factors were to bring all their merchandise for the purpose of loading the Company's ships. The geography of the district had hitherto, in spite of the researches of a long series of explorers, beginning with Frobisher, and ending with Fox, remained obscure. But the Company's servants had not been idle, and the Adventurers were soon in possession of carefully drawn charts, and maps of the straits, the Bay itself, and the lands surrounding it. They kept themselves also well-advised by lists, drawings, and detailed descriptions, of the tribes inhabiting the territories granted to them under the charter; and the discussions which went on over this subject were not lacking in humour. It is worth observing that for a great many years during the early history of the Company, its Governors, captains, chief factors, chief traders, and the rank and file of its employees could never by any chance agree, either as to the number or the characteristics of the aborigines. In concocting their reports many were animated purely by love of romance: others relied too implicitly on the tales told by the Indians themselves; others may be credited with being the victims of their own imaginations. Nor could the lists enumerating the tribes boast more consistency. Extracts from those of two governors may be given here for purposes of comparison:-- NATIONS VISITING HUDSON'S BAY. Bailey, 1673: Lyddal, 1678: Esquemos, Askimows, Nodwayes, Odwayes, Twegwayes, Twagions, Pankeshones, Paggarshows, Noridgewelks, Narchuels, Abenekays, Penkayes, Micmacks, Micmackes, Kilistinons, Crilistinons, Assinapoils, Ossa-poets, Cuchneways, Kitchenayes, Algonkins, Algonkings, Outaways, Otawayes, Outagamis. Wattagamais. No wonder, therefore, that the Adventurers in England were puzzled, and that at one of their later meetings Prince Rupert was forced to exclaim: "Gentlemen, these Indians" (each member had been supplied with Governor Nixon's list) "are not our Indians. 'Fore God, out of the nineteen I see only five we have dealt with before." Another worthy member declared, on a similar occasion that the tribes frequenting the Bay were more volatile than the Bedouins. "These are not men, but chameleons"--was the remark of another adventurer. [Sidenote: Confusion of tribes.] The chief cause of the confusion lay in the variations of spelling. More than a century was to elapse before a common orthography was adopted, and in the interval it was impossible to fix the tribes by name with certainty. The name of no tribe perhaps underwent such vicissitudes of spelling and pronunciation as that described by the earliest Jesuit pioneers as the Ossa-poiles, which in our own day are known as the Assiniboines. They were in process of time the Poeles, Poets, the Pedlas, the Semplars, Oss-Semplars, Essapoils and the Simpoils.[17] At a general court held to consider the action of Governor Bailey, the majority of the adventurers professed themselves rejoiced at having been quit of the services of the Sieurs Groseilliers and Radisson; yet there were not wanting others to openly regret the treatment these two men had received. As may be supposed, the most fervent of their advocates and defenders was Sir John Kirke, whose daughter had married Radisson, and who himself had lately been knighted by the king. He predicted some disaster to the Company from having dismissed these two faithful servants, and he was loud and persistent in asserting the bad faith and unjust suspicions of Bailey. While the affairs of the Company were proceeding tranquilly at home, the conduct and employment of one of these two bushrangers was more enlivening. Chouart was passing his time in inactivity at Three Rivers. But his brother-in-law, after several ineffectual endeavours to establish a northern rivalry to the Company, had offered his services to the French Navy. This career, which at that period must have been, even for him, sufficiently eventful and exciting, was cut short by ship-wreck in 1679. Losing all his property, even to his clothing, Radisson made his way first to Brest and then to Paris. The Vice-Admiral and Intendant of the Fleet having written in his favour, the Court was pleased to grant him a sum of one hundred crowns, and hope was also held out to him that he would be honoured by the command of a frigate. In the meantime he was accorded leave to go to England to fetch his wife. [Sidenote: Radisson in France.] Madame Radisson, otherwise Mistress Mary Kirke, appears to have caused her husband a great deal of mortification and numerous disappointments. There is no doubt that her continued residence in England, in spite of her husband's return to the French service, made him an object of suspicion to the French Court. Once when he endeavoured, in a memorable interview with Colbert, to press upon that Minister his scheme for ousting the English from Hudson's Bay, the Minister responded coldly: "M. Radisson, you are suspected of being in league with the English, your father-in-law is one of the members of the English Company; and your wife resides under his roof." "I made him understand," declared Radisson long afterwards, "that, though married, I was not master of my wife. Her father would by no means consent to my bringing her to France with me." These rebuffs determined him to make an attempt to better his worldly condition elsewhere. A true soldier of fortune, patriotism appears to have had little weight with him; he was as ready to serve under the English as the French. He returned to find his father-in-law more placable. Sir John had at this time certain claims against the French; and he doubtless fancied that Radisson might assist him in preferring these at the French Court. He took occasion to ask his father-in-law what chance there remained to him of again securing employment under the Company. "None, sir," replied Kirke, "both Bailey, Lyddal and others are against you and have poisoned the minds of their employers. Prince Rupert is, however, your friend, and also Captain Gillam; but one dislikes to speak openly, and the other dare not." Acting on this intelligence, Radisson resolved to see Rupert. The prince received him kindly enough; he took pains to show him his collection of mezzotints, and to explain some of his scientific curiosities. He even went so far as to condole with Radisson on the treatment he had received. But he had to point out that the temper of the Company was such that he feared it would be in vain for him to exercise his interest for his visitor's reinstatement. [Sidenote: Plan to dislodge the Company.] Radisson, disappointed of his hopes, and frustrated in his desire to return with his wife, did not meet with a warm welcome on the other side of the Channel. Colbert received him with black looks; and the suspicions which gathered about him were now strengthened rather than dissipated. In this extremity he repaired to the Marquis de Seignely, to whom he set forth substantially the same plan which he had cherished for years, of opening out the trade of the North, with the additional attraction now of dislodging the English from a commerce which had already proved vastly profitable. Seignely listened with interest, and requested time to reflect on the matter. At the second interview Radisson was not overwhelmed with disappointment, for he had expected no other issue; he was told flatly that he was regarded by the king as little better than a traitor; and that his Canadian project met with universal distrust. The outlook seemed discouraging indeed, when happily at this juncture there arrived in Paris M. de la Chesnaye, who was in charge of the fur-trade in Canada, as the head of the Compagnie du Nord. This event proved Radisson's salvation. He learned with great rejoicing that La Chesnaye's visit to France was actuated by a desire to report upon the intrusion of the English Company. La Chesnaye proved a true friend; he evinced himself most heartily in favour of the Government securing the services of Radisson in establishing a rival establishment, on the principle of those of the Company to which he had formerly been attached. Many consultations took place, both Seignely and Chesnaye listening with great interest while Radisson explained the equipment and merchandise of the Hudson's Bay Company, which he strongly advised should be taken as a pattern in all practical extensions of the French fur-trade in those regions. [Sidenote: Radisson assisted by the Jesuits.] The only difficulty now presenting itself was to find money for the enterprise. The exchequer of the Court was at a low ebb; and it had a thousand calls upon its charity and liberality. Radisson must wait even for the few hundred crowns he so sadly needed for his passage to New France and his personal needs. There was, however, one force in France which could always be approached with a good courage when any enterprise in a new country required support, and always with success. It was the power which, though it had endured a thousand disappointments and sacrificed a thousand lives, and as many fortunes, in the attempt to teach the Gospel of Jesus in the wilderness, had adhered without wavering to its faith in the ultimate victory of the Cross over the savage nature of the Indians. No adventurer, if he had but a sufficiently plausible story, need turn away empty-handed from the door of the Jesuits. To the Jesuits of Paris Radisson presented himself as a good Catholic seeking to subvert the designs of the heretic English. He applied for assistance, and he was at length rewarded for his pains by a sum of five hundred crowns. But nearly two years had passed before this assistance was procured. Radisson's debts had accumulated; his creditors were clamouring about him, threatening him with the sponging-house; no effort to elude them met with success, and at length he found himself at Rochelle, with scarce twenty crowns in his pocket over and above the cost of his passage. It was then that he made the resolve to reimburse the Jesuits, "if he should live to be worth so great a sum," and it is interesting to discover that two years later he kept his word. At present he could only trust to La Chesnaye, who was anxiously awaiting his arrival in Quebec. Thither Radisson arrived on the 25th of September, 1681. La Chesnaye showed much joy at seeing his friend; for in truth his own plans for seeking to share the northern trade of the English were nearly ripe. He declared that there was no time to be lost; but that in spite of the urgency of the matter the greatest circumspection would have to be observed, as Frontenac by no means desired to compromise the king without first seeing his way clear. But if the Governor whose career was about to close was punctilious, the Intendant Duchesneau was not. He had already dispatched a memoir to his superior relating to Hudson's Bay, and to what he believed to be the French rights there. [Sidenote: Duchesneau protests against English encroachments.] "They" (the English) he wrote, "are still on Hudson's Bay on the north and do great damage to our fur-trade. The farmers [of the revenue] suffer in consequence by this diminution of the trade at Tadoussac, and throughout the entire country, because the English drive off the Outaoua nations. For the one and the other design they have two forts on the said Bay--the one towards Tadoussac and the other at Cape Henrietta Marie, on the side of the Assinibonetz. The sole means to prevent them succeeding in what is prejudicial to us in this regard would be to drive them by main force from that Bay, which belongs to us. Or, if there would be an objection in coming to that extremity, to construct forts on the rivers falling into the lakes, in order to stop the Indians at these points." The zealous Intendant declared that should King Lewis adopt the resolution to arrange with the Duke of York for his possessions in that quarter, "in which case Boston could not resist," Canada would be ruined, "the French being naturally inconsistent and fond of novelty." Finding, however, that they could obtain no official recognition of the enterprise, La Chesnaye at length resorted to a transparent fiction in order to account for Radisson's departure--a subterfuge which was the more necessary since many had begun to suspect his destination and urged the Governor to do nothing which would bring down on them the enmity of the English and their allies, the Iroquois. He requested the Governor, if he would not countenance an expedition with license to trade on the shores of the Bay, to grant Radisson formal permission to return to France by way of New England in a vessel belonging to the Government of Acadia, which at that moment lay in the St. Lawrence ready to sail. It was arranged privately that after his departure Radisson should proceed in this vessel only as far as Isle Percée in the Gulf, near the mouth of the river, and there await his kinsmen Groseilliers, his nephew Chouart, and the two ships which La Chesnaye was even then busily fitting out. Thus all official cognizance of the expedition would be avoided. [Sidenote: Company's enemies leave Quebec.] The terms agreed upon were, that in return for La Chesnaye's equipment, Radisson and Groseilliers were, provided certain conditions were carried out, to receive jointly half the profits of the venture, and La Chesnaye the other half. What these conditions were can only be guessed; but beyond all question, they concerned the capture or spoliation of the English trading posts on the Bay. Radisson took with him his nephew, Jean Baptiste, who had passed nearly the whole of his life among the Indians as a _coureur de bois_; the pilot, Pierre Allemand, and an old bushranger named Godefrey, who was well acquainted with the Indians of the northern regions. Groseilliers was to remain behind until the spring, when he was to have the command of the smaller of the two vessels. On the 4th of November the advance guard of the expedition directed against the Company's establishment in Hudson's Bay left Quebec. In the following spring the rendezvous was kept at the island named. Radisson is found complaining bitterly of the character of the vessels _St. Pierre_ and _St. Anne_. The former he describes as an old craft of 50 tons only, "with twelve men of a crew, including those with me. There were goods enough for the trade aboard her," he adds, "but so scanty a supply of provisions that if I had not been so deeply engaged I should not venture on the enterprise." [Sidenote: Rejected advice of Radisson and Groseilliers.] If his case was scarcely hopeful, that of his brother-in-law was far worse. The latter's vessel could boast but little more than half the tonnage, and while her crew was larger by three men, she carried even fewer supplies. But Radisson and Groseilliers were not men to shrink from any enterprise because it seemed hazardous. They had led bold, reckless lives, and their spirits rose at the prospect of danger. It was afterwards alleged of this pair that one great cause of their disagreement with the Company was their absolute inability to remain quiet and content in the enjoyment of a regular traffic. Such a career seemed to their bold, energetic dispositions worthier of drapers' apprentices. It is said they counselled the Company not to think of establishing one or two trading posts and expect the Indians to come to them for trade, but to push on in the wilderness to the north and west, building new depots and stirring up the hunters to greater activity and more profitable results. Had this advice been followed, the exploration of the great North-West would not only have been anticipated by almost a century; but by the occupation of its territory, the great evils of a later day would have been averted; nor would anyone in England have challenged the Company's right to an exclusive trade in the regions granted by its charter. But the Company was soon to learn that its earliest pioneers and forerunners were not to be cast off with impunity. The two bushrangers experienced considerable difficulty at the outset in propitiating and calming the fears of their crews, who were terrified, and not without reason, at the prospect of a voyage of 900 leagues in such craft as the _St. Pierre_ and the _St. Anne_, and amidst rough water and ice. But they at length succeeded and effected a start. After nineteen days the crew of Groseilliers' ship mutinied. Groseilliers' attempts to appease them seemed about to end in signal failure when the man on watch cried out that a vessel was in sight to windward. Groseilliers seized his opportunity; "See!" he cried, pointing to the distant barque, "yonder is one of the English Company, laden with the profits of their trade in the Bay. Every man has his pocket full of gold and his stomach full of rum; and we shall have the same if we are not cowards enough to abandon our voyage." After innumerable episodes, some of which almost ended in tragic consequences, Radisson at last, on the 26th of August, arrived on the west coast of Hudson's Bay. On the following day he was joined by his brother-in-law in the _St. Anne_ at the mouth of a river named by the Indians Ka-kirka-kiouay, translated by Radisson as "who goes, who comes." Twelve days before their arrival another ship had entered this same river, commanded by none other than Captain Gillam, and having on board John Bridgar, commissioned as Governor of the new settlement at Port Nelson. Having thus entered the river, they advanced fifteen miles up stream, and Radisson then left Groseilliers to build a fort, while he himself departed in search of savages with whom to trade. With him he took his nephew and Godefrey, all three being well armed with muskets and pistols. In the course of eight days they accomplished forty leagues and attained the upper part of the river, though without meeting a single savage. On the eighth day, however, their eyes were rejoiced by the sight of a large encampment of Indians, who, while not especially rich in furs, were eager to conclude a treaty with the French, and to encourage their settlement in the country. Radisson now decided to return, accompanied by some of the savages, and on the 12th day of September rejoined his brother-in-law, whose fort he found pretty well advanced. [Sidenote: The younger Gillam discovered.] Hardly had he returned when the sudden booming of a cannon startled the settlement. It was the first time the Indians had ever heard the sound, and they expressed much astonishment and apprehension. While the two adventurers hastened to re-assure their allies, they were themselves hardly less disturbed. Radisson made up his mind to immediately ascertain whence the firing came and with this intention he embarked in a canoe and went to the mouth of the river. In passing to the opposite bank of the stream, and while in the vicinity of a small island, they perceived signs of European habitation. A tent had been erected, and at that moment a log house was being built. After a stealthy reconnoitre, lasting the whole night, Radisson and his companions advanced boldly in the morning from the opposite shore in their canoe. The islanders were engaged in making a repast when Radisson attracted their attention. Speaking first to them in French, and finding that none of them understood, he thereupon addressed them in English. He asked them what was their business in those parts. Their leader quickly responded: "We are English, and come for the beaver trade." "By whose authority," asked Radisson; "do you possess a commission?" The other replied that he did not himself possess such a document, but that his father did, and that he and his companions hailed from New England. Whereupon Radisson, still seated in his canoe at some distance from the shore, informed them that they had not a shadow of right to be in those regions, which he himself had discovered and settled for the French some years before. He drew upon his imagination so far as to intimate that he was at that moment in command of a large force of Frenchmen near at hand, who would effectually maintain the sovereignty of King Lewis and his exclusive trading right in this territory; and he concluded his harangue, which was delivered almost at the top of his voice, by advising the party of New Englanders to embark as soon as possible and to return from whence they came. Before any reply could be made, a cry broke from the lips of both the leaders. The canoe had touched the bank, and they recognized one another. The New Englander was the son of Radisson's old friend Gillam; and, as may be supposed, he possessed a very high admiration for a man of whom he had heard so much. They speedily embraced, but Radisson is careful to inform us that he did not entirely trust his young friend. When young Gillam's ship appeared at the mouth of the river, and he was invited to go on board, he did so, but he took the precaution of insisting upon two Englishmen being left as hostages on shore. It was not without misgivings that, as he neared the vessel in their canoe, he observed the captain posting the English emblem and likewise discharging a number of cannon shots. "I told him," says Radisson, "that it was not necessary to fire any more, for fear of causing jealousy amongst our people, who might show themselves hostile. He proposed that we should negotiate together. I promised that I would persuade our other officers to consent that, since the season was already too far advanced for them to withdraw, he should pass the winter where he was without their doing him any mischief." In short Radisson was resolved at all costs to keep up appearances. He even went so far as to grant Gillam formal permission to continue building his house, "barring fortifications," and to guarantee him against insults from the Indians, over whom he professed to have absolute power. The two men parted on good terms; and perhaps Gillam's complaisance was well-advised. Radisson confesses that had the English shown themselves refractory or exhibited any disposition to assert rights over the country, it was his firm intention to concert a plan for seizing their ship, which he observes, was an "excellent prize" inasmuch it held no commission or warrant to trade from any power. It afterwards appeared that this enterprise of the New England ship was set on foot by Gillam senior, who, dissatisfied with his profits under the Company, sought to adventure an expedition on his own account from Boston. He was destined to pay the penalty for this indiscretion. Happy at having come out of this encounter so easily, Radisson and his party re-embarked in their canoe and struck out northwards. Another surprise was in store for them. A ship under full sail was on the point of entering the river. More strategy was necessary. The party regained the shore and instantly kindled a huge bonfire, upon which they cast grass and leaves so as to produce a thick column of smoke. Their purpose was to attract the attention and arrest the progress of the vessel and in this they succeeded. Believing they had come upon an Indian settlement, and anxious to reconnoitre before proceeding farther, the parties aboard the ship cast anchor immediately and so remained motionless in the channel all night. [Sidenote: Arrival of Bridgar.] Early in the morning they saw that a boat was being lowered from the ship, and while it was filling with occupants Radisson made ready to receive them. Each of his party was posted, armed, at the entrance to the wood, while Radisson himself walked down to the shore to greet the strangers. They were soon within hail. Radisson set up a loud cry, Indian fashion, for the purpose of eliciting a response. He was disappointed in this; for the boat approached steadily and silently; there was a movement of the oars, but most of the figures appeared stern and motionless. The boat grounded ten yards from where Radisson stood with folded arms, and a general attitude of defiance. One of the crew had got a leg over the side of the boat when our bushranger cried out in a loud voice: "Hold, in the King's name." And then presenting his carbine, "I forbid you to land." The occupants of the boat were astonished. "Who are you?" they asked, "and what is your business?" "I am a Frenchman," was the answer, delivered in English; "and I hold this country for his Most Christian Majesty, King Lewis!" Radisson signalled to his followers, who emerged from their retreat, making a brave show of their weapons. The coup seemed destined to be successful. The leader of the boat party, visibly impressed, remained standing up in his craft without any attempt on the part of his followers to land. "I beg to inform you, gentlemen, that we hail from London. Our ship yonder is the _Prince Rupert_, belonging to the honourable Hudson's Bay Company and commanded by Captain Zachary Gillam." "You arrive too late. This country is already in the possession of the King of France, and its trade belongs to the Northern Company of Canada." A short dispute succeeded. Suddenly changing his tactics, Governor Bridgar, for it was no other, feigned acquiescence, admitted that after all Radisson might be right, and requested the privilege of landing and saluting him. [Sidenote: The Bushranger's mendacity.] The two leaders now conversed amicably. Radisson took occasion to elaborate the narrative to which he had recently treated young Gillam, without, however, mentioning the circumstance of his having met the latter. He did not scruple to allege a lengthy residence in the region, detailing his forces, both French and Indian, with a fine display of exactitude. Commenced on shore, the interview was transferred to the ship; Radisson, while accepting Bridgar's hospitality, took care to keep, as before, two or three hostages on land. On board the _Prince Rupert_ he embraced Gillam, and listened with a real interest to the tidings he had to convey of what had been happening in Europe, and of the affairs of the Company. For himself, he readily volunteered the information that he and his brother-in-law Groseilliers had two fine large vessels in the vicinity, while the third was shortly expected. He likewise made no secret of the fact that a huge fort was being constructed hard by in the interests of the French Company. In all of these statements Governor Bridgar professed absolute credence, whatever may have been his private opinion of their value. In reality, however, he was not deceived; and if it had not been for Radisson's precaution as to the hostages, there is some reason to believe he would have detained his guest on board the Company's ship to ruminate for a while on his treachery to the Company. Even allowing for the truth of Radisson's assertions regarding the occupation by the French of Port Nelson and the surrounding neighbourhood in large numbers, Bridgar was not to be dissuaded by mere words from his intention to establish a factory there. He had every confidence in the Company's rights; and he determined to carry out his instructions to the letter. No sooner had Radisson departed, therefore, than a majority of the people on board the _Prince Rupert_ landed and commenced building a fort. The French party hiding in the woods spied on their movements; and before rejoining their comrades at their own settlement they had the privilege of seeing the erection of Fort Nelson, the fourth establishment of the Company in the Hudson's Bay territories, well under way. FOOTNOTE: [17] Also known to-day as the Stone Indians. CHAPTER IX. 1682-1683. Death of Prince Rupert -- The Company's Difficulty in Procuring Proper Servants -- Radisson at Port Nelson -- The two Gillams -- Their Meeting -- Capture of the New England Party -- The First Scotchman in the Bay -- Governor Bridgar Carried off Prisoner -- Indian Visitors to the Fort -- Disasters to the Ships -- The French Burn the Island Fort -- Radisson's Harangue to the Indians -- Return to France. [Sidenote: Death of Prince Rupert.] On the 28th of November, 1682, at his house in Spring Garden, died the first Governor of the Hudson's Bay Company. The prince had been in ill-health for some time, he was in his sixty-third year; and he had lived a stirring and adventurous life. His demise occasioned general regret, more amongst the people than at Court; for, as a writer of that day observed, "he had of late years proved a faithful counsellor to the King, but a greater patriot to English liberty; and therefore was towards his latter end neglected by the Court to that degree that nothing passed between him and his great relations but bare civilities in the common forms." On the sixth of the ensuing month his body was privately interred among others of the Royal Family in a vault in Westminster Abbey. A week later there was held a General Court of the Company, at which the Duke of York was chosen to succeed Rupert in the governorship. Besides the Duke himself, his Royal Highness the Duke of Albemarle, Lord Arlington and Mr. Hays, all delivered enthusiastic panegyrics on the deceased prince, rightly attributing to his zeal, judgment and enterprise, the successful establishment of the Company. And the meeting then adjourned out of regret for the dead Governor without proceeding to further business. More than fifteen years had elapsed since Medard Chouart des Groseilliers had first fired Prince Rupert with his project of founding a great fur-traffic in the unknown and unexplored regions of the New World. The prince had lived to see that project succeed even beyond his most sanguine expectations. Now, at his death, the Company owned four ships; and after all the cost of its plant, its ships and its equipment had been paid, it was returning an annual profit of two hundred per cent. on its capital. It was well-known that his Highness favoured greater activity, and one of his last acts had been to sign the commission of John Bridgar as Governor of the new settlement at Port Nelson. But during his own Governorship, the Company, feeling, no doubt, that they must balance the Prince's zeal for adventure with considerable caution, opposed the policy of rapid expansion with somewhat excessive prudence; and it was only after his death that they felt confident in pursuing a more vigorous and enterprising plan of commerce. Under date of April 27th, 1683, while the drama between the French and English was being enacted at Port Nelson, the following instructions were addressed to Governor Sargeant, regarding trade with the interior: "You are to choose out from amongst our servants such as are best qualified with strength of body and the country language to travel and to penetrate into the country, and to draw down the Indians by fair and gentle means to trade with us." But the Company was to learn that the parsimony which then characterized its policy was not calculated to foster the success of its aims. The majority of the men it sent out from England could not be classified under the head of adventurous spirits, ready to dare all for mere excitement and the prospect of gain. They were for the most part young men gifted with no more aptitude for the work in the wilderness than a disinclination to pursue their callings at home. No small number were dissatisfied apprentices; one William Evans had been a drawer at the Rainbow Inn; Portman had sent his scullion. Even at that early day the staffs employed on the plantations were recruited from amongst the very class least competent to exploit those regions. The majority of the applicants for employment in the Company's service in the seventeenth century were not men of character and vigour, or even of robust physique, but rather hare-brained artisans of the wild, dare-devil type, whose parents and friends foresaw for them, if London or Bristol formed the sphere of their talents, a legal and violent rather than a natural termination of their respective careers. [Sidenote: Company's encouragement requested.] Sargeant's response to the foregoing injunction certainly served to enlighten his superiors. "I shall not be neglectful," he wrote, "as soon as I can find any man capable and willing to send up into the country with the Indians, to endeavour to penetrate into what the country will and may produce, and to effect their utmost in bringing down the Indians to our factory; but your Honours should give good encouragement to those who undertake such extraordinary service; or else I fear that there will be but few that will embrace such employment." The rebuke may have been just; but it seems to have given offence to some of the more pompous members of the Company; and Sargeant was desired not to cast any further reflection on his employers in his communications to them. Nevertheless, the Company was soon to learn the value of a less niggardly policy. Meanwhile for ten days the two ex-employees, Radisson and Groseilliers, gave no further evidence to the English at the new settlement on Nelson River of their presence. But on the tenth day their curiosity and uneasiness regarding the conduct of the English Governor, Bridgar, and the other servants of the Company, had reached such a pitch that it was decided without further consideration that Radisson should start off at once to reconnoitre their behaviour. The actual distance between Fort Bourbon, on the Hays River, and the Company's factory on Nelson River was not above fifty miles; but owing to the dangerous character of the river, and the necessity for delay before an attempt could be made to cross it, Radisson and his party consumed fourteen days on the journey. [Sidenote: Bridgar's credulity.] On their arrival on the 3rd of February, one of the first objects to attract their attention was the _Prince Rupert_, stuck fast in the ice and mud about a mile from where the factory was being erected. At the same time they met the Governor, who was out on a hunting expedition with the chief mate of the vessel. Satisfying himself that no treachery was intended, Radisson accepted Bridgar's invitation to enter the log-house which he had caused to be built for his own occupation. Radisson introduced one of the Frenchmen who accompanied him as the captain of an imaginary ship, which he averred had arrived from France in his behalf. "Mr. B. believed it and anything else I chose to tell him," remarks Radisson naively, "I aiming always to prevent him from having any knowledge of the English interloper." While engaged in the pleasing diversion of drinking each other's health, a number of musket shots were fired. The crew of the vessel not taking any notice of this, the bushranger concluded that those on board were not on their guard and might readily be surprised. With this condition uppermost in his mind, the Frenchman quitted Bridgar, having first allayed any suspicion which might have naturally arisen as to the intention of the party. The latter went boldly on board the ship, and no hindrance being offered, their leader had a colloquy with Captain Gillam. The latter, while he received the visit civilly enough, found occasion to let Radisson know that he was far from entirely trusting him. When his visitor suggested that he was running a great risk in allowing the _Prince Rupert_ to remain grounded, Gillam bluntly requested Radisson to mind his own business, adding that he knew perfectly well what he was doing--a boast which, as the sequel showed, was certainly not well founded. Radisson was determined not to be put out of temper, and so run risk of spoiling his plans. Winter, even in all its rigour, seems to have had no terrors for our indomitable bushranger. For the next two months, as we shall see, he continued to scour backwards and forwards through the country, inspiring his followers and urging them onward to the prosecution of a plan which was obvious to them all. After parting from Gillam the elder, who had not the faintest suspicion that his son was in the locality, Radisson at once started to parley with Gillam, the younger. When he had regained the island which he had left, he was instantly made aware that the New Englanders had been considerably less idle than the Company's servants; having completed a very creditable fort and mounted it with six pieces of cannon. With Benjamin Gillam, our bushranger passed off the same subterfuge with which he had hoodwinked Zachary. He spoke fluently of his newly arrived ship and her cargo and crew, and to cap his narrative, proceeded to introduce her captain, who was none other than the old pilot, Pierre Allemand, who, from the description still extant of his appearance, looked every inch the bold, fierce and uncompromising mariner. He had a great deal to tell Benjamin likewise of the Company's post near by, which he said contained forty soldiers. "Let them be forty devils," exclaimed Gillam, junior, "we have built a good fort and are afraid of nothing." Whereupon Radisson gently reminded him that according to his agreement he was to have built no fort whatever. In reply to this Benjamin begged his visitor not to take umbrage at such a matter, as he never intended to dispute the rights of the French in the region; and the fort was merely intended as a defence against the Indians. [Sidenote: A manoeuvre of Radisson's.] As the evening wore on, a manoeuvre suggested itself to Radisson. He resolved to bring father and son together. No sooner had he formed this amiable resolve than he revealed to Benjamin Gillam the proximity of the _Prince Rupert_ and her commander, and described the means by which an encounter might be effected without eliciting the suspicions of Governor Bridgar or any of the Company's servants. It consisted briefly in young Benjamin's disguising himself as a Frenchman and a bushranger. The scheme met with the young man's hearty approbation and the details were settled as Radisson had designed. On the following day the party set out through the snow. Arriving at the point of land opposite to which the Company's ship lay, Radisson posted two of his best men in the woods on the path which led to the factory. He instructed them to allow the Governor to pass should he come that way, but that if he returned from the ship unaccompanied or prior to their own departure they were to seize and overpower him on the spot. With such precautions as these, Radisson felt himself safe and went on board the _Prince Rupert_ accompanied by Gillam. He introduced his two companions into the captain's room without any notice on the part of Gillam the elder, and the mate and another man he had with him. Leaning across the table, upon which was deposited a bulky bottle of rum, Radisson whispered to the honest captain that he had a secret of the highest importance to communicate if he would but dismiss the others. Gillam readily sent away the mate, but would not dismiss his second attendant until Radisson, again in a whisper, informed him that the black-bearded man in the strange head-gear was his son. [Sidenote: Meeting of father and son.] After communicating this intelligence the pair had their own way. The next few moments were devoted to embraces and to an interchange of news, for Captain Gillam and Benjamin had not met for two years. The sire could not refrain from imparting to his son that he was running a great risk; he declared it would be ruinous to him if it got to the Governor's ears that there was any collusion between them. Radisson again professed his friendship, but added that in his opinion neither of the parties had any right to be where they were, he having taken possession for the King of France. "This territory is all his Most Christian Majesty's," he said. "The fort we have built yonder we call Fort Bourbon, and none have any right here but such as own allegiance to Lewis XIV." He observed that nothing would cause a rupture of the friendly relations now subsisting between French and English but the trade in peltries, trade which he had too great reason to fear they hoped to initiate with the Indians in the spring. The elder Gillam coolly responded that the ship he commanded, and the spot on which they were then assembled, luckily belonged not to himself, but to the Hudson's Bay Company. "With regard to the trade, gentlemen," said he, "you have nothing to fear from me. Even though I don't carry a solitary beaver back to the Thames, I shall not trouble myself, being sure of my wages." [Sidenote: Gillam nearly betrayed.] This interview was prolonged. The healths of the Kings of France and England, Prince Rupert and M. Colbert (quite in ignorance of the death of the two last named) were drunk with zeal and enthusiasm. In the midst of all this, that which Radisson had anticipated, occurred. Governor Bridgar, notified of Radisson's return, came to the ship in hot haste. On his joining the group, he remarked meaningly that the fort the French had constructed must be nearer than he had been given to think, since its commandant could effect so speedy a return. He evinced himself very uneasy in mind concerning the Frenchman's intentions. Before their departure, young Gillam came very near being betrayed. He was partially recognized by one of the traders who accompanied the Governor. But the matter passed off without serious consequences. None too soon did the party return to young Gillam's fort on the island, for a tremendous blizzard ensued, sweeping the whole country, and forcing Radisson to remain for some days within doors. As soon as the storm had subsided, however, Radisson started off, declining Gillam's offer of his second mate to accompany him back to the French settlement. "I managed to dissuade him," he writes, "having my reasons for wishing to conceal the road we should take. On leaving we went up from the fort to the upper part of the river, but in the evening we retraced our steps and next morning found ourselves in sight of the sea, into which it was necessary to enter in order to pass the point and reach the river in which was our habitation. But everything was so covered with ice that there was no apparent way of passing farther. We found ourselves, indeed, so entangled in the ice that we could neither retreat nor advance towards the shore to make a landing. It was necessary, however, that we should pass through the ice or perish. We remained in this condition for four hours without being able to advance or retire and in great danger of our lives. Our clothes were frozen on us and we could only move with difficulty; but at last we made so strong an attempt that we arrived at the shore, our canoe being all broken up. Each of us took our baggage and arms, and marched in the direction of our habitation without finding anything to eat for three days, except crows and birds of prey, which are the last to leave these countries." Fort Bourbon was reached at length. After reporting to his brother-in-law all that had passed, Groseilliers was not long in counselling what was best to be done. In his opinion the first thing necessary was to secure possession of young Gillam's ship. Time pressed and the spring would soon be upon them, bringing with it the advent of the Indians. He argued that delay might prove fatal, inasmuch as Bridgar might at any moment learn of the presence of the New England interlopers; and in that event he would probably make an effort to capture their fort and add their forces to his own. If this were done, the success of the French in overpowering the English traders would be slight and their voyage would have been undertaken for nothing. [Sidenote: Calamity to the Company's ship.] It was therefore agreed that Groseilliers should remain in charge of the fort, while his kinsman should immediately return to Nelson River. In a few days they parted once more, Radisson setting out with a fresh party and thoroughly resolved upon action. The first discovery he made, on arriving at the scene of his proposed operations, was that the Company's ship, the _Prince Rupert_, was frozen fast in the ice, and must inevitably perish when the spring floods came. He also speedily ascertained that the Governor, by no means relishing his presence in the vicinity, was already planning measures to thwart, if not to capture, his rivals, for he had sent out two sailors charged with the task of discovering the exact whereabouts of the French and the extent of their strength and equipment. These two spies Radisson promptly captured--no difficult task indeed, for they had lost their way and were half-frozen and almost famished. The anticipated fate of the _Prince Rupert_ was not long delayed. The tidings shortly reached Radisson that she was a total wreck, and with it came also the news of the loss of her captain, the mate and four sailors. A subsequent report, however, declared that Gillam had escaped with his life. Receiving this intelligence, Radisson presented himself before the Governor to see how he was affected by such a calamity. He found Bridgar drinking heavily, but resolved to keep up appearances and to withhold from the French any knowledge of what had happened. He affected to believe the ship safe, merely observing that she had shifted her position a few leagues down the river. Radisson asserts that at this time the Company's factory was short of provisions. It is impossible that this could have been the case. The assertion was probably made to cover his own depredations on the stores of the Company. Parting from the Governor, Radisson presented himself before Gillam the younger, to whom he did not as yet choose to say anything concerning his father and the loss of his ship. Under various pretences he induced Gillam to pay him a visit at Fort Bourbon. The latter does not seem at this time to have been aware of the intention of the French towards him. But he was soon to be undeceived. [Sidenote: Radisson's threats.] "I remained quiet for a month," says Radisson, in the course of his extraordinary narrative, "treating young Gillam, my new guest, well and with all sorts of civilities, which he abused on several occasions. For having apparently perceived that we had not the strength I told him, he took the liberty of speaking of me in threatening terms behind my back, treating me as a pirate and saying that in spite of me he would trade in spring with the Indians. He had even the hardihood to strike one of my men, which I pretended not to notice; but, having the insolence later, when we were discussing the privileges of New England, to speak against the respect due the best of kings, I treated him as a worthless dog for speaking in that way and told him that, having had the honour to eat bread in his service, I would pray to God all my life for his Majesty. He left me, threatening that he would return to his fort and that when he was there I would not dare to speak to him as I had done. I could not expect to have a better opportunity to begin what I had resolved to do. I told this young brute then that I had brought him from his fort, that I would take him back myself when I pleased, not when he wished. He answered impertinently several times, which obliged me to threaten that I would put him in a place of safety if he was not wiser. He asked me then if he was a prisoner. I said I would consider it and that I would secure my trade since he threatened to interrupt it. I then withdrew to give him time to be informed by the Englishmen how his father's life was lost with the Company's ship, and the bad situation of Mr. Bridgar. I left in their company a Frenchman who understood English, unknown to them. When I had left, young Gillam urged the Englishman to fly, and to go to his master and assure him that he would give him six barrels of powder and other supplies if he would undertake to deliver him out of my hands. The Englishman made no answer, but he did not inform me of the proposition that had been made him (I had learned that from the Frenchman, who had learned everything and thought it was time to act for my security)." In the evening Radisson said nothing of what he knew of the plot. He asked those in his train if the muskets were in their places, which he had put around to act as guarantee against surprise. At the word _musket_ young Gillam, who did not know what was meant, grew alarmed and, according to Radisson, wished to fly, believing that it was intended to kill him. But his flight was arrested by his captor, who took occasion to free him from his apprehension. The next morning, however, the bushranger's plans were openly divulged. He told Gillam that he was about to take his fort and ship. "He answered haughtily that even if I had a hundred men I could not succeed, and that his people would have killed more than forty before they could reach the palisades. This boldness did not astonish me, being very sure that I would succeed in my design." [Sidenote: Hays' Island fort.] Having secured Gillam the younger, it was now necessary to secure the fort of which he was master. The intrepid Frenchman started for Hays' Island with nine men, and gaining an entrance by strategy, he cast off the mask of friendship and boldly demanded the keys of the fort and the whole stock of arms and powder. He added that in the event of their refusal to yield he would raze the fort to the ground. No resistance seems to have been attempted, and Radisson took formal possession of the place in the name of the King of France. This ceremony being concluded, he ordered Jenkins, the mate, to conduct him to the ship, and here formal possession was taken in the same fashion, without any forcible objection on the part of the crew. Some explanation of this extraordinary complaisance, if Radisson's story of the number of men he took with him be true, may be found in the commander's unpopularity, he having recently killed his supercargo in a quarrel. Nevertheless, Benjamin Gillam was not to be altogether without friends. A certain Scotchman, perchance the first of his race in those regions, which were afterwards to be forever associated with Scottish zeal and labours, wishing to show his fidelity to his chief, escaped, and eluding the efforts of the fleetest of the French bushrangers to catch him, he arrived at Fort Nelson and told his tale. The Governor's astonishment may be imagined. He had hitherto no inkling of the presence of the New England interlopers, and although his captain and fellow-servant was not equally ignorant, Gillam had kept his counsel well. The Governor decided at once to head a party of relief, in which he was seconded by the elder Gillam, who was at the moment only just recovering from illness caused by exposure during the shipwreck. The _Susan_ was their first point of attack. Under the cover of night they made a determined effort to recapture her for the Company. It is possible that the attempt might have succeeded had not Radisson, suspecting the move, despatched his entire available force at the same time and completely overpowered the Governor's men. He thought at first sight that Bridgar himself was among his prisoners, but the Governor was not to be caught in that fashion; he had not himself boarded the ship. The Scotchman who accompanied him, however, was not so fortunate; he fell into Radisson's hands and suffered for his zeal. He was tied to a post and informed that his execution would take place without ceremony on the morrow. The sentence was never carried out. For Radisson, after exposing his prisoner to the cold all night in an uncomfortable position, seems to have thought better of his threat, and after numerous vicissitudes the Scot at length regained his liberty. Reinforcements for the French now arrived from Groseilliers. Believing himself now strong enough to beard the lion in his lair, Radisson decided to lose no more time in rounding off his schemes. First, however, he saw fit to address a letter to the Governor asking him if he "approved the action of the Company's people whom he held prisoners, who had broken two doors and the storeroom of his ship, in order to carry off the powder." Bridgar's reply was that he owed no explanation to a renegade employee of the Company. Radisson had not been sincere in his professions, and he had dealt basely and deceitfully with him in preserving silence on the subject of the interlopers. "As I had proper instructions," concluded Bridgar, in a more conciliatory strain, "on setting sail from London to seize all ships coming to this quarter, I would willingly have joined hands with you in capturing this vessel. If you wish me to regard you as sincere you will not keep this prize for your own use." The other's response was rapid and masterly. He marched upon Fort Nelson with twelve men, and by the following nightfall was master of the English establishment. This feat nearly drove the unhappy Governor to despair, and he sought solace by applying himself to the rum cask with greater assiduity than ever. In the frame of mind thus superinduced, John Bridgar, the first Governor of Port Nelson, was carried off a prisoner to Fort Bourbon. This post was built of logs, as the others had been, but there was a bastion of stone at one end facing the river. It occupied, as nearly as one may now ascertain, the site upon which was afterwards reared York Factory. But in the course of the seventy years following the post was shifted slightly from site to site, when the exigencies of fire and other causes of destruction demanded a new building. A few days after the Governor's arrival at Fort Bourbon, the first Indians began to appear with provisions, which were now beginning to be very sorely required. To the chief of this band Radisson related the story, properly garnished, of his exploits, realizing well how such things appeal to the savage heart. While the Indians were pondering upon his valour, great was their surprise to behold about the fort, a number of English, whom Radisson had made prisoners; and upon learning that there were others at York Factory and Hays' Island, they very handsomely offered 200 beavers for permission to go thither and massacre them. This offer Radisson wisely declined; but it seems clear that he did his best to stir up enmity amongst his Indian friends against the English. In this he was not entirely successful. Good news travels fast, too; and the Indians had got wind of Bridgar's boast that rather than see the trade pass into the hands of the French it was his intention to offer six axes for a beaver and as much merchandise in proportion. They had, besides, reason to believe in the superior generosity of the English traders as compared with the French. [Sidenote: Destruction of La Chesnaye's vessels.] It was now April, 1683. On the 22nd a disaster little foreseen by Radisson or Groseilliers occurred, which involved the destruction of their own frail ships. The _St. Pierre_ and the _St. Anne_ had been hauled into a small stream as far as possible in the woods and there sheltered by a knoll. At ten o'clock on the night named all at Fort Bourbon were awakened by a frightful noise, caused by the breaking up of the ice. The occupants of the fort rushed outside to find the waters everywhere rising with almost incredible rapidity; and the masses of ice blocking up the mouth of the creek caused a complete general submersion. La Chesnaye's two vessels offered no strong resistance to the flood, and presently began to crack and splinter in all parts. In a few hours all that remained sound were the bottoms, clinging fast to the ice and mud. A similar fate was apprehended for the New England ship, and Radisson made all haste thither. She was saved only by his adopting the suggestion of Bridgar, that the ice be carefully cut all about the _Susan_, as he had heard of Governor Bailey doing on a previous occasion. The ice once cut, the vessel was only pushed by the strength of the floes to one side, where she remained aground with little damage. The chief concern of the leaders of the French now was to get the English safely out of the country as soon as possible, before the arrival of the Company's ships. To this end Radisson and Groseilliers offered them the hull of the _St. Anne_ which, they believed, could with industry be patched up with new timber sufficiently well to withstand a voyage. When the English saw that these were the best terms they could expect, and that if they were left at the mercy of the Indians a much worse fate might be in store for them, they set to work with a will. The labour proved arduous, and they had suffered terribly. Four had died from cold and hunger, and two had been poisoned from having rashly drunk of a liquor they had found in the medicine-room chest, without knowing its nature; another had had his arm broken quite recently by a musket shot while out hunting. The Governor felt that his sole hope lay in the expected ships of the Company. He seems to have always adopted a high tone in dealing with the French, even to the last. He declared to Radisson that it was only one of three things that could oblige him to abandon the place, "the order of his masters, force, or famine." Groseilliers now counselled burning the island fort, in order to do away with the necessity of keeping perpetual guard there, and of always taking precautions to protect themselves against the Governor's intrigues. This advice was acted upon forthwith; the fort was burned and a small lodge erected to accommodate such of the New Englanders as had not been carried to Fort Bourbon, or were not at work on the hull of the wrecked ship. [Sidenote: Arrival of the Indians.] Early in May the Indians began to appear in great numbers. Bridgar--who, divested of his command and robbed of his stores, was now allowed at large--heard of their arrival with joy. He seems to have believed that their chiefs would not repudiate their treaties with the Company. He hoped in any case to be granted the privilege of a conference with them, but in this he was quickly undeceived. Radisson went forward to meet the Indians, who had come well loaded with peltries and who were much perturbed at discovering the helpless state of the Governor and the ascendancy of the French. But they showed no disinclination to trade with the latter, in spite of their solemn covenant, provided Groseilliers and his brother-in-law would do so on the same terms as the English. Both the bushrangers, however, seem to have been determined to put an immediate stop to what they termed folly. Let the Company give six axes for a beaver if it chose; for themselves they would countenance no such wantonness; two would suffice. The tribe being assembled and having spread out their customary gifts, consisting of beaver tails, smoked moose tongues and pemmican, one of the leading braves arose and said:-- "Men who pretend to give us life, do you wish us to die? You know what beaver is worth and the trouble we have to take it. You call yourselves our brothers and yet will not give us what those give who make no such profession. Accept our gifts, and let us barter, or we will visit you no more. We have but to travel a hundred leagues and we will encounter the English, whose offers we have heard." On the conclusion of this harangue, silence reigned for some moments. All eyes were turned on the two white traders. Feeling that now or never was the time to exhibit firmness, Radisson, without rising to his feet, addressed the whole assemblage in haughty accents. "Whom dost thou wish I should answer? I have heard a dog bark; when a man shall speak he will see I know how to defend my conduct and my terms. We love our brothers and we deserve their love in return. For have we not saved them all from the treachery of the English?" [Sidenote: Radisson overawes the Indians.] Uttering these words fearlessly, he leapt to his feet and drew a long hunting knife from his belt. Seizing by the scalp-lock the chief of the tribe, who had already adopted him as his son, he asked, "Who art thou?" To which the chief responded, as was customary, "Thy father." "Then," cried Radisson, "if that is so, and thou art my father, speak for me. Thou art the master of my goods; but as for that dog who has spoken, what is he doing in this company? Let him go to his brothers, the English, at the head of the Bay. Or he need not travel so far: he may, if he chooses, see them starving and helpless on yonder island: answering to my words of command." "I know how to speak to my Indian father," continued Radisson, "of the perils of the woods, of the abandonment of his squaws and children, of the risks of hunger and the peril of death by foes. All these you avoid by trading with us here. But although I am mightily angry I will take pity on this wretch and let him still live. Go," addressing the brave with his weapon outstretched, "take this as my gift to you, and depart. When you meet your brothers, the English, tell them my name, and add that we are soon coming to treat them and their factory yonder as we have treated this one." The speaker knew enough of the Indian character, especially in affairs of trade, to be aware that a point once yielded them is never recovered. And it is but just to say that the terms he then made of three axes for a beaver were thereafter adopted, and that his firmness saved the Company many a cargo of these implements. His harangue produced an immediate impression upon all save the humiliated brave, who declared that if the Assiniboines came hither to barter he would lay in ambush and kill them. The French trader's reply to this was to the Indian mind a terrible one. "I will myself travel into thy country," said he, "and eat sagamite in thy grandmother's skull." While the brave and his small circle of friends were livid with fear and anger, Radisson ordered three fathoms of tobacco to be distributed; observing, contemptuously, to the hostile minority that as for them they might go and smoke women's tobacco in the country of the lynxes. The barter began, and when at nightfall the Indians departed not a skin was left amongst them. [Sidenote: Departure of the English.] It was now time to think of departure. As absent men tell no tales, it was decided to despatch Bridgar and his companions first. But at the last moment some trouble seems to have arisen as to which vessel the English should have to convey them to more hospitable shores. Bridgar himself would have preferred to go in the ship, and at first his passage had been arranged for in that craft; but it was at length settled that he should be carried with the brothers-in-law in their barque. After numerous vicissitudes, which would need a volume to describe, the _St. Anne_ arrived at the mouth of the St. Lawrence. At Tadoussac was a trading post belonging to the French: and the sight of it seems to have inspired either one or both of these conscienceless adventurers with the idea of lightening their load of furs, which consisted of above two thousand skins, though this cargo only represented about one-third of the number they had actually secured by cheating, robbery and intrigue in the country of the Bay. Having in this nefarious manner disposed of about half of La Chesnaye's property jointly with themselves, they again set sail and arrived at Quebec on the 26th of October. Immediately on their arrival they went to report themselves to M. de la Barre, the Governor, La Chesnaye being fortunately, or unfortunately, absent in Montreal. The Governor thought proper to return the _Susan_ to the New England merchants, with a warning not to send again to the place from which she had just come, and the Company's ill-starred Governor, Bridgar, together with young Gillam, sailed on board her for New England. "We parted," says Radisson with that matchless audacity of statement for which his narrative deserves to be famous, "on friendly terms; and he (Bridgar) could testify that I let him know at the time my attachment; and yet, that I wished still to act as heartily in the service of the King and the nation as I wished to do for France." This hardly tallies with Bridgar's evidence before the Company, that Radisson was "a cheat, a swindler, and a black-hearted, infamous scoundrel," and that he was "a born intriguing traitor." As for the elder Gillam, he was heard to declare, when he had at length arrived on the frail and half-rotten craft which bore him and his unhappy comrades to New England, that he would not die happy until his "hangar had dipped into the blood of the French miscreant, Radisson." [Sidenote: Radisson and Groseilliers leave Quebec.] Quebec soon got too hot for both of the brothers-in-law. Between the unfortunate La Chesnaye, who saw himself some thousand crowns out of pocket, and the Governor, who had received orders from France to despatch to the Court the two adventurers who seemed bent on making trouble between the two crowns, Radisson and Groseilliers decided to leave Quebec, which they did in about a fortnight after their arrival. The exact date of their departure was the 11th of November, 1683, and it was effected on board a French frigate which had brought troops to the colony. But though the captain of the frigate made all haste, the frail and shattered _St. Anne_, with Captain Gillam on board, arrived in Europe before them; and soon England was ringing with his story of the dastardly encroachment of the French into the realms of the Company at Port Nelson.[18] FOOTNOTE: [18] The material for the two last chapters has been derived chiefly from a pamphlet entitled "French Villainy in Hudson's Bay"; Radisson's own narrative, and the "Journal" of Gillam, the elder, supplied to Dongan. Radisson's narrative, divided into two parts, is written in a clear, legible character, and evinces that its author was a person of some education. The first part is in English, and was long the property of Samuel Pepys. Some years after Pepys' death, the manuscript was purchased for a trifle by Rawlinson, the bibliophile. The second part, recounting the voyages to Hudson's Bay in 1682-84, is half in French and half in English; it is now in the Bodleian library. CHAPTER X. 1684-1687. Hays writes to Lord Preston -- Godey sent to Radisson's lodgings -- La Barre's strenuous efforts -- Radisson returns to the English -- He leaves for the Bay -- Meets his nephew Chouart -- Fort Bourbon surrendered to the Company -- Radisson's dramatic return to London. [Sidenote: Lord Preston informed of the return of Radisson and Groseilliers.] Lord Preston, who, in the year 1684, held the post of Ambassador Extraordinary of King Charles II. at the Court of Versailles, was advised of the return to Paris of the bushranger Radisson in these terms:-- "My Lord: It has just reached our ears and that of his Royal Highness the Duke of York, Governor of the Honourable Hudson's Bay Company, that the person who has caused all the recent trouble in the Hudson's Bay regions whereby our merchants have suffered so much at the hands of the French, is at this moment in Paris. As it is much in the interests of the nation as of the Company that there should be no repetition of these encroachments and disturbances, it might be advantageous for your Lordship to see this Mr. Radisson who, it is believed, could be brought over again to our service if he were so entreated by your Lordship. His Royal Highness, together with the other Honourable partners, are convinced from his previous conduct that it matters little to Mr. Radisson under whose standard he serves; and that, besides, he is secretly well disposed toward us, and this in spite of his late treacherous exploits which have given great offence to the nation and damage to the Company." [Illustration: CAPTAIN GODEY'S VISIT TO RADISSON. (_See page 112._)] This private note was signed by Sir John Hays and Mr. Young on behalf of the Company. On its receipt by Lord Preston, he at once sent his attaché, Captain Godey, to seek out Radisson and make overtures to him. On the third floor of a house in the Faubourg St. Antoine, surrounded by a number of his relations and boon companions, the dual traitor was discovered, deeply engaged in drinking healths and in retailing his adventures to the applause of an appreciative circle. Upon the walls and mantelpiece of the apartment, and such meagre furniture as it boasted, were disposed numerous relics and trophies, bespeaking a thirty years' career in the Transatlantic wilderness. [Sidenote: Radisson's appearance in Paris.] "Radisson himself," remarks Godey, "was apparelled more like a savage than a Christian. His black hair, just touched with grey, hung in a wild profusion about his bare neck and shoulders. He showed a swart complexion, seamed and pitted by frost and exposure in a rigorous climate. A huge scar, wrought by the tomahawk of a drunken Indian, disfigured his left cheek. His whole costume was surmounted by a wide collar of marten's skin; his feet were adorned by buckskin moccasins. In his leather belt was sheathed a long knife." Such was the picture presented by this uncouth, adventurous Huguenot, not merely in the seclusion of his own lodgings, but to the polished and civilized folk of Paris of the seventeenth century. What were the projects harboured in this indomitable man's mind? In spite of his persistent intrigues it is to be doubted if he, any more than Médard Chouart des Groseilliers, was animated by more than a desire to pursue an exciting and adventurous career. Habitually holding out for the best terms, he does not appear to have saved money when it was acquired, but spent it freely. When he died he was in receipt of a pension from the Company, so far insufficient to provide for his manner of living that they were forced to pay his remaining debts. Unabashed by the surroundings thus presented to him, Captain Godey announced himself, shook hands with the utmost cordiality with Radisson, and pleaded to be allowed to join in the convivial proceedings then in progress. The better to evince his sincerity, without further ceremony he accepted and drank as full a bumper of bad brandy and applauded with as much heartiness as any man of the party the truly astonishing tales of their host. Godey was the last of the guests to depart. "Look you," said he, when he and Radisson were alone together, "you, monsieur, are a brave man, and it does not become the brave to harbour vengeance. Nor does it become a brave nation to think hardly of any man because of his bravery, even though that nation itself be a sufferer. You know," he pursued, "what is said about you in England?" Radisson interrupted his guest by protesting with warmth that he neither knew nor cared anything about such a matter. "It is said, then," answered Godey, "that you have been a traitor to the king, and that there is no authority or defence for your conduct. You and Groseilliers, whilst professing friendship for the English Company have done them great injury, and endangered the peace between the two crowns." "I am sorry," rejoined Radisson, "but all that I and my brother-in-law have done, is to be laid at the door of the Hudson's Bay Company. We wished honestly to serve them, but they cast us away as being no longer useful, when now they see what it is they have done, and how foolishly they have acted in listening to the counsels of Governor Bridgar. We really bear them no ill-will, neither the Company nor his Royal Highness."[19] [Sidenote: Godey's report.] The gallant emissary reported the tenor of this conversation forthwith to his master, and both were agreed as to the sort of man they had to deal with. Godey expressed himself convinced that there would be little difficulty in inducing Radisson to return to the Company's service. On this advice Preston at once wrote off to Mr. Young, telling him not to further press the Company's memorial to the King, nor to seek to have the French Court take cognizance of, and award recompense for, the wrongs done the English interests. "Radisson has done this thing out of his own head, and he is the one man competent to undo it. He is, I learn, well-disposed to the English, and there is no reason, if proper overtures be made him, why he should not do more for the English interests in that region than he has yet done." At the same time La Barre, the French Governor, was urged to make the most strenuous efforts to retain the advantages for the French by the two adventurers. A royal despatch of August 5th, 1683, and signed by Lewis himself, had already been sent, in these words:-- "I recommend you to prevent the English as much as possible from establishing themselves in Hudson's Bay, possession whereof was taken in my name several years ago; and as Colonel d'Unguent,[20] appointed Governor of New York by the King of England, has had precise orders on the part of the said King to maintain good correspondence with us and carefully to avoid whatever may interrupt it, I doubt not the difficulties you have experienced will cease for the future." Lewis was by no means desirous of rendering the position of his fellow monarch over the Channel uncomfortable. He was disposed to yield in a small matter when he had his own way in most of the large ones. Had Charles yielded to French representations about Port Nelson he would have given great offence to his brother the Duke of York. Indeed, there is little doubt that had the Company not boasted members of such distinction, or the patronage of royalty, the French would have at this juncture forced their demands and overwhelmed the English possession. Radisson appears to have got wind of the situation and this was, perhaps, to him a greater argument for returning to the service of the power likely to be most permanent in Hudson's Bay. He, however, hung about idle in Paris for some weeks, in a state of indecision. Had M. de Seignely exerted his full powers of persuasion, he might have induced our bushranger to remain in the service of Lewis. But no such inducement was offered. There is some reason to believe that M. de Seignely undervalued Radisson; but in any case the apathy of the Court influenced his actions. The bushranger was, on the other hand, exhorted to return to his first engagement with the English, Lord Preston assuring him that if he could in reality execute what he proposed, he would receive in England from his Majesty, from his Royal Highness, from the Company, and from the nation, "every sort of good treatment and entire satisfaction." The Duke's especial protection was also guaranteed. Radisson, none too punctilious, at length made up his mind as to the course he would pursue. "I yielded," says he, "to these solicitations and determined to go to England forever, and so strongly bind myself to his Majesty's service, and to that of those interested in the nation, that no other cause could ever detach me from it." [Sidenote: Radisson decides to join the English.] But in order that he might have an excuse for his conduct, the very day that he arrived at this decision he is found writing to the French Minister demanding a certain grant in the north-west of Canada as an alternative to a former proposal that "in consideration of his discoveries, voyages and services he should be given every fourth beaver, trapped or otherwise caught in those territories." M. de Seignely had no suspicion of the depth of Radisson's duplicity. The minister thought him "a vain man, much given to boasting, who could do much harm, and had therefore best have his vanity tickled at home." Up to the very eve of his departure, April 24, 1684, he was a daily attendant on the minister or his subordinates of the Department of Marine and Commerce. He was not always favoured with an audience; but when listened to spoke vaguely of fitting out and equipping vessels for trade on voyages similar to those he had already undertaken. His _naiveté_, to use no harsher term, is remarkable. "In order," says he, "that they should not suspect anything by my sudden absence, I told them I was obliged to take a short trip into the country on friendly family matters. _I myself made good use of this time to go to London._" He arrived in the English capital on the 10th of May, and immediately paid his respects to Mr. Young. The project for regaining possession of York Factory was canvassed. Radisson estimated that there would be between fifteen and twenty thousands beaver skins in the hands of his nephew, awaiting shipment. The partners appeared more than satisfied, and Radisson met with a most cordial reception. He was assured that the Company had entire confidence in him, and that their greatest regret was that there had been any misunderstanding between them. They would, it was declared on their behalf, make all amends in their power. For a few weeks the Hudson's Bay bushranger found himself a lion. He was presented to the King in the course of a _levee_. Charles listened with the greatest assumption of interest to the adventurer's account of himself, and to his asseverations of loyalty and good will. Radisson in the evening was taken to the play-house in the suite of his Royal Highness, and there by his bizarre attire attracted almost as much attention amongst the audience as the play itself. "To the Duke's Play-house," writes John Selwyn to his wife, "where Radisson, the American fur-hunter, was in the Royal box. Never was such a combination of French, English and Indian savage as Sir John Kirke's son-in-law. He was not wont to dress so when he was last here, but he has got him a new coat with much lace upon it, which he wears with his leather breeches and shoes. His hair is a perfect tangle. It is said he has made an excellent fortune for himself." [Sidenote: Radisson's departure for Hudson's Bay.] After a number of conferences with the partners, Radisson finally departed from Gravesend on May 17. Three ships set sail, that in which Radisson was embarked being named the _Happy Return_. The elements being favourable, the little fleet reached the Straits more speedily than usual. The chief figure of this expedition, who had never borne a part in any joint enterprise without being animated by jealousy and distrust, found here ample scope for the exercise of his characteristic vices. During nearly the entire period of the voyage he evinced a perpetual and painful apprehension that one of the other ships carrying officials and servants of the Company would, with malicious intentions, arrive before him. His first concern on awaking in the morning was to be assured that the companion vessels were in sight, and although the _Happy Return_ was the most sluggish sailor of the trio, yet to such good purpose were plied the bushranger's energies and promises that her commander's seamanship made her a capital match for the others. But just before their destination was reached contrary winds, currents and masses of floating ice brought about a separation, and Radisson began to be assailed more than ever by the fear that the English servants would arrive on the ground, overwhelm his nephew and the other French without his assistance, and thus frustrate all his plans for claiming sole credit. And in truth this fear was very nearly justified. Twenty leagues from Port Nelson the ship got blocked amidst the masses of ice, and progress, except at a raft's pace, became out of the question. In this dilemma, Radisson demanded of the captain a small boat and seven men. His request being granted, it was launched, and after undergoing forty-eight hours' fatigue, without rest or sleep, the entrance to Nelson River was reached. Imagine Radisson's surprise, as well as that of his companions, on beholding two ships at anchor, upon one of which, a complete stranger to them, floated the Royal Standard of England. [Sidenote: The presence of the French made known.] It was the English frigate which had entered at Port Nelson. The other ship was the _Alert_, commanded by Captain Outlaw, having brought out the Company's new Governor, William Phipps, the previous season. Radisson boldly headed his boat for this vessel, and when he drew near, perceived Bridgar's successor, with all his people in arms, on the quarter-deck. The Governor, in a loud voice, instantly demanded to know who Radisson was. Upon his making himself and his allegiance known, they decided to permit him to board the Company's ship. The bushranger first made it his care to be informed how the land lay, and he was inwardly rejoiced to learn that the Governor and his men had not dared to land, out of fear for the French and Indians, who were considered hostile to the English interests. This was precisely the situation Radisson most desired; a thought seems to have struck him that after all, his nephew, Chouart, might prove intractable, and by no means so easily won over as he had anticipated. It therefore behooved him to act with adroitness and circumspection. Taking with him two men, Radisson proceeded up country in the direction of the abandoned York Factory, hourly hoping that they might discover something, or at least they should make someone hear, or see a friendly Indian, by firing musket shots or making a smoke. The attempt was not fruitless, as he tells us, for after a while they perceived ten canoes with Indians coming down the river. "At first," he says, "I thought some Frenchmen might be with them, whom my nephew might have sent to discover who the new arrivals were." Upon this supposition Radisson severed himself from his comrades, and going to meet the savages he made the usual signs to them from the bank, which the Indians at first seemed to respond to in no amiable spirit. Albeit, on addressing them in their own tongue, he was immediately recognized, the Indians testifying by shouts and playful postures to their joy at his arrival. He quickly learned from them that his nephew and the other Frenchmen were above the rapids, four leagues from the place where they then were. They had expected Groseilliers would accompany Radisson, and when they expressed surprise that this was not the case, Radisson did not scruple to tell them that Groseilliers awaited him at a short distance. "But what," asked Radisson, "are you doing here? What brings you into this part of the country and in such numbers?" The savage leader's sudden confusion betrayed him to Radisson. The circumstance of the Indians voluntarily seeking trade with the English greatly simplified the situation. "Look you," said he, heartily, at the same time calling to Captain Geyer, who was in ambush hard by, "I am glad to find you seeking trade with the English. I have made peace with the English for the love of our Indian brothers; you, they and I are to be henceforth only one. Embrace us, therefore, in token of peace; this (pointing to Geyer) is your new brother. Go immediately to your son at the fort yonder and carry him these tidings and the proofs of peace. Tell him to come and see me at this place, while the others will wait for me at the mouth of the river." It should be mentioned that the chief of this band had previously announced himself as young Chouart's sire, according to the Indian custom. He now readily departed on his mission. Radisson passed an anxious night. The sun had been risen some hours before his eyes were gladdened by the sight of a canoe, in which he descried Chouart. The young man's countenance bore, as well it might, an expression of profound amazement; and at first hardly the bare civilities of relationship passed between the pair. Chouart waited patiently for his uncle to render an explanation of the news which had reached him. Silently and slowly they walked together, and after a time the prince of liars, traitors, adventurers and bushrangers began his account of his position. Radisson states that his nephew immediately acquiesced in his scheme. A memoir penned in 1702, the year of Radisson's death, by M. Barthier, of Quebec, asserts that the young man received with the utmost disgust, and flatly declined to entertain, his relative's proposals. He expressed, on the other hand, the greatest grief on hearing the news; for he had begun to believe that it was through their efforts that the dominion of the king had been extended in that region. Now it appeared that this labour had all been in vain. It was only his love for his mother, Radisson's sister, which prevented an open rebellion on the part of Chouart against the proposed treachery. [Sidenote: Chouart surrenders to Radisson.] No rupture took place; the stronger and more crafty spirit prevailed. Chouart surrendered on the following day his command of the fort. He had, he complained, expected a far different fate for the place and his men. The tattered old _fleur de lis_ standard brought by the _St. Anne's_ captain from Quebec was lowered and the English emblem, with the device of the Company, run up in its stead. All the forces were assembled and amidst cheers for King Charles and the Honourable Adventurers, the Company's Governor took formal possession. But the French bushrangers and sailors watched these proceedings with melancholy dissatisfaction, not, perhaps, as much from patriotic motives as from the frailty of their own tenure. They could no longer be assured of a livelihood amongst so many English, who bore themselves with so haughty a mien. Radisson proceeded to make an inventory of all the skins on hand, together with all those concealed in _caches_ in the woods. The results showed 239 packages of beaver, or about 12,000 skins, together with merchandise sufficient to barter for seven or eight thousand more. Instructions were now given by Radisson, the Governor remaining passive, to have all these goods taken in canoes to the ships. It now only remained for the bushranger to accomplish one other object before setting sail with the cargo for England. Radisson speaks of himself as having a secret commission, but no authority can be found for his statement. It involved the retention in the Company's service of his nephew and the other Frenchmen; but even assuming that Radisson were armed with any such instructions, the plan was not likely to enjoy the approval of Governor Phipps, who, if he were at the outset of his term of office determined upon any one thing, it was that Fort Nelson should be cleared of Frenchmen. Exactly how this was to be arranged was not quite clear, especially as there was yet no open rupture between the two authorities. But for such a rupture they had not long to wait. They were destined on the very eve of his departure to be involved in a quarrel. [Sidenote: Dispute between Radisson and the Governor.] Some years before an Assiniboine chief named Ka-chou-touay had taken Radisson to his bosom and adopted him as his son with all the customary ceremonies. This formidable chief, who had been at war with a neighbouring tribe at the time of his adopted son's arrival in the country, now put in an appearance. Instead of the joy Radisson expected it was with reproaches that he was greeted. Ka-chou-touay informed him that a brother chief of his, named La Barbé, with one of his sons, had been killed while expostulating with a party of English. The consequences of this rash action might be so grave that Radisson felt it to be his duty to resort to the Governor and demand that his servants should be punished for the crime, or else he would not be answerable for the consequences. The Governor does not appear to have taken Radisson's demand in good part, declining altogether to intervene in the matter. The other now proceeded to commands and threats. He asserted that as long as he remained in the country the Governor was his subordinate, which greatly angered that official and high words passed. The task the Governor had set himself was by no means easy, especially if he wished to avoid bloodshed. But the plan of overpowering and disarming the French was finally accomplished through strategy. All were escorted aboard the ship, even to Chouart himself, and on the fourth of September sail was set. On this voyage Radisson's state of mind rivalled that which he had experienced when outward bound. His late anxiety to be the first upon the scene at Port Nelson was paralleled now by his desire to be the first in London. If happily, the Company should first hear an account of what had transpired from himself, he felt convinced full measure of justice would be done him. If, on the other hand, Governor Phipps' relation were first received there was no knowing how much prejudice might be raised against him. Great as was his impatience, he managed to hide it with adroitness, so that none save his nephew suspected the intention he shortly executed. The captain, crew and Company's servants left the ship leisurely at Portsmouth. Those going up to London lingered for the coach, but not so with Radisson, who instantly made his way to the post-house, where he hired a second-rate steed, mounted it and, without the courtesy of an adieu to his late comrades, broke into a gallop, hardly restrained until London bridge was reached. [Sidenote: Phipps' letter to the Company.] His arrival took place close upon midnight, but late as was the hour, he took no thought of securing lodging or of apprising his wife of his advent. He spurred on his stumbling horse to the dwelling of Mr. Young, in Wood Street, Cheapside. The honourable adventurer had retired for the night, but, nevertheless, in gown and night-cap welcomed Radisson with great cordiality. He listened, we are told, with the greatest interest and satisfaction to the bushranger's tale, garnished with details of his own marvellous prowess and zeal for the Company. Nor, perhaps, was Radisson less satisfied when, on attaining his own lodging, he pondered on the day's exploits. He slumbered little, and at eleven o'clock Young was announced, and was ushered in, declaring that he had already been to Whitehall and apprised the Court of the good news. His Majesty and his Royal Highness had expressed a wish to see Radisson, the hero of these great doings, and Young was accordingly brought to escort the bushranger into the Royal presence. It was a triumph, but a short-lived one. Radisson had hardly left the precincts of the Court, his ears still ringing with the praises of King and courtiers, than the Deputy-Governor, Mr. Dering, received Phipps' account of the affair, which was almost as unfair to Radisson and the part he had played in the re-capture of Port Nelson, as Radisson's own account was flattering. On the receipt of the report, a General Court of the Adventurers was held on September 26th. By the majority of members the bushranger was hardly likely to be accorded full justice, for great offence had been given by his presentation at Court and the extremely informal manner of his arrival. Despite the friendliness of Hays, Young and several other partners, Radisson was not again granted a position of authority in the Company's service. In the meanwhile young Chouart, being detained in England against his wish, decided to write to Denonville and propose to accompany his uncle to Port Nelson and make his escape and gain Quebec by land. The Governor forwarded this letter to Paris and demanded permission to promise fifty pistoles to those who would seize the traitor Radisson and bring him to Quebec. The minister complied. But in March, 1687, he had had no success. "The misfortune," says the minister, "that the man Radisson has done to the colony, and that he is still capable of doing if he remains longer amongst the English, should oblige Denonville and Champagne to make every effort to seize him and so judgment will be held out." Radisson did, it is true, make another voyage to Hudson's Bay, but his sojourn was of brief duration, and a plot set on foot to seize him failed. Not long afterwards, "Peter Raddison" is found to be in receipt of a pension of ten pounds a month from the Company, which he continued to enjoy for many years to the time of his death at Islington, in 1702. FOOTNOTES: [19] As an example of the absurd legends current some years later, and perpetuated, I am sorry to say, to a later day, it would be hard to match this, from La Potherie: "He (Preston) promised to Godey, one of his domestics, to create him perpetual secretary of the Embassy, providing he engaged Radisson in his party. Godey, the better to succeed, promised Radisson his daughter in marriage, whom he (Radisson) espoused." (La Potherie, Vol. I, p. 145.) Godey was _aide-de-camp_ to Preston; he may have had a daughter, but Radisson certainly did not espouse her, inasmuch as he was already married to Sir John Kirke's daughter, who was still living. [20] This is M. de la Barre's quaint fashion of spelling Dongan. CHAPTER XI. 1683-1686. Feigned Anger of Lewis -- He writes to La Barre -- Importance Attached to Indian Treaties -- Duluth's zeal -- Gauthier de Comportier -- Denonville made Governor -- Capture of the _Merchant of Perpetuana_ -- Expedition of Troyes against the Company's Posts in the Bay -- Moose Fort Surrendered. When the news of the expedition of 1684 reached the Court of Versailles, Lewis professed anger that the peace between the two crowns should be broken even in that remote corner of the world. He related the discussion which had taken place between the English ambassador and himself with regard to Radisson's treachery. He had been happy, he said, to inform King Charles's representative that he was unwilling to afford his "brother of England" any cause of complaint. Nevertheless, as he thought it important to prevent the English from establishing themselves in that river, it would be well to make a proposal to the commandant at Hudson's Bay that neither French nor English should have power to make any new establishments. Long before that he had written to Governor La Barre, in no measured terms, demanding of him what he meant by releasing the Boston vessel, the _Susan_, without calling on the Intendant, or consulting the sovereign council. "You have herein done," said he, "just what the English would be able to make a handle of, since in virtue of your ordinance you caused a vessel to be surrendered which ought strictly to be considered a pirate, as it had no commission; and the English will not fail to say that you so fully recognized the regularity of the ship's papers as to surrender it." [Sidenote: Duluth in the West.] Simultaneously with the receipt of this letter from his monarch, there came to the perplexed Governor a letter from the Sieur Duluth, stating that at great expense of presents he had prevented the western tribes from further carrying their beaver trade to the English. He had, it appeared, met the Sieur de la Croix with his two comrades, who had presented the despatches in which the Governor had urged him to use every endeavour in forwarding letters to Chouart, at Nelson River. "To carry out your instructions," wrote Duluth, "there was only Monsieur Péré, who would have to go himself, the savages having all at that time withdrawn into the interior." He added that Péré had left during the previous month, and doubtless at that time had accomplished his mission. Duluth invariably expressed himself with great confidence on the subject of the implicit trust which the savages reposed in him. More than once in his letters, as well as in verbal messages forwarded to his superiors, he boasted that before a couple of years were out not a single savage would visit the English at Hudson's Bay. To this end they had bound themselves by the numerous presents they had received at his hands; and he was assured that they would not go back on their word. As with Duluth so with the other officials, pioneers and emissaries amongst the French, great importance was attached to treaties and compacts with the aborigines. Every endeavour was made to obtain the good-will and amity of the Indians. [Sidenote: French and English relations with the Indians.] Perhaps nothing exhibits so powerfully the totally differing attitude and motives of the Company, compared with the French traders, than the manner in which, in those early times, the Red man was trusted and believed by the one and distrusted and contemned by the other. One may peruse neither the narratives of the Jesuits nor of the traders without an emotion of awe at the simple faith of those pioneers in the honesty and probity of the Red men. To the very end, when disaster succeeding disaster overwhelmed the propaganda of Loyola amongst the northern tribes and exterminated its disciples, we read of the Frenchman trusting to the word and deferring to the prejudices of his Indian brother. It was as if the latter were indeed of a common steadfastness and moral nature with his own. Contrast that trait in the English character which is exhibited in his early dealings with inferior and black peoples in India and Africa, to that he has retained to the present day. Never was the contrast greater than during the acute conflict of English and French interests in Hudson's Bay at this time. The early governors and traders almost without exception openly despised the Indian and secretly derided his most solemn counsels. August treaties were set aside on the most flimsy pretexts, and if the virtues of the savages were too highly esteemed by the French, they were on the other hand perhaps much too cheaply held by their rivals. But to whatever extent they may have held themselves bound by compacts of this kind, the Company's officials were not so foolish as to doubt their potency amongst savages. Thus we find that from the years 1682 to 1688 the Company regularly instructed its servants to enact the strongest treaties with the "captains and kings of the rivers and territories where they had settlements." "These compacts," observes one of the Company's servants, "were rendered as firm and binding as the Indians themselves could make them. Ceremonies of the most solemn and sacred character accompanied them." Duluth had already built a fort near the River à la Maune, at the bottom of Lake Nepigon, and thither he expected at least six of the northern nations to resort in the spring. Lest this should not be sufficient for the purpose he designed building another in the Christineaux River, which would offer an effectual barrier to the expansion of the English trade. With characteristic zeal Duluth, in a letter written at this time, concluded with these words: "Finally, sir, I wish to lose my life if I do not absolutely prevent the savages from visiting the English." But with every good will to serve his monarch and stifle in infancy the growing trade of the Hudson's Bay Company in the northern regions, Duluth vastly undervalued the forces of circumstance as well of enterprise at the command of the enemy. The plans of the French were destined to be confounded by the unforeseen and treacherous action of Radisson and Chouart in the following year. "What am I to do?" now became the burden of La Barre's appeals to the King. The young priest who acted as his secretary at Quebec was kept perpetually writing to Versailles for instructions. His letters are long, and filled with explanations of the situation, which only served to confuse his superiors. Fearful of offending the English on one hand and thereby precipitating New France in a war with New England, and on the other of arousing the resentment of the colonists by a supine behaviour, the unhappy Denonville was in an unpleasant dilemma. "Am I to oppose force to force?" he asks in one letter. "Am I to venture against those who have committed these outrages against your Majesty's subjects at sea? It is a matter in which your Majesty will please to furnish me with some precise and decisive orders whereunto I shall conform my conduct and actions." [Sidenote: Lewis unwilling to oppose the English.] But the Most Christian King was by no means anxious to quarrel with his cousin Charles either for the dominion of, or the fur-trade monopoly in, the north. Charles was in possession of a handsome subsidy paid out of the exchequer of Lewis. Europe was spectator of the most cordial relations between these two monarchs, relations which are described by more than one candid historian as those commonly subsisting between master and vassal. That tempest of indignation which was to break over England in the reign of Charles's successor would have not so long been deferred had but a real knowledge of the "good understanding and national concord" been known to Englishmen at large. Under the circumstances it is not surprising that Lewis concluded to do nothing. It was not that opportunities to regain what was lost were lacking. An old soldier, Gauthier de Comportier, who with a number of other patriots had learned of the jeopardy in which French interests lay in the north, presented a memoir to the King offering, if a grant were made him, to win all back from the English and to establish three posts on the Bourbon River. The grant was refused. A change then came which altered the aspect of affairs. In February, 1685, Charles II. died, and the Duke of York, second Governor of the Hudson's Bay Company, ascended the throne of England. Lewis was not the last to perceive that the accession of James would cause but little real difference, as the latter and himself were bound together by ties as strong as had bound Charles, yet saw at the same time that full advantage might safely be reaped from the change of monarchs. Proceedings were instantly therefore set on foot to retrieve the fortunes of the French in the fur countries. The conduct of Groseilliers and Radisson had deeply offended the inhabitants of Quebec. An excited populace burnt the pair in effigy, and a decree was issued for their arrest should they at any time be apprehended, and for their delivery to those whom they had betrayed. But it was the anger of La Chesnaye and his associates of the Company which was especially strong. An expedition which they had sent out to Port Nelson, with the intention of collecting the wealth in peltries, returned to the St. Lawrence without so much as a single beaver. The success of the English made some decided action on the part of the French inevitable. La Barre was recalled and his successor, the Marquis de Denonville, determined to take matters into his own hands, rather than see the interests of New France in the Bay suffer. He relied upon the success of the expedition to atone for the boldness of the initiative, but his action was not taken without repeated warnings addressed to the Minister. "All the best of our furs, both as to quality and quantity, we must expect to see shortly in the hands of the English." If the English were not expelled they would secure all the fat beaver from an infinite number of tribes in the north who were being discovered every day; besides abstracting the greater portion of the peltries that ordinarily reached them at Montreal through the Ottawas, Assiniboines and other tribes.[21] [Sidenote: The French capture a Company's ship.] In the month of July, 1685, two ships belonging to the French Company, returning in disappointment to Canada from Port Nelson, met, at the mouth of the Straits, one of the Hudson's Bay Company's vessels named the _Merchant of Perpetuana_, commanded by one Edward Humes. She was bound for York Fort with a cargo of merchandise and provisions. No time was lost on the part of the French in intercepting her. Captain Humes not surrendering with sufficient alacrity to please the enemy, the _Merchant of Perpetuana_ was boarded and forcibly possessed in the name of King Lewis. Several English sailors lost their lives. The vessel having been seized in this manner, her prow was headed for Quebec, where her master and crew were summarily cast into gaol. After a miserable confinement, lasting eleven months, the sufferings of Captain Humes ended with his death, and the other prisoners, exposed to the insults and indignities of the Quebec populace, were ultimately sent away to Martinique on board their own ship, and there sold as slaves. The mate, Richard Smithsend by name, managed to escape. Upon reaching London the tale he unfolded to his employers excited general indignation. A memorial of the outrage, couched in vigorous language, was presented to the King, but James, resolved not to give offence to his friend and ally the Most Christian King, took no notice of the matter. Amongst the French in Canada there were not wanting bold spirits to follow up this daring stroke. Chief amongst them, not merely for the character of his achievements, but for his uncommon and romantic personality, was the Chevalier de Troyes. This Canadian nobleman, who was of advanced years, was a retired captain in the army. He believed he now saw an opportunity to win a lasting distinction, and to rival, and perhaps surpass, the exploits of Champlain, Lusson, Frontenac and the other hero-pioneers of New France. Scholarly in his tastes, and frail of body, though by profession a soldier, he emerged from privacy on Christmas Eve, 1685, and asked of the Governor a commission to drive the English utterly from the Northern Bay. The authority the old soldier sought for was granted. He was empowered to "search for, seize and occupy the most advantageous posts, to seize the robbers, bushrangers and others whom we know to have taken and arrested several of our French engaged in the Indian trade, whom we order him to arrest, especially the said Radisson and his adherents wherever they may be found, and bring them to be punished as deserters, according to the rigour of the ordinances." The rigour of the ordinances was death. Fourscore Canadians were selected to form part of the expedition against the Hudson's Bay Company's posts by the Chevalier de Troyes. For his lieutenants, the leader chose the three sons of a nobleman of New France named Charles Le Moine. One, the eldest, a young man of only twenty-five, was to bear an enduring distinction in the annals of France as one of her most able and intrepid naval commanders. This was the Sieur d'Iberville. His brothers, taking their names, as he had done, from places in their native land, were called the Sieurs de Sainte Hèlène and de Marincourt. Thirty soldiers were directly attached to the Chevalier's command, veterans who had, almost to a man, seen service in one or other of the great European wars. That they might not be without the ministrations of religion, Father Sylvie, a Jesuit priest, accompanied the expedition. [Sidenote: Expedition of de Troyes.] "The rivers," writes a chronicler of the Troyes expedition, "were frozen and the earth covered with snow when that small party of vigorous men left Montreal in order to ascend the Ottawa River as far as the height of land and thence to go down to James' Bay." At the beginning of April they arrived at the Long Sault, where they prepared some canoes in order to ascend the Ottawa River. From Lake Temiscamingue they passed many portages until they reached Lake Abbitibi, at the entrance or most southern extremity of which they built a small fort of stockades. After a short halt they continued their course towards James' Bay. The establishment first doomed to conquest by Troyes and his companions was Moose Factory, a stockade fort having four bastions covered with earth. In the centre was a house forty feet square and as many high, terminating in a platform. The fort was escaladed by the French late at night and the palisades made short work of by the hatchets of their bushrangers. Amongst the garrison none appears to have attempted a decent defence save the chief gunner, who perished bravely at his post of duty.[22] A cry for quarter went up and the English were made prisoners on the spot. They were sixteen in number, and as the attack was made at night they were in a state of almost complete undress. Troyes found in the fort twelve cannon, chiefly six and eight-pounders, three thousand pounds of powder and ten pounds of lead. [Sidenote: Capture of Moose Factory.] It is worthy of record that the capture was effected with an amount of pomp and ceremony calculated to strike the deepest awe into the hearts of those fifteen unhappy and not too intelligent Company's apprentices, who knew nothing of fighting nor had bargained for anything so perilous. For so small a conquest it was both preceded and followed by almost as much circumstance as would have sufficed for the Grand Monarque himself in one of his theatrical sieges. The Chevalier announced in a loud voice that he took possession of the fort and island "in the name of his Most Christian Majesty the Most High, Most Mighty, Most Redoubtable Monarch Lewis XIV. of the Most Christian Name, King of France and Navarre." In obvious imitation of Lusson, a sod of earth was thrice raised in the air, whilst a cry of "Vive le Roi" rang out over those waters wherein were sepultured the bodies of Henry Hudson and his men. * * * * * NOTE.--The career of the Chevalier de Troyes ended abruptly and tragically in 1687, when he and all his men, to the number of ninety, were massacred at Niagara. FOOTNOTES: [21] Our Frenchmen have seen quite recently from Port Nelson some Indians who were known to have traded several years ago at Montreal. The posts at the head of the Bay Abbitibi and Nemisco can be reached through the woods and seas; our Frenchmen are acquainted with the road. But in regard to the posts occupied by the English in the River Bourbon or Port Nelson it is impossible to hold any posts below them and convey merchandise thither except by sea. Some pretend that it is feasible to go thence overland; but the river to reach that quarter remains yet to be discovered, and when discovered could only admit the conveyance of a few men and not of any merchandise. In regard to Hudson's Bay, should the King not think proper for enforcing the reasons his Majesty has for opposing the usurpation of the English on his lands, by the just titles proving his Majesty's possession long before the English had any knowledge of the country, nothing is to be done but to find means to support the Company of the said Bay, formed in Canada, by the privilege his Majesty has been pleased this year to grant to all his subjects of New France; and to furnish them for some years with a few vessels of 120 tons, well armed and equipped. I hope with this aid our Canadians will support this business, which will otherwise perish of itself; whilst the English merchants, more powerful than our Canadians, will with good ships continue their trade, whereby they will enrich themselves at the expense of the Colony and the King's revenue.--Despatch of Denonville, 12th November, 1685. [22] Iberville declares that he split his head into fragments. CHAPTER XII. 1686-1689. The French Attack upon Fort Rupert -- Governor Sargeant Apprised -- Intrepidity of Nixon -- Capture of Fort Albany -- Disaster to the _Churchill_ -- The Company Hears the ill News -- Negotiations for Colonial Neutrality -- Destruction of New Severn Fort -- Loss of the _Hampshire_ -- The Revolution. Undecided whether to next attack Fort Rupert or Fort Albany, the Chevalier de Troyes was prompted to a decision through learning that a boat containing provisions had left Moose Factory on the previous day bound for Rupert's River. Iberville was therefore sent with nine men and two bark canoes to attack a sloop belonging to the Company then lying at anchor at the mouth of the latter river with fourteen souls aboard, including the Governor. To accomplish this stroke it was necessary to travel forty leagues along the sea coast. The road was extremely difficult and in places almost impassable. A shallop was constructed to carry a couple of small cannon, and on the 25th of June Troyes left for Fort Rupert. St. Hèlène was sent on in advance to reconnoitre the establishment. He returned with the information that it was a square structure, flanked by four bastions, but that all was in a state of confusion owing to repairs and additions then being made to the fort. The cannon had not yet been placed, being temporarily accommodated outside on the slope of a redoubt. Before the attack, which could only have one issue, was made by the land forces, Iberville had boarded the Company's sloop, surprised captain and crew, and made all, including Governor Bridgar, prisoners. Four of the English were killed. After this exploit Iberville came ashore, rejoined his superior and overpowered the almost defenceless garrison of Fort Rupert. The French forces now united, and St Hèlène having been as successful as his brother in securing the second of the Company's ships, all embarked and sailed for the remaining post of the Company in that part of the Bay. * * * * * Neither Troyes nor Iberville knew its precise situation; but a little reconnoitring soon discovered it. Fort Albany was built in a sheltered inlet forty yards from the borders of the Bay. Two miles to the north-east was an _estrapade_ on the summit of which was placed a seat for a sentinel to sight the ships expected from England and to signal them if all was well. But on this morning, unhappily, no sentinel was there to greet with a waving flag the Company's ship, on the deck of which young Iberville stood. [Sidenote: Attack on Fort Albany.] Two Indians, however, brought Governor Sargeant tidings of the approach of the enemy, and his previous successes at Moose and Rupert rivers. The Governor immediately resolved upon making a bold stand; all was instantly got in readiness to sustain a siege, and the men were encouraged to behave with fortitude. Two hours later the booming of cannon was heard, and soon afterwards a couple of skirmishers were sighted at a distance. Despite the Governor's example, the servants at the fort were thrown into the greatest confusion. Two of their number were deputed by the rest to inform the Governor that they were by no means disposed to sacrifice their lives without provision being made for themselves and families in case of a serious issue. They were prevailed upon by the Governor to return to their posts, and a bounty was promised them. Bombardment by the French soon afterwards began, and lasted for two days, occasionally replied to by the English. But it was not until the evening of the second day that the first fatality occurred, when one of the servants was killed, and this brought about a mutiny. Elias Turner, the chief gunner, declared to his comrades that it was impossible for the Governor to hold the place and that, for his part, he was ready to throw himself on the clemency of the French. Sargeant overhearing this declaration, drew his pistol and threatened to blow out the gunner's brains if he did not return to his post, and this form of persuasion proved effective. The French now profited by the darkness to bring their cannon through the wood closer to the fort; and by daybreak a series of heavy balls struck the bastions, causing a breach. Bridgar and Captain Outlaw, then at Fort Albany, were convinced that the enemy was undermining the powder magazine, in which case they would certainly be blown up. The French from the ship had thrown up a battery, which was separated from the moat surrounding the fort by less than a musket shot. None ventured to show himself above ground at a moment of such peril. A shell exploded at the head of the stairway and wounded the cook. The cries of the French could now be distinctly heard outside the fort--"Vive le Roi, vive le Roi." In their fright and despair the English echoed the cry "Vive le Roi," thinking thereby to propitiate their aggressors. But the latter mistook the cry for one of defiance, as a token of loyalty to an altogether different monarch, and the bullets whistled faster and thicker. Sargeant desired to lower the flag floating above his own dwelling, but there was none to undertake so hazardous a task. Finally Dixon, the under-factor, offered to show himself and propitiate the French. He first thrust a white cloth from a window and waved a lighted torch before it. He then called in a loud voice, and the firing instantly ceased. The under-factor came forth, fully dressed, and bearing two huge flagons of port wine. Walking beyond the parapets he encountered both Troyes and Iberville, and by the light of a full moon the little party of French officers and the solitary Englishman sat down on the mounted cannon, or on the ground beside it, broached the two flagons and drank the health of the two kings, their masters. "And now, gentlemen," said Dixon, "what is it you want?" "Possession of your fort in the name of his Most Christian Majesty, King Lewis XIV." Dixon, explaining that he was not master there, offered to conduct this message to Sargeant, and in a very short time the French commanders were seated comfortably within the house of the Governor. The demand was again preferred, it being added that great offence had been given by the action of the English in taking captive three French traders, the previous autumn, and keeping them prisoners on ground owned and ruled by the King of France. For this reason reparation was demanded, and Sargeant was desired at once to surrender the fort. The Governor was surprised at such extreme measures, for which he was totally unprepared, but was willing to surrender upon terms of capitulation. On the following morning these were arranged. [Sidenote: Capitulation of the fort.] It was agreed that Sargeant should continue to enjoy all his personal effects; and further, that his deputy, Dixon, three domestics and his servant, should accompany him out of the fort. It was also agreed that Troyes should send the clerks and servants of the Company to Charlton Island, there to await the arrival of the Company's ships from England. In case of their non-arrival within a reasonable time, Troyes promised to assist them to such vessel as he could command for the purpose. The Frenchman also gave Sargeant the provisions necessary to keep him and his companions from starvation. All quitted the fort without arms, save Sargeant and his son, whose swords and pistols hung at their sides. The Governor and his suite were provided with passage to Hays Island, where he afterwards made his escape to Port Nelson. The others were distributed between Forts Moose and Albany, and were treated with considerable severity and hardship. Having attended to the disposition of his prisoners and their property, Troyes, accompanied by Iberville, departed on 10th August for Montreal. The gallant Chevalier and his associates would have been glad to have pursued their successes, by crossing the Bay and capturing York Factory. But although two ships belonging to the Company had fallen to their lot, yet they could find none competent to command them. The distance between Albany and Port Nelson was by water two hundred and fifty leagues, and the road overland was as yet unknown to the French. But it was not their purpose that it should long remain so. In a letter to his official superior at Quebec, Denonville, pursuing his way amongst the tribes of the Upper Mississippi region, boasted that the next year would not pass without their becoming acquainted with it. Wherefore Troyes suffered himself to be prevailed upon by Iberville, and be content with the victories already won. They carried with them in their journey more than 50,000 beaver as a trophy of their arms. Many of the Hudson's Bay Company's servants were employed in bearing the spoils. Along the dreary march several of these unhappy captives were killed through the connivance of the French with the Indians; and the survivors reached Quebec in a dreadfully emaciated and halt condition. Troyes' victories were ludicrously exaggerated: his return, therefore, was attended with much pomp. [Sidenote: French prisoners taken by the "Churchill."] Ignorant of Troyes and his conquests, the Company sent out its annual expedition as usual in 1687. In the autumn of this year the _Churchill_ was caught in the ice near Charlton Island. Iberville was quickly apprised of this mishap, and sent a party of four across the ice to reconnoitre. They appear to have been somewhat careless, for, while one sank down from utter exhaustion, the others were surprised by the Company's crew, seized and bound. One of the three, however, managed to escape the fate of his companions, who were manacled and placed in the bottom of the ship's hold, where they passed the winter. But the three Frenchmen enjoyed no monopoly of misfortune. The captain of the ship, while hunting on the island in the early days of spring, lost his life by drowning; and there were numerous minor calamities. In May, preparation was made for departure, and as the English were short-handed the two Frenchmen were forced to lend their aid. This they did willingly, glad to exchange the open air of heaven for that of the hold of the ship. One day, while most of the crew were aloft, one of the Frenchmen, perceiving only two of his captors on deck, furtively secured an axe. With this implement he silently split the skulls of both men, and then ran to release his comrade temporarily chained below. The pair seized fire-arms which they came upon in a corner of the hold, and brandishing these in skilful fashion, they suddenly changed from captives into masters. In opprobrious terms and with violent gesticulations they dared the crew to come down from the rigging, or indeed to lay a hand upon the fringe of a shroud; and while one watched with two drawn pistols in hand the shivering seamen in the shrouds and rigging, the other steered the ship towards Rupert's River. How long this drama might have lasted it is hard to say, for within a few hours Iberville and his ship hove in sight. He had fitted out an expedition to rescue his men as soon as the ice would permit, and now came and took charge of the _Churchill_ and all on board. [Sidenote: News of the disaster reaches England.] The tidings of this expedition of the Chevalier Troyes, following close upon the harrowing tale of Smithsend, the mate of the _Merchant of Perpetuana_, excited the Adventurers to a pitch of fury. An extraordinary general meeting was held and London was placarded with an account of the outrages. A news-letter was issued at the Company's expense detailing the events, and carrying them into the remotest parts of the kingdom. Lord Churchill, who had succeeded King James in the governorship of the Company, personally presented a petition of the outraged Company of Adventurers to the King, wherein it was prayed "that James would be pleased to afford them his Royal assistance and Protection and that Your Majesty will demand and procure satisfaction to be made them for all losses and damages they have suffered as well formerly as by this last invasion." It is now necessary to mention what had been happening between the two crowns between 1685 and 1688. In the first named year, in response to the pressure brought to bear upon both by their subjects, James had agreed with Lewis to appoint a joint commission to examine into the disputes between the two nations and, if possible, effect a pacific settlement. Their respective possessions in America were giving the two Crowns so much trouble and expense that they were ready to welcome any arrangement which would reduce the burden. War between England and France in the old days had been a simple matter, confined to contiguous territory of whose geography and physical features they knew something. But now the mother countries could not offer each other hostilities without a score or so of their offspring colonies springing at each other's throats. If war between France and England could only be confined to war between France and England, and not be allowed to spread itself over innumerable savage tribes and dependencies in North America, it was felt that a great end would thereby be gained. [Sidenote: Negotiations for Colonial neutrality.] The point sought by both kings was to make America neutral. Such a thing would have been excellent, had it but been possible. But the futility of such an arrangement was instantly made manifest. Both races in America were too eager and too anxious to reap the advantages of war. It was not likely that the Colonial English would allow a rich prize to pass them, only to be seized a hundred leagues farther east by the home authorities. The Colonial French were not to be expected in time of war to suffer tamely from competition in the fur-trade, when the very principles of their allegiance urged them to forcible retaliation. Even without the episode of the _Merchant of Perpetuana_ the rivalry between the two nations for the fur-trade was so bitter as to be a perpetual danger to peace. For this reason, and in order to mark some delimitation to the trade of the two countries, the joint commission had sat and examined into the matter. On the sixth of November, 1686, a treaty of neutrality had been concluded between the two kings. It stipulated for a "firm peace, union and concord, and good understanding between the subjects" of James and Lewis. No vessels of either sovereign were thereafter to be employed in attacking the subjects of the other in any of the colonies. No soldiers of either king stationed in any of the colonies were to engage in any act of hostility such as giving aid or succour to men, or provisions to savages, at war with one another. But the fourth article of this treaty was productive of much confusion and misunderstanding. "It has been agreed," it ran, "that each of the said kings shall hold the domains, rights, pre-eminences in the seas, straits and other waters of America which, and in the same extent, of right belongs to them; and in the same manner which they enjoy at present." Now, at the very moment this treaty was signed, the French, by the victory of Troyes, were in possession of Fort Albany and the English still held Port Nelson. As the liberty of navigation was not disturbed by the Treaty it would appear that the French retained the right to sail in the Bay. Commissioners were appointed to consider the carrying out of the treaty, the Sieurs Barillon and Bonrepas acting on behalf of France, and Lords Sutherland, Middleton and Godolphin for James. To these commissioners the Company presented a further memorial, which dwelt upon their grievances "for five years past, in a time of peace and good correspondence between the two crowns." [Sidenote: Impracticability of the Treaty.] These commissioners appear to have done their best to arrange matters satisfactorily; but such a result was impossible under the conditions. They were privately instructed by their respective masters to agree to hold the trade of Port Nelson in common. Such a proposal was extremely impracticable, as that well-informed subject, Denonville, made haste to inform his royal master. The proximity of the English, he declared, in such a remote part would be a certain source of hostility on both sides, and a dangerous temptation for numbers of "libertines," whom the least dissatisfaction would induce to take refuge at Port Nelson. The "libertines" he thus alluded to were the bushrangers, who were already giving the French great trouble and uneasiness through their wild, undisciplined habits and their freedom from restraint. Denonville added that the Hudson's Bay Company, paying higher prices for beaver than the French could do, would always have a preference, and consequently would almost monopolize the trade. It was therefore better, in his opinion, to effect a compromise in the Bay, restoring the three forts Troyes had taken in exchange for Port Nelson, which, so he stated, was worth more than the other three together for trading purposes. Besides, on the first rupture, it would be very easy to retake them by an overland march, as Troyes had done. But such proposals on the part of the French were indignantly rejected by the English Company. There was, therefore, nothing for it but a _modus vivendi_, under which no further encroachments in the Bay were to be made by either party. But whatever the intent of the negotiations, there was nothing to compel the parties directly interested to observe them. The elated French Company was too much inclined to retain what Troyes had wrested from the English to adhere to sophistries and weak-kneed arguments. It engaged Iberville to return to Fort Albany, upon which establishment it had bestowed the name of St. Anne, and repulse the English should their ships arrive and endeavour to land. Captain Moon, returning from Port Nelson, did make an attempt with twenty-four men to surprise the French. He built a station some eight miles distant; but Iberville heard of it, marched thither with great despatch, and pursued them for twenty miles. He then made preparations for seizing Captain Moon's ship, embarking upwards of forty men in canoes and small boats for this purpose. But those aboard her defeated his intention in the night, by setting her on fire and making their escape to the shore, where they rejoined their companions and made the best of their way overland to New Severn, a fort which had been erected in the previous year as a means of drawing trade away from the French conquerors in the eastern parts of the Bay. Iberville was not long ignorant of the retreat of those who had escaped him; nor of the prosperity which attended the new factory. He arrived before New Severn in October, 1689, obtained its surrender and took the Company's Governor prisoner. Amongst the Governor's papers which he seized was a letter from the secretary of the Company, ordering him, on behalf of the partners, to proclaim the Prince and Princess of Orange King and Queen of England, showing that the chief spirits of the Company were not unfriendly to those who precipitated the Revolution. Glorying in this new exploit, Iberville now returned to Fort St. Anne, just in time to behold the spectacle of two strange ships standing off in the Bay. The presence of these vessels was explained by the Company having sent out an expedition, comprising eighty-three men of both crews, with instructions to land on an island close to the Chechouan River and establish a fort, from whence they could sally forth to the re-conquest of Fort Albany. But already the winter had overtaken them, and the two vessels were locked in the ice. Their fort was, however, pretty well advanced, and they had landed a number of pieces of cannon. Iberville lay in ambush and, watching his opportunity, when twenty-one of the English were proceeding for a supply of stores to the ship, intercepted them. The whole party fell into the hands of the French; and Marincourt, with fourteen men, now began to reconnoitre the forces on the island. A brisk cannonading ensued between the two parties. After this had lasted some days Iberville found means to summon the Company's commander to surrender, threatening him with no quarter if he deferred compliance. [Sidenote: Surrender of the Company's ships to the French.] [Sidenote: Iberville's treacherous plan.] To this the Governor responded that he had been given to understand on his departure from London that there was a treaty in force between the two Crowns, and that it occasioned him much astonishment that the French paid so little heed to it. Iberville's response was not exactly truthful, for he declared that whether a treaty existed or not he had not been the first to invade it; and that in any case he could waste no time in parley. The Governor replied that his force was still a strong one; but that he would not be averse to surrender if Iberville would agree to reimburse the Company's officers out of the proceeds of their store of furs; and also accord them a vessel wherewith to sail away. This stipulation was granted; Iberville grimly remarking that it was extraordinary what a large number of officers there were for so small a company of men. He had already captured the captain of one of the vessels and the surgeon; and there now remained thirteen others who thus escaped scot-free from the clutches of the French. The amount of wages demanded was close upon two thousand pounds. All the others were made prisoners, including the pilots, of whom it is said there were a number who had been despatched by the Admiralty to acquire a knowledge of the Bay and Straits. All were carried off by Iberville to Quebec, and Marincourt left behind with thirty-six men to guard the two posts. The young commander did not this time proceed overland, but having got possession of the Company's ship, the _Hampshire_, he sailed northward for the Straits. He had scarcely reached the latitude of Southampton Island when an English ship hove in sight, proceeding in his direction. They came so close together as to exchange speech. Iberville had taken the precaution to hoist the English flag, and the presence of the prisoners caused implicit belief in his friendly pretensions. He learned that young Chouart, Radisson's nephew, was on board, and declares that he longed to attack openly the Company's ship, but the insufficiency of his force to guard the prisoners prevented him taking this course. He had, however, recourse to a stratagem which nearly succeeded. The captain of the other ship agreed to sail together in company through the Straits, and on the first clear weather to pay a visit to Iberville's ship. It was, it is almost needless to observe, the Frenchman's intention to seize the guileless Englishman and his companions the moment they had reached his deck. But storms intervening, this project fell through. The ships separated and did not meet again. The Hudson's Bay Company was not a little puzzled at the non-arrival of the _Hampshire_, which had been spoken thus happily in Hudson's Straits. For a long time the vessel was believed to be lost; as, indeed, she was, but not quite in the manner apprehended by her owners. Possession was not regained for some years; and when the _Hampshire_ sailed again for the Bay it was to encounter there complete destruction in battle. As has been foreshadowed, in 1689 an event occurred which had been brewing ever since James had relinquished the governorship of the Company for the governorship of his subjects at large. William of Orange landed at Plymouth, and the Revolution in England put a new king on the English throne. CHAPTER XIII. 1689-1696. Company's Claims Mentioned in Declaration of War -- Parliament Grants Company's Application for Confirmation of its Charter -- Implacability of the Felt-makers -- Fort Albany not a Success in the hands of the French -- Denonville urges an Attack upon Fort Nelson -- Lewis Despatches Tast with a Fleet to Canada -- Iberville's Jealousy prevents its Sailing to the Bay -- Governor Phipps Burns Fort Nelson -- Further Agitation on the part of the French to Possess the West Main -- Company Makes another attempt to Regain Fort Albany -- Fort Nelson Surrendered to Iberville -- Its Re-conquest by the Company. Upon William the Third's accession to the throne, the Company renewed its claims to its property, and for reparation for the damages it had suffered at the hands of the French in time of peace. "As to the article of the Company's losses, it will appear," it said, "by a true and exact estimate, that the French took from the Company, in full peace between 1682 and 1688, seven ships with their cargoes, and six forts and factories, from which they carried away great stores of goods laid up for trading with the Indians. The whole amounts to £38,332 15s." To such effect was this memorial presented to the King that William caused the hostile proceedings of Lewis in the Company's territory to be inserted in one of the articles of his Declaration of War, in these words:-- "But that the French King should invade our Caribbee Islands and possess himself of our territories of the Province of New York and Hudson's Bay, in hostile manner, seizing our forts, burning our subjects' houses and enriching his people with the spoil of our goods and merchandises, detaining some of our subjects under the hardships of imprisonment, causing others to be inhumanly killed, and driving the rest to sea in a small vessel without food or necessaries to support them, are actions not even becoming an enemy; and yet he was so far from declaring himself so, that at that very time he was negotiating here in England, by his Ministers, a treaty of neutrality and good correspondence in America." Much has been made by later writers, hostile to the Company, of a circumstance which soon afterwards took place. [Sidenote: The Company's charter confirmed.] Owing to the state of public feeling in England towards the Stewarts at the time of the Revolution, the Company, keenly alive to the fact of the exiled king's having been so recently its Governor, sought at the beginning of William's reign to strengthen its position by an Act of Parliament for the charter granted by Charles II. Why, have asked its enemies, if the Company had the utmost confidence in its charter did it resort to the Lords and Commons to have it confirmed? And why was this confirmation limited to but seven years? I have already answered the first question; as to the second, the Company itself asked for no longer period. The proceeding was no secret; it was done openly. Parliament made but one stipulation, and that at the instance of the Felt-makers' Company; that the adventurers "should be obliged to make at least two sales of 'coat beaver' annually, and not exceeding four. These should be proportioned in lotts of about £100 sterling each, and not exceeding £200. In the intervals of public sales the Company should be debarred from selling beaver by private Contract, or at any price than was sett up at the last Publick sale." The Company asked for a confirmation of its charter by Parliament as a prudent course in uncertain times; and also in order to more firmly establish its claim to reparation for damages. The nation's representatives saw no reason why they should not issue a confirmation; there being none, save the Felt-makers, to oppose it. [Sidenote: The Company increases its capital.] The charter being confirmed, it was decided that the nominal capital of the Company should be increased to £31,500, several good reasons being put forward in committee for thus trebling the stock. These reasons are quaintly enumerated as follows: I--That the Company have actually in Warehouse above the value of their first original stock. II--That they have set out an Expedition this Yeare in their Shipps and Cargoe to more than the Value of their First Stock again; the trading of which Goods may well be estimated, in expectation as much more. III--That our Factories at Port Nelson River and New Severne are under an increasing Trade; and that our Returns in Beavers this yeare (by God's Blessing) are modestly expected to be worth 20,000_l._ IV--Our Forts, Factories, Guns and other Materials, the prospect of new Settlements and further Trade, are also reasonably to be estimated at a considerable intrinsic Value. V--And lastly, our just Expectancy of a very considerable reparation and satisfaction from the French and the close of this War and the restoring our places and Trade at the Bottom of the Bay; which upon proof, hath been made out above 100,000_l._ Some years later the Treaty of Ryswick, in securing to the French the fruits of Iberville's victory, powerfully affected for ill the fortunes of the Company. Nevertheless, the whole nation was then in sympathy with its cause, knowing that but for the continued existence of the Honourable Adventurers as a body corporate the chances of the western portion of the Bay reverting to the English were small. But the Felt-makers were implacable. They would like to have seen the beaver trade in their own hands. At the expiration of the seven years for which the confirmation was allowed, they again, as will be shown, evinced, yet vainly, their enmity. Because this parliamentary confirmation was limited to so short a period, some writers have conjectured that at the expiration of that period the charter ceased to be valid. So absurd a conclusion would scarcely appear to stand in need of refutation. Could those who pretend to draw this inference have been ignorant that if some of the rights conferred by the charter required the sanction of Parliament, there were other rights conferred by it which required no such sanction, because they were within the prerogative of the Crown? Even assuming that at the end of the term for which the act of William and Mary was passed, such of the provisions of the charter (if there could be found any such) as derived their efficacy only from parliamentary support should be considered inefficient, still all the rights similar to those of the charters for former governments and plantations in America would continue to exist. That they were so regarded as existing is made evident by the repeated references to them in various subsequent international treaties and acts of Parliament. King George and his advisers completely recognized the Company as proprietors of a certain domain. In establishing the limits of the newly-acquired Province of Canada, it was enacted that it should be bounded on the north by "the territory granted to the Merchants-Adventurers of England trading into Hudson's Bay," a boundary which by statute was long to subsist. Fort Albany did not prove a success in the hands of the French. The Quebec Company were losing money, and they had no ships. They were, besides, severely handicapped by physical conditions, owing to the inaccessibility of the Bay by land and the impracticability of carrying merchandise by the overland route. It seemed clear that, after all, the trade of the Bay could only be made profitable by sea.[23] The French were consequently most anxious to exchange the forts on James' Bay for Fort Nelson, because they were aware that better furs were to be had in the north; and because it would enable them to intercept the tribes who hunted about Lake Nepigon. [Sidenote: Denonville plans the capture of Fort Nelson.] Denonville is now found writing long despatches to Seignely, assuring him that their affairs at Hudson's Bay would prosper if the Northern Company continued to co-operate with and second the designs of Iberville, whose fixed resolve was to go and seize Fort Nelson. For that purpose Denonville regarded it as necessary that the Minister should inform M. de Lagny that the King desired the capture of that fort, and to "furnish Iberville with everything he requires to render his designs successful." The Governor himself thought one ship added to those they had captured in 1689 from the English would suffice. He sought to obtain for Iberville some honourable rank in the navy, as this would, he urged, excite honourable emulation amongst the Canadians who were ready to follow the sea. Denonville suggested a lieutenancy, adding his opinion that his young friend was "a very fine fellow, capable of rendering himself expert and doing good service." The plea of the Governor was successful and Lewis was pleased to confer upon Iberville the rank of lieutenant in the French Royal Navy, the first distinction of the kind then on record. It fired the blood and pride of not a few of the Canadian youth, one Peter Gauthier de Varennes amongst the rest. Many years later he, under the name of Verandrye, was the first of the great pioneers through the territories of the Great Company. All negotiations for an exchange of forts having fallen through, the _Compagnie du Nord_ determined to make a valiant attempt to obtain their desires by force. For this purpose they made powerful application to the Court; and in the autumn of 1691 their petition resulted in the arrival at Quebec of Admiral Tast with no fewer than fourteen ships. It was said in Quebec that while Lewis XIV. surprised his enemies by his celerity in taking the field in Europe, the vessels sent out to America by his order always started two or three months too late for Canada and the Bay. This tardiness, it was declared, was the sole cause of all the losses and want of success attending French enterprises in that part of the New World.[24] However this may be, there was beyond question another and not less potent reason for the failure which overtook the proposed expedition of Tast on behalf of the Northern Company. Iberville's successes had up to this moment tended to bolster up the waning popularity of the Company in Canada. This popular hero had just returned from the Bay with 80,000 francs value in beaver skins, and 6,000 livres in small furs, but he now refused point blank to have anything to do with the expedition. He did not care to share such glory and profit as he might obtain with his own followers, with the Company and Admiral Tast. Without this powerful auxiliary and the support of the populace, Tast's fleet abandoned its expedition to the Bay, and sailed away to Acadia and Newfoundland. [Sidenote: Burning of Fort Nelson.] Nevertheless, while Governor Phipps was in charge of Fort Nelson this year, a French frigate belonging to the enemy appeared at the entrance of Bourbon River. As it chanced that nearly the whole of his garrison were absent from the fort on a hunting expedition, it seemed to the Governor that armed resistance would be futile. Rather, therefore, than allow the fort to pass again into the hands of the French under circumstances so humiliating, he resolved to burn it, together with a large part of its merchandise, valued at about £8,000, well knowing that without the merchandise the French could not procure furs from the Indians. Whilst the flames of the fort were ascending, Phipps and three men he had with him retreated into ambush and established themselves with some Indians in the interior. The Frenchman landed, saw the perdition of his hopes in the ruin of the fort and its contents, and returned to the ship with a few hatchets and knives as the sole trophy of his enterprise. On the arrival of the Company's ship in the spring however, York Factory was re-built stronger and on a larger scale than before. Iberville at this time finds great cause of complaint in the fact of the French Company's poverty, and its inability to occupy the region after it had been won for them. More than a single ship was required; and a larger number of men in the vicinity of Fort Nelson would have served to keep the English off perpetually. In 1693 the Northern Company petitioned Pontchartrain, who had succeeded Seignely at Court, respecting operations in the Bay. The Company declared that it could hold everything if it were only enabled to seize Fort Nelson; but that continued hostilities and losses had so weakened it as to oblige it to have recourse to his Excellency to obtain sufficient force in a suitable time to drive out the English. In another petition it is alleged that this "single fort which remains in the possession of the English is of so much importance that the gain or loss of everything in Hudson's Bay depends upon it. The Company's establishment in Quebec, to carry on this commerce, claims anew the protection of your Excellency, that you may give it a sufficient force to enable it to become master of Fort Nelson, which the English took by an act of treason against this Company in time of peace. This they hope from the strong desire which you have for the aggrandizement of the kingdom, and from your affection for this colony." Iberville crossed over to France, and met with a warm reception at Versailles. He unfolded his plans for the capture of Fort Nelson, stated what force he would require for this desirable purpose, and was promised two ships in the following spring.[25] Highly gratified with his success, he departed for home in the _Envieux_. [Sidenote: The English regain Fort Albany.] The Hudson's Bay Company now made another effort to regain its fort at Albany. Three powerfully armed ships wintered at Fort Nelson and sailed thither in the spring of 1693.[26] From all accounts that had been received, it was not believed that the rival French Company was in a position to maintain a very strong force for an all-winter defence, especially since the alienation of Iberville. Forty men were landed, and approaching the post were met by a brisk fire, which failed to check the English advance. Much to their own astonishment, they were permitted to close upon the fort without check, and a ruse was suspected. A cautious entrance was therefore made: the premises were found apparently deserted. But at length, in a corner of the cellar, emaciated and covered with rags, a human being a victim to scurvy was discovered. His arms and legs were fastened together, and a heavy chain kept him close to the wall. While they were marvelling at this discovery, some of the sailors came to inform the captain that three Frenchmen had been seen at a distance flying as fast as their legs would carry them. Captain Grimington was not long left in doubt as to the facts: these three Frenchmen had formed the garrison of the fort St Anne. The unlucky wretch they now beheld was a bushranger who, in a paroxysm of rage, had murdered the surgeon at the fort. Horrified, on recovering his reason, at what he had done, and fearing that the only witness of the deed, Father Dalmas, would betray him to the rest, he slew the priest also. The latter, with his expiring breath, disclosed his murderer, and the French, then ten in number, had chained the criminal in the cellar, not themselves relishing the task of his summary execution. Iberville did not leave Quebec until the tenth[27] of August, and arrived at Fort Nelson, September 24th. Almost immediately he disembarked with all his people, also with cannons, mortars and a large quantity of ammunition. Batteries were thrown up about five hundred yards from the palisades, and upon these guns were mounted.[28] A bombardment now took place, lasting from the 25th of September to the 14th of October, when the governor was forced to surrender, owing to the danger of a conflagration as well as to the loss of several of his best men. On this occasion young Henry Kelsey[29] showed great bravery, and a report of his gallantry being forwarded to the Company, he was presented with the sum of forty pounds as a token of their appreciation. This youth was destined to be long in the service of the Company, as first in command at Fort Nelson. [Illustration: LANDING OF IBERVILLE'S MEN AT PORT NELSON. (_From an old print._)] [Sidenote: Iberville takes Fort Nelson.] Iberville accomplished his entry on the fifteenth of October. The French standard was hoisted and the fort christened Bourbon, and it being St. Theresa's Day, the river was given the name of that saint. The enemy did not come out of this business unscathed; they having lost several of their men, including a brother of Iberville. Some of the English were kept prisoners, while others made their way as best they could to New Severn and Albany. At the time of the surrender, the fort was well furnished with merchandise and provisions, and this circumstance induced the French to remain for the winter, before returning to France. On the 20th of the following July, Iberville departed for the straits in his two vessels, the _Poli_ and _Salamandre_. He left sixty-seven men under the command of La Forest. Martigny became lieutenant, and Jérémie was appointed ensign, with the additional functions of interpreter and "director of commerce." La Forest and his men were not long to enjoy security of trade and occupation however. A meeting of the Hudson's Bay Company was held the moment these outrages were reported. The King was besought to send a fleet of four ships to the rescue and recapture of Fort Nelson. But it was too late to sail that year. News of the proposed despatch of an English fleet having reached France, Serigny was sent in June, 1696, with two of the best craft procurable at Rochelle. Sailing three days before the English, the two French ships arrived two hours too late. It was instantly perceived that they were no match for the English, and accordingly they discreetly withdrew. As the Company's vessels occupied the mouth of the river, there was no safe landing place at hand. Both ships set sail again for France; but one, the _Hardi_, was destined never to reach her destination. She probably ran against ice at the mouth of the straits and went to the bottom with all on board. [Sidenote: Fort Nelson surrenders to the English fleet.] The English commenced the attack on the fort August 29th. On the following day it was decided to land, and the French, seeing the strength of their force, had no alternative but surrender. Perchance by way of retaliation for the affairs of Albany and New Severn, the provisions of capitulation[30] were disregarded; all the French were made prisoners and carried to England. Possession was taken of a vast quantity of furs, and the English returned, well satisfied with their exploit; but not ignorant of the difficulties which surrounded the maintenance of such a conquest. FOOTNOTES: [23] It has been truly observed that the protracted and bloody contest between the French and English for the possession of the Bay was the result of a desire of the Governor to have access to those waters, and the resolve of the latter to defeat this purpose. "The truth is," says Mr. Lindsay, "the fur trade was only profitable when carried on by water." At Quebec or Three Rivers forty beaver skins made a canoe load. A single canoe load of northern furs was worth six of the southern. [24] Charlevoix. [25] Although by this action the French Court directly participated in and lent its support to the hostilities against the English, yet to all intents and purposes the war was between two commercial corporations. The ruling spirits of the Northern Company were not unaware of the importance and power of the enemy they had to deal with. In a pamphlet published in France in 1692 there is amusing testimony to the consideration in which the London Company was held by the French. "It is composed," says this authority, "of opulent merchants and noblemen of the first quality; and it is known that the King himself is part proprietor, having succeeded to that emolument with the other belongings to King James II. So great are its profits that each member is worth at least £5,000 English sterling above what he was before he embarked in the fur traffic. There can be no secrecy about its intention, which is to subvert and subjugate the whole northern Country to its sway." [26] The expedition which thus wrested away from the French all the forts at the bottom of the Bay was in charge of Captain Grimington, an experienced naval officer, who had seen service in the late wars. I have not been able to ascertain Grimington's fate, but in the Company's minute-book, under date of 19th of May, 1714, I find the following entry:-- "Mrs. Ann Grimington, widow of Captain Michael Grimington, deceased, having delivered in her petition to the Company, the same was read, and considering her poverty and the faithful services her husband performed for the Company, the Committee agreed to allow the said Mrs. Grimington twelve shillings per month for her subsistence, which the secretary is ordered to pay her every first Monday in the month, to commence the first Monday in June next. Interim, the secretary is ordered to pay her twenty shillings as charity, which is afterwards to be taken out of the poor-box." This is sufficiently strong evidence of the state into which the Company had fallen. [27] To illustrate the divergence of authorities in such matters, I may mention that while Jérémie, who took part in this expedition, calls the two ships the _Poli_ and _Charente_, in which he is followed by Abbé Ferland. Father Marest, the aumonier of the crew, refers to the second ship as the _Salamandre_. His relation is entitled "Le Voyage du _Poli_ et _Salamandre_." In the letter of Frontenac to the French minister (November 5, 1694) it is stated that Serigny commanded the _Salamandre_. _La Potherie_ observes that the ships sent out in 1694 were the _Poli_ and _Salamandre_. Furthermore, he declares, they sailed the 8th of August; Frontenac states the 9th, and Jérémie the 10th (_Jour de St. Laurent_). _La Potherie_ and Jérémie agree on the date of their arrival, September 24th, although Ferland says it was the 20th. [28] Jérémie gives us a detailed description of the fort in his "Relation." He says it was composed of four bastions, which formed a square of thirty feet, with a large stone house above and below. In one of these bastions was the storeroom for furs and merchandise, another served for provisions; a third was used by the garrison. All were built of wood. In a line with the first palisade there were two other bastions, in one of which lodged the officers, the other serving as a kitchen and forge. Between these two bastions was a crescent-shaped earthworks sheltering eight cannon, firing eight-pound balls, and defending the side of the fort towards the river. At the foot of this earthworks was a platform, fortified by six pieces of large cannon. There was no butt-range looking out upon the wood, which was a weak point; all the cannon and swivel-guns were on the bastions. In all, the armament consisted of thirty-two cannon and fourteen swivel-guns outside the fort and fifty-three inside; on the whole, calculated to make a stalwart defence. [29] Kelsey was the earliest English explorer in the North-West. Mention of his achievements will be found in the course of Chapter XV. [30] Allen sent home to his superiors a copy of the capitulation proposals of the French Commandant. This document is not without interest. It is headed:-- CAPITULATION OF FORT YORK, 1696. Articles of capitulation between William Allen, Commandant-in-Chief at Hays, or St. Therese River, and Sieur G. de la Forest, Commandant at Fort York or Bourbon, August 31, 1696. I consent to give up to you my fort on the following conditions:-- 1. That I and all my men, French as well as Indians, and my English servant, shall have our lives and liberty granted to us, and that no wrong or violence shall be exercised upon us or whatever belongs to us. 2. We shall march out of the fort without arms, to the beat of the drum, match lighted, ball in mouth, flags unfurled, and carry with us the two cannon which we brought from France. 3. We shall be transported altogether, in our own vessel, to Plaisance, a French Port in New Newfoundland. We do not wish to give up the fort till we have embarked, and we shall keep the French flag over the fort till we march out. 4. If we meet with our vessels there shall be a truce between us, and it shall be permitted to transport us with whatever belongs to us. 5. We shall take with us all the beaver skins and other merchandise obtained in trade this year, which shall be embarked with us upon our vessels. 6. All my men shall embark their clothes and whatever belongs to them without being subject to visitation, or robbed of anything. 7. In case of sickness during the voyage, you shall furnish us with all the remedies and medicines which we may require. 8. The two Frenchmen, who ought to return with the Indians, shall be received in the fort on their return, where they shall be treated the same as the English, and sent to Europe during the same year, or they shall be furnished with everything necessary to take them to Rochelle. We shall have the full exercise of our religion, and the Jesuit priest, our missionary, shall publicly perform the functions of his ministry. CHAPTER XIV. 1696-1697. Imprisoned French Fur-Traders Reach Paris -- A Fleet under Iberville Despatched by Lewis to the Bay -- Company's four Ships precede them through the Straits -- Beginning of a Fierce Battle -- The _Hampshire_ Sinks -- Escape of the _Dering_ and capture of the _Hudson's Bay_ -- Dreadful Storm in the Bay -- Losses of the Victors -- Landing of Iberville -- Operations against Fort Nelson -- Bailey Yields -- Evacuation by the English. The French prisoners captured in the Company's expedition of 1696 suffered an incarceration of nearly four months at Portsmouth. No sooner had their liberty been regained than they boarded a French brig bound for Havre, and on arrival in Paris lost little time in making known the condition of affairs at Hudson's Bay. Lewis and his Ministers, gazing upon this emaciated band of traders and bushrangers, could hardly refrain from taking immediate action to retrieve the situation. Precisely following the tactics of their enemy in the previous year, they engaged four men-of-war; which fleet was despatched to join Iberville, then at the port of Placentia in Newfoundland. The Court was well aware that there was no one man so thoroughly equipped at all points in knowledge of the Bay, and the conditions there of life and warfare, as this hero. Consequently, although numerous enough, all other offers to lead the expedition were rejected. On the arrival of the French ships at Placentia, Iberville took command, embarking in the _Pelican_, of fifty guns. The others were the _Palmier_, the _Weesph_, the _Pelican_, and the _Violent_.[31] But Fort Nelson was not to be captured without a struggle. [Sidenote: Meeting of the French and English ships.] At almost the very moment the French fleet sailed, there departed from Plymouth four of the Company's ships, the _Hampshire_, the _Hudson's Bay_, the _Dering_, and _Owner's Love_, a fire-ship, the two former having been participants in the conquest of the previous year. The Company's fleet entered the straits only forty hours before the ships of the French; and like them was much impeded by the ice, which was unusually troublesome. Passage was made by the enemy in the English wake. The _Profound_, commanded by Duqué, pushed past the currents, taking a northerly course, which brought her commander into full view of two of the Company's ships. Shots were exchanged; but owing to the difficulties engendered by the ice, it was impossible to manoeuvre with such certainty as to cut off the Frenchman's escape. While this skirmish was in progress, Iberville in the _Pelican_ succeeded in getting past the English unknown to them, and reached the mouth of the Nelson River in sight of the fort. His presence, as may be imagined, greatly surprised and disturbed the Governor and the Company's servants; for they had believed their own ships would have arrived in season to prevent the enemy from entering the straits. Several rounds of shot were fired as a signal, in the hope that a response would be made by the Company's ships which they hourly expected in that quarter. On his part the French commander was equally disturbed by the non-arrival of his three consorts, which the exigencies of the voyage had obliged him to forsake. Two days were passed in a state of suspense. At daybreak on the fifth of September three ships[32] were distinctly visible; both parties joyfully believed they were their own. So certain was Iberville, that he immediately raised anchor and started to join the newcomers. He was soon undeceived, but the perception of his mistake in no way daunted him. The Company's commanders were not prepared either for the daring or the fury of the Frenchman's onslaught. It is true the _Pelican_ was much superior to any of their own craft singly, being manned by nearly two hundred and fifty men, and boasting forty-four pieces of cannon. The Company's ships lined up, the _Hampshire_ in front, the _Dering_ next, with the _Hudson's Bay_ bringing up the rear. [Illustration: "HAMPSHIRE." "HUDSON'S BAY." "DERING."] [Sidenote: A fierce battle in the Bay.] The combatants being in close proximity the battle began at half-past nine in the morning. The French commander came straight for the _Hampshire_, whose captain, believing it was his enemy's design to board, instantly lowered his mainsheet and put up his fore-top-sail. Contact having been by these means narrowly evaded, the scene of battle suddenly shifted to the _Pelican_ and the _Dering_, whose mainsail was smitten by a terrific volley. At the same time the _Hudson's Bay_, veering, received a damaging broadside. The Company's men could distinctly hear the orders shouted by Iberville to both ships to discharge a musket fire into the _Dering's_ forecastle, but in this move he was anticipated by the English sailors, who poured a storm of bullets in upon the Frenchman, accompanied by a broadside of grape, which wrought havoc with her sails. While the cries of the wounded on the _Pelican_ could be distinctly heard, all three of the Company's ships opened fire, with the design of disabling her rigging. But the captain of the _Hudson's Bay_, seeing that he could not engage the _Pelican_, owing to Iberville's tactics, determined to run in front of her and give her the benefit of a constant hull fire, besides taking the wind from her sails. Iberville observed the movement; the two English vessels were near; he veered around, and by a superb piece of seamanship came so near to the _Hampshire_ that the crew of the latter saw that boarding was intended. Every man flew out on the main deck, with his pistol and cutlass, and a terrific broadside of grape on the part of the Englishman alone saved him. [Illustration: THE EVACUATION OF FORT NELSON. (_See page 166._)] The battle raged hotter and fiercer. The _Hampshire's_ salvation had been only temporary; at the end of three hours and a half she began to sink, with all sails set. When this occurred, Iberville had ninety men wounded, forty being struck by a single broadside. Notwithstanding this, he decided at once to push matters with the _Hampshire's_ companions, although the _Pelican_ was in a badly damaged state, especially the forecastle, which was a mass of splinters. The enemy made at once for the _Dering_, which, besides being the smallest ship, had suffered severely. She crowded on all sail and managed to avoid an encounter, and Iberville being in no condition to prosecute the chase, returned to the _Hudson's Bay_, which soon surrendered. Iberville was not destined, however, to reap much advantage from his prize, the _Hampshire_. The English flag-ship was unable to render any assistance to her and she soon went down with nearly all on board.[33] To render the situation more distressing, no sooner had some ninety prisoners been made, than a storm arose; so that it became out of the question to approach the shore with design of landing. They were without a long-boat and each attempt to launch canoes in the boiling surf was attended with failure. [Sidenote: A great storm.] Night fell; the wind instead of calming, grew fiercer. The sea became truly terrible, seeking, seemingly, with all its power to drive the _Pelican_ and the _Hudson's Bay_ upon the coast. The rudders of each ship broke; the tide rose and there seemed no hope for the crews whose destiny was so cruel. Their only hope in the midst of the bitter blast and clouds of snow which environed them, lay in the strength of their cables. Soon after nine o'clock the _Hudson's Bay_ and its anchor parted with a shock. "Instantly," says one of the survivors, "a piercing cry went up from our forecastle. The wounded and dead lay heaped up, with so little separation one from the other that silence and moans alone distinguished them. All were icy cold, and covered with blood. They had told us the anchor would hold; and we dreaded being washed up on the shore stiff the next morning." A huge wave broke over the main deck and the ship rocked desperately. Two hours later the keel was heard to split, and the ship was hurled rudderless to and fro in the trough of the sea. By the French account, matters were in no more enviable state aboard the _Pelican_; Iberville, however, amidst scenes rivalling those just described, did his best to animate his officers and men with a spirit equalling his own. "It is better," he cried, "to die, if we must, outside the bastions of Fort Bourbon than to perish here like pent sheep on board." [Sidenote: Terrible plight of the shipwrecked French.] When morning broke, it was seen by the French that their ship was not yet submerged, and it was resolved to disembark by such means as lay in their power. The Company's servants were more fortunate. The _Hudson's Bay_ had drifted eight miles to the south of the fort, and was wrecked on a bank of icy marshland, which at least constrained them to wade no deeper than their knees. The French, however, were forced to make their way through the icy water submerged to their necks, from the results of which terrible exposure no fewer than eighteen marines and seamen lost their lives. Once on shore they could not, like the English, look forward to a place of refuge and appease their hunger with provisions and drink. They were obliged, in their shivering, half frozen state, to subsist upon moss and seaweed, but for which indifferent nourishment they must inevitably have perished. The Company's garrison witnessed the calamities which were overtaking the French, but not knowing how great their number, and assured of their hostility, did not attempt any acts of mercy. They perceived the enemy camped in a wood, less than two leagues distant, where, building several large fires they sought to restore their spirits by means of warmth and hot draughts of boiled herbs. [Illustration: "The enemy camped in a wood where, building several large fires, they sought to restore their spirits."] While the fort was being continually recruited by survivors of the two wrecked ships, the other three French vessels had arrived on the scene. The fourth, the _Violent_, lay at the bottom of the Bay, having been sunk by the ice. The _Palmier_ had suffered the loss of her helm, but was fortunate in not being also a victim of the storm. The French forces being now united, little time was lost by Iberville in making active preparations for the attack upon the fort. On the 11th, the enemy attained a small wood, almost under the guns of the fort, and having entrenched themselves, lit numerous fires and made considerable noise in order to lend the impression to the English that an entrenchment was being thrown up. This ruse was successful, for the Governor gave orders to fire in that direction; and Iberville, seizing this opportunity, effected a landing of all his men and armaments from the ships. [Sidenote: Iberville demands surrender of the fort.] The fort would now soon be hemmed in on all sides, and it were indeed strange if a chance shot or fire-brand did not ignite the timbers, and the powder magazine were not exploded. Governor Bailey was holding a council of his advisers when one of the French prisoners in the fort gave notice of the approach of a messenger bearing a flag of truce. He was recognized as Martigny. The Governor permitted his advance, and sent a factor to meet him and insist upon his eyes being bandaged before he would be permitted to enter. Martigny was conducted to where the council was sitting and there delivered Iberville's message, demanding surrender. He was instantly interrupted by Captain Smithsend, who, with a great show of passion, asked the emissary if it were not true that Iberville had been killed in the action. In spite of Martigny's denials, Smithsend loudly persisted in believing in Iberville's death; and held that the French were in sore straits and only made the present attack because no other alternative was offered to desperate men to obtain food and shelter. Bailey allowed himself to be influenced by Smithsend, and declined to yield to any of Martigny's demands. The latter returned, and the French instantly set up a battery near the fort and continued, amidst a hail of bullets, the work of landing their damaged stores and armaments. Stragglers from the wreck of the _Hudson's Bay_ continued all day to find their way to the fort, but several reached it only to be shot down in mistake by the cannon and muskets of their own men. On the 12th, after a hot skirmish, fatal to both sides, the Governor was again requested, this time by Sérigny, to yield up the fort to superior numbers. "If you refuse we will set fire to the place, and accord you no quarter," was the French ultimatum. "Set fire and be d----d to you!" responded Bailey. He then set to work, with Smithsend, whose treatment at the hands of the French in the affair of the _Merchant of Perpetuana_ was still vividly before him, to animate the garrison. "Go for them, you dogs!" cried Bailey, "Give it to them hot and heavy; I promise you forty pounds apiece for your widows!" Fighting in those days was attended by fearful mortality, and the paucity of pensions to the hero's family, perhaps, made the offer seem handsome. At any rate it seemed a sufficient incentive to the Company's men, who fought like demons.[34] A continual fire of guns and mortars, as well as of muskets, was kept up. The Canadians sallied out upon a number of skirmishes, filling the air with a frightful din, borrowing from the Iroquois their piercing war-cries. In one of these sallies St. Martin, one of their bravest men, perished. Under protection of a flag of truce, Sérigny came again to demand a surrender. It was the last time, he said, the request would be preferred. A general assault had been resolved upon by the enemy, who were at their last resort, living like beasts in the wood, feeding on moss, and to whom no extremity could be odious were it but an exchange for their present condition. They were resolved upon carrying the fort, even at the point of the bayonet and over heaps of their slain. Bailey decided to yield. He sent Morrison to carry the terms of capitulation, in which he demanded all the peltries in the fort belonging to the Hudson's Bay Company. This demand being rejected by the enemy, Bailey later in the evening sent Henry Kelsey with a proposition to retain a portion of their armament; this also was refused. There was now nothing for it but to surrender, Iberville having granted an evacuation with bag and baggage. [Sidenote: Evacuation of the English.] At one o'clock on the following day, therefore, the evacuation took place. Bailey, at the head of his garrison and a number of the crew of the wrecked _Hudson's Bay_, and six survivors of the _Hampshire_, marched forth from Fort York with drums beating, flag flying, and with arms and baggage. They hardly knew whither they were to go; or what fate awaited them. A vast and inhospitable region surrounded them, and a winter long to be remembered for its severity had begun. But to the French it seemed as if their spirits were undaunted, and they set forth bravely. The enemy watched the retreat of the defeated garrison not without admiration, and for the moment speculation was rife as to their fate. But it was only for the moment. Too rejoiced to contemplate anything but the termination of their own sufferings, the Canadians hastened to enter the fort, headed by Boisbriant, late an ensign in the service of the Compagnie du Nord. Fort Nelson was once more in the hands of the French.[35] [Illustration: CAPTURE OF FORT NELSON BY THE FRENCH. (_From a Contemporary Print appearing in M. de la Potherie's "Relation."_)] The Company, too, was debarred from any attempt at reconquest, because of the Treaty[36] just concluded at Ryswick, which yielded the territory which had been the scene of so much commerce, action and bloodshed to the subjects of the Most Christian King. FOOTNOTES: [31] A young Irishman, Edmund Fitz-Maurice, of Kerry, who had embraced the Church, and had served with James's army at the Battle of the Boyne, accompanied the expedition in the character of chaplain. He is alluded to by the French chronicler of the affair as "Fiche-Maurice de Kieri de la Maison du Milord Kieri en Irlande." [32] The fourth, the fire-ship _Owner's Love_, was never more heard of. It is supposed that, separated from the others, she ran into the ice and was sunk, with all on board. [33] Thus was concluded what was, in the opinion of the best authorities, French and English, one of the fiercest and bloodiest battles of the war. "Toute la Marine de Rochefort croient que ce combat a ete un des plus rudes de cette Guerre," says La Potherie. [34] "Ils avoient de tres habile cannoniers," Jérémie, an eye-witness, was forced to confess. [35] "Ainsi le dernier poste," Garneau exclaims, "que les English avaient dans le baie d'Hudson tombé en notre pouvoir, et la France resta seule maitresse de cette region." (Tome II., p. 137.) But Garneau overlooked the three forts in James' Bay retaken by the English in 1693; one of which, Fort Anne or Chechouan, he mistook for Fort Nelson. At any rate Fort Albany or Chechouan remained in possession of the Company from 1693; and they never lost it. It was unsuccessfully attacked by Menthel in 1709. [36] So strongly has the Treaty of Ryswick been interpreted in favour of France, that some historians merely state the fact that by it she retained all Hudson's Bay, and the places of which she was in possession at the beginning of the war. The commissioners having never met to try the question of right, things remained _in statu quo_. Now, whatever the commissioners might have done, had they ever passed judgment on the cause the Treaty provided they should try, they could not have given Fort Albany to the British, for it was one of the places taken by the French during the preceding peace, and retaken by the British during the war, and, therefore, adjudged in direct terms of the Treaty itself to belong to France. Thus, then, it will be seen, declared the opponents of the Company, that the only possession held by the Hudson's Bay Company during the sixteen years that intervened between the Treaty of Ryswick and the Treaty of Utrecht was one to which they had no right, and which the obligations of the Treaty required should be given up to France.--_Report of Ontario Boundary Commission._ CHAPTER XV. 1698-1713. Petition Presented to Parliament Hostile to Company -- Seventeenth Century Conditions of Trade -- _Coureurs de Bois_ -- Price of Peltries -- Standard of Trade Prescribed -- Company's Conservatism -- Letters to Factors -- Character of the Early Governors -- Henry Kelsey -- York Factory under the French -- Massacre of Jérémie's Men -- Starvation amongst the Indians. Before the news of the catastrophe could reach England, in April, 1698, there was presented to Parliament a petition appealing against the confirmation of the privileges and trade granted to the Company in 1690. The principal reason alleged for this action was the exorbitant price of beaver which it was contended turned away an immense amount of Indian trade, which reverted to the French in Canada. Another reason given was the undesirable monopoly which caused English dealers, while paying the highest prices for beaver, to get the worst article; the best travelling to Russia and other continental countries. In this petition, concocted by enemies of the Company envious of its success, it was insinuated that the Company's trade had been of no use save to increase the practice of stock-jobbing. [Sidenote: The Company replies to its enemies.] To this the Company made reply that "it was well known that the price of beaver had decreased one-third since its own establishment; and that themselves, far from hindering the trade, encouraged it by every means in their power, being anxious to be relieved of an over-stocked commodity." Herein they referred to the enormous quantity of furs stored in their warehouse, for which, during the stringency of continued trade they were obliged to retain and pay repeated taxes upon.[37] As for sending goods to Russia it was only of late years that the Company had extended its trade to that and other foreign countries and for no other cause than that reasonable prices could not be obtained in England. Although two London guilds, the Skinner's Company and the Felt-makers' Company, joined issue with the Honourable Adventurers, the fate of the petition was sealed. On account of the misfortunes which had overtaken the Company, together with the presence of other and weightier matters, for Parliamentary consideration, the petition was laid on the table, and from the table it passed to the archives, where, together with the Act of 1690, it lay forgotten for a century and a half. It will be diverting, at this juncture in the general narrative, to glance at seventeenth century conditions of life and commerce in the domain of the Company. [Sidenote: Method of trade with the Indians.] Even at so early a period as 1690 was the method of transacting trade with the Indians devised and regulated. The tribes brought down their goods, beaver skins, martens, foxes and feathers, to the Factory and delivered them through a small aperture in the side of the storehouse. They entered the stockade three or four at a time; trading one by one at the window over which presided the traders. The whole of the actual trading of the Factory was in the hands of two officials known as traders. None other of the Company's servants at any fort were permitted to have direct intercourse with the Indians, save in exceptional circumstances. The trade was chiefly carried on in summer when the rivers were free from ice, although occasionally the natives in the immediate region of the factories came down in winter; the factors never refusing to trade with them when they so came. No partiality was shown to particular tribes, but the actual hunters were favoured more than those who merely acted as agents or carriers. It was not unusual for the chief factors, as the Governors came to be called after 1713, to make presents to the chiefs in order to encourage them to bring down as many of their tribe the ensuing year as possible. [Illustration: TRADING WITH THE INDIANS.] Before the era of the standard of trade, it was customary at all the forts, as it was at one or two long afterwards, for remuneration for the furs of the savages to be left at the chief factor's discretion. Many things conspired to alter the values from season to season, and even from day to day, but no cause was so potent as the contiguous rivalry of the French. When the French were close at hand in the vicinity of Fort Nelson, as they were from 1686 to 1693, the price of beaver would fluctuate with surprising rapidity. It should be borne in mind that the western country at this period, and for long afterwards, was frequented by roving, adventurous parties of _coureurs des bois_, whose activity in trade tended to injure the Company's business. Even an enactment prescribing death for all persons trading in the interior of the country without a license, had proved insufficient to abate their numbers or their activity. [Sidenote: Activity of "coureurs des bois."] The Hudson's Bay Company seem to have some cognizance of this state of affairs, and were wont to put down much of the depredations it suffered at the hands of the French to the unkempt multitude of bushrangers. In one document it describes them as "vagrants," and La Chesnaye, who had been the leading spirit of the Quebec Company, was ready to impute to them much of the woes of the fur-trade, as well as the greater part of the unpleasant rivalries which had overtaken the French and their neighbours. One day it would be carried like wild-fire amongst the tribe who had come to barter, that the French were giving a pound of powder for a beaver; that a gun could be bought from the English for twelve beaver. In an instant there was a stampede outside the respective premises, and a rush would be made for the rival establishment. Fifty miles for a single pound of powder was nothing to these Indians, who had often journeyed two whole months in the depth of winter, endured every species of toil and hardship in order to bring down a small bundle of peltries; nor when he presented himself at the trader's window was the Indian by any means sure what his goods would bring. He delivered his bundles first, and the trader appraised them and gave what he saw fit. If a series of wild cries and bodily contortions ensued, the trader was made aware that the Indian was dissatisfied with his bargain, and the furs were again passed back through the aperture. This was merely a form; for rarely did the native make a practical repentance of his bargain, however unsatisfactory it might appear to him. It is true the Indian was constant in his complaint that too little was given for his furs; but no matter what the price had been this would have been the case. Apart from dissatisfaction being an ineradicable trait in the Indian character, the contemplation of the sufferings and privations he had undergone to acquire his string of beads, his blanket, or his hatchet, must have aroused in him all his fund of pessimism. In 1676 the value of the merchandise exported did not exceed £650 sterling. The value of the furs imported was close upon £19,000. [Illustration: A "COUREUR DES BOIS."] [Sidenote: Prices paid for furs.] In 1678 the first standard was approved of by the Company on the advice of one of its governors, Sargeant, but it does not appear to have been acted upon for some years. The actual tariff was not fixed and settled to apply to any but Albany fort, and a standard was not filed at the Council of Trade until 1695. It originally covered forty-seven articles, later increased to sixty-three, and so remained for more than half a century. At first, as has been noted in an earlier chapter, the aborigines were content with beads and toys, and no doubt the bulk of the supplies furnished them might have continued for a much longer period to consist of these baubles and petty luxuries had not the policy of the Company been to enrich the Indians (and themselves) with the arms and implements of the chase. Gradually the wants of the savages became wider, so that by the time, early in the eighteenth century, the French had penetrated into the far western country, these wants comprised many of the articles in common use amongst civilized people. The standard of trade alluded to was intended to cover the relative values at each of the Company's four factories. Yet the discrepancy existing between prices at the respective establishments was small. In 1718 a blanket, for example, would fetch six beavers at Albany and Moose, and seven at York and Churchill. In nearly every case higher prices were to be got from the tribes dealing at York and Churchill than from those at the other and more easterly settlements, often amounting to as much as thirty-three per cent. This was illustrated in the case of shirts, for which three beavers were given in the West Main, and only a single beaver at East Main. The Company took fifteen beavers for a gun; whereas, when Verandrye appeared, he was willing to accept as small a number as eight. Ten beavers for a gun was the usual price demanded by the French. It may be observed that a distinguishing feature of the French trade in competition with the Company was that they dealt almost exclusively in light furs, taking all of that variety they could procure, the Indians bringing to the Company's settlements all the heavier furs, which the French refused at any price, owing to the difficulty of land transportation. These difficulties, in the case of the larger furs, were so great that it is related that upon innumerable occasions the savages themselves, when weakened by hunger, used to throw overboard all but mink, marten and ermine skins rather than undergo the painful labour of incessant portages. It must not be inferred, however, that the factors ever adhered strictly in practice to the standard prescribed and regulated from time to time by the Company. The standard was often privately doubled, where it could be done prudently, so that where the Company directed one skin to be taken for such or such an article, two were taken. The additional profit went into the hands of the chief factor, and a smaller share to the two traders, without the cognizance of the Company, and was called the overplus trade. [Sidenote: Stationary character of the Company's trade.] Occasionally, far seeing, active spirits amongst its servants strove to break through the policy of conservatism which distinguished its members; but where they succeeded it was only for a short period; and the commerce of the corporation soon reverted to its ancient boundaries. But this apparent attitude is capable of explanation. The Company were cognizant, almost from the first, that the trade they pursued was capable of great extension. One finds in the minute-books, during more than forty years from the time of Radisson and Groseilliers, partner after partner arising in his place to enquire why the commerce, vastly profitable though it was, remained stationary instead of increasing. "Why are new tribes not brought down? Why do not our factors seek new sources of commerce?" A motion directing the chief factor to pursue a more active policy was often put and carried. But still the trade returns, year after year, remained as before. Scarce a season passed without exhortations to its servants to increase the trade. "Use more diligence," "prosecute discoveries," "draw down distant tribes," form the burden of many letters. "We perceive," writes the Company's secretary in 1685 to Sargeant, "that our servants are unwilling to travel up into the country by reason of danger and want of encouragement. The danger, we judge, is not more now than formerly; and for their encouragement we shall plentifully reward them, when we find they deserve it by bringing down Indians to our factories, of which you may assure them. We judge Robert Sandford a fit person to travel, having the linguæ and understanding the trade of the country; and upon a promise of Mr. Young (one of our Adventurers) that he should travel, for which reason we have advanced his wages to £30 per annum, and Mr. Arrington, called in the Bay, Red-Cap, whom we have again entertained in our service; as also John Vincent, both which we do also judge fit persons for you to send up into the country to bring down trade." To this the Governor replied that Sandford was by no means disposed to accept the terms their Honours proposed, but rather chose to go home. "Neither he nor any of your servants will travel up the country, although your Honours have earnestly desired it, and I pressed it upon those proposals you have hinted." [Sidenote: Character of the Company's Factors.] I have already shown why the Company's wishes in this respect were not fruitful; that the character of the men in the Company's employ was not yet adapted to the work in hand. Its servants were not easily induced to imperil their lives; they gained little in valour or hardihood from their surroundings. They were shut up in the forts, as sailors are shut up in a ship, scarcely ever venturing out in winter, and hardly ever holding converse with a savage in his wild state. In vain, for the most part, were such men stirred to enterprise; and so this choice and habit of seclusion grew into a rule with the Company's employees; and the discipline common to the ship, or to contracted bodies, became more and more stringent. The Company's policy was nearly always dictated by the advice of their factors, but it can be shown that these were not always wise, dreading equally the prospect of leading an expedition into the interior, and the prestige which might ensue if it were entrusted to a subordinate. A discipline ludicrous when contrasted with the popular impression regarding the fur-trader's career, was maintained in the early days. It was the discipline of the quarter-deck, and surprised many of the youth who had entered the Company's employ expecting a life of pleasure and indulgence. Many of the governors were resembled, Bridgar and Bailey being surly, violent men, and were, indeed, often chosen for these qualities by the Company at home. It is singular but true, that in the days of our ancestors a choleric temper was considered an unfailing index of the masterful man. In both branches of the King's service, on sea and on land, there seemed to have been no surer sign of a man's ability to govern and lead, than spleen and tyranny; and many an officer owed his promotion and won the regard of the Admiralty and the War Office by his perpetual exhibition of the traits and vices of the martinet. One of the Company's governors, Duffell, was wont to order ten lashes to his men on the smallest provocation. Another named Stanton, the governor at Moose Factory, declared he would whip any man, even to the traders, without trial if he chose; and this declaration he more than once put into practice. The whipping of two men, Edward Bate and Adam Farquhar, at Moose Factory, almost occasioned a mutiny there. The death of one Robert Pilgrim, from a blow administered by the chief factor, created a scandal some years later in the century. It was the practice of the early governors to strike the Indians when they lost their own tempers or for petty offences. [Sidenote: Life at the Company's factories.] It is diverting to compare nineteenth century life at the factories, on its religious, moral and intellectual side, to what obtained in the early days. In Governor Stanton's time, out of thirty-six men only six were able to read. There was neither clergyman nor divine worship. The men passed their time in eating and sleeping. Occasionally, Indian squaws were smuggled into the fort, at the peril of the governor's displeasure, for immoral purposes. The displeasure of the governor was not, however, excited on the grounds of morality, for it was nearly always the case that the governor had a concubine residing on the premises or near at hand; and it was observed in 1749 by a servant of thirty years' standing in the Company's employ, that at each fort most of the half-breed children in the country claimed paternity of the one or other of the factors of the Company. [Illustration: AN EARLY RIVER PIONEER.] To return to the question of the extension of trade, there were from time to time governors and servants who evinced a zeal and love for adventure which contrasted favourably with that of their fellows. Their exploits, however, when compared with those of the hardier race of French-Canadian bushrangers were tame enough. In 1673 Governor Bailey summoned all the servants of the fort to appear before him, and informed them that it was the Company's wish that some amongst them should volunteer to find out a site for a new fort. Three young men presented themselves, two of whom afterwards became governors of the Company. The names of these three were William Bond, Thomas Moore and George Geyer. Some years later Bond was drowned in the Bay; but his two companions continued for some years to set an example which was never followed; and of which they seem finally to have repented. Indeed, almost without exception, once a fort was built the servants seem to have clung closely to it; and it was not until the year 1688 that a really brave, adventurous figure, bearing considerable resemblance to the bushrangers of the past, and the explorers of the future, emerges into light. [Sidenote: Kelsey's Voyage.] Henry Kelsey, a lad barely eighteen years of age, was the forerunner of all the hardy British pioneers of the ensuing century. He is described as active, "delighting much in Indians' company; being never better pleased than when he is travelling amongst them." Young as he was, Kelsey volunteered to find out a site for a fort on Churchill River. No record exists of this voyage; but a couple of years later he repeated it, and himself kept a detailed diary of his tour. In this journal the explorer states that he received his supplies on the 5th of July, 1691. He sent the Assiniboines ten days before him, and set out for Dering's Point to seek the remainder of their tribe. At this place it was the custom for the Indians to assemble when they went down the coast on trading expeditions. Kelsey soon overtook them, and accompanied them to the country of the Naywatamee Poets, the journey consuming fifty-nine days. He travelled first by water seventy-one miles from Dering's Point, and there beached his canoes and continued by land a distance of three hundred and sixteen miles, passing through a wooded country. At the end of this came prairie lands for forty-six miles, intersected by a small shallow river scarcely a hundred yards wide. Crossing ponds, woods and champaign for eighty-one miles more, discovering many buffalo and beavers, the young explorer retraced his steps fifty-four miles, and there met the tribe of which he was in search. Kelsey did not accomplish this journey without meeting with many adventures. On one occasion the Naywatamee Poets left him asleep on the ground. During his slumber the fire burnt the moss upon which he was lying and entirely consumed the stock of his gun, for which he was obliged to improvise from a piece of wood half dry. On another occasion, he and an Indian were surprised by a couple of grisly bears. His companion made his escape to a tree, while Kelsey, his retreat cut off, hid himself in a clump of high willows. The bears perceiving the Indian in the branches made directly for him, but Kelsey observing their action levelled his gun and killed one of the animals, the other bear bounding towards the place from which the shots came, and not finding the explorer, returned to the tree, when he was brought down by Kelsey's second shot. Good fortune attended this exploit, for it attained for the young man the name among the tribes of Miss-top-ashish, or "Little Giant." He returned to York Factory after this first expedition, apparelled after the manner of his Indian companions, while at his side trudged a young woman with whom he had gone through the ceremony of marriage after the Indian fashion. It was his wish that Mistress Kelsey should enter with her husband into the court, but this desire quickly found an opponent in the Governor, whose scruples, however, were soon undermined when the explorer flatly declined to resume his place and duties in the establishment unless his Indian wife were admitted with him. Thus, then, it is seen that in 1691, forty years before Verandrye's voyages of discovery, this young servant of the Hudson's Bay Company, had penetrated to no slight extent into the interior. He had crossed the Assiniboine country, seen for the first time among the English and French the buffaloes of the plain, he had been attacked by the grisly bears which belong to the far west; and in behalf of the Hudson's Bay Company had taken possession of the lands he traversed, and secured for his masters the trade of the Indians hitherto considered hostile. Although the Governor hoped that the encouragement noted in the case of Kelsey, together with the advance of salary, would stimulate other young men to follow his example, yet, strange to say, none came forward. The day of the Henrys, the Mackenzies, the Thompsons and the Frobishers had not yet dawned. For many years after this the Company was in constant apprehension that its profits would be curtailed by tribal wars. [Sidenote: Effect of Indian wars on the Company's business.] "Keep the Indians from warring with one another, that they may have more time to look after their trade," was a frequently repeated injunction. "If you prevent them from fighting they will bring a larger quantity of furs to the Factory," they wrote on one occasion to Geyer. The Governor admitted the premise, "but," said he, "perhaps your Honours will tell me how I am going to do it." The Company devoted a whole meeting to consider the matter, and decided that nothing was easier, provided their instructions were implicitly obeyed. [Illustration: FAC-SIMILE OF COMPANY'S STANDARD OF TRADE.] "Tell them what advantages they may make," they wrote; "that the more furs they bring, the more goods they will be able to purchase of us, which will enable them to live more comfortably and keep them from want in a time of scarcity. Inculcate better morals than they yet understand; tell them that it doth nothing advantage them to kill and destroy one another, that thereby they may so weaken themselves that the wild ravenous beasts may grow too numerous for them, and destroy them that survive." If Geyer delivered this message to the stern and valorous chiefs with whom he came in contact, they must have made the dome of heaven ring with scornful laughter. He was obliged to write home that fewer savages had come down than in former seasons because they expected to be attacked by their enemies. The Company then responded shortly and in a business-like manner, that if fair means would not prevail to stop these inter-tribal conflicts, that the nation beginning the next quarrel was not to be supplied for a year with powder or shot "which will expose them to their enemies, who will have the master of them and quite destroy them from the earth, them and their wives and children. This," adds the secretary, and in a spirit of true prophecy, "must work some terror amongst them." [Sidenote: The French at Michilimackinac.] A potent cause contributed to the lack of prosperity which marked Port Nelson under the French _régime_. It was the exploitation of the west by an army of traders and bushrangers. The new post of Michilimackinac had assumed all the importance as a fur-trading centre which had formerly belonged to Montreal. The French, too, were served by capable and zealous servants, none more so than Iberville himself, the new Governor of the Mississippi country.[38] His whole ambition continued to be centred upon driving out the English from the whole western and northern region, and destroying forever their trade and standing with the aborigines, and none more than he more ardently desired the suppression of the _coureur de bois_. "No Frenchmen," he declared, "should be allowed to follow the Indians in their hunts, as it tends to keep them hunters, as is seen in Canada; and when they are in the woods they do not desire to become tillers of the soil." At the same time the value of the bushrangers to the French _régime_ was considerable in damaging the English on the Bay. "It is certain," observed one of their defenders, "that if the articles required for the upper tribes be not sent to Michilimackinac, the Indians will go in search of them to Hudson's Bay, to whom they will convey all their peltries, and will detach themselves entirely from us." The bushrangers penetrated into the wilderness and intercepted the tribes, whose loyalty to the English was not proof against liquor and trinkets served on the spot, for which otherwise they would have to proceed many weary leagues to the Bay. The Company began to experience some alarm at the fashion the trade was sapped from their forts at Albany and Moose.[39] The Quebec Company was in the same plight with regard to Port Nelson. [Sidenote: The Western Company.] An association of French merchants, known as the Western Company, sprang up in the early days of the eighteenth century and many forts and factories were built in the Mississippi region. Its promoters expected great results from a new skin until now turned to little account, that of bison, great herds of which animal had been discovered roaming the western plains. M. de Juchereau, with thirty-four Canadians, established a post on the Wabash, in the name of the Western Company. Here, he writes, he collected in a short time fifteen thousand buffalo skins. From 1697 to 1708 a series of three commandants were appointed, one of whom now administered the affairs at Fort Bourbon, which however never assumed the importance which had attached to it under the English rule. There is one romantic episode which belongs to this period, serving to relieve by its vivid, perhaps too vivid, colouring, the long sombreness of the French _régime_. It was the visit in 1704 of an officer named Lagrange and his suite from France. In the train of this banished courtier came a number of gallant youths and fair courtesans; and for one brief season Fort Bourbon rang with laughter and revelry. Hunting parties were undertaken every fine day; and many trophies of the chase were carried back to France. Have ever the generations of quiet English servants and Scotch clerks snatched a glimpse, in their sleeping or waking dreams, of those mad revels, a voluptuous scene amidst an environment so sullen and sombre? In the year 1707 Jérémie, the lieutenant, obtained permission of the Company to return to France on leave. He succeeded in obtaining at court his nomination to the post of successor to the then commandant, Delisle. After a year's absence he returned to Port Nelson, to find matters in a shocking state. No ships had arrived from France, and stores and ammunition were lacking. A few days after his arrival, Delisle was taken seriously ill, and expired from the effects of cold and exposure. For a period of six years Jérémie continued to govern Fort Bourbon, receiving his commission not from the Company but direct from the King himself, a fact of which he seems very proud. Jérémie's tenure of office was marked by a bloody affair, which fortunately had but few parallels under either English or French occupation. Although the tribes in the neighbourhood were friendly and docile, they were still capable, upon provocation, to rival those Iroquois who were a constant source of terror to the New England settlers. In August, 1708, Jérémie sent his lieutenant, two traders and six picked men of his garrison to hunt for provisions. They camped at nightfall near a band of savages who had long fasted and lacked powder, which, owing to its scarcity, the French did not dare give them. [Sidenote: Indian Treachery.] Round about these unhappy savages, loudly lamenting the passing of the English dominion when powder and shot was plenty, were the heaps of furs which to them were useless. They had journeyed to the fort in all good faith, across mountain and torrent, as was their custom, only to find their goods rejected by the white men of the fort, who told them to wait. When the French hunting party came to encamp near them, several of the younger braves amongst the Indians crept up to where they feasted, and returned with the news to their comrades. The tribe was fired with resentment. Exasperated by the cruelty of their fate, they hatched a plan of revenge and rapine. Two of their youngest and comeliest women entered the assemblage of the white men, and by seductive wiles drew two of them away to their own lodges. The remaining six, having eaten and drunk their fill, and believing in their security, turned to slumber. Hardly had the two roysterers arrived at the Indian camp than instead of the cordial privacy they expected, they were confronted by two score famished men drawn up in front of the lodges, knives in hand and brandishing hatchets. All unarmed as they were, they were unceremoniously seized and slain. As no trace was ever found of their bodies, they were, although denied by the eye-witness of the tragedy, a squaw, probably devoured on the spot. The younger men now stole again to the French camp and massacred all the others in their sleep, save one, who being wounded feigned death, and afterwards managed to crawl off. But he, with his companions, had been stripped to the skin by the savages, and in this state, and half-covered with blood, he made his way back to the fort. The distance being ten leagues, his survival is a matter of wonder, even to those hardy men of the wilderness. The Governor naturally apprehended that the Indians would attempt to follow up their crime by an attack upon the fort. As only nine men remained in the garrison, it was felt impossible to defend both of the French establishments. He therefore withdrew the men hastily from the little Fort Philipeaux near by, and none too quickly, for the Indians came immediately before it. Finding nobody in charge they wrought a speedy and vigorous pillage, taking many pounds of powder which Jérémie had not had time to transfer to Bourbon. The condition of the French during the winter of 1708-9 was pitiable in the extreme. Surrounded by starving, blood-thirsty savages, with insufficient provisions, and hardly ever daring to venture out, they may well have received the tidings with joy that the indomitable English Company had re-established a Factory some leagues distant, and were driving a brisk trade with the eager tribes. It was not until 1713 that the French Fur Company succeeded in relieving its post of Fort Bourbon. It had twice sent ships, but these had been intercepted on the high seas by the English and pillaged or destroyed. The _Providence_ arrived the very year of the Treaty of Utrecht. [Sidenote: Starvation amongst the Indians.] But wretched as was the case of the French, that of the Indians was lamentable indeed. A few more years of French occupation and the forests and rivers of the Bay would know its race of hunters no more. Many hundreds lay dead within a radius of twenty leagues from the fort, the flesh devoured from their bones. They had lost the use of the bow and arrow since the advent of the Europeans, and they had no resource as cultivators of the soil; besides their errant life forbade this. Pressed by a long hunger, parents had killed their children for food; the strong had devoured the weak. One of these unhappy victims of civilization and commercial rivalries, confessed to the commandant that he had eaten his wife and six children. He had, he declared, not experienced the pangs of tenderness until the time came for him to sacrifice his last child, whom he loved more than the others, and that he had gone away weeping, leaving a portion of the body buried in the earth. FOOTNOTES: [37] "Six or seven times over," the Company say in their reply. [38] After the battle of Port Nelson, Iberville had returned to France leaving Martigny in command of the Fort. His subsequent career may be read elsewhere; the Bay was no longer to be the theatre of his exploits. He perished in 1707 at Havana. [39] At Albany they were surrounded by the French on every side, a circumstance which greatly sapped their commerce. Yet, even at this period, the importation of beaver and other peltries from the single fort remaining to them was above thirty thousand annually. CHAPTER XVI. 1697-1712. Company Seriously Damaged by Loss of Port Nelson -- Send an Account of their Claims to Lords of Trade -- Definite Boundary Propositions of Trade -- Lewis anxious to Create Boundaries -- Company look to Outbreak of War -- War of Spanish Succession breaks out -- Period of Adversity for the Company -- Employment of Orkneymen -- Attack on Fort Albany -- Desperate Condition of the French at York Fort -- Petition to Anne. The Treaty of Ryswick[40] had aimed a severe blow at the prosperity of the Company,[41] in depriving them of that important quarter of the Bay known as Port Nelson. Although now on the threshold of a long period of adversity, the Merchants-Adventurers, losing neither hope nor courage, continued to raise their voice for restitution and justice. Petition after petition found its way to King, Commons, and the Lords of Trade and Plantations. [Sidenote: The Company's claims.] In May, 1700, the Company were requested by the Lord of Trade and Plantations to send an account of the encroachments of the French on Her Majesty's Dominion in America within the limits of the Company's charter; to which the Company replied, setting forth their right and title, and praying restitution. It has been stated, and urged as a ground against the later pretensions of the Hudson's Bay Company, that at this time they were willing to contract their limits. While willing to do this for the purpose of effecting a settlement, it was only on condition of their not being able to obtain "the whole Straits and Bay which of right belongs to them." "This," remarked a counsel for the Company in a later day, "is like a man who has a suit of ejectment, who, in order to avoid the expense and trouble of a law suit, says, 'I will be willing to allow you certain bounds, but if you do not accept that I will insist on getting all my rights and all that I am entitled to.'" The Company's propositions soon began to take a definite form. THE COMPANY'S CLAIMS AFTER THE TREATY OF RYSWICK. [_To the Right Honourable the Lords Commissioners of Trade and Plantations._] The limits which the Hudson's Bay Company conceive to be necessary as boundaries between the French and them in case of an exchange of places, and that the Company cannot obtain the whole Streights and Bay, which of right belongs to them, viz.:-- 1. That the French be limited not to trade by wood-runners, or otherwise, nor build any House, Factory, or Fort, beyond the bounds of 53 degrees, or Albany River, vulgarly called Chechewan, to the northward, on the west or main coast. 2. That the French be likewise limited not to trade by wood-runners, or otherwise, nor build any House, Factory, or Fort, beyond Rupert's River, to the northward, on the east or main coast. 3. On the contrary, the English shall be obliged not to trade by wood-runners, or otherwise, nor build any House, Factory, or Fort, beyond the aforesaid latitude of 53 degrees, or Albany River, vulgarly called Chechewan, south-east towards Canada, on any land which belongs to the Hudson's Bay Company. 4. As also the English be likewise obliged not to trade by wood-runners, or otherwise, nor build any House, Factory, or Fort, beyond Rupert's River, to the south-east, towards Canada, on any land which belongs to the Hudson's Bay Company. 5. As likewise, that neither the French or English shall at any time hereafter extend their bounds contrary to the aforesaid limitations, nor instigate the natives to make war, or join with either, in any acts of hostility to the disturbance or detriment of the trade of either nation, which the French may very reasonably comply with, for that they by such limitations will have all the country south-eastward betwixt Albany Fort and Canada to themselves, which is not only the best and most fertile part, but also a much larger tract of land than can be supposed to be to the northward, and the Company deprived of that which was always their undoubted right. And unless the Company can be secured according to these propositions, they think it will be impossible for them to continue long at York Fort (should they exchange with the French), nor will the trade answer their charge; and therefore if your lordships cannot obtain these so reasonable propositions from the French, but that they insist to have the limits settled between [Albany and] York and Albany Fort, as in the latitude of 55 degrees or thereabouts, the Company can by no means agree thereto, for they by such an agreement will be the instruments of their own ruin, never to be retrieved. By order of the General Court, WM. POTTER, _Secretary_. Confirmed by the General Court of } the said Company, 10th July, 1700.} The adventurers were, they said, not indisposed to listen to reason. They proposed limits to be observed by the two nations in their trade and possessions in the Bay. But should the French be so foolish as to refuse their offer, then they would not be bound by that or any former concession, but would then, as they had always theretofore done, "insist upon the prior and undoubted right to the whole of the Bay and straits." [Sidenote: Lewis proposes boundaries.] The Court of Versailles was now most anxious to delimit the boundaries of the respective possessions of the two countries in the Bay. To this end, proposals were exchanged between the two crown governments. One alternative proposed by the French Ambassador was that the Weemish River, which was exactly half way between Fort Bourbon and Fort Albany, should mark the respective limits of the French on the east, while the limits of New France on the side of Acadia should be restricted to the River St. George. This proposition having been referred to them, the Board of Trade and Plantations discouraged the scheme. The Hudson's Bay Adventurers it said, challenged an undoubted right to the whole Bay, antecedent to any pretence of the French. It was, therefore, requisite that they should be consulted before any concession of territories could be made to the Most Christian King or his subjects. The Company pinned their hopes to an outbreak of hostilities,[42] which would enable them to attempt to regain what they had lost. A protracted peace was hardly looked for by the nation. In answer to Governor Knight's continual complaints, to which were added those of the dispossessed Geyer, the Company begged its servants to bide their time; and to exert themselves to the utmost to increase the trade at Albany, and Moose, and Rupert's River. "England," says the historian Green, "was still clinging desperately to the hope of peace, when Lewis, by a sudden act, forced it into war. He had acknowledged William as King in the Peace of Ryswick, and pledged himself to oppose all the attacks on his throne. He now entered the bed-chamber at St. Germain, where James was breathing his last, and promised to acknowledge his son at his death as King of England, Scotland and Ireland." [Sidenote: Outbreak of the war between England and France.] Such a promise was tantamount to a declaration of war, and in a moment England sprang to arms. None were so eager for the approaching strife as the Honourable Merchants-Adventurers. They expressed their opinion that, while their interests had undoubtedly suffered at the peace of 1697, they were far from attributing it to any want of care on the part of his Majesty. Their rights and claims, they said, were then "overweighed by matters of higher consequence depending in that juncture for the glory and honour of the King." Yet a dozen more years were to elapse before they were to come into their own again; and during that critical period much was to happen to affect their whole internal economy. The value of the shares fell; the original Adventurers were all since deceased, and many of their heirs had disposed of their interests. A new set of shareholders appeared on the scene; not simultaneously, but one by one, until almost the entire personnel of the Company had yielded place to a new, by no means of the same weight or calibre.[43] Mention has already been made of the manner in which the Company devoted its thought and energy to its weekly meetings. Not even in the gravest crises to which the East India Company was subjected, was there a statute more inconvenient or severe, than the following: "Resolved and ordered by the Committee, to prevent the Company's business from being delayed or neglected, that for the future if any member do not appear by one hour after the time mentioned in the summons and the glass run out, or shall depart without leave of the Committee, such member shall have no part in the moneys to be divided by the Committee, and that the time aforesaid be determined by the going of the clock in the Court-room, which the Secretary is to set as he can to the Exchange clock; and that no leave shall be given until one hour after the glass is run out." But out of their adversity sprung a proposition which, although not put into effect upon a large scale until many years afterwards, yet well deserves to be recorded here. To stem the tide of desertions from the Company's service, caused by the war, and the low rate of wages, it was in 1710 first suggested that youthful Scotchmen be employed.[44] [Sidenote: Employment of Scotchmen in the service.] The scarcity of servants seems to have continued. In the following year greater bribes were resorted to. "Captain Mounslow was now ordered to provide fifteen or sixteen young able men to go to H. B. This expedition for five years, which he may promise to have wages, viz.: £8 the 1st year; £10 the 2nd; £12 the 3rd and £14 for the two last years, and to be advanced £3 each before they depart from Gravesend." The result of this was that in June, 1711, the first batch of these servants came aboard the Company's ship at Stromness. But they were not destined to sail away to the Bay in their full numbers. Overhauled by one of Her Majesty's ships, eleven of the young men were impressed into the service. For many years after this incident it was not found easy to engage servants in the Orkneys. [Illustration: "The younger men now stole again to the French camp and massacred all the others in their sleep." (_See page 185._)] Captain Barlow was governor at Albany Fort in 1704 when the French came overland from Canada to besiege it. The Canadians and their Indian guides lurked in the neighbourhood of Albany for several days before they made the attack, and killed many of the cattle that were grazing in the marshes. A faithful Home Indian (as those Crees in the vicinity were always termed), who was on a hunting excursion, discovered those strangers, and correctly supposing them to be enemies, immediately returned to the fort and informed the governor of the circumstance. Barlow, while giving little credit to the report, yet took immediately every measure for the fort's defence. Orders were given to the master of a sloop hard by to hasten to the fort should he hear a gun fired. In the middle of the night the French came before the fort, marched up to the gate and demanded entrance. Barlow, who was on watch, told them that the governor was asleep, but he would go for the keys at once. The French, according to the governor, on hearing this, and expecting no resistance, flocked up to the gate as close as they could stand. Barlow took advantage of this opportunity, and instead of opening the gate opened two port-holes, and discharged the contents of two six-pounders into the gathering. This quantity of grape-shot slaughtered great numbers of the French, and amongst them their commander, who was an Irishman. A precipitate retreat followed such an unexpected reception; and the master of the sloop hearing the firing proceeded with the greatest haste to the spot. But some of the enemy, who lay in ambush on the river's bank, intercepted and killed him, with his entire crew. Seeing no chance of surprising the fort, the French retired reluctantly, and did not renew the attack; although some of them were heard shooting in the neighbourhood for ten days after their repulse. One man in particular was noticed to walk up and down the platform leading from the gate of the fort to the launch for a whole day. At sundown Fullerton, the governor, thinking his conduct extraordinary, ventured out and spoke to the man in French. He offered him lodgings within the fort if he chose to accept them; but to such and similar proposals the man made no reply, shaking his head. Fullerton then informed him that unless he would surrender himself as his prisoner he would have no alternative but to shoot him. In response to this the man advanced nearer the fort. The governor kept his word, and the unhappy Frenchman fell, pierced by a bullet. No explanation of his eccentric behaviour was ever forthcoming, but it may be that the hardships he expected to encounter on his return to Canada had unbalanced his mind, and made him prefer death to these while scorning surrender. [Sidenote: Desperate condition of the French at Fort York.] It was some solace to know that their French rivals were in trouble, and that York Factory had hardly proved as great a source of profit to the French Company as had been anticipated. The achievements of Iberville and his brothers had done little, as has been shown, to permanently better its fortunes. To such an extent had these declined, that the capture, in 1704, of the principal ship of the French Company by an English frigate, forced these traders to invoke the assistance of the Mother Country in providing them with facilities for the relief of the forts and the transportation of the furs to France. In the following year, the garrison at Fort Bourbon nearly perished for lack of provisions. The assistance was given; but two years later it was discontinued, because they could no longer spare either ships or men. Although both were urgently needed for defence against the New Englanders. Owing to the enormous increase of unlicensed bushrangers, the continued hostilities and the unsettled state of the country, no small proportion of the entire population chose rather to adventure the perils of illicit trade in the wilderness, than to serve the king in the wars at home.[45] Unaccustomed for so long a period to till the soil, their submission was not easily secured, no matter how dire the penalties. Finding their continual petitions to the Lords of Trade ineffectual, the Company now drew up a more strongly worded one and presented it to Queen Anne herself. The memorial differed from any other, inasmuch as the Company now lay stress for the first time on some other feature of their commerce than furs. "The said country doth abound with several other commodities (of which your petitioners have not been able to begin a trade, by reason of the interruptions they have met with from the French) as of whale-bone, whale-oil (of which last your subjects now purchase from Holland and Germany to the value of £26,000 per annum, which may be had in your own dominions), besides many other valuable commodities, which in time may be discovered." If the French, it was argued, came to be entirely possessed of Hudson's Bay, they would undoubtedly give up whale fishing in those parts, which will greatly tend to the increase of their navigation and to their breed of seamen. When your Majesty, in your high wisdom, shall think fit to give peace to those enemies whom your victorious arms have so reduced and humbled, and when your Majesty shall judge it for your people's good to enter into a treaty of peace with the French King, your petitioners pray that the said Prince be obliged by such treaty, to renounce all right and pretensions to the Bay and Streights of Hudson, to quit and surrender all posts and settlements erected by the French, or which are now in their possession, as likewise not to sail any ships or vessels within the limits of the Company's charter, and to make restitution of the £108,514, 19s. 8d., of which they robbed and despoiled your petitioners in times of perfect amity between the two Kingdoms. This petition seems actually to have come into the hands of the Queen and to have engaged her sympathy, for which the Honourable Adventurers had to thank John Robinson, the Lord Bishop of London. This dignitary, _persona grata_ in the highest degree to the sovereign, was also a close personal friend of the Lake family, whose fortunes[46] were long bound up with the Hudson's Bay Company. The Company was asked to state what terms it desired to make. In great joy they acceded to the request. TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE THE LORDS COMMISSIONERS OF TRADES AND PLANTATIONS. _The Memorandum of the Governor and Company of Adventurers of England trading into Hudson's Bay:_ That for avoiding all disputes and differences that may, in time to come, arise between the said Company and the French, settled in Canada, they humbly represent and conceive it necessary-- That no wood-runners, either French or Indians, or any other person whatsoever, be permitted to travel, or seek for trade, beyond the limits hereinafter mentioned. That the said limits began from the island called Grimington's Island, or Cape Perdrix, in the latitude of 58½° north, which they desire may be the boundary between the English and the French, on the coast of Labrador, towards Rupert's Land, on the east main, and Novia Britannia on the French side, and that no French ship, bark, boat or vessel whatsoever, shall pass to the northward of Cape Perdrix or Grimington's Island, towards or into the Streights or Bay of Hudson, on any pretence whatever. [Sidenote: Demand of the Company.] That a line be supposed to pass to the south-westward of the said Island of Grimington or Cape Perdrix to the great Lake Miscosinke, _alias_ Mistoveny, dividing the same into two parts (as in the map now delivered), and that the French, nor any others employed by them, shall come to the north or north-westward of the said lake, or supposed line, by land or water, or through any rivers, lakes or countries, to trade, or erect any forts or settlements whatsoever; and the English, on the contrary, not to pass the said supposed line either to the southward or eastward. That the French be likewise obliged to quit, surrender and deliver up to the English, upon demand, York Fort (by them called Bourbon), undemolished; together with all forts, factories, settlements and buildings whatsoever, taken from the English, or since erected or built by the French, with all the artillery and ammunition, in the condition they are now in; together with all other places they are possessed of within the limits aforesaid, or within the Bay and Streights of Hudson. These limits being first settled and adjusted, the Company are willing to refer their losses and damages formerly sustained by the French in time of peace, to the consideration of commissioners to be appointed for that purpose. By order of the Governor and Company of Adventurers of England, trading into Hudson's Bay. Hudson's Bay House, 7th of February, 1711-12. A LIST OF FORTS FROM 1668 TO 1714. 1. Rupert, called by the French St. Jacques. Founded 1668 by Gillam. Taken by the French under Troyes and Iberville, July, 1686. Retaken by the English, 1693. 2. Fort Monsippi, Monsonis, St. Lewis and Moose Fort, taken by Troyes and Iberville 20th June, 1686. Retaken 1693. 3. Fort Chechouan, St. Anne or Albany, taken by de Troyes and Iberville in 1686. Retaken 1693. 4. New Severn or Nieu Savanne, taken by Iberville, 1690. 5. Fort Bourbon, Nelson or York. Founded 1670. Taken by the French, 1682, acting for English, 1684. Retaken by Iberville 12th October, 1894. Retaken by the English 1696, and by the French, 1697. Retaken by the English, 1714. 6. Fort Churchill, 1688. 7. East Main. FOOTNOTES: [40] By the Treaty of Ryswick, Great Britain and France were respectively to deliver up to each other generally whatever possessions either held before the outbreak of the war, and it was specially provided that this should be applicable to the places in Hudson's Bay taken by the French during the peace which preceded the war, which, though retaken by the British during the war, were to be given up to the French. Commissioners were to be appointed in pursuance of the Treaty to determine the rights and pretensions which either nation had to the places in Hudson's Bay. But these commissioners never met. The commissioners must, however, have been bound by the text of the Treaty wherever it was explicit. They _might_, said the Company's opponents, have decided that France had a right to the whole, but they could _not_ have decided that Great Britain had a right to the whole. They would have been compelled to make over to France all the places she took during the peace which preceded the war, for in that the Treaty left them no discretion. The following are the words of the Treaty:--"But the possession of those places which were taken by the French, during the peace that preceded this present war, and were retaken by the English during the war, shall be left to the French by virtue of the foregoing article." Thus the Treaty of Ryswick recognized and confirmed the right of France to certain places in Hudson's Bay distinctly and definitely, but it recognized no right at all on the part of Great Britain; it merely provided a tribunal to try whether she had any or not. [41] "Therefore, we shall proceed to inform your Lordships of the present melancholy prospects of our trade and settlement in Hudson's Bay, and that none of his Majesty's plantations are left in such a deplorable state as those of this Company, for by their great losses by the French, both in times of peace as well as during the late war, together with the hardships they lie under by the late Treaty of Ryswick, they may be said to be the only mourners by the peace. They cannot but inform your Lordships that the only settlement that the Company now have left in Hudson's Bay (of seven they formerly possessed) is Albany Fort, vulgarly called Checheawan, in the bottom of the said Bay, where they are surrounded by the French on every side, viz., by their settlements on the lakes and rivers from Canada to the northwards, towards Hudson's Bay, as also from Port Nelson (Old York Fort) to the southward; but beside this, the Company have, by the return of their ship this year, received certain intelligence that the French have made another settlement at a place called New Severn, 'twixt Port Nelson and Albany Fort, whereby they have hindered the Indians from coming to trade at the Company's factory, at the bottom of the Bay, so that the Company this year have not received above one-fifth part of the returns they usually had from thence, insomuch that the same doth not answer the expense of their expedition." [42] The Company being by these and other misfortunes reduced to such a low and miserable condition, that, without his Majesty's favour and assistance, they are in no ways able to keep that little remainder they are yet possessed of in Hudson's Bay, but may justly fear in a short time to be deprived of all their trade in those parts which is solely negotiated by the manufacturers of this kingdom. Upon the whole matter, the Company humbly conceive, they can be no ways safe from the insults and encroachments of the French, so long as they are suffered to remain possessed of any place in Hudson's Bay, and that in order to dislodge them from thence (which the Company are no ways able to do) a force of three men-of-war, one bomb-vessel, and two hundred and fifty soldiers besides the ships' company will be necessary, whereby that vast tract of land which is of so great concern, not only to this Company in particular, but likewise to the whole nation in general, may not be utterly lost to this kingdom. [43] The Duke of York's (James II.) share, however, was retained by his heirs up to 1746. [44] Captain John Merry is desired to speak with Captain Moody, who has a nephew in the Orkneys, to write to him to provide fifteen or sixteen young men, about twenty years old, to be entertained by the Company, to serve them for four years in Hudson's Bay, at the rate of £6 per annum, the wages formerly given by the Company.--From the Company's Order Book, 29th February, 1710. [45] "This country," it was remarked in 1710, "is composed of persons of various character and different inclinations. One and the other ought to be managed, and can contribute to render it flourishing." [46] I find the following in the minute books, under date of 24th March, 1714. "It was resolved that the Committee when they meet Friday come Senuit, do agree to wait on the Lord Bishop of London, in order to return him the thanks of this Company for the care that has been taken of them by the Treaty of Ryswick." CHAPTER XVII. 1712-1720. Queen Anne Espouses the Cause of the Company -- Prior's View of its Wants -- Treaty of Utrecht -- Joy of the Adventurers -- Petition for Act of Cession -- Not Pressed by the British Government -- Governor Knight Authorized to take Possession of Port Nelson -- "Smug Ancient Gentlemen" -- Commissioners to Ascertain Rights -- Their Meeting in Paris -- Matters move slowly -- Bladen and Pulteney return to England. At last the Company had triumphed. Its rights had been admitted; the Queen and her ministers were convinced of the justice of its claims.[47] Peace, long and anxiously awaited, began to dawn over the troubled horizon. Lewis and his courtiers had long sickened of the war: and at the Flemish town of Utrecht negotiations were on foot for a cessation of hostilities and the adjustment of differences between the crowns of England and France. The view which Matthew Prior, the English plenipotentiary, took of the Company's rights was not one, however, inspired by that body. He wanted the trade of the country, rather than the sovereignty. "I take leave to add to your lordship," he observes at the end of a communication addressed to the Secretary of State, "that these limitations are not otherwise advantageous or prejudicial to Great Britain than as we are both better or worse with the native Indians; and that the whole is a matter rather of industry than of dominion." These negotiations finally resulted in a treaty signed on the 31st of March (O.S.), 1713, by which the whole of Hudson's Bay was ceded to Great Britain without any distinct definition of boundaries, for the determining of which commissioners were to be appointed. [Sidenote: Effect of the Treaty on the Company.] On the news of the conclusion of the Treaty, the Adventurers were filled with joy. The Committee was in session when a messenger came hot haste from Whitehall to bear the glad tidings. A General Court was convoked for several days later. Plans were concerted for securing the very most that the circumstances would allow. It was necessary to secure the Act of Cession which it was supposed would be issued by Lewis, ceding to Great Britain the places on Hudson's Bay, the Company being regarded merely in the light of sub-ordinary subjects. Many of the members wished to press at once for pecuniary compensation, but the wiser heads agreed that this would best be a matter for subsequent negotiation. Many thought indeed that perhaps there need be no haste in the matter, as the interest on the original estimate of damages, already nearly double the principal, was growing daily at an enormous rate. "As to the Company's losses," says a memorandum of this year, "it will appear by a true and exact estimate that the French took from the Company in full peace between 1682 and 1688 seven ships, with their cargoes, and six forts and caches in which were carried away great stores of goods laid up for trading with the Indians. The whole amounts to £38,332 15s., and £62,210 18s. 9d. interest, computed to 1713." [Sidenote: Company's claim for compensation.] Under date of 30th July, 1714, occurs the following: "The Committee having received a letter from the Lords Commissioners of Trade, and they desiring their attendance on Tuesday next, and to bring in writing the demands of the Co. for damages rec'd from the French in times of peace pursuant to the 10th & 11th Articles of the Treaty of Utrecht. Upon which the Secretary is ordered to Copy out the Abstract of the whole damage sustained, amounting to with Interest the sum of £100,543-13-9; as likewise the particulars in these small volumes in order to present the same to the Commission of Trade on Wednesday next." It does not seem to have been doubted but that the Queen, if petitioned, would grant the Company's request in time to send an expedition to the Bay that very year.[48] But while vessels were being acquired, fitted out and loaded with cargoes, the Company was wise enough not to run the risk of falling into a trap. Nothing was to be done without the fullest royal authority. It is worthy of remark as illustrating how much the Company trusted the Canadian authorities, Bolingbroke (May 29, 1713) reminded the Duke of Shrewsbury (then at Paris) that in Pontchartrain's letter to the Marquis de Vaudreuil, Governor of Canada, the latter was directed to yield the forts and settlements belonging to the Hudson's Bay Company: "But this order the Merchants thought would hardly fulfil their requirements. They were despatching two ships to the Bay. It would therefore be better if his grace obtained direct order to M. Jérémie in duplicate." [Sidenote: No Act of Cession.] But the Act of Cession eagerly awaited by the Company was not forthcoming. The Queen's advisers were wiser than anybody else. Lord Dartmouth's letter[49] of the 27th May, 1713, enclosing the petition of the Hudson's Bay Company, shows what was the design in not accepting an Act of Cession from the French King. Her Majesty insisted only upon an order from the French Court for delivering possession; "by which means the title of the Company was acknowledged, and they will come into the immediate enjoyment of their property without further trouble." The summer of 1713 came on apace, and it was soon too late to think of occupying Port Nelson that year. But all was made ready for the next. On the 5th of June, 1714, many of the Adventurers hied themselves to Gravesend, to wish Governor Knight and his deputy, Henry Kelsey, godspeed. "The Committee," we read in the minutes, "delivered to Captain Knight, Her Majesty's Royal Commission, to take possession (for the Company) of York Fort, and all other places within the Bay and Straits of Hudson. Also another Commission from Her Majesty constituting him Governor under the Company, and Mr. H. Kelsey, Deputy Governor of the Bay and Straits of Hudson, aforesaid." Knight took with him, likewise, "the French King's order under his hand and seal, to Mons. Jérémie, Commander at York Fort, to deliver the same to whom Her Majesty should appoint, pursuant to the Treaty of Utrick." Knight's eyes, now dimmed with age, were gladdened by the sight of Port Nelson, on the 25th of July. Jérémie was already advised by the French ship, and no time was lost in evacuation. A bargain was made for such buildings and effects as the French had no further use for, which had been beforehand arranged. "From his particular regard for the Queen of Great Britain, the King will leave to her the artillery and ammunition in the forts and places in Hudson's Bay and Straits, notwithstanding the urgent reasons His Majesty has to withdraw them, and to appropriate them elsewhere." The cannon were accordingly left. [Sidenote: Regulation of boundary.] By Article X of the Treaty of Utrecht it was proposed, in order to avoid all further conflict and misunderstanding, that commissioners should be appointed to regulate the boundaries of Hudson's Bay and the extent of the trade thereof, which should be enjoyed by each.[50] But no great haste was apparent on the part of France to secure this end. For several years nothing was done in the matter, save and except the persistent exchange of letters between the two ambassadors. There is a letter of Bolingbroke's which evinces the feeling current in diplomatic circles at the time. "There is nothing more persistent in the world," he says, "than these claims of the Hudson's Bay Company. We are desirous greatly to see all these smug ancient gentlemen satisfied; but notwithstanding we are unable to budge an inch. The truth of the business seems to me to be that the French are always hoping that their ultimate concessions will be less and the English that these concessions will be vastly more. As for ourselves we have no desire to play with frost; and I for one shall be relieved to see this question thawed out without further delay." Lewis had consented, at the time of the Peace, to afterwards name two commissioners who should give possession to such of the English, as proved that they were actual proprietors, or the heirs of proprietors of those who had in a former time possessed property in the Bay. This seemed to provide for the Company's rights in a manner most satisfactory. [Sidenote: Appointment of a Commission.] Nevertheless matters dragged on, and it was not until 1719 that a practical movement was made. On the 3rd of September of that year, Daniel Pulteney and Martin Bladen, Lords of Trade, were appointed Commissioners in response to the appointment by Lewis of the Mareschal Comte d'Estrees and the Abbé Dubois, Minister and Secretary of State. Pulteney was an Indian merchant, and Bladen had been an officer in the army. The Lords of Trade having made the suggestion, the Company now wished their Governor, Sir Bibye Lake, to go over to Paris the "more earnestly to solicit and prosecute the claims of the Honourable Adventurers." "It is by this Committee desired most humbly of the Governor to accept and undertake this journey and to manage the Company's affairs there, as he shall judge most conducive to their interest and advantage. Which, being signified to the Governor, he did, to the great satisfaction of the Committee readily undertake and accept the same. It was ordered that the Governor have liberty to take with him such person or persons to France as he shall think fit." Lake accordingly joined Bladen and Pulteney, and was permitted to take a silent part in the conference. It was intended that this Commission, meeting in Paris, should have power to settle generally the boundaries between the English and French possessions in America. But this was soon seen to be impracticable. The settlement of these matters was too vast and complicated for the Commission to deal with; and the Lords of Trade instructed Bladen, on his setting out, to deal only with the Hudson's Bay territories. It is significant that private instructions of a similar nature were at the same time conveyed to the French Commissioners by the Court. The Commissioners finally met. Perhaps it would be a pity if Bladen's own quaint account of what followed were allowed to perish:-- On Saturday last, my Lord Stair and I met Marechal d'Estrees and Abbé Dubois. Our time was spent in preparatory discourses concerning the intent of the 10th article of the Treaty of Utrecht, relating to the boundaries of Hudson's Bay; and at our next meeting, which will be to-morrow at my Lord Stair's House, we design to give in the claim of the Hudson's Bay Company, in writing, with some few additions pretty material for their service, in case the Abbé Dubois his health will allow him to be there, which I fear it will not, for he is confined at present to his bed. [Sidenote: Martin Bladen's description of the Commission.] But I confess, I cannot help thinking it will be to a very little purpose to puzzle ourselves about setting boundaries, by treaty, in the North of America, if the French have so concise a way of fixing theirs in the south, without asking our concurrence; it is to be hoped they will have the modesty to recede from this new acquisition, but in the meantime I cannot help saying this gives me no very good relish either of their friendship or discretion. I cannot leave this subject without observing how much it imports us to be upon our guard in our American Colonies. It were to be wished that the several Governments of His Majesty's plantations would pay the respect they owe to their instructions, and if those of Barbados for some time past had observed theirs, relating to Santa Lucia, the settlement of a hundred French families there could never have been put upon us at this day as a proof of their right to that island. There is, further, much talk of a "multiplicity of books and papers necessary to be read," and of "arduous labours" in going over maps, charts and memoirs, which, however numerous, "are not to be depended on."[51] While this initial work was going on, one of the adventurers was entreating his fellows at a Company meeting in London, to take note of a scheme which the French had been insidiously attempting for the previous four years to utterly destroy not only the Company's trade, but all the English colonies as well. He proceeded to read a private letter from a relation in the colony of Pennsylvania in which it was shewn that the Mississippi Company required close watching. "Its leaders are egged on by the Jesuits, and will stop at no bloody measures to draw down trade from the Indians. Their projects must inevitably succeed if we are not watchful." This was put forward as one potent reason why the French were complaisant about yielding us the Bay itself. It was but the shell they would surrender, whilst preserving to themselves the kernel. This letter from the Pennsylvanian had its effect upon the easily-alarmed adventurers, for they lost no time in communicating their apprehensions to the Lords of Trade. The matter was sent forward to Bladen and Pulteney. "It were heartily to be wished," the Company observed, "that in imitation of our industrious neighbours the French, some means can be determined upon to extend the trade in furs southwards." In response, Bladen imparted a brilliant idea. He suggested that St. Augustine might be "reduced at a small cost," and advantage taken thereby of the war then in progress with Spain. Matters went on in Paris as badly as could be. The English commissioners lost all patience. Nothing was in the air but John Law and his Mississippi scheme. The three distinguished Englishmen, Bladen, Pulteney and Lake, were dined and feted: but were at length disgusted with the whole business.[52] The "smug ancient gentlemen," as Bolingbroke had irreverently dubbed the Honourable Adventurers, were not to be satisfied in regard to the delimitation of boundaries and at this time. But perhaps even they had less interest in Hudson's Bay at heart than new interests which had dramatically arisen much nearer home. Governor Lake was sent for suddenly from London, and Bladen and Pulteney were not long in following him. FOOTNOTES: [47] THE LORDS OF TRADE TO THE EARL OF DARTMOUTH. _To the Right Honourable the Earl of Dartmouth._ MY LORD,--In obedience to Her Majesty's commands, signified to us, we have considered the enclosed petition from the Hudson's Bay Company to Her Majesty, and are humbly of opinion that the said Company have a good right and just title to the whole Bay and Streights of Hudson. Since the receipt of which petition, the said Company have delivered us a memorial, relating to the settlement of boundaries between them and the French of Canada, a copy whereof is enclosed, and upon which we take leave to offer, that as it will be for the advantage of the said Company that their boundaries be settled, it will also be necessary that the boundaries between Her Majesty's colonies on the continent of America and the said French of Canada be likewise agreed and settled; wherefore we humbly offer these matters may be recommended to Her Majesty's Plenipotentiaries at Utrecht. We are, My Lord, Your Lordship's most obedient, and most humble servants, WINCHELSEA, PH. MEADOWS, CHAS. TURNER, GEO. BAILLIE, ARTH. MOORE, FRA. GWYN. Whitehall, February 19th, 1711-12. [48] THE COMPANY'S PETITION TO QUEEN ANNE FOR ACT OF CESSION. _To the Queen's Most Excellent Majesty_:-- The humble petition of the Governor and Company of Adventurers of England trading into Hudson's Bay, sheweth: That your petitioners, being informed that the Act of Cession is come over, whereby (among other matters thereby concerted) the French King obliges himself to restore to your Majesty (or to whom your Majesty shall appoint to take possession thereof) the Bay and Streights of Hudson, as also all forts and edifices whatsoever, entire and demolished, together with guns, shot, powder and other warlike provisions (as mentioned in the 10th article of the present treaty of peace), within six months after the ratification thereof, or sooner, if possible it may be done. Your petitioners do most humbly pray your Majesty will be graciously pleased to direct the said Act of Cession may be transmitted to your petitioners, as also your Majesty's commission to Captain James Knight and Mr. Henry Kelsey, gentleman, to authorize them, or either of them, to take possession of the premises above mentioned, and to constitute Captain James Knight to be Governor of the fortress called Fort Nelson, and all other forts and edifices, lands, seas, rivers and places aforesaid; and the better to enable your petitioners to recover the same, they humbly pray your Majesty to give orders that they may have a small man-of-war to depart with their ships, by the 12th of June next ensuing, which ship may in all probability return in the month of October. And your petitioners, as in duty bound, shall ever pray. By order of the Company. per WM. POTTER, SECRETARY. [49] "MY LORDS AND GENTLEMEN,--The Queen has commanded me to transmit to you the enclosed petition of the Hudson's Bay Company, that you may consider of it and report your opinion what orders may properly be given upon the several particulars mentioned. In the meantime I am to acquaint you that the places and countries therein named, belonging of right to British subjects, Her Majesty did not think fit to receive any Act of Cession from the French King, and has therefore insisted only upon an order from that Court for delivering possession to such persons as should be authorized by Her Majesty to take it; by this means the title of the Company is acknowledged, and they will come into the immediate enjoyment of their property without further trouble." [50] In 1714 the Hudson's Bay Company sent a memorandum to the Lords Commissioners of Trade and Plantations, accompanied by a map in which they claimed that the eastern boundary should be a line running from Grimington's Island through Lake Miscosinke or Mistassinnie, and from the said lake by a line run south-westward into 49 degrees north latitude, as by the red line may more particularly appear, and that that latitude be the limit; that the French do not come to the north of it, nor the English to the south of it. [51] MR. BLADEN TO MR. DELEFAYE. PARIS, November 11th, 1719, N.S. On Wednesday last, my Lord Stair and I delivered to the Marechal d'Estrees the demand of the Hudson's Bay Company, with respect to their limits, and by comparing the enclosed, which is a copy of that demand, with the instruction upon his head, you will perceive the same has been fully complied with. So soon as I shall have the French Commissary's answer to our demand, I shall likewise take care to transmit you a copy of it, to be laid before their Excellencys the Lord Justices. [52] PARIS, May the 4th, N.S., 1720. MR. PULTENEY TO MR. SECRETARY CRAGGS. My Lord Stair has spoke to the Regent, who said immediately that the conferences shall be renewed whenever we please; His Excellency then desired His Royal Highness would appoint a day, which he promised to do. This is what the Regent has promised my Lord Stair once every week, for four or five months past, without any effect, and his Excellency does not expect any more from the promise now, though possibly a conference may be appointed for form sake. I have been here near six months, and have seen only one conference, which was appointed by my Lord Stanhope's desire. I think there had been two conferences before I came; at the first of them the commissions were read, and at the second my Lord Stair and Mr. Bladen gave in a memorial about the limits of the Hudson's Bay Company, to which no answer has been made. I must own that I never could expect much success from this commission, since the French interests and ours are so directly opposite, and our respective pretensions interfere so much with each on the several points we were to treat about; but that the French have not been willing to entertain us now and then with a conference, and try how far we might be disposed to comply with a conference, and try how far we might be disposed with any of the views they had in desiring the commission, cannot, I should think be accounted for, but by supposing they knew we came prepared to reject all their demands, and to make very considerable ones for ourselves.... I shall expect your further direction as to my stay or return; I cannot help owning I heartily wish for the latter, but I shall always submit to what His Majesty likes best, and shall only desire in this case that I may have a supply from the treasury, since I have not had the good fortune to be concerned in either of the Misiseppis. CHAPTER XVIII. 1719-1727. The South Sea Bubble -- Nation Catches the Fever of Speculation -- Strong Temptation for the Company -- Pricking of the Bubble -- Narrow Escape of the Adventurers -- Knight and his Expedition -- Anxiety as to their Fate -- Certainty of their Loss -- Burnet's Scheme to Cripple the French -- It Forces them Westward into Rupert's Land. The cause of the Governor's recall lay in the existence of a crisis which promised a happy issue. It arose through the venality of some of the Company's directors, who were victims of the South Sea fever. [Sidenote: South Sea Company.] The South Sea Company, whose extraordinary success gave rise to a thousand joint stock enterprises equally unsound and fatuous, owed its origin to Harley, Earl of Oxford, in 1711, who in return for the acceptance of a government debt of £10,000,000 granted to a number of merchants a monopoly of the trade to the South Seas. At that time the most extravagant ideas prevailed concerning the riches of South America. "If," it was said, "the Hudson's Bay Company can make vast moneys out of the frozen North, what can be done with lands flowing with milk and honey?" The South Sea Adventurers carefully fostered all the current notions, spreading likewise the belief that Spain was ready to admit them to a share of its South American commerce. In 1717 this Company advanced to the English Government five more millions sterling, at an interest of six per cent. Their shares rose daily. Even the outbreak of war with Spain, which destroyed all hope in the minds of sensible persons of any share in the Spanish traffic, did not lessen the Company's popularity. In Paris, John Law's Mississippi Bubble burst, ruining thousands, but, far from being alarmed at this catastrophe, it was universally believed that Law's scheme was sound, but had been wrecked through unwise methods. In May, 1720, the South Sea Company proposed to take upon themselves the entire national debt of upwards of £30,000,000 upon a guarantee of five per cent. per annum for seven and one-half years, at the end of which period the debt might be redeemed if the Government chose, or the interest reduced to four per cent. The nation was dazzled; Parliament accepted the offer; and the Company's stock rose steadily to 330 on April 7, falling to 290 on the following day. [Sidenote: A fever of speculation.] This day in April witnessed a change in methods on the part of the South Sea directors. Until then the scheme had been honestly promoted; but the prospect of enormous wealth was too near to be permitted to escape. It became thenceforward, until the crash, the prime object of the directors, at no matter what cost or scruple, to maintain the fictitious value of the shares. By May 28, £100 shares were quoted at 550; three days later they had reached 890. The whole nation caught the fever; the steadiest merchants turned gamblers. Hardly a day passed without a new swindling concern being started as a joint stock company. Meanwhile several of the Hudson's Bay Merchants-Adventurers looked on with envious eyes. The desire was great to embark in so tempting a scheme, and the opportunity to cast inflated shares on the market almost too great to withstand. But for many weeks the temptation was resisted. At last, at a meeting early in August, the chief director came before a general court of the Adventurers with a scheme by which each partner could either retire with a moderate fortune or remain an active participant, and reap the benefit of an infusion of public capital. The scheme was simplicity itself, to modern notions; but that it was not so regarded by some of the Adventurers themselves may be gathered from the following passage from a letter of Mrs. Mary Butterfield, one of the owners of the Company's stock. "I cannot tell you how it is to be done, for that passes my wit; but in short, the value of our interests is to be trebled without our paying a farthing; and then to be trebled again if the business is to the publick taste, and we are told it cannot fail to be." [Sidenote: Plan to reorganize the Company.] It was late in August before the scheme was detailed. It was explained that the Company's assets in quick and dead stock and lands were £94,500. With this as a basis, it was proposed to enlarge the stock to the sum of £378,000, dividing this into 3,780 shares of £100 each. Before this could be carried out, however, the existing stock, being but £31,500, or 315 shares, was to be made and reckoned 945 shares of £100 value each. By such means a result of £94,500 actual capital would appear. A majority of partners favoured the scheme, and the proposal was carried amidst the greatest enthusiasm. Its purpose was to unload the stock at an inflated figure, far even in excess of that actually named by its promoters. Had it succeeded and the flotation been carried out, it would have doubtless administered a death-blow to the Company as then organized, and would probably have involved the revocation of its charter in view of what was soon to occur. But the plan met with a sudden arrest by an event which then happened, and which in beggaring multitudes altered the whole disposition of the public with regard to joint stock enterprises. A general impression had gained ground that the South Sea Company's stock had attained high-water mark, and so many holders rushed to realize that the price fell, on June 3rd, to 640. The directors were not yet ready for their _coup_. Agents were despatched by them to buy up and support the market, and the result was that by nightfall of that day the quoted price was £750. By means of this and similarly unscrupulous devices, the shares were sent, early in August, to 1,000. This was the long-awaited opportunity. Many of the directors sold out; a general anxiety began to prevail and the shares began to drop. In view of this change in affairs, the Hudson's Bay Company's meeting for September 3rd was deferred. On the 12th, South Sea shares were selling at 400, and the decline continued. The country was thrown into the greatest excitement, and by the time December had arrived, Parliament had been hastily summoned to consider the calamity. With what happened subsequently, to the authors and participators in this celebrated joint stock swindle, it is not my present purpose to deal, except to say that the Hudson's Bay Company was saved in the nick of time from sharing the fate of its neighbour and rival. A meeting on the 23rd of December was held, at which it was resolved that the "said subscription be vacated; and that the Company's seal be taken off from the said instrument." Nevertheless one permanent result remained. The capital had been trebled, and it was now further resolved that each subscriber should have £30 of stock "for each £10 by him paid in." This trebled, the total capital stood, at the beginning of 1721, at £94,500. The Company had had a narrow escape. To what extent its shares would have been inflated may be conjectured; but it is certain that it could not have avoided being swept into the vortex and sharing the same fate which overtook so many of its commercial contemporaries. Its enemies were on the watch, and they would have proved relentless. The revocation of its charter would have accomplished its final downfall. Already the Company was being assailed because it had not complied with one of the provisions named in that instrument: that of making search for a north-west passage. It was not, however, to quiet these reproaches, so persistently levelled at it, that a year before the bursting of the South Sea Bubble an expedition was actually set on foot to accomplish the long-deferred exploration. Knight, the Company's aged Governor at York Factory, had long listened to the tales of the Indians concerning the copper mines to the north; and resolved, on his return to England, to bring the matter before the Company. This he did, but it was by no means an easy matter to induce the Adventurers to consent to the expense of further exploration. Nevertheless Knight's insistence prevailed, more especially as, besides the profitable results to be obtained through such a voyage, he was careful to point out that the Company were expected by their charter to undertake such an expedition. [Sidenote: Expedition to explore the north-west passage.] In 1719 the Company, therefore, fitted out two ships for the purpose of discovery north of Churchill. One of these, called the _Albany_, a frigate, was commanded by George Barlow, whom we have already seen as Deputy-Governor at Albany in 1704, when the French failed to capture that post. The other, named the _Discovery_, a sloop, under David Vaughan. But the command of the expedition itself was entrusted to Knight, who was a man of great experience in the Company's service, who had been for many years Governor of different Factories in the Bay, and who had made the first settlement at Churchill River. Nevertheless, in spite of the experience Knight possessed of the Company's business, and its methods of trade with the Indians, there was nothing to lead any one to suppose him especially adapted for the present enterprise, having nothing to direct him but the slender and imperfect accounts which he, in common with many other of the Company's servants had received from the Indians, who, as we have seen, were at that time little known and less understood. But these disadvantages, added to his advanced years, he being then nearly eighty, by no means deterred his bold spirit. Indeed, so confident was he of success and of the material advantages which would accrue from his impending discoveries, that he caused to be made, and carried with him, several large iron-bound chests, wherein to bestow the gold dust and other treasures which he "fondly flattered himself were to be found in those parts." The first paragraph of the Company's instructions to Knight on this occasion was as follows:-- 4th June, 1719. TO CAPTAIN JAMES KNIGHT. SIR,--From the experience we have had of your abilities in the management of our affairs, we have, upon your application to us, fitted out the _Albany_ frigate, Captain George Barlow, and the _Discovery_, Captain David Vaughan, Commander, upon a discovery to the northward; and to that end have given you power and authority to act and do all things relating to the said voyage, navigation of the said ship and sloop only excepted; and have given orders and instructions to our said Commanders for that purpose. You are, with the first opportunity of wind and weather, to depart from Gravesend on your intended voyage, and by God's permission to find out the Straits of Anian, and to discover gold and other valuable commodities to the northward. Knight departed from Gravesend on board the _Albany_, and proceeded on his voyage. The ships not returning to England that year no uneasiness was felt, as it was judged they had wintered in the Bay. Besides, both were known to have on board a plentiful stock of provisions, a house in frame, together with the requisite tools and implements, and a large assortment of trading goods. Little anxiety was therefore entertained concerning their safety for fifteen months. But when New Year's Day, 1721, arrived, and neither ship nor sloop had been heard from, the Company became alarmed for their welfare. By the ship sailing to Churchill in June they sent orders for a sloop then in the Bay, called the _Whalebone_, John Scroggs, master, to go in search of the missing explorers. But the _Whalebone_ was cruising about in the north of the Bay at the time, on the Esquimaux trade, and returned to Churchill at so advanced a season of the year as to defer the execution of the Company's wishes until the following summer. [Sidenote: Anxiety as to the fate of the expedition.] The north-west coast was little known in those days, so it is not singular that Scroggs, on board the little _Whalebone_, finding himself encompassed by dangerous shoals and rocks, should return to Prince of Wales' Fort little the wiser regarding the fate of the two ships. He saw amongst the Esquimaux, it is true, European clothing and articles, as in a later day Rae and McClintock found souvenirs of the Franklin tragedy; but these might have been come by in trade, or even as the result of an accident. None could affirm that a shipwreck or other total calamity had overtaken Knight and his companions. Many years elapsed without anything to shed light on the fate of this expedition. At first, the strong belief which had so long prevailed in Europe of a north-west passage by way of this Bay, caused many to conjecture that the explorers had found that passage and had gone through it into the South Sea. But before the voyages of Middleton, Ellis, Bean, Christopher and Jobington had weakened this belief it was known that Knight, Barlow and the crews of the two ships had been lost. Proofs of their fate were found in the year 1767, as will appear in a later chapter of this work. An important circumstance now transpired which was not without effect upon the Company's trade; and which, for a time, gave the Adventurers great uneasiness. In 1727 Burnett had been appointed to the Governorship of New York. Finding that the French in Canada were in possession of all the Indian fur-trade of the north and west, which was not in the Hudson's Bay Company's hands, and that the New Englanders and Iroquois were trafficking with the Iroquois, he determined to take a bold step with a view to crippling the French. [Sidenote: Attempt of New England to secure the fur-trade.] It had long been understood that the chief support of New France was in the fur commerce; and upon enquiry it was found that the traders, of Quebec and Montreal, were chiefly supplied with European merchandise for barter from the New York merchants, from whom they procured it upon much easier terms than it could possibly be got from France. With this knowledge, the Governor resolved to foster the fur-trade of his colony by inducing direct transactions with the Indians. He procured an Act in the Assembly of the colony, prohibiting the trade in merchandise from New York. The colonial merchants were, not unnaturally, up in arms against such a measure; but Burnett, bent upon carrying his point, had their appeal to King George set aside and the Act confirmed by that monarch. [Illustration: CONTEMPORARY FRENCH MAP OF THE BAY AND VICINITY.] By this measure, trade at once sprang up with the Western Indians, since the French had no goods to offer them in any way to their liking at a reasonable price. Intercourse and familiarity ensued moreover in consequence; a fortified trading post was built at Oswego, which not only drew away trade from the French, at Michilimackinac and St. Marie, but from Albany and Moose as well. [Sidenote: Boundaries between French and English territory.] It has been observed that the ancient boundaries of Canada or New France were circumscribed by the Treaty of Utrecht, and that it is difficult to determine precisely the new boundaries assigned to it. The general interpretation adopted by the British geographers, as the country gradually became better known from that time up to the final cession of Canada, was that the boundary ran along the high lands separating the waters that discharged into the St. Lawrence from those that discharge into Hudson's Bay to the sources of the Nepigon River, and thence along the northerly division of the same range of high lands dividing the waters flowing direct to Hudson's Bay, from those flowing into Lake Winnipeg, and crossing the Nelson, or (as it was then known) the Bourbon River, about midway between the said Lake and Bay, thence passing to the west and north by the sources of Churchill River; no westerly boundary being anywhere assigned to Canada. This and other measures could have but one result: to make the French traders and the Government of New France perceive that their only hope to avert famine and bankruptcy lay in penetrating farther and farther into the west, in an effort to reach remote tribes, ignorant of true values and unspoilt by a fierce and ungenerous rivalry. It seems fitting to reserve the next chapter for a consideration of who and what the tribes were at this time inhabiting the territories granted by its charter to the Great Company; together with their numbers, their modes of life and relations with the factories. CHAPTER XIX. 1687-1712. Hudson's Bay Tribes Peaceful -- Effect of the Traders' Presence -- Depletion of Population -- The Crees and Assiniboines -- Their Habits and Customs -- Their Numbers -- No Subordination Amongst Them -- Spirituous Liquors -- Effect of Intemperance upon the Indian. Let us imagine for a moment that the Hudson's Bay Company had held traffic with the fierce and implacable Iroquois, the Mohawks or the courageous and blood-thirsty tribes of the Mississippi, instead of with the Crees and Assiniboines. How different would have been its early history! What frail protection would have been afforded by the forts and wooden palisades, often not stronger than that last fort of the Jesuits in the Huron country, the inmates of which were slaughtered so ruthlessly, or that other at Niagara, where the Chevalier de Troyes and ninety of his companions perished to a man. But the Red men of the Company's territories, compared to these, were pacific. Occasionally want or deep injustice drove them to acts of barbarism, as we have seen in the case of the massacre at York Factory under Jérémie's _régime_; but on the whole they had no marked enmity to the white men, and long displayed a remarkable and extremely welcome docility. [Sidenote: Character of the Assiniboines.] "The Assinibouels," remarked Jérémie, "are humane and affable; and so are also all those Indians with whom we have commerce in the Bay, never trading with the French but as their fathers and patrons. Although savages, they are foes to lying, which is extraordinary in nations which live without subordination or discipline. One cannot impute to them any vice, unless they are a little too slanderous. They never blaspheme and have not even a term in their language which defines an oath." If we are to believe the early traders and explorers, the Red man of Rupert's Land spoke a tongue by no means difficult for an Englishman to master. Yet if these same traders really took the trouble to master it, as they alleged, their knowledge certainly brought little order into the chaos of tribal nomenclature. [Illustration: INDIAN TEPEE.] The custom of fantastic names for the Indians was long continued. More than one instance occur of the impropriety with which the French-Canadians named the Indians. They called one tribe Gros Ventres, or Big Bellies, and that without any known reason; they being as comely and well-made as any other tribe. "They are very far," says one trader, "from being remarkable for their corpulency." This tribe also came to be known as the Fall Indians. [Sidenote: Indian country.] Jérémie observed that the Ouinebigonnolinis inhabited the sea-coast. The Poaourinagou country was inhabited by the Miskogonhirines or Savannah, who made war with the Hakouchirmions. Twelve leagues above York Factory was situated the River Oujuragatchousibi, while far beyond dwelt the Nakonkirhirinons. One might readily suspect one commandant of drawing upon his imagination when he speaks of such nations as the Unighkillyiakow, Ishisageck Roanu, the Twightwis Roanu, the Oskiakikis, Oyachtownuck Roanu, Kighetawkigh Roanu, and the Kirhawguagh Roanu. [Illustration: AN ASSINIBOINE INDIAN.] In the seventeenth century, the districts about the Great Lakes were rather thickly populated. Certain regions which at the opening of the eighteenth century were but thinly sprinkled by inhabitants, once had boasted numerous tribes. For when the first missionaries visited the south of Lake Superior in 1668, they found the country full of inhabitants. They relate that, about this time, a band of Nepisingues, converts to the Jesuitical teaching, emigrated to the Nepigon country. By 1785 few of their descendants were said to exist, and not a trace amongst them of the religion espoused by their ancestors. As to the Lake of the Woods district, before the smallpox, in 1781, ravaged this country and completed what the Nodwayes by their warfare had gone far to accomplish, this part of the country was very densely inhabited. One of the Company's factors reported, in 1736, that a tribe lived beyond the range of mountains, who had never known the use of fire-arms, for which reason they were made slaves of by the Assiniboines and Crees. He declared he had beheld several of this tribe "who all wanted a joynt of their little finger, which was cut off soon after birth." "The Migichihilinons, that is the Eagle Ey'd Indians," reported Middleton, one of the Company's captains, "are at two hundred Leagues Distance; the Assinibouels inhabit the West and North; they are reputed to be the same Nation because of the great affinity of their language. The name signifies Men of the Rock. They use the Calumet and live at two hundred and fifty Leagues Distance. They paint their Bodies, are grave and have much Phlegm, like _Flemings_." He also enumerates the Michinipic Poets, or Men of Stone, of the Great Lake; but I am inclined to think these two are of the same tribe. [Illustration: INDIAN WITH TOMAHAWK.] [Sidenote: The Crees.] The Crees, or Christineaux, were the earliest as well as the most numerous tribe which had dealings with the Company. They sprang from the same stock as the Ojibways, Chippewas or Saulteurs, who with the Assiniboines inhabited the vast interior of the country to the west of the Bay. Their language, according to one of the early traders, was less copious and expressive than their mother tongue. They were deficient in many direct terms for things, often expressing themselves in approximate phrases, whereas the Ojibways would have an exactly corresponding term ready at command. The Crees appear not to have possessed the custom of totems, so that it was often difficult for members of the tribe to trace their ancestry back for more than two or three generations. [Sidenote: Their mode of living.] In their ideas of creation the Crees and the Saulteurs resembled, and the early traders and bushrangers learnt gradually that both nations owned a mythology of no mean proportions. Nain au Bouchaw, the God of the Saulteurs, was known as "Wee-sue-ha-jouch," amongst the Crees; but the tales they told concerning him were by no means clear and distinct, nor in such general currency. The Crees were divided into two groups: those inhabiting the plains, and the denizens of the woods; the latter being far the most enterprising and useful to the trade of the Company. The tents of the Crees, like those of the other tribes in Rupert's Land, were of dressed leather, erected by means of poles, seventeen of which latter were required for the purpose, two being tied together about three feet from the top. The whole formed nearly a circle which was then covered with buffalo, moose, or red deer skins, well sewn together, nicely cut to fit the conical figure of the poles. An opening was then arranged above to let out the smoke, and admit the light. Such tents were of good size, commonly measuring twenty feet in diameter. A fire was kindled in the centre, around which a range of stones was placed to keep the fire compact. The Crees were fond of self-adornment, and were much addicted to false hair. Their morals at first greatly shocked the servants of the Company, and in the early reports sent home from York Factory much stress was laid upon the need for enlightenment in this regard amongst the savages. Polygamy was common, but not universal. The first wife was considered as mistress of the tent, ruling all the others, often with a rod of iron, and obliging them to perform all the drudgery. The names of the children were always given to them by their parents, or some near relative. Those of the boys were various, and generally derived from some place, season or animal. The names of the female children, amongst the northern Indians, were chiefly taken from some part or property of a marten, such as the White Marten, the Black Marten, the Summer Marten, the Marten's Head, the Marten's Foot, the Marten's Heart, the Marten's Tail, etc.[53] The exact number of Crees at the time of the Company's advent, is difficult to compute. Even at that time they were dispersed over a vast extent of country, mixing with the Assiniboines and other nations with whom they were on terms of peace. In 1709 appeared an estimate that there were not less than a million members of the Cree Nation. From what source was derived this striking conclusion is not given. It may be laid down as a general rule that all contemporary estimates as to the population of the Indian tribes which were necessarily founded upon hearsay prior to actual penetration into their country are fanciful and totally unreliable. Perhaps the most significant fact which Parkman brought home to the masses of his readers, was the astounding discrepancy between current conception of the numbers of the various tribes, particularly the Iroquois, and that attested and corroborated by the acute research of scholars, and by the testimony of contemporaries. In 1749 the Company thought the number of the Crees to be about 100,000, men, women and children. A half century later they had diminished to about 14,000, although, in 1810, Henry can find only about 300 tents full of Crees capable of furnishing less than 1,000 men. In this calculation, however, he did not include the Crees who lived north of Beaver River. The Crees were, for the most part, quiet and inoffensive, and their personal appearance not entirely prepossessing; and although compared with the wilder and more valiant tribes to the south and east, their carriage and deportment was inferior, still they were gifted with activity, and prominent, wiry figures and intelligent countenances. [Sidenote: The Assiniboines.] The next numerous tribe was the Assiniboine, or Stone Indians, who it is believed originated with the Sioux or Nodwayes. But owing to some misunderstanding between the bands they separated, and some half century before the first fort was built by the Company they were in possession of a vast extent of prairie country near the Red River, and thence running westward. The region they inhabited may be said to commence at the Hare Hills, near Red River, and running along the Assiniboine to the junction of the north and south branches of the Saskatchewan. They were generally of a moderate stature, slender and active. In complexion they were of a lighter copper colour than the Crees, with more regular features. Moreover they were readily distinguished from the latter by a different head-dress. [Illustration: ESQUIMAU WITH DOGS.] Other tribes trading with the Company were the Sioux, Blackfeet, Blood, Slave and Crow Indians. There were also the Esquimaux, with whom a traffic in the north was carried on chiefly for whalebone, ivory and oil. "I have often," wrote Captain Coats, "thought this people of the lineage of the Chinese, in the many features I see in them, their bloated flatt faces, little eyes, black hair, little hands and feet, and their listlessness in travelling. They are very fair, when free from grease, very submissive to their men, very tender to their children, and indefatigable in the geegaws to please their men and children." They owned no manner of government or subordination. The father or head of the family obeyed no superior nor any command, and he himself only gave his advice or opinions. Consequently it was rarely that any great chief ever existed, and then only in time of war. It is true that when several families went to war, or to the factories to trade, they chose a leader, but to such a one obedience was only voluntary; everyone was at liberty to leave when he pleased, and the notion of a commander was soon obliterated. Merit alone gave title to distinction; such merit as an experienced hunter could boast, or one who possessed knowledge of communication between lakes and rivers, who could make long harangues, was a conjurer, or had a large family. Such a man was sure to be followed by several Indians when they happened to be out in large parties. They likewise followed him down to trade at the settlements, although upon such occasions he was forced to secure their attendance by promises and rewards, as the regard paid to his ability was of too weak a nature to command subjection. In war a mutual resentment forced their union for perpetrating vengeance. The Hudson's Bay Indian's method of dividing time was by numbering the nights elapsed or to come. Thus, if he were asked how long he had been on his journey, he would answer, "so many nights." From the nocturnal division he proceeded to lunar or monthly reckoning, twelve to a year, all of these moons being symbolical of some remarkable event or appearance. Their method of computing numbers was abstruse, they reckoning chiefly by decades: two-tens, three-tens, ten-tens. A few units over or under were added or subtracted, thirty-two being three-tens and two over. If they reckoned any large number a skin or stick was laid down for every ten, and afterwards tied in a bundle for the aggregate. [Sidenote: Intelligence of the Indians.] The servants of the Company were not a little astonished at the wonderful intuition of the Indian, which enabled him to forego the advantage to be derived from a compass, and yet to rarely miss his way. The trees, he knew, were all bent to the south, and the branches on that side were larger and stronger than on the north, as was also the moss. To apprise his women of the spot where the game was killed, he broke off branches here and there, laying them in the path with their ends pointed in the requisite direction. In winter, when the braves went abroad they rubbed themselves all over with bear's grease or beaver oil, treating in this fashion, too, the furs they wore. "They use," says one trader, "no milk from the time they are weaned, and they all hate to taste Cheese, having taken up an opinion that it was made of Dead Men's Fat." They were fond of prunes and raisins, and would give a beaver skin for twelve of them to carry to their children, and also for a Jew's-harp or a tin trumpet. They were great admirers of pictures or prints, giving a beaver for bad prints, and "all toys were jewels to them." A trader at a little later period writes: "Having been fortunate enough to administer medical relief to one of these Indians during their stay, I came to be considered as a physician, and found that was a character held in high veneration," and goes on to add that their solicitude and credulity as to drugs and nostrums had exposed them to gross deceptions on the part of the agents of the Hudson's Bay Company. One of the chiefs informed him that he had been at the Bay the year before and there purchased a quantity of medicines which he would allow his visitor to inspect. Accordingly, he fetched a bag containing numerous small papers, in which he found lumps of white sugar, grains of coffee, pepper, allspice, cloves, tea, nutmegs, ginger, and other things of the kind, sold as specifics against evil spirits and against the dangers of battle. These compounds were said to give power over enemies, particularly the white bear, of which the Indians in those latitudes were much afraid; others were infallible against barrenness in women, against difficult labour, and against a variety of other afflictions. [Sidenote: Superstition of the Indians.] It is related that some Indians, who were employed in the vicinity of York Factory in a goose hunt, were so influenced by superstition that they firmly believed the devil, with hideous howlings, frequented their tent every night. They came in a most dejected state to the factory and related a lamentable tale to the Governor, setting forth with much pathos, the distress they were being subjected to by his Satanic majesty. So overcome were they that they kept large fires burning all night, sleeping only in the day time. One of the Red men declared that he had discharged his gun at the monster, but unluckily missed. The devil was described as of human shape, with a capacity for enormous strides. The governor treated the victims to a little brandy, and as if by magic their courage rose. Investigation that same night disclosed that the Satan was neither more nor less than a huge night-owl. The same trader also declares he found a number of small prints, such as in England were commonly sold to children, but which amongst the Indians were each transformed into a talisman for the cure of some evil or for procuring some delight. He even gives the mottoes on some of these, and their specific uses: No. 1--"A sailor kissing his mistress on his return from sea." This worn about the person of a gallant attracted, though concealed, the affections of the sex! No. 2--"A soldier in arms." Such a talisman poured a sentiment of valour into its possessor and gave him the strength of a giant! It was alleged that by means of such commodities many customers were secured to the Company, nor is there reason to doubt it. "Even those Indians who shortened their voyage by dealing with us, sent forward one canoe laden with beaver-skins to purchase articles of this kind at Cumberland House." Henry adds that he was wise enough not to dispute their value. As time went on the Indians began to relinquish many of the habits and customs, and even the appearance they presented, before the advent of the white traders. Being in constant communication with the factories, they became semi-civilized, and took on many of the outer characteristics of the European. They brought in year after year the spoils of the chase in strict confidence, and there exchanged them for the necessaries of life, which they no longer provided for themselves. To all intents and purposes the tribes were in the pay of the Company, or lived upon their bounty. It was, therefore, to be expected that all originality would be lost amongst them. The principal things necessary for the support and satisfaction of the Indian and his family in the middle of the eighteenth century were: a gun, hatchet, ice chisel, brazil fob, knives, files, flints, powder and shot, a powder horn, a bayonet, a kettle, cloth, beads, etc. It was early found that alcohol was a very dangerous element to introduce amongst the savages. Talon had presented the unhappy colony of New France with a statute removing all the penalties and ordinances of which justice and the authorities had made use to repress the disorders caused by the too great quantity of liquor given to the Indians. [Sidenote: Liking of the Indians for liquor.] The inclination of the Indians for intoxication, it was pointed out to Colbert by an ecclesiastic who sought to alter the condition of affairs, is much stronger than that of the people of Europe. They have, urged he, greater weakness in resisting it. "If in a bourgade there be liquor freely accessible to the Indians, they usually all become intoxicated--old, young, great and small, women and children, so that there is hardly one left sober. If there were liquor sufficient to last two days, drunkenness invariably continued two days. If enough for a week, it would last a week; if for a month, it would last a month. This," said the good priest, "is what we do not see in Europe--a whole city get drunk, nor see it continue in that state for weeks and months." It may readily be perceived that those who wish to strike a bargain favourable to themselves with the Indians, had only to resort to liquor, and by that means, without regard to their own salvation or that of the savages, could generally procure what they desired at a small expenditure. An Indian, it was said early in the next century, would barter away all his furs, nay even leave himself without a rag to cover his nakedness, in exchange for that vile, unwholesome stuff called English brandy. The Company in England having decided not to employ liquor in its traffic with the Indians, the temptation was strong upon Colbert and the French to resort to it. At one of its meetings, in 1685, the Company listened to a paper describing the methods in vogue by the French traders at the important post of Tadoussac. At this fort or factory, for more than twenty years previously, it was the custom to allow an Indian a quart of wine; this fluid, although it boasted such a title, hardly merited it. It was composed of one part of brandy to five parts of water; a proportion which fluctuated, it is true, but chiefly in respect of more water. To this more or less fiery liquid was given at a little later date the name high wine; and high wine figured largely in the dealings of both French and English with the Indians for more than two centuries. If an Indian desired more than the regulation quart, he was put off until another time. The necessary moderation was thus secured, and the trade suffered no injury. Colbert expressed himself as afraid that if the Quebec Company did not employ liquor the Indians would carry their beavers to the Dutch. He need not, however, have troubled himself with this apprehension, as it was the Iroquois alone who could go there, and the French of Quebec did small trade with this hostile nation. It was asserted that the French would not lose five hundred skins a year by preserving the moderation necessary for Christianity, and the good morality of the colony. [Sidenote: Effect of intoxication on the Indians.] Excess of liquor frequently made Europeans merry and gay; on the Indian, however, it had a contrary effect. Under its influence he recalled his departed friends and relations, lamenting their death with abundance of tears. Should he be near their graves he would often resort thither and weep there. Others would join the chorus in a song, even though quite unable to hold up their heads. It was not uncommon for them to roll about their tents in a fit of frenzy, frequently falling into the blazing fire. Quarrelling then was common: an ancient disagreement, long forgotten, being revived. The chiefs had often the prudence, when matters were going this way, to order the women to remove all offensive weapons out of the tent. But one weapon, very effective, the teeth, still remained; and it was not unusual to see several braves the next morning without a nose, an ear, or a finger. In affrays such as these, no respect whatever was paid to the ties of blood, brothers and sisters often fighting with great spirit and animosity. At the conclusion of one of these encounters early in the eighteenth century, an Indian entered York Factory one morning and desired to be admitted to the surgeon. He was conducted to the surgeon's room; he saluted its inmate in broken English, with "Look here, man; here my nose," at the same time holding out his palm, which contained half that desirable facial adjunct. This he desired the surgeon, having a mighty opinion of the faculty, to restore. The man's nephew had, it seems, bit it off; he declared he felt no pain, nor was he sensible of his loss till awaking the next morning he found the piece lying by his side. FOOTNOTE: [53] "Matonabbee," says Hearne, "had eight wives, and they were all called Martens." CHAPTER XX. 1685-1742. Errant Tribes of the Bay -- The Goose Hunt -- Assemblage at Lake Winnipeg -- Difficulties of the Voyage -- Arrival at the Fort -- Ceremony followed by Debauch -- Gifts to the Chief -- He makes a Speech to the Governor -- Ceremony of the Pipe -- Trading Begun. The tribes to the west of the Bay led an erratic life. They were without horses, and it was their custom never to remain above a fortnight in one spot, unless they found plenty of game. When they had encamped, and their lodges were built, they dispersed to hunt, meeting in the evening when they had procured enough to maintain them during the day. It was not their custom to travel more than three or four miles from their lodges, but when scarcity of game was encountered they would remove a league or two farther off. In this fashion they traversed the whole forest region, hardly missing a single day winter or summer, fair or foul, but always employed in some kind of chase. [Sidenote: The Indians as hunters.] The Indians were ruthless slaughterers of animals at the earliest period at which they were known to the servants of the Company. Whether they happened to be under the pinch of necessity or enjoying themselves in all the happiness of health and plenty, it was their custom to slay all they could. They boasted a maxim that the "more they killed, the more they had to kill." Such an opinion, although opposed to reason and common sense, was clung to with great pertinacity by them. The results of this indiscriminate slaughter were obvious; and to such a pitch of destitution were the tribes often brought that cannibalism was not infrequent amongst them. The species of game, such as marten, squirrel and ermine, got by traps and snares, were generally caught by the women and children. When the men had slain their elks, deer, or buffalo, or foxes, they left it where it fell, leaving the squaws to fetch it to the lodges the next day, taking care to cut off the titbits or tender morsels, such as tongues, for their own immediate pleasure. [Illustration: MODERN TYPE OF INDIAN.] A great part of the factory provisions consisted of geese killed by the Indians. For this purpose the factors supplied the latter with powder and shot, allowing them the value of a beaver skin for every ten geese killed. Accordingly, after the Indian had got his supply, he set off from his tent early in the morning into the marshes, where he sat himself down with great patience, difficult of imitation by the Company's men, and there, sheltered by willows, waited for the geese. These were shot flying, and so dexterous were the braves at this sport that a good hunter would kill, in times of plenty, fifty or sixty a day. Few Europeans were able to endure the cold, hunger and adversity which often marked these excursions. [Sidenote: Meeting at Lake Winnipeg.] The nations coming from a distance to York Factory were wont to assemble in May at Lake Winnipeg to the number of perhaps fifteen hundred. The chief would then harangue the men, representing their wants, and exhort the young men to exert themselves to the utmost to reach the fort with all their skins and to secure good terms from the white men. Each family then made a feast, in the course of which they fixed upon those of their number who were to undertake the journey. During the progress of the wassail which then reigned, it was customary for speeches to be made, new alliances formed and old ones strengthened. The morrow was spent in building the birch bark canoes, in which the northern tribes had attained great proficiency; and being at last ready for the voyage, the leaders of the expedition were chosen, and all was ready to start. It was never exactly ascertained how many actually participated in these trading expeditions; the number was regulated by the circumstance of the tribes being at peace or at war, and also whether disease raged amongst them. It may be taken, roughly speaking, that six hundred canoes containing one thousand persons, not counting women, came down annually to York Factory, with furs to trade. No regularity marked their voyage, each striving to be foremost, because those proceeding first had the best chance of procuring food. During the voyage each leader canvassed, with all manner of art and diligence, for braves to join his party. Some were influenced by presents, and others by promises, for the more canoes each petty leader had under his command the greater he appeared at the factory. [Sidenote: Difficulties of the journey.] Throughout their progress the Indians were obliged to go ashore for several hours daily, which caused great delay in their progress. Their canoes were small, holding only two men and a pack of one hundred beaver skins, with not much room for provisions. Had their canoes been larger their voyages would undoubtedly have been less protracted, and they would have been able to transport a greater cargo. Often great numbers of skins were left behind. A good hunter of these nations could kill six hundred beavers in the course of a season; he could carry down to the factory rarely more than one hundred, using the remainder at home in various ways. Sometimes he hung them upon branches of trees by way of votive offering upon the death of a child or near relation; often they were utilized as bedding and bed coverings; occasionally the fur was burnt off, and the beast roasted whole for food at banquets. These annual journeys were beset by much hardship and suffering even at the best of times. The testimony of at least one Governor is significant. "While," said he, "it is the duty of every one of the Company's servants to encourage a spirit of industry among the natives, and to use every means in their power to induce them to procure furs and other commodities for trade ... at the same time, it must be confessed that such conduct is by no means for the real benefit of the poor Indians; it being well-known that those who have the least intercourse with the factories, are by far the happiest.... It is true that there are few Indians but have once in their lives, at least, visited the fort, and the hardships and dangers which most of them experienced on those occasions have left such a lasting impression on their minds, that nothing can induce them to repeat their visits." Arriving near their journey's end, they all put ashore; the women going into the woods to gather pine-brush for the bottom of the tents, while the leaders smoked together and arranged the procession to the factory. This settled, they re-embarked, and soon after arrived before the post of the Company; if there happened to be but one captain, his situation was in the centre of all the canoes; if more than one, they placed themselves at the wings, their canoes being distinguished by a small flag hoisted on a stick and placed astern. Arriving within two hundred yards of the palisade, they discharged their fowling pieces by way of compliment to the Governor, who returned the salute by firing off two or three small cannon. The men of the tribe seldom concerned themselves with taking out the bundles, except occasionally when the younger ones assisted the women. [Illustration: TYPE OF CREE INDIAN.] [Sidenote: Arrival at the Fort.] The factor being now informed that the Indians had arrived, the trader was sent to introduce the leaders into the fort. Chairs were placed in the trading-room for the visitors, and pipes introduced. During the first part of the ceremony the leader puffed great clouds of smoke, but said little; but the tobacco in the bowl becoming low, he began to be more talkative. Fixing his eyes immovably on the ground, he informed the factors how many canoes he had brought, and what tribes he had seen; he enquired after the health of his hosts, and declared he is glad to see them. When this speech was concluded the Governor bade the chief and his party welcome, informing him that he had good goods and plenty, that he loved the Indians, and they might count upon his kindness to them. The pipe was then removed, and the conversation became general. During this visit the chief was dressed out at the Company's expense. He was furnished with a coarse cloth coat, red or blue, lined with baize, and white regimental cuffs; a waistcoat and breeches of baize. This suit was ornamented with orris lace. He was likewise presented with a white or checked cotton shirt, stockings of yarn, one red and the other blue, and tied below the knee with worsted garters; his moccasins were sometimes put on over these, but he as freely walked away in bare feet. His hat was of coarse felt and bedecked with three ostrich feathers, of various colours. A worsted sash was fastened to its crown; a small silk handkerchief drawn about his neck, and thus attired, the chief strutted up and down delighted. His second in command also claimed attention. He was given a coat, but not a lined one; a shirt and a cap such as was worn by sailors of the period. The guests once equipped, bread and prunes were forthcoming and set before the chief; and of these confections he took care to fill his pockets before they were carried out. These were followed by a two-gallon keg of brandy, pipes and tobacco for himself and followers. It was now high time to think of returning to the camp, but this exit was not to be undertaken without further marks of the favour and esteem with which the chief was held by the Company. His conduct from the fort was effected in state. In front a halberd and ensign were borne; next came a drummer beating a march, followed by several of the factory servants bearing bread, prunes, pipes, tobacco, brandy, etc. Behind these came the "King," "Captain," or chief, with stately tread, and erect, smoking his pipe and conversing with the factors at his side. Afterwards came the "Lieutenant," "Prince," relative or friend, who had accompanied the chief. The tent was found ready for their reception, strewn with clean pine brush and beaver coats placed for them to sit. The brandy was deposited on the ground, and the chief gave orders for its distribution. After this the factor left, none too soon, however, for all were soon plunged into a brutal state of intoxication. "It is fifty to one," writes one trader, "but some one is killed before morning. They give loose rein to every species of disorderly tumult--all crying, fighting, and dancing." About 1735, a party of Indians came down to trade, and the first day of their arrival, as was their invariable custom, got vilely drunk. While thus inebriated, they fought, not noisily, but silently, in the darkness. When morning dawned, two corpses, in a fearful state of mutilation, were found stretched on the ground in pools of blood. [Sidenote: Ceremony of the pipe.] After this debauch, which lasted about two or three days, the sobered braves took to the calumet of peace. The stem of this pipe was three or four feet long, decorated with pieces of lace, bears' claws, eagles' talons, and the feathers of the most beautiful birds. The pipe being affixed to the stem, the factor took it in both hands, and with great gravity rose from his chair and pointed the end of the stem to the east or sunrise, and then to the zenith, and to the west, and then perpendicularly to the Nadir. After this he took three or four hearty whiffs and then presented it to the chief, and so on round the whole party, the women excepted. When the tobacco was consumed, the factor took the pipe again and twirling it three times round his head, laid it with great deliberation on the table. A great Ho! was thereupon emitted from the mouths of the assemblage.[54] This ceremony being over, a further gratuity of bread and prunes was distributed, and the chief made a speech, which one trader has reported, after this style. [Illustration: AN OLD CHIEF. (_From a Photograph._)] "You told me last year to bring many Indians to trade, which I promised to do. You see, I have not lied, here are many young men come with me; use them kindly, I say; let them trade good goods, I say. We lived hard last winter and were hungry; powder being short measure and bad, I say. Tell your servants to fill the measure, and not put their thumbs within the brim; take pity on us, take pity on us, I say. "We paddle a long way to see you; we love the English. Let us trade good black tobacco, moist and hard twisted; let us see it before it is opened. Take pity on us, take pity on us, I say. "The guns are bad, let us trade light guns, small in the hand and well-shaped, and locks that will not freeze in the winter, and red gun-cases. Let the young men have more than measure of tobacco, cheap pattees, thick and high. "Give us good measure of cloth; let us see the old measure. The young men love you by coming so far to see you. Give them good goods; they like to dress and be fine; do you see?" As soon as the chief had finished the above speech, he, with his followers, proceeded to examine the guns and tobacco; the former with a most minute attention. This over, they traded with furs promiscuously, the leader being so far indulged as to be admitted into the trading-room all the time if he desired it. [Sidenote: Varieties of beaver.] The beaver thus received by the chief trader and stored at the factory pending its shipment to England in the Company's ships, was classified into eight varieties. The first was the fat winter beaver, slain in winter, which was valued at five shillings and sixpence a pound. The second sort was the fat summer beaver, worth two shillings and ninepence. Next came in order the dry winter beaver, and the Bordeaux, both worth three shillings and sixpence. The dry summer beaver, not much valued, about one shilling and ninepence. Sixth came the coat beaver, as it was called, which brought four shillings and sixpence. The Muscovite, dry beaver of a fine skin, covered with a silky hair; it was worn in Russia, where the short fur was combed away and manufactured into fabric, leaving only the hair; this fetched four and sixpence; and lastly on the list figured the Mittain beaver, which were utilized in the manufacture of mittens, being worth one shilling and ninepence. It was reported that in the year 1742 the natives were so discouraged in their trade with the Company that many found the peltry hardly worth the carriage, and the finest furs sold for very little. When the tribes came to the factory in June they found the goods much higher in price, and much in excess of the standard they were accustomed to. According to Joseph la France, a French-Canadian voyageur, they gave but a pound of gunpowder for four beavers, a fathom of tobacco for seven beavers, a pound of shot for one, an ell of coarse cloth for fifteen, a blanket for twelve, two fish-hooks or three flints for one, a gun for twenty-five, a pistol for ten; a common hat with white lace cost seven beavers, an axe four, a bill-hook one, a gallon of brandy four, a chequered shirt seven; "all of which sold at a monstrous profit, even to two thousand per cent." It was a fact, nevertheless, that notwithstanding such discouragement the two expeditions of Indians who visited York and Churchill that year brought down two hundred packs of one hundred each, that is to say twenty thousand beaver skins. As to the other Indians who arrived from another direction, they carried three hundred packs of one hundred each, which made a total of fifty thousand beavers, besides nine thousand martens. FOOTNOTE: [54] All this ceremony has a significance of its own. Interpreted, it said: "Whilst the sun shall visit the different parts of the world and make day and night; peace, firm friendship and brotherly love shall be established between the English and the Indians, and the same on the latter's part. By twirling the pipe over the head, it was further intended to imply that all persons of the two nations, whosoever they were, shall be included in the friendship and brotherhood, then concluded or renewed." CHAPTER XXI. 1725-1742. System of Licenses re-adopted by the French -- Verandrye sets out for the Pacific -- His son slain -- Disappointments -- He reaches the Rockies -- Death of Verandrye -- Forts in Rupert's Land -- Peter the Great and the Hudson's Bay Company -- Expeditions of Bering -- A North-West Passage -- Opposition of the Company to its Discovery -- Dobbs and Middleton -- Ludicrous distrust of the Explorer -- An Anonymous Letter. It has already been observed how fearful had grown the demoralization of the Indians, chiefly through the instrumentality and example of the _coureur des bois_. This class seemed daily to grow more corrupt, and bade fair to throw off the last vestige of restraint and become merged in all the iniquity, natural and acquired, of the savage races. We have seen, too, how the missionaries intervened, and implored the civil authorities to institute some sort of reform. It was at their solicitation that the Government of Canada at length decided to re-adopt the system of licenses, and to grant the privileges of exclusive trade to retired army officers, to each of whom they accorded a certain fur-bearing district by way of recompense for services rendered by him. In order that the trader might be protected against hostile assault, permission was given to establish forts in certain places suitable for their construction. One of the French Canadian youth, whom the exploits of Iberville against the Hudson's Bay Company had fired with a spirit of emulation and who was head and shoulders above all that race of soldiers turned fur-traders, who now began to spread themselves throughout the great west--was Pierre Gaultier de Varennes, Sieur de la Verandrye. [Sidenote: Sieur de Verandrye.] This gallant soldier and intrepid explorer, to whose memory history has as yet done but scant justice, was born at Three Rivers on the 17th of November, 1685. At an early age he embraced the profession of arms, and at twenty-four fought so valorously against Marlborough's forces at Malplaquet that, pierced by nine wounds, he was left for dead upon the field of battle. Recovering, however, he returned to the colony, and at twenty-seven married the daughter of the Seigneur d'Isle Dupas, by whom he had four sons. These sons were all destined to be associated with their father in the subsequent explorations in Rupert's Land and the west. At the hour when Verandrye was seized with his zeal for exploration and discovery, the Company's rivals already possessed numerous posts established by Iberville, Duluth, Frontenac and Denonville, and a host of lesser lights, in the west. Of one of these, on the shores of Lake Nepigon, at the extreme end of Lake Superior, Verandrye had been given the command. [Sidenote: Verandrye sets out to explore the West.] While at this fort, a rumour had reached him of a mighty river flowing into the great ocean. Credulous of the truth of this report, borne to him by the Indians, Verandrye lost little time in communicating it to a friend, Father de Gonor, at Michilimackinac. It was shortly thereafter carried to Governor Beauharnois, who was induced, but not without much pleading, to grant Verandrye fifty men and a missionary for the purposes of exploration. But, although he had thus far succeeded, the only pecuniary aid upon which the explorer could rely was from the fur-trade. He was accordingly given a license to trade, and on the strength of this concession, certain merchants advanced him an outfit. He set out and arrived at Rainy Lake in September, 1731, traversed it, and erected a fort near the site of the present Fort Francis of a later day, to which he gave the name of St. Peter. A year later he built another fort on the western shore of the Lake of the Woods, and in 1733 paddled down to the mouth of the Winnipeg River to the lake of that name. Crossing Lake Winnipeg, he ascended the Assiniboine River and constructed Fort Rouge.[55] In 1738 the explorer's three sons, under their sire's instructions, made their way up the Assiniboine and built Fort la Reine, on the site of the present Portage la Prairie. Well may it be said that the five years from 1733 to 1738 were years of cruel grief and disappointment for Verandrye. He had been struggling on to a realization of his dream in spite of the bitterest discouragements. One of his sons had been slain by the Sioux; he was without funds; fur-trading being with him only a subsidiary employment. His men lacking both courage and faith became unmanageable, and Verandrye addressed the most affecting letters to his monarch in France, who looked upon him and his schemes coldly. Those merchants, who had advanced him money, loaded him with their distrust, perpetually harassed him for returns, and loudly demanded his recall, so that he was forced to stand still and engage in barter when his whole soul cried aloud for him to press on in his path and reach the Pacific. [Sidenote: Verandrye's son reaches the Rockies.] Verandrye divided his little party in the spring of 1742 and ascended the Souris River. Those who came to be familiar with the territory in a later day, when it was frequented by traders, might well appreciate what were the perils these pioneers encountered, and what dangers they escaped when they finally left the country of the peace--leaving Ojibways at Red River, and struck off into the land of the Sioux, a tribe then, from their ferocity to the whites, called the "tigers of the plains." But they were to go still farther. Already the eldest son of the explorer had reached the tribe of the Mandans in the Missouri, but owing to inability to obtain guides his party had been forced to return. He was again despatched by his father, this time in company with the younger son, known as the Chevalier, and two other Frenchmen into the unknown country to the west. This little band of four made a journey of several hundred miles, entering into a league with one of the nations into whose country they penetrated, to lead them to the great Western Ocean. On the first day of January, 1743, they beheld, the first amongst white men, the eastern spurs of the northern Rocky Mountains. But here the Bow Indians, their guides, deserted them, and surrounded by hostile tribes, the party was forced to return. It was in this same year that the elder Verandrye, scarred and gaunt from his long wanderings in the wilderness, presented himself at Quebec to confront his enemies and traducers. They had represented as making an enormous fortune and leading an idle life, he who could point proudly to having taken possession of the country of the Upper Missouri for Lewis XV., and who had built a score and more of forts in the unknown regions of the West. "If 40,000 livres of debt that I have over my head," said Verandrye bitterly, "are an advantage, then I can compliment myself on being very rich, and I would have been much more so in the end, if I had continued." His license was given to another who, however, made a poor showing by means of it, and it was not until Beauharnois's successor investigated Verandrye's claims that the explorer received some recognition at court. He was given a captaincy and the Cross of St. Lewis. But the explorer had not waited for this. He had been pushing on in his work, and in 1748 ascended the Saskatchewan. The progress of the French was marked by more forts, one in Lake Dauphin and another called Bourbon at the extremity of his discoveries. Verandrye was about to cross the Rocky Mountains when death overtook him, on the 6th of December, 1749. The sons of Verandrye were eager to continue his work and attain at last the Pacific. But Bigot, the Intendant, was not their friend; he had other plans, and the Verandryes were deposed by favourites with not half their ability or their claims to honours and rewards. But they had paved the way and now the French were reaping the profits of the fur-trade in the North-West on a great scale. [Sidenote: Verandrye's work.] Thus were successively established, from 1731 to 1748, by Verandrye and his sons, Fort St. Pierre on Rainy Lake; Fort St. Charles on the Lake of the Woods; Fort Maurepas near the mouth of the Winnipeg; Fort Dauphin, on the north-west extremity of Lake Manitoba; Fort la Reine, on the southern extremity of the last-named lake; Fort Rouge, at the confluence of the Assiniboine and Red River; Fort Bourbon, at the head of Lake Winnipeg; Fort Poskoyae, on the Saskatchewan, and Fort Lacerne (Nipawi), at the forks of the said river. In 1752, some years prior to the conquest of Canada, a relative of Verandrye, named Niverville, established Fort Jonquiere at the foot of the mountains.[56] Which of all these forts were to pass, after many vicissitudes, into the hands of the Hudson's Bay Company, we shall see in the course of subsequent pages. Verandrye and his compeers chose their sites with great care and ability; so that it was rarely that their successors were able to improve upon them. On the foundations or charred remnants of the French forts, should the structures themselves have perished, the English fur-traders, when they came, reared anew their posts. While thus the French were pressing forward from the south and east at the same moment, a new rivalry threatened to spring up in the far north-west. [Sidenote: Russia looks toward the New World.] The eighteenth century broke upon an abated zeal of the Spaniards in extending their discoveries and dominions in the New World. Almost contemporaneously, the threads they threw down were grasped by another power, which the zeal and energy of one man had suddenly transformed from a collection of savage, barbarous tribes into a great nation. Having achieved conquest over his neighbours and the cohesion of his new empire, Peter the Great turned his attention to a hardly inferior task. None knew as yet whether the two great continents, Asia and North America, united on the north-east. During Peter's residence in England, not the least of the institutions interesting him was the Hudson's Bay Company. A letter from Peter is quoted by a Russian writer, in which he alludes to the English rivalry for these trades "which had so long been the monopoly of Muscovy fur-hunting and fur-gathering." Doubtless even at this time he was speculating upon the chances of Russia competing with England for the fur traffic of the New World. But before such a competition could be brought about the question of the geographical connection between Asia and America must be settled. When he had been in Holland in 1717, he had been urged by some of the most eminent patrons of discovery amongst the Dutch to institute an expedition of investigation. But again other matters intervened; although in 1727 two Russian officers were equipped and in readiness to start overland when they were recalled for service in Sweden. Not until he was on his death-bed did Czar Peter pen with his own hand the instructions to Admiral Aproxin which bore fruit later. It was then, too, that the idea, according to Lestkof, was discussed of a Russian Fur Company, similar in its methods and organization to the Hudson's Bay Company. Peter directed first that one or two boats with decks should be built at Kamschatka, or in the vicinity; that with these a survey should be made of the most northerly coasts of his Asiatic Empire, to determine whether they were or were not contiguous to America. Also that the persons to whom the expedition might be entrusted should endeavour to ascertain whether there was any port in those regions belonging to Europe, and to keep a strict look-out for any European ship, taking care also to employ some skilful men in making enquiries regarding the names and situation of the coasts which they discovered. They were to keep an exact journal and to transmit it to St. Petersburg. Peter died, but the Empress Catherine, his successor, was equally favourable to the scheme, and gave orders to fit out the expedition. To Captain Vitus Bering was entrusted the command. Under him were two lieutenants, Martin Spangberg and Alexi Tchirikoff; and besides other subalterns were several excellent ship-carpenters. [Illustration: MALDONADO'S "STRAIT OF ANIAN," 1609.] On February 5, 1735, they set out from St. Petersburg, and on March 16 arrived at Tobolsk, the capital of Siberia. [Sidenote: Bering's discoveries.] Bering returned from his first voyage satisfied that he had reached the utmost limits of Asia, and that no junction with America existed. Some years elapsed, and in 1741 Bering, Spangberg and Tchirikoff again volunteered. This expedition was destined to prove fatal to the explorer; he got lost in a fog, intense cold prevailed, scurvy broke out amongst the men, and on a little island in Bering's Sea he breathed his last. [Illustration: LAPIE'S MAP, 1821.] Although many years were to elapse before the Russians took any more active steps, they had, by virtue of Bering's discoveries, got a footing on the North American Continent, and were thus already neighbours, if not yet rivals, of the Hudson's Bay Company. "It is very evident," wrote one of the contemporary chroniclers, "that for upwards of two centuries and a half an opinion has prevailed amongst the most knowing and experienced persons, that there is a passage to the north-west, and this built partly upon science, partly upon tradition. Now, it is very hard to conceive how such an opinion should maintain its credit if it was not founded in reality; for it is an old and true maxim that specious opinions endure but a short time, whereas truth is everlasting." For many years the notion of a north-west passage had slept; but in 1737 it again attracted public attention. In that year Arthur Dobbs, a gentleman of some means and of scientific bent, made formal application to the Hudson's Bay Company that a search be undertaken. Upon his representations the Company sent forth two of their ships upon the quest. These, the _Churchill_ and the _Musquash_ went, however, no farther north than latitude 62° 15' and returned without seeing anything worthy of notice, save "a number of small islands, abundance of black whales, but no very great tides, the highest about two fathoms, the flood coming from the northward." There had been for a great many years in the Company's employ an able mariner, Captain Christopher Middleton. For some reason or other Middleton had become dissatisfied with their service and one of his friends placed him in communication with the patron of discovery, Dobbs, and a close correspondence ensued.[57] Dobbs was eager to employ Middleton in a search for the long-sought straits. This was by no means an easy matter. In the first place the Company flatly declined to participate in the scheme, alleging that they had already done enough in that direction[58] and that the whole idea was a fallacy. There was no north-west passage to India, and the sooner the public mind divested itself of the folly of supposing one existed the better it would be for the public purse and the public wisdom. The Company pointed out that if Middleton should winter at either of the Company's factories it might drive the natives to trade with the French, who were always on the alert; and trade so lost would never return or be regained. They begged the Admiralty to restrain Captain Middleton from interfering with the Company's trade and invading their property and rights. Dobbs, however, secured from the Admiralty for Middleton's use the bomb ketch _Furnace_, which, with another small vessel, the _Welcome_, was ready to sail early in June. [Sidenote: The Company opposes further exploration.] So opposed do the Company appear to have their domains meddled with by these fruitless explorations that they sent out a letter to their Governor at Churchill, which was the most convenient harbour for the explorers to winter in, not to receive Middleton into their fort. Dobbs and his friends getting wind of this, complained to the Admiralty, who wrote to the Honourable Adventurers in a tone of decided reproof, observing that even if Middleton were to receive assistance and provisions, payment would be made for these to the Company on the return of the expedition to England. After deliberating for some time, the Company thereupon wrote to the Lords of the Admiralty, saying that they had sent a further letter to Governor Norton requiring him to extend the necessary hospitality to Middleton. That the sort of hospitality the Company was prepared to dispense was not of too warm a character may be adjudged from the following: HUDSON'S BAY HOUSE, LONDON, May 15, 1741. _Mr. James Isham and Council_, _Prince of Wales' Fort, Churchill River_: GENTLEMEN,--Notwithstanding our orders to you, if Captain Middleton (who is sent abroad in the Government's service to discover a passage north-west) should by inevitable necessity be brought into real distress and danger of his life and loss of his ship, in such case you are then to give him the best assistance and relief you can. A duplicate of this was put in Middleton's possession, who still dissatisfied, rushed off instantly with it to Whitehall. It was deemed necessary to apply to the Lords of the Regency that the Secretary of State might, by their orders, write to the Company to request the assistance they refused to the Admiralty. The Company, thus hemmed in, gave a letter couched in a more friendly style. "It is plain," remarks a contemporary writer, "that the Company believe there is a passage, which they want to conceal; for otherwise it would have been their interest to have the attempt made. If not found there would have been an end to prosecuting it any further, and they might probably have enjoyed their trade to the Bay, without its being coveted or enquired into." Middleton owned to Dobbs that just before his departure the Company had endeavoured to bribe him with an offer of £5,000 to return to their service, or that if he was determined to go, to pursue the voyage by Davis' Straits, or by any other way than the west of the Bay. They alleged that it would cost the Company that amount to support their right against the Crown and against private adventurers, and that "as he had been their friend, and knew all their concerns, it would be better to give him that sum than to give it to their lawyers." The Company did not deny that such an offer had been made by two or three of the committee privately. [Sidenote: Middleton explores for a north-west passage.] Middleton now proceeded on his journey in quest of the famed north-west passage. It is charged that on his arrival in the Bay he never once went ashore or sent his boat to search for any inlet or to try the tide. He tried the current in latitude 63° 20', and found it very rapid, in spite of the fact that there existed a great deal of ice to the northward. Its presence compelled him to stand off from shore until he passed Cape Dobbs, beyond which he found an opening northwestward. In this opening he sought shelter for three weeks. [Sidenote: Trouble between Middleton and his men.] No voyage of discovery since the world began was ever made under such circumstances. Numerous members of the crew, who had got wind of the situation, were filled, or professed to be filled, with distrust of their captain. Caring nothing about the voyage itself or the object for which it was undertaken, they entered with zeal a hundred times a day into plots to make the commander's life unbearable. The supposed passage was christened the "Forbidden Straits," and the crews vastly amused themselves with Middleton's supposed discomfiture. Several were very nearly yard-armed for spreading reports that the captain had purposely sailed past the straits. Sometimes the captain merely laughed at the views of his subordinates; at other times, it is said, he flew into a temper, and indulged in threats and abuse. Once, when from the number of whales and the breadth and depth of the river, word sped from mouth to mouth that it was a strait they were in, and no river, "he rated several of them for pretending to say so against his opinion, saying his clerk was a double-tongued rascal, that he would cane the lieutenant, broomstick the master, and lash any others who would concern themselves about the voyage." It was, moreover, charged against Middleton that he interdicted the keeping of private journals, and that if any disobeyed this order he threatened to break open their boxes and get possession of such records. Once when the lieutenants and masters were absent down the river to look for a cove for the ships, Middleton grimly observed that he supposed the former would bring back "some romantick account of a strait or passage." Nevertheless, for his part, he would not take the ships a foot farther. Intrigue characterized the whole of this voyage of discovery. The officers of both the _Furnace_ and the _Discovery_ took turns in making jaunts into the country. On the 8th of August, Captain Middleton, the clerk, gunner, and carpenter went ashore at Cape Frigid, and after pacing some fifteen miles into the country, returned, to find the ship drifted, although it lacked some hours of high water. Rankin and the men on board from this had become convinced that it was the effects of the flood from the supposed strait. The captain laughed them to scorn, and said that if it came from any strait at all it was Hudson's Strait. Two northern Indians were taken on board the _Discovery_, and Thompson, the surgeon, who could speak some of the southern tongue, began busying himself making a vocabulary of their language. At this innocent occupation he was observed by Middleton, who threatened to "crop him" in case he persisted. When they reached Marble Island, although the two Indians were desirous of going to England, he put the pair ashore in a bad boat they were ignorant of how to manage. The supplications of the unhappy savages were useless to turn the Company's captain from his purpose. In vain they told him that the island was three leagues from the mainland, and a hundred miles from their own country; that it was inhabited by the Esquimaux, their enemies. "The Captain gave them some provisions, ammunition, hatchets and toys. The excuse he made for not bringing them to England was, that upon his return his friends might be out of the Admiralty, and as he had no orders to take them home, they would be left a charge upon him." This was plausible, but Middleton's detractors did not rest there. They accused the captain of saying that he was afraid the Indians, when they learned to speak English, would be talking of the copper mine and the north-west passage, and would thereby put the public to the expense of sending out more ships in quest of it. "And this, no doubt," commented Dobbs, "was the true reason for that piece of cruelty, for he thought if they came to England he should _not be able to conceal the passage_." On Middleton's return, after his quest, he was accused of saying, "My character is so well established as a discoverer that no man will ever, hereafter, attempt to discover the north-west passage." [Sidenote: Middleton returns without discovering the passage.] He certainly received a cordial invitation from the Government, the Admiralty and the Court. Immediately upon his arrival in London he communicated with several of the partners of the Hudson's Bay Company. The preparation of his journal occupied for a time his leisure. "He himself," says Dobbs, "had got great reputation from the Royal Society for his observations upon cold; and for what he had discovered had got a medal from them. He was upon good terms with the Lords of the Admiralty, and was to dedicate his charts and discoveries to the King and noblemen of the first rank as well as to the Lords of the Admiralty." That the Lords of the Admiralty were perfectly satisfied with his conduct, there is every reason to believe, as in the following year Middleton was placed in command of the _Shark_, a sloop. All this naturally put him into a position to serve those under him. All his recommendations for promotion only strengthened the suspicions gathering in the mind of Dobbs and his fellow-patrons. "He had recommended also his lieutenant, and thought none other on board had weight enough to impeach his proceedings, which, if they failed in, would ruin their characters; so that securing his officers, he thought all things would be safe amongst the crew. But Middleton was not one to forget the patron and prime mover of the expedition, whom he endeavoured to propitiate by sending him an abstract of his journal. This abstract seemed, to Dobbs, to be so full of contradictions and discrepancies, that he wrote to the explorer to send him, if possible, the journal itself. He had scarcely dispatched this communication when he received a letter from Lanrick, "a gentleman who had been bred a scholar," who had accompanied Middleton on the voyage. It was substantially the same account rendered by the captain, with this added paragraph: "Sir,--This account I should have sent you before now but that the Captain, for reasons to himself best known, desired that none of us should say anything about it relating to the discovery for a little." This very natural desire on the part of an explorer, about to become an author, seems to have been fraught with deep and incriminating significance to Dobbs. After a short time the whole of Middleton's journal reached him; it appeared to confirm all Dobbs's presentiments. [Sidenote: Suspicion attaches to Middleton.] Dobbs and the other patrons were therefore convinced that Middleton had played them false for the Hudson's Bay Company; and their belief in a north-west passage was strengthened rather than weakened. In their report, after going over the whole account of the voyage furnished them, they were especially severe upon Middleton. "His whole conduct," they said, "from his going to Churchill until his return to England, and even since his return, it will appear plainly that he intended to serve the Company at the public expense, and contrived everything so as to stifle the discovery, and to prevent others from undertaking it for the future so as to secure the favour of the Company and the reward they said they promised him before he began the voyage." An informer appeared, who testified that Middleton had declared in presence of the others at a council held at York Factory, Churchill, that he "should be able to make the voyage, but none on board should be any the wiser and he would be a better friend to the Company than ever." Middleton was charged in public with neglect in having failed to explore the line of coast which afforded a probability of a passage to the north-west. The principal points at issue appear to have been in respect to the discovery by Middleton, of the Wager River, Repulse Bay, and the Frozen Strait. In this century Sir Edward Parry has remarked: "The accuracy of Captain Middleton is manifest upon the point most strenuously argued against him, for our subsequent experience has not left the smallest doubt of Repulse Bay and the northern part of the Welcome being filled by a rapid tide flowing into it from the eastward through the Frozen Strait." Dobbs, fully impressed with a conviction that the captain's story of the Frozen Strait was all chimera, as well as everything Middleton had said concerning that part of the voyage, confidently insisted on the probability of the tide finding its way through Wager River, or at least through some arm of the sea communicating with that inlet from the westward.[59] One detail only was lacking to render the situation farcical--an anonymous letter. This reached Dobbs on the 21st of January, and ran in this absurd vein:-- "This script is only open to your Eyes, which have been sealed or closed with too much (we cannot say Cunning) Artifice, so as they have not been able to discover our Discoverer's Pranks. All Nature cries aloud that there is a Passage, and we are sure there is one from Hudson's Bay to Japan. Send a letter directed to Messieurs Brook and Cobham, who are Gentlemen who have been the Voyage, and cannot bear so Glorious an Attempt, should die under the Hands of Mercenary Wretches, and they will give you such pungent reasons as will awaken all your Industry. They desire it may be kept secret so long as they shall think fit; they are willing to venture their Lives, their Fortunes, their All, in another attempt; and they are no inconsiderable persons, but such as have had it much at heart ever since they saw the Rapidity of Tides in the Welcome. The frozen straits is all Chimera, and everything you have yet read or seen concerning that part of our Voyage, We shall send you some unanswerable Queries. Direct for us at the Chapter Coffee House, St Paul's Churchyard, London." It was now clear that Middleton's voyage had been made in vain, and that another would shortly be attempted. FOOTNOTES: [55] This fort has been thought to have been in the neighbourhood of Selkirk, Manitoba. But Verandrye would not have abandoned such an advantageous position as that which the meeting of the two rivers afforded at the modern Winnipeg. [56] On the site of Fort Jonquiere, a century later, Captain Brisebois, of the Mounted Police, founded a post bearing his name. This post has given way to-day to the well-built and thriving town of Calgary. [57] In one of his letters, dated 21st of January, 1737, Middleton held that the Company thought it their interest rather to prevent than forward new discoveries in that part of the world. "For that reason they won't suffer any of our journals to be made public," he adds. Than which certainly no observation could be truer. [58] A LIST OF VESSELS FITTED OUT BY THE HUDSON'S BAY COMPANY ON DISCOVERY OF A NORTH-WEST PASSAGE. 1719--_Albany Frigate_, Capt. George Barlow, sailed from England on or about 5th June. Never returned. _Discovery_, Capt. David Vaughan, sailed from England on or about 5th June. Never returned. 1719--_Prosperous_, Capt Henry Kelsey, sailed from York Fort, June 19th. Returned 10th August following. _Success_, John Hancock, master, sailed from Prince of Wales' Fort, July 2nd. Returned 10th August. 1721--_Prosperous_, Capt. Henry Kelsey, sailed from York Fort, June 26th. Returned 2nd Sept. _Success_, James Napper, master, sailed from York Fort, June 26th. Lost 30th of same month. 1721--_Whalebone_, John Scroggs, master, sailed from Gravesend, 31st May; wintered at Prince of Wales' Fort. 1722--Sailed from thence 21st June. Returned July 25th following. 1737--_The Churchill_, James Napper, master, sailed from Prince of Wales' Fort, July 7th. Died 8th August; and the vessel returned the 18th. _The Musquash_, Robert Crow, master, sailed from Prince of Wales' Fort, July 7th. Returned 22nd August. [59] "On looking through the correspondence at the Admiralty, it is impossible not to be struck with the straightforward manliness, candour and honesty of purpose exemplified by Captain Middleton throughout this trying business. It was a cruel attack."--Sir John Barrow. CHAPTER XXII. 1744-1748. War again with France -- Company takes Measures to Defend its Forts and Property -- "Keep your guns loaded" -- Prince "Charlie" -- His Stock in the Company Confiscated -- Further Instructions to the Chief Factors -- Another Expedition to Search for a North-West Passage -- Parliament Offers Twenty Thousand Pounds Reward -- Cavalier Treatment from Governor Norton -- Expedition Returns -- Dobbs' Enmity -- Privy Council Refuse to Grant his Petition -- Press-gang Outrages -- Voyage of the _Seahorse_. [Sidenote: War with France.] In the year 1740 the state of affairs in Europe seemed to point to war between England and France. England had declared war against Spain, and although for a time Lewis XV. and his ministers sympathized with the latter country, they endeavoured to avoid being drawn into a conflict with her powerful neighbour and hereditary enemy across the Channel. Yet such a conflict seemed inevitable, when by degrees Spanish commerce became shattered under the blows of King George's navy. Apprehensive that England would wrest from Spain her colonies, France resolved to take sides with Spain. In 1744 war was declared, and hostilities, which had been in abeyance for thirty-one years, at once recommenced in the transatlantic possessions of both crowns. It was therefore decided at a general court of the Adventurers, at which no fewer than seventy were present, to take measures to avoid a repetition of the disasters of fifty years previously. They felt that their enemies were now many, who would be glad to see them driven from the Bay, and that less assistance might be expected from the Government than at any of the crises which had previously overtaken them. We have seen to what this was due. It now behooved the Company to gird up its loins, and if the foe came, to strike, and strike with force. It was the Hudson's Bay Company against France and Spain. The incident of Louisburg alone saved the Company from destruction. To illustrate the temper of the Company instructions were immediately drawn up by the Committee, and despatched to the chief factors in the Bay. The one addressed to Joseph Isbister and Council at Albany Fort was dated the 10th of May, 1744. "The English and French having declared war," it ran, "against each other, and the war with Spain still continuing, we do hereby strictly direct you to be always on your guard, and to keep a good watch, and that you keep all your men as near home as possible. [Sidenote: Bellicose instructions from the Company.] "We do also direct that you fix your cannon in the most proper places to defend yourselves and annoy an enemy, after which you are to fire each cannon once with powder to see how they prove, and instruct your men to the use of them without firing; and that you keep them constantly loaded with powder and ball, ready for service. You are also to keep your small arms loaded and in good order and at hand, to be easily come at; and that those loaded arms be drawn or discharged once a month, and be well cleaned; and you are to exercise your men once a week till they are well disciplined and afterwards once a month. And you are also to keep a sufficient number of your trading guns loaded and at hand in case of an attack; and if there be any Indians that you can confide in, and will be of service in your defence, we recommend it to you to employ them in such manner as you think proper. "We have wrote to the factory at Moose River, that in case they have any intelligence of the French coming down that river to attack them, they are immediately to send you notice thereof, that you may make the necessary preparations for your defence, and that there be a constant correspondence and intelligence between each factory for the safety of both. "As we rely on the courage and conduct of Mr. Isbister, our chief, in case of an attack from the enemy, which, if done at all on your factory, we apprehend it will be by land in the winter, from Canada; in which case the enemy not being able to bring down any cannon with them, we doubt not of your frustrating their designs and repulsing them. "In case you are attacked at Henly House, and notwithstanding a vigorous resistance you should have the misfortune to be overpowered, then you are to nail up the cannon, blow up the House, and destroy everything that can be of service to the enemy, and make the best retreat you can to the factory." The letters to the other Governors were in similar strain. The Company directed Isbister to get "the best information you can from the trading Indians, whether the French are making any preparations to come down to the factory, or have lodged any provisions, stores or ammunition at certain distances from their supply. We also direct you, for your better security, at all times to keep two Indians in the factory with civil and kind usage, and send them out every morning for intelligence, to a proper distance, so that they may return in the evening; and provided that they do not return that it be an alarm to you, and that you thereupon prepare yourselves for a vigorous defence. But," it was added, "you must not, upon any consideration, let those Indians have the least knowledge of the use you intend to make of their not returning." [Sidenote: Letters of marque to the Company's ships.] At the Company's urgent request letters of marque were granted to the _Prince Rupert_ against both France and Spain. The _Prince Rupert_ was one hundred and eighty tons burthen, and the crews were full of expectation that the voyage would yield them a prize of some sort or another. But they were destined not merely to be disappointed, but to be given a great fright into the bargain. When in the neighbourhood of Davis' Straits, where a whale fishery was established, several large vessels were sighted. They seemed to the Company's captain undoubtedly French men-of-war. Filled with fear, he immediately turned round in his tracks and bore away as fast as his sails could carry him, and after beating about for a time managed to pass through the straits unobserved. So convinced were the Company on the return of its ship in the autumn that the French were lying in wait for its ships at the straits, they sought the Admiralty with a request for a convoy to York Fort, to return with its vessels the following autumn. A convoy was granted, but it was hardly necessary. Louisburg had fallen, and all the strength the French could muster was being directed in an attempt to win back that fortress from the English. No French ships could therefore be spared to cruise north of latitude fifty in North America. [Sidenote: Confiscation of Prince Charlie's stock.] One consequence of the war with France was a revival of the hopes of the Jacobites. In 1744 Charles Edward, the grandson of James II., was placed by Lewis in command of "a formidable armament," and in the following year the young Pretender placed his foot on a little island of the Hebrides, where for three weeks he stood almost alone. But the Highland blood was fired; the clans rallied to the standard of "Prince Charlie," and when he began his march on Edinburgh, several thousand Scottish zealots had rallied to his standard. "James the Eighth" was proclaimed at the Town Cross of the capital, and when his troops and the English regiments met at Preston Pans, in September, the latter were defeated with heavy loss. But although this victory swelled his numbers it did not bring the Lowlanders and English to fight for him. "Hardly a man," we are told, "had risen in his support as he passed through the districts where Jacobitism boasted of its strength. The people flocked to see his march as if it had been a show. Catholics and Tories abounded in Lancashire, but only a single squire took up arms." The knell of Jacobitism was rung, and after a brief success the English forces fell upon Prince Charles Edward at Culloden Moor, and cut his little army to pieces. Fifty of his followers and adherents in England ascended the scaffold; Lords Lovat, Balmerino and Kilmarnock were beheaded, and over forty noblemen and gentlemen were attainted by Act of Parliament. Scarcely a month had elapsed from Charles Edward's escape to France after his romantic adventures, when a motion was submitted to the Governor and Company of Adventurers in England trading into Hudson's Bay, ordering the confiscation of the stock held by the heir of the second Governor of the Company, King James II. The exiled monarch had never relinquished his share, and under the name of "John Stanion" the dividends had always reached him. But the Jacobite rising affected his fellow-adventurers' complaisance, and by 1746 "John Stanion" had ceased to figure as an active partner of the Company.[60] Under date of 3rd of May, 1745, the Company wrote to Governor Isbister and Council, at Albany Fort, to say that they had "augmented the complement of men (as you desired) at your Factory and Moose Fort, that in case of need you may assist each other, and thereby we hope you will be enabled to baffle the designs of the enemy. "We do direct," it pursued, "that not only a continual correspondence be kept between you and Moose Fort, but that you correspond with the Factory at Slude River, York Fort, and Prince of Wales' Fort as often as you can, and if under any apprehensions of an attack, to give immediate notice to Moose Fort. We still recommend your diligence in getting intelligence and information of the designs of the French." [Sidenote: Further instructions to Company's officials.] It also urged Governor Pilgrim and Council, at Prince of Wales' Fort, "to keep a good watch, and your men near home, except those that are guarding the battery at Cape Merry, but not to hinder a proper number to be employed in providing a sufficient quantity of the country provisions to prevent the complaint of those persons that murmur for want of victuals; and we recommend sobriety, that you may be capable of making a vigorous defence if attacked. "We again recommend your keeping the land, round the Fort and the Battery at Cape Merry, free from everything that may possibly conceal or shelter an enemy, that you may thereby prevent being surprised. "We again direct that you keep up a general correspondence with all the Factories, and get what intelligence you can of the designs of the French." [Illustration: PLANS OF YORK AND PRINCE OF WALES' FORTS.] The course of events now bids us return to Dobbs and the renewed endeavours to find a north-west passage through the Company's territory. A number of public-spirited persons came forward for the prosecution of the design. Parliament was urged to act in the matter, and a bill was carried, offering a reward of twenty thousand pounds for the discovery of the north-west passage. [Sidenote: Parliament and the North-West passage.] "Whereas," ran the Act, "the discovering of a north-west passage through Hudson's Straits, to the Western American Ocean, will be of great Benefit and advantage to the trade of this Kingdom; and whereas it will be a great encouragement to Adventurers to attempt the same, if a public reward was given to such person or persons as shall make a perfect discovery of the said passage: May it therefore please your Majesty that it may be enacted; and be it enacted by the King's Most Excellent Majesty by and with the advice and consent of the Lords Spiritual and Temporal, and Commons in this present Parliament assembled, and by the authority of the same, that if any ship or vessel, ships or vessels belonging to any of his Majesty's subjects, shall find out and sail through any passage by sea between Hudson's Bay and the Western and Southern Ocean of America, the owner or owners of such ship or ships, vessel or vessels as aforesaid, so first finding out and sailing through the said passage, his or their executors, administrators or assigns shall be entitled to receive and shall receive as a reward for such discovery, the sum of twenty thousand pounds." Parliament took care, however, to declare that nothing in the Act should "in any ways extend or be construed to take away or prejudice any of the estates, rights or privileges of or belonging to the Governor and Company of Adventurers trading into Hudson's Bay." With such encouragement, it was not long before a North-West Association was formed for the raising of £10,000, which sum it was thought would answer the necessary expense of the proposed expedition. The ships bought by the Committee were one of one hundred and eighty tons, called the _Dobbs' Galley_, and another of one hundred and forty tons, to which the name of the _California_ was given. Each of these vessels was got ready, and a sufficient quantity of stores and provisions put on board. A cargo of merchandise, suitable for presents to the natives was put on board, after assurance to the Hudson's Bay Company that these would not be used for purpose of barter. The command of the _Dobbs' Galley_ was entrusted to Captain William Moor, an old servant of the Company; that of the _California_ being given to Francis Smith. By way of encouragement, premiums were settled on officers and crew, in case of success. Thus the captain was to have £500, each of the mates £200, and every other officer and seaman a reward suitable to his station. Over and above all this, in case they were so fortunate as to take any prizes, such were to belong entirely to them. [Sidenote: Expedition of the North-West Association.] On the 10th of May the expedition started. In order that they might get safely beyond the British Isles without danger from the French privateersmen, the Admiralty appointed a convoy to meet them at the Island of Pomona, in the Orkneys. Judge of their surprise to find this convoy commanded by Captain Middleton himself, on board the _Shark_. Some days later the explorer of 1742 and the explorers of 1746 bade farewell to one another. For some months the ships cruised about the Bay. At last, in September, it was decided to set about preparations for wintering in some part of Hays' River. This they found in a creek about five miles above York Factory, on the south side of the stream. The locality was, perhaps, hardly congenial in a social sense. [Sidenote: Governor Norton.] "The Governor," says one who accompanied the expedition as the agent of the patrons,[61] "being now convinced of our intentions to winter there, used his utmost endeavours that we might lay our ships below the fort, in a place open to the sea, where they would have been in all probability beat to pieces, either from the waves of the sea setting in or the breaking of the ice; but as his arguments were of no efficacy in persuading us, and finding himself disappointed in this, as in his former scheme, being still resolved to distress us as much as possible, he sent most of the Indians, whose chief employment is to kill deer, geese, etc., into the country, on purpose that we might not make use of them in that way, or be in any wise benefited by their means." [Illustration: CONTEMPORARY MAP SHOWING THE HAYS' RIVER.] The charge that Governor Norton desired the destruction of the ships is too absurd to refute at this late day; nevertheless there is little doubt that the explorers believed it, and anything else their inflamed imaginations and prejudices against the Company suggested. Even when Norton designed to show them kindness, the design was twisted into one of sinister shape. For instance, hearing that their supply of liquor was short, when Christmas came around, he sent as a present to the explorers, at the little log-house they had christened Montague House, a couple of casks of brandy with which to make good cheer. Soon afterwards scurvy broke out, and the disease was set down immediately to the brandy. "Our people had been healthy enough before," says Ellis. But even when the scurvy had carried off several of the men at Montague House, Governor Norton was alleged to have refused both to succour or to suggest a remedy. "The Indians were charged not to come near us, or to furnish us with anything (and this out of consideration for them), because we had a contagious distemper amongst us." Norton's sole view in all his actions is represented to have been to hinder and distress the explorers, "which," remarks the writer quoted, philosophically, "is the encouragement that all are to expect who go in search of a north-west passage _from such neighbours_." When spring came the expedition resumed its labours. It is said the crews were full of alacrity and cheerfulness. One honest seaman, "whose sole delight was a delicious dram," was so enthusiastic over the discovery that "in the warm sincerity of his heart he could not help saying, with a good, round oath, 'Now, I had rather find the north-west passage than half an anchor of brandy!'" [Sidenote: Return of the expedition to England.] The summer was spent in coasting the whole north-west side of the Bay. But, alas, the north-west passage so ardently and characteristically desired by the "honest sea-man," was not found, and by the 14th of October the expedition was back again in England, after an absence of one year four months and seventeen days. The explorers and the patrons might well have been discouraged from further attempts, albeit they returned, we are told, "with clearer and fuller proofs, founded on plain facts and accurate experiments, that such a passage existed." Nevertheless, if the Company breathed easier on their return, it was a temporary relief. A new trial was in store for the Honourable Adventurers. In 1748, war still continuing with France and Spain, the Company again issued strict orders to Governor Spence at Albany Fort to be always on his guard, and "to keep a good watch and your men near home, but not to hinder a proper number to be employed in providing a sufficient quantity of the country provisions, particularly geese, which we find you constantly employ the Indians only to kill for you, and which we are dissatisfied with; that being such a material article, you ought always to blend some of your people with the natives in the goose seasons, that they may understand how to kill them, and thereby lessen your dependence on the native hunters." To the Governor of Prince of Wales' Fort it directed that he should "constantly keep his great guns loaded with powder and ball ready for service during the time the rivers are open. You are also to keep your small arms loaded and in good order, and at hand, to be easily come at, which loaded arms and cannon are to be drawn once a month and well cleaned, and to exercise your men as often as requisite, whom we expect by this time are artists, not only in the use of small arms but also of cannon, that the great expense we have been at in this particular may answer the end proposed thereby in case of an attack. You are also to keep a sufficient number of your trading guns loaded and at hand, which charges are also to be drawn every month, and if there be any Indians you can confide in, and will be of service to you in your defence, we recommend it to you to employ them in such manner as you think proper." Certainly if a French commander of even Iberville's power had appeared before the forts of the Company in 1748 he would have met with a far different reception to that which was offered to that champion in 1697. The Company suffered much from the press-gangs, from time to time, and in eras of war the evil was almost intolerable. It was well-known that the sailors in its employ were amongst the ablest and hardiest on the high seas, which fact exposed them perpetually to the onslaughts of the crimps and bullies. In 1739 the Company's vessel, the _Seahorse_, was intercepted by the man-of-war _Warwick_, and seventeen men of the _Seahorse_ crew captured by the press-gang for services in the navy. That the _Seahorse_ might not be totally without servants, a number of incompetent landsmen were put aboard in their stead. Nevertheless, the voyage was continued to the Bay, although not without great peril, not arriving until 27th of September. The voyage of the disabled _Seahorse_ was long a tradition in the Company's service. [Sidenote: Dobb's petition rejected by a Parliamentary committee.] By an Order-in-Council dated the 4th of February, 1748, a petition from Arthur Dobbs and members of a committee appointed by the subscribers for finding out a passage to the Western and Southern Ocean of America, "was referred to the consideration of a committee of Parliament." After hearing counsel for and against the Company, this committee of two members decided that "considering how long the Company have enjoyed and acted under this charter without interruption or encroachment, we cannot think it advisable for his Majesty to make any express or implied declaration against the validity of it till there has been some judgment of a court of justice to warrant it." Dobbs and his friends were enraged at this decision, and lost no time in taking other steps. FOOTNOTES: [60] The name of John Stanion certainly appears in the list of proprietors of Hudson's Bay stock, published in 1749, but it is followed by the significant term _deceased_. [61] Henry Ellis. CHAPTER XXIII. 1748-1760. Parliamentary Committee of Enquiry Appointed -- Aim of the Malcontents -- Lord Strange's Report -- Testimony of Witnesses -- French Competition -- Lords of Plantations desire to Ascertain Limits of Company's Territory -- Defeat of the Labrador Company -- Wolfe's Victory -- "Locked up in the Strong Box" -- Company's Forts -- Clandestine Trade -- Case of Captain Coats. [Sidenote: Parliamentary enquiry.] "Mr. Sharpe, the Company's solicitor," we read in the Company's minute-books, under date of March 10th, 1748, "attending the Committee acquainted them that a motion was yesterday made and carried in the House of Commons to enquire into the state and condition of the countries and trade of Hudson's Bay, and also the right the Company pretend to have by charter to the property of the land, and exclusive trade to those countries, and that a committee was appointed accordingly." The Adventurers were not caught entirely unawares. They had expected some such move on the part of their opponents, and now determined that since they could not ward off the enquiry, they would take the best means to present the most favourable statement of the Company's case to the nation. A ransacking of books and records ensued; and a rigorous search after facts bearing on the beneficent character of the Company's rule and policy; and these proofs being at length ready, were placed by the following December in the form of a memorial in the hands of every member of the House of Commons. The enquiry aroused the greatest national interest. It began soon after Christmas, 1748, and lasted for two months. [Sidenote: Plea of the malcontents.] What the malcontents desired is, perhaps, best explained in the words of their prime mover: "By opening," said he, "the trade in the Bay, many thousands more would be employed in trade, and a much greater vent would be opened for our manufactures. Whereas all the gain we have at present, whilst the trade is confined to the Company, is the employment of one hundred and twenty men in all their factories, and two or three ships in that trade, manned with perhaps one hundred and twenty men in time of war, to enrich nine or ten[62] merchants at their country's expense; at the same time betraying the nation, by allowing the French to encroach upon us at the bottom of the Bay, having given up by that means the greatest part of their trade there to the French. It is, therefore, humbly submitted to the Government, whether it is not just, as well as prudent, to open that trade to all the British merchants, and resume at the same time the charter, so far as to take from them all those lands they have not reclaimed or occupied after seventy years possession, leaving them only their factories, and such lands as they have reclaimed adjoining to them; and to give grants as usual in other colonies to all who shall go over to trade and make settlements in the country; for no grants were ever intended to be made to them, to enable them to prevent other subjects of Britain from planting colonies in those countries, which they themselves would not plant or occupy; for such a power, instead of being beneficial, would be the greatest prejudice to Britain, and is become a general law in the colonies, that those who take grants of land and don't plant them in a reasonable, limited time, forfeit their rights to those lands, and a new grant is made out to such others as shall plant and improve them; and if this grant be not immediately resumed so far and the trade laid open, and some force be not sent to secure our southern possessions in the Bay by the Government in case there should be a French war, we shall see the French immediately dispossess the Company of all their factories but Churchill, and all these countries and that trade will be in the possession of the French." So ran the argument of the Company's enemies. On the 24th of April, 1749, Lord Strange presented, on behalf of the Select Committee, the report to Parliament. "The Committee," said he, "appointed to enquire into the state and condition of the countries adjoining to Hudson's Bay and the trade carried on there; and to consider how those countries may be settled and improved, and the trade and fisheries there extended and increased; and also to enquire into the right the Company of Adventurers trading into Hudson's Bay pretend to have, by charter, to the property of lands and exclusive trade to those countries; have pursuant to the order of the House, examined into the several matters to them referred. "Your Committee thought proper, in the first place, to enquire into the nature and extent of the charter granted by King Charles the Second, to the Company of Adventurers trading into Hudson's Bay; under which charter the present Company claim as right to lands and an exclusive trade to those countries; which charter being laid before your Committee, they thought it necessary for the information of the House to annex a copy thereof to this report." The charter, published now for the first time, was deemed to be valid. [Sidenote: Witnesses called by the committee.] The Committee had examined the witnesses in the case. These witnesses were: Joseph Robson, who had been employed in the Bay for six years as a stonemason; Richard White, who had been a clerk at Albany Fort and elsewhere; Matthew Sargeant, who had been employed in the Company's service and "understood the Indian language"; John Hayter, who had been house carpenter to the Company for six years at Moose River; Matthew Gwynne, who had been twice at Hudson's Bay; Edward Thompson, who had been three years at Moose River as surgeon; Enoch Alsop, who had been armourer to the Company at Moose River; Christopher Bannister, who had been armourer and gunsmith, and had resided in the Bay for twenty-two years; Robert Griffin, silversmith, who had been five years in the Company's service; Thomas Barnet Smith, who went over to Albany in 1741; Alexander Brown, who had been six years at Hudson's Bay as surgeon; Captain Thomas Mitchell, who had commanded a sloop of the Company. Besides the above witnesses there was, of course, Dobbs himself, who was "examined as to the information he had received from a French-Canadese Indian (since deceased) who was maintained at the expense of the Admiralty, on the prospect of his being of service on the discovery of a north-west passage." Dobbs "informed your Committee that the whole of that discourse is contained in part of a book printed for the witness in 1744, to which he desired leave to refer."[63] There also appeared Captain William Moor, who had been employed in Hudson's Bay from a boy; Henry Spurling, merchant, who had traded in furs for twenty-eight years past, during which time he had dealt with the Hudson's Bay Company; Captain Carruthers, who had been in the Company's service thirty-five years ago; and Arthur Slater, who had been employed by the Company on the East Main. The opposition endeavoured to show that one object aimed at in granting a charter to the Hudson's Bay Company was to further the discovery of the north-west passage. This of course was absurd. It was charged that they had done almost nothing in this direction, which the Adventurers on their part rebutted by furnishing Parliament with a list of the ships they had fitted out for such a discovery. In the evidence before the Committee, it became clear that the witnesses were not unanimous, especially concerning the probability of finding a north-west passage. [Sidenote: Evidence as to a north-west passage.] The evidence of Edward Thompson, the ship surgeon on the _Furnace_, for example, states that he has the "greatest reason to believe there is one, from the winds, tides and black whales; and he thinks the place to be at Chesterfield Inlet; that the reason of their coming back was they met the other boat which had been five leagues farther, and the crew told them the water was much fresher and shallower there, but where he was the water was fifty fathoms deep, and the tide very strong; the ebb six hours and the flood two, to the best of his remembrance; that it is not common for the tide to flow only two hours." He imagined it to be obstructed by another tide from the westward. The rapidity of the tide upwards was so great that the spray of the water flew over the bow of the schooner, and was "so salt that it candied on the men's shoes, but the tide did not run in so rapid a manner the other way." Captain William Moor, being asked if he believed there was a north-west passage to the South Seas, said he believed there was a communication, but "whether navigable or not he cannot say; that if there is any such communication, 'tis farther northward than he expected; that if it is but short, as 'tis but probable to conclude from the height of the tides, 'tis possible it might be navigable. It was the opinion of all the persons sent on that discovery that a north-west wind made the highest tides." According to Captain Carruthers, "he don't apprehend there is any such passage; but if there is, he thinks it impracticable to navigate it on account of the ice; that he would rather choose to go round by Cape Horn; and that it will be impossible to go and return through such passage in one year; and he thinks 'tis the general opinion of seamen, that there is no such passage." In which opinion the seamen were in the right, although Dobbs and his friends were long to hold the contrary. John Tomlinson, a London merchant, testified that he was a subscriber to "the undertaking for finding a north-west passage, which undertaking was dropped for want of money; that he should not choose to subscribe again on the same terms; that he can not pretend to say whether there is such a passage or not, or whether, if found, it could ever be rendered useful to navigation." It was only to be expected that the merchants, having no share in the Company's profits, should be, to a man, in favour of throwing open the trade of Hudson's Bay. Tomlinson, for example, gave it out as his opinion that if the charter were revoked more ships would be sent and more Indians brought down to trade. "This is confirmed," said he, "by the experience of the Guinea trade, which, when confined to a company, employed not above ten ships, and now employs one hundred and fifty." He moreover asserted that "the case of the Guinea trade was exactly similar, where the ships are near one another, and each endeavours to get the trade; and the more ships lie there the higher the prices of negroes." [Sidenote: The Company's profits.] The Company was obliged, in the course of this enquiry, to divulge a number of facts relating to its trade, which had until then remained secret. Parliament was informed that the trade between London and Hudson's Bay was carried on in 1748, and for some years previous, by means of four ships; that the cost of the exports was in that year £5,012 12s. 3d.; that the value of the sales of furs and other imports amounted to £30,160 5s. 11d. As for the "charge attending the carrying on of the Hudson's Bay trade, and maintaining their factories," it was, in 1748, £17,352 4s. 10d. Thus a trade which involved only £5,000 a year in exports brought back a return of £30,000. Even when the outlay for working and maintenance of forts and establishments was considered, there was, in dull times, a profit of forty per cent on actual paid-up capital. With regard to French competition, many of the witnesses were most emphatic. Robson, for instance, "thought that the beavers which are brought down to the Company are refused by the French from their being a heavy commodity; for the natives who come to trade with the Company dispose of their small, valuable furs to the French, and bring down their heavy goods to the Company in summer when the rivers are open, which they sell, and supply the French with European goods purchased from the Company." "The French," said Richard White, another witness, "intercept the Indians coming down with their trade," he having seen them with guns and clothing of French manufacture; and further an Indian had told him that there was a French settlement up Moose River, something to the southward of the west, at the distance, as the witness apprehended, of about fifty miles. "The French deal in light furs, and take all of that sort they can get, and the Indians bring the heavy to us. Sometimes the Indians bring down martens' skins, but that is when they don't meet with the French; but never knew any Indians who had met the French bring down light furs. The French settlement on Moose River is at Abbitibi Lake. The trade," concluded the witness, "might be further extended by sending up Europeans to winter amongst the natives, which, though the Company have not lately attempted, the French actually do." "The French," said another, "intercept the trade; to prevent which the Company some time ago built Henley House,[64] which did, in some measure, answer the purpose: but if they would build farther in the country it would have a better effect. The French went there first, and are better beloved; but if we would go up into the country the French Indians would trade with us." [Sidenote: French encroachment on trade.] Another of the witnesses testified that he "has been informed by the Indians that the French-Canadese Indians come within six score miles of the English factories. The French Indians come to Albany to trade for their heavy goods." He said he had heard Governor Norton say that the "French ran away with our trade." "If," continued this witness, Alexander Brown, "the trade was opened, the French would not intercept the Indians, since in that case the separate traders must have out-factories in the same manner the French have, which the Company have not." Upon being asked by Lord Strange if "in case those out-settlements were erected, whether the same trade could be carried on at the present settlements?" the witness replied that "it would be impossible, but that the trade would be extended, and by that means they would take it from the French. That if these settlements were near the French, they must have garrisons to secure them against the French, and the Indians who trade with and are in friendship with them (whom he distinguished by the name of French Indians)." Brown quoted Norton as saying, in the year 1739, "that the French had a settlement at about the distance of one hundred or six score miles from Churchill, which had been built about a year, and contained sixty men with small arms." The result of the deliberations of the Committee of Enquiry was, on the whole, favourable to the Company. The charter was pronounced unassailable, and the Company had made out a good case against its enemies. It had certainly permitted the encroachments of the French. But the English Government of the day foresaw that French possession of Canada was doomed, and the Company could make ample amends when the British flag was unfurled at Quebec and at Montreal. The Company having come out of the ordeal unharmed,[65] the Lords of Trade and Plantations thought it might as well settle in its own mind the precise territory claimed by the Company under its charter. The Company, on its part, was not forgetful that the French Government had not yet paid its little bill, which having been running for over sixty years, had now assumed comparatively gigantic proportions. [Sidenote: The Government asks the Company to define its territory.] Accordingly the Lords of Trade and Plantations, on the 25th of July, 1750, addressed a letter to the Company, representing that "as it was for the benefit of the plantations that the limits or boundaries of the British Colonies on the Continent of America should be distinctly known, more particularly as they border on the settlements made by the French, or any foreign nation in America, their Lordships desired as exact an account as possible of the limits and boundaries of the territory granted to the Company, together with a chart or map thereof, and all the best accounts and vouchers they can obtain to support the same, and particularly, if any, or what settlements have been made by the English on the frontiers towards the lakes, and if any, or what encroachments have been made, and at what period, and to be exact in stating every particular in the history of whatever encroachments have been made, which may serve to place the proceedings in a true light, and confute any right which may at any time be founded upon them." [Sidenote: Company's reply.] The Company replied, among other things, that the said Straits and Bays "are now so well known, that it is apprehended they stand in no need of any particular description than by the chart or map herewith delivered; and the limits or boundaries of the lands and countries lying round the same, comprised, as your memorialists conceive, in the same grant, are as follows, that is to say: all the lands lying on the east side or coast of the said Bay, and extending from the Bay eastward to the Atlantic Ocean and Davis' Strait, and the line hereafter mentioned as the east and south-eastern boundaries of the said Company's territories; and towards the north, all the lands that lie at the north end, or on the north side or coast of the said Bay, and extending from the Bay northwards to the utmost limits of the lands; then towards the North Pole; but where or how these lands terminate is hitherto unknown. And towards the west, all the lands that lie on the west side or coast of the said Bay, and extending from the said Bay westward to the utmost limits of those lands; but where or how these lands terminate to the westward is also unknown, though probably it will be found they terminate on the Great South Sea, and towards the south," they propose the line already set out by them, before and soon after the Treaty of Utrecht, stating that the Commissioners under that treaty were never able to bring the settlement of the said limits to a final conclusion; but they urged that the limits of the territories granted to them, and of the places appertaining to the French, should be settled upon the footing above mentioned. The Treaty of Utrecht stipulated that the French King should restore to Great Britain in full right forever, Hudson's Bay, the Straits, and all lands, rivers, coasts, etc., there situate. Further, that the Hudson's Bay Company be repaid their losses by French hostile incursions and depredations in time of peace. The Hudson's Bay Company now went farther and asked the Government to insist that no French vessel should be allowed to pass to the north or north-west of a line drawn from Grimington's Island and Cape Perdrix. One of the most feasible plans of the Company's foes seemed to be to get hold of some adjacent territory, and from that vantage ground gradually encroach on the chartered preserves. Such seems to have been the scheme in July, 1752, when a petition was presented to the Lords of Trade and Plantations, from "several London Merchants," who sought a grant of "all that part of America lying on the Atlantic Ocean on the east part, extending south and north from 52° north latitude from the equinoctial line to 60° of the same north latitude, called Labradore or New Britain, not at this time possessed by any of his Majesty's subjects or the subjects of any Christian prince or state." On the receipt of this petition by the Government, the Hudson's Bay Company was called upon to say whether it laid claim to this tract. In their reply the Honourable Adventurers referred to the grant of Charles II. of all rights to trade and commerce of those seas, etc., within entrance of Hudson's Straits, and of all lands on the coasts and confines thereof; Labrador throughout its whole extent, from 60° north latitude to 52°, was therefore alleged to be within their limits. The Company was already settled there, and had spent £10,000 on it. Moreover, declared the Company, it was a barren land, with few beavers or other furs of value. The Company suggested that the "London Merchants'" aim was to gain a footing and draw off the Hudson's Bay Company's trade, which it hoped would not be permitted. This hope of the Adventurers was realized, for the petition of the London Merchants was not allowed.[66] France's fatal hour with respect to her sovereignty over Canada rapidly approached. In December, 1759, the Company wrote as follows to the Lords of Plantations:-- In prospect of an approaching Treaty of Peace between this nation and France, and in the hope that the great success his Majesty's arms have been blessed with, and the many acquisitions that have been thereby gained from the enemy, will enable his Majesty to secure to your memorialists satisfaction for the injuries and depredations they have long since suffered from the French, which stands acknowledged by treaty and are stipulated to be made satisfaction for, but through the perfidy of the enemy, and in disregard of the treaty have hitherto remained unsatisfy'd; in which the honour of the nation as well as justice to the individuals, loudly call for redress. Halifax and Soame Jenyns thereupon wrote to Pitt in these words: Sir,--The Governor and Company of Merchants trading to Hudson's Bay having presented a memorial to us, stating their claims with respect to limits and other matters provided for by the Treaty of Utrecht, and praying that in case of a peace with France, his Majesty would be graciously pleased to cause satisfaction to be made to them with respect to such claims, pursuant to the stipulations of the tenth and eleventh articles of the said treaty; we beg leave to transmit to you the enclosed copy of the said memorial for his Majesty's directions thereupon. [Sidenote: Conquest of Canada.] While England went mad with joy over Wolfe's victory at Quebec, the Company thought the time had, at last, come when the indemnity it claimed so long should be exacted in the treaty of peace which could not be long delayed. But its sanguine expectations were not destined to be realized. In vain did the Governor wait at the door of Mr. Secretary Pitts; in vain did Lord Halifax assure the Company's secretary that he would make it his own personal business to have the affair attended to. It was too late in the day.[67] With reason might the Company's zealous secretary trace in the minutes: "Locked up this day (November 22nd, 1759), in the Great Iron Chest, a Book containing estimates of the Company's losses sustained from the French, from 1682 to 1688." The "Great Iron Chest" was to hold the book for many a day, and though the Company evinced a never-failing alacrity to produce it, yet never was there to be inscribed the words "settled with thanks," at the foot of this "little bill against the French." We have already been made familiar with the character of the Company's forts in the Bay so late as the reign of Queen Anne. There had been almost from the beginning a party amongst the Honourable Adventurers favourable to the erection of strong forts, not built of logs with bastions of stone, but of stone throughout, from the designs of competent engineers. A few years after the Company had regained possession of York Factory, it built (1718) a wooden fort at Churchill River, to which was given the name of Prince of Wales. In 1730 it constructed another at Moose River; and about the same time a small post, capable of containing eight or ten men at Slude River, on the East Main. In 1720 Henley House, one hundred and fifty miles up Albany River, was built to contain a garrison of eight men, as a check to the Indians who carried on a trade with the French. [Sidenote: Building of stone forts.] But the wooden fort Prince of Wales did not remain long. The remembrance of their former posts destroyed by fire, and Iberville's cannon, caused the Company at length to undertake the fortification on a splendid scale of its best harbour, to safeguard what it designed to be its principal _entrepôt_ from the French, as well as from the Indians. Opposition was cried down, and the "fortification party," as it was called, carried the day. A massive thirty-feet wide foundation was begun at Churchill, from the plans of military engineers who had served under Marlborough, and, after many vicissitudes, in 1734 Fort Prince of Wales, one of the strongest forts on the continent, was reared at the mouth of Churchill River. [Illustration: FORT PRINCE OF WALES.] It was the original intention to have the walls forty-two feet thick at their foundation, but on account of the Governor's interference the dimensions were reduced to twenty-five. It was afterwards found, however, that there was a tendency to sink when cannon were fired frequently from the walls, so one section was forthwith pulled down and rebuilt according to original plans. Three of the bastions had arches for storehouses, forty feet three inches by ten feet, and in the fourth was built a stone magazine twenty-four feet long and ten feet wide in the clear, with a passage to it through the gorge of the bastion twenty-four feet long and four feet wide. The parapets were originally constructed of wood, supplied by denuding the old fort, situated five miles up the Churchill River, the site of which was first occupied in 1688; but in 1746 the Company began erecting a stone parapet. Robson's plan shows that two houses, a dwelling and office building, were erected inside the fort, and incidentally he describes one of the two as being one hundred and eighty-one feet six inches by thirty-three feet, with side walls seventeen feet high and the roof covered with lead. In 1730 Moose, a new fort, was erected on the site of Moose Factory. About the same time Richmond Fort was built on Whale River, but it did not continue a great many years. I find, under date of 21st December, 1758, that "the Governor represented to the Committee that Richmond Fort did not give a sufficient return to pay the most moderate charge of supporting it," and it was "resolved that the Company's servants and effects be withdrawn from there as soon as conveniently may be and replaced at such of the Company's other factories as shall be found needful." Further, it was "resolved that a factory with accommodation for twelve men, with all convenience for trading goods stores, and provisions, be built as early as possible in the year 1760, in the most convenient place for that purpose on the north side of Severn River and as high up as may be." At the same time it was ordered that the number of men for York Fort and the new settlement to be made on the Severn River should be forty-eight men. [Sidenote: Clandestine trade.] Clandestine trade was a constantly recurring feature of eighteenth century life in the Bay. Charges were repeatedly preferred against the Company's servants, and altogether scores were dismissed as a punishment for this offence. It must be confessed that there was often a temptation difficult to resist. Nothing seemed more natural for the poor apprentice to trade his jack-knife, Jew's-harp or silk kerchief with an Indian or Esquimau for a peltry; and the only reason, perhaps, why private bartering was not indulged in more generally was the certainty of detection. But with the Governors and traders and ship captains, risk was reduced to a minimum. One of the most unfortunate examples was the case of Captain Coats. This able mariner had been in the employ of the Company for a period of many years. None was superior to him in knowledge of the Bay and straits. Captain Coats had been twice shipwrecked, once in 1727, "when near the meridian of Cape Farewell, when running through the ice with a small sail, when two pieces of ice shutt upon us and sank our ship"; and again in 1736, when he was entangled in the ice off Cape Resolution, when his ship had her sides crushed in and sank in twenty minutes. Coats drew up a journal for the use of his sons, containing an elaborate description of the Bay and its approaches, together with a great deal of relative matter; and this journal, which has received the honour of publication by the Hakluyt Society, concludes by saying that if these sons are neglected by the Hudson's Bay Company they are at liberty, and "it is his will and command that every part be made publick, for the use and benefit of mankind." There is herein, it is almost needless to say, no mention of the captain's clandestine trading operations, which extended over a long series of years, and which might never have been made known to the Company had it not been for the sudden death of Pilgrim, who was formerly governor at Prince of Wales and Moose Fort. A number of private letters and papers reached England, incriminating Coats, but they never reached the public; nor in 1752, were the Hakluyt Society cognisant of the fate which overtook their author. "Of the writer," remarks Sir John Barrow, who edited the volume, "the editor can learn but little; nothing, in fact, is now known of Captain Coats, except that he was in the Company's service as commander of one or other of their ships from 1727 to 1751." He added that the memorial was believed to exist in the Company's archives. Under date of November 28th, 1751, I find the following: "The Governor having acquainted the Committee of this affair, and laid the letters and papers before them, they were fully examined and the contents thereof considered." Coats was then called in and told of the information they had received, and the cause they had to suspect that he had defrauded the Company by carrying on a clandestine trade greatly to their prejudice and contrary to the fidelity he owed the Company. [Sidenote: Case of Capt. Coats.] Coats at first endeavoured to excuse himself, but finding the proofs contained in the letter papers (many of which were in his own handwriting and signature) so strong in evidence against him, at last owned he was guilty of the offence he was accused of and submitted himself to the Company, and he was ordered to withdraw while his case was considered. At the expiration of two hours the culprit was called in and acquainted with his sentence, which was dismissal from the service. He was ordered to deliver up the keys of the _King George_, of which he was commander, together with the stores and the keys of such stores in the warehouse in his custody belonging to the Company. The disgraced captain went home, and after a miserable existence of some weeks, ended his life by his own hand. On the 20th of February, there is a letter to the Company from his widow, Mary Coats, which was read out to the Adventurers assembled. It prayed that the Committee would "indulge her so far as to order the balance that shall appear upon her late husband's account to be paid, and to permit her to have the stores brought home, still remaining in the _King George_; the profit of these, urged the widow, had always been enjoyed by every master in the Company's services." Moved by the appeal, Widow Coats was called in and informed that provided she delivered up to the Company all the books, papers, charts or drafts belonging to her late husband and now in her custody, she might expect to meet with the favour of the Company. "For which she returned thanks and promised to comply therewith." But the Hakluyt Society's publication of Coats' journal is sufficient to show that his widow did not keep to the strict letter of her word. FOOTNOTES: [62] The number of the Adventurers was, before the enquiry of 1749, a mystery. By many it was charged that they were not above a dozen or fifteen. [63] Dobbs's "Hudson's Bay," a hysterical work, which was throughout an attack on Captain Christopher Middleton. [64] 1720 [65] On June 28th, 1749, at a Company's meeting, an account was made of the cost of defending the Company's charter, upon the motion made in the House of Commons. It amounted in the whole to only £755 5s. 10d., exclusive of Sharpe, the Company solicitor's services. [66] In refusing to advise the granting of a charter to the Company's enemies, the Attorney-General, Sir Dudley Ryder, and the Solicitor-General, Sir William Murray--afterwards Lord Mansfield--drew up a lengthy and important paper, reviewing the charges against the Company. Their conclusion was that either the charges were "not sufficiently supported in point of fact, or were in great measure accounted for from the nature and circumstances of the case." They deemed the charter valid for all practical purposes. [67] "The Company being apprehensive that Mr. Secretary Pitts' indisposition should deprive them of an opportunity of conferring with him in due time, with respect to the Company's claim on the French nation for depredations in times of peace before the Treaty of Utrecht, resolved that a petition should be drawn up to his Majesty, humbly representing such losses and damages, reciting the tenth and eleventh article of the said treaty, and praying that his Majesty will give his plenipotentiaries at the approaching congress for a treaty of peace, such directions as will suffice for justice being done to the Company by compensation for such losses. Also that the boundaries of Hudson's Bay may be settled."--_Minute Book_, May 20th, 1761. CHAPTER XXIV. 1763-1770. Effect of the Conquest on the Fur-trade of the French -- Indians again Seek the Company's Factories -- Influx of Highlanders into Canada -- Alexander Henry -- Mystery Surrounding the _Albany_ Cleared Up -- Astronomers Visit Prince of Wales' Fort -- Strike of Sailors -- Seizure of Furs -- Measures to Discourage Clandestine Trade. [Sidenote: Effect of the Conquest.] The conquest of Canada by the English in 1760[68] had an almost instantaneous effect upon the fur-trade of the French. The system of licenses was swept away with the _régime_ of Intendants of New France. The posts which, established chiefly for purposes of trade, were yet military, came to be abandoned, and the officers who directed them turned their disconsolate faces towards France, or to other lands where the flag of the lily still waved. The English colonies were not devoid of diligent traders ready to pursue their calling advantageously: but they shrank from penetrating a country where the enemy might yet lurk, a country of whose approaches, and of whose aspect or inhabitants they knew nothing and feared everything. As for the Indians themselves, they, for a time, awaited patiently the advent of the French trader. Spring came and found them at the deserted posts. They sought but they could not find; "their braves called loudly, but the sighing trees alone answered their call." Despair at first filled the bosoms of the Red men when they found that all their winter's toil and hardships in the forest and over the trail had been in vain. They waited all summer, and then, as the white trader came not, wearily they took up their burdens and began their journey anew. For a wise Indian had appeared amongst them, and he had said: "Fools, why do you trust these white traders who come amongst you with beads, and fire-water and crucifixes? They are but as the crows that come and are gone. But there are traders on the banks of the great lake yonder who are never absent, neither in our time nor in the time of our grandfathers and great-grandfathers. They are like the rock which cannot be moved, and they give good goods and plenty, and always the same. If you are wise you will go hence and deal with them, and never trust more the traders who are like fleas and grasshoppers--here one minute and flown away the next." More than one factor of the Company heard and told of this oft-spoken harangue, and many there lived to testify to its effect upon the assembled Indians. Not even was it forgotten or disregarded years afterwards in the height of the prosperity of the Northmen, whose arts of suasion were exercised in vain to induce the Red man to forego his journey to York, Churchill or Cumberland. "No," they would say, "we trade with our friends, as our grandfathers did. Our fathers once waited for the French and Bostonians to come to their forts, and they lay down and died, and their squaws devoured them, waiting still. You are here to-day, but will you be here to-morrow? No, we are going to trade with the Company." And so they pressed on, resisting temptation, wayward, though loyal, enduring a long and rough journey that they might deal with their friends. [Sidenote: The "coureurs de bois."] Thus for some years the Company prospered, and did a more thriving business than ever. But before, however, dealing with the new _régime_, let us turn for a moment to the Canadian bushrangers and voyageurs thus cut off from their homes and abandoned by their officers and employers. Their occupation was gone--whither did they drift? Too long had they led the untrammelled life of the wilderness to adjust again the fetters of a civilized life in Montreal or Quebec; they were attached to their brave and careless masters; these in many instances they were permitted to follow; but large numbers dispersed themselves amongst the Indians. Without capital they could no longer follow the fur-trade; they were fond of hunting and fishing; and so by allying themselves with Indian wives, and by following the pursuits and adopting the customs of the Red men, themselves became virtually savages, completely severed from their white fellows. But an influx of Scotch Highlanders had been taking place in Canada ever since 1745, and some of these bold spirits were quick to see the advantages of prosecuting, without legal penalty, a private trade in furs. To these were added English soldiers, who were discharged at the peace, or had previously deserted. How many of these were slain by the aborigines, and never more heard of, can never be computed; but it is certain that many more embarked in the fur-trade and fell victims to the tomahawk, torch, hunger and disease than there is any record of. [Sidenote: Hostility of the Indians to the English.] It is certain, also, that the hostility of the tribes, chief amongst them the Iroquois, to the English, was very great, and this hostility was nourished for some years by the discontented bushrangers and voyageurs. In the action of Pontiac at Detroit, and the surprise and capture of Michilimackinac with its attendant horrors, there is ample proof, both of the spirit animating the Indians, and the danger which went hand in hand with the new trade in furs. [Illustration: A BLACKFOOT BRAVE. (_Drawn by Edmund Morris, after photo._)] The first of these English traders at Michilimackinac to penetrate into the west, where the French had gone, is said to be Thomas Curry. This man, having by shrewdness and ability procured sufficient capital for the purpose, engaged guides and interpreters, purchased a stock of goods and provisions, and with four canoes reached Fort Bourbon, which was situated at the western extremity of Cedar Lake, on the waters of the Saskatchewan. His venture was successful, and he returned to Montreal with his canoes loaded with fine furs. But he never expressed a desire to repeat the performance, although it was not long before his example was followed by many others. James Finlay was the first of these; he penetrated to Nipawee, the last of the French posts on the Saskatchewan, in latitude 53½, and longitude 103. This trader was equally successful. [Sidenote: Henry's expedition.] After a career of some years in the vicinity of Michilimackinac, of a general character, identical with that pursued a hundred years before by Groseilliers, another intrepid trader, Alexander Henry, decided to strike off into the North-West. He left "the Sault," as Sault Ste. Marie was called, on the 10th of June, 1775, with goods and provisions to the value of £3,000 sterling, on board twelve small canoes and four larger ones. Each small canoe was navigated by three men, and each larger one by four. On the 20th they encamped at the mouth of the Pijitic. It was by this river, he tells us, that the French ascended in 1750, when they plundered one of the Company's factories in the bay, and carried off the two small pieces of brass cannon, which fell again into English hands at Michilimackinac. But here Henry fell into error; for it was by the River Michipicoten that the French went, and the factory plundered of its adornments was Moose, not Churchill, and the year 1756, not 1750. Henry himself was going on a sort of plundering expedition against the Company, which was to be far more effective in setting an example to others, than any the French had yet carried through. Everywhere as he passed along there were evidences of the recent French occupation. To return to 1767, this year had witnessed a clearing up of the mystery surrounding the fate of the _Albany_, the first of the vessels sent by the Company to search for a north-west passage. [Illustration: ALEXANDER HENRY.] [Sidenote: Fate of the "Albany."] The Company was at that time carrying on a black whale fishery, and Marble Island was made the rendezvous, not merely on account of the commodious harbour, but because of the greater abundance of whales there. Under these circumstances the boats, when on the lookout for fish, had frequent occasion to row close to the island, which led to the discovery, at the easternmost extremity, of a new harbour.[69] Upon landing at this place, the crews made a startling discovery. They found English guns, anchors, cables, bricks, a smith's anvil, and many other articles lying on the ground, which, though they were very old, had not been defaced by the hand of time, and which having been apparently without use to the native Esquimaux, and too heavy to be removed by them, had not been removed from the spot where they had originally been laid a little farther inland. The whalers beheld the remains of a frame house,[70] which, though half destroyed by the Esquimaux for the wood and iron, yet could plainly be seen at a distance. Lastly, when the tide ebbed in the harbour there became visible the hulls of two craft, lying sunk in five fathoms of water. The figurehead of one of these vessels, together with the guns and other implements, was shortly afterwards carried to England. The hypothesis of Governor Norton was instantly and only too correctly espoused by the Company. On this inhospitable island, where neither stick nor stump was, nor is to be seen, and which lies sixteen miles from a mainland, no less inhospitable, perished Knight, Barlow, and the other members of the exploring expedition of 1719. Thus was a fate nearly half a century in the balance ascertained at last. Two years later some members of a whaling party landed at this same harbour, and one of their number, perceiving some aged Esquimaux, determined to question them on the matter. "This," says the narrator, "we were the better enabled to do by the assistance of an Esquimau, who was then in the Company's service as a linguist, and annually sailed in one of their vessels in that character. The account received from these aged natives was 'full, clear and unreserved,' and its purport was in this wise: "When the doomed vessels arrived at Marble Island, it was late in the autumn of 1719, and in making the harbour through the ice, the larger was considerably damaged. The party landed safely, however, and at once set about building the house. As soon as the ice permitted, in the following summer, the Esquimaux paid them a further visit, and observed that the white strangers were largely reduced in number and that the survivors were very unhealthy in appearance. According to the account given by these Esquimaux, these were very busily employed, but the nature of their employment they could not easily describe. It is probable they were lengthening the long-boat or repairing the ship, and to support this conjecture, forty-eight years later there lay, at a little distance from the house, a quantity of oak chips, 'most assuredly made by carpenters.'" Much havoc must have been thenceforward wrought among the explorers, who could not repair their ship, which even may by this time have been sunk; and by the second winter, only twenty souls out of fifty remained. [Sidenote: Wretched death of Knight and his men.] That same winter, some of the Esquimaux had taken up their abode on the opposite side of the harbour to the English, and frequently supplied them with such provisions as they had, which consisted chiefly of whale's blubber, seal's flesh and train oil. When the spring advanced, the natives crossed over to the mainland, and upon visiting Marble Island in the summer of 1721 found only five of the white men alive, and those in such distress that they instantly seized upon and devoured the seal's flesh and whale blubber, given them in trade by their visitors, in a raw state. This occasioned a severe physical disorder which destroyed three of the five; and the other two, though very weak made shift to bury their dead comrades. These two survivors eked out a wretched existence for many weeks, frequently resorting to the summit of an adjacent rock, in the vain hope of being seen by some relief party. But alas, they were doomed to a daily disappointment; the Esquimaux themselves had little to offer them; and at last they were seen by the wandering natives to crouch down close together and cry aloud like children, the tears rolling down their cheeks. First one of the pair died, and then the other, in an attempt to dig a grave for his fellow. The Esquimau who told the story, led the whalers to the spot and showed them the skulls and the larger bones of the luckless pair, then lying above ground not a great distance from the dwelling. It is believed that the last survivor must have been the armourer or smith of the expedition, because according to the account given by the aborigines, he was always employed in working iron into implements for them, some of which they could still show. There flourished in 1768 the body known as the "Royal Society for Improving Natural Knowledge." This society wrote to the Company, requesting that two persons might be conveyed to and from Fort Churchill in Hudson's Bay, in some of the Company's ships, "to observe the passage of Venus over the sun, which will happen on the 3rd of June, 1769." It was desired that these persons might be maintained by the Company, and furnished with all necessary articles while on board and on shore. The Company was asked to furnish them with materials and the assistance of servants to erect an observatory; the Society engaging to recoup the Company's whole charge, and desiring an estimate of the expense. [Sidenote: Astronomers at Hudson's Bay, 1769.] The Company expressed itself as "ready to convey the persons desired, with their baggage and instruments, to and from Fort Churchill, and to provide them with lodging and medicine while there, _gratis_, they to find their own bedding." The Company demanded £250 for diet during the absence of the astronomers from England, which would be about eighteen months. The Adventurers recommended the Society to send the intended building in frame, with all necessary implements, tools, etc., which "will be conveyed upon freight, the Royal Society likewise paying for any clothing that may be supplied the observers during their residence in Hudson's Bay." It is interesting to record that the expedition was entirely successful. The two astronomers went out to Prince of Wales' Fort, and returned in the _Prince Rupert_, after having witnessed the transit of Venus on the 3rd of June, 1769. Towards the middle of the century there had grown up a deep prejudice and opposition towards the Hudson's Bay Company from the sailors and watermen who frequented the Thames. It was alleged that the Company did nothing to make itself popular; its rules were strict and its wages to seamen were low, albeit it had never suffered very much from this prejudice until the return of the Middleton expedition. Many absurd stories became current as to the Company's policy and the life led by the servants at the factories. These travellers' tales had been thoroughly threshed out by the enquiry of 1749. The opponents of the Company had told their "shocking narratives." It was only natural, perhaps, that these should be passed about from mouth to mouth, and so become exaggerated beyond bounds. Upon the discharge and death of Captain Coats a demonstration against the Company had been talked of at Wapping and Gravesend, but nothing came of it but a few hootings and bawlings as the ships sailed away on their annual voyages to the Bay. By 1768, however, the dissatisfaction had spread to the Company's own seamen, and now took an active form. The time was well chosen by the malcontents, because the public were ready at that time to sympathize with the movement for the amelioration of the conditions which characterized the merchant service generally. [Sidenote: The Company's seamen strike.] A numerous body of seamen forcibly entered the Company's ships in the River Thames, demanding that wages should be raised to 40s. per month. They struck the topgallant masts and yards, and lowered the lower yards close down, and got them in fore and aft. The consequence was that the crews of the Company's ships and brigantine were compelled to quit their vessels. The moment the tidings of this reached the Governor and Company it was deemed advisable for the Deputy Governor, Thomas Berens and James Fitzgerald, Esquires, to "attend his Majesty's principal Secretaries of State, and such other gentlemen in the Administration as they shall find necessary, and represent the urgent situation of the Company's affairs in general." This was done forthwith, and the facts of the situation placed before Viscount Weymouth and Sir Edward Hawke First Lord of the Admiralty. Secretary of State Weymouth appeared well disposed to do all the service in his power to redress the present grievances; that a memorial should be presented on the Company's behalf. While the memorial was being drawn up, the three captains acquainted the Commissioners that under the present disturbances on the River Thames, they should not be able to secure the seamen they had already got, without allowing their sailors 40s. per month. It was then the 18th of May, and the Company considered that the lives of its servants abroad, and the event of the intended voyage, would not admit of delay. They therefore told their three captains, and the master of the _Charlotte_, brigantine, that they would allow the sailors 35s. per month from their respective entries to this day, inclusive, and 40s. per month from this day for their voyage out and home. Hardly had this been done than a letter was received expressing Lord Weymouth's great concern on being informed that the Company's ships had been prevented from sailing until a promise was made to raise the seamen's wages, and that some acts of violence had been committed to effect their purpose. From the strong assurance his Lordship had received that there was no danger of any obstacle to delay the voyages, he was almost ready to doubt the rumour. Berens called on Weymouth and informed him that the Company's critical situation had already obliged the Company to acquiesce in the demand of 40s. per month for the seamen's wages. No acts of violence were committed on board the Company's ship, other than that the crews were daily forced against their inclination to join the rioters. The ships were at length got down to Greenwich and proceeded on their voyage with despatch. But the Company was not yet out of the wood. Clandestine trade was to be again its bogey. The disaffection had been temporarily arrested amongst the sailors: but they were hardly prepared to learn that it extended to the captains themselves, who had, however, the best of reasons for concealing their feelings. When the ships came home in the following year the Company received information that a seizure of furs and other valuable goods brought from Hudson's Bay had been made since the arrival of the Company's ships that season. Communication was entered into with the Commissioners of Customs requesting a particular account of such seizures either from the Company's ships or other places, "in order that the Commissioners may pursue an enquiry for detecting the frauds that have been committed to the prejudice of His Majesty's Revenue and the interest of the Company." [Sidenote: Clandestine trade by the Company's captains.] Suspicion for the loss of numerous packages of furs now began to fasten itself upon one of the Company's captains, Horner of the _Seahorse_. Horner acknowledged that he was not altogether ignorant that the furs had been abstracted from the hold of his ship. The Company deliberated on his case, and it was "unanimously resolved that the said John Horner be discharged from the Company's service." The other captains were now called in and acquainted with the reasons for Captain Horner's discharge. The Adventurers declared their determination to make the like public example of all persons who should be found to be concerned in clandestine trade. In the following year the Company came to a wise decision. Taking into consideration the state of its trade and the many frauds that "have been practised and detected," it was concluded that such frauds were connived at by the Company's chief factors and captains, who were not only privy thereto, but in consideration for some joint interest, permitted this illicit trade to be carried on. [Sidenote: Salaries increased.] The Company seems to have thought that the chief factors and captains might have been tempted to these nefarious practices by the smallness of their respective salaries, and therefore in the hope of securing their fidelity and encouraging diligence and industry, and the extending of the Company's trade to the utmost to the benefit of the Company and the revenue, it was decided that a salary of £130 per annum be allowed the chief factors at York, Albany, and Prince of Wales' Fort; also the factors about to be appointed at Moose Fort and Severn House, "in lieu of former salaries, and all trapping gratuities, and perquisites whatever, except a servant, which is to be allowed to them as before." A gratuity was to be given to all chief factors of three shillings upon every score of made beaver which they consigned and "which shall actually be brought home to the Company's account." To the captains a gratuity was decreed of one shilling and sixpence per score of made beaver which they should bring to the Company's warehouse in good saleable condition. To prevent any loss from rioters or dissatisfied sailors the Company decided, in 1770, to insure their ships and goods for the first time in its history. The secretary made enquiries at the London Assurance Office, and reported that the premium would be five per cent. per annum on each ship during their being in dock, or on the River Thames above Gravesend; and the same on the ships' stores while they continued in the Company's warehouse at Ratcliff. Whereupon the Company insured each of its three ships for £2,000, and the ships' stores in the above warehouse for £3,000. FOOTNOTES: [68] France ceded to England "Canada with all its dependencies," reserving only such part of what had been known as Canada as lay west of the Mississippi. The watershed between the Missouri and the Mississippi rivers had been the boundary between Canada and Louisiana when both were owned by France, and by the treaty of 1763 the River Mississippi was agreed to as the future boundary between the English and French possessions in that quarter; the language of the treaty being, "that the confines between [France and England] in that part of the world shall be fixed irrevocably by a line drawn along the middle of the River Mississippi from its source [etc.], to the sea." Very soon after this treaty, viz., on 7th October, 1763, the Province of Quebec was erected by Royal Proclamation, but the Province as then constituted took in very little of what was afterwards Upper Canada and what is now Ontario; the most north-westerly point was Lake Nipissing; the whole of the territory adjacent to the great lakes was excluded. In 1774 the boundaries of Quebec were enlarged by the Quebec Act. That Act recited that "by the arrangements made by the said Royal Proclamation a very large extent of territory, within which were several colonies and settlements of subjects of France, who claimed to remain therein under the faith of the said treaty, was left without any provision being made for the administration of civil government therein." The Act, therefore, provided that "all the territories, islands and countries in North America belonging to the Crown of Great Britain, bounded on the south by a line" therein described, "from the Bay of Chaleurs to the River Ohio, and along the bank of the said river, westward, to the banks of the Mississippi, and northward to the southern boundary of the territory granted to the Merchants-Adventurers of England trading into Hudson's Bay," etc., "be, and they are hereby, during His Majesty's pleasure, annexed to and made part and parcel of the Province of Quebec as created and established by the said Royal Proclamation of the 7th October, 1763." [69] It is not a little singular that neither Middleton, Ellis, Christopher, Johnston nor Garbet, all of which explorers had visited Marble Island prior to 1767, and some of them often, ever discovered this harbour. The actual discoverer was Joseph Stephens, commanding the _Success_, a small vessel employed in the whale fishery. Two years later Stephens was given the command of the _Charlotte_, a fine brig of 100 tons, his mate then being Samuel Hearne, the explorer. [70] "I have seen," wrote Governor Hearne, "the remains of those houses several times; they are on the west side of the harbour, and in all probability will be discernible for many years to come." CHAPTER XXV. 1768-1773. Reports of the "Great River" -- Company despatch Samuel Hearne on a Mission of Discovery -- Norton's Instructions -- Saluted on his Departure from the Fort -- First and Second Journeys -- Matonabee -- Results of the Third Journey -- The Company's Servants in the Middle of the Century -- Death of Governor Norton. [Sidenote: The "Great River."] Some northern Indians, who came to trade at Prince of Wales' Fort in the spring of 1768, brought further accounts of the "Great River," as they persisted in calling it, and also produced several pieces of copper, as specimens of a mine long believed by the traders to exist in the vicinity. This determined Governor Norton to represent it to the Company as a matter well worthy their attention. As he went that year to England, he was given the opportunity of doing so in person; and in consequence of his representations, the Committee resolved to despatch an intelligent person by land to observe the latitude and longitude of the river's mouth, and to make a chart of the country traversed, with such observations as might lead to a better knowledge of the region. An intelligent mariner, Samuel Hearne, then in the Company's employ as mate of the brig _Charlotte_, was selected for the mission.[71] [Sidenote: Hearne's expedition of discovery.] Before starting on his journey in 1769, Hearne received full instructions from Moses Norton, the Governor. He was provided with an escort and was urged to cultivate, as he went, friendly relations with the Indians. "Smoke your calumet of peace with their leaders in order to establish a friendship with them." He was equipped with instruments, and was required to take account of latitude and longitude of the chief points visited; he was to seek for a north-west passage through the continent. But a more immediate and practical matter was dwelt upon in his letter. "Be careful to observe what mines are near the river,[72] what water there is at the river's mouth, how far the woods are from the seaside, the course of the river, the nature of the soil, and the productions of it; and make any other remarks that you may think will be either necessary or satisfactory. And if the said river be likely to be of any utility, take possession of it on behalf of the Hudson's Bay Company by cutting your name on some of the rocks, and also the date of the year, month, etc." Hearne promised to follow these instructions implicitly, and soon after daybreak on the morning of the 6th of November, the occupants of the fort assembled to witness the intrepid explorer's departure. A salute of seven guns and a ringing cheer thrice repeated was responded to by Hearne, already on his way, with a wave of his cap. [Illustration: DOBBS' MAP, 1744.] He had not gone far, however, when dissatisfaction broke out amongst his party. First one Indian guide deserted him and then another; but trusting to the fidelity of the rest Hearne pressed forward. At last, nearly the whole party left him, taking at the same time several bags of powder and shot, his hatchets, chisels and files. His chief guide, Chaw-chin-ahaw, now advised the explorer to return, and announced his own intention of travelling to his own tribe in the south-west. "Thus," says Hearne, "they set out, making the woods ring with their laughter, and left us to consider our unhappy situation, nearly two hundred miles from Prince of Wales' Fort, all heavily laden, and in strength and spirits greatly reduced by hunger and fatigue." Mortifying as the prospect of return was, it was inevitable. They arrived on the 11th of December, to the astonishment of Norton and the Company's servants. [Sidenote: Second expedition.] But Hearne was not to be daunted. On the 23rd of February he again set out with five Indians. This time his journey was a succession of short stages, with intervals of a whole day's rest between. These intervals were occupied in killing deer, or in seeking for fish under the ice with nets. On one occasion they spent a day in building a more permanent tent, where they waited for the flights of goose to appear. The course had been in a general north-western direction from the Churchill River, but on the 10th of June the party abandoned the rivers and lakes and struck out into the barren lands. The following narrative by Hearne is interesting, because up to that moment no servant of the Company had ever seen a live musk ox, that "now rare denizen of the northern solitudes." "We had not walked above seven or eight miles before we saw three musk oxen grazing by the side of a small lake. The Indians immediately went in pursuit of them, and as some were expert hunters they soon killed the whole of them. This was, no doubt, very fortunate, but to our great mortification before we could get one of them skinned, such a fall of rain came on as to put it out of our power to make a fire, which, even in the finest weather, could only be made of moss, as we were nearly a hundred miles from any woods. This was poor comfort for people who had not broken their fast for four or five days. Necessity, however, has no law, and having before been initiated into the method of eating raw meat, we were the better prepared for this repast. But this was by no means so well relished, either by me or the Southern Indians, as either raw venison or raw fish had been; for the flesh of the musk-ox is not only coarse and tough, but smells and tastes so strong of musk as to make it very disagreeable when raw, though it is tolerable eating when properly cooked. The weather continued so remarkably bad, accompanied with constant heavy rain, snow and sleet, and our necessities were so great by the time the weather permitted us to make a fire, that we had nearly eaten to the amount of one buffalo quite raw." [Sidenote: Hardships of the journey.] What severities of hardship were endured by our traveller may be judged from his description. "We have fasted many times," he declares, "two whole days and nights; twice upwards of three days, and once, while at Shethaunee, near seven days, during which we tasted not a mouthful of anything except a few cranberries, water, scraps of old leather and burnt bones. On these pressing occasions I have frequently seen the Indians examine their wardrobe, which consisted chiefly of skin clothing, and consider what part could best be spared; sometimes a piece of an old, half-rotten deerskin, and others a pair of old shoes, were sacrificed to alleviate extreme hunger." It was while in the midst of these sufferings and bitter experiences, which required all the traveller's courage to endure that a disaster of a different order happened. It was the 11th of August. Hearne had reached a point some five hundred miles north-west of Churchill. It proving rather windy at noon, although otherwise fine, he had let his valuable quadrant stand, in order to obtain the latitude more exactly by two altitudes. He then retired to eat his mid-day meal. Suddenly he was startled by a crash, and looking in the direction, found that a gust of wind had overturned the instrument and sent it crashing to earth. As the ground where it stood was very stony, the bubble, sight-vane and vernier were entirely broken to pieces, and the instrument thus destroyed. In consequence of this misfortune, the traveller resolved to retrace his steps wearily back to Prince of Wales' Fort. When he had arrived at Churchill River he had met the friendly chief, Matonabee,[73] who at once, and with charming simplicity, volunteered a reason for the troubles which had overtaken the white explorer. He had taken no women with him on his journey. Said Matonabee: [Sidenote: The Indian's estimate of woman.] "When all the men are heavy-laden they can neither hunt nor travel to any considerable distance; and in case they meet with success in hunting, who is to carry the product of their labour? Women," added he, "were made for labour; one of them carry or haul as much as two men can do. They also pitch our tents, make and mend our clothing, keep up our fires at night, and, in fact, there is no such thing as travelling any considerable distance, or for any length of time, in this country, without their assistance. Women," he observed again, "though they do everything, are maintained at a trifling expense, for as they always act as cooks, the very licking of their fingers in scarce times is sufficient for their subsistence." Hearne did not reach the fort till towards the close of November. On the 21st he thus describes the weather: "That night we lay on the south shore of Egg River, but long before daybreak the next morning, the weather being so bad, with a violent gale of wind from the north-west, and such a drift of snow that we could not have a bit of fire; and as no good woods were near to afford us shelter, we agreed to proceed on our way, especially as the wind was on our backs; and though the weather was bad near the surface we could frequently see the moon and sometimes the stars, to direct us in our course. In this situation we continued walking the whole day, and it was not until after ten at night that we could find the smallest tuft of wood to put up in; for though we well knew we must have passed by several hummocks of shrubby wood that might have afforded us some shelter, yet the wind blew so hard and the snow drifted so excessively thick that we could not see ten yards before us the whole day." That night his dog, a valuable animal, was frozen to death, and after that there was nothing for it but he must himself haul his heavy sledge over the snowdrifts. Twice baffled, yet the intrepid explorer was far from being swerved from his purpose. Not even the distrust of Norton, who wrote home to the Company that Hearne was unfit for the task in hand, could discourage him from making a third attempt. On this journey, his plan was to secure the company and assistance of Matonabee, and three or four of the best Indians under that chief; and this was put into practice on the 7th of December, 1770. This time the departure took place under different auspices. There was no firing of cannon from the fort, no cheering, and no hearty Godspeeds from the Governor and his staff. Again, similar adventures to those encountered the first two journeys were met with. Hearne cultivated the friendship of strange, but not hostile, savages as he went along. In one locality he took part in "snaring deer in a pound," or large stockade. The rest of the winter was spent in such a succession of advances as the weather and state of the country permitted. In April it was possible to obtain supplies of birch wood staves for tent poles, and birch rind and timber for building canoes. Spring enabled the party to proceed with greater rapidity, and at last a rendezvous at a place called Clowey was reached. From this point the final dash for the Coppermine River, the main object of the expedition, must be made. At Clowey some hundreds of Indians joined the little party to proceed to the Coppermine, and thus it grew suddenly into a military expedition, for the tribe was bent on making war on the Esquimaux, should the latter be discovered. [Sidenote: The expedition reaches the Arctic.] The long-desired spot was attained at last. On the 14th of July Hearne and his party looked out over the dancing surface of the Coppermine River, and descending this stream to its mouth beheld the Arctic Ocean. Hearne thus being the first white man to reach the northern sea from the interior. Says the explorer: "In those high latitudes, and at this season of the year, the sun is always at a good height over the horizon, so that we not only had daylight, but sunshine the whole night; a thick fog and drizzling rain then came on, and finding that neither the river nor sea were likely to be of any use, I did not think it worth while to wait for fair weather to determine the latitude exactly by an observation. For the sake of form, however, after having had some consultation with the Indians, I erected a mark and took possession of the coast, on behalf of the Hudson's Bay Company. I was not provided with instruments for cutting on stone, but I cut my name, date of the year, etc., on a piece of board that had been one of the Indian's targets, and placed it in a heap of stones on a small eminence near the entrance of the river, on the south side." "It is, indeed," remarks Hearne, "well known to the intelligent and well-informed part of the Company's servants, that an extensive and numerous tribe of Indians, called E-arch-e-thinnews, whose country lies far west of any of the Company's or Canadian settlements, must have traffic with the Spaniards on the west side of the continent; because some of the Indians who formerly traded to York Fort, when at war with those people, frequently found saddles, bridles, muskets, and many other articles in their possession which were undoubtedly of Spanish manufacture."[74] [Sidenote: Hearne returns to England.] Hearne went home to England and related his experiences in a paper read before his employers, the Honorable Adventurers.[75] It was not until some years later that it was discovered that he had, either in ignorance or, according to one of his enemies named Dalrymple, "in a desire to increase the value of his performance," placed the latitude of the Coppermine at nearly 71 degrees north instead of at about 67½ degrees. Hearne's own apology was that after the breaking of his quadrant[76] on the second expedition, he was forced to employ an old Elton quadrant, which had for thirty years been amongst the relics and rubbish of Prince of Wales' Fort. But the geographical societies were indignant at having been thus imposed upon. "I cannot help observing," wrote Hearne, "that I feel myself rather hurt at Mr. Dalrymple's rejecting my latitude in so peremptory a manner and in so great a proportion as he has done; because before I arrived at Cange-cath-a-whachaga, the sun did not set during the whole night, a proof that I was then to the northward of the Arctic circle." Hearne's journey, considering the epoch in which it was undertaken, the life led by the Company's servants at the forts, and the terrible uncertainties incident to plunging into an icy wilderness, with no security against hunger or the attacks of savages, was greater than it really appeared, and without doubt paved the way for the Company's new policy. With the ship which brought Hearne over from England came a large number of young Orkney Islanders. [Sidenote: Company employ Orkney Islanders.] The labouring servants, as has been seen, were first in 1712, and from about 1775 onwards, procured from the Orkney Islands, their wages being about £6 a year. They were engaged by the captains of the ships, usually for a period of five years. Each servant signed a contract on his entrance into the service to serve for the term and not to return home until its expiration, unless recalled by the Company. He engaged during his passage back to do duty as watch on board ship without extra pay; but that which was the last and principal clause of the agreement related to illicit trading. He was bound in the most solemn manner not to detain, secrete, harbour or possess any skin or part of a skin, on any pretence whatever; but on the contrary, he was to search after and detect all persons who might be disposed to engage in this species of speculation. Should he detect any such, he was to expose them to the Governor. If contrary to this agreement, any persons should be found bold enough to conceal any peltry or otherwise infringe his contract, they were to forfeit all the wages due them by the Company. Although a further penalty was nominally exacted under the contract, that of a fine of two years' pay, it was rarely carried into effect, and then only when the delinquent was believed to have largely profited by his illegal transaction. In the early days when a servant's time expired and he was about to return home, the Governor in person was supposed to inspect his chest, even examining his bedding and other effects, to see that it contained not even the smallest marten skin. An almost equally rigorous surveillance attended the sending of private letters and parcels, not merely in the Bay alone, but in London. In the latter case, the parcel of clothing, etc., intended for the Company's distant servant, was first obliged to be sent to the Hudson's Bay House, and there undergo a careful examination for fear it should contain anything used in private trade. During the time that the Indians were at the posts trading their furs, the gates were continually kept closed, it being the regular employment of one person to see that no one made his exit for fear he should attempt a private barter with the Indians. While this rule was rarely relaxed, yet it was not at all of the forts that a too strict watch was kept on the movements of the employees. At York Fort, however, during the eighteenth century, if a servant wished to take a walk on a Sunday afternoon, at a time when no natives were trading, it was first necessary to apply to the Governor for leave. Of the run of the Company's servants in the latter half of the eighteenth century, a writer of that day has said of them: "They are a close, prudent, quiet people, strictly faithful to their employers," adding that they were "sordidly avaricious." Whilst these young Scotchmen were scattered about the country in small parties amongst the Indians, their general behaviour won them the respect of the savages, as well as procured them their protection. It is a significant fact that for the first fifteen years of the new _régime_ the Company did not suffer the loss of a single man, notwithstanding that their servants were annually exposed to all the dangers incident to the trade and times. [Sidenote: Character of the Company's traders.] It was observed that very few of the Canadian servants were to be entirely trusted with even a small assortment of goods, unless some substantial guarantee were first exacted. The chances were ten to one that the master would be defrauded of the whole stock of merchandise, often through the medium of the Indian women, who were quick to perceive what an easy prey was the one and how difficult the other. The French-Canadian traders were brave and hardy; apt in learning the habits and language of the Indians; dexterous canoemen and of a lively, not to say boisterous, disposition; but none of these qualities, nor all together, were often the means of earning the respect and trust of the natives. And it must not be imagined that these talents and accomplishments were limited to the Canadians, even in the earliest days of rivalry. "Though such may be the sentiments of their employers," wrote one of the Company's factors, "let these gentlemen for a while look around them and survey without prejudice the inhabitants of our own hemisphere, and they will find people who are brought up from their infancy to hardships, and inured to the inclemency of the weather from their earliest days; they will also find people who might be trusted with thousands, and who are much too familiarized to labour and fatigue to repine under the pressure of calamity as long as their own and their master's benefit is in view. I will further be bold to say that the present servants of the Company may be led as far inland as navigation is practicable, with more ease and satisfaction to the owners, than the same number of Canadians." The former, it was noted, would be always honest, tractable and obedient, as well from inclination as from fear of losing their pecuniary expectations; whereas the latter, being generally in debt, and having neither good name, integrity nor property to lose, were always neglectful of the property committed to their charge. Whenever difficulties arose there was never wanting some amongst them to impede the undertaking. [Sidenote: The council at the forts.] The Governor at each factory occasionally had a person to act with him, who was known as the second or under-factor. These, with the surgeon and the master of the sloop, constituted a council, who were supposed to deliberate in cases of emergency or upon affairs of importance. Amongst the latter were classed the reading of the Company's general letter, received annually and inditing a reply to it; the encroachments of their French, at a later period, Canadian rivals; or the misbehaviour of the servants. In these councils very little regard, it seems, was paid to the opinion of the subordinate members, who rather desired to obtain the Governor's favour by acquiescence rather than his resentment by opposition. The Governors were appointed for either three or five years, and their nominal salary was from £50 to £150 per annum, which the premium on the trade often trebled and sometimes quadrupled. These officials commonly reigned as absolute in their petty commands as Eastern Nabobs; and as it was in a Governor's power to render the lives of those under them happy or unhappy as they chose, it was only natural that the inferior servants were most diligent in cultivating their good will. It was out of the power, of course, for any aggrieved or dissatisfied servant to return home until the ships came, and if he then persisted in his intention, the payment of his wages was withheld until the Company should decide upon his character, which was furnished in writing by the Governor. Although the voice of an inferior servant counted but little when opposed to the Governor, yet there are few instances when the Company, in parting with a servant, refused him his wages in full. It is an old axiom that austerity is acquired by a term of absolute petty dominion, so that it is not remarkable that the Company's early Governors were distinguished by this trait in the fullest degree. "I had an opportunity," wrote one former factor, "of being acquainted with many Governors in my time. I could single out several whose affability and capacity merited a better employment. Some I have known who despised servility and unworthy deeds; but this was only for a time, and while young in their stations." Such criticism, while doubtless unjust, had yet, applied generally, a basis of truth. [Sidenote: Character of the trading governors.] Robson complains of a Governor at Churchill, in his time, who had a thousand times rendered himself obnoxious to society. But perhaps the Company had never in its employ a more eccentric and choleric official than the governor who was in command of York Factory from 1773 to 1784. It is said of him that his bad name extended even across the Atlantic and reached the Orkney Isles, where the malevolence of his disposition became a by-word, and restrained many youths from entering the Company's service. Intoxication seems to have been this Governor's principal delight, and this was often gratified at the expense of common prudence, as when the French captured York Factory in 1782; no common spirits being on hand, he procured raw alcohol from the surgeon, of which he drank several bumpers to raise his courage. Although most of the Company's early trading Governors were, in spite of their tempers and habits, persons of education and intelligence, yet there were occasional exceptions. One, Governor Hughes, was said to be incapable of casting up a simple sum in addition; numeral characters being almost unknown to him; nor was his success in writing his own name greater. Yet his courage and business ability was beyond question. It has already been observed that the Company were accustomed to treat with much deference, and to place great reliance upon their chief factors while these were at their posts in the Bay; yet it must not be supposed that the same consideration was extended to them on their return home. A Governor, it was said by one of the Company's servants, might attend the Hudson's Bay House, and walk about their Hall for a whole day without the least notice being taken of his attendance. It is related that one such Governor, after having served the Company for a matter of seventeen years, went home in 1782, expecting to reap in person some of the rewards of his faithful service in the compliments and attentions of the Adventurers as a body. But, to his chagrin, not the slightest notice was taken of him, and he returned without having even been introduced to a single partner. [Sidenote: Death of Governor Norton.] On the 29th of December, 1773, there died one of the notable characters in the Bay, Governor Moses Norton. Norton was an Indian half-breed, the son of a previous Governor, Richard Norton. He was born at Prince of Wales' Fort, but had been in England nine years, and considering the small sum spent on his education, had made considerable progress in literature. At his return to the Bay, according to Hearne, he entered into all the abominable vices of his countrymen. He established a seraglio, in which figured five or six of the most comely Indian maidens. Yet, although somewhat lax in his morality himself, he seems to have been by no means indulgent to others. To his own friends and relatives, the Indians and half-breeds, it is said, he was "so partial that he set more value on, and showed more respect to, one of their favourite dogs than he ever did to his first officer." This is probably a spiteful exaggeration, but it is certain that Norton, although a man of ability, was not very popular. His great desire was to excite admiration for his skilful use of drugs. "He always," declared one of the Governor's enemies, "kept about him a box of poison to administer to those who refused him their wives or daughters." With all these bad qualities, no man took greater pains to inculcate virtue, morality and continence upon others; always painting in the most glaring colours the jealous and revengeful disposition of the Indians, when any attempt was made to violate the chastity of their wives and daughters. His apartments at the fort were not only convenient, but had some pretensions to elegance, and were always crowded with his favourites. As this Governor advanced in years, his jealousy increased, and it is said he actually poisoned two of his women because he thought they had transferred their affections elsewhere. He had the reputation of being a most notorious smuggler; but though he put many thousands into the pockets of the Company's captains, he seldom put a shilling into his own. FOOTNOTES: [71] From the good opinion we entertain of you, and Mr. Norton's recommendation, we have agreed to raise your wages to £130 per annum for two years, and have placed you in our council at Prince of Wales' Fort; and we should have been ready to advance you to the command of the _Charlotte_, according to your request, if a matter of more immediate consequence had not intervened. Mr. Norton has proposed an inland journey, far to the north of Churchill, to promote an extension of our trade, as well as for the discovery of a north-west passage, copper mines, etc.; and as an undertaking of this nature requires the attention of a person capable of taking an observation for determining the longitude and latitude and also distances, and the course of rivers and their depths, we have fixed upon you (especially as it is represented to us to be your own inclination) to conduct this journey with proper assistants. We therefore hope you will second our expectations in readily performing this service, and upon your return we shall willingly make you any acknowledgment suitable to your trouble therein. We highly approve of your going in the _Speedwell_ to assist in the whale-fishery last year, and heartily wish you health and success in the present expedition. We remain your loving friends, Bibye Lake, Deputy Governor. John Anthony Merle. Robert Merry. Samuel Wegg. James Winter Lake. Herman Berens. Joseph Sparrel. James FitzGerald. [72] "No man," says Hearne, "either English or Indian, ever found a bit of copper in that country to the south of the seventy-first degree of latitude, unless it had been accidentally dropped by some of the far northern Indians on their way to the Company's factory." [73] "This leader," says Hearne, "when a youth, resided several years at the above Fort and was not only a perfect master of the Southern Indian language, but by being frequently with the Company's servants had acquired several words of English and was one of the men who brought the latest accounts of the Coppermine River. It was on his information, added to that of one I-dot-le-ezry (who is since dead), that this expedition was set on foot." [74] "I cannot sufficiently regret," wrote Hearne in 1796, "the loss of a considerable vocabulary of the northern Indian language, containing sixteen folio pages, which was lent to the late Mr. Hutchins, then corresponding secretary to the Company, to copy for Captain Duncan, when he went on discoveries to Hudson's Bay in the year 1790. But Mr. Hutchins dying soon after, the vocabulary was taken away with the rest of his effects and cannot now be recovered, and memory, at this time, will by no means serve to replace it." [75] The Company had previously written thus to its servant, Mr. Samuel Hearne:-- Sir,--Your letter of the 28th August last, gave us the agreeable pleasure to hear of your safe return to our factory. Your journal and the two charts you sent sufficiently convinces us of your very judicious remarks. We have, naturally, considered your great assiduity in the various accidents which occurred in your several journeys. We hereby return you our grateful thanks, and to manifest our obligation we have consented to allow you a gratuity of £200 for those services. [76] "Mr. Dalrymple, in one of his pamphlets relating to Hudson's Bay, has been so very particular in his observations on my journey, as to remark that I have not explained the construction of the quadrant which I had the misfortune to break in my second journey to the North. It was a Hadley quadrant, with a bubble attached to it for a horizon, and made by Daniel Scatlif, of Wapping."--_Hearne._ CHAPTER XXVI. 1773-1782. Company Suffers from the Rivalry of Canadians -- Cumberland House built -- Debauchery and license of the Rivals -- Frobisher Intercepts the Company's Indians -- The Smallpox Visitation of 1781 -- La Pérouse appears before Fort Prince of Wales -- Hearne's Surrender -- Capture of York Fort by the French -- The Post Burned and the Company's Servants carried away Prisoners. The Company was not immediately advised of the ruinous proceedings of the Montreal traders by its governors at York and Churchill. But at length the diminution of trade became marked. The Indians continued to bring in reports of other white traders speaking English, who intercepted them and gave them trinkets and rum in exchange for their furs. They declared they were conscious of having made a bad bargain in not continuing onward to the Company's posts, but what could they do? "The _Bostonnais_[77] was cunning and he deceived the Indian." At last, in view of this, it was felt that further delay were folly. [Sidenote: Cumberland House built.] In the spring of 1773 instructions were sent out to Governor Norton to despatch Hearne westward and establish a post in the interior. By this time the rival Canadian traders had carried the trade beyond the French limits, although, for reasons to be disclosed, all their activity was in vain, so far as material results either to themselves or their employers or capitalists were concerned, not to mention the aborigines themselves. Hearne hit upon what he considered a good site for the new post at Sturgeon Lake, on the eastern bank, in latitude 53°, 56 and longitude 102°, 15. The post prospered almost from its foundation. The neighbouring tribes found that here were to be procured a larger and better assortment of goods than the Canadians brought them, and frequented it in preference.[78] For several years now a trade with the Indians had been carried on in the footsteps of the French license-holders. [Illustration: VISIT TO AN INDIAN ENCAMPMENT.] What was to be expected when the character of the Montreal traders themselves, and the commerce they prosecuted, was considered, soon happened. This army of half-wild men, armed to the teeth, unhampered by legal restraint, constantly drinking, carousing and quarrelling amongst themselves, gradually spread over the north-west, sowing crime and anarchy wherever they went. The country they traded in was so distant, and their method of transportation so slow, that they were fortunate if they reached their winter quarters without leaving the corpses of several of their number to mark their path. Was it singular that trade carried on in such a fashion, and with results so ruinous, should cause the "partners," as these unhappy individuals, who had furnished the funds, were called, to contemplate the future with dismay? Season after season the "winterers" returned to the Grand Portage with the same tale; and season after season were better profits promised, but never, alas, for their dupes, were these promises fulfilled! [Sidenote: Frobisher intercepts Company's Indians.] Matters were thus going from bad to worse in this way, when one sober and enterprising trader, Joseph Frobisher, resolved to leave the beaten track and penetrate nearer to the Company's Factory, at Churchill, than had yet been done. In the spring of 1775, as a band of Indians were on their way as usual to Prince of Wales' Fort, they were met by Frobisher, who caused them to halt and to drink and smoke with him. The chiefs imagined he was one of the Company's factors, and Frobisher did not choose to undeceive them. His wares being of a better quality than those of his compeers, the Indians suffered themselves to be persuaded to trade on the spot, which was at a portage afterwards called by the Montreal traders La Traite, on account of this episode. The Indians, nevertheless, resumed their journey to Churchill River, where the indignation of Hearne and the Council knew no bounds. He informed the Indians that a "scurvy trick" had been played upon them; and so characterized it in his journal. A few having still some of the heavier furs by them, were paid double, as an encouragement to their future discrimination. Nevertheless, in spite of all, the "scurvy trick" was repeated by Frobisher the following year, both times securing enormous booty.[79] The difficulties and sufferings of these two undertakings, however, affected him with a distaste for a repetition; but he sent his brother Benjamin to explore the region still farther. This he accomplished, going as far west as the Lake of Isle a la Crosse. The difficulties of transport are pointed out in letters of Frobisher and McGill. The value of each canoe load, on arrival at Michilimackinac, had been estimated, in 1780, to be £660 currency, equal to $2,640, showing the cost of transport by the Ottawa to have been $640 for each canoe; the value at Montreal having been $2,000. In April, 1784, Benjamin Frobisher wrote that twenty-eight canoes were ready to be sent off, valued at £20,000 currency, or $80,000, a sum for each canoe largely in excess of the estimate of four years before. Frobisher's success in intercepting the Company's Indians induced others to attempt a similar course. The idea was, of course, to give goods of a better character, and to travel so far into the savage country as to relieve the Indian, who always contemplated the annual journey to the Company's post with repugnance of such necessity. In 1779 Peter Pond, an able, but desperate character, was the first to attempt storing such goods as he could not bring back immediately, in one of the wintering huts at Elk River, against his return the following season. This imitation of a Company's post proved successful, and led to its being repeated on a larger scale. But matters were not equally propitious with the vast bulk of the peddlers, bushrangers, swashbucklers, and drunken half-breeds who were comprised in the Canadian trading fraternity. A numerous crew of them got from their winter quarters at Saskatchewan to the Eagle Hills in the spring of 1780. Here they held high carouse amidst a body of Indians as drunken, and much more noisy and abandoned, as themselves. One of the traders becoming tired of the continued application of an Indian for more grog, gave him a dose of laudanum. The savage thereupon staggered a few steps away, lay down and died. A cry went up from the man's wives, a skirmish ensued, and the sun went down on seven corpses. One of the traders, two of his men, and four half-breed voyageurs lost their lives, and the rest were forced to abandon their all and take to flight. [Illustration: INDIAN TRAPPERS. (_From "Picturesque Canada," by permission._)] The same spring, two of the Canadian posts on the Assiniboine River were assailed during a quarrel. Several white men and a large number of Indians were killed. [Sidenote: Terrible smallpox epidemic.] The fearful act of vengeance which might now have been meditated at this juncture was never carried out, for in 1781 an epidemic of smallpox broke out, wreaking a memorable destruction upon all the Indians of Rupert's Land. It is worthy of remark, the extraordinary and fatal facility with which this disease had always made headway among the aborigines of the North American continent. There must have been some predisposition in their constitutions which rendered them an easy prey to this scourge of Europe. Later, when the boon, brought into Europe by Lady Mary Montague arrested and partially disarmed the monster, smallpox had wrought unmitigated havoc amongst whole tribes and circles of the Red men, more than decimating the entire population and occasionally destroying whole camps, while leaving scarcely more than one shrivelled hag to relate to the Company's factors the fell tale of destruction. The scourge which depopulated vast regions naturally cleared the country of white traders. Two parties did, indeed, set out from Montreal in 1781-82, with the avowed intention of making permanent settlements on Churchill River and at Athabasca. But the smallpox had not yet done its worst, and drove them back with only seven packages of beaver. This season was a better one than the preceding for the Company's factories; but an event now happened scarcely foreseen by anyone. England and France had been again at war, but none had as yet dreamt of a sea attack on the Company's posts in the Bay. Such a thing had not happened for upwards of eighty years, and the conquest of Canada seemed to so preclude its probability that the Adventurers had not even instructed its governors to be on the alert for a possible foe. Up to the era of the terrible smallpox visitation in 1782, the remote Chippewas and far-off tribes from Athabasca and the Great Slave Lake, travelling to Prince of Wales' Fort, must have gazed with wonder at its solid masonry and formidable artillery. The great cannon whose muzzles stared grimly from the walls had already been woven into Indian legend, and the Company's factors were fond of telling how the visiting Red men stood in astonishment for hours at a time before this fortress, whose only parallel on the continent was Quebec itself. [Sidenote: French attack Fort Prince of Wales, 1782.] Fort Prince of Wales had been built, as we have seen, at a time when the remembrance of burned factories and posts easily captured and pillaged by French and Indians was keen amongst the Honourable Adventurers. But that remembrance had long since faded; the reasons for which the fort had been built had seemingly vanished. Wherefore gradually the garrison waned in numbers, until on the 8th of August, 1782, only thirty-nine defenders[80] within its walls witnessed the arrival of three strange ships in the Bay. Instantly the word ran from mouth to mouth that they were three French men-of-war. All was consternation and incredulity at first, quickly succeeded by anxiety. Two score pair of English eyes watched the strangers, as pinnace, gig and long-boat were lowered, and a number of swarthy whiskered sailors began busily to sound the approaches to the harbour. As may be believed, an anxious night was passed in the fort by Governor Samuel Hearne and his men. Daybreak came and showed the strangers already disembarking in their boats, and as the morning sun waxed stronger, an array of four hundred troops was seen to be drawn up on the shore of Churchill Bay, at a place called Hare Point. Orders were given to march, and with the flag of France once more unfurled on these distant sub-Arctic shores, the French attacking party approached the Company's stronghold. When about four hundred yards from the walls they halted, and two officers were sent on ahead to summon the Governor to surrender. The French ships turned out to be the _Sceptre_, seventy-four guns, the _Astarte_, and the _Engageante_, of thirty-six guns each, and the force possessed besides four field guns, two mortars, and three hundred bomb-shells. This fleet was in command of Admiral Pérouse. It appears that La Pérouse had counted on arriving just in time to secure a handsome prize in the Company's ships, for which he had lain in wait in the Bay. Hearne seems to have been panic-stricken and believed resistance useless. To the surprise of the French, a table cloth snatched up by the Governor was soon seen waving from the parapet of the fort. Fort Prince of Wales had thus yielded without a shot being fired on either side. The French admiral lost no time in transporting what guns he could find to his ships, and replenishing his depleted commissariat from the well-filled provision stores of the fort.[81] La Pérouse was both angry and disappointed at the escape of the Company's ships and cargoes. One of these ships, bound for Fort Churchill, he had met in the Bay and immediately sent a frigate in pursuit. But Captain Christopher, by the steering of the French frigate, judged rightly that her commander knew nothing of the course, and so resorted to strategy. When night came he furled his sails, as if about to anchor, a proceeding which the French captain imitated. When he had anchored, the Company's vessel re-set her sails, and was soon many leagues distant by the time the French fleet reached Churchill River. Possession was followed by license on the part of the soldiers, and the utter looting of the fort. An attempt was made, occupying two days, to demolish it; but although French gunpowder was freely added to the Company's store, yet the walls resisted their best efforts. [Illustration: RUINS OF FORT PRINCE OF WALES.] Of solid masonry, indeed, was Prince of Wales' Fort. The French artillerymen could only displace the upper rows of the massive granite stones, dismount its guns, and blow up the gateway, together with the stone outwork protecting it. It has been remarked as strange that Hearne, who had proved his personal bravery in his Arctic travels, should have shown such a craven front on this occasion to the enemy. Indeed, Umfreville, who was himself taken prisoner at the capture of the fort, declared that he, with others, were disgusted at the Governor's cowardice. He asserted that the French were weak and reduced in health after a long sea voyage, most of them wretchedly clad, and half of the entire number barefoot. "I assume, your Honours," wrote John Townsend, "that had we shown a front to the enemy, our fort would have outlasted their ammunition, and then they would have been completely at our mercy." [Sidenote: Hearne blamed for surrendering.] The Company was very indignant at the conduct of Governor Hearne. They demanded the reason of his not sending a scout overland to apprise the Governor of York Factory of the enemy's proximity. To this Hearne replied that he was given no opportunity, and that any such scout would have been inevitably seized and slain. On the 11th of August the French fleet set sail for Port Nelson and anchored there. One of the Company's ships was in the harbour at the time, and the captain, perceiving the approach of three large ships, and scenting danger, put out to sea in the night. He was instantly pursued by a frigate, which obviously outsailed him. Whereupon Captain Fowler tacked and made for the south in the hope of enticing the Frenchman into shallow water. But her commander was by no means to become so easy a prey to destruction, and refused to follow. On the following day the news was brought to the Governor that the enemy was landing in fourteen boats, provided with mortars, cannon, scaling ladders, and about three hundred men, exclusive of marines. York Factory at this time was garrisoned by sixty English and twelve Indians. Its defence consisted of thirteen cannon, twelve and nine pounders, which formed a half-moon battery in front; but it being thought probable that the enemy would arrive in the night and turn these guns against the fort, they were overturned into the ditch. On the ramparts were twelve swivel guns mounted on carriages, and within were abundance of small arms and ammunition. Besides, a rivulet of fresh water ran within the stockades; and there were also thirty head of cattle and as many hogs within the confines of the fort. On the 22nd, two Indian scouts were sent out to obtain intelligence; these returned in about three hours with the information that, in their judgment, the enemy were less than a league distant. Indeed they had heard several guns fired in the neighbourhood of the fort; and at sunset of that day all could plainly discern a large fire, presumably kindled by the French about a mile and a half to the west. [Sidenote: French attack York factory.] At ten o'clock the next morning, the enemy appeared before the gates. "During their approach," says one of those in the fort at the time, "a most inviting opportunity offered itself to be revenged on our invaders by discharging the guns on the ramparts, which must have done great execution." Unhappily, the Governor was hardly the man for such an occasion. He knew nothing of war, and had a wholesome dread of all armed and equipped soldiery. He trembled so that he could scarcely stand, and begged the surgeon, "for God's sake to give him a glass of liquor to steady his nerves." There being none at hand, he swallowed a tumbler of raw spirits of wine. This so far infused courage and determination into his blood, that he peremptorily declared he would shoot the first man who offered to fire a gun. Dismay took possession of many of the Company's servants, and the second in command and the surgeon endeavoured to expostulate. To avert this, the Governor caught up a white sheet with his own hand and waved it from a window of the fort. This was answered by the French officer displaying his pocket handkerchief. Under the sanction of this flag of truce, a parley took place. The Governor was summoned to surrender within two hours. But no such time was needed by the Governor; and the fort was most ingloriously yielded in about ten minutes. In vain did the council plead that this fort might have withstood the united efforts of double the number of those by whom it was assailed in an attack with small arms. In vain they demonstrated that from the nature of the enemy's attack by way of Nelson River, they could not use their mortars or artillery, the ground being very bad and interspersed with woods, thickets and bogs. The Governor was resolved to yield the place, and he carried out his intention much to the astonishment and satisfaction of La Pérouse. [Sidenote: Unwise surrender.] The unwisdom of the surrender was afterwards made too apparent. It was made to a half-starved, half-shod body of Frenchmen, worn out by fatigue and hard labour, not a man of whom was familiar with the country. It was perceived also, when it was too late, that the enemy's ships lay at least twenty miles from the factory, in a boisterous sea. Consequently, they could not co-operate with their troops on shore, save with the greatest difficulty and uncertainty, and if the fort had held out a few weeks it would have been impossible. The French troops could have received no supplies but what came from the ships; and cold, hunger and fatigue were working hourly in favour of the Company's men. La Pérouse now issued orders for the fort to be evacuated and burned, and the Company's people were taken prisoners. The Company suffered great loss by the capture of York Factory, which had, as we have seen, remained in their possession since the Treaty of Utrecht. The whole of the furs which had not yet been sent on board the ship were destroyed, as well as a large quantity of stores, implements and appliances which had been collecting for nearly seventy years. This expedition had resulted in two cheap conquests for La Pérouse. But the fortunes of war bade fair to alter the situation. The Company sent in a bill to the British Government of many thousands of pounds for failing to protect their fort on Churchill River; and when peace was proclaimed, the French plenipotentiary agreed on behalf of his master to settle this bill. Fort Prince of Wales was never rebuilt. Its ruins stand, to-day, to mark the most northern fortress on the continent of North America, scarcely inferior in strength to Louisburg or to Quebec. "Its site," remarks Dr. Bell, "was admirably chosen; its design and armament were once perfect; interesting still as a relic of bygone strife, but useful now only as a beacon for the harbour it had failed to protect." Although the French themselves sustained no loss from the English in their brief campaign against the fort; yet, owing to the severity of the climate and their own inexperience, they lost five large boats, a considerable quantity of merchandise and fifteen soldiers who were drowned in Hays' River after the surrender of the fort. FOOTNOTES: [77] The Eastern traders were always known by this title, as though hailing from Boston, in contradistinction to the "King George men." [78] Upon the new post was bestowed the name of Cumberland House. [79] The following were the prices paid by the Company about 1780, at its inland posts:-- A gun 20 Beaver skins. A strand blanket 10 do. A white do. 8 do. An axe of one pound weight 3 do. Half a pint of gunpowder 1 do. Ten balls 1 do. The principal profits accrued from the sale of knives, beads, flint, steels, awls and other small articles. Tobacco fetched one beaver skin per foot of "Spencer's Twist," and rum "not very strong," two beaver skins per bottle. [80] "What folly," asks one of the Company's servants, "could be more egregious than to erect a fort of such extent, strength and expense and only allow thirty-nine men to defend it?" [81] An account of Hearne's journey was found in MS. among the papers of the Governor, and La Pérouse declares in his memoirs that Hearne was very pressing that it should be returned to him as his private property. "The goodness of La Pérouse's heart induced him to yield to this urgent solicitation, and he returned the MS. to him on the express condition, however, that he should print and publish it immediately on his arrival in England." "Notwithstanding this," observes Mr. Fitzgerald, "Hearne's travels did not appear until 1795, _i.e._, twenty-three years after they were performed." This gentleman, so distinguished in his zeal to prove a case against the Company, evidently overlooks the circumstance of the gist of travels having been issued in pamphlet form in 1773 and again in 1778-80. The volume of 1795 was merely an application--the product of Hearne's leisure upon retirement. CHAPTER XXVII. 1783-1800. Disastrous Effects of the Competition -- Montreal Merchants Combine -- The North-Westers -- Scheme of the Association -- Alexander Mackenzie -- His two Expeditions Reach the Pacific -- Emulation Difficult -- David Thompson. [Sidenote: Competition of the Canadian traders.] For many years up to 1770, before the traders from Canada had penetrated their territory, York Factory had annually sent to London at least 30,000 skins. There were rarely more than twenty-five men employed in the fort at low wages. In 1790 the Company maintained nearly one hundred men at this post, at larger wages, yet the number of skins averaged only about 20,000 from this and the other posts. The rivalry daily grew stronger and more bitter. Yet from what has been seen of the habits and character of the Canadian bushrangers and peddlers, it is almost unnecessary to say that the Company's Scotchmen ingratiated themselves more into the esteem and confidence of the Indians wherever and whenever the two rivals met. The advantage of trade, it has been well said, was on their side--because their honesty was proven. But there was another reason for the greater popularity of the Company amongst the natives, and it was that the principal articles of their trading goods were of a quality superior to those imported from Canada. The extraordinary imprudence and ill-manner of life which characterized the Montreal traders continually offset the enterprise and exertions of their employers. Many of these traders had spent the greater portion of their lives on this inland service; they were devoid of every social and humane tie, slaves to the most corrupting vices, more especially drunkenness. So that it is not strange that they were held in small esteem by the Indians, who, a choice being free to them, finding themselves frequently deceived by specious promises, were not long in making up their minds with whom to deal. "Till the year 1782," says Mackenzie, "the people of Athabaska sent or carried their furs regularly to Fort Churchill, and some of them have since that time repaired farther, notwithstanding they could have provided themselves with all the necessaries which they required. The difference of the price set on goods here and at the factory, made it an object with the Chippewans to undertake a journey of five or six months, in the course of which they were reduced to the most painful extremities, and often lost their lives from hunger and fatigue. At present, however, this traffic is, in a great measure, discontinued, as they were obliged to expend in the course of their journey, that very ammunition which was its most alluring object." [Sidenote: Montreal merchants combine.] But the Company was now threatened with a more determined and judicious warfare by the better class of Canadian traders. The enterprise had been checked, first by the animosity of the Indians, and at the same time by the ravages of the smallpox, but during the winter of 1783-4, the Montreal merchants resolved, for the better prosecution of their scheme, to effect a junction of interests, by forming an association of sixteen equal shares, without, however, depositing any capital. The scheme was to be carried out in this way: Each party was to furnish a proportion of such articles as were necessary in the trade, while the actual traders, or "wintering partners," of these merchants were to receive each a corresponding share of the profits. To this association was given, on the suggestion of Joseph Frobisher, the name of the North-West Company. The chief management of the business was entrusted to the two Frobishers and Simon McTavish, another Scotch merchant in Montreal. In May, 1784, accordingly, Benjamin Frobisher and McTavish went to the Grand Portage with their credentials from the other partners in the new undertaking. Here they met the bulk of the traders and voyageurs, who were delighted to hear of the new scheme. These entered heartily into the spirit of the undertaking, and that spring embarked for the west with the merchandise and provisions brought them, with a lighter heart than they had known for years, and with a determination to profit by the disasters of the past. Not all of the chief traders, it must be said, cast in their lots with the new company. Two, named Pond and Pangman, opposed it; and finding a couple of merchants who were willing to furnish sufficient capital, resolved to strike out for themselves as rivals to the North-West company. This action occasioned, as might be expected, great bitterness and disorder. Nevertheless, it was the means of bringing to light a young Scotchman from the Isles, whose name will be forever linked with the North-West. His name was Alexander Mackenzie. [Sidenote: Alexander Mackenzie.] This young man had been for five years in the counting-house of Gregory, one of the merchants who had allied themselves with the two malcontents. It was now decided that Mackenzie should set out with Pond and Pangman in their separate trading venture into the distant Indian country. A more perilous business than this can scarcely be imagined. Besides the natural difficulties, the party had to encounter all the fiercest enmity and opposition of which the adherents of the new association were capable. It is enough to say that after a fearful struggle they forced the latter to allow them a participation in the trade. But the feat which resulted in the coalition of the two interests in 1787 cost them dear. One of the partners was killed, another lamed for life, and many of their voyageurs injured. Yet the establishment thus joined, and shorn of all rivals save the Great Company, was placed on a solid basis, and the fur-trade of Canada began to assume greater proportions than it had yet done under the English _régime_. As this North-West concern was finally itself to merge into the Company of which these chapters are the history, it will not be unprofitable to glance at its constitution and methods, particularly as the economic fabric was to be likewise transferred and adapted to its Hudson's Bay rival. [Illustration: SIR ALEXANDER MACKENZIE.] [Sidenote: The North-West company.] It was then, and continued to be, merely an association of merchants agreeing among themselves to carry on the fur-trade by itself, although many of these merchants plied other commerce. "It may be said," observes Mackenzie, "to have been supported entirely on credit; for whether the capital belonged to the proprietor, or was borrowed, it equally bore interest, for which the association was annually accountable." The company comprised twenty shares unequally divided and amongst the parties concerned. "Of these a certain proportion was held by the people who managed the business in Canada and were styled agents for the company. Their duty was to import the necessary goods from England, store them at their own expense at Montreal, get them made up into articles suited to the trade, pack and forward them and supply the cash that might be wanting for the outfits." For all this they received, besides the profit on their shares, an annual commission on the business done. A settlement took place each year, two of the partners going to Grand Portage to supervise affairs of that growing centre, now outrivalling Detroit, Michilimackinac and Sault Ste. Marie. The furs were seen safely to the company's warehouse in Montreal, where they were stored pending their shipment to England. This class were denominated agents for the concern. Then there was the other proprietary class--the actual traders, who conducted the expeditions amongst the Indians and furnished no capital. If they did amass capital by the trade they could invest it in the company through the agents, but could never employ it privately. There were several who from long service and influence who had acquired double shares and these were permitted to retire from activity, leaving one of such shares to whichever young man in the service they chose to nominate, provided always he was approved by the company. Such successions, we are told, were considered as due to either seniority or exceptional merit. The retiring shareholder was relieved from any responsibility concerning the share he transferred and accounted for it according to the annual value or rate of the property. Thus the trader who disposed of his extra share had no pecuniary advantage from the sale, but only drew a continuous profit from the share which as a sleeping partner he retained. [Sidenote: Partnership regulations.] By such means all the younger men who were not provided for at the inception of the North-West company, or when they afterwards entered into service, were likely to succeed to the situation and profits of regular partners in the concern. By their contract they entered the company's service as articled clerks for five or seven years. Occasionally they succeeded to shares before the expiration of their apprenticeship. None could be admitted as a partner unless he had first served such apprenticeship to the fur-trade, therefore shares were transferable only to the concern at large. As for the sleeping partner he could not, of course, be debarred from selling out if he chose, but if the transaction were not countenanced by the rest, his name continued to figure in committee, the actual owner of the share being regarded as merely his agent or attorney. A vote accompanied every share, two-thirds constituting a majority. Such, in brief, was the remarkable constitution of this commercial body--a constitution which was in those days wholly unique. By such regular and equitable methods of providing for all classes of employees, a zeal and independence was fostered. Every petty clerk felt himself, as he was, a principal, and his loyalty and thrift became assured forthwith. It has been argued, and not unjustly, that such a constitution was obvious, that no great merit need be ascribed to its originators, that it was evolved, so to speak, by the situation itself. The character of the fur-trade at that time was such, the commerce so hazardous and diffused over so vast a country, that without that spirit of emulation thus evoked the new fur company must quickly have resolved itself into its constituent particles. Nevertheless, shrewdness, courage and foresight were demanded, and in the persons of these Canadian Scotchmen were forthcoming. As for the value of the business in 1788, all the furs, merchandise, provisions and equipments were worth the sum of £40,000. This might properly be called the stock of the Company, for, as Mackenzie, who was now one of its traders, remarked, it included, within the gross expenditure for that year, the amount of the property unexpended, which having been appropriated for that year's adventure, was carried on to the account of the next season. So greatly did the new Company flourish that the gross amount of the adventure ten years later, was close upon £125,000. But in that year, 1798, a change was to occur which will be dealt with in another chapter. [Sidenote: Mackenzie's expedition to the Arctic.] In 1789 Mackenzie felt the time ripe to prosecute a journey towards which his mind had long been directed--that journey overland to the Pacific, in which Verandrye, as we have seen, had failed through the hand of death. His commercial associates by no means relished the enterprise; but Mackenzie's power and influence had now grown considerable, and he found means this year to carry out his wish. On the 3rd of June, 1789, Mackenzie set out from Fort Chipewyan, at the head of Athabaska Lake, a station nearly midway between Hudson's Bay and the Pacific. The young explorer had served here for eight years, and was familiar with the difficulties he had to face, as well as aware of the best methods of overcoming them. Taking with him four canoes, he embarked a German and four Canadians with their wives in the first. The second canoe was occupied by a northern Indian, called English Chief, who had been a follower of Matonabee, Hearne's chief guide and counsellor. This worthy was accompanied by his two wives. The third was taken up by two sturdy young savages, who served in the double capacity of hunters and interpreters; whilst the fourth was laden with provisions, clothing, ammunition, and various articles designed as presents to the Indians. This canoe was in charge of one of the North-West concern's clerks, named La Roux. In such fashion and in such numbers did Mackenzie's party set forth from Fort Chipewyan. By the 4th of June they reached Slave River, which connects the Athabasca and Slave Lakes in a course of about 170 miles; on the 9th of the same month they sighted Slave Lake itself. During this part of the journey they had suffered no other inconvenience than those arising from the attacks of the mosquitoes during the heat of the day and the excessive cold, which characterizes the nights in that country, especially in the hours near dawn. Skirting the shore they came to a lodge of Red Knife Indians, so called from their use of copper knives. One of these natives offered to conduct Mackenzie to the mouth of that river which was the object of his search, as the Coppermine had been of Hearne's. Unhappily, so numerous were the impediments encountered from drift ice, contrary winds, and the ignorance of their guide (whom English Chief threatened to murder for his incompetence), that it was the 29th of the month before they embarked upon the stream which to-day bears the name of the leader of the party who then first ascended it. [Sidenote: Journey down the Mackenzie River.] On quitting the lake, the Mackenzie River was found to take its course to the westward, becoming gradually narrower for twenty-four miles, till it dwindled to a stream half a mile wide, having a strong current and a depth of three and a half fathoms. A stiff breeze from the eastward now drove them on at a great speed, and after a run of ten miles the channel widened gradually until it assumed the appearance of a small lake. The guide confessed that this was the limit of his acquaintance with the river. Soon afterwards they came in sight of the chain of Horn Mountains, bearing north-west, and experienced some difficulty in resuming the channel of the river. The party continued the journey for five days with no interruption. On July 6th they observed several columns of smoke on the north bank and on landing discovered an encampment of five families of Slave and Dog-ribbed Indians, who, on the first appearance of the white men, fled in consternation to the woods. English Chief, however, called after them, in a tongue they understood, and they, though reluctantly, responded to his entreaties to return, especially when they were accompanied by offers of gifts. The distribution of a few beads, rings and knives, with a supply of grog, soon reconciled them to the strangers. But the travellers were somewhat appalled to learn from these Indians of the rigours of the journey which awaited them. These asserted that it would require several winters to reach the sea, and that old age would inevitably overtake the party before their return. Demons of terrible shape and malevolent disposition were stated to have their dwellings in the rock caves which lined the river's brim, and these were ready to devour the hardy spirits who should dare continue their journey past them. This information Mackenzie and his party endeavoured to receive with equanimity; they staggered more at the narrative of two impassable falls which were said to exist about thirty days march from where they then were. But although the effect of these tales on the leader of the expedition was not great, his Indians, already weary of travelling, drank all in with willing ears. They could hardly be induced to continue the journey. When their scruples were overcome, one of the Dog-ribbed Indians was persuaded by the present of a kettle, an axe, and some other articles, to accompany them as guide. But, alas, when the hour for embarkation came, his love of home overbore all other considerations, and his attempt to escape was only frustrated by actually forcing him on board. Continuing their journey, they passed the Great Bear Lake River, and steering through numerous islands came in sight of a ridge of snowy mountains, frequented, according to their guide, by herds of bears and small white buffalo. The banks of the river were seen to be pretty thickly peopled with natives, whose timidity was soon overcome by small gifts. From these Indians was procured a seasonable supply of hares, partridges, fish and reindeer. The same stories of spirits or manitous which haunted the stream, and of fearful rapids which would dash the canoes in pieces, were repeated by these tribes. This time they had a real effect. The guide, during a storm of thunder and lightning, decamped in the night, and no doubt fled for home as rapidly as his legs, or improvised canoe, could carry him. No great difficulty, however, was experienced in procuring a substitute, and after a short sail the party approached an encampment of Indians, whose brawny figures, healthy appearance, and cleanliness were a great improvement on the other tribes they had seen. From these Mackenzie learnt that he must sleep ten nights before arriving at the sea. In three nights, he was told, he would meet with Esquimaux, with whom they had been at war, but were now at peace. It was evident that none in these parts had ever heard the sound of fire-arms for, when one of Mackenzie's men discharged his fowling-piece, the utmost terror took possession of them. When this intrepid pioneer through the lands of the Hudson's Bay Company had reached a latitude of 67° 47´, a great range of snowy mountains burst into view. Mackenzie, by this time, was convinced that the waters on which the four frail barks were gliding must flow into the Arctic Ocean. When within a few days of accomplishing the great object of the journey, the attendant Indians sunk into a fit of despondency and were reluctant to proceed. The new guide pleaded his ignorance of the region, as he had never before penetrated to what he and his fellows termed the Benahulla Toe.[82] Mackenzie, thereupon, assured them all that he would return if it were not reached in seven days, and so prevailed on them to continue the journey. The nights were now illumined by a blazing sun and everything denoted the proximity of the sea. On landing at a deserted Esquimaux encampment, several pieces of whalebone were observed; also a place where train-oil had been spilt. Signs of vegetation grew rarer and rarer. [Sidenote: The explorer reaches the Arctic.] On the 12th of July the explorer reached what appears to have been an arm of the Arctic Sea. It was quite open to the westward, and by an observation the latitude was found to be 69°. All before them, as far as they could see, was a vast stretch of ice. They continued their course with difficulty fifteen miles to the western-most extremity of a high island, and then it was found impossible to proceed farther. Many other islands were seen to the eastward; but though they came to a grave, on which lay a bow, a paddle and a spear, they met no living human beings in those Arctic solitudes. The red fox and the reindeer, flocks of beautiful plover, some venerable white owls, and several large white gulls were the only natives. But Mackenzie knew he had triumphed; for he had, as he stood on the promontory of Whale Island, caught sight of a shoal of those marine night monsters from whom the island then received its name. Before returning, Mackenzie caused a post to be erected close to the tents, upon which the traveller engraved the latitude of the spot, his own name, the number of persons accompanying him, and the time they spent on the island. [Illustration: THE BUSHRANGER AND THE INDIANS.] [Illustration: A PORTAGE.] On the 16th of July they set out on their long journey to the fort. On the 21st, the sun, which for some time had never set, descended below the horizon, and on that day they were joined by eleven of the natives. These represented their tribe as numerous, and perpetually at war with the Esquimaux, who had broken a treaty into which they had seduced the Indians and had massacred many of them. On one occasion an Indian of a strange tribe beyond the mountains to the west endeavoured to draw for Mackenzie a map of that distant country with a stick upon the sand. It was a rude production, but gave the explorer an idea. The savage traced out a long point of land between two rivers. This isthmus he represented as running into the great lake, at the extremity of which, as he had been told by Indians of other nations, there was built a Benahulla Couin, or White Man's Fort. "This," says Mackenzie, "I took to be Oonalaska Fort, and consequently the river to the west to be Cook's River, and that the body of water or sea into which the river discharges itself at Whale Island communicated with Norton Sound." Mackenzie in vain endeavoured to procure a guide across the mountains; the natives refused to accompany him. On the 12th of September the party arrived in safety at Fort Chippewyan, having been absent one hundred and two days. Taken in connection with Hearne's journey, this expedition was of great importance as establishing the fact of an Arctic sea of wide extent to the north of the continent. It seemed probable, also, that this sea formed its continuous boundary. But the greater expedition of this intrepid fur-trader was yet to be undertaken. His object this time was to ascend the Peace River, which rises in the Rocky Mountains, and crossing these to penetrate to that unknown stream which he had sought in vain during his former journey. This river, he conjectured, must communicate with the ocean; and finding it, he must be borne along to the Pacific. [Sidenote: Mackenzie sets out for the Pacific.] The explorer set out, accordingly, from Fort Chippewyan on the 10th of October, 1792, pushing on to the remotest trading post, where he spent the winter in a traffic for furs with the Beaver and Rocky Indians. When he had despatched six canoes to Chippewyan with the cargo he had collected, he engaged hunters and interpreters, built a huge canoe and set out for the Pacific. This canoe, it may be mentioned, was twenty-five feet long within, exclusive of the curves of stem and stern, twenty-six inches hold and four feet nine inches beam. At the same time it was so light that two men could carry it three or four miles, if necessity arose, without stopping to rest. In such a slender craft they not only stowed away their provisions, presents, arms, ammunition and baggage to the weight of three thousand pounds, but found room for Mackenzie, seven white companions and two Indians. Up to the 21st of May the party encountered a series of such difficulties and hardships that all save the leader himself were disheartened at the prospect. The river being broken by frequent cascades and dangerous rapids, it was very often necessary to carry the canoe and baggage until the voyage could be resumed in safety; and on their nearer approach to the Rocky Mountains the stream, hemmed in between stupendous rocks, presented a continuance of fearful torrents and huge cataracts. The party began to murmur audibly; and, at last, progress came to a standstill. In truth, there was some reason for this irresolution; further progress by water was impossible and they could only advance over a mountain whose sides were broken by sharp, jagged rocks and thickly covered with wood. Mackenzie despatched a reconnoitring party, with orders to ascend the mountain and proceed in a straight course from its summit, keeping the line of the river until they could ascertain if it was practicable to resume navigation. While this party was gone on its quest, the canoe was repaired, and Mackenzie busied himself in taking an altitude which showed the latitude to be 56° 8'. By sunset the scouts had severally returned, each having taken different routes. They had penetrated through thick woods, ascended hills and dived into valleys, passed the rapids, and agreed, that though the difficulties by land were appalling, this was the only practicable course. Unattractive as was the prospect, the spirits of the party rose as night closed in. Their troubles were forgotten in a repast of wild rice sweetened with sugar; the usual evening regale of rum renewed their courage, and followed by a night's rest, they entered upon the journey next day with cheerfulness and vigour. It is not to the purpose here to relate all that befell Mackenzie on this memorable voyage, but, after many vicissitudes, towards the close of June he reached the spot where the party were to strike off across the country. [Sidenote: Journey in the mountain.] "We carried on our back," says Mackenzie, "four bags and a half of pemmican, weighing from eighty-five to ninety-five pounds each, a case with the instruments, a parcel of goods for presents weighing ninety pounds, and a parcel containing ammunition of the same weight; each of the Canadians had a burden of about ninety pounds, with a gun and ammunition, whilst the Indians had about forty-five pounds weight of pemmican, besides their gun--an obligation with which, owing to their having been treated with too much indulgence, they expressed themselves much dissatisfied. My own load, and that of Mr. Mackay, consisted of twenty-two pounds of pemmican, some rice, sugar, and other small articles, amounting to about seventy pounds, besides our arms and ammunition. The tube of my telescope was also slung across my shoulder, and owing to the low state of our provisions, it was determined that we should content ourselves with two meals a day." About the middle of July Mackenzie encountered a chief who had, ten years before, in a voyage by sea, met with two large vessels full of white men, the first he had ever seen and by whom he was kindly received. The explorer very plausibly conjectured that these were the ships of Captain Cook. Thus the names of two of the world's great explorers were, by that episode, conjoined. The navigation of the river, although interrupted by rapids and cascades, was continued until the 23rd, when the party reached its mouth. Here the river was found to discharge itself by various smaller channels into the Pacific. The memorable journey was now finished, and its purpose completed. In large characters, upon the surface of a rock under whose shelter the party had slept, their leader painted this simple memorial: "Alexander Mackenzie, from Canada by land the 22nd of July, one thousand seven hundred and ninety-three." Such was the inscription written with vermilion, at which doubtless the simple aboriginal tribes came to marvel before it was washed away by the elements. But its purport was conveyed to England in another and more abiding character, which yet will not outlast the memory of the achievement. Mackenzie and his followers had paved the way; almost despite itself the Company must take possession, before long, of its own; although much had arisen which rendered the task less easy than if it had been undertaken immediately on the conquest, thirty years before. [Sidenote: Turner's exploration.] The news of Mackenzie's journeys reaching London considerably perturbed the Honourable Adventurers and undeniably diminished their prestige. It was not that the Company did not wish to pursue discovery and bring about a knowledge of the vast unknown regions which appertained to it under the charter; it was for a long time impracticable. In 1785 it had sent out orders to continue the exploration of the west, begun by Hearne. A man had been despatched in accordance with these instructions, but his courage, or his endurance, had failed him, and he returned to Cumberland House without having accomplished anything of note. For the five or six years ensuing, the reports of the meetings of the Company are sufficient testimony to the desire of the members to take an active part in seeking trade with unknown tribes. But to effect this, men were necessary; and men of the required character were not immediately forthcoming. It was not till 1791 that, after an animated correspondence with the Colonial Office, a person was suggested for the enterprise who seemed to possess the equipment adequate to the task. This was Turner, who sought a career as an astronomer, and with him went Ross, one of the Company's clerks. Both were badly furnished for an expedition of this kind, and taking counsel among themselves, came to the conclusion that as they had to make their way through parts unknown to the Hudson's Bay servants, it would be as well to seek the assistance of the Northmen as well. From Alexander Mackenzie, Turner obtained a letter to the factor in charge of Fort Chippewyan, instructing him to offer the explorers every facility and courtesy; and indeed so well were Turner and his companion treated at this post that they passed the winter there. The result of this expedition went to show that Lake Athabasca, instead of being situated in proximity to the Pacific, was really distant nearly a thousand miles. There were men enough for the work in hand if the Company had only availed themselves of them. At the very moment when Mackenzie was making his voyages, a youth was finishing his education at the Charter House who had all the cleverness, force and intrepidity for the task that all desired to see accomplished. His name was David Thompson. The time having arrived when this youth should choose a career, his inclination turned to travel in the unknown quarters of the globe, and hoping that adventure of some sort would transpire for him in the north-west of the New World, he signed as one of the clerks of the Company, and set sail in 1794 for Fort Churchill. Arriving here, he found himself "cribbed, cabined and confined." Governor Colen and himself were little to their mutual liking, and still less of the same mind, as Thompson had an ardent, energetic temperament, and was with difficulty controlled. Yet during the summer of 1795, by reason of continuous pleadings, he obtained permission to set out on a tour to the west, and with an escort of one white clerk, an Irishman, and two Indians, he travelled to Athabasca, surveying the country as he went along. [Sidenote: David Thompson.] On his return from Athabasca, Thompson's term of service had expired, and he was encouraged to apply for employment with the Northmen. They desired to learn the position of their trading houses, chiefly with respect to the 49th parallel of latitude, which had become, since the treaty of 1792 with America, the boundary line between the possessions of the two countries. For several years Thompson continued in the service of the Company's rivals, surveying a considerable territory and drawing up charts and maps, which were sent to the partners at Fort William.[83] After Thompson came Simon Fraser and John Stuart, the names of both of whom are perpetuated in the rivers bearing their names to-day. Fraser is described by one of his associates as "an illiterate, ill-bred, fault-finding man, of jealous disposition, but ambitious and energetic, with considerable conscience, and in the main holding to honest convictions." Both these men bore a chief share in establishing trading posts on the other side of the Rocky Mountains, which are now associated with the Hudson's Bay Company. FOOTNOTES: [82] White Man's Lake. [83] Of David Thompson we get a portrait from Mr. H. H. Bancroft. He was, he says, "of an entirely different order of man from the orthodox fur-trader. Tall and fine looking, with sandy complexion, with large features, deep-set studious eyes, high forehead and broad shoulders, the intellectual was set upon the physical. His deeds have never been trumpeted as have those of some of the others; but in the westward explorations of the North-West Company, no man performed more valuable service or estimated his achievements more modestly. Unhappily his last days were not as pleasant as fell to the lot of some of the worn out members of the Company. He retired, almost blind, to Lachine House, once the headquarters of the Company, where he was met with in 1831 in a very decrepit condition." CHAPTER XXVIII. 1787-1808. Captain Vancouver -- La Pérouse in the Pacific -- The Straits of Anian -- A Fantastic Episode -- Russian Hunters and Traders -- The Russian Company -- Dissensions amongst the Northmen -- They send the _Beaver_ to Hudson's Bay -- The Scheme of Mackenzie a Failure -- A Ferocious Spirit Fostered -- Abandoned Characters -- A series of Outrages -- The affair at Bad Lake. When Mackenzie, in July, 1793, reached the Pacific by land from the east, he had been preceded by sea only three years by Captain George Vancouver, the discoverer of the British Columbian coast. The same year Gray, sailing from Boston in 1790, entered the Columbia River farther south. But the title of Muscovy to the northern coasts had already been made good by several Russians since Bering's time, and the Company's charter secured to them the lands drained by the Fraser, Mackenzie, and Peace rivers, to the west. [Sidenote: La Pérouse in the Pacific.] So little, however, was the Russian title recognized for some time, that when this unfortunate expedition of La Pérouse, with the frigates _Boussole_ and _Astralabe_, stopped on this coast in 1787, that doughty destroyer of York and Prince of Wales' Forts did not hesitate to consider the friendly harbour in latitude 58° 36' as open to permanent occupation. Describing this harbour, which he named Port des François, he says that nature seemed to have created at this extremity of the world a port like that of Toulon, but vaster in plan and accommodation; and then, considering that it had never been discovered before, that it was situated thirty-three leagues north-west of Remedios, the limit of Spanish navigation, about two hundred and eighty-four leagues from Nootka, and one hundred leagues from Prince William Sound. The mariner records his judgment that "if the French Government had any project of a factory on this coast no nation could have the slightest right to oppose it." [Illustration: DE L'ISLE'S MAP, 1752.] Thus was Russia to be coolly dislodged by the French! There is little doubt but that the Company, judging by its declarations in committee some years afterwards, would have had something to say in the matter. But La Pérouse and his frigates sailed farther on in their voyage and never returned to France. Their fate for a generation remained unknown, until their shipwrecked hulls were accidentally found on a desert island in the South Pacific. The unfinished journal of this zealous admiral had, however, in the meantime been sent by him overland by way of Kamschatka and Siberia to France, where it was published by decree of the National Assembly, thus making known his supposed discovery and his aspirations. [Sidenote: Spanish claims.] Spain also had been a claimant. In 1775 Bodega, a Spanish navigator, seeking new opportunities to plant the Spanish flag, reached a parallel of 58° on this coast, not far from Sitka; but this supposed discovery was not followed by any immediate assertion of dominion. The universal aspiration of Spain had embraced this whole region at a much earlier day, and shortly after the return of Bodega another enterprise was equipped to verify the larger claim, being nothing less than the original title as discoverer of the straits between America and Asia, and of the conterminous continent under the name of Anian. Indeed, a Spanish document appeared, which caused a considerable fluttering of hearts amongst the Adventurers, entitled "Relation of the Discovery of the Strait of Anian made by me, Captain Lorenzo Ferren Maldonado," purporting to be written at the time, although it did not see the light until 1781, when it immediately became the subject of a memoir before the French Academy. This narrative of Maldonado has long since taken its place with that of the celebrated Munchausen. The whole fantastic episode of Anian's Straits is worthy of mention in a history of the Company and its lands. There is no doubt of the existence of early maps bearing straits of that name to the north. On an interesting map by Zoltieri, bearing the date of 1566, without latitude or longitude, the western coast of the continent is here delineated with straits separating it from Asia, not unlike Bering's Straits in outline and with the name in Italian, Stretto di Anian; and towards the south the coast possesses a certain conformity to that which we now know. Below the straits is an indentation corresponding to Bristol Bay; then a peninsula somewhat broader than Alaska, which is continued in an elbow of the coast; lower down appear three islands, not unlike Sitka, Queen Charlotte and Vancouver; and lastly, to the south appears the peninsula of Lower California. After a time maps began to record the Straits of Anian; but the substantial conformity of the early delineation with the reality has always been somewhat of a mystery.[84] The foundation of the story of Anian is said to lie in the voyage of the Portuguese navigator, Caspar de Cortereal, in 1500-1505, who, on reaching Hudson's Bay in quest of a passage to India, imagined he had found it, naming his discovery "in honour of two brothers who accompanied him." [Sidenote: Russians on the west coast.] Meanwhile Russian hunters and traders from Okhotsk were extending their expedition from the north-east coast of Siberia to the north-west coast of North America. A Russian Government expedition started from Okhotsk in 1790, under the command of Captain Billings, an Englishman in the Russian service, and to Captain Taryteheff, one of the members, are due important researches on the hydrography and ethnology of these countries. The first attempt at permanent settlement was due to three Russian traders, Shelekoff and the two Golikoffs, who fitted out two or three vessels to be sent to "the land of Alaska, also called America; to islands known or unknown, for the purpose of trading in furs; of exploring the country and entering into relations with the inhabitants." Their first expedition started in 1781, and the first settlement was founded on the Island of Kodiak. The authority of the Russian Government was thus established on this and the adjacent islands. In 1790, Shelekoff, then residing in Irkoutsk, sent out a merchant named Baranoff to govern the new colony.[85] Thus the knowledge that they were being pressed in on opposite sides by the Canadian traders on the south and east, and by Russians on the north and west, reached the Company at the same time. As a matter of fact, the knowledge of Baranoff's enterprise and the energy with which it was being prosecuted did not come before the committee until October, 1794; and it was in that very month that the report of Mackenzie's journey reached them. The next few years were devoted to devising and considering schemes to counteract these two growing competitors--to oppose the further progress of the Russians on the one hand, and to combat the North-Westers on the other. For twenty-seven years Baranoff continued to be the controlling mind of the new Russian trading enterprise. Shelekoff died in 1795; and his widow continued the business, and upon combining with the Milnikoff Company it increased gradually in wealth. The charter of these joint enterprises, to which the name of the Russian-American Fur Company was given, was signed in August, 1798, and confirmed at St. Petersburg in 1799. That year witnessed the settlement of New Archangel, on the island of Sitka. The consequences of this increased output were not, however, felt in the fur-markets at Leipsic. Europe was convulsed by war, and Napoleon had laid an embargo on British goods. The furs, therefore, accumulated for several years in the stores of the Hudson's Bay Company without finding a mart. From 1787 to 1817, for only a portion of which time the Russian Company existed, the Unalaska district yielded upwards of 2,500,000 seal skins alone. The number of other skins reported at times was prodigious. But the time had not come for the Company to actively assert itself in opposition to the Russians. It was paying dearly now for its short-sightedness in not availing itself of the opportunities afforded by the conquest of Canada to penetrate into its chartered domain. In the second year of the century the Honourable Adventurers had been obliged to borrow £20,000 from the Bank of England, hoping that the cessation of war in Europe, and the quarrels of the rival Montreal traders in North America, would permit the Company to regain the advantage it had lost. For in the autumn of 1798 the Company had received advices that its prosperous Canadian rival had taken a new step in the conduct of its affairs. [Sidenote: Rival factions in the North-West Company.] Difficulties and dissensions had begun to breed in the ranks of the Northmen. A few disaffected spirits spoke of secession and carried their intentions into effect, but the stronger partners were reluctant to break up an alliance which had proved so prosperous. But in the closing year, but one of the century, the situation became intolerable and when the partners met, as was their custom at the Grand Portage, Mackenzie bluntly told his associates that he had resolved to quit the Company. He was led to this decision by a personal quarrel between himself and Simon McTavish, the chief of the North-West Company. Opposing factions sprang into being, attaching themselves to both Mackenzie and McTavish, the latter of whom strongly resented the way in which he was treated at the annual meeting by the partisans of the former, and each now determined to take his course thenceforward untrammelled by the other. Mackenzie went to England, where he published an account of his travels in the north-west and obtained the honour of knighthood, and in 1801 returned to Canada. Here his friends flocked about him, and there saw the light of a new organization, officially entitled the New North-West Company, or Sir Alexander Mackenzie & Co., but more popularly as the X. Y. Co. The two rival Canadian associations now put forth all their strength to establish their commerce in the unknown and unfrequented regions. One of the old North-West employees, Livingston, who had already, in 1796, established a post nearly 100 miles north of Slave Lake, undertook to carry the trade still farther north. But this he was never destined to accomplish. A few days out on this journey he was confronted by the aborigines, who slew him and his companions. An expedition to the Bow River, however, was more successful, and in the midst of many hostile Indians a trading post was established there. Other proofs of enterprise on the part of McTavish and his associates were not wanting. The dissensions between the two companies so far do not appear to have had a prejudicial effect on the traffic, for on the 30th October, 1802, Lieutenant Governor Milnes, in a dispatch to Lord Hobart,[86] gives an account of the flourishing state of the fur-trade which so far, he says, from diminishing, appears to increase. New tracts of country had been visited by the merchants employed in this traffic, which had furnished new sources of supply, a large proportion of the furs taken in the North-West being brought to Quebec for shipment.[87] But, perhaps, a policy the most daring was pursued with regard to the Hudson's Bay Company. It was not expected that either McTavish and his allies, or the X. Y. concern would long be content to forego the glory and profit attendant upon warfare at close quarters with the Chartered Company. "What is there in their charter," they asked themselves, "which gives them benefits we cannot enjoy? We shall see." [Sidenote: The Northmen at Hudson's Bay.] They provided for a most effectual demonstration. In the spring of 1803, they sent the _Beaver_, a vessel of one hundred and fifty tons, to Hudson's Bay, with instructions to exploit commerce under the very guns of the Company's forts. Hardly had the _Beaver_ got under way than an overland expedition was sent by the old French trading route of Lakes St. Jean and Mistassini, to the same quarter. The result was the construction of two posts, one on Charlton Island, and the other at the mouth of Moose River. The astonishment of the Company's servants can be imagined, when upon looking out one fine morning, they beheld a band of swarthy half-breeds, captained by Orkneymen, rearing premises adjacent to their own, and bidding defiance to the ancient charter of the Honourable Hudson's Bay Company. They were told by their superiors not to be alarmed; the scheme of their rivals would not succeed any more than had those of the Quebec companies who a century before had sought to penetrate overland to the Bay. The company could always undersell them then; and it could now, and did. The confidence of the factors was justified, and the Indians merely smiled at the Northmen and their goods, bidding them return to their country, or betake themselves to the west, where the tribes were ignorant and knew not the value of things. So, after a season or two, the North-West concern abandoned Moose River and Charlton Island, and sought other and more fruitful fields in the west. [Sidenote: The Fishery and Fur Company.] Mackenzie himself was in London actively engaged in promoting a scheme of his own. He sought to get the British Government to constrain the Hudson's Bay Company to grant licenses to a company of British merchants, to be established in London under the name of "The Fishery and Fur Company," which company, for the purpose of combining the fishery in the Pacific with the fur trade of the interior from the east to the west coasts of the Continent of North America, would at once "equip whalers in England, and by means of the establishments already made and in activity at Montreal on the east and advanced posts and trading houses in the interior towards the west coast, to which they might extend it and where other establishments to be made at King George Sound, Nootka Island, under the protection of the Supreme Government, and on the River Columbia and at Sea Otter Harbour under the protection of the subordinate Government of these places, would open and establish a commercial communication through the Continent of North America between the Atlantic and Pacific Oceans to the incalculable advantage and furtherance both of the Pacific Fishery of America and American Fur Trade of Great Britain, in part directly and in part indirectly, through the channel of the possessions and factories of the East India Company in China," etc., "it being perfectly understood that none of these maritime or inland establishments shall be made on territory in the possession of any other European nation, nor within the limits of the United States of North America or of the Hudson's Bay Company." The scheme, however, failed. The death of McTavish, in 1804, brought about a reunion of the two rival factions, and the North-West Company became stronger than ever. They imitated the Chartered Company in establishing several of their members in London as agents, who purchased the necessary merchandise and saw it safely shipped, besides attending to the fur imports and other regular business of the concern. [Sidenote: Coalition of the North-West and X. Y. Companies.] After the coalition of the old North-West and the X. Y. concern, and the consequent suppression of all private adventurers in Canada, the only rival of the Northmen in the Uplands was the Hudson's Bay Company. It was alleged that thenceforward the ferocious spirit which had been fostered among the clerks and servants of the two companies by six years of continual violence was all turned against the Company. It was said that not only was a systematic plan formed for driving their traders out of all valuable beaver companies, but that hopes were entertained of reducing the Company to so low an ebb as in time to induce them to make over their chartered rights to their commercial rival. With this intent, a series of aggressive acts was now begun and carried on against the servants of the Company. [Illustration: THE RIVAL TRADERS.] The Hudson's Bay Company had witnessed the encroachment of the traders, first French, then English, as well as the establishment and growth of the North-West association, without taking any active steps to forcibly restrain them. Many years was the competition carried on without any violent breach of the peace on either side. Oftentimes indeed did the rival traders meet in the wilderness at a deserted camp, or at some remote portage, but they bore no personal enmity in their hearts. They shook hands, smoked, broke meat together, and parted--one with his beaver skins to the east, the other to the north--to Cumberland or York Factory. Doubtless the North-West concern at the beginning of the century possessed a powerful advantage in the system of profits and deserved promotion, while the Company's servants, unstimulated by any hope of additional reward or certain promotion, was calculated to foster apathy, rather than zeal. [Sidenote: Murder of Labau.] It was claimed by the Company that the Northmen employed for their purposes men of the most abandoned character who, as Sir Alexander Mackenzie expressed it, "considered the command of their employer as binding on them, and however wrong or irregular the transaction the responsibility rested with the principal who directed them." One of the first instances of collision occurred in the year 1800. In that year Frederick Schultz, a clerk of the old Company, commanded a post near Nepigon. Amongst his men was a young lad about nineteen years of age named Labau, who understood English, and had in the course of the preceding winter become intimate with the servants of the Hudson's Bay Company, who occupied a post near the same place. Labau was attracted to the Company's service and, when the traders on both sides were preparing to leave their wintering ground, resolved to go down to York Factory. Intelligence of this having reached Schultz, he sent his interpreter to order Labau to return to his duty, accompanied by a reminder that he was in debt to the North-West Company. The young man responded by offering to remit the money he owed the Company, but declared that he would not remain any longer in its service. This answer being reported to Schultz he vehemently declared that if the scoundrel would not come back willingly he would know what to do with him. The doughty Northman took his dagger, carefully whetted it, and having dressed himself in his best attire, went over to the Hudson's Bay post. Here he found Labau, and asked him in a furious tone whether he would come with him. The young man, being intimidated, faltered out an affirmative, but watching his opportunity sought to make his escape out of the room, but Schultz was too quick for him. He drew his dagger and aimed a blow which Labau tried in vain to avoid. He was stabbed in the loin, and expired the same evening. After this exploit, when Schultz returned to the assembly of the Northmen at the Grand Portage, he met with an indifferent reception, Labau being rather popular amongst his fellow-servants. It was, therefore, not thought advisable to employ Schultz any longer in that quarter, although this was the only notice taken of the murder. The murderer came down in the canoes of the North-West concern to Montreal, where he remained at large and unnoticed for months. He was afterwards taken into the service of the Company, employed in a different region, and after several years settled down undisturbed in Lower Canada. [Illustration: YORK FACTORY. (_From an old print._)] There can be no doubt that much of the success of the Northmen was due to the indiscriminate manner in which they extirpated the animals in the country, destroying all without distinction, whether young or old, in season or out of season. The miserable natives, over-awed by the preparation and power of the strangers, and dreading the resentment of the Northmen, witnessed this destruction without daring to resist, although they complained bitterly that their country was wasted as if it had been overrun by fire. It is well known that the best season for hunting all the fur-bearing animals is the winter. The fur in summer is universally of inferior quality, and this, too, is the season when wild animals rear their young. For both these reasons it seemed desirable that the hunting should be suspended during the summer months, and this was effectually procured when all the best hunters, all the young and active men of the Indian tribes, were engaged in a distant excursion. There was consequently a material advantage in requiring them to leave their hunting grounds in summer, and come to the factories on the coast for a supply of European goods. While this was the practice, no furs were brought from home but those of prime quality, and as the beaver and other valuable fur-bearing animals were protected from injury during the most critical time of the year, the breed was preserved, and the supply was plentiful. But when the traders came to the interior, there to remain throughout the year, the Indians were tempted to conceal their hunts through the season. They were too improvident to abstain from killing the breeding animals or their young. The cub was destroyed with the full-grown beaver, and the consequence might readily have been foreseen. These valuable animals, formerly so numerous, rapidly approached the point of complete extermination. It was observed that the district in which they once abounded, and from which large supplies were formerly obtained, soon came to produce few or none. [Sidenote: Collision at Big Fall.] In autumn, 1806, John Crear, a trader in the service of the Hudson's Bay Company (also on the establishment of Albany Factory), occupied a post at a place called Big Fall, near Lake Winipic. One evening a party of Canadians in two canoes, commanded by Mr. Alexander MacDonnell, then a clerk of the North-West Company, arrived, and encamped at a short distance. On the following morning four of Crear's men set out for their fishing grounds, about a mile off, immediately after which Mr. MacDonnell came to the house with his men, and charging Crear with having traded furs with an Indian who was indebted to the North-West concern, insisted on these furs being given up to him. On Crear's refusal, MacDonnell's men broke open the warehouse door. William Plowman, the only servant that remained with Crear, attempted to prevent them from entering; but one of the Canadians knocked him down, while another presented a gun at Crear himself. Although MacDonnell prevented him from firing, the Canadian struck Crear in the eye with the butt end of his gun, which covered his face with blood and felled him to the ground. Mr. MacDonnell himself stabbed Plowman in the arm with a dagger, and gave him a dangerous wound. The Canadians then rifled the warehouse; the furs, being taken in summer, were of little value; but they carried off two bags of flour, a quantity of salt pork and beef, and some dried venison, and also took away a new canoe belonging to the Hudson's Bay Company. In the following February MacDonnell sent one of his junior clerks with a party of men, who again attacked Crear's house, overpowered him, beat him and his men in the most brutal manner, and carried away a great number of valuable furs. They also obliged Crear to sign a paper acknowledging that he had given up the furs voluntarily, which they extorted with threats of instant death if he should refuse. Mr. Alexander MacDonnell had lately been promoted to the station of a partner in the North-West concern. In the year 1806, Mr. Fidler was sent with a party of eighteen men from Churchill Factory, to establish a trading post at Isle a la Crosse, near the borders of the Athabasca country, but within the territories of the Hudson's Bay Company. He remained there for two years, sending a detachment of his people to Green Lake and Beaver River. During the first winter he had some success, but afterwards he was effectually obstructed. On many former occasions the officers of the Hudson's Bay Company had attempted to establish a trade in this place, which is in the centre of a country abounding in beaver, but they had always been obliged to renounce the attempt. The methods used with Mr. Fidler may explain the causes of this failure. Mr. John MacDonnell had been Mr. Fidler's competitor during the early part of the winter, but (not being inclined to set all principles of law and justice at defiance) was removed and relieved, first by Mr. Robert Henry, and then by Mr. John Duncan Campbell. The North-West concern having been established for many years at Isle a la Crosse without any competition, had obtained what they call the attachment of the Indians, that is to say, they had reduced them to such abject submission that the very sight of a Canadian was sufficient to inspire them with terror. In order that this salutary awe might suffer no diminution, the post at Isle a la Crosse was reinforced with an extra number of Canadians, so that the natives might be effectually prevented from holding any intercourse with the traders of the Hudson's Bay Company, and that the appearance of so very superior a force, ready to overwhelm and destroy him, might deter Mr. Fidler from any attempt to protect his customers. A watch-house was built close to his door, so that no Indian could enter unobserved; a party of professed batteilleurs were stationed here, and employed not only to watch the natives, but to give every possible annoyance, night and day, to the servants of the Hudson's Bay Company. Their fire-wood was stolen, they were perpetually obstructed in hunting for provisions, the produce of their garden was destroyed, their fishing lines taken away in the night time, and their nets, on which they chiefly relied for subsistence, cut to pieces. The ruffians who were posted to watch Mr. Fidler, proceeded from one act of violence to another, and in proportion as they found themselves feebly resisted, they grew bolder, and at length issued a formal mandate that not one of the servants of the Hudson's Bay Company should stir out of their house, and followed up this with such examples of severity that Mr. Fidler's men refused to remain at the post. They were compelled to leave it, and the Canadians immediately burnt his house to the ground. [Sidenote: The robbery at Bad Lake.] A trader, William Corrigal, in the service of the Company, was stationed, in May, 1806, with a few men at a place called Bad Lake, not far from Albany Factory. Near this post was another occupied by a much larger number of men in charge of a partner in the North-West concern named Haldane. Five of the Canadians in his service watching their opportunity broke into Corrigal's house about midnight when he and his men were in bed. The ruffians immediately secured all the loaded guns and pistols they could find, and one of them seizing the Company's trader and presenting a pistol at his breast swore to shoot him if he made any resistance. In the meantime the others rifled the storehouse and took away furs to the number of 480 beaver. On their departure Corrigal dressed himself and went immediately to Haldane, whom he found up, and fully attired, to complain of the conduct of his servants and to demand that the stolen property be restored. The answer of the Northman was that "He had come to that country for furs, and furs he was determined to have." The robbers were permitted to carry away the stolen peltries to the Grand Portage where they were sold, and formed part of the returns of the North-West concern that year. A robbery of the same character took place at Red Lake a little later in the year. This trading house was also under the charge of Corrigal, and was forcibly entered by eight of the Northmen, armed with pistols and knives; under threats to murder the servants of the Hudson's Bay Company they carried off furs to the amount of fifty beaver. Not long after this they forcibly broke open the same warehouse and robbed it of a large quantity of cloth, brandy, tobacco and ammunition. [Sidenote: Violence and robbery by the North-West Company.] In the year 1808 Mr. John Spence, of the Hudson's Bay Company, commanded a post fitted out from Churchill's Factory at Reindeer Lake, in the neighbourhood of which there was a station of the North-West Company commanded by Mr. John Duncan Campbell, one of the partners. In the course of the spring, William Linklater, in the service of the Hudson's Bay Company, was sent out to meet some Indians, from whom he traded a parcel of valuable furs. He was bringing them home on a hand sleigh, and was at no great distance from the house, when Campbell came out with a number of men, stopped him, demanded the furs, and on being refused drew a dagger, with which he cut the traces of the sledge, while at the same time one of his men took hold of Linklater's shoes, tripped him up, and made him fall on the ice. The sledge of furs was then hauled away to the North-West concern's house. Campbell offered to Mr. Spence to send other furs in exchange for those which he had thus robbed him of; but they were of very inferior value, and the latter refused the compromise. The furs were carried away, and no compensation was ever made. On a previous occasion, at Isle a la Crosse Lake (in the year 1805), the same Campbell had attacked two of the servants of the Hudson's Bay Company, and took a parcel of furs from them in the same way. Some of the men from the Hudson's Bay House came out to assist their fellow-servants, but were attacked by superior numbers of the Canadians, and beaten off, with violence and bloodshed. FOOTNOTES: [84] See map, page 246. [85] To exhibit anew the exaggeration common to the acquisition of new possessions, I may observe that Shelekoff reported that he had subjected to the crown of Russia, "fifty thousand men in the Island of Kodiak alone." But Lisiansky, who took a prominent part in the Russian Company, remarks, in 1805, that "the population of the island, when compared with its size, is very small." After the "minutest research" at that time he found it amounted to only four thousand souls. [86] Canadian archives. [87] The tables enclosed in the dispatch show, first, the names and numbers of the posts occupied in the Indian country (exclusive of the King's posts), the number of partners, clerks and men employed, the latitude and longitude of each post being also given. The grand total shows that there were 117 posts, 20 partners, 161 clerks and interpreters, 877 common men, in all of a permanent staff 1,058 men, thus divided: Ninety-five in the territory of the United States from the south side of Lake Superior to the division of the waters falling into the Mississippi on the one side and Hudson's Bay on the other; seventy-six on the waters falling into the St. Lawrence from the Kaministiquia, and also from the St. Maurice; six hundred and thirty on the waters falling into Hudson's Bay, and two hundred and fifty-seven on the waters falling into the North Sea by the Mackenzie River. Besides these there were eighty or one hundred Canadians and Iroquois hunters, not servants, ranging free over the country and about five hundred and forty men employed in canoes on the Ottawa River. The average duties paid annually on landing in Britain amounted to upwards of £22,000 sterling and the price paid for the furs exported from Quebec in 1801, at the London sales, was £371,139 11s. 4d. CHAPTER XXIX. 1808-1812. Crisis in the Company's Affairs -- No Dividend Paid -- Petition to Lords of the Treasury -- Factors Allowed a Share in the Trade -- Canada Jurisdiction Act -- The Killing of MacDonnell -- Mowat's Ill-treatment -- Lord Selkirk -- His Scheme laid before the Company -- A Protest by Thwaytes and others -- The Project Carried -- Emigrants sent out to Red River -- Northmen Stirred to Reprisal. England was again at war with France. Napoleon had placed an embargo on English commerce, and to the uttermost corner of Europe was this measure felt. Tons of the most costly furs, for which there was no market, lay heaped in the Company's warehouse. The greatest difficulty was experienced in procuring servants, especially seamen, and when these were procured, they were often seized by a press-gang; shares began to decline in value; numerous partners were selling out their interests, and no strong man appeared at the head of affairs. In 1808 no dividend was paid, chiefly the result of the non-exportation of the Company's furs to the Continent of Europe. There were the accumulations of furs imported during 1806, 1807 and 1808 lying in the warehouse without prospect of sale. The pressure still continued and at last, in 1809, the Company was driven to petition the Chancellor of the Exchequer for transmission to Lords of the Treasury, setting forth the Company's position and its claims on the nation. [Sidenote: The Company in difficulties.] "Accumulated difficulties," it said, "have pressed hardly on the Company and we ask assistance to maintain a colony that till now has found within itself resources to withstand the pressure of all former wars and to continue those outfits on which six hundred Europeans and their families and some thousands of native Indians depend for their very existence. "We assure your worships that it was not until all those resources were exhausted that we came to the resolution of making the present application." The petition recited that after having received their charter the Company had colonized such parts of newly granted territories as appeared most convenient for carrying on their commerce with the natives. This commerce "consisted in the barter of British manufactures for the furs of animals killed by the different tribes of Indians who were within reach of factories and gradually extended itself till, as at the present moment, the manufactures of Great Britain are borne by the traders of Hudson's Bay over the face of the whole country from Lake Superior to the Athabasca. "The trade is at present pursued by the export of furs, gunpowder, shot, woollens, hardware and other articles, which together with large supplies of provisions for the factories, constitute an annual outfit consisting wholly of British manufactures and British produce of from £40,000 to £50,000, in return for which we receive the furs of bears, wolves, foxes, otters, martens, beaver and other animals, together with some oil and articles of inferior value. The cargoes are sold at public sale. The beaver and some few inferior furs, together with the oil, are bought for home consumption and sell for about £30,000, but the fine furs were, till after the sale of 1806, bought by the fur merchants for the fairs of Frankfort and of Leipsic for Petersburg, and before the present war, for France. Since that year there has not been a fur sold for exportation, and as a proof to your worships that the deficiency of buyers did not arise from our holding back for a higher market, we sold in 1806 for seven shillings per skin furs that in the more quiet state of Europe in 1804 had brought us 20s. 3d., and which for years previous to that time had sold for a similar price; and other depreciation pervaded in about the same proportion the whole of those furs calculated only for the foreign market, and in some instances furs were sold for a less price than the duties we had paid for them. "Since that period no orders have been received from abroad, and our warehouses are filled with the most valuable productions of three years' import that if sold at the prices of those years before the closing of the ports on the Continent would have produced us at least £150,000. "It may be objected to us, that we were improvident in pursuing under such circumstances a trade which must so inevitably tend to ruin. But a certainty that a considerable quantity of furs found their way to New York, and an earnest zeal for the preservation of trade which by the conduct of the Hudson's Bay Company had been secured to this country for a century and a half, prompted us to every exertion to maintain the footing we had established, and the annually increasing amount of our trade gave us just grounds to look forward with confidence to the opening of the northern ports of Europe as the period when all our difficulties would cease; an event which, anterior to the battles of Austerlitz or of Jena, was looked for with the most sanguine expectation. "Above all were we impelled by the strongest motives to continue these supplies which were necessary for the subsistence of six hundred European servants, their wives and children, dispersed over a vast and extended field of the North American Continent, and who would not be brought to Europe under a period of three years as well as those upon whom the many Indian nations now depend for their very existence. "The nations of hunters taught for one hundred and fifty years the use of fire-arms could no more resort, with certainty, to the bow or the javelin for their daily subsistence. Accustomed to the hatchet of Great Britain, they could ill adopt the rude sharpened stone to the purposes of building, and until years of misery and of famine had extirpated the present race, they could not recur to the simple arts by which they supported themselves before the introduction of British manufactures. As the outfits of the Hudson's Bay Company consist principally of articles which long habit have taught them now to consider of first necessity, if we withhold these outfits, we leave them destitute of their only means of support. The truth of this observation had a melancholy proof in the year 1782, when from the attack made upon the settlements by La Pérouse, and the consequent failure of our supplies, many of the Indians were found starved to death. [Sidenote: Petition of the Company.] "It was not only from the firm conviction that we felt of the necessity of European manufactures to the present existence of whole nations of North American Indians that we considered ourselves bound by the most powerful ties to exert every effort in their favour; but also that we might continue to them those advantages which would result to their religious as well as civil welfare from the progressive improvements, and a gradual system of civilisation and education which we have introduced throughout the country; improvements which are now diffusing the comforts of civilized life, as well as the blessings of the Christian faith to thousands of uninstructed Indians, and would in their completion, we can confidently assert, have tended to the future cultivation of lands, which from experiments we found capable of growing most of the grains of Northern Europe, and from their climate adapted to the culture of hemp and flax, and from the labour of those families who would have been induced to settle at our factories, might soon have brought to this country the produce of the boundless forests of pine that spread themselves over almost the southern parts of our possessions. "To realize these not visionary schemes, but sure and certain plans, founded upon the progressive civilization of the natives, were objects not to be given up without the most urgent necessity, and the hope that the ruler of the French Empire could not forever shut out our trade from Europe, induced us to resort to every means within our power to preserve the advantages resulting to ourselves and to the Indians, and to the British nation. "We have exhausted those funds which we set apart for their completion; we have pledged our credit till we feel, as honest men, that upon the present uncertainty we can pledge it no farther, and we throw ourselves upon your Worship's wisdom to afford us that temporary assistance which we cannot ask at any other hands. "Were we to resort to the early history of our settlements, we might lay the foundations of just claims upon the public to assist our present wants. We could show instances of most destructive attacks by the French upon our factories. Our forts and military works, mounted with a numerous and expensive artillery for the defence of the colony against their future operations, were destroyed and the guns ruined. And particularly was a most grievous loss occasioned to us by the predatory attack of La Pérouse about the conclusion of the American War, which caused the distress to which we have above alluded. "Against these pressures when our trade flourished we were able to hold up, and we found within ourselves those resources which defeated the enemy's views and continued to Great Britain the trade we had established. "And it is not until pressed to our last resort that we ask of your Lordships that assistance with which we may confidently hope to preserve our trade until the continent may be again opened, when we shall be delivered from those difficulties under which we are now sinking." The petition was signed by Wm. Mainwaring, Governor; Joseph Berens, Deputy Governor; George Hyde Wollaston, Thomas Neave, Job Mathew Raikes, Thomas Langley, John Henry Pelly, Benjamin Harrison, John Webb. In April the Adventurers petitioned the King in Council to reduce duties on furs to one-half, or trade must suffer extinction. No profit was derivable, it said, on marten, wolf, bear, wolverine and fisher-skins. To this petition the Office of Committee of Privy Council for Trade, Whitehall, replied in the following February, that the memorial of the Hudson's Bay Company contained no proposition on which the Lords of this Council could "offer any opinion to the Lords of Treasury." [Sidenote: Small Government assistance.] As their petition was denied, the Company now boldly prepared a request and asked for a loan of £60,000, and that time be extended for paying the duties on furs imported until the continental market re-opened. To this request an answer was returned, allowing twelve months storage of furs free of duty and promising drawbacks as if storage had only been for one year, but stating that there were no funds out of which a loan could be made without special authority of Parliament. It was clear that the Company was in very low water, and that some new salutary policy was demanded. By way of a beginning, barter was abolished as a basis of trade, and money payments ordered. At the same time the Adventurers stole a leaf out of the book of the North-West company, and new regulations, comprising thirty-five articles, were made in the early months of 1810, for carrying on the business in Hudson's Bay. The principle of allowing to their chief officers a considerable participation in the profits of their trade was admitted. It was found absolutely necessary to adopt some step of this sort, as nothing of such a measure could be sufficient to stem the torrent of aggression with which they had been assailed by the North-West company; and their absolute ruin must have ensued if some effectual means had not been taken, not only to rectify some of the abuses which had crept in under the former system, but also to rouse their officers to a more effectual resistance of the lawless violence practised against them. The total lack of jurisdiction in the Indian country, as the territory which was the scene of the operations of the fur-traders was called, permitted crime to go unpunished, and numerous representations were made in respect to the evils of this practical immunity from punishment. In Sir Alexander Mackenzie's letter of the 25th of October, 1802, he says that, in view of the improbability of the two companies amalgamating, a jurisdiction should be established as speedily as possible, to prevent the contending fur companies from abusing the power either might possess, so as to secure to each the fruits of fair, honest and industrious exertion; it would also, he believed, tend to put a stop to the increasing animosity between the two companies. Mr. Richardson, of the other company, also pressed for the establishment of a competent jurisdiction and instanced the case of one of the clerks in his company who had killed a clerk of the other in defending the property in his care. The young man had come to Montreal to be tried, but there being no jurisdiction there for such trial, "he remains in the deplorable predicament that neither his innocence nor his guilt can be legally ascertained." He also proposed that a military post should be established at Thunder Bay, on Lake Superior, as an additional means of securing peace. Repeatedly had the Grand Juries of Quebec and Montreal called attention to this want of jurisdiction. In one report the number of people from the Canadas, chiefly from Lower Canada, was urged as one reason for establishing in the Indian country a court of competent jurisdiction for the trial of offences committed in these territories, including Hudson's Bay. [Sidenote: Plea for establishment of jurisdiction.] "The very heavy expense," observes the report, "incident to the conveyance of offenders from the Territory of Hudson's Bay to England, with the necessary witnesses on both sides, and the cost of prosecution and defence, must generally operate, either to prevent recourse to a tribunal across the ocean, and thereby stimulate to private retaliation and revenge, or where such course can or shall be had, the guilty may escape punishment, and the innocent be sacrificed from the distance of time and place of trial, the death or absence of witnesses, or other causes; and the mind cannot contemplate without horror the possible abuses to which such circumstances might give rise; as in the instance of a prosecutor coming from and at a remote day, when the accused may be destitute of pecuniary means, and the exculpatory evidence may either be dead, removed, or be otherwise beyond his reach, who at all events (however innocent he may finally be found) will have undergone a long and painful confinement, far removed from his family and connections, and perhaps ruinous to every prospect he had in life." Sir Robert Milnes strongly supported the representation of the Grand Jury, and added that "Under such circumstances every species of offence is to be apprehended, from Trespasses to Murder," and also that "the national character of the English will be debased among the Indians, and the numerous tribes of those people will in consequence thereof be more easily wrought upon by foreign emissaries employed by the Enemies of Great Britain."[88] In consequence of these representations Lord Hobart promised that immediate steps should be taken to remedy the existing state of affairs. But Milnes became impatient for a decision, and writing in September, 1803, to the Under-Secretary, he reminded him of the promise, the great increase and extent of the fur-trade rendering such an Act daily more necessary. The Act to give jurisdiction to the Courts of Upper and Lower Canada had, however, been assented to on the 11th of the preceding month. [Illustration: VOYAGEURS TRACKING CANOES UP A RAPID.] [Sidenote: Canada Jurisdiction Act.] The first case brought to trial under the Act became celebrated. In the autumn of 1809 William Corrigal was the trader at a Company's post near Eagle Lake. On the 15th of September a party of North-Westers established an encampment about forty yards from the Company's post, under one of their clerks, Aeneas MacDonnell. In the evening an Indian arrived in his canoe to trade with Corrigal and to pay a debt which he owed him. As he was not able to defray the whole amount, Corrigal accepted the canoe in part payment. The Indian requested that it might be lent to him for a few days, which was agreed to; and the Indian spent the night at the post with his canoe. In the morning he received in advance some more merchandise, such as clothing for his family and ammunition for his winter hunt. When he finally departed, three of the Company's servants were sent down to the wharf with the canoe and the goods. On their way they were observed by a number of Northmen, including MacDonnell, who went immediately down to the lake, armed with a sword and accompanied by a voyageur named Adhemer, armed with a brace of pistols. Upon pretence that the unhappy Red man was indebted to the North-West company, they proceeded to seize and drag away the canoe and the merchandise to their own wharf. Corrigal observing this, commanded two of his men, James Tate and John Corrigal, to go into the water and prevent the seizure, and as they approached on this mission MacDonnell drew his sword and struck two blows at Tate's head. The latter was unarmed, and warded the blows with his wrist, which was severely gashed. He then received another deep wound in the neck, which felled him to the ground. In the meantime Adhemer had seized John Corrigal (who was also unarmed) and presenting a cocked pistol at his head, swore that if he went near the canoe he would blow out his brains. Several of the Company's servants who were near the spot, perceiving what was going on, and observing that the rest of MacDonnell's men were collecting with arms, ran up to their own house, which was only about forty or fifty yards from the lake, for weapons of defence. MacDonnell next attacked John Corrigal, who to escape him ran into the lake. Finding the water too deep, however, he was soon obliged to make a turn towards the shore. His pursuer wading after him, aimed a blow at him with his sword, cut his arm above the elbow and laid the bone bare. He followed this up with a tremendous blow at his head, which Robert Leask, one of the Company's servants, fortunately warded off with the paddle of his canoe, which was cut in two by the blow. The North-West leader in a fury now attacked another servant named Essen, aimed a blow at him with his sword, which, however, only struck his hat off. But in making his escape Essen fell into the water. Before he could recover himself another Canadian aimed a blow at his head with a heavy axe, which missed its aim, but dislocated his shoulder, so that he could make no use of his arm for over two months after this affray. [Sidenote: Killing of MacDonnell.] MacDonnell and Adhemer, the one with a drawn sword and the other with a cocked pistol, continued to pursue several other of the Company's servants towards the fort, when one of them, named John Mowat, whom MacDonnell had previously struck with his sword, and was preparing to strike again, shot MacDonnell on the spot. [Sidenote: Trial of Mowat.] MacDonnell's body was carried away, and the parties separated, Corrigal fearing a further attack. On the 24th, a partner of the North-West Company, named Haldane, arrived in a canoe with ten men, and on the following day another partner, McLellan, also arrived. They came to the gates of the stockades, behind which Corrigal and his men had barricaded themselves, and demanded the man who had shot MacDonnell. They declared that if the person was not immediately given up they would either shoot every one of the Company's men, or get the Indians to kill them, were it even to cost them a keg of brandy for each of their heads! Mowat now stepped forward and acknowledged that he was the man, and that he would shoot MacDonnell again in the same circumstances. Much to his surprise the North-Westers announced their intention of taking him and two witnesses down to Montreal for trial. Mowat was thereupon put in irons. From the 2nd of October, when they arrived at Rainy Lake, the unhappy man was generally kept in irons from six in the morning till eight in the evening, and during the night until the 14th of December. During the whole winter he was kept in close confinement, and the two witnesses, Tate and Leask, who had voluntarily accompanied him, were themselves subjected to much insult and indignity, and were obliged to submit to every species of drudgery and labour in order to obtain a bare subsistence. In June the whole party, including Corrigal, arrived at Fort William, the chief trading-post rendezvous of the North-Westers. Here Mowat was imprisoned in a close and miserable dungeon, about six feet square, without any window or light of any kind whatsoever, and when he finally reached Montreal he was in a most pitiable condition. The witnesses were seized on a charge of aiding and abetting the murder of MacDonnell, and this upon the oath of one of the North-West half-breeds. The Hudson's Bay Company had at this time no agent or correspondent at Montreal or any place in Canada, and it was not until the end of November that the Honourable Adventurers heard of the prosecution being carried on against their servants. Immediate steps were taken for their protection, and counsel engaged for the defence. Mowat and his witnesses were indicted for murder. The grand jury found a true bill against Mowat, but not against the others, and Tate and Leask were accordingly discharged.[89] In spite of the evidence, the jury brought in a verdict of manslaughter. The judge, however, had charged them to find it murder. Mowat was sentenced to be imprisoned six months and branded on the hand with a hot iron. After his discharge, two years from the time he was first put in irons at Eagle Lake, Mowat proceeded from Canada to the United States in order to return to England, but was never heard of again. He is supposed to have been drowned by the breaking of the ice in one of the rivers he had to cross on his way. [Sidenote: The Earl of Selkirk.] Such was the situation in the early years of the century. At this time there rose a name destined to be of more than local fame, that of Thomas Douglas, fifth Earl of Selkirk, a young man of benevolent character, whose feelings had been deeply moved by the sufferings of his countrymen in the Scottish Highlands. Nor was the nobleman's compassion excited without cause. A compulsory exodus of the inhabitants of the mountainous regions in the county of Sutherland was in progress. The tale of expulsion of a vast number of poor tenantry from the estates of the Duchess of Sutherland, which they and their ancestors had looked upon as their own without the necessity of rent and taxes, may be heard to-day from some white-haired old grandfather, who had it from the lips of his sire, in the far north of Scotland. The system of rents and land-management as it prevails to-day all over the Highlands had only then been put in force, and the squatters were driven to seek their homes as best they might in the remote and sequestered places of the earth. Selkirk encouraged this emigration as the only remedy; and having endeavoured in vain to secure the active co-operation of the Government, resolved to settle a colony on waste lands granted him in Prince Edward Island. The better to ensure success, he went in person to oversee the whole enterprise. Gathering together about eight hundred of these poor people, who bade a melancholy farewell to their heather-robed hills, they arrived at their future home early in September, 1803. [Illustration: LORD SELKIRK.] Selkirk visited Montreal in this and also in the following year on matters connected with his philanthropic undertaking, and on both occasions evinced the heartiest interest in the great territory to the north-west which formed the theatre of action for the two rival fur-trading companies. The Prince Edward Island colony continuing to prosper, Lord Selkirk now conceived the plan of forming a colony on the banks of the Red River, in Rupert's Land.[90] In order to execute his project with a greater assurance of success, he again, in 1805, addressed the British Government and nation, pointing out the successful issue of his colony as an example of the excellent results which would attend a further exodus of the superfluous population. Time went on and the execution of the plan being still in abeyance, the great decline in Hudson's Bay stock suggested an idea to Selkirk. He submitted the charter to several of the highest legal authorities in England, and got from them the following: "We are of the opinion that the grant of the said contained charter is good, and that it will include all the country, the waters of which run into Hudson's Bay, as ascertained by geographical observations. [Sidenote: Legal opinion on the Company's charter.] "We are of opinion that an individual holding from the Hudson's Bay Company a lease or grant in fee simple of any part of their territory, will be entitled to all the ordinary rights of landed property in England, and will be entitled to prevent other persons from occupying any part of the lands; from cutting down timber and fishing in the adjoining waters (being such as a private right of fishing may subsist in), and may (if he can peaceably or otherwise in due course of law) dispossess them of any buildings which they have recently erected within the limits of their property. "We are of opinion that the grant of the civil and criminal jurisdiction is valid, though it is not granted to the Company, but to the Governor and Council at their respective establishments. We cannot recommend, however, it to be exercised so as to affect the lives or limbs of criminals. It is to be exercised by the Governor and Council as judges, who are to proceed according to the laws of England. "The Company may appoint a sheriff to execute judgments and do his duty as in England. "We are of opinion that the sheriff, in case of resistance to his authority, may collect the population to his assistance, and put arms into the hands of his servants for defence against attack, and to assist in enforcing the judgments of the courts; but such powers cannot be exercised with too much circumspection. "We are of opinion that all persons will be subject to the jurisdiction of the court, who reside or are found within the territories over which it extends. "We do not think the Canada Jurisdiction Act (43 George III.) gives jurisdiction within the territories of the Hudson's Bay Company, the same being within the jurisdiction of their own governors and council.[91] "We are of opinion that the Governor (in Hudson's) might under the authority of the Company, appoint constables and other officers for the preservation of the peace and that the officers so appointed would have the same duties and privileges as the same officers in England, so far as these duties and privileges may be applicable to their situation in the territories of the Company." This was signed by Sir Samuel Ronully, Mr. Justice Holroyd, W. M. Cruise, J. Scarlett and John Bell. There could be thus no question of Selkirk's right. The Company's charter, amongst other provisions, expressly forbids all English subjects from entering, without license or authority, upon the territories of the Hudson's Bay Company. The Governor and Company only are empowered to grant such authority and on them also is conferred the right of establishing castles, fortifications, forts, garrisons, colonies, plantations, towns and villages, in any parts or places within the limits of their territory. They had also the right of sending ships of war, men or ammunition, to their colonies, fortifications or plantations, and of appointing governors, commanders and officers over them. Selkirk began by purchasing several thousand pounds worth of shares in the Company. Late in 1810 he made a formal proposition to the Company, a proposition previously made and rejected, for a settlement to be made within its territory. This time some of the Honourable Adventurers began to see that the scheme might be fraught with salvation for themselves. Lord Selkirk was asked to lay before the committee the terms on which he would accept a grant of land within the Hudson's Bay territories, "specifying what restrictions he would be prepared to consent to be imposed on the settlers." Also what security he would offer to the Company against any injury to its trade or to its rights and privileges. Lord Selkirk responded to this, and his proposals were agreed to, subject to final approbation of a general court of all the Adventurers. [Sidenote: Selkirk's project.] It now dawned upon the wiser spirits that here was being offered them the means for the Company's salvation. Nevertheless, the traditional opposition of the Company to any project of the kind still lingered, and was not easily disposed of. For weeks the meetings in committee resounded with appeals to "traditional policy," to "loyalty to the noble, the ancient founders," to "a spirit of reverence for the history of our Company," but all to no purpose. Selkirk was to carry the day. A general court was convened, by public notice, in May 1811, when the stockholders were informed that the Governor and Committee considered it beneficial to their general interests to grant Lord Selkirk 116,000 square miles of their territory, on condition that he should establish a colony and furnish, on certain terms, from amongst the settlers, such labourers as would be required by the Company in their trade. In order to give the partners a further opportunity of making themselves fully informed of the nature of the proposed measure, an adjournment of the court took place. In the meanwhile notice was given to all the stockholders that the terms of the proposed grant were left at the secretary's office for their inspection. This interval was the opportunity of McGillivray and his friends. In certain quarters, no pains or misrepresentations were spared by persons associated with the North-West Company to prejudice the public mind against it. The newspapers teemed with falsehoods representing the country as cold or barren, as a dreary waste or interminable forest, unfit to be the abode of men and incapable of improvement. Selkirk was accosted in Pall Mall by a friend who remarked: "By God, sir, if you are bent on doing something futile, why do you not sow tares at home in order to reap wheat, or plough the desert of Sahara, which is nearer." Old servants of the Company came forward to dispel these calumnies, and seeing their first falsehoods destroyed, Selkirk's enemies now proceeded to follow new tactics. They spoke with feigned alarm concerning the hostile disposition of the aborigines; they lamented with affected sympathy and humanity the injuries and slaughters to which the colonists would be exposed from the savages. At the adjourned meeting the proposition was again discussed amidst the greatest excitement and tumult, and adopted. A memorial or protest was however entered against the measure, bearing the signature of six of the proprietors. [Sidenote: Opposition by agents of the North-West Company.] Of these six signing the protest, three were persons closely connected with and interested in the rival commercial concerns of the North-West Company of Montreal; and two of the three were, at the very moment, avowed London agents of that association. These had become proprietors of Hudson's Bay stock only eight and forty hours before the general meeting. They were not indeed possessed of it long enough to entitle them to vote at the meeting; but their names now being entered in the Company's books, though the ink was scarcely dry with which they were inserted, they felt themselves competent to formally raise their voices in condemnation of those measures which the committee of directors unanimously, and the general court by a great majority, had approved of. Their design in acquiring the Company's stock was obvious. However circuitous the stratagem might be, it was clear that they had thus become proprietors of one commercial company for the purpose of advancing the fortunes of another, and a rival concern.[92] The stratagem did not altogether fail, for Lord Selkirk's agents were yet to encounter much friction in distant quarters supposed to be friendly, and required to be obedient to the orders of the Company. When the vote was taken, it was found that for the question there appeared holders of stock valued at £29,937; against it, £14,823. The Earl, himself, voted "for"--£4,087; the principal opponent of the scheme being one William Thwaytes, whose interest was represented at £9,233. At this meeting a memorial was read violently opposing the scheme, signed by Thwaytes and four or five others. According to them, the main objections were:--(_a_) Impolitic; (_b_) Consideration inadequate; (_c_) Grant asked for very large proportion of Company's holding, viz.: 70,000 square miles, or about 45,000,000 acres; (_d_) Should be a public sale, if any, not a private contract with a member of the Company; (_e_) No penalty for failure to find settlers; (_f_) Colonization unfavourable to the fur-trade; private traffic would be carried on with the United States of America. The Earl proposed to find a number of effective men as servants to the Hudson's Bay Company in return for a grant of land, viz., two hundred men for ten years, from 1812, who would every year be ready to embark between May 1st and July 1st at an appointed place in Scotland. The Company were to pay wages to each man not exceeding £20. Should the Earl fail, he agreed to forfeit £10 per man short of two hundred. As to proposed grants of land to settlers, two hundred acres were to be given to labourers or artificers; one thousand acres to a master of a trading-house. The Company were, of course, to have full rights of access to all the surrendered districts. [Sidenote: Earl Selkirk's proposal accepted.] The customs duties, exports and imports, payable by settlers were not to exceed five per cent, at Port Nelson, unless it happened that a higher duty was levied at Quebec. The duties so to be levied were to be applied to the expense of Government police, communication between Lake Winnipeg and Port Nelson, etc., and not to be taken as profits for the Company. The show of hands was in favour of the proposal; but a protest was handed in to the Governor by Thwaytes and others. In spite of this, on the 13th of June, the deed was signed, sealed and delivered by the secretary on behalf of the Company. The lands were defined by deed as situate between 52° 30' north latitude and 102° 30' west longitude, a map being affixed to the deed. In reading this protest, one who was ignorant of the true state of affairs would have been led to believe that the partners concerned had no object so dear to them as the welfare and prosperity of the Hudson's Bay Company. These gentlemen appeared to be animated by the most thorough devotion and zeal, as they stood together declaiming in loud, earnest tones against the errors into which their beloved Company was falling, and pouring out their sympathy to the emigrant settlers who might be lured to their destruction by establishing themselves on the lands so granted "out of reach," to employ their own phrase, "of all those aids and comforts which are derived from civil society;" and so it did truly appear to many then as it has done since. But let us examine those signatures, and lo, the wolf obtrudes himself basking in the skin of a lamb! The grant was thus confirmed. The opposition had found itself powerless, and Selkirk was put into possession of a territory only 5,115 square miles less than the entire area of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland.[93] The grant secured, Selkirk at once despatched agents to Ireland and throughout the highlands of Scotland, to engage servants, some for the Company's service, others for general labourers in the colony. These last were known as "his lordship's servants," and were engaged for a term of years, at the expiration of which they became entitled to one hundred acres of land, free of cost. They were placed under the charge of Miles McDonnell, who received a joint appointment from Selkirk and the Company, as first Governor of the new colony. [Sidenote: Selkirk's immigrants arrive.] The first section of the immigrant party arrived at York Factory late in the autumn of 1811.[94] This post was then in charge of William Auld, who, as we have seen, occupied the position of Superintendent of the Northern Department of Rupert's Land. After a short residence at the fort, where they were treated in a somewhat tyrannical and high-handed fashion by the Governor, who had scant sympathy for the new _régime_, the party were sent forward to Seal Creek, fifty miles up Nelson River. Governor McDonnell and one Hillier, in the character of justice of the peace, accompanied them thither, and preparations were at once made for the erection of a suitable shelter. [Illustration: STORNAWAY. (_The Hebrides._)] McDonnell experienced a great deal of trouble during the winter with the men under his charge, for a mutinous spirit broke out, and he was put to his wits' end to enforce discipline. He put it all down to the Glasgow servants. "These Glasgow rascals," he declared to Auld, the Governor of York Factory, "have caused us both much trouble and uneasiness. A more stubborn, litigious and cross-grained lot were never put under any person's care. I cannot think that any liberality of rum or rations could have availed to stop their dissatisfaction. Army and navy discipline is the only thing fit to manage such fierce spirits." But the Irish of the party were hardly more tractable. On New Year's night, 1812, a violent and unprovoked attack was made by some of the Irish on a party of Orkneymen, who were celebrating the occasion. Three of the latter were so severely beaten that for a month the surgeon could not report their lives entirely out of danger. Four of the Irishmen concerned in this assault were sent back home. "Worthless blackguards," records the Governor; "the lash may make them serviceable to the Government in the army or navy, but they will never do for us." On the subject of the Orkney servants of the Company all critics were not agreed. Governor McDonnell's opinion, for instance, was not flattering:-- "There cannot," he reported, "be much improvement made in the country while the Orkneymen form the majority of labourers; they are lazy, spiritless, and ill-disposed--wedded to old habits, strongly prejudiced against any change, however beneficial. It was with the utmost reluctance they could be prevailed on to drink the spruce juice to save themselves from the scurvy; they think nothing of the scurvy, as they are then idle, and their wages run on.... It is not uncommon for an Orkneyman to consume six pounds or eight pounds of meat in a day, and some have ate as much in a single meal. This gluttonous appetite, they say, is occasioned by the cold. I entirely discredit the assertion, as I think it rather to be natural to themselves. All the labour I have seen these men do would scarcely pay for the victuals they consume. With twenty-five men belonging to it, the factory was last winter distressed for firewood, and the people sent to tent in the woods."[95] [Sidenote: Opposition by the Nor'-Westers.] Meanwhile, leaving the shivering immigrants, distrustful of their officers and doubtful of what the future had in store for them, to encamp at Seal Creek, let us turn to the state of affairs amongst the parties concerned elsewhere, particularly amongst the Nor'-Westers. Simon McGillivray, who was agent in London for that Company, watched all Selkirk's acts with the utmost distrust, and kept the partners continually informed of the turn affairs were taking. He assured them that Selkirk's philanthropy was all a cloak, designed to cover up a scheme for the total extinction of the Hudson's Bay Company's rivals. The colony was to be planted to ruin their trade. It was an endeavour to check the physical superiority of the Nor'-Westers and by means of this settlement secure to the Hudson's Bay Company and to himself, not only the extensive and sole trade of the country within their own territories, but a "safe and convenient stepping-stone for monopolizing all the fur-trade of the Far West." The partners in Montreal were stirred to action. Regarding Lord Selkirk's motives in this light, they warmly disputed the validity of the Hudson's Bay Company's Charter and of the grants of land made to him. It was decided to bring all the forces of opposition they possessed to bear on this "invasion of their hunting grounds." FOOTNOTES: [88] Canadian Archives. [89] It has been noted that several partners of the North-West concern were upon the grand jury which found the bill of indictment, and out of four judges who sat upon the bench, two were nearly related to individuals of that association. [90] Already, in April, 1802, Lord Selkirk had addressed a letter and memorial to Lord Pelham, the Home Secretary, detailing the practicability of promoting emigration to Rupert's Land. "To a colony in these territories," he concluded, "the channel of trade must be the river of Port Nelson." [91] In the course of a letter reporting on the disputes between the Hudson's Bay Company and the North-Westers, Commissioner Coltman attributed the disasters in the territories to the Company having held in abeyance its right to jurisdiction and that this neglect was the reason for passing the act of 1803. This letter is in the Canadian Archives, _v._ Report 1892. [92] "I have," writes Sir Alexander Mackenzie from London, 13th April, 1812, "finally settled with that Lord (Selkirk). After having prepared a bill to carry him before the Lord Chancellor, it was proposed to my solicitor by the solicitor of his Lordship that one-third of the stock that was purchased on joint account before I went to America, amounting to £47,000, and the balance of cash in his Lordship's hands, belonging to me, should be given up to me; of this I accepted, though I might have obliged his Lordship to make over to me one-third of the whole purchase made by him in this stock, which at one time I was determined to do, having been encouraged thereto by the house of Suffolk Lane and countenanced by that of Mark Lane. But these houses thought it prudent to desist from any further purchases." Mackenzie says that by a verbal understanding with Mr. McGillivray, his purchase of the Hudson's Bay stock belonged to the North-West Company, and that, if Mr. McGillivray himself had been there, a sum of £30,000 might have been invested in that stock, "all of which Lord Selkirk purchased, and if he persists in his present scheme, it will be the dearest he yet made. "He will put the North-West Company to a greater expense than you seem to apprehend, and had the Company sacrificed £20,000 which might have secured a preponderance in the stock of Hudson's Bay Co., it would have been money well spent." [93] The district thus granted was called Assiniboia, a name undoubtedly derived from the Assiniboine tribe and river, yet alleged by some at the time to be taken from two Gaelic words "osni" and "boia"--the house of Ossian. [94] "None of the young men," says McDonnell, "made any progress in learning the Gaelic or Irish language on the voyage. I had some drills of the people with arms, but the weather was generally boisterous, and there were few days when a person could stand steady on deck. There never was a more awkward squad--not a man, or even officer, of the party knew how to put a gun to his eye or had ever fired a shot." [95] Governor McDonnell's observations are not always to be relied upon. For instance, he says in one report, "I am surprised the Company never directed a survey to be made of the coast on each side of Hudson's Straits. From the appearance of the country there must be many harbours and inlets for vessels to go in case of an accident from ice, want of water, etc. We were often, ourselves, much in doubt for the accomplishment of our voyage, and had we been under the necessity of putting back, must have suffered for want of water. Two of the ships, without any additional expense, might execute this survey on the voyage out, with only the detention of a few days, one taking the north and the other the south shore." Such a survey had been made as early as 1728. Mention has already been made of Captain Coats, who, in 1739, prepared a chart of the Straits and Bay. To some of the older captains in the service, the Straits were as well-known as the harbour of Stromness. CHAPTER XXX. 1812-1815. The Bois-Brulés -- Simon McGillivray's Letter -- Frightening the Settlers -- A second Brigade -- Governor McDonnell's Manifesto -- Defection of Northmen to the Company -- Robertson's Expedition to Athabasca -- Affairs at Red River -- Cameron and McDonell in uniform -- Cuthbert Grant -- Miles McDonnell arrested -- Fort William -- News brought to the Northmen -- Their confiscated account-books -- War of 1812 concluded. [Sidenote: The Bois-Brulés.] There had lately been witnessed the rapid growth of a new class--sprung from the loins of Red man and European. Alert, rugged, turbulent, they evinced at the same time a passionate love of the life and manners of the wilderness, and a fierce intractability which could hardly fail to cause occasional uneasiness in the minds of their masters. To this class had been given the name of Métis, or Bois-Brulés. They were principally the descendants of the French voyageurs of the North-West concern, who had allied themselves with Indian women and settled down on the shore of some lake or stream in the interior. Amongst these half-breeds hunters and trappers came, and at a later period a number of Englishmen and Scotchmen, hardly less strongly linked to a wild, hardy life than themselves. These also took Indian wives, and they and their children spoke of themselves as neither English, Scotch, or Indian, but as belonging to the "New Nation." From 1812 to 1821 the North-West concern absorbed all the labours and exacted the loyalty of the increasing class of Bois-Brulés. The Hudson's Bay Company was exclusively an English company, and their Scotch and English servants had left few traces of an alliance with the aborigines. As the posts in the interior began to multiply, and the men were thus cut off from the larger society which obtained at York, Cumberland and Moose factories, and were thrown more upon their own resources, a laxer discipline prevailed, and the example of their neighbours was followed. A time was to come when the "Orkney half-breeds" equalled in point of numbers those of the French Bois-Brulés. [Illustration: A BOIS-BRULÉ.] There were yet few half-breeds of English extraction. The Bois-Brulés were passionately attached to the North-West company, who were quick to recognize their value as agents amongst the Indians. The idea of nationality, so far from being frowned upon, was encouraged amongst them. So much for the instruments which the Company proposed to employ in Montreal. It was only natural that amongst this rude race there should arise a leader, a half-breed to whose superior ability and natural advantages was added an education in Montreal, the seat of the co-partnery. Cuthbert Grant, which was the name this individual bore, was known far and wide amongst the hunters and trappers of Rupert's Land, and everywhere commanded homage and respect. He had risen to be one of the most enterprising and valued agents of the Nor'-Westers, and was constantly admitted to their councils. On the 22nd of May, 1811, at which period the matter was in embryo in London, Simon McGillivray had frankly declared to Miles McDonnell, agent to Lord Selkirk, that he was "determined to give all the opposition in his power, whatever might be the consequences," because, in his opinion, "such a settlement struck at the root of the North-West company, which it was intended to ruin."[96] By way of argument, this gentleman took it upon himself to inform the Hudson's Bay Company that the proposed settlement was foredoomed to destruction, inasmuch as it "must at all times lie at the mercy of the Indians," who would not be bound by treaties, and that "one North-West Company's interpreter would be able at any time to set the Indians against the settlers and destroy them." [Sidenote: Defections from the North-West Company.] Selkirk was now informed that there were several clerks who had been many years in the service of the Northmen, and who were disaffected in that service. They grumbled at not having been sooner promoted to the proprietary--that the claims of the old and faithful were too often passed over for those of younger men of little experience, because they were related to the partners. The Earl was not slow to avail himself of this advantage. It became a matter of importance to persuade as many as possible of these dissatisfied spirits to join his scheme, by the offer of large salaries, and several accepted his offer with alacrity. Amongst the most enterprising was one Colin Robertson, a trader who had often ventured his life amongst the tribes and half-breeds, to forward the interests of his establishment. He possessed a perfect knowledge of the interior and of the fur-trade, and to him Lord Selkirk entrusted the chief management of the latter for the Company. Robertson was well convinced of the superiority of the Canadian voyageurs over the Orkneymen, in the management of canoes, for example, and he proceeded to engage a number of them in Montreal at a much higher wage than they had received hitherto. To Robertson's counsels must be ascribed much of the invigoration which now began to mark the policy of the Company. His letters to the Company were full of a common-sense and a fighting spirit. "Let us carry the trade to Athabasca," he said; and he proceeded to demonstrate how all rivalry could be annihilated. The strength and weakness of his rivals were familiar to him, and he was well aware how much depended on the Indians themselves. They could and would deal with whom they chose; Robertson determined they should deal henceforth, not with the North-West, but with the Hudson's Bay Company. The Northmen had been for years continually pressing to the West. They were doing a thriving trade on the Columbia River, in Oregon, where they had a lucrative post; they had a post to the south of that in California, and to the north as far as New Archangel. In the second decade of the century the North-West Association had over three hundred Canadians in its employ on the Pacific slope, sending three or four ships annually to London by way of Cape Horn. In 1810 they had a competitor in the post of Astoria, founded by John Jacob Astor, a fur-monopolist of New York. Astor had made overtures to the North-West partners, which had been declined; whereupon he induced about twenty Canadians to leave them and enter his service. He despatched two expeditions, one overland and the other by sea, around Cape Horn. But the founder of Astoria had not foreseen that the breaking out of war between Great Britain and America would upset all his plans. Fort Astoria, in the fortunes of war, changed hands and became Fort George; and although the post was, by the Treaty of Ghent, restored, the Canadians and Scotchmen had returned to their old employers and interests. In a few years the Hudson's Bay Company was to control the chief part of the fur-trade of the Pacific Coast. [Illustration: FORT GEORGE. (_Astoria--as it was in 1813._)] None of the Company's servants had yet penetrated as far west as Athabasca. Yet it was the great northern department of Rupert's Land--a country which, if not flowing with milk and honey, swarmed with moose and beaver. To Athabasca, therefore, Robertson went. [Sidenote: The Company in Athabasca.] This first expedition was highly successful. Never had the natives received such high prices for their furs. Seduced from their allegiance to the Northmen, and dimly recalling the tales of their sires, regarding whilom journeys to the posts of the Great Company, they rallied in scores and hundreds round its standard. The news spread far and wide. Other tribes heard and marvelled. They, too, had listened to stories of the white traders, who far away, past rivers and plain and mountain, sat still in their forts and waited for the Red man to bring them furs. Now the Mountain was coming to Mahomet. Many of them resolved to keep their furs until the traders from the Bay came amongst them, too; and, gnashing their teeth, the Northmen were compelled to give them still higher prices, if they would obtain the goods of the savages, and secure their wavering loyalty. [Illustration: ARRIVAL OF THE UPLAND INDIANS.] Other measures became incumbent upon them to perform. They were obliged to send double the quantity of merchandise into the interior, and they were also to supply extra provisions to their own men, and to raise their wages; while several clerks were elected partners. Cost what it might, the Northmen were determined to fight to the end. It has been shewn in preceding pages how the step of removing from Grand Portage had been anticipated as far back as 1785, when Edward Umfreville was sent to reconnoitre a site for a new fort on British territory. None appeared more suited to the purposes of the Nor'-Westers than this; the river was deep and of easy access, and offered a safe harbour for shipping. On the other hand, it was situated in low, swampy soil; but by dint of great labour and perseverance they succeeded in draining the marshes and in converting to solidity the loose and yielding soil, accomplishing on a small scale much of what Czar Peter was obliged to do on a large scale with the foundation of Petersburg. [Sidenote: Fort William.] When all was finished, Fort William as it was called,[97] presented an engaging exterior. It possessed the appearance of a fort, having a palisade fifteen feet high, while the number of dwellings it enclosed, gave it, from a distance, the appearance of a charming village. In the centre of the spacious enclosure rose a large wooden building, constructed with considerable pretensions to elegance, a long piazza or portico, at an elevation of five feet from the ground and surmounted by a balcony, fronting the building its entire length. The great hall or saloon was situated in the middle of this building. At each extremity of this apartment were two rooms, designed for the use of the two principal agents, and the steward and his staff, the last named official being a highly important personage. The kitchen and servants' rooms were in the basement. On either side of the main edifice was another of similar but less lofty extent, each divided by a corridor running through its length and containing a dozen cosy bedrooms. One was destined for the wintering partners, the other for the clerks. On the east of the square stood another building similar to the ones named, and applied to the same purpose; also a warehouse, where the furs were inspected and packed for shipment. In the rear of these were the lodging house of the guides, another fur warehouse, and lastly, a powder magazine, a substantial structure of stone with a metal roof. A great bastion, at an angle of the fort, commanded a view of Lake Superior. There were other buildings to the westward, stores, a gaol, workshops of the carpenter, cooper, blacksmith and tinsmith, with spacious yards for the shelter, repair and construction of canoes. Near the gate of the fort, which faced the south, were the quarters of the physician and the chief clerks, and over the gates was a guard-house. The river being of considerable depth at the entrance, the Company had a wharf built extending the whole length of the fort, for the discharge of the vessels it maintained on the lake, and for the transport of its furs from Fort William to Sault Ste. Marie or merchandise and provisions from the latter place to Fort William. The land behind the fort and on both sides was cleared and under cultivation. [Illustration: ON THE WAY TO FORT WILLIAM.] [Sidenote: The immigrants at Red River.] At the beginning of spring the "first brigade" of immigrants resumed its journey to the Red River Valley, arriving at what is now known as Point Douglas, late in August, 1812. Hardly had they reached this spot than they were immediately thrown into the greatest fright and disorder. A band of armed men, painted, disfigured and apparelled like savages, confronted this little band of colonists and bade them halt. They were told briefly that they were unwelcome visitors in that region, and must depart. The colonists might have been urged to make a stand, but to the terrors of hostile Indian and half-breed was added that of prospective starvation, for none would sell them provisions thereabouts. The painted warriors, who were North-West company Métis in disguise, urged them to proceed to Pembina, where they would be unharmed, and offered to conduct them there. They acquiesced, and the pilgrimage, seventy miles farther on, was resumed. At Pembina they passed the winter in tents, according to the Indian fashion, subsisting on the products of the chase, in common with the natives. When spring came it was decided to again venture to plant the colony on the banks of the Red River. Means were found to mollify their opponents, and log-houses were built, and patches of prairie sown with corn. A small quantity of seed wheat, obtained at Fort Alexander, yielded them handsome returns at harvest time and the lot of the settlers seemed brighter; but nevertheless they decided to repair to Pembina for the winter, and saving their corn, live by hunting until the spring. While affairs were thus proceeding with the colonists, Lord Selkirk, in 1813, paid a visit to Ireland, where he secured a large number of people as servants for the fur-trade and the colony, in addition to those engaged in the Highlands.[98] Selkirk infused new life into the Company, and a number of plans for its prosperity emanated from his brain. For a long time the Company had had much at heart the erection of a new factory in place of York Factory, but they had not thitherto had sufficient strength of hands to accomplish this. Selkirk wrote to McDonnell that if the settlers were employed in that object for the winter, the Company stood ready to pay their wages. "Perhaps," he added, "it would be more advisable to do this than to make an abortive attempt to reach the interior.... I believe that I mentioned that I am anxious to have the soundings of Nelson River taken, from Seal Island down to the open sea. I beg that while you are at York, you will try to induce some of the officers of the ships to go and make the survey. I will pay a handsome premium to the individual who accomplishes it." [Illustration: THE COMPANY'S SHIPS IN 1812. (_From the picture in Hudson's Bay House._)] [Sidenote: Irish colonists brought out.] On June 28, the Company's ships, the _Prince of Wales_ and the _Eddystone_, sailed out of the little harbour of Stromness. They were accompanied by two other vessels, one a brig bound for the Moravian missions on the Labrador coast, and the other his Majesty's sloop of war _Brazen_, as armed convoy. The voyage was by no means as monotonous as such voyages usually were. On board the _Prince of Wales_, typhoid fever of a virulent character broke out, causing a panic and a number of deaths, marine funerals being a daily occurrence. As for the _Eddystone_, an insurrection occurred; during which the sailors and passengers between decks sought to obtain possession of the ship and dispose of her, together with cargo and effects to France or Spain, or to the ships or colonies of those hostile countries. The captain was, however informed of the plan, and immediately placed armed men to guard the hatches, loaded the quarter gun with grape shot and coolly awaited the advent on deck of the conspirators. These appeared in due course, but were quick to perceive themselves completely non-plussed and retired below in confusion. On the 12th of August the little fleet found an anchorage in Churchill River, in close proximity to the new fort Prince of Wales. Here the immigrants were landed, and after a short rest were sent forward, some on foot and others by boat, to a place known as Colony Creek. Here they built log cabins, and in their weak, unacclimatized state, drew together to pass the winter in those hyperborean regions. In order to receive the scant rations dealt out to them by the Company at the fort, they were obliged to perform a journey of thirty miles on snowshoes each week. But the trials and hardships of the poor wanderers, amongst which was the deprivation of the locks of their guns "in order that they should not kill the Company's partridges," came to an end in April, when their gun-locks were restored and they took up their journey to York Factory, slaying innumerable game as they went. Here they met from the Chief Factor, Cook, a hospitable reception, and continuing their journeyings after a short halt, reached Fort Douglas in the early autumn. Governor McDonnell welcomed the members of this second brigade and proceeded to allot to each head of a family one hundred acres of land and an Indian pony. A few days later they were called together, and after each had been regaled with a glass of spirits, he was furnished with a musket, bayonet and ammunition. They were told they must offer an armed resistance to their tormentors and aggressors should they again appear, and admonished that the strong could dictate to the weak. Notwithstanding, the colonists could not but marvel at the plentiful lack of preparation for the agricultural pursuits which they had intended to follow in this remote region. There were no farm implements, nor was there metal of which these could be fashioned, unless it was the formidable battery of field-guns, or the plentiful supply of muskets and bayonets. At Fort Douglas, under the circumstances, the colonists could remain but a short time; it was necessary for them to resort, as their forerunners had done, to Pembina, so as to be within convenient distance of the buffalo. [Illustration: FORT DOUGLAS, RED RIVER. (_From a drawing by Lord Selkirk._)] In the spring of 1814, the colonists, after a winter rendered miserable by the jealousy and unfriendliness of the Indians and half-breeds, returned to Red River in a state of great destitution, resolved never to return again to Pembina, no matter what their circumstances. But a step had been taken during that winter by Governor McDonnell which was to reverberate throughout the English-speaking world. Incensed at the boycotting of the colonists and stirred to action by their condition, he issued from Fort Daer, which was the Company's post erected at Pembina, the following proclamation: Whereas, the Right Honourable Thomas, Earl of Selkirk, is anxious to provide for the families at present forming settlements on his lands at Red River and those on the way to it, passing the winter at York and Churchill Forts in Hudson's Bay, as also those who are expected to arrive next autumn, rendering it a necessary and indispensable part of my duty to provide for their support. In the yet uncultivated state of the country, the ordinary resources derived from the buffalo and other wild animals hunted within the territory, are not deemed more than adequate for the requisite supply. [Sidenote: Governor McDonnell's proclamation.] Whereas, it is hereby ordered that no person trading furs or provisions within the territory for the Honourable the Hudson's Bay Company, or the North-West Company, or any individual or unconnected traders or persons whatever, shall take any provisions, either of flesh, fish, grain or vegetables, procured or raised within the said territory, by water or land carriage, for one twelvemonth from the date hereof, save and except what may be judged necessary for the trading parties at this present time within the territory, to carry them to their respective destinations; and who may, on due application to me, obtain a license for the same. The provisions procured and raised as above shall be taken for the use of the colony; and that no loss shall accrue to the parties concerned, they will be paid for by British bills at the customary rates. And be it hereby further made known that whosoever shall be detected in attempting to convey out, or shall aid or assist in carrying out, or attempting to carry out, any provisions prohibited as above, either by water or land, shall be taken into custody and prosecuted as the laws in such cases direct; and the provisions so taken, as well as any goods and chattels, of what nature soever, which may be taken along with them, and also the craft, carriages and cattle instrumental in conveying away the same to any part out to any settlement on Red River, shall be forfeited. Given under my hand at Fort Daer (Pembina), the 8th day of January, 1814. (Signed) MILES McDONNELL, _Governor_. (By order of the Governor). (Signed) JOHN SPENCER, _Secretary_. A copy of this proclamation was despatched in all haste to Fort William, where the partners met in the spring. It excited the greatest indignation and bitterness. It was now determined to seduce and inveigle away as many of the colonists as could be induced to join the North-West standard, and after they should have thus diminished their means of defence, to exhort the Indians of Lac Rouge, Fond du Lac and other places, to rise and destroy the settlement. It was likewise their avowed intention to seize the Governor and carry him to Montreal as a prisoner, by way of degrading the authority under which the colony was established, in the eyes of the natives of that country. [Sidenote: Hostilities planned by the North-West concern.] Among the partners of the North-West concern who received their instructions from this general annual meeting at Fort William, were Duncan Cameron and Alexander McDonell, and these were the persons selected by the partnership to superintend and execute the plans entered into against the Red River colony. On the 5th of August the last named person wrote to a fellow-partner at Montreal from one of the portages lying between Lake Superior and the place of his winter destination in the interior, to which he was then proceeding: "You see myself, and our mutual friend, Mr. Cameron, so far on our way to commence open hostilities against the enemy in Red River. Much is expected from us, and if we believe some--perhaps too much. One thing is certain, that we will do our best to defend what we consider our rights in the interior. Something serious will undoubtedly take place. Nothing but the complete downfall of the colony will satisfy some, by fair or foul means--a most desirable object if it can be accomplished. So here is at them, with all my heart and energy." McDonell and his co-partner accordingly proceeded towards their destination, and arrived about the end of August at a trading post (called by them Fort Gibraltar) belonging to the North-West concern, situated at the Forks, within half a mile of the Red River settlement. Cameron remained here during the winter, while his partner, McDonell, proceeded farther into the interior, returning in the month of May with a party of Cree Indians from a considerable distance, for a purpose which is now obvious. Cameron, to whom his associates appear to have confided the task of opposing, upon the spot, the further progress of colonization, was well qualified to perform such a service. He began by ingratiating himself amongst several of the heads of families in the settlement, and being able to converse with many of them in their native Gaelic tongue, by degrees he gained their confidence and good opinions. He frequently invited them to his house, and, in short, took every means to secure their favour. They saw no reason to suspect his intentions; and thus the influence which he gradually acquired over many of their members, during the autumn and winter, was artfully exerted to make them discontented alike with their situation, their officers, and their prospects. He alarmed them with constant reports which he stated he had received from the interior, that the Indians from a distance were coming in the spring to attack them; and that unless they placed themselves under the protection of the North-West Company, and accepted his offers to take them to Canada, they would never be able to escape from the country or avoid the dangers surrounding them. [Sidenote: The North-West company causes discontent among the settlers.] Prior to the departure of Cameron and McDonell from Fort William for Red River, they had adopted the expedient of providing themselves with British military uniforms. A military coat with a pair of epaulets, the cast-off uniform of a major, which had previously adorned the person of a factor named McLeod, now added to Cameron's dignity. He pretended to bear the King's commission, as did also his companion; and these two worthies occasionally rode around the country in uniform, attended by a numerous suite of clerks and half-breeds, and other servants of the North-West company on horseback. Such imposture and assumed airs of authority would have evoked merely contempt or laughter, but under the circumstances had great weight with the ignorant settlers, who could not but help believing that Cameron and his followers were sanctioned by Government in their position and behaviour. The North-West agents now proceeded to put their plans into execution. The immigrants were alternately bribed, cajoled and threatened into abandoning their settlement on the Red River. To each Cameron engaged to give a free passage to Canada (generally to Montreal), a twelvemonth's supply of provisions _gratis_ for themselves and families, while various sums, varying from £15 to £100, were paid or promised to deserters. A pretext being found, Spencer, the sheriff of the colony and a really valuable officer, was taken prisoner under a warrant from a North-West partner, and after a protracted detention sent overland to Montreal. During the interval between the autumn of 1814 and the spring of 1815, a number of the settlers were seduced and instigated to disloyalty against their benefactors and the Company. A large band of the Bois-Brulés were, during this period, maintained and paraded in arms under Cameron, who, now that the preparatory measures had reached this stage, believed the time ripe for more decisive measures. Of the ruling spirit amongst the half-breed hordes, mention has already been made. Cuthbert Grant now appeared on the scene and with him some of his choicest dare-devil crew. The return of the settlers to the colony had filled the minds of the Bois-Brulés with rage. The contempt of the wild hunters of the plains for the peaceful tillers of the soil was great. They scorned them for their manual labour; they reproachfully termed them "the workers in gardens," and the phrase, "pork-eaters," formerly applied to the voyageurs east of Fort William, was now used derisively to the Scotch settlers. All now looked forward to a grand gathering in the spring at "The Forks," to administer a final blow to the infant colony. The disaffected settlers were therefore, during the temporary absence of a number of those who still continued faithful to their contracts and their duty, incited to rob and pillage a fort belonging to the settlement, and of the cannon set out by the British Government for its defence. Armed sentinels were placed at different doors to prevent opposition, while a part of the Bois-Brulés and servants of the Nor'-Westers, under the command of Cameron, were stationed in arms within the distance of a few hundred feet for the purpose of giving support to the plunderers in case their force should be insufficient. Nine pieces of artillery were thus taken from the settlement and delivered to the North-West party in waiting, who received them with shouts of triumph and conveyed them to their headquarters, Fort Gibraltar. To celebrate this exploit Cameron gave a ball and entertainment to the parties engaged, on the following evening. [Sidenote: Attack on the settlement.] A camp was now established at a place called Frog Plain, about four miles below the settlement, by the servants and partisans of the North-Westers, under the command of McDonell. In June, 1815, after the colony had been thereby deprived of the means of defence, and was in great measure surrounded by its enemies, the whole force of Cameron's post, consisting of half-breeds, servants and North-West clerks, sallied forth to make a combined attack on the settlement. A sharp fire of musketry was kept up for some time on the Governor's house and adjacent buildings. In this attack only four persons belonging to the settlement were wounded, but one died soon after. Several days passed, the men encamped at Frog Plain received orders to march to the settlement, where they erected a battery against the building called the Government House, on which they planted a portion of the cannon previously taken. After a series of attacks and skirmishes, Governor McDonnell was obliged to surrender himself as a prisoner, and under a warrant from a partner in the North-West company, sent to Montreal, charged with an undue arrogance of authority to the detriment of the fur-trade. But the North-Westers were not yet satisfied. The principal person of the settlement (and one who also held the appointment, from the Hudson's Bay Company, of Governor of the district) was, it is true, in custody; but having got possession of him, peremptory orders were issued to Cameron directing the remaining settlers to leave the Red River. The most wanton acts of aggression followed on the part of Alexander McDonell, who, after Cameron's departure with his prisoner, succeeded to the command at the Forks. The colonists were frequently fired on; the farm-house was broken open and pillaged; a number of farm labourers were arrested; horses were stolen and cattle driven away. On the 22nd of June, another attack with fire-arms was made upon the Governor's house, but the fire was not returned by the dispirited settlers, who now resolved to migrate. [Sidenote: Forced departure of the colonists.] An episode occurring on the very eve of their departure showed clearly upon whose side the Indians of the interior were disposed to range themselves. Two Saulteaux chiefs, with about forty warriors of that nation, arrived at the settlement. Learning the condition of affairs they went over to the North-Westers' fort, and endeavoured to prevail upon McDonell to cease his persecution and allow the colonists to remain. Naturally, their request was refused, although the Indian numbers prevented the North-West official from laughing in their faces. To McLeod, the Hudson's Bay factor at Fort Douglas, the Indians expressed their regret; but considering the armament at the disposal of their foes, could offer them merely the protection of an escort down the river to Lake Winnipeg. The offer was thankfully accepted, and under their Indian escort, the officers and remaining settlers, amounting to about sixty, quitted the settlement, leaving McLeod and three clerks behind. Having in this manner quitted their homes, they proceeded in canoes to the mouth of the Red River, crossed Lake Winnipeg and took up a new abode at a trading-post on Jack River belonging to the Hudson's Bay Company. [Illustration: THE FUR LOFT AT A HUDSON'S BAY POST.] The day following their departure, a party of North-West company clerks, servants and half-breeds gathered at the spot, and setting fire to the houses, the mill and the other buildings, burned them to the ground. Great joy filled the breasts of the North-Westers assembled at Fort William when these brave tidings were conveyed to their ear. These tidings were accompanied by convincing proofs of the great victory gained over the enemy, in the persons of one hundred and thirty-four settlers, including men, women and children. They arrived about the end of July and found many of the partners gathered to receive them. The conduct of Cameron and McDonell met with the most enthusiastic approval. They were again appointed to command at the same stations in the interior, which they had charge of the previous season, with a view to oppose any further attempt to restore the scattered colony on Red River. [Sidenote: Treachery rewarded.] While, however, these marks of approbation were lavished upon the heroes of this work of destruction, the subordinate agents were by no means so liberally rewarded as they had reason to expect. They even complained of being defrauded of their promised hire. Many of the deserters from the colony, however, and those of the settlers whose treachery had proved most useful to the Montreal Company, were well rewarded for their services. One of the most interesting features of this business well deserves to be rescued from oblivion. It is the account-book captured in the following year by Lord Selkirk, together with other papers and effects of the North-West Company at Fort William, and despatched for safe-keeping to Hudson's Bay House, in London. It shows that credits were given to forty-eight of these persons for various articles which they had plundered from the settlement and delivered to Cameron at Fort Gibraltar. These consisted principally of implements of husbandry, working tools, horses, muskets, guns, pistols, etc., etc. Thus in one of the pages appears a credit "for five new guns, £10; for a new common pistol, 15s.; one old gun, 15s.," etc., etc. At the bottom of these accounts were generally added the amounts they were to receive, and did receive, as rewards for their services against the settlement. Several thus obtained larger sums than, in all probability, they had ever been possessed of at any one period in the course of their lives. To many of their accounts were also subjoined, in the handwriting of Cameron and McDonell, brief abstracts of the services which these deserters had, respectively, performed in promoting the destruction of the settlement. As an illustration of this, honourable mention is made of one of them (in the handwriting of Cameron) in this style: "This man joined our people in February, was a great partisan and very useful to us ever since, and deserves something from the North-West company, say five or six pounds." Of another, "This man was also a great partisan of ours, and made himself very useful to us; he lost his three years' earnings with the Hudson's Bay Company for joining us, and he deserves, at least, about £20." Of another (inscribed by Alexander McDonell): "He was very desperate in our cause this spring and deserves three or four pounds." There are other entries, as follows: "An active, smart fellow. Left the Hudson's Bay Company in April last--a true partisan, steady and brave. Took a most active part in the campaign this spring, and deserves from £15 to £20. He has lost about £20 by leaving the Hudson's Bay Company a month before the expiration of his contract." "This man left the Hudson's Bay Company in the month of April, owing to which he lost three years' wages. His behaviour towards us has been that of a true partisan--a steady, brave and resolute man; and was something of a leading character among his countrymen, and deserves at least about £20." [Sidenote: Leaves from the account book.] But the truest of all these "partisans" appears to have been one George Campbell. This hitherto obscure personage was accordingly conspicuously honoured, as well as rewarded, by the North-West company. He was seated at table in their common hall at Fort William, next to the partners, and above the clerks of the company. Enviable distinction! But it was but as the shadow of a more tangible and, doubtless, to its recipient, a more valued reward. By the direction of the partnership he received a recompense of £100, paid to him by one of the company's clerks. In the account-book above mentioned appears Cameron's testimony to the merits of this hero. "This (George Campbell) is a very decent man, and a great partisan, who often exposed his life for the North-West company. He has been of very essential service in the transactions of Red River, and deserves at least £100, Halifax; and every other service that can be rendered him by the North-West company. Rather than that his merit and services should go unrewarded, I would give him £100 myself, although I have already been a good deal out of pocket by my campaign to Red River." One would fain linger in the common-hall, at Fort William, the barbaric splendour and even opulence of whose creature comforts have been painted for us by another and more gifted hand. How deep the potations, how turbulent the revelry when the flushed cohorts from Red River returned and took their places at the board, conscious of a victory gained over their hated rivals, the Merchants-Adventurers trading into Hudson's Bay, and those miserable colonists despatched by their Governor to begin the peopling of the West! Moreover, tidings now came to swell their joy that the war between Great Britain and America was ended, and so further relieved their dread of disaster. But decisive as their triumph seemed, it was short-lived. Even in the midst of this vulgar wassail the despised settlers had returned, and affairs at Red River were shaping for a tragedy. FOOTNOTES: [96] The precise spot was well chosen by Selkirk, had his object been only the confusion and discomfiture of the North-Westers. It was the great depot of the latter for the preparation of pemmican. Were the region to become colonized it would slowly but surely cut off the buffalo, from which pemmican was made, and eventually force the North-Westers to import from Canada, at ruinous expense, the chief part of the provisions requisite for their trading expeditions. [97] In honour of William McGillivray, principal partner of the concern. [98] "It will never do," wrote Governor McDonnell to his chief, "to take the colonists from among the Company's servants. The Orkneymen are so averse to labour that they prefer the Company's service to agriculture, and all being engaged in the name of the Company they object to serve in the colony, thinking it a separate concern." CHAPTER XXXI. 1816-1817. A New Brigade of Immigrants -- Robert Semple -- Cuthbert Grant's Letter -- The De Meuron Regiment -- Assembling of the Bois-Brulés -- Tragedy at Seven Oaks -- Selkirk at Fort William -- McGillivray Arrested -- Arrest of the Northmen -- Selkirk proceeds to Red River. A new brigade of emigrants had sailed from Stromness. Gloomy and portentous was the prospect which greeted them on their arrival. They beheld their comrades and fellow-countrymen of the previous brigade, who had returned from their exile at Jack River, still gazing in wretchedness upon the embers of their late dwellings, seeking to rescue what produce remained in the earth for their winter's subsistence. The ship which had brought out these immigrants had also carried an able officer of the Company, Robert Semple, a man of parts and culture, who had been appointed to the chief control of all the factories in Rupert's Land. [Sidenote: Influence of the Nor'-Westers over the half-breeds.] The hostile feuds and lawless proceedings of the fur-trading "partisans" had convulsed the whole Indian country throughout its boundaries. The arrival of more immigrants only served to add fresh fuel to the flame. It cannot be denied that between the two rival companies the North-Westers possessed one dangerous advantage, viz., the authority and influence they had over the half-breeds, their own servants, and over many of the more dissolute Indians. "They had so trained and influenced these," says, with great truth, one sober trader writing of those times, "both in the school of mischief, rapine and bloodshed, that no outrage which the unscrupulous ministers of a lawless despotism could inflict was too extravagant to dread.[99] Posts were pillaged, robberies committed, and valuable lives sacrificed without remorse." Instead of settling down quietly and cultivating the soil on their arrival, all the immigrants were quickly dispersed in search of a precarious subsistence at Pembina and elsewhere, as had been the case with the first unhappy brigade. They separated, to weather the storms of winter as best they might, hunting and fishing amongst the savages, and enduring every species of privation and suffering which fate could inflict upon them. As soon, however, as the snows of winter were melted, all re-assembled at the colony, and fell to with a will to the task of tilling the ground, and sowing what, alas, the fowls of the air were to reap. [Sidenote: Lord Selkirk arrives in Canada.] For a moment let us turn to Lord Selkirk. On the arrival of this nobleman at New York on his way to Canada to support in person the exertions of his colonists, he received intelligence of their dispersion, and the capture of his lieutenant and agent. He immediately proceeded to Montreal where he was apprised of the danger with which the new arrivals were threatened as well as the distress which had overtaken those settlers who had been brought into Canada. The North-West Company had no further use for their services, the expense of bringing them down having already proved sufficiently burdensome. The alluring promises made on the banks of the Red River, of lands, high wages, practical encouragement, were forgotten on the shores of the St. Lawrence. Selkirk was determined upon a rigid enquiry; and steps were taken by his agents in Upper and Lower Canada to that end. While he was thus engaged, information arrived of the re-establishment of the colony, both brigades of immigrants having made a junction at Red River, on the departure of Cameron and McDonell. Lord Selkirk, having despatched a messenger[100] into the interior to advise the settlers of his speedy arrival amongst them, now renewed his endeavour to obtain from the Governor of Canada, Sir Gordon Drummond, some small military protection for the settlers. But his application was refused. One, if not the principal, of the reasons being that Drummond had no desire to lower his popularity by exerting his influence against the partners of the North-West Company. The attempt proving fruitless, a new resource offered itself, and this Selkirk was not loath to seize. As a result of the termination of hostilities with America, the hired European regiments of De Meuron, Watteville and the Glengarry Fencibles in Canada were reduced. The privates, as well as their officers, were entitled on their discharge to grants of lands in Canada, and in the event of their accepting them, the members of the two first-mentioned regiments were not to be sent back to Europe. A proposition was put to them and agreed to with alacrity. [Sidenote: Regiment of De Meuron.] The regiments to which these men belonged were part of the body of German mercenaries raised during the Napoleonic wars. Col. De Meuron, one of the most illustrious officers, bequeathed his name to the whole body. Though Germans for the most part, Swiss and Piedmontese were also numbered amongst them. While the great Corsican was languishing at Elba, the De Meurons were equally inactive at Malta, but in the war which had broken out between England and the American States there was plenty of work for their swords. They were shipped to Canada, and in 1816, hostilities having ceased, they were again out of employment. Lord Selkirk perceived in them an instrument ready to his hand. He sent for their officers, four in number, Captains d'Orsonnens and Matthey, and Lieutenants Fauché and Graffenreith, and informed them he had work in hand. They listened and agreed to his terms on behalf of their men. They hastened in boats up the St. Lawrence, and at Kingston encountered twenty other foreign soldiers belonging to the De Watteville regiment, and also victims of peace. These were engaged on the same terms. Eighty soldiers and four officers of De Meuron's regiment, twenty of Watteville's, and several of the Glengarry Fencibles, with one of their officers, instead of remaining in Canada, preferred going to the Red River settlement on the terms proposed by Lord Selkirk. They were to receive pay at a certain rate per month for navigating the canoes up to Red River, were to have lands assigned to them at the settlement, and if they did not elect to remain were to be conveyed at his lordship's expense to Europe by way of Hudson's Bay. Whatever we may now think of the motive prompting the employment of these men, it must be conceded that it was effected with propriety and ingenuous formality. The men being discharged could no longer be held soldiers. They retained their clothing, as was usual in such cases, and Lord Selkirk furnished them with arms, as he had done to his other settlers. Had there existed a disposition to criticise this latter measure, ample justification was to be found in the instructions of the Board of Ordnance, in 1813, to issue some field pieces and a considerable number of muskets and ammunition for the use of the Red River colony. With this body of men Selkirk proceeded into the interior. [Sidenote: Fort Gibraltar captured.] While he was on the march, the colony on Red River was apprehending alarming consequences. Cameron and McDonell, the two North-West partners, had arrived the previous autumn and been astonished at the temerity of the settlers at returning to the forbidden spot, and measures had at once been taken to molest and discourage them. Thereupon the Hudson's Bay factor, Colin Robertson, who, in Governor McDonnell's absence, had placed himself at their head, planned an attack upon Fort Gibraltar, which he seized by surprise in the month of October. He thus recovered two of the field pieces and thirty stand of arms, which had been abstracted from the settlement in the previous year. In this capture no blood was shed, and although Cameron was taken prisoner he was released upon a promise to behave peaceably in future and was even reinstated in possession of his fort. But this posture of affairs was not long to endure. At the beginning of March, Governor Semple went west to inspect the forts on the Assiniboine, Lake Manitoba, and Swan Lake, leaving Robertson in command. On the 16th, suspecting a plot on the part of Cameron and his North-Westers, Robertson intercepted some letters, which transformed suspicion into conviction. He therefore attacked the North-West post, took Cameron prisoner, and removed all the arms, trading goods, furs, books and papers, to Fort Douglas.[101] He furthermore informed his enemy that being situated at the confluence of the two rivers, the Red and the Assiniboine, Fort Gibraltar was the key to the position, and could be in no other hands but those of the lords of the soil. Following up this move, Robertson attacked the North-West post on the Pembina River, captured Bostonnais Pangman, who was in charge, with two clerks and six voyageurs, who were afterwards incarcerated in Fort Douglas. Pursuing his advantage an attempt was made to carry Fort Qu'Appelle. But McDonell, who was in command there, displayed considerable force, and caused the Hudson's Bay people to retire. About this period five flat-bottomed boats belonging to the Company, laden with pemmican and from thirty to forty packs of furs, under charge of James Sutherland, were _en route_ to Fort Douglas. McDonell was advised of the circumstance and seized the whole, while retaining two of the factors, Bird and Pambrun, as prisoners. A canoe was given Sutherland and the others, together with a scanty supply of pemmican, and they were allowed to continue their journey to the fort. On receiving intelligence of this proceeding, as well as of the plots being hatched by the half-breeds and their allies in the West, Robertson concluded that Cameron would be best out of the way; the prisoner was accordingly sent off under guard to York Factory, from whence he reached England seventeen months later. Here he was released without a trial, and soon afterwards returned to Canada, where he spent the remainder of his years. The enemy were no sooner out of Fort Gibraltar than Robertson had the walls pulled down. All the useful material was rafted down the river to Fort Douglas, where it was employed in new erections within that post. [Sidenote: Plan to exterminate the Red River Settlement.] McDonell now exerted himself to the utmost to assemble the half-breeds from every quarter, for the purpose of a final extermination of the colony at Red River. Many of these were collected from a very distant part of the country; some from Cumberland House and also from the Upper Saskatchewan, at least seven hundred miles from the settlement. Reports had reached the colonists, of whom there were, all told, about two hundred, that the Bois-Brulés were assembling in all parts of the north for the purpose of driving them away. Each day increased the prevalence of these rumours. The hunters, and the free Canadians who had supplied them with provisions, were terrified at the prospect of the punishment they might receive at the hands of the violent North-Westers. About the close of May the North-Wester, Alexander McDonell, embarked in his boats with the furs and bags of provisions which he had seized, as above related, from the Hudson's Bay people. He was attended by a body of the half-breeds on horseback, who followed him along the banks of the river. When the party arrived near the chief Hudson's Bay Company's post, Brandon House, Cuthbert Grant was sent ahead with twenty-five men, who seized the post and pillaged it, not only of all the English goods, together with the furs and provisions belonging to the Company, but also of the private property of their servants, which was distributed amongst the servants and half-breeds. The latter were now eager for the accomplishment of their great desire. Accordingly, on the 18th of June, Cuthbert Grant, Lacerte, Frazer, Hoole and McKay were sent off from Portage la Prairie, with about seventy men, to attack the colony at Red River. McDonell himself, foreseeing the issue, prudently remained behind.[102] The tidings he anticipated would arrive were not long delayed. On the 20th of June a messenger, covered with sweat, returned from Cuthbert Grant, to report that his party had killed Governor Semple, with five of his officers and sixteen of his people. At this welcome news of the consummation of their fondest hopes, McDonell and the other officers shouted with joy. No time was lost in spreading the story. The unhappy Pambrun, from his confinement, could distinctly hear the cries of the French and half-breeds, which they caught up again and again in a paroxysm of triumph. "Sacré nom de Dieu! Bonne Nouvelles! Vingt-deux Anglaise de tués!" [Illustration: SCENE OF THE RED RIVER TRAGEDY.] [Sidenote: The affair at Seven Oaks.] The story of this tragedy of the plains, to which for a time was cynically applied the term, "battle," has been often and variously narrated; but the facts seem clear enough. Semple the Governor, was on the point of returning to York Factory on the concerns of the Company, when the rumours of immediate hostility, which have been described, checked his departure. Measures of precaution were adopted and a watch regularly kept to guard against surprise. On the 17th of June, two Cree Indians who had escaped from the party of North-Westers under McDonell, came to the Governor at Fort Douglas, adjoining the settlement, with the intelligence that he would certainly be attacked in two days by the Bois-Brulés, under Cuthbert Grant, who were determined to take the fort, and that if any resistance were made, neither man, woman or child would escape. Peguis, chief of the Swampy Indians, who came periodically to the district about the mouth of the Red River, also waited on Governor Semple for the purpose of offering the services of his tribe, about seventy in number, to assist in the colonists protection. A conflict seemed inevitable. On the afternoon of the 19th a man in the watch-house called out that the half-breeds were coming. Governor Semple and his officers surveyed the neighbouring plains through their telescopes and made out the approach of some men on horseback. These were not, however, headed in the direction of the fort, but of the settlement. [Illustration: THE SHOOTING OF GOVERNOR SEMPLE. (_See page 413._)] [Sidenote: Killing of Governor Semple.] Semple's words were: "We must go out and meet these people; let twenty men follow me." They proceeded by the frequented path leading to the settlement. As they went along they met many of the colonists, who were running towards them, crying: "The half-breeds! The half-breeds!" An advance was made of about one mile, when some persons on horseback were discerned in ambush, close at hand, and the Governor, somewhat uneasy at the signs of their numbers, had just decided to send for a field-piece, when a fearful clamour pierced the air, and he saw it was too late. The half-breeds galloped forward, their faces painted in the most hideous manner, and all dressed in the Indian fashion[103] and surrounded the Hudson's Bay people in the form of a half-moon. As they advanced the latter party retreated, and a North-West employee named Boucher rode up very close to Governor Semple and asked what he wanted there? To this enquiry, which was delivered in a very authoritative and insolent tone, Semple replied by demanding of Boucher what he and his party wanted? Boucher said: "We want our fort," and the Governor's answer was: "Well, go to your fort." In a loud tone came the other's rejoinder: "You damned rascal, you have destroyed our fort." Semple, though a man of extremely mild manners and cultivated mind, flushed with indignation at such an address, and incautiously laid hand upon the bridle of Boucher's horse, according to some; of his gun, according to others. A few high words passed. Two shots rang out in quick succession, by the first of which Holt fell, and by the second Semple was wounded.[104] In a few minutes the field was covered with bleeding forms; almost all Semple's men were either killed or wounded. Save in a single instance no quarter was given; the injured were summarily despatched, and on the bodies of the dead were practised all the revolting horrors which characterize the inhuman heart of the savage.[105] [Illustration: VICINITY OF FORT DOUGLAS.] In all twenty-one persons were killed, the remaining eight escaping to the woods. Besides Governor Semple, Lieutenant Holt, Captain Rogers, Dr. James White and Dr. Wilkinson, the Governor's private secretary were amongst the dead. Immediately every human being at Fort Douglas was plunged into confusion and dismay. The survivors, hastily returning, told their fell tale, and men, women and children crowded together seeking protection within its walls. Bourke, and a few of his companions, had succeeded in regaining the fort with the cannon he had taken out. All waited for the expected attack of the North-Westers. An anxious night ensued, but no attack, and it was afterwards learnt that the Bois-Brulés had a wholesome dread of the cannon in the hands of the settlers. Pritchard, who had been taken prisoner to the camp ground of the main body of the half-breeds, now begged Cuthbert Grant, the leader, to be allowed to go to Fort Douglas. After securing his consent, he met with a refusal on the part of the others, until he gave a promise to bear a message of eviction to the colonists and return. Grant accompanied the prisoner on parole as far as Seven Oaks, where the ground was still strewn with the corpses of the slain. [Sidenote: The Nor'-Westers demand evacuation.] On reaching Fort Douglas, Pritchard informed the unhappy settlers that they must depart, which if they did immediately, a safe escort would be provided them, and they would be permitted to take all their personal effects. They were told that two other groups of North-Westers were daily expected to arrive in the locality, one hailing from the Saskatchewan, and the other party from Lake Superior. It would, therefore, be necessary to send some of the Bois-Brulés with them, to explain the situation. At first the colonists refused to listen to these terms. Sheriff McDonnell, who was now in charge of the settlement, resolved to hold the fort as long as the men were disposed to guard it. But they were not long of this courageous temper. After fully considering the situation, the settlers concluded to depart, and after several conferences between the sheriff and Cuthbert Grant, a capitulation was arranged. An inventory of all the property was taken, and the whole delivered up to the half-breed leader, for the use of the North-West company, each sheet of the inventory being signed as follows:-- "Received on account of the North-West Company by me, Cuthbert Grant, Clerk for the N.-West Co." [Sidenote: Arrest of colonists.] In two days the colonists, in all nearly two hundred, were ready to embark for Hudson's Bay. Albeit they had not been long on the voyage down the river before they were met by Norman McLeod, one of the leading partners of the North-West company, accompanied by a large party in canoes. At sight of the settlers the North-Westers set up an Indian war-whoop, and when they drew sufficiently near, McLeod, who posed as a magistrate, is said to have enquired, "Whether that rascal and scoundrel Robertson was in the boats." The colloquy was followed by a seizure of the accounts and papers of the settlers, including some of Governor Semple's letters. Of these they kept what they deemed proper, the rest being returned. McLeod took his magistracy very seriously, and seems to have regarded the whole party as his prisoners. He expressed neither horror nor regret at the murder of Semple and his companions, but ordered Sheriff McDonnell, Pritchard, Bourke, Corcoran, Heden and McKay to be arrested and put under a strong guard. McDonnell was liberated on bail, but the others were treated for nearly a week with the greatest indignity. Nevertheless, the North-Westers felt themselves in a sorry plight, which, they flattered themselves, a brazen behaviour might alleviate. The five men thus made prisoners were, after various delays and after two of them had been put in irons, conveyed to Fort William. They had not long been inmates of quarters at this great post, when McLeod and his party arrived there. With him came a number of the Bois-Brulés, Semple's murderers, bearing a portion of the plunder which had been reserved for the North-West company. Their arrival was the signal for rejoicing. The air was filled with impromptu songs and ballads commemorative of the happy event, which swept away the colony on the Red River. The "complete downfall" desired by the North-West partner seemed to have been consummated. At that time Fort William was the great emporium of the North-West company. An extensive assortment of merchandise was brought thither every year from Montreal by large canoes or the Company's vessels on the lakes, these returning with the furs to Canada and from thence shipped to England. It is difficult to imagine, as one visits the spot to-day, that it was once the abode of industry, of gaiety, of opulence and even of splendour. It boasted a fashionable season, which continued from May to late in August, and during this period the fur aristocracy, the _bourgeoisie_ and the _canaille_, met and mingled in a picturesque carnival of mirth, feasting and exultation. It was the meeting-place between the Montreal partners and voyageurs, and those who coursed the boundless expanse of the distant west. To the wintering clerks and partners, after their hardships and fasts in the interior, Fort William seemed a foretaste of Paradise, and a hundred journals of a hundred traders tell again the tale of a dream of distant Fort William, which, in the midst of cold, hunger and desolation, cheered the wanderer's heart and lightened his burdens. For the voyageurs it was all in all. To reach Fort William, enjoy the carnival, and betwixt drink and riotous living dissipate the hard-earned wages of years was to them often the happiness of earth and heaven combined. [Sidenote: Fort William described.] It was in the great dining-hall that there centred the chief glory of Fort William. Of noble proportions was it, and capable of entertaining two hundred persons, and here fully two hundred sat when the news from Red River reached them. Let us attempt to describe the scene. There on a glittering pedestal looked down on the joyous company a marble bust of Simon McTavish; while ever and anon the eye of some struggling clerk or ambitious partner would be attracted by a row of paintings, depicting to the life the magnates of the North, and rest with ecstasy upon those gleaming eyes and rubicund cheeks, cheerful prophesies of his own roseate future. Not all were portraits of opulent Northmen--other heroes lent the glory of their visages to this spacious hall--the King in his majesty, the Prince Regent, and Admiral the Lord Nelson. A gigantic painting of the memorable battle of the Nile also adorned the walls. At the upper end hung a huge map of the Indian country, drawn by David Thompson, he who had written at the crisis of his career, "To-day I left the services of the Hudson's Bay Company to join the North-West, and may God help me." On this extraordinary production were inscribed in characters bold enough to be seen by the humblest _engagé_ at the farthest end of the great hall, the whole number of the Company's trading posts from Hudson's Bay to the Pacific Ocean, from Sault Ste. Marie to Athabasca and the Great Slave Lake. Many a time and oft while the feast was at its height and the wine bottles of the partners were being broached and the rum puncheons tapped, was a glance cast at some spot on that map which marked months of suffering, the death place of a comrade, the love of an Indian maiden, a thrilling adventure, a cruel massacre, painful solitude, great rejoicing or a bitter disappointment. But if the scene within was noisy and animated, that without beggared description. Hundreds of voyageurs, soldiers, Indians, and half-breeds were encamped together in the open, holding high revel. They hailed from all over the globe, England, Ireland, Scotland, France, Germany, Italy, Denmark, Sweden, Holland, Switzerland, America, the African Gold Coast, the Sandwich Islands, Bengal, Canada, with Creoles, various tribes of Indians, and a mixed progeny of Bois-Brulés or half-breeds! "Here," cries one trader, "were congregated on the shores of the inland sea, within the walls of Fort William, Episcopalians, Presbyterians, Methodists, Sun-worshippers, men from all parts of the world whose creeds were 'wide as poles asunder,' united in one common object, and bowing down before the same idol." Women, soldiers, voyageurs, and Indians, in ever moving medley, danced, sang, drank, and gamboled about the fort on the night when the news came of the tragedy of the Red River. Meanwhile it will be remembered that the Earl of Selkirk was on his way, with his party of about eighty soldiers, to the scene of this rude rejoicing. When Sault Ste. Marie was reached, the first intelligence of the massacre and destruction of the colony was received, together with the news that some of the settlers and a large part of the property had been transported to Fort William. Filled with indignation, and determined to demand an explanation of the bloody deed, the Earl pressed on with all haste to the rendezvous of the North-West company, who, all unconscious of his approach, had made no plan either to defend themselves or to arrest his progress. [Sidenote: Selkirk arrives at Fort William.] Upon his arrival in the vicinity many favourable to the Company came out to meet him and relate the present state of affairs. As a magistrate for the country, he secured a number of affidavits, disclosing such circumstances of conspiracy and participation on the part of the North-Westers as determined him, as it was his duty, to issue warrants for their arrest. These were accordingly issued, first for the apprehension of William McGillivray, the principal partner, and next for that of all the other partners. A great many of the North-West partners were at this time assembled at Fort William, and amongst them was William McGillivray, their principal agent in Canada. Lord Selkirk immediately despatched a message to that gentleman, desiring to know by what authority and for what reason Pritchard, Pambrun, Nolin and others from Red River were detained as prisoners in their hands. McGillivray's response was to grant permission to most of these prisoners to join Selkirk, to whom he denied that they were detained, except as witnesses. The parties thus freed came over, asserting that they had all suffered for some time a rigorous confinement. The intelligence they conveyed was of such a nature as to induce the Earl to issue warrants for the arrest of most of the North-West partners then at Fort William. [Sidenote: Arrest of the North-West partners.] The first to be arrested was McGillivray, who submitted with the best possible grace to the warrant. Two other partners who came over with him, to offer themselves on bail (which was refused), were also taken in custody. Instructions were now given to constables to again set out in the boats, accompanied by some of the soldiers, to apprehend the other delinquents. On their landing, four or five of the Northmen were standing close to the gate of the fort, surrounded by a considerable body of French-Canadians, Indians and half-breeds in the North-West company's employment. The warrants were in the usual form served upon two of the partners; but when the constable was proceeding to arrest a third, he declared that there should be no further submission to any warrant until McGillivray was liberated. At the same instant an attempt was made to shut the gate and prevent the constables from entering. The fort people had succeeded in shutting one half of the gate, and had almost closed the other by force, when the chief constable called out for help from the soldiers. These to the number of about thirty forthwith rushed to the spot, and forced their way into the stronghold of the Northmen. The notes of a bugle now rang out across the river. The Earl understood the signal, and a fresh force of about thirty other veterans hurried quickly over the stream to join their comrades. Awed by the apparition of so many arms and uniforms, the North-Westers abandoned further resistance, and thus bloodshed was happily averted. The partner who had refused obedience to the warrant was seized and taken forcibly to the boats, the others submitting peaceably to arrest. At the time this episode was in progress, there were about two hundred French-Canadians and half-breeds, and sixty or seventy Iroquois Indians in and about the fort. A warrant having been issued to search for and secure the North-West papers, seals were in due course put upon these and guards placed for their security. The arrested men were transported to the Earl's camp; but upon their pledging their word of honour that no further attempt should be made to obstruct the execution of the law, and that all hostile measures should be renounced, they were permitted that same night to return to their apartments at Fort William. Notwithstanding this, it was discovered next morning that the seals had been broken in several places, and that many letters and papers had been burnt in the kitchen in the course of the night. More than this, a canoe loaded with arms and ammunition had been launched and several barrels of gunpowder had been secretly conveyed from the fort. These were afterwards traced to a place of concealment amongst some brushwood close at hand. About fifty or sixty stand of Indian guns, to all appearance freshly loaded and primed, were found hidden under some hay in a barn adjoining the fort. Owing to these discoveries, and suspecting treachery on the part of the Canadians and Indians, the greater part of the latter were ordered to evacuate the premises and pitch their tents on the opposite side of the river. Having seen this carried out, and having secured all the canoes of the enemy, Selkirk and his party came over and pitched their tents in front of the fort and mounted guard. Soon after, the North-West prisoners were sent off under escort to York, and finally reached Montreal in a state of mind not difficult to conceive. Fort William had been captured by Lord Selkirk. He himself, writing in 1817, observes, that "in the execution of his duty as a Magistrate," he had become possessed of "a fort which had served, the last of any in the British dominions, as an asylum for banditti and murderers, and the receptacle for their plunder. A fort which nothing less than the express and special license of his Majesty could authorize subjects to hold. A fort which had served as the capital and seat of Government to the traitorously assumed sovereignty of the North-West. A fort whose possession could have enabled the North-West company to have kept back all evidence of their crimes." "Heretofore," exclaims the Earl, "those who in the execution of the laws obtained possession of such strongholds as served for the retreat of banditti or murderers, were considered to have rendered a national service, and were rewarded with public gratitude and thanks." It can hardly be supposed that either the Canadians or the North-West partners were animated by any such sentiments. "That canting rascal and hypocritical villain, Lord Selkirk, has got possession of our post at Fort William," was the phrase employed by one of the aggrieved partners. "Well, we will have him out of that fort," he pursued amiably, "as the Hudson's Bay knaves shall be cleared, bag and baggage, out of the North-West. And this in short order, mark my words." [Sidenote: Selkirk winters at Fort William.] But his lordship was by no means of so accommodating a temper, nor was there anything to accelerate his abandonment of the post. Finding it too late to continue his journey on to Red River, he despatched a party of his men in advance, and himself resolved to pass the winter as pleasantly and profitably as circumstances would permit at Fort William. McGillivray and his companions, upon reaching Montreal, were greeted by an assembled host of their friends. Public opinion there was in their favour, whatever it might be in other quarters. On all sides one heard diatribes pronounced against Selkirk and the Hudson's Bay Company, and little sympathy for the victims of the massacre. The North-Westers were instantly admitted to bail, and warrants were sworn out for the Earl's arrest. A constable was sent to Fort William to execute them, but on his arrival found himself made prisoner, and his authority treated with contempt. In a few days he was released and ordered to return to those who had sent him on his unprofitable mission. Lord Selkirk was by no means idle at Fort William. He sent out parties to capture other North-West posts, and in this way the forts of Fond du Lac, Michipicoten and Lac la Pluie fell into his hands. When the month of May arrived he was ready to take up his journey to the West. FOOTNOTES: [99] There is preserved a letter from the leader of the Bois-Brulés, written to one of the partners. It bears date of 13th of March, 1816, and runs as follows:-- My Dear Sir: I received your generous and kind letter of last fall by the last canoe. I should certainly be an ungrateful being should I not return you my sincerest thanks. Although a very bad hand at writing letters I trust to your generosity. I am yet safe and sound, thank God! For I believe it is more than Colin Robertson, or any of his suit dare to offer the least insult to any of the Bois-Brulés, although Robertson made use of some expressions which I hope he shall swallow in the spring; he shall see that it is neither fifteen, thirty nor fifty of your best horsemen can make the Bois-Brulés bow to him. Our people of Fort des Prairies and English River are all to be here in the spring. It is hoped we shall come off with flying colours, and never to see any of them again in the colonizing way in Red River; in fact the traders shall pack off with themselves, also, for having disobeyed our orders last spring, according to our arrangements. We are all to remain at the Forks to pass the summer, for fear they should play us the same trick as last summer, of coming back; but they shall receive a warm reception. I am loath to enter into any particulars, as I am well assured that you will receive more satisfactory information (than I have had) from your other correspondents; therefore I shall not pretend to give you any, at the same time begging you will excuse my short letter, I shall conclude, wishing you health and happiness. I shall ever remain, Your most obedient humble servant, CUTHBERT GRANT. J. D. CAMERON, ESQ. [100] This messenger, Lagimoniere by name, was waylaid and robbed by the North-Westers. He had previously made a hazardous winter journey of upwards of 2,000 miles for the purpose of bringing to Montreal intelligence of the re-establishment of the Red River Colony. He was now attacked near Fond du Lac by some native hunters employed by the North-West Company, who beat him in a shocking manner, besides plundering him of his despatches, his canoe and all his effects. The order to intercept him was issued on the 2nd of June by Norman McLeod from Fort William; and the Indians who performed the service were credited in the books of the partnership with the sum of $100. Several of Lord Selkirk's letters were afterwards discovered at Fort William. [101] Semple is said, on the authority of an eye-witness, Donald Murray, yet living in 1891 (when a monument was erected to commemorate the Red River tragedy), to have disapproved of Robertson's management during his absence. This veteran was fond of relating that when Robertson started for York Factory in a boat, taking Duncan Cameron a prisoner, he insultingly hoisted a pemmican sack instead of the British flag. [102] The route taken by the Bois-Brulés was along the edge of the swamps, about two miles out on the prairie from Fort Douglas, and from that point gradually drawing nearer to the main highway, which is now the northern continuation of Winnipeg's Main street, until it effected a junction at a spot known as Seven Oaks. The name was derived from the circumstance of seven good sized oak trees growing there, about one hundred yards south of a small rivulet, now known as Inkster's Creek. [103] Their being painted and disguised, forms a very material fact, because it shows a premeditation to commit hostilities. It was not the custom of the Indians or Bois-Brulés to paint themselves, except on warlike occasions. Seeing this party of horsemen were proceeding towards the settlement, Semple directed about twenty men to follow him in the direction they had taken to ascertain what was their object. These took arms with them, but no ammunition. That Semple and his party went out with no hostile intention is evident from there being but twenty who went, whereas a much greater number who could have gone and were desirous of going, were left behind. [104] After the tragedy many of the settlers are said to have been of the opinion that the first shot was fired by Lieut. Holt, whose gun went off by accident, thus precipitating the conflict. [105] While the affair was sufficiently horrible, there was yet room for exaggeration in the tales of the survivors. "On my arrival at the fort," declared Pritchard, "what a scene of distress presented itself! The widows, children and relations of the slain, in the horrors of despair, were lamenting the dead and trembling for the safety of the survivors." It is to be noted that only one actual settler was killed, and I cannot discover that the others had any white women-folk amongst them. CHAPTER XXXII. 1817-1821. The English Government Intervenes -- Selkirk at Red River -- Makes a Treaty with the Indians -- Hostilities at Peace River -- Governor Williams makes Arrests -- Franklin at York Factory -- The Duke of Richmond Interferes -- Trial of Semple's Murderers -- Death of Selkirk -- Amalgamation. Tidings of the brutal massacre of the 19th of June, and the subsequent acts of robbery and bloodshed in the wilderness, reached London in due course, awakening the Imperial authorities to the necessity of at once terminating a strife which had now become chronic. In February, 1817, therefore, while Lord Selkirk was still at Fort William, the Governor-General of Canada received a despatch from the Home Government, which contained the following passage:-- You will also require, under similar penalties, a restitution of all forts, buildings and trading stations, with the property which they contain, which may have been seized, or taken possession of by either party, to the party who originally established or constructed the same, and who were in possession of them previous to the recent disputes between the two companies. You will also require the removal of any blockade or impediment by which any party may have attempted to prevent the free passage of traders, or other of his Majesty's subjects, or the natives of the country, with their merchandise, furs, provisions or other effects throughout the lakes, rivers, roads, and every other usual route or communication heretofore used for the purpose of the fur-trade in the interior of North America, and the full and free permission of all persons to pursue their usual and accustomed trade without hindrance or molestation. The mutual restoration of all property captured during these disputes, and the freedom of trade and intercourse with the Indians, until the trials now pending can be brought to a judicial decision, and the great question at issue, with respect to the rights of the companies, shall be definitely settled. [Sidenote: Fort William restored to the Nor'-Westers.] The Governor-General appointed Colonel Coltman and Major Fletcher, two military personages of high character, to act as commissioners, in order to carry out the Imperial Government's intentions. Coltman and Fletcher left Montreal in the same month that Selkirk evacuated Fort William. No sooner had Lord Selkirk and his party left this great trading post than the Sheriff of Upper Canada arrived, and by virtue of a writ of restitution took possession and restored it to its original owners. The commissioners, confronted by this fact, continued their journey on to Red River, arriving at Fort Douglas while Lord Selkirk was still in that locality. They proceeded to execute their commission, and to endeavour to restore the region to law and order. The merchandise, provisions and furs were in the course of the summer apportioned to their respective proprietors; the channels of communication were opened, and in time the commissioners were enabled to return to Canada, flattering themselves with the hope that the orders of the Prince Regent would be everywhere obeyed. The commissioners made a most circumstantial report of their mission, of which both parties complained that neither had received justice, which (as Senator Masson truly observes) was a very good reason for supposing that the report was just and impartial. Unhappily, this hope of theirs was not destined to be fulfilled. Fort Gibraltar had been destroyed, but the North-Westers at once set about erecting buildings for carrying on their trade. Selkirk meanwhile devoted himself to the affairs of his colony, making provision for the soldiers of the De Meuron and Watteville regiments according to the contract mutually entered into. He allotted each man a plot of land either in the vicinity of Fort Douglas, or on the other side of the river, close at hand; and the officers were stationed amongst them. This was done so that in case of any necessity arising, a signal from headquarters would enable the whole body to join their commanders in the fort at short notice. Everything was effected which, in his opinion, could conduce to the well-being of the colony. Selkirk now turned his attention to the Indians, whom he called together within the walls of the fort, and after bestowing amongst them presents, concluded the following treaty with them:-- [Sidenote: Treaty with Red River Indians.] This Indenture, made on the 18th day of July, in the fifty-seventh year of the reign of our Sovereign Lord, King George the Third, and in the year of our Lord, 1817, between the undersigned Chiefs and Warriors of the Chippeway or Saulteaux Nation, and of the Killistins or Cree Nation, on the one part, and the Right Honourable Thomas, Earl of Selkirk, on the other part. Witnesseth, that for and in consideration of the annual present or quit rent hereinafter mentioned, the said Chiefs have given, granted and confirmed, and do by these presents give, grant and confirm unto our Sovereign Lord, the King, all that tract of land adjacent to Red River and Assiniboine River, beginning at the mouth of the Red River, and extending along the same as far as the great Forks at the mouth of the Red Lake River, and along Assiniboine River as far as Musk-Rat River, otherwise called Riviere des Champignons, and extending to the distance of six miles from Fort Douglas on every side, and likewise from Fort Daer (Pembina), and also from the Great Forks, and in other parts extending in the breadth to the distance of two English statute miles back from the banks of the said rivers, on each side, together with all the appurtenances whatsoever of the said tract of land, to have and to hold forever the said tract of land and appurtenances, to the use of the said Earl of Selkirk, and of the settlers being established thereon, with the consent and permission of our Sovereign Lord, the King, or of the said Earl of Selkirk. Provided always, that these presents are under the express condition that the Earl, his heirs and successors, or their agents, shall annually pay to the Chiefs and Warriors of the Chippeway or Saulteaux Nation the present, or quit rent, consisting of one hundred pounds weight of good merchantable tobacco, to be delivered on or before the tenth day of October, at the Forks of the Assiniboine River; and to the Chiefs and Warriors of the Kinstineaux or Cree Nation, a like present, or quit rent, of one hundred pounds of tobacco, to be delivered to them on or before the said tenth day of October, at Portage de la Prairie, on the banks of Assiniboine River. Provided always that the traders hitherto established upon any part of the above-mentioned tract of land shall not be molested in the possession of the lands which they have already cultivated and improved, till his Majesty's pleasure shall be known. In witness whereof the Chiefs aforesaid have set their marks at the Forks of Red River on the day aforesaid. Signed, SELKIRK. Signed in presence of Thomas Thomas, James Bird, F. Matthey, Captain; P. D. Orsonnens, Captain; Miles McDonell, J. Bate, Chr. De Lovimier, Louis Nolin, Interpreter; and the following Chiefs, each of whom made his mark, being a rude outline of some animal. Moche W. Keocab (Le Sonent); Ouckidoat (Premier alias Grande Oreilles); Mechudewikonaie (La Robe Noire); Kayajickebinoa (L'Homme Noir); Pegawis. As a matter of fact, the Saulteaux Indians, who were given precedence in the above treaty, had no real claim to the lands on the Red River, which were possessed by the Crees alone. This latter tribe afterwards took great offence at this circumstance and made various threats to recede from their covenant and claim their lands from the settlers. These threats, however, were not carried out. Selkirk having in this manner arranged all to his satisfaction, bade farewell to Red River, and accompanied by a guide and a few friends, directed his course southward across the frontier into American territory. He made his way to New York and there embarked for England. It has been remarked that his Majesty's commissioners flattered themselves that in the formal and peaceful manner described, law and order was to be introduced into the North-West. It is true that the proclamation of the Prince Regent and the creation of the commission of inquiry had quieted much of the turbulence, and that all who came in contact with the recognized officers were ready to submit to their authority; but it was by no means so in the more remotely situated departments. [Sidenote: Attack on Fort Vermilion.] Governor Robertson, Semple's lieutenant, had delegated his authority to Clarke, another ex-employee of the North-West Company. This trader now sought upon Lord Selkirk's authority to penetrate, with an effective force, and a quantity of merchandise, into the very heart of the territory occupied by the North-Westers. One of Clarke's first acts on arriving at Peace River was to attack Fort Vermilion, with the design of acquiring a supply of provisions; but here he met with so vigorous a resistance that he was constrained to beat a retreat without having succeeded in his project. On the other hand, two partners, Black and McGillivray, on the pretence that Robertson had incited the savages to massacre some of their number, and that their men would refuse to serve if an example were not made, took him prisoner to Fort Athabasca, and there confined him during an entire winter. There were numerous examples of the abuse of force and the utter abandonment to lawlessness during this and the following year. [Sidenote: Arrest of Nor'-Westers.] Upon most of those Northmen named in the warrants issued at the instance of the Earl of Selkirk, it had been impossible to serve papers owing to their absence in the distant fur country. Williams, Semple's successor as Governor of the colony of Assiniboia, was consumed with a desire to effect the arrest of all those persons himself. It is possible that he also wished to avenge the incarceration of Robertson. Taking with him a number of De Meuron soldiers and two pieces of cannon, Governor Williams departed to lie in ambush for the North-Westers at a portage called Grand Rapids, which spot it was necessary for the enemy to pass in order to enter Lake Winnipeg. Beyond question, the North-Westers had no suspicion of what was in store for them, inasmuch as the party did not arrive in a large body, but in small detachments, and successively, often at an interval of several days. As fast as they arrived, however, Governor Williams and his soldiers were on the watch. It was new work to the veterans, but they entered into it with a zest and spirit. The North-Westers were seized and disarmed, being subjected to considerable violence. Some were permitted to continue their route; others were dispatched to York Factory, on the Bay. Here they were, during many weeks, detained as prisoners and treated with scant courtesy, up to the arrival of a certain British naval officer. This was Lieut. Franklin, who was then about to undertake his celebrated land voyage to the Arctic Sea. Franklin had in his possession several letters of introduction to partners in the North-West Company. Under these circumstances the consideration, not to say compassion, which he evinced for the Hudson's Bay Company's prisoners was much in their favour. McTavish and Shaw, two of the North-West partners, were granted permission to return to England as passengers on the ship which had brought Franklin, but the others were not so fortunate. Duncan Campbell was sent to Canada, _via_ Moose Factory and Michipicoten, and there placed at liberty. As to Benjamin Frobisher, there was no accusation or warrant of arrest against him, but it was felt that he should not escape punishment for his long hostility to the Company, as well as for the violent and crafty resistance which he had offered in the first instance to his arrest. Frobisher is described as being a man of great strength and herculean stature. On numerous occasions he had had the good or ill-fortune to come in contact with the servants of the Hudson's Bay Company, and there were many to testify that he had on such occasions not emerged with the loss either of prestige or property. His whole ambition now, whilst suffering from a severe wound in the head, was to escape from his captors. The nearest North-West post was distant about five hundred miles as the crow flies, but this circumstance had little restraining power upon his project. Two of his French-Canadian companions, Turcotte and Lépine, endeavoured to dissuade him, but without success; and at length they consented to participate in the escape should it be possible to elude the vigilance of their captors. They succeeded in doing this on the 30th September; launched themselves in an old canoe, into which they had stored some pounds of pemmican saved from their rations, and so commenced their painful journey. [Sidenote: Flight of prisoners from York Factory.] For two whole months these three fugitives from York Factory travelled through the wilderness. They suffered from cold and hunger, even devouring the buffalo skins that the Indians had left suspended in the trees as an indication of their route. At last the doughty Frobisher arrived at such a state of weakness that he was fain to lie down without further power of exertion. The trio were then not more than two days' journey from Lac L'Orignal, near Lake Bourbon, where the North-Westers had a post. Frobisher begged his companions, whose greater power of endurance and devotion to their superior had led to their carrying him on their shoulders, to leave him and seek assistance. This they did, after having deposited their burden at the side of a fire, and grilled a morsel of buffalo skin for his nourishment. Four days later they reached the fort, and a search party did not arrive on the spot until the 27th of November. Their eyes were greeted by the corpse of Frobisher, partly burnt, and extended at full length on the ground. Within his scanty clothing was found a journal, which he had kept ever since his arrest at Grand Rapids, and in which he had recorded his daily sufferings.[106] After considerable delay the news of Frobisher's escape and subsequent death was spread throughout the West. A courier arrived at Fort William in hot haste with the news of the affair at Grand Rapids. The utmost indignation prevailed. Many of the partners, fearing a descent of the Hudson's Bay soldiery, left in disorder for Montreal. The agents of the Company instantly addressed themselves to the Duke of Richmond, then Governor of Canada, representing to him that if the civil authorities did not interfere to compel respect for the orders of the Prince Regent, the fortunes of the North-West co-partnery would suffer a great and irreparable blow. [Sidenote: Envoys of the Government enjoin peace.] The Duke was then at Little York. He lost no time in dispatching one of the officers of his suite, Major MacLeod, with a budget of dispatches for delivery at the chief forts of the North-West. In these he enjoined obedience to the laws. MacLeod was accompanied, at the last moment, by Sir Charles Saxton. The envoys of the Governor reached Fort William and pressed on to the Grand Rapids, where they learned that Williams had raised the blockade of the river, and had left for the Bay with his soldiers and prisoners. It was too late in the autumn to follow them, so there was nothing left but to arrange to have their dispatches forwarded to the parties in the interior, and to return immediately to Little York. The alarm of the partners in Canada was matched by that of their agents in London. They addressed themselves to the Imperial Government, soliciting his Majesty's interference in order to put an end to the outrages and lawlessness, as they expressed it, of Lord Selkirk and the Hudson's Bay Company. They recalled that they had often demanded that the rights of the Company should be submitted to law, and warned the authorities that when their rivals mocked the orders of the Prince Regent, it would be impossible for themselves to confide their persons and their property to the protection of an authority with a seat so remote and exacting, so reluctant an obedience. "What is to become of us," they demanded, "if we are to have no protection for our servants in these wild regions of the North?" "You have no right in these regions," was, in effect, the retort of the Company. "They are vested in us by Royal charter, and the sooner you apprehend this truth the better." Whereupon the partners declared that if the Hudson's Bay Company or Lord Selkirk continued to exercise illegal powers, which had for their end the destruction of the commerce of their rivals, it was inevitable that more bloodshed should follow. Such protestations had the desired effect. The Government entered into correspondence with the directors of the Company and ordered that they should exert themselves to the utmost to prevent a repetition of lawlessness, else the consequences must be on their own head. [Sidenote: Trial of Semple's murderers.] The trials which took place at Little York and at Montreal had been very costly to both parties. Those relating to the Semple massacre were not tried until 1818.[107] Application had been made to the Governor-in-Chief of Canada in the previous March (1817) to have them removed to Upper Canada, and this naturally caused delay, the Governor judging it expedient to consult the Home Government in the matter. A favourable reply was received on the 24th of October, and warrants under the Great Seal were issued to try the cases at York. The North-Westers were finally brought before the court, and indictments found against them for participating in the affairs of the 11th of June, and the 28th of June, 1815; for larceny at Qu'Appelle River on the 12th of May, and the Semple massacre on the 19th of June, 1816. It surprised nobody in Canada that the jury in each case brought in a verdict of not guilty, however it may have astonished the British public. McGillivray, who had been waiting two years for trial, and now finding the further indictments abandoned, caused Lord Selkirk, Miles McDonnell, and eighteen others, to be indicted for the part they took in the capture of Fort William. The Earl had also several civil suits entered against him, one of which was by William Smith, the constable whom he ejected from Fort William, "taking hold of him and pushing him out of doors, and afterwards keeping him in close custody in the fort, under a military guard." The constable got a verdict of £500 damages against the Earl. Daniel McKenzie also entered suit against Lord Selkirk, and received a verdict of £1,500. [Sidenote: Prosperity at Red River.] Whilst these various proceedings were in progress, the Red River colony was struggling against adversity. In the winter of 1817 they were forced to resort again to Pembina, owing to a scarcity of food. The next year, when a considerable area of land had been planted, and followed by a favourable summer, the July sky suddenly darkened, and a cloud of grasshoppers descended upon the earth. Every green thing perished before them. In greater despair and wretchedness than ever, the colonists again migrated across the border. The same disaster occurred in the ensuing year, and if it had not been for the bounty and care of the Company, many would have perished. It was not until 1822 that the Red River colony, now recruited by French, Irish, German and Swiss, as well as Scotch settlers, began to take on a flourishing condition; but the news of this prosperity was not destined to reach the ears and gladden the heart of its founder. Selkirk had reached England disheartened, and with a well-founded grievance against the Canadian authorities, who, he declares, and with justice, had not accorded him the encouragement to which he had a right; and against the Canadian tribunals, from whom it had been impossible to obtain justice. The health of the Earl, shattered by the anxieties and episodes which have been recorded, rendered it necessary that he should seek repose in the south of France. But his ailment was mortal. He breathed his last at Pau, in the month of April, 1820, surrounded by his wife and children, leaving behind him many friends, and numerous admirers of his intellectual qualities and his courage. The Great North-West of to-day is his monument. The death of its principal Adventurer strengthened, on the part of the Company, the sentiment for peace; and by removing the chief obstacle hastened an amalgamation of interests of the rival traders. None then could nor can now but perceive, if they examine the situation broadly, that the complete annihilation of the North-West Association was a mere matter of time. None recognized this more than their agents in London, who had repeatedly made overtures to Lord Selkirk for amalgamation, but which were by him rejected as often as made. To Edward Ellice, a leading partner, an enterprising merchant, and a rising parliamentarian, belongs the chief credit of bringing about this union. This young man was the son of Alexander Ellice, a wealthy London merchant, and himself directly interested in the Canadian fur-trade. In 1803, when a lad of but fourteen, young Ellice had gone out to Canada, and animated by a love of adventure, had entered into the life of a trader, under the auspices of his father's friends. Ellice was quick to grasp the tendency of affairs. The terrible struggle of recent years made by the Northmen had told severely upon them.[108] [Illustration: SIR GEORGE SIMPSON.] The partners met at Fort William, in July, 1820, and a stormy session served to reflect their vexed plight. Dissensions exhibited themselves; the minority, at least, felt that in their London agents--Ellice and the McGillivrays--coming to terms with the Hudson's Bay Company, lay their only hope of salvation. [Sidenote: Union of the two Companies.] Without, however, consulting the powers at Fort William, these agents in London were acting on their own account. Conferences with the Chartered Adventurers took place daily. By the time the partnership between the Northmen themselves expired, in 1821, the negotiations had attained the form of an agreement. Delegates had been sent from Fort William to confer with their English representatives as to the future of the interests of the North-West Company. Ellice received them cordially in his office in Mark Lane and showed them an instrument which he called the Deed Poll. This document bore the names of the Governor, Berens, and the Committee of the Honourable Hudson's Bay Company, on the one part, and the McGillivrays and Ellice, on the other. The astonished delegates gazed upon the signed and sealed instrument, and recognized that the North-West Company had ceased to exist. "Amalgamation," cried one of them, "this is not amalgamation, but submersion. We are drowned men." A coalition and partnership had been agreed upon for twenty-one years, on the basis that each should furnish an equal capital for conducting the trade. This Deed Poll, which bore date of March 26, 1821, provided that the expenses of the establishment should be paid out of the trade, and that no expense of colonization or any commerce not directly relating to the fur-trade, was to fall upon the Company. The profits were to be divided into one hundred equal parts, of which forty were to be shared between the chief factors and chief traders, according to profit and loss. If a loss should occur in one year on these forty shares it was to be made good out of the profits of the year ensuing. A general inventory and account was to be made out annually on the 1st of June. If profits were not paid to any parties within fourteen days of that date, interest was to be allowed then at the rate of five per cent. When the Deed Poll was signed, it was stipulated that twenty-five chief factors and twenty-eight chief traders should be appointed, to be named in alternate succession from the Hudson's Bay and the North-West Company's servants. Both were placed on an equal footing, the forty shares out of the hundred being again subdivided into eighty-five shares, in order that each of the twenty-five chief factors should receive two (or 2/85ths), and each of the chief traders one of such shares. The remaining seven shares, to complete the eighty-five, were set apart for old servants, to be paid them during a term of seven years. [Sidenote: Plan of union.] The chief factors were to superintend the business of the Company at their respective stations, while the chief traders under them were to conduct the commerce with the Indians. The third class was the clerks, who were promoted to factorships and traderships, according to good conduct and seniority, but whose clerical salaries ranged from £20 to £100 per annum. The chief factors and traders, who wintered in the interior, were granted, in addition to their share of profits, certain personal necessaries free of cost. They were not, however, permitted to carry on any private trade on their own account with the Indians. Strict accounts were required of them annually. The councils at the various posts were empowered to mulct, admonish or suspend any of the Company's servants. Each year three chief factors and two chief traders were granted twelve months leave of absence. A chief factor or chief trader, after wintering three years in the service might retire, and hold his full share of profits for one year after so retiring, with half the share for the four succeeding years. If he wintered for five years, he was granted half profits for six years on retiring. Retirements of chief factors and chief traders were made annually by rotation, three of the former, or two of the former and two of the latter. The heirs of a chief factor or chief trader who died after wintering five years received all the benefit to which the deceased or himself would have been entitled had he lived, or in proportion otherwise. Everything was thus regulated, provision was effected for everything. The Northmen, rough, enterprising, adventurous, as many of them were, found themselves part of a huge machine, operated with sleepless vigilance of a governor and committee in London. As for the profits, they were to be estimated after the entire expenses, both in London and the fur country, were deducted. They were then to be divided into fifths, of which three-fifths went to the proprietary and two-fifths to the chief factors, chief traders and clerks, who were to be thenceforward known as the "fur-trade" or the "wintering partners." No wonder that many of the Northmen were constrained to cry out, in the language of one of their number[109]: "Alas, the North-West is now beginning to be ruled with an iron rod!" FOOTNOTES: [106] Benjamin Frobisher was a native of York, England. [107] At the trials at York in October, 1818, Sherwood, the North-West Company's counsel, continually demanded to know why Semple was called governor. "Why," he exclaimed, with ludicrous energy, "why should this gentleman be continually dignified by the appellation of governor? The indictment charged that Robert Semple was killed and murdered; it said nothing about his being a governor. If he was a governor, then he was also an emperor. Yes, gentlemen," shrieked the counsel, working himself up to fever heat, "I repeat, an emperor--a bashaw in that land of milk and honey, where nothing, not even a blade of corn, will ripen. Who made him governor? Did the King? Did the Prince Regent? No; this pretended authority was an illegal assumption of power, arrogating to itself prerogatives such as are not exercised even by the King of England. I demand that Robert Semple be called Robert Semple--but as he was not a governor let us not be ----" "Come, come," cried Chief Justice Powell, "do let this trial go on! It is no matter whether he was or was not a governor, or what he was called, or called himself, he is not to be murdered, though he was not a governor." [108] "Ses postes," says Senator Masson, "avient été pillés et devastés; ses exportatiors considerablement sédintes." On the other hand, he adds, these losses were partly compensated for by the high prices secured in England for their furs. [109] Wentzel. CHAPTER XXXIII. 1821-1847. The Deed Poll -- A Governor-in-Chief Chosen -- A Chaplain Appointed -- New License from George IV. -- Trade on the Pacific Coast -- The Red River Country Claimed by the States -- The Company in California -- The Oregon Question -- Anglo-Russian Treaty of 1825 -- The _Dryad_ Affair -- Lieutenant Franklin's two Expeditions -- Red River Territory Yielded to Company -- Enterprise on the Pacific. By the terms of the Deed Poll, the immediate control of the Company's affairs in its territory passed from the hands of a committee sitting in London, to a personage known as Governor-in-Chief of Rupert's Land and his council. His commission extended over all the Company's lands and possessions, with an unlimited tenure of office. The council was to be composed of chief factors, and occasionally a few chief traders, who were to meet at some convenient centre for the purposes of consultation, this particular feature being a survival of the rendezvous of Fort William. The chartered territories and circuit of commercial relations were divided into vast sections, known as the Northern, Southern, Montreal and Western Departments. The Northern extended between Hudson's Bay and the Rocky Mountains, the Southern, between James' Bay and Canada, including a part of the eastern shore of Hudson's Bay. [Sidenote: Governor Simpson.] Such a Governor-in-Chief should be a person of energy, shrewdness and ability. Mr. Ellice had been struck by the qualities and special aptitude for this important post of a young Scotchman, named George Simpson. This young man was an illegitimate son of the maternal uncle of Thomas Simpson, the Arctic explorer. While clerk in a London counting-house, George Simpson had attracted the attention of Andrew Colville, Lord Selkirk's brother-in-law, who sent him to Rupert's Land in the service of the Company. The responsibility was a tremendous one, but Simpson did not flinch from accepting it; and the end showed the wisdom of the appointment. For nearly forty years this man stood at the head of the fur-trade: a potentate in the midst of the wilderness, the virtual ruler of almost one-half of a continent. Governor Simpson was a man of small stature, but he had "the self-possession of an emperor."[110] Accompanied by his voyageurs and clerks, he journeyed along the old Ottawa and lake route, through the Grand Portage, or by Fort William and Lake of the Woods, accomplishing this feat at least once a year throughout the entire period of his rule. At the outset of his career he perceived that the management of Red River colony was an extremely difficult task--harder perhaps than the management of the fur-trade. But he attacked both with energy, resolved to serve his employers, and to create, at all hazards, harmony and prosperity in the territories. Part of the time he spent at Red River, part in Oregon, in Athabasca, and at Hudson's Bay. He crossed the Rocky Mountains at three different latitudes, and journeyed extensively over the vast territory of which he was truly the "commercial sovereign." The appointment of the Rev. Mr. West as principal chaplain to the Company led to very great improvements in the moral and religious life at the forts. Many of the traders and servants of the Company were soon afterwards induced to marry the women with whom they had lived, a material step towards the amelioration of the condition of the Indian and half-breed females. [Sidenote: Company obtains a new license.] The next step on the part of the Honourable Adventurers was to further safeguard their interests, and supplement their charter by a license from the new king, George IV. This license was for the exclusive privilege of trading with the Indians in such parts of North America as were not part of the territories heretofore granted to the Hudson's Bay Company. This Royal license, dated the 5th of December, 1821, at Carlton House, was expressly issued to prevent the admission of individual or associated bodies into the British North American fur-trade, inasmuch as the competition therein had been found for years to be productive of enormous loss and inconvenience to the Hudson's Bay Company and to trade at large, and also of much injury to the natives and half-breeds. [Illustration: THE BOARD ROOM, HUDSON'S BAY HOUSE, LONDON.] To anticipate events, it may here be remarked that this license expired in 1842, but prior to its expiration an extension was granted at the close of the first year of the reign of her present Majesty,[111] for a further term of twenty-one years. By virtue of these licenses the Company was granted exclusive trade in the Indian territories west of the Rocky Mountains. It must be borne in mind, and will be pointed out in a subsequent chapter, that it was of the utmost moment for Great Britain to obtain a standing in Oregon and on the Columbia River,[112] and the licenses were framed to this great and desirable end. Although, as has been shown, the North-West partners had made great efforts and borne great sacrifices, to maintain the trade on the Pacific, they were contending against great odds. The Russian establishments at Norfolk Sound, and at other places on the coast, even so far south as California, came to share in a virtual monopoly with the Americans, who, after the Treaty of Ghent, began to send ships from Boston to New York. The amalgamation of 1821 came about, and the Hudson's Bay Company, invigorated by the infusion of new blood, believed it their duty to seek to regain the trade. They therefore set to work to re-establish British influence on the Pacific. It was no easy task. The Russians had gained a firm foothold, and the Americans paused at no form of competition, nor any method by which they might secure their ends. The natives had already become debauched and now their debauchery spread from tribe to tribe, rendering dealings with them difficult and formidable. Serious losses, both of lives and property, were sustained through their savage attacks on the Company's agents and trading posts. But the work was in the hands of strong, able, and temperate men, who knew what the situation required of them and did not shrink from meeting it fully and fearlessly. By tact and vigorous measures the natives were restrained; at great expenditure of money and patience, order was restored; and in ten years time the Company occupied the whole country between the Rocky Mountains and the Pacific. It maintained six permanent establishments on the coasts, sixteen in the interior, and several movable posts and migratory brigades. By 1835 it had a fleet of six armed vessels, one of them propelled by steam, on the Pacific. Fort Vancouver, its principal _entrepôt_ on the Columbia River, was surrounded by large pasture and grain farms, maintaining large herds of horses and cattle, and was a profitable and growing establishment. It was a long time since the Company had cut any considerable figure in international politics, but with the extraordinary growth of the American States and the increase of the fur traffic of the Russians, contemporary European publicists came again to speak of the prospect of trouble over the Company's rights and boundaries. [Sidenote: Claim of the United States to Red River.] Before this time there had arisen a cry, sedulously seconded by the Company's enemies, that the Red River region belonged to the United States. Nothing can be clearer than that it was never for a moment contemplated either by the British or American Government, that any of the Hudson's Bay lands, or any of the waters running into Hudson's Bay, would be included in the lines assigned as the boundaries between the possessions of Great Britain and those of the States. It is sufficiently demonstrated by the treaty concluded with America in 1794 that such an idea never existed in the minds of the negotiators. By the third article of that treaty, which permits the most perfect freedom of communication and intercourse between the subjects of both nations throughout their respective dominions, an exception is made of the country within the limits of the Hudson's Bay Company, to be ascertained, of course, in conformity to their charter from which the Americans are expressly excluded. The terms of the treaty concluded in 1783 with the United States show the express intentions of both nations to have been that the northern boundary of the United States should not, in any part, extend farther north than the River St. Lawrence, or the lakes and streams which feed or fall into it. The unhappy feature of the matter was that a great part of the second article of the treaty of 1783 was drawn up in complete ignorance of the geography of the country. It is so full of contradictions that it became impossible afterwards to lay down a line which should follow that article literally. In this dilemma the only fair method of solving the difficulty was to return to the principles which governed the framing of the article. [Illustration: RED RIVER CART.] [Sidenote: The Treaty of 1783.] At the close of the Revolution the chief aim of the American negotiators, as is evinced throughout their correspondence, was to obtain a recognition of the right of their country to the western territory as far as the St. Lawrence on the north, and the Mississippi on the west. When the British Government acceded to this proposition it was regarded by the Americans as an important concession, and their plenipotentiaries proceeded upon that concession as the principle on which their boundary towards Canada, after it had struck the St. Lawrence, was to be defined. They brought the line from Nova Scotia to the St. Lawrence, and then followed up the main stream of the river to what they believed to be its principal source, and what was supposed to approach the nearest to the source of the Mississippi. In fanciful conformity to this intention, the second article of the treaty of 1783, after having carried the line to Lake Superior, stipulates that it shall be continued onwards through the middle of certain water communications to the north-west point of the Lake of the Woods, and thence due west to the Mississippi. The fact, however, is that the waters of the Lake of the Woods feed streams which fall into Hudson's Bay, but have no communication with any waters which fall into Lake Superior. It is also a fact that a line drawn due west from the Lake of the Woods would never reach the Mississippi, which lies far to the south of such a line. But there was a reason for such egregious blundering. The country had never been surveyed by men of science. Its physical features had been derived from the vague and inaccurate accounts of ignorant traders and bushrangers, which had formed the basis for the current maps. These laid down a large river running from the Lake of the Woods and falling into Lake Superior. If there had been such a river in existence, there can be no doubt, from the body of waters contained in the Lake of the Woods, that it would have been a much larger stream than any of the feeders of Lake Superior. It was therefore most natural that the negotiators should suppose the Lake of the Woods to be the main source of the St. Lawrence. At the same time this must have appeared to them the point at which the waters of the St. Lawrence approached the nearest to the source of the Mississippi, because in the maps of the bushrangers the Mississippi is laid down as rising four or five degrees of latitude farther north than it does in fact, and as coming within a short distance of the Lake of the Woods on the west. As the negotiators in Paris in 1783 reposed the greatest confidence in these crude productions of the cartographer, is it surprising that the second article of the treaty should be full of inconsistencies? On any other supposition the intention of the negotiators would be fatuous and incomprehensible. [Sidenote: Examination of American claims.] This brings us to the whole point involved in the American contention, which deprived Great Britain and the Company of a vast territory to which the United States possessed no shadow of right. Where the limits of a country have never been ascertained the conquest of the contiguous and encroaching territory may be justly considered as establishing the bounds originally claimed by the victorious nation; and this was the case with regard to Canada and the territory of the Company. But where between two powers there have been no defined limits, and no conquests have determined the claims of either, the pretensions of both might be fairly adjusted by laying down as a rule that "the priority of right should be considered as vested in each, to the respective countries, which each have either principally or exclusively frequented." The Spaniards west of the Mississippi never extended their establishments nearly so far north as latitude 42, while the Hudson's Bay limits were long frequented by the English. On what ground, therefore, could the Americans, the successors merely to the rights derived from the Spaniards, claim all the country of the Sioux, the Mandans and many other tribes on the upper branches of the Missouri? Nevertheless the States, after their purchase of Louisiana, continued to put in claims for a more northerly and westerly boundary, with what ultimate result we shall see. It is only pertinent to remark here, that nothing could be more absurd than the idea that Spain ever contemplated the cession of any territory on the Pacific Ocean, under the name of Louisiana. The interior river waters of the Sacramento and San Joaquin had attracted the attention of the Company even before the American trappers had reached them, and traders remained there in unmolested possession long after the Russians had left the country. The feeble frontier guard could do nothing but protest, and ultimately when the trappers had nearly exhausted the outlying districts and desired to penetrate into the centre of the State, the American Government admitted them under an agreement with the Hudson's Bay Company, whereby a tax of fifty cents was to be paid for each beaver skin. A year before the amalgamation the north-west coast for the first time engaged the attention of the American Government,[113] and what came to be known as the Oregon Question had its birth. The States possessed no title to the country, but a strong party believed that they had a right to found by occupation a legitimate title to a large portion of the territory in question. The matter was brought up at several sessions of Congress, and the utmost was done by such legislators as Floyd and Benton to flog it into an active issue. It was claimed that "the United States, through Spain, France and her own establishments, had the undisputed sovereignty of the coast from latitude 60° down to 36°." A bill was introduced for the occupation of the Columbia, grants of lands to settlers, and regulation of Indian affairs. But the Government was by no means so sure of the wisdom of such a proceeding; the bill was repeatedly shelved. The restoration of Fort George (Astoria) by the British was one of the strong arguments used. In the meanwhile Russia had declared that the north Pacific coast down to latitude 51° belonged to her exclusively. All foreign vessels were prohibited from approaching within a hundred Italian miles of any part of the coast. America protested, and between 1821 and 1824 negotiations were carried on between the two powers. [Sidenote: Russian claims.] Russia flatly asserted that the boundary question was one between herself and Great Britain, with which the Americans had no legitimate concern; and offered proofs that the treaty with Spain gave the United States a right only to territory south of 42°. A conclusion was, however, reached in the Treaty of 1824, by which the boundary was fixed at 54° 40', beyond which neither nation was to found any establishment, or to resort, without permission; while for a period of ten years both nations were to have free access for trade and fishery to each other's territory. In the following year was concluded a treaty between Russia and Great Britain,[114] by which the former again relinquished her claim not only to the region below latitude 54° 40', but to the vast interior occupied by the Company up to the Frozen Ocean. No objection to this was urged by America, although some of her statesmen sought to take a hand in the matter, and proposed a joint conference. Great Britain's reply to this proposition was to decline to recognize the right of the United States to any interest in the territory in question. The recent promulgation of the Monroe doctrine had given offence not only to her, but to Russia as well, and both were prepared to combat American pretensions. Although his Majesty's ministers had refused to treat for a joint convention, yet in 1824 negotiations were begun in London, between Great Britain and America, for the ownership of the northern Pacific coast. The British commissioners showed clearly that the Americans had no valid claim to the territory occupied by the Company. [Illustration: FUR TRAIN FROM THE FAR NORTH.] [Sidenote: Temporary arrangement between England and the States.] The mere entrance of a private individual, such as Captain Gray, into a river could not give the States a claim up and down the coast to regions which had been previously explored by officially despatched British expeditions like that of Cook. It was emphatically denied that the restoration of Fort Astoria, under the Treaty of Ghent, had any bearing on the title. Nevertheless, Great Britain was willing to accept as a boundary the forty-ninth parallel from the mountains to the Columbia (then known as McGillivray River), and down that river to the sea. But the Americans were obdurate; a deadlock ensued and the convention of 1818 remained in force. The Company repeatedly urged the Government not to abandon one inch of territory rightfully under the Crown, to the United States. Nevertheless, a settlement of the Oregon Question was highly desirable. If in spite of the treaty of 1818 the States should attempt to occupy the territory, war would be inevitable. If on the other hand the treaty should expire without any attempt at American occupation, Great Britain would be, by the law of nations, the party rightfully in possession. A new conference was held in London, in 1827; but it was impossible to agree on a boundary, and the only thing possible was a compromise to the effect that the treaty of joint occupation should be indefinitely renewed subject to abrogation at any time by either party on twelve months' notice. Thus the _statu quo_ was maintained, and the Hudson's Bay Company remained in actual possession of the profits of the fur-trade for many years to come. In 1828 Governor Simpson believed it advisable to make a general survey of the western posts, with the object of impressing peace and good-will upon the natives, and also to acquire a further knowledge of the needs and abilities of the Company's officers and servants in that quarter. This journey of the Governor, undertaken in considerable state, was from York Factory to the Pacific. He was accompanied by a chief factor, Archibald Macdonald, and a surgeon named Hamlyn. Fourteen commissioned gentlemen, as the chief factors and chief traders were called, and as many clerks, accompanied the party to the canoes, and amidst great cheering and a salute of seven guns, bade them God-speed. Simpson entered Peace River on the 15th of August, and reached Fort Vermilion in due course, three hundred and twenty miles from the mouth, which was then in charge of Paul Fraser. From here he proceeded to Fort St. James, the capital of Western Caledonia, and the chief depot for all the region north of the Fraser Forks to the Russian boundary, including the Babine country. Forts Alexandria, Kamloops and Vancouver were visited in due order, and in the following year Simpson returned east by way of the Columbia. In an attempt to enter the Columbia River in 1829, the Company's ship from London, _William and Ann_, was wrecked on Land Island. Several of the crew escaped and landed on Clatsop Point, where they were immediately murdered by the natives, in order that the plunder of the vessel might be accomplished without interruption. News of the disaster was carried to Fort Vancouver, where the officer in charge, McLaughlin, sent messengers demanding a restoration of the stolen cargo. In response to this request, an old broom was despatched to the fort, with the intelligence that this was all the restitution the Clatsops contemplated. The schooner _Colbore_ was therefore sent on a punitive expedition. Several of the tribe were wounded and a chief shot, after which the Clatsops entered into a better frame of mind, and expressed contrition for their behaviour. Under the Anglo-Russian Treaty of 1825, the Company possessed the free navigation of streams which, having their rise in British territory, crossed Russian territory in their course to the sea. The Company were not long in availing themselves of this privilege. Posts were successively erected, as far as the Stickeen River; but seven years afterwards there was yet no permanent post on that stream. It was, therefore, decided to establish one, and a brig, the _Dryad_, was accordingly fitted out and despatched from Fort Vancouver. But in that year, 1833, the Russian Government had received the petition of its subjects to rescind the proviso in the treaty favourable to the British. The Company's enterprise in thus encroaching on Russian territory had alarmed Wrangel, who was then in charge of the Russian establishment[115] at Sitka, and he wrote to his superiors urging them to memorialize the Emperor. He alleged that the Hudson's Bay Company had violated its agreement to refrain from selling fire-arms or spirituous liquors to the natives--an allegation which was not founded on fact. [Sidenote: The _Dryad_ appears.] Believing that the situation called for instant action, Wrangel did not wait to learn what course his Government would take in the matter, but at once despatched two armed vessels to the entrance of Stickeen River. A fort was hastily built on the site of an Indian village, guns were mounted, and the Company's expedition awaited. All unconscious the _Dryad_ force approached. Suddenly a puff of smoke and a loud report arrested them, and several shots came from two vessels hitherto concealed in the offing. While the astonished captain and crew put the brig about, with a design to anchor out of range, a boat reached them from the shore, bearing an officer in Russian uniform. He protested in the name of the Emperor and the Governor of the Russian-American possessions, against the entrance of a British vessel into a river appertaining to those powers. The Company's agent attempted to argue the matter, but his representations went unheeded. The Russian was obdurate; they were all threatened with peril to their lives, and their vessel, if the _Dryad_ did not immediately weigh anchor. There was consequently nothing to do but to return. The Company was indignant at this outrage. The forts it had already built, together with the cost of fitting out the _Dryad_ and other vessels, besides a vast quantity of provisions and perishable merchandise sent into that country, had amounted to £20,000 sterling. The Emperor had granted the petition of the Russian Company; and both the British and the American Governments received notification that the clause in the treaty would terminate at twelve months' notice. But the _Dryad_ affair took place before this decision was made public. The British Government very properly demanded immediate satisfaction, and for a time public interest was keenly aroused. The Russian Government merely consented to disavow the act of its officer; and issued instructions prohibiting further hindrance to the trading limits previously agreed upon. The matter did not, however, receive settlement until 1839, in which year a convention was held in London to arrange the points long in dispute between the two companies. The matter was settled with despatch. The Hudson's Bay Company's claim for compensation was waived in return for a lease from the Russian Company of all their territory on the mainland lying between Cape Spencer and latitude 54° 40'. For this lease the Company agreed to pay an annual rental of two thousand land-otter skins, and also to supply the Russians with provisions at moderate rates. In the last chapter, the expedition in 1819-20 of Lieutenant (afterwards Sir John) Franklin, was alluded to. Franklin and his party reached Fort Chippewyan on the 26th March, after having travelled on foot eight hundred and fifty-six miles, with the weather so intensely cold that the mercury continually froze in the bulb. In July, 1820, they journeyed five hundred miles more to Fort Enterprise, where the party wintered, Back returning to Fort Chippewyan to procure supplies for the next season's operations. He was eagerly awaited, and when he arrived, in March, 1821, he had a tale of great hardship to relate. He had travelled over one thousand one hundred miles, sometimes going two or three days without food, with no covering at night but a blanket and deerskins to protect him from the fearful rigours of fifty-seven degrees below zero. In June the party started out from the Coppermine to reach the sea, which they did in eighteen days. Their subsequent sufferings were of the most dreadful description. When the survivors returned to York Factory, they had travelled five thousand five hundred and fifty miles by land and water; but their object was still unaccomplished.[116] In 1825, Franklin entered upon a second journey to the shores of the Polar Sea, again accompanied by Lieutenant Back and Peter Dease, one of the Company's chief traders. "The Governor and Committee took," says Franklin, "a most lively interest in the objects of the expedition, promised their utmost support to it, and forthwith sent injunctions to their officers in the fur countries to provide the necessary depots of provisions at the places which I pointed out, and to give every other aid in their power." Franklin descended the Mackenzie and traced the coast line through thirty-seven degrees of longitude from the mouth of the Coppermine River, where his former survey began, to near the one hundred and fiftieth meridian, and coming within one hundred and sixty miles of the most easterly point reached by Captain Beechy, who was exploring from Bering's Strait. [Illustration: SIR GEORGE BACK, R.N.] In 1832 the protracted absence of Captain (afterwards Sir John) Ross, who had sailed three years before for the Polar regions, became cause for anxiety. It was decided to send an expedition, commanded by Captain Back, in search of this explorer, and the Government granted £2,000 towards the expense, "it being understood that the Hudson's Bay Company will furnish the supplies and canoes free of charge, and that the remainder of the expense, which is estimated at £3,000, will be contributed by Captain Ross's friends." The expedition sailed, but after it had been absent one year, news reached them[117] that Ross had returned safe and sound in England; and Captain Back was ordered to attempt a completion of the coast line of the north-eastern extremity of North America. The Company, through Sir George Simpson, nominated four officers, in its service, to be placed under Back's command. In 1834 there was witnessed a confirmation of the Deed Poll of 1821, with a more definite prescription of the duties and emoluments of the Company's servants. It was not until the year 1835 that Lord Selkirk's heirs determined to give up their control of the Red River colony, and to surrender the territories granted in 1811. The expenses incurred by the Earl in his expeditions, and in his costly law suits, were estimated at a large amount, and this the Company agreed to assume. In 1839 a powerful blow was dealt at the prosperity of the Company by the successful substitution of silk for beaver fur in the manufacture of hats. The price of beaver almost instantly fell, and continued to fall thenceforward for many years, inflicting great loss upon the Company which was fortunately atoned for in other directions. In this same year the Company, at the suggestion of Chief Factor McLaughlin, demanded and obtained of the Russian Fur Company a ten years' lease for trading purposes of a strip of land ten leagues wide, extending north from latitude 50° 40', and lying between British territory and the ocean, paying therefor two thousand east side land otter, worth thirty-two shillings and sixpence each. Statesmen in England marvelled at this arrangement, wondering why the Company sought these ten leagues of Russian seaboard. But traffic with the natives was only one of the objects of the Company, for they also contemplated making a customer of the Russians for European goods, as well as for those products of the soil which the inclemency of the more northern regions prevented their rivals from raising. Acting upon this arrangement, a party was organized at Montreal in 1839 to take possession of the leased territory. They set out from York Factory in July, and travelled from thence by way of Edmonton, Jasper House and Walla Walla to Fort Vancouver. In the following year they proceeded to the Redoubt St. Dionysius, or as it was thereafter called, Fort Stickine, the Russian post at the mouth of the Stickine River, which was to be the British headquarters in the leased territory. In charge of the fort they found a Russian officer with fifty men, guarded by a brig of thirty-two guns. The officer was informed by the Company's pioneers that they would remain with eighteen men, at which the Russians expressed astonishment. They informed young McLaughlin and W. G. Rae, who had been appointed to the new post, that the savages were troublesome, that the chief had many slaves skilled in assassination and accustomed to obey his murderous orders. To which the Company's men replied, "Other forts we rule with twenty men, and we will hold Stickine." [Illustration: THOMAS SIMPSON.] To this period belong the adventures and the tragic end of Thomas Simpson, the Arctic explorer. As a youth, Simpson had shown great scholastic promise, and seemed destined for medicine, when fortune tempted him to try the service of the Company. His cousin, George Simpson, was then Governor of the Company's territories, and repeated offers of a position decided the brilliant student to embark in the fur-trade. He began work as secretary to Governor Simpson, with whom he travelled from post to post for some time, until he settled down as accountant at Fort Garry. But soon the Company had a duty for him to perform. In order to strengthen their hand when applying for a renewal of their general trading license, the Honourable Adventurers decided to spend some money in exploring the Arctic coast. Young Simpson was requested to undertake this arduous task. Exploration from the Atlantic showed a defined coast line to within seven degrees of the Great Fish River, and it was to devolve upon Simpson to explore the intervening gap. The important duty was laid upon him of completing the discovery of the northern coast of North America, and in accomplishing this it was thought that the long-looked for North-West passage would be brought to light. Simpson set out from Fort Garry in the winter of 1836-37 and travelled on foot the whole distance to Lake Athabasca, a matter of one thousand two hundred miles, where he encountered Dease, the chief factor, who was nominally at the head of the expedition. In the spring the party descended the Mackenzie in open boats, coasting along to the westward until they attained the farthest point attained by Franklin. From here a successful journey was made to within a short distance of Point Barrow, when their progress was arrested by the ice. After wintering at Great Bear Lake, in the spring of 1838 the expedition again started for the coast, crossing the Coppermine River and descending that stream to its mouth. But to their great disappointment they found the coast ice-bound. In the following spring they were more fortunate, finding the sea comparatively open, and as before, Simpson struck off along the coast on foot. The expedition returned by way of the Coppermine and Great Bear Lake to the Mackenzie River, and here Simpson wrote a narrative of the expedition while waiting for the freezing up of that stream. He departed from Fort Simpson on the 2nd December, and reached Fort Garry on 1st of February, covering a distance of one thousand nine hundred and ten miles in sixty-one days, many of which were spent in enforced delays at the Company's forts on the way. Simpson was greatly disappointed to find on his arrival at Red River no letters from the Company in London, inasmuch as he had offered to make another expedition to complete the seven degrees still remaining of unexplored coast. The Company had accepted his offer, and wrote to that effect, but the letter arrived too late. The same mail also contained the news that the Royal Geographical Society, in view of the success which had attended his first expedition, had awarded him its gold medal; while the British Government had bestowed on him a pension of £100 sterling per annum. Simpson's later discoveries far excelled those he had made in 1837, and no doubt the honours accorded him would have been very great; but in 1840, while travelling, about three days' journey from Fort Garry, in what is now Dakota, a tragedy took place, the details of which are still wrapt in mystery. It appears that the party of which Simpson was a member were arranging their camp for the night. Their horses were grazing hard by. All were armed with guns and pistols, for the Sioux were on the warpath. One of the party was helping to pitch the tent when he heard the report of a gun. On turning around he beheld Simpson in the act of shooting, first, John Bird and then Antoine Legros, the former of whom fell dead, while the latter had time to give his son a last embrace. According to this witness, Simpson then spoke for the first time, demanding if he knew of any plot to rob him of his papers. This was the last seen alive of the Arctic explorer; next morning his dead body was found lying beside the others he had slain. There is little doubt that he was the victim of a fit of insanity, superinduced by the fear that one of his fellow-travellers might report the results of the expedition to the Company in England before him. His death removed an able and distinguished explorer, who rendered good service to the Company. In 1842 Lord Ashburton arrived in the United States, equipped with instructions and powers for the settlement of certain questions long pending between Britain and America. It was expected that the Oregon boundary matter would be one of these, but this was not the case.[118] Meanwhile the utmost excitement prevailed in Oregon, the settlers of both nationalities claiming possession. Political meetings were held on the part of the British, at which old Hudson's Bay Company servants and ignorant voyageurs were nominated for office, the latter men, "whose ideas of government," says McKay, "were little above those of a grisly bear." Travelling along the middle Columbia at this time was by no means devoid of danger, owing to the animosity of the natives towards the Americans. Their faith in the Company remained unshaken; but they were subject to fits of suspicion and ill-temper, which were occasionally fraught with considerable inconvenience for the Hudson's Bay servants. In 1844, when J. W. McKay first came to Fort Vancouver, he found that many of the Indians along the route were not to be trusted. Early in 1846 McKay was dispatched to California to ascertain what arrangements might be made for securing certain supplies nearer than England, in case the Company's farming establishment on the Columbia should be surrendered to the United States. In 1846 Joseph McKay was given the general supervision of the Pacific establishments, in succession to James Douglas. Taking passage northward in the _Beaver_ in October, according to the custom of the general agent, he visited the several stations and made such changes and left such instructions as he deemed advisable. The Russians he found "affable and polite, but tricky." In August, 1847, he mentions meeting a chief of the Stickine Indians, whom he had reason to believe perfectly trustworthy. "He told me that he had been approached by a Russian officer with presents of beads and tobacco, and that he was told that if he would get up a war with the English in that vicinity and compel them to withdraw, he should receive assistance in the shape of arms and ammunition; and in case of success he would receive a medal from the Russian Emperor, a splendid uniform, and anything else he might desire, while his people should always be paid the highest prices for their peltries." In the East as in the West, at Red River, at Edmonton, and on the Pacific, the old policy of procuring provisions and the necessaries of life from England had been abandoned. The Company now raised horses, horned cattle, sheep, and other farm stock. It owned large farms in different parts of the country, grist mills, saw mills, tanneries, fisheries, etc. From its posts on the Pacific it exported flour, grain, beef, pork, and butter, to the Russian settlements; lumber and fish to the Sandwich Islands; hides and wool to England. It opened the coal mines at Nanaimo, after an unremunerative expenditure of £25,000 in seeking coal at Fort Rupert. [Sidenote: Agricultural and mercantile enterprise.] On the Pacific Coast, as many of the Company's men who could be spared from the business of the fort, as well as such natives as had a leaning towards civilization, were employed in clearing lands and establishing farms. It was not difficult to convince these Indians that they were pursuing the best policy, and they set to with a will to help the white men and half-breeds, "becoming good bullock-drivers and better ploughmen than the Canadians or Ranakes," to whom, nevertheless, they gave freely of their women as wives, a circumstance which tended to promote good behaviour amongst the medley throng of Company's servants. Such natives were treated with all fairness, and paid wages as high as the other labourers, usually from £17 to £25 per annum. The Company became banker for the thousands who thrived by hunting, trading, tilling or mining, within its domains. It issued notes, and so valid were they that it has been said "the Hudson's Bay Company's note was taken everywhere over the northern continent when the 'shin plasters' of banks in the United States and Canada were refused."[119] [Illustration: HUDSON'S BAY CO., TRADE TOKENS.] FOOTNOTES: [110] In March, 1821, Wentzel, one of the North-West partners, wrote: "The Hudson's Bay Company have apparently relaxed in the extravagance of their measures; last autumn they came in the [Athabasca] Department with fifteen canoes only, containing each about fifteen pieces. Mr. Simpson, a gentleman from England last spring, superintends their business. His being a strange, and reputedly gentlemanly, man, will not create much alarm, nor do I presume him formidable as an Indian trader." [111] May 30th, 1838. [112] "Such is the spirit and avidity exhibited by the Council," wrote one of the Company's factors, in 1823, "that it is believed these discoveries will be extended as far as the Russian settlements on the Pacific Ocean." [113] On motion of Mr. Congressman Floyd, a committee was appointed in December, 1820, "to enquire into the situation of the settlements upon the Pacific Ocean, and the expediency of occupying the Columbia River." [114] See Appendix for copy of this Treaty. [115] The Russian Company was incorporated under the patronage of the Crown with a capital of two hundred and sixty thousand pounds sterling. It had a large commerce with Northern China which did not deal with Canton; and it was in the northern part of the empire that the consumption of furs was greatest. Canton was merely the _entrepôt_ where furs were received for distribution throughout China. [116] From Joseph Berens, Esq., the Governor of the Hudson's Bay Company and the gentlemen of the Committee, I received all kinds of assistance and information, communicated in the most friendly manner previous to my leaving England; and I had the gratification of perusing the orders to their agents and servants in North America, containing the fullest directions to promote by every means the progress of the expedition.--_Sir John Franklin._ [117] "The extraordinary expedition with which this despatch was transmitted by the Hudson's Bay Company," says Back, "is worthy of being recorded." [118] Indeed it cannot be doubted that Great Britain was wholly influenced by the position of the Company. It has been said that she did not anticipate any permanent possession of the country. "The British have certainly no other immediate object," wrote Mr. Gallatin, the American commissioner, to Henry Clay, "than that of protecting the Company in its fur-trade." [119] Sir Edward Walkin tells how, when he was for a short time, in 1865 and 1866, shareholders' auditor of the Company, he cancelled many of these notes which had become defaced, mainly owing to the fingering of Indians and others, who had left behind on the thick yellow paper, coatings of pemmican. CHAPTER XXXIV. 1846-1863. The Oregon Treaty -- Boundary Question Settled -- Company Proposes Undertaking Colonization of North America -- Enmity and Jealousy Aroused -- Attitude of Earl Grey -- Lord Elgin's Opinion of the Company -- Amended Proposal for Colonization Submitted -- Opposition of Mr. Gladstone -- Grant of Vancouver Island Secured, but Allowed to Expire in 1859 -- Dr. Rae's Expedition -- The Franklin Expedition and its Fate -- Discovery of the North-West Passage -- Imperial Parliament Appoints Select Committee -- Toronto Board of Trade Petitions Legislative Council -- Trouble with Indians -- Question of Buying Out the Company -- British Government Refuses Help -- "Pacific Scheme" Promoters Meet Company in Official Interview -- International Financial Association Buys Company's Rights -- Edward Ellice, the "Old Bear." On the 15th of June, 1846, the famous "Oregon Treaty" was concluded between Great Britain and America. [Sidenote: The Oregon Boundary Question.] By the second article of that instrument it is declared that: "From the point at which the forty-ninth parallel of north latitude shall be found to intersect the great northern branch of the Columbia River, the navigation of the said branch of the river to the point where the said branch meets the main stream of the said river shall be free and open to the Hudson's Bay Company, and to all British subjects trading with the same, and thence down the said main stream to the ocean, with free access into and through the said river or rivers, it being understood that all the usual portages along the line thus described shall, in like manner, be free and open. In navigating the said river or rivers, British subjects, with their goods and produce, shall be treated on the same footing as citizens of the United States; it being, however, always understood that nothing in this article shall be construed as preventing, or intending to prevent, the Government of the United States from making any regulations respecting the navigation of the said river or rivers not inconsistent with the present treaty." [Illustration: HUDSON'S BAY CO.'S EMPLOYEES ON THEIR ANNUAL EXPEDITION. (_From "Picturesque Canada," by permission._)] According to Article III, "In the future appropriation of the territory south of the forty-ninth parallel of north latitude, as provided in the first article of this treaty, the possessary rights of the Hudson's Bay Company, and of all British subjects who may be already in the occupation of land or other property lawfully acquired within the said territory, shall be respected." The Oregon boundary question was thus settled. Immigrants were pouring into Oregon from all parts of America, and California was already receiving numerous gold miners. It was therefore natural that Vancouver Island and British Columbia should receive attention. The climate was known to be almost perfect, and a motion to encourage colonization in those territories was made in the British Parliament. But the Company was quite alive to the situation. A letter was addressed to Earl Grey, the Colonial Secretary, dwelling on the efforts the Adventurers had made in the British interest, and urging that Vancouver Island be granted to them. The negotiations continued until March, 1847, when Sir J. H. Pelly, the Governor of the Company, again wrote to Earl Grey, informing him that the Company would "undertake the government and colonization of all the territories belonging to the Crown in North America, and receive a grant accordingly." Such a proposition staggered Her Majesty's Ministers, who were for the most part ignorant of the work the Company had already accomplished, of the position it occupied, or of the growth of its establishment on the Pacific. Already it governed and was now busy colonizing the territory, doing both in a manner superior to that adopted by the Americans in their adjacent territories. Such a proposition, too, awakened all the jealousy and enmity against the Company which had been latent for so long. [Sidenote: Enmity and jealousy aroused.] One of the most determined and virulent in his attacks on the Company at this time was one A. K. Isbister, who addressed a long communication to Earl Grey, besides other letters to public men in England. In answer to Mr. Isbister, Earl Grey forwarded the substance of a report which had been made by Major Griffiths, late in command of Her Majesty's troops at Fort Garry, to whom had been communicated the petition of certain residents of Red River settlement. To all the petitions, memorials, and complaints of interested parties and self-seekers against the Company, Earl Grey had but one answer. He said he had gone to the bottom of the matter, and he believed the Company was honest and capable. If he had had any doubt about it, this doubt must have been removed by a remarkable despatch of Lord Elgin, Governor-General of Canada, under date of 6th June, 1848. "I am bound to state," he wrote, "that the result of the enquiries which I have hitherto made is highly favourable to the Company, and that it has left on my mind the impression that the authority which it exercises over the vast and inhospitable region subject to its jurisdiction, is, on the whole, very advantageous to the Indians.... More especially it would appear to be a settled principle of their policy to discountenance the use of ardent spirits. It is indeed possible that the progress of the Indians toward civilization may not correspond with the expectations of some of those who are interested in their welfare. But disappointments of this nature are experienced, I fear, in other quarters as well as in the territories of the Hudson's Bay Company; and persons to whom the trading privileges of the Company are obnoxious may be tempted to ascribe to its rule the existence of evils which are altogether beyond its power to remedy. There is too much reason to fear that if the trade were thrown open and the Indians left to the mercy of the adventurers who might chance to engage in it, their condition would be greatly deteriorated."[120] Such was the opinion of the Earl of Elgin on the Hudson's Bay Company, and it was the opinion of all who really understood the Company's aims, its history and its position. "Persons to whom the trading privileges of the Company are obnoxious." It was thus that the Earl laid his finger upon the cause of the whole onslaught. Jealousy of the Company's rights was at the bottom of the whole matter. [Sidenote: Opposition of Mr. Gladstone.] The Vancouver Island negotiations were suspended for a year, and then the Company, seeing the opposition it had evoked, put forward a less extensive proposal, by which it offered to continue the general management of the whole territory north of the forty-ninth degree, and for colonizing purposes to except Vancouver Island alone. It agreed to colonize the island without any pecuniary advantage accruing to itself, and promised that all moneys received for lands and minerals should be applied to purposes connected with the improvement of the country. The proposition seemed a reasonable one; but in a certain rising statesman, who had inherited his opposition to the Company from his father, and who had many followers, the Honourable Adventurers had a powerful enemy. His name was Mr. W. E. Gladstone, and his enmity to the measure caused the Government to halt. The Company was not without strong friends, as well as enemies. It drew up a deed of charter, and boldly relied on the Earl of Lincoln (afterwards Duke of Newcastle) to procure favour for it in the House of Commons. On the 17th July the Earl opened the subject, and drew from Mr. Gladstone a speech which occupies many columns of Hansard's Debates. With mighty energy he hurled argument, invective, appeal and remonstrance at the heads of his fellow-members. It was even suggested that he was actuated by personal malice. Every statement, every slander that could wither or blacken the fair fame of a corporation which had deserved well of its country, was employed on this occasion, and his conclusion was that the Company was incompetent to carry out its promises. Mr. Howard, who followed, believed that it would be "most unwise to confer the extensive powers proposed on a fur-trading Company." Yet he did not deny that as California had recently been ceded to America, it was a matter of the highest importance that a flourishing British Colony should be established on the Pacific Coast as an offset to that power. Lord John Russell undertook to enlighten the House as to the achievements of the Company, apart from fur-trading. He said that it already held exclusive privileges, which did not expire until 1859; that the western lands were controlled by a Crown grant, dated 13th May, 1838, confirming the possession by the Company for twenty-one years from that date; that these privileges "could not be taken away from it without breach of principle and that if colonization were delayed until the expiration of this term squatters from America might step in and possess themselves of the Island." [Sidenote: The grant of Vancouver Island.] It was voted to refer the matter to the Privy Council Committee for Trade and Plantations; and on the 4th September this body reported in favour of granting Vancouver Island to the Hudson's Bay Company. The grant was duly signed, sealed and delivered on the 13th January, 1849. The Company, in the midst of its triumph, was not satisfied. It had aroused enmities which it was powerless to allay. It had been lured, by too zealous friends, into making promise of a policy which it foresaw could not be followed without ruinous cost. It also foresaw that the rush to the Pacific, consequent upon the gold-fever of 1849, would bring about new interests not its own and, in brief, that the colony would pass from its hands, and that all its outlay and labour would have been expended without profits. What it anticipated came about sooner than it expected. Opposition had been collecting from without, and had been engendered from within. Some of the Adventurers announced that when, in 1859, the grant would expire, they would object to its renewal. The Company's enemies asserted that it had not exerted itself to bring about the desired colonization of Vancouver Island. The settlers forwarded a memorial asking to be relieved from the Company's control. At the same time, the Governor it had appointed, Mr. Douglas (afterwards Sir James Douglas), was popular, and when the grant was allowed to expire and Vancouver Island became a Crown colony in 1859, he was retained in the same office. Soon afterwards, a Government was organized, with Mr. Douglas at its head, on the mainland of British Columbia. [Illustration: SIR GEORGE SIMPSON RECEIVING A DEPUTATION OF INDIANS.] Meanwhile, in the eastern as well as the western extremity of the Company's domains, agitation and malcontent was being fomented. Certain residents of Red River settlement had forwarded petitions to Earl Grey. Lieutenant-Colonel Crofton, in command of Her Majesty's troops at Fort Garry, was asked to send in a report of the state of affairs at Red River. At a little later period his successor, Major Griffiths, was requested to do the same. Neither had any connection with the Company, and both might therefore be regarded as unbiassed as well as fully informed. Both exonerated the Company from most of the charges brought against them, and as to the remainder, which were preferred on untrustworthy evidence, they professed ignorance. They rendered full credit to the Company "for the manner in which it has of late years exercised its powers." In the year of the Oregon treaty the Company caused some valuable exploration to be made of its northern coasts. Dr. Rae and his party reached Chesterfield Inlet 13th July, 1846, passed Repulse Bay safely, and conveyed their boats thence into Committee Bay, at the bottom of Boothia Gulf. The Company's expedition wintered at Repulse Bay, and again entering Committee Bay, in April, 1847, by the following month had completed a survey, with the exception of Fury and Hecla Straits, of the entire northern coast of the North American continent. [Sidenote: Fate of the Franklin Expedition.] In the previous year, 1845, Sir John Franklin, who had, since his last travels in Rupert's Land, been Governor of Tasmania, was offered the command of another expedition in search of the north-west passage by the British Government. He embarked in the _Erebus_ and _Terror_, and his ships were last seen on the 26th of July in Baffin's Bay by a whaler. Several years passed without tidings of the expedition. In 1850 traces of the missing ships were discovered by Ommaney and Penny, and it was thus ascertained that the first winter had been spent behind Beechy Island. No further news came until the spring of 1854, when an expedition of the Hudson's Bay Company, under Dr. Rae, from Republic Bay, received information from the Esquimaux that four years before about forty white men had been seen dragging a boat over the ice near the north shore of King William's Island. Somewhat later in the same season of 1850, declared the natives, the bodies of the entire party were found at a point a short distance to the north-west of the Great Fish River. To prove their assertion the Esquimaux produced various articles which were known to have belonged to the ill-fated explorer and his party. The Government having previously offered a reward of £10,000 "to any party, or parties who, in the judgment of the Board of Admiralty, shall, by virtue of his or her efforts, first succeed in ascertaining" the fate of the missing expedition, Dr. Rae laid claim to and obtained this reward. Another expedition under Anderson and Stewart went in two canoes, in 1855, down the Great Fish River, and further verified the truth by securing more European articles and clothing from the Esquimaux. It now became clear that a party from the _Erebus_ and _Terror_ had sought to reach, by the Fish River route, the nearest Company's post to the south, and had been arrested by the ice in the channel near that river's mouth. In 1857 Lady Franklin, whose efforts to set at rest the fate of her husband had been most heroic, sent out the yacht _Fox_, commanded by Captain (afterwards Sir Leopold) McClintock, who had already taken part in three expeditions despatched in search of Franklin. In the following year more relics were obtained, closely followed by the discovery of many skeletons. In a cairn at Point Victory Lieutenant Hobson unearthed the celebrated record kept by two of the explorers, which briefly told the history of the expedition for three years, or up to April 25, 1848. It appeared that Sir John Franklin had perished on the 11th of June, 1847. It is believed that one of the vessels must have been crushed in the ice and the other stranded on the shore of King William's Island, where it lay for years, a mine of wonderful implements and playthings for the Esquimaux. [Illustration: OPENING OF CAIRN ON POINT VICTORY WHICH CONTAINED THE RECORD OF THE FRANKLIN EXPEDITION.] [Illustration: DISCOVERY OF RELICS OF FRANKLIN EXPEDITION.] Franklin was virtually the discoverer of the long-sought north-west passage, inasmuch as he had all but traversed the entire distance between Baffin's Bay and Bering's Strait. [Sidenote: The North-West Passage discovered at last.] Yet it should be observed that in 1853 Commander McClure, who was in charge of an Arctic expedition from the Pacific, was rescued near Melville Island by Sir Edward Belcher, who came from the side of the Atlantic, and both he and his ship's company returned to Europe _via_ Baffin's Bay. Thus the secret of the north-west passage was disclosed at last. It was now known that a continuous passage by water existed between Baffin's Bay and Bering's Strait, and that was the last of the voyages undertaken for the purpose through Rupert's Land. For ten years past the profits of the Company had already increased. In 1846, there were in its employ five hundred and thirteen articled men and thirty-five officers. It controlled a net-work of trading routes between its posts situated between the Atlantic and the Pacific oceans. In 1856 it had one hundred and fifty-two establishments under Governor Simpson's control, with sixteen chief factors and twenty-nine chief traders, assisted by five surgeons, eighty-seven clerks, sixty-seven postmasters, five hundred voyageurs and one thousand two hundred permanent servants, in addition to sailors on sea-going ships and other employees, numbering altogether above three thousand men. [Sidenote: Imperial Parliament appoints Select Committee.] At the beginning of 1857 the opponents of the Company were on the _qui vive_. They had at last succeeded in procuring a Select Committee of the Imperial House of Commons for the purpose of considering "the state of those British possessions in North America which are under the administration of the Hudson's Bay Company, or over which it possesses a license to trade." The committee was composed of the following persons: The Right Honourable Henry Labouchere (afterwards Lord Taunton), Sir John Pakingham, Lord John Russell, Mr. Gladstone, the Right Honourable Edward Ellice, Lord Stanley, Viscount Sandon, and Messrs. Lowe, Adderley, Roebuck, Grogan, Kinnaird, Blackburn, Charles Fitzwilliam, Gordon, Gurney, Bell and Percy Herbert. Evidence was taken from the 20th of February to the 9th of March, which comprised the first session of the committee. It sat again in May, and the examination of the numerous witnesses ended on the 23rd of June. Public interest was aroused, and the Company and its doings again became a standing topic at London dinner-tables. The Honourable Adventurers were again on their trial--would they come out of the ordeal as triumphantly as on the occasion of the previous great investigation a full century and a decade before? The list of witnesses comprised some of the best known names of the day. There were: Sir John Richardson, Rear Admiral Sir George Back, Dr. Rae, Chief Justice Draper of Canada, Sir George Simpson, Hon. John Ross, Lieut.-Colonel Lefroy, Lieut.-Colonel Caldwell, Bishop Anderson, Hon. Charles Fitzwilliam, Dr. King and Right Hon. Edward Ellice. At the second session Messrs. Gordon, Bell and Adderley retired, and Viscount Goderich, and Messrs. Matheson and Christy took their places. The first witness examined was the Honourable John Ross, then President of the Grand Trunk Railway of Canada. "It is complained," said he, "that the Hudson's Bay Company occupy that territory and prevent the extension of settlement and civilization in that part of the continent. I do not think they ought to be permitted to do that; but I think it would be a very great calamity if their control and power were entirely to cease. My reason for forming that opinion is this: during all the time that I have been able to observe their proceedings, there has been peace within the whole territory. The operations of the Company seem to have been carried on, at all events, in such a way as to prevent the Indian tribes within their borders from molesting the Canadian frontier; while, on the other hand, those who have turned their attention to that quarter of the world must have seen that, from Oregon to Florida, for these last thirty years or more, there has been a constant Indian war going on between the natives of American territory, on the one side, and the Indian tribes on the other. Now, I very much fear that if the occupation of the Hudson's Bay Company were to cease, our fate in Canada might be just what it is with Americans in the border settlements of their territory." Lord Elgin had showed the weak spot of the opposition. Mr. Ross indicated it more precisely. "I believe," said he, "there are certain gentlemen at Toronto very anxious to get up a second North-West company, and I daresay it would result in something like the same difficulties which the last North-West company created. I should be sorry to see them succeed. I think it would do a great deal of harm, creating further difficulties in Canada, which I do not desire to see created." At the close of the evidence, Mr. Gladstone proposed resolutions unfavourable to the Company, which were negatived by the casting vote of the chairman, Lord Taunton, the numbers being seven to seven. The committee agreed to their report on the 31st July. It recommended that the Red River and Saskatchewan districts might be "ceded to Canada on equitable principles," the details being left to Her Majesty's Government. The termination of the Company's rule over Vancouver Island was advised; and this advice was not distasteful to the Company. The committee strongly urged, in the interests of law and order, and of the Indian population as well as for the preservation of the fur-trade, that the Company "should continue to enjoy the privileges of exclusive trade which they now possess." [Sidenote: Toronto merchants petition Legislative Council.] As an illustration of the spirit prevalent in many quarters in Canada towards the Company, the petition which on the 28th of April, 1857, reached the Legislative Council of Canada, may be cited. It emanated from the Board of Trade of the City of Toronto. After reciting in anything but a respectful manner the history and status of the Company, it declared that the Company acted under a "pretended" right, that it "assumed the power to enact tariffs, collect custom dues, and levy taxes against British subjects, and has enforced unjust and arbitrary laws in defiance of every principle of right and justice." The petitioners besought the attention of the Government "to that region of country designated as the chartered territory, over which the said Company exercises a sovereignty over the soil as well as a monopoly in the trade, and which said Company claims as a right that insures to it _in perpetuo_, in contradistinction to that portion of the country over which it claims an exclusive right of trade, but for a limited period only." The "gentlemen from Toronto" admitted that this latter claim was founded upon a legal right, but submitted that a renewal of "such license of exclusive trade was injurious to the interests of the country so monopolized, and in contravention of the rights of the inhabitants of Canada." In this year the claims of the Company in connection with the Treaty of 1846 were finally arranged by a special treaty concluded through the Hon. W. H. Seward for America, and Lord Lyons, the British Ambassador. The Puget's Sound Agricultural Company, which was an offshoot and subordinate concern of the Hudson's Bay Company, for the purposes of wheat, wool, hides and tallow production, was also named as one of the interested parties. "Whereas," so ran the new treaty, "it is desirable that all questions between the United States authorities on the one hand, and the Hudson's Bay and Puget's Sound Agricultural Companies on the other, with respect to the possessary rights and claims of these companies, and of any other British subjects in Oregon and Washington Territory, should be settled by the transfer of those rights and claims to the Government of the United States for an adequate money consideration: It is hereby agreed that the United States of America and Her Britannic Majesty shall, within twelve months after the exchange of the ratification of the present treaty, appoint each a commissioner for the purpose of examining and deciding upon all claims arising out of the provisions of the above-quoted articles of the Treaty of June 15, 1846."[121] [Sidenote: Unwholesome temper amongst the Indians.] The commercial rivalry existing between the Russian-American Company and the Hudson's Bay Company, which held a trading lease of part of the sea-bound territory, naturally tended to engender and keep alive an unwholesome temper amongst the Indians. They were frequently troublesome, and occasionally murderous. In May, 1862, between two hundred and fifty and three hundred of the natives on the west side of Chatham Strait, twenty-five miles north of Cross Sound, seized on the quarter-deck the captain and chief trader of the Company's steamer _Labouchere_, of seven hundred tons and taking possession of the vessel, drove the crew forward. But the crew had a large gun trained aft, and parleying took place. The Indians had not known that this was a Company ship. It was agreed that both parties should discharge their rifles, and peace was proclaimed, the Indians finally leaving the vessel. Before their departure, however, they covered the deck with fine sea-otter and other skins as a present to the captain and traders, and as a token of peace. In September, 1860, after an illness of but five days' duration, died Sir George Simpson, the Governor-in-Chief in Rupert's Land, amidst universal regrets. He had been often, indeed persistently, attacked by the Company's enemies during his tenure of his office; indeed almost up to the day of his death he was charged with being autocratic and tyrannical, but none could deny him great ability and exceptional fitness for his post. He had taken a powerful interest in northern discoveries, and superintended the fitting out of several Arctic expeditions. For his services in this direction he had been knighted in 1841, and soon afterwards had set out on a journey round the world, of which he published an interesting relation. In his late years he resided at Lachine, where he entertained the Prince of Wales, on his visit in 1860. His successor was Mr. A. E. Dallas, who having made a considerable fortune in China, had for some time served the Company on the Pacific coast. Thanks to his prudence, the landing in 1859 of General Harney and a detachment of American troops on the island St. Juan, between Vancouver's Island and the mainland, had been controlled and check-mated by the proposal of joint occupation until negotiations should settle the question of right. He was returning home to England, intending to retire, when he was persuaded to accept the Governorship of Rupert's Land. [Sidenote: Proposals to buy out the Company.] At the head of a scheme for a transcontinental road and telegraph system was Mr. (afterwards Sir) Edward Watkin, well known as the promoter of the Grand Trunk Railway. For this scheme an Imperial subsidy was sought. The dissensions which ensued between the various parties interested proved not unfruitful, for they led up to the great question of buying out the Company. At the beginning, however, the Duke of Newcastle, then Colonial Secretary, had amiably undertaken to sound the Company as to their willingness to allow a road and telegraphs through their territory.[122] In response to this demand the aged Governor answered, almost in terror, to the Duke of Newcastle, "What, sequester our very tap-root! Take away the fertile lands where the buffaloes feed! Let in all kinds of people to squat and settle, and frighten away the fur-bearing animals they don't hunt and kill! Impossible! Destruction--extinction of our time-honoured industry. If these gentlemen are so patriotic, why don't they buy us out?" To this outburst the Duke quietly replied: "What is your price?" Governor Berens answered: "Well, about a million and a half." [Sidenote: Discussions as to the price.] On hearing this, Mr. Watkin was anxious that the British Government should figure among the purchasing parties. Purchase seemed the only way out of the difficulty. The Governor and Company seemed to have made up their minds for a sale or else to withstand the project which Mr. Watkin and the rest had so dearly at heart. An endeavour was made to convince the Duke that at the price named there could be no risk of loss, because the fur-trade could be separated from the land and rights, and after the purchase a new joint-stock company could be organized to take over the trading-posts, the fleet of ships, the stock of goods, and the other assets, rights and privileges affecting trade. Such a company, it was figured, would pay a rental (redeemable over a term of years if necessary) of three or three and one-half per cent, on £800,000, leaving only £700,000 as the value of a territory bigger than Russia in Europe. Such a company would have to raise additional capital of its own to modernise its business, to improve the means of intercourse between its posts, and to cheapen and expedite the transport to and fro of its merchandise. It was pointed out that a land company could be organized in England, Canada and America which, on a similar principle of redemption rental, might take over the lands, leaving a reserve of probably a fourth of the whole as the unpaid-for property of the Government, at the price of £700,000. "Were these proposals to succeed, then," said Mr. Watkin, "all the country would have to do was to lend £1,000,000 on such security as could be offered, ample in each case," in his opinion. But a condition was to be imposed if these plans were to be adopted. The Hudson's Bay territory must be erected into a Crown colony like British Columbia, and governed on the responsibility of the Empire. As to the cost of government, there were three suggestions put forward. One was that it might be recouped by a moderate system of duties in and out of the territory, to be agreed upon between Canada and British Columbia on the one hand, and the United States on the other. The second was to sell a portion of the territory to America for five million dollars, which sum Mr. Watkin knew could be obtained. The third scheme was to open up portions of the fertile belt to colonization from the United States. When considering the second plan, the Duke said he would not sell; he would exchange; and studying the map, "we put our fingers upon the Aroostook Wedge, in the State of Maine; upon a piece of territory at the head of Lake Superior, and upon islands between British Columbia and Vancouver's Island, which might be the equivalent of rectification of boundary on many portions of the westward along the 49th parallel of latitude." As for a name for the new proposed Crown colony, Dr. Mackay had suggested to Mr. Watkin, "Hysperia," and this name was mentioned to the Duke. Its similarity to "hysteria" probably caused it to be dismissed. [Sidenote: Opposition of the Colonial Office.] The decision of the Duke of Newcastle on the whole proposition was that were he a Minister of Russia he would agree to purchase the land from the Hudson's Bay Company. "It is," said he, "the right thing to do for many, for all reasons; but ministers here must subordinate their views to the Cabinet." Nevertheless, he went so far as to believe that it was right. But the Colonial Office were in positive opposition to the scheme. It was now clear that the promoters of the Pacific transcontinental railway could hope for no direct pecuniary aid from the British Government. They must act for themselves. After some correspondence, it was arranged that the promoters of the "Pacific scheme," as it was called, should meet the Governor and Committee of the Hudson's Bay Company in an official interview. The date was the 1st of December, 1862. "The room," writes Sir Edward Watkin in his Memoirs, "was the Court room, dark and dirty. A faded green cloth, old chairs, almost black, and a fine portrait of Prince Rupert. We met the Governor, Berens, Eden Colville and Lyell only. On our part there were Mr. G. G. Glyn (the late Lord Wolverton), Captain Glyn (the late Admiral Henry Glyn), and Messrs. Newmarch, Benson, Blake and myself. Mr. Berens, an old man and obstinate, bearing a name to be found in the earliest lists of Hudson's Bay shareholders, was somewhat insulting in his manner. We took it patiently. He seemed to be astounded at our assurance. 'What! interfere with his fertile belt, tap-root,' etc." [Sidenote: The "Pacific Scheme" discussed.] But the Governor showed himself more reasonable; a calmer discussion ensued, and the promoters were informed that the Company would be ready to make a grant of land for the actual site of a road and telegraph through their territory. Nothing more would be vouchsafed, unless, as they had informed the Duke of Newcastle, they were paid for all their rights and property. [Illustration: FORT PRINCE OF WALES. (_Drawn from an old print._)] "The offer," observes Sir Edward, "of a mere site of a road and ground for telegraph poles was no use. So, just as we were leaving, I said, 'We are quite ready to consider your offer to sell; and to expedite matters, will you allow us to see your accounts, charters, etc.' They promised to consult their Court." The result of this promise was that the promoters were put into communication with "old Mr. Roberts, aged eighty-five, their accountant, and with their solicitor, Mr. Maynard." Many interviews took place at Hudson's Bay House between these parties. On the 17th of March, 1863, Mr. Watkin met the Governor, Mr. Ellice, junior (son of Edward Ellice, who had been nick-named the "Old Bear"), Mr. Matheson and Mr. Maynard, at Hudson's Bay House. A number of account books were produced. "Next day I had a long private interview with Mr. Maynard, but could not see the balance-sheet The same day, I saw the Duke with Messrs. Glyn and Benson." On the following day, the chief promoter spent the forenoon with Mr. Roberts, the accountant, and his son and assistant, at Hudson's Bay House. "Mr. Roberts told him many odd things," he says; "one was, that the Company had had a freehold farm on the site of the present City of San Francisco of one thousand acres, and had sold it just before the gold discoveries for £1,000, because two factors quarrelled over it. I learnt a great deal of the inside of the affair, and got some glimpses of the competing North-West Company, amalgamated by Mr. Edward Ellice, its chief mover, many years agone, with the Hudson's Bay Company. Pointing to some boxes in his private room one day, Mr. Maynard said, 'There are years of Chancery in those boxes, if anyone else had them.' And he more than once quoted a phrase of the Old Bear, 'My fortune came late in life.'" [Sidenote: The International Financial Association.] In spite of the Duke's indisposition, he expressed the greatest interest in the progress of the negotiations. Yet the prospect of Government aid was now remote. Two ways were open to raise the money for a purchase of the Company's rights--to secure the names and support of fifteen persons, millionaires, for £100,000 each; the other to hand the proposed purchase over to the newly-organized International Finance Association, who were eager to find some important enterprise to put before the public. The first method seemed to recommend itself to the promoters; and the friends of the project could easily have underwritten the necessary amount. But the Company now announced that it would give no credit. "We must take up the shares as presented and pay for them over the counter." There was, therefore, no alternative. Mr. Richard Potter, acting for the capitalists, completed the negotiations. The shares were taken over and paid for by the International Financial Association, who issued new stock to the public to an amount which covered a large provision of new capital for the extension of business by the Company, and at great profit to themselves. As regards the new Hudson's Bay shareholders, their two hundred and one shares were subsequently reduced by returns of capital to one hundred and thirty-one, and having attained a value of thirty-seven, during the "land boom" period twenty years later stood at two hundred and forty-one. A Hudson's Bay Company prospectus was issued. It was understood that the International Financial Association were merely agents, that the shares would not remain in their hands, but would pass to the proprietors, who would, of course, only enjoy the rights such shares carried. They would, in fact, be a continuation of the Company, only their efforts would be directed to the promotion of the settlement of the country; the development of the postal and transit communications being one of the objects to which they were pledged. A new council had been formed, and amongst its members was Mr. Eden Colville, one of the old committee, whom the Duke praised publicly in the highest terms, as a "man of business and good sense." There was one man in London who was astonished at what had taken place. Edward Ellice still lived, but his commanding figure was bent by the weight of years. As we have seen, it was he who, in 1821, played the principal part in the amalgamation of the rival companies. He had grown to be proud of the Company, proud of its history, of its traditions, of its service; and he seemed to detect in this transfer, its fall. A few months before his death, in 1863, he met one of the negotiators at Burlington House. He confronted him for some moments without speaking, in a state of abstraction. Then he passed on, like a man "endeavouring to recollect a long history of difficulty, and to realize how strangely it had all ended." Ellice had said, before the Parliamentary Committee of 1857, in reply to a question put by a member as to what probability there was of a settlement being made, "within what you consider to be the southern territories of the Hudson's Bay Company?" "None; in the lifetime of the youngest man now alive!" FOOTNOTES: [120] Lord Elgin went on to say: "At the same time I think it is to be regretted that a jurisdiction so extensive and peculiar, exercised by British subjects at such a distance and so far beyond the control of public opinion, should be so entirely removed from the surveillance of Her Majesty's Government. The evil arising from this state of things is forcibly illustrated in the present instance by the difficulty which I experience in obtaining materials for a full and satisfactory report on the charges which your Lordship referred to me. It were very desirable, if abuses do exist, that Government possessed the means of probing them to the bottom; and on the other hand it seems to be hard on the Company, if the imputations cast upon it be unfounded, that Government, which undertakes the investigation, should not have the power of acquitting it on testimony more unexceptionable than any which is at present procurable. It has been stated to me that your Lordship has it in contemplation to establish a military officer at some point within the territories of the Company, and that the Company is disposed to afford every facility for carrying out this arrangement. I trust that this report may prove to be well founded." [121] The treaty having provided for a joint commission, Mr. A. S. Johnston and the Hon. (afterwards Sir) John Rose were appointed to act for America and Great Britain, respectively. These commissioners, on the 10th of September, 1869, issued an award from Washington, directing the payment of $450,000 by the United States to the Hudson's Bay Company, and $200,000 to the Puget's Sound Company. There was, as usual, considerable delay in making this payment. On the 11th of July, 1870, $325,000 was appropriated by Congress for this purpose, and a like sum by another appropriation in the following year. [122] "I am glad to tell you that since I received your letter of Saturday last, the Hudson's Bay Company has replied to my communication; and has promised to _grant_ land to a Company formed under such auspices as those with whom I placed them in communication. The question now is, what _breadth_ of land they will give, for of course they propose to include the whole length of the line through their territory. A copy of the reply shall be sent to Mr. Baring, and I hope you and he will be able to bring this concession to some practical issue. "I was quite aware of the willingness of the Company to _sell_ their _whole_ rights for some such sum as £1,500,000. I ascertained the fact two months ago and alluded to it in the House of Lords in my reply to a motion by Lord Donoughmore. I cannot, however, view the proposal in so favourable a light as you do. There would be no immediate or _direct_ return to show for this large outlay, for of course the trade monopoly must cease, and the sale of the land would for some time bring in little or nothing--certainly not enough to pay for the government of the country. "I do not think Canada _can_, or if she can, ought to take any large share in such a payment. Some of her politicians would no doubt support the proposal with views of their own--but it would be a serious, and for some time unrenumerative addition to their very embarassing debt. I certainly should not like to _sell_ any portion of the territory to the United States--_exchange_ (if the territory were once acquired) would be a different thing--but that would not help towards the liquidation of the purchase money."--_Letter of the Duke of Newcastle, 14th August, 1862._ CHAPTER XXXV. 1863-1871. Indignation of the Wintering Partners -- Distrust and Misgivings Arise -- Proposals of Governor Dallas for the Compensation of the Wintering Partners in Exchange for their Abrogation of Deed Poll -- Threatened Deadlock -- Position of those in Authority Rendered Untenable -- Failure of Duke of Newcastle's Proposals for Surrender of Territorial Rights -- The Russo-American Alaskan Treaty -- The Hon. W. McDougall's Resolutions -- Deputation Goes to England -- Sir Stafford Northcote becomes Governor -- Opinion of Lord Granville as to the Position of Affairs -- Lack of Military System Company's Weakness -- Cession now Inevitable -- Terms Suggested by Lord Granville Accepted -- First Riel Rebellion -- Wolseley at Fort Garry. All this had taken place in London. The sale had been negotiated between financiers. Not a word of what was impending had crossed the Atlantic to the hunting-grounds of the North-West--to the body of men who were, as much as the Governor, the Committee and the sleeping partners, members of the Great Company. Yet their voice had never been heard, nor their consent to the transaction obtained. By the Deed Poll it was provided that the profits of the fur-trade (less interest on capital employed) were to be divided into one hundred parts, sixty parts going to the stockholders and forty to the "wintering partners." What would the "wintering partners" say to this brilliant "game of chess" which had been played with the stockholders for interests which were jointly theirs? [Sidenote: Indignation of the Wintering Partners.] No sooner had the papers been signed, and the million and a half sterling paid over, than misgivings seem to have seized the minds of those directly interested. Yet, on their behalf, it was urged that the Company's posts and hunting grounds still remained. That the factors and traders would be as well off under the new _régime_ as the old--that the mere change of one body of shareholders for another could affect them nothing--that, in fact, they would really benefit by having men of newer ideas and a more progressive spirit. The news, once in the newspapers, travelled fast, and in a few weeks at the less distant posts, and in a few months at the more remote ones, the rumour ran that the Company had sold out--that the London partners had betrayed the real workers in the wilderness. [Illustration: FORT GARRY.] A large number of the Company's chief factors and traders had, it appeared, addressed a memorial to the Company in London, when first the rumour of a sale had reached them. They declared that they had been informed that no transfer was probable, but if it took place it would not be without previous consultation. They now learned for the first time from the newspapers that these arrangements had been made. An influential member of the new Company predicted that a general resignation of the officers from Labrador to Sitka would ensue, followed by a confederation amongst themselves, in order to carry on the fur-trade in competition with the Company. They had, they said, "the skill, the will, and the capital to do it." It was said that the appearance of Mr. Lampson's name as Deputy Governor of the new Company had heightened the first feeling of distrust, for this gentleman and his commercial connections had long been the Company's great rivals in the fur marts, carrying on a vigorous competition at all accessible points.[123] [Sidenote: Governor Dallas's Suggestions.] Governor Dallas, almost immediately upon his arrival in Montreal, caused a circular to be issued, addressed to all the factors, completely refuting all these charges and innuendoes. Many conferences took place between Dallas and Watkin as to the working of the Company in the fur territories on the new basis. Dallas kept the Governor and Committee in London fully advised of the state of affairs, accompanied by proposals as to the compensation to be allowed the aggrieved wintering partners. An interesting object, which it was desired to accomplish at this time, was an exchange of boundary between the Company and the United States, so as to permit Superior City being brought into British territory by means of a fair payment and exchange of land. The negotiations looking to this end, although at one time promising, proved a failure. It was believed that the first measure necessary towards the re-organization of the Hudson's Bay service would be the abolition or modification of the Deed Poll, under which the trade was then conducted. The wintering partners (chief factors and chief traders) had certain vested rights, and these could not be interfered with without compensation.[124] One mode suggested by Governor Dallas of removing the difficulty was to ascertain the value of a retired interest, and bestow a money compensation to each officer on his entering into an agreement to consent to the abrogation of the Deed Poll. As regarded the shares held in retirement, some of the interests had nearly run out and none of the parties had any voice in the business. The value of a (one-eighty-fifth) share was ascertained to be (on the average of the previous thirteen "outfits") about £408, at which rate a chief factor's retired interest would amount to £3,264, and a chief trader's to £1,632. Adding the customary year's furlough on retiring, a factor's retired allowance would be £4,080, and a trader's £2,040. On such a scale of commutation it would cost the Company £114,500 to buy out its officers. As a set-off to this outlay Governor Dallas suggested a substantial reduction in salaries. Under the then existing organization the pay of officers in the service was £2,000 to the Governor-in-Chief, £16,000 amongst sixteen chief factors, £14,000 to thirty-five chief traders, and £10,000 to the clerks, a total officers' pay-roll of £38,000. He proposed to cut this down as follows: Governor-in-Chief £2,000 Lieutenant-Governor 1,250 Four Councillors at £800 3,200 Twenty-five chief traders at £300 7,500 One hundred clerks at various salaries 10,000 ------ £23,950 But Sir Edmund and his colleagues thought otherwise. The wintering partners were not yet to reap any profit from the sale of the Company's assets. The Deed Poll remained in full force until 1871, when they were paid £107,055 out of the money received from Canada for Rupert's Land and the North-West. [Sidenote: Threatened Deadlock in Red River Settlement.] In 1863 the Company's government had almost come to a deadlock in the Red River settlement. Two cases had just occurred of prisoners having been forcibly rescued from gaol; and they, with about thirty to fifty others implicated in the riots, continued at large, fostering discontent. The only paper published, the notorious _Nor'-Wester_, was in the hands of the Company's bitterest enemies.[125] The position of those in authority was so disagreeable that it was with great difficulty that Governor Dallas persuaded the magistrates to continue their duties. Governor McTavish, who was in charge of Assiniboine, resigned, and others were prepared to follow his example, including the Governor-in-Chief himself. Fortunately the open malcontents were few in number and the volunteer force was sufficient to protect the gaol and support law and order, were it not for the unwise zeal of the Company's partisans who were ready to engage in a free fight with the agitators. This, beyond question, would have led to a repetition of the Semple tragedy of 1816. It may be noted that the Company's unpopularity in the Red River country, according to Governor Dallas, "arose entirely from the system, not from the faults of its administrators." The agitation against the Company still continued, but slowly. It seemed difficult for the parties interested in the abolition of the Company's rights to agree upon a single scheme which would be permanently satisfactory, and not too costly. Sir Edmund Head expressed himself in favour of a complete sale of rights and ownership to the Imperial authorities. But this scheme was, as has been seen, beset with almost insuperable difficulties. In November, 1863, Sir Edmund suggested that an equal division be made of the territory fit for settlement between the Company and the Crown, with inclusion of specified tracts in the share of the former; secondly, that the Company construct the road and telegraph; thirdly, that the Crown purchase such of the Company's premises as should be required for military use, and to pay the Company a net third of all future revenue from gold and silver. In his Speech from the Throne, on the 19th February, 1864, Lord Monk, the Governor-General of Canada, alluded to the matter, which was beginning to engross the public mind. "The condition," said he, "of the vast region lying on the north-west of the settled portions of the Province is daily becoming a question of great interest. I have considered it advisable to open a correspondence with the Imperial Government, with a view to arrive at a precise definition of the geographical boundaries of Canada in that direction. Such a definition of boundary is a desirable preliminary to further proceedings with respect to the vast tracts of land in that quarter belonging to Canada, but not yet brought under the action of our political and municipal system." It was hoped by many that the Company could be induced to sell out its rights to the Imperial Government, and out of the territory to carve out a new Crown Colony. In the course of the ensuing debate on the address, the Honourable William McDougall, Minister of Crown Lands, who was officially concerned in the matter, stated that "the Government of Canada had reached a conclusion upon the advisability of determining whether the Red River territory belonged to Canada or to some other country." The consequence was that a correspondence had been opened with the Imperial Government upon the subject. Mr. McDougall thereupon announced his individual view of the case as being that "Canada was entitled to claim as a portion of its soil all that part of the North-West territory that could be proved to have been in possession of the French at the time of the cession of Canada to the British." It was not at all likely that the Duke of Newcastle would share such a view, or that he would entirely acquiesce with the suggestion of Sir Edmund Head on behalf of the Company. Under date of the 11th of March, and 5th of April, 1864, he formulated the appended proposals:-- 1. The Company to surrender to the Crown its territorial rights. 2. To receive one shilling for every acre sold by the Crown but limited to £150,000 in all, and to fifty years in duration, whether or not the receipts attained that amount. 3. To receive one-fourth of any gold revenue, but limited to £100,000 in all, and to fifty years in duration. 4. To have one square mile of adjacent land for every lineal mile constructed of road and telegraph to British Columbia. [Sidenote: The surrender of Territorial Rights.] These proposals were carefully considered by Sir Edmund Head and his colleagues, and it was decided at a meeting on the 13th of April to accept them, subject to certain alterations. It was urged that the amount of payments within fifty years should either not be limited or else placed at the sum of £1,000,000 sterling, instead of a quarter of that sum. The Company also suggested that a grant be made to it of five thousand acres of wild land for every fifty thousand acres sold by the Crown. In the meantime the Duke of Newcastle had been succeeded in the Colonial Secretaryship by Mr. Cardwell, who on the 6th of June wrote to say that he could not entertain the amendments of the Company. For several months nothing was done, but in December the Honourable Adventurers again met and again showed their desire for an amicable and reasonable arrangement. They offered to accept £1,000,000 for the territory which they then defined, and which was substantially in extent the whole region granted them in the Charter of Charles II. In 1865 the Hon. George Brown went to England to come to terms over the proposed transfer, but without success. [Sidenote: America purchases Alaska.] The charter of the Russian Company was about to expire. It had underlet to the Hudson's Bay Company all its franchise on the mainland between 54° 40' and Mount St Elias; and now it was proposed that an American Company, holding direct from the Russian Government, should be substituted, and it seemed to the Americans a good opportunity to organize a fur-trading company to trade between the States and the Russian possessions in America. But before the matter could mature, the American and Russian Governments interposed with a treaty, by which Alaska was ceded to the States for $7,200,000 in gold. Few treaties have ever been carried out in so simple a manner. Russia was glad to be rid of her possessions in North America. The sum of $7,000,000 was originally agreed upon; but when it was understood that a fur company and an ice company enjoyed monopolies under the existing government, it was decided to extinguish these for the additional sum. On 1st July, 1867, the Confederation of the scattered British Provinces of North America was made an accomplished fact, amidst general rejoicings. On the 4th of December, Mr. McDougall, who was now Minister of Public Works for the new Dominion of Canada, brought in, at the first session of Parliament, a series of resolutions directly relating to the acquisition of Rupert's Land and the Great North-West:-- 1. That it would promote the prosperity of the Canadian people and conduce to the advantage of the whole Empire if the Dominion of Canada, constituted under the provisions of the British North America Act, 1867, were extended westward to the shores of the Pacific Ocean. 2. That the colonization of the lands of the Saskatchewan, Assiniboine, and Red River Settlements, the development of the mineral wealth which abounds in the regions of the North-West, and the extension of commercial intercourse through the British possessions in America from the Atlantic to the Pacific, are alike dependent upon the establishment of a stable government for maintenance of law and order in the North-West Territories. 3. That the welfare of the sparse and widely-scattered population of British subjects of European origin, already inhabiting these remote and unorganized territories, would be materially enhanced by the formation therein of political institutions bearing analogy, as far as circumstances will admit, to those which exist in the several Provinces of this Dominion. 4. That the 146th section of the British North America Act, 1867, provides for the admission of Rupert's Land and the North-West Territory, or either of them, into union with Canada upon terms and conditions to be expressed in Addresses from the Houses of Parliament of the Dominion to Her Majesty, and which shall be approved of by the Queen in Council. 5. That it is accordingly expedient to address Her Majesty, that she would be graciously pleased, by and with the advice of Her Most Honourable Privy Council, to unite Rupert's Land and the North-West Territory with the Dominion of Canada, and to grant to the Parliament of Canada authority to legislate for their future welfare and good government. 6. That in the event of the Imperial Government agreeing to transfer to Canada the jurisdiction and control over this region, it would be expedient to provide that the legal rights of any corporation, company, or individual within the same will be respected; and that in case of difference of opinion as to the extent, nature, or value of these rights, the same shall be submitted to judicial decision, to be determined by mutual agreement between the Government of Canada and the parties interested. Such agreement to have no effect or validity until first sanctioned by the Parliament of Canada. 7. That upon the transference of the territories in question to the Canadian Government, the claims of the Indian tribes to compensation for lands required for purposes of settlement would be considered, and settled in conformity with the equitable principles which have uniformly governed the Crown in its dealings with the aborigines. [Sidenote: Deputation goes to England.] In the following year a delegation to arrange the terms for the acquisition by Canada of Rupert's Land and the North-West Territory arrived in England. It consisted of Sir George Étienne Cartier and Mr. William McDougall. On presenting themselves at the Colonial Office they were invited by the Duke of Buckingham and Chandos, then Secretary of State for the Colonies, to visit him at Stowe "for the purpose of discussing freely and fully the numerous and difficult questions involved in the transfer of these great territories to Canada." To the Duke's country-seat the delegates accordingly went. Here, one of the first things the Duke communicated to them was that the Company being lords-proprietors were to be treated as such, and not as parties having a defective title and fit subjects for that "spoliation" previously deplored by Cartier.[126] There can be no manner of doubt that, taking this view, the Company's demands were most reasonable. But the Canadian delegates were not content to take this view. There had been so much irresponsible hue-and-cry about the weakness of the Company's title, that they doubtless felt themselves privileged to hold out for better terms. While negotiations were thus pending in London, the Duke of Buckingham quitted office with his colleagues, and was succeeded by Earl Granville. Almost at the same time the Earl of Kimberley, the Company's Governor, resigned, and was replaced by Sir Stafford Northcote. In January, 1869, the new Colonial Secretary transmitted to the delegates the reply of the Company, declining their counter-proposals, and inviting them to communicate to him any observations they might desire to offer further on the situation. "We felt reluctant," to quote the language of the delegates, "as representatives of Canada, to engage in a controversy with the Company concerning matters of fact, as well as questions of law and policy, while the negotiation with it was being carried on by the Imperial Government in its own name and of its own authority." [Sidenote: Canada exerts pressure on the Company.] Nevertheless, these scruples were soon overcome. They accepted Lord Granville's invitation, and on the 8th February stated at length their views upon the various points raised by the Governor of the Company, which views clearly demonstrated that the Dominion was by no means prepared to deal with the Honourable Adventurers in a spirit of generosity or even of equity. Lord Granville now came forward with plans of his own, but these were not agreeable to Sir George Cartier and Mr. McDougall. While the negotiations were in progress the Company lodged an indignant complaint against the Canadian Government for undertaking the construction of a road between the Lake of the Woods and the Red River settlement without first having procured its consent. Stormy meetings of the Honourable Adventurers were held; it seemed impossible to resist the pressure which was being brought to bear. Had the old governor and committee been in existence it is possible this pressure would have been longer withstood. The delegates returned to Canada, but they had succeeded in no slight measure in impressing upon the Imperial Government their peculiar views. On the 9th of March, Lord Granville employed the following language to the Governor of the Company: "At present the very foundations of the Company's title are not undisputed. The boundaries of its territory are open to questions of which it is impossible to ignore the importance. Its legal rights, whatever these may be, are liable to be invaded without law by a mass of Canadian and American settlers, whose occupation of the country on any terms it will be little able to resist; while it can hardly be alleged that the terms of the charter, or its internal constitution, are such as to qualify it under all these disadvantages for maintaining order and performing the internal and external duties of government." [Sidenote: Lack of Military system Company's weakness.] There was the Company's weakness. No sovereign in Europe had a clearer right to his or her dominions, perhaps no rule was wiser or more beneficent, but the one powerful, indispensable adjunct to sovereign authority it lacked--a military system.[127] With a standing army the Company's rights would have been secure--but it was a king without soldiers. It required ten thousand drilled men to defend its frontiers--it was too late in the day to organize such a force, it could only submit gracefully to its envious and powerful neighbours. Cession was perhaps inevitable; the terms which Lord Granville now proposed it decided to accept. 1. The Hudson's Bay Company to surrender to Her Majesty all the rights of government, property, etc., in Rupert's Land, which are specified in 31 and 32 Victoria, clause 105, section 4; and also all similar rights in any other part of British North America, not comprised in Rupert's Land, Canada, or British Columbia. 2. Canada is to pay to the Company £300,000 when Rupert's Land is transferred to the Dominion of Canada. 3. The Company may, within twelve months of the surrender, select a block of land adjoining each of its stations, within the limits specified in Article 1. 4. The size of the blocks is not to exceed ---- acres in the Red River country, nor 3,000 acres beyond that territory, and the aggregate extent of the blocks is not to exceed 50,000 acres. 5. So far as the configuration of the country admits, the blocks are to be in the shape of parallelograms, of which the length is not more than double the breadth. 6. The Hudson's Bay Company may, for fifty years after the surrender, claim in any township or district within the Fertile Belt, in which land is set out for settlement, grants of land not exceeding one-twentieth of the land so set out. The blocks so granted to be determined by lot, and the Hudson's Bay Company to pay a ratable share of the survey expenses, not exceeding ---- an acre. 7. For the purpose of the present agreement, the Fertile Belt is to be bounded as follows: On the south by the United States Boundary; on the west by the Rocky Mountains; on the north by the northern branch of the Saskatchewan; on the east by Lake Winnipeg, the Lake of the Woods, and the waters connecting them. 8. All titles to land up to the 8th of March, 1869, conferred by the Company, are to be confirmed. 9. The Company to be at liberty to carry on its trade without hindrance, in its corporate capacity, and no exceptional tax is to be placed on the Company's land, trade or servants, nor an import duty on goods introduced by them previous to the surrender. 10. Canada is to take over the materials of the Electric Telegraph at cost price, such price including transport, but not including interest for money, and subject to a deduction for ascertained deteriorations. 11. The Company's claim to land under agreement of Messrs. Vankoughnet and Hopkins to be withdrawn. 12. The details of this arrangement, including the filling up of the blanks in Articles 4 and 6, to be settled at once by mutual agreement. [Sidenote: Cession to Canadian Government.] On such terms did the Canadian Government acquire this vast territory of two million three hundred thousand square miles. In that portion designated the Fertile Belt, comprising three hundred million acres, there were agricultural lands believed to be capable of yielding support to twenty-five million people. Filled with high hopes as to the future of the country they had thus acquired, the Canadian Government was confronted by the necessity of providing it with a suitable form of government to replace that of the Company. Little did the public men who had interested themselves in the negotiations ponder on the difficulties of the task. Apparently they undertook it with a light heart. During the session of 1869 an Act was passed at Ottawa providing a provisional form of government in the territory, and in October of the same year the Hon. William McDougall received the appointment of Lieutenant-Governor. But before he set out on his duties surveying parties had been busy in the Red River settlement, laying out townships and instituting an extended series of surveys. [Sidenote: Forlorn case of the Métis.] In order to be in the place of his government when by the Queen's Proclamation it should become a portion of the Dominion of Canada, McDougall, in the month of November, found himself at the frontier of his Province. But the transfer was not to be consummated without bloodshed. A portion of the little community of Red River raised its voice in vehement protest against the arrangements made between the Government of Canada and the Company. These malcontents, chiefly French half-breeds, headed by Louis Riel, expelled the Governor appointed by the Dominion and planned a resistance to all authority emanating from the same source. They assembled in large numbers, and, after fortifying portions of the road between Pembina and Fort Garry, had taken possession of the latter post. Upon consideration of the case of these wild and ignorant Métis, it is difficult to withhold from them sympathy. Settled government, forms of law, state duty, exactions of citizenship, the sacrifices and burdens of urban civilization--of these he knew but dimly, and held them in a vague horror. He knew that men lived and ground out their lives in cities afar off, and that by means of their wealth they possessed power; that they had cast envious eyes on the hunting-grounds of the Indian and his half-brother the Métis; that they sought to wrest him from his lands and mark it off into town lots, people his beloved prairies and exterminate his race. They must mean him ill or they would not work in such a silent, stealthy fashion to dispossess him and drive him farther west into unfamiliar fastnesses. There were fifteen thousand souls in the country bordering on Red River, and the majority objected, not without reason, that such an arrangement as had just been carried out should be done without their consent or having been consulted. Was it wonderful that the half-breed, resenting this march of civilization which would trample him and his possessions to atoms, should arise, seize his rude weapons, and prepare for war? It is true the insurrection of 1869-70 could have been averted. It would have been easy, through an agent of tact and eloquence, to have dispelled the illusions which had taken possession of the Métis, and to have restored confidence as to the policy of Canada. But was it the Hudson's Bay Company's duty to enlighten the aggrieved inhabitants? The Company who had been bullied and badgered and threatened with confiscation unless it agreed to a renunciation of its rights? Was it the fault of the Company that several thousand wild Métis children of the wilderness, passionately attached to the old order of things, were in their hearts loyal to the Company, which fed and clothed and administered law to them?[128] The insurgents, growing bolder, had taken possession of Fort Garry, where a council of half-breeds was held and the inhabitants called upon to send delegates to a national convention. The English colonists accepted the invitation, but were soon made aware that Riel and his supporters were resolved on more desperate measures than they could themselves countenance. The authority of the Company had been observed; but it was now disregarded; the books and records of the Council of Assiniboia were seized, and on the 1st December a "Bill of Rights" was passed by the "Provisional Government." This act of open rebellion caused the secession of the English; insurgency was now rampant and many of the inhabitants found themselves incarcerated in gaol. Then followed the illegal infliction of capital punishment upon Thomas Scott, a young Orangeman, and the despatch of Colonel (now Lord) Wolseley to the seat of trouble. Leaving Toronto on the 25th of May, 1870, Wolseley and his force, after a long and arduous journey, arrived at Fort Garry on the 24th of August. But the rebellion was already over, and the chief instigator and his companions had fled. For many years the Company's officers in charge of the various districts in Rupert's Land had annually met in Council for the regulation and discussion of affairs of the fur-trade in general. Regarding themselves as true partners of the Company, they naturally looked to share with the shareholders in the sum agreed to be paid by Canada for its territory. [Sidenote: Turbulent meetings at Hudson's Bay House.] In July, just one month before the entrance of the future hero of Tel-el-Kebir and the British troops into Fort Garry, a last meeting of the council of officers of the Honourable Hudson's Bay Company was held at the post known as Norway House. It was presided over by Fort Garry's Governor, Mr. Donald Alexander Smith,[129] a servant since boyhood of the Company. At this meeting it was decided to represent the claims of the officers to the partners in England. To this end Mr. Smith was unanimously appointed their representative, he undertaking the task of presenting their claims. The London shareholders were by no means immediately acquiescent. But although Sir Stafford Northcote presided over some turbulent meetings in Fenchurch Street, the claims of the "wintering partners" were ultimately recognized in the only manner possible. Out of the £300,000 paid by the Dominion, the sum of £107,000 was divided amongst the officers for the relinquishment of their claims. The Governor of the Company, in his report to the shareholders in November, stated that "since the holding of the General Court on the 28th June, the Committee have been engaged in proceeding with the re-organization of the fur-trade, and have entered into an agreement with the Chief Factors and Chief Traders for revoking the Deed Poll of 1834, and settling claims arising under it upon the terms sanctioned by the proprietors at the last General Court. They have also prepared the draft of a new Deed Poll adopted to the altered circumstances of the trade." A new era had thus begun in the history of the Honourable Company of Merchants-Adventurers trading into Hudson's Bay. FOOTNOTES: [123] "To my mind the worst feature in the new Company is that of allowing a foreigner (American) to hold office. He owes allegiance to the United States, and his position gives him knowledge which no American should possess. 'Blood is thicker than water,' says the proverb: 'No man can serve two masters.' As to the idea that being in the fur-trade his experience and influence will benefit the new Company, will any furrier believe that? If the Company will sell all the furs, I would never rest satisfied while an American was in the management.'"--William McNaughten, the Company's agent at New York. [124] The eighty-five shares belonging to the wintering partners, in 1863, were held as follows: 15 chief factors 30 shares 37 chief traders 37 " 10 retired chief factors 13 " 10 retired chief traders 5 " -- 85 shares. [125] "Its continued attacks upon the Company," wrote Governor Dallas, "find a greedy ear with the public at large, both in the settlement and in Canada." [126] "With regard to the Hudson's Bay matter," wrote Cartier to Watkin, under date of 15th of February, 1868, "not the least doubt that the speech of 'John A.,' was very uncalled for and injudicious. He had no business to make such a speech, and I told him so at the time--that he ought not to have made it. However, you must not attach too much importance to that speech. I myself, and several of my colleagues, and John A. himself, have no intention to commit any spoliation; and for myself in particular, I can say to you that I will never consent to be a party to a measure or anything intended to be an act of spoliation of the Hudson's Bay's rights and privileges." [127] "The present state of government in the Red River settlement is attributable alike to the habitual attempt encouraged, perhaps very naturally, in England and in Canada, to discredit the tradition and question the title of the Hudson's Bay Company, and to the false economy which has stripped the Governor of a military force, with which, in the last resort, to support the decisions of the legal tribunals. No other organized government of white men in the world, since William Penn, has endeavoured to rule any population, still less a promiscuous people composed of whites, half-breeds, Indians and borderers, without a soldiery of some sort, and the inevitable result of the experiment has, in this case, been an unpunished case of prison-breaking, not sympathized in, it is true, by the majority of the settlers, but still tending to bring law and government into contempt, and greatly to discourage the governing body held responsible for keeping order in the territory."--_Governor Dallas._ [128] "It is an undoubted fact," remarks General Sir William Butler, "that warning had been given to the Dominion Government of the state of feeling amongst the half-breeds, and the phrase, 'they are only eaters of pemmican,' so cutting to the Métis, was thus first originated by a distinguished Canadian politician." [129] The distinguished philanthropist, the present Lord Strathcona and Mount Royal, High Commissioner for Canada in London and Governor of the Hudson's Bay Company. [Illustration: THE TRADING ROOM AT A HUDSON'S BAY POST.] CHAPTER XXXVI. 1821-1871. The Company still King in the North-West -- Its Forts Described -- Fort Garry -- Fort Vancouver -- Franklin -- Walla Walla -- Yukon -- Kamloops -- Samuel Black -- Mountain House -- Fort Pitt -- Policy of the Great Company. The Company, in yielding the sovereignty of the Great North-West to Canada, was still a king, though crown and sceptre had been taken from it. Its commercial ascendancy was no whit injured; it is still one of the greatest corporations and the greatest fur company in the world. But new interests have arisen; its pristine pride, splendour and dignity, would now be out of place. The old lion has been shorn of its mane, and his roar is now no longer heard in the Great North-West. It no longer crouches in the path of progress determined to sell dearly the smallest sacrifice of its ancient rights and privileges; it is ready to co-operate with the settler and explorer, and all its whilom enemies. [Sidenote: Canada's debt to the Company.] Yet, since 1871, its history has not been without many stirring passages. Its long record of steady work, enterprise, and endurance, has never been greater. Its commanding influence with the Indians, and with a large number of the colonists, has enabled it to assist the authorities in many ways and often in forwarding the public interests, suppressing disorder and securing the good-will of the Red men who inhabit Canada. The Great Dominion owes much to the Great Company. The posts of the Company reach from the stern coasts of Labrador to the frontiers of Alaska, and throughout this enormous region it yet controls the traffic with the aborigines. To-day there are one hundred and twenty-six posts at which this active trade is conducted, besides those numerous wintering stations or outposts, which migrate according to circumstances and mercantile conditions. [Illustration: YORK FACTORY. ARRIVAL OF HUDSON'S BAY CO.'S SHIP. (_By permission, from "Picturesque Canada."_)] [Sidenote: Latter-day forts of the Company.] The forts of the Company in Rupert's Land and on the Pacific, with few exceptions, all resembled each other. When permanent, they were surrounded by palisades about one hundred yards square. The pickets were of poles and logs ten or fifteen inches in diameter, sunk into the ground and rising fifteen or twenty feet above it. Split slabs were sometimes used instead of round poles; and at two diagonally opposite corners, raised above the tops of the pickets, two wooden bastions were placed so as to command a view of the country. From two to six guns were mounted in each of these bastions--four six or twelve-pounders, each with its aperture like the port-hole of a ship. The ground floor beneath served as a magazine. Within the pickets were erected houses, according to necessity, store and dwelling being most conspicuous. [Illustration: FORT PELLY.] The older forts have already been described. When Fort Garry was constructed it became the Company's chief post and headquarters. High stone walls, having round towers pierced for cannon at the corners, enclosed a square wherein were substantial wooden buildings, including the storehouses, dwellings, the Governor's residence and the gaol. Some distance below Fort Garry, on Red River, was Stone Fort, which comprised about four acres, with numerous buildings. The chief establishment of the Saskatchewan district was Fort Edmonton. It was of sexagonal form, with pickets, battlemented gateways and bastions. Here were the usual buildings, including the carpenter's shop, blacksmith's forge and windmill. At Fort Edmonton were made and repaired, boats, carts, sleighs, harness and other articles and appliances for the annual voyage to York Factory, and for traffic between posts. There was also here a large and successful farm, where wheat, barley and vegetables were raised in abundance. How different was Fort Franklin, a rough, pine-log hut on the shore of Great Bear Lake, containing a single apartment eighteen by twenty feet! It was roofed with sticks and moss, and the interstices between the logs were filled with mud. [Sidenote: Fort Vancouver.] In 1825 was built Fort Vancouver, the metropolitan establishment of the Company on the Pacific. It stood on the north side of the Columbia River, six miles above the eastern mouth of the Willamette. At first located at the highest point of some sloping land, about a mile from the river, this site was found disadvantageous to transport and communication, and the fort was moved a few years later to within a quarter of a mile of the Columbia. The plan presented the familiar parallelogram, but much larger than usual, of about seven hundred and fifty feet in length and five hundred in breadth. The interior was divided into two courts, with about forty buildings, all of wood, except the powder magazine, which was of stone. In the centre, facing the main entrance, stood the Governor's residence, with the dining-room, smoking-room, and public sitting-room or bachelors' hall, the latter serving also for a museum of Indian relics and other curiosities. Single men, clerks and others, made the bachelors' hall their place of resort, but artisans and servants were not admitted. The residence was the only two-storey house in the fort, and before its door were mounted two old eighteen-pounders. Two swivel guns stood before the quarters of the chief factor. A prominent position was occupied by the Roman Catholic chapel, to which the majority of the fort's inmates resorted, the dining-hall serving for the smaller number of Church of England worshippers. The other buildings were dwellings for officers and men, school and warehouses, retail stores and artisan shops. The interior of the dwellings exhibited, as a rule, an unpainted pine-board panel, with bunks for bedsteads, and a few other simple pieces of furniture. [Illustration: FORT SIMPSON.] Another post on the Pacific, of different character and greater strength, was Fort Walla Walla. It stood on the site of Fort Nez Percé, which was established when the Indians attacked Ogden's party of fur-traders here in 1818. The assault was repelled; but it was found necessary as a safeguard to rear this retreat. Fort Walla Walla was built of adobe and had a military establishment. A strong fort was Fort Rupert, on the north-east coast of Vancouver Island. For a stockade, huge pine trees were sunk into the ground and fastened together on the inside with beams. Round the interior ran a gallery, and at two opposite corners were flanking bastions mounting four nine-pounders. Within were the usual shops and buildings, while smaller stockades protected the garden and out-houses. Fort Yukon was the most remote post of the Company. It was beyond the line of Russian America, and consequently invited comparison with the smaller and meaner Russian establishments. Its commodious dwellings for officers and men had smooth floors, open fire-places, glazed windows, and plastered walls. Its gun room, fur press, ice and meat wells were the delight and astonishment of visitors, white and red. [Illustration: YORK FACTORY.] After the treaty of 1846, by which the United States obtained possession of Oregon territory, the headquarters of the Company on the Pacific Coast were transferred from Fort Vancouver to Fort Victoria. This post was enclosed one hundred yards square by cedar pickets twenty feet high. At the north-east and south-west corners were octagonal bastions mounted with six six-pounders. It had been founded three years earlier as a trading post and depot for whalers, and possessed more than three hundred acres under cultivation, besides a large dairy farm, from which the Russian colonies in Alaska received supplies. Old Fort Kamloops was first called Fort Thompson, having been begun by David Thompson, astronomer of the North-West Company, on his overland journey from Montreal to Astoria, by way of Yellowhead Pass, in 1810. It was the capital of the Thompson River district, and one of the oldest in all the Oregon region. After Thompson, hither came Alexander Ross, who, in 1812, conducted operations there on behalf of Astor's Pacific Fur Company. After the coalition in 1821, the veteran fur-trader, John McLeod, was in charge of the Thompson River district. Then came Ermatinger, who presided at Kamloops in 1828, when Governor Simpson visited the fort and harangued the neighbouring Indians, beseeching them to be "honest, temperate and frugal; to love their friends, the fur-traders, and above all to bring in their heaps of peltries, and receive therefor the goods of the Company." [Sidenote: Legend of Kamloops.] The post was not without thrilling legends and abundance of romance. It was here that the Company's officer in command, Samuel Black, in 1840, challenged his brother Scot, and guest, David Douglas, the wandering botanist, to fight a duel, because the latter bluntly, one night, over his rum and dried salmon, had stigmatized the Honourable Adventurers as "not possessing a soul above a beaver skin." Black repelled in fury such an assertion; but Douglas refused to fight. He took his departure, only to meet his death shortly afterwards by falling into a pit at Hawaii, while homeward bound. If this was the fate of the calumniator of the Company, that of its defender was not less tragic; for soon after his display of loyalty, while residing at Fort Kamloops, he was assassinated by the nephew of a friendly neighbouring chief, named Wanquille, "for having charmed his uncle's life away." Black's successor, John Tod, built a new fort on the opposite side of the river, which differed but little from the later fortresses of the Company. There were seven houses, including stores, dwellings and shops, enclosed in palisades fifteen feet in height, with gates on two sides and bastions at two opposite angles. Early in 1848 a small post was erected by the Company on the Fraser River, near a village of the Lachincos, adjacent to the rapids ascended by Alexander Anderson the previous year. The fort was called Yale, in honour of Chief Factor Yale, who was at that time in charge of Fort Langley. It was the only post on that wild stream, the Fraser, between Langley and Alexandria, a distance of some three hundred miles. Two causes led to its erection: the Waiilatpu massacre in 1847, and the conclusion of the Oregon Treaty of 1846, which placed the boundary line several degrees north of the Lower Columbia. [Illustration: FATHER LACOMBE.] [Sidenote: Mountain House.] Perhaps one of the most remarkable of the Company's posts was Mountain House. "Every precaution known to the traders," writes a visitor of thirty years ago, "has been put in force to prevent the possibility of a surprise during 'a trade.' Bars and bolts, and places to fire down at the Indians who are trading, abound in every direction; so dreaded is the name borne by the Blackfeet, that it is thus their trading-post has been constructed." Eighty years ago, the Company had a post far south of the Bow River, in the very heart of the Blackfeet country; but, despite all precautions, it was frequently plundered and finally burnt down by the Blackfeet, and no attempt was since made to construct another fort in their country. The hilly country around Fort Pitt was frequently the scene of Indian ambush and attack, and on more than one occasion the post itself has been captured by the Blackfeet. The surroundings are a favourite camping-ground of the Crees; and it was found difficult to persuade the Blackfeet that the factors and traders there are not the active friends and allies of their enemies. In fact, they regarded both Fort Pitt and Fort Carlton as places belonging to another company from that which ruled at Mountain House and Edmonton. "If it was the same company," they were wont to say, "how could they give our enemies, the Crees, guns and powder; for do they not give us guns and powder, too?" The strength of the Company throughout the vast region where their rule was paramount, was rather a moral strength than a physical one. Its roots lay deep in the heart of the savage, who in time came to regard the great corporation as the embodiment of all that was good, and great, and true, and powerful. He knew that under its sway justice was secured to him; that if innocent he would be unharmed, that if guilty he would inevitably pay the penalty of his transgression. The prairie was wide, the forests were trackless, but in all those thousands of miles there came to be no haven for the horse-thief, the incendiary or the murderer, where he would be free, in his beleaguered fastness, to elude or defy Nemesis. The Company made it its business to find and punish the real offender; they did not avenge themselves on his friends or tribe. But punishment was certain--blood was paid for in blood, and there was no trial. Often did an intrepid factor, trader or clerk, enter a hostile camp, himself destitute of followers, walk up to the trembling malefactor, raise his gun or pistol, take aim, fire, and seeing his man fall, stalk away again to the nearest fort. "This certainty of punishment," it was said, "acted upon the savage mind with all the power of a superstition. Felons trembled before the white man's justice, as in the presence of the Almighty." That sense of injustice which rankled in the bosoms of the other Indians of the Continent, causing them to continually break out and give battle to their tormentors and oppressors--a warfare which, in 1870, had cost the United States more than five hundred million of dollars, could not exist. The Red men, as Red men, could have no well-founded grievance against the Company, which treated white and red with equity. [Sidenote: The Great Company's Policy.] "I have no hesitation in attributing the great success attendant for so many years upon the Indian policy of the Hudson's Bay Company," wrote an American Commissioner, Lieutenant Scott, in 1867, "to the following facts:-- "The savages are treated justly--receiving protection in life and property from the laws which they are forced to obey. "There is no Indian Bureau with attendant complications. "There is no pretended recognition of the Indian's title in fee-simple to the lands on which he roams for fish or game. "Intoxicating liquors were not introduced amongst these people so long as the Hudson's Bay Company preserved the monopoly of trade. "Prompt punishment follows the perpetration of crime, and from time to time the presence of a gunboat serves to remind the savages along the coast of the power of their masters. Not more than two years ago the Fort Rupert Indians were severely punished for refusing to deliver up certain animals demanded by the civil magistrate. Their village was bombarded and completely destroyed by Her Britannic Majesty's gunboat _Clio_." What was the direct consequence of such a policy? That among distant and powerful tribes trading posts were built and maintained, well stocked with goods tempting to savage cupidity, yet peacefully conducted by one or two white men. There was not a regular soldier in all this territory (except the marines on shipboard and at Esquimault) and yet white men could hunt through the length and breadth of the land in almost absolute security. [Illustration: GATEWAY TO FORT GARRY. (_Drawn by Edmund Morris, from a Photo taken in 1877._)] Search all Europe and Asia, and you will find no parallel to the present sway of the Company, for it feeds and clothes, amuses and instructs, as well as rules nine-tenths of its subjects, from the Esquimaux tribes of Ungava to the Loucheaux at Fort Simpson, thousands of miles away--all look to it as to a father. The communication with the outside world is slight, yet the thread that binds is encrusted with hoar frost, reaching far away to that little island in the North Sea which we call Britain. If these strong men, immured for years in the icy wildernesses are moved by the news which reaches them twice in the year, through a thousand miles and more of snow, it is British news. Kitchener's victory at Khartoum sent a patriotic thrill through thousands of bosoms six months after it became known to the Englishman who is content to live at home. THE HUDSON'S BAY POSTS. In their Report of 28th June, 1872, the Governor and Committee report the details of the varied posts from Ocean to Ocean of the Hudson's Bay Company, as follows:-- _Statement of Land belonging to the HUDSON'S BAY COMPANY, exclusive of their claim to one-twentieth of the Land set out for settlement in the "Fertile Belt."_ ========================+====+==========================+======= | | | Acres DISTRICT. | | POST. | of | | | Land ------------------------+----+--------------------------+------- Lake Huron | 1 | La Cloche | 6,400 Temiscaminque | 2 | Kakababeagino | 10 Superior | 3 | Long Lake | 10 United States | 4 | Georgetown | 1,133 | | | Manitoba, or } | 5 | Fort Garry | 500 Red River Settlement } | 6 | Lower Fort | 500 | 7 | White Horse Plains | 500 Manitoba Lake | 8 | Oak Point | 50 Portage la Prairie | 9 | | 1,000 | | | Lac la Pluie | 10 | Fort Alexander | 500 | 11 | Fort Frances | 500 | 12 | Eagles Nest | 20 | 13 | Big Island | 20 | 14 | Lac du Bennet | 20 | 15 | Rat Portage | 50 | 16 | Shoal Lake | 20 | 17 | Lake of the Woods | 50 | 18 | White Fish Lake | 20 | 19 | English River | 20 | 20 | Hungry Hall | 20 | 21 | Trout Lake | 20 | 22 | Clear Water Lake | 20 | 23 | Sandy Point | 20 | | | Swan River | 24 | Fort Pelly | 3,000 | 25 | Fort Ellice | 3,000 | 26 | Qu'Appelle Lakes | 2,500 | 27 | Touchwood Hills | 500 | 28 | Shoal River | 50 | 29 | Manitoban | 50 | 30 | Fairford | 100 | | | CUMBERLAND | 31 | Cumberland House | 100 | 32 | Fort la Corne | 3,000 | 33 | Pelican Lake | 50 | 34 | Moose Woods | 1,000 | 35 | The Pas | 25 | 36 | Moose Lake | 50 | 37 | Grand Rapid Portage | 100 | | |50 Acres | | |at each | | |end of | | |Portage SASKATCHEWAN | 38 | Edmonton House | 3,000 | 39 | Rocky Mountain House | 500 | 40 | Fort Victoria | 3,000 | 41 | St. Paul | 3,000 | 42 | Fort Pitt | 3,000 | 43 | Battle River | 3,000 | 44 | Carlton House | 3,000 | 45 | Fort Albert | 3,000 | 46 | Whitefish Lake | 500 | 47 | Lac la Biche | 1,000 | 48 | Fort Assiniboine | 50 | 49 | Lesser Slave Lake | 500 | 50 | Lac St. Anne | 500 | 51 | Lac la Nun | 500 | 52 | St. Albert | 1,000 | 53 | Pigeon Lake | 100 | 54 | Old White Mud Fort | 50 | | | ENGLISH RIVER | 55 | Isle à la Crosse | 50 | 56 | Rapid River | 5 | 57 | Portage la Loche | 20 | 58 | Green Lake | 100 | 59 | Cold Lake | 10 | 60 | Deers Lake | 5 | | | YORK | 61 | York Factory | 100 | 62 | Churchill | 10 | 63 | Severn | 10 | 64 | Trout Lake | 10 | 65 | Oxford | 100 | 66 | Jackson's Bay | 10 | 67 | God's Lake | 10 | 68 | Island Lake | 10 | | | NORWAY HOUSE | 69 | Norway House | 100 | 70 | Berens River | 25 | 71 | Grand Rapid | 10 | 72 | Nelson's River | 10 | | | ALBANY | 73 | Albany Factory | 100 | 74 | Martin's Falls | 10 | 75 | Osnaburg | 25 | 76 | Lac Seul | 500 | | | EAST MAIN | 77 | Little Whale River | 50 | 78 | Great Whale River | 50 | 79 | Fort George | 25 | | | MOOSE | 80 | Moose Factory | 100 | 81 | Hannah Bay | 10 | 82 | Abitibi | 10 | 83 | New Brunswick | 25 | | | RUPERT'S RIVER | 84 | Rupert's House | 50 | 85 | Mistassing | 10 | 86 | Temiskamay | 10 | 87 | Woswonaby | 10 | 88 | Meehiskun | 10 | 89 | Pike Lake | 10 | 90 | Nitchequon | 10 | 91 | Kamapiscan | 10 | | | KINOGUMISSEE | 92 | Matawagauinque | 50 | 93 | Kuckatoosh | 10 | | | LABRADOR | 94 | Fort Nascopie | 75 | 95 | Outposts do | 25 | 96 | Fort Chimo (Ungava) | 100 | 97 | South River, Outposts | 30 | 98 | George's River | 50 | 99 | Whale River | 50 |100 | North's River | 25 |101 | False River | 25 | | | ATHABASCA |102 | Fort Chippewyan | 10 |103 | Fort Vermilion | 500 |104 | Fort Dunvegan | 50 |105 | Fort St. John's | 20 |106 | Forks of Athabasca River | 10 |107 | Battle River | 5 |108 | Fond du Lac | 5 |109 | Salt River | 5 | | | MCKENZIE RIVER |110 | Fort Simpson | 100 |111 | Fort Liard | 300 |112 | Fort Nelson | 200 |113 | The Rapids | 100 |114 | Hay River | 20 |115 | Fort Resolution | 20 |116 | Fort Rae | 10 |117 | Fond du Lac | 10 |118 | Fort Norman | 10 |119 | Fort Good Hope | 10 |120 | Peel's River | 10 |121 | Lapierre's House | 10 |122 | Fort Halkett | 100 ------------------------+----+--------------------------+------ WESTERN DEPARTMENT. ===============+========================================+====== | | Acres DISTRICT. | POST. | of | | Land ---------------+----+-----------------------------------+------ VANCOUVER'S | 123| Victoria, including Town Lots, | ISLAND | | about | 70 | 124| Esquimault (Puget's Sound | | | Company's Land) | 2,300 | 125| Uplands Farm | 1,125 | 126| North Dairy Farm | 460 | | | BRITISH | 127| Fort Alexander | 100 COLUMBIA | 128| Fort George | 100 | 129| Fraser's Lake | 100 | 130| Stuart's Lake | 100 | 131| McLeod's Lake | 100 | 132| Connolly's Lake | 100 | 133| Babine | 100 | 134| Chilcotin | 100 | | Five other places | 100 | 135| Fort Dallas | 50 | 136| Fort Berens | 50 | 137| Fort Shepherd | 100 | 138| Fort Simpson | 100 | 139| Salmon River | 50 | 140| Langley and Langley Farm | 2,220 | 141| Yale, sundry small blocks | | 142| Hope | 5 | 143| Kamloops | 1,976 | 144| Similkameen | 1,140 | | Barkerville } | Town | | Quesnel } | Lots. ---------------+----+-----------------------------------+------- APPENDIX. THE CHARTER INCORPORATING THE HUDSON'S BAY COMPANY. _Granted by His Majesty King Charles the Second, in the 22nd Year of his Reign, A.D. 1670._ CHARLES THE SECOND, by the grace of God, King of England, Scotland, France and Ireland, Defender of the Faith, &c. To all to whom these presents shall come, greeting: Whereas our dear entirely beloved Cousin, Prince Rupert, Count Palatine of the Rhine, Duke of Bavaria and Cumberland, &c.; Christopher Duke of Albemarle, William Earl of Craven, Henry Lord Arlington, Anthony Lord Ashley, Sir John Robinson, and Sir Robert Vyner, Knights and Baronets; Sir Peter Colleton, Baronet; Sir Edward Hungerford, Knight of the Bath; Sir Paul Neele, Knight; Sir John Griffith and Sir Philip Carteret, Knights; James Hayes, John Kirk, Francis Millington, William Prettyman, John Fenn, Esquires; and John Portman, Citizen and Goldsmith of London; have, at their own great cost, and charges, undertaken an expedition for Hudson's Bay in the north-west part of America, for the discovery of a new passage into the South Sea, and for the finding some trade for furs, minerals, and other considerable commodities, and by such their undertaking have already made such discoveries as to encourage them to proceed further in pursuance of their said design, by means whereof there may probably arise very great advantages to us and our kingdom. And whereas the said undertakers, for their further encouragement in the said design, have humbly besought us to incorporate them, and grant unto them and their successors the sole trade and commerce of all those seas, straits, bays, rivers, lakes, creeks and sounds, in whatsoever latitude they shall be, that lie within the entrance of the straits commonly called the Hudson's Straits, together with all the lands, countries and territories upon the coasts and confines of the seas, straits, bays, lakes, rivers, creeks and sounds aforesaid, which are not now actually possessed by any of our subjects, or by the subjects of any other Christian Prince or State. Now know ye, that we, being desirous to promote all endeavours tending to the public good of our people, and to encourage the said undertaking, have, of our especial grace, certain knowledge and mere motion, given, granted, ratified and confirmed, and by these presents, for us, our heirs and successors, do give, grant, ratify and confirm, unto our said Cousin, Prince Rupert, Christopher Duke of Albemarle, William Earl of Craven, Henry Lord Arlington, Anthony Lord Ashley, Sir John Robinson, Sir Robert Vyner, Sir Peter Colleton, Sir Edward Hungerford, Sir Paul Neele, Sir John Griffith and Sir Philip Carteret, James Hayes, John Kirk, Francis Millington, William Prettyman, John Fenn and John Portman, that they, and such others as shall be admitted into the said society as is hereafter expressed, shall be one body corporate and politic, in deed and in name, by the name of "The Governor and Company of Adventurers of England trading into Hudson's Bay," and them by the name of "The Governor and Company of Adventurers of England trading into Hudson's Bay," one body corporate and politic, in deed and in name, really and fully forever, for us, our heirs and successors, we do make, ordain, constitute, establish, confirm and declare by these presents, and that by the same name of Governor and Company of Adventurers of England trading into Hudson's Bay, they shall have perpetual succession, and that they and their successors, by the name of The Governor and Company of Adventures trading into Hudson's Bay, be, and at all times hereafter shall be personable and capable in law to have, purchase, receive, possess, enjoy and retain lands, rents, privileges, liberties, jurisdictions, franchises and hereditaments, of what kind, nature or quality so ever they be, to them and their successors; and also to give, grant, demise, alien, assign and dispose lands, tenements, and hereditaments, and to do and execute all and singular other things by the same name that to them shall or may appertain to do; and that they and their successors, by the name of The Governor and Company of Adventurers of England trading into Hudson's Bay, may plead and be impleaded, answer and be answered, defend and be defended, in whatsoever courts and places, before whatsoever judges and justices and other persons and officers, in all and singular actions, pleas, suits, quarrels, causes and demands whatsoever, of whatsoever kind, nature or sort, in such manner and form as any other our liege people of this our realm of England, being persons able and capable in law, may or can have, purchase, receive, possess, enjoy, retain, give, grant, demise, alien, assign, dispose, plead, defend and be defended, do, permit and execute: and that the said Governor and Company of Adventurers of England trading into Hudson's Bay, and their successors, may have a common seal to serve for all the causes and businesses of them and their successors, and that it shall and may be lawful to the said Governor and Company, and their successors, the same seal, from time to time, at their will and pleasure, to break, change, and to make anew or alter, as to them shall seem expedient. And further we will, and by these presents, for us, our heirs and successors, we do ordain that there shall be from henceforth one of the same company to be elected and appointed in such form as hereafter in these presents is expressed, which shall be called the Governor of the said Company; and that the said Governor and Company shall or may select seven of their number, and in such form as hereafter in these presents is expressed, which shall be called the Committee of the said Company, which Committee of seven, or any three of them, together with the Governor or Deputy Governor of the said Company for the time being shall have the direction of the voyages of and for the said Company, and the provision of the shipping and merchandises thereunto belonging, and also the sale of all merchandises, goods and other things returned, in all or any the voyages or ships of or for the said Company, and the managing and handling of all other business, affairs and things belonging to the said Company: And we will, ordain and grant by these presents, for us, our heirs and successors, unto the said Governor and Company, and their successors, that they, the said Governor and Company, and their successors, shall from henceforth for ever be ruled, ordered and governed according to such manner and form as is hereafter in these presents expressed, and not otherwise; and that they shall have, hold, retain and enjoy the grants, liberties, privileges, jurisdictions and immunities only hereafter in these presents granted and expressed, and no other: And for the better execution of our will and grant in this behalf we have assigned, nominated, constituted and made, and by these presents, for us, our heirs and successors, we do assign, constitute and make our said Cousin Prince Rupert, to be the first and present Governor of the said Company, and to continue in the said office from the date of these presents until the 10th November then next following, if he, the said Prince Rupert, shall so long live, and so until a new Governor be chosen by the said Company in form hereafter expressed: And also we have assigned, nominated and appointed, and by these presents, for us, our heirs and successors, we do assign, nominate and constitute the said Sir John Robinson, Sir John Vyner, Sir Peter Colleton, James Hayes, John Kirk, Francis Millington and John Portman to be the seven first and present Committee of the said Company, from the date of these presents until the said 10th day of November then also next following, and so on until new Committees shall be chosen in form hereafter expressed: And further we will and grant by these presents, for us, our heirs and successors, unto the said Governor and Company, and their successors, that it shall and may be lawful to and for the said Governor and Company for the time being, or the greater part of them present at any public assembly, commonly called the Court General, to be holden for the said Company, the Governor of the said Company being always one, from time to time elect, nominate and appoint one of the said Company to be Deputy to the said Governor, which Deputy shall take a corporal oath, before the Governor and three or more of the Committee of the said Company for the time being, well, truly and faithfully to execute his said office of Deputy to the Governor of the said Company, and after his oath so taken, shall and may from time to time, in the absence of the said Governor, exercise and execute the office of Governor of the said Company, in such sort as the said Governor ought to do: And further we will and grant by these presents, for us, our heirs and successors, unto the said Governor and Company of Adventurers of England trading into Hudson's Bay, and their successors, that they, or the greater part of them, whereof the Governor for the time being or his Deputy to be one, from time to time, and at all times hereafter, shall and may have authority and power, yearly and every year, between the first and last day of November, to assemble and meet together in some convenient place, to be appointed from time to time by the Governor, or in his absence by the Deputy of the said Governor for the time being, and that they being so assembled, it shall and may be lawful to and for the said Governor or Deputy of the said Governor, and the said Company for the time being, or the greater part of them which then shall happen to be present, whereof the Governor of the said Company or his Deputy for the time being to be one, to elect and nominate one of the said Company, which shall be Governor of the said Company for one whole year then next following, which person being so elected and nominated to be Governor of the said Company, as is aforesaid, before he be admitted to the execution of the said office, shall take a corporal oath before the last Governor, being his predecessor, or his Deputy, and any three or more of the Committee of the said Company for the time being, that he shall from time to time well and truly execute the office of Governor of the said Company in all things concerning the same; and that immediately after the said oath so taken he shall and may execute and use the said office of Governor of the said Company for one whole year from thence next following: And in like sort we will and grant that as well every one of the above-named to be of the said Company of fellowship, as all others hereafter to be admitted or free of the said Company, shall take a corporal oath before the Governor of the said Company or his Deputy for the time being to such effect as by the said Governor and Company or the greater part of them in any public Court to be held for the said Company, shall be in reasonable and legal manner set down and devised, before they shall be allowed or admitted to trade or traffic as a freeman of the said Company: And further we will and grant by these presents, for us, our heirs and successors, unto the said Governor and Company, and their successors, that the said Governor or Deputy Governor, and the rest of the said Company, and their successors for the time being, or the greater part of them, whereof the Governor or Deputy-Governor from time to time to be one, shall and may from time to time, and at all times hereafter, have power and authority, yearly and every year, between the first and last day of November, to assemble and meet together in some convenient place, from time to time to be appointed by the said Governor of the said Company, or in his absence by his Deputy; and that they being so assembled, it shall and may be lawful to and for the said Governor or his Deputy, and the Company for the time being, or the greater part of them which then shall happen to be present, whereof the Governor of the said Company or his Deputy for the time being to be one, to elect and nominate seven of the said Company, which shall be a Committee of the said Company for one whole year from thence next ensuing, which persons being so elected and nominated to be a Committee of the said Company as aforesaid, before they be admitted to the execution of their office, shall take a corporal oath before the Governor or his Deputy, and any three or more of the said Committee of the said Company, being their last predecessors, that they and every of them shall well and faithfully perform their said office of Committees in all things concerning the same, and that immediately after the said oath so taken, they shall and may execute and use their said office of Committees of the said Company for one whole year from thence next following: And moreover, our will and pleasure is, and by these presents, for us, our heirs and successors, we do grant under the said Governor and Company, and their successors, that when and as often as it shall happen, the Governor or Deputy Governor of the said Company for the time being, at any time within one year after that he shall be nominated, elected and sworn to the office of the Governor of the said Company as is aforesaid, to die or to be removed from the said office, which Governor or Deputy Governor not demeaning himself well in his said office WE WILL to be removable at the pleasure of the rest of the said Company, or the greater part of them which shall be present at their public assemblies commonly called their General Courts, holden for the said Company, that then and so often it shall and may be lawful to and for the residue of the said Company for the time being, or the greater part of them, within a convenient time after the death or removing of any such Governor or Deputy Governor, to assemble themselves in such convenient place as they shall think fit, for the election of the Governor or the Deputy Governor of the said Company; and that the said Company, or the greater part of them, being then and there present, shall and may, then and there, before their departure from the said place, elect and nominate one other of the said Company to be Governor or Deputy Governor for the said Company in the place and stead of him that so died or was removed; which person being so elected and nominated to the office of Governor or Deputy Governor of the said Company, shall have and exercise the said office for and during the residue of the next year, taking first a corporal oath, as is aforesaid, for the due execution thereof; and this to be done from time to time so often as the case shall so require: And also our will and pleasure is, and by these presents for us, our heirs and successors, WE DO GRANT unto the said Governor and Company, that when and as often as it shall happen any person or persons of the Committee of the said Company for the time being, at any time within one year next after they or any of them shall be nominated, elected and sworn to the office of Committee of the said Company as is aforesaid, to die or to be removed from the said office, which Committees not demeaning themselves well in their said office, we will to be removable at the pleasure of the said Governor and Company or the greater part of them, whereof the Governor of the said Company for the time being or his Deputy to be one, that then and so often, it shall and may be lawful to and for the said Governor, and the rest of the Company for the time being, or the greater part of them, whereof the Governor for the time being or his Deputy to be one, within convenient time after the death or removing of any of the said Committee, to assemble themselves in such convenient place as is or shall be usual and accustomed for the election of the Governor of the said Company, or where else the Governor of the said Company for the time being or his Deputy shall appoint: And that the said Governor and Company, or the greater part of them, whereof the Governor for the time being or his Deputy to be one, being then and there present, shall and may, then and there, before their departure from the said place, elect and nominate one or more of the said Company to be the Committee of the said Company in the place and stead of him or them that so died, or were or was so removed, which person or persons so nominated and elected to the office of Committee of the said Company, shall have and exercise the said office for and during the residue of the said year, taking first a corporal oath, as is aforesaid, for the due execution thereof, and this to be done from time to time, so often as the case shall require: And to the end the said Governor and Company of Adventurers of England trading into Hudson's Bay may be encouraged to undertake and effectually to prosecute the said design, of our more especial grace, certain knowledge and mere motion, we have given, granted and confirmed, and by these presents, for us, our heirs and successors, DO give, grant and confirm, unto the said Governor and Company, and their successors, the sole trade and commerce of all these seas, straits, bays, rivers, lakes, creeks and sounds, in whatsoever latitude they shall be, that lie within the entrance of the straits, commonly called Hudson's Straits, together with all the lands and territories upon the countries, coasts, and confines of the seas, bays, lakes, rivers, creeks and sounds aforesaid, that are not already actually possessed by or granted to any of our subjects, or possessed by the subjects of any other Christian Prince or State, with the fishing of all sorts of fish, whales, sturgeons and all other royal fishes, in the seas, bays, inlets and rivers within the premises, and the fish therein taken, together with the royalty of the sea upon the coasts within the limits aforesaid, and all mines royal, as well discovered as not discovered, of gold, silver, gems and precious stones, to be found or discovered within the territories, limits and places aforesaid, and that the said land be from henceforth reckoned and reputed as one of our plantations or colonies in America, called "Rupert's Land." And further we do, by these presents for us, our heirs and successors, make, create, and constitute the said Governor and Company for the time being, and their successors, the true and absolute lords and proprietors of the same territory, limits and places, and of all other the premises, saving always the faith, allegiance and sovereign dominion due to us, our heirs and successors, for the same to have, hold, possess and enjoy the said territory, limits and places, and all and singular other the premises hereby granted as aforesaid, with their and every of their rights, members, jurisdictions, prerogatives, royalties and appurtenances whatsoever, to them the said Governor and Company, and their successors for ever, to be holden of us, our heirs and successors, as of our manor at East Greenwich, in our County of Kent, in free and common soccage, and not in capite or by Knight's service, yielding and paying yearly to us, our heirs and successors, for the same, two elks and two black beavers, whensoever and as often as we, our heirs and successors, shall happen to enter into the said countries, territories and regions hereby granted. And further, our will and pleasure is, and by these presents, for us, our heirs and successors, we do grant unto the said Governor and Company, and their successors, that it shall and may be lawful to and for the said Governor and Company, and their successors, from time to time, to assemble themselves, for or about any the matters, causes, affairs, or business of the said trade, in any place or places for the same convenient, within our dominions or elsewhere, and there to hold Court for the said Company and the affairs thereof; and that also, it shall and may be lawful to and for them, and the greater part of them, being so assembled, and that shall then and there be present, in any such place or places, whereof the Governor or his Deputy for the time being to be one, to make, ordain and constitute such and so many reasonable laws, constitutions, orders and ordinances as to them, or the greater part of them, being then and there present, shall seem necessary and convenient for the good government of the said Company, and of all governors of colonies, forts and plantations, factors, masters, mariners and other officers employed or to be employed in any of the territories and lands aforesaid, and in any of their voyages, and for the better advancement and continuance of the said trade or traffic and plantations, and the same laws, constitutions, orders and ordinances so made, to put in use and execute accordingly, and at their pleasure to revoke and alter the same or any of them, as the occasion shall require: And that the said Governor and Company, so often as they shall make, ordain or establish any such laws, constitutions, orders and ordinances, in such form as aforesaid shall and may lawfully impose, ordain, limit and provide such pains, penalties and punishments upon all offenders, contrary to such laws, constitutions, orders and ordinances, or any of them, as to the said Governor and Company for the time being, or the greater part of them, then and there being present, the said Governor or his Deputy being always one, shall seem necessary, requisite or convenient for the observation of the same laws, constitutions, orders and ordinances; and the same fines and amerciaments shall and may, by their officers and servants from time to time to be appointed for that purpose, levy, take and have, to the use of the said Governor and Company, and their successors, without the impediment of us, our heirs or successors, or any of the officers or ministers of us, our heirs, or successors, and without any account therefore to us, our heirs or successors, to be made: All and singular which laws, constitutions, orders, and ordinances, so as aforesaid to be made, we will to be duly observed and kept under the pains and penalties therein to be contained; so always as the said laws, constitutions, orders and ordinances, fines and amerciaments, be reasonable and not contrary or repugnant, but as near as may be agreeable to the laws, statutes or customs of this our realm. And furthermore, of our ample and abundant grace, certain knowledge and mere-motion, we have granted, and by these presents, for us, our heirs and successors, do grant unto the said Governor and Company, and their successors, that they and their successors, and their factors, servants and agents, for them and on their behalf, and not otherwise, shall forever hereafter have, use and enjoy, not only the whole, entire, and only trade and traffic, and the whole, entire, and only liberty, use and privilege of trading and trafficking to and from the territory, limits and places aforesaid, but also the whole and entire trade and traffic to and from all havens, bays, creeks, rivers, lakes and seas, into which they shall find entrance or passage by water or land out of the territories, limits and places aforesaid; and to and with all the natives and people inhabiting, or which shall inhabit within the territories, limits and places aforesaid; and to and with all other nations inhabiting any the coasts adjacent to the said territories, limits and places which are not already possessed as aforesaid, or whereof the sole liberty or privilege of trade and traffic is not granted to any other of our subjects. And we, of our further Royal favour, and of our more especial grace, certain knowledge and mere motion, have granted, and by these presents, for us, our heirs and successors, do grant to the said Governor and Company, and to their successors, that neither the said territories, limits and places hereby granted as aforesaid, nor any part thereof, nor the islands, havens, ports, cities, towns, or places thereof or therein contained, shall be visited, frequented or haunted by any of the subjects of us, our heirs or successors, contrary to the true meaning of these presents, and by virtue of our prerogative royal, which we will not have in that behalf argued or brought into question: We straightly charge, command and prohibit for us, our heirs and successors, all the subjects of us, our heirs and successors, of what degree or quality soever they be, that none of them, directly or indirectly do visit, haunt, frequent, or trade, traffic, or adventure, by way of merchandise, into or from any of the said territories, limits, or places hereby granted, or any or either of them, other than the said Governor and Company, and such particular persons as now be or hereafter shall be of that Company, their agents, factors and assigns, unless it be by the license and agreement of the said Governor and Company in writing first had and obtained, under their common seal, to be granted upon pain that every such person or persons that shall trade or traffic into or from any of the countries, territories or limits aforesaid, other than the said Governor and Company, and their successors, shall incur our indignation, and the forfeiture and the loss of the goods, merchandises and other things whatsoever, which so shall be brought into this realm of England, or any of the dominions of the same, contrary to our said prohibition, or the purport or true meaning of these presents, or which the said Governor and Company shall find, take and seize in other places out of our dominion, where the said Company, their agents, factors or ministers shall trade, traffic or inhabit by the virtue of these our letters patent, as also the ship and ships, with the furniture thereof, wherein such goods, merchandises and other things shall be brought and found; and one-half of all the said forfeitures to be to us, our heirs and successors, and the other half thereof we do, by these presents, clearly and wholly, for us, our heirs and successors, give and grant unto the said Governor and Company, and their successors: And further, all and every the said offenders, for their said contempt, to suffer such other punishment as to us, our heirs and successors, for so high a contempt, shall seem meet and convenient, and not be in any wise delivered until they and every of them shall become bound unto the said Governor for the time being in the sum of one thousand pounds at the least, at no time then after to trade or traffic into any of the said places, seas, straits, bays, ports, havens or territories aforesaid, contrary to our express commandment in that behalf set down and published: And further, of our more especial grace, we have condescended and granted, and by these presents, for us, our heirs and successors, do grant unto the said Governor and Company, and their successors, that we our heirs and successors, will not grant liberty, license or power to any person, or persons whatsoever, contrary to the tenor of these our letters patent, to trade, traffic or inhabit, unto or upon any of the territories, limits or places afore specified, contrary to the true meaning of these presents, without the consent of the said Governor and Company, or the most part of them: And, of our more abundant grace and favour of the said Governor and Company, we do hereby declare our will and pleasure to be, that if it shall so happen that any of the persons free or to be free of the said Company of Adventurers of England trading into Hudson's Bay, who shall, before the going forth of any ship or ships appointed for a voyage or otherwise, promise or agree, by writing under his or their hands, to adventure any sum or sums of money towards the furnishing any provision, or maintenance of any voyage or voyages, set forth or to be set forth, or intended or meant to be set forth, by the said Governor and Company, or the most part of them present at any public assembly, commonly called their General Court, shall not, within the space of twenty days next after warning given to him or them by the said Governor or Company, or their known officer or minister, bring in and deliver to the Treasurer or Treasurers appointed for the Company, such sums of money as shall have been expressed and set down in writing by the said person or persons, subscribed with the name of the said Adventurer or Adventurers, that then and at all times after it shall and may be lawful to and for the said Governor and Company, or the more part of them present, whereof the said Governor or his Deputy to be one, at any of their General Courts or general assemblies, to remove and disfranchise him or them, and every such person and persons at their wills and pleasures, and he or they so removed and disfranchised, not to be permitted to trade into the countries, territories, and limits aforesaid, or any part thereof, nor to have any adventure or stock going or remaining with or amongst the said Company, without the special license of the said Governor and Company, or the more part of them present at any General Court, first had and obtained in that behalf, any thing before in these presents to the contrary thereof in any wise notwithstanding. And our will and pleasure is, and hereby we do also ordain, that it shall and may be lawful to and for the said Governor and Company, or the greater part of them, whereof the Governor for the time being or his Deputy to be one, to admit into and to be of the said Company all such servants or factors, of or for the said Company, and all such others as to them or the most part of them present, at any Court held for the said Company, the Governor or his Deputy being one, shall be thought fit and agreeable with the orders and ordinances made and to be made for the government of the said Company: And further, our will and pleasure is, and by these presents for us, our heirs and successors, we do grant unto the said Governor and Company, and to their successors, that it shall and may be lawful in all elections and by-laws to be made by the General Court of the Adventurers of the said Company, that every person shall have a number of votes according to his stock, that is to say, for every hundred pounds by him subscribed or brought into the present stock, one vote, and that any of those that have subscribed less than one hundred pounds, may join their respective sums to make up one hundred pounds, and have one vote jointly for the same, and not otherwise: And further, of our especial grace, certain knowledge, and mere motion, we do, for us, our heirs and successors, grant to and with the said Governor and Company of Adventurers of England trading into Hudson's Bay, that all lands, islands, territories, plantations, forts, fortifications, factories or colonies, where the said Company's factories and trade are or shall be, within any of the ports or places afore limited, shall be immediately and from henceforth under the power and command of the said Governor and Company, their successors and assigns; saving the faith and allegiance due to be performed to us, our heirs and successors, as aforesaid; and that the said Governor and Company shall have liberty, full power and authority to appoint and establish Governors and all other officers to govern them, and that the Governor and his Council of the several and respective places where the said Company shall have plantations, forts, factories, colonies or places of trade within any of the countries, lands, or territories hereby granted, may have power to judge all persons belonging to the said Governor and Company, or that shall live under them, in all causes, whether civil or criminal, according to the laws of the kingdom, and to execute justice accordingly; and in case any crime or misdemeanor shall be committed in any of the said Company's plantations, forts, factories, or places of trade within the limits aforesaid, where judicature cannot be executed for want of a Governor and Council there, then in such case it shall and may be lawful for the chief factor of that place and his Council to transmit the party, together with the offence, to such other plantations, factory or fort where there shall be a Governor and Council, where justice may be executed, or into this Kingdom of England, as shall be thought most convenient, there to receive such punishment as the nature of his offence shall deserve: And moreover, our will and pleasure is, and by these presents, for us, our heirs and successors, we do give and grant unto the said Governor and Company, and their successors, free liberty and license, in case they conceive it necessary, to send either ships of war, men or ammunition into any of their plantations, forts, factories, or places of trade aforesaid, for the security and defence of the same, and to choose commanders and officers over them, and to give them power and authority, by commission under their common seal, or otherwise, to continue to make peace or war with any prince or people whatsoever, that are not Christians, in any place where the said Company shall have any plantations, forts or factories, or adjacent thereto, and shall be most for the advantage and benefit of the said Governor and Company and of their trade; and also to right and recompense themselves upon the goods, estates, or people of those parts, by whom the said Governor and Company shall sustain any injury, loss or damage, or upon any other people whatsoever, that shall in any way, contrary to the intent of these presents, interrupt, wrong or injure them in their trade, within the said places, territories and limits granted by this Charter: And that it shall and may be lawful to and for the said Governor and Company, and their successors from time to time, and at all times from henceforth, to erect and build such castles, fortifications, forts, garrisons, colonies or plantations, towns or villages, in any parts or places within the limits and bounds granted before in these presents unto the said Governor and Company, as they in their discretion shall think fit and requisite, and for the supply of such as shall be needful and convenient to keep and be in the same, to send out of this kingdom to the said castles, forts, fortifications, garrisons, colonies, plantations, towns or villages, all kinds of clothing, provisions or victuals, ammunition and implements necessary for such purpose, paying the duties and customs for the same, as also to transport and carry over such number of men being willing thereunto, or not prohibited, as they shall think fit, and also to govern them in such legal and reasonable manner as the said Governor and Company shall think best, and to inflict punishment for misdemeanors, or impose such fines upon them for breach of their orders as in these presents are formally expressed: And further, our will and pleasure is, and by these presents, for us, our heirs and successors, we do grant unto the said Governor and Company, and to their successors, full power and lawful authority to seize upon the persons of all such English, or any other our subjects, which shall sail into Hudson's Bay, or inhabit in any of the countries, islands or territories hereby granted to the said Governor and Company, without their leave and license, and in that behalf first had and obtained, or that shall contemn and disobey their orders, and send them to England; and that all and every person and persons, being our subjects, any ways employed by the said Governor and Company, within any the parts, places and limits aforesaid, shall be liable unto and suffer such punishment for any offences by them committed in the parts aforesaid, as the President and Council for the said Governor and Company there shall think fit, and the merit of the offence shall require, as aforesaid; and in case any person or persons being convicted and sentenced by the President and Council of the said Governor and Company, in the countries, lands or limits aforesaid, their factors or agents there, for any offence by them done, shall appeal from the same, that then and in such case it shall and may be lawful to and for the said President and Council, factors or agents, to seize upon him or them, and to carry him or them home prisoners into England, to the said Governor and Company, there to receive such condign punishment as his case shall require, and the law of this nation allow of; and for the better discovery of abuses and injuries to be done unto the said Governor and Company, or their successors, by any servant by them to be employed in the said voyages and plantations, it shall and may be lawful to and for the said Governor and Company, and their respective President, Chief Agent or Governor in the parts aforesaid, to examine upon oath all factors, masters, pursers, supercargoes, commanders of castles, forts, fortifications, plantations or colonies, or other persons, touching or concerning any matter or thing in which by law or usage an oath may be administered, so as the said oath, and the matter therein contained be not repugnant, but agreeable to the laws of this realm: And we do hereby straightly charge and command all and singular our Admirals, Vice-Admirals, Justices, Mayors, Sheriffs, Constables, Bailiffs, and all and singular other our officers, ministers, liegemen and subjects whatsoever to be aiding, favouring, helping and assisting to the said Governor and Company, and to their successors, and their deputies, officers, factors, servants, assigns and ministers, and every of them, in executing and enjoying the premises, as well on land as on sea, from time to time, when any of you shall thereunto be required; any statute, act, ordinance, proviso, proclamation or restraint heretofore had, made, set forth, ordained or provided, or any other matter, cause or thing whatsoever to the contrary in anywise notwithstanding. In witness whereof we have caused these our Letters to be made Patent. Witness ourselves at Winchester, the second day of May, in the two-and-twentieth year of our reign. By Writ of the Privy Seal. PIGOTT. THE ALASKA BOUNDARY LINE. It has been said that but for the Hudson's Bay Company British Columbia would not have been preserved to the British Crown. On the Imperial frontier to the far north and west the Company early established its posts, and vigorously sought to maintain them against, first, Russian, and afterwards American, aggression. [Illustration: SKETCH MAP OF SOUTH-EAST ALASKA (_showing points in controversy_). (_By permission of Messrs. Houghton, Mifflin & Co., publishers of the "Atlantic Monthly."_)] The American purchase of Alaska from Russia in 1867 included a strip of the coast (_lisière de côté_) extending from north latitude 54° 40' to the region of Mt. St. Elias. It was generally understood that this strip was separated from the British possessions by a mountain range (then believed to exist) parallel to the coast, as in event of this range being too remote, by a line parallel to the windings (sinuosities) of the coast, nowhere greater than ten marine leagues from the same. There is nothing to lead one to suppose that the strip of coast was designed to be continuous from the parallel of 54° 40' north latitude. The recent great development of the North-West has shown the singular value of this strip, which the American authorities, ignoring the exact possessions of the Anglo-Russian treaty of 1825, has assumed to be their territory. Recent American writers have been quick to perceive the weakness of their case, and one of these, writing in the _Atlantic Monthly_, uses this language: "Arbitration is compromise.... Once before a board of arbitration, the English Government has only to set up and vigorously urge all its claims, and more that can easily be invented, and _it is all but absolutely certain_ that although _by tradition and equity_ we should decline _to yield a foot of what we purchased_ in good faith from Russia, and which has become doubly valuable to us by settlement and exploration, our lisière will be promptly broken into fragments, and with much show of impartiality divided between the two contracting parties." The italics are mine. Tradition and (the American idea of) equity are hardly equal to the language of a treaty negotiated so recently as 1825.[130] CONVENTION WITH RUSSIA. His Majesty the King of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland, and his Majesty the Emperor of all the Russias, being desirous of drawing still closer the ties of good understanding and friendship which unite them, by means of an agreement which may settle, upon the basis of reciprocal convenience, different points connected with the commerce, navigation, and fisheries of their subjects on the Pacific Ocean, as well as the limits of their respective possessions on the north-west coast of America, have named plenipotentiaries to conclude a convention for this purpose, that is to say--His Majesty the King of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland, the Right Hon. Stratford Canning, a member of his said Majesty's Most Hon. Privy Council, etc.; and his Majesty the Emperor of all the Russias, the Sieur Charles Robert Count de Nesselrode, his Imperial Majesty's Privy Councillor, a member of the Council of the Empire, Secretary of State for the Department of Foreign Affairs, etc., and the Sieur Pierre de Poletica, his Imperial Majesty's Councillor of State, etc.; who, after having communicated to each other their respective full powers, found in good and due form, have agreed upon and signed the following articles:-- Art. I.--It is agreed that the respective subjects of the high contracting parties shall not be troubled or molested, in any part of the ocean commonly called the Pacific Ocean, either in navigating the same, in fishing therein, or in landing at such parts of the coast as shall not have been already occupied, in order to trade with the natives, under the restrictions and conditions specified in the following articles. II.--In order to prevent the right of navigating and fishing, exercised upon the ocean by the subjects of the high contracting parties, from becoming the pretext for an illicit commerce, it is agreed that the subjects of his Britannic Majesty shall not land at any place where there may be a Russian establishment, without the permission of the governor or commandant; and, on the other hand, that Russian subjects shall not land, without permission, at any British establishment on the north-west coast. III.--The line of demarcation between the possessions of the high contracting parties, upon the coast of the continent, and the islands of America to the north-west, shall be drawn in the manner following:--Commencing from the southernmost point of the island called Prince of Wales's Island, which point lies in the parallel of 54 degrees, 40 minutes, north latitude, and between the 131st and 133rd degree of west longitude (meridian of Greenwich), the said line shall ascend to the north along the channel called Portland Channel, as far as the point of the continent where it strikes the 56th degree of north latitude; from this last-mentioned point the line of demarcation shall follow the summits of the mountains situated parallel to the coast, as far as the point of intersection of the 141st degree of west longitude (of the same meridian); and, finally, from the said point of intersection, the said meridian line of the 141st degree in its prolongation as far as the Frozen Ocean, shall form the limit between the Russian and British possessions on the Continent of America to the north-west. IV.--With reference to the line of demarcation laid down in the preceding article, it is understood:-- 1st: That the island called Prince of Wales's Island shall belong wholly to Russia. 2nd: That wherever the summit of the mountains which extend in a direction parallel to the coast, from the 56th degree of north latitude to the point of intersection of the 141st degree of west longitude, shall prove to be at the distance of more than ten marine leagues from the ocean, the limit between the British possessions and the line of coast which is to belong to Russia, as above-mentioned, shall be formed by a line parallel to the windings of the coast, and which shall never exceed the distance of ten marine leagues therefrom. V.--It is moreover agreed, that no establishment shall be formed by either of the two parties within the limits assigned by the two preceding articles to the possessions of the other; consequently, British subjects shall not form any establishment either upon the coast, or upon the border of the continent comprised within the limits of the Russian possessions as designated in the two preceding articles; and, in like manner, no establishment shall be formed by Russian subjects beyond the said limits. VI.--It is understood that the subjects of his Britannic Majesty, from whatever quarter they may arrive, whether from the ocean or from the interior of the continent, shall forever enjoy the right of navigating freely, and without any hindrance whatever, all the rivers and streams which in their course towards the Pacific Ocean may cross the line of demarcation upon the line of coast described in Article III of the present convention. VII.--It is also understood, that for the space of ten years from the signature of the present convention, the vessels of the two powers, or those belonging to their respective subjects, shall mutually be at liberty to frequent without any hindrance whatever, all the inland seas, the gulfs, havens, and creeks on the coast mentioned in Article III for the purpose of fishing and of trading with the natives. VIII.--The Port of Sitka, or Novo Archangelsk, shall be open to the commerce and vessels of British subjects for the space of ten years from the date of the exchange of the ratification of the present convention. In the event of an extension of this term of ten years being granted to any other power, the like extension shall be granted also to Great Britain. IX.--The above-mentioned liberty of commerce shall not apply to the trade of spirituous liquors, in fire-arms or other arms, gunpowder or other warlike stores; the high contracting parties reciprocally engaging not to permit the above-mentioned articles to be sold or delivered in any manner whatever, to the natives of the country. X.--Every British or Russian vessel navigating the Pacific Ocean, which may be compelled by storms or by accident to take shelter in the ports of the respective parties, shall be at liberty to refit therein, to provide itself with all necessary stores, and to put to sea again, without paying any other than port and lighthouse dues, which shall be the same as those paid by national vessels. In case, however, the master of such vessel should be under the necessity of disposing of a part of his merchandise in order to defray his expenses, he shall conform himself to the regulations and tariffs of the place where he may have landed. XI.--In every case of complaint on account of an infraction of the articles of the present convention, the civil and military authorities of the high contracting parties, without previously acting or taking any forcible measure, shall make an exact and circumstantial report of the matter to their respective courts, who engage to settle the same in a friendly manner, and according to the principles of justice. XII.--The present convention shall be ratified, and the ratifications shall be exchanged at London, within the space of six weeks, or sooner if possible. In witness whereof the respective plenipotentiaries have signed the same and have affixed thereto the seals of their arms. Done at St. Petersburg, the 16th (28th) day of February, in the year of our Lord, 1825. Stratford Canning. The Count de Nesselrode. Pierre de Poletica. FOOTNOTE: [130] T. C. Mendenhall, in _Atlantic Monthly_ for April, 1896. GOVERNORS OF THE HUDSON'S BAY COMPANY. His Highness Prince Rupert 1670-1683 H.R.H. James, Duke of York (afterwards King James II.) 1683-1685 John, Lord Churchill (afterwards Duke of Marlborough) 1685-1691 Sir Stephen Evance, Kt. 1691-1696 The Rt. Hon. Sir William Trumbull 1696-1700 Sir Stephen Evance, Kt. 1700-1712 Sir Bibye Lake, Bart. 1712-1743 Benjamin Pitt 1743-1746 Thomas Knapp 1746-1750 Sir Atwell Lake, Bart. 1750-1760 Sir William Baker, Kt. 1760-1770 Bibye Lake 1770-1782 Samuel Wegg 1782-1799 Sir James Winter Lake, Bart. 1799-1807 William Mainwaring 1807-1812 Joseph Berens, Junior 1812-1822 Sir John Henry Pelly, Bart. 1822-1852 Andrew Colville 1852-1856 John Shepherd 1856-1858 Henry Hulse Berens 1858-1863 Rt. Hon. Sir Edmund Walker Head, Bart., K.C.B. 1863-1868 Rt. Hon. The Earl of Kimberley 1868-1869 Rt. Hon. Sir Stafford H. Northcote, Bart., M.P. (Earl of Iddesleigh) 1869-1874 Rt. Hon. George Joachim Goschen, M.P. 1874-1880 Eden Colville 1880-1889 Lord Strathcona and Mount Royal, G.C.M.G. 1889- DEPUTY-GOVERNORS OF THE HUDSON'S BAY COMPANY. Sir John Robinson, Kt. 1670-1675 Sir James Hayes, Kt. 1675-1685 The Hon. Sir Edward Dering, Kt. 1685-1691 Samuel Clarke 1691-1701 John Nicholson 1701-1710 Thomas Lake 1710-1711 Sir Bibye Lake, Bart. 1711-1712 Captain John Merry 1712-1729 Samuel Jones 1729-1735 Benjamin Pitt 1735-1743 Thomas Knapp 1743-1746 Sir Atwell Lake, Bart. 1746-1750 Sir William Baker, Kt. 1750-1760 Captain John Merry 1760-1765 Bibye Lake 1765-1770 Robert Merry 1770-1774 Samuel Wegg 1774-1782 Sir James Winter Lake, Bart. 1782-1799 Richard Hulse 1799-1805 Nicholas Caesar Corsellis 1805-1806 Wm. Mainwaring 1806-1807 Joseph Berens, Junior 1807-1812 John Henry Pelly 1812-1822 Nicholas Garry 1822-1835 Benjamin Harrison 1835-1839 Andrew Colville 1839-1852 John Shepherd 1852-1856 Henry Hulse Berens 1856-1858 Edward Ellice, M.P. 1858-1863 Sir Curtis Miranda Lampson, Bart. 1863-1871 Eden Colville 1871-1880 Sir John Rose, Bart., G.C.M.G. 1880-1888 Sir Donald A. Smith, G.C.M.G. 1888-1889 The Earl of Lichfield 1889-1898 INDEX. Agricultural and mercantile enterprise, 457 Alaska Boundary Line, 527 Albanel, Father, journeys to the north, 69 Albany, Fort, 149 " " Attack on, 135 " " Capitulation of, 137 " " renamed St. Anne, 142 " " The English regain, 153 " " Attacked by the French, 193 _Albany_, 212 " Fate of the, 292 Albemarle, Duke of, 42 Allemand, Pierre, 98 America purchases Alaska, 488 Anglo-Russian Treaty of 1825, 448 Argenson, D', 58 Arlington, Lord, letter to, 34 Ashburton, Lord, 456 Assiniboines, The, 222 " Radisson and Groseilliers first meet the, 26 _Astarte_, 321 Astor, John Jacob, 386 Astoria--Fort George, 387, 445 Astronomers at Hudson's Bay, 294 Athabaska, Fort, 426 Avagour, Governor M. d', 28 Back, Captain, 451 Bad Lake, The robbery at, 359 Baffin, expedition of, 47 Bailey, Charles, Governor of Rupert's Land, 70, 178 Balmerino, Lovat, and Kilmarnock, Lords, 260 Barillon, Sieur, 141 Barlow, Capt. George, commanding the _Albany_, 212 " Governor of Albany Fort, 193 Barre, M. de la, 110 " " receives letter from Lewis, 125 " " recalled, 129 Barrow, Sir John, 284 Beaver, Varieties of, 238 Beechy, Captain, 451 Bellicose instructions from the Company, 258 Berens, Thomas, 296 Bering, Capt. Vitus, commanding Russian expedition, 246 Bering's discoveries, 247 Bladen, Martin, 203 Bladen's description of the Commission, 205 Bois-Brulés, The, 383 Bolingbroke's letter, 203 Bonrepas, Sieur, 141 Boundaries between French and English territory, 216 Bourbon, Fort, 96 Bourdon, Jean, 55 Boyle, Robert, letter to, 43 _Brazen_, 392 Bridgar, Arrival of, 92 " John, Governor of the new settlement at Port Nelson, 89 " taken prisoner by the French, 134 Bristol, defence of, 37 Brown, Honorable George, 487 Browne, Sir Richard, 39 Butterfield's, Mrs. Mary, letter, 209 Button, Sir Thomas, pursues Hudson's discoveries, 46 Button's Bay, 47 _California_, 264 Callieres, M. de, memoir, 57 Canada, Conquest of, 279 " exerts pressure on the Company, 490 " Jurisdiction Act, 368 Canada's debt to the Company, 497 Cardwell, Mr., Colonial Secretary, 487 Carr, Robert, 33 Cartwright, George, 33 Catherine of Braganza, 63 Cession to Canadian Government, 493 Charles, Fort, 70 " Fort, Jesuit priest at, 77 " the First, 36 " the Second, 17 " the Second, death of, 129 Charlie's, Prince, stock confiscated, 261 Charlevoix, quotation from, 55 Charlton Island, winters at, 47 Charter, The Royal, 515 Chechouan River, discovers the, 76 Chesnaye, M. de la, 84 Chouart surrenders to Radisson, 120 _Churchill_, 248 " caught in the ice, 138 " captured by the French, 139 Churchill, Lord, succeeds King James as Governor of the Company, 139 Clandestine trade, 283, 297 Coats, Captain, 283 " " Death by his own hand of, 284 _Colbore_, 447 Cole, Captain, 72 Colbert, M., 52, 228 Colonial neutrality, Negotiations for, 140 Coltman, Colonel, 423 Company's losses by French, 146 Comportier, Gauthier de, 128 Convention with Russia, 528 Cook, Captain, 340 Corrigal Case, The famous, 369 Council of Trade, 173 Couture, M., 28 Craven, Lord, 43 Crees, The, 220 Croix, Sieur de la, 125 Cumberland House built, 314 Dablon, Father, 56 Dallas, A. E., succeeds Simpson as Governor, 473 " Governor, issues a circular, 483 Davis, Captain John, 45 Duluth's letter to M. de la Barre, 125 Denonville's letter to Seignely, 149 Denonville, Marquis de, succeeds M. de la Barre as Governor, 129 " plans the capture of Fort Nelson, 150 Deputation goes to England, 489 _Dering_, 159 Diggs, Sir Dudley, 46 _Discovery_, 212 Dobbs, Arthur, 248 " and the North-West Passage, 263 " petition rejected by Parliament, 268 Dobbs' _Galley_, 264 Douglas, Fort, attacked, 399 " Thomas, Earl of Selkirk, 399 " T. M., Governor of Vancouver Island, 465 Drummond, Sir Gordon, Governor of Canada, 406 _Dryad_, 448 Duchesneau, Intendant, 86 " protests against English encroachment, 86 Duffell, 177 Duluth in the West, 125 " builds a fort on Lake Nepigon, 127 Duqué, commander of _Profound_, 159 Duquet, Sieur, King's attorney for Quebec, 58 East India Company, 18 " " transfer of Province of Bombay, 63 _Eddystone_, 392 Elgin, Lord, Governor-General of Canada, 462 Ellice, Edward, 432, 479 _Engageante_, 321 England at war with France, 361 English, departure of, 110 _Erebus_, 466 Esquimaux, first sight of the, 45 " The, 223 Expedition to explore the North-West Passage, 212 Fishery and Fur Company, The, 352 Fitzgerald, James, 296 Fletcher, Major, 423 Fort, construction of the first, 47 Forts, Building of stone, 280 Fox, Captain Luke, 47 France, Joseph la, 239 " War with, 257 Franklin, Expedition of, 449 " " Fate of the, 466 " Lieutenant, 427 French activity, 52 " fur trade, 21 " and English ships, meeting of, 159 French attack Fort Prince of Wales--1782, 320 " attack York Factory, 324 " declare war against England, 191 " encroachment on trade, 275 " prisoners taken by the _Churchill_, 138 " repulsed at Albany Fort, 193 " send fourteen ships, 150 " Surrender of the Company's ships to the, 143 " The, at Michilimackinac, 182 " The, capture a Company's ship, 130 Frobisher, Sir Martin, 45 " intercepts Company's Indians, 316 " escapes from York Factory, 428 _Furnace_, 249 Fur trade, 20 Furs, first sale of, 61 General Court held, 62 George the Fourth, 437 Ghent, Treaty of, 445 Gibraltar, Fort, captured, 408 Gillam, Zachary (Capt. of _Nonsuch_), 33, 43 " Benjamin, 98 " " meets his father, 99 Gladstone, Opposition of Mr., 463 Godey, Captain, attaché to Lord Preston, 112 Gorst, Thomas, secretary to Governor Bailey, 72 Government assistance, 366 Grant, Cuthbert, 385 Granville, Lord, 490 Green, Henry, 46 Grey, Earl, Letter to, 461 Grimington, Captain, 153 Groseilliers (Medard Chouart), 23 " Death of first wife, 24 " first marriage, 23 " first time in English capital, 34 " in Boston, 30 " second marriage, 24 _Hampshire_, 159 " goes down with nearly all on board, 161 _Happy Return_ sails for Hudson's Bay, 117 _Hardi_ goes to the bottom with all on board, 156 Hawke, Sir Edward, 296 Hays' Island fort, 104 " " " burned, 108 Head, Sir Edmund, 485 Hearne returns to England, 307 " blamed for surrendering, 323 Hearne's expedition of discovery, 300 " second expedition, 302 " third expedition, 305 Henry's expedition, 290 Henry, Prince, 46 Herault, Mlle. Elizabeth, 24 Herbert, Sir Edward, Lord-keeper, 39 Hobart, Lord, 368 Holder, John, 40 Holmes, Captain, 41 Horner, Captain John, discharged, 297 Horth's, John, meetings at, 62, 80 _Hudson's Bay_, 159 " " surrendered to the French, 161 Hudson's Bay Company apply for Vancouver Island, 464 Hudson's Bay Company, arms of the, 67 Hudson's Bay Company, List of nations visiting, 81 Hudson's Bay Company in difficulties, 361 Hudson's Bay Company obtains a new license, 438 Hudson's Bay Company, Plan to re-organize, 210 Hudson's Bay Company seek Act of Parliament to confirm charter conferred by Charles II., 147 Hudson's Bay Company's claims, 196 Hudson's Bay Company's claims after Treaty of Ryswick, 189 Hudson's Bay Posts, The, 509, 510, 511, 512. Hudson's Bay, The, Governor and Company of Merchants-Adventurers charter from the King, 22, 51, 60 Hudson, Captain Henry, 46 " " " fate of, 46 Humes, Edward, captain of the _Merchant of Perpetuana_, 130 Hyde, Edward, afterwards Lord Chancellor Clarendon, 39 Iberville, captures two Company's ships, 143 " demands surrender of the fort, 164 " given the rank of lieutenant in the French Royal Navy, 150 " goes to France, 152 " sails for home in the _Envieux_, 152 " sails for Quebec in the _Hampshire_, 140 " Sieur d', accompanies de Troyes on his expedition, 131 " takes Fort Nelson, 156 " treacherous plan, 144 _Imploy_ to sail in the spring, 65 Iroquois--English allies, 29 Ivett, Robert, 46 Imperial Parliament appoints Select Committee, 469 Indian treachery, 185 " country, 218 Indians as hunters, 230 " Effect of intoxication on the, 229 " Intelligence of the, 225 " liking for liquor, 228 " Superstition of the, 226 International Financial Association, 478 Isbister, A. K., 461 " Joseph, 258 Isle a la Crosse, Lake of, 317 James, Captain, 47 " King, applied to for protection, 139 Jesuits, Relations des, 21, 69 Joliet, Louis, 53 Jonquiere, Fort, 244 Jenyn's, Soame, letter to Pitt, 279 Ka-chou-touay, 121 Kamloops, Legend of, 503 Kas-Kidi-dah, chief of the Nodwayes, 72 Kilistineaux, makes treaty with the, 48 Kirke, Sir John, 25 Kelsey, Henry, recommended for bravery, receives sum of forty pounds, 156, 179 " voyage, 179 Knight, Governor, 191 " Death of, 293 " Letter from the Company to, 212 L'Anglois, Jean, 58 Labau, Murder of, 355 Lack of military system Company's weakness, 491 Lacombe, Father, 504 La Couture, Sieur, 56 " " mythical voyage, 57 Lampson, Mr., 483 Law, John, 206, 208 Letters of marque to the Company's ships, 259 Lewis unwilling to oppose the English, 128 " proposes boundaries, 190 Lincoln, Earl of, 463 Louisburg, Fall of, 260 Lyddal, William, to supersede Bailey as Governor, 78 Mackenzie, Alexander, 329 " reaches the Arctic, 336 " sets out for the Pacific, 338 " Sir Alexander & Co., 349 Mackenzie's expedition to the Arctic, 333 " Sir Alexander, letter, 366 Maissoneuve (voyage from Rochelle), 23 Matonabee, 304 Maverick, Samuel, 33 Ménard, Réné, 27 Meuron, Colonel De, 407 " De, Regiment of, 407 Mezy is recalled, 52 Middleton, Captain Christopher, 248, 264 " explores for a north-west passage, 251 " has trouble with his men, 252 " Lord, 141 " returns without discovering the Passage, 253 Middleton's report, 220 Migichihilinons, 220 Milnes, Sir Robert, 368 _Merchant of Perpetuana_ captured by the French, 130 Monk, Lord, Governor-General of Canada, 486 Montreal merchants combine, 328 Moon, Captain, 142 Moor, Captain William, 264 Moose Factory, Capture of, 133 Moose River fort erected by the French, 73 " " first visit to, 75 " " Bailey at, 76 Mounslow, Captain, 192 Mountain House, 504 Mowat, Trial of, 371 _Musquash_, 248. McClintock, Captain, 466 McDonnell, Miles, first Governor of the new colony, 379 " surrenders, 399 McDonnell's proclamation, 395 McDougall, Honorable William, Minister of Crown Lands, 486 McTavish, Simon, 249 " " Death of, 352 McTavish, Governor, resigns, 485 Nadouichiouecs, Wintered with the, 26 Nekauba, Dablon reaches, 58 Nelson, Fort, Burning of, 151 " " Erection of, 93, 194 " " evacuated by the French, 202 " " surrendered to the French, 154 " " surrendered to the English, 157 " " surrendered to the French, 166 Nelson, Port, Fox landed at, 47 Nepisingues, 219 Nichols, Richard, 33 Nodwayes, 47, 71, 219 _Nonsuch_ anchors in Hudson's Bay, 45 " Set sail in the, 34 _Nonsuch_ weighs anchor, 44 " sails with cargo, 48 Norton, Governor, 250, 265 " Death of Governor, 312 New Amsterdam, into English hands, 20 New North-West Company, 349 New Severn Fort captured by the French, 143 North-West Association formed, 264 North-West Association, Expedition of the, 264 North-West Company, 328-330 North-West Company oppose Selkirk's scheme, 377 North-West Company partners arrested, 420, 427 North-West passage discovered, 468 North-Westers demand evacuation of Fort Douglas, 415 Oldenburgh, Letter written by, the secretary of the Royal Society, 43 Ontario Boundary Commission, 59 Oregon question, The, 445 Ottawas, Make treaty with the, 48 " treaty, 459 _Owner's Love_, 159 Pacific Scheme, 477 _Palmier_, 158 Parliament and the North-West Passage, 263 Parliamentary enquiry, 269 _Pelican_, 158 Pelly, Sir J. H., 461 Pérouse, Admiral, 321 " La, in the Pacific, 344 Peter the Great, 244 " " " Death of, 245 Petition to the Lords of Treasury, 361 Phipps' letter to the Company, 123 Phipps, William, new Governor, 118 Pishapocanoes, 75 _Poli_, 156 Policy, The Great Company's, 506 Pond, Peter, 317 Pontiac at Detroit, 288 Pontchartrain, 152 " letter to the Marquis de Vaudreuil, 201 Portman, John, 43, 60 Preston's, Lord, letter to Rupert, 42 Preston, Lord, informed of the return of Radisson and Groseilliers, 112 Preston, Lord, induces Radisson to join the English, 116 Prickett, Habbakuk, 46 Prettyman, William, 60 _Profound_, 159 Pulteney, Daniel, 203 Radisson and Groseilliers leave Quebec, 111 " arrives in London, 122 " arrives in Quebec, 85 " assisted by the Jesuits, 85 " captures Hays' Island fort, 104 " captures the _Susan_, 104 " " Fort Nelson, 105 " departs for Hudson's Bay, 117 " discovers young Gillam, 90 " first marriage of, 24 " in France, 83 " offers his services to the French Navy, 82 " overawes the Indians, 109 " Pierre, 23, 24, 65 " receives pension from the Company, 124 " sails from Hudson's Bay, 122 " takes John Bridgar, Governor of Fort Nelson, prisoner, 106 Rae, Dr., Expedition of, 466 Red River claimed by United States, 440 Red River Settlement threatened Deadlock, 485 _Reformation_, 38 " loss of the, 39 Remin, Daniel de, Seigneur de Courcelles, 52 Resolution Isle sighted, 44 Reward offered for Radisson's capture, 123 Richmond, Duke of, Governor of Canada, 429 Riel, Louis, 494 Robertson, Colin, 386 " Governor, taken prisoner, 426 Robinson, John, Lord Bishop of London, 195 " Sir John, 43 Ross, Captain, 451 Rupert created Earl of Holdernesse and Duke of Cumberland, 37 " Fort, captured by the French, 134 " illness of, 43 " is sworn a member of the Privy Council, also the Tangier Commission; is elected a Fellow of the Royal Society; is appointed member of the Council of Trade; and also is a member of the Royal African Company, 41 " second marriage of, 25 " sends for Groseilliers, 43 " sent to command the Guinny fleet, 41 " Prince, 20, 35 " Prince, granted charter by King, 50 " Prince, is paid a lump sum, 64 Rupert, Prince, death of, First Governor of Hudson's Bay Company, 94 _Rupert, The Prince_, arrival of, 78 " " " sails from Gravesend, 51 " " " to sail in the spring, 64 " " " stuck in the ice, 96 " " " wreck of, 102 Rupert's River, 47 Russia looks toward the New World, 244 Russians on the west coast, 347 Russian-American Fur Company, 348 Russian claims, 445 Ryswick, Treaty of, 148, 168, 187 _Salamandre_, 156 Sanford, Robert, 175 Sargeant, Governor, 95, 135, 137 Saxon, Sir Charles, 429 _Sceptre_, 321 Scroggs, John, Captain of the _Whalebone_, 213 _Shark_, 264 _Seahorse_ captured by the press-gang, 268 Seignely, Marquis de, 84 Selkirk arrives at Fort William, 419 " captures " 421 " winters at " 422 " Death of, 432 " Lord, arrives in Canada, 406 " The Earl of, 371 Selkirk's immigrants arrive, 380 " project, 375 " proposal accepted, 378 Semple, Death of, 413 " Robert, 404 Semple's murderers, Trial of, 431 _Shaftesbury_, arrival of the, 78 Sharpe, Mr., Company's solicitor, 269 Shepherd, Captain, of the _Shaftesbury_, 78 Ships besieged by peddlers, 65 Shrewsbury, Duke of, 201 " Death of Thomas, 455 " " Sir George, 473 " expedition to the northern coast, 453 " Thomas, 453 " George, Governor-in-Chief of the amalgamated Companies, 437, 447 Smallpox epidemic, 319 Smith, Cape, 47 " Smith, Francis, 264 " Donald Alexander, Governor, 496 South Sea Company, 208, 209, 211 Spanish claims, 346 " Main, The, 38 Spence, Governor, 267 Stanion, John, 261 Stanton, Governor, at Moose Factory, 177 Stickeen River, 448 Strange, Lord, 271 Strathcona, Lord, 496 Strike of the Company's men, 296 Strong, William, engaged as secretary to Rupert, 40 _St. Anne_, 87 " destruction of the, 106 St. Peter, Fort, 241 St. Simon, Sieur de, 69 _St. Pierre_, 87 " arrives at mouth of St. Lawrence, 110 " destruction of the, 106 " re-built, 107 Superior, Lake, 23, 219 " " reaches shore of, 26 _Susan_ returned to the New England Merchants, 111 Sutherland, Lord, 141 Tabiti Indians encountered, 75 Tadoussac, 86 Talon, Jean, Intendant, 22, 52, 69 " returns to France, 52 " writes Colbert, 53 Tast, Admiral, arrival of, 150 Thompson, David, 342 Three Rivers, 24 Territorial Rights, The surrender of, 487 _Terror_, 466 Tionnontates, or the Tobacco Nation, 26 Toronto merchants petition Legislative Council, 471 Treaty between Russia and Great Britain, 445 " of 1783, 442 " of neutrality, 140 " with Red River Indians, 425 Troyes, Chevalier de, 131 " Chevalier de, receives commission to drive the English from Northern Bay, 131 " de, Expedition of, 132 Turbulent meetings at Hudson's Bay House, 496 Turner's exploration, 341 Union of the two Companies, 433 Upland Indians, 65 Utrecht, Treaty of, 199 Valiere, Sieur de, 56 Vancouver, Fort, 500 Vancouver Island granted to the Company, 464 Varennes, Death of, 243 " Peter Gauthier de, 150, 240, 241 " Sieur de, marries, 241 " sets out to explore the West, 241 " son reaches the Rockies, 243 Vaughan, Captain David, commanding the _Discovery_, 212 Vermilion, Fort, Attack on, 426 _Violent_, 158 _Wales, Prince of_, 392 " Prince of, 61 " Prince of, Fort, built of stone, 281 " Prince of, Fort, surrenders to the French, 321 Walker, Jeremiah, 66 William, King, declares war against France, 146 " Fort, 389, 418 " Fort, restored to the North-Westers, 424 " of Orange landed at Plymouth, 145 " the Third's accession to the throne, 146 _William and Ann_ wrecked, 447 Winnipeg, Lake, Meeting at, 232 _Weesph_, 158 _Welcome_, 249 Western Company, The, 183 West, Rev. Mr., principal chaplain, 437 Weymouth, Viscount, 296 _Whalebone_, 213 Wolseley, Lord, Expedition of, 495 York, Duke of, 20, 61 " " to succeed Rupert as Governor, 94 " " ascends the throne, 129 " Fort, Desperate condition of the French at, 194 " Factory, 232 " " surrenders to the French, 324 Yukon, Fort, 502 * * * * * Transcriber's note: Inconsistent hyphenation and spelling in the original document have been preserved. Obvious typographical errors have been corrected. On page 55, arrét perhaps should be arrêt. On page 103, Englishmen perhaps should be Englishman. On page 166, Fort Anne perhaps should be Fort St. Anne. On page 222, Matonabbee perhaps should be Matonabee. On page 242, peace--leaving should perhaps be peace-loving. On page 279, Secretary Pitts should perhaps be Secretary Pitt. On page 321, and in the Index, Admiral Pérouse should perhaps be La Pérouse. On page 411, Anglaise perhaps should be Anglais. On page 474, unrenumerative should perhaps be unremunerative. The book uses both Medard and Médard. The book uses both Serigny and Sérigny. 
44312	----	[Illustration: PRINCE RUPERT, _First Governor_. JAMES, DUKE OF YORK, _Second Governor_. LORD CHURCHILL, _afterwards_ DUKE OF MARLBOROUGH, _Third Governor_. LORD STRATHCONA AND MOUNT ROYAL, _Present Governor_. FOUR GREAT GOVERNORS OF THE HUDSON'S BAY COMPANY.] [_Frontispiece._] THE REMARKABLE HISTORY OF THE HUDSON'S BAY COMPANY INCLUDING THAT OF _The French Traders of North-Western Canada and of the North-West, X Y, and Astor Fur Companies_ BY GEORGE BRYCE, M.A., LL.D. PROFESSOR IN MANITOBA COLLEGE, WINNIPEG; DÉLÉGUÉ RÉGIONAL DE L'ALLIANCE SCIENTIFIQUE DE PARIS; MEMBER OF GENERAL COMMITTEE OF BRITISH ASSOCIATION; FELLOW OF AMERICAN ASSOCIATION FOR ADVANCEMENT OF SCIENCE; PRESIDENT ROYAL SOCIETY OF CANADA (1909); MEMBER OF THE COMMISSION ON CANADIAN RESOURCES (1909); MEMBER OF THE ROYAL COMMISSION ON TECHNICAL EDUCATION (1910); AUTHOR OF "MANITOBA" (1882); "SHORT HISTORY OF CANADIAN PEOPLE" (1887), MAKERS OF CANADA SERIES (MACKENZIE, SELKIRK AND SIMPSON); "ROMANTIC SETTLEMENT OF LORD SELKIRK'S COLONISTS" (1909); "CANADA" IN WINSOR'S NAR. AND CRIT. HIST. OF AMERICA, ETC., ETC. _THIRD EDITION_ WITH NUMEROUS FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS AND MAPS LONDON SAMPSON LOW, MARSTON & CO., LTD. PREFACE The Hudson's Bay Company! What a record this name represents of British pluck and daring, of patient industry and hardy endurance, of wild adventure among savage Indian tribes, and of exposure to danger by mountain, precipice, and seething torrent and wintry plain! In two full centuries the Hudson's Bay Company, under its original Charter, undertook financial enterprises of the greatest magnitude, promoted exploration and discovery, governed a vast domain in the northern part of the American Continent, and preserved to the British Empire the wide territory handed over to Canada in 1870. For nearly a generation since that time the veteran Company has carried on successful trade in competition with many rivals, and has shown the vigour of youth. The present History includes not only the record of the remarkable exploits of this well-known Company, but also the accounts of the daring French soldiers and explorers who disputed the claim of the Company in the seventeenth century, and in the eighteenth century actually surpassed the English adventurers in penetrating the vast interior of Rupert's Land. Special attention is given in this work to the picturesque history of what was the greatest rival of the Hudson's Bay Company, viz. the North-West Fur Company of Montreal, as well as to the extraordinary spirit of the X Y Company and the Astor Fur Company of New York. A leading feature of this book is the adequate treatment for the first time of the history of the well-nigh eighty years just closing, from the union of all the fur traders of British North America under the name of the Hudson's Bay Company. This period, beginning with the career of the Emperor-Governor. Sir George Simpson (1821), and covering the life, adventure, conflicts, trade, and development of the vast region stretching from Labrador to Vancouver Island, and north to the Mackenzie River and the Yukon, down to the present year, is the most important part of the Company's history. For the task thus undertaken the author is well fitted. He has had special opportunities for becoming acquainted with the history, position, and inner life of the Hudson's Bay Company. He has lived for nearly thirty years in Winnipeg, for the whole of that time in sight of Fort Garry, the fur traders' capital, or what remains of it; he has visited many of the Hudson's Bay Company's posts from Fort William to Victoria, in the Lake Superior and the Lake of the Woods region, in Manitoba, Assiniboia, Alberta, and British Columbia; in those districts he has run the rapids, crossed the portages, surveyed the ruins of old forts, and fixed the localities of long-forgotten posts; he is acquainted with a large number of the officers of the Company, has enjoyed their hospitality, read their journals, and listened with interest to their tales of adventure in many out-of-the-way posts; he is a lover of the romance, and story, and tradition of the fur traders' past. The writer has had full means of examining documents, letters, journals, business records, heirlooms, and archives of the fur traders both in Great Britain and Canada. He returns thanks to the custodians of many valuable originals, which he has used, to the Governor of the Hudson's Bay Company in 1881, Right Hon. G. J. Goschen, who granted him the privilege of consulting all Hudson's Bay Company records up to the date of 1821, and he desires to still more warmly acknowledge the permission given him by the distinguished patron of literature and education, the present Governor of the Hudson's Bay Company, Lord Strathcona and Mount Royal, to read any documents of public importance in the Hudson's Bay House in London. This unusual opportunity granted the author was largely used by him in 1896 and again in 1899. Taking the advice of his publishers, the author, instead of publishing several volumes of annals of the Company, has condensed the important features of the history into one fair-sized volume, but has given in an Appendix references and authorities which may afford the reader, who desires more detailed information on special periods, the sources of knowledge for fuller research. PREFACE TO THE THIRD EDITION The favor which has been shown to the "Remarkable History of the Hudson's Bay Company" has resulted in a large measure from its being written by a native-born Canadian, who is familiar with much of the ground over which the Company for two hundred years held sway. A number of corrections have been made and the book has been brought up to date for this Edition. It has been a pleasure to the Author, who has expressed himself without fear or favor regarding the Company men and their opponents, that he has received from the greater number of his readers commendations for his fairness and insight into the affairs of the Company and its wonderful history. GEORGE BRYCE. KILMADOCK, WINNIPEG, _August 19, 1910_. CONTENTS CHAPTER I THE FIRST VOYAGE FOR TRADE. PAGE Famous Companies--"The old lady of Fenchurch Street"--The first voyage--Radisson and Groseilliers--Spurious claim of the French of having reached the Bay--"Journal published by Prince Society"--The claim invalid--Early voyages of Radisson--The Frenchmen go to Boston--Cross over to England--Help from Royalty--Fiery Rupert--The King a stockholder--Many hitherto unpublished facts--Capt. Zachariah Gillam--Charles Fort built on Rupert River--The founder's fame 1 CHAPTER II. HUDSON'S BAY COMPANY FOUNDED. Royal charters--Good Queen Bess--"So miserable a wilderness"--Courtly stockholders--Correct spelling--"The nonsense of the Charters"--Mighty rivers--Lords of the territory--To execute justice--War on infidels--Power to seize--"Skin for skin"--Friends of the Red man 12 CHAPTER III. METHODS OF TRADE. Rich Mr. Portman--Good ship _Prince Rupert_--The early adventurers--"Book of Common Prayer"--Five forts--Voting a funeral--Worth of a beaver--To Hudson Bay and back--Selling the pelts--Bottles of sack--Fat dividends--"Victorious as Cæsar"--"Golden Fruit" 20 CHAPTER IV. THREE GREAT GOVERNORS. Men of high station--Prince Rupert primus--Prince James, "nemine contradicente"--The hero of the hour--Churchill River named--Plate of solid gold--Off to the tower 27 CHAPTER V. TWO ADROIT ADVENTURERS. Peter Radisson and "Mr. Gooseberry" again--Radisson _v._ Gillam--Back to France--A wife's influence--Paltry vessels--Radisson's diplomacy--Deserts to England--Shameful duplicity--"A hogshead of claret"--Adventurers appreciative--Twenty-five years of Radisson's life hitherto unknown--"In a low and mean condition"--The Company in Chancery--Lucky Radisson--A Company pensioner 33 CHAPTER VI. FRENCH RIVALRY. The golden lilies in danger--"To arrest Radisson"--The land called "Unknown"--A chain of claim--Imaginary pretensions--Chevalier de Troyes--The brave Lemoynes--Hudson Bay forts captured--A litigious governor--Laugh at treaties--The glory of France--Enormous claims--Consequential damages 47 CHAPTER VII. RYSWICK AND UTRECHT. The "Grand Monarque" humbled--Caught napping--The Company in peril--Glorious Utrecht--Forts restored--Damages to be considered--Commission useless 56 CHAPTER VIII. DREAMS OF A NORTH-WEST PASSAGE. Stock rises--Jealousy aroused--Arthur Dobbs, Esq.--An ingenious attack--Appeal to the "Old Worthies"--Captain Christopher Middleton--Was the Company in earnest? The sloop _Furnace_--Dobbs' fierce attack--The great subscription--Independent expedition--"Henry Ellis, gentleman"--"Without success"--Dobbs' real purpose 61 CHAPTER IX. THE INTERESTING BLUE-BOOK OF 1749. "Le roi est mort"--Royalty unfavourable--Earl of Halifax--"Company asleep"--Petition to Parliament--Neglected discovery--Timidity or caution--Strong "Prince of Wales"--Increase of stock--A timid witness--Claims of discovery--To make Indians Christians--Charge of disloyalty--New Company promises largely--Result nil 70 CHAPTER X. FRENCH CANADIANS EXPLORE THE INTERIOR. The "Western Sea"--Ardent Duluth--"Kaministiquia"--Indian boasting--Père Charlevoix--Father Gonor--The man of the hour:--Verendrye--Indian map-maker--The North Shore--A line of forts--The Assiniboine country--A notable manuscript--A marvellous journey--Glory, but not wealth--Post of the Western Sea 78 CHAPTER XI. THE SCOTTISH MERCHANTS OF MONTREAL. Unyielding old Cadot--Competition--The enterprising Henry--Leads the way--Thomas Curry--The elder Finlay--Plundering Indians--Grand Portage--A famous mart--The plucky Frobishers--The Sleeping Giant aroused--Fort Cumberland--Churchill River--Indian rising--The deadly smallpox--The whites saved 92 CHAPTER XII. DISCOVERY OF THE COPPERMINE. Samuel Hearne--"The Mungo Park of Canada"--Perouse complains--The North-West Passage--Indian guides--Two failures--Third journey successful--Smokes the calumet--Discovers Arctic Ocean--Cruelty to the Eskimos--Error in latitude--Remarkable Indian woman--Capture of Prince of Wales Fort--Criticism by Umfreville 100 CHAPTER XIII. FORTS ON HUDSON BAY LEFT BEHIND. Andrew Graham's "Memo."--Prince of Wales Fort--The garrison--Trade--York Factory--Furs--Albany--Subordinate forts--Moose--Moses Norton--Cumberland House--Upper Assiniboine--Rainy Lake--Brandon House--Red River--Conflict of the Companies 109 CHAPTER XIV. THE NORTH-WEST COMPANY FORMED. Hudson's Bay Company aggressive--The great McTavish--The Frobishers--Pond and Pangman dissatisfied--Gregory and McLeod--Strength of the North-West Company--Vessels to be built--New route from Lake Superior sought--Good will at times--Bloody Pond--Wider union, 1787--Fort Alexandria--Mouth of the Souris--Enormous fur trade--Wealthy Nor'-Westers--"The Haunted House" 116 CHAPTER XV. VOYAGES OF SIR ALEXANDER MACKENZIE. A young Highlander--To rival Hearne--Fort Chipewyan built--French Canadian voyageurs--Trader Leroux--Perils of the route--Post erected on Arctic Coast--Return journey--Pond's miscalculations--Hudson Bay Turner--Roderick McKenzie's hospitality--Alexander Mackenzie--Astronomy and mathematics--Winters on Peace River--Terrific journey--The Pacific Slope--Dangerous Indians--Pacific Ocean, 1793--North-West Passage by land--Great achievement--A notable book 124 CHAPTER XVI. THE GREAT EXPLORATION. Grand Portage on American soil--Anxiety about the boundary--David Thompson, astronomer and surveyor--His instructions--By swift canoe--The land of beaver--A dash to the Mandans--Stone Indian House--Fixes the boundary at Pembina--Sources of the Mississippi--A marvellous explorer--Pacific Slope explored--Thompson down the Kootenay and Columbia--Fiery Simon Fraser in New Caledonia--Discovers Fraser River--Sturdy John Stuart--Thompson River--Bourgeois Quesnel--Transcontinental expeditions 133 CHAPTER XVII. THE X Y COMPANY. "Le Marquis" Simon McTavish unpopular--Alexander Mackenzie, his rival--Enormous activity of the "Potties"--Why called X Y--Five rival posts at Souris--Sir Alexander, the silent partner--Old Lion of Montreal roused--"Posts of the King"--Schooner sent to Hudson Bay--Nor'-Westers erect two posts on Hudson Bay--Supreme folly--Old and new Nor'-Westers unite--List of partners 148 CHAPTER XVIII. THE LORDS OF THE LAKES AND FORESTS.--I. New route to Kaministiquia--Vivid sketch of Fort William--"Cantine Salope"--Lively Christmas week--The feasting partners--Ex-Governor Masson's good work--Four great Mackenzies--A literary bourgeois--Three handsome demoiselles--"The man in the moon"--Story of "Bras Croche"--Around Cape Horn--Astoria taken over--A hot-headed trader--Sad case of "Little Labrie"--Punch on New Year's Day--The heart of a "vacher" 155 CHAPTER XIX. THE LORDS OF THE LAKES AND FORESTS.--II. Harmon and his book--An honest man--"Straight as an arrow"--New views--An uncouth giant--"Gaelic, English, French, and Indian oaths"--McDonnell, "Le Prêtre"--St. Andrew's Day--"Fathoms of tobacco"--Down the Assiniboine--An entertaining journal--A good editor--A too frank trader--"Gun fire ten yards away"--Herds of buffalo--Packs and pemmican--"The fourth Gospel"--Drowning of Henry--"The weather cleared up"--Lost for forty days--"Cheepe," the corpse--Larocque and the Mandans--McKenzie and his half-breed children 166 CHAPTER XX. THE LORDS OF THE LAKES AND FORESTS.--III. Dashing French trader--"The country of fashion"--An air of great superiority--The road is that of heaven--Enough to intimidate a Cæsar--"The Bear" and the "Little Branch"--Yet more rum--A great Irishman--"In the wigwam of Wabogish dwelt his beautiful daughter"--Wedge of gold--Johnston and Henry Schoolcraft--Duncan Cameron on Lake Superior--His views of trade--Peter Grant, the ready writer--Paddling the canoe--Indian folk-lore--Chippewa burials--Remarkable men and great financiers, marvellous explorers, facile traders 178 CHAPTER XXI. THE IMPULSE OF UNION. North-West and X Y Companies unite--Recalls the Homeric period--Feuds forgotten--Men perform prodigies--The new fort re-christened--Vessel from Michilimackinac--The old canal--Wills builds Fort Gibraltar--A lordly sway--The "Beaver Club"--Sumptuous table--Exclusive society--"Fortitude in Distress"--Political leaders in Lower Canada 189 CHAPTER XXII. THE ASTOR FUR COMPANY. Old John Jacob Astor--American Fur Company--The Missouri Company--A line of posts--Approaches the Russians--Negotiates with Nor'-Westers--Fails--Four North-West officials join Astor--Songs of the voyageurs--True Britishers--Voyage of the _Tonquin_--Rollicking Nor'-Westers in Sandwich Islands--Astoria built--David Thompson appears--Terrible end of the _Tonquin_--Astor's overland expedition--Washington Irving's "Astoria, a romance"--The _Beaver_ rounds the Cape--McDougall and his smallpox phial--The _Beaver_ sails for Canton 193 CHAPTER XXIII. LORD SELKIRK'S COLONY. Alexander Mackenzie's book--Lord Selkirk interested--Emigration a boon--Writes to Imperial Government--In 1802 looks to Lake Winnipeg--Benevolent project of trade--Compelled to choose Prince Edward Island--Opinion as to Hudson's Bay Company Charter--Nor'-Westers alarmed--Hudson's Bay Company's Stock--Purchases Assiniboia--Advertises the new colony--Religion no disqualification--Sends first colony--Troubles of the project--Arrive at York Factory--The winter--The mutiny--"Essence of Malt"--Journey inland--A second party--Third party under Archibald Macdonald--From Helmsdale--The number of colonists 200 CHAPTER XXIV. TROUBLE BETWEEN THE COMPANIES. Nor'-Westers oppose the colony--Reason why--A considerable literature--Contentions of both parties--Both in fault--Miles Macdonell's mistake--Nor'-Wester arrogance--Duncan Cameron's ingenious plan--Stirring up the Chippewas--Nor'-Westers warn colonists to depart--McLeod's hitherto unpublished narrative--Vivid account of a brave defence--Chain shot from the blacksmith's smithy--Fort Douglas begun--Settlers driven out--Governor Semple arrives--Cameron last Governor of Fort Gibraltar--Cameron sent to Britain as a prisoner--Fort Gibraltar captured--Fort Gibraltar decreases, Fort Douglas increases--Free traders take to the plains--Indians favour the colonists 215 CHAPTER XXV. THE SKIRMISH OF SEVEN OAKS. Leader of the Bois Brûlés--A candid letter--Account of a prisoner--"Yellow Head"--Speech to the Indians--The chief knows nothing--On fleet Indian ponies--An eye-witness in Fort Douglas--A rash Governor--The massacre--"For God's sake save my life"--The Governor and twenty others slain--Colonists driven out--Eastern levy meets the settlers--Effects seized--Wild revelry--Chanson of Pierre Falcon 229 CHAPTER XXVI. LORD SELKIRK TO THE RESCUE. The Earl in Montreal--Alarming news--Engages a body of Swiss--The De Meurons--Embark for the North-West--Kawtawabetay's story--Hears of Seven Oaks--Lake Superior--Lord Selkirk--A doughty Douglas--Seizes Fort William--Canoes upset and Nor'-Westers drowned--"A banditti"--The Earl's blunder--A winter march--Fort Douglas recaptured--His Lordship soothes the settlers--An Indian treaty--"The Silver Chief"--The Earl's note-book 238 CHAPTER XXVII. THE BLUE-BOOK OF 1819 AND THE NORTH-WEST TRIALS. British law disgraced--Governor Sherbrooke's distress--A commission decided on--Few unbiassed Canadians--Colonel Coltman chosen--Over ice and snow--Alarming rumours--The Prince Regent's orders--Coltman at Red River--The Earl submissive--The Commissioner's report admirable--The celebrated Reinhart case--Disturbing lawsuits--Justice perverted--A store-house of facts--Sympathy of Sir Walter Scott--Lord Selkirk's death--Tomb at Orthes, in France 252 CHAPTER XXVIII. MEN WHO PLAYED A PART. The crisis reached--Consequences of Seven Oaks--The noble Earl--His generous spirit--His mistakes--Determined courage--Deserves the laurel crown--The first Governor--Macdonell's difficulties--His unwise step--A captain in red--Cameron's adroitness--A wearisome imprisonment--Last governor of Fort Gibraltar--The Metis chief--Half-breed son of old Cuthbert--A daring hunter--Warden of the plains--Lord Selkirk's agent--A Red River patriarch--A faithful witness--The French bard--Western war songs--Pierriche Falcon 260 CHAPTER XXIX. GOVERNOR SIMPSON UNITES ALL INTERESTS. Both Companies in danger--Edward Ellice, a mediator--George Simpson, the man of destiny--Old feuds buried--Gatherings at Norway House--Governor Simpson's skill--His marvellous energy--Reform in trade--Morality low--A famous canoe voyage--Salutes fired--Pompous ceremony at Norway House--Strains of the bagpipe--Across the Rocky Mountains--Fort Vancouver visited--Great executive ability--The governor knighted--Sir George goes round the world--Troubles of a book--Meets the Russians--Estimate of Sir George 270 CHAPTER XXX. THE LIFE OF THE TRADERS. Lonely trading posts--Skilful letter writers--Queer old Peter Fidler--Famous library--A remarkable will--A stubborn Highlander--Life at Red River--Badly-treated Pangman--Founding trading houses--Beating up recruits--Priest Provencher--A fur-trading mimic--Life far north--"Ruled with a rod of iron"--Seeking a fur country--Life in the canoe--A trusted trader--Sheaves of letters--A find in Edinburgh--Faithful correspondents--The Bishop's cask of wine--Red River, a "land of Canaan"--Governor Simpson's letters--The gigantic Archdeacon writes--"MacArgrave's" promotion--Kindly Sieveright--Traders and their books 283 CHAPTER XXXI. THE VOYAGEURS FROM MONTREAL. Lachine, the fur traders' Mecca--The departure--The flowing bowl--The canoe brigade--The voyageurs' song--"En roulant ma boule"--Village of St. Anne's--Legend of the church--The sailors' guardian--Origin of "Canadian Boat Song"--A loud invocation--"A la Claire Fontaine"--"Sing, nightingale"--At the rapids--The ominous crosses--"Lament of Cadieux"--A lonely maiden sits--The Wendigo--Home of the Ermatingers--A very old canal--The rugged coast--Fort William reached--A famous gathering--The joyous return 304 CHAPTER XXXII. EXPLORERS IN THE FAR NORTH. The North-West Passage again--Lieutenant John Franklin's land expedition--Two lonely winters--Hearne's mistake corrected--Franklin's second journey--Arctic sea coast explored--Franklin knighted--Captain John Ross by sea--Discovers magnetic pole--Magnetic needle nearly perpendicular--Back seeks for Ross--Dease and Simpson sent by Hudson's Bay Company to explore--Sir John in _Erebus_ and _Terror_--The Paleocrystic Sea--Franklin never returns--Lady Franklin's devotion--The historic search--Dr. Rae secures relics--Captain McClintock finds the cairn and written record--Advantages of the search 315 CHAPTER XXXIII. EXPEDITIONS TO THE FRONTIER OF THE FUR COUNTRY. A disputed boundary--Sources of the Mississippi--The fur traders push southward--Expedition up the Missouri--Lewis and Clark meet Nor'-Westers--Claim of United States made--Sad death of Lewis--Lieutenant Pike's journey--Pike meets fur traders--Cautious Dakotas--Treaty with Chippewas--Violent death--Long and Keating fix 49 deg. N.--Visit Fort Garry--Follow old fur traders' route--An erratic Italian--Strange adventures--Almost finds source--Beltrami County--Cass and Schoolcraft fail--Schoolcraft afterwards succeeds--Lake Itasca--Curious origin of name--The source determined 326 CHAPTER XXXIV. FAMOUS JOURNEYS IN RUPERT'S LAND. Fascination of an unknown land--Adventure, science, or gain--Lieutenant Lefroy's magnetic survey--Hudson's Bay Company assists--Winters at Fort Chipewyan--First scientific visit to Peace River--Notes lost--Not "gratuitous canoe conveyance"--Captain Palliser and Lieutenant Hector--Journey through Rupert's Land--Rocky Mountain passes--On to the coast--A successful expedition--Hind and Dawson--To spy out the land for Canada--The fertile belt--Hind's description good--Milton and Cheadle--Winter on the Saskatchewan--Reach Pacific Ocean in a pitiable condition--Captain Butler--The horse Blackie and dog "Cerf Vola"--Fleming and Grant--"Ocean to ocean"--"Land fitted for a healthy and hardy race"--Waggon road and railway 337 CHAPTER XXXV. RED RIVER SETTLEMENT. 1817-1846. Chiefly Scottish and French settlers--Many hardships--Grasshoppers--Yellow Head--"Gouverneur Sauterelle"--Swiss settlers--Remarkable parchment--Captain Bulger, a military governor--Indian troubles--Donald McKenzie, a fur trader governor--Many projects fail--The flood--Plenty follows--Social condition--Lower Fort built--Upper Fort Garry--Council of Assiniboia--The settlement organized--Duncan Finlayson governor--English farmers--Governor Christie--Serious epidemic--A regiment of regulars--The unfortunate major--The people restless 348 CHAPTER XXXVI. THE PRAIRIES: SLEDGE, KEEL, WHEEL, CAYUSE, CHASE. A picturesque life--The prairie hunters and traders--Gaily-caparisoned dog trains--The great winter packets--Joy in the lonely forts--The summer trade--The York boat brigade--Expert voyageurs--The famous Red River cart--Shagganappe ponies--The screeching train--Tripping--The western cayuse--The great buffalo hunt--Warden of the plains--Pemmican and fat--The return in triumph 360 CHAPTER XXXVII. LIFE ON THE SHORES OF HUDSON BAY AND LABRADOR. The bleak shores unprogressive--Now as at the beginning--York Factory--Description of Ballantyne--The weather--Summer comes with a rush--Picking up subsistence--The Indian trade--Inhospitable Labrador--Establishment of Ungava Bay--McLean at Fort Chimo--Herds of cariboo--Eskimo rafts--"Shadowy Tartarus"--The king's domains--Mingan--Mackenzie--The gulf settlements--The Moravians--Their four missions--Rigolette, the chief trading post--A school for developing character--Chief Factor Donald A. Smith--Journeys along the coast--A barren shore 376 CHAPTER XXXVIII. ATHABASCA, MACKENZIE RIVER, AND THE YUKON. Peter Pond reaches Athabasca River--Fort Chipewyan established--Starting point of Alexander Mackenzie--The Athabasca Library--The Hudson's Bay Company roused--Conflict at Fort Wedderburn--Suffering--The dash up the Peace River--Fort Dunvegan--Northern extension--Fort Resolution--Fort Providence--The great river occupied--Loss of life--Fort Simpson, the centre--Fort Reliance--Herds of cariboo--Fort Norman built--Fort Good Hope--The Northern Rockies--The Yukon reached and occupied--The fierce Liard River--Fort Halkett in the Mountains--Robert Campbell comes to the Stikine--Discovers the Upper Yukon--His great fame--The districts--Steamers on the water stretches 386 CHAPTER XXXIX. ON THE PACIFIC SLOPE. Extension of trade in New Caledonia--The Western Department--Fort Vancouver built--Governor's residence and Bachelors' Hall--Fort Colville--James Douglas, a man of note--A dignified official--An Indian rising--A brave woman--The fertile Columbia Valley--Finlayson, a man of action--Russian fur traders--Treaty of Alaska--Lease of Alaska to the Hudson's Bay Company--Fort Langley--The great farm--Black at Kamloops--Fur trader _v._ botanist--"No soul above a beaver's skin"--A tragic death--Chief Nicola's eloquence--A murderer's fate 399 CHAPTER XL. FROM OREGON TO VANCOUVER ISLAND. Fort Vancouver on American soil--Chief Factor Douglas chooses a new site--Young McLoughlin killed--Liquor selling prohibited--Dealing with the Songhies--A Jesuit father--Fort Victoria--Finlayson's skill--Chinook jargon--The brothers Ermatinger--A fur-trading Junius--"Fifty-four, forty, or fight"--Oregon Treaty--Hudson's Bay Company indemnified--The waggon road--A colony established--First governor--Gold fever--British Columbia--Fort Simpson--Hudson's Bay Company in the interior--The forts--A group of worthies--Service to Britain--The coast becomes Canadian 408 CHAPTER XLI. PRO GLORIA DEI. A vast region--First spiritual adviser--A _locum tenens_--Two French Canadian priests--St. Boniface founded--Missionary zeal in Mackenzie River district--Red River parishes--The great Archbishop Taché--John West--Archdeacon Cochrane, the founder--John McCallum--Bishop Anderson--English Missionary Societies--Archbishop Machray--Indian Missions--John Black, the Presbyterian apostle--Methodist Missions on Lake Winnipeg--The Cree syllabic--Chaplain Staines--Bishop Bridge--Missionary Duncan--Metlakahtla--Roman Catholic coast missions--Church of England bishop--Diocese of New Westminster--Dr. Evans--Robert Jamieson--Education 420 CHAPTER XLII. THE HUDSON'S BAY COMPANY AND THE INDIANS. Company's Indian policy--Character of officers--A race of hunters--Plan of advances--Charges against the Company--Liquor restriction--Capital punishment--Starving Indians--Diseased and helpless--Education and religion--The age of missions--Sturdy Saulteaux--The Muskegons--Wood Crees--Wandering Plain Crees--The Chipewyans--Wild Assiniboines--Blackfoot Indians--Polyglot coast tribes--Eskimos--No Indian war--No police--Pliable and docile--Success of the Company 431 CHAPTER XLIII. UNREST IN RUPERT'S LAND. 1844-1869. Discontent on Red River--Queries to the Governor--A courageous Recorder--Free Trade in furs held illegal--Imprisonment--New land deed--Enormous freights--Petty revenge--Turbulent pensioners--Heart burnings--Heroic Isbister--Half-breed memorial--Mr. Beaver's letter--Hudson's Bay Company notified--Lord Elgin's reply--Voluminous correspondence--Company's full answer--Colonel Crofton's statement--Major Caldwell, a partisan--French petition--Nearly a thousand signatures--Love, a factor--The elder Riel--A court scene--Violence--"Vive la liberté!"--The Recorder checked--A new judge--Unruly Corbett--The prison broken--Another rescue--A valiant doctor--A Red River Nestor 438 CHAPTER XLIV. CANADA COVETS THE HUDSON'S BAY TERRITORY. Renewal of licence--Labouchere's letter--Canada claims to Pacific Ocean--Commissioner Chief-Justice Draper--Rests on Quebec Act, 1774--Quebec overlaps Indian territories--Company loses Vancouver Island--Cauchon's memorandum--Committee of 1857--Company on trial--A brilliant committee--Four hundred folios of evidence--To transfer Red River and Saskatchewan--Death of Sir George--Governor Dallas--A cunning scheme--Secret negotiations--The Watkin Company floated--Angry winterers--Dallas's soothing circular--The old order still--Ermatinger's letters--McDougall's resolutions--Cartier and McDougall as delegates--Company accepts the terms 448 CHAPTER XLV. TROUBLES OF THE TRANSFER OF RUPERT'S LAND. Transfer Act passed--A moribund Government--The Canadian surveying party--Causes of the rebellion--Turbulent Metis--American interference--Disloyal ecclesiastics--"Governor" McDougall--Riel and his rebel band--A blameworthy governor--The "blawsted fence"--Seizure of Fort Garry--Riel's ambitions--Loyal rising--Three wise men from the East--_The New Nation_--A winter meeting--Bill of Rights--A Canadian shot--The Wolseley expedition--Three renegades slink away--The end of Company rule--The new Province of Manitoba 459 CHAPTER XLVI. PRESENT STATUS OF THE COMPANY. A great land company--Fort Garry dismantled--The new buildings--New _v._ old--New life in the Company--Palmy days are recalled--Governors of ability--The present distinguished Governor--Vaster operations--Its eye not dimmed 472 CHAPTER XLVII. THE FUTURE OF THE CANADIAN WEST. The Greater Canada--Wide wheat fields--Vast pasture lands--Huronian mines--The Kootenay riches--Yukon nuggets--Forests--Iron and coal--Fisheries--Two great cities--Towns and villages--Anglo-Saxon institutions--The great outlook 477 APPENDIX. A.--AUTHORITIES AND REFERENCES 483 B.--SUMMARY OF LIFE OF PIERRE ESPRIT RADISSON 489 C.--COMPANY POSTS IN 1856, WITH INDIANS 491 D.--CHIEF FACTORS (1821-1896) 493 E.--RUSSIAN AMERICA (ALASKA) 495 F.--THE CREE SYLLABIC CHARACTER 497 G.--NAMES OF H. B. CO. OFFICERS IN PLATE OPPOSITE PAGE 442 498 INDEX 499 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS PAGE Four great Governors of the Hudson's Bay Company _Frontispiece_ Map of Hudson Bay and Straits 6 Arms of the Hudson's Bay Company 18 Le Moyne D'Iberville 52 Comedey de Maisonneuve 82 Junction of the Ottawa and St. Lawrence 94 Map of Route of Scottish Merchants up the Ottawa to Lake Athabasca 96 Prince of Wales Fort 108 The Lac des Allumettes 116 Sir Alexander Mackenzie 130 Daniel William Harmon, Esq. 130 Johann Jacob Astor 194 Casanov, Trader and Chief 194 Fort Douglas 226 Seven Oaks Monument 232 Lord Selkirk 260 Sir George Simpson 260 Fort William, Lake Superior 272 Red River Note 284 I.--Portage 304 II.--Décharge 304 Block House of old H.B. Company Post 310 Map of the Far North 314 Searchers in the North 320 Fort Edmonton, on the North Saskatchewan 336 Jasper House, Rocky Mountains 336 Map of Labrador, and the King's Domains 378 Map of Mackenzie River and the Yukon 388 Sir James Douglas 398 Fort Victoria, B.C. 406 Indians of the Plains 432 Council of Hudson's Bay Company Commissioned Officers held in Winnipeg, 1887 442 Fort Garry--Winter Scenes 460 Commissioner Chipman (Winnipeg) 470 Hudson's Bay Company's Stores and General Offices, Winnipeg 472 Parliament Buildings, Victoria, B.C. 478 THE HUDSON'S BAY COMPANY CHAPTER I. THE FIRST VOYAGE FOR TRADE. Famous Companies--"The old lady of Fenchurch Street"--The first voyage--Radisson and Groseilliers--Spurious claim of the French of having reached the Bay--"Journal published by Prince Society"--The claim invalid--Early voyages of Radisson--The Frenchmen go to Boston--Cross over to England--Help from Royalty--Fiery Rupert--The King a stockholder--Many hitherto unpublished facts--Capt. Zachariah Gillam--Charles Fort built on Rupert River--The founder's fame. Charles Lamb--"delightful author"--opens his unique "Essays of Elia" with a picturesque description of the quaint "South Sea House." Threadneedle Street becomes a magnetic name as we wander along it toward Bishopsgate Street "from the Bank, thinking of the old house with the oaken wainscots hung with pictures of deceased governors and sub-governors of Queen Anne, and the first monarchs of the Brunswick dynasty--huge charts which subsequent discoveries have made antiquated--dusty maps, dim as dreams, and soundings of the Bay of Panama." But Lamb, after all, was only a short time in the South Sea House, while for more than thirty years he was a clerk in the India House, partaking of the genius of the place. The India House was the abode of a Company far more famous than the South Sea Company, dating back more than a century before the "Bubble" Company, having been brought into existence on the last day of the sixteenth century by good Queen Bess herself. To a visitor, strolling down Leadenhall Street, it recalls the spirit of Lamb to turn into East India Avenue, and the mind wanders back to Clive and Burke of Macaulay's brilliant essay, in which he impales, with balanced phrase and perfect impartiality, Philip Francis and Warren Hastings alike. The London merchants were mighty men, men who could select their agents, and send their ships, and risk their money on every sea and on every shore. Nor was this only for gain, but for philanthropy as well. Across yonder is the abode of the New England Company, founded in 1649, and re-established by Charles II. in 1661--begun and still existing with its fixed income "for the propagation of the Gospel in New England and the adjoining parts of America," having had as its first president the Hon. Robert Boyle; and hard by are the offices of the Canada Company, now reaching its three-quarters of a century. Not always, however, as Macaulay points out, did the trading Companies remember that the pressure on their agents abroad for increased returns meant the temptation to take doubtful or illicit methods to gain their ends. They would have recoiled from the charge of Lady Macbeth,-- "Wouldst not play false, And yet wouldst wrongly win." Yet on the whole the Merchant Companies of London bear an honourable record, and have had a large share in laying the foundations of England's commercial greatness. Wandering but a step further past East India Avenue, at the corner of Lime and Leadenhall Streets, we come to-day upon another building sitting somewhat sedately in the very heart of stirring and living commerce. This is the Hudson's Bay House, the successor of the old house on Fenchurch Street, the abode of another Company, whose history goes back for more than two centuries and a quarter, and which is to-day the most vigorous and vivacious of all the sisterhood of companies we have enumerated. While begun as a purely trading Company, it has shown in its remarkable history not only the shrewdness and business skill of the race, called by Napoleon a "nation of shopkeepers," but it has been the governing power over an empire compassing nearly one half of North America, it has been the patron of science and exploration, the defender of the British flag and name, and the fosterer, to a certain extent, of education and religion. Not only on the shores of Hudson Bay, but on the Pacific coast, in the prairies of Red River, and among the snows of the Arctic slope, on the rocky shores of Labrador and in the mountain fastnesses of the Yukon, in the posts of Fort William and Nepigon, on Lake Superior, and in far distant Athabasca, among the wild Crees, or greasy Eskimos, or treacherous Chinooks, it has floated the red cross standard, with the well-known letters H. B. C.--an "open sesame" to the resources of a wide extent of territory. The founding of the Company has features of romance. These may well be detailed, and to do so leads us back several years before the incorporation of the Company by Charles II. in 1670. The story of the first voyage and how it came about is full of interest. Two French Protestant adventurers--Medard Chouart and Pierre Esprit Radisson--the former born near Meaux, in France, and the other a resident of St. Malo, in Brittany--had gone to Canada about the middle of the seventeenth century. Full of energy and daring, they, some years afterwards, embarked in the fur trade, and had many adventures. Radisson was first captured by the Iroquois, and adopted into one of their tribes. After two years he escaped, and having been taken to Europe, returned to Montreal. Shortly afterwards he took part in the wars between the Hurons and Iroquois. Chouart was for a time assistant in a Jesuit mission, but, like most young men of the time, yielded to the attractions of the fur trade. He had married first the daughter of Abraham Martin, the French settler, after whom the plains of Abraham at Quebec are named. On her death Chouart married the widowed sister of Radisson, and henceforth the fortunes of the two adventurers were closely bound up together. The marriage of Chouart brought him a certain amount of property, he purchased land out of the proceeds of his ventures, and assumed the title of Seignior, being known as "Sieur des Groseilliers." In the year 1658 Groseilliers and Radisson went on the third expedition to the west, and returned after an absence of two years, having wintered at Lake Nepigon, which they called "Assiniboines." It is worthy of note that Radisson frankly states in the account of his third voyage that they had not been in the Bay of the North (Hudson Bay). The fourth voyage of the two partners in 1661 was one of an eventful kind, and led to very important results. They had applied to the Governor for permission to trade in the interior, but this was refused, except on very severe conditions. Having had great success on their previous voyage, and with the spirit of adventure inflamed within them, the partners determined to throw off all authority, and at midnight departed without the Governor's leave, for the far west. During an absence of two years the adventurers turned their canoes northward, and explored the north shore of Lake Superior. It is in connection with this fourth voyage (1661) that the question has been raised as to whether Radisson and his brother-in-law Groseilliers visited Hudson Bay by land. The conflicting claim to the territory about Hudson Bay by France and England gives interest to this question. Two French writers assert that the two explorers had visited Hudson Bay by land. These are, the one, M. Bacqueville de la Potherie, Paris; and the other, M. Jeremie, Governor of the French ports in Hudson Bay. Though both maintain that Hudson Bay was visited by the two Frenchmen, Radisson and Groseilliers, yet they differ entirely in details, Jeremie stating that they captured some Englishmen there, a plain impossibility. Oldmixon, an English writer, in 1708, makes the following statement:--"Monsieur Radisson and Monsieur Gooselier, meeting with some savages in the Lake of the Assinipouals, in Canada, they learnt of them that they might go by land to the bottom of the bay, where the English had not yet been. Upon which they desired them to conduct them thither, and the savages accordingly did it." Oldmixon is, however, inaccurate in some other particulars, and probably had little authority for this statement. THE CRITICAL PASSAGE. The question arises in Radisson's Journals, which are published in the volume of the Prince Society. For so great a discovery the passage strikes us as being very short and inadequate, and no other reference of the kind is made in the voyages. It is as follows, being taken from the fourth voyage, page 224:-- "We went away with all hast possible to arrive the sooner at ye great river. We came to the seaside, where we finde an old house all demolished and battered with boullets. We weare told yt those that came there were of two nations, one of the wolf, and the other of the long-horned beast. All those nations are distinguished by the representation of the beasts and animals. They tell us particularities of the Europians. We know ourselves, and what Europ is like, therefore in vaine they tell us as for that. We went from isle to isle all that summer. We pluckt abundance of ducks, as of other sort of fowles; we wanted not fish, nor fresh meat. We weare well beloved, and weare overjoyed that we promised them to come with such shipps as we invented. This place has a great store of cows. The wild men kill not except for necessary use. We went further in the bay to see the place that they weare to pass that summer. That river comes from the lake, and empties itself in ye river of Sagnes (Saguenay) called Tadousac, wch is a hundred leagues in the great river of Canada, as where we are in ye Bay of ye North. We left in this place our marks and rendezvous. The wild men yt brought us defended us above all things, if we would come quietly to them, that we should by no means land, & so goe to the river to the other side, that is to the North, towards the sea, telling us that those people weare very treacherous." THE CLAIM INVALID. We would remark as follows:-- 1. The fourth voyage may be traced as a journey through Lake Superior, past the pictured rocks on its south side, beyond the copper deposits, westward to where there are prairie meadows, where the Indians grow Indian corn, and where elk and buffalo are found, in fact in the region toward the Mississippi River. 2. The country was toward that of the Nadoneseronons, i.e. the Nadouessi or Sioux; north-east of them were the Christinos or Crees; so that the region must have been what we know at present as Northern Minnesota. They visited the country of the Sioux, the present States of Dakota, and promised to visit the Christinos on their side of the upper lake, evidently Lake of the Woods or Winnipeg. 3. In the passage before us they were fulfilling their promise. They came to the "seaside." This has given colour to the idea that Hudson Bay is meant. An examination of Radisson's writing shows us, however, that he uses the terms lake and sea interchangeably. For example, in page 155, he speaks of the "Christinos from the bay of the North Sea," which could only refer to the Lake of the Woods or Lake Winnipeg. Again, on page 134, Radisson speaks of the "Lake of the Hurrons which was upon the border of the sea," evidently meaning Lake Superior. On the same page, in the heading of the third voyage, he speaks of the "filthy Lake of the Hurrons, Upper Sea of the East, and Bay of the north," and yet no one has claimed that in this voyage he visited Hudson Bay. Again, elsewhere, Radisson uses the expression, "salted lake" for the Atlantic, which must be crossed to reach France. 4. Thus in the passage "the ruined house on the seaside" would seem to have been one of the lakes mentioned. The Christinos tell them of Europeans, whom they have met a few years before, perhaps an earlier French party on Lake Superior or at the Sault. The lake or sea abounded in islands. This would agree with the Lake of the Woods, where the Christinos lived, and not Hudson Bay. Whatever place it was it had a great store of cows or buffalo. Lake of the Woods is the eastern limit of the buffalo. They are not found on the shores of Hudson Bay. 5. It will be noticed also that he speaks of a river flowing from the lake, when he had gone further in the bay, evidently the extension of the lake, and this river empties itself into the Saguenay. This is plainly pure nonsense. It would be equally nonsensical to speak of it in connection with the Hudson Bay, as no river empties from it into the Saguenay. Probably looking at the great River Winnipeg as it flows from Lake of the Woods, or Bay of Islands as it was early called, he sees it flowing north-easterly, and with the mistaken views so common among early voyageurs, conjectures it to run toward the great Saguenay and to empty into it, thence into the St. Lawrence. 6. This passage shows the point reached, which some interpret as Hudson Bay or James Bay, could not have been so, for it speaks of a further point toward the north, toward the sea. 7. Closely interpreted, it is plain that Radisson[1] had not only not visited Hudson or James Bay, but that he had a wrong conception of it altogether. He is simply giving a vague story of the Christinos.[2] [Illustration: MAP OF HUDSON BAY AND STRAITS As known six years before the first Hudson's Bay Company Expedition sailed for Hudson Bay. (_Taken from Drage's "Account of a Voyage."_)] On the return of Groseilliers and Radisson to Quebec, the former was made a prisoner by order of the Governor for illicit trading. The two partners were fined 4000_l._ for the purpose of erecting a fort at Three Rivers, and 6000_l._ to go to the general funds of New France. A GREAT ENTERPRISE. Filled with a sense of injustice at the amount of the fine placed upon them, the unfortunate traders crossed over to France and sought restitution. It was during their heroic efforts to secure a remission of the fine that the two partners urged the importance, both in Quebec and Paris, of an expedition being sent out to explore Hudson Bay, of which they had heard from the Indians. Their efforts in Paris were fruitless, and they came back to Quebec, burning for revenge upon the rapacious Governor. Driven to desperation by what they considered a persecution, and no doubt influenced by their being Protestant in faith, the adventurers now turned their faces toward the English. In 1664 they went to Port Royal, in Acadia, and thence to New England. Boston was then the centre of English enterprise in America, and the French explorers brought their case before the merchants of that town. They asserted that having been on Lake Assiniboine, north of Lake Superior, they had there been assured by the Indians that Hudson Bay could be reached. After much effort they succeeded in engaging a New England ship, which went as far as Lat. 61, to the entrance of Hudson Straits, but on account of the timidity of the master of the ship, the voyage was given up and the expedition was fruitless. The two enterprising men were then promised by the ship-owners the use of two vessels to go on their search in 1665, but they were again discouraged by one of the vessels being sent on a trip to Sable Isle and the other to the fisheries in the Gulf of St. Lawrence. Groseilliers and Radisson, bitterly disappointed, sought to maintain their rights against the ship-owners in the Courts, and actually won their case, but they were still unable to organize an expedition. At this juncture the almost discouraged Frenchmen met the two Royal Commissioners who were in America in behalf of Charles II. to settle a number of disputed questions in New England and New York. By one of these, Sir George Carteret, they were induced to visit England. Sir George was no other than the Vice-Chamberlain to the King and Treasurer of the Navy. He and our adventurers sailed for Europe, were captured by a Dutch ship, and after being landed on the coast of Spain, reached England. Through the influence of Carteret they obtained an audience with King Charles on October 25th, 1666, and he promised that a ship should be supplied to them as soon as possible with which to proceed on their long-planned journey. Even at this stage another influence came into view in the attempt of De Witt, the Dutch Ambassador, to induce the Frenchmen to desert England and go out under the auspices of Holland. Fortunately they refused these offers. The war with the Dutch delayed the expedition for one year, and in the second year their vessel received orders too late to be fitted up for the voyage. The assistance of the English ambassador to France, Mr. Montague, was then invoked by Groseilliers and Radisson, now backed up by a number of merchant friends to prepare for the voyage. Through this influence, an audience was obtained from Prince Rupert, the King's cousin, and his interest was awakened in the enterprise. It was a remarkable thing that at this time the Royal House of England showed great interest in trade. A writer of a century ago has said, "Charles II., though addicted to pleasure, was capable of useful exertions, and he loved commerce. His brother, the Duke of York, though possessed of less ability, was endowed with greater perseverance, and by a peculiar felicity placed his chief amusement in commercial schemes whilst he possessed the whole influence of the State." "The Duke of York spent half his time in the business of commerce in the city, presiding frequently at meetings of courts of directors." It will be seen that the circumstances were very favourable for the French enthusiasts who were to lead the way to Hudson Bay, and the royal personages who were anxious to engage in new and profitable schemes. The first Stock Book (1667) is still in existence in the Hudson's Bay House, in London, and gives an account of the stock taken in the enterprise even before the Company was organized by charter. First on the list is the name of His Royal Highness the Duke of York, and, on the credit side of the account, "By a share presented to him in the stock and adventure by the Governor and Company, 300_l._" The second stockholder on the list is the notable Prince Rupert, who took 300_l._ stock, and paid it up in the next two years, with the exception of 100_l._ which he transferred to Sir George Carteret, who evidently was the guiding mind in the beginning of the enterprise. Christopher, Duke of Albemarle--the son of the great General Monk, who had been so influential in the restoration of Charles II. to the throne of England, was a stockholder for 500_l._ Then came as stockholders, and this before the Company had been formally organized, William, Earl of Craven, well known as a personal friend of Prince Rupert; Henry, Earl of Arlington, a member of the ruling cabal; while Anthony, Earl of Shaftesbury, the versatile minister of Charles, is down for 700_l._ Sir George Carteret is charged with between six and seven hundred pounds' worth of stock; Sir John Robinson, Sir Robert Vyner, Sir Peter Colleton and others with large sums. As we have seen, in the year 1667 the project took shape, a number of those mentioned being responsible for the ship, its cargo, and the expenses of the voyage. Among those who seem to have been most ready with their money were the Duke of Albemarle, Earl of Craven, Sir George Carteret, Sir John Robinson, and Sir Peter Colleton. An entry of great interest is made in connection with the last-named knight. He is credited with 96_l._ cash paid to the French explorers, who were the originators of the enterprise. It is amusing, however, to see Groseilliers spoken of as "Mr. Gooseberry"--a somewhat inaccurate translation of his name. Two ships were secured by the merchant adventurers, the _Eaglet_, Captain Stannard, and the _Nonsuch Ketch_, Captain Zachariah Gillam. The former vessel has almost been forgotten, because after venturing on the journey, passing the Orkneys, crossing the Atlantic, and approaching Hudson Straits, the master thought the enterprise an impossible one, and returned to London. Special interest attaches to the _Nonsuch Ketch_. It was the successful vessel, but another notable thing connected with it was that its New England captain, Zachariah Gillam, had led the expedition of 1664, though now the vessel under his command was one of the King's ships.[3] It was in June, 1668, that the vessels sailed from Gravesend, on the Thames, and proceeded on their journey, Groseilliers being aboard the _Nonsuch_, and Radisson in the _Eaglet_. The _Nonsuch_ found the Bay, discovered little more than half a century before by Hudson, and explored by Button, Fox, and James, the last-named less than forty years before. Captain Gillam is said to have sailed as far north as 75° N. in Baffin Bay, though this is disputed, and then to have returned into Hudson Bay, where, turning southward, he reached the bottom of the Bay on September 29th. Entering a stream, the Nemisco, on the south-east corner of the Bay--a point probably not less than 150 miles from the nearest French possessions in Canada--the party took possession of it, calling it, after the name of their distinguished patron, Prince Rupert's River. Here, at their camping-place, they met the natives of the district, probably a branch of the Swampy Crees. With the Indians they held a parley, and came to an agreement by which they were allowed to occupy a certain portion of territory. With busy hands they went to work and built a stone fort, in Lat. 51° 20' N., Long. 78° W., which, in honour of their gracious sovereign, they called "Charles Fort." Not far away from their fort lay Charlton Island, with its shores of white sand, and covered over with a growth of juniper and spruce. To this they crossed on the ice upon the freezing of the river on December 9th. Having made due preparations for the winter, they passed the long and dreary time, finding the cold excessive. As they looked out they saw "Nature looking like a carcase frozen to death." In April, 1669, however, the cold was almost over, and they were surprised to see the bursting forth of the spring. Satisfied with their journey, they left the Bay in this year and sailed southward to Boston, from which port they crossed the ocean to London, and gave an account of their successful voyage. The fame of the pioneer explorer is ever an enviable one. There can be but one Columbus, and so for all time this voyage of Zachariah Gillam, because it was the expedition which resulted in the founding of the first fort, and in the beginning of the great movement which has lasted for more than two centuries, will be memorable. It was not an event which made much stir in London at the time, but it was none the less the first of a long series of most important and far-reaching activities. FOOTNOTES: [1] See map opposite. [2] Mr. Miller Christie, of London, and others are of opinion that Radisson visited Hudson Bay on this fourth voyage. [3] A copy of the instructions given the captains may be found in State Papers, London, Charles II., 251, No. 180. CHAPTER II. HUDSON'S BAY COMPANY FOUNDED. Royal charters--Good Queen Bess--"So miserable a wilderness"--Courtly stockholders--Correct spelling--"The nonsense of the Charters"--Mighty rivers--Lords of the territory--To execute justice--War on infidels--Power to seize--"Skin for skin"--Friends of the red man. The success of the first voyage made by the London merchants to Hudson Bay was so marked that the way was open for establishing the Company and carrying on a promising trade. The merchants who had given their names or credit for Gillam's expedition lost no time in applying, with their patron, Prince Rupert, at their head, to King Charles II. for a Charter to enable them more safely to carry out their plans. Their application was, after some delay, granted on May 2nd, 1670. The modern method of obtaining privileges such as they sought would have been by an application to Parliament; but the seventeenth century was the era of Royal Charters. Much was said in England eighty years after the giving of this Charter, and again in Canada forty years ago, against the illegality and unwisdom of such Royal Charters as the one granted to the Hudson's Bay Company. These criticisms, while perhaps just, scarcely cover the ground in question. As to the abstract point of the granting of Royal Charters, there would probably be no two opinions to-day, but it was conceded to be a royal prerogative two centuries ago, although the famous scene cannot be forgotten where Queen Elizabeth, in allowing many monopolies which she had granted to be repealed, said in answer to the Address from the House of Commons: "Never since I was a queen did I put my pen to any grant but upon pretext and semblance made to me that it was both good and beneficial to the subject in general, though private profit to some of my ancient servants who had deserved well.... Never thought was cherished in my heart that tended not to my people's good." The words, however, of the Imperial Attorney-General and Solicitor-General, Messrs. Bethel and Keating, of Lincoln's Inn, when appealed to by the British Parliament, are very wise: "The questions of the validity and construction of the Hudson's Bay Company Charter cannot be considered apart from the enjoyment that has been had under it during nearly two centuries, and the recognition made of the rights of the Company in various acts, both of the Government and Legislature." The bestowal of such great privileges as those given to the Hudson's Bay Company are easily accounted for in the prevailing idea as to the royal prerogative, the strong influence at Court in favour of the applicants for the Charter, and, it may be said, in such opinions as that expressed forty years after by Oldmixon: "There being no towns or plantations in this country (Rupert's Land), but two or three forts to defend the factories, we thought we were at liberty to place it in our book where we pleased, and were loth to let our history open with the description of so wretched a Colony. For as rich as the trade to those parts has been or may be, the way of living is such that we cannot reckon any man happy whose lot is cast upon this Bay." The Charter certainly opens with a breath of unrestrained heartiness on the part of the good-natured King Charles. First on the list of recipients is "our dear entirely beloved Prince Rupert, Count Palatine of the Rhine, Duke of Bavaria and Cumberland, etc," who seems to have taken the King captive, as if by one of his old charges when he gained the name of the fiery Rupert of Edgehill. Though the stock book of the Company has the entry made in favour of Christopher, Duke of Albemarle, yet the Charter contains that of the famous General Monk, who, as "Old George," stood his ground in London during the year of the plague and kept order in the terror-stricken city. The explanation of the occurrence of the two names is found in the fact that the father died in the year of the granting of the Charter. The reason for the appearance of the name of Sir Philip Carteret in the Charter is not so evident, for not only was Sir George Carteret one of the promoters of the Company, but his name occurs as one of the Court of Adventurers in the year after the granting of the Charter. John Portman, citizen and goldsmith of London, is the only member named who is neither nobleman, knight, nor esquire, but he would seem to have been very useful to the Company as a man of means. The Charter states that the eighteen incorporators named deserve the privileges granted because they "have at their own great cost and charges undertaken an expedition for Hudson Bay, in the north-west parts of America, for a discovery of a new passage into the South Sea, and for the finding of some trade for furs, minerals, and other considerable commodities, and by such their undertakings, have already made such discoveries as to encourage them to proceed farther in pursuance of their said design, by means whereof there may probably arise great advantage to Us and our kingdoms." The full name of the Company given in the Charter is, "The Governor and Company of Adventurers of England, trading into Hudson Bay." They have usually been called "The Hudson's Bay Company," the form of the possessive case being kept in the name, though it is usual to speak of the bay itself as Hudson Bay. The adventurers are given the powers of possession, succession, and the legal rights and responsibilities usually bestowed in incorporation, with the power of adopting a seal or changing the same at their "will and pleasure"; and this is granted in the elaborate phraseology found in documents of that period. Full provision is made in the Charter for the election of Governor, Deputy-Governor, and the Managing Committee of seven. It is interesting to notice during the long career of the Company how the simple machinery thus provided was adapted, without amendment, in carrying out the immense projects of the Company during the two and a quarter centuries of its existence. The grant was certainly sufficiently comprehensive. The opponents of the Company in later days mentioned that King Charles gave away in his sweeping phrase a vast territory of which he had no conception, and that it was impossible to transfer property which could not be described. In the case of the English Colonies along the Atlantic coast it was held by the holders of the charters that the frontage of the seaboard carried with it the strip of land all the way across the continent. It will be remembered how, in the settlement with the Commissioners after the American Revolution, Lord Shelburne spoke of this theory as the "nonsense of the charters." The Hudson's Bay Company was always very successful in the maintenance of its claim to the full privileges of the Charter, and until the time of the surrender of its territory to Canada kept firm possession of the country from the shore of Hudson Bay even to the Rocky Mountains. The generous monarch gave the Company "the whole trade of all those seas, streights, and bays, rivers, lakes, creeks, and sounds, in whatsoever latitude they shall be, that lie within the entrance of the streights commonly called Hudson's Streights, together with all the lands, countries, and territories upon the coasts and confines of the seas, streights, bays, lakes, rivers, creeks, and sounds aforesaid, which are not now actually possessed by any of our subjects, or by the subjects of any other Christian prince or State." The wonderful water system by which this great claim was extended over so vast a portion of the American continent has been often described. The streams running from near the shore of Lake Superior find their way by Rainy Lake, Lake of the Woods, and Lake Winnipeg, then by the River Nelson, to Hudson Bay. Into Lake Winnipeg, which acts as a collecting basin for the interior, also run the Red River and mighty Saskatchewan, the latter in some ways rivalling the Mississippi, and springing from the very heart of the Rocky Mountains. The territory thus drained was all legitimately covered by the language of the Charter. The tenacious hold of its vast domain enabled the Company to secure in later years leases of territory lying beyond it on the Arctic and Pacific slopes. In the grant thus given perhaps the most troublesome feature was the exclusion, even from the territory granted, of the portion "possessed by the subjects of any other Christian prince or State." We shall see afterwards that within less than twenty years claims were made by the French of a portion of the country on the south side of the Bay; and also a most strenuous contention was put forth at a later date for the French explorers, as having first entered in the territory lying in the basin of the Red and Saskatchewan Rivers. This claim, indeed, was advanced less than fifty years ago by Canada as the possessor of the rights once maintained by French Canada. The grant in general included the trade of the country, but is made more specific in one of the articles of the Charter, in that "the fisheries within Hudson's Streights, the minerals, including gold, silver, gems, and precious stones, shall be possessed by the Company." It is interesting to note that the country thus vaguely described is recognized as one of the English "Plantations or Colonies in America," and is called, in compliment to the popular Prince, "Rupert's Land." Perhaps the most astounding gift bestowed by the Charter is not that of the trade, or what might be called, in the phrase of the old Roman law, the "usufruct," but the transfer of the vast territory, possibly more than one quarter or a third of the whole of North America, to hold it "in free and common socage," i.e., as absolute proprietors. The value of this concession was tested in the early years of this century, when the Hudson's Bay Company sold to the Earl of Selkirk a portion of the territory greater in area than the whole of England and Scotland; and in this the Company was supported by the highest legal authorities in England. To the minds of some, even more remarkable than the transfer of the ownership of so large a territory was the conferring upon the Company by the Crown of the power to make laws, not only for their own forts and plantations, with all their officers and servants, but having force over all persons upon the lands ceded to them so absolutely. The authority to administer justice is also given in no uncertain terms. The officers of the Company "may have power to judge all persons belonging to the said Governor and Company, or that shall live under them, in all causes, whether civil or criminal, according to the laws of this kingdom, and execute justice accordingly." To this was also added the power of sending those charged with offences to England to be tried and punished. The authorities, in the course of time, availed themselves of this right. We shall see in the history of the Red River Settlement, in the very heart of Rupert's Land, the spectacle of a community of several thousands of people within a circle having a radius of fifty miles ruled by Hudson's Bay Company authority, with the customs duties collected, certain municipal institutions established, and justice administered, and the people for two generations not possessed of representative institutions. One of the powers most jealously guarded by all governments is the control of military expeditions. There is a settled unwillingness to allow private individuals to direct or influence them. No qualms of this sort seem to have been in the royal mind over this matter in connection with the Hudson's Bay Company. The Company is fully empowered in the Charter to send ships of war, men, or ammunition into their plantations, allowed to choose and appoint commanders and officers, and even to issue them their commissions. There is a ludicrous ring about the words empowering the Company to make peace or war with any prince or people whatsoever that are not Christians, and to be permitted for this end to build all necessary castles and fortifications. It seems to have the spirit of the old formula leaving Jews, Turks, and Saracens to the uncovenanted mercies rather than to breathe the nobler principles of a Christian land. Surely, seldom before or since has a Company gone forth thus armed _cap-à-pie_ to win glory and profit for their country. An important proviso of the Charter, which was largely a logical sequence of the power given to possess the wide territory, was the grant of the "whole, entire, and only Liberty of Trade and Traffick." The claim of a complete monopoly of trade was held most strenuously by the Company from the very beginning. The early history of the Company abounds with accounts of the steps taken to prevent the incoming of interlopers. These were private traders, some from the English colonies in America, and others from England, who fitted out expeditions to trade upon the Bay. Full power was given by the Charter "to seize upon the persons of all such English or any other subjects, which sail into Hudson's Bay or inhabit in any of the countries, islands, or territories granted to the said Governor and Company, without their leave and license in that behalf first had and obtained." The abstract question of whether such monopoly may rightly be granted by a free government is a difficult one, and is variously decided by different authorities. The "free trader" was certainly a person greatly disliked in the early days of the Company. Frequent allusions are made in the minutes of the Company, during the first fifty years of its existence, to the arrest and punishment of servants or employés of the Company who secreted valuable furs on their homeward voyage for the purpose of disposing of them. As late as half a century ago, in the more settled parts of Rupert's Land, on the advice of a judge who had a high sense of its prerogative, an attempt was made by the Company to prevent private trading in furs. Very serious local disturbances took place in the Red River Settlement at that time, but wiser counsels prevailed, and in the later years of the Company's régime the imperative character of the right was largely relaxed. The Charter fittingly closes with a commendation of the Company by the King to the good offices of all admirals, justices, mayors, sheriffs, and other officers of the Crown, enjoining them to give aid, favour, help, and assistance. With such extensive powers, the wonder is that the Company bears, on the whole, after its long career over such an extended area of operations, and among savage and border people unaccustomed to the restraints of law, so honourable a record. Being governed by men of high standing, many of them closely associated with the operations of government at home, it is very easy to trace how, as "freedom broadened slowly down" from Charles II. to the present time, the method of dealing with subjects and subordinates became more and more gentle and considerate. As one reads the minutes of the Company in the Hudson's Bay House for the first quarter of a century of its history, the tyrannical spirit, even so far at the removal of troublesome or unpopular members of the Committee and the treatment of rivals, is very evident. This intolerance was of the spirit of the age. In the Restoration, the Revolution, and the trials of prisoners after rebellion, men were accustomed to the exercise of the severest penalties for the crimes committed. As the spirit of more gentle administration of law found its way into more peaceful times the Company modified its policy. [Illustration: ARMS OF THE HUDSON'S BAY COMPANY.] The Hudson's Bay Company was, it is true, a keen trader, as the motto, "Pro Pelle Cutem"--"skin for skin"--clearly implies. With this no fault can be found, the more that its methods were nearly all honourable British methods. It never forgot the flag that floated over it. One of the greatest testimonies in its favour was that, when two centuries after its organization it gave up, except as a purely trading company, its power to Canada, yet its authority over the wide-spread Indian population of Rupert's Land was so great, that it was asked by the Canadian Government to retain one-twentieth of the land of that wide domain as a guarantee of its assistance in transferring power from the old to the new régime. The Indian had in every part of Rupert's Land absolute trust in the good faith of the Company. To have been the possessor of such absolute powers as those given by the Charter; to have on the whole "borne their faculties so meek"; to have been able to carry on government and trade so long and so successfully, is not so much a commendation of the royal donor of the Charter as it is of the clemency and general fairness of the administration, which entitled it not only officially but also really, to the title "The Honourable Hudson's Bay Company." CHAPTER III. METHODS OF TRADE. Rich Mr. Portman--Good ship _Prince Rupert_--The early adventurers--"Book of Common Prayer"--Five forts--Voting a funeral--Worth of a beaver--To Hudson Bay and back--Selling the pelts--Bottles of sack--Fat dividends--"Victorious as Cæsar"--"Golden Fruit." The generation that lived between the founding of the Company and the end of the century saw a great development in the trade of the infant enterprise. Meeting sometimes at the place of business of one of the Committee, and afterwards at hired premises, the energetic members of the sub-committee paid close attention to their work. Sir John Robinson, Sir John Kirke, and Mr. Portman acted as one such executive, and the monthly, and at times weekly meetings of the Court of Adventurers were held when they were needed. It brings the past very close to us as we read the minutes, still preserved in the Hudson's Bay House, Leadenhall Street, London, of a meeting at Whitehall in 1671, with His Highness Prince Rupert in the chair, and find the sub-committee appointed to carry on the business. Captain Gillam for a number of years remained in the service of the Company as a trusted captain, and commanded the ship _Prince Rupert_. Another vessel, the _Windingoo_, or _Wyvenhoe Pinck_, was soon added, also in time the _Moosongee Dogger_, then the _Shaftsbury_, the _Albemarle_, and the _Craven Bark_--the last three named from prominent members of the Company. Not more than three of these ships were in use at the same time. The fitting out of these ships was a work needing much attention from the sub-committee. Year after year its members went down to Gravesend about the end of May, saw the goods which had been purchased placed aboard the ships, paid the captain and men their wages, delivered the agents to be sent out their commissions, and exercised plenary power in regard to emergencies which arose. The articles selected indicate very clearly the kind of trade in which the Company engaged. The inventory of goods in 1672 shows how small an affair the trade at first was. "Two hundred fowling-pieces, and powder and shot; 200 brass kettles, size from five to sixteen gallons; twelve gross of knives; 900 or 1000 hatchets," is recorded as being the estimate of cargo for that year. A few years, however, made a great change. Tobacco, glass beads, 6,000 flints, boxes of red lead, looking-glasses, netting for fishing, pewter dishes, and pewter plates were added to the consignments. That some attention was had by the Company to the morals of their employés is seen in that one ship's cargo was provided with "a book of common prayer, and a book of homilies." About June 1st, the ship, or ships, sailed from the Thames, rounded the North of Scotland, and were not heard of till October, when they returned with their valuable cargoes. Year after year, as we read the records of the Company's history, we find the vessels sailing out and returning with the greatest regularity, and few losses took place from wind or weather during that time. The agents of the Company on the Bay seem to have been well selected and generally reliable men. Certain French writers and also the English opponents of the Company have represented them as timid men, afraid to leave the coast and penetrate to the interior, and their conduct has been contrasted with that of the daring, if not reckless, French explorers. It is true that for about one hundred years the Hudson's Bay Company men did not leave the shores of Hudson Bay, but what was the need so long as the Indians came to the coast with their furs and afforded them profitable trade! By the orders of the Company they opened up trade at different places on the shores of the Bay, and we learn from Oldmixon that fifteen years after the founding of the Company there were forts established at (1) Albany River; (2) Hayes Island; (3) Rupert's River; (4) Port Nelson; (5) New Severn. According to another authority, Moose River takes the place of Hayes Island in this list. These forts and factories, at first primitive and small, were gradually increased in size and comfort until they became, in some cases, quite extensive. The plan of management was to have a governor appointed over each fort for a term of years, and a certain number of men placed under his direction. In the first year of the Hudson's Bay Company's operations as a corporate body, Governor Charles Bailey was sent out to take charge of Charles Fort at Rupert's River. With him was associated the French adventurer, Radisson, and his nephew, Jean Baptiste Groseilliers. Bailey seems to have been an efficient officer, though fault was found with him by the Company. Ten years after the founding of the Company he died in London, and was voted a funeral by the Company, which took place by twilight to St. Paul's, Covent Garden. The widow of the Governor maintained a contention against the Company for an allowance of 400_l._, which was given after three years' dispute. Another Governor was William Lydall, as also John Bridgar, Governor of the West Main; and again Henry Sargeant, Thomas Phipps, Governor of Fort Nelson, and John Knight, Governor of Albany, took an active part in the disputes of the Company with the French. Thus, with a considerable amount of friction, the affairs of the Company were conducted on the new and inhospitable coast of Hudson Bay. To the forts from the vast interior of North America the various tribes of Indians, especially the Crees, Chipewyans, and Eskimos, brought their furs for barter. No doubt the prices were very much in favour of the traders at first, but during the first generation of traders the competition of French traders from the south for their share of the Indian trade tended to correct injustice and give the Indians better prices for their furs. The following is the standard fixed at this time:-- Guns twelve winter beaver skins for largest, ten for medium, eight for smallest. Powder a beaver for 1/2 lb. Shot a beaver for 4 lbs. Hatchets a beaver for a great and little hatchet. Knives a beaver for eight great knives and eight jack knives. Beads a beaver for 1/2 lb. of beads. Laced coats six beavers for one. Plain coats five beavers for one plain red coat. Coats for women, laced, 2 yds. six beavers. Coats for women, plain five beavers. Tobacco a beaver for 1 lb. Powder-horn a beaver for a large powder-horn and two small ones. Kettles a beaver for 1 lb. of kettle. Looking-glass and comb two skins. The trade conducted at the posts or factories along the shore was carried on by the local traders so soon as the rivers from the interior--the Nelson and the Churchill--were open, so that by the time the ship from London arrived, say in the end of July or beginning of August, the Indians were beginning to reach the coast. The month of August was a busy month, and by the close of it, or early in September, the ship was loaded and sent back on her journey. By the end of October the ships arrived from Hudson Bay, and the anxiety of the Company to learn how the season's trade had succeeded was naturally very great. As soon as the vessels had arrived in the Downs or at Portsmouth, word was sent post haste to London, and the results were laid before a Committee of the Company. Much reference is made in the minutes to the difficulty of preventing the men employed in the ships from entering into illicit trade in furs. Strict orders were given to inspect the lockers for furs to prevent private trade. In due time the furs were unladen from the ships and put into the custody of the Company's secretary in the London warehouse. The matter of selling the furs was one of very great importance. At times the Company found prices low, and deferred their sales until the outlook was more favourable. The method followed was to have an auction, and every precaution was taken to have the sales fair and aboveboard. Evidences are not wanting that at times it was difficult for the Court of Adventurers to secure this very desirable result. The matter was not, however, one of dry routine, for the London merchants seem to have encouraged business with generous hospitality. On November 9th, 1681, the sale took place, and the following entry is found in the minutes: "A Committee was appointed to provide three dozen bottles of sack and three dozen bottles of claret, to be given to buyers at ye sale. Dinner was also bespoken at 'Ye Stillyard,' of a good dish of fish, a loyne of veal, two pullets, and four ducks." As the years went on, the same variations in furs that we see in our day took place. New markets were then looked for and arrangements made for sending agents to Holland and finding the connections in Russia, that sales might be effected. In order to carry out the trade it was necessary to take large quantities of hemp from Holland in return for the furs sent. The employment of this article for cordage in the Navy led to the influence of important members of the Company being used with the Earl of Marlborough to secure a sale for this commodity. Pending the sales it was necessary for large sums of money to be advanced to carry on the business of the Company. This was generally accomplished by the liberality of members of the Company itself supplying the needed amounts. The Company was, however, from time to time gratified by the declaration of handsome dividends. So far as recorded, the first dividend was declared in 1684, and judged by modern standards it was one for which a company might well wait for a number of years. It was for 50 per cent. upon stock. Accordingly, the Earl of Craven received 150_l._, Sir James Hayes 150_l._, and so on in proportion. In 1688 another dividend of a like amount of 50 per cent. on the stock resulted, and among others, Hon. Robert Boyle, Earl Churchill, and Sir Christopher Wren had their hearts gladdened. In 1689 profits to the extent of 25 per cent. on the stock were received, and one of the successful captains was, in the exuberance of feeling of the stockholders, presented with a silver flagon in recognition of his services. In 1690, however, took place by far the most remarkable event of a financial kind in the early history of the Company. The returns of that year from the Bay were so large that the Company decided to treble its stock. The reasons given for this were:-- (1) The Company has in its warehouse about the value of its original stock (10,500_l._). (2) The factories at Fort Nelson and New Severn are increasing in trade, and this year the returns are expected to be 20,000_l._ in beaver. (3) The factories are of much value. (4) Damages are expected from the French for a claim of 100,000_l._ The Company then proceeded to declare a dividend of 25 per cent., which was equivalent to 75 per cent. on their original stock. It was a pleasing incident to the sovereign of the realm that in all these profits he was not forgotten. In the original Charter the only recompense coming to the Crown, for the royal gift, was to be the payment, when the territory was entered upon, of "two elks and two black beavers." This may have been a device for keeping up the royal claim, but at any rate 300_l_. in the original stock-book stood to the credit of the sovereign. It had been the custom to send a deputation to present in person the dividends to His Majesty, and the pounds sterling were always changed to guineas. On this occasion of the great dividend, King William III. had but lately returned from his victories in Ireland. The deputation, headed by Sir Edward Dering, was introduced to the King by the Earl of Portland, and the following address, hitherto, so far as known to the writer, unpublished, was presented along with the noble gift:-- "Your Majestie's most Loyal and Dutiful subjects beg leave to congratulate your Majestie's Happy Return here with Honor and Safety. And we do daily pray to Heaven (that Hath God wonderfully preserved your Royall Person) that in all your undertakings Your Majestie may be as victorious as Cæsar, as beloved as Titus, and (after all) have the long and glorious Reigne and Peacefull end of Augustus. "On this happy occasion we desire also most humbly to present to your Majestie a dividend of _Two Hundred and twenty-five guineas_ upon three hundred pounds stock in the Hudson's Bay Company, now Rightfully delivered to your Majestie. And although we have been the greatest sufferers of any Company from those common enemies of all mankind the French, yet when your Majestie's just Arms shall have given Repose to all Christendom, we also shall enjoy our share of these great Benefits and do not doubt but to appeare often with this golden fruit in our hands, under the happy influence of Your Majestie's most gracious protection over us and all our Concerns." It is true that towards the end of the seventeenth century, as we shall afterwards see, the trade of the Company was seriously injured by the attacks of the French on the Bay, but a quarter of a century in which the possibility of obtaining such profits had been shown was sufficient to establish the Company in the public favour and to attract to it much capital. Its careful management from the first led to its gaining a reputation for business ability which it has never lost during two and a quarter centuries of its history. CHAPTER IV THREE GREAT GOVERNORS. Men of high station--Prince Rupert primus--Prince James, "nemine contradicente"--The hero of the hour--Churchill River named--Plate of solid gold--Off to the Tower. The success of the Hudson's Bay Company, and the influence exerted by it during so long a period, has often been attributed to the union of persons of station and high political influence with the practical and far-seeing business men of London, who made up the Company. A perusal of the minutes of the first thirty years of the Company's history impresses on the mind of the reader that this is true, and that good feeling and patriotism were joined with business tact and enterprise in all the ventures. From the prosperous days of Queen Elizabeth and her sea-going captains and explorers, certainly from the time of Charles II., it was no uncommon thing to see the titled and commercial classes co-operating, in striking contrast to the governing classes of France, in making commerce and trade a prominent feature of the national life. The first Governor of the Hudson's Bay Company, Rupert, Prince of Bavaria, grandson by the mother's side of James I. of England, is a sufficiently well-known character in general history to require no extended notice. His exploits on the Royalist side in the Civil War, his fierce charges and his swiftness in executing difficult military movements, led to his name being taken as the very embodiment of energy and prowess. In this sense the expression, "the fiery Rupert of debate" was applied to a prominent parliamentarian of the past generation. After the restoration of Charles II., Prince Rupert took up his abode in England, finding it more like home to him than any Continental country. Enjoying the plaudits of the Cavaliers, for whom he had so strenuously fought, he was appointed Constable of Windsor, a no very onerous position. From the minutes of the Hudson's Bay Company we find that he had lodgings at Whitehall, and spent much of his time in business and among scientific circles--indeed, the famous toys called "glass tears," or "Rupert's drops," were brought over by him to England from the Continent to interest his scientific friends. We have seen already the steps taken by the returned Commissioners from the American Colonies to introduce Radisson and Groseilliers to Prince Rupert, and through him to the royal notice. The success of the expedition of Gillam and the building of Charles Fort on Hudson Bay led to the Prince consenting to head the new Company. He had just passed the half century of his age when he was appointed Governor of the vast _terra incognita_ lying to the west of the Bay to which, in his honour, was given the name Rupert's Land. The Company lost no time in undertaking a new expedition. Prince Rupert's intimate friend, the Earl of Craven, was one of the incorporators, and it was with this nobleman that Prince Rupert's widowed mother, the Princess Elizabeth, had found a home in the days of adversity. The close connection of the Hudson's Bay Company with the Court gave it, we see very plainly, certain important advantages. Not only do the generous terms of the Charter indicate this, but the detailing of certain ships of the Royal Navy to protect the merchantmen going out to Hudson Bay shows the strong bond of sympathy. Certainly nothing less than the thorough interest of the Court could have led to the firm stand taken by the English Government in the controversies with France as to the possession of Hudson Bay. Several excellent paintings of the Prince are in existence, one by Vandyke in Warwick Castle, showing his handsome form, and another in Knebworth, Hertford. The Prince was unfortunately not free from the immorality that was so flagrant a feature of the Court of Charles II. At that time this was but little taken into account, and the fame of his military exploits, together with the fixing of his name upon so wide an extent of the earth's surface, have served to give posterity an interest in him. For twelve successive years Prince Rupert was chosen Governor at the General Court of Adventurers, and used his great influence for the Company. He died on November 29th, 1682, at the comparatively early age of sixty-three. The death of the first Governor was a somewhat severe trial for the infant Company. The Prince's name had been one to conjure by, and though he had been ably supported by the Deputy-Governor, Sir James Hayes, yet there was some fear of loss of prestige to the Adventurers on his unexpected death. The members of the Company were anxious to keep up, if possible, the royal connection, but they were by no means clear as to the choice of the only available personage who came before their view. James, Duke of York, was a man with a liking for business, but he was not a popular favourite. The famous _jeu d'esprit_ of Charles II. will be remembered. When James informed Charles II. that there was a conspiracy on foot to drive him from the throne, "No, James," said Charles, "they will never kill me to make you king." The minutes of the Company show that much deliberation took place as to the choice of a successor to Prince Rupert, but at length, in January, 1683, at a General Court, the choice was made, and the record reads:--"His Royal Highness the Duke of York was chosen Governor of the Company, 'Nemine contradicente.' "The new Governor soon had reasons to congratulate himself on his election, for on April 21st, 1684, Sir James Hayes and Sir Edward Dering reported to the Adventurers their having paid 150 guineas to His Royal Highness as a dividend on the stock held by him. Prince James was chosen Governor for three successive years, until the year when, on the death of Charles, he became King. While James was not much in favour as a man, yet he possessed decided administrative ability, and whether this was the cause or not, certainly the period of his governorship was a successful time in the history of the Company. Failing a prince or duke, the lot could not have fallen upon a more capable man than was chosen as the Duke of York's successor for the governorship. On April 2nd, 1685, at a General Court of the Adventurers, the choice fell upon one of the most remarkable men of his time, the Right Hon. John Lord Churchill, afterwards Duke of Marlborough. Lord Churchill had not yet gained any of his great victories. He was, however, at this time a favourite of the Duke of York, and no doubt, on the recommendation of James, had been brought before the Court of Adventurers. He was one of the most adroit men of his time, he was on the highway to the most distinguished honours, and the Adventurers gladly elected him third governor. On April 2nd, 1685, the new governor threw himself heartily into the work of the Company. No doubt one so closely connected with the public service could be of more practical value than even a royal duke. The great dividend of which we have already spoken followed the years of his appointment. The success attained but stimulated the Company to increase their trade and widen the field of their operations. The river running into the west side of the Bay, far to the north, was named in honour of the new governor, Churchill River, and in 1686 expansion of trade was sought by the decision to settle at the mouth of this river and use it as a new trading centre for the north and west. Without any desire to annoy the French, who claimed the south end of the Bay, it was determined to send a ship to the southern part of Hudson Bay, and a few months later the _Yonge_ frigate was dispatched. The fear of attacks from the French, who were known to be in a very restless condition, led to the request being made to the Government to station a military force at each fort in Hudson Bay. It was also the desire of the Company that steps should be taken to protect them in their Charter rights and to prevent illegal expeditions from going to trade in the Bay. All this shows the energy and hopefulness of the Company under the leadership of Lord Churchill. The part taken by Lord Churchill in the opposition to James, and his active agency in inducing William of Orange to come to England, are well known. He was a worshipper of the rising sun. On the arrival of William III., Lord Churchill, who was soon raised to the peerage as Earl of Marlborough, was as popular, for the time, with the new king as he had been with his predecessor. His zeal is seen in his sending out in June, 1689, as governor, the instructions that William and Mary should be proclaimed in the posts upon the shores of Hudson Bay. He was able shortly after to report to his Company that 100 marines had been detailed to protect the Company's ships on their way to Hudson Bay. The enthusiasm of the Company at this mark of consideration obtained through the influence of Lord Churchill, was very great, and we learn from the minutes that profuse thanks were given to the governor, and a piece of plate of solid gold, of the value of 100 guineas, was presented to him for his distinguished services. Legislation was also introduced at this time into Parliament for the purpose of giving further privileges to the Adventurers. But the rising tide of fortune was suddenly checked. Disaster overtook the Governor. William had found some reason for distrusting this versatile man of affairs, and he suspected him of being in correspondence with the dethroned James. No doubt the suspicion was well founded, but the King had thought it better, on account of Marlborough's great talents, to overlook his unfaithfulness. Suddenly, in May, 1692, England was startled by hearing that the Earl of Marlborough had been thrown into the Tower on an accusation of high treason. For seven years this determined soldier had led the Company to success, but his imprisonment rendered a change in the governorship a necessity. Marlborough was only imprisoned for a short time, but he was not re-elected to the position he had so well filled. At the General Court of Adventurers in November of the year of Marlborough's fall, Sir Stephen Evance was chosen Governor. This gentleman was re-elected a number of times, and was Governor of the Company at the close of the century. Two decades, and more, of the formative life of the Company were thus lived under the ægis of the Court, the personal management of two courtly personages, and under the guidance of the leading general of his time. As we shall see afterwards, during a part of this period the affairs of the Company were carried on in the face of the constant opposition of the French. Undoubtedly heavy losses resulted from the French rivalry, but the pluck and wisdom of the Company were equally manifested in the confidence with which they risked their means, and the strong steps taken to retain their hold on Hudson Bay. This was the golden age of the Hudson's Bay Company. When money was needed it was often cheerfully advanced by some of the partners; it was an honour to have stock in a Company which was within the shadow of the throne; its distinguished Governors were re-elected so long as they were eligible to serve; again and again the Committee, provided with a rich purse of golden guineas, waited on His Majesty the King to give return for the favour of the Royal Charter; and never afterward can the historian point in the annals of the Company to so distinguished a period. CHAPTER V. TWO ADROIT ADVENTURERS. Peter Radisson and "Mr. Gooseberry" again--Radisson _v._ Gillam--Back to France--A wife's influence--Paltry vessels--Radisson's diplomacy--Deserts to England--Shameful duplicity--"A hogshead of claret"--Adventurers appreciative--Twenty-five years of Radisson's life hitherto unknown--"In a low and mean condition"--The Company in Chancery--Lucky Radisson--A Company pensioner. A mysterious interest gathers around two of the most industrious and, it must be added, most diplomatic and adroit of the agents of the Company, the two Frenchmen, Pierre Esprit Radisson and Medard Chouart, afterwards the Sieur de Groseilliers. Acquainted with the far northern fur trade, their assistance was invaluable. We have seen in a former chapter that finding little encouragement either in New France or their mother country, they had transferred their services to England, and were largely instrumental in founding the Hudson's Bay Company. In the first voyage of the adventurers to Hudson's Bay, it came about that while Groseilliers was lucky in being on the _Nonsuch_ ketch, which made its way into the Bay, on the other hand, Radisson, to his great chagrin, was on board the companion ship, the _Eaglet_, which, after attempting an entrance and failing, returned to England. It has been stated that during the time of his enforced idleness in London, while the party was building Charles Fort on Prince Rupert's River, Radisson was busy interesting the leading men of the city in the importance of the adventure. Immediately on the return of the company of the _Nonsuch_, steps were taken for the organization of the Hudson's Bay Company. This, as we have seen, took place in May, 1670, and in the same year Radisson and Groseilliers went out with Governor Bailey, and assisted in establishing trade on the shores of the Bay. On their return, in the autumn of 1671, to London, the two adventurers spent the winter there, and, as the minutes of the Company show, received certain money payments for their maintenance. In October, 1673, the sloop _Prince Rupert_ had arrived at Portsmouth from Hudson Bay, and there are evidences of friction between Radisson and Captain Gillam. Radisson is called on to be present at a meeting of the General Court of the Company held in October, and afterwards Gillam is authorized to advance the amounts necessary for his living expenses. In the Company minutes of June 25th, 1674, is found the following entry:--"That there be allowed to Mr. Radisson 100 pounds per annum from the time of his last arrival in London, in consideration of services done by him, out of which to be deducted what hath been already paid him since that time, and if it shall please God to bless this Company with good success hereafter that they shall come to be in a prosperous condition they will then re-assume the consideration thereof." During the next month a further sum was paid Radisson. The restless Radisson could not, however, be satisfied. No doubt he felt his services to be of great value, and he now illustrated what was really the weakness of his whole life, a want of honest reliability. The Company had done as well for him as its infant resources would allow, but along with Groseilliers he deserted from London, and sought to return to the service of France under the distinguished Prime Minister Colbert. The shrewd Colbert knew well Radisson's instability. This feature of his character had been further emphasized by another event in Radisson's life. He had married a daughter of Sir John Kirke, one of the Hudson's Bay Company promoters, and a member of the well-known family which had distinguished itself in the capture of Canada, nearly fifty years before. This English and domestic connection made Colbert suspicious of Radisson. However, he agreed to pay Radisson and Groseilliers the sum of their debts, amounting to 400_l._, and to give them lucrative employment. The condition of his further employment was that Radisson should bring his wife to France, but he was unable to get either his wife or her father to consent to this. The Kirke family, it must be remembered, were still owners of a claim amounting to 341,000_l._ against France, which had been left unsettled during the time of Champlain, when England restored Canada to France. For seven years Radisson vacillated between the two countries. Under the French he went for one season on a voyage to the West Indies, and was even promised promotion in the French marine. At one time he applied again to the Hudson's Bay Company for employment, but was refused. The fixed determination of his wife not to leave England on the one hand, and the settled suspicion of the French Government on the other, continually thwarted him. At length, in 1681, Radisson and Groseilliers were sent by the French to Canada, to undertake a trading expedition to Hudson Bay. The lack of money, and also of full confidence, led to their venture being poorly provided for. In July, 1682, rendezvous was made at Ile Percée, in the lower St. Lawrence, by Radisson in a wretched old vessel of ten tons, and by Groseilliers in a rather better craft of fifteen tons burthen. No better could be done, however, and so, after many mishaps, including serious mutinies, dangers of ice and flood, and hairbreadth escapes, the two vessels reached the mouth of the Hayes River on Hudson Bay. They determined to trade at this point. Groseilliers undertook to build a small fort on this river, and Radisson went inland on a canoe expedition to meet the natives. In this Radisson was fairly successful and gathered a good quantity of furs. The French adventurers were soon surprised to find that an English party had taken possession of the mouth of the Nelson River, and were establishing a fort. Radisson opened communication with the English, and found them in charge of Governor Bridgar, but really led by young Gillam, son of the old captain of the _Nonsuch_. The versatile Frenchman soon met a fine field for his diplomatic arts. He professed great friendship for the new comers, exchanged frequent visits with them, and became acquainted with all their affairs. Finding the English short of provisions, he supplied their lack most generously, and offered to render them any service. Governor Bridgar was entirely unable to cope with the wiles of Radisson. Matters were so arranged that Jean Baptiste Groseilliers, his nephew, was left in charge of the forts, to carry on the trade during the next winter, and with his brother-in-law, Groseilliers, and Governor Bridgar, somewhat of a voluntary prisoner, Radisson sailed away to Canada in Gillam's ship. On reaching Canada Governor De la Barre restored the ship to the English, and in it Bridgar and Gillam sailed to New England, whence in due time they departed for England. The whole affair has a Quixotic appearance, and it is not surprising that Radisson and Groseilliers were summoned to report themselves to Colbert in France and to receive his marked displeasure. Their adventure had, however, been so successful, and the prospects were so good, that the French Government determined to send them out again, in two ships, to reap the fruits of the winter's work of the younger Groseilliers. Now occurred another of Radisson's escapades. The French expedition was ready to start in April. The day (24th) was fixed. Radisson asked for delay, pleading important private business in England. On May 10th he arrived in England, and we find him, without any compunction, entering into negotiations with the Hudson's Bay Company, and as a result playing the traitor to his engagements in France, his native country. The entry in the Company's minutes bearing on this affair is as follows:-- "_May 12th, 1684._ "Sir James Hayes and Mr. Young, that Peter Esprit Radisson has arrived from France; that he has offered to enter their service; that they took him to Windsor and presented him to His Royal Highness; that they had agreed to give him 50_l._ per annum, 200_l._ worth of stock, and 20_l._ to set him up to proceed to Port Nelson; and his brother (in-law) Groseilliers to have 20_s._ per week, if he come from France over to Britain and be true. Radisson took the oath of fidelity to the Company." A few days later Radisson took the ship _Happy Return_ to Hudson Bay. Sailing immediately to Hayes River, Radisson found that his nephew, J. Baptiste Groseilliers, had removed his post to an island in the river. On his being reached, Radisson explained to him the change that had taken place, and that he proposed to transfer everything, establishment and peltry, to the Hudson's Bay Company. Young Groseilliers, being loyal to France, objected to this, but Radisson stated that there was no option, and he would be compelled to submit. The whole quantity of furs transferred to Radisson by his nephew was 20,000--an enormous capture for the Hudson's Bay Company. In the autumn Radisson returned in the Hudson's Bay Company's ship, bringing the great store of booty. At a meeting of the Committee of the Company (October 7th), "a packet was read from Pierre Radisson showing how he had brought his countrymen to submit to the English. He was thanked, and a gratuity of 100 guineas given him." It is also stated that "a promise having been made of 20_s._ per week to Groseilliers, and he not having come, the same is transferred to his son in the bay." The minute likewise tells us that "Sir William Young was given a present of seven musquash skins for being instrumental in inviting Radisson over from France." From this we infer that Sir William, who, as we shall afterwards see, was a great friend and promoter of Radisson, had been the active agent in inducing Radisson to leave the service of France and enter that of the English Company. The Company further showed its appreciation of Radisson's service by voting him 100_l._ to be given to four Frenchmen left behind in Hudson Bay. Jean Baptiste Groseilliers, nephew of Radisson, was also engaged by the Company for four years in the service at 100_l._ a year. Radisson seems to have had some dispute with the Company as to the salary at this time. On May 6th, 1685, his salary when out of England was raised to 100_l._ a year, and 300_l._ to his wife in case of his death. Radisson refused to accept these terms. The Company for a time would not increase its offer, but the time for the ship to sail was drawing nigh, and the Committee gave way and added to the above amount 100_l._ of stock to be given to his wife. John Bridgar was appointed Governor at Port Nelson for three years, and Radisson superintendent of the trade there. Radisson was satisfied with the new terms, and that the Company was greatly impressed with the value of his services is seen in the following entry: "A hogshead of claret being ordered for Mr. Radisson, 'such as Mr. R. shall like.'" In the year 1685-6 all hitherto printed accounts of Radisson leave our redoubtable explorer. We are, for the history up to this date, much indebted to the Prince Society of Boston for printing an interesting volume containing the journals of Radisson, which are preserved in the British Museum in London and in the Bodleian Library in Oxford. Dr. N. E. Dionne, the accomplished librarian of the Legislative Library, Quebec, has contributed to the proceedings of the Royal Society of Canada very appreciative articles entitled, "Chouart and Radisson." In these he has relied for the detail of facts of discovery almost entirely on the publication of the Prince Society. He has, however, added much genealogical and local Canadian material, which tends to make the history of these early explorers more interesting than it could otherwise be. A resident of Manitoba, who has shown an interest in the legends and early history of Canada, Mr. L. A. Prudhomme, St. Boniface, Judge of the County, has written a small volume of sixty pages on the life of Radisson. Like the articles of Dr. Dionne, this volume depends entirely for its information on the publication of the Prince Society. Readers of fiction are no doubt familiar with the appearance of Radisson in Gilbert Parker's novel, "The Trail of the Sword." It is unnecessary to state that there seems no historic warrant for the statement, "Once he attempted Count Frontenac's life. He sold a band of our traders to the Iroquois." The character, thoroughly repulsive in this work of fiction, does not look to be the real Radisson; and certainly as we survey the bloody scene, which must have been intended for a period subsequent to Frontenac's return to Canada in 1689, where Radisson fell done to death by the dagger and pistol of the mutineer Bucklaw and was buried in the hungry sea, we see what was purely imaginary. Of course, we do not for a moment criticize the art of the historic novelist, but simply state that the picture is not that of the real Radisson, and that we shall find Radisson alive a dozen or more years after the tragic end given him by the artist. These three works, as well as the novel, agree in seeing in Radisson a man of remarkable character and great skill and adroitness. FURTHER HISTORY. The Prince Society volume states: "We again hear of Radisson in Hudson Bay in 1685, and this is his last appearance in public records as far as is known." The only other reference is made by Dionne and Prudhomme in stating that Charlevoix declares "that Radisson died in England." Patient search in the archives of the Hudson's Bay Company in London has enabled the writer to trace the history of Radisson on for many years after the date given, and to unearth a number of very interesting particulars connected with him; indeed, to add some twenty-five years hitherto unknown to our century to his life, and to see him pass from view early in 1710. In 1687, Radisson was still in the employ of the Company, and the Committee decided that he should be made a denizen or subject of England. He arrived from Hudson Bay in October of this year, appeared before the Hudson's Bay Company Committee, and was welcomed by its members. It was decided that 50_l._ be given as a gratuity to the adventurer till he should be again employed. On June 24th, 1688, Radisson again sailed in the ship for Hudson Bay, and during that year he was paid 100_l._ as 50 per cent. dividend on his 200_l._ worth of stock, and in the following year 50_l._ as 25 per cent. dividend on his stock. As the following year, 1690, was the time of the "great dividend," Radisson was again rejoiced by the amount of 150_l._ as his share of the profits. The prosperity of the Company appears to have led to an era of extravagance, and to certain dissensions within the Company itself. The amounts paid Radisson were smaller in accordance with the straits in which the Company found itself arising from French rivalry on the Bay. In 1692 Sir William Young is seen strongly urging fuller consideration for Radisson, who was being paid at the reduced rate of 50_l._ a year. In the Hudson's Bay Company letter-book of this period we find a most interesting memorial of Sir William Young's in behalf of Radisson, with answers by the Company, on the whole confirming our narrative, but stating a few divergent points. We give the memorial in full. Dated December 20th, 1692, being plea of William Young, in behalf of Pierre Esprit Radisson:-- "Radisson, born a Frenchman, educated from a child in Canada, spent youth hunting and commercing with the Indians adjacent to Hudson Bay, master of the language, customs, and trade. "Radisson being at New England about twenty-seven or twenty-eight years past, met there with Colonel Nichols, Governor of New York, and was by him persuaded to go to England and proffer his services to King Charles the Second, in order to make a settlement of an English factory in that bay. "At his arrival, the said King, giving credit to Radisson for that undertaking, granted to Prince Rupert, the Duke of Albemarle, and others, the same Charter we do still claim by, thereby constituting them the proprietors of the said bay, under which authority he, the said Radisson, went immediately and made an English settlement there according to his promises. "On his return to England the King presented him with a medal and gold chain. When rejected by the Company, he was compelled to return to Canada, his only place of abode. Joined the French and led an expedition to Hudson Bay. With the aid of Indians destroyed Company's factory and planted a New England factory in Port Nelson River. "During the winter Radisson did no violence to the English, but supplied them with victuals, powder, and shot when their ship was cast away. Refused a present from the Indians to destroy the English, and gave them a ship to convey them away. Afterwards settled the French factory higher up the same river, where his alliance with the Indians was too strong for New England or Old England, and immediately after he went to France. Mr. Young, member of the Hudson's Bay Company, with leave from Sir James Hayes, deputy-governor, tried to hire him back to Hudson's Bay Company's service with large promises. During negotiations, Radisson unexpectedly arrived in London. Company's ships were ready to sail. Had just time to kiss the King's hand at Windsor and that of the Duke of York, then governor. They commended him to the care and kindness of Sir James Hayes and the Hudson's Bay Company, and commanded that he should be made an English citizen, which was done in his absence. "Before sending him, the Company gave him two original actions in Hudson's Bay Company stock, and 50_l._ for subsistence money, with large promises of future rewards for expected service. "Arriving at Port Nelson he put Company in entire possession of that river, brought away the French to England, and took all the beavers and furs they had traded and gave them to the Company without asking share of the profits, although they sold for 7,000_l._ "He was kindly welcomed in England and again commended by the King. Committee presented him with 100 guineas, and entered in the books that he should have 50_l._ added to the former 50_l._, until the King should find him a place, when the last 50_l._ should cease. Had no place given him. Sir Edward Dering, deputy governor, influenced Committee to withdraw 50_l._, so he had only 50_l._ to maintain self, wife, and four or five children, and servants, 24_l._ of this going for house-rent. When chief factor at Nelson, was tempted by servants to continue to cheat the Company, was beaten because he refused. "Prays for payment of 100_l._ and arrears, because: "1. All but Sir Edward Dering think it just and reasonable. "2. No place was given in lieu of 50_l._ "3. Of fidelity to the Company in many temptations. "4. He never asked more than the Company chose to give. "5. Imprisoned in bay in time of trade for not continuing to cheat the Company. "6. The Company received from Port Nelson, after he gave it them, 100,000_l._ worth of furs, which is now believed would have been lost, with their whole interest in the bay, if he had not joined them when invited. "7. The original actions and the 100_l._ revert to the Company at his death. "8. Income inadequate to maintain wife and children in London. "9. Debts great from necessity. Would be compelled to leave wife and children and shift for himself. "10. He cannot sell original actions, since they cease with his life. "11. Of King Charles' many recommendations to kindness of Company. "12. French have a price on his head as a traitor, so that he cannot safely go home. "13. Mr. Young further pleads that as Mr. Radisson was the author of the Company's prosperity, so he (Mr. Young) was the first to persuade him to join their service. That he (Mr. Young) had been offered a reward for his services in persuading him, which he had utterly refused. But now that this reward be given in the form of maintenance for Radisson in his great necessity, &c." The Committee passes over the sketch of Radisson's life, which they do not gainsay. In the second paragraph, they observe that Mr. Young stated their neglect to maintain Mr. Radisson without mentioning their reasons for so doing, which might have shown whether it was their unkindness or Radisson's desert. They go on to take notice of the fact that about 1681 or 1682, Radisson and Groseilliers entered into another contract with the Company and received 20_l._ Soon afterwards they absconded, went to France, and thence to Canada. Next year they joined their countrymen in an expedition to Port Nelson, animated by the report of Mr. Abram to the Company that it was the best place for a factory. They took their two barks up as far as they durst for fear of the English. Then the French in the fall built a small hut, which Mr. Young says was too strong for either New England or Old England without guns or works--a place merely to sleep in, manned only with seven French. This expedition, Mr. Young saith, was at first prejudicial to the Company, but afterward of great advantage, which he cannot apprehend. In another place Mr. Young is pleased to state that the New England settlement was so strong that the Old could not destroy it. Old England settlement was only a house unfortified, which Bridgar built to keep the goods dry, because Gillam's boat arrived late. "1. Mr. Young says all are in favour of Radisson but Sir Edward Dering, we have not met with any who are in favour but Mr. Young. Those who give gratuity should know why. "2. That he had no place or honour given him is no reason for giving gratuity, there being no contract in the case. "3. Never found him accused of cheating and purloining, but breach of contract with Company, after receiving their money, we do find him guilty of. "4. Says he never did capitulate with the Company. Find he did (see minutes), May 6th, 1685. "5. Cannot believe Radisson was beaten by the Company's servants. Greater increase of furs after he left, &c., &c., &c." This memorial and its answer show the rather unreasonable position taken by the Company. In the time of its admiration for Radisson and of fat dividends, it had provided liberal things; but when money became scarce, then it was disposed to make matters pleasing to itself, despite the claims of Radisson. In the year following the presenting of the memorial, it is stated in the minutes that "Radisson was represented to the Company as in a low and mean condition." At this time it was ordered that 50_l._ be paid Radisson and to be repaid out of the next dividend. The unreasonable position assumed by the Company, in withholding a part of the salary which they had promised in good faith, filled Radisson with a sense of injustice. No doubt guided by his friend, Sir William Young, who, on account of his persistence on behalf of the adventurer, was now dropped from the Committee of the Company, Radisson filed a bill in Chancery against the Company, and in July, 1694, notice of this was served upon the Committee. Much consternation appears to have filled their minds, and the Deputy-Governor, Sir Samuel Clark, reported shortly after having used 200_l._ for secret service, the matter being seemingly connected with this case. Notwithstanding the great influence of the Company, the justice of Radisson's claims prevailed, and the Court of Chancery ordered the payment of arrears in full. The Committee afterwards met Sir William Young and Richard Craddock, who upheld Radisson's claim. It is reported that they agreed to settle the matter by paying Radisson 150_l._, he giving a release, and that he should be paid, under seal, 100_l._ per annum for life, except in those years when the Company should make a dividend, and then but 50_l._ according to the original agreement. Radisson then received, as the minutes show, his salary regularly from this time. In 1698, the Company asked for the renewal by Parliament of its Charter. Radisson petitioned Parliament for consideration, asking that before the request made by the Company for the confirmation of the privileges sought were granted, a clause should be inserted protecting him in the regular payment of the amounts due to him from time to time by the Company. At the time of his petition to Parliament he states that he has four young children, and has only the 100_l._ a year given by the Company to live on. In the year 1700 he was still struggling with his straitened circumstances, for in that year he applied to the Company to be appointed warehouse-keeper for the London premises, but his application was refused. His children, of whom he is said to have had nine, appear to have passed over to Canada and to have become a part of the Canadian people. His brother-in-law, Groseilliers, had also returned to his adopted Canada, but is stated to have died before 1698. Regularly during the succeeding years the quarterly amount is voted to Radisson by the Company, until January 6th, 1710, when the last quota of 12_l._ 10_s._ was ordered to be given. About this time, at the ripe age of seventy-four, passed away Pierre Esprit Radisson, one of the most daring and ingenious men of his time. We know nothing of his death, except from the fact that his pension ceased to be paid. Judge Prudhomme, to whose appreciative sketch of Radisson in French we have already referred, well summarizes his life. We translate:-- "What a strange existence was that of this man! By turns discoverer, officer of marine, organizer and founder of the most commercial company which has existed in North America, his life presents an astonishing variety of human experiences. "He may be seen passing alternately from the wigwams of the miserable savages to the court of the great Colbert; from managing chiefs of the tribes to addressing the most illustrious nobles of Great Britain. "His courage was of a high order. He looked death in the face more than a hundred times without trepidation. He braved the tortures and the stake among the Iroquois, the treacherous stratagems of the savages of the West, the rigorous winters of the Hudson Bay, and the tropical heat of the Antilles. "Of an adventurous nature, drawn irresistibly to regions unknown, carried on by the enthusiasm of his voyages, always ready to push out into new dangers, he could have been made by Fenimore Cooper one of the heroes of his most exciting romances. "The picture of his life consequently presents many contrasts. The life of a brigand, which he led with a party of Iroquois, cannot be explained away. "He was blamable in a like manner for having deserted the flag of France, his native country. The first time we might, perhaps, pardon him, for he was the victim of grave injustice on the part of the government of the colony. "No excuse could justify his second desertion. He had none to offer, not one. He avowed very candidly that he sought the service of England because he preferred it to that of France. "In marrying the daughter of Mr. John Kirke, he seems to have espoused also the nationality of her family. As for him, he would have needed to change the proverb, and, in the place of 'One who marries a husband takes his country,' to say, 'One who marries a wife takes her country.' "The celebrated discover of the North-West, the illustrious Le Verendrye, has as much as Radisson, and even more than he, of just reason to complain of the ingratitude of France; yet how different was his conduct! "Just as his persecutions have placed upon the head of the first a new halo of glory, so they have cast upon the brow of the second an ineffaceable stain. "Souls truly noble do not seek in treason the recompense for the rights denied them." (For a detailed chronological account of Radisson's life, see Appendix B, page 487.) CHAPTER VI. FRENCH RIVALRY. The golden lilies in danger--"To arrest Radisson"--The land called "Unknown"--A chain of claim--Imaginary pretensions--Chevalier de Troyes--The brave Lemoynes--Hudson Bay forts captured--A litigious governor--Laugh at treaties--The glory of France--Enormous claims--Consequential damages. The two great nations which were seeking supremacy in North America came into collision all too soon on the shores of Hudson Bay. Along the shore of the Atlantic, England claimed New England and much of the coast to the southward. France was equally bent on holding New France and Acadia. Now that England had begun to occupy Hudson Bay, France was alarmed, for the enemy would be on her northern as well as on her southern border. No doubt, too, France feared that her great rival would soon seek to drive her golden lilies back to the Old World, for New France would be a wedge between the northern and southern possessions of England in the New World. The movement leading to the first voyage to Hudson Bay by Gillam and his company was carefully watched by the French Government. In February, 1668, at which time Gillam's expedition had not yet sailed, the Marquis de Denonville, Governor of Canada, appointed an officer to go in search of the most advantageous posts and occupy the shores of the Baie du Nord and the embouchures of the rivers that enter therein. Among other things the governor gave orders "to arrest especially the said Radisson and his adherents wherever they may be found." Intendant Talon, in 1670, sent home word to M. Colbert that ships had been seen near Hudson Bay, and that it was likely that they were English, and were "under the guidance of a man des Grozeliers, formerly an inhabitant of Canada." The alarm caused the French by the movements of the English adventurers was no doubt increased by the belief that Hudson Bay was included in French territory. The question of what constituted ownership or priority of claim was at this time a very difficult one among the nations. Whether mere discovery or temporary occupation could give the right of ownership was much questioned. Colonization would certainly be admitted to do so, provided there had been founded "certain establishments." But the claim of France upon Hudson Bay would appear to have been on the mere ground of the Hudson Bay region being contiguous or neighbouring territory to that held by the French. The first claim made by France was under the commission, as Viceroy to Canada, given in 1540 by the French King to Sieur de Roberval, which no doubt covered the region about Hudson Bay, though not specifying it. In 1598 Lescarbot states that the commission given to De La Roche contained the following: "New France has for its boundaries on the west the Pacific Ocean within the Tropic of Cancer; on the south the islands of the Atlantic towards Cuba and Hispaniola; on the east, the Northern Sea which washes its shores, embracing in the north the land called Unknown toward the Frozen Sea, up to the Arctic Pole." The sturdy common sense of Anglo-Saxon England refused to be bound by the contention that a region admittedly "Unknown" could be held on a mere formal claim. The English pointed out that one of their expeditions under Henry Hudson in 1610 had actually discovered the Bay and given it its name; that Sir Thomas Button immediately thereafter had visited the west side of the Bay and given it the name of New Wales; that Captain James had, about a score of years after Hudson, gone to the part of the Bay which continued to bear his name, and that Captain Fox had in the same year reached the west side of the Bay. This claim of discovery was opposed to the fanciful claims made by France. The strength of the English contention, now enforced by actual occupation and the erection of Charles Fort, made it necessary to obtain some new basis of objection to the claim of England. It is hard to resist the conclusion that a deliberate effort was made to invent some ground of prior discovery in order to meet the visible argument of a fort now occupied by the English. M. de la Potherie, historian of New France, made the assertion that Radisson and Groseilliers had crossed from Lake Superior to the Baie du Nord (Hudson Bay). It is true, as we have seen, that Oldmixon, the British writer of a generation or two later, states the same thing. This claim is, however, completely met by the statement made by Radisson of his third voyage that they heard only from the Indians on Lake Superior of the Northern Bay, but had not crossed to it by land. We have disposed of the matter of his fourth voyage. The same historian also puts forward what seems to be pure myth, that one Jean Bourdon, a Frenchman, entered the Bay in 1656 and engaged in trade. It was stated also that a priest, William Couture, sent by Governor D'Avaugour of New France, had in 1663 made a missionary establishment on the Bay. These are unconfirmed statements, having no details, and are suspicious in their time of origination. The Hudson's Bay Company's answer states that Bourdon's voyage was to another part of Canada, going only to 53° N., and not to the Bay at all. Though entirely unsupported, these claims were reiterated as late as 1857 by Hon. Joseph Cauchon in his case on behalf of Canada _v._ Hudson's Bay Company. M. Jeremie, who was Governor of the French forts in Hudson Bay in 1713, makes the statement that Radisson and Groseilliers had visited the Bay overland, for which there is no warrant, but the Governor does not speak of Bourdon or Couture. This contradiction of De la Potherie's claim is surely sufficient proof that there is no ground for credence of the stories, which are purely apocryphal. It is but just to state, however, that the original claim of Roberval and De la Roche had some weight in the negotiations which took place between the French and English Governments over this matter. M. Colbert, the energetic Prime Minister of France, at any rate made up his mind that the English must be excluded from Hudson Bay. Furthermore, the fur trade of Canada was beginning to feel very decidedly the influence of the English traders in turning the trade to their factories on Hudson Bay. The French Prime Minister, in 1678, sent word to Duchesnau, the Intendant of Canada, to dispute the right of the English to erect factories on Hudson Bay. Radisson and Groseilliers, as we have seen, had before this time deserted the service of England and returned to that of France. With the approval of the French Government, these facile agents sailed to Canada and began the organization, in 1681, of a new association, to be known as "The Northern Company." Fitted out with two small barks, _Le St. Pierre_ and _La Ste. Anne_, in 1682, the adventurers, with their companions, appeared before Charles Fort, which Groseilliers had helped to build, but do not seem to have made any hostile demonstration against it. Passing away to the west side of the Bay, these shrewd explorers entered the River Ste. Therese (the Hayes River of to-day) and there erected an establishment, which they called Fort Bourbon. This was really one of the best trading points on the Bay. Some dispute as to even the occupancy of this point took place, but it would seem as if Radisson and Groseilliers had the priority of a few months over the English party that came to establish a fort at the mouth of the adjoining River Nelson. The two adventurers, Radisson and Groseilliers, in the following year came, as we have seen, with their ship-load of peltries to Canada, and it is charged that they attempted to unload a part of their cargo of furs before reaching Quebec. This led to a quarrel between them and the Northern Company, and the adroit fur traders again left the service of France to find their way back to England. We have already seen how completely these two Frenchmen, in the year 1684, took advantage of their own country at Fort Bourbon and turned over the furs to the Hudson's Bay Company. The sense of injury produced on the minds of the French by the treachery of these adventurers stirred the authorities up to attack the posts in Hudson Bay. Governor Denonville now came heartily to the aid of the Northern Company, and commissioned Chevalier de Troyes to organize an overland expedition from Quebec to Hudson Bay. The love of adventure was strong in the breasts of the young French _noblesse_ in Canada. Four brothers of the family Le Moyne had become known for their deeds of valour along the English frontier. Leader among the valorous French-Canadians was Le Moyne D'Iberville, who, though but twenty-four years of age, had already performed prodigies of daring. Maricourt, his brother, was another fiery spirit, who was known to the Iroquois by a name signifying "the little bird which is always in motion." Another leader was Ste. Helene. With a party of chosen men these intrepid spirits left the St. Lawrence in March, 1685, and threaded the streams of the Laurentian range to the shore of Hudson Bay. [Illustration: LE MOYNE D'IBERVILLE.] After nearly three months of the most dangerous and exciting adventures, the party reached their destination. The officers and men of the Hudson's Bay Company's service were chiefly civilians unaccustomed to war, and were greatly surprised by the sudden appearance upon the Bay of their doughty antagonists. At the mouth of the Moose River one of the Hudson's Bay Company forts was situated, and here the first attack was made. It was a fort of considerable importance, having four bastions, and was manned by fourteen guns. It, however, fell before the fierce assault of the forest rangers. The chief offence in the eyes of the French was Charles Fort on the Rupert River, that being the first constructed by the English Company. This was also captured and its fortifications thrown down. At the same time that the main body were attacking Charles Fort, the brothers Le Moyne, with a handful of picked men, stealthily approached in two canoes one of the Company's vessels in the Bay and succeeded in taking it. The largest fort on the Bay was that in the marshy region on Albany River. It was substantially built with four bastions and was provided with forty-three guns. The rapidity of movement and military skill of the French expedition completely paralyzed the Hudson's Bay Company officials and men. Governor Sargeant, though having in Albany Fort furs to the value of 50,000 crowns, after a slight resistance surrendered without the honours of war. The Hudson's Bay Company employés were given permission to return to England and in the meantime the Governor and his attendants were taken to Charlton Island and the rest of the prisoners to Moose Fort. D'Iberville afterwards took the prisoners to France, whence they came back to England. A short time after this the Company showed its disapproval of Governor Sargeant's course in surrendering Fort Albany so readily. Thinking they could mark their disapprobation more strongly, they brought an action against Governor Sargeant in the courts to recover 20,000_l._ After the suit had gone some distance, they agreed to refer the matter to arbitration, and the case was ended by the Company having to pay to the Governor 350_l._ The affair, being a family quarrel, caused some amusement to the public. The only place of importance now remaining to the English on Hudson Bay was Port Nelson, which was near the French Fort Bourbon. D'Iberville, utilizing the vessel he had captured on the Bay, went back to Quebec in the autumn of 1687 with the rich booty of furs taken at the different points. These events having taken place at a time when the two countries, France and England, were nominally at peace, negotiations took place between the two Powers. Late in the year 1686 a treaty of neutrality was signed, and it was hoped that peace would ensue on Hudson Bay. This does not seem to have been the case, however, and both parties blame each other for not observing the terms of the Act of Pacification. D'Iberville defended Albany Fort from a British attack in 1689, departed in that year for Quebec with a ship-load of furs, and returned to Hudson Bay in the following year. During the war which grew out of the Revolution, Albany Fort changed hands again to the English, and was afterwards retaken by the French, after which a strong English force (1692) repossessed themselves of it. For some time English supremacy was maintained on the Bay, but the French merely waited their time to attack Fort Bourbon, which they regarded as in a special sense their own. In 1694 D'Iberville visited the Bay, besieged and took Fort Bourbon, and reduced the place with his two frigates. His brother De Chateauguay was killed during the siege. In 1697 the Bay again fell into English hands, and D'Iberville was put in command of a squadron sent out for him from France, and with this he sailed for Hudson Bay. The expedition brought unending glory to France and the young commander. Though one of his warships was crushed in the ice in the Hudson Straits and his remaining vessels could nowhere be seen when he reached the open waters of the Bay, yet he bravely sailed to Port Nelson, purposing to invest it in his one ship, the _Pelican_. Arrived at his station, he observed that he was shut in on the rear by three English men-of-war. His condition was desperate; he had not his full complement of men, and some of those on board were sick. His vessel had but fifty guns; the English vessels carried among them 124. The English vessels, the _Hampshire_, the _Dering_, and the _Hudson's Bay_, all opened fire upon him. During a hot engagement, a well-aimed broadside from the _Pelican_ sank the _Hampshire_ with all her sails flying, and everything on board was lost; the _Hudson's Bay_ surrendered unconditionally, and the _Dering_ succeeded in making her escape. After this naval duel D'Iberville's missing vessels appeared, and the commander, landing a sufficient number of men, invested and took Port Nelson. The whole of the Hudson Bay territory thus came into the possession of the French. The matter has always, however, been looked at in the light of the brilliant achievement of this scion of the Le Moynes. Few careers have had the uninterrupted success of that of Pierre Le Moyne D'Iberville, although this fortune reached its climax in the exploit in Hudson Bay. Nine years afterwards the brilliant soldier died of yellow fever at Havana, after he had done his best in a colonization enterprise to the mouth of the Mississippi which was none too successful. Though the treaty of Ryswick, negotiated in this year of D'Iberville's triumphs, brought for the time the cessation of hostilities, yet nearly fifteen years of rivalry, and for much of the time active warfare, left their serious traces on Hudson's Bay Company affairs. A perusal of the minutes of the Hudson's Bay Company during this period gives occasional glimpses of the state of war prevailing, although it must be admitted not so vivid a picture as might have been expected. As was quite natural, the details of attacks, defences, surrenders, and parleys come to us from French sources rather than from the Company's books. That the French accounts are correct is fully substantiated by the memorials presented by the Company to the British Government, asking for recompense for losses sustained. In 1687 a petition was prepared by the Hudson's Bay Company, and a copy of it is found in one of the letter-books of the Company. This deals to some extent with the contention of the French king, which had been lodged with the British Government, claiming priority of ownership of the regions about Hudson Bay. The arguments advanced are chiefly those to which we have already referred. The claim for compensation made upon the British Government by the Company is a revelation of how seriously the French rivalry had interfered with the progress of the fur trade. After still more serious conflict had taken place in the Bay, and the Company had come to be apprehensive for its very existence, another petition was laid before His Majesty William III., in 1694. This petition, which also contained the main facts of the claim of 1687, is so important that we give some of the details of it. It is proper to state, however, that a part of the demand is made up of what has since been known as "consequential damages," and that in consequence the matter lingered on for at least two decades. The damages claimed were:-- 1682. Captain Gillam and cargo on _Prince Rupert_. £ _s._ _d._ (Captain and a number of men, cargo, and ship all lost in hostilities.) Governor Bridgar and men seized and carried to Quebec Moderate damages 25,000 0 0 September, 1684. French with two ships built a small house and interrupted Indian trade Damages 10,000 0 0 1685. French took _Perpetuana_ and cargo to Quebec. Damages 5,000 0 0 For ship, master, and men Damages 1,255 16 3 1686. French destroyed three of Company's ships at bottom of Bay, and also three ships' stores, etc., and took 50,000 beaver skins, and turned out to sea a number of His Majesty's subjects 50,000 0 0 1682-6. Five years' losses about Forts (10,000 beaver skins yearly) 20,000 0 0 1688. Company's ships _Churchill_ and _Young_ seized by French 10,000 0 0 1692. Company sent out expedition to retake Forts, which cost them 20,000 0 0 1686-93. French possessed bottom of the Bay for seven years. Loss, 10,000_l._ a year 70,000 0 0 Damages 20,000 0 0 ---------------- Total damages claimed £211,255 16 3 ================ CHAPTER VII. RYSWICK AND UTRECHT. The "Grand Monarque" humbled--Caught napping--The Company in peril--Glorious Utrecht--Forts restored--Damages to be considered--Commission useless. Louis XIV. of France, by his ambition and greed in 1690, united against himself the four nations immediately surrounding him--Germany, Spain, Holland, and England, in what they called "The Grand Alliance." Battles, by land and sea for six years, brought Louis into straits, unrelieved by such brilliant episodes as the naval prodigies wrought by D'Iberville on Hudson Bay. In 1696, "Le Grand Monarque" was sufficiently humbled to make overtures for peace. The opposing nations accepted these, and on May 9th, 1697, the representatives of the nations met at William III.'s Château of Neuberg Hansen, near the village of Ryswick, which is in Belgium, a short distance from the Hague. Louis had encouraged the Jacobite cause, James III. being indeed a resident of the Castle of St. Germain, near Paris. This had greatly irritated William, and one of the first things settled at the Treaty was the recognition of William as rightful King of England. Article VII. of the Treaty compelled the restoration to the King of France and the King of Great Britain respectively of "all countries, islands, forts, and colonies," which either had possessed before the declaration of war in 1690. However satisfactory this may have been in Acadia and Newfoundland, we find that it did not meet the case of the Hudson Bay, inasmuch as the ownership of this region was, as we have seen, claimed by both parties before the war. In the documents of the Company there is evidence of the great anxiety caused to the adventurers when the news reached London, as to what was likely to be the basis of settlement of the Treaty. The adventurers at once set themselves to work to bring influence to bear against the threatened result. The impression seemed to prevail that they had been "caught napping," and possibly they could not accomplish anything. Their most influential deputation came to the Hague, and, though late in the day, did avail somewhat. No doubt Article VII. of the Treaty embodies the results of their influence. It is so important for our purpose that we give it in full:--"Commissioners should be appointed on both sides to examine and determine the rights and pretensions which either of the said Kings have to the places situated in Hudson Bay; but the possession of those places which were taken by the French during the peace that preceded this war, and were retaken by the English during this war, shall be left to the French, by virtue of the foregoing articles. The capitulation made by the English on September 5th, 1695, shall be observed according to the form and tenor; the merchandises therein mentioned shall be restored; the Governor at the fort taken there shall be set at liberty, if it be not already done; the differences which have arisen concerning the execution of the said capitulation and the value of the goods there lost, shall be adjudicated and determined by the said commissioners; who immediately after the ratification of the present Treaty, shall be invested with sufficient authority for the setting of the limits and confines of the lands to be restored on either side by virtue of the foregoing article, and likewise for exchanging of lands, as may conduce to the mutual interest and advantage of both Kings." This agreement presents a few salient points:-- 1. The concession to France of rights (undefined, it is true), but of rights not hitherto acknowledged by the English. 2. The case of the Company, which would have been seriously prejudiced by Article VII., is kept open, and commissioners are appointed to examine and decide boundaries. 3. The claim for damages so urgently pressed by the Hudson's Bay Company receives some recognition in the restoration of merchandize and the investigation into the "value of the goods lost." 4. On the whole, the interests of the Hudson's Bay Company would seem to have been decidedly prejudiced by the Treaty. The affairs of the Company were in a very unfortunate condition for fifteen years after the Treaty of Ryswick. The Treaty took place in the very year of D'Iberville's remarkable victories in the Bay. That each nation should hold that of which it was in actual possession meant that of the seven Hudson's Bay Company forts, only Fort Albany was left to the Company. The Company began to petition at once for the appointment of the Commissioners provided by the Treaty, to settle the matter in dispute. The desperate condition of their affairs accounts for the memorials presented to the British Government by the Company in 1700 and in the succeeding year, by which they expressed themselves as satisfied to give the French the southern portion of the Bay from Rupert's River on the east and Albany Fort on the west. About the time of the second of these proposals the Hudson's Bay Company sent to the British Government another petition of a very different tone, stating their perilous condition, arising from their not receiving one-fifth of the usual quantity of furs, even from Fort Albany, which made their year's trade an absolute loss; they propose that an expedition of "three men-of-war, one bomb-vessel, and 250 soldiers" should be sent to dislodge the French and to regain the whole Bay for them, as being the original owners. No steps on the part of the Ryswick Commissioners seem to have been taken toward settling the question of boundaries in Hudson Bay. The great Marlborough victories, however, crushed the power of France, and when Louis XIV. next negotiated with the allies at Utrecht--"The Ferry of the Rhine"--in 1713, the English case was in a very different form from what it had been at the Treaty of Ryswick. Two years before the Treaty, when it was evident that the war would be brought to an end, the Hudson's Bay Company plucked up courage and petitioned strongly to be allowed the use of the whole of Hudson Bay, and to have their losses on the Bay repaid by France. Several times during the war had France sued for peace at the hands of the allies, but the request had been refused. To humble France seemed to be the fixed policy of all her neighbours. At the end of the war, in which France was simply able to hold what she could defend by her fortresses, the great kingdom of Louis XIV. found itself "miserably exhausted, her revenue greatly fallen off, her currency depreciated thirty per cent., the choicest of her nobles drafted into the army, and her merchants and industrious artisans weighed down to the ground by heavy imposts." This was England's opportunity, and she profited by it. Besides "the balance of power" in Europe being preserved, Great Britain received Nova Scotia, Newfoundland, certain West India Islands, and the undisturbed control of the Iroquois. Sections X. and XI. of the Treaty are of special value to us in our recital. By the former of these the entire west coast of Hudson Bay became British; the French were to evacuate all posts on the Bay and surrender all war material within six months; Commissioners were to be appointed to determine within a year the boundary between Canada and the British possessions on Hudson Bay. Section XI. provided "that the French King should take care that satisfaction be given, according to the rule of justice and equity, to the English Company trading to the Bay of Hudson, for all damages and spoil done to their colonies, ships, persons, and goods, by the hostile incursions and depredations of the French in time of peace." This was to be arrived at by Commissioners to be appointed. If the Hudson's Bay Company, to quote their own language in regard to the Treaty of Ryswick, had been left "the only mourners by the peace," they were to be congratulated on the results of the Treaty of Utrecht. As in so many other cases, however, disputed points left to be settled by Commissioners lingered long before results were reached. Six years after the Treaty of Utrecht, the Memorial of the Hudson's Bay Company shows that while they had received back their forts, yet the line of delimitation between Canada had not been drawn and their losses had not been paid. In the preceding chapter we have a list of the claims against the French as computed in 1694, amounting to upwards of 200,000_l._; now, however, the amount demanded is not much above 100,000_l._, though the Memorial explains that in making up the above modest sum, they had not counted up the loss of their forts, nor the damage done to their trade, as had been done in the former case. Immediately after the time of this Memorial of the Company, the Commissioners were named by Great Britain and France, and several meetings took place. Statements were then given in, chiefly as to the boundaries between the British and French possessions in the neighbourhood of Hudson Bay and Canada. The Commissioners for several years practised all the arts of diplomacy, and were farther and farther apart as the discussions went on. No result seems to have been reached, and the claims of the Hudson's Bay Company, so far as recorded, were never met. Peace, however, prevailed in Hudson Bay for many years; the Indians from the interior, even to the Rocky Mountains, made their visits to the Bay for the first forty years of the eighteenth century, and the fur trade, undisturbed, became again remunerative. CHAPTER VIII. DREAM OF A NORTH-WEST PASSAGE. Stock rises--Jealousy aroused--Arthur Dobbs, Esq.--An ingenious attack--Appeal to the "Old Worthies"--Captain Christopher Middleton--Was the Company in earnest?--The sloop _Furnace_--Dobbs' fierce attack--The great subscription--Independent expedition--"Henry Ellis, gentleman"--"Without success"--Dobbs' real purpose. When peace had been restored by the Treaty of Utrecht, the shores of the Bay, which had been in the hands of the French since the Treaty of Ryswick, were given over to Great Britain, according to the terms of the Treaty; they have remained British ever since. The Company, freed from the fears of overland incursions by the French from Canada, and from the fleets that had worked so much mischief by sea, seems to have changed character in the _personnel_ of the stockholders and to have lost a good deal of the pristine spirit. The charge is made that the stockholders had become very few, that the stock was controlled by a majority, who, year after year, elected themselves, and that considering the great privileges conferred by the Charter, the Company was failing to develop the country and was sleeping in inglorious ease on the shores of Hudson Bay. Certain it is that Sir Bibye Lake was re-elected Governor year after year, from 1720 to 1740. It would appear, however, to have been a spirit of jealousy which animated those who made these discoveries as to the Company's inaction. The return of peace had brought prosperity to the traders; and dividends to the stockholders began to be a feature of company life which they had not known for more than a quarter of a century. As we shall see, the stock of the Company was greatly increased in 1720, and preparations were being made by the Committee for a wide extension of their operations. About this time a man of great personal energy appears on the scene of English commercial life, who became a bitter opponent of the Company, and possessed such influence with the English Government that the Company was compelled to make a strenuous defence. This was Arthur Dobbs, Esq., an Irishman of undoubted ability and courage. He conducted his plan of campaign against the Company along a most ingenious and dangerous line of attack. He revived the memory among the British people of the early voyages to discover a way to the riches of the East, and appealed to the English imagination by picturing the interior of the North American Continent, with its vast meadows, splendid cascades, rich fur-bearing animals, and numberless races of Indians, picturesquely dressed, as opening up a field, if they could be reached, of lucrative trade to the London merchants. To further his purpose he pointed out the sluggish character of the Hudson's Bay Company, and clinched his arguments by quoting the paragraph in the Charter which stated that the great privileges conferred by generous Charles II. were bestowed in consideration of their object having been "The Discovery of a New Passage into the South Sea." Dobbs appealed to the sacrifices made and the glories achieved in earlier days in the attempt to discover the North-West Passage. In scores of pages, the indefatigable writer gives the accounts of the early voyages. We have but to give a passage or two from another author to show what a powerful weapon Dobbs wielded, and to see how he succeeded in reviving a question which had slumbered well nigh a hundred years, and which again became a living question in the nineteenth century. This writer says:--"It would lead us far beyond our limits were we to chronicle all the reasons urged, and the attempts made to 'finde out that short and easie passage by the North-west, which we have hitherto so long desired.' Under the auspices of the 'Old Worthies' really--though ostensibly countenanced by kings, queens, and nobles--up rose a race of men, daring and enthusiastic, whose names would add honour to any country, and embalm its history. "Commencing with the reign of Henry VII., we have first, John Cabot (1497), ever renowned; for he it was who first saw and claimed for the 'Banner of England,' the American continent. Sebastian, his son, follows in the next year--a name honourable and wise. Nor may we omit Master Robert Thorne of Bristol (1527); Master Hore (1536); and Master Michael Lok (1545), of London--men who knew 'cosmography' and the 'weighty and substantial reasons' for 'a discovery even to the North Pole.' For a short time Arctic energy changed its direction from the North-west to the North-east (discoveries of the Muscovy Company), but wanting success in that quarter, again reverted to the North-west. Then we find Martin Frobisher, George Best, Sir Humphrey Gilbert, James Davis, George Waymouth, John Knight, the cruelly treated Henry Hudson, James Hall, Sir Thomas Button, Fotherbye, Baffin and Bylot, 'North-west' Luke Fox, Thomas James, &c. "Thus, in the course of sixty years--now breaking the icy fetters of the North, now chained by them; now big with high hope 'of the Passage,' then beaten back by the terrific obstacles, as it were, guarding it--notwithstanding, these men never faltered, never despaired of finally accomplishing it. Their names are worthy to be held in remembrance; for, with all their faults, all their strange fancies and prejudices, still they were a daring and glorious race, calm amid the most appalling dangers; what they did was done correctly, as far as their limited means went; each added something that gave us more extended views and a better acquaintance with the globe we inhabit--giving especially large contributions to geography, with a more fixed resolution to discover the 'Passage.' By them the whole of the eastern face of North America was made known, and its disjointed lands in the North, even to 77 deg. or 78 deg. N. Their names will last while England is true to herself." Mr. Dobbs awakened much interest among persons of rank in England as to the desirability of finding a North-West Passage. Especially to the Lords of the Admiralty, on whom he had a strong hold, did he represent the glory and value of fitting out an expedition to Hudson Bay on this quest. Dobbs mentions in his book the unwilling efforts of the Hudson's Bay Company to meet the demand for a wider examination of the Bay which took place a few years after the Peace of Utrecht. In 1719, Captain James Knight received orders from the Company to fit out an expedition and sail up the west coast of the Bay. This he did in two ships, the _Albany_ frigate, Captain George Barlow, and the _Discovery_, Captain David Vaughan. Captain John Scroggs, in the ship _Whalebone_, two years afterward, sailed up the coast in search of the expedition. It is maintained by the opponents of the Company that these attempts were a mere blind to meet the search for a North-West Passage, and that the Company was averse to any real investigation being made. It is of course impossible to say whether this charge was deserved or not. The fact that no practicable North-West Passage has ever been discovered renders the arguments drawn from the running of the tides, &c., of no value, and certainly justifies the Company to some extent in its inaction. The fact that in 1736 the Hudson's Bay Company yielded to the claim raised by Dobbs and his associates, is to be noted in favour of the Company's contention that while not believing in the existence of the North-West Passage, they were willing to satisfy the excited mind of the English public. Their expedition of the _Churchill_ sloop, Captain Napper, and the _Musquash_ sloop, Captain Crow, accomplished nothing in solving the question in dispute. Disappointed with the efforts made by the Company at his request, Dobbs, in 1737, took in hand to organize an expedition under Government direction to go upon the search of the "Passage." At this time he opened communication with Captain Christopher Middleton, one of the best known captains in the service of the Hudson's Bay Company. Middleton, being satisfied with the Company's service, refused to leave it. Dobbs then asked him to recommend a suitable man, and also arranged with Middleton to be allowed to examine the records kept of his voyages, upon the Hudson's Bay Company ships. This, however, came to nothing. About 1740 Captain Middleton had cause to differ with the Company on business matters, and entertained Dobbs' proposition, which was that he should be placed in command of a British man-of-war and go in search of the long-sought North-West Passage. Middleton gave the Hudson's Bay Company a year's notice, but found them unwilling to let him retire. He had taken the step of resigning deliberately and adhered to it, though he was disappointed in his command not being so remunerative as he expected. In May, 1741, Captain Middleton received his orders from the Lords of the Admiralty to proceed upon his journey and to follow the directions given him as to finding a North-West Passage. These had been prepared under Dobbs' supervision. Directions are given as to his course of procedure, should he reach California, and also as to what should be done in case of meeting Japanese ships. Middleton was placed in charge of Her Majesty's sloop the _Furnace_, and had as a companion and under his orders the _Discovery Pink_, William Moore, Master. In due time, Hudson Bay was reached, but in August the season seemed rather late to proceed northward from "Cary's Swan's Nest," and it was decided to winter in the mouth of Churchill River. On July 1st, 1742, the expedition proceeded northward. Most complete observations were made of weather, land, presence of ice, natives of the coast, depth of bay, rivers entering bay, tides, and any possible outlets as far as 88 deg. or 89 deg. W. longitude. Observations were continued until August 18th, when the expedition sailed home to report what it had found. Captain Middleton read an important paper on "The Extraordinary Degrees and Surprising Effects of Cold in Hudson Bay," before the Royal Society in London. No sooner had Middleton reached the Orkneys on his return voyage than he forwarded to Dobbs, who was in Ireland, a letter and an abstract of his journal. Lest this should have gone astray, he sent another copy on his arrival in the Thames. The report was, on the whole, discouraging as to the existence of a north-west passage. Dobbs, however, was unwilling to give up his dream, and soon began to discredit Middleton. He dealt privately with the other officers of the ships, Middleton's subordinates, and with surprising skill turned the case against Captain Middleton. The case of Dobbs against Captain Middleton has been well stated by John Barrow. Middleton was charged with neglect in having failed to explore the line of coast which afforded a probability of a passage to the north-west. The principal points at issue appear to have been in respect to the following discoveries of Middleton, viz. the Wager River, Repulse Bay, and the Frozen Strait. As regards the first, Mr. Dobbs asserted that the tide came through the so-called river from the westward; and this question was settled in the following year by Captain Moore, who entirely confirmed Captain Middleton's report. Repulse Bay, which well deserves the name it bears, was no less accurately laid down by Captain Middleton, and of the Frozen Strait, Sir Edward Parry remarks, "Above all, the accuracy of Captain Middleton is manifest upon the point most strenuously urged against him, for our subsequent experience has not left the smallest doubt of Repulse Bay and the northern part of Welcome Bay being filled by a rapid tide, flowing into it from the eastward through the Frozen Strait." Dobbs, by a high order of logic chopping, succeeded in turning the case, for the time being, against Captain Middleton. Seldom has greater skill been used to win a cause. He quotes with considerable effect a letter by Sir Bibye Lake, addressed to the Governor of the Prince of Wales Fort, Churchill River, reading: "Notwithstanding an order to you, if Captain Middleton (who is sent ahead in the Government's service to discover a passage north-west) should by inevitable necessity be brought into real distress and danger of his life and loss of his ship, in such case you are then to give him the best assistance and relief you can." Dobbs' whole effort seems to be to show that Middleton was hiding the truth, and this, under the influence of his old masters, the Hudson's Bay Company. A copy of Dobbs' Criticisms, laid before the Lords of the Admiralty, was furnished Captain Middleton, and his answer is found in "Vindication of the Conduct," published in 1743. "An Account of the Countries adjoining to Hudson Bay" by Arthur Dobbs, Esq., is a book published in the year after, and is really a book of note. A quarto, consisting of upwards of 200 pages, it showed a marvellous knowledge of colonization in America, of the interior of the continent at that time, and incidentally deals with Captain Middleton's journal. Its account of the journey of "Joseph La France, a French Canadese Indian," from Lake Superior by way of Lake Winnipeg to Hudson Bay, is the first detailed account on record of that voyage being made. Evidently Arthur Dobbs had caught the ear of the English people, and the Company was compelled to put itself in a thorough attitude of defence. Dobbs with amazing energy worked up his cause, and what a writer of the time calls, "The long and warm dispute between Arthur Dobbs, Esq. and Captain Middleton," gained much public notice. The glamour of the subject of a north-west passage, going back to the exploits of Frobisher, Baffin, and Button, touched the national fancy, and no doubt the charge of wilful concealment of the truth made against the Hudson's Bay Company, repeated so strenuously by Dobbs, gained him adherents. Parliament took action in the matter and voted 20,000_l._ as a reward for the discovery of a north-west passage. This caused another wave of enthusiasm, and immediately a subscription was opened for the purpose of raising 10,000_l._ to equip an expedition for this popular enterprise. It was proposed to divide the whole into 100 shares of 100_l._ each. A vigorous canvass was made to secure the amount, and the subscription list bears the names of several nobles, an archbishop, a bishop, and many esquires. A perusal of the names suggests that a number of them are Irish, and no doubt were obtained by Mr. Dobbs, who was often at Lisburn in Ireland. The amount raised was 7,200_l._ The expedition, we hear afterwards, cost upwards of 10,000_l._, but the money needed was, we are told, willingly contributed by those who undertook the enterprise. Mr. Dobbs, as was suitable, was a leading spirit on the Committee of Management. Two ships were purchased by the Committee, the _Dobbs_ galley, 180 tons burden, Captain William Moore, and the _California_, 140 tons, Captain Francis Smith. On May 24th, 1746, the two vessels, provisioned and well fitted out for the voyage, left the mouth of the Thames, being in company with the two ships of the Hudson's Bay Company going to the Bay, the four ships being under the convoy of the ship _Loo_, of forty guns, as France was at this time at war with England. The voyage was rather prosperous, with the exception of a very exciting incident on board the _Dobbs_ galley. A dangerous fire broke out in the cabin of the vessel, and threatened to reach the powder-room, which was directly underneath, and contained "thirty or forty barrels of powder, candles, spirits, matches, and all manner of combustibles." Though, as the writer says, "during the excitement, you might hear all the varieties of sea eloquence, cries, prayers, curses, and scolding, mingled together, yet this did not prevent the proper measures being taken to save the ship and our lives." The story of the voyage is given to us in a very interesting manner by Henry Ellis, gentleman, agent for the proprietors of the expedition. Though nearly one hundred pages are taken up with the inevitable summaries of "The Several Expeditions to discover a North-West Passage," yet the remaining portion of the book is well written. After the usual struggle with the ice in Hudson Strait, as it was impossible to explore southward during the first season, the _Dobbs_ galley and the _California_ sailed for Port Nelson, intending to winter there. They arrived on August 26th. Ellis states that they were badly received by the Hudson's Bay officers at the first. They, however, laid up their ships in Hayes River, and built an erection of logs on the shore for the staff. The officers' winter quarters were called "Montague House," named after the Duke of Montague, patron of the expedition. After a severe winter, during which the sailors suffered with scurvy, and, according to Ellis, received little sympathy from the occupants of York Fort, the expedition left the mouth of the Hayes River on June 24th, to prosecute their discovery. After spending the summer coasting Hudson Bay and taking careful notes, the officers of the vessels gladly left the inhospitable shore to sail homeward, and the two ships arrived in Yarmouth Roads on October 14th, 1747. "Thus ended," says Ellis, "this voyage, without success indeed, but not without effect; for though we did not discover a north-west passage ... we returned with clearer and fuller proofs ... that evidently such a passage there may be." It will be observed that Ellis very much confirms Captain Middleton's conclusions, but Mr. Dobbs no doubt made the best of his disappointment, and, as we shall see, soon developed what had been from the first his real object, the plan for founding a rival company. CHAPTER IX. THE INTERESTING BLUE-BOOK OF 1749. "Le roi est mort"--Royalty unfavourable--Earl of Halifax--"Company asleep"--Petition to Parliament--Neglected discovery--Timidity or caution--Strong "Prince of Wales"--Increase of stock--A timid witness--Claims of discovery--To make Indians Christians--Charge of disloyalty--New Company promises largely--Result nil. Arthur Dobbs, Esq., was evidently worsted in his tilt with the Hudson's Bay Company. His fierce onslaught upon Captain Middleton was no doubt the plan of attack to enable him to originate the expedition of the _Dobbs_ galley and _California_. Even this voyage had brought little better prospect of the discovery of a north-west passage, except the optimistic words of Ellis, the use of which, indeed, seemed very like the delectable exercise of "extracting sunbeams from cucumbers." But the energy of the man was in no way dampened. Indeed, the indications are, as we survey the features of the time, that he had strong backing in the governing circles of the country. Time was when the Hudson's Bay Company basked in the sunshine of the Court. It is, perhaps, the penalty of old institutions that as rulers pass away and political parties change, the centre of gravity of influence shifts. Perhaps the Hudson's Bay Company had not been able to use the convenient motto, "Le Roi est mort: Vive le Roi!" At any rate the strong Court influence of the Company had passed away, and there is hardly a nobleman to be found on the list of stockholders submitted by the Company to the Committee of the Lords. On the other hand, when Henry Ellis, the historian of the expedition, writes his book in the year after his return, he is permitted to dedicate it to His Royal Highness Frederick, Prince of Wales, is privileged to refer in his dedication to a "gracious audience" allowed him by the Prince after his return, and to speak of "the generous care" expressed by the Prince "for the happy progress of his design." Again, in a similar dedication of a book written four years afterwards by Joseph Robson, a former employé of the Hudson's Bay Company, but a book full of hostility to the Company, allusion is made to the fact that the Earl of Halifax, Lord Commissioner of Trade and Plantations, gave his most hearty approval to such plans as the expedition sought to carry out. It is said of Lord Halifax, who was called the Father of Colonies: "He knows the true state of the nation--that it depends on trade and manufactures; that we have more rivals than ever; that navigation is our bulwark and Colonies our chief support; and that new channels should be industriously opened. Therefore, we survey the whole globe in search of fresh inlets which our ships may enter and traffic." Those familiar with the work of Lord Halifax will remember that the great colonization scheme by which Nova Scotia was firmly grappled to the British Empire and the City of Halifax founded, was his; and the charge made by Dobbs that for a generation the "Company had slept on the shores of the Bay," would appeal with force to a man of such energetic and progressive nature as the Lord Commissioner. Accordingly, Dobbs now came out boldly; not putting the discovery of the North-West Passage in the front of his plan, but openly charging the Hudson's Bay Company with indolence and failure, and asking for the granting of a charter to a rival company. As summed up by the sub-committee to which the petition of Dobbs and his associates was submitted, the charges were:-- I. The Company had not discovered, nor sufficiently attempted to discover, the North-West Passage into the southern seas. II. They had not extended their settlements to the limits given them by their Charter. III. They had designedly confined their trade within very narrow limits: (_a_) Had abused the Indians. (_b_) Had neglected their forts. (_c_) Ill-treated their own servants. (_d_) Encouraged the French. The Hudson's Bay Company, now put on their mettle, exhibited a considerable amount of activity, and filed documents before the Committee that in some respects met the charges against them. They claimed that they had in the thirty years preceding the investigation done a fair amount of exploratory work and discovery. In 1719, they had sent out the _Albany_ frigate and _Discovery_ to the northern regions, and neither of them returned to tell the tale. In the same year its vessels on the Bay, the _Prosperous_ and the _Success_, one from York Factory, the other from Prince of Wales Fort, had sailed up the coast on exploratory expeditions. Two years afterward, the _Prosperous_, under Kelsey, made a voyage, and the _Success_, under Captain Napper, had sailed from York Fort and was lost. In the same year the _Whalebone_, under Captain John Scroggs, went from England to Prince of Wales Fort, and after wintering there, in the following year made a decided effort on behalf of the Passage, but returned unsuccessful. In the year when Dobbs became so persistent (1737) James Napper, who had been saved from the wreck of the _Success_ sixteen years before, took command of the _Churchill_ from Prince of Wales Fort, but on the exploration died, and the vessel returned. The _Musquash_, under Captain Crow, accompanied the _Churchill_, but returned with no hope of success. This was the case presented by the Hudson's Bay Company. It was still open to the opponents of the Company to say, as they did, that the Hudson's Bay Company was not in earnest, wanted nothing done to attract rivals, and were adepts in concealing their operations and in hoodwinking the public. A more serious charge was that they had not sought to reach the interior, but had confined their trade to the shores of the Bay. Here it seems that the opponents of the Company made a better case. It is indeed unaccountable to us to-day, as we think that the Company had now been eighty years trading on the Bay and had practically no knowledge of the inheritance possessed by them. At this very time the French, by way of Lake Superior, had journeyed inland, met Indian tribes, traded with them, and even with imposing ceremonies buried metal plates claiming the country which the Hudson's Bay Company Charter covered as lying on rivers, lakes, &c., tributary to Hudson Bay. It is true they had submitted instructions to the number of twenty or thirty, in which governors and captains had been urged to explore the interior and extend the trade among the Indian tribes. But little evidence could be offered that these communications had been acted on. The chief dependence of the Company seems to have been on one Henry Kelsey, who went as a boy to Hudson Bay, but rose to be chief officer there. The critics of the Company were not slow to state that Kelsey had been a refugee from their forts and had lived for several seasons among the Indians of the interior. Even if this were so, it is still true that Kelsey came to be one of the most enterprising of the wood-runners of the Company. Dobbs confronted them with the fact that the voyage from Lake Superior to Hudson Bay had been only made once in their history, and that by Joseph La France, the Canadian Indian. Certainly, whether from timidity, caution, inertia, or from some deep-seated system of policy, it was true that the Company had done little to penetrate the interior. The charge that the Company abused the Indians was hardly substantiated. The Company was dependent on the goodwill of the Indians, and had they treated them badly, their active rivals, the French, would simply have reaped the benefit of their folly. That the price charged the Indians for goods was as large as the price paid for furs was small, is quite likely to have been true. Civilized traders all the world over, dealing with ignorant and dependent tribes, follow this policy. No doubt the risks of life and limb and goods in remote regions are great, and great profits must be made to meet them. It is to be remembered, however, that when English and French traders came into competition, as among the Iroquois in New York State, and afterwards in the Lake Superior district, the quality of the English goods was declared by the Indians better and their treatment by the English on the whole more honest and aboveboard than that by the French. That traders should neglect their own forts seems very unlikely. Those going to the Hudson Bay Main expected few luxuries, and certainly did not have an easy life, but there was on the part of the Company a vast difference in treatment as compared with that given to the fur traders in New France as they went to the far west. No doubt pressure for dividends prevented expenditure that was unnecessary, but a perusal of the experience of Champlain with his French fur company leads us to believe that the English were far the more liberal and considerate in the treatment of employés. The fortress of the River Churchill, known as the Prince of Wales Fort, with its great ruins to be seen to-day, belonging to this period, speaks of a large expense and a high ideal of what a fort ought to be. During the examination of witnesses by the Committee, full opportunity was given to show cases of ill-treatment of men and poor administration of their forts. Twenty witnesses were examined, and they included captains, merchants, and employés, many of whom had been in the service of the Company on the Bay, but whether, as Robson says, "It must be attributed either to their confusion upon appearing before so awful an assembly, or to their having a dependence on the Company and an expectation of being employed again in their service," little was elicited at all damaging to the Company. The charge of the fewness of the forts and the smallness of the trade was more serious. That they should have a monopoly of the trade, and should neither develop it themselves, nor allow others to develop it, would have been to pursue a "dog in the manger" policy. They stated that they had on an average three ships employed solely on their business, that their exports for ten years immediately preceding amounted to 40,240_l._ and their imports 122,835_l._, which they claimed was a balance of trade satisfactory to England. The objection that the whole capital of the Company at the commencement, 10,500_l._, was trifling, was perhaps true, but they had made great profits, and they used them in the purchase of ships and the building of forts, and now had a much more valuable property than at the beginning. That they had been able to increase their stock so largely was a tribute to the profits of their business and to its ability to earn dividends on a greatly increased capital stock. The increase of stock as shown by the Company was as follows:-- Original stock £10,500 Trebled in 1690 31,500 Trebled in 1720 94,500 At this time there was a movement to greatly increase the stock, but the stringency of the money market checked this movement, and subscriptions of ten per cent. were taken, amounting to 3,150_l._ only. This was also trebled and added to the original 94,500_l._, making a total stock of 103,950_l._ Some three years after the investigation by the Committee, one of the witnesses, Joseph Robson, who gave evidence of the very mildest, most non-committal character, appears to have received new light, for he published a book called, "An Account of Six Years' Residence in Hudson's Bay." He says in the preface, speaking of the evidence given by him in the investigation, "For want of confidence and ability to express myself clearly, the account I then gave was far from being so exact and full as that which I intended to have given." What the influence was that so effectually opened Robson's eyes, we do not know. The second part of this work is a critique of the evidence furnished by the Company, and from the vigour employed by this writer as compared with the apathy shown at the investigation, it is generally believed that in the meantime he had become a dependent of Dobbs. The plea put forward by the petitioners for the granting of a charter to them contained several particulars. They had, at their own cost and charges, fitted out two ships, the _Dobbs_ galley and _California_, in search of the North-West Passage to the West and Southern Ocean. Their object was, they claimed, a patriotic one, and they aimed at extending the trade of Great Britain. They maintained that though the reward offered had been 20,000_l._, it was not sufficient to accomplish the end, as they had already spent more than half of that sum. Notwithstanding this, they had discovered a number of bays, inlets, and coasts before unknown, and inasmuch as this was the ground of the Charter issued by Charles II. to the Hudson's Bay Company, they claimed like consideration for performing a similar service. The petitioners made the most ample promise as to their future should the charter be granted. They would persevere in their search for the passage to the Southern Ocean of America, of which, notwithstanding the frequent failures in finding it, they had a strong hope. The forward policy of Lord Halifax of extensive colonization they were heartily in favour of, and they undertook to settle the lands they might discover. The question had been raised during the investigation, whether the Company had done anything to civilize the natives. They had certainly done nothing. Probably their answer was that they were a trading company, and never saw the Indians except in the months of the trading season, when in July and August they presented themselves from the interior at the several factories. The petitioners promised, in regard to the natives, that they would "lay the foundation for their becoming Christians and industrious subjects of His Majesty." Beyond the sending out of a prayer-book from time to time, which seemed to indicate a desire to maintain service among their servants, the Company had taken no steps in this direction. The closing argument for the bestowal of a charter was that they would prevent French encroachments upon British rights and trade on the continent of America. The petition makes the very strong statement that the Hudson's Bay Company had connived at, or allowed French and English to encroach, settle, and trade within their limits on the south side of the Bay. Whatever may have been in the mind of the petitioners on this subject of conniving with the French, a perusal of the minutes of the Company fails to show any such disposition. The Company in Charles II.'s times was evidently more anti-French than the Government. They disputed the claim of the French to any part of the Bay, and strongly urged their case before the English Commissioners at the Treaty of Ryswick. One of their documents, seemingly showing them to be impressed with the claim of priority of ownership of the French King, did propose a division of the Bay, giving the south part of the Bay to the French and the remainder to themselves. It is easy to understand a trading company wishing peace, so that trade might go on, and knowing that Hudson Bay, with its enormous coast line, afforded wide room for trade, proposing such a settlement. No doubt, however, the reference is to the great competition which was, in a few years, to extend through the interior to the Rocky Mountains. This was to be indeed a battle royal. Arthur Dobbs, judging by his book, which shows how far ahead he was of his opponents in foresight, saw that this must come, and so the new Company promises to penetrate the interior, cut off the supply of furs from the French, and save the trade to Britain. A quarter of a century afterwards, the Hudson's Bay Company, slow to open their eyes, perceived it too, and as we shall see, rose from their slumbers, and entered the conflict. The Report was made to the Privy Council, expressing appreciation of the petition, and of the advanced views enunciated, but stating that the case against the Hudson's Bay Company had not yet been made out. So no new charter was granted! CHAPTER X. FRENCH CANADIANS EXPLORE THE INTERIOR. The "Western Sea"--Ardent Duluth--"Kaministiquia"--Indian boasting--Père Charlevoix--Father Gonor--The man of the hour: Verendrye--Indian map maker--The North Shore--A line of forts--The Assiniboine country--A notable manuscript--A marvellous journey--Glory but not wealth--Post of the Western Sea. Even the French in Canada were animated in their explorations by the dream of a North-West Passage. The name Lachine at the rapids above Montreal is the memorial of La Salle's hope that the Western Sea was to be reached along this channel. The Lake Superior region seems to have been neglected for twenty years after Radisson and Groseilliers had visited Lake Nepigon, or Lake Assiniboines, as they called it. But the intention of going inland from Lake Superior was not lost sight of by the French explorers, for on a map (Parl. Lib. Ottawa) of date 1680, is the inscription in French marking the Kaministiquia or Pigeon River, "By this river they go to the Assinepoulacs, for 150 leagues toward the north-west, where there are plenty of beavers." The stirring events which we have described between 1682 and 1684, when Radisson deserted from the Hudson's Bay Company and founded for the French King Fort Bourbon on the Bay, were accompanied by a new movement toward Lake Superior, having the purpose of turning the stream of trade from Hudson Bay southward to Lake Superior. At this time Governor De La Barre writes from Canada that the English at Hudson Bay had that year attracted to them many of the northern Indians, who were in the habit of coming to Montreal, and that he had despatched thither Sieur Duluth, who had great influence over the western Indians. Greysolon Duluth was one of the most daring spirits in the service of France in Canada. Duluth writes (1684) to the Governor from Lake Nepigon, where he had erected a fort, seemingly near the spot where Radisson and Groseilliers had wintered. Duluth says in his ardent manner: "It remains for me, sir, to assure you that all the savages of the north have great confidence in me, and that enables me to promise you that before the lapse of two years not a single savage will visit the English at Hudson Bay. This they have all promised me, and have bound themselves thereto, by the presents I have given, or caused to be given them. The Klistinos, Assinepoulacs, &c., have promised to come to my fort.... Finally, sir, I wish to lose my life if I do not absolutely prevent the savages from visiting the English." Duluth seems for several years to have carried on trade with the Indians north and west of Lake Nepigon, and no doubt prevented many of them from going to Hudson Bay. But he was not well supported by the Governor, being poorly supplied with goods, and for a time the prosecution of trade by the French in the Lake Superior region declined. The intense interest created by D'Iberville in his victorious raids on Hudson Bay no doubt tended to divert the attention of the French explorers from the trade with the interior. The Treaties of Ryswick and Utrecht changed the whole state of affairs for the French King, and deprived by the latter of these treaties of any hold on the Bay, the French in Canada began to turn their attention to their deserted station on Lake Superior. Now, too, the reviving interest in England of the scheme for the discovery of the North-West Passage infected the French. Six years after the Treaty of Utrecht, we find (MSS. Ottawa) it stated: "Messrs. de Vaudreuil and Begin having written last year that the discovery of the Western Sea would be advantageous to the Colony, it was approved that to reach it M. de Vaudreuil should establish these posts, which he had proposed, and he was instructed at the same time to have the same established without any expense accruing to the King--as the person establishing them would be remunerated by trade." In the year 1717 the Governor sent out a French lieutenant, Sieur De la Noue, who founded a fort at Kaministiquia. In a letter, De la Noue states that the Indians are well satisfied with the fort he has erected, and promise to bring there all those who had been accustomed to trade at Hudson Bay. Circumstances seem to have prevented this explorer from going and establishing a fort at Tekamiouen (Rainy Lake), and a third at the lake still farther to the north-west. It is somewhat notable that during the fifty years succeeding the early voyages of Radisson and Groseilliers on Lake Superior, the French were quite familiar with the names of lakes and rivers in the interior which they had never visited. It will be remembered, however, that the same thing is true of the English on Hudson Bay. They knew the names Assiniboines, Christinos, and the like as familiar terms, although they had not left the Bay. The reason of this is easily seen. The North-West Indian is a great narrator. He tells of large territories, vast seas, and is, in fact, in the speech of Hiawatha, "Iagoo, the great boaster." He could map out his route upon a piece of birch-bark, and the maps still made by the wild North-Western Indians are quite worthy of note. It will be observed that the objection brought by the French against the Hudson's Bay Company of clinging to the shores of the Bay, may be equally charged against the French on the shore of Lake Superior, or at least of Lake Nepigon, for the period from its first occupation of at least seventy years. No doubt the same explanation applies in both cases, viz. the bringing of their furs to the forts by the Indians made inland exploration at that time unnecessary. But the time and the man had now come, and the vast prairies of the North-West, hitherto unseen by the white man, were to become the battle-ground for a far greater contest for the possession of the fur trade than had yet taken place either in Hudson Bay or with the Dutch and English in New York State. The promoting cause for this forward movement was again the dream of opening up a North-West Passage. The hold this had upon the French we see was less than that upon Frobisher, James, Middleton, or Dobbs among the English. Speaking of the French interest in the scheme, Pierre Margry, keeper of the French Archives in Paris, says: "The prospect of discovering by the interior a passage to the _Grand Océan_, and by that to China, which was proposed by our officers under Henry IV., Louis XIII., and Louis XIV., had been taken up with renewed ardour during the Regency. Memorial upon memorial had been presented to the Conseil de Marine respecting the advisability and the advantage of making this discovery. Indeed, the Père de Charlevoix was sent to America, and made his great journey from the north to the south of New France for the purpose of reliably informing the Council as to the most suitable route to pursue in order to reach the Western Sea. But the ardour which during the life of Philip of Orleans animated the Government regarding the exploration of the West became feeble, and at length threatened to be totally extinguished, without any benefit being derived from the posts which they had already established in the country of the Sioux and at Kaministiquia." "The Regent, in choosing between the two plans that Father Charlevoix presented to him at the close of his journey for the attainment of a knowledge of the Western Sea, through an unfortunate prudence, rejected the suggestion, which, it is true, was the most expensive and uncertain, viz. an expedition up the Missouri to its source and beyond, and decided to establish a post among the Sioux. The post of the Sioux was consequently established in 1727. Father Gonor, a Jesuit missionary who had gone upon the expedition, we are told, was, however, obliged to return without having been able to discover anything that would satisfy the expectations of the Court about the Western Sea." At this time Michilimackinac was the depôt of the West. It stood in the entrance of Lake Michigan--the Gitche Gumee of the Indian tribes, near the mouth of the St. Mary River, the outlet of Lake Superior; it was at the head of Lake Huron and Georgian Bay alike. Many years afterwards it was called the "Key of the North-West" and the "Key of the Upper Lakes." A round island lying a little above the lake, it appealed to the Indian imagination, and, as its name implies, was likened by them to the turtle. To it from every side expeditions gathered, and it became the great rendezvous. At Michilimackinac, just after the arrival of Father Gonor, there came from the region of Lake Superior a man whose name was to become illustrious as an explorer, Pierre Gaultier de Varennes, Sieur de la Verendrye. We have come to know him simply by the single name of Verendrye. This great explorer was born in Three Rivers, the son of an old officer of the French army. The young cadet found very little to do in the New World, and made his way home to France. He served as a French officer in the War of the Spanish Succession, and was severely wounded in the battle of Malplaquet. On his recovery, he did not receive the recognition that he desired, and so went to the western wilds of Canada and took up the life of a "coureur de bois." Verendrye, in pursuing the fur trade, had followed the somewhat deserted course which Radisson and Groseilliers had long before taken, and which a decade before this La Noue had, as we have seen, selected. The fort on Lake Nepigon was still the rendezvous of the savages from the interior, who were willing to be turned aside from visiting the English on Hudson Bay. From the Indians who assembled around his fort on Lake Nepigon, in 1728, Verendrye heard of the vast interior, and had some hopes of reaching the goal of those who dreamt of a Western Sea. An experienced Indian leader named Ochagach undertook to map out on birch bark the route by which the lakes of the interior could be reached, and the savage descanted with rapture upon the furs to be obtained if the journey could be made. Verendrye, filled with the thought of western discovery, went to Quebec, and discussed his purpose with the Governor there. He pointed out the route by way of the river of the Assiniboels, and then the rivers by which Lake Ouinipegon might be reached. His estimate was that the Western Sea might be gained by an inland journey from Lake Superior of 500 leagues. [Illustration: CHOMEDEY DE MAISONNEUVE. A daring Pioneer of New France. (_From his statue in Montreal._)] Governor Beauharnois considered the map submitted and the opinions of Verendrye with his military engineer, Chaussegros De Lery; and their conclusions were favourable to Verendrye's deductions. Verendrye had the manner and character which inspired belief in his honesty and competence. He was also helped in his dealings with the Governor at Quebec by the representations of Father Gonor, whom we have seen had returned from the fort established among the Sioux, convinced that the other route was impracticable. Father Gonor entirely sympathized with Verendrye in the belief that the only hope lay in passing through the country of the Christinos and Assiniboels of the North. The Governor granted the explorer the privilege of the entire profit of the fur trade, but was unable to give any assistance in money. Verendrye now obtained the aid of a number of merchants in Montreal in providing goods and equipment for the journey, and in high glee journeyed westward, calling at Michilimackinac to take with him the Jesuit Father Messager, to be the companion of his voyage. Near the end of August, 1731, the expedition was at Pigeon River, long known as Grand Portage, a point more than forty miles south-westward of the mouth of the Kaministiquia. This was a notable event in history when Verendrye and his crew stood ready to face the hardships of a journey to the interior. No doubt the way was hard and long, and the men were sulky and discouraged, but the heroism of their commander shone forth as he saw into the future and led the way to a vast and important region. Often since that time have important expeditions going to the North-West been seen as they swept by the towering heights of Thunder Cape, and, passing onward, entered the uninviting mouth of Kaministiquia. Eighty-five years afterward, Lord Selkirk and his band of one hundred De Meuron soldiers appeared here in canoes and penetrated to Red River to regain the lost Fort Douglas. One hundred and twenty-six years after Verendrye, according to an account given by an eye-witness--an old Hudson's Bay Company officer--a Canadian steamer laden high above the decks appeared at the mouth of the Kaministiquia, bearing the Dawson and Hind expedition, to explore the plains of Assiniboia and pave the way for their admission to Canada. One hundred and thirty-nine years after Verendrye, Sir Garnet Wolseley, with his British regulars and Canadian volunteers, swept through Thunder Bay on their way to put down the Red River rebellion. And now one hundred and sixty-nine years after Verendrye, the splendid steamers of the Canadian Pacific Railway Company thrice a week in summer carry their living cargo into the mouth of the Kaministiquia to be transported by rail to the fast filling prairies of the West. Yes! it was a great event when Verendrye and his little band of unwilling voyageurs started inland from the shore of Lake Superior. Verendrye, his valiant nephew, De La Jemeraye, and his two sons, were the leaders of the expedition. Grand Portage avoids by a nine mile portage the falls and rapids at the mouth of the Pigeon River, and northward from this point the party went, and after many hardships reached Rainy Lake in the first season, 1731. Here, at the head of Rainy River, just where it leaves the Lake, they built their first fort, St. Pierre. The writer has examined the site of this fort, just three miles above the falls of Rainy River, and seen the mounds and excavations still remaining. This seems to have been their furthest point reached in the first season, and they returned to winter at Kaministiquia. In the next year the expedition started inland, and in the month of June reached their Fort St. Pierre, descended the Rainy River, and with exultation saw the expanse of the Lake of the Woods. The earliest name we find this lake known by is that given by Verendrye. He says it was called Lake Minitie (Cree, Ministik) or Des Bois. (1) The former of these names, Minitie, seems to be Ojibway, and to mean Lake of the Islands, probably referring to the large number of islands to be found in the northern half of the Lake. The other name (2), Lac des Bois, or Lake of the Woods, would appear to have been a mistranslation of the Indian (Ojibway) name by which the Lake was known. The name (3) was "Pikwedina Sagaigan," meaning "the inland lake of the sand hills," referring to the skirting range of sand hills running for some thirteen miles along the southern shore of the Lake to the east of the mouth of Rainy River, its chief tributary. Another name found on a map prepared by the Hudson's Bay Company in 1748 is (4) Lake Nimigon, probably meaning the "expanse," referring to the open sheet of water now often called "La Traverse." Two other names, (5) Clearwater Lake and (6) Whitefish Lake, are clearly the extension of Clearwater Bay, a north-western part of the Lake, and Whitefish Bay, still given by the Indians to the channel to the east of Grande Presqu'île. On the south-west side of the Lake of the Woods Verendrye's party built Fort St. Charles, probably hoping then to come in touch with the Sioux who visited that side of the lake, and with whom they would seek trade. At this point the prospect was very remote of reaching the Western Sea. The expenses were great, and the fur trade did not so far give sufficient return to justify a further march to the interior. Unassisted they had reached in 1733 Lake Ouinipegon (Winnipeg), by descending the rapid river from Lake of the Woods, to which they gave the name of Maurepas. The government in Quebec informed the French Minister, M. de Maurepas, that they had been told by the adventurous Jemeraye that if the French King would bear the expense, they were now certain that the Western Sea could be reached. They had lost in going to Lake Ouinipegon not less than 43,000 livres, and could not proceed further without aid. The reply from the Court of France was unfavourable; nothing more than the free privilege of the fur trade was granted the explorers. In the following year Verendrye built a fort near Lake Ouinipegon, at the mouth of the Maurepas River (which we now know as Winnipeg River), and not far from the present Fort Alexander. The fort was called Fort Maurepas, although the explorers felt that they had little for which to thank the French Minister. Still anxious to push on further west, but prevented by want of means, they made a second appeal to the French Government in 1735. But again came the same reply of refusal. The explorers spent their time trading with the Indians between Lake Winnipeg and Grand Portage, and coming and going, as they had occasion, to Lake Superior, and also to Michilimackinac with their cargoes. While at Fort St. Charles, on the shores of the Lake of the Woods, in 1736, a great disaster overtook the party. Verendrye's eldest son was very anxious to return to Kaministiquia, as was also the Jesuit priest, Anneau, who was in company with the traders. Verendrye was unwilling, but at last consented. The party, consisting of the younger Verendrye and twenty men, were ruthlessly massacred by an ambush of the Sioux on a small island some five leagues from Fort St. Charles, still known as Massacre Island. A few days afterwards the crime was discovered, and Verendrye had difficulty in preventing his party from accepting the offer of the Assiniboines and Christinos to follow the Sioux and wreak their vengeance upon them. During the next year Fort Maurepas was still their farthest outpost. The ruins of Fort St. Charles on the south side of the north-west angle of the Lake of the Woods were in 1908 discovered by St. Boniface Historical Society and the remains of young Verendrye's party found buried in the ruins of the chapel. Though no assistance could be obtained from the French Court for western discovery, and although the difficulties seemed almost insurmountable, Verendrye was unwilling to give up the path open to him. He had the true spirit of the explorer, and chafed in his little stockade on the shores of Lake Winnipeg, seeking new worlds to conquer. If it was a great event when Verendrye, in 1731, left the shores of Lake Superior to go inland, it was one of equal moment when, penniless and in debt, he determined at all hazards to leave the rocks and woods of Lake Winnipeg, and seek the broad prairies of the West. His decision being thus reached, the region which is now the fertile Canadian prairies was entered upon. We are fortunate in having the original journal of this notable expedition of 1738, obtained by Mr. Douglas Brymner, former Archivist at Ottawa. This, with two letters of Bienville, were obtained by Mr. Brymner from a French family in Montreal, and the identity of the documents has been fully established. This journal covers the time from the departure of Verendrye from Michilimackinac on July 20th, till say 1739, when he writes from the heart of the prairies. On September 22nd the brave Verendrye left Fort Maurepas for the land unknown. It took him but two days with his five men to cross in swift canoes the south-east expanse of Lake Winnipeg, enter the mouth of Red River, and reach the forks of the Red and Assiniboine Rivers, where the city of Winnipeg now stands. It was thus on September 24th of that memorable year that the eyes of the white man first fell on the site of what is destined to be the great central city of Canada. A few Crees who expected him met the French explorer there, and he had a conference with two chiefs, who were in the habit of taking their furs to the English on Hudson Bay. The water of the Assiniboine River ran at this time very low, but Verendrye was anxious to push westward. Delayed by the shallowness of the Assiniboine, the explorer's progress was very slow, but in six days he reached the portage, then used to cross to Lake Manitoba on the route to Hudson Bay. On this portage now stands the town of Portage la Prairie. The Assiniboine Indians who met Verendrye here told him it would be useless for him to ascend the Assiniboine River further, as the water was so low. Verendrye was expecting a reinforcement to join his party, under his colleague, M. de la Marque. He determined to remain at Portage la Prairie and to build a fort. Verendrye then assembled the Indians, gave them presents of powder, ball, tobacco, axes, knives, &c., and in the name of the French King received them as the children of the great monarch across the sea, and repeated several times to them the orders of the King they were to obey. It is very interesting to notice the skill with which the early French explorers dealt with the Indians, and to see the formal way in which they took possession of the lands visited. Verendrye states that the Indians were greatly impressed, "many with tears in their eyes." He adds with some _naïveté_, "They thanked me greatly, promising to do wonders." On October 3rd, Verendrye decided to build a fort. He was joined shortly after by Messrs. de la Marque and Nolant with eight men in two canoes. The fort was soon pushed on, and, with the help of the Indians, was finished by October 15th. This was the beginning of Fort de la Reine. At this stage in his journal Verendrye makes an important announcement, bearing on a subject which has been somewhat discussed. Verendrye says, "M. de la Marque told me he had brought M. de Louvière to the forks with two canoes to build a fort there for the accommodation of the people of the Red River. I approved of it if the Indians were notified." This settles the fact that there was a fort at the forks of the Red and Assiniboine Rivers, and that it was built in 1738. In the absence of this information, we have been in the habit of fixing the building of Fort Rouge at this point from 1735 to 1737. There can now be no doubt that October, 1738, is the correct date. From French maps, as has been pointed out, Fort Rouge stood at the mouth of the Assiniboine, on the south side of the river, and the portion of the city of Winnipeg called Fort Rouge is properly named. It is, of course, evident that the forts erected by these early explorers were simply winter stations, thrown up in great haste. Verendrye and his band of fifty-two persons, Frenchmen and Indians, set out overland by the Mandan road on October 18th, to reach the Mandan settlements of the Missouri. It is not a part of our work to describe that journey. Suffice it to say that on December 3rd he was at the central fort of the Mandans, 250 miles from his fort at Portage la Prairie. Being unable to induce his Assiniboine guides and interpreters to remain for the winter among the Mandans, Verendrye returned somewhat unwillingly to the Assiniboine River. He arrived on February 10th at his Fort de la Reine, as he says himself, "greatly fatigued and very ill." Verendrye in his journal gives us an excellent opportunity of seeing the thorough devotion of the man to his duty. From Fort Michilimackinac to the Missouri, by the route followed by him, is not less than 1,200 miles, and this he accomplished, as we have seen with the necessary delay of building a fort, between July 20th and December 3rd--136 days--of this wonderful year of 1738. Struggling with difficulties, satisfying creditors, hoping for assistance from France, but ever patriotic and single-minded, Verendrye became the leading spirit in Western exploration. In the year after his great expedition to the prairies, he was summoned to Montreal to resist a lawsuit brought against him. The prevailing sin of French Canada was jealousy. Though Verendrye had struggled so bravely to explore the country, there were those who whispered in the ear of the Minister of the French Court that he was selfish and unworthy. In his heart-broken reply to the charges, he says, "If more than 40,000 livres of debt which I have on my shoulders are an advantage, then I can flatter myself that I am very rich." In 1741 a fruitless attempt was made to reach the Mandans, but in the following year Verendrye's eldest surviving son and his brother, known as the Chevalier, having with them only two Canadians, left Forte de la Reine, and made in this and the succeeding year one of the most famous of the Verendrye discoveries. This lies beyond the field of our inquiry, being the journey to the Missouri, and up to an eastern spur of the Rocky Mountains. Parkman, in his "A Half Century of Conflict," has given a detailed account of this remarkable journey. Going northward over the Portage la Prairie, Verendrye's sons had discovered what is now known as Lake Manitoba, and had reached the Saskatchewan River. On the west side of Lake Manitoba they founded Fort Dauphin, while at the west end of the enlargement of the Saskatchewan known as Cedar Lake, they built Fort Bourbon and ascended the Saskatchewan to the forks, which were known as the Poskoiac. Tardy recognition of Verendrye's achievements came from the French Court in the explorer being promoted to the position of captain in the Colonial troops, and a short time after he was given the Cross of the Order of St. Louis. Beauharnois and his successor Galissionière had both stood by Verendrye and done their best for him. Indeed, the explorer was just about to proceed on the great expedition which was to fulfil their hopes of finding the Western Sea, when, on December 6th, he passed away, his dream unrealized. He was an unselfish soul, a man of great executive ability, and one who dearly loved his King and country. He stands out in striking contrast to the Bigots and Jonquières, who disgraced the name of France in the New World. From the hands of these vampires, who had come to suck out the blood of New France, Verendrye's sons received no consideration. Their claims were coolly passed by, their goods shamelessly seized, and their written and forcible remonstrance made no impression. Legardeur de St. Pierre, more to the mind of the selfish Bigot, was given their place and property, and in 1751 a small fort was built on the upper waters of the Saskatchewan, near the Rocky Mountains, near where the town of Calgary now stands. This was called in honour of the Governor, Fort La Jonquière. A year afterward, St. Pierre, with his little garrison of five men, disgusted with the country, deserted Fort La Reine, which, a few weeks after, was burned to the ground by the Assiniboines. The fur trade was continued by the French in much the same bounds, so long as the country remained in the hands of France. We are fortunate in having an account of these affairs given in De Bougainville's Memoir, two years before the capture of Canada by Wolfe. The forts built by Verendrye's successors were included under the "Post of the Western Sea" (La Mer de l'Ouest). Bougainville says, "The Post of the Western Sea is the most advanced toward the north; it is situated amidst many Indian tribes, with whom we trade and who have intercourse with the English, toward Hudson Bay. We have there several forts built of stockades, trusted generally to the care of one or two officers, seven or eight soldiers, and eighty _engagés Canadiens_. We can push further the discoveries we have made in that country, and communicate even with California." This would have realized the dream of Verendrye of reaching the Western Sea. "The Post of La Mer de l'Ouest includes the forts of St. Pierre, St. Charles, Bourbon, De la Reine, Dauphin, Poskoiac, and Des Prairies (De la Jonquière), all of which are built with palisades that can give protection only against the Indians." "The post of La Mer de l'Ouest merits special attention for two reasons: the first, that it is the nearest to the establishments of the English on Hudson Bay, and from which their movements can be watched; the second, that from this post, the discovery of the Western Sea may be accomplished; but to make this discovery it will be necessary that the travellers give up all view of personal interest." Two years later, French power in North America came to an end, and a generation afterward, the Western Sea was discovered by British fur traders. CHAPTER XI. THE SCOTTISH MERCHANTS OF MONTREAL. Unyielding old Cadot--Competition--The enterprising Henry--Leads the way--Thomas Curry--The older Finlay--Plundering Indians--"Grand Portage"--A famous mart--The plucky Frobishers--The Sleeping Giant aroused--Fort Cumberland--Churchill River--Indian rising--The deadly smallpox--The whites saved. The capture of Canada by General Wolfe in 1759 completely changed the course of affairs in the Western fur country. Michilimackinac and Sault Ste. Marie had become considerable trading centres under the French _régime_, but the officers and men had almost entirely been withdrawn from the outposts in the death struggle for the defence of Quebec and Montreal. The conquest of Canada was announced with sorrow by the chief captain of the West, Charles de Langlade, on his return after the capitulation of Montreal. The French Canadians who had taken Indian wives still clung to the fur country. These French half-breed settlements at Michilimackinac and neighbouring posts were of some size, but beyond Lake Superior, except a straggler here and there, nothing French was left behind. The forts of the western post fell into decay, and were in most cases burnt by the Indians. Not an army officer, not a priest, not a fur trader, remained beyond Kaministiquia. The French of Michilimackinac region were for a time unwilling to accept British rule. Old trader, Jean Baptiste Cadot, who had settled with his Indian wife, Anastasie, at Sault Ste. Marie, and become a man of wide influence, for years refused to yield, and a French Canadian author says: "So the French flag continued to float over the fort of Sault Ste. Marie long after the _fleur-de-lis_ had quitted for ever the ramparts of Quebec. Under the shadow of the old colours, so fruitful of tender memories, he was able to believe himself still under the protection of the mother-country." However, Cadot ended by accepting the situation, and an author tells us that like Cadot, "were the La Cornes, the Langlades, the Beaujeus, the Babys, and many others who, after fighting like lions against England, were counted a little later among the number of her most gallant defenders." For several years, however, the fur trade was not carried on. The change of flag in Canada brought a number of enterprising spirits as settlers to Quebec and Montreal. The Highland regiments under Generals Amherst and Wolfe had seen Montreal and Quebec. A number of the military became settlers. The suppression of the Jacobite rebellion in Scotland in 1745 had led to the dispersion of many young men of family beyond the seas. Some of these drifted to Montreal. Many of the Scottish settlements of the United States had remained loyal, so that after the American Revolution parties of these loyalists came to Montreal. Thus in a way hard to explain satisfactorily, the English-speaking merchants who came to Canada were largely Scottish. In a Government report found in the Haldimand papers in 1784, it is stated that "The greater part of the inhabitants of Montreal (no doubt meaning English-speaking inhabitants) are Presbyterians of the Church of Scotland." It was these Scottish merchants of Montreal who revived the fur trade to the interior. Washington Irving, speaking of these merchants, says, "Most of the clerks were young men of good families from the Highlands of Scotland, characterized by the perseverance, thrift, and fidelity of their country." He refers to their feasts "making the rafters resound with bursts of loyalty and old Scottish songs." The late Archbishop Taché, a French Canadian long known in the North-West, speaking of this period says, "Companies called English, but generally composed of Scotchmen, were found in Canada to continue to make the most of the rich furs of the forests of the North. Necessity obliged them at first to accept the co-operation of the French Canadians, who maintained their influence by the share they took in the working of these companies.... This circumstance explains how, after the Scotch, the French Canadian element is the most important." The first among these Scottish merchants to hie away from Montreal to the far West was Alexander Henry, whose "Travels and Adventures in Canada and the Indian Territories between the years 1760 and 1766" have the charm of narrative of an Irving or a Parkman. He knew nothing of the fur trade, but he took with him an experienced French Canadian, named Campion. He appeared at Michilimackinac two years after the conquest by Wolfe, and in the following year visited Sault Ste. Marie with its stockaded fort, and formed a friendship with trader Cadot. In the following year, Henry was a witness of the massacre at Michilimackinac, so graphically described by Parkman in his "Conspiracy of Pontiac." Henry's account of his own escape is a thrilling tale. In 1765 Henry obtained from the Commandant at Michilimackinac licence of the exclusive trade of Lake Superior. He purchased the freight of four canoes, which he took at the price of 10,000 good, merchantable beavers. With his crew of twelve men, and supplies of fifty bushels of prepared Indian corn, he reached a band of Indians on the Lake who were in poverty, but who took his supplies on trust, and went off to hunt beaver. In due time the Indians returned, and paid up promptly and fully the loans made to them. By 1768 he had succeeded in opening up the desired route of French traders, going from Michilimackinac to Kaministiquia on Lake Superior and returning. His later journeys we may notice afterwards. Of the other merchants who followed Henry in reviving the old route, the first to make a notable adventure was the Scotchman Thomas Curry. Procuring the requisite band of voyageurs and interpreters, in 1766 he pushed through with four canoes, along Verendrye's route, even to the site of the old French Fort Bourbon, on the west of Cedar Lake, on the lower Saskatchewan River. Curry had in his movement something of the spirit of Verendrye, and his season's trip was so successful that, according to Sir Alexander Mackenzie, his fine furs gave so handsome a return that "he was satisfied never again to return to the Indian country." [Illustration: JUNCTION OF THE OTTAWA AND ST. LAWRENCE (near Cedars).] Another valorous Scotchman, James Finlay, of Montreal, took up the paddle that Curry had laid down, and in 1768, with a force equal to that of Curry, passed into the interior and ascended the Saskatchewan to Nipawi, the farthest point which Verendrye had reached. He was rewarded with a generous return for his venture. But while these journeys had been successful, it would seem that the turbulent state of the Indian tribes had made other expeditions disastrous. In a memorial sent by the fur traders a few years later to the Canadian Government, it is stated that in a venture made from Michilimackinac in 1765 the Indians of Rainy Lake had plundered the traders of their goods, that in the next year a similar revolt followed, that in the following year the traders were compelled to leave a certain portion of their goods at Rainy Lake to be allowed to go on to Lake Ouinipique. It is stated that the brothers, Benjamin and James Frobisher, of Montreal, who became so celebrated as fur traders, began a post ten years after the conquest. These two merchants were Englishmen. They speedily took the lead in pushing forward far into the interior, and were the most practical of the fur traders in making alliances and in dealing successfully with the Indians. In their first expedition they had the same experience in their goods being seized by the thievish Indians of Rainy Lake; but before they could send back word the goods for the next venture had reached Grand Portage on Lake Superior, and they were compelled to try the route to the West again. On this occasion they managed to defy the pillaging bands, and reached Fort Bourbon on the Saskatchewan. They now discovered that co-operation and a considerable show of force was the only method of carrying on a safe trade among the various tribes. It was fortunate for the Montreal traders that such courageous leaders as the Frobishers had undertaken the trade. The trade to the North-West thus received a marvellous development at the hands of the Montreal merchants. Nepigon and the Kaministiquia, which had been such important points in the French _régime_, had been quite forgotten, and Grand Portage was now the place of greatest interest, and so continued to the end of the century. It is with peculiar interest a visitor to-day makes his way to Grand Portage. The writer, after a difficult night voyage over the stormy waters of Lake Superior, rowed by the keeper of a neighbouring lighthouse, made a visit a few years ago to this spot. Grand Portage ends on a bay of Lake Superior. It is partially sheltered by a rocky island which has the appearance of a robber's keep, but has one inhabitant, the only white man of the region, a French Canadian of very fair means. On the bay is to-day an Indian village, chiefly celebrated for its multitude of dogs. A few traces of the former greatness of the place may be seen in the timbers down in the water of the former wharves, which were extensive. Few traces of forts are now, a century after their desertion by the fur traders, to be seen. The portage, consisting of a road fairly made for the nine or ten miles necessary to avoid the falls on Pigeon River, can still be followed. No horse or ox is now to be found in the whole district, where at one time the traders used this means of lightening the burden of packing over the portage. The solitary road, as the traveller walks along it, with weeds and grasses grown up, brings to one a melancholy feeling. The bustle of voyageur and trader and Indian is no more; and the reflection made by Irving comes back, "The lords of the lakes and forests have passed away." And yet Grand Portage was at the time of which we are writing a place of vast importance. Here there were employed as early as 1783, by the several merchants from Montreal, 500 men. One half of these came from Montreal to Grand Portage in canoes of four tons burden, each managed by from eight to ten men. As these were regarded as having the least romantic portion of the route, meeting with no Indians, and living on cured rations, they were called the "mangeurs de lard," or pork eaters. The other half of the force journeyed inland from Grand Portage in canoes, each carrying about a ton and a half. Living on game and the dried meat of the buffalo, known as pemmican, these were a more independent and daring body. They were called the "coureurs de bois." For fifteen days after August 15th these wood-runners portaged over the nine or ten miles their burdens. Men carrying 150 lbs. each way have been known to make the portage and return in six hours. When the canoes were loaded at the west end of the portage with two-thirds goods and one-third provisions, then the hurry of the season came, and supplies for Lake Winnipeg, the Saskatchewan, and far distant Athabasca were hastened on apace. The difficulties of the route were at many a décharge, where only the goods needed to be removed and the canoes taken over the rapids, or at the portage, where both canoes and load were carried past dangerous falls and fierce rapids. The dash, energy, and skill that characterized these mixed companies of Scottish traders, French voyageurs, half-breed and Indian _engagés_, have been well spoken of by all observers, and appeal strongly to the lovers of the picturesque and heroic. [Illustration: MAP OF ROUTE OF SCOTTISH MERCHANTS UP THE OTTAWA TO LAKE ATHABASCA.] A quarter of a century after the conquest we have a note of alarm at the new competition that the Company from Hudson Bay had at last undertaken. In the Memorial before us it is stated that disturbance of trade is made by "New Adventurers." It is with a smile we read of the daring and strong-handed traders of Montreal saying, "Those adventurers (evidently H. B. Co.), consulting their own interests only, without the least regard to the management of the natives or the general welfare of the trade, soon occasioned such disorders, &c.... Since that time business is carried on with great disadvantages." This reference, so prosaically introduced, is really one of enormous moment in our story. The Frobishers, with their keen business instincts and daring plans, saw that the real stroke which would lead them on to fortune was to divert the stream of trade then going to Hudson Bay southward to Lake Superior. Accordingly, with a further aggressive movement in view, Joseph Frobisher established a post on Sturgeon Lake, an enlargement of the Saskatchewan, near the point known by the early French as Poskoiac. A glance at the map will show how well chosen Sturgeon Lake Fort was. Northward from it a watercourse could be readily followed, by which the main line of water communication from the great northern districts to Hudson Bay could be reached and the Northern Indians be interrupted in their annual pilgrimage to the Bay. But, as we shall afterward see, the sleeping giant of the Bay had been awakened and was about to stretch forth his arms to grasp the trade of the interior with a new vigour. Two years after Frobisher had thrown down the pledge of battle, it was taken up by the arrival of Samuel Hearne, an officer of the Hudson's Bay Company, and by his founding Fort Cumberland on Sturgeon Lake, about two miles below Frobisher's Fort. Hearne returned to the Bay, leaving his new fort garrisoned by a number of Orkney men under an English officer. During the same year an explorer, on behalf of the Hudson's Bay Company, visited Red River, but no fort was built there for some time afterward. The building of Fort Cumberland led to a consolidation on the part of the Montreal merchants. In the next year after its building, Alexander Henry, the brothers Frobisher, trader Cadot, and a daring trader named Pond, gathered at Sturgeon Lake, and laid their plans for striking a blow in retaliation, as they regarded it, for the disturbance of trade made by the Hudson's Bay Company in penetrating to the interior from the Bay. Cadot, with four canoes, went west to the Saskatchewan; Pond, with two, to the country on Lake Dauphin; and Henry and the Frobisher brothers, with their ten canoes and upwards of forty men, hastened northward to carry out the project of turning anew the Northern Indians from their usual visit to the Bay. On the way to the Churchill River they built a fort on Beaver Lake. In the following year, a strong party went north to Churchill or English River, as Joseph Frobisher now called it. When it was reached they turned westward and ascended the Churchill, returning at Serpent's Rapid, but sending Thomas Frobisher with goods on to Lake Athabasca. From the energy displayed, and the skill shown in seizing the main points in the country, it will be seen that the Montreal merchants were not lacking in ability to plan and decision to execute. The two great forces have now met, and for fifty years a battle royal will be fought for the rivers, rocks, and plains of the North Country. At present it is our duty to follow somewhat further the merchants of Montreal in their agencies in the North-West. There can be no doubt that the competition between the two companies produced disorder and confusion among the Indian tribes. The Indian nature is excitable and suspicious. Rival traders for their own ends played upon the fears and cupidity alike of the simple children of the woods and prairies. They represented their opponents in both cases as unreliable and grasping, and party spirit unknown before showed itself in most violent forms. The feeling against the whites of both parties was aroused by injustices, in some cases fancied, in others real. The Assiniboines, really the northern branch of the fierce Sioux of the prairies, were first to seize the tomahawk. They attacked Poplar Fort on the Assiniboine. After some loss of life, Bruce and Boyer, who were in charge of the fort, decided to desert it. Numerous other attacks were made on the traders' forts, and it looked as if the prairies would be the scene of a general Indian war. The only thing that seems to have prevented so dire a disaster was the appearance of what is ever a dreadful enemy to the poor Indian, the scourge of smallpox. The Assiniboines had gone on a war expedition against the Mandans of the Missouri River, and had carried back the smallpox infection which prevailed among the Mandan lodges. This disease spread over the whole country, and several bands of Indians were completely blotted out. Of one tribe of four hundred lodges, only ten persons remained; the poor survivors, in seeking succour from other bands, carried the disease with them. At the end of 1782 there were only twelve traders who had persevered in their trade on account of the discouragements, but the whole trade was for two or three seasons brought to an end by this disease. The decimation of the tribes, the fear of infection by the traders, and the general awe cast over the country turned the thoughts of the natives away from war, and as Masson says, "the whites had thus escaped the danger which threatened them." Two or three years after the scourge, the merchants of Montreal revived the trade, and, as we shall see, made a combination which, in the thoroughness of its discipline, the energy of its operations, the courage of its promoters, and the scope of its trade, has perhaps never been equalled in the history of trading companies. CHAPTER XII. DISCOVERY OF THE COPPERMINE. Samuel Hearne--"The Mungo Park of Canada"--Perouse complains--The North-West Passage--Indian guides--Two failures--Third journey successful--Smokes the calumet--Discovers Arctic Ocean--Cruelty to the Eskimos--Error in latitude--Remarkable Indian woman--Capture of Prince of Wales Fort--Criticism by Umfreville. Such an agitation as that so skilfully planned and shrewdly carried on by Arthur Dobbs, Esq., could not but affect the action of the Hudson's Bay Company. The most serious charge brought against the Company was that, while having a monopoly of the trade on Hudson Bay, it had taken no steps to penetrate the country and develop its resources. It is of course evident that the Company itself could have no reason for refusing to open up trade with the interior, for by this means it would be expanding its operations and increasing its profits. The real reason for its not doing so seems to have been the inertia, not to say fear, of Hudson's Bay Company agents on the Bay who failed to mingle with the bands of Indians in the interior. Now the man was found who was to be equal to the occasion. This was Samuel Hearne. Except occasional reference to him in the minutes of the Company and works of the period, we know little of Samuel Hearne. He was one of the class of men to which belonged Norton, Kelsey, and others--men who had grown up in the service of the Company on the Bay, and had become, in the course of years, accustomed to the climate, condition of life, and haunts of the Indians, thus being fitted for active work for the Company. Samuel Hearne became so celebrated in his inland expeditions, that the credit of the Hudson's Bay Company leaving the coast and venturing into the interior has always been attached to his name. So greatly, especially in the English mind, have his explorations bulked, that the author of a book of travels in Canada about the beginning of this century called him the "Mungo Park of Canada." In his "Journey," we have an account of his earlier voyages to the interior in search of the Coppermine River. This book has a somewhat notable history. In the four-volume work of La Perouse, the French navigator, it is stated that when he took Prince of Wales Fort on the Churchill River in 1782, Hearne, as governor of the fort, surrendered it to him, and that the manuscript of his "Journey" was seized by the French commander. It was returned to Hearne on condition that it should be published, but the publication did not take place until thirteen years afterwards. It is somewhat amusing to read in Perouse's preface (1791) the complaint that Hearne had not kept faith with him in regard to publishing the journal, and the hope is expressed that this public statement in reminding him of his promise would have the desired effect of the journal being published. Four years afterwards Hearne's "Journey" appeared. A reference to this fine quarto work, which is well illustrated, brings us back in the introduction to all the controversies embodied in the work of Dobbs, Ellis, Robson, and the "American Traveller." Hearne's orders were received from the Hudson's Bay Company, in 1769, to go on a land expedition to the interior of the continent, from the mouth of the Churchill as far as 70 deg. N. lat., to smoke the calumet of peace with the Indians, to take accurate astronomical observations, to go with guides to the Athabasca country, and thence northward to a river abounding with copper ore and "animals of the fur kind," &c. It is very noticeable, also, that his instructions distinctly tell him "to clear up the point, if possible, in order to prevent further doubt from arising hereafter respecting a passage out of Hudson Bay into the Western Ocean, as hath lately been represented by the 'American Traveller.'" The instructions made it plain that it was the agitation still continuing from the days of Dobbs which led to the sending of Hearne to the north country. Hearne's first expedition was made during the last months of the year 1769. It is peculiarly instructive in the fact that it failed to accomplish anything, as it gives us a glimpse of the difficulties which no doubt so long prevented the movement to the interior. In the first place, the bitterly severe months of November and December were badly chosen for the time of the expedition. On the sixth day of the former of these months Hearne left Prince of Wales Fort, taking leave of the Governor, and being sent off with a salute of seven guns. His guide was an Indian chief, Chawchinahaw. Hearne ascertained very soon, what others have found among the Indians, that his guide was not to be trusted; he "often painted the difficulties in the worst colours" and took every method to dishearten the explorer. Three weeks after starting, a number of the Indians deserted Hearne. Shortly after this mishap, Chawchinahaw and his company ruthlessly deserted the expedition, and two hundred miles from the fort set out on another route, "making the woods ring with their laughter." Meeting other Indians, Hearne purchased venison, but was cheated, while his Indian guide was feasted. The explorer remarks:--"A sufficient proof of the singular advantage which a native of this country has over an Englishman, when at such a distance from the Company's factories as to depend entirely on them for subsistence." Hearne arrived at the fort after an absence of thirty-seven days, as he says, "to my own mortification and the no small surprise of the Governor." Hearne was simply illustrating what has been shown a hundred times since, in all foreign regions, viz., native peoples are quick to see the inexperience of men raw to the country, and will heartlessly maltreat and deceive them. However, British officers and men in all parts of the world become at length accustomed to dealing with savage peoples, and after some experience, none have ever equalled British agents and explorers in the management and direction of such peoples. Early in the following year Hearne plucked up courage for another expedition. On this occasion he determined to take no Europeans, but to trust to Indians alone. On February 23rd, accompanied by five Indians, Hearne started on his second journey. Following the advice of the Governor, the party took no Indian women with them, though Hearne states that this was a mistake, as they were "needed for hauling the baggage as well as for dressing skins for clothing, pitching our tent, getting firing, &c." During the first part of the journey deer were plentiful, and the fish obtained by cutting holes in the ice of the lakes were excellent. Hearne spent the time of the necessary delays caused by the obtaining of fish and game in taking observations, keeping his journal and chart, and doing his share of trapping. Meeting, as soon as the spring opened, bands of Indians going on various errands, the explorer started overland. He carried sixty pounds of burden, consisting of quadrant, books and papers, compass, wearing apparel, weapons and presents for the natives. The traveller often made twenty miles a day over the rugged country. Meeting a chief of the Northern Indians going in July to Prince of Wales Fort, Hearne sent by him for ammunition and supplies. A canoe being now necessary, Hearne purchased this of the Indians. It was obtained by the exchange of a single knife, the full value of which did not exceed a penny. In the middle of this month the party saw bands of musk oxen. A number of these were killed and their flesh made into pemmican for future use. Finding it impossible to reach the Coppermine during the season, Hearne determined to live with the Indians for the winter. The explorer was a good deal disturbed by having to give presents to Indians who met him. Some of them wanted guns, all wanted ammunition, iron-work, and tobacco; many were solicitous for medicine; and others pressed for different articles of clothing. He thought the Indians very inconsiderate in their demands. On August 11th the explorer had the misfortune to lose his quadrant by its being blown open and broken by the wind. Shortly after this disaster, Hearne was plundered by a number of Indians who joined him. He determined to return to the fort. Suffering from the want of food and clothing, Hearne was overtaken by a famous chief, Matonabbee, who was going eastward to Prince of Wales Fort. The chief had lived several years at the fort, and was one who knew the Coppermine. Matonabbee discussed the reasons of Hearne's failure in his two expeditions. The forest philosopher gave as the reason of these failures the misconduct of the guides and the failure to take any women on the journey. After maintaining that women were made for labour, and speaking of their assistance, said Matonabbee, "women, though they do everything, are maintained at a trifling expense, for as they always stand cook, the very licking of their fingers in scarce times is sufficient for their subsistence." Plainly, the northern chief had need of the ameliorating influence of modern reformers. In company with the chief, Hearne returned to the fort, reaching it after an absence of eight months and twenty-two days, having, as he says, had "a fruitless or at least an unsuccessful journey." Hearne, though beaten twice, was determined to try a third time and win. He recommended the employment of Matonabbee as a guide of intelligence and experience. Governor Norton wished to send some of the coast Indians with Hearne, but the latter refused them, and incurred the ill-will of the Governor. Hearne's instructions on this third journey were "in quest of a North-West Passage, copper-mines, or any other thing that may be serviceable to the British nation in general, or the Hudson's Bay Company in particular." The explorer was now furnished with an Elton's quadrant. This third journey was begun on December 7th, 1770. Travelling sometimes for three or four days without food, they were annoyed, when supplies were secured, by the chief Matonabbee taking so ill from over-eating that he had to be drawn upon a sledge. Without more than the usual incidents of Indian travelling, the party pushed on till a point some 19 deg. west of Churchill was reached, according to the calculations of the explorer. It is to be noted, however, that Hearne's observations, measurements, and maps, do not seem to be at all accurate. Turning northward, as far as can be now made out, about the spot where the North-West traders first appeared on their way to the Churchill River, Hearne went north to his destination. His Indian guides now formed a large war party from the resident Indians, to meet the Eskimos of the river to which they were going and to conquer them. The explorer announces that having left behind "all the women, children, dogs, heavy baggage, and other encumbrances," on June 1st, 1771, they pursued their journey northward with great speed. On June 21st the sun did not set at all, which Hearne took to be proof that they had reached the Arctic Circle. Next day they met the Copper Indians, who welcomed them on hearing the object of their visit. Hearne, according to orders, smoked the calumet of peace with the Copper Indians. These Indians had never before seen a white man. Hearne was considered a great curiosity. Pushing on upon their long journey, the explorers reached the Coppermine River on July 13th. Hearne was the witness of a cruel massacre of the Eskimos by his Indian allies, and the seizure of their copper utensils and other provisions, and expresses disgust at the enormity of the affair. The mouth of the river, which flows into the Arctic Ocean, was soon reached on July 18th, and the tide found to rise about fourteen feet. Hearne seems in the narrative rather uncertain about the latitude of the mouth of the Coppermine River, but states that after some consultation with the Indians, he erected a mark, and took possession of the coast on behalf of the Hudson's Bay Company. In Hearne's map, dated July, 1771, and purporting to be a plan of the Coppermine, the mouth of the river is about 71 deg. 54´ N. This was a great mistake, as the mouth of the river is somewhere near 68 deg. N. So great a mistake was certainly unpardonable. Hearne's apology was that after the breaking of his quadrant on the second expedition, the instrument which he used was an old Elton's quadrant, which had been knocking about the Prince of Wales Fort for nearly thirty years. Having examined the resources of the river and heard of the mines from which the Copper Indians obtained all the metal for the manufacture of hatchets, chisels, knives, &c., Hearne started southward on his return journey on July 18th. Instead of coming by the direct route, he went with the Indians of his party to the north side of Lake Athabasca on December 24th. Having crossed the lake, as illustrating the loneliness of the region, the party found a woman who had escaped from an Indian band which had taken her prisoner, and who had not seen a human face for seven months, and had lived by snaring partridges, rabbits, and squirrels. Her skill in maintaining herself in lonely wilds was truly wonderful. She became the wife of one of the Indians of Hearne's party. In the middle of March, 1772, Hearne was delivered a letter, brought to him from Prince of Wales Fort and dated in the preceding June. Pushing eastward, after a number of adventures, Hearne reached Prince of Wales Fort on June 30th, 1772, having been absent on his third voyage eighteen months and twenty-three days. Hearne rejoices that he had at length put an end to the disputes concerning a North-West Passage through Hudson Bay. The fact, however, that during the nineteenth century this became again a living question shows that in this he was mistaken. The perseverance and pluck of Hearne have impressed all those who have read his narrative. He was plainly one of the men possessing the subtle power of impressing the Indian mind. His disasters would have deterred many men from following up so difficult and extensive a route. To him the Hudson's Bay Company owes a debt of gratitude. That debt consists not in the discovery of the Coppermine, but in the attitude presented to the Northern Indians from the Bay all the way to Lake Athabasca. Hearne does not mention the Montreal fur traders, who, in the very year of his return, reached the Saskatchewan and were stationed at the Churchill River down which he passed. First of white men to reach Athapuscow, now thought to have been Great Slave Lake, Samuel Hearne claimed for his Company priority of trade, and answered the calumnies that his Company was lacking in energy and enterprise. He took what may be called "seizen" of the soil for the English traders. We shall speak again of his part in leading the movement inland to oppose the Nor'-Westers in the interior. His services to the Hudson's Bay Company received recognition in his promotion, three years after his return home from his third voyage, to the governorship of the Prince of Wales Fort. To Hearne has been largely given the credit of the new and adventurous policy of the Hudson's Bay Company. Hearne does not, however, disappear from public notice on his promotion to the command of Prince of Wales Fort. When war broke out a few years later between England and France, the latter country, remembering her old successes under D'Iberville on Hudson Bay, sent a naval expedition to attack the forts on the Bay. Umfreville gives an account of the attack on Prince of Wales Fort on August 8th and 9th, 1772. Admiral de la Perouse was in command of these war vessels, his flagship being _Le Sceptre_, of seventy-four guns. The garrison was thought to be well provided for a siege, and La Perouse evidently expected to have a severe contest. However, as he approached the fort, there seemed to be no preparations made for defence, and, on the summons to surrender, the gates were immediately thrown open. [Illustration: PRINCE OF WALES FORT.] Umfreville, who was in the garrison and was taken prisoner on this occasion, speaks of the conduct of the Governor as being very reprehensible, but severely criticizes the Company for its neglect. He says:--"The strength of the fort itself was such as would have resisted the attack of a more considerable force; it was built of the strongest materials, the walls were of great thickness and very durable (it was planned by the ingenious Mr. Robson, who went out in 1742 for that purpose), it having been forty years in building and attended with great expense to the Company. In short, it was the opinion of every intelligent person that it might have made an obstinate resistance when attacked, had it been as well provided in other respects; but through the impolitic conduct of the Company, every courageous exertion of their servants must have been considered as imprudent temerity; for this place, which would have required four hundred men for its defence, the Company, in its consummate wisdom, had garrisoned with only thirty-nine." In this matter, Umfreville very plainly shows his animus to the Company, but incidentally he exonerates Hearne from the charge of cowardice, inasmuch as it would have been madness to make defence against so large a body of men. As has been before pointed out, we can hardly charge with cowardice the man who had shown his courage and determination in the three toilsome and dangerous journeys spoken of; rather would we see in this a proof of his wisdom under unfortunate circumstances. The surrender of York Factory to La Perouse twelve days afterwards, without resistance, was an event of an equally discouraging kind. The Company suffered great loss by the surrender of these forts, which had been unmolested since the Treaty of Utrecht. CHAPTER XIII. FORTS ON HUDSON BAY LEFT BEHIND. Andrew Graham's "Memo."--Prince of Wales Fort--The garrison--Trade--York Factory--Furs--Albany--Subordinate forts--Moose--Moses Norton--Cumberland House--Upper Assiniboine--Rainy Lake--Brandon House--Red River--Conflict of the Companies. The new policy of the Company that for a hundred years had carried on its operations in Hudson Bay was now to be adopted. As soon as the plan could be developed, a long line of posts in the interior would serve to carry on the chief trade, and the forts and factories on Hudson Bay would become depôts for storage and ports of departure for the Old World. It is interesting at this point to have a view of the last days of the old system which had grown up during the operations of a century. We are fortunate in having an account of these forts in 1771 given by Andrew Graham, for many years a factor of the Hudson's Bay Company. This document is to be found in the Hudson's Bay Company house in London, and has been hitherto unpublished. The simplicity of description and curtness of detail gives the account its chief charm. PRINCE OF WALES FORT.--On a peninsula at the entrance of the Churchill River. Most northern settlement of the Company. A stone fort, mounting forty-two cannon, from six to twenty-four pounders. Opposite, on the south side of the river, Cape Merry Battery, mounting six twenty-four pounders with lodge-house and powder magazine. The river 1,006 yards wide. A ship can anchor six miles above the fort. Tides carry salt water twelve miles up the river. No springs near; drink snow water nine months of the year. In summer keep three draught horses to haul water and draw stones to finish building of forts. Staff:--A chief factor and officers, with sixty servants and tradesmen. The council, with discretionary power, consists of chief factor, second factor, surgeon, sloop and brig masters, and captain of Company's ship when in port. These answer and sign the general letter, sent yearly to directors. The others are accountant, trader, steward, armourer, ship-wright, carpenter, cooper, blacksmith, mason, tailor, and labourers. These must not trade with natives, under penalties for so doing. Council mess together, also servants. Called by bell to duty, work from six to six in summer; eight to four in winter. Two watch in winter, three in summer. In emergencies, tradesmen must work at anything. Killing of partridges the most pleasant duty. Company signs contract with servants for three or five years, with the remarkable clause: "Company may recall them home at any time without satisfaction for the remaining time. Contract may be renewed, if servants or labourers wish, at expiry of term. Salary advanced forty shillings, if men have behaved well in first term. The land and sea officers' and tradesmen's salaries do not vary, but seamen's are raised in time of war." A ship of 200 tons burden, bearing provisions, arrives yearly in August or early September. Sails again in ten days, wind permitting, with cargo and those returning. Sailors alone get pay when at home. The annual trade sent home from this fort is from ten to four thousand made beaver, in furs, felts, castorum, goose feathers, and quills, and a small quantity of train oil and whalebone, part of which they receive from the Eskimos, and the rest from the white whale fishery. A black whale fishery is in hand, but it shows no progress. YORK FACTORY.--On the north bank of Hayes River, three miles from the entrance. Famous River Nelson, three miles north, makes the land between an island. Well-built fort of wood, log on log. Four bastions with sheds between, and a breastwork with twelve small carriage guns. Good class of quarters, with double row of strong palisades. On the bank's edge, before the fort, is a half-moon battery, of turf and earth, with fifteen cannon, nine-pounders. Two miles below the fort, same side, is a battery of ten twelve-pounders, with lodge-house and powder magazine. These two batteries command the river, but the shoals and sand-banks across the mouth defend us more. No ship comes higher than five miles below the fort. Governed like Prince of Wales Fort. Complement of men: forty-two. The natives come down Nelson River to trade. If weather calm, they paddle round the point. If not, they carry their furs across. This fort sends home from 7,000 to 33,000 made beaver in furs, &c., and a small quantity of white whale oil. SEVERN FORT.--On the north bank of Severn River. Well-built square house, with four bastions. Men: eighteen. Commanded by a factor and sloop master. Eight small cannon and other warlike stores. Sloop carries furs in the fall to York Factory and delivers them to the ship, with the books and papers, receiving supply of trading goods, provisions, and stores. Severn full of shoals and sand banks. Sloop has difficulty in getting in and out. Has to wait spring tides inside the point. Trade sent home, 5,000 to 6,600 made beaver in furs, &c. ALBANY FORT.--On south bank of Albany River, four miles from the entrance. Large well-built wood fort. Four bastions with shed between. Cannon and warlike stores. Men: thirty; factor and officers. River difficult. Ship rides five leagues out and is loaded and unloaded by large sloop. Trade, including two sub-houses of East Main and Henley, from 10,000 to 12,000 made beaver, &c. (This fort was the first Europeans had in Hudson Bay, and is where Hudson traded with natives.) HENLEY HOUSE.--One hundred miles up the river from Albany. Eleven men, governed by master. First founded to prevent encroachments of the French, when masters of Canada, and present to check the English. EAST MAIN HOUSE.--Entrance of Slude River. Small square house. Sloop master and eleven men. Trade: 1000 to 2000 made beaver in furs, &c. Depth of water just admits sloop. MOOSE FACTORY.--South bank of Moose River, near entrance. Well-built wood fort--cannon and warlike stores. Twenty-five men. Factor and officers. River admits ship to good harbour, below fort. Trade, 3,000 to 4,000 made beavers in furs, &c. One ship supplies this fort, along with Albany and sub-forts. These are the present Hudson's Bay Company's settlements in the Bay. "All under one discipline, and excepting the sub-houses, each factor receives a commission to act for benefit of Company, without being answerable to any person or persons in the Bay, more than to consult for good of Company in emergencies and to supply one another with trading goods, &c., if capable, the receiver giving credit for the same." The movement to the interior was begun from the Prince of Wales Fort up the Churchill River. Next year, after his return from the discovery of the Coppermine, Samuel Hearne undertook the aggressive work of going to meet the Indians, now threatened from the Saskatchewan by the seductive influences of the Messrs. Frobisher, of the Montreal fur traders. The Governor at Prince of Wales Fort, for a good many years, had been Moses Norton. He was really an Indian born at the fort, who had received some education during a nine years' residence in England. Of uncultivated manners, and leading far from a pure life, he was yet a man of considerable force, with a power to command and the ability to ingratiate himself with the Indians. He was possessed of undoubted energy, and no doubt to his advice is very much due the movement to leave the forts in the Bay and penetrate to the interior of the country. In December of the very year (1773) in which Hearne went on his trading expedition inland, Norton died. In the following year, as we have seen, Hearne erected Cumberland House, only five hundred yards from Frobisher's new post on Sturgeon Lake. It was the intention of the Hudson's Bay Company also to make an effort to control the trade to the south of Lake Winnipeg. Hastily called away after building Cumberland House, Hearne was compelled to leave a colleague, Mr. Cockings, in charge of the newly-erected fort, and returned to the bay to take charge of Prince of Wales Fort, the post left vacant by the death of Governor Norton. The Hudson's Bay Company, now regularly embarked in the inland trade, undertook to push their posts to different parts of the country, especially to the portion of the fur country in the direction from which the Montreal traders approached it. The English traders, as we learn from Umfreville, who was certainly not prejudiced in their favour, had the advantage of a higher reputation in character and trade among the Indians than had their Canadian opponents. From their greater nearness to northern waters, the old Company could reach a point in the Saskatchewan with their goods nearly a month earlier in the spring than their Montreal rivals were able to do. We find that in 1790 the Hudson's Bay Company crossed south from the northern waters and erected a trading post at the mouth of the Swan River, near Lake Winnipegoosis. This they soon deserted and built a fort on the upper waters of the Assiniboine River, a few miles above the present Hudson's Bay Company post of Fort Pelly. A period of surprising energy was now seen in the English Company's affairs. "Carrying the war into Africa," they in the same year met their antagonists in the heart of their own territory, by building a trading post on Rainy Lake and another in the neighbouring Red Lake district, now included in North-Eastern Minnesota. Having seized the chief points southward, the aroused Company, in the next year (1791), pushed north-westward from Cumberland House and built an establishment at Ile à la Crosse, well up toward Lake Athabasca. Crossing from Lake Winnipeg in early spring to the head waters of the Assiniboine River, the spring brigade of the Hudson's Bay Company quite outdid their rivals, and in 1794 built the historic Brandon House, at a very important point on the Assiniboine River. This post was for upwards of twenty years a chief Hudson's Bay Company centre until it was burnt. On the grassy bank of the Assiniboine, the writer some years ago found the remains of the old fort, and from the well-preserved character of the sod, was able to make out the line of the palisades, the exact size of all the buildings, and thus to obtain the ground plan. Brandon House was on the south side of the Assiniboine, about seventeen miles below the present city of Brandon. Its remains are situated on the homestead of Mr. George Mair, a Canadian settler from Beauharnois, Quebec, who settled here on July 20th, 1879. The site was well chosen at a bend of the river, having the Assiniboine in front of it on the east and partially so also on the north. The front of the palisade faced to the east, and midway in the wall was a gate ten feet wide, with inside of it a look-out tower (guérite) seven feet square. On the south side was the long store-house. In the centre had stood a building said by some to have been the blacksmith's shop. Along the north wall were the buildings for residences and other purposes. The remains of other forts, belonging to rival companies, are not far away, but of these we shall speak again. The same activity continued to exist in the following year, for in points so far apart as the Upper Saskatchewan and Lake Winnipeg new forts were built. The former of these was Edmonton House, built on the north branch of the Saskatchewan. The fort erected on Lake Winnipeg was probably that at the mouth of the Winnipeg River, near where Fort Alexander now stands. In 1796, another post was begun on the Assiniboine River, not unlikely near the old site of Fort de la Reine, while in the following year, as a half-way house to Edmonton on the Saskatchewan, Carlton House was erected. The Red River proper was taken possession of by the Company in 1799. Alexander Henry, junr., tells us that very near the boundary line (49 degrees N.) on the east side of the Red River, there were in 1800 the remains of a fort. Such was the condition of things, so far as the Hudson's Bay Company was concerned, at the end of the century. In twenty-five years they had extended their trade from Edmonton House, near the Rockies, as far as Rainy Lake; they had made Cumberland House the centre of their operations in the interior, and had taken a strong hold of the fertile region on the Red and Assiniboine Rivers, of which to-day the city of Winnipeg is the centre. Undoubtedly the severe competition between the Montreal merchants and the Hudson's Bay Company greatly diminished the profits of both. According to Umfreville, the Hudson's Bay Company business was conducted much more economically than that of the merchants of Montreal. The Company upon the Bay chiefly employed men obtained in the Orkney Islands, who were a steady, plodding, and reliable class. The employés of the Montreal merchants were a wild, free, reckless people, much addicted to drink, and consequently less to be depended upon. The same writer states that the competition between the two rival bodies of traders resulted badly for the Indians. He says: "So that the Canadians from Canada and the Europeans from Hudson Bay met together, not at all to the ulterior advantage of the natives, who by this means became degenerated and debauched, through the excessive use of spirituous liquors imported by these rivals in commerce." One thing at any rate had been clearly demonstrated, that the inglorious sleeping by the side of the Bay, charged by Dobbs and others against the old Company, had been overcome, and that the first quarter of the second century of the history of the Hudson's Bay Company showed that the Company's motto, "Pro Pelle Cutem," "Skin for Skin," had not been inappropriately chosen. CHAPTER XIV. THE NORTH-WEST COMPANY FORMED. Hudson's Bay Company aggressive--The great McTavish--The Frobishers--Pond and Pangman dissatisfied--Gregory and McLeod--Strength of the North-West Company--Vessels to be built--New route from Lake Superior sought--Good-will at times--Bloody Pond--Wider union, 1787--Fort Alexandria--Mouth of the Souris--Enormous fur trade--Wealthy Nor'-Westers--"The Haunted House." The terrible scourge of smallpox cut off one-half, some say one-third of the Indian population of the fur country. This was a severe blow to the prosperity of the fur trade, as the traders largely depended on the Indians as trappers. The determination shown by the Hudson's Bay Company, and the zeal with which they took advantage of an early access to the Northern Indians, were a surprise to the Montreal traders, and we find in the writings of the time, frequent expressions as to the loss of profits produced by the competition in the fur trade. The leading fur merchants of Montreal determined on a combination of their forces. Chief among the stronger houses were the Frobishers. Joseph Frobisher had returned from his two years' expedition in 1776, "having secured what was in those days counted a competent fortune," and was one of the "characters" of the commercial capital of Canada. The strongest factor in the combination was probably Simon McTavish, of whom a writer has said "that he may be regarded as the founder of the famous North-West Company." McTavish, born in 1750, was a Highlander of enormous energy and decision of character. While by his force of will rousing opposition, yet he had excellent business capacity, and it was he who suggested the cessation of rivalries and strife among themselves and the union of their forces by the Canadian traders. [Illustration: THE LAC DES ALLUMETTES.] Accordingly the North-West Company was formed 1783-4, its stock being apportioned into sixteen parts, each stockholder supplying in lieu of money a certain proportion of the commodities necessary for trade, and the Committee dividing their profits when the returns were made from the sale of furs. The united firms of Benjamin and Joseph Frobisher and Simon McTavish administered the whole affair for the traders and received a commission as agents. The brightest prospect lay before the new formed Company, and they had their first gathering at Grand Portage in the spring of 1784. But union did not satisfy all. A viciously-disposed and self-confident trader, Peter Pond, had not been consulted. Pond was an American, who, as we have seen in 1775, accompanied Henry, Cadot, and Frobisher to the far North-West. Two years later he had gone to Lake Athabasca, and forty miles from the lake on Deer River, had built in 1778 the first fort in the far-distant region, which became known as the Fur Emporium of the North-West. Pond had with much skill prepared a great map of the country for presentation to the Empress Catherine of Russia, and at a later stage gave much information to the American commissioners who settled the boundary line under the Treaty of Paris. Pond was dissatisfied and refused to enter the new Company. Another trader, Peter Pangman, an American also, had been overlooked in the new Company, and he and Pond now came to Montreal, determined to form a strong opposition to the McTavish and Frobisher combination. In this they were successful. One of the rising merchants of Montreal at this time was John Gregory, a young Englishman. He was united in partnership with Alexander Norman McLeod, an ardent Highlander, who afterwards rose to great distinction as a magnate of the fur trade. Pangman and Pond appealed to the self-interest of Gregory, McLeod & Company, and so, very shortly after his projected union of all the Canadian interests, McTavish saw arise a rival, not so large as his own Company, but in no way to be despised. To this rival Company also belonged an energetic, strong-willed Scotchman, who afterwards became the celebrated Sir Alexander Mackenzie, his cousin Roderick McKenzie--a notable character, a trader named Ross, and also young Finlay, a son of the pioneer so well known twenty years before in the fur trading and civil history of Canada. Pond signalized himself by soon after deserting to the older Company. The younger Company acted with great vigour. Leaving McLeod behind to manage the business in Montreal, the other members found themselves in the summer at Grand Portage, where they established a post. They then divided up the country and gave it to the partners and traders. Athabasca was given to Ross; Churchill River to Alexander Mackenzie; the Saskatchewan to Pangman; and the Red River country to the veteran trader Pollock. The North-West Company entered with great energy upon its occupation of the North-West country. We are able to refer to an unpublished memorial presented by them, in 1784, to Governor Haldimand, which shows very well their hopes and expectations. They claim to have explored and improved the route from Grand Portage to Lake Ouinipique, and they ask the governor to grant them the exclusive privilege of using this route for ten years. They recite the expeditions made by the Montreal traders from their posts in 1765 up to the time of their memorial. They urge the granting of favours to them on the double ground of their having to oppose the "new adventurers," as they call the Hudson's Bay Company, in the north, and they claim to desire to oppose the encroachments of the United States in the south. They state the value of the property of the Company in the North-West, exclusive of houses and stores, to be 25,303_l._ 3_s._ 6_d._; the other outfits also sent to the country will not fall far short of this sum. The Company will have at Grand Portage in the following July 50,000_l._ (original cost) in fur. They further ask the privilege of constructing a small vessel to be built at Detroit and to be taken up Sault Ste. Marie to ply on Lake Superior, and also that in transporting their supplies on the King's ships from Niagara and Detroit to Michilimackinac, they may have the precedence on account of the shortness of their season and great distance interior to be reached. They state that they have arranged to have a spot selected at Sault Ste. Marie, whither they may have the fort transferred from Michilimackinac, which place had been awarded by the Treaty of Paris to the Americans. They desire another vessel placed on the lakes to carry their furs to Detroit. This indicates a great revival of the fur trade and vigorous plans for its prosecution. A most interesting statement is also made in the memorial: that on account of Grand Portage itself having been by the Treaty of Paris left on the American side of the boundary on Lake Superior, they had taken steps to find a Canadian route by which the trade could be carried on from Lake Superior to the interior. They state that they had sent off on an expedition a canoe, with provisions only, navigated by six Canadians, under the direction of Mr. Edward Umfreville, who had been eleven years in the service of the Hudson's Bay Company, and who along with his colleague, Mr. Verrance, knew the language of the Indians. We learn from Umfreville's book that "he succeeded in his expedition much to the satisfaction of the merchants," along the route from Lake Nepigon to Winnipeg River. The route discovered proved almost impracticable for trade, but as it was many years before the terms of the treaty were carried into effect, Grand Portage remained for the time the favourite pathway to the interior. The conflict of the two Montreal companies almost obscured that with the English traders from Hudson Bay. True, in some districts the competition was peaceful and honourable. The nephew of Simon McTavish, William McGillivray, who afterwards rose to great prominence as a trader, was stationed with one of the rival company, Roderick McKenzie, of whom we have spoken, on the English River. In 1786 they had both succeeded so well in trade that, forming their men into two brigades, they returned together, making the woods resound with the lively French songs of the voyageurs. The attitude of the traders largely depended, however, on the character of the men. To the Athabasca district the impetuous and intractable Pond was sent by the older Company, on his desertion to it. Here there was the powerful influence of the Hudson's Bay Company to contend against, and the old Company from the Bay long maintained its hold on the Northern Indians. To make a flank movement upon the Hudson's Bay Company he sent Cuthbert Grant and a French trader to Slave Lake, on which they established Fort Resolution, while, pushing on still farther, they reached a point afterwards known as Fort Providence. The third body to be represented in Athabasca Lake was the small North-West Company by their _bourgeois_, John Ross. Ross was a peaceable and fair man, but Pond so stirred up strife that the employés of the two Companies were in a perpetual quarrel. In one of these conflicts Ross was unfortunately killed. This added to the evil reputation of Pond, who in 1781 had been charged with the murder of a peaceful trader named Wadin, in the same Athabasca region. When Roderick McKenzie heard at Ile à la Crosse of the murder, he hastened to the meeting of the traders at Grand Portage. This alarming event so affected the traders that the two Companies agreed to unite. The union was effected in 1787, and the business at headquarters in Montreal was now managed by the three houses of McTavish, Frobisher, and Gregory. Alexander Mackenzie was despatched to Athabasca to take the place of the unfortunate trader Ross, and so became acquainted with the region which was to be the scene of his triumphs in discovery. The union of the North-West fur companies led to extension in some directions. The Assiniboine Valley, in one of the most fertile parts of the country, was more fully occupied. As in the case of the Hudson's Bay Company, the occupation of this valley took place by first coming to Lake Winnipeg and ascending the Swan River (always a fur trader's paradise), until, by a short portage, the Upper Assiniboine was reached. The oldest fort in this valley belonging to the Nor'-Westers seems to have been built by a trader, Robert Grant, a year or two after 1780. It is declared by trader John McDonnell to have been two short days' march from the junction of the Qu'Appelle and Assiniboine. Well up the Assiniboine, and not far from the source of the Swan River, stood Fort Alexandria, "surrounded by groves of birch, poplar, and aspen," and said to have been named after Sir Alexander Mackenzie. It was 256 feet in length by 196 feet in breadth; the "houses, stores, &c., being well built, plastered on the inside and outside, and washed over with a white earth, which answers nearly as well as lime for white-washing." Connected with this region was the name of a famous trader, Cuthbert Grant, the father of the leader of the half-breeds and Nor'-Westers, of whom we shall speak afterwards. At the mouth of Shell River on the Assiniboine stood a small fort built by Peter Grant in 1794. When the Nor'-Westers became acquainted with the route down the Assiniboine, they followed it to its mouth, and from that point, where it joined the Red River, descended to Lake Winnipeg and crossed to the Winnipeg River. In order to do this they established in 1785, as a halting place, Pine Fort, about eighteen miles below the junction of the Souris and Assiniboine Rivers. At the mouth of the Souris River, and near the site of the Brandon House, already described as built by the Hudson's Bay Company, the North-West Company built in 1795 Assiniboine House. This fort became of great importance as the depôt for expeditions to the Mandans of the Missouri River. The union of the Montreal Companies resulted, as had been expected, in a great expansion of the trade. In 1788 the gross amount of the trade did not exceed 40,000_l._, but by the energy of the partners it reached before the end of the century more than three times that amount--a remarkable showing. The route now being fully established, the trade settled down into regular channels. The agents of the Company in Montreal, Messrs. McTavish & Co., found it necessary to order the goods needed from England eighteen months before they could leave Montreal for the West. Arriving in Canada in the summer, they were then made up in packages for the Indian trade. These weighed about ninety pounds each, and were ready to be borne inland in the following spring. Then being sent to the West, they were taken to the far points in the ensuing winter, where they were exchanged for furs. The furs reached Montreal in the next autumn, when they were stored to harden, and were not to be sold or paid for before the following season. This was forty-two months after the goods were ordered in Canada. This trade was a very heavy one to conduct, inasmuch as allowing a merchant one year's credit, he had still two years to carry the burden after the value of the goods had been considered as cash. Toward the end of the century a single year's produce was enormous. One such year was represented by 106,000 beavers, 32,000 marten, 11,800 mink, 17,000 musquash, and, counting all together, not less than 184,000 skins. The agents necessary to carry on this enormous volume of trade were numerous. Sir Alexander Mackenzie informs us that there were employed in the concern, not including officers or partners, 50 clerks, 71 interpreters and clerks, 1,120 canoe-men, and 35 guides. The magnitude of the operations of this Company may be seen from the foregoing statements. The capital required by the agents of the concern in Montreal, the number of men employed, the vast quantities of goods sent out in bales made up for the western trade, and the enormous store of furs received in exchange, all combined to make the business of the North-West Company an important factor in Canadian life. Canada was then in her infancy. Upper Canada was not constituted a province until the date of the formation of the North-West Company. Montreal and Quebec, the only places of any importance, were small towns. The absence of manufactures, agriculture, and means of inter-communication or transport, led to the North-West Company being the chief source of money-making in Canada. As the fur merchants became rich from their profits, they bought seigniories, built mansions, and even in some cases purchased estates in the old land. Simon McTavish may be looked upon as a type. After a most active life, and when he had accumulated a handsome competence, Simon McTavish owned the Seigniory of Terrebonne, receiving in 1802 a grant of 11,500 acres in the township of Chester. He was engaged at the time of his death, which took place in 1804, in erecting a princely mansion at the foot of the Mountain in Montreal. For half a century the ruins of this building were the dread of children, and were known as McTavish's "Haunted House." The fur-trader's tomb may still be recognized by an obelisk enclosed within stone walls, near "Ravenscrag," the residence of the late Sir Hugh Allan, which occupies the site of the old ruin. _Surely the glory of the lords of the lakes and the forest has passed away._ CHAPTER XV. VOYAGES OF SIR ALEXANDER MACKENZIE. A young Highlander--To rival Hearne--Fort Chipewyan built--French Canadian voyageurs--Trader Leroux--Perils of the route--Post erected on Arctic Coast--Return journey--Pond's miscalculations--Hudson Bay Turner--Roderick McKenzie's hospitality--Alexander Mackenzie--Astronomy and mathematics--Winters on Peace River--Terrific journey--The Pacific slope--Dangerous Indians--Pacific Ocean, 1793--North-West passage by land--Great achievement--A notable book. One of the chiefs of the fur traders seems to have had a higher ambition than simply to carry back to Grand Portage canoes overflowing with furs. Alexander Mackenzie had the restless spirit that made him a very uncertain partner in the great schemes of McTavish, Frobisher & Co., and led him to seek for glory in the task of exploration. Coming as a young Highlander to Montreal, he had early been so appreciated for his ability as to be sent by Gregory, McLeod & Co. to conduct their enterprise in Detroit. Then we have seen that, refusing to enter the McTavish Company, he had gone to Churchill River for the Gregory Company. The sudden union of all the Montreal Companies (1787) caused, as already noted, by Pond's murder of Ross, led to Alexander Mackenzie being placed in charge in that year of the department of Athabasca. The longed-for opportunity had now come to Mackenzie. He heard from the Indians and others of how Samuel Hearne, less than twenty years before, on behalf of their great rivals, the Hudson's Bay Company, had returned by way of Lake Athabasca from his discovery of the Coppermine River. He longed to reach the Arctic Sea by another river of which he had heard, and eclipse the discovery of his rival. He even had it in view to seek the Pacific Ocean, of which he was constantly hearing from the Indians, where white men wearing armour were to be met--no doubt meaning the Spaniards. Mackenzie proceeded in a very deliberate way to prepare for his long journey. Having this expedition in view, he secured the appointment of his cousin, Roderick McKenzie, to his own department. Reaching Lake Athabasca, Roderick McKenzie selected a promontory running out some three miles into the lake, and here built (1788) Fort Chipewyan, it being called from the Indians who chiefly frequented the district. It became the most important fort of the north country, being at the converging point of trade on the great watercourses of the north-west. On June 3rd, 1789, Alexander Mackenzie started on his first exploration. In his own birch-bark canoe was a crew of seven. His crew is worthy of being particularized. It consisted of four French Canadians, with the wives of two of them. These voyageurs were François Barrieau, Charles Ducette, or Cadien, Joseph Landry, or Cadien, Pierre de Lorme. To complete the number was John Steinbruck, a German. The second canoe contained the guide of the expedition, an Indian, called the "English chief," who was a great trader, and had frequented year by year the route to the English, on Hudson Bay. In his canoe were his two wives, and two young Indians. In a third canoe was trader Leroux, who was to accompany the explorer as far north as Slave Lake, and dispose of the goods he took for furs. Leroux was under orders from his chief to build a fort on Slave Lake. Starting on June 3rd, the party left the lake, finding their way down Slave River, which they already knew. Day after day they journeyed, suffered from myriads of mosquitoes, passed the steep mountain portage, and, undergoing many hardships, reached Slave Lake in nine days. Skirting the lake, they departed north by an unknown river. This was the object of Mackenzie's search. Floating down the stream, the Horn Mountains were seen, portage after portage was crossed, the mouth of the foaming Great Slave Lake River was passed, the snowy mountains came in view in the distance, and the party, undeterred, pressed forward on their voyage of discovery. The usual incidents of early travel were experienced. The accidents, though not serious, were numerous; the scenes met with were all new; the natives were surprised at the bearded stranger; the usual deception and fickleness were displayed by the Indians, only to be overcome by the firmness and tact of Mackenzie; and forty days after starting, the expedition looked out upon the floating ice of the Arctic Ocean. Mackenzie, on the morning of July 14th, erected a post on the shore, on which he engraved the latitude of the place (69 deg. 14´ N.), his own name, the number of persons in the party, and the time they remained there. His object having been thus accomplished, the important matter was to reach Lake Athabasca in the remaining days of the open season. The return journey had the usual experiences, and on August 24th they came upon Leroux on Slave Lake, where that trader had erected Fort Providence. On September 12th the expedition arrived safely at Fort Chipewyan, the time of absence having been 102 days. The story of this journey is given in a graphic and unaffected manner by Mackenzie in his work of 1801, but no mention is made of his own name being attached to the river which he had discovered. We have stated that Peter Pond had prepared a map of the north country, with the purpose of presenting it to the Empress of Russia. Being a man of great energy, he was not deterred from this undertaking by the fact that he had no knowledge of astronomical instruments and little of the art of map-making. His statements were made on the basis of reports from the Indians, whose custom was always to make the leagues short, that they might boast of the length of their journeys. Computing in this way, he made Lake Athabasca so far from Hudson Bay and the Grand Portage that, taking Captain Cook's observations on the Pacific Coast four years before this, the lake was only, according to his calculations, a hundred or a hundred and fifty miles from the Pacific Ocean. The effect of Pond's calculations, which became known in the Treaty of Paris, was to stimulate the Hudson's Bay Company to follow up Hearne's discoveries and to explore the country west of Lake Athabasca. They attempted this in 1785, but they sent out a boy of fifteen, named George Charles, who had been one year at a mathematical school, and had never made there more than simple observations. As was to have been expected, the boy proved incompetent. Urged on by the Colonial Office, they again in 1791 organized an expedition to send Astronomer Philip Turnor to make the western journey. Unaccustomed to the Far West, and poorly provided for this journey, Turner found himself at Fort Chipewyan entirely dependent for help and shelter on the Nor'-Westers. He was, however, qualified for his work, and made correct observations, which settled the question of the distance of the Pacific Ocean. Mr. Roderick McKenzie showed him every hospitality. This expedition served at least to show that the Pacific was certainly five times the distance from Lake Athabasca that Pond had estimated. [Illustration: SIR ALEXANDER MACKENZIE.] After coming back from the Arctic Sea, Alexander Mackenzie spent his time in urging forward the business of the fur trade, especially north of Lake Athabasca; but there was burning in his breast the desire to be the discoverer of the Western Sea. The voyage of Turner made him still more desirous of going to the West. Like Hearne, Alexander Mackenzie had found the want of astronomical knowledge and the lack of suitable instruments a great drawback in determining his whereabouts from day to day. With remarkable energy, he, in the year 1791, journeyed eastward to Canada, crossed the Atlantic Ocean to London, and spent the winter in acquiring the requisite mathematical knowledge and a sufficient acquaintance with instruments to enable him to take observations. He was now prepared to make his journey to the Pacific Ocean. He states that the courage of his party had been kept up on their reaching the Arctic Sea, by the thought that they were approaching the Mer de l'Ouest, which, it will be remembered, Verendrye had sought with such passionate desire. In the very year in which Mackenzie returned from Great Britain, his great purpose to reach the Pacific Coast led him to make his preparations in the autumn, and on October 10th, 1792, to leave Fort Chipewyan and proceed as far up Peace River as the farthest settlement, and there winter, to be ready for an early start in the following spring. On his way he overtook Mr. Finlay, the younger, and called upon him in his camp near the fort, where he was to trade for the winter. Leaving Mr. Finlay "under several volleys of musketry," Mackenzie pushed on and reached the spot where the men had been despatched in the preceding spring to square timber for a house and cut palisades to fortify it. Here, where the Boncave joins the main branch of the Peace River, the fort was erected. His own house was not ready for occupation before December 23rd, and the body of the men went on after that date to erect five houses for which the material had been prepared. Troubles were plentiful; such as the quarrelsomeness of the natives, the killing of an Indian, and in the latter part of the winter severe cold. In May, Mackenzie despatched six canoes laden with furs for Fort Chipewyan. The somewhat cool reception that Mackenzie had received from the other partners at Grand Portage, when on a former occasion he had given an account of his voyage to the Arctic Sea, led him to be doubtful whether his confrères would fully approve the great expedition on which he was determined to go. He was comparatively a young man, and he knew that there were many of the traders jealous of him. Still, his determined character led him to hold to his plan, and his great energy urged him to make a name for himself. Mackenzie had found much difficulty in securing guides and voyageurs. The trip proposed was so difficult that the bravest shrank from it. The explorer had, however, great confidence in his colleague, Alexander Mackay, who had arrived at the Forks a few weeks before the departure. Mackay was a most experienced and shrewd man. After faithfully serving his Company, he entered, as we shall see, the Astor Fur Company in 1811, and was killed among the first in the fierce attack on the ship _Tonquin_, which was captured by the natives. Mackenzie's crew was the best he could obtain, and their names have become historic. There were besides Mackay, Joseph Landry and Charles Ducette, two voyageurs of the former expedition, Baptiste Bisson, François Courtois, Jacques Beauchamp, and François Beaulieu, the last of whom died so late as 1872, aged nearly one hundred years, probably the oldest man in the North-West at the time. Archbishop Taché gives an interesting account of Beaulieu's baptism at the age of seventy. Two Indians completed the party, one of whom had been so idle a lad, that he bore till his dying day the unenviable name of "Cancre"--the crab. Having taken, on the day of his departure, the latitude and longitude of his winter post, Mackenzie started on May 9th, 1793, for his notable voyage. Seeing on the banks of the river elk, buffalo, and bear, the expedition pushed ahead, meeting the difficulties of navigation with patience and skill. The murmurs of his men and the desire to turn back made no impression on Mackenzie, who, now that his Highland blood was up, determined to see the journey through. The difficulties of navigation became extreme, and at times the canoes had to be drawn up stream by the branches of trees. At length in longitude 121° W. Mackenzie reached a lake, which he considered the head of the Ayugal or Peace River. Here the party landed, unloaded the canoes, and by a portage of half-a-mile on a well-beaten path, came upon another small lake. From this lake the explorers followed a small river, and here the guide deserted the party. On June 17th the members of the expedition enjoyed, after all their toil and anxiety, the "inexpressible satisfaction of finding themselves on the bank of a navigable river on the west side of the first great range of mountains." Running rapids, breaking canoes, re-ascending streams, quieting discontent, building new canoes, disturbing tribes of surprised Indians, and urging on his discouraged band, Mackenzie persistently kept on his way. He was descending on Tacouche Tesse, afterwards known as the Fraser River. Finding that the distance by this river was too great, he turned back. At the point where he took this step (June 23rd) was afterwards built Alexandria Fort, named after the explorer. Leaving the great river, the party crossed the country to what Mackenzie called the West Road River. For this land journey, begun on July 4th, the explorers were provided with food. After sixteen days of a most toilsome journey, they at length came upon an arm of the sea. The Indians near the coast seemed very troublesome, but the courage of Mackenzie never failed him. It was represented to him that the natives "were as numerous as mosquitoes and of a very malignant character." His destination having been reached, the commander mixed up some vermilion in melted grease and inscribed in large characters on the south-east face of the rock, on which they passed the night, "Alexander Mackenzie, from Canada, by land the twenty-second of July, one thousand seven hundred and ninety-three." After a short rest the well-repaid explorers began their homeward journey. To ascend the Pacific slope was a toilsome and discouraging undertaking, but the energy which had enabled them to come through an unknown road easily led them back by a way that had now lost its uncertainty. Mackenzie says that when "we reached the downward current of the Peace River and came in view of Fort McLeod, we threw out our flag and accompanied it with a general discharge of fire-arms, while the men were in such spirits and made such an active use of their paddles, that we arrived before the two men whom we left in the spring could recover their senses to answer us. Thus we landed at four in the afternoon at the place which we left in the month of May. In another month (August 24th) Fort Chipewyan was reached, where the following winter was spent in trade." It is hard to estimate all the obstacles overcome and the great service rendered in the two voyages of Alexander Mackenzie. Readers of the "North-West Passage by Land" will remember the pitiable plight in which Lord Milton and Dr. Cheadle, nearly seventy years afterwards, reached the coast. Mackenzie's journey was more difficult, but the advantage lay with the fur-traders in that they were experts in the matters of North-West travel. Time and again, Mackenzie's party became discouraged. When the Pacific slope was reached, and the voyageurs saw the waters begin to run away from the country with which they were acquainted, their fears were aroused, and it was natural that they should be unwilling to proceed further. Mackenzie had, however, all the instincts of a brave and tactful leader. On one occasion he was compelled to take a stand and declare that if his party deserted him, he would go on alone. This at once aroused their admiration and sympathy, and they offered to follow him. At the point on the great river where he turned back, the Indians were exceedingly hostile. His firmness and perfect self-control showed the same spirit that is found in all great leaders in dealing with savage or semi-civilized races. Men like Frontenac, Mackenzie, and General Gordon seemed to have a charmed life which enabled them to exercise a species of mesmeric influence over half-trained or entirely uncultivated minds. From the wider standpoint, knowledge was supplied as to the country lying between the two great oceans, and while it did not, as we know from the voyages seeking a North-West Passage in this century, lay the grim spectre of an Arctic channel, yet it was a fulfilment of Verendrye's dream, and to Alexander Mackenzie, a Canadian bourgeois, a self-made man, aided by his Scotch and French associates, had come the happy opportunity of discovering "La Grande Mer de l'Ouest." Alexander Mackenzie, filled with the sense of the importance of his discovery, determined to give it to the world, and spent the winter at Fort Chipewyan in preparing the material. In this he was much assisted by his cousin, Roderick McKenzie, to whom he sent the journal for revision and improvement. Early in the year 1794, the distinguished explorer left Lake Athabasca, journeyed over to Grand Portage, and a year afterward revisited his native land. He never returned to the "Upper Country," as the Athabasca region was called, but became one of the agents of the fur-traders in Montreal, never coming farther toward the North-west than to be present at the annual gatherings of the traders at Grand Portage. The veteran explorer continued in this position till the time when he crossed the Atlantic and published his well-known "Voyages from Montreal," dedicated to "His Most Sacred Majesty George the Third." The book, while making no pretensions to literary attainment, is yet a clear, succinct, and valuable account of the fur trade and his own expeditions. It was the work which excited the interest of Lord Selkirk in Rupert's Land and which has become a recognized authority. In 1801 this work of Alexander Mackenzie was published, and the order of knighthood was conferred upon the successful explorer. On his return to Canada, Sir Alexander engaged in strong opposition to the North-West Company and became a member of the Legislative Assembly for Huntingdon County, in Lower Canada. He lived in Scotland during the last years of his life, and died in the same year as the Earl of Selkirk, 1820. Thus passed away a man of independent mind and of the highest distinction. His name is fixed upon a region that is now coming into greater notice than ever before. CHAPTER XVI. THE GREAT EXPLORATION. Grand Portage on American soil--Anxiety about the boundary--David Thompson, astronomer and surveyor--His instructions--By swift canoe--The land of beaver--A dash to the Mandans--Stone Indian House--Fixes the boundary at Pembina--Sources of the Mississippi--A marvellous explorer--Pacific slope explored--Thompson down the Kootenay and Columbia--Fiery Simon Fraser in New Caledonia--Discovers Fraser River--Sturdy John Stuart--Thompson River--Bourgeois Quesnel--Transcontinental expeditions. A number of events conspired to make it necessary for the North-West Company to be well acquainted with the location of its forts within the limits of the territory of the United States, in some parts of which it carried on operations of trade, and to understand its relation to the Hudson's Bay Company's territory. The treaty of amity and commerce, which is usually connected with the name of John Jay, 1794, seemed to say that all British forts in United States territory were to be evacuated in two years. This threw the partners at Grand Portage into a state of excitement, inasmuch as they knew that the very place of their gathering was on the American side of the boundary line. DAVID THOMPSON, ASTRONOMER AND SURVEYOR. At this juncture the fitting instrument appeared at Grand Portage. This was David Thompson. This gentleman was a Londoner, educated at the Blue Coat School, in London. Trained thoroughly in mathematics and the use of astronomical instruments, he had obtained a position in the Hudson's Bay Company. In the summer of 1795, with three companions, two of them Indians, he had found his way from Hudson Bay to Lake Athabasca, and thus showed his capability as an explorer. Returning from his Western expedition, he reported to Mr. Joseph Colon, the officer in charge at York Fort, by whose orders he had gone to Athabasca, and expressed himself as willing to undertake further explorations for the Company. The answer was curt--to the effect that no more surveys could then be undertaken by the Company, however desirable. Thompson immediately decided to seek employment elsewhere in the work for which he was so well qualified. Leaving the Bay and the Company behind, attended only by two Indians, he journeyed inland and presented himself at the summer meeting of the North-West fur-traders at Grand Portage. Without hesitation they appointed him astronomer and surveyor of the North-West Company. Astronomer Thompson's work was well mapped out for him. (1) He was instructed to survey the forty-ninth parallel of latitude. This involved a question which had greatly perplexed the diplomatists, viz. the position of the source of the Mississippi. Many years after this date it was a question to decide which tributary is the source of the Mississippi, and to this day there is a difference of opinion on the subject, i.e. which of the lakes from which different branches spring is the true source of the river. The fact that the sources were a factor in the settling of the boundary line of this time made it necessary to have expert testimony on the question such as could be furnished by a survey by Thompson. (2) The surveyor was to go to the Missouri and visit the ancient villages of the natives who dwelt there and who practised agriculture. (3) In the interests of science and history, to inquire for the fossils of large animals, and to search for any monuments that might throw a light on the ancient state of the regions traversed. (4) It was his special duty to determine the exact position of the posts of the North-West Company visited by him, and all agents and employés were instructed to render him every assistance in his work. Astronomer Thompson only waited the departure of one of the Great Northern brigades to enter upon the duties of his new office. These departures were the events of the year, having in the eyes of the fur-traders something of the nature of a caravan for Mecca about them. Often a brigade consisted of eight canoes laden with goods and well-manned. The brigade which Thompson accompanied was made up of four canoes under trader McGillies, and was ready to start on August 9th, 1796. He had taken the observation for Grand Portage and found it to be 48 deg. (nearly) N. latitude and 89 deg. 3´ 4´´ (nearly) W. longitude. He was now ready with his instruments--a sextant of ten inches radius, with quicksilver and parallel glasses, an excellent achromatic telescope, one of the smaller kind, drawing instruments, and a thermometer, and all of these of the best make. The portage was wearily trudged, and in a few days, after a dozen shorter portages, the height of land was reached in 48 deg. N. latitude, and here begins the flow of water to Hudson Bay. It was accordingly the claim of the Hudson's Bay Company that their territory extended from this point to the Bay. At the outlet of Rainy Lake still stood a trading post, where Verendrye had founded his fort, and the position of this was determined, 48 deg. 1´ 2´´ N. latitude. In this locality was also a post of the Hudson's Bay Company. No post seems at this time to have been in use on Rainy River or Lake of the Woods by any of the trading companies, though it will be seen that the X Y Company was at this date beginning its operations. At the mouth of the Winnipeg River, however, there were two establishments, the one known as Lake Winnipeg House, or Bas de la Rivière, an important distributing point, now found to be in 50 deg. 1´ 2´´ N. latitude. There was also near by it the Hudson's Bay Company post, founded in the previous year. Thompson, being in company with his brigade, which was going to the west of Lake Manitoba, coasted along Lake Winnipeg, finding it dangerous to cross directly, and after taking this roundabout, in place of the 127 miles in a straight line, reached what is now known as the Little Saskatchewan River on the west side of Lake Winnipeg. Going by the little Saskatchewan River through its windings and across the meadow portage, he came to Lake Winnipegoosis and, northward along its western coast, reached Swan River, the trappers' paradise. Swan River post was twelve miles up the river from its mouth, and was found to be in 52 deg 24´ N. latitude. Crossing over to the Assiniboine (Stone Indian) River, he visited several posts, the most considerable being Fort Tremblant (Poplar Fort), which some think had its name changed to Fort Alexandria in honour of Sir Alexander Mackenzie. John McDonnell, North-West trader of this period, says:--"Fort Tremblant and the temporary posts established above it furnished most of the beaver and otter in the Red River returns, but the trade has been almost ruined since the Hudson's Bay Company entered the Assiniboine River by the way of Swan River, carrying their merchandise from one river to the other on horseback--three days' journey--who by that means, and the short distance between Swan River and their factory at York Fort, from whence they are equipped, can arrive at the _coude de l'homme_ (a river bend or angle) in the Assiniboine River, a month sooner than we can return from Grand Portage, secure the fall trade, give credits to the Indians, and send them to hunt before our arrival; so that we see but few in that quarter upon our arrival." The chief trader of this locality was Cuthbert Grant, who, as before mentioned, was a man of great influence in the fur trade. The astronomer next went to the Fort between the Swan and Assiniboine Rivers, near the spot where the famous Fort Pelly of the present day is situated. Taking horses, a rapid land journey was made to Belleau's Fort, lying in 53 deg. N. latitude (nearly). The whole district is a succession of beaver meadows, and had at this time several Hudson's Bay Company posts, as already mentioned. Thompson decided to winter in this beaver country, and when the following summer had fairly set in with good roads and blossoming prairies, he came, after journeying more than 200 miles southward, to the Qu'Appelle River post, which was at that time under a trader named Thorburn. Thompson was now fairly on the Assiniboine River, and saw it everywhere run through an agreeable country with a good soil and adapted to agriculture. Arrived at Assiniboine House, he found it in charge of John McDonnell, brother of the well-known Miles McDonnell, who, a few years later, became Lord Selkirk's first governor on Red River. Ensconcing himself in the comfortable quarters at Assiniboine House, Thompson wrote up in ink his journals, maps, astronomical observations, and sketches which he had taken in crayon, thus giving them more permanent form. He had now been in the employ of the North-West Company a full year, and in that time had been fully gratified by the work he had done and by the cordial reception given him in all the forts to which he had gone. Assiniboine House, or, as he called it, Stone Indian House, was found to be a congenial spot. It was on the north side of the Assiniboine River, not far from where the Souris River empties its waters into the larger stream, though the site has been disputed. One of the astronomer's clearly defined directions was to visit the Mandan villages on the Missouri River. He was now at the point when this could be accomplished, although the time chosen by him, just as winter was coming on, was most unsuitable. His journey reminds us of that made by Verendrye to the Mandans in 1738. The journey was carefully prepared for. With the characteristic shrewdness of the North-West Company, it was so planned as to require little expenditure. Thompson was to be accompanied chiefly by free-traders, i.e. by men to whom certain quantities of goods would be advanced by the Company. By the profits of this trade expenses would be met. The guide and interpreter was René Jussaume (a man of very doubtful character), who had fallen into the ways of the Western Indians. He had lived for years among the Mandans, and spoke their language. Another free-trader, Hugh McCracken, an Irishman, also knew the Mandan country, while several French Canadians, with Brossman, the astronomer's servant man, made up the company. Each of the traders took a credit from Mr. McDonnell of from forty to fifty skins in goods. Ammunition, tobacco, and trinkets, to pay expenses, were provided, and Thompson was supplied with two horses, and his chief trader, Jussaume, with one. The men had their own dogs to the number of thirty, and these drew goods on small sleds. Crossing the Assiniboine, the party started south-westward, and continued their journey for thirty-three days, with the thermometer almost always below zero and reaching at times 36 deg. below. The journey was a most dangerous and trying one and covered 280 miles. Thompson found that some Hudson's Bay traders had already made flying visits to the Mandans. On his return, Thompson's itinerary was, from the Missouri till he reached the angle of the Souris River, seventy miles, where he found abundant wood and shelter, and then to the south end of Turtle Mountain, fourteen miles. Leaving Turtle Mountain, his next station was twenty-four miles distant at a point on the Souris where an outpost of Assiniboine House, known as Ash House, had been established. Another journey of forty-five miles brought the expedition back to the hospitable shelter of Mr. McDonnell at Stone Indian House. Thompson now calculated the position of this comfortable fort and found it to be 49 deg. 41´ (nearly) N. latitude and 101 deg. 1´ 4´´ (nearly) W. longitude. The astronomer, after spending a few weeks in making up his notes and surveys, determined to go eastward and undertake the survey of the Red River. On February 26th, 1798, he started with three French Canadians and an Indian guide. Six dogs drew three sleds laden with baggage and provisions. The company soon reached the sand hills, then called the Manitou Hills, from some supposed supernatural agency in their neighbourhood. Sometimes on the ice, and at other times on the north shore of the Assiniboine to avoid the bends of the river, the party went, experiencing much difficulty from the depth of the snow. At length, after journeying ten days over the distance of 169 miles, the junction of the Assiniboine and Red River, at the point where now stands the city of Winnipeg, was reached. There was no trading post here at the time. It seems somewhat surprising that what became the chief trading centre of the company, Fort Garry, during the first half of this century should, up to the end of the former century, not have been taken possession of by any of the three competing fur companies. Losing no time, Thompson began, on March 7th, the survey, and going southward over an unbroken trail, with the snow three feet deep, reached in seven days Pembina Post, then under the charge of a leading French trader of the company, named Charles Chaboillez. Wearied with a journey of some sixty-four miles, which had, from the bad road, taken seven days, Thompson enjoyed the kind shelter of Pembina House for six days. This house was near the forty-ninth parallel and was one of the especial points he had been appointed to determine. He found Pembina House to be in latitude 48 deg. 58´ 24´´ N., so that it was by a very short distance on the south side of the boundary line. Thompson marked the boundary, so that the trading post might be removed, when necessary, to the north side of the line. A few years later, the observation taken by Thompson was confirmed by Major Long on his expedition of 1823, but the final settlement of where the line falls was not made till the time of the boundary commission of 1872. Pushing southward in March, the astronomer ascended Red River to the trading post known as Upper Red River, near where the town of Grand Forks, North Dakota, stands to-day. Here he found J. Baptiste Cadot, probably the son of the veteran master of Sault Ste. Marie, who so long clung to the flag of the Golden Lilies. Thompson now determined to survey what had been an object of much interest, the lake which was the source of the great River Mississippi. To do this had been laid upon him in his instructions from the North-West Company. Making a détour from Grand Forks, in order to avoid the ice on the Red Lake River, he struck the upper waters of that river, and followed the banks until he reached Red Lake in what is now North-Eastern Minnesota. Leaving this lake, he made a portage of six miles to Turtle Lake, and four days later reached the point considered by him to be the source of the Mississippi. Turtle Lake, at the time of the treaty of 1783, was supposed to be further north than the north-west angle of the Lake of the Woods. This arose, Thompson tells us, from the voyageurs counting a pipe to a league, at the end of which time it was the fur-traders' custom to take a rest. Each pipe, that is, the length of time taken to smoke a pipe, however, was nearer two miles than three, so that the head waters of the Mississippi had been counted 128 miles further north than Thompson found them to be. It is to be noted, however, that the Astronomer Thompson was wrong in making Turtle Lake the source of the Mississippi. The accredited source of the Mississippi was discovered, as we shall afterwards see, in July, 1832, to be Lake Itasca, which lies about half a degree south-west of Turtle Lake. Thompson next visited Red Cedar Lake, in the direction of Lake Superior. Here he found a North-West trading house, Upper Red Cedar House, under the command of a partner, John Sayer, whose half-blood son afterward figured in Red River history. He found that Sayer and his men passed the winter on wild rice and maple sugar as their only food. Crossing over to Sand Lake River, Mr. Thompson found a small post of the North-West Company, and, descending this stream, came to Sand Lake. By portage, reaching a small stream, a tributary of St. Louis River, he soon arrived at that river itself, with its rapids and dalles, and at length reached the North-West trading post near the mouth of the river, where it joined the Fond du Lac. Having come to Lake Superior, the party could only obtain a dilapidated northern canoe, but with care it brought them, after making an enormous circuit and accomplishing feats involving great daring and supreme hardship, along the north shore of the lake to Grand Portage. On hearing his report of two years' work, the partners, at the annual meeting at Grand Portage, found they had made no mistake in their appointment, and gave him the highest praise. The time had now come, after the union of the North-West Company and the X Y Company, for pushing ahead the great work in their hands and examining the vast country across the Rocky Mountains. The United Company in 1805 naturally took up what had been planned several years before, and sent David Thompson up the Saskatchewan to explore the Columbia River and examine the vast "sea of mountains" bordering on the Pacific Ocean. The other partner chosen was Simon Fraser, and his orders were to go up the Peace River, cross the Rockies, and explore the region from its northern side. We shall see how well Fraser did his part, and meanwhile we may follow Thompson in his journey. In 1806, we find that he crossed the Rockies and built in the following year a trading-house for the North-West Company on the Lower Columbia. Thompson called his trading post Kootenay House, and indeed his persistent use of the term "Kootenay" rather than "Columbia," which he well knew was the name of the river, is somewhat remarkable. Coming over the pass during the summer he returned to Kootenay House and wintered there in 1807-1808. During the summer of 1808, he visited possibly Grand Portage, certainly Fort Vermilion. Fort Vermilion, a short distance above the present Fort Pitt, was well down the north branch of the Saskatchewan River, and on his way to it, Thompson would pass Fort Augustus, a short distance below where Edmonton now stands, as well as Fort George. He left Fort Vermilion in September, and by October 21st, the Saskatchewan being frozen over, he laid up canoes for the winter, and taking horses, crossed the Rocky Mountains, took to canoes on the Columbia River again, and on November 10th arrived at his fort of Kootenay House, where he wintered. On this journey, Thompson discovered Howse's Pass, which is about 52 deg. N. latitude. In 1809, Thompson determined on extending his explorations southward on the Columbia River. A short distance south of the international boundary line, he built a post in September of that year. He seems to have spent the winter of this year in trying new routes, some of which he found impracticable, and can hardly be said to have wintered at any particular spot. In his pilgrimage, he went up the Kootenay River, which he called McGillivray's River, in honour of the famous partner, but the name has not been retained. Hastening to his post of Kootenay House, he rested a day, and travelling by means of canoes and horses, in great speed came eastward and reached Fort Augustus, eight days out from Kootenay, June 22nd, 1810. From this point he went eastward, at least as far as Rainy Lake, leaving his "little family" with his sister-in-law, a Cree woman, at Winnipeg River House. Returning, he started on October 10th, 1810, for Athabasca. He discovered the Athabasca Pass on the "divide," and on July 3rd, 1811, started to descend the Columbia, and did so, the first white man, as far as Lewis River, from which point Lewis and Clark in 1805, having come over the Rocky Mountains, had preceded him to the sea. Near the junction of the Spokane River with the Columbia, he erected a pole and tied to it a half-sheet of paper, claiming the country north of the forks as British territory. This notice was seen by a number of the Astor employés, for Ross states that he observed it in August, with a British flag flying upon it. Thompson's name among the Indians of the coast was "Koo-Koo-Suit." Ross Cox states that "in the month of July, 1811, Mr. David Thompson, Astronomer to the North-West Company, of which he was also a proprietor, arrived with nine men in a canoe at Astoria from the interior. This gentleman came on a voyage of discovery to the Columbia, preparatory to the North-West Company forming a settlement at the mouth of the river. He remained at Astoria until the latter end of July, when he took his departure for the interior." Thompson was thus disappointed on finding the American company installed at the mouth of the Columbia before him, but he re-ascended the river and founded two forts on its banks at advantageous points. Thompson left the western country with his Indian wife and children soon after this, and in Eastern Canada, in 1812-13, prepared a grand map of the country, which adorned for a number of years the banqueting-room of the bourgeois at Fort William and is now in the Government buildings at Toronto. In 1814 he definitely left the upper country, and was employed by the Imperial Government in surveying a part of the boundary line of the United States and Canada. He also surveyed the watercourses between the Ottawa River and Georgian Bay. He lived for years at the River Raisin, near Williamstown, in Upper Canada, and was very poor. At the great age of eighty-seven, he died at Longueil. He was not appreciated as he deserved. His energy, scientific knowledge, experience, and successful work for the Company for sixteen years make him one of the most notable men of the period. SIMON FRASER, FUR-TRADER AND EXPLORER. As we have seen, the entrance by the northern access to the Pacific slope was confided to Simon Fraser, and we may well, after considering the exploits of David Thompson, refer to those of his colleague in the service. Simon Fraser, one of the most daring of the fur-traders, was the son of a Scottish U.E. Loyalist,[4] who was captured by the Americans at Burgoyne's surrender and who died in prison. The widowed mother took her infant boy to Canada, and lived near Cornwall. After going to school, the boy, who was of the Roman Catholic faith, entered the North-West Company at the age of sixteen as a clerk, and early became a bourgeois of the Company. His administrative ability led to his being appointed agent at Grand Portage in 1797. A few years afterwards, Fraser was sent to the Athabasca region, which was at that time the point aimed at by the ambitious and determined young Nor'-Westers. By way of Peace River, he undertook to make his journey to the west side of the Rocky Mountains. Leaving the bulk of his command at the Rocky Mountain portage, he pushed on with six men, and reaching the height of land, crossed to the lake, which he called McLeod's in honour of his prominent partner, Archibald Norman McLeod. Stationing three men at this point, Fraser returned to his command and wintered there. In the spring of 1806 he passed through the mountains, and came upon a river, which he called Stuart River. John Stuart, who was at that time a clerk, was for thirty years afterwards identified with the fur trade. Stuart Lake, in British Columbia, was also called after him. On the Stuart River, Fraser built a post, which, in honour of his fatherland, he called New Caledonia, and this probably led to this great region on the west of the mountains being called New Caledonia. Stuart was left in charge of this post, and Fraser went west to a lake, which since that time has been called Fraser Lake. He returned to winter at the new fort. Fraser's disposition to explore and his success thus far led the Company to urge their confrère to push on and descend the great River Tacouche Tesse, down which Alexander Mackenzie had gone for some distance, and which was supposed to be the Columbia. It was this expedition which created Fraser's fame. The orders to advance had been brought to him in two canoes by two traders, Jules Maurice Quesnel and (Hugh) Faries. Leaving behind Faries with two men in the new fort, Fraser, at the mouth of the Nechaco or Stuart River, where afterward stood Fort George, gathered his expedition, and was ready to depart on his great, we may well call it terrific, voyage, down the river which since that time has borne his name. His company consisted of Stuart, Quesnel, nineteen voyageurs, and two Indians, in four canoes. It is worthy of note that John Stuart, who was Fraser's lieutenant, was in many ways the real leader of the expedition. Having been educated in engineering, Stuart, by his scientific knowledge, was indispensable to the exploring party. On May 22nd a start was made from the forks. We have in Masson's first volume preserved to us Simon Fraser's journal of this remarkable voyage, starting from the Rockies down the river. The keynote to the whole expedition is given us in the seventh line of the journal. "Having proceeded about eighteen miles, we came to a strong rapid which we ran down, nearly wrecking one of our canoes against a precipice which forms the right bank of the river." A succession of rapids, overhung by enormous heights of perpendicular rocks, made it almost as difficult to portage as it would have been to risk the passage of the canoes and their loads down the boiling cauldron of the river. Nothing can equal the interest of hearing in the explorer's own words an incident or two of the journey. On the first Wednesday of June he writes: "Leaving Mr. Stuart and two men at the lower end of the rapid in order to watch the motions of the natives, I returned with the other four men to the camp. Immediately on my arrival I ordered the five men out of the crews into a canoe lightly loaded, and the canoe was in a moment under way. After passing the first cascade she lost her course and was drawn into the eddy, whirled about for a considerable time, seemingly in suspense whether to sink or swim, the men having no power over her. However, she took a favourable turn, and by degrees was led from this dangerous vortex again into the stream. In this manner she continued, flying from one danger to another, until the last cascade but one, where in spite of every effort the whirlpools forced her against a low projecting rock. Upon this the men debarked, saved their own lives, and continued to save the property, but the greatest difficulty was still ahead, and to continue by water would be the way to certain destruction. "During this distressing scene, we were on the shore looking on and anxiously concerned; seeing our poor fellows once more safe afforded us as much satisfaction as to themselves, and we hastened to their assistance; but their situation rendered our approach perilous and difficult. The bank was exceedingly high and steep, and we had to plunge our daggers at intervals into the ground to check our speed, as otherwise we were exposed to slide into the river. We cut steps in the declivity, fastened a line to the front of the canoe, with which some of the men ascended in order to haul it up, while the others supported it upon their arms. In this manner our situation was most precarious; our lives hung, as it were, upon a thread, as the failure of the line, or a false step of one of the men, might have hurled the whole of us into eternity. However, we fortunately cleared the bank before dark." Every day brought its dangers, and the progress was very slow. Finding the navigation impossible, on the 26th Fraser says: "As for the road by land, we could scarcely make our way with even only our guns. I have been for a long period among the Rocky Mountains, but have never seen anything like this country. It is so wild that I cannot find words to describe our situation at times. We had to pass where no human being should venture; yet in those places there is a regular footpath impressed, or rather indented upon the very rocks by frequent travelling. Besides this, steps which are formed like a ladder by poles hanging to one another, crossed at certain distances with twigs, the whole suspended from the top, furnish a safe and convenient passage to the natives down these precipices; but we, who had not had the advantage of their education and experience, were often in imminent danger, when obliged to follow their example." On the right, as the party proceeded along the river, a considerable stream emptied in, to which they gave the name Shaw's River, from one of the principal wintering partners. Some distance down, a great river poured in from the left, making notable forks. Thinking that likely the other expedition by way of the Saskatchewan might be on the upper waters of that river at the very time, they called it Thompson River, after the worthy astronomer, and it has retained the name ever since. But it would be a mistake to think that the difficulties were passed when the forks of the Thompson River were left behind. Travellers on the Canadian-Pacific Railway of to-day will remember the great gorge of the Fraser, and how the railway going at dizzy heights, and on strong overhanging ledges of rock, still fills the heart with fear. On July 2nd the party reached an arm of the sea and saw the tide ebbing and flowing, showing them they were near the ocean. They, however, found the Indians at this part very troublesome. Fraser was compelled to follow the native custom, "and pretended to be in a violent passion, spoke loud, with vehement gestures, exactly in their own way, and thus peace and tranquillity were instantly restored." The explorer was, however, greatly disappointed that he had been prevented by the turbulence of the natives from going down the arm of the sea and looking out upon the Pacific Ocean. He wished to take observations on the sea coast. However, he got the latitude, and knowing that the Columbia is 45 deg. 20´ N., he was able to declare that the river he had followed was not the Columbia. How difficult it is to distinguish small from great actions! Here was a man making fame for all time, and the idea of the greatness of his work had not dawned upon him. A short delay, and the party turned northward on July 4th, and with many hardships made their way up the river. On their ascent few things of note happened, the only notable event being the recognition of the fame of the second bourgeois, Jules Quesnel, by giving his name to a river flowing into the Fraser River from the east. The name is still retained, and is also given to the lake which marks the enlargement of the river. On August 6th, the party rejoined Faries and his men in the fort on Stuart Lake. The descent occupied forty-two days, and, as explorers have often found in such rivers as the Fraser, the ascent took less time than the descent. In this case, their upward journey was but of thirty-three days. Fraser returned to the east in the next year and is found in 1811 in charge of the Red River district, two years afterward in command on the Mackenzie River, and at Fort William on Lake Superior, in 1816, when the Fort was taken by Lord Selkirk. After retiring, he lived at St. Andrews on the Ottawa and died at the advanced age of eighty-six, having been known as one of the most noted and energetic fur-traders in the history of the companies. Thus we have seen the way in which these two kings of adventure--Fraser and Thompson--a few years after Sir Alexander Mackenzie, succeeded amid extraordinary hardships in crossing to the Western Sea. The record of the five transcontinental expeditions of these early times is as follows:-- (1) Alexander Mackenzie, by the Tacouche Tesse and Bellacoola River, 1793. (2) Lewis and Clark, the American explorers, by the Columbia River, 1805. (3) Simon Fraser by the river that bears his name, formerly the Tacouche Tesse, 1808. (4) David Thompson, by the Columbia River, 1811. (5) The overland party of Astorians, by the Columbia, 1811. These expeditions shed a flood of glory on the Anglo-Saxon name and fame. FOOTNOTE: [4] The United Empire Loyalists were those British patriots who left the United States after the Revolution. CHAPTER XVII. The X Y COMPANY. "Le Marquis" Simon McTavish unpopular--Alexander Mackenzie his rival--Enormous activity of the "Potties"--Why called X Y--Five rival posts at Souris--Sir Alexander, the silent partner--Old Lion of Montreal roused--"Posts of the King"--Schooner sent to Hudson Bay--Nor'-Westers erect two posts on Hudson Bay--Supreme folly--Old and new Nor'-Westers unite--List of partners. For some years the Montreal fur companies, in their combinations and readjustments, had all the variety of the kaleidoscope. Agreements were made for a term of years, and when these had expired new leagues were formed, and in every case dissatisfied members went into opposition and kept up the heat and competition without which it is probable the fur trade would have lost, to those engaged in it, many of its charms. In 1795 several partners had retired from the North-West Company and thrown in their lot with the famous firm that we have seen was always inclined to follow its own course--Messrs. Forsyth, Richardson and Co. For a number of years this independent Montreal firm had maintained a trade in the districts about Lake Superior. The cause of this disruption in the Company was the unpopularity, among the wintering partners especially, of the strong-willed and domineering chief in Montreal--Simon McTavish. One set of bourgeois spoke of him derisively as "Le Premier," while others with mock deference called him "Le Marquis." Sir Alexander Mackenzie had been himself a partner, had resided in the Far West, and he was regarded by all the traders in the "upper country" as their friend and advocate. Although the discontent was very great when the secession took place, yet the mere bonds of self-interest kept many within the old Company. Alexander Mackenzie most unwillingly consented to remain in the old Company, but only for three years, reserving to himself the right to retire at the end of that time. Notwithstanding their disappointment, and possibly buoyed up with the hope of having the assistance of their former friend at a later period, the members of the X Y Company girt themselves about for the new enterprise in the next year, so that the usual date of this Company is from the year 1795. Whether it was the circumstance of its origination in dislike of "Le Premier," or whether the partners felt the need of greater activity on account of their being weaker, it must be confessed that a new era now came to the fur trade, and the opposition was carried on with a warmth much greater than had ever been known among the old companies. A casual observer can hardly help feeling that while not a member of the new Company at this date, Alexander Mackenzie was probably its active promoter behind the scenes. The new opposition developed without delay. Striking at all the salient points, the new Company in 1797 erected its trading house at Grand Portage, somewhat more than half-a-mile from the North-West trading house and on the other side of the small stream that there falls into the Bay. A few years after, when the North-West Company moved to Kaministiquia, the X Y also erected a building within a mile of the new fort. The new Company was at some time in its history known as the New North-West Company, but was more commonly called the X Y Company. The origin of this name is accounted for as follows. On the bales which were made up for transport, it was the custom to mark the North-West Company's initials N.W. When the new Company, which was an offshoot of the old, wished to mark their bales, they simply employed the next letters of the alphabet, X Y. They are accordingly not contractions, and should not be written as such. It was the habit of members of the older Company to express their contempt for the secessionists by calling them the "Little Company" or "the Little Society." In the Athabasca country the rebellious traders were called by their opponents "Potties," probably a corruption of "Les Petits," meaning members of "La Petite Compagnie." When these names were used by the French Canadian voyageurs, the X Y Company was referred to. However disrespectfully they may have been addressed, the traders of the new Company caused great anxiety both to the North-West Company and to the Hudson's Bay Company, though they regarded themselves chiefly as rivals of the former. Pushing out into the country nearest their base of supplies on Lake Superior, they took hold of the Red River and Assiniboine region, as well as of the Red Lake country immediately south of and connected with it. The point where the Souris empties into the Assiniboine was occupied in the same year (1798) by the X Y Company. It had been a favourite resort for all classes of fur-traders, there having been no less than five opposing trading houses at this point four years before. No doubt the presence of the free-trading element such as McCracken and Jussaume, whom we find in the Souris region thus early, made it easier for smaller concerns to carry on a kind of business in which the great North-West Company would not care to be engaged. Meanwhile dissension prevailed in the North-West Company. The smouldering feeling of dislike between "Le Marquis" and Alexander Mackenzie and the other fur-trading magnates broke out into a flame. As ex-Governor Masson says: "These three years were an uninterrupted succession of troubles, differences, and misunderstandings between these two opposing leaders." At the great gathering at the Grand Portage in 1799, Alexander Mackenzie warned the partners that he was about to quit the Company, and though the winterers begged him not to carry out his threat, yet he remained inexorable. The discussion reported to Mr. McTavish was very displeasing to him, and in the following year his usual letter to the gathering written from Montreal was curt and showed much feeling, he saying, "I feel hurt at the distrust and want of confidence that appeared throughout all your deliberations last season." Alexander Mackenzie, immediately after the scene at Grand Portage, crossed over to England, published his "Voyages," and received his title. He then returned in 1801 to Canada. Flushed with the thought of his successes, he threw himself with great energy into the affairs of the opposing Company, the X Y, or, as it was also now called, that of "Sir Alexander Mackenzie and Company." If the competition had been warm before, it now rose to fever heat. The brigandage had scarcely any limit; combats of clerk with clerk, trapper with trapper, voyageur with voyageur, were common. Strong drink became, as never before or since, a chief instrument of the rival companies in dealing with the Indians. A North-West Company trader, writing from Pembina, says: "Indians daily coming in by small parties; nearly 100 men here. I gave them fifteen kegs of mixed liquor, and the X Y gave in proportion; all drinking; I quarrelled with Little Shell, and dragged him out of the fort by the hair. Indians very troublesome, threatening to level my fort to the ground, and their chief making mischief. I had two narrow escapes from being stabbed by him; once in the hall and soon afterwards in the shop." Such were the troubles of competition between the Companies. The new Company made a determined effort to compete also in the far-distant Peace River district. In October of this year two prominent partners of the new Company arrived with their following at the Peace River. One of these, Pierre de Rocheblave, was of a distinguished family, being the nephew of a French officer who had fought on the _Monongahela_ against Braddock. The other was James Leith, who also became a prominent fur-trader in later days. Illustrating the keenness of the trade conflict, John McDonald, of Garth, also says in 1798, writing from the Upper Saskatchewan, "We had here (Fort Augustus), besides the Hudson's Bay Company, whose fort was within a musket shot of ours, the opposition on the other side of the new concern I have already mentioned, which had assumed a powerful shape under the name of the X Y Company, at the head of which was the late John Ogilvy in Montreal, and at this establishment Mr. King, an old south trader in his prime and pride as the first among bullies." Sir Alexander Mackenzie did wonders in the management of his Company, but the old lion at Montreal, from his mountain château, showed a remarkable determination, and provided as he was with great wealth, he resolved to overcome at any price the opposition which he also contemptuously called the "Little Company." In 1802, he, with the skill of a great general, reconstructed his Company. He formed a combination which was to continue for twenty years. Into this he succeeded in introducing a certain amount of new blood; those clerks who had shown ability were promoted to the position of bourgeois or partners. By this progressive and statesmanlike policy, notwithstanding the energy of the X Y Company, the old Company showed all the vigour and enthusiasm of youth. An employé of the North-West Company, Livingston, had a few years before established a post on Slave Lake. Animated with the new spirit of his superiors, he went further north still and made a discovery of silver, but on undertaking to open trade communications with the Eskimos, the trader unfortunately lost his life. Other expeditions were sent to the Missouri and to the sources of the South Saskatchewan; it is even said that in this direction a post was established among the fierce tribes of the Bow River, west of the present town of Calgary. Looking out for other avenues for the wonderful store of energy in the North-West Company, the partners took into consideration the development of the vast fisheries of the St. Lawrence and the interior. Simon McTavish rented the old posts of the King--meaning by these Tadoussac, Chicoutimi, Assuapmousoin, and Mistassini, reached by way of the Saguenay; and Ile Jérémie, Godbout, Mingan, Masquaro, and several others along the north shore of the Lower St. Lawrence or the Gulf. The annual rent paid for the Kings posts was 1000_l._ But the greatest flight of the old fur king's ambition was to carry his operations into the forbidden country of the Hudson Bay itself. In furtherance of this policy, in 1803 the North-West Company sent a schooner of 150 tons to the shores of Hudson Bay to trade, and along with this an expedition was sent by land by way of St. John and Mistassini to co-operate in establishing stations on the Bay. By this movement two posts were founded, one at Charlton Island and the other at the mouth of the Moose River. Many of the partners were not in favour of these expeditions planned by the strong-headed old dictator, and the venture proved a financial loss. Simon McTavish, though comparatively a young man, now thought of retiring, and purchased the seigniory of Terrebonne, proposing there to lead a life of luxury and ease, but a stronger enemy than either the X Y or Hudson's Bay Company came to break up his plans. Death summoned him away in July, 1804. The death of Simon McTavish removed all obstacles to union between the old and new North-West Companies, and propositions were soon made to Sir Alexander Mackenzie, and his friends, which resulted in a union of the two Companies. We are fortunate in having preserved to us the agreement by which the two Companies--old and new North-West Companies--were united. The partners of the old Company were given three-quarters of the stock and those of the new one-quarter. The provisions of the agreement are numerous, but chiefly deal with necessary administration. One important clause is to the effect that no business other than the fur trade, or what is necessarily depending thereon, shall be followed by the Company. No partner of the new concern is to be allowed to have any private interests at the posts outside those of the Company. By one clause the new North-West Company is protected from any expense that might arise from Simon McTavish's immense venture on the Hudson Bay. It may be interesting to give the names of the partners of the two Companies, those who were not present, from being mostly in the interior and whose names were signed by those having powers of attorney from them, being marked Att. THE NORTH-WEST OR X Y COMPANY. Alex. Mackenzie. Thomas Forsyth, Att. John Richardson. John Inglis, Att. James Forsyth, Att. John Mure, Att. John Forsyth. Alex. Ellice, Att. John Haldane, Att. Thomas Forsyth, Att. Late Leith, Jameson & Co. (by Trustees). John Ogilvie. P. de Rocheblane, Att. Alex. McKenzie, Att. (2). John Macdonald, Att. James Leith, Att. John Wills, Att. OLD NORTH-WEST COMPANY. John Finlay, Att. Duncan Cameron, Att. James Hughes, Att. Alex. McKay, Att. Hugh McGillies, Att. Alex. Henry, Jr., Att. John McGillivray, Att. James McKenzie, Att. Simon Fraser, Att. John D. Campbell, Att. D. Thompson, Att. John Thompson, Att. John Gregory. Wm. McGillivray. Duncan McGillivray, Att. Wm. Hallowell. Rod. McKenzie. Angus Shaw, Att. Dl. McKenzie, Att. Wm. McKay, Att. John McDonald, Att. Donald McTavish, Att. John McDonnell, Att. Arch. N. McLeod, Att. Alex. McDougall, Att. Chas. Chaboillez, Att. John Sayer, Att. Peter Grant, Att. Alex. Fraser, Att. Æneas Cameron, Att. Anyone acquainted in the slightest degree with the early history of Canada will see in these lists the names of legislative councillors, members of Assembly, leaders in society, as well as of those who, in the twenty years following the signing of this agreement, by deeds of daring, exploration, and discovery, made the name of the North-West Company illustrious. These names represent likewise those who carried on that wearisome and disastrous conflict with the Hudson's Bay Company which in time would have ruined both Companies but for the happy union which took place, when the resources of each were well-nigh exhausted. CHAPTER XVIII. THE LORDS OF THE LAKES AND FORESTS.--I. New route to Kaministiquia--Vivid sketch of Fort William--"Cantine Salope"--Lively Christmas week--The feasting partners--Ex-Governor Masson's good work--Four great Mackenzies--A literary bourgeois--Three handsome demoiselles--"The man in the moon"--Story of "Bras Croche"--Around Cape Horn--Astoria taken over--A hot-headed trader--Sad case of "Little Labrie"--Punch on New Year's Day--The heart of a "Vacher." The union of the opposing companies from Montreal led to a great development of trade, and, as we have already seen, to important schemes of exploration. Roderick McKenzie, the cousin of Sir Alexander, in coming down from Rainy Lake to Grand Portage, heard of a new route to Kaministiquia. We have already seen that Umfreville had found out a circuitous passage from Nepigon to Winnipeg River, but this had been considered impracticable by the fur-traders. Accordingly, when the treaty of amity and commerce made it certain that Grand Portage had to be given up, it was regarded as a great matter when the route to Kaministiquia became known. This was discovered by Mr. Roderick McKenzie quite by accident. When coming, in 1797, to Canada on leave of absence, this trader was told by an Indian family near Rainy Lake that a little farther north there was a good route for large canoes, which was formerly used by the whites in their trading expeditions. Taking an Indian with him, McKenzie followed this course, which brought him out at the mouth of the Kaministiquia. This proved to be the old French route, for all along it traces were found of their former establishments. Strange that a route at one time so well known should be completely forgotten in forty years. In the year 1800 the North-West Company built a fort, called the New Fort, at the mouth of the Kaministiquia, and, abandoning Grand Portage, moved their headquarters to this point in 1803. In the year after the union of the North-West and X Y Companies the name Fort William was given to this establishment, in honour of the Hon. William McGillivray, who had become the person of greatest distinction in the united North-West Company. As giving us a glimpse of the life of "the lords of the lakes and forests," which was led at Fort William, we have a good sketch written by a trader, Gabriel Franchère, who was a French Canadian of respectable family and began life in a business place in Montreal. At this stage, says a local writer, "the fur trade was at its apogee," and Franchère was engaged by the Astor Company and went to Astoria. Returning over the mountains, he passed Fort William. His book, written in French, has been translated into English, and is creditable to the writer, who died as late as 1856 in St. Paul, Minnesota. Franchère says of Fort William, rather inaccurately, that it was built in 1805. This lively writer was much impressed by the trade carried on at this point, and gives the following vivid description:-- "Fort William has really the appearance of a fort from the palisade fifteen feet high, and also that of a pretty village from the number of buildings it encloses. In the middle of a spacious square stands a large building, elegantly built, though of wood, the middle door of which is raised five feet above the ground plot, and in the front of which runs a long gallery. In the centre of this building is a room about sixty feet long and thirty wide, decorated with several paintings, and some portraits in crayon of a number of the partners of the Company. It is in this room that the agents, the clerks, and the interpreters take their meals at different tables. At each extremity of the room are two small apartments for the partners." "The back part of the house is occupied by the kitchen and sleeping apartments of the domestics. On each side of this building there is another of the same size, but lower; these are divided lengthwise by a corridor, and contain each twelve pretty sleeping-rooms. One of these houses is intended for the partners, the other for the clerks. "On the east side of the Fort there is another house intended for the same purpose, and a large building in which furs are examined and where they are put up in tight bales by means of a press. Behind, and still on the same side, are found the lodges of the guides, another building for furs, and a powder magazine. This last building is of grey stone, and roofed in with tin. In the corner stands a kind of bastion or point of observation. "On the west side is seen a range of buildings, some of which serve for stores and others for shops. There is one for dressing out the employés; one for fitting out canoes; one in which merchandise is retailed; another where strong drink, bread, lard, butter, and cheese are sold, and where refreshments are given out to arriving voyageurs. This refreshment consists of a white loaf, a half pound of butter, and a quart of rum. The voyageurs give to this liquor store the name 'Cantine Salope.' "Behind is found still another row of buildings, one of which is used as an office or counting-house, a pretty square building well lighted; another serves as a store; and a third as a prison. The voyageurs give to the last the name 'Pot au beurre.' At the south-east corner is a stone shed roofed with tin. Farther back are the workshops of the carpenters, tinsmiths, blacksmiths, and their spacious courts or sheds for sheltering the canoes, repairing them, and constructing new ones. "Near the gate of the Fort, which is to the south, are the dwelling-houses of the surgeon and resident clerk. Over the entrance gate a kind of guard-house has been built. As the river is deep enough at its entrance, the Company has had quays built along the Fort as a landing-place for the schooners kept on Lake Superior for transporting peltries, merchandise, and provisions from Fort William to Sault Ste. Marie, and _vice versa_. "There are also on the other side of the river a number of houses, all inhabited by old French-Canadian voyageurs, worn out in the service of the North-West Company, without having become richer by it. Fort William is the principal factory of the North-West Company in the interior and a general rendezvous of the partners. The agents of Montreal and the proprietors wintering in the north nearly all assemble here every summer and receive the returns, form expeditions, and discuss the interests of their commerce. "The employés wintering in the north spend also a portion of the summer at Fort William. They form a great encampment to the west, outside the palisades. Those who are only engaged at Montreal to go to Fort William or to Rainy Lake, and who do not winter in the North, occupy another space on the east side. The former give to the latter the name 'mangeurs de lard.' A remarkable difference is observed between the two camps, which are composed of three or four hundred men each. That of the 'mangeurs de lard' is always very dirty and that of the winterers neat and clean." But the fur-traders were by no means merely business men. Perhaps never were there assemblages of men who feasted more heartily when the work was done. The Christmas week was a holiday, and sometimes the jollity went to a considerable excess, which was entirely to be expected when the hard life of the voyage was taken into consideration. Whether at Fort William, or in the North-West Company's house in St. Gabriel Street, Montreal, or in later day at Lachine, the festive gatherings of the Nor'-Westers were characterized by extravagance and often by hilarious mirth. The luxuries of the East and West were gathered for these occasions, and offerings to Bacchus were neither of poor quality nor limited in extent. With Scotch story and Jacobite song, intermingled with "La Claire Fontaine" or "Malbrouck s'en va," those lively songs of French Canada, the hours of evening and night passed merrily away. At times when they had been feasting long into the morning, the traders and clerks would sit down upon the feast-room floor, when one would take the tongs, another the shovel, another the poker, and so on. They would arrange themselves in regular order, as in a boat, and, vigorously rowing, sing a song of the voyage; and loud and long till the early streaks of the east were seen would the rout continue. When the merriment reached such a height as this, ceremony was relaxed, and voyageurs, servants, and attendants were admitted to witness the wild carouse of the wine-heated partners. We are fortunate in having the daily life of the fur-traders from the Lower St. Lawrence to the very shores of the Pacific Ocean pictured for us by the partners in the "Journals" they have left behind them. Just as the daily records of the monks and others, dreary and uninteresting as many of them at times are, commemorated the events of their time in the "Saxon Chronicle" and gave the material for history, so the journals of the bourgeois, often left unpublished for a generation or two, and the works of some of those who had influence and literary ability enough to issue their stories in the form of books, supply us with the material for reproducing their times. From such sources we intend to give a few sketches of the life of that time. We desire to express the greatest appreciation of the work of ex-Governor Masson, who is related to the McKenzie and Chaboillez families of that period, and who has published no less than fourteen journals, sketches of the time; of the painstaking writing of an American officer, Dr. Coues, who has with great care and success edited the journals of Alexander Henry, Jr., and such remains as he could obtain of David Thompson, thus supplementing the publication by Charles Lindsey, of Toronto, of an account of Thompson. We acknowledge also the patient collection of material by Tassé in his "Canadiens de L'Ouest," as well as the interesting journals of Harmon and others, which have done us good service. VALUABLE REMINISCENCES. The name of McKenzie (Hon. Roderick McKenzie) was one to conjure by among the fur-traders. From the fact that there were so many well-known partners and clerks of this name arose the custom, very common in the Highland communities, of giving nicknames to distinguish them. Four of the McKenzies were "Le Rouge," "Le Blanc," "Le Borgne" (one-eyed), and "Le Picoté" (pock-marked). Sir Alexander was the most notable, and after him his cousin, the Hon. Roderick, of whom we write. This distinguished man came out as a Highland laddie from Scotland in 1784. He at once entered the service of the fur company, and made his first journey to the North-West in the next year. His voyage from Ste. Anne, on Montreal Island, up the fur-traders' route, was taken in Gregory McLeod & Co.'s service. At Grand Portage McKenzie was initiated into the mysteries of the partners. Pushed into the North-West, he soon became prominent, and built the most notable post of the upper country, Fort Chipewyan. On his marriage he became allied to a number of the magnates of the fur company. His wife belonged to the popular family of Chaboillez, two other daughters of which were married, one to the well-known Surveyor-General of Lower Canada, Joseph Bouchette, and another to Simon McTavish, "Le Marquis." Roderick McKenzie was a man of some literary ability and taste. He proposed at one time writing a history of the Indians of the North-West and also of the North-West Company. In order to do this, he sent circulars to leading traders, and thus receiving a number of journals, laid the foundation of the literary store from which ex-Governor Masson prepared his book on the bourgeois. Between him and his cousin, Sir Alexander Mackenzie, an extensive correspondence was kept up. Extracts from the letters of the distinguished partner form the burden of the "Reminiscences" published by Masson. Many of the facts have been referred to in our sketch of Sir Alexander Mackenzie's voyages. For eight long years Roderick McKenzie remained in the Indian country, and came to Canada in 1797. Some two years afterward Sir Alexander Mackenzie left the old Company and headed the X Y Company. At that time Roderick McKenzie was chosen in the place of his cousin in the North-West Company, and this for several years caused a coolness between them. His "Reminiscences" extend to 1829, at which time he was living in Terrebonne, in Lower Canada. He became a member of the Legislative Council in Lower Canada, and he has a number of distinguished descendants. Roderick McKenzie closes his interesting "Reminiscences" with an elaborate and valuable list of the proprietors, clerks, interpreters, &c., of the North-West Company in 1799, giving their distribution in the departments, and the salary paid each. It gives us a picture of the magnitude of the operations of the North-West Company. TALES OF THE NORTH-WEST. Few of the Nor'-Westers aimed at collecting and preserving the folk-lore of the natives. At the request of Roderick McKenzie, George Keith, a bourgeois who spent a great part of his life very far North, viz. in the regions of Athabasca, Mackenzie River, and Great Bear Lake, sent a series of letters extending from 1807 onward for ten years embodying tales, descriptions, and the history of the Indian tribes of his district. His first description is that of the Beaver Indians, of whom he gives a vocabulary. He writes for us a number of tales of the Beaver Indians, viz. "The Indian Hercules," "Two Lost Women," "The Flood, a Tale of the Mackenzie River," and "The Man in the Moon." One letter gives a good account of the social manners and customs of the Beaver Indians, and another a somewhat complete description of the Rocky Mountains and Mackenzie River country. Descriptions of the Filthy Lake and Grand River Indians and the Long Arrowed Indians, with a few more letters with reference to the fur trade, make up the interesting collection. George Keith may be said to have wielded the "pen of a ready writer." We give his story of THE MAN IN THE MOON. _A Tale, or Tradition, of the Beaver Indians._ "In the primitive ages of the world, there was a man and his wife who had no children. The former was very singular in his manner of living. Being an excellent hunter, he lived entirely upon the blood of the animals he killed. This circumstance displeased his wife, who secretly determined to play him a trick. Accordingly one day the husband went out hunting, and left orders with his wife to boil some blood in a kettle, so as to be ready for supper on his return. When the time of his expected return was drawing nigh, his wife pierced a vein with an awl in her left arm and drew a copious quantity of blood, which she mixed with a greater quantity of the blood of a moose deer, that he should not discover it, and prepared the whole for her husband's supper. "Upon his return the blood was served up to him on a bark dish; but, upon putting a spoonful to his mouth, he detected the malice of his wife, and only saying that the blood did not smell good, threw the kettle with the contents about her ears. "Night coming on, the man went to bed and told his wife to observe the moon about midnight. After the first nap, the woman, awaking, was surprised to find that her husband was absent. She arose and made a fire, and, lifting up her eyes to the moon, was astonished to see her husband, with his dog and kettle, in the body of the moon, from which he has never descended. She bitterly lamented her misfortunes during the rest of her days, always attributing them to her malicious invention of preparing her own blood for her husband's supper." INTERESTING AUTOBIOGRAPHY. Among all the Nor'-Westers there was no one who had more of the Scottish pride of family than John McDonald, of Garth, claiming as he did to be descended from the lord of the isles. His father obtained him a commission in the British army, but he could not pass the examination on account of a blemish caused by an accident to his arm. The sobriquet, "Bras Croche" clung to him all his life as a fur trader. Commended to Simon McTavish, the young man became his favourite, and in 1791 started for the fur country. He was placed under the experienced trader, Angus Shaw, and passed his first winter in the far-off Beaver River, north of the Saskatchewan. Next winter he visited the Grand Portage, and he tells us that for a couple of weeks he was feasting on the best of everything and the best of fish. Returning to the Saskatchewan, he took part in the building of Fort George on that river, whence, after wintering, the usual summer journey was made to Grand Portage. Here, he tells us, they "met the gentlemen from Montreal in goodfellowship." This life continued till 1795. He shows us the state of feeling between the Companies. "It may not be out of the way to mention that on New Year's Day, during the customary firing of musketry, one of our opponent's bullies purposely fired his powder through my window. I, of course, got enraged, and challenged him to single combat with our guns; this was a check upon him ever after." Remaining in the same district, by the year 1800 he had, backed as he was by powerful influence, his sister being married to Hon. William MacGillivray, become a partner in the Company. Two years afterward he speaks of old Cuthbert Grant coming to the district, but in the spring, this officer being sick, McDonald fitted up a comfortable boat with an awning, in which Grant went to the Kaministiquia, where he died. In 1802, McDonald returned from Fort William and determined to build another fort farther up the river to meet a new tribe, the Kootenays. This was "Rocky Mountain House." Visiting Scotland in the year after, he returned to be dispatched in 1804 to English River, where he was in competition with a Hudson's Bay Company trader. In the next year he went back to the Saskatchewan, saying that, although a very dangerous department, he preferred it. Going up the south branch of the Saskatchewan, he erected the "New Chesterfield House" at the mouth of the Red Deer River, and there met again a detachment of Hudson's Bay Company people. In 1806 he, being unwell, spent the year chiefly in Montreal, after which he was appointed to the less exacting field of Red River. One interesting note is given us as to the Red River forts. He says, "I established a fort at the junction of the Red and Assiniboine Rivers and called it 'Gibraltar,' though there was not a rock or a stone within three miles." As we shall see afterwards, the building of this fort, which was on the site of the city of Winnipeg, had taken place in the year preceding. With his customary energy in erecting forts, he built one a distance up the Qu'Appelle River, probably Fort Espérance. While down at Fort William in the spring, the news came to him that David Thompson was surrounded in the Rocky Mountains by Blackfoot war parties. McDonald volunteered to go to the rescue, and with thirty chosen men, after many dangers and hardships, reached Thompson in the land of the Kootenays. McDonald was one of the traders selected to go to Britain and thence by the ship _Isaac Todd_ to the mouth of the Columbia to meet the Astor Fur Company. He started in company with Hon. Edward Ellice. At Rio Janeiro McDonald shipped from the _Isaac Todd_ on board the frigate _Phoebe_. On the west coast of South America they called at "Juan Fernandez, Robinson Crusoe's Island." They reached the Columbia on November 30th, 1813, and in company with trader McDougall took over Astoria in King George's name, McDonald becoming senior partner at Astoria. In April, 1814, McDonald left for home across the mountains, by way of the Saskatchewan, and in due time arrived at Fort William. He came to Sault Ste. Marie to find the fort built by the Americans, and reached Montreal amid some dangers. The last adventure mentioned in his journal was that of meeting in Terrebonne Lord Selkirk's party who were going to the North-West to oppose the Nor'-Westers. The veteran spent his last days in the County of Glengarry, Ontario, and died in 1860, between eighty-nine and ninety years of age. His career had been a most romantic one, and he was noted for his high spirit and courage, as well as for his ceaseless energy as a trader. TWO JOURNALS AND A DESCRIPTION. James McKenzie, brother of Hon. Roderick McKenzie, was a graphic, though somewhat irritable writer with a good style. He has left us "A Journal from the Athabasca Country," a description of the King's posts on the Lower St. Lawrence, with a journal of a jaunt through the King's posts. This fur trader joined the North-West Company. In 1799 he was at Fort Chipewyan. His descriptions are minute accounts of his doings at his fort. He seems to have taken much interest in his men, and he gives a pathetic account of one of these trappers called "Little Labrie." Labrie had been for six days without food, and was almost frozen to death. He says: "Little Labrie's feet are still soaking in cold water, but retain their hardness. We watched him all last night; he fainted often in the course of the night, but we always brought him to life again by the help of mulled wine. Once in particular, when he found himself very weak and sick, and thought he was dying he said, 'Adieu; je m'en vais; tout mon bien à ceux qui ont soin de moi.' 10th, about twelve o'clock, Labrie was freed from all his agonies in this world." McKenzie evidently had a kind heart. The candid writer gives us a picture of New Year's Day, January 1st, 1890. "This morning before daybreak, the men, according to custom, fired two broadsides in honour of the New Year, and then came in to be rewarded with rum, as usual. Some of them could hardly stand alone before they went away; such was the effect of the juice of the grape on their brains. After dinner, at which everyone helped themselves so plentifully that nothing remained to the dogs, they had a bowl of punch. The expenses of this day, with fourteen men and women, are: 61-1/2 fathoms Spencer twist (tobacco), 7 flagons rum, 1 ditto wine, 1 ham, a skin's worth of dried meat, about 40 white fish, flour, sugar, &c." McKenzie had many altercations in his trade, and seems to have been of a violent temper. He found fault with one of the X Y people, named Perroue, saying it was a shame for him to call those who came from Scotland "vachers" (cow-boys). He said he did not call all, but a few of them "vachers." "I desired him to name one in the North, and told him that the one who served him as a clerk was a 'vacher,' and had the heart of a 'vacher' since he remained with him." McKenzie has frequent accounts of drunken brawls, from which it is easy to be seen that this period of the opposition of the two Montreal Companies was one of the most dissolute in the history of the fur traders. The fur trader's violent temper often broke out against employés and Indians alike. He had an ungovernable dislike to the Indians, regarding them simply as the off-scourings of all things, and for the voyageurs and workmen of his own Company the denunciations are so strong that his violent language was regarded as "sound and fury, signifying nothing." CHAPTER XIX. THE LORDS OF THE LAKES AND FORESTS.--II. Harmon and his book--An honest man--"Straight as an arrow"--New views--An uncouth giant--"Gaelic, English, French, and Indian oaths"--McDonnell, "Le Prêtre"--St. Andrew's Day--"Fathoms of tobacco"--Down the Assiniboine--An entertaining journal--A good editor--A too frank trader--"Gun fired ten yards away"--Herds of buffalo--Packs and pemmican--"The fourth Gospel"--Drowning of Henry--"The weather cleared up"--Lost for forty days--"Cheepe," the corpse--Larocque and the Mandans--McKenzie and his half-breed children. A GOOD TRADER AND A GOOD BOOK. To those interested in the period we are describing there is not a more attractive character than Daniel Williams Harmon, a native of Vermont, who entered the North-West Company's service in the year 1800, at the age of 22. After a number of years spent in the far West, he brought with him on a visit to New England the journal of his adventures, and this was edited and published by a Puritan minister, Daniel Haskel, of Andover, Massachusetts. Harmon and the book are both somewhat striking, though possibly neither would draw forth universal admiration. The youngest of his daughters was well known as a prominent citizen of Ottawa, and had a marked reverence for the memory of her father. [Illustration: DANIEL WILLIAM HARMON, ESQ.] Leaving Lachine in the service of McTavish, Frobisher & Co., the young fur trader followed the usual route up the Ottawa and reached in due course Grand Portage, which he called "the general rendezvous for the fur traders." He thus describes the fort: "It is twenty-four rods by thirty, is built on the margin of the Bay, at the foot of a hill or mountain of considerable height. Within the fort there is a considerable number of dwelling-houses, shops, and stores; the houses are surrounded by palisades, which are about eighteen inches in diameter. The other fort, which stands about 200 rods from this, belongs to the X Y Company. It is only three years since they made an establishment here, and as yet they have had but little success." Harmon was appointed to follow John McDonald, of Garth, to the Upper Saskatchewan. On the way out, however, Harmon was ordered to the Swan River district. Here he remained for four years taking a lively interest in all the parts of a trader's life. He was much on the Assiniboine, and passed the sites of Brandon, Portage la Prairie, and Winnipeg of to-day. In October, 1805, Harmon, having gone to the Saskatchewan, took as what was called his "country wife" a French Canadian half-breed girl, aged fourteen. He states that it was the custom of the country for the trader to take a wife from the natives, live with her in the country, and then, on leaving the country, place her and her children under the care of an honest man and give a certain amount for her support. As a matter of fact, Harmon, years after, on leaving the country, took his native spouse with him, and on Lake Champlain some of his younger children were born. There were fourteen children born to him, and his North-West wife was to her last days a handsome woman, "as straight as an arrow." During Harmon's time Athabasca had not only the X Y Company, but also a number of forts of the Hudson's Bay Company. Cumberland House was the next place of residence of the fur trader, and at this point the Hudson's Bay Company house was in charge of Peter Fidler. Harmon's journal continues with most interesting details of the fur trade, which have the charm of liveliness and novelty. Allusions are constantly made to the leading traders, McDonald, Fraser, Thompson, Quesnel, Stuart, and others known to us in our researches. In the course of time (1810) Harmon found his way over the Rocky Mountain portage and pursued the fur trade in McLeod Lake Fort and Stuart's Lake in New Caledonia, and here we find a fort called, after him, Harmon's Fort. His description of the Indians is always graphic, giving many striking customs of the aborigines. About the end of 1813 Harmon's journal is taken up with serious religious reflections. He had been troubled with doubts as to the reality of Christianity. But after reading the Scriptures and such books as he could obtain, he tells us that a new view of things was his, and that his future life became more consistent and useful. He records us a series of the resolutions which he adopted, and they certainly indicate a high ideal on his part. In 1816 he had really become habituated to the upper country. He gives us a glimpse of his family:-- "I now pass a short time every day, very pleasantly, in teaching my little daughter Polly to read and spell words in the English language, in which she makes good progress, though she knows not the meaning of one of them. In conversing with my children I use entirely the Cree Indian language; with their mother I more frequently employ the French. Her native tongue, however, is more familiar to her, which is the reason why our children have been taught to speak that in preference to the French language." In his journal, which at times fully shows his introspections, he gives an account of the struggle in his own mind about leaving his wife in the country, as was the custom of too many of the clerks and partners. He had instructed her in the principles of Christianity, and by these principles he was bound to her for life. After eight and a half years spent on the west side of the Rocky Mountains, Harmon arrived at Fort William, 1819, having made a journey of three thousand miles from his far-away post in New Caledonia. Montreal was soon after reached, and the Journal comes to a close. A BUSY BOURGEOIS. We have seen the energy and ability displayed by John McDonald, of Garth, known as "Le Bras Croch." Another trader, John McDonald, is described by Ross Cox, who spent his life largely in the Rocky Mountain region. He was known as McDonald Grand. "He was 6 ft. 4 in. in height, with broad shoulders, large bushy whiskers, and red hair, which he allowed to grow for years without the use of scissors, and which sometimes, falling over his face and shoulders, gave to his countenance a wild and uncouth appearance." He had a most uncontrollable temper, and in his rage would indulge in a wild medley of Gaelic, English, French, and Indian oaths. But a third John McDonnell was found among the fur traders. He was a brother of Miles McDonnell, Lord Selkirk's first governor of the Red River Settlement. John McDonnell was a rigid Roman Catholic, and was known as "Le Prêtre" ("The Priest"), from the fact that on the voyage through the fur country he always insisted on observing the Church fasts along with his French Canadian employés. McDonnell, on leaving the service of the North-West Company, retired to Point Fortune, on the Ottawa, and there engaged in trade. We have his journal for the years 1793-5, and it is an excellent example of what a typical fur trader's journal would be. It is minute, accurate, and very interesting. During this period he spent his time chiefly in trading up and down the Assiniboine and Red Rivers. A few extracts will show the interesting nature of his journal entries:-- _Fort Espérance, Oct. 18th, 1793._--Neil McKay set out to build and winter at the Forks of the river (junction of the Qu'Appelle and Assiniboine), alongside of Mr. Peter Grant, who has made his pitch about seven leagues from here. Mr. N. McKay's effects were carried in two boats, managed by five men each. Mr. C. Grant set out for his quarters of River Tremblant, about thirty leagues from here. The dogs made a woeful howling at all the departures. _Oct. 19th._--Seventeen warriors came from the banks of the Missouri for tobacco. They slept ten nights on their way, and are emissaries from a party of Assiniboines who went to war upon the Sioux. _Oct. 20th._--The warriors traded a few skins brought upon their backs and went off ill pleased with their reception. After dark, the dogs kept up a constant barking, which induced a belief that some of the warriors were lurking about the fort for an opportunity to steal. I took a sword and pistol and went to sleep in the store. Nothing took place. _Oct. 31st._--Two of Mr. N. McKay's men came from the forts, supposing this to be All Saints' Day. Raised a flag-staff poplar, fifty feet above the ground. _Nov. 23rd._--The men were in chase of a white buffalo all day, but could not get within shot of him. Faignant killed two buffalo cows. A mild day. _Nov. 30th._--St. Andrew's Day. Hoisted the flag in honour of the titulary saint of Scotland. A beautiful day. Expected Messrs. Peter Grant and Neil McKay to dinner. They sent excuse by Bonneau. _Dec. 2nd._--Sent Mr. Peter Grant a Town and Country magazine of 1790. Poitras' wife made me nine pairs of shoes (moccasins). _Jan. 1st, 1794._--Mr. Grant gave the men two gallons of rum and three fathoms of tobacco, by the way of New Year's gift. (It is interesting to follow McDonnell on one of his journeys down the Assiniboine.) _May 1st._--Sent off the canoes early in the morning. Mr. Grant and I set out about seven. Slept at the Forks of River Qu'Appelle. _May 4th._--Killed four buffalo cows and two calves and camped below the Fort of Mountain à La Bosse (near Virden), about two leagues. _May 5th._--Arrived at Ange's River La Souris Fort (below Brandon). _May 17th._--Passed Fort Des Trembles and Portage La Prairie. _May 20th._--Arrived at the Forks Red River (present city of Winnipeg) about noon. _May 24th._--Arrived at the Lake (Winnipeg) at 10 a.m. _May 27th._--Arrived at the Sieur's Fort (Fort Alexander at the mouth of Winnipeg River). McDonnell also gives in his journal a number of particulars about the Cree and Assiniboine Indians, describing their religion, marriages, dress, dances, and mourning. The reader is struck with the difference in the recital by different traders of the lives lived by them. The literary faculty is much more developed in some cases than in others, and John McDonnell was evidently an observing and quick-witted man. He belonged to a U. E. Loyalist Scottish family that took a good position in the affairs of early Canada. A FULL AND INTERESTING AUTOBIOGRAPHY. That the first trader of the North-West whom we have described, Alexander Henry, should have been followed in the North-West fur trade by his nephew, Alexander Henry, Jr., is in itself a thing of interest; but that the younger Henry should have left us a most voluminous and entertaining journal is a much greater matter. The copy of this journal is in the Parliamentary Library at Ottawa, and forms two large bound folio volumes of 1,642 pages. It is not the original, but is a well-approved copy made in 1824 by George Coventry, of Montreal. For many years this manuscript has been in the Parliamentary Library, and extracts have been made and printed. Recently an American writer, Dr. Coues, who has done good service in editing the notable work of Lewis and Clark, and also that of Zebulon S. Pike, has published a digest of Henry's journal and added to it very extensive notes of great value. The greatest praise is due to this author for the skill with which he has edited the journal, and all students of the period are indebted to one so well fitted to accomplish the task. The journal opens, in 1799, with Henry on the waters of a tributary of Lake Manitoba, he having arrived from Grand Portage by the usual fur traders' route. In this place he built a trading house and spent his first winter. In the following year the trader is found on the Red River very near the forty-ninth parallel of north latitude, and is engaged in establishing a post at the mouth of the Pembina River, a tributary of Red River. At this post Henry remains until 1808, going hither and thither in trading expeditions, establishing new outposts, counter-working the rival traders of the X Y Company, and paying his visits from time to time to Grand Portage. Henry's entries are made with singular clearness and realistic force. He recites with the utmost frankness the details of drunken debauchery among the Indians, the plots of one company to outdo the other in trading with the Indians, and the tricks of trade so common at this period in the fur trade. A few examples of his graphic descriptions may be given. "At ten o'clock I came to the point of wood in which the fort was built, and just as I entered the gate at a gallop, to take the road that led to the gate, a gun was fired about ten yards from me, apparently by a person who lay in the long grass. My horse was startled and jumped on one side, snorting and prancing; but I kept my seat, calling out, 'Who is there?' No answer was returned. I instantly took my gun from my belt, and cocked her to fire, forgetting she was not loaded and I had no ammunition. I could still see the person running in the grass, and was disappointed in not having a shot at him. I again called out, 'Who is there?' 'C'est moi, bourgeois.' It proved to be one of my men, Charbonneau. I was vexed with him for causing me such consternation." RED RIVER. "_February 28th, 1801._--Wolves and crows are very numerous, feeding on the buffalo carcasses that lie in every direction. I shot two buffalo cows, a calf, and two bulls, and got home after dark. I was choking with thirst, having chased the buffalo on snow-shoes in the heat of the day, when the snow so adheres that one is scarcely able to raise the feet. A draught of water was the sweetest beverage I ever tasted. An Indian brought in a calf of this year, which he found dead. It was well grown, and must have perished last night in the snow. This was thought extraordinary; they say it denotes an early spring. "_March 5th._--The buffalo have for some time been wandering in every direction. My men have raised and put their traps in order for the spring hunt, as the raccoons begin to come out of their winter quarters in the daytime, though they retire to the hollow trees at night. On the 8th it rained for four hours; fresh meat thawed. On the 9th we saw the first spring bird. Bald eagles we have seen the whole winter, but now they are numerous, feeding on the buffalo carcasses." During the Red River period Henry made a notable journey in 1806 across the plains to the Mandans on the Missouri. Two years afterward he bids farewell to Red River and the Assiniboine, and goes to carry on trade in the Saskatchewan. While on the Saskatchewan, which was for three years, he was in charge of important forts, viz. Fort Vermilion, Terre Blanche, and the Rocky Mountain House. His energy and acquaintance with the prairie were well shown in his exploration of this great region, and the long journeys willingly undertaken by him. His account of the western prairies, especially of the Assiniboines, is complete and trustworthy. In fact, he rejoices in supplying us with the details of their lives and manners which we might well be spared. A gap of two years from 1811 is found in Henry's journal, but it is resumed in 1813, the year in which he crosses the Rocky Mountains and is found in the party sent by the North-West Company to check the encroachments on the Columbia of the Astor Fur Company. His account of the voyage on the Pacific is regarded as valuable, and Dr. Coues says somewhat quaintly: "His work is so important a concordance that if Franchère, Cox, and Ross be regarded as the synoptical writers of Astoria, then Henry furnishes the fourth Gospel." After the surrender of Astoria to the North-West Company and its occupation by the British, some of the Nor'-Westers returned. John McDonald, of Garth, as we have seen, crossed the mountains. In his journal occurs a significant entry: "Mr. la Rogue brings the melancholy intelligence that Messrs. D. McTavish, Alexander Henry, and five sailors were drowned on May 22nd last, in going out in a boat from Fort George to the vessel called the _Isaac Todd_." Ross Cox gives a circumstantial account of this sad accident, though, strange to say, he does not mention the name of Henry, while giving that of D. McTavish. It is somewhat startling to us to find that Henry continued his journal up to the very day before his death, his last sentence being, "The weather cleared up." A TRADER LOST FOR FORTY DAYS. Lying before the writer is the copy of a letter of John Pritchard, of the X Y Company, written in 1805, giving an account of a forty days' adventure of a most thrilling kind. Pritchard was in charge of the X Y Fort at the mouth of the Souris River on the Assiniboine. He had on June 10th gone with one of the clerks up the River Assiniboine, intending to reach Qu'Appelle Fort, a distance of 120 miles. All went well till Montagne à la Bosse was reached, where there was a trading house. Going westward, the two traders were separated in looking for the horses. Pritchard lit fires for two days, but could attract no attention. Then he realized that he was lost. Misled by the belts of timber along the different streams, he went along the Pipestone, thinking he was going towards the Assiniboine. In this he was mistaken. Painfully he crept along the river, his strength having nearly gone. Living on frogs, two hawks, and a few other birds, he says at the end of ten days, "I perceived my body completely wasted. Nothing was left me but my bones, covered with a skin thinner than paper. I was perfectly naked, my clothes having been worn in making shoes, with which I protected my bruised and bleeding feet." Some days after, Pritchard found a nest of small eggs and lived on them. He says, "How mortifying to me to see the buffalo quenching their thirst in every lake near to which I slept, and geese and swans in abundance, whilst I was dying of hunger in this land of plenty, for want of wherewith to kill." After trying to make a hook and line to fish, and failing; after being tempted to lie down and give up life, he caught a hen grouse, which greatly strengthened him, as he cooked and ate it. He had now crossed the Souris River, thinking it to be the Assiniboine, and came upon a great plain where the prairie turnip (Psoralea esculenta) grew plentifully. Pushing southward, being sustained by the bulbs of this "pomme blanche," as it is called by the French voyageurs, Pritchard came at length to Whitewater Lake, near Turtle Mountain, and here found two vacant wintering houses of the fur traders. He now was able to identify his locality and to estimate that he was sixty miles directly south of his trading post. His feet, pierced by the spear grass (Stipa spartea), were now in a dreadful condition. He found a pair of old shoes in the vacant fort and several pairs of socks. He determined to move northward to his fort. Soon he was met by a band of Indians, who were alarmed at his worn appearance. The natives took good care of him and carried him, at times unconscious, to his fort, which he reached after an absence of forty days. He says, "Picture to yourself a man whose bones are scraped, not an atom of flesh remaining, then over these bones a loose skin, fine as the bladder of an animal; a beard of forty days' growth, his hair full of filth and scabs. You will then have some idea of what I was." The Hudson's Bay Company officer, McKay, from the neighbouring fort, was exceedingly kind and supplied his every want. The Cree Indians after this adventure called Pritchard the Manitou or Great Spirit. The Assiniboines called him Cheepe--or the corpse, referring to his wan appearance. For weeks after his return the miserable trader was unable to move about, but in time recovered, and lived to a good old age on the banks of the Red River. To the last day of his life he referred to his great deliverance, and was thoroughly of the opinion that his preservation was miraculous. ASSINIBOINE TO MISSOURI. We are fortunate in having two very good journals of journeys made in the early years of the century from the forts at the junction of the Souris and Assiniboine River to the Missouri River. As was described in the case of David Thompson, this was a long and tedious journey, and yet it was at one time within the plans of the North-West Company to carry their trade thither. Few of the French Canadian gentlemen entered into the North-West Company. One of these, who became noted as an Indian trader, was François Antoine Larocque, brother-in-law of Quesnel, the companion of Simon Fraser. Of the same rank as himself, and associated with him, was a trader, Charles McKenzie, who entered the North-West Company as a clerk in 1803. The expedition to the Mandans under these gentlemen, left Fort Assiniboine on November 11th, 1804, a party in all of seven, and provided with horses, five of which carried merchandise for trade. After the usual incidents of this trying journey, the Missouri was reached. The notable event of this journey was the meeting with the American expedition of Lewis and Clark, then on its way to cross overland to the Pacific Ocean. Larocque in his journal gives information about this expedition. Leaving Philadelphia in 1803, the expedition, consisting of upward of forty men, had taken till October to reach the Mandans on the Missouri. The purposes of the expedition of Lewis and Clark were:-- (1) To explore the territory towards the Pacific and settle the boundary line between the British and American territories. (2) To quiet the Indians of the Missouri by conference and the bestowment of gifts. Larocque was somewhat annoyed by the message given him by Lewis and Clark, that no flags or medals could be given by the North-West Company to the Indians in the Missouri, inasmuch as they were American Indians. Larocque had some amusement at the continual announcement by these leaders that the Indians would be protected so long as they should behave as dutiful children to the great father, the President of the United States. In the spring the party returned, after wintering on the Missouri. In 1805, during the summer, another expedition went to the Missouri; in 1806, Charles McKenzie went in February to the Mandans, and, returning, made a second journey in the same year to the Missouri. The account given by McKenzie of the journeys of 1804-6 is an exceedingly well written one, for this leader was fond of study, and, we are told, delighted especially in the history of his native land, the highlands of Scotland. Charles McKenzie had married an Indian woman, and became thoroughly identified with the North-West. He was fond of his native children, and stood up for their recognition on the same plane as the white children. After the union of the North-West Company and the Hudson's Bay Company, the English influence largely prevailed. Thinking that his son, who was well educated at the Red River Seminary, was not sufficiently recognized by the Company, McKenzie wrote bitterly, "It appears the present concern has stamped the Cain mark upon all born in this country. Neither education nor abilities serve them. The Honourable Company are unwilling to take natives, even as apprenticed clerks, and the favoured few they do take can never aspire to a higher status, be their education and capacity what they may." McKenzie continued the fur trade until 1846, when he retired and settled on the Red River. His son, Hector McKenzie, now dead, was well known on the Red River, and accompanied one of the explorations to the far north. Larocque did not continue long in the fur trade, but went to Montreal and embarked in business, in which he was very unsuccessful. He spent the last years of his life in retirement and close study, and died in the Grey nunnery in a Lower Canadian parish. CHAPTER XX. THE LORDS OF THE LAKES AND FORESTS.--III. Dashing French trader--"The country of fashion"--An air of great superiority--The road is that of heaven--Enough to intimidate a Cæsar--"The Bear" and the "Little Branch"--Yet more rum--A great Irishman--"In the wigwam of Wabogish dwelt his beautiful daughter"--Wedge of gold--Johnston and Henry Schoolcraft--Duncan Cameron on Lake Superior--His views of trade--Peter Grant, the ready writer--Paddling the canoe--Indian folk-lore--Chippewa burials--Remarkable men and great financiers, marvellous explorers, facile traders. A DASHING FRENCH TRADER--FRANÇOIS VICTOR MALHIOT. A gay and intelligent French lad, taken with the desire of leading the life of the traders in the "upper country" (_pays d'en haut_), at the age of fifteen deserted school and entered the North-West Company. In 1796, at the age of twenty, he was promoted to a clerkship and sent to a post in the upper part of the Red River country. On account of his inferior education he was never advanced to the charge of a post in the Company's service, but he was always noted for his courage and the great energy displayed by him in action. In 1804 Malhiot was sent to Wisconsin, where he carried on trade. For the North-West Company there he built a fort and waged a vigorous warfare with the other traders, strong drink being one of the most ready weapons in the contest. In 1801 the trader married after the "country fashion" (_à la façon du pays_), i.e. as we have explained, he had taken an Indian woman to be his wife, with the understanding that when he retired from the fur trade, she should be left provided for as to her living, but be free to marry another. Malhiot tired of the fur trade in 1807 and returned to Lower Canada, where he lived till his death. Malhiot's Indian wife was afterwards twice married, and one of her sons by the third marriage became a member of the Legislature in Lower Canada. A brother of Malhiot's became a colonel in the British army in India, and another brother was an influential man in his native province. Few traders had more adventures than this French Canadian. Stationed west of Lake Superior, at Lac du Flambeau, Malhiot found himself surrounded by men of the X Y Company, and he assumed an air of great superiority in his dealings with the Indians. Two of his companions introduced him to the savages as the brother of William McGillivray, the head of the North-West Company. He says, "This thing has produced a very good effect up to the present, for they never name me otherwise than as their 'father.' I am glad to believe that they will respect me more than they otherwise would have done, and will do themselves the honour of trading with me this winter." Speaking of the rough country through which he was passing, Malhiot says, "Of all the passages and places that I have been able to see during the thirteen years in which I travelled, this is the most frightful and unattractive. The road of the portage is truly that of heaven, for it is strait, full of obstacles, slippery places, thorns, and bogs. The men who pass it loaded, and who are obliged to carry over it bales, certainly deserve the name of 'men.' "This villainous portage is only inhabited by owls, because no other animal could find its living there, and the cries of these solitary birds are enough to frighten an angel and to intimidate a Cæsar." Malhiot maintained his dignified attitude to the Indians and held great conferences with the chiefs, always with an eye to the improvement of trade. To one he says:-- "MY FATHER,--It is with great joy that I smoke in thy pipe of peace and that I receive thy word. Our chief trader at Kaministiquia will accept it, I trust, this spring, with satisfaction, and he will send thee a mark of his friendship, if thou dost continue to do well. So I take courage! Only be as one, and look at the fort of the X Y from a distance if thou dost wish to attain to what thou desirest." In April, 1805, the trader says, "My people have finished building my fort, and it is the prettiest of any in the Indian country. Long live the North-West Company! Honour to Malhiot!" Malhiot gives a very sad picture of the degeneracy of the trade at this time, produced by the use of strong drink in gaining the friendship of the Indians. A single example may suffice to show the state of affairs. _April 26th._--"The son of 'Whetstone,' brother-in-law of Chorette, came here this evening and made me a present of one otter, 15 rats, and 12 lbs. of sugar, for which I gave him 4 pots of rum. He made them drunk at Chorette's with the 'Indians,' the 'Bear,' and 'the Little Branch.' When they were well intoxicated, they cleared the house, very nearly killed Chorette, shot La Lancette, and broke open the store-house. They carried away two otters, for which I gave them more rum this morning, but without knowing they had been stolen. All this destruction occurred because Chorette had promised them more rum, and that he had not any more." Malhiot's journal closes with the statement that after a long journey from the interior he and his party had camped in view of the island at Grand Portage. AN IRISHMAN OF DISTINCTION. In the conflict of the North-West, X Y, and Hudson's Bay Companies, it is interesting to come upon the life and writing of an Irishman, a man of means, who, out of love for the wilds of Lake Superior, settled down upon its shores and became a "free trader," as he was called. This was John Johnston, who came to Montreal, enjoyed the friendship of Sir Guy Carleton, the Governor of Canada, and hearing of the romantic life of the fur traders, plunged into the interior, in 1792 settled at La Pointe, on the south side of Lake Superior, and established himself as an independent trader. A gentleman of birth and education, Johnston seems to have possessed a refined and even religious spirit. Filled with high thoughts inspired by a rocky and romantic island along the shore, he named it "Contemplation Island." Determined to pass his life on the rocky but picturesque shores of Lake Superior, Johnston became friendly with the Indian people. The old story of love and marriage comes in here also. The chief of the region was Wabogish, the "White Fisher," whose power extended as far west as the Mississippi. In the wigwam of Wabogish dwelt his beautiful daughter. Her hand had been sought by many young braves, but she had refused them all. The handsome, sprightly Irishman had, however, gained her affections, and proposed to her father for her. Writing long afterward he describes her as she was when he first saw her, a year after his arrival on the shores of Lake Superior. "Wabogish or the 'White Fisher,' the chief of La Pointe, made his sugar on the skirts of a high mountain, four days' march from the entrance of the river to the south-east. His eldest daughter, a girl of fourteen, exceedingly handsome, with a cousin of hers who was two or three years older, rambling one day up the eastern side of the mountain, came to a perpendicular cliff exactly fronting the rising sun. Near the base of the cliff they found a piece of yellow metal, as they called it, about eighteen inches long, a foot broad, four inches thick and perfectly smooth. It was so heavy that they could raise it only with great difficulty. After examining it for some time, it occurred to the eldest girl that it belonged to the 'Gitche Manitou,' 'The Great Spirit,' upon which they abandoned the place with precipitation. "As the Chippewas are not idolaters, it occurs to me that some of the southern tribes must have emigrated thus far to the North, and that the piece either of copper or of gold is part of an altar dedicated to the sun. If my conjecture is right, the slab is more probably gold--as the Mexicans have more of that metal than they have of copper." The advances of Johnston toward chief Wabogish for marriage to his daughter were for a time resisted by the forest magnate. Afraid of the marriages made after the country fashion, he advised Johnston to return to his native country for a time. If, after a sufficient absence, his affection for his daughter should still remain strong, he would consent to their marriage. Johnston returned to Ireland, disposed of his property, and came back to Lake Superior to claim his bride. Johnston settled at Sault Ste. Marie, where he had a "very considerable establishment with extensive plantations of corn and vegetables, a beautiful garden, a comfortable house, a good library, and carried on an important trade." During the war of 1814 he co-operated with the British commandant, Colonel McDonald, in taking the island of Michilimackinac from the Americans. While absent, the American expedition landed at Sault Ste. Marie, and set fire to Johnston's house, stables, and other buildings, and these were burnt to the ground, his wife and children viewing the destruction of their home from the neighbouring woods. Masson says: "A few years afterwards, Mr. Johnston once more visited his native land, accompanied by his wife and his eldest daughter, a young lady of surpassing beauty. Every inducement was offered to them to remain in the old country, the Duke and Duchess of Northumberland having even offered to adopt their daughter. They preferred, however, returning to the shores of Lake Superior, where Miss Johnston was married to Mr. Henry Schoolcraft, the United States Indian agent at Sault Ste. Marie, and the distinguished author of the 'History of the Indian Tribes of the United States.'" Mr. Johnston wrote "An Account of Lake Superior" at the request of Roderick McKenzie. This we have, but it is chiefly a geographical description of the greatest of American lakes. Johnston died at Sault Ste. Marie in 1828. A DETERMINED TRADER OF LAKE SUPERIOR. A most daring and impulsive Celt was Duncan Cameron. He and his family were Scottish U. E. Loyalists from the Mohawk River in New York State. As a young man he entered the fur trade, and was despatched to the region on Lake Superior to serve under Mr. Shaw, the father of Angus Shaw, of whom we have already spoken. In 1786 Cameron became a clerk and was placed in charge of the Nepigon district, an important field for his energies. Though this region was a difficult one, yet by hard work he made it remunerative to his Company. Speaking of his illness, caused by exposure, he says, in writing a letter to his friend, "I can assure you it is with great difficulty I can hold my pen, but I must tell you that the X Y sends into the Nepigon this year; therefore, should I leave my bones there, I shall go to winter." In response to the application of Roderick McKenzie, Duncan Cameron sent a description of the Nepigon district and a journal of one of his journeys to the interior. From these we may give a few extracts. Passing over his rather full and detailed account of Saulteaux Indians of this region, we find that he speaks in a journal which is in a very damaged condition, of his visit to Osnaburgh Fort, a Hudson's Bay Company fort built in 1786, and of his decision to send a party to trade in the interior. There is abundant evidence of the great part played by strong drink at this time in the fur country. "Cotton Shirt, a haughty Indian chief, has always been very faithful to me these several years past. He is, without exception, the best hunter in the whole department, and passes as having in consequence great influence over me. One of his elder brothers spoke next and said that he was now grown up to a man; that 'his fort,' as he calls Osnaburgh, was too far off for the winter trade; that if I left anyone here, he would come to them with winter skins; he could not live without getting drunk three or four times at least, but that I must leave a clerk to deal with him, as he was above trading with any young under-strappers. I told him that if I consented to leave a person here, I would leave one that had both sense and knowledge enough to know how to use him well, as also any other great man. This Indian had been spoiled by the H. B. people at Osnaburgh Fort, where we may consider him master. He had been invited to dine there last spring." "This great English partisan, a few weeks ago, had his nose bit off by his son-in-law at the door of what he calls 'his fort.' He is not yet cured, and says that a great man like him must not get angry or take any revenge, especially when he stands in awe of the one who ill-used him, for there is nothing an Indian will not do rather than admit himself to be a coward." "My canoe was very much hampered; I put a man and his wife in the small canoe and embarked in the other small canoe with my guides, after giving some liquor to the old man and his sons, who must remain here to-day to try and pack all their three canoes. We went on as well as we could against a cold head wind till the big canoe got on a stone which nearly upset her and tore a piece two feet square out of her bottom. She filled immediately and the men and goods were all in danger of going to the bottom before they reached the shore; notwithstanding their efforts, she sank in three feet of water. We hastened to get everything out of her, but my sugar and their molasses were damaged, but worse than all, my powder, which I immediately examined, was considerably damaged." "Having decided to establish a fort, we all set to work; four men to build, one to square boards for the doors, timber for the floors, and shelves for the shops, the two others to attend the rest.... There are now eight Indians here, all drunk and very troublesome to my neighbour, who, I believe, is as drunk as themselves; they are all very civil to me, and so they may, for I am giving them plenty to drink, without getting anything from them as yet." "This man (an Indian from Red Lake) tells me that the English (H. B. Co.), the X Y, and Mr. Adhemar (a free trader) were striving who would squander the most and thereby please the Indians best, but the consequence will be that the Indians will get all they want for half the value and laugh at them all, in the end. He told me that an Indian, who I know very well to have no influence on anyone but himself, got five kegs of mixed high wines to himself alone between the three houses and took 200 skins credit; that all the Indians were fifteen days without getting sober. I leave it to any rational being to judge what that Indian's skins will cost." "Another circumstance which will tend to injure the trade very much, so long as we have the Hudson's Bay Company against us, is the premium they allow every factor or master on whatever number of skins they obtain. Those people do not care at what price they buy or whether their employés gain by them, so long as they have their premium, which sets them in opposition to one another almost as much as they are to us. The honourable Hudson's Bay Company proprietors very little knew their own interest when they first allowed this interest to their 'officers,' as they call them, as it certainly had not the desired effect, for, if it added some to their exertions, it led in a great degree to the squandering of their goods, as they are in general both needy and selfish." PETER GRANT, THE HISTORIOGRAPHER. While many journals and sketches were forwarded to Mr. Roderick McKenzie, none of them were of so high a character in completeness and style as that of Mr. Peter Grant on the Saulteaux Indians. Peter Grant, as quite a young man at the age of twenty, joined the North-West Company in 1784. Seven years afterward he had become a partner, had charge of Rainy Lake district, and afterward that of the Red River department. His sketch of the Indians marks him as a keen observer and a facile writer. Some of his descriptions are excellent:-- "The fruits found in this country are the wild plum, a small sort of wild cherry, wild currants of different kinds, gooseberries, strawberries, raspberries, brambleberries, blackberries, choke cherries, wild grapes, sand cherries, a delicious fruit which grows on a small shrub near sandy shores, and another blueberry, a fine fruit not larger than a currant, tasting much like a pear and growing on a small tree about the size of a willow. (No doubt the Saskatoon berry.--ED.) In the swamp you find two kinds of cranberries. Hazel nuts, but of very inferior quality, grow near the banks of the rivers and lakes. A kind of wild rice grows spontaneously in the small muddy creeks and bays." "The North-West Company's canoes, manned with five men, carry about 3,000 lbs.; they seldom draw more than eighteen inches of water and go generally at the rate of six miles an hour in calm weather. When arrived at a portage, the bowman instantly jumps in the water to prevent the canoe from touching the bottom, while the others tie their slings to the packages in the canoe and swing them on their backs to carry over the portage. The bowman and the steersman carry their canoe, a duty from which the middle men are exempt. The whole is conducted with astonishing expedition, a necessary consequence of the enthusiasm which always attends their long and perilous voyages. It is pleasing to see them, when the weather is calm and serene, paddling in their canoes, singing in chorus their simple, melodious strains, and keeping exact time with their paddles, which effectually beguiles their labours. When they arrive at a rapid, the guide or foreman's business is to explore the waters previous to their running down with their canoes, and, according to the height of the water, they either lighten the canoe by taking out part of the cargo and carry it overland, or run down the whole load." Speaking of the Saulteaux, Grant says, "The Saulteaux are, in general, of the common stature, well proportioned, though inclining to a slender make, which would indicate more agility than strength. Their complexion is a whitish cast of the copper colour, their hair black, long, straight, and of a very strong texture, the point of the nose rather flat, and a certain fulness in the lips, but not sufficient to spoil the appearance of the mouth. The teeth, of a beautiful ivory white, are regular, well set, and seldom fail them even in the most advanced period of life; their cheeks are high and rather prominent, their eyes black and lively, their countenance is generally pleasant, and the symmetry of their features is such as to constitute what can be called handsome faces. "Their passions, whether of a benevolent or mischievous tendency, are always more violent than ours. I believe this has been found to be the case with all barbarous nations who never cultivate the mind; hence the cruelties imputed to savages, in general, towards their enemies. Though these people cannot be acquitted from some degree of that ferocious barbarity which characterizes the savages, they are, however, free from that deliberate cruelty which has been so often imputed to other barbarous natives. They are content to kill and scalp their enemy, and never reserve a prisoner for the refined tortures of a lingering and cruel death. "The Saulteaux have, properly speaking, no regular system of government and but a very imperfect idea of the different ranks of society so absolutely necessary in all civilized countries. Their leading men or chief magistrates are petty chiefs, whose dignity is hereditary, but whose authority is confined within the narrow circle of their own particular tribe or relatives. There are no established laws to enforce obedience; all is voluntary, and yet, such is their confidence and respect for their chiefs, that instances of mutiny or disobedience to orders are very rare among them. "As to religion, Gitche Manitou, or the 'Master of Life,' claims the first rank in their devotion. To him they attribute the creation of the heavens, of the waters, and of that portion of the earth beyond the sea from which white people come. He is also the author of life and death, taking pleasure in promoting the happiness of the virtuous, and having, likewise, the power of punishing the wicked. Wiskendjac is next in power. He is said to be the creator of all the Indian tribes, the country they inhabit and all it contains. The last of their deities is called Matchi-Manitou, or the 'Bad Spirit,' He is the author of evil, but subject to the control of the Gitche Manitou. Though he is justly held in great detestation, it is thought good policy to smooth his anger by singing and beating the drum. "When life is gone, the body of the dead is addressed by some friend of the deceased in a long speech, in which he begs of him to take courage, and pursue his journey to the Great Meadow, observing that all his departed friends and relations are anxiously waiting to receive him, and that his surviving friends will soon follow. "The body is then decently dressed and wrapped in a new blanket, with new shoes, garnished and painted with vermilion, on the feet. It is kept one night in the lodge, and is next day buried in the earth. After burial they either raise a pole of wood over the grave, or enclose it with a fence. At the head of the grave a small post is erected, on which they carve the particular mark of the tribe to whom the deceased belonged. The bodies of some of their most celebrated chiefs are raised upon a high scaffold, with flags flying, and the scalps of their enemies. It is customary with their warriors, at the funeral of their great men, to strike the post and relate all their martial achievements, as they do in the war dance, and their funeral ceremonies generally conclude by a feast round the grave." Grant, in 1794, built the post on the Assiniboine at the mouth of Shell River, and five years afterward was in charge of the fort on the Rainy Lake. About the same time he erected a post, probably the first on the Red River, in the neighbourhood of the present village of St. Vincent, near 49° N. Lat., opposite Pembina. He seems to have been in the Indian country in 1804, and, settling in Lower Canada, died at Lachine in 1848, at the grand old age of eighty-four. Thus have we sought to sketch, from their own writings, pictures of the lords of the fur trade. They were a remarkable body of men. Great as financiers, marvellous as explorers, facile as traders, brave in their spirits, firm and yet tactful in their management of the Indians, and, except during the short period from 1800-1804, anxious for the welfare of the Red men. Looking back, we wonder at their daring and loyalty, and can well say with Washington Irving, "The feudal state of Fort William is at an end; its council chamber is silent and desolate; its banquet-hall no longer echoes to the auld world ditty; the lords of the lakes and forests have passed away." CHAPTER XXI. THE IMPULSE OF UNION. North-West and X Y Companies unite--Recalls the Homeric period--Feuds forgotten--Men perform prodigies--The new fort re-christened--Vessel from Michilimackinac--The old canal--Wills builds Fort Gibraltar--A lordly sway--The "Beaver Club"--Sumptuous table--Exclusive society--"Fortitude in Distress"--Political leaders in Lower Canada. To the termination of the great conflict between the North-West and the X Y Companies we have already referred. The death of Simon McTavish removed a difficulty and served to unite the traders. The experience and standing of the old Company and the zeal and vigour of the new combined to inspire new hope. Great plans were matured for meeting the opposition of the Hudson's Bay Company and extending the trade of the Company. The explorations of David Thompson and Simon Fraser, which, as we have seen, produced such great results in New Caledonia, while planned before, were now carried forward with renewed vigour, the enterprise of the Nor'-Westers being the direct result of the union. The heroic deeds of these explorers recall to us the adventurous times of the Homeric period, when men performed prodigies and risked their lives for glory. The explanation of this hearty co-operation was that the old and new Companies were very closely allied. Brothers and cousins had been in opposite camps, not because they disliked each other, but because their leaders could not agree. Now the feuds were forgotten, and, with the enthusiasm of their Celtic natures, they would attempt great things. The "New Fort," as it had been called, at the mouth of the Kaministiquia, was now re-christened, and the honoured name of the chieftain McGillivray was given to this great depôt--Fort William. It became a great trading centre, and the additions required to accommodate the increased volume of business and the greater number of employés, were cheerfully made by the united Company. Standing within the great solitudes of Thunder Bay, Fort William became as celebrated in the annals of the North-West Company, as York or Albany had been in the history of the Hudson's Bay Company. A vessel came up from Lake Erie, bringing supplies, and, calling at Michilimackinac, reached the Sault Ste. Marie. Boats which had come down the canal, built to avoid the St. Mary Rapids, here met this vessel. From the St. Mary River up to Fort William a schooner carried cargoes, and increased the profits of the trade, while it protected many from the dangers of the route. The whole trade was systematized, and the trading houses, duplicated as they had been at many points, were combined, and the expenses thus greatly reduced. As soon as the Company could fully lay its plans, it determined to take hold in earnest of the Red River district. Accordingly we see that, under instructions from John McDonald, of Garth, a bourgeois named John Wills, who, we find, had been one of the partners of the X Y Company, erected at the junction of the Red and Assiniboine Rivers, on the point of land, a fort called Fort Gibraltar. Wills was a year in building it, having under him twenty men. The stockade of this fort was made of "oak trees split in two." The wooden picketing was from twelve to fifteen feet high. The following is a list of buildings enclosed in it, with some of their dimensions. There were eight houses in all; the residence of the bourgeois, sixty-four feet in length; two houses for the servants, respectively thirty-six and twenty-eight feet long; one store thirty-two feet long; a blacksmith's shop, stable, kitchen, and an ice-house. On the top of the ice-house a watch-tower (guérite) was built. John Wills continued to live in this fort up to the time of his death a few years later. Such was the first building, so far as we know, erected on the site of the City of the Plains, and which was followed first by Fort Douglas and then by Fort Garry, the chief fort in the interior of Rupert's Land. It was to this period in the history of the United Company that Washington Irving referred when he said: "The partners held a lordly sway over the wintry lakes and boundless forests of the Canadas almost equal to that of the East India Company over the voluptuous climes and magnificent realms of the Orient." Some years before this, a very select organization had been formed among the fur traders in Montreal. It was known as the "Beaver Club." The conditions of the membership were very strict. They were that the candidate should have spent a period of service in the "upper country," and have obtained the unanimous vote of the members. The gatherings of the Club were very notable. At their meetings they assembled to recall the prowess of the old days, the dangers of the rapids, the miraculous deliverances accomplished by their canoe men, the disastrous accidents they had witnessed. Their days of feasting were long remembered by the inhabitants of Montreal after the club had passed away. The sumptuous table of the Club was always open to those of rank or distinction who might visit Montreal, and the approval of the Club gave the entry to the most exclusive society of Montreal. Still may be met with in Montreal pieces of silverware and glassware which were formerly the property of the "Beaver Club," and even large gold medals bearing the motto, "Fortitude in Distress," used by the members of the Club on their days of celebration. It was at this period that the power of the fur trading magnates seemed to culminate, and their natural leadership of the French Canadians being recognized in the fur trade, many of the partners became political leaders in the affairs of Lower Canada. The very success of the new Company, however, stirred up, as we shall see, opposition movements of a much more serious kind than they had ever had to meet before. Sir Alexander Mackenzie's book in 1801 had awakened much interest in Britain and now stimulated the movement by Lord Selkirk which led to the absorption of the North-West Company. The social and commercial standing of the partners started a movement in the United States which aimed at wresting from British hands the territory of New Caledonia, which the energy of the North-West Company of explorers had taken possession of for the British crown. It will, however, be to the glory of the North-West Company that these powerful opposition movements were mostly rendered efficient by the employment of men whom the Nor'-Westers had trained; and the methods of trade, borrowed from them by these opponents, were those continued in the after conduct of the fur trade that grew up in Rupert's Land and the Indian territories beyond. CHAPTER XXII. THE ASTOR FUR COMPANY. Old John Jacob Astor--American Fur Company--The Missouri Company--A line of posts--Approaches the Russians--Negotiates with Nor'-Westers--Fails--Four North-West officials join Astor--Songs of the voyageurs--True Britishers--Voyage of the _Tonquin_--Rollicking Nor'-Westers in Sandwich Islands--Astoria built--David Thompson appears--Terrible end of the _Tonquin_--Astor's overland expedition--Washington Irving's "Astoria, a romance"--The _Beaver_ rounds the Cape--McDougall and his smallpox phial--The _Beaver_ sails for Canton. Among those who came to Montreal to trade with the Nor'-Westers and to receive their hospitality was a German merchant of New York, named John Jacob Astor. This man, who is the ancestor of the distinguished family of Astors at the present time in New York, came over from London to the New World and immediately began to trade in furs. For several years Astor traded in Montreal, and shipped the furs purchased to London, as there was a law against exporting from British possessions. After Jay's treaty of amity and commerce (1794) this restriction was removed, and Astor took Canadian furs to the United States, and even exported them to China, where high prices ruled. [Illustration: JOHANN JACOB ASTOR.] While Astor's ambition led him to aim at controlling the fur trade in the United States, the fact that the western posts, such as Detroit and Michilimackinac, had not been surrendered to the United States till after Jay's treaty, had allowed the British traders of these and other posts of the West to strengthen themselves. Such daring traders as Murdoch Cameron, Dickson, Fraser, and Rolette could not be easily beaten on the ground where they were so familiar, and where they had gained such an ascendancy over the Indians. The Mackinaw traders were too strong for Astor, and the hope of overcoming them through the agency of the "American Fur Company," which he had founded in 1809, had to be given up by him. What could not be accomplished by force could, however, be gained by negotiation, and so two years afterward, with the help of certain partners from among the Nor'-Westers in Montreal, Astor bought out the Mackinaw traders (1811), and established what was called the "South-West Company." During these same years, the St. Louis merchants organized a company to trade upon the Missouri and Nebraska Rivers. This was known as the Missouri Company, and with its 250 men it pushed its trade, until in 1808, one of its chief traders crossed the Rocky Mountains, and built a fort on the western slope. This was, however, two years afterward given up on account of the hostility of the natives. A short time after this, the Company passed out of existence, leaving the field to the enterprising merchant of New York, who, in 1810, organized his well-known "Pacific Fur Company." [Illustration: CASANOV. Trader and Chief.] During these eventful years, the resourceful Astor was, with the full knowledge of the American Government, steadily advancing toward gaining a monopoly of the fur trade of the United States. Jonathan Carver, a British officer, had, more than thirty years before this, in company with a British Member of Parliament named Whitworth, planned a route across the continent. Had not the American Revolution commenced they would have built a fort at Lake Pepin in Minnesota, gone up a tributary of the Mississippi to the West, till they could cross, as they thought would be possible, to the Missouri, and ascending it have reached the Rocky Mountain summit. At this point they expected to come upon a river, which they called the Oregon, that would take them to the Pacific Ocean. The plan projected by Carver was actually carried out by the well-known explorers Lewis and Clark in 1804-6. Astor's penetrating mind now saw the situation clearly. He would erect a line of trading posts up the Missouri River and across the Rockies to the Columbia River on the Pacific Coast and while those on the east of the Rockies would be supplied from St. Louis, he would send ships to the mouth of the Columbia, and provide for the posts on the Pacific slope from the West. With great skill Astor made approaches to the Russian Fur Company on the Pacific Coast, offering his ships to supply their forts with all needed articles, and he thus established a good feeling between himself and the Russians. The only other element of danger to the mind of Astor was the opposition of the North-West Company on the Pacific Coast. He knew that for years the Montreal merchants had had their eye on the region that their partner Sir Alexander Mackenzie, had discovered. Moreover, their agents, Thompson, Fraser, Stuart, and Finlay the younger, were trading beyond the summit of the Rockies in New Caledonia, but the fact that they were farther north held out some hope to Astor that an arrangement might be made with them. He accordingly broached the subject to the North-West Company and proposed a combination with them similar to that in force in the co-operation in the South-West Company, viz. that they should take a one-third interest in the Pacific Fur Company. After certain correspondence, the North-West Company declined the offer, no doubt hoping to forestall Astor in his occupation of the Columbia. They then gave orders to David Thompson to descend the Columbia, whose upper waters he had already occupied, and he would have done this had not a mutiny taken place among his men, which made his arrival at the mouth of the Columbia a few months too late. Astor's thorough acquaintance with the North-West Company and its numerous employés stood him in good stead in his project of forming a company. After full negotiations he secured the adhesion to his scheme of a number of well-known Nor'-Westers. Prominent among these was Alexander McKay, who was Sir Alexander Mackenzie's most trusted associate in the great journey of 1793 to the Pacific Ocean. McKay had become a partner of the North-West Company, and left it to join the Pacific Fur Company. Most celebrated as being in charge of the Astor enterprise on the coast was Duncan McDougall, who also left the North-West Company to embark in Astor's undertaking. Two others, David Stuart and his nephew Robert Stuart, made the four partners of the new Company who were to embark from New York with the purpose of doubling the Cape and reaching the mouth of the Columbia. A company of clerks and _engagés_ had been obtained in Montreal, and the party leaving Canada went in their great canoe up Lake Champlain, took it over the portage to the Hudson, and descended that river to New York. They transferred the picturesque scene so often witnessed on the Ottawa to the sleepy banks of the Hudson River, and with emblems flying, and singing songs of the voyageurs, surprised the spectators along the banks. Arrived at New York the men with bravado expressed themselves as ready to endure hardships. As Irving puts it, they declared "they could live hard, lie hard, sleep hard, eat dogs--in short, endure anything." But these partners and men had much love for their own country and little regard to the new service into which desire for gain had led them to embark. It was found out afterwards that two of the partners had called upon the British Ambassador in New York, had revealed to him the whole scheme of Mr. Astor, and enquired whether, as British subjects, they might embark in the enterprise. The reply of the diplomat assured them of their full liberty in the matter. Astor also required of the employés that they should become naturalized citizens of the United States. They professed to have gone through the ceremony required, but it is contended that they never really did so. The ship in which the party was to sail was the _Tonquin_, commanded by a Captain Thorn, a somewhat stern officer, with whom the fur traders had many conflicts on their outbound journey. The report having gone abroad that a British cruiser from Halifax would come down upon the _Tonquin_ and arrest the Canadians on board her, led to the application being made to the United States frigate _Constitution_ to give the vessel protection. On September 10th, 1810, the _Tonquin_ with her convoy put out and sailed for the Southern Main. Notwithstanding the constant irritation between the captain and his fur trading passengers, the vessel went bravely on her way. After doubling Cape Horn on Christmas Day, they reached the Sandwich Islands in February, and after paying visits of ceremony to the king, obtained the necessary supplies of hogs, fruits, vegetables, and water from the inhabitants, and also engaged some twenty-four of the islanders, or Kanakas, as they are called, to go as employés to the Columbia. Like a number of rollicking lads, the Nor'-Westers made very free with the natives, to the disgust of Captain Thorn. He writes:--"They sometimes dress in red coats and otherwise very fantastically, and collecting a number of ignorant natives around them, tell them they are the great chiefs of the North-West ... then dressing in Highland plaids and kilts, and making bargains with the natives, with presents of rum, wine, or anything that is at hand." On February 28th the _Tonquin_ set sail from the Sandwich Islands. The discontent broke out again, and the fur traders engaged in a mock mutiny, which greatly alarmed the suspicious captain. They spoke to each other in Gaelic, had long conversations, and the captain kept an ever-watchful eye upon them; but on March 22nd they arrived at the mouth of the Columbia River. McKay and McDougall, as senior partners, disembarked, visited the village of the Chinooks, and were warmly welcomed by Comcomly, the chief of that tribe. The chief treated them hospitably and encouraged their settling in his neighbourhood. Soon they had chosen a site for their fort, and with busy hands they cut down trees, cleared away thickets, and erected a residence, stone-house, and powder magazine, which was not, however, at first surrounded with palisades. In honour of the promoter of their enterprise, they very naturally called the new settlement Astoria. As soon as the new fort had assumed something like order, the _Tonquin_, according to the original design, was despatched up the coast to trade with the Indians for furs. Alexander McKay took charge of the trade, and sought to make the most of the honest but crusty captain. The vessel sailed on July 5th, 1811, on what proved to be a disastrous journey. As soon as she was gone reports began to reach the traders at Astoria that a body of white men were building a fort far up the Columbia. This was serious news, for if true it meant that the supply of furs looked for at Astoria would be cut off. An effort was made to find out the truth of the rumour, without success, but immediately after came definite information that the North-West Company agents were erecting a post at Spokane. We have already seen that this was none other than David Thompson, the emissary of the North-West Company, sent to forestall the building of Astor's fort. Though too late to fulfil his mission, on July 15th the doughty astronomer and surveyor, in his canoe manned by eight men and having the British ensign flying, stopped in front of the new fort. Thompson was cordially received by McDougall, to the no small disgust of the other employés of the Astor Company. After waiting for eight days, Thompson, having received supplies and goods from McDougall, started on his return journey. With him journeyed up the river David Stuart, who, with eight men, was proceeding on a fur-trading expedition. Among his clerks was Alexander Ross, who has left a veracious history of the "First Settlers on the Oregon." Stuart had little confidence in Thompson, and by a device succeeded in getting him to proceed on his journey and leave him to choose his own site for a fort. Going up to within 140 miles of the Spokane River, and at the junction of the Okanagan and Columbia, Stuart erected a temporary fort to carry on his first season's trade. In the meantime the _Tonquin_ had gone on her way up the coast. The Indians were numerous, but were difficult to deal with, being impudent and greedy. A number of them had come upon the deck of the _Tonquin_, and Captain Thorn, being wearied with their slowness in bargaining and fulness of wiles, had grown impatient with the chief and had violently thrown him over the side of the ship. The Indians no doubt intended to avenge this insult. Next morning early, a multitude of canoes came about the _Tonquin_ and many savages clambered upon the deck. Suddenly an attack was made upon the fur traders. Alexander McKay was one of the first to fall, being knocked down by a war club. Captain Thorn fought desperately, killing the young chief of the band, and many others, until at last he was overcome by numbers. The remnant of the crew succeeded in getting control of the ship and, by discharging some of the deck guns, drove off the savages. Next morning the ship was all quiet as the Indians came about her. The ship's clerk, Mr. Lewis, who had been severely wounded, appeared on deck and invited them on board. Soon the whole deck was crowded by the Indians, who thought they would secure a prize. Suddenly a dreadful explosion took place. The gunpowder magazine had blown up, and Lewis and upward of one hundred savages were hurled into eternity. It was a fierce revenge! Four white men of the crew who had escaped in a boat were captured and terribly tortured by the maddened Indian survivors. An Indian interpreter alone was spared to return to Astoria to relate the tale of treachery and blood. Astor's plan involved, however, the sending of another expedition overland to explore the country and lay out his projected chain of forts. In charge of this party was William P. Hunt, of Trenton, New Jersey, who had been selected by Astor, as being a native-born American, to be next to himself in authority in the Company. Hunt had no experience as a fur trader, but was a man of decision and perseverance. With him was closely associated Donald McKenzie, who had been in the service of the North-West Company, but had been induced to join in the partnership with Astor. Hunt and McKenzie arrived in Montreal on June 10th, 1811, and engaged a number of voyageurs to accompany them. With these in a great canoe the party left the church of La Bonne Ste. Anne, on Montreal Island, and ascended the Ottawa. By the usual route Michilimackinac was reached, and here again other members of the party were enlisted. The party was also reinforced by the addition of a young Scotchman of energy and ability, Ramsay Crooks, and with him an experienced and daring Missouri trader named Robert McLellan. At Mackinaw as well as at Montreal the influence of the North-West Company was so strong that men engaged for the journey were as a rule those of the poorest quality. Thus were the difficulties of the overland party increased by the Falstaffian rabble that attended the well-chosen leaders. The party left Mackinaw, crossed to the Mississippi, and reached St. Louis in September. At St. Louis the explorers came into touch with the Missouri Company, of which we have spoken. The same hidden opposition that had met them in Montreal and Mackinaw was here encountered. Nothing was said, but it was difficult to get information, hard to induce voyageurs to Join them, and delay after delay occurred. Near the end of October St. Louis was left behind and the Missouri ascended for 450 miles to a fort Nodowa, when the party determined to winter. During the winter Hunt returned to St. Louis and endeavoured to enlist additional men for his expedition. In this he still had the opposition of a Spaniard, Manuel de Lisa, who was the leading spirit in the Missouri Company. After some difficulty Hunt engaged an interpreter, Pierre Dorion, a drunken French half-breed, who was, however, expert and even accomplished in his work. A start was at last made in January, and Irving tells us of the expedition meeting Daniel Boone, the famous old hunter of Kentucky, one who gloried in keeping abreast of the farthest line of the frontier, a trapper and hunter. The party went on its way ascending the river, and was accompanied by the somewhat disagreeable companion Lisa. At length they reached the country of the Anckaras, who, like the Parthians of old, seemed to live on horseback. After a council meeting the distrust of Lisa disappeared, and a bargain was struck between the Spaniard and the explorer by which he would supply them with 130 horses and take their boats in exchange. Leaving in August the party went westward, keeping south at first to avoid the Blackfeet, and then, turning northward till they reached an old trading post just beyond the summit. The descent was now to be made to the coast, but none of them had the slightest conception of the difficulties before them. They divided themselves into four parties, under the four leaders, McKenzie, McLellan, Hunt, and Crooks. The two former took the right bank, the two latter the left bank of the river. For three weeks they followed the rugged banks of this stream, which, from its fierceness, they spoke of as the "Mad River." Their provisions soon became exhausted and they were reduced to the dire necessity of eating the leather of their shoes. After a separation of some days the plan was struck upon by Mr. Hunt of gaining communication across the river by a boat covered with horse skin. This failed, and the unfortunate voyageur attempting to cross in it was drowned. After a time the Lewis River was reached. Trading off their horses, McKenzie's party, which was on the right bank, obtained canoes from the natives, and at length on January 18th, 1812, this party reached Astoria. Ross Cox says: "Their concave cheeks, protuberant bones, and tattered garments strongly indicated the dreadful extent of their privations; but their health appeared uninjured and their gastronomic powers unimpaired." After the disaster of the horse-skin boat the two parties lost sight of one another. Mr. Hunt had the easier bank of the river, and, falling in with friendly Indians, he delayed for ten days and rested his wearied party. Though afterward delayed, Hunt, with his following of thirty men, one woman, and two children, arrived at Astoria, to the great delight of his companions, on February 15th, 1812. Various accounts have been given of the journey. Those of Ross Cox and Alexander Ross are the work of actual members of the Astor Company, though not of the party which really crossed. Washington Irving's "Astoria" is regarded as a pleasing fiction, and he is very truly spoken of by Dr. Coues, the editor of Henry and Thompson's journals, in the following fashion:--"No story of travel is more familiar to the public than the tale told by Irving of this adventure, because none is more readable as a romance founded upon fact.... Irving plies his golden pen elastically, and from it flow wit and humour, stirring scene, and startling incident, character to the life. But he never tells us where those people went, perhaps for the simple reason that he never knew. He wafts us westward on his strong plume, and we look down on those hapless Astorians; but we might as well be ballooning for aught of exactitude we can make of this celebrated itinerary." In October, 1811, the second party by sea left New York on the ship _Beaver_, to join the traders at the mouth of the Columbia. Ross Cox, who was one of the clerks, gives a most interesting account of the voyage and of the affairs of the Company. With him were six other cabin passengers. The ship was commanded by Captain Sowles. The voyage was on the whole a prosperous one, and Cape Horn was doubled on New Year's Day, 1812. More than a month after, the ship called at Juan Fernandez, and two months after crossed the Equator. Three weeks afterward she reached the Sandwich Islands, and on April 9th, after a further voyage, arrived at the mouth of the Columbia. On arriving at Astoria the newcomers had many things to see and learn, but they were soon under way, preparing for their future work. There were many risks in thus venturing away from their fort. Chief Trader McDougall had indeed found the fort itself threatened after the disaster of the _Tonquin_. He had, however, boldly grappled with the case. Having few of his company to support him, he summoned the Indians to meet him. In their presence he informed them that he understood they were plotting against him, but, drawing a corked bottle from his pocket, he said: "This bottle contains smallpox. I have but to draw out the cork and at once you will be seized by the plague." They implored him to spare them and showed no more hostility. Such recitals as this, and the sad story of the _Tonquin_ related to Ross Cox and his companions, naturally increased their nervousness as to penetrating the interior. The _Beaver_ had sailed for Canton with furs, and the party of the interior was organized with three proprietors, Ramsay Crooks, Robert McLellan, and Robert Stuart, who, with eight men, were to cross the mountains to St. Louis. At the fort there remained Mr. Hunt, Duncan McDougall, B. Clapp, J. C. Halsey, and Gabriel Franchère, the last of whom wrote an excellent account in French of the Astor Company affairs. CHAPTER XXIII. LORD SELKIRK'S COLONY. Alexander Mackenzie's book--Lord Selkirk interested--Emigration a boon--Writes to Imperial Government--In 1802 looks to Lake Winnipeg--Benevolent project of trade--Compelled to choose Prince Edward Island--Opinions as to Hudson's Bay Company's charter--Nor'-Westers alarmed--Hudson's Bay Company's Stock--Purchases _Assiniboia_--Advertises the new colony--Religion no disqualification--Sends first colony--Troubles of the project--Arrive at York Factory--The winter--The mutiny--"Essence of Malt"--Journey inland--A second party--Third party under Archibald Macdonald--From Helmsdale--The number of colonists. The publication of his work by Alexander Mackenzie, entitled, "Voyages from Montreal through the Continent of North America, &c.," awakened great interest in the British Isles. Among those who were much influenced by it was Thomas, Earl of Selkirk, a young Scottish nobleman of distinguished descent and disposition. The young Earl at once thought of the wide country described as a fitting home for the poor and unsuccessful British peasantry, who, as we learn from Wordsworth, were at this time in a most distressful state. During his college days the Earl of Selkirk had often visited the Highland glens and crofts, and though himself a Southron, he was so interested in his picturesque countrymen that he learned the Gaelic language. Not only the sad condition of Scotland, but likewise the unsettled state of Ireland, appealed to his heart and his patriotic sympathies. He came to the conclusion that emigration was the remedy for the ills of Scotland and Ireland alike. Accordingly we find the energetic Earl writing to Lord Pelham to interest the British Government in the matter. We have before us a letter with two memorials attached. This is dated April 4th, 1802, and was kindly supplied the writer by the Colonial Office. The proposals, after showing the desirability of relieving the congested and dissatisfied population already described, go on to speak of a suitable field for the settlement of the emigrants. And this we see is the region described by Alexander Mackenzie. Lord Selkirk says: "No large tract remains unoccupied on the sea-coast of British America except barren and frozen deserts. To find a sufficient extent of good soil in a temperate climate we must go far inland. This inconvenience is not, however, an insurmountable obstacle to the prosperity of a colony, and appears to be amply compensated by other advantages that are to be found in some remote parts of the British territory. At the western extremity of Canada, upon the waters which fall into Lake Winnipeg and which in the great river of Port Nelson discharge themselves into Hudson Bay, is a country which the Indian traders represent as fertile, and of a climate far more temperate than the shores of the Atlantic under the same parallel, and not more severe than that of Germany or Poland. Here, therefore, the colonists may, with a moderate exertion of industry, be certain of a comfortable subsistence, and they may also raise some valuable objects of exportation.... To a colony in these territories the channel of trade must be the river of Port Nelson." It is exceedingly interesting, in view of the part afterwards played by Lord Selkirk, to read the following statement: "The greatest impediment to a colony in this quarter seems to be the Hudson's Bay Company monopoly, which the possessors cannot be expected easily to relinquish. They may, however, be amply indemnified for its abolition without any burden, perhaps even with advantage to the revenue." The letter then goes on to state the successful trade carried on by the Canadian traders, and gives a scheme by which both the Hudson's Bay Company and the North-West Company may receive profits greater than those then enjoyed, by a plan of issuing licences, and limiting traders to particular districts. Further, the proposal declares: "If these indefatigable Canadians were allowed the free navigation of the Hudson Bay they might, without going so far from Port Nelson as they now go from Montreal, extend their traffic from sea to sea, through the whole northern part of America, and send home more than double the value that is now derived from that region." The matter brought up in these proposals was referred to Lord Buckinghamshire, Colonial Secretary, but failed for the time being, not because of any unsuitableness of the country, but "because the prejudices of the British people were so strong against emigration." During the next year Lord Selkirk succeeded in organizing a Highland emigration of not less than 800 souls. Not long before the starting of the ships the British Government seems to have interfered to prevent this large number being led to the region of Lake Winnipeg, and compelled Lord Selkirk to choose the more accessible shore of Prince Edward Island. After settling his colonists on the island, Lord Selkirk visited Montreal, where he was well received by the magnates of the North-West Company, and where his interest in the far West was increased by witnessing, as Astor also did about the same time, the large returns obtained by the "lords of the lakes and forests." Years went past, and Lord Selkirk, unable to obtain the assent of the British Government to his great scheme of colonizing the interior of North America, at length determined to obtain possession of the territory wanted for his plans through the agency of the Hudson's Bay Company. About the year 1810 he began to turn his attention in earnest to the matter. With characteristic Scottish caution he submitted the charter of the Hudson's Bay Company to the highest legal authorities in London, including the names Romilly, Holroyd, Cruise, Scarlett, and John Bell. Their clear opinion was that the Hudson's Bay Company was legally able to sell its territory and to transfer the numerous rights bestowed by the charter. They say, "We are of opinion that the grant of the soil contained in the charter is good, and that it will include all the country, the waters of which run into Hudson Bay, as ascertained by geographical observation." Lord Selkirk, now fully satisfied that the Hudson's Bay Company was a satisfactory instrument, proceeded to obtain control of the stock of the Company. The partners of the North-West Company learned of the steps being taken by Lord Selkirk and became greatly alarmed. They were of the opinion that the object of Lord Selkirk was to make use of his great emigration scheme to give supremacy to the Hudson's Bay Company over its rivals, and to injure the Nor'-Westers' fur trade. So far as can be seen, Lord Selkirk had no interest in the rivalry that had been going on between the Companies for more than a generation. His first aim was emigration, and this for the purpose of relieving the distress of many in the British Isles. As showing the mind of Lord Selkirk in the matter we have before us a copy of his lordship's work on emigration published in 1805. This copy is a gift to the writer from Lady Isabella Hope, the late daughter of Lord Selkirk. In this octavo volume, upwards of 280 pages, the whole question of the state of the Highlands is ably described. Tracing the condition of the Highlanders from the Rebellion of 1745, and the necessity of emigration, Lord Selkirk refers to the demand for keeping up the Highland regiments as being less than formerly, and that the Highland proprietors had been opposed to emigration. His patriotism was also stirred in favour of preventing the flow of British subjects to the United States, and in his desire to see the British possessions, especially in America, filled up with loyal British subjects. He states that in his Prince Edward Island Company in 1803 he had succeeded in securing a number from the Isle of Skye, whose friends had largely gone to North Carolina, and that others of them were from Ross, Argyle, and Inverness, and that the friends of these had chiefly gone to the United States. After going into some detail as to the management of his Prince Edward Island Highlanders, he speaks of the success of his experiment, and gives us proof of his consuming interest in the progress and happiness of his poor fellow-countrymen. It is consequently almost beyond doubt the fact that it was his desire for carrying out his emigration scheme that led him to obtain control of the Hudson's Bay Company, and not the desire to introduce a colony to injure the North-West trade, as charged. There can be no doubt of Lord Selkirk's thoroughly patriotic and lofty aims. In 1808 he published a brochure of some eighty pages on "A System of National Defence." In this he shows the value of a local militia and proposes a plan for the maintenance of a sufficient force to protect Great Britain from its active enemy, Napoleon. He maintains that a Volunteer force would not be permanent; and that under any semblance of peace that establishment must immediately fall to pieces. His only dependence for the safety of the country is in a local militia. With his plan somewhat matured, he continued in 1810 to obtain possession of stock of the Company, and succeeded in having much of it in the hands of his friends. By May, 1811, he had with his friends acquired, it is said, not less than 35,000_l._ of the total stock, 105,000_l._ sterling. A general court of the proprietors was called for May 30th, and the proposition was made by Lord Selkirk to purchase a tract of land lying in the wide expanse of Rupert's Land and on the Red River of the North, to settle, within a limited time, a large colony on their lands and to assume the expense of transport, of outlay for the settlers, of government, of protection, and of quieting the Indian title to the lands. At the meeting there was represented about 45,000_l._ worth of stock, and the vote on being taken showed the representatives of nearly 30,000_l._ of the stock to be in favour of accepting Lord Selkirk's proposal. Among those who voted with the enterprising Earl were his kinsmen, Andrew Wedderburn, Esq. (having nearly 4,500_l._ stock), William Mainwaring, the Governor Joseph Berens, Deputy-Governor John Henry Pelly, and many other well-known proprietors. The opposition was, however, by no means insignificant, William Thwaytes, representing nearly 10,000_l._, voted against the proposal, as did also Robert Whitehead, who held 3,000_l._ stock. The most violent opponents, however, were the Nor'-Westers who were in England at the time. Two of them had only purchased stock within forty-eight hours of the meeting. These were Alexander Mackenzie, John Inglis, and Edward Ellice, the three together representing less than 2,500_l._ The projector of the colony having now beaten down all opposition, forthwith proceeded to carry out his great plan of colonization. His project has, of course, been greatly criticized. He has been called "a kind-hearted but visionary Scottish nobleman," and his relative, Sir James Wedderburn, spoke of him fifty years afterwards as "a remarkable man, who had the misfortune to live before his time." Certainly Lord Selkirk met with gigantic difficulties, but these were rather from the North-West Company than from any untimeliness in his emigration scheme. Lord Selkirk soon issued the advertisement and prospectus of the new colony. He held forth the advantage to be derived from joining the colony. His policy was very comprehensive. He said: "The settlement is to be formed in a territory where religion is not the ground of any disqualification; an unreserved participation in every privilege will therefore be enjoyed by Protestant and Catholic without distinction." The area of the new settlement was said to consist of 110,000 square miles on the Red and Assiniboine Rivers, and one of the most fertile districts of North America. The name Assiniboia was given it from the Assiniboine, and steps were taken immediately to organize a government for the embryo colony. Active measures were then taken by the Earl of Selkirk to advance his scheme, and it was determined to send out the first colony immediately. Some years before, Lord Selkirk had carried on a correspondence with a U. E. Loyalist colonist, Miles Macdonell, formerly an officer of the King's Royal Regiment of New York, who had been given the rank of captain in the Canadian Militia. Macdonell's assistance was obtained in the new enterprise, and he was appointed by his lordship to superintend his colony at Red River. Many incorrect statements have been made about the different bands of colonists which found their way to Red River. No less than four parties arrived at Red River by way of York or Churchill Factories between the years 1811 and 1815. Facts connected with one of them have been naturally confused in the memories of the old settlers on Red River with what happened to other bands. In this way the author has found that representations made to him and embodied in his work on "Manitoba," published in 1882, were in several particulars incorrect. Fortunately in late years the letter-book of Captain Miles Macdonell was acquired from the Misses Macdonell of Brockville, and the voluminous correspondence of Lord Selkirk has been largely copied for the Archives at Ottawa. These letters enable us to give a clear and accurate account of the first band of colonists that found its way to the heart of the Continent and began the Red River settlement. In the end of June, 1811, Captain Miles Macdonell found himself at Yarmouth, on the east coast of England, with a fleet of three vessels sent out by the Hudson's Bay Company for their regular trade and also to carry the first colonists. These vessels were the _Prince of Wales_, the _Eddystone_, and an old craft the _Edward and Anne_, with "old sail ropes, &c., and very badly manned." This extra vessel was evidently intended for the accommodation of the colonists. By the middle of July the little fleet had reached the Pentland Firth and were compelled to put into Stromness, when the _Prince of Wales_ embarked a number of Orkneymen intended for the Company's service. The men of the Hudson's Bay Company at this time were largely drawn from the Orkney Islands. Proceeding on their way the fleet made rendezvous at Stornoway, the chief town of Lewis, one of the Hebrides. Here had arrived a number of colonists or employés, some from Sligo, others from Glasgow, and others from different parts of the Highlands. Many influences were operating against the success of the colonizing expedition. It had the strenuous opposition of Sir Alexander Mackenzie, then in Britain, and the newspapers contained articles intended to discourage and dissuade people from embarking in the enterprise. Mr. Reid, collector of Customs at Stornoway, whose wife was an aunt of Sir Alexander Mackenzie, threw every impediment in the way of the project, and some of those engaged by Lord Selkirk were actually lured away by enlisting agents. A so-called "Captain" Mackenzie, denominated a "mean fellow," came alongside the _Edward and Anne_, which had some seventy-six men aboard--Glasgow men, Irish, "and a few from Orkney"--and claimed some of them as "deserters from Her Majesty's service." The demand was, however, resisted. It is no wonder that in his letter to Lord Selkirk Captain Macdonell writes, "All the men that we shall have are now embarked, but it has been an herculean task." A prominent employé of the expedition, Mr. Moncrieff Blair, posing as a gentleman, deserted on July 25th, the day before the sailing of the vessels. A number of the deserters at Stornoway had left their effects on board, and these were disposed of by sale among the passengers. Among the officers was a Mr. Edwards, who acted as medical man of the expedition. He had his hands completely full during the voyage and returned to England with the ships. Another notable person on board was a Roman Catholic priest, known as Father Bourke. Captain Macdonell was himself a Roman Catholic, but he seems from the first to have had no confidence in the priest, who, he stated, had "come away without the leave of his bishop, who was at the time at Dublin." Father Bourke, we shall see, though carried safely to the shores of Hudson Bay, never reached the interior, but returned to Britain in the following year. After the usual incidents of "an uncommon share of boisterous, stormy, and cold weather" on the ocean, the ships entered Hudson Bay. Experiencing "a course of fine mild weather and moderate fair winds," on September 24th the fleet reached the harbour of York Factory, after a voyage of sixty-one days out from Stornoway, the _Eddystone_, which was intended to go to Churchill, not having been able to reach that Factory, coming with the other vessels to York Factory. The late arrival of the colony on the shores of Hudson Bay made it impossible to ascend the Nelson River and reach the interior during the season of 1811. Accordingly Captain Macdonell made preparations for wintering on the Bay. York Factory would not probably have afforded sufficient accommodation for the colonists, but in addition Captain Macdonell states in a letter to Lord Selkirk that "the factory is very ill constructed and not at all adapted for a cold country." In consequence of these considerations, Captain Macdonell at once undertook, during the fair weather of the season yet remaining, to build winter quarters on the north side of the river, at a distance of some miles from the Factory. No doubt matters of discipline entered into the plans of the leader of the colonists. In a short time very comfortable dwellings were erected, built of round logs, the front side high with a shade roof sloping to the rear a foot thick--and the group of huts was known as "Nelson encampment!" The chief work during the earlier winter, which the captain laid on his two score men, was providing themselves with fuel, of which there was plenty, and obtaining food from the Factory, for which sledges drawn over the snow were utilized by the detachments sent on this service. The most serious difficulty was, however, a meeting, in which a dozen or more of the men became completely insubordinate, and refused to yield obedience either to Captain Macdonell or to Mr. W. H. Cook, the Governor of the Factory. Every effort was made to maintain discipline, but the men steadily held to their own way, lived apart from Macdonell, and drew their own provisions from the fort to their huts. This tended to make the winter somewhat long and disagreeable. Captain Macdonell, being a Canadian, knew well the dangers of the dread disease of the scurvy attacking his inexperienced colonists. The men at the fort prophesied evil things in this respect for the "encampment." The captain took early steps to meet the disease, and his letters to Governor Cook always contain demands for "essence of malt," "crystallized salts of lemon," and other anti-scorbutics. Though some of his men were attacked, yet the sovereign remedy so often employed in the "lumber camps" of America, the juice of the white spruce, was applied with almost magical effect. As the winter went on, plenty of venison was received, and the health of his wintering party was in the spring much better than could have been anticipated. After the New Year had come, all thoughts were directed to preparations for the journey of 700 miles or thereabouts to the interior. A number of boats were required for transportation of the colonists and their effects. Captain Macdonell insisted on his boats being made after a different style from the boats commonly used at that time by the Company. His model was the flat boat, which he had seen used in the Mohawk River in the State of New York. The workmanship displayed in the making of these boats very much dissatisfied Captain Macdonell, and he constantly complained of the indolence of the workmen. In consequence of this inefficiency the cost of the boats to Lord Selkirk was very great, and drew forth the objections of the leader of the colony. Captain Macdonell had the active assistance of Mr. Cook, the officer in charge of York, and of Mr. Auld, the Commander of Churchill, the latter having come down to York to make arrangements for the inland journey of the colonists. By July 1st, 1812, the ice had moved from the river, and the expedition started soon after on the journey to Red River. The new settlers found the route a hard and trying one with its rapids and portages. The boats, too, were heavy, and the colonists inexperienced in managing them. It was well on toward autumn when the company, numbering about seventy, reached the Red River. No special preparation had been made for the colonists, and the winter would soon be upon them. Some of the parties were given shelter in the Company fort and buildings, others in the huts of the freed men, who were married to the Indian women, and settled in the neighbourhood of the Forks, while others still found refuge in the tents of the Indian encampment in the vicinity. Governor Macdonell soon selected Point Douglas as the future centre of the colony and what is now Kildonan as the settlement. On account of the want of food the settlers were taken sixty miles south to Pembina and there, by November, a post, called Fort Daer from one of Lord Selkirk's titles, was erected for the shelter of the people and for nearness to the buffalo herds. The Governor Joined the colony in a short time and retired with them early in 1813 to their settlement. While Governor Macdonell was thus early engaged in making a beginning in the new colony, Lord Selkirk was seeking out more colonists, and sent out a small number to the New World by the Hudson's Bay Company ships. Before sailing from Stornoway the second party met with serious interruption from the collector of Customs, who, we have seen, was related to Sir Alexander Mackenzie. The number on board the ships was greater, it was claimed, than the "Dundas Act" permitted. Through the influence of Lord Selkirk the ships were allowed to proceed on their voyage. Prison fever, it is said, broke out on the voyage, so that a number died at sea, and others on the shore of Hudson Bay. A small number, not more than fifteen or twenty, reached Red River in the autumn of 1813. During the previous winter Governor Macdonell had taken a number of the colonists to Pembina, a point sixty miles south of the Forks, where buffalo could be had, as has already been mentioned on the previous page. On returning, after the second winter, to the settlement, the colonists sowed a small quantity of wheat. They were not, however, at that time in possession of any horses or oxen and were consequently compelled to prepare the ground with the hoe. Lord Selkirk had not been anxious in 1812 to send a large addition to his colony. In 1813 he made greater efforts, and in June sent out in the _Prince of Wales_, sailing from Orkney, a party under Mr. Archibald Macdonald, numbering some ninety-three persons. Mr. Macdonald has written an account of his voyage, and has given us a remarkably concise and clear pamphlet. Having spent the winter at Churchill, Macdonald started on April 14th with a considerable number of his party, and, coming by way of York Factory, reached Red River on June 22nd, when they were able to plant some thirty or forty bushels of potatoes. The settlers were in good spirits, having received plots of land to build houses for themselves. Governor Macdonell went northward to meet the remainder of Archibald Macdonald's party, and arrived with them late in the season. On account of various misunderstandings between the colony and the North-West Company, which we shall relate more particularly in another chapter, 150 of the colonists were induced by a North-West officer, Duncan Cameron, to leave the country and go by a long canoe journey to Canada. The remainder, numbering about sixty persons, making up about thirteen families, were driven from the settlement, and found refuge at Norway House (Jack River) at the foot of Lake Winnipeg. An officer from Lord Selkirk, Colin Robertson, arrived in the colony to assist these settlers, but found them driven out. He followed them to Norway House, and with his twenty clerks and servants, conducted them back to Red River to their deserted homes. While these disastrous proceedings were taking place on Red River, including the summons to Governor Macdonell to appear before the Courts of Lower Canada to answer certain charges made against him, Lord Selkirk was especially active in Great Britain, and gathered together the best band of settlers yet sent out. These were largely from the parish of Kildonan, in Sutherlandshire, Scotland. Governor Macdonell having gone east to Canada, the colony was to be placed under a new Governor, a military officer of some distinction, Robert Semple, who had travelled in different parts of the world. Governor Semple was in charge of this fourth party of colonists, who numbered about 100. With this party, hastening through his journey, Governor Semple reached his destination on Red River in the month of October, in the same year in which they had left the motherland. Thus we have seen the arrival of those who were known as the Selkirk colonists. We recapitulate their numbers:-- In 1811, reaching Red River in 1812 70 In 1812, reaching Red River in 1813 15 or 20 In 1813, reaching Red River in two parties in 1814 93 In 1815, reaching Red River in the same year 100 Making deduction of the Irish settlers there were of the Highland colonists about 270 Less those led by the North-West Company in 1814 to Canada 140 Permanent Highland settlers 130 Of these but two remained on the banks of the Red River in 1897, George Bannerman and John Matheson, and they have both died since that time. We shall follow the history of these colonists further; suffice it now to say that their settlement has proved the country to be one of great fertility and promise; and their early establishment no doubt prevented international complications with the United States that might have rendered the possession of Rupert's Land a matter of uncertainty to Great Britain. CHAPTER XXIV. TROUBLE BETWEEN THE COMPANIES. Nor'-Westers oppose the colony--Reason why--A considerable literature--Contentions of both parties--Both in fault--Miles Macdonell's mistake--Nor'-Wester arrogance--Duncan Cameron's ingenious plan--Stirring up the Chippewas--Nor'-Westers warn colonists to depart--McLeod's hitherto unpublished narrative--Vivid account of a brave defence--Chain shot from the blacksmith's smithy--Fort Douglas begun--Settlers driven out--Governor Semple arrives--Cameron last Governor of Fort Gibraltar--Cameron sent to Britain as a prisoner--Fort Gibraltar captured--Fort Gibraltar decreases, Fort Douglas increases--Free traders take to the plains--Indians favour the colonists. To the most casual observer it must have been evident that the colony to be established by Lord Selkirk would be regarded with disfavour by the North-West Company officers. The strenuous opposition shown to it in Great Britain by Sir Alexander Mackenzie, and by all who were connected with him, showed quite clearly that it would receive little favour on the Red River. First, it was a Hudson's Bay scheme, and would greatly advance the interests of the English trading Company. That Company would have at the very threshold of the fur country a depôt, surrounded by traders and workmen, which would give them a great advantage over their rivals. Secondly, civilization and its handmaid agriculture are incompatible with the fur trade. As the settler enters, the fur-bearing animals are exterminated. A sparsely settled, almost unoccupied country, is the only hope of preserving this trade. Thirdly, the claim of the Hudson's Bay Company under its charter was that they had the sole right to pursue the fur trade in Rupert's Land. Their traditional policy on Hudson Bay had been to drive out private trade, and to preserve their monopoly. Fourthly, the Nor'-Westers claimed to be the lineal successors of the French traders, who, under Verendrye, had opened up the region west of Lake Superior. They long after maintained that priority of discovery and earlier possession gave them the right to claim the region in dispute as belonging to the province of Quebec, and so as being a part of Canada. The first and second parties of settlers were so small, and seemed so little able to cope with the difficulties of their situation, that no great amount of opposition was shown. They were made, it is true, the laughing-stock of the half-breeds and Indians, for these free children of the prairies regarded the use of the hoe or other agricultural implement as beneath them. The term "Pork-eaters," applied, as we have seen, to the voyageurs east of Fort William, was freely applied to these settlers, while the Indians used to call them the French name "jardinières" or clod-hoppers. A considerable literature is in existence dealing with the events of this period. It is somewhat difficult, in the conflict of opinion, to reach a basis of certainty as to the facts of this contest. The Indian country is proverbial for the prevalence of rumour and misrepresentation. Moreover, prejudice and self-interest were mingled with deep passion, so that the facts are very hard to obtain. The upholders of the colony claim that no sooner had the settlers arrived than efforts were made to stir up the Indians against them; that besides, the agents of the North-West Company had induced the Metis, or half-breeds, to disguise themselves as Indians, and that on their way to Pembina one man was robbed by these desperadoes of the gun which his father had carried at Culloden, a woman of her marriage ring, and others of various ornaments and valuable articles. There were, however, it is admitted, no specially hostile acts noticeable during the years 1812 and 1813. The advocates of the North-West Company, on the other hand, blame the first aggression on Miles Macdonell. During the winter of 1813 and 1814 Governor Macdonell and his colonists were occupying Fort Daer and Pembina. The supply of subsistence from the buffalo was short, food was difficult to obtain, the war with the United States was in progress and might cut off communication with Montreal, and moreover, a body of colonists was expected to arrive during the year from Great Britain. Accordingly, the Governor, on January 8th, 1814, issued a proclamation. He claimed the territory as ceded to Lord Selkirk, and gave the description of the tract thus transferred. The proclamation then goes on to say: "And whereas the welfare of the families at present forming the settlements on the Red River within the said territory, with those on their way to it, passing the winter at York or Churchill Forts on Hudson Bay, as also those who are expected to arrive next autumn, renders it a necessary and indispensable part of my duty to provide for their support. The uncultivated state of the country, the ordinary resources derived from the buffalo, and other wild animals hunted within the territory, are not deemed more than adequate for the requisite supply; wherefore, it is hereby ordered that no persons trading in furs or provisions within the territory, for the Honourable the Hudson's Bay Company, the North-West Company, or any individual or unconnected traders whatever, shall take out any provisions, either of flesh, grain, or vegetables, procured or raised within the territory, by water or land-carriage for one twelvemonth from the date hereof; save and except what may be judged necessary for the trading parties at the present time within the territory, to carry them to their respective destinations, and who may, on due application to me, obtain licence for the same. The provisions procured and raised as above, shall be taken for the use of the colony, and that no losses may accrue to the parties concerned, they will be paid for by British bills at the customary rates, &c." The Nor'-Westers then recalled the ceremonies with which Governor Macdonell had signalized his entrance to the country: "When he arrived he gathered his company about him, made before it some impressive ceremonies, drawn from the conjuring book of his lordship, and read to it his commission of governor or representative of Lord Selkirk; afterwards a salute was fired from the Hudson's Bay Company fort, which proclaimed his taking possession of the neighbourhood." The Governor, however, soon gave another example of his determination to assert his authority. It had been represented to him that the North-West Company officers had no intention of obeying the proclamation, and indeed were engaged in buying up all the available supplies to prevent his getting enough for his colonists. Convinced that his opponents were engaged in thwarting his designs, the Governor sent John Spencer to seize some of the stores which had been gathered in the North-West post at the mouth of the Souris River. Spencer was unwilling to go, unless very specific instructions were given him. The Governor had, by Lord Selkirk's influence in Canada, been appointed a magistrate, and he now issued a warrant authorizing Spencer to seize the provisions in this fort. Spencer, provided with a double escort, proceeded to the fort at the Souris, and the Nor'-Westers made no other resistance than to retire within the stockade and shut the gate of the fort. Spencer ordered his men to force an entrance with their hatchets. Afterwards, opening the store-houses, they seized six hundred skins of dried meat (pemmican) and of grease, each weighing eighty-five pounds. This booty was removed into the Hudson's Bay Company fort (Brandon House) at that place. We have now before us the first decided action that led to the serious disturbances that followed. The question arises, Was the Governor justified in the steps taken by him? No doubt, with the legal opinion which Lord Selkirk had obtained, he considered himself thoroughly justified. The necessities of his starving people and the plea of humanity were certainly strong motives urging him to action. No doubt these considerations seemed strong, but, on the other hand, he should have remembered that the idea of law in the fur traders' country was a new thing, that the Nor'-Westers, moreover, were not prepared to credit him with purity of motive, and that they had at their disposal a force of wild Bois Brûlés ready to follow the unbridled customs of the plains. Further, even in civilized communities laws of non-intercourse, embargo, and the like, are looked upon as arbitrary and of doubtful validity. All these things should have led the Governor, ill provided as he was with the force necessary for his defence, to hesitate before taking a course likely to be disagreeable to the Nor'-Westers, who would regard it as an assertion of the claim of superiority of the Hudson's Bay Company and of the consequent degradation of their Company, of which they were so proud. In their writings the North-West Company take some credit for not precipitating a conflict, but state that they endured the indignity until their council at Fort William should take action in the following summer. At this council, which was interesting and full of strong feeling against their fur-trading rivals, the Nor'-Westers, under the presidency of the Hon. William McGillivray, took decided action. In the trials that afterwards arose out of this unfortunate quarrel, John Pritchard, whose forty days' wanderings we have recorded, testified that one of the North-West agents, Mackenzie, had given him the information that "the intention of the North-West Company was to seduce and inveigle away as many of the colonists and settlers at Red River as they could induce to join them; and after they should thus have diminished their means of defence, to raise the Indians of Lac Rouge, Fond du Lac, and other places, to act and destroy the settlement; and that it was also their intention to bring the Governor, Miles Macdonell, down to Montreal as a prisoner, by way of degrading the authority under which the colony was established in the eyes of the natives of that country." Simon McGillivray, a North-West Company partner, had two years before this written from London that "Lord Selkirk must be driven to abandon his project, for his success would strike at the very existence of our trade." Two of the most daring partners of the North-West Company were put in charge of the plan of campaign agreed on at Fort William. These were Duncan Cameron and Alexander Macdonell. The latter wrote to a friend, from one of his resting-places on his journey, "Much is expected of us ... so here is at them with all my heart and energy." The two partners arrived at Fort Gibraltar, situated at the forks of the Red and Assiniboine Rivers, toward the end of August. The senior partner, Macdonell, leaving Cameron at Fort Gibraltar, went westward to the Qu'Appelle River, to return in the spring and carry out the plan agreed on. Cameron had been busy during the winter in dealing with the settlers, and let no opportunity slip of impressing them. Knowing the fondness of Highlanders for military display, he dressed himself in a bright red coat, wore a sword, and in writing to the settlers, which he often did, signed himself, "D. Cameron, Captain, Voyageur Corps, Commanding Officer, Red River." He also posted an order at the gate of his fort purporting to be his captain's commission. Some dispute has arisen as to the validity of this authority. There seems to have been some colour for the use of this title, under authority given for enlisting an irregular corps in the upper lakes during the American War of 1812, but the legal opinion is that this had no validity in the Red River settlement. Cameron, aiming at the destruction of the colony, began by ingratiating himself with a number of the leading settlers. Knowing the love of the Highlanders for their own language, Cameron spoke to them Gaelic in his most pleasing manner, entertained the leading colonists at his own table, and paid many attentions to their families. Promises were then made to a number of leaders to provide the people with homes in Upper Canada, to pay up wages due by the Hudson's Bay Company or Lord Selkirk, and to give a year's provisions free, provided the colony would leave the Red River and accept the advantages offered in Canada. This plan succeeded remarkably well, and it is in sworn evidence that on three-quarters of the colony reaching Fort William, a settler, Campbell received 100_l._, several others 20_l._, and so on. Some of the best of the settlers, amounting to about one-quarter of the whole, refused all the advances of the subtle captain. Another method was taken with this class. The plan of frightening them away by the co-operation of the Cree Indians had failed, but the Bois Brûlés, or half-breeds, were a more pliant agency. These were to be employed. Cameron now (April, 1815) made a demand on Archibald Macdonald, Acting Governor, to hand over to the settlers the field pieces belonging to Lord Selkirk, on the ground that these had been used already to disturb the peace. This startling order was presented to the Governor by settler Campbell on the day on which the fortnightly issue of rations took place at the colony buildings. The settlers in favour of Cameron then broke open the store-house, and took nine pieces of ordnance and removed them to Fort Gibraltar. The Governor having arrested one of the settlers who had broken open the store-house, a number of the North-West Company clerks and servants, under orders from Cameron, broke into the Governor's house and rescued the prisoner. About this time Miles Macdonell, the Governor, returned to the settlement. A warrant had been issued for his arrest by the Nor'-Westers, but he refused for the time to acknowledge the jurisdiction of the magistrates. Cameron now spread abroad the statement that if the settlers did not deliver up the Governor, they in turn would be attacked and driven from their homes. Certain colonists were now fired at by unseen assailants. About the middle of May, the senior partner, Alexander Macdonell, arrived from Qu'Appelle, accompanied by a band of Cree Indians. The partners hoped through these to frighten the settlers who remained obdurate, but the Indians were too astute to be led into the quarrel, and assured Governor Miles Macdonell that they were resolved not to molest the newcomers. An effort was also made to stir up the Chippewa Indians of Sand Lake, near the west of Lake Superior. The chief of the band declared to the Indian Department of Canada that he was offered a large reward if he would declare war against the Selkirk colonists. This the Chippewas refused to do. Early in June the lawless spirit followed by the Nor'-Westers again showed itself. A party from Fort Gibraltar went down with loaded muskets, and from a wood near the Governor's residence fired upon some of the colony employés. Mr. White, the surgeon, was nearly hit, and a ball passed close by Mr. Burke, the storekeeper. General firing then began from the wood and was returned from the house, but four of the colony servants were wounded. This expedition was under Cameron, who congratulated his followers on the result. The demand for the surrender of the Governor, in answer to the warrant issued, was then made, and at the persuasion of the other officers of the settlement, and to avoid the loss of life and the dangers threatened against the colonists, Governor Miles Macdonell surrendered himself and was taken to Montreal for trial, though no trial ever took place. The double plan of coaxing away all the settlers who were open to such inducement, and of then forcibly driving away the residue from the settlement, seemed likely to succeed. One hundred and thirty-four of the colonists, induced by promises of free transport, two hundred acres of land in Upper Canada, as well as in some cases by substantial gifts, deserted the colony in June (1815), along with Cameron, and arrived at Fort William on their way down the lakes at the end of July. These settlers made their way in canoes along the desolate shores of Lake Superior and Georgian Bay, and arrived at Holland Landing, in Upper Canada, on September 5th. Many of them were given land in the township of West Guillimbury, near Newmarket, and many of their descendants are there to this day. The Nor'-Westers now continued their persecution of the remnant of the settlers. They burnt some of their houses and used threats of the most extreme kind. On June 25th, 1815, the following document was served upon the disheartened colonists:-- "All settlers to retire immediately from the Red River, and no trace of a settlement to remain. "CUTHBERT GRANT. "BOSTONNAIS PANGMAN. "WILLIAM SHAW. "BONHOMME MONTOUR." The conflict resulting at this time may be said to be the first battle of the war. A fiery Highland trader, John McLeod, was in charge of the Hudson's Bay Company house at this point, and we have his account of the attack and defence, somewhat bombastic it may be, but which, so far as known to the author, has never been published before. COPY OF DIARY IN PROVINCIAL LIBRARY, WINNIPEG. "In 1814-15, being in charge of the whole Red River district, I spent the winter at the Forks, at the settlement there. On June 25th, 1815, while I was in charge, a sudden attack was made by an armed band of the N.-W. party under the leadership of Alexander Macdonell (Yellow Head) and Cuthbert Grant, on the settlement and Hudson's Bay Company fort at the Forks. They numbered about seventy or eighty, well armed and on horseback. Having had some warning of it, I assumed command of both the colony and H. B. C. parties. Mustering with inferior numbers, and with only a few guns, we took a stand against them. Taking my place amongst the colonists, I fought with them. All fought bravely and kept up the fight as long as possible. Many all about me falling wounded; one mortally. Only thirteen out of our band escaped unscathed. "The brunt of the struggle was near the H. B. C. post, close to which was our blacksmith's smithy--a log building about ten feet by ten. Being hard pressed, I thought of trying the little cannon (a three or four-pounder) lying idle in the post where it could not well be used. "One of the settlers (Hugh McLean) went with two of my men, with his cart to fetch it, with all the cart chains he could get and some powder. Finally, we got the whole to the blacksmithy, where, chopping up the chain into lengths for shot, we opened a fire of chain shot on the enemy which drove back the main body and scattered them, and saved the post from utter destruction and pillage. All the colonists' houses were, however, destroyed by fire. Houseless, wounded, and in extreme distress, they took to the boats, and, saving what they could, started for Norway House (Jack's River), declaring they would never return. "The enemy still prowled about, determined apparently to expel, dead or alive, all of our party. All of the H. B. Company's officers and men refused to remain, except the two brave fellows in the service, viz. Archibald Currie and James McIntosh, who, with noble Hugh McLean, joined in holding the fort in the smithy. Governor Macdonell was a prisoner. "In their first approach the enemy appeared determined more to frighten than to kill. Their demonstration in line of battle, mounted, and in full 'war paint' and equipment was formidable, but their fire, especially at first, was desultory. Our party, numbering only about half theirs, while preserving a general line of defence, exposed itself as little as possible, but returned the enemy's fire, sharply checking the attack, and our line was never broken by them. On the contrary, when the chain-firing began, the enemy retired out of range of our artillery, but at a flank movement reached the colony houses, where they quickly and resistlessly plied the work of destruction. To their credit be it said, they took no life or property. "Of killed, on our side, there was only poor John Warren of H. B. C. service, a worthy brave gentleman, who, taking a leading part in the battle, too fearlessly exposed himself. Of the enemy, probably, the casualties were greater, for they presented a better target, and we certainly fired to kill. From the smithy we could and did protect the trade post, but could not the buildings of the colonists, which were along the bank of the Red River, while the post faced the Assiniboine more than the Red River. Fortunately for us in the 'fort' (the smithy) the short nights were never too dark for our watch and ward. "The colonists were allowed to take what they could of what belonged to them, and that was but little, for as yet they had neither cow nor plough, only a horse or two. There were boats and other craft enough to take them all--colonists and H. B. C. people--away, and all, save my three companions already named and myself, took ship and fled. For many days after we were under siege, living under constant peril; but unconquerable in our bullet-proof log walls, and with our terrible cannon and chain shot. "At length the enemy retired. The post was safe, with from 800_l._ to 1000_l._ sterling worth of attractive trade goods belonging to the Hudson's Bay Company untouched. I was glad of this, for it enabled me to secure the services of free men about the place--French Canadians and half-breeds not in the service of the N.-W. Company--to restore matters and prepare for the future. "I felt that we had too much at stake in the country to give it up, and had every confidence in the resources of the H. B. Company and the Earl of Selkirk to hold their own and effectually repel any future attack from our opponents. "I found the free men about the place willing to work for me; and at once hired a force of them for building and other works in reparation of damages and in new works. So soon as I got my post in good order, I turned to save the little but precious and promising crops of the colonists, whose return I anticipated, made fences where required, and in due time cut and stacked their hay, &c. "That done I took upon me, without order or suggestion from any quarter, to build a house for the Governor and his staff of the Hudson's Bay Company at Red River. There was no such officer at that time, nor had there ever been, but I was aware that such an appointment was contemplated. "I selected for this purpose what I considered a suitable site at a point or sharp bend in the Red River about two miles below the Assiniboine, on a slight rise on the south side of the point--since known as Point Douglas, the family name of the Earl of Selkirk. Possibly I so christened it--I forget. "It was of two stories; with main timbers of oak; a good substantial house; with windows of parchment in default of glass." Here ends McLeod's diary. The Indians of the vicinity showed the colonists much sympathy, but on June 27th, after the hostile encounter, some thirteen families, comprising from forty to sixty persons, pursued their sad journey, piloted by friendly Indians, to the north end of Lake Winnipeg, where the Hudson's Bay Company post of Jack River afforded some shelter. McLeod and, as he tells us, three men only were left. These endeavoured to protect the settlers' growing crops, which this year showed great promise. The expulsion may now be said to have been complete. The day after the departure of the expelled settlers, the colony dwellings, with the possible exception of the Governor's house, were all burnt to the ground. In July the desolate band reached Jack River House, their future being dark indeed. Deliverance was, however, coming from two directions. Colin Robertson, a Hudson's Bay Company officer, arrived from the East with twenty Canadians. On reaching the Red River settlement, he found the settlers all gone, but he followed them speedily to their rendezvous on Lake Winnipeg and returned with the refugees to their deserted homes on Red River. They were joined also by about ninety settlers from the Highlands of Scotland, who had come through to Red River in one season. The colony was now rising into promise again. A number of the demolished buildings were soon erected; the colony took heart, and under the new Governor, Robert Semple, a British officer who had come with the last party of settlers, the prospects seemed to have improved. The Governor's dwelling was strengthened, other dwellings were erected beside it, and more necessity being now seen for defence, the whole assumed a more military aspect, and took the name, after Lord Selkirk's family name, Fort Douglas. Though a fair crop had been reaped by the returned settlers from their fields, yet the large addition to their numbers made it necessary to remove to Fort Daer, where the buffalo were plentiful. This party was under the leadership of Sheriff Alexander Macdonell, though Governor Semple was also there. The autumn saw trouble at the Forks. The report of disturbances having taken place between the Nor'-Westers and Hudson's Bay Company employés at Qu'Appelle was heard, as well as renewed threats of disturbance in the colony. Colin Robertson in October, 1815, captured Fort Gibraltar, seized Duncan Cameron, and recovered the field-pieces and other property taken by the Nor'-Westers in the preceding months. Though the capture of Cameron and his fort thus took place, and the event was speedily followed by the reinstatement of the trader on his promise to keep the peace, yet the report of the seizure led to the greatest irritation in all parts of the country where the two Companies had posts. All through the winter, threatenings of violence filled the air. The Bois Brûlés were arrogant, and, led by their faithful leader, Cuthbert Grant, looked upon themselves as the "New Nation." Returning, after the New Year of 1816, from Fort Daer, Governor Semple saw the necessity for aggressive action. Fort Gibraltar was to become the rendezvous for a Bois Brûlés force of extermination from Qu'Appelle, Fort des Prairies (Portage la Prairie), and even from the Saskatchewan. To prevent this, Colin Robertson, under the Governor's direction, recaptured Fort Gibraltar and held Cameron as a prisoner. This event took place in March or April of 1816. The legality of this seizure was of course much discussed between the hostile parties. It was deemed wise, however, to make a safe disposal of the prisoner Cameron. He was accordingly dispatched under the care of Colin Robertson, by way of Jack River, to York Factory, to stand his trial in England. Thus were reprisals made for the capture and removal of Miles Macdonell in the preceding year, both actions being of doubtful legality. On account of the failure of the Hudson's Bay Company ship to leave York Factory in that year, Cameron did not reach England for seventeen months, where he was immediately released. The fall of Fort Gibraltar was soon to follow the deportation of its commandant. The matter of the dismantling of Fort Gibraltar was much discussed between Governor Semple and his lieutenant, Colin Robertson. The latter was opposed to the proposed destruction of the Nor'-Wester fort, knowing the excitement such a course would cause. However, after the departure of Robertson to Hudson Bay in charge of Cameron, the Governor carried out his purpose, and in the end of May, 1816, the buildings were pulled down. A force of some thirty men were employed, and, expecting as they did, a possible interruption from the West, the work was done in a week or a little more. The materials were taken apart; the stockade was made into a raft, the remainder was piled upon it, and all was floated down Red River to the site of Fort Douglas. The material was then used for strengthening the fort and building new houses in it. Thus ended Fort Gibraltar. A considerable establishment it was in its time; its name was undoubtedly a misnomer so far as strength was concerned; yet it points to its origination in troublous times. [Illustration: FORT DOUGLAS.] The vigorous policy carried out in regard to Fort Gibraltar was likewise shown in the district south of the Forks. As we have seen, to the south, Fort Daer had been erected, and thither, winter by winter, the settlers had gone for subsistence. Here, too, was the Nor'-Wester fort of Pembina House. During the time when Governor Semple and Colin Robertson were maturing their plans, it was determined to seize Pembina. No sooner had the news of Cameron's seizure reached Fort Daer, than Sheriff Macdonell, who was in charge, organized an expedition, took Pembina House, and its officers and inhabitants. The prisoners were sent to Fort Douglas, and were liberated on pledges of good behaviour, and the military stores were also taken to Fort Douglas. The reasons given by the colony people for this course are "self-defence and the security of the lives of the settlers." About the end of April, the settlers returned from Fort Daer, and were placed on their respective lots along the Red River. All events now plainly pointed to armed disturbances and bloodshed. The policy of Governor Semple was too vigorous when the inflammable elements in the country were borne in mind. There was in the country a class called "Free Canadians," i.e. those French Canadian trappers and traders not connected with either Company, who obtained a precarious living for themselves, their Indian wives, and half-breed children. These, fearing trouble, betook themselves to the plains. The Indians of the vicinity seemed to have gained a liking for the colonists and their leaders. When they heard the threatenings from the West, two of the chiefs came to Governor Semple and offered the assistance of their bands. This the Governor could not accept, whereat the chiefs gave voice to their sorrow and disappointment. Governor Semple seems to have disregarded all these omens of coming trouble, and to have acted almost without common prudence. No doubt, having but lately come to the country, he failed to understand the daring character of his opponents. CHAPTER XXV. THE SKIRMISH OF SEVEN OAKS. Leader of the Bois Brûlés--A candid letter--Account of a prisoner--"Yellow Head"--Speech to the Indians--The chief knows nothing--On fleet Indian ponies--An eye-witness in Fort Douglas--A rash Governor--The massacre--"For God's sake save my life"--The Governor and twenty others slain--Colonists driven out--Eastern levy meets the settlers--Effects seized--Wild revelry--Chanson of Pierre Falcon. The troubles between the Hudson's Bay and North-West Companies were evidently coming to a crisis. The Nor'-Westers laid their plans with skill, and determined to send one expedition from Fort William westward and another from Qu'Appelle eastward, and so crush out the opposition at Red River. From the west the expedition was under Cuthbert Grant, and he, appealing to his fellow Metis, raised the standard of the Bois Brûlés and called his followers the "New Nation." Early in March the Bois Brûlés' leader wrote to Trader J. D. Cameron, detailing his plans and expectations. We quote from his letter: "I am now safe and sound, thank God, for I believe that it is more than Colin Robertson, or any of his suite, dare offer the least insult to any of the Bois Brûlés, although Robertson made use of some expressions which I hope he will swallow in the spring. He shall see that it is neither fifteen, thirty, nor fifty of his best horsemen that can make the Bois Brûlés bow to him. Our people at Fort Des Prairies and English River are all to be here in the spring. It is hoped that we shall come off with flying colours, and _never to see any of them again in the colonizing way in Red River_.... We are to remain at the Forks to pass the summer, for fear they should play us the same trick as last summer of coming back; but they shall receive a warm reception." The details of this western expedition are well given by Lieutenant Pierre Chrysologue Pambrun, an officer of the Canadian Voltigeurs, a regiment which had distinguished itself in the late war against the United States. Pambrun had entered the service of the Hudson's Bay Company as a trader, and been sent to the Qu'Appelle district. Having gone west to Qu'Appelle, he left that western post with five boat loads of pemmican and furs to descend the Assiniboine River to the Forks. Early in May, near the Grand Rapids, Pambrun and his party touched the shore of the river, when they were immediately surrounded by a party of Bois Brûlés and their boats and cargoes were all seized by their assailants. The pemmican was landed and the boats taken across the river. The unfortunate Pambrun was for five days kept in durance vile by Cuthbert Grant and Peter Pangman, who headed the attacking party, and the prisoner was carried back to Qu'Appelle. While Pambrun was here as prisoner, he was frequently told by Cuthbert Grant that the half-breeds were intending in the summer to destroy the Red River settlements; their leader often reminded the Bois Brûlés of this, and they frequently sang their war songs to waken ardour for the expeditions. Captors and prisoner shortly afterward left the western fort and went down the river to Grand Rapids. Here the captured pemmican was re-embarked and the journey was resumed. Near the forks of the Qu'Appelle River a band of Indians was encamped. The Indians were summoned to meet Commander Macdonell, who spoke to them in French, though Pangman interpreted. "MY FRIENDS AND RELATIONS,--I address you bashfully, for I have not a pipe of tobacco to give you. All our goods have been taken by the English, but we are now upon a party to drive them away. Those people have been spoiling the fair lands which belonged to you and the Bois Brûlés, and to which they have no right. They have been driving away the buffalo. You will soon be poor and miserable if the English stay. But we will drive them away if the Indians do not, for the North-West Company and the Bois Brûlés are one. If you (speaking to the chief) and some of your young men will join I shall be glad." The chief responded coldly and gave no assistance. Next morning the Indians departed, and the party proceeded on their journey. Pambrun was at first left behind, but in the evening was given a spare horse and overtook Grant's cavalcade at the North-West Fort near Brandon House. At the North-West Fort Pambrun saw tobacco, carpenters' tools, a quantity of furs, and other things which had been seized in the Hudson's Bay Fort, Brandon House, and been brought over as booty to the Nor'-Westers. Resuming their journey the traders kept to their boats down the Assiniboine, while the Bois Brûlés went chiefly on horseback until they reached Portage La Prairie. Sixty miles had yet to be traversed before the Forks were reached. The Bois Brûlés now prepared their mounted force. Cuthbert Grant was Commander. Dressed in the picturesque garb of the country, the Metis now arrived with guns, pistols, lances, bows, and arrows. Pambrun remained behind with Alexander Macdonell, but was clearly led to believe that the mounted force would enter Fort Douglas and destroy the settlement. On their fleet Indian ponies these children of the prairie soon made their journey from Portage La Prairie to the Selkirk settlement. We are indebted to the facile narrator, John Pritchard, for an account of their arrival and their attack. He states that in June, 1816, he was living at Red River, and quite looked for an attack from the western levy just described. Watch was constantly kept from the guérite of Fort Douglas for the approaching foe. The half-breeds turned aside from the Assiniboine some four miles up the River to a point a couple of miles below Fort Douglas. Governor Semple and his attendants followed them with the glass in their route across the plain. The Governor and about twenty others sallied out to meet the western party. On his way out he sent back for a piece of cannon, which was in the fort, to be brought. Soon after this the half-breeds approached Governor Semple's party in the form of a half moon. The Highland settlers had betaken themselves for protection to Fort Douglas, and in their Gaelic tongue made sad complaint. A daring fellow named Boucher then came out of the ranks of his party, and, on horseback, approached Semple and his body-guard. He gesticulated wildly, and called out in broken English, "What do you want? What do you want?" Governor Semple answered, "What do _you_ want?" To this Boucher replied, "We want our fort." The Governor said, "Well, go to your fort." Nothing more was said, but Governor Semple was seen to put his hand on Boucher's gun. At this juncture a shot was fired from some part of the line, and the firing became general. Many of the witnesses who saw the affair affirmed that the shot first fired was from the Bois Brûlés' line. The attacking party were most deadly in their fire. Semple and his staff, as well as others of his party, fell to the number of twenty-two. The affair was most disastrous. Pritchard says:-- "I did not see the Governor fall, though I saw his corpse the next day at the fort. When I saw Captain Rogers fall I expected to share his fate. As there was a French Canadian among those who surrounded me, and who had just made an end of my friend, I said, 'Lavigne, you are a Frenchman, you are a man, you are a Christian. For God's sake save my life; for God's sake try and save it. I give myself up; I am your prisoner.'" To the appeals of Pritchard Lavigne responded, and, placing himself before his friend, defended him from the infuriated half-breeds, who would have taken his life. One Primeau wished to shoot Pritchard, saying that the Englishman had formerly killed his brother. At length they decided to spare Pritchard's life, though they called him a _petit chien_, told him he had not long to live, and would be overtaken on their return. It transpired that Governor Semple was not killed by the first shot that disabled him, but had his thigh-bone broken. A kind French Canadian undertook to care for the Governor, but in the fury of the fight an Indian, who was the greatest rascal in the company, shot the wounded man in the breast, and thus killed him instantly. The Bois Brûlés, indeed, many of them, were disguised as Indians, and, painted as for the war dance, gave the war whoop, and made a hideous noise and shouting. When their victory was won they declared that their purpose was to weaken the colony and put an end to the Hudson's Bay Company opposition. Cuthbert Grant then proceeded to complete his work. He declared to Pritchard that "if Fort Douglas were not immediately given up with all the public property, instantly and without resistance, man, woman, and child would be put to death. He stated that the attack would be made upon it the same night, and if a single shot were fired, that would be the signal for the indiscriminate destruction of every soul." This declaration of Cromwellian policy was very alarming. Pritchard believed it meant the killing of all the women and children. He remonstrated with the prairie leader, reminding him that the colonists were his father's relatives. Somewhat softened by this appeal, Grant consented to spare the lives of the settlers if all the arms and public property were given up and the colony deserted. An inventory of property was accordingly taken, and in the evening of the third day after the battle, the mournful company, for a second time, like Acadian refugees, left behind them homes and firesides and went into exile. The joyful news was sent west by the victorious Metis. Pambrun at Portage La Prairie received news from a messenger who had hastened away to report to Macdonell the result of the attack. Hearing the account given by the courier, the trader was full of glee. He announced in French to the people who were anxiously awaiting the news, "Sacré nom de Dieu, bonnes nouvelles, vingt-deux Anglais de tués." Those present, especially Lamarre, Macdonell, and Sieveright, gave vent to their feelings boisterously. Many of the party mounted their Indian ponies and hastened to the place of conflict; others went by water down the Assiniboine. The commander sent word ahead that the colonists were to be detained till his arrival. Pambrun, being taken part of the way by water, was delayed, and so was too late in arriving to see the colonists. Cuthbert Grant and nearly fifty of the assailing party were in the fort. Pambrun, having obtained permission to visit Seven Oaks, the scene of the conflict, was greatly distressed by the sight. The uncovered limbs of many of the dead were above ground, and the bodies were in a mangled condition. This unfortunate affair for many a day cast a reproach upon the Nor'-Westers, although the prevailing opinion was that Grant was a brave man and conducted himself well in the engagement. [Illustration: SEVEN OAKS MONUMENT.] We have now to enquire as to the movements of the expedition coming westward from Fort William. The route of upwards of four hundred miles was a difficult one. Accordingly, before they reached Red River, Fort Douglas was already in the hands of the Nor'-Westers. With the expedition from Fort William came a non-commissioned officer of the De Meuron regiment, one of the Swiss bodies of mercenaries disbanded after the war of 1812-15. This was Frederick Damien Huerter. His account is circumstantial and clear. He had, as leading a military life, entered the service of the Nor'-Westers, and coming west to Lake Superior, followed the leadership of the fur trader Alexander Norman McLeod and two of the officers of his old regiment, Lieutenants Missani and Brumby. Arriving at Fort William, a short time was given for providing the party with arms and equipment, and soon the lonely voyageurs, on this occasion in a warlike spirit, were paddling themselves over the fur traders' route in five large north canoes. On the approach to Rainy Lake Fort, as many of the party as were soldiers dressed in full regimentals, in order to impress upon the Indians that they had the King's authority. Strong drink and tobacco were a sufficient inducement to about twenty of the Indians to join the expedition. On the day before the fight at Seven Oaks, the party had arrived at the fort known as Bas de la Rivière, near Lake Winnipeg. Guns and two small brass field-pieces, three pounders, were put in order, and the company crossed to the mouth of the Red River, ascended to Nettley Creek, and there bivouacked, forty miles from the scene of action and two days after the skirmish. They had expected here to meet the Qu'Appelle brigade of Cuthbert Grant. No doubt this was the original plan, but the rashness of the Governor and the hot blood of the Metis had brought on the engagement, with the result we have seen. Knowing nothing of the fight, the party started to ascend the river, and soon met seven or eight boats, laden with colonists, under the command of the sheriff of the Red River settlement. McLeod then heard of the fight, ordered the settlers ashore, examined all the papers among their baggage, and took possession of all letters, account books, and documents whatsoever. Even Governor Semple's trunks, for which there were no keys, were broken open and examined. The colonists were then set free and proceeded on their sad journey, Charles Grant being detailed to seeing them safely away. Huerter says:-- "On the 26th I went up the river to Fort Douglas. There were many of the partners of the North-West Company with us. At Fort Douglas the brigade was received with discharges of artillery and fire-arms. The fort was under Mr. Alexander Macdonell, and there was present a great gathering of Bois Brûlés, clerks, and interpreters, as well as partners of the Company. On our arrival Archibald Norman McLeod, our leader, took the management and direction of the fort, and all made whatever they chose of the property it contained. The Bois Brûlés were entirely under the orders and control of McLeod and the partners. McLeod occupied the apartments lately belonging to Governor Semple. After my arrival I saw all the Bois Brûlés assembled in a large outer room, which had served as a mess-room for the officers of the colony. "I rode the same day to the field of 'Seven Oaks,' where Governor Semple and so many of his people had lost their lives, in company with a number of those who had been employed on that occasion--all on horseback. At this period, scarcely a week after June 19th, I saw a number of human bodies scattered about the plain, and nearly reduced to skeletons, there being then very little flesh adhering to the bones; and I was informed on the spot that many of the bodies had been partly devoured by dogs and wolves." There was a scene of great rejoicing the same evening at the fort, the Bois Brûlés being painted and dancing naked, after the manner of savages, to the great amusement of their masters. On June 29th most of the partners and the northern brigade set off for the rapids at the mouth of the Saskatchewan. The departure of the grand brigade was signalized by the discharge of artillery from Fort Douglas. The Nor'-Westers were now in the ascendant. The Bois Brûlés were naturally in a state of exultation. Their wild Indian blood was at the boiling point. Fort Douglas had been seized without opposition, and for several days the most riotous scenes took place. Threats of violence were freely indulged in against the Hudson's Bay Company, Lord Selkirk, and the colonists. As Pritchard remarks, there was nothing now for the discouraged settlers but to betake themselves for the second time to the rendezvous at the north of Lake Winnipeg, and there await deliverance at the hands of their noble patron, Lord Selkirk. The exuberance of the French half-breeds found its way into verse. We give the chanson of Pierre Falcon and the translation of it:-- CHANSON ÉCRITE PAR PIERRE FALCON. Voulez-vous écouter chanter une chanson de vérité? Le dix-neuf de Juin les Bois Brûlés sont arrivés Comme des braves guerriers, Sont arrivés à la grenouillère. Nous avons fait trois prisonniers Des Orcanais? Ils sont ici pour piller notre pays, Etant sur le point de débarquer, Deux de nos gens se sont écriés, "Voilà l'Anglais qui vient nous attaquer." Tous aussitôt nous sommes dévirés Pour aller les rencontrer. J'avons cerné la bande de grenadiers; Ils sont immobiles?--Ils sont démentés? J'avons agi comme des gens d'honneur, Nous envoyâmes un ambassadeur. "Gouverneur, voulez-vous arrêter un petit moment, Nous voulons vous parler." Le gouverneur, qui est enragé, Il dit à ses soldats, "Tirez." Le premier coup l'Anglais le tire, L'ambassadeur a presque manqué d'être tué, Le gouverneur se croyant l'empereur, Il agit avec rigueur, Le gouverneur, se croyant l'empereur, A son malheur agit avec trop de rigueur. Ayant vu passé les Bois Brûlés, Il a parti pour nous épouvanter. Il s'est trompé; il s'est bien fait tuer Quantité de ses grenadiers. J'avons tué presque toute son armée; De la bande quatre de cinq se sont sauvés Si vous aviez vu les Anglais Et tous les Bois Brûlés après-- De butte en butte les Anglais culbutaient; Les Bois Brûlés jetaient des cris de joie. Qui en a composé la chanson? C'est Pierre Falcon, le bon garçon. Elle a été faite et composée Sur la victoire qui nous avons gagnée. Elle a été faite et composée. Chantons la gloire de tous ces Bois Brûlés. SONG WRITTEN BY PIERRE FALCON. Come, listen to this song of truth, A song of brave Bois Brûlés, Who at Frog Plain took three captives, Strangers come to rob our country. Where dismounting there to rest us, A cry is raised, "The English! They are coming to attack us." So we hasten forth to meet them. I looked upon their army, They are motionless and downcast; So, as honour would incline us, We desire with them to parley. But their leader, moved with anger, Gives the word to fire upon us; And imperiously repeats it, Rushing on to his destruction. Having seen us pass his stronghold, He has thought to strike with terror The Bois Brûlés.--Ah! mistaken, Many of his soldiers perish. But a few escaped the slaughter, Rushing from the field of battle; Oh, to see the English fleeing! Oh, the shouts of their pursuers! Who has sung this song of triumph? The good Pierre Falcon has composed it, That his praise of these Bois Brûlés Might be evermore recorded. CHAPTER XXVI. LORD SELKIRK TO THE RESCUE. The Earl in Montreal--Alarming news--Engages a body of Swiss--The De Meurons--Embark for the North-West--Kawtawabetay's story--Hears of Seven Oaks--Lake Superior--Lord Selkirk--A doughty Douglas--Seizes Fort William--Canoes upset and Nor'-Westers drowned--"A Banditti"--The Earl's blunder--A winter march--Fort Douglas recaptured--His Lordship soothes the settlers--An Indian Treaty--"The Silver Chief"--The Earl's note-book. The sad story of the beleaguered and excited colonists reached the ears of Lord Selkirk through his agents. The trouble threatening his settlers determined the energetic founder to visit Canada for himself, and, if possible, the infant colony. Accordingly, late in the year 1815, in company with his family--consisting of the Countess, his son, and two daughters--he reached Montreal. The news of the first dispersion of the colonists, their flight to Norway House, and the further threatenings of the Bois Brûlés, arrived about the time of their coming to New York. Lord Selkirk hastened on to Montreal, but it was too late in the season, being about the end of October, to penetrate to the interior. He must winter in Montreal. He was here in the very midst of the enemy. With energy, characteristic of the man, he brought the matter of protection of his colony urgently before the Government of Lower Canada. In a British colony surely the rights of property of a British subject would be protected, and surely the safety of hundreds of loyal people could not be trifled with. As we shall see in a later chapter, the high-minded nobleman counted without his host; he had but to live a few years in the New World of that day to find how skilfully the forms of law can be adapted to carry out illegal objects and shield law-breakers. As early as February of that year (1815), dreading the threatenings even then made by the North-West Company, he had represented to Lord Bathurst, the British Secretary of State, the urgent necessity of an armed force, not necessarily very numerous, being sent to the Red River settlement to maintain order in the colony. Now, after the outrageous proceedings of the summer of 1815 and the arrival of the dreary intelligence from Red River, Lord Selkirk again brings the matter before the authorities, this time before Sir Gordon Drummond, Governor of Lower Canada, and encloses a full account of the facts as to the expulsion of the settlers from their homes, and of the many acts of violence perpetrated at Red River. Nothing being gained in this way, his Lordship determined to undertake an expedition himself, as soon as it could be organized, and carry assistance to his persecuted people, who, he knew, had been gathered together by Colin Robertson, and to whom he had sent as Governor, Mr. Semple, in whom he reposed great confidence. We have seen that during the winter of 1815-16, peace and a certain degree of confidence prevailed among the settlers, more than half of whom were spending their first winter in the country. Fort Douglas was regarded as strong enough to resist a considerable attack, and the presence of Governor Semple, a military officer, was thought a guarantee for the protection of the people. During the winter, however, Lord Selkirk learned enough to assure him that the danger was not over--that, indeed, a more determined attack than ever would be made as soon as the next season should open. He had been sworn in as a Justice of the Peace in Upper Canada and for the Indian territories; he had obtained for his personal protection from the Governor the promise of a sergeant and six men of the British army stationed in Canada, but this was not sufficient. He undertook a plan of placing upon his own land in the colony a number of persons as settlers who could be called upon in case of emergency, as had been the intention in the case of the Highland colonists, to whom muskets had been furnished. The close of the Napoleonic wars had left a large number of the soldiers engaged in these wars out of employment, the British Government having been compelled to reduce the size of the army. During the Napoleonic wars a number of soldiers of adventure from Switzerland and Italy, captured by Britain in Spain, entered her service and were useful troops. Two of these regiments, one named "De Meuron," and the other "Watteville," had been sent to Canada to assist in the war against the United States. This war being now over also, orders came to Sir Gordon Drummond to disband the two regiments in May, 1815. The former of the regiments was at the time stationed at Montreal, the latter at Kingston. From these bodies of men Lord Selkirk undertook to provide his colony with settlers willing to defend it. The enemies of Lord Selkirk have been very free in their expression of opinion as to the worthlessness of these soldiers and their unfitness as settlers. It is worthy of notice, however, that the Nor'-Westers did not scruple to use Messrs. Missani and Brumby, as well as Reinhard and Huerter of the same corps, to carry out their own purposes. The following order, given by Sir John Coape Sherbrooke, effectually disposes of such a calumny:-- "Quebec, July 26th, 1816. "In parting with the regiments 'De Meuron' and 'Watteville,' both of which corps his Excellency has had the good fortune of having under his command in other parts of the world, Sir John Sherbrooke desires Lieutenant-Colonel De Meuron and Lieutenant-Colonel May, and the officers and men of these corps will accept his congratulations on having, by their conduct in the Canadas, maintained the reputation which they have deservedly acquired by their former services. His Excellency can have no hesitation in saying that his Majesty's service in these provinces has derived important advantages during the late war from the steadiness, discipline, and efficiency of these corps. "J. HARVEY, Lieutenant-Colonel, D.A.G." Testimony to the same effect is given by the officer in command of the garrison of Malta, on their leaving that island to come to Canada. These men afforded the material for Lord Selkirk's purpose, viz. to till the soil and protect the colony. Like a wise man, however, he made character the ground of engagement in the case of all whom he took. To those who came to terms with him he agreed to give a sufficient portion of land, agricultural implements, and as wages for working the boats on the voyage eight dollars a month. It was further agreed that should any choose to leave Red River on reaching it, they should be taken back by his Lordship free of expense. Early in June, 1816, four officers and about eighty men of the "De Meurons" left Montreal in Lord Selkirk's employ and proceeded westward to Kingston. Here twenty more of the "Watteville" regiment joined their company. Thence the expedition, made up by the addition of one hundred and thirty canoe-men, pushed on to York (Toronto), and from York northward to Lake Simcoe and Georgian Bay. Across this Bay and Lake Huron they passed rapidly on to Sault Ste. Marie, Lord Selkirk leaving the expedition before reaching that place to go to Drummond's Isle, which was the last British garrison in Upper Canada, and at which point he was to receive the sergeant and six men granted for his personal protection by the Governor of Canada. At Drummond's Island a council was held with Kawtawabetay, an Ojibway chief, by the Indian Department, Lieut.-Colonel Maule, of the 104th Regiment, presiding. Kawtawabetay there informed the council that in the spring of 1815 two North-West traders, McKenzie and Morrison, told him that they would give him and his people all the goods or merchandise and rum that they had at Fort William, Leach Lake, and Sand Lake, if he, the said Kawtawabetay, and his people would make and declare war against the settlers in Red River. On being asked by the chief whether this was at the request of the "great chiefs" at Montreal or Quebec, McKenzie and Morrison said it was solely from the North-West Company's agents, who wished the settlement destroyed, as it was an annoyance to them. The chief further stated that the last spring (1816), whilst at Fond Du Lac Superior, a Nor'-Wester agent (Grant) offered him two kegs of rum and two carrots of tobacco if he would send some of his young men in search of certain persons employed in taking despatches to the Red River, pillage these bearers of despatches of the letters and papers, and kill them should they make any resistance. The chief stated he had refused to have anything to do with these offers. On being asked in the council by Lord Selkirk, who was present, as to the feelings of the Indians towards the settlers at Red River, he said that at the commencement of the Red River settlement some of the Indians did not like it, but at present they are all glad of its being settled. Lord Selkirk soon hastened on and overtook his expedition at Sault Ste. Marie, now consisting of two hundred and fifty men all told, and these being maintained at his private expense. They immediately proceeded westward, intending to go to the extreme point of Lake Superior, near where the town of Duluth now stands, and where the name Fond du Lac is still retained. The expedition would then have gone north-westward through what is now Minnesota to Red Lake, from which point a descent could have been made by boat, through Red Lake River and Red River to the very settlement itself. This route would have avoided the Nor'-Westers altogether. Westward bound, the party had little more than left Sault Ste. Marie, during the last week of July, when they were met on Lake Superior by two canoes, in one of which was Miles Macdonell, former Governor of Red River, who brought the sad intelligence of the second destruction of the colony and of the murder of Governor Semple and his attendants. His Lordship was thrown into the deepest despair. The thought of his Governor killed, wholesale murder committed, the poor settlers led by him from the Highland homes, where life at least was safe, to endure such fear and privation, was indeed a sore trial. To any one less moved by the spirit of philanthropy, it must have been a serious disappointment, but to one feeling so thorough a sympathy for the suffering and who was himself the very soul of honour, it was a crushing blow. He resolved to change his course and to go to Fort William, the headquarters of the Nor'-Westers. He now determined to act in his office as magistrate, and sought to induce two gentlemen of Sault Ste. Marie, Messrs. Ermatinger and Askin, both magistrates, to accompany him in that capacity. They were unable to go. Compelled to proceed alone, he writes from Sault Ste. Marie, on July 29th, to Sir John Sherbrooke, and after speaking of his failure to induce the two gentlemen mentioned by him to go, says, "I am therefore reduced to the alternative of acting alone, or of allowing an audacious crime to pass unpunished. In these circumstances I cannot doubt that it is my duty to act, though I am not without apprehension that the law may be openly resisted by a set of people who have been accustomed to consider force as the only true criterion of right." One would have said, on looking at the matter dispassionately, that the Governor-General, with a military force so far west as Drummond Isle in Georgian Bay, would have taken immediate steps to bring to justice the offenders. Governor Sherbrooke seems to have felt himself powerless, for he says in a despatch to Lord Bathurst, "I beg leave to call your Lordship's serious attention to the forcible and, I fear, too just description given by the Earl of Selkirk of the state of the Red River territory. I leave to your Lordship to judge whether a banditti such as he describes will yield to the influence, or be intimidated by the menaces of distant authority." It may be well afterwards to contrast this statement of the Governor's with subsequent despatches. It must not be forgotten that while "the banditti" was pursuing its course of violence in the far-off territory, and, as has been stated, thoroughly under the direction and encouragement of the North-West Company partners, the leading members of this Company, who held, many of them, high places in society and in the Government in Montreal, were posing as the lovers of peace and order, and were lamenting over the excesses of the Indians and Bois Brûlés. By this course they were enabled to thwart any really effective measures towards restoring peace at the far-away "seat of war." The action of the North-West Company may be judged from the following extracts from a letter of the Hon. John Richardson, one of the partners, and likewise a member of the executive council of Lower Canada, addressed to Governor Sherbrooke. He says on August 17th, 1816: "It is with much concern that I have to mention that blood has been shed at the Red River to an extent greatly to be deplored; but it is consolatory to those interested in the North-West Company to find that none of their traders or people were concerned, or at the time within a hundred miles of the scene of contest." What a commentary on such a statement are the stories of Pambrun and Huerter, given in a previous chapter! What a cold-blooded statement after all the plottings and schemes of the whole winter before the attack! What a heartless falsehood as regards the Indians, who, under so great temptations, refused to be partners in so bloody an enterprise! The resolution of Lord Selkirk to go to Fort William in the capacity of a magistrate was one involving, as he well knew, many perils. He was not, however, the man to shrink from a daring enterprise having once undertaken it. To Fort William, then, with the prospect of meeting several hundreds of the desperate men of the North-West Company, Lord Selkirk made his way. So confident was he in the rectitude of his purpose and in the justice of his cause, that he pushed forward, and without the slightest hesitation encamped upon the Kaministiquia, on the south side of the river, in sight of Fort William. The expedition arrived on August 12th. A demand was at once made on the officers of the North-West Company for the release of a number of persons who had been captured at Red River after the destruction of the colony and been brought to Fort William. The Nor'-Westers denied having arrested these persons, and to give colour to this assertion immediately sent them over to Lord Selkirk's encampment. On the 13th and following days of the month of August, the depositions of a number of persons were taken before his Lordship as a justice of the peace. The depositions related to the guilt of the several Nor'-Wester partners, their destroying the settlement, entering and removing property from Fort Douglas, and the like; and were made by Pambrun, Lavigne, Nolin, Blondeau, Brisbois, and others. It was made so clear to Lord Selkirk that the partners were guilty of inciting the attacks on the colony and of approving the outrages committed, that he determined to arrest a number of the leaders. This was done by regular process--by warrants served on Mr. McGillivray, Kenneth McKenzie, Simon Fraser, and others, but these prisoners were allowed to remain in Fort William. In one case, that of a partner named John McDonald, resistance having been offered, the constables called for the aid of a party of the De Meurons, who had crossed over from the encampment with them in their boats. The leaving of the prisoners with their liberty in Fort William, however, gave the opportunity for conspiracy; and it was represented to Lord Selkirk that Fort William would be used for the purposes of resistance, and that the prisoners arrested would be released. The facts leading to this belief were that a canoe, laden with arms, had left the fort at night; that eight barrels of gunpowder had been secreted in a thicket, and that these had been taken from the magazine; while some forty stand of arms, fresh-loaded, had been found in a barn among some hay. These indications proved that an attempt was about to be made to resist the execution of the law, and accordingly the prisoners were placed in one building and closely guarded, while Lord Selkirk's encampment was removed across the river and pitched in front of the fort to prevent any surprise. A further examination of the prisoners took place, and their criminality being so evident, they were sent to York, Upper Canada. Three canoes, well manned and containing the prisoners, left the fort on August 18th, under the charge of Lieutenant Fauche, one of the De Meuron officers. The journey down the lakes was marred by a most unfortunate accident. One of the canoes was upset some fifteen miles from Sault Ste. Marie. This was caused by the sudden rise in the wind. The affair was purely accidental, and there were drowned one of the prisoners, named McKenzie, a sergeant and a man of the De Meurons, and six Indians. The prisoners were taken to Montreal and admitted to bail. The course taken by Lord Selkirk at Fort William has been severely criticized, and became, indeed, the subject of subsequent legal proceedings. One of the Nor'-Wester apologists stated to Governor Sherbrooke "that the mode of proceeding under Lord Selkirk's orders resembled nothing British, and exceeded even the military despotism of the French in Holland." No doubt it would have been better had Lord Selkirk obtained other magistrates to take part in the proceedings at Fort William, but we have seen he did try this and failed. Had it been possible to have had the arrests effected without the appearance of force made by the De Meurons, it would have been more agreeable to our ideas of ordinary legal proceedings; but it must be remembered he was dealing with those called by a high authority "a banditti." Could Fort William have been left in the hands of its possessors, it would have been better; but then there was clear evidence that the Nor'-Westers intended violence. To have left Fort William in their possession would have been suicidal. It would probably have been better that Lord Selkirk should not have stopped the canoes going into the interior with North-West merchandise, but to have allowed them to proceed was only to have assisted his enemies--the enemies, moreover, of law and order. Thousands of pounds' worth of his property stolen from Fort Douglas by the agents of the North-West Company, and the fullest evidence in the depositions made before him that this was in pursuance of a plan devised by the Company and deliberately carried out! Several hundreds of lawless voyageurs and unscrupulous partners ready to use violence in the wild region of Lake Superior, where, during fifty years preceding, they had committed numerous acts of bloodshed, and had never been called to account! The worrying reflection that homeless settlers and helpless women and children were crying, in some region then unknown to him, for his assistance, after their wanton dispersion by their enemies from their homes on the banks of Red River! All these things were sufficient to nerve to action one of far less generous impulses than Lord Selkirk. Is it at all surprising that his Lordship did not act with all the calmness and scrupulous care of a judge on the bench, who, under favourable circumstances, feels himself strong in his consciousness of safety, supported by the myriad officers of the law, and surrounded by the insignia of Justice? The justification of his course, even if it be interpreted adversely, is, that in a state of violence, to preserve the person is a preliminary to the settlement of other questions of personal right. One thing at least is to Lord Selkirk's credit, that, as soon as possible, he handed over the law-breakers to be dealt with by the Canadian Courts, where, however, unfortunately, another divinity presided than the blind goddess of Justice. Let us now see where we are in our story. Lord Selkirk is at Fort William. The Nor'-Wester partners have been sent to the East. It is near the end of August, and the state of affairs at Fort William does not allow the founder to pass on to his colony for the winter. He is surrounded by his De Meuron settlers. During the months of autumn the expedition is engaged in laying in supplies for the approaching winter, and opening up roads toward the Red River country. The season was spent in the usual manner of the Lake Superior country, shut out from the rest of the world. The winter over, Lord Selkirk started on May 1st, 1817, for Red River, accompanied by his body-guard. The De Meurons had preceded him in the month of March, and, reaching the interior, restored order. The colonizer arrived at his colony in the last week of June, and saw, for the first time, the land of his dreams for the preceding fifteen years. In order to restore peace, he endeavoured to carry out the terms of the proclamation issued by the Government of Canada, that all property taken during the troubles should be restored to its original owners. This restitution was made to a certain extent, though much that had been taken from Fort Douglas was never recovered. The settlers were brought back from their refuge at Norway House, and the settlement was again organized. The colonists long after related, with great satisfaction, how Lord Selkirk cheered them by his presence. After their return to their despoiled homesteads a gathering of the settlers took place, and a full consideration of all their affairs was had in their patron's presence. This gathering was at the spot where the church and burying-ground of St. John's are now found. "Here," said his Lordship, pointing to lot number four, on which they stood, "here you shall build your church; and that lot," said he, pointing to lot number three across the little stream called Parsonage Creek, "is for the school." The people then reminded his Lordship that he had promised them a minister, who should follow them to their adopted country. This he at once acknowledged, saying, "Selkirk never forfeited his word;" while he promised to give the matter attention as soon as practicable. In addition, Lord Selkirk gave a document stating that, "in consideration of the hardships which the settlers had suffered, in consequence of the lawless conduct of the North-West Company, his intention was to grant gratuitously the twenty-four lots which had been occupied to those of the settlers who had made improvements on their lands before they were driven away from them in the previous year." Before the dispersion of this public gathering of the people, the founder gave the name, at the request of the colonists, to their settlement. The name given by him to this first parish in Rupert's Land was that of Kildonan, from their old home in the valley of Helmsdale, in Sutherlandshire, Scotland. In more fully organizing the colony, his Lordship ordered a complete survey to be made of the land, and steps to be taken towards laying out roads, building bridges, erecting mills, &c. It will be remembered, as already stated, that at the inception of the colony scheme, in 1811, the Nor'-Westers had threatened the hostility of the Indians. It may be mentioned as a strange fact that, to this day, it is a trick of the Bois Brûlés, taking their cue from the Nor'-Westers, when making any demand, to threaten the Government with the wrath of the Indians, over whom they profess to exercise a control. We have already seen that the Nor'-Westers' boast as to their influence over the Indians was empty. In the publications of the Nor'-Westers of 1816-20 a speech is sometimes set forth of an Indian chief, "Grandes Oreilles," breathing forth threatenings against the infant settlement. It is worthy of notice that even this resource is swept away by the author of the speech, a Nor'-Wester trader, confessing that he had manufactured the speech and "Grandes Oreilles" had never spoken it. Within three weeks of his arrival at Red River Lord Selkirk carried out his promise of making a treaty with the Indians. All the Indians were most willing to do this, as on many occasions during the troubles they had, by giving early information as to the movements of the Nor'-Westers, and by other means, shown their sympathy and feeling toward the settlers. The object of the treaty was simply to do what has since been done all over the north-west territories--to extinguish the Indian title. The treaty is signed alike by Ojibway, Cree, and Assiniboine chiefs, the last mentioned being a tribe generally considered to belong to the Sioux stock. Lord Selkirk afterwards made a treaty, on leaving the Red River, with the other Sioux nations inhabiting his territory. The chiefs were met at Red River by his Lordship, and those whose names are attached to the treaty are, giving their French names in some cases as shorter than the Indian, Le Sonent, Robe Noire, Peguis, L'Homme Noir, and Grandes Oreilles. His Lordship seems to have had a most conciliatory and attractive manner. It is worth while closing this chapter by giving extracts from the speeches of these Indian chiefs, taken down at the grand council at which Lord Selkirk smoked the pipe of peace with the assembled warriors. Peguis, the Saulteaux chief, always the fast friend of the colonists, said, "When the English settlers first came here we received them with joy. It was not our fault if even the stumps of the brushwood were too rough for their feet; but misfortunes have since overtaken them. Evil-disposed men came here, calling themselves great chiefs, sent from our Great Father across the big lake, but we believe they were only traders, pretending to be great chiefs on purpose to deceive us. They misled the young men who are near us (a small party of Bois Brûlés encamped in the neighbourhood), and employed them to shed the blood of your children and to drive away the settlers from this river. We do not acknowledge these men as an independent tribe. They have sprung up here and there like mushrooms and we know them not. "At the first arrival of the settlers we were frequently solicited by the North-West Company to frighten them away; but we were pleased to see that our Great Father had sent some of his white children to live among us, and we refused to do or say anything against them. The traders even demanded our calumets, and desired to commit our sentiments to paper, that they might send to our Great Father; but we refused to acknowledge the speeches which they wished to put into our mouths. We are informed that they have told a tale that it was the Indians who drove away and murdered the children of our Great Father, but it is a falsehood. "As soon as I saw the mischief that happened I went to Lake Winnipeg with a few friends to wait for news from the English, but I could meet none. We have reasons to be friends of the colony. When there were only traders here we could not get a blanket, or a piece of cloth, without furs to give in exchange. Our country is now almost destitute of furs, so that we were often in want; from the people of the colony we get blankets and cloth for the meat we procure them. The country abounds with meat, which we can obtain, but to obtain furs is difficult." Next, L'Homme Noir, a chief of the Assiniboines, who had come from a long distance, addressing Lord Selkirk, particularly declares, "we were often harassed with solicitations to assist the Bois Brûlés in what they have done against your children, but we always refused. We are sure you must have had much trouble to come here. We have often been told you were our enemy; but we have to-day the happiness to hear from your own mouth the words of a true friend. We receive the present you give us with great pleasure and thankfulness." After this, Robe Noire, an Ojibway chief, spoke in like terms; when the veritable Grandes Oreilles, to whose spurious war speech we have already referred, said as follows:-- "I am happy to see here our own father. Clouds have overwhelmed me. I was a long time in doubt and difficulty, but now I begin to see clearly. "We have reason to be happy this day. We know the dangers you must have encountered to come so far. The truth you have spoken pleases us. We thank you for the present you give us. There seems an end to our distress, and it is you who have relieved us. "When our young men are drunk they are mad; they know not what they say or what they do; but this must not be attended to; they mean no harm." Long after, Selkirk was remembered and beloved by these Indian tribes, who spoke of him as the "Silver Chief." So much for the founder's work in his colony in 1817. His affairs urgently required attention elsewhere. In the language of a writer of the period, "having thus restored order, infused confidence in the people, and given a certain aid to their activity, Lord Selkirk took his final leave of the colony." With a guide and a few attendants he journeyed southward, passing through the country of the warlike Sioux, with whom he made peace. The writer had at one time in his possession a note-book with, in Lord Selkirk's writing, an itinerary of his journey from Red River Colony, in which familiar names, such as Rivière Sale, Rivière Aux Gratias, Pembina, and the like, appear with their distances in leagues. Among other memoranda is one, "lost on the Prairie," and the distance in leagues estimated as lost by the misadventure. Every traveller over the Manitoba prairie will take a feeling interest in that entry. Passing through the Mississippi country, he seems to have proceeded eastward to Washington; he next appears in Albany, and hastens back to Upper Canada, without even visiting his family in Montreal, though he had been absent from them for upwards of a year. In Upper Canada his presence was urgently needed to meet the artful machinations of his enemies. CHAPTER XXVII. THE BLUE-BOOK OF 1819 AND THE NORTH-WEST TRIALS. British law disgraced--Governor Sherbrooke's distress--A Commission decided on--Few unbiassed Canadians--Colonel Coltman chosen--Over ice and snow--Alarming rumours--The Prince Regent's order--Coltman at Red River--The Earl submissive--The Commissioner's report admirable--The celebrated Reinhart case--Disturbing lawsuits--Justice perverted--A store-house of facts--Sympathy of Sir Walter Scott--Lord Selkirk's death--Tomb at Orthes, in France. The state of things in Rupert's Land in 1816 was a disgrace to British institutions. That subjects of the realm, divided into two parties, should be virtually carrying on war against each other on British soil, was simply intolerable. Not only was force being used, but warrants were being issued and the forms of law employed on both sides to carry out the selfish ends of each party. An impartial historian cannot but say that both parties were chargeable with grievous wrong. Sir John Coape Sherbrooke, Governor-General of Canada, felt very keenly the shameful situation, and yet the difficulties of transport and the remote distance of the interior where the conflict was taking place made interference almost impossible. He was in constant communication with Lord Bathurst, the Imperial Colonial Secretary. Governor Sherbrooke's difficulties were, however, more than those of distance. The influence of the North-West Company in Canada was supreme, and public sentiment simply reflected the views of the traders. The plan of sending a commission to the interior to stop hostilities and examine the conflicting statements which were constantly coming to the Governor, seemed the most feasible; but with his sense of British fair-play, Governor Sherbrooke knew he could find no one suitable to recommend. At last, driven to take some action, Sir John named Mr. W. B. Coltman, a merchant of Quebec and a Lieutenant-Colonel in the Militia, a man accustomed to Government matters, and one who bore a good reputation for fairness and justice. With this Commissioner, who did not enter on his task with much alacrity, was associated Major Fletcher, a man of good legal qualifications. The Commissioners were instructed to proceed immediately to the North-West. They were invested with the power of magistrates, and were authorized to make a thorough investigation into the troubles which were disturbing the country. "You are particularly," say the instructions, "to apply yourselves to mediate between the contending parties in the aforesaid territories; to remove, as far as possible, all causes of dissension between them; to take all legal measures to prevent the recurrence of those violences which have already so unhappily disturbed the public peace; and generally to enforce and establish, within the territory where you shall be, the influence and authority of the laws." Various accidents prevented the Commissioners from leaving for the Indian country as soon as had been expected. They did not reach York (Toronto) till November 23rd, and on their arriving on the shores of Lake Huron they found the lake frozen over and impassable. They could do nothing themselves other than return to York, but they succeeded in fitting out an expedition under North-Western auspices to find its way over the ice and snow to Fort William, carrying the revocation of all the commissions of magistrates west of Sault Ste. Marie and the news of the new appointments in their stead. Reports during the winter continued to be of a disquieting kind, and as the spring drew nigh, preparations were made for sending up the Commissioners with a small armed force. The gravity of the situation may be judged from the steps taken by the Imperial Government and the instructions sent out by the authority of George, the Prince Regent, to Governor Sherbrooke to issue a proclamation in his name calling on all parties to desist from hostilities, and requiring all military officers or men employed by any of the parties to immediately retire from such service. All property, including forts or trading stations, was to be immediately restored to the rightful owners, and any impediment or blockade preventing transport to be at once removed. It is worthy of note that the proclamation and instructions given had the desired effect. Coltman and his fellow Commissioner left in May for the field of their operations, accompanied by forty men of the 37th Regiment as a body-guard. On arriving at Sault Ste. Marie, Commissioner Coltman, after waiting two or three weeks, hastened on to Fort William, leaving Fletcher and the troops to follow him. On July 2nd he wrote from the mouth of the River Winnipeg, stating that his presence had no doubt tended to preserve peace in the North-West, and that in two days he would see Lord Selkirk in his own Fort Douglas at Red River. Three days after the despatch of this letter, Commissioner Coltman arrived at Red River. He immediately grappled with the difficulties and met them with much success. The news of Lord Selkirk's actions had all arrived at Montreal through the North-West sources, so that both in Quebec and London a strong prejudice had sprung up against his Lordship. Colonel Coltman found, however, that Lord Selkirk had been much misrepresented. The illegal seizures he had made at Fort William were dictated only by prudence in dealing with what he considered a daring and treacherous enemy. He had submitted to the ordinance recalling magistrates' commissions immediately on receiving it. Colonel Coltman was so impressed with Lord Selkirk's reasonableness and good faith that he recommended that the legal charges made against him should not be proceeded with. Colonel Coltman then started on his return journey, and wrote that he had stopped at the mouth of the Winnipeg River for the purpose of investigating the conspiracy, in which he states he fears the North-West Company had been implicated, to destroy the Selkirk settlement. The energetic Commissioner returned to Quebec in November of that year. Governor Sherbrooke had the satisfaction of reporting to Lord Bathurst the return of Mr. Coltman from his mission to the Indian territories, and "that the general result of his exertions had been so far successful, that he had restored a degree of tranquillity there which promises to continue during the winter." Colonel Coltman's report, of about one hundred folio pages, is an admirable one. His summary of the causes and events of the great struggle between the Companies is well arranged and clearly stated. The writer, in an earlier work, strongly took up Lord Selkirk's view of the case, and criticised Coltman. Subsequent investigations and calmer reflection have led him to the conclusion that while Lord Selkirk was in the right and exhibited a high and noble character, yet the provoking circumstances came from both directions, and Colonel Coltman's account seems fairly impartial. The cessation of hostilities brought about by the influence of Colonel Coltman did not, however, bring a state of peace. The conflict was transferred to the Courts of Lower and Upper Canada, these having been given power some time before by the Imperial Parliament to deal with cases in the Indian territories. A _cause célèbre_ was that of the trial of Charles Reinhart, an employé of the North-West Company, who had been a sergeant in the disbanded De Meuron Regiment. Having gone to the North-West, he was during the troubles given charge of a Hudson's Bay Company official named Owen Keveny, against whom it was urged that he had maltreated a servant of the North-West Company. In bringing Keveny down from Lake Winnipeg to Rat Portage, it was brought against Reinhart that at a place called the Falls of the River Winnipeg, he had brutally killed the prisoner under his charge. While Lord Selkirk was at Fort William, Reinhart arrived at that point and made a voluntary confession before his Lordship as a magistrate. This case was afterwards tried at Quebec and gave rise to an argument as to the jurisdiction of the Court, viz. whether the point where the murder occurred on the River Winnipeg was in Upper Canada, Lower Canada, or the Indian territories. Though Reinhart was found guilty, sentence was not carried out, probably on account of the uncertainty of jurisdiction. The Reinhart case became an important precedent in settling the boundary line of Upper Canada, and also in dealing with the troubles arising out of the Riel rebellion of 1869. In the year after Colonel Coltman's return, numerous cases were referred to the Courts, all these arising out of the violence at Red River. Colonel Coltman had bound Lord Selkirk, though only accused of an offence amounting to a misdemeanour, in the large sum of 6,000_l._ and under two sureties of 3,000_l._ each--in all 12,000_l._ Mr. Gale, Lord Selkirk's legal adviser, called attention to the illegality of this proceeding, but all to no effect. After Lord Selkirk had settled up his affairs with his colonists, he journeyed south from the Red River to St. Louis in the Western States, and then went eastward to Albany in New York, whence he appeared in Sandwich in Upper Canada, the circuit town where information had been laid. Here he found four accusations made against him by the North-West Company. These were: (1) Having stolen eighty-three muskets at Fort William; (2) Having riotously entered Fort William, August 13th; (3) Assault and false imprisonment of Deputy-Sheriff Smith; (4) Resistance to legal warrant. On these matters being taken up, the first charge was so contradictory that the magistrates dismissed it; but the other three could not be dealt with on account of the absence of witnesses, and so bail was accepted from Lord Selkirk of 350_l._ for his appearance. When Lord Selkirk presented himself at Montreal to answer to the charges for which Colonel Coltman's heavy bail had bound him, the Court admitted it had no jurisdiction, but with singular high-handedness bound Lord Selkirk to appear in Upper Canada under the same bail. In Montreal in May, 1818, an action was brought before Chief Justice Monk and Justice Bowen against Colin Robertson and four others, charging them with riotously destroying Fort Gibraltar, the Nor'-Wester fort. A number of witnesses were called, including Miles Macdonell, John Pritchard, Auguste Cadot, and others. A verdict of not guilty was rendered. In September of the same year a charge was laid against Lord Selkirk and others of a conspiracy to ruin the trade of the North-West Company. This was before the celebrated Chief Justice Powell. The grand jury refused to give the Chief Justice an answer in the case. The Court was summarily adjourned, and legislation was introduced at the next meeting of the Legislature of Upper Canada to remedy defects in the Act in order that the case might be tried. Afterward the cases were taken up in York, and Deputy-Sheriff Smith was given a verdict against Lord Selkirk for 500_l._, and McKenzie, a North-West partner, a verdict of 1,500_l._ for false imprisonment at Fort William. The general impression has always prevailed there that the whole procedure in these cases against Lord Selkirk was high-handed and unjust, though it is quite possible that Lord Selkirk had exceeded his powers in the troubled state of affairs at Fort William. On his Lordship's side charges were also brought in October, 1818. In the full Court Chief Justice Powell and Justices Campbell and Boulter presided. The most notable of these cases was against Cuthbert Grant, Boucher, and sixteen others as either principals or accessories in the murder of Robert Semple on June 19th, 1816. A few days later, in the same month, a slightly different charge was brought against six of the North-West partners in connection with the murder of Governor Semple. Upwards of three hundred pages of evidence gave a minute and complete account of the affair of Seven Oaks and of the whole conflict as found in a volume of Canadian trials. In these two cases a verdict of not guilty was also rendered. Two other trials, one by Lord Selkirk's party against Paul Brown for robbery of a blanket and a gun, and the other against John Cooper and Hugh Bannerman for stealing a cannon in a dwelling-house of Lord Selkirk, were also carried through, with in both cases a verdict of not guilty. The evidence in these cases was printed by both parties, with foot-notes, giving a colour to each side concerned of a more favourable kind. So much for this most disheartening controversy. It would be idle to say that Lord Selkirk was faultless; but as we dispassionately read the accounts of the trials, and consider that while Lord Selkirk was friendless in Canada, the North-West Company had enormous influence, we cannot resist the conclusion that advantage was taken of his Lordship, and that justice was not done. It is true that, in the majority of cases, the conclusion was reached that it was impossible to precisely place the blame on either side; but we cannot be surprised that Lord Selkirk, harassed and discouraged by the difficulties of his colony and his treatment in the courts of Upper Canada and Lower Canada, should write as he did in October, 1818, to the Duke of Richmond, the new Governor-General of Canada:-- "To contend alone and unsupported, not only against a powerful association of individuals, but also against all those whose official duty it should have been to arrest them in the prosecution of their crimes, was at the best an arduous task; and, however confident one might be of the intrinsic strength of his cause, it was impossible to feel a very sanguine expectation that this alone would be sufficient to bear him up against the swollen tide of corruption which threatened to overwhelm him. He knew that in persevering under existing circumstances he must necessarily submit to a heavy sacrifice of personal comfort, incur an expense of ruinous amount, and possibly render himself the object of harassing and relentless persecution." Though Lord Selkirk crossed the Atlantic in 1818, yet the sounds of the judicial battle through which he had passed were still in his ears. In June his friend, Sir James Montgomery, brought the matter before the British House of Commons, moving for all the official papers in the case. The motion was carried, and the Blue Book containing this matter is a store-house where we may find the chief facts of this long and heart-breaking struggle recorded. In June, 1818, we find in a copy of a letter in the possession of the writer, written by Sir Walter Scott, a reference to the very poor health of his Lordship. Worn out and heart-broken by his trials, Lord Selkirk did not rally, but in the course of a few months died at Pau, in the South of France, April, 1820. His Countess and daughters had accompanied him to Montreal on his Canadian visit, and they were now with him to soothe his dying hours and to see him laid to rest in the Protestant cemetery of Orthes. Though he was engaged in a difficult undertaking in seeking so early in the century to establish a colony on the Red River, and though it has been common to represent him as being half a century before his time, yet we cannot resist the conclusion that he was an honourable, patriotic, and far-seeing man, and that the burden of right in this grand conflict was on his side. CHAPTER XXVIII. MEN WHO PLAYED A PART. The crisis reached--Consequences of Seven Oaks--The noble Earl--His generous spirit--His mistakes--Determined courage--Deserves the laurel crown--The first Governor--Macdonell's difficulties--His unwise step--A Captain in red--Cameron's adroitness--A wearisome imprisonment--Last governor of Fort Gibraltar--The Metis chief--Half-breed son of old Cuthbert--A daring hunter--Warden of the plains--Lord Selkirk's agent--A Red River patriarch--A faithful witness--The French bard--Western war songs--Pierriche Falcon. The skirmish of Seven Oaks was the most notable event that ever occurred on the prairies of Rupert's Land or in the limits of the fur country. It was the crisis which indicated the determination of the Company, whose years were numbered by a century and a half, to hold its own in a great contest, and of the pluck of a British nobleman to show the "_perfervidum ingenium Scotorum_," and unflinchingly to meet either in arms or legal conflict the fur-trading oligarchy of that time in Canada. It represented, too, the fierce courage and desperate resource of the traders of the great Canadian Company, who, we have seen, were called by Washington Irving "the lords of the lakes and forests." It was also the _dénouement_ which led the Old and the New Worlds' fur companies, despite the heat of passion and their warmth of sentiment, to make a peace which saved both from impending destruction. It led, moreover, to the sealing up for half a century of Rupert's Land to all energetic projects and influx of population, and allowed Sir George Simpson to build up for the time being the empire of the buffalo, the beaver, and the fox, instead of developing a home of industry. Crises such as this develop character and draw out the powers of men who would otherwise waste their sweetness on the desert air. The shock of meeting of two such great bodies as the Hudson's Bay Company and the North-West Company enabled men to show courage, loyalty, honest indignation, decision of character, shrewdness, diplomatic skill, and great endurance. These are the elements of human character. It is ever worth while to examine the motives, features of action, and ends aimed at by men under the trying circumstances of such a conflict. At the risk of some repetition we give sketches of the lives of several of the leading persons concerned. THE EARL OF SELKIRK. [Illustration: LORD SELKIRK.] Chief, certainly, of the actors who appeared on this stage was Lord Selkirk. Born to the best traditions of the Scottish nobility, Thomas Douglas belonged to the Angus-Selkirk family, which represented the Douglases of Border story, one of whom boasted that no ancestor of his had for ten generations died within chambers. Lord Daer, as his title then was, had studied at Edinburgh University, was an intimate friend of Sir Walter Scott, and though a Lowlander, had formed a great attachment for the Highlanders and had learned their language. He was, moreover, of most active mind, broad sympathies, and generous impulses. At the age of thirty years, having become Earl of Selkirk, he sought to take part in assisting the social condition of Britain, which was suffering greatly from the Napoleonic wars. He took a large colony of Highlanders to Prince Edward Island, acquired land in Upper Canada and also in New York State, and then, solely for the purpose of helping on his emigration project, entered on the gigantic undertaking of gaining control of the Hudson's Bay Company. In all these things he succeeded. We have seen the conflicts into which he was led and the manly way in which he conducted himself. We do not say he made no mistakes. We frankly admit that he went beyond the ordinary powers of a magistrate's commission at Fort William. But we believe his aim was good. He was convinced that the Nor'-Westers had no legal right to the Hudson's Bay Company lands over which they traded. He believed them to be unscrupulous and dangerous, and his course was taken to meet the exigency of the case. It must be remembered his responsibility was a great one. His Highland and Irish colonists at Red River were helpless; he was their only defence; no British law was present at Red River to help them. They were regarded as intruders, as enemies of the fur trade, and he felt that loyalty and right compelled him to act as he did. No doubt it seemed to the Canadian traders--who considered themselves as the successors of the French who, more than three-quarters of a century before, had established forts at what was called the post of the Western Sea--a high-handed and even foolhardy thing to bring his colony by way of Hudson Bay, and to plant them down at the forks on Red River, in a remote and probably unsuccessful colony. However, in the main the legal right was with his Lordship. The popular feeling in Canada toward Lord Selkirk was far from being a pure one, and a fair-minded person can hardly refrain from saying it was an interested and selfish one. Certainly, as we see him, Lord Selkirk was a high-minded, generous, far-seeing, adventurous, courageous, and honourable man. We may admit that his opinion of the North-West Company opponents was a prejudiced and often unjust one. But we linger on the picture of his Lordship returning from Montreal with his Countess, their two young daughters, the one afterward Lady Isabella Hope, and the other Lady Katherine Wigram, with the young boy who grew up to be the last Earl of Selkirk; we think of him worried by the lawsuits and penalties of which we have spoken, going home to meet the British Government somewhat prejudiced against him as having been a personage in what they considered a dangerous _émeute_: we follow him passing over to France, attended by his family, and dying in a foreign land--and we are compelled to say, how often does the world persecute its benefactors and leave its greatest uncrowned. The Protestant cemetery at Orthes contains the bones of one who, under other circumstances, might have been crowned with laurel. GOVERNOR MILES MACDONELL. Engaged by Lord Selkirk to lead his first company and superintend the planting of his colony, Capt. Miles Macdonell found himself thrust into a position of danger and responsibility as local governor at Red River. He was a man with a considerable experience. Of Highland origin, he had with his father, John Macdonell, called "Scotas," from his residence in Scotland, settled in the valley of the Mohawk River, on the estates of Sir William Johnson, in New York State. The estates of Sir William were a hotbed of loyalism, and here was enlisted by his son, Sir John Johnson, under the authority of the British Government, at the time of the American Revolution, the well-known King's Royal Regiment of New York, familiarly known as the "Royal Greens." The older Macdonell was a captain in this regiment, and Miles, as a boy of fifteen, was commissioned as ensign. Afterward the young Macdonell returned to Scotland, where he married, and again came to Canada. Following a military career, he was engaged by Lord Selkirk shortly before the war of 1812 to lead his colony to the Red River. We have seen how faithfully, both at York Factory and the Red River, he served his Lordship. The chief point in dispute in connection with Governor Macdonell is whether the embargo against the export of supplies from Red River in 1814 was legal or not. If it was not, then on him rests much of the responsibility for the troubles which ensued. The seizure of pemmican, belonging to the North-West Company, at the mouth of the Souris River, seems to have been high-handed. Undoubtedly Miles Macdonell believed it to be necessary for the support of the settlers in the country. His life was one of constant worry after this event. Reprisals began between the parties. These at length ended in Miles Macdonell being seized by the North-West Company agents on June 22nd, 1815, and taken as a prisoner to Fort William, and thence to Montreal. Macdonell lived upon the Ottawa till the time of his death in 1828. He was a man of good mind and seemingly honest intentions. His military education and experience probably gave him the habits of regularity and decision which led to the statement made of him by the Hon. William McGillivray, "that he conducted himself like a Turkish bashaw." The justification of Governor Macdonell seems to be that the Nor'-Westers had determined early in the history of the colony to destroy it, so that the charges made against the Governor were merely an advantage taken of disputed points. Capt. Macdonell's management at York Factory was certainly judicious, and there seems but the one debatable point in his administration of Red River, and that was the proclamation of January 8th, 1814. DUNCAN CAMERON. One of the most notable leaders on the Nor'-Wester side was Duncan Cameron, who has the distinction of being the last commanding officer of Fort Gibraltar. Like Miles Macdonell, Duncan Cameron was the son of a Highland U. E. Loyalist, who had been settled on the Hudson in New York State. He entered the North-West Company in 1785 and fourteen years after was in charge of Nepigon district, as we have seen. He gained much distinction for his company by his daring and skilful management of the plan to induce the Selkirk settlers to leave Red River and settle in Upper Canada. Coming from the meeting of the Nor'-Westers in Grand Portage, in 1814 Cameron took up his abode in Fort Gibraltar, and according to the story of his opponents did so with much pomp and circumstance. Miles Macdonell says:--"Mr. Duncan Cameron arrived at Red River, sporting a suit of military uniform, gave himself out as captain in his Majesty's service, and acting by the King's authority for Sir George Prevost." Every well-informed person looked upon this as a self-created appointment, at most a North-West trick; but it had a very considerable effect upon the lower class of people. In regard to this the writer in his work on "Manitoba," London, 1882, took up strong ground against Cameron. The calming influence of years, and the contention which has been advanced that there was some ground for Cameron claiming the commission in the "Voyageur Corps" which he formerly held, has led the writer to modify his opinion somewhat as to Cameron. Cameron succeeded in leading away about three-quarters of the colony. This he was appointed to do and he seems to have done it faithfully. The means by which he appealed to the Highland colonists may have been less dignified than might have been desired, yet his warm Highland nature attracted his own countrymen in the settlement, and they probably needed little persuasion to escape from their hardships to what was to them the promised land of Upper Canada. In the following year (1816), as already stated, Cameron was in command of Fort Gibraltar, and it was determined by Governor Semple to destroy the North-West fort and bring its material down the river to supplement the colony establishment, Fort Douglas. Before this was done the same treatment that was given to Governor Macdonell by the Nor'-Westers in arresting him was meted out to Cameron. He was seized by Colin Robertson and carried away to York Factory, to be taken as a prisoner to England. This high-handed proceeding was objectionable on several grounds. The Imperial Parliament had transferred the right of dealing with offences committed in Rupert's Land to the Courts of Canada, so that Robertson's action was clearly _ultra vires_. Moreover, if the Hudson's Bay Company under its charter exercised authority, it is questionable whether that gave the right to send a prisoner to Britain for trial, the more that no definite charge was laid against Cameron. Certainly Cameron had reason to complain of great injustice in this arrest. Taking him all in all, he was a hot, impulsive Highland leader of men, persuasive and adroit, and did not hesitate to adopt the means lying nearest to attain his purpose. The fact that from 1823 to 1828, after he had left the Company's service, he represented the County of Glengarry in the Upper Canadian Legislature, shows that those who knew him best had a favourable opinion about this last commander of Fort Gibraltar. Fort Gibraltar was never rebuilt, its place and almost its very site under the United Company being taken by the original Fort Garry. Sir Roderick Cameron, of New York, who has been connected with the Australian trade, was a son of Duncan Cameron. CUTHBERT GRANT. The skirmish of Seven Oaks brought into view a fact that had hardly made itself known before, viz., that a new race, the Metis, or half-breed children of the fur traders and employés by Indian women, were becoming a guild or body able to exert its influence and beginning to realize its power. Of this rising and somewhat dangerous body a young Scottish half-breed, Cuthbert Grant, had risen to sudden prominence as the leader. His father, of the same name, had been a famous North-West trader, and was looked upon as the special guardian of the Upper Assiniboine and Swan River district. He had died in 1799, but influential as he had been, the son became from circumstances much more so. The North-West Company knew that the Scottish courage and endurance would stand them in good stead, and his Indian blood would give him a great following in the country. Educated in Montreal, he was fitted to be the leader of his countrymen. His dash and enthusiasm were his leading characteristics. When the war party came down from Qu'Appelle and Portage La Prairie, young Cuthbert Grant was its natural leader. When the fight took place he was well to the front in the _mêlée_, and it is generally argued that his influence was exerted toward saving the wounded and preventing acts of barbarity, such as savage races are prone to when the passions are aroused. On the night of June 19th, when the victory had come to his party, Cuthbert Grant took possession of Fort Douglas, and the night was one for revelry exceeding what his Highland forbears had ever seen, or equal to any exultation of the Red man in his hour of triumph. In after years, when peace had been restored, Cuthbert Grant settled in the neighbourhood of White Horse Plains, a region twenty miles west of Red River on the Assiniboine, and here became an influential man. He was the leader of the hunt against the buffalo, on which every year the adventurous young men went to bring back their winter supply of food. In order that this might be properly managed, to protect life in a dangerous sport and to preserve the buffalo from wanton destruction, strict rules were agreed on and penalties attached to their breach. The officer appointed by the Council of Assiniboia to carry out these laws was called the "Warden of the Plains." This office Cuthbert Grant filled. Of the fifteen members of the Council of Assiniboia, Grant was one, and he largely reflected the opinion of the French half-breed population of the Red River settlement. He was the hero of the plain hunters, and the native bards never ceased to sing his praises. His case is a remarkable example of the power that native representatives obtain among mixed communities. JOHN PRITCHARD. The name of John Pritchard carries us back on the Red River to the beginning of the century--to a time even before the coming of the Selkirk colony. His descendants to the fourth generation are still found in Manitoba and are well known. He was born in 1777 in a small village in Shropshire, England, and received his education in the famous Grammar School of Shrewsbury. Early in the century he emigrated to Montreal. At that time the ferment among the fur traders was great. The old North-West Company of Montreal had split into sections, and to the new Company, or X Y Company, young Pritchard was attached. We first hear of him at the mouth of the Souris River in 1805, and shortly after in charge of one of the forts at that point where the Souris River empties into the Assiniboine. We have already given the incident of Pritchard being lost on the prairie for forty days. Pritchard does not seem to have taken kindly to the United North-West Company, for at the time of the Seven Oaks affair we find him as one of the garrison occupying Fort Douglas, although he represents himself as being a settler on the Red River. After the skirmish of Seven Oaks Pritchard sought to escape with the other settlers to the north of Lake Winnipeg, but was made prisoner by the North-West Company's agents and taken to Fort William. Thence he went east to Montreal and gave evidence in connection with the trials arising out of the Red River troubles. Pritchard was a capable and ready man. His evidence is clear and well expressed. He had much facility in doing business, and had a smooth, diplomatic manner that stood him in good stead in troublous times. Pritchard afterwards entered Lord Selkirk's service and as his agent went over to London. Returning to the Red River settlement, he married among the people of Kildonan, and lived not far from the Kildonan Church, on the east side of the river. A number of his letters have been printed, which show that he took a lively interest in the affairs of the settlement, especially in its religious concerns. It is not, then, remarkable that among his descendants there should be no less than seven clergymen of the Church of England. It is interesting to know that the Hudson's Bay Company voted him about 1833 a gratuity of 25_l._ in consideration of valuable services rendered by him to education, and especially in the establishment of Sunday schools and day schools. This man, whose life was a chronicle of the history of the settlement, passed away in 1856 and was buried in St. John's Churchyard. PIERRE FALCON, THE RHYMESTER. Among the wild rout of the Nor'-Westers at the skirmish of Seven Oaks was a young French half-breed, whose father was a French Canadian engaged in the fur trade, and his mother an Indian woman from the Missouri country. The young combatant had been born in 1793, at Elbow Fort, in the Swan River district. Taken as a child to Canada, young Pierre lived for a time at Laprairie, and at the age of fifteen returned with his father to the Red River, and with him engaged in the service of the North-West Company. What part Falcon took in the affair at Seven Oaks we are not told, except that he behaved bravely, and saw Governor Semple killed. Pierre Falcon was, however, the bard or poet of his people. This characteristic of Falcon is quite remarkable, considered in connection with the time and circumstances. That a man who was unable to read or write should have been able to describe the striking events of his time in verse is certainly a notable thing. He never tires singing in different times and metres the valour of the Bois Brûlés at Seven Oaks. "Voulez-vous écouter chanter Une chanson de vérité? Le dix-neuf Juin, la bande des Bois Brûlés Sont arrivés comme des braves guerriers." Then with French gaiety and verve he gives an account of the attack on the Orkneymen, as he calls them, and recites the Governor's action and his death. Falcon finishes up the chanson with a wild hurrah of triumph-- "Les Bois Brûlés jetaient des cris de joie." The lively spirit of the rhymester broke out in song upon all the principal events which agitated the people of the settlement. Joseph Tassé, to whom we are chiefly indebted in this sketch, says of him, "all his compositions are not of the same interest, but they are sung by our voyageurs to the measured stroke of the oar, on the most distant rivers and lakes of the North-West. The echoes of the Assiniboine, the Mackenzie, and Hudson Bay will long repeat them." The excitable spirit of the rhymer never left him. At the time of the Riel rebellion (1869-70) Falcon was still alive, and though between seventy and eighty years of age, he wished to march off with his gun to the fray, declaring that "while the enemy would be occupied in killing him his friends would be able to give hard and well-directed blows to them." For about half a century he lived on the White Horse Plains, twenty miles or more up the Assiniboine from Winnipeg, and became an influential man in the neighbourhood. His mercurial disposition seems to have become more settled than in his fiery youth, for though unlettered, he was made a justice of the peace. His verse-making was, of course, of a very simple and unfinished kind. One of his constant fashions was to end it with a declaration that it was made by Falcon, the singer of his people. "Qui en a fait la chanson? Un poète de canton; Au bout de la chanson Nous vous le nommerons. Un jour étant à table, A boire et à chanter, A chanter tout au long La nouvelle chanson. Amis, buvons, trinquons, Saluons la chanson De Pierriche Falcon, Ce faiseur de chanson." The last line being often varied to "Pierre Falcon, le bon garçon." CHAPTER XXIX. GOVERNOR SIMPSON UNITES ALL INTERESTS. Both Companies in danger--Edward Ellice, a mediator--George Simpson, the man of destiny--Old feuds buried--Gatherings at Norway House--Governor Simpson's skill--His marvellous energy--Reform in trade--Morality low--A famous canoe voyage--Salutes fired--Pompous ceremony at Norway House--Strains of the bagpipe--Across the Rocky Mountains--Fort Vancouver visited--Great executive ability--The governor knighted--Sir George goes around the world--Troubles of a book--Meets the Russians--Estimate of Sir George. Affairs in Rupert's Land had now reached their worst and had begun to mend, the strong hand of British law had made itself felt, and hostilities had ceased from Fort William to far-off Qu'Appelle and to the farther distant Mackenzie River. The feeling of antagonism was, however, stirring in the bosoms of both parties. The death of Lord Selkirk in France brought the opposing fur traders closer together, and largely through the influence of Hon. Edward Ellice, a prominent Nor'-Wester, a reconciliation between the hostile Companies took place and a union was formed on March 26th, 1821, under the name of the Hudson's Bay Company. The affairs of both Companies had been brought to the verge of destruction by the conflicts, and the greatest satisfaction prevailed both in England and Canada at the union. The prospect now was that the stability of the English Company and the energy of the Canadian combination would result in a great development of the fur trade. As is so often the case, the man for the occasion also appeared. This was not an experienced man, not a man long trained in the fur trade, not even a man who had done more than spend the winter in the fur country at Lake Athabasca. He was simply a young clerk, who had approved himself in the London Hudson's Bay Company office to Andrew Colville, a relation of the Earl of Selkirk. He was thus free from the prejudices of either party and young enough to be adaptable in the new state of things. This man was George Simpson, a native of Ross-shire, in Scotland. He was short of stature, but strong, vigorous, and observing. He was noted for an ease and affability of manner that stood him in good stead all through his forty years of experience as chief officer of the Hudson's Bay Company. He became a noted traveller, and made the canoe voyage from Montreal to the interior many times. For many years the Nor'-Westers, as we have seen, held their annual gathering at Grand Portage on Lake Superior, and it was to this place that the chief officers had annually resorted. The new element of the English Company coming in from Hudson Bay now made a change necessary. Accordingly, Norway House on Lake Winnipeg became the new centre, and for many years the annual gathering of the Company leaders in the active trade took place here. The writer has had the privilege of perusing the minutes of some of these gatherings, which were held shortly after Governor Simpson was appointed. These are valuable as showing the work done by the young Governor and his method of dealing with difficulties. [Illustration: SIR GEORGE SIMPSON.] While it has always been said that Governor Simpson was dictatorial and overbearing, it will be seen that at this stage he was conciliatory and considerate. He acted like the chairman of a representative body of men called together to consult over their affairs, the members having equal rights. On June 23rd, 1823, one of his first meetings was held at Norway House. Reports were given in detail from the various posts and districts in turn. Bow River, at the foot of the Rocky Mountains, was reported as abandoned; from the Upper Red River, it was stated that on account of prairie fires the buffalo were few, and that the wild Assiniboines had betaken themselves to the Saskatchewan to enjoy its plenty. From Lower Red River came the news that the attempt to prevent the natives trading in furs had been carried rather too far. Furs belonging to a petty trader, Laronde, had been seized, confiscated, and sent to Hudson Bay. It was learned that Laronde had not been duly aware of the new regulations, and it was ordered that compensation be made to him. This was done, and he and his family were fully satisfied. The Catholic Mission at Pembina had been moved down to the Forks, where now St. Boniface stands, and the desire was expressed that the traders should withdraw their trade as much as possible from the south side of the United States' boundary line. The reports from the Selkirk settlement were of a favourable kind. The Sioux, who had come from their land of the Dakotas to meet Lord Selkirk, were not encouraged to make any further visits. The Selkirk colony was said to be very prosperous, and it is stated that it was the intention of the new Company soon to take over the property belonging to Lord Selkirk in the colony. Some conflicts had arisen in the Lac La Pluie (Rainy Lake) district, and these were soothed and settled. Reference is made to the fact that Grand Portage having been found to be on United States' territory, new arrangements had been made for avoiding collision with the Americans. Reports were even given in of prosperous trade in the far-distant Columbia, and steps were taken at various points to reduce the number of posts, the union of the Companies having made this possible. In all these proceedings, there may be seen the influence of the diplomatic and shrewd young Governor doing away with difficulties and making plans for the extension of a successful trade in the future. It was not surprising that the Council invested Governor Simpson with power to act during the adjournment. Sometimes at Moose Factory, now at York, then at Norway House, and again at Red River, the energetic Governor paid his visits. He was noted for the imperious and impetuous haste with which he drove his voyageurs through the lonely wilds. For years a story was prevalent in the Red River country that a stalwart French voyageur, who was a favourite with the Governor, was once, in crossing the Lake of the Woods, so irritated by the Governor's unreasonable urging, that he seized his tormentor, who was small in stature, by the shoulders, and dipped him into the lake, giving vent to his feelings in an emphatic French oath. [Illustration: FORT WILLIAM, LAKE SUPERIOR. _As seen by the writer in 1865._] The Governor knew how to attach his people to himself, and he gathered around him in the course of his career of forty years a large number of men most devoted to the interests of the Company. His visits to Fort Garry on the Red River were always notable. He was approachable to the humblest, and listened to many a complaint and grievance with apparent sympathy and great patience. He had many of the arts of the courtier along with his indomitable will. At another of his gatherings at Norway House with the traders in 1823 we have records of the greatest interest. The canoe had been the favourite craft of the Nor'-Westers, but he now introduced boats and effected a saving of one-third in wages, and he himself superintended the sending of an expedition of four boats with twenty men by way of Nelson River from York Factory to far distant Athabasca. He was quick to see those who were the most profitable as workmen for the Company. On one occasion he gives his estimate as follows: "Canadians (i.e., French Canadians) preferable to Orkneymen. Orkneymen less expensive, but slow. Less physical strength and spirits. Obstinate if brought young into the service. Scotch and Irish, when numerous, quarrelsome, independent, and mutinous." At this time it was determined to give up the practice of bestowing presents upon the Indians. It was found better to pay them liberally for their pelts, making them some advances for clothing. The minutes state at this time that there was little progress in the moral and religious instruction of the Indians. The excessive use of spirits, which still continued, was now checked; the quantity given in 1822 and 1823 was reduced one-half and the strength of the spirits lowered. Missionaries could not be employed with success, on account of the small number of Indians at any one point. The only hope seemed to be to have schools at Red River and to remove the children from their parents to these. Many difficulties, arising from the objections of the parents, were, however, sure to come in the way. Evidences were not wanting of chief factors being somewhat alienated from the Governor, but those dissatisfied were promptly invited to the Council and their coolness removed. In carrying out discipline among the men some difficulty was experienced, as the long conflicts between the Companies had greatly demoralized the employés. One plan suggested was that offenders should be fined and the fines vested in a charitable fund. It was found that this would only do for Europeans. "A blow was better for a Canadian," and though this was highly reprobated, it was justified by experience. At a meeting at York Factory instructions were given to Chief Factor Stuart on Lake Superior to complete and launch a new vessel much larger than the _Discovery_, then afloat. Captain Bayfield, R.N., the British officer surveying the lakes, wintered at this time with his crew at Fort William, and the work of surveying the lakes promised to take him three summers. The following entry, September 5th, 1823, shows the considerate way in which the Governor sought the advice of his Council:--"Governor Simpson requested permission to visit England. If granted, will hold himself ready to return to Canada in 1825 and proceed by express canoe in time to make arrangements for the season." At the same date, 1823, a step in advance was taken in having a permanent and representative council to regulate the affairs of Red River Settlement. The entry reads, "Captain Robert Parker Pelly, Governor of Assiniboia, Rev. Mr. West, Rev. Mr. Jones, Mr. Logan added to the council. Jacob Corrigal, chief trader, appointed sheriff, vice Andrew Stewart, deceased. Rev. Mr. Jones appointed chaplain at a salary of 100_l._ during absence of Mr. West. He will officiate at Red River." There lies before the writer a work entitled "Peace River; a Canoe Voyage from the Hudson Bay to the Pacific." It was written by Archibald Macdonald and annotated between forty and fifty years after by Malcolm McLeod, of Ottawa. It gives a graphic account of the state maintained by Governor Simpson and his method of appealing to the imagination of the Indians and Company servants alike. The journey was made from ocean to ocean, the point of departure being York Factory, on Hudson Bay, and the destination Fort Vancouver, on the Columbia River. In addition to Macdonald, Governor Simpson took with him Dr. Hamlyn as medical adviser, and in two light canoes, provided with nine men each, the party went with extraordinary speed along the waterways which had already been the scenes of many a picturesque and even sanguinary spectacle. Fourteen chief officers--factors and traders--and as many more clerks were summoned on July 12th, 1828, to give a send-off to the important party. As the pageant passed up Hayes River, loud cheers were given and a salute of seven guns by the garrison. The voyageurs then struck up one of the famous chansons by which they beguiled the lonely waterways, and with their dashing paddles, hastened away to the interior. So well provided an expedition, with its tents for camping, suitable utensils for the camp fire, arms to meet any danger, provisions including wine for the gentlemen, and spirits for the voyageurs, was not long in ascending the watercourses to Norway House, where the outlet of Lake Winnipeg was reached. The arrival at Norway House was signalized by much pomp. The residents of the fort were on the qui vive for the important visitor. The Union Jack, with its magic letters "H. B. C.," floated from the tall flag-staff of Norway pine, erected on Signal Hill. Indians from their neighbouring haunts were present in large numbers, and the lordly Red men, at their best when "en fête," were accompanied by bevies of their dusky mates, who looked with admiring gaze on the "Kitche Okema" who was arriving. The party had prepared for the occasion. They had, before reaching the fort, landed and put themselves in proper trim and paid as much attention to their toilets as circumstances would permit. Fully ready, they resumed their journey, and with flashing paddles speeded through the deep rocky gorge, quickly turned the point, and from the gaudily painted canoe of the Governor with high prow, where sat the French Canadian guide, who for the time commanded, there pealed forth the strains of the bagpipes, while from the second canoe was heard the sound of the chief factor's bugle. As the canoes came near the shore, the soft and lively notes fell on the ear of "La Claire Fontaine" from the lively voyageurs. Altogether, it was a scene very impressive to the quiet residents of the post. The time of the Governor was very fully occupied at each stopping-place. A personal examination and inspection of each post, of its officers and employés, buildings, books, trade, and prospects was made with "greatest thoroughness." Fond as the Governor was of pomp, when the pageant was passed, then he was a man of iron will and keenest observation. His correspondence at each resting-place was great, and he was said to be able to do the work of three men, though twelve years after the date of the present journey he became affected with partial blindness. Fort Chipewyan had always maintained its pre-eminence as an important depôt of the fur trade. The travelling emperor of the fur traders was captured by its picturesque position as well as by its historic memories. Here he found William McGillivray, with whose name the fur traders conjured, and under invitation from the Governor the former Nor'-Wester and his family joined the party in crossing the Rockies. The waving of flags, firing of guns, shouting of the Indians and employés, and the sound of singing and bagpipe made the arrival and departure as notable as it had been at Norway House. A little more than a month after they had left York Factory the indomitable travellers entered Peace River, in order to cross the Rocky Mountains. Fort Vermilion, Fort Dunvegan, St. John, all had their objects of interest for the party, but one of the chief was that it was a scarce year, and at Dunvegan, as well as at Fort McLeod across the mountains, there was not enough of food at hand to supply the visitors. Cases of dispute were settled by the Governor, who presided with the air of a chief Justice. Caution and advice were given in the most impressive fashion, after the manner of a father confessor, to the Indians, fault being found with their revelries and the scenes of violence which naturally followed from these. From McLeod to Fort St. James the journey was made by land. Thus the crest of the Rocky Mountains was crossed, the voyageurs packing on their shoulders the impedimenta, and horses being provided for the gentlemen of the party. This was the difficult portage which so often tried the traders. Fort St. James, it will be remembered, was at Lake Stuart, where Fraser started on his notable journey down the Fraser River. It was the chief place and emporium of New Caledonia. The entry is thus described: "Unfurling the British ensign, it was given to the guide, who marched first. After him came the band, consisting of buglers and bagpipers. Next came the Governor, mounted, and behind him Hamlyn and Macdonald also on horses. Twenty men loaded like beasts of burden, formed the line; after them a loaded horse; and finally, McGillivray with his wife and family brought up the rear." Thus arranged, the imposing body was put in motion. Passing over a gentle elevation, they came in full view of the fort, when the bugle sounded, a gun was fired, and the bagpipes struck up the famous march of the clans, "Si coma leum codagh na sha" ("If you will it, war"). Trader Douglas, who was in charge of the fort, replied with small ordnance and guns, after which he advanced and received the distinguished visitors in front of the fort. Passing on, by September 24th the party came to Fort Alexandria, four days down the Fraser, and reached Kamloops, the junction of the North and South Thompson. At every point of importance, the Governor took occasion to assemble the natives and employés, and gave them good advice, "exhorting them to honesty, frugality, temperance," finishing his prelections with a gift of tobacco or some commodity appreciated by them. Running rapids, exposed to continual danger, but fortunate in their many escapes, they reached Fort Langley, near the mouth of the Fraser River, two days less than three months from the time of their starting from York Factory. From this point, Governor Simpson made his way to Fort Vancouver on the Columbia, then the chief post on the Pacific Coast, and in the following year returned over the mountains, satisfied that he had gained much knowledge and that he had impressed himself on trader, _engagé_, and Indian chief alike. With marvellous energy, the Governor-in-Chief, as he was called, covered the vast territory committed to his care. Establishments in unnecessary and unremunerative places were cut down or closed. Governor Simpson, while in some respects fond of the "show and circumstance" which an old and honourable Company could afford, was nevertheless a keen business man, and never forgot that he was the head of a Company whose object was trade. It cannot be denied that the personal element entered largely into his administration. He had his favourites among the traders, he was not above petty revenges upon those who thwarted his plans, and his decisions were sometimes harsh and tyrannical, but his long experience, extending over forty years, was marked on the whole by most successful administration and by a restoration of the prestige of the Company, so nearly destroyed at the time of the union. In the year 1839, when the Colonial Office was engaged in settling up the Canadian rebellion which a blundering colonial system had brought upon both Lower and Upper Canada, the British Government sought to strengthen itself among those who had loyally stood by British influence. Governor Simpson and the whole staff of the Hudson's Bay Company had been intensely loyal, and it was most natural and right that the young Queen Victoria, who had lately assumed the reins of power, should dispense such a favour as that of knighthood on the doughty leader of the fur traders. Sir George Simpson worthily bore the honours bestowed upon him by his Sovereign, and in 1841 undertook a voyage round the world, crossing, as he did so, Rupert's Land and the territories in his rapid march. Two portly volumes containing an itinerary of the voyage, filling nine hundred pages, appeared some five years after this Journey was completed. This work is given in the first person as a recital by the Governor of what he saw and passed through. Internal evidence, however, as well as local tradition on the Red River, shows another hand to have been concerned in giving it a literary form. It is reported that the moulding agent in style and arrangement was Judge Thom, the industrious and strong-minded recorder of the Red River Settlement. The work is dedicated to the directors of the Hudson's Bay Company. These were nine in number, and their names are nearly all well known in connection with the trade of this period. Sir John Henry Pelly, long famous for his leadership; Andrew Colville, Deputy-Governor, who, by family connection with Lord Selkirk, long held an important place; Benjamin Harrison; John Halkett, another kinsman of Lord Selkirk; H. H. Berens; A. Chapman, M.P.; Edward Ellice, M.P., a chief agent in the Union and a most famous trader; the Earl of Selkirk, the son of the founder; and R. Weynton. The names of almost all these traders will be found commemorated in forts and trading-posts throughout Rupert's Land. Leaving London, March 3rd, 1841, the Governor called at Halifax, but disembarked at Boston, went by land to Montreal, and navigation being open on May 4th on the St. Lawrence, he and his party started and soon reached Ste. Anne, on Montreal Island. The evidence of the humour of Sir George's editor, who knew Montreal well, is seen in his referring to Moore's "Canadian Boat Song," in saying, "At Ste. Anne's Rapid, on the Ottawa, we neither sang our evening hymn nor bribed the Lady Patroness with shirts, caps, &c., for a propitious journey; but proceeded." Following the old canoe route, Georgian Bay and Lake Superior were soon passed over, though on the latter lake the expedition was delayed about a week by the ice, and here too Sir George met the sad news of the unfortunate death of his kinsman, Thomas Simpson, of whom we shall speak more fully in connection with Arctic exploration. Taking the route from Fort William by Kaministiquia, the travellers hastened over the course by way of Rainy Lake and River and Lake of the Woods. In referring to Rainy River the somewhat inflated style of the editor makes Sir George speak without the caution which every fur trader was directed to cultivate in revealing the resources of the fur country. A decade afterwards Mr. Roebuck, before the Committee of the House of Commons, "heckled" Sir George over this fulsome passage. The passage is: "From the very brink of the river (Rainy River) there rises a gentle slope of greenwood, crowned in many places with a plentiful growth of birch, poplar, beech, elm, and oak. Is it too much for the eye of philanthropy to discern, through the vista of futurity, this noble stream, connecting, as it does, the fertile shores of two spacious lakes, with crowded steamboats on its bosom and populous towns on its borders?" Following the usual route by River Winnipeg, Lake Winnipeg, and Red River, Fort Garry was soon reached, and here the Governor somewhat changed his plans. He determined to cross the prairies by light conveyances, and accordingly on July 3rd, at five in the morning, with his fellow-travellers, with only six men, three horses, and one light cart, the Emperor of the Plains left Fort Garry under a salute and with the shouting of the spectators, as he started on his journey to skirt the winding Assiniboine River. A thousand miles over the prairie in July is one of the most cheery and delightsome journeys that can be made. The prairie flowers abound, their colours have not yet taken on the full blaze of yellow to be seen a month later, and the mosquitoes have largely passed away on the prairies. The weather, though somewhat warm, is very rarely oppressive on the plains, where a breeze may always be felt. This long journey the party made with most reckless speed--doing it in three weeks, and arriving at Edmonton House, to be received by the firing of guns and the presence of nine native chiefs of the Blackfeet, Piegans, Sarcees, and Bloods, dressed in their grandest clothes and decorated with scalp locks. "They implored me," says the Governor, "to grant their horses might always be swift, that the buffalo might instantly abound, and that their wives might live long and look young." Four days sufficed at Edmonton on the North Saskatchewan to provide the travellers with forty-five fresh horses. They speedily passed up the Saskatchewan River, meeting bands of hostile Sarcees, using supplies of pemmican, and soon catching their first view of the white peaks of the Rocky Mountains. Deep muskegs and dense jungles were often encountered, but all were overcome by the skill and energy of the expert fur trader Row and their guide. Through clouds of mosquitoes they advanced until the sublime mountain scenery was beheld whenever it was not obscured with the smoke arising from the fires through this region, which was suffering from a very dry season. At length Fort Colville, on the Columbia River, was gained after nearly one thousand miles from Edmonton; and this journey, much of it mountain travelling, had averaged forty miles a day. The party from Fort Garry had been travelling constantly for six weeks and five days, and they had averaged eleven and a half hours a day in the saddle. The weather had been charming, with a steady cloudless sky, the winds were light, the nights cool, and the only thing to be lamented was the appearance of the whole party, who, with tattered garments and crownless hats, entered the fort. Embarking below the Chaudière Falls of the Columbia, the company took boats, worked by six oars each, and the water being high they were able to make one hundred, and even more miles a day, in due course reaching Fort Vancouver. At Fort Vancouver Governor Simpson met Trader Douglas--afterward Sir James Douglas. He accompanied the party, which now took horses and crossed country by a four days' journey to Fort Nisqually. Here on the shore of Puget Sound lay the ship _Beaver_, and embarking on her the party went on their journey to Sitka, the chief place in Alaska, whence the Governor exchanged dignified courtesies with the Russian Governor Etholin, and enjoyed the hospitality of his "pretty and lady-like" wife. In addition, Governor Simpson examined into the Company's operations (the Hudson's Bay Company had obtained exclusive licence of this sleepy Alaska for twenty years longer), and found the trade to be 10,000 fur seals, 1000 sea otters, 12,000 beaver, 2500 land otters,----foxes and martins, 20,000 sea-horse teeth. The return journey was made, the _Beaver_ calling, as she came down the coast, at Forts Stikine, Simpson, and McLoughlin. In due course Fort Vancouver was reached again. Sir George's journey to San Francisco, thence to Sandwich Islands, again direct to Alaska, and then westward to Siberia, and over the long journey through Siberia on to St. Petersburg, we have no special need to describe in connection with our subject. The great traveller reached Britain, having journeyed round the globe in the manner we have seen, in nineteen months and twenty-six days. Enough has been shown of Sir George's career, his administration, method of travel, and management, to bring before us the character of the man. At times he was accompanied on his voyages to more accessible points by Lady Simpson, and her name is seen in the post of Fort Frances on Rainy River and in Lake Frances on the upper waters of the Liard River, discovered and named by Chief Factor Robert Campbell. Sir George lived at Lachine, near Montreal, where so many retired Hudson's Bay Company men have spent the sunset of their days. He took an interest in business projects in Montreal, held stock at one time in the Allan Line of steamships, and was regarded as a leader in business and affairs in Montreal. He passed away in 1860. Sir E. W. Watkin, in his work, "Recollections of Canada and the States," gives a letter from Governor Dallas, who succeeded Sir George, in which reference is made to "the late Sir George Simpson, who for a number of years past lived at his ease at Lachine, and attended more apparently to his own affairs than to those of the Company." Whether this is a true statement, or simply the biassed view of Dallas, who was rather rash and inconsiderate, it is hard for us to decide. Governor Simpson lifted the fur trade out of the depth into which it had fallen, harmonised the hostile elements of the two Companies, reduced order out of chaos in the interior, helped, as we shall see, various expeditions for the exploration of Rupert's Land, and though, as tradition goes and as his journey around the world shows, he never escaped from the witchery of a pretty face, yet the business concerns of the Company were certainly such as to gain the approbation of the financial world. CHAPTER XXX. THE LIFE OF THE TRADERS. Lonely trading posts--Skilful letter writers--Queer old Peter Fidler--Famous library--A remarkable will--A stubborn Highlander--Life at Red River--Badly-treated Pangman--Founding trading houses--Beating up recruits--Priest Provencher--A fur-trading mimic--Life far north--"Ruled with a rod of iron"--Seeking a fur country--Life in the canoe--A trusted trader--Sheaves of letters--A find in Edinburgh--Faithful correspondents--The Bishop's cask of wine--Red River, a "land of Canaan"--Governor Simpson's letters--The gigantic Archdeacon writes--"MacArgrave's" promotion--Kindly Sieveright--Traders and their books. It was an empire that Governor Simpson established in the solitudes of Rupert's Land. The chaos which had resulted from the disastrous conflict of the Companies was by this Napoleon of the fur trade reduced to order. Men who had been in arms against one another--Macdonell against Macdonell, McLeod against McLeod--learned to work together and gathered around the same Council Board. The trade was put upon a paying basis, the Indians were encouraged, and under a peaceful rule the better life of the traders began to grow up. It is true this social life was in many respects unique. The trading posts were often hundreds of miles apart, being scattered over the area from Labrador to New Caledonia. Still, during the summer, brigades of traders carried communications from post to post, and once or twice in winter the swift-speeding dog-trains hastened for hundreds of miles with letters and despatches over the icy wastes. There grew up during the well-nigh forty years of George Simpson's governorship a comradeship of a very strong and influential kind. Leading posts like York Factory on Hudson Bay, Fort Garry in the Red River settlement, Fort Simpson on the Mackenzie River, and Fort Victoria on the Pacific Coast, were not only business centres, but kept alive a Hudson's Bay Company sentiment which those who have not met it can hardly understand. Letters were written according to the good old style. Not mere telegraphic summaries and business orders as at the present day, but real news-letters--necessary and all the more valuable because there were no newspapers in the land. The historian of to-day finds himself led back to a very remarkable and interesting social life as he reads the collection of traders' letters and hears the tales of retired factors and officers. Specimens and condensed statements from these materials may help us to picture the life of the period. QUEER OLD PETER FIDLER. Traditions have come down from this period of men who were far from being commonplace in their lives and habits. Among the most peculiar and interesting of these was an English trader, Peter Fidler, who for forty years played his part among the trying events preceding Governor Simpson's time, and closed his career in the year after the union of the Companies. The quaint old trader, Peter Fidler, is said to have belonged to the town of Bolsover, in the County of Derby, England, and was born August 16th, 1769. From his own statement we know that he kept a diary in the service of the Company beginning in 1791, from which it is inferred that he arrived in Rupert's Land about that time and was then engaged in the fur trade. Eight years afterwards he was at Green Lake, in the Saskatchewan district, and about the same time in Isle à la Crosse. In this region he came into active competition with the North-West Company traders, and became a most strenuous upholder of the claims of the Hudson's Bay Company. Promoted on account of his administrative ability, he is found in the early years of the new century at Cumberland House, the oldest post of the Company in the interior. His length of service at the time of the establishment of the Selkirk colony being above twenty years, he was entrusted with the conduct of one of the parties of settlers from Hudson Bay to Red River. [Illustration: RED RIVER NOTE.] In his will, a copy of which lies before the writer, it is made quite evident that Fidler was a man of education, and he left his collection of five hundred books to be the nucleus of a library which was afterwards absorbed into the Red River library, and of which volumes are to be seen in Winnipeg to this day. But Fidler was very much more than a mere fur trader. He is called in his will "Surveyor" and trader for the Honourable Hudson's Bay Company. He was stated to have made the boundary survey of the district of Assiniboia, the limits of which have been already referred to in the chapter on Lord Selkirk. He also surveyed the lots for the Selkirk settlers, in what was at that time the parish of Kildonan. The plan of the Selkirk settlement made by him may be found in Amos's Trials and in the Blue Book of 1819, and this proved to be of great value in the troublesome lawsuits arising out of the disputes between the fur companies. The plan itself states that the lots were established in 1814; and we find them to be thirty-six in number. About the same time Fidler was placed in charge of the Red River district, and it is said that the traders and clerks found him somewhat arbitrary and headstrong. As the troubles were coming on, and Governor Semple had taken command of the Red River Company's fort and colony, Fidler was placed in charge of Brandon House, then a considerable Hudson's Bay Company Fort. He gives an account of the hostilities between the Companies there and of the seizure of arms. He continues actively engaged in the Company's service, and from his will being made at Norway House, this would seem to have been his headquarters, although in the official statement of the administration of his effects he is stated to be "late of York Factory." Mr. Justice Archer Martin, in his useful book, "Hudson's Bay Company's Land Tenure," gives us an interesting letter of Alexander McLean to Peter Fidler, dated 1821. This is the time of the Union of the Hudson's Bay Company and the North-West Company. In the letter mention is made of the departure for New York of (Mr. Nicholas) Garry, a gentleman of the honourable committee, and of Mr. Simon McGillivray, one of the North-West Company. We have spoken elsewhere of Mr. Garry's visit, and a few years afterward Fort Garry was named after this officer. The chief interest to us, however, centres in Fidler's eccentric will. We give a synopsis of it:-- (1) He requests that he may be buried at the colony of Red River should he die in that vicinity. (2) He directs that his journals, covering twenty-five or thirty years, also four or five vellum bound books, being a fair copy of the narrative of his journeys, as well as astronomical and meteorological and thermometrical observations, also his manuscript maps, be given to the committee of the Honourable Hudson's Bay Company. (3) The books already mentioned making up his library, his printed maps, two sets of twelve-inch globes, a large achromatic telescope, Wilson's microscope, and a brass sextant, a barometer, and all his thermometers were to be taken by the Governor of the Red River colony and kept in Government hands for the general good of the Selkirk colonists. (4) Cattle, swine, and poultry, which he had purchased for one hundred pounds from John Wills, of the North-West Company, the builder of Fort Gibraltar, were to be left for the sole use of the colony, and if any of his children were to ask for a pair of the aforesaid animals or fowls their request was to be granted. (5) To his Indian wife, Mary Fidler, he bequeathed fifteen pounds a year for life to be paid to her in goods from the Hudson's Bay Company store, to be charged against his interest account in the hands of the Company. (6) The will required further that of all the rest of the money belonging to him, in the hands of the Hudson's Bay Company or the Bank of England, as well as the legacy left him by his Uncle Jasper Fidler and other moneys due him, the interest be divided among his children according to their needs. (7) After the interest of Fidler's money had been divided among his children till the youngest child Peter should come of age, the testator makes the following remarkable disposal of the residue: "All my money in the funds and other personal property after the youngest child has attained twenty-one years of age, to be placed in the public funds, and the interest annually due to be added to the capital and continue so until August 16th, 1969 (I being born on that day two hundred years before), when the whole amount of the principal and interest so accumulated I will and desire to be then placed at the disposal of the next male child heir in direct descent from my son Peter Fidler" or to the next-of-kin. He leaves his "Copyhold land and new house situated in the town of Bolsover, in the county of Derby," after the death of Mary Fidler, the mother of the testator, to be given to his youngest son, Peter Fidler. This will was dated on August 16th, 1821, and Fidler died in the following year. The executors nominated were the Governor of the Hudson's Bay Company, the Governor of the Selkirk settlement, and the secretary of the Hudson's Bay Company. Some time after the death of this peculiar man, John Henry Pelly, Governor-in-Chief of the Hudson's Bay Company, Donald McKenzie, Governor of the Selkirk settlement, and William Smith, Secretary of the Hudson's Bay Company, renounced the probate and execution of the will, and in October, 1827, "Thomas Fidler," his natural and lawful son, was appointed by the court to administer the will. A considerable amount of interest in this will has been shown by the descendants of Peter Fidler, a number of whom still live in the province of Manitoba, on the banks of the Red and Assiniboine Rivers. Lawyers have from time to time been appointed to seek out the residue, which, under the will, ought to be in process of accumulation till 1969, but no trace of it can be found in Hudson's Bay Company or Bank of England accounts, though diligent search has been made. STUBBORN JOHN MCLEOD. John McLeod has already figured in our story. Coming out with Lord Selkirk's first party from the Island of Lewis, as one of the "twelve or thirteen young gentleman clerks," he, as we have seen, gave a good account of himself in the "imminent and deadly breach," when he defended the Hudson's Bay Company encampment at the Forks against the fierce Nor'-Westers. His journal account of that struggle we found to be well told, even exciting. It further gives a picture of the fur trader's life, as seen with British eyes and by one of Hudson's Bay Company sympathies. He met at the Forks, immediately on his arrival, three chiefs of the Nor'-Westers. One of these was John Wills, who, as an old X Y trader, had joined the Nor'-Westers and shortly after built Fort Gibraltar. A second of the trio was Benjamin Frobisher, of the celebrated Montreal firm of that name, who perished miserably; and the last was Alexander Macdonell, who was commonly known as "Yellow Head," and afterward became the "Grasshopper Governor." McLeod vividly describes the scene on his arrival, when the Hudson's Bay Company, as represented by trader William Hillier, formally transferred to Miles Macdonell, Lord Selkirk's agent, the grant of land and the privileges pertaining thereto. The ceremony was performed in the presence of the settlers and other spectators. McLeod quaintly relates that the three bourgeois mentioned were present on his invitation, but Wills would not allow his men to witness the transaction, which consisted of reading over the concession and handing it to Macdonell. Hugh Henney, the local officer in charge of the Hudson's Bay Company affairs, then read over the concession in French for the benefit of the voyageurs and free traders. McLeod relates a misadventure of irascible Peter Fidler in dealing with a trader, Pangman, who afterwards figured in Red River affairs. After Henney had taken part in the formal cession, he departed, leaving McLeod and Pangman in charge of the Hudson's Bay Company interests at the Forks. McLeod states that prior to this time (1813), the Hudson's Bay Company "_had no house at this place_," thus disposing of a local tradition that there was a Hudson Bay trading post at the Forks before Lord Selkirk's time. McLeod, however, proceeded immediately to build "a good snug house." This was ready before the return of the fall craft (trade), and it was this house that McLeod so valiantly defended in the following year. During the summer McLeod found Pangman very useful in meeting the opposition of the North-West Company traders. Peter Pangman was a German who had come from the United States, and was hence called "Bostonnais Pangman," the title Bostonnais being used in the fur-trading country for an American. Fidler, who had charge of the district for the Hudson's Bay Company, refused to give the equipment promised by Henney to Pangman. McLeod speaks of the supreme blunder of thus losing, for the sake of a few pounds, the service of so capable a man as Pangman. Pangman left the Hudson's Bay Company service, joined the Nor'-Westers, and was ever after one of the most bitter opponents of the older Company. After many a hostile blow dealt to his opponents, Pangman retired to Canada, where he bought the Seigniory of Lachenaie, and his son was an influential public man in Lower Canada, Hon. John Pangman. Events of interest rapidly followed one another at the time of the troubles. After the fierce onset at the Forks had been met by McLeod, he was honoured by being sent 500 miles south-westward by his senior officer, Colin Robertson, with horses, carts, and goods, to trade with the Indians on the plains. This daring journey he accomplished with only three men--"an Orkneyman and two Irishmen." In early winter he had returned to Pembina, where he was to meet the newly-appointed Governor, Robert Semple. McLeod states that Semple was appointed under the resolution of the Board of Directors in London on May 19th, 1811, first Governor of Assiniboia. From this we are led to think that Miles Macdonell was Lord Selkirk's agent only, and was Governor by courtesy, though this was not the case. The unsettled state of the country along the boundary line is shown in a frightful massacre spoken of by McLeod. On a journey down the Red River, McLeod had spent a night near Christmas time in a camp of the Saulteaux Indians. He had taken part in their festivities and passed the night in their tents. He was horrified to hear a few days after at Pembina that a band of Sioux had, on the night of the feast, fallen upon the camp of Saulteaux, which was composed of thirty-six warriors, and that all but three of those making up the camp had been brutally killed in a night attack. On his return to his post McLeod passed the scene of the terrible massacre, and he says he saw "the thirty-three slain bodies scalped, the knives and arrows and all that had touched their flesh being left there." McLeod was noted for his energy in building posts. He erected an establishment on Turtle River; and in the year after built a trading house beyond Lake Winnipeg, at the place where Oxford House afterward stood. McLeod, being possessed of courage and energy, was sent west to Saskatchewan, where, having wintered in the district with traders Bird and Pruden, and faced many dangers and hardships, he returned to Red River and was among those arrested by the Nor'-Westers. He was sent to Montreal, where, after some delay, the charge against him was summarily dismissed. He was, while there, summoned as a witness in the case against Reinhart in Quebec. In Montreal McLeod was rejoiced to meet Lady Selkirk, the wife of his patron, from whom he received tokens of confidence and respect. The trader had a hand in the important movement by which Lord Selkirk provided for his French and German dependents on the Red River, who belonged to the Roman Catholic faith, the ordinances of religion. As we shall see, Lord Selkirk secured, according to his promise, the two priests Provencher and Dumoulin, and with them sent out a considerable number of French Canadians to Red River. McLeod's account of his part in the matter is as follows:--"On my way between Montreal and Quebec, I took occasion, with the help of the good Roman Catholic priests, Dumoulin of Three Rivers, and Provencher of Montreal, to beat up recruits for the Hudson's Bay Company service and the colony among the French Canadians. On the opening of navigation about May 1st, I started, in charge with a brigade of seven large canoes, and with about forty Canadians, some with their families, headed by my two good friends the priests--the first missionaries in the north since the time of the French before the conquest. Without any loss or difficulty, I conducted the whole through to Norway House, whence in due course they were taken in boats and schooner to Red River. At this place we had a navy on the lake, but lately under the command of Lieutenant Holt, one of the victims of 1816. Holt had been of the Swedish navy." At Norway House McLeod's well-known ability and trustworthiness led to his appointment to the far West, "and from this time forth his field was northward to the Arctic." He had the distinguished honour of establishing a permanent highway, by a line of suitable forts and trade establishments to the Peace River region. While in charge of his post he had the pleasure of entertaining Franklin (the noble Sir John) on his first Arctic land expedition, and afterwards at Norway House saw the same distinguished traveller on his second journey to the interior of the North land. After the union of the Companies, McLeod, now raised to the position of Chief Trader, was the first officer of the old Hudson's Bay Company to be sent across the Rocky Mountains to take charge of the district in New Caledonia. Among the restless and vindictive natives of that region he continued for many years with a good measure of success, and ended up a career of thirty-seven years as a successful trader and thorough defender of the name and fame of the Hudson's Bay Company, by retiring to spend the remainder of his days, as so many of the traders did, upon the Ottawa River. WILLARD FERDINAND WENTZEL'S DISLIKES AND THE NEW RÉGIME. Wentzel was a Norwegian who had entered the North-West Company in 1799, and spent most of his time in Athabasca and Mackenzie River districts, where he passed the hard life of a "winterer" in the northern department. He was intelligent, but a mimic--and this troublesome cleverness prevented his promotion in the Company. He co-operated with Franklin the explorer in his journey to the Arctic Ocean. Wentzel was a musician--according to Franklin "an excellent musician." This talent of his brightened the long and dreary hours of life and contributed to keep all cheerful around him. A collection of the voyageur songs made by him is in existence, but they are somewhat gross. Wentzel married a Montagnais Indian woman, by whom he had two children. One of them lived on the Red River and built the St. Norbert Roman Catholic Church in 1855. From Wentzel's letters we quote extracts showing the state of feeling at the time of the union of the fur companies in 1821 and for a few years afterwards. _March 26th, 1821._--"In Athabasca, affairs seem to revive; the natives are beginning to be subjected by the rivalship in trade that has been carried on so long, and are heartily desirous of seeing themselves once more in peaceable times, which makes the proverb true that says, 'Too much of a good thing is good for nothing.' Besides, the Hudson's Bay Company have apparently realized the extravagance of their measures; last autumn they came into the department with fifteen canoes only, containing each about fifteen pieces. Mr. Simpson (afterward Sir George), a gentleman from England last spring, superintends their business. His being a stranger, and reputedly a gentlemanly man, will not create much alarm, nor do I presume him formidable as an Indian trader. Indeed, Mr. Leith, who manages the concerns of the North-West Company in Athabasca, has been so liberally supplied with men and goods that it will be almost wonderful if the opposition can make good a subsistence during the winter. Fort Chipewyan alone has an equipment of no less than seventy men, enough to crush their rivals." (Editor's note.--Another year saw Simpson Governor of the United Company.) _April 10th, 1823._--"Necessity rather than persuasion, however, influenced me to remain; my means for future support are too slender for me to give up my employment, but the late revolution in the affairs of the country (the coalition of the Hudson's Bay Company with the North-West Company in 1821) now obliges me to leave it the ensuing year, as the advantages and prospects are too discouraging to hold forth a probability of clearing one penny for future support. Salaries do not exceed one hundred pounds sterling, out of which clerks must purchase every necessity, even tobacco, and the prices of goods at the Bay are at the rate of one hundred and fifty or three hundred per cent. on prime cost, therefore I shall take this opportunity of humbly requesting your advice how to settle my little earnings, which do not much exceed five hundred pounds, to the best advantage." _March 1st, 1824._--"Respecting the concerns of the North-West (country), little occurs that can be interesting to Canada. Furs have lost a great deal of their former value in Europe, and many of the chief factors and traders would willingly compound for their shares with the Company for one thousand five hundred pounds, in order to retire from a country which has become disgusting and irksome to all classes. Still, the returns are not altogether unprofitable; but debts, disappointments, and age seem to oppress everyone alike. _Engagés'_ prices are now reduced to twenty-five pounds annually to a boute (foreman), and twenty pounds to middlemen, without equipment or any perquisites whatever. In fact, no class enjoys the gratuity of an equipment. Besides, the committee at home insist upon being paid for families residing in posts and belonging to partners, clerks, or men, at the rate of two shillings for every woman and child over fourteen years of age, one shilling for every child under that age. This is complained of as a grievance by all parties, and must eventually become very hard on some who have large families to support. In short, the North-West is now beginning to be ruled with a rod of iron." (Evidently Wentzel is not an admirer of the new régime.) FINLAY'S SEARCH FOR FUR. The name of Finlay was a famous one among the traders. As we have seen, James Finlay was one of the first to leave Montreal, and penetrate among the tribes of Indians, in search of fur, to the far distant Saskatchewan. His son James was a trader, and served in the firm of Gregory, McLeod & Co. As was not uncommon, these traders had children by the Indian women, having a "country marriage," as it was called. As the result of these there was connected with the Finlay family a half-breed named Jaceo, or Jacko Finlay, who took his part in exploration in the Rocky Mountains in company with David Thompson. Besides these, there was a well-known trader, John Finlay, who is often difficult to separate from the other traders of the name. The writer has lying before him a manuscript, never hitherto published, entitled "A Voyage of Discovery from the Rocky Mountain Portage in Peace River, to the Sources of Finlay's Branch, and North-Westward: Summer, 1824." This is certified by Chief Factor McDougall, to-day of Prince Albert, to be the journal of John Finlay. As it illustrates the methods by which the fur country was opened, we give a few extracts. _May 13th._--"Rainy weather. In the evening, left Rocky Mountain Portage establishment. Crossed over to the portage and encamped for the night.... The expedition people are as follows: six effective canoe men, Joseph Le Guard, Antoine Perreault (bowman), Joseph Cunnayer, J. B. Tourangeau, J. M. Bouche, and Louis Olsen (middleman), M. McDonald, Manson, and myself, besides Le Prise, and wife, in all ten persons. Le Prise is in the double capacity of hunter and interpreter." Finlay speaks of "The existing troubles in this quarter caused by the murderers of our people at St. John's, roving about free and, it is said, menacing all; but as this is an exploratory voyage, and the principal motive to ascertain the existence of beaver in the country we are bound for, we shall do our best to accomplish the intentions of the voyage." _17th._--"Encamped at the hill at the little lake on the top of the hills at the west side of the Portage. Mr. M. shot a large fowl of the grouse kind, larger than the black heath cock in Scotland. Found some dried salmon in exchange with Mr. Stunt for pemmican--a meal for his men, and this year he seems independent of the Peace River, at least as far as Dunvegan: they have nothing in provisions at the Portage." Finlay is very much in the habit of describing the rock formations seen on his voyage. His descriptions are not very valuable, for he says, "I am not qualified to give a scientific description of the different species and genera of the different substances composing the strata of the Rocky Mountains." _22nd May._--"In this valley, about four miles before us right south, Finlay's branch comes in on the right: a mile and a half below Finlay's branch made a portage of five hundred paces. At a rapid here we found the Canny _cache_ (a hiding place for valuables); said to be some beaver in it of last year's hunt." _23rd._--"Met a band of Indians, who told us they were going up the small river--(evidently this had been named after the elder Finlay, as this instances its familiarity)--on the left, to pass the summer, and a little before another river on the right; that there were some beavers in it, but not so many as the one they were to pass the summer in." _24th._--"To-day some tracks of the reindeer, mountain sheep and goats, but the old slave (hunter) has killed nothing but a fowl or beaver now and then." _25th._--"I have never seen in any part of the country such luxuriance of wood as hereabout, the valley to near the tops of the mountains on both sides covered with thick, strong, dark-green branching pines. We see a good many beaver and some fowl, game (bustards), and duck, but kill few." Finlay declares to the slave, the hunter of his party, his intention to go up the large branch of the Finlay. "This is a disappointment to him as well as to the people, who have indulged their imaginations on this route falling on the Liard River, teeming in beaver and large animals." _7th June._--"This afternoon we have seen a great deal of beaver work, and killed some bustards and Canadian grey geese; we have seen no swans, and the ducks, with few exceptions, are shabby." Finlay gives a statement of his journey made so far, thus:-- Rocky Mountain Portage to entrance of Finlay's Branch 6 days. To Deserter's Portage 4 ,, To Large Branch 5 ,, To Point Du Mouton 4 ,, To end of Portage 4 ,, To Fishing Lakes 3 ,, -- 26 days. -- FINLAY GIVES HIS VIEWS AS TO A "BEAVER COUNTRY." "In some of the large rivers coming into Finlay's branch, where soft ground with wood, eligible for beaver, had been accumulated, beaver were to be found. Otherwise, except such places as here and here, the whole country is one continued mountain valley of rock and stone, and can by no means come under the denomination of a beaver country, in the common acceptation of the word, on the waters of the Hudson's Bay and Mackenzie River." _June 15th._--"Very fine warm weather; huge masses of snow falling down from the mountains with a noise resembling thunder. Those snow _déboules_ seem irresistible, shivering the trees to atoms, carrying all clean before them, forming ruins as if the Tower of Babel or the Pyramids of Egypt had been thrown down from their foundations." _June 29th._--"Made a good fishery to-day: 7 trout, 12 carp, 1 small white fish, like those at McLeod's lake in Western Caledonia." Finlay closes his Journal of seventy-five closely-written quarto pages at the lake high in the mountains, where he saw a river rising. This lake we see from the map to be the source of the Liard River. A TRUSTED TRADER AND HIS FRIENDS. Not very long ago it was the good fortune of the writer to be in Edinburgh. He was talking to his friend, a well-known Writer to the Signet. The conversation turned on the old fur-trading days, and in a short time author and lawyer found themselves four stories high, in a garret, examining boxes, packages, and effects of James Hargrave and his son Joseph, who as fur traders, father and son, had occupied posts in the Hudson's Bay Company service extending from 1820 to 1892. Several cases were filled with copies of a book entitled "Red River," published by the younger Hargrave in 1871. Other boxes enclosed the library of father and son. Two canvas bags contained many pounds of new farthings, which, by some strange mischance, had found their way to the Hudson Bay and had been returned as useless. Miscellaneous articles of no value to the searchers lay about, but in one large valise were many bundles of letters. These were done up in the most careful manner. The packages were carefully tied with red tape, and each, securely sealed with three black ominous seals, emphasized the effect of the directions written on them, in some cases "to be opened only by my son," in others, "to be opened only by my children." After some delay the permission of the heirs was obtained, and the packages were opened and examined. They were all letters written between 1821 and 1859 by fur-trading friends to James Hargrave, who had carefully preserved them, folded, docketed, and arranged them, and who had, in the last years of his life at "Burnside House," his residence at Brockville, Canada, kept the large correspondence as the "apple of his eye." The vast majority of the letters, numbering many hundreds in all, had been addressed to York Factory. For most of his life Hargrave had been in charge of York Factory, on Hudson Bay. York Factory was during the greater part of this fur trader's life, as it had been for more than a century before his time, the port of entry to which goods brought by ship from Britain had been borne to the interior of Rupert's Land, and also the port from which the ships had carried their precious cargoes of furs to the mother country. James Hargrave had thus become the trusted correspondent of governor and merchant, of bishop and clergyman, of medical man and educationist. He was emphatically a middleman, a sort of Janus, looking with one face to the London merchants and with the other to the dwellers in Rupert's Land. But Hargrave was also a letter-writer, and a receiver of many news letters and friendly letters, a man who enjoyed conversation, and when this could not be had with his friends _tête-à-tête_, his social chats were carried on by means of letters, many months and even years apart. By degrees he rose in the service. From the first a friend of the emperor-governor, he has the good wishes of his friends expressed for his first rise to the post of chief trader, which he gained in 1833, and by-and-by came his next well-deserved promotion to be chief factor in 1844. Along with all these letters was a book handsomely bound for keeping accounts and private memoranda. This book shows James Hargrave to have been a most methodical and painstaking man. In it is contained a list of all the promotions to official positions of commissioned officers for nearly forty years, from the Atlantic to the Pacific. Here also is an account of his investments, and the satisfactory statement that, during his nearly forty years of service, his shares of the profits, investments, and re-investments of what he did not use, allowed him to retire from active service with, as the result of his labour, about 8,700_l._ The writer has sought to glean from the hundreds of letters in the Edinburgh garret what is interesting in the life of Rupert's Land, so far as is shown in the writing and acting of this old fur trader and his friends. Many of the letters are from Governor Simpson. These letters of the Governor are chiefly written from Red River or Norway House--the former the "Fur Traders' Paradise," the latter the meeting-place of the Council, held once a year to decide all matters of business. Occasionally a letter of the Governor's is from Bas de la Rivière (i.e. the mouth of the Winnipeg River), written by that energetic officer, as might be said, "on the wing," and in a few cases from London, England, whither frequently Governor Simpson crossed on the business of the Company. Governor Simpson's remarks as to society in Red River, 1831, are keen and amusing:--"As yet we have had one fête, which was honoured by the presence of all the elegance and dignity of the place from his Reverence of Juliopolis (Bishop Provencher) down to friend Cook, who (the latter) was as grave and sober as a bishop.... By-the-bye, we have got a very 'rum' fellow of a doctor here now: the strangest compound of skill, simplicity, selfishness, extravagance, musical taste, and want of courtesy, I ever fell in with. The people are living on the fat of the earth, in short, Red River is a perfect land of Canaan as far as good cheer goes.... Do me the favour to pick out a couple pounds of choice snuff for me and send them by Mr. Miles." A short time after this, Governor Simpson, writing, says, speaking of the completion of St. John's Church, afterward the Cathedral Church, and referring to the discontent of the Selkirk settlers, with which he had small sympathy, "We have got into the new church, which is really a splendid edifice for Red River, and the people are less clamorous about a Gaelic minister than they were." The good Governor had his pleasant fling at the claim made by the Highlanders to have their private stills when he says, "And about whiskey they say not one word, now that rum is so cheap, and good strong 'heavy wet' in general use." Speaking of one of the chief officers who was off duty, the Governor says "Chief Factor Charles is like a fish out of water, having no musquash to count, nor Chipewyans to trade with; he is as brisk and active as a boy, and instead of showing any disposition to retire, wishes to volunteer to put a finishing hand to the as yet fruitless attempt at discovering the North-West passage." Governor Simpson knows well the art of flattery, and his skill in managing his large force of Company officers and men is well seen. He states to Hargrave that he once predicted at the board that the traders of York Factory would yet have a seat at the Board. This, he stated, gave mortal offence to some members, but he was to bear the prediction in mind. He compliments him on sending the best-written letter that he has received for a long time, and we find that in the following year Hargrave was made Chief Trader. This was the occasion for numerous congratulations from his friends Archdeacon Cochrane of Red River, Trader Sieveright, and others. The news of the time was common subject of discussion between the traders in their letters. Governor Simpson gave an account of the outbreak of cholera in the eastern states and provinces, and traces in a very graphic way its dangerous approach towards Rupert's Land. Up to August, 1832, fifteen hundred people had died in Montreal. The pestilence had reached Mackinaw, and two hundred of the steamboat passengers were carried off, and some near Sault Ste. Marie. "God grant," says the Governor, "it may not penetrate further into our wilds, but the chances are decidedly against us." That the Hudson's Bay Company officers were not traders only is made abundantly evident. In one of his letters, Governor Simpson states that their countryman, Sir Walter Scott, has just passed away, he thanks Hargrave for sending him copies of _Blackwood's Magazine_, and orders are often given for fresh and timely books. A little earlier we find the minute interest which the fur traders took in public events in a letter from Chief Factor John Stuart, after whom Stuart's Lake, in New Caledonia, was named. He speaks to Hargrave of the continuation of Southey's "History of the War of the Peninsula" not being published, and we know from other sources that this History fell still-born, but Stuart goes on to say that he had sent for Col. Napier's "History of the Peninsular War." "Napier's politics," says Stuart, "are different, and we shall see whether it is the radical or a laurel (Southey was poet laureate) that deserves the palm." These examples but illustrate what all close observers notice, that the officers of the Hudson's Bay Company not only read to purpose, but maintained a keen outlook for the best and most finished contemporary literature. Much additional evidence might be supplied on this point. All through Governor Simpson's letters there is a strain of sympathy for the people of the Company that is very beautiful. These show that instead of being a hard and tyrannical man, the Governor had a tender heart. In one of his letters he expresses sympathy for Trader Heron, who had met misfortune. He speaks of his great anxiety for a serious trouble that had arisen in Rev. Mr. Jones's school at Red River, and hopes that it may not injure education; he laments at considerable length over Mr. J. S. McTavish's unfortunate accident. Having heard of Hargrave's long illness he sends a letter of warm sympathy, and this in the midst of a flying visit, and in London in the following year pays every attention by giving kind, hospitable invitations to Hargrave to enjoy the society of himself and Lady Simpson. The racy letters of Governor Simpson are by no means more interesting than those of many others of Hargrave's friends. Ordinary business letters sometimes seem to have a humorous turn about them even fifty years after they were written. The Roman Catholic Bishop Provencher (Bishop of Juliopolis _in partibus infidelium_) affords an example of this. He writes in great distress to Hargrave as to the loss of a cask of white wine (_une barrique de vin blanc_). He had expected it by the York boats sent down by the great Red River merchant, Andrew McDermott.... The cask had not arrived. The good Bishop cannot understand it, but presumes, as it is December when he writes, that it will come in the spring. The Bishop's last remark is open to a double meaning, when he says, "Leave it as it is, for he will take it without putting it in barrels." The Bishop in a more important matter addresses Governor Simpson, and the Governor forwards his letter to York Factory. In this Bishop Provencher thanks him for giving a voyage in the canoes, from Red River to Montreal, to Priest Harper, and for bringing up Sub-Deacon Poiré, a "young man of talent." He also gives hearty thanks for a passage, granted by the Governor on the fur traders' route from the St. Lawrence, to two stonemasons. "I commence," he said, "to dig the foundation of my church to-morrow." He asks for a passage down and up for members of his ecclesiastical staff. He wants from York Factory forty or fifty hoes for Mr. Belcour to use in teaching the Indians to cultivate potatoes and Indian corn, and he naïvely remarks, "while thus engaged, he will at the same time cultivate their spirits and their hearts by the preaching of the Word of God." The eye for business is seen in the Bishop's final remark that he thinks "that the shoes from the Bay will cost much less than those made by the smiths at Red River." Archdeacon Cochrane, a man of gigantic form and of amazing _bonhomie_, who has been called the "founder of the Church of England on Red River," writes several interesting letters. Beginning with business he drifts into a friendly talk. One of his letters deals with the supplies for the school he had opened (1831) at St. Andrew's, Red River, another sings the praises of his new church at the rapids: "It is an elegant little church, pewed for three hundred and forty people, and finished in the neatest manner it could be for Red River. The ceiling is an arc of an ellipse, painted light blue. The moulding and pulpit brown; the jambs and sashes of the windows white." A little of the inner working of the fur-trading system in the predominance of Scottish influence is exhibited by Archdeacon Cochrane in one letter to Hargrave. Referring to Hargrave's promotion to the chief tradership, not yet bestowed, the old clergyman quaintly says, "Are you likely to get another feather in your cap? I begin to think that your name will have to be changed into MacArgrave. A 'mac' before your name would produce a greater effect than all the rest of your merits put together. Can't you demonstrate that you are one of the descendants of one of the great clans?" Among the correspondence is a neat little note to Hargrave (1826) from Rev. David Jones, the Archdeacon's predecessor, written at Red River, asking his company to a family dinner on the next Monday, at 2 p.m.; and a delicate missive from Acting-Governor Bulger, of Red River, asking Hargrave to accept a small quantity of snuff. Among Hargrave's correspondents are such notable fur traders as Cuthbert Grant, the leader of the Bois Brûlés, who had settled down on White Horse Plains, on the Assiniboine River, and was the famous captain of the buffalo hunters; and William Conolly, the daring Chief Factor of New Caledonia. Events in Fort Churchill are well described in the extensive correspondence of J. G. McTavish, long stationed there; and good Governors Finlayson and McMillan of Red River are well represented; as well as Alexander Ross, the historian of the Red River affairs. A full account of the wanderings from York Factory to the far distant Pacific slope of Mr. George Barnston, who afterwards was well known in business circles as a resident of Montreal, could be gathered, did time permit, from a most regular correspondence with Hargrave. Probably the man most after the York Chief Factor's own heart was a good letter writer, John Sieveright, who early became Chief Trader and afterwards Chief Factor in 1846. Sieveright had become acquainted with Hargrave at Sault Ste. Marie. Afterwards he was removed to Fort Coulonge on the Upper Ottawa, but he still kept up his interest in Hargrave and the affairs of Rupert's Land. Sieveright has a play of humour and pleasant banter that was very agreeable to Hargrave. He rallies him about an old acquaintance, the handsome daughter of Fur Trader Johnston, of Sault Ste. Marie, who, it will be remembered, married an Indian princess. He has a great faculty of using what other correspondents write to him, in making up very readable and well written letters to his friends. For many years Sieveright was at Fort Coulonge, and thus was in touch with the Hudson's Bay Company house at Lachine, the centre of the fur trade on this continent. Every year he paid a visit to headquarters, and had an advantage over the distant traders on the Saskatchewan, Mackenzie, and Nelson Rivers. He, however, seemed always to envy them their lot. Writing of Fort Coulonge, he gives us a picture of the fur trader's life: "This place has the advantage of being so near the civilized world as to allow us to hear now and then what is going on in it; but no society or amusement to help pass the time away. In consequence I cannot help reading a great deal too much--injurious at any time of life--particularly so when on the wrong side of fifty. I have been lately reading John Galt's 'Southernan,' not much to be admired. His characters are mostly all caricatures. If place will be allowed in paper trunk, I shall put that work and 'Laurie Todd' in for your acceptance." CHAPTER XXXI. THE VOYAGEURS FROM MONTREAL. Lachine, the fur traders' Mecca--The departure--The flowing bowl--The canoe brigade--The voyageur's song--"En roulant ma boule"--Village of St. Anne's--Legend of the Church--The sailor's guardian--Origin of "Canadian Boat Song"--A loud invocation--"A la Claire Fontaine"--"Sing, nightingale"--At the rapids--The ominous crosses--"Lament of Cadieux"--A lonely maiden sits--The Wendigo--Home of the Ermatingers--A very old canal--The rugged coast--Fort William reached--A famous gathering--The joyous return. Montreal, to-day the chief city of Canada, was, after the union of the Companies, the centre of the fur trade in the New World. The old Nor'-Wester influence centred on the St. Lawrence, and while the final court of appeal met in London, the forces that gave energy and effect to the decrees of the London Board acted from Montreal. At Lachine, above the rapids, nine miles from the city, lived Governor Simpson, and many retired traders looked upon Lachine as the Mecca of the fur trade. Even before the days of the Lachine Canal, which was built to avoid the rapids, it is said the pushing traders had taken advantage of the little River St. Pierre, which falls into the St. Lawrence, and had made a deep cutting from it up which they dragged their boats to Lachine. To the hardy French voyageurs, accustomed to "portage" their cargoes up steep cliffs, it was no hardship to use the improvised canal and reach Lachine at the head of the rapids. [Illustration: I.--PORTAGE.] [Illustration: II.--DÉCHARGE.] Accordingly, Lachine became the port of departure for the voyageurs on their long journeys up the Ottawa, and on to the distant fur country. Heavy canoes carrying four tons of merchandise were built for the freight, and light canoes, some times manned with ten or twelve men, took the officers at great speed along the route. The canoes were marvels of durability. Made of thin but tough sheets of birch bark, securely gummed along the seams with pitch, they were so strong, and yet so light, that the Indians thought them an object of wonder, and said they were the gift of the Manitou. The voyageurs were a hardy class of men, trained from boyhood to the use of the paddle. Many of them were Iroquois Indians--pure or with an admixture of white blood. But the French Canadians, too, became noted for their expert management of the canoe, and were favourites of Sir George Simpson. Like all sailors, the voyageurs felt the day of their departure a day of fate. Very often they sought to drown their sorrows in the flowing bowl, and it was the trick of the commander to prevent this by keeping the exact time of the departure a secret, filling up the time of the voyageurs with plenty to do and leaving on very short notice. However, as the cargo was well-nigh shipped, wives, daughters, children, and sweethearts too, of the departing canoe men began to linger about the docks, and so were ready to bid their sad farewells. In the governor's or chief factor's brigade each voyageur wore a feather in his cap, and if the wind permitted it a British ensign was hoisted on each light canoe. Farewells were soon over. Cheers filled the air from those left behind, and out from Lachine up Lake St. Louis, an enlargement of the St. Lawrence, the brigade of canoes were soon to shoot on their long voyage. No sooner had "le maître" found his cargo afloat, his officers and visitors safely seated, than he gave the cheery word to start, when the men broke out with a "chanson de voyage." Perhaps it was the story of the "Three Fairy Ducks," with its chorus so lively in French, but so prosaic, even in the hands of the poetic McLennan, when translated into English as the "Rolling Ball":-- "Derrière chez nous, il y a un étang (Behind the manor lies the mere), En roulant ma boule. (Chorus.) Trois beaux canards s'en vont baignant. (Three ducks bathe in its waters clear.) En roulant ma boule. Rouli, roulant, ma boule roulant, En roulant, ma boule roulant, En roulant ma boule." And now the paddles strike with accustomed dash. The voyageurs are excited with the prospect of the voyage, all scenes of home swim before their eyes, and the chorister leads off with his story of the prince (fils du roi) drawing near the lake, and with his magic gun cruelly sighting the black duck, but killing the white one. With falling voices the swinging men of the canoe relate how from the snow-white drake his "Life blood falls in rubies bright, His diamond eyes have lost their light, His plumes go floating east and west, And form at last a soldier's bed. En roulant ma boule (Sweet refuge for the wanderer's head), En roulant ma boule, Rouli, roulant, ma boule roulant, En roulant ma boule roulant, En roulant ma boule." As the brigade hies on its way, to the right is the purplish brown water of the Ottawa, and on the left the green tinge of the St. Lawrence, till suddenly turning around the western extremity of the Island of Montreal, the boiling waters of the mouth of the Ottawa are before the voyageurs. Since 1816 there has been a canal by which the canoes avoid these rapids, but before that time all men and officers disembarked and the goods were taken by portage around the foaming waters. And now the village of Ste. Anne's is reached, a sacred place to the departing voyageurs, and here at the old warehouse the canoes are moored. Among the group of pretty Canadian houses stands out the Gothic church with its spire so dear an object to the canoe men. The superstitious voyageurs relate that old Bréboeuf, who had gone as priest with the early French explorers, had been badly injured on the portage by the fall of earth and stones upon him. The attendance possible for him was small, and he had laid himself down to die on the spot where stands the church. He prayed to Ste. Anne, the sailors' guardian, and on her appearing to him he promised to build a church if he survived. Of course, say the voyageurs, with a merry twinkle of the eye, he recovered and kept his word. At the shrine of "la bonne Ste. Anne" the voyageur made his vow of devotion, asked for protection on his voyage, and left such gift as he could to the patron saint. Coming up and down the river at this point the voyageurs often sang the song:-- "Dans mon chemin j'ai rencontré Deux cavaliers très bien montés;" with the refrain to every verse:-- "A l'ombre d'un bois je m'en vais jouer, A l'ombre d'un bois je m'en vais jouer." ("Under the shady tree I go to play.") It is said that it was when struck with the movement and rhythm of this French chanson that Thomas Moore, the Irish poet, on his visit to Canada, while on its inland waters, wrote the "Canadian Boat Song," and made celebrated the good Ste. Anne of the voyageurs. Whether in the first lines he succeeded in imitating the original or not, his musical notes are agreeable:-- "Faintly as tolls the evening chime, Our voices keep tune and our oars keep time." Certainly the refrain has more of the spirit of the boatman's song:-- "Row, brothers, row; the stream runs fast, The rapids are near and the daylight's past." The true colouring of the scene is reflected in "We'll sing at Ste. Anne;" and-- "Ottawa's tide, this trembling moon, Shall see us float over thy surges soon." Ste. Anne really had a high distinction among all the resting-places on the fur trader's route. It was the last point in the departure from Montreal Island. Religion and sentiment for a hundred years had consecrated it, and a short distance above it, on an eminence overlooking the narrows--the real mouth of the Ottawa--was a venerable ruin, now overgrown with ivy and young trees, "Château brillant," a castle speaking of border foray and Indian warfare generations ago. If the party was a distinguished one there was often a priest included, and he, as soon as the brigade was fairly off and the party had settled down to the motion, reverently removing his hat, sounded forth a loud invocation to the Deity and to a long train of male and female saints, in a loud and full voice, while all the men at the end of each versicle made response, "Qu'il me bénisse." This done, he called for a song. None of the many songs of France would be more likely at this stage than the favourite and most beloved of all French Canadian songs, "A la Claire Fontaine." The leader in solo would ring out the verse-- "A la claire fontaine, M'en allent promener, J'ai trouvé l'eau si belle, Que je m'y sois baigné." ("Unto the crystal fountain, For pleasure did I stray; So fair I found the waters, My limbs in them I lay.") Then in full chorus all would unite, followed verse by verse. Most touching of all would be the address to the nightingale-- "Chantez, rossignol, chantez, Toi qui as le coeur gai; Tu as le coeur à rire, Moi, je l'ai à pleurer." ("Sing, nightingale, keep singing, Thou hast a heart so gay; Thou hast a heart so merry, While mine is sorrow's prey.") The most beautiful of all, the chorus, is again repeated, and is, as translated by Lighthall:-- "Long is it I have loved thee, Thee shall I love alway, My dearest; Long is it I have loved thee, Thee shall I love alway." The brigade swept on up the Lake of Two Mountains, and though the work was hard, yet the spirit and exhilaration of the way kept up the hearts of the voyageurs and officers, and as one song was ended, another was begun and carried through. Now it was the rollicking chanson, "C'est la Belle Françoise," then the tender "La Violette Dandine," and when inspiration was needed, that song of perennial interest, "Malbrouck s'en va-t-en guerre." A distance up the Ottawa, however, the scenery changes, and the river is interrupted by three embarrassing rapids. At Carillon, opposite to which was Port Fortune, a great resort for retired fur traders, the labours began, and so these rapids, Carillon, Long Sault, and Chute au Blondeau, now avoided by canals, were in the old days passed by portage with infinite toil. Up the river to the great Chaudière, where the City of Ottawa now stands, they cheerfully rowed, and after another great portage the Upper Ottawa was faced. The most dangerous and exacting part of the great river was the well-known section where two long islands, the lower the Calumet, and the Allumette block the stream, and fierce rapids are to be encountered. This was the _pièce de résistance_ of the canoe-men's experience. Around it their superstitions clustered. On the shores were many crosses erected to mark the death, in the boiling surges beside the portage, of many comrades who had perished here. Between the two islands on the north side of the river, the Hudson's Bay Company had founded Fort Coulonge, used as a depôt or refuge in case of accident. No wonder the region, with "Deep River" above, leading on to the sombre narrows of "Hell Gate" further up the stream, appealed to the fear and imagination of the voyageurs. Ballad and story had grown round the boiling flood of the Calumet. As early as the time of Champlain, the story goes that an educated and daring Frenchman named Cadieux had settled here, and taken as his wife one of the dusky Ottawas. The prowling Iroquois attacked his dwelling. Cadieux and one Indian held the enemy at bay, and firing from different points led them to believe that the stronghold was well manned. In the meantime, the spouse of Cadieux and a few Indians launched their canoes into the boiling waters and escaped. From pool to pool the canoe was whirled, but in its course the Indians saw before them a female figure, in misty robes, leading them as protectress. The Christian spouse said it was the "bonne Ste. Anne," who led them out of danger and saved them. The Iroquois gave up the siege. Cadieux's companion had been killed, and the surviving settler himself perished from exhaustion in the forest. Beside him, tradition says, was found his death-song, and this "Lament de Cadieux," with its touching and attractive strain, the voyageurs sang when they faced the dangers of the foaming currents of the Upper Ottawa. The whole route, with its rapids, whirlpools, and deceptive currents, came to be surrounded, especially in superstitious minds, with an air of dangerous mystery. A traveller tells us that a prominent fur trader pointed out to him the very spot where his father had been swept under the eddy and drowned. The camp-fire stories were largely the accounts of disasters and accidents on the long and dangerous way. As such a story was told on the edge of a shadowy forest the voyageurs were filled with dread. The story of the Wendigo was an alarming one. No crew would push on after the sun was set, lest they should see this apparition. Some said he was a spirit condemned to wander to and fro in the earth on account of crimes committed, others believed the Wendigo was a desperate outcast, who had tasted human flesh, and prowled about at night, seeking in camping-places of the traders a victim. Tales were told of unlucky trappers who had disappeared in the woods and had never been heard of again. The story of the Wendigo made the camping-place to be surrounded with a sombre interest to the traders. Unbelievers in this mysterious ogre freely declared that it was but a partner's story told to prevent the voyageurs delaying on their journey, and to hinder them from wandering to lonely spots by the rapids to fish or hunt. One of the old writers spoke of the enemy of the voyageurs-- "Il se nourrit des corps des pauvres voyageurs, Des malheureux passants et des navigateurs." ("He feeds on the bodies of unfortunate men of the river, of unlucky travellers, and of the mariners.") Impressed by the sombre memories of this fur traders' route, a traveller in the light canoes in fur-trading days, Dr. Bigsby, relates that he had a great surprise when, picking his way along a rocky portage, he "suddenly stumbled upon a young lady sitting alone under a bush in a green riding habit and white beaver bonnet." The impressionable doctor looked upon this forest sylph and doubted whether she was "One of those fairy shepherds and shepherdesses Who hereabouts live on simplicity and watercresses." After confused explanations on the part of both, the lady was found to be an Ermatinger, daughter of the well-known trader of Sault Ste. Marie, who with his party was then at the other end of the portage. We may now, with the privilege accorded the writer, omit the hardships of hundreds of miles of painful journeying, and waft the party of the voyageurs, whose fortunes we have been following, up to the head of the west branch of the Ottawa, across the Vaz portages, and down a little stream into Lake Nipissing, where there was an old-time fort of the Nor'-Westers, named La Ronde. Across Lake Nipissing, down the French River, and over the Georgian Bay with its beautiful scenery, the voyageurs' brigade at length reached the River St. Mary, soon to rest at the famous old fort of Sault Ste. Marie. Sault Ste. Marie was the home of the Ermatingers, to which the fairy shepherdess belonged. [Illustration: BLOCK HOUSE OF OLD H. B. COMPANY POST. Sault Ste. Marie.] The Ermatinger family, whose name so continually associates itself with Sault Ste. Marie, affords a fine example of energy and influence. Shortly after the conquest of Canada by Wolfe, a Swiss merchant came from the United States and made Canada his home. One of his sons, George Ermatinger, journeyed westward to the territory now making up Michigan, and, finding his way to Sault Ste. Marie, married, engaged in the fur trade, and died there. Still more noted than his brother, Charles Oaks Ermatinger, going westward from Montreal, also made Sault Ste. Marie his home. A man of great courage and local influence in the war of 1812, the younger brother commanded a company of volunteers in the expedition from Fort St. Joseph, which succeeded that summer in capturing Michilimackinac. His fur-trading establishment at Sault Ste. Marie was situated on the south side of the river, opposite the rapids. When this territory was taken possession of by the troops of the United States in 1822, the fur trader's premises at Sault Ste. Marie were seized and became the American fort. For some years after this seizure trader Ermatinger had a serious dispute with the United States Government about his property, but finally received compensation. True to the Ermatinger disposition, the trader then withdrew to the Canadian side, retained his British connection, and carried on trade at Sault Ste. Marie, Drummond Island, and elsewhere. A resident of Sault Ste. Marie informs the writer that the family of Ermatinger about that place is now a very numerous one, "related to almost all the families, both white and red." Very early in the century (1814), a passing trader named Franchère arrived from the west country at the time that the American troops devastated Sault Ste. Marie. Charles Ermatinger then had his buildings on the Canadian side of the river, not far from the houses and stores of the North-West Company, which had been burnt down by the American troops. Ermatinger at the time was living on the south side of the river temporarily in a house of old trader Nolin, whose family, the traveller tells us, consisted of "three half-breed boys and as many girls, one of whom was passably pretty." Ermatinger had just erected a grist mill, and was then building a stone house "very elegant." To this home the young lady overtaken by Dr. Bigsby on the canoe route belonged. Of the two nephews of the doughty old trader of Sault Ste. Marie, Charles and Francis Ermatinger, who were prominent in the fur trade, more anon. The dashing rapids of the St. Mary River are the natural feature which has made the place celebrated. The exciting feat of "running the rapids" is accomplished by all distinguished visitors to the place. John Busheau, or some other dusky canoe-man, with unerring paddle, conducts the shrinking tourist to within a yard of the boiling cauldron, and sweeps down through the spray and splash, as his passenger heaves a sigh of relief. The obstruction made by the rapids to the navigation of the river, which is the artery connecting the trade of Lakes Huron and Superior, early occupied the thought of the fur traders. A century ago, during the conflict of the North-West Company and the X Y, the portage past the rapids was a subject of grave dispute. Ardent appeals were made to the Government to settle the matter. The X Y Company forced a road through the disputed river frontage, while the North-West Company used a canal half a mile long, on which was built a lock; and at the foot of the canal a good wharf and store-house had been constructed. This waterway, built at the beginning of the century and capable of carrying loaded canoes and considerable boats, was a remarkable proof of the energy and skill of the fur traders. The river and rapids of St. Mary past, the joyful voyageurs hastened to skirt the great lake of Superior, on whose shores their destination lay. Deep and cold, Lake Superior, when stirred by angry winds, became the grave of many a voyageur. Few that fell into its icy embrace escaped. Its rocky shores were the death of many a swift canoe, and its weird legends were those of the Inini-Wudjoo, the great giant, or of the hungry heron that devoured the unwary. Cautiously along its shores Jean Baptiste crept to Michipicoten, then to the Pic, and on to Nepigon, places where trading posts marked the nerve centres of the fur trade. At length, rounding Thunder Cape, Fort William was reached, the goal of the "mangeur de lard" or Montreal voyageur. Around the walls of the fort the great encampment was made. The River Kaministiquia was gay with canoes; the East and West met in rivalry--the wild couriers of the West and the patient boatmen of the East. In sight of the fort stood, up the river, McKay Mountain, around which tradition had woven fancies and tales. Its terraced heights suggest man's work, but it is to this day in a state of nature. Here in the days of conflict, when the opposing trappers and hunters went on their expeditions, old Trader McKay ascended, followed them with his keen eye in their meanderings, and circumvented them in their plans. The days of waiting, unloading, loading, feasting, and contending being over, the Montreal voyageurs turned their faces homeward, and with flags afloat, paddled away, now cheerfully singing sweet "Alouette." "Ma mignonette, embrassez-moi. Nenni, Monsieur, je n'oserais, Car si mon papa le savait." (My darling, smile on me. No! No! good sir, I do not dare, My dear papa would know! would know!) "But who would tell papa?" "The birds on the forest tree." "Ils parlent français, latin aussi, Hélas! que le monde est malin D'apprendre aux oiseaux le latin." ("They speak French and Latin too, Alas! the world is very bad To tell its tales to the naughty birds.") Bon voyage! Bon voyage, mes voyageurs! [Illustration: MAP OF THE FAR NORTH.] CHAPTER XXXII. EXPLORERS IN THE FAR NORTH. The North-West Passage again--Lieut. John Franklin's land expedition--Two lonely winters--Hearne's mistake corrected--Franklin's second journey--Arctic sea coast explored--Franklin knighted--Captain John Ross by sea--Discovers magnetic pole--Magnetic needle nearly perpendicular--Back seeks for Ross--Dease and Simpson sent by Hudson's Bay Company to explore--Sir John in _Erebus_ and _Terror_--The Paleocrystic Sea--Franklin never returns--Lady Franklin's devotion--The historic search--Dr. Rae secures relics--Captain McClintock finds the cairn and written record--Advantages of the search. The British people were ever on the alert to have their famous sea captains explore new seas, especially in the line of the discovery of the North-West Passage. From the time of Dobbs, the discomfiture of that bitter enemy of the Hudson's Bay Company had checked the advance in following up the explorations of Davis and Baffin, whose names had become fixed on the icy sea channels of the North. Captain Phipps, afterwards Lord Mulgrave, had been the last of the great captains who had taken part in the spasm of north-west interest set agoing by Dobbs. Two generations of men had passed when, in 1817, the quest for the North-West Passage was taken up by Captain William Scoresby. Scoresby advanced a fresh argument in favour of a new effort to attain this long-harboured dream of the English captains. He maintained that a change had taken place in the seasons, and the position of the ice was such as probably to allow a successful voyage to be made from Baffin's Bay to Behring Strait. Sir John Barrow with great energy advocated the project of a new expedition, and Captain John Ross and Edward Parry were despatched to the northern seas. Parry's second expedition enabled him to discover Fury and Hecla Strait, to pass through Lancaster Strait, and to name the continuation of it Barrow Strait, after the great patron of northern exploration. FRANKLIN'S LAND EXPEDITION. Meanwhile John Franklin was despatched to cross the plains of Rupert's Land to forward Arctic enterprise. This notable man has left us an heritage of undying interest in connection with this movement. A native of Lincolnshire, a capable and trusted naval officer, who had fought with Nelson at Copenhagen, who had gone on an Arctic voyage to Spitzbergen, and had seen much service elsewhere, he was appointed to command the overland expedition through Rupert's Land to the Arctic Sea, while Lieutenant Parry sought, as we have seen, the passage with two vessels by way of Lancaster Sound. Accompanied by a surgeon--Dr. Richardson--two midshipmen, Back and Hood, and a few Orkneymen, Lieutenant Franklin embarked from England for Hudson Bay in June, 1819. Wintering for the first season on the Saskatchewan, the party were indebted to the Hudson's Bay Company for supplies, and reached Fort Chipewyan in about a year from the time of their departure from England. The second winter was spent by the expedition on the famous barren grounds of the Arctic slope. Their fort was called Fort Enterprise, and the party obtained a living chiefly from the game and fish of the region. In the following summer the Franklin party descended the Coppermine River to the Arctic Sea. Here Hearne's mistake of four degrees in the latitude was corrected and the latitude of the mouth of the Coppermine River fixed at 67° 48´ N. Having explored the coast of the Arctic Sea eastward for six degrees to Cape Turnagain and suffered great hardships, the survivors of the party made their return journey, and reached Britain after three years' absence. Franklin was given the rank of captain and covered with social and literary honours. Three years after his return to England, Captain Franklin and his old companions went upon their second journey through Rupert's Land. Having reached Fort Chipewyan, they continued the journey northward, and the winter was spent at their erection known as Fort Franklin, on Great Bear Lake. Here the party divided, one portion under Franklin going down the Mackenzie to the sea, and coasting westward to Return Reef, hoping to reach Captain Cook's icy cape of 1778. In this they failed. Dr. Richardson led the other party down the Mackenzie River to its mouth, and then, going eastward, reached the mouth of the Coppermine, which he ascended. By September both parties had gained their rendezvous, Fort Franklin, and it was found that unitedly they had traced the coast line of the Arctic Sea through thirty-seven degrees of longitude. On the return of the successful adventurer, after an absence of two years, to England, he was knighted and received the highest scientific honours. CAPTAIN JOHN ROSS BY SEA. When the British people become roused upon a subject, failure seems but to whet the public mind for new enterprise and greater effort. The North-West Passage was now regarded as a possibility. After the coast of the Arctic Ocean had been traced by the Franklin-Richardson expedition, to reach this shore by a passage from Parry's Fury and Hecla Strait seemed feasible. Two years after the return of Franklin from his second overland journey, an expedition was fitted out by a wealthy distiller, Sheriff Felix Booth, and the ship, the _Victory_, provided by him, was placed under the command of Captain John Ross, who had already gained reputation in exploring Baffin's Bay. Captain Ross was ably seconded in his expedition by his nephew, Captain James Ross. Going by Baffin's Bay and through Lancaster Sound, Prince Regent's Inlet led Ross southward between Cockburn Island and Somerset North, into an open sea called after his patron, Gulf of Boothia, on the west side of which he named the newly-discovered land Boothia Felix. He even discovered the land to the west of Boothia, calling it King William Land. His ship became embedded in the ice. After four winters in the Arctic regions he was rescued by a whaler in Barrow Strait. One of the most notable events in this voyage of Ross's was his discovery of the North Magnetic Pole on the west side of Boothia Felix. During his second winter (1831) Captain Ross determined to gratify his ambition to be the discoverer of the point where the magnetic needle stands vertically, as showing the centre of terrestrial magnetism for the northern hemisphere. After four or five days' overland journey, with a trying headwind from the north-west, he reached the sought-for point on June 1st. We deem it only just to state the discovery in the words of the veteran explorer himself:-- "The land at this place is very low near the coast, but it rises into ridges of fifty or sixty feet high about a mile inland. We could have wished that a place so important had possessed more of mark or note. It was scarcely censurable to regret that there was not a mountain to indicate a spot to which so much interest must ever be attached; and I could even have pardoned any one among us who had been so romantic or absurd as to expect that the magnetic pole was an object as conspicuous and mysterious as the fabled mountain of Sinbad, that it was even a mountain of iron, or a magnet as large as Mont Blanc. But Nature had here erected no monument to denote the spot which she had chosen as the centre of one of her great and dark powers; and where we could do little ourselves towards this end, it was our business to submit, and to be content in noting in mathematical numbers and signs, as with things of far more importance in the terrestrial system, what we could ill distinguish in any other manner. "The necessary observations were immediately commenced, and they were continued throughout this and the greater part of the following day.... The amount of the dip, as indicated by my dipping-needle, was 89° 59´, being thus within one minute of the vertical; while the proximity at least of this pole, if not its actual existence where we stood, was further confirmed by the action, or rather by the total inaction, of several horizontal needles then in my possession.... There was not one which showed the slightest effort to move from the position in which it was placed. "As soon as I had satisfied my own mind on this subject, I made known to the party this gratifying result of all our joint labours; and it was then that, amidst mutual congratulations, we fixed the British flag on the spot, and took possession of the North Magnetic Pole and its adjoining territory, in the name of Great Britain and King William the Fourth. We had abundance of material for building in the fragments of limestone that covered the beach; and we therefore erected a cairn of some magnitude, under which we buried a canister containing a record of the interesting fact, only regretting that we had not the means of constructing a pyramid of more importance and of strength sufficient to withstand the assaults of time and of the Esquimaux. Had it been a pyramid as large as that of Cheops I am not quite sure that it would have done more than satisfy our ambition under the feelings of that exciting day. The latitude of this spot is 70° 5´ 17´´ and its longitude 96° 46´ 45´´." Thus much for the magnetic pole. This pole is almost directly north of the city of Winnipeg, and within less than twenty degrees of it. One of Lady Franklin's captains--Captain Kennedy, who resided at Red River--elaborated a great scheme for tapping the central supply of electricity of the magnetic pole, and developing it from Winnipeg as a source of power. SIR GEORGE BACK, THE EXPLORER. In the third year of Captain Ross's expedition his protracted absence became a matter of public discussion in Britain. Dr. Richardson, who had been one of Franklin's followers, offered to take charge of an overland expedition in search of Ross, but his proposition was not accepted. Mr. Ross, a brother of Sir John and father of Captain James Ross, was anxious to find an officer who would take charge of a relief expedition, and the British Government favoured the enterprise. Captain George Back, one of the midshipmen who had accompanied Franklin, was favourably regarded for the important position. The Hudson's Bay Company was in sympathy with the exploration of its Arctic possessions and gave every assistance to the project. Nicholas Garry, the Deputy-Governor of the Company, ably supported it; and the British Government at last gave its consent to grant two thousand pounds, provided the Hudson's Bay Company would furnish, according to its promise, the supplies and canoes free of charge, and that Captain Ross's friends would contribute three thousand pounds. Captain Back cordially accepted the offer to command the expedition, and his orders from the Government were to find Captain Ross, or any survivors or survivor of his party; and, "subordinate to this, to direct his attention to mapping what remains unknown of the coasts which he was to visit, and make such other scientific observations as his leisure would admit." In 1833 Captain Back crossed the Atlantic, accompanied by a surgeon, Dr. Richard King, and at Montreal obtained a party of four regulars of the Royal Artillery. Pushing on by the usual route, he reached Lake Winnipeg, and thence by light canoe arrived at Fort Resolution on Great Slave Lake in August. He wintered at Fort Reliance, near the east end of Great Slave Lake, which was established by Roderick McLeod, a Hudson's Bay Company officer, who had received orders to assist the expedition. Before leaving this point a message arrived from England that Captain Ross was safe. Notwithstanding this news, in June of the following year Back and his party crossed the country to Artillery Lake, and drew their boats and baggage in a most toilsome manner over the ice of this and three other lakes, till the Great Fish River was reached and its difficult descent begun. On July 30th the party encamped at Cape Beaufort, a prominent point of the inlet of the Arctic Ocean into which the Great Fish River empties. The expedition again descended the river and returned to England, where it was well received, and Captain Back was knighted for his pluck and perseverance. An expedition under Back in the next year, to go by ship to Wager Bay and then to cross by portage the narrow strip of land to the Gulf of Boothia, was a failure, and the party with difficulty reached Britain again. A HUDSON'S BAY COMPANY EXPEDITION--DEASE AND SIMPSON. [Illustration: SIR JOHN FRANKLIN. LADY FRANKLIN. SIR GEORGE BACK. SIR JOHN RICHARDSON. SEARCHERS IN THE NORTH.] Dr. Richard King, who had been Back's assistant and surgeon, now endeavoured to organize an expedition to the Arctic Ocean by way of Lake Athabasca and through a chain of lakes leading to the Great Fish River. This project received no backing from the British Government or from the Hudson's Bay Company. The Company now undertook to carry out an expedition of its own. The reasons of this are stated to have been--(1) The interest of the British public in the effort to connect the discoveries of Captains Back and Ross; (2) They are said to have desired a renewal of their expiring lease for twenty-one years of the trade of the Indian territories; (3) The fact was being pointed out, as in former years, that their charter required the Company to carry on exploration. In 1836 the Hudson's Bay Company in London decided to carrying out the expedition, and gave instructions to Governor Simpson to organize and despatch it. At Norway House, at the meeting of the Governor and officers of that year, steps were taken to explore the Arctic Coast. An experienced Hudson's Bay Company officer, Peter Warren Dease, and with him an ardent young man, Thomas Simpson, a relation of the Governor, was placed in charge. The party, after various preparations, including a course of mathematics and astronomy received by Thomas Simpson at Red River, made its departure, and Fort Chipewyan was reached in February, where the remainder of the winter was spent. As soon as navigation opened, the descent of the Mackenzie River was made to the mouth. The party then coasting westward on the Arctic Ocean, passed Franklin's "Return Reef," reached Boat Extreme, and Simpson made a foot journey thence to Cape Barrow. Having returned to the mouth of the Mackenzie River, the Great Bear Lake, where Fort Confidence had been erected by the advance guard of the party, was reached. The winter was passed at this point, and in the following spring the expedition descended the Copper-mine River, and coasting eastward along the Polar Sea, reached Cape Turnagain in August. Returning and ascending the Coppermine for a distance, the party halted, and Simpson made a land journey eastward to new territory which he called Victoria Land, and erected a pillar of stones, taking possession of the country, "in the name of the Honourable Company, and for the Queen of Great Britain." Their painful course was then retraced to Fort Confidence, where the second winter was spent. On the opening of spring, the Company descended to the coast to carry on their work. Going eastward, they, after much difficulty, reached new ground, passed Dease's Strait, and discovered Cape Britannia. Taking two years to return, Simpson arrived at Fort Garry, and disappointed at not receiving further instructions, he joined a freight party about to cross the plains to St. Paul, Minnesota. While on the way he was killed, either by his half-breed companions or by his own hand. His body was brought back to Fort Garry, and is buried at St. John's cemetery. The Hudson's Bay Company thus made an earnest effort to explore the coast, and through its agents, Dease and Simpson, may be said to have been reasonably successful. THE SEARCH FOR FRANKLIN. After the return of Sir John Franklin from his second overland expedition in Rupert's Land, Sir John was given the honourable position of Lieutenant-Governor of Tasmania, and on his coming again to England, was asked by the Admiralty to undertake a sea voyage for the purpose of finding his way from Lancaster Sound to Behring's Strait. Sir John accepted the trust, and his popularity led to the offer of numerous volunteers, who were willing to undertake the hazards of the journey. Two excellent vessels, the _Erebus_ and _Terror_, well fitted out for the journey, were provided, and his expedition started with the most glowing hopes of success, on May 19th, 1845. Many people in Britain were quite convinced that the expectation of a north-west passage was now to be realized. We know now only too well the barrier which lay in Franklin's way. Almost directly north-east of the mouth of Fish River, which Back and Simpson had both found, there lies a vast mass of ice, which can neither move toward Behring's Strait on account of the shallow opening there, or to Baffin's Bay on account of the narrow and tortuous winding of the channels. This, called by Sir George Nares the Paleocrystic Sea, we are now aware bars the progress of any ship. Franklin had gone down on the west side of North Somerset and Boothia, and coming against the vast barrier of the Paleocrystic Sea, had been able to go no further. Two years after the departure of the expedition from which so much was expected, there were still no tidings. Preparations were made for an expedition to rescue the adventurers, and in 1848 the first party of relief sailed. For the next eleven years the energy and spirit and liberality of the British public were something unexampled in the annals of public sympathy. Regardless of cost or hazard, not less than fifteen expeditions were sent out by England and the United States on their sad quest. Lady Franklin, with a heroism and skill past all praise, kept the eye of the nation steadily on her loss, and sacrificed her private fortune in the work of rescue. We are not called upon to give the details of these expeditions, but may refer to a few notable points. The Hudson's Bay Company at once undertook a journey by land in quest of the unfortunate navigator. Dr. Richardson, who had gone on Franklin's first expedition, along with a well-known Hudson's Bay Company officer, Dr. Rae, scoured the coast of the Arctic Sea, from the mouth of the Mackenzie to that of the Coppermine River. For two years more, Dr. Rae continued the search, and in the fourth year (1851) this facile traveller, by a long sledge journey in spring and boat voyage in summer, examined the shores of Wollaston and Victoria Land. A notable expedition took place in the sending out by Lady Franklin herself of the _Prince Albert_ schooner, under Captain Kennedy, who afterwards made his home in the Red River settlement. His second in command was Lieutenant Bellot, of the French Navy, who was a plucky and shrewd explorer, and who, on a long sledge journey, discovered the Strait which bears his name between North Somerset and Boothia. The names of McClure, Austin, Collinson, Sir Edmund Belcher, and Kellett stand out in bold relief in the efforts--fruitless in this case--made to recover traces of the unfortunate expedition. The first to come upon remains of the Franklin expedition was Dr. John Rae, who, we have seen, had thoroughly examined the coast along the Arctic Ocean. The writer well remembers meeting Dr. Rae many years after in the city of Winnipeg and hearing his story. Rae was a lithe, active, enterprising man. In 1853, he announced that the drawback in former expeditions had been the custom of carrying a great stock of provisions and useless impedimenta, and so under Hudson's Bay Company auspices he undertook to go with gun and fishing tackle up the west coast of Hudson Bay. This he did, ascended Chesterfield Inlet, and wintered with eight men at Repulse Bay. In the next season he made a remarkable journey of fifty-six days, and succeeded in connecting the discoveries of Captain James Ross with those of Dease and Simpson, proving King William Land to be an island. Rae discovered on this journey plate and silver decorations among the Eskimos, which they admitted had belonged to the Franklin party. Dr. Rae was awarded a part of the twenty thousand pounds reward offered by the Imperial Government. The British people could not, however, be satisfied until something more was done, and Lady Franklin, with marvellous self-devotion, gave the last of her available means to add to the public subscription for the purchase and fitting out of the little yacht _Fox_, which, under Captain Leopold McClintock, sailed from Aberdeen in 1857. Having in less than two years reached Bellot Strait, McClintock's party was divided into three sledging expeditions. One of them, under Captain McClintock, was very successful, obtaining relics of the lost Franklin and his party and finding a cairn which contained an authoritative record of the fortunes of the company for three years. Sir John had died a year before this record was written. Captain McClintock was knighted for his successful effort and the worst was now at last known. The attempt of Sir John and the efforts to find him reflect the highest honour on the British people. And not only sentiment, but reason was satisfied. As had been said, "the catastrophe of Sir John Franklin's expedition led to seven thousand miles of coast line being discovered, and to a vast extent of unknown country being explored, securing very considerable additions to geographical knowledge. Much attention was also given to the collection of information, and the scientific results of the various search expeditions were considerable." CHAPTER XXXIII. EXPEDITIONS TO THE FRONTIER OF THE FUR COUNTRY. A disputed boundary--Sources of the Mississippi--The fur traders push southward--Expedition up the Missouri--Lewis and Clarke meet Nor'-Westers--Claim of United States made--Sad death of Lewis--Lieutenant Pike's journey--Pike meets fur traders--Cautions Dakotas--Treaty with Chippewas--Violent death--Long and Keating fix 49 deg. N.--Visit Fort Garry--Follow old fur traders' route--An erratic Italian--Strange adventures--Almost finds source--Beltrami County--Cass and Schoolcraft fail--Schoolcraft afterwards succeeds--Lake Itasca--Curious origin of name--The source determined. The Treaty of Paris was an example of magnanimity on the part of Great Britain to the United States, her wayward Transatlantic child, who refused to recognize her authority. It is now clearly shown that Lord Shelbourne, the English Premier, desired to promote good feeling between mother and daughter as nations. Accordingly the boundary line west of Lake Superior gave over a wide region where British traders had numerous establishments, and where their occupation should have counted for possession. In the treaty of amity and commerce, eleven years afterward, it was agreed that a line drawn from Lake of the Woods overland to the source of Mississippi should be the boundary. But, alas! the sources of the Mississippi for fifty years afterward proved as difficult a problem as the source of the Nile. In the first decade of this century it was impossible to draw the southern line of Rupert's Land. The United States during this period evinced some anxiety in regard to this boundary, and, as we shall see, a number of expeditions were despatched to explore the country. The sources of the Mississippi naturally afforded much interest to the Government at Washington, even though the convention of London of 1818 had settled the 49 deg. N. as the boundary. The region west of the Mississippi, which was known as Louisiana, extended northward to the British possessions, having been transferred by Spain to the United States in 1803. A number of expeditions to the marches or boundary land claim a short notice from us, as being bound up with the history and interests of the Hudson's Bay Company. LEWIS AND CLARKE'S EXPEDITION. Of these, a notable and interesting voyage was that of Captains Meriwether Lewis and William Clarke, of the United States army. This expedition consisted of nearly fifty men--soldiers, volunteers, adventurers, and servants. Being a Government expedition, it was well provided with stores, Indian presents, weapons, and other necessary articles of travel. Leaving Wood River, near St. Louis, the party started up the Missouri in three boats, and were accompanied by two horses along the bank of the River to bring them game or to hunt in case of scarcity. After many adventures the expedition, which began its journey on May 14th, 1804, reached the headquarters of the Mandan Indians on the Missouri on October 26th. The Mandans, or, as they have been called, the White Bearded Sioux, were at this time a large and most interesting people. Less copper-coloured than the other Indians, agricultural in habit, pottery makers, and dwelling in houses partly sunk in the earth, their trade was sought from different directions. We have seen already that Verendrye first reached them; that David Thompson, the astronomer of the North-West Company, visited them; that Harmon and others, North-West traders, met them; that fur traders from the Assiniboine came to them; that even the Hudson's Bay Company had penetrated to their borders. The Mandans themselves journeyed north to the Assiniboine and carried Indian corn, which they grew, to Rupert's Land to exchange for merchandise. The Mandan trail can still be pointed out in Manitoba. A fur trader, Hugh McCracken, met Lewis and Clarke at this point, and we read, "That he set out on November 1st on his return to the British fort and factory on the Assiniboine River, about one hundred and fifty miles from this place. He took a letter from Captain Lewis to the North-West Company, enclosing a copy of the passport granted by the British Minister in the United States." This shows the uncertainty as to the boundary line, the leaders of the expedition having provided themselves with this permission in case of need. In dealing with the Mandans, Captain Lewis gave them presents, and "told them that they had heard of the British trader, Mr. Laroche, having attempted to distribute medals and flags among them; but that these emblems could not be received from any other than the American nation, without incurring the displeasure of their Great Father, 'the President. On December 1st the party was visited by a trader, Henderson, who came from the Hudson's Bay Company. He had been about eight days on his route in a direction nearly south, and brought with him tobacco, beads, and other merchandise to trade for furs, and a few guns which were to be exchanged for horses. On December 17th Hugh Harvey and two companions arrived at the camp, having come in six days from the British establishment on the Assiniboine, with a letter from Mr. Charles Chaboillez, one of the North-West Company, who, with much politeness, offered to render us any service in his power." With the expedition of Lewis and Clarke we have little more to do. It successfully crossed from the sources of the Missouri, over the Rocky Mountains to the Columbia, descended it to the mouth, and returned by nearly the same route, reaching the mouth of the Missouri in 1806. The expedition of Lewis and Clarke has become the most celebrated of the American transcontinental ventures. Its early presence at the mouth of the Columbia River gave strength to the claim of the United States for that region; it was virtually a taking possession of the whole country from the Mississippi to the Pacific Ocean; it had a picturesqueness and an interest that appealed to the national mind, and the melancholy death of Captain Lewis, who, in 1809, when the American Government refused to fulfil its engagements with him, blew out his brains, lends an impressiveness to what was really a great and successful undertaking. PIKE'S EXPEDITION. The source or sources of the Mississippi was, as we have seen, an important matter in settling the boundary line between the possessions of Great Britain and the United States. The matter having occupied the authorities at Washington, Zebulon M. Pike, a lieutenant of the United States army, was sent to examine the country upon the Upper Mississippi and to maintain the interests of the Government in that quarter. Leaving St. Louis on August 9th, 1805, he ascended the "Father of Waters," and reached Prairie du Chien in September. Here he was met by the well-known free-traders who carried on the fur trade in this region. Their names were Fisher, Frazer and Woods. These men were in the habit of working largely in harmony with the North-West Company traders, and, on account of their British origin, were objects of suspicion to the United States authorities. Pushing on among the Indians, by the help of French Canadian interpreters, he came to Lake Pepin. On the shores of this lake Pike met Murdoch Cameron, the principal British free-trader on the upper Minnesota River. Cameron was a shrewd and daring Scotchman, noted for his generosity and faithfulness. He was received with distinction by Pike, and the trader as shown by his grave, pointed out many years afterward on the banks of the Minnesota, was in every way worthy of the attention. Shortly after this, Pike passed near where the city of St. Paul, Minn., stands to-day, the encampment of J. B. Faribault, a French Canadian free-trader of note, whose name is now borne by an important town south of St. Paul. Pike held a council with the Dakota Indians, and purchased from them a considerable amount of land for military purposes, for which the Senate paid them the sum of two thousand dollars. Pike seems to have cautioned the Dakotas or Sioux to beware of the influence of the English, saying, "I think the traders who come from Canada are bad birds among the Chippeways, and instigate them to make war upon their red brothers, the Sioux." About the end of October, unable to proceed further up the Mississippi on account of ice, Pike built a blockhouse, which he enclosed with pickets, and there spent the most severe part of the winter. At his post early in December he was visited by Robert Dickson, a British fur trader, described by Neill as "a red-haired Scotchman, of strong intellect, good family, and ardent attachment to the crown of England, who was at the head of the Indian trade in Minnesota." Pike himself speaks of Dickson as a "gentleman of general commercial knowledge and of open, frank manners." Explanations took place between the Government agent and the trader as to the excessive use of spirits by the Indians. On December 10th Pike started on a journey northward in sleds, taking a canoe with him for use so soon as the river should open. When Pike arrived near Red Cedar Lake, he was met by four Chippewa Indians, a Frenchman, and one of the North-West traders, named Grant. Going with Grant to his establishment on the shores of the lake, Pike tells us, "When we came in sight of the house I observed the flag of Great Britain flying. I felt indignant, and cannot say what my feelings would have excited me to had Grant not told me that it belonged to the Indians." On February 1st Pike reached Leech Lake, which he considered to be the main source of the Mississippi. He crossed the lake twelve miles to the establishment of the North-West Company, which was in charge of a well-known North-West trader, Hugh McGillies. While he was treated with civility, it is plain from his cautions to McGillies and his bearing to him, that he was jealous of the influence which British traders were then exercising in Minnesota. Having made a treaty with the Chippewa Indians of Red Lake, Pike's work was largely accomplished, and in April he departed from this region, where he had shown great energy and tact, to give in his report after a voyage of some nine months. A most melancholy interest attaches to this gentlemanly and much-respected officer of the United States. In the war of 1812-15, Pike, then made a general, was killed at the taking of York (Toronto), in Upper Canada, by the explosion of the magazine of the fort evacuated by General Sheaffe. Pike, as leader on this Mississippi expedition, as commanding an expedition on the Rio Grande, where he was captured by the Spaniards, and as a brave soldier, has handed down an honourable name and fame. LONG AND KEATING. The successful journey of Lewis and Clarke, as well as the somewhat useful expedition of Lieutenant Pike, led the United States Government to send in 1823 an expedition to the northern boundary line 49 deg. N., which had been settled a few years before. In charge of this was Major Stephen H. Long. He was accompanied by a scientific corps consisting of Thomas Say, zoologist and antiquary; Samuel Seymour, landscape painter and designer; and William H. Keating, mineralogist and geologist, who also acted as historian of the expedition. Leaving Philadelphia in April, the company passed overland to Prairie du Chien on the Mississippi, ascended this river, and going up its branch, the Minnesota, reached the town of Mendota in the month of July. A well-known French half-breed, Joseph Renville, acted as guide, and several others joined the party at this point. After journeying up the Minnesota River, partly by canoe, and partly by the use of horses, they reached in thirteen days Big Stone Lake, which is considered to be the source of the river. Following up the bed of a dried-up stream for three miles, they found Lake Traverse, the source of the Red River, and reached Pembina Village, a collection of fifty or sixty log huts inhabited by half-breeds, numbering about three hundred and fifty. We have already seen how the North-West and Hudson's Bay Companies had posts at this place, and that it had been visited regularly by the Selkirk settlers as being in proximity to the open plains where buffalo could be obtained. On the day after Long's arrival he saw the return of the buffalo hunters from the chase. The procession consisted of one hundred and fifteen carts, each loaded with about eight hundred pounds of the pressed buffalo meat. There were three hundred persons, including the women. The number of horses was about two hundred. Twenty hunters, mounted on their best steeds, rode abreast, giving a salute as they passed the encampment of the expedition. One of Major Long's objects in making his Journey was to ascertain the point where the parallel of 49 deg. N. crossed the Red River. For four days observations were taken and a flag-staff planted a short distance south of the 49th parallel. The space to the boundary line was measured off, and an oak post fixed on it, having on the north side the letters G. B., and on the south side U. S. This post was kept up and was seen by the writer in 1871. In 1872, a joint expedition of British and American engineers took observations and found Long's point virtually correct. They surveyed the line of 49 deg. eastward to Lake of the Woods and westward to the Rocky Mountains. Posts were erected at short distances along the boundary line, many of them of iron, with the words on them, "Convention of London, 1818." His work at Pembina having been accomplished, Major Long gave up, on account of the low country to be passed, the thought of following the boundary line eastward to the Lake of the Woods. He sold his horses and took canoes down the river to the Hudson's Bay Company at Fort Garry, where he was much interested in the northern civilization as well as in the settlers who had Fort Douglas as their centre. It was August 17th when Long's expedition left Fort Douglas and went down the Red River. It took but two days to reach the mouth of the river and cross Lake Winnipeg to Fort Alexander at the mouth of the Winnipeg River. Six days more brought the swift canoe-men up the river to Lake of the Woods. At the falls of Rainy River was the Hudson's Bay Company establishment, then under the charge of fur trader McGillivray. On the opposite side of the river was the fort of the American Fur Company. Following the old route, they reached Grand Portage, September 12th, and thence the expedition returned to the East. Major Long's expedition was a well-conducted and successful enterprise. Its members were of the highest respectability, and the two volumes written by Secretary Keating have the charm of real adventure about them. BELTRAMI'S DASH. When Major Long was leaving Fort Snelling, on the Mississippi, to go upon the expedition we have just described, an erratic but energetic and clever Italian, named J. C. Beltrami, asked to be allowed to accompany him. This aspiring but wayward man has left us a book, consisting of letters addressed to Madame la Comtesse Compagoni, a lady of rank in Florence, which is very interesting. On starting he wrote, "My first intention, that of going in search of the real source of the Mississippi, was always before my eyes." Beltrami, while clever, seems to have been a man of insufferable conceit. On the journey to Big Stone Lake and thence along the river, in the buffalo hunts, in conferences with the Sioux, the Italian adventurer awakened the resentment of the commander of the expedition, who refused to allow him to accompany his party further. This proved rather favourable to the purpose of Beltrami, who, with a half-breed guide and Chippewa Indians, started to go eastward, having a mule and a dog train as means of transport. After a few days' journey the guide left him, returning with the mule and dog train to Pembina. Next his Indian guide deserted him, fearing the Sioux, and Beltrami was left to make his way in a canoe up the river to Red Lake. Inexperienced in the management of a birch bark canoe, Beltrami was upset, but he at length proceeded along the bank and shallows of the river, dragging the canoe with a tow line after him, and arrived in miserable plight at Red Lake. Here he engaged a guide and interpreter, and writes that he went "where no white man had previously travelled." He was now on the highway to renown. He was taken from point to point on the many lakes of Northern Minnesota, and affixed names to them. On August 20th, 1823, he went over several portages, led by his guide to Turtle Lake, which was to him a source of wonder, as he saw it from the flow of waters south to the Gulf of Mexico, north to the Frozen Sea, east to the Atlantic, and west toward the Pacific Ocean. His own words are: "A vast platform crosses this distinguished supreme elevation, and, what is more astonishing, in the midst of it rises a lake. How is this lake formed? Whence do its waters proceed? This lake has no issue! And my eyes, which are not deficient in sharpness, cannot discover in the whole extent of the clearest and widest horizon any land which rises above it. All places around it are, on the contrary, considerably lower." Beltrami then went to examine the surrounding country, and found the lake, to which he gave the name of Lake Julia, to be bottomless. This lake he pronounces to be the source of the Mississippi River. This opinion was published abroad and accepted by some, but later explorations proved him to be wrong. A small lake to the south-west, afterwards found to be the true source, was described to him by his guide as Lac La Biche, and he placed this on his chart as "Doe Lake," the west source of the Mississippi. It is a curious fact that Lake Julia was the same lake surveyed twenty-five years before by astronomer Thompson. After further explorations, Beltrami returned to Fort Snelling, near St. Paul, Minn., being clothed in Indian garments, with a piece of bark for a hat. The intrepid explorer found his way to New Orleans, where he published "La Découverte des Sources du Mississippi." Though the work was criticized with some severity, yet Beltrami, on his arrival at London in 1827, published "A Pilgrimage in Europe and America" in two volumes, which are the source of our information. The county in Minnesota, which includes both Julia and Doe Lakes, is appropriately called Beltrami County. CASS AND SCHOOLCRAFT. Lewis Cass, of New Hampshire was appointed Governor of Michigan in 1813. Six years after this he addressed the Secretary of War in Washington, proposing an expedition to and through Lake Superior, and to the sources of the Mississippi. It was planned for an examination of the principal features of the North-West tributary to Lake Superior and the Mississippi River. This was sanctioned in 1820, and the expedition embarked in May of that year at Detroit, Michigan, Henry Schoolcraft being mineralogist, and Captain D. B. Douglas topographer and astronomer. The expedition, after much contrary weather, reached Sault Ste. Marie, and the Governor, after much difficulty, here negotiated a treaty with the Indians. Going by way of the Fond du Lac, the party entered the St. Louis River, and made a tiresome portage to Sandy Lake station. This fur-trading post the party left in July, and ascended the Upper Mississippi to the Upper Cedar Lake, the name of which was changed to Lake Cassina, and afterwards Cass Lake. From the Indians Governor Cass learned that Lac La Biche--some fifty miles further on--was the true source of the river, but he was deterred by their accounts of the lowness of the water and the fierceness of the current from attempting the journey any further. The expedition ingloriously retired from the project, going down to St. Anthony Falls, ascending the Wisconsin River, and thence down Fox River. The Governor himself in September arrived in Detroit, having crossed the Southern Peninsula of Michigan on horseback. Hon. J. W. Brown says: "When Governor Cass abandoned his purpose to ascend the Mississippi to its source, he was within an easy distance, comparatively speaking, of the goal sought for. Less timidity had often been displayed in canoe voyages, even in the face of low water, and an O-z-a-win-dib or a Keg-wed-zis-sag, Indian guides, would have easily won the battle of the day for Governor Cass." SCHOOLCRAFT AT LENGTH SUCCEEDS. Henry Rowe Schoolcraft, of good family, was born in New York State, and was educated in that State and in Vermont. His first expedition was in company with De Witt Clinton in a journey to Missouri and Arkansas. On his return he published two treatises which gave him some reputation as an explorer and scientist. We have already spoken of the part taken by him in the expedition of Governor Cass. He received after this the appointment of "Superintendent of Indian Affairs" at Sault Ste. Marie, and to this we are indebted for the treasury of Indian lore published in four large quarto volumes, from which Longfellow obtained his tale of "Hiawatha." In 1830 Schoolcraft received orders from Washington, ostensibly for conference with the Indians, but in reality to determine the source of the Mississippi. The Rev. W. T. Boutwell, representing a Board of Missions, accompanied the expedition. Lac La Biche was already known to exist, and to this Schoolcraft pointed his expedition. On their journey outward Schoolcraft suddenly one day asked Boutwell the Greek and Latin names for the headwaters or true source of a river. Mr. Boutwell could not recall the Greek, but gave the two Latin words--_veritas_ (truth) and _caput_ (head). These were written on a slip of paper, and Mr. Schoolcraft struck out the first and last three letters, and announced to Boutwell that "Itasca shall be the name." It is true that Schoolcraft wrote a stanza in which he says, "By fair Itasca shed," seemingly referring to an Indian maiden. Boutwell, however, always maintained his story of the name, and this is supported by the fact that the word was never heard in the Ojibway mythology. The party followed the same route as that taken by Governor Cass on his journey, reaching Cass Lake on July 10th, 1832. Taking the advice of Ozawinder, a Chippewa Indian, they followed up their journey in birch bark canoes, went up the smaller fork of the Mississippi, and then by portage reached the eastern extremity of La Biche or Itasca Lake. The party landed on the island in the lake which has since been known as Schoolcraft Island, and here raised their flag. After exploring the shores of the lake, he returned to Cass Lake, and, full of pride of his discovery, journeyed home to Sault Ste. Marie. On the map drawn to illustrate Schoolcraft's inland journey occurs, beside the lake of his discovery, the legend, "Itasca Lake, the source of the Mississippi River; length from Gulf of Mexico, 3,160 miles; elevation, 1,500 ft. Reached July 13th, 1832." [Illustration: FORT EDMONTON, ON THE NORTH SASKATCHEWAN.] [Illustration: JASPER HOUSE, ROCKY MOUNTAINS.] CHAPTER XXXIV. FAMOUS JOURNEYS IN RUPERT'S LAND. Fascination of an unknown land--Adventure, science, or gain--Lieutenant Lefroy's magnetic survey--Hudson's Bay Company assists--Winters at Fort Chipewyan--First scientific visit to Peace River--Notes lost--Not "gratuitous canoe conveyance"--Captain Palliser and Lieutenant Hector--Journey through Rupert's Land--Rocky Mountain passes--On to the coast--A successful expedition--Hind and Dawson--To spy out the land for Canada--The fertile belt--Hind's description good--Milton and Cheadle--Winter on the Saskatchewan--Reach Pacific Ocean in a pitiable condition--Captain Butler--The horse Blackie and dog "Cerf Vola"--Fleming and Grant--"Ocean to ocean"--"Land fitted for a healthy and hardy race"--Waggon road and railway. The vast area of Rupert's Land and the adjoining Indian territories have always had a fascination for the British imagination; and not alone its wide extent, but its being a fur traders' paradise, and in consequence largely a "terra incognita," has led adventurous spirits to desire to explore it. Just as Sir John Mandeville's expedition to the unknown regions of Asia in the fourteenth century has appealed to the hardy and brave sons of Britain from that early day; and in later times the famous ride of Colonel Burnaby to Khiva in our own generation has led Central Asia to be viewed as a land of mystery; so the plains of Rupert's Land, with the reputed Chinese wall thrown around them by the Hudson's Bay Company's monopoly, have been a favourite resort for the traveller, the mighty hunter, and the scientist. It is true no succeeding records of adventure can have the interest for us that gathers around those of the intrepid Verendrye, the mysterious Hearne, or the heroic Alexander Mackenzie, whose journeys we have already described, yet many daring adventurers who have gone on scientific or exploratory expeditions, or who have travelled the wide expanse for sport or for mere curiosity, may claim our attention. LEFROY'S MAGNETIC SURVEY. The discovery of the magnetic pole by Sir John Ross, and the continued interest in the problems connected with the Arctic Sea, the romance of the North land, and the dream of a North-West Passage, led to the desire to have a scientific survey of the wide expanse of Rupert's Land. The matter was brought to the notice of the Royal Society by Major, afterwards General Sir Edward Sabine, a noted student of magnetism. Sir John Herschell, the leading light on the subject of physics, succeeded in inducing the Society to pronounce a favourable opinion on the project, and the strong influence of the Royal Society, under the presidency of the Marquis of Northampton, induced the Lords of the Treasury to meet the estimated expenses, nine hundred and ten pounds, with the understanding that, as stated by the President, gratuitous canoe conveyance would be provided by the Hudson's Bay Company in the territories belonging to them. Lieutenant, afterwards General Sir Henry Lefroy, a young artillery officer, was selected to go upon the journey. A circular letter was sent to the Hudson's Bay Company posts by Governor Simpson, directing that every assistance should be given to the survey. Lefroy, having wintered in Montreal, was given a passage on May 1st, 1842, on the canoes for the North-West. Passing up the Ottawa and along the fur traders' route, he soon reached Sault Ste. Marie and Fort William; magnetic observations, accurate observations of latitude and longitude being made at the Hudson's Bay Company posts along the route. Kakabeka Falls and the various points along the Kaministiquia route were examined, and exchanging the "canot de maître" for the "canot de Nord," by way of Lake of the Woods and Lake Winnipeg, the observer arrived at Fort Garry on June 29th, having found Sir George Simpson at Lower Fort Garry. After a close examination of the Red River Valley and some geological observations on the west side of Lake Winnipeg, Lefroy made his way to Norway House, and then by the watercourses, four hundred miles, to York Factory. Having done good work on the Bay, he made the return journey to Norway House, and on August 22nd, Cumberland House on the Saskatchewan was gained. Here he adopted the latitude and longitude taken by Franklin's two land expeditions, and here took seven independent observations of variation and dip of the magnetic needle. Now striking energetically northward, and stopping long enough at the posts to take the necessary observations, the explorer arrived at Fort Chipewyan on September 23rd. It was twelve years since the dwellers on Lake Athabasca had been visited by any traveller from the south, and Lefroy's voyageurs, as they completed their three thousand miles of journey, decked out in their best apparel, made the echoes of the lake resound with their gay chansons. Lefroy wintered in the fort, where the winter months were enjoyed in the well-selected library of the Company and the new experiences of the fur trader's life, while his voyageurs went away to support themselves at a fishing station on the lake. The summer of 1843 was spent in a round of thirteen hundred and forty miles, going from Lake Athabasca, up the Peace River to Fort Dunvegan, then by way of Lower Slave Lake to Edmonton, and down the Saskatchewan to Cumberland. Lefroy claims that no scientific traveller had visited the Peace River since the time of Alexander Mackenzie, fifty-five years before. Unfortunately, Lefroy's notes of this journey and some of his best observations were lost in his return through the United States, and could not be replaced. In March, 1844, Lieutenant Lefroy left Lake Athabasca, and travelled on snow shoes to Fort Resolution on Great Slave Lake, and thence to Fort Simpson, four hundred and fifty miles, having his instruments for observation borne on dog sleds. This journey was made in nineteen days. Waiting at the Fort till May, he accomplished the descent of the Mackenzie River after the breaking up of the ice, and reached Fort Good Hope. The return journey to Fort Resolution was made at a very rapid rate, and the route thence to Lake Athabasca was followed. The diary ends June 30th, 1844. At the close of the expedition some misunderstanding arose as to the settlement of the accounts. The Hudson's Bay Company had promised to give "gratuitous canoe conveyance." The original plan of the journey was, however, much changed, and Lieutenant Lefroy was a much greater expense to the Company than had been expected. A bill of upwards of twelve hundred pounds was rendered by the Hudson's Bay Company to the Royal Society. After certain explanations and negotiations a compromise of eight hundred and fifty pounds was agreed on, and this was paid by the Treasury Department to the Company. The work done by Lieutenant Lefroy was of the most accurate and valuable kind. His name is remembered as that of one of the most trustworthy of the explorers of the plains of Rupert's Land and the North, and is commemorated by Fort Lefroy in the Rocky Mountains. It is true his evidence, recorded in the Blue Book of 1857, was somewhat disappointing, but his errors were those of judgment, not of prejudice or intention. PALLISER AND HECTOR. The approach of the time when the twenty-one years' lease of the Indian territories granted by the Imperial Parliament to the Hudson's Bay Company was drawing near a close in 1857, when the Committee of the House of Commons met in February of this year to consider the matter. A vast mass of evidence was taken, and the consideration of the Blue Book containing this will afford us material for a very interesting chapter. The interest in the matter, and the necessity for obtaining expert information, led the Imperial Government to organize an expedition under Captain John Palliser, R.N.A., of the Royal Engineers. With Captain Palliser, who was to go up the Canadian lakes to the interior, was associated Lieutenant Blakiston, R.N., who received orders to proceed by ship to York Factory and meet the main expedition at some point in Rupert's Land. The geologist of the expedition was James Hector, M.D. (Edin.). J. W. Sullivan was secretary and M. E. Bourgeau, botanist. After the usual incidents of an ocean voyage, some difficulty with the Customs authorities in New York arose as to the entry of astronomical instruments, which was happily overcome, and after a long journey by way of Detroit, Sault Ste. Marie was reached, where Palliser found two birch bark canoes and sixteen voyageurs awaiting him, as provided by the Hudson's Bay Company. Sir George Simpson had lately passed this point. Journeying along the fur traders' route, the explorers found themselves expected at Fort Frances, on Rainy River. Here a deputation of Indians waited upon them, and the old chief discoursed thus: "I do not ask for presents, although I am poor and my people are hungry, but I know you have come straight from the Great Country, and we know that no men from that country ever came to us and lied. I want you to declare to us truthfully what the Great Queen of your country intends to do to us when she will take the country from the fur company's people. All around me I see the smoke of the white men to rise. The 'Long Knives' (the Americans) are trading with our neighbours for their lands and they are cheating them and deceiving them. Now, we will not sell nor part with our lands." Having reached Fort Garry, Captain Palliser divided his party, sending one section west, and himself going south to the boundary line with the other. Going west from Pembina, Palliser reached the French half-breed settlement of St. Joseph (St. Jo.), and some days afterwards Turtle Mountain. Thence he hurried across country to Fort Ellice to meet the other portion of his expedition. While the tired horses rested here he made an excursion of a notable kind to the South-West. This was to the "Roches Percées" on the Souris River. This is a famous spot, noted for the presence of Tertiary sandstone exposures, which have weathered into the most fantastic shapes. It is a sacred spot of the Indians. Here, as at the "Red Pipestone Quarry," described by Longfellow, and not more than one hundred and fifty miles distant from it, Sioux, Assiniboines, and Crees meet in peace. Though war may prevail elsewhere, this spot is by mutual agreement kept as neutral. At this point Palliser saw a great camp of Assiniboines. Returning from this side excursion, the Captain resumed his command, and having obtained McKay, the Hudson's Bay Company officer at Fort Ellice, with Governor Christie's permission, set off by way of Qu'Appelle Lakes for the elbow of the Saskatchewan. On the South Saskatchewan Palliser came to the "heart of the buffalo country." The whole region as far as the eye could reach was covered with the buffalo in bands varying from hundreds to thousands. So vast were the herds, that he began to have serious apprehensions for his horses, as "the grass was eaten to the earth, as if the place had been devastated by locusts." Crossing the Saskatchewan the explorers went northward to Fort Carlton on the north branch, where the party wintered while Captain Palliser returned to Canada, paying 65_l._ to a Red River trader to drive him five hundred and twenty miles from Fort Garry to Crow Wing, the nearest Minnesota settlement. Palliser's horse, for which he had bargained, was killed at Pembina, and he walked the four hundred and fifty miles of the journey, which was made with painful slowness by the struggling horses and sleds of the traders. In June of the following year Palliser left Fort Carlton, part of his command going to the Red Deer River, the other part to visit Fort Pitt and Edmonton House. From Edmonton the explorer reports that during the summer, his men had succeeded in finding a pass through the Rocky Mountains, one not only practicable for horses, but which, with but little expense, could be rendered available for carts also. He also states the passes discovered by him to be:-- (1) Kananaskis Pass and Vermilion Pass; (2) Lake Pass and Beaver Foot Pass; (3) Little Fork Pass; (4) Kicking Horse Pass--six in all, which, with the North Kootenay (on British territory), make up seven known passes. Having wintered at Edmonton, he satisfied himself that this region so far north and west is a good agricultural region, that the Saskatchewan region compares favourably with that of the Red River Valley, that the rule of the country should be given over by the Hudson's Bay Company to the general Government, and that a railway could be built easily from the Red River to the eastern foot of the Rocky Mountains. Orders having reached Palliser to proceed, he undertook, in the summer of 1859, a journey across the Rocky Mountains, following in part the old Hudson's Bay Company trail. On St. Andrew's Day, the party arrived at the Hudson's Bay Company post at Vancouver on the Columbia, and was welcomed by Mr. Graham, the officer in charge. Taking steamer down the Columbia with his assistant Sullivan, Captain Palliser went to Victoria, a Hudson's Bay Company establishment on Vancouver Island, whither they were followed by Dr. Hector. Journeying south-west to San Francisco, he returned, _viâ_ Isthmus of Panama, to New York and England. The expedition was one of the best organized, best managed, and most successful that visited Rupert's Land. The report is a sensible, well-balanced, minute, and reliable account of the country passed over. HIND AND DAWSON'S EXPLORATION. In the same year that Palliser's expedition was despatched by the British Government to examine the resources and characteristics of Rupert's Land, a party was sent by the Canadian Government with similar ends in view, but more especially to examine the routes and means of access by which the prairies of the North-West might be reached from Lake Superior. The staff of the party was as follows: George Gladman, director; Professor Henry Youle Hind, geologist; W. H. E. Napier, engineer; S. J. Dawson, surveyor. These, along with several foremen, twelve Caughnawaga Iroquois, from near Lachine, and twelve Ojibway Indians from Fort William, made up a stirring canoe party of forty-four persons. In July, 1857, the expedition left Toronto, went by land to Collingwood on Lake Huron, embarked there on the steamer _Collingwood_, and passing by Sault St. Marie, reached on August 1st Fort William at the mouth of the Kaministiquia. Mr. John McIntyre, the officer of the Hudson's Bay Company in charge of Fort William, has given to the writer an account of the arrival of the party there with their great supply canoes, trading outfit, and apparatus, piled up high on the steamer's deck--a great contrast to the scanty but probably more efficient means of transport found on a Hudson's Bay Company trading journey. The party in due time went forward over the usual fur traders' route, which we have so often described, and arrived at Fort Garry early in September. As the object of the expedition was to spy out the land, the Red River settlement, now grown to considerable size, afforded the explorers an interesting field for study. Simple though the conditions of life were, yet the fact that six or seven thousands of human beings were gaining a livelihood and were possessed of a number of the amenities of life, made its impress on the visitors, and Hind's chapters VI. to X. of his first volume are taken up with a general account of the settlement, the banks of the Red River, statistics of population, administration of justice, trade, occupations of the people, missions, education, and agriculture at Red River. Having arrived at the settlement, the leaders devised plans for overtaking their work. The approach of winter made it impossible to plan expeditions over the plains to any profit. Mr. Gladman returned by canoe to Lake Superior early in September, Napier and his assistants took up their abode among the better class of English-speaking half-breeds between the upper and lower forts on the banks of the Red River. Mr. Dawson found shelter among his Roman Catholic co-religionists half a mile from Fort Garry. He and his party were to be engaged during the winter between Red River and the Lake of the Woods, along the route afterwards called the Dawson Road, while Hind followed his party up the western bank of Red River to Pembina, and his own account is that there was of them "all told, five gentlemen, five half-breeds, six saddle horses, and five carts, to which were respectively attached four poor horses and one refractory mule." This party was returning to Canada, going by way of Crow Wing, thence by stage coach to St. Paul, on the Mississippi, then by rail unbroken to Toronto, which was reached after an absence of three and a half months. The next season Hind was placed in charge of the expedition, and with new assistants went up the lakes in May, leading them by the long-deserted route of Grand Portage instead of by Kaministiquia. The journey from Lake Superior to Fort Garry was made in about twenty-one days. On their arrival at Red River the party found that Mr. Dawson had gone on an exploring tour to the Saskatchewan. Having organized his expedition Hind now went up the Assiniboine to Fort Ellice. The Qu'Appelle Valley was then explored, and the lake reached from which two streamlets flow, one into the Qu'Appelle and thence to the Assiniboine, the other into the Saskatchewan. Descending the Saskatchewan, at the mouth of which the Grand Rapids impressed the party, they made the journey thence up Lake Winnipeg and Red River to the place of departure. The tour was a most interesting one, having occupied all the summer. Hind was a close observer, was most skilful in working with the Hudson's Bay Company and its officers, and he gained an excellent view of the most fertile parts of the country. His estimate of it on the whole has been wonderfully borne out by succeeding years of experience and investigation. MILTON AND CHEADLE. The world at large, after Hind's expedition and the publication of his interesting observations, began to know more of the fur traders' land and showed more interest in it. In the years succeeding Hind's expedition a number of enterprising Canadians reached Fort Garry by way of St. Paul, Minn., and took up their abode in the country. A daring band of nearly 200 Canadians, drawn by the gold fever, started in 1862, on an overland journey to Cariboo; but many of them perished by the way. Three other well-known expeditions deserve notice. The first of these was in 1862 by Viscount Milton and Dr. Cheadle. Coming from England by way of Minnesota to Fort Garry, they stopped at Red River settlement, and by conveyance crossed the prairies in their first season as far as Fort Carlton on the North Saskatchewan, and wintered there. The season was enjoyable, and in spring the explorers ascended the Saskatchewan to Edmonton, and then, by way of the Yellow Head Pass, crossed the Rocky Mountains. Their descent down the Thompson River was a most difficult one. The explorers were nearly lost through starvation, and on their arrival by way of Fraser River at Victoria their appearance was most distressing and their condition most pitiable. A few years ago, in company with a party of members of the British Association, Dr. Cheadle visited Winnipeg, and at a banquet in the city expressed to the writer his surprise that the former state of scarcity of food even on Red River had been so changed into the evident plenty which Manitoba now enjoys. Milton and Cheadle's "The North-West Passage by Land" is a most enjoyable book. CAPTAIN BUTLER. In the early months of the year 1870, when Red River settlement was under the hand of the rebel Louis Riel, a tall, distinguished-looking stranger descended the Red River in the steamer _International_. News had been sent by a courier on horseback to the rebel chief that a dangerous stranger was approaching. The stalwart Irish visitor was Captain W. F. Butler, of H.M. 69th Regiment of Foot. As the _International_ neared Fort Garry, Butler, with a well-known resident of Red River settlement, sprang upon the river-bank from the steamer in the dark as she turned into the Assiniboine River. He escaped to the lower part of the settlement, but the knowledge that he had a letter from the Roman Catholic Archbishop Taché led to the rebel chief sending for and promising him a safe-conduct. Butler came and inspected the fort, and again departed to Lake Winnipeg, River Winnipeg, and Lake of the Woods, where he accomplished his real mission, in telling to General Wolseley, of the relief expedition coming to drive away the rebels, the state of matters in the Red River. Captain Butler then went west, crossed country to the Saskatchewan, descended the river, and in winter came through, by snow-shoe and dog train, over Lakes Winnipegoosis and Manitoba to the east, and then to Europe. Love of adventure brought Captain Butler back to the North-West. In 1872 he journeyed through the former fur traders' land, reaching Lake Athabasca in March, 1873. Ascending the Peace River, he arrived in Northern British Columbia in May. Through three hundred and fifty miles of the dense forests of New Caledonia he toiled to reach Quesnel, on the Fraser, four hundred miles north of Victoria, British Columbia, where he in due time landed. Captain Butler has left a graphic, perhaps somewhat embellished, account of his travels in the books, "Great Lone Land" and "Wild North Land." The central figure of his first book is the faithful horse "Blackie" and of the second the Eskimo dog "Cerf-Vola." The appreciative reader feels, however, especially in the latter, the spirit and power of Milton's and Cheadle's "North-West Passage by Land" everywhere in these descriptive works. FLEMING AND GRANT. Third of these expeditions was that undertaken in 1872, under the leadership of Sandford Fleming, which has been chronicled in the work "Ocean to Ocean," by Rev. Principal Grant. The writer saw this expedition at Winnipeg in the summer of its arrival. It came for the purpose of crossing the plains, as a preliminary survey for a railway. The party came up the lakes, and by boat and portage over the traders' route, and the Dawson Road from Lake of the Woods to Red River, and halted near Fort Garry. Going westward, they for the most part followed the path of Milton and Cheadle. Fort Carlton and then Edmonton House were reached, and the Yellow Head Pass was followed to the North Thompson River. The forks of the river at Kamloops were passed, and then the canoe way down the Fraser to the sea was taken. The return journey was made by way of San Francisco. The expedition did much to open the way for Canadian emigration and to keep before the minds of Canadians the necessity for a waggon road across the Rocky Mountains and for a railway from ocean to ocean as soon as possible. Dr. Grant's conclusion was: "We know that we have a great North-West, a country like old Canada--not suited for lotus-eaters to live in, but fitted to rear a healthy and hardy race." CHAPTER XXXV. RED RIVER SETTLEMENT. 1817-1846. Chiefly Scottish and French settlers--Many hardships--Grasshoppers--Yellow Head--"Gouverneur Sauterelle"--Swiss settlers--Remarkable parchment--Captain Bulger, a military governor--Indian troubles--Donald Mackenzie, a fur trader, governor--Many projects fail--The flood--Plenty follows--Social condition--Lower Fort built--Upper Fort Garry--Council of Assiniboia--The settlement organized--Duncan Finlayson governor--English farmers--Governor Christie--Serious epidemic--A regiment of regulars--The unfortunate major--The people restless. The cessation of hostilities between the rival Companies afforded an opportunity to Lord Selkirk's settlement to proceed with its development. To the scared and harassed settlers it gave the prospects of peace under their Governor, Alexander Macdonell, who had been in the fur trade, but took charge of the settlement after the departure of Miles Macdonell. The state of affairs was far from promising. The population of Scottish and Irish settlers was less than two hundred. There were a hundred or thereabout of De Meurons, brought up by Lord Selkirk, and a number of French voyageurs, free traders or "freemen" as opposed to _engagés_, and those who, with their half-breed families, had begun to assemble about the forks and to take up holdings for themselves. For the last mentioned, the hunt, fishing, and the fur trade afforded a living; but as to the settlers and De Meurons, Providence seemed to favour them but little more than the hostile Nor'-Westers had done. The settlers were chiefly men who were unacquainted with farming, and they had few implements, no cattle or horses, and the hoe and spade were their only means of fitting the soil for the small quantity of grain supplied them for sowing. Other means of employment or livelihood there were none. In 1818 the crops of the settlers were devoured by an incursion of locusts. On several occasions clouds of these destructive insects have visited Red River, and their ravages are not only serious, but they paralyze all effort on the part of the husbandmen. The description given by the prophet Joel was precisely reproduced on the banks of the Red River, "the land is as the Garden of Eden before them, and behind them is a desolate wilderness; yea, and nothing shall escape them." There was no resource for the settlers but to betake themselves to Pembina to seek the buffalo. In the next year they sowed their scanty seed, but the young "grasshoppers," as they were called, rose from the eggs deposited in the previous year, and while the wheat was in the blade, cleared it from the fields more thoroughly than any reaper could have done. This scourge continued till the spring of 1821, when the locusts disappeared suddenly, and the crop of that year was a bountiful one. During these years the colony was understood to be under the personal ownership of Lord Selkirk. He regarded himself as responsible, as lord paramount of the district, for the safety and support of the colonists. In the first year of the settlement he had sent out supplies of food, clothing, implements, arms, and ammunition; a store-house had been erected; and this continued during these years to be supplied with what was needed. It was the Governor's duty to regulate the distribution of these stores and to keep account of them as advances to the several settlers, and of the interest charged upon such advances. Whilst the store was a boon, even a necessity, to the settlers, it was also an instrument of oppression. Alexander Macdonell was called "Gouverneur Sauterelle" ("Grasshopper Governor"), the significant statement being made by Ross "that he was so nicknamed because he proved as great a destroyer within doors as the grasshoppers in the fields." He seems, moreover, to have been an extravagant official, being surrounded by a coterie of kindred spirits, who lived in "one prolonged scene of debauchery." With the departure of the grasshoppers from the country departed also the unpopular and unfaithful Governor. It was only on the visit of Mr. Halkett, one of Lord Selkirk's executors, that Macdonell's course of "false entries, erroneous statements, and over-charges" was discovered, and the accounts of the settlers adjusted to give them their rights. The disgraceful reign of Governor Macdonell was brought to a close none too soon. During the period of Governor Macdonell's rule a number of important events had taken place. The union of the two rival Companies was accomplished. Clergy, both Roman Catholic and of the Church of England, had arrived in the colony. A farm had been begun by the Colony officers on the banks of the Assiniboine, and the name of Hayfield Farm was borne by it. Perhaps the most notable event was the arrival at Red River of a number of Swiss settlers. These were brought out by Colonel May, late of the De Watteville regiment. A native of Berne, he had come to Canada, but not to Red River. The Swiss were in many ways an element of interest. Crossing the ocean by Hudson's Bay Company's ships they arrived at York Factory in August, 1821, and were borne in the Company's York boats to their destination. Gathered, as they had been, from the towns and villages of Switzerland, and being chiefly "watch and clock makers, pastry cooks, and musicians," they were ill-suited for such a new settlement as that of Red River, where they must become agriculturists. They seem to have been honest and orderly people, though very poor. It will be remembered that the De Meurons had come as soldiers; they were chiefly, therefore, unmarried men. The arrival of the Swiss, with their handsome sons and daughters, produced a flutter of excitement in the wifeless De Meuron cabins along German Creek. The result is described in the words of a most trustworthy eye-witness of what took place: "No sooner had the Swiss emigrants arrived than many of the Germans, who had come to the settlement a few years ago from Canada and had houses, presented themselves in search of a wife, and having fixed their attachment with acceptance, they received those families in which was their choice into their habitations. Those who had no daughters to afford this introduction were obliged to pitch their tents along the banks of the river and outside the stockades of the fort, till they removed to Pembina in the better prospects of provisions for the winter." The whole affair was a repetition of the old Sabine story. In connection with these De Meurons and Swiss, it may be interesting to mention a remarkable parchment agreement which the writer has perused. It is eleven feet long, and one and a half feet wide, containing the signatures of forty-nine settlers, of which twenty-five are those of De Meurons or Swiss, the remainder being of Highlanders and Norwegians. Among these names are Bender, Lubrevo, Quiluby, Bendowitz, Kralic, Wassloisky, Joli, Jankosky, Wachter, Lassota, Laidece, Warcklur, Krusel, Jolicoeur, Maquet, and Lalonde. This agreement binds the Earl of Selkirk or his agents not to engage in the sale of spirituous liquors or the fur trade, but to provide facilities for transport of goods from and into the country, and at moderate rates. The settlers are bound to keep up roads, to support a clergyman, and to provide for defence. The document is not only a curiosity, but historically valuable. There is no date upon it, but the date is fixed by the signatures, viz. "for the Buffalo Wool Company, John Pritchard." That Company, we know, began, and as we shall see afterwards, failed in the years 1821 and 1822. This, accordingly, is the date of the document marking the era of the fusion of the Hudson's Bay Company and the Nor'-Westers. The De Meurons and Swiss never took kindly to Red River. So early as 1822, after wintering at Pembina, a number of them, instead of turning their faces toward Fort Garry, went up the Red River into Minnesota, and took up farms where St. Paul now stands, on the Mississippi. They were the first settlers there. Among their names are those of Garvas, Pierrie, Louis Massey, and that of Perry, men who became very rich in herds in the early days of Minnesota. On the removal of Governor Macdonell, Captain A. Bulger was, in June, 1822, installed as Governor of Assiniboia. His rule only lasted one year and proved troublous, though he was a high-minded and capable official. There lies before the writer, "Papers Referring to Red River," consisting chiefly of a long letter published by the Captain in India, written in 1822 to Andrew Colville, one of the executors of Lord Selkirk. One of his chief troubles was the opposition given him by the Hudson's Bay Company officer Clarke, who was in charge of their establishment at the Forks. Every effort was put forth by Clarke to make Bulger's position uncomfortable, and the opposition drove the Captain away. Bulger also had a worrying experience with Peguis, the chief of the Indians on the Lower Red River. Though Peguis and the other chiefs had made a treaty with Lord Selkirk and ceded certain lands to his Lordship, they now, with the fickleness of children, repented of their bargain and sought additional payment for the concession. Bulger's military manner, however, overcame the chief, and twenty-five lashes administered to an Indian who had attempted violence had a sobering effect upon the Red man. Governor Bulger expresses himself very freely on the character of the De Meuron settlers. He says: "It is quite absurd to suppose they will ever prove peaceable and industrious settlers. The only charm that Red River possesses in their eyes, and, I may say, in the eyes of almost all the settlers, is the colony stores. Their demands are insatiable, and when refused, their insolence extreme. United as they are among themselves, and ferocious in their dispositions, nothing can be done against them." It is but fair, however, to state that the Captain had a low opinion both of the Hudson's Bay Company's officers and of the French Canadian freemen. Governor Bulger, on retiring, made the following suggestions, which show the evils which he thought needed a remedy, viz. "to get courts and magistrates nominated by the King; to get a company of troops sent out to support the magistrates and keep the natives in order; to circulate money; to find a market for the surplus grain; to let it be determined whether the council at York Factory are justified in preventing the settlers from buying moose or deer skin for clothing and provisions." The Governor's closing words are, "if these things cannot be done, it is my sincere advice to you to spend no more of Lord Selkirk's money upon Red River." Governor Bulger was succeeded by Robert Pelly, who was the brother of Sir J. H. Pelly, the Governor of the Company in London. It seems to have been about this time that the executors of Lord Selkirk, while not divesting themselves of their Red River possessions, yet in order to avoid the unseemly conflicts seen in Bulger's time, entrusted the administration of their affairs to the Company's officers at Red River. We have seen in a former chapter the appointment of the committee to manage these Red River affairs at Norway House council. After two years Pelly retired, and Donald McKenzie, a fur trader who had taken part in the stirring events of Astoria, to which we have referred, became Governor. The discontent of the settlers, and the wish to advance the colony, led the Company for a number of years after the union of the Companies to try various projects for the development of the colony. Though the recital of these gives a melancholy picture of failure, yet it shows a heartiness and willingness on the part of the Company to do the best for the settlers, albeit there was in every case bad management. Immediately after the union of the two fur Companies in 1821, a company to manufacture cloth from buffalo wool was started. This, of course, was a mad scheme, but there was a clamour that work should be found for the hungry immigrants. The Company began operations, and every one was to become rich. $10,000 of money raised in shares was deposited in the Hudson's Bay Company's hands as the bankers of the "Buffalo Wool Company," machinery was obtained, and the people largely gave up agriculture to engage in killing buffalo and collecting buffalo skins. Trade was to be the philosopher's stone. In 1822 the bubble burst. It cost $12.50 to manufacture a yard of buffalo wool cloth on Red River, and the cloth only sold for $1.10 a yard in London. The Hudson's Bay Company advanced $12,500 beyond the amount deposited, and a few years afterwards was under the necessity of forgiving the debt. The Hudson's Bay Company had thus its lesson in encouraging the settlers. The money distributed to the settlers through this Company, however, bought cattle for them, several hundred cattle having been brought from Illinois that year. A model farm for the benefit of the settlers was next undertaken. Buildings, implements, and also a mansion, costing $3,000, for the manager, were provided. A few years of mismanagement and extravagance brought this experiment to an end also, and the founders were $10,000 out of pocket. Such was another scheme to encourage the settlers. Driven to another effort by the discontent of the people, Governor Simpson tried another model farm. At a fine spot on the Assiniboine, farm dwellings, barns, yards, and stables were erected and fields enclosed, well-bred cattle were imported, also horses. The farm was well stocked with implements. Mismanagement, however, again brought its usual result, and after six years the trial was given up, there having been a loss to the Company of $17,500. Nothing daunted, the Red River settlers started the "Assiniboine Wool Company," but as it fell through upon the first demand for payment of the stock, it hurt nobody, and ended, according to the proverb, with "much cry and little wool." Another enterprise was next begun by Governor Simpson, "The Flax and Hemp Company," but though the farmers grew a plentiful quantity of these, the undertaking failed, and the crop rotted on the fields. A more likely scheme for the encouragement of the settlers was now set on foot by the Governor, viz. a new sheep speculation. Sheep were purchased in Missouri, and after a journey of nearly fifteen hundred miles, only two hundred and fifty sheep out of the original fourteen hundred survived the hardships of the way. A tallow company is said to have swallowed up from $3,000 to $5,000 for the Hudson's Bay Company, and a good deal of money was spent in opening up a road to Hudson Bay. Thus was enterprise after enterprise undertaken by the Company, largely for the good of the settlers. If ever an honest effort was made to advance an isolated and difficult colony, it was in these schemes begun by the Hudson's Bay Company here. The most startling event during the rule of Governor Mackenzie was the Red River flood in 1826. The winter of this year had been severe, and a great snowfall gave promise of a wet and dangerous spring. The snow had largely cleared away, when, early in the month of May, the waters began rising with surprising rapidity. The banks of the rivers were soon unable to contain the floods, and once on the prairie level the waters spread for miles east and west in a great lake. The water rose several feet in the houses of the settlers. When the wind blew the waves dashed over the roofs. Buildings were undermined and some were floated away. The settlers were compelled to leave their homes, and took flight to the heights of Stony Mountain, Little Mountain, Bird's Hill, and other elevations. For weeks the flood continued, but at last, on its receding, the homeless settlers returned to their battered and damaged houses, much disheartened. The crops, however, were sown, though late, and a fair harvest was gathered in that unpromising year. The flood was the last straw that broke the back of the endurance of De Meurons and Swiss colonists. They almost all withdrew from the country and became settlers in Minnesota and other States of the American Union. Either from pride or real dislike, the Selkirk settlers declared that they were well rid of these discontented and turbulent foreigners. The year of the flood seems to have introduced an era of plenty, for the people rebuilt their houses, cultivated their fields, received full returns for their labour, and were enabled to pay off their debts and improve their buildings. During Governor McKenzie's régime at the time of the flood, the population of the Red River settlement had reached fifteen hundred. After this, though the colony lost by desertions, as we have seen, yet it continued to gain by the addition of retiring Hudson's Bay Company officers and servants, who took up land as allowed by the Company in strips along the river after the Lower Canadian fashion, for which they paid small sums. There were in many cases no deeds, simply the registration of the name in the Company's register. A man sold his lot for a horse, and it was a matter of chance whether the registration of the change in the lot took place or not. This was certainly a mode of transferring land free enough to suit an English Radical or even Henry George. The land reached as far out from the river as could be seen by looking under a horse, say two miles, and back of this was the limitless prairie, which became a species of common where all could cut hay and where herds could run unconfined. Wood, water, and hay were the necessaries of a Red River settler's life; to cut poplar rails for his fences in spring and burn the dried rails in the following winter was quite the authorized thing. There was no inducement to grow surplus grain, as each settler could only get a market for eight bushels of wheat from the Hudson's Bay Company. It could not be exported. Pemmican from the plains was easy to get; the habits of the people were simple; their wants were few; and while the condition of Red River settlement was far from being that of an Arcadia, want was absent and the people were becoming satisfied. To Governor McKenzie, who ruled well for eight years, credit is due largely for the peace and progress of the period. Alexander Ross, who came from the Rocky Mountains to Red River in 1825, is the chronicler of this period, and it is with amusement we read his gleeful account of the erection of the first stone building, small though it was, on the banks of Red River. Lime had been burnt from the limestone, found abundantly along the lower part of the Red River, during the time of Governor Bulger. It was in 1830 that the Hudson's Bay Company built a small powder magazine of stone, near Fort Garry. This was the beginning of solid architecture in the settlement. In the following year the Hudson's Bay Company, evidently encouraged by the thrift and contentment of the people, began the erection of a very notable and important group of buildings some nineteen miles down the river from the forks. This was called Lower Fort Garry. It was built on the solid rock, and was, and is to this day, surrounded by a massive stone wall. Various reasons have been advanced for the building of this, the first permanent fort so far from the old centre of trade, and of the old associations at the "forks." Some have said it was done to place it among the English people, as the French settlers were becoming turbulent; some that it was at the head of navigation from Lake Winnipeg, being north of the St. Andrew's rapids; and some maintained that the site was chosen as having been far above the high water during the year of flood, when Fort Douglas and Upper Fort Garry had been surrounded. The motive will probably never be known; but for a time it was the residence of the Governor of Rupert's Land when he was in the country, and was the seat of government. Four years afterwards, when Alexander Christie had replaced Mr. Donald McKenzie as local governor, Fort Garry or Upper Fort Garry was begun in 1835 at the forks, but on higher ground than the original Fort Garry of 1821, which had been erected after the union of the Companies. This fort continued the centre of business, government, education, and public affairs for more than three decades and was the nucleus of the City of Winnipeg. Sold in the year 1882, the fort was demolished, and the front gate, now owned by the city, is all that remains of this historic group of buildings. The destruction of the fort was an act of vandalism, reflecting on the sordid man who purchased it from the Hudson's Bay Company. In Governor Christie's time the necessity was recognized of having a form of government somewhat less patriarchal than the individual rule of the local governor had been. Accordingly, the Council of Assiniboia was appointed by the Hudson's Bay Company, the president being Sir George Simpson, the Governor of Rupert's Land, and with him fourteen councillors. It may be of interest to give the names of the members of this first Council. Besides the president there were: Alexander Christie, Governor of the Colony; Rev. D. T. Jones, Chaplain H. B. C.; Right Rev. Bishop Provencher; Rev. William Cochrane, Assistant Chaplain; James Bird, formerly Chief Factor, H. B. C.; James Sutherland, Esq.; W. H. Cook, Esq.; John Pritchard, Esq.; Robert Logan, Esq.; Sheriff Alex. Ross; John McCallum, Coroner; John Bunn, Medical Adviser; Cuthbert Grant, Esq., Warden of the Plains; Andrew McDermott, Merchant. It is generally conceded, however, that the Council did not satisfy the public aspirations. The president and councillors were all declared either sinecurists or paid servants of the Company. The mass of the people complained at not being represented. It was, however, a step very much in advance of what had been, although there was a suspicion in the public mind that it had something of the form of popular government without the substance. At the first meeting of the Council a number of measures were passed. To preserve order a volunteer corps of sixty men was organized, with a small annual allowance per man. Of this body, Sheriff Ross was commander. The settlement was divided into four districts, over each of which a Justice of the Peace was appointed, who held quarterly courts in their several jurisdictions. At this court small actions only were tried, and the presiding magistrate was allowed to refer any case of exceptional difficulty to the court of Governor and Council. This higher court sat quarterly also. In larger civil cases and in criminal cases the law required a jury to be called. A jail and court-house were erected outside the walls of Fort Garry. To meet the expense involved under the new institutions a tax of 7-1/2 per cent. duty was levied on imports and a like duty on exports. The Hudson's Bay Company also agreed to contribute three hundred pounds a year in aid of public works throughout the settlement. The year 1839 was notable in the history of the colony. A new Governor, Duncan Finlayson, was appointed, and steps were taken also to improve the judicial system which had been introduced. An appointment was made of the first recorder for Red River settlement. The new appointee was a young Scottish lawyer from Montreal, named Adam Thom. He had been a journalist in Montreal, was of an ardent and somewhat aggressive disposition, but was a man of ability and broad reading. Judge Thom was, however, a Company officer, and as such there was an antecedent suspicion of him in the public mind. It was pointed out that he was not independent, receiving his appointment and his salary of seven hundred pounds from the Company. In Montreal he had been known as a determined loyalist in the late Papineau rebellion, and the French people regarded him as hostile to their race. The population of the settlement continued to increase. In the last year of Governor Finlayson's rule, twenty families of Lincolnshire farmers and labourers came to the country to assist with their knowledge of agriculture. After five years' rule Governor Finlayson retired from office, and was succeeded for a short time by his old predecessor, Mr. Alexander Christie. A serious epidemic visited the Red River in the year 1846. Ross describes it in the following graphic way: "In January the influenza raged, and in May the measles broke out; but neither of these visitations proved fatal. At length in June a bloody flux began its ravages first among the Indians, and others among the whites; like the great cry in Egypt, 'There was not a house where there was not one dead,' On Red River there was not a smiling face on 'a summer's day.' From June 18th to August 2nd, the deaths averaged seven a day, or three hundred and twenty-one in all, being one out of every sixteen of our population. Of these one-sixth were Indians, two-thirds half-breeds, and the remainder white. On one occasion thirteen burials were proceeding at once." During this year also the Oregon question, with which we shall afterwards deal, threatened war between Great Britain and the United States. The policy of the British Government is, on the first appearance of trouble, to prepare for hostilities. Accordingly the 6th Royal Regiment of Foot, with sappers and artillery, in all five hundred strong, was hurried out under Colonel Crofton to defend the colony. Colonel Crofton took the place of Alexander Christie as Governor. The addition of this body of military to the colony gave picturesqueness to the hitherto monotonous life of Red River. A market for produce and the circulation of a large sum of money marked their stay on Red River. The turbulent spirits who had made much trouble were now silenced, or betook themselves to a safe place across the boundary line. CHAPTER XXXVI. THE PRAIRIES: SLEDGE, KEEL, WHEEL, CAYUSE, CHASE. A picturesque life--The prairie hunters and traders--Gaily caparisoned dog trains--The great winter packets--Joy in the lonely forts--The summer trade--The York boat brigade--Expert voyageurs--The famous Red River cart--Shagganappe ponies--The screeching train--Tripping--The western cayuse--The great buffalo hunt--Warden of the plains--Pemmican and fat--the return in triumph. The great prairies of Rupert's Land and their intersecting rivers afforded the means for the unique and picturesque life of the prairie hunters and traders. The frozen, snowy plains and lakes were crossed in winter by the serviceable sledge drawn by Eskimo dogs, familiarly called "Eskies" or "Huskies." When summer had come, the lakes and rivers of the prairies, formerly skimmed by canoes, during the fifty years from the union of the Companies till the transfer of Rupert's Land to Canada, were for freight and even rapid transit crossed and followed by York and other boats. The transport of furs and other freight across the prairies was accomplished by the use of carts--entirely of wood--drawn by Indian ponies, or by oxen in harness, while the most picturesque feature of the prairie life of Red River was the departure of the brigade of carts with the hunters and their families on a great expedition for the exciting chase of the buffalo. These salient points of the prairie life of the last half-century of fur-trading life we may with profit depict. SLEDGE AND PACKET. Under the régime established by Governor Simpson, the communication with the interior was reduced to a system. The great winter event at Red River was the leaving of the North-West packet about December 10th. By this agency every post in the northern department was reached. Sledges and snow-shoes were the means by which this was accomplished. The sledge or toboggan was drawn by three or four "Huskies," gaily comparisoned; and with these neatly harnessed dogs covered with bells, the traveller or the load of valuables was hurried across the pathless snowy wastes of the plains or over the ice of the frozen lakes and rivers. The dogs carried their freight of fish on which they lived, each being fed only at the close of his day's work, and his allowance one fish. The winter packet was almost entirely confined to the transport of letters and a few newspapers. During Sir George Simpson's time an annual file of the _Montreal Gazette_ was sent to each post, and to some of the larger places came a year's file of the London _Times_. A box was fastened on the back part of the sledge, and this was packed with the important missives so prized when the journey was ended. Going at the rate of forty or more miles a day with the precious freight, the party with their sledges camped in the shelter of a clump of trees or bushes, and built their camp fire; then each in his blankets, often joined by the favourite dog as a companion for heat, sought rest on the couch of spruce or willow boughs for the night with the thermometer often at 30 deg. or 40 deg. below zero F. The winter packet ran from Fort Garry to Norway House, a distance of 350 miles. At this point the packet was all rearranged, a part of the freight being carried eastward to Hudson Bay, the other portion up the Saskatchewan to the western and northern forts. The party which had taken the packet to Norway House, at that point received the packages from Hudson Bay and with them returned to Fort Garry. The western mail from Norway House was taken by another sledge party up the Saskatchewan River, and leaving parcels at posts along the route, reached its rendezvous at Carlton House. The return party from that point received the mail from the North, and hastened to Fort Garry by way of Swan River district, distributing its treasures to the posts it passed and reaching Fort Garry usually about the end of February. At Carlton a party of runners from Edmonton and the Upper Saskatchewan made rendezvous, deposited their packages, received the outgoing mail, and returned to their homes. Some of the matter collected from the Upper Saskatchewan and that brought, as we have seen, by the inland packet from Fort Garry was taken by a new set of runners to Mackenzie River, and Athabasca. Thus at Carlton there met three parties, viz. from Fort Garry, Edmonton, and Athabasca. Each brought a packet and received another back in return. The return packet from Carlton to Fort Garry, arriving in February, took up the accumulated material, went with it to Norway House, the place whence they had started in December, thus carrying the "Red River spring packet," and at Norway House it was met by another express, known as the "York Factory spring packet," which had just arrived. The runners on these various packets underwent great exposure, but they were fleet and athletic and knew how to act to the best advantage in storm and danger. They added a picturesque interest to the lonely life of the ice-bound post as they arrived at it, delivered their message, and again departed. KEEL AND CANOE. The transition from winter to spring is a very rapid one on the plains of Rupert's Land. The ice upon the rivers and lakes becomes honey-combed and disappears very soon. The rebound from the icy torpor of winter to the active life of the season that combines spring and summer is marvellous. No sooner were the waterways open in the fur-trading days than freight was hurried from one part of the country to another by means of inland or York boats. These boats, it will be remembered, were introduced by Governor Simpson, who found them more safe and economical than the canoe generally in use before his time. Each of these boats could carry three or four tons of freight, and was manned by nine men, one of them being steersman, the remainder, men for the oar. Four to eight of these craft made up a brigade, and the skill and rapidity with which these boats could be loaded or unloaded, carried past a portage or décharge, guided through rapids or over considerable stretches of the lakes, was the pride of their Indian or half-breed tripsmen, as they were called, or the admiration of the officers dashing past them in their speedy canoes. The route from York Factory to Fort Garry being a long and continuous waterway, was a favourite course for the York boat brigade. Many of the settlers of the Red River settlement became well-to-do by commanding brigades of boats and carrying freight for the Company. In the earlier days of Governor Simpson the great part of the furs from the interior were carried to Fort Garry or the Grand Portage, at the mouth of the Saskatchewan, and thence past Norway House to Hudson Bay. From York Factory a load of general merchandise was brought back, which had been cargo in the Company's ship from the Thames to York. Lake Winnipeg is generally clear of ice early in June, and the first brigade would then start with its seven or eight boats laden to the gunwales with furs; a week after, the second brigade was under way, and thus, at intervals to keep clear of each other in crossing the portages, the catch of the past season was carried out. The return with full supplies for the settlers was earnestly looked for, and the voyage both ways, including stoppages, took some nine weeks. Far up into the interior the goods in bales were taken. One of the best known routes was that of what was called, "The Portage Brigade." This ran from Lake Winnipeg up the Saskatchewan northward, past Cumberland House and Ile à la Crosse to Methy Portage, otherwise known as Portage la Loche, where the waters part, on one side going to Hudson's Bay, on the other flowing to the Arctic Sea. The trip made from Fort Garry to Portage la Loche and return occupied about four months. At Portage la Loche the brigade from the Mackenzie River arrived in time to meet that from the south, and was itself soon in motion, carrying its year's supply of trading articles for the Far North, not even leaving out Peel's River and the Yukon. The frequent transhipments required in these long and dangerous routes led to the secure packing of bales, of about one hundred pounds each, each of them being called an "inland piece." Seventy-five made up the cargo of a York boat. The skill with which these boats could be laden was surprising. A good half-breed crew of nine men was able to load a boat and pack the pieces securely in five minutes. The boat's crew was under the command of the steersman, who sat on a raised platform in the stern of the boat. At the portages it was the part of the steersman to raise each piece from the ground and place two of them on the back of each tripsman, to be held in place by the "portage strap" on the forehead. It will be seen that the position of the captain was no sinecure. One of the eight tripsmen was known as "bowman." In running rapids he stood at the bow, and with a light pole directed the boat, giving information by word and sign to the steersman. The position of less responsibility though great toil was that of the "middlemen," or rowers. When a breeze blew, a sail hoisted in the boat lightened their labours. The captain or steersman of each boat was responsible to the "guide," who, as a commander of the brigade, was a man of much experience, and consequently held a position of some importance. Such were the means of transport over the vast water system of Rupert's Land up to the year 1869, although some years before that time transport by land to St. Paul in Minnesota had reached large proportions. Since the date named, railway and steamboat have directed trade into new channels, for even Mackenzie River now has a Hudson's Bay Company steamboat. CART AND CAYUSE. The lakes and rivers were not sufficient to carry on the trade of the country. Accordingly, land transport became a necessity. If the Ojibway Indians found the birch bark canoe and the snow-shoe so useful that they assigned their origin to the Manitou, then certainly it was a happy thought when the famous Red River cart was similarly evolved. These two-wheeled vehicles are entirely of wood, without any iron whatever. The wheels are large, being five feet in diameter, and are three inches thick. The felloes are fastened to one another by tongues of wood, and pressure in revolving keeps them from falling apart. The hubs are thick and very strong. The axles are wood alone, and even the lynch pins are wooden. A light box frame, tightened by wooden pegs, is fastened by the same agency and poised upon the axle. The price of a cart in Red River of old was two pounds. The harness for the horse which drew the cart was made of roughly-tanned ox hide, which was locally known as "shagganappe." The name "shagganappe" has in later years been transferred to the small-sized horse used, which is thus called a "shagganappe pony." The carts were drawn by single ponies, or in some cases by stalwart oxen. These oxen were harnessed and wore a collar, not the barbarous yoke which the ox has borne from time immemorial. The ox in harness has a swing of majesty as he goes upon his journey. The Indian pony, with a load of four or five hundred pounds in a cart behind him, will go at a measured jog-trot fifty or sixty miles a day. Heavy freighting carts made a journey of about twenty miles a day, the load being about eight hundred pounds. A train of carts of great length was sometimes made to go upon some long expedition, or for protection from the thievish or hostile bands of Indians. A brigade consisted of ten carts, under the charge of three men. Five or six more brigades were joined in one train, and this was placed under the charge of a guide, who was vested with much authority. He rode on horseback forward, marshalling his forces, including the management of the spare horses or oxen, which often amounted to twenty per cent. of the number of those drawing the carts. The stopping-places, chosen for good grass and a plentiful supply of water, the time of halting, the management of brigades, and all the details of a considerable camp were under the care of this officer-in-chief. One of the most notable cart trails and freighting roads on the prairies was that from Fort Garry to St. Paul, Minnesota. This was an excellent road, on the west side of the Red River, through Dakota territory for some two hundred miles, and then, by crossing the Red River into Minnesota, the road led for two hundred and fifty miles down to St. Paul. The writer, who came shortly after the close of the fifty years we are describing, can testify to the excellence of this road over the level prairies. At the period when the Sioux Indians were in revolt and the massacre of the whites took place in 1862, this route was dangerous, and the road, though not so smooth and not so dry, was followed on the east side of the Red River. Every season about three hundred carts, employing one hundred men, departed from Fort Garry to go upon the "tip," as it was called, to St. Paul, or in later times to St. Cloud, when the railway had reached that place. The visit of this band coming from the north, with their wooden carts, "shagganappe" ponies, and harnessed oxen, bringing huge bales of precious furs, awakened great interest in St. Paul. The late J. W. Taylor, who for about a quarter of a century held the position of American Consul at Winnipeg, and who, on account of his interest in the North-West prairies, bore the name of "Saskatchewan Taylor," was wont to describe most graphically the advent, as he saw it, of this strange expedition, coming, like a Midianitish caravan in the East, to trade at the central mart. On Sundays they encamped near St. Paul. There was the greatest decorum and order in camp; their religious demeanour, their honest and well-to-do appearance, and their peaceful disposition were an oasis in the desert of the wild and reckless inhabitants of early Minnesota. Another notable route for carts was that westward from Fort Garry by way of Fort Ellice to Carlton House, a distance of some five hundred miles. It will be remembered that it was by this route that Governor Simpson in early days, Palliser, Milton, and Cheadle found their way to the West. In later days the route was extended to Edmonton House, a thousand miles in all. It was a whole summer's work to make the trip to Edmonton and return. On the Hudson's Bay Company reserve of five hundred acres around Fort Garry was a wide camping-ground for the "trippers" and traders. Day after day was fixed for the departure, but still the traders lingered. After much leave-taking, the great train started. It was a sight to be remembered. The gaily-caparisoned horses, the hasty farewells, the hurry of women and children, the multitude of dogs, the balky horses, the subduing and harnessing and attaching of the restless ponies, all made it a picturesque day. The train in motion appealed not only to the eye, but to the ear as well, the wooden axles creaked, and the creaking of a train with every cart contributing its dismal share, could be heard more than a mile away. In the Far-West the early traders used the cayuse, or Indian pony, and "travoie," for transporting burdens long distances. The "travoie" consisted of two stout poles fastened together over the back of the horse, and dragging their lower ends upon the ground. Great loads--almost inconceivable, indeed--were thus carried across the pathless prairies. The Red River cart and the Indian cayuse were the product of the needs of the prairies. PLAIN HUNTERS AND THE BUFFALO. A generation had passed since the founding of the Selkirk settlement, and the little handful of Scottish settlers had become a community of five thousand. This growth had not been brought about by immigration, nor by natural increase, but by what may be called a process of accretion. Throughout the whole of Rupert's Land and adjoining territories the employés of the Company, whether from Lower Canada or from the Orkney Islands, as well as the clerks and officers of the country, had intermarried with the Indian women of the tribes. When the trader or Company's servant had gained a competence suited to his ideas, he thought it right to retire from the active fur trade and float down the rivers to the settlement, which the first Governor of Manitoba called the "Paradise of Red River." Here the hunter or officer procured a strip of land from the Company, on it erected a house for the shelter of his "dusky race," and engaged in agriculture, though his former life largely unfitted him for this occupation. In this way, four-fifths of the population of the settlement were half-breeds, with their own traditions, sensibilities, and prejudices--the one part of them speaking French with a dash of Cree mixed with it, the other English which, too, had the form of a Red River patois. We have seen that tripping and hunting gave a livelihood to some, if not the great majority, but these occupations unfitted men for following the plough. In addition there was no market for produce, so that agriculture did not in general thrive. One of the favourite features of Red River, which fitted in thoroughly with the roving traditions of the large part of the population, was the annual buffalo hunt, which, for those who engaged in it, occupied a great portion of the summer. We have the personal reminiscences of the hunt by Alexander Ross, sometime sheriff of Assiniboia, which, as being lively and graphic, are worthy of being reproduced. Ross says: "Buffalo hunting here, like bear baiting in India, has become a popular and favourite amusement among all classes; and Red River, in consequence, has been brought into some degree of notice by the presence of strangers from foreign countries. We are now occasionally visited by men of science as well as men of pleasure. The war road of the savage and the solitary haunt of the bear have of late been resorted to by the florist, the botanist, and the geologist; nor is it uncommon nowadays to see officers of the Guards, knights, baronets, and some of the higher nobility of England and other countries coursing their steeds over the boundless plains and enjoying the pleasures of the chase among the half-breeds and savages of the country. Distinction of rank is, of course, out of the question, and at the close of the adventurous day all squat down in merry mood together, enjoying the social freedom of equality round Nature's table and the novel treat of a fresh buffalo steak served up in the style of the country, that is to say, roasted on a forked stick before the fire; a keen appetite their only sauce, cold water their only beverage. Looking at this assemblage through the medium of the imagination, the mind is led back to the chivalric period of former days, when chiefs and vassals took counsel together.... "With the earliest dawn of spring the hunters are in motion like bees, and the colony in a state of confusion, from their going to and fro, in order to raise the wind and prepare themselves for the fascinating enjoyments of hunting. It is now that the Company, the farmers, the petty traders are all beset by their incessant and irresistible importunities. The plain mania brings everything else to a stand. One wants a horse, another an axe, a third a cart; they want ammunition, they want clothing, they want provisions; and though people refuse one or two they cannot deny a whole population, for, indeed, over-much obstinacy would not be unattended with risk. Thus the settlers are reluctantly dragged into profligate speculation. "The plain hunters, finding they can get whatever they want without ready money, are led into ruinous extravagances; but the evil of the long credit system does not end here.... So many temptations, so many attractions are held out to the thoughtless and giddy, so fascinating is the sweet air of freedom, that even the offspring of the Europeans, as well as natives, are often induced to cast off their habits of industry and leave their comfortable homes to try their fortunes in the plains. "The practical result of all this may be stated in a few words. After the expedition starts there is not a man-servant or maid-servant to be found in the colony. At any season but seed-time and harvest-time, the settlement is literally swarming with idlers; but at these urgent periods money cannot procure them. "The actual money value expended on one trip, estimating also their lost time, is as follows:-- 1210 carts (in 1840) £1815 620 hunters (two months) at 1_s._ a day 1860 650 women (two months) at 9_d._ 1460 360 boys and girls (two months) at 4_d._ 360 403 buffalo runners (horses) at 15_l._ 6045 655 cart horses at 8_l._ 5240 586 draught oxen at 6_l._ 3516 Guns, gunpowder, knives, axes, harness, camp equipage, and utensils (estimate approaching) 3700 ----- Say £24,000 "From Fort Garry, June 15th, 1840, the cavalcade and followers went crowding on to the public road, and thence, stretching from point to point, till the third day in the evening, when they reached Pembina (sixty miles south of Fort Garry), the great rendezvous on such occasions. When the hunters leave the settlement it enjoys that relief which a person feels on recovering from a long and painful sickness. Here, on a level plain, the whole patriarchal camp squatted down like pilgrims on a journey to the Holy Land in ancient days, only not quite so devout, for neither scrip nor staff were consecrated for the occasion. Here the roll was called and general muster taken, when they numbered on this occasion 1,630 souls; and here the rules and regulations for the journey were finally settled. The officials for the trip were named and installed into office, and all without the aid of writing materials. "The camp occupied as much ground as a modern city, and was formed in a circle. All the carts were placed side by side, the trams outward. Within this line of circumvallation, the tents were placed in double, treble rows, at one end, the animals at the other, in front of the tents. This is the order in all dangerous places, but where no danger is apprehended, the animals are kept on the outside. Thus the carts formed a strong barrier, not only for securing the people and their animals within, but as a place of shelter and defence against an attack of the enemy from without. In 1820 the number of carts assembled for the first trip was 540 " 1825 " " " " " " " " " " 680 " 1830 " " " " " " " " " " 820 " 1835 " " " " " " " " " " 970 " 1840 " " " " " " " " " " 1210 "There is another appendage belonging to the expedition, and these are not always the least noisy, viz. the dogs or camp followers. On the present occasion they numbered no fewer than 542. In deep snow, where horses cannot conveniently be used, dogs are very serviceable animals to the hunters in these parts. The half-breed, dressed in his wolf costume, tackles two or three sturdy curs into a flat sled, throws himself on it at full length, and gets among the buffalo unperceived. Here the bow and arrow play their part to prevent noise. And here the skilful hunter kills as many as he pleases, and returns to camp without disturbing the band. "But now to the camp again--the largest of the kind, perhaps, in the world. The first step was to hold a council for the nomination of chiefs or officers for conducting the expedition. Ten captains were named, the senior on this occasion being Jean Baptiste Wilkie, an English half-breed, brought up among the French, a man of good sound sense and long experience, and withal a fine, bold-looking, and discreet fellow, a second Nimrod in his way. "Besides being captain, in common with the others, he was styled the great war chief or head of the camp, and on all public occasions he occupied the place of president. All articles of property found without an owner were carried to him and he disposed of them by a crier, who went round the camp every evening, were it only an awl. Each captain had ten soldiers under his orders, in much the same way as policemen are subject to the magistrate. Ten guides were likewise appointed, and here we may remark that people in a rude state of society, unable either to read or write, are generally partial to the number ten. Their duties were to guide the camp each in his turn--that is day about--during the expedition. The camp flag belongs to the guide of the day; he is therefore standard bearer in virtue of his office. "The hoisting of the flag every morning is the signal for raising camp. Half an hour is the full time allowed to prepare for the march; but if anyone is sick or their animals have strayed, notice is sent to the guide, who halts till all is made right. From the time the flag is hoisted, however, till the hour of camping arrives it is never taken down. The flag taken down is a signal for encamping. While it is up the guide is chief of the expedition. Captains are subject to him, and the soldiers of the day are his messengers; he commands all. The moment the flag is lowered his functions cease, and the captains' and soldiers' duties commence. They point out the order of the camp, and every cart as it arrives moves to its appointed place. This business usually occupies about the same time as raising camp in the morning; for everything moves with the regularity of clockwork. "All being ready to leave Pembina, the captains and other chief men hold another council and lay down the rules to be observed during the expedition. Those made on the present occasion were:-- (1) No buffalo to be run on the Sabbath day. (2) No party to fork off, lag behind, or go before, without permission. (3) No person or party to run buffalo before the general order. (4) Every captain with his men in turn to patrol the camp and keep guard. (5) For the first trespass against these laws, the offender to have his saddle and bridle cut up. (6) For the second offence the coat to be taken off the offender's back and to be cut up. (7) For the third offence the offender to be flogged. (8) Any person convicted of theft, even to the value of a sinew, to be brought to the middle of the camp, and the crier to call out his or her name three times, adding the word 'Thief' at each time. "On the 21st the start was made, and the picturesque line of march soon stretched to the length of some five or six miles in the direction of south-west towards Côte à Pique. At 2 p.m. the flag was struck, as a signal for resting the animals. After a short interval it was hoisted again, and in a few minutes the whole line was in motion, and continued the route till five or six o'clock in the evening, when the flag was hauled down as a signal to encamp for the night. Distance travelled, twenty miles. "The camp being formed, all the leading men, officials, and others assembled, as the general custom is, on some rising ground or eminence outside the ring, and there squatted themselves down, tailor-like, on the grass in a sort of council, each having his gun, his smoking bag in his hand, and his pipe in his mouth. In this situation the occurrences of the day were discussed, and the line of march for the morrow agreed upon. This little meeting was full of interest, and the fact struck me very forcibly that there is happiness and pleasure in the society of the most illiterate men, sympathetically if not intellectually inclined, as well as among the learned, and I must say I found less selfishness and more liberality among those ordinary men than I had been accustomed to find in higher circles. Their conversation was free, practical, and interesting, and the time passed on more agreeably than could be expected among such people, till we touched on politics. "Of late years the field of chase has been far from Pembina, and the hunters do not so much as know in what direction they may find the buffalo, as these animals frequently shift their ground. It is a mere leap in the dark, whether at the outset the expedition takes the right or the wrong road; and their luck in the chase, of course, depends materially on the choice they make. The year of our narrative they travelled a south-west or middle course, being the one generally preferred, since it leads past most of the rivers near their sources, where they are easily crossed. The only inconvenience attending this choice is the scarcity of wood, which in a warm season is but a secondary consideration. "Not to dwell on the ordinary routine of each day's journey, it was the ninth day from Pembina before we reached the Cheyenne River, distant only about 150 miles, and as yet we had not seen a single band of buffalo. On July 3rd, our nineteenth day from the settlement, and at a distance of little more than 250 miles, we came in sight of our destined hunting grounds, and on the day following we had our first buffalo race. Our array in the field must have been a grand and imposing one to those who had never seen the like before. No less than 400 huntsmen, all mounted, and anxiously waiting for the word 'Start!' took up their position in a line at one end of the camp, while Captain Wilkie, with his spyglass at his eye, surveyed the buffalo, examined the ground, and issued his orders. At eight o'clock the whole cavalcade broke ground, and made for the buffalo; first at a slow trot, then at a gallop, and lastly at full speed. Their advance was over a dead level, the plain having no hollow or shelter of any kind to conceal their approach. We need not answer any queries as to the feeling and anxiety of the camp on such an occasion. When the horsemen started the cattle might have been a mile and a half ahead, but they had approached to within four or five hundred yards before the bulls curved their tails or pawed the ground. In a moment more the herd took flight, and horse and rider are presently seen bursting in among them. Shots are heard, and all is smoke, dash, and hurry. The fattest are first singled out for slaughter, and in less time than we have occupied with the description, a thousand carcases strew the plain. "The moment the animals take to flight the best runners dart forward in advance. At this moment a good horse is invaluable to his owner, for out of the 400 on this occasion, not above fifty got the first chance of the fat cows. A good horse and an experienced rider will select and kill from ten to twelve animals at one heat, while inferior horses are contented with two or three. But much depends on the nature of the ground. On this occasion the surface was rocky, and full of badger holes. Twenty-three horses and riders were at one moment sprawling on the ground. One horse, gored by a bull, was killed on the spot, two men disabled by the fall. One rider broke his shoulder blade; another burst his gun and lost three of his fingers by the accident; and a third was struck on the knee by an exhausted ball. These accidents will not be thought over-numerous considering the result; for in the evening no less than 1,375 buffalo tongues were brought into camp. "The rider of a good horse seldom fires till within three or four yards of his object, and never misses. And, what is admirable in point of training, the moment the shot is fired his steed springs on one side to avoid stumbling over the animal, whereas an awkward and shy horse will not approach within ten or fifteen yards, consequently the rider has often to fire at random and not infrequently misses. Many of them, however, will fire at double that distance and make sure of every shot. The mouth is always full of balls; they load and fire at the gallop, and but seldom drop a mark, although some do to designate the animal. "Of all the operations which mark the hunter's life and are essential to his ultimate success, the most perplexing, perhaps, is that of finding out and identifying the animals he kills during a race. Imagine 400 horsemen entering at full speed a herd of some thousands of buffalo, all in rapid motion. Riders in clouds of dust and volumes of smoke which darken the air, crossing and recrossing each other in every direction; shots on the right, on the left, behind, before, here, there, two, three, a dozen at a time, everywhere in close succession, at the same moment. Horses stumbling, riders falling, dead and wounded animals tumbling here and there, one over the other; and this zigzag and bewildering _mêlée_ continued for an hour or more together in wild confusion. And yet, from practice, so keen is the eye, so correct the judgment, that after getting to the end of the race, he can not only tell the number of animals which he had shot down, but the position in which each lies--on the right or on the left side--the spot where the shot hit, and the direction of the ball; and also retrace his way, step by step, through the whole race and recognize every animal he had the fortune to kill, without the least hesitation or difficulty. To divine how this is accomplished bewilders the imagination. "The main party arrived on the return journey at Pembina on August 17th, after a journey of two months and two days. In due time the settlement was reached, and the trip being a successful one, the returns on this occasion may be taken as a fair annual average. An approximation to the truth is all we can arrive at, however. Our estimate is nine hundred pounds weight of buffalo meat per cart, a thousand being considered the full load, which gives one million and eighty-nine thousand pounds in all, or something more than two hundred pounds weight for each individual, old and young, in the settlement. As soon as the expedition arrived, the Hudson's Bay Company, according to usual custom, issued a notice that it would take a certain specified quantity of provisions, not from each fellow that had been on the plains, but from each old and recognized hunter. The established price at this period for the three kinds over head, fat, pemmican, and dried meat, was two pence a pound. This was then the Company's standard price; but there is generally a market for all the fat they bring. During the years 1839, 1840, and 1841, the Company expended five thousand pounds on the purchase of plain provisions, of which the hunters got last year the sum of twelve hundred pounds, being rather more money than all the agricultural class obtained for their produce in the same year. It will be remembered that the Company's demand affords the only regular market or outlet in the Colony, and, as a matter of course, it is the first supplied." [Illustration: MAP OF LABRADOR AND THE KING'S DOMAINS.] CHAPTER XXXVII. LIFE ON THE SHORES OF HUDSON BAY AND LABRADOR. The bleak shores unprogressive--Now as at the beginning--York Factory--Description of Ballantyne--The weather--Summer comes with a rush--Picking up subsistence--The Indian trade--Inhospitable Labrador--Establishment of Ungava Bay--McLean at Fort Chimo--Herds of cariboo--Eskimo crafts--"Shadowy Tartarus"--The king's domains--Mingan--Mackenzie--The Gulf settlements--The Moravians--Their four missions--Rigolette, the chief trading post--A school for developing character--Chief Factor Donald A. Smith--Journeys along the coast--A barren shore. Life on the shores of Hudson Bay is as unchangeable as the shores and scenery of the coast are monotonous. The swampy, treeless flats that surround the Bay simply change from the frozen, snow-clad expanse which stretches as far as the eye can see in winter, to the summer green of the unending grey willows and stunted shrubs that cover the swampy shores. For a few open months the green prevails, and then nature for eight months assumes her winding sheet of icy snow. For two hundred and fifty years life has been as unvarying on these wastes as travellers tell us are the manners and customs of living of the Bedouins on their rocky Araby. No log shanties give way in a generation to the settler's house, and then to the comfortable, well-built stone or brick dwelling, which the fertile parts of America so readily permit. The accounts of McLean, Rae, Ryerson, and Ballantyne of the middle of the nineteenth century are precisely those of Robson, Ellis, or Hearne of the eighteenth century, or indeed practically those of the early years of the Company in the seventeenth century. The ships sail from Gravesend on the Thames with the same ceremonies, with the visit and dinner of the committee of the directors, the "great guns," as the sailors call them, as they have done for two centuries and a quarter, from the days of Zachariah Gillam and Pierre Esprit Radisson. No more settlement is now seen on Hudson Bay than in the early time, unless it be in the dwellings of the Christianized and civilized swampy Crees and in the mission houses around which the Indians have gathered. York Factory, up to the middle of the nineteenth century, retained its supremacy. However, at times, Fort Churchill, with its well-built walls and formidable bastions, may have disputed this primacy, yet York Factory was the depôt for the interior almost uninterruptedly. To it came the goods for the northern department, by way in a single season of the vessel the _Prince Rupert_, the successor of a long line of _Prince Ruperts_, from the first one of 1680, or of its companions, the _Prince Albert_ or the _Prince of Wales_. By these, the furs from the Far North found their way, as at the first, to the Company's house in London. York Factory is a large square of some six acres, lying along Hayes River, and shut in by high stockades. The houses are all wooden, and on account of the swampy soil are raised up to escape the water of the spring-time floods. At a point of advantage, a lofty platform was erected to serve as a "look-out" to watch for the coming ship, the great annual event of the slow-passing lives of the occupants of the post. The flag-staff, on which, as is the custom at all Hudson's Bay Company posts, the ensign with the magic letters H. B. C. floats, speaks at once of many an old tradition and of great achievements. Ballantyne in his lively style speaks of his two years at the post, and describes the life of a young Hudson's Bay Company officer. The chief factor, to the eye of the young clerk, represents success achieved and is the embodiment of authority, which, on account of the isolation of the posts and the absence of all law, is absolute and unquestioned. York Factory, being a depôt, has a considerable staff, chiefly young men, who live in the bachelors' hall. Here dwell the surgeon, accountant, postmaster, half a dozen clerks, and others. In winter, Ballantyne says, days, if not weeks, passed without the arrival of a visitor, unless it were a post from the interior, or some Cree trader of the neighbourhood, or some hungry Indian seeking food. The cold was the chief feature of remark and consideration. At times the spirit thermometer indicated 65 deg. below zero, and the uselessness of the mercury thermometer was then shown by a pot of quicksilver being made into bullets and remaining solid. Every precaution was taken to erect strong buildings, which had double windows and double doors, and yet in the very severe weather, water contained in a vessel has been known to freeze in a room where a stove red hot was doing its best. It is worthy of notice, however, that even in Arctic regions, a week or ten days is as long as such severe weather continues, and mild intervals come regularly. On the Bay the coming of spring is looked for with great expectation, and when it does come, about the middle of May, it sets in with a "rush;" the sap rises in the shrubs and bushes, the buds burst out, the rivers are freed from ice, and indeed, so rapid and complete is the change, that it may be said there are only two seasons--summer and winter--in these latitudes. As summer progresses the fare of dried geese, thousands of which are stored away for winter use, of dried fish and the white ptarmigan and wood partridge that linger about the bushes and are shot for food, is superseded by the arrival of myriads of ducks and geese and the use of the fresh fish of the Bay. In many of the posts the food throughout the whole year is entirely flesh diet, and not a pound of farinaceous food is obtainable. This leads to an enormous consumption of the meat diet in order to supply a sufficient amount of nourishment. An employé will sometimes eat two whole geese at a meal. In Dr. Rae's celebrated expedition from Fort Churchill, north along the shore of Hudson Bay, on his search for Sir John Franklin, the amount of supplies taken was entirely inadequate for his party for the long period of twenty-seven months, being indeed only enough for four months' full rations. In Rae's instructions from Sir George Simpson it is said, "For the remaining part of your men you cannot fail to find subsistence, animated as you are and they are by a determination to fulfil your mission at the cost of danger, fatigue, and privation. Whenever the natives can live, I can have no fears with respect to you, more particularly as you will have the advantage of the Eskimos, not merely in your actual supplies, but also in the means of recruiting and renewing them." The old forts still remained in addition to the two depôt posts, York and Moose Factory, there being Churchill, Severn, Rupert's House, Fort George, and Albany--and the life in them all of the stereotyped description which we have pictured. Besides the preparation in summer of supplies for the long winter, the only variety was the arrival of Indians with furs from the interior. The trade is carried on by means of well-known standards called the "castor" or "beaver." The Indian hands his furs over to the trader, who sorts them into different lots. The value is counted up at so many--say fifty--castors. The Indian then receives fifty small bits of wood, and with these proceeds to buy guns, knives, blankets, cloth, beads, or trinkets, never stopping till his castors are all exhausted. The castor rarely exceeds two shillings in value. While resembling in its general features the life on the Bay, the conduct of the fur trader on the shore of Labrador and throughout the Labrador Peninsula is much more trying and laborious than around the Bay. The inhospitable climate, the heavy snows, the rocky, dangerous shore, and the scarcity in some parts of animal life, long prevented the fur companies from venturing upon this forbidding coast. The northern part of Labrador is inhabited by Eskimos; further south are tribes of swampy Crees. Between the Eskimos and Indians deadly feuds long prevailed. The most cruel and bloody raids were made upon the timid Eskimos, as was done on the Coppermine when Hearne went on his famous expedition. McLean states that it was through the publication of a pamphlet by the Moravian missionaries of Labrador, which declared that "the country produced excellent furs," that the Hudson's Bay Company was led to establish trading posts in Northern Labrador. The stirring story of "Ungava," written by Ballantyne, gives what is no doubt in the main a correct account of the establishment of the far northern post called "Fort Chimo," on Ungava Bay. The expedition left Moose Factory in 1831, and after escaping the dangers of floating ice, fierce storms, and an unknown coast, erected the fort several miles up the river running into Ungava Bay. The story recalls the finding out, no doubt somewhat after the manner of the famous boys' book, "The Swiss Family Robinson," the trout and salmon of the waters, the walrus of the sea, and the deer of the mountain valleys, but the picture is not probably overdrawn. The building of Fort Chimo is plainly described by one who was familiar with the exploration and life of the fur country; the picture of the tremendous snowstorm and its overwhelming drifts is not an unlikely one for this coast, which, since the day of Cortereal, has been the terror of navigators. McLean, a somewhat fretful and biassed writer, though certainly not lacking in a clear and lively style, gives an account of his being sent, in 1837, to take charge of the district of North Labrador for the Company. On leaving York Factory in August the brig encountered much ice, although it escaped the mishaps which overtook almost all small vessels on the Bay. The steep cliffs of the island of Akpatok, which stands before Ungava Bay, were very nearly run upon in the dark, and much difficulty was experienced in ascending the Ungava, or South River, to Fort Chimo. The trader's orders from Governor Simpson were to push outposts into the interior of Labrador, to support his men on the resources of the country, and to open communication with Esquimaux Bay, on the Labrador coast, and thus, by means of the rivers, to establish an inland route of inter-communication between the two inlets. McLean made a most determined attempt to establish the desired route, but after innumerable hardships to himself and his company, retired, after nearly four months' efforts, to Fort Chimo, and sent a message to his superior officer that the proposed line of communication was impracticable. McLean gives an account of the arrival of a herd of three hundred reindeer or cariboo, and of the whole of them being captured in a "pound," as is done in the case of the buffalo. The trader was also visited by Eskimos from the north side of Hudson Strait, who had crossed the rough and dangerous passage on "a raft formed of pieces of driftwood picked up along the shore." The object of their visit was to obtain wood for making canoes. The trader states that the fact of these people having crossed "Hudson's Strait on so rude and frail a conveyance" strongly corroborates the opinion that America was originally peopled from Asia by way of Behring's Strait. It became more and more evident, however, that the Ungava trade could not be profitably continued. Great expense was incurred in supplying Ungava Bay by sea; the country was poor and barren, and the pertinacity of the Eskimos in adhering to their sealskin dresses made the trade in fabrics, which was profitable among the Indians, an impossibility at Ungava. McLean continued his explorations and was somewhat successful in opening the sought-for route by way of the Grand River, and, returning to Fort Chimo, wintered there. Having been promoted by Sir George Simpson, McLean obtained leave to visit Britain, and before going received word from the directors of the Company that his recommendation to abandon Ungava Bay had been accepted, and that the ship would call at that point and remove the people and property to Esquimaux Bay. McLean, in speaking of the weather of Hudson Straits during the month of January (1842), gives expression to his strong dislike by saying, "At this period I have neither seen, read, nor heard of any locality under heaven that can offer a more cheerless abode to civilized man than Ungava." Referring also to the fog that so abounds at this point as well as at the posts around Hudson Bay, the discontented trader says: "If Pluto should leave his own gloomy mansion _in tenebris Tartari_, he might take up his abode here, and gain or lose but little by the exchange." But the enterprising fur-traders were not to be deterred by the iron-bound coast, or foggy shores, or dangerous life of any part of the peninsula of Labrador. Early in the century, while the Hudson's Bay Company were penetrating southward from the eastern shore of Hudson Bay, which had by a kind of anomaly been called the "East Main," the North-West Company were occupying the north shore of the St. Lawrence and met their rivals at the head waters of the Saguenay. The district of which Tadoussac was the centre had from the earliest coming of the French been noted for its furs. That district all the way down to the west end of the island of Anticosti was known as the "King's Domains." The last parish was called Murray Bay, from General Murray, the first British governor of Quebec, who had disposed of the district, which furnished beef and butter for the King, to two of his officers, Captains Nairn and Fraser. The North-West Company, in the first decade of the nineteenth century, had leased this district, which along with the Seigniory of Mingan that lay still further down the Gulf of St. Lawrence, was long known as the "King's Posts." Beyond the Seigniory of Mingan, a writer of the period mentioned states that the Labrador coast had been left unappropriated, and was a common to which all nations at peace with England might resort, unmolested, for furs, oil, cod-fish, and salmon. A well-known trader, James McKenzie, after returning from the Athabasca region, made, in 1808, a canoe journey through the domains of the King, and left a journal, with his description of the rocky country and its inhabitants. He pictures strongly the one-eyed chief of Mingan and Father Labrosse, the Nestor for twenty-five years of the King's posts, who was priest, doctor, and poet for the region. McKenzie's voyage chiefly inclined him to speculate as to the origin and religion of the natives, while his description of the inland Indians and their social life is interesting. His account of the manners and customs of the Montagners or Shore Indians was more detailed than that of the Nascapees, or Indians of the interior, and he supplies us with an extensive vocabulary of their language. McKenzie gives a good description of the Saguenay River, of Chicoutimi, and Lake St. John, and of the ruins of a Jesuit establishment which had flourished during the French régime. Whilst the bell and many implements had been dug up from the scene of desolation, the plum and apple trees of their garden were found bearing fruit. From the poor neglected fort of Assuapmousoin McKenzie returned, since the fort of Mistassini could only be reached by a further journey of ninety leagues. This North-West post was built at the end of Lake Mistassini, while the Hudson's Bay Company Fort, called Birch Point, was erected four days' journey further on toward East Main House. Leaving the Saguenay, McKenzie followed the coast of the St. Lawrence, passing by Portneuf, with its beautiful chapel, "good enough for His Holiness the Pope to occupy," after which--the best of the King's posts for furs--Ile Jérémie was reached, with its buildings and chapels on a high eminence. Irregularly built Godbout was soon in view, and the Seven Islands Fort was then come upon. Mingan was the post of which McKenzie was most enamoured. Its fine harbour and pretty chapel drew his special attention. The "Man River" was famous for its fisheries, while Masquaro, the next port, was celebrated for the supply of beavers and martins in its vicinity. The salmon entering the river in the district are stated to be worthy of note, and the traveller and his company returned to Quebec, the return voyage being two hundred leagues. Since the time of McKenzie the fur trade has been pushed along the formerly unoccupied coast of Labrador. Even before that time the far northern coast had been taken up by a brave band of Moravians, who supported themselves by trade, and at the same time did Christian work among the Eskimos. Their movement merits notice. As early as 1749 a brave Hollander pilot named Erhardt, stimulated by reading the famous book of Henry Ellis on the North-West Passage, made an effort to form a settlement on the Labrador coast. He lost his life among the deceitful Eskimos. Years afterward, Count Zinzendorf made application to the Hudson's Bay Company to be allowed to send Moravian missionaries to the different Hudson's Bay Company posts. The union of trader and missionary in the Moravian cult made the Company unwilling to grant this request. After various preparations the Moravians took up unoccupied ground on the Labrador coast, in 56 deg. 36´ N., where they found plenty of wood, runlets of sparkling water and a good anchorage. They erected a stone marked G.R. III., 1770, for the King, and another with the inscription V.F. (Unitas fratrum), the name of their sect. Their first settlement was called Nain, and it was soon followed by another thirty miles up the coast known as "Okkak." Thirty miles south of Nain they found remains of the unfortunate movement first made by the Society, and here they established a mission, calling it "Hopedale." When they had become accustomed to the coast, they showed still more of the adventurous spirit and founded their most northerly post of Hebron, well nigh up to the dreaded "Ungava Bay." A community of upwards of eleven hundred Christian Eskimos has resulted from the fervour and self-denial of these humble but faithful missionaries. Their courage and determination stand well beside that of the daring fur traders. The Hudson's Bay Company was not satisfied with Mingan as their farthest outward point. In 1832 and 1834, Captain Bayfield, R.N., surveyed the Labrador coast. In due time the Company pushed on to the inlet known as Hamilton Inlet or Esquimaux Bay, on the north side of which the fort grew up, known as Rigolette. Here a farm is maintained stocked with "Cattle, sheep, pigs and hens," and the place is the depôt of the Hudson's Bay Company and of the general trade of the coast. Farther up two other sub-posts are found, viz., Aillik, and on the opposite side of the Inlet Kaipokok. The St. Lawrence and Labrador posts of the Hudson's Bay Company have been among the most difficult and trying of those in any part where the Company carries on its vast operations from Atlantic to Pacific. This Labrador region has been a noble school for the development of the firmness, determination, skill, and faithfulness characteristic of both the officers and men of the Hudson's Bay Company. Most notable of the officers of the first rank who have conducted the fur trade in Labrador is Lord Strathcona and Mount Royal, the present Governor of the Company. Coming out at eighteen, Donald Alexander Smith, a well-educated Scottish lad, related to Peter and Cuthbert Grant, and the brothers John and James Stuart, prominent officers, whose deeds in the North-West Company are still remembered, the future Governor began his career. Young Smith, on arriving at Montreal (1838), was despatched to Moose Factory, and for more than thirty years was in the service, in the region of Hudson Bay and Labrador. Rising to the rank of chief trader, after fourteen years of laborious service he reached in ten years more the acme of desire of every aspirant in the Company, the rank of chief factor. His years on the coast of Labrador, at Rigolette, and its subordinate stations were most laborious. The writer has had the privilege from time to time of hearing his tales, of the long journey along the frozen coast, of camping on frozen islands, without shelter, of storm-staid journeys rivalling the recitals of Ballantyne at Fort Chimo, of cold receptions by the Moravians, and of the doubtful hospitalities of both Indians and Eskimos. Every statement of Cortereal, Gilbert, or Cabot of the inhospitable shore is corroborated by this successful officer, who has lived for thirty years since leaving Labrador to fill a high place in the affairs both of Canada and the Empire. One of his faithful subordinates on this barren coast was Chief Factor P. W. Bell, who gained a good reputation for courage and faithfulness, not only in Labrador, but on the barren shore of Lake Superior. The latter returned to Labrador after his western experience, and retired from the charge of the Labrador posts a few years ago. It is to the credit of the Hudson's Bay Company that it has been able to secure men of such calibre and standing to man even its most difficult and unattractive stations. CHAPTER XXXVIII. ATHABASCA, MACKENZIE RIVER, AND THE YUKON. Peter Pond reaches Athabasca River--Fort Chipewyan established--Starting-point of Alexander McKenzie--The Athabasca library--The Hudson Bay Company roused--Conflict at Fort Wedderburn--Suffering--The dash up the Peace River--Fort Dunvegan--Northern extension--Fort Resolution--Fort Providence--The great river occupied--Loss of life--Fort Simpson, the centre--Fort Reliance--Herds of cariboo--Fort Norman built--Fort Good Hope--The Northern Rockies--The Yukon reached and occupied--The fierce Liard River--Fort Halkett in the mountains--Robert Campbell comes to the Stikine--Discovers the Upper Yukon--His great fame--The districts--Steamers on the water stretches. (The map on page 388 should be consulted while this chapter is being read.) Less than twenty years after the conquest of Canada by the British, the traders heard of the Lake Athabasca and Mackenzie River district. The region rapidly rose into notice, until it reached the zenith as the fur traders' paradise, a position it has held till the present time. As we have seen, Samuel Hearne, the Hudson's Bay Company adventurer--the Mungo Park of the North--first of white men, touched, on his way to the Coppermine, Lake Athapuscow, now thought to have been Great Slave Lake. It was the good fortune, however, of the North-West Company to take possession of this region first for trade. LAKE AND RIVER ATHABASCA. The daring Montreal traders, who had seized upon the Saskatchewan and pushed on to Lake Ile à la Crosse, having a surplus of merchandise in the year 1778, despatched one of their agents to Lake Athabasca, and "took seisin" of the country. As already stated, the man selected was the daring and afterwards violent trader Peter Pond. On the River Athabasca, some thirty miles south of the Lake, Pond built the first Indian trading post of the region, which, however, after a few years was abandoned and never afterwards rebuilt. FORT CHIPEWYAN. Less than ten years after this pioneer led the way, a fort was built on the south side of Lake Athabasca, at a point a few miles east of the entrance of the river. To this, borrowing the name of the Indian nation of the district, was given the name Fort Chipewyan. This old fort became celebrated as the starting-place of the great expedition of Alexander Mackenzie, when he discovered the river that bears his name and the Polar Sea into which it empties. At this historic fort also, Roderick McKenzie, cousin of the explorer, founded the famous "Athabasca Library," for the use of the officers of the Company in the northern posts, and in its treasures Lieutenant Lefroy informs us he revelled during his winter stay. At the beginning of the century the X Y Company aggressively invaded the Athabasca region, and built a fort a mile north of Fort Chipewyan, near the site of the present Roman Catholic Mission of the Nativity. As the conflict between the North-West and Hudson's Bay Companies waxed warm, the former Company, no doubt for the purpose of being more favourably situated for carrying on the trade with the Mackenzie River, removed their fort on Lake Athabasca to the commanding promontory near the exit of Slave River from the lake. Renewed and often enlarged, Fort Chipewyan has until recently remained the greatest depôt of the north country. THE HUDSON'S BAY COMPANY AROUSED. The fierceness of the struggle for the fur trade may be seen in the fact that the Hudson's Bay Company (1815) with vigour took up a site on an island in front of Fort Chipewyan and built Fort Wedderburn, at no greater distance than a single mile, and though it was not their first appearance on the lake, yet they threw themselves in considerable force into the contest, numbering, under John Clark, afterward Chief Factor, ten clerks, a hundred men, and fourteen large canoes loaded with supplies. Many misfortunes befell the new venture of the Company. A writer of the time says, "No less than fifteen men, one woman, and several children perished by starvation. They built four trade posts on the Peace River (lower) and elsewhere in the autumn; but not one of them was able to weather out the following winter. All were obliged to come to terms with their opponents to save the party from utter destruction. That year the Athabasca trade of the North-West Company was four hundred packs against only five in all secured by the Hudson's Bay Company." Three years afterward the old Company, with British pluck, again appeared on this lake, having nineteen loaded canoes. Trader Clark was now accompanied by the doughty leader, Colin Robertson, whose prowess we have already seen in the Red River conflict. It will be remembered that in the year before the union of the Companies, George Simpson, the young clerk, arrived on Lake Athabasca with fifteen loaded canoes. He was chiefly found at Fort Wedderburn and a short distance up the Peace River. It is not certain that the prospective Governor ever visited Slave Lake to the north. He gives, however, the following vivid summary of his winter's experience in Athabasca: "At some seasons both whites and Indians live in wasteful abundance on venison, buffalo meat, fish, and game of all kinds, while at other times they are reduced to the last degree of hunger, often passing several days without food. In the year 1820 our provisions fell short at the establishment, and on two or three occasions I went for two or three whole days and nights without having a single morsel to swallow, but then again, I was one of a party of eleven men and one woman which discussed at one sitting meal no less than three ducks and twenty-two geese!" This winter's knowledge was of great value to the man afterwards called to be the arbiter of destiny of many a hard-pressed trader. Other forts are mentioned as having been established by both Companies at different points on the Athabasca River, but their period of duration was short. In some cases these abandoned forts have been followed by new forts, in recent times, on the same sites. THE PEACE RIVER. Soon after the arrival of the first traders in the Athabasca district, the fame of the Peace River--the Indian "Unjijah," a mighty stream, whose waters empty into the river flowing from Lake Athabasca--rose among the adventurers. An enterprising French Canadian trader, named Boyer, pushed up the stream and near a small tributary--Red River--established the first post of this great artery, which flows from the West, through the Rocky Mountains. Long abandoned, this post has in late years been re-established. The Peace River has ever had a strange fascination for trader and tourist, and a few years after Boyer's establishment became known, a trading house was built above the "Chutes" of the river. This was afterwards moved some distance up stream and became the well-known Fort Vermilion. This fort has remained till the present day. Farther still up the Peace River, where the Smoky River makes its forks, a fort was erected whose stores and dwelling-houses were on a larger scale than those of the mother establishment of Fort Chipewyan, having had stockaded walls, a good powder magazine, and a good well of water. This fort for a time was known as McLeod's Fort, but in the course of events its site was abandoned. Fort Dunvegan, famous to later travellers, was first built on the south side of the river, and was the headquarters of the Beaver Indians, from whom the North-West Company received a formal gift of the site. The present fort is on the opposite side of the Peace River. It will be remembered, however, that it was from the post at the mouth of Smoky River that Alexander Mackenzie, having wintered, started on his great journey to the Pacific. In later years the Hudson's Bay Company has maintained a fort at this point as an outpost of Dunvegan. Early in the century we find allusions to the fact that the catch of beaver was, from over-hunting, declining in the Peace River country, and that, in consequence, the North-West Company had been compelled to give up several of their forts. Around Fort St. John's a tragic interest gathers. John McLean, in his "Notes of a Twenty-five Years' Service," speaks of reaching on his journey--1833--the "tenantless fort," where some years before a massacre had taken place. It had been determined by the Hudson's Bay Company to remove the fort to Rocky Mountain Portage. The tribe of Tsekanies, to whom the fort was tributary, took this as an insult. At the time of removal the officer in charge, Mr. Hughes, had sent off a part of his men with effects of the fort intended for the new post. Hughes was shot down on the riverside by the Indians. The party of boatmen, on returning, "altogether unconscious of the fate that awaited them, came paddling towards the landing-place, singing a voyageur's song, and Just as the canoe touched the shore, a volley of bullets was discharged at them, which silenced them for ever. They were all killed on the spot." An expedition was organized by the traders to avenge the foul murder, but more peaceful counsels prevailed. Most of the fugitives paid the penalty of their guilt by being starved to death. The deserted fort was some twenty miles below the present Fort St. John's. The present fort was built in the latter half of the century, and its outpost of Hudson's Hope, together with the trade station at Battle River, below Dunvegan, was erected about a generation ago. GREAT SLAVE LAKE. The extension of the fur trade to Great Slave Lake dates back to within seven years after the advent of Peter Pond on the Athabasca River. The famous trader, Cuthbert Grant, father of the "Warden of the Plains," who figured in the Seven Oaks fight, led the way, and with him a Frenchman, Laurent Leroux. Reaching this great lake, these ardent explorers built a trading post on Slave River, near its mouth. A short time afterwards the traders moved their first post to Moose Deer Island, a few miles from the old site, and here the North-West Company remained until the time of the union of the Companies. The impulse of union led to the construction of a new establishment on the site chosen by the Hudson's Bay Company for the erection of their post some six years before. The new post was called Fort Resolution, and was on the mainland two miles or more from the island. This post marked the extreme limit of the operations of the Hudson's Bay Company up to the time of the union. When Alexander Mackenzie determined to make his first great voyage, he started from Fort Chipewyan and bravely pushing out into the unknown wilds, left Great Slave Lake and explored the river that bears his name. Here he promised the tribe of the Yellow Knife Indians to establish a post among them in the next year. The promise was kept to the letter. The new post, built at the mouth of the Yellow Knife River, was called Fort Providence. It was afterwards removed to a large island in the north arm of the lake, and to this the name Fort Rae, in honour of the celebrated Arctic explorer, John Rae, was given. Near this new station there has been for years a Roman Catholic Mission. It was from the neighbourhood of these forts on the lake that Captain Franklin set out to build his temporary station, Fort Enterprise, one hundred miles from his base of supplies. Fort Rae has remained since the time of its erection a place of some importance. It formed the centre of the northern operations of Captain Dawson, R.A., on his expedition for circumpolar observation in recent times. After the Hudson's Bay Company had transferred Rupert's Land to Canada, a new post was opened on the Slave River, midway between Athabasca and Great Slave Lake. It was called Fort Smith, in honour of Chief Commissioner Donald A. Smith, now Lord Strathcona and Mount Royal. Near the site of Fort Smith are the dangerous Noyé Rapids of Slave River, where Grant and Leroux, on their voyage to Great Slave Lake, lost a canoe and five of its occupants. From Fort Smith southward to Smith Landing a waggon or cart road has been in use up to the present time. Now this is to be converted into a tramway. [Illustration: MAP OF MACKENZIE RIVER AND THE YUKON.] MACKENZIE RIVER. Northward the course of the fur traders' empire has continually made its way. Leaving Great Slave Lake four years before the close of the eighteenth century, along the course of Alexander Mackenzie's earlier exploration, Duncan Livingston, a North-West Company trader, built the first fort on the river eighty miles north of the lake. Three years later the trader, his three French-Canadian voyageurs and Indian interpreter, were basely killed by the Eskimos on the Lower Mackenzie River. A year or two afterward a party of fur traders, under John Clark, started on an expedition of exploration and retaliation down the river, but again the fury of the Eskimos was roused. In truth, had it not been for a storm of fair wind which favoured them, the traders would not have escaped with their lives. Very early in the present century, Fort Simpson, the former and present headquarters of the extensive Mackenzie River district, was built, and very soon after its establishment the prominent trader, and afterwards Chief Factor, George Keith, is found in charge of it. It is still the great trading and Church of England Mission centre of the vast region reaching to the Arctic Sea. During the first half of the century, Big Island, at the point where the Mackenzie River leaves Great Slave Lake, was, on account of its good supply of white fish, the wintering station for the supernumerary district servants of the Hudson's Bay Company. Though this point is still visited for fishing in the autumn, yet in later years the trade of this post has been transferred to another built near the Roman Catholic Mission at Fort Providence, forty miles farther down the river. On Hay River, near the point of departure of the Mackenzie River from the lake, several forts have been built from time to time and abandoned, among them a Fort George referred to by the old traders. The eastern end of the lake, known as Fond du Lac, became celebrated, as we have already seen, in connection with the Arctic explorers, Sir George Back and Dr. Richard King, for here they built Fort Reliance and wintered, going in the spring to explore the Great Fish River. In after years, on account of the district being the resort for the herds of cariboo, Fort Reliance was rebuilt, and was for a time kept up as an outpost of Fort Resolution for collecting furs and "country provisions." It may be re-occupied soon on account of the discoveries of gold and copper in the region. Journeying down the Mackenzie River, we learn that there was a fur traders' post of the Montreal merchants sixty miles north of Fort Simpson. In all probability this was but one of several posts that were from time to time occupied in that locality. At the beginning of the century the North-West Company pushed on further north, and had a trading post on the shore of Great Bear Lake, but almost immediately on its erection they were met here by their rivals, the X Y Company. At this point, reached by going up the Bear River from its junction with the Mackenzie on the south-west arm of the lake, Chief Factor Peter Dease built Fort Franklin for the use of the great Arctic explorer, after whom he named the fort. FORT NORMAN, ON THE MACKENZIE. To explore new ground was a burning desire in the breasts of the Nor'-Westers. Immediately in the year of their reunion with the X Y Company, the united North-West Company established a post on the Mackenzie River, sixty miles north of the mouth of Bear River. Indeed, the mouth of Bear River on the Mackenzie seems to have suggested itself as a suitable point for a post to be built, for in 1810 Fort Norman had been first placed there. For some reason the post was moved thirty or forty miles higher up the river, but a jam of ice having occurred in the spring of 1851, the fort was mainly swept away by the high water, though the occupants and all the goods were saved. In the same year the mouth of the Bear River came into favour again, and Fort Norman was built at that point. After this time the fort was moved once or twice, but was finally placed in its present commanding position. It was in quite recent times that, under Chief Factor Camsell's direction, a station half-way between Fort Norman and Fort Simpson was fixed and the name of Fort Wrigley given to it. FORT GOOD HOPE. Not only did the impulse of union between the North-West and X Y Companies reach Bear River, but in the same year, at a point on the Mackenzie River beyond the high perpendicular cliffs known as "The Ramparts," some two hundred miles further north than Fort Norman, was Fort Good Hope erected. Here it remained for nearly a score of years as the farthest north outpost of the fur trade, but after the union of the North-West and Hudson's Bay Companies it was moved a hundred miles southward on the river and erected on Manitoulin Island. After some years (1836) an ice jam of a serious kind took place, and though the inmates escaped in a York boat, yet the fort was completely destroyed by the rushing waters of the angry Mackenzie. The fort was soon rebuilt, but in its present beautiful situation on the eastern bank of the river, opposite the old site on Manitoulin Island. During Governor Simpson's time the extension of trade took place toward the mouth of the Mackenzie River. A trader, John Bell, who not only faced the hardships of the region within the Arctic Circle, but also gained a good name in connection with Sir John Richardson's expedition in search of Franklin, built the first post on Peel's River, which runs into the delta of Mackenzie River. Bell, in 1846, descended the Rat River, and first of British explorers set eyes on the Lower Yukon. In the following year the Hudson's Bay Company established La Pierre's House in the heart of the Rocky Mountains toward the Arctic Sea, and Chief Trader Murray built and occupied the first Fort Yukon. This fort the Hudson's Bay Company held for twenty-two years, until the territory of Alaska passed into the hands of the people of the United States. Rampart House was built by the Hudson's Bay Company within British territory. Both Rampart House and La Pierre's House were abandoned a few years ago as unprofitable. A similar fate befell Fort Anderson, two degrees north of the Arctic Circle, built for the Eastern Eskimos on the Anderson River, discovered in 1857 by Chief Factor R. MacFarlane, a few years before the transfer of the territory of the Hudson's Bay Company to Canada. No doubt the withdrawal from Fort Anderson was hastened by the terribly fatal epidemic of scarlatina which prevailed all over the Mackenzie River district in the autumn and early winter of 1865. More than eleven hundred Indians and Eskimos, out of the four thousand estimated population, perished. The loss of the hunters caused by this disease, and the difficulties of overland transport, led to the abandonment of this out-of-the-way post. THE LIARD RIVER. The conflict of the North-West and X Y Companies led to the most extraordinary exploration that Rupert's Land and the Indian territories have witnessed. At the time when the Mackenzie River, at the beginning of the century, was being searched and occupied, a fort known as The Forks was established at the junction of the Liard and Mackenzie Rivers. This fort, called, after the union of the Hudson's Bay and North-West Companies, Fort simpson, became the base of operations for the exploration of the Liard River. We have followed the course of trade by which the Mackenzie itself was placed under tribute; it may be well also to look at the occupation of the Liard, the most rapid and terrible of all the great eastern streams that dash down from the heart of the Rocky Mountains. The first post to be established on this stream was Fort Liard, not far below the junction of the western with the east branch of the river. There was an old fort between Fort Liard and Fort Simpson, but Fort Liard, which is still occupied by the Hudson's Bay Company, began almost with the century, and a few years afterwards was under the experienced trader, George Keith. Probably, at an equally early date, Fort Nelson, on the eastern branch of the river, was established. In the second decade of the century, Alexander Henry, the officer in charge, and all of his people were murdered by the Indians. The post was for many years abandoned, but was rebuilt in 1865, and is still a trading post. It was probably shortly after the union of the North-West and Hudson's Bay Companies that Fort Halkett, far up the western branch of the river, was erected. After forty or fifty years of occupation, Fort Halkett was abandoned, but a small post called Toad River was built some time afterward, half way between its site and that of Fort Liard. In 1834, Chief Trader John M. McLeod, not the McLeod whose journal we have quoted, pushed up past the dangerous rapids and boiling whirlpools, and among rugged cliffs and precipices of the Rocky Mountains, discovered Dease River and Dease Lake from which the river flows. Robert Campbell, an intrepid Scottish officer of the Hudson's Bay Company, in 1838, succeeded in doing what his predecessors had been unable to accomplish, viz. to establish a trading-post on Dease Lake. In the summer of the same year Campbell crossed to the Pacific Slope and reached the head waters of the Stikine River. In opening his new post Campbell awakened the hostility of the coast Indians. He and his men became so reduced in supplies that they subsisted for some time on the skin thongs of their moccasins and snow shoes and on the parchment windows of their huts, boiled to supply the one meal a day which kept them alive. In the end Campbell was compelled to leave his station on the Dease Lake, and the fort was burnt by the Indians. DISCOVERY OF THE UPPER YUKON. Under orders from Governor Simpson, Campbell, in 1840, undertook the exploration that has made his name famous. This was to ascend the northern branch of the wild and dangerous Liard River. For this purpose he left the mountain post, Fort Halkett, and passing through the great gorge arrived at Lake Frances, where he gave the promontory which divides the lake the name "Simpson's Tower." Leaving the Lake and ascending one of its tributaries, called by him Finlayson's River, he reached the interesting reservoir of Finlayson's Lake, of which, at high water, one part of the sheet runs west to the Pacific Ocean and the other to the Arctic Sea. With seven trusty companions he crossed the height of land and saw the high cliffs of the splendid river, which he called "Pelly Banks," in honour of the then London Governor of the Company. The Company would have called it Campbell's River, but the explorer refused the honour. Going down the stream a few miles on a raft, Campbell then turned back, and reached Fort Halkett after an absence of four months. Highly complimented by Governor Simpson, Campbell, under orders, in the next year built a fort at Lake Frances, and in a short time another establishment at Pelly Banks. Descending the river, the explorer met at the junction of the Lewis and Pelly Banks a band of Indians, who would not allow him to proceed further, and indeed plotted to destroy him and his men. Eight years after his discovery of Pelly Banks, Campbell started on his great expedition, which was crowned with success. Reaching again the junction of the Pelly and Lewis Rivers, he erected a post, naming it Fort Selkirk, although it was long locally known as Campbell's Fort. Two years after the building of Fort Selkirk, Campbell, journeying in all from the height of land for twelve hundred miles, reached Fort Yukon, where, as we have seen, Trader Murray was in charge. Making a circuit around by the Porcupine River and ascending the Mackenzie River, Campbell surprised his friends at Fort Simpson by coming up the river to Fort Simpson. In 1852, a thievish band of coast Indians called the Chilkats plundered Fort Selkirk and shortly afterward destroyed it. Its ruins remain to this day, and the site is now taken up by the Canadian Government as a station on the way to the Yukon gold-fields. Campbell went home to London, mapped out with the aid of Arrowsmith the country he had found, and gave names to its rivers and other features. A few years ago an officer of the United States army, Lieutenant Schwatka, sought to rob Campbell of his fame, and attempted to rename the important points of the region. Campbell's merit and modesty entitle him to the highest recognition. The trading posts of the great region we are describing have been variously grouped into districts. Previous to the union of the North-West and Hudson's Bay Companies, from Athabasca north and west was known as the "Athabasca-Mackenzie Department," their returns all being kept in one account. This northern department was long under the superintendency of Chief Factor Edward Smith. A new district was, some time after the transfer of the Indian territories to Canada, formed and named "Peace River." The management has changed from time to time, Fort Dunvegan, for example, for a period the headquarters of the Peace River district, having lost its pre-eminence and been transferred to be under the chief officer on Lesser Slave Lake. The vast inland water stretches of which we have spoken have been the chief means of communication throughout the whole country. Without these there could have been little fur trade. The distances are bewildering. The writer remembers seeing Bishop Bompas, who had left the far distant Fort Yukon to go to England, and who by canoe, York boat, dog train, snow shoe, and waggon, had been nine months on the journey before he reached Winnipeg. The first northern inland steamer in these remote retreats was the _Graham_ (1882), built by the Company at Fort Chipewyan on Lake Athabasca, by Captain John M. Smith. Three years later the same captain built the screw-propeller _Wrigley_, at Fort Smith, on the Slave River; and a few years afterward, this indefatigable builder launched at Athabasca landing the stern-wheeler _Athabasca_, for the water stretches of the Upper Athabasca River. How remarkable the record of adventure, trade, rivalry, bloodshed, hardship, and successful effort, from the time, more than a century ago, when Peter Pond started out on his seemingly desperate undertaking! CHAPTER XXXIX. ON THE PACIFIC SLOPE. Extension of trade in New Caledonia--The Western Department--Fort Vancouver built--Governor's residence and Bachelor's Hall--Fort Colville--James Douglas, a man of note--A dignified official--An Indian rising--A brave woman--The fertile Columbia Valley--Finlayson, a man of action--Russian fur traders--Treaty of Alaska--Lease of Alaska to the Hudson's Bay Company--Fort Langley--The great farm--Black at Kamloops--Fur trader v. botanist--"No soul above a beaver's skin"--A tragic death--Chief Nicola's eloquence--A murderer's fate. The great exploration early in the century secured the Pacific Slope very largely to the North-West Company. Several of their most energetic agents, as the names of the rivers running into the Pacific Ocean show, had made a deep impression on the region even as far south as the mouth of the Columbia River. On the union of the North-West and Hudson's Bay Companies, Governor Simpson threw as much energy into the development of trade in the country on the western side of the Rocky Mountains as if he had been a thorough-going Nor'-Wester. In his administration from ocean to ocean he divided the trading territory into four departments, viz. Montreal, the Southern, the Northern, and the Western. In each of these there were four factors, and these were, in the Western or Rocky Mountain department, subject to one chief. Under the chief factor the gradation was chief trader, chief clerk, apprenticed clerk, postmaster, interpreter, voyageur, and labourer. This fuller organization and the cessation of strife resulted in a great increase of the trade of the Hudson's Bay Company on the coast as well as the east side of the Rocky Mountains. The old fort of Astoria, which was afterwards known as Fort George, was found too far from the mountains for the convenience of the fur traders. Accordingly in 1824-5, a new fort was erected on the north side of the Columbia River, six miles above its junction with the Willamette River. The new fort was called Fort Vancouver, and was built on a prairie slope about one mile back from the river, but it was afterwards moved nearer the river bank. The new site was very convenient for carrying on the overland traffic to Puget Sound. This fort was occupied for twenty-three years, until international difficulties rendered its removal necessary. Fort Vancouver was of considerable size, its stockade measuring 750 ft. in length and 600 ft. in breadth. The Governor's residence, Bachelor's Hall, and numerous other buildings made up a considerable establishment. About the fort a farm was under cultivation to the extent of fifteen hundred acres, and a large number of cattle, sheep, and horses were bred upon it and supplied the trade carried on with the Russians in the Far North. Farther up the Columbia River, where the Walla Walla River emptied in, a fort was constructed in 1818. The material for this fort was brought a considerable distance, and being in the neighbourhood of troublesome tribes of Indians, care was taken to make the fort strong and defensible. Still further up the Columbia River and near the mountains, an important post, Fort Colville, was built. This fort became the depôt for all the trade done on the Columbia River; and from this point the brigade which had been organized at Fort Vancouver made its last call before undertaking the steep mountain climb which was necessary in order that by the middle of March it might reach Norway House and be reported at the great summer meeting of the fur traders' council there. This task needed a trusty leader, and for many years Chief Factor, afterward Sir James, Douglas became the man on whom Governor and Council depended to do this service. The mention of the name of James Douglas brings before us the greatest and most notable man developed by the fur trade of the Pacific slope. The history of this leader was for fifty years after the coalition of the Companies in 1821, the history of the Hudson's Bay Company on the Pacific. [Illustration: SIR JAMES DOUGLAS.] Born near the beginning of the century, a scion of the noble house of Douglas, young Douglas emigrated to Canada, entered the North-West Company, learned French as if by magic, and though little more than a lad, at once had heavy responsibilities thrown upon him. He was enterprising and determined, with a judicious mixture of prudence. He had capital business talents and an adaptability that stood him in good stead in dealing with Indians. The veteran Chief Factor, McLoughlin, who had served his term in the Nor'-Wester service about Lake Superior and Lake Nepigon, was appointed to the charge of the Pacific or Western District. He discerned the genius of his young subordinate, and with the permission of the directors in London, after a short interval, took Douglas west of the mountains to the scene of his future successes. The friendship between these chiefs of the Pacific Coast was thus early begun, and they together did much to mould the British interests on the Pacific Coast into a comely shape. While McLoughlin crossed at once to the Columbia and took charge of Fort Vancouver, he directed Douglas to go north to New Caledonia, or what is now Northern British Columbia, to learn the details of the fur trade of the mountains. Douglas threw himself heartily into every part of his work. He not only learned the Indian languages, and used them to advantage in the advancement of the fur trade, but studied successfully the physical features of the country and became an authority on the Pacific Slope which proved of greatest value to the Company and the country for many a day. Douglas had as his headquarters Fort St. James, near the outlet of Stuart Lake, i.e. just west of the summit of the Rocky Mountains. He determined to enforce law and do away with the disorder which prevailed in the district. An Indian, who some time before had murdered one of the servants of the Hudson's Bay Company, had been allowed to go at large. Judgment being long deferred, the murderer thought himself likely to be unmolested, and visited Stuart Lake. Douglas, learning of his presence, with a weak garrison seized the criminal and visited vengeance on him. The Indians were incensed, but knowing that they had to deal with a doughty Douglas, employed stratagem in their reprisals. The old chief came very humbly to the fort and, knocking at the gate, was given admittance. He talked the affair over with Douglas, and the matter seemed in a fair way to be settled when another knock was heard at the gate. The chief stated that it was his brother who sought to be admitted. The gate was opened, when in rushed the whole of the Nisqually tribe. McLean vividly describes the scene which ensued: "The men of the fort were overpowered ere they had time to stand on their defence. Douglas, however, seized a wall-piece that was mounted in the hall, and was about to discharge it on the crowd that was pouring in upon him, when the chief seized him by the hands and held him fast. For an instant his life was in the utmost peril, surrounded by thirty or forty Indians, their knives drawn, and brandishing them over his head with frantic gestures, and calling out to the chief, "Shall we strike? Shall we strike?" The chief hesitated, and at this critical moment the interpreter's wife (daughter of an old trader, James McDougall) stepped forward, and by her presence of mind saved him and the establishment. "Observing one of the inferior chiefs, who had always professed the greatest friendship for the whites, standing in the crowd, she addressed herself to him, exclaiming, 'What! you a friend of the whites, and not say a word in their behalf at such a time as this! Speak! You know the murderer deserved to die; according to your own laws the deed was just; it is blood for blood. The white men are not dogs; they love their own kindred as well as you; why should they not avenge their murder?'" The moment the heroine's voice was heard the tumult subsided; her boldness struck the savages with awe. The chief she addressed, acting on her suggestion, interfered, and being seconded by the old chief, who had no serious intention of injuring the whites, and was satisfied with showing them that they were fairly in his power, Douglas and his men were set at liberty, and an amicable conference having taken place, the Indians departed much elated with the issue of their enterprise. Douglas spent his four years in the interior in a most interesting and energetic life. The experience there gained was invaluable in his after career as a fur trader. In 1826, at Bear Lake, at the head of a branch of the River Skeena, he built a fort, which he named Fort Connolly, in honour of his superior officer, the chief of the Pacific department. Other forts in this region date their origin to Douglas's short stay in this part of the mountains. Douglas also had an "affair of the heart" while at Fort St. James. Young and impressionable, he fell in love with Nellie, the daughter of Mr. Connolly, a young "daughter of the country," aged sixteen. She became his wife and survived him as Lady Douglas. His life of adventure in the Rocky Mountains came to an end by the summons of Chief Factor McLoughlin to appear at Fort Vancouver, the chief point of the Company's trade on the Pacific slope. In two years more the rising young officer became chief trader, and three years afterward he had reached the high dignity of chief factor. His chief work was to establish forts, superintend the trade in its different departments, and inspect the forts at least annually. His vigilance and energy were surprising. He became so noted that it was said of him: "He was one of the most enterprising and inquisitive of men, famous for his intimate acquaintance with every service of the coast." Though James Douglas rose by well marked tokens of leadership to the chief place on the Pacific Coast, yet the men associated with him were a worthy and able band. His friend, Chief Factor Dr. John McLoughlin, who had been his patron, was a man of excellent ability. McLoughlin was of a sympathetic and friendly disposition, and took an interest in the settlement of the fertile valley of the Columbia. His course seems to have been disapproved of by the London Committee of the Company, and his place was given to Douglas, after which he spent his life in Oregon. His work and influence cannot, however, be disregarded. He passed through many adventures and dangers. He was fond of show, and had a manner which might well recommend him to Sir George Simpson, Governor-in-Chief. From a trader's journal we learn: "McLoughlin and his suite would sometimes accompany the south-bound expeditions from Fort Vancouver, in regal state, for fifty or one hundred miles up the Willamette, when he would dismiss them with his blessing and return to the fort. He did not often travel, and seldom far; but on these occasions he indulged his men rather than himself in some little variety.... It pleased Mrs. McLoughlin thus to break the monotony of her fort life. Upon a gaily-caparisoned steed, with silver trappings and strings of bells on bridle reins and saddle skirt, sat the lady of Fort Vancouver, herself arrayed in brilliant colours and wearing a smile which might cause to blush and hang its head the broadest, warmest, and most fragrant sunflower. By her side, also gorgeously attired, rode her lord, king of the Columbia, and every inch a king, attended by a train of trappers, under a chief trader, each upon his best behaviour." But a group of men, notable and competent, gathered around these two leaders of the fur trade on the Pacific Coast. These comprised Roderick Finlayson, John Work, A. C. Anderson, W. F. Tolmie, John Tod, S. Black, and others. These men, in charge of important posts, were local magnates, and really, gathered together in council, determined the policy of the Company along the whole coast. In 1827 the spirit of extension of the trading operations took possession of the Hudson's Bay Company. In that year the officers at Fort Vancouver saw arrive from the Thames the schooner _Cadboro_, seventy-two tons burthen. She became as celebrated on the Pacific Coast as any prominent fur trader could have become. It was said of this good ship, "She saw buried every human body brought by her from England, save one, John Spence, ship carpenter." Her arrival at this time was the occasion for an expedition to occupy the Lower Fraser with a trading post. John McMillan commanded the expedition of twenty-five men. Leaving Fort Vancouver in boats, and, after descending the Columbia for a distance, crossing the country to Puget's Sound, they met the _Cadboro_, which had gone upon her route. Transported to the mouth of the Fraser River, which empties into the Gulf of Georgia, they, with some difficulty, ascended the river and planted Fort Langley, where in the first season of trade a fair quantity of beaver was purchased, and a good supply of deer and elk meat was brought in by the hunters. The founding of Fort Langley meant virtually the taking hold of what we now know as the mainland of British Columbia. The reaching out in trade was not favoured by the Indians of the Columbia. Two years after the founding of Fort Langley, a Hudson's Bay Company ship from London, the _William and Ann_, was wrecked at the mouth of the Columbia River. The survivors were murdered by the Indians, and the cargo was seized and secreted by the savage wreckers. Chief Factor McLoughlin sent to the Indians, demanding the restoration of the stolen articles. An old broom was all that was brought to the fort, and this was done in a spirit of derision. The schooner _Vancouver_--the first ship of that name--(150 tons burthen), built on the coast, was wrecked five years after, and became a total loss. In the same year as the wreck of the _William and Ann_, it was strongly impressed upon the traders that a sawmill should be erected to supply the material for building new vessels. Chief Factor McLoughlin determined to push this on. He chose as a site a point on the Willamette River, a tributary of the Columbia from the south, where Oregon city now stands. He began a farm in connection with the mill, and in a year or two undertook the construction of the mill race by blasting in the rock, and erected cottages for his men and new settlers. The Indians, displeased with the signs of permanent residence, burnt McLoughlin's huts. It is said it was this enterprise that turned the Hudson's Bay Company Committee in London against the veteran trader. Years afterwards, Edward Ellice, the fur-trade magnate residing in England, said, "Dr. McLoughlin was rather an amphibious and independent personage. He was a very able man, and, I believe, a very good man; but he had a fancy that he would like to have interests in both countries, both in United States and in English territory.... While he remained with the Hudson's Bay Company he was an excellent servant." Among the traders far up in the interior, in command of Fort Kamloops, which was at the junction of the North and South Thompson, was a Scotchman named Samuel Black. There came as a visitor to his fort a man of science and a countryman of his own. This man was David Douglas. He was an enthusiast in the search for plants and birds. He was indefatigable as a naturalist, did much service to the botany of Western America, and has his name preserved in the characteristic tree of the Pacific slope--the Douglas Fir. Douglas, on visiting Black, was very firm in the expression of his opinions against the Company, saying, "The Hudson's Bay Company is simply a mercenary corporation; there is not an officer in it with a soul above a beaver's skin." Black's Caledonian blood was roused, for he was a leading spirit among the traders, having on the union of the Companies been presented with a ring with the inscription on it, "To the most worthy of the worthy Nor'-Westers." He challenged the botanist to a duel. The scientist deferred the meeting till the morning, but early next day Black tapped at the parchment window of the room where Douglas was sleeping, crying, "Mister Douglas, are ye ready?" Douglas disregarded the invitation. David Douglas some time after visited Hawaii, where, in examining the snares for catching wild cattle, he fell into the pit, and was trampled to death by a wild bullock. The death of Samuel Black was tragic. In 1841, Tranquille, a chief of the Shushwaps, who dwelt near Kamloops, died. The friends of the chief blamed the magic or "evil medicine" of the white man for his death. A nephew of Tranquille waited his opportunity and shot Chief Trader Black. The Hudson's Bay Company was aroused to most vigorous action. A writer says: "The murderer escaped. The news spread rapidly to the neighbouring posts. The natives were scarcely less disturbed than the white men. The act was abhorred, even by the friends and relatives of Tranquille. Anderson was at Nisqually at the time. Old John Tod came over from Fort Alexandria, McLean from Fort Colville, and McKinley and Ermatinger from Fort Okanagan. From Fort Vancouver McLoughlin sent men.... Cameron was to assist Tod in taking charge of Kamloops. All traffic was stopped. "Tod informed the assembled Shushwaps that the murderer must be delivered up. The address of Nicola, chief of the Okanagans, gives a fine example of Indian eloquence. He said: 'The winter is cold. On all the hills around the deer are plenty; and yet I hear your children crying for food. Why is this? You ask for powder and ball, they refuse you with a scowl. Why do the white men let your children starve? Look there! Beneath yon mound of earth lies him who was your friend, your father. The powder and ball he gave you that you might get food for your famishing wives and children, you turned against him. Great heavens! And are the Shushwaps such cowards, dastardly to shoot their benefactor in the back while his face was turned? Yes, alas, you have killed your father! A mountain has fallen! The earth is shaken! The sun is darkened! My heart is sad. I cannot look at myself in the glass. I cannot look at you, my neighbours and friends. He is dead, and we poor Indians shall never see his like again. He was just and generous. His heart was larger than yonder mountain, and clearer than the waters of the lake. Warriors do not weep, but sore is my breast, and our wives shall wail for him. Wherefore did you kill him? But you did not. You loved him. And now you must not rest until you have brought to justice his murderer.' "The old man was so rigid in expression that his whole frame and features seemed turned to stone. "Archibald McKinley said, 'Never shall I forget it; it was the grandest speech I ever heard.' "The murderer was soon secured and placed in irons, but in crossing a river he succeeded in upsetting the boat in the sight of Nicola and his assembled Indians. The murderer floated down the stream, but died, his death song hushed by the crack of rifles from the shore." Thus by courage and prudence, alas! not without the sacrifice of valuable lives, was the power of the Hudson's Bay Company and the prestige of Great Britain established on the Pacific Coast. CHAPTER XL. FROM OREGON TO VANCOUVER ISLAND. Fort Vancouver on American soil--Chief Factor Douglas chooses a new site--Young McLoughlin killed--Liquor selling prohibited--Dealing with the Songhies--A Jesuit father--Fort Victoria--Finlayson's skill--Chinook jargon--The brothers Ermatinger--A fur-trading Junius--"Fifty-four, forty, or fight"--Oregon Treaty--Hudson's Bay Company indemnified--The waggon road--A colony established--First governor--Gold fever--British Columbia--Fort Simpson--Hudson's Bay Company in the interior--The forts--A group of worthies--Service to Britain--The coast become Canadian. The Columbia River grew to be a source of wealth to the Hudson's Bay Company. Its farming facilities were great, and its products afforded a large store for supplying the Russian settlements of Alaska. But as on the Red River, so here the influx of agricultural settlers sounded a note of warning to the fur trader that his day was soon to pass away. With the purpose of securing the northern trade, Fort Langley had been built on the Fraser River. The arrival of Sir George Simpson on the coast on his journey round the world was the occasion of the Company taking a most important step in order to hold the trade of Alaska. In the year following Sir George's visit, Chief Factor Douglas crossed Puget Sound and examined the southern extremity of Vancouver Island as to its suitability for the erection of a new fort to take the place in due time of Fort Vancouver. Douglas found an excellent site, close beside the splendid harbour of Esquimalt, and reported to the assembled council of chief factors and traders at Fort Vancouver that the advantages afforded by the site, especially that of its contiguity to the sea, would place the new fort, for all their purposes, in a much better position than Fort Vancouver. The enterprise was accordingly determined on for the next season. A tragic incident took place at this time on the Pacific Coast, which tended to make the policy of expansion adopted appear to be a wise and reasonable one. This was the violent death of a young trader, the son of Chief Trader McLoughlin, at Fort Taku on the coast of Alaska, in the territory leased from the Russians by the Hudson's Bay Company. The murder was the result of a drunken dispute among the Indians, in which, accidentally, young McLoughlin had been shot. Sir George Simpson had just returned to the fort from his visit to the Sandwich Islands, and was startled at seeing the Russian and British ships, with flags at half-mast, on account of the young trader's death. The Indians, on the arrival of the Governor, expressed the greatest penitence, but the stern Lycurgus could not be appeased, and this calamity, along with one of a similar kind, which had shortly before occurred on the Stikine River, led Sir George Simpson and the Russian Governor Etholin to come to an agreement to discontinue at once the sale of spirituous liquor in trading with the Indians. The Indians for a time resorted to every device, such as withholding their furs unless liquor was given them, but the traders were unyielding, and the trade on the coast became safer and more profitable on account of the disuse of strong drink. The decision to build a new fort having been reached in the next spring, the moving spirit of the trade on the coast, James Douglas, with fifteen men, fully supplied with food and necessary implements, crossed in the _Beaver_ from Nisqually, like another Eneas leaving his untenable city behind to build a new Troy elsewhere. On the next day, March 13th, the vessel came to anchor opposite the new site. A graphic writer has given us the description of the beautiful spot: "The view landwards was enchanting. Before them lay a vast body of land, upon which no white man then stood. Not a human habitation was in sight; not a beast, scarcely a bird. Even the gentle murmur of the voiceless wood was drowned by the gentle beating of the surf upon the shore. There was something specially charming, bewitching in the place. Though wholly natural it did not seem so. It was not at all like pure art, but it was as though nature and art had combined to map out and make one of the most pleasing prospects in the world." The visitor looking at the City of Victoria in British Columbia to-day will say that the description is in no way overdrawn. Not only is the site one of the most charming on the earth, but as the spectator turns about he is entranced with the view on the mainland, of Mount Olympia, so named by that doughty captain, John Meares, more than fifty years before the founding of this fort. The place had been already chosen for a village and fortification by the resident tribe, the Songhies, and went by the Indian name of Camosun. The Indian village was a mile distant from the entrance to the harbour. When the _Beaver_ came to anchor, a gun was fired, which caused a commotion among the natives, who were afraid to draw near the intruding vessel. Next morning, however, the sea was alive with canoes of the Songhies. The trader immediately landed, chose the site for his post, and found at a short distance tall and straight cedar-trees, which afforded material for the stockades of the fort. Douglas explained to the Indians the purpose of his coming, and held up to them bright visions of the beautiful things he would bring them to exchange for their furs. He also employed the Indians in obtaining for him the cedar posts needed for his palisades. The trader showed his usual tact in employing a most potent means of gaining an influence over the savages by bringing the Jesuit Father Balduc, who had been upon the island before and was known to the natives. Gathering the three tribes of the south of the island, the Songhies, Clallams, and Cowichins, into a great rustic chapel which had been prepared, Father Balduc held an impressive religious service, and shortly after visited a settlement of the Skagits, a thousand strong, and there too, in a building erected for public worship, performed the important religious rites of his Church before the wondering savages. It was the intention of the Hudson's Bay Company to make the new fort at Camosun, which they first called Fort Albert, and afterwards Fort Victoria--the name now borne by the city, the chief trading depôt on the coast. [Illustration: FORT VICTORIA, B.C.] As soon as the buildings were well under way, Chief Factor Douglas sailed northward along the coast to re-arrange the trade. Fort Simpson, which was on the mainland, some fifteen degrees north of the new fort and situated between the Portland Canal and the mouth of the Skeena River, was to be retained as necessary for the Alaska trade, but the promising officer, Roderick Finlayson, a young Scotchman, who had shown his skill and honesty in the northern post, was removed from it and given an important place in the new establishment. Living a useful and blameless life, he was allowed to see the new fort become before his death a considerable city. Charles Ross, the master of Fort McLoughlin, being senior to Finlayson, was for the time being placed in charge of the new venture. The three minor forts, Taku, Stikine, and McLoughlin, were now closed, and the policy of consolidation led to Fort Victoria at once rising into importance. On the return of the chief factor from his northern expedition, with all the employés and stores from the deserted posts, the work at Fort Victoria went on apace. The energetic master had now at his disposal fifty good men, and while some were engaged at the buildings--either store-houses or dwellings--others built the defences. Two bastions of solid block work were erected, thirty feet high, and these were connected by palisades or stockades of posts twenty feet high, driven into the earth side by side. The natives encamped alongside the new work, looked on with interest, but as they had not their wives and children with them, the traders viewed them with suspicion. On account of the watchfulness of the builders, the Indians, beyond a few acts of petty theft, did not interfere with the newcomers in their enterprise. Three months saw the main features of the fort completed. On entering the western gate of the fort, to the right was to be seen a cottage-shaped building, the post office, then the smithy; further along the walls were the large store-house, carpenter's shop, men's dormitory, and the boarding-house for the raw recruits. Along the east wall were the chapel, chaplain's house, then the officers' dining-room, and cook-house attached. Along the north wall was a double row of store-houses for furs and goods, and behind them the gunpowder magazine. In the north-west corner was the cottage residence of the chief factor and his family. The defences of the fort were important, consisting of two bastions on the western angles, and these contained six or eight nine-pounders. The south tower was the real fort from which salutes were fired; the north tower was a prison; and near the western or front gate stood the belfry erection and on its top the flag-staff. Such was the first Fort Albert or Victoria. Victoria rapidly grew into notice, and in due time Roderick Finlayson, the man of adaptation and force, on the death of his superior officer became chief factor in charge. The writer met the aged fur trader years after he had retired from active service, and spent with him some hours of cheerful discourse. Large and commanding in form, Finlayson had the marks of governing ability about him. He lacked the adroitness of McLoughlin, the instability of Tod, and the genius of Douglas, but he was a typical Scotchman, steady, patient, and trustworthy. Like an old patriarch, he spent his last days in Victoria, keeping a large extent of vacant city property in a common. Urged again and again to sell it when it had become valuable, the sturdy pioneer replied that he "needed it to pasture his 'coo.'" One of the things most striking in all the early traders was their ability to master language. Many of the officers of the Company were able to speak four languages. On the Pacific Coast, on account of the many Indian tongues differing much from each other, there grew up a language of commerce, known as the Chinook jargon. It was a most remarkable phenomenon; it is still largely in use. The tribe most familiar to the traders at the beginning of the century was the Chinooks. English-speaking, French, and United States traders met with them, and along with them the Kanakas, or Sandwich Island workmen, with many bands of coast Indians. A trade has developed upon the Pacific Coast, the Chinook jargon has grown, and now numbers some five hundred words. Of these, nearly half were Chinook in origin, a number were from other Indian languages, almost a hundred were French, and less than seventy English, while several were doubtful. The then leading elements among the traders were known in the jargon as respectively, Pasai-ooks, French, a corruption of Français; King Chautchman (King George man), English; and Boston, American. The following will show the origin and meaning of a few words, showing changes made in consonants which the Indians cannot pronounce. _French._ _Jargon._ _Meaning._ Le mouton. Lemoots. Sheep. Chapeau. Seahpo. Hat. Sauvage. Siwash. Indian. _English._ _Jargon._ _Meaning._ Fire. Piah. Fire or cook. Coffee. Kaupy. Coffee. Handkerchief. Hat'atshum. Handkerchief. _Chinook._ _Jargon._ _Meaning._ Tkalaitanam. Kali-tan. Arrow. Thliakso. Yokso. Hair. ---- Klootchman. Woman. Songs, hymns, sermons, and translations of portions of the Bible are made in the jargon, and used by missionaries and teachers. Several dictionaries of the dialect have been published. Among the out-standing men who were contemporaries upon the Pacific Coast of Finlayson were the two brothers Ermatinger. Already it has been stated that they were nephews of the famous old trader of Sault Ste. Marie. Their father had preferred England to Canada, and had gone thither. His two sons, Edward and Francis, were, as early as 1818, apprenticed by their father to the Hudson's Bay Company and sent on the Company's ship to Rupert's Land, by way of York Factory. Edward, whose autobiographical sketch, hitherto unpublished, lies before us, tells us that he spent ten years in the fur trade, being engaged at York Factory, Oxford House, Red River, and on the Columbia River. Desirous of returning to the service after he had gone back to Canada, he had received an appointment to Rupert's Land again from Governor Simpson. This was cancelled by the Governor on account of a grievous quarrel with old Charles, the young trader's uncle, on a sea voyage with the Governor to Britain. For many years, however, Edward Ermatinger lived at St. Thomas, Ontario, where his son, the respected Judge Ermatinger, still resides. The old gentleman became a great authority on Hudson's Bay affairs, and received many letters from the traders, especially, it would seem, from those who had grievances against the Company or against its strong-willed Governor. Francis Ermatinger, the other brother, spent between thirty and forty years in the Far West, especially on the Pacific Coast. An unpublished journal of Francis Ermatinger lies before us. It is a clear and vivid account of an expedition to revenge the death of a trader, Alexander Mackenzie, and four men who had been basely murdered (1828) by the tribe of Clallam Indians. The party, under Chief Factor Alexander McLeod, attacked one band of Indians and severely punished them; then from the ship _Cadboro_ on the coast, a bombardment of the Indian village took place, in which many of the tribe of the murderers were killed, but whether the criminals suffered was never known. That Francis Ermatinger was one of the most hardy, determined, and capable of the traders is shown by a remarkable Journey made by him, under orders from Sir George Simpson on his famous journey round the world. Ermatinger had left Fort Vancouver in charge of a party of trappers to visit the interior of California. Sir George, having heard of him in the upper waters of one of the rivers of the coast, ordered him to meet him at Monterey. This Ermatinger undertook to do, and after a terrific journey, crossing snowy chains of mountains, fierce torrents in a country full of pitfalls, reached the imperious Governor. Ermatinger had assumed the disguise of a Spanish caballero, and was recognized by his superior officer with some difficulty. Ermatinger wrote numerous letters to his brothers in Canada, which contained details of the hard but exciting life he was leading. Most unique and peculiar of all the traders on the Pacific Coast was John Tod, who first appeared as a trader in the Selkirk settlement and wrote a number of the Hargrave letters. In 1823 he was sent by Governor Simpson, it is said, to New Caledonia as to the penal settlement of the fur traders, but the young Scotchman cheerfully accepted his appointment. He became the most noted letter-writer of the Pacific Coast, indeed he might be called the prince of controversialists among the traders. There lies before the writer a bundle of long letters written over a number of years by Tod to Edward Ermatinger. Tod, probably for the sake of argument, advocated loose views as to the validity of the Scriptures, disbelief of many of the cardinal Christian doctrines, and in general claimed the greatest latitude of belief. It is very interesting to see how the solemn-minded and orthodox Ermatinger strives to lead him into the true way. Tod certainly had little effect upon his faithful correspondent, and shows the greatest regard for his admonitions. The time of Sir George Simpson's visit to the coast on his journey round the world was one of much agitation as to the boundary line between the British and United States possessions on the Pacific Coast. By the treaty of 1825 Russia and Britain had come to an agreement that the Russian strip along the coast should reach southward only to 54 deg. 40´ N. lat. The United States mentioned its claim to the coast as far north as the Russian boundary. However preposterous it may seem, yet it was maintained by the advocates of the Monroe doctrine that Great Britain had no share of the coast at all. The urgency of the American claim became so great that the popular mind seemed disposed to favour contesting this claim with arms. Thus originated the famous saying, "Fifty-four, forty, or fight." The Hudson's Bay Company was closely associated with the dispute, the more that Fort Vancouver on the Columbia River might be south of the boundary line, though their action of building Fort Victoria was shown to be a wise and timely step. At length in 1846 the treaty between Great Britain and the United States was made and the boundary line established. The Oregon Treaty, known in some quarters as the Ashburton Treaty, provided that the 49th parallel of latitude should on the mainland be the boundary, thus handing over Fort Vancouver, Walla Walla, Colville, Nisqually, and Okanagan to the United States, and taking them from their rightful owners, the Hudson's Bay Company. Article two of the great treaty, however, stated that the Company should enjoy free navigation of the Columbia River, while the third article provided that the possessory rights of the Hudson's Bay Company and all other British subjects on the south side of the boundary line should be respected. The decision in regard to the boundary led to changes in the Hudson's Bay Company establishments. Dr. McLoughlin, having lost the confidence of the Company, threw in his lot with his United States home, and retired in the year of the treaty to Oregon City, where he died a few years after. His name is remembered as that of an impulsive, good-hearted, somewhat rash, but always well-meaning man. Though Fort Victoria became the depôt for the coast of the trade of the Company, Fort Vancouver, with a reduced staff, was maintained for a number of years by the Company. While under charge of Chief Trader Wark, a part of the fields belonging to the Company at Fort Vancouver were in a most high-handed manner seized by the United States for military purposes. The senior officer, Mr. Grahame, on his return from an absence, protested against the invasion. In June, 1860, however, the Hudson's Bay Company withdrew from the Columbia. The great herd of wild cattle which had grown up on the Columbia were disposed of by the Company to a merchant of Oregon. The Company thus retired to the British side of the boundary line during the three years closing with 1860. Steps were taken by the Hudson's Bay Company to obtain compensation from the United States authorities. A long and wearisome investigation took place; witnesses were called and great diversity of opinion prevailed as to the value of the interest of the Company in its forts. The Hudson's Bay Company claimed indemnity amounting to the sum of 2,000,000 dols. Witnesses for the United States gave one-tenth of that amount as a fair value. Compensation of a moderate kind was at length made to the Company by the United States. On its withdrawal from Oregon the Hudson's Bay Company decided on opening up communication with the interior of the mainland up the Fraser River. This was a task of no small magnitude, on account of the rugged and forbidding banks of this great river. A. Caulfield Anderson, an officer who had been in the Company's service for some fourteen years before the date of the Oregon Treaty and was in charge of a post on the Fraser River, was given the duty of finding the road to the interior. He was successful in tracing a road from Fort Langley to Kamloops. The Indians offered opposition to Anderson, but he succeeded in spite of all hindrances, and though other routes were sought for and suggested, yet Anderson's road by way of the present town of Hope and Lake Nicola to Kamloops afterwards became one great waggon road to the interior. No sooner had the boundary line been fixed than agitation arose to prepare the territory north of the line for a possible influx of agriculturists or miners and also to maintain the coast true to British connection. The Hudson's Bay Company applied to the British Government for a grant of Vancouver Island, which they held under a lease good for twelve years more. Mr. Gladstone opposed the application, but considering it the best thing to be done in the circumstances, the Government made the grant (1847) to the Company under certain conditions. The Company agreed to colonize the island, to sell the lands at moderate rates to settlers, and to apply nine-tenths of the receipts toward public improvements. The Company entered heartily into the project, issued a prospectus for settlers, and hoped in five years to have a considerable colony established on the Island. Steps were taken by the British Government to organize the new colony. The head of the Government applied to the Governor of the Company to name a Governor. Chief Factor Douglas was suggested, but probably thinking an independent man would be more suitable, the Government gave the appointment to a man of respectability, Richard Blanshard, in the end of 1849. The new Governor arrived, but no preparations had been made for his reception. No salary was provided for his maintenance, and the attitude of the Hudson's Bay Company officially at Fort Victoria was decidedly lacking in heartiness. Governor Blanshard's position was nothing more than an empty show. He issued orders and proclamations which were disregarded. He visited Fort Rupert, which had been founded by the Company on the north-east angle of the island, and there held an investigation of a murder of three sailors by the Newitty Indians. Governor Blanshard spent much of his time writing pessimistic reports of the country to Britain, and after a residence of a year and a half returned to England, thoroughly soured on account of his treatment by the officers of the Company. The colonization of Vancouver Island proved very slow. A company of miners for Nanaimo, and another of farmers from Sooke, near Victoria, came, but during Governor Blanshard's rule only one _bonâ-fide_ sale of land was made, and five years after the cession to the Company there were less than five hundred colonists. Chief Factor Douglas succeeded to the governorship and threw his accustomed energy into his administration. The cry of monopoly, ever a popular one, was raised, and inasmuch as the colony was not increasing sufficiently to satisfy the Imperial Government, the great Committee of the House of Commons of 1857 was appointed to examine the whole relation of the Company to Rupert's Land and the Indian territories. The result of the inquiry was that it was decided to relieve the Hudson's Bay Company of the charge of Vancouver Island at the time of expiry of their lease. The Hudson's Bay Company thus withdrew on the Pacific Coast to the position of a private trading company, though Sir James Douglas, who was knighted in 1863, continued Governor of the Crown Colony of Vancouver Island, with the added responsibility of the territory on the mainland. At this juncture the gold discovery in the mainland called much attention to the country. Thousands of miners rushed at once to the British possessions on the Pacific Coast. Fort Victoria, from being a lonely traders' post, grew as if by magic into a city. Thousands of miners betook themselves to the Fraser River, and sought the inland gold-fields. All this compelled a more complete organization than the mere oversight of the mainland by Governor Douglas in his capacity as head of the fur trade. Accordingly the British Government determined to relieve the Hudson's Bay Company of responsibility for the mainland, which they held under a licence soon to expire, and to erect New Caledonia and the Indian territories of the coast into a separate Crown Colony under the name of British Columbia. In Lord Lytton's dispatches to Governor Douglas, to whom the governorship of both of the colonies of Vancouver Island and British Columbia was offered, the condition is plainly stated that he would be required to sever his connection with the Hudson's Bay Company and the Puget Sound Agricultural Company, and to be independent of all local interests. Here we leave Sir James Douglas immersed in his public duties of governing the two colonies, which in time became one province under the name of British Columbia, thus giving up the guidance of the fur-trading stations for whose up-building he had striven for fifty years. The posts of the Hudson's Bay Company on the Pacific Coast in 1857 were:-- _Vancouver Island_-- Fort Victoria. Fort Rupert. Nanaimo. _Fraser River_-- Fort Langley. _Thompson River_-- Kamloops. Fort Hope. _North-West Coast_-- Fort Simpson. _New Caledonia_-- Stuart Lake. McLeod Lake. Fraser Lake. Alexandria. Fort George. Babines. Connolly Lake. CHAPTER XLI. PRO GLORIA DEI. A vast region--First spiritual adviser--A _locum tenens_--Two French Canadian priests--St. Boniface founded--Missionary zeal in Mackenzie River district--Red River parishes--The great Archbishop Taché--John West--Archdeacon Cochrane, the founder--John McCallum--Bishop Anderson--English Missionary Societies--Archbishop Machray--Indian Missions--John Black, the Presbyterian apostle--Methodist Missions on Lake Winnipeg--The Cree syllabic--Chaplain Staines--Bishop Cridge--Missionary Duncan--Metlakahtla--Roman Catholic coast missions--Church of England bishop--Diocese of New Westminster--Dr. Evans--Robert Jamieson--Education. Wherever British influence has gone throughout the world the Christian faith of the British people has followed. It is true, for one hundred and fifty years the ships to Hudson Bay crossed regularly to the forts on the Bay, and beyond certain suggestions as to service to the employés, no recognition of religion took place on Hudson Bay, and no Christian clergyman or missionary visitor found his way thither. The Company was primarily a trading company, its forts were far apart, and there were few men at any one point. The first heralds of the Cross, indeed, to reach Rupert's Land were the French priests who accompanied Verendrye, though they seem to have made no settlements in the territory. It is said that after the conquest of Canada, when the French traders had withdrawn from the North-West, except a few traditions in one of the tribes, no trace of Christianity was left behind. The first clergyman to arrive in Rupert's Land was in connection with Lord Selkirk's colony in 1811. A party of Lord Selkirk's first colonists having come from Sligo, the founder sent one Father Bourke to accompany the party to Red River. The wintering at York Factory seems to have developed some unsatisfactory traits in the spiritual adviser, and he did not proceed further than the shore of the Bay, but returned to his native land. The necessity of providing certain spiritual oversight for his Scottish colonists occupied Lord Selkirk's mind. In 1815 James Sutherland, an elder authorized by the Church of Scotland to baptize and marry, arrived with one of the bands of colonists at Red River. The first point in the agreement between Lord Selkirk and his colonists was "to have the services of a minister of their own church." This was Lord Selkirk's wish, and Mr. Sutherland was sent as _locum tenens_. For three years this devout man performed the duties of his sacred office, until in the conflict between the rival Companies he was forcibly taken away to Canada by the North-West Company. Lord Selkirk entered into correspondence with the Roman Catholic authorities in Lower Canada as to their appointing priests to take charge of the French and De Meurons of his colony. We have already seen in the sketch of John McLeod that two French priests, Joseph Norbert Provencher and Sévère Dumoulin, proceeded to the North-West and took up a position on the east side of Red River nearly opposite the site of the demolished Fort Gibraltar. On account of the preponderance of the German-speaking De Meurons, the settlement was called St. Boniface, after the German patron saint. Though these pioneer priests endured hardships and poverty, they energetically undertook their work, and maintained a school in which, shortly after, we are told, there were scholars in the "Humanities." With great zeal the Roman Catholic Church has carried its missions to the Indians, even to distant Athabasca and Mackenzie River. In 1822 the Priest Provencher was made a bishop under the title of Bishop of Juliopolis (_in partibus infidelium_). His jurisdiction included Rupert's Land and the North-West or Indian territories. Besides the work among the Indians, the Bishop organized the French settlements along the Red and Assiniboine Rivers into parishes. In addition to St. Boniface, some of these were St. Norbert, St. François Xavier, St. Charles, St. Vital, and the like, until, at the close of the Hudson's Bay Company's rule in 1869, there were nine French parishes. The Indian missions have been largely carried on by a Society of the Roman Catholic Church known as the Oblate Fathers. A sisterhood of the Grey Nuns have also taken a strong hold of the North-West. In the year 1844 a young French priest named Alexandre Antonin Taché came to the North-West and led the way in carrying the faith among the Indians of the Mackenzie River. A most interesting work of Father Taché, called "Vingt Années de Missions," gives the life and trials of this devoted missionary. In a few years the young priest was appointed coadjutor of Bishop Provencher, and on the death of that prelate in 1853, young Monseigneur Taché succeeded to the see under the name of the Bishop of St. Boniface. Bishop Taché became a notable man of the Red River settlement. He was a man of much breadth of view, kindliness of manner, and of great religious zeal. As an educational and public man, he wielded, during the whole time of the Hudson's Bay Company's later régime, a potent influence. A year or two after the elevation of Bishop Taché to the vacant place of Bishop Provencher, Bishop Grandin was appointed a bishop of the interior and took up his abode at Ile à la Crosse. The Roman Catholic Church has done much in bringing many wild tribes under the civilizing influence of Christianity. Though Lord Selkirk was compelled to betake himself to France in 1820 in search of health, he did not forget his promise to his Scottish colonists on Red River. He entrusted the task of procuring a clergyman for them to Mr. John Pritchard, who, we have seen, had entered the service of his Lordship. Pritchard, acting under the direction of the committee of the Hudson's Bay Company, seems to have taken a course that Lord Selkirk would hardly have approved. To some extent disregarding the promise made to the Scottish settlers, either the agent or the committee applied to the Church Missionary Society to appoint a chaplain for the Hudson's Bay Company at Red River. The choice made was a most judicious one, being that of Rev. John West, who wrote a very readable book on his experiences, in which the condition of the settlement, along with an account of his missionary labours, are described. A little volume, written by Miss Tucker, under the name of "The Rainbow of the North," also gives an interesting account of the founding of the Protestant faith in the settlement. Mr. West arrived in Red River settlement in October, 1820, and at once began his labours by holding services in Fort Garry. For a time he was fully occupied in marrying many who had formerly lived as man and wife, though already married after the Indian fashion, and in baptizing the children. He at once opened a school. Mr. West made an exploratory journey five or six hundred miles westward, visiting Indian tribes. In 1823 he erected the first Protestant place of worship on the Red River, and in the same year was joined by Rev. David Jones, who was left in charge when Mr. West returned to England. Two years afterwards Rev. William Cochrane and his wife arrived at Red River. Mr. Cochrane, afterward Archdeacon Cochrane, was a man of striking personality, and to him has been given the credit of laying the foundation of the Church of England in the Red River settlement. The Indians to the north of the settlement on Red River were visited and yielded readily to the solicitations of the missionaries. Early among these self-denying Indian missionaries was the Rev. A., afterwards Archdeacon, Cowley. Churches were erected in the parishes that were set apart in the same way as the French parishes; St. John's, St. Paul's, St. Andrew's, St. Clement's, St. James, Headingly, and the like, to the number of ten, were each provided with church and school. Rev. Mr. Jones did not neglect the educational interests of his wide charge. Having become convinced of the necessity of establishing a boarding-school to meet the wants of the scattered families of Rupert's Land, Mr. Jones brought out Mr. John McCallum, a student of King's College, Aberdeen, who had found his way to London. Coming to Red River in 1833, McCallum began the school which has since become St. John's College. At first this school was under the Church Missionary Society, but a decade after its founding it was conducted by McCallum himself, with an allowance from the Company. In 1844 an episcopal visit was made to Red River by the first Protestant Bishop who could reach the remote spot. This was Dr. Mountain, Bishop of Montreal. He published a small work giving an account of his visit. Many confirmations took place by the Bishop, and Mr. Cowley was made a priest. John McCallum had taken such a hold upon the Selkirk settlers that it was deemed advisable to ordain him, and for several years he carried on the school along with the incumbency of the parish church. McCallum only lived for five years after the Bishop's visit. In 1838 James Leith, a wealthy chief factor of the Hudson's Bay Company, bequeathed in his will twelve thousand pounds to be expended for the benefit of the Indian missions in Rupert's Land. Leith's family bitterly opposed this disposition of their patrimony, but the Master of the Rolls, hearing that the Hudson's Bay Company was willing to add three hundred pounds annually to the interest accruing from the Leith bequest, gave the decision against them, and thus secured an income to the see of seven hundred pounds a year. In 1849 the diocese of Rupert's Land was established by the Crown, and Rev. David Anderson, of Oxford University, was consecrated first Bishop of Rupert's Land. In the autumn of the same year Bishop Anderson arrived at Red River, by way of York Factory, and his first public duty was to conduct the funeral of the lamented John McCallum. After an incumbency of fifteen years Bishop Anderson returned to England and resigned the bishopric. In 1865 Dr. Robert Machray arrived at Red River, having been consecrated Bishop by the Archbishop of Canterbury. Under Bishop Anderson the college successfully begun by McCallum languished, for the Bishop seemed more intent on mission work than education. In the year after his arrival, Bishop Machray revived the institution under the name of St. John's College. It was of much service to the colony. By the time of the passing away of the power of the Hudson's Bay Company, four years after the arrival of Bishop Machray, substantial stone churches and school-houses had been erected in almost all of the parishes mentioned as organized by the Church of England. To the Church of England belonged nearly all the English-speaking half-breed population of the colony, as well as a large number of the Hudson's Bay Company officers. Bishop Machray's diocese covered a vast area. From Hudson Bay to the Rocky Mountains was under his jurisdiction. Much work was done amongst the Indian tribes. At Moose Factory on the Bay, another devoted labourer was working diligently. It is true the missions were widely scattered, but of the twenty-four clergymen belonging to the diocese of Rupert's Land, fifteen were among the Indians at the time of the cessation of the Hudson's Bay Company's rule. The remainder were in the parishes of Red River such as St. John's, St. Andrew's, St. Paul's, Headingly, Poplar Point, and Portage la Prairie. The assistance rendered not only by the Church Missionary Society, but also by the Society for the Propagation of the Gospel in Foreign Parts, the Colonial and Continental Church Society, and the Society for the Promotion of Christian Knowledge, was very great, and future generations will be indebted to the benevolence and liberality of the English people in sending spiritual assistance to Rupert's Land. A perusal of the work, "Red River Settlement," by Alexander Ross, shows that a long and somewhat disappointing struggle was maintained by the Selkirk settlers to obtain the fulfilment of Lord Selkirk's promise to send them a minister of their own faith. Scottish governors came and departed, but no Scottish minister came. Sir George Simpson arrived on his yearly visits at Fort Garry, and was often interviewed by the settlers of Kildonan, but the Governor, though pleasant and plausible enough, was impenetrable as the sphinx. Petitions were sent to the Hudson's Bay Company and to the Scottish General Assembly, but they seldom reached their destination and effected nothing. The people conformed to the service of the Church of England in the vicinity of their parish. They were treated by the Episcopal clergy with much consideration. Their own psalter was used in their worship, the service was made as simple as they could well desire, but the people, with Highland tenacity, held to their own tenets for forty years, and maintained among themselves regular cottage meetings for prayer and praise. At length the question arose as to the possession of the church property and the right of burial in St. John's burial-ground. The Scottish settlers maintained their right to the church and churchyard. A very acrimonious discussion arose. In the end the matter was referred to Mr. Eden Colville, a Company director, who was in the settlement on business. Mr. Colville informed the writer that he claimed the credit of settling the dispute. Another site on the river bank two or three miles to the north of St. John's, called La Grenouillère, or Frog Plain, consisting of several hundred acres, was handed over to the Scottish settlers for church, manse, and glebe. This was in 1851, and though the Kildonan people were still given the right to bury their dead in St. John's, in the future their chief interest centred in the new plot. The presence in Red River of Mr. Ballenden, a countryman of the Kildonan people, as Hudson's Bay Company Governor of Fort Garry, led to an application being made to their friends in Scotland to send them a minister. Indeed, the call had been made again and again for a generation. This request was transmitted to Canada to Dr. Robert Burns, a man of warm missionary zeal and great wisdom. Sir George Simpson had been communicated with, and deemed it wise to reverse his former policy of inaction and promised certain aid and countenance, should a Presbyterian minister be found to care for the parish of Kildonan. Dr. Burns had among his acquaintances a recent graduate of Knox College, Toronto, named John Black. Him the zealous doctor urged, if not commanded, to go to Red River. This trust was accepted, and after a tedious and uncertain journey Rev. John Black arrived at Red River, September, 1851. The Kildonan people immediately rallied around their new clergyman, who, though not able to speak Gaelic as they desired, yet became an idol to his people. In 1853 a church was erected, with the aid of a small grant from the Hudson's Bay Company, and the foundations of Presbyterianism were laid. In 1865 Rev. James Nisbet, who had come a few years before to assist Mr. Black, organized a mission to the Cree Indians, and named his mission church on the banks of the Saskatchewan, Prince Albert. Growing by slow degrees, the Presbyterian interest increased and was represented at the end of the Hudson's Bay Company's rule by four or five clergymen. Schools as maintained by voluntary contributions were erected in the Presbyterian parishes of Kildonan and Little Britain. Manitoba College was planned and arranged for in the closing year of the Hudson's Bay Company's régime. The Methodists, with the fervour and missionary zeal which has always characterized them, determined to aid in evangelizing the Indians of Rupert's Land. It was the English Methodists who first showed a desire in this direction. They agreed to send the Indians a clergyman suited for the work, if the Canadian Methodist Church would send a few labourers trained in Indian work in Canada. James Evans, an Englishman who had been long in Canada, and had laboured for years among the Indians of Upper Canada, consented to go to Rupert's Land and take the superintendence of the others sent out. Leaving Montreal with the three English missionaries and two educated young Ojibways, Peter Jacobs and Henry B. Steinhauser, the party went by canoes up the lakes and then along the old fur traders' route, and arrived at Norway House, at the foot of Lake Winnipeg, in 1840. Evans made Norway House his headquarters, George Barnley went to Moose Factory, William Mason to Rainy Lake and River Winnipeg, and Robert T. Rundle to Edmonton. The missions to the Hudson Bay and Rainy Lake were soon given up, but Rossville and Oxford House, on Lake Winnipeg, and several points near Edmonton, are the evidence to-day of the faithful self-denying work done by these early Methodist pioneers. Having no whites in the country, the operations of the Methodist Church in Rupert's Land were, up to the time of the Hudson's Bay Company's transfer, confined to the Indians of Rupert's Land. Mr. Evans, the superintendent of these missions, became very celebrated by the invention of a syllabic system of writing introduced among the Crees. The plan is simple, and an intelligent Indian who has never seen the system[5] can in a short time learn to read and write the syllabic. The syllabic has spread widely over Rupert's Land, and the different Churches use, especially among the Crees, this ingenious invention in printing the Bible and service books. When Lord Dufferin, a number of years ago, visited the North-West as Governor-General of Canada, on hearing of Evans' invention he remarked, "The nation has given many a man a title and a pension and a resting-place in Westminster Abbey who never did half so much for his fellow-creatures." Some claim has been made for Mason as being the inventor of this character, but there seems to be no ground for the claim. John Ryerson, a Canadian Methodist divine, in 1854 visited Rupert's Land from Canada, and after seeing the missions on Lake Winnipeg, went from York Factory to England. The taking over of the mission by the Canadian Methodist Church resulted from this visit. These are the main movements of a religious kind that took place within the borders of Rupert's Land and the territories east of the Rocky Mountains up to the end of the Hudson's Bay Company's régime. A great service was rendered to the whites and Indians alike, to the Hudson's Bay Company, to the Kildonan settlers, and all the native people by the patient work of the four churches named. The best feeling, and in many cases active co-operation, were given by these churches to each other. The work done by these churches laid the foundation for the general morality and advanced social life which prevailed in Red River and in the regions beyond. On the Pacific slope the Hudson's Bay Company took an immediate control of the religious and educational instruction of the people, upon the organization of Vancouver Island as a colony (1849). The Rev. Robert Staines was sent as chaplain and teacher to Fort Victoria, and was given a salary and an allowance for carrying on a boarding-school in which he was assisted by his wife. Mr. Staines did not agree with the Company, went to Britain as a delegate from the dissatisfied employés, but died of injuries received on his homeward voyage. Mr. Staines' successor was the Rev. Edward Cridge. The new chaplain was well provided for by the Company, being secured a parsonage and glebe of one hundred acres, and three hundred pounds a year, one hundred pounds annually being as chaplain of the Company. Mr. Cridge became a prominent clergyman of the colony, but in later years left his mother Church to become bishop of the Reformed Episcopal Church. In 1859 Bishop Hills was made first bishop of the united colonies of Vancouver Island and British Columbia. Twenty years afterward the diocese was divided into (1) Vancouver Island and the islands, as _Diocese of Columbia_, (2) the southern mainland as _Diocese of New Westminster_, and (3) the northern mainland as _Diocese of New Caledonia_. The Church of England in British Columbia has enjoyed large gifts from the Baroness Burdett-Coutts. One of the most remarkable missions of modern times is that of Metlakahtla, begun under the auspices of the Church of England by William Duncan. The village he founded became an example of civilization among the Indians, as well as a handmaid to the Christian work done. Unfortunately, the model Indian village has been largely broken up by a misunderstanding between Mr. Duncan and his bishop. The first missionary of note of the Roman Catholic Church on the coast was Father Demers, who became Bishop of Vancouver Island and New Caledonia. The Oblate Fathers were early on the ground in British Columbia, the first of the Order having baptized upwards of three thousand men, women, and children of Indian tribes, the Songhies, Saanechs, and Cowichins, near Victoria. Many churches, schools, and hospitals have been founded by the energetic and self-denying Roman Catholics who have made British Columbia their home. Bishop Seghers succeeded the venerable Bishop Demers in his diocese. Ten years after the formation of Vancouver Island as a Crown colony, Revs. Dr. Evans, L. Robson, and two other ministers undertook work for the Methodist Church on the coast. Good foundations were laid by the clergymen named, and still better by Rev. Thomas Crosby, who joined them after a few years' service, and entered heartily into efforts to evangelize the Indians. He had great success among the Flathead Indians. In 1861 the first Presbyterian minister arrived--Rev. John Hall, from Ireland, and he undertook work in Victoria. In the year following, Rev. Robert Jamieson came from Canada as a representative of the Canadian Presbyterian Church and settled at New Westminster. Churches were soon built in Victoria, Nanaimo, and New Westminster, that now contain strong and vigorous congregations. All of the churches were under deep obligations to the Hudson's Bay Company for protection, assistance, and sympathy in their undertakings on the coast. The inrush of gold seekers threw a great responsibility upon all the churches, and it was well that the Company, merely for motives of self-interest, should regard the influence of the missionaries among the fierce tribes of the mountains, of both island and mainland, as of the greatest importance. The record of self-denying missionaries of the churches has justified all the patronage and favour rendered them by the Hudson's Bay Company. FOOTNOTE: [5] See Appendix F. CHAPTER XLII. THE HUDSON'S BAY COMPANY AND THE INDIANS. The Company's Indian policy--Character of officers--A race of hunters--Plan of advances--Charges against the Company--Liquor restriction--Capital punishment--Starving Indians--Diseased and helpless--Education and religion--The age of missions--Sturdy Saulteaux--The Muskegons--Wood Crees--Wandering Plain Crees--The Chipewyans--Wild Assiniboines--Blackfeet Indians--Polyglot coast tribes--Eskimos--No Indian war--No police--Pliable and docile--Success of the Company. From time to time the opponents of the Company have sought to find grounds for the overthrow of the licence to trade granted by the Government of Britain over the Indian territories. One of the most frequent lines of attack was in regard to the treatment of the Indians by the fur traders. It may be readily conceded that the ideal of the Company's officials was in many cases not the highest. The aim of Governor Simpson in his long reign of forty years was that of a keen trader. A politic man, the leader of the traders when in Montreal conformed to the sentiment of the city, abroad in the wilds he did very little to encourage his subordinates to cultivate higher aims among the natives. Often the missionary was found raising questions very disturbing to the monopoly, and this brought the Company officers into a hostile attitude to him. Undoubtedly in some cases the missionaries were officious and unfair in their criticisms. But, on the other hand, the men and officers of the Company were generally moral. Men of education and reading the officers usually were, and their sentiment was likely to be in the right direction. The spirit of the monopoly--the golden character of silence, and the need of being secretive and uncommunicative--was instilled into every clerk, trapper, and trader. [Illustration: BLOOD INDIANS. (Squaws and Papooses.) ASSINIBOINES. (Indians and Squaws on their ponies.) INDIANS OF THE PLAINS.] But the tradition of the Company was to keep the Indian a hunter. There was no effort to encourage the native to agriculture or to any industry. To make a good collector of fur was the chief aim. For this the Indian required no education, for this the wandering habit needed to be cultivated rather than discouraged, and for this it was well to have the home ties as brittle as possible. Hence the tent and teepee were favoured for the Indian hunter more than the log cottage or village house. It was one of the most common charges against the Company that in order to keep the Indian in subjection advances were made on the catch of furs of the coming season, in order that, being in debt, he might be less independent. The experience of the writer in Red River settlement in former days leads him to doubt this, and certainly the fur traders deny the allegation. The improvident or half-breed Indian went to the Company's store to obtain all that he could. The traders at the forts had difficulty in checking the extravagance of their wards. Frequently the storekeeper refused to make advances lest he should fail in recovering the value of the articles advanced. Fitzgerald, a writer who took part in the agitation of 1849, makes the assertion in the most flippant manner that to keep the Indians in debt was the invariable policy of the Company. No evidence is cited to support this statement, and it would seem to be very hard to prove. The same writer undertakes, along the line of destructive criticism, to show that the Hudson's Bay Company does not deserve the credit given it of discouraging the traffic in strong drink, and asserts that "a beaver skin was never lost to the Company for want of a pint of rum." This is a very grave charge, and in the opinion of the writer cannot be substantiated. The Bishop of Montreal, R. M. Ballantyne, and the agents of the missionary societies are said either to have little experience or to be unwilling to tell on this subject what they knew. This critic then quotes various statements of writers, extending back in some cases thirty or forty years, to show that spirituous liquors were sold by the Company. It is undoubted that at times in the history of the fur trade, especially at the beginning of the century, when the three Companies were engaged in a most exacting competition, as we have fully shown, in several cases much damage was done. On the Pacific Coast, too, eight or ten years before this critic wrote, there was, as we have seen, excess. At other times, also, at points in the wide field of operations, over half a continent, intoxicating liquor was plentiful and very injurious, but no feeling was stronger in a Hudson's Bay Company trader's mind than that he was in a country without police, without military, without laws, and that his own and his people's lives were in danger should drunkenness prevail. Self-preservation inclined every trader to prevent the use of spirits among the Indians. The writer is of opinion that while there may have been many violations of sobriety, yet the record of the Hudson's Bay Company has been on the whole creditable in this matter. The charges of executing capital punishment and of neglecting the Indians in years of starvation may be taken together. The criticism of the people of Red River was that the Company was weak in the execution of the penalties of the law. They complained that the Company was uncertain of its powers and that the hand of justice was chained. The marvel to an unprejudiced observer is that the Company succeeded in ruling so vast a territory with so few reprisals or executions. In the matter of assisting the Indians in years of scarcity, it was the interest of the fur company to save the lives of its trappers and workers. But those unacquainted with the vast wastes of Rupert's Land and the Far North little know the difficulties of at times obtaining food. The readers of Milton and Cheadle's graphic story or our account of Robert Campbell's adventures on the Stikine, know the hardships and the near approach to starvation of these travellers. Dr. Cheadle, on a visit to Winnipeg a few years ago, said to the writer that on his first visit the greatest difficulty his party had was to secure supplies. There are years in which game and fish are so scarce that in remote northern districts death is inevitable for many. The conditions make it impossible for the Company to save the lives of the natives. Relief for the diseased and aged is at times hard to obtain. Smallpox and other epidemics have the most deadly effect upon the semi-civilized people of the far-off hunter's territory. The charge made up to 1849 that the Hudson's Bay Company had done little for the education and religious training of the Indians was probably true enough. Outside of Red River and British Columbia they did not sufficiently realize their responsibility as a company. Since that time, with the approval and co-operation in many ways of the Company, the various missionary societies have grappled with the problem. The Indians about Hudson Bay, on Lake Winnipeg, in the Mackenzie River, throughout British Columbia, and on the great prairies of Assiniboia, are to-day largely Christianized and receiving education. The Saulteaux, or Indians who formerly lived at Sault Ste. Marie, but wandered west along the shore of Lake Superior and even up to Lake Winnipeg, are a branch of the Algonquin Ojibways. Hardy and persevering, most conservative in preserving old customs, hard to influence by religious ideas, they have been pensioners of the Hudson's Bay Company, but their country is very barren, and they have advanced but little. Very interesting, among their relations of Algonquin origin, are the Muskegons, or Swampy Crees, who have long occupied the region around Hudson Bay and have extended inland to Lake Winnipeg. Docile and peaceful, they have been largely influenced by Christianity. Under missionary and Company guidance they have gathered around the posts, and find a living on the game of the country and in trapping the wild animals. Related to the Muskegons are the Wood Crees, who live along the rivers and on the belts of wood which skirt lakes and hills. They cling to the birch-bark wigwam, use the bark canoe, and are nomadic in habit. They may be called the gipsies of the West, and being in scattered families have been little reached by better influences. Another branch of the Algonquin stock is the Plain Crees. These Indians are a most adventurous and energetic people. Leaving behind their canoes and Huskie dogs, they obtained horses and cayuses and hied them over the prairies. Birch-bark being unobtainable, they made their tents, better fitted for protecting them from the searching winds of the prairies and the cold of winter, from tanned skins of the buffalo and moose-deer. For seven hundred miles from the mouth of the Saskatchewan they extend to the foot hills of the Rocky Mountains. Meeting in their great camps, seemingly untameable as a race of plain hunters, they were, up to the time of the transfer to Canada, almost untouched by missionary influence, but in the last thirty years they have been placed on reserves by the Canadian Government and are in almost all cases yielding to Christianizing agencies. North of the country of the Crees live tribes with very wide connections. They call themselves "Tinné" or "People," but to others they are known as Chipewyans, or Athabascans. They seem to be less copper-coloured than the other Indians, and are docile in disposition. This nation stretches from Fort Churchill, on Hudson Bay, along the English River, up to Lake Athabasca, along the Peace River into the very heart of the Rocky Mountains, and even beyond to the coast. They have proved teachable and yield to ameliorating influences. Probably the oldest and best known name of the interior of Rupert's Land, the name after which Lord Selkirk called his Colony of Assiniboia, is that belonging to the Wild Assiniboines or Stony River Sioux. The river at the mouth of which stands the city of Winnipeg was their northern boundary, and they extended southward toward the great Indian confederacy of the Sioux natives or Dakotas, of which indeed they were at one time a branch. Tall, handsome, with firmly formed faces, agile and revengeful, they are an intelligent and capable race. These Indians, known familiarly as the "Stonies," have greatly diminished in numbers since the time of Alexander Henry, jun., who describes them fully. In later years they have been cut down with pulmonary and other diseases, and are to-day but the fragment of a great tribe. They have long been friendly with the Plain Crees, but are not very open to Christianity, though there are one or two small communities which are exceptions in this respect. Very little under Hudson's Bay Company control were the Blackfoot nation, along the foot hills of the Rocky Mountains, near the national boundary. Ethnically they are related to the Crees, but they have always been difficult to approach. Living in large camps during Hudson's Bay Company days, they spent a wild, happy, comfortable life among the herds of wandering buffalo of their district. Since the beginning of the Canadian régime they have become more susceptible to civilizing agencies, and live in great reserves in the south-west of their old hunting grounds. A perfect chaos of races meets us among the Indians of British Columbia and Alaska, and their language is polyglot. Seemingly the result of innumerable immigrations from Malayan and Mongolian sources in Asia, they have come at different times. One of the best known tribes of the coast is the Haidas, numbering some six thousand souls. The Nutka Indians occupy Vancouver Island, and have many tribal divisions. To the Selish or Flatheads belong many of the tribes of the Lower Fraser River, while the Shushwaps hold the country on the Columbia and Okanagan Rivers. Mention has been made already of the small but influential tribe of Chinooks near the mouth of the Columbia River. While differing in many ways from each other, the Indians of the Pacific Coast have always been turbulent and excitable. From first to last more murders and riots have taken place among them than throughout all the vast territory held by the Hudson's Bay Company east of the Rocky Mountains. While missionary zeal has accomplished much among the Western Coast Indians, yet the "bad Indian" element has been a recognized and appreciable quantity among them so far as the Company is concerned. Last among the natives who have been under Hudson's Bay Company influence are the Eskimos or Innuits of the Far North. They are found on the Labrador Coast, on Coppermine River, on the shore of the Arctic Sea, and on the Alaskan peninsula. Dressed in sealskin clothing and dwelling in huts of snow, hastening from place to place in their sledges drawn by wolf-like dogs called "Eskies" or "Huskies," these people have found themselves comparatively independent of Hudson's Bay Company assistance. Living largely on the products of the sea, they have shown great ingenuity in manufacturing articles and implements for themselves. The usual experience of the Company from Ungava, through the Mackenzie River posts, and the trading houses in Alaska has been that they were starved out and were compelled to give up their trading houses among them. Little has been done, unless in the Yukon country, to evangelize the Eskimos. The marvel to the historian, as he surveys the two centuries and a quarter of the history of the Hudson's Bay Company, is their successful management of the Indian tribes. There has never been an Indian war in Rupert's Land or the Indian territories--nothing beyond a temporary _émeute_ or incidental outbreak. Thousands of miles from the nearest British garrison or soldier, trade has been carried on in scores and scores of forts and factories with perfect confidence. The Indians have always respected the "Kingchauch man." He was to them the representative of superior ability and financial strength, but more than this, he was the embodiment of civilization and of fair and just dealing. High prices may have been imposed on the Indians, but the Company's expenses were enormous. There are points among the most remote trading posts from which the returns in money were not possible in less than nine years from the time the goods left the Fenchurch Street or Lime Street warehouses. With all his keen bargaining and his so-called exacting motto, "Pro pelle cutem," the trader was looked upon by the Indians as a benefactor, bringing into his barren, remote, inhospitable home the commodities to supply his wants and make his life happier. While the Indians came to recognize this in their docile and pliable acceptance of the trader's decisions, the trader also became fond of the Red man, and many an old fur trader freely declares his affection for his Indian ward, so faithful to his promise, unswerving in his attachment, and celebrated for never forgetting a kindness shown him. The success of the Company was largely due to honourable, capable, and patient officers, clerks, and employés, who with tact and justice managed their Indian dependents, many of whom rejoiced in the title of "A Hudson's Bay Company Indian." CHAPTER XLIII. UNREST IN RUPERT'S LAND (1844-69). Discontent on Red River--Queries to the Governor--A courageous Recorder--Free trade in furs held illegal--Imprisonment--New land deed--Enormous freights--Petty revenge--Turbulent pensioners--Heart-burnings--Heroic Isbister--Half-breed memorial--Mr. Beaver's letter--Hudson's Bay Company notified--Lord Elgin's reply--Voluminous correspondence--Company's full answer--Colonel Crofton's statement--Major Caldwell, a partisan--French petition--Nearly a thousand signatures--Love, a factor--The elder Riel--A court scene--Violence--"Vive la liberté"--The Recorder checked--A new judge--Unruly Corbett--The prison broken--Another rescue--A valiant doctor--A Red River Nestor. The fuller organization of Assiniboia, after its purchase by the Hudson's Bay Company from the heirs of the Earl of Selkirk, encouraged the authorities at Red River to assert the rights which the Company had always claimed--viz. the monopoly of the fur trade in Rupert's Land and the imposition of heavy freights on imports and exports by way of Hudson Bay. The privilege of exporting tallow, the product of the buffalo, had been accorded on reasonable terms to a prominent resident of the Red River, named James Sinclair. The first venture, a small one, succeeded; but a second larger consignment was refused by the Company, and, after lying nearly two years at York Factory, the cargo was sold to the Company. Twenty leading half-breeds then petitioned the Company to be allowed to export their tallow and to be given a reasonable freight charge. No answer was returned to this letter. The half-breeds were thus rising in intelligence and means; being frequently employed as middlemen in trafficking in furs, they learned something of the trade and traffic. The half-breed settlers of the Red River settlement have always claimed special privileges in Rupert's Land as being descended from the aboriginal owners. It was under such circumstances that Governor Christie, following, it is supposed, legal direction, in 1844 issued two proclamations, the first, requiring that each settler, before the Company would carry any goods for him, should be required to declare that he had not been engaged in the fur trade; the second, that the writer of every letter write his name on the outside of it, in order that, should he be suspected of dealing in furs, it might be opened and examined. This was a direct issue, and they determined to bring the matter to a crisis. Twenty leading natives (half-breeds of Red River settlement), among them a number well known, such as James Sinclair, John Dease, John Vincent, William Bird, and Peter Garrioch, in 1845 approached Alexander Christie, Governor of the settlement, requesting answers to fourteen queries. These questions required satisfaction as to whether half-breeds could hunt, buy, sell, or traffic in furs, and also what were the restrictions in this matter upon Europeans, &c. A pacific and soothing reply was made by Governor Christie, but the Company soon began to take steps to repress the free trade in furs, and the Council of Rupert's Land passed certain regulations, among others one placing a duty of twenty per cent. upon imports, but exempting from their tax settlers who were free of the charge of trading in furs. This was a vexatious regulation and roused great opposition. All these devices had a legal smack about them, and were no doubt the suggestions of Judge Thom, the Recorder of Red River, a remarkable man, who, six years before this time, had come from Montreal to put legal matters in order in the Red River settlement. The Recorder entered _con amore_ into the matter, and advised the assertion of claims that had fallen into disuse for many years among the different classes of residents in the settlement. The redoubtable judge, who, it will be remembered, was said to have been at the elbow of Sir George Simpson in writing his "Journey Round the World," now evolved another tyrannical expedient. A new land deed was devised, and whosoever wished to hold land in the settlement was compelled to sign it. This indenture provided that if the land-holder should invade any privileges of the Company and fail to contribute to the maintenance of clergy and schools, or omit to do his work upon the public roads, or carry on trade in skins, furs, peltry, or dressed leather, such offender should forfeit his lands. This was certainly un-British and severe, and we may look upon it as the plan of the judge, who failed to understand the spirit of his age, and would have readily fallen in with a system of feudal tenure. The writer in after years met this judge, then very old, in London, and found him a kindly man, though with Scottish determination, willing to follow out his opinions logically, however rash or out of place such a course might be. If the Hudson's Bay Company found itself in a sea of trouble, and hostile to public sentiment in the settlement, it had to blame its own creation, the valorous Recorder of Red River. The imposition of enormous freights, adopted at this time for carrying goods by way of York Factory to England, in order to check trade, was a part of the same policy of "Thorough" recommended by this legal adviser. Sinclair, already mentioned, became the "Village Hampden" in this crisis. Taking an active part in his opposition to this policy of restriction, he found that he was to be punished, by the "Company's Ship" from England to York Factory refusing to carry for him any freight. It was partly the Oregon question and partly the unsettled state of public opinion in Red River that led to a British regiment being for a time stationed at the Red River settlement. On the removal of these troops the pensioners, a turbulent band of old discharged soldiers, came from Britain and were settled upon the Assiniboine, above Fort Garry. A writer who knew them well ventures to suggest that they were of the same troublesome disposition as the former De Meurons of Lord Selkirk. Coming ostensibly to introduce peace they brought a sword. Sooner or later the discontent and irritation produced by Judge Thorn's inspiration was sure to reach its culmination, and this it did in the Sayer affair afterwards described. The cause of the complaints from the Red River settlement found a willing and powerful advocate in Mr. Alexander K. Isbister, a young London barrister, and afterwards a prominent educationalist. He was a native of Rupert's Land, and had a dash of Indian blood in his veins, and so took up the brief for his compatriots in a formidable series of documents. Mr. Isbister's advocacy gave standing and weight to the contention of the Red River half-breeds, and a brave and heroic fight was made, even though the point of view was at times quite unjust to the Company. In 1847, Isbister, with five other half-breeds of Red River, forwarded, to the Secretary of State for the Colonies, a long and able memorial, setting forth the grievances of the petitioners. The document sets forth in short that the Company had "amassed a princely revenue" at the expense of the natives, allowed their wards to pass their lives in the darkest heathenism, broke their pledges to exclude strong drink from the Indian trade, were careless of the growing evil of want and suffering in the territory, paid little for the furs, and persecuted the natives by checking them in their barter of furs, and followed a short-sighted and pernicious policy. This was assuredly a serious list of charges. Earl Grey in due time called on Isbister and his friends for a more specific statement of the grievances, and wrote to the Governor of Assiniboia, to the London Governor of the Hudson's Bay Company, and to the Governor-General of Canada, Lord Elgin, asking their attention to the allegations of the petition. Some two months after Lord Grey's letter was received, the Hudson's Bay Company Governor, Sir J. H. Pelly, submitted a long and minute answer to the various charges of the petitioners. As is usually the case, both parties had some advantages. As to the enormous profits, the Company were able to show that they had unfortunately not been able to make "more than the ordinary rate of mercantile profit." They replied as to the religious interests of the natives, that their sole objects, as stated in the Charter, were trade and the discovery of a North-West Passage, but that they had helped at a considerable annual expense the Church Missionary Society, Wesleyan Missionary Society, and a Roman Catholic Missionary Society. The Company gives a most indignant denial to the charge that they had resumed the trade in spirituous liquors with the Indians, though admitting in the neighbourhood of Red River the use of small quantities of strong drink in meeting the American traders. This answer did not, however, quiet the storm. Isbister returned to the attack, giving the evidence of Mr. Alexander Simpson, a trader on the Pacific Coast, and the extensive and strong letter of the Rev. Herbert Beaver, the former chaplain of the Hudson's Bay Company at Fort Vancouver. Isbister also raised the question of the validity of the Company's Charter. The Company again replied, and so the battle raged, reply and rejoinder, quotations and evidence _ad libitum_. Isbister may not have proved his case, but his championship won the approbation of many independent observers. Lord Elgin, the efficient and popular Governor-General of Canada, gave such reply as he was able. He states that the distance of Red River was so great and the intercourse so little, that taking into account the peculiar jurisdiction of the Company, he found it difficult to obtain the information sought. As to the complaints about the religious neglect of the Indians, Lord Elgin states that disappointments in this matter occur in other quarters as well as in the Hudson's Bay Company territories, but declares that the result of his inquiries in the matter "is highly favourable to the Company, and that it has left in his mind the impression that the authority which they exercise over the vast and inhospitable region subject to their jurisdiction is on the whole very advantageous to the Indians." Lord Elgin states that he is much indebted for his information to Colonel Crofton, the commander of the 6th Royal Regiment, which we have seen was stationed for a time at Red River. Colonel Crofton afterwards gave to the Colonial Secretary what one would say was rather an unjudicial reply. He said, "I unhesitatingly assert that the government of the Hudson's Bay Company is mild and protective, and admirably adapted, in my opinion, for the state of society existing in Rupert's Land, where Indians, half-breeds, or Europeans are happily governed, and live protected by laws which I know were mercifully and impartially administered by Mr. Thom, the Recorder, and by the magistrates of the land." In regard to this opinion, while no doubt an honest expression of views, it is plain that Colonel Crofton did not understand the aspiration for self-government which prevails in Western communities. The reply of the Governor of Assiniboia, Major Caldwell, was likewise favourable to the Company. Alexander Ross, in his "Red River Settlement," criticizes the method taken by Major Caldwell to obtain information. According to Ross, the Governor sent around queries to a few select individuals, accepting no one "below what the Major considered a gentleman." This, the critic says, was the action of a man "who had never studied the art of governing a people." Ross, who did not admire the Company greatly, however, sums up the whole matter by saying, "The allegations of harsh conduct or maladministration preferred against the Hudson's Bay Company by Mr. Isbister and his party were in general totally unfounded and disproved," and therefore neither Major Caldwell's inquiries nor the inspiration of his genius were required. Notwithstanding Major Caldwell's optimism and Lord Elgin's favourable reply, there was really a serious condition of affairs in Red River settlement. Along with the petition of Isbister and his five English half-breed compatriots, there was one far more formidable from the French half-breeds, who to the number of nine hundred and seventy-seven subscribed their names. Presented to Her Majesty the Queen, in most excellent terms, in the French language, their petition sought, decrying the monopoly as severe:-- 1. That as good subjects they might be governed by the principles of the British Constitution; 2. That as British subjects they demanded their right to enjoy the liberty of commerce; 3. They requested the sale of lands to strangers, and that a portion of the proceeds should be applied to improve the means of transport. French and English half-breeds were now united in a common purpose. A strange story is related as to the way in which the English-speaking half-breeds came to throw in their lot with their French fellow-countrymen. A Company officer had left his two daughters at Fort Garry to be educated. One of them was the object of the affection of a young Scotch half-breed, and at the same time of a young Highlander. The young lady is said to have preferred the Metis, but the stern parent favoured the Highlander. The Scotchman, fortified by the father's approval, proceeded to upbraid the Metis for his temerity in aspiring to the hand of one so high in society as the lady. As love ruined Troy, so it is said this affair joined French and English half-breeds in a union to defeat the Company. The agitation went on, as Isbister and his friends corresponded with the people of Red River and succeeded so well in gaining the ear of the British Government. Among the French people one of the fiercest and most noisy leaders was Louis Riel, the revolutionary "miller of the Seine." This man, the father of the rebel chief of later years, was a French half-breed. A tribune of the people, he had a strong ascendency over the ignorant half-breeds. He was ready for any emergency. It is often the case that some trifling incident serves to bring on a serious crisis in affairs. A French settler, named Guillaume Sayer, half-breed son of an old bourgeois in the North-West Company, had bought a quantity of goods, intending to go on a trading expedition to Lake Manitoba. The Company proceeded to arrest him, and, after a stiff resistance, he was overcome by force and imprisoned at Fort Garry. As the day of trial drew near the excitement grew intense. Governor Caldwell was a well-known martinet; the Recorder was regarded as the originator of the policy of restriction. He was, moreover, believed to be a Francophobe, having written a famous series of newspaper communications in Montreal, known as the "Antigallic Letters." The day of trial had been fixed for Ascension Day, May 17th, and this was taken as a religious affront by the French. The Court was to meet in the morning. On the day of the trial hundreds of French Metis, armed, came from all the settlements to St. Boniface Church, and, leaving their guns at the church door, entered for service. At the close they gathered together, and were addressed in a fiery oration by Riel. A French Canadian admirer, writing of the matter, says, "Louis Riel obtained a veritable triumph on that occasion, and long and loud the hurrahs were repeated by the echoes of the Red River." Crossing by way of Point Douglas, the Metis surrounded the unguarded Court House at Fort Garry. The governor, judge, and magistrate arrived, and took their seats at eleven o'clock. A curious scene now ensued: the magistrates protested against the violence; Riel in loud tones declared that they would give the tribunal one hour, and that if justice were not done them, they would do it themselves. An altercation then took place between Judge Thom and Riel, and with his loud declaration, "Et je déclare que de ce moment Sayer est libre----" drowned by the shouts of the Metis, the trial was over. Sayer and his fellow-prisoners betook themselves to freedom, while the departing Metis cried out, "Le commerce est libre! le commerce est libre! Viva la liberté!" This crisis was a serious one. Judge Thom, so instructed by Governor Simpson, never acted as Recorder again. The five years' struggle was over. The movement for liberty continued to stimulate the people. Five years afterward the plan of the agitators was to obtain the intervention of Canada. Accordingly a petition, signed by Roderick Kennedy and five hundred and seventy-four others, was presented to the Legislative Assembly of Canada. The grievances of the people of Red River were recited. It was stated that application had been made to the Imperial Parliament without result, and this through "the chicanery of the Company and its false representations." In 1857 the Toronto Board of Trade petitioned the Canadian Assembly to open the Hudson's Bay Company territories to trade. Restlessness and uncertainty largely prevailed in Red River, though there were many of the colonists who paid little attention to what they considered the infatuated conduct of the agitators. No truer test of the success of government can be found than the respect and obedience shown by the people for the law. Red River settlement, judged by this standard, had a woful record at this time. After the unfortunate Sayer affair, Recorder Thom was superseded, and for a time (1855 to 1858) Judge Johnson, of Montreal, came to Fort Garry to administer justice and to act as Governor. Judge Black, a capable trader who had received a legal training, was appointed to the office of Recorder, but soon found a case that tried his judicial ability and skill. A clergyman named Corbett, who had been bitterly hostile to the Company, testified to certain extreme statements against the Company in the great investigation of 1857. He then returned to his parish of Headingly in the settlement. A criminal charge was brought against him, for which he was found guilty in the courts and sentenced to six months' imprisonment. The opponents of the Company, seemingly without ground, but none the less fiercely, declared that the trial was a persecution by the Company and that Corbett was innocent. Strong in this belief, the mob surrounded the prison at Fort Garry, overawed the old French jailor, and, rescuing Corbett, took him home to his parish. Among those who had been prominent in the rescue was James Stewart, long afterward a druggist and meteorological observer in Winnipeg. Stewart and some of his companions were arrested for jail-breaking and cast into prison. Some forty or fifty friends of Stewart threatened violence should he be kept a prisoner. The Governor, bishop, and three magistrates met to overawe the insurgents, but the determined rescuers tore up the pickets enclosing the prison yard, broke open the jail, and made the prisoner a free man. Such insubordination and tumult marked the decline of the Company's power as a governing body. This lawlessness was no doubt stimulated by the establishment of a newspaper in 1859--_The Nor'-Wester_--which from the first was hostile to the Company. The system of government by the Council of Assiniboia had always been a vulnerable point in the management by the Company, and the newspaper constantly fanned the spirit of discontent. In the year 1868, when the Hudson Bay Company régime was approaching its end, another violent and disturbing affair took place. This was the arrest of Dr. Schultz, a Canadian leader of great bodily strength and determination, who had thrown in his lot with the Red River people. As a result of a business dispute, Schultz was proceeded against in the Court, and an order issued for seizure of his goods. On his resisting the sheriff in the execution of his duty, he was, after a severe struggle, overpowered, taken captive, and confined in Fort Garry jail. On the following day the wife of Dr. Schultz and some fifteen men forcibly entered the prison, overpowered the guards, and, breaking open his cell, rescued the redoubtable doctor. Hargrave says, "This done, the party adjourned along with him to his house, where report says, 'They made a night of it.'" These events represented the decadence of the Company's rule; they indicated the rise of new forces that were to compel a change; and however harmful to those immediately involved they declared unmistakably that the old order changeth, giving place to new. Typical of his times, there sat through the court scenes of these troublous days the old "clerk of court and council," William Robert Smith. With long grey beard he held his post, and was the genius of the place. He was the Nestor of Red River. A Bluecoat boy from London, he had come from school far back in 1813, to enter on the fur trade in Rupert's Land. At Oxford House, Ile à la Crosse, Little Slave Lake, and Norway House, he served eleven faithful years as a clerk, when he retired and became a settler of Red River. He was the first to settle near Lower Fort Garry, and named the spot "Little Britain," from one of his old London localities. Farming, teaching, catechizing for the church, acting precentor, a local encyclopædia, and collector of Customs, he passed his versatile life, till, the year before the Sayer _émeute_, he became Clerk of Court, which place, with slight interruption, he held for twenty years. How remarkable to think of the man of all work, the Company's factotum, reaching in his experience from the beginning to well-nigh the ending of the Selkirk settlement! One who knew him says, "From his long residence in the settlement he has seen governors, judges, bishops, and clergymen, not to mention such birds of passage as the Company's local officers, who come and go, himself remaining to record their doings to their successors." [Illustration: COUNCIL OF HUDSON'S BAY COMPANY COMMISSIONED OFFICERS HELD IN WINNIPEG, 1887. (_See_ Appendix G. for names.)] CHAPTER XLIV. CANADA COVETS THE HUDSON'S BAY TERRITORY. Renewal of licence--Labouchere's letter--Canada claims to Pacific Ocean--Commissioner Chief-Justice Draper--Rests on Quebec Act, 1774--Quebec overlaps Indian territories--Company loses Vancouver Island--Cauchon's memorandum--Committee of 1857--Company on trial--A brilliant committee--Four hundred folios of evidence--To transfer Red River and Saskatchewan--Death of Sir George--Governor Dallas--A cunning scheme--Secret negotiations--The Watkin Company floated--Angry winterers--Dallas's soothing circular--The old order still--Ermatinger's letters--McDougall's resolutions--Cartier and McDougall as delegates--Company accepts the terms. As is well known to those who have followed the history of the Hudson's Bay Company, while the possession of Rupert's Land was secured by charter, the territory outside Rupert's Land was secured to the Company by licence. This licence ended every twenty-one years. The licence in force at the time of the troubles which have been described was to terminate in 1859. Accordingly, three or four years before this date, as their Athabasca, New Caledonia, and British Columbia possessions had become of great value to them, the Company with due foresight approached the British Government with a request for the renewal of their tenure. Men of understanding on both sides of the Atlantic saw the possible danger of a refusal to their request, on account of the popular ferment which had taken place both in Red River and British Columbia. Others thought the time had come for ending the power of the Company. Sir Henry Labouchere, Secretary of State for the Colonies, entered into correspondence with Sir Edmund Head, Governor-General of Canada, on the subject. Anxious about the state of things in every part of the Empire as the Colonial Office always is, the turbulence and defiance of law in Red River settlement called for special attention. Accordingly the Governor-General was informed that it was the intention of the Home Government to have, not only the question of the licence discussed, but also the "general position and prospects" of the Company considered, by a Committee of the House of Commons. The Canadian Government was therefore cordially invited to have its views, as well as those of the Canadian community, represented before the Committee. This invitation was the thing for which Canada had been waiting. A despatch was sent by the Canadian Government, in less than seven weeks from the time when the invitation left Downing Street, accepting the proposal of the Mother Country. The Canadian Ministry was pleased that British-American affairs were receiving such prominent notice in England. It suggested the importance of determining the limits of Canada on the side towards Rupert's Land, and went on to state that the general opinion strongly held in the New World was "that the western boundary of Canada extends to the Pacific Ocean." Reference is made to the danger of complications arising with the United States, and the statement advanced that the "question of the jurisdiction and title claimed by the Hudson's Bay Company is to Canada of paramount importance." In 1857 Chief Justice Draper crossed to Great Britain as Canadian representative, with a very wide commission to advance Canadian interests. He was called before the Committee appointed by the House of Commons, and answered nearly two hundred questions relating to Canada and to the Hudson's Bay Company interests in Rupert's Land and beyond. The capable and active-minded Chief Justice kept before the Committee these points:-- (1) What he conceived to be the true western boundary of Canada, and in so doing gave his opinion, based on the Quebec Act of 1774, that Canada should be allowed to extend to the Rocky Mountains and should have the privilege of exploring and building roads in that region. (2) The earnest desire of the Canadian people that Rupert's Land and the Indian territories should be maintained as British territory. (3) That Canada should be allowed to extend her settlements into these territories. Chief Justice Draper argued his case with great clearness and cogency, and made an excellent impression upon the Committee. The matter of the Company's hold on Vancouver Island seems to have been settled without any great difficulty. Mr. Richard Blanshard, the former Governor, who received so cool a reception in Vancouver Island, gave a plain and unvarnished tale. The Company had evidently made up its mind to surrender all its claims to Vancouver Island. And the island, as we have seen, became independent. Canada entered with great spirit into the case presented before the Committee. The question of the licence was quite overshadowed by the wider discussion covering the validity of the Hudson's Bay Company charter, the original boundary line of the province of Canada, and the manner in which the Company had carried out its responsibilities. An industrious minister of the Canadian Government, Hon. Joseph Cauchon, with true Gallic fire and a French Canadian spirit, prepared a memorandum of a most elaborate kind on the Hudson's Bay Company's claim and status. In this, Mr. Cauchon goes back to the earliest times, shows the limits of occupation by the French explorers, follows down the line of connection established by the North-West traders, deals with the troubles of Lord Selkirk, and concludes that the Red River and the Saskatchewan are not within the limits of the Company's charter. This vigorous writer then deals with the Treaty of Paris, the Quebec Act, and the discoveries of Canadian subjects as giving Canada a Jurisdiction even to the Rocky Mountains. As might have been expected, the Committee of 1857 became a famous one. The whole economy of the Company was discussed. The ground gone over by Isbister and others during the preceding decade supplied the members with material, and the proceedings of the Committee became notable for their interest. The Committee held eighteen meetings, examined twenty-nine witnesses, and thoroughly sifted the evidence. The _personnel_ of the Committee was brilliant. The Secretary of State was Chairman. Mr. Roebuck and Mr. Gladstone represented the inquiring and aggressive element. Lord Stanley and Lord John Russell added their experience, Edward Ellice--"the Old Bear"--watched the case for the Company, and Mr. Lowe and Sir John Pakington took a lively interest in the proceedings and often interposed. Altogether the Committee was constituted for active service, and every nook and cranny of Rupert's Land and the adjoining territories was thoroughly investigated. Among the witnesses was the distinguished Governor Simpson. He was at his best. Mr. Roebuck and he had many a skirmish, and although Sir George was often driven into a corner, yet with surprising agility he recovered himself. Old explorers such as John Ross, Dr. Rae, Col. Lefroy, Sir John Richardson, Col. Crofton, Bishop Anderson, Col. Caldwell, and Dr. King, gave information as to having visited Rupert's Land at different periods. Their evidence was fair, with, as could be expected in most cases, a "good word" for the Company. Rev. Mr. Corbett gave testimony against the Company, Governor Blanshard in the same strain, A. K. Isbister, considerably moderated in his opposition, gave evidence as a native who had travelled in the country, while John McLoughlin, a rash and heady agitator, told of the excitement in Red River settlement. Edward Ellice became a witness as well as a member of the Committee, and with adroitness covered the retreat of any of his witnesses when necessity arose. From time to time, from February to the end of July, the Committee met, and gathered a vast amount of evidence, making four hundred pages of printed matter. It is a thesaurus of Hudson's Bay Company material. It revealed not only the localities of this unknown land to England and the world, but made everyone familiar with the secret methods, devices, and working of the fur trade over a space of well-nigh half a continent. The Committee decided to recommend to Parliament that it is "important to meet the just and reasonable wishes of Canada to assume such territory as may be useful for settlement; that the districts of the Red River and the Saskatchewan seem the most available; and that for the order and good government of the country," arrangements should be made for their cession to Canada. It was also agreed that those regions where settlement is impossible be left to the exclusive control of the Hudson's Bay Company for the fur trade. The Committee not only recommended that Vancouver Island should be made independent, but that the territory of the mainland in British Columbia should be united with it. Four years after the sitting of this Committee, which gave such anxiety to the Hudson's Bay Company, Sir George Simpson, after a very short illness, passed away, having served as Governor for forty years. In an earlier chapter his place and influence have been estimated and his merits and defects shown. Sir George, in his high office as Governor of Rupert's Land, was succeeded by A. J. Dallas, a Scottish merchant, who had been in business in China, had retired, and afterwards acted as Chief Factor of the Hudson's Bay Company at Fort Victoria, in Vancouver Island, and had then married the daughter of Governor James Douglas. Dallas had shown great nerve and judgment in British Columbia, in a serious brush with the United States authorities in 1859. Three years after this event he was called to succeed the great Governor of Rupert's Land. On his appointment to this high position, he took up his residence at Fort Garry, and had, in conjunction with the local Governor, William McTavish, to face the rising tide of dissatisfaction which showed itself in the Corbett and Stewart rescues. Writers of the period state that Dallas lacked the dignity and tact of old Sir George. In his letters, however, Governor Dallas shows that he thoroughly appreciated the serious state of matters. He says: "I have had great difficulty in persuading the magistrates to continue to act. Mr. William McTavish, Governor of Assiniboia, has resigned his post." Governor Dallas says he "finds himself with all the responsibility and semblance of authority over a vast territory, but unsupported, if not ignored, by the Crown." He states that people do not object to the _personnel_ of the Hudson's Bay Company government, but to the "system of government." He fears the formation of a provisional government, and a movement for annexation to the United States, which had been threatened. He is of opinion that the "territorial right should revert to the Crown." These are strong, honest words for an official of the Company whose rule had prevailed for some two centuries. And now Governor Dallas appears co-operating in an ingenious and adroit financial scheme with Mr. E. W. Watkin, a member of the British House of Commons, by which the Hudson's Bay Company property changed hands. Edward Watkin was a financial agent, who had much to do with the Grand Trunk Railway of Canada, and had an intimate knowledge of Canadian affairs. He had succeeded in interesting the Colonial Secretary of State, the Duke of Newcastle, in a railway, road, and telegraphic scheme for connecting the British possessions in North America. Difficulties having arisen in inducing staid old Governor Berens, the London head of the Company, to accept modern ideas, a plan was broached of buying out the whole Hudson's Bay Company possessions and rights. Difficulty after difficulty was met and surmounted, and though many a time the scheme seemed hopeless, yet in the end it succeeded, though not without much friction and heart-burning. Watkin describes graphically the first interview between three members of the Hudson's Bay Company, Berens, Eden Colville, and Lyall, of the first part, and Glynn, Newmarch, himself, and three other capitalists of the second part. The meeting took place in the Hudson's Bay Company House, Fenchurch Street, February 1st, 1862. "The room was the 'Court' room, dark and dirty, faded green cloth, old chairs almost black, and a fine picture of Prince Rupert. Governor Berens, an old man and obstinate, was somewhat insulting in his manner. We took it patiently." It was a day of fate for the old Company. Many interviews afterwards took place between Watkin and the accountant and solicitors of the Company. The Company would hear of no dealings, except on the basis of a cash payment. The men of capital accordingly succeeded in interesting the "International Financial Association," a new corporation looking for some great scheme to lay before the public. At length the whole shares, property, and rights of the Hudson's Bay Company were taken over, the final arrangements being made by Mr. Richard Potter on June 1st, 1863. Thus the Company begun in so small a way by Prince Rupert and his associates nearly two centuries before, sold out, and the purchase money of one and a half millions of pounds was paid over the counter to the old Company by the new Association. A new company was now to be organized whose stock would be open for purchase, and the International Association would, on such organization being formed, hand over the Company's assets to the new stockholders. In a short time the Company was reconstituted, Sir Edmund Head being the new Governor, with, as prominent members of the Board of Directors, Richard Potter, Eden Colville, E. B. Watkin, and an American fur trader of experience, Sir Curtis Lampson. Secretly as the negotiations for the formation of a new company had been conducted, the news of the affair reached Canada and Rupert's Land, and led to anxious inquiries being made and to a memorial from the Company's officers being presented to the Board of Directors asking for information. So thoroughly secret had the interviews between the London parties been carried on that the officials of the London office knew nothing of them, and stated in their reply to the memorialists that the rumours were incorrect. In July, when the transfer had been consummated and the news of it appeared in the public press, it created surprise and indignation among the chief factors and chief traders, who, under the deed poll or Company arrangement which had been adopted in 1821, though somewhat modified thirteen years later, had been regarded as having certain partnership rights in the Company. Mr. Edward Watkin informs us, in his interesting "Reminiscences," that he had intended that the "wintering partners," as the officers in Rupert's Land were called, should have been individually communicated with, but that on account of his hasty departure to Canada the matter had been overlooked. It certainly was irritating to the officers of the fur trade to learn for the first time from the public press of an arrangement being perfected involving their whole private interests. Watkin expresses his great apprehension lest the news in a distorted form should reach the distant regions of the fur country, where the Company had one hundred and forty-four posts, covering the continent from Labrador to Sitka, Vancouver Island and San Francisco. He feared also that there would be a new company formed to occupy the ground with the old. On reaching Canada, Mr. Watkin was agreeably surprised at the arrival of Governor Dallas from Red River in Montreal. After consultation it was decided on that the Governor should send a conciliatory circular to the commissioned officers of the Company, explaining the objects of the new Company, and stating that all the interests of the wintering partners would be conserved. It is evident that the attitude of the officers had alarmed even such stout-hearted men as Watkin and Dallas. There lies before the writer also a personal letter, dated London, July 23rd, 1863, signed by Edmund Head, Governor, to a chief trader of the Company, stating that it was the intention of the Committee "to carry on the fur trade as it has been hitherto carried on, under the provisions of the deed poll." None of the collateral objects of the Company "should interfere with the fur trade." He begs the officers to "have with him free and unreserved communication through the usual channel." Evidently the echo of the angry voices in Athabasca had been heard in London. The old deed poll, which they had intended to suspend, as shown by Watkin, was thus preserved. This document secured them as follows: According to both deed polls of 1821 and 1834, forty per cent. of the net profits of the trade, divided into eighty-five shares of equal amount, were distributed annually among the wintering partners of the Company. A chief trader received an eighty-fifth share of the profits, and a chief factor two eighty-fifth shares. Both had certain rights after retiring. The proposed abolition of these terms of the deed poll and the substitution therefor of certain salaries with the avowed purpose of reducing the expenses, of course meant loss to every wintering partner. The interests thus involved justified the most strenuous opposition on the part of the partners, and, unless the proposal were modified, would almost certainly have led to a disruption of the Company. In harmony with Governor Head's circular letter no action in the direction contemplated was taken until 1871, when, on the receipt of the three hundred thousand pounds voted by Canada to the Company, the sum of one hundred and seven thousand and fifty-five pounds was applied to buying out the vested rights of the wintering partners, and the agitation was quieted. The effect of the arrangement made for the payment of officers of the Company since 1871, as compared with their previous remuneration, has been a subject of discussion. There lies before the writer an elaborate calculation by an old Hudson's Bay Company officer to the effect that under the old deed poll a chief factor would receive two eighty-fifth shares, his total average being seven hundred and twenty pounds per annum; and under the new (taking the average of twenty-five years) two and one half-hundredths shares, amounting to five hundred and thirty-two pounds annually, or a loss nearly of one hundred and eighty-eight pounds; similarly that a chief trader would receive three hundred and nineteen pounds, as against three hundred and sixty formerly, or a loss per annum of forty-one pounds. Besides this, the number of higher commissioned officers was reduced when the old deed poll was cancelled, so that the stockholders received the advantage from there being fewer officials, also the chances of promotion to higher offices were diminished. During the progress of these internal dissensions of the Hudson's Bay Company public opinion had been gradually maturing in Canada in favour of acquiring at least a portion of Rupert's Land. At the time of the Special Committee of 1857, it will be remembered the Hind-Gladman expedition had gone to spy out the land. A company, called the North-West Transportation Company, was about the same time organized in Toronto to carry goods and open communication from Fort William by way of the old fur traders' route to Fort Garry. The merits and demerits of the north-western prairies were discussed in the public press of Canada. Edward Ermatinger, whose name has been already mentioned, was a steady supporter of the claim of the Hudson's Bay Company in a series of well-written letters in the _Hamilton Spectator_, a journal of Upper Canada. Taking the usual line of argument followed by the Company, he showed the small value of the country, its inhospitable climate, its inaccessibility, and magnified the legal claim of the Hudson's Bay Company against the Canadian contention. It is amusing to read in after years, when his opinion of Sir George Simpson was changed, his declaration of regret at having been led to so strenuously present his views in the _Spectator_. Ten years had passed after the setting of the great Committee of 1857, and nothing practical as to the transfer of the country to Canada had been accomplished. The confederation movement had now widened the horizon of Canadian public men. In the very year of the confederation of the Canadian provinces (1867), Hon. William McDougall, who had been a persistent advocate of the Canadian claim to the North-West, moved in the Dominion Parliament a series of resolutions, which were carried. These resolutions showed the advantage, both to Canada and the Empire, of the Dominion being extended to the Pacific Ocean; that settlement, commerce, and development of the resources of the country are dependent on a stable Government being established; that the welfare of the Red River settlers would be enhanced by this means; that provision was contained in the British North-American Act for the admission of Rupert's Land and the North-West territory to the Dominion; that this wide country should be united to Canada; that in case of union the legal rights of any corporation, as the Hudson's Bay Company, association, or individual should be respected; that this should be settled judicially or by agreement; that the Indian title should be legally extinguished; and that an address be made to Her Majesty to this effect. The resolutions were carried by a large majority of the House. This was a bold and well-conceived step, and the era of discussion and hesitancy seemed to have passed away in favour of a policy of action. The Hudson's Bay Company, however, insisted on an understanding being come to as to terms before giving consent to the proposed action, and a despatch to the Dominion Government from Her Majesty's Government called attention to this fact. As soon as convenient, a delegation, consisting of Hon. George E. Cartier and Hon. William McDougall, proceeded to England to negotiate with the Company as to terms. The path of the delegates on reaching England proved a thorny one. The attitude of the Imperial Government was plainly in favour of recognizing some legal value in the chartered rights of the Company, a thing denied by some, specially Mr. McDougall. No progress was being made. At this juncture D'Israeli's Government was defeated, and a delay resulted in waiting for a new Government. Earl Granville was the new Secretary of State for the Colonies. While negotiations were going on, the Hudson's Bay Company sent in to the Secretary of State a rather hot complaint that Canadian surveyors and road builders had entered upon their territory to the west of the Lake of the Woods. This was quite true, but the action had been taken by the Canadian Government under the impression that all parties would willingly agree to it. Not being at this juncture able to settle anything, the commissioners returned to Canada. The Imperial Government was, however, in earnest in the matter, and pressed the Hudson's Bay Company to consent to reasonable terms, the more that the government by the Company in Red River was not satisfactory--an indisputable fact. At length the Company felt bound to accept the proposed terms. The main provisions of bargain were that the Company should surrender all rights in Rupert's Land; that Canada pay the Company the sum of three hundred thousand pounds; that the Company be allowed certain blocks of land around their posts; that they be given one-twentieth of the arable land of the country; and that the Company should be allowed every privilege in carrying on trade as a regular trading company. Thus was the concession of generous Charles the Second surrendered after two centuries of honourable occupation. CHAPTER XLV. TROUBLES OF THE TRANSFER OF RUPERT'S LAND. Transfer Act passed--A moribund government--The Canadian surveying party--Causes of the rebellion--Turbulent Metis--American interference--Disloyal ecclesiastics--Governor McDougall--Riel and his rebel band--A blameworthy Governor--The "blawsted fence"--Seizure of Fort Garry--Riel's ambitions--Loyal rising--Three wise men from the East--_The New Nation_--A winter meeting--Bill of Rights--Canadian shot--The Wolseley expedition--Three renegades slink away--The end of Company rule--The new Province of Manitoba. The old Company had agreed to the bargain, and the Imperial Act was passed authorizing the transfer of the vast territory east of the Rocky Mountains to Canada. Canada, with the strengthening national spirit rising from the young confederation, with pleasure saw the Dominion Government place in the estimates the three hundred thousand pounds for the payment of the Hudson's Bay Company, and an Act was passed by the Dominion Parliament providing for a government of the north-west territories, which would secure the administration of justice, and the peace, order, and good government of Her Majesty's subjects and others. It was enacted, however, that all laws of the territory at the time of the passing of the Act should remain in force until amended or repealed, and all officers except the chief to continue in office until others were appointed. And now began the most miserable and disreputable exhibition of decrepitude, imbecility, jesuitry, foreign interference, blundering, and rash patriotism ever witnessed in the fur traders' country. This was known as the Red River rebellion. The writer arrived in Fort Garry the year following this wretched affair, made the acquaintance of many of the actors in the rebellion, and heard their stories. The real, deep significance of this rebellion has never been fully made known. Whether the writer will succeed in telling the whole tale remains to be seen. The Hudson's Bay Company officials at Red River were still the government. This fact must be distinctly borne in mind. It has been stated, however, that this government had become hopelessly weak and inefficient. Governor Dallas, in the words quoted, admitted this and lamented over it. Were there any doubt in regard to this statement, it was shown by the utter defiance of the law in the breaking of jail in the three cases of Corbett, Stewart, and Dr. Schultz. No government could retain respect when the solemn behests of its courts were laughed at and despised. This is the real reason lying at the root of the apathy of the English-speaking people of the Red River in dealing with the rebellion. They were not cowards; they sprang from ancestors who had fought Britain's battles; they were intelligent and moral; they loved their homes and were prepared to defend them; but they had no guarantee of leadership; they had no assurance that their efforts would be given even the colour of legality; the broken-down jail outside Fort Garry, its uprooted stockades and helpless old jailor, were the symbol of governmental decrepitude and were the sport of any determined law-breaker. It has been the habit of their opponents to refer to the annoyance of the Hudson's Bay Company Committee in London with Canada for in 1869 sending surveyors to examine the country before the transfer was made. Reference has also been made to the dissatisfaction of the local officers at the action taken by the Company in dealing with the deed poll in 1863; some have said that the Hudson's Bay Company officials at Fort Garry did not admire the Canadian leaders as they saw them; and others have maintained that these officers cared nothing for the country, provided they received large enough dividends as wintering partners. [Illustration: SOUTH AND EAST FACES, 1840. From sketch by wife of Governor Finlayson. Illustration: EAST FACE, IN YEAR 1882, WHEN FORT WAS DISMANTLED. X Spot where Scott was executed. FORT GARRY--WINTER SCENES.] Now, there may be something in these contentions, but they do not touch the core of the matter. The Hudson's Bay Company, both in London and Fort Garry, were thoroughly loyal to British institutions; the officers were educated, responsible, and high-minded men; they had acted up to their light in a thoroughly honourable manner, and no mere prejudice, or fancied grievance, or personal dislike would have made them untrue to their trusts. But the government had become decrepit; vacillation and uncertainty characterized every act; had the people been behind them, had they not felt that the people distrusted them, they would have taken action, as it was their duty to do. The chronic condition of helplessness and governmental decay was emphasized and increased by a sad circumstance. Governor William McTavish, an honourable and well-meaning man, was sick. In the midst of the troubles of 1863 he would willingly have resigned, as Governor Dallas assures us; now he was physically incapable of the energy and decision requisite under the circumstances. Moreover, as we shall see, there was a most insidious and dangerous influence dogging his every step. His subordinates would not act without him, he could not act without them, and thus an absolute deadlock ensued. Moreover, the Council of Assiniboia, an appointed body, had felt itself for years out of touch with the sentiment of the colony, and its efforts at legislation resulted in no improvement of the condition of things. Woe to a country ruled by an oligarchy, however well-meaning or reputable such a body may be! Turn now from this picture of pitiful weakness to the unaccountable and culpable blundering of the Canadian Government. Cartier and McDougall found out in England that sending in a party of surveyors before the country was transferred was offensive to the Hudson's Bay Company. More offensive still was the method of conducting the expedition. It was a mark of sublime stupidity to profess, as the Canadian Government did, to look upon the money spent on this survey as a benevolent device for relieving the people suffering from the grasshopper visitation. The genius who originated the plan of combining charity with gain should have been canonized. Moreover, the plan of contractor Snow of paying poor wages, delaying payment, and giving harsh treatment to such a people as the half-breeds are known to be was most ill advised. The evidently selfish and grasping spirit shown in this expedition sent to survey and build the Dawson Road, yet turning aside to claim unoccupied lands, to sow the seeds of doubt and suspicion in the minds of a people hitherto secluded from the world, was most unpatriotic and dangerous. It cannot be denied, in addition, that while many of the small band of Canadians were reputable and hard-working men, the course of a few prominent leaders, who had made an illegitimate use of the Nor'-Wester newspaper, had tended to keep the community in a state of alienation and turmoil. What, then, were the conditions? A helpless, moribund government, without decision, without actual authority on the one hand, and on the other an irritating, selfish, and aggressive expedition, taking possession of the land before it was transferred to Canada, and assuming the air of conquerors. Look now at the combustible elements awaiting this combination. The French half-breeds, descendants of the turbulent Bois Brûlés of Lord Selkirk's times; the old men, companions of Sayer and the elder Riel, who defied the authority of the court, and left it shouting, "Vive la liberté!" now irritated by the Dawson Road being built in the way just described; the road running through the seigniory given by Lord Selkirk to the Roman Catholic bishop, the road in rear of their largest settlements, and passing through another French settlement at Pointe des Chênes! Further, the lands adjacent to these settlements, and naturally connected with them, being seized by the intruders! Furthermore, the natives, antagonized by the action of certain Canadians who had for years maintained the country in a state of turmoil! Were there not all the elements of an explosion of a serious and dangerous kind? Two other most important forces in this complicated state of things cannot be left out. The first of these is a matter which requires careful statement, but yet it is a most potential factor in the rebellion. This is the attitude of certain persons in the United States. For twenty years and more the trade of the Red River settlement had been largely carried on by way of St. Paul, in the State of Minnesota. The Hudson Bay route and York boat brigade were unable to compete with the facilities offered by the approach of the railway to the Mississippi River. Accordingly long lines of Red River carts took loads of furs to St. Paul and brought back freight for the Company. The Red River trade was a recognized source of profit in St. Paul. Familiarity in trade led to an interest on the part of the Americans in the public affairs of Red River. Hot-headed and sordid people in Red River settlement had actually spoken of the settlement being connected with the United States. Now that irritation was manifested at Red River, steps were taken by private parties from the United States to fan the flame. At Pembina, on the border between Rupert's Land and the United States, lived a nest of desperadoes willing to take any steps to accomplish their purposes. They had access to all the mails which came from England to Canada marked "Vià Pembina." Pembina was an outpost refuge for law-breakers and outcasts from the United States. Its people used all their power to disturb the peace of Red River settlement. In addition, a considerable number of Americans had come to the little village of Winnipeg, now being begun near the walls of Fort Garry. These men held their private meetings, all looking to the creation of trouble and the provocation of feeling that might lead to change of allegiance. Furthermore, the writer is able to state, on the information of a man high in the service of Canada, and a man not unknown in Manitoba, that there was a large sum of money, of which an amount was named as high as one million dollars, which was available in St. Paul for the purpose of securing a hold by the Americans on the fertile plains of Rupert's Land. Here, then, was an agency of most dangerous proportions, an element in the village of Winnipeg able to control the election of the first delegate to the convention, a desperate body of men on the border, who with Machiavelian persistence fanned the flame of discontent, and a reserve of power in St. Paul ready to take advantage of any emergency. A still more insidious and threatening influence was at work. Here again the writer is aware of the gravity of the statement he is making, but he has evidence of the clearest kind for his position. A dangerous religious element in the country--ecclesiastics from old France--who had no love for Britain, no love for Canada, no love for any country, no love for society, no love for peace! These plotters were in close association with the half-breeds, dictated their policy, and freely mingled with the rebels. One of them was an intimate friend of the leader of the rebellion, consulted with him in his plans, and exercised a marked influence on his movements. This same foreign priest, with Jesuitical cunning, gave close attendance on the sick Governor, and through his family exercised a constant and detrimental power upon the only source of authority then in the land. Furthermore, an Irish student and teacher, with a Fenian hatred of all things British, was a "familiar" of the leader of the rebellion, and with true Milesian zeal advanced the cause of the revolt. Can a more terrible combination be imagined than this? A decrepit government with the executive officer sick; a rebellious and chronically dissatisfied Metis element; a government at Ottawa far removed by distance, committing with unvarying regularity blunder after blunder; a greedy and foreign cabal planning to seize the country, and a secret Jesuitical plot to keep the Governor from action and to incite the fiery Metis to revolt! The drama opens with the appointment, in September, 1869, by the Dominion Government, of the Hon. William McDougall as Lieutenant-Governor of the north-west territories, his departure from Toronto, and his arrival at Pembina, in the Dakota territory, in the end of October. He was accompanied by his family, a small staff, and three hundred stand of arms with ammunition. He had been preceded by the Hon. Joseph Howe, of the Dominion Government, who visited the Red River settlement ostensibly to feel the pulse of public opinion, but as Commissioner gaining little information. Mr. McDougall's commission as Governor was to take effect after the formal transfer of the territory. He reached Pembina, where he was served with a notice not to enter the territory, yet he crossed the boundary line at Pembina, and took possession of the Hudson's Bay Fort of West Lynn, two miles north of the boundary. Meanwhile a storm was brewing along Red River. A young French half-breed, Louis Riel, son of the excitable miller of the Seine of whom mention was made--a young man, educated by the Roman Catholic Bishop Taché, of St. Boniface, for a time, and afterwards in Montreal, was regarded as the hope of the Metis. He was a young man of fair ability, but proud, vain, and assertive, and had the ambition to be a Cæsar or Napoleon. He with his followers had stopped the surveyors in their work, and threatened to throw off the approaching tyranny. Professing to be loyal to Britain but hostile to Canada, he succeeded, in October, in getting a small body of French half-breeds to seize the main highway at St. Norbert, some nine miles south of Fort Garry. The message to Mr. McDougall not to enter the territory was forwarded by this body, that already considered itself the _de facto_ government. A Canadian settler at once swore an affidavit before the officer in charge of Fort Garry that an armed party of French half-breeds had assembled to oppose the entrance of the Governor. Here, then, was the hour of destiny. An outbreak had taken place, it was illegal to oppose any man entering the country, not to say a Governor, the fact of revolt was immediately brought to Fort Garry, and no amount of casuistry or apology can ever justify Governor McTavish, sick though he was, from immediately not taking action, and compelling his council to take action by summoning the law-abiding people to surround him and repress the revolt. But the government that would allow the defiance of the law by permitting men to live at liberty who had broken jail could not be expected to take action. To have done so would have been to work a miracle. The rebellion went on apace; two of the so-called Governor's staff pushed on to the barricade erected at St. Norbert. Captain Cameron, one of them, with eyeglass in poise, and with affected authority, gave command, "Remove that blawsted fence," but the half-breeds were unyielding. The two messengers returned to Pembina, where they found Mr. McDougall likewise driven back and across the boundary. Did ever British prestige suffer a more humiliating blow? The act of rebellion, usually dangerous, proved in this case a trivial one, and Riel's little band of forty or fifty badly-armed Metis began to grow. The mails were seized, freight coming into the country became booty, and the experiment of a rising was successful. In the meantime the authorities of Fort Garry were inactive. The rumour came that Riel thought of seizing the fort. An affidavit of the chief of police under the Government shows that he urged the master of Fort Garry to meet the danger, and asked authority to call upon a portion of the special police force sworn in, shortly before, to preserve the peace. No Governor spoke; no one even closed the fort as a precaution; its gates stood wide open to friend or foe. This exhibition of helplessness encouraged the conspirators, and Riel and one hundred of his followers (November 2nd) unopposed took possession of the fort and quartered themselves upon the Company. In the front part of the fort lived the Governor; he was now flanked by a body-guard of rebels; the master of the fort, a burly son of Britain, though very gruff and out of sorts, could do nothing, and the young Napoleon of the Metis fattened on the best of the land. Riel now issued a proclamation, calling on the English-speaking parishes of the settlement to elect twelve representatives to meet the President and representatives of the French-speaking population, appointing a meeting for twelve days afterwards. Mr. McDougall, on hearing of the seizure of the fort, wrote to Governor McTavish stating that as the Hudson Bay Company was still the government, action should be taken to disperse the rebels. A number of loyal inhabitants also petitioned Governor McTavish to issue his proclamation calling on the rebels to disperse. The sick and helpless Governor, fourteen days after the seizure of the fort and twenty-three days after the affidavit of the rising, issued a tardy proclamation condemning the rebels and calling upon them to disperse. The Convention met November 16th, the English parishes having been cajoled into electing delegates, thinking thus to soothe the troubled land. After meeting and discussing in hot and useless words the state of affairs, the Convention adjourned till December 1st, it being evident, however, that Riel desired to form a provisional government of which he should be the joy and pride. The day for the reassembling of the Convention arrived. Riel and his party insisted on ruling the meeting, and passed a "Bill of Rights" consisting of fifteen provisions. The English people refused to accept these propositions, and, after vainly endeavouring to take steps to meet Mr. McDougall, withdrew to their homes, ashamed and confounded. Meanwhile Mr. McDougall was chafing at the strange and humiliating situation in which he found himself. With his family and staff poorly housed at Pembina and the severe winter coming on, he could scarcely be blamed for irritation and discontent. December 1st was the day on which he expected his commission as Governor to come into effect, and wonder of wonders, he, a lawyer, a privy councillor, and an experienced statesman, went so far on this mere supposition as to issue a proclamation announcing his appointment as Governor. As a matter of fact, far away from communication with Ottawa, he was mistaken as to the transfer. On account of the rise of the rebellion this had not been made, and Mr. McDougall, in issuing a spurious proclamation, became a thing of contempt to the insurgents, an object of pity to the loyalists, and the laughing-stock of the whole world. His proclamation at the same time authorizing Colonel Dennis, the Canadian surveyor in Red River settlement, to raise a force to put down the rebellion, was simply a _brutum fulmen_, and was the cause to innocent, well-meaning men of trouble and loss. Colonel Dennis succeeded in raising a force of some four hundred men, and would not probably have failed had it not transpired that the two proclamations were illegal and that the levies were consequently unauthorized. Such a thing to be carried out by William McDougall and Colonel Dennis, men of experience and ability! Surely there could be no greater fiasco! The Canadian people were now in a state of the greatest excitement, and the Canadian Government, aware of its blundering and stupidity, hastened to rectify its mistakes. Commissioners were sent to negotiate with the various parties in Red River settlement. These were Vicar-General Thibault, who had spent long years in the Roman Catholic Missions of the North-West, Colonel de Salaberry, a French Canadian, and Mr. Donald A. Smith, the chief officer of the Hudson's Bay Company, then at Montreal. On the last of these Commissioners, who had been clothed with very wide powers, lay the chief responsibility, as will be readily seen. A number of Canadians--nearly fifty--had been assembled in the store of Dr. Schultz, at the village of Winnipeg, and, on the failure of Mr. McDougall's proclamation, were left in a very awkward condition. With arms in their hands, they were looked upon by Riel as dangerous, and with promises of freedom and of the intention of Riel to meet McDougall and settle the whole matter, they (December 7th) surrendered. Safely in the fort and in the prison outside the wall, the prisoners were kept by the truce-breaker, and the Metis contingent celebrated the victory by numerous potations of rum taken from the Hudson's Bay Company stores. Riel now took a step forward in issuing a proclamation, which has generally been attributed to the crippled postmaster at Pembina, one of the dangerous foreign clique longing to seize the settlement. He also hoisted a new flag, with the fleur-de-lis worked upon it, thus giving evidence of his disloyalty and impudence. Other acts of injustice, such as seizing Company funds and interfering with personal liberty, were committed by him. On December 27th--a memorable day--Mr. Donald A. Smith arrived. His commission and papers were left at Pembina, and he went directly to Fort Garry, where Riel received him. The interview, given in Mr. Smith's own words, was a remarkable one. Riel vainly sought to induce the Commissioner to recognize his government, and yet was afraid to show disrespect to so high and honoured an officer. For about two months Commissioner Smith lived at Fort Garry, in a part of the same building as Governor McTavish. Mr. Smith says of this period, "The state of matters at this time was most unsatisfactory and truly humiliating. Upwards of fifty British subjects were held in close confinement as political prisoners; security for persons or property there was none.... The leaders of the French half-breeds had declared their determination to use every effort for the purpose of annexing the territory to the United States." Mr. Smith acted with great wisdom and decision. His plan evidently was to have no formal breach with Riel but gradually to undermine him, and secure a combination by which he could be overthrown. Many of the influential men of the settlement called upon Mr. Smith, and the affairs of the country were discussed. Riel was restless and at times impertinent, but the Commissioner exercised his Scottish caution, and bided his time. At this time a newspaper, called _The New Nation_, appeared as the organ of the provisional government. This paper openly advocated annexation to the United States, thus showing the really dangerous nature of the movement embodied in the rebellion. During all these months of the rebellion, Bishop Taché, the influential head of the Roman Catholic Church, had been absent in Rome at the great Council of that year. One of his most active priests left behind was Father Lestanc, the prince of plotters, who has generally been credited with belonging to the Jesuit Order. Lestanc had sedulously haunted the presence of the Governor; he was a daring and extreme man, and to him and his fellow-Frenchman, the curé of St. Norbert, much of Riel's obstinacy has been attributed. Commissioner Smith now used his opportunity to weaken Riel. He offered to send for his commission to Pembina, if he were allowed to meet the people. Riel consented to this. The commission was sent for, and Riel tried to intercept the messenger, but failed to do so. The meeting took place on January 19th. It was a date of note for Red River settlement. One thousand people assembled, and as there was no building capable of holding the people, the meeting took place in the open air, the temperature being twenty below zero. The outcome of this meeting was the election and subsequent assembling of forty representatives--one half French, the other half English--to consider the matter of Commissioner Smith's message. Six days after the open-air meeting the Convention met. A second "Bill of Rights" was adopted, and it was agreed to send delegates to Ottawa to meet the Dominion Government. A provisional government was formed, at the request, it is said, of Governor McTavish, and Riel gained the height of his ambition in being made President, while the fledgling Fenian priest, O'Donoghue, became "Secretary of the Treasury." The retention of the prisoners in captivity aroused a deep feeling in the country, and a movement originated in Portage La Prairie to rescue the unfortunates. This force was joined by recruits at Kildonan, making up six hundred in all. Awed by this gathering, Riel released the prisoners, though he was guilty of an act of deepest treachery in arresting nearly fifty of the Assiniboine levy as they were returning to their homes. Among them was Major Boulton, who afterwards narrowly escaped execution, and who has written an interesting account of the rebellion. The failure of the two parties of loyalists, and their easy capture by Riel, raises the question of the wisdom of these efforts. No doubt the inspiring motive of these levies was in many cases true patriotism, and it reflects credit on them as men of British blood and British pluck, but the management of both was so unfortunate and so lacking in skill, that one is disposed, though lamenting their failures, to put these expeditions down as dictated by the greatest rashness. The elevation of Riel served to awaken high ambitions. The late Archbishop Taché, in a later rebellion, characterized Riel as a remarkable example of inflated ambition, and called his state of mind that of "megalomania." Riel now became more irritable and domineering. He seemed also bitter against the English for the signs of insubordination appearing in all the parishes. The influence of the violent and dastardly Lestanc was strong upon him. The anxious President now determined to awe the English, and condemned for execution a young Irish Canadian prisoner named Thomas Scott. Commissioner Smith and a number of influential inhabitants did everything possible to dissuade Riel, but he persisted, and Scott was publicly executed near Fort Garry on March 4th, 1870. "Whom the gods destroy, they first make mad." The execution of Scott was the death-knell of Riel's hopes. Canada was roused to its centre. Determined to have no further communication with Riel, Commissioner Smith as soon as possible left Fort Garry and returned to Canada. The arrival of Bishop Taché, who had returned at the request of the Canadian Government, took place in due time. Probably the real attitude of Bishop Taché will never be known, though his strong French Canadian associations and love of British connection make it seem hardly possible that he could have been implicated in the rebellion. Bishop Taché endeavoured to overcome the terrible mistake of Riel. Commissioners were despatched to Ottawa, the most important of them Father Ritchot, of St. Norbert, whose hand had been in the plot from the beginning. Carrying down a "Bill of Rights" from the provisional government, which, however, there is clear evidence Ritchot and others took the liberty of altering, they were instrumental in having a Bill passed through the Dominion Parliament, establishing Manitoba as a province. For the establishment of peace, an expedition was organized by Canada, consisting of British regulars and Canadian volunteers, under Colonel Wolseley. Coming from Canada up the fur-traders' route, through Lake of the Woods, down Winnipeg River, across Lake Winnipeg, and up the Red River, the expedition arrived, to the great joy of the suffering people of the settlement, on August 24th, 1870. After eleven months of the most torturing anxiety had been endured, the sight of the rescuing soldiery sent the blood pulsing again through their veins. As the troops approached Fort Garry, three slinking figures were seen to leave the fort and escape across the Assiniboine. These were the "President Riel," "Adjutant-General" Lepine, and the scoundrel O'Donoghue. "They folded their tents like the Arabs, and as silently stole away." Colonel Wolseley says, "The troops then formed line outside the fort, the Union Jack was hoisted, a royal salute fired, and three cheers were given for the Queen, which were caught up and heartily re-echoed by many of the civilians and settlers who had followed the troops from the village." The transfer of Rupert's Land had been completed, and the governing power of the famous old Company was a thing of the past. CHAPTER XLVI. PRESENT STATUS OF THE COMPANY. A great land Company--Fort Garry dismantled--The new buildings--New _v._ Old--New life in the Company--Palmy days are recalled--Governors of ability--The present distinguished Governor--Vaster operations--Its eye not dimmed. Relieved of the burden of government, the Hudson's Bay Company threw itself heartily into the work of developing its resources. Mr. Donald A. Smith, who had done so much to undermine the power of Riel, returned to Manitoba as Chief Commissioner of the Company, and proceeded to manage its affairs in the altered conditions of the country. Representing enormous interests in the North-West, Mr. Smith entered the first local legislature at Winnipeg, and soon after became for a time a member of the Canadian House of Commons. One of the most important matters needing attention was the land interests of the Company. The Company claimed five hundred acres around Fort Garry. This great tract of land, covering now one of the most important parts of the City of Winnipeg, was used as a camping-ground, where the traders from the far west posts, even as far as Edmonton, made their "corrals" and camped during their stay at the capital. Some opposition was developed to this claim, but the block of land was at length handed over to the Company, fifty acres being reserved for public purposes. The allotment of wild land to the Company of one-twentieth went on in each township as it was surveyed, and though all this land is taxable, yet it has become a great source of revenue to the Company. Important sites and parcels of land all over the country have helped to swell its resources. The great matter of adapting its agencies to meet the changed conditions of trade was a difficult thing. The methods of two centuries could not be changed in a day. The greatest difficulty lay in the officers and men remote from the important centres. It was reported that in many of the posts no thorough method of book-keeping prevailed. The dissatisfaction arising from the sale made by the Company in 1863, and the uncertainty as to the deed poll, no doubt introduced an element of fault-finding and discontent into the Company's business. Some of the most trusted officers retired from the service. The resources of the Company were, however, enormous, its credit being practically unlimited, and this gave it a great advantage in competing with the Canadian merchants coming to the country, the majority of whom had little capital. Ten years after the transfer Fort Garry was sold, and though it came back on the hands of the Company, yet _miserabile dictu_, the fort had been dismantled, thrown down, and even the stone removed, with the exception of the front gate, which still remains. This gate, with a portion of ground about it, has been given by the Hudson's Bay Company to the City of Winnipeg as a small historic park. Since the time of sale, large warehouses have been erected, not filled, as were the old shops, with bright coloured cloths, moccasins, and beads, fitted for the Indian and native trade, but aiming at full departments after the model of Maple and Shoolbred, of the mother city of London. These shops are represented in the plate accompanying this description. [Illustration: HUDSON'S BAY COMPANY'S STORES AND GENERAL OFFICES, WINNIPEG.] The trade thus modified has been under the direction of men of ability, who succeeded Mr. Donald A. Smith, such as Messrs. Wrigley, Brydges, and a number of able subordinates. The extension of trade has gone on in many of the rising towns of the Canadian West, where the Hudson's Bay Company was not before represented, such as Portage La Prairie, Calgary, Lethbridge, Prince Albert, Vancouver, &c. In all these points the Company's influence has been a very real and important one. The methods of trade, now employed, require a skill and knowledge never needed in the old fur-trading days. The present successful Commissioner, C. C. Chipman, Esq., resident in Winnipeg, controls and directs interests far greater than Sir George Simpson was called upon to deal with. Present and Past presents a contrast between ceaseless competition and a sleepy monopoly. [Illustration: COMMISSIONER CHIPMAN (WINNIPEG). Executive Officer of H.B. Co. in Canada.] The portions of the country not reached, or likely to be reached by settlement, have remained in possession of the Hudson's Bay Company almost solely. The Canadian Government has negotiated treaties with the Indians as far north as Lake Athabasca, leaving many of the Chipewyans and Eskimos still to the entire management of the Company. The impression among the officers of the Company is that under the deed poll of 1871 they are not so well remunerated as under the former régime. It is difficult to estimate the exact relation of the present to the past, inasmuch as the opening up of the country, the improvement of transportation facilities, and the cheapening of all agricultural supplies has changed the relative value of money in the country. Under this arrangement, which has been in force for twenty-four years, the profits of the wintering partners are divided on the basis of one-hundredth of a share. Of this an inspecting chief factor receives three shares; a chief factor two and a half; a factor two; and a chief trader one and a half shares. The average for the twenty-five years of the one-hundredth share has been 213_l._ 12_s._ 2-1/2_d._ Since 1890 a more liberal provision has been made for officers retiring, and since that time an officer on withdrawing in good standing receives two years' full pay and six years' half pay. Later years have seen a further increase. A visit to the Hudson's Bay House on the corner of Leadenhall and Lime Streets, London, still gives one a sense of the presence of the old Company. While in the New World great changes have taken place, and the visitor is struck with the complete departure from the low-ceiling store, with goods in disorder and confusion, with Metis smoking "kinni-kinnik" till the atmosphere is opaque--all this to the palatial buildings with the most perfect arrangements and greatest taste; yet in London "the old order changeth" but slowly. It is true the old building on Fenchurch Street, London, where "the old Lady" was said by the Nor'-Westers to sit, was sold in 1859, and the proceeds divided among the shareholders and officers for four years thereafter. But the portraits of Prince Rupert, Sir George Simpson, and the copy of the Company Charter were transferred bodily to the directors' room in the building on Lime Street. The strong room contains the same rows of minutes, the same dusty piles of documents, and the journals of bygone years, but the business of a vast region is still managed there, and the old gentlemen who control the Hudson's Bay Company affairs pass their dividends as comfortably as in years gone by, with, in an occasional year, some restless spirit stirring up the echoes, to be promptly repressed and the current of events to go on as before. Since 1871, however, it is easy to see that men of greater financial ability have been at the head of the councils of the Hudson's Bay Company, recalling the palmy days of the first operations of the Company. After five years' service, Sir Edmund Head, the first Governor under the new deed poll, gave way, to be followed for a year by the distinguished politician and statesman, the Earl of Kimberley. For five years thereafter, Sir Stafford Northcote, who held high Government office in the service of the Empire, occupied this position. He was followed for six years by one who has since gained a very high reputation for financial ability, the Rt. Hon. G. J. Goschen. Eden Colville, who seems to carry us back to the former generation--a man of brisk and alert mind, and singularly free from the prejudices and immobility of Governor Berens, the last of the barons of the old régime--held office for three years after Mr. Goschen. For the last ten years the veteran of kindly manner, warm heart, and genial disposition, Lord Strathcona and Mount Royal, has occupied this high place. The clerk, junior officer, and chief factor of thirty hard years on the inhospitable shores of Hudson Bay and Labrador, the Commissioner who, as Donald A. Smith, soothed the Riel rebellion, and for years directed the reorganization of the Company's affairs at Fort Garry and the whole North-West, the daring speculator who took hold, with his friends, of the Minnesota and Manitoba Railway, and with Midas touch turned the enterprise to gold, a projector and a builder of the Canadian Pacific Railway, the patron of art and education, has worthily filled the office of Governor of the Hudson's Bay Company, and with much success reorganized its administration and directed its affairs. The Company's operations are vaster than ever before. The greatest mercantile enterprise of the Greater Canada west of Lake Superior; a strong land Company, still keeping up its traditions and conducting a large trade in furs; owning vessels and transportation facilities; able to take large contracts; exercising a fatherly care over the Indian tribes; the helper and assistant of the vast missionary organizations scattered over Northern Canada, the Company since the transfer of Rupert's Land to Canada has taken a new lease of life; its eye is not dim, nor its natural force abated. CHAPTER XLVII. THE FUTURE OF THE CANADIAN WEST. The Greater Canada--Wide wheat fields--Vast pasture lands--Huronian mines--The Kootenay riches--Yukon nuggets--Forests--Iron and coal--Fisheries--Two great cities--Towns and villages--Anglo-Saxon institutions--The great outlook. In 1871, soon after Rupert's Land and the Indian territories were transferred to Canada, it was the fortune of the writer to take up his abode in Winnipeg, as the village in the neighbourhood of Fort Garry was already called. The railway was in that year still four hundred miles from Winnipeg. From the terminus in Minnesota the stage coach drawn by four horses, with relays every twenty miles, sped rapidly over prairies smooth as a lawn to the site of the future City of the Plains. The fort was in its glory. Its stone walls, round bastions, threatening pieces of artillery and rows of portholes, spoke of a place of some strength, though even then a portion of stone wall had been taken down to give easier access to the "Hudson's Bay Store." It was still the seat of government, for the Canadian Governor lived within its walls, as the last Company Governor, McTavish, had done. It was still the scene of gaiety, as the better class of the old settlers united with the leaders of the new Canadian society in social joys, under the hospitable roof of Governor Archibald. Since that time forty years have well-nigh passed. The stage coach, the Red River cart, and the shagganappe pony are things of the past, and great railways with richly furnished trains connect St. Paul and Minnesota with the City of Winnipeg. More important still, the skill of the engineer has blasted a way through the Archæan rocks to Fort William, Lake Superior, more direct than the old fur-traders' route; the tremendous cliffs of the north shore of Lake Superior have been levelled and the chasm bridged. To the west the prairies have been gridironed with numerous lines of railway, the enormous ascents of the four Rocky Mountain ranges rising a mile above the sea level have been crossed, and the giddy heights of the Fraser River cañon traversed. The iron band of the Canadian Pacific Railway, one of whose chief promoters was Lord Strathcona and Mount Royal, the present Governor of the Company, has joined ocean to ocean. The Canadian Northern Railway runs its line from Lake Superior through Winnipeg and Edmonton to British Columbia. It has in prospect a transcontinental Railway from the Atlantic to the Pacific Ocean. The Grand Trunk Pacific Railway has in operation a perfectly built line from Lake Superior through Winnipeg and Edmonton to the Rocky Mountains, and with the backing of the Canadian Government guarantees a most complete connection between the eastern and western shores of the continent. A wonderful transformation has taken place in the land since the days of Sir George Simpson and his band of active chief factors and traders. It is true, portions of the wide territory reaching from Labrador to the Pacific Ocean will always be the domain of the fur-trader. The Labrador, Ungava, and Arctic shores of Canada will always remain inhospitable, but the Archæan region on the south and west of Hudson Bay undoubtedly contains great mineral treasures. The Canadian Government pledges itself to a completed railway from the prairie wheat fields to York Factory on Hudson Bay. This will bring the seaport on Hudson Bay as near Britain as is New York, and will make an enormous saving in transportation to Western Canada. What a mighty change from the day when the pessimistic French King spoke of all Canada, as "only a few orpents of snow." Mackenzie River district is still the famous scene of the fur trade, and may long continue so, though there is always the possibility of any portion of the vast waste of the Far North developing, as the Yukon territory has done, mineral wealth rivalling the famous sands of Pactolus or the riches of King Solomon's mines. Under Canadian sway, law and order are preserved throughout this wide domain, although the Hudson's Bay Company officers still administer law and in many cases are magistrates or officers for the Government, receiving their commissions from Ottawa. Peace and order prevail; the arm of the law has been felt in Keewatin, the Mackenzie River, and distant Yukon. But it is to the fertile prairies of the West and valleys and slopes of the Pacific Coast we look for the extension of the Greater Canada. While the Hon. William McDougall was arguing the value of the prairie land of the West, his Canadian and other opponents maintained "that in the North-West the soil never thawed out in summer, and that the potato or cabbage would not mature." With this opinion many of the Hudson's Bay Company officers agreed, though it is puzzling to the resident of the prairie to-day to see how such honourable and observing men could have made such statements. The fertile plains have been divided into three great provinces, Manitoba (1871), Saskatchewan and Alberta (1905). Manitoba, which at the time of the closing of the Hudson's Bay Company régime numbered some 12,000 or 15,000 whites and half-breeds and as many more Indians, has (in 1909) a population of well-nigh half a million--the city of Winnipeg itself exceeding more than one quarter of that number. Saskatchewan and Alberta probably make up between them another half million of people in this prairie section. These being the three great bread-providing provinces of the Dominion, produced in 1909 on 297,000,000 of acres, which is but 8 per cent. of their total arable land, of wheat, oats, barley and flax, 132-1/3 million dollars' worth of cereals. The City of Winnipeg, which, when the writer first saw the hamlet bearing that name, had less than three hundred souls, has now become a beautiful city, which drew forth the admiration of the whole British Association on the occasion of their visit to it in 1909. Its assessment in 1910 was 157-3/5 millions of dollars, and the amount of building in that year reached 11,000,000 dollars. The city has under construction at Winnipeg River, fifty miles from the city, 60,000 horsepower of electric energy, which will be transmitted by cable to the city in 1911 for manufacturing purposes. Up till 1882 the Hudson's Bay Company store was a low building, a wooden erection made of lumber sawn by whip-saw or by some rude contrivance, having what was known in the old Red River days as a "pavilion roof." Its highly-coloured fabrics suited to the trade of the country did not relieve its dingy interior. To-day the Hudson's Bay Company departmental stores and offices, built of dark red St. Louis brick, speak of the enormous progress made in the development of the country. The Hudson's Bay Company store, great as it now is, has been equalled and even perhaps surpassed by private enterprises of great magnitude. Winnipeg, as being from its geographical position half way between the international boundary line and Lake Winnipeg, is the natural gateway between Eastern and Western Canada. It is becoming the greatest railway centre of Canada, and is familiarly spoken of as the "Chicago of Western Canada." It bids fair also to be a great manufacturing centre. In spite of its recent date and unfinished facilities for power its manufactured output has grown from 8-2/3 millions of dollars in 1900 to 25,000,000 in 1910. From 1902, when its bank clearings were 188-1/3 millions of dollars, these grew in 1909 to 770-2/3 millions. All this is not surprising when the marvellous immigration and consequent development is shown by the railway mileage of Western Canada, which has grown from 3,680 miles in 1900 to 11,472 miles in 1909; and when the annual product, chiefly of cattle and horses, reached in the latter year the sum of 175,000,000 of dollars. British Columbia, including the New Caledonia, Kootenay Country, and Vancouver Island of the fur-traders, is a land of great resources. Its population has increased many times over. Its great salmon fisheries, trade in timber, coal mines, agricultural productiveness, and genial climate have long made it a favourite dwelling-place for English-speaking colonists. [Illustration: PARLIAMENT BUILDINGS, VICTORIA, B.C. With statue of Capt. George Vancouver above; figures of Sir James Douglas and Chief Justice Begbie in niches; and the obelisk of Sir James Douglas, erected by the people of British Columbia.] In late years much prominence has been given to this province by the discovery of its mineral products. Gold, silver, and lead mines in the Kootenay region, which was discovered by old David Thompson, and in the Cariboo district, have lately attracted many immigrants to British Columbia; the adjoining territory of the Yukon, brought to the knowledge of the world by Chief Factor Robert Campbell, has surpassed all other parts of the fur-traders' land in rich productiveness, although the region lying between the Lake of the Woods and Lake Superior, along the very route of the fur-traders, is becoming famous by its production of gold, silver, and other valuable metals. Throughout the wide West great deposits of coal and iron are found, the basis of future manufactures, and in many districts great forests to supply to the world material for increasing development. What, then, is to be the future of this Canadian West? The possibilities are illimitable. The Anglo-Saxon race, with its energy and pluck, has laid hold of the land so long shut in by the wall built round it by the fur-traders. This race, with its dominating forcefulness, will absorb and harmonize elements coming from all parts of the world to enjoy the fertile fields and mineral treasures of a land whose laws are just, whose educational policy is thorough and progressive, whose moral and religious aspirations are high and noble, and which gives a hearty welcome to the industrious and deserving from all lands. The flow of population to the Canadian West during the first decade of this century has been remarkable. Not only has there been a vast British immigration of the best kind, but some 150,000 to 200,000 of industrious settlers from the continent of Europe have come to build the railways, canals, and public works of the country, and they have been essential for its agricultural development. Several hundreds of thousands of the best settlers have come from the United States, a large proportion of them being returned Canadians or the children of Canadians. On the shores of Burrard Inlet on the Pacific Ocean another place of great importance is rising--Vancouver City, the terminus of the Canadian Pacific Railway. Victoria, begun, as we have seen, by Chief Factor Douglas as the chief fort along the Pacific Coast, long held its own as the commercial as well as the political capital of British Columbia, but in the meantime Vancouver has surpassed it in population, if not in influence. All goes to show that the Hudson's Bay Company was preserving for the generations to come a most valuable heritage. The leaders of opinion in Canada have frequently, within the last five years of the century, expressed their opinion that the second generation of the twentieth century may see a larger Canadian population to the West of Lake Superior than will be found in the provinces of the East. William Cullen Bryant's lines, spoken of other prairies, will surely come true of the wide Canadian plains:-- "I listen long ... and think I hear The sound of that advancing multitude Which soon shall fill these deserts. From the ground Comes up the laugh of children, the soft voice Of maidens, and the sweet and solemn hymn Of Sabbath worshippers. The low of herds Blends with the rustling of the heavy grain Over the dark brown furrows." The French explorers are a reminiscence of a century and a half ago; the lords of the lakes and forests, with all their wild energy, are gone for ever; the Astorians are no more; no longer do the French Canadian voyageurs make the rivers vocal with their chansons; the pomp and circumstance of the emperor of the fur-traders has been resolved into the ordinary forms of commercial life; and the rude barter of the early trader has passed into the fulfilment of the poet's dream, of the "argosies of magic sails," and the "costly bales" of an increasing commerce. The Hudson's Bay Company still lives and takes its new place as one of the potent forces of the Canadian West. APPENDIX A. AUTHORITIES AND REFERENCES. (Chapters I.-VI.) Voyages among the North American Indians, 1652-84 (Prince Society). Histoire de l'Amérique Septentrionale, 1772, by M. Bacqueville de la Potherie. M. Jeremie. The British Empire in America, 2 vols. London, 1708. Anon. (John Oldmixon.) Minutes and Stock Book of Hudson's Bay Company, Hudson's Bay Company House, Lime Street, London. Imperial (Hudson's Bay Company) Blue Book, 1749. Memo. of Chief Justice Draper. Imperial Blue Book, 1857. Imperial Hudson's Bay Company Blue Book, 1857. Appendix 9. Stock Book of Hudson's Bay Company Offices, Lime Street, London. Documents, &c., on Boundaries. (Ottawa, 1871.) Hudson's Bay Company Statement of Rights, 1850. Documents, &c., on Boundaries. (Ottawa, 1871.) Documents of Early French Settlements. The materials for Chapters III. and IV. are almost exclusively obtained from the unpublished minutes of the Company, 1671-1690, at Hudson's Bay Company House, Lime Street, London. The material of Chapter V. is largely from the minutes and letter-books of the Company at the Hudson's Bay Company's House, Lime Street, London. The complete story of Radisson's life is now for the first time given to the world by the Author. Instructions to Sieur de Troyes. Documents, &c. Ottawa, 1871. N.Y. Hist. Collection. Vol. IX., p. 67. Massachusetts Archives, Boston. French Documents. Hist, de la Nouvelle France, par Marc L'Escarbot (1618). Minutes of Hudson's Bay Company, Lime Street, London. Bacqueville de la Potherie. Histoire de l'Amérique Septentrionale. Histoire du Canada, par F. X. Garneau. Letter-books of Hudson's Bay Company, Lime Street, London. (Chapters VII.-X.) Extracts from Treaty of Ryswick in Documents on Boundary. Ottawa, 1873. Minutes and Letter-book of Hudson's Bay Company. (London.) Extracts from Treaty of Utrecht, in Documents, &c., on Boundary. (Ottawa.) 1873. Letter-books of Hudson's Bay Company. (London.) Account of the Countries adjoining Hudson Bay, by Arthur Dobbs, Esq. London, 1744. Discovery of the N.-W. Passage. (Several authors. Ottawa Parliamentary Library.) Middleton. Reply to Arthur Dobbs, 1744. John Barrow--Voyages. A Voyage to Hudson Bay by the Dobbs galley and California, by Henry Ellis, Gentleman. London, 1748. Six Years' Residence in Hudson Bay, by Joseph Robson, late Surveyor, &c. London, 1759. Imperial Blue Book of Imperial Parliament relating to Hudson's Bay Company. 1749. N. Y. Hist. Coll., Vol. IX. pp. 205, 209. Archives de Paris, 2nd series, vol. IV. p. 263. Canadian Archives. Ottawa. Manuscripts Canadian Parl. Lib. (Ottawa. Third series, vol. 6.) Pierre Margry in Paris, Moniteur of 1852. Journal of Verendrye (original), 1738, Canadian Archives. (Ottawa.) De Bougainville's Memoir, given in Pierre Margry's Relations, &c. (Paris.) 1867. "Memoirs and Documents, &c." from Library, Paris. Five Volumes by Pierre Margry. (Chapters XI.-XIII.) Canadiens de l'Ouest. Joseph Tassé, 2 vols. (Montreal.) 1878. Papers of Governor Haldimand. Canadian Archives. (Ottawa.) Astoria. Washington Irving. Sketches of N.W. of America. Bishop Taché. (Montreal.) 1870. Travels and Adventures, &c., between 1760-1766. Alex. Henry, Senr., 1809. Alexander Mackenzie's Voyages. London, 1801. Memorial of North-West Traders. Canadian Archives. (Ottawa.) (Original.) Les Bourgeois du Nord-Ouest, par L. R. Masson. 2 vols., Quebec, 1889-90. A Journey from Prince of Wales Fort, in Hudson Bay, to the Northern Ocean, by Samuel Hearne. 4to. London: Strahan and Cadell, 1795. Voyage de la Perouse autour du Monde. 4 vols. 8vo. Paris, 1798. The Present State of Hudson Bay, by Edward Umfreville. Charles Stalker. London, 1796. Observations on Hudson Bay, by Andrew Graham, Factor. Presented to James Fitzgerald. (Manuscript, 1771.) Hudson's Bay Company House, London. (Chapters XIV.-XXII.) Voyages of Alexander Mackenzie. (History of Fur Trade.) London, 1801. 8vo. Haldimand Papers. Archives Dept. Ottawa. (Unpublished.) Umfreville. (Supra.) Masson's Bourgeois du Nord-Ouest. (Supra.) Journal of Alexander Henry. Manuscript. (Ottawa Library.) Journals of Alexander Henry and of David Thompson, by Elliott Coues. 3 vols. F. P. Harper. New York, 1897. The Columbia River, by Ross Cox. 2 vols. London: H. Colbren and N. Bentley, 1832. Simon Fraser's Journal, 1808. Masson. (Supra.) Voyage, 1811-14, by Gabriel Franchère. (Translation, New York, 1854.) Roderick McKenzie's Reminiscences. Masson. (Supra.) James McKenzie. George Keith. John McDonald of Garth. Masson. (Supra.) Journal, 1820, by Daniel Harmon. Andover. Letters of John Pritchard. Edited by Writer, published in Winnipeg. Charles McKenzie's Journeys. Masson. (Supra.) Malhiot's Journeys. Masson. (Supra.) Trader John Johnston, of Sault Ste. Marie. Masson. (Supra.) Duncan Cameron and Peter Grant. (Masson.) Astoria, by Washington Irving. Ross Cox. (Supra.) The Columbia River, by Alex. Ross, 1849. Journal of Gabriel Franchère. (Supra.) (Chapters XXIII.-XXVIII.) (_Selkirk Literature._) Highland Emigration, by Lord Selkirk (1805). Highland Clearances. Pamphlets, Advocates' Library, Edinburgh. Red River Settlement, by Alex. Ross. London: Smith, Elder & Co. Narrative of Destruction, &c. Archibald Macdonald, London, 1816. Narrative of Occurrences in N.A. Anon., London, 1817. Lord Selkirk's Settlement in N.A. Anon., London, 1817. Blue-book on Red River Settlement of Imperial House of Commons, 1819. Report of Canadian Trials, &c. A. Amos, London, 1820. Do. Do. Anon., Montreal. Memorial to Duke of Richmond. Earl of Selkirk, Montreal. Canadiens de l'Ouest, by Joseph Tassé. Diary of John McLeod, in Prov. Library, Winnipeg. (Unpublished.) Manitoba, by the Writer. London, 1882. (Chapters XXIX.-XXXI.) Minutes of Council Meetings in Norway House, in Hudson's Bay House, London, and in Toronto. (Unpublished.) Journey Round the World, by Governor Simpson, 1847. "Peace River," by Archibald Macdonald. Annotated by Malcolm McLeod, Ottawa. Peter Fidler's Will. Copy in possession of Writer. Hudson's Bay Company Land Tenures, by Mr. Justice Martin, Victoria, B.C. Journal of John McLeod. Parl. Library, Winnipeg. (Supra.) Wentzel's Journal. F. Masson. (Supra.) Journal of John Finlay. Manuscript, unpublished, property of Chief Factor MacDougall, Prince Albert, N.-W.T. Collection of 100 letters from many fur traders to Chief Factor James Hargrave. Curwen, Edinburgh. (Unpublished.) The Shoe and Canoe. London, 1850. Dr. J. Bigsby. Gabriel Franchère. (Supra.) Picturesque Canada. Toronto. Collection of letters in possession of Judge Ermatinger, St. Thomas, Ont. Letter of Judge Steere. Sault Ste. Marie. Songs of Dominion, by W. D. Lighthall. London, 1889. (Chapters XXXII.-XXXVI.) Journey to Polar Sea, 1819-22, by John Franklin. London, 1823. Second Journey, 1825-7. London, 1823. Arctic Expedition, 1829, by John and James Ross. Arctic Land Expedition, by George Back, 1836. Arctic Searching Expedition. 2 vols., 1851. Expedition to Shores of Arctic Sea, by John Rae, 1850. Arctic Voyages (several authors, Parl. Library, Ottawa). Travels, by Lewis and Clark, 3 vols. London, 1815. Travels on the Western Territories, 1805-7, by Zebulon M. Pike. Keating (and Long)'s Expedition, 2 vols., 1825. J. C. Beltrami. Pilgrimage of Discovery of Sources of Mississippi. London, 1828. Brewer (Cass and Schoolcraft), Sources of the Mississippi, published by Minn. Historical Society. J. H. Lefroy. Magnetic Survey. Journal of Explorations, by Palliser (and Hector). London, 1863. Narrative of the Canadian Exploring Expedition, by Hind (and Dawson), 2 vols., 1860. The North-West Passage by Land, by Milton and Cheadle. London, 1865. Ocean to Ocean, by G. M. Grant, 1873. Red River, by Alex. Ross. London, 1856. Captain Bulger's letters, published for private circulation, 1823. Notes on the Flood of Red River of 1852, by Bishop Anderson. Red River. J. J. Hargrave, Montreal, 1871. Parchment Roll, property of late George McTavish, Winnipeg. Journal of the Red River Country, by the Rev. John West. London, 1824. (Chapters XXXVII., XXXVIII.) Hudson Bay, by R. M. Ballantyne. London, 1848. Dr. Rae. (Supra.) Notes on 25 Years of Service, by John McLean. 2 vols. London, 1849. Ungava Bay, by R. M. Ballantyne. London, 1871. Explorations in Labrador, by H. Y. Hind, 1863. Moravian Missions. The important Chapter XXXVIII. was largely prepared by a Chief Factor of the Hudson's Bay Company, who had long served on the Mackenzie River. Chief Factor Campbell's discoveries were chiefly obtained from a journal of that officer now in the hands of his son, at Norway House. (Chapters XXXIX.-XLVII.) Bancroft's North-West Coast, 2 vols. San Francisco, 1884. History of British Columbia, 1890. Begg's History of British Columbia. Journal of Trader Ermatinger, property of Judge Ermatinger, St. Thomas, Ont. Chinook Jargon, by Horatio Hall. London, 1890. Todd, collection of letters belonging to Judge Ermatinger. (Supra.) Coues, Alex. Henry. (Supra.) Miles Macdonell's letters. Archives vol. Ottawa. Vingt Années de Missions, &c., by Bishop Taché, 1888. Rainbow of the North, by A.L.O.E. (Miss Tucker). Notes by Rev. John West. (Supra.) Red River, by Hargrave. (Supra.) Journey of Bishop of Montreal, 1844. Pub. 1849. Red River Settlement, by Alex. Ross. (Supra.) John Black, Apostle of Red River, by the Writer, 1898. Hudson Bay, by Rev. John Ryerson. Toronto, 1855. James Evans. Wm. Briggs, Toronto. Cree Syllabic. History of British Columbia. (Supra.) Hudson's Bay Territories, &c., by R. M. Fitzgerald and Martin. London, 1849. Indian Tribes. "Canada."--An Encyclopedia. Article by Writer. Bancroft's Tribes of the Pacific Coast. Imperial Government Blue-books, 1849-51. History of Manitoba, by Donald Gunn. Ottawa, 1880. Imperial Blue-book of 1857. Canada and the States, by Sir E. W. Watkin, London. Blue-books of Canada. Ermatinger letters. (Supra.) Begg's Creation of Manitoba. Toronto, 1871. Report of Donald A. Smith. Canadian Blue-book of 1871. Boulton's Reminiscences of the North-West Rebellion, by Major Boulton, 1886. Red River Troubles. Report of Canadian House of Commons. Facts and figures, from Hudson's Bay Company Offices. APPENDIX B. SUMMARY OF LIFE OF PIERRE ESPRIT RADISSON. A. EARLIER LIFE AND VOYAGES (1636-1663). I. _Birth and Immigration._ Pierre Esprit Radisson, born in Paris (afterwards lived at St. Malo) 1636 (Though some claim that he was born in 1620, this is incorrect, for in his petition read in the House of Commons, London, March 11th, 1698, he states that he is sixty-two years of age.) Arrived with his father's family in Canada, May (Settled at Three Rivers.) 1651 II. _Western Voyages._ First voyage to the Iroquois country (Captured by the Iroquois.) 1652 Escaped and fled to Holland 1653 Returned to Canada 1654 Second voyage to Onondaga 1657 Third voyage, visited Sioux and Assiniboines through the Mississippi country 1658-60 Returned to Montreal with 500 Indians 1660 Fourth voyage, to region north of Lake Superior 1661 Held great council with the Indians 1662 Leaves the country of the Crees and returns to Montreal 1663 III. _In English Service._ Quarrels with French Governor. Goes to Boston from Quebec 1664 Crosses to England 1665 Vessel engaged to go to Hudson Bay delayed 1666 Disturbed condition of England causes further delay 1667 _Eaglet_, on which Radisson embarked, did not reach Hudson Bay; _Nonsuch_, with Groseilliers on board, did 1668 _Nonsuch_ returns to England 1669 Hudson's Bay Company chartered through assistance of Groseilliers and Radisson 1670 Radisson first visits Hudson Bay 1670 Radisson returns and winters in London 1671 Radisson, with Captain Gillam, goes to Hudson Bay 1672 Returns to London and winters there 1673 IV. _Enters French Service._ Radisson and Groseilliers desert England for France, October 1674 Radisson goes on expedition to the Antilles Crosses under French auspices to Canada 1681 Goes to Hudson Bay on French ship 1682 Winters in Hudson Bay, captures Gillam's ship, and returns to Canada 1683 Crosses to France, and undertakes new expedition to Hudson Bay 1684 V. _Deserts France and returns to England._ Radisson joins English, and goes immediately to Hudson Bay, May 12th 1684 Seizes 20,000 furs from French and comes to London 1684 Sails again to Hudson Bay 1685 VI. _Further History._ Made a denizen of England 1687 Sails for Hudson Bay 1688 Receives share of the great dividend 1690 Sir John Young applies for increase of Radisson's allowance 1692 Radisson files a bill in Chancery against Company 1694 " petitions Parliament for consideration 1698 " applies to Company for position 1700 " receives last allowance from Company (probably his death) 1710 APPENDIX C. LIST OF HUDSON'S BAY COMPANY POSTS IN 1856, WITH THE SEVERAL DISTRICTS AND THE NUMBER OF INDIANS IN EACH. _Athabasca District_ (1,550)-- Fort Chipewyan. Dunvegan. Vermilion. Fond du Lac. _Mackenzie River District_ (10,430)-- Fort Simpson. Fort au Liard. Fort Halkett. Yukon. Peel's River. Lapierre's House. Fort Good Hope. Fort Rae. Fort Resolution. Big Island. Fort Norman. _English River District_ (1,370)-- Ile à la Crosse. Rapid River. Green Lake. Deer's Lake. Portage la Loche. _Saskatchewan District_ (28,050)-- Edmonton. Carlton. Fort Pitt. Rocky Mount House. Lac la Biche. Lesser Slave Lake. Fort Assiniboine. Jasper's House. Fort à la Corne. _Cumberland District_ (750)-- Cumberland House Moose Lake. The Pas. _Swan River District_ (2,200)-- Fort Pelly. Fort Ellice. Qu'Appelle Lakes. Shoal River. Touchwood Hills. Egg Lake. _Red River District_ (8,250, including half-breeds and whites)-- Fort Garry. Lower Fort Garry. White House Plain. Pembina. Manitoba. Reed Lake. _Lac la Pluie District_ (2,850)-- Fort Frances. Fort Alexander. Rat Portage. White Dog. Lac du Bonnet. Lac de Boisblanc. Shoal Lake. _Norway House District_ (1,080)-- Norway House. Berens River. Nelson River. _York District_ (1,500)-- York Factory. Churchill. Severn. Trout Lake. Oxford House. _Albany District_ (1,100)-- Albany Factory. Marten's Falls. Osnaburg. Lac Seul. _Kinogumissee District_ (400)-- Metawagamingue. Kuckatoosh. _Lake Superior District_ (1,330)-- Michipicoten. Batchewana. Mamainse. Pic. Long Lake. Lake Nipigon. Fort William. Pigeon River. Lac d'Orignal. _Lake Huron District_ (1,100)-- Lacloche. Little Current. Mississangie. Green Lake. Whitefish Lake. _Sault Ste. Marie District_ (150)-- Sault Ste. Marie. _Moose District_ (730)-- Moose Factory. Hannah Bay. Abitibi. New Brunswick. _East Main District_ (700)-- Great Whale River. Little Whale River. Fort George. _Rupert's River District_ (985)-- Rupert's House. Mistasini. Teniskamay. Waswonaby. Mechiskan. Pike Lake. Nitchequon. Kaniapiscow. _Temiscamingue District_ (1,030)-- Temiscamingue House. Grand Lac. Kakabeagino. Lake Nipissing. Hunter's Lodge. Temagamingue. _Fort Coulonge District_ (375)-- Lac des Allumettes. Joachin. Matawa. _Lac des Sables District_ (150)-- Buckingham. Rivière Desert. _Lachine District_-- Lachine House. _St. Maurice District_ (280)-- Three Rivers. Weymontachingue. Kikandatch. _King's Posts District_ (1,100)-- Tadoussac. Chicoutimé. Lake St. John's. Ile Jérémie. Godbout. Sepen Islands. _Mingan District_ (700)-- Mingan. Musquarro. Natosquan. _Esquimaux Bay District_ (500)-- North-West River. Fort Nascopie. Rigolette. Kikokok. _Columbia District_ (2,200)-- Fort Vancouver. Umpqua. Cape Disappointment. Chinook Point. Carveeman. Champoeg. Nisqually. Cowelitz. _Colville District_ (2,500)-- Fort Colville. Pend Oreilles River. Flat Heads. Kootenay. Okanagan. _Snake Country District_ (700)-- Walla Walla. Fort Hall. Fort Boisé. _Vancouver Island District_ (12,000)-- Fort Victoria. Fort Rupert. Nanaimo. _Fraser River District_ (4,000)-- Fort Langley. _N.W. Coast District_ (45,000)-- Fort Simpson. _Thomson River District_ (2,000)-- Kamloops. Fort Hope. _New Caledonia District_ (12,000)-- Stuart Lake. McLeod's Lake. Fraser's Lake. Alexandria. Fort George. Babines. Conolly's Lake. Honolulu (Sandwich Isles). _Total, 34 Districts_:-- Indians 149,060 Not enumerated 6,000 Eskimos 4,000 ------- Total 159,060 Less whites and half-breeds 10,000 ------- 149,060 In all under Hudson's Bay Company rule, about 150,000. APPENDIX D. LIST OF CHIEF FACTORS IN THE HUDSON'S BAY COMPANY SERVICE FROM THE COALITION OF 1821 TO THE YEAR 1896. NOTE.--Under the Deed Polls of 1821, 1834, and 1871, there were 263 commissioned officers, and it is estimated that their nationalities were as follows:-- French Canadian 11 Irish 22 English 59 Scotch 171 --- 263 --- 1821. Thomas Vincent. John MacDonald. John Thompson. James Bird. James Leith. John Haldane. Colin Robertson. Alexander Stewart. James Sutherland. John George McTavish. John Clarke. George Keith. John Dugald Cameron. John Charles. John Stuart. Alexander Kennedy. Edward Smith. John M'Loughlin. John Davis. James Keith. Joseph Beioly. Angus Bethune. Donald McKenzie. Alexander Christie. John McBean. 1823. William McIntosh. 1825. William Conolly. John Rowand. 1827. James McMillan. 1828. Allan McDonnell. John Lee Lewis. Peter Warren Dease. 1830. Roderick McKenzie, Senr. 1832. Duncan Finlayson. 1834. Peter S. Ogden. 1836. John P. Pruden. Alex. McLeod. 1838. John Faries. Angus Cameron. Samuel Black. 1840. James Douglas. Donald Ross. 1842. Archibald McDonald. 1844. Robert S. Miles. James Hargrave. 1845. Nicol Finlayson. 1846. John E. Harriott. John Work. John Sieveright. 1847. Murdo McPherson. George Barnston. 1848. John Ballenden. 1850. John Rae. William Sinclair. 1851. Hector McKenzie. William McTavish. Dugald McTavish. 1854. Edward H. Hopkins. John Swanston. John McKenzie. 1855. James Anderson. (A). 1856. William McNeill. William F. Tolmie. 1859. James Anderson. (B). Roderick Finlayson. 1860. William J. Christie. Charles Dodd. 1861. John M. Simpson. James A. Grahame. 1862. James R. Clare. Wemyss M. Simpson. Donald A. Smith. 1864. James S. Clouston. Joseph Gladman. 1866. William McMurray. 1867. Robert Campbell. Robert Hamilton. 1868. William L. Hardisty. Joseph W. Wilson. 1869. James G. Stewart. 1872. James Bissett. George S. McTavish. Richard Hardisty. 1873. Robert Crawford (Factor). William H. Watt (Factor). John MacIntyre (Factor). 1874. William Charles. John H. McTavish. Alexander Munro. 1875. Lawrence Clarke. R. MacFarlane. Roderick Ross (Factor). 1879. Peter Warren Bell. Joseph Fortescue. Colin Rankin. Archibald McDonald. Samuel K. Parson. James H. Lawson (Factor). Ewen MacDonald (Factor). Joseph J. Hargrave (Chief Trader). 1883. James L. Cotter. 1884. Julian S. Camsell. 1885. Horace Belanger. 1886. William H. Adams (Factor). 1887. James McDougall. 1888. Peter McKenzie. E. K. Beeston (Chief Trader). 1892. William Clark. W. S. Becher (Chief Trader). 1893. William K. Broughton. 1896. Alexander Matheson (Factor). APPENDIX E. RUSSIAN AMERICA (ALASKA). In 1825 Great Britain made a treaty with Russia as to the north-west coast of America. The boundary line that has since been a subject of much dispute with the United States, which bought out the rights of Russia, was thus laid down in the Treaty:-- III. "The line of demarcation between the possessions of the high contracting parties, upon the coast of the Continent and the islands of America to the north-west, shall be drawn in the manner following:--Commencing from the southernmost point of the island called Prince of Wales's Island, which point lies in the parallel of 54 degrees 40 minutes, north latitude, and between the 131st and 133rd degree of west longitude (meridian of Greenwich); the said line shall ascend to the north along the channel called Portland Channel, as far as the point of the Continent where it strikes the 56th degree of north latitude; from this last-mentioned point the line of demarcation shall follow the summits of the mountains situated parallel to the coast, as far as the point of intersection of the 141st degree of west longitude (of the same meridian); and finally, from the said point of intersection, the said meridian line of the 141st degree in its prolongation as far as the Frozen Ocean, shall form the limit between the Russian and British possessions on the Continent of America to the north-west. IV. "With reference to the line of demarcation laid down in the preceding article, it is understood:-- 1st. "That the island called Prince of Wales's Island shall belong wholly to Russia. 2nd. "That wherever the summit of the mountains which extend in a direction parallel to the coast, from the 56th degree of north latitude to the point of intersection of the 141st degree of west longitude, shall prove to be at the distance of more than ten marine leagues from the ocean, the limit between the British possessions and the line of coast which is to belong to Russia, as above mentioned, shall be formed by a line parallel to the windings of the coast, and which shall never exceed the distance of ten marine leagues therefrom." The Hudson's Bay Company, in the year following the Treaty, pushed their posts to the interior, and obtained a hold on the Indians from the coast inward. Making use of their privilege of ascending the river from the coast, they undertook to erect a post upon one of these rivers. This led the Russian American Fur Company to make a vigorous protest, and a long correspondence ensued on the matter. At length, in 1839, the Hudson's Bay Company, chiefly in order to gain access to their Indians of the interior, leased the strip of coast territory from Fort Simpson to Cross Sound for a period of ten years. The following is an extract from the agreement made February 6th, 1839, between the Hudson's Bay and Russian American Fur Companies:-- "The Russian Fur Company cede to the Hudson's Bay Company for a period of ten years, commencing June 1st, 1840, the coast (exclusive of the islands) and the interior country situated between Cape Spencer and latitude 54° 40´ or thereabouts for an annual rental of two thousand seasoned otters. "The Hudson's Bay Company agree to sell to the Russian Fur Company 2,000 otters taken on the west side of the mountains at the price of 23_s._ sterling per skin, and 3,000 seasoned otters taken on the east side of the Rocky Mountains at 32_s._ sterling per skin. The Hudson's Bay Company agree to sell to the Russian Fur Company 2,000 ferragoes (120 lbs. each) of wheat annually for a term of ten years, at the price of 10_s._ 9_d._ sterling per ferrago, also flour, peas, barley, salted beef, butter, and pork hams at fixed prices, under certain provisions. "The Hudson's Bay Company relinquish the claim preferred by them for damages sustained by them, arising from the obstruction presented by the Russian authorities to an expedition fitted out by the Hudson's Bay Company for entering the Stikine River." The agreement was continued after the expiration of ten years, but the rental fine changed from a supply of otters to a money payment of 1,500_l._ a year. The Hudson's Bay Company, as we have seen, pushed their posts down the Yukon River, and only withdrew them after Alaska, in 1867, passed into the possession of the United States. An officer of the Hudson's Bay Company, James McDougall, at present a chief factor of the Company, was the last in command of the Company posts in Alaska, and performed the duty of withdrawing them. APPENDIX F. THE CREE SYLLABIC CHARACTERS. I. INITIALS OR PRIMALS. [=a] [=e] [=o] ä II. SYLLABICS. p[=a] p[=e] p[=o] pä t[=a] t[=e] t[=o] tä ch[=a] ch[=e] ch[=o] chä k[=a] k[=e] k[=o] kä m[=a] m[=e] m[=o] mä n[=a] n[=e] n[=o] nä s[=a] s[=e] s[=o] sä y[=a] y[=e] y[=o] yä III. FINALS OR TERMINALS. = m = k = w = n = p = r = s = t = l = h = aspirate = ow = Christ EXAMPLES OF WORD FORMATION. = ma-n[=e]-t[=o] = spirit. = n[=e]-p[=e] = water. = o-m[=e]-m[=e] = the pigeon. = me-s-ta-t[=e]-m = horse (big dog). = n[=e]-pa-n = summer. = k[=a]-n[=a]-p[=a]-k = a snake. APPENDIX G. Key to Plate facing page 442. 5th ROW (_standing_) E.K. W.H. Murdoch Beeston, Adams, Matheson, _Jr. _Factor_. _Jr. Chief Chief Trader_. Trader_. 4th ROW (_standing_) W.J. Dr. W.M. Robert Wm. Jas. Arch. Alex. R. McLean, McKay, Campbell, Clark, McDougall, McDonald, Lillie, _Chief _Chief _Ex-Chief _Factor _Factor_ _Chief _Ex-Chief Trader_. Trader_. Trader_. (now (_now Factor_. Trader_. Chief Chief Factor)_. Factor_). 3rd ROW (_standing_) Cuthbert Jas. Colin Saml. K. Peter Rodk. Jas. L. W. F. Sinclair, Ander- Rankin, Parson, Bell, Mac- Lawson, Gaird- _Jr. son, _Chief _Chief _Chief farlane,_Factor_. ner, Chief _Jr. Factor._ Factor_. Factor_. _Chief _Jr. Trader_. Chief Factor_. Chief Trader_. Trader_. 2nd ROW (_sitting_) Alex. Alex. Thos. Richard Laurence Matheson, Munro, Smith, Hardisty, Clarke, _Chief _Chief _Assist. _Chief _Chief Trader_ Factor_. Commis- Factor_. Factor_. (_Now sioner_. Factor_). Commissioner Horace Joseph Belanger, Wrigley. _Chief Factor_. 1st ROW (_sitting_) David J.S. Joseph James L. James Armit, Camsell, Fortescue, Cotter, Alexander, _Jr. _Chief _Chief _Chief _Chief Chief Factor_. Factor_. Factor_. Factor_. Trader_. Commissioned Officers of H.B. Co. at Winnipeg Council 1887. INDEX "À la claire fontaine," 306. Albemarle, Duke of, 9. "Alouette," 312. Alliance, The Grand, 56. Allumette, 307. American Fur Company, 329. Anderson, A. C., 414. Arlington, Earl of, 9. Astor, John Jacob, 192. Astoria founded, 196. Assiniboia, Council of, 354. Assiniboine Indians, 87, 432. " Wool Company, 351. Athabasca, First Traders of, 97. " Lake and River, 383. BACK, Sir George, 317. Beaver Club, 190. _Beaver_, Ship, 200. Beaulieu, François, 127. Beltrami, J. C. (Explorer), 330. " Work of, 331. Black, Rev. John, Pioneer, 423. " Judge, 442. " Samuel, Trader, 402. Blackfeet Indians, 432. Blanshard, Governor, 414. Bois-brûlés turbulence, 219. Boothia Felix, Discovery of, 315. Boulton, Major, 467. Bourbon, Fort, 50, 52. Bourdon, Jean, 49. Bourke, Father, 417. Brandon House, 112. Brymner, Douglas, Archivist, 86. Buffalo Wool Company, 350. " hunting, 365. Bulger, Governor, 348. Butler, Capt. W. F., 343. Button, Sir Thomas, 48. CADIEUX'S lament, 308. Cadot, J. Baptiste, 91. Caldwell, Major, 440. _California_, Ship, 67. Calumet, 307. Campbell, Robert, 393 _et seq._ Cameron, Duncan, 181-184, 219, 262. " Murdoch, Fur Trader, 326. Canada Company, 2. Canadian Boat Song, 305. Canoe voyage by Gov. Simpson, 273-275. Cart and cayuse, 361. Cart trails, 362. Carver, Jonathan, 193. Cass, Lewis, Explorer, 331. Cauchon, Joseph, Memo. of, 447. Calvalcade, The Hunting, 366. Charter, H. B. C., 13 _et seq._ Charters, Royal, 12. Charles, Fort, 11. Chilkats, The, 394. Chimo, Fort, 377. Chinook jargon, 409. Chipewyan, Fort, 124, 126, 384. " Tribe, 432. Chipman, C. C., 470. Christie, Governor, 354. Christinos (Kris), 5, 6. Christy, Miller, 7. Churchill, Lord, Governor, 30. " " in Tower, 31. Church Societies on Red River, 422. Cochrane, Archdeacon, 299, 420. Colbert, M., 49. Colleton, Sir Peter, 9. Coltman, W. B., Commissioner, 252-4. Columbia, British, of to-day, 477. Colville, Gov. Eden, 423. Committee of 1857, 446. Company, The Northern, 50. Conolly, Trader, 400. Coppermine River discovered, 104. Councils of Traders, 271. Couture, William, 49. Cox, Ross, 200. Craven, Earl of, 9. Cree syllabic, 424. Cridge, Bishop, 426. Crofton, Col., 439. Crosby and Evans, Revs. 426. Cumberland, first house built, 97. Curry, Thomas, 93. DAER, Fort, 212, 225. Dallas, Gov. A. J., 449. Dawson, S. J., surveyor, 340. " Road, 341. Dease Lake, 393. " and Simpson, Arctic Explorers, 318. Deed Polls, Old and new, 452. D'Iberville, 52, 53. " Victory of, 53. Demers, Bishop, 426. De Meurons, 239. Denonville, Marquis de, 47. De Witt, Dutch Ambassador, 8. Dickson, Robert, Free Trader, 327. Dionne, Dr. N. E., 38. Dividends, Company, 24. Dobbs, Arthur, 62. _Dobbs_, Galley, 67. Douglas, Fort, 224, 226. " Sir James, 397. " David, botanist, 403. Draper, Chief Justice, 446. Duluth, Greysolon, 79. Duncan of Metlakahtla, 426. _Eaglet_, Ship, 10. Elgin, Lord, 429. Ellice, Hon. Edward, 268. Ellis, Henry, 68. Enterprise, Fort, 388. Ermatinger, Miss, 309. " Family, 309, 310. " Traders, 410. " Francis, 411. " Edward, 410, 454. Eskimos, 433. Evans, Rev. James, 424. FALCON, Pierre, 235. " (Song of Triumph), 235. " Translation, 236. " Sketch of, 266. Faribault, J. B., 326. Fidler, Peter, Sketch of, 282. " " Will of, 284. Finlay, John, Journal of, 291-294. Finlay, James, 93. Finlayson, Gov. D., 355. " Roderick, 408. Fleming and Grant, Expedition of, 344. Flax and Hemp Co., 351. Flood, Red River, 351. Fort William built, 155. " " description of, 155 _et seq._, 189. Franchère, Gabriel, 155, 201. Franklin, Sir John, 314. " " Search for, 320. " " " " by Dr. Rae, 321. Franklin, Sir John, Search for, by Capt. McClintock, 322. Fraser, Simon, 142 _et seq._ French half-breeds' petition, 440. " " turbulent, 1869, 458. French priests interfere, 460. GARRY, Fort, 355. " " camping-ground, 366. " " Lower, 353. Gibraltar, Fort, 189. " " destroyed, 226. Gillam, Capt. Zachariah, 10. Gold discovery in B.C., 415. Gonor, Father, 83. Good Hope, Fort, 390. Governors, Recent, 472. Graham, Andrew, Journal of, 108. Grand Portage, 95. Grant, Cuthbert, Senr., 120. " " Junr., 236. " P. (Historiographer), 184-7. Gravesend, 20. Gregory, McLeod and Co., 116. Groseilliers (Medard Chouart), 3, 33. Groseilliers, J. Baptiste, 37. HALF-BREEDS dissatisfied, 436. Halifax, Lord, 71. Hargrave, Jas., Letters of Traders, 294. Hargrave, Joseph, Work of, 294. Harmon, Daniel, 165-7. Hayes, Sir James, 36. Head, Gov. Edmund, 452. Hearne, Samuel, 99 _et seq._, 383. Hector, Dr. James, 337. Henry, Alex., Senr., 93. " " Jr., 169-173. Hills, Bishop, 426. Hind, H. Y., explorer, 340. Hudson, Henry, 48. Hudson Bay, Early Governors on, 22. Hudson Bay, Early Forts, 108. " " Bleak shore of, 373. " " House, 20. " " Co. Ships, 20. " " " Claims of, 54. " " " Stores, 470. Hunt, William, Astorian, 198. Hunting regulations, 368. INDIAN chiefs on Red River, 248. Indians and H. B. C., 429. " in debt, 429. " of B. C., 433. " loyal to Co., 434. Isbister, A. K., 437 _et seq._ JAMES, Capt., 48. Jamieson, Rev. Robert, 427. Johnson, Judge, 442. Johnston, John, Trader (Sault Ste. Marie), 179-181, 300. Johnston, Miss, 181. Jones, Rev. David, 300, 420. KAMINISTIQUIA, 94, 311. Kamloops rising, 403. Keating, W. H., Expedition of, 328. Keel and canoe, 359. Keith, George, Tales of, 160. Kelsey, Henry, 73. Kennedy and Bellot, Expedition of, 321. Keveny, Owen (Murdered), 254. King, Dr. Richard, 318. "King's Domains," 379. " Posts," 379. Kirke, Sir John, 20. LABRADOR, McLean on, 376. Lachine, 302. La France, Joseph, 67. Lefroy, Lieut. (Sir Henry), 335. " (Expedition), 335. Leith's bequest, 421. Le Moyne, The Brothers, 51. Lescarbot, 48. Lestane, The dastard, 466. Lewis and Clark, Expedition of, 324. Liard, River, 392. Lincolnshire farmers, 355. Locust visitation, 346. Long, Stephen H., Expedition of, 328. MCCALLUM, Rev. John, 420. Macdonell, Miles, 207. " Estimate of, 260. Macdonell, Alexander (Grasshopper Governor), 346. McDonald of Garth (autobiography), 161. " on the Pacific, 163. " Grand, 167. McDonnell, John, Diary, 169. McDougall, Duncan, Astorian, 194. " Hon. William, 455, 461. McGillies, Hugh, Free Trader, 327. Machray, Archbishop, 421. Mackay, Alexander, 127, 196. McKay, Trader, 311. Mackenzie, Alexander, 116, 123 _et seq._ Mackenzie, Alexander, 1st Voyage, 124. Mackenzie, Alexander, 2nd Voyage, 127 _et seq._ Mackenzie, Alexander, Book of, 130. Mackenzie, River, 388. McKenzie, Roderick, 158. McKenzie, James, Journals, 163, 379. McKenzie, Charles (Journey to Mandans), 174. McKenzie, Governor, Donald, 350. McLeod, Alex. Norman, 116. " John, Diary of, 221, 285. McLean, John, On Labrador, 377. McLoughlin, Chief Factor, 400. " Young (murdered), 406. McTavish, Simon, 115, 121. McTavish, Governor William, 449. " " (sick and weak), 458. Magnetic Pole, Discovery of, 315. " " and Capt. Kennedy, 317. Magnet Survey by Lefroy, 335. Malhiot, François V., 177-179. Mandans, 98, 325. Manitoba College, 424. Margry, Pierre, 81. Maurepas, River, 85. Metis, 442. Michilimackinac, 81. Middleton, Capt. C., 64 _et seq._ Milton and Cheadle, Explorations by, 342. Mingan, 379. Missouri Company, 193. Model Farms, 351. Montague, 8. Moravians in Labrador, 380. Mulgrave, Lord, 313. Muskegons (Crees), 431. NELSON, Port, 52. Nemisco, River, 10. Nepigon, 79. New England Company, 2. Nicola's Eloquence, 403. Nisbet, Rev. James, 424. Nonsuch Ketch, 10. North-West Company formed, 115. " " officers, 152. Nor'-Westers unite, 188-191. North-West Passage sought (early), 63. North-West Passage by Land, 343. Norman, Fort, 390. Norton, Moses, 111. Noue, De la, 80. OCHAGACH, 82. Oldmixon, 4. Oppression of Judge Thom, 436. Orkneymen, Early, 97. " vs. French Canadians, 271. Ottawa, 302. Ouinipegon, Lake, 88. PALEOCRYSTIC sea, 320. Pacific Fur Company, 193. Palliser, Capt. J., 337. Pambrun's story, 229-30. Pangman, Peter, 116, 286, 287. Parker, Gilbert, Novelist, 38. Peace River, 386. Peel's River Post, 391. Pelly, Governor, 350. " Gov. J. H., 438. Perouse on Hudson Bay, 106. Pigeon River, 95. Pike, Zebulon M., Explorer, 326. Plain hunters, 364. Pond, Peter, 97, 116, 119, 125. Portaging, 307. Portman, Mr., 20. Posts on Pacific, 416. Potherie, De la, 4. Prince Society, 39. Prince of Wales Fort taken, 106. Pritchard, John (lost), 172-174. " Story of, 230. " Estimate of, 265. "Pro pelle cutem," 19. Provencher, Bishop, 288, 296, 299, 418. Providence, Fort, 388. Prudhomme, Judge, 38. QUESNEL, JULES MAURICE, 143. RADISSON, PIERRE ESPRIT, 3, 33 _et seq._ Rae, Dr. John, Explorer, 321. Red River Plague, 356. " Rebellion, 460. Reine, de la, Fort, 88. Reinhart, Charles, prisoner, 254. Reliance, Fort, 389. Renville, Joseph, guide, 328. Resolution, Fort, 388. Riel, Elder, 441. " Younger, rebellion, 461. Rigolette, 381. Robertson, Colin, 226, 228. Roberval, Sieur de, 48. Robinson, Sir John, 9. Robson, Joseph, 75. Roches Percées, 338. Rocky Mt. Passes, 339. Rolling Ball, The, 303. Ross, Captain John, 315. " Alexander, 353. Rouge, Fort, 88. Rupert, Prince, 8. " " Sketch of, 27 _et seq._ " " River, 10. Ryswick, 56 _et seq._ " Treaty, Terms of, 57. STE. ANNE'S, 304. St. Charles, Fort, massacre, 86. St. James, Fort, outbreak, 398. St. John's College, 421. St. Pierre, Legardeur de, 89. Sargeant, Governor, 52. Saskatchewan River discovered, 89. Saulteaux Indians, 431. Sault Ste. Marie, 310. Sayer "rising," 441. Schoolcraft, H. R., Explorer, 332. " " discovers Lake Itasca, 333. Schultz, Dr., rescued, 444. Scoresby, Capt. W., 313. Scott, Thomas, executed, 467. Selkirk, Earl of, 202. " " purchases H.B.C. stock, 206. Selkirk, Earl of, on Emigration, 205. " " Colony to Prince Edward Island, 205. Selkirk, Earl of, colony to Red River, 208-213. Selkirk, Earl of, opposition to, 214. " " Rescue by, 237-242. " " Estimate of, 259. Semple, Governor, 225 _et seq._ Shagganappe, 362. Shelburne, Lord, 15, 323. Sherbrooke, Gov. Gen., 242, 251. Sieveright, Trader, 300. Simpson, Gov. G., 269, 297, 385, 410, 412. Simpson, Gov. G., knighted, 276. " " Voyage round the world, 277. Simpson, Lady, 280. " Fort, 389. " " on Pacific, 408. " Thos., death of, 320. Sinclair, a leader, 436. Slave Lake, 387. Sledge and packet, 357. Smith, Donald A., 381, 464. " William Robert, clerk, 444. South-West Fur Company, 193. Staines, Rev. Robert, 425. Stannard, Captain, 10. Status, present, of Co., 473. Stewart, Jas., rescued, 443. Stikine River, 393. Strathcona and Mt. Royal, Lord, 381, 475. Stuart, John, 142. Sturgeon Lake, Fort, built, 96. Sutherland James, catechist, 418. Swiss settlers, 347. " depart, 348. TACHÉ, Archbishop, 419, 468. Tallow Company, 351. Terms of Company's Transfer, 455. Thom, Recorder Adam, 355. Thompson, David, Astronomer, 132 _et seq._ Thorn, Captain, 195. Tod, John, Trader, 411. _Tonquin_, Ship, 195. Trade standards, Early, 22. Transcontinental journeys (early), 146. Trials, North-West, 255, 256. Troyes, Chevalier de, 50. Turner, Astronomer, 126. UMFREVILLE, Edw., 106, 113. Ungava, 377. Utrecht, Treaty of, 58. VANCOUVER, Fort, 397. " Given up, 413. " Island, Lease of, 414. " Colonization, 415. " City, 478. Verendrye, 82 _et seq._ Victoria, Fort, founded, 406. Vyner, Sir Robert, 9. WARK, Chief Trader, 413. Watkin, E. W., Scheme of, 451. Wedderburn, Fort, 384. Wendigo, The, 308. Wentzel, W. F., Story of, 289. " Opinions of, 291. West, Rev. John, 420. Western Sea, 79. _William and Ann_, Wreck of, 402. William III., Address to, 25. " Great dividend paid, 25. Winnipeg, City of, 476. Wolseley, Col., 468. Woods, Lake of, 84. X Y COMPANY, 147 _et seq._ " " Officers, 152. YORK, Duke of, 9. " " Made Governor, 29. " Factory, Description of, 374. Young, Sir William, 36. Yukon, Fort, 391. " Upper, Discovery of, 393. ZINZENDORF, Count, 380. PRINTED BY THE EAST OF ENGLAND PRINTING WORKS LONDON AND NORWICH +--------------------------------------------------------------------+ | Transcriber's Note: | | | | * Obvious punctuation and spelling errors repaired. Others | | are listed below. Original spelling and its variations were not | | standardized. | | | | * Word combinations that appeared with and without hyphens | | were changed to the predominant form if it could be determined, | | or to the hyphenated form if it could not. | | | | * Corrections in the spelling of names were made when those | | could be verified. Otherwise the variations were left as they | | were. | | | | * Footnotes were moved to the ends of the chapters in which they | | they belonged and numbered in one continuous sequence. | | | | * Variant forms retained and errors corrected: | | Athabasca or Athapuscow Lake (pp. 106, 386). Athapuscow is | | spelling in French texts. Both forms were retained. | | | | Philip 'Turner' changed to Philip 'Turnor' (p. 127). | | | | Astor 'brought' out changed to 'bought' out (p. 194). | | | | 'it the' grandest speech changed to 'it was the' grandest | | speech (p. 407). | | | | * Other notes: | | *Transcription of the Seven Oaks Monuments inscription (p. 232):| | | | SEVEN | | OAKS | | | | ERECTED IN 1891 | | BY THE | | MANITOBA HISTORICAL SOCIETY | | THROUGH THE GENEROSITY OF THE | | COUNTESS OF SELKIRK | | ON THE SITE OF SEVEN OAKS | | WHERE FELL | | GOVERNOR ROBERT SEMPLE AND | | TWENTY OF HIS OFFICERS AND MEN | | | | JUNE 19 1816 | | | | * "The map on page 384 should be consulted...." 384 | | changed to 388 (p. 386). | | | | * In Appendix B, page 490, the row "Radisson goes on expedition | | to the Antilles" is missing the date in the original. | | | +--------------------------------------------------------------------+ 
6913	----	and the online Distributed Proofing team. This file was produced from images generously made available by the Canadian Institute for Historical Microreproductions. The Publications of the Prince Society Established May 25th, 1858. RADISSON'S VOYAGES. VOYAGES OF PETER ESPRIT RADISSON, BEING AN ACCOUNT OF HIS TRAVELS AND EXPERIENCES AMONG THE NORTH AMERICAN INDIANS, FROM 1652 TO 1684. TRANSCRIBED FROM ORIGINAL MANUSCRIPTS IN THE BODLEIAN LIBRARY AND THE BRITISH MUSEUM. WITH HISTORICAL ILLUSTRATIONS AND AN INTRODUCTION, BY GIDEON D. SCULL, LONDON, ENGLAND. PREFACE. It may be regarded as a fortunate circumstance that we are able to add to the Society's publications this volume of RADISSON'S VOYAGES. The narratives contained in it are the record of events and transactions in which the author was a principal actor. They were apparently written without any intention of publication, and are plainly authentic and trustworthy. They have remained in manuscript more than two hundred years, and in the mean time appear to have escaped the notice of scholars, as not even extracts from them have, so far as we are aware, found their way into print. The author was a native of France, and had an imperfect knowledge of the English language. The journals, with the exception of the last in the volume, are, however, written in that language, and, as might be anticipated, in orthography, in the use of words, and in the structure of sentences, conform to no known standard of English composition. But the meaning is in all cases clearly conveyed, and, in justice both to the author and the reader, they have been printed _verbatim et literatim_, as in the original manuscripts. We desire to place upon record our high appreciation of the courtesy extended to the Editor of this volume by the governors of the Bodleian Library and of the British Museum, in allowing him to copy the original manuscripts in their possession. Our thanks likewise are here tendered to Mr. Edward Denham for the gratuitous contribution of the excellent index which accompanies the volume. EDMUND F. SLAFTER, _President of the Prince Society_. BOSTON, 249 BERKELEY STREET, November 20, 1885. TABLE OF CONTENTS. PREFACE INTRODUCTION FIRST VOYAGE OF PETER ESPRIT RADISSON SECOND VOYAGE, MADE IN THE UPPER COUNTRY OF THE IROQUOITS THIRD VOYAGE, MADE TO THE GREAT LAKE OF THE HURONS, UPPER SEA OF THE EAST, AND BAY OF THE NORTH FOURTH VOYAGE OF PETER ESPRIT RADISSON RELATION OF A VOYAGE TO THE NORTH PARTS OF AMERICA IN THE YEARS 1682 AND 1683 RELATION OF THE VOYAGE ANNO 1684 OFFICERS OF THE PRINCE SOCIETY THE PRINCE SOCIETY PUBLICATIONS OF THE PRINCE SOCIETY VOLUMES IN PREPARATION BY THE PRINCE SOCIETY INDEX INTRODUCTION. The author of the narratives contained in this volume was Peter Esprit Radisson, who emigrated from France to Canada, as he himself tells us, on the 24th day of May, 1651. He was born at St. Malo, and in 1656, at Three Rivers, in Canada, married Elizabeth, the daughter of Madeleine Hainault. [Footnote: Vide _History of the Ojibways_, by the Rev. E. D. Neill, ed. 1885.] Radisson says that he lived at Three Rivers, where also dwelt "my natural parents, and country-people, and my brother, his wife and children." [Footnote: The Abbe Cyprian Tanguay, the best genealogical authority in Canada, gives the following account of the family: Francoise Radisson, a daughter of Pierre Esprit, married at Quebec, in 1668, Claude Volant de St. Claude, born in 1636, and had eight children. Pierre and Claude, eldest sons, became priests. Francoise died in infancy: Marguerite married Noel le Gardeur; Francoise died in infancy; Etienne, born October 29, 1664, married in 1693 at Sorel, but seems to have had no issue. Jean Francois married Marguerite Godfrey at Montreal in 1701. Nicholas, born in 1668, married Genevieve Niel, July 30, 1696, and both died in 1703, leaving two of their five sons surviving. There are descendants of Noel le Gardeur who claim Radisson as their ancestor, and also descendants of Claude Volant, apparently through Nicholas. Among these descendants of the Volant family is the Rt. Rev. Joseph Thomas Duhamel, who was consecrated Bishop of Ottawa, Canada, October 28, 1874. Of Medard Chouart's descendants, no account of any of the progeny of his son Jean Baptiste, born July 25, 1654, can be found.] This brother, often alluded to in Radisson's narratives as his companion on his journeys, was Medard Chouart, "who was the son of Medard and Marie Poirier, of Charly St. Cyr, France, and in 1641, when only sixteen years old, came to Canada." [Footnote: Chouart's daughter Marie Antoinette, born June 7, 1661, married first Jean Jalot in 1679. He was a surgeon, born in 1648, and killed by the Iroquois, July 2, 1690. He was called Des Groseilliers. She had nine children by Jalot, and there are descendants from them in Canada. On the 19th December, 1695, she married, secondly, Jean Bouchard, by whom she had six children. The Bouchard-Dorval family of Montreal descends from this marriage. Vide _Genealogical Dictionary of Canadian Families_, Quebec, 1881.] He was a pilot, and married, 3rd September, 1647, Helen, the daughter of Abraham Martin, and widow of Claude Etienne. Abraham Martin left his name to the celebrated Plains of Abraham, near Quebec. She dying in 1651, Chouart married, secondly, at Quebec, August 23, 1653, the sister of Radisson, Margaret Hayet, the widow of John Veron Grandmenil. In Canada, Chouart acted as a donne, or lay assistant, in the Jesuit mission near Lake Huron. He left the service of the mission about 1646, and commenced trading with the Indians for furs, in which he was very successful. With his gains he is supposed to have purchased some land in Canada, as he assumed the seigneurial title of "Sieur des Groseilliers." Radisson spent more than ten years trading with the Indians of Canada and the far West, making long and perilous journeys of from two to three years each, in company with his brother-in-law, Des Groseilliers. He carefully made notes during his wanderings from 1652 to 1664, which he afterwards copied out on his voyage to England in 1665. Between these years he made four journeys, and heads his first narrative with this title: "The Relation of my Voyage, being in Bondage in the Lands of the Irokoits, which was the next year after my coming into Canada, in the yeare 1651, the 24th day of May." In 1652 a roving band of Iroquois, who had gone as far north as the Three Rivers, carried our author as a captive into their country, on the banks of the Mohawk River. He was adopted into the family of a "great captayne who had killed nineteen men with his own hands, whereof he was marked on his right thigh for as many as he had killed." In the autumn of 1653 he accompanied the tribe in his village on a warlike incursion into the Dutch territory. They arrived "the next day in a small brough of the Hollanders," Rensselaerswyck, and on the fourth day came to Fort Orange. Here they remained several days, and Radisson says: "Our treaty's being done, overladened with bootyes abundantly, we putt ourselves in the way that we came, to see again our village." At Fort Orange Radisson met with the Jesuit Father, Joseph Noncet, who had also been captured in Canada by the Mohawks and taken to their country. In September he was taken down to Fort Orange by his captors, and it is mentioned in the Jesuit "Relations" of 1653, chapter iv., that he "found there a young man captured near Three Rivers, who had been ransomed by the Dutch and acted as interpreter." A few weeks after the return of the Indians to their village, Radisson made his escape alone, and found his way again to Fort Orange, from whence he was sent to New Amsterdam, or Menada, as he calls it. Here he remained three weeks, and then embarked for Holland, where he arrived after a six weeks' voyage, landing at Amsterdam "the 4/7 of January, 1654. A few days after," he says, "I imbarqued myself for France, and came to Rochelle well and safe." He remained until Spring, waiting for "the transport of a shipp for New France." The relation of the second journey is entitled, "The Second Voyage, made in the Upper Country of the Irokoits." He landed in Canada, from his return voyage from France, on the 17th of May, 1654, and on the 15th set off to see his relatives at Three Rivers. He mentions that "in my absence peace was made betweene the French and the Iroquoits, which was the reson I stayed not long in a place. The yeare before the ffrench began a new plantation in the upper country of the Iroquoits, which is distant from the Low Iroquoits country some four score leagues, wher I was prisoner and been in the warrs of that country.... At that very time the Reverend Fathers Jesuits embarked themselves for a second time to dwell there and teach Christian doctrine. I offered myself to them and was, as their custome is, kindly accepted. I prepare meselfe for the journey, which was to be in June, 1657." Charlevoix [Footnote: _Charlevoix's History of New France_, Shea's ed., Vol. II. p. 256.] says: "In 1651 occurred the almost complete destruction of the Huron nation. Peace was concluded in 1653. Father Le Moyne went in 1654, to ratify the treaty of peace, to Onondaga, and told the Indians there he wished to have his cabin in their canton. His offer was accepted, and a site marked out of which he took possession. He left Quebec July 2, 1654, and returned September 11. In 1655 Fathers Chaumont and Dablon were sent to Onondaga, and arrived there November 5, and began at once to build a chapel. [Footnote: _Charlevoix's Hist. of New France_, Shea's ed., Vol. II. p. 263.] "Father Dablon, having spent some months in the service of the mission at Onondaga, was sent back to Montreal, 30 March, 1656, for reinforcements. He returned with Father Francis le Mercier and other help. They set out from Quebec 7 May, 1656, with a force composed of four nations: French, Onondagas, Senecas, and a few Hurons. About fifty men composed the party. Sieur Dupuys, an officer of the garrison, was appointed commandant of the proposed settlement at Onondaga. On their arrival they at once proceeded to erect a fort, or block-house, for their defence. "While these things were passing at Onondaga, the Hurons on the Isle Orleans, where they had taken refuge from the Iroquois, no longer deeming themselves secure, sought an asylum in Quebec, and in a moment of resentment at having been abandoned by the French, they sent secretly to propose to the Mohawks to receive them into their canton so as to form only one people with them. They had no sooner taken this step than they repented; but the Mohawks took them at their word, and seeing that they endeavored to withdraw their proposition, resorted to secret measures to compel them to adhere to it." [Footnote: _Ibid._, Vol. II. p.278.] The different families of the Hurons held a council, and "the Attignenonhac or Cord family resolved to stay with the French; the Arendarrhonon, or Rock, to go to Onondaga; and the Attignaonanton, or Bear, to join the Mohawks." [Footnote: _Relation Nouvelle France_, 1657 and _Charlevoix_, Shea's ed., Vol. II. p 280.] "In 1657 Onondagas had arrived at Montreal to receive the Hurons and take them to their canton, as agreed upon the year previous." [Footnote: _Charlevoix_, Shea's ed., Vol. III. p. 13.] Some Frenchmen and two Jesuits were to accompany them. One of the former was Radisson, who had volunteered; and the two Jesuits were Fathers Paul Ragueneau and Joseph Inbert Duperon. The party started on their journey in July, 1657. The relation of this, the writer's second voyage, is taken up entirely with the narrative of their journey to Onondaga, his residence at the mission, and its abandonment on the night of the 20th of March, 1658. On his way thither he was present at the massacre of the Hurons by the Iroquois, in August, 1657. His account of the events of 1657 and 1658, concerning the mission, will be found to give fuller details than those of Charlevoix, [Footnote: _Ibid_., Vol. III. p. 13.] and the Jesuit relations written for those years by Father Ragueneau. Radisson, in concluding his second narrative, says: "About the last of March we ended our great and incredible dangers. About fourteen nights after we went downe to the Three Rivers, where most of us stayed. A month after, my brother and I resolves to travell and see countreys. Wee find a good opportunity in our voyage. We proceeded three years; during that time we had the happiness to see very faire countreys." He says of the third voyage: "Now followeth the Auxoticiat, or Auxotacicae, voyage into the great and filthy lake of the hurrons upper sea of the East and bay of the North." He mentions that "about the middle of June, 1658, we began to take leave of our company and venter our lives for the common good." Concerning the third voyage, Radisson states above, "wee proceeded three years." The memory of the writer had evidently been thrown into some confusion when recording one of the historical incidents in his relation, as he was finishing his narrative of the fourth journey. At the close of his fourth narrative, on his return from the Lake Superior country, where he had been over three years, instead of over two, as he mentions, he says: "You must know that seventeen ffrenchmen made a plott with four Algonquins to make a league with three score Hurrons for to goe and wait for the Iroquoits in the passage." This passage was the Long Sault, on the Ottawa river, where the above seventeen Frenchmen were commanded by a young officer of twenty-five, Adam Dollard, Sieur des Ormeaux. The massacre of the party took place on May 21, 1660, and is duly recorded by several authorities; namely, Dollier de Casson [Footnote: _Histoire de Montreal, Relation de la Nouvelle France_, 1660, p. 14.], M. Marie [Footnote: _De l'Incarnation_, p. 261.], and Father Lalemont [Footnote: _Journal_, June 8, 1660.]. As Radisson has placed the incident in his manuscript, he would make it appear as having occurred in May, 1664. He writes: "It was a terrible spectacle to us, for wee came there eight dayes after that defeat, which saved us without doubt." He started on this third journey about the middle of June, 1658, and it would therefore seem he was only absent on it two years, instead of over three, as he says. Charlevoix gives the above incident in detail. [Footnote: Shea's edition, Vol. III. p. 33, n.] During the third voyage Radisson and his brother-in-law went to the Mississippi River in 1658/9. He says, "Wee mett with severall sorts of people. Wee conversed with them, being long time in alliance with them. By the persuasion of som of them wee went into the great river that divides itself in two where the hurrons with some Ottanake and the wild men that had warrs with them had retired.... The river is called the forked, because it has two branches: the one towards the West, the other towards the South, which we believe runs towards Mexico, by the tokens they gave." They also made diligent inquiry concerning Hudson's Bay, and of the best means to reach that fur-producing country, evidently with a view to future exploration and trade. They must have returned to the Three Rivers about June 1, 1660. Radisson says: "Wee stayed att home att rest the yeare. My brother and I considered whether we should discover what we have seen or no, and because we had not a full and whole discovery which was that we have not ben in the bay of the north (Hudson's Bay), not knowing anything but by report of the wild Christinos, we would make no mention of it for feare that those wild men should tell us a fibbe. We would have made a discovery of it ourselves and have an assurance, before we should discover anything of it." In the fourth narrative he says: "The Spring following we weare in hopes to meet with some company, having ben so fortunat the yeare before. Now during the winter, whether it was that my brother revealed to his wife what we had seene in our voyage and what we further intended, or how it came to passe, it was knowne so much that the ffather Jesuits weare desirous to find out a way how they might gett downe the castors from the bay of the North, by the Sacques, and so make themselves masters of that trade. They resolved to make a tryall as soone as the ice would permitt them. So to discover our intentions they weare very earnest with me to ingage myselfe in that voyage, to the end that my brother would give over his, which I uterly denied them, knowing that they could never bring it about." They made an application to the Governor of Quebec for permission to start upon this their fourth voyage; but he refused, unless they agreed to certain hard conditions which they found it impossible to accept. In August they departed without the Governor's leave, secretly at midnight, on their journey, having made an agreement to join a company of the nation of the Sault who were about returning to their country, and who agreed to wait for them two days in the Lake of St. Peter, some six leagues from Three Rivers. Their journey was made to the country about Lake Superior, where they passed much of their time among the nations of the Sault, Fire, Christinos (Knisteneux), Beef, and other tribes. Being at Lake Superior, Radisson says they came "to a remarkable place. It's a banke of Rocks that the wild men made a Sacrifice to,... it's like a great portall by reason of the beating of the waves. The lower part of that opening is as bigg as a tower, and grows bigger in the going up. There is, I believe, six acres of land above it; a shipp of 500 tuns could passe by, soe bigg is the arch. I gave it the name of the portail of St. Peter, because my name is so called, and that I was the first Christian that ever saw it." Concerning Hudson's Bay, whilst they were among the Christinos at Lake Assiniboin, Radisson mentions in his narrative that "being resolved to know what we heard before, we waited untill the Ice should vanish." The Governor was greatly displeased at the disobedience of Radisson and his brother-in-law in going on their last voyage without his permission. On their return, the narrative states, "he made my brother prisoner for not having obeyed his orders; he fines us L. 4,000 to make a fort at the three rivers, telling us for all manner of satisfaction that he would give us leave to put our coat of armes upon it; and moreover L. 6,000 for the country, saying that wee should not take it so strangely and so bad, being wee were inhabitants and did intend to finish our days in the same country with our relations and friends.... Seeing ourselves so wronged, my brother did resolve to go and demand justice in France." Failing to get restitution, they resolved to go over to the English. They went early in 1665 to Port Royal, Nova Scotia, and from thence to New England, where they engaged an English or New England ship for a trading adventure into Hudson's Straits in 61 deg. north. This expedition was attempted because Radisson and Des Groseilliers, on their last journey to Lake Superior, "met with some savages on the lake of Assiniboin, and from them they learned that they might go by land to the bottom of Hudson's Bay, where the English had not been yet, at James Bay; upon which they desired them to conduct them thither, and the savages accordingly did it. They returned to the upper lake the same way they came, and thence to Quebec, where they offered the principal merchants to carry ships to Hudson's Bay; but their project was rejected. Des Groseilliers then went to France in hopes of a more favorable hearing at Court; but after presenting several memorials and spending a great deal of time and money, he was answered as he had been at Quebec, and the project looked upon as chimerical." [Footnote: Oldmixon, Vol. I. p. 548.] This voyage to Hudson's Straits proved unremunerative. "Wee had knowledge and conversation with the people of those parts, but wee did see and know that there was nothing to be done unlesse wee went further, and the season of the year was far spent by the indiscretion of our Master." Radisson continues: "Wee were promissed two shipps for a second voyage." One of these ships was sent to "the Isle of Sand, there to fish for Basse to make oyle of it," and was soon after lost. In New England, in the early part of the year 1665, Radisson and Des Groseilliers met with two of the four English Commissioners who were sent over by Charles II in 1664 to settle several important questions in the provinces of New York and New England. They were engaged in the prosecution of their work in the different governments from 1664 to 1665/6. The two Frenchmen, it appears, were called upon in Boston to defend themselves in a lawsuit instituted against them in the courts there, for the annulling of the contract in the trading adventure above mentioned, whereby one of the two ships contracted for was lost. The writer states, that "the expectation of that ship made us loose our second voyage, which did very much discourage the merchants with whom wee had to do; they went to law with us to make us recant the bargaine that wee had made with them. After wee had disputed a long time, it was found that the right was on our side and wee innocent of what they did accuse us. So they endeavoured to come to an agreement, but wee were betrayed by our own party. "In the mean time the Commissioners of the King of Great Britain arrived in that place, & one of them would have us goe with him to New York, and the other advised us to come to England and offer ourselves to the King, which wee did." The Commissioners were Colonel Richard Nicolls, Sir Robert Carr, Colonel George Cartwright, and Samuel Mavericke. Sir Robert Carr wished the two Frenchmen to go with him to New York, but Colonel George Cartwright, erroneously called by Radisson in his manuscript "Cartaret," prevailed upon them to embark with him from Nantucket, August 1, 1665. On this voyage Cartwright carried with him "all the original papers of the transactions of the Royal Commissioners, together with the maps of the several colonies." They had also as a fellow passenger George Carr, presumably the brother of Sir Robert, and probably the acting secretary to the Commission. Colonel Richard Nicolls, writing to Secretary Lord Arlington, July 31, 1665, Says, "He supposes Col. Geo. Cartwright is now at sea." George Carr, also writing to Lord Arlington, December 14, 1665, tells him that "he sends the transactions of the Commissioners in New England briefly set down, each colony by itself. The papers by which all this and much more might have been demonstrated were lost in obeying His Majesty's command by keeping company with Captain Pierce, who was laden with masts; for otherwise in probability we might have been in England ten days before we met the Dutch 'Caper,' who after two hours' fight stripped and landed us in Spain. Hearing also some Frenchmen discourse in New England of a passage from the West Sea to the South Sea, and of a great trade of beaver in that passage, and afterwards meeting with sufficient proof of the truth of what they had said, and knowing what great endeavours have been made for the finding out of a North Western passage, he thought them the best present he could possibly make His Majesty, and persuaded them to come to England. Begs His Lordship to procure some consideration for his loss, suffering, and service." Colonel Cartwright, upon his capture at Sea by the Dutch "Caper," threw all his despatches and papers overboard. No doubt the captain of the Dutch vessel carefully scrutinized the papers of Radisson and his brother-in-law, and, it may be, carried off some of them; for there is evidence in one part at least of the former's narration of his travels, of some confusion, as the writer has transposed the date of one important and well-known event in Canadian history. It is evident that the writer was busy on his voyage preparing his narrative of travels for presentation to the King. Towards the conclusion of his manuscript he says: "We are now in the passage, and he that brought us, which was one of the Commissioners called Collonell George Cartaret, was taken by the Hollanders, and wee arrived in England in a very bad time for the plague and the warrs. Being at Oxford, wee went to Sir George Cartaret, who spoke to His Majesty, who gave good hopes that wee should have a shipp ready for the next Spring, and that the King did allow us forty shillings a week for our maintenance, and wee had chambers in the town by his order, where wee stayed three months. Afterwards the King came to London and sent us to Windsor, where wee stayed the rest of the winter." Charles II., with his Court, came to open Parliament and the Courts of Law at Oxford, September 25, 1665, and left for Hampton Court to reside, January 27, 1666. Radisson and Des Groseilliers must have arrived there about the 25th of October. DeWitt, the Dutch statesman, and Grand Pensionary of the States of Holland from 1652, becoming informed by the captain of the Dutch "Caper" of the errand of Radisson and his companion into England, despatched an emissary to that country in 1666 to endeavor to entice them out of the English into the service of the Dutch. Sir John Colleton first brought the matter before the notice of Lord Arlington in a letter of November 12th. The agent of DeWitt was one Elie Godefroy Touret, a native of Picardy, France, and an acquaintance of Groseilliers. Touret had lived over ten years in the service of the Rhinegrave at Maestricht. Thinking it might possibly aid him in his design, he endeavored to pass himself off in London as Groseilliers' nephew. One Monsieur Delheure deposed that Groseilliers "always held Touret in suspicion for calling himself his nephew, and for being in England without employment, not being a person who could live on his income, and had therefore avoided his company as dangerous to the State. Has heard Touret say that if his uncle Groseilliers were in service of the States of Holland, he would be more considered than here, where his merits are not recognised, and that if his discovery were under the protection of Holland, all would go better with him." On the 21st of November a warrant was issued to the Keeper of the Gate House, London, "to take into custody the person of Touret for corresponding with the King's enemies." On the 23d of December Touret sent in a petition to Lord Arlington, bitterly complaining of the severity of his treatment, and endeavored to turn the tables upon his accuser by representing that Groseilliers, Radisson, and a certain priest in London tried to persuade him to join them in making counterfeit coin, and for his refusal had persecuted and entered the accusation against him. To Des Groseilliers and Radisson must be given the credit of originating the idea of forming a settlement at Hudson's Bay, out of which grew the profitable organization of the Hudson's Bay Company. They obtained through the English Ambassador to France an interview with Prince Rupert, and laid before him their plans, which had been before presented to the leading merchants of Canada and the French Court. Prince Rupert at once foresaw the value of such an enterprise, and aided them in procuring the required assistance from several noblemen and gentlemen, to fit out in 1667 two ships from London, the "Eagle," Captain Stannard, and the "Nonsuch," ketch, Captain Zechariah Gillam. This Gillam is called by Oldmixon a New Englander, and was probably the same one who went in 1664/5 with Radisson and Groseilliers to Hudson's Strait on the unsuccessful voyage from Boston. Radisson thus alludes to the two ships that were fitted out in London by the help of Prince Rupert and his associates. The third year after their arrival in England "wee went out with a new Company in two small vessels, my brother in one and I in another, and wee went together four hundred leagues from the North of Ireland, where a sudden greate storme did rise and put us asunder. The sea was soe furious six or seven hours after, that it did almost overturne our ship. So that wee were forced to cut our masts rather then cutt our lives; but wee came back safe, God be thanked; and the other, I hope, is gone on his voyage, God be with him." Captain Gillam and the ketch "Nonsuch," with Des Groseilliers, proceeded on their voyage, "passed thro Hudson's Streights, and then into Baffin's Bay to 75 deg. North, and thence Southwards into 51 deg., where, in a river afterwards called Prince Rupert river, He had a friendly correspondence with the natives, built a Fort, named it Charles Fort, and returned with Success." [Footnote: Oldmixon, _British Empire_, ed. 1741, Vol. I. p. 544] When Gillam and Groseilliers returned, the adventurers concerned in fitting them out "applied themselves to Charles II. for a patent, who granted one to them and their successors for the Bay called Hudson's Streights." [Footnote: _Ibid._, Vol. I. p. 545.] The patent bears date the 2d of May, in the twenty-second year of Charles II., 1670. In Ellis's manuscript papers [Footnote: _Ibid_., Vol. V. p.319] has been found the following original draft of an "answer of the Hudson's Bay Company to a French paper entitled Memoriall justifieing the pretensions of France to Fort Bourbon." 1696/7. "The French in this paper carrying their pretended right of Discovery and settlement no higher then the year 1682, and their being dispossessed in 1684. Wee shall briefly shew what sort of possession that was, and how those two actions were managed. Mr. Radisson, mentioned in the said paper to have made this settlement for the French at Port Nelson in 1682, was many years before settled in England, and marryed an English wife, Sir John Kirke's daughter, and engaged in the interest and service of the English upon private adventure before as well as after the Incorporation of the Hudson's Bay Company. In 1667, when Prince Rupert and other noblemen set out two shipps, Radisson went in the Eagle, Captain Stannard commander, and in that voyage the name of Rupert's river was given. Again in 1668 and in 1669, and in this voyage directed his course to Port Nelson, and went on shore with one Bayly (designed Governor for the English), fixed the King of England's arms there, & left some goods for trading. In 1671 three ships were set out from London by the Hudson's Bay Company, then incorporated, and Radisson went in one of them in their service, settled Moose River, & went to Port Nelson, where he left some goods, and wintered at Rupert's River. In 1673, upon some difference with the Hudson's Bay Company, Radisson returned into France and was there persuaded to go to Canada. He formed severall designs of going on private accounts for the French into Hudson's Bay, which the Governor, Monsr. Frontenac, would by no means permitt, declaring it would break the union between the two Kings." Oldmixon says [Footnote: Oldmixon, Vol. I. p. 549.] that the above-mentioned Charles Baily, with whom went Radisson and ten or twenty men, took out with him Mr. Thomas Gorst as his secretary, who at his request kept a journal, which eventually passed into the possession of Oldmixon. The following extracts give some idea of the life led by the fur-traders at the Fort: "They were apprehensive of being attacked by some Indians, whom the French Jesuits had animated against the English and all that dealt with them. The French used many artifices to hinder the natives trading with the English; they gave them great rates for their goods, and obliged Mr Baily to lower the price of his to oblige the Indians who dwelt about Moose river, with whom they drove the greatest trade. The French, to ruin their commerce with the natives, came and made a settlement not above eight days' journey up that river from the place where the English traded. 'Twas therefore debated whether the Company's Agents should not remove from Rupert's to Moose river, to prevent their traffick being interrupted by the French. On the 3d of April, 1674, a council of the principal persons in the Fort was held, where Mr Baily, the Governor, Captain Groseilliers, and Captain Cole were present and gave their several opinions. The Governor inclined to move. Captain Cole was against it, as dangerous, and Captain Groseilliers for going thither in their bark to trade. [Footnote: Oldmixon, Vol. I. p. 552.] ... The Governor, having got everything ready for a voyage to Moose river, sent Captain Groseilliers, Captain Cole, Mr Gorst, and other Indians to trade there. They got two hundred and fifty skins, and the Captain of the Tabittee Indians informed them the French Jesuits had bribed the Indians not to deal with the English, but to live in friendship with the Indian nations in league with the French.... The reason they got no more peltry now was because the Indians thought Groseilliers was too hard for them, and few would come down to deal with him." [Footnote: Oldmixon, Vol. I. p. 554.] After Captain Baily [Footnote: _Ibid._, Vol. I. p. 555.] had returned from a voyage in his sloop to trade to the fort, "on the 30th Aug a missionary Jesuit, born of English parents, arrived, bearing a letter from the Governor of Quebec to Mr Baily, dated the 8th of October, 1673. "The Governor of Quebec desired Mr Baily to treat the Jesuit civilly, on account of the great amity between the two crowns. Mr Baily resolved to keep the priest till ships came from England. He brought a letter, also, for Capt Groseilliers, which gave jealousy to the English of his corresponding with the French. His son-in-law lived in Quebec, and had accompanied the priest part of the way, with three other Frenchmen, who, being afraid to venture among strange Indians, returned.... Provisions running short, they were agreed, on the 17th Sept, they were all to depart for Point Comfort, to stay there till the 22d, and then make the best of their way for England. In this deplorable condition were they when the Jesuit, Capt Groseilliers, & another papist, walking downwards to the seaside at their devotions, heard seven great guns fire distinctly. They came home in a transport of joy, told their companions the news, and assured them it was true. Upon which they fired three great guns from the fort to return the salute, though they could ill spare the powder upon such an uncertainty." The ship "Prince Rupert" had arrived, with Captain Gillam, bringing the new Governor, William Lyddel, Esq. Groseilliers and Radisson, after remaining for several years under the Hudson's Bay Company, at last in 1674 felt obliged to sever the connection, and went over again to France. Radisson told his nephew in 1684 that the cause was "the refusal, that showed the bad intention of the Hudson's Bay Company to satisfy us." Several influential members of the committee of direction for the Company were desirous of retaining them in their employ; among them the Duke of York, Prince Rupert their first Governor, Sir James Hayes, Sir William Young, Sir John Kirke, and others; but it is evident there was a hostile feeling towards Radisson and his brother-in-law on the part of several members of the committee, for even after his successful expedition in 1684 they found "some members of the committee offended because I had had the honour of making my reverence to the King and to his Royal Highness." From 1674 to 1683, Radisson seems to have remained stanch in his allegiance to Louis XIV. In his narrative of the years 1682 and 1683 he shews that Colbert endeavored to induce him to bring his wife over into France, it would appear to remain there during his absence in Hudson's Bay, as some sort of security for her husband's fidelity to the interests of the French monarch. After his return from this voyage in 1683 he felt himself again unfairly treated by the French Court, and in 1684, as he relates in his narrative, he "passed over to England for good, and of engaging myself so strongly to the service of his Majesty, and to the interests of the Nation, that any other consideration was never able to detach me from it." We again hear of Radisson in Hudson's Bay in 1685; and this is his last appearance in public records or documents as far as is known. A Canadian, Captain Berger, states that in the beginning of June, 1685, "he and his crew ascended four leagues above the English in Hudson's Bay, where they made a Small Settlement. On the 15th of July they set out to return to Quebec. On the 17th they met with a vessel of ten or twelve guns, commanded by Captain Oslar, on board of which was the man named Bridgar, the Governor, who was going to relieve the Governor at the head of the Bay. He is the same that Radisson brought to Quebec three years ago in the ship Monsieur de la Barre restored to him. Berger also says he asked a parley with the captain of Mr Bridgar's bark, who told him that Radisson had gone with Mr Chouart, his nephew, fifteen days ago, to winter in the River Santa Theresa, where they wintered a year." [Footnote: _New York Colonial Documents_, Vol. IX.] After this date the English and the French frequently came into hostile collision in Hudson's Bay. In 1686 King James demanded satisfaction from France for losses inflicted upon the Company. Then the Jesuits procured neutrality for America, and knew by that time they were in possession of Fort Albany. In 1687 the French took the "Hayes" sloop, an infraction of the treaty. In 1688 they took three ships, valued, in all, at L. 15,000; L. 113,000 damage in time of peace. In 1692 the Company set out four ships to recover Fort Albany, taken in 1686. In 1694 the French took York, alias Fort Bourbon. In 1696 the English retook it from them. On the 4th September, 1697, the French retook it and kept it. The peace was made September 20, 1697. [Footnote: _Minutes Relating to Hudson's Bay Company_.] In 1680 the stock rose from L. 100 to near L. 1,000. Notwithstanding the losses sustained by the Company, amounting to L. 118,014 between 1682 and 1688, they were able to pay in 1684 the shareholders a dividend of fifty per cent. Radisson brought home in 1684 a cargo of 20,000 beaver skins. Oldmixon says, "10,000 Beavers, in all their factories, was one of the best years of Trade they ever had, besides other peltry." Again in 1688 a dividend of fifty per cent was made, and in 1689 one of twenty-five per cent. In 1690, without any call being made, the stock was trebled, while at the same time a dividend of twenty-five per cent was paid on the increased or newly created stock. At the Peace of Utrecht, in 1713, the forts captured by the French in 1697 were restored to the Company, who by 1720 had again trebled their capital, with a call of only ten per cent. After a long and fierce rivalry with the Northwest Fur Company, the two companies were amalgamated in 1821. [Footnote: Encyclopaedia Britannica.] Radisson commences his narrative of 1652 in a reverent spirit, by inscribing it "a la plus grande gloire de Dieu." All his manuscripts have been handed down in perfect preservation. They are written out in a clear and excellent handwriting, showing the writer to have been a person of good education, who had also travelled in Turkey and Italy, and who had been in London, and perhaps learned his English there in his early life. The narrative of travels between the years 1652 and 1664 was for some time the property of Samuel Pepys, the well-known diarist, and Secretary of the Admiralty to Charles II. and James II. He probably received it from Sir George Cartaret, the Vice-Chamberlain of the King and Treasurer of the Navy, for whom it was no doubt carefully copied out from his rough notes by the author, So that it might, through him, be brought under the notice of Charles II. Some years after the death of Pepys, in 1703, his collection of manuscripts was dispersed and fell into the hands of various London tradesmen, who bought parcels of it to use in their shops as waste-paper. The most valuable portions were carefully reclaimed by the celebrated collector, Richard Rawlinson, who in writing to his friend T. Rawlins, from. "London house, January 25th, 1749/50," says: "I have purchased the best part of the fine collection of Mr Pepys, Secretary to the Admiralty during the reigns of Charles 2d and James 2d. Some are as old as King Henry VIII. They were collected with a design for a Lord High Admiral such as he should approve; but those times are not yet come, and so little care was taken of them that they were redeemed from _thus et adores vendentibus_." The manuscript containing Radisson's narrative for the years 1682 and 1683 was "purchased of Rodd, 8th July, 1839," by the British Museum. The narrative in French, for the year 1684, was bought by Sir Hans Sloane from the collection of "Nicolai Joseph Foucault, Comitis Consistoriani," as his bookplate informs us. With the manuscript this gentleman had bound up in the same volume a religious treatise in manuscript, highly illuminated, in Italian, relating to some of the saints of the Catholic Church. [Footnote: I am under obligations to Mr. John Gilmary Shea for valuable information.] VOYAGES OF PETER ESPRIT RADISSON. _The Relation of my Voyage, being in Bondage in the Lands of the Irokoits, which was the next yeare after my coming into Canada, in the yeare 1651, the 24th day of May._ Being persuaded in the morning by two of my comrades to go and recreat ourselves in fowling, I disposed myselfe to keepe them Company; wherfor I cloathed myselfe the lightest way I could possible, that I might be the nimbler and not stay behinde, as much for the prey that I hoped for, as for to escape the danger into which wee have ventered ourselves of an enemy the cruelest that ever was uppon the face of the Earth. It is to bee observed that the french had warre with a wild nation called Iroquoites, who for that time weare soe strong and so to be feared that scarce any body durst stirre out either Cottage or house without being taken or kill'd, [Footnote: In 1641-1645 Father Vimont writes: "I had as lief be beset by goblins as by the Iroquois. The one are about as invisible as the other. Our people on the Richelieu and at Montreal are kept in a closer confinement than ever were monks or nuns in our smallest convents in France."] saving that he had nimble limbs to escape their fury; being departed, all three well armed, and unanimiously rather die then abandon one another, notwithstanding these resolutions weare but young mens deboasting; being then in a very litle assurance and lesse security. At an offspring of a village of three Rivers we consult together that two should go the watter side, the other in a wood hardby to warne us, for to advertise us if he accidentaly should light [upon] or suspect any Barbars in ambush, we also retreat ourselves to him if we should discover any thing uppon the River. Having comed to the first river, which was a mile distant from our dwellings, wee mett a man who mett a man who kept cattell, and asked him if he had knowne any appearance of Ennemy, and likewise demanded which way he would advise us to gett better fortune, and what part he spied more danger; he guiding us the best way he could, prohibiting us by no means not to render ourselves att the skirts of the mountains; ffor, said he, I discovered oftentimes a multitude of people which rose up as it weare of a sudaine from of the Earth, and that doubtless there weare some enemys that way; which sayings made us looke to ourselves and charge two of our fowling peeces with great shot the one, and the other with small. Priming our pistols, we went where our fancy first lead us, being impossible for us to avoid the destinies of the heavens; no sooner tourned our backs, but my nose fell ableeding without any provocation in the least. Certainly it was a warning for me of a beginning of a yeare and a half of hazards and of miseryes that weare to befall mee. We did shoot sometime and killed some Duks, which made one of my fellow travellers go no further. I seeing him taking such a resolution, I proferred some words that did not like him, giving him the character of a timourous, childish humor; so this did nothing prevaile with him, to the Contrary that had with him quite another isue then what I hoped for; ffor offending him with my words he prevailed so much with the others that he persuaded them to doe the same. I lett them goe, laughing them to scorne, beseeching them to helpe me to my fowles, and that I would tell them the discovery of my designes, hoping to kill meat to make us meate att my retourne. I went my way along the wood some times by the side of the river, where I finde something to shute att, though no considerable quantitie, which made me goe a league off and more, so I could not go in all further then St. Peeter's, which is nine mile from the plantation by reason of the river Ovamasis, which hindered me the pasage. I begun'd to think att my retourne how I might transport my fowle. I hide one part in a hollow tree to keep them from the Eagles and other devouring fowles, so as I came backe the same way where before had no bad incounter. Arrived within one halfe a mile where my comrades had left me, I rested awhile by reason that I was looden'd with three geese, tenn ducks, and one crane, with some teales. After having layd downe my burden uppon the grasse, I thought to have heard a noise in the wood by me, which made me to overlook my armes; I found one of my girdle pistols wette. I shott it off and charged it againe, went up to the wood the soffliest I might, to discover and defend myselfe the better against any surprise. After I had gone from tree to tree some 30 paces off I espied nothing; as I came back from out of the wood to an adjacent brooke, I perceived a great number of Ducks; my discovery imbouldened me, and for that there was a litle way to the fort, I determined to shute once more; coming nigh preparing meselfe for to shute, I found another worke, the two young men that I left some tenne houres before heere weare killed. Whether they came after mee, or weare brought thither by the Barbars, I know not. However [they] weare murthered. Looking over them, knew them albeit quite naked, and their hair standing up, the one being shott through with three boulletts and two blowes of an hatchett on the head, and the other runne thorough in severall places with a sword and smitten with an hatchett. Att the same instance my nose begun'd to bleed, which made me afraid of my life; but withdrawing myselfe to the watter side to see if any body followed mee, I espied twenty or thirty heads in a long grasse. Mightily surprized att the view, I must needs passe through the midst of them or tourne backe into the woode. I slipped a boullet uppon the shott and beate the paper into my gunne. I heard a noise, which made me looke on that side; hopeing to save meselfe, perswading myselfe I was not yet perceived by them that weare in the medow, and in the meane while some gunns weare lett off with an horrid cry. Seeing myselfe compassed round about by a multitude of dogges, or rather devils, that rose from the grasse, rushesse, and bushesse, I shott my gunne, whether un warrs or purposly I know not, but I shott with a pistolle confidently, but was seised on all sids by a great number that threw me downe, taking away my arme without giving mee one blowe; ffor afterwards I felt no paine att all, onely a great guidinesse in my heade, from whence it comes I doe not remember. In the same time they brought me into the wood, where they shewed me the two heads all bloody. After they consulted together for a while, retired into their boats, which weare four or five miles from thence, and wher I have bin a while before. They layed mee hither, houlding me by the hayre, to the imbarking place; there they began to errect their cottages, which consisted only of some sticks to boyle their meate, whereof they had plenty, but stuncke, which was strange to mee to finde such an alteration so sudaine. They made [me] sitt downe by. After this they searched me and tooke what I had, then stripped me naked, and tyed a rope about my middle, wherin I remained, fearing to persist, in the same posture the rest of the night. After this they removed me, laughing and howling like as many wolves, I knowing not the reason, if not for my skin, that was soe whit in respect of theirs. But their gaping did soone cease because of a false alarme, that their Scout who stayed behind gave them, saying that the ffrench and the wild Algongins, friends to the ffrench, came with all speed. They presently put out the fire, and tooke hould of the most advantageous passages, and sent 25 men to discover what it meant, who brought certaine tydings of assurance and liberty. In the meanewhile I was garded by 50 men, who gave me a good part of my cloathes. After kindling a fire againe, they gott theire supper ready, which was sudenly don, ffor they dresse their meat halfe boyled, mingling some yallowish meale in the broath of that infected stinking meate; so whilst this was adoing they combed my head, and with a filthy grease greased my head, and dashed all over my face with redd paintings. So then, when the meat was ready, they feeded me with their hod-pot, forcing me to swallow it in a maner. My heart did so faint at this, that in good deede I should have given freely up the ghost to be freed from their clawes, thinking every moment they would end my life. They perceived that my stomach could not beare such victuals. They tooke some of this stinking meate and boyled it in a cleare watter, then mingled a litle Indian meale put to it, which meale before was tossed amongst bourning sand, and then made in powder betwixt two rocks. I, to shew myselfe cheerfull att this, swallowed downe some of this that seemed to me very unsavoury and clammie by reason of the scume that was upon the meat. Having supped, they untyed mee, and made me lye betwixt them, having one end of one side and one of another, and covered me with a red Coverlet, thorough which I might have counted the starrs. I slept a sound sleep, for they awaked me uppon the breaking of the day. I dreamed that night that I was with the Jesuits at Quebuc drinking beere, which gave me hopes to be free sometimes, and also because I heard those people lived among Dutch people in a place called Menada [Footnote: _Menada_, Manhattan, or New Netherlands, called by the French of Canada "Manatte."], and fort of Orang, where without doubt I could drinke beere. I, after this, finding meselfe somewhat altered, and my body more like a devil then anything else, after being so smeared and burst with their filthy meate that I could not digest, but must suffer all patiently. Finally they seemed to me kinder and kinder, giving me of the best bitts where lesse wormes weare. Then they layd [me] to the watter side, where there weare 7 and 30 boats, ffor each of them imbark'd himselfe. They tyed me to the barre in a boat, where they tooke at the same instance the heads of those that weare killed the day before, and for to preserve them they cutt off the flesh to the skull and left nothing but skin and haire, putting of it into a litle panne wherein they melt some grease, and gott it dry with hot stones. They spread themselves from off the side of the river a good way, and gathered together againe and made a fearfull noise and shott some gunns off, after which followed a kind of an incondit singing after nots, which was an oudiousom noise. As they weare departing from thence they injoyned silence, and one of the Company, wherein I was, made three shouts, which was answered by the like maner from the whole flocke; which done they tooke their way, singing and leaping, and so past the day in such like. They offered mee meate; but such victuals I reguarded it litle, but could drinke for thirst. My sperit was troubled with infinite deale of thoughts, but all to no purpose for the ease of my sicknesse; sometimes despairing, now againe in some hopes. I allwayes indeavoured to comfort myselfe, though half dead. My resolution was so mastered with feare, that at every stroake of the oares of these inhumans I thought it to be my end. By sunsett we arrived att the Isles of Richelieu, a place rather for victors then for captives most pleasant. There is to be seen 300 wild Cowes together, a number of Elks and Beavers, an infinit of fowls. There we must make cottages, and for this purpose they imploy all together their wits and art, ffor 15 of these Islands are drowned in Spring, when the floods begin to rise from the melting of the snow, and that by reason of the lowness of the land. Here they found a place fitt enough for 250 men that their army consisted [of]. They landed mee & shewed mee great kindnesse, saying Chagon, which is as much [as] to say, as I understood afterwards, be cheerfull or merry; but for my part I was both deafe and dumb. Their behaviour made me neverthelesse cheerfull, or att least of a smiling countenance, and constraine my aversion and feare to an assurance, which proved not ill to my thinking; ffor the young men tooke delight in combing my head, greasing and powdering out a kinde of redd powder, then tying my haire with a redd string of leather like to a coard, which caused my haire to grow longer in a short time. The day following they prepared themselves to passe the adjacent places and shoote to gett victualls, where we stayed 3 dayes, making great cheere and fires. I more and more getting familiarity with them, that I had the liberty to goe from cottage, having one or two by mee. They untyed mee, and tooke delight to make me speake words of their language, and weare earnest that I should pronounce as they. They tooke care to give me meate as often as I would; they gave me salt that served me all my voyage. They also tooke the paines to put it up safe for mee, not takeing any of it for themselves. There was nothing else but feasting and singing during our abode. I tooke notice that our men decreased, ffor every night one other boate tooke his way, which persuaded mee that they went to the warrs to gett more booty. The fourth day, early in the morning, my Brother, viz., he that tooke me, so he called me, embarked me without tying me. He gave me an oare, which I tooke with a good will, and rowed till I sweate againe. They, perceaving, made me give over; not content with that I made a signe of my willingnesse to continue that worke. They consent to my desire, but shewed me how I should row without putting myselfe into a sweat. Our company being considerable hitherto, was now reduced to three score. Mid-day wee came to the River of Richlieu, where we weare not farre gon, but mett a new gang of their people in cottages; they began to hoop and hollow as the first day of my taking. They made me stand upright in the boat, as they themselves, saluting one another with all kindnesse and joy. In this new company there was one that had a minde to doe me mischiefe, but prevented by him that tooke me. I taking notice of the fellow, I shewed him more friendshipe. I gott some meate roasted for him, and throwing a litle salt and flower over it, which he finding very good tast, gave it to the rest as a rarity, nor did afterwards molest mee. They tooke a fancy to teach mee to sing; and as I had allready a beginning of their hooping, it was an easy thing for me to learne, our Algonquins making the same noise. They tooke an exceeding delight to heare mee. Often have I sunged in French, to which they gave eares with a deepe silence. We passed that day and night following with litle rest by reason of their joy and mirth. They lead a dance, and tyed my comrades both their heads att the end of a stick and hopt it; this done, every one packt and embarked himselfe, some going one way, some another. Being separated, one of the boats that we mett before comes backe againe and approaches the boat wherein I was; I wondered, a woman of the said company taking hould on my haire, signifying great kindnesse. Shee combs my head with her fingers and tyed my wrist with a bracelett, and sunged. My wish was that shee would proceed in our way. After both companys made a shout wee separated, I was sorry for this woman's departure, ffor having shewed me such favour att her first aspect, doubtlesse but shee might, if neede required, saved my life. Our journey was indifferent good, without any delay, which caused us to arrive in a good and pleasant harbour. It was on the side of the sand where our people had any paine scarce to errect their cottages, being that it was a place they had sejourned [at] before. The place round about [was] full of trees. Heare they kindled a fire and provided what was necessary for their food. In this place they cutt off my hair in the front and upon the crowne of the head, and turning up the locks of the haire they dab'd mee with some thicke grease. So done, they brought me a looking-glasse. I viewing myselfe all in a pickle, smir'd with redde and black, covered with such a cappe, and locks tyed up with a peece of leather and stunked horridly, I could not but fall in love with myselfe, if not that I had better instructions to shun the sin of pride. So after repasting themselves, they made them ready for the journey with takeing repose that night. This was the time I thought to have escaped, ffor in vaine, ffor I being alone feared least I should be apprehended and dealt with more violently. And moreover I was desirous to have seene their country. Att the sun rising I awaked my brother, telling him by signes it was time to goe. He called the rest, but non would stirre, which made him lye downe againe. I rose and went to the water side, where I walked awhile. If there weare another we might, I dare say, escape out of their sight. Heere I recreated myselfe running a naked swoord into the sand. One of them seeing mee after such an exercise calls mee and shews me his way, which made me more confidence in them. They brought mee a dish full of meate to the water side. I began to eat like a beare. In the mean time they imbark'd themselves, one of them tooke notice that I had not a knife, brings me his, which I kept the rest of the voyage, without that they had the least feare of me. Being ready to goe, saving my boat that was ammending, which was soone done. The other boats weare not as yett out of sight, and in the way my boat killed a stagg. They made me shoot att it, and not quite dead they runed it thorough with their swoords, and having cutt it in peeces, they devided it, and proceeded on their way. At 3 of the clock in the afternoone we came into a rappid streame, where we weare forced to land and carry our Equipages and boats thorough a dangerous place. Wee had not any encounter that day. Att night where we found cottages ready made, there I cutt wood as the rest with all dilligence. The morning early following we marched without making great noise, or singing as accustomed. Sejourning awhile, we came to a lake 6 leagues wide, about it a very pleasant country imbellished with great forests. That day our wild people killed 2 Bears, one monstrous like for its biggnesse, the other a small one. Wee arrived to a fine sandy bancke, where not long before many Cabbanes weare errected and places made where Prisoners weare tyed. In this place our wild people sweated after the maner following: first heated stones till they weare redd as fire, then they made a lantherne with small sticks, then stoaring the place with deale trees, saving a place in the middle whereinto they put the stoanes, and covered the place with severall covers, then striped themselves naked, went into it. They made a noise as if the devil weare there; after they being there for an hour they came out of the watter, and then throwing one another into the watter, I thought veryly they weare insensed. It is their usual Custome. Being comed out of this place, they feasted themselves with the two bears, turning the outside of the tripes inward not washed. They gave every one his share; as for my part I found them [neither] good, nor savory to the pallet. In the night they heard some shooting, which made them embark themselves speedily. In the mean while they made me lay downe whilst they rowed very hard. I slept securely till the morning, where I found meselfe in great high rushes. There they stayed without noise. From thence wee proceeded, though not without some feare of an Algonquin army. We went on for some dayes that lake. Att last they endeavoured to retire to the woods, every one carrying his bundle. After a daye's march we came to a litle river where we lay'd that night. The day following we proceeded on our journey, where we mett 2 men, with whome our wild men seemed to be acquainted by some signes. These 2 men began to speake a longe while. After came a company of women, 20 in number, that brought us dry fish and Indian corne. These women loaded themselves, after that we had eaten, like mules with our baggage. We went through a small wood, the way well beaten, untill the evening we touched a place for fishing, of 15 Cabbans. There they weare well received but myselfe, who was stroaken by a yong man. He, my keeper, made a signe I should to him againe. I tourning to him instantly, he to me, taking hould of my haire, all the wild men came about us, encouraging with their Cryes and hands, which encouraged me most that non helpt him more then mee. Wee clawed one another with hands, tooth, and nailes. My adversary being offended I have gotten the best, he kick't me; but my french shoes that they left mee weare harder then his, which made him [give up] that game againe. He tooke me about the wrest, where he found himselfe downe before he was awarre, houlding him upon the ground till some came and putt us asunder. My company seeing mee free, began to cry out, giving me watter to wash me, and then fresh fish to relish me. They encouraged me so much, the one combing my head, the other greasing my haire. There we stayed 2 dayes, where no body durst trouble me. In the same Cabban that I was, there has bin a wild man wounded with a small shott. I thought I have seen him the day of my taking, which made me feare least I was the one that wounded him. He knowing it to be so had shewed me as much charity as a Christian might have given. Another of his fellowes (I also wounded) came to me att my first coming there, whom I thought to have come for reveng, contrarywise shewed me a cheerfull countenance; he gave mee a box full of red paintings, calling me his brother. I had not as yett caryed any burden, but meeting with an ould man, gave me a sacke of tobacco of 12 pounds' weight, bearing it uppon my head, as it's their usuall custome. We made severall stayes the day by reason of the severall encounters of their people that came from villages, as warrs others from fishing and shooting. In that journey our company increased, among others a great many Hurrons that had bin lately taken, and who for the most part are as slaves. We lay'd in the wood because they would not goe into their village in the night time. The next day we marched into a village where as wee came in sight we heard nothing but outcryes, as from one side as from the other, being a quarter of a mile from the village. They satt downe and I in the midle, where I saw women and men and children with staves and in array, which put me in feare, and instantly stripped me naked. My keeper gave me a signe to be gone as fast as I could drive. In the meane while many of the village came about us, among which a good old woman, and a boy with a hatchet in his hand came near mee. The old woman covered me, and the young man tooke me by the hand and lead me out of the company. The old woman made me step aside from those that weare ready to stricke att mee. There I left the 2 heads of my comrades, and that with comforted me yet I escaped the blowes. Then they brought me into their Cottage; there the old woman shewed me kindnesse. Shee gave me to eate. The great terror I had a litle before tooke my stomack away from me. I stayed an hower, where a great company of people came to see mee. Heere came a company of old men, having pipes in their mouthes, satt about me. After smoaking, they lead me into another cabban, where there weare a company all Smoaking; they made [me] sitt downe by the fire, which made [me] apprehend they should cast me into the said fire. But it proved otherwise; for the old woman followed mee, Speaking aloud, whom they answered with a loud ho, then shee tooke her girdle and about mee shee tyed it, so brought me to her cottage, and made me sitt downe in the same place I was before. Then shee began to dance and sing a while, after [she] brings downe from her box a combe, gives it to a maide that was neare mee, who presently comes to greas and combe my haire, and tooke away the paint that the fellows stuck to my face. Now the old woman getts me some Indian Corne toasted in the fire. I tooke paines to gether it out of the fire; after this shee gave me a blew coverlett, stokins and shoos, and where with to make me drawers. She looked in my cloathes, and if shee found any lice shee would squeeze them betwixt her teeth, as if they had ben substantiall meate. I lay'd with her son, who tooke me from those of my first takers, and gott at last a great acquaintance with many. I did what I could to gett familiarity with them, yeat I suffered no wrong att their hands, taking all freedom, which the old woman inticed me to doe. But still they altered my face where ever I went, and a new dish to satisfy nature. I tooke all the pleasures imaginable, having a small peece at my command, shooting patriges and squerells, playing most part of the day with my companions. The old woman wished that I would make meselfe more familiar with her 2 daughters, which weare tolerable among such people. They weare accustomed to grease and combe my haire in the morning. I went with them into the wilderness, there they would be gabling which I could not understand. They wanted no company but I was shure to be of the number. I brought all ways some guifts that I received, which I gave to my purse-keeper and refuge, the good old woman. I lived 5 weeks without thinking from whence I came. I learned more of their maners in 6 weeks then if I had bin in ffrance 6 months. Att the end I was troubled in minde, which made her inquire if I was Anjonack, a Huron word. Att this I made as if I weare subported for speaking in a strang language, which shee liked well, calling me by the name of her son who before was killed, Orinha, [Footnote: Called _Orimha_, over-leaf.] which signifies ledd or stone, without difference of the words. So that it was my Lordshippe. Shee inquired [of] mee whether I was Asserony, a french. I answering no, saying I was Panugaga, that is, of their nation, for which shee was pleased. My father feasted 300 men that day. My sisters made me clean for that purpos, and greased my haire. My mother decked me with a new cover and a redd and blew cappe, with 2 necklace of porcelaine. My sisters tyed me with braceletts and garters of the same porcelaine. My brother painted my face, and [put] feathers on my head, and tyed both my locks with porcelaine. My father was liberall to me, giving me a garland instead of my blew cap and a necklace of porcelaine that hung downe to my heels, and a hattchet in my hand. It was hard for me to defend myselfe against any encounter, being so laden with riches. Then my father made a speech shewing many demonstrations of vallor, broak a kettle full of Cagamite [Footnote: _Cagamite, Cagaimtie, Sagamite_, a mush made of pounded Indian corn boiled with bits of meat or fish.] with a hattchett So they sung, as is their usual coustom. They weare waited on by a sort of yong men, bringing downe dishes of meate of Oriniacke, [Footnote: _Oriniacke, Auriniacks, horiniac_, the moose, the largest species of deer. Called by the French writers-- Sagard-Theodat, La Hontan, and Charlevoix--_Eslan, Orinal_, or _Orignal_.] of Castors, and of red deer mingled with some flowers. The order of makeing was thus: the corne being dried between 2 stones into powder, being very thick, putt it into a kettle full of watter, then a quantity of Bear's grease. This banquett being over, they cryed to me Shagon, Orimha, that is, be hearty, stone or ledd. Every one withdrew into his quarters, and so did I. But to the purpose of my history. As I went to the fields once, where I mett with 3 of my acquaintance, who had a designe for to hunt a great way off, they desired me to goe along. I lett them know in Huron language (for that I knew better then that of the Iroquoits) I was content, desiring them to stay till I acquainted my mother. One of them came along with mee, and gott leave for me of my kindred. My mother gott me presently a sack of meale, 3 paire of shoos, my gun, and tourned backe where the 2 stayed for us. My 2 sisters accompanied me even out of the wildernesse and carried my bundle, where they tooke leave. We marched on that day through the woods till we came by a lake where we travelled without any rest. I wished I had stayed att home, for we had sad victualls. The next day about noone we came to a River; there we made a skiffe, so litle that we could scarce go into it. I admired their skill in doing of it, ffor in lesse then 2 hours they cutt the tree and pulled up the Rind, of which they made the boat. We embarked ourselves and went to the lower end of the river, which emptied it selfe into a litle lake of about 2 miles in length and a mile in breadth. We passed this lake into another river broader then the other; there we found a fresh track of a stagge, which made us stay heere a while. It was five of the clock att least when 2 of our men made themselves ready to looke after that beast; the other and I stayed behind. Not long after we saw the stagge crosse the river, which foarding brought him to his ending. So done, they went on their cours, and came backe againe att 10 of the clocke with 3 bears, a castor, and the stagge which was slaine att our sight. How did wee rejoice to see that killed which would make the kettle boyle. After we have eaten, wee slept. The next day we made trappes for to trapp castors, whilst we weare bussie, one about one thing, one about another. As 3 of us retourned homewards to our cottage we heard a wild man singing. He made us looke to our selves least he should prove an ennemy, but as we have seene him, called to him, who came immediately, telling us that he was in pursuite of a Beare since morning, and that he gave him over, having lost his 2 doggs by the same beare. He came with us to our Cottage, where we mett our companion after having killed one beare, 2 staggs, and 2 mountain catts, being 5 in number. Whilst the meat was a boyling that wild man spoake to me the Algonquin language. I wondred to heare this stranger; he tould me that he was taken 2 years agoe; he asked me concerning the 3 rivers and of Quebuck, who wished himselfe there, and I said the same, though I did not intend it. He asked me if I loved the french. I inquired [of] him also if he loved the Algonquins? Mary, quoth he, and so doe I my owne nation. Then replyed he, Brother, cheare up, lett us escape, the 3 rivers are not a farre off. I tould him my 3 comrades would not permitt me, and that they promissed my mother to bring me back againe. Then he inquired whether I would live like the Hurrons, who weare in bondage, or have my owne liberty with the ffrench, where there was good bread to be eaten. Feare not, quoth he, shall kill them all 3 this night when they will bee a sleepe, which will be an easy matter with their owne hatchetts. Att last I consented, considering they weare mortall ennemys to my country, that had cutt the throats of so many of my relations, burned and murdered them. I promissed him to succour him in his designe. They not understanding our language asked the Algonquin what is that that he said, but tould them some other story, nor did they suspect us in the least. Their belly full, their mind without care, wearyed to the utmost of the formost day's journey, fell a sleepe securely, leaning their armes up and downe without the least danger. Then my wild man pushed me, thinking I was a sleepe. He rises and sitts him downe by the fire, behoulding them one after an other, and taking their armes a side, and having the hattchetts in his hand gives me one; to tell the truth I was loathsome to do them mischif that never did me any. Yett for the above said reasons I tooke the hattchet and began the Execution, which was soone done. My fellow comes to him that was nearest to the fire (I dare say he never saw the stroake), and I have done that like to an other, but I hitting him with the edge of the hattchett could not disingage [it] presently, being so deep in his head, rises upon his breast, butt fell back sudainly, making a great noise, which almost waked the third; but my comrade gave him a deadly blow of a hattchet, and presently after I shott him dead. Then we prepared our selves with all speed, throwing their dead corps, after that the wild man took off their heads, into the watter. We tooke 3 guns, leaving the 4th, their 2 swoords, their hattchetts, their powder and shott, and all their porselaine; we tooke also some meale and meate. I was sorry for to have ben in such an incounter, but too late to repent. Wee tooke our journey that night alongst the river. The break of day we landed on the side of a rock which was smooth. We carryed our boat and equippage into the wood above a hundred paces from the watter side, where we stayed most sadly all that day tormented by the Maringoines; [Footnote: _Musquetos_.] we tourned our boat upside downe, we putt us under it from the raine. The night coming, which was the fitest time to leave that place, we goe without any noise for our safty. Wee travelled 14 nights in that maner in great feare, hearing boats passing by. When we have perceaved any fire, left off rowing, and went by with as litle noise as could [be] possible. Att last with many tournings by lande and by watter, wee came to the lake of St. Peeter's. We landed about 4 of the clock, leaving our skiff in among rushes farr out of the way from those that passed that way and doe us injury. We retired into the wood, where we made a fire some 200 paces from the river. There we roasted some meat and boyled meale; after, we rested ourselves a while from the many labours of the former night. So, having slept, my companion awaks first, and stirrs me, saying it was high time that we might by day come to our dweling, of which councel I did not approve. [I] tould him the Ennemys commonly weare lurking about the river side, and we should doe very well [to] stay in that place till sunnsett. Then, said he, lett us begon, we [are] passed all feare. Let us shake off the yoake of a company of whelps that killed so many french and black-coats, and so many of my nation. Nay, saith he, Brother, if you come not, I will leave you, and will go through the woods till I shall be over against the french quarters. There I will make a fire for a signe that they may fetch me. I will tell to the Governor that you stayed behind. Take courage, man, says he. With this he tooke his peece and things. Att this I considered how if [I] weare taken att the doore by meere rashnesse; the next, the impossibility I saw to go by myselfe if my comrad would leave me, and perhaps the wind might rise, that I could [only] come to the end of my journey in a long time, and that I should be accounted a coward for not daring to hazard myselfe with him that so much ventured for mee. I resolved to go along through the woods; but the litle constancy that is to be expected in wild men made me feare he should [take] to his heels, which approved his unfortunate advice; ffor he hath lost his life by it, and I in great danger have escaped by the helpe of the Almighty. I consent to goe by watter with him. In a short time wee came to the lake. The watter very calme and cleare. No liklyhood of any storme. We hazarded to the other side of the lake, thinking ffor more security. After we passed the third part of the lake, I being the foremost, have perceaved as if it weare a black shaddow, which proved a real thing. He at this rises and tells mee that it was a company of buzards, a kinde of geese in that country. We went on, where wee soone perceaved our owne fatall blindnesse, ffor they weare ennemys. We went back againe towards the lande with all speed to escape the evident danger, but it was too late; ffor before we could come to the russhes that weare within halfe a league of the waterside we weare tired. Seeing them approaching nigher and nigher, we threw the 3 heads in the watter. They meet with these 3 heads, which makes them to row harder after us, thinking that we had runn away from their country. We weare so neere the lande that we saw the bottom of the watter, but yett too deepe to step in. When those cruel inhumans came within a musquett shott of us, and fearing least the booty should gett a way from them, shott severall times att us, and deadly wounding my comrade, [who] fell dead. I expected such another shott. The litle skiff was pierced in severall places with their shooting, [so] that watter ran in a pace. I defended me selfe with the 2 arms. Att last they environed me with their boats, that tooke me just as I was a sinking. They held up the wild man and threw him into one of their boats and me they brought with all diligence to land. I thought to die without mercy. They made a great fire and tooke my comrade's heart out, and choped off his head, which they put on an end of a stick and carryed it to one of their boats. They cutt off some of the flesh of that miserable, broyled it and eat it. If he had not ben so desperately wounded they had don their best to keepe him alive to make him suffer the more by bourning him with small fires; but being wounded in the chin, and [a] bullet gon through the troat, and another in the shoulder that broake his arme, making him incurable, they burned some parte of his body, and the rest they left there. That was the miserable end of that wretch. Lett us come now to the beginning of my miseries and calamities that I was to undergo. Whilst they weare bussie about my companion's head, the others tyed me safe and fast in a strang maner; having striped me naked, they tyed me above the elbows behind my back, and then they putt a collar about me, not of porcelaine as before, but a rope wrought about my midle. So [they] brought me in that pickle to the boat. As I was imbarqued they asked mee severall questions. I being not able to answer, gave me great blowes with their fists. [They] then pulled out one of my nailes, and partly untied me. What displeasure had I, to have seen meselfe taken againe, being almost come to my journey's end, that I must now goe back againe to suffer such torments, as death was to be expected. Having lost all hopes, I resolved alltogether to die, being a folly to think otherwise. I was not the [only] one in the clawes of those wolves. Their company was composed of 150 men. These tooke about Quebucq and other places 2 frenchmen, one french woman, 17 Hurrons, men as [well as] women. They had Eleven heads which they sayd weare of the Algonquins, and I was the 33rd victime with those cruels. The wild men that weare Prisners sang their fatal song, which was a mornfull song or noise. The 12 couleurs (which weare heads) stood out for a shew. We prisoners weare separated, one in one boat, one in an other. As for me, I was put into a boat with a Huron whose fingers weare cutt and bourned, and very [few] amongst them but had the markes of those inhuman devils. They did not permitt me to tarry long with my fellow prisoner, least I should tell him any news, as I imagine, but sent me to another boat, where I remained the rest of the voyage by watter, which proved somewhat to my disadvantage. In this boat there was an old man, who having examined me, I answered him as I could best; tould him how I was adopted by such an one by name, and as I was a hunting with my companions that wildman that was killed came to us, and after he had eaten went his way. In the evening [he] came back againe and found us all a sleepe, tooke a hattchett and killed my 3 companions, and awaked me, and so embarked me and brought me to this place. That old man believed me in some measure, which I perceived in him by his kindnesse towards me. But he was not able to protect me from those that [had] a will to doe me mischief. Many slandred me, but I tooke no notice. Some 4 leagues thence they erected cottages by a small river, very difficult to gett to it, for that there is litle watter on a great sand [bank] a league wide. To this very houre I tooke notice how they tyed their captives, though att my owne cost. They planted severall poastes of the bignesse of an arme, then layd us of a length, tyed us to the said poasts far a sunder from one another. Then tyed our knees, our wrists, and elbows, and our hairs directly upon the crowne of our heads, and then cutt 4 barrs of the bignesse of a legge & used thus. They tooke 2 for the necke, puting one of each side, tying the 2 ends together, so that our heads weare fast in a hole like a trappe; likewayes they did to our leggs. And what tormented us most was the Maringoines and great flyes being in abundance; did all night but puff and blow, that by that means we saved our faces from the sting of those ugly creatures; having no use of our hands, we are cruelly tormented. Our voyage was laborious and most miserable, suffering every night the like misery. When we came neere our dwellings we mett severall gangs of men to our greatest disadvantage, for we weare forced to sing, and those that came to see us gave porcelaine to those that most did us injury. One cutt of a finger, and another pluck'd out a naile, and putt the end of our fingers into their bourning pipes, & burned severall parts in our bodyes. Some tooke our fingers and of a stick made a thing like a fork, with which [they] gave severall blowes on the back of the hands, which caused our hands to swell, and became att last insensible as dead. Having souffred all these crueltyes, which weare nothing to that they make usually souffer their Prisoners, we arrived att last to the place of execution, which is att the coming in to their village, which wheere not [long] before I escaped very neere to be soundly beaten with staves and fists. Now I must think to be no lesse traited by reason of the murder of the 3 men, but the feare of death takes away the feare of blowes. Nineteen of us prisoners weare brought thither, and 2 left behind with the heads. In this place we had 8 coulours. Who would not shake att the sight of so many men, women, and children armed with all sorte of Instruments: staves, hand Irons, heelskins wherein they putt halfe a score [of] bullets? Others had brands, rods of thorne, and all suchlike that the Crueltie could invent to putt their Prisoners to greater torments. Heere, no help, no remedy. We must passe this dangerous passage in our extremity without helpe. He that is the fearfullest, or that is observed to stay the last, getts nothing by it butt more blowes, and putt him to more paine. For the meanest sort of people commonly is more cruell to the fearfullest then to the others that they see more fearfull, being att last to suffer chearfuly and with constancy. They begun to cry to both sides, we marching one after another, environed with a number of people from all parts to be witnesse to that hidious sight, which seriously may be called the Image of hell in this world. The men sing their fatall song, the women make horrible cryes, the victores cryes of joy, and their wives make acclamations of mirth. In a word, all prepare for the ruine of these poore victimes who are so tyed, having nothing saving only our leggs free, for to advance by litle and litle according [to] the will of him that leades; ffor as he held us by a long rope, he stayed us to his will, & often he makes us falle, for to shew them cruelty, abusing you so for to give them pleasure and to you more torment. As our band was great, there was a greater crew of people to see the prisoners, and the report of my taking being now made, and of the death of the 3 men, which afflicted the most part of that nation, great many of which came through a designe of revenge and to molest me more then any other. But it was altogether otherwise, for among the tumult I perceaved my father & mother with their 2 daughters. The mother pushes in among the Crew directly to mee, and when shee was neere enough, shee clutches hould of my haire as one desperat, calling me often by my name; drawing me out of my ranck, shee putts me into the hands of her husband, who then bid me have courage, conducting me an other way home to his Cabban, when he made me sitt downe. [He] said to me: You senselesse, thou was my son, and thou rendered thyselfe enemy, and thou rendered thyself enemy, thou lovest not thy mother, nor thy father that gave thee thy life, and thou notwithstanding will kill me. Bee merry; Conharrassan, give him to eate. That was the name of one of the sisters. My heart shook with trembling and feare, which tooke away my stomach. Neverthelesse to signifie a bould countenance, knowing well a bould generous minde is allwayes accounted among all sort of nations, especially among wariors, as that nation is very presumptious and haughty. Because of their magnanimity and victories opposing themselves into all dangers and incounters what ever, running over the whole land for to make themselves appeere slaining and killing all they meete in exercising their cruelties, or else shewing mercy to whom they please to give liberty. God gave mee the grace to forgett nothing of my duty, as I tould my father the successe of my voyage in the best tearme I could, and how all things passed, mixturing a litle of their languag with that of the Hurrons, which I learned more fluently then theirs, being longer and more frequently with the Hurrons. Every one attentively gave ears to me, hoping by this means to save my life. Uppon this heere comes a great number of armed men, enters the Cabban, where finding mee yett tyed with my cords, fitting by my parents, made their addresses to my father, and spak to him very loud. After a while my father made me rise and delivers me into their hands. My mother seeing this, cryes and laments with both my sisters, and I believing in a terrible motion to goe directly on to the place of execution. I must march, I must yeeld wheere force is predominant att the publique place. I was conducted where I found a good company of those miserable wretches, alltogether beaten with blowes, covered with blood, and bourned. One miserable frenchman, yett breathing, having now ben consumed with blowes of sticks, past so through the hands of this inraged crew, and seeing he could [bear] no more, cutt off his head and threw it into the fire. This was the end of this Execrable wofull body of this miserable. They made me goe up the scaffold where weare 5 men, 3 women, and 2 children captives, and I made the Eleventh. There weare severall scaffolds nigh one an other, where weare these wretches, who with dolefull singings replenished the heavens with their Cryes. For I can say that an houre before the weather approved very faire, and in an instant the weather changed and rayned Extremely. The most part retired for to avoid this hayle, and now we must expect the full rigour of the weather by the retiration of those perfidious [persons], except one part of the Band of hell who stayed about us for to learn the trade of barbary; ffor those litle devils seeing themselves all alone, continued [a] thousand inventions of wickednesse. This is nothing strang, seeing that they are brought up, and suck the crueltie from their mother's brest. I prolong a litle from my purpose of my adventure for to say the torments that I have seen souffred att Coutu, after that they have passed the sallett, att their entering in to the village, and the rencounters that they meet ordinarily in the wayes, as above said. They tie the prisoners to a poast by their hands, their backs tourned towards the hangman, who hath a bourning fire of dry wood and rind of trees, which doth not quench easily. They putt into this fire hattchets, swords, and such like instruments of Iron. They take these and quench them on human flesh. They pluck out their nailes for the most part in this sort. They putt a redd coale of fire uppon it, and when it is swolen bite it out with their teeth. After they stop the blood with a brand which by litle and litle drawes the veines the one after another from off the fingers, and when they draw all as much as they can, they cutt it with peeces of redd hott Iron; they squeeze the fingers between 2 stones, and so draw the marrow out of the boanes, and when the flesh is all taken away, they putt it in a dishfull of bourning sand. After they tye your wrist with a corde, putting two for this effect, one drawing him one way, another of another way. If the sinews be not cutt with a stick, putting it through & tourning it, they make them come as fast as they can, and cutt them in the same way as the others. Some others cutt peeces of flesh from all parts of the body & broyle them, gett you to eat it, thrusting them into yor mouth, puting into it a stick of fire. They breake your teeth with a stoane or clubbs, and use the handle of a kettle, and upon this do hang 5 or 6 hattchetts, red hott, which they hang about their neck and roast your leggs with brands of fire, and thrusting into it some sticks pointed, wherein they put ledd melted and gunnepowder, and then give it fire like unto artificiall fire, and make the patient gather it by the stumps of his remalning fingers. If he cannot sing they make him quack like a henne. I saw two men tyed to a rope, one att each end, and hang them so all night, throwing red coales att them, or bourning sand, and in such like bourne their feet, leggs, thighs, and breech. The litle ones doe exercise themselves about such cruelties; they deck the bodyes all over with hard straw, putting in the end of this straw, thornes, so leaves them; now & then gives them a litle rest, and sometimes gives them fresh watter and make them repose on fresh leaves. They also give them to eat of the best they have that they come to themselves againe, to give them more torments. Then when they see that the patient can no more take up his haire, they cover his head with a platter made of rind full of bourning sand, and often getts the platter a fire. In the next place they cloath you with a suit made of rind of a tree, and this they make bourne out on your body. They cutt off your stones and the women play with them as with balles. When they See the miserable die, they open him and pluck out his heart; they drink some of his blood, and wash the children's heads with the rest to make them valient. If you have indured all the above said torments patiently and without moanes, and have defied death in singing, then they thrust burning blades all along your boanes, and so ending the tragedie cutt off the head and putt it on the end of a stick and draw his body in quarters which they hawle about their village. Lastly [they] throw him into the watter or leave [him] in the fields to be eaten by the Crowes or doggs. Now lett me come to our miserable poore captives that stayed all along [through] the raine upon the scaffold to the mercy of 2 or 300 rogues that shott us with litle arrowes, and so drew out our beards and the haire from those that had any. The showre of rayne being over, all come together againe, and having kindled fires began to burne some of those poore wretches. That day they pluckt 4 nailes out of my fingers, and made me sing, though I had no mind att that time. I became speechlesse oftentimes; then they gave me watter wherin they boyled a certain herbe that the gunsmiths use to pollish their armes. That liquour brought me to my speech againe. The night being come they made me come downe all naked as I was, & brought to a strang Cottage. I wished heartily it had ben that of my parents. Being come, they tyed me to a poast, where I stayed a full houre without the least molestation. A woman came there with her boy, inticed him to cutt off one of my fingers with a flint stoan. The boy was not 4 yeares old. This [boy] takes my finger and begins to worke, but in vaine, because he had not the strength to breake my fingers. So my poore finger escaped, having no other hurt don to it but the flesh cutt round about it. His mother made him suck the very blood that runn from my finger. I had no other torment all that day. Att night I could not sleepe for because of the great paine. I did eat a litle, and drunk much watter by reason of a feaver I caught by the cruel torment I suffred. The next morning I was brought back againe to the scaffold, where there were company enough. They made me sing a new, but my mother came there and made [me] hould my peace, bidding me be cheerfull and that I should not die. Shee brought mee some meate. Her coming comforted me much, but that did not last long; ffor heare comes severall old people, one of which being on the scaffold, satt him downe by me, houlding in his mouth a pewter pipe burning, tooke my thumb and putt it on the burning tobacco, and so smoaked 3 pipes one after another, which made my thumb swell, and the nayle and flesh became as coales. My mother was allwayes by me to comfort me, but said not what I thought. That man having finished his hard worke, but I am sure I felt it harder to suffer it. He trembled, whether for feare or for so much action I cannot tell. My mother tyed my fingers with cloath, and when he was gon shee greased my haire and combed my haire with a wooden comb, fitter to combe a horse's tayle then anything else. Shee goes back againe. That day they ended many of those poore wretches, flinging some all alive into the midle of a great fire. They burned a frenchwoman; they pulled out her breasts and tooke a child out of her belly, which they broyled and made the mother eat of it; so, in short, [she] died. I was not abused all that day till the night. They bourned the soales of my feet and leggs. A souldier run through my foot a swoord red out of the fire, and plucked severall of my nailes. I stayed in that maner all night. I neither wanted in the meane while meate nor drinke. I was supplied by my mother and sisters. My father alsoe came to see me & tould me I should have courage. That very time there came a litle boy to gnaw with his teeth the end of my fingers. There appears a man to cutt off my thumb, and being about it leaves me instantly & did no harme, for which I was glad. I believe that my father dissuaded him from it. A while after my father was gon 3 came to the scaffold who swore they would me a mischiefe, as I thinke, for yet he tied his leggs to mine, called for a brand of fire, and layd it between his leggs and mine, and sings: but by good lucke it was out on my side, and did no other effect then bourne my skin, but bourned him to some purpos. In this posture I was to follow him, & being not able to hould mee, draweth mee downe. One of the Company Cutt the rope that held us with his knife, and makes mee goe up againe the scaffold and then went their way. There I stayed till midday alone. There comes a multitude of people who make me come downe and led mee into a cottage where there weare a number of sixty old men smoaking tobacco. Here they make mee sitt downe among them and stayed about halfe an houre without that they asked who and why I was brought thither, nor did I much care. For the great torments that I souffred, I knew not whether I was dead or alive. And albeit I was in a hott feavor & great pain, I rejoyced att the sight of my brother, that I have not seene since my arrivement. He comes in very sumptuously covered with severall necklaces of porcelaine,[Footnote: _Porcelaine_, the French for wam-pum, or shell beads.] & a hattchett in his hand, satt downe by the company and cast an eye on me now and then. Presently and comes in my father with a new and long cover, and a new porcelaine about him, with a hatchett in his hands, likewise satt downe with the company. He had a calumet of red stoane in his hands, a cake [Footnote: _Cake_, meaning a medicine-bag.] uppon his shoulders, that hanged downe his back, and so had the rest of the old men. In that same cake are incloased all the things in the world, as they tould me often, advertising mee that I should [not] disoblige them in the least nor make them angry, by reason they had in their power the sun, and moone, and the heavans, and consequently all the earth. You must know in this cake there is nothing but tobacco and roots to heale some wounds or sores; some others keepe in it the bones of their deceased friends; most of them wolves' heads, squirrels', or any other beast's head. When there they have any debatement among them they sacrifice to this tobacco, that they throw into the fire, and make smoake, of that they puff out of their pipes; whether for peace or adversity or prosperity or warre, such ceremonies they make very often. My father, taking his place, lights his pipe & smoaks as the rest. They held great silence. During this they bring 7 prisoners; to wit, 7 women and 2 men, more [then] 10 children from the age of 3 to 12 years, having placed them all by mee, who as yett had my armes tyed. The others all att liberty, being not tyed, which putt me into some despaire least I should pay for all. Awhile after one of the company rises and makes a long speech, now shewing the heavens with his hands, and then the earth, and fire. This good man putt himselfe into a sweate through the earnest discours. Having finished his panigerique, another begins, and also many, one after another. They gave then liberty to some, butt killed 2 children with hattchetts, and a woman of 50 years old, and threw them out of the cottage (saving onely myselfe) att full liberty. I was left alone for a stake, they contested together [upon] which my father rose and made a speech which lasted above an houre, being naked, having nothing on but his drawers and the cover of his head, and putt himselfe all in a heate. His eyes weare hollow in his head; he appeared to me like [as if] mad, and naming often the Algonquins in their language [that is, Eruata], which made me believe he spoake in my behalfe. In that very time comes my mother, with two necklaces of porcelaine, one in her armes, and another about her like a belt. As soone as shee came in shee began to sing and dance, and flings off one of her necklaces in the midle of the place, having made many tourns from one end to the other. Shee takes the other necklace and gives it mee, then goes her way. Then my brother rises and holding his hattchett in his hand sings a military song. Having finished [he] departs. I feared much that he was first to knock me in the head; and happy are those that can escape so well, rather then be bourned. My father rises for a second time and sings; so done, retired himselfe. I thought all their guifts, songs, and speeches should prevaile nothing with mee. Those that stayed held a councell and spoake one to an other very long, throwing tobacco into the fire, making exclamations. Then the Cottage was open of all sides by those that came to view, some of the company retires, and place was made for them as if they weare Kings. Forty staye about me, and nigh 2000 about my cottage, of men, women, and children. Those that went their way retourned presently. Being sett downe, smoaked againe whilest my father, mother, brother, and sisters weare present. My father sings a while; so done, makes a speech, and taking the porcelaine necklace from off me throws it att the feet of an old man, and cutts the cord that held me, then makes me rise. The joy that I receaved att that time was incomparable, for suddenly all my paines and griefs ceased, not feeling the least paine. He bids me be merry, makes me sing, to which I consented with all my heart. Whilst I did sing they hooped and hollowed on all sids. The old man bid me "ever be cheerfull, my son!" Having don, my mother, sisters, and the rest of their friends [sung] and danced. Then my father takes me by the arme and leads me to his cabban. As we went along nothing was heard but hooping and hollowing on all parts, biding me to take great courage. My mother was not long after me, with the rest of her friends. Now I see myselfe free from death. Their care att this was to give me meate. I have not eaten a bitt all that day, and for the great joy I had conceaved, caused me to have a good stomach, so that I did eat lustily. Then my mother begins to cure my sores and wounds. Then begins my paines to [break out] a new; ffor shee cleans my wounds and scrapes them with a knife, and often thrusts a stick in them, and then takes watter in her mouth, and spouts it to make them cleane. The meanwhile my father goes to seeke rootes, and my sister chaws them, and my mother applyes them to my sores as a plaster. The next day the swelling was gone, but worse then before; but in lesse then a fortnight my sores weare healed, saving my feete, that kept [me] more then a whole month in my Cabban. During this time my nailes grewed a pace. I remained onely lame of my midle finger, that they have Squeezed between two stoanes. Every one was kind to mee as beforesaid, and [I] wanted no company to be merry with. I should [be] kept too long to tell you the particulars that befell me during my winter. I was beloved of my Parents as before. My exercise was allwayes a hunting without that any gave me the least injury. My mother kept me most brave, and my sisters tooke great care of mee. Every moneth I had a white shirt, which my father sent for from the Flemeings, who weare not a farr off our village. I could never gett leave to goe along with my brother, who went there very often. Finally, seeing myselfe in the former condition as before, I constituted as long as my father and fortune would permitt mee to live there. Dayly there weare military feasts for the South nations, and others for the Algonquins and for the French. The exclamations, hoopings and cryes, songs and dances, signifies nothing but the murdering and killing, and the intended victory that they will have the next yeare, which is in the beginning of Spring. In those feasts my father heaves up his hattchett against the Algonquins. For this effect [he] makes great preparations for his next incamping. Every night [he] never failes to instruct and encourage the young age to take armes and to reveng the death of so many of their ennemy that lived among the french nation. The desire that I had to make me beloved, for the assurance of my life made me resolve to offer myselfe for to serve, and to take party with them. But I feared much least he should mistrust me touching his advis to my resolution. Neverthelesse I finding him once of a good humour and on the point of honnour encourages his son to break the kettle and take the hattchett and to be gon to the forraigne nations, and that was of courage and of great renowne to see the father of one parte and the son of another part, & that he should not mispraise if he should seperat from him, but that it was the quickest way to make the world tremble, & by that means have liberty everywhere by vanquishing the mortall enemy of his nation; uppon this I venture to aske him what I was. [He] presently answers that I was a Iroquoite as himselfe. Lett me revenge, said I, my kindred. I love my brother. Lett me die with him. I would die with you, but you will not because you goe against the ffrench. Lett me a gaine goe with my brother, the prisoners & the heads that I shall bring, to the joy of my mother and sisters, will make me undertake att my retourne to take up the hattchett against those of Quebecq, of the 3 rivers, and Monteroyall in declaring them my name, and that it's I that kills them, and by that you shall know I am your son, worthy to beare that title that you gave me when you adopted me. He sett [up] a great crye, saying, have great courage, son Oninga, thy brother died in the warrs not in the Cabban; he was of a courage not of a woman. I goe to aveng his death. If I die, aveng you mine. That one word was my leave, which made me hope that one day I might escape, having soe great an opportunity; or att least I should have the happinesse to see their country, which I heard so much recommended by the Iroquoites, who brought wondrous stories and the facilitie of killing so many men. Thus the winter was past in thoughts and preparing for to depart before the melting of the snow, which is very soone in that Country. I began to sett my witts together how I should resolve this my voyage; for my mother opposed against it mightily, saying I should bee lost in the woods, and that I should gett it [put] off till the next yeare. But at last I flattered with her and dissembled; besides, my father had the power in his hands. Shee daring not to deny him any thing because shee was not borne in my father's country, but was taken [when] little in the Huronit's Country. Notwithstanding [she was] well beloved of her husband, having lived together more then fourty years, and in that space brought him 9 children, 4 males and 5 females. Two girls died after a while, and 3 sons killed in the warrs, and one that went 3 years before with a band of 13 men to warre against a fiery nation which is farre beyonde the great lake. The 5th had allready performed 2 voyages with a greate deale of successe. My father was a great Captayne in warrs, having ben Commander in all his times, and distructed many villages of their Ennemy, having killed 19 men with his owne hands, whereof he was marked [on] his right thigh for as many [as] he killed. He should have as many more, but that you must know that the Commander has not amused himselfe to kille, but in the front of his army to encourage his men. If by chance he tooke any prisoners, he calles one of his men and gives him the captives, saying that it's honour enough to command the conquerors, and by his example shews to the yong men that he has the power as much as the honour. He receaved 2 gunn shots and 7 arrows shotts, and was runne through the shoulders with a lance. He was aged 3 score years old, he was talle, and of an excellent witt for a wild man. When our baggage was ready, my father makes a feast to which he invites a number of people, & declares that he was sorry he had resolved to go to warre against an Ennemy which was in a cold country, which hindred him to march sooner then he would, but willing to see his sonnes before him, and that this banquett was made for his 2 sons' farewell. Then he tould that his adopted son was ready to go with his owne son to be revenged of the death of their brothers, and desired the Commander to have a care of us both. This Commander loved us both, said that the one which [was] meselfe should be with him to the end. If anything should oppose he would make me fight him. I was not att home when he spoke those words, but my mother toald me it att my retourne. I was a fishing by with my sisters & brother. When wee came back wee found all ready, butt with a heart broken that our mother and sisters lett us goe. Few days after I was invited to a military banquett where was the Captayne, a yong gallant of 20 years old, with a company of 8, and I made the 10th. We all did sing and made good cheare of a fatt beare. We gave our things to slaves, we carried only our musquetts. Our kindred brought us a great way. My sister could not forbeare crying, yett tould me to be of a stout heart. We tooke att last [leave and] bid them adieu. We tooke on our journey over great snowes for to come to the great Lake before the Spring. We travelled 7 days through woods and indifferent country, easie in some places and others difficult. The Rivers weare frozen, which made us crosse with a great deale of ease. Wee arrived the 7th day in a village called Nojottga [Footnote: _Nojottga_, or Oneioutga, Oneida.], where we stayed 2 days. From thence came a young man with us. We arrived into another village, Nontageya [Footnote: _Nontageya_, Onontaguega, or Onondaga.], where we stayed foure days. Wee had allways great preparations, and weare invited 9 or tenne times a day. Our bellyes had not tyme to emptie themselves, because we feeded so much, and that what was prepared for us weare severall sortes, Stagg, Indian corne, thick flower, bears, and especially eels. We have not yett searched our baggs wheare our provision was. In this place wee mended them. For my part I found in myne 6 pounds of powder and more then 15 pounds of shott, 2 shirts, a capp, 8 pairs of shoes, and wherewith to make a paire of breeches, and about 1000 graines of black and white porcelaine, and my brother as many. Wee had new covers, one to our body, another hung downe from our shoulders like a mantle. Every one [had] a small necklace of porcelaine and a collar made with a thread of nettles to tye the Prisoners. I had a gunne, a hattchett, and a dagger. That was all we had. Our slaves brought the packs after us. After we marched 3 dayes, we came to a village, Sonon-teeonon,[Footnote: _Sononteeonon_, Tionnontonan, or Seneca.] there we layd a night. The next day, after a small journey, we came to the last village of their confederates. Heere they doe differ in their speech though of [our] nation. It's called Oiongoiconon. [Footnote: _Oiongoiconon_ is Cayuga.] Here we stay 2 dayes, and sent away our slaves and carryed our bundles ourselves, going allwayes through the woods. We found great plaines of 2 leagues and a halfe journey without a tree. We saw there stagges, but would not goe out of our way to kill them. We went through 3 villages of this nation neare one another. They admired to see a frenchman accompanying wild men, which I understood by their exclamations. I thought I grewed leane to take litle voyage, but the way seemed tedious to all. The raquett alwayes with the feet and sometimes with the hands, which seemed to me hard to indure, yett have I not complained. Att the parting of the slaves, I made my bundle light as the rest. We found snowes in few places, saving where the trees made a shaddow, which hindred the snow to thaw, which made us carry the raquetts with our feete, and sometimes with the hands. After 10 days' march [we completed our journey] through a country covered with water, and where also are mountaines and great plaines. In those plaines wee kill'd stagges, and a great many Tourquies. Thence we came to a great river of a mile wide which was not frozen, which made us stay there 10 or 12 dayes making skiffs of the rind of walnut trees. We made good cheere and wished to stay there longer. We made 3 skiffs to hould 3 men, and one to hould two. We imbarked though there weare ice in many places, and yett no hinderance to us going small journeys, fearing least what should befall us. In 4 dayes we came to a lake much frozen; covered in some places with ice by reason of the tossing of the wind, and the ground all covered with snow. Heere we did our best to save us from the rigour of the aire, and must stay 15 dayes. The wild men admired that the season of the yeare was so backward. Att the end the wind changes southerly, which made the lake free from Ice and cleare over all the skirts of it, without either snow or ice. There was such a thawing that made the litle brookes flow like rivers, which made us imbarque to wander [over] that sweet sea. The weather lovely, the wind fayre, and nature satisfied. Tending forwards, singing and playing, not considering the contrary weather past, continued so 6 days upon the lake and rested the nights ashore. The more we proceeded in our journey, the more the pleasant country and warmer. Ending the lake, we entered into a beautifull sweet river, a stoan-cast wide. After halfe a day we rid on it, weare forced to bring both barks and equipage uppon our backs to the next streame of that river. This done above 20 times, hawling our boats after us all laden. We went up that river att least 30 or 40 leagues. Att last [it] brought us to a lake of some 9 miles in length. Being comed to the highest place of the lake, we landed and hid our boats farr enough in the woods, [and] tooke our bundles. We weare 3 dayes going through a great wildernesse where was no wood, not so much as could make us fire. Then the thickned flower did serve us instead of meate, mingling it with watter. We foorded many litle rivers, in swiming & sayling. Our armes, which we putt uppon some sticks tyed together of such wood as that desolat place could afford, to keepe them from the weatt. The evening we came on the side of a violent river, uppon which we made bridges of trees that we [made] to meet, to go over. We left this place after being there 3 dayes. We went up that river in 2 dayes; there we killed stagges. After we came to a mouth of another river. We made a litle fort, where it was commanded by our captayne to make no noise. They desired me to be very quiet, which I observed strictly. After refreshment we imbarked, though unseasonably, in the night, for to make som discovery. Some went one way, some another. We went a great way, but not farr off our fort. The next day we meet altogether & made some Councell, where it was decreed that 2 should go to the furthermost part of a small river in a boat, to make a discovery, and see if there weare tracks of people there, whilst the other 9 should take notice of a villag, that they knew'd to be nigh, and because it was lesse danger to make there a discovery. The youngest of the company and me are pitched [upon] to goe into the river. We tooke the lightest boat. It was well, [for] that in some places of the river there was not watter enough to carry us. We weare fained to draw the boat after us. I believe not that ever a wild man went that way because of the great number of trees that stops the passage of the river. After we have gon the best part of the day, we found ourselves att the end of a small lake some 4 mile in length, and seeing the woods weare not so thick there as wheare wee passed, we hid our boat in some bushes, taking onely our armes along, intending on still to pretend some discovery. We scarce weare in the midle of the lake when we perceave 2 persons goeing on the watter side, att the other side of the lake; so my comrade getts him up a tree to discerne better if there weare any more. After he stayed there a while [he] comes [down] & tells me that he thought they weare 2 women, and that we might goe kill them. Doubtlesse, said I, if they are women the men are not afarre from them, and we shall be forced to shoote. Wee are alone, and should runne the hazzard of 2 women for to be discovered. Our breethren also would be in danger that knowes nothing. Moreover it's night; what dost thou intend to doe? You say well, replyes he; lett us hide ourselves in the wood, for we cannot goe downe in the river in the night time. Att breake of day we will [goe] back to our companions where we will finde them in the fort. Here we came without any provisions, where we must lie under a rotten tree. That night it rayned sadly. We weare wett; but a naturall Exercise is good fire. We weare in our boat early in the morning, and with great diligence we came back better then we went up, for the river grewed mighty high by reason of so much that fell of raine. I will not omitt a strange accident that befell us as we came. You must know that as we past under the trees, as before mentioned, there layd on one of the trees a snake with foure feete, her head very bigg, like a Turtle, the nose very small att the end, the necke of 5 thumbs wide, the body about 2 feet, and the tayle of a foot & a halfe, of a blackish collour, onto a shell small and round, with great eyes, her teeth very white but not long. That beast was a sleepe upon one of the trees under which wee weare to goe; neither of us ever seeing such a creature weare astonished. We could not tell what to doe. It was impossible to carry our boat, for the thicknesse of the wood; to shoot att her wee would att least be discovered, besides it would trouble our Company. Att last we weare resolved to goe through att what cost soever, and as we weare under that hellish beast, shee started as shee awaked, and with that fell'd downe into our boat, there weare herbes that served [to secure] us from that dreadfull animal. We durst not ventur to kill her, for feare of breaking of our boat. There is the question who was most fearfull? As for me, I quaked. Now seeing shee went not about to doe us hurt, and that shee was fearfull, we lett her [be] quiet, hoping shortly to land and to tourne upsid downe of our boat to be rid of such a devill. Then my comrad began to call it, and before we weare out of the litle river our feare was over; so we resolved to bring her to the fort, and when once arrived att the great river, nothing but crosse over it to be neare our fort. But in the mean while a squirrell made us good spoart for a quarter of an houre. The squirrell would not leap into the water; did but runne, being afraid of us, from one end of the boat to the other; every time he came nearer, the snake opened her wide mouth & made a kind of a noise, & rose up, having her 2 fore feet uppon the side of the boat, which persuaded us that shee would leave us. We leaned on that side of the boat, so with our owers thrusted her out; we seeing her swime so well, hasted to kill her with our owers, which shee had for her paines. [Footnote: Radisson's description of this reptile has been shown to one of the most eminent herpetologists in America, who writes that "no such reptile has ever been described by scientific writers."] The squirrell tooke the flight, soe we went, longing to be with our comrades to tell them of what we have seene. We found one of our company watching for us att the side of a woode, for they weare in feare least wee should be taken, & expected us all night long. As for their part they neither have seen nor heard anything. Wherefore resolved to goe further, but the news we brought them made them alter their resolution. Wee layd all night in our fort, where we made good cheare and great fires, fearing nothing, being farr enough in the wood. The next day before the breaking of the day we foorded the river, & leaving our 3 boats in the wood, went a foot straight towards the place where we have seene the 2 persons; & before we came to the lake we tooke notice of some fresh trakes which made us look to ourselves, and followed the trakes, which brought us to a small river, where no sooner came but we saw a woman loaden with wood, which made us believ that some cottage or village was not afar off. The Captaine alone takes notice of the place where abouts the discovery was, who soone brought us [to see] that there weare 5 men & 4 women a fishing. We wagged [sic] att this the saffest [way] to come unawarre uppon them, and like starved doggs or wolves devoured those poore creatures who in a moment weare massacred. What we gott by this was not much, onely stagges' skins with some guirdles made of goate's hair, of their owne making. These weare in great estime among our wild men. Two of ours goes to the cabban which was made of rushes, where they founde an old woman. They thought it charity to send her into the other world, with two small children whome also they killed; so we left that place, giving them to the fishes their bodyes. Every one of us had his head, and my brother two; our share being considerable [we] went on along the river till we came to a small lake. Not desiring to be discovered, we found a faire road close by a wood, withtooke ourselves out of it with all haste, and went towards a village. There we came by night, where we visited the wildernesse to find out a secure place for security to hide ourselves; but [finding] no conveniencies we [went] into the wood in a very cleare place. Heere we layd downe uppon our bellies. We did eat, among other things, the fish we gott in the cabban of the fishermen. After dispatching one of the Company bouldly into the village, being thirsty after eating, for heere we had no water, [which] brings us [so] that we are all very quiett. The great desire we had to catch and take made us to controule the Buissinesse. Early in the morning we came to the side of the wildernesse, where we layd in an ambush, but could see nobody that morning. Att two of the clock in the after non we see 20, as well men as women, a great way from us. We went to the wood, whence we perceived many att worke in the fields. Att evening [they] passed by very nigh us, but they neither see nor perceived us. They went to cutt wood; whilst they weare att worke there comes foure men and three women, that tooke notice of our ambush. This we could not avoid, so weare forced to appeare to their ruine. We tooke the 3 women and killed 2 men. The other 2 thought to escape, but weare stayed with our peeces; the other 2 that weare aworking would runne away, but one was taken, the other escaped. The news was brought over all those parts. Thence we runne away with our 4 prisoners and the 4 new heads with all speed. The women could not goe fast enough, and therefore killed them after they went a whole night; their corps we threwed into the river; heere we found a boat which Served us to goe over. We marched all that day without any delay; being come to an open field we hid ourselves in bushes till thee next day. We examined our Prisoners, who tould us no news; non could understand them, although many Huron words weare in their language. In this place we perceived 2 men a hunting afarre off; we thought [it] not convenient to discover ourselves, least we should be discovered and passe our aime. We tooke another day, 2 before and the rest after, thee prisoners in the midle. We speedily went the rest of thee day through a burned country, and the trees blowne downe with some great windes. The fire over came all, over 15 leagues in length and 10 in breadth. We layd in the very midle of that country upon a faire sandy place where we could see 3 or 4 leagues off round about us, and being secure we made the prisoners sing which is their Acconroga before death. There we made a litle fire to make our Kettle boyle a tourkey, with some meale that was left. Seeing no body persued, we resolved to goe thence before daylight to seeke for more booty. We stayed 14 nights before we turned back to the village, during which time we mett with nothing, and having gon on all sides with great paines without victualls. Att last we came to kill 2 Stagges, but did not suffice 12 of us. We weare forced to gather the dung of the stagges to boyle it with the meat, which made all very bitter. But good stomachs make good favour. Hunger forced us to kill our Prisoners, who weare chargeable in eating our food, for want of which have eaten the flesh. So by that means we weare freed from the trouble. The next day we came neere a Village. Att our coming we killed a woman with her child, & seeing no more for us that way we tourned backe againe for feare of pursueing, and resolved to goe backe to the first village that was 3 days' journey; but on the way we mett with 5 and 20 or 30 men and women, who discovered us, which made [us] go to it. They fought & defended themselves lustily; but [there is] no resisting the Strongest party, for our guns were a terrour to them, and made them give over. During the fight the women ranne away. Five of the men weare wounded with arrowes and foure escaped, but he that was sent with me att first to make a discovery was horribly wounded with 2 arrowes and a blow of a club on the head. If he had stuck to it as we, he might proceed better. We burned him with all speed, that he might not languish long, to putt ourselves in safty. We killed 2 of them, & 5 prisoners wee tooke, and came away to where we left our boats, where we arrived within 2 days without resting, or eating or drinking all the time, saveing a litle stagge's meate. We tooke all their booty, which was of 2 sacks of Indian corne, stagges' skins, some pipes, some red and green stoanes, and some tobacco in powder, with some small loaves of bread, and some girdles, garters, necklaces made of goats' haire, and some small coyne of that country, some bowes and arrowes, and clubbs well wrought. The tournes of their heads weare of snakes' skin with bears' pawes. The hayre of some of them very long, & all proper men. We went on the other side of the river the soonest we could, and came to our fort. After we looked about us least we should be surprised, and perceiving nothing, we went about to gett meat for our wants & then to sleepe. Att midnight we left that place. Six of us tooke a boate, 5 an other, and 2 the litle one. We row the rest of the night with all strength, & the breaking of the day hid ourselves in very long rushes & our boats. The litle boat went att the other side of the river, those hid it in the wood. One of them went up a tree to spie about, in case he could perceive any thing, to give notice to his comrades, & he was to come within sight of us to warne us. We weare in great danger going downe the streame of that river in the night time. We had trouble enough to carry all our baggage without the least noise. Being come to the end of the river which empties it selfe into a lake of some 8 or 9 leagues in compasse, we went into a small river to kill salmons, as in deed we tooke great many with staves, and so sturgeons, of which we made provision for a long while. Att last finding our selves out of all feare & danger, we went freely a hunting about the lake, where we tarried 3 dayes, and 2 of our Company mett with 2 women that runned away from the Sanoutin's country, which is of the Iroquoit nation. Those poore creatures having taken so much paines to sett themselves att liberty to goe to their native country, found themselves besett in a greater slavery then before, they being tyed [and] brought to us. The next day we went from thence with the 5 prisoners & the 22 heads. So much for the litlenesse of our boats as for the weight we had to putt upon them, being in danger, which made us make the more hast to the place where we intended to make new boats. For 9 days we went through dangerous places which weare like so many precipices with horrible falling of watters. We weare forced to carry our boats after the same maner as before, with great paines. We came att last to a lake where we contrived other boats, and there we parted our acquisited booty, and then each had care of his owne. We ordered the biggest boat should hould 4 men and 2 prisoners; the next 3 men and the 2 women that last weare taken; the 3d should hould 3 and the other prisoner. My brother and I had a man & woman with 4 heads to our share, and so the rest accordingly without dispute or noise. We wandered severall dayes on that lake. It was a most delightfull place, and a great many islands. Here we killed great many bears. After we came to a most delightfull place for the number of stagges that weare there. Thence into a straight river. From thence weare forced to make many carriages through many stony mountains, where we made severall trappes for castors. We tooke above 200 castors there, and fleaced off the best skins. There weare some skins so well dressed that [they] held the oyle of beares as pure bottles. During that time we mett severall huntsmen of our country; so we heard news of our friends. Only our father was not yett retourned from the warrs against the french and algonquins. We left our small boats, that weare purposely confected for our hunting, & tooke our great boats that could carry us and all our luggage. We went up the same river againe, not without great labour. Att last with much ado we arrived at the landing place where wee made a stay of 4 days; where many Iroquoites women came, and among others my 2 sisters, that received me with great joy, with a thousand kindnesses and guifts, as you may think. I gave them the 2 heads that I had, keeping the woman for my mother, to be her slave. There was nothing but singing & dancing out of meere joy for our safe retourne. I had 20 castors for my share, with 2 skins full of oyle of beare and another full of oriniack and stagge's grease. I gave to each of my sisters 6 stagges' skins to make them coats. I kept the grease for my mother, to whome it is convenient to give what is necessary for the family. We made our slaves carry all our booty, & went on to litle journeys through woods with ease, because the woods weare not thick and the earth very faire and plaine. All the way the people made much of me, till we came to the village, and especially my 2 sisters, that in all they shewed their respects, giveing me meate every time we rested ourselves, or painting my face or greasing my haire or combing my head. Att night they tooke the paines to pull off my stokins, & when I supped they made me lay downe by them and cover me with their coats, as if the weather had ben cold. This voyage being ended, albeit I came to this village, & twice with feare & terror, the 3d time notwithstanding with joy & contentment. As we came neare the village, a multitude of people came to meete us with great exclamations, and for the most part for my sake, biding me to be cheerfull & qualifying me dodcon, that is, devil, being of great veneration in that country to those that shew any vallour. Being arrived within halfe a league of the village, I shewed a great modesty, as usually warriors use to doe. The whole village prepares to give the scourge to the captives, as you [have] heard before, under which I myselfe I was once to undergoe. My mother comes to meet mee, leaping & singing. I was accompanied with both [of] my sisters. Shee takes the woman, slave that I had, and would not that any should medle with her. But my brother's prisoner, as the rest of the captives, weare soundly beaten. My mother accepted of my brother's 2 heads. My brother's prisoner was burned the same day, and the day following I received the sallery of my booty, which was of porcelaine necklaces, Tourns of beads, pendants, and girdles. There was but banqueting for a while. The greatest part of both young men & women came to see me, & the women the choicest of meats, and a most dainty and cordiall bit which I goe to tell you; doe not long for it, is the best that is among them. First when the corne is greene they gather so much as need requireth, of which leaves they preserve the biggest leaves for the subject that followes. A dozen more or lesse old women meet together alike, of whome the greatest part want teeth, and seeth not a jott, and their cheeks hange downe like an old hunting-dogg, their eyes full of watter and bloodshott. Each takes an eare of corne and putts in their mouths, which is properly as milke, chawes it, and when their mouths are full, spitts it out in their hands, which possibly they wash not once one yeare; so that their hands are white inside by reason of the grease that they putt to their haire & rubbing of it with the inside of their hands, which keeps them pretty clean, but the outside in the rinknesse of their rinkled hands there is a quarter of an ounze of filth and stinking grease. And so their hands being full of that mince meate minced with their gumms and [enough] to fill a dish. So they chaw chestnutts; then they mingle this with bear's grease or oyle of flower (in french we call it Tourne Sol) with their hands. So made a mixture, they tye the leaves att one end & make a hodgepot & cover it with the same leaves and tye the upper end so that what is within these leaves becomes a round ball, which they boile in a kettle full of watter or brouth made of meate or fish. So there is the description of the most delicious bitt of the world. I leave you taste of their Salmi gondy, which I hope to tell you in my following discourses of my other voyages in that country, and others that I frequented the space of tenne years. To make a period of this my litle voyage. After I stayed awhile in this village with all joy & mirth, for feasts, dances, and playes out of meere gladnesse for our small victorious company's hapy retourne, so after that their heads had sufficiently danced, they begin to talke [of going] to warre against the hollanders. Most of us are traited againe for the castors we bestowed on them. They resolve unanimously to goe on their designe. Every thing ready, we march along. The next day we arrived in a small brough [Footnote: _Brough_ probably means borough, used, as the French applied it to "bourgade," for a town of Indians or whites.] of the hollanders, where we masters them, without that those beere-bellies had the courage to frowne att us. Whether it was out of hope of lucre or otherwise, we with violence tooke the meate out of their potts, and opening their coubards [cupboards] we take and eat what we [can] gett. For drinking of their wine we weare good fellowes. So much that they fought with swords among themselves without the least offer of any misdeed to me. I drunk more then they, but more soberly, letting them make their quarrells without any notice. The 4th day we come to the fort, of Orange, wher we weare very well received, or rather our Castors, every one courting us; and was nothing but pruins and reasins and tobbacco plentifully, and all for ho, ho, which is thanks, adding _nianonnha_, thanke you. We went from house to house. I went into the fort with my brother, and have not yett ben knowne a french. But a french souldier of the fort speaks to me in Iroquois language, & demanded if I was not a stranger, and did veryly believe I was french, for all that I was all dabbled over with painting and greased. I answered him in the same language, that no; and then he speaks in swearing, desiring me [to tell him] how I fell in the hands of those people. And hearing him speake french, amazed, I answered him, for which he rejoyced very much. As he embraces me, he cryes out with such a stirre that I thought him senselesse. He made a shame for all that I was wild but to blush red. I could be no redder then what they painted me before I came there. All came about me, ffrench as well as duch, every one makeing [me] drink out of the bottles, offering me their service; but my time yett was not out, so that I wanted not their service, for the onely rumour of my being a frenchman was enough. The flemish women drawed me by force into their houses, striving who should give, one bread, other meate, to drinke and to eate, and tobacco. I wanted not for those of my nation, Iroquois, who followed me in a great squadroon through the streets, as if I had bin a monster in nature or a rare thing to be seen. I went to see the Governor, & talked with me a long time, and tould him the life that I lead, of which he admired. He offred me to buy me from them att what prise so ever, or else should save me, which I accepted not, for severall reasons. The one was for not to be behoulding to them, and the other being loathsome to leave such kind of good people. For then I began to love my new parents that weare so good & so favourable to me. The 3d reason was to watch a better opportunity for to retyre to the french rather then make that long circuit which after I was forced to doe for to retyre to my country more then 2,000 leagues; and being that it was my destiny to discover many wild nations, I would not to strive against destinie. I remitted myselfe to fortune and adventure of time, as a thing ordained by God for his greatest glorie, as I hope it will prove. Our treatis being done, overladend with bootyes abundantly, we putt ourselves in the way that we came to see againe our village, and to passe that winter with our wives, and to eat with them our Cagaimtie in peece, hoping that nobody should trouble us during our wintering, and also to Expect or finde our fathers retourning home. Leaving that place, many cryed to see me among a company of wolves, as that souldier tould me who knowed me the first houre; and the poore man made the tears come to my eyes. The truth is, I found many occasions to retire for to save me, but have not yett souffred enough to have merited my deliverence. In 2 dayes' journey we weare retourned to our cabbans, where every one of us rendered himself to his dearest kindred or master. My sisters weare charged of porcelaine, of which I was shure not to faile, for they weare too liberall to mee and I towards them. I was not 15 dayes retourned, but that nature itselfe reproached me to leade such a life, remembering the sweet behaviour and mildnesse of the french, & considered with meselfe what end should I expect of such a barbarous nation, enemy to God and to man. The great effect that the flemings shewed me, and the litle space was from us there; can I make that journey one day? The great belief that that people had in me should make them not to mistrust me, & by that I should have greater occasion to save me without feare of being pursued. All these reasons made one deliberat to take a full resolution, without further delay, of saving meselfe to the flemings; ffor I could be att no safty among such a nation full of reveng. If in case the ffrench & algonquins defeats that troupe of theirs, then what spite they will have will reveng it on my boanes; ffor where is no law, no faith to undertake to goe to the ffrench. I was once interrupted, nor have I had a desire to venture againe for the second time. I should delight to be broyled as before in pitifull torments. I repented of a good occasion I lett slippe, finding meselfe in the place with offers of many to assist me. But he that is of a good resolution must be of strong hopes of what he undertakes; & if the dangers weare considered which may be found in things of importancy, you ingenious men would become cooks. Finally, without expecting my father's retourne, putting away all feare & apprehension, I constituted to deliver meselfe from their hands at what ever rate it would come too. For this effect I purposed to faine to goe a hunting about the brough; & for to dissemble the better, I cutt long sticks to make handles for a kind of a sword they use, that thereby they might not have the least suspition. One day I tooke but a simple hattchett & a knife, if occasion presented to cutt some tree, & for to have more defence, if unhappily I should be rencountred, to make them believe that I was lost in the woods. Moreover, as the whole nation tooke me for proud, having allways great care to be guarnished with porcelaine, & that I would fly away like a beggar, a thing very unworthy, in this deliberation I ventured. I inquired [of] my brother if he would keepe me company. I knewed that he never thought, seeing that he was courting of a young woman, who by the report of many was a bastard to a flemish. I had no difficulty to believe, seeing that the colour of her hayre was much more whiter then that of the Iroquoits. Neverthelesse, shee was of a great familie. I left them to their love. In shorte, that without any provision I tooke journey through the forests guided by fortune. No difficulty if I could keepe the highway, which is greatly beatten with the great concours of that people that comes & goes to trade with the flemings; but to avoid all encounters I must prolong a farre off. Soe being assisted by the best hope of the world, I made all diligence in the meene while that my mother nor kindred should mistrust me in the least. I made my departure att 8 of the clock in the morning the 29th 8bre, 1663 [1653]. I marched all that journey without eating, but being as accustomed to that, without staying I continued my cours att night. Before the breaking of the day I found myselfe uncapable because of my feeblenesse and faintnesse for want of food and repose after such constraint. But the feare of death makes vertu of necessity. The morning commanded me to goe, for it's faire and could ayre, which [was] somewhat advantageous to keepe [me] more cheerfull. Finally the resolution reterning my courage, att 4 of the clocke att evening, the next daye I arrived in a place full of trees cutt, which made mee looke to myselfe, fearing to approach the habitation, though my designe was such. It is a strange thing that to save this life they abhorre what they wish, & desire which they apprehend. Approaching nigher and nigher untill I perceived an opening that was made by cutting of wood where was one man cutting still wood, I went nearer and called him. [He] incontinently leaves his work & comes to me, thinking I was Iroquoise. I said nothing to him to the contrary. I kept him in that thought, promissing him to treat with him all my castors att his house, if he should promise me there should be non of my brother Iroquoise there, by reson we must be liberall to one another. He assured me there was non then there. I tould him that my castors were hidden and that I should goe for them to-morrow. So satisfied [he] leads me to his cabban & setts before me what good cheare he had, not desiring to loose time because the affaire concerned me much. I tould him I was savage, but that I lived awhile among the ffrench, & that I had something valuable to communicate to the governor. That he would give me a peece of paper and Ink and pen. He wondered very much to see that, what he never saw before don by a wildman. He charges himself with my letter, with promise that he should tell it to nobody of my being there, and to retourne the soonest he could possible, having but 2 litle miles to the fort of Orange. In the meane while of his absence shee shews me good countenance as much as shee could, hoping of a better imaginary profit by me. Shee asked me if we had so much libertie with the ffrench women to lye with them as they; but I had no desire to doe anything, seeing myselfe so insnared att death's door amongst the terrible torments, but must shew a better countenance to a worse game. In the night we heard some wild men singing, which redoubled my torments and apprehension, which inticed me to declare to that woman that my nation would kill [me] because I loved the ffrench and the flemings more than they, and that I resolved hereafter to live with the flemings. Shee perceiving my reason hid me in a corner behind a sack or two of wheat. Nothing was to me but feare. I was scarcely there an houre in the corner, but the flemings came, 4 in number, whereof that french man [who] had knowne me the first, who presently getts me out & gives me a suite that they brought purposely to disguise me if I chanced to light upon any of the Iroquoits. I tooke leave of my landlady & landlord, yett [it] grieved me much that I had nothing to bestow upon them but thanks, being that they weare very poore, but not so much [so] as I. I was conducted to the fort of Orange, where we had no incounter in the way, where I have had the honnour to salute the Governor, who spoake french, and by his speech thought him a french man. The next day he caused an other habit to be given me, with shoos & stokins & also linnen. A minister that was a Jesuit [Footnote: "A minister that was a Jesuit." This was the Jesuit father, Joseph Noncet. See Introduction, page 3.] gave me great offer, also a Marchand, to whom I shall ever have infinit obligations, although they weare satisfied when I came to france att Rochel. I stayed 3 dayes inclosed in the fort & hidden. Many came there to search me, & doubt not but my parents weare of the party. If my father had ben there he would venture hard, & no doubt but was troubled att it, & so was my mother, & my parents who loved me as if I weare their owne naturall son. My poore sisters cryed out & lamented through the town of the flemings, as I was tould they called me by my name, ffor they came there the 3rd day after my flight. Many flemings wondered, & could not perceive how those could love me so well; but the pleasure caused it, as it agrees well with the Roman proverbe, "doe as they doe." I was imbarked by the governor's order; after taking leave, and thanks for all his favours, I was conducted to Menada, a towne faire enough for a new country, where after some 3 weekes I embarked in one of their shipps for holland, where we arrived after many boisterous winds and ill weather, and, after some six weeks' sayle and some days, we landed att Amsterdam the 4th of January, 1664 [1654]. Some days after I imbarked myselfe for france and came to Rochelle well & safe, not without blowing my fingers many times as well as I [had] done before [when] I arrived in holland. I stayed till spring, expecting the transporte of a shippe for new france. _The Second Voyage made in the Upper Country of the Iroquoits._ The 15th day of may I embarked in a fisherboat to go for peerce Island, which is 6 score leagues off Quebecq, being there arrived the 7th of may. I search diligently the means possible for to end my voyage & render meselfe neere my naturall parents & country people. Att last I found an occasion to goe by some shallops & small boats of the wildernesse, which went up as farre as the ffrench habitation, there to joyne with the Algonquins & Mountaignaies to warre against the Iroquoits from all times, as their histories mentions. Their memory is their Chronicle, for it [passes] from father to son, & assuredly very excellent for as much as I know & many others has remarked. I embarked into one of their shallops & had the wind favorable for us N. E. In 5 dayes came to Quebecq, the first dwelling place of the ffrench. I mean not to tell you the great joy I perceivd in me to see those persons that I never thought to see more, & they in like maner with me thought I was dead long since. In my absence peace was made betweene the french & the Iroquoits, which was the reason I stayed not long in a place. The yeare before, the French began a new plantation [Footnote: "Began a new plantation," at Onondaga.] in the upper Country of the Iroquoits, which is distant from the Low Iroquois Country som fourscore leagues, where I was prisoner, & been in the warrs of that country. I tooke great notice of it, as I mentioned in my formest voyage, which made me have mind to goe thither againe, by the reason peace was concluded among them. Friends, I must confesse I loved those poore people entirely well; moreover, nothing was to be feared by reason of the great distance which causes a difference in their speech, yett they understand one another. At that very time the Reverend fathers Jesuits embarked themselves for a second time to dwell there and teach Christian doctrin. I offered myselfe to them, and was, as their custome is, kindly accepted. I prepare meselfe for the journey, which was to be in June. You must know that the Hurrons weare contained in the article of peace, but not the Algonquins, which caused more difficulty; for those Iroquoits who imbarqued us durst not come downe the 3 rivers where the french should embarque, because it is the dwelling place of the Algonquin. To remedy this the ffrench and the barbarrs that weare to march, must come to Mont Royall, the last french inhabitation, in shalopps. It will not be amisse to leave the following of the voyage for to repeat the reasons why those poor hurrons ventured themselves into their hands, who have bin ennemy one to another all their life time, and that naturally. You must know that the Hurrons, so called by the ffrench, have a bush of a hair rised up artificially uppon the heads like to a cock's comb. Those people, I say, weare 20 or 30,000 by report of many not 20 years ago. Their dwelling is neere the uper lake, so called by name of the ffrench. That people tell us of their pedegree from the beginning, that their habitation above the Lake, many years agoe, and as they increased, many, great many, began to search out another country. For to tend towards the South they durst not, for the multitude of people that was there, and besides some of their owne nations had against them. Then [they] resolved to goe to the north parts, for westward there was much watter, which was without end. Moreover many inhabitants, monstruous for the greatnesse of body. We will speake about this in another place more att large, where will give an exact account of what came to our knowledge dureing our travells, and the land we have discovered since. If eastward, they had found the Iroquoits who possessed some parts of the river of Canada, and their dwelling was where Quebecq is situated, and about that place, & att the upper end of Montmerency 2 leagues from Quebecq, where was a great village where now is seene a desolat country, that is, for woods and forests, nor more nor lesse then what small bushes nigh the river's side in the place called the Cape de Magdelaine. It's such a country that the ffrench calls it the burned country 20 miles about, and in many places the same is to be seene where there weare forests. So seeing that the north regions weare not so peopled, they pursued [their] route of that way, and for the purpose provided themselves provision for a twelvemonth to live, with all their equipage imbarqued in the begining of the Spring. After that they passed great wayes, coming to a lake which conducts them into a great river, [Footnote: "Coming to a lake which conducts them into a great river." Moose River, which leads into Hudson's Bay.] which river leads them to a great extent of salt watter; so as they being good fishers want no fish. They coasted this great watter for a long time, finding allways some litle nation whose language they knew not, haveing great feare of one another. Finally, finding but a fearfull country full of mountains and rocks, they made great boats that might hould some 30 men to traverse with more assurance the great bay for to decline from the tediousnesse of the highway, which they must doe, having but small boats; whence they came to a country full of mountains of ice, which made us believe that they descended to the goulden arme. So, fearing the winter should come on, they made sayles wherein they made greate way when the wind was behind; otherwyse they could not make use of their sayles, and many of their boats weare lost, but still went on, hoping of a better country. They wandered so many moons with great danger and famine, ffor they began to misse such plenty as they [were] used [to]. Att last [they] gott out, and coasting the skirts of the sea, and enters as it weare into a country where the sumer begins againe, they weare incouraged to greater hopes, insomuch that the poore people became from their first origine to lead another life. Being only conducted by their imaginary idea or instinct of nature ffor steering, they knewed nothing but towards the roote of the Sun, and likewise by some starrs. Finally the coast brings them to the great river St. Lawrence, river of Canada; knowing not that it was a river till they came just opposit against the mounts of our blessed lady, where they then perceaved to [be] betwixt 2 lands, albeit that litle summer was past, and that the season of the yeare growing on somewhat sharpe, which made them think to search for winter. [They] mounted allways up the river, and finding one side most beautifull for the eye, they passed it over, and planted their cabbans in many parts by reason of the many streams there flowing with quantity of fish, whereof they made a good store for their wintering. After a while that upon this undertaking they made cognicence and commerced with the highlanders, inhabitants of that country, who gave them notice that there weare a nation higher who should understand them, being that they weare great travellers, that they should goe on the other side and there should find another river named Tatousac. They seeing the winter drawing on they made a fort and sent to discover the said place a band of their men to Tatousac. They finde a nation that understands them not more then the first, but by chance some that escaped the hands of their ennemy Iroquoits, and doubts that there is great difference of language between the Iroquoits and the Hurrons. They weare heard; & further you must note that neere the lake of the Hurrons some 40 leagues eastward there is another lake belonging to the nation of the Castors, which is 30 miles about. This nation have no other trafick nor industry then huntsmen. They use to goe once a yeare to the furthest place of the lake of the Hurrons to sell their Castors for Indian Corne, for some collors made of nettles, for sacks, & such things, for which they weare curious enough. So coming backe to their small lake againe, those marchandises weare transported to a nation beyond that lake towards N. N. E., and that nation had commerce with a people called the white fish, which is norwest to the 3 rivers some 150 leagues in the land. That nation had intelligence with the Saguenes, who are those that liveth about Tadousac, so that the 2 nations have great correspondency with one another because of their mutual language, saving that each one have a particular letter and accent. Finding that nation of the Castors, who for the most part understands the Hurron idiom, they conversed together & weare supplied with meat by that wandring nation that lives onely by what they may or can gett. Contrary wise the Hurrons are seditious. We shall speak of them more amply in its place. So those miserable adventurers had ayd during that winter, who doubtlesse should souffer without this favor. They consulted together often, seeing themselves renforced with such a succour of people for to make warrs against the Iroqois. The next spring their warre was conducted with success, ffor they chassed the Iroquois out of their country which they lost some winters before. They march up to the furthest part of the Lake Champlaine, to know if that was their formest dwelling, but they speak no further of it. Those Iroquoits to wander up and downe and spread themselves as you have heard to the lake d'Ontario, of which I will after make mention. I heard all this from frenchmen that knewed the Huron speech better then I myselfe, and after I heard it from the wildmen, & it's strang (being if it be so as the french as [well] as wildmen do already) that those people should have made a circuit of that litle world. The Iroquoits after being putt out of that country of Quebecq, the Hurrons and Algonquins made themselves masters in it; that is to say, they went up above monmorency after that they left the place of their wintring, which was over against Tadousac, att the height of the Chaudiere (so called in french), and after many years they retourned to live att the gape of their lake, which is 200 Leagues long & 50 or 60 leagues large. Those hurrons lived in a vast country that they found unhabited, & they in a great number builded villages & they multiplied very many. The Iroquoits also gott a great country, as much by sweetnesse as by force. They became warriors uppon their owne dispences and cost. They multiplied so much, but they became better souldiers, as it's seene by the following of this discourse. The hurrons then inhabited most advantageously in that place, for as much as for the abundance of dears and staggs, from whence they have the name since of Staggy. It's certaine that they have had severall other callings, according as they have builded villages. Fishing they have in abundance in his season of every kind; I may say, more then wee have in Europe. In some places in this lake where is an innumerable quantity of fish, that in 2 houres they load their boat with as many as they can carry. At last [they] became so eminent strong that they weare of a minde to fight against the neighbouring nation. Hearing that their sworne ennemys the Iroquoits retired towards the nation called Andasstoueronom, which is beyond the lake d'Ontario, between Virginia & that lake, they resolved to goe & search them for to warre against them; but they shall find it to their ruine, which I can affirme & assure, because the Iroquoits in the most part of their speeches, which comes from father to son, says, we bears (for it's their name) whilst we scraped the earth with our pawes, for to make the wheat grow for to maintaine our wives, not thinking that the deare shall leape over the lake to kill the Beare that slept; but they found that the beare could scratch the stagge, for his head and leggs are small to oppose. Such speeches have they commonly together, in such that they have had warrs many years. The Holanders being com'd to inhabit Menada, furnished that nation with weopens, by which means they became conquerors. The ffrench planters in Newfrance came up to live among this nation. In effect they doe live now many years; but the ambition of the fathers Jesuits not willing to permitt ffrench families to goe there, for to conserve the best to their profitt, houlding this pretext that yong men should frequent the wild women, so that the Christian religion by evil example could not be established. But the time came that they have forsook it themselves. For a while after the Iroquoits came there, the number of seaven hundred, on the snow in the beginning of Spring, where they make a cruell slaughter as the precedent years, where some ghostly fathers or brothers or their servants weare consumed, taken or burnt, as their relation maks mention. This selfesame yeare they tooke prisoners of 11 or 12,000 of those poore people in a village att [in] sight of the Jesuits' Fort, which had the name Saint, but [from] that houre it might have the name of feare. Heere follows sicknesse, and famine also was gott among these people, flying from all parts to escape the sword. They found a more rude and cruell enemy; for some after being taken gott their lives, but the hunger and their treachery made them kill one another, be it for booty or whatsoever other. None escaped, saving some hundred came to Quebecq to recover their first liberty, but contrary they found their end. So the ffathers left walls, wildernesse, and all open wide to the ennemy and came to Quebecq with the rest of the poore fugitives. They were placed in the wildernesse neere the habitation of Quebecq; but being not a convenient place, they weare putt to the Isle of Orleans, 3 leagues below Quebecq, in a fort that they made with the succour of the ffrench, where they lived some years planting & sowing Indian corne for their nourishment, and greased robes of Castors, of which grease the profit came to the ffathers, the summe of 10,000 livres tournois yearly. In this place they weare catched when they least thought of it, not without subject of conivance. God knoweth there weare escaped that time about 150 women and some 20 men. The rest are all killed, taken and brought away, of which for the most part weare sett at liberty in the country of their ennemy, where they found a great number of their kindred and relations who lived with all sorte of liberty, and went along with the Iroquois to warre as if they weare natives, in them was no trust to be given, ffor they weare more cruell then the Iroquois even to their proper country, in soe much that the rest resolved to surrender themselves then undergoe the hazard to be taken by force. The peace was made by the instancy of the ffather Jesuits. As before, some weare going there to live, as they have already begun. They seeing our departure & transporting of our goods to Mount Royall for to runne yea the hazard, they also must come. To lett you know [if] our fortune or theirs be better or worse, it should be a hard thing for me to declare; you may judge yourselfe. Lett us come to our purpose and follow our voyage. Being arrived att the last french habitation, where we must stay above 15 dayes, ffor to pass that place without guide was a thing impossible, but after the time expired, our guides arrived. It was a band of Iroquois that was appointed to fetch us, and conduct us into their country. One day att 10 of the clock in the morning, when we least thought of any, saw severall boats coming from the point of St Louis, directly att the foot of a hill so called some 3 miles from mont Royall. Then rejoycing all to see coming those that they never thought to have seene againe, ffor they promissed to come att the beginning of Spring and should arrive 15 dayes before us, but seeing them, every one speakes but of his imbarcation. The Hurrons that weare present began to make speeches to encourage their wives to make ready with all their stuffe and to feare nothing, being that the heavans would have it so disposed, & that it was better to die in Iroquois Country and peace with their brethren, then stay in the knott of their nativity, that is their country, to be murthered, & better in the Iroquois Country in warre for to be burned. All things so disposed, they prepare themselves to receave the Iroquois, who weare no more then 3,000 in number, [Footnote: "No more than 3,000 in number," meaning, no doubt, that number at Onondaga and its vicinity.] and made a halt for to hold councell to know what they must say that they thought of every one and of the Hurrons. But those Barbars had an other designe, ffor their destiny was to doe, and not to speake; but for to doe this, this must be a treachery in which they are experted. You must know that that bande [of] Irokois [in] descending the last streame or falling watter one of their skiffs made shipwrake in which weare seaven, all drowned without none could souccour them. A thing remarkable, that every one strive to help himselfe without that they will give ayde or assistance to an other; uppon this, that untoward army, those wild barbarous with vengence, held councell, as is before said, for to be revenged of the losse of their Compagnions, where they determined, being that they come to fetch the french and the hurrons, to revenge this uppon them and kill them as soone as they should be in their jurisdiction; but considering after that wee french had a fort in their country with a good strong guard, and that that should cause affairs, it was concluded that there furor should not be discharged but uppon the poore hurrons. Upon this deliberation they broke councell and arrived att the fort. Their speech was cleare contrary to their designe, and promises inviolably ffriendshipp. There was presents and guifts given of both party, but when they pertooke the death of their Compagnions they must make other presents perhaps that prevailed somewhat in their thoughts, and tourne them from their perfidious undertakings. For often the liberalitie of those savage was seene executed, but the desire brings great booty, and observance causes that covetousnesse will prove deare to the ffrench as to the Hurrons in few days. Presently they procure some boats, ffor the Iroquoits had but eleven and the hurrons none, for they came in the ffrench shallope. So that it must be contrivance for the one and other, which was soone done. In lesse then 8 dayes parted the dwelling we found more then 30 boats, and all very great, we being also so many in company, 80 Iroquoits, some hundred huron women and some 10 or 12 men, 20 ffrench with two ffathers Jesuits. In this manner we departed Mont royall, every one loaded with his burden. Wee passed the same journie. Wee passed the gulfe of St Louis, and made cabbans in the furthermost part of the streame. That day was laborious to us, so much that the Iroquoits resolved to be backe againe, and make a company to fight against the Algonquins of Quebecq. Upon this, 30 left us. The next day we embarqued though not without confusion, because many weare not content nor satisfied. What a pleasure the two ffathers to see them trott up and downe the rocks to gett their menage into the boat, which with much adoe they gott in. The boats weare so loaden that many could not proceed if bad weather should happen. The journey but small came only to the lake of St Louis, 3 leagues beyond the streame. There the savage threwed the ffathers' bundle on the watter side, and would take no care for them; seeing many of their men gone, the french as well as Hurrons, who would have disputed their lives with them for their lives, and had prevented them if their designe had bin discovered. So that after a great debat we must yeeld to the strongest party for the next embarking. The ffathers' merchandises weare left behind to oblige the ffrench to stay with it, and seaven of us onely embarqued, one of the ffathers with 6 more, and the rest stayed to bring what was left behind, so that ours weare diminished above 40 men. Wee embarqued indifferently one with another, ffrench, Iroquoits, and Hurrons. After we came to the highest of the Isle of Montroyall; we saw the separation, or rather the great two rivers that of Canada are composed; the one hath its origine from the west and the other from South Southeast. It was the last that wee sayled, coming to the end of that lake, which is 14 or 15 leagues long and 3 in breadth. We must make carriages which are high withall, and the boats by lande because no other way to passe. The trainage is where the watter is not so trepid. We draw the boats loaden after us, and when there is not water enough, every one his bundle by land. Having proceeded 3 dayes' journey on the river, we entered another lake somewhat bigger; it's called St. francis. This is delightfull to the eye as the formost. I speak not of the goodnesse, for there are many things to be spoaken off. I am satisfied to assure you that it is a delightfull & beautifull country. We wanted nothing to the view passing those skirts, killing staggs, auriniacks & fowles. As for the fish, what a thing it is to see them in the bottom of the watter, & take it biting the hooke or lancing it with lance or cramp iron. In this lake the Hurrons began to suspect the treachery conspirated against them, ffor they observed that the Iroquoits allways consulted privately together, not giving them the least notice, which made a Hurron with 3 men & 2 women goe away & run away to the ffrench of Quebecq; & for this intent one very morning, after being imbarqued as the rest, went in to the midle of the river, where they began to sing & take their leave, to the great astonishment of the rest & to the great discontent of the Iroquoits, that saw themselves so frustrated of so much booty that they exspected. But yett they made no signe att the present, but lett them goe without trouble for feare the rest would doe the same, & so be deprived of the conspiracy layde for the death of their compagnions. To that purpose knowing the place where they weare to land, which was in an island in the midle of the river, a league long & a quarter broade, they resolved to murder them in the said place, which was promptly executed in this maner following:-- They embarqued both hurron men and women in their boats, and among them made up som 20 that embarked themselves in 2 of their boats, in a posture as if they should goe to the warrs, & went before the breake of day. We weare but 7 frenchmen, & they put us 7 [in] several boats. I find meselfe with 3 Iroquoits & one Hurron man. Coming within sight of the Isle where they weare to play their game, one of the Iroquoits in the same boate as I landed, takes his gunne & charges it. The hurron and I saw this, but neither dreamed of the tragedy that was att hand. After goes into the woode, & the Iroquois that governed the boat takes up a hattchett & knocks downe the poore hurron, that never thought to be so ended, and the other that charged his musket in the wood shoots him and fell downe uppon my heels. My feet soone swims in the miserable hurron's bloode. He did quiver as if he had an ague, and was wounded with great many wounds, that still they doubled. Both Iroquoits came to me and bid [me have] courage, ffor they would not hurt me; but [as] for him that was killed, he was a dogg, good for nothing. The small knowledge that I have had of their speech made of a better hope; but one that could not have understood them would have ben certainly in a great terror. This murder could not be committed so but that the rest of the boats should heare it, and therefore in that very time we heard sad moans and cryes horidly by hurron women. They threwed the corps immediately into the water and went the other side of the river into the abovesaid isle. Being landed together, the poore women went in a flock like sheep that sees the wolves ready to devour them. There were 8 hurron men that tooke theire armes. The Iroquoits not hindering them in the least, but contrarily the Captayne of the Iroquoits appeared to defend their cause, giving sharp apprehensions to those that held up armes, and so farr that he did beat those that offered to hurt them. In this example you may perceive the dissimulation & vengence of this cursed people. So that the Company, reassured in some respects, the affrighted company, made them goe up to the toppe of the hill and there errect cottages some 40 paces from them; during the while I walked on the side where they weare hard at work and firmly believed that the poore hurron was killed by the Iroquoit out of malice, so much trust I putt in the traiterous words. As I was directly coming where the hurrons weare, what should I see? A band of Iroquoits all daubed, rushing out of a wood all painted, which is the signe of warre. I thought they weare those that I have seene in [the] morning before, as effectually they weare. I came to the place where weare all those poore victims. There was the good ffather comforting the poore innocent women. The chief of them satt by a valliant huron who all his life time killed many Iroquoits, and by his vallour acquired the name of great Captayne att home and abroad. The Iroquoit spake to him, as the ffather told us, and as I myself have heard. "Brother, cheare up," says he, "and assure yourselfe you shall not be killed by doggs; thou art both man and captayne, as I myselfe am, and will die in thy defence." And as the afforesaid crew shewed such a horrid noise, of a sudaine the captayne tooke hold of the chaine that was about him, thou shalt not be killed by another hand then by mine. Att that instant the cruell Iroquoits fell upon those hurrons, as many wolves, with hattchetts, swords, and daggers, & killed as many [as] there weare, save onely one man. That hurron captayne seeing himselfe so basly betrayed, he tooke hold of his hattchett that hunged downe his side, and strook downe a Iroquoit; but the infinit deale tooke his courage and life away. This that was saved was an old man, who in his time had ben att the defeat and taking of severall Iroquoits. He in authority by his means saved some. This news brought to them and his name as benefactor, which deed then saved his life. Heere you see a good example, that it is decent to be good to his Ennemy. After this was done & their corps throwne into the watter, the women weare brought together. I admired att them, seeing them in such a deepe silence, looking on the ground with their coverletts uppon their heads, not a sigh heard, where a litle before they made such a lamentable noise for the losse of their companyion that was killed in my boate. Some 2 howers all was pacified & the kettle almost ready for [to] goe to worke. In this very moment there calls a councell. The ffather was called as a statsman to that councell, where he hears their wild reasons; that what they had done was in reveng of their deare comrades that weare drowned in coming for them, and also to certifie the ffrench of their good will. So done, the meate was dressed, we weare invited. The ffather comes to take his dish, and finds us all 5 in armes, resolving to die valiently, thinking the councell was called to conclud our death as the Hurron's. The 6th was not able to menage armes, being a litle boy. The ffather gave us a brother of his company who had invincible good looke and a stout heart. We waited onely for his shooting. The ffather could not persuade him to draw. We told him if he would not fight, to leave our company; which perceived by the Iroquoits, made them looke to themselves. They came & assured us of their good will. The 4 frenchmen that understood not longed for the schermish & die for it. Att last the ffather prevailed with us, & tould us what was done in Councell. Two Iroquoits came to us with weapons, who signifies there is nothing layd against you, & commanded their compagnions to put by their armes, that they weare our brethren. The agreement was made. Some went to the feast, some stayed. Having eaten, the ffather calls them againe to councell, & for that purpose borrows some porcelaine from the captayne to make 3 guifts. All being together the ffather begins his speech, throwing the first guift into the midle of the place, desiring that it might be accepted for the conservation of the ffriendshipe that had ben long between them and us, and so was accepted with a ho, ho, which is an assurance & a promise, as thanks. The 2nd was for the lives of the women which weare in their hands, & to conduct them with saftie into their country, which was accepted in like manner. The 3rd was to encourage them to bring us to their owne country & carry our Marchandises in such [manner] that they may not be wett, nor leave them behind, which was, as abovesaid, punctually observed. The councell being ended, the captaynes made speeches to encourage the masters of the boats to take a bundle to his care & charge, & give an account of it in the country. I wish the lotts weare so distributed before we came from mont royall, but that it is the miserable comfort, better late then never. Att night every one to his cabben, and the women dispersed into every cabban with their children, which was a sight of compassion. The day following being the 8th day of our departure, some went a hunting, some stayed att home. The next day to that we embarqued all a sunder, a boat for each. I was more chearfull then the rest, because I knewed a litle of their language, and many saw me in the low country. Wherefore [they] made me embarque with a yong man, taller & properer then myselfe. We had paines and toyles enough; especially my sperit was grieved, and have souffred much troubles 6 weeks together. I thought we should come to our journey's end & so help one another by things past; ffor a man is glad to drive away the time by honest, ingenuous discours, and I would rejoyce very much to be allwayes in company uppon my journey. It was contrary to me all the voyage, ffor my boat and an other, wherein weare 2 men & a woman Iroquoit, stayed behind without seeing or hearing from one another. I leave with you to think if they weare troubled for me or I for them. There was a great alteration a litle before; a whole fleete of boats, now to be reduced [to] 2 onely. But patience perforce. We wandered on that gay river by the means of high and low gulfs that are in it; ffor since I made reflection of the quantity of water that comes in that river that comes from off the top of the high mountains with such a torrent that it causes a mighty noise which would make the bouldest men afraid. We went on some journeys with a deale of paines and labour becaus for our weeknesse, and moreover a man of the other boat fell sick of the ague, soe that one of us must helpe him either in the carriag or drawing the boat; and, which was wors, my compagnion was childish and yong as I. The long familiarity we had with one another breeded contempt, so that we would take nothing from one another, which made us goe together by the ears, and fought very often till we weare covered in blood. The rest tooke delight to see us fight; but when they saw us take either gun or sword, then came they to putt us a sunder. When we weare in the boat we could not fight but with our tongues, flying water att one another. I believe if the fathers' packet had ben there, the guift could not keepe it from wetting. As for meat we wanted none, and we had store of large staggs along the watter side. We killed some almost every day, more for sport then for neede. We finding them sometimes in islands, made them goe into the watter and after we killed about a score, we clipped the ears of the rest and hung a bell to it, and then let them loose. What a sporte to see the rest flye from that that had the bell! As I satt with my compagnion I saw once of an evening a very remarquable thing. There comes out of a vast forest a multitud of bears, 300 att least together, making a horrid noise, breaking small trees, throwing the rocks downe by the watter side. We shot att them but [they] stirred not a step, which frightned us that they slighted our shooting. We knewed not whether we killed any or no, because of the darke, neither dare we venter to see. The wild men tould me that they never heard their father speake of so many together. We went to the other side to make cabbans, where being arrived, where we made fire & put the kettle on. When it was ready we eat our belly full. After supper the sick wild man tould me a story and confirmed it to be true, which happened to him, being in warre in the upper Country of the Iroquoits neere the great river that divides it self in two. "Brother," sayes he, "it's a thing to be admired to goe afar to travell. You must know, although I am sick I am [a] man, and fought stoutly and invaded many. I loved alwayes the ffrench for their goodnesse, but they should [have] given us [to] kill the Algonkins. We should not warre against the ffrench, but traited with them for our castors. You shall know I am above 50 years (yett the fellow did not looke as if he had 40). I was once a Captayne," says he, "of 13 men, against the nation of the fire & against the Stairing hairs, our Ennemys. We stayed 3 whole winters from our country, and most of that time among our ennemy, but durst not appeare because of the small number we had against a multitude, which made us march in the night and hide ourselves in the daytime in forests. Att last we are weary to be so long absent from our wives & countrey. We resolved some more execution, & take the first nation that we should incountre. We have allready killed many. We went some dayes on that river, which is bordered of fine sands; no rocks there to be seene. Being landed one morning to goe out of the way least we should be discovered, and for [to] know the place that we weare, sent two of our men to make a discovery, who coming back brought us [word] that they have seen devils, and could not believe that they weare men. We presently putt ourselves on our gards, and looke to our armes, thought to have ben lost, but tooke a strong resolution to die like men, and went to meet those monsters. We weare close to one an other, saveing they that made a discovery, that went just before us, tould us, being neere the waterside, that they have seene afar off (as they thought) a great heape of stoanes. We needing them mightily we went to gett some. Within 200 paces nigh we found them converted into men, who weare of an extraordinary height, lying all along the strand asleepe. Brother, you must know that we weare all in feare to see Such a man and woman of a vast length. They weare by two feete taller then I, and big accordingly. They had by them two basquetts, a bow and arrows. I came nigh the place. Their arrows weare not so long as ours, but bigger, and their bows the same; each had a small stagg's skin to cover their nakednesse. They have noe winter in their country. After being gone we held a councell to consider what was to be done. We weare two boats; the one did carry 8 men, the other 5. That of 8 would goe back againe, but that of 5 would goe forward into another river. So we departed. The night being come, as precedent nights, we saw fires in severall places on the other side of the river, which made us goe there att the breake of day, to know what it was, which was men as tall as the other man and woman, and great many of them together a fishing. We stealed away without any noise and resolved not to stay longer in them parts, where every thing was so bigg. The fruits of trees are as bigg as the heart of an horiniac, which is bigger then that of an oxe. "The day after our retourne, being in cottages covered with bushes, we heard a noise in the wood, which made us speedily take our weopens, every one hiding himselfe behind a tree the better to defend himselfe, but perceaved it was a beast like a Dutch horse, that had a long & straight horne in the forehead, & came towards us. We shott twice at him; [he] falls downe on the ground, but on a sudaine starts up againe and runs full boot att us; and as we weare behind the trees, thrusts her home very farr into the tree, & so broak it, and died. We would eat non of her flesh, because the flemings eat not their horses' flesh, but tooke off the skin, which proved heavy, so we left it there. Her horne 5 feet long, and bigger then the biggest part of an arme." [Footnote: In O'Callaghan's _Documentary History of New York_, Vol. IV. p. 77, 1851, is given an engraving of this animal, with the title, "Wild Animals of New Netherlands," taken from a Dutch work published in Amsterdam in 1671. In this work it is thus described: "On the borders of Canada animals are now and again seen somewhat resembling a horse; they have cloven hoofs, shaggy manes, a horn right out of the forehead, a tail like that of the wild hog, black eyes, a stag's neck, and love the gloomiest wildernesses, are shy of each other. So that the male never feeds with the female except when they associate for the purpose of increase. Then they lay aside their ferocity. As soon as the rutting season is past, they again not only become wild but even attack their own."] We still proceeded in our journey. In 7 dayes we overtook the boat that left us. Now whether it was an unicorne, or a fibbe made by that wild man, yet I cannot tell, but severall others tould me the same, who have seene severall times the same beast, so that I firmly believe it. So his story ended, which lasted a great while; ffor having an excellent memory, tould me all the circumstances of his rencounters. We [went] from thence the next morning. We came to a beatifull river, wide one league and a halfe, which was not violent nor deepe, soe that we made no carriages for 15 or 20 leagues, where we had the view of eagles and other birds taking fishes, which we ourselves have done, & killed salmons with staves. One of my compagnions landed a sturgeon six fadoms deepe and brought it. Going along the woodside we came where a greate many trees weare cutt, as it weare intended for a fort. At the end of it there was a tree left standing, but the rind taken away from it. Upon it there was painted with a coale 6 men hanged, with their heads at their feete, cutt off. They weare so well drawen, that the one of them was father by the shortnesse of his haire, which lett us know that the french that was before us weare executed. A litle further an other was painted of 2 boats, one of 3 men, an other of 2, whereof one was standing with a hattchett in his hands striking on the head. Att an other weare represented 7 boats, pursueing 3 bears, a man drawn as if he weare on land with his gune shooting a stagge. I considering these things, troubled me very much, yea, caused my heart to tremble within me; and moreover when those that weare with me certified me of what I was too sure, telling me the 6 ffrenchmen weare dead, but tould me to be cheerfull, that I should not die. After I found so much treachery in them I could but trust litle in their words or promisses, yett must shew good countenance to a wors game then I had a minde, telling me the contrary of what they told me of the death of the frenchmen, to shew them that I was in no feare. Being embarqued, the wild men tould me we should goe on the other side of that broad river. It was extreamly hott, no wind stiring. I was ready that both should be together for the better assurance of my life. I perceived well that he alone was not able to performe the voyage; there was the other sick of the other boat, that did row but very slowly. I thought to meselfe they must needs bring me into their countrey if they meet non by the way, and so I comforted meselfe with better hope. We soone came to the other side of the river. The other boat followed not, being nigh the land. My comrade perceaved an eagle on a tree, the feathers of which are in esteeme among them. He lands and takes his gunne, charges it, and goes into the wood. I was in feare, without blame, for I knewed not what he meant. I remembered how the poore Hurron was served so a litle before in his boat, and in like manner. As he went about, I could not imagine what was best, but resolved to kill [rather] then be killed. Upon this I take my gunne, which the other saw, desires me not to make any noise, shewing me the eagle, that as yett I have not seene. To obey him I stoope downe like a monkey, visiting my weopon that he should not suspect. My eyes neverthelesse followed for feare. I see at last the truth of his designe; he shoots and kills the eagle. [We] after imbarqued ourselves, the night drawing on, and must think to goe to the other boat or he to us, which he did. I admired the weather, cleare and calme that we could scarce see him, yet that we should heare them speake, and understand, as if they weare but 20 or 30 paces from us. He being come, we sought for conveniency to make cottages, which soone was done. The others sooner landed then we. They came to receive us att our landing. One tooke my gunne, the other a litle bondle of mine. I was surprised att this. Then they asked me [for] my powder and shott, and opened my bagge, began to partage my combs & other things that I had. I thought it the consultest way to submitt to the strongest party, therefore I tooke [no] notice of what they did. The woman kindled the fire. Seeing myselfe out of care of my fright, satt me selfe downe by the woman. Shee looked now and then uppon me, which made me more and more mistrust. In the meane while he that was sick calls me. I came and asked him what he pleased. "I will," sayd he, "that you imbarque your selfe by me," and throws his cappot away, bidding me also to leave my capot. He takes his hattchett, and hangs it to his wrest, goes into the boat, & I with him. I would have carryed my gunne. I tooke it from the place where they layd it. They, seeing, laughed & gave a shout, as many beasts, yett it was not in their power to make me goe to the boat without my weapon; so lett me have it, and went straight as if we weare to goe on the other side of the river. About the midle the wild man bids mee goe out, to which I would not consent. I bid him goe. After we disputed awhile, I not obeying, began to consider if he had a minde to drowne me, that he himselfe would not go in the water. Being come a litle to myselfe I perceaved that the water was not 2 foote deepe. It was so darke, yett one might perceive the bottom covered with muskles. Having so much experience, I desired him to have patience; so gott of my shirt & lep't into the watter & gathered about half a bushell of those shells or mussells. I made sure that the boat should not leave me, for I fastened my girdle to it, and held the end. Mistrust is the mother of safety. We came back againe. We found the kettle ready; they gave me meat and a dish of broth, which exercised me a while. Having done, the man comes and makes me pull of my shirt, having then nothing but my drawers to cover my nackednesse. He putts on my shirt on his back, takes a knif and cutts a medail that hung to my necke. He was a great while searching me and feeling if I was fatt. I wished him farr enough. I looked [for] an opportunity to be from him, thinking to be better sheltered by the woman. I thought every foot he was to cutt my troat. I could [not] beare [it]. I had rather dye [at] once then being so often tormented. I rose and satt me downe by the woman, in whome was all my trust. Shee perceived I was in great feare, whether by collour of my face or other, I know not. Shee putts her hands uppon my head & combs it downe with her fingers. "My son," says shee, "be chearfull. It is my husband; he will not hurt thee; he loves me and knoweth that I love thee, and have a mind to have thee to our dwelling." Then shee rose and takes my shirt from her husband and brings it me. Shee gave me one of her covers. "Sleepe," said shee. I wanted not many persuasions. So chuse rather the fatall blow sleeping then awake, for I thought never to escape. The next morning I finding meselfe freed, which made me hope for the future. I have reason to remember that day for two contrary things; first, for my spirits being very much perplexed, and the other for that the weather was contrary though very lovely. That morning they rendered all my things againe, & filled my bagge with victualls. We left this place, which feared me most then hurt was done. Some laughed att me afterwards for my feares wherein I was, which I more & more hoped for better intertainment. The weather was fair all that day, but the next wee must make a waynage, which [was] not very hard; but my comrade drew carelessly, and the boat slipps from his hands, which turned with such force that it had me along if I had not lett my hould goe, chusing [rather] that then venter my selfe in danger. Soe that it [no] sooner gott downe then we gott it up againe; but by fortune was not hurted, yett it runn'd aground among rocks. We must goe downe the river. I was driven to swime to it, where I found it full of watter, and a hole that 2 fists might goe through it, so that I could not drive it to land without mending it. My compagnion must also in the water like a watter dogg, comes and takes hould of the foure oares. All the wild men swims like watter doggs, not as we swime. We mende the boat there neatly, not without miscalling one another. They spoake to me a word that I understood not because of the difference betweene the low Iroquoits and their speech, and in the anger and heat we layde the blame uppon one another to have lett the boat flippe purposely. I tooke no heed of what he alleadged. He comes sudainly uppon me & there cuffed one another untill we weare all in bloode. Being weary, att last, out of breath, we gave over like 2 cocks over tyred with fighting. We could not fight longer, but must find strength to draw up the boat against the streame and overtake the other, which was a good way from us. It was impossible to overtake the day, nor the next. So that we must lay 3 nights by our selves. The third day we arrived to a vast place full of Isls, which are called the Isles of Toniata, where we overtooke our compagnions, who stayd for us. There they killed a great bigg and fatt beare. We tooke some of it into our boats & went on our journey together. We came thence to a place like a bazon, made out of an Isle like a halfe moone. Here we caught eeles five fadoms or more deepe in the waiter, seeing cleerly the bottome in abundance of fishes. We finde there 9 low country Iroquoits in their cabbans that came back from the warre that was against the nation of the Catts. They had with them 2 women with a young man of 25 years & a girle of 6 years, all prisoners. They had a head with short haire of one of that nation, that uses to have their hair turned up like the prickles of an headg hogge. We cottaged ourselves by them. Some of them knewed me & made much of mee. They gave me a guirland of porcelaine & a girdle of goat's haire. They asked when should I visit my ffriends. I promissed to come there as soone as I could arrive att the upper village. I gave them my hattchett to give to my ffather, and 2 dozen of brass rings & 2 shooting-knives for my sisters, promissing to bring a cover for my mother. They inquired what was it that made me goe away, and how. I tould them through woods & arrived att the 3 rivers in 12 dayes, and that I souffred much hunger by the way. I would not tell them that I escaped by reason of the Duch. They called me often Devill to have undertaken such a task. I resolved to goe along with them. Heere I found certainty, and not till then, of the 6 ffrenchmen, whom they have seene seaven dayes before att the coming in of the great Lake D'ontario; and that undoubtedly the markes we have seene on the trees weare done by seaven other boats of their owne nation that came backe from the warres in the north, that mett 2 hurron boats of 8 men, who fought & killed 3 Iroquoits and wounded others. Of the hurrons 6 weare slained, one taken alive, and the other escaped. Those 2 boats weare going to the ffrench to live there. That news satisfied much my wild men, and much more I rejoiced at this. We stayed with them the next day, feasting one another. They cutt and burned the fingers of those miserable wretches, making them sing while they plucked out some of their nailes, which done, wee parted well satisfied for our meeting. From that place we came to lye att the mouth of a lake in an island where we have had some tokens of our frenchmen by the impression of their shooes on the sand that was in the island. In that island our wild men hid 10 caskes of Indian Corne, which did us a kindnesse, ffor there was no more veneson pye to be gotten. The next day we make up our bundles in readinesse to wander uppon that sweet sea, as is the saying of the Iroquoits, who rekens by their daye's journey. This was above 100 leagues in length & 30 in breadth. Seeing the water so calme and faire, we ventured some 3 leagues, to gaine a point of the firme land, that by that means we should shorten 7 or 8 leagues in our way. We went on along the lake in that maner with great delight, sometimes with paine and labour. As we went along the water side, the weather very faire, it comes to my mind to put out a cover instead of a saile. My companion liked it very well, for generally wild men are given to leasinesse. We seeing that our sayle made us goe faster then the other boat, not perceiving that the wind came from the land, which carried us far into the lake, our compagnions made a signe, having more experience then wee, and judged of the weather that was to come. We would not heare them, thinking to have an advantage. Soone after the wind began to blow harder, made us soone strike sayle, and putt our armes to worke. We feeled not the wind because it was in our backs, but turning aside we finde that we had enough to doe. We must gett ourselves to a better element then that [where] we weare. Instantly comes a shower of raine with a storme of winde that was able to perish us by reason of the great quantity of watter that came into our boat. The lake began to vapour and make a show of his neptune's sheep. Seeing we went backwards rather then forwards, we thought ourselves uterly lost. That rogue that was with me sayd, "See thy God that thou sayest he is above. Will you make me believe now that he is good, as the black-coats [the ffather Jesuits] say? They doe lie, and you see the contrary; ffor first you see that the sun burns us often, the raine wetts us, the wind makes us have shipwrake, the thundering, the lightnings burns and kills, and all come from above, and you say that it's good to be there. For my part I will not goe there. Contrary they say that the reprobats and guilty goeth downe & burne. They are mistaken; all is goode heare. Doe not you see the earth that nourishes all living creatures, the water the fishes, and the yus, and that corne and all other seasonable fruits for our foode, which things are not soe contrary to us as that from above?" As he said so he coursed vehemently after his owne maner. He tooke his instruments & shewed them to the heavens, saying, "I will not be above; here will [I] stay on earth, where all my friends are, and not with the french, that are to be burned above with torments." How should one think to escape this torments and storms, but God who through his tender mercy ceas'd the tempest and gave us strength to row till we came to the side of the water? I may call it a mighty storme by reason of the litlenesse of the boat, that are all in watter to the breadth of 5 fingers or lesse. I thought uppon it, and out of distress made a vertue to seeke the means to save ourselves. We tyed a sack full of corne in the fore end of our boat, & threw it into the watter, which hung downe some foure fathoms, and wee putt our selves in the other end, so that the end that was towards the wind was higher then the other, and by that means escaped the waves that without doubt, if we had not used that means, we had sunk'd. The other boat landed to lett that storme [pass] over. We found them in the even att their cottages, and thought impossible for us to escape. After severall dayes' travell we came to an isle where we made cottages. We went so farre that evening that we might be so much the neerer to take a broader passage which should shorten our voyage above 20 leagues. Att night wee saw severall fires uppon the land. We all judged that it was our company that went before us. Before brake of day we did what we could to overtake them, not without hazard, by reason the winds that blewed hard, which we could not perceive before. Being come to the bay of the isle we could not turne back without greater danger, so resolved to proceede. We came to the very place where we saw the fires, & found that we weare not mistaken in our opinions. By good looke they weare there, else we had perished for all being so neere the land, for the lake swelled by reason of the great wind that blew, which stayed them there above 14 nights. Neither for this reason was there any landing, because of a great banck or heape of rocks, untill those that weare ashore came to us into the watter to their oxtars [Footnote: _Oxtars_, up to their armpits.] and stoped our boats. We then cast our selves and all that we had overboord, leaving our boats there, which weare immediately in thousands [of] peaces. Being arrived, we placed our cottages by a most pleasant delicat river, where for delightfullnesse was what man's heart could wish. There weare woods, forests, meddows. There we stayed 3 dayes by reason of the weather. One night I layd neare a faire comely lasse that was with us. There they take no notice, for they live in so great liberty that they are never jealous one of another. I admired of a sudaine to heare new musick. Shee was in travell and immediately delivered. I awaked all astonished to see her drying her child by the fire side. Having done, [she] lapt the child in her bosome and went to bed as if that had ben nothing, without moan or cry, as doe our Europian women. Before we left the place that babe died. I had great mind to baptize him, but feared least they should accuse me to be the cause of his death. Being come to the above named place, where weare the ghostly ffathers with 8 other french, 3 came to meet us from the fort, which weare but 30 leagues off, where I have receaved a censure for being so timidous, [in] not dareing to ffling watter on the head of that poore innocent to make him happy. We frenchmen began to tell our adventures, having ben out of hopes of ever to see one another, being exceeding glad that we weare deceaved in our opinions. Some leaves us & went by land to their cabbans. The rest stayes for faire weather to come to our journey's ende. We wanted not slaves from that place to carry our packs. We came into a river towards the fort which was dangerous for its swiftnesse. From that river that brought us within 30 leagues of the lake we came into a narrower river from a small lake where a french fort was built. This river was 2 leagues long & the lake 5 in compasse. About it a most pleasant country, very fruitfull. Goeing up that same river we meet 2 french that weare fishing a kind of fish called dab, which is excellent, & have done us great kindnesse, having left no more provision then what we needed much. Having come to the landing place att the foot of the fort, we found there a most faire castle very neatly built, 2 great & 2 small ones. The bottom was built with great trees & well tyed in the topp with twiggs of ashure, strengthened with two strong walles & 2 bastions, which made the fort imppregnable of the wild men. There was also a fine fall of woods about it. The french corne grewed there exceeding well, where was as much as covered half a league of land. The country smooth like a boord, a matter of some 3 or 4 leagues about. Severall fields of all sides of Indian corne, severall of french tournaps, full of chestnutts and oakes of accorns, with thousand such like fruit in abundance. A great company of hoggs so fatt that they weare not able to goe. A plenty of all sortes of fowles. The ringdoves in such a number that in a nett 15 or 1600 att once might be taken. So this was not a wild country to our imagination, but plentyfull in every thing. We weare humanly receaved by the Reverend ffathers Jesuits and some other 40 frenchmen, as well domestiques as volontiers. We prepared ourselves to take the country's recreation, some to hunt, some to fish, but prevented by a feaver that seised on us all. Some continued a month, some more and some lesse, which is the tribut that one must pay for the changment of climat. Some dayes after we had news that another company of Iroquoits weare arrived att mont Royall. As soone [as] we went from thence the father & the rest of the ffrench that did stay behind did imbark themselves with them and followed us so close that ere long would be at us. As they went up to make cottages in the island of the massacre, which was 16 dayes before our departure, one of the company goes to shute for his pleasure, finds a woman half starved for hunger, lying on a rock by a water. He brings her to the cottages & made so much by giving her some luckwarme water, which he boyled with flower & grease, that she came to herselfe entirely againe. Shee was examined. Shee told them what is above said, and when it happened. Shee hid her selfe in a rotten tree during the slaughter, where shee remained 3 dayes; after we weare gone shee came foorth for to gett some food, and found nothing, but founde onely some small grapes, of roots the 3 first dayes, & nothing else. Shee finding her selfe feeble and weake, not able to sustaine such, resolved for death. The father, knowing her to be a Christian, had a singular care for her, & brought her where I overtooke the said father with the 8 french. Being brought [she] was frightened againe for seeing a man charging his gunne to kill her, as shee said, so went away that night, & non knowes what became of her. Being weake, not thoroughly healed, shee fancied that such a thing might be done. By this, we poore, many have recovered. The father arrives, that affirmes this newes to us, being very sorry for the losse of this poore creature that God has so long preserved without any subsistance, which shews us apparently that wee ought not to despaire, & that keeps those that lives in his feare. We went to meete the father, I meane those that weare able, to bid the father welcome & his company. Being come safe & in a good disposition together, we rendered God thanks. There weare many that waited for us, desiring to tourne back againe to Quebecq, obtaining their desier from the fathers & the governour of the fort. They weare 13 in number & one father. After 6 weeks end we recovered our health. So we went to bring them a part of the way, some to the water side, some to the laksende, where we tooke of one another farewell, with such ceremonys as are used when friends depart. Some dayes after we heare that the poore woman was in the woods; not that shee knew'd which way to tourne, but did follow her owne fancy whersoever it lead her, & so wandered 6 dayes, getting some times for her subsistance wild garlick, yong buds of trees, & roots. Shee was seene in an evening by a river, whereby shee was for 3 dayes, by 3 hurrons renegades. They tooke her, but in a sad condition. They not considering that shee was of their owne nation, stript her. It is the custom to strip whomsoever is lost in the woods. They brought her to the village, where the father was that brought her from the place of murdering to that place whence shee runned away the second time. This father, knowing her, brings her to our fort, that we might see her as a thing incredible but by the mercy of God. I was in the village with the father and with another frenchman, where we see the crudest thing in nature acted. Those Iroquoits that came along the river with us, some weare about fishing, some a hunting, they seeing this woman makes her [their] slave. One day a man or theirs was forwearned for his insolency, for not referring to the Governor, doing all out of his owne head. [He him] selfe was to come that day, leading 2 women with their 2 children, he not intending to give an account of anything but by his owne authority. The elders, heering this, goes and meets him some 50 paces out of the village for to maintaine their rights. They stayed this man. What weare those beasts? He answered they weare his; he no sooner had spoaken, but one old man spoak to him thus: "Nephew, you must know that all slaves, as well men as women, are first brought before the Councell, and we alone can dispose [of] them." So said, & turned to the other side, and gave a signe to some soldiers that they brought for that purpose, to knock those beasts in the head, who executed their office & murdered the women. One tooke the child, sett foot on his head, taking his leggs in his hands, wrought the head, by often turning, from off the body. An other souldier tooke the other child from his mother's brest, that was not yett quite dead, by the feete and knocks his head against the trunck of a tree. This [is] a daily exercise with them, nor can I tell the one half of their cruelties in like sortes. Those with many others weare executed, some for not being able to serve, and the children for hindering their mothers to worke. So they reckne a trouble to lett them live. O wicked and barbarious inhumanity! I forgott to tell that the day the woman layed in, some houres before, shee and I roasted some Indian Corn in the fire: being ready, shee pulled out the grains one by one with a stick, and as shee was so doing, shee made a horrid outcry, shewing me a toad, which was in the breadth of a dish, which was in the midle of the redd ashes striving to gett out. We wondered, for the like was never seene before. After he gott out of the fire we threwed stoanes & staves att him till it was killed. That toad lived 2 dayes in or under the fire. Having remained in that village 6 dayes, we have seene horrible cruelties committed. Three of us resolved to turne back to our fort, which was 5 miles off. We brought above 100 women, hurron slaves & others, all loadened with corne. We weare allwayes in scarcity for pollicy, though we had enough, ffor certainty is farre better then the incertainry. Before we departed this base place we received [news] that the hurron who was saved by the consent of the rest in the Isle of Massacre, as is above said, 2 dayes after his deliverance run'd away by night towards the lower country of the Iroquoits, where he arrived safe, not without sufferings in the way, ffor such long voyages cannot be performed otherwise, having gon through vast forests, finding no inn in the way, neither having the least provision. Att his coming there he spoake whatever the reveng, wrath, and indignation could provoke or utter against the ffrench, especially against the ffathers, saying that it was they that have sold and betrayed them; and that he would bestow the same uppon them if ever he should meet with them. As for him, he gave heaven thanks that he was yett living; that he had his life saved by them to whome he would render like service, warning them not to lett the french build a fort, as the upper Iroquoits had done; that he could tell them of it by experience; that they should remember the nation of the Stagges so bigg. As soone as the french came there, nothing but death and slaughter was expected, having caused their death by sorcery, which brought a strange sicknesse amongst them. Such things can prevaile much uppon such a wild, credulous nation; their minds alltogether for the warrs in which they delight most of any thing in the world. We came our way; this news troubled us very much, knowing the litle fidelity that is [in] that wild nation, that have neither faith nor religion, neither law nor absolut government, as we shall heare the effects of it. The autumn scarce began but we heare that the lower Iroquoits contrived a treason against the ffrench. So having contrived & discovered that they weare resolved to leavy an armie of 500 men of their owne nation, who are esteemed the best souldiers, having the Anojot to assist them; a bold, rash nation, and so thought to surprise the inhabitants of that place. As they weare contriving and consequently seased upon the fort and towne, thinking to execute their plot with ease, because of their assurance, trusting (if contrary to their contrivance) to the peace, saying that the ffrench weare as many hoggs layed up to be fatted in their country. But, O liberality, what strength hast thou! thou art the onely means wherby men know all and pierce the hearts of the most wild & barbarous people of the world. Hearing such news, we make friends by store of guifts, yea such guifts that weare able to betray their country. What is that, that interrest will not do? We discover dayly new contryvances of treason by a Councellor. There is nothing done or said but we have advice of it. Their dayly exercise is feasting, of warrs, songs, throwing of hattchetts, breaking kettles. What can we do? We are in their hands. It's hard to gett away from them. Yea, as much as a ship in full sea without pilot, as passengers without skill. We must resolve to be uppon our guard, being in the midle of our Ennemy. For this purpose we begin to make provisions for the future end. We are tould that a company of the Aniot nation volontiers was allready in their march to breake heads & so declare open warres. This company finds enough to doe att Mount Royall; ffor the ffrench being carelesse of themselves, working incomparably afarre from their fortifications without the least apprehension. They killed 2 french and brought them away in triumph, their heads sett up for a signe of warrs. We seeing no other remedy but must be gon and leave a delightful country. The onely thing that we wanted most was that wee had no boats to carry our bagage. It's sad to tend from such a place that is compassed with those great lakes that compose that Empire that can be named the greatest part of the knowne world. Att last they contrived some deale boords to make shipps with large bottoms, which was the cause of our destruction sooner then was expected. You have heard above said how the ffathers inhabited the hurron country to instruct them in Christian doctrine. They preach the mighty power of the Almighty, who had drowned the world for to punish the wicked, saving onely our father Noe with his familie was saved in an arke. One came bringing Indian corne, named Jaluck, who escaped the shipwrake that his countrymen had gone, being slave among us. He received such instructions of those deale boords, & reflected soundly upon the structure that he thought verily they weare to make an other arke to escape their hands, and by our inventions cause all the rest to be drowned by a second deluge. They imputing so much power to us, as Noe had that grace from God, thought that God at least commanded us so to doe. All frightened [he] runns to his village. This comes back makes them all afraid. Each talkes of it. The elders gathered together to consult what was to be done. In their councell [it] was concluded that our fort should be visited, that our fathers should be examined, & according to their answers deliberation should be taken to preserve both their life and countrey. We had allwayes spyes of our side, which weare out of zele and obedience. The ffathers Jesuits and others voluntarily ventured their lives for the preservation of the common liberty. They remaine in the village of those barbars to spie what their intent should be, houlding correspondence with some of those of the councell by giving them guifts, to the end that we might know what was concluded in the Councell & give us advise with all speede. We by these means had intelligence that they weare to come & visit our forts. To take away all suspicion of our innocency from thinking to build any shipp, which if it had come to their knowledge had don a great prejudice to our former designe, a shippe then uppon the docke almost finished. Heere we made a double floore in the hall where the shippe was abuilding, so that the wild men, being ignorant of our way of building, could not take any notice of our cuningnesse, which proved to our desire. So done, finding nothing that was reported, all began to be quiet and out of feare. By this we weare warned from thencefoorth, mistrusting all that came there, so preserved ourselves, puting nothing in fight that should give the least suspition. Both shipps weare accomplished; we kept them secretly & covered them with 12 boats of rind that we kept for fishing and hunting. The wildmen knewed of these small things, but suspected nothing, believing that the french would never suspect to venture such a voyage for the difficultie of the way and violence of the swiftnesse of the rivers and length of the way. We stayed for opportunity in some quietnesse, devising to contrive our game as soone as the spring should begin. The winter we past not without apprehensions, having had severall allarmes, false as [well] as true; for often weare we putt to our armes, in so much that one of our sentryes was once by force drawen from the doore of the fort. He, to avoid the danger, drawes his sword & wounds one of them & comes to the fort, crying, "To your armes." This was soone appeased; some guifts healed the wound. The season drawing nigh we must think of some stratageme to escape their hands and the rest of ours that weare among them; which was a difficulty, because they would have some of us by them allwaye for the better assurance. But all their contrivances & wit weare too weake to strive against our plotts which weare already invented to their deceipt that would deceave us. We lett them understand that the time drew neere that the french uses to trait their friends in feasting and meriment, and all should be welcome, having no greater ffriends then they weare. They, to see our fashions as well as to fill their gutts, gave consent. By that means the considerablest persons are invited, the ffather & 2 ffrench. There they weare made much of 2 dayes with great joy, with sounds of trompetts, drumms, and flageoletts, with songs in french as wild. So done, they are sent away, the ffather with them. He was not a mile off but fains to gett a falle and sighed that his arme was broken. The wild men being much troubled att this accident brings the father back and makes guifts that he may be cured. A plaster was sett to his arme, which done [he is] putt into a bed. Then all the wildmen came to see him; he incouraged them that he should soone recover and see them. The french that knewed not the plott cryed for the ffather, which confirmed the belief of the wildmen. They all retyred to their village and we [sought] the meanes to embarke ourselves. We resolved once more to make another feast when we should have everything ready for our purpose; that is, when the father should be well of his fayned sicknesse, ffor they allso doe delight in feasting, which was to be done for the safe recovery of the ffather's health. We dayly had messengers from the elders of the country to know how he did, who (after the lake was opened from the ice that was covered with ice) should be in good disposition. Many wished to have the suneshine ardently, their desire was so great to be gone. Att last our patient begins to walke with a scharfe about his armes. When the shippes and boats weare ready, we sent them word that the father was well, & for joy would make a feast. The elders are invited. They weare sure not to faile, but to be first. Being come, there are speeches made to incourage them to sing and eat. It's folly to induce them to that, for they goe about it more bould then welcome. They are told that the morow should be the day of mirth. Heare is but play and dances, the ffrench by turns, to keepe them still in exercise, shewing them tricks to keepe them awake, as the bird-catcher doth to teach the bird to sing and not to fly away, as we then intended. Not one wildman was admitted to come into the fort that day, saying it was not our coustomes to shew the splendour of our banquetts before they should be presented att table. The wildmen have no other then ground for their table. In the meantime we weare not idle, the impatient father exercising himselfe as the rest. The evening being come, the wildmen are brought to the place destinated, not far from our fort. Every one makes his bundle of provisions & marchandises & household stuff, gunns, &c., some hid in the ground, and the rest scattered because we could not save them. We made excellent bisquetts of the last year's corne, & forgott not the hoggs that weare a fatning. Att last the trumpetts blowes, putt yourselves in order; there is nothing but outcryes, clapping of hands, & capering, that they may have better stomach to their meat. There comes a dozen of great kettles full of beaten Indian corne dressed with mince meate. The wisest begins his speech, giving heaven thanks to have brought such generous ffrench to honnour them so. They eate as many wolves, having eyes bigger then bellies; they are rare att it without noise. The time was not yett com'd to acknowledge the happinesse we received from such incompareable hosts. Heare comes 2 great kettles full of bussards broyled & salted before the winter, with as many kettles full of ducks. As many turtles was taken in the season by the nett. Heere att this nothing but hooping to man's admiration whilst one was a eating, and other sort comes, as divers of fish, eels, salmon, and carps, which gives them a new stomach. Weare they to burst, heere they will shew their courage. The time comes on. The best is that we are sure none will forsake his place, nor man nor woman. A number of french entertaines them, keeping them from sleepe in dancing & singing, for that is the custome. Their lutrill, an instrumentall musick, is much heere in use. Yett nothing is done as yett, ffor there comes the thickened flower, the oyle of bears, venison. To this the knif is not enough; the spunes also are used. Wee see allready severall postures: the one beats his belly, the other shakes his head, others stopp their mouthes to keepe in what they have eaten. They weare in such an admiration, making strange kinds of faces, that turned their eyes up and downe. We bid them cheare up, & tould them it was an usuall custome with the ffrench to make much of themselves & of their friends. "They affect you, and yee must shew such like to them by shewing your respects to them that they so splendidly trait you. Cheere up like brave men. If your sleepe overcomes you, you must awake; come, sound [the] drumme, it is not now to beat the Gien; [Footnote: "To beat the gien," probably meaning the guitar, as Charlevoix mentions that at the feast to the Indians one of the French young men played upon that instrument for their amusement.] come, make a noise. Trumpett blow and make thy cheeks swell, to make the belly swell alsoe." In the end nothing [is] spared that can be invented to the greater confusion. There is a strife between the french who will make the greatest noise. But there is an end to all things; the houre is come, ffor all is embarked. The wildman can hold out no longer; they must sleepe. They cry out, _Skenon_, enough, we can beare no more. "Lett them cry _Skenon_; we will cry _hunnay_, we are a going," sayes we. They are told that the ffrench are weary & will sleepe alsoe awhile. They say, "Be it so." We come away; all is quiet. Nobody makes a noise after Such a hurly-burly. The fort is shutt up as if we had ben in it. We leave a hogg att the doore for sentery, with a rope tyed to his foot. He wanted no meat for the time. Here we make a proposition, being three and fifty ffrench in number, to make a slaughter without any difficulty, they being but 100 beasts not able to budge, & as many women. That done, we could goe to their village att the breake of the day, where we weare sure there weare not 20 men left, nor yong nor old. It was no great matter to deale with 5 or 600 women, & may be 1000 children; besides, the huntsmen should not be ready this 2 moneths to come home. Having done so, we might have a great hole in the skirts of that untoward & pervers nation, that it was in way of revenge, because of their disloyalty, breaking the peace & watching an opportunity to doe the like to us, that we should by that means have a better opportunity to escape; shewing by this whosoever intends to betray, betrays himselfe. The ffathers' answer was to this, that they weare sent to instruct the people in the faith of Jesus Christ and not to destroy; that the crosse must be their sword; moreover that they are told that we weare able to keepe the place, having victualls for the space of 4 yeares, with other provisions. [Footnote: The new Governor, Viscount d'Argenson, who arrived in Canada a few months after, disapproved of the evacuation of Onondaga. "The location of this fortification was probably about three quarters of a mile below Green Point, on the farm now occupied [in 1849] by Mr. Myrick Bradley, in the town of Salina, where the embankment and outlines were plain to be seen fifty years ago." _History of Onondaga_, by J. V. H. Clarke, Vol. I. p. 161, n., 1849.] So done, in the meanewhile some 16 french should goe downe to the french & tell the news; ffor the rest they weare able to oppose all the Iroquoits, having such a strong fort, and before the time could be expired some succour was to be expected out of ffrance, as well as with the helpe of some of the wildmen, their allies, make an assault, and so free ourselves of such a slavery & the many miseries wherin we weare dayly to undergoe, that by that means we might save the lives of many french and cleare a way from such inhumans. It was in vaine to think to convert them, but the destroying of them was to convert them. So discover nations and countryes, and that the ffrench finding some fourty resolut brothers that would have ventured themselves full liberty & assurance of their lives to preserve them from the cruelest enemy that ever was found uppon the earth. All these sayings could prevaile nothing uppon people that will avoid all slaughter. So to be obedient to our superiours, without noise of trompet or drum, but zeal with griefe, we left that place. We are all embarked, and now must looke for the mouth of the river; and weare put to it, ffor it frized every night and the Ice of good thicknesse, and consequently dangerous to venture our boats against it. We must all the way breake the ice with great staves to make a passage. This gave us paines enough. Att the breake of day we weare in sight att the mouth of the river, where we weare free from ice. If those had but the least suspicion or had looked out, they had seene us. We soone by all diligence putt ourselves out of that apprehension, and came att the first rising of the river, where freed from ice tenne leagues from the fort, where we kept a good watch. The day following we came to the Lake d'Ontario. The wind being boisterous, could goe no further. There we sought for a place to make cottages, which was in an Island very advantageous, where we stayed 2 dayes for the weather. We weare not without feare, thinking that the wildmen should follow us. They contrary wise stayed (as we heard) seaven nights, thinking that we weare asleepe, onely that some rose now and then, and rung the litle bell which stooke to the hogg's foot. So mystifying the businesse affaire, [they] went & brought news to the village, which made them come and looke over the pallisados, and saw in good earnest the Anomiacks weare gone. In our journey [we had] bad weather, high winds, snow, and every day raine on our backs. We came to the river att last, where was difficulty enough by reason of the goeing out of the lake, which is hard to find, by the many isles that are about the opening of the river. We weare in a maner of sheepe scattered. After many crossings to and fro we find ourselves att the first streame; the watters high, went on without danger, but the navigation proved worse & worse because we came into a coulder country and into the most dangerousest precipices. Now the river [was] covered over with ice and snow which made the river give a terrible noise. The land also covered all over with snow, which rendered us incapable of knowledge where we weare, & consequently found ourselves in great perils. It was well that the river swelled, for not a mother's son of us could else escape; ffor where we might have made carriages we [would] innocently have gone uppon those currents. One of our greatest vessells runned on sand and soone full by reason of the running of the stream, but by tournings, with much adoe we gott it out againe, and by all dexterity brought to a harbour, which is hard to find in that place, ffor the ice and the streame continually cutts the coasts steepe downe, & so no landing thereabouts. Heere a boat of 4 men made shipwrake. Heere every one for himselfe & God for all. Heere is no reliefe. There the 3 that could swime weare drowned, because they held not [to] the boat, but would swime to land. The other that had held it was saved with much adoe. Afterwards we came where the streame was not so swifte at all, but as dangerous for its ice. We cutt the ice with hattchetts & we found places where [it] was rotten, so we hazarded ourselves often to sinke downe to our necks. We knewed the isle of murder againe because of the woman that runn'd away was with us. Shee had reason to know it, though all covered with snow. The ffathers some dayes before our departur caused her to come to the fort to deliver her out of the hands of her ennemy, because she was a Christian. In short time after her arrivall att Quebecq [she] was marry'd, and died in childbed. Six weeks being expired we came to the hight of St Louis, 3 leagues from mont royal, the first habitation of the ffrench. We went all that hight without making carriages, trusting to the depth of the watter, & passed it by God's providence, that have made us that passage free; ffor if we had come there the day before we could not possibly passe (by the report of the ffrench), by reason that underneath the water was mighty swift, the river was frozen and covered with ice, and could not have turned back, for the streame could bring us against our will under the ice. It was our lott to come after the ice was melted. The french inquire who is there with astonishment, thinking that it should be the charge of the Iroquoits. We thanked God for our deliverance. Heere we had time to rest ourselves awhile att ease, which was not permitted by the way. About the last of March we ended our great paines and incredible dangers. About 14 nights after we went downe the 3 rivers, where most of us stayed. A month after my brother and I resolves to travell and see countreys. We find a good opportunity. In our voyage wee proceeded three yeares. During that time we had the happinesse to see very faire countryes. _The ende of the second voyage made in the Upper Country of the Iroquoits_. _Now followeth the Auxoticiat Voyage into the Great and filthy Lake of the Hurrons, Upper Sea of the East, and Bay of the North_. Being come to the 3 rivers, where I found my brother who the yeare before came back from the lake of the Hurrons with other french, both weare upon the point of resolution to make a journey a purpose for to discover the great lakes that they heard the wild men speak off; yea, have seene before, ffor my brother made severall journeys when the ffathers lived about the lake of the hurrons, which was upon the border of the sea. So my brother seeing me back from those 2 dangerous voyages, so much by the cruelties of the barbars as for the difficulties of the wayes, for this reason he thought I was fitter & more faithfull for the discovery that he was to make. He plainly told me his minde. I knowing it, longed to see myselfe in a boat. There weare severall companies of wild men Expected from severall places, because they promissed the yeare before, & [to] take the advantage of the Spring (this for to deceive the Iroquoits, who are allwayes in wait for to destroy them), and of the rivers which is by reason of the melting of the great snows, which is onely that time, ffor otherwise no possibility to come that way because for the swift streams that runs in summer, and in other places the want of watter, so that no boat can come through. We soone see the performance of those people, ffor a company came to the 3 rivers where we weare. They tould us that another company was arrived att Mont Royal, and that 2 more weare to come shortly, the one to the Three Rivers, the other to Saegne, [Footnote: _Saegne, Sacgnes, Sacquenes,_ or the River Saguenay.] a river of Tudousack, who arrived within 2 dayes after. They divided themselves because of the scant of provision; ffor if they weare together they could not have victualls enough. Many goes and comes to Quebecq for to know the resolution of mr. Governor, who together with the ffathers thought fitt to send a company of ffrench to bring backe, if possible, those wildmen the next yeare, or others, being that it is the best manna of the countrey by which the inhabitants doe subsist, and makes the ffrench vessells to come there and goe back loaden with merchandises for the traffique of furriers who comes from the remotest parts of the north of America. As soone as the resolution was made, many undertakes the voyage; for where that there is lucre there are people enough to be had. The best and ablest men for that businesse weare chosen. They make them goe up the 3 rivers with the band that came with the Sacques. There take those that weare most capable for the purpose. Two ffathers weare chosen to conduct that company, and endeavoured to convert some of those foraigners of the remotest country to the Christian faith. We no sooner heard their designe, but saw the effects of the buisnesse, which effected in us much gladnesse for the pleasure we could doe to one another, & so abler to oppose an ennemy if by fortune we should meet with any that would doe us hurt or hinder us in our way. About the midle of June we began to take leave of our company and venter our lives for the common good. We find 2 and 30 men, some inhabitants, some Gailliards that desired but doe well. What fairer bastion then a good tongue, especially when one sees his owne chimney smoak, or when we can kiss our owne wives or kisse our neighbour's wife with ease and delight? It is a strange thing when victualls are wanting, worke whole nights & dayes, lye downe on the bare ground, & not allwayes that hap, the breech in the watter, the feare in the buttocks, to have the belly empty, the wearinesse in the bones, and drowsinesse of the body by the bad weather that you are to suffer, having nothing to keepe you from such calamity. Att last we take our journey to see the issue of a prosperous adventure in such a dangerous enterprise. We resolved not to be the first that should complaine. The ffrench weare together in order, the wildmen also, saving my brother & I that weare accustomed to such like voyages, have foreseene what happened afterwards. Before our setting forth we made some guifts, & by that means we weare sure of their good will, so that he & I went into the boats of the wild men. We weare nine and twenty french in number and 6 wildmen. We embarked our traine in the night, because our number should not be knowne to some spyes that might bee in some ambush to know our departure; ffor the Iroquoits are allwayes abroad. We weare 2 nights to gett to mont royall, where 8 Octanac stayed for us & 2 ffrench. If not for that company, we had passed the river of the meddowes, which makes an isle of Mont royall and joines itselfe to the lake of St Louis, 3 leagues further then the hight of that name. We stayed no longer there then as the french gott themselves ready. We tooke leave without noise of Gun. We cannot avoid the ambush of that eagle, which is like the owle that sees better in the night then in the day. We weare not sooner come to the first river, but our wildmen sees 5 sorts of people of divers countrys laden with marchandise and gunns, which served them for a shew then for defence if by chance they should be sett on. So that the glorie begins to shew itsselfe, no order being observed among them. The one sings, the other before goes in that posture without bad encounter. We advanced 3 dayes. There was no need of such a silence among us. Our men composed onely of seaven score men, we had done well if we had kept together, not to goe before in the river, nor stay behind some 2 or 3 leagues. Some 3 or 4 boats now & then to land to kill a wild beast, & so putt themselves into a danger of their lives, & if there weare any precipice the rest should be impotent to helpe. We warned them to looke to themselves. They laughed att us, saying we weare women; that the Iroquoits durst not sett on them. That pride had such power that they thought themselves masters of the earth; but they will see themselves soone mistaken. How that great God that takes great care of the most wild creatures, and will that every man confesses his faults, & gives them grace to come to obedience for the preservation of their lives, sends them a remarquable power & ordnance, which should give terrour and retinue to those poore misled people from the way of assurance. As we wandered in the afforesaid maner all a sunder, there comes a man alone out of the wood with a hattchett in his hand, with his brayer, & a cover over his shoulders, making signes aloud that we should come to him. The greatest part of that flock shewed a palish face for feare att the sight of this man, knowing him an ennemy. They approached not without feare & apprehension of some plot. By this you may see the boldnesse of those buzards, that think themselves hectors when they see but their shadowes, & tremble when they see a Iroquoit. That wild man seeing us neerer, setts him downe on the ground & throwes his hattchett away & raises againe all naked, to shew that he hath no armes, desires them to approach neerer for he is their friend, & would lose his life to save theirs. Hee shewed in deed a right captayne for saveing of men that runned to their ruine by their indiscretion & want of conduct; and what he did was out of meere piety, seeing well that they wanted wit, to goe so like a company of bucks, every one to his fancy, where his litle experience leads him, nor thinking that danger wherin they weare, shewing by their march they weare no men, for not fearing. As for him, he was ready to die to render them service & prisoner into their hands freely. "For," saith he, "I might have escaped your sight, but that I would have saved you. I feare," sayth he, "not death"; so with that comes downe into the watter to his midle. There comes many boats about him, takes him into one of the boats, tying a coard fast about his body. There is he fastned. He begins to sing his fatal song that they call a nouroyall. That horrid tone being finished, makes a long, a very long speech, saying, "Brethren, the day the sunne is favourable to mee, appointed mee to tell you that yee are witlesse before I die, neither can they escape their ennemys, that are spred up and downe everywhere, that watches all moments their coming to destroy them. Take great courage, brethren, sleepe not; the ennemy is att hand. They wait for you; they are soe neare that they see you, and heare you, & are sure that you are their prey. Therefore I was willing to die to give you notice. For my part that what I have ben I am a man & commander in the warrs, and tooke severall prisoners; yet I would put meselfe in death's hands to save your lives. Believe me; keepe you altogether; spend not your powder in vaine, thinking to frighten your enemys by the noise of your guns. See if the stoanes of your arrowes be not bent or loose; bend your bowes; open your ears; keepe your hattchetts sharpe to cutt trees to make you a fort; doe not spend soe much greas to greas yourselves, but keep it for your bellies. Stay not too long in the way. It's robbery to die with conduct." That poore wretch spake the truth & gave good instructions, but the greatest part did not understand what he said, saving the hurrons that weare with him, and I, that tould them as much as I could perceive. Every one laughs, saying he himself is afraid & tells us that story. We call him a dogg, a woman, and a henne. We will make you know that we weare men, & for his paines we should burne him when we come to our country. Here you shall see the brutishnesse of those people that think themselves valliant to the last point. No comparison is to be made with them for vallour, but quite contrary. They passe away the rest of that day with great exclamations of joy, but it will not last long. That night wee layd in our boats and made not the ketle boyle, because we had meat ready dressed. Every boat is tyed up in the rushes, whether out of feare for what the prisoner told them, or that the prisoner should escape, I know not. They went to sleepe without any watch. The ffrench began to wish & moane for that place from whence they came from. What will it be if wee heare yeatt cryes & sorrows after all? Past the breake of day every one takes his oare to row; the formost oares have great advantage. We heard the torrent rumble, but could not come to the land that day, although not farr from us. Some twelve boats gott afore us. These weare saluted with guns & outcrys. In the meane while one boat runs one way, one another; some men lands and runs away. We are all put to it; non knowes where he is, they are put to such a confusion. All those beasts gathers together againe frighted. Seeing no way to escape, gott themselves all in a heape like unto ducks that sees the eagle come to them. That first feare being over a litle, they resolved to land & to make a fort with all speed, which was done in lesse then two houres. The most stupidest drowsy are the nimblest for the hattchett & cutting of trees. The fort being finished, every one maketh himselfe in a readiness to sustaine the assult if any had tempted. The prisoner was brought, who soone was despatched, burned & roasted & eaten. The Iroquoits had so served them, as many as they have taken. We mist 20 of our company, but some came safe to us, & lost 13 that weare killed & taken in that defeat. The Iroquoite finding himselfe weake would not venture, & was obliged to leave us least he should be discovered & served as the other. Neverthelesse they shewed good countenances, went & builded a fort as we have done, where they fortified themselves & feed on human flesh which they gott in the warres. They weare afraid as much as we, but far from that; ffor the night being come, every one imbarks himselfe, to the sound of a low trumpet, by the help of the darknesse. We went to the other side, leaving our marchandises for our ransome to the ennemy that used us so unkindly. We made some cariages that night with a world of paines. We mist 4 of our boats, so that we must alter our equipages. The wildmen complained much that the ffrench could not swime, for that they might be together. The ffrench seeing that they weare not able to undergo such a voyage, they consult together & for conclusion resolved to give an end to such labours & dangers; moreover, found themselves incapable to follow the wildmen who went with all the speed possible night & day for the feare that they weare in. The ffathers, seeing our weaknesse, desired the wildmen that they might have one or two to direct them, which by no means was granted, but bid us doe as the rest. We kept still our resolution, & knowing more tricks then they, would not goe back, which should be but disdainful & prejudiciall. We told them so plainly that we would finish that voyage or die by the way. Besides that the wildmen did not complaine of us att all, but incouraged us. After a long arguing, every one had the liberty to goe backwards or forwards, if any had courage to venter himselfe with us. Seeing the great difficulties, all with one consent went back againe, and we went on. The wildmen weare not sorry for their departure, because of their ignorance in the affaire of such navigation. It's a great alteration to see one and 30 reduced to 2. We encouraged one another, both willing to live & die with one another; & that [is] the least we could doe, being brothers. Before we [went] to the lake of the hurrons we had crosses enough, but no encounter. We travelled onely in the night in these dangerous places, which could not be done without many vexations & labours. The vanity was somewhat cooler for the example we have seene the day before. The hungar was that tormented us most; for him we could not goe seeke for some wild beasts. Our chiefest food was onely some few fishes which the wildmen caught by a line, may be two dozens a whole day, no bigger then my hand. Being come to the place of repose, some did goe along the water side on the rocks & there exposed ourselves to the rigour of the weather. Upon these rocks we find some shells, blackish without and the inner part whitish by reason of the heat of the sun & of the humidity. They are in a maner glued to the rock; so we must gett another stone to gett them off by scraping them hard. When we thought to have enough [we] went back again to the Cottages, where the rest weare getting the litle fishes ready with trips, [Footnote: _Trips_,--meaning "tripe des boiled resolves itself into a black glue, roche, a species of lichen, which being nauseous but not without nourishment." _Discovery of the Great West_, by Parkman.] gutts and all. The kittle was full with the scraping of the rocks, which soone after it boyled became like starch, black and clammie & easily to be swallowed. I think if any bird had lighted upon the excrements of the said stuff, they had stuckt to it as if it weare glue. In the fields we have gathered severall fruits, as goosberyes, blackberrys, that in an houre we gathered above a bushell of such sorte, although not as yett full ripe. We boyled it, and then every one had his share. Heere was daintinesse slighted. The belly did not permitt us to gett on neither shoos nor stockins, that the better we might goe over the rocks, which did [make] our feet smart [so] that we came backe. Our feet & thighs & leggs weare scraped with thorns, in a heape of blood. The good God looked uppon those infidels by sending them now & then a beare into the river, or if we perceived any in an Isle forced them to swime, that by that means we might the sooner kill them. But the most parts there abouts is so sterill that there is nothing to be seene but rocks & sand, & on the high wayes but deale trees that grow most miraculously, for that earth is not to be seene than can nourish the root, & most of them trees are very bigg & high. We tooke a litle refreshment in a place called the lake of Castors, which is some 30 leagues from the first great lake. Some of those wildmen hid a rest [Footnote: "Hid a rest," or cache.] as they went down to the ffrench; but the lake was so full of fishes we tooke so much that served us a long while. We came to a place where weare abundance of Otters, in so much that I believe all gathered to hinder our passage. We killed some with our arrows, not daring to shoote because we discovered there abouts some tracks, judging to be our ennemy by the impression of their feet in the sand. All knowes there one another by their march, for each hath his proper steps, some upon their toes, some on their heele, which is natural to them, for when they are infants the mother wrapeth them to their mode. Heer I speake not of the horrid streams we passed, nor of the falls of the water, which weare of an incredible height. In some parts most faire & delicious, where people formerly lived onely by what they could gett by the bow & arrows. We weare come above 300 leagues allwayes against the streame, & made 60 carriages, besides drawing, besides the swift streams we overcame by the oares & poles to come to that litle lake of Castors which may be 30 or 40 leagues in compasse. The upper end of it is full of Islands, where there is not time lost to wander about, finding wherewithall to make the kettle boyle with venison, great bears, castors & fishes, which are plenty in that place. The river that we goe to the great lake is somewhat favorable. We goe downe with ease & runing of the watter, which empties itsselfe in that lake in which we are now coming in. This river hath but 8 high & violent streams, which is some 30 leagues in length. The place where we weare is a bay all full of rocks, small isles, & most between wind and water which an infinite [number] of fishes, which are seene in the water so cleare as christiall. That is the reason of so many otters, that lives onely uppon fish. Each of us begins to looke to his bundle & merchandizes and prepare himselfe for the bad weather that uses to be on that great extent of water. The wildmen finds what they hid among the rocks 3 months before they came up to the french. Heere we are stiring about in our boats as nimble as bees and divided ourselves into 2 companys. Seaven boats went towards west norwest and the rest to the South. After we mourned enough for the death of our deare countrymen that weare slained coming up, we take leave of each other with promise of amitie & good correspondence one with another, as for the continuance of peace, as for the assistance of strength, if the enemy should make an assault. That they should not goe to the french without giving notice one to another & soe goe together. We that weare for the South went on severall dayes merily, & saw by the way the place where the ffathers Jesuits had heretofore lived; a delicious place, albeit we could but see it afarre off. The coast of this lake is most delightfull to the minde. The lands smooth, and woods of all sorts. In many places there are many large open fields where in, I believe, wildmen formerly lived before the destruction of the many nations which did inhabit, and tooke more place then 600 leagues about; for I can well say that from the river of Canada to the great lake of the hurrons, which is neere 200 leagues in length & 60 in breadth, as I guesse, for I have [been] round about it, plenty of fish. There are banks of sand 5 or 6 leagues from the waterside, where such an infinite deale of fish that scarcely we are able to draw out our nett. There are fishes as bigg as children of 2 years old. There is sturgeon enough & other sorte that is not knowne to us. The South part is without isles, onely in some bayes where there are some. It is delightfull to goe along the side of the watter in summer where you may pluck the ducks. We must stay often in a place 2 or 3 dayes for the contrary winds; ffor [if] the winds weare anything high, we durst not venter the boats against the impetuosity of the waves, which is the reason that our voyages are so long and tedious. A great many large deep rivers empties themselves in that lake, and an infinit number of other small rivers, that cann beare boats, and all from lakes & pools which are in abundance in that country. After we travelled many dayes we arrived att a large island where we found their village, their wives & children. You must know that we passed a strait some 3 leagues beyond that place. The wildmen give it a name; it is another lake, but not so bigg as that we passed before. We calle it the lake of the staring hairs, because those that live about it have their hair like a brush turned up. They all have a hole in their nose, which is done by a straw which is above a foot long. It barrs their faces. Their ears have ordinarily 5 holes, where one may putt the end of his finger. They use those holes in this sort: to make themselves gallant they passe through it a skrew of coper with much dexterity, and goe on the lake in that posture. When the winter comes they weare no capes because of their haire tourned up. They fill those skrews with swan's downe, & with it their ears covered; but I dare say that the people doe not for to hold out the cold, but rather for pride, ffor their country is not so cold as the north, and other lakes that we have seene since. It should be difficult to describe what variety of faces our arrivement did cause, some out of joy, others out of sadnesse. Neverthelesse the numbers of joyfull exceeded that of the sorrowfull. The season began to invite the lustiest to hunting. We neither desire to be idle in any place, having learned by experience that idlenesse is the mother of all evil, for it breeds most part of all sicknesse in those parts where the aire is most delightfull. So that they who had most knowledge in these quarters had familiarity with the people that live there about the last lake. The nation that we weare with had warrs with the Iroquoits, and must trade. Our wildmen out of feare must consent to their ennemy to live in their land. It's true that those who lived about the first lake had not for the most part the conveniency of our french merchandise, as since, which obliged most of the remotest people to make peace, considering the enemy of theirs that came as a thunder bolt upon them, so that they joyned with them & forgett what was past for their owne preservation. Att our coming there we made large guifts, to dry up the tears of the friends of the deceased. As we came there the circumjacent neighbours came to visit us, that bid us welcome, as we are so. There comes newes that there weare ennemy in the fields, that they weare seene att the great field. There is a councell called, & resolved that they should be searched & sett uppon them as [soon as] possible may be, which [was] executed speedily. I offered my service, soe went and looked for them 2 dayes; finding them the 3rd day, gave them the assault when they least thought off it. We played the game so furiously that none escaped. The day following we returned to our village with 8 of our enemys dead and 3 alive. The dead weare eaten & the living weare burned with a small fire to the rigour of cruelties, which comforted the desolat to see them revenged of the death of their relations that was so served. We weare then possessed by the hurrons and Octanac; but our minde was not to stay in an island, but to be knowne with the remotest people. The victory that we have gotten made them consent to what we could desire, & because that we shewed willing [ness] to die for their defence. So we desired to goe with a company of theirs that was going to the nation of the stairing haires. We weare wellcomed & much made of, saying that we weare the Gods & devils of the earth; that we should fournish them, & that they would bring us to their ennemy to destroy them. We tould them [we] were very well content. We persuaded them first to come peaceably, not to destroy them presently, and if they would not condescend, then would wee throw away the hattchett and make use of our thunders. We sent ambassadors to them with guifts. That nation called Pontonatemick without more adoe comes & meets us with the rest, & peace was concluded. Feasts were made & dames with guifts came of each side, with a great deale of mirth. We visited them during that winter, & by that means we made acquaintance with an other nation called Escotecke, which signified fire, a faire proper nation; they are tall & bigg & very strong. We came there in the spring. When we arrived there weare extraordinary banquetts. There they never have seen men with beards, because they pull their haires as soone as it comes out; but much more astonished when they saw our armes, especially our guns, which they worshipped by blowing smoake of tobacco instead of sacrifice. I will not insist much upon their way of living, ffor of their ceremonys heere you will see a pattern. In the last voyage that wee made I will lett you onely know what cours we runned in 3 years' time. We desired them to lett us know their neighboring nations. They gave us the names, which I hope to describe their names in the end of this most imperfect discours, at least those that I can remember. Among others they told us of a nation called Nadoneceronon, which is very strong, with whome they weare in warres with, & another wandering nation, living onely uppon what they could come by. Their dwelling was on the side of the salt watter in summer time, & in the land in the winter time, for it's cold in their country. They calle themselves Christinos, & their confederats from all times, by reason of their speech, which is the same, & often have joyned together & have had companys of souldiers to warre against that great nation. We desired not to goe to the North till we had made a discovery in the South, being desirous to know what they did. They told us if we would goe with them to the great lake of the stinkings, the time was come of their trafick, which was of as many knives as they could gett from the french nation, because of their dwellings, which was att the coming in of a lake called Superior, but since the destructions of many neighboring nations they retired themselves to the height of the lake. We knewed those people well. We went to them almost yearly, and the company that came up with us weare of the said nation, but never could tell punctually where they lived because they make the barre of the Christinos from whence they have the Castors that they bring to the french. This place is 600 leagues off, by reason of the circuit that we must doe. The hurrons & the Octanacks, from whence we came last, furnishes them also, & comes to the furthest part of the lake of the stinkings, there to have light earthen pots, and girdles made of goat's hairs, & small shells that grow art the sea side, with which they trim their cloath made of skin. We finding this opportunity would not lett it slippe, but made guifts, telling that the other nation would stand in feare of them because of us. We flattered them, saying none would dare to give them the least wrong, in so much that many of the Octanacks that weare present to make the same voyage. I can assure you I liked noe country as I have that wherein we wintered; ffor whatever a man could desire was to be had in great plenty; viz. staggs, fishes in abundance, & all sort of meat, corne enough. Those of the 2 nations would not come with us, but turned back to their nation. We neverthelesse put ourselves in hazard, for our curiosity, of stay 2 or 3 years among that nation. We ventured, for that we understand some of their idiome & trusted to that. We embarked ourselves on the delightfullest lake of the world. I tooke notice of their Cottages & of the journeys of our navigation, for because that the country was so pleasant, so beautifull & fruitfull that it grieved me to see that the world could not discover such inticing countrys to live in. This I say because that the Europeans fight for a rock in the sea against one another, or for a sterill land and horrid country, that the people sent heere or there by the changement of the aire ingenders sicknesse and dies thereof. Contrarywise those kingdoms are so delicious & under so temperat a climat, plentifull of all things, the earth bringing foorth its fruit twice a yeare, the people live long & lusty & wise in their way. What conquest would that bee att litle or no cost; what laborinth of pleasure should millions of people have, instead that millions complaine of misery & poverty! What should not men reape out of the love of God in converting the souls heere, is more to be gained to heaven then what is by differences of nothing there, should not be so many dangers committed under the pretence of religion! Why so many thoesoever are hid from us by our owne faults, by our negligence, covetousnesse, & unbeliefe. It's true, I confesse, that the accesse is difficult, but must say that we are like the Cockscombs of Paris, when first they begin to have wings, imagining that the larks will fall in their mouths roasted; but we ought [to remember] that vertue is not acquired without labour & taking great paines. We meet with severall nations, all sedentary, amazed to see us, & weare very civil. The further we sejourned the delightfuller the land was to us. I can say that [in] my lifetime I never saw a more incomparable country, for all I have ben in Italy; yett Italy comes short of it, as I think, when it was inhabited, & now forsaken of the wildmen. Being about the great sea, we conversed with people that dwelleth about the salt water, [Footnote: "That dwelleth about the salt water;" namely, Hudson's Bay.] who tould us that they saw some great white thing sometimes uppon the water, & came towards the shore, & men in the top of it, and made a noise like a company of swans; which made me believe that they weare mistaken, for I could not imagine what it could be, except the Spaniard; & the reason is that we found a barill broken as they use in Spaine. Those people have their haires long. They reape twice a yeare; they are called Tatarga, that is to say, buff. They warre against Nadoneceronons, and warre also against the Christinos. These 2 doe no great harme to one another, because the lake is betweene both. They are generally stout men, that they are able to defend themselves. They come but once a year to fight. If the season of the yeare had permitted us to stay, for we intended to goe backe the yeare following, we had indeavoured to make peace betweene them. We had not as yett seene the nation Nadoneceronons. We had hurrons with us. Wee persuaded them to come along to see their owne nation that fled there, but they would not by any means. We thought to gett some castors there to bring downe to the ffrench, seeing [it] att last impossible to us to make such a circuit in a twelve month's time. We weare every where much made of; neither wanted victualls, for all the different nations that we mett conducted us & furnished us with all necessaries. Tending to those people, went towards the South & came back by the north. The Summer passed away with admiration by the diversity of the nations that we saw, as for the beauty of the shore of that sweet sea. Heere we saw fishes of divers, some like the sturgeons & have a kind of slice att the end of their nose some 3 fingers broad in the end and 2 onely neere the nose, and some 8 thumbs long, all marbled of a blakish collor. There are birds whose bills are two and 20 thumbs long. That bird swallows a whole salmon, keeps it a long time in his bill. We saw alsoe shee-goats very bigg. There is an animal somewhat lesse then a cow whose meat is exceeding good. There is no want of Staggs nor Buffes. There are so many Tourkeys that the boys throws stoanes att them for their recreation. We found no sea-serpents as we in other laks have seene, especially in that of d'Ontario and that of the stairing haires. There are some in that of the hurrons, but scarce, for the great cold in winter. They come not neere the upper lake. In that of the stairing haires I saw yong boy [who] was bitten. He tooke immediately his stony knife & with a pointed stick & cutts off the whole wound, being no other remedy for it. They are great sorcerors & turns the wheele. I shall speake of this at large in my last voyage. Most of the shores of the lake is nothing but sand. There are mountains to be seene farre in the land. There comes not so many rivers from that lake as from others; these that flow from it are deeper and broader, the trees are very bigg, but not so thick. There is a great distance from one another, & a quantitie of all sorts of fruits, but small. The vines grows all by the river side; the lemons are not so bigg as ours, and sowrer. The grape is very bigg, greene, is seene there att all times. It never snows nor freezes there, but mighty hot; yett for all that the country is not so unwholsom, ffor we seldome have seene infirmed people. I will speake of their manners in my last voyage, which I made in October. We came to the strait of the 2 lakes of the stinkings and the upper lake, where there are litle isles towards Norwest, ffew towards the Southest, very small. The lake towards the North att the side of it is full of rocks & sand, yett great shipps can ride on it without danger. We being of 3 nations arrived there with booty, disputed awhile, ffor some would returne to their country. That was the nation of the fire, & would have us backe to their dwelling. We by all means would know the Christinos. To goe backe was out of our way. We contented the hurrons to our advantage with promises & others with hope, and persuaded the Octonack to keepe his resolution, because we weare but 5 small fine dayes from those of late that lived in the sault of the coming in of the said upper lake, from whence that name of salt, which is _panoestigonce_ in the wild language, which heerafter we will call the nation of the salt. Not many years since that they had a cruell warre against the Nadoneseronons. Although much inferiour in numbers, neverthelesse that small number of the salt was a terror unto them, since they had trade with the ffrench. They never have seene such instruments as the ffrench furnished them withall. It is a proude nation, therfore would not submitt, although they had to doe with a bigger nation 30 times then they weare, because that they weare called ennemy by all those that have the accent of the Algonquin language, that the wild men call Nadone, which is the beginning of their name. The Iroquoits have the title of bad ennemy, Maesocchy Nadone. Now seeing that the Christinos had hattchetts & knives, for that they resolved to make peace with those of the sault, that durst not have gon hundred of leagues uppon that upper lake with assurance. They would not hearken to anything because their general resolved to make peace with those of the Christinos & an other nation that gott gunns, the noise of which had frighted them more then the bulletts that weare in them. The time approached, there came about 100 of the nation of the Sault to those that lived towards the north. The christinos gott a bigger company & fought a batail. Some weare slaine of both sids. The Captayne of these of the Sault lost his eye by an arrow. The batail being over he made a speech, & said that he lost his fight of one side, & of the other he foresee what he would doe; his courage being abject by that losse, that he himselfe should be ambassador & conclud the peace. He seeing that the Iroquoits came too often, a visit I must confesse very displeasing, being that some [of] ours looses their lives or liberty, so that we retired ourselves to the higher lake neerer the nation of the Nadoneceronons, where we weare well receaved, but weare mistrusted when many weare seene together. We arrived then where the nation of the Sault was, where we found some french men that came up with us, who thanked us kindly for to come & visit them. The wild Octanaks that came with us found some of their nations slaves, who weare also glad to see them. For all they weare slaves they had meat enough, which they have not in their owne country so plentifull, being no huntsmen, but altogether ffishers. As for those towards the north, they are most expert in hunting, & live uppon nothing else the most part of the yeare. We weare long there before we gott acquaintance with those that we desired so much, and they in lik maner had a fervent desire to know us, as we them. Heer comes a company of Christinos from the bay of the North sea, to live more at ease in the midle of woods & forests, by reason they might trade with those of the Sault & have the Conveniency to kill more beasts. There we passed the winter & learned the particularitie that since wee saw by Experience. Heere I will not make a long discours during that time, onely made good cheere & killed staggs, Buffes, Elends, and Castors. The Christinos had skill in that game above the rest. The snow proved favourable that yeare, which caused much plenty of every thing. Most of the woods & forests are very thick, so that it was in some places as darke as in a cellar, by reason of the boughs of trees. The snow that falls, being very light, hath not the strenght to stopp the eland, [Footnote: _Elend_, plainly the Moose. "They appear to derive their Dutch appellation (_eelanden_) from _elende_, misery, they die of the smallest wound." _Documentary History of New York_, by O'Callaghan, Vol. IV. p. 77.] which is a mighty strong beast, much like a mule, having a tayle cutt off 2 or 3 or 4 thumbes long, the foot cloven like a stagge. He has a muzzle mighty bigge. I have seene some that have the nostrills so bigg that I putt into it my 2 fists att once with ease. Those that uses to be where the buffes be are not so bigg, but about the bignesse of a coach horse. The wildmen call them the litle sort. As for the Buff, it is a furious animal. One must have a care of him, for every yeare he kills some Nadoneseronons. He comes for the most part in the plaines & meddows; he feeds like an ox, and the Oriniack so but seldom he galopps. I have seene of their hornes that a man could not lift them from of the ground. They are branchy & flatt in the midle, of which the wildman makes dishes that can well hold 3 quarts. These hornes fall off every yeare, & it's a thing impossible that they will grow againe. The horns of Buffs are as those of an ox, but not so long, but bigger, & of a blackish collour; he hath a very long hairy taile; he is reddish, his haire frized & very fine. All the parts of his body much [like] unto an ox. The biggest are bigger then any ox whatsoever. Those are to be found about the lake of the Stinkings & towards the North of the same. They come not to the upper lake but by chance. It's a pleasur to find the place of their abode, for they tourne round about compassing 2 or 3 acres of land, beating the snow with their feete, & coming to the center they lye downe & rise againe to eate the bows of trees that they can reach. They go not out of their circle that they have made untill hunger compells them. We did what we could to have correspondence with that warlick nation & reconcile them with the Christinos. We went not there that winter. Many weare slained of both sides the summer last. The wound was yett fresh, wherfore it was hard to conclude peace between them. We could doe nothing, ffor we intended to turne back to the ffrench the summer following. Two years weare expired. We hoped to be att the 2 years end with those that gave us over for dead, having before to come back at a year's end. As we are once in those remote countreys we cannot doe as we would. Att last we declared our mind first to those of the Sault, encouraging those of the North that we are their brethren, & that we would come back & force their enemy to peace or that we would help against them. We made guifts one to another, and thwarted a land of allmost 50 leagues before the snow was melted. In the morning it was a pleasur to walke, for we could goe without racketts. The snow was hard enough, because it freezed every night. When the sun began to shine we payed for the time past. The snow sticks so to our racketts that I believe our shoes weighed 30 pounds, which was a paine, having a burden uppon our backs besides. We arrived, some 150 of us, men & women, to a river side, where we stayed 3 weeks making boats. Here we wanted not fish. During that time we made feasts att a high rate. So we refreshed ourselves from our labours. In that time we tooke notice that the budds of trees began to spring, which made us to make more hast & be gone. We went up that river 8 dayes till we came to a nation called Pontonatenick & Matonenock; that is, the scrattchers. There we gott some Indian meale & corne from those 2 nations, which lasted us till we came to the first landing Isle. There we weare well received againe. We made guifts to the Elders to encourage the yong people to bring us downe to the ffrench. But mightily mistaken; ffor they would reply, "Should you bring us to be killed? The Iroquoits are every where about the river & undoubtedly will destroy us if we goe downe, & afterwards our wives & those that stayed behinde. Be wise, brethren, & offer not to goe downe this yeare to the ffrench. Lett us keepe our lives." We made many private suits, but all in vaine. That vexed us most that we had given away most of our merchandises & swapped a great deale for Castors. Moreover they made no great harvest, being but newly there. Beside, they weare no great huntsmen. Our journey was broaken till the next yeare, & must per force. That summer I went a hunting, & my brother stayed where he was welcome & putt up a great deale of Indian corne that was given him. He intended to furnish the wildmen that weare to goe downe to the ffrench if they had not enough. The wild men did not perceive this; ffor if they wanted any, we could hardly kept it for our use. The winter passes away in good correspondence one with another, & sent ambassadors to the nations that uses to goe downe to the french, which rejoyced them the more & made us passe that yeare with a greater pleasur, saving that my brother sell into the falling sicknesse, & many weare sorry for it. That proceeded onely of a long stay in a new discovered country, & the idlenesse contributs much to it. There is nothing comparable to exercise. It is the onely remedy of such diseases. After he languished awhile God gave him his health againe. The desire that every one had to goe downe to the ffrench made them earnestly looke out for castors. They have not so many there as in the north part, so in the beginning of spring many came to our Isle. There weare no lesse, I believe, then 500 men that weare willing to venter themselves. The corne that my brother kept did us a world of service. The wildmen brought a quantity of flesh salted in a vesell. When we weare ready to depart, heere comes strang news of the defeat of the hurrons, which news, I thought, would putt off the voyage. There was a councell held, & most of them weare against the goeing downe to the ffrench, saying that the Iroquoits weare to barre this yeare, & the best way was to stay till the following yeare. And now the ennemy, seeing himselfe frustrated of his expectation, would not stay longer, thinking thereby that we weare resolved never more to go downe, and that next yeare there should be a bigger company, & better able to oppose an ennemy. My brother & I, feeing ourselves all out of hopes of our voyage, without our corne, which was allready bestowed, & without any merchandise, or scarce having one knife betwixt us both, so we weare in a great apprehension least that the hurrons should, as they have done often, when the ffathers weare in their country, kill a frenchman. Seeing the equipage ready & many more that thought long to depart thence for marchandise, we uppon this resolved to call a publique councell in the place; which the Elders hearing, came and advised us not to undertake it, giving many faire words, saying, "Brethren, why are you such ennemys to yourselves to putt yourselves in the hands of those that wait for you? They will destroy you and carry you away captives. Will you have your brethren destroyed that loves you, being slained? Who then will come up and baptize our children? Stay till the next yeare, & then you are like to have the number of 600 men in company with you. Then you may freely goe without intermission. Yee shall take the church along with you, & the ffathers & mothers will send their children to be taught in the way of truth of the Lord." Our answer was that we would speake in publique, which granted, the day appointed is come. There gathered above 800 men to see who should have the glorie in a round. They satt downe on the ground. We desired silence. The elders being in the midle & we in their midle, my brother began to Speake. "Who am I? am I a foe or a friend? If I am a foe, why did you suffer me to live so long among you? If I am friend, & if you take so to be, hearken to what I shall say. You know, my uncles & brethren, that I hazarded my life goeing up with you; if I have no courage, why did you not tell me att my first coming here? & if you have more witt then we, why did not you use it by preserving your knives, your hattchetts, & your gunns, that you had from the ffrench? You will see if the ennemy will sett upon you that you will be attraped like castors in a trape; how will you defend yourselves like men that is not courageous to lett yourselves be catched like beasts? How will you defend villages? with castors' skins? how will you defend your wives & children from the ennemy's hands?" Then my brother made me stand up, saying, "Shew them the way to make warrs if they are able to uphold it." I tooke a gowne of castors' skins that one of them had uppon his shoulder & did beat him with it. I asked the others if I was a souldier. "Those are the armes that kill, & not your robes. What will your ennemy say when you perish without defending yourselves? Doe not you know the ffrench way? We are used to fight with armes & not with robes. You say that the Iroquoits waits for you because some of your men weare killed. It is onely to make you stay untill you are quite out of stocke, that they dispatch you with ease. Doe you think that the ffrench will come up here when the greatest part of you is slained by your owne fault? You know that they cannot come up without you. Shall they come to baptize your dead? Shall your children learne to be slaves among the Iroquoits for their ffathers' cowardnesse? You call me Iroquoit. Have not you seene me disposing my life with you? Who has given you your life if not the ffrench? Now you will not venter because many of your confederates are come to visit you & venter their lives with you. If you will deceave them you must not think that they will come an other time for shy words nor desire. You have spoaken of it first, doe what you will. For myne owne part, I will venter choosing to die like a man then live like a beggar. Having not wherewithal to defend myselfe, farewell; I have my sack of corne ready. Take all my castors. I shall live without you." & then departed that company. They weare amazed of our proceeding; they stayed long before they spoake one to another. Att last sent us some considerable persons who bid us cheare up. "We see that you are in the right; the voyage is not broaken. The yong people tooke very ill that you have beaten them with the skin. All avowed to die like men & undertake the journey. You shall heare what the councell will ordaine the morrow. They are to meet privatly & you shall be called to it. Cheare up & speake as you have done; that is my councell to you. For this you will remember me when you will see me in your country; ffor I will venter meselfe with you." Now we are more satisfied then the day before. We weare to use all rhetorique to persuade them to goe downe, ffor we saw the country languish very much, ffor they could not subsist, & moreover they weare afraid of us. The councell is called, but we had no need to make a speech, finding them disposed to make the voyage & to submitt. "Yee women gett your husbands' bundles ready. They goe to gett wherwithall to defend themselves & you alive." Our equipage was ready in 6 dayes. We embarked ourselves. We weare in number about 500, all stout men. We had with us a great store of castors' skins. We came to the South. We now goe back to the north, because to overtake a band of men that went before to give notice to others. We passed the lake without dangers. We wanted nothing, having good store of corne & netts to catch fish, which is plentyfull in the rivers. We came to a place where 8 Iroquoits wintered. That was the company that made a slaughter before our departure from home. Our men repented now they did not goe sooner, ffor it might be they should have surprised them. Att last we are out of those lakes. One hides a caske of meale, the other his campiron, & all that could be cumbersome. After many paines & labours wee arrived to the Sault of Columest, so called because of the Stones that are there very convenient to make tobacco pipes. We are now within 100 leagues of the french habitation, & hitherto no bad encounter. We still found tracks of men which made us still to have the more care and guard of ourselves. Some 30 leagues from this place we killed wild cowes & then gott ourselves into cottages, where we heard some guns goe off, which made us putt out our fires & imbark ourselves with all speed. We navigated all that night. About the breake of day we made a stay, that not to goe through the violent streames for feare the Ennemy should be there to dispute the passage. We landed & instantly sent 2 men to know whether the passage was free. They weare not halfe a mile off when we see a boat of the ennemy thwarting the river, which they had not done without discovering our boats, having nothing to cover our boats nor hide them. Our lightest boats shewed themselves by pursueing the ennemy. They did shoot, but to no effect, which made our two men come back in all hast. We seeing ourselves but merchandmen, so we would not long follow a man of warre, because he runned swifter then ours. We proceeded in our way with great diligence till we came to the carriage place, where the one halfe of our men weare in readinesse, whilst the other halfe carried the baggage & the boats. We had a great alarum, but no hurt done. We saw but one boat, but have seene foure more going up the river. Methinks they thought themselves some what weake for us, which persuaded us [of] 2 things: 1st, that they weare afraid; andly, that they went to warne their company, which thing warned us the more to make hast. The 2nd day att evening after we landed & boyled an horiniack which we killed. We then see 16 boats of our ennemy coming. They no sooner perceived us but they went on the other side of the river. It was a good looke for us to have seene them. Our wildmen did not say what they thought, ffor they esteemed themselves already lost. We encouraged them & desired them to have courage & not [be] afraid, & so farr as I think we weare strong enough for them, that we must stoutly goe & meet them, and they should stand still. We should be alltogether, & put our castors' skins upon pearches, which could keepe us from the shott, which we did. We had foure & 20 gunns ready, and gave them to the hurrons, who knewed how to handle them better then the others. The Iroquoits seeing us come, & that we weare 5 to 1, could not imagine what to doe. Neverthelesse they would shew their courage; being that they must passe, they putt themselves in array to fight. If we had not ben with some hurrons that knewed the Iroquoits' tricks, I believe that our wild men had runned away, leaving their fusiques behind. We being neere one another, we commanded that they should row with all their strength towards them. We kept close one to another to persecut what was our intent. We begin to make outcryes & sing. The hurrons in one side, the Algonquins att the other side, the Ottanak, the panoestigons, the Amickkoick, the Nadonicenago, the ticacon, and we both encouraged them all, crying out with a loud noise. The Iroquoits begin to shoot, but we made ours to goe one forwards without any shooting, and that it was the onely way of fighting. They indeed turned their backs & we followed them awhile. Then was it that we weare called devils, with great thanks & incouragements that they gave us, attributing to us the masters of warre and the only Captaynes. We desired them to keepe good watch and sentry, and if we weare not surprized we should come safe and sound without hurt to the ffrench. The Iroquoite seeing us goe on our way, made as if they would leave us. We made 3 carriages that day, where the ennemy could doe us mischief if they had ben there. The cunning knaves followed us neverthelesse pritty close. We left 5 boats behind that weare not loaden. We did so to see what invention our enemy could invent, knowing very well that his mind was to surprize us. It is enough that we are warned that they follow us. Att last we perceived that he was before us, which putt us in some feare; but seeing us resolut, did what he could to augment his number. But we weare mighty vigilent & sent some to make a discovery att every carriage through the woods. We weare told that they weare in an ambush, & there builded a fort below the long Sault, where we weare to passe. Our wildmen said doubtlesse they have gott an other company of their nation, so that some minded to throw their castors away & returne home. We told them that we weare almost att the gates of the ffrench habitation, & bid [them] therefore have courage, & that our lives weare in as great danger as theirs, & if we weare taken we should never escape because they knewed us, & I because I runned away from their country having slained some of their brethren, & my brother that long since was the man that furnished their enemy with arms. They att last weare persuaded, & landed within a mile of the landing place, & sent 300 men before armed. We made them great bucklers that the shot could not pearce in some places. They weare to be carryed if there had ben occasion for it. Being come neere the torrent, we finding the Iroquoits lying in ambush, who began to shoot. The rest of our company went about cutting of trees & making a fort, whilst some brought the boats; which being come, we left as few means possible might bee. The rest helped to carry wood. We had about 200 men that weare gallant souldiers. The most weare hurrons, Pasnoestigons, & Amickkoick frequented the ffrench for a time. The rest weare skillfull in their bows & arrows. The Iroquoits perceiving our device, resolved to fight by forceing them to lett us passe with our arms. They did not know best what to doe, being not so munished nor so many men above a hundred and fifty. They forsooke the place & retired into the fort, which was underneath the rapide. We in the meane while have slained 5 of theirs, & not one of ours hurted, which encouraged our wildmen. We bid them still to have good courage, that we should have the victory. Wee went & made another fort neere theirs, where 2 of our men weare wounded but lightly. It is a horrid thing to heare [of] the enormity of outcryes of those different nations. The Iroquoits sung like devils, & often made salleys to make us decline. They gott nothing by that but some arrows that did incommodat them to some purpose. We foresee that such a batail could not hold out long for want of powder, of shott & arrows; so by the consent of my brother & the rest, made a speech in the Iroquoit language, inducing meselfe with armours that I might not be wounded with every bullett or arrow that the ennemy sent perpetually. Then I spoake. "Brethren, we came from your country & bring you to ours, not to see you perish unlesse we perish with you. You know that the ffrench are men, & maks forts that cannot be taken so soone therefore cheare upp, ffor we love you & will die with you." This being ended, nothing but howling & crying. We brought our castors & tyed them 8 by 8, and rowled them before us. The Iroquoits finding that they must come out of their fort to the watterside, where they left their boats, to make use of them in case of neede, where indeed made an escape, leaving all their baggage behind, which was not much, neither had we enough to fill our bellyes with the meat that was left; there weare kettles, broaken gunns, & rusty hattchetts. They being gone, our passage was free, so we made hast & endeavoured to come to our journey's end; and to make the more hast, some boats went downe that swift streame without making any carriage, hopeing to follow the ennemy; but the bad lacke was that where my brother was the boat turned in the torrent, being seaven of them together, weare in great danger, ffor God was mercifull to give them strength to save themselves, to the great admiration, for few can speed so well in such precipices. When they came to lande they cutt rocks. My brother lost his booke of annotations of the last yeare of our being in these foraigne nations. We lost never a castor, but may be some better thing. It's better [that one] loose all then lose his life. We weare 4 moneths in our voyage without doeing any thing but goe from river to river. We mett severall sorts of people. We conversed with them, being long time in alliance with them. By the persuasion of som of them we went into the great river that divides itselfe in 2, where the hurrons with some Ottanake & the wild men that had warrs with them had retired. There is not great difference in their language, as we weare told. This nation have warrs against those of [the] forked river. It is so called because it has 2 branches, the one towards the west, the other towards the South, which we believe runns towards Mexico, by the tokens they gave us. Being among these people, they told us the prisoners they take tells them that they have warrs against a nation, against men that build great cabbans & have great beards & had such knives as we have had. Moreover they shewed a Decad of beads & guilded pearls that they have had from that people, which made us believe they weare Europeans. They shewed one of that nation that was taken the yeare before. We understood him not; he was much more tawny then they with whome we weare. His armes & leggs weare turned outside; that was the punishment inflicted uppon him. So they doe with them that they take, & kill them with clubbs & doe often eat them. They doe not burne their prisoners as those of the northern parts. We weare informed of that nation that live in the other river. These weare men of extraordinary height & biggnesse, that made us believe they had no communication with them. They live onely uppon Corne & Citrulles, [Footnote: _Citrulles_, pumpkins.] which are mighty bigg. They have fish in plenty throughout the yeare. They have fruit as big as the heart of an Oriniak, which grows on vast trees which in compasse are three armefull in compasse. When they see litle men they are affraid & cry out, which makes many come help them. Their arrows are not of stones as ours are, but of fish boans & other boans that they worke greatly, as all other things. Their dishes are made of wood. I having seene them, could not but admire the curiosity of their worke. They have great calumetts of great stones, red & greene. They make a store of tobacco. They have a kind of drink that makes them mad for a whole day. This I have not seene, therefore you may believe as you please. When I came backe I found my brother sick, as I said before. God gave him his health, more by his courage then by any good medicine, ffor our bodyes are not like those of the wildmen. To our purpose; we came backe to our carriage, whilst wee endeavoured to ayde our compagnions in their extremity. The Iroquoits gott a great way before, not well satisfied to have stayed for us, having lost 7 of their men; 2 of them weare not nimble enough, ffor our bulletts & arrows made them stay for good & all. Seaven of our men weare sick, they have ben like to be drowned, & the other two weare wounded by the Iroquoits. The next day we went on without any delay or encounter. I give you leave if those of mont Royall weare not overjoyed to see us arrived where they affirme us the pitifull conditions that the country was by the cruelty of these cruell barbars, that perpetually killed & slaughtered to the very gate of the ffrench fort. All this hindered not our goeing to the ffrench att the 3 rivers after we refreshed ourselves 3 dayes, but like to pay dearly for our bold attempt. 20 inhabitants came downe with us in a shawlopp. As we doubled the point of the river of the meddows we weare sett uppon by severall of the Iroquoits, but durst not come neare us, because of two small brasse pieces that the shalop carryed. We tyed our boats together & made a fort about us of castors' skins, which kept us from all danger. We went downe the streame in that posture. The ennemy left us, & did well; for our wildmen weare disposed to fight, & our shaloupp could not come neare them because for want of watter. We came to Quebecq, where we are saluted with the thundring of the guns & batteryes of the fort, and of the 3 shipps that weare then att anchor, which had gon back to france without castors if we had not come. We weare well traited for 5 dayes. The Governor made guifts & sent 2 Brigantins to bring us to the 3 rivers, where we arrived the 2nd day of, & the 4th day they went away. That is the end of our 3 years' voyage & few months. After so much paine & danger God was so mercifull [as] to bring us back saf to our dwelling, where the one was made much off by his wife, the other by his friends & kindred. The ennemy that had discovered us in our goeing downe gott more company, with as many as they could to come to the passages, & there to waite for the retourne of those people, knowinge well that they could not stay there long because the season of the yeare was almost spent; but we made them by our persuasions goe downe to Quebecq, which proved well, ffor the Iroquoits thought they weare gone another way. So came the next day after our arrivall to make a discovery to the 3 rivers, where being perceived, there is care taken to receive them. The ffrench cannot goe as the wildmen through the woods, but imbarks themselves in small boats & went along the river side, knowing that if the ennemy was repulsed, he would make his retreat to the river side. Some Algonquins weare then att the habitation, who for to shew their vallour disposed themselves to be the first in the poursuit of the enemy. Some of the strongest and nimblest ffrench kept them company, with an other great number of men called Ottanacks, so that we weare soone together by the ears. There weare some 300 men of the enemy that came in the space of a fourteen night together; but when they saw us they made use of their heels. We weare about 500; but the better to play their game, after they runned half a mile in the wood they turned againe, where then the batail began most furiously by shooting att one another. That uppermost nation, being not used to shooting nor heare such noise, began to shake off their armours, and tooke their bows and arrows, which indeed made [more] execution then all the guns that they had brought. So seeing 50 Algonquins & 15 ffrench keep to it, they resolved to stick to it also, which had not long lasted; ffor seeing that their arrows weare almost spent & they must close together, and that the enemy had an advantage by keeping themselves behind the trees, and we to fall uppon we must be without bucklers, which diminished much our company that was foremost, we gave them in spight us place to retire themselves, which they did with all speed. Having come to the watter side, where their boats weare, saw the ffrench all in a row, who layd in an ambush to receive them, which they had done if God had not ben for us; ffor they, thinking that the enemy was att hand, mistrusted nothing to the contrary. The ffrench that weare in the wood, seeing the evident danger where their countrymen layd, encouraged the Ottanaks, who tooke their armes againe and followed the enemy, who not feared that way arrived before the ffrench weare apprehended, by good looke. One of the Iroquoits, thinking his boat would be seene, goes quickly and putts it out of sight, & discovers himselfe, which warned the ffrench to hinder them to goe further uppon that score. Our wildmen made a stand and fell uppon them stoutly. The combat begins a new; they see the ffrench that weare uppon the watter come neere, which renforced them to take their boats with all hast, and leave their booty behind. The few boats that the french had brought made that could enter but the 60 ffrench, who weare enough. The wildmen neverthelesse did not goe without their prey, which was of three men's heads that they killed att the first fight; but they left Eleven of theirs in the place, besides many more that weare wounded. They went straight to their countrey, which did a great service to the retourne of our wildmen, and mett with non all their journey, as we heard afterwards. They went away the next day, and we stayed att home att rest that yeare. My brother and I considered whether we should discover what we have seene or no; and because we had not a full and whole discovery, which was that we have not ben in the bay of the north, not knowing anything but by report of the wild Christinos, we would make no mention of it for feare that those wild men should tell us a fibbe. We would have made a discovery of it ourselves and have an assurance, before we should discover anything of it. _The ende of the Auxotacicac voyage, which is the third voyage_. _[Fourth Voyage of Peter Esprit Radisson]_ The spring following we weare in hopes to meet with some company, having ben so fortunat the yeare before. Now during the winter, whether it was that my brother revealed to his wife what we had seene in our voyage and what we further intended, or how it came to passe, it was knowne; so much that the ffather Jesuits weare desirous to find out a way how they might gett downe the castors from the bay of the north by the Sacgnes, and so make themselves masters of that trade. They resolved to make a tryall as soone as the ice would permitt them. So to discover our intentions they weare very earnest with me to ingage myselfe in that voyage, to the end that my brother would give over his, which I uterly denied them, knowing that they could never bring it about, because I heard the wild men say that although the way be easy, the wildmen that are feed att their doors would have hindred them, because they make a livelyhood of that trade. In my last voyage I tooke notice of that that goes to three lands, which is first from the people of the north to another nation, that the ffrench call Squerells, and another nation that they call porquepicque, and from them to the Montignes & Algonquins that live in or about Quebucque; but the greatest hinderance is the scant of watter and the horrid torrents and want of victuals, being no way to carry more then can serve 14 dayes' or 3 weeks' navigation on that river. Neverthelesse the ffathers are gone with the Governor's son of the three rivers and 6 other ffrench and 12 wildmen. During that time we made our proposition to the governor of Quebuc that we weare willing to venture our lives for the good of the countrey, and goe to travell to the remotest countreys with 2 hurrons that made their escape from the Iroquoits. They wished nothing more then to bee in those parts where their wives and families weare, about the Lake of the stairing haire; to that intent would stay untill august to see if any body would come from thence. My brother and I weare of one minde; and for more assurance my brother went to Mont royall to bring those two men along. He came backe, being in danger. The Governor gives him leave, conditionaly that he must carry two of his servants along with him and give them the moitie of the profit. My brother was vexed att such an unreasonable a demand, to take inexperted men to their ruine. All our knowledge and desir depended onely of this last voyage, besides that the governor should compare 2 of his servants to us, that have ventured our lives so many years and maintained the countrey with our generosity in the presence of all; neither was there one that had the courage to undertake what wee have done. We made the governor a slight answer, and tould him for our part we knewed what we weare, Discoverers before governors. If the wild men came downe, the way for them as for us, and that we should be glad to have the honnour of his company, but not of that of his servants, and that we weare both masters and servants. The Governor was much displeased att this, & commanded us not to go without his leave. We desired the ffathers to Speake to him about it. Our addresses were slight because of the shame was putt uppon them the yeare before of their retourne, besids, they stayed for an opportunity to goe there themselves; ffor their designe is to further the Christian faith to the greatest glory of God, and indeed are charitable to all those that are in distresse and needy, especially to those that are worthy or industrious in their way of honesty. This is the truth, lett who he will speak otherwise, ffor this realy I know meselfe by experience. I hope I offend non to tell the truth. We are forced to goe back without doeing any thing. The month of August that brings a company of the Sault, who weare come by the river of the three rivers with incredible paines, as they said. It was a company of seaven boats. We wrote the news of their arrivement to Quebuc. They send us word that they will stay untill the 2 fathers be turned from Sacquenes, that we should goe with them. An answer without reason. Necessity obliged us to goe. Those people are not to be inticed, ffor as soone as they have done their affaire they goe. The governor of that place defends us to goe. We tould him that the offense was pardonable because it was every one's interest; neverthelesse we knewed what we weare to doe, and that he should not be blamed for us. We made guifts to the wildmen, that wished with all their hearts that we might goe along with them. We told them that the governor minded to send servants with them, and forbids us to goe along with them. The wild men would not accept of their company, but tould us that they would stay for us two dayes in the Lake of St Peter in the grasse some 6 leagues from the 3 rivers; but we did not lett them stay so long, for that very night, my brother having the keys of the Brough as being Captayne of the place, we embarqued ourselves. We made ready in the morning, so that we went, 3 of us, about midnight. Being come opposit to the fort, they aske who is there. My brother tells his name. Every one knows what good services we had done to the countrey, and loved us, the inhabitants as well as the souldiers. The sentrey answers him, "God give you a good voyage." We went on the rest of that night. Att 6 in the morning we are arrived to the appointed place, but found no body. We weare well armed, & had a good boat. We resolved to goe day and night to the river of the meddows to overtake them. The wildmen did feare that it was somewhat else, but 3 leagues beyond that of the fort of Richlieu we saw them coming to us. We putt ourselves uppon our guards, thinking they weare ennemy; but weare friends, and received us with joy, and said that if we had not come in 3 dayes' time, they would have sent their boats to know the reason of our delay. There we are in that river waiting for the night. Being come to the river of the medows, we did separat ourselves, 3 into 3 boats. The man that we have taken with us was putt into a boat of 3 men and a woman, but not of the same nation as the rest, but of one that we call sorcerors. They weare going downe to see some friends that lived with the nation of the fire, that now liveth with the Ponoestigonce or the Sault. It is to be understood that this river is divided much into streams very swift & small before you goe to the river of Canada; [on account] of the great game that there is in it, the ennemy is to be feared, which made us go through these torrents. This could make any one afraid who is inexperted in such voyages. We suffered much for 3 dayes and 3 nights without rest. As we went we heard the noise of guns, which made us believe firmly they weare ennemyes. We saw 5 boats goe by, and heard others, which daunted our hearts for feare, although wee had 8 boats in number; but weare a great distance one from another, as is said in my former voyage, before we could gaine the height of the river. The boat of the sorcerors where was one of us, albeit made a voyage into the hurrons' country before with the ffathers, it was not usefull, soe we made him embark another, but stayed not there long. The night following, he that was in the boat dreamed that the Iroquoits had taken him with the rest. In his dreame he cryes out aloud; those that weare att rest awakes of the noise. We are in alarum, and ready to be gone. Those that weare with the man resolved to goe back againe, explicating that an evill presage. The wildmen councelled to send back the ffrenchman, saying he should die before he could come to their countrey. It's usually spoken among the wildmen when a man is sick or not able to doe anything to discourage him in such sayings. Here I will give a relation of that ffrenchman before I goe farther, and what a thing it is to have an intrigue. The next day they see a boat of their ennemys, as we heard since. They presently landed. The wild men runned away; the ffrenchman alsoe, as he went along the watter side for fear of loosing himselfe. He finds there an harbour very thick, layes himselfe downe and falls asleepe. The night being come, the wildmen being come to know whether the ennemy had perceived them, but non pursued them, and found their boat in the same place, and imbarques themselves and comes in good time to mount royall. They left the poore ffrenchman there, thinking he had wit enough to come along the watter side, being not above tenne leagues from thence. Those wild men, after their arrivement, for feare spoak not one word of him, but went downe to the 3 rivers, where their habitation was. Fourteen days after some boats ventured to goe looke for some Oriniaks, came to the same place, where they made cottages, and that within a quarter of mille where this wrech was. One of the ffrench finds him on his back and almost quite spent; had his gunne by him. He was very weake, and desirous that he should be discovered by some or other. He fed as long as he could on grappes, and at last became so weake that he was not able any further, untill those ffrench found him. After awhile, being come to himselfe, he tends downe the three rivers, where being arrived the governor emprisons him. He stayed not there long. The inhabitants seeing that the ennemy, the hunger, and all other miseries tormented this poore man, and that it was by a divine providence he was alive, they would not have souffred such inhumanity, but gott him out. Three dayes after wee found the tracks of seaven boats, and fire yett burning. We found out by their characters they weare no ennemys, but imagined that they weare Octanaks that went up into their countrey, which made us make hast to overtake them. We tooke no rest till we overtooke them. They came from Mount royall and weare gone to the great river and gone by the great river. So that we weare now 14 boats together, which weare to goe the same way to the height of the upper lake. The day following wee weare sett uppon by a Company of Iroquoits that fortified themselves in the passage, where they waited of Octanack, for they knewed of their going downe. Our wildmen, seeing that there was no way to avoid them, resolved to be together, being the best way for them to make a quick Expedition, ffor the season of the yeare pressed us to make expedition. We resolved to give a combat. We prepared ourselves with targetts. Now the businesse was to make a discovery. I doubt not but the ennemy was much surprised to see us so in number. The councell was held and resolution taken. I and a wildman weare appointed to goe and see their fort. I offered myselfe with a free will, to lett them see how willing I was to defend them; that is the onely way to gaine the hearts of those wildmen. We saw that their fort was environed with great rocks that there was no way to mine it, because there weare no trees neere it. The mine was nothing else but to cutt the nearest tree, and so by his fall make a bracke, and so goe and give an assault. Their fort was nothing but trees one against another in a round or square without sides. The ennemy seeing us come neere, shott att us, but in vaine, ffor we have fforewarned ourselves before we came there. It was a pleasur to see our wildmen with their guns and arrows, which agreed not together. Neverthelesse we told them when they received a breake their guns would be to no purpose; therefore to putt them by and make use of their bows and arrows. The Iroquoits saw themselves putt to it, and the evident danger that they weare in, but to late except they would runne away. Yett our wildmen weare better wild footemen then they. These weare ffrenchmen that should give them good directions to overthrow them, resolved to speake for peace, and throw necklaces of porcelaine over the stakes of their fort. Our wildmen weare dazelled att such guifts, because that the porcelaine is very rare and costly in their countrey, and then seeing themselves flattered with faire words, to which they gave eare. We trust them by force to putt their first designe in Execution, but feared their lives and loved the porcelaine, seeing they had it without danger of any life. They weare persuaded to stay till the next day, because now it was almost night. The Iroquoits make their escape. This occasion lost, our consolation was that we had that passage free, but vexed for having lost that opportunity, & contrarywise weare contented of our side, for doubtlesse some of us had ben killed in the bataill. The day following we embarqued ourselves quietly, being uppon our guard for feare of any surprize, ffor that ennemy's danger scarcely begane, who with his furour made himselfe so redoubted, having ben there up and downe to make a new slaughter. This morning, in assurance enough; in the afternoone the two boats that had orders to land some 200 paces from the landing place, one tooke onely a small bundle very light, tends to the other side of the carriage, imagining there to make the kettle boyle, having killed 2 staggs two houres agoe, and was scarce halfe way when he meets the Iroquoits, without doubt for that same businesse. I think both weare much surprized. The Iroquoits had a bundle of Castor that he left behind without much adoe. Our wild men did the same; they both runne away to their partners to give them notice. By chance my brother meets them in the way. The wild men seeing that they all weare frightned and out of breath, they asked the matter, and was told, _nadonnee_, and so soone said, he letts fall his bundle that he had uppon his back into a bush, and comes backe where he finds all the wildmen dispaired. He desired me to encourage them, which I performed with all earnestnesse. We runned to the height of the carriage. As we weare agoing they tooke their armes with all speed. In the way we found the bundle of castors that the ennemy had left. By this means we found out that they weare in a fright as wee, and that they came from the warrs of the upper country, which we told the wildmen, so encouraged them to gaine the watter side to discover their forces, where wee no sooner came but 2 boats weare landed & charged their guns, either to defend themselves or to sett uppon us. We prevented this affair by our diligence, and shott att them with our bows & arrows, as with our gunns. They finding such an assault immediately forsooke the place. They would have gone into their boats, but we gave them not so much time. They threwed themselves into the river to gaine the other side. This river was very narrow, so that it was very violent. We had killed and taken them all, if 2 boats of theirs had not come to their succour, which made us gave over to follow them, & looke to ourselves, ffor we knewed not the number of their men. Three of their men neverthelesse weare killed; the rest is on the other side of the river, where there was a fort which was made long before. There they retired themselves with all speed. We passe our boats to augment our victory, seeing that they weare many in number. They did what they could to hinder our passage, butt all in vaine, ffor we made use of the bundle of Castors that they left, which weare to us instead of Gabbions, for we putt them att the heads of our boats, and by that means gott ground in spight of their noses. They killed one of our men as we landed. Their number was not to resist ours. They retired themselves into the fort and brought the rest of their [men] in hopes to save it. In this they were far mistaken, for we furiously gave an assault, not sparing time to make us bucklers, and made use of nothing else but of castors tyed together. So without any more adoe we gathered together. The Iroquoits spared not their powder, but made more noise then hurt. The darknesse covered the earth, which was somewhat favorable for us; but to overcome them the sooner, we filled a barill full of gun powder, and having stoped the whole of it well and tyed it to the end of a long pole, being att the foote of the fort. Heere we lost 3 of our men; our machine did play with an execution. I may well say that the ennemy never had seen the like. Moreover I tooke 3 or 4 pounds of powder; this I put into a rind of a tree, then a fusy to have the time to throw the rind, warning the wildmen as soone as the rind made his execution that they should enter in and breake the fort upside down, with the hattchett and the sword in their hands. In the meane time the Iroquoits did sing, expecting death, or to their heels, att the noise of such a smoake & noise that our machines made, with the slaughter of many of them. Seeing themselves soe betrayed, they lett us goe free into their fort, that thereby they might save themselves; but having environed the fort, we are mingled pell mell, so that we could not know one another in that skirmish of blowes. There was such an noise that should terrifie the stoutest men. Now there falls a showre of raine and a terrible storme, that to my thinking there was somthing extraordinary, that the devill himselfe made that storme to give those men leave to escape from our hands, to destroy another time more of these innocents. In that darknesse every one looked about for shelter, not thinking of those braves, that layd downe halfe dead, to pursue them. It was a thing impossible, yett doe believe that the ennemy was not far. As the storme was over, we came together, making a noise, and I am persuaded that many thought themselves prisoners that weare att Liberty. Some sang their fatall song, albeit without any wounds. So that those that had the confidence to come neare the others weare comforted by assuring them the victory, and that the ennemy was routed. We presently make a great fire, and with all hast make upp the fort againe for feare of any surprize. We searched for those that weare missing. Those that weare dead and wounded weare visited. We found 11 of our ennemy slain'd and 2 onely of ours, besides seaven weare wounded, who in a short time passed all danger of life. While some weare busie in tying 5 of the ennemy that could not escape, the others visited the wounds of their compagnions, who for to shew their courage sung'd lowder then those that weare well. The sleepe that we tooke that night did not make our heads guidy, although we had need of reposeing. Many liked the occupation, for they filled their bellyes with the flesh of their ennemyes. We broiled some of it and kettles full of the rest. We bourned our comrades, being their custome to reduce such into ashes being stained in bataill. It is an honnour to give them such a buriall. Att the brake of day we cooked what could accommodate us, and flung the rest away. The greatest marke of our victory was that we had 10 heads & foure prisoners, whom we embarqued in hopes to bring them into our countrey, and there to burne them att our owne leasures for the more satisfaction of our wives. We left that place of masacre with horrid cryes. Forgetting the death of our parents, we plagued those infortunate. We plucked out their nailes one after another. The next morning, after we slept a litle in our boats, we made a signe to begone. They prayed to lett off my peece, which made greate noise. To fullfill their desire, I lett it of. I noe sooner shott, butt perceived seaven boats of the Iroquoits going from a point towards the land. We were surprised of such an incounter, seeing death before us, being not strong enough to resist such a company, ffor there weare 10 or 12 in every boat. They perceiving us thought that we weare more in number, began in all hast to make a fort, as we received from two discoverers that wee sent to know their postures. It was with much adoe that those two went. Dureing we perswaded our wildmen to send seaven of our boats to an isle neare hand, and turne often againe to frighten our adversaryes by our shew of our forces. They had a minde to fortifie themselves in that island, but we would not suffer it, because there was time enough in case of necessity, which we represent unto them, making them to gather together all the broaken trees to make them a kind of barricado, prohibiting them to cutt trees, that thereby the ennemy might not suspect our feare & our small number, which they had knowne by the stroaks of their hattchetts. Those wildmen, thinking to be lost, obeyed us in every thing, telling us every foot, "Be chearfull, and dispose of us as you will, for we are men lost." We killed our foure prisoners because they embarassed us. They sent, as soone as we weare together, some fourty, that perpetually went to and againe to find out our pollicy and weaknesse. In the meane time we told the people that they weare men, & if they must, die altogether, and for us to make a fort in the lande was to destroy ourselves, because we should put ourselves in prison; to take courage, if in case we should be forced to take a retreat the Isle was a fort for us, from whence we might well escape in the night. That we weare strangers and they, if I must say so, in their countrey, & shooting ourselves in a fort all passages would be open uppon us for to save ourselves through the woods, was a miserable comfort. In the mean time the Iroquoits worked lustily, think att every step we weare to give them an assault, but farr deceived, ffor if ever blind wished the Light, we wished them the obscurity of the night, which no sooner approached but we embarqued ourselves without any noise, and went along. It's strang to me that the ennemy did not encounter us. Without question he had store of prisoners and booty. We left the Iroquoits in his fort and the feare in our breeches, for without apprehension we rowed from friday to tuesday without intermission. We had scarce to eat a bitt of sault meat. It was pitty to see our feete & leggs in blood by drawing our boats through the swift streames, where the rocks have such sharp points that there is nothing but death could make men doe what we did. On the third day the paines & labour we tooke forced us to an intermission, ffor we weare quite spent. After this we went on without any encounter whatsoever, having escaped very narrowly. We passed a sault that falls from a vast height. Some of our wildmen went underneath it, which I have seene, & I myselfe had the curiosity, but that quiver makes a man the surer. The watter runs over the heads with such impetuosity & violence that it's incredible. Wee went under this torrent a quarter of a mille, that falls from the toppe above fourty foot downwards. Having come to the lake of the Castors, we went about the lake of the castors for some victuals, being in great want, and suffered much hunger. So every one constituts himselfe; some went a hunting, some a fishing. This done, we went downe the river of the sorcerers, which brought us to the first great lake. What joy had we to see ourselves out of that river so dangerous, after we wrought two and twenty dayes and as many nights, having not slept one houre on land all that while. Now being out of danger, as safe from our enemy, perhaps we must enter into another, which perhaps may give practice & trouble consequently. Our equipage and we weare ready to wander uppon that sweet sea; but most of that coast is void of wild beasts, so there was great famine amongst us for want. Yett the coast afforded us some small fruits. There I found the kindnesse & charity of the wildmen, ffor when they found any place of any quantity of it they called me and my brother to eat & replenish our bellys, shewing themselves far gratfuller then many Christians even to their owne relations. I cannot forgett here the subtilty of one of these wildmen that was in the same boat with me. We see a castor along the watter side, that puts his head out of the watter. That wildman no sooner saw him but throwes himself out into the watter and downe to the bottom, without so much time as to give notice to any, and before many knewed of anything, he brings up the castor in his armes as a child, without fearing to be bitten. By this we see that hunger can doe much. Afterwardes we entered into a straight which had 10 leagues in length, full of islands, where we wanted not fish. We came after to a rapid that makes the separation of the lake of the hurrons, that we calle Superior, or upper, for that the wildmen hold it to be longer & broader, besids a great many islands, which maks appeare in a bigger extent. This rapid was formerly the dwelling of those with whome wee weare, and consequently we must not aske them if they knew where they have layed. Wee made cottages att our advantages, and found the truth of what those men had often [said], that if once we could come to that place we should make good cheare of a fish that they call _Assickmack_, which signifieth a white fish. The beare, the castors, and the Oriniack shewed themselves often, but to their cost; indeed it was to us like a terrestriall paradise. After so long fastning, after so great paines that we had taken, finde ourselves so well by chossing our dyet, and resting when we had a minde to it, 'tis here that we must tast with pleasur a sweet bitt. We doe not aske for a good sauce; it's better to have it naturally; it is the way to distinguish the sweet from the bitter. But the season was far spent, and use diligence and leave that place so wished, which wee shall bewaile, to the coursed Iroquoits. What hath that poore nation done to thee, and being so far from thy country? Yett if they had the same liberty that in former dayes they have had, we poore ffrench should not goe further with our heads except we had a strong army. Those great lakes had not so soone comed to our knowledge if it had not ben for those brutish people; two men had not found out the truth of these seas so cheape; the interest and the glorie could not doe what terror doth att the end. We are a litle better come to ourselves and furnished. We left that inn without reckoning with our host. It is cheape when wee are not to put the hand to the purse; neverthelesse we must pay out of civility: the one gives thanks to the woods, the other to the river, the third to the earth, the other to the rocks that stayes the ffish; in a word, there is nothing but _kinekoiur_ of all sorts; the encens of our Encens (?) is not spared. The weather was agreable when we began to navigat upon that great extent of watter, finding it so calme and the aire so cleare. We thwarted in a pretty broad place, came to an isle most delightfull for the diversity of its fruits. We called it the isle of the foure beggars. We arrived about 5 of the clocke in the afternone that we came there. We sudainly put the kettle to the fire. We reside there a while, and seeing all this while the faire weather and calme. We went from thence att tenne of the clocke the same night to gaine the firme lande, which was 6 leagues from us, where we arrived before day. Here we found a small river. I was so curious that I inquired my dearest friends the name of this streame. They named me it _pauabickkomesibs_, which signifieth a small river of copper. I asked him the reason. He told me, "Come, and I shall shew thee the reason why." I was in a place which was not 200 paces in the wood, where many peeces of copper weare uncovered. Further he told me that the mountaine I saw was of nothing else. Seeing it so faire & pure, I had a minde to take a peece of it, but they hindred me, telling my brother there was more where we weare to goe. In this great Lake of myne owne eyes have seene which are admirable, and cane maintaine of a hundred pounds teem will not be decayed. [Footnote: "Of a hundred pounds teem." This sentence seems somewhat obscure. The writer perhaps meant to say that he had seen masses of copper not less than a hundred pounds weight.] From this place we went along the coasts, which are most delightfull and wounderous, for it's nature that made it so pleasant to the eye, the sperit, and the belly. As we went along we saw banckes of sand so high that one of our wildmen went upp for curiositie; being there, did shew no more then a crow. That place is most dangerous when that there is any storme, being no landing place so long as the sandy bancks are under watter; and when the wind blowes, that sand doth rise by a strang kind of whirling that are able to choake the passengers. One day you will see 50 small mountaines att one side, and the next day, if the wind changes, on the other side. This putts me in mind of the great and vast wildernesses of Turkey land, as the Turques makes their pylgrimages. Some dayes after we observed that there weare some boats before us, but knewed not certainely what they weare. We made all the hast to overtake them, fearing the ennemy no more. Indeed the faster we could goe the better for us, because of the season of the yeare, that began to be cold & freeze. They weare a nation that lived in a land towards the South. This nation is very small, being not 100 in all, men & women together. As we came neerer them they weare surprized of our safe retourne, and astonied to see us, admiring the rich marchandises that their confederates brought from the ffrench, that weare hattchetts and knives and other utensils very commodious, rare, precious, and necessary in those countreys. They told the news one to another whilst we made good cheere and great fires. They mourned for the death of [one] of their comrades; the heads of their ennemy weare danced. Some dayes [after] we separated ourselves, and presented guiftes to those that weare going an other way, for which we received great store of meate, which was putt up in barrills, and grease of bears & Oriniacke. After this we came to a remarquable place. It's a banke of Rocks that the wild men made a sacrifice to; they calls it _Nanitoucksinagoit_, which signifies the likenesse of the devill. They fling much tobacco and other things in its veneration. It is a thing most incredible that that lake should be so boisterous, that the waves of it should have the strength to doe what I have to say by this my discours: first, that it's so high and soe deepe that it's impossible to claime up to the point. There comes many sorte of birds that makes there nest here, the goilants, which is a white sea-bird of the bignesse of pigeon, which makes me believe what the wildmen told me concerning the sea to be neare directly to the point. It's like a great Portail, by reason of the beating of the waves. The lower part of that oppening is as bigg as a tower, and grows bigger in the going up. There is, I believe, 6 acres of land. Above it a shipp of 500 tuns could passe by, soe bigg is the arch. I gave it the name of the portail of St Peter, because my name is so called, and that I was the first Christian [Footnote: "The first Christian that ever saw it." French Jesuits and fur-traders pushed deeper and deeper into the wilderness of the northern lakes. In 1641 Jacques and Raynbault preached the Faith to a concourse of Indians at the outlet of Lake Superior. Then came the havoc and desolation of the Iroquois war, and for years further exploration was arrested. At length, in 1658, two daring traders penetrated to Lake Superior, wintered there, and brought back the tales they had heard of the ferocious Sioux, and of a great western river on which they dwelt. Two years later the aged Jesuit Mesnard attempted to plant a mission on the southern shore of the lake, but perished in the forest by famine or the tomahawk. Allouez succeeded him, explored a part of Lake Superior, and heard in his turn of the Sioux and their great river, the "Messipi."--Introduction to Parkman's _Discovery of the Great West_. There can be no doubt but that the "two daring traders who in 1658 penetrated to Lake Superior," and dwelt on the great river, were Radisson and Des Groseilliers, who repeated their journey a few years after, described in this narrative. The "Pictured Rocks" and the "Doric Rock" were so named in Governor Cass's and Schoolcraft's _Travels_ in 1820.] that ever saw it. There is in that place caves very deepe, caused by the same violence. We must looke to ourselves, and take time with our small boats. The coast of rocks is 5 or 6 leagues, and there scarce a place to putt a boat in assurance from the waves. When the lake is agitated the waves goeth in these concavities with force and make a most horrible noise, most like the shooting of great guns. Some dayes afterwards we arrived to a very beautifull point of sand where there are 3 beautifull islands, [Footnote: "Three beautiful islands." In Cass's and Schoolcraft's _Travels_ (1820) through the chain of American lakes these islands are called Huron Islands, and the bay beyond is marked on their map "Keweena Bay."] that we called of the Trinity; there be 3 in triangle. From this place we discovered a bay very deepe, where a river empties its selfe with a noise for the quantitie & dept of the water. We must stay there 3 dayes to wait for faire weather to make the Trainage, which was about 6 leagues wide. Soe done, we came to the mouth of a small river, where we killed some Oriniacks. We found meddows that weare squared, and 10 leagues as smooth as a boord. We went up some 5 leagues further, where we found some pools made by the castors. We must breake them that we might passe. The sluce being broaken, what a wounderfull thing to see the industrie of that animal, which had drowned more then 20 leagues in the grounds, and cutt all the trees, having left non to make a fire if the countrey should be dried up. Being come to the height, we must drague our boats over a trembling ground for the space of an houre. The ground became trembling by this means: the castor drowning great soyles with dead water, herein growes mosse which is 2 foot thick or there abouts, and when you think to goe safe and dry, if you take not great care you sink downe to your head or to the midle of your body. When you are out of one hole you find yourselfe in another. This I speake by experience, for I meselfe have bin catched often. But the wildmen warned me, which saved me; that is, that when the mosse should breake under I should cast my whole body into the watter on sudaine. I must with my hands hold the mosse, and goe soe like a frogg, then to draw my boat after me. There was no danger. Having passed that place, we made a carriage through the land for 2 leagues. The way was well beaten because of the commers and goers, who by making that passage shortens their passage by 8 dayes by tourning about the point that goes very farr in that great lake; that is to say, 5 to come to the point, and 3 for to come to the landing of that place of cariage. In the end of that point, that goeth very farre, there is an isle, as I was told, all of copper. This I have not seene. They say that from the isle of copper, which is a league in the lake when they are minded to thwart it in a faire and calme wether, beginning from sun rising to sun sett, they come to a great island, from whence they come the next morning to firme lande att the other side; so by reason of 20 leagues a day that lake should be broad of 6 score and 10 leagues. The wildmen doe not much lesse when the weather is faire. Five dayes after we came to a place where there was a company of Christinos that weare in their Cottages. They weare transported for joy to see us come backe. They made much of us, and called us men indeed, to performe our promisse to come and see them againe. We gave them great guifts, which caused some suspicion, for it is a very jealous nation. But the short stay that we made tooke away that jealousy. We went on and came to a hollow river which was a quarter of a mile in bredth. Many of our wildmen went to win the shortest way to their nation, and weare then 3 and 20 boats, for we mett with some in that lake that joyned with us, and came to keepe us company, in hopes to gett knives from us, which they love better then we serve God, which should make us blush for shame. Seaven boats stayed of the nation of the Sault. We went on half a day before we could come to the landing place, and wear forced to make another carriage a point of 2 leagues long and some 60 paces broad. As we came to the other sid we weare in a bay of 10 leagues about, if we had gone in. By goeing about that same point we passed a straight, for that point was very nigh the other side, which is a cape very much elevated like piramides. That point should be very fitt to build & advantgeous for the building of a fort, as we did the spring following. In that bay there is a chanell where we take great store of fishes, sturgeons of a vast biggnesse, and Pycks of seaven foot long. Att the end of this bay we landed. The wildmen gave thanks to that which they worship, we to God of Gods, to see ourselves in a place where we must leave our navigation and forsake our boats to undertake a harder peece of worke in hand, to which we are forced. The men told us that wee had 5 great dayes' journeys before we should arrive where their wives weare. We foresee the hard task that we weare to undergoe by carrying our bundles uppon our backs. They weare used to it. Here every one for himselfe & God for all. We finding ourselves not able to performe such a taske, & they could not well tell where to finde their wives, fearing least the Nadoneceronons had warrs against their nation and forced them from their appointed place, my brother and I we consulted what was best to doe, and declared our will to them, which was thus: "Brethren, we resolve to stay here, being not accustomed to make any cariage on our backs as yee are wont. Goe yee and looke for your wives. We will build us a fort here. And seeing that you are not able to carry all your marchandizes att once, we will keepe them for you, and will stay for you 14 dayes. Before the time expired you will send to us if your wives be alive, and if you find them they will fetch what you leave here & what we have; ffor their paines they shall receive guifts of us. Soe you will see us in your countrey. If they be dead, we will spend all to be revenged, and will gather up the whole countrey for the next spring, for that purpose to destroy those that weare the causers of their death, and you shall see our strenght and vallour. Although there are seaven thousand fighting men in one village, you'll see we will make them runne away, & you shall kill them to your best liking by the very noise of our armes and our presence, who are the Gods of the earth among those people." They woundered very much att our resolution. The next day they went their way and we stay for our assurance in the midst of many nations, being but two almost starved for want of food. We went about to make a fort of stakes, which was in this manner. Suppose that the watter side had ben in one end; att the same end there should be murtherers, and att need we made a bastion in a triangle to defend us from an assault. The doore was neare the watter side, our fire was in the midle, and our bed on the right hand, covered. There weare boughs of trees all about our fort layed a crosse, one uppon an other. Besides these boughs we had a long cord tyed with some small bells, which weare senteryes. Finally, we made an ende of that fort in 2 dayes' time. We made an end of some fish that we putt by for neede. But as soone as we are lodged we went to fish for more whilst the other kept the house. I was the fittest to goe out, being yongest. I tooke my gunne and goes where I never was before, so I choosed not one way before another. I went to the wood some 3 or 4 miles. I find a small brooke, where I walked by the sid awhile, which brought me into meddowes. There was a poole where weare a good store of bustards. I began to creepe though I might come neare. Thought to be in Canada, where the fowle is scared away; but the poore creatures, seeing me flatt uppon the ground, thought I was a beast as well as they, so they come neare me, whisling like gosslings, thinking to frighten me. The whistling that I made them heare was another musick then theirs. There I killed 3 and the rest scared, which neverthelesse came to that place againe to see what sudaine sicknesse befeled their comrads. I shott againe; two payed for their curiosity. I think the Spaniards had no more to fullfill then as kill those birds, that thought not of such a thunder bolt. There are yett more countreys as fruitfull and as beautifull as the Spaniards to conquer, which may be done with as much ease & facility, and prove as rich, if not richer, for bread & wine; and all other things are as plentifull as in any part of Europ. This I have seene, which am sure the Spaniards have not in such plenty. Now I come backe with my victory, which was to us more then tenne thousand pistoles. We lived by it 5 dayes. I tooke good notice of the place, in hopes to come there more frequent, but this place is not onely so. There we stayed still full 12 dayes without any news, but we had the company of other wild men of other countreys that came to us admiring our fort and the workmanshipp. We suffered non to goe in but one person, and liked it so much the better, & often durst not goe in, so much they stood in feare of our armes, that weare in good order, which weare 5 guns, two musquetons, 3 fowling-peeces, 3 paire of great pistoletts, and 2 paire of pockett ons, and every one his sword and daggar. So that we might say that a Coward was not well enough armed. Mistrust neverthelesse is the mother of safety, and the occasion makes the thief. During that time we had severall alarums in the night. The squerels and other small beasts, as well as foxes, came in and assaulted us. One night I forgott my bracer, which was wett; being up and downe in those pooles to fetch my fowles, one of these beasts carried it away, which did us a great deal of wrong, and caused the life to great many of those against whom I declared myselfe an ennemy. We imagined that some wildmen might have surprized us; but I may say they weare far more afrayd then we. Some dayes after we found it one half a mile from the fort in a hole of a tree, the most part torne. Then I killed an Oriniack. I could have killed more, but we liked the fowles better. If we had both libertie to goe from our fort, we should have procured in a month that should serve us a whole winter. The wildmen brought us more meate then we would, and as much fish as we might eate. The 12th day we perceived afarr off some 50 yong men coming towards us, with some of our formest compagnions. We gave them leave to come into our fort, but they are astonied, calling us every foot devills to have made such a machine. They brought us victualls, thinking we weare halfe starved, but weare mightily mistaken, for we had more for them then they weare able to eate, having 3 score bussards and many sticks where was meate hanged plentifully. They offred to carry our baggage, being come a purpose; but we had not so much marchandize as when they went from us, because we hid some of them, that they might not have suspicion of us. We told them that for feare of the dayly multitud of people that came to see us, for to have our goods would kill us. We therefore tooke a boat and putt into it our marchandises; this we brought farre into the bay, where we sunke them, biding our devill not to lett them to be wett nor rusted, nor suffer them to be taken away, which he promised faithlesse that we should retourne and take them out of his hands; att which they weare astonished, believing it to be true as the Christians the Gospell. We hid them in the ground on the other sid of the river in a peece of ground. We told them that lye that they should not have suspicion of us. We made good cheere. They stayed there three dayes, during which time many of their wives came thither, and we traited them well, for they eat not fowle att all, scarce, because they know not how to catch them except with their arrowes. We putt a great many rind about our fort, and broake all the boats that we could have, for the frost would have broaken them or wild men had stolen them away. That rind was tyed all in length to putt the fire in it, to frighten the more these people, for they could not approach it without being discovered. If they ventured att the going out we putt the fire to all the torches, shewing them how we would have defended ourselves. We weare Cesars, being nobody to contradict us. We went away free from any burden, whilst those poore miserable thought themselves happy to carry our Equipage, for the hope that they had that we should give them a brasse ring, or an awle, or an needle. There came above foure hundred persons to see us goe away from that place, which admired more our actions [than] the fools of Paris to see enter their King and the Infanta of Spaine, his spouse; for they cry out, "God save the King and Queene!" Those made horrid noise, and called Gods and Devills of the Earth and heavens. We marched foure dayes through the woods. The countrey is beautifull, with very few mountaines, the woods cleare. Att last we came within a league of the Cabbans, where we layed that the next day might be for our entrey. We 2 poore adventurers for the honneur of our countrey, or of those that shall deserve it from that day; the nimblest and stoutest went before to warne before the people that we should make our entry to-morow. Every one prepares to see what they never before have seene. We weare in cottages which weare neare a litle lake some 8 leagues in circuit. Att the watterside there weare abundance of litle boats made of trees that they have hollowed, and of rind. The next day we weare to embarque in them, and arrived att the village by watter, which was composed of a hundred cabans without pallasados. There is nothing but cryes. The women throw themselves backwards uppon the ground, thinking to give us tokens of friendship and of wellcome. We destinated 3 presents, one for the men, one for the women, and the other for the children, to the end that they should remember that journey; that we should be spoaken of a hundred years after, if other Europeans should not come in those quarters and be liberal to them, which will hardly come to passe. The first was a kettle, two hattchetts, and 6 knives, and a blade for a sword. The kettle was to call all nations that weare their friends to the feast which is made for the remembrance of the death; that is, they make it once in seaven years; it's a renewing of ffriendshippe. I will talke further of it in the following discours. The hattchetts weare to encourage the yong people to strengthen themselves in all places, to preserve their wives, and shew themselves men by knocking the heads of their ennemyes with the said hattchetts. The knives weare to shew that the ffrench weare great and mighty, and their confederats and ffriends. The sword was to signifie that we would be masters both of peace and warrs, being willing to healpe and relieve them, & to destroy our Ennemyes with our armes. The second guift was of 2 and 20 awles, 50 needles, 2 gratters of castors, 2 ivory combs and 2 wooden ones, with red painte, 6 looking-glasses of tin. The awles signifieth to take good courage, that we should keepe their lives, and that they with their hushands should come downe to the ffrench when time and season should permitt. The needles for to make them robes of castor, because the ffrench loved them. The 2 gratters weare to dresse the skins; the combes, the paint, to make themselves beautifull; the looking-glasses to admire themselves. The 3rd guift was of brasse rings, of small bells, and rasades of divers couleurs, and given in this maner. We sent a man to make all the children come together. When they weare there we throw these things over their heads. You would admire what a beat was among them, every one striving to have the best. This was done uppon this consideration, that they should be allwayes under our protection, giving them wherewithall to make them merry & remember us when they should be men. This done, we are called to the Councell of welcome and to the feast of ffriendshipp, afterwards to the dancing of the heads; but before the dancing we must mourne for the deceased, and then, for to forgett all sorrow, to the dance. We gave them foure small guifts that they should continue such ceremonyes, which they tooke willingly and did us good, that gave us authority among the whole nation. We knewed their councels, and made them doe whatsoever we thought best. This was a great advantage for us, you must think. Amongst such a rowish kind of people a guift is much, and well bestowed, and liberality much esteemed; but not prodigalitie is not in esteeme, for they abuse it, being brutish. Wee have ben useing such ceremonyes 3 whole dayes, & weare lodged in the cabban of the chiefest captayne, who came with us from the ffrench. We liked not the company of that blind, therefore left him. He wondred at this, but durst not speake, because we weare demi-gods. We came to a cottage of an ancient witty man, that had had a great familie and many children, his wife old, neverthelesse handsome. They weare of a nation called Malhonmines; that is, the nation of Oats, graine that is much in that countrey. Of this afterwards more att large. I tooke this man for my ffather and the woman for my mother, soe the children consequently brothers and sisters. They adopted me. I gave every one a guift, and they to mee. Having so disposed of our buissinesse, the winter comes on, that warns us; the snow begins to fall, soe we must retire from the place to seeke our living in the woods. Every one getts his equipage ready. So away we goe, but not all to the same place; two, three att the most, went one way, and so of an other. They have so done because victuals weare scant for all in a place. But lett us where we will, we cannot escape the myghty hand of God, that disposes as he pleases, and who chastes us as a good & a common loving ffather, and not as our sins doe deserve. Finaly wee depart one from an other. As many as we weare in number, we are reduced to a small company. We appointed a rendezvous after two months and a half, to take a new road & an advice what we should doe. During the said terme we sent messengers everywhere, to give speciall notice to all manner of persons and nation that within 5 moons the feast of death was to be celebrated, and that we should apeare together and explaine what the devill should command us to say, and then present them presents of peace and union. Now we must live on what God sends, and warre against the bears in the meane time, for we could aime att nothing else, which was the cause that we had no great cheare. I can say that we with our comrades, who weare about 60, killed in the space of 2 moons and a halfe, a thousand moons [Footnote: The writer no doubt meant that they killed so many that they had bear's grease enough to last for a thousand moons.] we wanted not bear's grease to annoint ourselves, to runne the better. We beated downe the woods dayly for to discover novellties. We killed severall other beasts, as Oriniacks, staggs, wild cows, Carriboucks, fallow does and bucks, Catts of mountains, child of the Devill; in a word, we lead a good life. The snow increases dayly. There we make raketts, not to play att ball, but to exercise ourselves in a game harder and more necessary. They are broad, made like racketts, that they may goe in the snow and not sinke when they runne after the eland or other beast. We are come to the small lake, the place of rendezvous, where we found some company that weare there before us. We cottage ourselves, staying for the rest, that came every day. We stayed 14 dayes in this place most miserable, like to a churchyard; ffor there did fall such a quantity of snow and frost, and with such a thick mist, that all the snow stoocke to those trees that are there so ruffe, being deal trees, prusse cedars, and thorns, that caused the darknesse uppon the earth that it is to be believed that the sun was eclipsed them 2 months; ffor after the trees weare so laden with snow that fel'd afterwards, was as if it had been sifted, so by that means very light and not able to beare us, albeit we made racketts of 6 foot long and a foot and a halfe broad; so often thinking to tourne ourselves we felld over and over againe in the snow, and if we weare alone we should have difficultie enough to rise againe. By the noyse we made, the Beasts heard us a great way off; so the famine was among great many that had not provided before hand, and live upon what they gett that day, never thinking for the next. It grows wors and wors dayly. To augment our misery we receive news of the Octanaks, who weare about a hundred and fifty, with their families. They had a quarell with the hurrons in the Isle where we had come from some years before in the lake of the stairing hairs, and came purposely to make warres against them the next summer. But lett us see if they brought us anything to subsist withall. But are worst provided then we; having no huntsmen, they are reduced to famine. But, O cursed covetousnesse, what art thou going to doe? It should be farr better to see a company of Rogues perish, then see ourselves in danger to perish by that scourg so cruell. Hearing that they have had knives and hattchetts, the victualls of their poore children is taken away from them; yea, what ever they have, those doggs must have their share. They are the coursedest, unablest, the unfamous & cowarliest people that I have seene amongst fower score nations that I have frequented. O yee poore people, you shall have their booty, but you shall pay dearly for it! Every one cryes out for hungar; the women become baren, and drie like wood. You men must eate the cord, being you have no more strength to make use of the bow. Children, you must die. ffrench, you called yourselves Gods of the earth, that you should be feared, for your interest; notwithstanding you shall tast of the bitternesse, and too happy if you escape. Where is the time past? Where is the plentynesse that yee had in all places and countreys? Here comes a new family of these poore people dayly to us, halfe dead, for they have but the skin & boans. How shall we have strength to make a hole in the snow to lay us downe, seeing we have it not to hale our racketts after us, nor to cutt a litle woad to make a fire to keepe us from the rigour of the cold, which is extreame in those Countreyes in its season. Oh! if the musick that we heare could give us recreation, we wanted not any lamentable musick nor sad spectacle. In the morning the husband looks uppon his wife, the Brother his sister, the cozen the cozen, the Oncle the nevew, that weare for the most part found deade. They languish with cryes & hideous noise that it was able to make the haire starre on the heads that have any apprehension. Good God, have mercy on so many poore innocent people, and of us that acknowledge thee, that having offended thee punishes us. But wee are not free of that cruell Executioner. Those that have any life seeketh out for roots, which could not be done without great difficultie, the earth being frozen 2 or 3 foote deepe, and the snow 5 or 6 above it. The greatest susibstance that we can have is of rind tree which growes like ivie about the trees; but to swallow it, we cutt the stick some 2 foot long, tying it in faggott, and boyle it, and when it boyles one houre or two the rind or skinne comes off with ease, which we take and drie it in the smoake and then reduce it into powder betwixt two graine-stoans, and putting the kettle with the same watter uppon the fire, we make it a kind of broath, which nourished us, but becam thirstier and drier then the woode we eate. The 2 first weeke we did eate our doggs. As we went backe uppon our stepps for to gett any thing to fill our bellyes, we weare glad to gett the boans and carcasses of the beasts that we killed. And happy was he that could gett what the other did throw away after it had ben boyled 3 or foure times to gett the substance out of it. We contrived an other plott, to reduce to powder those boanes, the rest of crows and doggs. So putt all that together halfe foot within grounde, and so makes a fire uppon it, We covered all that very well with earth, soe seeling the heat, and boyled them againe and gave more froth then before; in the next place, the skins that weare reserved to make us shoose, cloath, and stokins, yea, most of the skins of our cottages, the castors' skins, where the children beshit them above a hundred times. We burned the haire on the coals; the rest goes downe throats, eating heartily these things most abhorred. We went so eagerly to it that our gumms did bleede like one newly wounded. The wood was our food the rest of sorrowfull time. Finaly we became the very Image of death. We mistook ourselves very often, taking the living for the dead and the dead for the living. We wanted strength to draw the living out of the cabans, or if we did when we could, it was to putt them four paces in the snow. Att the end the wrath of God begins to appease itselfe, and pityes his poore creatures. If I should expresse all that befell us in that strange accidents, a great volume would not centaine it. Here are above 500 dead, men, women, and children. It's time to come out of such miseryes. Our bodyes are not able to hold out any further. After the storme, calme comes. But stormes favoured us, being that calme kills us. Here comes a wind and raine that putts a new life in us. The snow sails, the forest cleers itselfe, att which sight those that had strings left in their bowes takes courage to use it. The weather continued so 3 dayes that we needed no racketts more, for the snow hardned much. The small staggs are [as] if they weare stakes in it after they made 7 or 8 capers. It's an easy matter for us to take them and cutt their throats with our knives. Now we see ourselves a litle fournished, but yett have not payed, ffor it cost many their lives. Our gutts became very straight by our long fasting, that they could not centaine the quantity that some putt in them. I cannot omitt the pleasant thoughts of some of them wildmen. Seeing my brother allwayes in the same condition, they said that some Devill brought him wherewithall to eate; but if they had seene his body they should be of another oppinion. The beard that covered his face made as if he had not altered his face. For me that had no beard, they said I loved them, because I lived as well as they. From the second day we began to walke. There came 2 men from a strange countrey who had a dogg; the buissinesse was how to catch him cunningly, knowing well those people love their beasts. Neverthelesse wee offred guifts, but they would not, which made me stubborne. That dogge was very leane, and as hungry as we weare, but the masters have not suffered so much. I went one night neere that same cottage to doe what discretion permitts me not to speake. Those men weare Nadoneseronons. They weare much respected that no body durst not offend them, being that we weare uppon their land with their leave. The dogg comes out, not by any smell, but by good like. I take him and bring him a litle way. I stabbed him with my dagger. I brought him to the cottage, where [he] was broyled like a pigge and cutt in peeces, gutts and all, soe every one of the family had his share. The snow where he was killed was not lost, ffor one of our company went and gott it to season the kettles. We began to looke better dayly. We gave the rendezvous to the convenientest place to celebrat that great feast. Some 2 moons after there came 8 ambassadors from the nation of Nadoneseronons, that we will call now the Nation of the beefe. Those men each had 2 wives, loadened of Oats, corne that growes in that countrey, of a small quantity of Indian Corne, with other grains, & it was to present to us, which we received as a great favour & token of friendshippe; but it had been welcome if they had brought it a month or two before. They made great ceremonys in greasing our feete and leggs, and we painted them with red. They stript us naked and putt uppon us cloath of buffe and of white castors. After this they weeped uppon our heads untill we weare wetted by their tears, and made us smoake in their pipes after they kindled them. It was not in common pipes, but in pipes of peace and of the warrs, that they pull out but very seldom, when there is occasion for heaven and earth. This done, they perfumed our cloaths and armour one after an other, and to conclude did throw a great quantity of tobbacco into the fire. We told them that they prevented us, for letting us know that all persons of their nation came to visite us, that we might dispose of them. The next morning they weare called by our Interpretor. We understood not a word of their language, being quit contrary to those that we weare with. They are arrived, they satt downe. We made a place for us more elevated, to be more att our ease & to appeare in more state. We borrowed their Calumet, saying that we are in their countrey, and that it was not lawfull for us to carry anything out of our countrey. That pipe is of a red stone, as bigge as a fist and as long as a hand. The small reede as long as five foot, in breadth, and of the thicknesse of a thumb. There is tyed to it the tayle of an eagle all painted over with severall couleurs and open like a fan, or like that makes a kind of a wheele when he shuts; below the toppe of the steeke is covered with feathers of ducks and other birds that are of a fine collour. We tooke the tayle of the eagle, and instead of it we hung 12 Iron bows in the same manner as the feathers weare, and a blade about it along the staffe, a hattchett planted in the ground, and that calumet over it, and all our armours about it uppon forks. Every one smoaked his pipe of tobacco, nor they never goe without it. During that while there was a great silence. We prepared some powder that was litle wetted, and the good powder was precious to us. Our Interpreter told them in our name, "Brethren, we have accepted of your guifts. Yee are called here to know our will and pleasur that is such: first, we take you for our brethren by taking you into our protection, and for to shew you, we, instead of the eagles' tayle, have putt some of our armours, to the end that no ennemy shall approach it to breake the affinitie that we make now with you." Then we tooke the 12 Iron off the bowes and lift them up, telling them those points shall passe over the whole world to defend and destroy your ennemyes, that are ours. Then we putt the Irons in the same place againe. Then we tooke the sword and bad them have good courage, that by our means they should vanquish their Ennemy. After we tooke the hattchett that was planted in the ground, we tourned round about, telling them that we should kill those that would warre against them, and that we would make forts that they should come with more assurance to the feast of the dead. That done, we throw powder in the fire, that had more strenght then we thought; it made the brands fly from one side to the other. We intended to make them believe that it was some of our Tobacco, and make them smoake as they made us smoake. But hearing such a noise, and they seeing that fire fled of every side, without any further delay or looke for so much time as looke for the dore of the cottage, one runne one way, another an other way, ffor they never saw a sacrifice of tobacco so violent. They went all away, and we onely stayed in the place. We followed them to reassure them of their faintings. We visited them in their appartments, where they received [us] all trembling for feare, believing realy by that same meanes that we weare the Devils of the earth. There was nothing but feasting for 8 dayes. The time now was nigh that we must goe to the rendezvous; this was betwixt a small lake and a medow. Being arrived, most of ours weare allready in their cottages. In 3 dayes' time there arrived eighten severall nations, and came privatly, to have done the sooner. As we became to the number of 500, we held a councell. Then the shouts and cryes and the encouragments weare proclaimed, that a fort should be builded. They went about the worke and made a large fort. It was about 603 score paces in lenght and 600 in breadth, so that it was a square. There we had a brooke that came from the lake and emptied itselfe in those medows, which had more then foure leagues in lenght. Our fort might be seene afar off, and on that side most delightfull, for the great many stagges that took the boldnesse to be carried by quarters where att other times they made good cheare. In two dayes this was finished. Soone 30 yong men of the nation of the beefe arrived there, having nothing but bows and arrows, with very short garments, to be the nimbler in chasing the stagges. The Iron of their arrows weare made of staggs' pointed horens very neatly. They weare all proper men, and dressed with paint. They weare the discoverers and the foreguard. We kept a round place in the midle of our Cabban and covered it with long poles with skins over them, that we might have a shelter to keepe us from the snow. The cottages weare all in good order; in each 10, twelve companies or families. That company was brought to that place where there was wood layd for the fires. The snow was taken away, and the earth covered with deale tree bows. Severall kettles weare brought there full of meate. They rested and eat above 5 houres without speaking one to another. The considerablest of our companyes went and made speeches to them. After one takes his bow and shoots an arrow, and then cryes aloud, there speaks some few words, saying that they weare to lett them know the Elders of their village weare to come the morrow to renew the friendship and to make it with the ffrench, and that a great many of their yong people came and brought them some part of their wayes to take their advice, ffor they had a minde to goe against the Christinos, who weare ready for them, and they in like manner to save their wives & children. They weare scattered in many Cabbans that night, expecting those that weare to come. To that purpose there was a vast large place prepared some hundred paces from the fort, where everything was ready for the receiving of those persons. They weare to sett their tents, that they bring uppon their backs. The pearches weare putt out and planted as we received the news; the snow putt aside, and the boughs of trees covered the ground. The day following they arrived with an incredible pomp. This made me thinke of the Intrance that the Polanders did in Paris, saving that they had not so many Jewells, but instead of them they had so many feathers. The ffirst weare yong people with their bows and arrows and Buckler on their shoulders, uppon which weare represented all manner of figures, according to their knowledge, as of the sun and moone, of terrestriall beasts, about its feathers very artificialy painted. Most of the men their faces weare all over dabbed with severall collours. Their hair turned up like a Crowne, and weare cutt very even, but rather so burned, for the fire is their cicers. They leave a tuff of haire upon their Crowne of their heads, tye it, and putt att the end of it some small pearles or some Turkey stones, to bind their heads. They have a role commonly made of a snake's skin, where they tye severall bears' paws, or give a forme to some bitts of buff's horns, and put it about the said role. They grease themselves with very thick grease, & mingle it in reddish earth, which they bourne, as we our breeks. With this stuffe they gett their haire to stand up. They cutt some downe of Swan or other fowle that hath a white feather, and cover with it the crowne of their heads. Their ears are pierced in 5 places; the holes are so bigg that your little finger might passe through. They have yallow waire that they make with copper, made like a starr or a half moone, & there hang it. Many have Turkeys. They are cloathed with Oriniack & staggs' skins, but very light. Every one had the skin of a crow hanging att their guirdles. Their stokens all inbrodered with pearles and with their own porke-pick worke. They have very handsome shoose laced very thick all over with a peece sowen att the side of the heele, which was of a haire of Buff, which trailed above halfe a foot upon the earth, or rather on the snow. They had swords and knives of a foot and a halfe long, and hattchetts very ingeniously done, and clubbs of wood made like backswords; some made of a round head that I admired it. When they kille their ennemy they cutt off the tuffe of haire and tye it about their armes. After all, they have a white robe made of Castors' skins painted. Those having passed through the midle of ours, that weare ranged att every side of the way. The Elders came with great gravitie and modestie, covered with buff coats which hung downe to the grounde. Every one had in his hand a pipe of Councell sett with precious jewells. They had a sack on their shoulders, and that that holds it grows in the midle of their stomacks and on their shoulders. In this sacke all the world is inclosed. Their face is not painted, but their heads dressed as the foremost. Then the women laden like unto so many mules, their burdens made a greater sheu then they themselves; but I supose the weight was not equivolent to its bignesse. They weare conducted to the appointed place, where the women unfolded their bundles, and slang their skins whereof their tents are made, so that they had houses [in] less then half an hour. After they rested they came to the biggest cabbane constituted for that purpose. There were fires kindled. Our Captayne made a speech of thanksgiving, which should be long to writ it. We are called to the councell of new come chiefe, where we came in great pompe, as you shall heare. First they come to make a sacrifice to the french, being Gods and masters of all things, as of peace, as warrs; making the knives, the hattchetts, and the kettles rattle, etc. That they came purposely to putt themselves under their protection. Moreover, that they came to bring them back againe to their countrey, having by their means destroyed their Ennemyes abroad & neere. So Said, they present us with guifts of Castors' Skins, assuring us that the mountains weare elevated, the valleys risen, the ways very smooth, the bows of trees cutt downe to goe with more ease, and bridges erected over rivers, for not to wett our feete; that the dores of their villages, cottages of their wives and daughters, weare open at any time to receive us, being wee kept them alive by our marchandises. The Second guift was, yet they would die in their alliance, and that to certifie to all nations by continuing the peace, & weare willing to receive and assist them in their countrey, being well satisfied they weare come to celebrat the feast of the dead. The 3rd guift was for to have one of the doors of the fort opened, if neede required, to receive and keepe them from the Christinos that come to destroy them; being allwayes men, and the heavens made them so, that they weare obliged to goe before to defend their country and their wives, which is the dearest thing they had in the world, & in all times they weare esteemed stout & true soldiers, & that yett they would make it appeare by going to meet them; and that they would not degenerat, but shew by their actions that they weare as valiant as their fore ffathers. The 4th guift was presented to us, which [was] of Buff Skins, to desire our assistance ffor being the masters of their lives, and could dispose of them as we would, as well of the peace as of the warrs, and that we might very well see that they did well to goe defend their owne countrey; that the true means to gett the victory was to have a thunder. They meant a gune, calling it _miniskoick_. The speech being finished, they intreated us to be att the feast. We goe presently back againe to fournish us with woaden bowls. We made foure men to carry our guns afore us, that we charged of powder alone, because of their unskillfullnesse that they might have killed their ffathers. We each of us had a paire of pistoletts and Sword, a dagger. We had a role of porkepick about our heads, which was as a crowne, and two litle boyes that carryed the vessells that we had most need of; this was our dishes and our spoons. They made a place higher & most elevate, knowing our customs, in the midle for us to sitt, where we had the men lay our armes. Presently comes foure elders, with the calumet kindled in their hands. They present the candles to us to smoake, and foure beautifull maids that went before us carrying bears' skins to putt under us. When we weare together, an old man rifes & throws our calumet att our feet, and bids them take the kettles from of the sire, and spoake that he thanked the sun that never was a day to him so happy as when he saw those terrible men whose words makes the earth quacke, and sang a while. Having ended, came and covers us with his vestment, and all naked except his feet and leggs, he saith, "Yee are masters over us; dead or alive you have the power over us, and may dispose of us as your pleasur." So done, takes the callumet of the feast, and brings it, So a maiden brings us a coale of fire to kindle it. So done, we rose, and one of us begins to sing. We bad the interpreter to tell them we should save & keepe their lives, taking them for our brethren, and to testify that we short of all our artillery, which was of twelve gunns. We draw our Swords and long knives to our defence, if need should require, which putt the men in Such a terror that they knewed not what was best to run or stay. We throw a handfull of powder in the fire to make a greater noise and smoake. Our songs being finished, we began our teeth to worke. We had there a kinde of rice, much like oats. It growes in the watter in 3 or 4 foote deepe. There is a God that shews himselfe in every countrey, almighty, full of goodnesse, and the preservation of those poore people who knoweth him not They have a particular way to gather up that graine. Two takes a boat and two sticks, by which they gett the eare downe and gett the corne out of it. Their boat being full, they bring it to a fitt place to dry it, and that is their food for the most part of the winter, and doe dresse it thus: ffor each man a handfull of that they putt in the pott, that swells so much that it can suffice a man. After the feast was over there comes two maidens bringing wherewithall to smoake, the one the pipes, the other the fire. They offered ffirst to one of the elders, that satt downe by us. When he had smoaked, he bids them give it us. This being done, we went backe to our fort as we came. The day following we made the principall Persons come together to answer to their guifts. Being come with great solemnity, there we made our Interpreter tell them that we weare come from the other side of the great salted lake, not to kill them but to make them live; acknowledging you for our brethren and children, whom we will love henceforth as our owne; then we gave them a kettle. The second guift was to encourage them in all their undertakings, telling them that we liked men that generously defended themselves against all their ennemyes; and as we weare masters of peace and warrs, we are to dispose the affairs that we would see an universall peace all over the earth; and that this time we could not goe and force the nations that weare yett further to condescend & submitt to our will, but that we would see the neighbouring countreys in peace and union; that the Christinos weare our brethren, and have frequented them many winters; that we adopted them for our children, and tooke them under our protection; that we should send them ambassadors; that I myself should make them come, and conclude a generall peace; that we weare sure of their obedience to us; that the ffirst that should breake the peace we would be their ennemy, and would reduce them to powder with our heavenly fire; that we had the word of the Christinos as well as theirs, and our thunders should serve us to make warrs against those that would not submitt to our will and desire, which was to see them good ffriends, to goe and make warrs against the upper nations, that doth not know us as yett. The guift was of 6 hattchetts. The 3rd was to oblige them to receive our propositions, likewise the Christinos, to lead them to the dance of Union, which was to be celebrated at the death's feast and banquett of kindred. If they would continue the warrs, that was not the meanes to see us againe in their Countrey. The 4th was that we thanked them ffor making us a free passage through their countreys. The guift was of 2 dozen of knives. The last was of smaller trifles,--6 gratters, 2 dozen of awles, 2 dozen of needles, 6 dozens of looking-glasses made of tine, a dozen of litle bells, 6 Ivory combs, with a litle vermillion. Butt ffor to make a recompence to the good old man that spake so favorably, we gave him a hattchett, and to the Elders each a blade for a Sword, and to the 2 maidens that served us 2 necklaces, which putt about their necks, and 2 braceletts for their armes. The last guift was in generall for all the women to love us and give us to eat when we should come to their cottages. The company gave us great Ho! ho! ho! that is, thanks. Our wildmen made others for their interest. A company of about 50 weare dispatched to warne the Christinos of what we had done. I went myself, where we arrived the 3rd day, early in the morning. I was received with great demonstration of ffriendshippe. All that day we feasted, danced, and sing. I compared that place before to the Buttery of Paris, ffor the great quantity of meat that they use to have there; but now will compare it to that of London. There I received guifts of all sorts of meate, of grease more then 20 men could carry. The custome is not to deface anything that they present. There weare above 600 men in a fort, with a great deale of baggage on their shoulders, and did draw it upon light slids made very neatly. I have not seen them att their entrance, ffor the snow blinded mee. Coming back, we passed a lake hardly frozen, and the sun [shone upon it] for the most part, ffor I looked a while steadfastly on it, so I was troubled with this seaven or eight dayes. The meane while that we are there, arrived above a thousand that had not ben there but for those two redoubted nations that weare to see them doe what they never before had, a difference which was executed with a great deale of mirth. I ffor feare of being inuied I will obmitt onely that there weare playes, mirths, and bataills for sport, goeing and coming with cryes; each plaid his part. In the publick place the women danced with melody. The yong men that indeavoured to gett a pryse, indeavoured to clime up a great post, very smooth, and greased with oyle of beare & oriniack grease. The stake was att least of 15 foot high. The price was a knife or other thing. We layd the stake there, but whoso could catch it should have it. The feast was made to eate all up. To honnour the feast many men and women did burst. Those of that place coming backe, came in sight of those of the village or fort, made postures in similitud of warrs. This was to discover the ennemy by signs; any that should doe soe we gave orders to take him, or kill him and take his head off. The prisoner to be tyed [and] to fight in retreating. To pull an arrow out of the body; to exercise and strike with a clubbe, a buckler to theire feete, and take it if neede requireth, and defende himselfe, if neede requirs, from the ennemy; being in sentery to heark the ennemy that comes neere, and to heare the better lay him downe on the side. These postures are playd while the drums beate. This was a serious thing, without speaking except by nodding or gesture. Their drums weare earthen potts full of watter, covered with staggs-skin. The sticks like hammers for the purpose. The elders have bomkins to the end of their staves full of small stones, which makes a ratle, to which yong men and women goe in a cadance. The elders are about these potts, beating them and singing. The women also by, having a nosegay in their hands, and dance very modestly, not lifting much their feete from the ground, keeping their heads downewards, makeing a sweet harmony. We made guifts for that while 14 days' time. Every one brings the most exquisite things, to shew what his country affoards. The renewing of their alliances, the mariages according to their countrey coustoms, are made; also the visit of the boans of their deceased ffriends, ffor they keepe them and bestow them uppon one another. We sang in our language as they in theirs, to which they gave greate attention. We gave them severall guifts, and received many. They bestowed upon us above 300 robs of castors, out of which we brought not five to the ffrench, being far in the countrey. This feast ended, every one retourns to his countrey well satisfied. To be as good as our words, we came to the nation of the beefe, which was seaven small Journeys from that place. We promised in like maner to the Christinos the next spring we should come to their side of the upper lake, and there they should meete us, to come into their countrey. We being arrived among the nation of the beefe, we wondred to finde ourselves in a towne where weare great cabbans most covered with skins and other close matts. They tould us that there weare 7,000 men. This we believed. Those have as many wives as they can keepe. If any one did trespasse upon the other, his nose was cutt off, and often the crowne of his head. The maidens have all maner of freedome, but are forced to mary when they come to the age. The more they beare children the more they are respected. I have seene a man having 14 wives. There they have no wood, and make provision of mosse for their firing. This their place is environed with pearches which are a good distance one from an other, that they gett in the valleys where the Buffe use to repaire, uppon which they do live. They sow corne, but their harvest is small. The soyle is good, but the cold hinders it, and the graine very small. In their countrey are mines of copper, of pewter, and of ledd. There are mountains covered with a kind of Stone that is transparent and tender, and like to that of Venice. The people stay not there all the yeare; they retire in winter towards the woods of the North, where they kill a quantity of Castors, and I say that there are not so good in the whole world, but not in such a store as the Christinos, but far better. Wee stayed there 6 weeks, and came back with a company of people of the nation of the Sault, that came along with us loaden with booty. We weare 12 dayes before we could overtake our company that went to the lake. The spring approaches, which [is] the fitest time to kill the Oriniack. A wildman and I with my brother killed that time above 600, besides other beasts. We came to the lake side with much paines, ffor we sent our wildmen before, and we two weare forced to make cariages 5 dayes through the woods. After we mett with a company that did us a great deale of service, ffor they carryed what we had, and arrived att the appointed place before 3 dayes ended. Here we made a fort. Att our arrivall we found att least 20 cottages full. One very faire evening we went to finde what we hide before, which we finde in a good condition. We went about to execut our resolution, fforseeing that we must stay that yeare there, ffor which wee weare not very sorry, being resolved to know what we heard before. We waited untill the Ice should vanish, but received [news] that the Octanaks built a fort on the point that formes that Bay, which resembles a small lake. We went towards it with all speede. We had a great store of booty which we would not trust to the wildmen, ffor the occasion makes the thiefe. We overloaded our slide on that rotten Ice, and the further we went the Sun was stronger, which made our Trainage have more difficultie. I seeing my brother so strained, I tooke the slide, which was heavier then mine, and he mine. Being in that extent above foure leagues from the ground, we sunke downe above the one halfe of the legge in the Ice, and must advance in spight of our teeth. To leave our booty was to undoe us. We strived so that I hurted myselfe in so much that I could not stand up right, nor any further. This putt us in great trouble. Uppon this I advised my brother to leave me with his slide. We putt the two sleds one by another. I tooke some cloathes to cover mee. After I stripped myselfe from my wett cloathes, I layed myselfe downe on the slide; my brother leaves me to the keeping of that good God. We had not above two leagues more to goe. He makes hast and came there in time and sends wildmen for me and the slids. There we found the perfidiousnesse of the Octanaks. Seeing us in Extremitie, would prescribe us laws. We promised them whatever they asked. They came to fetch me. For eight dayes I was so tormented I thought never to recover. I rested neither day nor night; at last by means that God and my brother did use, which was by rubbing my leggs with hott oyle of bears and keeping my thigh and leggs well tyed, it came to its former strenght. After a while I came to me selfe. There comes a great company of new wildmen to seeke a nation in that land for a weighty buissinesse. They desired me to goe a long, so I prepare myselfe to goe with them. I marched well 2 dayes; the 3rd day the sore begins to breake out againe, in so much that I could goe no further. Those left me, albeit I came for their sake. You will see the cruelties of those beasts, and I may think that those that liveth on fish uses more inhumanities then those that feed upon flesh; neverthelesse I proceeded forwards the best I could, but knewed [not] where for the most part, the sun being my onely guide. There was some snow as yett on the ground, which was so hard in the mornings that I could not percave any tracks. The worst was that I had not a hattchett nor other arme, and not above the weight of ten pounds of victualls, without any drink. I was obliged to proceed five dayes for my good fortune. I indured much in the morning, but a litle warmed, I went with more ease. I looked betimes for som old cabbans where I found wood to make fire wherwith. I melted the snow in my cappe that was so greasy. One night I finding a cottage covered it with boughs of trees that I found ready cutt. The fire came to it as I began to slumber, which soone awaked me in hast, lame as I was, to save meselfe from the fire. My racketts, shoos, and stokens kept me my life; I must needs save them. I tooke them and flung them as farr as I could in the snow. The fire being out, I was forced to looke for them, as dark as it was, in the said snow, all naked & very lame, and almost starved both for hungar and cold. But what is it that a man cannot doe when he seeth that it concerns his life, that one day he must loose? Yett we are to prolong it as much as we cane, & the very feare maketh us to invent new wayes. The fifth day I heard a noyse and thought it of a wolfe. I stood still, and soone perceived that it was of a man. Many wild men weare up and downe looking for me, fearing least the Bears should have devoured me. That man came neere and saluts me, and demands whether it was I. We both satt downe; he looks in my sacke to see if I had victualls, where he finds a peece as bigg as my fist. He eats this without participation, being their usuall way. He inquireth if I was a hungary. I tould him no, to shew meselfe stout and resolute. He takes a pipe of tobacco, and then above 20 pounds of victualls he takes out of his sack, and greased, and gives it me to eate. I eat what I could, and gave him the rest. He bids me have courage, that the village was not far off. He demands if I knewed the way, but I was not such as should say no. The village was att hand. The other wildmen arrived but the day before, and after a while came by boats to the lake. The boats weare made of Oriniacks' skins. I find my brother with a company of Christinos that weare arrived in my absence. We resolved to cover our buissinesse better, and close our designe as if we weare going a hunting, and send them before; that we would follow them the next night, which we did, & succeeded, but not without much labor and danger; for not knowing the right way to thwart the other side of the lake, we weare in danger to perish a thousand times because of the crums of Ice. We thwarted a place of 15 leagues. We arrived on the other side att night. When we came there, we knewed not where to goe, on the right or left hand, ffor we saw no body. Att last, as we with full sayle came from a deepe Bay, we perceived smoake and tents. Then many boats from thence came to meete us. We are received with much Joy by those poore Christinos. They suffered not that we trod on ground; they leade us into the midle of their cottages in our own boats, like a couple of cocks in a Basquett. There weare some wildmen that followed us but late. We went away with all hast possible to arrive the sooner att the great river. We came to the seaside, where we finde an old howse all demollished and battered with boulletts. We weare told that those that came there weare of two nations, one of the wolf, the other of the long-horned beast. All those nations are distinguished by the representation of the beasts or animals. They tell us particularities of the Europians. We know ourselves, and what Europ is, therefore in vaine they tell us as for that. We went from Isle to Isle all that summer. We pluckt abundance of Ducks, as of all other sort of fowles; we wanted nor fish nor fresh meate. We weare well beloved, and weare overjoyed that we promised them to come with such shipps as we invented. This place hath a great store of cows. The wildmen kill them not except for necessary use. We went further in the bay to see the place that they weare to passe that summer. That river comes from the lake and empties itselfe in the river of Sagnes, called Tadousack, which is a hundred leagues in the great river of Canada, as where we weare in the Bay of the north. We left in this place our marks and rendezvous. The wildmen that brought us defended us above all things, if we would come directly to them, that we should by no means land, and so goe to the river to the other sid, that is, to the north, towards the sea, telling us that those people weare very treacherous. Now, whether they tould us this out of pollicy, least we should not come to them ffirst, & so be deprived of what they thought to gett from us [I know not]. In that you may see that the envy and envy raigns every where amongst poore barbarous wild people as att Courts. They made us a mapp of what we could not see, because the time was nigh to reape among the bustards and Ducks. As we came to the place where these oats growes (they grow in many places), you would think it strang to see the great number of ffowles, that are so fatt by eating of this graine that heardly they will move from it. I have seene a wildman killing 3 ducks at once with one arrow. It is an ordinary thing to see five [or] six hundred swans together. I must professe I wondred that the winter there was so cold, when the sand boyles att the watter side for the extreame heate of the Sun. I putt some eggs in that sand, and leave them halfe an houre; the eggs weare as hard as stones. We passed that summer quietly, coasting the seaside, and as the cold began, we prevented the Ice. We have the commoditie of the river to carry our things in our boats to the best place, where weare most bests. This is a wandring nation, and containeth a vaste countrey. In winter they live in the land for the hunting sake, and in summer by the watter for fishing. They never are many together, ffor feare of wronging one another. They are of a good nature, & not great whore masters, having but one wife, and are [more] satisfied then any others that I knewed. They cloath themselves all over with castors' skins in winter, in summer of staggs' skins. They are the best huntsmen of all America, and scorns to catch a castor in a trappe. The circumjacent nations goe all naked when the season permitts it. But this have more modestie, ffor they putt a piece of copper made like a finger of a glove, which they use before their nature. They have the same tenents as the nation of the beefe, and their apparell from topp to toe. The women are tender and delicat, and takes as much paines as slaves. They are of more acute wits then the men, ffor the men are fools, but diligent about their worke. They kill not the yong castors, but leave them in the watter, being that they are sure that they will take him againe, which no other nation doth. They burne not their prisoners, but knock them in the head, or slain them with arrows, saying it's not decent for men to be so cruell. They have a stone of Turquois from the nation of the buff and beefe, with whome they had warrs. They pollish them, and give them the forme of pearle, long, flatt, round, and [hang] them att their nose. They [find] greene stones, very fine, att the side of the same bay of the sea to the norwest. There is a nation called among themselves neuter. They speake the beefe and Christinos' speech, being friends to both. Those poore people could not tell us what to give us. They weare overjoyed when we sayd we should bring them commodities. We went up on another river, to the upper lake. The nation of the beefe sent us guifts, and we to them, by [the] ambassadors. In the midle of winter we joyned with a Company of the fort, who gladly received us. They weare resolved to goe to the ffrench the next spring, because they weare quite out of stocke. The feast of the dead consumed a great deale of it. They blamed us, saying we should not trust any that we did not know. They upon this asked if we are where the trumpetts are blowne. We sayd yea, and tould that they weare a nation not to be trusted, and if we came to that sea we should warre against them, becaus they weare bad nation, and did their indeavour to tak us to make us their slaves. In the beginning of Spring there came a company of men that came to see us from the elders, and brought us furrs to intice us to see them againe. I cannot omitt [a] pleasant encounter that happened to my brother as we weare both in a cottag. Two of the nation of the beefe came to see us; in that time my brother had some trade in his hands. The wildmen satt neere us. My brother shews unto them the Image which [re]presented the flight of Joseph and holy mary with the child Jesus, to avoid the anger of herod, and the Virgin and child weare riding the asse, and Joseph carrying a long cloake. My brother shewing that animal, naming it _tatanga_, which is a buffe, the wildmen, seeing the representation of a woman, weare astonished and weeps, pulls their haire, and tumbles up and downe to the fire, so continued half an houre, till he was in a sweat, and wetted with his tears the rest of the wildmen that weare there. One of them went out of the cottage. My brother and I weare surprized; thought they might have seene a vision, ffor instantly the man putt his hands on his face, as if he should make the signe of the crosse. Now as he came to himselfe, he made us understand, ffor I began to know much of their speech, that first we weare Devills, knowing all what is and what was done; moreover, that he had his desire, that was his wif and child, whome weare taken by the nation of the beefe foure years agoe. So he tooke the asse for the nation of the beefe, the Virgin mary for the picture of his wife, and Jesus for his son, and Joseph for himselfe, saying, "There am I with my long robe, seeking for my wife and child." By our ambassadors I came to know an other Lake which is northerly of their countrey. They say that it's bigger then all the rest. The upper end is allways frozen. Their ffish comes from those parts. There are people that lives there and dare not trade in it towards the south. There is a river so deepe and blacke that there is no bottome. They say that fish goes neither out nor in to that river. It is very warme, and if they durst navigate in it, they should not come to the end in 40 dayes. That river comes from the lake, and the inhabitants makes warrs against the birds, that defends & offends with theire bills that are as sharpe as sword. This I cannot tell for truth, but told me. All the circumjacent neighbours do incourage us, saying that they would venter their lives with us, for which we weare much overjoyed to see them so freely disposed to goe along with us. Here nothing but courage. "Brother, doe not lye, ffor the ffrench will not believe thee." All men of courage and vallour, lett them fetch commodities, and not stand lazing and be a beggar in the cabbane. It is the way to be beloved of women, to goe and bring them wherewithall to be joyfull. We present guifts to one and to another for to warne them to that end that we should make the earth quake, and give terror to the Iroquoits if they weare so bold as to shew themselves. The Christinos made guifts that they might come with us. This was graunted unto them, to send 2 boats, to testifie that they weare retained slaves among the other nations, although they furnish them with castors. The boats ready, we embarque ourselves. We weare 700. There was not seene such a company to goe downe to the ffrench. There weare above 400 Christinos' boats that brought us their castors, in hopes that the people should give some marchandises for them. Att their retourne the biggest boats could carry onely the man and his wife, and could scarce carry with them 3 castors, so little weare their boats. In summer time I have seene 300 men goe to warrs, and each man his boat, ffor they are that makes the least boats. The company that we had filled above 360 boats. There weare boats that caryed seaven men, and the least two. It was a pleasur to see that imbarquing, ffor all the yong women went in stark naked, their hairs hanging down, yett it is not their coustoms to doe soe. I thought it their shame, but contrary they thinke it excellent & old custome good. They sing a loud and sweetly. They stood in their boats, and remained in that posture halfe a day, to encourage us to come and lodge with them againe. Therefore they are not alltogether ashamed to shew us all, to intice us, and inanimate the men to defend themselves valliantly and come and injoy them. In two dayes we arrived att the River of the sturgeon, so called because of the great quantity of sturgeons that we tooke there. Here we weare to make our provissions to passe the lake some 14 dayes. In the said tearme wee dryed up above a million of sturgeons. [Footnote: He no doubt meant to say, above "un mille," or "above a thousand."] The women followed us close; after our abode there two dayes they overtooke us. We had severall fals allarums, which putt us in severall troubles. They woundred to have found an Oryanck dead uppon the place, with a boullet in his body. There thousand lyes weare forged. Therefore we goe from thence, but before we come to the Longpoint whereof we spoak before, the wildmen called it _okinotoname_, we perceive smoake. We goe to discover what it was, and by ill looke we found it was a Iroquoits boat of seaven men, who doubtlesse stayed that winter in the lake of the hurrons, and came there to discover somewhat. I cannot say that they weare the first that came there. God graunt that they may be the last. As they saw us, away they, as swift as their heels could drive. They left their boat and all. They to the woods, and weare pursued, but in vaine, ffor they weare gone before three houres. The pursuers came backe; the one brings a gun, the one a hattchett, the other a kettle, and so forth. The councell was called, where it was decreed to go backe and shooke off to goe downe to the ffrench till the next yeare. This vexed us sore to see such a fleete and such an opportunity come to nothing, foreseeing that such an other may be not in tenne years. We weare to persuade them to the contrary, but checked soundly, saying we weare worse then Ennemyes by perswading them to goe and be slained. In this we must lett theire feare passe over, and we back to the river of the sturgeons, where we found our wives, very buissie in killing those creatures that comes there to multiplie. We dayly heare some newe reporte. All every where ennemy by fancy. We in the meane time buissie ourselves in the good of our country, which will recompence us badly ffor such toyle and labour. Twelve dayes are passed, in which time we gained some hopes of faire words. We called a councell before the company was disbanded, where we represented, if they weare discouvers, they had not vallued the losse of their kettle, knowing well they weare to gett another where their army layed, and if there should be an army it should appeare and we in such an number, they could be well afraid and turne backe. Our reasons weare hard and put in execution. The next day we embarqued, saving the Christinos, that weare afraid of a sight of a boat made of another stuff then theirs, that they went back as we came where the Iroquoits' boat was. Our words proved true and so proceeded in our way. Being come nigh the Sault, we found a place where 2 of these men sweated, & for want of covers buried themselves in the sand by the watter side to keepe their bodyes from the flyes called maringoines, which otherwise had killed them with their stings. We thwarted those 2 great lakes with great pleasur, having the wind faire with us. It was a great satisfaction to see so many boats, and so many that never had before commerce with the ffrench. So my brother and I thought wee should be wellcomed. But, O covetousnesse, thou art the cause of many evils! We made a small sayle to every boate; every one strived to be not the last. The wind was double wayes favourable to us. The one gave us rest, the other advanced us very much, which wee wanted much because of the above said delay. We now are comed to the cariages and swift streames to gett the lake of the Castors. We made them with a courage, promptitud, and hungar which made goe with hast as well as the wind. We goe downe all the great river without any encounter, till we came to the long Sault, where my brother some years before made a shipwrake. Being in that place we had worke enough. The first thing wee saw was severall boats that the Ennemy had left att the riverside. This putt great feare in the hearts of our people. Nor they nor we could tell what to doe; and seeing no body appeared we sent to discover what they weare. The discovers calls us, and bids us come, that those who weare there could doe us no harme. You must know that 17 ffrench made a plott with foure Algonquins to make a league with three score hurrons for to goe and wait for the Iroquoits in the passage att their retourne with their castors on their ground, hoping to beat and destroy them with ease, being destitut of necessary things. If one hath his gun he wants his powder, and so the rest. Att the other side without doubt had notice that the travelers weare abroad, and would not faile to come downe with a company, and to make a valiant deede and heroick action was to destroy them all, and consequently make the ffrench tremble as well as the wildmen, ffor the one could not live without the other; the one for his commodities, the other ffor his castors; so that the Iroqoits pretending to wait for us at the passage came thither fflocking. The ffrench and wild company, to putt the Iroquoit in some feare, and hinder his coming there so often with such confidence, weare resolved to lay a snare against him. That company of souldiers being come to the farthest place of that long sault without being discovered, thought allready to be conquerors making cariage, having abroad 15 men to make discoveries, but mett as many ennemyes. They assaulted each other, and the Iroquoits found themselves weake, left there their lives and bodyes, saving 2 that made their escape, went to give notice to 200 of theirs that made ready as they heard the gunns, to help their foreguard. The ffrench seeing such great odds made a retreat, and warned by foure Algonquins that a fort was built not afar off, built by his nation the last yeare, they fled into it in an ill houre. In the meane while the Iroquoits consulted what they should doe; they sent to 550 Iroquoits of the lower nation and 50 Orijonot that weare not afar off. Now they would asault the ffrench in their ffort, the ffort not holding but 20 men. The hurrons could not come in and could not avoid the shott of the ennemy. Then the ffrench pulled downe the fort, and closed together they stoutly began to worke. Those that the ffrench had killed, cutt their heads off & put them uppon long poles of their fort. This skermish dured two dayes & two nights. The Iroquoits finds themselves plagued, ffor the ffrench had a kind of bucklers and shelters. Now arrives 600 men that they did not think of in the least. Here is nothing but cryes, fire, and flame day & night. Here is not to be doubted, the one to take the other, the one to defend himselfe till death. The hurrons seeing such a company submitted to the ennemyes, but are like to pay for their cowardise, being in their hands weare tyed, abused, smitten, and burned as if they weare taken by force, ffor those barbarous weare revenged on their boanes as any was wounded or killed in the battaille. In this great extremity our small company of one and twenty did resist 5 days against 800 men, and the two foremost dayes against 200 which weare seaven dayes together without intermission, & the worst was that they had no watter, as we saw, ffor they made a hole in the ground out of which they gott but litle because they weare on a hill. It was to be pitied. There was not a tree but was shot with buletts. The Iroquoits come with bucklers to make a breach. The ffrench putt fire to a barill of powder, thinking to shoake the Iroquoits or make him goe back; but did to their great prejudice, for it fell againe in their fort, which made an end of their combat. Uppon this the Ennemy enters, kills and slains all that he finds, so one did not make an escape, saveing one that was found alive; but he stayed not long, for in a short time after his fortune was as the rest; for as he was brought to one of the Forts of the Irokoits, as he was bid to sit down he finds a Pistolet by him, and takes it at adventure, not knowing whether it was charged or no. He puts the end to the breast of him that tyed him, and killd him in the presence of all his camerades; but without any more adoe he was burnt very cruelly. All the French though dead were tyed to posts along the River side, and the 4 Algonquins. As for the hurons they were burnt at their discretion. Some neverthelesse escaped to bring the certain newes how all passed. [Footnote: Frenchmen massacred at Long Sault. See Introduction.] It was a terrible spectacle to us, for wee came there 8 dayes after that defeat, which saved us without doubt. I beleeve for certain that the Iroqoits lost many men, having to doe with such brave and valiant souldiers as that company was. Wee visited that place and there was a fine Fort; three were about the other two. Wee went down the river without making any carriage, and wee adventured very much. As Soon as wee were at the lower end many of our wildmen had a mind to goe back and not to goe any further, thinking really that all the French were killed. As for my Brother and I, wee did fear very much that after such a thing the pride of the enemy would make them attempt anything upon the habitations of mount Royall, which is but 30 leagues from thence. Wee did advise them to make a ffort, or to put us in one of the enemies', and to send immediately two very light boats, that could not be overtaken if the enemy should discover them; and that being arrived at the habitation, they should make them shoot the peeces of Ordnance, and that as soon as the night should come wee would embarque our selves and should hear the noise, or else wee should take councell of what wee should doe, and stay for them at the height of the Isle of mount Royall; which was done accordingly without any hazard, for all the enemies were gone dispairing of our comeing down, and for what they had done and for what they had lost, which by the report of some Hurons was more then four score men; and if the French had had a Fort flanke & some water they had resisted the enemy miraculously and forced them to leave them for want of powder and shott and also of other provisions. They were furnished for the whole summer. Our two boats did goe, but the rest were soe impatient that they resolved to follow them, being willing to run the same hazard; and wee arrived the next morning and were in sight when the peeces were shott off, with a great deale of Joy to see so great a number of boats that did almost cover the whole River. Wee stayd 3 dayes at mont-Royall, and then wee went down to the three Rivers. The wildmen did aske our advice whether it was best for them to goe down further. We told them no, because of the dangers that they may meet with at their returne, for the Irokoits could have notice of their comeing down, and so come and lay in ambush for them, and it was in the latter season, being about the end of August. Well, as soon as their businesse was done, they went back again very well satisfyed and wee very ill satisfied for our reception, which was very bad considering the service wee had done to the countrey, which will at another time discourage those that by our example would be willing to venture their lives for the benefit of the countrey, seeing a Governor that would grow rich by the labours and hazards of others. Before I goe further I have a mind to let you know the fabulous beleafe of those poore People, that you may see their ignorance concerning the soul's immortality, being separated from the body. The kindred and the friends of the deceased give notice to the others, who gather together and cry for the dead, which gives warning to the young men to take the armes to give some assistance and consolation to the deceased. Presently the corps is covered with white skins very well tyed. Afterwards all the kindred come to the cottage of the deceased and begin to mourn and lament. After they are weary of making such musick the husbands or Friends of the deceased send their wives for gifts to pacifie a little the Widdow and to dry her tears. Those guifts are of skins and of what they can get, for at such a ceremony they are very liberall. As soon as that is done and the night comes, all the young men are desired to come and doe what they will to have done to them. So that when darknesse has covered the whole face of the Earth they come all singing with staves in their hands for their armes, and after they are set round the cabbin, begin to knock and make such a noise that one would thinke they have a mind to tear all in peeces, and that they are possessed of some Devills. All this is done to expell and frighten the soule out of that poor and miserable body that she might not trouble his carcase nor his bones, and to make it depart the sooner to goe and see their Ancestors, and to take possession of their immortall glory, which cannot be obtained but a fortnight towards the setting of the sun. The first step that she makes is of seven dayes, to begin her course, but there are many difficulties, ffor it is through a very thick wood full of thorns, of stones and flints, which [brings] great trouble to that poor soule. At last having overcome all those dangers and toyles she comes to a River of about a Quarter of a mile broad where there is a bridge made onely of one planke, being supported by a beame pointed at one end, which is the reason that planke rises and falls perpetually, having not any rest nor stay, and when the soule comes near the side of that river, she meets with a man of extraordinary stature, who is very leane and holds a dagger of very hard wood and very keen in his hands, and speakes these words when he sees the petitioning soule come near: _Pale_, _pale_, which signifies, Goe, goe; and at every word the bridge ballances, and rises his knife, and the traveller offering himselfe, receives a blow by which he is cut in two, and each halfe is found upon that moving, and according as he had lived they stay upon it; that is, if his body was valiant the passage was soon made free to him, for the two halfes come together and joyn themselves again. So passe to the other side where she finds a bladder of bear's grease to grease herselfe and refresh herselfe for that which she is to do, which being done she finds a wood somewhat cleerer and a straight road that she must goe, and for 5 dayes neither goe to the right nor to the left hand, where at last being arrived she finds a very great and cleer fire, through which she must resolve to passe. That fire is kindled by the young men that dyed since the beginning of the world to know whether those that come have loved the women or have been good huntsmen; and if that soule has not had any of those rare Vertues she burnes and broiles the sole of her feet by going through the fire; but quite contrary if she has had them qualityes, she passes through without burning her selfe in the least, and from that so hot place she finds grease and paint of all sorts of colour with which she daubs and makes herselfe beautifull, to come to that place so wished for. But she has not yet all done, nor made an end of her voyage; being so dress'd she continues her course still towards the same pole for the space of two dayes in a very cleer wood, and where there is very high and tall trees of which most be oakes, which is the reason that there is great store of bears. All along that way they do nothing else but see their enemies layd all along upon the ground, that sing their fatall song for having been vanquished in this world and also in the other, not daring to be so bold as to kill one of those animalls, and feed onely upon the down of these beasts. Being arrived, if I may say, at the doore of that imaginarie paradise, they find a company of their ancestors long since deceased, by whom they are received with a great deale of ceremony, and are brought by so venerable a company within halfe a daye's journey of the place of the meeting, and all along the rest of the way they discourse of things of this world that are passd; for you must know they travell halfe a day without speaking one word, but keepe a very deep silence, for, said they, it is like the Goslings to confound one another with words. As soon as they are arrived they must have a time to come to themselves, to think well upon what they are to speak without any precipitation, but with Judgement, so that they are come where all manner of company with drumms & dryd bumpkins, full of stones and other such instruments. The elders that have brought her there cover her with a very large white skin, and colour her leggs with vermillion and her feet likewise, and so she is received amongst the Predestinates. There is a deep silence made as soon as she is come in, and then one of the elders makes a long speech to encourage the young people to go a hunting to kill some meat to make a feast for entertainment of the soul of their countryman, which is put in execution with a great deal of diligence and hast; and while the meat is boyling or roasting, and that there is great preparations made for the feast, the young maidens set out themselves with the richest Jewells and present the beesome to the new-comer. A little while after the kettles are filled, there is feasting every where, comedies acted, and whatsoever is rare is there to be seene; there is dancing every where. Now remaines nothing but to provide that poor soule of a companion, which she does presently, for she has the choice of very beautifull women, and may take as many as she pleases, which makes her felicity immortall. By this you may see the silly beleefe of these poor People. I have seen right-minded Jesuites weep bitterly hearing me speake of so many Nations that perish for want of Instruction; but most of them are like the wildmen, that thinke they offend if they reserve any thing for the next day. I have seen also some of the same company say, "Alas, what pity 'tis to loose so many Castors. Is there no way to goe there? The fish and the sauce invite us to it; is there no meanes to catch it? Oh, how happy should I be to go in those countreys as an Envoye, being it is so good a countrey." That is the relation that was made me severall times by those wildmen, for I thought they would never have done. But let us come to our arrivall againe. The Governour, seeing us come back with a considerable summe for our own particular, and seeing that his time was expired and that he was to goe away, made use of that excuse to doe us wrong & to enrich himselfe with the goods that wee had so dearly bought, and by our meanes wee made the country to subsist, that without us had beene, I beleeve, oftentimes quite undone and ruined, and the better to say at his last beeding, no castors, no ship, & what to doe without necessary commodities. He made also my brother prisoner for not having observed his orders, and to be gone without his leave, although one of his letters made him blush for shame, not knowing what to say, but that he would have some of them at what price soever, that he might the better maintain his coach & horses at Paris. He fines us four thousand pounds to make a Fort at the three Rivers, telling us for all manner of satisfaction that he would give us leave to put our coat of armes upon it, and moreover 6,000 pounds for the country, saying that wee should not take it so strangely and so bad, being wee were inhabitants and did intend to finish our days in the same country with our Relations and Friends. But the Bougre did grease his chopps with it, and more, made us pay a custome which was the 4th part, which came to 14,000 pounds, so that wee had left but 46,000 pounds, and took away L. 24,000. Was not he a Tyrant to deal so with us, after wee had so hazarded our lives, & having brought in lesse then 2 years by that voyage, as the Factors of the said country said, between 40 and 50,000 pistolls? For they spoke to me in this manner: "In which country have you been? From whence doe you come? For wee never saw the like. From whence did come such excellent castors? Since your arrivall is come into our magazin very near 600,000 pounds Tournois of that filthy merchandise, which will be prized like gold in France." And them were the very words that they said to me. Seeing ourselves so wronged, my brother did resolve to goe and demand Justice in France. It had been better for him to have been contented with his losses without going and spend the rest in halfe a year's time in France, having L. 10,000 that he left with his wife, that was as good a Houswife as he. There he is in France; he is paid with fair words and with promise to make him goe back from whence he came; but he feeing no assurance of it, did engage himselfe with a merchant of Rochell, who was to send him a Ship the next spring. In that hope he comes away in a fisher boat to the pierced Island, some 20 leagues off from the Isle d'eluticosty, [Footnote: _Eluticosty_, Anticosti, an island at the mouth of the river St. Lawrence.] the place where the ship was to come; that was to come whilst he was going in a shallop to Quebucq, where I was to goe away with him to the rendezvous, being he could not do anything without me; but with a great deel of difficulty it proved, so that I thought it possible to goe tast of the pleasures of France, and by a small vessell that I might not be idle during his absence. He presently told me what he had done, and what wee should doe. Wee embarked, being nine of us. In a few dayes wee came to the pierced Island, where wee found severall shipps newly arrived; & in one of them wee found a father Jesuit that told us that wee should not find what wee thought to find, and that he had put a good order, and that it was not well done to distroy in that manner a Country, and to wrong so many Inhabitants. He advised me to leave my Brother, telling me that his designs were pernicious. Wee see ourselves frustrated of our hopes. My Brother told me that wee had store of merchandize that would bring much profit to the french habitations that are in the Cadis. I, who was desirous of nothing but new things, made no scruple. Wee arrived at St. Peter, in the Isle of Cape Breton, at the habitation of Monsr. Denier, where wee delivered some merchandizes for some Originack skins; from thence to Camseau where every day wee were threatned to be burned by the french; but God be thanked, wee escaped from their hands by avoiding a surprize. And in that place my Brother told me of his designe to come and see new England, which our servants heard, and grumbled and laboured underhand against us, for which our lives were in very great danger. Wee sent some of them away, and at last with much labour & danger wee came to Port Royall, which is inhabited by the french under the English Government, where some few dayes after came some English shipps that brought about our designes, where being come wee did declare our designes. Wee were entertained, and wee had a ship promissed us, and the Articles drawn, and wee did put to sea the next spring for our discovery, and wee went to the entry of Hudson's streight by the 61 degree. Wee had knowledge and conversation with the people of those parts, but wee did see and know that there was nothing to be done unlesse wee went further, and the season of the yeare was far spent by the indiscretion of our master, that onely were accustomed to see some Barbadoes Sugers, and not mountaines of Suger candy, which did frighten him, that he would goe no further, complaining that he was furnished but for 4 months, & that he had neither Sailes, nor Cord, nor Pitch, nor Towe, to stay out a winter. Seeing well that it was too late, he would goe no further, so brought us back to the place from whence wee came, where wee were welcome, although with great losse of goods & hope, but the last was not quite lost. Wee were promissed 2 shipps for a second voyage. They were made fit and ready, and being the season of the yeare was not yet come to be gone, one of them 2 shipps was sent to the Isle of Sand, there to fish for the Basse [Footnote: This fishing expedition was to the well-known Sable Island. In 1676 "The King granted Medard Chouart, Sieur des Grozelliers, and Pierre Esprit, Sieur des Radision, the privilege of establishing fisheries for white porpoises and seal in the river St. Lawrence in New France."] to make Oyle of it, where wee came in very bad weather, and the ship was lost in that Island, but the men were saved. The expectation of that ship made us loose our 2nd voyage, which did very much discourage the merchants with whom wee had to doe. They went to law with us to make us recant the bargaine that wee had made with them. After wee had disputed a long time it was found that the right was on our side, and wee innocent of what they did accuse us. So they endeavoured to come to an agreement, but wee were betrayed by our own Party. In the meantime the Commissioners of the King of Great Brittain arrived in that place, and one of them would have us goe with him to New Yorke, and the other advised us to come to England and offer our selves to the King, which wee did. Those of new England in generall made profers unto us of what ship wee would if wee would goe on in our Designes; but wee answered them that a scalded cat fears the water though it be cold. Wee are now in the passage, and he that brought us, which was one of the Commissioners called Collonell George Carteret, was taken by the Hollanders, and wee arrived in England in a very bad time for the Plague and the warrs. Being at Oxford, wee went to Sir George Carteret, who spoke to his Majestie, who gave us good hopes that wee should have a ship ready for the next spring, and that the king did allow us 40 shillings a week for our maintenance, and wee had chambers in the Town by his order, where wee stayed 3 months. Afterwards the King came to London and sent us to Windsor, where wee stayed the rest of the winter. Wee are sent for from that place, the season growing neare, and put into the hands of Sir Peter Colleton. The ship was got ready something too late, and our master was not fit for such a Designe. But the Hollanders being come to the River of Thames had stopp'd the passage, soe wee lost that opportunity. So wee were put off till the next yeare, & a little while after that same ship was sent to Virginia and other places to know some news of the Barbadoes, and to be informed if that Island was not in danger; which if it had been lost, had taken from the English Ladyes the meanes or the pleasure of drinking french wine. Those of Burdeaux & of Rochell were great loosers in the expectation of the ship, that was not gone to the Isle of Sand, but to Holland. Wee lost our second voyage, for the order was given to late for the fitting another ship, which cost a great deale of money to noe purpose. The third yeare wee went out with a new company in 2 small vessells, my Brother in one & I in another, & wee went together 400 leagues from the North of Ireland, where a sudden great storme did rise & put us asunder. The sea was soe furious 6 or 7 houres after that it did almost overturne our ship, so that wee were forced to cut our masts rather then cutt our lives; but wee came back safe, God be thanked, and the other, I hope, is gone on his voyage, God be with him. I hope to embarke myselfe by the helpe of God this fourth yeare, & I beseech him to grant me better successe then I have had hitherto, & beseech him to give me Grace & to make me partaker of that everlasting happinesse which is the onely thing a man ought to look after. I have here put the names of severall Nations amongst which I have been for the most part, which I think may extend to some 900 leagues by the reckoning of my Travells. The names of the Nations that live in the South:-- Avieronons. Khionontateronons. Oscovarahronoms. Aviottronons. Ohcrokonanechronons. Huattochronoms. Anontackeronons. Ahondironons. Skinchiohronoms. Sonontueronons. Ougmarahronoms. Attitachronons. Oyongoironons. Akrahkuaeronoms. Ontorahronons. Audastoueronons. Oneronoms. Aoveatsiovaenhronons. Konkhaderichonons. Eressaronoms. Attochingochronons. Andonanchronons. Attionendarouks. Maingonis. Kionontateronons. Ehriehronoms. Socoquis. Ouendack. Tontataratonhronoms. Pacoiquis. Ariotachronoms. All these Nations are sedentaries, and live upon corn and other grains, by hunting and fishing, which is plentifull, and by the ragouts of roots. There were many destroyed by the Iroquoits, and I have seen most of those that are left. The names of the Nations that live in the North:-- Chisedeck. Nipifiriniens. Piffings. Bersiamites. Tivifeimi. Malhonniners. Sagfeggons. Outimaganii. Afinipour. Attikamegues. Ouachegami. Trinivoick. Ovaouchkairing or Mitchitamon. Nafaonakouetons. Algonquins. Orturbi. Pontonatemick. Kischeripirini. Ovasovarin. Escouteck. Minifigons. Atcheligonens. Panoestigons. Kotakoaveteny. Annikouay. Nadoucenako. Kinoncheripirini. Otanack. Titascons. Matouchkarini. Ouncisagay. Christinos. Ountchatarounongha. Abaouicktigonions. Nadouceronons. Sagahigavirini. Roquay. Quinipigousek. Sagnitaovigama. Mantonech. Tatanga. The two last are sedentary and doe reap, and all the rest are wandering people, that live by their hunting and Fishing, and some few of Rice that they doe labour for, and a great many of them have been destroyed by the Iroquoites. Besides all the above-named Nations I have seen eight or nine more since my voyages. VOYAGES OF PETER ESPRIT RADISSON. _The Relation of a Voyage made by Peter Raddisson, Esquire, to the North parts of America, in the years 1682 and 1683._ In the first place, I think myself oblidg'd to vindicat myself from the imputation of inconstancy for acting in this voyage against the English Intrest, and in the yeare 1683 against the French Intrest, for which, if I could not give a very good account, I might justly lye under the sentenc of capritiousness & inconstancy. But severall Persons of probity and good repute, being sensible what my brother-in-Law, Mr Chouard Des Groisiliers, and myself performed in severall voyadges for the Gentlemen conserned in the Hudson's Bay Trade, relating to the Comers of Bever skins, and the just cause of dissattisfaction which both of us had, to make us retire into France. I have no cause to believe that I in the least deserve to bee taxed with lightness or inconstancy for the Imployments wherein I since ingaged, although they were against the Interests of the said Company, for it is suffitiently known that my Brother nor myself omitted nothing that lay in our power, having both of us severall times adventur'd our lives, and did all that was possible for Persons of courage and Honour to perform for the advantage and profit of the said Company, ever since the yeare 1665 unto the yeare 1674. But finding that all our advise was slighted and rejected, and the Councill of other persons imbrac'd and made use of, which manifestly tended to the ruin of the setlement of the Beaver Trade, & that on all occasions wee were look'd upon as useless persons, that deserved neither reward nor incouragement, this unkinde usage made us at last take a resolution, though with very great reluctancy, to return back into France; for in the maine it is well knowne that I have a greater inclination for the Interest of England than for that of ffrance, being marry'd at London unto an Honorable familly, [Footnote: He married, between 1666 and 1673, for his second wife, the daughter of Sir John Kirke. He was one of the original founders of the Hudson's Bay Company, having subscribed L. 300 to the common stock in 1670. He was one of the seven members on the Committee of management for the Company, and was no doubt instrumental in securing to Radisson a permanent pension of 1,200 livres a year, after he left the service of France. In all probability, Radisson emigrated to Canada with his family in 1694, for in that year his son's name thus appears as holding a land patent: "1695. Another patent of confirmation to 'Sieur Etienne Volant Radisson' of the concession made to him the 19th of October, 1694, of the isles, islets, and 'baitures' not granted, that are to be found across Lake St Peter, above the islands granted to the 'Sieur Sorel,' from the edge of the north channel, as far as the great middle channel, called the channel of Platte Island," etc., etc. As Peter Radisson's will can nowhere be found at Somerset House, London, he probably died in Canada.] whos alliance had also the deeper ingadged me in the Intrest of the Nation. Morover, all my friends know the tender love I had for my wife, and that I declared unto them how much I was troubled in being reduced to the necessity of leaving her. I hope thes considerations will vindicate my proceedings touching the severall Interests which I espous'd, and what I shall relate in this ensuing Narrative touching my proceedings in regard of the English in this voyadge in the River, and also in Nelson's harbour in the year 1683, and will justify me against what has ben reported to my prejudice to render me Odious unto the nation. For it will appeare that having had the good fortune to defend my setlment against those which at that time I look'd upon as my Ennemy's, & defeated them by frustrating their designes, I improv'd the advantage I had over them the best I could; yet would they do me right, they must own that they had more just cause to give me thanks than to complaine of me, having ever used them kindly as long as they pleas'd to live with me. I freely confess I used all the skill I could to compass my designes, & knowing very well what these Gentlemen intended against me, I thought it better to surprise them than that they should me; knowing that if they had ben afore hand with me, I should have passed my time wors with them than they did with me. I come now to discours of my voyadge, not thinking it materiall heere to mention the campaign I made in the french fleet, since I left England, in the Expeditions for Guinea, Tobaga, [Footnote: This expedition was commanded by Jean, Count d'Estrees. He reduced the Island of Tobaga. He was made a Marshal of France, and sent out, 1 August, 1687, as Viceroy over America.] and other occasions wherein I was concern'd before I ingadged in this voyadge. At the time my Brother-in-Law and I were dissattisfy'd with the Hudson's Bay Company, wee were severall times invited by the late Monsieur Colbert to return back for france, with large promises that wee should bee very kindly entertain'd. Wee refused a great while all the offers that were made us; but seeing our businesse went wors and wors with the company, without any likelyhood of finding any better usage, at last wee accepted the offer that was made unto us, of paying us 400 Lewi-Dors redy money, of discharging all our Debts, and to give us good Employments. These conditions being agreed upon, wee passed over into france in Xber, 1674. As soon as wee got to Paris wee waited upon monsieur Colbert. Hee reproached us for preferring the English Interest before that of ffrance; but having heard our defence, and observ'd by what wee said unto him of our discoverys in the Northern parts of America, and of the acquaintance wee had with the Natives, how fit wee might bee for his purpos, hee soon assur'd us of his favor & protection, & also of the King's pardon for what was past, with an intire restoration unto the same state wee were in before wee left france, upon condition that wee should employ our care & industry for the advancement & increas of the comers of the Beaver Trade in the french Collonies in Canada. Hee also confirmed the promis had ben made us at London, of the gratuity of 400 french Pistolls, that all our Debts should bee discharg'd, & that wee should bee put into Employments. Our Letters Pattents of pardon & restoration were forthwith dispatch't, & monsieur Colbert would have it expressly mention'd in them, for what caus the King granted them, viz., to employ the greatest of our skill & industry with the Natives, for the utillity & advancement of the Beaver Trade in the french Collonies. The 400 peeces of Gould was pay'd us, & all things else promised was perform'd, excepting only the Employment, for the which wee were made to attend a great while, and all to no purpos. But at last I perceaved the cause of this delay, & that my marrying in England made me bee suspected, because my wife remained there. Monsr. Colbert having delayed us a long time with sundry Excuses, one day hee explained himself, saying I should bring my wife over into france if I expected that a full confidence should bee put in mee. I represented unto him that it was nott a thing fully in my power to doe, my wife's father refusing to give me the Liberty of bringing her over into france; but I promiss'd him to use my best endeavors to that effect. In the meantime Monsr. Colbert intimated that hee would have my Brother-in-Law & myself make a voyadge unto Canada, to advise with the Governour what was best ther to bee done, assuring us that hee would write unto him in our behalf. Wee undertook the voyadge, but being arriv'd at Quebeck, wee found that jelosy & interest which some Persons had over those that had the absolute command, at that time, of the Trade in Canada, & whos Creatures were Imploy'd for new Discoverys, ordered things so that the Count De Frontinac, the Governor, took no care to perform what wee had ben promis'd hee should have don for us; so that finding myself slighted, I left my Brother-in-Law with his familly in Canada, & returned back again for France, intending to serve at sea in the fleet. Accordingly I there passed the Campaigns above mention'd untill wee suffer'd shippwreck at the Isle D'ane, from which being escaped, I returned with the rest of the Army unto Brest, in the moneth of July, having lost all my Equipage in this disaster. The Vice Admirall & the Intendant wrote to Court in my favour, & upon the good character they were pleas'd to give of me, I receav'd a gratuity of 100 Louis D'ors upon the King's account, to renew my Equipage; & these Gentlemen also were pleased to tell me I should ere long have the command of a Man of Warr; but thinking that could not so easily bee, I desired leave to make a turn over into England under pretext of visitting my wife & to make a farther Tryall of bringing her over into france, whereupon I had my pass granted, with a farther gratuity of 100 Louis D'ors towards the charges of my voyage. I was comanded to make what dispatch possible might bee, & espetially to mind the business of bringing my wife along with me, & then I shold not doubt of having good Imployments. I set forwards, & arrived in London the 4th of July, & amongst other discours told my father-in-Law, Sir John Kirk, of what great importance it was unto me of making my fortune in france to take my wife along with me thither; notwithstanding, hee would by no means give his consent thereunto, but desired me to write to my friends in France concerning some pretention hee had against the Inhabitants of Canada, [Footnote: John Kirke and his elder brothers, Sir David, Sir Lewis, and others, held a large claim against Canada, or rather France, dating back to 1633, which amounted in 1654, including principal and interest, to over--L. 34.000.] which I did. I endeavor'd also, during my stay at London, both by myself & by Friends, to try if the Gentlemen of the Company might conceave any better thoughts of me, & whether I might not by some means or other be restor'd unto their good liking; but all my endevors proved in vaine. I found no likelyhood of effecting what I so much desir'd, therefore I return'd into France & arrived at Brest the 12th of 8ber, 1679.... Having inform'd the Vice Admirall & the Intendant of the litle Successe I had in my voyadge, & that it was not through any neglect of myne, they order'd me to goe give an Account of it unto the Marquis De Signelay, which I did; & telling him I could not prevaile to bring my wife over along with me, hee revil'd me, & told me hee knew very well what an Inclination I had still for the English Intrest, saying with all that I must not expect any confidence should bee put in me, nor that I shold not have the least Imployment, whilst my wife stay'd in England. Neverthelesse, hee promis'd to speak to his Father, Monsieur Colbert, touching my affaires, which hee also performed; & afterwards waiting upon him, hee spake unto me much after the same rate his sonn, the Marquis De Signelay had don before, as to what concerned my wife, & order'd me to goe unto monsieur Bellinzany, his chief agent for the businesse of Trade, who would farther inform me of his intentions. Meeting with Monsieur Belinzany, hee told me that monsieur Colbert thought it necessary that I should conferr with monsieur De La Chesnay, [Footnote: M. Du Chesneau was appointed 30 May, 1675, Intendant of Justice, Police, and Finance of Canada, Acadia, and Isles of Newfoundland.] a Canada Merchant who mannadg'd all the Trade of thos parts, & who was then at Paris, that with him some mesures should bee taken to make the best advantage of our Discoveries & intreagues in the Northern parts of Canada, to advance the Beaver Trade, & as much as possible might bee to hinder all strangers from driving that trade to the prejudice of the French Collonies. The said monsr. Belinzany also told me I could not more oblige monsr. Colbert, nor take any better cours to obtaine his friendship by any servis whatsoever, than by using all my skill & industry in drawing all the natives of thos Northern parts of America to traffick with & to favor the French, & to hinder & disswade them from trading with strangers, assuring me of a great reward for the servis I should render the state upon this account, & that Mr. De La Chesiiay would furnish me in Cannada with all things necessary for executing what dessignes wee should conclude upon together to this intent. According to these Instructions I went unto Mr. De La Chesnay. Wee discours'd a long time together, & after severall inquiry's of the state of the countrys that I had most frequented, having communicated unto him my observations, hee propos'd unto me to undertake to establish a treaty for the Beaver trade in the Great Bay where I had ben some years before upon the account of the English. Wee spent two Dayes in adjusting the means of selling this business; at last it was agreed that I should make a voyadge into England to endevor to perswade my wife to come away, & also at the same time to inform myself what shipps the Hudson Bay Company intended to fit out for those parts. I performed this second voyage for England with some remainder of hopes to find the Gentlemen of the Company something better inclin'd towards me than they had ben formerly; but whether they then looked upon me as wholy unneccessary for their purpos, or as one that was altogether unable to doe them any harm, I was sufferr'd to come away without receaving the least token of kindnesse. All the satisfaction I had in the voyadge was that Prince Rupert was pleas'd to tell me that hee was very sorry my offers of servis was so much slighted. I resolv'd with myself not to bee dejected at this coldnesse, & returned into france, thinking there to have found Monsieur De La Chesnay; but being come to Paris, I heard hee was gon, & I presently resolved to follow him to Canada, to execute what wee had concluded upon at Paris. I went to take my leave of monsieur Colbert, acquainting him of my dessigne, whereof hee approved very well. Hee wished me a good voyadge, advising me to be carefull. I went to visit the Society of the Jesuits at Paris, as being also concern'd with La Chesnay in the Beaver Trade. They gave mee some money for my voyadge. I went & took shipp at Rochell, & arrived at Quebeck the 25th of 7ber, 1682. As soon as I went ashore I spake with monsieur La Chesnay, who seem'd to bee very glad to see me, and after some discours of what wee had concluded upon at Paris, hee said the businesse must bee presently set about; & being privy unto the Court Intrigues, & fully acquainted with the mesures wee were to use in this enterprize, hee took me along with him unto the Governor's house, & ingadg'd me to demand his assistance & such orders as wee should stand in need of from him for the carrying on our Dessigne. But the Governor spake unto us in a way as if hee approved not of the businesse; whereupon La Chesnay demanded a Pass for me to return back unto Europ by the way of New England, in a vessel belonging to the Governor of Accadia, which was at that instant at Quebeck, & redy to saile in som short time. These formalitys being over, Monsieur La Chesnay & I spake home to the businesse. Wee agreed upon the voyage, & of all things that were to bee setled relative unto our concerns & Intrest. Hee undertook to buy the Goods, & to furnish all things that concern'd the Treaty; to furnish me with a vessell well fitted & stored with good provisions. It was agreed that I should have one fourth part of the Beaver for my care and paines, & the danger I expos'd myself unto in making the setlment. My Brother-in-Law, Desgroisilliers, who was then at Quebeck, made a contract with De La Chesnay for the same voyage allmost on the same terms as I had don. All things being thus concluded, the Governor was desired that I might have leave to take three men along with me. Hee knew very well to what intent, but hee pretended to bee ignorant of it, for 'tis unlikely that hee could think I would return back to france without doing something about what La Chesnay & I had mention'd unto him, seeing I demanded these three men to goe along with me. One was my kinsman, John Baptista Des Grosiliers, of whom I made great account, having frequented the country all his life, & had contracted great familliarity & acquaintance with the natives about trade. Hee laid out L. 500 Tournais of his own money in the voyadge & charge, disbursed by monsieur De La Chesnay in the Enterprize. The second was Peter Allmand, whom I took for my Pilot, & the 3d was John Baptista Godfry, who understood perfectly well the Languadge of the natives, & one that I knew was capable of Treating. I set saile from Quebeck the 4th of 9ber, 1682, with my 3 men, in the Governor of Accady's vessell, having my orders to bee redy the Spring following, at the L'isle perse, hallow Isle, at the entrance of the River Saint Lawrence, unto which place La Chesnay was to send me a vessell well Equipp'd & fitted according to agreement for Executing the dessigne. Hee also promisd to send mee fuller Instructions in writing, for my directions when I should bee on the place. Wee arrived at Accadia the 26th of november, 1682, and there winter'd. In the Spring I repair'd unto hallow Island. The vessell I expected arrived, but proved not so good as was promised, for it was only an old Barque of about 50 Tunns with an Equippage but of 12 men, thos with me being comprised in the number. There was goods enough on board to have carry'd on the Treaty, but Provisions were scant, so that had I not ben so deeply ingadg'd as I was in the businesse, such a kind of a vessell would have quite discouradg'd me. But the arrivall of my Brother-in-Law, Desgrosiliers, in a vessell of about 30 Tunns, with a crew of 15 men, incouradg'd me, so that wee joyntly resolved not to quit our Enterprize; but wee had much adoe to perswade our men to it, being unwilling to expose themselves to the danger of a voyadge of 900 Leagues in such small, ordinary vessells, & in such boisterous seas, where ther was also danger of Ice. However, they seeing us willing to run the same fortune as they did, they at length consented, & it was agree'd upon betwixt my Brother-in-Law & myself to steere the same cours, & to keep as neere each other as wee could, the better to assist one another as occasion required. Wee sailed from the Island the 11th July, 1682 [1683.] After the space of 19 dayes' sailing, being past the Straights of new found Land, the seamen on board my Brother-in-Law's vessell mutin'd against him, refusing to proceed any farther, pretending they feared being split with the Ice, also of ingadging in unknown countreys where they might be reduced to want Provisions in the Winter. Wee pacify'd the mutineers by threatnings & by promises, & the sight of a saile in 57 deg. 30 minutes, North Lat., upon the Coast of Brador, somwhat contributed thereunto, every one desiring to shun this sail. Wee were twixt him & the shoar, & they bore directly towards us, desirous to speak with us; but wee not being in a condition of making any resistance, I thought it the best not to stand towards him, but steering the same cours as hee did, wee recover'd under the shoar, & so out of Danger; they tackt about & stood off 2 hours before night, & wee lost sight of them. There was much ice in those seas, which drive to the Southwards. Wee put into Harbour to avoide the Danger of it, as also to take in fresh Water & some other Provisions at the Coast of the Indians called Esquimos, the most cruell of all the salvages when they meet an advantage to surprize Persons. Neverthelesse, they came to our shipp side, & traded with us for some hundred of Woolf Skins. Wee stay'd there 2 dayes, during which time there happned a nother mutiny, our men refusing to proceed any farther; but I pacify'd the seditious, & having put to sea I order'd our men to preserve the Wood & Water wee had taken on board the best they could, for my Brother-in-Law & I had resolved not to goe a shoare untill wee had gain'd our Port, unless wee were chased. The winds proving favorable, wee entred Hudson's Straight and sailed along on the Northern shoare; there was much Ice. Some of my Seamen kill'd a white Beare of Extraordinary biggness. They eat of it to such excess that they all fell Extremely sick with head akes & loosnesse, that I thought they would have dyed out. I was forc'd to give my Brother notice of this accident, & to desire his assistance, so that by takeing Orvietan & sweating they escaped that Danger, but all their skin pell'd off. Wee were inform'd by the Indians that those white Bears have a Poison in the Liver, that diffuses itself through the whole mass of the body, which occasions these distempers unto thos that eat of them. I observ'd during this Disorder, neer Mile Island, at the western point, wee drove N. W. by the compass about 8 leagues in 6 hours, towards Cape Henry. Wee had much adoe to recover out of the Ice, & had like divers times to have perrish'd, but God was pleas'd to preserve us. My brother-in-Law, fearing to bear too much saile, stay'd behind. I arrived before him, the 26th of August, on the western coast of Hudson's Bay, & we met the 2nd of 7ber, at the entrance of the River called _Kakivvakiona_ by the Indians, which significies "Let him that comes, goe." Being enter'd into this River, our first care was to finde a convenient place where to secure our vessells, & to build us a House. Wee sailed up the River about 15 miles, & wee stop't at a litle Canall, whrein wee lay our vessells, finding the place convenient to reside at. I left my brother-in-Law busy about building a house, & the next day after our arrivall I went up into the Country, to seek for Indians. To this purpos I went in a Canoo, with my nephew & another of my crew, being all 3 armed with firelocks & Pistolls, & in 8 dayes wee went about 40 leagues up the River, & through woods, without meeting one Indian or seeing any signe where any had lately ben; & finding severall Trees gnawed by Beavors, wee judged there was but few Inhabitants in those parts. In our travelling wee kill'd some Deere. But the 8th day after our departure, our canoo being drawn ashore & overturn'd neer the water side, reposing ourselves in a small Island, about evening an Indian pursuing a Deere espyed our Canoo. Thinking there were some of his own Nation, hee whistled to give notice of the Beast, that pass'd by to the litle Island not farr off from us. My nephew having first spyed the Indian, told me of it, not mynding the Deere. I presently went to the water side & called the Indian, who was a good while before hee spake, & then said hee understood me not, & presently run away into the woods. I was glad of meeting this Indian, & it gave me some hopes of seeing more ere long. Wee stood upon our gard all night. Next morning I caus'd our canoo to bee carry'd the other side of the Island, to have it in readyness to use in case of danger. I caused a fier to bee made a 100 paces off. In the morning wee discovered nyne canoos at the point of the Island coming towards us, & being within hearing, I demanded who they were; they return'd a friendly answer. I told them the cause of my coming into their country, & who I was. One of the eldest of them, armed with his lance, Bow & arrows, etc., etc., rose up & took an arrow from his Quiver, making a signe from East to West & from North to South, broke it in 2 peeces, & flung it into the River, addressing himself to his companions, saying to this purpos: "Young men, bee not afraid; the Sun is favorable unto us. Our ennemys shall feare us, for this is the man that we have wished for ever since the dayes of our fathers." After which they all swimed a shore unto me, & coming out of their canoos I invited them unto my Fier. My nephew & the other man that was with him came also within 10 paces of us without any feare, although they see the Indian well armed. I asked them who was their Chief Commander, speaking unto him unknownst to me. Hee bowed the head, & another told me it was hee that I talked unto. Then I took him by the hand, and making him sit downe, I spoke unto him according to the genius of the Indians, unto whom, if one will bee esteemed, it is necessary to bragg of one's vallour, of one's strength and ablnesse to succour & protect them from their Ennemyes. They must also bee made believe that one is wholy for their Intrest & have a great complesance for them, espetially in making them presents. This amongst them is the greatest band of friendshipp. I would at this first enterview make myself known. The chief of these salvages sitting by me, I said to him in his Languadge, "I know all the Earth; your friends shall bee my friends; & I am come hether to bring you arms to destroy your Ennemys. You nor your wife nor children shall not dye of hunger, for I have brought Merchandize. Bee of good cheere; I will bee thy sonn, & I have brought thee a father; hee is yonder below building a fort, where I have 2 great shipps. You must give me 2 or 3 of your Canoos that your people may go visit your father." Hee made a long speech to thank me & to assure me that both himself & all his nation would venture their Lifes in my servis. I gave them some Tobacco & Pipes, & seeing one of them used a peece of flat Iron to cut his Tobacco, I desired to see that peece of Iron & flung it into the fier, wherat they all wonder'd, for at the same time I seemed to weep; & drying up my tears, I told them I was very much grieved to see my Brethren so ill provided of all things, & told them they should want for nothing whilst I was with them; & I tooke my sword I had by my side & gave it unto him from whom I took the peece of Iron; also I caus'd some bundles of litle knives to bee brought from my canoo, which I distributed amongst them. I made them smoke, & gave them to eate, & whilst they were eating, I set forth the presents I brought them, amongst the rest a fowling-peece, with some powder & shot for their chief commander. I told him, in presenting him with it, I took him for my Father; hee in like mannor took me to bee his sonn in covering me with his gowne. I gave him my blanket, which I desired him to carry unto his wife as a token from me, intending shee should bee my mother. Hee thanked me, as also did the rest, to the number of 26, who in testimony of their gratitude cast their garments at my feete & went to their canoos & brought all the furr Skins they had; after which ceremonys wee parted. They promised before noone they would send me 3 of their canoos, wherein they failed not. They put my Beavors in them, & wee went towards the place where I left my Brother-in-Law. I arrived the 12th of 7ber, to the great satisfaction of all our people, having inform'd them the happy success of my Journey by meeting with the Natives. The very day I return'd from this litle Journey wee were alarm'd by the noise of some Great Gunns. The Indians that came along with us heard them, & I told them that these Gunns were from some of our shipps that were in the great River called Kawirinagaw, 3 or 4 leagues' distance from that wher wee were setled; but being desirous to bee sattisfyed what it should meane, I went in a Canoo unto the mouth of our River, & seeing nothing, I suppos'd wee were all mistaken, & I sent my nephew with another french man of my crew back with the salvages unto the Indians; but the same evening they heard the Gunns so plaine that ther was no farther cause of doubt but that ther was a shipp; upon which they return'd back to tell me of it, wherupon I presently went myself with 3 men to make the discovery. Having crossed over this great River Kawirinagaw, which signifies the dangerous, on the 16th, in the morning, wee discovered a Tent upon an Island. I sent one of my men privatly to see what it was. He came back soon after & told me they were building a House & that there was a shipp; wherupon I approached as neere as I could without being discover'd, & set myself with my men as it were in ambush, to surprize some of thos that were there & to make them prisoners to know what or who they might bee. I was as wary as might bee, & spent the whole night very neere the place where the Hous stood, without seeing anybody stirr or speak untill about noon next day, & then I see they were English, & drawing neerer them the better to observe them, I return'd to my canoo with my men. Wee shewed ourselves a Cannon-shott off & stayed as if wee had ben salvages that wonder'd to see anybody there building a House. It was not long before wee were discover'd, & they hollowed unto us, inviting us to goe unto them, pronouncing some words in the Indian tongue, which they Read in a Book. But seeing wee did not come unto them, they came unto us along the shoare, & standing right opposit unto us, I spoke unto them in the Indian tongue & in French, but they understood me not; but at last asking them in English who they were & what they intended to do there, they answer'd they were English men come hether to trade for Beaver. Afterwards I asked them who gave them permission, & what commission they had for it. They told me they had no commission, & that they were of New England. I told them I was setled in the country before them for the French Company, & that I had strength sufficient to hinder them from Trading to my prejudice; that I had a Fort 7 leagues off, but that the noise of their Gunns made me come to see them, thinking that it might bee a french shipp that I expected, which was to come to a River farther North then this where they were, that had put in there by some accident contrary to my directions; that I had 2 other shipps lately arriv'd from Canada, commanded by myself & my Brother, & therefore I advised them not to make any longer stay there, & that they were best bee gon & take along with them on board what they had landed. In speaking I caus'd my canoo to draw as neer the shoare as could bee, that I might the better discern thos I talked with; & finding it was young Guillem that comanded the shipp, I was very glad of it, for I was intimately acquainted with him. As soon as hee knew mee hee invited me ashore. I came accordingly, & wee imbraced each other. Hee invited me on board his shipp to treat me. I would not seem to have any distrust, but having precaution'd myself went along with him. I caus'd my 3 men to come out of my canoo & to stay ashore with 2 Englishmen whilest I went on board with the Captain. I see on board a New England man that I knew very well. Before I enter'd the shipp the Captain caused English coullers to bee set up, & as soon as I came on board some great Gunns to bee fir'd. I told him it was not needfull to shoot any more, fearing least our men might bee allarm'd & might doe him some mischief. Hee proposed that wee might Traffick together. I told him I would acquaint our other officers of it, & that I would use my endeavor to get their consent that hee should pass the winter wher hee was without receaving any prejudice, the season being too far past to bee gon away. I told him hee might continue to build his House without any need of fortifications, telling him I would secure him from any danger on the part of the Indians, over whom I had an absolute sway, & to secure him from any surprize on my part. I would before our parting let him know with what number of men I would bee attended when I came to visit him, giving him to understand that if I came with more then what was agreed betwixt us, it would bee a sure signe our officers would not consent unto the proposal of our trading together. I also advised him hee should not fier any Gunns, & that hee should not suffer his men to goe out of the Island, fearing they might bee met by the french men that I had in the woods, that hee might not blame me for any accident that might ensue if hee did not follow my advice. I told him also the salvages advised mee my shipp was arrived to the Northwards, & promiss'd that I would come visit him againe in 15 days & would tell him farther. Wherof hee was very thankfull, & desired me to bee mindfull of him; after which wee seperated very well sattisfy'd with each other, hee verily beleeving I had the strenght I spake of, & I resolving always to hold him in this opinion, desiring to have him bee gone, or if hee persisted to interrupt me in my trade, to wait some opportunity of seizing his shipp, which was a lawfull Prize, having no Commission from England nor france to trade. But I would not attempt anything rashly, for fear of missing my ayme; especially I would avoide spilling blood. Being returned with my men on board my Canoo, wee fell down the River with what hast wee could; but wee were scarce gon three Leagues from the Island where the new England shipp lay, but that wee discovered another shipp under saile coming into the River. Wee got ashore to the southwards, & being gon out of the Canoo to stay for the shipp that was sailing towards us, I caused a Fier to bee made; & the shipp being over against us, shee came to Anchor & sent not her Boat ashore that night untill next morning. Wee watched all night to observe what was don, & in the morning, seeing the long boat rowing towards us, I caused my 3 men, well armed, to stand at the entrance into the wood 20 paces from me, & I came alone to the water side. Mr Bridgar, whom the Company sent Governor into that country, was in the Boate, with 6 of the crew belonging unto the shipp wherof Capt Guillam was Commander, who was father, as I understood afterwards, unto him that Comanded the New England shipp that I had discover'd the day before. Seeing the shallopp come towards me, I spake a kinde of jargon like that of the salvages, which signify'd nothing, only to amuse those in the boat or to make them speake, the better to observe them, & to see if there might bee any that had frequented the Indians & that spak their Languadge. All were silent; & the boat coming a ground 10 or 12 paces from me, seeing one of the seamen leap in the water to come a shore, I showed him my wepons, forbidding him to stirr, telling him that none in the Boate should come a shore untill I knew who they were; & observing by the make of the shipp & the habit of the saylors that they were English, I spake in their Languadge, & I understood that the seamen that leapt in the water which I hinder'd to proceed any farther said aloud, "Governor, it is English they spake unto you;" & upon my continuing to ask who they were who comanded the shipp, & what they sought there, some body answer'd, "What has any body to doe to inquire? Wee are English." Unto which I reply'd, "And I am French, and require you to bee gon;" & at the same instant making signe unto my men to appeare, they shewed themselves at the entrance of the wood. Those of the shallop thinking in all likelyhood wee were more in number, were about to have answer'd me in mild terms & to tell me they were of London, that the shipp belong'd unto the Hudson Bay Company, & was Comanded by Capt Guillem. I inform'd them also who I was; that they came too late, & that I had taken possession of those parts in the name & behalf of the King of ffrance. There was severall other things said, which is not needfull heere to relate, the English asserting they had right to come into thos parts, & I saying the contrary; but at last Mr Bridgar saying hee desired to come ashore with 3 of his crew to embrace me, I told him that I should bee very well sattisfy'd. Hee came a shore, & after mutuall salutations, hee asked of me if this was not the River Kakiwakionay. I answer'd it was not, & that it was farther to the Southward; that this was called _Kawirinagau_, or the dangerous. Hee asked of me if it was not the River where Sir Thomas Button, that comanded an English shipp, had formerly winter'd. I told him it was, & shew'd him the place, to the northwards. Then hee invited me to goe aboard. My crew being come up, disswaded me, especially my Nephew; yet, taking 2 hostages which I left ashore with my men, for I suspected Capt Guillem, having declared himself my Ennemy at London, being of the faction of those which were the cause that I deserted the English Intrest, I went aboard, & I did well to use this precaution, otherwise Capt Guillem would have stop't me, as I was since inform'd; but all things past very well. Wee din'd together. I discoursed of my Establishment in the country; that I had good numbers of ffrench men in the woods with the Indians; that I had 2 shipps & expected another; that I was building a Fort; to conclude, all that I said unto young Guillem, Master of the New England shipp, I said the same unto Mr Bridgar, & more too. He took all for currant, & it was well for me hee was so credulous, for would hee have ben at the troble I was of travelling 40 leagues through woods & Brakes, & lye on the could ground to make my Discoverys, hee wold soon have perceaved my weakness. I had reason to hide it & to doe what I did. Morover, not having men suffitient to resist with open force, it was necessary to use pollicy. It's true I had a great advantage in having the natives on my side, which was a great strength, & that indeed wherupon I most of all depended. Having stay'd a good while on board I desir'd to go ashore, which being don, I made a signe to my men to bring the hostages, which they had carry'd into the woods. They brought them to the water side, & I sent them aboard their shipp. I confess I repented more then once of my going aboard. It was too rashly don, & it was happy for me that I got off as I did. Before I came ashore I promissed Mr. Bridgar & the Captain that in 15 Dayes I would visit them againe. In the mean time, the better to bee assured of their proceedings, I stay'd 2 dayes in the Woods to observe their actions; and having upon the matter seen their dessigne, that they intended to build a Fort, I passed the River to the Southwards to return to my Brother-in-Law, who might well bee in some feare for me. But coming unto him, hee was very glad of what had past, & of the good condition I had sett matters. Wee consulted together what mesures to take not to be surpriz'd & to maintaine ourselves the best wee could in our setlement for carrying on our Treaty. Wee endeavor'd to secure the Indians, who promis'd to loose their Lives for us; & the more to oblidge them to our side I granted them my nephew & another frenchman to goe along with them into the country to make the severall sorts of Indians to come traffick with us, & the more, to incourage them I sent presents unto the chiefest of them. During my voyage of Discovering 2 English shipps, there happned an Ill accident for us. Our Company had kill'd 60 Deere, which had ben a great help towards our winter provisions; but by an Inundation of waters caused by great Rains they were all carry'd away. Such great floods are common in those parts. The loss was very great unto us, for wee had but 4 Barrells of Pork & 2 of Beef; but our men repair'd this Losse, having kill'd some more Deere and 4,000 white Partridges, somewhat bigger than thos of Europ. The Indians also brought us Provisions they had kill'd from severall parts at a great distance off. Ten dayes after my return from Discovering the English, I took 5 other men to observe what they did. I had forseen that wee should bee forced to stay for faire weather to crosse the mouth of the dangerous River of Kauvirinagaw, which also proved accordingly, for the season began to be boisterous; but having stay'd some time, at last wee got safe over, although it was in the night, & 14 dayes after our departure wee gained neere the place where Mr Bridgar lay. Wee presently see the shipp lay aground on the ooze, a mile from the place where they built their House. Being come neere the shipp, wee hailed severall times & no body answered, which oblig'd us to goe towards land, wondring at their silence. At length a man called us & beckn'd to us to come back. Going towards him & asking how all did, hee said something better, but that all were asleep. I would not disturb them & went alone unto the Governor's house, whom I found just getting up. After the common ceremonys were past, I consider'd the posture of things, & finding there was no great danger, & that I need not feare calling my people, wee went in all together. I made one of my men pass for Captain of the shipp that I said was lately arrived. Mr Bridgar beleev'd it was so, & all that I thought good to say unto him, endeavoring all along that hee should know nothing of the New England Interloper. Wee shot off severall Musquets in drinking healths, those of the vessell never being concern'd, wherby I judg'd they were careless & stood not well on their gard, & might bee easily surpriz'd. I resolved to vew them. Therefore, takeing leave of Mr. Bridgar, I went with my people towards the vessell. Wee went on board to rights without opposition. The Captain was somthing startled at first to see us, but I bid him not feare; I was not there with any dessigne to harme him; on the contrary, was ready to assist & help him wherin hee should comand me, advising him to use more Diligence than hee did to preserve himselfe & shipps from the Danger I see hee was in of being lost, which afterwards happned. But hee was displeas'd at my Counsill, saying hee knew better what to doe than I could tell him. That might bee, said I, but not in the Indians' country, where I had ben more frequent than he. However, hee desired me to send him som refreshments from time to time during the winter season, espetially some oyle & candles, of which hee stood in great want, which I promis'd to doe, & perform'd accordingly. Hee made me present of a peece of Beeff & a few Bisketts. Being fully inform'd of what I desired to know, & that I need not feare any harm these Gentlemen could doe me in regard of my trade, I took leave of the Captain, to goe see what passed on behalf of the new England Interloper. I arrived there next day in the afternoon, & found they had employ'd the time better than the others had don, having built a Fort, well fortifyed with 6 great Gunns mounted. I fired a musket to give notice unto those in the Fort of my coming, & I landed on a litle beach under the Gunns. The lieutenant came out with another man well arm'd to see what wee were. When hee see me hee congratulated my safe return, & asked what news. I told him I had found, though with great difficulty, what I sought after, & that I came to visit them, having taken other men than those I had before; that one of those with me was captain of the shipp lately arrived, & the other 4 were of Cannada. The Lieutenant answer'd me very briskly: "Were they 40 Devills wee will not feare. Wee have built a Fort, & doe fear nothing." Yet hee invited mee into his Fort to treat me, provided I would go in alone, which I refused, intimating hee might have spoke with more modesty, coming to visit him in friendship & good will, & not in a hostile manner. I told him also I desired to discours with his Captain, who doubtless would have more moderation. Wherupon he sent to inform the Captain, who came unto me well armed, & told me that I need not bee jealous of the Fort hee had caused to bee built, that 'twas no prejudice to me, & that I should at any time comand it, adding withall that hee feared me not so much as hee did the English of London, & that hee built this fort to defend himself against the Salvages, & all thos that would attack him. I thank'd him for his civillitys unto me, & assur'd him I came not thither to shew any displesure for his building a fort, but to offer him 20 of my men to assist him, & to tell him that thos hee so much feared were arrived, offering my servis to defend him, telling him if hee would follow my consill I would defend him from all danger, knowing very well the Orders these new comers had, & also what condition they were in. I also told him that as to the difference which was betwixt us about the trade, it was referr'd unto the arbitrement of both our Kings; that for good luck to him, his father comanded the shipp newly arrived; that he brought a Governor for the English Company, whom I intended to hinder from assuming that Title in the Countrys wherin I was established for the french company, & as for his part, I would make him pass for a french man, therby to keep him from receaving any dammadge. Having said thes things to the Captain of the fort, I made him call his men together, unto whom I gave a charge in his presence that they should not goe out of their fort, nor fire any Gunns, nor shew their cullers; that they should cover the head & stern of their shipp; & that they should suffer neither ffrench nor English to come near their fort, neither by land nor by Water, & that they should fier on any of my people as would offer to approach without my orders. The Captain promis'd all should bee observ'd that I had said, & comanded his men in my presence so to doe, desiring me to spare him 2 of my men as soon as I could, to guard them. I told him that his father, Captain of the Company's shipp, was sick, wherat hee seem'd to bee much trobled, & desired me to put him in a way to see him without any damadge. I told him the danger & difficulty of it; nevertheless, having privat reasons that this enterview of Father & Sonn might be procur'd by my means, I told him I would use my best endeavor to give him this satisfaction, & that I hop'd to effect it, provided hee would follow my directions. Hee agreed to doe what I advised, & after some litle studdy wee agreed that hee should come along with me disguis'd like one that lived in the woods, & that I wold make him passe for a french man. This being concluded, I sent my men next morning early to kill some fowle. They returned by 10 o'clocke with 30 or 40 Partridge, which I took into my canoo, with a Barrill of Oyle & some candles that I had promis'd the old Captain Guillem. I left one of my men hostage in the fort, and imbarked with young Guillem to goe shew him his father. The tyde being low, wee were forced to stop a mile short of the shipp, & goe ashore & walk up towards the shipp with our provisions. I left one of my men to keepe the Canoo, with orders to keep off, & coming neere the shipp I placed 2 of my best men betwixt the House Mr. Bridgar caus'd to bee built & the water side, comanding them not to shew themselves, & to suffer the Governor to goe to the vessell, but to seize him if they see him come back before I was got out of the shipp. Having ordered things in this manner, I went with one of my men & young Guillem aboard the shipp, where wee againe entered without any opposition. I presented unto Captain Guillem the Provisions I had brought him, for which hee gave me thanks. Afterwards, I made my 2 men go into his cabbin, one of which was his son, though unknown to him. I desired Captain Guillem to bid 2 of his servants to withdraw, having a thing of consequence to inform him of, which being don, I told him the secret was that I had brought his sonn to give him a visit, having earnestly desired it of me; & having told him how necessary it was to keep it privat, to prevent the damadge might befall them both if it shold bee known, I presented the son unto his father, who Imbraced each other very tenderly & with great joy; yet hee told him hee exposed him unto a great deale of danger. They had some priviat discours togather, after which hee desired me to save my new French man. I told him I would discharge myself of that trust, & againe advised him to bee carefull of preserving his shipp, & that nothing should bee capable of making any difference betwixt us, but the Treaty hee might make with the Indians. Hee told me the shipp belonged to the Company; that as to the Trade, I had no cause to bee afraid on his account, & that though hee got not one skin, it would nothing troble him; hee was assured of his wages. I warned him that he should not suffer his men to scatter abroad, espetially that they should not goe towards his sonn's fort, which hee promis'd should bee observ'd. Whilst wee were in this discours, the Governor, hearing I was come, came unto the Shipp & told me that my Fort must needs bee neerer unto him than hee expected, seeing I return'd so speedily. I told him, smiling, that I did fly when there was need to serve my friends, & that knowing his people were sick & wanted refreshments, I would not loose time in supplying them, assuring him of giving him part what our men did kill at all times. Some prying a litle too narrowly, young Guillem thought hee had ben discovered, wherat the Father & son were not a litle concern'd. I took upon me, & said it was not civill so narrowly to examine my people; they excus'd it, & the tyde being com in, I took leave to be gon. The Governor & Captain divided my provisions, & having made a signe unto my 2 men to rise out of their ambush, I came out of the shipp, & wee march'd all of us unto the place where wee left our Canoo. Wee got into it, & the young Captain admired to see a litle thing made of the rhind of a Tree resist so many knocks of Ice as wee met withall in returning. Next day wee arrived at the Fort, & very seasonably for us; for had wee stayed a litle longer on the water, wee had ben surprized with a terrible storm at N. W., with snow & haile, which doubtless would have sunk us. The storm held 2 days, & hinder'd us from going to our pretended fort up the river; but the weather being setled, I took leave of the Captain. The Lieut. would faine have accompanyed us unto our habitation, but I sav'd him that Labour for good reasons, & to conceall the way. Parting from the fort, wee went to the upper part of the Island; but towards evening wee returned back, & next day were in sight of the sea, wherin wee were to goe to double the point to enter the River where our habitation was; but all was so frozen that it was almost impossible to pass any farther. Wee were also so hem'd in on all sides with Ice, that wee could neither go forward nor get to Land, yet wee must get over the Ice or perrish. Wee continued 4 hours in this condition, without being able to get backwards or forwards, being in great danger of our lifes. Our cloaths were frozen on our backs, & wee could not stirr but with great paine; but at length with much adoe wee got ashore, our canoo being broke to peeces. Each of us trussed up our cloaths & arms, & marched along the shoare towards our habitation, not having eat anything in 3 days, but some crows & Birds of prey that last of all retire from these parts. There was no other fowle all along that coast, which was all covered with Ice & snow. At length wee arrived opposite unto our habitation, which was the other side of the River, not knowing how to get over, being cover'd with Ice; but 4 of our men ventur'd in a Boat to come unto us. They had like to have ben staved by the Ice. Wee also were in very great danger, but wee surmounted all these difficultys & got unto our habitation, for which wee had very great cause to give God thanks of seeing one another after having run through so great Dangers. During my travelling abroad, my brother-in-Law had put our House into pretty good order. Wee were secure, fearing nothing from the Indians, being our allies; & as for our neighbours, their disorder, & the litle care they took of informing themselves of us, set us safe from fearing them. But as it might well happen that the Governor Bridgar might have notice that the New England Interloper was in the same river hee was, & that in long running hee might discover the truth of all that I had discoursed & concealed from him, & also that hee might come to understand that wee had not the strength that I boasted of, I thought it fit to prevent Danger; & the best way was to assure my self of the New England shipp in making myself master of her; for had Mr. Bridgar ben beforehand with mee, hee would have ben too strong for me, & I had ben utterly unable to resist him; but the question was how to effect this businesse, wherin I see manifest difficultys; but they must bee surmounted, or wee must perrish. Therefore I made it my business wholy to follow this Enterprise, referring the care of our House & of the Traffick unto my brother-in-Law. Seeing the River quite froze over, every other day for a fortnight I sent my men through the woods to see in what state the Company's shipp lay. At length they told me shee lay a ground neer the shoare, the creek wherin shee was to have layn the Winter being frozen up, which made me conjecture shee would infallibly bee lost. I also sent 2 of my men unto Young Captain Guillem into the Island, which hee had desired of me for his safegard; but I was told by my people that hee intended to deceave me, having, contrary unto his promise of not receaving any into his Fort but such as should come by my Orders, had sent his Boat to receave 2 men from the Company's shipp, which Mr. Bridgar had sent to discover what they could the way that I tould him our fort was, & also to see if they could find any wreck of their shipp; but these 2 men, seeing thos of the fort begin to stir & to Lanch out their Boat, they thought they would fier on them, as I had comanded. They were affrighted & run away. Being come to Mr. Bridgar, they told him there was a Fort & a french shipp neerer unto them than I had said. Upon this information, Mr. Bridgar sent 2 men to pass from north to south, to know if it were true that wee had 2 Shipps besides that which was at the Island. Wherof being advised by my people, I sent out 3 severall ways to endeavor to take the 2 men Mr. Bridgar had sent to make this discovery, having ordered my people not to doe them any violence. My people succeded, for they found the 2 poore men within 5 leagues of our House, allmost dead with cold & hunger, so that it was no hard matter to take them. They yeelded, & were brought unto my habitation, where having refreshed them with such provision as wee had, they seemed nothing displeas'd at falling into our hands. I understood by them the orders Mr. Bridgar had given them for making the Discovery, which made me stand the more close on my Gard, & to use fresh means to hinder that the Governor Bridgar should not have knowledge of the New-England Interlopers. About this time I sent some provisions unto Mr. Bridgar, who was in great want, although hee strove to keep it from my knowledge. Hee thanked mee by his Letters, & assur'd me hee would not interrupt my trade, & that hee would not any more suffer his men to come neere the forts, which hee thought had ben ours. I also sent to visit young Guillem to observe his proceedings, & to see in what condition hee was, to make my best advantage of it. The 2 Englishmen which my people brought, told me the Company's shipp was stay'd to peeces, & the captain, Leftenant, & 4 seamen drown'd; but 18 of the company being ashore escaped that danger. Upon this advice I went to visit Mr. Bridgar, to observe his actions. I brought him 100 Partridges, & gave him some Powder to kill fowle, & offer'd him my servis. I asked where his shipp was, but hee would not owne shee was lost, but said shee was 4 leagues lower in the River. I would not press him any farther in the businesse, but civilly took our leave of each other. From thence I went unto the Fort in the Island also, to see what past there, & to endeavor to compasse the dessigne I had laid of taking the Shipp & fort, having since discovered by letters intercepted, that young Guillim intended to shew me a trick & destroy me. Being come to the fort in the Island, I made no shew of knowing the losse of his father, nor of the Company's shipp, only I told young Guillim his father continued ill, & did not think safe to write him, fearing to discover him. Afterwards I desired hee would come unto our habitation; & so I returned without effecting any more that day. Eight days after, I returned to see Mr. Bridgar, unto whom I said that hee did not take sufficient care to preserve his men; that I had 2 of them at my Fort, who told me of the losse of his shipp, which hee owned. I told him I would assist him, & would send him his 2 men & what else hee desired. I also offer'd him one of our Barques, with provisions requisit to convey him in the Spring unto the bottom of the Bay, which hee refused. I assured him of all the servis that lay in my power, treating him with all civillity could bee for the Esteeme that I ever bore unto the English nation. As for Mr. Bridgar, I had no great caus to bee over well pleased with him, being advised that hee spake ill of mee in my absence, & had said publickly unto his people that hee would destroy my Trade, should hee give 6 axes & proportionably of other Goods unto the Indians for a Bevor Skin. [Footnote: The Company's early standard for trading was: "For 1 Gun, one with another, 10 good Skins, that is, winter beavor; 12 Skins for the biggest sort, 10 for the mean, and 8 for the smallest. Powder, a beaver for 1/2 a lb. A beaver for 4 lb. of shot. A beaver for a great and little hatchet. A beaver for 6 great knives or 8 jack-knives. Beads, a beaver for 1/2 a lb. Six beavers for one good laced coat. Five beavers for one red plain coat. Coats for women, laced, two yards, six beavers. Coats for women, plain, Five beavers. Tobacco, a beaver for 1 lb. Powder-horns, a beaver for a large one and two small ones. Kettles, a beaver for one lb. of Kettle. Looking-glasses and combs, 2 skins."] I have an attestation heerof to shew. I stayed 2 dayes on this voyadge with Mr. Bridgar, having then a reall intent to serve him, seeing hee was not in a condition to hurt me; & returning unto my habitation, I called at Young Gwillim's fort in the Island, where I intended to execute my dessigne, it being now time. When I arrived at the fort, I told young Gwillim his father continued ill, & that hee referr'd all unto me, upon which I said unto him touching his father & of his resolution, hee earnestly desired I would goe back with him & take him along with me, disguised as before, that hee might see him; but I disswaded him from this, & put in his head rather to come see our habitation, & how wee lived. I knew hee had a desire to doe soe, therefore I would sattisfy his curiosity. Having, therefore, perswaded him to this, wee parted next morning betimes. Hee took his Carpenter along with him, & wee arrived at our habitation, Young Gwillim & his man being sufficiently tired. I thought it not convenient that young Gwillim should see the 2 Englishmen that was at our House. I kept them privat, & fitted them to bee gon next morning, with 2 of my men, to goe athwart the woods unto their habitation, having promis'd Mr. Bridgar to send them unto him. I gave them Tobacco, Cloaths, & severall other things Mr. Bridgar desired; but when they were to depart, one of the Englishmen fell at my feet & earnestly desired that I would not send him away. I would not have granted his request but that my Brother-in-Law desired me to do it, & that it would also ease Mr. Bridgar's charge, who wanted provisions; so I sufferred the other to depart along with my 2 men, having given them directions. I caused young Gwillem to see them going, telling him I sent them unto our Fort up the river. I continued a whole moneth at quiet, treating young Guillem, my new guest, with all civillity, which hee abused in severall particulars; for having probably discovered that wee had not the strength that I made him beleeve wee had, hee unadvisedly speak threatning words of me behind my back, calling me Pyrate, & saying hee would trade with the Indians in the Spring in spight of me. Hee had also the confidence to strike one of my men, but I connived at it. But one day discoursing of the privilledges of new England, he had the confidence to speak slightly of the best of Kings, wherupon I called him pittyfull Dogg for talking after that manner, & told him that for my part, having had the honour to have ben in his majesty's servis, I would pray for his majesty as long as I lived. Hee answered mee with harsh words that hee would return back to his fort, & when hee was there, that would not dare talk to him as I did. I could not have a fairer opportunity to begin what I dessigned. Upon which I told the young foole that I brought him from his fort & would carry him thither againe when I pleas'd, not when hee liked. Hee spake severall other impertinencys, that made me tell him that I would lay him up safe enough if hee behaved not himself wiser. Hee asked me if hee was a prisoner. I told him I would consider of it, & that I would secure my Trade, seeing hee threatened to hinder it. After which I retired & gave him leave to bee inform'd by the Englishman how that his father & the company's shipp were lost, & the bad condition Mr. Bridgar was in. I left a french man with them that understood English, but they knew it not. When I went out, young Gwillim bid the Englishman make his escape & goe tell his master that hee would give him 6 Barrills of Powder & other provisions if hee would attempt to deliver him out of my hands. The Englishman made no reply, neither did hee tell me of what had ben proposed unto him. I understood it by my frenchman, that heard the whole matter, & I found it was high time to act for my owne safety. That evning I made no shew of any thing, but going to bed I asked our men if the fier Locks that wee placed at night round our fort to defend us from thos that would attack us were in order. At this word of fire Locks young Gwillim, who knew not the meaning of it, was suddenly startled & would have run away, thinking wee intended to kill him. I caused him to bee stay'd, & freed him of his feare. But next morning I made him an unwelcom compliment; I told him that I was going to take his shipp & fort. Hee answered very angrily that if I had 100 men I could not effect it, & that his men would kill 40 before they could come neere the pallissade. I was nothing discouradged at his bravado, knowing very well that I should compasse my dessigne. I made account that 2 of my men would have stay'd in the fort for hostages, but having what libberty they would, one of them returned to our habitation without my order. I was angry at it, but I made no shew of it, having laid my dessigne so as to make more use of skill & pollicy than of open force; seeing therefore the haughty answer young Gwillem made me, that I could not take his fort with 100 men, I asked of him how many men hee had in it. Hee said nyne. I desired him to choose the like number of myne, I being one of the number, telling him I would desire no more, & that in 2 dayes I would give him a good account of his fort & of his shipp, & that I would not have him to have the shame of being present to see what I should doe. Hee chose & named such of my men as hee pleas'd, & I would not choose any others. I sufferr'd him to come with me to the water side, & I made the ninth man that went upon this Expedition, with an Englishman of Mr. Bridgar's to bee a wittness of the busenesse. Being arriv'd within half a league of the fort, I left the Englishman with one frenchman, ordering they should not stirr without farther order; at the same time I sent 2 of my men directly to the fort to the Southward of the Island, & I planted myself with my other 5 men at the North point of the same Island to observe what they did that I sent to the fort. They were stop't by 3 Englishmen armed, that asked if they had any letters from their master. My people answer'd, according to my Instructions, that hee was coming along with mee; that being weary, wee stay'd behind; that they came a litle before for some brandy which they offerr'd to carry. The Englishmen would needs doe the office, & my 2 men stay'd in the fort. Hee that was hostage had orders to seize on the Court of Gard Dore, one of them newly come to seize the Dore of the House, & the 3 was to goe in & out, that in case the dessigne was discover'd hee might stopp the passage of the Dore with Blocks of wood, to hinder it from being shutt & to give me freedom to enter unto their assistance; but there needed not so much adoe, for I enter'd into the fort before thos that were appointed to defend it were aware. The Lieutenant was startled at seeing me, & asked "wher his master was; it was high time to appear & act." I answered the Lieutenant "it matter'd not where his master was, but to tell me what men hee had & to call them out;" & my men being enter'd the fort & all together, I told thos that were present the cause of my coming, that I intended to bee Master of the place, & that 'twas too late to dispute. I commanded them to bring me the Keys of the Fort & all their Arms, & to tell mee if they had any Powder in their chests, & how much, referring myself unto what they should say. They made no resistance, but brought me their Arms, & as for Powder, they said they had none. I took possession of the Fort in the name of the King of ffrance, & from thence was conducted by the Lieutenant to take possession of the shipp also in the same name, which I did without any resistance; & whilst I was doing all this, young Guillem's men seemed to rejoyce at it rather then to bee troubled, complaining of him for their Ill usage, & that hee had kill'd his Supercargo. But a Scotchman, one of the crew, to shew his zeale, made his Escape & run through the woods towards Mr. Bridgar's House to give him notice of what pas't. I sent 2 of my nimblest men to run after him, but they could not overtake him, being gon 4 hours before them. Hee arrived at Mr. Bridgar's house, who upon the relation of the Scotchman resolved to come surprise me. In the meane while I gave my Brother notice of all that past, & that I feared a Scotchman might occasion me some troble that had got away unto Mr. Bridgar, & that I feared I might bee too deeply ingadg'd unless hee presently gave me the assistance of 4 men, having more English prisoners to keep than I had french men with me. I was not deceiv'd in my conjecture. At midnight one of our Doggs alarm'd our sentinell, who told me hee heard a noise on board the shipp. I caus'd my People to handle their armes, & shut up the English in the cabins under the Gard of 2 of my men. I with 4 others went out to goe to the shipp. I found men armed on board, & required them to lay downe their arms & to yeeld. There was 4 that submitted & some others got away in the dark. My men would have fired, but I hinder'd them, for which they murmur'd against me. I led the prisoners away to the fort & examin'd them one after another. I found they were of Mr. Bridgar's people, & that hee was to have ben of the number, but hee stay'd half a League behind to see the success of the businesse. The last of the Prisoners I examin'd was the Scotch man that had made his escape when I took the fort; & knowing hee was the only cause that Mr. Bridgar ingadg'd in the businesse, I would revenge me in making him afraid. I caus'd him to bee ty'd to a stake & told that hee should bee hang'd next day. I caus'd the other prisoners, his comrades, to bee very kindly treated; & having no farther dessigne but to make the Scotch man afraide, I made one advise him to desire the Lewtenant of the fort to begg me to spare his life, which hee did, & easily obtain'd his request, although hee was something startled, not knowing what I meant to doe with him. The 4 men I desired of my Brother-in-Law arrived during these transactions, & by this supply finding myself strong enough to resist whatever Mr. Bridgar could doe against me, I wrote unto him & desired to know if hee did avow what his men had don, whom I detain'd Prisoners, who had Broke the 2 Dores & the deck of the shipp to take away the Powder. Hee made me a very dubious answer, complaining against me that I had not ben true unto him, having concealed this matter from him. Hee writ me also that having suffitient orders for taking all vessells that came into those parts to Trade, hee would have joyned with me in seizing of this; but seeing the purchas was fal'n into my hands, hee hoped hee should share with mee in it. I sent back his 3 men with some Tobacco & other provisions, but kept their arms, bidding them tell Mr. Bridgar on my behalf that had I known hee would have come himself on this Expedition, I would have taken my mesures to have receav'd him ere he could have had the time to get back; but I heard of it a litle too late, & that in some short time I would goe visit him to know what hee would bee at, & that seeing hee pretended to bee so ignorant in what quallity I liv'd in that country, I would goe and inform him. Before these men's departure to Mr. Bridgar's I was inform'd that some English men had hidden Powder without the fort. I examin'd them all. Not one would owne it; but at last I made them confess it, & 5 or 6 pound was found that had ben hid. Then I took care to secure the fort. I sent 4 of the English men of the fort unto my Brother-in-Law, & I prepar'd to goe discover what Mr. Bridgar was doing. I came to his House & went in before hee had notice of my coming. Hee appeared much surpris'd; but I spoke to him in such a manner as shewed that I had no intent to hurt him, & I told him that by his late acting hee had so disoblidged all the ffrench that I could not well tell how to assist him. I told him hee had much better gon a milder way to work, in the condition hee was in, and that seeing hee was not as good as his word to me, I knew very well how to deall with him; but I had no intention at that time to act any thing against Mr. Bridgar. I only did it to frighten him, that hee should live kindly by me; & in supplying him from time to time with what he wanted, my chief ayme was to disable him from Trading, & to reduce him to a necessity of going away in the Spring. Seeing Mr. Bridgar astonish'd at my being there with 12 men, & in a condition of ruining him if I had desire to it, I thought fit to setle his mynd by sending away 6 of my men unto my Brother-in-Law, & kept but 6 with me, 4 of which I sent out into the woods to kill some provisions for Mr. Bridgar. About this time I receaved a letter from my Brother wherin hee blam'd me for acting after this manner with persons that but 2 days agoe endeavor'd to surprise me; that if I did so, hee would forsake all; that I had better disarm them for our greater security, & that I should not charge myself with any of them. It was also the judgment of the other french men, who were all exasperated against Mr. Bridgar. Not to displease my owne people, instead of 4 English men that I promis'd Mr. Bridgar to take along with me that hee might the better preserve the rest, I took but 2, one of which I put in the Fort at the Island, & the other I brought unto our habitation. I promiss'd Mr. Bridgar before I left him to supply him with Powder & anything else that was in my power, & demanding what store of musquets hee had remaining, hee told me hee had Ten, & of them 8 were broken. I tooke the 8 that were spoyl'd, & left him myne that was well fixt, promising to get his mended. Hee also offer'd me a pocket Pistoll, saying hee knew well enough that I intended to disarm him. I told him it was not to disarm him, to take away his bad arms & to give him good in stead of them. I offerr'd him my Pistolls, but hee would not accept of them. In this state I left him, & went to our habitation to give my Brother-in-Law an account of what I had don. Some dayes after, I went to the Fort in the Island to see if all was well there, & having given all necessary directions I return'd unto our place, taking the Lieutenant of the Fort along with me, unto whom I gave my owne chamber & all manner of libberty; taking him to bee wiser than his captain, whom they were forc'd to confine in my absence. Hee thanked mee for my civillityes, & desiring hee might goe to his Captain, I consented. About this time I had advise, by one of the men that I left to guard the fort in the Island, that Mr. Bridgar, contrary to his promis, went thether with 2 of his men, & that our men having suffer'd them to enter into the fort, they retain'd Mr. Bridgar & sent the other 2 away, having given them some Bread & Brandy. This man also told me that Mr. Bridgar seemed very much trobl'd at his being stopt, & acted like a mad man. This made me presently goe to the fort to hinder any attempts might be made against me. Being arrived, I found Mr. Bridgar in a sad condition, having drank to excess. Him that comanded in the fort had much adoe to hinder him from killing the Englishman that desired to stay with us. Hee spoke a thousand things against me in my hearing, threatning to kill me if I did not doe him right. But having a long time born it, I was at length constraint to bid him bee quiet; & desirous to know his dessignes, I asked him if any of his People were to come, because I see smoake & fiers in crossing the River. Hee Said Yes, & that hee would shortly shew me what hee could doe, looking for 14 men which hee expected, besides the 2 my people return'd back. I told him I knew very well hee had not soe many men, having let many of his men perish for want of meate, for whom hee was to bee accountable; & morover I was not afraid of his threats. Nevertheless, no body appear'd, & next dayly I order'd matters so as Mr. Bridgar should come along with me unto our habitation, wherunto hee see it was in vaine to resist. I assured him that neither I nor any of my People shold goe to his House in his absence, & that when hee had recreated himself 10 or 15 Days with mee at our habitation, hee might return with all freedom againe unto his House. Mr. Bridgar was a fortnight at our House without being overtired, & it appeared by his looks that hee had not ben Ill treated; but I not having leasure allways to keep him company, my affairs calling me abroad, I left him with my Brother-in-Law whilst I went unto the Fort in the Island to see how matters went there; & at my going away I told Mr. Bridgar that if hee pleas'd hee might dispose himself for his departure home next morning, to rectify some disorders committed by his people in his absence, to get victualls, & I told him I would meet him by the way to goe along with him. Having dispatcht my business at the fort of the Island, I went away betimes to bee at Mr. Bridgar's house before him, to hinder him from abusing his men. The badness of the weather made me goe into the House before hee came. As Soon as I was enter'd, the men beseech'd me to have compassion on them. I blam'd them for what they had don, & for the future advised them to bee more obedient unto their master, telling them I would desire him to pardon them, & that in the Spring I would give passage unto those that would goe home by the way of ffrance. Mr. Bridgar arrived soon after me. I beg'd his pardon for going into his House before hee came, assuring him that I had still the dessigne of serving him & assisting him, as hee should find when hee pleas'd to make use of me, for Powder & anything else hee needed; which also I performed when it was desir'd of me, or that I knew Mr. Bridgar stood in need of any thing I had. I parted from Mr. Bridgar's habitation to return unto our own. I passed by the fort in the Island, & put another frenchman to comand in the place of him was there before, whom I intended to take with me to work uppon our shipps. The Spring now drawing on, the English of the fort of the Island murmur'd because of one of Mr. Bridgar's men that I had brought thether to live with them. I was forst to send him back to give them content, not daring to send him to our habitation, our french men opposing it, wee having too many allready. Arriving at our habitation, I was inform'd that the English captain very grossly abused one of his men that I kept with him. Hee was his carpenter. I was an eye witness myself of his outrageous usage of this poore man, though hee did not see me. I blamed the Captain for it, & sent the man to the fort of the Island, to look after the vessell to keep her in good condition. My nephew arrived about this time, with the french men that went with him to invite downe the Indians, & 2 days after there came severall that brought provisions. They admired to see the English that wee had in our House, & they offer'd us 200 Bevor skins to suffer them to goe kill the rest of them; but I declar'd unto them I was far from consenting therunto, & charged them on the contrary not to doe them any harm; & Mr. Bridgar coming at instant with one of his men unto our habitation, I advised him not to hazard himself any more without having some of my men with him, & desir'd him, whilst hee was at my House, not to speak to the Indians. Yet hee did, & I could not forbeare telling him my mynde, which made him goe away of a suddain. I attended him with 7 or 8 of my men, fearing least the Indians who went away but the Day before might doe him a mischief. I came back next day, being inform'd that a good company of Indians, our old Allies, were to come; & I found they were come with a dessigne to warr against the English, by the perswasion of some Indians that I see about 8ber last, & with whom I had renew'd an alliance. I thanked the Indians for their good will in being ready to make warr against our Ennemys; but I also told them that I had no intent to doe them any harm, & that having hindred them from hurting me I was sattisfy'd, & that therefore they would oblidge me to say nothing of it, having promis'd me they would bee gon in the Spring, but if they came againe I would suffer them to destroy them. The Indians made great complaints unto me of the English in the bottom of the Bay, which I will heere omitt, desiring to speak only of what concerns myself; but I ought not omit this. Amongst other things, they alleadg'd to have my consent that they might warr against the English. They said thus: "Thou hast made us make presents to make thine Ennemys become ours, & ours to bee thyne. Wee will not bee found lyers." By this may bee seen what dependance is to bee laid on the friendship of this people when once they have promis'd. I told them also that I lov'd them as my own Brethren the French, & that I would deal better by them than the English of the Bay did, & that if any of my men did them the least injury I would kill him with my own hands; adding withall that I was very sorry I was not better stor'd with Goods, to give them greater tokens of my friendship; that I came this voyage unprovided, not knowing if I should meet them, but I promis'd to come another time better stor'd of all things they wanted, & in a condition to help them to destroy their Ennemys & to send them away very well sattisfy'd. The English admir'd to see with what freedom I lived with these salvages. This pas't in the beginning of Aprill, 1683. Being faire wether, I caused my nephew to prepare himself, with 3 men, to carry Provisions & Brandy unto our french men & to the English men at the fort of the Island. The Ice began to bee dangerous, & I see that it was not safe hazarding to goe over it after this time; therefore I said to my nephew that hee would doe well to proceed farther unto the Indians, unto whom hee promis'd to give an account how wee did, & to inform them also that wee had conquer'd our Ennemys. After my nephew's departure on this voyadge, there hapned an unlookt-for accident the 22 or 23rd of Aprill, at night. Having haled our vessells as far as wee could into a litle slip in a wood, wee thought them very secure, lying under a litle Hill about 10 fathom high, our Houses being about the same distance off from the River side; yet about 10 o'clock at night a hideous great noise rous'd us all out of our sleep, & our sentinill came & told us it was the clattering of much Ice, & that the floods came downe with much violence. Wee hasted unto the river side & see what the sentinell told us, & great flakes of Ice were born by the waters upon the topp of our litle Hill; but the worst was that the Ice having stop't the river's mouth, they gather'd in heaps & were carry'd back with great violence & enter'd with such force into all our Brooks that discharg'd into the River that 'twas impossible our vessells could resist, & they were stay'd all to peeces. There remained only the bottom, which stuck fast in the Ice or in the mudd, & had it held 2 hours longer wee must have ben forst to climbe the trees to save our lives; but by good fortune the flood abated. The river was cleer'd by the going away of the Ice, & 3 days after, wee see the disorder our vessells were in, & the good luck wee had in making so great a voyadge in such bad vessells, for myne was quite Rotten & my Brother's was not trunnel'd. This accident put us into a great feare the like mischief might bee hapned unto the New England shipp; the Indians telling us that the River was more dangerous than ours, & that they beleev'd the vessell could not escape in the place wher shee lay. But mr Bridgar having heertofore related unto me alike accident hapned in the River Kechechewan in the Bottom of the Bay, that a vessell was preserv'd by cutting the Ice round about her, I took the same cours, & order'd the Ice should bee cut round this vessell quite to the keele, & I have reason to thank mr Bridgar for this advice; it sav'd the vessell. Shee was only driven ashore by the violence of the Ice, & there lay without much dammadge. Whilst the waters decreas'd wee consulted upon which of the 2 bottoms wee should build us a shipp, & it was at last resolv'd it shold bee on myne. Upon which wee wrought day & night without intermission, intending this vessell should carry the English into the Bay, as I had promis'd mr Bridgar. I went down 2 or 3 times to the River's mouth to see what the floods & Ice had don there, & if I could pass the point into the other River, wher mr Bridgar & the English vessell was at the fort of the Island, for was impossible to pass through the woods, all being cover'd with water. I adventur'd to pass, & I doubled the point in a canoo of bark, though the Ice was so thick that wee drew our canoo over it. Being enter'd the River, I march'd along the South Shore & got safe to the fort of the Island with great difficulty. I found the shipp lying dry, as I mention'd before, in a bad condition, but easily remedy'd, the stern being only a litle broke. I gave directions to have her fitted, & I incouradged the English to work, which they did perform better than the french. Having given these directions, I took the shipp's Boat & went down to Mr. Bridgar's habitation, & looking in what condition it was, I found that 4 of his men were dead for lack of food, & two that had ben poyson'd a litle before by drinking some liquer they found in the Doctor's chest, not knowing what it was. Another of Mr. Bridgar's men had his Arm broke by an accident abroad a hunting. Seeing all these disorders, I passed as soon as I could to the South side of the river to recover unto our Houses, from whence I promis'd Mr. Bridgar I would send his English Curiorgion that was with us some Brandy, vinegar, Lynnen, & what provisions I could spare out of the small store wee had left. Being got a shore, I sent back the Boat to the fort of the Isle, with orders unto my 2 men I left there to bring my canoo & to use it for fowling. In returning I went a shore with one of Mr. Bridgar's men that I took along with me to carry back the provisions I had promis'd, although hee did not seeme to be very thankfull for it, continueing his threatnings, & boasted that hee expected shipps would come unto him with which hee would take us all. I was nothing daunted at this, but kept on my cours, knowing very well Mr. Bridgar was not in a capacity of doing us any harm; but it being impossible but that his being present on the place should hinder me, I order'd my business so as to bee gon with what skins I had, & sent away Mr. Bridgar after having secured our Trade. I made severall journeys to the Fort of the Island about repairing of the shipp; also I went severall times to Mr. Bridgar's house to carry him provisions, & to assist him & also his men with all things that I could procure, which they can testify; & had it not ben for me they had suffred much more misery. I had like to bee lost severall times in these journeys by reason of great stores of Ice; & the passage of the entrance of the River to Double the point to enter into that where Mr. Bridgar & the new England shipp lay was allways dangerous. I will not here insist upon the perrills I expos'd my self unto in coming & going to prepare things for our departure when the season would permitt; but I cannot omit telling that amongst other kindnesses I did Mr. Bridgar I gave him stuff suffitient to sheath his shallup, which was quite out of order, as also cordage & all things else necessary; but hee did not well by me, for contrary to his word which he had given me not to goe to the fort in the Island, hee attempted to goe thether with his people in his shallup, & being come within musket-shott under a pretence of desiring some Powder, the comander would not suffer him to come any neerer, & made him cast anker farther off. Hee sent his boats for Mr. Bridgar, who came alone into the fort, though hee earnestly desired one of his men might bee admitted along with him, but was deny'd. His men were order'd to lodge themselves ashore the North side of the River in hutts, & provisions was sent unto them. Mr. Bridgar spent that night in the Fort, went away the next day. The day before I see the shallup going full salle towards the fort, whether I was also going myself by land with one Englishman in whom I put a great deale of confidence, having no body else with me. I did suspect that Mr. Bridgar had a dessign to make some surprise, but I was not much afraid by reason of the care & good order I had taken to prevent him. Nevertheless I feared that things went not well; for when I came neer the fort, seeing the boate coming for me, & that the comander did not make the signall that was agreed upon betwixt us, this startled me very much, & I appeared as a man that had cause to feare the worst; which one of our frenchmen that steered the boat wherin ther was 4 Englishmen perceiving, cry'd out all was well, & made the signall. I blamed him & the comander for putting me in feare in not making the usuall signes. When I came to the fort I was told Mr. Bridgar was there, & that hee was receayed, as has been recited. I was also tould hee had privat discours with the carpenter of the new England shipp that I had formerly ingadged in a friendly manner to attend & serve him. This discours made the comander the more narrowly to inspect Mr. Bridgar. & to stand better upon his gard, the Scotch man telling him hee was not come thither with any good intention; so that the comander of the Fort sent him away in the morning, having given him some Pork, Pease, & Powder. Having given Orders at the fort, I went to Mr. Bridgar. Being come to his House, I taxed him of breach of promise, & I tould him ther should bee no quarter if hee offered to doe soe any more, & that therefore hee should prepare himself to goe for the Bay (as soone as ever the Ice did permitt) in the vessell that wee had left, it being so agreed on by our french men, assuring him I would furnish him with all things necessary for the voyadge. Hee appear'd much amaz'd at the compliment I made him, & hee told me in plaine terms that it must bee one of thes 3 things that must make him quit the place,--his master's orders, force, or hunger. Hee desired me afterwards that if the captain of the salvages of the river of new Severn came, that hee might see him by my means, which I promis'd to doe. Having thus disposed Mr. Bridgar for his departure, I continued to assist him & his people with all that I could to enable them to work to sit ourselves to bee gon. I left Mr. Bridgar in his house & I went unto ours, & having consulted my Brother-in-Law, wee resolved that 'twas best to burn the fort in the Island & secure Mr. Bridgar, thereby to draw back our men & to ease us of the care of defending the fort & of the trouble of so many other precautions of securing ourselves from being surprized by Mr. Bridgar. The crew of both our vessells made an agreement amongst themselves to oppose our dessigne of giving our shipp unto the English for their transportation. It was necessary at the first to seeme to yeeld, knowing that in time wee should master the factions. It was the master of my Bark that began the mutiny. The chief reason that made me seem to yeeld was that I would not have the English come to know of our Divisions, who happly might have taken some advantage of it. Wee had 4 amongst us unto whom I granted libberty upon their parole; but to make sure of those of new England, wee caus'd a Lodge to bee built in a litle Island over against our House where they were at a distance off us. Wee sent from time to time to visit them to see what they did. Wee gave them a fowling-peece to divert them, but one day abusing my nephew, wee took away the Gun from them. Going afterwards unto the fort of the Island, I sent a boate unto Mr. Bridgar, advising him the captain hee desired to see was come, & that hee might come with one of his men; which hee did, & as soon as hee was come I told him that to assure our Trade I was obliged to secure him & would commit him into the custody of my nephew, unto whom I would give orders to treat him kindly & with all manner of respect, telling him withall that when I had put all things on board the vessell that was in the fort, I would go & set it on Fier. I told him hee might send his man with me to his House with what Orders hee thought fit. I went thither the same day. I told Mr. Bridgar's people that not being able to supply them any longer but with Powder only, & being redy for my departure to Cannada, it was necessary that those that intended to stay should speak their minds, & that those that desired to go should have their passage. I demanded their names, which they all told me except 2. I ordered them to have a great care of all things in the House. I left one frenchman to observe them & to goe fowling, Mr. Bridgar's men not being us'd to it. These Orders being given, I left Mr. Bridgar's house & cross'd over to the South side, where I met 2 of our french men a hunting. I sent them with what fowle they had kill'd to the fort of the Island, where they might bee servisable unto the rest in carrying down the shipp & in bringing her to an anker right against Mr. Bridgar's house, to take on board his goods, which was accordingly don. I came by land unto the other river, & met at the entrance of it severall Indians that waited impatiently for me, how wee might adjust & setle our Trade. They would have had my Brother-in-Law to have rated the Goods at the same prizes as the English did in the bottom of the Bay, & they expected also I would bee more kind unto them. But this would have ruined our trade; therefore I resolved to stand firm in this occasion, becaus what wee now concluded upon with these Salvages touching comers would have ben a Rule for the future. The Indians being assembled presently after my arrivall, & having laid out their presents before me, being Beavors' tailes, caribou tongues dry'd, Greas of Bears, Deere, & of Elks, one of the Indians spake to my Brother-in-Law & mee in this wife: "You men that pretend to give us our Lifes, will not you let us live? You know what Beavor is worth, & the paines wee take to get it. You stile your selves our brethren, & yet you will not give us what those that are not our brethren will give. Accept our presents, or wee will come see you no more, but will goe unto others." I was a good while silent without answering the compliment of this Salvage, which made one of his companions urge me to give my answer; and it being that wheron our wellfare depended, & that wee must appeare resolute in this occasion, I said to the Indian that pressed me to answer, "To whom will thou have me answer? I heard a dogg bark; let a man speak & hee shall see I know to defend myself; that wee Love our Brothers & deserve to bee loved by them, being come hither a purpose to save your lives." Having said these words, I rose & drew my dagger. I took the chief of thes Indians by the haire, who had adopted me for his sonn, & I demanded of him who hee was. Hee answered, "Thy father." "Well," said I, "if thou art my father & dost love me, & if thou art the chief, speak for me. Thou art master of my Goods; this Dogg that spoke but now, what doth hee heare? Let him begon to his brethren, the English in the Bay; but I mistake, hee need not goe so farr, hee may see them in the Island," intimating unto them that I had overcom the English. "I know very well," said I, continueing my discours to my Indian father, "what woods are, & what 'tis to leave one's wife & run the danger of dying with hunger or to bee kill'd by one's Ennemys. You avoide all these dangers in coming unto us. So that I see plainly 'tis better for you to trade with us than with the others; yet I will have pitty on this wretch, & will spare his life, though hee has a desire to goe unto our Ennemys." I caused a sword-blade to bee brought me, & I said unto him that spake, "Heere, take this, & begon to your brethren, the English; tell them my name, & that I will goe take them." There was a necessity I should speak after this rate in this juncture, or else our trade had ben ruin'd for ever. Submit once unto the Salvages, & they are never to bee recalled. Having said what I had a mind to say unto the Indian, I went to withdraw with my Brother-in-Law; but wee were both stop't by the chief of the Indians, who incouraged us, saying, Wee are men; wee force nobody; every one was free, & that hee & his Nation would hold true unto us; that hee would goe perswade the Nations to come unto us, as hee had alredy don, by the presents wee had sent them by him; desiring wee would accept of his, & that wee would trade at our own discretion. Therupon the Indian that spake, unto whom I had presented the sword, being highly displeas'd, said hee would kill the Assempoits if they came downe unto us. I answer'd him I would march into his country & eate Sagamite in the head of the head of his grandmother, which is a great threat amongst the Salvages, & the greatest distast can bee given them. At the same instant I caus'd the presents to be taken up & distributed, 3 fathom of black tobacco, among the Salvages that were content to bee our friends; saying, by way of disgrace to him that appear'd opposit to us, that hee should goe smoak in the country of the tame woolfe women's tobacco. I invited the others to a feast; after which the salvages traded with us for their Beavors, & wee dismissed them all very well sattisfy'd. Having ended my business with the Indians, I imbark'd without delay to goe back, & I found the new England shipp at anchor over against Mr. Bridgar's House, as I had order'd. I went into the House & caus'd an Inventory to be taken of all that was there. Then I went to the fort of the Island, having sent order to my nephew to burn it. I found him there with Mr. Bridgar, who would himself bee the first in setting the Fort a fire, of which I was glad. There being no more to doe there, I went down to the shipp, & found they had put everything abord. I gave Order to my Nephew at my coming away that the next day hee should bring Mr. Bridgar along with him unto our House, where being arriv'd, my Brother-in-Law, not knowing him as well as I did, made him bee sent into the Island with the Captain of the new England shipp & his folks; of which Mr. Bridgar complain'd unto me next day, desiring that I would release him from thence, saying hee could not endure to bee with those people; which I promis'd to doe, & in a few days after brought him unto a place I caus'd to bee fitted on a point on the North side of our River, where hee found his own men in a very good Condition. I not being yet able to overcome our Men's obstinacy in not yeelding that I should give our vessell unto the English, Mr. Bridgar propos'd that hee would build a Deck upon the Shallup if I would but furnish him with materialls necessary for it; saying that if the shallup were but well decked & fitted, he would willingly venture to goe in her unto the Bay, rather then to accept of his passage for france in one of our vessells. I offerr'd him all that hee desir'd to that purpos, & stay'd with him till the shipp that I caus'd to bee fitted was arriv'd. When shee was come, I see a smoak on the other side of the River. I crossed over, & found that it was my Indian father. I told him how glad I was to see him, & invited him to goe aboard, saying that going at my request, my nephew would use him civilly; that they would fier a Great Gun at his arrivall, would give him something to eate, would make him a present of Bisketts, & of 2 fathom of Tobacco. Hee said I was a foole to think my people would doe all this without order. I wrote with a coale on the rind of a Tree, & gave it to him to carry aboard. Hee, seeing that All I said unto him was punctually perform'd, was much surpris'd, saying wee were Divells; so they call thos that doe any thing that is strange unto them. I return'd back to our houses, having don with Mr. Bridgar. I had sounded the Captain of the Shipp that was in the Island right against our house, to know of him that, being an English man, whether hee would give a writing under his hand to consent that Mr. Bridgar should bee put in posession of his shipp, or if hee had rather I should carry her to Quebeck; but hee & his men intreated mee very earnestly not to deliver them unto Mr. Bridgar, beleeving they should receave better usage of the french than of the English. I told my Brother-in-Law what the Captain said, & that hee refer'd himself wholy unto our discretion. Whilst wee were busy in fitting things for our departure, I found myself necessitated to compose a great feude that hapined betwixt my Indian father's familly & another great familly of the country. I had notice of it by a child, some of my Indian father's, who playing with his comrades, who quarrelling with him, one told him that hee should bee kill'd, & all his Familly, in revenge of one of the familly of the Martins, that his father had kill'd; for the famillys of the Indians are distinguis'd by the names of Sundry Beasts; & death being very affrighting unto thos people, this child came to my House weeping bitterly, & after much adoe I had to make him speak, hee told me how his comrade had threatned him. I thought at first of somthing else, & that the salvages had quarrel'd amongst themselves. Desiring, therefore, to concern my self in keeping peace amongst them, I presently sent for this chief of the Indians, my adopted father, who being come according to my order, I told him the cause of my feare, & what his child had told me. I had no sooner don speaking, but hee leaning against a pillar and covering his face with his hands, hee cryed more than his child had don before; & having asked what was the matter, after having a litle dry'd up his teares, hee told me that an Indian of another familly, intending to have surpris'd his wife, whom hee loved very tenderly, hee kill'd him, & the salvages that sided to revenge the other's cause having chased him, hee was forc'd to fly, & that was it that made him meet mee about 8ber last; that hee continued the feare of his Ennemys' displeasure, that they would come kill him. I tould him hee should not fear any thing, the frenchmen being his fathers & I his sonn; that our king that had sent mee thither cover'd him with his hand, expecting they should all live in Peace; that I was there to setle him, & that I would doe it or dye; that I would require all the Indians to come in that day [that they] might know me & that hee should know my intentions. Having thus spoke unto him, I caus'd a fowling-peece & 2 ketles, 3 coats, 4 sword-blades, 4 tranches, 6 graters, 6 dozen of knives, 10 axes, 10 fathom of tobacco, 2 coverlets for women, 3 capps, some Powder & shott, & said unto the salvage my adopted father, in presence of his allies that were ther present, "Heere is that will cure the wound & dry away tears, which will make men live. I will have my brethren love one another; let 2 of you presently goe and invite the familly of the Martins to the feast of amity, and make them accept my presents. If they refute it & seek for blood, it is just I should sacrifice my life for my father, whom I love as I doe all the rest of the Indians our allies, more than I doe my owne selfe, So that I am redy to lay down my head to bee cutt off in case my presents did not serv turn, but I would stirr up all the frenchmen my brethren to carry Gunns to assist me to make warr against that familly." The salvages went to goe unto the familly that was ennemy unto my adopted father to make them offer of my presents, & in my name to invite them unto the feast of unity. I stay'd so litle a while in the country afterwards that I could not quite determine this differrence. In due time I will relate what upon Inquiry I farther heard of it in my last voyadge. This businesse being upon a matter ended, I was inform'd that Mr. Bridgar, contrary to his promise of not speaking with the Indians, yet enter'd into discours with them & said that wee were Ill people, & told them hee would come & kill us; that hee would traffick with them more to their advantage then wee did; that hee would give them 6 axes for a Bever Skin & a fowling-peece for 5 skins. I taxed Mr. Bridgar with it; also I ratted the salvages, who promis'd they would go neere him no more, & that I should feare nothing. Being desirous to make all things redy for my departure, I againe crossed over the dangerous river to goe burn Mr. Bridgar's House, there being nothing left remaining in it, having caused evry thing to bee put on board the New England shipp & taken a full Inventary of it before. I had along with me 3 English men & one frenchman, relying more on the English, who loved me because I used them kindly, than I did on the ffrenchmen. What I did at this time doth shew the great confidence I put in the English; for had I in the least distrusted them, I would not have ventur'd to have gon 11 Leagues from my habitation with 3 English & but one of my owne french men to have fired Mr. Bridgar's House. Wee were very like to bee lost in returning home. I never was in so great danger in all my life. Wee were surpris'd with a suddain storm of wind neere the flats, & there was such a great mist that wee knew not where wee were. Being return'd unto our Habitation, I found our Men had brought the shipp to anker neere our House, & seeing the weather beginning to come favorable, I gave my Nephew Instructions to carry on the Trade in my absence untill our Return. I left 7 men with him & the absolute comand & disposall of all things; which being don I caused our ffurrs to bee put on board & the shipp to fall down to the mouth of the river to set saile the first faire wind. It was where I left Mr. Bridgar. His shallup being well provided & furnish'd with all things, hee was ready to saile; but having made some tripps from one river unto the other, the sight of such vast quantitys of Ice as was in those seas made him afraide to venture himselfe in so small a vessell to saile unto the Bay. So that wee fitting things to bee gon the 20 July, having sent for Mr. Bridgar to come receave his Provisions, hee told me hee thought it too rash an action for him to venture himself so great a voyadge in so small a vessell, & desired I would give him passage in our shipp, supposing all along that I would compell him to imbark for ffrance. I told him hee should bee very welcom, & that I intended not to force him to anything but only to quitt the place. It was concluded that hee should imbark with my Brother-in-Law in the small vessell. Hee said hee had rather goe in the other shipp; but it was but just that the Captain should continue on board, & wee could not with great reason take Mr. Bridgar on board, having allredy more English to keep then wee were french. The 27th of July wee weighed Ankor & passed the flatts; but next day, having as yet sailed but 8 or 9 Leagues, wee were forced to enter into the Ice & used all our Endevor not to bee farr from each other. The Bark, tacking to come, cast her Grapers on the same Ice as wee fastned unto. Shee split to peeces, so that wee were forced to fend presently to their help & to take out all the goods was on board her, & to lay them on the Ice, to careen, which wee did with much difficulty. Wee continued in this danger till the 24 of August. Wee visitted one another with all freedom; yet wee stood on our gard, for the Englishman that wee found the beginning of the winter in the snow, remembring how kindly hee was used by me, gave mee notice of a dessigne the Englishmen had that were in the Bark, of cutting all the Frenchmen's throats, & that they only waited a fit opportunity to doe it. This hint made us watch them the more narrowly. At night time wee secured them under lock & key, & in the day time they enjoy'd their full liberty. When wee were got to the southward in the 56 Degree, Mr. Bridgar desired me to let him have the Bark to goe to the Bay along with his men. I tould him I would speak to my Brother-in-Law about it, who was not much against it. Ther was only the master & some other obstinat fellows that opposed; but at length I got all to consent, and having taken the things out, wee delivered the Bark unto Mr. Bridgar, taking his receipt. It was in good will that I mannadg'd all this for him, and I thought hee would have gon in the Bark, for hee knows that I offerrd it unto him; but having made the Englishman that belong'd unto him, and since chosen to stay with us, and in whom wee put much confidence, to desire leave of me to goe along with Mr. Bridgar, wee presently supposed, and wee were not deceived, that 'twas by his perswasion this seaman desired to bee gon, & wee had some apprehension that Mr. Bridgar might have some dessigne to trepan us by returning unto port Nelson before us to surprise our people, wherunto the English seaman that understood our business might have ben very servicable unto him. Having therefore conferr'd amongst ourselves upon this Demand, wee resolv'd to keep Mr. Bridgar and to take him along with us unto Quebeck. Wee caus'd him to come out of the Bark and told him our resolution; wherat hee flew into great passion, espetially against me, who was not much concerned at it. Wee caus'd him to come into our vessell, and wee tould his people that they may proceed on their voyage without him, and hee should come along with us; after which wee took in our graple Irons from off the Ice, seeing the sea open to the westward and the way free'd to saile. Wee were distant about 120 leagues from the bottom of the Bay when wee parted from the Bark, who might easily have got ther in 8 days, and they had Provisions on board for above a month, vizt, a Barrill of Oatmealle, 42 double peeces of Beeff, 8 or 10 salt gees, 2 peeces of Pork, a powder Barrell full of Bisket, 8 or 10 pounds of powder, & 50 pounds of short. I gave over & above, unknown to my Brother-in-Law, 2 horns full of Powder & a Bottle of Brandy, besides a Barrill they drank the evening before wee parted. I made one of the new England seamen to goe on board the Bark to strengthen the crew, many of them being sickly. Being got out of the Ice, having a favorable wind, wee soon got into the straights, where through the negligence or the ignorance of one of our French pilots and seamen, the English being confin'd in the night, a storm of wind & snow drove us into a Bay from whence wee could not get out. Wee were driven a shoare without any hopes of getting off; but when wee expected evry moment to be lost, God was pleased to deliver us out of this Danger, finding amongst the Rocks wherin wee were ingadg'd the finest Harbour that could bee; 50 shipps could have layn there & ben preserv'd without Anchor or cable in the highest storms. Wee lay there 2 days, & having refitted our shipp wee set saile & had the wether pretty favorable untill wee arriv'd at Quebeck, which was the end of 8ber. As soon as ever wee arriv'd wee went unto Monr La Barre, Governor of Cannada, to give him an Account of what wee had don. Hee thought fit wee should restore the shipp unto the new England Merchants, in warning them they should goe no more unto the place from whence shee came. [Footnote: This restoration did not meet with the approval of Monsr. de Seignelay, for he wrote to Govr. De la Barre, 10th April, 1684: "It is impossible to imagine what you meant, when of your own authority, without calling on the Intendant, and without carrying the affair before the Sovereign council, you caused to be given up to one Guillin, a vessel captured by the men named Radisson and des Grozelliers, and in truth you ought to prevent the appearance before his Majesty's eyes of this kind of proceeding, in which there is not a shadow of reason, and whereby you have furnished the English with matter of which they will take advantage; for by your ordinance you have caused a vessel to be restored that according to law ought to be considered a Pirate, having no commission, and the English will not fail to say that you had so fully acknowledged the vessel to have been provided with requisite papers, that you had it surrendered to the owners; and will thence pretend to establish their legitimate possession of Nelson's river, before the said Radisson and des Grozeliers had been there." _New York Colonial MSS._, Vol. IX. p. 221.] Mr. Bridgar imbark'd himself on her with young Guillem for New England against my mynde, for I advis'd him as a friend to imbark himself on the ffrench shipps, which were ready to saile for Rocheil. I foretold him what came to pass, that hee would lye a long while in New England for passage. Wee parted good ffriends, & hee can beare me witnesse that I intimated unto him at that time my affection for the English Intrest, & that I was still of the same mynde of serving the King & the nation as fully & affectionately as I had now serv'd the ffrench. Eight or tenn days after my arrivall, Monsr. La Barre sent for me, to shew me a letter hee had receaved from Monsr. Colbert by a man-of-warr that had brought over some soldiers, by which hee writ him that those which parted last yeare to make discoverys in the Northern parts of America being either returned or would soon return, hee desired one of them to give the court an account of what they had don, & of what setlements might bee made in those parts; & the Governour told me that I must forthwith prepare myself to goe sattisfy Monsr. Colbert in the business. I willingly accepted the motion, & left my business in the hands of Monsr. De La Chenay, although I had not any very good opinion of him, having dealt very ill by me; but thinking I could not bee a looser by satisfying the prime Minister of state, although I neglected my owne privat affaires, I took leave of Monsr. La Barre, & imbark'd for france with my Brother-in-Law, the 11 9ber, 1683, in the frigat that brought the soldiers, and arrived at Rochell the 18 of Xber, where I heard of the death of Monsr. Colbert; yet I continued my jorney to Paris, to give the Court an account of my proceedings. I arriv'd at Paris with my Brother-in-Law the 15th January, wher I understood ther was great complaints made against me in the King's Councill by my Lord Preston, his Majesty's Envoy Extrordinary, concerning what had past in the River and Port Nelson, and that I was accus'd of having cruelly abused the English, Robbed, stoln, and burnt their habitation; for all which my Lord Preston demanded satisfaction, and that exemplary punishment might bee inflicted on the offenders, to content his majesty. This advice did not discourage me from presenting myself before the Marquiss De Signalay, & to inform him of all that had past betwixt the English and me during my voyadge. Hee found nothing amiss in all my proceedings, wherof I made him a true relation; and so farr was it from being blamed in the Court of france, that I may say, without flattering my self, it was well approved, & was comended. [Footnote: Louis XIV. to De la Barre, to April, 1684: "The King of England has authorized his ambassador to speak to me respecting what occurred in the river Nelson between the English and Radisson and des Grozelliers, whereupon I am happy to inform you that, as I am unwilling to afford the King of England any cause of complaint, & as I think it important, nevertheless, to prevent the English establishing themselves on that river, it would be well for you to have a proposal made to the commandant at Hudson's Bay that neither the French nor the English should have power to make any new establishments; to which I am persuaded he will give his consent the more readily, as he is not in a position to prevent those which my subjects wish to form in said Nelson's river."] I doe not say that I deserv'd it, only that I endeavor'd, in all my proceedings, to discharge the part of an honnest man, and that I think I did no other. I referr it to bee judged by what is contain'd in this narrative, which I protest is faithfull & sincere; and if I have deserved the accusations made against me in the Court of ffrance, I think it needlesse to say aught else in my justification; which is fully to bee seen in the Relation of the voyadge I made by his Majesty's order last year, 1684, for the Royal Company of Hudson's Bay; the successe and profitable returns whereof has destroyed, unto the shame of my Ennemys, all the evell impressions they would have given of my actions. VOYAGES OF PETER ESPRIT RADISSON. _Relation of the Voyage of Peter Esprit Radisson, Anno_ 1684. _(Translated from the French.)_ * * * * * I have treated at length the narrative of my voyage in the years 1682 and 1683, in Hudson's Bay, to the North of Canada. Up to my arrival in the city of Paris, all things were prepared for the fitting out of the ships with which I should make my return to the North of Canada, pending the negotiations at Court for the return to me of every fourth beaver skin that the very Christian King took for the customs duty, which had been promissed to me in consideration of my discoveries, voyages, and Services; by which I hoped to profit over & above my share during the first years of that establishment. It was also at the same time that my Lord Viscount Preston, Minister Extraordinary from the King at the Court of France, continued to pursue me concerning the things of which I was accused by the account against me of the gentlemen of the Royal Hudson's Bay Company; my enemies having taken due care to publish the enormous crimes of which I was charged, & my friends taking the pains to support me under it, & to give me advice of all that passed. Although at last no longer able to suffer any one to tax my conduct, I considered myself obliged to undeceive each one. I resolved at length within myself to speak, to the effect of making it appear as if my dissatisfaction had passed away. For that effect I made choice of persons who did me the honor of loving me, and this was done in the conversations that I had with them upon the subject. That my heart, little given to dissimulation, had avowed to them, on different occasions, the sorrow that I had felt at being obliged to abandon the service of England because of the bad treatment that I had received from them, & that I should not be sorry of returning to it, being more in a condition than I had been for it, of rendering service to the king and the nation, if they were disposed to render me justice and to remember my services. I spoke also several times to the English Government. I had left my nephew, son of Sieur des Groseilliers, my brother-in-law, with other Frenchmen, near Port Nelson, who were there the sole masters of the beaver trade, which ought to be considerable at that port, and that it depended upon me to make it profitable for the English. All these things having been reported by one of my particular friends to the persons who are in the interest of the Government, they judged correctly that a man who spoke freely in that manner, & who made no difficulty in letting his sentiments be known, & who shewed by them that it was possible to be easily led back, by rendering justice to him, to a party that he had only abandoned through dissatisfaction, I was requested to have some conferences with these same persons. I took in this matter the first step without repugnance, & upon the report that was made to my Lord Preston of things that we had treated upon in the interviews, & of that of which I claimed to be capable of doing, I was exhorted from his side of re-entering into my first engagements with the English; assuring me that if I could execute that which I had proposed, I should receive from His majesty in England, & from His Royal Highness of the Hudson's Bay Company, & from the Government, all kinds of good treatment & an entire satisfaction; that, moreover, I need not make myself uneasy of that which regarded my interests, this minister being willing himself to be charged with the care of me, to preserve them, & of procuring me other advantages after that I should be put in a position of rendering service to the King his master. They represented to me again that His Royal Highness honoring the Hudson's Bay Company with his protection, it would pass even on to me if I would employ upon it my credit, my attentions, & the experience that I had in the country of the North, for the utility & the benefit of the affairs of that Company, in which His Royal Highness took great interest. At the same time I received some letters at Paris from the Sieur Ecuyer Young, one of those interested in the Hudson's Bay Company, in which he solicited me on his part, & in the name of the Company, to return into England, giving me some assurances of a good reception, & that I should have reason to be satisfied on my part in regard to my particular interests, as well as for some advantages that they would make me. These letters, joined to those in which my Lord Preston continued his urgencies against me to the very Christian King, decided me to determine, by the counsel of one of my friends, to yield myself at last to all their solicitations of passing over to England for good, & of engaging myself so strongly to the service of His Majesty, & to the interests of the Nation, that any other consideration was never able to detach me from it. There was only my Lord Preston, some of his household, & the friend who had counselled me to come into England, who knew of my design. I took care to save appearances from suspicion by the danger in which I exposed myself, & up to the evening of my departure I had some conferences with the ministers of the Court of France, & the persons who there have the departments of the marine & commerce, upon some propositions of armament, & the Equipment of the Ships destined for my 2nd voyage. They wished to bind me to make them upon the same footing as the proceeding, which has made since then the talk of the two nations. The day of my departure was fixed for the 24th of April, 1684; but at last, that those with whom I was obliged to confer daily by order of the Ministers of France never doubted in the least of my discontinuing to see them, I told them that I was obliged to make a little journey into the country for some family business, & I could be useful to them during that time by going to London, where I arrived the 10th of May. At the moment of my arrival I had the honor of going to see the gentlemen, Ecuyer Young and the Chevalier Hayes, both of whom were interested in the Hudson's Bay Company, who gave me a good reception in showing me the joy that they felt at my return, & in giving me such assurances that I should receive on their part & on that of their company all manner of satisfaction. I then explained fully to them the nature of the service that I expected to render to His Majesty, to the Company, & to the Nation, in establishing the Beaver trade in Canada & making those to profit by it who were interested, to the extent of 15 or 20,000 Beaver skins that I hoped to find already in the hands of the French that I had left there, that would cost to them only the Interest that I had in the thing, & the just satisfaction that was owing to the French who had made the trade for them. These gentlemen having received in an agreeable manner my proposition, & wishing to give me some marks of their satisfaction, did me the honour of presenting me to His Majesty & to His Royal Highness, to whom I made my submission, the offer of my very humble services, a sincere protestation that I would do my duty, that even to the peril of my life I would employ all my care & attention for the advantage of the affairs of the Company, & that I would seek all occasions of giving proof of my zeal & inviolable fidelity for the service of the King, of all which His Majesty & His Royal Highness appeared satisfied, & did me the favour of honouring me with some evidences of their satisfaction upon my return, & of giving me some marks of their protection. After that I had several conferences in the assembled body, & in particular with the gentlemen interested in the Hudson's Bay Company, in which I made them acquainted in what manner it was necessary for them to proceed there for establishing to the best advantage the Beaver trade in the Northern country, the means of properly sustaining it, & of ruining in a short time the trade with foreigners, & to that end I would commence by becoming master of both the fort & the settlement of the French, as well as of all the furs that they had traded for since my departure, on the condition that my influence would serve to convert them, & that my nephew whom I had left commandant in that fort & the other French would be paid what would be to them their legitimate due. These gentlemen, satisfied with what I had said to them, believed with justice that they would be able to have entire confidence in me. As for that, having resolved to entrust me with their orders for going with their shipps, equipped & furnished with everything to found that establishment in putting into execution my projects, they gave the power of settling in my own mind & conscience the claims of my nephew & the other French, assuring me that they would be satisfied with the account that I would present to them. I accepted that commission with the greatest pleasure in the world, and I hurried with so much diligence the necessary things for my departure, that in less than eight days I was in a condition to embark myself. This was done even without any precaution on my part for my own interests, for I did not wish to make any composition with these gentlemen. I said to them that since they had confidence in me, I wished also on my part to make use of it generously with them and remit everything to the success of my voyage, and on my return, in the hope that I had that they would satisfy my honesty of purpose, and that after having given to them some marks of my sincerity in executing the things to perform which I had engaged myself for their service, they would render me all the justice that I had cause for hoping from gentlemen of honour and probity. The ships destined for Hudson's Bay and the execution of my design were ready to make sail, & myself being all prepared for embarking, I took leave of the gentlemen of the Company in giving them fresh assurances of the good success of my voyage if God did me the favour of preserving me from the dangers to which I went to expose myself; of which they appeared so well satisfied that the Chevalier Hayes dared not flatter himself of the advantage that I promissed to him, that they should get from 15 to 20,000 Beavers that I hoped to find in the hands of the French, said, in embracing me, that the company would be satisfied if I had only 5,000 of them there. The event has justified that which I predicted, and these gentlemen have not been deceived in the hopes that I have given to them. I departed from the port of Gravesend the 17th of the same month of May, in the ship called "The Happy Return," in the company of 2 others that these gentlemen sent also to Port Nelson for the same reason. The winds having been favourable for us, we arrived in a few days upon the western side of Buttons Bay without anything happening to us worth mentioning, but the winds and the currents. We having been made to drift to the South of Port Nelson about 40 leagues, and the ice having separated the ship in which I was from the 2 others in Hudson's Straits, I began to doubt of succeeding in my enterprise by the apprehension that I had that the 2 ships having arrived sooner than ours the men who were inside would not hazard themselves to take any step which could at all do them any damage. Under this anxiety, knowing the necessity that there was that I should arrive the first, I resolved to embark myself in a shallop that we had brought to be employed in any service that might be necessary. I ordered the captain to equip it, and although but little more than 20 leagues from Port Nelson, I put myself on board with 7 men, and after 48 hours of fatigue, without having been able to take any rest because of the danger that there was to us, we found by the breadth of Hayes river, which having recognized, at last we touched land at a point north of the river, where we landed with an Englishman who spoke good french, whom I wished to make accompany me in order that he might be the witness of all that I did. After having come to land I recognized by certain marks that my nephew, having heard the noise of the cannon of the English ships, had come to the place where we landed to know if his father or myself were arrived, and that he had himself returned after having recognized that they were English shipps. These same marks gave me also to know that he had left me further away from those that I had given him since I had established him for Governor in my absence. The which should inform me of his condition and the place where he was with his men; but I did not find it to the purpose of going as far as that place, that I had not learned truly the condition of the English who had arrived in the country since I had departed from it. I resolved then to embark myself afresh in the shallop to go and learn some news. I encouraged for that purpose the 7 men who were with me, who were so diligent that in spite of a contrary wind and tide we arrived in a very little time at the mouth of that great and frightful river of Port Nelson, where I had wished to see myself with such impatience that I had not dreamed a moment of the danger to which we had exposed ourselves. That pleasure was soon followed by another; for I saw at anchor in this same place 2 ships, of which one had the glorious flag of His Majesty hoisted upon his main mast, that I recognized to be the one that was commanded by Captain Outlaw when the one in which I was passed had been separated from the 2 others. At the same time I made the shallop approach & I perceived the new Governor with all his men under arms upon the deck, who demanded of us where our shallop came from, and who we were. Upon that I made myself known, & I went on board the ship, where I learned that the one which was alongside was an English frigate that had wintered in the Port of Nelson with the Governor, which port they had abandoned to retire themselves for fear of being insulted by the French & the savages; but that having been met with by Capt Outlaw going out of the bay, he had returned, having learned that I had thrown myself into the service of England, and that I came into the country to re-establish there everything to the advantage of the nation. My first care after that was of making myself informed of what had passed between the English & the French since my departure & their arrival. By what the English told me I judged that it was proper to risque everything to try to join my nephew as soon as possible, & the men that I had left with him; in fine, of endeavouring to reach them by kindness, or to intercept them by cunning, before they received the shock upon what design I came, for that was of extreme consequence. Thus without waiting for the arrival of the ship in which I had come, I resolved to embark myself upon the same shallop, which was named "The Little Adventure;" which I did not, nevertheless, on the same day, because the Governor found it proper to delay the party until the following day, & of giving me other men in the place of those that I had brought, who sound themselves fatigued. I embarked myself on the morrow, early in the morning, with Captain Gazer; but the wind being found contrary, I had myself landed on the coast, with Captain Gazer & the Englishman who spoke French, & after having sent back the shallop with the other men, I resolved to go by land as far as the place where I should find the marks of my nephew, which should make me recognise the place where he was & his condition. We marched, all three, until the morrow morning; but being arrived at the place where I had told my nephew to leave me some marks, which having taken up, I learned that he & his men had left our old houses & that they had built themselves another of them upon an island above the rapids of the river Hayes. After that we continued our route until opposite to the houses which had been abandoned, where I hoped that we should discover something, or at least that we should make ourselves seen or heard by firing some reports of the gun & making of smoke; in which my attempt was not altogether vain, for after having rested some time in that place we perceived 10 canoes of savages, who descended the river. I believed at first that it would be probable they had there some French with them; that my nephew would be able to send to discover who were the people newly arrived, which obliged me to tell Captain Gazer that I should go down to the bank of the river to speak to them; that I prayed him to await me upon the heights without any apprehension, & that in a little while he would be able to render evidence of my fidelity for the service of the Company. I was at the same moment met by the savages, & from the bank of the river I made them the accustomed signal, to the end of obliging them to come towards me; but having perceived that they did not put themselves to the trouble of doing it, I spoke to them in their language, for to make myself known; which done, they approached the bank, & not recognising me, they demanded of me to see the marks that I had; which having shown them, they gave evidence, by their cries & postures of diversion, the pleasure that they had of my arrival. I learned then from them that my nephew & the other Frenchmen were above the rapids of the river, distant about 4 leagues from the place where I was, & that they had told them that my brother-in-law, des Groisille, should also come with me; which obliged me telling them that he was arrived, & that they would see him in a few days. Then I told them that we had always loved them as our brothers, & that I would give them some marks of my amity, for which they thanked me in begging me to not be angry for that which, by counsel, they had been trading with the English, nor of that when I found them going to meet their captain, who had gone across some woods, with 20 men, to the English ships, to procure some powder & guns, which they did; that their laying over for a month, in awaiting for me, had compelled them, but that since I had arrived they would not go on farther, & that their chief, whom they went to inform of my arrival, would speak more of it to me. As I had occasion for some one among them to inform my nephew that I was in the country, I asked of all of them if they loved the son of des Groisille, & if he had not some relation among them; upon which there was one of them who said to me, "He is my Son; I am ready to do that which thou wishest;" & at that moment, he having landed, I made him throw his Beaver skin on the ground, & after having called Captain Gazer, I spoke in these terms to this savage in the presence of all the others: "I have made peace with the English for love of you. They & I from henceforth shall be but one. Embrace this captain & myself in token of peace. He is thy new brother, & this one thy son. Go at once to him to carry this news, with the token of peace, & tell him to come to see me in this place here, whilst the savages of the Company go to attend me to the mouth of the river." This savage did not fail to go & inform his son, my nephew, of my arrival, & of carrying to him the news of peace between the French & the English, during which we awaited with impatience his descent towards the place where we were; whom, nevertheless, did not arrive until the morrow, about 9 o'clock in the morning. I saw at first appear my nephew, in a canoe with 3 other Frenchmen, accompanied by another canoe of the savages that I had sent, & which came in advance to inform me of the arrival of my nephew. I promised to this savage & his comrade each one a watch-coat, & returned to them their Beaver skins, with the order of going to join those of their nation, & to wait for me at the mouth of the river. After that, Captain Gazer, the Englishman who spoke French, & myself waded into the water half-leg deep to land upon a little island where my nephew, with his men, would come on shore. He had arrived there before us, & he came to meet us, saluting me, greatly surprised at the union that I had made with the English. We then proceeded all together in his canoe as far as our old houses, where I had the English and French to enter, & whilst they entertained each other with the recital of their mutual hardships, I spoke privately to my nephew in these terms:-- "It is within your recollection, without doubt, of having heard your father relate how many pains & fatigues we have had in serving France during several years. You have also been informed by him that the recompense we had reason to hope for from her was a black ingratitude on the part of the Court as well as on the part of the company of Canada; & that they having reduced us to the necessity of seeking to serve elsewhere, the English received us with evidences of pleasure & of satisfaction. You know also the motives that have obliged your father & myself, after 13 years of service, to leave the English. The necessity of subsisting, the refusal that showed the bad intention of the Hudson's Bay Company to satisfy us, have given occasion to our separation, & to the establishment that we have made, & for which I left you in possession in parting for France. But you ignore, without doubt, that the Prince who reigns in England had disavowed the proceedings of the Company in regard to us, & that he had caused us to be recalled to his service, to receive the benefits of his Royal protection, & a complete satisfying of our own discontents. I have left your father in England, happier than we in this, that he is assured of his subsistance, and that he commences to taste some repose; whilst I come to inform you that we are now Englishmen, & that we have preferred the goodness & kindness of a clement & easy king, in following our inclinations, which are to serve people of heart & honour in preference to the offers that the King of France caused to be made to us by his ministers, to oblige us to work indirectly for his glory. I received an order, before leaving London, of taking care of you, & of obliging you to serve the English nation. You are young, & in a condition to work profitably for your fortune. If you are resolved to follow my sentiments I never will abandon you. You will receive the same treatment as myself. I will participate even at the expense of my interests for your satisfaction. I will have a care also of those who remain under my control in this place with you, & I shall leave nothing undone that will be able to contribute to your advancement. I love you; you are of my blood. I know that you have courage & resolution; decide for yourself promptly, & make me see by your response, that I wait for, that you are worthy of the goodness of the clement prince that I serve; but do not forget, above all things, the injuries that the French have inflicted upon one who has given his life to you, & that you are in my power." When my nephew had heard all that I had to say to him, he protested to me that he had no other sentiments but mine, & that he would do all that I would wish of him, but that he begged me to have care of his mother; to which I answered that I had not forgotten that she was my sister, & that the confidence that he gave me evidence of had on that occasion imposed upon me a double engagement, which obliged me of having care of her & of him; with which, having been satisfied, he remitted to me the power of commandant that I had left to him, & having embraced him, I said to him that he should appear in the assembly of the English & French as satisfied as he should be, & leave the rest to my management. After which we re-entered into the house, & I commanded one of the Frenchmen to go out immediately & inform his comrades that all would go well if they should have an entire confidence in me & obey all my orders, which doing, they should want nothing. I ordered also this same Frenchman to inform the savages to come to me & work immediately with their comrades to bring back into the house newly built the Beaver skins buried in the wood; & to that end, to be able to work with more diligence, I told them I would double their rations. Then I told my nephew to cross the river with the Frenchman who served him as interpreter, & go by land to the north side at the rendezvous that I had given to the savages the preceding day, whilst I would make my way by water to the same meeting-place with Captain Gazer & 2 other men who remained with me; the which having embarked in my nephew's canoe, I descended the river as far as the mouth, where I found the savages, who awaited me with impatience, they having been joined the following day by 30 other canoes of savages that I had had warned to descend, by their captain who had come towards me. We were all together in the canoes of the savages & boarded some ships which were stranded upon Nelson's River. This was in that strait that the chief of the savages spoke to me of many things, & who after having received from my hands one of the presents designed for the chief of these nations, he told me that he & his people would speak of my name to all the nations, to invite them to come to me to smoke the pipe of peace; but he blamed strongly the English Governor for telling him that my brother had been made to die, that I was a prisoner, & that he had come to destroy the rest of the French. The chief of the savages added to the blame his complaint also. He said haughtily that the Governor was unworthy of his friendship & of those of their old brothers who commenced to establish it amongst them, in telling them such falsehoods. Grumbling & passion had a share in his indignation. He offered several times to inflict injuries upon the governor, who endeavoured to justify himself for these things that he had said to them through imprudence against the truth. But the chief savage would not hear anything in his defense, neither of those of the other Englishmen there; all of them were become under suspicion. Nevertheless I appeased this difference by the authority that I have upon the spirit of these nations; & after having made the governor & the chief embrace, & having myself embraced both of them, giving the savage to understand that it was a sign of peace, I said to him also that I wished to make a feast for this same peace, & that I had given orders what they should have to eat. On such similar occasions the savages have the custom of making a speech precede the feast, which consists in recognising for their brothers those with whom they make peace, & praise their strength. After having informed the chief of the savages of the experience, strength, valour of the English nation, he acquitted himself with much judgment in that action, for which he was applauded by our and his own people. I said afterwards in presence of his people that the French were not good seamen, that they were afraid of the icebergs which they would have to pass across to bring any merchandise, besides that their ships were weak & incapable of resistance in the northern seas; but as to those of the English, they were strong, hardy, & enterprising, that they had the knowledge of all seas, & an infinite number of large & strong ships which carried for them merchandises in all weathers & without stoppage. Of which this chief, having full evidence, was satisfied. He came to dine with us whilst his people were eating together of that which I had ordered to be given them. The repast being finished, it was a question with me whether I should commence to open a trade; & as I had formed the design of abolishing the custom which the English had introduced since I had left their service, which was of giving some presents to the savages to draw them to our side, which was opposed to that that I had practised, for in place of giving some presents I had myself made, I said then to the chief of the savages in the presence of those of his nation, "that he should make me presents that I ordinarily received on similar occasions." Upon that they spoke between themselves, & at length they presented me with 60 skins of Beaver, in asking me to accept them as a sign of our ancient friendship, & of considering that they were poor & far removed from their country; that they had fasted several days in coming, & that they were obliged to fast also in returning; that the French of Canada made them presents to oblige them to open their parcels; & that the English at the bottom of the bay gave to all the nations 3 hatchets for a Beaver skin. They added to that, that the Beaver was very difficult to kill, & that their misery was worthy of pity. I replied to them that I had compassion for their condition, & that I would do all that was in my power to relieve them; but that it was much more reasonable that they made me some presents rather than I to them, because that I came from a country very far more removed than they to carry to them excellent merchandise; that I spared them the trouble of going to Quebec; & as to the difference in the trade of the English at the bottom of the Bay with ours, I told them that each was the master of that which belonged to him, & at liberty to dispose of it according to his pleasure; that it mattered very little of trading with them, since I had for my friends all the other nations; that those there were the masters of my merchandises who yielded themselves to my generosity for it; that there were 30 years that I had been their brother, & that I would be in the future their father if they continued to love me, but that if they were of other sentiments, I was very easy about the future; that I would cause all the nations around to be called, to carry to them my merchandises; that the gain that they would receive by the succour rendered them powerful & placed them in a condition to dispute the passage to all the savages who dwelt in the lands; that by this means they would reduce themselves to lead a languishing life, & to see their wives & children die by war or by famine, of which their allies, although powerful, could not guarantee them of it, because I was informed that they had neither knives nor guns. This discourse obliged these savages to submit themselves to all that I wished; so that seeing them disposed to trade, I said to them that as they had an extreme need of knives & guns, I would give them 10 knives for one Beaver, although the master of the earth, the King, my sovereign, had given me orders to not give but 5 of them, & that as for the guns, I would give them one of them for 12 Beavers; which they went to accept, when the Governor, through fear or imprudence, told them that we demanded of them but 7 & up to 10 Beavers for each gun, which was the reason that it was made necessary to give them to the savages at that price. The trade was then made with all manner of tranquillity & good friendship. After which these people took their leave of us very well satisfied according to all appearances, as much in general as in particular of our proceeding, & the chief as well as the other savages promissed us to return in token of their satisfaction. But at the moment that they went to leave, my nephew having learned from a chief of a neighbouring nation who was with them that they would not return, he drew aside the savage chief & told him that he had been informed that he did not love us, & that he would return no more. At which this chief seemed very much surprised in demanding who had told him that. My nephew said to him, "It is the savage called Bear's Grease;" which having heard, he made at the same time all his people range themselves in arms, speaking to one & to the other; in fine, obligeing the one who was accused to declare himself with the firmness of a man of courage, without which they could do nothing with him, but Bear's Grease could say nothing in reply. Jealousy, which prevails as much also among these nations as among Christians, had given place to this report, in which my nephew had placed belief because he knew that the conduct of the Governor towards them had given to them as much of discontent against us all as he had caused loss to the Company; the genius of these people being that one should never demand whatever is just, that is to say, that which one wishes to have for each thing that one trades for, & that when one retracts, he is not a man. That makes it clear that there are, properly, only the people who have knowledge of the manners & customs of these nations who are capable of trading with them, to whom firmness & resolution are also extremely necessary. I myself again attended on this occasion, to the end of appeasing this little difference between the savages, & I effected their reconciliation, which was the reason that their chief protested to me afresh in calling me "Porcupine's Head,", which is the name that they have given me among them, that he would always come to me to trade, & that whereas I had seen him but with a hundred of his young men, he would bring with him 13 different nations, & that he wanted nothing in his country, neither men nor beaver skins, for my service; after which they left us, & we dispersed ourselves to go and take possession of the house of my nephew in the manner that I had arranged with him for it. With this in view I parted with the Governor, Captain Gazer, & our people to go by land as far as the place where we had left one of our canoes upon the river Hayes, whilst the other party went by sea with the shallop, "the Adventure," to round the point. We had the pleasure of contemplating at our ease the beauty of the country & of its shores, with which the Governor was charmed by the difference that there was in the places that he had seen upon Nelson's river. We embarked ourselves then in the canoe just at the place where the French had built their new house, where we found those who were left much advanced in the work that I had ordered them to do, but, however, very inquiet on account of having no news from my nephew, their commandant, nor of me. They had carried all the beaver skins from the wood into the house & punctually executed all my other orders. Having then seen myself master of all things without having been obliged to come to any extremity for it, the French being in the disposition of continueing their allegiance to me, I made them take an Inventory of all that was in the house, where I found 239 packages of beaver skins, to the number of 12,000 skins, and some merchandise for trading yet for 7 or 8,000 more, which gave me much satisfaction. Then I told my nephew to give a command in my name to these same Frenchmen to bring down the beaver skins as far as the place where they should be embarked to transport them to the ships, which was executed with so much diligence that in 6 days eight or ten men did (in spite of difficulties which hindered them that we could go in that place but by canoes because of the rapidity & want of water that they had in the river) what others would have had trouble in doing in 6 months, without any exaggeration. My nephew had in my absence chosen this place where he built the new house that was, so to speak, inaccessible, to the end of guaranteeing himself from the attacks that they would be able to make against him; & it was that same thing which restrained the liberty of going & coming there freely & easily. The savages with whom we had made the trading, not having made so much diligence on their route as we, for returning themselves into their country, having found out that I was in our house, came to me there to demand some tobacco, because that I had not given them any of that which was in the ships, because that it was not good, making as an excuse that it was at the bottom of the cellar. I made them a present of some that my nephew had to spare, of which they were satisfied; but I was surprised on seeing upon the sands, in my walk around the house with the governor, rejected quantities of an other tobacco, which had been, according to appearances, thus thrown away through indignation. I turned over in my mind what could have possibly given occasion for this, when the great chief & captain of the savages came to tell me that some young men of the band, irritated by the recollection of that which the English had said to them, that my brother, des Groseilliers, was dead, that I was a prisoner, & that they were come to make all the other Frenchmen perish, as well as some reports of cannon that they had fired with ball in the wood the day that I was arrived, had thus thrown away this tobacco which had come from the English by mistake, not wishing to smoke any of it. He assured me also that the young men had wicked designs upon the English; that he had diverted them from it by hindering them from going out of the house. The Governor, who had difficulty in believing that this tobacco thrown upon the sands was the omen of some grievous enterprise, was nevertheless convinced of it by the discourse of the savage. I begged him to come with me into the house, & to go out from it no more, with the other English, for some time; assuring them, nevertheless, that they had nothing to fear, & that all the French & myself would perish rather than suffer that one of them should be in the least insulted. After which I ordered my nephew to make all those savages imbark immediately, so as to continue their journey as far as their own country, which was done. Thus we were delivered from all kinds of apprehension, & free to work at our business. In the mean while I could not admire enough the constancy of my nephew & of his men in that in which they themselves laboured to dispossess themselves of any but good in favour of the English, their old enemies, for whom they had just pretensions, without having any other assurances of their satisfaction but the confidence that they had in my promises. Besides, I could not prevent myself from showing the pleasure that I experienced in having succeeded in my enterprise, & of seeing that in commencing to give some proofs of my zeal for the service of the English Company I made it profit them by an advantage very considerable; which gave them for the future assurances of my fidelity, & obliged them to have care of my interests in giving me that which belonged to me legitimately, & acquitting me towards my nephew & the other French of that which I had promissed them, & that a long & laborious work had gained for them. After that, that is to say, during the 3 days that we rested in that house, I wished to inform myself exactly, from my nephew, in the presence of the Englishmen, of all that which had passed between them since that I had departed from the country, & know in what manner he had killed two Englishmen there; upon which my nephew began to speak in these words:-- "Some days after your departure, in the year 1683, the 27th of July, the number of reports of cannon-shots that we heard fired on the side of the great river made us believe that they came from some English ship that had arrived. In fact, having sent 3 of my men to know, & endeavour to understand their design, I learned from them on their return that it was 2 English ships, & that they had encountered 3 men of that nation a league from these vessels, but that they had not spoken to them, having contented themselves with saluting both. As my principal design was to discover the English ones, & that my men had done nothing in it, I sent back 3 others of them to inform themselves of all that passed. These 3 last, having arrived at the point which is between the 2 Rivers of Nelson & Hayes, they met 14 or 15 savages loaded with merchandise, to whom, having demanded from whence they were & from whence they had come, they had replied that their nation lived along the river called Nenosavern, which was at the South of that of Hayes, & that they came to trade with their brothers, who were established at the bottom of the Bay; after which my men told them who they were and where they lived, in begging them to come smoke with them some tobacco the most esteemed in the country; to which they freely consented, in making it appear to them that they were much chagrined in not having known sooner that we were established near them, giving evidence that they would have been well pleased to have made their trade with us. "In continueing to converse upon several things touching trade, they arrived together in our house, reserving each time that but one of them should enter at once; which under a pretext of having forgotten something, one had returned upon his steps, saying to his comrades that they had leave to wait for him at the house of the French, where he arrived 2 days after, to be the witness of the good reception that I made to his brothers, whom I made also participants in giving to him some tobacco; but I discovered that this savage had had quite another design than of going to seek that which he had lost, having learned that he had been heard telling the other savages that he had been to find the English, & that he was charged by them of making some enterprise against us. In fact, this villain, having seen me alone & without any defence, must set himself to execute his wicked design. He seized me by the hand, & in telling me that I was of no value since I loved not the English, & that I had not paid him by a present for the possession of the country that I lived in to him who was the chief of all the nations, & the friend of the English at the bottom of the Bay, he let fall the robe which covered him, & standing all naked he struck me a blow with his poniard, which I luckily parried with the hand, where I received a light wound, which did not hinder me from seizing him by a necklace that he had around his neck, & of throwing him to the ground; which having given me the leisure of taking my sword & looking about, I perceived that the other savages had also poniards in their hands, with the exception of one, who cried out, 'Do not kill the French; for their death will be avenged, by all the nations from above, upon all our families.' "The movement that I had made to take my sword did not prevent me from holding my foot upon the throat of my enemy, & knew that that posture on my sword had frightened the other conspirators. There was none of them there who dared approach; on the contrary, they all went out of the house armed with their poniards. But some Frenchmen who were near to us, having perceived things thus, they ran in a fury right to the house, where having entered, the savages threw their poniards upon the ground in saying to us that the English had promissed to their chief a barrel of powder & other merchandise to kill all the French; but that their chief being dead, for they believed in fact that he was so, we had nothing more to fear, because that they were men of courage, abhorring wicked actions. My people, having seen that I was wounded, put themselves into a state to lay violent hands on the savages; but I prevented any disturbance, wishing by that generousity, & in sparing his life to the chief, to give some proofs of my courage, & that I did not fear neither the English there nor themselves. After which they left us, & we resolved to put ourselves better upon our guard in the future, & of making come to our relief the savages our allies. "Some days after, these savages, by the smoke of our fires, which were our ordinary signals, arrived at our house. According to their custom, they having been apprised of my adventure, without saying anything to us, marched upon the track of the other savages, & having overtaken them, they invited them to a feast, in order to know from them the truth of the things; of which having been informed, the one among them who was my adopted brother-in-law spoke to the chief who had wished to assassinate me thus, as has been reported to me by him: 'Thou art not a man, because that, having about thee 15 of thy people thou hast tried to accomplish the end of killing a single man.' To which the other replied haughtily, & with impudence, 'It is true; but if I have missed him this autumn with the fifteen men, he shall not escape in the Spring by my own hand alone.' 'It is necessary,' then replied my adopted brother-in-law, 'that thou makest me die first; for without that I shall hinder thy wicked design.' Upon which, having come within reach, the chief whose life I had spared received a blow of a bayonet in the stomach, & another of a hatchet upon the head, upon which he fell dead upon the spot. In respect to the others, they did not retaliate with any kind of bad treatment, & they allowed them to retire with all liberty, in saying to them that if they were in the design of revenging the death of their chief, they had only to speak, & they would declare war upon them. "After that expedition these same savages our allies divided into two parties, & without telling us their design descended to the place where the English made their establishment; they attacked them & killed some of them, of which they then came to inform me, in telling me that they had killed a great number of my enemies to avenge me of the conspiracy that they had done me & my brother, and that they were ready to sacrifice their lives for my service; in recognition of which I thanked them & made them a feast, begging them not to kill any more of them, & to await the return of my father & my uncle, who would revenge upon the English the insult which they had made me, without their tarnishing the glory that they had merited in chastising the English & the savages, their friends, of their perfidy. We were nevertheless always upon the defensive, & we apprehended being surprised at the place where we were as much on the part of the English, as of those of the savages, their friends; that is why we resolved of coming to establish ourselves in the place where we are at present, & which is, as you see, difficult enough of access for all those who have not been enslaved as we are amongst the savages. We built there this house in a few days with the assistance of the savages, & for still greater security we obliged several among them to pass the winter with us on the condition of our feeding them, which was the reason that our young men parted in the summer, having almost consumed all our provisions. During the winter nothing worthy of mention passed, except that some savages made several juggles to know from our Manitou, who is their familiar spirit among them, if my father and my uncle would return in the spring; who answered them that they would not be missing there, and that they would bring with them all kinds of merchandise and of that which would avenge them on their enemies. "At the beginning of April, 1684, some savages from the South coast arrived at our new house to trade for guns; but as we had none of them they went to the English, who had, as I afterwards learned, made them Some presents & promissed them many other things if they would undertake to kill me with the one of my men whom you saw still wounded, who spoke plainly the language of the country. These savages, encouraged by the hope of gain, accepted the proposition and promissed to execute it. For that means they found an opportunity of gaining over one of the savages who was among us, who served them as a spy, and informed them of all that we did. Nevertheless they dared not attack us with open force, because they feared us, & that was the reason why they proceeded otherwise in it; and this is how it was to be done. "The Frenchman that you saw wounded, having gone by my orders with one of his comrades to the place where these savages, our friends, made some smoked stag meat that they had killed, to tell them to bring me some of it, fell, in chasing a stag, upon the barrel of his gun, and bent it in such a manner that he could not kill anything with it without before having straightened it; which having done, after having arrived at the place where the savages were, he wished to make a test of it, firing blank at some distance from their cabin; but whilst he disposed himself to that, one of the savages who had promissed to the English his death & mine, who was unknown to several of his comrades amongst the others, fired a shot at him with his gun, which pierced his shoulder with a ball. He cried out directly that they had killed him, & that it was for the men who loved the French to avenge his death; which the Savages who were our friends having heard, went out of their cabins & followed the culprit without his adherents daring to declare themselves. But the pursuit was useless, for he saved himself in the wood after having thrown away his gun & taken in its place his bow & his quiver. This behaviour surprised our allies, the savages, exceedingly, & obliged them to swear, in their manner, vengeance for it, as much against that savage nation as against the English; but not having enough guns for that enterprise, they resolved to wait until my father and uncle had arrived. In the mean time they sent to entreat all the nations who had sworn friendship to my father & my uncle to come to make war upon the English & the savages on the southern coast, representing to them that they were obliged to take our side because that they had at other times accepted our presents in token of peace & of goodwill; that as to the rest, we were always men of courage, & their brothers. "As soon as these other nations had received intelligence of the condition in which we were, they resolved to assist us with all their forces, & in waiting the return of my father or my uncle to send hostages for it to give a token of their courage, in the persons of two of their young men. One of the most considerable chiefs among these nations was deputed to conduct them. I received them as I ought. This chief was the adopted father of my uncle, & one of the best friends of the French, whom I found adapted to serve me to procure an interview with the English, to the end of knowing what could possibly be their resolution. For that purpose I deputed this chief savage towards the English, to persuade them to allow that I should visit them & take their word that they would not make me any insult, neither whilst with them nor along the route there, for which this chief stood security. The English accepted the proposition. I made them a visit with one of the French who carried the present that I had seat to make them, in the manner of the savages, & who received it on their part for me according to custom. We traded nothing in that interview regarding our business, because I remembered that the English attributed directly that which had been done against them to the savages. All the advantage that I received in that step was of making a trade for the savages, my friends, of guns which I wanted; although they cost me dear by the gratuity which I was obliged to make to those who I employed there; but it was important that I had in fact hindered the savages from it who came down from the country to trade, of passing on as far as the English. The end of that invitation and that visit, was that I promissed to the solicitation of the Governor of the English of visiting there once again with my chief; after which we retired to our house, where I was informed by some discontented savages not to go any more to see the English, because that they had resolved either to arrest me prisoner or of killing me. Which my chief having also learned, he told me that he wished no more to be security with his word with a nation who had none of it; which obliged us to remain at home, keeping up a very strict guard. At the same time the river Hayes having become free, several detachments of the nations who were our allies arrived to assist us. The Asenipoetes [Footnote: _Asenipoetes, Assinipoueles, Assenipoulacs,_ and, according to Dr. O'Callaghan, _Assiniboins_, or "Sioux of the Rocks."] alone made more than 400 men. They were the descendants of the great Christionaux of the old acquaintance of my uncle, & all ready to make war with the English; but I did not find it desirable to interest them in it directly nor indirectly, because I did not wish to be held on the defensive in awaiting the return of my father or of my uncle, & that besides I knew that several other nations who loved the French, more particularly those who would come to our relief at the least signal. In the mean time the chief of the Asenipoetes did not wish us to leave his camp around our house, resolved to await up to the last moment the return of my uncle, of whom he always spoke, making himself break forth with the joy that he would have in seeing him by a thousand postures; & he often repeated that he wished to make it appear that he had been worthy of the presents that the Governor of Canada had made to him formerly in giving tokens of his zeal to serve the French. "The necessity for stores which should arrive in their camp partly hindered the effects of that praiseworthy resolution, & obliged the chief of the Asenipoetes to send back into his country 40 canoes in which he embarked 200 men of the most feeble & of the least resolute. He kept with him a like number of them more robust, & those who were able to endure fatigue & hunger, and determined having them to content themselves with certain small fruits, which commenced to ripen, for their subsistence, in order to await the new moon, in which the spirit of the other savages had predicted the arrival of my uncle, which they believed infallible, because their superstitious custom is of giving faith to all which their Manitou predicts. They remained in that state until the end of the first quarter of the moon, during which their oracles had assured them that my uncle would arrive; but the time having expired, they believed their Manitou had deceived them, & it was determined between them to join themselves with us & of separating in 2 bodys, so as to go attack the English & the savages at the south; resolved in case that the enterprise had the success that they expected, of passing the winter with us, to burn the English ships in order to remove the means of defending themselves in the Spring & of effecting their return. That which contributed much to that deliberation was some information which was given to them that the English had formed a design of coming to seek the French to attack them, which they wished to prevent. "These menaces on the part of the English were capable of producing bad effects, the genius of the savages being of never awaiting their enemies, but on the contrary of going to seek them. In this design the chief of the Asenipoetes disposed himself to march against the English with a party of his people; when 10 or 12 persons were seen on the northern side of the Hayes river seeking for these same fruits on which the savages had lived for some time, he believed that they were the advance guard of the English & of the savages from the South, whom he supposed united, who came to attack us; which obliged him to make all his men take their bows and arrows, after which he ranged them in order of battle & made this address in our presence: 'My design is to pass the river with 2 of the most courageous among you to go attack the enemy, & of disposing of you in a manner that you may be in a condition of relieving me or of receiving me, whilst the French will form the corps of reserve; that our women will load in our canoes all our effects, which they are to throw over in case necessity requires it But before undertaking this expedition I wish that you make choice of a chief to command you in my absence or in case of my death.' Which having been done at the moment, this brave chief addressing us said: 'We camp ourselves upon the edge of the wood with our guns, so as to hinder the approach of the enemy; & then it would be necessary to march the men upon the edge of the water, to the end that they should be in a condition to pass to support or to receive him, according to the necessity.' "After that he passes the river with 2 men of the most hardihood of his troops, who had greased themselves, like himself, from the feet up to the head. Having each only 2 poniards for arms, their design was to go right to the chief of the English, present to him a pipe of tobacco as a mark of union, & then, if he refused it, endeavour to kill him & make for themselves a passage through his people with their poniards as far as the place where they would be able to pass the river to be supported by their men. But after having marched as far as the place where the persons were who they had seen, they recognized that it was some women; to whom having spoken, they returned upon their steps, & said to us that there was nothing to fear, & that it was a false alarm. This general proceeding on their part gave us proofs of their courage & of their amity in a manner that the confidence that we had placed in their help had put us in a condition of fearing nothing on the part of the English nor of those there of the savages of the South; and we were in that state when God, who is the author of all things, & who disposes of them according to his good pleasure, gave me the grace of my uncle's arrival in this country to arrest the course of the disorders, who could come & work for our reconciliation. That work so much desired on both sides is accomplished. It depends not upon me that it may not be permanent. Live henceforth like brothers in good union & without jealousy. As to myself, I am resolved, if the time should arrive, of sacrificing my life for the glory of the King of Great Britain, for the interest of the nation & the advantage of the Hudson's Bay Company, & of obeying in all thirds my uncle." I found this with regard to repeating the recital that my nephew made us concerning what had passed between him & the English & the savages, their allies, that although he had apprised me of the true state in which the 2 parties were at the time of my arrival, yet I also saw plainly the need that the English had of being succoured, & the necessity that the French had for provisions, of merchandise, and especially of guns, which could not come to them but by my means. But it is time to resume the care of our affairs, & to continue to render an account of our conduct. Our people worked always with great application to transport the beaver skins a half league across the wood, for it was the road that it was necessary to make from the house as far as the place where the shallops were, & they carried them to the little frigate, which discharged them upon the ships. I was always present at the work, for the purpose of animating all our men, who gave themselves in this work no rest until it was done, & that against the experience of the Captains of our ships, whom some had made believe that the business would drag at length; but having gone to them I assured them that if they were ready to do so they could raise the anchor to-morrow. There things thus disposed of, it only disturbed me yet more to execute a secret order that the company had given me, leaving it, however, to my prudence and discretion. It was of retaining in its service my nephew and some other Frenchmen, & above all the one who spoke the savage dialect, who was the wounded one, to remain in the country in my absence, which I dared not promise myself. In the meantime I resolved to make the proposition to my nephew, believing that after gaining him I should be able easily to add the others also. I caused to assemble for that end 5 or 6 of the savages of the most consideration in the country with the Governor, & in their presence I said to him, that for the glory of the King & for the advantage of the company it was necessary that he should remain in the country. To which he was averse at first; but the Governor having assured him that he would trust him as his own nephew, & that he would divide the authority that he had with him, & myself on my part having reproached him that he was not loyal to the oath of allegiance that he had sworn to me, these reasons obliged him to determine, & he assured me that he was ready to do all that I wished of him. What contributed much was the discourse that the savages made to him, telling him that I left him amongst them to receive in my absence the marks of amity that they had sworn to me, & that they regarded him as the nephew of the one who had brought peace to the nations & made the union of the English & French in making by the same means the brothers of both. This last success in my affairs was proof to me of the authority that I had over the French & the savages; for my nephew had no sooner declared that he submitted himself to do what I wished, than all the other Frenchmen offered themselves to risk the ennui of remaining in the country, although my design was only to leave but two of them; & the savages on their part burst out in cries of joy in such a manner that I no more considered after that but to put an end to all things. All our beaver skins having been embarked, I resolved, after having put everything into tranquil & assured state for my return into England, where my presence was absolutely necessary, to make known to the Company in what manner it was necessary to act to profit advantageously the solid establishment that I came to do & the things which were of indispensible necessity in the country to facilitate the trade with the savages & hindering them from making any of it with foreigners, that is to say, with the French of Canada. I was then for the last time with my nephew at the house of our Frenchmen, to the end of leaving there some Englishmen. I found there a number of savages arrived to visit me, who called my nephew & myself into one of their cabins, where a venerable old man spoke to me in these terms: "Porcupine's head, thy heart is good & thou hast great courage, having made peace with the English for the love of us. Behold, we have come towards thee, old & young, wives & daughters & little children, to thank thee for it, & to recognise thee for our father. We wish to be the children & adopt for our son thy nephew that thou lovest so much, & in fine to give thee an eternal mark of the obligation that we have to thee. We weep no more henceforth except for the memory of those of whom thou bearest the name." After which, having told one of the young people to speak, he fell like as if in a swoon, & the other spoke after that same manner: "Men & women, young men & children, even those who are at the breast, remember this one here for your father. He is better than the sun who warms you. You will find always in him a protector who will help you in your needs & console you in your afflictions. Men, remember that he gave you guns during the course of the year for you to defend yourselves against your Enemies, & to kill the beasts who nourish you & your families. Wives, consider that he gave you hatchets & knives with which you banish hunger from your country; daughters & children, fear nothing more, since the one who is your father loves you always, & that he gave you from time to time all that is necessary for you to have your subsistance. We all together weep no more, on the contrary give evidence by cries of our mirth that we have beheld the man of courage;" & at the same time they set themselves to cry with all their might, weeping bitterly for the last time, in saying, "We have lost our father; [Footnote: "But here is one that you adopt for your father." _Note by Radisson,_] we have lost our children." [Footnote: "Here is the nephew of your father, who will be your son; he remains with you & he will have care of his mothers." _Note by Radisson,_] After that piteful music they all came to be acknowledged. To be acknowledged by our adoption with some presents, & covering us with robes of white beaver skins, giving us quantities of beavers' tails, Some bladders of stag's marrow, several tongues of the same animal smoked, that which is the most exquisite to eat among them. They also presented us two great copper boilers full of smoked & boiled flesh, of which we ate all together, they, the English, & ourselves, & it is what is called a feast among these nations. After that I said adieu to them, & having given charge in the house what should be embarked in the ship, I went down to the mouth of the River, where Captain Gazer worked to build a fort in the same place where the preceding year Sieur Bridger had made to be constructed his shallop. It was the most advantageous situation that he had been able to find, & I advised that he should make all the diligence possible; but he had some men who by their delicacy were incapable of responding to his vigilence. I made this observation because I hold it for a maxim that one should only employ men robust, skilful, & capable of serving, & that those who are of a complexion feeble, or who flatter themselves of having protection & favour, ought to be dismissed. Then we passed to the place where the ships were, because my design was to oblige by my presence the captains to return to their ships ready to make sail; but I was no sooner arrived there than a savage came to inform me that my adopted father, whom I had not seen because that he was at the wars, waited for me at the place where Captain Gazer was building the Fort of which I came to speak. That is why I resolved to go there, & I expressed the same hope to the savage whom I sent back to give information to my father that the Governor would come with me to make some friendship to him & protect him in my absence. It was with the consent of the Governor & upon his parole that I had told him that; nevertheless he did not wish to come, & I was for the first time found a liar among the savages, which is of a dangerous consequence, for these nations have in abomination this vice. He came to me, however, in no wise angry in that interview, & I received not even a reproach from him. When I was at the rendezvous they told me that my adopted father was gone away from it because I had annoyed a savage, for he had been informed that I had arrived to see him. This savage having remembered the obligation to return, although very sad on account of some news that he had learned upon the road, which was that the chief of the nation who inhabited the height above the river Neosaverne, named "the bearded," & one of his sons, who were his relations, had been killed in going to insult those among the savages who were set to the duty of taking care of the Frenchman who had been wounded by a savage gained over by the English, after that he had embraced me, & that he had informed me of the circumstance of that affaire, & the number of people he had as followers, I wrote to the Governor to come to me in the place where we were, to make him know in effect that he must after my departure prevent the continuation of these disorders in virtue of the treaty of peace & of union that I had made in presence of the savages between the French & the English. The Governor having arrived, I presented to him my adopted father, & said to him that as it was the chief who commanded the nation that inhabited in the place where they built the fort, I had made him some little presents by Captain Gazer, & that it was also desirable that he make some to him, because I had promissed some the preceeding year that I had not given; which the Governor found very bad, & he became irritated even against this chief without any cause for it; except that it might be because he was my adopted father, & I have learned since that he was angry that when I had arrived I had not given any present to a simple savage who served as a spy, who was the son of that chief called "the bearded." That was a horrible extravagence; for this Governor was inferior to me, & I was not under any obligation to recognize his favor; besides, I had never made any presents but to the chiefs of the nations. Moreover, it was not for our Governor to censure my conduct. I had received some independent orders, which had been given me on account of the outrage that he had committed; but acting for the service of my King and for those of the Company, I passed it over in silence. I saw that it would be imprudent if I should speak my sentiments openly to a man who after my departure should command all those who remained in the country.[Footnote: "That would have perhaps drawn upon him some contempt." _Note by Radisson._ ] I contented myself then with letting him know the inconveniences which would happen from the indifference that he affected to have for the chief of the savage nations, & I exhorted him also to change at once his policy in regard to my adopted father; not by that consideration, but because that he was, as I said to him, the chief of the nations which inhabited the place where they built the fort, which he promissed me of undoing. After that I went on board our ship. My nephew, who remained in the fort with the Governor, having learned that the ships were ready to leave, kept himself near me with the French whom I had resolved to leave in Canada, to say adieu to me, & it was in the company of this Governor that they made the journey, during which, as I have since learned from my nephew, he showed to them more good will than he had yet done, assuring them that they should never want anything, & in consideration of me they would receive the same treatment as himself. The behaviour that my nephew & the other Frenchmen had shown gave no reason for doubting the sincerity of their protestations. They no longer believed that any one could have any mistrust of them. My nephew & his interpreter had been solicited to remain in the country to serve the company, & they had consented to it without a murmur because I had charged myself with the care of their interests in England. All that passed in the presence and by the persuasions of the Governor. Nevertheless, behold a surprising change which came to pass by the inconstancy, the caprice, & the wicked behaviour of this same Governor. I disposed myself to part with the other Frenchmen, when the Governor, having come aboard of the little frigate, caused a signal to be made to hold a council of war. Upon this the Captains of the ships & myself rendered ourselves on board, where my nephew followed us, remaining upon the poop, whilst the officers & myself were in the room where this Governor demanded of us, at first, if we had any valid reasons why he should not send back in the ships all the Frenchmen who were in the country; to all which the others having said nothing, I was obliged to speak in these terms: "At my departure from England I received a verbal order from the company, in particular from Sir James Hayes, to leave in the country where we are as many of the Frenchmen as I should find desirable for the good & advantage of the company. I have upon that resolved to engage my nephew & his interpreter to remain in it, & I have come for that end, by my attendance, for the consent of the Governor, who demands to-day that they may be sent back as people who apparently are known to him as suspected. I have always believed, & I believe it still, that their presence is useful in this Country and also necessary to the Company, and it was difficult to be able to overlook two, because they are known to all the nations. It is also upon them that I have relied for the Security of the merchandises which are left behind at the houses of the French, because without their assistance or their presence they would be exposed to pillage. Nevertheless I do not pretend to oppose my self to the design that the Governor has put in execution & the proposition that he proposes making. He is free to undo what he pleases, but he cannot make me subscribe to his resolutions, because I see that they are directly opposed to those of the Company, to my instructions, and to my experience. On the contrary, I will protest before God and before men against all that he does, because, after what he has said to you, he is incapable of doing what is advantageous for his masters. It is in vain that one should give him good councels, for he has not the spirit to understand them, that he may again deal a blow to which he would wish I opposed nothing." This declaration had without doubt made some impression upon a spirit not anticipated in an imaginary capacity of governor; but this one here, on the contrary, fortified himself in his resolution, & begged me to tell the French to embark themselves, without considering that my nephew had not time enough to go seek his clothes, nor several bonds that were due to him in Canada, which remained in the house of the French, and that I had abandoned to him, to yield whatever I was in a condition of giving satisfaction to him, & that in the hope that the Company would set up for him the way exclusively. The Council after that broke up; but the Governor, apprehending that the Frenchmen would not obey, wished to give an order to the Captains to seize upon them and put them on board. He had even the insolence of putting me first on the lists, as if I was suspected or guilty of something, for which Captain Bond having perceived, said to him that he should not make a charge of that kind, as I must be excepted from it, because he remembered nothing in me but much of attachment for the service of his masters, & that they should take care of the establishment that we had made, & of the advantages that would accrue to the Company. They obliged the Governor to make another list, and thus finished a council of war held against the interests of those who had given power to assemble them. The persons who had any knowledge of these savages of the north would be able to judge of the prejudice which the conduct of this imprudent Governor would without contradiction have caused the Company. Many would attribute his proceeding to his little experience, or to some particular hatred that he had conceived against the French. Be it as it may, I was not of his way of thinking; and I believed that his timidity & want of courage had prompted him to do all that he had done, by the apprehension that he had of the French undertaking something against him; & what confirmed me in that thought was the precaution that he had taken for preventing the French from speaking to any person since the day of council, for he put them away from the moment that we went away from them. I made out also that he had wanted but the occasion of putting to the sword my nephew if he had had the least pretext; but knowing his wicked designs, I made him understand, as well as the other Frenchmen, that we were to go to England, & that he must not leave the ship, because we were at any moment ready to depart. Although this change surprised my nephew & his interpreter, nevertheless they appeared not discontented with it, especially when I had assured them, as well as the other Frenchmen, that they would receive all kinds of good treatment in England, and that it would do them no harm in their persons nor in their pretensions. I left them then in the ship, and having embarked myself in the frigate, we were put ashore two leagues from the place where they were at anchor, to take on board some goods that remained on the shore, with more diligence than we had been able to make with the ships; which having succeeded in happily doing, we went to rejoin the ships at the place where they were at anchor, in one of which my nephew and the other Frenchmen were staying during this time without having taken the least step, although they were in a condition for any enterprise, because they could easily render themselves masters of the two ships and burn them, having there for both but two men and one boy in each; after which they could also, without danger, go on shore on the south side with the canoes of the savages, who were from the north, and then make themselves masters of their houses and their merchandise, which were guarded but by two men; but to go there to them, he made doubts of all that I had told him, and that it would be ill intentioned to the service of the company, as it was to the Governor. That is why they were not capable, neither those nor the others, after having submitted themselves & having taken the oath of fidelity as they had done. At length, after having suffered in my honour and in my probity many things on the part of the Governor, [Footnote: "Before Radisson's arrival, Capt. John Abraham had been to Port Nelson with supplies of stores, & finding Mr Bridgar was gone, he staid himself, & was continued Governor by the Company in 1684." _Oldmixon_.] and much fatigue and indisposition of trouble and of care in my person, to come to the end of my design, having happily succeeded, and all that was to be embarked in the ships being on board, we made sail the 4th day of September, 1684, and we arrived at the Downs, without anything passing worth mentioning, the 23rd of October of the same year. The impatience that I had of informing the Gentlemen of the Hudson's Bay Company of the happy success of my voyage, and our return, and that I had acquitted myself for the service of the King and their own interest in all the engagements into which I had entered, obliged me to mount a horse the same day, to present myself in London, where I arrived at midnight. All which did not hinder me, so the Sieur Ecuyer Young was informed, who was one of those interested, who having come to me on the morrow morning to take me, did me the honour to present me to His Majesty and to His Royal Highness, to whom I rendered an account of all which had been done; and I had the consolation of receiving some marks of the satisfaction of these great princes, who in token gave order to the Sieur Ecuyer Young to tell the company to have care of my interests, & to remember my services. Some days after, I went before the Committee of the Hudson's Bay Company, to render to it an account of my conduct, hoping to receive their approbation of my proceeding as the first fruits of the just satisfaction & recompence which was my due; but in place of that I found the members of the Committee for the most part offended because I had had the honour of making my reverence to the King and to his Royal Highness, & these same persons continued even their bad intention to injure me, and, under pretext of refusing me the justice which is due to me, they oppose themselves also to the solid and useful resolutions that are necessary for the glory of his Majesty and the advantage of the Nation and their own Interest. FINIS. OFFICERS OF THE PRINCE SOCIETY. 1885. * * * * * _President_. THE REV. EDMUND F. SLAFTER, A.M. BOSTON, MASS. _Vice-Presidents_. JOHN WARD DEAN, A.M. BOSTON, MASS. WILLIAM B. TRASK BOSTON, MASS. THE HON. CHARLES H. BELL, LL.D. EXETER, N.H. JAMES P. BAXTER, A.M. PORTLAND, ME. _Corresponding Secretary_. THE REV. HENRY W. FOOTE, A.M. BOSTON, MASS. _Recording Secretary_. DAVID GREENE HASKINS, JR., A.M. CAMBRIDGE, MASS. _Treasurer_. ELBRIDGE H. GOSS BOSTON, MASS. THE PRINCE SOCIETY. 1885. * * * * * The Hon. Charles Francis Adams, LL.D. Boston, Mass. Charles Francis Adams, Jr., A.B. Quincy, Mass. Thomas Coffin Amory, A.M. Boston, Mass. William Sumner Appleton, A.M. Boston, Mass. Walter T. Avery New York, N.Y. Thomas Willing Balch Philadelphia, Pa. George L. Balcom Claremont, N.H. Charles Candee Baldwin, M.A. Cleveland, Ohio. Charles E. Banks, M.D. Chelsea, Mass. Samuel L. M. Barlow New York, N.Y. James Phinney Baxter, A.M. Portland, Me. The Hon. Charles H. Bell, LL.D. Exeter. N.H. John J. Bell, A.M. Exeter, N.H. J. Carson Brevoort, LL.D. Brooklyn, N.Y. The Rev. Phillips Brooks, D.D. Boston, Mass. Sidney Brooks, A.M. Boston, Mass. John Marshall Brown, A.M. Portland, Me, John Nicholas Brown Providence, R.I. Joseph O. Brown New York, N.Y. Philip Henry Brown, A.M. Portland, Me. Thomas O. H. P. Burnham Boston, Mass. The Hon. Mellen Chamberlain, A.M. Chelsea, Mass. The Hon. William Eaton Chandler, A.M. Washington, D.C. George Bigelow Chase, A.M. Boston, Mass. Clarence H. Clark Philadelphia, Pa. Gen. John S. Clark Auburn, N.Y. The Hon. Samuel Crocker Cobb Boston, Mass. Ethan N. Coburn Charlestown, Mass. Jeremiah Coburn, A.M. Boston, Mass. Deloraine P. Corey Boston, Mass. Erastus Corning Albany, N.Y. Ellery Bicknell Crane Worcester, Mass. Abram E. Cutter Charlestown, Mass. William M. Darlington Pittsburg, Pa. John Ward Dean, A.M. Boston, Mass. Charles Deane, LL.D. Cambridge, Mass. Edward Denham New Bedford, Mass. John Charles Dent Toronto, Canada. Prof. Franklin B. Dexter, A.M. New Haven, Ct. The Rev. Henry Martyn Dexter, D.D. Boston, Mass. Samuel Adams Drake Melrose, Mass. Henry Thayer Drowne New York, N.Y. Henry H. Edes Charlestown, Mass. Jonathan Edwards, A.B., M.D. New Haven, Ct. William Henry Egle, A.M., M.D. Harrisurg, Pa. Janus G. Elder Lewiston, Me. Prof. William Elder, A.M. Waterville, Me. Samuel Eliot, LL.D. Boston, Mass. The Hon. William M. Evarts, LL.D. New York, N.Y. Joseph Story Fay Woods Holl, Mass. John S. H. Fogg, M.D. Boston, Mass. The Rev. Henry W. Foote, A.M. Boston, Mass. Samuel P. Fowler Danvers, Mass. James E. Gale Haverhill, Mass. Isaac D. Garfield Syracuse, N.Y. Julius Gay, A.M. Farmington, Ct. Abner C. Goodell, Jr., A.M. Salem, Mass. Elbridge H. Goss Boston, Mass. The Hon. Justice Horace Gray, LL.D. Boston, Mass. William W. Greenough, A.B. Boston, Mass. Isaac J. Greenwood, A.M. New York, N.Y. Charles H. Guild Somerville, Mass. David Greene Haskins, Jr., A.M. Cambridge, Mass. The Hon. Rutherford B. Hayes, LL.D. Fremont, Ohio. Thomas Wentworth Higginson, A.M. Cambridge, Mass. W. Scott Hill, M.D. Augusta, Me. Amor Leander Hollingworth, A.M. Milton, Mass. James F. Hunnewell Charlestown, Mass. Henry Higgins Hurlbut Chicago, Ill. Theodore Irwin Oswego, N.Y. The Rev. Henry Fitch Jenks, A.M. Lawrence, Mass. The Hon. Clark Jillson Worcester, Mass. Sawyer Junior Nashua, N.H. D. S. Kellogg, M.D. Plattsburgh, N.Y. George Lamb Boston, Mass. Edward F. De Lancey New York, N.Y. Henry Lee, A.M. Boston, Mass. Henry Cabot Lodge, Ph.D. Boston, Mass. William T. R. Marvin, A.M. Boston, Mass. William F. Matchett Boston, Mass. Frederic W. G. May Boston, Mass. The Rev. James H. Means, D.D. Boston, Mass. George H. Moore, LL.D. New York, N.Y. The Rev. James De Normandie, A.M. Boston, Mass. Prof. Charles E. Norton, LL.D. Cambridge, Mass. John H. Osborne Auburn, N.Y. George T. Paine Providence, R. I. Nathaniel Paine Worcester, Mass. John Carver Palfrey, A.M. Boston, Mass. Daniel Parish, Jr. New York, N.Y. Francis Parkman, LL.D. Boston, Mass. Augustus T. Perkins, A.M. Boston, Mass. The Rt. Rev. William Stevens Perry, D.D., LL.D. Davenport, Iowa. William Frederick Poole, LL.D. Chicago, Ill. Samuel S. Purple, M.D. New York, N.Y. The Rt. Rev. Charles F. Robertson, D.D., LL.D. St. Louis, Mo. The Hon. Nathaniel Foster Safford, A.M. Milton, Mass. Gideon D. Scull London, Eng. Joshua Montgomery Sears, A.B. Boston, Mass. John Gilmary Shea, LL.D. Elizabeth, N.J. The Hon. Mark Skinner Chicago, Ill. The Rev. Carlos Slafter, A.M. Dedham, Mass. The Rev. Edmund F. Slafter, A.M. Boston, Mass. Charles C. Smith Boston, Mass. Oliver Bliss Stebbins Boston, Mass. George Stewart, Jr. Quebec, Canada. The Rev. Increase Niles Tarbox, D.D. Newton, Mass. Walter Eliot Thwing Boston, Mass. William B. Trask Boston, Mass. Joseph B. Walker, A.M. Concord, N.H. William Henry Wardwell Boston, Mass. Miss Rachel Wetherill Philadelphia, Pa. Henry Wheatland, A.M., M.D. Salem, Mass. John Gardner White, A.M. Cambridge, Mass. William H. Whitmore, A.M. Boston, Mass. Henry Austin Whitney, A.M. Boston, Mass. The Hon. Marshall P. Wilder, Ph.D., LL.D. Boston, Mass. Henry Winsor Philadelphia, Pa. The Hon. Robert C. Winthrop, LL.D. Boston, Mass. Charles Levi Woodbury Boston, Mass. Ashbel Woodward, M.D. Franklin, Ct. J. Otis Woodward Albany, N.Y. LIBRARIES. American Antiquarian Society Worcester, Mass. Amherst College Library Amherst, Mass. Astor Library New York, N.Y. Bibliotheque Nationale Paris, France. Bodleian Library Oxford, Eng. Boston Athenaeum Boston, Mass. Boston Library Society Boston, Mass. British Museum London, Eng. Concord Public Library Concord, Mass. Cornell University Library Ithaca, N.Y. Eben Dale Sutton Reference Library Peabody, Mass. Free Public Library Worcester, Mass. Free Public Library of Toronto Toronto, Canada. Gloucester Public Library Gloucester, Mass. Grosvenor Library Buffalo, N.Y. Harvard College Library Cambridge, Mass. Historical Society of Pennsylvania Philadelphia, Pa. Lancaster Public Library Lancaster, Mass. Library Company of Philadelphia Philadelphia, Pa. Library of Parliament Ottawa, Canada. Library of the State Department Washington, D.C. Literary and Historical Society of Quebec Quebec, Canada. Long Island Historical Society Brooklyn, N.Y. Maine Historical Society Portland, Me. Maryland Historical Society Baltimore, Md. Massachusetts Historical Society Boston, Mass. Mercantile Library New York, N.Y. Minnesota Historical Society St. Paul, Minn. Newburyport Public Library, Peabody Fund Newburyport, Mass. New England Historic Genealogical Society Boston, Mass. Newton Free Library Newton, Mass. New York Society Library New York, N.Y. Peabody Institute of the City of Baltimore Baltimore, Md. Plymouth Public Library Plymouth, Mass. Portsmouth Athensum Portsmouth, N.H. Public Library of Cincinnati Cincinnati, Ohio. Public Library of the City of Boston Boston, Mass. Redwood Library Newport, R.I. State Historical Society of Wisconsin Madison, Wis. State Library of Massachusetts Boston, Mass. State Library of New York Albany, N.Y. State Library of Rhode Island Providence, R.I. State Library of Vermont Montpelier, Vt. Williams College Library Williamstown, Mass. Woburn Public Library Woburn, Mass. Yale College Library New Haven, Ct. Young Men's Library Buffalo, N.Y. INDEX. Abaouicktigonions Abraham, Capt. John Accadia Ahondironons Akrahkuseronoms Algonquins Allmund, Peter Amickkoicks Amsterdam Andasstoueronom Andonanchronons Animal, a strange Aniot nation Annikouay Anojot Anomiacks Anontackeronons Anticosti Island Aoveatsiovaenhronons Arendarrhonons go to Onondaga Ariotachronoms Arlington, Lord Asenipoetes Asinipour Assenipoulacs. (See Asenipoetes.) Assickmack Assiniboins. (See Asenipoetes.) Assinipoueles. (See Asenipoetes.) Atcheligonens Attignaonantons join the Mohawks Attignenonhacs Attikamegues Attionendarouks Attochingochronons Auriniacks Avieronons Aviottronons B. Baffin's Bay Baily, Capt. Charles Barbadoes Basse, caught for oil Bayly, Capt. Charles. (See Baily, Capt. Charles.) Bear Family. (See Attignaonantons.) Bear, White, the eating of makes men sick Bears, abundance of Beavers Beef Indians Bellinzany, Monsieur Berger, Captain Bersiamites Blackberries Boats of Oriniack skins Bond, Captain Bordeaux Boston Bouchard, Jean Bouchard-Darval family Bradley, Myrick Bridgar, Captain Brother. (_See_ Chouart, Medard.) Brough, defined Buffes Button's Bay Button, Sir Thomas C. Cadis, The Cagamite, defined Camseau Canada Cape de Magdelaine Cape Henry Caper, the ship Carr, George Carr, Sir Robert Carriboucks Cartaret, Sir George Carteret, Col. George. (_See_ Cartwright, Col. George.) Cartwright, Col. George Cass, Governor Casson, Dollier de Castors Castors, skins used for bottles; sold by Indians for corn; a source of profit to the fathers Cayuga village Charles II. Charlevoix Chaudiere Chaumont, Father Chisedeck Christinos, The Chouart, Jean Baptiste Chouart, Marie Antoinette Chouart, Medard; arrives in Canada; marries; a donne at Lake Huron; becomes a trader; called Sieur des Groseilliers; children of; travels with Radisson; called Des Groseilliers and spoken of as a brother of Radisson Citrulles Clarke, J. V. H. Colbert, Monsieur Cole, Captain Colleton, Sir Peter Colonial Documents of New York Copper, abundance of Copper wire used by Indians Cord family. (See Attignenonhacs.) Cows, wild Cruelties of Indians D. Dab-fish Dablon, Father D'Argenson, Viscount De Frontinac, Count De la Barre, Governor Delheure, Monsieur Denier, Monsieur De Seignelay, Marquis Des Groseilliers, --, nephew of Radisson --(See Chouart, Medard.) D'Estrees, Jean, Count De Witt Dollard, Adam Doric Rock Dress of Indians. (See Indian Costume.) Drums of Indians Du Chefneau, Monsieur Ducks, abundance of Duhamel, Rev. Joseph Thomas Duperon, Joseph Inbert Dupuys, Sieur E. Eagle, the ship Ehriehronoms Elends Elks Ellis's manuscripts England Eressaronoms Eruata, defined Escotecke Escouteck Eslan Esquimos F. Fire Indians Fishes of large size Fort Albany Fort Bourbon Fort Charles Fort Orange Fort Richelieu Foucault, Nicolai Joseph France French, the, break the treaty, and come into a collision in Hudson's Bay G. Gailliards Gazer, Captain Genealogical Dictionary of Canadian Families Gien, a musical instrument Gillam, Captain Zachariah Gillam, --, son of Captain Zachariah Goats Godfrey, Marguerite Godfry, John Baptista Gooseberries Gorst, Thomas Grapes Green Point Groseilliers. (See Chouart, Medard.) Guillam. (See Gillam.) Guinea, visited by Radisson Guitar H. Hallow Isle Happy Return, the ship Hayes River Hayes, Sir James Hayes, the sloop, captured Hight of St. Louis Holland Hollanders Horiniac, defined Huattochronoms Hudson's Bay Hudson's Bay Company Hudson's Bay trade Hudson's Straits Huron Islands Hurons Hurons, massacred by Iroquois, number of I. Indian amusements Indian costumes Indian council, described Indian cruelties. (See Cruelties of Indians.) Indians, designated by their footmarks, Indians, eat human flesh, Indians, food of Indians, funeral rites Indians, luggage described Indians, manner of cooking their meat Indians, manner of sweating Indians, their musical instruments Indians, Nations of the North, nations of the South Indians, pierce their ears and noses Indians, treachery of Ireland Iroquois join the Mohawks; massacre the Hurons Isle D'Ane Isle D'Eluticosty Isle of Cape Breton Isle of Montreal Isle of Orleans Isle of Richelieu Isle of Sand Isle Perse Isles of Toniata Italy compared to America J. Jacques, Father Jalot, Jean Jaluck James II James Bay Jesuits K. Kakivvakiona River Kawirinagaw River Kechechewan River Keweena River Kinoncheripirini Kionontateronons Kirke, Sir David Kirke, Sir John Kirke, Sir Lewis Kischeripirini Knisteneaux. (See Christinos.) Konkhaderichonons Kotakoaveteny L. La Hontan Lake Assiniboin Lake Champlaine Lake Huron Lake of Castors Lake of the Stinkings Lake Ontario Lake St. Francis Lake St. Louis Lake St. Peter Lake Superior Le Gardeur, Noel Le Mercier, Father Francis Lichen, _tripe des roche_ London Longpoint Long Sault, massacre at Louis XIV Low Iroquois country Lyddel, Governor William M. Maesoochy Nadone Maingonis Malhonmines Malhonniners Manatte (See Manhattan and New Netherland.) Manhattan Mantoneck Marie, Monsieur Maringoines Martin, Abraham Massacre of Hurons Massacre at Long Sault Matouchkarini Matonenocks Maverick, Samuel Medicine-bag Menada Mesnard, Father Messipi Mile Island Minisigons Minutes relating to Hudson's Bay Company Mission, Jesuit, at Lake Superior Mitchitamon Mohawks Montignes Montmorency River Montreal Mont Royal Moose. (_See_ Castors and Elends.) Moose River Mountaignaies Musquetos. (_See_ Maringoines.) N. Nadone Nadoneceronon Nadoneceronons (_See_ Nation of Beefe.) Nadoucenako Nadouceronons Nantucket Nasaonakouetons Nation of Beefe (_See_ Nadoneceronons.) Nation of the Sault Nations of the North Nations of the South Neill, Rev. E. D. Nelson's Harbor Nelson's River Nenosavern River Neosavern River Nephew of Radisson. (_See_ Des Groseilliers.) New Amsterdam New England New Netherland New York New York Colonial MSS. Nicolls, Col. Richard Niel, Genevieve Nipisiriniens Nojottaga Noncet, Father Joseph Nonsuch, the ship Nontageya. (_See_ Onondaga.) O. Oats, Nation of O'Callaghan, Dr. Octanacks Ohcrokonanechronons Oiongoiconon. (_See_ Cayuga.) Ojibways Okinotoname Oldmixon Oneida village Oneronoms Onondagas Onondaga village; number of Indians in that vicinity; mission Ontorahronons Orignal Orijonots Orimha, defined Orinal Orinha Oriniacke; defined; how cooked Ormeaux, Sieur des Orturbi Oscovarahronoms Oslar, Captain Ottanaks Otters Ouachegami Ouendack Ougmarahronoms Ouncisagay Ountchatarounongha Outimagami Outlaw, Captain Ovaouchkairing Ovasovarin Oxford Oyongoironons P. Pacoiquis Paris Parkman, Francis Pasnoestigons Pauabickhomesibs Peace of Utrecht Peerce Island Pepys, Samuel Perse, L'Isle Pictured Rocks Pierce, Captain Piffings Plains of Abraham, named after Abraham Martin Point Comfort Point of St. Louis Poirier, Marie Pontonatemick Porcelaine Porpoises, white Portall of St Peter Port Nelson Port Royal Preston, Lord Prince Rupert, the ship Prince Rupert Pumpkins Q. Quebec; the Governor of, sends letter to Captain Baily Quinipigousek R. Radisson, Claude Volant de St. Cloude Radisson, Etienne Radisson, Etienne Volant Radisson, Francois Radisson, Jean Francois Radisson, Marguerite Radisson, Nicholas Radisson, Peter Esprit, emigrates to Canada; birth of; marriage; children of; trade with Indians; makes notes of his wanderings; title of first narrative; taken captive and escapes; embarks for Holland and France, title of second narrative, returns to Canada, joins Jesuits, spends three years in travelling, third voyage, visits Lake Superior, offers to visit Hudson's Bay, meets English Commissioners, lawsuit against, visits Nantucket, taken to Spain, in England, accused of trying to counterfeit coin, originated the Hudson's Bay Settlement, visits Prince Rupert, difficulty with Hudson's Bay Company, goes to Port Nelson, to France and England, with Hudson's Bay Company (1685), narrative of, described, owners of, first voyage, goes fowling, superstition of, captured by Indians, treatment of, taught to sing, dressed by Indians, wrestles with an Indian, adopted, taken on a journey, meets an Algonquin and escapes, recaptured, tortured, parents protect him, foster-father, goes with the natives on the war-path, journey described, meets a strange animal, captures prisoners, kills prisoners, divides booty, meets foster-friends, visits Fort Orange, refuses to escape, repents the refusal, escapes, reaches Menada, sails for Amsterdam and reaches Rochelle, second voyage, has Iroquois guides, enters Lake St. Francis, treachery of Iroquois, reaches a great river, searched by Indians, meets old friends, his boat driven from shore, witnesses birth of an Indian child, meets Jesuits, treachery of Indians, builds a ship, gives feast to Indians, escapes, reaches Lake Ontario, reaches Hight of St. Louis, and rests at Three Rivers, prepares to start upon another voyage, warned by an Indian, assaulted by Indians, some of the party return, fights Indians, meets Indians from Hudson's Bay, made much of, describes the country, gives battle, rests for the winter, resumes his journey, forced to stop a year, calls a council, starts south, assaulted by Iroquois, arrives at Quebec, fourth narrative, proposes to make another voyage, assaulted by Iroquois, attacks Indian fort, Indians escape, attacks another fort, burial of Indians, kills his prisoners, reaches Lake of Castors, Lake Superior, finds much copper, compares the country with Turkey, names the Pictured Rocks, visits Huron Islands, meets Christinos, builds fort, remains twelve days, distributes presents, calls council, rests for the winter, famine, eats his dogs, visited by Nadoneseronons, builds fort, council; feast; leaves with the nation of Sault; accident; sick; helped by an Indian; meets Christinos; voyages among the Islands; meets Nation of the Beefe; shows the Indians a Biblical image; hears of a river at the north; at River of the Sturgeon; meets Iroquois; arrives at the Sault; visits place of massacre; arrives at Port Royal; wronged; his brother goes to France; goes to Isle d'Eluticosty; and then to Cape Breton; threatened by the French; enters Hudson's Straits; receives grant for fishing; goes to England; unsuccessful attempt to leave that country; vindicates himself; his marriage; his pension; brings his family to Canada; voyage to Guinea; in France; in England; in France; back to Canada; sails for Quebec and reaches Accadia; mutiny on the ship; enters Hudson's Straits; visited by Indians; gives presents; meets English; arrival of a New England ship; disputes their claim; loses winter provisions; visits the ships, but conceals the arrival of one from the other; returns to his house; hinders the spies sent by Bridgar; Sends provisions to Bridgar; acts as Spy; visited by Gillam; words with Gillam; takes Gillam's fort and ship; surprised by Bridgar's men; letter to Bridgar; visit to Bridgar, who breaks his promise; Bridgar held a prisoner; goes to Bridgar's house; sends a message to Indians; freshet; visits Bridgar, and finds men sick; helps Bridgar to depart; Indian council; Bridgar makes trouble; weighs anchor; gives the bark to Bridgar; is driven ashore; finds a fine harbor; arrives at Quebec; restores ship to the New England merchants; letter from Colbert; goes to France; complaints against; not proven; dissembles; French and English desire his co-operation, but he joins the English; presented to the King; sails from England; arrives at Hayes River; meets the Governor at Port Nelson; meets savages; meets his nephew; conference with his nephew; collects beaver skins; savages complain of the Governor; conciliates the savages; divides his party; makes an inventory of his stores; finds tobacco scattered, as an omen; sends savages away; nephew explains why he killed two Englishmen; loads ship with beaver skins; consults his nephew; places his affairs in the hands of his nephew and the Governor; leave-taking with the Indians; goes aboard ship, meets his foster-father, advises the Governor to change his policy, counsel on ship-board, disagrees with Governor, sails for and arrives in England, gives account of his voyage to the king, and goes before the Hudson Bay Company, who refuse to give him his due, Radisson, Pierre, son of Peter Ragueneau, Father Paul Raynbault, Father Rensselaerswyck Rice River of Canada River of Richelieu River of the Medows River of the Sturgeon River Ovamasis River Saguenay River St. Lawrence Rochelle Rock family of Indians Roquay Rupert, Prince Rupert's River S. Sable Island Sacgnes. (_See_ River Saguenay.) Sacquenes Saegne. (_See_ River Saguenay.) Sagahigavirini Sagamite, defined Sagard-Theodat Sagnes River Sagnitaovigama Sagseggons Saguenes Saint Peter's Salt, Indian name for Salt, Nation of. (_See_ Nation of the Sault) Sanoutin Country Sault, Company of Sault, Indians of the. (_See_ Nation of the Sault) Sault of Columest Schoolcraft Sea-serpents Seneca village Senecas, the Shea, J. G. Signelay. (_See_ De Seignelay, Marquis.) Sioux Sioux of the Rocks Skinchiohronoms Sloane, Sir Hans Socoquis Sononteeonon. (_See_ Seneca.) Sonontueronons Sorel, Sieur Spain Squerells Stags Stairing haires Stannard, Captain Straits of New Foundland Sturgeons T. Tabittee Indians Tadousac Tanguay, Abbe Cyprian Tatanga Tatarga Tatousac River Three Rivers Titascons Tiviseimi Tobacco Scattered on the land, an omen of trouble Tobaga Tontataratonhronoms Touret, Elie Godefroy Tourne Sol, how made Trade-standard with Indians Trees painted Trinivoick Trips, _tripe des roche_ Tsonnontonan. (_See_ Seneca village.) Turkey in Europe compared to America Turkeys Turquois stone U. Utrecht, Peace of V. Vimont, Father Virginia W. Wampum Y. York, Duke of York, _alias_ Fort Bourbon Young, Sieur Ecuyer 
6357	----	THE YOUNG FUR-TRADERS. UNIFORM WITH THIS BOOK. _THE CORAL ISLAND. MARTIN RATTLER. UNCAVA._ [Illustration: Pierre was standing over the great kettle. "_The Young Fur Traders_]" Frontispiece SNOWFLAKES AND SUNBEAMS; OR, THE YOUNG FUR-TRADERS A Tale of the Far North. BY ROBERT MICHAEL BALLANTYNE PEEFACE. In writing this book my desire has been to draw an exact copy of the picture which is indelibly stamped on my own memory. I have carefully avoided exaggeration in everything of importance. All the chief, and most of the minor incidents are facts. In regard to unimportant matters, I have taken the liberty of a novelist--not to colour too highly, or to invent improbabilities, but--to transpose time, place, and circumstance at pleasure; while, at the same time, I have endeavoured to convey to the reader's mind a truthful impression of the _general effect_--to use a painter's language--of the life and country of the Fur Trader. EDINBURGH, 1856. CHAPTER I Plunges the reader into the middle of an arctic winter; conveys him into the heart of the wildernesses of North America; and introduces him to some of the principal personages of our tale CHAPTER II The old fur-trader endeavours to "fix" his son's "flint," and finds the thing more difficult to do than he expected CHAPTER III The counting-room CHAPTER IV. A wolf-hunt in the prairies; Charley astonishes his father, and breaks in the "noo'oss" effectually CHAPTER V Peter Mactavish becomes an amateur doctor; Charley promulgates his views of things in general to Kate; and Kate waxes sagacious CHAPTER VI Spring and the voyageurs CHAPTER VII. The store CHAPTER VIII. Farewell to Kate; departure of the brigade; Charley becomes a voyageur CHAPTER IX. The voyage; the encampment; a surprise CHAPTER X. Varieties, vexations, and vicissitudes CHAPTER XI. Charley and Harry begin their sporting career without much success; Whisky-John catching CHAPTER XII. The storm CHAPTER XIII. The canoe; ascending the rapids; the portage; deer-shooting and life in the woods CHAPTER XIV. The Indian camp; the new outpost; Charley sent on a mission to the Indians CHAPTER XV. The feast; Charley makes his first speech in public; meets with an old friend; an evening in the grass CHAPTER XVI The return; narrow escape; a murderous attempt, which fails; and a discovery CHAPTER XVII The scene changes; Bachelors' Hall; a practical joke and its consequences; a snow-shoe walk at night in the forest CHAPTER XVIII The walk continued; frozen toes; an encampment in the snow CHAPTER XIX Shows how the accountant and Harry set their traps, and what came of it CHAPTER XX The accountant's story CHAPTER XXI Ptarmigan-hunting; Hamilton's shooting powers severely tested; a snow-storm CHAPTER XXII The winter packet; Harry hears from old friends, and wishes that he was with them CHAPTER XXIII Changes; Harry and Hamilton find that variety is indeed, charming; the latter astonishes the former considerably CHAPTER XXIV Hopes and fears; an unexpected meeting; philosophical talk between the hunter and the parson CHAPTER XXV Good news and romantic scenery; bear-hunting and its results CHAPTER XXVI An unexpected meeting, and an unexpected deer-hunt; arrival at the outpost; disagreement with the natives; an enemy discovered, and a murder CHAPTER XXVII The chase; the fight; retribution; low spirits and good news CHAPTER XXVIII Old friends and scenes; coming events cast their shadows before CHAPTER XXIX The first day at home; a gallop in the prairie, and its consequences CHAPTER XXX Love; old Mr. Kennedy puts his foot in it CHAPTER XXXI The course of true love, curiously enough, runs smooth for once; and the curtain falls CHAPTER I. Plunges the reader into the middle of an Arctic winter; conveys him into the heart of the wildernesses of North America; and introduces him to some of the principal personages of our tale. Snowflakes and sunbeams, heat and cold, winter and summer, alternated with their wonted regularity for fifteen years in the wild regions of the Far North. During this space of time the hero of our tale sprouted from babyhood to boyhood, passed through the usual amount of accidents, ailments, and vicissitudes incidental to those periods of life, and finally entered upon that ambiguous condition that precedes early manhood. It was a clear, cold winter's day. The sunbeams of summer were long past, and snowflakes had fallen thickly on the banks of Red River. Charley sat on a lump of blue ice, his head drooping and his eyes bent on the snow at his feet with an expression of deep disconsolation. Kate reclined at Charley's side, looking wistfully up in his expressive face, as if to read the thoughts that were chasing each other through his mind, like the ever-varying clouds that floated in the winter sky above. It was quite evident to the most careless observer that, whatever might be the usual temperaments of the boy and girl, their present state of mind was not joyous, but on the contrary, very sad. "It won't do, sister Kate," said Charley. "I've tried him over and over again--I've implored, begged, and entreated him to let me go; but he won't, and I'm determined to run away, so there's an end of it!" As Charley gave utterance to this unalterable resolution, he rose from the bit of blue ice, and taking Kate by the hand, led her over the frozen river, climbed up the bank on the opposite side--an operation of some difficulty, owing to the snow, which had been drifted so deeply during a late storm that the usual track was almost obliterated--and turning into a path that lost itself among the willows, they speedily disappeared. As it is possible our reader may desire to know who Charley and Kate are, and the part of the world in which they dwell, we will interrupt the thread of our narrative to explain. In the very centre of the great continent of North America, far removed from the abodes of civilised men, and about twenty miles to the south of Lake Winnipeg, exists a colony composed of Indians, Scotsmen, and French-Canadians, which is known by the name of Red River Settlement. Red River differs from most colonies in more respects than one--the chief differences being, that whereas other colonies cluster on the sea-coast, this one lies many hundreds of miles in the interior of the country, and is surrounded by a wilderness; and while other colonies, acting on the Golden Rule, export their produce in return for goods imported, this of Red River imports a large quantity, and exports nothing, or next to nothing. Not but that it _might_ export, if it only had an outlet or a market; but being eight hundred miles removed from the sea, and five hundred miles from the nearest market, with a series of rivers, lakes, rapids, and cataracts separating from the one, and a wide sweep of treeless prairie dividing from the other, the settlers have long since come to the conclusion that they were born to consume their own produce, and so regulate the extent of their farming operations by the strength of their appetites. Of course, there are many of the necessaries, or at least the luxuries, of life which the colonists cannot grow--such as tea, coffee, sugar, coats, trousers, and shirts--and which, consequently, they procure from England, by means of the Hudson's Bay Fur Company's ships, which sail once a year from Gravesend, laden with supplies for the trade carried on with the Indians. And the bales containing these articles are conveyed in boats up the rivers, carried past the waterfalls and rapids overland on the shoulders of stalwart voyageurs, and finally landed at Red River, after a rough trip of many weeks' duration. The colony was founded in 1811, by the Earl of Selkirk, previously to which it had been a trading-post of the Fur Company. At the time of which we write, it contained about five thousand souls, and extended upwards of fifty miles along the Red and Assiniboine rivers, which streams supplied the settlers with a variety of excellent fish. The banks were clothed with fine trees; and immediately behind the settlement lay the great prairies, which extended in undulating waves--almost entirely devoid of shrub or tree--to the base of the Rocky Mountains. Although far removed from the civilised world, and containing within its precincts much that is savage and very little that is refined, Red River is quite a populous paradise, as compared with the desolate, solitary establishments of the Hudson's Bay Fur Company. These lonely dwellings of the trader are scattered far and wide over the whole continent--north, south, east, and west. Their population generally amounts to eight or ten men--seldom to thirty. They are planted in the thick of an uninhabited desert--their next neighbours being from two to five hundred miles off--their occasional visitors, bands of wandering Indians--and the sole object of their existence being to trade the furry hides of foxes, martens, beavers, badgers, bears, buffaloes, and wolves. It will not, then, be deemed a matter of wonder that the gentlemen who have charge of these establishments, and who, perchance, may have spent ten or twenty years in them, should look upon the colony of Red River as a species of Elysium, a sort of haven of rest, in which they may lay their weary heads, and spend the remainder of their days in peaceful felicity, free from the cares of a residence among wild beasts and wild men. Many of the retiring traders prefer casting their lot in Canada; but not a few of them _smoke_ out the remainder of their existence in this colony--especially those who, having left home as boys fifty or sixty years before, cannot reasonably expect to find the friends of their childhood where they left them, and cannot hope to remodel tastes and habits long nurtured in the backwoods so as to relish the manners and customs of civilised society. Such an one was old Frank Kennedy, who, sixty years before the date of our story, ran away from school in Scotland; got a severe thrashing from his father for so doing; and having no mother in whose sympathising bosom he could weep out his sorrow, ran away from home, went to sea, ran away from his ship while she lay at anchor in the harbour of New York, and after leading a wandering, unsettled life for several years, during which he had been alternately a clerk, a day-labourer, a store-keeper and a village schoolmaster, he wound up by entering the service of the Hudson's Bay Company, in which he obtained an insight into savage life, a comfortable fortune, besides a half-breed wife and a large family. Being a man of great energy and courage, and moreover possessed of a large, powerful frame, he was sent to one of the most distant posts on the Mackenzie River, as being admirably suited for the display of his powers both mental and physical. Here the small-pox broke out among the natives, and besides carrying off hundreds of these poor creatures, robbed Mr. Kennedy of all his children save two, Charles and Kate, whom we have already introduced to the reader. About the same time the council which is annually held at Red River in spring for the purpose of arranging the affairs of the country for the ensuing year thought proper to appoint Mr. Kennedy to a still more outlandish part of the country--as near, in fact, to the North Pole as it was possible for mortal man to live--and sent him an order to proceed to his destination without loss of time. On receiving this communication, Mr. Kennedy upset his chair, stamped his foot, ground his teeth, and vowed, in the hearing of his wife and children, that sooner than obey the mandate he would see the governors and council of Rupert's Land hanged, quartered, and boiled down into tallow! Ebullitions of this kind were peculiar to Frank Kennedy, and meant _nothing_. They were simply the safety-valves to his superabundant ire, and, like safety-valves in general, made much noise but did no damage. It was well, however, on such occasions to keep out of the old fur-trader's way; for he had an irresistible propensity to hit out at whatever stood before him, especially if the object stood on a level with his own eyes and wore whiskers. On second thoughts, however, he sat down before his writing-table, took a sheet of blue ruled foolscap paper, seized a quill which he had mended six months previously, at a time when he happened to be in high good-humour, and wrote as follows:-- Letter To the Governor and Council of Rupert's Land, Fort Paskisegun Red River Settlement. June 15, 18--. Gentlemen,--I have the honour to acknowledge receipt of your favour of 26th April last, appointing me to the charge of Peel's River, and directing me to strike out new channels of trade in that quarter. In reply, I have to state that I shall have the honour to fulfil your instructions by taking my departure in a light canoe as soon as possible. At the same time I beg humbly to submit that the state of my health is such as to render it expedient for me to retire from the service, and I herewith beg to hand in my resignation. I shall hope to be relieved early next spring.--I have the honour to be, gentlemen, your most obedient, humble servant, F. Kennedy. "There!" exclaimed the old gentleman, in a tone that would lead one to suppose he had signed the death-warrant, and so had irrevocably fixed the certain destruction, of the entire council--"there!" said he, rising from his chair, and sticking the quill into the ink-bottle with a _dab_ that split it up to the feather, and so rendered it _hors de combat_ for all time coming. To this letter the council gave a short reply, accepting his resignation, and appointing a successor. On the following spring old Mr. Kennedy embarked his wife and children in a bark canoe, and in process of time landed them safely in Red River Settlement. Here he purchased a house with six acres of land, in which he planted a variety of useful vegetables, and built a summer-house after the fashion of a conservatory, where he was wont to solace himself for hours together with a pipe, or rather with dozens of pipes, of Canadian twist tobacco. After this he put his two children to school. The settlement was at this time fortunate in having a most excellent academy, which was conducted by a very estimable man. Charles and Kate Kennedy, being obedient and clever, made rapid progress under his judicious management, and the only fault that he had to find with the young people was, that Kate was a little too quiet and fond of books, while Charley was a little too riotous and fond of fun. When Charles arrived at the age of fifteen and Kate attained to fourteen years, old Mr. Kennedy went into his conservatory, locked the door, sat down on an easy chair, filled a long clay pipe with his beloved tobacco, smoked vigorously for ten minutes, and fell fast asleep. In this condition he remained until the pipe fell from his lips and broke in fragments on the floor. He then rose, filled another pipe, and sat down to meditate on the subject that had brought him to his smoking apartment. "There's my wife," said he, looking at the bowl of his pipe, as if he were addressing himself to it, "she's getting too old to be looking after everything herself (_puff_), and Kate's getting too old to be humbugging any longer with books: besides, she ought to be at home learning to keep house, and help her mother, and cut the baccy (_puff_), and that young scamp Charley should be entering the service (_puff_). He's clever enough now to trade beaver and bears from the red-skins; besides, he's (_puff_) a young rascal, and I'll be bound does nothing but lead the other boys into (_puff_) mischief, although, to be sure, the master _does_ say he's the cleverest fellow in the school; but he must be reined up a bit now. I'll clap on a double curb and martingale. I'll get him a situation in the counting-room at the fort (_puff_), where he'll have his nose held tight to the grindstone. Yes, I'll fix both their flints to-morrow;" and old Mr. Kennedy gave vent to another puff so thick and long that it seemed as if all the previous puffs had concealed themselves up to this moment within his capacious chest, and rushed out at last in one thick and long-continued stream. By "fixing their flints" Mr. Kennedy meant to express the fact that he intended to place his children in an entirely new sphere of action, and with a view to this he ordered out his horse and cariole [Footnote: A sort of sleigh.] on the following morning, went up to the school, which was about ten miles distant from his abode, and brought his children home with him the same evening. Kate was now formally installed as housekeeper and tobacco-cutter; while Charley was told that his future destiny was to wield the quill in the service of the Hudson's Bay Company, and that he might take a week to think over it. Quiet, warm-hearted, affectionate Kate was overjoyed at the thought of being a help and comfort to her old father and mother; but reckless, joyous, good-humoured, hare-brained Charley was cast into the depths of despair at the idea of spending the livelong day, and day after day, for years it might be, on the top of a long-legged stool. In fact, poor Charley said that he "would rather become a buffalo than do it." Now this was very wrong of Charley, for, of course, he didn't _mean_ it. Indeed, it is too much a habit among little boys, ay, and among grown-up people, too, to say what they don't mean, as no doubt you are aware, dear reader, if you possess half the self-knowledge we give you credit for; and we cannot too strongly remonstrate with ourself and others against the practice--leading, as it does, to all sorts of absurd exaggerations, such as gravely asserting that we are "broiling hot" when we are simply "rather warm," or more than "half dead" with fatigue when we are merely "very tired." However, Charley _said_ that he would rather be "a buffalo than do it," and so we feel bound in honour to record the fact. Charley and Kate were warmly attached to each other. Moreover, they had been, ever since they could walk, in the habit of mingling their little joys and sorrows in each other's bosoms; and although, as years flew past, they gradually ceased to sob in each other's arms at every little mishap, they did not cease to interchange their inmost thoughts, and to mingle their tears when occasion called them forth. They knew the power, the inexpressible sweetness, of sympathy. They understood experimentally the comfort and joy that flow from obedience to that blessed commandment to "rejoice with those that do rejoice, and weep with those that weep." It was natural, therefore, that on Mr. Kennedy announcing his decrees, Charley and Kate should hasten to some retired spot where they could commune in solitude; the effect of which communing was to reduce them to a somewhat calmer and rather happy state of mind. Charley's sorrow was blunted by sympathy with Kate's joy, and Kate's joy was subdued by sympathy with Charley's sorrow; so that, after the first effervescing burst, they settled down into a calm and comfortable state of flatness, with very red eyes and exceedingly pensive minds. We must, however, do Charley the justice to say that the red eyes applied only to Kate; for although a tear or two could without much coaxing be induced to hop over his sun-burned cheek, he had got beyond that period of life when boys are addicted to (we must give the word, though not pretty, because it is eminently expressive) _blubbering_. A week later found Charley and his sister seated on the lump of blue ice where they were first introduced to the reader, and where Charley announced his unalterable resolve to run away, following it up with the statement that _that_ was "the end of it." He was quite mistaken, however, for that was by no means the end of it. In fact it was only the beginning of it, as we shall see hereafter. CHAPTER II. The old fur-trader endeavours to "fix" his son's "flint," and finds the thing more difficult to do than he expected. Near the centre of the colony of Red River, the stream from which the settlement derives its name is joined by another, called the Assiniboine. About five or six hundred yards from the point where this union takes place, and on the banks of the latter stream, stands the Hudson's Bay Company's trading-post, Fort Garry. It is a massive square building of stone. Four high and thick walls enclose a space of ground on which are built six or eight wooden houses, some of which are used as dwellings for the servants of the Hudson's Bay Company, and others as stores, wherein are contained the furs, the provisions which are sent annually to various parts of the country, and the goods (such as cloth, guns, powder and shot, blankets, twine, axes, knives, etc., etc.) with which the fur-trade is carried on. Although Red River is a peaceful colony, and not at all likely to be assaulted by the poor Indians, it was, nevertheless, deemed prudent by the traders to make some show of power; and so at the corners of the fort four round bastions of a very imposing appearance were built, from the embrasures of which several large black-muzzled guns protruded. No one ever conceived the idea of firing these engines of war; and, indeed, it is highly probable that such an attempt would have been attended with consequences much more dreadful to those _behind_ than to those who might chance to be in front of the guns. Nevertheless they were imposing, and harmonised well with the flag-staff, which was the only other military symptom about the place. This latter was used on particular occasions, such as the arrival or departure of a brigade of boats, for the purpose of displaying the folds of a red flag on which were the letters H. B. C. The fort stood, as we have said, on the banks of the Assiniboine River, on the opposite side of which the land was somewhat wooded, though not heavily, with oak, maple, poplar, aspens, and willows; while at the back of the fort the great prairie rolled out like a green sea to the horizon, and far beyond that again to the base of the Rocky mountains. The plains at this time, however, were a sheet of unbroken snow, and the river a mass of solid ice. It was noon on the day following that on which our friend Charley had threatened rebellion, when a tall elderly man might have been seen standing at the back gate of Fort Garry, gazing wistfully out into the prairie in the direction of the lower part of the settlement. He was watching a small speck which moved rapidly over the snow in the direction of the fort. "It's very like our friend Frank Kennedy," said he to himself (at least we presume so, for there was no one else within earshot to whom he could have said it, except the door-post, which every one knows is proverbially a deaf subject). "No man in the settlement drives so furiously. I shouldn't wonder if he ran against the corner of the new fence now. Ha! just so--there he goes!" And truly the reckless driver did "go" just at that moment. He came up to the corner of the new fence, where the road took a rather abrupt turn, in a style that insured a capsize. In another second the spirited horse turned sharp round, the sleigh turned sharp over, and the occupant was pitched out at full length, while a black object, that might have been mistaken for his hat, rose from his side like a rocket, and, flying over him, landed on the snow several yards beyond. A faint shout was heard to float on the breeze as this catastrophe occurred, and the driver was seen to jump up and readjust himself in the cariole; while the other black object proved itself not to be a hat, by getting hastily up on a pair of legs, and scrambling back to the seat from which it had been so unceremoniously ejected. In a few minutes more the cheerful tinkling of the merry sleigh-bells was heard, and Frank Kennedy, accompanied by his hopeful son Charles, dashed up to the gate, and pulled up with a jerk. "Ha! Grant, my fine fellow, how are you?" exclaimed Mr. Kennedy, senior, as he disengaged himself from the heavy folds of the buffalo robe and shook the snow from his greatcoat. "Why on earth, man, don't you put up a sign-post and a board to warn travellers that you've been running out new fences and changing the road, eh?" "Why, my good friend," said Mr. Grant, smiling, "the fence and the road are of themselves pretty conclusive proof to most men that the road is changed; and, besides, we don't often have people driving round corners at full gallop; but--" "Hollo! Charley, you rascal," interrupted Mr. Kennedy--"here, take the mare to the stable, and don't drive her too fast. Mind, now, no going off upon the wrong road for the sake of a drive, you understand." "All right, father," exclaimed the boy, while a bright smile lit up his features and displayed two rows of white teeth: "I'll be particularly careful," and he sprang into the light vehicle, seized the reins, and with a sharp crack of the whip dashed down the road at a hard gallop. "He's a fine fellow that son of yours," said Mr. Grant, "and will make a first-rate fur-trader." "Pur-trader!" exclaimed Mr. Kennedy. "Just look at him! I'll be shot if he isn't thrashing the mare as if she were made of leather." The old man's ire was rising rapidly as he heard the whip crack every now and then, and saw the mare bound madly over the snow. "And see!" he continued, "I declare he _has_ taken the wrong turn after all." "True," said Mr. Grant: "he'll never reach the stable by that road; he's much more likely to visit the White-horse Plains. But come, friend, it's of no use fretting, Charley will soon tire of his ride; so come with me to my room and have a pipe before dinner." Old Mr. Kennedy gave a short groan of despair, shook his fist at the form of his retreating son, and accompanied his friend to the house. It must not be supposed that Frank Kennedy was very deeply offended with his son, although he did shower on him a considerable amount of abuse. On the contrary, he loved him very much. But it was the old man's nature to give way to little bursts of passion on almost every occasion in which his feelings were at all excited. These bursts, however, were like the little puffs that ripple the surface of the sea on a calm summer's day. They were over in a second, and left his good-humoured, rough, candid countenance in unruffled serenity. Charley knew this well, and loved his father tenderly, so that his conscience frequently smote him for raising his anger so often; and he over and over again promised his sister Kate to do his best to refrain from doing anything that was likely to annoy the old man in future. But, alas! Charley's resolves, like those of many other boys, were soon forgotten, and his father's equanimity was upset generally two or three times a day; but after the gust was over, the fur-trader would kiss his son, call him a "rascal," and send him off to fill and fetch his pipe. Mr. Grant, who was in charge of Fort Garry, led the way to his smoking apartment, where the two were soon seated in front of a roaring log-fire, emulating each other in the manufacture of smoke. "Well, Kennedy," said Mr. Grant, throwing himself back in his chair, elevating his chin, and emitting a long thin stream of white vapour from his lips, through which he gazed at his friend complacently--"well, Kennedy, to what fortunate chance am I indebted for this visit? It is not often that we have the pleasure of seeing you here." Mr. Kennedy created two large volumes of smoke, which, by means of a vigorous puff, he sent rolling over towards his friend, and said, "Charley." "And what of Charley?" said Mr. Grant with a smile, for he was well aware of the boy's propensity to fun, and of the father's desire to curb it. "The fact is," replied Kennedy, "that Charley must be broke. He's the wildest colt I ever had to tame, but I'll do it--I will--that's a fact." If Charley's subjugation had depended on the rapidity with which the little white clouds proceeded from his sire's mouth, there is no doubt that it would have been a "fact" in a very short time, for they rushed from him with the violence of a high wind. Long habit had made the old trader and his pipe not only inseparable companions, but part and parcel of each other--so intimately connected that a change in the one was sure to produce a sympathetic change in the other. In the present instance, the little clouds rapidly increased in size and number as the old gentleman thought on the obstinacy of his "colt." "Yes," he continued, after a moment's silence, "I've made up my mind to tame him, and I want _you_, Mr. Grant, to help me." Mr. Grant looked as if he would rather not undertake to lend his aid in a work that was evidently difficult; but being a good-natured man, he said, "And how, friend, can I assist in the operation?" "Well, you see, Charley's a good fellow at bottom, and a clever fellow too--at least so says the schoolmaster; though I must confess, that so far as my experience goes, he's only clever at finding out excuses for not doing what I want him to. But still I'm told he's clever, and can use his pen well; and I know for certain that he can use his tongue well. So I want to get him into the service, and have him placed in a situation where he shall have to stick to his desk all day. In fact, I want to have him broken into work; for you've no notion, sir, how that boy talks about bears and buffaloes and badgers, and life in the woods among the Indians. I do believe," continued the old gentleman, waxing warm, "that he would willingly go into the woods to-morrow, if I would let him, and never show his nose in the settlement again. He's quite incorrigible. But I'll tame him yet--I will!" Mr. Kennedy followed this up with an indignant grunt, and a puff of smoke, so thick, and propelled with such vigour, that it rolled and curled in fantastic evolutions towards the ceiling, as if it were unable to control itself with delight at the absolute certainty of Charley being tamed at last. Mr. Grant, however, shook his head, and remained for five minutes in profound silence, during which time the two friends puffed in concert, until they began to grow quite indistinct and ghost-like in the thick atmosphere. At last he broke silence. "My opinion is that you're wrong, Mr. Kennedy. No doubt you know the disposition of your son better than I do; but even judging of it from what you have said, I'm quite sure that a sedentary life will ruin him." "Ruin him! Humbug!" said Kennedy, who never failed to express his opinion at the shortest notice and in the plainest language--a fact so well known by his friends that they had got into the habit of taking no notice of it. "Humbug!" he repeated, "perfect humbug! You don't mean to tell me that the way to break him in is to let him run loose and wild whenever and wherever he pleases?" "By no means. But you may rest assured that tying him down won't do it." "Nonsense!" said Mr. Kennedy testily; "don't tell me. Have I not broken in young colts by the score? and don't I know that the way to fix their flints is to clap on a good strong curb?" "If you had travelled farther south, friend," replied Mr. Grant, "you would have seen the Spaniards of Mexico break in their wild horses in a very different way; for after catching one with a lasso, a fellow gets on his back, and gives it the rein and the whip--ay, and the spur too; and before that race is over, there is no need for a curb." "What!" exclaimed Kennedy, "and do you mean to argue from that, that I should let Charley run--and _help_ him too? Send him off to the woods with gun and blanket, canoe and tent, all complete?" The old gentleman puffed a furious puff, and broke into a loud sarcastic laugh. "No, no," interrupted Mr. Grant; "I don't exactly mean that, but I think that you might give him his way for a year or so. He's a fine, active, generous fellow; and after the novelty wore off, he would be in a much better frame of mind to listen to your proposals. Besides" (and Mr. Grant smiled expressively), "Charley is somewhat like his father. He has got a will of his own; and if you do not give him his way, I very much fear that he'll--" "What?" inquired Mr. Kennedy abruptly. "Take it," said Mr. Grant. The puff that burst from Mr. Kennedy's lips on hearing this would have done credit to a thirty-six pounder. "Take it!" said he; "he'd _better_ not." The latter part of this speech was not in itself of a nature calculated to convey much; but the tone of the old trader's voice, the contraction of his eyebrows, and above all the overwhelming flow of cloudlets that followed, imparted to it a significance that induced the belief that Charley's taking his own way would be productive of more terrific consequences than it was in the power of the most highly imaginative man to conceive. "There's his sister Kate, now," continued the old gentleman; "she's as gentle and biddable as a lamb. I've only to say a word, and she's off like a shot to do my bidding; and she does it with such a sweet smile too." There was a touch of pathos in the old trader's voice as he said this. He was a man of strong feeling, and as impulsive in his tenderness as in his wrath. "But that rascal Charley," he continued, "is quite different. He's obstinate as a mule. To be sure, he has a good temper; and I must say for him he never goes into the sulks, which is a comfort, for of all things in the world sulking is the most childish and contemptible. He _generally_ does what I bid him, too. But he's _always_ getting into scrapes of one kind or other. And during the last week, notwithstanding all I can say to him, he won't admit that the best thing for him is to get a place in your counting-room, with the prospect of rapid promotion in the service. Very odd. I can't understand it at all;" and Mr. Kennedy heaved a deep sigh. "Did you ever explain to him the prospects that he would have in the situation you propose for him?" inquired Mr. Grant. "Can't say I ever did." "Did you ever point out the probable end of a life spent in the woods?" "No." "Nor suggest to him that the appointment to the office here would only be temporary, and to see how he got on in it?" "Certainly not." "Then, my dear sir, I'm not surprised that Charley rebels. You have left him to suppose that, once placed at the desk here, he is a prisoner for life. But see, there he is," said Mr. Grant, pointing as he spoke towards the subject of their conversation, who was passing the window at the moment; "let me call him, and I feel certain that he will listen to reason in a few minutes." "Humph!" ejaculated Mr. Kennedy, "you may try." In another minute Charley had been summoned, and was seated, cap in hand, near the door. "Charley, my boy," began Mr. Grant, standing with his back to the fire, his feet pretty wide apart, and his coat-tails under his arms--"Charley, my boy, your father has just been speaking of you. He is very anxious that you should enter the service of the Hudson's Bay Company; and as you are a clever boy and a good penman, we think that you would be likely to get on if placed for a year or so in our office here. I need scarcely point out to you, my boy, that in such a position you would be sure to obtain more rapid promotion than if you were placed in one of the distant outposts, where you would have very little to do, and perhaps little to eat, and no one to converse with except one or two men. Of course, we would merely place you here on trial, to see how you suited us; and if you prove steady and diligent, there is no saying how fast you might get on. Why, you might even come to fill my place in course of time. Come now, Charley, what think you of it?" Charley's eyes had been cast on the ground while Mr. Grant was speaking. He now raised them, looked at his father, then at his interrogator, and said,-- "It is very kind of you both to be so anxious about my prospects. I thank you, indeed, very much; but I--a--" "Don't like the desk?" said his father, in an angry tone. "Is that it, eh?" Charley made no reply, but cast down his eyes again and smiled (Charley had a sweet smile, a peculiarly sweet, candid smile), as if he meant to say that his father had hit the nail quite on the top of the head that time, and no mistake. "But consider," resumed Mr. Grant, "although you might probably be pleased with an outpost life at first, you would be sure to grow weary of it after the novelty wore off, and then you would wish with all your heart to be back here again. Believe me, child, a trader's life is a very hard and not often a very satisfactory one--" "Ay," broke in the father, desirous, if possible, to help the argument, "and you'll find it a desperately wild, unsettled, roving sort of life, too, let me tell you! full of dangers both from wild beast and wild men--" "Hush!" interrupted Mr. Grant, observing that the boy's eyes kindled when his father spoke of a wild, roving life, and wild beasts.--"Your father does not mean that life at an outpost is wild and _interesting_ or _exciting_. He merely means that--a--it--" Mr. Grant could not very well explain what it was that Mr. Kennedy meant if he did not mean that, so he turned to him for help. "Exactly so," said that gentleman, taking a strong pull at the pipe for inspiration. "It's no ways interesting or exciting at all. It's slow, dull, and flat; a miserable sort of Robinson Crusoe life, with red Indians and starvation constantly staring you in the face--" "Besides," said Mr. Grant, again interrupting the somewhat unfortunate efforts of his friend, who seemed to have a happy facility in sending a brilliant dash of romantic allusion across the dark side of his picture--"besides, you'll not have opportunity to amuse yourself, or to read, as you'll have no books, and you'll have to work hard with your hands oftentimes, like your men--" "In fact," broke in the impatient father, resolved, apparently, to carry the point with a grand _coup_--"in fact, you'll have to rough it, as I did, when I went up the Mackenzie River district, where I was sent to establish a new post, and had to travel for weeks and weeks through a wild country, where none of us had ever been before; where we shot our own meat, caught our own fish, and built our own house--and were very near being murdered by the Indians; though, to be sure, afterwards they became the most civil fellows in the country, and brought us plenty of skins. Ay, lad, you'll repent of your obstinacy when you come to have to hunt your own dinner, as I've done many a day up the Saskatchewan, where I've had to fight with red-skins and grizzly bears and to chase the buffaloes over miles and miles of prairie on rough-going nags till my bones ached and I scarce knew whether I sat on--" "Oh," exclaimed Charley, starting to his feet, while his eyes flashed and his chest heaved with emotion, "that's the place for me, father!--Do, please, Mr. Grant send me there, and I'll work for you with all my might!" Frank Kennedy was not a man to stand this unexpected miscarriage of his eloquence with equanimity. His first action was to throw his pipe at the head of his enthusiastic boy; without worse effect, however, than smashing it to atoms on the opposite wall. He then started up and rushed towards his son, who, being near the door, retreated precipitately and vanished. "So," said Mr. Grant, not very sure whether to laugh or be angry at the result of their united efforts, "you've settled the question now, at all events." Frank Kennedy said nothing, but filled another pipe, sat doggedly down in front of the fire, and speedily enveloped himself, and his friend, and all that the room contained, in thick, impenetrable clouds of smoke. Meanwhile his worthy son rushed off in a state of great glee. He had often heard the voyageurs of Red River dilate on the delights of roughing it in the woods, and his heart had bounded as they spoke of dangers encountered and overcome among the rapids of the Far North, or with the bears and bison-bulls of the prairie, but never till now had he heard his father corroborate their testimony by a recital of his own actual experience; and although the old gentleman's intention was undoubtedly to damp the boy's spirit, his eloquence had exactly the opposite effect--so that it was with a hop and a shout that he burst into the counting-room, with the occupants of which Charley was a special favourite. CHAPTER III. The Counting-room. Everyone knows the general appearance of a counting-room. There are one or two peculiar features about such apartments that are quite unmistakable and very characteristic; and the counting-room at Fort Garry, although many hundred miles distant from other specimens of its race, and, from the peculiar circumstances of its position, not therefore likely to bear them much resemblance, possessed one or two features of similarity, in the shape of two large desks and several very tall stools, besides sundry ink-bottles, rulers, books, and sheets of blotting-paper. But there were other implements there, savouring strongly of the backwoods and savage life, which merit more particular notice. The room itself was small, and lighted by two little windows, which opened into the courtyard. The entire apartment was made of wood. The floor was of unpainted fir boards. The walls were of the same material, painted blue from the floor upwards to about three feet, where the blue was unceremoniously stopped short by a stripe of bright red, above which the somewhat fanciful decorator had laid on a coat of pale yellow; and the ceiling, by way of variety, was of a deep ochre. As the occupants of Red River office were, however, addicted to the use of tobacco and tallow candles, the original colour of the ceiling had vanished entirely, and that of the walls had considerably changed. There were three doors in the room (besides the door of entrance), each opening into another apartment, where the three clerks were wont to court the favour of Morpheus after the labours of the day. No carpets graced the floors of any of these rooms, and with the exception of the paint aforementioned, no ornament whatever broke the pleasing uniformity of the scene. This was compensated, however, to some extent by several scarlet sashes, bright-coloured shot-belts, and gay portions of winter costume peculiar to the country, which depended from sundry nails in the bedroom walls; and as the three doors always stood open, these objects, together with one or two fowling-pieces and canoe-paddles, formed quite a brilliant and highly suggestive background to the otherwise sombre picture. A large open fireplace stood in one corner of the room, devoid of a grate, and so constructed that large logs of wood might be piled up on end to any extent. And really the fires made in this manner, and in this individual fireplace, were exquisite beyond description. A wood-fire is a particularly cheerful thing. Those who have never seen one can form but a faint idea of its splendour; especially on a sharp winter night in the arctic regions, where the thermometer falls to forty degrees below zero, without inducing the inhabitants to suppose that the world has reached its conclusion. The billets are usually piled up on end, so that the flames rise and twine round them with a fierce intensity that causes them to crack and sputter cheerfully, sending innumerable sparks of fire into the room, and throwing out a rich glow of brilliant light that warms a man even to look at it, and renders candles quite unnecessary. The clerks who inhabited this counting-room were, like itself, peculiar. There were three--corresponding to the bedrooms. The senior was a tall, broad-shouldered, muscular man--a Scotchman--very good-humoured, yet a man whose under lip met the upper with that peculiar degree of precision that indicated the presence of other qualities besides that of good-humour. He was book-keeper and accountant, and managed the affairs intrusted to his care with the same dogged perseverance with which he would have led an expedition of discovery to the North Pole. He was thirty or thereabouts. The second was a small man--also a Scotchman. It is curious to note how numerous Scotchmen are in the wilds of North America. This specimen was diminutive and sharp. Moreover, he played the flute--an accomplishment of which he was so proud that he ordered out from England a flute of ebony, so elaborately enriched with silver keys that one's fingers ached to behold it. This beautiful instrument, like most other instruments of a delicate nature, found the climate too much for its constitution, and, soon after the winter began, split from top to bottom. Peter Mactavish, however, was a genius by nature, and a mechanical genius by tendency; so that, instead of giving way to despair, he laboriously bound the flute together with waxed thread, which, although it could not restore it to its pristine elegance, enabled him to play with great effect sundry doleful airs, whose influence, when performed at night, usually sent his companions to sleep, or, failing this, drove them to distraction. The third inhabitant of the office was a ruddy, smooth-chinned youth of about fourteen, who had left home seven months before, in the hope of gratifying a desire to lead a wild life, which he had entertained ever since he read "Jack the Giant Killer," and found himself most unexpectedly fastened, during the greater part of each day, to a stool. His name was Harry Somerville, and a fine, cheerful little fellow he was, full of spirits, and curiously addicted to poking and arranging the fire at least every ten minutes--a propensity which tested the forbearance of the senior clerk rather severely, and would have surprised any one not aware of poor Harry's incurable antipathy to the desk, and the yearning desire with which he longed for physical action. Harry was busily engaged with the refractory fire when Charley, as stated at the conclusion of the last chapter, burst into the room. "Hollo!" he exclaimed, suspending his operations for a moment, "what's up?" "Nothing," said Charley, "but father's temper, that's all. He gave me a splendid description of his life in the woods, and then threw his pipe at me because I admired it too much." "Ho!" exclaimed Harry, making a vigorous thrust at the fire, "then you've no chance now." "No chance! what do you mean?" "Only that we are to have a wolf-hunt in the plains to-morrow; and if you've aggravated your father, he'll be taking you home to-night, that's all." "Oh! no fear of that," said Charley, with a look that seemed to imply that there was very great fear of "that"--much more, in fact, than he was willing to admit even to himself. "My dear old father never keeps his anger long. I'm sure that he'll be all right again in half-an-hour." "Hope so, but doubt it I do," said Harry, making another deadly poke at the fire, and returning, with a deep sigh, to his stool. "Would you like to go with us, Charley?" said the senior clerk, laying down his pen and turning round on his chair (the senior clerk never sat on a stool) with a benign smile. "Oh, very, very much indeed," cried Charley; "but even should father agree to stay all night at the fort, I have no horse, and I'm sure he would not let me have the mare after what I did to-day." "Do you think he's not open to persuasion?" said the senior clerk. "No, I'm sure he's not." "Well, well, it don't much signify; perhaps we can mount you." (Charley's face brightened.) "Go," he continued, addressing Harry Somerville--"go, tell Tom Whyte I wish to speak to him." Harry sprang from his stool with a suddenness and vigour that might have justified the belief that he had been fixed to it by means of a powerful spring, which had been set free with a sharp recoil, and shot him out at the door, for he disappeared in a trice. In a few minutes he returned, followed by the groom Tom Whyte. "Tom," said the senior clerk, "do you think we could manage to mount Charley to-morrow?" "Why, sir, I don't think as how we could. There ain't an 'oss in the stable except them wot's required and them wot's badly." "Couldn't he have the brown pony?" suggested the senior clerk. Tom Whyte was a cockney and an old soldier, and stood so bolt upright that it seemed quite a marvel how the words ever managed to climb up the steep ascent of his throat, and turn the corner so as to get out at his mouth. Perhaps this was the cause of his speaking on all occasions with great deliberation and slowness. "Why, you see, sir," he replied, "the brown pony's got cut under the fetlock of the right hind leg; and I 'ad 'im down to L'Esperance the smith's, sir, to look at 'im, sir; and he says to me, says he 'That don't look well, that 'oss don't,'--and he's a knowing feller, sir, is L'Esperance though he _is_ an 'alf-breed--" "Never mind what he said, Tom," interrupted the senior clerk; "is the pony fit for use? that's the question." "No, sir, 'e hain't." "And the black mare, can he not have that?" "No, sir; Mr. Grant is to ride 'er to-morrow." "That's unfortunate," said the senior clerk.--"I fear, Charley, that you'll need to ride behind Harry on his gray pony. It wouldn't improve his speed, to be sure, having two on his back; but then he's so like a pig in his movements at any rate, I don't think it would spoil his pace much." "Could he not try the new horse?" he continued, turning to the groom. "The noo 'oss, sir! he might as well try to ride a mad buffalo bull, sir. He's quite a young colt, sir, only 'alf broke--kicks like a windmill, sir, and's got an 'ead like a steam-engine; 'e couldn't 'old 'im in no'ow, sir. I 'ad 'im down to the smith 'tother day, sir, an' says 'e to me, says 'e, 'That's a screamer, that is.' 'Yes,' says I, 'that his a fact.' 'Well,' says 'e--" "Hang the smith!" cried the senior clerk, losing all patience; "can't you answer me without so much talk? Is the horse too wild to ride?" "Yes, sir, 'e is" said the groom, with a look of slightly offended dignity, and drawing himself up--if we may use such an expression to one who was always drawn up to such an extent that he seemed to be just balanced on his heels, and required only a gentle push to lay him flat on his back. "Oh, I have it!" cried Peter Mactavish, who had been standing during the conversation with his back to the fire, and a short pipe in his mouth: "John Fowler, the miller, has just purchased a new pony. I'm told it's an old buffalo-runner, and I'm certain he would lend it to Charley at once." "The very thing," said the senior clerk.--"Run, Tom; give the miller my compliments, and beg the loan of his horse for Charley Kennedy.--I think he knows you, Charley?" The dinner-bell rang as the groom departed, and the clerks prepared for their mid-day meal. The Senior clerk's order to _"run"_ was a mere form of speech, intended to indicate that haste was desirable. No man imagined for a moment that Tom Whyte could, by any possibility, _run_. He hadn't run since he was dismissed from the army, twenty years before, for incurable drunkenness; and most of Tom's friend's entertained the belief that if he ever attempted to run he would crack all over, and go to pieces like a disentombed Egyptian mummy. Tom therefore walked off to the row of buildings inhabited by the men, where he sat down on a bench in front of his bed, and proceeded leisurely to fill his pipe. The room in which he sat was a fair specimen of the dwellings devoted to the _employés_ of the Hudson's Bay Company throughout the country. It was large, and low in the roof, built entirely of wood, which was unpainted; a matter, however, of no consequence, as, from long exposure to dust and tobacco smoke, the floor, walls, and ceiling had become one deep, uniform brown. The men's beds were constructed after the fashion of berths on board ship, being wooden boxes ranged in tiers round the room. Several tables and benches were strewn miscellaneously about the floor, in the centre of which stood a large double iron stove, with the word _"Carron"_ stamped on it. This served at once for cooking and warming the place. Numerous guns, axes, and canoe-paddles hung round the walls or were piled in corners, and the rafters sustained a miscellaneous mass of materials, the more conspicuous among which were snow-shoes, dog-sledges, axe-handles, and nets. Having filled and lighted his pipe, Tom Whyte thrust his hands into his deerskin mittens, and sauntered off to perform his errand. CHAPTER IV. A wolf-hunt in the prairies--Charley astonishes his father, and breaks in the "noo 'oss" effectually. During the long winter that reigns in the northern regions of America, the thermometer ranges, for many months together, from zero down to 20, 30, and 40 degrees _below_ it. In different parts of the country the intensity of the frost varies a little, but not sufficiently to make any appreciable change in one's sensation of cold. At York Fort, on the shores of Hudson's Bay, where the winter is eight months long, the spirit-of-wine (mercury being useless in so cold a climate) sometimes falls so low as 50 degrees below zero; and away in the regions of Great Bear Lake it has been known to fall considerably lower than 60 degrees below zero of Fahrenheit. Cold of such intensity, of course, produces many curious and interesting effects, which, although scarcely noticed by the inhabitants, make a strong impression upon the minds of those who visit the country for the first time. A youth goes out to walk on one of the first sharp, frosty mornings. His locks are brown and his face ruddy. In half-an-hour he returns with his face blue, his nose frost-bitten, and his locks _white_--the latter effect being produced by his breath congealing on his hair and breast, until both are covered with hoar-frost. Perhaps he is of a sceptical nature, prejudiced it may be, in favour of old habits and customs; so that, although told by those who ought to know that it is absolutely necessary to wear moccasins in winter, he prefers the leather boots to which he has been accustomed at home, and goes out with them accordingly In a few minutes the feet begin to lose sensation. First the toes, as far as feeling goes, vanish; then the heels depart, and he feels the extraordinary and peculiar and altogether disagreeable sensation of one who has had his heels and toes amputated, and is walking about on his insteps. Soon, however, these also fade away, and the unhappy youth rushes frantically home on the stumps of his ankle-bones--at least so it appears to him, and so in reality it would turn out to be if he did not speedily rub the benumbed appendages into vitality again. The whole country during this season is buried in snow, and the prairies of Red River present the appearance of a sea of the purest white for five or six months of the year. Impelled by hunger, troops of prairie wolves prowl round the settlement, safe from the assault of man in consequence of their light weight permitting them to scamper away on the surface of the snow, into which man or horse, from their greater weight, would sink, so as to render pursuit either fearfully laborious or altogether impossible. In spring, however, when the first thaws begin to take place, and commence that delightful process of disruption which introduces this charming season of the year, the relative position of wolf and man is reversed. The snow becomes suddenly soft, so that the short legs of the wolf, sinking deep into it, fail to reach the solid ground below, and he is obliged to drag heavily along; while the long legs of the horse enable him to plunge through and dash aside the snow at a rate which, although not very fleet, is sufficient nevertheless to overtake the chase and give his rider a chance of shooting it. The inhabitants of Red River are not much addicted to this sport, but the gentlemen of the Hudson's Bay Service sometimes practise it; and it was to a hunt of this description that our young friend Charley Kennedy was now so anxious to go. The morning was propitious. The sun blazed in dazzling splendour in a sky of deep unclouded blue, while the white prairie glittered as if it were a sea of diamonds rolling out in an unbroken sheet from the walls of the fort to the horizon, and on looking at which one experienced all the pleasurable feelings of being out on a calm day on the wide, wide sea, without the disagreeable consequence of being very, very sick. The thermometer stood at 39° in the shade, and "everythin_k_" as Tom Whyte emphatically expressed it, "looked like a runnin' of right away into slush." That unusual sound, the trickling of water, so inexpressibly grateful to the ears of those who dwell in frosty climes, was heard all around, as the heavy masses of snow on the housetops sent a few adventurous drops gliding down the icicles which depended from the eaves and gables; and there was a balmy softness in the air that told of coming spring. Nature, in fact, seemed to have wakened from her long nap, and was beginning to think of getting up. Like people, however, who venture to delay so long as to _think_ about it, Nature frequently turns round and goes to sleep again in her icy cradle for a few weeks after the first awakening. The scene in the court-yard of Fort Garry harmonised with the cheerful spirit of the morning. Tom Whyte, with that upright solemnity which constituted one of his characteristic features, was standing in the centre of a group of horses, whose energy he endeavoured to restrain with the help of a small Indian boy, to whom meanwhile he imparted a variety of useful and otherwise unattainable information. "You see, Joseph," said he to the urchin, who gazed gravely in his face with a pair of very large and dark eyes, "ponies is often skittish. Reason why one should be, an' another not, I can't comprehend. P'r'aps it's nat'ral, p'r'aps not, but howsomediver so 'tis; an' if it's more nor above the likes o' _me_, Joseph, you needn't be suprised that it's somethink haltogether beyond _you_." It will not surprise the reader to be told that Joseph made no reply to this speech, having a very imperfect acquaintance with the English language, especially the peculiar dialect of that tongue in which Tom Whyte was wont to express his ideas, when he had any. He merely gave a grunt, and continued to gaze at Tom's fishy eyes, which were about as interesting as the face to which they belonged, and _that_ might have been mistaken for almost anything. "Yes, Joseph," he continued, "that's a fact. There's the noo brown o'ss now, _it's_ a skittish 'un. And there's Mr. Kennedy's gray mare, wot's a standin' of beside me, she ain't skittish a bit, though she's plenty of spirit, and wouldn't care hanythink for a five-barred gate. Now, wot I want to know is, wot's the reason why?" We fear that the reason why, however interesting it might prove to naturalists, must remain a profound secret for ever; for just as the groom was about to entertain Joseph with one of his theories on the point, Charley Kennedy and Harry Somerville hastily approached. "Ho, Tom!" exclaimed the former, "have you got the miller's pony for me?" "Why, no, sir; 'e 'adn't got his shoes on, sir, last night--" "Oh, bother his shoes!" said Charley, in a voice of great disappointment. "Why didn't you bring him up without shoes, man, eh?" "Well, sir, the miller said 'e'd get 'em put on early this mornin', an' I 'xpect 'e'll be 'ere in 'alf-a-hour at farthest, sir." "Oh, very well," replied Charley, much relieved, but still a little nettled at the bare possibility of being late.--"Come along, Harry; let's go and meet him. He'll be long enough of coming if we don't go to poke him up a bit." "You'd better wait," called out the groom, as the boys hastened away. "If you go by the river, he'll p'r'aps come by the plains; and if you go by the plains, he'll p'r'aps come by the river." Charley and Harry stopped and looked at each other. Then they looked at the groom, and as their eyes surveyed his solemn, cadaverous countenance, which seemed a sort of bad caricature of the long visages of the horses that stood around him, they burst into a simultaneous and prolonged laugh. "He's a clever old lamp-post," said Harry at last: "we had better remain, Charley." "You see," continued Tom Whyte, "the pony's 'oofs is in an 'orrible state. Last night w'en I see'd 'im I said to the miller, says I, 'John, I'll take 'im down to the smith d'rectly.' 'Very good,' said John. So I 'ad him down to the smith--" The remainder of Tom's speech was cut short by one of those unforeseen operations of the laws of nature which are peculiar to arctic climates. During the long winter repeated falls of snow cover the housetops with white mantles upwards of a foot thick, which become gradually thicker and more consolidated as winter advances. In spring the suddenness of the thaw loosens these from the sloping roofs, and precipitates them in masses to the ground. These miniature avalanches are dangerous, people having been seriously injured and sometimes killed by them. Now it happened that a very large mass of snow, which lay on and partly depended from the roof of the house near to which the horses were standing, gave way, and just at that critical point in Tom Whyte's speech when he "'ad 'im down to the smith," fell with a stunning crash on the back of Mr. Kennedy's gray mare. The mare was not "skittish"--by no means--according to Tom's idea, but it would have been more than an ordinary mare to have stood the sudden descent of half-a-ton of snow without _some_ symptoms of consciousness. No sooner did it feel the blow than it sent both heels with a bang against the wooden store, by way of preliminary movement, and then rearing up with a wild snort, it sprang over Tom Whyte's head, jerked the reins from his hand, and upset him in the snow. Poor Tom never _bent_ to anything. The military despotism under which he had been reared having substituted a touch of the cap for a bow, rendered it unnecessary to bend; prolonged drill, laziness, and rheumatism made it at last impossible. When he stood up, he did so after the manner of a pillar; when he sat down, he broke across at two points, much in the way in which a foot-rule would have done had _it_ felt disposed to sit down; and when he fell, he came down like an overturned lamp-post. On the present occasion Tom became horizontal in a moment, and from his unfortunate propensity to fall straight, his head, reaching much farther than might have been expected, came into violent contact with the small Indian boy, who fell flat likewise, letting go the reins of the horses, which latter no sooner felt themselves free than they fled, curvetting and snorting round the court, with reins and manes flying in rare confusion. The two boys, who could scarce stand for laughing, ran to the gates of the fort to prevent the chargers getting free, and in a short time they were again secured, although evidently much elated in spirit. A few minutes after this Mr. Grant issued from the principal house leaning on Mr. Kennedy's arm, and followed by the senior clerk, Peter Mactavish, and one or two friends who had come to take part in the wolf-hunt. They were all armed with double or single barrelled guns or pistols, according to their several fancies. The two elderly gentlemen alone entered upon the scene without any more deadly weapons than their heavy riding-whips. Young Harry Somerville, who had been strongly advised not to take a gun lest he should shoot himself or his horse or his companions, was content to take the field with a small pocket-pistol, which he crammed to the muzzle with a compound of ball and swan-shot. "It won't do," said Mr. Grant, in an earnest voice, to his friend, as they walked towards the horses--"it won't do to check him too abruptly, my dear sir." It was evident that they were recurring to the subject of conversation of the previous day, and it was also evident that the father's wrath was in that very uncertain state when a word or look can throw it into violent agitation. "Just permit me," continued Mr. Grant, "to get him sent to the Saskatchewan or Athabasca for a couple of years. By that time he'll have had enough of a rough life, and be only too glad to get a berth at headquarters. If you thwart him now, I feel convinced that he'll break through all restraint." "Humph!" ejaculated Mr. Kennedy, with a frown--"Come here, Charley," he said, as the boy approached with a disappointed look to tell of his failure in getting a horse; "I've been talking with Mr. Grant again about this business, and he says he can easily get you into the counting-room here for a year, so you'll make arrangements--" The old gentleman paused. He was going to have followed his wonted course by _commanding_ instantaneous obedience; but as his eye fell upon the honest, open, though disappointed face of his son, a gush of tenderness filled his heart. Laying his hand upon Charley's head, he said, in a kind but abrupt tone, "There now, Charley, my boy, make up your mind to give in with a good grace. It'll only be hard work for a year or two, and then plain sailing after that, Charley!" Charley's clear blue eyes filled with tears as the accents of kindness fell upon his ear. It is strange that men should frequently be so blind to the potent influence of kindness. Independently of the Divine authority, which assures us that "a soft answer turneth away wrath," and that "_love_ is the fulfilling of the law," who has not, in the course of his experience, felt the overwhelming power of a truly affectionate word; not a word which possesses merely an affectionate signification, but a word spoken with a gush of tenderness, where love rolls in the tone, and beams in the eye, and revels in every wrinkle of the face? And how much more powerfully does such a word or look or tone strike home to the heart if uttered by one whose lips are not much accustomed to the formation of honeyed words or sweet sentences! Had Mr. Kennedy, senior, known more of this power, and put it more frequently to the proof, we venture to affirm that Mr. Kennedy, junior, would have _allowed_ his _"flint to be fixed"_ (as his father pithily expressed it) long ago. Ere Charley could reply to the question, Mr. Grant's voice, pitched in an elevated key, interrupted them. "Eh! what?" said that gentleman to Tom Whyte. "No horse for Charley! How's that?" "No, sir," said Tom. "Where's the brown pony?" said Mr. Grant, abruptly. "Cut 'is fetlock, sir," said Tom, slowly. "And the new horse?" "'Tan't 'alf broke yet, sir." "Ah! that's bad.--It wouldn't do to take an unbroken charger, Charley; for although you are a pretty good rider, you couldn't manage him, I fear. Let me see." "Please, sir," said the groom, touching his hat, "I've borrowed the miller's pony for 'im, and 'e's sure to be 'ere in 'alf-a-hour at farthest." "Oh, that'll do," said Mr. Grant; "you can soon overtake us. We shall ride slowly out, straight into the prairie, and Harry will remain behind to keep you company." So saying, Mr. Grant mounted his horse and rode out at the back gate, followed by the whole cavalcade. "Now this is too bad!" said Charley, looking with a very perplexed air at his companion. "What's to be done?" Harry evidently did not know what was to be done, and made no difficulty of saying so in a very sympathising tone. Moreover, he begged Charley very earnestly to take _his_ pony, but this the other would not hear of; so they came to the conclusion that there was nothing for it but to wait as patiently as possible for the arrival of the expected horse. In the meantime Harry proposed a saunter in the field adjoining the fort. Charley assented, and the two friends walked away, leading the gray pony along with them. To the right of Fort Garry was a small enclosure, at the extreme end of which commences a growth of willows and underwood, which gradually increases in size till it becomes a pretty thick belt of woodland, skirting up the river for many miles. Here stood the stable belonging to the establishment; and as the boys passed it, Charley suddenly conceived a strong desire to see the renowned "noo 'oss," which Tom Whyte had said was only "'alf broke;" so he turned the key, opened the door, and went in. There was nothing _very_ peculiar about this horse, excepting that his legs seemed rather long for his body, and upon a closer examination, there was a noticeable breadth of nostril and a latent fire in his eye, indicating a good deal of spirit, which, like Charley's own, required taming. "Oh" said Charley, "what a splendid fellow! I say, Harry, I'll go out with _him."_ "You'd better not." "Why not?" "Why? just because if you do Mr. Grant will be down upon you, and your father won't be very well pleased." "Nonsense," cried Charley. "Father didn't say I wasn't to take him. I don't think he'd care much. He's not afraid of my breaking my neck. And then, Mr. Grant seemed to be only afraid of my being run off with--not of his horse being hurt. Here goes for it!" In another moment Charley had him saddled and bridled, and led him out into the yard. "Why, I declare, he's quite quiet; just like a lamb," said Harry, in surprise. "So he is," replied Charley. "He's a capital charger; and even if he does bolt, he can't run five hundred miles at a stretch. If I turn his head to the prairies, the Rocky Mountains are the first things that will bring him up. So let him run if he likes, I don't care a fig." And springing lightly into the saddle, he cantered out of the yard, followed by his friend. The young horse was a well-formed, showy animal, with a good deal of bone--perhaps too much for elegance. He was of a beautiful dark brown, and carried a high head and tail, with a high-stepping gait, that gave him a noble appearance. As Charley cantered along at a steady pace, he could discover no symptoms of the refractory spirit which had been ascribed to him. "Let us strike out straight for the horizon now," said Harry, after they had galloped half-a-mile or so along the beaten track. "See, here are the tracks of our friends." Turning sharp round as he spoke, he leaped his pony over the heap that lined the road, and galloped away through the soft snow. At this point the young horse began to show his evil spirit. Instead of following the other, he suddenly halted and began to back. "Hollo, Harry!" exclaimed Charley; "hold on a bit. Here's this monster begun his tricks." "Hit him a crack with the whip," shouted Harry. Charley acted upon the advice, which had the effect of making the horse shake his head with a sharp snort, and back more vigorously than ever. "There, my fine fellow, quiet now," said Charley, in a soothing tone, patting the horse's neck. "It's a comfort to know you can't go far in _that_ direction, anyhow!" he added, as he glanced over his shoulder, and saw an immense drift behind. He was right. In a few minutes the horse backed into the snow-drift. Finding his hind-quarters imprisoned by a power that was too much even for _his_ obstinacy to overcome, he gave another snort and a heavy plunge, which almost unseated his young rider. "Hold on fast," cried Harry, who had now come up. "No fear," cried Charley, as he clinched his teeth and gathered the reins more firmly.--"Now for it, you young villain!" and raising his whip, he brought it down with a heavy slash on the horse's flank. Had the snow-drift been a cannon, and the horse a bombshell, he could scarcely have sprung from it with greater velocity. One bound landed him on the road; another cleared it; and, in a second more, he stretched out at full speed--his ears flat on his neck, mane and tail flying in the wind, and the bit tight between his teeth. "Well done," cried Harry, as he passed. "You're off now, old fellow; good-bye." "Hurrah!" shouted Charley, in reply, leaving his cap in the snow as a parting souvenir; while, seeing that it was useless to endeavour to check his steed, he became quite wild with excitement; gave him the rein; flourished his whip; and flew over the white plains, casting up the snow in clouds behind him like a hurricane. While this little escapade was being enacted by the boys, the hunters were riding leisurely out upon the snowy sea in search of a wolf. Words cannot convey to you, dear reader, an adequate conception of the peculiar fascination, the exhilarating splendour of the scene by which our hunters were surrounded. Its beauty lay not in variety of feature in the landscape, for there was none. One vast sheet of white alone met the view, bounded all round by the blue circle of the sky, and broken, in one or two places, by a patch or two of willows, which, rising on the plain, appeared like little islands in a frozen sea. It was the glittering sparkle of the snow in the bright sunshine; the dreamy haziness of the atmosphere, mingling earth and sky as in a halo of gold; the first taste, the first _smell_ of spring after a long winter, bursting suddenly upon the senses, like the unexpected visit of a long-absent, much-loved, and almost-forgotten friend; the soft, warm feeling of the south wind, bearing on its wings the balmy influences of sunny climes, and recalling vividly the scenes, the pleasures, the bustling occupations of summer. It was this that caused the hunters' hearts to leap within them as they rode along--that induced old Mr. Kennedy to forget his years, and shout as he had been wont to do in days gone by, when he used to follow the track of the elk or hunt the wild buffalo; and it was this that made the otherwise monotonous prairies, on this particular clay, so charming. The party had wandered about without discovering anything that bore the smallest resemblance to a wolf, for upwards of an hour; Fort Garry had fallen astern (to use a nautical phrase) until it had become a mere speck on the horizon, and vanished altogether; Peter Mactavish had twice given a false alarm, in the eagerness of his spirit, and had three times plunged his horse up to the girths in a snow-drift; the senior clerk was waxing impatient, and the horses restive, when a sudden "Hollo!" from Mr. Grant brought the whole cavalcade to a stand. The object which drew his attention, and to which he directed the anxious eyes of his friends was a small speck, rather triangular in form, which overtopped a little willow bush not more than five or six hundred yards distant. "There he is!" exclaimed Mr. Grant. "That's a fact," cried Mr. Kennedy; and both gentlemen, instantaneously giving a shout, bounded towards the object; not, however, before the senior clerk, who was mounted on a fleet and strong horse, had taken the lead by six yards. A moment afterwards the speck rose up and discovered itself to be a veritable wolf. Moreover, he condescended to show his teeth, and then, conceiving it probable that his enemies were too numerous for him, he turned suddenly round and fled away. For ten minutes or so the chase was kept up at full speed, and as the snow happened to be shallow at the starting-point, the wolf kept well ahead of its pursuers--indeed, distanced them a little. But soon the snow became deeper, and the wolf plunged heavily, and the horses gained considerably. Although to the eye the prairies seemed to be a uniform level, there were numerous slight undulations, in which drifts of some depth had collected. Into one of these the wolf now plunged and laboured slowly through it. But so deep was the snow that the horses almost stuck fast. A few minutes, however, brought them out, and Mr. Grant and Mr. Kennedy, who had kept close to each other during the run, pulled up for a moment on the summit of a ridge to breathe their panting steeds. "What can that be?" exclaimed the former, pointing with his whip to a distant object which was moving rapidly over the plain. "Eh! what--where?" said Mr. Kennedy, shading his eyes with his hand, and peering in the direction indicated. "Why, that's another wolf, isn't it? No; it runs too fast for that." "Strange," said his friend; "what _can_ it be?" "If I hadn't seen every beast in the country," remarked Mr. Kennedy, "and didn't know that there are no such animals north of the equator, I should say it was a mad dromedary mounted by a ring-tailed roarer." "It can't be surely--not possible!" exclaimed Mr. Grant. "It's not Charley on the new horse!" Mr. Grant said this with an air of vexation that annoyed his friend a little. He would not have much minded Charley's taking a horse without leave, no matter how wild it might be; but he did not at all relish the idea of making an apology for his son's misconduct, and for the moment did not exactly know what to say. As usual in such a dilemma, the old man took refuge in a towering passion, gave his steed a sharp cut with the whip, and galloped forward to meet the delinquent. We are not acquainted with the general appearance of a "ring-tailed roarer;" in fact, we have grave doubts as to whether such an animal exists at all; but if it does, and is particularly wild, dishevelled, and fierce in deportment, there is no doubt whatever that when Mr. Kennedy applied the name to his hopeful son, the application was singularly powerful and appropriate. Charley had had a long run since we last saw him. After describing a wide curve, in which his charger displayed a surprising aptitude for picking out the ground that was least covered with snow, he headed straight for the fort again at the same pace at which he had started. At first Charley tried every possible method to check him, but in vain; so he gave it up, resolving to enjoy the race, since he could not prevent it. The young horse seemed to be made of lightning, with bones and muscles of brass; for he bounded untiringly forward for miles, tossing his head and snorting in his wild career. But Charley was a good horseman, and did not mind _that_ much, being quite satisfied that the horse _was_ a horse and not a spirit, and that therefore he could not run for ever. At last he approached the party, in search of which he had originally set out. His eyes dilated and his colour heightened as he beheld the wolf running directly towards him. Fumbling hastily for the pistol which he had borrowed from his friend Harry, he drew it from his pocket, and prepared to give the animal a shot in passing. Just at that moment the wolf caught sight of this new enemy in advance, and diverged suddenly to the left, plunging into a drift in his confusion, and so enabling the senior clerk to overtake him, and send an ounce of heavy shot into his side, which turned him over quite dead. The shot, however had a double effect. At that instant Charley swept past; and his mettlesome steed swerved as it heard the loud report of the gun, thereby almost unhorsing his rider, and causing him unintentionally to discharge the conglomerate of bullets and swan-shot into the flank of Peter Mactavish's horse--fortunately at a distance which rendered the shot equivalent to a dozen very sharp and particularly stinging blows. On receiving this unexpected salute, the astonished charger reared convulsively, and fell back upon his rider, who was thereby buried deep in the snow, not a vestige of him being left, no more than if he had never existed at all. Indeed, for a moment it seemed to be doubtful whether poor Peter _did_ exist or not, until a sudden upheaving of the snow took place, and his dishevelled head appeared, with the eyes and mouth wide open, bearing on them an expression of mingled horror and amazement. Meanwhile the second shot acted like a spur on the young horse, which flew past Mr. Kennedy like a whirlwind. "Stop, you young scoundrel!" he shouted, shaking his fist at Charley as he passed. Charley was past stopping, either by inclination or ability. This sudden and unexpected accumulation of disasters was too much for him. As he passed his sire, with his brown curls streaming straight out behind, and his eyes flashing with excitement, his teeth clinched, and his horse tearing along more like an incarnate fiend than an animal, a spirit of combined recklessness, consternation, indignation, and glee took possession of him. He waved his whip wildly over his head, brought it down with a stinging cut on the horse's neck, and uttered a shout of defiance that threw completely into the shade the loudest war-whoop that was ever uttered by the brazen lungs of the wildest savage between Hudson's Bay and Oregon. Seeing and hearing this, old Mr. Kennedy wheeled about and dashed off in pursuit with much greater energy than he had displayed in chase of the wolf. The race bid fair to be a long one, for the young horse was strong in wind and limb; and the gray mare, though decidedly not "the better horse," was much fresher than the other. The hunters, who were now joined by Harry Somerville, did not feel it incumbent on them to follow this new chase; so they contented themselves with watching their flight towards the fort, while they followed at a more leisurely pace. Meanwhile Charley rapidly neared Fort Garry, and now began to wonder whether the stable door was open, and if so, whether it were better for him to take his chance of getting his neck broken, or to throw himself into the next snow-drift that presented itself. He had not to remain long in suspense. The wooden fence that enclosed the stable-yard lay before him. It was between four and five feet high, with a beaten track running along the outside, and a deep snow-drift on the other. Charley felt that the young horse had made up his mind to leap this. As he did not at the moment see that there was anything better to be done, he prepared for it. As the horse bent on his haunches to spring, he gave him a smart cut with the whip, went over like a rocket, and plunged up to the neck in the snow-drift; which brought his career to an abrupt conclusion. The sudden stoppage of the horse was _one_ thing, but the arresting of Master Charley was _another_ and quite a different thing. The instant his charger landed, he left the saddle like a harlequin, described an extensive curve in the air, and fell head foremost into the drift, above which his boots and three inches of his legs alone remained to tell the tale. On witnessing this climax, Mr. Kennedy, senior, pulled up, dismounted, and ran--with an expression of some anxiety on his countenance--to the help of his son, while Tom Whyte came out of the stable just in time to receive the "noo 'oss" as he floundered out of the snow. "I believe," said the groom, as he surveyed the trembling charger, "that your son has broke the noo 'oss, sir, better nor I could 'ave done myself." "I believe that my son has broken his neck," said Mr. Kennedy wrathfully. "Come here and help me to dig him out." In a few minutes Charley was dug out, in a state of insensibility, and carried up to the fort, where he was laid on a bed, and restoratives actively applied for his recovery. CHAPTER V. Peter Mactavish becomes an amateur doctor; Charley promulgates his views of tilings in general to Kate; and Kate waxes sagacious. Shortly after the catastrophe just related, Charley opened his eyes to consciousness, and aroused himself out of a prolonged fainting fit, under the combined influence of a strong constitution and the medical treatment of his friends. Medical treatment in the wilds of North America, by the way, is very original in its character, and is founded on principles so vague that no one has ever been found capable of stating them clearly. Owing to the stubborn fact that there are no doctors in the country, men have been thrown upon their own resources, and as a natural consequence _every_ man is a doctor. True, there _are_ two, it may be three, real doctors in the Hudson's Bay Company's employment; but as one of these is resident on the shores of Hudson's Bay, another in Oregon, and a third in Red River Settlement, they are not considered available for every case of emergency that may chance to occur in the hundreds of little outposts, scattered far and wide over the whole continent of North America, with miles and miles of primeval wilderness between each. We do not think, therefore, that when we say there are _no_ doctors in the country, we use a culpable amount of exaggeration. If a man gets ill, he goes on till he gets better; and if he doesn't get better, he dies. To avert such an undesirable consummation, desperate and random efforts are made in an amateur way. The old proverb that "extremes meet" is verified. And in a land where no doctors are to be had for love or money, doctors meet you at every turn, ready to practise on everything, with anything, and all for nothing, on the shortest possible notice. As maybe supposed, the practice is novel, and not unfrequently extremely wild. Tooth-drawing is considered child's play--mere blacksmith's work; bleeding is a general remedy for everything, when all else fails; castor-oil, Epsom salts, and emetics are the three keynotes, the foundations, and the copestones of the system. In Red River there is only one _genuine_ doctor; and as the settlement is fully sixty miles long, he has enough to do, and cannot always be found when wanted, so that Charley had to rest content with amateur treatment in the meantime. Peter Mactavish was the first to try his powers. He was aware that laudanum had the effect of producing sleep, and seeing that Charley looked somewhat sleepy after recovering consciousness, he thought it advisable to help out that propensity to slumber, and went to the medicine-chest, whence he extracted a small phial of tincture of rhubarb, the half of which he emptied into a wine-glass, under the impression that it was laudanum, and poured down Charley's throat! The poor boy swallowed a little, and sputtered the remainder over the bedclothes. It may be remarked here that Mactavish was a wild, happy, half-mad sort of fellow--wonderfully erudite in regard to some things, and profoundly ignorant in regard to others. Medicine, it need scarcely be added, was not his _forte_. Having accomplished this feat to his satisfaction, he sat down to watch by the bedside of his friend. Peter had taken this opportunity to indulge in a little private practice just after several of the other gentlemen had left the office, under the impression that Charley had better remain quiet for a short time. "Well, Peter," whispered Mr. Kennedy, senior, putting his head in at the door (it was Harry's room in which Charley lay), "how is he now?" "Oh! doing capitally," replied Peter, in a hoarse whisper, at the same time rising and entering the office, while he gently closed the door behind him. "I gave him a small dose of physic, which I think has done mm good. He's sleeping like a top now." Mr. Kennedy frowned slightly, and made one or two remarks in reference to physic which were not calculated to gratify the ears of a physician. "What did you give him?" he inquired abruptly. "Only a little laudanum." "_Only,_ indeed! it's all trash together, and that's the worst kind of trash you could have given him. Humph!" and the old gentleman jerked his shoulders testily. "How much did yon give him?" said the senior clerk, who had entered the apartment with Harry a few minutes before. "Not quite a wineglassful," replied Peter, somewhat subdued. "A what!" cried the father, starting from his chair as if he had received an electric shock, and rushing into the adjoining room, up and down which he raved in a state of distraction, being utterly ignorant of what should be done under the circumstances. Poor Harry Somerville fell rather than leaped off his stool, and dashed into the bedroom, where old Mr. Kennedy was occupied in alternately heaping unutterable abuse on the head of Peter Mactavish, and imploring him to advise what was best to be done. But Peter knew not. He could only make one or two insane proposals to roll Charley about the floor, and see if _that_ would do him any good; while Harry suggested in desperation that he should be hung by the heels, and perhaps it would run out! Meanwhile the senior clerk seized his hat, with the intention of going in search of Tom Whyte, and rushed out at the door; which he had no sooner done than he found himself tightly embraced in the arms of that worthy, who happened to be entering at the moment, and who, in consequence of the sudden onset, was pinned up against the wall of the porch. "Oh, my buzzum!" exclaimed Tom, laying his hand on his breast; "you've a'most bu'st me, sir. W'at's wrong, sir?" "Go for the doctor, Tom, quick! run like the wind. Take the freshest horse; fly, Tom, Charley's poisoned--laudanum; quick!" "'Eavens an' 'arth!" ejaculated the groom, wheeling round, and stalking rapidly off to the stable like a pair of insane compasses, while the senior clerk returned to the bedroom, where he found Mr. Kennedy still raving, Peter Mactavish still aghast and deadly pale, and Harry Somerville staring like a maniac at his young friend, as if he expected every moment to see him explode, although, to all appearance, he was sleeping soundly, and comfortably too, notwithstanding the noise that was going on around him. Suddenly Harry's eye rested on the label of the half-empty phial, and he uttered a loud, prolonged cheer. "It's only tincture of--" "Wild cats and furies!" cried Mr. Kennedy, turning sharply round and seizing Harry by the collar, "why d'you kick up such a row, eh?" "It's only tincture of rhubarb," repeated the boy, disengaging himself and holding up the phial triumphantly. "So it is, I declare," exclaimed Mr. Kennedy, in a tone that indicated intense relief of mind; while Peter Mactavish uttered a sigh so deep that one might suppose a burden of innumerable tons weight had just been removed from his breast. Charley had been roused from his slumbers by this last ebullition; but on being told what had caused it, he turned languidly round on his pillow and went to sleep again, while his friends departed and left him to repose. Tom Whyte failed to find the doctor. The servant told him that her master had been suddenly called to set a broken leg that morning for a trapper who lived ten miles _down_ the river, and on his return had found a man waiting with a horse and cariole, who carried him violently away to see his wife, who had been taken suddenly ill at a house twenty miles _up_ the river, and so she didn't expect him back that night. "An' where has 'e been took to?" inquired Tom. She couldn't tell; she knew it was somewhere about the White-horse Plains, but she didn't know more than that. "Did 'e not say w'en 'e'd be home?" "No, he didn't." "Oh dear!" said Tom, rubbing his long nose in great perplexity. "It's an 'orrible case o' sudden and onexpected pison." She was sorry for it, but couldn't help that; and thereupon, bidding him good-morning, shut the door. Tom's wits had come to that condition which just precedes "giving it up" as hopeless, when it occurred to him that he was not far from old Mr. Kennedy's residence; so he stepped into the cariole again and drove thither. On his arrival he threw poor Mrs. Kennedy and Kate into great consternation by his exceedingly graphic, and more than slightly exaggerated, account of what had brought him in search of the doctor. At first Mrs. Kennedy resolved to go up to Fort Garry immediately, but Kate persuaded her to remain at home, by pointing out that she could herself go, and if anything very serious had occurred (which she didn't believe), Mr. Kennedy could come down for her immediately, while she (Kate) could remain to nurse her brother. In a few minutes Kate and Tom were seated side by side in the little cariole, driving swiftly up the frozen river; and two hours later the former was seated by her brother's bedside, watching him as he slept with a look of tender affection and solicitude. Rousing himself from his slumbers, Charley looked vacantly round the room. "Have you slept well, darling?" inquired Kate, laying her hand lightly on his forehead. "Slept--eh! oh yes. I've slept. I say, Kate, what a precious bump I came down on my head, to be sure!" "Hush, Charley!" said Kate, perceiving that he was becoming energetic. "Father said you were to keep quiet--and so do I," she added, with a frown. "Shut your eyes, sir, and go to sleep." Charley complied by shutting his eyes, and opening his mouth, and uttering a succession of deep snores. "Now, you bad boy," said Kate, "why _won't_ you try to rest?" "Because, Kate, dear," said Charley, opening his eyes again--"because I feel as if I had slept a week at least; and not being one of the seven sleepers, I don't think it necessary to do more in that way just now. Besides, my sweet but particularly wicked sister, I wish just at this moment to have a talk with you." "But are you sure it won't do you harm to talk? do you feel quite strong enough?" "Quite: Sampson was a mere infant compared to me." "Oh, don't talk nonsense, Charley dear, and keep your hands quiet, and don't lift the clothes with your knees in that way, else I'll go away and leave you." "Very well, my pet; if you do, I'll get up and dress and follow you, that's all! But come, Kate, tell me first of all how it was that I got pitched off that long-legged rhinoceros, and who it was that picked me up, and why wasn't I killed, and how did I come here; for my head is sadly confused, and I scarcely recollect anything that has happened; and before commencing your discourse, Kate, please hand me a glass of water, for my mouth is as dry as a whistle." Kate handed him a glass of water, smoothed his pillow, brushed the curls gently off his forehead, and sat down on the bedside. "Thank you, Kate; now go on." "Well, you see," she began-- "Pardon me, dearest," interrupted Charley, "if you would please to look at me you would observe that my two eyes are tightly closed, so that I don't _see_ at all." "Well, then, you must understand--" "Must I? Oh!--" "That after that wicked horse leaped with you over the stable fence, you were thrown high into the air, and turning completely round, fell head foremost into the snow, and your poor head went through the top of an old cask that had been buried there all winter." "Dear me!" ejaculated Charley; "did anyone see me, Kate?" "Oh yes." "Who?" asked Charley, somewhat anxiously; "not Mrs. Grant, I hope? for if she did she'd never let me hear the last of it." "No; only our father, who was chasing you at the time," replied Kate, with a merry laugh. "And no one else?" "No--oh yes, by-the-by, Tom Whyte was there too." "Oh, he's nobody. Go on." "But tell me, Charley, why do you care about Mrs. Grant seeing you?" "Oh! no reason at all, only she's such an abominable quiz." We must guard the reader here against the supposition that Mrs. Grant was a quiz of the ordinary kind. She was by no means a sprightly, clever woman, rather fond of a joke than otherwise, as the term might lead you to suppose. Her corporeal frame was very large, excessively fat, and remarkably unwieldy; being an appropriate casket in which to enshrine a mind of the heaviest and most sluggish nature. She spoke little, ate largely, and slept much--the latter recreation being very frequently enjoyed in a large arm-chair of a peculiar kind. It had been a water-butt, which her ingenious husband had cut half-way down the middle, then half-way across, and in the angle thus formed fixed a bottom, which, together with the back, he padded with tow, and covered the whole with a mantle of glaring bed-curtain chintz, whose pattern alternated in stripes of sky-blue and china roses, with broken fragments of the rainbow between. Notwithstanding her excessive slowness, however, Mrs. Grant was fond of taking a firm hold of anything or any circumstance in the character or affairs of her friends, and twitting them thereupon in a grave but persevering manner that was exceedingly irritating. No one could ever ascertain whether Mrs. Grant did this in a sly way or not, as her visage never expressed anything except unalterable good-humour. She was a good wife and an affectionate mother; had a family of ten children, and could boast of never having had more than one quarrel with her husband. This disagreement was occasioned by a rather awkward mischance. One day, not long after her last baby was born, Mrs. Grant waddled towards her tub with the intention of enjoying her accustomed siesta. A few minutes previously, her seventh child, which was just able to walk, had scrambled up into the seat and fallen fast asleep there. As has been already said, Mrs. Grant's intellect was never very bright, and at this particular time she was rather drowsy, so that she did not observe the child, and on reaching her chair, turned round preparatory to letting herself plump into it. She always _plumped_ into her chair. Her muscles were too soft to lower her gently down into it. Invariably on reaching a certain point they ceased to act, and let her down with a crash. She had just reached this point, and her baby's hopes and prospects were on the eve of being cruelly crushed for ever, when Mr. Grant noticed the impending calamity. He had no time to warn her, for she had already passed the point at which her powers of muscular endurance terminated; so grasping the chair, he suddenly withdrew it with such force that the baby rolled off upon the floor like a hedgehog, straightened out flat, and gave vent to an outrageous roar, while its horror-struck mother came to the ground with a sound resembling the fall of an enormous sack of wool. Although the old lady could not see exactly that there was anything very blameworthy in her husband's conduct on this occasion, yet her nerves had received so severe a shock that she refused to be comforted for two entire days. But to return from this digression. After Charley had two or three times recommended Kate (who was a little inclined to be quizzical) to proceed, she continued,-- "Well, then you were carried up here by father and Tom Whyte, and put to bed, and after a good deal of rubbing and rough treatment you were got round. Then Peter Mactavish nearly poisoned you, but fortunately he was such a goose that he did not think of reading the label of the phial, and so gave you a dose of tincture of rhubarb instead of laudanum as he had intended; and then father flew into a passion, and Tom Whyte was sent to fetch the doctor, and couldn't find him; but fortunately he found me, which was much better, I think, and brought me up here. And so here I am, and here I intend to remain." "And so that's the end of it. Well, Kate, I'm very glad it was no worse." "And I am very _thankful_" said Kate, with emphasis on the word, "that it's no worse." "Oh, well, you know, Kate, I _meant_ that, of course." "But you did not _say_ it," replied his sister earnestly. "To be sure not," said Charley gaily; "it would be absurd to be always making solemn speeches, and things of that sort, every time one has a little accident." "True, Charley; but when one has a very serious accident, and escapes unhurt, don't you think that _then_ it would be--" "Oh yes, to be sure," interrupted Charley, who still strove to turn Kate from her serious frame of mind; "but sister dear, how could I possibly _say_ I was thankful with my head crammed into an old cask and my feet pointing up to the blue sky, eh?" Kate smiled at this, and laid her hand on his arm, while she bent over the pillow and looked tenderly into his eyes. "O my darling Charley, you are disposed to jest about it; but I cannot tell you how my heart trembled this morning when I heard from Tom Whyte of what had happened. As we drove up to the fort, I thought how terrible it would have been if you had been killed; and then the happy days we have spent together rushed into my mind, and I thought of the willow creek where we used to fish for gold eyes, and the spot in the woods where we have so often chased the little birds, and the lake in the prairies where we used to go in spring to watch the water-fowl sporting in the sunshine. When I recalled these things, Charley, and thought of you as dead, I felt as if I should die too. And when I came here and found that my fears were needless, that you were alive and safe, and almost well, I felt thankful--yes, very, very thankful--to God for sparing your life, my dear, dear Charley." And Kate laid her head on his bosom and sobbed, when she thought of what might have been, as if her very heart would break. Charley's disposition to levity entirely vanished while his sister spoke; and twining his tough little arm round her neck, he pressed her fervently to his heart. "Bless you, Kate," he said at length. "I am indeed thankful to God, not only for sparing my life, but for giving me such a darling sister to live for. But now, Kate, tell me, what do you think of father's determination to have me placed in the office here?" "Indeed, I think it's very hard. Oh, I do wish _so_ much that I could do it for you," said Kate with a sigh. "Do _what_ for me?" asked Charley. "Why, the office work," said Kate. "Tuts! fiddlesticks! But isn't it, now, really a _very_ hard case?" "Indeed it is; but, then, what can you do?" "Do?" said Charley impatiently; "run away to be sure." "Oh, don't speak of that!" said Kate anxiously. "You know it will kill our beloved mother; and then it would grieve father very much." "Well, father don't care much about grieving me, when he hunted me down like a wolf till I nearly broke my neck." "Now, Charley, you must not speak so. Father loves you tenderly, although he _is_ a little rough at times. If you only heard how kindly he speaks of you to our mother when you are away, you could not think of giving him so much pain. And then the Bible says, 'Honour thy father and thy mother, that thy days may be long in the land which the Lord thy God giveth thee;' and as God speaks in the Bible, _surely_ we should pay attention to it!" Charley was silent for a few seconds; then heaving a deep sigh, he said,-- "Well, I believe you're right, Kate; but then, what am I to do? If I don't run away, I must live, like poor Harry Somerville, on a long-legged stool; and if I do _that_, I'll--I'll--" As Charley spoke, the door opened, and his father entered. "Well, my boy," said he, seating himself on the bedside and taking his son's hand, "how goes it now? Head getting all right again? I fear that Kate has been talking too much to you.--Is it so, you little chatterbox?" Mr. Kennedy parted Kate's clustering ringlets and kissed her forehead. Charley assured his father that he was almost well, and much the better of having Kate to tend him. In fact, he felt so much revived that he said he would get up and go out for a walk. "Had I not better tell Tom Whyte to saddle the young horse for you?" said his father, half ironically. "No, no, boy; lie still where you are to-day, and get up if you feel better to-morrow. In the meantime, I've come to say good-bye, as I intend to go home to relieve your mother's anxiety about you. I'll see you again, probably, the day after to-morrow. Hark you, boy; I've been talking your affairs over again with Mr. Grant, and we've come to the conclusion to give you a run in the woods for a time. You'll have to be ready to start early in spring with the first brigades for the north. So adieu!" Mr. Kennedy patted him on the head, and hastily left the room. A burning blush of shame arose on Charley's cheek as he recollected his late remarks about his father; and then, recalling the purport of his last words, he sent forth an exulting shout as he thought of the coming spring. "Well now, Charley," said Kate, with an arch smile, "let us talk seriously over your arrangements for running away." Charley replied by seizing the pillow and throwing it at his sister's head; but being accustomed to such eccentricities, she anticipated the movement and evaded the blow. "Ah, Charley," cried Kate, laughing, "you mustn't let your hand get out of practice! That was a shockingly bad shot for a man thirsting to become a bear and buffalo hunter!" "I'll make my fortune at once," cried Charley, as Kate replaced the pillow, "build a wooden castle on the shores of Great Bear Lake, take you to keep house for me, and when I'm out hunting you'll fish for whales in the lake; and we'll live there to a good old age; so good-night, Kate dear, and go to bed." Kate laughed, gave her brother a parting kiss, and left him. CHAPTER VI. Spring and the voyageurs. Winter, with its snow and its ice: winter, with its sharp winds and white drifts; winter, with its various characteristic occupations and employments, is past, and it is spring now. The sun no longer glitters on fields of white; the woodman's axe is no longer heard hacking the oaken billets, to keep alive the roaring fires. That inexpressibly cheerful sound the merry chime of sleigh-bells, that tells more of winter than all other sounds together, is no longer heard on the bosom of Red River; for the sleighs are thrown aside as useless lumber--carts and gigs have supplanted them. The old Canadian, who used to drive the ox with its water-barrel to the ice-hole for his daily supply, has substituted a small cart with wheels for the old sleigh that used to glide so smoothly over the snow, and _grit_ so sharply on it in the more than usually frosty mornings in the days gone by. The trees have lost their white patches, and the clumps of willows, that used to look like islands in the prairie, have disappeared, as the carpeting that gave them prominence has dissolved. The aspect of everything in the isolated settlement has changed. The winter is gone, and spring--bright, beautiful, hilarious spring--has come again. By those who have never known an arctic winter, the delights of an arctic spring can never, we fear, be fully appreciated or understood. Contrast is one of its strongest elements; indeed, we might say, _the_ element which gives to all the others peculiar zest. Life in the arctic regions is like one of Turner's pictures, in which the lights are strong, the shadows deep, and the _tout ensemble_ hazy and romantic. So cold and prolonged is the winter, that the first mild breath of spring breaks on the senses like a zephyr from the plains of Paradise. Everything bursts suddenly into vigorous life, after the long, death-like sleep of Nature; as little children burst into the romping gaieties of a new day, after the deep repose of a long and tranquil night. The snow melts, the ice breaks up, and rushes in broken masses, heaving and tossing in the rising floods, that grind and whirl them into the ocean, or into those great fresh-water lakes that vie with ocean itself in magnitude and grandeur. The buds come out and the leaves appear, clothing all nature with a bright refreshing green, which derives additional brilliancy from sundry patches of snow, that fill the deep creeks and hollows everywhere, and form ephemeral fountains whose waters continue to supply a thousand rills for many a long day, until the fierce glare of the summer sun prevails at last and melts them all away. Red River flows on now to mix its long-pent-up waters with Lake Winnipeg. Boats are seen rowing about upon its waters, as the settlers travel from place to place; and wooden canoes, made of the hollowed-out trunks of large trees, shoot across from shore to shore--these canoes being a substitute for bridges, of which there are none, although the settlement lies on both sides of the river. Birds have now entered upon the scene, their wild cries and ceaseless flight adding to it a cheerful activity. Ground squirrels pop up out of their holes to bask their round, fat, beautifully-striped little bodies in the sun, or to gaze in admiration at the farmer, as he urges a pair of _very_ slow-going oxen, that drag the plough at a pace which induces one to believe that the wide field _may_ possibly be ploughed up by the end of next year. Frogs whistle in the marshy grounds so loudly that men new to the country believe they are being regaled by the songs of millions of birds. There is no mistake about their _whistle_. It is not merely _like_ a whistle, but it _is_ a whistle, shrill and continuous; and as the swamps swarm with these creatures, the song never ceases for a moment, although each individual frog creates only _one_ little gush of music, composed of half-a-dozen trills, and then stops a moment for breath before commencing the second bar. Bull-frogs, too, though not so numerous, help to vary the sound by croaking vociferously, as if they understood the value of bass, and were glad of having an opportunity to join in the universal hum of life and joy which rises everywhere, from the river and the swamp, the forest and the prairie, to welcome back the spring. Such was the state of things in Red River one beautiful morning in April, when a band of voyageurs lounged in scattered groups about the front gate of Fort Garry. They were as fine a set of picturesque, manly fellows as one could desire to see. Their mode of life rendered them healthy, hardy, arid good-humoured, with a strong dash of recklessness--perhaps too much of it--in some of the younger men. Being descended, generally, from French-Canadian sires and Indian mothers, they united some of the good and not a few of the bad qualities of both, mentally as well as physically--combining the light, gay-hearted spirit and full, muscular frame of the Canadian with the fierce passions and active habits of the Indian. And this wildness of disposition was not a little fostered by the nature of their usual occupations. They were employed during a great part of the year in navigating the Hudson's Bay Company's boats, laden with furs and goods, through the labyrinth of rivers and lakes that stud and intersect the whole continent, or they were engaged in pursuit of the bisons, [Footnote: These animals are always called buffaloes by American hunters and fur-traders.] which roam the prairies in vast herds. They were dressed in the costume of the country: most of them wore light-blue cloth capotes, girded tightly round them', by scarlet or crimson worsted belts. Some of them had blue and others scarlet cloth leggings, ornamented more or less with stained porcupine quills, coloured silk, or variegated beads; while some might be seen clad in the leathern coats of winter--deer-skin dressed like chamois leather, fringed all round with little tails, and ornamented much in the same way as those already described. The heavy winter moccasins and duffel socks, which gave to their feet the appearance of being afflicted with gout, were now replaced by moccasins of a lighter and more elegant character, having no socks below, and fitting tightly to the feet like gloves. Some wore hats similar to those made of silk or beaver which are worn by ourselves in Britain, but so bedizened with scarlet cock-tail feathers, and silver cords and tassels, as to leave the original form of the head-dress a matter of great uncertainty. These hats, however, are only used on high occasions, and chiefly by the fops. Most of the men wore coarse blue cloth caps with peaks, and not a few discarded head-pieces altogether, under the impression, apparently, that nature had supplied a covering which was in itself sufficient. These costumes varied not only in character but in quality, according to the circumstances of the wearer; some being highly ornamental and mended--evincing the felicity of the owner in the possession of a good wife--while others were soiled and torn, or but slightly ornamented. The voyageurs were collected, as we have said, in groups. Here stood a dozen of the youngest--consequently the most noisy and showily dressed--laughing loudly, gesticulating violently, and bragging tremendously. Near to them were collected a number of sterner spirits--men of middle age, with all the energy, and muscle, and bone of youth, but without its swaggering hilarity; men whose powers and nerves had been tried over and over again amid the stirring scenes of a voyageur's life; men whose heads were cool, and eyes sharp, and hands ready and powerful, in the mad whirl of boiling rapids, in the sudden attack of wild beast and hostile man, or in the unexpected approach of any danger; men who, having been well tried, needed not to boast, and who, having carried off triumphantly their respective brides many years ago, needed not to decorate their persons with the absurd finery that characterised their younger brethren. They were comparatively few in number, but they composed a sterling band, of which every man was a hero. Among them were those who occupied the high positions of bowman and steersman, and when we tell the reader that on these two men frequently hangs the safety of a boat, with all its crew and lading, it will be easily understood how needful it is that they should be men of iron nerve and strength of mind. Boat-travelling in those regions is conducted in a way that would astonish most people who dwell in the civilised quarters of the globe. The country being intersected in all directions by great lakes and rivers, these have been adopted as the most convenient highways along which to convey the supplies and bring back the furs from outposts. Rivers in America, however, as in other parts of the world, are distinguished by sudden ebullitions and turbulent points of character, in the shape of rapids, falls, and cataracts, up and down which neither men nor boats can by any possibility go with impunity; consequently, on arriving at such obstructions, the cargoes are carried overland to navigable water above or below the falls (as the case may be), then the boats are dragged over and launched, again reloaded, and the travellers proceed. This operation is called "making a portage;" and as these portages vary from twelve yards to twelve miles in length, it may be readily conceived that a voyageur's life is not an easy one by any means. This, however, is only one of his difficulties. Rapids occur which are not so dangerous as to make a "portage" necessary, but are sufficiently turbulent to render the descent of them perilous. In such cases, the boats, being lightened of part of their cargo, are _run_ down, and frequently they descend with full cargoes and crews. It is then that the whole management of each boat devolves upon its bowman and steersman. The rest of the crew, or _middlemen_ as they are called, merely sit still and look on, or give a stroke with their oars if required; while the steersman, with powerful sweeps of his heavy oar, directs the flying boat as it bounds from surge to surge like a thing of life; and the bowman stands erect in front to assist in directing his comrade at the stern, having a strong and long pole in his hands, with which, ever and anon, he violently forces the boat's head away from sunken rocks, against which it might otherwise strike and be stove in, capsized, or seriously damaged. Besides the groups already enumerated, there were one or two others, composed of grave, elderly men, whose wrinkled brows, gray hairs, and slow, quiet step, showed that the strength of their days was past; although their upright figures and warm brown complexions gave promise of their living to see many summers still. These were the principal steersmen and old guides--men of renown, to whom the others bowed as oracles or looked up to as fathers; men whose youth and manhood had been spent in roaming the trackless wilderness, and who were, therefore, eminently qualified to guide brigades through the length and breadth of the land; men whose power of threading their way among the perplexing intricacies of the forest had become a second nature, a kind of instinct, that was as sure of attaining its end as the instinct of the feathered tribes, which brings the swallow, after a long absence, with unerring certainty back to its former haunts again in spring. CHAPTER VII. The store. At whatever establishment in the fur-trader's dominions you may chance to alight you will find a particular building which is surrounded by a halo of interest; towards which there seems to be a general leaning on the part of everybody, especially of the Indians; and with which are connected, in the minds of all, the most stirring reminiscences and pleasing associations. This is the trading-store. It is always recognisable, if natives are in the neighbourhood, by the bevy of red men that cluster round it, awaiting the coming of the storekeeper or the trader with that stoic patience which is peculiar to Indians. It may be further recognised, by a close observer, by the soiled condition of its walls occasioned by loungers rubbing their backs perpetually against it, and the peculiar dinginess round the keyhole, caused by frequent applications of the key, which renders it conspicuous beyond all its comrades. Here is contained that which makes the red man's life enjoyable; that which causes his heart to leap, and induces him to toil for months and months together in the heat of summer and amid the frost and snow of winter; that which _actually_ accomplishes, what music is _said_ to achieve, the "soothing of the savage breast:" in short, here are stored up blankets, guns, powder, shot, kettles, axes, and knives; twine for nets, vermilion for war-paint, fishhooks and scalping-knives, capotes, cloth, beads, needles, and a host of miscellaneous articles, much too numerous to mention. Here, also occur periodical scenes of bustle and excitement, when bands of natives arrive from distant hunting-grounds, laden with rich furs, which are speedily transferred to the Hudson's Bay Company's stores in exchange for the goods aforementioned. And many a tough wrangle has the trader on such occasions with sharp natives, who might have graduated in Billingsgate, so close are they at a bargain. Here, too, voyageurs are supplied with an equivalent for their wages, part in advance, if they desire it (and they generally do desire it), and part at the conclusion of their long and arduous voyages. It is to one of these stores, reader, that we wish to introduce you now, that you may witness the men of the North brigade receive their advances. The store at Fort Garry stands on the right of the fort, as you enter by the front gate. Its interior resembles that of the other stores in the country, being only a little larger. A counter encloses a space sufficiently wide to admit a dozen men, and serves to keep back those who are more eager than the rest. Inside this counter, at the time we write of, stood our friend, Peter Mactavish, who was the presiding genius of the scene. "Shut the door now, and lock it," said Peter, in an authoritative tone, after eight or ten young voyageurs had crushed into the space in front of the counter. "I'll not supply you with so much as an ounce of tobacco if you let in another man." Peter needed not to repeat the command. Three or four stalwart shoulders were applied to the door, which shut with a bang like a cannon-shot, and the key was turned. "Come now, Antoine," began the trader, "we've lots to do, and not much time to do it in, so pray look sharp." Antoine, however, was not to be urged on so easily. He had been meditating deeply all the morning on what he should purchase. Moreover, he had a sweetheart, and of course he had to buy something for her before setting out on his travels. Besides, Antoine was six feet high, and broad shouldered, and well made, with a dark face and glossy black hair; and he entertained a notion that there were one or two points in his costume which required to be carefully rectified, ere he could consider that he had attained to perfection: so he brushed the long hair off his forehead, crossed his arms, and gazed around him. "Come now, Antoine," said Peter, throwing a green blanket at him; "I know you want _that_ to begin with. What's the use of thinking so long about it, eh? And _that_, too," he added, throwing him a blue cloth capote. "Anything else?" "Oui, oui, monsieur," cried Antoine, as he disengaged himself from the folds of the coat which Peter had thrown over his head. "Tabac, monsieur, tabac!" "Oh, to be sure," cried Peter. "I might have guessed that _that_ was uppermost in your mind. Well, how much will you have?" Peter began to unwind the fragrant weed off a coil of most appalling size and thickness, which looked like a snake of endless length. "Will that do?" and he flourished about four feet of the snake before the eyes of the voyageur. Antoine accepted the quantity, and young Harry Somerville entered the articles against him in a book. "Anything more, Antoine?" said the trader. "Ah, some beads and silks, eh? Oho, Antoine!--By the way, Louis, have you seen Annette lately?" Peter turned to another voyageur when he put this question, and the voyageur gave a broad grin as he replied in the affirmative, while Antoine looked a little confused. He did not care much, however, for jesting. So, after getting one or two more articles--not forgetting half-a-dozen clay pipes, and a few yards of gaudy calico, which called forth from Peter a second reference to Annette--he bundled up his goods, and made way for another comrade. Louis Peltier, one of the principal guides, and a man of importance therefore, now stood forward. He was probably about forty-five years of age; had a plain, olive-coloured countenance, surrounded by a mass of long jet-black hair, which he inherited, along with a pair of dark, piercing eyes, from his Indian mother; and a robust, heavy, yet active frame, which bore a strong resemblance to what his Canadian father's had been many years before. His arms, in particular, were of herculean mould, with large swelling veins and strongly-marked muscles. They seemed, in fact, just formed for the purpose of pulling the heavy sweep of an inland boat among strong rapids. His face combined an expression of stern resolution with great good-humour; and truly his countenance did not belie him, for he was known among his comrades as the most courageous and at the same time the most peaceable man in the settlement. Louis Peltier was singular in possessing the latter quality, for assuredly the half-breeds, whatever other good points they boast, cannot lay claim to very gentle or dove-like dispositions. His grey capote and blue leggings were decorated with no unusual ornaments, and the scarlet belt which encircled his massive figure was the only bit of colour he displayed. The younger men fell respectfully into the rear as Louis stepped forward and begged pardon for coming so early in the day. "Mais, monsieur," he said, "I have to look after the boats to-day, and get them ready for a start to-morrow." Peter Mactavish gave Louis a hearty shake of the hand before proceeding to supply his wants, which were simple and moderate, excepting in the article of _tabac_, in the use of which he was _im_-moderate, being an inveterate smoker; so that a considerable portion of the snake had to be uncoiled for his benefit. "Fond as ever of smoking, Louis?" said Peter Mactavish, as he handed him the coil. "Oui, monsieur--very fond," answered the guide, smelling the weed. "Ah, this is very good. I must take a good supply this voyage, because I lost the half of my roll last year;" and the guide gave a sigh as he thought of the overwhelming bereavement. "Lost the half of it, Louis!" said Mactavish. "Why, how was that? You must have lost _more_ than half your spirits with it!" "Ah, oui, I lost _all_ my spirits, and my comrade François at the same time!" "Dear me!" exclaimed the clerk, bustling about the store while the guide continued to talk. "Oui, monsieur, oui. I lost _him_, and my tabac, and my spirits, and very nearly my life, all in one moment!" "Why, how came that about?" said Peter, pausing in his work, and laying a handful of pipes on the counter. "Ah, monsieur, it was very sad (merci, monsieur, merci; thirty pipes, if you please), and I thought at the time that I should give up my voyageur life, and remain altogether in the settlement with my old woman. Mais, monsieur, that was not possible. When I spoke of it to my old woman, she called _me_ an old woman; and you know, monsieur, that _two_ old women never could live together in peace for twelve months under the same roof. So here I am, you see, ready again for the voyage." The voyageurs, who had drawn round Louis when he alluded to an anecdote which they had often heard before, but were never weary of hearing over again, laughed loudly at this sally, and urged the guide to relate the story to "_monsieur_" who, nothing loath to suspend his operations for a little, leaned his arms on the counter and said-- "Tell us all about it, Louis; I am anxious to know how you managed to come by so many losses all at one time." "Bien, monsieur, I shall soon relate it, for the story is very short." Harry Somerville, who was entering the pipes in Louis's account, had just set down the figures "30" when Louis cleared his throat to begin. Not having the mental fortitude to finish the line, he dropped his pen, sprang off his stool, which he upset in so doing, jumped up, sitting-ways, upon the counter, and gazed with breathless interest into the guide's face as he spoke. "It was on a cold, wet afternoon," said Louis, "that we were descending the Hill River, at a part of the rapids where there is a sharp bend in the stream, and two or three great rocks that stand up in front of the water, as it plunges over a ledge, as if they were put there a purpose to catch it, and split it up into foam, or to stop the boats and canoes that try to run the rapids, and cut them up into splinters. It was an ugly place, monsieur, I can tell you; and though I've run it again and again, I always hold my breath tighter when we get to the top, and breathe freer when we get to the bottom. Well, there was a chum of mine at the bow, Francois by name, and a fine fellow he was as I ever came across. He used to sleep with me at night under the same blanket, although it was somewhat inconvenient; for being as big as myself and a stone heavier, it was all we could do to make the blanket cover us. However, he and I were great friends, and we managed it somehow. Well, he was at the bow when we took the rapids, and a first-rate bowman he made. His pole was twice as long and twice as thick as any other pole in the boat, and he twisted it about just like a fiddlestick. I remember well the night before we came to the rapids, as he was sitting by the fire, which was blazing up among the pine-branches that overhung us, he said that he wanted a good pole for the rapids next day; and with that he jumped up, laid hold of an axe, and went back into the woods a bit to get one. When he returned, he brought a young tree on his shoulder, which he began to strip of its branches, and bark. 'Louis, says he, 'this is hot work; give us a pipe.' So I rummaged about for some tobacco, but found there was none left in my bag; so I went to my kit and got out my roll, about three fathoms or so, and cutting half of it off, I went to the fire and twisted it round his neck by way of a joke, and he said he'd wear it as a necklace all night, and so he did, too, and forgot to take it off in the morning; and when we came near the rapids I couldn't get at my bag to stow it away, so says I, 'Francois, you'll have to run with it on, for I can't stop to stow it now.' 'All right,' says he, 'go ahead;' and just as he said it, we came in sight of the first run, foaming and boiling like a kettle of robbiboo. 'Take care, lads,' I cried, and the next moment we were dashing down towards the bend in the river. As we came near to the shoot, I saw Francois standing up on the gunwale to get a better view of the rocks ahead, and every now and then giving me a signal with his hand how to steer; suddenly he gave a shout, and plunged his long pole into the water, to fend off from a rock which a swirl in the stream had concealed. For a second or two his pole bent like a willow, and we could feel the heavy boat jerk off a little with the tremendous strain, but all at once the pole broke off short with a crack, Francois' heels made a flourish in the air, and then he disappeared head foremost into the foaming water, with my tobacco coiled round his neck! As we flew past the place, one of his arms appeared, and I made a grab at it, and caught him by the sleeve; but the effort upset myself and over I went too. Fortunately, however, one of my men caught me by the foot, and held on like a vice; but the force of the current tore Francois' sleeve out of my grasp, and I was dragged into the boat again just in time to see my comrade's legs and arms going like the sails of a windmill, as he rolled over several times and disappeared. Well, we put ashore the moment we got into still water, and then five or six of us started off on foot to look for Francois. After half-an-hour's search, we found him pitched upon a flat rock in the middle of the stream like a bit of driftwood, We immediately waded out to the rock and brought him ashore, where we lighted a fire, took off all his clothes, and rubbed him till he began to show signs of life again. But you may judge, mes garçons, of my misery when I found that the coil of tobacco was gone. It had come off his neck during his struggles, and there wasn't a vestige of it left, except a bright red mark on the throat, where it had nearly strangled him. When he began to recover, he put his hand up to his neck as if feeling for something, and muttered faintly, 'The tabac.' 'Ah, morbleu!' said I, 'you may say that! Where is it?' Well, we soon brought him round, but he had swallowed so much water that it damaged his lungs, and we had to leave him at the next post we came to; and so I lost my friend too." "Did Francois get better?" said Charley Kennedy, in a voice of great concern. Charley had entered the store by another door, just as the guide began his story, and had listened to it unobserved with breathless interest. "Recover! Oh oui, monsieur, he soon got well again.' "Oh, I'm so glad," cried Charley. "But I lost him for that voyage," added the guide; "and I lost my tabac for ever." "You must take better care of it this time, Louis," said Peter Mactavish, as he resumed his work. "That I shall, monsieur," replied Louis, shouldering his goods and quitting the store, while a short, slim, active little Canadian took his place. "Now, then, Baptiste," said Mactavish, "you want a--" "Blanket, monsieur," "Good. And--" "A capote, monsieur." "And--" "An axe--" "Stop, stop!" shouted Harry Somerville from his desk. "Here's an entry in Louis's account that I can't make out--30 something or other; what can it have been?" "How often," said Mactavish, going up to him with a look of annoyance--"how often have I told you, Mr. Somerville, not to leave an entry half-finished on any account!" "I didn't know that I left it so," said Harry, twisting his features, and scratching his head in great perplexity. "What _can_ it have been? 30--30--not blankets, eh?" (Harry was becoming banteringly bitter.) "He couldn't have got thirty guns, could he? or thirty knives, or thirty copper kettles?" "Perhaps it was thirty pounds of tea," suggested Charley. "No doubt it was thirty _pipes_," said Peter Mactavish. "Oh, that was it!" cried Harry, "that was it! thirty pipes, to be sure. What an ass I am!" "And pray what is _that_?" said Mactavish, pointing sarcastically to an entry in the previous account--"_5 yards of superfine Annette_. Really, Mr. Somerville, I wish you would pay more attention to your work and less to the conversation." "Oh dear!" cried Harry, becoming almost hysterical under the combined effects of chagrin at making so many mistakes, and suppressed merriment at the idea of selling Annettes by the yard. "Oh, dear me--" Harry could say no more, but stuffed his handkerchief into his mouth and turned away. "Well, sir," said the offended Peter, "when you have laughed to your entire satisfaction, we will go on with our work, if you please." "All right," cried Harry, suppressing his feelings with a strong effort; "what next?" Just then a tall, raw-boned man entered the store, and rudely thrusting Baptiste aside, asked if he could get his supplies now. "No," said Mactavish, sharply; "you'll take your turn like the rest." The new-comer was a native of Orkney, a country from which, and the neighbouring islands, the Fur Company almost exclusively recruits its staff of labourers. These men are steady, useful servants, although inclined to be slow and lazy _at first_; but they soon get used to the country, and rapidly improve under the example of the active Canadians and half-breeds with whom they associate; some of them are the best servants the Company possess. Hugh Mathison, however, was a very bad specimen of the race, being rough and coarse in his manners, and very lazy withal. Upon receiving the trader's answer, Hugh turned sulkily on his heel and strode towards the door. Now, it happened that Baptiste's bundle lay just behind him, and on turning to leave the place, he tripped over it and stumbled, whereat the voyageurs burst into an ironical laugh (for Hugh was not a favourite). "Confound your trash!" he cried, giving the little bundle a kick that scattered everything over the floor. "Crapaud!" said Baptiste, between his set teeth, while his eyes flashed angrily, and he stood up before Hugh with clinched fists, "what mean you by that, eh?" The big Scotchman held his little opponent in contempt; so that, instead of putting himself on the defensive, he leaned his back against the door, thrust his hands into his pockets, and requested to know "what that was to him." Baptiste was not a man of many words, and this reply, coupled with the insolent sneer with which it was uttered, caused him to plant a sudden and well-directed blow on the point of Hugh's nose, which flattened it on his face, and brought the back of his head into violent contact with the door. "Well done!" shouted the men; "bravo, Baptiste! _Regardez le nez, mes enfants!_" "Hold!" cried Mactavish, vaulting the counter, and intercepting Hugh, as he rushed upon his antagonist; "no fighting here, you blackguards! If you want to do _that,_ go outside the fort;" and Peter, opening the door, thrust the Orkneyman out. In the meantime, Baptiste gathered up his goods and left the store, in company with several of his friends, vowing that he would wreak his vengeance on the "gros chien" before the sun should set. He had not long to wait, however, for just outside the gate he found Hugh, still smarting under the pain and indignity of the blow, and ready to pounce upon him like a cat on a mouse. Baptiste instantly threw down his bundle, and prepared for battle by discarding his coat. Every nation has its own peculiar method of fighting, and its own ideas of what is honourable and dishonourable in combat. The English, as everyone knows, have particularly stringent rules regarding the part of the body which may or may not be hit with propriety, and count it foul disgrace to strike a man when he is down, although, by some strange perversity of reasoning, they deem it right and fair to _fall_ upon him while in this helpless condition, and burst him if possible. The Scotchman has less of the science, and we are half inclined to believe that he would go the length of kicking a fallen opponent; but on this point we are not quite positive. In regard to the style adopted by the half-breeds, however, we have no doubt. They fight _any_ way and _every_ way, without reference to rules at all; and really, although we may bring ourselves into contempt by admitting the fact, we think they are quite right. No doubt the best course of action is _not_ to fight; but if a man does find it _necessary_ to do so, surely the wisest plan is to get it over at once (as the dentist suggested to his timorous patient), and to do it in the most effectual manner. Be this as it may, Baptiste flew at Hugh, and alighted upon him, not head first, or fist first, or feet first, or _anything_ first, but altogether--in a heap as it were; fist, feet, knees, nails, and teeth, all taking effect at one and the same time, with a force so irresistible that the next moment they both rolled in the dust together. For a minute or so they struggled and kicked like a couple of serpents, and then, bounding to their feet again, they began to perform a war-dance round each other, revolving their fists at the same time in, we presume, the most approved fashion. Owing to his bulk and natural laziness, which rendered jumping about like a jack-in-the-box impossible, Hugh Mathison preferred to stand on the defensive; while his lighter opponent, giving way to the natural bent of his mercurial temperament and corporeal predilections, comported himself in a manner that cannot be likened to anything mortal or immortal, human or inhuman, unless it be to an insane cat, whose veins ran wild-fire instead of blood. Or perhaps we might liken him to that ingenious piece of firework called a zigzag cracker, which explodes with unexpected and repeated suddenness, changing its position in a most perplexing manner at every crack. Baptiste, after the first onset, danced backwards with surprising lightness, glaring at his adversary the while, and rapidly revolving his fists as before mentioned; then a terrific yell was heard; his head, arms, and legs became a sort of whirling conglomerate; the spot on which he danced was suddenly vacant, and at the same moment Mathison received a bite, a scratch, a dab on the nose, and a kick on the stomach all at once. Feeling that it was impossible to plant a well-directed blow on such an assailant, he waited for the next onslaught; and the moment he saw the explosive object flying through the air towards him, he met it with a crack of his heavy fist, which, happening to take effect in the middle of the chest, drove it backwards with about as much velocity as it had approached, and poor Baptiste measured his length on the ground. "Oh, pauvre chien!" cried the spectators, "c'est fini!" "Not yet," cried Baptiste, as he sprang with a scream to his feet again, and began his dance with redoubled energy, just as if all that had gone before was a mere sketch--a sort of playful rehearsal, as it were, of what was now to follow. At this moment Hugh stumbled over a canoe-paddle, and fell headlong into Baptiste's arms, as he was in the very act of making one of his violent descents. This unlooked-for occurrence brought them both to a sudden pause, partly from necessity and partly from surprise. Out of this state Baptiste recovered first, and taking advantage of the accident, threw Mathison heavily to the ground. He rose quickly, however, and renewed the light with freshened vigour. Just at this moment a passionate growl was heard, and old Mr. Kennedy rushed out of the fort in a towering rage. Now Mr. Kennedy had no reason whatever for being angry. He was only a visitor at the fort, and so had no concern in the behaviour of those connected with it. He was not even in the Company's service now, and could not, therefore, lay claim, as one of its officers, to any right to interfere with its men. But Mr. Kennedy never acted much from reason; impulse was generally his guiding-star. He had, moreover, been an absolute monarch, and a commander of men, for many years past in his capacity of fur-trader. Being, as we have said, a powerful, fiery man, he had ruled very much by means of brute force--a species of suasion, by the way, which is too common among many of the gentlemen (?) in the employment of the Hudson's Bay Company. On hearing, therefore, that the men were fighting in front of the fort, Mr. Kennedy rushed out in a towering rage. "Oh, you precious blackguards!" he cried, running up to the combatants, while with flashing eyes he gazed first at one and then at the other, as if uncertain on which to launch his ire. "Have you no place in the world to fight but _here_? eh, blackguards?" "O monsieur," said Baptiste, lowering his hands, and assuming that politeness of demeanour which seems inseparable from French blood, however much mixed with baser fluid, "I was just giving _that dog_ a thrashing, monsieur." "Go!" cried Mr. Kennedy in a voice of thunder, turning to Hugh, who still stood in a pugilistic attitude, with very little respect in his looks. Hugh hesitated to obey the order; but Mr. Kennedy continued to advance, grinding his teeth and working his fingers convulsively, as if he longed to lay violent hold of the Orkneyman's swelled nose; so he retreated in his uncertainty, but still with his face to the foe. As has been already said, the Assiniboine River flows within a hundred yards of the gate of Fort Garry. The two men, in their combat, had approached pretty near to the bank, at a place where it descends somewhat precipitately into the stream. It was towards this bank that Hugh Mathison was now retreating, crab fashion, followed by Mr. Kennedy, and both of them so taken up with each other that neither perceived the fact until Hugh's heel struck against a stone just at the moment that Mr. Kennedy raised his clenched fist in a threatening attitude. The effect of this combination was to pitch the poor man head over heels down the bank, into a row of willow bushes, through which, as he rolled with great speed, he went with a loud crash, and shot head first, like a startled alligator, into the water, amid a roar of laughter from his comrades and the people belonging to the fort; most of whom, attracted by the fight, were now assembled on the banks of the river. Mr. Kennedy's wrath vanished immediately, and he joined in the laughter; but his face instantly changed when he beheld Hugh sputtering in deep water, and heard some one say that he could not swim. "What! can't swim?" he exclaimed, running down the bank to the edge of the water. Baptiste was before him, however. In a moment he plunged in up to the neck, stretched forth his arm, grasped Hugh by the hair, and dragged him to the land. CHAPTER VIII. Farewell to Kate--Departure of the brigade--Charley becomes a voyageur. On the following day at noon, the spot on which the late combat had taken place became the theatre of a stirring and animated scene. Fort Garry, and the space between it and the river, swarmed with voyageurs, dressed in their cleanest, newest, and most brilliant costume. The large boats for the north, six in number, lay moored to the river's bank, laden with bales of furs, and ready to start on their long voyage. Young men, who had never been on the road before, stood with animated looks watching the operations of the guides as they passed critical examination upon their boats, overhauled the oars to see that they were in good condition, or with crooked knives (a species of instrument in the use of which voyageurs and natives are very expert) polished off the top of a mast, the blade of an oar, or the handle of a tiller. Old men, who had passed their lives in similar occupations, looked on in silence--some standing with their heads bent on their bosoms, and an expression of sadness about their faces, as if the scene recalled some mournful event of their early life, or possibly reminded them of wild, joyous scenes of other days, when the blood coursed warmly in their young veins, and the strong muscles sprang lightly to obey their will; when the work they had to do was hard, and the sleep that followed it was sound--scenes and days that were now gone by for ever. Others reclined against the wooden fence, their arms crossed, their thin white hair waving gently in the breeze, and a kind smile playing on their sunburned faces, as they observed the swagger and coxcombry of the younger men, or watched the gambols of several dark-eyed little children--embryo buffalo-hunters and voyageurs--whose mothers had brought them to the fort to get a last kiss from papa, and witness the departure of the boats. Several tender scenes were going on in out-of-the-way places--in angles of the walls and bastions, or behind the gates-between youthful couples about to be separated for a season. Interesting scenes these of pathos and pleasantry--a combination of soft glances and affectionate fervent assurances; alternate embraces (that were _apparently_ received with reluctance, but _actually_ with delight, and proffers of pieces of calico and beads and other trinkets (received both _apparently_ and _actually_ with extreme satisfaction) as souvenirs of happy days that were past), and pledges of unalterable constancy and bright hope in days that were yet to come. A little apart from the others, a youth and a girl might be seen sauntering slowly towards the copse beyond the stable. These were Charley Kennedy and his sister Kate, who had retired from the bustling scene to take a last short walk together, ere they separated, it might be for years, perhaps for ever! Charley held Kate's hand, while her sweet little head rested on his shoulder. "O Charley, Charley, my own dear, darling Charley, I'm quite miserable, and you ought not to go away; it's very wrong, and I don't mind a bit what you say, I shall die if you leave me!" And Kate pressed him tightly to her heart, and sobbed in the depth of her woe. "Now, Kate, my darling, don't go on so! You know I can't help it--" "I _don't_ know," cried Kate, interrupting him, and speaking vehemently--"I don't know, and I don't believe, and I don't care for anything at all; it's very hard-hearted of you, and wrong, and not right, and I'm just quite wretched!" Poor Kate was undoubtedly speaking the absolute truth; for a more disconsolate and wretched look of woebegone misery was never seen on so sweet and tender and lovable a little face before. Her blue eyes swam in two lakes of pure crystal, that overflowed continually; her mouth, which was usually round, had become an elongated oval; and her nut-brown hair fell in dishevelled masses over her soft cheeks. "O Charley," she continued, "why _won't_ you stay?" "Listen to me, dearest Kate," said Charley, in a very husky voice. "It's too late to draw back now, even if I wished to do so; and you don't consider, darling, that I'll be back again soon. Besides, I'm a man now, Kate, and I must make my own bread. Who ever heard of a man being supported by his old father." "Well, but can't you do that here?" "No, don't interrupt me, Kate," said Charley, kissing her forehead; "I'm quite satisfied with _two short_ legs, and have no desire whatever to make my bread on the top of _three long_ ones. Besides, you know I can write to you." "But you won't; you'll forget." "No, indeed, I will not. I'll write you long letters about all that I see and do; and you shall write long letters to me about--" "Stop, Charley," cried Kate; "I won't listen to you. I hate to think of it." And her tears burst forth again with fresh violence. This time Charley's heart sank too. The lump in his throat all but choked him; so he was fain to lay his head upon Kate's heaving bosom, and weep along with her. For a few minutes they remained silent, when a slight rustling in the bushes was heard. In another moment a tall, broad-shouldered, gentlemanly man, dressed in black, stood before them. Charley and Kate, on seeing this personage, arose, and wiping the tears from their eyes, gave a sad smile as they shook hands with their clergyman. "My poor children," said Mr. Addison, affectionately, "I know well why your hearts are sad. May God bless and comfort you! I saw you enter the wood, and came to bid you farewell, Charley, my dear boy, as I shall not have another opportunity of doing so." "O dear Mr. Addison," cried Kate, grasping his hand in both of hers, and gazing imploringly up at him through a perfect wilderness of ringlets and tears, "do prevail upon Charley to stay at home; please do!" Mr. Addison could scarcely help smiling at the poor girl's extreme earnestness. "I fear, my sweet child, that it is too late now to attempt to dissuade Charley. Besides, he goes with the consent of his father; and I am inclined to think that a change of life for a _short_ time may do him good. Come, Kate, cheer up! Charley will return to us again ere long, improved, I trust, both physically and mentally." Kate did _not_ cheer up, but she dried her eyes, and endeavoured to look more composed; while Mr. Addison took Charley by the hand, and, as they walked slowly through the wood, gave him much earnest advice and counsel. The clergyman's manner was peculiar. With a large, warm, generous heart, he possessed an enthusiastic nature, a quick, brusque manner, and a loud voice, which, when his spirit was influenced by the strong emotions of pity or anxiety for the souls of his flock, sunk into a deep soft bass of the most thrilling earnestness. He belonged to the Church of England, but conducted service very much in the Presbyterian form, as being more suited to his mixed congregation. After a long conversation with Charley, he concluded by saying-- "I do not care to say much to you about being kind and obliging to all whom you may meet with during your travels, nor about the dangers to which you will be exposed by being thrown into the company of wild and reckless, perhaps very wicked, men. There is but _one_ incentive to every good, and _one_ safeguard against all evil, my boy, and that is the love of God. You may perhaps forget much that I have said to you; but remember this, Charley, if you would be happy in this world, and have a good hope for the next, centre your heart's affection on our blessed Lord Jesus Christ; for believe me, boy, _His_ heart's affection is centred upon you." As Mr. Addison spoke, a loud hello from Mr. Kennedy apprised them that their time was exhausted, and that the boats were ready to start. Charley sprang towards Kate, locked her in a long, passionate embrace, and then, forgetting Mr. Addison altogether in his haste, ran out of the wood, and hastened towards the scene of departure. "Good-bye, Charley!" cried Harry Somerville, running up to his friend and giving him a warm grasp of the hand. "Don't forget me, Charley. I wish I were going with you, with all my heart; but I'm an unlucky dog. Good-bye." The senior clerk and Peter Mactavish had also a kindly word and a cheerful farewell for him as he hurried past. "Good-bye, Charley, my lad!" said old Mr. Kennedy, in an _excessively_ loud voice, as if by such means he intended to crush back some unusual but very powerful feelings that had a peculiar influence on a certain lump in his throat. "Good-bye, my lad; don't forget to write to your old--Hang it!" said the old man, brushing his coat-sleeve somewhat violently across his eyes, and turning abruptly round as Charley left him and sprang into the boat--"I say, Grant, I--I--What are you staring at, eh?" The latter part of his speech was addressed, in an angry tone, to an innocent voyageur, who happened accidentally to confront him at the moment. "Come along, Kennedy," said Mr. Grant, interposing, and grasping his excited friend by the arm--"come with me." "Ah, to be sure!--yes," said he, looking over his shoulder and waving a last adieu to Charley, "Good-bye, God bless you, my dear boy!--I say, Grant, come along; quick, man, and let's have a pipe--yes, let's have a pipe." Mr. Kennedy, essaying once more to crush back his rebellious feelings, strode rapidly up the bank, and entering the house, sought to overwhelm his sorrow in smoke: in which attempt he failed. CHAPTER IX. The voyage--The encampment--A surprise. It was a fine sight to see the boats depart for the north. It was a thrilling, heart-stirring sight to behold these picturesque, athletic men, on receiving the word of command from their guides, spring lightly into the long, heavy boats; to see them let the oars fall into the water with a loud splash, and then, taking their seats, give way with a will, knowing that the eyes of friends and sweethearts and rivals were bent earnestly upon them. It was a splendid sight to see boat after boat shoot out from the landing-place, and cut through the calm bosom of the river, as the men bent their sturdy backs until the thick oars creaked and groaned on the gunwales and flashed in the stream, more and more vigorously at each successive stroke, until their friends on the bank, who were anxious to see the last of them, had to run faster and faster in order to keep up with them, as the rowers warmed at their work, and made the water gurgle at the bows--their bright blue and scarlet and white trappings reflected in the dark waters in broken masses of colour, streaked with long lines of shining ripples, as if they floated on a lake of liquid rainbows. And it was a glorious thing to hear the wild, plaintive song, led by one clear, sonorous voice, that rang out full and strong in the still air, while at the close of every two lines the whole brigade burst into a loud, enthusiastic chorus, that rolled far and wide over the smooth waters--telling of their approach to settlers beyond the reach of vision in advance, and floating faintly back, a last farewell, to the listening ears of fathers, mothers, wives, and sisters left behind. And it was interesting to observe how, as the rushing boats sped onwards past the cottages on shore, groups of men and women and children stood before the open doors and waved adieu, while ever and anon a solitary voice rang louder than the others in the chorus, and a pair of dark eyes grew brighter as a voyageur swept past his home, and recognised his little ones screaming farewell, and seeking to attract their _sire's_ attention by tossing their chubby arms or flourishing round their heads the bright vermilion blades of canoe-paddles. It was interesting, too, to hear the men shout as they ran a small rapid which occurs about the lower part of the settlement, and dashed in full career up to the Lower Fort--which stands about twenty miles down the river from Fort Garry--and then sped onward again with unabated energy, until they passed the Indian settlement, with its scattered wooden buildings and its small church; passed the last cottage on the bank; passed the low swampy land at the river's mouth; and emerged at last as evening closed, upon the wide, calm, sea-like bosom of Lake Winnipeg. Charley saw and heard all this during the whole of that long, exciting afternoon, and as he heard and saw it his heart swelled as if it would burst its prison-bars, his voice rang out wildly in the choruses, regardless alike of tune and time, and his spirit boiled within him as he quaffed the first sweet draught of a rover's life--a life in the woods, the wild, free, enchanting woods, where all appeared in _his_ eyes bright, and sunny, and green, and beautiful! As the sun's last rays sunk in the west, and the clouds, losing their crimson hue, began gradually to fade into gray, the boats' heads were turned landward. In a few seconds they grounded on a low point, covered with small trees and bushes which stretched out into the lake. Here Louis Peltier had resolved to bivouac for the night. "Now then, mes garçons," he exclaimed, leaping ashore, and helping to drag the boat a little way on to the beach, "vite, vite! à terre, à terre!--Take the kettle, Pierre, and let's have supper." Pierre needed no second bidding. He grasped a large tin kettle and an axe, with which he hurried into a clump of trees. Laying down the kettle, which he had previously filled with water from the lake, he singled out a dead tree, and with three powerful blows of his axe, brought it to the ground. A few additional strokes cut it up into logs, varying from three to five feet in length, which he piled together, first placing a small bundle of dry grass and twigs beneath them, and a few splinters of wood which he cut from off one of the logs. Having accomplished this, Pierre took a flint and steel out of a gaily ornamented pouch which depended from his waist, and which went by the name of a fire-bag in consequence of its containing the implements for procuring that element. It might have been as appropriately named tobacco-box or smoking-bag, however, seeing that such things had more to do with it, if possible, than fire. Having struck a spark, which he took captive by means of a piece of tinder, he placed in the centre of a very dry handful of soft grass, and whirled it rapidly round his head, thereby producing a current of air, which blew the spark into a flame; which when applied, lighted the grass and twigs; and so, in a few minutes, a blazing fire roared up among the trees--spouted volumes of sparks into the air, like a gigantic squib, which made it quite a marvel that all the bushes in the neighbourhood were not burnt up at once--glared out red and fierce upon the rippling water, until it became, as it were, red-hot in the neighbourhood of the boats, and caused the night to become suddenly darker by contrast; the night reciprocating the compliment, as it grew later, by causing the space around the fire to glow brighter and brighter, until it became a brilliant chamber, surrounded by walls of the blackest ebony. While Pierre was thus engaged there were at least ten voyageurs similarly occupied. Ten steels were made instrumental in creating ten sparks, which were severally captured by ten pieces of tinder, and whirled round by ten lusty arms, until ten flames were produced, and ten fires sprang up and flared wildly on the busy scene that had a few hours before been so calm, so solitary, and so peaceful, bathed in the soft beams of the setting sun. In less than half-an-hour the several camps were completed, the kettles boiling over the fires, the men smoking in every variety of attitude, and talking loudly. It was a cheerful scene; and so Charley thought as he reclined in his canvas tent, the opening of which faced the fire, and enabled him to see all that was going on. Pierre was standing over the great kettle, dancing round it, and making sudden plunges with a stick into it, in the desperate effort to stir its boiling contents--desperate, because the fire was very fierce and large, and the flames seem to take a fiendish pleasure in leaping up suddenly just under Pierre's nose, thereby endangering his beard, or shooting out between his legs and licking round them at most unexpected moments, when the light wind ought to have been blowing them quite in the opposite direction; and then, as he danced round to the other side to avoid them, wheeling about and roaring viciously in his face, until it seemed as if the poor man would be roasted long before the supper was boiled. Indeed, what between the ever-changing and violent flames, the rolling smoke, the steam from the kettle, the showering sparks, and the man's own wild grimaces and violent antics, Pierre seemed to Charley like a raging demon, who danced not only round, but above, and on, and through, and _in_ the flames, as if they were his natural element, in which he took special delight. Quite close to the tent the massive form of Louis the guide lay extended, his back supported by the stump of a tree, his eyes blinking sleepily at the blaze, and his beloved pipe hanging from his lips, while wreaths of smoke encircled his head. Louis's day's work was done. Few could do a better; and when his work was over, Louis always acted on the belief that his position and his years entitled him to rest, and took things very easy in consequence. Six of the boat's crew sat in a semicircle beside the guide and fronting the fire, each paying particular attention to his pipe, and talking between the puffs to anyone who chose to listen. Suddenly Pierre vanished into the smoke and flames altogether, whence in another moment he issued, bearing in his hand the large tin kettle, which he deposited triumphantly at the feet of his comrades. "Now, then," cried Pierre. It was unnecessary to have said even that much by way of invitation. Voyageurs do not require to have their food pressed upon them after a hard day's work. Indeed it was as much as they could do to refrain from laying violent hands on the kettle long before their worthy cook considered its contents sufficiently done. Charley sat in company with Mr. Park--a chief factor, on his way to Norway House. Gibault, one of the men who acted as their servant, had placed a kettle of hot tea before them, which, with several slices of buffalo tongue, a lump of pemmican, and some hard biscuit and butter, formed their evening meal. Indeed, we may add that these viands, during a great part of the voyage, constituted their every meal. In fact, they had no variety in their fare, except a wild duck or two now and then, and a goose when they chanced to shoot one. Charley sipped a pannikin of tea as he reclined on his blanket, and being somewhat fatigued in consequence of his exertions and excitement during the day, said nothing. Mr. Park, for the same reasons, besides being naturally taciturn, was equally mute, so they both enjoyed in silence the spectacle of the men eating their supper. And it _was_ a sight worth seeing. Their food consisted of robbiboo, a compound of flour, pemmican, and water, boiled to the consistency of very thick soup. Though not a species of food that would satisfy the fastidious taste of an epicure, robbiboo is, nevertheless, very wholesome, exceedingly nutritious, and withal palatable. Pemmican, its principal component, is made of buffalo flesh, which fully equals (some think greatly excels) beef. The recipe for making it is as follows:-First, kill your buffalo--a matter of considerable difficulty, by the way, as doing so requires you to travel to the buffalo-grounds, to arm yourself with a gun, and mount a horse, on which you have to gallop, perhaps, several miles over rough ground and among badger-holes at the imminent risk of breaking your neck. Then you have to run up alongside of a buffalo and put a ball through his heart, which, apart from the murderous nature of the action, is a difficult thing to do. But we will suppose that you have killed your buffalo. Then you must skin him; then cut him up, and slice the flesh into layers, which must be dried in the sun. At this stage of the process you have produced a substance which in the fur countries goes by the name of dried meat, and is largely used as an article of food. As its name implies, it is very dry, and it is also very tough, and very undesirable if one can manage to procure anything better. But to proceed. Having thus prepared dried meat, lay a quantity of it on a flat stone, and take another stone, with which pound it into shreds. You must then take the animal's hide, while it is yet new, and make bags of it about two feet and a half long by a foot and a half broad. Into this put the pounded meat loosely. Melt the fat of your buffalo over a fire, and when quite liquid pour it into the bag until full; mix the contents well together; sew the whole up before it cools, and you have a bag of pemmican of about ninety pounds weight. This forms the chief food of the voyageur, in consequence of its being the largest possible quantity of sustenance compressed into the smallest possible space, and in an extremely convenient, portable shape. It will keep fresh for years, and has been much used, in consequence, by the heroes of arctic discovery, in their perilous journeys along the shores of the frozen sea. The voyageurs used no plate. Men who travel in these countries become independent of many things that are supposed to be necessary here. They sat in a circle round the kettle, each man armed with a large wooden or pewter spoon, with which he ladled the robbiboo down his capacious throat, in a style that not only caused Charley to laugh, but afterwards threw him into a deep reverie on the powers of appetite in general, and the strength of voyageur stomachs in particular. At first the keen edge of appetite induced the men to eat in silence; but as the contents of the kettle began to get low, their tongues loosened, and at last, when the kettles were emptied and the pipes filled, fresh logs thrown on the fires, and their limbs stretched out around them, the babel of English, French, and Indian that arose was quite overwhelming. The middle-aged men told long stories of what they _had_ done; the young men boasted of what they _meant_ to do; while the more aged smiled, nodded, smoked their pipes, put in a word or two as occasion offered, and listened. While they conversed the quick ears of one of the men of Charley's camp detected some unusual sound. "Hist!" said he, turning his head aside slightly, in a listening attitude, while his comrades suddenly ceased their noisy laugh. "Do ducks travel in canoes hereabouts?" said the man, after a moment's silence; "for, if not, there's someone about to pay us a visit. I would wager my best gun that I hear the stroke of paddles." "If your ears had been sharper, François, you might have heard them some time ago," said the guide, shaking the ashes out of his pipe and refilling it for the third time. "Ah, Louis, I do not pretend to such sharp ears as you possess, nor to such sharp wit either. But who do you think can be _en route_ so late?" "That my wit does not enable me to divine," said Louis; "but if you have any faith in the sharpness of your eyes, I would recommend you to go to the beach and see, as the best and shortest way of finding out." By this time the men had risen, and were peering out into the gloom in the direction whence the sound came, while one or two sauntered down to the margin of the lake to meet the new-comers. "Who can it be, I wonder?" said Charley, who had left the tent, and was now standing beside the guide. "Difficult to say, monsieur. Perhaps Injins, though I thought there were none here just now. But I'm not surprised that we've attracted _something_ to us. Livin' creeturs always come nat'rally to the light, and there's plenty of fire on the point to-night." "Rather more than enough," replied Charley, abruptly, as a slight motion of wind sent the flames curling round his head and singed off his eye-lashes. "Why, Louis, it's my firm belief that if I ever get to the end of this journey, I'll not have a hair left on my head." Louis smiled. "O monsieur, you will learn to _observe_ things before you have been long in the wilderness. If you _will_ edge round to leeward of the fire, you can't expect it to respect you." Just at this moment a loud hurrah rang through the copse, and Harry Somerville sprang over the fire into the arms of Charley, who received him with a hug and a look of unutterable amazement. "Charley, my boy!" "Harry Somerville, I declare!" For at least five minutes Charley could not recover his composure sufficiently to _declare_ anything else, but stood with open mouth and eyes, and elevated eyebrows, looking at his young friend, who capered and danced round the fire in a manner that threw the cook's performances in that line quite into the shade, while he continued all the time to shout fragments of sentences that were quite unintelligible to anyone. It was evident that Harry was in a state of immense delight at something unknown save to himself, but which, in the course of a few minutes, was revealed to his wondering friends. "Charley, I'm _going!_ hurrah!" and he leaped about in a manner that induced Charley to say he would not only be going but very soon _gone_, if he did not keep further away from the fire. "Yes, Charley, I'm going with you! I upset the stool, tilted the ink-bottle over the invoice-book, sent the poker almost through the back of the fireplace, and smashed Tom Whyte's best whip on the back of the 'noo 'oss' as I galloped him over the plains for the last time: all for joy, because I'm going with you, Charley, my darling!" Here Harry suddenly threw his arms round his friend's neck, meditating an embrace. As both boys were rather fond of using their muscles violently, the embrace degenerated into a wrestle, which caused them to threaten complete destruction to the fire as they staggered in front of it, and ended in their tumbling against the tent and nearly breaking its poles and fastenings, to the horror and indignation of Mr. Park, who was smoking his pipe within, quietly waiting till Harry's superabundant glee was over, that he might get an explanation of his unexpected arrival among them. "Ah, they will be good voyageurs!" cried one of the men, as he looked on at this scene. "Oui, oui! good boys, active lads," replied the others, laughing. The two boys rose hastily. "Yes," cried Harry, breathless, but still excited, "I'm going all the way, and a great deal farther. I'm going to hunt buffaloes in the Saskatchewan, and grizzly bears in the--the--in fact everywhere! I'm going down the Mackenzie River--I'm going _mad_, I believe;" and Harry gave another caper and another shout, and tossed his cap high into the air. Having been recklessly tossed, it came down into the fire. When it went in, it was dark blue; but when Harry dashed into the flames in consternation to save it, it came out of a rich brown colour. "Now, youngster," said Mr. Park, "when you've done capering, I should like to ask you one or two questions. What brought you here?" "A canoe," said Harry, inclined to be impudent. "Oh, and pray for what _purpose_ have you come here?" "These are my credentials," handing him a letter. Mr. Park opened the note and read. "Ah! oh! Saskatchewan--hum--yes--outpost--wild boy--just so--keep him at it--ay, fit for nothing else. So," said Mr. Park, folding the paper, "I find that Mr. Grant has sent you to take the place of a young gentleman we expected to pick up at Norway House, but who is required elsewhere; and that he wishes you to see a good deal of rough life--to be made a trader of, in fact. Is that your desire?" "That's the very ticket!" replied Harry, scarcely able to restrain his delight at the prospect. "Well, then, you had better get supper and turn in, for you'll have to begin your new life by rising at three o'clock to-morrow morning. Have you got a tent?" "Yes," said Harry, pointing to his canoe, which had been brought to the fire and turned bottom up by the two Indians to whom it belonged, and who were reclining under its shelter enjoying their pipes, and watching with looks of great gravity the doings of Harry and his friend. "_That_ will return whence it came to-morrow. Have you no other?" "Oh yes," said Harry, pointing to the overhanging branches of a willow close at hand, "lots more." Mr. Park smiled grimly, and, turning on his heel, re-entered the tent and continued his pipe, while Harry flung himself down beside Charley under the bark canoe. This species of "tent" is, however, by no means a perfect one. An Indian canoe is seldom three feet broad--frequently much narrower--so that it only affords shelter for the body as far down as the waist, leaving the extremities exposed. True, one _may_ double up as nearly as possible into half one's length, but this is not a desirable position to maintain throughout an entire night. Sometimes, when the weather is _very_ bad, an additional protection is procured by leaning several poles against the bottom of the canoe, on the weather side, in such a way as to slope considerably over the front; and over these are spread pieces of birch bark or branches and moss, so as to form a screen, which is an admirable shelter. But this involves too much time and labour to be adopted during a voyage, and is only done when the travellers are under the necessity of remaining for some time in one place. The canoe in which Harry arrived was a pretty large one, and looked so comfortable when arranged for the night that Charley resolved to abandon his own tent and Mr. Park's society, and sleep with his friend. "I'll sleep with you, Harry, my boy," said he, after Harry had explained to him in detail the cause of his being sent away from Red River; which was no other than that a young gentleman, as Mr. Park said, who _was_ to have gone, had been ordered elsewhere. "That's right, Charley; spread out our blankets, while I get some supper, like a good fellow." Harry went in search of the kettle while his friend prepared their bed. First, he examined the ground on which the canoe lay, and found that the two Indians had already taken possession of the only level places under it. "Humph!" he ejaculated, half inclined to rouse them up, but immediately dismissed the idea as unworthy of a voyageur. Besides, Charley was an amiable, unselfish fellow, and would rather have lain on the top of a dozen stumps than have made himself comfortable at the expense of anyone else. He paused a moment to consider. On one side was a hollow "that" (as he soliloquised to himself) "would break the back of a buffalo." On the other side were a dozen little stumps surrounding three very prominent ones, that threatened destruction to the ribs of anyone who should venture to lie there. But Charley did not pause to consider long. Seizing his axe, he laid about him vigorously with the head of it, and in a few seconds destroyed all the stumps, which he carefully collected, and, along with some loose moss and twigs, put into the hollow, and so filled it up. Having improved things thus far, he rose and strode out of the circle of light into the wood. In a few minutes he reappeared, bearing a young spruce fir tree on his shoulder, which with the axe he stripped of its branches. These branches were flat in form, and elastic--admirably adapted for making a bed on; and when Charley spread them out under the canoe in a pile of about four inches in depth by four feet broad and six feet long, the stumps and the hollow were overwhelmed altogether. He then ran to Mr. Park's tent, and fetched thence a small flat bundle covered with oilcloth and tied with a rope. Opening this, he tossed out its contents, which were two large and very thick blankets--one green, the other white; a particularly minute feather pillow, a pair of moccasins, a broken comb, and a bit of soap. Then he opened a similar bundle containing Harry's bed, which he likewise tossed out; and then kneeling down, he spread the two white blankets on the top of the branches, the two green blankets above these, and the two pillows at the top, as far under the shelter of the canoe as he could push them. Having completed the whole in a manner that would have done credit to a chambermaid, he continued to sit on his knees, with his hands in his pockets, smiling complacently, and saying, "Capital--first-rate!" "Here we are, Charley. Have a second supper--do!" Harry placed the smoking kettle by the head of the bed, and squatting down beside it, began to eat as only a boy _can_ eat who has had nothing since breakfast. Charley attacked the kettle too--as he said, "out of sympathy," although he "wasn't hungry a bit." And really, for a man who was not hungry, and had supped half-an-hour before, the appetite of _sympathy_ was wonderfully strong. But Harry's powers of endurance were now exhausted. He had spent a long day of excessive fatigue and excitement, and having wound it up with a heavy supper, sleep began to assail him with a fell ferocity that nothing could resist. He yawned once or twice, and sat on the bed blinking unmeaningly at the fire, as if he had something to say to it which he could not recollect just then. He nodded violently, much to his own surprise, once or twice, and began to address remarks to the kettle instead of to his friend. "I say, Charley, this won't do. I'm off to bed!" and suiting the action to the word, he took off his coat and placed it on his pillow. He then removed his moccasins, which were wet, and put on a dry pair; and this being all that is ever done in the way of preparation before going to bed in the woods, he lay down and pulled the green blankets over him. Before doing so, however, Harry leaned his head on his hands and prayed. This was the one link left of the chain of habit with which he had left home. Until the period of his departure for the wild scenes of the Northwest, Harry had lived in a quiet, happy home in the West Highlands of Scotland, where he had been surrounded by the benign influences of a family the members of which were united by the sweet bonds of Christian love--bonds which were strengthened by the additional tie of amiability of disposition. From childhood he had been accustomed to the routine of a pious and well-regulated household, where the Bible was perused and spoken of with an interest that indicated a genuine hungering and thirsting after righteousness, and where the name of JESUS sounded often and sweetly on the ear. Under such training, Harry, though naturally of a wild, volatile disposition, was deeply and irresistibly impressed with a reverence for sacred things, which, now that he was thousands of miles away from his peaceful home, clung to him with the force of old habit and association, despite the jeers of comrades and the evil influences and ungodliness by which he was surrounded. It is true that he was not altogether unhurt by the withering indifference to God that he beheld on all sides. Deep impression is not renewal of heart. But early training in the path of Christian love saved him many a deadly fall. It guarded him from many of the grosser sins, into which other boys, who had merely broken away from the _restraints_ of home too easily fell. It twined round him--as the ivy encircles the oak--with a soft, tender, but powerful grasp, that held him back when he was tempted to dash aside all restraint; and held him up when, in the weakness of human nature, he was about to fall. It exerted its benign sway over him in the silence of night, when his thoughts reverted to home, and during his waking hours, when he wandered from scene to scene in the wide wilderness; and in after years, when sin prevailed, and intercourse with rough men had worn off much of at least the superficial amiability of his character, and to some extent blunted the finer feelings of his nature, it clung faintly to him still, in the memory of his mother's gentle look and tender voice, and never forsook him altogether. Home had a blessed and powerful influence on Harry. May God bless such homes, where the ruling power is _love!_ God bless and multiply such homes in the earth! Were there more of them there would be fewer heart-broken mothers to weep over the memory of the blooming, manly boys they sent away to foreign climes--with trembling hearts but high hopes--and never saw them more. They were vessels launched upon the troubled sea of time, with stout timbers, firm masts, and gallant sails--with all that was necessary above and below, from stem to stern, for battling with the billows of adverse fortune, for stemming the tide of opposition, for riding the storms of persecution, or bounding with a press of canvas before the gales of prosperity; but without the rudder--without the guiding principle that renders the great power of plank and sail and mast available; with which the vessel moves obedient to the owner's will, without which it drifts about with every current, and sails along with every shifting wind that blows. Yes, may the best blessings of prosperity and peace rest on such families, whose bread, cast continually on the waters, returns to them after many days. After Harry had lain down, Charley, who did not feel inclined for repose, sauntered to the margin of the lake, and sat down upon a rock. It was a beautiful, calm evening. The moon shone faintly through a mass of heavy clouds, casting a pale light on the waters of Lake Winnipeg, which stretched, without a ripple, out to the distant horizon. The great fresh-water lakes of America bear a strong resemblance to the sea. In storms the waves rise mountains high, and break with heavy, sullen roar upon a beach composed in many places of sand and pebbles; while they are so large that one not only looks out to a straight horizon, but may even sail _out of sight of land_ altogether. As Charley sat resting his head on his hand, and listening to the soft hiss that the ripples made upon the beach, he felt all the solemnising influence that steals irresistibly over the mind as we sit on a still night gazing out upon the moonlit sea. His thoughts were sad; for he thought of Kate, and his mother and father, and the home he was now leaving. He remembered all that he had ever done to injure or annoy the dear ones he was leaving; and it is strange how much alive our consciences become when we are unexpectedly or suddenly removed from those with whom we have lived and held daily intercourse. How bitterly we reproach ourselves for harsh words, unkind actions; and how intensely we long for one word more with them, one fervent embrace, to prove at once that all we have ever said or done was not _meant_ ill, and, at any rate, is deeply, sincerely repented of now! As Charley looked up into the starry sky, his mind recurred to the parting words of Mr. Addison. With uplifted hands and a full heart, he prayed that God would bless, for Jesus' sake, the beloved ones in Red River, but especially Kate; for whether he prayed or meditated, Charley's thoughts _always_ ended with Kate. A black cloud passed across the moon, and reminded him that but a few hours of the night remained; so hastening up to the camp again, he lay gently down beside his friend, and drew the green blanket over him. In the camp all was silent. The men had chosen their several beds according to fancy, under the shadow of a bush or tree. The fires had burned low--so low that it was with difficulty Charley, as he lay, could discern the recumbent forms of the men, whose presence was indicated by the deep, soft, regular breathing of tired but, healthy constitutions. Sometimes a stray moonbeam shot through the leaves and branches, and cast a ghost-like, flickering light over the scene, which ever and anon was rendered more mysterious by a red flare of the fire as an ember fell, blazed up for an instant, and left all shrouded in greater darkness than before. At first Charley continued his sad thoughts, staring all the while at the red embers of the expiring fire; but soon his eyes began to blink, and the stumps of trees began to assume the form of voyageurs, and voyageurs to look like stumps of trees. Then a moonbeam darted in, and Mr. Addison stood on the other side of the fire. At this sight Charley started, and Mr. Addison disappeared, while the boy smiled to think how he had been dreaming while only half asleep. Then Kate appeared, and seemed to smile on him; but another ember fell, and another red flame sprang up, and put her to flight too. Then a low sigh of wind rustled through the branches, and Charley felt sure that he saw Kate again coming through the woods, singing the low, soft tune that she was so fond of singing, because it was his own favourite air. But soon the air ceased; the fire faded away; so did the trees, and the sleeping voyageurs; Kate last of all dissolved, and Charley sank into a deep, untroubled slumber. CHAPTER X. Varieties, vexations, and vicissitudes. Life is checkered--there is no doubt about that; whatever doubts a man may entertain upon other subjects, he can have none upon this, we feel quite certain. In fact, so true is it that we would not for a moment have drawn the reader's attention to it here, were it not that our experience of life in the backwoods corroborates the truth; and truth, however well corroborated, is none the worse of getting a little additional testimony now and then in this sceptical generation. Life is checkered, then, undoubtedly. And life in the backwoods strengthens the proverb, for it is a peculiarly striking and remarkable specimen of life's variegated character. There is a difference between sailing smoothly along the shores of Lake Winnipeg with favouring breezes, and being tossed on its surging billows by the howling of a nor'-west wind, that threatens destruction to the boat, or forces it to seek shelter on the shore. This difference is one of the checkered scenes of which we write, and one that was experienced by the brigade more than once during its passage across the lake. Since we are dealing in truisms, it may not, perhaps, be out of place here to say that going to bed at night is not by any means getting up in the morning; at least so several of our friends found to be the case when the deep sonorous voice of Louis Peltier sounded through the camp on the following morning, just as a very faint, scarcely perceptible, light tinged the eastern sky. "Lève, lève, lève!" he cried, "lève, lève, mes enfants!" Some of Louis's _infants_ replied to the summons in a way that would have done credit to a harlequin. One or two active little Canadians, on hearing the cry of the awful word _lève_, rose to their feet with a quick bound, as if they had been keeping up an appearance of sleep as a sort of practical joke all night, on purpose to be ready to leap as the first sound fell from the guide's lips. Others lay still, in the same attitude in which they had fallen asleep, having made up their minds, apparently, to lie there in spite of all the guides in the world. Not a few got slowly into the sitting position, their hair dishevelled, their caps awry, their eyes alternately winking very hard and staring awfully in the vain effort to keep open, and their whole physiognomy wearing an expression of blank stupidity that is peculiar to man when engaged in that struggle which occurs each morning as he endeavours to disconnect and shake off the entanglement of nightly dreams and the realities of the breaking day. Throughout the whole camp there was a low, muffled sound, as of men moving lazily, with broken whispers and disjointed sentences uttered in very deep, hoarse tones, mingled with confused, unearthly noises, which, upon consideration, sounded like prolonged yawns. Gradually these sounds increased, for the guide's _lève_ is inexorable, and the voyageur's fate inevitable. "Oh dear!--yei a--a--ow" (yawning); "hang your _lève!_" "Oui, vraiment--yei a-a----ow--morbleu!" "Eh, what's that? Oh, misère!" "Tare an' ages!" (from an Irishman), "an' I had only got to slaape yit! but--yei a--a----ow!" French and Irish yawns are very similar, the only difference being, that whereas the Frenchman finishes the yawn resignedly, and springs to his legs, the Irishman finishes it with an energetic gasp, as if he were hurling it remonstratively into the face of Fate, turns round again and shuts his eyes doggedly--a piece of bravado which he knows is useless and of very short duration. "Lève! lève!! lève!!!" There was no mistake this time in the tones of Louis's voice. "Embark, embark! vite, vite!" The subdued sounds of rousing broke into a loud buzz of active preparation, as the men busied themselves in bundling up blankets, carrying down camp-kettles to the lake, launching the boats, kicking up lazy comrades, stumbling over and swearing at fallen trees which were not visible in the cold, uncertain light of the early dawn, searching hopelessly, among a tangled conglomeration of leaves and broken branches and crushed herbage, for lost pipes and missing tobacco-pouches. "Hollo!" exclaimed Harry Somerville, starting suddenly from his sleeping posture, and unintentionally cramming his elbow into Charley's mouth, "I declare they're all up and nearly ready to start." "That's no reason," replied Charley, "why you should knock out all my front teeth, is it?" Just then Mr. Park issued from his tent, dressed and ready to step into his boat. He first gave a glance round the camp to see that all the men were moving, then he looked up through the trees to ascertain the present state and, if possible, the future prospects of the weather. Having come to a satisfactory conclusion on that head, he drew forth his pipe and began to fill it, when his eye fell on the two boys, who were still sitting up in their lairs, and staring idiotically at the place where the fire had been, as if the white ashes, half-burned logs, and bits of charcoal were a sight of the most novel and interesting character, that filled them with intense amazement. Mr. Park could scarce forbear smiling. "Hollo, youngsters, precious voyageurs _you'll_ make, to be sure, if this is the way you're going to begin. Don't you see that the things are all aboard, and we'll be ready to start in five minutes, and you sitting there with your neckcloths off?" Mr. Park gave a slight sneer when he spoke of _neckcloths_, as if he thought, in the first place, that they were quite superfluous portions of attire, and in the second place, that having once put them on, the taking of them off at night was a piece of effeminacy altogether unworthy of a Nor'-wester. Charley and Harry needed no second rebuke. It flashed instantly upon them that sleeping comfortably under their blankets when the men were bustling about the camp was extremely inconsistent with the heroic resolves of the previous day. They sprang up, rolled their blankets in the oil-cloths, which they fastened tightly with ropes; tied the neckcloths, held in such contempt by Mr. Park, in a twinkling; threw on their coats, and in less than five minutes were ready to embark. They then found that they might have done things more leisurely, as the crews had not yet got all their traps on board; so they began to look around them, and discovered that each had omitted to pack up a blanket. Very much crestfallen at their stupidity, they proceeded to untie the bundles again, when it became apparent to the eyes of Charley that his friend had put on his capote inside out; which had a peculiarly ragged and grotesque effect. These mistakes were soon rectified, and shouldering their beds, they carried them down to the boat and tossed them in. Meanwhile Mr. Park, who had been watching the movements of the boys with a peculiar smile, that filled them with confusion, went round the different camps to see that nothing was left behind. The men were all in their places with oars ready, and the boats floating on the calm water, a yard or two from shore, with the exception of the guide's boat, the stern of which still rested on the sand awaiting Mr. Park. "Who does this belong to?" shouted that gentleman, holding up a cloth cap, part of which was of a mottled brown and part deep blue. Harry instantly tore the covering from his head, and discovered that among his numerous mistakes he had put on the head-dress of one of the Indians who had brought him to the camp. To do him justice the cap was not unlike his own, excepting that it was a little more mottled and dirty in colour, besides being decorated with a gaudy but very much crushed and broken feather. "You had better change with our friend here, I think," said Mr. Park, grinning from ear to ear, as he tossed the cap to its owner, while Harry handed the other to the Indian, amid the laughter of the crew. "Never mind, boy," added Mr. Park, in an encouraging tone, "you'll make a voyageur yet.--Now then, lads, give way;" and with a nod to the Indians, who stood on the shore watching their departure, the trader sprang into the boat and took his place beside the two boys. "Ho! sing, mes garçons," cried the guide, seizing the massive sweep and directing the boat out to sea. At this part of the lake there occurs a deep bay or inlet, to save rounding which travellers usually strike straight across from point to point, making what is called in voyageur parlance a _traverse_. These traverses are subjects of considerable anxiety and frequently of delay to travellers, being sometimes of considerable extent, varying from four to five, and in such immense seas as Lake Superior, to fourteen miles. With boats, indeed, there is little to fear, as the inland craft of the fur-traders can stand a heavy sea, and often ride out a pretty severe storm; but it is far otherwise with the bark canoes that are often used in travelling. These frail craft can stand very little sea--their frames being made of thin flat slips of wood and sheets of bark, not more than a quarter of an inch thick, which are sewed together with the fibrous roots of the pine (called by the natives _wattape_), and rendered water-tight by means of melted gum. Although light and buoyant, therefore, and extremely useful in a country where portages are numerous, they require very tender usage; and when a traverse has to be made, the guides have always a grave consultation, with some of the most sagacious among the men, as to the probability of the wind rising or falling--consultations which are more or less marked by anxiety and tediousness in proportion to the length of the traverse, the state of the weather and the courage or timidity of the guides. On the present occasion there was no consultation, as has been already seen. The traverse was a short one, the morning fine, and the boats good. A warm glow began to overspread the horizon, giving promise of a splendid day, as the numerous oars dipped with a plash and a loud hiss into the water, and sent the boats leaping forth upon the white wave. "Sing, sing!" cried the guide again, and clearing his throat, he began the beautiful quick-tuned canoe-song "Rose Blanche," to which the men chorused with such power of lungs that a family of plovers, which up to that time had stood in mute astonishment on a sandy point, tumbled precipitately into the water, from which they rose with a shrill, inexpressibly wild, plaintive cry, and fled screaming away to a more secure refuge among the reeds and sedges of a swamp. A number of ducks too, awakened by the unwonted sound, shot suddenly out from the concealment of their night's bivouac with erect heads and startled looks, sputtered heavily over the surface of their liquid bed, and rising into the air, flew in a wide circuit, with whistling wings, away from the scene of so much uproar and confusion. The rough voices of the men grew softer and softer as the two Indians listened to the song of their departing friends, mellowing down and becoming more harmonious and more plaintive as the distance increased, and the boats grew smaller and smaller, until they were lost in the blaze of light that now bathed both water and sky in the eastern horizon, and began rapidly to climb the zenith, while the sweet tones became less and less audible as they floated faintly across the still water, and melted at last into the deep silence of the wilderness. The two Indians still stood with downcast heads and listening ears, as if they loved the last echo of the dying music, while their grave, statue-like forms added to rather than detracted from, the solitude of the deserted scene. CHAPTER XI. Charley and Harry begin their sporting career without much success--Whisky-john catching. The place in the boats usually allotted to gentlemen in the Company's service while travelling is the stern. Here the lading is so arranged as to form a pretty level hollow, where the flat bundles containing their blankets are placed, and a couch is thus formed that rivals Eastern effeminacy in luxuriance. There are occasions, however, when this couch is converted into a bed, not of thorns exactly, but of corners; and really it would be hard to say which of the two is the more disagreeable. Should the men be careless in arranging the cargo, the inevitable consequence is that "monsieur" will find the leg of an iron stove, the sharp edge of a keg, or the corner of a wooden box occupying the place where his ribs should be. So common, however, is this occurrence that the clerks usually superintend the arrangements themselves, and so secure comfort. On a couch, then, of this kind Charley and Harry now found themselves constrained to sit all morning--sometimes asleep, occasionally awake, and always earnestly desiring that it was time to put ashore for breakfast, as they had now travelled for four hours without halt, except twice for about five minutes, to let the men light their pipes. "Charley," said Harry Somerville to his friend, who sat beside him, "it strikes me that we are to have no breakfast at all to-day. Here have I been holding my breath and tightening my belt, until I feel much more like a spider or a wasp than a--a--" "_Man_, Harry; out with it at once, don't be afraid," said Charley. "Well, no, I wasn't going to have said _that_ exactly, but I was going to have said a voyageur, only I recollected our doings this morning, and hesitated to take the name until I had won it." "It's well that you entertain so modest an opinion of yourself," said Mr. Park, who still smoked his pipe as if he were impressed with the idea that to stop for a moment would produce instant death. "I may tell you for your comfort, youngster, that we shan't breakfast till we reach yonder point." The shores of Lake Winnipeg are flat and low, and the point indicated by Mr. Park lay directly in the light of the sun, which now shone with such splendour in the cloudless sky, and flashed on the polished water, that it was with difficulty they could look towards the point of land. "Where is it?" asked Charley, shading his eyes with his hand; "I cannot make out anything at all." "Try again, my boy; there's nothing like practice." "Ah yes! I make it out now; a faint shadow just under the sun. Is that it?" "Ay, and we'll break our fast _there_." "I would like very much to break your head _here_," thought Charley, but he did not say it, as, besides being likely to produce unpleasant consequences, he felt that such a speech to an elderly gentleman would be highly improper; and Charley had _some_ respect for gray hairs for their own sake, whether the owner of them was a good man or a goose. "What shall we do, Harry? If I had only thought of keeping out a book." "I know what _I_ shall do," said Harry, with a resolute air: "I'll go and shoot!" "Shoot!" cried Charley. "You don't mean to say that you're going to waste your powder and shot by firing at the clouds! for unless you take _them_, I see nothing else here." "That's because you don't use your eyes," retorted Harry. "Will you just look at yonder rock ahead of us, and tell me what you see?" Charley looked earnestly at the rock, which to a cursory glance seemed as if composed of whiter stone on the top. "Gulls, I declare!" shouted Charley, at the same time jumping up in haste. Just then one of the gulls, probably a scout sent out to watch the approaching enemy, wheeled in a circle overhead. The two youths dragged their guns from beneath the thwarts of the boat, and rummaged about in great anxiety for shot-belts and powder-horns. At last they were found; and having loaded, they sat on the edge of the boat, looking out for game with as much--ay, with _more_ intense interest than a Blackfoot Indian would have watched for a fat buffalo cow. "There he goes," said Harry; "take the first shot, Charley." "Where? where is it?" "Right ahead. Look out!" As Harry spoke, a small white gull, with bright-red legs and beak, flew over the boat so close to them that, as the guide remarked, "he could see it wink!" Charley's equanimity, already pretty well disturbed, was entirely upset at the suddenness of the bird's appearance; for he had been gazing intently at the rock when his friend's exclamation drew his attention in time to see the gull within about four feet of his head. With a sudden "Oh!" Charley threw forward his gun, took a short, wavering aim, and blew the cock-tail feather out of Baptiste's hat; while the gull sailed tranquilly away, as much as to say, "If _that's_ all you can do, there's no need for me to hurry!" "Confound the boy!" cried Mr. Park. "You'll be the death of someone yet; I'm convinced of that." "Parbleu! you may say that, c'est vrai," remarked the voyageur with a rueful gaze at his hat, which, besides having its ornamental feather shattered, was sadly cut up about the crown. The poor lad's face became much redder than the legs or beak of the gull as he sat down in confusion, which he sought to hide by busily reloading his gun; while the men indulged in a somewhat witty and sarcastic criticism of his powers of shooting, remarking, in flattering terms, on the precision of the shot that blew Baptiste's feather into atoms, and declaring that if every shot he fired was as truly aimed, he would certainly be the best in the country. Baptiste also came in for a share of their repartee. "It serves you right," said the guide, laughing, "for wearing such things on the voyage. You should put away such foppery till you return to the settlement, where there are _girls_ to admire you." (Baptiste had continued to wear the tall hat, ornamented with gold cords and tassels, with which he had left Red River). "Ah!" cried another, pulling vigorously at his oar, "I fear that Marie won't look at you, now that all your beauty's gone." "'Tis not quite gone," said a third; "there's all the brim and half a tassel left, besides the wreck of the remainder." "Oh, I can lend you a few fragments," retorted Baptiste, endeavouring to parry some of the thrusts. "They would improve _you_ vastly." "No, no, friend; gather them up and replace them: they will look more picturesque and becoming now. I believe if you had worn them much longer all the men in the boat would have fallen in love with you." "By St. Patrick," said Mike Brady, an Irishman who sat at the oar immediately behind the unfortunate Canadian, "there's more than enough o' rubbish scattered over mysilf nor would do to stuff a fither-bed with." As Mike spoke, he collected the fragments of feathers and ribbons with which the unlucky shot had strewn him, and placed them slyly on the top of the dilapidated hat, which Baptiste, after clearing away the wreck, had replaced on his head. "It's very purty," said Mike, as the action was received by the crew with a shout of merriment. Baptiste was waxing wrathful under this fire, when the general attention was drawn again towards Charley and his friend, who, having now got close to the rock, had quite forgotten their mishap in the excitement of expectation. This excitement in the shooting of such small game might perhaps surprise our readers, did we not acquaint them with the fact that neither of the boys had, up to that time, enjoyed much opportunity of shooting. It is true that Harry had once or twice borrowed the fowling-piece of the senior clerk, and had sallied forth with a beating heart to pursue the grouse which are found in the belt of woodland skirting the Assiniboine River near to Fort Garry. But these expeditions were of rare occurrence, and they had not sufficed to rub off much of the bounding excitement with which he loaded and fired at anything and everything that came within range of his gun. Charley, on the other hand, had never fired a shot before, except out of an old horse-pistol; having up to this period been busily engaged at school, except during the holidays, which he always spent in the society of his sister Kate, whose tastes were not such as were likely to induce him to take up the gun, even if he had possessed such a weapon. Just before leaving Red River, his father presented him with his own gun, remarking, as he did so, with a sigh, that _his_ day was past now; and adding that the gun was a good one for shot or ball, and if he (Charley) brought down _half_ as much game with it as he (Mr. Kennedy) had brought down in the course of his life, he might consider himself a crack shot undoubtedly. It was not surprising, therefore, that the two friends went nearly mad with excitation when the whole flock of gulls rose into the air like a white cloud, and sailed in endless circles and gyrations above and around their heads--flying so close at times that they might almost have been caught by the hand. Neither was it surprising that innumerable shots were fired, by both sportsmen, without a single bird being a whit the worse for it, or themselves much the better; the energetic efforts made to hit being rendered abortive by the very eagerness which caused them to miss. And this was the less extraordinary, too, when it is remembered that Harry in his haste loaded several times without shot, and Charley rendered the right barrel of his gun _hors de combat_ at last, by ramming down a charge of shot and omitting powder altogether, whereby he snapped and primed, and snapped and primed again, till he grew desperate, and then suspicious of the true cause, which he finally rectified with much difficulty. Frequently the gulls flew straight over the heads of the youths--which produced peculiar consequences, as in such cases they took aim while the birds were approaching; but being somewhat slow at taking aim, the gulls were almost perpendicularly above them ere they were ready to shoot, so that they were obliged to fire hastily in _hope_, feeling that they were losing their balance, or give up the chance altogether. Mr. Park sat grimly in his place all the while, enjoying the scene, and smoking. "Now then, Charley," said he, "take that fellow." "Which? where? Oh, if I could only get one!" said Charley, looking up eagerly at the screaming birds, at which he had been staring so long, in their varying and crossing flight, that his sight had become hopelessly unsteady. "There! Look sharp; fire away!" Bang went Charley's piece, as he spoke, at a gull which flew straight towards him, but so rapidly that it was directly above his head; indeed, he was leaning a little backwards at the moment, which caused him to miss again, while the recoil of the gun brought matters to a climax, by toppling him over into Mr. Park's lap, thereby smashing that gentleman's pipe to atoms. The fall accidentally exploded the second barrel, causing the butt to strike Charley in the pit of his stomach--as if to ram him well home into Mr. Park's open arms--and hitting with a stray shot a gull that was sailing high up in the sky in fancied security. It fell with a fluttering crash into the boat while the men were laughing at the accident. "Didn't I say so?" cried Mr. Park, wrathfully, as he pitched Charley out of his lap, and spat out the remnants of his broken pipe. Fortunately for all parties, at this moment the boat approached a spot on which the guide had resolved to land for breakfast; and seeing the unpleasant predicament into which poor Charley had fallen, he assumed the strong tones of command with which guides are frequently gifted, and called out,-- "Ho, ho! à terre! à terre! to land! to land! Breakfast, my boys; breakfast!"--at the same time sweeping the boat's head shoreward, and running into a rocky bay, whose margin was fringed by a growth of small trees. Here, in a few minutes, they were joined by the other boats of the brigade, which had kept within sight of each other nearly the whole morning. While travelling through the wilds of North America in boats, voyageurs always make a point of landing to breakfast. Dinner is a meal with which they are unacquainted, at least on the voyage, and luncheon is likewise unknown. If a man feels hungry during the day, the pemmican-bag and its contents are there; he may pause in his work at any time, for a minute, to seize the axe and cut off a lump, which he may devour as he best can; but there is no going ashore--no resting for dinner. Two great meals are recognised, and the time allotted to their preparation and consumption held inviolable--breakfast and supper: the first varying between the hours of seven and nine in the morning; the second about sunset, at which time travellers usually encamp for the night. Of the two meals it would be difficult to say which is more agreeable. For our own part, we prefer the former. It is the meal to which a man addresses himself with peculiar gusto, especially if he has been astir three or four hours previously in the open air. It is the time of day, too, when the spirits are freshest and highest, animated by the prospect of the work, the difficulties, the pleasures, or the adventures of the day that has begun; and cheered by that cool, clear _buoyancy_ of Nature which belongs exclusively to the happy morning hours, and has led poets in all ages to compare these hours to the first sweet months of spring or the early years of childhood. Voyageurs, not less than poets, have felt the exhilarating influence of the young day, although they have lacked the power to tell it in sounding numbers; but where words were wanting, the sparkling eye, the beaming countenance, the light step, and hearty laugh, were more powerful exponents of the feelings within. Poet, and painter too, might have spent a profitable hour on the shores of that great sequestered lake, and as they watched the picturesque groups--clustering round the blazing fires, preparing their morning meal, smoking their pipes, examining and repairing the boats, or suning their stalwart limbs in wild, careless attitudes upon the greensward--might have found a subject worthy the most brilliant effusions of the pen, or the most graphic touches of the pencil. An hour sufficed for breakfast. While it was preparing, the two friends sauntered into the forest in search of game, in which they were unsuccessful; in fact, with the exception of the gulls before mentioned, there was not a feather to be seen--save, always, one or two whisky-johns. Whisky-johns are the most impudent, puffy, conceited little birds that exist. Not much larger in reality than sparrows, they nevertheless manage to swell out their feathers to such an extent that they appear to be as large as magpies, which they further resemble in their plumage. Go where you will in the woods of Rupert's Land, the instant that you light a fire two or three whisky-johns come down and sit beside you, on a branch, it may be, or on the ground, and generally so near that you cannot but wonder at their recklessness. There is a species of impudence which seems to be specially attached to little birds. In them it reaches the highest pitch of perfection. A bold, swelling, arrogant effrontery--a sort of stark, staring, self-complacent, comfortable, and yet innocent impertinence, which is at once irritating and amusing, aggravating and attractive, and which is exhibited in the greatest intensity in the whisky-john. He will jump down almost under your nose, and seize a fragment of biscuit or pemmican. He will go right into the pemmican-bag, when you are but a few paces off, and pilfer, as it were, at the fountain-head. Or if these resources are closed against him, he will sit on a twig, within an inch of your head, and look at you as only a whisky-john _can_ look. "I'll catch one of these rascals," said Harry, as he saw them jump unceremoniously into and out of the pemmican-bag. Going down to the boat, Harry hid himself under the tarpaulin, leaving a hole open near to the mouth of the bag. He had not remained more than a few minutes in this concealment when one of the birds flew down, and alighted on the edge of the boat. After a glance round to see that all was right, it jumped into the bag. A moment after, Harry, darting his hand through the aperture, grasped him round the neck and secured him. Poor whisky-john screamed and pecked ferociously, while Harry brought him in triumph to his friend; but so unremittingly did the bird scream that its captor was fain at last to let him off, the more especially as the cook came up at the moment and announced that breakfast was ready. CHAPTER XII. The storm. Two days after the events of the last chapter, the brigade was making one of the traverses which have already been noticed as of frequent occurrence in the great lakes. The morning was calm and sultry. A deep stillness pervaded Nature, which tended to produce a corresponding quiescence in the mind, and to fill it with those indescribably solemn feelings that frequently arise before a thunderstorm. Dark, lurid clouds hung overhead in gigantic masses, piled above each other like the battlements of a dark fortress, from whose ragged embrasures the artillery of heaven was about to play. "Shall we get over in time, Louis?" asked Mr. Park, as he turned to the guide, who sat holding the tiller with a firm grasp; while the men, aware of the necessity of reaching shelter ere the storm burst upon them, were bending to the oars with steady and sustained energy. "Perhaps," replied Louis, laconically.--"Pull, lads, pull! else you'll have to sleep in wet skins to-night." A low growl of distant thunder followed the guide's words, and the men pulled with additional energy; while the slow measured hiss of the water, and clank of oars, as they cut swiftly through the lake's clear surface, alone interrupted the dead silence that ensued. Charley and his friend conversed in low whispers; for there is a strange power in a thunder-storm, whether raging or about to break, that overawes the heart of man,--as if Nature's God were nearer then than at other times; as if He--whose voice, indeed, if listened to, speaks even in the slightest evolution of natural phenomena--were about to tread the visible earth with more than usual majesty, in the vivid glare of the lightning flash, and in the awful crash of thunder. "I don't know how it is, but I feel more like a coward," said Charley, "just before a thunderstorm than I think I should do in the arms of a polar bear. Do you feel queer, Harry?" "A little," replied Harry, in a low whisper, "and yet I'm not frightened. I can scarcely tell what I feel, but I'm certain it's not fear." "Well, I don't know," said Charley. "When father's black bull chased Kate and me in the prairies, and almost overtook us as we ran for the fence of the big field, I felt my heart leap to my mouth, and the blood rush to my cheeks, as I turned about and faced him, while Kate climbed the fence; but after she was over, I felt a wild sort of wickedness in me, as if I should like to tantalise and torment him,--and I felt altogether different from what I feel now while I look up at these black clouds. Isn't there something quite awful in them, Harry?" Ere Harry replied, a bright flash of lightning shot athwart the sky, followed by a loud roll of thunder, and in a moment the wind rushed, like a fiend set suddenly free, down upon the boats, tearing up the smooth surface of the water as it flew, and cutting it into gleaming white streaks. Fortunately the storm came down behind the boats, so that, after the first wild burst was over, they hoisted a small portion of their lug sails, and scudded rapidly before it. There was still a considerable portion of the traverse to cross, and the guide cast an anxious glance over his shoulder occasionally, as the dark waves began to rise, and their crests were cut into white foam by the increasing gale. Thunder roared in continued, successive peals, as if the heavens were breaking up, while rain descended in sheets. For a time the crews continued to ply their oars; but as the wind increased, these were rendered superfluous. They were taken in, therefore, and the men sought partial shelter under the tarpaulin; while Mr. Park and the two boys were covered, excepting their heads, by an oilcloth, which was always kept at hand in rainy weather. "What think you now, Louis?" said Mr. Park, resuming the pipe which the sudden outburst of the storm had caused him to forget. "Have we seen the worst of it?" Louis replied abruptly in the negative, and in a few seconds shouted loudly, "Look out, lads! here comes a squall. Stand by to let go the sheet there!" Mike Brady, happening to be near the sheet, seized hold of the rope, and prepared to let go, while the men rose, as if by instinct, and gazed anxiously at the approaching squall, which could be seen in the distance, extending along the horizon, like a bar of blackest ink, spotted with flakes of white. The guide sat with compressed lips, and motionless as a statue, guiding the boat as it bounded madly towards the land, which was now not more than half-a-mile distant. "Let go!" shouted the guide, in a voice that was heard loud and clear above the roar of the elements. "Ay, ay," replied the Irishman, untwisting the rope instantly, as with a sharp hiss the squall descended on the boat. At that moment the rope became entangled round one of the oars, and the gale burst with all its fury on the distended sail, burying the prow in the waves, which rushed inboard in a black volume, and in an instant half filled the boat. "Let go!" roared the guide again, in a voice of thunder; while Mike struggled with awkward energy to disentangle the rope. As he spoke, an Indian, who during the storm had been sitting beside the mast, gazing at the boiling water with a grave, contemplative aspect, sprang quickly forward, drew his knife, and with two blows (so rapidly delivered that they seemed but one) cut asunder first the sheet and then the halyards, which let the sail blow out and fall flat upon the boat. He was just in time. Another moment and the gushing water, which curled over the bow, would have filled them to the gunwale. As it was, the little vessel was so full of water that she lay like a log, while every toss of the waves sent an additional torrent into her. "Bail for your lives, lads!" cried Mr. Park, as he sprang forward, and, seizing a tin dish, began energetically to bail out the water. Following his example, the whole crew seized whatever came first to hand in the shape of dish or kettle, and began to bail. Charley and Harry Somerville acted a vigorous part on this occasion--the one with a bark dish (which had been originally made by the natives for the purpose of holding maple sugar), the other with his cap. For a time it seemed doubtful whether the curling waves should send most water _into_ the boat, or the crew should bail most _out_ of it. But the latter soon prevailed, and in a few minutes it was so far got under that three of the men were enabled to leave off bailing and reset the sail, while Louis Pettier returned to his post at the helm. At first the boat moved but slowly, owing to the weight of water in her; but as this gradually grew less, she increased her speed and neared the land. "Well done, Redfeather," said Mr. Park, addressing the Indian as he resumed his seat; "your knife did us good service that time, my fine fellow." Redfeather, who was the only pure native in the brigade, acknowledged the compliment with a smile. "_Ah, oui_," replied the guide, whose features had now lost their stern expression. "These Injins are always ready enough with their knives. It's not the first time my life has been saved by the knife of a red-skin." "Humph! bad luck to them," muttered Mike Brady; "it's not the first time that my windpipe has been pretty near spiflicated by the knives o' the redskins, the murtherin' varmints." As Mike gave vent to this malediction, the boat ran swiftly past a low rocky point, over which the surf was breaking wildly. "Down with the sail, Mike," cried the guide, at the same time putting the helm hard up. The boat flew round, obedient to the ruling power, made one last plunge as it left the rolling surf behind, and slid gently and smoothly into still water under the lee of the point. Here, in the snug shelter of a little bay, two of the other boats were found, with their prows already on the beach, and their crews actively employed in landing their goods, opening bales that had received damage from the water, and preparing the encampment; while ever and anon they paused a moment to watch the various boats as they flew before the gale, and one by one doubled the friendly promontory. If there is one thing that provokes a voyageur more than another, it is being wind-bound on the shores of a large lake. Rain or sleet, heat or cold, icicles forming on the oars, or a broiling sun glaring in a cloudless sky, the stings of sand-flies, or the sharp probes of a million musquitoes, he will bear with comparative indifference; but being detained by high wind for two, three, or four days together--lying inactively on shore, when everything else, it may be, is favourable: the sun bright, the sky blue, the air invigorating, and all but the wind propitious--is more than his philosophy can carry him through with equanimity. He grumbles at it; sometimes makes believe to laugh at it; very often, we are sorry to say, swears at it; does his best to sleep through it; but whatever he does, he does with a bad grace, because he's in a bad humour, and can't stand it. For the next three days this was the fate of our friends. Part of the time it rained, when the whole party slept as much as was possible, and then _endeavoured_ to sleep _more_ than was possible, under the shelter afforded by the spreading branches of the trees. Part of the time was fair, with occasional gleams of sunshine, when the men turned out to eat and smoke and gamble round the fires; and the two friends sauntered down to a sheltered place on the shore, sunned themselves in a warm nook among the rocks, while they gazed ruefully at the foaming billows, told endless stories of what they had done in time past, and equally endless _prospective_ adventures that they earnestly hoped should befall them in time to come. While they were thus engaged, Redfeather, the Indian who had cut the ropes so opportunely during the storm, walked down to the shore, and sitting down on a rock not far distant, fell apparently into a reverie. "I like that fellow," said Harry, pointing to the Indian. "So do I. He's a sharp, active man. Had it not been for him we should have had to swim for it." "Indeed, had it not been for him I should have had to sink for it," said Harry, with a smile, "for I can't swim." "Ah, true, I forgot that. I wonder what the red-skin, as the guide calls him, is thinking about," added Charley in a musing tone. "Of home, perhaps, 'sweet home,'" said Harry, with a sigh. "Do you think much of home, Charley, now that you have left it?" Charley did not reply for a few seconds. He seemed to muse over the question. At last he said slowly-- "Think of home? I think of little else when I am not talking with you, Harry. My dear mother is always in my thoughts, and my poor old father. Home? ay; and darling Kate, too, is at my elbow night and day, with the tears streaming from her eyes, and her ringlets scattered over my shoulder, as I saw her the day we parted, beckoning me back again, or reproaching me for having gone away--God bless her! Yes, I often, very often, think of home, Harry." Harry made no reply. His friend's words had directed his thoughts to a very different and far-distant scene--to another Kate, and another father and mother, who lived in a glen far away over the waters of the broad Atlantic. He thought of them as they used to be when he was one of the number, a unit in the beloved circle, whose absence would have caused a blank there. He thought of the kind voice that used to read the Word of God, and the tender kiss of his mother as they parted for the night. He thought of the dreary day when he left them all behind, and sailed away, in the midst of strangers, across the wide ocean to a strange land. He thought of them now--_without_ him--accustomed to his absence, and forgetful, perhaps, at times that he had once been there. As he thought of all this a tear rolled down his cheek, and when Charley looked up in his face, that tear-drop told plainly that he too thought sometimes of home. "Let us ask Redfeather to tell us something about the Indians," he said at length, rousing himself. "I have no doubt he has had many adventures in his life. Shall we, Charley?" "By all means--Ho, Redfeather; are you trying to stop the wind by looking it out of countenance?" The Indian rose and walked towards the spot where the boys lay. "What was Redfeather thinking about?" said Charley, adopting the somewhat pompous style of speech occasionally used by Indians. "Was he thinking of the white swan and his little ones in the prairie; or did he dream of giving his enemies a good licking the next time he meets them?" "Redfeather has no enemies," replied the Indian. "He was thinking of the great Manito, [Footnote: God.] who made the wild winds, and the great lakes, and the forest." "And pray, good Redfeather, what did your thoughts tell you?" "They told me that men are very weak, and very foolish, and wicked; and that Manito is very good and patient to let them live." "That is to say," cried Harry, who was surprised and a little nettled to hear what he called the heads of a sermon from a red-skin, "that _you_, being a man, are very weak, and very foolish, and wicked, and that Manito is very good and patient to let _you_ live?" "Good," said the Indian calmly; "that is what I mean." "Come, Redfeather," said Charley, laying his hand on the Indian's arm, "sit down beside us, and tell us some of your adventures. I know that you must have had plenty, and it's quite clear that we're not to get away from this place all day, so you've nothing better to do." The Indian readily assented, and began his story in English. Redfeather was one of the very few Indians who had acquired the power of speaking the English language. Having been, while a youth, brought much into contact with the fur-traders, and having been induced by them to enter their service for a time, he had picked up enough of English to make himself easily understood. Being engaged at a later period of life as a guide to one of the exploring parties sent out by the British Government to discover the famous North West Passage, he had learned to read and write, and had become so much accustomed to the habits and occupations of the "pale faces," that he spent more of his time, in one way or another, with them than in the society of his tribe, which dwelt in the thick woods bordering on one of the great prairies of the interior. He was about thirty years of age; had a tall, thin, but wiry and powerful frame; and was of a mild, retiring disposition. His face wore a habitually grave expression, verging towards melancholy; induced, probably, by the vicissitudes of a wild life (in which he had seen much of the rugged side of nature in men and things) acting upon a sensitive heart, and a naturally warm temperament. Redfeather, however, was by no means morose; and when seated along with his Canadian comrades round the camp fire, he listened with evidently genuine interest to their stories, and entered into the spirit of their jests. But he was always an auditor, and rarely took part in their conversations. He, was frequently consulted by the guide in matters of difficulty, and it was observed that the "red-skin's" opinion always carried much weight with it, although it was seldom given unless asked for. The men respected him much because he was a hard worker, obliging, and modest---three qualities that insure respect, whether found under a red skin or a white one. "I shall tell you," he began, in a soft, musing tone, as if he were wandering in memories of the past--"I shall tell you how it was that I came by the name of Redfeather." "Ah!" interrupted Charley, "I intended to ask you about that; you don't wear one." "I did once. My father was a great warrior in his tribe," continued the Indian; "and I was but a youth when I got the name. "My tribe was at war at the time with the Chipewyans, and one of our scouts having come in with the intelligence that a party of our enemies was in the neighbourhood, our warriors armed themselves to go in pursuit of them. I had been out once before with a war-party, but had not been successful, as the enemy's scouts gave notice of our approach in time to enable them to escape. At the time the information was brought to us, the young men of our village were amusing themselves with athletic games, and loud challenges were being given and accepted to wrestle, or race, or swim in the deep water of the river, which flowed calmly past the green bank on which our wigwams stood. On a bank near to us sat about a dozen of our women--some employed in ornamenting moccasins with coloured porcupine quills; others making rogans of bark for maple sugar, or nursing their young infants; while a few, chiefly the old women, grouped themselves together and kept up an incessant chattering, chiefly with reference to the doings of the young men. "Apart from these stood three or four of the principal men of our tribe, smoking their pipes, and although apparently engrossed in conversation, still evidently interested in what was going forward on the bank of the river. "Among the young men assembled there was one of about my own age, who had taken a violent dislike to me because the most beautiful girl in all the village preferred me before him. His name was Misconna. He was a hot-tempered, cruel youth; and although I endeavoured as much as possible to keep out of his way, he sought every opportunity of picking a quarrel with me. I had just been running a race along with several other youths, and although not the winner, I had kept ahead of Misconna all the distance. He now stood leaning against a tree, burning with rage and disappointment. I was sorry for this, because I bore him no ill-will, and if it had occurred to me at the time, I would have allowed him to pass me, since I was unable to gain the race at any rate. "'Dog!' he said at length, stepping forward and confronting me, 'will you wrestle?' "Just as he approached I had turned round to leave the place. Not wishing to have more to do with him, I pretended not to hear, and made a step or two towards the lodges. 'Dog,' he cried again, while his eyes flashed fiercely, as he grasped me by the arm, 'will you wrestle, or are you afraid? Has the brave boy's heart changed into that of a girl?' "'No, Misconna,' said I. 'You _know_ that I am not afraid; but I have no desire to quarrel with you.' "'You lie!' cried he, with a cold sneer,--'you are afraid; and see,' he added, pointing towards the women with a triumphant smile, 'the dark-eyed girl sees it and believes it too!' "I turned to look, and there I saw Wabisca gazing on me with a look of blank amazement. I could see, also, that several of the other women, and some of my companions, shared in her surprise. "With a burst of anger I turned round. 'No,' Misconna,' said I, 'I am _not_ afraid, as you shall find;' and springing upon him, I grasped him round the body. He was nearly, if not quite, as strong a youth as myself; but I was burning with indignation at the insolence of his conduct before so many of the women, which gave me more than usual energy. For several minutes we swayed to and fro, each endeavouring in vain to bend the other's back; but we were too well matched for this, and sought to accomplish our purpose by taking advantage of an unguarded movement. At last such a movement occurred. My adversary made a sudden and violent attempt to throw me to the left, hoping that an inequality in the ground would favour his effort. But he was mistaken. I had seen the danger and was prepared for it, so that the instant he attempted it I threw forward my right leg, and thrust him backwards with all my might. Misconna was quick in his motions. He saw my intention--too late, indeed, to prevent it altogether, but in time to throw back his left foot and stiffen his body till it felt like a block of stone. The effort was now entirely one of endurance. We stood each with his muscles strained to the utmost, without the slightest motion. At length I felt my adversary give way a little. Slight though the motion was, it instantly removed all doubt as to who should go down. My heart gave a bound of exaltation, and with the energy which such a feeling always inspires, I put forth all my strength, threw him heavily over on his back, and fell upon him. "A shout of applause from my comrades greeted me as I rose and left the ground; but at the same moment the attention of all was taken from myself and the baffled Misconna by the arrival of the scout, bringing us information that a party of Chipewyans were in the neighbourhood. In a moment all was bustle and preparation. An Indian war-party is soon got ready. Forty of our braves threw off the principal parts of their clothing; painted their faces with stripes of vermilion and charcoal; armed themselves with guns, bows, tomahawks and scalping knives, and in a few minutes left the camp in silence, and at a quick pace. "One or two of the youths who had been playing on the river's bank were permitted to accompany the party, and among these were Misconna and myself. As we passed a group of women, assembled to see us depart, I observed the girl who had caused so much jealousy between us. She cast down her eyes as we came up, and as we advanced close to the group she dropped a white feather, as if by accident. Stooping hastily down, I picked it up in passing, and stuck it in an ornamented band that bound my hair. As we hurried on I heard two or three old hags laugh, and say, with a sneer, 'His hand is as white as a feather: it has never seen blood.' The next moment we were hid in the forest, and pursued our rapid course in dead silence. "The country through which we passed was varied, extending in broken bits of open prairie, and partly covered with thick wood, yet not so thick as to offer any hindrance to our march. We walked in single file, each treading in his comrade's footsteps, while the band was headed by the scout who had brought the information. The principal chief of our tribe came next, and he was followed by the braves according to their age or influence. Misconna and I brought up the rear. The sun was just sinking as we left the belt of woodland in which our village stood, crossed over a short plain, descended a dark hollow, at the bottom of which the river flowed, and following its course for a considerable distance, turned off to the right and emerged upon a sweep of prairieland. Here the scout halted, and taking the chief and two or three braves aside, entered into earnest consultation with them. "What they said we could not hear; but as we stood leaning on our guns in the deep shade of the forest, we could observe by their animated gestures that they differed in opinion. We saw that the scout pointed several times to the moon, which was just rising above the treetops, and then to the distant horizon: but the chief shook his head, pointed to the woods, and seemed to be much in doubt, while the whole band watched his motions in deep silence but evident interest. At length they appeared to agree. The scout took his place at the head of the line, and we resumed our march, keeping close to the margin of the wood. It was perhaps three hours after this ere we again halted to hold another consultation. This time their deliberations were shorter. In a few seconds our chief himself took the lead, and turned into the woods, through which he guided us to a small fountain which bubbled up at the root of a birch tree, where there was a smooth green spot of level ground. Here we halted, and prepared to rest for an hour, at the end of which time the moon, which now shone bright and full in the clear sky, would be nearly down, and we could resume our march. We now sat down in a circle, and taking a hasty mouthful of dried meat, stretched ourselves on the ground with our arms beside us, while our chief kept watch, leaning against the birch tree. It seemed as if I had scarcely been asleep five minutes when I felt a light touch on my shoulder. Springing up, I found the whole party already astir, and in a few minutes more we were again hurrying onwards. "We travelled thus until a faint light in the east told us that the day was at hand, when the scout's steps became more cautious, and he paused to examine the ground frequently. At last we came to a place where the ground sank slightly, and at a distance of a hundred yards rose again, forming a low ridge which was crowned with small bushes. Here we came to a halt, and were told that our enemies were on the other side of that ridge; that they were about twenty in number, all Chipewyan warriors, with the exception of one paleface--a trapper, and his Indian wife. The scout had learned, while lying like a snake in the grass around their camp, that this man was merely travelling with them on his way to the Rocky Mountains, and that, as they were a war-party, he intended to leave them soon. On hearing this the warriors gave a grim smile, and our chief, directing the scout to fall behind, cautiously led the way to the top of the ridge. On reaching it we saw a valley of great extent, dotted with trees and shrubs, and watered by one of the many rivers that flow into the great Saskatchewan. It was nearly dark, however, and we could only get an indistinct view of the land. Far ahead of us, on the right bank of the stream, and close to its margin, we saw the faint red light of watch fires; which caused us some surprise, for watch-fires are never lighted by a war-party so near to an enemy's country. So we could only conjecture that they were quite ignorant of our being in that part of the country; which was, indeed, not unlikely, seeing that we had shifted our camp during the summer. "Our chief now made arrangements for the attack. We were directed to separate and approach individually as near to the camp as was possible without risk of discovery, and then, taking up an advantageous position, to await our chief's signal, which was to be the hooting of an owl. We immediately separated. My course lay along the banks of the stream, and as I strode rapidly along, listening to its low solemn murmur, which sounded clear and distinct in the stillness of a calm summer night, I could not help feeling as if it were reproaching me for the bloody work I was hastening to perform. Then the recollection of what the old woman said of me raised a desperate spirit in my heart. Remembering the white feather in my head, I grasped my gun and quickened my pace. As I neared the camp I went into the woods and climbed a low hillock to look out. I found that it still lay about five hundred yards distant, and that the greater part of the ground between it and the place where I stood was quite flat, and without cover of any kind. I therefore prepared to creep towards it, although the attempt was likely to be attended with great danger, for Chipewyans have quick ears and sharp eyes. Observing, however, that the river ran close past the camp, I determined to follow its course as before. In a few seconds more I came to a dark narrow gap where the river flowed between broken rocks, overhung by branches, and from which I could obtain a clear view of the camp within fifty yards of me. Examining the priming of my gun, I sat down on a rock to await the chief's signal. "It was evident from the careless manner in which the fires were placed, that no enemy was supposed to be near. From my concealment I could plainly distinguish ten or fifteen of the sleeping forms of our enemies, among which the trapper was conspicuous, from his superior bulk, and the reckless way in which his brawny arms were flung on the turf, while his right hand clutched his rifle. I could not but smile as I thought of the proud boldness of the pale-face--lying all exposed to view in the gray light of dawn while an Indian's rifle was so close at hand. One Indian kept watch, but he seemed more than half asleep. I had not sat more than a minute when my observations were interrupted by the cracking of a branch in the bushes near me. Starting up, I was about to bound into the underwood, when a figure sprang down the bank and rapidly approached me. My first impulse was to throw forward my gun, but a glance sufficed to show me that it was a woman. "'Wah!' I exclaimed, in surprise, as she hurried forward and laid her hand on my shoulder. She was dressed partly in the costume of the Indians, but wore a shawl on her shoulders and a handkerchief on her head that showed she had been in the settlements; and from the lightness of her skin and hair, I judged at once that she was the trapper's wife, of whom I had heard the scout speak. "'Has the light-hair got a medicine-bag, or does she speak with spirits, that she has found me so easily?' "The girl looked anxiously up in my face as if to read my thoughts, and then said, in a low voice,-- "'No, I neither carry the medicine-bag nor hold palaver with spirits; but I do think the good Manito must have led me here. I wandered into the woods because I could not sleep, and I saw you pass. But tell me,' she added with still deeper anxiety, 'does the white-feather come alone? Does he approach _friends_ during the dark hours with a soft step like a fox?' "Feeling the necessity of detaining her until my comrades should have time to surround the camp, I said: 'The white-feather hunts far from his lands. He sees Indians whom he does not know, and must approach with a light step. Perhaps they are enemies.' "'Do Knisteneux hunt at night, prowling in the bed of a stream?' said the girl, still regarding me with a keen glance. 'Speak truth, stranger' (and she started suddenly back); 'in a moment I can alarm the camp with a cry, and if your tongue is forked--But I do not wish to bring enemies upon you, if they are indeed such. I am not one of them. My husband and I travel with them for a time. We do not desire to see blood. God knows,' she added in French, which seemed her native tongue, 'I have seen enough of that already.' "As her earnest eyes looked into my face a sudden thought occurred to me. 'Go,' said I, hastily, 'tell your husband to leave the camp instantly and meet me here; and see that the Chipewyans do not observe your departure. Quick! his life and yours may depend on your speed.' "The girl instantly comprehended my meaning. In a moment she sprang up the bank; but as she did so the loud report of a gun was heard, followed by a yell, and the war-whoop of the Knisteneux rent the air as they rushed upon the devoted camp, sending arrows and bullets before them. "On the instant I sprang after the girl and grasped her by the arm. 'Stay, white-cheek; it is too late now. You cannot save your husband, but I think he'll save himself. I saw him dive into the bushes like a cariboo. Hide yourself here; perhaps you may escape.' "The half-breed girl sank on a fallen tree with a deep groan, and clasped her hands convulsively before her eyes, while I bounded over the tree, intending to join my comrades in pursuing the enemy. "As I did so a shrill cry arose behind me, and looking back, I beheld the trapper's wife prostrate on the ground, and Misconna standing over her, his spear uplifted, and a fierce frown on his dark face. "'Hold!' I cried, rushing back and seizing his arm. 'Misconna did not come to kill _women_. She is not our enemy.' "'Does the young wrestler want _another_ wife?' he said, with a wild laugh, at the same time wrenching his arm from my gripe, and driving his spear through the fleshy part of the woman's breast and deep into the ground. A shriek rent the air as he drew it out again to repeat the thrust; but before he could do so, I struck him with the butt of my gun on the head. Staggering backwards, he fell heavily among the bushes. At this moment a second whoop rang out, and another of our band sprang from the thicket that surrounded us. Seeing no one but myself and the bleeding girl, he gave me a short glance of surprise, as if he wondered why I did not finish the work which he evidently supposed I had begun. "'Wah!' he exclaimed; and uttering another yell plunged his spear into the woman's breast, despite my efforts to prevent him--this time with more deadly effect, as the blood spouted from the wound, while she uttered a piercing scream, and twined her arms round my legs as I stood beside her, as if imploring for mercy. Poor girl! I saw that she was past my help. The wound was evidently mortal. Already the signs of death overspread her features, and I felt that a second blow would be one of mercy; so that when the Indian stooped and passed his long knife through her heart, I made but a feeble effort to prevent it. Just as the man rose, with the warm blood dripping from his keen blade, the sharp crack of a rifle was heard, and the Indian fell dead at my feet, shot through the forehead, while the trapper bounded into the open space, his massive frame quivering, and his sunburned face distorted with rage and horror. From the other side of the brake six of our band rushed forward and levelled their guns at him. For one moment the trapper paused to cast a glance at the mangled corpse of his wife, as if to make quite sure that she was dead; and then uttering a howl of despair, he hurled his axe with a giant's force at the Knisteneux, and disappeared over the precipitous bank of the stream. "So rapid was the action that the volley which immediately succeeded passed harmlessly over his head, while the Indians dashed forward in pursuit. At the same instant I myself was felled to the earth. The axe which the trapper had flung struck a tree in its flight, and as it glanced off the handle gave me a violent blow in passing. I fell stunned. As I did so my head alighted on the shoulder of the woman, and the last thing I felt, as my wandering senses forsook me, was her still warm blood flowing over my face and neck. "While this scene was going on, the yells and screams of the warriors in the camp became fainter and fainter as they pursued and fled through the woods. The whole band of Chipewyans was entirely routed, with the exception of four who escaped, and the trapper whose flight I have described; all the rest were slain, and their scalps hung at the belts of the victorious Knisteneux warriors, while only one of our party was killed. "Not more than a few minutes after receiving the blow that stunned me, I recovered, and rising as hastily as my scattered faculties would permit me, I staggered towards the camp, where I heard the shouts of our men as they collected the arms of their enemies. As I rose, the feather which Wabisca had dropped fell from my brow, and as I picked it up to replace it, I perceived that it was _red_, being entirely covered with the blood of the half-breed girl. "The place where Misconna had fallen was vacant as I passed, and I found him standing among his comrades round the camp fires, examining the guns and other articles which they had collected. He gave me a short glance of deep hatred as I passed, and turned his head hastily away. A few minutes sufficed to collect the spoils, and so rapidly had everything been done that the light of day was still faint as we silently returned on our track. We marched in the same order as before, Misconna and I bringing up the rear. As we passed near the place where the poor woman had been murdered, I felt a strong desire to return to the spot. I could not very well understand the feeling, but it lay so strong upon me that, when we reached the ridge where we first came in sight of the Chipewyan camp, I fell behind until my companions disappeared in the woods, and then ran swiftly back. Just as I was about to step beyond the circle of bushes that surrounded the spot, I saw that some one was there before me. It was a man, and as he advanced into the open space and the light fell on his face, I saw that it was the trapper. No doubt he had watched us off the ground, and then, when all was safe, returned to bury his wife. I crouched to watch him. Stepping slowly up to the body of his murdered wife, he stood beside it with his arms folded on his breast and quite motionless. His head hung down, for the heart of the white man was heavy, and I could see, as the light increased, that his brows were dark as the thunder-cloud, and the corners of his mouth twitched from a feeling that the Indian scorns to show. My heart is full of sorrow for him now" (Redfeather's voice sank as he spoke); "it was full of sorrow for him even _then_, when I was taught to think that pity for an enemy was unworthy of a brave. The trapper stood gazing very long. His wife was young; he could not leave her yet. At length a deep groan burst from his heart, as the waters of a great river, long held down, swell up in spring and burst the ice at last. Groan followed groan as the trapper still stood and pressed his arms on his broad breast, as if to crush the heart within. At last he slowly knelt beside her, bending more and more over the lifeless form, until he lay extended on the ground beside it, and twining his arms round the neck, he drew the cold cheek close to his, and pressed the blood-covered bosom tighter and tighter, while his form quivered with agony as he gave her a last, long embrace. Oh!" continued Redfeather, while his brow darkened, and his black eye flashed with an expression of fierceness that his young listeners had never seen before, "may the curse--" He paused. "God forgive them! How could they know better? "At length the trapper rose hastily. The expression of his brow was still the same, but his mouth was altered. The lips were pressed tightly like those of a brave when led to torture, and there was a fierce activity in his motions as he sprang down the bank and proceeded to dig a hole in the soft earth. For half an hour he laboured, shovelling away the earth with a large, flat stone; and carrying down the body, he buried it there, under the shadow of a willow. The trapper then shouldered his rifle and hurried away. On reaching the turn of the stream which shuts the little hollow out from view, he halted suddenly, gave one look into the prairie he was henceforth to tread alone, one short glance back, and then, raising both arms in the air, looked up into the sky, while he stretched himself to his full height. Even at that distance I could see the wild glare of his eye and the heaving of his breast. A moment after, and he was gone." "And did you never see him again?" inquired Harry Somerville, eagerly. "No, I never saw him more. Immediately afterwards I turned to rejoin my companions, whom I soon overtook, and entered our village along with them. I was regarded as a poor warrior, because I brought home no scalps, and ever afterwards I went by the name of _Redfeather_ in our tribe." "But are you still thought a poor warrior?" asked Charley, in some concern, as if he were jealous of the reputation of his new friend. The Indian smiled. "No," he said: "our village was twice attacked afterwards, and in defending it, Redfeather took many scalps. He was made a chief!" "Ah!" cried Charley, "I'm glad of that. And Wabisca, what came of her? Did Misconna get her?" "She is my wife," replied Redfeather. "Your wife! Why, I thought I heard the voyageurs call your wife the white swan." "Wabisca is _white_ in the language of the Knisteneux. She is beautiful in form, and my comrades call her the white swan." Redfeather said this with an air of gratified pride. He did not, perhaps, love his wife with more fervour than he would have done had he remained with his tribe; but Redfeather had associated a great deal with the traders, and he had imbibed much of that spirit which prompts "_white_ men" to treat their females with deference and respect--a feeling which is very foreign to an Indian's bosom. To do so was, besides, more congenial to his naturally unselfish and affectionate disposition, so that any flattering allusion to his partner was always received by him with immense gratification. "I'll pay you a visit some day, Redfeather, if I'm sent to any place within fifty miles of your tribe," said Charley with the air of one who had fully made up his mind. "And Misconna?" asked Harry. "Misconna is with his tribe," replied the Indian, and a frown overspread his features as he spoke; "but Redfeather has been following in the track of his white friends; he has not seen his nation for many moons." CHAPTER XIII. The canoe--Ascending the rapids--The portage--Deer shooting and life in the woods. We must now beg the patient reader to take a leap with us, not only through space, but also through time. We must pass over the events of the remainder of the journey along the shore of Lake Winnipeg. Unwilling though we are to omit anything in the history of our friends that would be likely to prove interesting, we think it wise not to run the risk of being tedious, or of dwelling too minutely on the details of scenes which recall powerfully the feelings and memories of bygone days to the writer, but may, nevertheless, appear somewhat flat to the reader. We shall not, therefore, enlarge at present on the arrival of the boats at Norway House, which lies at the north end of the lake, nor on what was said and done by our friends and by several other young comrades whom they found there. We shall not speak of the horror of Harry Somerville, and the extreme disappointment of his friend Charley Kennedy, when the former was told that instead of hunting grizzly bears up the Saskatchewan he was condemned to the desk again at York Fort, the depot on Hudson's Bay,--a low, swampy place near the sea-shore, where the goods for the interior are annually landed and the furs shipped for England, where the greater part of the summer and much of the winter is occupied by the clerks who may be doomed to vegetate there in making up the accounts of what is termed the Northern Department, and where the brigades converge from all the wide scattered and far-distant outposts, and the _ship_ from England--that great event of the year--arrives, keeping the place in a state of constant bustle and effervescence until autumn, when ship and brigades finally depart, leaving the residents (about thirty in number) shut up for eight long, dreary months of winter, with a tenantless wilderness around and behind them, and the wide, cold frozen sea before. This was among the first of Harry's disappointments. He suffered many afterwards, poor fellow! Neither shall we accompany Charley up the south branch of the Saskatchewan, where his utmost expectations in the way of hunting were more than realised, and where he became so accustomed to shooting ducks and geese, and bears and buffaloes, that he could not forbear smiling when he chanced to meet with a red-legged gull, and remembered how he and his friend Harry had comported themselves when they first met with these birds on the shores of Lake Winnipeg! We shall pass over all this, and the summer, autumn, and winter too, and leap at once into the spring of the following year. On a very bright, cheery morning of that spring a canoe might have been seen slowly ascending one of the numerous streams which meander through a richly-wooded fertile country, and mingle their waters with those of the Athabasca River, terminating their united career in a large lake of the same name. The canoe was small--one of the kind used by the natives while engaged in hunting, and capable of holding only two persons conveniently, with their baggage. To any one unacquainted with the nature and capabilities of a northern Indian canoe, the fragile, bright orange-coloured machine that was battling with the strong current of a rapid must indeed have appeared an unsafe and insignificant craft; but a more careful study of its performances in the rapid, and of the immense quantity of miscellaneous goods and chattels which were, at a later period of the day, disgorged from its interior, would have convinced the beholder that it was in truth the most convenient and serviceable craft that could be devised for the exigencies of such a country. True, it could only hold two men (it _might_ have taken three at a pinch), because men, and women too, are awkward, unyielding baggage, very difficult to stow compactly; but it is otherwise with tractable goods. The canoe is exceedingly thin, so that no space is taken up or rendered useless by its own structure, and there is no end to the amount of blankets, and furs, and coats, and paddles, and tent-covers, and dogs, and babies, that can be stowed away in its capacious interior. The canoe of which we are now writing contained two persons, whose active figures were thrown alternately into every graceful attitude of manly vigour, as with poles in hand they struggled to force their light craft against the boiling stream. One was a man apparently of about forty-five years of age. He was a square-shouldered, muscular man, and from the ruggedness of his general appearance, the soiled hunting-shirt that was strapped round his waist with a party-coloured worsted belt, the leather leggings, a good deal the worse for wear, together with the quiet, self-possessed glance of his gray eye, the compressed lip and the sunburned brow, it was evident that he was a hunter, and one who had seen rough work in his day. The expression of his face was pleasing, despite a look of habitual severity which sat upon it, and a deep scar which traversed his brow from the right temple to the top of his nose. It was difficult to tell to what country he belonged. His father was a Canadian, his mother a Scotchwoman. He was born in Canada, brought up in one of the Yankee settlements on the Missouri, and had, from a mere youth, spent his life as a hunter in the wilderness. He could speak English, French, or Indian with equal ease and fluency, but it would have been hard for anyone to say which of the three was his native tongue. The younger man, who occupied the stern of the canoe, acting the part of steersman, was quite a youth, apparently about seventeen, but tall and stout beyond his years, and deeply sunburned. Indeed, were it not for this fact, the unusual quantity of hair that hung in massive curls down his neck, and the voyageur costume, we should have recognised our young friend Charley Kennedy again more easily. Had any doubts remained in our mind, the shout of his merry voice would have scattered them at once. "Hold hard, Jacques," he cried, as the canoe trembled in the current, "one moment, till I get my pole fixed behind this rock. Now, then, shove ahead. Ah!" he exclaimed with chagrin, as the pole slipped on the treacherous bottom and the canoe whirled round. "Mind the rock," cried the bowsman, giving an energetic thrust with his pole, that sent the light bark into an eddy formed by a large rock which rose above the turbulent waters. Here it rested while Jacques and Charley raised themselves on their knees (travellers in small canoes always sit in a kneeling position) to survey the rapid. "It's too much for us, I fear, Mr. Charles," said Jacques, shading his brow with his horny hand. "I've paddled up it many a time alone, but never saw the water so big as now." "Humph! we shall have to make a portage then, I presume. Could we not give it one trial more? I think we might make a dash for the tail of that eddy, and then the stream above seems not quite so strong. Do you think so, Jacques?" Jacques was not the man to check a daring young spirit. His motto through life had ever been, "Never venture, never win"--a sentiment which his intercourse among fur-traders had taught him to embody in the pithy expression, "Never say die;" so that, although quite satisfied that the thing was impossible, he merely replied to his companion's speech by an assenting "Ho," and pushed out again into the stream. An energetic effort enabled them to gain the tail of the eddy spoken of, when Charley's pole snapped across, and, falling heavily on the gunwale, he would have upset the little craft had not Jacques, whose wits were habitually on the _qui vive_, thrown his own weight at the same moment on the opposite side, and counterbalanced Charley's slip. The action saved them a ducking; but the canoe, being left to its own devices for an instant, whirled off again into the stream, and before Charley could seize a paddle to prevent it, they were floating in the still water at the foot of the rapids. "Now isn't that a bore?" said Charley, with a comical look of disappointment at his companion. Jacques laughed. "It was well to _try_, master. I mind a young clerk who came into these parts the same year as I did, and _he_ seldom _tried_ anything. He couldn't abide canoes. He didn't want for courage neither; but he had a nat'ral dislike to them, I suppose, that he couldn't help, and never entered one except when he was obliged to do so. Well, one day he wounded a grizzly bear on the banks o' the Saskatchewan (mind the tail o' that rapid, Mr. Charles; we'll land t'other side o' yon rock). Well, the bear made after him, and he cut stick right away for the river, where there was a canoe hauled up on the bank. He didn't take time to put his rifle aboard, but dropped it on the gravel, crammed the canoe into the water and jumped in, almost driving his feet through its bottom as he did so, and then plumped down so suddenly, to prevent its capsizing, that he split it right across. By this time the bear was at his heels, and took the water like a duck. The poor clerk, in his hurry, swayed from side to side tryin' to prevent the canoe goin' over. But when he went to one side, he was so unused to it that he went too far, and had to jerk over to the other pretty sharp; and so he got worse and worse, until he heard the bear give a great snort beside him. Then he grabbed the paddle in desperation, but at the first dash he missed his stroke, and over he went. The current was pretty strong at the place, which was lucky for him, for it kept him down a bit, so that the bear didn't observe him for a little; and while it was pokin' away at the canoe, he was carried down stream like a log and stranded on a shallow. Jumping up he made tracks for the wood, and the bear (which had found out its mistake), after him; so he was obliged at last to take to a tree, where the beast watched him for a day and a night, till his friends, thinking that something must be wrong, sent out to look for him. (Steady, now, Mr. Charles; a little more to the right. That's it.) Now, if that young man had only ventured boldly into small canoes when he got the chance, he might have laughed at the grizzly and killed him too." As Jacques finished, the canoe glided into a quiet bay formed by an eddy of the rapid, where the still water was overhung with dense foliage. "Is the portage a long one?" asked Charley, as he stepped out on the bank, and helped to unload the canoe. "About half-a-mile," replied his companion. "We might make it shorter by poling up the last rapid; but it's stiff work, Mr. Charles, and we'll do the thing quicker and easier at one lift." The two travellers now proceeded to make a portage. They prepared to carry their canoe and baggage overland, so as to avoid a succession of rapids and waterfalls which intercepted their further progress. "Now, Jacques, up with it," said Charley, after the loading had been taken out and placed on the grassy bank. The hunter stooped, and seizing the canoe by its centre bar, lifted it out of the water, placed it on his shoulders, and walked off with it into the woods. This was not accomplished by the man's superior strength. Charley could have done it quite as well; and, indeed, the strong hunter could have carried a canoe twice the size with perfect ease. Immediately afterwards Charley followed with as much of the lading as he could carry, leaving enough on the bank to form another load. The banks of the river were steep--in some places so much so that Jacques found it a matter of no small difficulty to climb over the broken rocks with the unwieldy canoe on his back; the more so that the branches interlaced overhead so thickly as to present a strong barrier, through which the canoe had to be forced, at the risk of damaging its delicate bark covering. On reaching the comparatively level land above, however, there was more open space, and the hunter threaded his way among the tree stems more rapidly, making a detour occasionally to avoid a swamp or piece of broken ground; sometimes descending a deep gorge formed by a small tributary of the stream they were ascending, and which to an unpractised eye would have appeared almost impassable, even without the encumbrance of a canoe. But the said canoe never bore Jacques more gallantly or safely over the surges of lake or stream than did he bear _it_ through the intricate mazes of the forest; now diving down and disappearing altogether in the umbrageous foliage of a dell; anon reappearing on the other side and scrambling up the bank on all-fours, he and the canoe together looking like some frightful yellow reptile of antediluvian proportions; and then speeding rapidly forward over a level plain until he reached a sheet of still water above the rapids. Here he deposited his burden on the grass, and halting only for a few seconds to carry a few drops of the clear water to his lips, retraced his steps to bring over the remainder of the baggage. Soon afterwards Charley made his appearance on the spot where the canoe was left, and throwing down his load, seated himself on it and surveyed the prospect. Before him lay a reach of the stream which spread out so widely as to resemble a small lake, in whose clear, still bosom were reflected the overhanging foliage of graceful willows, and here and there the bright stem of a silver birch, whose light-green leaves contrasted well with scattered groups and solitary specimens of the spruce fir. Reeds and sedges grew in the water along the banks, rendering the junction of the land and the stream uncertain and confused. All this and a great deal more Charley noted at a glance; for the hundreds of beautiful and interesting objects in nature which take so long to describe even partially, and are feebly set forth after all even by the most graphic language, flash upon the eye in all their force and beauty, and are drunk in at once in a single glance. But Charley noted several objects floating on the water which we have not yet mentioned. These were five gray geese feeding among the rocks at a considerable distance off, and all unconscious of the presence of a human foe in their remote domains. The travellers had trusted very much to their guns and nets for food, having only a small quantity of pemmican in reserve, lest these should fail--an event which was not at all likely, as the country through which they passed was teeming with wild-fowl of all kinds, besides deer. These latter, however, were only shot when they came inadvertently within rifle range, as our voyageurs had a definite object in view, and could not afford to devote much of their time to the chase. During the day previous to that on which we have introduced them to our readers, Charley and his companion had been so much occupied in navigating their frail bark among a succession of rapids, that they had not attended to the replenishing of their larder, so that the geese which now showed themselves were looked upon by Charley with a longing eye. Unfortunately they were feeding on the opposite side of the river, and out of shot. But Charley was a hunter now, and knew how to overcome slight difficulties. He first cut down a pretty large and leafy branch of a tree, and placed it in the bow of the canoe in such a way as to hang down before it and form a perfect screen, through the interstices of which he could see the geese, while they could only see, what was to them no novelty, the branch of a tree floating down the stream. Having gently launched the canoe, Charley was soon close to the unsuspecting birds, from among which he selected one that appeared to be unusually complacent and self-satisfied, concluding at once, with an amount of wisdom that bespoke him a true philosopher, that such _must_ as a matter of course be the fattest. "Bang" went the gun, and immediately the sleek goose turned round upon its back and stretched out its feet towards the sky, waving them once or twice as if bidding adieu to its friends. The others thereupon took to flight, with such a deal of sputter and noise as made it quite apparent that their astonishment was unfeigned. Bang went the gun again, and down fell a second goose. "Ha!" exclaimed Jacques, throwing down the remainder of the cargo as Charley landed with his booty, "that's well. I was just thinking as I comed across that we should have to take to pemmican to-night." "Well, Jacques, and if we had, I'm sure an old hunter like you, who have roughed it so often, need not complain," said Charley, smiling. "As to that, master," replied Jacques, "I've roughed it often enough; and when it does come to a clear fix, I can eat my shoes without grumblin' as well as any man. But, you see, fresh meat is better than dried meat when it's to be had; and so I'm glad to see that you've been lucky, Mr. Charles." "To say truth, so am I; and these fellows are delightfully plump. But you spoke of eating your shoes, Jacques. When were you reduced to that direful extremity?" Jacques finished reloading the canoe while they conversed, and the two were seated in their places, and quietly but swiftly ascending the stream again, ere the hunter replied. "You've heerd of Sir John Franklin, I s'pose?" he inquired, after a minute's consideration. "Yes, often." "An' p'r'aps you've heerd tell of his first trip of discovery along the shores of the Polar Sea?" "Do you refer to the time when he was nearly starved to death, and when poor Hood was shot by the Indian?" "The same," said Jacques. "Oh, yes; I know all about that. Were you with them?" inquired Charley, in great surprise. "Why, no--not exactly _on_ the trip; but I was sent in winter with provisions to them--and much need they had of them, poor fellows! I found them tearing away at some old parchment skins that had lain under the snow all winter, and that an Injin's dog would ha' turned up his nose at--and they don't turn up their snouts at many things, I can tell ye. Well, after we had left all our provisions with them, we started for the fort again, just keepin' as much as would drive off starvation; for, you see, we thought that surely we would git something on the road. But neither hoof nor feather did we see all the way (I was travellin' with an Injin), and our grub was soon done, though we saved it up, and only took a mouthful or two the last three days. At last it was done, and we was pretty well used up, and the fort two days ahead of us. So says I to my comrade--who had been looking at me for some time as if he thought that a cut off my shoulder wouldn't be a bad thing--says I, 'Nipitabo, I'm afeard the shoes must go for it now;' so with that I pulls out a pair o' deerskin moccasins. 'They looks tender,' said I, trying to be cheerful. 'Wah!' said the Injin; and then I held them over the fire till they was done black, and Nipitabo ate one, and I ate the tother, with a lump o' snow to wash it down!" "It must have been rather dry eating," said Charley, laughing. "Rayther; but it was better than the Injin's leather breeches, which we took in hand next day. They was _uncommon_ tough, and very dirty, havin' been worn about a year and a half. Hows'ever, they kept us up; an' as we only ate the legs, he had the benefit o' the stump to arrive with at the fort next day." "What's yon ahead?" exclaimed Charley, pausing as he spoke, and shading his eyes with his hand. "It's uncommon like trees," said Jacques. "It's likely a tree that's been tumbled across the river; and from its appearance, I think we'll have to cut through it." "Cut through it!" exclaimed Charley; "if my sight is worth a gun-flint, we'll have to cut through a dozen trees." Charley was right. The river ahead of them became rapidly narrower; and either from the looseness of the surrounding soil, or the passing of a whirlwind, dozens of trees had been upset, and lay right across the narrow stream in terrible confusion. What made the thing worse was that the banks on either side, which were low and flat, were covered with such a dense thicket down to the water's edge, that the idea of making a portage to overcome the barrier seemed altogether hopeless. "Here's a pretty business, to be sure!" cried Charley, in great disgust. "Never say die, Mister Charles," replied Jacques, taking up the axe from the bottom of the canoe; "it's quite clear that cuttin' through the trees is easier than cuttin' through the bushes, so here goes." For fully three hours the travellers were engaged in cutting their way up the encumbered stream, during which time they did not advance three miles; and it was evening ere they broke down the last barrier and paddled out into a sheet of clear water again. "That'll prepare us for the geese, Jacques," said Charley, as he wiped the perspiration from his brow; "there's nothing like warm work for whetting the appetite, and making one sleep soundly." "That's true," replied the hunter, resuming his paddle. "I often wonder how them white-faced fellows in the settlements manage to keep body and soul together--a-sittin', as they do, all day in the house, and a-lyin' all night in a feather bed. For my part, rather than live as they do, I would cut my way up streams like them we've just passed every day and all day, and sleep on top of a flat rock o' nights, under the blue sky, all my life through." With this decided expression of his sentiments, the stout hunter steered the canoe up alongside of a huge flat rock, as if he were bent on giving a practical illustration of the latter part of his speech then and there. "We'd better camp now, Mister Charles; there's a portage o' two miles here, and it'll take us till sundown to get the canoe and things over." "Be it so," said Charley, landing. "Is there a good place at the other end to camp on?" "First-rate. It's smooth as a blanket on the turf, and a clear spring bubbling at the root of a wide tree that would keep off the rain if it was to come down like water-spouts." The spot on which the travellers encamped that evening overlooked one of those scenes in which vast extent, and rich, soft variety of natural objects, were united with much that was grand and savage. It filled the mind with the calm satisfaction that is experienced when one gazes on the wide lawns studded with noble trees; the spreading fields of waving grain that mingle with stream and copse, rock and dell, vineyard and garden, of the cultivated lands of civilized men; while it produced that exulting throb of freedom which stirs man's heart to its centre, when he casts a first glance over miles and miles of broad lands that are yet unowned, unclaimed; that yet lie in the unmutilated beauty with which the beneficent Creator originally clothed them--far away from the well-known scenes of man's checkered history; entirely devoid of those ancient monuments of man's power and skill that carry the mind back with feelings of awe to bygone ages, yet stamped with evidences of an antiquity more ancient still in the wild primeval forests, and the noble trees that have sprouted, and spread, and towered in their strength for centuries--trees that have fallen at their posts, while others took their place, and rose and fell as they did, like long-lived sentinels whose duty it was to keep perpetual guard over the vast solitudes of the great American Wilderness. The fire was lighted, and the canoe turned bottom up in front of it, under the branches of a spreading tree which stood on an eminence, whence was obtained a bird's-eye view of the noble scene. It was a flat valley, on either side of which rose two ranges of hills, which were clothed to the top with trees of various kinds, the plain of the valley itself being dotted with clumps of wood, among which the fresh green foliage of the plane tree and the silver-stemmed birch were conspicuous, giving an airy lightness to the scene and enhancing the picturesque effect of the dark pines. A small stream could be traced winding out and in among clumps of willows, reflecting their drooping boughs and the more sombre branches of the spruce fir and the straight larch, with which in many places its banks were shaded. Here and there were stretches of clearer ground where the green herbage of spring gave to it a lawn-like appearance, and the whole magnificent scene was bounded by blue hills that became fainter as they receded from the eye and mingled at last with the horizon. The sun had just set, and a rich glow of red bathed the whole scene, which was further enlivened by flocks of wild-fowls and herds of reindeer. These last soon drew Charley's attention from the contemplation of the scenery, and observing a deer feeding in an open space, towards which he could approach without coming between it and the wind, he ran for his gun and hurried into the woods while Jacques busied himself in arranging their blankets under the upturned canoe, and in preparing supper. Charley discovered soon after starting, what all hunters discover sooner or later--namely, that appearances are deceitful; for he no sooner reached the foot of the hill than he found, between him and the lawn-like country, an almost impenetrable thicket of underwood. Our young hero, however, was of that disposition which sticks at nothing, and instead of taking time to search for an opening, he took a race and sprang into the middle of it, in hopes of forcing his way through. His hopes were not disappointed. He got through--quite through--and alighted up to the armpits in a swamp, to the infinite consternation of a flock of teal ducks that were slumbering peacefully there with their heads under their wings, and had evidently gone to bed for the night. Fortunately he held his gun above the water and kept his balance, so that he was able to proceed with a dry charge, though with an uncommonly wet skin. Half-an-hour brought Charley within range, and watching patiently until the animal presented his side towards the place of his concealment, he fired and shot it through the heart. "Well done, Mister Charles," exclaimed Jacques, as the former staggered into camp with the reindeer on his shoulders. "A fat doe, too." "Ay," said Charley; "but she has cost me a wet skin. So pray, Jacques, rouse up the fire, and let's have supper as soon as you can." Jacques speedily skinned the deer, cut a couple of steaks from its flank, and placing them on wooden spikes, stuck them up to roast, while his young friend put on a dry shirt, and hung his coat before the blaze. The goose which had been shot earlier in the day was also plucked, split open, impaled in the same manner as the steaks, and set up to roast. By this time the shadows of night had deepened, and ere long all was shrouded in gloom, except the circle of ruddy light around the camp fire, in the centre of which Jacques and Charley sat, with the canoe at their backs, knives in their hands, and the two spits, on the top of which smoked their ample supper, planted in the ground before them. One by one the stars went out, until none were visible except the bright, beautiful morning star, as it rose higher and higher in the eastern sky. One by one the owls and the wolves, ill-omened birds and beasts of night, retired to rest in the dark recesses of the forest. Little by little, the gray dawn overspread the sky, and paled the lustre of the morning star, until it faded away altogether; and then Jacques awoke with a start, and throwing out his arm, brought it accidentally into violent contact with Charley's nose. This caused Charley to awake, not only with a start, but also with a roar, which brought them both suddenly into a sitting posture, in which they continued for some time in a state between sleeping and waking, their faces meanwhile expressive of mingled imbecility and extreme surprise. Bursting into a simultaneous laugh, which degenerated into a loud yawn, they sprang up, launched and reloaded their canoe, and resumed their journey. CHAPTER XIV. The Indian camp--The new outpost--Charley sent on a mission to the Indians. In the councils of the fur-traders, on the spring previous to that about which we are now writing, it had been decided to extend their operations a little in the lands that lie in central America, to the north of the Saskatchewan River; and in furtherance of that object, it had been intimated to the chief trader in charge of the district that an expedition should be set on foot, having for its object the examination of a territory into which they had not yet penetrated, and the establishment of an outpost therein. It was, furthermore, ordered that operations should be commenced at once, and that the choice of men to carry out the end in view was graciously left to the chief trader's well-known sagacity. Upon receiving this communication, the chief trader selected a gentleman named Mr. Whyte to lead the party; gave him a clerk and five men, provided him with a boat and a large supply of goods necessary for trade, implements requisite for building an establishment, and sent him off with a hearty shake of the hand and a recommendation to "go and prosper." Charles Kennedy spent part of the previous year at Rocky Mountain House, where he had shown so much energy in conducting the trade, especially what he called the "rough and tumble" part of it, that he was selected as the clerk to accompany Mr. Whyte to his new ground. After proceeding up many rivers, whose waters had seldom borne the craft of white men, and across innumerable lakes, the party reached a spot that presented so inviting an aspect that it was resolved to pitch their tent there for a time, and, if things in the way of trade and provision looked favourable, establish themselves altogether. The place was situated on the margin of a large lake, whose shores were covered with the most luxuriant verdure, and whose waters teemed with the finest fish, while the air was alive with wild-fowl, and the woods swarming with game. Here Mr. Whyte rested awhile; and having found everything to his satisfaction, he took his axe, selected a green lawn that commanded an extensive view of the lake, and going up to a tall larch, struck the steel into it, and thus put the first touch to an establishment which afterwards went by the name of Stoney Creek. A solitary Indian, whom they had met with on the way to their new home, had informed them that a large band of Knisteneux had lately migrated to a river about four days' journey beyond the lake at which they halted; and when the new fort was just beginning to spring up, our friend Charley and the interpreter, Jacques Caradoc, were ordered by Mr. Whyte to make a canoe, and then, embarking in it, to proceed to the Indian camp, to inform the natives of their rare good luck in having a band of white men come to settle near their lands to trade with them. The interpreter and Charley soon found birch bark, pine roots for sewing it, and gum for plastering the seams, wherewith they constructed the light machine whose progress we have partly traced in the last chapter, and which, on the following day at sunset, carried them to their journey's end. From some remarks made by the Indian who gave them information of the camp, Charley gathered that it was the tribe to which Redfeather belonged, and furthermore that Redfeather himself was there at the time; so that it was with feelings of no little interest that he saw the tops of the yellow tents embedded among the green trees, and soon afterwards beheld them and their picturesque owners reflected in the clear river, on whose banks the natives crowded to witness the arrival of the white men. Upon the greensward, and under the umbrageous shade of the forest trees, the tents were pitched to the number of perhaps eighteen or twenty, and the whole population, of whom very few were absent on the present occasion, might number a hundred--men, women, and children. They were dressed in habiliments formed chiefly of materials procured by themselves in the chase, but ornamented with cloth, beads, and silk thread, which showed that they had had intercourse with the fur-traders before now. The men wore leggings of deerskin, which reached more than half-way up the thigh, and were fastened to a leathern girdle strapped round the waist. A loose tunic or hunting-shirt of the same material covered the figure from the shoulders almost to the knees, and was confined round the middle by a belt--in some cases of worsted, in others of leather gaily ornamented with quills. Caps of various indescribable shapes, and made chiefly of skin, with the animal's tail left on by way of ornament, covered their heads, and moccasins for the feet completed their costume. These last may be simply described as leather mittens for the feet, without fingers, or rather toes. They were gaudily ornamented, as was almost every portion of costume, with porcupines' quills dyed with brilliant colours, and worked into fanciful, and in many cases extremely elegant, figures and designs; for North American Indians oftentimes display an amount of taste in the harmonious arrangement of colour that would astonish those who fancy that _education_ is absolutely necessary to the just appreciation of the beautiful. The women attired themselves in leggings and coats differing little from those of the men, except that the latter were longer, the sleeves detached from the body, and fastened on separately; while on their heads they wore caps, which hung down and covered their backs to the waist. These caps were of the simplest construction, being pieces of cloth cut into an oblong shape, and sewed together at one end. They were, however, richly ornamented with silk-work and beads. On landing, Charley and Jacques walked up to a tall, good-looking Indian, whom they judged from his demeanour, and the somewhat deferential regard paid to him by the others, to be one of the chief men of the little community. "Ho! what cheer?" said Jacques, taking him by the hand after the manner of Europeans, and accosting him with the phrase used by the fur-traders to the natives. The Indian returned the compliment in kind, and led the visitors to his tent, where he spread a buffalo robe for them on the ground, and begged them to be seated. A repast of dried meat and reindeer-tongues was then served, to which our friends did ample justice; while the women and children satisfied their curiosity by peering at them through chinks and holes in the tent. When they had finished, several of the principal men assembled, and the chief who had entertained them made a speech, to the effect that he was much gratified by the honour done to his people by the visit of his white brothers; that he hoped they would continue long at the camp to enjoy their hospitality; and that he would be glad to know what had brought them so far into the country of the red men. During the course of this speech the chief made eloquent allusion to all the good qualities supposed to belong to white men in general, and (he had no doubt) to the two white men before him in particular. He also boasted considerably of the prowess and bravery of himself and his tribe, launched a few sarcastic hits at his enemies, and wound up with a poetical hope that his guests might live for ever in these beautiful plains of bliss, where the sun never sets, and nothing goes wrong anywhere, and everything goes right at all times, and where, especially, the deer are outrageously fat, and always come out on purpose to be shot! During the course of these remarks his comrades signified their hearty concurrence to his sentiments, by giving vent to sundry low-toned "hums!" and "has!" and "wahs!" and "hos!" according to circumstances. After it was over Jacques rose, and addressing them in their own language, said,-- "My Indian brethren are great. They are brave, and their fame has travelled far. Their deeds are known even so far as where the Great Salt Lake beats on the shore where the sun rises. They are not women, and when their enemies hear the sound of their name they grow pale; their hearts become like those of the reindeer. My brethren are famous, too, in the use of the snow-shoe, the snare, and the gun. The fur-traders know that they must build large stores when they come into their lands. They bring up much goods, because the young men are active, and require much. The silver fox and the marten are no longer safe when their traps and snares are set. Yes, they are good hunters: and we have now come to live among you" (Jacques changed his style as he came nearer to the point), "to trade with you, and to save you the trouble of making long journeys with your skins. A few days' distance from your wigwams we have pitched our tents. Our young men are even now felling the trees to build a house. Our nets are set, our hunters are prowling in the woods, our goods are ready, and my young master and I have come to smoke the pipe of friendship with you, and to invite you to come to trade with us." Having delivered this oration, Jacques sat down amid deep silence. Other speeches, of a highly satisfactory character, were then made, after which "the house adjourned," and the visitors, opening one of their packages, distributed a variety of presents to the delighted natives. Several times during the course of these proceedings, Charley's eyes wandered among the faces of his entertainers, in the hope of seeing Redfeather among them, but without success; and he began to fear that his friend was not with the tribe. "I say, Jacques," he said, as they left the tent, "ask whether a chief called Redfeather is here. I knew him of old, and half expected to find him at this place." The Indian to whom Jacques put the question replied that Redfeather was with them, but that he had gone out on a hunting expedition that morning, and might be absent a day or two. "Ah!" exclaimed Charley, "I'm glad he's here. Come, now, let us take a walk in the wood; these good people stare at us as if we were ghosts." And taking Jacques's arm, he led him beyond the circuit of the camp, turned into a path which, winding among the thick underwood, speedily screened them from view, and led them into a sequestered glade, through which a rivulet trickled along its course, almost hid from view by the dense foliage and long grasses that overhung it. "What a delightful place to live in!" said Charley. "Do you ever think of building a hut in such a spot as this, Jacques, and settling down altogether?" Charley's thoughts reverted to his sister Kate when he said this. "Why, no," replied Jacques, in a pensive tone, as if the question had aroused some sorrowful recollections; "I can't say that I'd like to settle here _now_. There was a time when I thought nothin' could be better than to squat in the woods with one or two jolly comrades, and--" (Jacques sighed); "but times is changed now, master, and so is my mind. My chums are most of them dead or gone one way or other. No; I shouldn't care to squat alone." Charley thought of the hut _without_ Kate, and it seemed so desolate and dreary a dwelling, notwithstanding its beautiful situation, that he agreed with his companion that to "squat" _alone_ would never do at all. "No, man was not made to live alone," continued Jacques, pursuing the subject; "even the Injins draw together. I never knew but one as didn't like his fellows, and he's gone now, poor fellow. He cut his foot with an axe one day, while fellin' a tree. It was a bad cut; and havin' nobody to look after him, he half bled and half starved to death." "By the way, Jacques," said Charley, stepping over the clear brook, and following the track which led up the opposite bank, "what did you say to those red-skins? You made them a most eloquent speech apparently." "Why, as to that, I can't boast much of its eloquence, but I think it was clear enough. I told them that they were a great nation; for you see, Mr. Charles, the red men are just like the white in their fondness for butter; so I gave them some to begin with, though, for the matter o' that, I'm not overly fond o' givin' butter to any man, red or white. But I holds that it's as well always to fall in with the ways and customs o' the people a man happens to be among, so long as them ways and customs a'n't contrary to what's right. It makes them feel more kindly to you, and don't raise any onnecessary ill-will. However, the Knisteneux _are_ a brave race; and when I told them that the hearts of their enemies trembled when they heard of them, I told nothing but the truth; for the Chipewyans are a miserable set, and not much given to fighting." "Your principles on that point won't stand much sifting, I fear," replied Charley: "according to your own showing, you would fall into the Chipewyan's way of glorifying themselves on account of their bravery, if you chanced to be dwelling among them, and yet you say they are not brave. That would not be sticking to truth, Jacques, would it?" "Well," replied Jacques with a smile, "perhaps not exactly, but I'm sure there could be small harm in helping the miserable objects to boast sometimes, for they've little else than boasting to comfort them." "And yet, Jacques, I cannot help feeling that truth is a grand, a glorious thing, that should not be trifled with even in small matters." Jacques opened his eyes a little. "Then do you think, master, that a man should _never_ tell a lie, no matter what fix he may be in?" "I think not, Jacques." The hunter paused a few minutes, and looked as if an unusual train of ideas had been raised in his mind by the turn their conversation had taken. Jacques was a man of no religion, and little morality, beyond what flowed from a naturally kind, candid disposition, and entertained the belief that the _end_, if a good one, always justifies the _means_--a doctrine which, had it been clearly exposed to him in all its bearings and results, would have been spurned by his straightforward nature with the indignant contempt that it merits. "Mr. Charles," he said at length, "I once travelled across the plains to the head waters of the Missouri with a party of six trappers. One night we came to a part of the plains which was very much broken up with wood here and there, and bein' a good place for water we camped. While the other lads were gettin' ready the supper, I started off to look for a deer, as we had been unlucky that day--we had shot nothin'. Well, about three miles from the camp I came upon a band o' somewhere about thirty Sieux (ill-looking, sneaking dogs they are, too!), and before I could whistle they rushed upon me, took away my rifle and hunting-knife, and were dancing round me like so many devils. At last a big black-lookin' thief stepped forward, and said in the Cree language, 'White men seldom travel through this country alone; where are your comrades?' Now, thought I, here's a nice fix! If I pretend not to understand, they'll send out parties in all directions, and as sure as fate they'll find my companions in half-an-hour, and butcher them in cold blood (for, you see, we did not expect to find Sieux, or indeed any Injins, in them parts); so I made believe to be very narvous, and tried to tremble all over and look pale. Did you ever try to look pale and frighttened, Mr. Charles?" "I can't say that I ever did," said Charley, laughing. "You can't think how troublesome it is," continued Jacques, with a look of earnest simplicity. "I shook and trembled pretty well, but the more I tried to grow pale, the more I grew red in the face, and when I thought of the six broad-shouldered, raw-boned lads in the camp, and how easy they would have made these jumping villains fly like chaff if they only knew the fix I was in, I gave a frown that had well-nigh showed I was shamming. Hows'ever, what with shakin' a little more and givin' one or two most awful groans, I managed to deceive them. Then I said I was hunter to a party of white men that were travellin' from Red River to St. Louis, with all their goods, and wives, and children, and that they were away in the plains about a league off. "The big chap looked very hard into my face when I said this, to see if I was telling the truth; and I tried to make my teeth chatter, but it wouldn't do, so I took to groanin' very bad instead. But them Sieux are such awful liars nat'rally that they couldn't understand the signs of truth, even if they saw them. 'Whitefaced coward,' said he to me, 'tell me in what direction your people are.' At this I made believe not to understand; but the big chap flourished his knife before my face, called me a dog, and told me to point out the direction. I looked as simple as I could and said I would rather not. At this they laughed loudly and then gave a yell, and said if I didn't show them the direction they would roast me alive. So I pointed towards apart of the plains pretty wide o' the spot where our camp was. 'Now lead us to them,' said the big chap, givin' me a shove with the butt of his gun; 'an' if you have told lies--'he gave the handle of his scalpin'-knife a slap, as much as to say he'd tickle up my liver with it. Well, away we went in silence, me thinkin' all the time how I was to get out o' the scrape. I led them pretty close past our camp, hopin' that the lads would hear us. I didn't dare to yell out, as that would have showed them there was somebody within hearin', and they would have made short work of me. Just as we came near the place where my companions lay, a prairie wolf sprang out from under a bush where it had been sleepin', so I gave a loud hurrah, and shied my cap at it. Giving a loud growl, the big Injin hit me over the head with his fist, and told me to keep silence. In a few minutes I heard the low, distant howl of a wolf. I recognised the voice of one of my comrades, and knew that they had seen us, and would be on our track soon. Watchin' my opportunity, and walkin' for a good bit as if I was awful tired--all but done up--to throw them off their guard, I suddenly tripped up the big chap as he was stepping over a small brook, and dived in among the bushes. In a moment a dozen bullets tore up the bark on the trees about me, and an arrow passed through my hair. The clump of wood into which I had dived was about half-a-mile long; and as I could run well (I've found in my experience that white men are more than a match for red-skins at their own work), I was almost out of range by the time I was forced to quit the cover and take to the plain. When the blackguards got out of the cover, too, and saw me cuttin' ahead like a deer, they gave a yell of disappointment, and sent another shower of arrows and bullets after me, some of which came nearer than was pleasant. I then headed for our camp with the whole pack screechin' at my heels. 'Yell away, you stupid sinners,' thought I; 'some of you shall pay for your music.' At that moment an arrow grazed my shoulder, and looking over it, I saw that the black fellow I had pitched into the water was far ahead of the rest, strainin' after me like mad, and every now and then stopping to try an arrow on me; so I kept a look-out, and when I saw him stop to draw, I stopped too, and dodged, so the arrows passed me, and then we took to our heels again. In this way I ran for dear life till I came up to the cover. As I came close up I saw our six fellows crouchin' in the bushes, and one o' them takin' aim almost straight for my face. 'Your day's come at last,' thought I, looking over my shoulder at the big Injin, who was drawing his bow again. Just then there was a sharp crack heard; a bullet whistled past my ear, and the big fellow fell like a stone, while my comrade stood coolly up to reload his rifle. The Injins, on seein' this, pulled up in a moment; and our lads stepping forward, delivered a volley that made three more o' them bite the dust. There would have been six in that fix, but, somehow or other, three of us pitched upon the same man, who was afterwards found with a bullet in each eye, and one through his heart. They didn't wait for more, but turned about and bolted like the wind. Now, Mr. Charles, if I had told the truth that time, we would have been all killed; and if I had simply said nothin' to their questions, they would have sent out to scour the country, and have found out the camp for sartin, so that the only way to escape was by tellin' them a heap o' downright lies." Charley looked very much perplexed at this. "You have indeed placed me in a difficulty. I know not what I would have done. I don't know even what I _ought to do_ under these circumstances. Difficulties may perplex me, and the force of circumstances might tempt me to do what I believed to be wrong. I am a sinner, Jacques, like other mortals, I know; but one thing I am quite sure of--namely, that when men speak it should _always_ be truth and _never_ falsehood." Jacques looked perplexed too. He was strongly impressed with the necessity of telling falsehoods in the circumstances in which he had been placed, as just related, while at the same time he felt deeply the grandeur and the power of Charley's last remark. "I should have been under the sod _now_," said he, "if I had not told a lie _then_. Is it better to die than to speak falsehood?" "Some men have thought so," replied Charley. "I acknowledge the difficulty of _your_ case and of all similar cases. I don't know what should be done, but I have read of a minister of the gospel whose people were very wicked and would not attend to his instructions, although they could not but respect himself, he was so consistent and Christianlike in his conduct. Persecution arose in the country where he lived, and men and women were cruelly murdered because of their religious belief. For a long time he was left unmolested, but one day a band of soldiers came to his house, and asked him whether he was a Papist or a Protestant (Papist, Jacques, being a man who has sold his liberty in religious matters to the Pope, and a Protestant being one who protests against such an ineffably silly and unmanly state of slavery). Well, his people urged the good old man to say he was a Papist, telling him that he would then be spared to live among them, and preach the true faith for many years perhaps. Now, if there was one thing that this old man would have toiled for and died for, it was that his people should become true Christians--and he told them so; 'but,' he added, 'I will not tell a lie to accomplish that end, my children--no, not even to save my life.' So he told the soldiers that he was a Protestant, and immediately they carried him away, and he was soon afterwards burned to death." "Well," said Jacques, "_he_ didn't gain much by sticking to the truth, I think." "I'm not so sure of _that_. The story goes on to say that he _rejoiced_ that he had done so, and wouldn't draw back even when he was in the flames. But the point lies here, Jacques: so deep an impression did the old man's conduct make on his people, that from that day forward they were noted for their Christian life and conduct. They brought up their children with a deeper reverence for the truth than they would otherwise have done, always bearing in affectionate remembrance, and holding up to them as an example, the unflinching truthfulness of the good old man who was burned in the year of the terrible persecutions; and at last their influence and example had such an effect that the Protestant religion spread like wild-fire, far and wide around them, so that the very thing was accomplished for which the old pastor said he would have died--accomplished, too, very much in consequence of his death, and in a way and to an extent that very likely would not have been the case had he lived and preached among them for a hundred years." "I don't understand it, nohow," said Jacques; "it seems to me right both ways and wrong both ways, and all upside down every how." Charley smiled. "Your remark is about as clear as my head on the subject, Jacques; but I still remain convinced that truth is _right_ and that falsehood is _wrong_, and that we should stick to the first through thick and thin." "I s'pose," remarked the hunter, who had walked along in deep cogitation, for the last five minutes, and had apparently come to some conclusion of profound depth and sagacity--"I s'pose that it's all human natur'; that some men takes to preachin' as Injins take to huntin', and that to understand sich things requires them to begin young,' and risk their lives in it, as I would in followin' up a grizzly she-bear with cubs." "Yonder is an illustration of one part of your remark. They begin _young_ enough, anyhow," said Charley, pointing as he spoke to an opening in the bushes, where a particularly small Indian boy stood in the act of discharging an arrow. The two men halted to watch his movements. According to a common custom among juvenile Indians during the warm months of the year, he was dressed in _nothing_ save a mere rag tied round his waist. His body was very brown, extremely round, fat, and wonderfully diminutive, while his little legs and arms were disproportionately small. He was so young as to be barely able to walk, and yet there he stood, his black eyes glittering with excitement, his tiny bow bent to its utmost, and a blunt-headed arrow about to be discharged at a squirrel, whose flight had been suddenly arrested by the unexpected apparition of Charley and Jacques. As he stood there for a single instant, perfectly motionless, he might have been mistaken for a grotesque statue of an Indian cupid. Taking advantage of the squirrel's pause the child let fly the arrow, hit it exactly on the point of the nose, and turned it over, dead--a consummation which he greeted with a rapid succession of frightful yells. "Cleverly done, my lad; you're a chip of the old block, I see," said Jacques, patting the child's head as he passed, and retraced his steps, with Charley, to the Indian camp. CHAPTER XV. The feast--Charley makes his first speech in public, and meets with an old friend--An evening in the grass. Savages, not less than civilized men, are fond of a good dinner. In saying this, we do not expect our reader to be overwhelmed with astonishment. He might have guessed as much; but when we state that savages, upon particular occasions, eat six dinners in one, and make it a point of honour to do so, we apprehend that we have thrown a slightly new light on an old subject. Doubtless there are men in civilised society who would do likewise if they could; but they cannot, fortunately, as great gastronomic powers are dependent on severe, healthful, and prolonged physical exertion. Therefore it is that in England we find men capable only of eating about two dinners at once, and suffering a good deal for it afterwards; while in the backwoods we see men consume a week's dinners in one, without any evil consequences following the act. The feast which was given by the Knisteneux in honour of the visit of our two friends was provided on a more moderate scale than usual, in order to accommodate the capacities of the "white men;" three days' allowance being cooked for each man. (Women are never admitted to the public feasts.) On the day preceding the ceremony, Charley and Jacques had received cards of invitation from the principal chief in the shape of two quills; similar invites being issued at the same time to all the braves. Jacques being accustomed to the doings of the Indians, and aware of the fact that whatever was provided for each man _must_ be eaten before he quitted the scene of operations, advised Charley to eat no breakfast, and to take a good walk as a preparative. Charley had strong faith, however, in his digestive powers, and felt much inclined, when morning came, to satisfy the cravings of his appetite as usual; but Jacques drew such a graphic picture of the work that lay before him, that he forbore to urge the matter, and went off to walk with a light step, and an uncomfortable feeling of vacuity about the region of the stomach. About noon, the chiefs and braves assembled in an open enclosure situated in an exposed place on the banks of the river, where the proceedings were watched by the women, children, and dogs. The oldest chief sat himself down on the turf at one end of the enclosure, with Jacques Caradoc on his right hand, and next to him Charley Kennedy, who had ornamented himself with a blue stripe painted down the middle of his nose, and a red bar across his chin. Charley's propensity for fun had led him thus to decorate his face, in spite of his companion's remonstrances,--urging, by way of excuse, that worthy's former argument, "that it was well to fall in with the ways o' the people a man happened to be among, so long as these ways and customs were not contrary to what was right." Now Charley was sure there was nothing wrong in his painting his nose sky blue, if he thought fit. Jacques thought it was absurd, and entertained the opinion that it would be more dignified to leave his face "its nat'ral colour." Charley didn't agree with him at all. He thought it would be paying the Indians a high compliment to follow their customs as far as possible, and said that, after all, his blue nose would not be very conspicuous, as he (Jacques) had told him that he would "look blue" at any rate when he saw the quantity of deer's meat he should have to devour. Jacques laughed at this, but suggested that the bar across his chin was _red_. Whereupon Charley said that he could easily neutralise that by putting a green star under each eye; and then uttered a fervent wish that his friend Harry Somerville could only see him in that guise. Finding him incorrigible, Jacques, who, notwithstanding his remonstrances, was more than half imbued with Charley's spirit, gave in, and accompanied him to the feast, himself decorated with the additional ornament of a red night-cap, to whose crown was attached a tuft of white feathers. A fire burned in the centre of the enclosure, round which the Indians seated themselves according to seniority, and with deep solemnity; for it is a trait in the Indian's character that all his ceremonies are performed with extreme gravity. Each man brought a dish or platter, and a wooden spoon. The old chief, whose hair was very gray, and his face covered with old wounds and scars, received either in war or in hunting, having seated himself, allowed a few minutes to elapse in silence, during which the company sat motionless, gazing at their plates as if they half expected them to become converted into beefsteaks. While they were seated thus, another party of Indians, who had been absent on a hunting expedition, strode rapidly but noiselessly into the enclosure, and seated themselves in the circle. One of these passed close to Charley, and in doing so stooped, took his hand, and pressed it. Charley looked up in surprise, and beheld the face of his old friend Redfeather, gazing at him with an expression in which were mingled affection, surprise, and amusement at the peculiar alteration in his visage. "Redfeather!" exclaimed Charlie, in delight, half rising, but the Indian pressed him down. "You must not rise," he whispered, and giving his hand another squeeze, passed round the circle, and took his place directly opposite. Having continued motionless for five minutes with becoming gravity, the company began operations by proceeding to smoke out of the sacred stem--a ceremony which precedes--all occasions of importance, and is conducted as follows:--The sacred stem is placed on two forked sticks to prevent its touching the ground, as that would be considered a great evil. A stone pipe is then filled with tobacco, by an attendant specially appointed to that office, and affixed to the stem, which is presented to the principal chief. That individual, with a gravity and _hauteur_ that is unsurpassed in the annals of pomposity, receives the pipe in both hands, blows a puff to the east (probably in consequence of its being the quarter whence the sun rises), and thereafter pays a similar mark of attention to the other three points. He then raises the pipe above his head, points and balances it in various directions (for what reason and with what end in view is best known to himself), and replaces it again on the forks. The company meanwhile observe his proceedings with sedate interest, evidently imbued with the idea that they are deriving from the ceremony a vast amount of edification--an idea which is helped out, doubtless, by the appearance of the women and children, who surround the enclosure, and gaze at the proceedings with looks of awe-struck seriousness that is quite solemnizing to behold. The chief then makes a speech relative to the circumstance which has called them together; and which is always more or less interlarded with boastful reference to his own deeds, past, present, and prospective, eulogistic remarks on those of his forefathers, and a general condemnation of all other Indian tribes whatever. These speeches are usually delivered with great animation, and contain much poetic allusion to the objects of nature that surround the homes of the savage. The speech being finished, the chief sits down amid a universal "Ho!" uttered by the company with an emphatic prolongation of the last letter--this syllable being the Indian substitute, we presume, for "rapturous applause." The chief who officiated on the present occasion, having accomplished the opening ceremonies thus far, sat down; while the pipe-bearer presented the sacred stem to the members of the company in succession, each of whom drew a few whiffs and mumbled a few words. "Do as you see the red-skins, Mr. Charles," whispered Jacques, while the pipe was going round. "That's impossible," replied Charley, in a tone that could not be heard except by his friend. "I couldn't make a face of hideous solemnity like that black thief opposite if I was to try ever so hard." "Don't let them think you're laughing at them," returned the hunter; "they would be ill-pleased if they thought so." "I'll try," said Charley, "but it is hard work, Jacques, to keep from laughing; I feel like a high-pressure steam-engine already. There's a woman standing out there with a little brown baby on her back; she has quite fascinated me; I can't keep my eyes off her, and if she goes on contorting her visage much longer, I feel that I shall give way." "Hush!" At this moment the pipe was presented to Charley, who put it to his lips, drew three whiffs, and returned it with a bland smile to the bearer. The smile was a very sweet one, for that was a peculiar trait in the native urbanity of Charley's disposition, and it would have gone far in civilized society to prepossess strangers in his favour; but it lowered him considerably in the estimation of his red friends, who entertained a wholesome feeling of contempt for any appearance of levity on high occasions. But Charley's face was of that agreeable stamp that, though gentle and bland when lighted up with a smile, is particularly masculine and manly in expression when in repose, and the frown that knit his brows when he observed the bad impression he had given almost reinstated him in their esteem. But his popularity became great, and the admiration of his swarthy friends greater, when he rose and made an eloquent speech in English, which Jacques translated into the Indian language. He told them, in reply to the chief's oration (wherein that warrior had complimented his pale-faced brothers on their numerous good qualities), that he was delighted and proud to meet with his Indian friends; that the object of his mission was to acquaint them with the fact that a new trading-fort was established not far off, by himself and his comrades, for their special benefit and behoof; that the stores were full of goods which he hoped they would soon obtain possession of, in exchange for furs; that he had travelled a great distance on purpose to see their land and ascertain its capabilities in the way of fur-bearing animals and game; that he had not been disappointed in his expectations, as he had found the animals to be as numerous as bees, the fish plentiful in the rivers and lakes, and the country at large a perfect paradise. He proceeded to tell them further that he expected they would justify the report he had heard of them, that they were a brave nation and good hunters, by bringing in large quantities of furs. Being strongly urged by Jacques to compliment them, on their various good qualities, Charley launched out into an extravagantly poetic vein, said that he had heard (but he hoped to have many opportunities of seeing it proved) that there was no nation under the sun equal to them in bravery, activity, and perseverance; that he had heard of men in olden times who made it their profession to fight with wild bulls for the amusement of their friends, but he had no doubt whatever their courage would be made conspicuous in the way of fighting wild bears and buffaloes, not for the amusement but the benefit of their wives and children (he might have added of the Hudson's Bay Company, but he didn't, supposing that that was self-evident, probably). He complimented them on the way in which they had conducted themselves in war in times past, comparing their stealthy approach to enemies' camps to the insidious snake that glides among the bushes, and darts unexpectedly on its prey; said that their eyes were sharp to follow the war-trail through the forest or over the dry sward of the prairie; their aim with gun or bow true and sure as the flight of the goose when it leaves the lands of the sun, and points its beak to the icy regions of the north; their war-whoops loud as the thunders of the cataract; and their sudden onset like the lightning flash that darts from the sky and scatters the stout oak in splinters on the plain. At this point Jacques expressed his satisfaction at the style in which his young friend was progressing. "That's your sort, Mr. Charles. Don't spare the butter; lay it on thick. You've not said too much yet, for they are a brave race, that's a fact, as I've good reason to know." Jacques, however, did not feel quite so well satisfied when Charley went on to tell them that although bravery in war was an admirable thing, war itself was a thing not at all to be desired, and should only be undertaken in case of necessity. He especially pointed out that there was not much glory to be earned in fighting against the Chipewyans, who, everybody knew, were a poor, timid set of people, whom they ought rather to pity than to destroy; and recommended them to devote themselves more to the chase than they had done in times past, and less to the prosecution of war in time to come. All this, and a great deal more, did Charley say, in a manner, and with a rapidity of utterance, that surprised himself, when he considered the fact that he had never adventured into the field of public speaking before. All this, and a great deal more--a very great deal more--did Jacques Caradoc interpret to the admiring Indians, who listened with the utmost gravity and profound attention, greeting the close with a very emphatic "Ho!" Jacques's translation was by no means perfect. Many of the flights into which Charley ventured, especially in regard to the manners and customs of the savages of ancient Greece and Rome, were quite incomprehensible to the worthy backwoodsman; but he invariably proceeded when Charley halted, giving a flight of his own when at a loss, varying and modifying when he thought it advisable, and altering, adding, or cutting off as he pleased. Several other chiefs addressed the assembly, and then dinner, if we may so call it, was served. In Charley's case it was breakfast; to the Indians it was breakfast, dinner, and supper in one. It consisted of a large platter of dried meat, reindeer tongues (considered a great delicacy), and marrow-bones. Notwithstanding the graphic power with which Jacques had prepared his young companion for this meal, Charley's heart sank when he beheld the mountain of boiled meat that was placed before him. He was ravenously hungry, it is true, but it was patent to his perception at a glance that no powers of gormandizing of which he was capable could enable him to consume the mass in the course of one day. Jacques observed his consternation, and was not a little entertained by it, although his face wore an expression of profound gravity while he proceeded to attack his own dish, which was equal to that of his friend. Before commencing, a small portion of meat was thrown into the fire as a sacrifice to the Great Master of Life. "How they do eat, to be sure!" whispered Charley to Jacques, after he had glanced in wonder at the circle of men who were devouring their food with the most extraordinary rapidity. "Why, you must know," replied Jacques, "that it's considered a point of honour to get it over soon, and the man that is done first gets most credit. But it's hard work" (he sighed, and paused a little to breathe), "and I've not got half through yet." "It's quite plain that I must lose credit with them, then, if it depends on my eating that. Tell me, Jacques, is there no way of escape? Must I sit here till it is all consumed?" "No doubt of it. Every bit that has been cooked must be crammed down our throats somehow or other." Charley heaved a deep sigh, and made another desperate attack on a large steak, while the Indians around him made considerable progress in reducing their respective mountains. Several times Charley and Redfeather exchanged glances as they paused in their labours. "I say, Jacques," said Charley, pulling up once more, "how do you get on? Pretty well stuffed by this time, I should imagine?" "Oh no! I've a good deal o' room yet." "I give in. Credit or disgrace, it's all one. I'll not make a pig of myself for any red-skin in the land." Jacques smiled. "See," continued Charley, "there's a fellow opposite who has devoured as much as would have served me for three days. I don't know whether it's imagination or not, but I do verily believe that he's _blacker_ in the face than when we sat down!" "Very likely," replied Jacques, wiping his lips, "Now I've done." "Done! you have left at least a third of your supply." "True, and I may as well tell you for your comfort that there is one way of escape open to you. It is a custom among these fellows, that when any one cannot gulp his share o' the prog, he may get help from any of his friends that can cram it down their throats; and as there are always such fellows among these Injins, they seldom have any difficulty." "A most convenient practice," replied Charley, "I'll adopt it at once." Charley turned to his next neighbour with the intent to beg of him to eat his remnant of the feast. "Bless my heart, Jacques, I've no chance with the fellow on my left hand; he's stuffed quite full already, and is not quite done with his own share." "Never fear," replied his friend, looking at the individual in question, who was languidly lifting a marrowbone to his lips; "he'll do it easy. I knows the gauge o' them chaps, and for all his sleepy looks just now he's game for a lot more." "Impossible," replied Charley, looking in despair at his unfinished viands and then at the Indian. A glance round the circle seemed further to convince him that if he did not eat it himself there were none of the party likely to do so. "You'll have to give him a good lump o' tobacco to do it, though; he won't undertake so much for a trifle, I can tell you." Jacques chuckled as he said this, and handed his own portion over to another Indian, who readily undertook to finish it for him. "He'll burst; I feel certain of that," said Charley, with a deep sigh, as he surveyed his friend on the left. At last he took courage to propose the thing to him, and just as the man finished the last morsel of his own repast, Charley placed his own plate before him, with a look that seemed to say, "Eat it, my friend, _if you can._" The Indian, much to his surprise, immediately commenced to it, and in less than half-an-hour the whole was disposed of. During this scene of gluttony, one of the chiefs entertained the assembly with a wild and most unmusical chant, to which he beat time on a sort of tambourine, while the women outside the enclosure beat a similar accompaniment. "I say, master," whispered Jacques, "it seems to my observation that the fellow you call Redfeather eats less than any Injin I ever saw. He has got a comrade to eat more than half his share; now that's strange." "It won't appear strange, Jacques, when I tell you that Redfeather has lived much more among white men than Indians during the last ten years; and although voyageurs eat an enormous quantity of food, they don't make it a point of honour, as these fellows seem to do, to eat much more than enough. Besides, Redfeather is a very different man from those around him; he has been partially educated by the missionaries on Playgreen Lake, and I think has a strong leaning towards them." While they were thus conversing in whispers, Redfeather rose, and holding forth his hand, delivered himself of the following oration:-- "The time has come for Redfeather to speak. He has kept silence for many moons now, but his heart has been full of words. It is too full; he must speak now. Redfeather has fought with his tribe, and has been accounted a brave, and one who loves his people. This is true. He _does_ love, even more than they can understand. His friends know that he has never feared to face danger and death in their defence, and that, if it were necessary, he would do so still. But Redfeather is going to leave his people now. His heart is heavy at the thought. Perhaps many moons will come and go, many snows may fall and melt away, before he sees his people again; and it is this that makes him full of sorrow, it is this that makes his head to droop like the branches of the weeping willow." Redfeather paused at this point, but not a sound escaped from the listening circle: the Indians were evidently taken by surprise at this abrupt announcement. He proceeded:-- "When Redfeather travelled not long since with the white men, he met with a pale-face who came from the other side of the Great Salt Lake towards the rising sun. This man was called by some of the people a missionary. He spoke wonderful things in the ear of Redfeather. He told him of things about the Great Spirit which he did not know before, and he asked Redfeather to go and help him to speak to the Indians about these strange things. Redfeather would not go. He loved his people too much, and he thought that the words of the missionary seemed foolishness. But he has thought much about it since. He does not understand the strange things that were told to him, and he has tried to forget them, but he cannot. He can get no rest. He hears strange sounds in the breeze that shakes the pine. He thinks that there are voices in the waterfall; the rivers seem to speak, Redfeather's spirit is vexed. The Great Spirit, perhaps, is talking to him. He has resolved to go to the dwelling of the missionary and stay with him." The Indian paused again, but still no sound escaped from his comrades. Dropping his voice to a soft plaintive tone, he continued-- "But Redfeather loves his kindred. He desires very much that they should hear the things that the missionary said. He spoke of the happy hunting grounds to which the spirits of our fathers have gone, and said that we required a _guide_ to lead us there; that there was but one guide, whose name, he said, was Jesus. Redfeather would stay and hunt with his people, but his spirit is troubled; he cannot rest; he must go!" Redfeather sat down, and a long silence ensued. His words had evidently taken the whole party by surprise, although not a countenance there showed the smallest symptom of astonishment, except that of Charley Kennedy, whose intercourse with Indians had not yet been so great as to have taught him to conceal his feelings. At length the old chief rose, and after complimenting Redfeather on his bravery in general, and admitting that he had shown much love to his people on all occasions, went into the subject of his quitting them at some length. He reminded him that there were evil spirits as well as good; that it was not for him to say which kind had been troubling him, but that he ought to consider well before he went to live altogether with pale-faces. Several other speeches were made, some to the same effect, and others applauding his resolve. These latter had, perhaps, some idea that his bringing the pale-faced missionary among them would gratify their taste for the marvellous--a taste that is pretty strong in all uneducated minds. One man, however, was particularly urgent in endeavouring to dissuade him from his purpose. He was a tall, low-browed man; muscular and well built, but possessed of a most villainous expression of countenance. From a remark that fell from one of the company, Charley discovered that his name was Misconna, and so learned, to his surprise, that he was the very Indian mentioned by Redfeather as the man who had been his rival for the hand of Wabisca, and who had so cruelly killed the wife of the poor trapper the night on which the Chipewyan camp was attacked, and the people slaughtered. What reason Misconna had for objecting so strongly to Redfeather's leaving the community no one could tell, although some of those who knew his unforgiving nature suspected that he still entertained the hope of being able, some day or other, to weak his vengeance on his old rival. But whatever was his object, he failed in moving Redfeather's resolution; and it was at last admitted by the whole party that Redfeather was a "wise chief;" that he knew best what ought to be done under the circumstances, and it was hoped that his promised visit, in company with the missionary, would not be delayed many moons. That night, in the deep shadow of the trees, by the brook that murmured near the Indian camp, while the stars twinkled through the branches overhead, Charley introduced Redfeather to his friend Jacques Caradoc, and a friendship was struck up between the bold hunter and the red man that grew and strengthened as each successive day made them acquainted with their respective good qualities. In the same place, and with the same stars looking down upon them, it was further agreed that Redfeather should accompany his new friends, taking his wife along with him in another canoe, as far as their several routes led them in the same direction, which was about four or five days' journey; and that while the one party diverged towards the fort at Stoney Creek, the other should pursue its course to the missionary station on the shores of Lake Winnipeg. But there was a snake in the grass there that they little suspected. Misconna had crept through the bushes after them, with a degree of caution that might have baffled their vigilance, even had they suspected treason in a friendly camp. He lay listening intently to all their plans, and when they returned to their camp, he rose out from among the bushes, like a dark spirit of evil, clutched the handle of his scalping-knife, and gave utterance to a malicious growl; then, walking hastily after them, his dusky figure was soon concealed among the trees. CHAPTER XVI. The return--Narrow escape--A murderous attempt, which fails--And a discovery. All nature was joyous and brilliant, and bright and beautiful. Morning was still very young--about an hour old. Sounds of the most cheerful, light-hearted character floated over the waters and echoed through the woods, as birds and beasts hurried to and fro with all the bustling energy that betokened preparation and search for breakfast. Fish leaped in the pools with a rapidity that brought forcibly to mind that wise saying, "The more hurry, the less speed;" for they appeared constantly to miss their mark, although they jumped twice their own length out of the water in the effort. Ducks and geese sprang from their liquid beds with an amazing amount of unnecessary sputter, as if they had awakened to the sudden consciousness of being late for breakfast, then alighted in the water again with a _squash,_ on finding (probably) that it was too early for that meal, but, observing other flocks passing and re-passing on noisy wing, took to flight again, unable, apparently, to restrain their feelings of delight at the freshness of the morning air, the brightness of the rising sun, and the sweet perfume of the dewy verdure, as the mists cleared away over the tree-tops and lost themselves in the blue sky. Everything seemed instinct not only with life, but with a large amount of superabundant energy. Earth, air, sky, animal, vegetable, and mineral, solid and liquid, all were either actually in a state of lively exulting motion, or had a peculiarly sprightly look about them, as if nature had just burst out of prison _en masse_, and gone raving mad with joy. Such was the delectable state of things the morning on which two canoes darted from the camp of the Knisteneux, amid many expressions of goodwill. One canoe contained our two friends, Charley and Jacques; the other, Redfeather and his wife Wabisca. A few strokes of the paddle shot them out into the stream, which carried them rapidly away from the scene of their late festivities. In five minutes they swept round a point which shut them out from view, and they were swiftly descending those rapid rivers that had cost Charley and Jacques so much labour to ascend. "Look out for rocks ahead, Mr. Charles," cried Jacques, as he steered the light bark into the middle of a rapid, which they had avoided when ascending by making a portage. "Keep well to the left of yon swirl. _Parbleu_, if we touch the rock _there_ it'll be all over with us." "All right," was Charley's laconic reply. And so it proved, for their canoe, after getting fairly into the run of the rapid, was evidently under the complete command of its expert crew, and darted forward amid the foaming waters like a thing instinct with life. Now it careered and plunged over the waves where the rough bed of the stream made them more than usually turbulent. Anon it flew with increased rapidity through a narrow gap where the compressed water was smooth and black, but deep and powerful, rendering great care necessary to prevent the canoe's frail sides from being dashed on the rocks. Then it met a curling wave, into which it plunged like an impetuous charger, and was checked for a moment by its own violence. Presently an eddy threw the canoe a little out of its course, disconcerting Charley's intention of _shaving_ a rock, which lay in their track, so that he slightly grazed it in passing. "Ah, Mr. Charles," said Jacques, shaking his head, "that was not well done; an inch more would have sent us down the rapids like drowned cats." "True," replied Charley, somewhat crestfallen; "but you see the other inch was not lost, so we're not much the worse for it." "Well, after all, it was a ticklish bit, and I should have guessed that your experience was not up to it quite. I've seen many a man in my day who wouldn't ha' done it _half_ so slick, an' yet ha' thought no small beer of himself; so you needn't be ashamed, Mr. Charles. But Wabisca beats you for all that," continued the hunter, glancing hastily over his shoulder at Redfeather, who followed closely in their wake, he and his modest-looking wife guiding their little craft through the dangerous passages with the utmost _sangfroid_ and precision. "We've about run them all now," said Jacques, as they paddled over a sheet of still water which intervened between the rapid they had just descended and another which thundered about a hundred yards in advance. "I was so engrossed with the one we have just come down," said Charley, "that I quite forgot this one." "Quite right, Mr. Charles," said Jacques, in an approving tone, "quite right. I holds that a man should always attend to what he's at, an' to nothin' else. I've lived long in the woods now, and the fact becomes more and more sartin every day. I've know'd chaps, now, as timersome as settlement girls, that were always in such a mortal funk about what _was_ to happen, or _might_ happen, that they were never fit for anything that _did_ happen; always lookin' ahead, and never around them. Of coorse, I don't mean that a man shouldn't look ahead at all, but their great mistake was that they looked out too far ahead, and always kep' their eyes nailed there, just as if they had the fixin' o' everything, an' Providence had nothin' to do with it at all. I mind a Canadian o' that sort that travelled in company with me once. We were goin' just as we are now, Mr. Charles, two canoes of us; him and a comrade in one, and me and a comrade in t'other. One night we got to a lot o' rapids that came one after another for the matter o' three miles or thereabouts. They were all easy ones, however, except the last; but it _was_ a tickler, with a sharp turn o' the land that hid it from sight until ye were right into it, with a foamin' current, and a range o' ragged rocks that stood straight in front o' ye, like the teeth of a cross-cut saw. It was easy enough, however, if a man _knew_ it, and was a cool hand. Well, the _pauvre_ Canadian was in a terrible takin' about this shoot long afore he came to it. He had run it often enough in boats where he was one of a half-dozen men, and had nothin' to do but look on; but he had never _steered_ down it before. When he came to the top o' the rapids, his mind was so filled with this shoot that he couldn't attend to nothin', and scraped agin' a dozen rocks in almost smooth water, so that when he got a little more than half-way down, the canoe was as rickety as if it had just come off a six months' cruise. At last we came to the big rapid, and after we'd run down our canoe I climbed the bank to see them do it. Down they came, the poor Canadian white as a sheet, and his comrade, who was brave enough, but knew nothin' about light craft, not very comfortable. At first he could see nothin' for the point, but in another moment round they went, end on, for the big rocks. The Canadian gave a great yell when he saw them, and plunged at the paddle till I thought he'd have capsized altogether. They ran it well enough, straight between the rocks (more by good luck than good guidance), and sloped down to the smooth water below; but the canoe had got such a battering in the rapids above, where an Injin baby could have steered it in safety, that the last plunge shook it all to pieces. It opened up, and lay down flat on the water, while the two men fell right through the bottom, screechin' like mad, and rolling about among shreds o' birch bark!" While Jacques was thus descanting philosophically on his experience in time past, they had approached the head of the second rapid, and in accordance with the principles just enunciated, the stout backwoodsman gave his undivided attention to the work before him. The rapid was short and deep, so that little care was required in descending it, excepting at one point, where the stream rushed impetuously between two rocks about six yards asunder. Here it was requisite to keep the canoe as much in the middle of the stream as possible. Just as they began to feel the drag of the water, Redfeather was heard to shout in a loud warning tone, which caused Jacques and Charley to back their paddles hurriedly. "What can the Injin mean, I wonder?" said Jacques, in a perplexed tone. "He don't look like a man that would stop us at the top of a strong rapid for nothin'." "It's too late to do that now, whatever is his reason," said Charley, as he and his companion struggled in vain to paddle up stream. "It's no use, Mr. Charles; we must run it now--the current's too strong to make head against; besides, I do think the man has only seen a bear, or something o' that sort, for I see he's ashore, and jumpin' among the bushes like a cariboo." Saying this, they turned the canoe's head down stream again, and allowed it to drift, merely retarding its progress a little with the paddles. Suddenly Jacques uttered a sharp exclamation. "_Mon Dieu!_" said he, "it's plain enough now. Look there!" Jacques pointed as he spoke to the narrows to which they were now approaching with tremendous speed, which increased every instant. A heavy tree lay directly across the stream, reaching from rock to rock, and placed in such a way that it was impossible for a canoe to descend without being dashed in pieces against it. This was the more curious that no trees grew in the immediate vicinity, so that this one must have been designedly conveyed there. "There has been foul work here," said Jacques, in a deep tone. "We must dive, Mr. Charles; there's no chance any way else, and _that's_ but a poor one." This was true. The rocks on each side rose almost perpendicularly out of the water, so that it was utterly impossible to run ashore, and the only way of escape, as Jacques said, was by diving under the tree, a thing involving great risk, as the stream immediately below was broken by rocks, against which it dashed in foam, and through which the chances of steering one's way in safety by means of swimming were very slender indeed. Charley made no reply, but with tightly-compressed lips, and a look of stern resolution on his brow, threw off his coat, and hastily tied his belt tightly round his waist. The canoe was now sweeping forward with lightning speed; in a few minutes it would be dashed to pieces. At that moment a shout was heard in the woods, and Redfeather darting out, rushed over the ledge of rock on which one end of the tree rested, seized the trunk in his arms, and exerting all his strength, hurled it over into the river. In doing so he stumbled, and ere he could recover himself a branch caught him under the arm as the tree fell over, and dragged him into the boiling stream. This accident was probably the means of saving his life, for just as he fell the loud report of a gun rang through the woods, and a bullet passed through his cap. For a second or two both man and tree were lost in the foam, while the canoe dashed past in safety. The next instant Wabisca passed the narrows in her small craft, and steered for the tree. Redfeather, who had risen and sunk several times, saw her as she passed, and making a violent effort, he caught hold of the gunwale, and was carried down in safety. "I'll tell you what it is," said Jacques, as the party stood on a rock promontory after the events just narrated: "I would give a dollar to have that fellow's nose and the sights o' my rifle in a line at any distance short of two hundred yards." "It was Misconna," said Redfeather. "I did not see him, but there's not another man in the tribe that could do that." "I'm thankful we escaped, Jacques. I never felt so near death before, and had it not been for the timely aid of our friend here, it strikes me that our wild life would have come to an abrupt close.--God bless you, Redfeather," said Charley, taking the Indian's hand in both of his and kissing it. Charley's ebullition of feeling was natural. He had not yet become used to the dangers of the wilderness so as to treat them with indifference. Jacques, on the other hand, had risked his life so often that escape from danger was treated very much as a matter of course, and called forth little expression of feeling. Still, it must not be inferred from this that his nature had become callous. The backwoodsman's frame was hard and unyielding as iron, but his heart was as soft still as it was on the day on which he first donned the hunting-shirt, and there was much more of tenderness than met the eye in the squeeze that he gave Redfeather's hand on landing. As the four travellers encircled the fire that night, under the leafy branches of the forest, and smoked their pipes in concert, while Wabisca busied herself in clearing away the remnants of their evening meal, they waxed communicative, and stories, pathetic, comic, and tragic, followed each other in rapid succession. "Now, Redfeather," said Charley, while Jacques rose and went down to the luggage to get more tobacco, "tell Jacques about the way in which you got your name. I am sure he will feel deeply interested in that story--at least I am certain that Harry Somerville and I did when you told it to us the day we were wind-bound on Lake Winnipeg." Redfeather made no reply for a few seconds. "Will Mr. Charles speak for me?" he said at length. "His tongue is smooth and quick." "A doubtful kind of compliment," said Charley, laughing; "but I will, if you don't wish to tell it yourself." "And don't mention names. Do not let him know that you speak of me or my friends," said the Indian, in a low whisper, as Jacques returned and sat down by the fire again. Charley gave him a glance of surprise; but being prevented from asking questions, he nodded in reply, and proceeded to relate to his friend the story that has been recounted in a previous chapter. Redfeather leaned back against a tree, and appeared to listen intently. Charley's powers of description were by no means inconsiderable, and the backwoodsman's face assumed a look of good-humoured attention as the story proceeded. But when the narrator went on to tell of the meditated attack and the midnight march, his interest was aroused, the pipe which he had been smoking was allowed to go out, and he gazed at his young friend with the most earnest attention. It was evident that the hunter's spirit entered with deep sympathy into such scenes; and when Charley described the attack, and the death of the trapper's wife, Jacques seemed unable to restrain his feelings. He leaned his elbows on his knees, buried his face in his hands, and groaned aloud. "Mr. Charles," he said, in a deep voice, when the story was ended, "there are two men I would like to meet with in this world before I die. One is the young Injin who tried to save that girl's life, the other is the cowardly villain that took it. I don't mean the one who finished the bloody work: my rifle sent his accursed spirit to its own place--" "_Your_ rifle!" cried Charley, in amazement. "Ay, mine! It was _my_ wife who was butchered by these savage dogs on that dark night. Oh, what avails the strength o' that right arm!" said Jacques, bitterly, as he lifted up his clenched fist; "it was powerless to save _her_--the sweet girl who left her home and people to follow me, a rough hunter, through the lonesome wilderness!" He covered his face again, and groaned in agony of spirit, while his whole frame quivered with emotion. Jacques remained silent, and his sympathising friends refrained from intruding on a sorrow which they felt they had no power to relieve. At length he spoke. "Yes," said he, "I would give much to meet with the man who tried to save her. I saw him do it twice; but the devils about him were too eager to be balked of their prey." Charley and the Indian exchanged glances. "That Indian's name," said the former, "was _Redfeather!_" "What!" exclaimed the trapper, jumping to his feet, and grasping Redfeather, who had also risen, by the two shoulders, stared wildly in his face; "was it _you_ that did it?" Redfeather smiled, and held out his hand, which the other took and wrung with an energy that would have extorted a cry of pain from any one but an Indian. Then, dropping it suddenly and clinching his hands, he exclaimed,-- "I said that I would like to meet the villain who killed her--yes, I said it in passion, when your words had roused all my old feelings again; but I am thankful--I bless God that I did not know this sooner--that you did not tell me of it when I was at the camp, for I verily believe that I would not only have fixed _him_, but half the warriors o' your tribe too, before they had settled _me!_" It need scarcely be added that the friendship which already subsisted between Jacques and Redfeather was now doubly cemented; nor will it create surprise when we say that the former, in the fulness of his heart, and from sheer inability to find adequate outlets for the expression of his feelings, offered Redfeather in succession all the articles of value he possessed, even to the much-loved rifle, and was seriously annoyed at their not being accepted. At last he finished off by assuring the Indian that he might look out for him soon at the missionary settlement, where he meant to stay with him evermore in the capacity of hunter, fisherman, and jack-of-all-trades to the whole clan. CHAPTER XVII. The scene changes--Bachelor's Hall--A practical joke and its consequences--A snow-shoe walk at night in the forest. Leaving Charley to pursue his adventurous career among the Indians, we will introduce our reader to a new scene, and follow for a time the fortunes of our friend Harry Somerville. It will be remembered that we left him labouring under severe disappointment at the idea of having to spend a year, it might be many years, at the depot, and being condemned to the desk, instead of realising his fond dreams of bear-hunting and deer-stalking in the woods and prairies. It was now the autumn of Harry's second year at York Fort. This period of the year happens to be the busiest at the depot, in consequence of the preparation of the annual accounts for transmission to England, in the solitary ship which visits this lonely spot once a year; so that Harry was tied to his desk all day and the greater part of the night too, so that his spirits fell infinitely below zero, and he began to look on himself as the most miserable of mortals. His spirits rose, however, with amazing rapidity after the ship went away, and the "young gentlemen," as the clerks were styled _en masse_, were permitted to run wild in the swamps and woods for the three weeks succeeding that event. During this glimpse of sunshine they recruited their exhausted frames by paddling about all day in Indian canoes, or wandering through the marshes, sleeping at nights in tents or under the pine trees, and spreading dismay among the feathered tribes, of which there were immense numbers of all kinds. After this they returned to their regular work at the desk; but as this was not so severe as in summer, and was further lightened by Wednesdays and Saturdays being devoted entirely to recreation, Harry began to look on things in a less gloomy aspect, and at length regained his wonted cheerful spirits. Autumn passed away. The ducks and geese took their departure to more genial climes. The swamps froze up and became solid. Snow fell in great abundance, covering every vestige of vegetable nature, except the dark fir trees, that only helped to render the scenery more dreary, and winter settled down upon the land. Within the pickets of York Fort, the thirty or forty souls who lived there were actively employed in cutting their firewood, putting in double window-frames to keep out the severe cold, cutting tracks in the snow from one house to another, and otherwise preparing for a winter of eight months' duration, as cold as that of Nova Zembla, and in the course of which the only new faces they had any chance of seeing were those of the two men who conveyed the annual winter packet of letters from the next station. Outside of the fort, all was a wide, waste wilderness for _thousands_ of miles around. Deathlike stillness and solitude reigned everywhere, except when a covey of ptarmigan whirred like large snowflakes athwart the sky, or an arctic fox prowled stealthily through the woods in search of prey. As if in opposition to the gloom and stillness and solitude outside, the interior of the clerks' house presented a striking contrast of ruddy warmth, cheerful sounds, and bustling activity. It was evening; but although the sun had set, there was still sufficient daylight to render candles unnecessary, though not enough to prevent a bright glare from the stove in the centre of the hall taking full effect in the darkening chamber, and making it glow with fiery red. Harry Somerville sat in front, and full in the blaze of this stove, resting after the labours of the day; his arms crossed on his breast, his head a little to one side, as if in deep contemplation, as he gazed earnestly into the fire, and his chair tilted on its hind legs so as to balance with such nicety that a feather's weight additional outside its centre of gravity would have upset it. He had divested himself of his coat--a practice that prevailed among the young gentlemen when _at home_, as being free-and-easy as well as convenient. The doctor, a tall, broad-shouldered man, with red hair and whiskers, paced the room sedately, with a long pipe depending from his lips, which he removed occasionally to address a few remarks to the accountant, a stout, heavy man of about thirty, with a voice like a Stentor, eyes sharp and active as those of a ferret, and a tongue that moved with twice the ordinary amount of lingual rapidity. The doctor's remarks seemed to be particularly humorous, if one might judge from the peals of laughter with which they were received by the accountant, who stood with his back to the stove in such a position that, while it warmed him from his heels to his waist, he enjoyed the additional benefit of the pipe or chimney, which rose upwards, parallel with his spine, and, taking a sudden bend near the roof, passed over his head--thus producing a genial and equable warmth from top to toe. "Yes," said the doctor, "I left him hotly following up a rabbit-track, in the firm belief that it was that of a silver fox." "And did you not undeceive the greenhorn?" cried the accountant, with another shout of laughter. "Not I," replied the doctor. "I merely recommended him to keep his eye on the sun, lest he should lose his way, and hastened home; for it just occurred to me that I had forgotten to visit Louis Blanc, who cut his foot with an axe yesterday, and whose wound required redressing, so I left the poor youth to learn from experience." "Pray, who did you leave to that delightful fate?" asked Mr. Wilson, issuing from his bedroom, and approaching the stove. Mr. Wilson was a middle-aged, good-humoured, active man, who filled the onerous offices of superintendent of the men, trader of furs, seller of goods to the Indians, and general factotum. "Our friend Hamilton," answered the doctor, in reply to his question. "I think he is, without exception, the most egregious nincompoop I ever saw. Just as I passed the long swamp on my way home, I met him crashing through the bushes in hot pursuit of a rabbit, the track of which he mistook for a fox. Poor fellow! He had been out since breakfast, and only shot a brace of ptarmigan, although they are as thick as bees and quite tame. 'But then, do you see,' said he, in excuse, 'I'm so very shortsighted! Would you believe it, I've blown fifteen lumps of snow to atoms, in the belief that they were ptarmigan!' and then he rushed off again." "No doubt," said Mr. Wilson, smiling, "the lad is very green, but he's a good fellow for all that." "I'll answer for that," said the accountant; "I found him over at the men's houses this morning doing _your_ work for you, doctor." "How so?" inquired the disciple of �sculapius. "Attending to your wounded man, Louis Blanc, to be sure; and he seemed to speak to him as wisely as if he had walked the hospitals, and regularly passed for an M.D." "Indeed!" said the doctor, with a mischievous grin. "Then I must pay him off for interfering with my patients." "Ah, doctor, you're too fond of practical jokes. You never let slip an opportunity of 'paying off' your friends for something or other. It's a bad habit. Practical jokes are very bad things--shockingly bad," said Mr. Wilson, as he put on his fur cap, and wound a thick shawl round his throat, preparatory to leaving the room. As Mr. Wilson gave utterance to this opinion, he passed Harry Somerville, who was still staring at the fire in deep mental abstraction, and, as he did so, gave his tilted chair a very slight push backwards with his finger--an action which caused Harry to toss up his legs, grasp convulsively with both hands at empty air, and fall with a loud noise and an angry yell to the ground, while his persecutor vanished from the scene. "O you outrageous villain!" cried Harry, shaking his fist at the door, as he slowly gathered himself up; "I might have expected that." "Quite so," said the doctor; "you might. It was very neatly done, undoubtedly. Wilson deserves credit for the way in which it was executed." "He deserves to be executed for doing it at all," replied Harry, rubbing his elbow as he resumed his seat. "Any bark knocked off?" inquired the accountant, as he took a piece of glowing charcoal from the stove wherewith to light his pipe. "Try a whiff, Harry. It's good for such things. Bruises, sores, contusions, sprains, rheumatic affections of the back and loins, carbuncles and earache--there's nothing that smoking won't cure; eh, doctor?" "Certainly. If applied inwardly, there's nothing so good for digestion when one doesn't require tonics--Try it, Harry; it will do you good, I assure you." "No, thank you," replied Harry; "I'll leave that to you and the chimney. I don't wish to make a soot-bag of my mouth. But tell me, doctor, what do you mean to do with that lump of snow there?" Harry pointed to a mass of snow, of about two feet square, which lay on the floor beside the door. It had been placed there by the doctor some time previously. "Do with it? Have patience, my friend, and you shall see. It is a little surprise I have in store for Hamilton." As he spoke, the door opened, and a short, square-built man rushed into the room, with a pistol in one hand and a bright little bullet in the other. "Hollo, skipper!" cried Harry, "what's the row?" "All right," cried the skipper; "here it is at last, solid as the fluke of an anchor. Toss me the powder-flask Harry; look sharp, else it'll melt." A powder-flask was immediately produced, from which the skipper hastily charged the pistol, and rammed down the shining bullet. "Now then," said he, "look out for squalls. Clear the decks there." And rushing to the door, he flung it open, took a steady aim at something outside, and fired. "Is the man mad?" said the accountant, as with a look of amazement he beheld the skipper spring through the doorway, and immediately return bearing in his arms a large piece of fir plank. "Not quite mad yet," he said, in reply, "but I've sent a ball of quicksilver through an inch plank, and that's not a thing to be done every day--even _here_, although it _is_ cold enough sometimes to freeze up one's very ideas." "Dear me," interrupted Harry Somerville, looking as if a new thought had struck him, "that must be it! I've no doubt that poor Hamilton's ideas are _frozen_, which accounts for the total absence of any indication of his possessing such things." "I observed," continued the skipper, not noticing the interruption, "that the glass was down at 45 degrees below zero this morning, and put out a bullet-mould full of mercury, and you see the result." As he spoke he held up the perforated plank in triumph. The skipper was a strange mixture of qualities. To a wild, off-hand, sailor-like hilarity of disposition in hours of leisure, he united a grave, stern energy of character while employed in the performance of his duties. Duty was always paramount with him. A smile could scarcely be extracted from him while it was in the course of performance. But the instant his work was done a new spirit seemed to take possession of the man. Fun, mischief of any kind, no matter how childish, he entered into with the greatest delight and enthusiasm. Among other peculiarities, he had become deeply imbued with a thirst for scientific knowledge, ever since he had acquired, with infinite labour, the small modicum of science necessary to navigation; and his doings in pursuit of statistical information relative to the weather, and the phenomena of nature generally, were very peculiar, and in some cases outrageous. His transaction with the quicksilver was in consequence of an eager desire to see that metal frozen (an effect which takes place when the spirit-of-wine thermometer falls to 39 degrees below zero of Fahrenheit), and a wish to be able to boast of having actually fired a mercurial bullet through an inch plank. Having made a careful note of the fact, with all the relative circumstances attending it, in a very much blotted book, which he denominated his scientific log, the worthy skipper threw off his coat, drew a chair to the stove, and prepared to regale himself with a pipe. As he glanced slowly round the room while thus engaged, his eye fell on the mass of snow before alluded to. On being informed by the doctor for what it was intended, he laid down his pipe and rose hastily from his chair. "You've not a moment to lose," said he. "As I came in at the gate just now, I saw Hamilton coming down the river on the ice, and he must be almost arrived now." "Up with it then," cried the doctor, seizing the snow, and lifting it to the top of the door. "Hand me those bits of stick, Harry; quick, man, stir your stumps.--Now then, skipper, fix them in so, while I hold this up." The skipper lent willing and effective aid, so that in a few minutes the snow was placed in such a position that upon the opening of the door it must inevitably fall on the head of the first person who should enter the room. "So," said the skipper, "that's rigged up in what I call ship-shape fashion." "True," remarked the doctor, eyeing the arrangement with a look of approval; "it will do, I think, admirably." "Don't you think, skipper," said Harry Somerville gravely, as he resumed his seat in front of the fire, "that it would be worth while to make a careful and minute entry in your private log of the manner in which it was put up, to be afterwards followed by an account of its effect? You might write an essay on it now, and call it the extraordinary effects of a fall of snow in latitude so and so, eh? What think you of it?" The skipper vouchsafed no reply, but made a significant gesture with his fist, which caused Harry to put himself in a posture of defence. At this moment footsteps were heard on the wooden platform in front of the building. Instantly all became silence and expectation in the hall as the result of the practical joke was about to be realised. Just then another step was heard on the platform, and it became evident that two persons were approaching the door. "Hope it'll be the right man," said the skipper, with a look savouring slightly of anxiety. As he spoke the door opened, and a foot crossed the threshold; the next instant the miniature avalanche descended on the head and shoulders of a man, who reeled forward from the weight of the blow, and, covered from head to foot with snow, fell to the ground amid shouts of laughter. With a convulsive stamp and shake, the prostrate figure sprang up and confronted the party. Had the cast-iron stove suddenly burst into atoms, and blown the roof off the house, it could scarcely have created greater consternation than that which filled the merry jesters when they beheld the visage of Mr. Rogan, the superintendent of the fort, red with passion and fringed with snow. "So," said he, stamping violently with his foot, partly from anger, and partly with a view of shaking off the unexpected covering, which stuck all over his dress in little patches, producing a somewhat piebald effect,--"so you are pleased to jest, gentlemen. Pray, who placed that piece of snow over the door?" Mr. Rogan glared fiercely round upon the culprits, who stood speechless before him. For a moment he stood silent, as if uncertain how to act; then turning short on his heel, he strode quickly out of the room, nearly overturning Mr. Hamilton, who at the same instant entered it, carrying his gun and snowshoes under his arm. "Dear me, what has happened?" he exclaimed, in a peculiarly gentle tone of voice, at the same time regarding the snow and the horror-stricken circle with a look of intense surprise. "You _see_ what has happened," replied Harry Somerville, who was the first to recover his composure; "I presume you intended to ask, 'What has _caused_ it to happen?' Perhaps the skipper will explain; it's beyond me, quite." Thus appealed to, that worthy cleared his throat, and said,-- "Why, you see, Mr. Hamilton, a great phenomenon of meteorology has happened. We were all standing, you must know, at the open door, taking a squint at the weather, when our attention was attracted by a curious object that appeared in the sky, and seemed to be coming down at the rate of ten knots an hour, right end-on for the house. I had just time to cry, 'Clear out, lads,' when it came slap in through the doorway, and smashed to shivers there, where you see the fragments. In fact, it's a wonderful aërolite, and Mr. Rogan has just gone out with a lot of the bits in his pocket, to make a careful examination of them, and draw up a report for the Geological Society in London. I shouldn't wonder if he were to send off an express to-night; and maybe you will have to convey the news to headquarters, so you'd better go and see him about it soon." _Soft_ although Mr. Hamilton was supposed to be, he was not quite prepared to give credit to this explanation; but being of a peaceful disposition, and altogether unaccustomed to retort, he merely smiled his disbelief, as he proceeded to lay aside his fowling-piece, and divest himself of the voluminous out-of-door trappings with which he was clad. Mr. Hamilton was a tall, slender youth, of about nineteen. He had come out by the ship in autumn, and was spending his first winter at York Fort. Up to the period of his entering the Hudson's Bay Company's service, he had never been more than twenty miles from home, and having mingled little with the world, was somewhat unsophisticated, besides being by nature gentle and unassuming. Soon after this the man who acted as cook, waiter, and butler to the mess, entered, and said that Mr. Rogan desired to see the accountant immediately. "Who am I to say did it?" enquired that gentleman, as he rose to obey the summons. "Wouldn't it be a disinterested piece of kindness if you were to say it was yourself?" suggested the doctor. "Perhaps it would, but I won't," replied the accountant, as he made his exit. In about half-an-hour Mr. Rogan and the accountant re-entered the apartment. The former had quite regained his composure. He was naturally amiable; which happy disposition was indicated by a habitually cheerful look and smile. "Now, gentlemen," said he, "I find that this practical joke was not intended for me, and therefore look upon it as an unlucky accident; but I cannot too strongly express my dislike to practical jokes of all kinds. I have seen great evil, and some bloodshed, result from practical jokes; and I think that, being a sufferer in consequence of your fondness for them, I have a right to beg that you will abstain from such doings in future--at least from such jokes as involve risk to those who do not choose to enter into them." Having given vent to this speech, Mr. Rogan left his volatile friends to digest it at their leisure. "Serves us right," said the skipper, pacing up and down the room in a repentant frame of mind, with his thumbs hooked into the arm-holes of his vest. The doctor said nothing, but breathed hard and smoked vigorously. While we admit most thoroughly with Mr. Rogan that practical jokes are exceedingly bad, and productive frequently of far more evil than fun, we feel it our duty, as a faithful delineator of manners, customs, and character in these regions, to urge in palliation of the offence committed by the young gentlemen at York Fort, that they had really about as few amusements and sources of excitement as fall to the lot of any class of men. They were entirely dependent on their own unaided exertions, during eight or nine months of the year, for amusement or recreation of any kind. Their books were few in number, and soon read through. The desolate wilderness around afforded no incidents to form subjects of conversation further than the events of a day's shooting, which, being nearly similar every day, soon lost all interest. No newspapers came to tell of the doings of the busy world from which they were shut out, and nothing occurred to vary the dull routine of their life; so that it is not matter for wonder that they were driven to seek for relaxation and excitement occasionally in most outrageous and unnatural ways, and to indulge now and then in the perpetration of a practical joke. For some time after the rebuke administered by Mr. Rogan, silence reigned in _Bachelor's Hall_, as the clerks' house was termed. But at length symptoms of _ennui_ began to be displayed. The doctor yawned and lay down on his bed to enjoy an American newspaper about twelve months old. Harry Somerville sat down to reread a volume of Franklin's travels in the polar regions, which he had perused twice already. Mr. Hamilton busied himself in cleaning his fowling-piece; while the skipper conversed with Mr. Wilson, who was engaged in his room in adjusting an ivory head to a walking-stick. Mr. Wilson was a jack-of-all-trades, who could make shift, one way or other, to do _anything_. The accountant paced the uncarpeted floor in deep contemplation. At length he paused, and looked at Harry Somerville for some time. "What say you to a walk through the woods to North River, Harry?" "Ready," cried Harry, tossing down the book with a look of contempt--"ready for anything." "Will _you_ come, Hamilton?" added the accountant. Hamilton looked up in surprise. "You don't mean, surely, to take so long a walk in the dark, do you? It is snowing, too, very heavily, and I think you said that North River was five miles off, did you not?" "Of course I mean to walk in the dark," replied the accountant, "unless you can extemporize an artificial light for the occasion, or prevail on the moon to come out for my special benefit. As to snowing and a short tramp of five miles, why, the sooner you get to think of such things as _trifles_ the better, if you hope to be fit for anything in this country." "I _don't_ think much of them," replied Hamilton, softly and with a slight smile; "I only meant that such a walk was not very _attractive_ so late in the evening." "Attractive!" shouted Harry Somerville from his bedroom, where he was equipping himself for the walk; "what can be more attractive than a sharp run of ten miles through the woods on a cool night to visit your traps, with the prospect of a silver fox or a wolf at the end of it, and an extra sound sleep as the result? Come, man, don't be soft; get ready, and go along with us." "Besides," added the accountant, "I don't mean to come back to-night. To-morrow, you know, is a holiday, so we can camp out in the snow after visiting the traps, have our supper, and start early in the morning to search for ptarmigan." "Well, I will go," said Hamilton, after this account of the pleasures that were to be expected; "I am exceedingly anxious to learn to shoot birds on the wing." "Bless me! have you not learned that yet!" asked the doctor, in affected surprise, as he sauntered out of his bedroom to relight his pipe. The various bedrooms in the clerks' house were ranged round the hall, having doors that opened directly into it, so that conversation carried on in a loud voice was heard in all the rooms at once, and was not infrequently sustained in elevated tones from different apartments, when the occupants were lounging, as they often did of an evening, in their beds. "No," said Hamilton, in reply to the doctor's question, "I have not learned yet, although there were a great many grouse in the part of Scotland where I was brought up. But my aunt, with whom I lived, was so fearful of my shooting either myself or someone else, and had such an aversion to firearms, that I determined to make her mind easy, by promising that I would never use them so long as I remained under her roof." "Quite right; very dutiful and proper," said the doctor, with a grave, patronising air. "Perhaps you'll fall in with more _fox_ tracks of the same sort as the one you gave chase to this morning," shouted the skipper, from Wilson's room. "Oh! there's hundreds of them out there," said the accountant; "so let's off at once." The trio now proceeded to equip themselves for the walk. Their costumes were peculiar, and merit description. As they were similar in the chief points, it will suffice to describe that of our friend Harry. On his head he wore a fur-cap made of otter-skin, with a flap on each side to cover the ears, the frost being so intense in these climates that without some such protection they would inevitably freeze and fall off. As the nose is constantly in use for the purposes of respiration, it is always left uncovered to fight with the cold as it best can; but it is a hard battle, and there is no doubt that, if it were possible, a nasal covering would be extremely pleasant. Indeed, several desperate efforts _have_ been made to construct some sort of nose-bag, but hitherto without success, owing to the uncomfortable fact that the breath issuing from that organ immediately freezes, and converts the covering into a bag of snow or ice, which is not agreeable. Round his neck Harry wound a thick shawl of such portentious dimensions that it entirely enveloped the neck and lower part of the face; thus the entire head was, as it were, eclipsed--the eyes, the nose, and the cheek-bones alone being visible. He then threw on a coat made of deer-skin, so prepared that it bore a slight resemblance to excessively coarse chamois leather. It was somewhat in the form of a long, wide surtout, overlapping very much in front, and confined closely to the figure by means of a scarlet worsted belt instead of buttons, and was ornamented round the foot by a number of cuts, which produced a fringe of little tails. Being lined with thick flannel, this portion of attire was rather heavy, but extremely necessary. A pair of blue cloth leggings, having a loose flap on the outside, were next drawn on over the trousers, as an additional protection to the knees. The feet, besides being portions of the body that are peculiarly susceptible of cold, had further to contend against the chafing of the lines which attach them to the snow-shoes, so that special care in their preparation for duty was necessary. First were put on a pair of blanketing or duffel socks, which were merely oblong in form, without sewing or making-up of any kind. These were wrapped round the feet, which were next thrust into a pair of made-up socks, of the same material, having ankle-pieces; above these were put _another_ pair, _without_ flaps for the ankles. Over all was drawn a pair of moccasins made of stout deer-skin, similar to that of the coat. Of course, the elegance of Harry's feet was entirely destroyed, and had he been met in this guise by any of his friends in the "old country," they would infallibly have come to the conclusion that he was afflicted with gout. Over his shoulders he slung a powder-horn and shot-pouch, the latter tastefully embroidered with dyed quill-work, A pair of deer-skin mittens, having a little bag for the thumb, and a large bag for the fingers, completed his costume. While the three were making ready, with a running accompaniment of grunts and groans at refractory pieces of apparel, the night without became darker, and the snow fell thicker, so that when they issued suddenly out of their warm abode, and emerged into the sharp frosty air, which blew the snow-drift into their eyes, they felt a momentary desire to give up the project and return to their comfortable quarters. "What a dismal-looking night it is!" said the accountant, as he led the way along the wooden platform towards the gate of the fort. "Very!" replied Hamilton, with an involuntary shudder. "Keep up your heart," said Harry, in a cheerful voice; "you've no notion how your mind will change on that point when you have walked a mile or so and got into a comfortable heat. I must confess, however, that a little moonshine would be an improvement," he added, on stumbling, for the third time, off the platform into the deep snow. "It is full moon just now," said the accountant, "and I think the clouds look as if they would break soon. At any rate, I've been at North River so often that I believe I could walk out there blindfold." As he spoke they passed the gate, and diverging to the right, proceeded, as well as the imperfect light permitted, along the footpath that led to the forest. CHAPTER XVIII. The walk continued--Frozen toes--An encampment in the snow. After quitting York Fort, the three friends followed the track leading to the spot where the winter's firewood was cut. Snow was still falling thickly, and it was with some difficulty that the accountant kept in the right direction. The night was excessively dark, while the dense fir forest, through which the narrow road ran, rendered the gloom if possible more intense. When they had proceeded about a mile, their leader suddenly came to a stand. "We must quit the track now," said he; "so get on your snow-shoes as fast as you can." Hitherto they had carried their snow-shoes under their arms, as the beaten track along which they travelled rendered them unnecessary; but now, having to leave the path and pursue the remainder of their journey through deep snow, they availed themselves of those useful machines, by means of which the inhabitants of this part of North America are enabled to journey over many miles of trackless wilderness, with nearly as much ease as a sportsman can traverse the moors in autumn, and that over snow so deep that one hour's walk through it _without_ such aids would completely exhaust the stoutest trapper, and advance him only a mile or so on his journey. In other words, to walk without snow-shoes would be utterly impossible, while to walk with them is easy and agreeable. They are not used after the manner of skates, with a _sliding_, but a _stepping_ action, and their sole use is to support the wearer on the top of snow, into which without them he would sink up to the waist. When we say that they support the wearer on the _top_ of the snow, of course we do not mean that they literally do not break the surface at all. But the depth to which they sink is comparatively trifling, and varies according to the state of the snow and the season of the year. In the woods they sink frequently about six inches, sometimes more, sometimes less, while on frozen rivers, where the snow is packed solid by the action of the wind, they sink only two or three inches, and sometimes so little as to render it preferable to walk without them altogether. Snow-shoes are made of a light, strong framework of wood, varying from three to six feet long by eighteen and twenty inches broad, tapering to a point before and behind, and turning up in front. Different tribes of Indians modify the form a little, but in all essential points they are the same. The framework is filled up with a netting of deer-skin threads, which unites lightness with great strength, and permits any snow that may chance to fall upon the netting to pass through it like a sieve. On the present occasion the snow, having recently fallen, was soft, and the walking, consequently, what is called heavy. "Come on," shouted the accountant, as he came to a stand for the third time within half-an-hour, to await the coming up of poor Hamilton, who, being rather awkward in snow-shoe walking even in daylight, found it nearly impossible in the dark. "Wait a little, please," replied a faint voice in the distance; "I've got among a quantity of willows, and find it very difficult to get on. I've been down twice al--" The sudden cessation of the voice, and a loud crash as of breaking branches, proved too clearly that our friend had accomplished his third fall. "There he goes again," exclaimed Harry Somerville, who came up at the moment. "I've helped him up once already. We'll never get to North River at this rate. What _is_ to be done?" "Let's see what has become of him this time, however," said the accountant, as he began to retrace his steps. "If I mistake not, he made rather a heavy plunge that time, judging from the sound." At that moment the clouds overhead broke, and a moonbeam shot down into the forest, throwing a pale light over the cold scene. A few steps brought Harry and the accountant to the spot whence the sound had proceeded, and a loud startling laugh rang through the night air, as the latter suddenly beheld poor Hamilton struggling, with his arms, head, and shoulders stuck into the snow, his snow-shoes twisted and sticking with the heels up and awry, in a sort of rampant confusion, and his gun buried to the locks beside him. Regaining one's perpendicular after a fall in deep snow, when the feet are encumbered by a pair of long snow-shoes, is by no means an easy thing to accomplish, in consequence of the impossibility of getting hold of anything solid on which to rest the hands. The depth is so great that the outstretched arms cannot find bottom, and every successive struggle only sinks the unhappy victim deeper down. Should no assistance be near, he will soon beat the snow to a solidity that will enable him to rise, but not in a very enviable or comfortable condition. "Give me a hand, Harry," gasped Hamilton, as he managed to twist his head upwards for a moment. "Here you are," cried Harry, holding out his hand and endeavouring to suppress his desire to laugh; "up with you," and in another moment the poor youth was upon his legs, with every fold and crevice about his person stuffed to repletion with snow. "Come, cheer up," cried the accountant, giving the youth a slap on the back; "there's nothing like experience--the proverb says that it even teaches fools, so you need not despair." Hamilton smiled as he endeavoured to shake off some of his white coating. "We'll be all right immediately," added Harry; "I see that the country ahead is more open, so the walking will be easier." "Oh, I wish that I had not come!" said Hamilton, sorrowfully, "because I am only detaining you. But perhaps I shall do better as we get on. At any rate, I cannot go back now, as I could never find the way." "Go back! of course not," said the accountant; "in a short time we shall get into the old woodcutters' track of last year, and although it's not beaten at all, yet it is pretty level and open, so that we shall get on famously." "Go on, then," sighed Hamilton. "Drive ahead," laughed Harry, and without further delay they resumed their march, which was soon rendered more cheerful as the clouds rolled away, the snow ceased to fall, and the bright full moon poured its rays down upon their path. For a long time they proceeded in silence, the muffled sound of the snow, as it sank beneath their regular footsteps, being the only interruption to the universal stillness around. There is something very solemnizing in a scene such as we are now describing--the calm tranquillity of the arctic night; the pure whiteness of the snowy carpet, which rendered the dark firs inky black by contrast; the clear, cold, starry sky, that glimmered behind the dark clouds, whose heavy masses, now rolling across the moon, partially obscured the landscape, and anon, passing slowly away, let a flood of light down upon the forest, which, penetrating between the thick branches, scattered the surface of the snow, as it were, with flakes of silver. Sleep has often been applied as a simile to nature in repose, but in this case death seemed more appropriate. So silent, so cold, so still was the scene, that it filled the mind with an indefinable feeling of dread, as if there was some mysterious danger near. Once or twice during their walk the three travellers paused to rest, but they spoke little, and in subdued voices, as if they feared to break the silence of the night. "It is strange," said Harry, in a low tone, as he walked beside Hamilton, "that such a scene as this always makes me think more than usual of home." "And yet it is natural," replied the other, "because it reminds us more forcibly than any other that we are in a foreign land--in the lonely wilderness--far away from home." Both Harry and Hamilton had been trained in families where the Almighty was feared and loved, and where their minds had been early led to reflect upon the Creator when regarding the works of His hand: their thoughts, therefore, naturally reverted to another home, compared with which this world is indeed a cold, lonely wilderness; but on such subjects they feared to converse, partly from a dread of the ridicule of reckless companions, partly from ignorance of each other's feelings on religious matters, and although their minds were busy, their tongues were silent. The ground over which the greater part of their path lay was a swamp, which, being now frozen, was a beautiful white plain, so that their advance was more rapid, until they approached the belt of woodland that skirts North River. Here they again encountered the heavy snow, which had been such a source of difficulty to Hamilton at setting out. He had profited by his former experience, however, and by the exercise of an excessive degree of caution managed to scramble through the woods tolerably well, emerging at last, along with his companions, on the bleak margin of what appeared to be the frozen sea. North River, at this place, is several miles broad, and the opposite shore is so low that the snow causes it to appear but a slight undulation of the frozen bed of the river. Indeed, it would not be distinguishable at all, were it not for the willow bushes and dwarf pines, whose tops, rising above the white garb of winter, indicate that _terra firma_ lies below. "What a cold, desolate-looking place!" said Hamilton, as the party stood still to recover breath before taking their way over the plain to the spot where the accountant's traps were set. "It looks much more like the frozen sea than a river." "It can scarcely be called a river at this place," remarked the accountant, "seeing that the water hereabouts is brackish, and the tides ebb and flow a good way up. In fact, this is the extreme mouth of North River, and if you turn your eyes a little to the right, towards yonder ice-hummock in the plain, you behold the frozen sea itself." "Where are your traps set?" inquired Harry. "Down in the hollow, behind yon point covered with brushwood." "Oh, we shall soon get to them then; come along," cried Harry. Harry was mistaken, however. He had not yet learned by experience the extreme difficulty of judging of distance in the uncertain light of night--a difficulty that was increased by the ignorance of the locality, and by the gleams of moonshine that shot through the driving clouds and threw confused fantastic shadows over the plain. The point which he had at first supposed was covered with low bushes, and about a hundred yards off, proved to be clad in reality with large bushes and small trees, and lay at a distance of two miles. "I think you have been mistaken in supposing the point so near, Harry," said Hamilton, as he trudged on beside his friend. "A fact evident to the naked eye," replied Harry. "How do your feet stand it, eh? Beginning to lose bark yet?" Hamilton did not feel quite sure. "I think," said he softly, "that there is a blister under the big toe of my left foot. It feels very painful." "If you feel at all _uncertain_ about it, you may rest assured that there _is_ a blister. These things don't give much pain at first. I'm sorry to tell you, my dear fellow, that you'll be painfully aware of the fact to-morrow. However, don't distress yourself; it's a part of the experience that everyone goes through in this country. Besides," said Harry smiling, "we can send to the fort for medical advice." "Don't bother the poor fellow, and hold your tongue. Harry," said the accountant, who now began to tread more cautiously as he approached the place where the traps were set. "How many traps have you?" inquired Harry in a low tone. "Three," replied the accountant. "Do you know I have a very strange feeling about my heels--or rather a want of feeling," said Hamilton, smiling dubiously. "A want of feeling! what do you mean?" cried the accountant, stopping suddenly and confronting his young friend. "Oh, I daresay it's nothing," he exclaimed, looking as if ashamed of having spoken of it; "only I feel exactly as if both my heels were cut off, and I were walking on tip-toe!" "Say you so? then right about wheel. Your heels are frozen, man, and you'll lose them if you don't look sharp." "Frozen!" cried Hamilton, with a look of incredulity. "Ay, frozen; and it's lucky you told me. I've a place up in the woods here, which I call my winter camp, where we can get you put to rights. But step out; the longer we are about it the worse for you." Harry Somerville was at first disposed to think that the accountant jested, but seeing that he turned his back towards his traps, and made for the nearest point of the thick woods with a stride that betokened thorough sincerity, he became anxious too, and followed as fast as possible. The place to which the accountant led his young friends was a group of fir trees which grew on a little knoll, that rose a few feet above the surrounding level country. At the foot of this hillock a small rivulet or burn ran in summer, but the only evidence of its presence now was the absence of willow bushes all along its covered narrow bed. A level tract was thus formed by nature, free from all underwood, and running inland about the distance of a mile, where it was lost in the swamp whence the stream issued. The wooded knoll or hillock lay at the mouth of this brook, and being the only elevated spot in the neighbourhood, besides having the largest trees growing on it, had been selected by the accountant as a convenient place for "camping out" on, when he visited his traps in winter, and happened to be either too late or disinclined to return home. Moreover, the spreading fir branches afforded an excellent shelter alike from wind and snow in the centre of the clump, while from the margin was obtained a partial view of the river and the sea beyond. Indeed, from this look-out there was a very fine prospect on clear winter nights of the white landscape, enlivened occasionally by groups of arctic foxes, which might be seen scampering about in sport, and gambolling among the hummocks of ice like young kittens. "Now we shall turn up here," said the accountant, as he walked a short way up the brook before mentioned, and halted in front of what appeared to be an impenetrable mass of bushes. "We shall have to cut our way, then," said Harry, looking to the right and left in the vain hope of discovering a place where, the bushes being less dense, they might effect an entrance into the knoll or grove. "Not so. I have taken care to make a passage into my winter camp, although it was only a whim, after all, to make a concealed entrance, seeing that no one ever passes this way except wolves and foxes, whose noses render the use of their eyes in most cases unnecessary." So saying, the accountant turned aside a thick branch, and disclosed a narrow track, into which he entered, followed by his two companions. A few minutes brought them to the centre of the knoll. Here they found a clear space of about twenty feet in diameter, round which the trees circled so thickly that in daylight nothing could be seen but tree-stems as far as the eye could penetrate, while overhead the broad flat branches of the firs, with their evergreen verdure, spread out and interlaced so thickly that very little light penetrated into the space below. Of course at night, even in moonlight, the place was pitch dark. Into this retreat the accountant led his companions, and bidding them stand still for a minute lest they should stumble into the fireplace, he proceeded to strike a light. Those who have never travelled in the wild parts of this world can form but a faint conception of the extraordinary and sudden change that is produced, not only in the scene, but in the mind of the beholder, when a blazing fire is lighted on a dark night. Before the fire is kindled, and you stand, perhaps (as Harry and his friend did on the present occasion) shivering in the cold, the heart sinks, and sad, gloomy thoughts arise, while your eye endeavours to pierce the thick darkness, which, if it succeeds in doing so, only adds to the effect by disclosing the pallid snow, the cold, chilling beams of the moon, the wide vista of savage scenery, the awe-inspiring solitudes that tell of your isolated condition, or stir up sad memories of other and far-distant scenes. But the moment the first spark of fire sends a fitful gleam of light upwards, these thoughts and feelings take wing and vanish. The indistinct scenery is rendered utterly invisible by the red light, which attracts and rivets the eye as if by a species of fascination. The deep shadows of the woods immediately around you grow deeper and blacker as the flames leap and sparkle upwards, causing the stems of the surrounding trees, and the foliage of the overhanging branches, to stand out in bold relief, bathed in a ruddy glow, which converts the forest chamber into a snug _home-like_ place, and fills the mind with agreeable, _home-like_ feelings and meditations. It seemed as if the spirit, in the one case, were set loose and etherealized to enable it to spread itself over the plains of cold, cheerless, illimitable space, and left to dwell upon objects too wide to grasp, too indistinct to comprehend; while, in the other, it is recalled and concentrated upon matters circumscribed and congenial, things of which it has long been cognizant, and which it can appreciate and enjoy without the effort of a thought. Some such thoughts and feelings passed rapidly through the minds of Harry and Hamilton, while the accountant struck a light and kindled a roaring fire of logs, which he had cut and arranged there on a previous occasion. In the middle of the space thus brilliantly illuminated, the snow had been cleared away till the moss was uncovered, thus leaving a hole of about ten feet in diameter. As the snow was quite four feet deep, the hole was surrounded with a pure white wall, whose height was further increased by the masses thrown out in the process of digging to nearly six feet. At one end of this space was the large fire which had just been kindled, and which, owing to the intense cold, only melted a very little of the snow in its immediate neighbourhood. At the other end lay a mass of flat pine branches, which were piled up so thickly as to form a pleasant elastic couch, the upper end being slightly raised so as to form a kind of bolster, while the lower extended almost into the fire. Indeed, the branches at the extremity were burnt quite brown, and some of them charred. Beside the bolster lay a small wooden box, a round tin kettle, an iron tea-kettle, two tin mugs, a hatchet, and a large bundle tied up in a green blanket. There were thus, as it were, two apartments, one within the other--namely, the outer one, whose walls were formed of tree-stems and thick darkness, and the ceiling of green boughs; and then the inner one, with walls of snow, that sparkled in the firelight as if set with precious stones, and a carpet of evergreen branches. Within this latter our three friends were soon actively employed. Poor Hamilton's moccasins were speedily removed, and his friends, going down on their knees, began to rub his feet with a degree of energy that induced him to beg for mercy. "Mercy!" exclaimed the accountant, without pausing for an instant; "faith, it's little mercy there would be in stopping just now.--Rub away, Harry. Don't give in. They're coming right at last." After a very severe rubbing, the heels began to show symptoms of returning vitality. They were then wrapped up in the folds of a thick blanket, and held sufficiently near to the fire to prevent any chance of the frost getting at them again. "Now, my boy," said the accountant, as he sat down to enjoy a pipe and rest himself on a blanket, which, along with the one wrapped round Hamilton's feet, had been extracted from the green bundle before mentioned--"now, my boy, you'll have to enjoy yourself here as you best can for an hour or two, while Harry and I visit the traps. Would you like supper before we go, or shall we have it on our return?" "Oh, I'll wait for it by all means till you return. I don't feel a bit hungry just now, and it will be much more cheerful to have it after all your work is over. Besides, I feel my feet too painful to enjoy it just now." "My poor fellow," said Harry, whose heart smote him for having been disposed at first to treat the thing lightly, "I'm really sorry for you. Would you not like me to stay with you?" "By no means," replied Hamilton quickly. "You can do nothing more for me, Harry; and I should be very sorry if you missed seeing the traps." "Oh, never mind the traps. I've seen traps, and set them too, fifty times before now. I'll stop with you, old boy, I will," said Harry doggedly, while he made arrangements to settle down for the evening. "Well, if _you_ won't go, I will," said Hamilton coolly, as he unwound the blanket from his feet and began to pull on his socks. "Bravo, my lad!" exclaimed the accountant, patting him approvingly on the back; "I didn't think you had half so much pluck in you. But it won't do, old fellow. You're in _my_ castle just now, and must obey orders. You couldn't walk half-a-mile for your life; so just be pleased to pull off your socks again. Besides, I want Harry to help me to carry up my foxes, if there are any;--so get ready, sirrah!" "Ay, ay, captain," cried Harry, with a laugh, while he sprang up and put on his snow-shoes. "You needn't bring your gun," said the accountant, shaking the ashes from his pipe as he prepared to depart, "but you may as well shove that axe into your belt; you may want it.--Now, mind, don't roast your feet," he added, turning to Hamilton. "Adieu!" cried Harry, with a nod and a smile, as he turned to go. "Take care the bears don't find you out." "No fear. Good-bye, Harry," replied Hamilton, as his two friends disappeared in the wood and left him to his solitary meditations. CHAPTER XIX. Shows how the accountant and Harry set their traps, and what came of it. The moon was still up, and the sky less overcast, when our amateur trappers quitted the encampment, and, descending to the mouth of the little brook, took their way over North River in the direction of the accountant's traps. Being somewhat fatigued both in mind and body by the unusual exertions of the night, neither of them spoke for some time, but continued to walk in silence, contemplatively gazing at their long shadows. "Did you ever trap a fox, Harry?" said the accountant at length. "Yes, I used to set traps at Red River; but the foxes there are not numerous, and are so closely watched by the dogs that they have become suspicious. I caught but few." "Then you know how to _set_ a trap?" "Oh, yes; I've set both steel and snow traps often. You've heard of old Labonté, who used to carry one of the winter packets from Red River until within a few years back?" "Yes, I've heard of him; his name is in my ledger--at least, if you mean Pierre Labonté, who came down last fall with the brigade." "The same. Well, he was a great friend of mine. His little cabin lay about two miles from Fort Garry, and after work was over in the office I used to go down to sit and chat with him by the fire, and many a time I have sat up half the night listening to him as he recounted his adventures. The old man never tired of relating them, and of smoking twist tobacco. Among other things, he set my mind upon trapping, by giving me an account of an expedition he made, when quite a youth, to the Rocky Mountains; so I got him to go into the woods and teach me how to set traps and snares, and I flatter myself he found me an apt pupil." "Humph!" ejaculated the accountant; "I have no doubt you do _flatter_ yourself. But here we are. The traps are just beyond that mound; so look out, and don't stick your feet into them." "Hist!" exclaimed Harry, laying his hand suddenly on his companion's arm. "Do you see _that_?" pointing towards the place where the traps were said to be. "You have sharp eyes, younker. I _do_ see it, now that you point it out. It's a fox, and caught, too, as I'm a scrivener." "You're in luck to-night," exclaimed Harry, eagerly, "It's a _silver_ fox. I see the white tip on its tail." "Nonsense," cried the accountant, hastening forward; "but we'll soon settle the point." Harry proved to be right. On reaching the spot they found a beautiful black fox, caught by the fore leg in a steel trap, and gazing at them with a look of terror. The skin of the silver fox--so called from a slight sprinkling of pure white hairs covering its otherwise jet-black body--is the most valuable fur obtained by the fur-traders, and fetches an enormous price in the British market, so much as thirty pounds sterling being frequently obtained for a single skin. The foxes vary in colour from jet black, which is the most valuable, to a light silvery hue, and are hailed as great prizes by the Indians and trappers when they are so fortunate as to catch them. They are not numerous, however, and being exceedingly wary and suspicious, are difficult to catch, ft may be supposed, therefore, that our friend the accountant ran to secure his prize with some eagerness. "Now, then, my beauty, don't shrink," he said, as the poor fox backed at his approach as far as the chain which fastened the trap to a log of wood, would permit, and then, standing at bay, showed a formidable row of teeth. That grin was its last; another moment, and the handle of the accountant's axe stretched it lifeless on the snow. "Isn't it a beauty!" cried he, surveying the animal with a look of triumphant pleasure; and then feeling as if he had compromised his dignity a little by betraying so much glee, he added, "But come now, Harry; we must see to the other traps. It's getting late." The others were soon visited; but no more foxes were caught. However, the accountant set them both off to see that all was right; and then readjusting one himself, told Harry to set the other, in order to clear himself of the charge of boasting. Harry, nothing loath, went down on his knees to do so. The steel trap used for catching foxes is of exactly the same form as the ordinary rat-trap, with this difference, that it has two springs instead of one, is considerably larger, and has no teeth, as these latter would only tend to spoil the skin. Owing to the strength of the springs, a pretty strong effort is required to set the trap, and, clumsy fellows frequently catch the tails of their coats or the ends of their belts, and not unfrequently the ends of their fingers, in their awkward attempts. Haying set it without any of the above untoward accidents occurring, Harry placed it gently on a hole which he had previously scraped--placing it in such a manner that the jaws and plate, or trigger, were a hair-breadth below the level of the snow. After this he spread over it a very thin sheet of paper, observing as he did so that hay or grass was preferable; but as there was none at hand, paper would do. Over this he sprinkled snow very lightly, until every vestige of the trap was concealed from view, and the whole was made quite level with the surrounding plain, so that even the accountant himself, after he had once removed his eyes from it, could not tell where it lay. Some chips of a frozen ptarmigan were then scattered around the spot, and a piece of wood left to mark its whereabouts. The bait is always scattered _round_ and not _on_ the trap, as the fox, in running from one piece to another, is almost certain to set his foot on it, and so get caught by the leg; whereas, were the bait placed _upon_ the trap, the fox would be apt to get caught, while in the act of eating, by the snout, which, being wedge-like in form, is easily dragged out of its gripe. "Now then, what say you to going farther out on the river, and making a snow trap for white foxes?" said the accountant. "We shall still have time to do so before the moon sets." "Agreed," cried Harry. "Come along." Without further parley they left the spot and stretched out towards the sea. The snow on the river was quite hard on its surface, so that snow-shoes being unnecessary, they carried them over their shoulders, and advanced much more rapidly. It is true that their road was a good deal broken, and jagged pieces of ice protruded their sharp corners so as to render a little attention necessary in walking; but one or two severe bumps on their toes made our friends sensitively alive to these minor dangers of the way. "There goes a pack of them!" exclaimed Harry, as a troop of white foxes scampered past, gambolling as they went, and, coming suddenly to a halt at a short distance, wheeled about and sat down on their haunches, apparently resolved to have a good look at the strangers who dared to venture into their wild domain. "Oh, they are the most stupid brutes alive," said the accountant, as he regarded the pack with a look of contempt. "I've seen one of them sit down and look at me while I set a trap right before his eyes; and I had not got a hundred yards from the spot when a yell informed me that the gentleman's curiosity had led him to put his foot right into it." "Indeed!" exclaimed Harry. "I had no idea that they were so tame. Certainly no other kind of fox would do that." "No, that's certain. But these fellows have done it to me again and again. I shouldn't wonder if we got one to-night in the very same way. I'm sure, by the look of these rascals, that they would do anything of a reckless, stupid nature just now." "Had we not better make our trap here, then? There is a point, not fifty yards off, with trees on it large enough for our purpose." "Yes; it will do very well here. Now, then, to work. Go to the wood, Harry, and fetch a log or two, while I cut out the slabs." So saying, the accountant drew the axe which he always carried in his belt; and while Harry entered the wood and began to hew off the branch of a tree, he proceeded, as he had said, to "cut out the slabs." With the point of his knife he first of all marked out an oblong in the snow, then cut down three or four inches with the axe, and putting the handle under the cut, after the manner of a lever, detached a thick solid slab of about three inches thick, which, although not so hard as ice, was quite hard enough for the purpose for which it was intended. He then cut two similar slabs, and a smaller one, the same in thickness and breadth, but only half the length. Having accomplished this, he raised himself to rest a little, and observed that Harry approached, staggering under a load of wood, and that the foxes were still sitting on their haunches, gazing at him with a look of deep interest. "If I only had my gun here!" thought he. But not having it, he merely shook his fist at them, stooped down again, and resumed his work. With Harry's assistance the slabs were placed in such a way as to form a sort of box or house, having one end of it open. This was further plastered with soft snow at the joinings, and banked up in such a way that no animal could break into it easily--at least such an attempt would be so difficult as to make an entrance into the interior by the open side much more probable. When this was finished, they took the logs that Harry had cut and carried with so much difficulty from the wood, and began to lop off the smaller branches and twigs. One large log was placed across the opening of the trap, while the others were piled on one end of it so as to press it down with their weight. Three small pieces of stick were now prepared--two of them being about half a foot long, and the other about a foot. On the long piece of stick the breast of a ptarmigan was fixed as a bait, and two notches cut, the one at the end of it, the other about four or five inches further down. All was now ready to set the trap. "Raise the log now while I place the trigger," said Harry, kneeling down in front of the door, while the accountant, as directed, lifted up the log on which the others lay so as to allow his companion to introduce the bait-stick, in such a manner as to support it, while the slightest pull on the bait would set the stick with the notches free, and thus permit the log to fall on the back of the fox, whose effort to reach the bait would necessarily place him under it. While Harry was thus engaged, the accountant stood up and looked towards the foxes. They had approached so near in their curiosity, that he was induced to throw his axe frantically at the foremost of the pack. This set them galloping off, but they soon halted and sat down as before. "What aggravating brutes they are, to be sure!" said Harry, with a laugh, as his companion returned with the hatchet. "Humph! yes, but we'll be upsides with them yet. Come along into the wood, and I wager that in ten minutes we shall have one." They immediately hurried towards the wood, but had not walked fifty paces when they were startled by a loud yell behind them. "Dear me!" exclaimed the accountant, while he and Harry turned round with a start. "It cannot surely be possible that they have gone in already." A loud howl followed the remark, and the whole pack fled over the plain like snow-drift, and disappeared. "Ah, that's a pity! something must have scared them to make them take wing like that. However, we'll get one to-morrow for certain; so come along, lad, let us make for the camp." "Not so fast," replied the other; "if you hadn't pored over the big ledger till you were blind, you would see that there is _one_ prisoner already." This proved to be the case. On returning to the spot they found an arctic fox in his last gasp, lying flat on the snow, with the heavy log across his back, which seemed to be broken. A slight tap on the snout with the accountant's deadly axe-handle completed its destruction. "We're in luck to-night," cried Harry, as he kneeled again to reset the trap. "But after all these white brutes are worth very little; I fancy a hundred of their skins would not be worth the black one you got first." "Be quick, Harry; the moon is almost down, and poor Hamilton will think that the polar bears have got hold of us." "Ail right! Now then, step out," and glancing once more at the trap to see that all was properly arranged, the two friends once more turned their faces homewards, and travelled over the snow with rapid strides. The moon had just set, leaving the desolate scene in deep gloom, so that they could scarcely find their way to the forest; and when they did at last reach its shelter, the night became so intensely dark that they had almost to grope their way, and would certainly have lost it altogether were it not for the accountant's thorough knowledge of the locality. To add to their discomfort, as they stumbled on, snow began to fall, and ere long a pretty steady breeze of wind drove it sharply in their faces. However, this mattered but little, as they penetrated deeper in among the trees, which proved a complete shelter both from wind and snow. An hour's march brought them to the mouth of the brook, although half that time would have been sufficient had it been daylight, and a few minutes later they had the satisfaction of hearing Hamilton's voice hailing them as they pushed aside the bushes and sprang into the cheerful light of their encampment. "Hurrah!" shouted Harry, as he leaped into the space before the fire, and flung the two foxes at Hamilton's feet. "What do you think of _that_, old fellow? How are the heels? Rather sore, eh? Now for the kettle. Polly, put the kettle on; we'll all have--My eye! where's the kettle, Hamilton? have you eaten it?" "If you compose yourself a little, Harry, and look at the fire, you'll see it boiling there." "Man, what a chap you are for making unnecessary speeches! Couldn't you tell me to look at the fire without the preliminary piece of advice to _compose_ myself? Besides, you talk nonsense, for I'm composed already, of blood, bones, flesh, sinews, fat, and--" "Humbug!" interrupted the accountant. "Lend a hand to get supper, you young goose!" "And so," continued Harry, not noticing the interruption, "I cannot be expected, nor is it necessary, to _compose_ myself over again. But to be serious," he added, "it was very kind and considerate of you, Hammy, to put on the kettle, when your heels were in a manner uppermost." "Oh, it was nothing at all; my heels are much better, thank you, and it kept me from wearying." "Poor fellow!" said the accountant, while he busied himself in preparing their evening meal, "you must be quite ravenous by this time--at least _I_ am, which is the same thing." Supper was soon ready. It consisted of a large kettle of tea, a lump of pemmican, a handful of broken biscuit, and three ptarmigan--all of which were produced from the small wooden box which the accountant was wont to call his camp-larder. The ptarmigan had been shot two weeks before, and carefully laid up for future use; the intense frost being a sufficient guarantee for their preservation for many months, had that been desired. It would have done you good, reader (supposing you to be possessed of sympathetic feelings), to have witnessed those three nor'-westers enjoying their supper in the snowy camp. The fire had been replenished with logs, till it roared and crackled again, as if it were endued with a vicious spirit, and wished to set the very snow in flames. The walls shone like alabaster studded with diamonds, while the green boughs overhead and the stems around were of a deep red colour in the light of the fierce blaze. The tea-kettle hissed, fumed, and boiled over into the fire. A mass of pemmican simmered in the lid in front of it. Three pannikins of tea reposed on the green branches, their refreshing contents sending up little clouds of steam, while the ptarmigan, now split up, skewered, and roasted, were being heartily devoured by our three hungry friends. The pleasures that fall to the lot of man are transient. Doubtless they are numerous and oft recurring; still they are transient, and so--supper came to an end. "Now for a pipe," said the accountant, disposing his limbs at full length on a green blanket. "O thou precious weed, what should we do without thee!" "Smoke _tea_, to be sure," answered Harry. "Ah! true, it _is_ possible to exist on a pipe of tea-leaves for a time, but _only_ for a time. I tried it myself once, in desperation, when I ran short of tobacco on a journey, and found it execrable, but better than nothing." "Pity we can't join you in that." remarked Harry. "True; but perhaps since you cannot pipe, it might prove an agreeable diversification to dance." "Thank you, I'd rather not," said Harry; "and as for Hamilton, I'm convinced that _his_ mind is made up on the subject.--How go the heels now?" "Thank you, pretty well," he replied, reclining his head on the pine branches, and extending his smitten members towards the fire. "I think they will be quite well in the morning." "It is a curious thing," remarked the accountant, in a soliloquising tone, "that _soft_ fellows _never_ smoke!" "I beg your pardon," said Harry, "I've often seen hot loaves smoke, and they're soft enough fellows, in all conscience!" "Ah!" sighed the accountant, "that reminds me of poor Peterkin, who was _so_ soft that he went by the name of 'Butter.' Did you ever hear of what he did the summer before last with an Indian's head?" "No, never; what was it!" "I'll tell you the story," replied the accountant, drawing a few vigorous whiffs of smoke, to prevent his pipe going out while he spoke. As the story in question, however, depicts a new phase of society in the woods, it deserves a chapter to itself. CHAPTER XX. The accountant's story. "Spring had passed away, and York Fort was filled with all the bustle and activity of summer. Brigades came pouring in upon us with furs from the interior, and as every boat brought a C. T. or a clerk, our mess-table began to overflow. "You've not seen the summer mess-room filled yet, Hamilton. That's a treat in store for you." "It was pretty full last autumn, I think," suggested Hamilton, "at the time I arrived from England." "Full! why, man, it was getting to feel quite lonely at that time. I've seen more than fifty sit down to table there, and it was worth going fifty miles to hear the row they kicked up--telling stories without end (and sometimes without foundation) about their wild doings in the interior, where every man-jack of them having spent at least eight months almost in perfect solitude, they hadn't had a chance of letting their tongues go till they came down here. But to proceed. When the ship came out in the fall, she brought a batch of new clerks, and among them was this miserable chap Peterkin, whom we soon nicknamed _Butter_. He was the softest fellow I ever knew (far worse than you, Hamilton), and he hadn't been here a week before the wild blades from the interior, who were bursting with fun and mischief, began to play off all kinds of practical jokes upon him. The very first day he sat down at the mess-table, our worthy governor (who, you are aware, detests practical jokes) played him a trick, quite unintentionally, which raised a laugh against him for many a day. You know that old Mr. Rogan is rather absent at times; well, the first day that Peterkin came to mess (it was breakfast), the old governor asked him, in a patronizing sort of way, to sit at his right hand. Accordingly down he sat, and having never, I fancy, been away from his mother's apron-string before, he seemed to feel very uncomfortable, especially as he was regarded as a sort of novelty. The first thing he did was to capsize his plate into his lap, which set the youngsters at the lower end of the table into suppressed fits of laughter. However, he was eating the leg of a dry grouse at the time, so it didn't make much of a mess. "'Try some fish, Peterkin,' said Mr. Rogan kindly, seeing that the youth was ill at ease. 'That old grouse is tough enough to break your knife.' "'A very rough passage,' replied the youngster, whose mind was quite confused by hearing the captain of the ship, who sat next to him, giving to his next neighbour a graphic account of the voyage in a very loud key--'I mean, if you please, no, thank you,' he stammered, endeavouring to correct himself. "'Ah! a cup of tea perhaps.--Here, Anderson' (turning to the butler), 'a cup of tea to Mr. Peterkin.' "The butler obeyed the order. "'And here, fill my cup,' said old Rogan, interrupting himself in an earnest conversation, into which he had plunged with the gentleman on his left hand. As he said this he lifted his cup to empty the slops, but without paying attention to what he was doing. As luck would have it, the slop-basin was not at hand, and Peterkin's cup _was_, so he emptied it innocently into that. Peterkin hadn't courage to arrest his hand, and when the deed was done he looked timidly round to see if the action had been observed. Nearly half the table had seen it, but they pretended ignorance of the thing so well that he thought no one had observed, and so went quietly on with his breakfast, and drank the tea! But I am wandering from my story. Well, about this time there was a young Indian who shot himself accidentally in the woods, and was brought to the fort to see if anything could be done for him. The doctor examined his wound, and found that the ball had passed through the upper part of his right arm and the middle of his right thigh, breaking the bone of the latter in its passage. It was an extraordinary shot for a man to put into himself, for it would have been next to impossible even for _another_ man to have done it, unless the Indian had been creeping on all fours. When he was able to speak, however, he explained the mystery. While running through a rough part of the wood after a wounded bird, he stumbled and fell on all fours. The gun, which he was carrying over his shoulder, holding it, as the Indians usually do, by the muzzle, flew forward, and turned right round as he fell, so that the mouth of it was presented towards him. Striking against the stem of a tree, it exploded and shot him through the arm and leg as described ere he had time to rise. A comrade carried him to his lodge, and his wife brought him in a canoe to the fort. For three or four days the doctor had hopes of him, but at last he began to sink, and died on the sixth day after his arrival. His wife and one or two friends buried him in our graveyard, which lies, as you know, on that lonely-looking point just below the powder-magazine. For several months previous to this our worthy doctor had been making strenuous efforts to get an Indian skull to send home to one of his medical friends, but without success. The Indians could not be prevailed upon to cut off the head of one of their dead countrymen for love or money, and the doctor had a dislike to the idea, I suppose, of killing one for himself; but now here was a golden opportunity. The Indian was buried near to the fort, and his relatives had gone away to their tents again. What was to prevent his being dug up? The doctor brooded over the thing for one hour and a half (being exactly the length of time required to smoke out his large Turkey pipe), and then sauntered into Wilson's room. Wilson was busy, as usual, at some of his mechanical contrivances. "Thrusting his hands deep into his breeches pockets, and seating himself on an old sea-chest, he began,-- "'I say, Wilson, will you do me a favour?' "'That depends entirely on what the favour is,' he replied, without raising his head from his work. "'I want you to help me to cut off an Indian's head!' "' Then I _won't_ do you the favour. But pray, don't humbug me just now; I'm busy.' "'No; but I'm serious, and I can't get it done without help, and I know you're an obliging fellow. Besides, the savage is dead, and has no manner of use for his head now.' "Wilson turned round with a look of intelligence on hearing this. "'Ha!' he exclaimed, 'I see what you're up to; but I don't half like it. In the first place, his friends would be terribly cut up if they heard of it; and then I've no sort of aptitude for the work of a resurrectionist; and then, if it got wind, we should never hear the last of it; and then--' "'And then,' interrupted the doctor, 'it would be adding to the light of medical science, you unaspiring monster.' "'A light,' retorted Wilson, 'which, in passing through _some_ members of the medical profession, is totally absorbed, and reproduced in the shape of impenetrable darkness.' "'Now, don't object, my dear fellow; you _know_ you're going to do it, so don't coquette with me, but agree at once.' "'Well, I consent, upon one condition.' "'And what is that?' "'That you do not play any practical jokes on _me_ with the head when you have got it.' "'Agreed!' cried the doctor, laughing; 'I give you my word of honour. Now he has been buried three days already, so we must set about it at once. Fortunately the graveyard is composed of a sandy soil, so he'll keep for some time yet. "The two worthies then entered into a deep consultation as to how they were to set about this deed of darkness. It was arranged that Wilson should take his gun and sally forth a little before dark, as if he were bent on an hour's sport, and, not forgetting his game-bag, proceed to the graveyard, where the doctor engaged to meet him with a couple of spades and a dark lantern. Accordingly, next evening, Mr. Wilson, true to his promise, shouldered his gun and sallied forth. "It soon became an intensely dark night. Not a single star shone forth to illumine the track along which he stumbled. Everything around was silent and dark, and congenial with the work on which he was bent. But Wilson's heart beat a little more rapidly than usual. He is a bold enough man, as you know, but boldness goes for nothing when superstition comes into play. However, he trudged along fearlessly enough till he came to the thick woods just below the fort, into which he entered with something of a qualm. Scarcely had he set foot on the narrow track that leads to the graveyard, when he ran slap against the post that stands there, but which, in his trepidation, he had entirely forgotten. This quite upset the small amount of courage that remained, and he has since confessed that if he had not had the hope of meeting with the doctor in a few minutes, he would have turned round and fled at that moment. "Recovering a little from this accident, he hurried forward, but with more caution, for although the night seemed as dark as could possibly be while he was crossing the open country, it became speedily evident that there were several shades of darkness which he had not yet conceived. In a few minutes he came to the creek that runs past the graveyard, and here again his nerves got another shake; for slipping his foot while in the act of commencing the descent, he fell and rolled heavily to the bottom, making noise enough in his fall to scare away all the ghosts in the country. With a palpitating heart poor Wilson gathered himself up, and searched for his gun, which fortunately had not been injured, and then commenced to climb the opposite bank, starting at every twig that snapped under his feet. On reaching the level ground again he breathed a little more freely, and hurried forward with more speed than caution. Suddenly he came into violent contact with a figure, which uttered a loud growl as Wilson reeled backwards. "'Back, you monster,' he cried, with a hysterical yell, 'or I'll blow your brains out!' "'It's little good _that_ would do ye,' cried the doctor as he came forward. 'Why, you stupid, what did you take me for? You've nearly knocked out my brains as it is,' and the doctor rubbed his forehead ruefully. "'Oh, it's _you,_ doctor!' said Wilson, feeling as if a ton weight had been lifted off his heart; 'I verily thought it was the ghost of the poor fellow we're going to disturb. I do think you had better give it up. Mischief will come of it, you'll see.' "'Nonsense,' cried the doctor; 'don't be a goose, but let's to work at once. Why, I've got half the thing dug up already.' So saying, he led the way to the grave, in which there was a large opening. Setting the lantern down by the side of it, the two seized their spades and began to dig as if in earnest. "The fact is that the doctor was nearly as frightened as Wilson, and he afterwards confessed to me that it was an immense relief to him when he heard him fall down the bank of the creek, and knew by the growl he gave that it was he. "In about half-an-hour the doctor's spade struck upon the coffin lid, which gave forth a hollow sound. "'Now then, we're about done with it,' said he, standing up to wipe away the perspiration that trickled down his face. 'Take the axe and force up the lid, it's only fixed with common nails, while I--' He did not finish the sentence, but drew a large scalping-knife from a sheath which hung at his belt. "Wilson shuddered and obeyed. A good wrench caused the lid to start, and while he held it partially open the doctor inserted the knife. For five minutes he continued to twist and work with his arms, muttering between his teeth, every now and then, that he was a 'tough subject,' while the crackling of bones and other disagreeable sounds struck upon the horrified ears of his companion. "'All right,' he exclaimed at last, as he dragged a round object from the coffin and let down the lid with a bang, at the same time placing the savage's head with its ghastly features full in the blaze of the lantern. "'Now, then, close up,' said he, jumping out of the hole and shovelling in the earth. "In a few minutes they had filled the grave up and smoothed it down on the surface, and then, throwing the head into the game-bag, retraced their steps to the fort. Their nerves were by this time worked up to such a pitch of excitement, and their minds filled with such a degree of supernatural horror, that they tripped and stumbled over stumps and branches innumerable in their double-quick march. Neither would confess to the other, however, that he was afraid. They even attempted to pass a few facetious remarks as they hurried along, but it would not do, so they relapsed into silence till they came to the hollow beside the powder-magazine. Here the doctor's foot happening to slip, he suddenly grasped Wilson by the shoulder to support himself--a movement which, being unexpected, made his friend leap, as he afterwards expressed it, nearly out of his skin. This was almost too much for them. For a moment they looked at each other as well as the darkness would permit, when all at once a large stone, which the doctor's slip had overbalanced, fell down the bank and through the bushes with a loud crash. Nothing more was wanting. All further effort to disguise their feelings was dropped. Leaping the rail of the open field in a twinkling, they gave a simultaneous yell of consternation and fled to the fort like autumn leaves before the wind, never drawing breath till they were safe within the pickets." "But what has all this to do with Peterkin?" asked Harry, as the accountant paused to relight his pipe and toss a fresh log on the fire. "Have patience, lad; you shall hear." The accountant stirred the logs with his toe, drew a few whiffs to see that the pipe was properly ignited, and proceeded. "For a day or two after this, the doctor was observed to be often mysteriously engaged in an outhouse, of which he kept the key. By some means or other, the skipper, who is always up to mischief, managed to discover the secret. Watching where the doctor hid the key, he possessed himself of it one day, and sallied forth, bent on a lark of some kind or other, but without very well knowing what. Passing the kitchen, he observed Anderson, the butler, raking the fire out of the large oven which stands in the backyard. "'Baking again, Anderson?' said he in passing. 'You get soon through with a heavy cargo of bread just now.' "'Yes, sir; many mouths to feed, sir,' replied the butler, proceeding with his work. "The skipper sauntered on, and took the track which led to the boathouse, where he stood for some time in meditation. Casting up his eyes, he saw Peterkin in the distance, looking as if he didn't very well know what to do. "A sudden thought struck him. Pulling off his coat, he seized a mallet and a calking-chisel, and began to belabour the side of a boat as if his life depended on it. All at once he stopped and stood up, blowing with the exertion. "'Hollo, Peterkin!' he shouted, and waved his hand. "Peterkin hastened towards him. "'Well, sir' said he, 'do you wish to speak to me?' "'Yes,' replied the skipper, scratching his head, as if in great perplexity. 'I wish you to do me a favour, Peterkin, but I don't know very well how to ask you.' "'Oh, I shall be most happy,' said poor Butter eagerly, 'if I can be of any use to you.' "'I don't doubt your willingness,' replied the other; 'but then--the doctor, you see--the fact is, Peterkin, the doctor being called away to see a sick Indian, has intrusted me with a delicate piece of business--rather a nasty piece of business, I may say--which I promised to do for him. You must know that the Surgical Society of London has written to him, begging, as a great favour, that he would, if possible, procure them the skull of a native. After much trouble, he has succeeded in getting one, but is obliged to keep it a great secret, even from his fellow-clerks, lest it should get wind: for if the Indians heard of it they would be sure to kill him, and perhaps burn the fort too. Now I suppose you are aware that it is necessary to boil an Indian's head in order to get the flesh clean off the skull?' "'Yes; I have heard something of that sort from the students at college, who say that boiling brings flesh more easily away from the bone. But I don't know much about it,' replied Peterkin. "'Well,' continued the skipper, 'the doctor, who is fond of experiments, wishes to try whether _baking_ won't do better than _boiling_, and ordered the oven to be heated for that purpose this morning; but being called suddenly away, as I have said, he begged me to put the head into it as soon as it was ready. I agreed, quite forgetting at the time that I had to get this precious boat ready for sea this very afternoon. Now the oven is prepared, and I dare not leave my work; indeed, I doubt whether I shall have it quite ready and taut after all, and there's the oven cooling; so, if you don't help me, I'm a lost man.' "Having said this, the skipper looked as miserable as his jolly visage would permit, and rubbed his nose. "'Oh, I'll be happy to do it for you, although it is not an agreeable job,' replied Butter. "'That's right--that's friendly now!' exclaimed the skipper, as if greatly relieved. 'Give us your flipper, my lad;' and seizing Peterkin's hand, he wrung it affectionately. 'Now, here is the key of the outhouse; do it as quickly as you can, and don't let anyone see you. It's in a good cause, you know, but the results might be terrible if discovered.' "So saying, the skipper fell to hammering the boat again with surprising vigour till Butter was out of sight, and then resuming his coat, returned to the house. "An hour after this, Anderson went to take his loaves out of the oven; but he had no sooner taken down the door than a rich odour of cooked meat greeted his nostrils. Uttering a deep growl, the butler shouted out 'Sprat!' "Upon this, a very thin boy, with arms and legs like pipe stems, issued from the kitchen, and came timidly towards his master. "'Didn't I tell you, you young blackguard, that the grouse-pie was to be kept for Sunday? and there you've gone and put it to fire to-day.' "'The grouse-pie!' said the boy, in amazement. "'Yes, the grouse-pie,' retorted the indignant butler; and seizing the urchin by the neck, he held his head down to the mouth of the oven. "'Smell _that_, you villain! What did you mean by it, eh?' "'Oh, murder!' shouted the boy, as with a violent effort he freed himself, and ran shrieking into the house. "'Murder!' repeated Anderson in astonishment, while he stooped to look into the oven, where the first thing that met his gaze was a human head, whose ghastly visage and staring eyeballs worked and moved about under the influence of the heat as if it were alive. "With a yell that rung through the whole fort, the horrified butler rushed through the kitchen and out at the front door, where, as ill-luck would have it, Mr. Rogan happened to be standing at the moment. Pitching head first into the small of the old gentleman's back, he threw him off the platform and fell into his arms. Starting up in a moment, the governor dealt Anderson a cuff that sent him reeling towards the kitchen door again, on the steps of which he sat down, and began to sing out, 'Oh, murder, murder! the oven, the oven!' and not another word, bad, good, or indifferent, could be got out of him for the next half-hour, as he swayed himself to and fro and wrung his hands. "To make a long story short, Mr. Rogan went himself to the oven, and fished out the head, along with the loaves, which were, of course, all spoiled." "And what was the result?" enquired Harry. "Oh, there was a long investigation, and the skipper got a blowing-up, and the doctor a warning to let Indians' skulls lie at peace in their graves for the future, and poor Butter was sent to M'Kenzie's River as a punishment, for old Rogan could never be brought to believe that he hadn't been a willing tool in the skipper's hands; and Anderson lost his batch of bread and his oven, for it had to be pulled down and a new one built." "Humph! and I've no doubt the governor read you a pretty stiff lecture on practical joking." "He did," replied the accountant, laying aside his pipe and drawing the green blanket over him, while Harry piled several large logs on the fire. "Good-night," said the accountant. "Good-night," replied his companions; and in a few minutes more they were sound asleep in their snowy camp, while the huge fire continued, during the greater part of the night, to cast its light on their slumbering forms. CHAPTER XXI. Ptarmigan-hunting--Hamilton's shooting powers severely tested--A snowstorm. At about four o'clock on the following morning, the sleepers were awakened by the cold, which had become very intense. The fire had burned down to a few embers, which merely emitted enough light to make darkness visible. Harry being the most active of the party, was the first to bestir himself. Raising himself on his elbow, while his teeth chattered and his limbs trembled with cold, he cast a woebegone and excessively sleepy glance towards the place where the fire had been; then he scratched his head slowly; then he stared at the fire again; then he languidly glanced at Hamilton's sleeping visage, and then he yawned. The accountant observed all this; for although he appeared to be buried in the depths of slumber, he was wide awake in reality, and moreover, intensely cold. The accountant, however, was sly--deep, as he would have said himself--and knew that Harry's active habits would induce him to rise, on awaking, and rekindle the fire,--an event which the accountant earnestly desired to see accomplished, but which he as earnestly resolved should not be performed by _him_. Indeed, it was with this end in view that he had given vent to the terrific snore which had aroused his young companion a little sooner than would have otherwise been the case. "My eye," exclaimed Harry, in an undertone, "how precious cold it is!" His eye making no reply to this remark, he arose, and going down on his hands and knees, began to coax the charcoal into a flame. By dint of severe blowing, he soon succeeded, and heaping on a quantity of small twigs, the fitful flame sprang up into a steady blaze. He then threw several heavy logs on the fire, and in a very short space of time restored it almost to its original vigour. "What an abominable row you are kicking up!" growled the accountant; "why, you would waken the seven sleepers. Oh! mending the fire," he added, in an altered tone: "ah! I'll excuse you, my boy, since that's what you're at." The accountant hereupon got up, along with Hamilton, who was now also awake, and the three spread their hands over the bright fire, and revolved their bodies before it, until they imbibed a satisfactory amount of heat. They were much too sleepy to converse, however, and contented themselves with a very brief enquiry as to the state of Hamilton's heels, which elicited the sleepy reply, "They feel quite well, thank you." In a short time, having become agreeably warm, they gave a simultaneous yawn, and lying down again, they fell into a sleep from which they did not awaken until the red winter sun shot its early rays over the arctic scenery. Once more Harry sprang up, and let his hand fall heavily on Hamilton's shoulder. Thus rudely assailed, that youth also sprang up, giving a shout, at the same time, that brought the accountant to his feet in an instant; and so, as if by an electric spark, the sleepers were simultaneously roused into a state of wide-awake activity. "How excessively hungry I feel! isn't it strange?" said Hamilton, as he assisted in rekindling the fire, while the accountant filled his pipe, and Harry stuffed the tea-kettle full of snow. "Strange!" cried Harry, as he placed the kettle on the fire--"strange to be hungry after a five miles' walk and a night in the snow? I would rather say it was strange if you were _not_ hungry. Throw on that billet, like a good fellow, and spit those grouse, while I cut some pemmican and prepare the tea." "How are the heels now, Hamilton?" asked the accountant, who divided his attention between his pipe and his snow-shoes, the lines of which required to be readjusted. "They appear to be as well as if nothing had happened to them," replied Hamilton: "I've been looking at them, and there is no mark whatever. They do not even feel tender." "Lucky for you, old boy, that they were taken in time, else you'd had another story to tell." "Do you mean to say that people's heels really freeze and fall off?" inquired the other, with a look of incredulity. "Soft, very soft and green," murmured Harry, in a low voice, while he continued his work of adding fresh snow to the kettle as the process of melting reduced its bulk. "I mean to say," replied the accountant, tapping the ashes out of his pipe, "that not only heels, but hands, feet, noses, and ears, frequently freeze, and often fall off in this country, as you will find by sad experience if you don't look after yourself a little better than you have done hitherto." One of the evil effects of the perpetual jesting that prevailed at York Fort was, that "soft" (in other words, straightforward, unsuspecting) youths had to undergo a long process of learning-by-experience: first, _believing_ everything, and then _doubting_ everything, ere they arrived at that degree of sophistication which enabled them to distinguish between truth and falsehood. Having reached the _doubting_ period in his training, Hamilton looked down and said nothing, at least with his mouth, though his eyes evidently remarked, "I don't believe you." In future years, however, the evidence of these same eyes convinced him that what the accountant said upon this occasion was but too true. Breakfast was a repetition of the supper of the previous evening. During its discussion they planned proceedings for the day. "My notion is," said the accountant, interrupting the flow of words ever and anon to chew the morsel with which his mouth was filled--"my notion is, that as it's a fine clear day we should travel five miles through the country parallel with North River. I know the ground, and can guide you easily to the spots where there are lots of willows, and therefore plenty of ptarmigan, seeing that they feed on willow tops; and the snow that fell last night will help us a little." "How will the snow help us?" inquired Hamilton. "By covering up all the old tracks, to be sure, and showing only the new ones." "Well, captain," said Harry, as he raised a can of tea to his lips, and nodded to Hamilton as if drinking his health, "go on with your proposals for the day. Five miles up the river to begin with, then--" "Then we'll pull up," continued the accountant; "make a fire, rest a bit, and eat a mouthful of pemmican; after which we'll strike across country for the southern woodcutters' track, and so home." "And how much will that be?" "About fifteen miles." "Ha!" exclaimed Harry; "pass the kettle, please. Thanks.--Do you think you're up to that, Hammy?" "I will try what I can do," replied Hamilton. "If the snow-shoes don't cause me to fall often, I think I shall stand the fatigue very well." "That's right," said the accountant; "'faint heart,' etc., you know. If you go on as you've begun, you'll be chosen to head the next expedition to the north pole." "Well," replied Hamilton, good-humouredly, "pray head the present expedition, and let us be gone." "Right!" ejaculated the accountant, rising. "I'll just put my odds and ends out of the reach of the foxes, and then we shall be off." In a few minutes everything was placed in security, guns loaded, snow-shoes put on, and the winter camp deserted. At first the walking was fatiguing, and poor Hamilton more than once took a sudden and eccentric plunge; but after getting beyond the wooded country, they found the snow much more compact, and their march, therefore, much more agreeable. On coming to the place where it was probable that they might fall in with ptarmigan, Hamilton became rather excited, and apt to imagine that little lumps of snow which hung upon the bushes here and there were birds. "There now," he cried, in an energetic and slightly positive tone, as another of these masses of snow suddenly met his eager eye--"that's one, I'm _quite_ sure." The accountant and Harry both stopped short on hearing this, and looked in the direction indicated. "Fire away, then, Hammy," said the former, endeavouring to suppress a smile. "But do you think it _really_ is one?" asked Hamilton, anxiously. "Well, I don't _see_ it exactly, but then, you know, I'm near-sighted." "Don't give him a chance of escape," cried Harry, seeing that his friend was undecided. "If you really do see a bird, you'd better shoot it, for they've got a strong propensity to take wing when disturbed." Thus admonished Hamilton raised his gun and took aim. Suddenly he lowered his piece again, and looking round at Harry, said in a low whisper,-- "Oh, I should like _so_ much to shoot it while flying! Would it not be better to set it up first?" "By no means," answered the accountant. "'A bird in the hand,' etc. Take him as you find him--look sharp; he'll be off in a second." Again the gun was pointed, and, after some difficulty in taking aim, fired. "Ah, what a pity you've missed him!" shouted Harry, "But see, he's not off yet; how tame he is, to be sure! Give him the other barrel, Hammy." This piece of advice proved to be unnecessary. In his anxiety to get the bird, Hamilton had cocked both barrels, and while gazing, half in disappointment, half in surprise, at the supposed bird, his finger unintentionally pressed the second trigger. In a moment the piece exploded. Being accidentally aimed in the right direction, it blew the lump of snow to atoms, and at the same time hitting its owner on the chest with the butt, knocked him over flat upon his back. "What a gun it is, to be sure!" said Harry, with a roguish laugh, as he assisted the discomforted sportsman to rise; "it knocks over game with butt and muzzle at once." "Quite a rare instance of one butt knocking another down," added the accountant. At this moment a large flock of ptarmigan, startled by the double report, rose with a loud whirring noise about a hundred yards in advance, and after flying a short distance alighted. "There's real game at last, though," cried the accountant, as he hurried after the birds, followed closely by his young friends. They soon reached the spot where the flock had alighted, and after following up the tracks for a few yards further, set them up again. As the birds rose, the accountant fired and brought down two; Harry shot one and missed another; Hamilton being so nervously interested in the success of his comrades that he forgot to fire at all. "How stupid of me!" he exclaimed, while the others loaded their guns. "Never mind; better luck next time," said Harry, as they resumed their walk. "I saw the flock settle down about half-a-mile in advance of us; so step out." Another short walk brought the sportsmen again within range. "Go to the front, Hammy," said the accountant, "and take the first shot this time." Hamilton obeyed. He had scarcely made ten steps in advance, when a single bird, that seemed to have been separated from the others, ran suddenly out from under a bush, and stood stock-still, at a distance of a few yards, with its neck stretched out and its black eyes wide open, as if in astonishment. "Now then, you can't miss _that_." Hamilton was quite taken aback by the suddenness of this necessity for instantaneous action. Instead, therefore, of taking aim leisurely (seeing that he had abundant time to do so), he flew entirely to the opposite extreme, took no aim at all, and fired off both barrels at once, without putting the gun to his shoulder. The result of this was that the affrighted bird flew away unharmed, while Harry and the accountant burst spontaneously into fits of laughter. "How very provoking!" said the poor youth, with a dejected look. "Never mind--never say die--try again," said the accountant, on recovering his gravity. Having reloaded, they continued the pursuit. "Dear me!" exclaimed Harry, suddenly, "here are three dead birds.--I verily believe, Hamilton, that you have killed them all at one shot by accident." "Can it be possible?" exclaimed his friend, as with a look of amazement he regarded the birds. There was no doubt about the fact. There they lay, plump and still warm, with one or two drops of bright red blood upon their white plumage. Ptarmigan are almost pure white, so that it requires a practised eye to detect them, even at a distance of a few yards; and it would be almost impossible to hunt them without dogs, but for the tell-tale snow, in which their tracks are distinctly marked, enabling the sportsman to follow them up with unerring certainty. When Hamilton made his bad shot, neither he nor his companions observed a group of ptarmigan not more than fifty yards before them, their attention being riveted at the time on the solitary bird; and the gun happening to be directed towards them when it was fired, three were instantly and unwittingly placed _hors de combat_, while the others ran away. This the survivors frequently do when very tame, instead of taking wing. Thus it was that Hamilton, to his immense delight, made such a successful shot without being aware of it. Having bagged their game, the party proceeded on their way. Several large flocks of birds were raised, and the game-bags nearly filled, before reaching the spot where they intended to turn and bend their steps homewards. This induced them to give up the idea of going further; and it was fortunate they came to this resolution, for a storm was brewing, which in the eagerness of pursuit after game they had not noticed. Dark masses of leaden-coloured clouds were gathering in the sky overhead, and faint sighs of wind came, ever and anon, in fitful gusts from the north-west. Hurrying forward as quickly as possible, they now pursued their course in a direction which would enable them to cross the woodcutters' track. This they soon reached, and finding it pretty well beaten, were enabled to make more rapid progress. Fortunately the wind was blowing on their backs, otherwise they would have had to contend not only with its violence, but also with the snow-drift, which now whirled in bitter fury among the trees, or scoured like driving clouds over the plain. Under this aspect, the flat country over which they travelled seemed the perfection of bleak desolation. Their way, however, did not lie in a direct line. The track was somewhat tortuous, and gradually edged towards the north, until the wind blew nearly in their teeth. At this point, too, they came to a stretch of open ground which they had crossed at a point some miles further to the northward in their night march. Here the storm raged in all its fury, and as they looked out upon the plain, before quitting the shelter of the wood, they paused to tighten their belts and readjust their snow-shoe lines. The gale was so violent that the whole plain seemed tossed about like billows of the sea, as the drift rose and fell, curled, eddied, and dashed along, so that it was impossible to see more than half-a-dozen yards in advance. "Heaven preserve us from ever being caught in an exposed place on such a night as this!" said the accountant, as he surveyed the prospect before him. "Luckily the open country here is not more than a quarter of a mile broad, and even that little bit will try our wind somewhat." Hamilton and Harry seemed by their looks to say, "We could easily face even a stiffer breeze than that, if need be." "What should we do," inquired the former, "if the plain were five or six miles broad?" "Do? why, we should have to camp in the woods till it blew over, that's all," replied the accountant; "but seeing that we are not reduced to such a necessity just now, and that the day is drawing to a close, let us face it at once. I'll lead the way, and see that you follow close at my heels. Don't lose sight of me for a moment, and if you do by chance, give a shout; d'ye hear?" The two lads replied in the affirmative, and then bracing themselves up as if for a great effort, stepped vigorously out upon the plain, and were instantly swallowed up in clouds of snow. For half-an-hour or more they battled slowly against the howling storm, pressing forward for some minutes with heads down, as if _boring_ through it, then turning their backs to the blast for a few seconds' relief, but always keeping as close to each other as possible. At length the woods were gained; on entering which it was discovered that Hamilton was missing. "Hollo! where's Hamilton?" exclaimed Harry; "I saw him beside me not five minutes ago." The accountant gave a loud shout, but there was no reply. Indeed, nothing short of his own stentorian voice could have been heard at all amid the storm. "There's nothing for it," said Harry, "but to search at once, else he'll wander about and get lost." Saying this, he began to retrace his steps, just as a brief lull in the gale took place. "Hollo! don't you hear a cry, Harry?" At this moment there was another lull; the drift fell, and for an instant cleared away, revealing the bewildered Hamilton, not twenty yards off, standing, like a pillar of snow, in mute despair. Profiting by the glimpse, Harry rushed forward, caught him by the arm, and led him into the partial shelter of the forest. Nothing further befell them after this. Their route lay in shelter all the way to the fort. Poor Hamilton, it is true, took one or two of his occasional plunges by the way, but without any serious result--not even to the extent of stuffing his nose, ears, neck, mittens, pockets, gun-barrels, and everything else with snow, because, these being quite full and hard packed already, there was no room left for the addition of another particle. CHAPTER XXII. The winter packet--Harry hears from old friends, and wishes that he was with them. Letters from home! What a burst of sudden emotion--what a riot of conflicting feelings of dread and joy, expectation and anxiety--what a flood of old memories--what stirring up of almost forgotten associations these three words create in the hearts of those who dwell in distant regions of this earth, far, far away from kith and kin, from friends and acquaintances, from the much-loved scenes of childhood, and from _home_! Letters from home! How gratefully the sound falls upon ears that have been long unaccustomed to sounds and things connected with home, and so long accustomed to wild, savage sounds, that these have at length lost their novelty, and become everyday and commonplace, while the first have gradually grown strange and unwonted. For many long months home and all connected with it have become a dream of other days, and savage-land a present reality. The mind has by degrees become absorbed by surrounding objects--objects so utterly unassociated with or unsuggestive of any other land, that it involuntarily ceases to think of the scenes of childhood with the same feelings that it once did. As time rolls on, home assumes a misty, undefined character, as if it were not only distant in reality, but were also slowly retreating further and further away--growing gradually faint and dream-like, though not less dear, to the mental view. "Letters from home!" shouted Mr. Wilson, and the doctor, and the skipper, simultaneously, as the sportsmen, after dashing through the wild storm, at last reached the fort, and stumbled tumultuously into Bachelors' Hall. "What!--Where!--How!--You don't mean it!" they exclaimed, coming to a sudden stand, like three pillars of snow-clad astonishment. "Ay," replied the doctor, who affected to be quite cool upon all occasions, and rather cooler than usual if the occasion was more than ordinarily exciting--"ay, we _do_ mean it. Old Rogan has got the packet, and is even now disembowelling it." "More than that," interrupted the skipper, who sat smoking as usual by the stove, with his hands in his breeches pockets--"more than that, I saw him dissecting into the very marrow of the thing; so if we don't storm the old admiral in his cabin, he'll go to sleep over these prosy yarns that the governor-in-chief writes to him, and we'll have to whistle for our letters till midnight." The skipper's remark was interrupted by the opening of the outer door and the entrance of the butler. "Mr. Rogan wishes to see you, sir," said that worthy to the accountant. "I'll be with him in a minute," he replied, as he threw off his capote and proceeded to unwind himself as quickly as his multitudinous haps would permit. By this time Harry Somerville and Hamilton were busily occupied in a similar manner, while a running fire of question and answer, jesting remark and bantering reply, was kept up between the young men, from their various apartments and the hall. The doctor was cool, as usual, and impudent. He had a habit of walking up and down while he smoked, and was thus enabled to look in upon the inmates of the several sleeping-rooms, and make his remarks in a quiet, sarcastic manner, the galling effect of which was heightened by his habit of pausing at the end of every two or three words, to emit a few puffs of smoke. Having exhausted a good deal of small talk in this way, and having, moreover, finished his pipe, the doctor went to the stove to refill and relight. "What a deal of trouble you do take to make yourself comfortable!" said he to the skipper, who sat with his chair tilted on its hind legs, and a pillow at his back. "No harm in that, doctor," replied the skipper, with a smile. "No harm, certainly, but it looks uncommonly lazy-like." "What does?" "Why, putting a pillow at your back, to be sure." The doctor was a full-fleshed, muscular man, and owing to this fact it mattered little to him whether his chair happened to be an easy one or not. As the skipper sometimes remarked, he carried padding always about with him; he was, therefore, a little apt to sneer at the attempts of his brethren to render the ill-shaped, wooden-bottomed chairs, with which the hall was ornamented, bearable. "Well, doctor," said the skipper, "I cannot see how you make me out lazy. Surely it is not an evidence of laziness, my endeavouring to render these instruments of torture less tormenting? Seeking to be comfortable, if it does not inconvenience anyone else, is not laziness. Why, what _is_ comfort?" The skipper began to wax philosophical at this point, and took the pipe from his mouth as he gravely propounded the momentous question. "What _is_ comfort? If I go out to camp in the woods, and after turning in find a sharp stump sticking into my ribs on one side, and a pine root driving in the small of my back on the other side, is _that_ comfort? Certainly not. And if I get up, seize a hatchet, level the stump, cut away the root, and spread pine brush over the place, am I to be called lazy for doing so? Or if I sit down on a chair, and on trying to lean back to rest myself find that the stupid lubber who made it has so constructed it that four small hard points alone touch my person--two being at the hip-joints and two at the shoulder-blades; and if to relieve such physical agony I jump up and clap a pillow at my back, am I to be called lazy for doing _that_?" "What a glorious entry that would make in the log!" said the doctor, in a low tone, soliloquizingly, as if he made the remark merely for his own satisfaction, while he tapped the ashes out of his pipe. The skipper looked as if he meditated a sharp reply; but his intentions, whatever they might have been, were interrupted by the opening of the door, and the entrance of the accountant, bearing under his arm a packet of letters. A general rush was made upon him, and in a few minutes a dead silence reigned in the hall, broken only at intervals by an exclamation of surprise or pathos, as the inmates, in the retirement of their separate apartments, perused letters from friends in the interior of the country and friends at home: letters that were old--some of them bearing dates many months back--and travel-stained, but new and fresh and cheering, nevertheless, to their owners, as the clear bright sun in winter or the verdant leaves in spring. Harry Somerville's letters were numerous and long. He had several from friends in Red River, besides one or two from other parts of the Indian country, and one--it was very thick and heavy--that bore the post-marks of Britain. It was late that night ere the last candle was extinguished in the hall, and it was late too before Harry Somerville ceased to peruse and re-peruse the long letter from home, and found time or inclination to devote to his other correspondents. Among the rest was a letter from his old friend and companion, Charley Kennedy, which ran as follows:-- MY DEAR HARRY,--It really seems more than an age since I saw you. Your last epistle, written in the perturbation of mind consequent upon being doomed to spend another winter at York Fort, reached me only a few days ago, and filled me with pleasant recollections of other days. Oh! man, how much I wish that you were with me in this beautiful country! You are aware that I have been what they call "roughing it" since you and I parted on the shores of Lake Winnipeg; but, my dear fellow, the idea that most people have of what that phrase means is a very erroneous one indeed. "Roughing it," I certainly have been, inasmuch as I have been living on rough fare, associating with rough men, and sleeping on rough beds under the starry sky; but I assure you that all this is not half so rough upon the constitution as what they call leading an _easy life_, which is simply a life that makes a poor fellow stagnate, body and spirit, till the one comes to be unable to digest its food, and the other incompetent to jump at so much as half an idea. Anything but an easy life, to my mind. Ah! there's nothing like roughing it, Harry, my boy. Why, I am thriving on it--growing like a young walrus, eating like a Canadian voyageur, and sleeping like a top! This is a splendid country for sport, and as our _bourgeois_ [Footnote: The gentleman in charge of an establishment is always designated the bourgeois.] has taken it into his head that I am a good hand at making friends with the Indians, he has sent me out on several expeditions, and afforded me some famous opportunities of seeing life among the red-skins. There is a talk just now of establishing a new outpost in this district, so if I succeed in persuading the governor to let me accompany the party, I shall have something interesting to write about in my next letter. By the way, I wrote to you a month ago, by two Indians who said they were going to the missionary station at Norway House. Did you ever get it? There is a hunter here just now who goes by the name of Jacques Caradoc. He is a first-rater--can do anything, in a wild way, that lies within the power of mortal man, and is an inexhaustible anecdote-teller, in a quiet way. He and I have been out buffalo-hunting two or three times, and it would have done your heart good, Harry, my dear boy, to have seen us scouring over the prairie together on two big-boned Indian horses--regular trained buffalo-runners, that didn't need the spur to urge, nor the rein to guide them, when once they caught sight of the black cattle, and kept a sharp look-out for badger-holes, just as if they had been reasonable creatures. The first time I went out I had several rather ugly falls, owing to my inexperience. The fact is, that if a man has never run buffaloes before, he's sure to get one or two upsets, no matter how good a horseman he may be. And that monster Jacques, although he's the best fellow I ever met with for a hunting companion, always took occasion to grin at my mishaps, and gravely to read me a lecture to the effect that they were all owing to my own clumsiness or stupidity; which, you will acknowledge, was not calculated to restore my equanimity. The very first run we had cost me the entire skin of my nose, and converted that feature into a superb Roman for the next three weeks. It happened thus. Jacques and I were riding over the prairies in search of buffaloes. The place was interspersed with sundry knolls covered with trees, slips and belts of woodland, with ponds scattered among them, and open sweeps of the plain here and there; altogether a delightful country to ride through. It was a clear early morning, so that our horses were fresh and full of spirit. They knew, as well as we ourselves did, what we were out for, and it was no easy matter to restrain them. The one I rode was a great long-legged beast, as like as possible to that abominable kangaroo that nearly killed me at Red River; as for Jacques, he was mounted on a first-rate charger. I don't know how it is, but somehow or other everything about Jacques, or belonging to him, or in the remotest degree connected with him, is always first-rate! He generally owns a first-rate horse, and if he happens by any unlucky chance to be compelled to mount a bad one, it immediately becomes another animal. He seems to infuse some of his own wonderful spirit into it! Well, as Jacques and I curvetted along, skirting the low bushes at the edge of a wood, out burst a whole herd of buffaloes. Bang went Jacques's gun, almost before I had winked to make sure that I saw rightly, and down fell the fattest of them all, while the rest tossed up their tails, heels, and heads in one grand whirl of indignant amazement, and scoured away like the wind. In a moment our horses were at full stretch after them, on their _own_ account entirely, and without any reference to _us_. When I recovered my self-possession a little, I threw forward my gun and fired; but owing to my endeavouring to hold the reins at the same time, I nearly blew off one of my horse's ears, and only knocked up the dust about six yards ahead of us! Of course Jacques could not let this pass unnoticed. He was sitting quietly loading his gun, as cool as a cucumber, while his horse was dashing forward at full stretch, with the reins hanging loosely on his neck. "Ah, Mister Charles," said he, with the least possible grin on his leathern visage, "that was not well done. You should never hold the reins when you fire, nor try to put the gun to your shoulder. It a'n't needful. The beast'll look arter itself, if it's a riglar buffalo-runner; any ways holdin' the reins is of no manner of use. I once know'd a gentleman that came out here to see the buffalo-huntin'. He was a good enough shot in his way, an' a first-rate rider. But he was full o' queer notions: he _would_ load his gun with the ramrod in the riglar way, instead o' doin' as we do, tumblin' in a drop powder, spittin' a ball out your mouth down the muzzle, and hittin' the stock on the pommel of the saddle to send it home. And he had them miserable things--the _somethin'_ 'cussion-caps, and used to fiddle away with them while we were knockin' over the cattle in all directions. Moreover, he had a notion that it was altogether wrong to let go his reins even for a moment, and so, what between the ramrod and the 'cussion-caps and the reins, he was worse than the greenest clerk that ever came to the country. He gave it up in despair at last, after lamin' two horses, and finished off by runnin' after a big bull, that turned on him all of a suddent, crammed its head and horns into the side of his horse, and sent the poor fellow head over heels on the green grass. He wasn't much the worse for it, but his fine double-barrelled gun was twisted into a shape that would almost have puzzled an Injin to tell what it was." Well, Harry, all the time that Jacques was telling me this we were gaining on the buffaloes, and at last we got quite close to them, and as luck would have it, the very thing that happened to the amateur sportsman happened to me. I went madly after a big bull in spite of Jacques's remonstrances, and just as I got alongside of him up went his tail (a sure sign that his anger was roused), and round he came, head to the front, stiff as a rock; my poor charger's chest went right between his horns, and, as a matter of course, I continued the race upon _nothing_, head first, for a distance of about thirty yards, and brought up on the bridge of my nose. My poor dear father used to say I was a bull-headed rascal, and, upon my word, I believe he was more literally correct than he imagined; for although I fell with a fearful crash, head first, on the hard plain, I rose up immediately, and in a few minutes was able to resume the chase again. My horse was equally fortunate, for although thus brought to a sudden stand while at full gallop, he wheeled about, gave a contemptuous flourish with his heels, and cantered after Jacques, who soon caught him again. My head bothered me a good deal for some time after this accident, and swelled up till my eyes became almost undistinguishable; but a few weeks put me all right again. And who do you think this man Jacques is? You'd never guess. He's the trapper whom Redfeather told us of long ago, and whose wife was killed by the Indians. He and Redfeather have met, and are very fond of each other. How often in the midst of these wild excursions have my thoughts wandered to you, Harry! The fellows I meet with here are all kind-hearted, merry companions, but none like yourself. I sometimes say to Jacques, when we become communicative to each other beside the camp-fire, that my earthly felicity would be perfect if I had Harry Somerville here; and then I think of Kate, my sweet, loving sister Kate, and feel that, even although I had you with me, there would still be something wanting to make things perfect. Talking of Kate, by the way, I have received a letter from her, the first sheet of which, as it speaks of mutual Red River friends, I herewith enclose. Pray keep it safe, and return per first opportunity. We've loads of furs here and plenty of deerstalking, not to mention galloping on horseback on the plains in summer and dog-sledging in the winter. Alas! my poor friend, I fear that it is rather selfish in me to write so feelingly about my agreeable circumstances, when I know you are slowly dragging out your existence at that melancholy place York Fort; but believe me, I sympathize with you, and I hope earnestly that you will soon be appointed to more genial scenes. I have much, very much, to tell you yet, but am compelled to reserve it for a future epistle, as the packet which is to convey this is on the point of being closed. Adieu, my dear Harry, and wherever you may happen to pitch your tent, always bear in kindly remembrance your old friend, CHARLES KENNEDY. The letter was finished, but Harry did not cease to hold intercourse with his friend. With his head resting on his two hands, and his elbows on the table, he sat long, silently gazing on the signature, while his mind revelled in the past, the present, and the future. He bounded over the wilderness that lay between him and the beautiful plains of the Saskatchewan. He seized Charley round the neck, and hugged and wrestled with him as in days of yore. He mounted an imaginary charger, and swept across the plains along with him; listened to anecdotes innumerable from Jacques, attacked thousands of buffaloes, singled out scores of wild bulls, pitched over horses' heads and alighted precisely on the bridge of his nose, always in close proximity to his old friend. Gradually his mind returned to its prison-house, and his eye fell on Kate's letter, which he picked up and began to read. It ran thus:-- MY DEAR, DEAR, DARLING CHARLEY,--I cannot tell you how much my heart has yearned to see you, or hear from you, for many long, long months past. Your last delightful letter, which I treasure up as the most precious object I possess, has indeed explained to me how utterly impossible it was to have written a day sooner than you did; but that does not comfort me a bit, or make those weary packets more rapid and frequent in their movements, or the time that passes between the periods of hearing from you less dreary and anxious. God bless and protect you, my darling, in the midst of all the dangers that surround you. But I did not intend to begin this letter by murmuring, so pray forgive me, and I shall try to atone for it by giving you a minute account of everybody here about whom you are interested. Our beloved father and mother, I am thankful to say, are quite well. Papa has taken more than ever to smoking since you went away. He is seldom out of the summer-house in the garden now, where I very frequently go, and spend hours together in reading to and talking with him. He very often speaks of you, and I am certain that he misses you far more than we expected, although I think he cannot miss you nearly so much as I do. For some weeks past, indeed ever since we got your last letter, papa was engaged all the forenoon in some mysterious work, for he used to lock himself up in the summer-house--a thing he never did before. One day I went there at my usual time and instead of having to wait till he should unlock the door, I found it already open, and entered the room, which was so full of smoke that I could hardly see. I found papa writing at a small table, and the moment he heard my footstep he jumped up with a fierce frown, and shouted, "Who's there?" in that terrible voice that he used to speak in long ago when angry with his men, but which he has almost quite given up for some time past. He never speaks to me, as you know very well, but in the kindest tones, so you may imagine what a dreadful fright I got for a moment; but it was only for a moment, because the instant he saw that it was me his dear face changed, and he folded me in his arms, saying, "Ah, Kate, forgive me, my darling! I did not know it was you, and I thought I had locked the door, and was angry at being so unceremoniously interrupted." He then told me he was just finishing a letter of advice to you, and going up to the table, pushed the papers hurriedly into a drawer. As he did so, I guessed what had been his mysterious occupation, for he seemed to have covered _quires_ of paper with the closest writing. Ah, Charley, you're a lucky fellow to be able to extort such long letters from our dear father. You know how difficult he finds it to write even the shortest note, and you remember his old favourite expression, "I would rather skin a wild buffalo bull alive than write a long letter." He deserves long ones in return, Charley; but I need not urge you on that score--you are an excellent correspondent. Mamma is able to go out every day now for a drive in the prairie. She was confined to the house for nearly three weeks last month, with some sort of illness that the doctor did not seem to understand, and at one time I was much frightened, and very, very anxious about her, she became so weak. It would have made your heart glad to have seen the tender way in which papa nursed her through the illness. I had fancied that he was the very last man in the world to make a sick-nurse, so bold and quick in his movements, and with such a loud, gruff voice--for it _is_ gruff, although very sweet at the same time. But the moment he began to tend mamma he spoke more softly even than dear Mr. Addison does, and he began to walk about the house on tiptoe, and persevered so long in this latter that all his moccasins began to be worn out at the toes, while the heels remained quite strong. I begged of him often not to take so much trouble, as _I_ was naturally the proper nurse for mamma; but he wouldn't hear of it, and insisted on carrying breakfast, dinner, and tea to her, besides giving her all her medicine. He was for ever making mistakes, however, much to his own sorrow, the darling man; and I had to watch him pretty closely, for more than once he has been on the point of giving mamma a glass of laudanum in mistake for a glass of port wine. I was a good deal frightened for him at first, as, before he became accustomed to the work, he tumbled over the chairs and tripped on the carpets while carrying trays with dinners and breakfasts, till I thought he would really injure himself at last, and then he was so terribly angry with himself at making such a noise and breaking the dishes--I think he has broken nearly an entire dinner and tea set of crockery. Poor George, the cook, has suffered most from these mishaps--for you know that dear papa cannot get angry without letting a _little_ of it out upon somebody; and whenever he broke a dish or let a tray fall, he used to rush into the kitchen, shake his fist in George's face, and ask him, in a fierce voice, what he meant by it. But he always got better in a few seconds, and finished off by telling him never to mind, that he was a good servant on the whole, and he wouldn't say any more about it just now, but he had better look sharp out and not do it again. I must say, in praise of George, that on such occasions he looked very sorry indeed, and said he hoped that he would always do his best to give him satisfaction. This was only proper in him, for he ought to be very thankful that our father restrains his anger so much; for you know he was rather violent _once_, and you've no idea, Charley, how great a restraint he now lays on himself. He seems to me quite like a lamb, and I am beginning to feel somehow as if we had been mistaken, and that he never was a passionate man at all. I think it is partly owing to dear Mr. Addison, who visits us very frequently now, and papa and he are often shut up together for many hours in the smoking-house. I was sure that papa would soon come to like him, for his religion is so free from everything like severity or affected solemnity. The cook, and Rosa, and my dog that you named Twist, are all quite well. The last has grown into a very large and beautiful animal, something like the stag-hound in the picture-book we used to study together long ago. He is exceedingly fond of me, and I feel him to be quite a protector. The cocks and hens, the cow and the old mare, are also in perfect health; so now, having told you a good deal about ourselves, I will give you a short account of the doings in the colony. First of all, your old friend Mr. Kipples is still alive and well, and so are all our old companions in the school. One or two of the latter have left, and young Naysmith has joined the Company's service. Betty Peters comes very often to see us, and she always asks for you with great earnestness. I think you have stolen the old woman's heart, Charley, for she speaks of you with great affection. Old Mr. Seaforth is still as vigorous as ever, dashing about the settlement on a high-mettled steed, just as if he were one of the youngest men in the colony. He nearly poisoned himself, poor man, a month ago, by taking a dose of some kind of medicine by mistake. I did not hear what it was, but I am told that the treatment was rather severe. Fortunately the doctor happened to be at home when he was sent for, else our old friend would, I fear, have died. As it was, the doctor cured him with great difficulty. He first gave him an emetic, then put mustard blisters to the soles of his feet, and afterwards lifted him into one of his own carts, without springs, in which he drove him for a long time over all the ploughed fields in the neighbourhood. If this is not an exaggerated account, Mr. Seaforth is certainly made of sterner stuff than most men. I was told a funny anecdote of him a few days ago, which I am sure you have never heard, otherwise you would have told it to me, for there used to be no secrets between us, Charley--alas! I have no one to confide in or advise with now that you are gone. You have often heard of the great flood; not Noah's one, but the flood that nearly swept away our settlement and did so much damage before you and I were born. Well, you recollect that people used to tell of the way in which the river rose after the breaking up of the ice, and how it soon overflowed all the low points, sweeping off everything in its course. Old Mr. Seaforth's house stood at that time on the little point, just beyond the curve of the river, at the foot of which our own house stands, and as the river continued to rise, Mr. Seaforth went about actively securing his property. At first he only thought of his boat and canoes, which, with the help of his son Peter and a Canadian, who happened at the time to be employed about the place, he dragged up and secured to an iron staple in the side of his house. Soon, however, he found that the danger was greater than at first he imagined. The point became completely covered with water, which brought down great numbers of _half_-drowned and _quite_-drowned cattle, pigs, and poultry, and stranded them at the garden fence, so that in a short time poor Mr. Seaforth could scarcely move about his overcrowded domains. On seeing this, he drove his own cattle to the highest land in his neighbourhood and hastened back to the house, intending to carry as much of the furniture as possible to the same place. But during his short absence the river had risen so rapidly that he was obliged to give up all thoughts of this, and think only of securing a few of his valuables. The bit of land round his dwelling was so thickly covered with the poor cows, sheep, and other animals, that he could scarcely make his way to the house, and you may fancy his consternation on reaching it to find that the water was more than knee-deep round the walls, while a few of the cows and a whole herd of pigs had burst open the door (no doubt accidentally) and coolly entered the dining-room, where they stood with drooping heads, very wet, and apparently very miserable. The Canadian was busy at the back of the house, loading the boat and canoe with everything he could lay hands on, and was not aware of the foreign invasion in front. Mr. Seaforth cared little for this, however, and began to collect all the things he held most valuable, and threw them to the man, who stowed them away in the boat. Peter had been left in charge of the cattle, so they had to work hard. While thus employed the water continued to rise with fearful rapidity, and rushed against the house like a mill-race, so that it soon became evident that the whole would ere long be swept away. Just as they finished loading the boat and canoes, the staple which held them gave way; in a moment they were swept into the middle of the river, and carried out of sight. The Canadian was in the boat at the time the staple broke, so that Mr. Seaforth was now left in a dwelling that bid fair to emulate Noah's ark in an hour or two, without a chance of escape, and with no better company than five black oxen, in the dining-room, besides three sheep that were now scarcely able to keep their heads above water, and three little pigs that were already drowned. The poor old man did his best to push out the intruders, but only succeeded in ejecting two sheep and an ox. All the others positively refused to go, so he was fain to let them stay. By shutting the outer door he succeeded in keeping out a great deal of water. Then he waded into the parlour, where he found some more little pigs, floating about and quite dead. Two, however, more adventurous than their comrades, had saved their lives by mounting first on a chair and then upon the table, where they were comfortably seated, gazing languidly at their mother, a very heavy fat sow, which sat, with what seemed an expression of settled despair, on the sofa. In a fit of wrath, Mr. Seaforth seized the young pigs and tossed them out of the window; whereupon the old one jumped down, and half-walking, half-swimming, made her way to her companions in the dining-room. The old gentleman now ascended to the garret, where from a small window he looked out upon the scene of devastation. His chief anxiety was about the foundation of the house, which, being made of a wooden framework, like almost all the others in the colony, would certainly float if the water rose much higher. His fears were better founded than the house. As he looked up the river, which had by this time overflowed all its banks, and was spreading over the plains, he saw a fresh burst of water coming down, which, when it dashed against his dwelling, forced it about two yards from its foundation. Suddenly he remembered that there were a large anchor and chain in the kitchen, both of which he had brought there one day, to serve as a sort of anvil when he wanted to do some blacksmith work. Hastening down, he fastened one end of the chain to the sofa, and cast the anchor out of the window. A few minutes afterwards another rush of water struck the building, which yielded to pressure, and swung slowly down until the anchor arrested its further progress. This was only for a few seconds, however. The chain was a slight one. It snapped, and the house swept majestically down the stream, while its terrified owner scrambled to the roof, which he found already in possession of his favourite cat. Here he had a clear view of his situation. The plains were converted into a lake, above whose surface rose trees and houses, several of which, like his own, were floating on the stream or stranded among shallows. Settlers were rowing about in boats and canoes in all directions, but although some of them noticed the poor man sitting beside his cat on the housetop, they were either too far off or had no time to render him assistance. For two days nothing was heard of old Mr. Seaforth. Indeed, the settlers had too much to do in saving themselves and their families to think of others; and it was not until the third day that people began to inquire about him. His son Peter had taken a canoe and made diligent search in all directions, but although he found the house sticking on a shallow point, neither his father nor the cat was on or in it. At last he was brought to the island, on which nearly half the colony had collected, by an Indian who had passed the house, and brought him away in his canoe, along with the old cat. Is he not a wonderful man, to have come through so much in his old age? and he is still so active and hearty! Mr. Swan of the mill is dead. He died of fever last week. Poor old Mr. Cordon is also gone. His end was very sad. About a month ago he ordered his horse and rode off, intending to visit Fort Garry. At the turn of the road, just above Grant's house, the horse suddenly swerved, and its rider was thrown to the ground. He did not live more than half-an-hour after it. Alas! how very sad to see a man, after escaping all the countless dangers of a long life in the woods (and his, you know, was a very adventurous one), thus cut violently down in his old age. O Charley, how little we know what is before us! How needful to have our peace made with God through Jesus Christ, so that we may be ready at any moment when our Father calls us away. There are many events of great interest that have occurred here since you left. You will be glad to hear the Jane Patterson is married to our excellent friend Mr. Cameron, who has taken up a store near to us, and intends to run a boat to York Fort next summer. There has been another marriage here which will cause you astonishment at least, if not pleasure. Old Mr. Peters has married Marie Peltier! What _could_ have possessed her to take such a husband? I cannot understand it. Just think of her, Charley, a girl of eighteen, with a husband of seventy-five!-- * * * * * * * At this point the writing, which was very close and very small, terminated. Harry laid it down with a deep sigh, wishing much that Charley had thought it advisable to send him the second sheet also. As wishes and regrets on this point were equally unavailing, he endeavoured to continue it in imagination, and was soon as deeply absorbed in following Kate through the well-remembered scenes of Red River as he had been, a short time before, in roaming with her brother over the wide prairies of Saskatchewan. The increasing cold, however soon warned him that the night was far spent. He rose and went to the stove; but the fire had gone out, and the almost irresistible frost of these regions was already cooling everything in Bachelors' Hall down to the freezing-point. All his companions had put out their candles, and were busy, doubtless, dreaming of the friends whose letters had struck and reawakened the long-dormant chords that used to echo to the tones and scenes of other days. With a slight shiver, Harry returned to his apartment, and kneeled to thank God for protecting and preserving his absent friends, and especially for sending him "good news from a far land." The letter with the British post-marks on it was placed under his pillow. It occupied his waking and sleeping thoughts that night, and it was the first thing he thought of and reread on the following morning, and for many mornings afterwards. Only those can fully estimate the value of such letters who live in distant lands, where letters are few--very, very few--and far between. CHAPTER XXIII. Changes--Harry and Hamilton find that variety is indeed charming--The latter astonishes the former considerably. Three months passed away, but the snow still lay deep and white and undiminished around York Fort. Winter--cold, silent, unyielding winter--still drew its white mantle closely round the lonely dwelling of the fur-traders of the Far North. Icicles hung, as they had done for months before, from the eaves of every house, from the tall black scaffold on which the great bell hung, and from the still taller erection that had been put up as an outlook for "_the ship_" in summer. At the present time it commanded a bleak view of the frozen sea. Snow covered every housetop, and hung in ponderous masses from their edges, as if it were about to fall; but it never fell--it hung there in the same position day after day, unmelted, unchanged. Snow covered the whole land, and the frozen river, the swamps, the sea-beach, and the sea itself, as far as the eye could reach, seemed like a pure white carpet. Snow lined the upper edge of every paling, filled up the key-hole of every door, embanked about half of every window, stuck in little knobs on the top of every picket, and clung in masses on every drooping branch of the pine trees in the forest. Frost--sharp, biting frost--solidified, surrounded, and pervaded everything. Mercury was congealed by it; vapour was condensed by it; iron was cooled by it until it could scarcely be touched without (as the men expressed it) "burning" the fingers. The water-jugs in Bachelors' Hall and the water-buckets were frozen by it, nearly to the bottom; though there was a good stove there, and the Hall was not _usually_ a cold place by any means. The breath of the inhabitants was congealed by it on the window-panes, until they had become coated with ice an inch thick. The breath of the men was rendered white and opaque by it, as they panted and hurried to and fro about their ordinary avocations; beating their gloved hands together, and stamping their well-wrapped-up feet on the hard-beaten snow to keep them warm. Old Bobin's nose seemed to be entirely shrivelled up into his face by it, as he drove his ox-cart to the river to fetch his daily supply of water. The only things that were not affected by it were the fires, which crackled and roared as if in laughter, and twisted and leaped as if in uncontrollable glee at the bare idea of John Frost acquiring, by any artifice whatever, the smallest possible influence over _them_! Three months had elapsed, but frost and snow, instead of abating, had gone on increasing and intensifying, deepening and extending its work, and riveting its chains. Winter--cold, silent, unyielding winter--still reigned at York Fort, as though it had made it a _sine qua non_ of its existence at all that it should reign there for ever! But although everything was thus wintry and cold, it was by no means cheerless or dreary. A bright sun shone in the blue heavens with an intenseness of brilliancy that was quite dazzling to the eyes, that elated the spirits, and caused man and beast to tread with a more elastic step than usual. Although the sun looked down upon the scene with an unclouded face, and found a mirror in every icicle and in every gem of hoar-frost with which the objects of nature were loaded, there was, however, no perceptible heat in his rays. They fell on the white earth with all the brightness of midsummer, but they fell powerless as moonbeams in the dead of winter. On the frozen river, just in front of the gate of the fort, a group of men and dogs were assembled. The dogs were four in number, harnessed to a small flat sledge of the slender kind used by Indians to drag their furs and provisions over the snow. The group of men was composed of Mr. Rogan and the inmates of Bachelors' Hall, one or two men who happened to be engaged there at the time in cutting a new water-hole in the ice, and an Indian, who, to judge from his carefully-adjusted costume, the snow-shoes on his feet, and the short whip in his hand, was the driver of the sledge, and was about to start on a journey. Harry Somerville and young Hamilton were also wrapped up more carefully than usual. "Good-bye, then, good-bye," said Mr. Rogan, advancing towards the Indian, who stood beside the leading dog, ready to start. "Take care of our young friends; they've not had much experience in travelling yet; and don't over drive your dogs. Treat them well, and they'll do more work. They're like men in that respect." Mr. Rogan shook the Indian by the hand, and the latter immediately flourished the whip and gave a shout, which the dogs no sooner heard than they uttered a simultaneous yell, sprang forward with a jerk, and scampered up the river, closely followed by their dark-skinned driver. "Now, lads, farewell," said the old gentleman, turning with a kindly smile to our two friends, who were shaking hands for the last time with their comrades. "I'm sorry you're going to leave us, my boys. You've done your duty well while here, and I would willingly have kept you a little longer with me, but our governor wills it otherwise. However, I trust that you'll be happy wherever you may be sent. Don't forget to write to me. God bless you. Farewell." Mr. Rogan shook them heartily by the hand, turned short round, and walked slowly up to his house, with an expression of sadness on his mild face; while Harry and Hamilton, having once more waved farewell to their friends, marched up the river side by side in silence. They followed the track left by the dog-sledge, which guided them with unerring certainty, although their Indian leader and his team were out of sight in advance. A week previous to this time an Indian arrived from the interior, bearing a letter from headquarters, which directed that Messrs. Somerville and Hamilton should be forthwith despatched on snow-shoes to Norway House. As this establishment is about three hundred miles from the sea-coast, the order involved a journey of nearly two weeks' duration through a country that was utterly destitute of inhabitants. On receiving a command from Mr. Rogan to prepare for an early start, Harry retired precipitately to his own room, and there, after cutting unheard of capers, and giving vent to sudden, incomprehensible shouts, all indicative of the highest state of delight, he condescended to tell his companions of his good fortune, and set about preparations without delay. Hamilton, on the contrary, gave his usual quiet smile on being informed of his destination, and returning somewhat pensively to Bachelors' Hall, proceeded leisurely to make the necessary arrangements for departure. As the time drew on, however, a perpetual flush on his countenance, and an unusual brilliancy about his eye, showed that he was not quite insensible to the pleasures of a change, and relished the idea more than he got credit for. The Indian who had brought the letter was ordered to hold himself in readiness to retrace his steps, and conduct the young men through the woods to Norway House, where they were to await further orders. A few days later the three travellers, as already related, set out on their journey. After walking a mile up the river, they passed a point of land which shut out the fort from view. Here they paused to take a last look, and then pressed forward in silence, the thoughts of each being busy with mingled recollections of their late home and anticipations of the future. After an hour's sharp walking they came in sight of the guide, and slackened their pace. "Well, Hamilton," said Harry, throwing off his reverie with a deep sigh, "are you glad to leave York Fort, or sorry?" "Glad, undoubtedly," replied Hamilton, "but sorry to part from our old companions there. I had no idea, Harry, that I loved them all so much. I feel as if I should be glad were the order for us to leave them countermanded even now." "That's the very thought," said Harry, "that was passing through my own brain when I spoke to you. Yet somehow I think I should feel uncommonly sorry after all if we were really sent back. There's a queer contradiction, Hammy: we're sorry and happy at the same time! If I were the skipper now, I would found a philosophical argument upon it." "Which the skipper would carry on with untiring vigour," said Hamilton, smiling, "and afterwards make an entry of in his log. But I think, Harry, that to feel the emotion of sorrow and joy at the same time is not such a contradiction as it at first appears." "Perhaps not," replied Harry; "but it seems very contradictory to _me_, and yet it's an evident fact, for I'm _very_ sorry to leave _them_, and I'm _very_ happy to have you for my companion here." "So am I, so am I," said the other heartily. "I would rather travel with you, Harry, than with any of our late companions, although I like them all very much." The two friends had grown, almost imperceptibly, in each other's esteem during their residence under the same roof, more than either of them would have believed possible. The gay, reckless hilarity of the one did not at first accord with the quiet gravity and, as his comrades styled it, _softness_ of the other. But character is frequently misjudged at first sight, and sometimes men who on a first acquaintance have felt repelled from each other have, on coming to know each other better, discovered traits and good qualities that ere long formed enduring bonds of sympathy, and have learned to love those whom at first they felt disposed to dislike or despise. Thus Harry soon came to know that what he at first thought and, along with his companions, called softness in Hamilton in reality gentleness of disposition and thorough good-nature, united in one who happened to be utterly unacquainted with the _knowing_ ways of this peculiarly sharp and clever world, while in the course of time new qualities showed themselves in a quiet, unobtrusive way that won upon his affections and raised his esteem. On the other hand, Hamilton found that although Harry was volatile, and possessed of an irresistible tendency to fun and mischief, he never by any chance gave way to anger, or allowed malice to enter into his practical jokes. Indeed, he often observed him to restrain his natural tendencies when they were at all likely to give pain, though Harry never dreamed that such efforts were known to any one but himself. Besides this, Harry was peculiarly _unselfish_, and when a man is possessed of this inestimable disposition, he is, not _quite_ but _very nearly_, perfect! After another pause, during which the party had left the open river and directed their course through the woods, where the depth of the snow obliged them to tread in each other's footsteps, Harry resumed the conversation. "You have not yet told me, by-the-by, what old Mr. Rogan said to you just before we started. Did he give you any hint as to where you might be sent to after reaching Norway House?" "No; he merely said he knew that clerks were wanted both for Mackenzie River and the Saskatchewan districts, but he did not know which I was destined for." "Hum! exactly what he said to me, with the slight addition that he strongly suspected that Mackenzie River would be my doom. Are you aware, Hammy my boy, that the Saskatchewan district is a sort of terrestrial paradise, and Mackenzie River equivalent to Botany Bay?" "I have heard as much during our conversations in Bachelors' Hall, but--Stop a bit, Harry; these snow-shoe lines of mine have got loosened with tearing through this deep snow and these shockingly thick bushes. There--they are right now; go on. I was going to say that I don't--oh!" This last exclamation was elicited from Hamilton by a sharp blow caused by a branch which, catching on part of Harry's dress as he plodded on in front, suddenly rebounded and struck him across the face. This is of common occurrence in travelling through the woods, especially to those who from inexperience walk too closely on the heels of their companions. "What's wrong now, Hammy?" inquired his friend, looking over his shoulder. "Oh, nothing worth mentioning--rather a sharp blow from a branch, that's all." "Well, proceed; you've interrupted yourself twice in what you were going to say. Perhaps it'll come out if you try it a third time." "I was merely going to say that I don't much care where I am sent to, so long as it is not to an outpost where I shall be all alone." "All very well, my friend; but seeing that outposts are, in comparison with principal forts, about a hundred to one, your chance of avoiding them is rather slight. However, our youth and want of experience is in our favour, as they like to send men who have seen some service to outposts. But I fear that, with such brilliant characters as you and I, Hammy, youth will only be an additional recommendation, and inexperience won't last long.--Hollo! what's going on yonder?" Harry pointed as he spoke to an open spot in the woods about a quarter of a mile in advance, where a dark object was seen lying on the snow, writhing about, now coiling into a lump, and anon extending itself like a huge snake in agony. As the two friends looked, a prolonged howl floated towards them. "Something wrong with the dogs, I declare!" cried Harry. "No doubt of it," replied his friend, hurrying forward, as they saw their Indian guide rise from the ground and flourish his whip energetically, while the howls rapidly increased. A few minutes brought them to the scene of action, where they found the dogs engaged in a fight among themselves, and the driver, in a state of vehement passion, alternately belabouring and trying to separate them. Dogs in these regions, like the dogs of all other regions, we suppose, are very much addicted to fighting--a propensity which becomes extremely unpleasant if indulged while the animals are in harness, as they then become peculiarly savage, probably from their being unable, like an ill-assorted pair in wedlock, to cut or break the ties that bind them. Moreover, they twist the traces into such an ingeniously complicated mass that it renders disentanglement almost impossible, even after exhaustion has reduced them to obedience. Besides this, they are so absorbed in worrying each other that for the time they are utterly regardless of their driver's lash or voice. This naturally makes the driver angry, and sometimes irascible men practise shameful cruelties on the poor dogs. When the two friends came up they found the Indian glaring at the animals, as they fought and writhed in the snow, with every lineament of his swarthy face distorted with passion, and panting from his late exertions. Suddenly he threw himself on the dogs again, and lashed them furiously with the whip. Finding that this had no effect, he twined the lash round his hand, and struck them violently over their heads and snouts with the handle; then falling down on his knees, he caught the most savage of the animals by the throat, and seizing its nose between his teeth almost bit it off. The appalling yell that followed this cruel act seemed to subdue the dogs, for they ceased to fight, and crouched, whining, in the snow. With a bound like a tiger young Hamilton sprang upon the guide, and seizing him by the throat, hurled him violently to the ground. "Scoundrel!" he cried, standing over the crestfallen Indian with flushed face and flashing eyes, "how dare you thus treat the creatures of God?" The young man would have spoken more, but his indignation was so fierce that it could not find vent in words. For a moment he raised his fist, as if he meditated dashing the Indian again to the ground as he slowly arose; then, as if changing his mind, he seized him by the back of the neck, thrust him towards the panting dogs, and stood in silence over him with the whip grasped firmly in his hand, while he disentangled the traces. This accomplished, Hamilton ordered him in a voice of suppressed anger to "go forward"--an order which the cowed guide promptly obeyed, and in a few minutes more the two friends were again alone. "Hamilton, my boy," exclaimed Harry, who up to this moment seemed to have been petrified, "you have perfectly amazed me! I'm utterly bewildered." "Indeed, I fear that I have been very violent," said Hamilton, blushing deeply. "Violent!" exclaimed his friend. "Why, man, I've completely mistaken your character. I--I--" "I hope not, Harry," said Hamilton, in a subdued tone; "I hope not. Believe me, I am not naturally violent. I should be very sorry were you to think so. Indeed, I never felt thus before, and now that it is over I am amazed at myself; but surely you'll admit that there was great provocation. Such terrible cruelty to--" "My dear fellow, you quite misunderstand me. I'm amazed at your pluck, your energy. _Soft_ indeed! we have been most egregiously mistaken. Provocation! I just think you had; my only sorrow is that you didn't give him a little more." "Come, come, Harry; I see you would be as cruel to him as he was to the poor dog. But let us press forward; it is already growing dark, and we must not let the fellow out of sight ahead of us." "_Allons donc_," cried Harry; and hastening their steps, they travelled silently and rapidly among the stems of the trees, while the shades of night gathered slowly round them. That night the three travellers encamped in the snow under the shelter of a spreading pine. The encampment was formed almost exactly in a similar manner to that in which they had slept on the night of their exploits at North River. They talked less, however, than on that occasion, and slept more soundly. Before retiring to rest, and while Harry was extended, half asleep and half awake, on his green blanket, enjoying the delightful repose that follows a hard day's march and a good supper, Hamilton drew near to the Indian, who sat sullenly smoking a little apart from the young men. Sitting down beside him, he administered a long rebuke in a low, grave tone of voice. Like rebukes generally, it had the effect of making the visage of the Indian still more sullen. But the young man did not appear to notice this; he still continued to talk. As he went on, the look grew less and less sullen, until it faded entirely away, and was succeeded by that grave, quiet, respectful expression peculiar to the face of the North American Indian. Day succeeded day, night followed night, and still found them plodding laboriously through the weary waste of snow, or encamping under the trees of the forest. The two friends went through all the varied stages of experience which are included in what is called "becoming used to the work," which is sometimes a modified meaning of the expression "used up." They started with a degree of vigour that one would have thought no amount of hard work could possibly abate. They became aware of the melancholy fact that fatigue unstrings the youngest and toughest sinews. They pressed on, however, from stern necessity, and found, to their delight, that young muscles recover their elasticity even in the midst of severe exertion. They still pressed on, and discovered, to their dismay, that this recovery was only temporary, and that the second state of exhaustion was infinitely worse than the first. Still they pressed on, and raised blisters on their feet and toes that caused them to limp wofully; then they learned that blisters break and take a long time to heal, and are much worse to walk upon during the healing process than they are at the commencement--at which time they innocently fancied that nothing could be more dreadful. Still they pressed on day after day, and found to their satisfaction that such things can be endured and overcome; that feet and toes can become hard like leather, that muscles can grow tough as india-rubber, and that spirits and energy can attain to a pitch of endurance which nothing within the compass of a day's march can by any possibility overcome. They found also, from experience, that their conversation changed, both in manner and subject, as they progressed on their journey. At first they conversed frequently and on various topics, chiefly on the probability of their being sent to pleasant places or the reverse. Then they spoke less frequently, and growled occasionally, as they advanced in the painful process of training. After that, as they began to get hardy, they talked of the trees, the snow, the ice, the tracks of wild animals they happened to cross, and the objects of nature generally that came under their observation. Then as their muscles hardened and their sinews grew tough, and the day's march at length became first a matter of indifference, and ultimately an absolute pleasure, they chatted cheerfully on any and every subject, or sang occasionally, when the sun shone out and cast an _appearance_ of warmth across their path. Thus onward they pressed, without halt or stay, day after day, through wood and brake, over river and lake, on ice and on snow, for miles and miles together, through the great, uninhabited, frozen wilderness. CHAPTER XXIV. Hopes and fears--An unexpected meeting--Philosophical talk between the hunter and the parson. On arriving at Norway House, Harry Somerville and his friend Hamilton found that they were to remain at that establishment during an indefinite period of time, until it should please those in whose hands their ultimate destination lay to direct them how and where to proceed. This was an unlooked-for trial of their patience; but after the first exclamation of disappointment, they made up their minds, like wise men, to think no more about it, but bide their time, and make the most of present circumstances. "You see," remarked Hamilton, as the two friends, after having had an audience of the gentleman in charge of the establishment, sauntered towards the rocks that overhang the margin of Playgreen Lake--"you see, it is of no use to fret about what we cannot possibly help. Nobody within three hundred miles of us knows where we are destined to spend next winter. Perhaps orders may come in a couple of weeks, perhaps in a couple of months, but they will certainly come at last. Anyhow, it is of no use thinking about it, so we had better forget it, and make the best of things as we find them." "Ah!" exclaimed Harry, "your advice is, that we should by all means be happy, and if we can't be happy, be as happy as we can. Is that it?" "Just so. That's it exactly." "Ho! But then you see, Hammy, you're a philosopher and I'm not, and that makes all the difference. I'm not given to anticipating evil, but I cannot help dreading that they will send me to some lonely, swampy, out-of-the-way hole, where there will be no society, no shooting, no riding, no work even to speak of--nothing, in fact, but the miserable satisfaction of being styled 'bourgeois' by five or six men, wretched outcasts like myself." "Come, Harry," cried Hamilton; "you are taking the very worst view of it. There certainly are plenty of such outposts in the country, but you know very well that young fellows like you are seldom sent to such places." "I don't know that," interrupted Harry. "There's young M'Andrew: he was sent to an outpost up the Mackenzie his second year in the service, where he was all but starved, and had to live for about two weeks on boiled parchment. Then there's poor Forrester: he was shipped off to a place--the name of which I never could remember--somewhere between the head-waters of the Athabasca Lake and the North Pole. To be sure, he had good shooting, I'm told, but he had only four labouring men to enjoy it with; and he has been there _ten_ years now, and he has more than once had to scrape the rocks of that detestable stuff called _tripe de roche_ to keep himself alive. And then there's----" "Very true," interrupted Hamilton. "Then there's your friend Charles Kennedy, whom you so often talk about, and many other young fellows we know, who have been sent to the Saskatchewan, and to the Columbia, and to Athabasca, and to a host of other capital places, where they have enough of society--male society, at least--and good sport." The young men had climbed a rocky eminence which commanded a view of the lake on the one side, and the fort, with its background of woods, on the other. Here they sat down on a stone, and continued for some time to admire the scene in silence. "Yes," said Harry, resuming the thread of discourse, "you are right: we have a good chance of seeing some pleasant parts of the country. But suspense is not pleasant. O man, if they would only send me up the Saskatchewan River! I've set my heart upon going there. I'm quite sure it's the very best place in the whole country." "You've told the truth that time, master," said a deep voice behind them. The young men turned quickly round. Close beside them, and leaning composedly on a long Indian fowling-piece, stood a tall, broad-shouldered, sun-burned man, apparently about forty years of age. He was dressed in the usual leathern hunting-coat, cloth leggings, fur cap, mittens, and moccasins that constitute the winter garb of a hunter; and had a grave, firm, but good-humoured expression of countenance. "You've told the truth that time, master," he repeated, without moving from his place. "The Saskatchewan _is_, to my mind, the best place in the whole country; and havin' seen a considerable deal o' places in my time, I can speak from experience." "Indeed, friend," said Harry, "I'm glad to hear you say so. Come, sit down beside us, and let's hear something about it." Thus invited, the hunter seated himself on a stone and laid his gun on the hollow of his left arm. "First of all, friend," continued Harry, "do you belong to the fort here?" "No," replied the man, "I'm staying here just now, but I don't belong to the place." "Where do you come from then, and what's your name?" "Why, I've comed d'rect from the Saskatchewan with a packet o' letters. I'm payin' a visit to the missionary village yonder"--the hunter pointed as he spoke across the lake--"and when the ice breaks up I shall get a canoe and return again." "And your name?" "Why, I've got four or five names. Somehow or other people have given me a nickname wherever I ha' chanced to go. But my true name, and the one I hail by just now, is Jacques Caradoc." "Jacques Caradoc!" exclaimed Harry, starting with surprise. "You knew a Charley Kennedy in the Saskatchewan, did you?" "That did I. As fine a lad as ever pulled a trigger." "Give us your hand, friend," exclaimed Harry, springing forward, and seizing the hunter's large, hard fist in both hands. "Why, man, Charley is my dearest friend, and I had a letter from him some time ago in which he speaks of you, and says you're one of the best fellows he ever met." "You don't say so," replied the hunter, returning Harry's grasp warmly, while his eyes sparkled with pleasure, and a quiet smile played at the corner of his mouth. "Yes I do," said Harry; "and I'm very nearly as glad to meet with you, friend Jacques, as I would be to meet with him. But come; it's cold work talking here. Let's go to my room; there's a fire in the stove.--Come along, Hammy;" and taking his new friend by the arm, he hurried him along to his quarters in the fort. Just as they were passing under the fort gate, a large mass of snow became detached from a housetop and fell heavily at their feet, passing within an inch of Hamilton's nose. The young man started back with an exclamation, and became very red in the face. "Hollo!" cried Harry, laughing, "got a fright, Hammy! That went so close to your chin that it almost saved you the trouble of shaving." "Yes; I got a little fright from the suddenness of it," said Hamilton quietly. "What do you think of my friend there?" said Harry to Jacques, in a low voice, pointing to Hamilton, who walked on in advance. "I've not seen much of him, master," replied the hunter. "Had I been asked the same question about the same lad twenty years agone, I should ha' said he was soft, and perhaps chicken-hearted. But I've learned from experience to judge better than I used to do. I niver thinks o' forming an opinion o' anyone till I geen them called to sudden action. It's astonishin' how some faint-hearted men will come to face a danger and put on an awful look o' courage if they only get warnin', but take them by surprise--that's the way to try them." "Well, Jacques, that is the very reason why I ask your opinion of Hamilton. He was pretty well taken by surprise that time, I think." "True, master; but _that_ kind of start don't prove much. Hows'ever, I don't think he's easy upset. He does _look_ uncommon soft, and his face grew red when the snow fell, but his eyebrow and his under lip showed that it wasn't from fear." During that afternoon and the greater part of that night the three friends continued in close conversation--Harry sitting in front of the stove, with his hands in his pockets, on a chair tilted as usual on its hind legs, and pouring out volleys of questions, which were pithily answered by the good-humoured, loquacious hunter, who sat behind the stove, resting his elbows on his knees, and smoking his much-loved pipe; while Hamilton reclined on Harry's bed, and listened with eager avidity to anecdotes and stories, which seemed, like the narrator's pipe, to be inexhaustible. "Good-night, Jacques, good-night," said Harry, as the latter rose at last to depart; "I'm delighted to have had a talk with you. You must come back to-morrow. I want to hear more about your friend Redfeather. Where did you say you left him?" "In the Saskatchewan, master. He said that he would wait there, as he'd heerd the missionary was comin' up to pay the Injins a visit." "By-the-by, you're going over to the missionary's place to-morrow, are you not?" "Yes, I am." "Ah, then, that'll do. I'll go over with you. How far off is it?" "Three miles or thereabouts." "Very good. Call in here as you pass, and my friend Hamilton and I will accompany you. Good-night." Jacques thrust his pipe into his bosom, held out his horny hand, and giving his young friends a hearty shake, turned and strode from the room. On the following day Jacques called according to promise, and the three friends set off together to visit the Indian village. This missionary station was under the management of a Wesleyan clergyman, Pastor Conway by name, an excellent man, of about forty-five years of age, with an energetic mind and body, a bald head, a mild, expressive countenance, and a robust constitution. He was admirably qualified for his position, having a natural aptitude for every sort of work that man is usually called on to perform. His chief care was for the instruction of the Indians, whom he had induced to settle around him, in the great and all-important truths of Christianity. He invented an alphabet, and taught them to write and read their own language. He commenced the laborious task of translating the Scriptures into the Cree language; and being an excellent musician, he instructed his converts to sing in parts the psalms and Wesleyan hymns, many of which are exceedingly beautiful. A school was also established and a church built under his superintendence, so that the natives assembled in an orderly way in a commodious sanctuary every Sabbath day to worship God; while the children were instructed, not only in the Scriptures, and made familiar with the narrative of the humiliation and exaltation of our blessed Saviour, but were also taught the elementary branches of a secular education. But good Pastor Conway's energy did not stop here. Nature had gifted him with that peculiar genius which is powerfully expressed in the term "a jack-of-all-trades." He could turn his hand to anything; and being, as we have said, an energetic man, he did turn his hand to almost everything. If anything happened to get broken, the pastor could either "mend it himself or direct how it was to be done. If a house was to be built for a new family of red men, who had never handled a saw or hammer in their lives, and had lived up to that time in tents, the pastor lent a hand to begin it, drew out the plan (not a very complicated thing certainly), set them fairly at work, and kept his eye on it until it was finished. In short, the worthy pastor was everything to everybody, "that by all means he might gain some." Under such management the village flourished as a matter of course, although it did not increase very rapidly owing to the almost unconquerable aversion of North American Indians to take up a settled habitation. It was to this little hamlet, then, that our three friends directed their steps. On arriving, they found Pastor Conway in a sort of workshop, giving directions to an Indian who stood with a soldering-iron in one hand and a sheet of tin in the other, which he was about to apply to a curious-looking half-finished machine that bore some resemblance to a canoe. "Ah, my friend Jacques!" he exclaimed as the hunter approached him, "the very man I wished to see. But I beg pardon, gentlemen,-strangers, I perceive. You are heartily welcome. It is seldom that I have the pleasure of seeing new friends in my wild dwelling. Pray come with me to my house." Pastor Conway shook hands with Harry and Hamilton with a degree of warmth that evinced the sincerity of his words. The young men thanked him and accepted the invitation. As they turned to quit the workshop, the pastor observed Jacques's eye fixed with a puzzled expression of countenance, on his canoe. "You have never seen anything like that before, I daresay?" said he, with a smile. "No, sir; I never did see such a queer machine afore." "It is a tin canoe, with which I hope to pass through many miles of country this spring, on my way to visit a tribe of Northern Indians, and it was about this very thing that I wanted to see you, my friend." Jacques made no reply, but cast a look savouring very slightly of contempt on the unfinished canoe as they turned and went away. The pastor's dwelling stood at one end of the village, a view of which it commanded from the back windows, while those in front overlooked the lake. It was pleasantly situated and pleasantly tenanted, for the pastor's wife was a cheerful, active little lady, like-minded with himself, and delighted to receive and entertain strangers. To her care Mr. Conway consigned the young men, after spending a short time in conversation with them; and then, requesting his wife to show them through the village, he took Jacques by the arm and sauntered out. "Come with me, Jacques," he began; "I have somewhat to say to you. I had not time to broach the subject when I met you at the Company's fort, and have been anxious to see you ever since. You tell me that you have met with my friend Redfeather." "Yes, sir; I spent a week or two with him last fall I found him stayin' with his tribe, and we started to come down here together." "Ah, that is the very point," exclaimed the pastor, "that I wish to inquire about. I firmly believe that God has opened that Indian's eyes to see the truth; and I fully expected from what he said when we last met, that he would have made up his mind to come and stay here." "As to what the Almighty has done to him," said Jacques, in a reverential tone of voice, "I don't pretend to know; he did for sartin speak, and act too, in a way that I never seed an Injin do before. But about his comin' here, sir, you were quite right: he did mean to come, and I've no doubt will come yet." "What prevented him coming with you, as you tell me he intended?" inquired the pastor. "Well, you see, sir, he and I and his squaw, as I said, set off to come here together: but when we got the length o' Edmonton House, we heerd that you were comin' up to pay a visit to the tribe to which Redfeather belongs; and so seem' that it was o' no use to come down hereaway just to turn about an' go up agin, he stopped there to wait for you, for he knew you would want him to interpret--" "Ay," interrupted the pastor, "that's true. I have two reasons for wishing to have him here. The primary one is, that he may get good to his immortal soul; and then he understands English so well that I want him to become my interpreter; for although I understand the Cree language pretty well now, I find it exceedingly difficult to explain the doctrines of the Bible to my people in it. But pardon me, I interrupted you." "I was only going to say," resumed Jacques, "that I made up my mind to stay with him; but they wanted a man to bring the winter packet here, so, as they pressed me very hard, an' I had nothin' particular to do, I 'greed and came, though I would rather ha' stopped; for Redfeather an' I ha' struck up a friendship togither--a thing that I would never ha' thought it poss'ble for me to do with a red Injin." "And why not with a red Indian, friend?" inquired the pastor, while a shade of sadness passed over his mild features, as if unpleasant thoughts had been roused by the hunter's speech. "Well, it's not easy to say why," rejoined the other. "I've no partic'lar objection to the red-skins. There's only one man among them that I bears a grudge agin, and even that one I'd rayther avoid than otherwise." "But you should _forgive_ him, Jacques. The Bible tells us not only to bear our enemies no grudge, but to love them and to do them good." The hunter's brow darkened. "That's impossible, sir," he said; "I couldn't do _him_ a good turn if I was to try ever so hard. He may bless his stars that I don't want to do him mischief; but to _love him_, it's jist imposs'ble." "With man it is impossible, but with God all things are possible," said the pastor solemnly. Jacques's naturally philosophic though untutored mind saw the force of this. He felt that God, who had formed his soul, his body, and the wonderfully complicated machinery and objects of nature, which were patent to his observant and reflective mind wherever he went, must of necessity be equally able to alter, influence, and remould them all according to His will. Common-sense was sufficient to teach him this; and the bold hunter exhibited no ordinary amount of common-sense in admitting the fact at once, although in the case under discussion (the loving of his enemy) it seemed utterly impossible to his feelings and experience. The frown, therefore, passed from his brow, while he said respectfully, "What you say, sir, is true; I believe though I can't _feel_ it. But I s'pose the reason I niver felt much drawn to the red-skins is, that all the time I lived in the settlements I was used to hear them called and treated as thievin' dogs, an 'when I com'd among them I didn't see much to alter my opinion. Here an' there I have found one or two honest Injins, an' Redfeather is as true as steel; but the most o' them are no better than they should be. I s'pose I don' think much o' them just because they are red-skins." "Ah, Jacques, you will excuse me if I say that there is not much sense in _that_ reason. An Indian cannot help being a red man any more than you can help being a white one, so that he ought not to be despised on that account. Besides, God made him what he is, and to despise the _work_ of God, or to undervalue it, is to despise God Himself. You may indeed despise, or rather abhor, the sins that red men are guilty of; but if you despise _them_ on this ground, you must much more despise white men, for _they_ are guilty of greater iniquities than Indians are. They have more knowledge, and are therefore more inexcusable when they sin; and anyone who has travelled much must be aware that, in regard to general wickedness, white men are at least quite as bad as Indians. Depend upon it, Jacques, that there will be Indians found in heaven at the last day as well as white men. God is no respecter of persons." "I niver thought much on that subject afore, sir," returned the hunter; "what you say seems reasonable enough. I'm sure an' sartin, any way, that if there's a red-skin in heaven at all, Redfeather will be there, an' I only hope that I may be there too to keep him company." "I hope so, my friend,", said the pastor earnestly; "I hope so too, with all my heart. And if you will accept of this little book, it will show you how to get there." The missionary drew a small, plainly-bound copy of the Bible from his pocket as he spoke, and presented it to Jacques, who received it with a smile, and thanked him, saying, at the same time, that he "was not much up to book-larnin', but he would read it with pleasure." "Now, Jacques," said the pastor, after a little further conversation on the subject of the Bible, in which he endeavoured to impress upon him the absolute necessity of being acquainted with the blessed truths which it contains--"now, Jacques, about my visit to the Indians. I intend, if the Almighty spares me, to embark in yon tin canoe that you found me engaged with, and, with six men to work it, proceed to the country of the Knisteneux Indians, visit their chief camp, and preach to them there as long as the weather will permit. When the season is pretty well advanced, and winter threatens to cut off my retreat, I shall re-embark in my canoe and return home. By this means I hope to be able to sow the good seed of Christian truths in the hearts of men who, as they will not come to this settlement, have no chance of being brought under the power of the Gospel by any other means." Jacques gave one of his quiet smiles on hearing this. "Right sir--right," he said, with some energy; "I have always thought, although I niver made bold to say it before, that there was not enough o' this sort o' thing. It has always seemed to me a kind o' madness (excuse my plainness o' speech, sir) in you pastors, thinkin' to make the red-skins come and settle round you like so many squaws, and dig up an' grub at the ground, when it's quite clear that their natur' and the natur' o' things about them meant them to be hunters. An' surely, since the Almighty made them hunters, He intended them to _be_ hunters, an' won't refuse to make them Christians on _that_ account. A red-skin's natur' is a huntin' natur', an' nothin' on arth 'll ever make it anything else.' "There is much truth in what you observe, friend," rejoined the pastor; "but you are not _altogether_ right. Their nature _may_ be changed, although certainly nothing on _earth_ will change it. Look at that frozen lake." He pointed to the wide field of thick snow-covered ice that stretched out for miles like a sheet of white marble before them. "Could anything on earth break up or sink or melt that?" "Nothin'," replied Jacques, laconically. "But the warm beams of yon glorious sun can do it," continued the pastor, pointing upwards as he spoke, "and do it effectually too; so that, although you can scarcely observe the process, it nevertheless turns the hard, thick, solid ice into limpid water at last. So is it in regard to man. Nothing on earth can change his heart, or alter his nature; but our Saviour, who is called the Sun of Righteousness, can. When He shines into a man's soul it melts. The old man becomes a little child, the wild savage a Christian. But I agree with you in thinking that we have not been sufficiently alive to the necessity of seeking to convert the Indians before trying to gather them round us. The one would follow as a natural consequence, I think, of the other, and it is owing to this conviction that I intend, as I have already said, to make a journey in spring to visit those who will not or cannot come to visit me. And now, what I want to ask is whether you will agree to accompany me as steersman and guide on my expedition." The hunter slowly shook his head. "I'm afeard not sir; I have already promised to take charge of a canoe for the Company. I would much rather go with you, but I must keep my word." "Certainly, Jacques, certainly; that settles the question You cannot go with me--unless--" the pastor paused as if in thought for a moment--"unless you can persuade them to let you off." "Well, sir, I can try," returned Jacques. "Do; and I need not say how happy I shall be if you succeed. Good-day, friend, good-bye." So saying, the missionary shook hands with the hunter and returned to his house, while Jacques wended his way to the village in search of Harry and Hamilton. CHAPTER XXV. Good news and romantic scenery--Bear-hunting and its results. Jaques failed in his attempt to break off his engagement with the fur-traders. The gentleman in charge of Norway House, albeit a good-natured, estimable man, was one who could not easily brook disappointment, especially in matters that involved the interests of the Hudson's Bay Company; so Jacques was obliged to hold to his compact, and the pastor had to search for another guide. Spring came, and with it the awakening (if we may use the expression) of the country from the long, lethargic sleep of winter. The sun burst forth with irresistible power, and melted all before it. Ice and snow quickly dissolved, and set free the waters of swamp and river, lake and sea, to leap and sparkle in their new-found liberty. Birds renewed their visits to the regions of the north; frogs, at last unfrozen, opened their leathern jaws to croak and whistle in the marshes; and men began their preparations for a summer campaign. At the commencement of the season an express arrived with letters from headquarters, which, among other matters of importance, directed that Messrs. Somerville and Hamilton should be despatched forthwith to the Saskatchewan district, where, on reaching Fort Pitt, they were to place themselves at the disposal of the gentleman in charge of the district. It need scarcely be added that the young men were overjoyed on receiving this almost unhoped-for intelligence, and that Harry expressed his satisfaction in his usual hilarious manner, asserting, somewhat profanely, in the excess of his glee, that the governor-in-chief of Rupert's Land was a "regular brick." Hamilton agreed to all his friend's remarks with a quiet smile, accompanied by a slight chuckle, and a somewhat desperate attempt at a caper, which attempt, bordering as it did on a region of buffoonery into which our quiet and gentlemanly friend had never dared hitherto to venture proved an awkward and utter failure. He felt this and blushed deeply. It was further arranged and agreed upon that the young men should accompany Jacques Caradoc in his canoe. Having become sufficiently expert canoemen to handle their paddles well, they scouted the idea of taking men with them, and resolved to launch boldly forth at once as _bona-fide_ voyageurs. To this arrangement Jacques, after one or two trials to test their skill, agreed; and very shortly after the arrival of the express, the trio set out on their voyage, amid the cheers and adieus of the entire population of Norway House, who were assembled on the end of the wooden wharf to witness their departure, and with whom they had managed during their short residence at that place, to become special favourites. A month later, the pastor of the Indian village, having procured a trusty guide, embarked in his tin canoe with a crew of six men, and followed in their track. In process of time spring merged into summer--a season mostly characterised in those climes by intense heat and innumerable clouds of musquitoes, whose vicious and incessant attacks render life, for the time being, a burden. Our three voyageurs, meanwhile, ascended the Saskatchewan, penetrating deeper each day into the heart of the North American continent. On arriving at Fort Pitt, they were graciously permitted to rest for three days, after which they were forwarded to another district, where fresh efforts were being made to extend the fur-trade into lands hitherto almost unvisited. This continuation of their travels was quite suited to the tastes and inclinations of Harry and Hamilton, and was hailed by them as an additional reason for self-gratulation. As for Jacques, he cared little to what part of the world he chanced to be sent. To hunt, to toil in rain and in sunshine, in heat and in cold, at the paddle or on the snow-shoe, was his vocation, and it mattered little to the bold hunter whether he plied it upon the plains of the Saskatchewan or among the woods of Athabasca. Besides, the companions of his travels were young, active, bold, adventurous, and therefore quite suited to his taste. Redfeather, too, his best and dearest friend, had been induced to return to his tribe for the purpose of mediating between some of the turbulent members of it and the white men who had gone to settle among them, so that the prospect of again associating with his red friend was an additional element in his satisfaction. As Charley Kennedy was also in this district, the hope of seeing him once more was a subject of such unbounded delight to Harry Somerville, and so, sympathetically, to young Hamilton, that it was with difficulty they could realize the full amount of their good fortune, or give adequate expression to their feelings. It is therefore probable that there never were three happier travellers than Jacques, Harry, and Hamilton, as they shouldered their guns and paddles, shook hands with the inmates of Fort Pitt, and with light steps and lighter hearts launched their canoe, turned their bronzed faces once more to the summer sun, and dipped their paddles again in the rippling waters of the Saskatchewan River. As their bark was exceedingly small, and burdened with but little lading, they resolved to abandon the usual route, and penetrate the wilderness through a maze of lakes and small rivers well known to their guide. By this arrangement they hoped to travel more speedily, and avoid navigating a long sweep of the river by making a number of portages; while, at the same time, the changeful nature of the route was likely to render it more interesting. From the fact of its being seldom traversed, it was also more likely that they should find a supply of game for the journey. Towards sunset, one fine day, about two weeks after their departure from Fort Pitt, our voyageurs paddled their canoe round a wooded point of land that jutted out from, and partly concealed, the mouth of a large river, down whose stream they had dropped leisurely during the last three days, and swept out upon the bosom of a large lake. This was one of those sheets of water which glitter in hundreds on the green bosom of America's forests, and are so numerous and comparatively insignificant as to be scarce distinguished by a name, unless when they lie directly in the accustomed route of the fur-traders. But although, in comparison with the freshwater oceans of the Far West, this lake was unnoticed and almost unknown, it would by no means have been regarded in such a light had it been transported to the plains of England. In regard to picturesque beauty, it was perhaps unsurpassed. It might be about six miles wide, and so long that the land at the farther end of it was faintly discernible on the horizon. Wooded hills, sloping gently down to the water's edge; jutting promontories, some rocky and barren, others more or less covered with trees; deep bays, retreating in some places into the dark recesses of a savage-looking gorge, in others into a distant meadow-like plain, bordered with a stripe of yellow sand; beautiful islands of various sizes, scattered along the shores as if nestling there for security, or standing barren and solitary in the centre of the lake, like bulwarks of the wilderness, some covered with luxuriant vegetation, others bald and grotesque in outline, and covered with gulls and other water-fowl,--this was the scene that broke upon the view of the travellers as they rounded the point, and, ceasing to paddle, gazed upon it long and in deep silence, their hands raised to shade their eyes from the sun's rays, which sparkled in the water, and fell, here in bright spots and broken patches, and there in yellow floods, upon the rocks, the trees, the forest glades and plains around them. "What a glorious scene!" murmured Hamilton, almost unconsciously. "A perfect paradise!" said Harry, with a long-drawn sigh of satisfaction.--"Why, Jacques, my friend, it's a matter of wonder to me that you, a free man, without relations or friends to curb you, or attract you to other parts of the world, should go boating and canoeing all over the country at the beck of the fur-traders, when you might come and pitch your tent here for ever!" "For ever!" echoed Jacques. "Well, I mean as long as you live in this world." "Ah, master," rejoined the guide, in a sad tone of voice, "it's just because I have neither kith nor kin nor friends to draw me to any partic'lar spot on arth, that I don't care to settle down in this one, beautiful though it be." "True, true," muttered Harry; "man's a gregarious animal, there's no doubt of that." "Anon?" exclaimed Jacques. "I meant to say that man naturally loves company," replied Harry, smiling. "An' yit I've seen some as didn't, master; though, to be sure, that was onnat'ral, and there's not many o' them, by good luck. Yes, man's fond o' seein' the face o' man." "And woman, too," interrupted Harry.--"Eh, Hamilton, what say you?-- 'O woman, in our hours of ease, Uncertain, coy, and hard to please, When pain and anguish wring the brow, A ministering angel thou.' Alas, Hammy! pain and anguish and every thing else may wring our unfortunate brows here long enough before woman, 'lovely woman,' will come to our aid. What a rare sight it would be, now, to see even an ordinary house-maid or cook out here! It would be good for sore eyes. It seems to me a sort of horrible untruth to say that I've not seen a woman since I left Red River; and yet its a frightful fact, for I don't count the copper-coloured nondescripts one meets with hereabouts to be women at all. I suppose they are, but they don't look like it." "Don't be a goose, Harry," said Hamilton. "Certainly not, my friend. If I were under the disagreeable necessity of being anything but what I am, I should rather be something that is not in the habit of being shot," replied the other, paddling with renewed vigour in order to get rid of some of the superabundant spirits that the beautiful scene and brilliant weather, acting on a young and ardent nature, had called forth. "Some of these same red-skins," remarked the guide, "are not such bad sort o' women, for all their ill looks. I've know'd more than one that was a first-rate wife an' a good mother, though it's true they had little edication beyond that o' the woods." "No doubt of it," replied Harry, laughing gaily. "How shall I keep the canoe's head, Jacques?" "Right away for the pint that lies jist between you an' the sun." "Yes; I give them all credit for being excellent wives and mothers, after a fashion," resumed Harry. "I've no wish to asperse the characters of the poor Indians; but you must know, Jacques, that they're very different from the women that I allude to and of whom Scott sung. His heroines were of a _very_ different stamp and colour!" "Did _he_ sing of niggers?" inquired Jacques, simply. "Of niggers!" shouted Harry, looking over his shoulder at Hamilton, with a broad grin; "no, Jacques, not exactly of niggers--" "Hist!" exclaimed the guide, with that peculiar subdued energy that at once indicates an unexpected discovery, and enjoins caution, while at the same moment, by a deep, powerful back-stroke of his paddle, he suddenly checked the rapid motion of the canoe. Harry and his friend glanced quickly over their shoulders with a look of surprise. "What's in the wind now?" whispered the former. "Stop paddling, masters, and look ahead at the rock yonder, jist under the tall cliff. There's a bear a-sittin' there, and if we can only get ashore afore he sees us, we're sartin sure of him." As the guide spoke, he slowly edged the canoe towards the shore, while the young men gazed with eager looks in the direction indicated, where they beheld what appeared to be the decayed stump of an old tree or a mass of brown rock. While they strained their eyes to see it more clearly, the object altered its form and position. "So it is," they exclaimed simultaneously, in a tone that was equivalent to the remark, "Now we believe, because we see it." In a few seconds the bow of the canoe touched the land, so lightly as to be quite inaudible, and Harry, stepping gently over the side, drew it forward a couple of feet, while his companions disembarked. "Now, Mister Harry," said the guide, as he slung a powder-horn and shot-belt over his shoulder, "we've no need to circumvent the beast, for he's circumvented himself." "How so?" inquired the other, drawing the shot from his fowling-piece, and substituting in its place a leaden bullet. Jacques led the way through the somewhat thinly scattered underwood as he replied, "You see, Mister Harry, the place where he's gone to sun hisself is just at the foot o' a sheer precipice, which runs round ahead of him and juts out into the water, so that he's got three ways to choose between. He must clamber up the precipice, which will take him some time, I guess, if he can do it at all; or he must take to the water, which he don't like, and won't do if he can help it; or he must run out the way he went in, but as we shall go to meet him by the same road, he'll have to break our ranks before he gains the woods, an' _that_'ll be no easy job." The party soon reached the narrow pass between the lake and the near end of the cliff, where they advanced with greater caution, and peeping over the low bushes, beheld Bruin, a large brown fellow, sitting on his haunches, and rocking himself slowly to and fro, as he gazed abstractedly at the water. He was scarcely within good shot, but the cover was sufficiently thick to admit of a nearer approach. "Now, Hamilton," said Harry, in a low whisper, "take the first shot. I killed the last one, so it's your turn this time." Hamilton hesitated, but could make no reasonable objection to this, although his unselfish nature prompted him to let his friend have the first chance. However, Jacques decided the matter by saying, in a tone that savoured strongly of command, although it was accompanied with a good-humoured smile,-- "Go for'ard, young man; but you may as well put in the primin' first." Poor Hamilton hastily rectified this oversight with a deep blush, at the same time muttering that he never _would_ make a hunter; and then advanced cautiously through the bushes, slowly followed at a short distance by his companions. On reaching the bush within seventy yards of the bear, Hamilton pushed the twigs aside with the muzzle of his gun; his eye flashed and his courage mounted as he gazed at the truly formidable animal before him, and he felt more of the hunter's spirit within him at that moment than he would have believed possible a few minutes before. Unfortunately, a hunter's spirit does not necessarily imply a hunter's eye or hand. Having, with much care and long time, brought his piece to bear exactly where he supposed the brute's heart should be, he observed that the gun was on half-cock, by nearly breaking the trigger in his convulsive efforts to fire. By the time that this error was rectified, Bruin, who seemed to feel intuitively that some imminent danger threatened him, rose, and began to move about uneasily, which so alarmed the young hunter lest he should lose his shot that he took a hasty aim, fired, and _missed._ Harry asserted afterwards that he even missed the cliff! On hearing the loud report, which rolled in echoes along the precipice, Bruin started, and looking round with an undecided air, saw Harry step quietly from the bushes, and fire, sending a ball into his flank. This decided him. With a fierce growl of pain, he scampered towards the water; then changing his mind, he wheeled round, and dashed at the cliff, up which he scrambled with wonderful speed. "Come, Mister Hamilton, load again; quick, I'll have to do the job myself, I fear," said Jacques, as he leaned quietly on his long gun, and with a half-pitying smile watched the young man, who madly essayed to recharge his piece more rapidly than it was possible for mortal man to do. Meanwhile, Harry had reloaded and fired again; but owing to the perturbation of his young spirits, and the frantic efforts of the bear to escape, he missed. Another moment, and the animal would actually have reached the top, when Jacques hastily fired, and brought it tumbling down the precipice. Owing to the position of the animal at the time he fired, the wound was not mortal; and foreseeing that Bruin would now become the aggressor, the hunter began rapidly to reload, at the same time retreating with his companions, who in their excitement had forgotten to recharge their pieces. On reaching level ground, Bruin rose, shook himself, gave a yell of anger on beholding his enemies, and rushed at them. It was a fine sight to behold the bearing of Jacques at this critical juncture. Accustomed to bear-hunting from his youth, and utterly indifferent to consequences when danger became imminent, he saw at a glance the probabilities of the case. He knew exactly how long it would take him to load his gun, and regulated his pace so as not to interfere with that operation. His features wore their usual calm expression. Every motion of his hands was quick and sudden, yet not hurried, but performed in a way that led the beholder irresistibly to imagine that he would have done it even more rapidly if necessary. On reaching a ledge of rock that overhung the lake a few feet he paused and wheeled about; click went the dog-head, just as the bear rose to grapple with him; another moment, and a bullet passed through the brute's heart, while the bold hunter sprang lightly on one side, to avoid the dash of the falling animal. As he did so, young Hamilton, who had stood a little behind him with an uplifted axe, ready to finish the work should Jacques's fire prove ineffective, received Bruin in his arms, and tumbled along with him over the rock, headlong into the water, from which, however, he speedily arose unhurt, sputtering and coughing, and dragging the dead bear to the shore. "Well done, Hammy," shouted Harry, indulging in a prolonged peal of laughter when he ascertained that his friend's adventure had cost him nothing more than a ducking; "that was the most amicable, loving plunge I ever saw." "Better a cold bath in the arms of a dead bear than an embrace on dry land with a live one," retorted Hamilton, as he wrung the water out of his dripping garments. "Most true, O sagacious diver! But the sooner we get a fire made the better; so come along." While the two friends hastened up to the woods to kindle a fire, Jacques drew his hunting-knife, and, with doffed coat and upturned sleeves, was soon busily employed in divesting the bear of his natural garment. The carcass, being valueless in a country where game of a more palatable kind was plentiful, they left behind as a feast to the wolves. After this was accomplished and the clothes dried, they re-embarked, and resumed their journey, plying the paddles energetically in silence, as their adventure had occasioned a considerable loss of time. It was late, and the stars had looked down for a full hour into the profound depths of the now dark lake ere the party reached the ground at the other side of the point, on which Jacques had resolved to encamp. Being somewhat wearied, they spent but little time in discussing supper, and partook of that meal with a degree of energy that implied a sense of duty as well as of pleasure. Shortly after, they were buried in repose, under the scanty shelter of their canoe. CHAPTER XXVI. An unexpected meeting, and an unexpected deer-hunt--Arrival at the outpost--Disagreement with the natives--An enemy discovered, and a murder. Next morning they rose with the sun, and therefore also with the birds and beasts. A wide traverse of the lake now lay before them. This they crossed in about two hours, during which time they paddled unremittingly, as the sky looked rather lowering, and they were well aware of the danger of being caught in a storm in such an egg-shell craft as an Indian canoe. "We'll put in here now, Mister Harry," exclaimed Jacques, as the canoe entered the mouth of one of these small rivulets which are called in Scotland _burns_, and in America _creeks_; "it's like that your appetite is sharpened after a spell like that. Keep her head a little more to the left--straight for the p'int--so. It's likely we'll get some fish here if we set the net." "I say, Jacques, is yon a cloud or a wreath of smoke above the trees in the creek?" inquired Harry, pointing with his paddle towards the object referred to. "It's smoke, master; I've seed it for some time, and mayhap we'll find some Injins there who can give us news of the traders at Stoney Creek." "And pray, how far do you think we may now be from that place?" inquired Harry. "Forty miles, more or less." As he spoke the canoe entered the shallow water of the creek, and began to ascend the current of the stream, which at its mouth was so sluggish as to be scarcely perceptible to the eye. Not so, however, to the arms. The light bark, which while floating on the lake had glided buoyantly forward as if it were itself consenting to the motion, had now become apparently imbued with a spirit of contradiction, bounding convulsively forward at each stroke of the paddles, and perceptibly losing speed at each interval. Directing their course towards a flat rock on the left bank of the stream, they ran the prow out of the water and leaped ashore. As they did so the unexpected figure of a man issued from the bushes, and sauntered towards the spot. Harry and Hamilton advanced to meet him, while Jacques remained to unload the canoe. The stranger was habited in the usual dress of a hunter, and carried a fowling piece over his right shoulder. In general appearance he looked like an Indian; but though the face was burned by exposure to a hue that nearly equalled the red skins of the natives, a strong dash of pink in it, and the mass of fair hair that encircled it, proved that as Harry paradoxically expressed it, its owner was a _white_ man. He was young, considerably above the middle height, and apparently athletic. His address and language on approaching the young men put the question of his being a _white_ man beyond a doubt. "Good-morning, gentlemen," he began. "I presume that you are the party we have been expecting for some time past to reinforce our staff at Stoney Creek. Is it not so?" To this query young Somerville, who stood in advance of his friend, made no reply, but stepping hastily forward, laid a hand on each of the stranger's shoulders, and gazed earnestly into his face, exclaiming as he did so,-- "Do my eyes deceive me? Is Charley Kennedy before me--or his ghost?" "What! eh," exclaimed the individual thus addressed, returning Harry's gripe and stare with interest, "is it possible? no--it cannot--Harry Somerville, my old, dear, unexpected friend!"--and pouring out broken sentences, abrupt ejaculations, and incoherent questions, to which neither vouchsafed replies, the two friends gazed at and walked round each other, shook hands, partially embraced, and committed sundry other extravagances, utterly unconscious of or indifferent to the fact that Hamilton was gazing at them, open-mouthed, in a species of stupor, and that Jacques was standing by, regarding them with a look of mingled amusement and satisfaction. The discovery of this latter personage was a source of renewed delight and astonishment to Charley, who was so much upset by the commotion of his spirits, in consequence of this, so to speak, double shot, that he became rambling and incoherent in his speech during the remainder of that day, and gave vent to frequent and sudden bursts of smothered enthusiasm, in which it would appear, from the occasional muttering of the names of Redfeather and Jacques, that he not only felicitated himself on his own good fortune, but also anticipated renewed pleasure in witnessing the joyful meeting of these two worthies ere long. In fact, this meeting did take place on the following day, when Redfeather, returning from a successful hunt, with part of a deer on his shoulders, entered Charley's tent, in which the travellers had spent the previous day and night, and discovered the guide gravely discussing a venison steak before the fire. It would be vain to attempt a description of all that the reunited friends said and did during the first twenty-four hours after their meeting: how they talked of old times, as they lay extended round the fire inside of Charley's tent, and recounted their adventures by flood and field since they last met; how they sometimes diverged into questions of speculative philosophy (as conversations _will_ often diverge, whether we wish it or not), and broke short off to make sudden inquiries after old friends; how this naturally led them to talk of new friends and new scenes, until they began to forecast their eyes a little into the future; and how, on feeling that this was an uncongenial theme under present circumstances, they reverted again to the past, and by a peculiar train of conversation--to retrace which were utterly impossible--they invariably arrived at _old_ times again. Having in course of the evening pretty well exhausted their powers, both mental and physical, they went to sleep on it, and resumed the colloquial _mélange_ in the morning. "And now tell me, Charley, what you are doing in this uninhabited part of the world, so far from Stoney Creek," said Harry Somerville, as they assembled round the fire to breakfast. "That is soon explained," replied Charley. "My good friend and superior, Mr. Whyte, having got himself comfortably housed at Stoney Creek, thought it advisable to establish a sort of half outpost, half fishing-station about twenty miles below the new fort, and believing (very justly) that my talents lay a good deal in the way of fishing and shooting, sent me to superintend it during the summer months. I am, therefore, at present monarch of that notable establishment, which is not yet dignified with a name. Hearing that there were plenty of deer about twenty miles below my palace, I resolved the other day to gratify my love of sport, and at the same time procure some venison for Stoney Creek; accordingly, I took Redfeather with me, and--here I am." "Very good," said Harry; "and can you give us the least idea of what they are going to do with my friend Hamilton and me when they get us?" "Can't say. One of you, at any rate, will be kept at the creek, to assist Mr. Whyte; the other may, perhaps, be appointed to relieve me at the fishing for a time, while _I_ am sent off to push the trade in other quarters. But I'm only guessing. I don't know anything definitely, for Mr. Whyte is by no means communicative." "An' please, master," put in Jacques, "when do you mean to let us off from this place? I guess the bourgeois won't be over pleased if we waste time here." "We'll start this forenoon, Jacques. I and Redfeather shall go along with you, as I intended to take a run up to the creek about this time at any rate.--Have you the skins and dried meat packed, Redfeather?" To this the Indian replied in the affirmative, and the others having finished breakfast, the whole party rose to prepare for departure, and set about loading their canoes forthwith. An hour later they were again cleaving the waters of the lake, with this difference in arrangement, that Jacques was transferred to Redfeather's canoe, while Charley Kennedy took his place in the stern of that occupied by Harry and Hamilton. The establishment of which our friend Charley pronounced himself absolute monarch, and at which they arrived in the course of the same afternoon, consisted of two small log houses or huts, constructed in the rudest fashion, and without any attempt whatever at architectural embellishment. It was pleasantly situated on a small bay, whose northern extremity was sheltered from the arctic blast by a gentle rising ground clothed with wood. A miscellaneous collection of fishing apparatus lay scattered about in front of the buildings, and two men and an Indian woman were the inhabitants of the place; the king himself, when present, and his prime minister, Redfeather, being the remainder of the population. "Pleasant little kingdom that of yours, Charley," remarked Harry Somerville, as they passed the station. "Very," was the laconic reply. They had scarcely passed the place above a mile, when a canoe, containing a solitary Indian, was observed to shoot out from the shore and paddle hastily towards them. From this man they learned that a herd of deer was passing down towards the lake, and would be on its banks in a few minutes. He had been waiting their arrival when the canoes came in sight, and induced him to hurry out so as to give them warning. Having no time to lose, the whole party now paddled swiftly for the shore, and reached it just a few minutes before the branching antlers of the deer came in sight above the low bushes that skirted the wood. Harry Somerville embarked in the bow of the strange Indian's canoe, so as to lighten the other and enable all parties to have a fair chance. After snuffing the breeze for a few seconds, the foremost animal took the water, and commenced swimming towards the opposite shore of the lake, which at this particular spot was narrow. It was followed by seven others. After sufficient time was permitted to elapse to render their being cut off, in an attempt to return, quite certain, the three canoes darted from the shelter of the overhanging bushes, and sprang lightly over the water in pursuit. "Don't hurry, and strike sure," cried Jacques to his young friends, as they came up with the terrified deer that now swam for their lives. "Ay, ay," was the reply. In another moment they shot in among the struggling group. Harry Somerville stood up, and seizing the Indian's spear, prepared to strike, while his companions directed their course towards others of the herd. A few seconds sufficed to bring him up with it. Leaning backwards a little, so as to give additional force to the blow, he struck the spear deep into the animal's back. With a convulsive struggle, it ceased to swim, its head slowly sank, and in another second it lay dead upon the water. "Without waiting a moment, the Indian immediately directed the canoe towards another deer; while the remainder of the party, now considerably separated from each other, despatched the whole herd by means of axes and knives. "Ha!" exclaimed Jacques, as they towed their booty to the shore, "that's a good stock o' meat, Mister Charles. It will help to furnish the larder for the winter pretty well." "It was much wanted, Jacques: we've a good many mouths to feed, besides _treating_ the Indians now and then. And this fellow, I think, will claim the most of our hunt as his own. We should not have got the deer but for him." "True, true, Mister Charles. They belong to the red-skin by rights, that's sartin." After this exploit, another night was passed under the trees; and at noon on the day following they ran their canoe alongside the wooden wharf at Stoney Creek. "Good-day to you, gentlemen," said Mr. Whyte to Harry and Hamilton as they landed; "I've been looking out for you these two weeks past. Glad you've come at last, however. Plenty to do, and no time to lose. You have despatches, of course. Ah! that's right." (Harry drew a sealed packet from his bosom and presented it with a bow), "that's right. I must peruse these at once.--Mr. Kennedy, you will show these gentlemen their quarters. We dine in half-an-hour." So saying, Mr. Whyte thrust the packet into his pocket, and without further remark strode towards his dwelling; while Charley, as instructed, led his friends to their new residence--not forgetting, however, to charge Redfeather to see to the comfortable lodgment of Jacques Caradoc. "Now it strikes me," remarked Harry, as he sat down on the edge of Charley's bed and thrust his hands doggedly down into his pockets, while Hamilton tucked up his sleeves and assaulted a washhand-basin which stood on an unpainted wooden chair in a corner--"it strikes me that if _that's_ his usual style of behaviour, old Whyte is a pleasure that we didn't anticipate." "Don't judge from first impressions; they're often deceptive," spluttered Hamilton, pausing in his ablutions to look at his friend through a mass of soap-suds--an act which afterwards caused him a good deal of pain and a copious flow of unbidden tears. "Right," exclaimed Charley, with an approving nod to Hamilton.--"You must not judge him prematurely, Harry. He's a good-hearted fellow at bottom; and if he once takes a liking for you, he'll go through fire and water to serve you, as I know from experience." "Which means to say _three_ things," replied the implacable Harry: "first, that for all his good-heartedness _at bottom,_ he never shows any of it _at top,_ and is therefore like unto truth, which is said to lie at the bottom of a well--so deep, in fact, that it is never got out, and so is of use to nobody; secondly, that he is possessed of that amount of affection which is common to all mankind (to a great extent even to brutes), which prompts a man to be reasonably attentive to his friends; and thirdly, that you, Master Kennedy, enjoy the peculiar privilege of being the friend of a two-legged polar bear!" "Were I not certain that you jest," retorted Kennedy, "I would compel you to apologize to me for insulting my friend, you rascal! But see, here's the cook coming to tell us that dinner waits. If you don't wish to see the teeth of the polar bear, I'd advise you to be smart." Thus admonished, Harry sprang up, plunged his hands and face in the basin and dried them, broke Charley's comb in attempting to pass it hastily through his hair, used his fingers savagely as a substitute, and overtook his companions just as they entered the mess-room. The establishment of Stoney Creek was comprised within two acres of ground. It consisted of eight or nine houses--three of which, however, alone met the eye on approaching by the lake. The "great" house, as it was termed, on account of its relative proportion to the other buildings, was a small edifice, built substantially but roughly of unsquared logs, partially whitewashed, roofed with shingles, and boasting six small windows in front, with a large door between them. On its east side, and at right angles to it, was a similar edifice, but smaller, having two doors instead of one, and four windows instead of six. This was the trading-shop and provision-store. Opposite to this was a twin building which contained the furs and a variety of miscellaneous stores. Thus were formed three sides of a square, from the centre of which rose a tall flagstaff. The buildings behind those just described were smaller and insignificant--the principal one being the house appropriated to the men; the others were mere sheds and workshops. Luxuriant forests ascended the slopes that rose behind and encircled this oasis on all sides, excepting in front, where the clear waters of the lake sparkled like a blue mirror. On the margin of this lake the new arrivals, left to enjoy themselves as they best might for a day or two, sauntered about and chatted to their heart's content of things past, present, and future. During these wanderings, Harry confessed that his opinion of Mr. Whyte had somewhat changed; that he believed a good deal of the first bad impressions was attributable to his cool, not to say impolite, reception of them; and that he thought things would go on much better with the Indians if he would only try to let some of his good qualities be seen through his exterior. An expression of sadness passed over Charley's face as his friend said this. "You are right in the last particular," he said, with a sigh. "Mr. Whyte is so rough and overbearing that the Indians are beginning to dislike him. Some of the more clear-sighted among them see that a good deal of this lies in mere manner, and have penetration enough to observe that in all his dealings with them he is straightforward and liberal; but there are a set of them who either don't see this, or are so indignant at the rough speeches he often makes, and the rough treatment he sometimes threatens, that they won't forgive him, but seem to be nursing their wrath. I sometimes wish he was sent to a district where the Indians and traders are, from habitual intercourse, more accustomed to each other's ways, and so less likely to quarrel." "Have the Indians, then, used any open threats?" asked Harry. "No, not exactly; but through an old man of the tribe, who is well affected towards us, I have learned that there is a party among them who seem bent on mischief." "Then we may expect a row some day or other. That's pleasant!--What think you, Hammy?" said Harry, turning to his friend. "I think that it would be anything but pleasant," he replied; "and I sincerely hope that we shall not have occasion for a row." "You're not afraid of a fight, are you, Hamilton?" asked Charley. The peculiarly bland smile with which Hamilton usually received any remark that savoured of banter overspread his features as Charley spoke, but he merely replied-- "No, Charley, I'm not afraid." "Do you know any of the Indians who are so anxious to vent their spleen on our worthy bourgeois?" asked Harry, as he seated himself on a rocky eminence commanding a view of the richly-wooded slopes, dotted with huge masses of rock that had fallen from the beetling cliffs behind the creek. "Yes, I do," replied Charley; "and, by the way, one of them--the ringleader--is a man with whom you are acquainted, at least by name. You've heard of an Indian called Misconna?" "What!" exclaimed Harry, with a look of surprise; "you don't mean the blackguard mentioned by Redfeather, long ago, when he told us his story on the shores of Lake Winnipeg--the man who killed poor Jacques's young wife?" "The same," replied Charley. "And does Jacques know he is here?" "He does; but Jacques is a strange, unaccountable mortal. You remember that in the struggle described by Redfeather, the trapper and Misconna had neither of them seen each other, Redfeather having felled the latter before the former reached the scene of action--a scene which, he has since told me, he witnessed at a distance, while rushing to the rescue of his wife-so that Misconna is utterly ignorant of the fact that the husband of his victim is now so near him; indeed, he does not know that she had a husband at all. On the other hand, although Jacques is aware that his bitterest enemy is within rifle-range of him at this moment, he does not know him by sight; and this morning he came to me, begging that I would send Misconna on some expedition or other, just to keep him out of his way." "And do you intend to do so?" "I shall do my best," replied Charley; "but I cannot get him out of the way till to-morrow, as there is to be a gathering of Indians in the hall this very day, to have a palaver with Mr. Whyte about their grievances, and Misconna wouldn't miss that for a trifle. But Jacques won't be likely to recognise him among so many; and if he does, I rely with confidence on his powers of restraint and forbearance. By the way," he continued, glancing upwards, "it is past noon, and the Indians will have begun to assemble, so we had better hasten back, as we shall be expected to help in keeping order." So saying, he rose, and the young men returned to the fort. On reaching it they found the hall crowded with natives, who sat cross-legged around the walls, or stood in groups conversing in low tones, and to judge from the expression of their dark eyes and lowering brows, they were in extremely bad humour. They became silent and more respectful, however, in their demeanour when the young men entered the apartment and walked up to the fireplace, in which a small fire of wood burned on the hearth, more as a convenient means of rekindling the pipes of the Indians when they went out than as a means of heating the place. Jacques and Redfeather stood leaning against the wall near to it, engaged in a whispered conversation. Glancing round as he entered, Charley observed Misconna sitting a little apart by himself, and apparently buried in deep thought. He had scarcely perceived him, and nodded to several of his particular friends among the crowd, when a side-door opened, and Mr. Whyte, with an angry expression on his countenance, strode up to the fireplace, planted himself before it, with his legs apart and his hands behind him, while he silently surveyed the group. "So," he began, "you have asked to speak with me; well, here I am. What have you to say?" Mr. Whyte addressed the Indians in their native tongue, having, during a long residence in the country, learned to speak it as fluently as English. For some moments there was silence. Then an old chief--the same who had officiated at the feast described in a former chapter--rose, and standing forth into the middle of the room, made a long and grave oration, in which, besides a great deal that was bombastic, much that was irrelevant, and more that was utterly fabulous and nonsensical, he recounted the sorrows of himself and his tribe, concluding with a request that the great chief would take these things into consideration--the principal _"things"_ being that they did not get anything in the shape of gratuities, while it was notorious that the Indians in other districts did, and that they did not get enough of goods in advance, on credit of their future hunts. Mr. Whyte heard the old man to the end in silence: then, without altering his position, he looked round on the assembly with a frown, and said, "Now listen to me; I am a man of few words. I have told you over and over again, and I now repeat it, that you shall get no gratuities until you prove yourselves worthy of them. I shall not increase your advances by so much as half an inch of tobacco till your last year's debts are scored off, and you begin to show more activity in hunting and less disposition to grumble. Hitherto you have not brought in anything like the quantity of furs that the capabilities of the country led me to expect. You are lazy. Until you become better hunters you shall have no redress from me." As he finished, Mr. Whyte made a step towards the door by which he had entered, but was arrested by another chief, who requested to be heard. Resuming his place and attitude, Mr. Whyte listened with an expression of dogged determination, while guttural grunts of unequivocal dissatisfaction issued from the throats of several of the malcontents. The Indian proceeded to repeat a few of the remarks made by his predecessor, but more concisely, and wound up by explaining that the failure in the hunts of the previous year was owing to the will of the Great Manito, and not by any means on account of the supposed laziness of himself or his tribe. "That is false," said Mr. Whyte; "you know it is not true." As this was said, a murmur of anger ran round the apartment, which was interrupted by Misconna, who, apparently unable to restrain his passion, sprang into the middle of the room, and confronting Mr. Whyte, made a short and pithy speech, accompanied by violent gesticulation, in which he insinuated that if redress was not granted the white men would bitterly repent it. During his speech the Indians had risen to their feet and drawn closer together, while Jacques and the three young men drew near their superior. Redfeather remained apart, motionless, and with his eyes fixed on the ground. "And, pray, what dog--what miserable thieving cur are you, who dare to address me thus?" cried Mr. Whyte, as he strode, with flashing eyes, up to the enraged Indian. Misconna clinched his teeth, and his fingers worked convulsively about the handle of his knife, as he exclaimed, "I am no dog. The pale-faces are dogs. I am a great chief. My name is known among the braves of my tribe. It is Misconna--" As the name fell from his lips, Mr. Wiryte and Charley were suddenly dashed aside, and Jacques sprang towards the Indian, his face livid, his eyeballs almost bursting from their sockets, and his muscles rigid with passion. For an instant he regarded the savage intently as he shrank appalled before him; then his colossal fist fell like lightning, with the weight of a sledge-hammer, on Misconna's forehead, and drove him against the outer door, which, giving way before the violent shock, burst from its fastenings and hinges, and fell, along with the savage, with a loud crash to the ground. For an instant everyone stood aghast at this precipitate termination to the discussion, and then, springing forward in a body, with drawn knives, the Indians rushed upon the white men, who in a close phalanx, with such weapons as came first to hand, stood to receive them. At this moment Redfeather stepped forward unarmed between the belligerents, and, turning to the Indians, said-- "Listen: Redfeather does not take the part of his white friends against his comrades. You know that he never failed you in the war-path, and he would not fail you now if your cause were just. But the eyes of his comrades are shut. Redfeather knows what they do not know. The white hunter" (pointing to Jacques) "is a friend of Redfeather. He is a friend of the Knisteneux. He did not strike because you disputed with his bourgeois; he struck because Misconna _is his mortal foe_. But the story is long. Redfeather will tell it at the council fire." "He is right," exclaimed Jacques, who had recovered his usual grave expression of countenance; "Redfeather is right. I bear you no ill-will, Injins, and I shall explain the thing myself at your council fire." As Jacques spoke the Indians sheathed their knives, and stood with frowning brows, as if uncertain what to do. The unexpected interference of their comrade-in-arms, coupled with his address and that of Jacques, had excited their curiosity. Perhaps the undaunted deportment of their opponents, who stood ready for the encounter with a look of stern determination, contributed a little to allay their resentment. While the two parties stood thus confronting each other, as if uncertain how to act, a loud report was heard just outside the doorway. In another moment Mr. Whyte fell heavily to the ground, shot through the heart. CHAPTER XXVII. The chase--The fight--Retribution--Low spirits and good news. The tragical end of the consultation related in the last chapter had the effect of immediately reconciling the disputants. With the exception of four or five of the most depraved and discontented among them, the Indians bore no particular ill-will to the unfortunate principal of Stoney Creek; and although a good deal disappointed to find that he was a stern, unyielding trader, they had, in reality, no intention of coming to a serious rupture with him, much less of laying violent hands either upon master or men of the establishment. When, therefore, they beheld Mr. Whyte weltering in his blood at their feet, a sacrifice to the ungovernable passion of Misconna, who was by no means a favourite among his brethren, their temporary anger was instantly dissipated, and a feeling of deepest indignation roused in their bosoms against the miserable assassin who had perpetrated the base and cowardly murder. It was, therefore, with a yell of rage that several of the band, immediately after the victim fell, sprang into the woods in hot pursuit of him, whom they now counted their enemy. They were joined by several men belonging to the fort, who had hastened to the scene of action on hearing that the people in the hall were likely to come to blows. Redfeather was the first who had bounded like a deer into the woods in pursuit of the fugitive. Those who remained assisted Charley and his friends to convey the body of Mr. Whyte into an adjoining room, where they placed him on a bed. He was quite dead, the murderer's aim having been terribly true. Finding that he was past all human aid, the young men returned to the hall, which they entered just as Redfeather glided quickly through the open doorway, and, approaching the group, stood in silence beside them, with his arms folded on his breast. "You have something to tell, Redfeather," said Jacques, in a subdued tone, after regarding him a few seconds. "Is the scoundrel caught?" "Misconna's foot is swift," replied the Indian, "and the wood is thick. It is wasting time to follow him through the bushes." "What would you advise then?" exclaimed Charley, in a hurried voice. "I see that you have some plan to propose." "The wood is thick," answered Redfeather, "but the lake and the river are open. Let one party go by the lake, and one party by the river." "That's it, that's it, Injin," interrupted Jacques, energetically; "your wits are always jumpin'. By crosin' over to Duck River, we can start at a point five or six miles above the lower fall, an' as it's thereabouts he must cross, we'll be time enough to catch him. If he tries the lake, the other party'll fix him there; and he'll be soon poked up if he tries to hide in the bush." "Come, then; we'll all give chase at once," cried Charley, feeling a temporary relief in the prospect of energetic action from the depressing effects of the calamity that had so suddenly befallen him in the loss of his chief and friend. Little time was needed for preparation. Jacques, Charley, and Harry proceeded by the river; while Redfeather and Hamilton, with a couple of men, launched their canoe on the lake and set off in pursuit. Crossing the country for about a mile, Jacques led his party to the point on the Duck River to which he had previously referred. Here they found two canoes, into one of which the guide stepped with one of the men, a Canadian, who had accompanied them, while Harry and Charley embarked in the other. In a few minutes they were rapidly descending the stream. "How do you mean to act, Jacques?" inquired Charley, as he paddled alongside of the guide's canoe. "Is it not likely that Misconna may have crossed the river already? in which case we shall have no chance of catching him." "Niver fear," returned Jacques. "He must have longer legs than most men if he gets to the flat-rock fall before us, an' as that's the spot where he'll nat'rally cross the river, being the only straight line for the hills that escapes the bend o' the bay to the south o' Stoney Creek, we're pretty sartin to stop him there." "True; but that being, as you say, the _natural_ route, don't you think it likely he'll expect that it will be guarded, and avoid it accordingly?" "He _would_ do so, Mister Charles, if he thought we were _here_; but there are two reasons agin this. He thinks that he's got the start o' us, an' won't need to double by way o' deceivin' us; and then he knows that the whole tribe is after him, and consekintly won't take a long road when there's a short one, if he can help it. But here's the rock. Look out, Mister Charles. We'll have to run the fall, which isn't very big just now, and then hide in the bushes at the foot of it till the blackguard shows himself. Keep well to the right an' don't mind the big rock; the rush o' water takes you clear o' that without trouble." With this concluding piece of advice, he pointed to the fall, which plunged over a ledge of rock about half-a-mile ahead of them, and which was distinguishable by a small column of white spray that rose out of it. As Charley beheld it his spirits rose, and forgetting for a moment the circumstances that called him there, he cried out-- "I'll run it before you, Jacques. Hurrah! Give way, Harry!" and in spite of a remonstrance from the guide, he shot the canoe ahead, gave vent to another reckless shout, and flew, rather than glided, down the stream. On seeing this, the guide held back, so as to give him sufficient time to take the plunge ere he followed. A few strokes brought Charley's canoe to the brink of the fall, and Harry was just in the act of raising himself in the bow to observe the position of the rocks, when a shout was heard on the bank close beside them. Looking up they beheld an Indian emerge from the forest, fit an arrow to his bow, and discharge it at them. The winged messenger was truly aimed; it whizzed through the air and transfixed Harry Somerville's left shoulder just at the moment they swept over the fall. The arrow completely incapacitated Harry from using his arm, so that the canoe, instead of being directed into the broad current, took a sudden turn, dashed in among a mass of broken rocks, between which the water foamed with violence, and upset. Here the canoe stuck fast, while its owners stood up to their waists in the water, struggling to set it free--an object which they were the more anxious to accomplish that its stern lay directly in the spot where Jacques would infallibly descend. The next instant their fears were realised. The second canoe glided over the cataract, dashed violently against the first, and upset, leaving Jacques and his man in a similar predicament. By their aid, however, the canoes were more easily righted, and embarking quickly they shot forth again, just as the Indian, who had been obliged to make a detour in order to get within range of their position, reappeared on the banks above, and sent another shaft after them--fortunately, however, without effect. "This is unfortunate," muttered Jacques, as the party landed and endeavoured to wring some of the water from their dripping clothes; "an' the worst of it is that our guns are useless after sich a duckin', an' the varmint knows that, an' will be down on us in a twinklin'." "But we are four to one," exclaimed Harry. "Surely we don't need to fear much from a single enemy." "Humph!" ejaculated the guide, as he examined the lock of his gun. "You've had little to do with Injins, that's plain, You may be sure he's not alone, an' the reptile has a bow with arrows enough to send us all on a pretty long journey. But we've the trees to dodge behind. If I only had _one_ dry charge!" and the disconcerted guide gave a look, half of perplexity, half of contempt, at the dripping gun. "Never mind," cried Charley; "we have our paddles. But I forgot, Harry, in all this confusion, that you are wounded, my poor fellow. We must have it examined before doing anything further." "Oh, it's nothing at all--a mere scratch, I think; at least I feel very little pain." As he spoke the twang of a bow was heard, and an arrow flew past Jacques's ear. "Ah, so soon!" exclaimed that worthy, with a look of surprise, as if he had unexpectedly met with an old friend. Stepping behind a tree, he motioned to his friends to do likewise; an example which they followed somewhat hastily on beholding the Indian who had wounded Harry step from the cover of the underwood and deliberately let fly another arrow, which passed through the hair of the Canadian they had brought with them. From the several trees behind which they had leaped for shelter they now perceived that the Indian with the bow was Misconna, and that he was accompanied by eight others, who appeared, however, to be totally unarmed; having, probably, been obliged to leave their weapons behind them, owing to the abruptness of their flight. Seeing that the white men were unable to use their guns, the Indians assembled in a group, and from the hasty and violent gesticulations of some of the party, especially of Misconna, it was evident that a speedy attack was intended. Observing this, Jacques coolly left the shelter of his tree, and going up to Charley, exclaimed, "Now, Mister Charles, I'm goin' to run away, so you'd better come along with me." "That I certainly will not. Why, what do you mean?" inquired the other, in astonishment. "I mean that these stupid red-skins can't make up their minds what to do, an' as I've no notion o' stoppin' here all day, I want to make them do what will suit us best. You see, if they scatter through the wood and attack us on all sides, they may give us a deal o' trouble, and git away after all; whereas, if we _run away_, they'll bolt after us in a body, and then we can take them in hand all at once, which'll be more comfortable-like, an' easier to manage." As Jacques spoke they were joined by Harry and the Canadian; and being observed by the Indians thus grouped together, another arrow was sent among them. "Now, follow me," said Jacques, turning round with a loud howl and running away. He was closely followed by the others. As the guide had predicted, the Indians no sooner observed this than they rushed after them in a body, uttering horrible yells. "Now, then; stop here; down with you." Jacques instantly crouched behind a bush, while each of the party did the same. In a moment the savages came shouting up, supposing the white men were still running on in advance. As the foremost, a tall, muscular fellow, with the agility of a panther, bounded over the bush behind which Jacques was concealed, he was met with a blow from the guide's fist, so powerfully delivered into the pit of his stomach that it sent him violently back into the bush, where he lay insensible. This event, of course, put a check upon the headlong pursuit of the others, who suddenly paused, like a group of infuriated tigers unexpectedly baulked of their prey. The hesitation, however, was but for a moment. Misconna, who was in advance, suddenly drew his bow again, and let fly an arrow at Jacques, which the latter dexterously avoided; and while his antagonist lowered his eyes for an instant to fit another arrow to the string, the guide, making use of his paddle as a sort of javelin, threw it with such force and precision that it struck Misconna directly between the eyes and felled him to the earth, In another instant the two parties rushed upon each other, and a general _mélée_ ensued, in which the white men, being greatly superior to their adversaries in the use of their fists, soon proved themselves more than a match for them all although inferior in numbers. Charley's first antagonist, making an abortive attempt to grapple with him, received two rapid blows, one on the chest and the other on the nose, which knocked him over the bank into the river, while his conqueror sprang upon another Indian. Harry, having unfortunately selected the biggest savage of the band as his special property, rushed upon him and dealt him a vigorous blow on the head with his paddle. The weapon, however, was made of light wood, and, instead of felling him to the ground, broke into shivers. Springing upon each other they immediately engaged in a fierce struggle, in which poor Harry learned, when too late, that his wounded shoulder was almost powerless. Meanwhile, the Canadian having been assaulted by three Indians at once, floored one at the outset, and immediately began an impromptu war-dance round the other two, dealing them occasionally a kick or a blow, which would speedily have rendered them _hors de combat_, had they not succeeded in closing upon him, when all three fell heavily to the ground. Jacques and Charley having succeeded in overcoming their respective opponents, immediately hastened to his rescue. In the meantime, Harry and his foe had struggled to a considerable distance from the others, gradually edging towards the river's bank. Feeling faint from his wound, the former at length sank under the weight of his powerful antagonist, who endeavoured to thrust him over a kind of cliff which they had approached. He was on the point of accomplishing his purpose, when Charley and his friends perceived Harry's imminent danger, and rushed to the rescue. Quickly though they ran, however, it seemed likely that they would be too late. Harry's head already overhung the bank, and the Indian was endeavouring to loosen the gripe of the young man's hand from his throat, preparatory to tossing him over, when a wild cry rang through the forest, followed by the reports of a double-barrelled gun, fired in quick succession. Immediately after, young Hamilton bounded like a deer down the slope, seized the Indian by the legs, and tossed him over the cliff, where he turned a complete somersault in his descent, and fell with a sounding splash into the water. "Well done, cleverly done, lad!" cried Jacques, as he and the rest of the party came up and crowded round Harry, who lay in a state of partial stupor on the bank. At this moment Redfeather hastily but silently approached; his broad chest was heaving heavily, and his expanded nostrils quivering with the exertions he had made to reach the scene of action in time to succour his friends. "Thank God!" said Hamilton softly, as he kneeled beside Harry and supported his head, while Charley bathed his temples--"thank God that I have been in time! Fortunately I was walking by the river considerably in advance of Redfeather, who was bringing up the canoe, when I heard the sounds of the fray, and hastened to your aid." At this moment Harry opened his eyes, and saying faintly that he felt better, allowed himself to be raised to a sitting posture, while his coat was removed and his wound examined. It was found to be a deep flesh-wound in the shoulder, from which a fragment of the broken arrow still protruded. "It's a wonder to me, Mr. Harry, how ye held on to that big thief so long," muttered Jacques, as he drew out the splinter and bandaged up the shoulder. Having completed the surgical operation after a rough fashion, they collected the defeated Indians. Those of them that were able to walk were bound together by the wrists and marched off to the fort, under a guard which was strengthened by the arrival of several of the fur-traders, who had been in pursuit of the fugitives, and were attracted to the spot by the shouts of the combatants. Harry, and such of the party as were more or less severely injured, were placed in canoes and conveyed to Stoney Creek by the lake, into which Duck River runs at the distance of about half-a-mile from the spot on which the skirmish had taken place. Misconna was among the latter. On arriving at Stoney Creek, the canoe party found a large assemblage of the natives awaiting them on the wharf, and no sooner did Misconna land than they advanced to seize him. "Keep back, friends," cried Jacques, who perceived their intentions, and stepped hastily between them.--"Come here, lads," he continued, turning to his companions; "surround Misconna. He is _our_ prisoner, and must ha' fair justice done him, accordin' to white law." They fell back in silence on observing the guide's determined manner; but as they hurried the wretched culprit towards the house, one of the Indians pressed close upon their rear, and before anyone could prevent him, dashed his tomahawk into Misconna's brain. Seeing that the blow was mortal, the traders ceased to offer any further opposition; and the Indians rushing upon his body, bore it away amid shouts and yells of execration to their canoes, to one of which the body was fastened by a rope, and dragged through the water to point of land which jutted out into the lake near at hand. Here they lighted a fire and burned it to ashes. * * * * * * * There seems to be a period in the history of every one when the fair aspect of this world is darkened--when everything, whether past, present, or future, assumes a hue of the deepest gloom; a period when, for the first time, the sun, which has shone in the mental firmament with more or less brilliancy from childhood upwards, entirely disappears behind a cloud of thick darkness, and leaves the soul in a state of deep melancholy; a time when feelings somewhat akin to despair pervade us, as we begin gradually to look upon the past as a bright, happy vision, out of which we have at last awakened to view the sad realities of the present, and look forward with sinking hope to the future. Various are the causes which produce this, and diverse the effects of it on differently constituted minds; but there are few, we apprehend, who have not passed through the cloud in one or other of its phases, and who do not feel that this _first_ period of prolonged sorrow is darker, and heavier, and worse to bear, than many of the more truly grievous afflictions that sooner or later fall to the lot of most men. Into a state of mind somewhat similar to that which we have endeavoured to describe, our friend Charley Kennedy fell immediately after the events just narrated. The sudden and awful death of his friend Mr. Whyte fell upon his young spirit, unaccustomed as he was to scenes of bloodshed and violence, with overwhelming power. From the depression, however, which naturally followed he would probably soon have rallied had not Harry Somerville's wound in the shoulder taken an unfavourable turn, and obliged him to remain for many weeks in bed, under the influence of a slow fever; so that Charley felt a desolation creeping over his soul that no effort he was capable of making could shake off. It is true he found both occupation and pleasure in attending upon his sick friend; but as Harry's illness rendered great quiet necessary, and as Hamilton had been sent to take charge of the fishing-station mentioned in a former chapter, Charley was obliged to indulge his gloomy reveries in silence. To add to his wretchedness he received a letter from Kate about a week after Mr. Whyte's burial, telling him of the death of his mother. Meanwhile, Redfeather and Jacques--both of whom at their young master's earnest solicitation, agreed to winter at Stoney Creek--cultivated each other's acquaintance sedulously. There were no books of any kind at the outpost, excepting three Bibles--one belonging to Charley, and one to Harry, the third being that which had been presented to Jacques by Mr. Conway the missionary. This single volume, however, proved to be an ample library to Jacques and his Indian friend. Neither of these sons of the forest was much accustomed to reading, and neither of them would have for a moment entertained the idea of taking to literature as a pastime; but Redfeather loved the Bible for the sake of the great truths which he discovered in its inspired pages, though much of what he read was to him mysterious and utterly incomprehensible. Jacques, on the other hand, read it, or listened to his friend, with that philosophic gravity of countenance and earnestness of purpose which he displayed in regard to everything; and deep, serious, and protracted were the discussions they entered into, as night after night they sat on a log, with the Bible spread out before them, and read by the light of the blazing fire in the men's house at Stoney Creek. Their intercourse, however, was brought to an abrupt conclusion by the unexpected arrival, one day, of Mr. Conway the missionary in his tin canoe. This gentleman's appearance was most welcome to all parties. It was like a bright ray of sunshine to Charley to meet with one who could fully sympathise with him in his present sorrowful frame of mind. It was an event of some consequence to Harry Somerville, inasmuch as it provided him with an amateur doctor who really understood somewhat of his physical complaint, and was able to pour balm, at once literally and spiritually, into his wounds. It was an event productive of the liveliest satisfaction to Redfeather, who now felt assured that his tribe would have those mysteries explained which he only imperfectly understood himself; and it was an event of much rejoicing to the Indians themselves, because their curiosity had been not a little roused by what they heard of the doings and sayings of the white missionary, who lived on the borders of the great lake. The only person, perhaps, on whom Mr. Conway's arrival acted with other than a pleasing influence was Jacques Caradoc. This worthy, although glad to meet with a man whom he felt inclined both to love and respect, was by no means gratified to find that his friend Redfeather had agreed to go with the missionary on his visit to the Indian tribe, and thereafter to accompany him to the settlement on Playgreen Lake. But with the stoicism that was natural to him, Jacques submitted to circumstances which he could not alter, and contented himself with assuring Redfeather that if he lived till next spring he would most certainly "make tracks for the great lake," and settle down at the missionary's station along with him. This promise was made at the end of the wharf of Stoney Creek the morning on which Mr. Conway and his party embarked in their tin canoe--the same tin canoe at which Jacques had curled his nose contemptuously when he saw it in process of being constructed, and at which he did not by any means curl it the less contemptuously now that he saw it finished. The little craft answered its purpose marvellously well, however, and bounded lightly away under the vigorous strokes of its crew, leaving Charley and Jacques on the pier gazing wistfully after their friends, and listening sadly to the echoes of their parting song as it floated more and more faintly over the lake. Winter came, but no ray of sunshine broke through the dark cloud that hung over Stoney Creek. Harry Somerville, instead of becoming better, grew worse and worse every day, so that when Charley despatched the winter packet, he represented the illness of his friend to the powers at headquarters as being of a nature that required serious and immediate attention and change of scene. But the word _immediate_ bears a slightly different signification in the backwoods to what it does in the lands of railroads and steamboats. The letter containing this hint took many weeks to traverse the waste wilderness to its destination; months passed before the reply was written, and many weeks more elapsed ere its contents were perused by Charley and his friend. When they did read it, however, the dark cloud that had hung over them so long burst at last; a ray of sunshine streamed down brightly upon their hearts, and never forsook them again, although it did lose a little of its brilliancy after the first flash. It was on a rich, dewy, cheerful morning in early spring when the packet arrived, and Charley led Harry, who was slowly recovering his wonted health and spirits, to their favourite rocky resting-place on the margin of the lake. Here he placed the letter in his friend's hand with a smile of genuine delight. It ran as follows:-- MY DEAR SIR,--Your letter containing the account of Mr. Somerville's illness has been forwarded to me, and I am instructed to inform you that leave of absence for a short time has been granted to him. I have had a conversation with the doctor here, who advises me to recommend that, if your friend has no other summer residence in view, he should spend part of his time in Red River settlement. In the event of his agreeing to this, I would suggest that he should leave Stoney Creek with the first brigade in spring, or by express canoe if you think it advisable.--I am, etc. "Short but sweet--uncommonly sweet!" said Harry, as a deep flush of joy crimsoned his pale cheeks, while his own merry smile, that had been absent for many a weary day, returned once more to its old haunt, and danced round its accustomed dimples like a repentant wanderer who has been long absent from and has at last returned to his native home. "Sweet indeed!" echoed Charley. "But that's not all; here's another lump of sugar for you." So saying, he pulled a letter from his pocket, unfolded it slowly, spread it out on his knee, and, looking up at his expectant friend, winked. "Go on, Charley; pray don't tantalize me." "Tantalize you! My dear fellow, nothing is farther from my thoughts. Listen to this paragraph in my dear old father's letter:-- "'So you see, my dear Charley, that we have managed to get you appointed to the charge of Lower Fort Garry, and as I hear that poor Harry Somerville is to get leave of absence, you had better bring him along with you. I need not add that my house is at his service as long as he may wish to remain in it.' "There! what think ye of that, my boy?" said Charley, as he folded the letter and returned it to his pocket. "I think," replied Harry, "that your father is a dear old gentleman, and I hope that you'll only be half as good when you come to his time of life; and I think I'm so happy to-day that I'll be able to walk without the assistance of your arm to-morrow; and I think we had better go back to the house now, for I feel, oddly enough, as tired as if I had had a long walk. Ah, Charley, my dear fellow, that letter will prove to be the best doctor I have had yet. But now tell me what you intend to do." Charley assisted his friend to rise, and led him slowly back to the house, as he replied,-- "Do, my boy? that's soon said. I'll make things square and straight at Stoney Creek. I'll send for Hamilton and make him interim commander-in-chief. I'll write two letters--one to the gentleman in charge of the district, telling him of my movements; the other (containing a screed of formal instructions) to the miserable mortal who shall succeed me here. I'll take the best canoe in our store, load it with provisions, put you carefully in the middle of it, stick Jacques in the bow and myself in the stern, and start, two weeks hence, neck and crop, head over heels, through thick and thin, wet and dry, over portage, river, fall, and lake, for Red River settlement!" CHAPTER XXVIII. Old friends and scenes--Coming events cast their shadows before. Mr. Kennedy, senior, was seated in his own comfortable arm-chair before the fire, in his own cheerful little parlour, in his own snug house, at Red River, with his own highly characteristic breakfast of buffalo steaks, tea, and pemmican before him, and his own beautiful, affectionate daughter Kate presiding over the tea-pot, and exercising unwarrantably despotic sway over a large gray cat, whose sole happiness seemed to consist in subjecting Mr. Kennedy to perpetual annoyance, and whose main object in life was to catch its master and mistress off their guard, that it might go quietly to the table, the meat-safe, or the pantry, and there--deliberately--steal! Kate had grown very much since we saw her last. She was quite a woman now, and well worthy of a minute description here; but we never could describe a woman to our own satisfaction. We have frequently tried and failed; so we substitute, in place, the remarks of Kate's friends and acquaintances about her--a criterion on which to form a judgment that is a pretty correct one, especially when the opinion pronounced happens to be favourable. Her father said she was an angel, and the only joy of his life. This latter expression, we may remark, was false; for Mr. Kennedy frequently said to Kate, confidentially, that Charley was a great happiness to him; and we are quite sure that the pipe had something to do with the felicity of his existence. But the old gentleman said that Kate was the _only_ joy of his life, and that is all we have to do with at present. Several ill-tempered old ladies in the settlement said that Miss Kennedy was really a quiet, modest girl--testimony this (considering the source whence it came) that was quite conclusive. Then old Mr. Grant remarked to old Mr. Kennedy, over a confidential pipe, that Kate was certainly, in his opinion, the most modest and the prettiest girl in Red River. Her old school companions called her a darling. Tom Whyte said "he never seed nothink like her nowhere." The clerks spoke of her in terms too glowing to remember; and the last arrival among them, the youngest, with the slang of the "old country" fresh on his lips, called her a _stunner!_ Even Mrs. Grant got up one of her half-expressed remarks about her, which everybody would have supposed to be quizzical in its nature, were it not for the frequent occurrence of the terms "good girl," "innocent creature," which seemed to contradict that idea. There were also one or two hapless swains who said nothings, but what they _did_ and _looked_ was in itself unequivocal. They went quietly into a state of slow, drivelling imbecility whenever they happened to meet with Kate; looked as if they had become shockingly unwell, and were rather pleased than otherwise that their friends should think so too; and upon all and every occasion in which Kate was concerned, conducted themselves with an amount of insane stupidity (although sane enough at other times) that nothing could account for, save the idea that their admiration of her was inexpressible, and that _that_ was the most effective way in which they could express it. "Kate, my darling," said Mr. Kennedy, as he finished the last mouthful of tea, "wouldn't it be capital to get another letter from Charley?" "Yes, dear papa, it would indeed. But I am quite sure that the next time we shall hear from him will be when he arrives here, and makes the house ring with his own dear voice." "How so, girl?" said the old trader with a smile. It may as well be remarked here that the above opening of conversation was by no means new; it was stereotyped now. Ever since Charley had been appointed to the management of Lower Fort Garry, his father had been so engrossed by the idea, and spoke of it to Kate so frequently, that he had got into a way of feeling as if the event so much desired would happen in a few days, although he knew quite well that it could not, in the course of ordinary or extra-ordinary circumstances, occur in less than several months. However, as time rolled on he began regularly, every day or two, to ask Kate questions about Charley that she could not by any possibility answer, but which he knew from experience would lead her into a confabulation about his son, which helped a little to allay his impatience. "Why, you see, father," she replied, "it is three months since we got his last, and you know there has been no opportunity of forwarding letters from Stoney Creek since it was despatched. Now, the next opportunity that occurs-" "Mee-aow!" interrupted the cat, which had just finished two pats of fresh butter without being detected, and began, rather recklessly, to exult. "Hang that cat!" cried the old gentleman, angrily, "it'll be the death o' me yet;" and seizing the first thing that came to hand, which happened to be the loaf of bread, discharged it with such violence, and with so correct an aim, that it knocked, not only the cat, but the tea-pot and sugar-bowl also, off the table. "O dear papa!" exclaimed Kate. "Really, my dear," cried Mr. Kennedy, half angry and half ashamed, "we must get rid of that brute immediately. It has scarcely been a week here, and it has done more mischief already than a score of ordinary cats would have done in a twelvemonth." "But then the mice, papa--" "Well, but--but--oh, hang the mice!" "Yes; but how are we to catch them?" said Kate. At this moment the cook, who had heard the sound of breaking crockery, and judged it expedient that he should be present, opened the door. "How now, rascal!" exclaimed his master, striding up to him. "Did I ring for you, eh?" "No, sir; but--" "But! eh, but! no more 'buts,' you scoundrel, else I'll--" The motion of Mr. Kennedy's fist warned the cook to make a precipitate retreat, which he did at the same moment that the cat resolved to run for its life. This caused them to meet in the doorway, and making a compound entanglement with the mat, they both fell into the passage with a loud crash. Mr. Kennedy shut the door gently, and returned to his chair, patting Kate on the head as he passed. "Now, darling, go on with what you were saying; and don't mind the tea-pot--let it lie." "Well," resumed Kate, with a smile, "I was saying that the next opportunity Charley can have will be by the brigade in spring, which we expect to arrive here, you know, a month hence; but we won't get a letter by that, as I feel convinced that he and Harry will come by it themselves." "And the express canoe, Kate--the express canoe," said Mr. Kennedy, with a contortion of the left side of his head that was intended for a wink; "you know they got leave to come by express, Kate." "Oh, as to the express, father, I don't expect them to come by that, as poor Harry Somerville has been so ill that they would never think of venturing to subject him to all the discomforts, not to mention the dangers, of a canoe voyage." "I don't know that, lass--I don't know that," said Mr. Kennedy, giving another contortion with his left cheek. "In fact, I shouldn't wonder if they arrived this very day; and it's well to be on the look-out, so I'm off to the banks of the river, Kate." Saying this, the old gentleman threw on an old fur cap with the peak all awry, thrust his left hand into his right glove, put on the other with the back to the front and the thumb in the middle finger, and bustled out of the house, muttering as he went, "Yes, it's well to be on the look-out for him." Mr. Kennedy, however, was disappointed: Charley did not arrive that day, nor the next, nor the day after that. Nevertheless the old gentleman's faith each day remained as firm as on the day previous that Charley would arrive on that day "for certain." About a week after this, Mr. Kennedy put on his hat and gloves as usual, and sauntered down to the banks of the river, where his perseverance was rewarded by the sight of a small canoe rapidly approaching the landing-place. From the costume of the three men who propelled it, the cut of the canoe itself, the precision and energy of its movements, and several other minute points about it only apparent to the accustomed eye of a nor'-wester, he judged at once that this was a new arrival, and not merely one of the canoes belonging to the settlers, many of which might be seen passing up and down the river. As they drew near he fixed his eyes eagerly upon them. "Very odd," he exclaimed, while a shade of disappointment passed over his brow: "it ought to be him, but it's not like him; too big--different nose altogether. Don't know any of the three. Humph!--well, he's _sure_ to come to-morrow, at all events." Having come to the conclusion that it was not Charley's canoe, he wheeled sulkily round and sauntered back towards his house, intending to solace himself with a pipe. At that moment he heard a shout behind him, and ere he could well turn round to see whence it came, a young man bounded up the bank and seized him in his arms with a hug that threatened to dislocate his ribs. The old gentleman's first impulse was to bestow on his antagonist (for he verily believed him to be such) one of those vigorous touches with his clinched fist which in days of yore used to bring some of his disputes to a summary and effectual close; but his intention changed when the youth spoke. "Father, dear, dear father!" said Charley, as he loosened his grasp, and, still holding him by both hands, looked earnestly into his face with swimming eyes. Old Mr. Kennedy seemed to have lost his powers of speech. He gazed at his son for a few seconds in silence--then suddenly threw his arms around him and engaged in a species of wrestle which he intended for an embrace. "O Charley, my boy! you've come at last--God bless you! Let's look at you. Quite changed: six feet; no, not quite changed--the old nose; black as an Indian. O Charley, my dear boy! I've been waiting for you for months; why did you keep me so long, eh? Hang it, where's my handkerchief?" At this last exclamation Mr. Kennedy's feelings quite overcame him; his full heart overflowed at his eyes, so that when he tried to look at his son, Charley appeared partly magnified and partly broken up into fragments. Fumbling in his pocket for the missing handkerchief, which he did not find, he suddenly seized his fur cap, in a burst of exasperation, and wiped his eyes with that. Immediately after, forgetting that it was a cap he thrust it into his pocket. "Come, dear father," cried Charley, drawing the old man's arm through his, "let us go home. Is Kate there?" "Ay, ay," cried Mr. Kennedy, waving his hand as he was dragged away, and bestowing, quite unwittingly, a back-handed slap on the cheek to Harry Somerville--which nearly felled that youth to the ground. "Ay, ay! Kate, to be sure, darling. Yes, quite right, Charley; a pipe--that's it, my boy, let's have a pipe!" And thus, uttering coherent and broken sentences, he disappeared through the doorway with his long-lost and now recovered son. Meanwhile Harry and Jacques continued to pace quietly before the house, waiting patiently until the first ebullition of feeling, at the meeting of Charley with his father and sister, should be over. In a few minutes Charley ran out. "Hollo, Harry! come in, my boy; forgive my forgetfulness, but--" "My dear fellow," interrupted Harry, "what nonsense you are talking! Of course you forgot me, and everybody and everything on earth, just now; but have you seen Kate? is--" "Yes, yes," cried Charley, as he pushed his friend before him, and dragged Jacques after him into the parlour.--"Here's Harry, father, and Jacques.--You've heard of Jacques, Kate?" "Harry, my, dear boy;" cried Mr. Kennedy, seizing his young friend by the hand; "how are you, lad? Better, I hope." At that moment Mr. Kennedy's eye fell on Jacques, who stood in the doorway, cap in hand, with the usual quiet smile lighting up his countenance. "What! Jacques--Jacques Caradoc!" he cried, in astonishment. "The same, sir; you an' I have know'd each other afore now in the way o' trade," answered the hunter, as he grasped his old bourgeois by the hand and wrung it warmly. Mr. Kennedy, senior, was so overwhelmed by the combination of exciting influences to which he was now subjected, that he plunged his hand into his pocket for the handkerchief again, and pulled out the fur hat instead, which he flung angrily at the cat; then using the sleeve of his coat as a substitute, he proceeded to put a series of abrupt questions to Jacques and Charley simultaneously. In the meantime Harry went up to Kate and _stared_ at her. We do not mean to say that he was intentionally rude to her. No! He went towards her intending to shake hands, and renew acquaintance with his old companion; but the moment he caught sight of her he was struck not only dumb, but motionless. The odd part of it was that Kate, too, was affected in precisely the same way, and both of them exclaimed mentally, "Can it be possible?" Their lips, however, gave no utterance to the question. At length Kate recollected herself, and blushing deeply, held out her hand, as she said,-- "Forgive me, Har--Mr. Somerville; I was so surprised at your altered appearance, I could scarcely believe that my old friend stood before me." Harry's cheeks crimsoned as he seized her hand and said: "Indeed, Ka--a--Miss--that is, in fact, I've been very ill, and doubtless have changed somewhat; but the very same thought struck me in regard to yourself, you are so--so--" Fortunately for Harry, who was gradually becoming more and more confused, to the amusement of Charley, who had closely observed the meeting of his friend and sister, Mr. Kennedy came up. "Eh! what's that? What did you say _struck_ you, Harry, my lad?" "_You_ did, father, on his arrival," replied Charley, with a broad grin, "and a very neat back-hander it was." "Nonsense, Charley," interrupted Harry, with a laugh.--"I was just saying, sir, that Miss Kennedy is so changed that I could hardly believe it to be herself." "And I had just paid Mr. Somerville the same compliment, papa," cried Kate, laughing and blushing simultaneously. Mr. Kennedy thrust his hands into his pockets, frowned portentously as he looked from one to the other, and said slowly, "_Miss_ Kennedy, _Mr._ Somerville!" then turning to his son, remarked, "That's something new, Charley, lad; that girl is _Miss_ Kennedy, and that youth there is _Mr._ Somerville!" Charley laughed loudly at this sally, especially when the old gentleman followed it up with a series of contortions of the left cheek, meant for violent winking. "Right, father, right; it won't do here. We don't know anybody but Kate and Harry in this house." Harry laughed in his own genuine style at this. "Well, Kate be it, with all my heart," said he; "but, really, at first she seemed so unlike the Kate of former days that I could not bring myself to call her so." "Humph!" said Mr. Kennedy. "But come, boys, with me to my smoking-room, and let's have a talk over a pipe, while Kate looks after dinner." Giving Charley another squeeze of the hand, and Harry a pat on the shoulder, the old gentleman put on his cap (with the peak behind), and led the way to his glass divan in the garden. It is perhaps unnecessary for us to say that Kate Kennedy and Harry Somerville had, within the last hour, fallen deeply, hopelessly, utterly, irrevocably, and totally in love with each other. They did not merely fall up to the ears in love. To say that they fell over head and ears in it would be, comparatively speaking, to say nothing. In fact, they did not fall into it at all. They went deliberately backwards, took a long race, sprang high into the air, turned completely round, and went down head first into the flood, descending to a depth utterly beyond the power of any deep-sea lead to fathom, or of any human mind adequately to appreciate. Up to that day Kate had thought of Harry as the hilarious youth who used to take every opportunity he could of escaping from the counting-room and hastening to spend the afternoon in rambling through the woods with her and Charley. But the instant she saw him a man, with a bright, cheerful countenance, on which rough living and exposure to frequent peril had stamped unmistakable lines of energy and decision, and to which recent illness had imparted a captivating touch of sadness--the moment she beheld this, and the undeniable scrap of whisker that graced his cheeks, and the slight _shade_ that rested on his upper lip, her heart leaped violently into her throat, where it stuck hard and fast, like a stranded ship on a lee-shore. In like manner, when Harry beheld his former friend a woman, with beaming eyes and clustering ringlets and--(there, we won't attempt it!)--in fact, surrounded by every nameless and namable grace that makes woman exasperatingly delightful, his heart performed the same eccentric movement, and he felt that his fate was sealed; that he had been sucked into a rapid which was too strong even for his expert and powerful arm to contend against, and that he must drift with the current now, _nolens volens_, and run it as he best could. When Kate retired to her sleeping-apartment that night, she endeavoured to comport herself in her usual manner; but all her efforts failed. She sat down on her bed, and remained motionless for half-an-hour; then she started and sighed deeply; then she smiled and opened her Bible, but forgot to read it; then she rose hastily, sighed again, took off her gown, hung it up on a peg, and returning to the dressing-table sat down on her best bonnet; then she cried a little, at which point the candle suddenly went out; so she gave a slight scream, and at last went to bed in the dark. Three hours afterwards, Harry Somerville, who had been enjoying a cigar and a chat with Charley and his father, rose, and bidding his friends good-night, retired to his chamber, where he flung himself down on a chair, thrust his hands into his pockets, stretched out his legs, gazed abstractedly before him, and exclaimed--"O Kate, my exquisite girl, you've floored me quite that!" As he continued to sit in silence, the gaze of affection gradually and slowly changed into a look of intense astonishment as he beheld the gray cat sitting comfortably on the table, and regarding him with a look of complacent interest, as if it thought Harry's style of addressing it was highly satisfactory--though rather unusual. "Brute!" exclaimed Harry, springing from his seat and darting towards it. But the cat was too well accustomed to old Mr. Kennedy's sudden onsets to be easily taken by surprise. With a bound it reached the floor, and took shelter under the bed, whence it was not ejected until Harry, having first thrown his shoes, soap, clothes-brush, and razor-strop at it, besides two or three books and several miscellaneous articles of toilet, at last opened the door (a thing, by the way, that people would do well always to remember before endeavouring to expel a cat from an impregnable position), and drew the bed into the middle of the room. Then, but not till then, it fled, with its back, its tail, its hair, its eyes--in short, its entire body--bristling in rampant indignation. Having dislodged the enemy, Harry replaced the bed, threw off his coat and waistcoat, untied his neckcloth, sat down on his chair again, and fell into a reverie; from which, after half-an-hour, he started, clasped his hands, stamped his foot, glared up at the ceiling, slapped his thigh, and exclaimed, in the voice of a hero, "Yes, I'll do it, or die!" CHAPTER XXIX. The first day at home--A gallop in the prairie, and its consequences. Next morning, as the quartette were at breakfast, Mr. Kennedy, senior, took occasion to propound to his son the plans he had laid down for them during the next week. "In the first place, Charley, my boy," said he, as well as a large mouthful of buffalo steak and potato would permit, "you must drive up to the fort and report yourself. Harry and I will go with you; and after we have paid our respects to old Grant (another cup of tea, Kate, my darling)--you recollect him, Charley, don't you?" "Yes, perfectly." "Well, then, after we've been to see him, we'll drive down the river, and call on our friends at the mill. Then we'll look in on the Thomsons; and give a call, in passing, on old Neverin--he's always out, so he'll be pleased to hear we were there, and it won't detain us. Then---" "But, dear father--excuse my interrupting you--Harry and I are very anxious to spend our first day at home entirely with you and Kate. Don't you think it would be more pleasant? and then, to-morrow--" "Now, Charley, this is too bad of you," said Mr. Kennedy, with a look of affected indignation: "no sooner have you come back than you're at your old tricks, opposing and thwarting your father's wishes." "Indeed, I do not wish to do so, father," replied Charley, with a smile; "but I thought that you would like my plan better yourself, and that it would afford us an opportunity of having a good long, satisfactory talk about all that concerns us, past, present, and future." "What a daring mind you have, Charley," said Harry, "to speak of cramming a _satisfactory_ talk of the past, the present, and the future all into _one_ day!" "Harry will take another cup of tea, Kate," said Charley, with an arch smile, as he went on,-- "Besides, father, Jacques tells me that he means to go off immediately, to visit a number of his old voyageur friends in the settlement, and I cannot part with him till we have had one more canter together over the prairies. I want to show him to Kate, for he's a great original." "Oh, that _will_ be charming!" cried Kate. "I should like of all things to be introduced to the bold hunter.--Another cup of tea, Mr. S-Harry, I mean?" Harry started on being thus unexpectedly addressed. "Yes, if you please--that is--thank you--no, my cup's full already, Kate!" "Well, well," broke in Mr. Kennedy, senior, "I see you're all leagued against me, so I give in. But I shall not accompany you on your ride, as my bones are a little stiffer than they used to be" (the old gentleman sighed heavily), "and riding far knocks me up; but I've got business to attend to in my glass house which will occupy me till dinner-time." "If the business you speak of," began Charley, "is not incompatible with a cigar, I shall be happy to--" "Why, as to that, the business itself has special reference to tobacco, and, in fact, to nothing else; so come along, you young dog," and the old gentleman's cheek went into violent convulsions as he rose, put on his cap, with the peak very much over one eye, and went out in company with the young men. An hour afterwards four horses stood saddled and bridled in front of the house. Three belonged to Mr. Kennedy; the fourth had been borrowed from a neighbour as a mount for Jacques Caradoc. In a few minutes more Harry lifted Kate into the saddle, and having arranged her dress with a deal of unnecessary care, mounted his nag. At the same moment Charley and Jacques vaulted into their saddles, and the whole cavalcade galloped down the avenue that led to the prairie, followed by the admiring gaze of Mr. Kennedy, senior, who stood in the doorway of his mansion, his hands in his vest pockets, his head uncovered, and his happy visage smiling through a cloud of smoke that issued from his lips. He seemed the very personification of jovial good-humour, and what one might suppose Cupid would become were he permitted to grow old, dress recklessly, and take to smoking! The prairies were bright that morning, and surpassingly beautiful. The grass looked greener than usual, the dew-drops more brilliant as they sparkled on leaf and blade and branch in the rays of an unclouded sun. The turf felt springy, and the horses, which were first-rate animals, seemed to dance over it, scarce crushing the wild-flowers beneath their hoofs, as they galloped lightly on, imbued with the same joyous feeling that filled the hearts of their riders. The plains at this place were more picturesque than in other parts, their uniformity being broken up by numerous clumps of small trees and wild shrubbery, intermingled with lakes and ponds of all sizes, which filled the hollows for miles round--temporary sheets of water these, formed by the melting snow, that told of winter now past and gone. Additional animation and life was given to the scene by flocks of water-fowl, whose busy cry and cackle in the water, or whirring motion in the air, gave such an idea of joyousness in the brute creation as could not but strike a chord of sympathy in the heart of a man, and create a feeling of gratitude to the Maker of man and beast. Although brilliant and warm, the sun, at least during the first part of their ride, was by no means oppressive; so that the equestrians stretched out at full gallop for many miles over the prairie, round the lakes and through the bushes, ere their steeds showed the smallest symptoms of warmth. During the ride Kate took the lead, with Jacques on her left and Harry on her right, while Charley brought up the rear, and conversed in a loud key with all three. At length Kate began to think it was just possible the horses might be growing wearied with the slapping pace, and checked her steed; but this was not an easy matter, as the horse seemed to hold quite a contrary opinion, and showed a desire not only to continue but to increase its gallop--a propensity that induced Harry to lend his aid by grasping the rein and compelling the animal to walk. "That's a spirited horse, Kate," said Charley, as they ambled along; "have you had him long?" "No," replied Kate; "our father purchased him just a week before your arrival, thinking that you would likely want a charger now and then. I have only been on him once before.--Would he make a good buffalo-runner, Jacques?" "Yes, miss; he would make an uncommon good runner," answered the hunter, as he regarded the animal with a critical glance--"at least if he don't shy at a gunshot." "I never tried his nerves in that way," said Kate, with a smile; "perhaps he would shy at _that_. He has a good deal of spirit--oh, I do dislike a lazy horse, and I do delight in a spirited one!" Kate gave her horse a smart cut with the whip, half involuntarily, as she spoke. In a moment it reared almost perpendicularly, and then bounded forward; not, however, before Jacques's quick eye had observed the danger, and his ever-ready hand arrested its course. "Have a care, Miss Kate," he said, in a warning voice, while he gazed in the face of the excited girl with a look of undisguised admiration. "It don't do to wallop a skittish beast like that." "Never fear, Jacques," she replied, bending forward to pat her charger's arching neck; "see, he is becoming quite gentle again." "If he runs away, Kate, we won't be able to catch you again, for he's the best of the four, I think," said Harry, with an uneasy glance at the animal's flashing eye and expanded nostrils. "Ay, it's as well to keep the whip off him," said Jacques. "I know'd a young chap once in St. Louis who lost his sweetheart by usin' his whip too freely." "Indeed," cried Kate, with a merry laugh, as they emerged from one of the numerous thickets and rode out upon the open plain at a foot pace; "how was that, Jacques? Pray tell us the story." "As to that, there's little story about it," replied the hunter. "You see, Tim Roughead took arter his name, an' was always doin' some mischief or other, which more than once nigh cost him his life; for the young trappers that frequent St. Louis are not fellows to stand too much jokin', I can tell ye. Well, Tim fell in love with a gal there who had jilted about a dozen lads afore; an' bein' an oncommon handsome, strappin' fellow, she encouraged him a good deal. But Tim had a suspicion that Louise was rayther sweet on a young storekeeper's clerk there; so, bein' an off-hand sort o' critter, he went right up to the gal, and says to her, says he, 'Come, Louise, it's o' no use humbuggin' with _me_ any longer. If you like me, you like me; and if you don't like me, you don't. There's only two ways about it. Now, jist say the word at once, an' let's have an end on't. If you agree, I'll squat with you in whativer bit o' the States you like to name; if not, I'll bid you good-bye this blessed mornin', an' make tracks right away for the Rocky Mountains afore sundown. Ay or no, lass: which is't to be?' "Poor Louise was taken all aback by this, but she knew well that Tim was a man who never threatened in jest, an' moreover she wasn't quite sure o' the young clerk; so she agreed, an' Tim went off to settle with her father about the weddin'. Well, the day came, an' Tim, with a lot o' his comrades, mounted their horses, and rode off to the bride's house, which was a mile or two up the river out of the town. Just as they were startin', Tim's horse gave a plunge that well-nigh pitched him over its head, an' Tim came down on him with a cut o' his heavy whip that sounded like a pistol-shot. The beast was so mad at this that it gave a kind o' squeal an' another plunge that burst the girths. Tim brought the whip down on its flank again, which made it shoot forward like an arrow out of a bow, leavin' poor Tim on the ground. So slick did it fly away that it didn't even throw him on his back, but let him fall sittin'-wise, saddle and all, plump on the spot where he sprang from. Tim scratched his head an' grinned like a half-worried rattlesnake as his comrades almost rolled off their saddles with laughin'. But it was no laughin' job, for poor Tim's leg was doubled under him, an' broken across at the thigh. It was long before he was able to go about again, and when he did recover he found that Louise and the young clerk were spliced an' away to Kentucky." "So you see what are the probable consequences, Kate, if you use your whip so obstreperously again," cried Charley, pressing his horse into a canter. Just at that moment a rabbit sprang from under a bush and darted away before them. In an instant Harry Somerville gave a wild shout, and set off in pursuit. Whether it was the cry or the sudden flight of Harry's horse, we cannot tell, but the next instant Kate's charger performed an indescribable flourish with its hind legs, laid back its ears, took the bit between its teeth, and ran away. Jacques was on its heels instantly, and a few seconds afterwards Charley and Harry joined in the pursuit, but their utmost efforts failed to do more than enable them to keep their ground. Kate's horse was making for a dense thicket, into which it became evident they must certainly plunge. Harry and her brother trembled when they looked at it and realised her danger; even Jacques's face showed some symptoms of perturbation for a moment as he glanced before him in indecision. The expression vanished, however, in a few seconds, and his cheerful, self-possessed look returned, as he cried out,--"Pull the left rein hard, Miss Kate; try to edge up the slope." Kate heard the advice, and exerting all her strength, succeeded in turning her horse a little to the left, which caused him to ascend a gentle slope, at the top of which part of the thicket lay. She was closely followed by Harry and her brother, who urged their steeds madly forward in the hope of catching her rein, while Jacques diverged a little to the right. By this manoeuvre the latter hoped to gain on the runaway, as the ground along which he rode was comparatively level, with a short but steep ascent at the end of it, while that along which Kate flew like the wind was a regular ascent, that would prove very trying to her horse. At the margin of the thicket grew a row of high bushes, towards which they now galloped with frightful speed. As Kate came up to this natural fence, she observed the trapper approaching on the other side of it. Springing from his jaded steed, without attempting to check its pace, he leaped over the underwood like a stag just as the young girl cleared the bushes at a bound. Grasping the reins and checking the horse violently with one hand, he extended the other to Kate, who leaped unhesitatingly into his arms. At the same instant Charley cleared the bushes, and pulled sharply up; while Harry's horse, unable, owing to its speed, to take the leap, came crashing through them, and dashed his rider with stunning violence to the ground. Fortunately no bones were broken, and a draught of clear water, brought by Jacques from a neighbouring pond, speedily restored Harry's shaken faculties. "Now, Kate," said Charley, leading forward the horse which he had ridden, "I have changed saddles, as you see; this horse will suit you better, and I'll take the shine out of your charger on the way home." "Thank you, Charley," said Kate, with a smile. "I've quite recovered from my fright--if, indeed, it is worth calling by that name; but I fear that Harry has--" "Oh, I'm all right," cried Harry, advancing as he spoke to assist Kate in mounting. "I am ashamed to think that my wild cry was the cause of all this." In another minute they were again in their saddles, and turning their faces homeward, they swept over the plain at a steady gallop, fearing lest their accident should be the means of making Mr. Kennedy wait dinner for them. On arriving, they found the old gentleman engaged in an animated discussion with the cook about laying the table-cloth, which duty he had imposed on himself in Kate's absence. "Ah, Kate, my love," he cried, as they entered, "come here, lass, and mount guard. I've almost broke my heart in trying to convince that thick-headed goose that he can't set the table properly. Take it off my hands, like a good girl.--Charley, my boy, you'll be pleased to hear that your old friend Redfeather is here." "Redfeather, father!" exclaimed Charley, in surprise. "Yes; he and the parson, from the other end of Lake Winnipeg, arrived an hour ago in a tin kettle, and are now on their way to the upper fort." "That is, indeed, pleasant news; but I suspect that it will give much greater pleasure to our friend Jacques, who, I believe, would be glad to lay down his life for him, simply to prove his affection." "Well, well," said the old gentleman, knocking the ashes out of his pipe, and refilling it so as to be ready for an after-dinner smoke, "Redfeather has come, and the parson's come too; and I look upon it as quite miraculous that they have come, considering the _thing_ they came in. What they've come for is more than I can tell, but I suppose it's connected with church affairs.--Now then, Kate, what's come o' the dinner, Kate? Stir up that grampus of a cook! I half expect that he has boiled the cat for dinner, in his wrath, for it has been badgering him and me the whole morning.--Hollo, Harry, what's wrong?" The last exclamation was in consequence of an expression of pain which crossed Harry's face for a moment. "Nothing, nothing," replied Harry. "I've had a fall from my horse, and bruised my arm a little. But I'll see to it after dinner." "That you shall not," cried Mr Kennedy energetically, dragging his young friend into his bedroom. "Off with your coat, lad. Let's see it at once. Ay, ay," he continued, examining Harry's left arm, which was very much discoloured, and swelled from the elbow to the shoulder, "that's a severe thump, my boy. But it's nothing to speak of; only you'll have to submit to a sling for a day or two." "That's annoying, certainly, but I'm thankful it's no worse," remarked Harry, as Mr. Kennedy dressed the arm after his own fashion, and then returned with him to the dining-room. CHAPTER XXX. Love--Old Mr. Kennedy puts his foot in it. One morning, about two weeks after Charley's arrival at Red River, Harry Somerville found himself alone in Mr. Kennedy's parlour. The old gentleman himself had just galloped away in the direction of the lower fort, to visit Charley, who was now formally installed there; Kate was busy in the kitchen giving directions about dinner; and Jacques was away with Redfeather, visiting his numerous friends in the settlement: so that, for the first time since his arrival, Harry found himself at the hour of ten in the morning utterly lone, and with nothing very definite to do. Of course, the two weeks that had elapsed were not without their signs and symptoms, their minor accidents and incidents, in regard to the subject that filled his thoughts. Harry had fifty times been tossed alternately from the height of hope to the depth of despair, from the extreme of felicity to the uttermost verge of sorrow, and he began seriously to reflect, when he remembered his desperate resolution on the first night of his arrival, that if he did not "do" he certainly would "die." This was quite a mistake, however, on Harry's part. Nobody ever did _die_ of unrequited love. Doubtless many people have hanged, drowned, and shot themselves because of it; but, generally speaking, if the patient can be kept from maltreating himself long enough, time will prove to be an infallible remedy. O youthful reader, lay this to heart: but pshaw! why do I waste ink on so hopeless a task? _Every_ one, we suppose, resolves once in a way to _die_ of love; so--die away, my young friends, only make sure that you don't _kill_ yourselves, and I've no fear of the result. But to return. Kate, likewise, was similarly affected. She behaved like a perfect maniac--mentally, that is--and plunged herself, metaphorically, into such a succession of hot and cold baths, that it was quite a marvel how her spiritual constitution could stand it. But we were wrong in saying that Harry was _alone_ in the parlour. The gray cat was there. On a chair before the fire it sat, looking dishevelled and somewhat _blase,_ in consequence of the ill-treatment and worry to which it was continually subjected. After looking out of the window for a short time, Harry rose, and sitting down on a chair beside the cat, patted its head--a mark of attention it was evidently not averse to, but which it received, nevertheless, with marked suspicion, and some indications of being in a condition of armed neutrality. Just then the door opened, and Kate entered. "Excuse me, Harry, for leaving you alone," she said, "but I had to attend to several household matters. Do you feel inclined for a walk?" "I do indeed," replied Harry; "it is a charming day, and I am exceedingly anxious to see the bower that you have spoken to me about once or twice, and which Charley told me of long before I came here." "Oh, I shall take you to it with pleasure," replied Kate; "my dear father often goes there with me to smoke. If you will wait for two minutes I'll put on my bonnet," and she hastened to prepare herself for the walk, leaving Harry to caress the cat, which he did so energetically, when he thought of its young mistress, that it instantly declared war, and sprang from the chair with a remonstrative yell. On their way down to the bower, which was situated in a picturesque, retired spot on the river's bank about a mile below the house, Harry and Kate tried to converse on ordinary topics, but without success, and were at last almost reduced to silence. One subject alone filled their minds; all others were flat. Being sunk, as it were, in an ocean of love, they no sooner opened their lips to speak, than the waters rushed in, as a natural consequence, and nearly choked them. Had they but opened their mouths wide and boldly, they would have been pleasantly drowned together; but as it was, they lacked the requisite courage, and were fain to content themselves with an occasional frantic struggle to the surface, where they gasped a few words of uninteresting air, and sank again instantly. On arriving at the bower, however, and sitting down, Harry plucked up heart, and, heaving a deep sigh, said-- "Kate, there is a subject about which I have long desired to speak to you-" Long as he had been desiring it, however, Kate thought it must have been nothing compared with the time that elapsed ere he said anything else; so she bent over a flower which she held in her hand, and said in a low voice, "Indeed, Harry, what is it?" Harry was desperate now. His usually flexible tongue was stiff as stone and dry as a bit of leather. He could no more give utterance to an intelligible idea than he could change himself into Mr. Kennedy's gray cat--a change that he would not have been unwilling to make at that moment. At last he seized his companion's hand, and exclaimed, with a burst of emotion that quite startled her,-- "Kate, Kate! O dearest Kate, I love you! I _adore_ you! I--" At this point poor Harry's powers of speech again failed; so being utterly unable to express another idea, he suddenly threw his arms round her, and pressed her fervently to his bosom. Kate was taken quite aback by this summary method of coming to the point. Repulsing him energetically, she exclaimed, while she blushed crimson. "O Harry--Mr Somerville!" and burst into tears. Poor Harry stood before her for a moment, his head hanging down, and a deep blush of shame on his face. "O Kate," said he, in a deep tremulous voice, "forgive me; do--do forgive me! I knew not what I said. I scarce knew what I did" (here he seized her hand). "I know but one thing, Kate, and tell it you _will,_ if it should cost me my life. I love you, Kate, to distraction, and I wish you to be my wife. I have been rude, very rude. Can you forgive me, Kate?" Now, this latter part of Harry's speech was particularly comical, the comicality of it lying in this, that while he spoke, he drew Kate gradually towards him, and at the very time when he gave utterance to the penitential remorse for his rudeness, Kate was infolded in a much more vigorous embrace than at the first; and what is more remarkable still, she laid her little head quietly on his shoulder, as if she had quite changed her mind in regard to what was and what was not rude, and rather enjoyed it than otherwise. While the lovers stood in this interesting position, it became apparent to Harry's olfactory nerves that the atmosphere was impregnated with tobacco smoke. Looking hastily up, he beheld an apparition that tended somewhat to increase the confusion of his faculties. In the opening of the bower stood Mr. Kennedy, senior, in a state of inexpressible amazement. We say inexpressible advisedly, because the extreme pitch of feeling which Mr. Kennedy experienced at what he beheld before him cannot possibly be expressed by human visage. As far as the countenance of man could do it, however, we believe the old gentleman's came pretty near the mark on this occasion. His hands were in his coat pockets, his body bent a little forward, his head and neck outstretched a little beyond it, his eyes almost starting from the sockets, and certainly the most prominent feature in his face: his teeth firmly clinched on his beloved pipe, and his lips expelling a multitude of little clouds so vigorously that one might have taken him for a sort of self-acting intelligent steam-gun that had resolved utterly to annihilate Kate and Harry at short range in the course of two minutes. When Kate saw her father she uttered a slight scream, covered her face with her hands, rushed from the bower, and disappeared in the wood. "So, young gentleman," began Mr. Kennedy, in a slow, deliberate tone of voice, while he removed the pipe from his mouth, clinched his fist, and confronted Harry, "you've been invited to my house as a guest, sir, and you seize the opportunity basely to insult my daughter!" "Stay, stay, my dear sir," interrupted Harry, laying his hand on the old man's shoulder and gazing earnestly into his face. "Oh, do not, even for a moment, imagine that I could be so base as to trifle with the affections of your daughter. I may have been presumptuous, hasty, foolish, mad if you will, but not base. God forbid that I should treat her with disrespect, even in thought! I love her, Mr. Kennedy, as I never loved before. I have asked her to be my wife, and--she--" "Whew!" whistled old Mr. Kennedy, replacing his pipe between his teeth, gazing abstractedly at the ground, and emitting clouds innumerable. After standing thus a few seconds, he turned his back slowly upon Harry, and smiled outrageously once or twice, winking at the same time, after his own fashion, at the river. Turning abruptly round, he regarded Harry with a look of affected dignity, and said, "Pray, sir, what did my daughter say to your very peculiar proposal?" "She said ye--ah! that is--she didn't exactly _say_ anything, but she--indeed I--" "Humph!" ejaculated the old gentleman, deepening his frown as he regarded his young friend through the smoke. "In short, she said nothing, I suppose, but led you to infer, perhaps, that she would have said yes if I hadn't interrupted you." Harry blushed, and said nothing. "Now, sir," continued Mr. Kennedy, "don't you think that it would have been a polite piece of attention on your part to have asked _my_ permission before you addressed my daughter on such a subject, eh?" "Indeed," said Harry, "I acknowledge that I have been hasty, but I must disclaim the charge of disrespect to you, sir. I had no intention whatever of broaching the subject to-day, but my feelings, unhappily, carried me away, and--and--in fact--" "Well, well, sir," interrupted Mr. Kennedy, with a look of offended dignity, "your feelings ought to be kept more under control. But come, sir, to my house. I must talk further with you on this subject. I must read you a lesson, sir--a lesson, humph! that you won't forget in a hurry." "But, my dear sir--" began Harry. "No more, sir--no more at present," cried the old gentleman, smoking violently as he pointed to the footpath that led to the house, "Lead the way, sir; I'll follow." The footpath, although wide enough to allow Kate and Harry to walk, beside each other, did not permit of two gentlemen doing so conveniently--a circumstance which proved a great relief to Mr. Kennedy, inasmuch as it enabled him, while walking behind his companion, to wink convulsively, smoke furiously, and punch his own ribs severely, by way of opening a few safety-valves to his glee, without which there is no saying what might have happened. He was nearly caught in these eccentricities more than once, however, as Harry turned half round with the intention of again attempting to exculpate himself--attempts which were as often met by a sudden start, a fierce frown, a burst of smoke, and a command to "go on." On approaching the house, the track became a broad road, affording Mr. Kennedy no excuse for walking in the rear, so that he was under the necessity of laying violent restraint on his feelings--a restraint which it was evident could not last long. At that moment, to his great relief, his eye suddenly fell on the gray cat, which happened to be reposing innocently on the doorstep. "_That's_ it! there's the whole cause of it at last!" cried Mr. Kennedy, in a perfect paroxysm of excitement, flinging his pipe violently at the unoffending victim as he rushed towards it. The pipe missed the cat, but went with a sharp crash through the parlour window, at which Charley was seated, while his father darted through the doorway, along the passage, and into the kitchen. Here the cat, having first capsized a pyramid of pans and kettles in its consternation, took refuge in an absolutely unassailable position. Seeing this, Mr. Kennedy violently discharged a pailful of water at the spot, strode rapidly to his own apartment, and locked himself in. "Dear me, Harry, what's wrong? my father seems unusually excited," said Charley, in some astonishment, as Harry entered the room, and flung himself on a chair with a look of chagrin. "It's difficult to say, Charley; the fact is, I've asked your sister Kate to be my wife, and your father seems to have gone mad with indignation." "Asked Kate to be your wife!" cried Charley, starting up, and regarding his friend with a look of amazement. "Yes, I have," replied Harry, with an air of offended dignity. "I know very well that I am unworthy of her, but I see no reason why you and your father should take such pains to make me feel it." "Unworthy of her, my dear fellow!" exclaimed Charley, grasping his hand and wringing it violently; "no doubt you are, and so is everybody, but you shall have her for all that, my boy. But tell me, Harry, have you spoken to Kate herself?" "Yes, I have." "And does she agree?" "Well, I think I may say she does." "Have you told my father that she does?" "Why, as to that," said Harry, with a perplexed smile, "he didn't need to be told; he made _himself_ pretty well aware of the facts of the case." "Ah! I'll soon settle _him_," cried Charley. "Keep your mind easy, old fellow; I'll very soon bring him round." With this assurance, Charley gave his friend's hand another shake that nearly wrenched the arm from his shoulder, and hastened out of the room in search of his refractory father. CHAPTER XXXI. The course of true love, curiously enough, runs smooth for once; and the curtain falls. Time rolled on, and with it the sunbeams of summer went--the snowflakes of winter came. Needles of ice began to shoot across the surface of Red River, and gradually narrowed its bed. Crystalline trees formed upon the window-panes. Icicles depended from the eaves of the houses. Snow fell in abundance on the plains; liquid nature began rapidly to solidify, and not many weeks after the first frost made its appearance everything was (as the settlers expressed it) "hard and fast." Mr. Kennedy, senior, was in his parlour, with his back to a blazing wood-fire that seemed large enough to roast an ox whole. He was standing, moreover, in a semi-picturesque attitude, with his right hand in his breeches pocket and his left arm round Kate's waist. Kate was dressed in a gown that rivalled the snow itself in whiteness. One little gold clasp shone in her bosom; it was the only ornament she wore. Mr. Kennedy, too, had somewhat altered his style of costume. He wore a sky-blue, swallow-tailed coat, whose maker had flourished in London half-a-century before. It had a velvet collar about five inches deep, fitted uncommonly tight to the figure, and had a pair of bright brass buttons, very close together, situated half-a-foot above the wearer's natural waist. Besides this, he had on a canary-coloured vest, and a pair of white duck trousers, in the fob of which _evidently_ reposed an immense gold watch of the olden time, with a bunch of seals that would have served very well as an anchor for a small boat. Although the dress was, on the whole, slightly comical, its owner, with his full, fat, broad figure, looked remarkably well in it, nevertheless. It was Kate's marriage-day, or rather marriage-evening; for the sun had set two hours ago, and the moon was now sailing in the frosty sky, its pale rays causing the whole country to shine with a clear, cold, silvery whiteness. The old gentleman had been for some time gazing in silent admiration on the fair brow and clustering ringlets of his daughter, when it suddenly occurred to him that the company would arrive in half-an-hour, and there were several things still to be attended to. "Hello, Kate!" he exclaimed, with a start, "we're forgetting ourselves. The candles are yet to light, and lots of other things to do." Saying this, he began to bustle about the room in a state of considerable agitation. "Oh, don't worry yourself, dear father!" cried Kate, running after him and catching him by the hand. "Miss Cookumwell and good Mrs. Taddipopple are arranging everything about tea and supper in the kitchen, and Tom Whyte has been kindly sent to us by Mr. Grant, with orders to make himself generally useful, so _he_ can light the candles in a few minutes, and you've nothing to do but to kiss me and receive the company." Kate pulled her father gently towards the fire again, and replaced his arm round her waist. "Receive company! Ah, Kate, my love, that's just what I know nothing about. If they'd let me receive them in my own way, I'd do it well enough; but that abominable Mrs. Taddi-what's her name-has quite addled my brains and driven me distracted with trying to get me to understand what she calls _etiquette_." Kate laughed, and said she didn't care _how_ he received them, as she was quite sure that, whichever way he did it, he would do it pleasantly and well. At that moment the door opened, and Tom Whyte entered. He was thinner, if possible, than he used to be, and considerably stiffer, and more upright. "Please, sir," said he, with a motion that made you expect to hear his back creak (it was intended for a bow)--"please, sir, can I do hanythink for yer?" "Yes, Tom, you can," replied Mr. Kennedy. "Light these candles, my man, and then go to the stable and see that everything there is arranged for putting up the horses. It will be pretty full to-night, Tom, and will require some management. Then, let me see--ah yes, bring me my pipe, Tom, my big meerschaum.--I'll sport that to-night in honour of you, Kate." "Please, sir," began Tom, with a slightly disconcerted air, "I'm afeared, sir, that--um--" "Well, Tom, what would you say? Go on." "The pipe, sir," said Tom, growing still more disconcerted--"says I to cook, says I, 'Cook, wot's been an' done it, d'ye think?' 'Dun know, Tom,' says he, 'but it's smashed, that's sartin. I think the gray cat--'" "What!" cried the old trader, in a voice of thunder, while a frown of the most portentous ferocity darkened his brow for an instant. It was only for an instant, however. Clearing his brow quickly, he said with a smile, "But it's your wedding-day, Kate, my darling. It won't do to blow up anybody to-day, not even the cat.--There, be off, Tom, and see to things. Look sharp! I hear sleigh-bells already." As he spoke Tom vanished perpendicularly, Kate hastened to her room, and the old gentleman himself went to the front door to receive his guests. The night was of that intensely calm and still character that invariably accompanies intense frost, so that the merry jingle of the sleigh-bells that struck on Mr. Kennedy's listening ear continued to sound, and grow louder as they drew near, for a considerable time ere the visitors arrived. Presently the dull, soft tramp of horses' hoofs was heard in the snow, and a well-known voice shouted out lustily, "Now then, Mactavish, keep to the left. Doesn't the road take a turn there? Mind the gap in the fence. That's old Kennedy's only fault. He'd rather risk breaking his friends' necks than mend his fences!" "All right, here we are," cried Mactavish, as the next instant two sleighs emerged out of the avenue into the moonlit space in front of the house, and dashed up to the door amid an immense noise and clatter of bells, harness, hoofs, snorting, and salutations. "Ah, Grant, my dear fellow!" cried Mr. Kennedy, springing to the sleigh and seizing his friend by the hand as he dragged him out. "This is kind of you to come early. And Mrs. Grant, too. Take care, my dear madam, step clear of the haps; now, then--cleverly done" (as Mrs. Grant tumbled into his arms in a confused heap). "Come along now; there's a capital fire in here.--Don't mind the horses, Mactavish--follow us, my lad; Tom Whyte will attend to them." Uttering such disjointed remarks, Mr. Kennedy led Mrs. Grant into the house, and made her over to Mrs. Taddipopple, who hurried her away to an inner apartment, while Mr. Kennedy conducted her spouse, along with Mactavish and our friend the head clerk at Fort Garry, into the parlour. "Harry, my dear fellow, I wish you joy," cried Mr. Grant, as the former grasped his hand. "Lucky dog you are. Where's Kate, eh? Not visible yet, I suppose." "No, not till the parson comes," interrupted Mr. Kennedy, convulsing his left cheek.--"Hollo, Charley, where are you? Ah! bring the cigars, Charley.--Sit down, gentlemen; make yourselves at home--I say, Mrs. Taddi--Taddi--oh, botheration--popple! that's it--your name, madam, is a puzzler-but-we'll need more chairs, I think. Fetch one or two, like a dear!" As he spoke the jingle of bells was heard outside, and Mr. Kennedy rushed to the door again. "Good-evening, Mr. Addison," said he, taking that gentleman warmly by the hand as he resigned the reins to Tom Whyte. "I am delighted to see you, sir (Look after the minister's mare, Tom), glad to see you, my dear sir. Some of my friends have come already. This way, Mr. Addison." The worthy clergyman responded to Mr. Kennedy's greeting in his own hearty manner, and followed him into the parlour, where the guests now began to assemble rapidly. "Father," cried Charley, catching his sire by the arm, "I've been looking for you everywhere, but you dance about like a will-o'-the-wisp. Do you know I've invited my friends Jacques and Redfeather to come to-night, and also Louis Peltier, the guide with whom I made my first trip. You recollect him, father?" "Ay, that do I, lad, and happy shall I be to see three such worthy men under my roof as guests on this night." "Yes, yes, I know that, father; but I don't see them here. Have they come yet?" "Can't say, boy. By the way, Pastor Conway is also coming, so we'll have a meeting between an Episcopalian and a Wesleyan. I sincerely trust that they won't fight!" As he said this the old gentleman grinned and threw his cheek into convulsions--an expression which was suddenly changed into one of confusion when he observed that Mr. Addison was standing close beside him, and had heard the remark. "Don't blush, my dear sir," said Mr. Addison, with a quiet smile, as he patted his friend on the shoulder. "You have too much reason, I am sorry to say, for expecting that clergymen of different denominations should look coldly on each other. There is far too much of this indifference and distrust among those who labour in different parts of the Lord's vineyard. But I trust you will find that my sympathies extend a little beyond the circle of my own particular body. Indeed, Mr. Conway is a particular friend of mine; so I assure you we won't fight." "Right, right" cried Mr. Kennedy, giving the clergy man an energetic grasp of the hand; "I like to hear you speak that way. I must confess that I've been a good deal surprised to observe, by what one reads in the old-country newspapers, as well as by what one sees even hereaway in the backwood settlements, how little interest clergymen show in the doings of those who don't happen to belong to their own particular sect; just as if a soul saved through the means of an Episcopalian was not of as much value as one saved by a Wesleyan, or a Presbyterian, or a Dissenter. Why, sir, it seems to me just as mean-spirited and selfish as if one of our chief factors was so entirely taken up with the doings and success of his own particular district that he didn't care a gun-flint for any other district in the Company's service." There was at least one man listening to these remarks whose naturally logical and liberal mind fully agreed with them. This was Jacques Caradoc, who had entered the room a few minutes before, in company with his friend Redfeather and Louis Peltier. "Right, sir! That's fact, straight up and down," said he, in an approving tone. "Ha! Jacques, my good fellow, is that you?--Redfeather, my friend, how are you?" said Mr. Kennedy, turning round and grasping a hand of each.--"Sit down there, Louis, beside Mrs. Taddi--eh?--ah!--popple.--Mr. Addison, this is Jacques Caradoc, the best and stoutest hunter between Hudson's Bay and Oregon." Jacques smiled and bowed modestly as Mr. Addison shook his hand. The worthy hunter did indeed at that moment look as if he fully merited Mr. Kennedy's eulogium. Instead of endeavouring to ape the gentleman, as many men in his rank of life would have been likely to do on an occasion like this, Jacques had not altered his costume a hair-breadth from what it usually was, excepting that some parts of it were quite new, and all of it faultlessly clean. He wore the usual capote, but it was his best one, and had been washed for the occasion. The scarlet belt and blue leggings were also as bright in colour as if they had been put on for the first time; and the moccasins, which fitted closely to his well-formed feet, were of the cleanest and brightest yellow leather, ornamented, as usual, in front. The collar of his blue-striped shirt was folded back a little more carefully than usual, exposing his sun-burned and muscular throat. In fact, he wanted nothing, save the hunting-knife, the rifle, and the powder-horn, to constitute him a perfect specimen of a thorough backwoodsman. Redfeather and Louis were similarly costumed, and a noble trio they looked as they sat modestly in a corner, talking to each other in whispers, and endeavouring, as much as possible, to curtail their colossal proportions. "Now, Harry," said Mr. Kennedy, in a hoarse whisper, at the same time winking vehemently, "we're about ready, lad. Where's Kate, eh? shall we send for her?" Harry blushed, and stammered out something that was wholly unintelligible, but which, nevertheless, seemed to afford infinite delight to the old gentleman, who chuckled and winked tremendously, gave his son-in-law a facetious poke in the ribs, and turning abruptly to Miss Cookumwell, said to that lady, "Now, Miss Cookumpopple, we're all ready. They seem to have had enough tea and trash; you'd better be looking after Kate, I think." Miss Cookumwell smiled, rose, and left the room to obey; Mrs. Taddipopple followed to help, and soon returned with Kate, whom they delivered up to her father at the door. Mr. Kennedy led her to the upper end of the room; Harry Somerville stood by her side, as if by magic; Mr. Addison dropped opportunely before them, as if from the clouds; there was an extraordinary and abrupt pause in the hum of conversation, and ere Kate was well aware of what was about to happen, she felt herself suddenly embraced by her husband, from whom she was thereafter violently torn and all but smothered by her sympathising friends. Poor Kate! she had gone through the ceremony almost mechanically--recklessly, we might be justified in saying; for not having raised her eyes off the floor from its commencement to its close, the man whom she accepted for better or for worse might have been Jacques or Redfeather for all that she knew. Immediately after this there was heard the sound of a fiddle, and an old Canadian was led to the upper end of the room, placed on a chair, and hoisted, by the powerful arms of Jacques and Louis, upon a table. In this conspicuous position the old man seemed to be quite at his ease. He spent a few minutes in bringing his instrument into perfect tune; then looking round with a mild, patronising glance to see that the dancers were ready, he suddenly struck up a Scotch reel with an amount of energy, precision, and spirit that might have shot a pang of jealousy through the heart of Neil Gow himself. The noise that instantly commenced, and was kept up from that moment, with but few intervals, during the whole evening, was of a kind that is never heard in fashionable drawing-rooms. Dancing in the backwood settlements _is_ dancing. It is not walking; it is not sailing; it is not undulating; it is not sliding; no, it is _bona-fide_ dancing! It is the performance of intricate evolutions with the feet and legs that make one wink to look at; performed in good time too, and by people who look upon _all_ their muscles as being useful machines, not merely things of which a select few, that cannot be dispensed with, are brought into daily operation. Consequently the thing was done with an amount of vigour that was conducive to the health of performers, and productive of satisfaction to the eyes of beholders. When the evening wore on apace, however, and Jacques's modesty was so far overcome as to induce him to engage in a reel, along with his friend Louis Peltier, and two bouncing young ladies whose father had driven them twenty miles over the plains that day in order to attend the wedding of their dear friend and former playmate, Kate--when these four stood up, we say, and the fiddler played more energetically than ever, and the stout backwoodsmen began to warm and grow vigorous, until, in the midst of their tremendous leaps and rapid but well-timed motions, they looked like very giants amid their brethren, then it was that Harry, as he felt Kate's little hand pressing his arm, and observed her sparkling eyes gazing at the dancers in genuine admiration, began at last firmly to believe that the whole thing was a dream; and then it was that old Mr. Kennedy rejoiced to think that the house had been built under his own special directions, and he knew that it could not by any possibility be shaken to pieces. And well might Harry imagine that he dreamed; for besides the bewildering tendency of the almost too-good-to-be-true fact that Kate was really Mrs. Harry Somerville, the scene before him was a particularly odd and perplexing mixture of widely different elements, suggestive of new and old associations. The company was miscellaneous. There were retired old traders, whose lives from boyhood had been spent in danger, solitude, wild scenes and adventures, to which those of Robinson Crusoe are mere child's play. There were young girls, the daughters of these men, who had received good educations in the Red River academy, and a certain degree of polish which education always gives; a very _different_ polish, indeed, from that which the conventionalities and refinements of the Old World bestow, but not the less agreeable on that account--nay, we might even venture to say, all the _more_ agreeable on that account. There were Red Indians and clergymen; there were one or two ladies of a doubtful age, who had come out from the old country to live there, having found it no easy matter, poor things, to live at home; there were matrons whose absolute silence on every subject save "yes" or "no" showed that they had not been subjected to the refining influences of the academy, but whose hearty smiles and laughs of genuine good-nature proved that the storing of the brain has, after all, _very_ little to do with the best and deepest feelings of the heart. There were the tones of Scotch reels sounding--tones that brought Scotland vividly before the very eyes; and there were Canadian hunters and half-breed voyageurs, whose moccasins were more accustomed to the turf of the woods than the boards of a drawing-room, and whose speech and accents made Scotland vanish away altogether from the memory. There were old people and young folk; there were fat and lean, short and long. There were songs too--ballads of England, pathetic songs of Scotland, alternating with the French ditties of Canada, and the sweet, inexpressibly plaintive canoe-songs of the voyageur. There were strong contrasts in dress also: some wore the home-spun trousers of the settlement, a few the ornamented leggings of the hunter. Capotes were there--loose, flowing, and picturesque; and broad-cloth tail-coats were there, of the last century, tight-fitting, angular--in a word, detestable; verifying the truth of the proverb that extremes meet, by showing that the _cut_ which all the wisdom of tailors and scientific fops, after centuries of study, had laboriously wrought out and foisted upon the poor civilised world as perfectly sublime, appeared in the eyes of backwoodsmen and Indians utterly ridiculous. No wonder that Harry, under the circumstances, became quietly insane, and went about committing _nothing_ but mistakes the whole evening. No wonder that he emulated his father-in-law in abusing the gray cat, when he found it surreptitiously devouring part of the supper in an adjoining room; and no wonder that, when he rushed about vainly in search of Mrs. Taddipopple, to acquaint her with the cat's wickedness, he, at last, in desperation, laid violent hands on Miss Cookumwell, and addressed that excellent lady by the name of Mrs. Poppletaddy. Were we courageous enough to make the attempt, we would endeavour to describe that joyful evening from beginning to end. We would tell you how the company's spirits rose higher and higher, as each individual became more and more anxious to lend his or her aid in adding to the general hilarity; how old Mr. Kennedy nearly killed himself in his fruitless efforts to be everywhere, speak to everybody, and do everything at once, how Charley danced till he could scarcely speak, and then talked till he could hardly dance; and how the fiddler, instead of growing wearied, became gradually and continuously more powerful, until it seemed as if fifty fiddles were playing at one and the same time. We would tell you how Mr. Addison drew more than ever to Mr. Conway, and how the latter gentleman agreed to correspond regularly with the former thenceforth, in order that their interest in the great work each had in hand for the _same_ Master might be increased and kept up; how, in a spirit of recklessness (afterwards deeply repented of), a bashful young man was induced to sing a song which in the present mirthful state of the company ought to have been a humorous song, or a patriotic song, or a good, loud, inspiriting song, or _anything_, in short, but what it was--a slow, dull, sentimental song, about wasting gradually away in a sort of melancholy decay, on account of disappointed love, or some such trash, which was a false sentiment in itself, and certainly did not derive any additional tinge of truthfulness from a thin, weak voice, that was afflicted with chronic flatness, and _edged_ all its notes. Were we courageous enough to go on, we would further relate to you how during supper Mr. Kennedy senior, tried to make a speech, and broke down amid uproarious applause; how Mr. Kennedy, junior, got up thereafter--being urged thereto by his father, who said, with a convulsion of the cheek, "Get me out of the scrape, Charley, my boy"--and delivered an oration which did not display much power of concise elucidation, but was replete, nevertheless, with consummate impudence; how during this point in the proceedings the gray cat made a last desperate effort to purloin a cold chicken, which it had watched anxiously the whole evening, and was caught in the very act, nearly strangled, and flung out of the window, where it alighted in safety on the snow, and fled, a wiser, and, we trust, a better cat. We would recount all this to you, reader, and a great deal more besides; but we fear to try your patience, and we tremble violently, much more so, indeed, than you will believe, at the bare idea of waxing prosy. Suffice it to say that the party separated at an early hour--a good, sober, reasonable hour for such an occasion--somewhere before midnight. The horses were harnessed; the ladies were packed in the sleighs with furs so thick and plentiful as to defy the cold; the gentlemen seized their reins and cracked their whips; the horses snorted, plunged, and dashed away over the white plains in different directions, while the merry sleigh-bells sounded fainter and fainter in the frosty air. In half-an-hour the stars twinkled down on the still, cold scene, and threw a pale light on the now silent dwelling of the old fur-trader. * * * * * * * Ere dropping the curtain over a picture in which we have sought faithfully to portray the prominent features of those wild regions that lie to the north of the Canadas, and in which we have endeavoured to describe some of the peculiarities of a class of men whose histories seldom meet the public eye, we feel tempted to add a few more touches to the sketch; we would fain trace a little farther the fortunes of one or two of the chief factors in our book. But this is not to be. Snowflakes and sunbeams came and went as in days gone by. Time rolled on, working many changes in its course, and among others consigning Harry Somerville to an important post in Red River colony, to the unutterable joy of Mr. Kennedy, senior, and of Kate. After much consideration and frequent consultation with Mr. Addison, Mr. Conway resolved to make another journey to preach the gospel of Jesus Christ to those Indian tribes that inhabit the regions beyond Athabasca; and being a man of great energy, he determined not to await the opening of the river navigation, but to undertake the first part of his expedition on snow-shoes. Jacques agreed to go with him as guide and hunter, Redfeather as interpreter. It was a bright, cold morning when he set out, accompanied part of the way by Charley Kennedy and Harry Somerville, whose hearts were heavy at the prospect of parting with the two men who had guided and protected them during their earliest experience of a voyageur's life, when, with hearts full to overflowing with romantic anticipations, they first dashed joyously into the almost untrodden wilderness. During their career in the woods together, the young men and the two hunters had become warmly attached to each other; and now that they were about to part--it might be for years, perhaps for ever--a feeling of sadness crept over them which they could not shake off, and which the promise given by Mr. Conway to revisit Red River on the following spring served but slightly to dispel. On arriving at the spot where they intended to bid their friends a last farewell, the two young men held out their hands in silence. Jacques grasped them warmly. "Mister Charles, Mister Harry," said he, in a deep, earnest voice, "the Almighty has guided us in safety for many a day when we travelled the woods together; for which praised be His Holy Name! May He guide and bless you still, and bring us together in this world again, if in His wisdom He see fit." There was no answer save a deeply-murmured "Amen." In another moment the travellers resumed their march. On reaching the summit of a slight eminence, where the prairies terminated and the woods began, they paused to wave a last adieu; then Jacques, putting himself at the head of the little party, plunged into the forest, and led them away towards the snowy regions of the Far North. THE END. 
7126	----	THE TREATIES OF CANADA WITH THE INDIANS OF MANITOBA AND THE NORTH-WEST TERRITORIES, INCLUDING THE NEGOTIATIONS ON WHICH THEY WERE BASED, AND OTHER INFORMATION RELATING THERETO. BY THE HON. ALEXANDER MORRIS, P.C., LATE LIEUTENANT-GOVERNOR OF MANITOBA, THE NORTH-WEST TERRITORIES, AND KEE-WA-TIN. TO HIS EXCELLENCY The Right Honorable the Earl of Dufferin, Her Britannic Majesty's Ambassador at St. Petersburg, K.P.P.C., K.C.B., G.C.M.G., &c., &c., &c. My Lord,-- Encouraged by the earnest interest, your Lordship ever evinced, in the work of obtaining the alliance and promoting the welfare of the Indian tribes in the North-West of Canada, and in opening up the Territories for settlement, by obtaining the relinquishment of the natural title of the Indians to the lands of the Fertile Belt on fair and just terms, I have the honor, by your kind permission, to dedicate this collection of the treaties made with them, to your Excellency, in the belief that its publication will be timely, and that the information now supplied in a compact form, may prove of service to the Dominion of Canada. I have the honor to be Your Lordship's obedient servant, ALEXANDER MORRIS, Late Lieut.-Gov. of Manitoba, the North-West Territories, and Kee-wa-tin. TORONTO, March, 1880. PREFACE The question of the relations of the Dominion of Canada to the Indians of the North-West, is one of great practical importance The work, of obtaining their good will, by entering into treaties of alliance with them, has now been completed in all the region from Lake Superior to the foot of the Rocky Mountains. As an aid to the other and equally important duty--that of carrying out, in their integrity, the obligations of these treaties, and devising means whereby the Indian population of the Fertile Belt can be rescued from the hard fate which otherwise awaits them, owing to the speedy destruction of the buffalo, hitherto the principal food supply of the Plain Indians, and that they may be induced to become, by the adoption of agricultural and pastoral pursuits, a self supporting community--I have prepared this collection of the treaties made with them, and of information, relating to the negotiations, on which these treaties were based, in the hope that I may thereby contribute to the completion of a work, in which I had considerable part, that, of, by treaties, securing the good will of the Indian tribes, and by the helpful hand of the Dominion, opening up to them, a future of promise, based upon the foundations of instruction and the many other advantages of civilized life. M. CONTENTS Introduction I. The Selkirk Treaty II. The Robinson Treaty III. The Manitoulin Island Treaty IV. The Stone Fort and Manitoba Post Treaties, Numbers One and Two V. Treaty Number Three; or, the North-West Angle Treaty VI. The Qu'Appelle Treaty, or Number Four VII. The Revision of Treaties Numbers One and Two VIII. The Winnipeg Treaty Number Five IX. The Treaties at Forts Carlton and Pitt X. Treaty Number Seven; or, the Blackfeet Treaty XI. The Sioux in the North-West Territories XII. The Administration of the Treaties--The Half-breeds--The Future of the Indian Tribes APPENDIX--Texts of the Treaties and Supplementary Adhesions thereto THE TREATIES WITH THE INDIANS OF MANITOBA, THE NORTH-WEST TERRITORIES, AND KEE-WA-TIN, IN THE DOMINION OF CANADA. INTRODUCTION One of the gravest of the questions presented for solution by the Dominion of Canada, when the enormous region of country formerly known as the North-West Territories and Rupert's Land, was entrusted by the Empire of Great Britain and Ireland to her rule, was the securing the alliance of the Indian tribes, and maintaining friendly relations with them. The predecessors of Canada--the Company of Adventurers of England trading into Hudson's Bay, popularly known as the Hudson's Bay Company--had, for long years, been eminently successful in securing the good-will of the Indians--but on their sway, coming to an end, the Indian mind was disturbed. The events, that transpired in the Red River region, in the years 1869-1870, during the period when a provisional government was attempted to be established, had perplexed the Indians. They, moreover, had witnessed a sudden irruption into the country of whites from without. In the West, American traders poured into the land, and, freighted with fire-water, purchased their peltries and their horses, and impoverished the tribes. In the East, white men took possession of the soil and made for themselves homes, and as time went on steamboats were placed on the inland waters--surveyors passed through the territories--and the "speaking wires," as the Indian calls the telegraph, were erected. What wonder that the Indian mind was disturbed, and what wonder was it that a Plain chief, as he looked upon the strange wires stretching through his land, exclaimed to his people, "We have done wrong to allow that wire to be placed there, before the Government obtained our leave to do so. There is a white chief at Red River, and that wire speaks to him, and if we do anything wrong he will stretch out a long arm and take hold of us before we can get away." The government of Canada had, anticipating the probabilities of such a state of affairs, wisely resolved, that contemporaneously with the formal establishment of their rule, there should be formed alliances with the Indians. In 1870 the Parliament of Canada created the requisite machinery for the Government of the Province of Manitoba and of the North-West Territories respectively, giving to the former a Lieutenant-Governor and Legislature, and to the latter, a Lieutenant-Governor and Council, Executive and Legislative--the Lieutenant-Governor of Manitoba being ex officio Lieutenant-Governor of the North-West Territories. Subsequently the North-West Territories were erected into a distinct government, with a Lieutenant-Governor and Executive, and Legislative Council. The District of Kee-wa-tin, "the land of the north wind," was also established, comprising the eastern and northern portions of the Territories, and placed under the control of the Lieutenant-Governor of Manitoba, and an Executive and Legislative Council. Since 1870, no less than seven treaties have been concluded, with the Indian tribes, so that there now remain no Indian nations in the North-West, inside of the fertile belt, who have not been dealt with. It is the design of the present work to tell the story of these treaties, to preserve as far as practicable, a record of the negotiations on which they were based, and to present to the many in the Dominion and elsewhere, who take a deep interest in these sons of the forest and the plain, a view of their habits of thought and speech, as thereby presented, and to suggest the possibility, nay, the certainty, of a hopeful future for them. Prior to proceeding to deal, with the treaties of the Dominion of Canada, it will render this book more complete to present the reader, with information as to three treaties which preceded those of the Dominion, viz., the treaty made by the Earl of Selkirk in the year 1817, those popularly known as the Robinson Treaties, made by the late Hon. William B. Robinson, of the City of Toronto, with the Indians of the shores and islands of Lakes Superior and Huron in the year 1850, and that made by the Hon. William Macdougall, for the surrender of the Indian title, to the great Manitoulin Island, both acting for and on behalf of the Government of the late Province of Canada. Ere however entering upon an explanation of these two first-mentioned treaties, I submit a few brief observations. The Indians inhabiting the region covered by the treaties in question, extending in Canadian territory from Lake Superior to the foot of the Rocky Mountains, are composed of distinct tribes having different languages. The Ojibbewas, Chippawas, or Saulteaux as they now call themselves, are found in numbers in the District of Kee-wa-tin and the Province of Manitoba. In the North-West Territories they are not numerous except within the limits of Treaty number Four. These Indians migrated from the older Provinces of Quebec and Ontario many years ago. The Crees, inhabit the North-West Territories and are divided into Plain, Wood and Swampy Crees, according to the region of the country they dwell in. The Swampy Crees reside in Manitoba and Kee-wa-tin. The Black Feet nation are to be found towards the slope of the Rocky Mountains, in the region comprised within the limits of the Treaty number Seven. A few Chippawayans, or Northerners, dwell within the North-West Territories. The once powerful nation of the Assiniboines, or Stonies--a kindred tribe to the Sioux--are greatly reduced in numbers, and are now only to be met with in the North-West Territories. The Sioux in the Dominion are refugees from the United States, the first body having come over some fourteen years ago. A large influx of similar refugees, have recently fled to the Dominion from, the same country, as the issue of the recent war between the United States and the Sioux. CHAPTER I THE SELKIRK TREATY In the year 1811, the Earl of Selkirk purchased [Footnote: Vide Appendix for copy of the agreement in question.] from the Governor and Company of Adventurers trading into Hudson's Bay, in consideration of ten shillings and certain agreements and understandings contained in the Indenture, a large tract of territory within Rupert's Land described in the Indenture as follows: "All that tract of land or territory being within and forming part of the aforesaid lands and territories of the said Governor and Company, bounded by an imaginary line running as follows, that is to say, beginning on the western shore of the Lake Winnipic, otherwise Winnipeg, at a point in fifty-two degrees and thirty north latitude and thence running due west to the Lake Winnipegoos, otherwise called Little Winnipeg, then in a southerly direction through the said Lake so as to strike its western shore in latitude fifty-two degrees, then due west to the place where the parallel of fifty-two degrees north latitude intersects the western branch of Red River, otherwise called Assiniboine River, then due south from that point of intersection to the height of land which separates the waters running into Hudson's Bay from those of the Missouri and Mississippi, then in an easterly direction along the said height of land to the source of the River Winnipic, or Winnipeg (meaning by such last named river the principal branch of the waters which unite in Lake Sagenagos), thence along the main stream of these waters and the middle of the several lakes through which they flow to the mouth of the Winnipic River and thence in a northerly direction through the middle of Lake Winnipic to the place of beginning." The deed is accompanied by a map intended to show the tract of country, and there is an endorsement on the map that as the surveys were not sufficient to ascertain with precision whether, latitude 52 degrees does intersect the river called Red or Assiniboine River, it was agreed, that in case the waters of of Red River, shall on more accurate survey be found, not to extend so far north as latitude 52 degrees, then the west boundary of the tract of land intended to be within the grant, should be a line drawn due north and south, through the post upon the Red River, marked on the plan is "Carlton House." The Company reserved the right to call upon the Earl to set off one-tenth, however, of the tract for the use of the servants of the Company--and the Earl covenanted, within ten years, to settle within the tract one thousand families, each of them consisting of one married couple at the least, on pain of revocation of the grant, if on receipt of notice to that effect from the Company he did not, within three years after the receipt of the notice, complete the settlement of the one thousand families. In pursuance of his obligations, Lord Selkirk, in the autumn of the year 1811, sent out a number of families from the County of Sutherland, in Scotland, who spent the winter at Fort Churchill on the western shore of Hudson's Bay. On the arrival of spring, they travelled thence to the confluence of the Assiniboine and Red Rivers, and thus was commenced the interesting settlement of the Red River, which is now included in the Province of Manitoba. It is not my purpose to notice here the eventful history of the Selkirk colonists, and I will only note the fact that in 1836, the Company bought back the whole tract, from the heirs of Lord Selkirk, for the sum of L84,000, the rights of colonists who had purchased land between 1811 and 1836, being respected. In the year 1817 the Earl of Selkirk, visited his wide domain, and entered into negotiations with the Indian tribes, for the extinction of their title, to a tract of land described as follows: [Footnote: A large portion of the ceded territory is now comprehended in the Territory of Dakota, United States.] "All that tract of land adjacent to Red River and Assiniboine River, beginning at the mouth of Red River and extending along the same as far as Great Forks at the mouth of Red Lake River and along Assiniboine River as far as the Musk Rat River, otherwise called Riviere des Champignons, and extending to the distance of six miles from Fort Douglas on every side, and likewise from Fort Doer, and also from the Great Forks and in other posts extending in breadth to the distance of two English statute miles back from the banks of the river." The Indians then inhabiting the region were described as being of the Chippawa or Saulteaux and Killistine or Cree nations. They were made to comprehend, the depth of the land they were surrendering, by being told, that it was the greatest distance, at which a horse on the level prairie could be seen, or daylight seen under his belly between his legs. The consideration for the surrender, was, the payment of one hundred pounds of good merchantable tobacco, to each nation annually. The treaty was signed by Lord Selkirk and by five Indian chiefs, who affixed thereto drawings of the animals after which they were named, by way of signature, a fac simile of which will be found elsewhere. The surrender was to the Sovereign Lord, King George the Third. The treaty was accompanied by a map which shows that the tract surrendered extended to Grand Forks in what is now United States territory. A copy of the treaty will be found in the Appendix and will prove of interest. CHAPTER II THE ROBINSON TREATIES In consequence of the discovery of minerals, on the shores of Lakes Huron and Superior, the Government of the late Province of Canada, deemed it desirable, to extinguish the Indian title, and in order to that end, in the year 1850, entrusted the duty to the late Honorable William B. Robinson, who discharged his duties with great tact and judgment, succeeding in making two treaties, which were the forerunners of the future treaties, and shaped their course. The main features of the Robinson Treaties--viz., annuities, reserves for the Indians, and liberty to fish and hunt on the unconceded domain of the Crown--having been followed in these treaties. A special feature of the Robinson Treaties, was the adjustment of a claim made by the Indians to be paid, the amount received, by the Government, for the sale of mining locations. This was arranged, by Mr. Robinson, agreeing to pay them, the sum of L4,000 and an annuity of about L1,000, thus avoiding any dispute that might arise as to the amounts actually received by the Government. The number of Indians included in the treaties were stated by Mr. Robinson to be: on Lake Superior, 1240, including 84 half-breeds; and on Lake Huron 1422, including 200 half-breeds. [Footnote: The census return of the Department of the Interior for the year 1878 gives the numbers of these Indians as follows: Chippawas of Lake Superior ... 1,947. Chippawas of Lake Huron ... 1,458.] The relations of the Indians and half-breeds, have long been cordial; and in the negotiations as to these initial treaties, as in the subsequent ones, the claims of the half-breeds, to recognition, was urged by the Indians. I cannot do better, in giving information with regard to these treaties, than simply to reproduce the Report of Mr. Robinson to the Honorable Colonel Bruce, Superintendent-General of Indian Affairs, in which he describes the course of his negotiations and communicates their results. A copy of the treaties will be found in the Appendix. The Report is as follows: TORONTO, 24th September, 1850. Sir:--I have the honor herewith to transmit the Treaty which on the part of the Government I was commissioned to negotiate with the tribes of Indians inhabiting the northern shore of Lakes Huron and Superior; and I trust that the terms on which I succeeded in obtaining the surrender of all the lands in question, with the exception of some small reservations made by the Indians, may be considered satisfactory. They were such as I thought it advisable to offer, in order that the matter might be finally settled, without having any just grounds of complaint on the part of the Indians. The Indians had been advised by certain interested parties to insist on such extravagant terms as I felt it quite impossible to grant; and from the fact that the American Government had paid very liberally for the land surrendered by their Indians on the south side of Lake Superior, and that our own in other parts of the country were in receipt of annuities much larger than I offered, I had some difficulty in obtaining the assent of a few of the chiefs to my proposition. I explained to the chiefs in council the difference between the lands ceded heretofore in this Province and those then under consideration, they were of good quality and sold readily at prices which enabled the Government to be more liberal, they were also occupied by the whites in such a manner as to preclude the possibility of the Indian hunting over or having access to them whereas the lands now ceded are notoriously barren and sterile, and will in all probability never be settled except in a few localities by mining companies, whose establishments among the Indians, instead of being prejudicial, would prove of great benefit as they would afford a market for any things they may have to sell, and bring provisions and stores of all kinds among them at reasonable prices. Neither did the British Government contemplate the removal of the Indians from their present haunts to some (to them) unknown region in the far West, as had been the case with their brethren on the American side. I told them that the two chiefs who were in Toronto last winter (Shinguacouse and Nebennigoebing) only asked the amount which the Government had received for mining locations, after deducting the expenses attending their sale. That amount was about eight thousand pounds which the Government would pay them without any annuity or certainty of further benefit; or one-half of it down, and an annuity of about one thousand pounds. There were twenty-one chiefs present, about the same number of principal men, and a large number of other Indians belonging to the different bands, and they all preferred the latter proposition, though two of them (Shinguacouse and Nebennigoebing) insisted on receiving an annuity equal to ten dollars per head. The chiefs from Lake Superior desired to treat separately for their territory and said at once in council that they accepted my offer. I told them that I would have the treaty ready on the following morning, and I immediately proceeded to prepare it, and as agreed upon they signed it cheerfully at the time appointed. I then told the chiefs from Lake Huron (who were all present when the others signed) that I should have a similar treaty ready for their signature, the next morning when those who signed it would receive their money; and that as a large majority of them had agreed to my terms I should abide by them. I accordingly prepared the treaty and proceeded on the morning of the ninth instant to the council-room to have it formally executed in the presence of proper witnesses--all the chiefs and others were present. I told them I was then ready to receive their signatures; the two chiefs, Shinguacouse and Nebennigoebing, repeated their demand of ten dollars a head by way of annuity, and also insisted that I should insert in the treaty a condition securing to some sixty half-breeds a free grant of one hundred acres of land each. I told them they already had my answer as to a larger annuity, and that I had no power to give them free grants of land. The other chiefs came forward to sign the treaty and seeing this the two who had resisted up to this time also came to the table and signed first, the rest immediately following. I trust his Excellency will approve of my having concluded the treaty on the basis of a small annuity and the immediate and final settlement of the matter, rather than paying the Indians the full amount of all moneys on hand, and a promise of accounting to them for future sales. The latter course would have entailed much trouble on the Government, besides giving an opportunity to evil disposed persons to make the Indians suspicious of any accounts that might be furnished. Believing that His Excellency and the Government were desirous of leaving the Indians no just cause of complaint on their surrendering the extensive territory embraced in the treaty, and knowing there were individuals who most assiduously endeavored to create dissatisfaction among them, I inserted a clause securing to them certain prospective advantages should the lands in question prove sufficiently productive at any future period to enable the Government without loss to increase the annuity. [Footnote: The annuities under these treaties have recently been increased, the following item having been inserted in the Supplies Act of Canada, viz., "Annual grant to bring up annuities payable under the Robinson Treaty to the Chippawas of Lakes Huron and Superior, from 96 cents to $4 per head, $14,000."] This was so reasonable and just that I had no difficulty in making them comprehend it, and it in a great measure silenced the clamor raised by their evil advisers. In allowing the Indians to retain reservations of land for their own use I was governed by the fact that they in most cases asked for such tracts as they had heretofore been in the habit of using for purposes of residence and cultivation, and by securing these to them and the right of hunting and fishing over the ceded territory, they cannot say that the Government takes from their usual means of subsistence and therefore have no claims for support, which they no doubt would have preferred, had this not been done. The reservation at Garden River is the largest and perhaps of most value, but as it is occupied by the most numerous band of Indians, and from its locality (nine miles from the Sault) is likely to attract others to it, I think it was right to grant what they expressed a desire to retain. There are two mining locations at this place, which should not be finally disposed of unless by the full consent of Shinguacouse and his band; they are in the heart of the village and shew no indications of mineral wealth, they are numbered 14 and 15 on the small map appended to Messrs. Anderson and Vidal's report. I pledged my word on the part of the Government that the sale of these locations should not be completed, and as the locatees have not, I believe, complied with the conditions of the Crown Lands Department there can be no difficulty in cancelling the transaction. The chiefs are desirous that their several reservations should be marked by proper posts or monuments, and I have told them the Government would probably send some one next spring for that purpose. As I know many of the localities I shall be able to give the necessary information when required. When at Sault Ste. Marie last May, I took measures for ascertaining as nearly as possible the number of Indians inhabiting the north shore of the two lakes; and was fortunate enough to get a very correct census, particularly of Lake Superior. I found this information very useful at the council, as it enabled me successfully to contradict the assertion (made by those who were inciting the chiefs to resist my offers) that there were on Lake Superior alone, eight thousand Indians. The number on that lake, including eighty-four half-breeds, is only twelve hundred and forty--and on Lake Huron, about fourteen hundred and twenty-two, including probably two hundred half-breeds, and when I paid the Indians they acknowledged they knew of no other families than those on my list. The number paid, as appears on the pay list, does not show the whole strength of the different bands, as I was obliged at their own request to omit some members of the very large families. I have annexed to this Report the names of the chiefs, their localities, and number of souls in each band as recognized by me in apportioning the money, thinking it will be useful when paying the annuity hereafter. This information may I believe be fully relied on for Lake Superior, but the census for Lake Huron is not so perfect; and I would suggest that Captain Ironside should be furnished with copies of that document and also of the pay-lists in order that he may correct in time any errors that are found to exist. As the half-breeds at Sault Ste. Marie and other places may seek to be recognized by the Government in future payments, it may be well that I should state here the answer that I gave to their demands on the present occasion. I told them I came to treat with the chiefs who were present, that the money would be paid to them--and their receipt was sufficient for me--that when in their possession they might give as much or as little to that class of claimants as they pleased. To this no one, not even their advisers, could object, and I heard no more on the subject. At the earnest request of the chiefs themselves I undertook the distribution of the money among their respective bands and all parties expressed themselves perfectly satisfied with my division of their funds. On my arrival at Penetanguishene I found the chiefs Yellowhead and Snake, from Lake Simcoe, and Aissance, from Beausoleil's Island, waiting to see me, to prefer their claim to a small tract of land between Penetanguishene and the vicinity of the River Severn. I was aware of their intending to make such a claim and took the precaution of asking the chiefs assembled in council at the Sault whether it was well founded, they emphatically declared that those chiefs had no claim on Lake Huron, that they had long since ceded their lands and were in the receipt of a large annuity, this I believe to be the case and Captain Anderson, whom I met there, is of the same opinion; but I promised to inquire into it and give them an answer, and I will therefore thank you to cause the necessary information from your office to be furnished to me on the subject. Should it appear that these chiefs have any claim I think I could get their surrender of it for a small amount, and there remain sufficient funds at my disposal for the purpose. The Canadians resident on the lands just surrendered at Sault Ste. Marie are very anxious to obtain titles to the land on which they have long resided and made improvements; they applied to me after the treaty and I advised them to memorialize the Government the usual way setting forth the manner in which they were put in possession by the military authorities of the time, and that I had little doubt that the Government would do them justice. I think the survey of the tract should be made so as to interfere as little as possible with their respective clearings and that those who can show a fair claim to the favorable consideration of the Government should be liberally dealt with. It will be seen on referring to the treaty that I have kept within the amount at my disposal. Of the L4,160 agreed by me to be paid to the Indians of both lakes, there remains L75 unexpended. I could not from the information I possessed tell exactly the number of families I should have to pay, and thought it prudent to reserve a small sum to make good any omissions, there may still be a few who will prefer claims, though I know of none at present. If not, the amount can be paid next year with the annuity to such families as are most deserving; or it may be properly applied in extinguishing the claim made by the Lake Simcoe Indians, should it appear on inquiry to be just. The whole amount given to me in August was L5,033 6s. 8d., of this sum their remains L800, which I have placed in the Bank of Upper Canada to the credit of the Receiver-General, and I have prepared a detailed account of the whole, which with the proper vouchers, I shall deliver to the Accountant of the Crown Lands Department. I have much pleasure in acknowledging the valuable assistance afforded me by all the officers of the Honorable the Hudson's Bay Company resident on the lakes; and the prompt manner in which their Governor, Sir George Simpson, kindly placed their services at my disposal. The report made last year by Messrs. Anderson and Vidal I found of much use to me, and the long services and experience of the former gentleman in Indian affairs enabled him to give me many valuable suggestions. Captain Cooper and his officers by attending at the council, and otherwise, gave me most cheerfully all the aid in their power; and Captain Ironside, of your Department, with his assistant, Assickinach, were of essential service to me. I found it absolutely necessary to have the aid of some one in taking the census of the Lake Huron Indians at the time they were receiving their presents at Manitoulin; and as Captain Ironside was fully occupied in attending to his own duty, I requested Mr. Keating, who had long known the Indians on that lake, to give me his assistance. This he cheerfully and very efficiently did, and afterwards was with me in distributing and paying out the money. I have, in course of my negotiations with the Indians on the present occasion, collected some information which may be useful to your Department and will at an early day send it to you. I will thank you to lay the two treaties accompanying this Report before His Excellency, and trust they may meet with his approval. I have, &c., (Signed) W. B. ROBINSON. THE HON. COL. BRUCE, Superintendent-General, Indian Affairs. CHAPTER III THE MANITOULIN ISLAND TREATY Some years after the completion of the Robinson Treaties, the then Government of the old Province of Canada deemed it desirable to effect a treaty with the Indians dwelling upon the Great Manitoulin Island in Lake Huron, as a complement to the former treaties, and with the object of rendering available for settlement the large tract of good land upon the Island. The duty was entrusted to the Honorable William McDougall, then Superintendent-General of Indian Affairs, who, in the month of October, 1862, proceeded to the Island, accompanied by the late William Spragge, Esq., Deputy Superintendent of Indian Affairs, and Mr. F. Assicknack, of the Indian Office, Toronto, as interpreter. Mr. McDougall encountered considerable difficulties, but by firmness and decision eventually succeeded in obtaining a surrender from the Indians of the Island, excluding however from the surrender that portion of it easterly of Heywood Island and the Manitoulin Gulf. The terms of the treaty, which will be found in the Appendix, were adapted to the peculiar circumstances of the Indians and were well and wisely framed. The result has been to render available for settlement a large tract of land on the Island, much of which is now occupied by a prosperous and thriving population. I conclude this brief notice of an important treaty by submitting, to the attention of the reader, the report of the Hon. W. McDougall, to His Excellency the Governor-General in Council, of the results of his mission. MANITOULIN ISLAND, November 3rd, 1862. The undersigned has the honor to state for the information of His Excellency the Governor-General in Council, that, under the authority of the Order in Council of the twelfth day of September, 1862, he proceeded early in the month of October last to visit the Great Manitoulin Island, accompanied by William Spragge, Esq., Deputy Superintendent of Indian Affairs, and Mr. F. Assicknack of the Indian Office, Toronto, as interpreter. The resident agent, Captain Ironside, under instructions from the Department, had caused the Indians residing on the Island to be notified of the intended visit of the undersigned, and of its object and had summoned them to attend at Manitowaning on the fourth ultimo. The Chiefs and principal men, with the exception of one or two detained by illness and nearly all the males above the age of eighteen years, were present at the council. The undersigned stated the object of his visit, explained the wishes of the Government in regard to the settlement of the Island, and proposed the terms in respect to the Indians specified in the Order in Council authorizing the negotiation. The Indians had selected one of their Chiefs to reply to the overtures of the Government, and without taking time to consider these overtures he proceeded to announce the determination of the Indians to reject them unconditionally. The undersigned made some further explanations and directed an ajournment of the council for an hour, during which time the Indians were requested to consider the propositions he had made with care and deliberation. On re-assembling there was an evident disposition among the bands living westwardly of the place of meeting to listen favorably to the propositions of the Government, but the majority were still unwilling to treat, and by intimidation and threats of violence prevented any open expression of opinion except by the old war Chief, Assicknack, who declared his full assent to the wishes of the Government. Ascertaining that the Chief's opposition came from Indians living eastwardly of Heywood Sound, the undersigned determined to modify the propositions of the Government, so as to meet in some degree the objections from that quarter. He accordingly adjourned the council until the following Monday, the first day of meeting being Saturday, informing the Indians that those who were disposed to continue the negotiations would remain while those who had resolved to reject every proposition of the Government might go home. He also informed them that no threats or intimidation would be allowed, and that any one who should attempt violence would be surely punished. Nearly all the Indians remained or returned on Monday, and being apprised of the nature of the proposition the undersigned intended to submit, namely, to exclude that part of the island eastwardly of the Manitoulin Gulf and Heywood Sound from the proposed agreement, they came to the adjourned meeting in a more friendly mood and expressed their willingness to surrender for sale and settlement all that part of the island westwardly of the Gulf and Sound. The undersigned submits herewith the deed or instrument which embodies the agreement made and concluded between the respective parties. It was executed by the undersigned and the Deputy-Superintendent of Indian Affairs on behalf of the Government, and by nineteen of the Chiefs and principal men on behalf of the Indians. In consequence of the modification of the terms of agreement authorized by the Order in Council as above-mentioned and the addition of other terms deemed necessary to prevent future difficulty, and which will be found in the instrument, the undersigned caused a provision to be inserted that it was not to take effect until approved by the Governor-General in Council. The undersigned therefore now begs to submit the same for such approval. (Signed) WM. McDOUGALL, Superintendent-General of Indian Affairs. CHAPTER IV THE STONE FORT AND MANITOBA POST TREATIES NUMBERS ONE AND TWO In the year 1871, the late Honorable Joseph Howe, then Secretary of State of Canada, recommended the appointment by the Privy Council of Canada, of Mr. Wemyss McKenzie Simpson, as Indian Commissioner, in consequence of "the necessity of arranging with the bands of Indians inhabiting the tract of country between Thunder Bay and the Stone Fort, for the cession, subject to certain reserves such as they should select, of the lands occupied by them." Mr. Simpson accepted the appointment, and in company with Messrs. S. J. Dawson and Robert Pether visited the Ojjibewas or Chippawa Indians, between Thunder Bay and the north-west angle of the Lake of the Woods, and took the initiatory steps for securing a treaty with them thereafter. On his arrival at Fort Garry, he put himself, as directed by his instructions, in communication with his Honor, the Hon. A. G. Archibald, then Lieutenant-Governor of Manitoba and the North-West Territories. A conference took place between His Honor, Messrs. Simpson, Dawson and Pether, and the Hon. James McKay, a member, at that time, of the Executive Council of Manitoba, and himself a half-breed intimately acquainted with the Indian tribes, and possessed of much influence over them. The Indians in Manitoba, in the fall of 1870, had applied to the Lieutenant-Governor to enter into a treaty with them, and had been informed that in the ensuing year negotiations would be opened with them. They were full of uneasiness, owing to the influx of population, denied the validity of the Selkirk Treaty, and had in some instances obstructed settlers and surveyors. In view of the anxiety and uneasiness prevailing, those gentlemen were of opinion "that it was desirable to secure the extinction of the Indian title not only to the lands within Manitoba, but also to so much of the timber grounds east and north of the Province as were required for immediate entry and use, and also of a large tract of cultivable ground west of the Portage, where there were very few Indian inhabitants." It was therefore resolved to open negotiations at the Lower Fort Garry, or Stone Fort, with the Indians of the Province, and certain adjacent timber districts, and with the Indians of the other districts at Manitoba Post, a Hudson's Bay fort, at the north end of Lake Manitoba, the territory being occupied principally by one nation, the Chippawas, of whom the Saulteaux of the lakes are a branch, although there are also a number of Swampy Crees resident within it. Mr. Simpson accordingly issued proclamations, inviting the Indians to meet him on the 25th of July and 17th of August, 1871, at these points respectively, to negotiate an Indian treaty. The Lieutenant-Governor also issued a proclamation forbidding the sale or gift of intoxicating liquors during the negotiation of the treaty, and applied to Major Irvine to detail a few of the troops under his command to preserve order, which request was acceded to. The Lieutenant-Governor and Mr. Simpson arrived at the Stone Fort on the 24th of July, 1871, but as the Indians had not all arrived the meeting was postponed till the 27th, when a thousand Indians were found to have assembled, and a considerable number of half-breeds and other inhabitants of the country were present, awaiting with anxiety to learn the policy of the Government. Lieutenant-Governor Archibald, after the Indians were assembled opened the proceedings by delivering the following address: "On the 13th September last, on my first arrival in the country, I met a number of you at the mission, I told you I could not then negotiate a Treaty with the Indians, but that I was charged by your Great Mother, the Queen, to tell you that she had been very glad to see that you had acted during the troubles like good and true children of your Great Mother. I told you also that as soon as possible you would all be called together to consider the terms of a treaty to be entered into between you and your Great Mother. "I advised you to disperse to your homes, and gave you some ammunition to enable you to gain a livelihood during the winter by hunting. "I promised that in the spring you would be sent for, and that either I, or some person directly appointed to represent your Great Mother, should be here to meet you, and notice would be given you when to convene at this place to talk over what was right to be done. "Early in the spring, Mr. Simpson, who sits beside me, was made Commissioner. He left his home at once for this Province, by Rainy Lake and the Lake of the Woods. "The Indians of the lake districts meet, as you know, on Rainy River yearly, about the 20th June, to fish for sturgeon, I and they could not be called together sooner. "Mr. Simpson met them there at that time, and talked over their affairs with them, and made certain arrangements with them. He then hurried on to see you, and reached this Province a week ago last Sunday. He then sent messengers at once to all the Indians within certain bounds, asking them to meet him here on the 25th day of July. Some of you were unable to come so soon, and he has therefore, at the instance of those who were here, waited till to-day to open the talk. I believe that now you are all arrived, and ready to proceed to business. "It will be the duty of the Commissioner to talk to you on the particular details of the treaty, and I will give place to him presently, but there are one or two things of a general kind which I would like, before I close, to bring to your notice, for you to think about among yourselves. "First. Your Great Mother, the Queen, wishes to do justice to all her children alike. She will deal fairly with those of the setting sun, just as she would with those of the rising sun. She wishes order and peace to reign through all her country, and while her arm is strong to punish the wicked man, her hand is also open to reward the good man everywhere in her Dominions. "Your Great Mother wishes the good of all races under her sway. She wishes her red children to be happy and contented. She wishes them to live in comfort. She would like them to adopt the habits of the whites, to till land and raise food, and store it up against a time of want. She thinks this would be the best thing for her red children to do, that it would make them safer from famine and distress, and make their homes more comfortable. "But the Queen, though she may think it good for you to adopt civilized habits, has no idea of compelling you to do so. This she leaves to your choice, and you need not live like the white man unless you can be persuaded to do so of your own free will. Many of you, however, are already doing this. "I drove yesterday through the village below this Fort. There I saw many well-built houses, and many well-tilled fields with wheat and barley and potatoes growing, and giving promise of plenty for the winter to come. The people who till these fields and live in these houses are men of your own race, and they shew that you can live and prosper and provide like the white man. "What I say in my drive is enough to prove that even if there was not a buffalo or a fur bearing animal in the country, you could live and be surrounded with comfort by what you can raise from the soil. "Your Great Mother, therefore, will lay aside for you 'lots' of land to be used by you and your children forever. She will not allow the white man to intrude upon these lots. She will make rules to keep them for you, so that as long as the sun shall shine, there shall be no Indian who has not a place that he can call his home, where he can go and pitch his camp or if he chooses build his house and till his land. "These reserves will be large enough, but you must not expect them to be larger than will be enough to give a farm to each family, where farms shall be required. They will enable you to earn a living should the chase fail, and should you choose to get your living by tilling, you must not expect to have included in your reserve more of hay grounds than will be reasonably sufficient for your purposes in case you adopt the habits of farmers. The old settlers and the settlers that are coming in, must be dealt with on the principles of fairness and justice as well as yourselves. Your Great Mother knows no difference between any of her people. Another thing I want you to think over is this: in laying aside these reserves, and in everything else that the Queen shall do for you, you must understand that she can do for you no more than she has done for her red children in the East. If she were to do more for you that would be unjust for them. She will not do less for you because you are all her children alike, and she must treat you all alike. "When you have made your treaty you will still be free to hunt over much of the land included in the treaty. Much of it is rocky and unfit for cultivation, much of it that is wooded is beyond the places where the white man will require to go, at all events for some time to come. Till these lands are needed for use you will be free to hunt over them, and make all the use of them which you have made in the past. But when lands are needed to be tilled or occupied, you must not go on them any more. There will still be plenty of land that is neither tilled nor occupied where you can go and roam and hunt as you have always done, and, if you wish to farm, you will go to your own reserve where you will find a place ready for you to live on and cultivate. "There is another thing I have to say to you. Your Great Mother cannot come here herself to talk with you, but she has sent a messenger who has her confidence. "Mr. Simpson will tell you truly all her wishes. As the Queen has made her choice of a chief to represent her, you must, on your part, point out to us the chiefs you wish to represent you, as the persons you have faith in. "Mr. Simpson cannot talk to all your braves and people, but when he talks to chiefs who have your confidence he is talking to you all, and when he hears the voice of one of your chiefs whom you name he will hear the voice of you all. It is for you to say who shall talk for you, and also who shall be your chief men. Let them be good Indians, who know your wishes and whom you have faith in. "You will look to the Commissioner to fulfil everything he agrees to do, and the Queen will look to the chiefs you name to us, to see that you keep your parts of the agreement. "It is our wish to deal with you fairly and frankly. "If you have any questions to ask, ask them, if you have anything you wish the Queen to know, speak out plainly. "Now chiefs and braves and people, I introduce to you Mr. Simpson, who will say anything he thinks fit in addition to what I have said. "When you hear his voice you are listening to your Great Mother the Queen, whom God bless and preserve long to reign over us." Mr. Simpson also addressed them, and thereafter, in compliance with a request of the Lieutenant-Governor, the Indians retired to select their chiefs and principal spokesmen. On the next day the conference was resumed, the chiefs and spokesmen being presented. The Indians, on being asked to express their views, "stated that there was a cloud before them which made things dark, and they did not wish to commence the proceedings till the cloud was dispersed." On inquiry it was ascertained that they referred to the imprisonment of four Swampy Cree Indians, who had been convicted under a local law, of breach of contract, as boatmen, with the Hudson's Bay Company, and on default of payment of a fine, had been sent to prison. The Lieutenant-Governor, as a matter of favor, ordered the release of these prisoners, and the sky became clear. Next day the Indians met again and declared that they would never again raise their voice against the enforcement of the law, but much difficulty was experienced in getting them to understand the views of the Government--they wishing to have two-thirds of the Province as a reserve. Eventually on the 3rd of August, 1871, a treaty was concluded, its principal features being the relinquishment to Her Majesty of the Indian title; the reserving of tracts of land for the Indians, sufficient to furnish 160 acres of land to each family of five; providing for the maintenance of schools, and prohibition of the sale of intoxicating liquors on the reserves; a present of three dollars per head to the Indians and the payment to them of an annuity of three dollars per head. [Footnote: In consequence of misunderstandings having arisen, owing to the Indians alleging that certain promises had been made to them which were not specified in these treaties, a revision of them became necessary, and was effected in 1875, as will be seen reported hereafter.] (See copy of treaty which will be found in the Appendix.) On the 21st of August Mr. Commissioner Simpson, accompanied by the Lieutenant-Governor, the Hon. James McKay, and Mr. Molyneux St. John (lately Sheriff of the North-West Territories), met the Indians at Manitoba Post, and found them disposed to accept the terms of the treaty made at the Stone Fort, with which they had already become familiar, so that little time was lost in effecting a treaty with them as they had no special terms to prefer. By these two treaties, there was acquired by the Crown, the extinguishment of the Indian title in Manitoba, and in a tract of country fully equal in resources beyond it. Having submitted these preliminary remarks, I conclude my notice of these treaties by quoting, as matter alike of historical record and practical interest, the despatches of Lieutenant-Governor Archibald and the excellent and instructive report, addressed to the Secretary of State by Mr. Simpson, embracing as it does a full and graphic narrative of the proceedings which took place at the negotiation of these treaties, and of the difficulties which were encountered by the Commissioner, and the mode in which they were overcome. GOVERNMENT HOUSE, SILVER HEIGHTS July 32nd, 1871. Sir,--I have the honor to enclose you copy of a proclamation I have caused to be issued with a view to prevent the danger arising from intoxicating drinks being given to the Indians, on the occasion of the meeting to negotiate a treaty. I look upon the proceedings, we are now initiating as important in their bearing upon our relations to the Indians of the whole continent. In fact the terms we now agree upon will probably shape the arrangements we shall have to make with all the Indians between the Red River and the Rocky Mountains. It will therefore be well to neglect nothing that is within our power to enable us to start fairly with the negotiations. With that view, I have, amongst other things, asked Major Irvine to detail a few of his troops to be present at the opening of the treaty. Military display has always a great effect on savages, and the presence even of a few troops will have a good tendency. I fear we shall have to incur a considerable expenditure for presents of food, etc. during the negotiations; but any cost for that purpose I shall deem a matter of minor consequence. The real burden to be considered is that which has to be borne in each recurring year. I doubt if it will be found practicable to make arrangements upon so favorable a basis as that prescribed by His Excellency the Governor-General as the maximum to be allowed, in case of a treaty with the Lake Indians. Nor indeed would it be right, if we look to what we receive, to measure the benefits we derive from coming into possession of the magnificent territory we are appropriating here by what would be fair to allow for the rocks and swamps and muskegs of the lake country east of this Province. But to this subject I shall probably take occasion to call your attention at an early day. I have etc., ADAMS G. ARCHIBALD. THE HONORABLE THE SECRETARY OF STATE FOR THE PROVINCES, Ottawa. LOWER FORT GARRY, July 20th, 1871. Sir,--I have the honor to inform you that on Monday last I came to this Fort with the Commissioner to meet the Indians called here, with a view to negotiate a treaty, intending to open the business on Tuesday morning. It appeared, however, on inquiry, that some bands of Indians had not arrived on Tuesday morning, and we were therefore obliged to postpone the opening of the meeting till Thursday. On that day the Indians from all the sections of the country to which the invitation extended were found present to the number of about one thousand. A considerable body of half-breeds and other inhabitants of the country were also present, awaiting with some anxiety to learn what should be announced as the policy of the Government. I enclose you a memorandum of the observations with which I opened the meeting. On reading them you will observe one or two points which may require some explanation. At the time of the treaty with the Earl of Selkirk, certain Indians signed as Chiefs and representatives of their people. Some of the Indians now deny that these men ever were Chiefs or had authority to sign the treaty. With a view therefore to avoid a recurrence of any such question we asked the Indians, as a first step, to agree among themselves in selecting their Chiefs and then to present them to us and have their names and authority recorded. Furthermore, the Indians seem to have false ideas of the meaning of a reserve. They have been led to suppose that large tracts of ground were to be set aside for them as hunting grounds, including timber lands, of which they might sell the wood as if they were proprietors of the soil. I wished to correct this idea at the outset. Mr. Simpson followed me with some observations in the same strain, after which the Indians retired to select their Chiefs and spokesmen. On Friday morning the Chiefs and spokesmen were duly presented, and after their names were recorded, the Indians were invited to express their views. After some delay they stated that there was a cloud before them which made things dark, and they did not wish to commence the proceedings till the cloud was dispersed. On inquiring into their meaning, I found that they were referring to some four of their number who were prisoners in gaol. It seems that some Swampy Indians had entered into a contract with the Hudson's Bay Company as boatmen, and had deserted, and had been brought up before magistrates under a local law of last session, and fined, and in default of payment sent to prison for forty days. Of this term some considerable part had expired. A few of the offenders had paid their fines, but there were still four Indians remaining in prison. On learning the facts I told the Indians that I could not listen to them if they made a demand for the release of the Indians as a matter of right; that every subject of the Queen, whether Indian, half-breed or white, was equal in the eye of the law; that every offender against the law must be punished, whatever race he belonged to; but I said that on the opening of negotiations with them the Queen would like to see all her Indians taking part in them, and if the whole body present were to ask as a matter of grace and favor, under the circumstances, that their brethren should be released, Her Majesty would be willing to consent to their discharge; she would grant as a favor what she must refuse if asked for on any other ground. They replied by saying that they begged it as a matter of favor only. Thereupon I acceded to their request, and directed the discharge of the four Indians. This was received with great satisfaction. I explained again, that there might be no misunderstanding about it, that henceforth every offender against the law must be punished. They all expressed their acquiescence in what I said. The discharge of the prisoners had an excellent effect. Next morning the Indians, through one of their spokesmen, declared in presence of the whole body assembled that from this time they would never raise their voice against the law being enforced. After the order of the release, the Chiefs and spokesmen addressed us questions were asked and answered, and some progress made in the negotiations. Eventually the meeting adjourned till this morning at ten o'clock. A general acquiescence in the views laid down by Mr. Simpson and myself was expressed, but it was quite clear by the proceedings of to-day, that our views were imperfectly apprehended. When we met this morning, the Indians were invited to state their wishes as to the reserves, they were to say how much they thought would be sufficient, and whether they wished them all in one or in several places. In defining the limits of their reserves, so far as we could see, they wished to have about two-thirds of the Province. We heard them out, and then told them it was quite clear that they had entirely misunderstood the meaning and intention of reserves. We explained the object of these in something like the language of the memorandum enclosed, and then told them it was of no use for them to entertain any such ideas, which were entirely out of the question. We told them that whether they wished it or not, immigrants would come in and fill up the country; that every year from this one twice as many in number as their whole people there assembled would pour into the Province, and in a little while would spread all over it, and that now was the time for them to come to an arrangement that would secure homes and annuities for themselves and their children. We told them that what we proposed to allow them was an extent of one hundred and sixty acres for each family of five, or in that proportion; that they might have their land where they chose, not interfering with existing occupants, that we should allow an annuity of twelve dollars for every family of five, or in that proportion per head. We requested them to think over these propositions till Monday morning. If they thought it better to have no treaty at all, they might do without one, but they must make up their minds; if there was to be a treaty, it must be on a basis like that offered. That under some such arrangements, the Indians in the east were living happy and contented enjoying themselves, drawing their annuities, and satisfied with their position. The observations seemed to command the acquiescence of the majority, and on Monday morning we hope to meet them in a better frame for the discussion and settlement of the treaty. I have, etc., ADAMS G. ARCHIBALD. The Honorable The Secretary of State for the Provinces. LOWER FORT GARRY, MANITOBA, July 30th, 1871. Sir,--I have the honor to inform you, for the information of His Excellency the Governor-General, that I arrived in this Province on the 16th instant, and, after consultation with the Lieutenant-Governor of Manitoba, determined upon summoning the Indians of this part of the country to a conference for the purpose of negotiating a treaty at Lower Fort Garry, on Tuesday, the 25th instant, leaving for a future date the negotiation with the Indians westward of and outside of the Province of Manitoba. Proclamations were issued, and every means taken to insure the attendance of the Indians, and on Monday, the 24th instant, I proceeded to Lower Fort Garry, where I met His Excellency the Lieutenant-Governor. On Tuesday, finding that only a small portion of the Indians had arrived, we held a preliminary conference with Henry Prince--the Chief of the Swampies and Chippewas residing on what is known as the Indian Reserve, between Lower Fort Garry and Lake Winnipeg--at which we arranged a meeting for the next day at twelve o'clock, for the purpose of ascertaining the names of the Chiefs and head men of the several tribes. At this preliminary conference, Henry Prince said that he could not then enter upon any negotiations, as he was not empowered to speak or act for those bands of Indians not then present. In the meantime it was found necessary to feed the Indians assembled here, and accordingly provisions were purchased and rations served out. On Wednesday, the 26th, His Excellency the Lieutenant-Governor and myself met those Indians who had arrived, in council, and addressed them with the view of explaining the purport of my commission, and the matters which were to form the subject of a treaty. It having been reported that the Indians who had not then arrived were on their road here, we agreed that another meeting should take place on the following day, at which the Chiefs and head men were to be presented to us. On Thursday, pursuant to appointment, we again met the Indians, when the Chiefs and head men of the several bands present were named and presented. I then explained to them the nature of Indian reserves, and desired them to determine, in council among themselves, the locality in which they desired their reserves to be laid out. On Friday, the 28th, we again met the Indians, but they were not then prepared to state their demands, and another meeting was appointed for Saturday. On Saturday, the 29th, we again met them, all having by this time arrived. When the subject of reserves came up, it was found that the Indians had misunderstood the object of these reservations, for their demands in this respect were utterly out of the question. After a prolonged discussion with them, I consulted with the Lieutenant-Governor, and determined to let them at once understand the terms that I was prepared to offer and I pointed out that the terms offered were those which would receive Her Majesty's consent. On further explanation of the subject, the Indians appeared to be satisfied, and willing to acquiesce in our arrangements as hereinafter mentioned, and having given them diagrams showing the size of the lots they would individually become possessed of, and having informed them of the amount of their annuity, it was finally settled that they should meet on Monday, the 31st and acquaint me with their decision. The reserves will comprise sufficient land to give each family of five persons one hundred and sixty acres, or in like proportion together with an annual payment in perpetuity of twelve dollars for each family of five persons, or in like proportion. As far as I can judge, I am inclined to think that the Indians will accept these terms. I am happy to be able to say that the precautions taken to prevent the introduction of liquor amongst the Indians have been wholly successful, and that perfect order and contentment have prevailed up to the present time. I have etc. WEMYSS M. SIMPSON, Indian Commissioner. The Honorable The Secretary of State for the Provinces, Ottawa. OTTAWA, November 3rd, 1871. TO THE HONORABLE THE SECRETARY OF STATE FOR THE PROVINCES, Ottawa Sir,--I have the honor to submit to you, for the information of His Excellency the Governor-General, a report of my negotiations with the Indians of the Province of Manitoba, and with certain of the Indians of the North-West Territory, entered upon by me, in accordance with your instructions, dated 3rd May, 1871. Having, in association with S. J. Dawson, Esq., and Robert Pether, Esq., effected a preliminary arrangement with the Indians of Rainy Lake, the particulars of which I have already had the honor of reporting to you in my Report, dated July 11th, 1871, I proceeded by the Lake of the Woods and Dawson Road to Fort Garry, at which place I arrived on the 16th July. Bearing in mind your desire that I should confer with the Lieutenant-Governor of Manitoba, I called upon Mr. Archibald, and learned from him that the Indians were anxiously awaiting my arrival, and were much excited on the subject of their lands being occupied without attention being first given to their claims for compensation. Amongst the settlers, also, an uneasy feeling existed, arising partly from the often-repeated demands of the Indians for a treaty with themselves, and partly from the fact that certain settlers in the neighborhood of Portage la Prairie and other parts of the Province, had been warned by the Indians not to cut wood or otherwise take possession of the lands upon which they were squatting. The Indians, it appeared, consented to their remaining on their holdings until sufficient time had been allowed for my arrival, and the conclusion of a treaty; but they were unwilling to allow the settlers the free use of the country for themselves or their cattle. Mr. Archibald and those residents in the Province of Manitoba with whom I conversed on the subject, appeared to think that no time should be lost in meeting the Indians, as some assurances had already been given them that a treaty would be made with them during the summer of 1871; and I therefore, at once, issued notices calling certain of the Indians together, naming two places at which I would meet them. The first meeting, to which were asked the Indians of the Province and certain others on the eastern side, was to be held on the 25th of July, at the Stone Fort, a Hudson's Bay Company's Post, situated on the Red River, about twenty miles northward of Fort Garry--a locality chosen as being the most central for those invited. The second meeting was appointed to be held on August 17th, at Manitoba Post, a Hudson's Bay Company's Post, at the north-west extremity of Lake Manitoba, as it was deemed that such of the bands of Indians residing without the limits of the Province of Manitoba, as I purposed to deal with at present, would meet there more readily than elsewhere. On Monday, the 24th of July, I met the Lieutenant-Governor of Manitoba at the Stone Fort; but negotiations were unavoidably delayed, owing to the fact that only one band of Indians had arrived, and that until all were on the spot those present declined to discuss the subject of a treaty, except in an informal manner. Amongst these, as amongst other Indians with whom I have come in contact, there exists great jealousy of one another, in all matters relating to their communications with the officials of Her Majesty; and in order to facilitate the object in view, it was most desirable that suspicion and jealousy of all kinds should be allayed. The fact of the Commissioner having arrived was sufficient evidence of the good intentions of Her Majesty's Government, and it seemed better to await the arrival of all whom I had summoned, than to press matters to an issue while any were absent. This, however, entailed the necessity of feeding those who were already there, and others as they arrived. It is customary in dealing with Indians to do so, and in this case it was absolutely necessary, for, obviously, it would have been impossible to invite those people from a distance, and then leave them to starve at our doors, or, in search of food, to plunder the neighborhood into which they had been introduced. At that season of the year the Indians were not engaged in fishing or hunting, and consequently large numbers of men, women and children attended at the place of meeting, for all of whom food was provided. The price of provisions, even at the lowest price for which they could be obtained, was high, pork being fifty dollars a barrel, and flour twenty shillings sterling per hundred, and such cattle as I was able to purchase L16 per head, so that the expense of keeping the Indians during the negotiation of treaty and payment of the gratuity, which lasted eleven days, forms no small share of the total expenditure. In addition to this expense, it was thought necessary by the Lieutenant-Governor that Major Irvine commanding the troops at Fort Garry should be requested to furnish a guard at the Stone Fort during the negotiations, and that there should be at hand, also, a force of constabulary, for the purpose of preventing the introduction of liquor amongst the Indian encampments. Other expenses of a somewhat similar nature were incurred, which would be totally unnecessary upon any future occasion of payment being made to the Indians of Manitoba. I may here refer to the apparently prolonged duration of the first negotiation, and explain, in reference thereto, the causes, or some of them, that entailed the loss of time and attendant expense. For some time a doubt has existed whether the Chief, nominally at the head of the Indians of the Indian settlement, possessed the good will and confidence of that band; and I thought it advisable to require that the several bands of Indians should select such Chiefs as they thought proper, and present these men as their authorized Chiefs, before anything was said as to the terms of a treaty. The Indians having acquiesced in this proposal, forthwith proceeded to such election; but the proceeding apparently involved discussion and consideration amongst themselves, and two days elapsed before the men chosen were presented for recognition, and the business of the meeting commenced. When the peculiar circumstances surrounding the position of the Indians of the Province were pointed out, the future of the country predicted, and the views and intentions of the Government explained by the Lieutenant-Governor and myself, the Indians professed a desire for time to think over what had been said before making any reply; and when their answer came it proved to contain demands of such an exorbitant nature, that much time was spent in reducing their terms to a basis upon which an arrangement could be made. Every band had its spokesman in addition to its Chief, and each seemed to vie with another in the dimensions of their requirements. I may mention, as an illustration, that in the matter of reserves, the quantity of land demanded for each band amounted to about three townships per Indian, and included the greater part of the settled portions of the Province. It was not until the 3rd of August, or nine days after the first meeting, that the basis of arrangement was arrived at, upon which is founded the treaty of that date. Then, and by means of mutual concessions, the following terms were agreed upon. For the cession of the country described in the treaty referred to, and comprising the Province of Manitoba, and certain country in the north-east thereof, every Indian was to receive a sum of three dollars a year in perpetuity, and a reserve was to he set apart for each band, of sufficient size to allow one hundred and sixty acres to each family of five persons, or in like proportion as the family might be greater or less than five. As each Indian settled down upon his share of the reserve, and commenced the cultivation of his land, he was to receive a plough and harrow. Each Chief was to receive a cow and a male and female of the smaller kinds of animals bred upon a farm. There was to be a bull for the general use of each reserve. In addition to this, each Chief was to receive a dress, a flag and a medal, as marks of distinction; and each Chief, with the exception of Bozawequare, the Chief of the Portage band, was to receive a buggy, or light spring waggon. Two councillors and two braves of each band were to receive a dress, somewhat inferior to that provided for the Chiefs, and the braves and councillors of the Portage band excepted, were to receive a buggy. Every Indian was to receive a gratuity of three dollars, which, though given as a payment for good behaviour, was to be understood to cover all dimensions for the past. On this basis the treaty was signed by myself and the several Chiefs, on behalf of themselves and their respective bands, on the 3rd of August, 1871, and on the following day the payment commenced. The three dollars gratuity, above referred to, will not occur in the ordinary annual payments to the Indians of Manitoba, and, though doubling the amount paid this year, may now properly be regarded as belonging to a previous year, but only now liquidated. A large number of Indians, entitled to share in the treaty, were absent on the 3rd August, and in the belief that I should, almost immediately, be able to obtain a more accurate knowledge than I possessed of the numbers of the several bands, I paid to each person present only three dollars--the gratuity--postponing for a short time the first annual payment. Having completed this disbursement, I prepared to start for Manitoba Post, to open negotiations with the Indians on the immediate north and north-west borders of the Province of Manitoba, promising however to visit the several bands of the first treaty, in their own districts, and to there pay them. By this means the necessity for their leaving their own homes, and for the Government's feeding them while they were being paid, and during their journey home, was avoided. After completing the treaty at Manitoba Post, of which mention is herein after made, I visited Portage la Prairie, the Indian settlement at St. Peter's, Riviere Marais, and the Town of Winnipeg, according to my promise, and at each place, with the exception of Riviere Marais, found the Indians satisfied with the treaty and awaiting their payment. At Riviere Marais, which was the rendezvous appointed by the bands living in the neighborhood of Pembina, I found that the Indians had either misunderstood the advice given them by parties in the settlement, well disposed towards the treaty, or, as I have some reason to believe had become unsettled by the representations made by persons in the vicinity of Pembina, whose interests lay elsewhere than in the Province of Manitoba; for, on my announcing my readiness to pay them, they demurred at receiving their money until some further concessions had been made by me. With a view to inducing the Indians to adopt the habits and labors of civilization, it had been agreed, at the signing of the treaty as before mentioned, to give certain animals as a nucleus for stocking the several reserves, together with certain farming implements; and it was now represented to me by the spokesman of the bands, that as the Queen had, with that kindness of heart which distinguished her dealings with her red children, expressed a desire to see the Indians discard their former precarious mode of living and adopt the agricultural pursuits of the white man, they were desirous of acceding to the wish of their great Mother, and were now prepared to receive the gifts she had been good enough to speak of, through her Commissioner, in full. But, as it could make no difference whatever to their great Mother whether these things were given in kind or in money value, her red children of the Pembina bands were resolved to receive them in the latter form. I had put a valuation upon all the articles mentioned in the supplement to the treaty, and could go no further in the matter unless I was prepared to pay them for all these articles at the rates they would now proceed to mention. I declined to comply with the request, and they declined to receive their first annual payment, whereupon I broke up my camp and returned to Winnipeg. As I foresaw at the time this determination on their part was shortly repented, and a number of their leading men were subsequently paid at Winnipeg, while at the request of the Indians, the money for the remainder, together with a pay sheet, was forwarded to the officer in charge of the Hudson's Bay Company's Post at Pembina, with instructions to pay the Indians as per list as each might present himself. At Portage la Prairie, although the number paid at the Stone Fort was largely increased, there still remained many who, from absence or other causes, were not paid, and by the request of the Chief the money was left for these with the officers in charge of the Hudson's Bay Company's Post, in the same manner as was done for the Pembina bands. As I was unable to proceed to Fort Alexander, the payments for the Indians or for such of them as were present at the signing of the treaty, were sent in like manner to the officer in charge of the Hudson's Bay Company's Post at Fort Alexander; but it may be as well to mention that the number so paid will fall far short of the total number belonging to that place. The latter remark will apply to the Pembina band, for their payment was sent as per gratuity list, and there must necessarily have been others who did not receive payment. All these must receive their back payments during the course of next year. During the payment of the several bands, it was found that in some, and most notably in the Indian settlement and Broken Head River Band, a number of those residing among the Indians, and calling themselves Indians, are in reality half-breeds, and entitled to share in the land grant under the provisions of the Manitoba Act. I was most particular, therefore, in causing it to be explained, generally and to individuals, that any person now electing to be classed with Indians, and receiving the Indian pay and gratuity, would, I believed, thereby forfeit his or her right to another grant as a half-breed; and in all cases where it was known that a man was a half-breed, the matter, as it affected himself and his children, was explained to him, and the choice given him to characterize himself. A very few only decided upon taking their grants as half-breeds. The explanation of this apparent sacrifice is found in the fact that the mass of these persons have lived all their lives on the Indian reserves (so called), and would rather receive such benefits as may accrue to them under the Indian treaty, than wait the realization of any value in their half-breed grant. The Lieutenant-Governor of Manitoba having expressed a desire to be present at the negotiation of the treaty at Manitoba Post. His Honor, accompanied by the Hon. James McKay, proceeded thither with me, in company with Mr. Molyneux St. John, the Clerk of the Legislative Assembly of Manitoba, who had assisted me in the duties connected with the former treaty and payments. I left Winnipeg on the 13th August, but owing to adverse winds on Lake Manitoba did not arrive until two days after the time appointed. I found that, in the meanwhile, the officer in charge of the Hudson's Bay Company's Post had been obliged to give some provisions to the Indians pending my arrival, but on my speaking to the leading men of the bands assembled, it was evident that the Indians of this part had no special demands to make, but having a knowledge of the former treaty, desired to be dealt with in the same manner and on the same terms as those adopted by the Indians of the Province of Manitoba. The negotiation with these bands therefore occupied little time and on the 21st August, 1871, a treaty was concluded by which a tract of country three times as large as the Province of Manitoba was surrendered by the Indians to the Crown. Payment in full, that is to say, the gratuity and the first payment, was at once made; and I have since written to the officers in charge of the Hudson's Bay Company's Posts within the tract above referred to, requesting them to procure for me a reliable census of the Indians, parties to this treaty. I have referred to the cost of effecting these treaties, and remarked that it will prove to be exceptional. It may be regarded as entirely so, as far as the Indians with whom the dealings were held are concerned. In the future the annual payment will be only one-half to each Indian of the amount paid this year, for the gratuity was the same as the payment, and the heavy expense of feeding the Indians while at the place of meeting and on their journey home, will be avoided by the payment being made at or near their own reserves. All the collateral expenses, therefore, of this year, including dresses, medals, presents to the Indians, etc., etc., will not appear in the expenses attending during future payments. But it is to be remembered that a large number of Indians, whose lands were ceded by the second treaty, were not present. The distance from the hunting grounds of some to Manitoba Post is very great; but while their absence was to be regretted for some reasons, it effected a very considerable saving in the item of provisions. During the ensuing season, these persons will probably be found at the place where the payments will be made, and will then require their payments as if they had been present at the signing of the treaty. Of the land ceded in the Province of Manitoba, it will be hardly necessary for me to speak, as His Excellency the Governor-General is already in possession of accurate information touching its fertility and resources; but I may observe that, valuable as are these lands, they are fully equalled if not exceeded by the country of which the Government now comes into possession by virtue of the treaty concluded at Manitoba Post. Already settlers from the Provinces in Canada and elsewhere are pushing their way beyond the limits of the Province of Manitoba; and there is nothing but the arbitrary limits of that Province, and certain wood and water advantages found in the territory beyond it, to distinguish one part of the country from the other. The fertility that is possessed by Manitoba is shared by the country and its confines. The water courses of the Province are excelled by those of the territory; and the want of wood which threatens serious difficulty in the one is by no means so apparent in the other. The Indians of both parts have a firm belief in the honor and integrity of Her Majesty's representatives, and are fully impressed with the idea that the amelioration of their present condition is one of the objects of Her Majesty in making these treaties. Although many years will elapse before they can be regarded as a settled population--settled in the sense of following agricultural pursuits--the Indians have already shown a disposition to provide against the vicissitudes of the chase by cultivating small patches of corn and potatoes. Moreover, in the Province of Manitoba, where labor is scarce, Indians give great assistance in gathering in the crops. At Portage la Prairie, both Chippawas and Sioux were largely employed in the grain field; and in other parishes I found many farmers whose employes were nearly all Indians. Although serious trouble has from time to time occurred across the boundary line, with Indians of the same tribes, and indeed of the same bands as those in Manitoba, there is no reason to fear any trouble with those who regard themselves as subjects of Her Majesty. Their desire is to live at peace with the white man, to trade with him, and, when they are disposed, to work for him; and I believe that nothing but gross injustice or oppression will induce them either to forget the allegiance which they now claim with pride, or molest the white subjects of the sovereign whom they regard as their Supreme Chief. The system of an annual payment in money I regard as a good one, because the recipient is enabled to purchase just what he requires when he can get it most cheaply, and it also enables him to buy articles at second hand, from settlers and others, that are quite as useful to him as are the same things when new. The sum of three dollars does not appear to be large enough to enable an Indian to provide himself with many of his winter necessaries; but as he receives the same amount for his wife or wives, and for each of his children, the aggregate sum is usually sufficient to procure many comforts for his family which he would otherwise be compelled to deny himself. * * * * * I take this opportunity of acknowledging the assistance afforded me in successfully completing the two treaties, to which I have referred, by His Honor the Lieutenant-Governor of Manitoba, the Hon. James McKay, and the officers of the Hudson's Bay Company. In a country where transport and all other business facilities are necessarily so scarce, the services rendered to the Government by the officers in charge of the several Hudson's Bay Posts has been most opportune and valuable. I have, etc., WEMYSS M. SIMPSON, Indian Commissioner. CHAPTER V TREATY NUMBER THREE, OR THE NORTH-WEST ANGLE TREATY In the year 1871 the Privy Council of Canada issued a joint commission to Messrs. W. M. Simpson, S. J. Dawson and W. J. Pether, authorizing them to treat with the Ojibbeway Indians for the surrender to the Crown of the lands they inhabited--covering the area from the watershed of Lake Superior to the north-west angle of the Lake of the Woods, and from the American border to the height of land from which the streams flow towards the Hudson's Bay. This step had become necessary in order to make the route known as "the Dawson route," extending from Prince Arthur's Landing on Lake Superior to the north-west angle of the Lake of the Woods, which was then being opened up, "secure for the passage of emigrants and of the people of the Dominion generally," and also to enable the Government to throw open for settlement any portion of the land which might be susceptible of improvement and profitable occupation. The Commissioners accepted the appointment, and in July, 1871, met the Indians at Fort Francis. The tribes preferred claims for right of way through their country. The Commissioners reported "that they had admitted these to a limited extent and had made them presents in provisions and clothing and were also to pay them a small amount in money, it being fully and distinctly understood by the Indians that these presents and clothing were accepted by them as an equivalent for all past claims whatever." The Commissioners having explained to them fully the intentions of the Government as to obtaining a surrender of their territorial rights, and giving in return therefor reserves of land and annual payments, asked them to consider the proposals calmly* and meet the Commissioners the succeeding summer to come to an arrangement. In 1872, the Indians were found not to be ready for the making of a treaty and the subject was postponed. In the year 1873 a commission was issued to the Hon. Alexander Morris, then Lieutenant-Governor of Manitoba and the North-West Territories, Lieut.-Col. Provencher, who had in the interval been appointed Commissioner of Indian Affairs in the place of Mr. Simpson, who had resigned, and Lindsay Russell Esq., but the latter being unable to act, Mr. Dawson, now M.P. for Algoma, was appointed Commissioner in his stead. These Commissioners having accepted the duty confided to them, met the Indians at the north-west angle of the Lake of the Woods in the end of September, 1873, and, after protracted and difficult negotiations, succeeded in effecting a treaty with them. A copy of the treaty will be found in the Appendix, and a brief record of the utterances of the Indians and of the Commissioners, which was taken down in short hand by one of the soldiers of the militia force, is hereto subjoined. This treaty was one of great importance, as it not only tranquilized the large Indian population affected by it, but eventually shaped the terms of all the treaties, four, five, six and seven, which have since been made with the Indians of the North-West Territories--who speedily became apprised of the concessions which had been granted to the Ojibbeway nation. The closing scenes were striking and impressive. The chief speaker, Mawe-do-pe-nais, thus winding up the conference on the part of the Indians, in his final address to the Lieutenant-Governor and his fellow Commissioners: "Now you see me stand before you all: what has been done here to day has been done openly before the Great Spirit and before the nation, and I hope I may never hear any one say that this treaty has been done secretly: and now in closing this council, I take off my glove, and in giving you my hand I deliver over my birthright and lands: and in taking your hand I hold fast all the promises you have made, and I hope they will last as long as the sun rises and the water flows, as you have said." The conference then adjourned, and on re-assembling, after the treaty had been read and explained, the Commissioners signed it and the Lieutenant-Governor called on an aged hereditary Chief, Kee-ta-kay-pi-nais, to sign next. The Chief came forward, but declined to touch the pen, saying, "I must first have the money in my hand." The Lieutenant-Governor immediately held out his hand and directed the interpreter to say to the chief, "Take my hand and feel the money in it. If you cannot trust me for half an hour do not trust me forever." When this was repeated by the interpreter, the Chief smiled, took the out-stretched hand, and at once touched the pen, while his mark was being made, his last lingering distrust having been effectively dispelled by this prompt action and reply. The other Chiefs followed, and then the interpreter was directed to tell Kee-ta-kay-pi-nais, the Chief, that he would be paid forthwith, but the Chief at once replied, "Oh no, it is evening now, and I will wait till to-morrow." The payments were duly made next day, and so was closed, a treaty, whereby a territory was enabled to be opened up, of great importance to Canada, embracing as it does the Pacific Railway route to the North-West Territories--a wide extent of fertile lands, and, as is believed, great mineral resources. I now quote the official despatch of the Lieutenant-Governor, dated the 14th October, 1873, in which will be found, a full narrative of the proceedings, connected with the treaty, and a statement of the results thereby effected. I also submit a short-hand report of the negotiations connected with the treaty. GOVERNMENT HOUSE, FORT GARRY, October 14th, 1873. Sir,--I have the honor to enclose copy of a treaty made by myself, Lieut.-Col. Provencher, Indian agent and S. J. Dawson, Esq., Commissioner, acting on behalf of Her Majesty, of the one part, and the Saulteaux tribe of Ojibbeway Indians on the other, at the North-West Angle of the Lake of the Woods, on the 3rd of October, for the relinquishment of the Indian title to the tract of land therein described and embracing 55,000 square miles. In the first place, the holding of the negotiation of the treaty had been appointed by you to take place at the North-West Angle before you requested me to take part therein, and Mr. Dawson had obtained the consent of the Indians to meet there on the 10th of September, but they afterwards changed their minds, and refused to meet me unless I came to Fort Francis. I refused to do this, as I felt that the yielding to the demand of the Indians in this respect, would operate injuriously to the success of the treaty, and the results proved the correctness of the opinion I had formed. I therefore sent a special agent (Mr. Pierre Levaillier) to warn them that I would meet them as arranged at the North-West Angle on the 25th, or not at all this year, to which they eventually agreed. I left here for the Angle on the 23rd September and arrived there on the 25th, when I was joined by Messrs. Provencher and Dawson the last named of whom I was glad to find had been associated with the Commissioners in consequence of the resignation of Mr. Lindsey Russell, thereby giving us the benefit as well of his knowledge of the country to be dealt with, as of the several bands of Indians therein. Mr. Pether, of Fort Francis, was also in attendance, and Mr. Provencher was accompanied by Mr. St. John, of his department. On arriving, the Indians, who were already there, came up to the house I occupied, in procession, headed by braves bearing a banner and a Union Jack, and accompanied by others beating drums. They asked leave to perform a dance in my honor, after which they presented to me the pipe of peace. They were then supplied with provisions and returned to their camp. As the Indians had not all arrived, and for other reasons, the 26th, 27th and 28th were passed without any progress but on the 29th I sent them word that they must meet the Commissioners next morning. Accordingly, on the 30th, they met us in a tent, the use of which I had obtained from the military authorities. I explained to them the object of the meeting, but as they informed me that they were not ready to confer with us, I adjourned the meeting until next day. On the 1st October they again assembled. The principal cause of the delay was divisions and jealousies among themselves. The nation had not met for many years, and some of them had never before been assembled together. They were very jealous of each other, and dreaded any of the Chiefs having individual communications with me, to prevent which they had guards on the approaches to my house and Mr. Dawson's tent. On the 2nd October they again assembled, when I again explained the object of the meeting, through Mr. McPherson, an intelligent half-breed trader, whose services I secured. M. Chatelan, the Government interpreter, was also present. They had selected three spokesmen, and had also an Indian reporter, whose duty was to commit to memory all that was said. They had also secured the services of M. Joseph Nolin, of Point du Chene, to take notes in French of the negotiations, a copy of which notes I obtained from him and herewith enclose. The spokesmen informed me they would not treat as to the land until we settled with them as to the Dawson route, with regard to which they alleged Mr. Dawson had made promises which had not been kept, and that they had not been paid for the wood used in building the steamers, nor for the use of the route itself. Mr. Dawson explained that he had paid them for cutting wood, but had always asserted a common right to the use of wood and the water way. He asked them what promise had not been kept, and pointed out that the Government had twice before endeavored to treat with them for a settlement of all matters. He referred them to me as to the general question of the use of the route. They were unable to name any promises which had not been kept. Thereupon I told them I came on behalf of the Queen and the Government of the Dominion of Canada to treat with them with regard to the lands and all other matters, but that they refused to hear what I had to say; they had closed my mouth; and as we would not treat except for the settlement of all matters past and future I could not speak unless they asked me to do so. They conferred among themselves, and seeing that we were quite firm, the spokesman came forward and said that they would not close my mouth, after which they would make their demands. The Commissioners had had a conference and agreed, as they found there was no hope of a treaty for a less sum, to offer five dollars per head, a present of ten dollars, and reserves of farming and other lands not exceeding one square mile per family of five, or in that proportion, sums within the limits of our instructions, though I had private advices if possible not to give the maximum sum named, as the Government had been under a misapprehension as to amounts given to the bands in the United States. The Chiefs heard my proposal, and the meeting adjourned until next day. On the 3rd October the Chiefs again assembled and made a counter proposition, of which I enclose a copy, being the demand they have urged since 1869. I also enclose an estimate I had made of the money value of the demand, amounting to $125,000 per annum. On behalf of the Commissioners I at once peremptorily refused the demand. The spokesmen returned to the Chiefs, who were arranged on benches, the people sitting on the ground behind them, and on their return they informed me that the Chiefs, warriors and braves were of one mind, that they would make a treaty only if we acceded to their demand. I told them if so the conference was over, that I would return and report that they had refused to make a reasonable treaty, that hereafter I would treat with those bands who were willing to treat, but that I would advise them to return to the council and reconsider their determination before next morning, when, if not, I should certainly leave. This brought matters to a crisis. The Chief of the Lac Seul band came forward to speak. The others tried to prevent him, but he was secured a hearing. He stated that he represented four hundred people in the north, that they wished a treaty, that they wished a school-master to be sent them to teach their children the knowledge of the white man; that they had begun to cultivate the soil and were growing potatoes and Indian corn, but wished other grain for seed and some agricultural implements and cattle. This Chief spoke under evident apprehension as to the course he was taking in resisting the other Indians, and displayed much good sense and moral courage. He was followed by the Chief "Blackstone," who urged the other Chiefs to return to the council and consider my proposals, stating that he was ready to treat, though he did not agree to my proposals nor to those made to me. I then told them that I had known all along they were not united as they had said; that they ought not to allow a few Chiefs to prevent a treaty, and that I wished to treat with them as a nation and not with separate bands, as they would otherwise compel me to do, and therefore urged them to return to their council, promising to remain another day to give them time for consideration. They spent the night in council, and next morning having received a message from M. Charles Nolin, a French half-breed, that they were becoming more amenable to reason, I requested the Hon. James McKay (who went to the Angle three times to promote this treaty), Charles Nolin and Pierre Levaillier to go down to the Indian Council, and as men of their own blood, give them friendly advice. They accordingly did so, and were received by the Indians, and in about half an hour afterwards were followed by Messrs. Provencher and St. John, who also took part in the interview with the Council of Chiefs. The Chiefs were summoned to the conference by the sound of a bugle and again met us, when they told me that the determination to adhere to their demands had been so strong a bond that they did not think it could be broken, but they had now determined to see if I would give them anything more. The Commissioners had had a conference, and agreed previously to offer a small sum for ammunition and twine for nets, yearly--a few agricultural implements and seeds, for any band actually farming or commencing to farm, and to increase the money payment by two dollars per head if it should be found necessary in order to secure a treaty, maintaining a permanent annuities at the sum fixed. The Indians on the other hand had determined on asking fifteen dollars, with some other demands. In fixing the ten dollars the Commissioners had done so as a sum likely to be accepted in view of three dollars per head having been paid the Indians the first year the Dawson route was used, and that they had received nothing since. In reply to the Indians, I told them I was glad that they had reconsidered their decision, and that as they had done so, being desirous of inducing them to practice agriculture and to have the means of getting food if their fishing and hunting failed, we would give them certain implements, cattle and grain, once for all, and the extra two dollars per head of a money payment. This proposal was received favorably, but the spokesmen again came forward and said they had some questions to ask before accepting my proposal. They wanted suits of clothing every year for all the bands, and fifty dollars for every Chief annually. This I declined, but told them that there were some presents of clothing and food which would be given them this year at the close of treaty. They then asked free passes forever over the Canada Pacific Railway, which I refused. They then asked that no "fire-water" should be sold on their reserves, and I promised that a regulation to this effect should be introduced into the treaty. They then asked that they should not be sent to war, and I told them the Queen was not in the habit of employing the Indians in warfare. They asked that they should have power to put turbulent men off their reserves, and I told them the law would be enforced against such men. They asked what reserves would be given them, and were informed by Mr. Provencher that reserves of farming and other lands would be given them as previously stated, and that any land actually in cultivation by them would be respected. They asked if the mines would be theirs; I said if they were found on their reserves it would be to their benefit, but not otherwise. They asked if an Indian found a mine would he be paid for it, I told them he could sell his information if he could find a purchaser like any other person. They explained that some of their children had married in the States, and they wished them to return and live among them, and wanted them included in the treaty. I told them the treaty was not for American Indians, but any bona fide British Indians of the class they mentioned who should within two years be found resident on British soil would be recognized. They said there were some ten to twenty families of half-breeds who were recognized as Indians and lived with them, and they wished them included. I said the treaty was not for whites, but I would recommend that those families should be permitted the option of taking either status as Indians or whites, but that they could not take both. They asked that Mr. Charles Nolin should be employed as an Indian Agent, and I stated that I would submit his name to the Government with favorable mention of his services on that occasion. They asked that the Chiefs and head men, as in other treaties, should get an official suit of clothing, a nag, and a medal, which I promised. Mawedopenais produced one of the medals given to the Red River Chiefs, said it was not silver, and they were ashamed to wear it, as it turned black, and then, with an air of great contempt, struck it with his knife. I stated that I would mention what he had said, and the manner in which he had spoken. They also stated the Hudson Bay Company had staked out ground at Fort Francis, on part of the land they claimed to have used, and to be entitled to, and I promised that enquiry would be made into the matter. They apologized for the number of questions put me, which occupied a space of some hours, and then the principal spokesman, Mawedopenais, came forward and drew off his gloves, and spoke as follows: "Now you see me stand before you all. What has been done here to-day, has been done openly before the Great Spirit, and before the nation, and I hope that I may never hear any one say that this treaty has been done secretly. And now in closing this council, I take off my glove, and in taking your hand, I deliver over my birthright, and lands, and in taking your hand I hold fast all the promises you have made, and I hope they will last as long as the sun goes round, and the water flows, as you have said." To which I replied as follows: "I accept your hand, and with it the lands and will keep all my promises, in the firm belief that the treaty now to be signed will bind the red man and the white man together as friends forever." The conference then adjourned for an hour to enable the text of the treaty to be completed in accordance with the understanding arrived at. At the expiration of that period the conference was resumed, and after the reading of the treaty, and an explanation of it in Indian by the Hon. James McKay it was signed by the Commissioners and by the several Chiefs, the first signature being that of a very aged hereditary Chief. The next day the Indians were paid by Messrs. Pether and Graham, of the Department of Public Works; the latter of whom kindly offered his services as Mr. Provencher had to leave to keep another appointment. The negotiation was a very difficult and trying one, and required on the part of the Commissioners great patience and firmness. On the whole I am of opinion that the issue is a happy one. With the exception of two bands in the Shebandowan District, whose adhesion was secured in advance and the signatures of whose Chiefs Mr. Dawson left to secure, the Indian title has been extinguished over the vast tract of country comprising 55,000 square miles lying between the upper boundary of the Lake Superior treaty, and that of the treaty made by Mr. Commissioner Simpson at Manitoba Post, and embracing within its bounds the Dawson route, the route of the Canada Pacific Railway and an extensive lumber and mineral region. [Footnote: Mr. Dawson succeeded in obtaining the adhesion to the treaty of the Chiefs in question.] It is fortunate, too that the arrangement has been effected, as the Indians along the lakes and rivers were dissatisfied at the use of the waters, which they considered theirs, having been taken without compensation, so much so indeed that I believe if the treaty had not been made, the Government would have been compelled to place a force on the line next year. Before closing this despatch, I have much pleasure in bearing testimony to the hearty co-operation and efficient aid the Commissioners received from the Metis who were present at the Angle, and who, with one accord, whether of French or English origin, used the influence which their relationships to the Indians gave them to impress them with the necessity of their entering into the treaty. I must also express my obligations to the detachment of troops under the command of Captain Macdonald, assigned me as an escort, for their soldierly bearing and excellent conduct while at the Angle. Their presence was of great value, and had the effect of deterring traders from bringing articles of illicit trade for sale to the Indians; and moreover exercised a moral influence which contributed most materially to the success of the negotiations. I have further to add, that it was found impossible, owing to the extent of the country treated for, and the want of knowledge of the circumstances of each band, to define the reserves to be granted to the Indians. It was therefore agreed that the reserves should be hereafter selected by officers of the Government, who should confer with the several bands, and pay due respect to lands actually cultivated by them. A provision was also introduced to the effect that any of the reserves, or any interest in them, might hereafter be sold for the benefit of the Indians by the Government with their consent. I would suggest that instructions should be given to Mr. Dawson to select the reserves with all convenient speed; and, to prevent complication I would further suggest that no patents should be issued, or licenses granted, for mineral or timber lands, or other lands, until the question of the reserves has been first adjusted. I have the honor to be, Sir, Your obedient servant, ALEXANDER MORRIS. Lieut.-Governor. Attention is called to the ensuing report of the proceedings connected with the treaty, extracted from the Manitoban newspaper of the 18th October, 1873, published at Winnipeg. The reports of the speeches therein contained were prepared by a short-hand reporter and present an accurate view of the course of the discussions, and a vivid representation of the habits of Indian thought. NORTH-WEST ANGLE, September 30, 1873. The Lieutenant-Governor and party, and the other Commissioners appointed to negotiate a treaty with the Indians, arrived here on Thursday, 24th inst., having enjoyed delightful weather during the entire trip from Fort Garry. The Governor occupies the house of the officer in charge of the H. B. Post. The grounds around it have been nicely graded and cleared of brush, and surrounded by rows of evergreens planted closely, so as to completely screen the house from wind, and at the same time contribute much to relieve the monotony of the scenery. Immediately west of this, and likewise enclosed by walls of evergreens, is the large marquee used as a Council House, by the contracting parties; and immediately surrounding it to the north and west are the tents of the other officers of the Commission and the officers and men of the Volunteers on detachment duty. Situated to the eastward, and extending all along the river bank, are the tents of the Indians to the number of a hundred, with here and there the tent of the trader, attracted thither by the prospect of turning an honest penny by exchanging the necessaries of Indian life for such amounts of the price of their heritage as they can be induced to spend. The natives now assembled here number about 800 all told, and hail from the places given below. Among them are many fine physically developed men, who would be considered good looking were it not for the extravagance with which they be-smear their faces with pigments of all colors. It was at first thought probable that the serious business of the meeting would be begun on Friday, but owing to the non-arrival of a large body of Rainy River and Lac Seul representatives, it was decided to defer it until next day. Saturday came, and owing to the arrival of a messenger from the Lac Seul band asking the Governor to wait for their arrival, proceedings have further stayed until Monday. But "hope deferred maketh the heart sick;" so the advent of Monday brought nothing but disappointment, and this, coupled with the disagreeable wet and cold weather that prevailed, made every one ill at ease if not miserable. The Chiefs were not ready to treat--they had business of their own to transact, which must be disposed of before they could see the Governor; and so another delay was granted. But Monday did not find them ready, and they refused to begin negotiations. An intimation from the Governor that unless they were ready on the following day he would leave for home on Wednesday, hurried them up a little--they did wait on him to-day, Tuesday, but only to say they had not yet finished their own business, but that they would try and be ready to treat on Wednesday. And so the matter stands at present--if the Indians agree amongst themselves, the treaty will be opened to-morrow, otherwise the Governor will strike camp and return to Fort Garry. Divisions and local jealousies have taken possession of the Indian mind. The difficulties are the inability of the Indians to select a high or principal chief from amongst themselves, and as to the matter and extent of the demands to be made. It is many years since these people had a general council, and in the interval many head men have died, while others have grown to man's estate, and feel ambitious to take part in the proceedings. But the fiat has gone forth, that unless a conclusion is arrived at to-morrow negotiations will be broken off for this year. BOUNDARIES OF THE LANDS TO BE CEDED Beginning at the North-West Angle eastward, taking in all the Lake of the Woods, including White Fish Bay, Rat Portage and north to White Dog in English River; up English River to Lake Seul, and then south east to Lake Nepigon; westward to Rainy River and down it to Lake of the Woods, and up nearly to Lac des Mille Lacs; then beginning at the 49th parallel to White Mouth River, thence down it to the north, along the eastern boundary of the land ceded in 1871, embracing 55,000 square miles. In the neighborhood of Lac des mille Lacs and Shebandowan are several bands, who have sent word that they cannot come as far as this point, but will accept the terms made at this treaty and ratify it with any one commissioner who will go there to meet them. The whole number of Indians in the territory is estimated at 14,000, and are represented here by Chiefs of the following bands: 1. North-West Angle. 2. Rat Portage. 3. Lake Seul. 4. White Fish Bay on Lake of the Woods. 5. Sha-bas-kang, or Grassy Narrows. 6. Rainy River. 7. Rainy Lake. 8. Beyond Kettle Falls, southward. 9. Eagle Lake. 10. Nepigon. 11. Shoal Lake (three miles to the north of this point). NORTH-WEST ANGLE, October 1, 1873. The assembled Chiefs met the Governor this morning, as per agreement, and opened the proceedings of the day by expressing the pleasure they experienced at meeting the Commissioners on the present occasion. Promises had many times been made to them, and, said the speaker, unless they were now fulfilled they would not consider the broader question of the treaty. Mr. S. J. Dawson, one of the Commissioners, reciprocated the expression of pleasure used by the Chiefs through their spokesman. He had long looked forward to this meeting, when all matters relating to the past, the present, and the future, could be disposed of so as to fix permanently the friendly relations between the Indians and the white men. It was now, he continued, some years since the white men first came to this country--they came in the first place at the head of a great military expedition; and when that expedition was passing through the country all the chiefs showed themselves to be true and loyal subjects--they showed themselves able and willing to support their Great Mother the Queen. Subsequently, when we began to open up the road, we had to call upon the Indians to assist us in doing so, and they always proved themselves very happy to help in carrying out our great schemes. He was, he continued, one of the Commission employed by the Government to treat with them and devise a scheme whereby both white men and Indians would be benefitted. We made to the Indians the proposals we were authorized to make, and we have carried out these proposals in good faith. This was three years ago. What we were directed to offer we did offer, but the Indians thought it was too little, and negotiations were broken off. Since this I have done what was in my power to bring about this meeting with new terms, and consider it a very happy day that you should be assembled to meet the Governor of the Territory as representative of Her Majesty. He would explain to them the proposals he had to make. He had lived long amongst them and would advise them as a friend to take the opportunity of making arrangements with the Governor. When we arrange the general matters in question, should you choose to ask anything, I shall be most happy to explain it, as I am here all the time. The Chief in reply said his head men and young men were of one mind, and determined not to enter upon the treaty until the promises made in the past were fulfilled, they were tired of waiting. What the Commissioners called "small matters" were great to them, and were what they wished to have settled. The route that had been built through the country proved this, and the Commissioners promised something which they now wanted. This was taking the Commissioners on a new tack, but Mr. Dawson promptly undertook to answer the objections. He said all these questions had been discussed before; but if he had made any promises that remained unfulfilled, he would be happy to learn their nature. The Chief replied that all the houses on the line, and all the big boats on the waters, were theirs, and they wanted to be recompensed for them. Mr. Dawson continued, saying he was glad they had now come to a point on which they could deal. The Indians questioned the right of the Government to take wood for the steamers. This was a right which the speaker had all along told them was common to all Her Majesty's subjects. He then referred them to the Governor if they had anything more to say on that subject. Wood on which Indians had bestowed labor was always paid for; but wood on which we had spent our own labor was ours. His Excellency then addressed them at some length. He understood that they wanted to have the questions in which they were interested treated separately. This was not what he came there for. Wood and water were the gift of the Great Spirit, and were made alike for the good of both the white man and red man. Many of his listeners had come a long way, and he, too, had come a long way, and he wanted all the questions settled at once, by one treaty. He had a message from the Queen, but if his mouth was kept shut, the responsibility would rest on the Indians, and not with him if he were prevented from delivering it. He had authority to tell them what sum of money he could give them in hand now, and what he could give them every year; but it was for them to open his mouth. He concluded his remarks, which were forcibly delivered, with an emphatic "I have said." The Chief reiterated that he and his young men were determined not to go on with the treaty until the first question was disposed of. What was said about the trees and rivers was quite true, but it was the Indian's country, not the white man's. Following this the Governor told the Council that unless they would settle all the matters, the big and little, at once, he would not talk. He was bound by his Government, and was of the same mind to treat with them on all questions, and not on any one separately. On seeing His Excellency so firm, and feeling that it would not do to allow any more time to pass without coming to business the Chief asked the Governor to open his mouth and tell what propositions he was prepared to make. His Excellency then said--"I told you I was to make the treaty on the part of our Great Mother the Queen, and I feel it will be for your good and your children's. I should have been very sorry if you had shut my mouth, if I had had to go home without opening my mouth. I should not have been a true friend of yours if I had not asked you to open my mouth. We are all children of the same Great Spirit, and are subject to the same Queen. I want to settle all matters both of the past and the present, so that the white and red man will always be friends. I will give you lands for farms, and also reserves for your own use. I have authority to make reserves such as I have described, not exceeding in all a square mile for every family of five or thereabouts. It may be a long time before the other lands are wanted, and in the meantime you will be permitted to fish and hunt over them. I will also establish schools whenever any band asks for them, so that your children may have the learning of the white man. I will also give you a sum of money for yourselves and every one of your wives and children for this year. I will give you ten dollars per head of the population and for every other year five dollars a head. But to the chief men, not exceeding two to each band, we will give twenty dollars a-year for ever. I will give to each of you this year a present of goods and provisions to take you home, and I am sure you will be satisfied." After consultation amongst themselves, the Councillors went to have a talk about the matter and will meet the Governor to-morrow morning, when it is expected the bargain will be concluded. Of course the Indians will make some other demands. Immediately after the adjournment as above, the Governor presented an ox to the people in camp; and the way it disappeared would have astonished the natives of any other land. Half-an-hour after it was led into encampment, it was cut up and boiling in fifty pots. THIRD DAY Proceedings were opened at eleven o'clock by the Governor announcing that he was ready to hear what the Chiefs had to say. The Fort Francis Chief acted as spokesman, assisted by another Chief, Powhassan. MA-WE-DO-PE-NAIS--"I now lay down before you the opinions of those you have seen before. We think it a great thing to meet you here. What we have heard yesterday, and as you represented yourself, you said the Queen sent you here, the way we understood you as a representative of the Queen. All this is our property where you have come. We have understood you yesterday that Her Majesty has given you the same power and authority as she has, to act in this business; you said the Queen gave you her goodness, her charitableness in your hands. This is what we think, that the Great Spirit has planted us on this ground where we are, as you were where you came from. We think where we are is our property. I will tell you what he said to us when he planted us here; the rules that we should follow--us Indians--He has given us rules that we should follow to govern us rightly. We have understood you that you have opened your charitable heart to us like a person taking off his garments and throwing them to all of us here. Now, first of all, I have a few words to address to this gentleman (Mr. Dawson). When he understood rightly what was my meaning yesterday, he threw himself on your help. I think I have a right to follow him to where he flew when I spoke to him on the subject yesterday. We will follow up the subject from the point we took it up. I want to answer what we heard from you yesterday, in regard to the money that you have promised us yesterday to each individual. I want to talk about the rules that we had laid down before. It is four years back since we have made these rules. The rules laid down are the rules that they wish to follow--a council that has been agreed upon by all the Indians. I do not wish that I should be required to say twice what I am now going to lay down. We ask fifteen dollars for all that you see, and for the children that are to be born in future. This year only we ask for fifteen dollars; years after ten dollars; our Chiefs fifty dollars per year for every year, and other demands of large amounts in writing, say $125,000 yearly." ANOTHER CHIEF--"I take my standing point from here. Our councillors have in council come to this conclusion, that they should have twenty dollars each; our warriors, fifteen dollars; our population, fifteen dollars. We have now laid down the conclusion of our councils by our decisions. We tell you our wishes are not divided. We are all of one mind." (Paper put in before the Governor for these demands.) CHIEF--"I now let you know the opinions of us here. We would not wish that anyone should smile at our affairs, as we think our country is a large matter to us. If you grant us what is written on that paper, then we will talk about the reserves; we have decided in council for the benefit of those that will be born hereafter. If you do so the treaty will be finished, I believe." GOVERNOR--"I quite agree that this is no matter to smile at. I think that the decision of to-day is one that affects yourselves and your children after, but you must recollect that this is the third time of negotiating. If we do not shake hands and make our Treaty to-day, I do not know when it will be done, as the Queen's Government will think you do not wish to treat with her. You told me that you understood that I represented the Queen's Government to you and that I opened my heart to you, but you must recollect that if you are a council there is another great council that governs a great Dominion, and they hold their councils the same as you hold yours. I wish to tell you that I am a servant of the Queen. I cannot do my own will; I must do hers. I can only give you what she tells me to give you. I am sorry to see that your hands were very wide open when you gave me this paper. I thought what I promised you was just, kind and fair between the Queen and you. It is now three years we have been trying to settle this matter. If we do not succeed to-day I shall go away feeling sorry for you and for your children that you could not see what was good for you and for them. I am ready to do what I promised you yesterday. My hand is open and you ought to take me by the hand and say, "yes, we accept of your offer." I have not the power to do what you ask of me. I ask you once more to think what you are doing, and of those you have left at home, and also of those that may be born yet, and I ask you not to turn your backs on what is offered to you, and you ought to see by what the Queen is offering you that she loves her red subjects as much as her white. I think you are forgetting one thing, that what I offer you is to be while the water flows and the sun rises. You know that in the United States they only pay the Indian for twenty years, and you come here to-day and ask for ever more than they get for twenty years. Is that just? I think you ought to accept my offer, and make a treaty with me as I ask you to do. I only ask you to think for yourselves, and for your families, and for your children and children's children, and I know that if you do that you will shake hands with me to-day." CHIEF--"I lay before you our opinions. Our hands are poor but our heads are rich, and it is riches that we ask so that we may be able to support our families as long as the sun rises and the water runs." GOVERNOR--"I am very sorry; you know it takes two to make a bargain; you are agreed on the one side, and I for the Queen's Government on the other. I have to go away and report that I have to go without making terms with you. I doubt if the Commissioners will be sent again to assemble this nation. I have only one word more to say; I speak to the Chief and to the head men to recollect those behind them, and those they have left at home, and not to go away without accepting such liberal terms and without some clothing." CHIEF--"My terms I am going to lay down before you; the decision of our Chiefs; ever since we came to a decision you push it back. The sound of the rustling of the gold is under my feet where I stand; we have a rich country; it is the Great Spirit who gave us this; where we stand upon is the Indians' property, and belongs to them. If you grant us our requests you will not go back without making the treaty." ANOTHER CHIEF--"We understood yesterday that the Queen had given you the power to act upon, that you could do what you pleased, and that the riches of the Queen she had filled your head and body with, and you had only to throw them round about; but it seems it is not so, but that you have only half the power that she has, and that she has only half filled your head." GOVERNOR--"I do not like to be misunderstood. I did not say yesterday that the Queen had given me all the power; what I told you was that I was sent here to represent the Queen's Government, and to tell you what the Queen was willing to do for you. You can understand very well; for instance, one of your great chiefs asks a brave to deliver a message, he represents you, and that is how I stand with the Queen's Government." CHIEF--"It is your charitableness that you spoke of yesterday--Her Majesty's charitableness that was given you. It is our chiefs, our young men, our children and great grand-children, and those that are to be born, that I represent here, and it is for them I ask for terms. The white man has robbed us of our riches, and we don't wish to give them up again without getting something in their place." GOVERNOR--"For your children, grand-children, and children unborn, I am sorry that you will not accept of my terms. I shall go home sorry, but it is your own doing; I must simply go back and report the fact that you refuse to make a treaty with me." CHIEF--"You see all our chiefs before you here as one mind; we have one mind and one mouth. It is the decision of all of us; if you grant us our demands you will not go back sorrowful; we would not refuse to make a treaty if you would grant us our demands." GOVERNOR--"I have told you already that I cannot grant your demands, I have not the power to do so. I have made you a liberal offer, and it is for you to accept or refuse it as you please." CHIEF--"Our chiefs have the same opinion; they will not change their decision." GOVERNOR--"Then the Council is at an end." CHIEF (of Lac Seule)--"I understand the matter that he asks; if he puts a question to me as well as to others, I say so as well as the rest. We are the first that were planted here; we would ask you to assist us with every kind of implement to use for our benefit, to enable us to perform our work; a little of everything and money. We would borrow your cattle; we ask you this for our support; I will find whereon to feed them. The waters out of which you sometimes take food for yourselves, we will lend you in return. If I should try to stop you--it is not in my power to do so; even the Hudson's Bay Company--that is a small power--I cannot gain my point with it. If you give what I ask, the time may come when I will ask you to lend me one of your daughters and one of your sons to live with us; and in return I will lend you one of my daughters and one of my sons for you to teach what is good, and after they have learned, to teach us. If you grant us what I ask, although I do not know you, I will shake hands with you. This is all I have to say." GOVERNOR--"I have heard and I have learned something. I have learned that you are not all of one mind. I know that your interests are not the same--that some of you live in the north far away from the river, and some live on the river, and that you have got large sums of money for wood that you have cut and sold to the steamboats; but the men in the north have not this advantage. What the Chief has said is reasonable; and should you want goods I mean to ask you what amount you would have in goods, so that you would not have to pay the traders' prices for them. I wish you were all of the same mind as the Chief who has just spoken. He wants his children to be taught. He is right. He wants to get cattle to help him to raise grain for his children. It would be a good thing for you all to be of his mind, and then you would not go away without making this treaty with me." BLACKSTONE (Shebandowan)--"I am going to lay down before you the minds of those who are here. I do not wish to interfere with the decisions of those who are before you, or yet with your decisions. The people at the height of land where the waters came down from Shebandowan to Fort Frances, are those who have appointed me to lay before you our decision. We are going back to hold a Council." MR. DAWSON--"I would ask the Chief who has just spoken, did the band at Shebandowan--did Rat McKay, authorize him to speak for them? Ke-ha-ke-ge-nen is Blackstone's own Chief; and I am perfectly willing to think that he authorized him. What I have to say is that the Indians may not be deceived by representations made to them, and that the two bands met me at Shebandowan and said they were perfectly willing to enter into a treaty." GOVERNOR--"I think the nation will do well to do what the Chief has said. I think he has spoken sincerely, and it is right for them to withdraw and hold a Council among themselves." Blackstone here handed in a paper which he alleged gave him authority as Chief, but which proved to be an official acknowledgement of the receipt of a letter by the Indian Department at Ottawa. The Governor here agreed with the Council that it would be well for the Chiefs to have another meeting amongst themselves. It was a most important day for them and for their children, and His Excellency would be glad to meet them again. The Council broke up at this point, and it was extremely doubtful whether an agreement could be come to or not. The Rainy River Indians were careless about the treaty, because they could get plenty of money for cutting wood for the boats, but the northern and eastern bands were anxious for one. The Governor decided that he would make a treaty with those bands that were willing to accept his terms, leaving out the few disaffected ones. A Council was held by the Indians in the evening, at which Hon. James McKay, Pierre Leveillee, Charles Nolin, and Mr. Genton were present by invitation of the Chiefs. After a very lengthy and exhaustive discussion, it was decided to accept the Governor's terms, and the final meeting was announced for Friday morning. Punctually at the appointed time proceedings were opened by the Fort Francis Chiefs announcing to His Excellency that they were all of one mind, and would accept his terms, with a few modifications. The discussion of these terms occupied five hours, and met every possible contingency so fully that it would be impossible to do justice to the negotiators otherwise than by giving a full report of the speeches on both sides; but want of space compels us to lay it over until next week. The treaty was finally closed on Friday afternoon, and signed on Saturday, after which a large quantity of provisions, ammunition and other goods were distributed. When the council broke up last (Thursday) night, 3rd October, it looked very improbable that an understanding could be arrived at, but the firmness of the Governor, and the prospect that he would make a treaty with such of the bands as were willing to accept his terms, to the exclusion of the others, led them to reconsider their demands. The Hon. James McKay, and Messrs. Nolin, Genton, and Leveillee were invited in to their council, and after a most exhaustive discussion of the circumstance in which they were placed, it was resolved to accept the Governor's terms, with some modifications. Word was sent to this effect, and at eleven o'clock on Friday, conference was again held with His Excellency. The Fort Francis Chief opened negotiations by saying:--"We present our compliments to you, and now we would tell you something. You have mentioned our councillors, warriors and messengers--every Chief you see has his councillors, warriors and messengers." GOVERNOR--"I was not aware what names they gave me--they gave their chief men. I spoke of the subordinates of the head Chiefs; I believe the head Chiefs have three subordinates--I mean the head Chief and three of his head men." CHIEF--"I am going to tell you the decision of all before you. I want to see your power and learn the most liberal terms that you can give us." GOVERNOR--"I am glad to meet the Chiefs, and I hope it will be the last time of our meeting. I hope we are going to understand one another to-day. And that I can go back and report that I left my Indian friends contented, and that I have put into their hands the means of providing for themselves and their families at home; and now I will give you my last words. When I held out my hands to you at first, I intended to do what was just and right, and what I had the power to do at once,--not to go backwards and forwards, but at once to do what I believe is just and right to you. I was very much pleased yesterday with the words of the Chief of Lac Seul. I was glad to hear that he had commenced to farm and to raise things for himself and family, and I was glad to hear him ask me to hold out my hand. I think we should do everything to help you by giving you the means to grow some food, so that if it is a bad year for fishing and hunting you may have something for your children at home. If you had not asked it the Government would have done it all the same, although I had not said so before. I can say this, that when a band settles down and actually commences to farm on their lands, the Government will agree to give two hoes, one spade, one scythe, and one axe for every family actually settled; one plough for every ten families, five harrows for every twenty families, and a yoke of oxen, a bull and four cows for every band; and enough barley, wheat and oats to plant the land they have actually broken up. This is to enable them to cultivate their land, and it is to be given them on their commencing to do so, once for all. There is one thing that I have thought over, and I think it is a wise thing to do. That is to give you ammunition, and twine for making nets, to the extent of $1,500 per year, for the whole nation, so that you can have the means of procuring food.--Now, I will mention the last thing that I can do. I think that the sum I have offered you to be paid after this year for every man, woman and child now, and for years to come, is right and is the proper sum I will not make an change in that, but we are anxious to show you that we have a great desire to understand you--that we wish to do the utmost in our power to make you contented, so that the white and the red man will always be friends. This year, instead of ten dollars we will give you twelve dollars, to be paid you at once as soon as we sign the treaty. This is the best I can do for you I wish you to understand we do not come here as traders but as representing the Crown, and to do what we believe is just and right. We have asked in that spirit, and I hope you will meet me in that spirit and shake hands with me day and make a treaty for ever. I have no more to say." CHIEF--"I wish to ask some points that I have not properly understood. We understand that our children are to have two dollars extra. Will the two dollars be paid to our principal men as well? And these things that are promised will they commence at once and will we see it year after year?" GOVERNOR--"I thought I had spoken fully as to everything, but I will speak again. The ammunition and twine will be got at once for you, this year, and that will be for every year. The Commissioner will see that you get this at once; with regard to the things to help you to farm, you must recollect, in a very few days the river will be frozen up here and we have not got these things here now. But arrangements will be made next year to get these things for those who are farming, it cannot be done before as you can see yourselves very well. Some are farming, and I hope you will all do so." CHIEF--"One thing I did not say that is most necessary--we want a cross-cut saw, a whip saw, grindstone and files." GOVERNOR--"We will do that, and I think we ought to give a box of common tools to each Chief of a Band." CHIEF--"Depending upon the words you have told us, and stretched out your hands in a friendly way, I depend upon that. One thing more we demand--a suit of clothes to all of us." GOVERNOR--"With regard to clothing, suits will be given to the Chiefs and head men, and as to the other Indians there is a quantity of goods and provisions here that will be given them at the close of the treaty. The coats of the Chiefs will be given every three years." CHIEF--"Once more; powder and shot will not go off without guns. We ask for guns." GOVERNOR--"I have shewn every disposition to meet your view, but what I have promised is as far as I can go." CHIEF--"My friends, listen to what I am going to say, and you, my brothers. We present you now with our best and our strongest compliments. We ask you not to reject some of our children who have gone out of our place; they are scattered all over, a good tasted meat hath drawn them away, and we wish to draw them all here and be contented with us." GOVERNOR--"If your children come and live here, of course they will become part of the population, and be as yourselves." CHIEF--"I hope you will grant the request that I am going to lay before you. I do not mean those that get paid on the other side of the line, but some poor Indians who may happen to fall in our road. If you will accept of these little matters, the treaty will be at an end. I would not like that one of my children should not eat with me, and receive the food that you are going to give me." GOVERNOR--"I am dealing with British Indians and not American Indians, after the treaty is closed we will have a list of the names of any children of British Indians that may come in during two years and be ranked with them; but we must have a limit somewhere." CHIEF--"I should not feel happy if I was not to mess with some of my children that are around me--those children that we call the Half-breed--those that have been born of our women of Indian blood. We wish that they should be counted with us, and have their share of what you have promised. We wish you to accept our demands. It is the Half-breeds that are actually living amongst us--those that are married to our women." GOVERNOR--"I am sent here to treat with the Indians. In Red River, where I came from, and where there is a great body of Half-breeds, they must be either white or Indian. If Indians, they get treaty money; if the Half-breeds call themselves white, they get land. All I can do is to refer the matter to the Government at Ottawa, and to recommend what you wish to be granted." CHIEF--"I hope you will not drop the question; we have understood you to say that you came here as a friend, and represented your charitableness, and we depend upon your kindness. You must remember that our hearts and our brains are like paper; we never forget. There is one thing that we want to know. If you should get into trouble with the nations, I do not wish to walk out and expose my young men to aid you in any of your wars." GOVERNOR--"The English never call the Indians out of their country to fight their battles. You are living here and the Queen expects you to live at peace with the white men and your red brothers, and with other nations." ANOTHER CHIEF--"I ask you a question--I see your roads here passing through the country, and some of your boats--useful articles that you use for yourself. Bye and bye we shall see things that run swiftly, that go by fare--carriages--and we ask you that us Indians may not have to pay their passage on these things, but can go free." GOVERNOR--"I think the best thing I can do is to become an Indian. I cannot promise you to pass on the railroad free, for it may be a long time before we get one; and I cannot promise you any more than other people." CHIEF--"I must address myself to my friend here, as he is the one that has the Public Works." MR. DAWSON--"I am always happy to do anything I can for you. I have always given you a passage on the boats when I could. I will act as I have done though I can give no positive promise for the future." CHIEF--"We must have the privilege of travelling about the country where it is vacant." MR. McKAY--"Of course, I told them so." CHIEF--"Should we discover any metal that was of use, could we have the privilege of putting our own price on it?" GOVERNOR--"If any important minerals are discovered on any of their reserves the minerals will be sold for their benefit with their consent, but not on any other land that discoveries may take place upon; as regards other discoveries, of course, the Indian is like any other man. He can sell his information if he can find a purchaser." CHIEF--"It will be as well while we are here that everything should be understood properly between us. All of us--those behind us--wish to have their reserves marked out, which they will point out, when the time comes. There is not one tribe here who has not laid it out." COMMISSIONER PROVENCHER (the Governor being temporarily absent)--"As soon as it is convenient to the Government to send surveyors to lay out the reserves they will do so, and they will try to suit every particular band in this respect." CHIEF--"We do not want anybody to mark out our reserves, we have already marked them out." COMMISSIONER--"There will be another undertaking between the officers of the Government and the Indians among themselves for the selection of the land; they will have enough of good farming land, they may be sure of that." CHIEF--"Of course, if there is any particular part wanted by the public works they can shift us. I understand that; but if we have any gardens through the country, do you wish that the poor man should throw it right away?" COMMISSIONER--"Of course not." CHIEF--"These are matters that are the wind-up. I begin now to see how I value the proceedings. I have come to this point, and all that are taking part in this treaty and yourself I would wish to have all your names in writing handed over to us. I would not find it to my convenience to have a stranger here to transact our business between me and you. It is a white man who does not understand our language that is taking it down. I would like a man that understands our language and our ways. We would ask your Excellency as a favor to appoint him for us." GOVERNOR--"I have a very good feeling to Mr. C. Nolin, he has been a good man here; but the appointment of an Agent rests with the authorities at Ottawa and I will bring your representation to them, and I am quite sure it will meet with the respect due to it." CHIEF--"As regards the fire water, I do not like it and I do not wish any house to be built to have it sold. Perhaps at times if I should be unwell I might take drop just for medicine; and shall any one insist on bringing it where we are, I should break the treaty." GOVERNOR--"I meant to have spoken of that myself, I meant to put it in the treaty. He speaks good about it. The Queen and her Parliament in Ottawa have passed a law prohibiting the use of it in this territory, and if any shall be brought in for the use of you as medicine it can only come in by my permission." CHIEF--"Why we keep you so long is that it is our wish that everything should be properly understood between us," GOVERNOR--"That is why I am here. It is my pleasure, and I want when we once shake hands that it should be forever." CHIEF--"That is the principal article. If it was in my midst the fire water would have spoiled my happiness, and I wish it to be left far away from where I am. All the promises that you have made me, the little promises and the money you have promised, when it comes to me year after year--should I see that there is anything wanting, through the negligence of the people that have to see after these things, I trust it will be in my power to put them in prison." GOVERNOR--"The ear of the Queen's Government will always be open to hear the complaints of her Indian people, and she will deal with her servants that do not do their duty in a proper manner." CHIEF--"Now you have promised to give us all your names. I want a copy of the treaty that will not be rubbed off, on parchment." GOVERNOR--"In the mean time I will give you a copy on paper, and as soon as I get back I will get you a copy on parchment." CHIEF--"I do not wish to be treated as they were at Red River--that provisions should be stopped as it is there. Whenever we meet and have a council I wish that provisions should be given to us. We cannot speak without eating." GOVERNOR--"You are mistaken. When they are brought together at Red River for their payments they get provisions." CHIEF--"We wish the provisions to come from Red River." GOVERNOR--"If the Great Spirit sends the grasshopper and there is no wheat grown in Red River, we cannot give it to you." CHIEF--"You have come before us with a smiling face, you have shown us great charity--you have promised the good things; you have given us your best compliments and wishes, not only for once but for ever; let there now for ever be peace and friendship between us. It is the wish of all that where our reserves are peace should reign, that nothing shall be there that will disturb peace. Now, I will want nothing to be there that will disturb peace, and will put every one that carries arms,--such as murderers and thieves--outside, so that nothing will be there to disturb our peace." GOVERNOR--"The Queen will have policemen to preserve order, and murderers and men guilty of crime will be punished in this country just the same as she punishes them herself." CHIEF--"To speak about the Hudson's Bay Company. If it happens that they have surveyed where I have taken my reserve, if I see any of their signs I will put them on one side." GOVERNOR--"When the reserves are given you, you will have your rights. The Hudson's Bay Company have their rights, and the Queen will do justice between you." CHIEF OF FORT FRANCIS--"Why I say this is, where I have chosen for my reserve I see signs that the H. B. Co. has surveyed. I do not hate them. I only wish they should take their reserves on one side. Where their shop stands now is my property; I think it is three years now since they have had it on it." GOVERNOR--"I do not know about that matter; it will be enquired into. I am taking notes of all these things and am putting them on paper." CHIEF--"I will tell you one thing. You understand me now, that I have taken your hand firmly and in friendship. I repeat twice that you have done so, that these promises that you have made, and the treaty to be concluded, let it be as you promise, as long as the sun rises over our head and as long as the water runs. One thing I find, that deranges a little my kettle. In this river, where food used to be plentiful for our subsistence, I perceive it is getting scarce. We wish that the river should be left as it was formed from the beginning--that nothing be broken." GOVERNOR--"This is a subject that I cannot promise." MR. DAWSON--"Anything that we are likely to do at present will not interfere with the fishing, but no one can tell what the future may require, and we cannot enter into any engagement." CHIEF--"We wish the Government would assist us in getting a few boards for some of us who are intending to put up houses this fall, from the mill at Fort Francis." GOVERNOR--"The mill is a private enterprise, and we have no power to give you boards from that." CHIEF--"I will now show you a medal that was given to those who made a treaty at Red River by the Commissioner. He said it was silver, but I do not think it is. I should be ashamed to carry it on my breast over my heart. I think it would disgrace the Queen, my mother, to wear her image on so base a metal as this. [Here the Chief held up the medal and struck it with the back of his knife. The result was anything but the 'true ring,' and made every man ashamed of the petty meanness that had been practised.] Let the medals you give us be of silver--medals that shall be worthy of the high position our Mother the Queen occupies." GOVERNOR--"I will tell them at Ottawa what you have said, and how you have said it." CHIEF--"I wish you to understand you owe the treaty much to the Half-breeds." GOVERNOR--"I know it. I sent some of them to talk with you, and I am proud that all the Half-breeds from Manitoba, who are here, gave their Governor their cordial support." The business of the treaty having now been completed, the Chief, Mawedopenais, who, with Powhassan, had with such wonderful tact carried on the negotiations, stepped up to the Governor and said:-- "Now you see me stand before you all; what has been done here to-day has been done openly before the Great Spirit, and before the nation, and I hope that I may never hear any one say that this treaty has been done secretly; and now, in closing this Council, I take off my glove, and in giving you my hand, I deliver over my birth-right and lands; and in taking your hand, I hold fast all the promises you have made, and I hope they will last as long as the sun goes round and the water flows, as you have said." The Governor then took his hand and said: "I accept your hand and with it the lands, and will keep all my promises, in the firm belief that the treaty now to be signed will bind the red man and the white together as friends for ever." A copy of the treaty was then prepared and duly signed, after which a large amount of presents consisting of pork, flour, clothing, blankets, twine, powder and shot, etc., were distributed to the several bands represented on the ground. On Saturday, Mr. Pether, Local Superintendent of Indian Affairs at Fort Francis, and Mr. Graham of the Government Works, began to pay the treaty money--an employment that kept them busy far into the night. Some of the Chiefs received as much as one hundred and seventy dollars for themselves and families. As soon as the money was distributed the shops of the H. B. Co., and other resident traders were visited, as well as the tents of numerous private traders, who had been attracted thither by the prospect of doing a good business. And while these shops all did a great trade--the H. B. Co. alone taking in $4,000 in thirty hours--it was a noticeable fact that many took home with them nearly all their money. When urged to buy goods there, a frequent reply was: "If we spend all our money here and go home and want debt, we will be told to get our debt where we spent our money." "Debt" is used by them instead of the word "credit." Many others deposited money with white men and Half-breeds on whose honor they could depend, to be called for and spent at Fort Garry when "the ground froze." One very wonderful thing that forced itself on the attention of every one was the perfect order that prevailed throughout the camp, and which more particularly marked proceedings in the council. Whether the demands put forward were granted by the Governor or not, there was no petulance, no ill-feeling, evinced; but everything was done with a calm dignity that was pleasing to behold, and which might be copied with advantage by more pretentious deliberative assemblies. On Sunday afternoon, the Governor presented an ox to the nation, and after it had been eaten a grand dance was indulged in. Monday morning the river Indians took passage on the steamer for Fort Francis, and others left in their canoes for their winter quarters. The Governor and party left on Monday morning, the troops, under command of Captain McDonald, who had conducted themselves with the greatest propriety, and had contributed, by the moral effect of their presence, much to the success of the negotiation, having marched to Fort Garry on Saturday morning. CHAPTER VI THE QU'APPELLE TREATY, OR NUMBER FOUR This treaty, is, so generally called, from having been made at the Qu'Appelle Lakes, in the North-West Territories. The Indians treated with, were a portion of the Cree and Saulteaux Tribes, and under its operations, about 75,000 square miles of territory were surrendered. This treaty, was the first step towards bringing the Indians of the Fertile Belt into closer relations with the Government of Canada, and was a much needed one. In the year 1871, Major Butler was sent into the North-West Territories by the Government of Canada, to examine into and report, with regard to the state of affairs there. He reported, to Lieutenant-Governor Archibald, that "law and order are wholly unknown in the region of the Saskatchewan, in so much, as the country is without any executive organization, and destitute of any means of enforcing the law." Towards remedying this serious state of affairs, the Dominion placed the North-West Territories under the rule of the Lieutenant-Governor and Council of the Territories, the Lieutenant-Governor of Manitoba, being, ex officio, Governor of the Territories. This body, composed of representative men, possessed executive functions, and legislative powers. They entered upon their duties with zeal, and discharged them with efficiency. Amongst other measures, they passed a prohibitory liquor law, which subsequently was practically adopted by a Statute of the Dominion. They proposed the establishment of a Mounted Police Force, a suggestion which was given force to by the Dominion Cabinet, and they recommended, that, treaties should be made, with the Indians at Forts Qu'Appelle, Carlton and Pitt, recommendations, which, were all, eventually, carried out. In the report of the Minister of the Interior, for the year 1875, he states "that it is due to the Council to record the fact, that the legislation and valuable suggestions, submitted to your Excellency, from time to time, through their official head, Governor Morris, aided the Government not a little in the good work of laying the foundations of law and order, in the North-West, in securing the good will of the Indian tribes, and in establishing the prestige of the Dominion Government, throughout that vast country." In accordance with these suggestions, the Government of the Dominion, decided, on effecting a treaty, with the plain Indians, Crees and Chippawas, who inhabit the country, of which, Fort Qu'Appelle, was a convenient centre, and entrusted the duty, to the Hon. Alexander Morris then Lieutenant-Governor of Manitoba and the North-West Territories, the Hon. David Laird, then Minister of the Interior, and now Lieutenant-Governor of the North-West Territories, and the Hon. W. J. Christie, a retired factor of the Hudson's Bay Company, and a gentleman of large experience, among the Indian tribes. In pursuance of this mission, these gentlemen left Fort Garry in August, 1874, and journeyed to Lake Qu'Appelle (the calling or echoing lake), where they met the assembled Indians, in September. The Commissioners, had an escort of militia, under the command of Lieut.-Col. Osborne Smith, C.M.G. This force marched to and from Qu'Appelle, acquitted themselves with signal propriety, and proved of essential service. Their return march was made in excellent time. The distance, three hundred and fifty miles having been accomplished in sixteen and a half days. The Commissioners encountered great difficulties, arising, from the excessive demands of the Indians, and from the jealousies, existing between the two Nations, Crees and Chippawas, but by perseverance, firmness and tact, they succeeded in overcoming the obstacles, they had to encounter, and eventually effected a treaty, whereby the Indian title was extinguished in a tract of country, embracing 75,000 square miles of territory. After long and animated discussions the Indians, asked to be granted the same terms as were accorded to the Indians of Treaty Number Three, at the North-West Angle, hereinbefore mentioned. The Commissioners assented to their request and the treaty was signed accordingly. On the return, of the Commissioners to Fort Ellice, they met there, the Chippawas of that vicinage, and made a supplementary treaty with them. These Indians were included in the boundaries of Treaty Number Two, but had not been treated with, owing to their distance from Manitoba House, where that treaty was made. In 1875, the Hon. W. J. Christie, and Mr. M. G. Dickieson, then of the Department of the Interior, and subsequently, Assistant Superintendent of Indian affairs, in the North-West Territories, were appointed to make the payments of annuities, to the Indians, embraced in the Treaty Number Four, and obtain the adhesion of other bands, which had not been present at Qu'Appelle, the previous year. They met, the Indians, at Qu'Appelle (where six Chiefs who had been absent, accepted the terms of the treaty) and at Fort Pelly and at Shoal River, where two other Chiefs, with their bands, came into the treaty stipulations. A gratifying feature connected with the making of this, and the other, North-Western Treaties, has been the readiness, with which the Indians, who were absent, afterwards accepted the terms which had been settled for them, by those, who were able to attend. I close these observations, by annexing, the reports of Lieutenant-Governor Morris, to the Honorable the Secretary of State of Canada, of date 17th October, 1874, giving, an account, of the making of the treaties at Qu'Appelle and Fort Ellice, and an extract, from that of Messrs. Christie and Dickieson, dated 7th October, 1875, describing its further completion, and I also insert, accurate short-hand reports of the proceedings at Qu'Appelle and Fort Ellice, which, were made, at the time, by Mr. Dickieson, who, was present, at the treaty, as secretary to the Commissioners. These will be found to be both interesting and instructive. GOVERNMENT HOUSE, FORT GARRY, MANITOBA, October 17, 1874. Sir,--I have the honor to inform you that in compliance with the request of the Government, I proceeded to Lake Qu'Appelle in company with the Hon. David Laird, in order to act with him and W. J. Christie, Esq., as Commissioners to negotiate a treaty with the tribes of Indians in that region. Mr. Laird and I left Fort Garry on the 26th of August, and arrived at Lake Qu'Appelle on the 8th of September, Mr. Christie having gone in advance of us to Fort Pelly. We were accompanied on arriving by the escort of militia under the command of Lieut.-Col. W. Osborne Smith, who had preceded us, but whom we had overtaken. The escort took up their encampment at a very desirable situation on the edge of the lake, the Indians being encamped at some distance. The Commissioners were kindly provided with apartments by W. J. McLean, Esq., the officer in charge of the Hudson Bay Company's Post. After our arrival, the Commissioners caused the Indians to be summoned, to meet them, in a marquee tent adjoining the encampment of the militia. The Crees came headed by their principal Chief "Loud Voice," and a number of Saulteaux followed, without their Chief, Cote. The Commissioners, having decided that it was desirable that there should be only one speaker on behalf of the Commissioners, requested me owing to my previous experience with the Indian tribes and my official position as Lieutenant-Governor of the North-West Territories, to undertake the duty, which I agreed to do. Accordingly, I told the Indians the object of our coming and invited them to present to us their Chiefs and headmen. "Loud Voice" stated that they were not yet ready and asked for a delay till next day, to which we assented. On the 9th, four Indian soldiers were sent to the Commissioners to ask for two days delay, but we replied that when they met us in conference they could prefer any reasonable request, but that we expected them to meet us as agreed on the previous day, and further that the Saulteaux had not conducted themselves with proper respect to the Commissioners, as representatives of the Crown, as their principal Chief Cote had not met us. Eventually, both the Crees and the Saulteaux met us, with their Chiefs, when I addressed them. They asked time to deliberate and we appointed the 11th at ten o'clock for the next conference. The Crees then left the tent suddenly, under constraint of the Indian soldiers, who compelled the Chiefs to go. On the 11th we sent a bugler round to summon the Indians to the appointed conference, but they did not come. Instead the Saulteaux sent word that they could not meet us except in their own soldiers tent, distant about a mile from the militia encampment, but we refused to do so. The Crees were ready to proceed to the marquee, but were prevented by the Saulteaux, a section of whom displayed a turbulent disposition and were numerically the strongest party. We sent our interpreter Charles Pratt, a Cree Indian, who was educated at St. John's College here, and who is a catechist of the Church of England, to tell the Indians that they must meet us as agreed upon. In consequence, about four o'clock in the afternoon the Crees led by "Loud Voice," came to the conference but the Saulteaux kept away, though a number were sent to hear and report. On behalf of the Commissioners, I then explained to the Crees the object of our mission and made our proposals for a treaty, but as they were not ready to reply, we asked them to return to their tents and meet us next day. On the 12th the Crees and Saulteaux sent four men from the soldiers tent or council, which they had organized, to ask that the encampment of the militia and the conference tents should be removed half way, towards their encampment. In consequence, we requested Lieut.-Col. Smith to proceed to the Indian encampment and ascertain the meaning of this demand authorizing him, if necessary, to arrange for the pitching of the conference tent nearer the Indians, if that would give them any satisfaction. He reported, on his return, that the Indians wished the militia to encamp with them, and that they objected to meet us anywhere on the reserve of the Hudson Bay Company, as they said they could not speak freely there. He refused to remove the militia camp, as it was a very desirable place where it had been placed, but with the assent of the Indians selected a spot adjoining the reserve and at a suitable distance from the Indian tents, on which the conference tent was to be daily erected, but to be removed after the conferences closed. We then summoned the Indians to meet us at one o'clock which they did at the appointed place. After the formal hand shaking, which ceremony they repeat at the beginning and close of every interview the Commissioners submitted their terms for a treaty, which were in effect similar to those granted at the North-West Angle, except that the money present offered was eight dollars per head, instead of twelve dollars as there. The Indians declined, however, to talk about these proposals, as they said there was something in the way. They objected to the reserve having been surveyed for the Hudson Bay Company, without their first having been consulted, and claimed that the L300,000 paid to the Company should be paid to them. They also objected to the Company's trading in the Territory, except only at their posts. The Commissioners refused to comply with their demands, and explained to them how the Company had become entitled to the reserve in question, and the nature of the arrangement, that had resulted in the payment by the Government of Canada of the L300,000. The conference adjourned to Monday the 14th, on which day the Commissioners again met them, but the Cree Chief "Loud Voice" asked for another day to consider the matter, and "Cote" or "Meemay" the Saulteaux Chief, from Fort Pelly, asked to be treated with, at his own place. They demanded, that the Company should only be allowed to trade at their own posts, and not to send out traders into the Territory--which was of course refused, it being explained to them that all Her Majesty's subjects had equal right of trading. The Commissioners then agreed to grant a final delay of another day, for further consideration. Up to this period the position was very unsatisfactory. The Crees were from the first ready to treat, as were the Saulteaux from Fort Pelly, but the Saulteaux of the Qu'Appelle District were not disposed to do so and attempted to coerce the other Indians. They kept the Chiefs "Loud Voice" and "Cote" under close surveillance, they being either confined to their tents or else watched by "soldiers," and threatened if they should make any overtures to us. The Saulteaux cut down the tent over the head of one of the Cree Chiefs and conducted themselves in such a manner, that "Loud Voice" applied to the Commissioners for protection, and the Crees purchased knives and armed themselves. The Saulteaux, one day went the length of placing six "soldiers," armed with rifles and revolvers, in the conference tent to intimidate the other Indians, a step which was promptly counteracted by Lieut.-Col. Smith, calling in six of the militiamen who were stationed in the tent. In this connection, I must take the opportunity of stating that the results proved the wisdom of the course taken by the Commissioners in obtaining the escort of the militia, as their presence exerted great moral influence, and I am persuaded, prevented the jealousies and ancient feud between the Crees and Saulteaux culminating in acts of violence. The conduct of the whole force was excellent and, whether on the march or in the encampment ground, they conducted themselves in a most creditable manner. Resuming, however, my narrative, on the 15th of September, the Commissioners again met the Indians at eleven o'clock in the forenoon. The Crees had, in the interval, decided to treat with us independently, and the Saulteaux, finding this, came to a similar conclusion. After a protracted interview, the Indians asked to be granted the same terms as were given at the North-West Angle. The Commissioners took time to consider and adjourned the conference until three o'clock. In the interval, the Commissioners, being persuaded that a treaty could not otherwise be made, determined on acceding to the request of the Indians. The Indians, having again met the Commissioners in the afternoon, presented their Chiefs to them, when they asked to be informed what the terms granted at the North-West Angle were. These were fully and carefully explained to them, but after a request that all the Indians owed to the Hudson Bay Company should be wiped out and a refusal of the Commissioners to entertain their demands, they then asked that they should be paid fifteen dollars per annum per head, which was refused, and they were informed that the proposals of the Commissioners were final, and could not be changed. The Chiefs then agreed to accept the terms offered and to sign the treaty, having first asked that the Half-breeds should be allowed to hunt, and having been assured that the population in the North-West would be treated fairly and justly, the treaty was signed by the Commissioners and the Chiefs, having been first fully explained to them by the interpreter. Arrangements were then made to commence the payment and distribution of the presents the next day, a duty which was discharged by Mr. Christie and Mr. Dickieson, Private Secretary of the Hon. Mr. Laird. I forward you to form an appendix to this despatch, a report marked "A" and "B" extended from notes taken in short hand, by Mr. Dickieson, of the various conferences and of the utterances of the Commissioners and the Indians. It is obvious that such a record will prove valuable, as it enables any misunderstanding on the part of the Indians, as to what was said at the conference, to be corrected, and it, moreover, will enable the council better to appreciate the character of the difficulties that have to be encountered in negotiating with the Indians. On the 17th I left for Fort Ellice, in company with Mr. Laird, Mr. Christie and Mr. Dickieson remaining to complete the payments, which were satisfactorily disposed of. Before leaving, the Chiefs "Loud Voice" and Cote called on us to tender their good wishes, and to assure us that they would teach their people to respect the treaty. The Commissioners received every assistance in their power from Mr. McDonald of Fort Ellice, in charge of the Hudson Bay Company District of Swan River, and from Mr. McLean, in charge of the Qu'Appelle Post,--I also add, that the Half-breed population were I believe generally desirous of seeing the treaty concluded and used the influence of their connection with the Indians in its favor. I forward in another despatch a copy of an address I received from the Metis, or Half-breeds, together with my reply thereto. The treaty was taken charge of by the Hon. Mr. Laird, and will be by him placed on record in his Department and submitted to council for approval. I enclose herewith, however, a printed copy of it, marked "C," to accompany this despatch. The supplementary treaty made at Fort Ellice will form the subject of another despatch. Trusting that the efforts of the Commissioners to secure a satisfactory understanding with the Western Indians will result in benefit to the race, advantage to the Dominion, and meet the approval of the Privy Council, I have the honor to be, Sir, Your obedient servant, ALEXANDER MORRIS, Lieut.-Gov. N. W. T. GOVERNMENT HOUSE, FORT GARRY, MANITOBA, October 17th, 1874. Sir,--Referring to my despatch of the 17th inst., (No. 211) I have the honor to report that Mr. Laird and I arrived at Fort Ellice from Qu'Appelle Lakes, on Saturday the 19th of September. On Monday, we met the band of Saulteaux Indians, who make their headquarters at Fort Ellice, and who had remained there, instead of going to Qu'Appelle at our request. This band have been in the habit of migrating between the region covered by the Second Treaty and that comprehended in the Fourth, but had not been treated with. We proposed to them to give their adhesion to the Qu'Appelle Treaty and surrender their claim to lands, wherever situated, in the North-West Territories, on being given a reserve and being granted the terms on which the treaty in question was made. We explained fully these terms and asked the Indians to present to us their Chief and headmen. As some of the band were absent, whom the Indians desired to be recognized as headmen, only the Chief and one headman were presented. These, on behalf of the Indians accepted the terms and thanked the Queen and the Commissioners for their care of the Indian people. A supplement to the treaty was then submitted and fully explained to them, by our acting interpreter, Joseph Robillard, after which it was signed by Mr. Laird and myself, and by the Chief and head man. The original of the supplementary treaty will be submitted for approval by Mr. Laird, but I annex a printed copy of it, as an appendix to this despatch. I also annex, notes of the conference with these Indians, extended from the short hand report taken of the proceedings by Mr. Dickieson, Private Secretary to the Hon. Mr. Laird. In the afternoon, Mr. Christie and Mr. Dickieson arrived from Lake Qu'Appelle, and shortly afterwards proceeded to make the payments to the Indians, under the treaty. It was satisfactory to have this band dealt with, as they asserted claims in the region covered by the Manitoba Post Treaty, but had not been represented at the time it was made. On the 22nd of September the Commissioners left Fort Ellice and arrived at Fort Garry on the afternoon of the 26th of that month, having been absent a little over a month. I have the honor to be, Sir, Your obedient Servant, ALEXANDER MORRIS, Lieut.-Gov. N. W. T. THE HONORABLE THE SECRETARY OF STATE FOR THE PROVINCES, Ottawa. WINNIPEG, MANITOBA, 7th October, 1875. Sir,--We have now the honor to submit, for your information, our final report in connection with our missions to the Indians included in Treaty No 4. As former reports have made you fully acquainted with the arrangements that had been entered into previous to our departure from this place, any further reference to them is unnecessary. Having left Winnipeg on the 19th August, we arrived at Fort Ellice on the 24th, the day appointed for the meeting the Indians of that place. The same evening we had an interview with, and fully explained the terms and conditions of the treaty to some of the Indians who were not present when the treaty was concluded last year. Next morning, by appointment, we met all the Indians and explained to them the object of our mission, and, after considerable discussion, made arrangements to commence paying the annuities next day. This, however, was prevented by heavy rains, which continued more or less to retard our operations on the two following days, the 27th and 28th, but everything was satisfactorily concluded with this band on the evening of the latter day, and on the following morning we started for the Qu'Appelle Lakes, accompanied by an escort of fifteen men of the Mounted Police Force, under the command of Sub-Inspector McIllree, which had arrived at Fort Ellice on the evening of the 26th, and reached our destination on the forenoon of the 2nd September. As you are aware, we had heard before leaving Winnipeg, that the number of Indians assembled at the Qu'Appelle Lakes would be very large, but we did not anticipate that so many as we found (nearly five hundred lodges) would be congregated. We at once saw that the funds at our disposal to pay the annuities and gratuities would be inadequate, and availed ourselves of the opportunity presented by the return of Major Irvine to Winnipeg, to forward a telegram on the 5th September, requesting a further amount of six thousand dollars to be placed to our credit; and we may state here, though out of the order of time, as we found after the first two days payments that we had still underestimated the number of Indians present, we transmitted a telegram to Winnipeg by special messenger, on the 9th September, for a further credit of fifteen thousand dollars. On the 3rd September we met the Indians and explained the object of our mission, and, for the benefit of those who were absent last year, the terms and conditions of the treaty, and stated that we were now ready to fulfil so many of the obligations therein contained as the Government were bound to execute this year. The Indians declined saying anything on this occasion, but wished to meet and confer with in the following day, as they had something they wished to speak about. They accordingly met us on the 4th, and made several demands, one of which was that the annuities be increased to twelve dollars per head. We replied that the treaty concluded last year was a covenant between them and the Government, and it was impossible to comply with their demands; that all we had to do was to carry out the terms of the treaty in so far as the obligations of the same required. An idea seemed prevalent among the Indians who were absent last year that no treaty had been concluded then; that all which had been done at that time was merely preliminary to the making of the treaty in reality, which they thought was to be performed this year. The prevalence of this opinion amongst them operated very prejudicially to the furthering of our business, and we saw that until this was done away with it would be impossible to do anything towards accomplishing the real object of our mission. After a great deal of talking on their part, and explanation on ours, the meeting adjourned until Monday morning, as it was necessary that provisions should be issued to the different bands that evening for the following day. On Monday (the 6th) we again met the Indians, and as they evidently wished to have another day's talking to urge the same demands they had made on Saturday, we assured them all further discussion on the subject was useless; that if they declined to accept the terms of the treaty we must return and report to the Government that they had broken the promise made last year. They then asked that we should report to the Government what they had demanded. This we agreed to do. After some further explanation to those Chiefs who had not signed the treaty, the payment of the annuities and gratuities was commenced and continued by Messrs. Dickieson and Forsyth on this and the three following days until completed, during which time Mr. Christie conferred with the Chiefs as to the locality of their reserves. Six Chiefs who had not been present last year when the treaty was concluded, agreed to accept the terms of the same, and signed their adhesion previous to being paid. The instruments thus signed by them are transmitted herewith. The suits of clothes, flags, medals and copies of the treaty were given to the Chiefs and headmen as they were paid, and on the 10th the ammunition and twine were distributed, also provisions to each band for the return journey to their hunting grounds. * * * * * * We have the honor to be, Sir, Your obedient servants, W. J. CHRISTIE, Indian Commissioner. M. G. DICKIESON. Report of the proceedings at the Conference between the Hon. Alexander Morris, Lieut.-Governor of the North-West Territories, the Hon. David Laird, Minister of the Interior, and W. J. Christie, Esq., the Commissioners appointed by Order in Council to treat with the Indians inhabiting the country described in the said Order in Council, the first conference having been held at Qu'Appelle, September 8th, 1874: FIRST DAY'S CONFERENCE At four o'clock the Commissioners entered the marquee erected for the accommodation of themselves, and the Indians, who in in a short time arrived, shook hands with the Commissioners, the officers of the guard, and other gentlemen who were in the tent, and took their seats. It having been noticed that Cote, "the Pigeon," a leading Chief of the Saulteaux tribe, had not arrived but that several of his band were present and claimed that they had been sent to represent him, His Honor the Lieut.-Governor instructed the (acting) interpreter, William Daniel, to enquire why their Chief had not come to meet the Commissioners, the white chiefs? To this question they answered, that he had given no reason. His Honor, through the interpreter, told them that the Queen had sent him and the other Commissioners to see their Chief and their nation, and that the least a loyal subject could do would be to meet the messengers of the Queen. His Honor then addressed the Crees as follows: "The Commissioners having agreed that as Lieut.-Governor he should speak to them, as we are sent here by the Queen, by the Great Mother--the Queen has chosen me to be one of her Councillors, and has sent me here to represent her and has made me Governor of all her Territories in the North-West. She has sent another of her Councillors who has come all the way from Ottawa. She has also sent with us Mr. Christie, whom you all know, who has lived for a long time in this country, but who had gone away from it to live in another part of the Dominion of Canada. The Queen loves her Red children; she has always been friends with them; she knows that it is hard for them to live, and she has always tried to help them in the other parts of the Dominion. Last year she sent me to see her children at the Lake of the Woods. I took her children there by the hand, and the white man and the red man made friends for ever. We have come here with a message from the Queen and want to tell you all her mind. We want to speak to you about the land and what the Queen is willing to do for you, but before we tell you, we want you to tell us, who your Chiefs and headmen are who will speak for you, while we speak for the Queen, and we want to know what bands of Crees are here and who will speak for them. We wish to know if the Crees are ready to speak with us now?" RA-KU-SHI-WAY, THE LOUD VOICE,--Said in reply: "I do not wish to tell a lie. I cannot say who will speak for us; it will only be known after consultation." HIS HONOR THE LIEUT.-GOV.--"By to-morrow you will probably have chosen whom you will have to speak for you and the Commissioners will be glad to meet you after you have chosen your spokesmen, and will meet you at ten o'clock. We want you to tell us openly what you want and we will speak to you for the Queen in the same way. The Colonel will send a man round to sound a bugle at ten o'clock to let you know." To the Saulteaux His Honor said: "We are here with a message from the Great Mother and want you to open my mouth so that I can tell you what I have to say. If you and your Chiefs will meet together in council and talk it over we will be glad to meet you, if you bring your Chief to-morrow. You must also choose your speakers who will come with your Chief and speak for you." LOUD VOICE--"I will tell the message that is given me to tell. I have one thing to say, the first word that came to them was for the Saulteaux tribe to choose a place to pitch their tents." HIS HONOR--"This place was chosen because it is a good place for my men--for the soldiers--there is plenty of water and grass, and I will meet you here to-morrow. That is all at present." After the departure of the main body of Cree Indians, Saulteaux, from the Cypress Hills, entered the tent saying that they had no Chief, and did not want to go with the main body of the nation, that they had plenty of friends on the plains. His Honor said they would hear the Queen's message with the rest of the Indians. SECOND DAY'S CONFERENCE September 9, 1874. The Indians, both Crees, Saulteaux and their Chiefs having arrived, His Honor Lieut.-Governor Morris said: "I am glad to see so many of the Queen's red children here this morning. I told those I saw yesterday that I was one of the Queen's councillors, and had another councillor with me from Ottawa and that the Queen had sent Mr. Christie who used to live amongst you to help us. Yesterday the Cree nation with their Chief were here, the Saulteaux did not come to meet the Queen's servants, their Chief was not here. I thought that the Saulteaux could not have understood that the Queen had sent her servants to see them, or they would have come to meet them. If Loud Voice or any other Chief came down to Fort Garry to see me, and I sent one of my servants to meet them instead of shaking hands with them, would they be pleased? I wanted you to meet me here to-day because I wanted to speak to you before the Great Spirit and before the world. I want both Crees and Saulteaux to know what I say. I told those who were here yesterday that we had a message from the Queen to them. Last year I made a treaty with the Indians, 4,000 in number, at the Lake of the Woods. To-day the Queen sends us here. I told you yesterday that she loves her red children, and they have always respected her and obeyed her laws. I asked you yesterday, and ask you now, to tell me who would speak for you, and how many bands of each nation are represented here. I have heard that you are not ready to speak to me yet but do not know it, and I want you to say anything you have to say before all, and I will speak in the same way. What I have to talk about concerns you, your children and their children, who are yet unborn, and you must think well over it, as the Queen has thought well over it. What I want, is for you to take the Queen's hand, through mine, and shake hands with her for ever, and now I want, before I say any more, to hear from the Chiefs if they are ready with their men to speak for them, and if they are not ready if they will be ready to-morrow." CAN-A-HAH-CHA-PEW, THE MAN OF THE BOW,--"We are not ready yet, we have not gathered together yet. That is all I have to say." PEI-CHE-TO'S SON--O-TA-HA-O-MAN, THE GAMBLER--"My dear friends, do you want me to speak for you to these great men?" (the Indians signified their consent). "I heard you were to come here, that was the reason that all the camps were collected together, I heard before-hand too where the camp was to be placed, but I tell you that I am not ready yet. Every day there are other Indians coming and we are not all together. Where I was told to pitch my tent that is where I expected to see the great men in the camp. That is all." HIS HONOR--"With regard to the camp, the Queen sent one of her chief men of our soldiers with us, and he selected the best place for the men, the place where we are now, and I think it is a good place. At first he thought to have encamped across the river, but he thought this was better ground and chose it. I think it just as well that our tents should be at a little distance from your braves and your camp. I want to say to the Indian children of the Queen that if their people are coming in, that our men have walked a long way here, and must go back again to Fort Garry, and I have other things to do. Mr. Laird has to go back again to look after other things for the Queen at Ottawa. I want to ask the Chiefs when they will be ready to meet us to-morrow." PEI-CHE-TO'S SON--"I have said before, we are not ready." HIS HONOR--"Let them send me word through their Chiefs when they are ready." THIRD DAY'S CONFERENCE September 11, 1874. The Crees and their Chiefs met the Commissioners. The Saulteaux Chief was not present, though most of the tribe were present. An Indian, "the Crow," advised the assembled Crees, the Saulteaux not having arrived, to listen attentively to what words he said. His Honor the Lieut.-Governor then arose and said: "I am glad to meet you here to-day. We have waited long and began to wonder whether the Queen's red children were not coming to meet her messengers. All the ground here is the Queen's and you are free to speak your mind fully. We want you to speak to me face to face. I am ready now with my friends here to give you the Queen's message. Are your ears open to hear? Have you chosen your speakers?" THE LOUD VOICE--"There is no one to answer." HIS HONOR--"You have had time enough to select your men to answer and I will give you the Queen's message. The Queen knows that you are poor; the Queen knows that it is hard to find food for yourselves and children; she knows that the winters are cold, and your children are often hungry; she has always cared for her red children as much as for her white. Out of her generous heart and liberal hand she wants to do something for you, so that when the buffalo get scarcer, and they are scarce enough now, you may be able to do something for yourselves." THE LOUD VOICE (to the Indians)--"I wonder very much at your conduct. You understand what is said and you understand what is right and good. You ought to listen to that and answer it, every one of you. What is bad you cannot answer." HIS HONOR--"What the Queen and her Councillors would like is this, she would like you to learn something of the cunning of the white man. When fish are scarce and the buffalo are not plentiful she would like to help you to put something in the land, she would like that you should have some money every year to buy things that you need. If any of you would settle down on the land, she would give you cattle to help you; she would like you to have some seed to plant. She would like to give you every year, for twenty years, some powder, shot, and twine to make nets of. I see you here before me to-day. I will pass away and you will pass away. I will go where my fathers have gone and you also, but after me and after you will come our children. The Queen cares for you and for your children, and she cares for the children that are yet to be born. She would like to take you by the hand and do as I did for her at the Lake of the Woods last year. We promised them and we are ready to promise now to give five dollars to every man, woman and child, as long as the sun shines and water flows. We are ready to promise to give $1,000 every year, for twenty years, to buy powder and shot and twine, by the end of which time I hope you will have your little farms. If you will settle down we would lay off land for you, a square mile for every family of five. Whenever you go to a Reserve, the Queen will be ready to give you a school and schoolmaster, and the Government will try to prevent fire-water from being sent among you. If you shake hands with us and make a treaty, we are ready to make a present at the end of the treaty, of eight dollars for every man, woman and child in your nations. We are ready also to give calico, clothing and other presents. We are ready to give every recognized Chief, a present of twenty-five dollars, a medal, and a suit of clothing. We are also ready to give the Chief's soldiers, not exceeding four in each band, a present of ten dollars, and next year and every year after, each chief will be paid twenty-five dollars, and his chief soldiers not exceeding four in each band, will receive ten dollars. Now I think that you see that that the Queen loves her red children, that she wants to do you good, and you ought to show that you think so. I cannot believe that you will be the first Indians, the Queen's subjects, who will not take her by the hand. The Queen sent one of her councillors from Ottawa, and me, her Governor, to tell you her mind. I have opened my hands and heart to you. It is for you to think of the future of those who are with you now, of those who are coming after you, and may the Great Spirit guide you to do what is right. I have only one word more to say. The last time I saw you I was not allowed to say all I wanted to say until you went away. What I wanted to say is this, I have put before you our message, I want you to go back to your tents and think over what I have said and come and meet me to-morrow. Recollect that we cannot stay very long here. I have said all." FOURTH DAY'S CONFERENCE September 12, 1874. In the morning four Indians, two Crees and two Saulteaux, waited on the Commissioners and asked that they should meet the Indians half way, and off the Company's reserve, and that the soldiers should remove their camps beside the Indian encampment, that they would meet the Commissioners then and confer with them; that there was something in the way of their speaking openly where the marquee had been pitched. Their request was complied with as regarded the place of meeting only, and the spot for the conference selected by Col. Smith and the Indians. The meeting was opened by the Lieut.-Governor, who said, "Crees and Saulteaux,--I have asked you to meet us here to-day. We have been asking you for many days to meet us and this is the first time you have all met us. If it was not my duty and if the Queen did not wish it, I would not have taken so much trouble to speak to you. We are sent a long way to give you her message. Yesterday I told the Crees her message, and I know that the Saulteaux know what it was, but that there may be no mistake, I will tell it to you again and I will tell you more. When I have given my message understand that you will have to answer it, as I and my friends will have to leave you. You are the subjects of the Queen, you are her children, and you are only a little band to all her other children. She has children all over the world, and she does right with them all. She cares as much for you as she cares for her white children, and the proof of it is that wherever her name is spoken her people whether they be red or white, love her name and are ready to die for it, because she is always just and true. What she promises never changes. She knows the condition of her people here; you are not her only red children; where I come from, in Ontario and in Quebec, she has many red children, and away beyond the mountains she has other red children, and she wants to care for them all. Last year I was among the Saulteaux; we have the Saulteaux where I came from. They were my friends. I was the son of a white Chief who had a high place among them, they told him they would do his work, they called him Shekeisheik. I learned from him to love the red man, and it was a pleasant duty and good to my heart when the Queen told me to come among her Saulteaux children and I expect the Crees and the Saulteaux to take my hand as they did last year. In our hands they feel the Queen's, and if they take them the hands of the white and red man will never unclasp. In other lands the white and red man are not such friends as we have always been, and why? Because the Queen always keeps her word, always protects her red men. She learned last winter that bad men from the United States had come into her country and had killed some of her red children, What did she say? This must not be, I will send my men and will not suffer these bad men to hurt my red children, their lives are very dear to me. And now I will tell you our message. The Queen knows that her red children often find it hard to live. She knows that her red children, their wives and children, are often hungry, and that the buffalo will not last for ever and she desires to do something for them. More than a hundred years ago, the Queen's father said to the red men living in Quebec and Ontario, I will give you land and cattle and set apart Reserves for you, and will teach you. What has been the result? There the red men are happy; instead of getting fewer in number by sickness they are growing in number; their children have plenty. The Queen wishes you to enjoy the same blessings, and so I am here to tell you all the Queen's mind, but recollect this, the Queen's High Councillor here from Ottawa, and I, her Governor, are not traders; we do not come here in the spirit of traders; we come here to tell you openly, without hiding anything, just what the Queen will do for you, just what she thinks is good for you, and I want you to look me in the face, eye to eye, and open your hearts to me as children would to a father, as children ought to do to a father, and as you ought to the servants of the great mother of us all. I told my friends yesterday that things changed here, that we are here to-day and that in a few years it may be we will not be here, but after us will come our children. The Queen thinks of the children yet unborn. I know that there are some red men as well as white men who think only of to-day and never think of to-morrow. The Queen has to think of what will come long after to-day. Therefore, the promises we have to make to you are not for to-day only but for to-morrow, not only for you but for your children born and unborn, and the promises we make will be carried out as long as the sun shines above and the water flows in the ocean. When you are ready to plant seed the Queen's men will lay off Reserves so as to give a square mile to every family of five persons, and on commencing to farm the Queen will give to every family cultivating the soil two hoes, one spade, one scythe for cutting the grain, one axe and plough, enough of seed wheat, barley, oats and potatoes to plant the land they get ready. The Queen wishes her red children to learn the cunning of the white man and when they are ready for it she will send schoolmasters on every Reserve and pay them. We have come through the country for many days and we have seen hills and but little wood and in many places little water, and it may be a long time before there are many white men settled upon this land, and you will have the right of hunting and fishing just as you have now until the land is actually taken up. (His Honor repeated the offers which had been given to the Saulteaux on the previous day.) I think I have told you all that the Queen is willing to do for you. It ought to show you that she has thought more about you than you have about her. I will be glad now to have those whom you have selected speak for you and I again ask you to keep nothing back. This is the first time you have had white chiefs, officers of the Queen, so high in her Councils, so trusted by her among you. We have no object but your good at heart, and therefore we ask you to speak out to us, to open your minds to us, and believe that we are your true and best friends, who will never advise you badly, who will never whisper bad words in your ears, who only care for your good and that of your children. I have told you the truth, the whole truth, and now we expect to hear from the two nations and any other tribe who may be represented here. My friend Mr. Laird reminds me that he has come from an Island in the far off sea, that he has go back to Ottawa and then go to his own home, that he was asked specially to help me in speaking to you and advising me. He is obliged to go away as I am, and therefore we want you to answer us." COTE, or MEE-MAY (Saulteaux Chief)--"I cannot say anything to you. It is that man (pointing to Loud Voice) will speak." LOUD VOICE (Cree Chief)--"If I could speak, if I could manage to utter my feelings there is reason why I should answer you back; but there is something in my way, and that is all I can tell you. This man (the Gambler) will tell you." O-TA-KA-O-NAN, OR THE GAMBLER.--"This morning I saw the chief of the soldiers, who asked me what is in your way that you cannot come and meet the Queen's messengers; then I told him what was in the way. And now that I am come in, what do I see? You were rather slow in giving your hand. You said that the Queen spoke through you and spoke very plainly, but I cannot speak about what you said at present; the thing that is in the way that is what I am working at." LIEUT.-GOV. MORRIS--"We have come here for the purpose of knowing what is in your mind. I held out my hand but you did not do as your nation did at the Angle. When I arrived there the Chief and his men came and gave me the pipe of peace and paid me every honor. Why? Because I was the servant of the queen. I was not slow in offering my hand, I gave it freely and from my heart, and whenever we found I could please you by coming here, we sent the chief of the soldiers to select a suitable place to meet you. You tell me there is something in your mind. If there is anything standing between us, how can we take it away or answer you unless we know what it is?" THE GAMBLER--"I told the soldier master you did not set your camp in order, you came and staid beyond over there, that is the reason I did not run in over there. Now when you have come here, you see sitting out there a mixture of Half-breeds, Crees, Saulteaux and Stonies, all are one, and you were slow in taking the hand of a Half-breed. All these things are many things that are in my way. I cannot speak about them." LIEUT.-GOV. MORRIS--"Why are you here to-day? because we asked you to come, because it was a good place to speak with them the reason we wished to see them. I am now quite willing to tell you all about Fort Pelly. The Queen heard that Americans had come into the country and were treating her Indian children badly. I myself sent her word that twenty-five of her Indian children, men, women and children, had been shot down by the American traders, then she resolved to protect her red children, for that reason she has determined to have a body of men on horses as policemen to keep all bad people, white or red, in order. She will not allow her red children to be made drunk and shot down again as some of them were a few months ago. Now you ought to be glad that you have a Queen who takes such an interest in you. What are they doing now up at Fort Pelly? The men must have some place to live in this winter, they cannot live out of doors, and some men have gone to Fort Pelly to build houses for them, and the Queen expects that you will do all you can to help them because they are your friends. There was a treaty before and Indians are paid under it, but we were told as we passed Fort Ellice that there were a few Indians there who were not included in that treaty, and had never been paid, and they agreed to meet us when we go back, I do not quite understand another point. We have here Crees, Saulteaux, Assiniboines and other Indians, they are all one, and we have another people, the Half-breeds, they are of your blood and my blood. The Queen cares for them, one of them is here an officer with a Queen's coat on his back. At the Lake of the Woods last winter every Half-Breed who was there with me was helping me, and I was proud of it, and glad to take the word back to the Queen, and her servants, and you may rest easy, you may leave the Half-breeds in the hands of the Queen who will deal generously and justly with them. There was a Half-breed came forward to the table. He was only one of many here. I simply wanted to know whether he was authorized by you to take any part in the Council, as it is the Indians alone we are here to meet. He told me you wanted him here as a witness. We have plenty of witnesses here, but when I heard that, I welcomed him as I had done you, and shook hands with him, and he ought to have told you that. I have given our answer and I have always found this that it is good for men to try to understand each other, and to speak openly, if they do that and both are earnest, if their hearts are pure, they will and can understand each other." THE GAMBLER--"I have understood plainly before what he (the Hudson Bay Company) told me about the Queen. This country that he (H. B. Co.) bought from the Indians let him complete that. It is that which is in the way. I cannot manage to speak upon anything else, when the land was staked off it was all the Company's work. That is the reason I cannot speak of other things." LIEUT.-GOV. MORRIS--"We don't understand what you mean. Will you explain?" THE GAMBLER--"I know what I have to tell you. Who surveyed this land? Was it done by the Company? This is the reason I speak of the Company, why are you staying in the Company's house?" LIEUT.-GOVERNOR MORRIS--"The Company have a right to have certain lands granted them by the Queen, who will do what is fair and just for the Company, for the Indians, for the Half-breeds, and for the whites. She will make no distinction. Whatever she promises she will carry out. The Company are are nothing to her except that they are carrying on trade in this country, and that they are subjects to her just as you are. You ask then why I went to the Company's house? I came here not at my own pleasure. I am not so strong as you are. I never slept in a tent in my life before and was only too glad to find a home to go to." The Gambler--"I understand now. And now this Company man. This is the Company man (pointing to Mr. McDonald). This is the thing I cannot speak of. The Cree does not know, the Saulteaux does not know. It was never known when this was surveyed, neither by the Cree nor the Saulteaux." Lieut.-Gov. Morris--"The Company are trading in this country and they require to have places to carry out their trade. If the Queen gives them land to hold under her she has a perfect right to do it, just as she will have a perfect right to lay off lands for you if you agree to settle on them. I am sorry for you; I am afraid you have been listening to bad voices who have not the interests of the Indians at heart. If because of these things you will not speak to us we will go away with hearts sorry for you and for your children, who thus throw back in our faces the hand of the Queen that she has held out to you." The Gambler--"It is very plain who speaks; the Crees are not speaking, and the Saulteaux is speaking, if the Queen's men came here to survey the land. I am telling you plainly. I cannot speak any other thing till this is cleared up. Look at these children that are sitting around here and also at the tents, who are just the image of my kindness. There are different kinds of grass growing here that is just like those sitting around here. There is no difference. Even from the American land they are here, but we love them all the same, and when the white skin comes here from far away I love him all the same. I am telling you what our love and kindness is. This is what I did when the white man came, but when he came back he paid no regard to me how he carried on." LIEUT.-GOV. MORRIS--"I did not know till I came here that any survey had been made because I had nothing to do with it; but my friend, one of the Queen's Councillors, tells me it was done by the authority of the Queen." THE GAMBLER--"I want to tell you the right story. I waited very much for the Queen's messenger when I saw what the Company did. Perhaps he may know why he did so. Perhaps if I were to ask him now he would say. That is what I would think. This is the reason. I am so pleased at what I see here I cannot manage to speak because of the Company." LIEUT.-GOV. MORRIS--"We cannot see why you cannot speak to the Queen's messengers because of the Company. The Company is no greater in her sight than one of those little children is in yours, and whatever she promises, either to the Company or the little child, she will do. The Company ought not to be a wall between you and us; you will make a mistake if you send us away with a wall between us, when there should be none." THE GAMBLER--"I do not send you away; for all this I am glad. I know this is not the Queen's work. He (H. B. Co.) is the head; he does whatever he thinks all around here, that is the reason I cannot say anything." LIEUT.-GOV. MORRIS--"I am very sorry that you cannot answer." THE GAMBLER--"The Company have stolen our land. I heard that at first. I hear it is true. The Queen's messengers never came here, and now I see the soldiers and the settlers and the policemen. I know it is not the Queen's work, only the Company has come and they are the head, they are foremost; I do not hold it back. Let this be put to rights; when this is righted I will answer the other." LIEUT.-GOV. MORRIS--"The Company have not brought their soldiers here. This man is not an officer of the Company. I am not an officer of the Company. We did not come at the request of the Company, but at that of the Queen. I told you that the Queen had sent her policemen here. You see the flag there, then know that we are the Queen's servants, and not the Company's, and it is for you to decide on the message I have delivered to you." THE GAMBLER--"When one Indian takes anything from another we call it stealing, and when we see the present we say pay us. It is the Company I mean." LIEUT.-GOV. MORRIS--"What did the Company steal from you?" THE GAMBLER--"The earth, trees, grass, stones, all that which I see with my eyes." LIEUT.-GOV. MORRIS--"Who made the earth, the grass, the stone, and the wood? The Great Spirit. He made them for all his children to use, and it is not stealing to use the gift of the Great Spirit. The lands are the Queen's under the Great Spirit. The Chippewas were not always here. They come from the East. There were other Indians here and the Chippewas came here, and they used the wood and the land, the gifts of the Great Spirit to all, and we want to try and induce you to believe that we are asking for the good of all. We do not know how the division between us is to be taken away. We do not know of any lands that were stolen from you, and if you do not open your mouths we cannot get the wall taken away. You can open your mouths if you will; we are patient but we cannot remain here always." THE GAMBLER--"I cannot manage to speak of anything else. It is this I am speaking. All the Indians know how the Company set their land in order long ago. The Company is making it more and that is the reason I am speaking." LIEUT.-GOVERNOR MORRIS--"Many, many years ago, before we were born, one of the Kings gave the Company certain rights to trade in this country. The Queen thought that this was not just neither to the white nor the red man. She considered that all should be equal; but when the Queen's father's father's hand had been given she could not take it back without the Company's consent; therefore she told the Company that the time had come when they should no longer be the great power in this country, that she would plant her own flag, that she would send her own Governor and soldiers, and that they must cease to have the only right to trade here (and I am glad to know that some of you are good traders), the Queen then told the Company that she would govern the country herself, and she told them she would give them some land. They had their forts, their places of trade where they raised cattle and grain, and she told them they could keep them, and she will no more break with them than she will with you. There is no reason why you should not talk to us. The Company have no more power, no more authority to govern this country than you have, it rests with the Queen." THE GAMBLER--"This is the reason I waited for the Queen's messengers to come here because I knew the Company was strong and powerful, and I knew they would set every thing in order. Truly since the Company came here they have brought me many things which are good, but the Company's work is in my way and I cannot utter my words." LIEUT.-GOV. MORRIS--"What do you complain of? I can not tell." THE GAMBLER--"The survey. This one (pointing to an Indian) did not say so, and this Saulteaux and he was never told about it. He should have been told beforehand that this was to have been done and it would not have been so, and I want to know why the Company have done so. This is the reason I am talking so much about it." LIEUT.-GOV. MORRIS--"I have told you before that the Queen had promised to give the Company certain lands around the forts and she gave them land around this fort. I have told you that what she promised she will do. She has taken all the lands in this country to manage; they were hers; they were her fathers; if she gives you reserves they will be yours and she will let no one take them from you unless you want to sell them yourselves. It will be a sorry thing if this nation and that nation scattered all over the country are to suffer because of this little piece of land I see around me. What good is it going to do to raise up a question of this kind and block the way to our understanding each other when the Queen's hand, full of love and generosity is held out to you? The blame rests with you; it is time for you to talk, to open your mouth, because I cannot take away what shuts it, you must do it yourselves." THE GAMBLER--"This is my chief, the Queen never told this man. If this had been told him, I would not have said what I said just now. The Company's store was only there at first. I do not push back the Queen's hand. Let this be cleared up." LIEUT.-GOV. MORRIS--"Once for all we tell you, whatever number of acres the Queen has promised to the Company at this post, they will receive no more and no less. We will ascertain what was promised, and will take care to see that what was promised and that only will be performed with regard to the land around this Fort. We can give you no other answer." THE GAMBLER--"I am telling you and reporting what I had to tell. The Company have no right to this earth, but when they are spoken to they do not desist, but do it in spite of you. He is the head and foremost. These Indians you see sitting around report that they only allowed the store to be put up. That is the reason I was very glad when I heard you were coming. The Indians were not told of the reserves at all. I hear now, it was the Queen gave the land. The Indians thought it was they who gave it to the Company, who are now all over the country. The Indians did not know when the land was given." LIEUT.-GOV. MORRIS--"I am weary hearing about the country. You might understand me now. You are stronger than that little boy over there, and the Company is stronger than a single trader, but the Company has its master, the Queen, and will have to obey the laws as well as all others. We have nothing to do with the Company. We are here to talk with you about the land, I tell you what we wish to do for your good, but if you will talk about the Company I cannot hinder you, I think it is time now you should talk about what concerns you all." THE GAMBLER--"That is the reason I waited so long. I cannot speak of anything else, my mind is resting on nothing else I know that you will have power and good rules and this is why I am glad to tell you what is troubling me." LIEUT.-GOV. MORRIS--"I have told you before and tell you again that the Queen cannot and will not undo what she has done. I have told you that we will see that the Company shall obey what she has ordered, and get no more and no less than she has promised. We might talk here all the year and I could not give you any other answer, and I put it to you now face to face--speak to me about your message, don't put it aside, if you do the responsibility will rest upon your nation, and during the winter that is coming, many a poor woman and child will be saying, how was it that our councillors and our braves shut their ears to the mouth of the Queen's messengers and refused to tell them their words. This Company, I have told you is nothing to us, it is nothing to the Queen, but their rights have to be respected just as much as those of the meanest child in the country. The Queen will do right between you and them I can say no more than what I have said and if the Indians will not speak to us we cannot help it, and if the Indians won't answer our message, we must go back and tell the Queen that we came here and did everything we could to show the Indians we were in earnest in proving her love for them and that when there was a little difficulty, I came at once to meet them half way. What prevents you from coming out and speaking openly. I cannot take away the difficulty you speak of, and if you will not answer us, there is no use in talking." THE GAMBLER--"I told the chief of the soldiers what was in our way, what was troubling us and now we are telling you. It is that I am working at." LIEUT.-GOV. MORRIS--"What is troubling you?" PIS-QUA (the plain) pointing to Mr. McDonald, of the Hudson's Bay Company--"You told me you had sold your land for so much money, L300,000. We want that money." LIEUT.-GOV. MORRIS--"I wish our Indian brother had spoken before what was in his mind. He has been going here and there, and we never knew what he meant. I told you that many years ago the Queen's father's father gave the Company the right to trade in the country from the frozen ocean to the United States boundary line, and from the Atlantic Ocean to the Pacific. The Company grew strong and wanted no one to trade in the country but themselves. The Queen's people said, "no, the land is not yours, the Queen's father's father gave you rights to trade, it is time those rights should stop." You may go on and trade like any other merchant, but as it was worth money to you to say to this trader you shall not buy furs at any post, the Queen would not act unjustly to the Company. She would not take rights away from them any more than from you; and to settle the question, she took all the lands into her own hands and gave the Company a sum of money in place of the rights which she had taken from them. She is ready to deal with you justly. We are here to-day to make to you her good offers. We have nothing to hide, nothing to conceal. The Queen acts in daylight. I think it is time you are going to talk with us about the offers we have made." THE GAMBLER--"I have made up about no other article. I suppose, indeed, I would make the thing very little and very small. When I get back I will think over it." LIEUT.-GOV. MORRIS--"I have a word to say to you. In our land we worship the Great Spirit, and do not work on Sunday. I am glad to see that you are going back into council, and I will only ask you to think of these things with single hearts desiring only to do what is right and trusting my words. On Monday morning we will be glad to meet you here and hope we will find then that your heart has come to ours, that you will see that it is for your children's good, to take our hands and the promises we have given. As I told you before we would be glad to stay longer with you, but we are obliged to go away. We ask you then to meet us on Monday morning and Mr. Pratt will tell you so that there may be no mistake as to what we have promised. He has it written down so that it may not be rubbed out." The conference then ended. FIFTH DAY'S CONFERENCE September 14. Both nations, Crees and Saulteaux, having assembled, His Honor Lieut.-Governor Morris again addressed them:-- "Children of our Great Mother, I am glad to see you again after another day. How have you come to meet us? I hope you have come to us with good thoughts, and hearts ready to meet ours. I have one or two words to say to you. It is twenty days to-day since we left the Red River. We want to turn our faces homewards. You told me on Saturday that some of you could eat a great deal. I have something to say to you about that. There are Indians who live here, they have their wives and children around them. It is good for them to be here, and have plenty to eat, but they ought to think of their brothers; they ought to think that there are men here who have come from a distance, from Fort Pelly and beyond, whose wives and children are not here to eat, and they want to be at home with them. It is time now that we began to understand each other, and when there is something troubles us, I believe in telling it. When you told us you were troubled about the situation of this tent, we had it moved. Now we want you to take away our trouble, or tell us what you mean. We are troubled about this. We are servants of the Queen; we have been here many days giving you our message, and we have not yet heard the voice of the nations. We have two nations here. We have the Crees, who were here first, and we have the Ojibbeways, who came from our country not many suns ago. We find them here; we won't say they stole the land and the stones and the trees; no, but we will say this, that we believe their brothers, the Crees, said to them when they came in here: "The land is wide, it is wide, it is big enough for us both; let us live here like brothers;" and that is what you say, as you told us on Saturday, as to the Half-breeds that I see around. You say that you are one with them; now we want all to be one. We know no difference between Crees and Ojibbeways. Now we want to ask you are you wiser, do you know more, than the Ojibbeway people that I met last year? You are a handful compared with them; they came to me from the Lake of the Woods, from Rainy Lake, from the Kaministiquia, and from the Great Lake. I told them my message, as I have told you; they heard my words and they said they were good, and they took my hand and I gave them mine and the presents; but that is not all. There was a band of Ojibbeways who lived at Lake Seul, to the north of the Lake of the Woods, 400 in number, and just before we came away we sent our messenger to them. He told them I had shaken hands for the Queen with all the Ojibbeways down to the Great Lake. He told them what we had done for these, and asked them if they found it good to take the Queen's hand through our messenger; they were pleased; they signed the treaty; they put their names to it, saying, We take what you promised to the other Saulteaux; and our messenger gave them the money, just as our messengers will give your brothers who are not here the money if we understand each other. Now, we ask you again, are you wiser than your brothers that I have seen before? I do not think that you will say you are, but we want you to take away our last trouble. What I find strange is this: we are Chiefs; we have delivered the message of our great Queen, whose words never change, whose tongue and the tongues of whose messengers are never forked; and how is it that we have not heard any voice back from the Crees or Saulteaux, or from their Chiefs? I see before me two Chiefs; we know them to be Chiefs, because we see you put them before you to shake hands with us. They must have been made Chiefs, not for anything we are talking about to-day, not for any presents we are offering to you, not because of the land; then why are they chiefs? Because I see they are old men; the winds of many winters have whistled through their branches. I think they must have learned wisdom; the words of the old are wise; why then, we ask ourselves--and this is our trouble--Why are your Chiefs dumb? They can speak. One of them is called "Loud Voice." He must have been heard in the councils of the nation. Then I ask myself, why do they not answer? It cannot be that you are afraid; you are not women. In this country, now, no man need be afraid. If a white man does wrong to an Indian, the Queen will punish them. The other day at Fort Ellice, a white man, it is said, stole some furs from an Indian. The Queen's policemen took him at once; sent him down to Red River, and he is lying in jail now; and if the Indians prove that he did wrong, he will be punished. You see then that if the white man does wrong to the Indian he will punished; and it will be the same if the Indian does wrong to the white man. The red and white man must live together, and be good friends, and the Indians must live together like brothers with each other and the white man. I am afraid you are weary of my talking. Why do I talk so much? Because I have only your good at heart. I do not want to go away with my head down, to send word to the Queen, "Your red children could not see that your heart was good towards them; could not see as you see that it was for the good of themselves and their children's children to accept the good things you mean for them." I have done. Let us hear the voice of the people. Let us hear the voice of your old wise men." COTE--"The same man that has spoken will speak yet." KA-KIE-SHE-WAY (Loud Voice)--"This is the one who will speak; after he speaks I will show what I have to say." LIEUT.-GOV. MORRIS--"Understand me, what I want to know is, does he speak for the nations. If you prefer to speak by the voice of an orator I am glad. All we want is to hear the voice of the people, and I asked you at first to choose among yourselves those who would speak for you; therefore I am glad to hear the man you have chosen, and I am glad to hear that after he has done the Chief will speak to us." THE GAMBLER--"Saturday we met, we spoke to each other, we met at such a time as this time, and again we said we would tell each other something; now, then, we will report to each other a little again. This Company man that we were speaking about, I do not hate him; as I loved him before I love him still, and I also want that the way he loved me at first he should love me the same; still, I wish that the Company would keep at his work the same as he did; that I want to be signed on the paper. I want you to put it with your own hands. After he puts that there it is given to the Indians, then there will be another article to speak about. The Indians want the Company to keep at their post and nothing beyond. After that is signed they will talk about something else." LIEUT.-GOV. MORRIS--"I told you on Saturday that I had nothing to do with the Company. The Company have a right to trade. I cannot make them buy goods and bring them here, or stop them from bringing them. I dare say some of you are traders; you do not ask me whether you shall buy goods and sell them again, and I do not stop you. It is the same way with the Company. If they make money in bringing goods here they will bring them just as they used to do; and I want you to understand it fully, the Company may have a little more money than the white traders, or the Half-breeds, or the Indians, but they have no more right, they have no more privileges, to trade than the Indians, or the Half-breeds, or the whites; and that is written with a higher hand than ours, and we have no power to write anything, or to add anything, to what is written and remains in the Queen's house beyond the sea." THE GAMBLER--"I do not want to drive the Company anywhere. What I said is, that they are to remain here at their house. Supposing you wanted to take them away, I would not let them go. I want them to remain here to have nothing but the trade. I do not hate them; we always exchange with them, and would die if they went away." LIEUT.-GOV. MORRIS--"I do not know whether we rightly understand or not. I think you have spoken wise words; the Company helps you to live, and they have a right to sell goods as other traders. I do not know that I understand you rightly, that you do not want them to sell goods anywhere except at the posts; to keep at their posts there. If that is what you mean, I cannot say yes to that; they have the same right to sell goods anywhere that you have. They are no longer as they were once. The Government of the country, I think I told you that before--understand me distinctly--the Government have nothing to do with the Company, but the Company and all their servants are subjects of the Queen and love and obey her laws. The day has gone past when they made the laws. They have to hear the laws the Queen makes, and like good subjects submit to them." THE GAMBLER--"The Company is not to carry anything out into the country, but are to trade in the Fort. That is what we want signed on the paper; then we will talk on other subjects." LIEUT.-GOV. MORRIS--"I have told you before, and I tell you again, that the Company as traders have the right to sell goods anywhere they please, just as you have, just as the whites have, just as the Half-breeds have, and we have no power to take it away from them. If the Company were to ask me to say to you that you were not to trade anywhere except in their Fort by the lake, you would think it very hard, and I would say to the Company, No, you shall not interfere with the Indians throughout our land. I would like to give you pleasure but I cannot do wrong; we won't deceive you with smooth words. We will tell you the simple truth what we can do and what we cannot do, but we cannot interfere as you ask us." THE GAMBLER--"Cannot you sign such a paper?" LIEUT.-GOV. MORRIS--"No; the Queen has signed the great paper, and the Company have no more rights than any one else, but they have the same." KA-KIE-SHE-WAY (Loud Voice)--"I would not be at a loss, but I am, because we are not united--the Crees and the Saulteaux--this is troubling me. I am trying to bring all together in one mind, and this is delaying us. If we could put that in order, if we were all joined together and everything was right I would like it, I would like to part well satisfied and pleased. I hear that His Excellency is unwell, and I wish that everything would be easy in his mind. It is this that annoys me, that things do not come together. I wish for one day more, and after that there would not be much in my way." COTE--"You wanted me to come here and I came here. I find nothing, and I do not think anything will go right. I know what you want; I cannot speak of anything here concerning my own land until I go to my own land. Whenever you desire to see me I will tell you what you are asking me here. Now I want to return." LIEUT.-GOV. MORRIS--"We asked the Chief to come here. He has as much right to be here as another Indian. We cannot go there and ask the people of the two great tribes to meet in one place as they have done when they were asked to meet us. You have had many days to talk together. If the Saulteaux are determined that they want an agreement to prevent the Company from trading, it cannot be given. I think the Chief here spoke wisely. He says he is in trouble because you do not understand each other. Why are you not of one mind? Have you tried to be of one mind? Must we go back and say we have had you here so many days, and that you had not the minds of men--that you were not able to understand each other? Must we go back and tell the Queen that we held out our hands for her, and her red children put them back again? If that be the message that your conduct to-day is going to make us carry back, I am sorry for you, and fear it will be a long day before you again see the Queen's Councillors here to try to do you good. The Queen and her Councillors may think that you do not want to be friends, that you do not want your little ones to be taught, that you do not want when the food is getting scarce to have a hand in yours stronger than yours to help you. Surely you will think again before you turn your backs on the offers; you will not let so little a question as this about the Company, without whom you tell me you could not live, stop the good we mean to do. I hope that I am perfectly understood; when we asked the chief here we wanted to speak with him about his lands at his place; when we asked "Loud Voice" here we wanted to speak with him about the land at his place; so when we asked the other chiefs here we wanted to speak with them about the lands at their places. Why? because we did not want to do anything that you would not all know about, that there might be no bad feelings amongst you. We wanted you to be of one mind and heart in this matter, and that is the reason you are here to-day. Now it rests with you; we have done all we could. Have you anything more to say to us, or are we to turn our backs upon you, and go away with sorry hearts for you and your children? It remains for you to say." THE GAMBLER--"We do not understand you and what you are talking about. I do not keep it from you; we have not chosen our Chiefs; we have not appointed our soldiers and councillors; we have not looked around us yet, and chosen our land, which I understand you to tell us to choose. We do not want to play with you, but we cannot appoint our Chiefs and head men quickly; that is in the way. Now it is near mid-day, and we cannot appoint our Chiefs. This Chief who got up last--the Queen's name was used when he was appointed to be Chief--he wants to know where his land is to be and see it, what like it is to be, and to find the number of his children; that is what is in his mind. He says he came from afar, he had a good mind for coming, and he takes the same good mind away with him. I have not heard him say to the Saulteaux to keep back their land." LIEUT.-GOV. MORRIS--"I think I understand you. We do not want to separate in bad feeling, or to avoid any trouble in coming to an understanding with you; because I do not believe that if we do not agree it will ever be my good fortune to endeavor to do so again. "Loud Voice," the Chief, has told us he wants a day to think it over. The Chief "Cote," from the north, would like to go home, but I am sure he will stop a day and try to understand his brothers, and agree as the others did at the Lake of the Woods. I put my name, and the Chiefs and the head men put theirs, and I gave the Chief a copy, and I told him when I went home to Red River I would have it all written out, a true copy made on skin, that could not be rubbed out, that I would send a copy to his people so that when we were dead and gone the letter would be there to speak for itself, to show everything that was promised; and that was the right way to do. I did so, and sent a copy of the treaty written in letters of blue, gold, and black to the Chief "Maw-do-pe-nais," whom the people had told to keep it for them. He who speaks for the Saulteaux tells us they have not made up their minds yet about the land--he tells us they have not decided to refuse our hands. I am glad to hear him say that, and if it will please my Indian brethren here we will be glad to wait another day and meet them here to-morrow morning, if they will promise me with the words of men that they will look this matter straight in the face; that they will lay aside every feeling except the good of their people, and try to see what is right, and that they will come back and say, 'We have done our best, we have tried to be of one mind, and considered what was best for now, and to-morrow, and the years that are to come when we have all passed away. This is our answer. We are very much in earnest about this matter.' The Chief said I was not very well, yet I am here. Why? Because the duty was laid upon me I was afraid of the journey, but when a Chief has a duty to do he tries to do it, and I felt that if I could do you any good, as I believed I could, I ought to be here. I tell you this, trust my words, they come from the heart of one who loves the Indian people, and who is charged by his Queen to tell them the words of truth." SIXTH DAY'S CONFERENCE The Crees having come and shaken hands, His Honor Lieut.-Gov. Morris rose and said: "My friends, I have talked much; I would like to hear your voices, I would like to hear what you say." KA-KU-ISH-MAY, (Loud Voice--a principal chief of the Crees)--"I am very much pleased with that, to listen to my friends, for certainly it is good to report to each other what is for the benefit of each other. We see the good you wish to show us. If you like what we lay before you we will like it too. Let us join together and make the Treaty; when both join together it is very good." The Saulteaux arrived at this juncture, when the Lieut.-Governor said: "I will say to the two tribes what I said to the Crees before the Saulteaux came. You have heard my voice for many days, you know its sound. You have looked in my face, you have seen my mind through my face, and you know my words are true and that they do not change. But I am not here to talk to-day, I am here to listen. You have had our message, you have had the Queen's words. It is time now that you spoke. I am here to listen, my ears are open. It is for you to speak." KAMOOSES--"Brothers, I have one word and a small one, that is the reason I cannot finish anything that is large. You do not see the whole number of my tribe which is away at my back, that is the reason I am so slow in making ready." LIEUT.-GOV. MORRIS--"I want to hear the voice of those who are here, they can speak for themselves and for those who are away." CHE-E-KUK (the Worthy One)--"My ears are open to what you say. Just now the Great Spirit is watching over us; it is good. He who has strength and power is overlooking our doings. I want very much to be good in what we are going to talk about, and our Chiefs will take you by the hand just now." The Chiefs now rose and shook hands with the Commissioners. KA-HA-OO-KUS-KA-TOO (he who walks on four claws)--"It is very good to meet together on a fine day, father. When my father used to bring me anything I used to go and meet him, and when my father had given it to me I gave it to my mother to cook it. When we come to join together one half at least will come." CHE-E-KUK (the Worthy)--"Now I am going to tell you, and you say your ears are open. You see the Qu'Appelle Lake Indians that you wished to see, you hear me speak but there are many far away, and that is the reason I cannot speak for these my children who are away trying to get something to eat; the Crees my child is not here, the Saulteaux my child is not here, the Young Dogs are not here, the Stonies my children are not here, this is not the number that you see; I am only telling you this, I think I have opened my mind." LIEUT.-GOV. MORRIS--"I know you are not all here. We never could get you all together, but you know what is good for you and for your children. When I met the Saulteaux last year we had not 4,000 there, but there were men like you who knew what was good for themselves, for their wives, for their children, and those not born. I give to those who were there, and they took my hand and took what was in it, and I sent to those who were away, and I did for them just as I did for those who were present. It is the same to-day. What we are ready to give you will be given to those who are not here. What is good for you, what you think will be good for you will be good for them. It is for you to say, not for us; we have done all that men who love their red brothers can do, it is for you now to act, on you rests the duty of saying whether you believe our message or not, whether you want the Queen to help you or not, whether or not you will go away and let the days and the years go on, and let the food grow scarcer, and let your children grow up and do nothing to keep off the hunger and the cold that is before them. It is for you to say that, not for us; if we had not your good at heart we would not have been here, and we would not have labored these many days, if our hearts were not warm towards you, and if we did not believe what we are doing, would be for your good as children of our Queen. I have said all." KAN-OO-SES--"Is it true you are bringing the Queen's kindness? Is it true you are bringing the Queen's messenger's kindness? Is it true you are going to give my child what he may use? Is it true you are going to give the different bands the Queen's kindness? Is it true that you bring the Queen's hand? Is it true you are bringing the Queen's power?" LIEUT.-GOV. MORRIS--"Yes, to those who are here and those who are absent, such as she has given us." KAMOOSES--"Is it true that my child will not be troubled for what you are bringing him?" LIEUT.-GOV. MORRIS--"The Queen's power will be around him." KAMOOSES--"Now, I am going to ask you that the debt that has been lying in the Company's store, I want that to be wiped out. I ask it from the great men of the Queen." LIEUT.-GOV. MORRIS--"I told you before we have nothing to do with the Company, we have nothing to do with its debts. I have told you what we will do for you, what the Queen will do for you forever. But the money that the Indian owes the Company is just like the money that the Indians owe to each other or to any trader and is not due to the Queen. We have no power to put money in your hands and your children's to pay your debts, and it would not be right for the Queen to come in and take away either what is between you and the Company, or what is between you and the traders, or what is between you and each other. If one of you owes the Chief is it right that the Queen should wipe it out? I would be very glad if we had it in our power to wipe out your debts, but it is not in our power. All we can do is to put money in your hands and promise to put money in the hands of those who are away, and give you money every year afterwards, and help you to make a living when the food is scarce. I have told you from the first that whether my words please you or not I will tell you only the truth, and I will only speak as far as the Queen has given us power." (He who walks on four claws)--"Whenever you give to these my children what they desire, then you will get what you want." LIEUT.-GOV. MORRIS--"We will give them what we have power to give. We are ready to hear." KAMOOSES--"Yes, I understand and my heart also, but it is not large, it is small, and my understanding is small; that is the word I tell you." LIEUT.-GOV. MORRIS--"I have told you what we are ready to do for you. Your understanding is large enough to know what is good for you. We have talked these many days, and I ask you now to talk straight, to tell me your mind, to tell me whether you wish to take our offers or not, it is for you to say." KEE-E-KUK--"Twenty dollars we want to be put in our hand every year, this we have heard from the others. Twenty-five dollars to each chief." LIEUT.-GOV. MORRIS--"If I understand you aright you are mistaken. The Saulteaux did not get twenty-five dollars per head. They get five dollars every year. We promised them five dollars every year, and a messenger was sent this year to pay them that sum. I may tell you that my children at the Lake of the Woods had big hearts to ask. You say you have small. I told them that if the Queen gave them all they asked I would have to ask her to allow me to become an Indian, but I told them I could not give them what they asked, and when they understood that, and understood the full breadth and width of the Queen's goodness, they took what I offered, and I think if you are wise you will do the same." (A proposition was made here by an Indian that they should receive five dollars per head every second year for fifty years, but he must have done so without authority as it was not acceded to by the other Indians who expressed their dissent strongly as soon as the offer was made.) KAMOOSES--"I am going to speak for Loud Voice and for the other chiefs. Some chiefs are not here, they are absent, hereafter you will see them. I myself will tell them, and my child that is at my back will tell them also. Will you receive that which I am asking? I want to clear up what the Indians and I want to try and put it right, what my child will say. Well, can you give me that. We want the same Treaty you have given to the North-West Angle. This I am asking for." LIEUT.-GOV. MORRIS--"Who are you speaking for? Is it for the whole of the Indians? (They expressed their assent.) Are you ready to carry it out? (They again assented.) Are your chiefs ready to sign this afternoon if we grant you these terms? (The Indians assented unanimously.) It is now after twelve, we will speak to you this afternoon." The Conference here ended to allow the Commissioners time to consult. AFTERNOON CONFERENCE The Indians having assembled, presented the Chiefs, whose names appear on the Treaty to the Commissioners as their Chiefs. KAMOOSES--"To-day we are met together here and our minds are open. We want to know the terms of the North-West Angle Treaty." LIEUT.-GOV. MORRIS--"Do we understand that you want the same terms which were given at the Lake of the Woods (The Indians assented.) I have the Treaty here in a book. You must know that the steamboats had been running through their waters, and our soldiers had been marching through their country, and for that reason we offered the Ojibbeways a larger sum than we offered you. Last year it was a present, covering five years; with you it was a present for this year only. I paid the Indians there a present in money down of twelve dollars per head. I have told you why we offered you less, and you will see there were reasons for it. That is the greatest difference between what we offered you and what was paid them, but on the other hand there were some things promised you that were not given at the Lake of the Woods. (His Honor then explained the terms granted in that Treaty.) We promised there that the Queen would spend $1,500 per year to buy shot and powder, ball and twine. There were 4,000 of them. I offered you $1,000 although you are only one-half the number, as I do not think you number more than 2,000. Your proportionate share would be $750 which you shall receive. Then at the Lake of the Woods each Chief had their head men; we have said you would have four who shall have fifteen dollars each per year, and as at the Lake of the Woods each Chief and head man will receive a suit of clothing once in three years, and each Chief on signing the treaty will receive a medal and the promise of a flag. We cannot give you the flag now, as there were none to be bought at Red River, but we have the medals here. Now I have told you the terms we gave at the North-West Angle of the Lake of the Woods, and you will see that the only difference of any consequence between there and what we offered you is in the money payment that we give as a present, and I have told you why we made the difference, and you will see that it was just. We had to speak with them for four years that had gone away. We speak to you only for four days. It was not that we came in the spirit of traders, but because we were trying to do what was just between you and the Queen, and the other Indians who would say that we had treated you better than we had treated them because we put the children of this year on the same footing as these children through whose land we had been passing and running our steamboats for four years. You see when you ask us to tell you everything, we show you all that has been done, and I have to tell you again that the Ojibbeways at Lake Seul who number 400, when I sent a messenger this spring with a copy of those terms made at the North-West Angle with their nation, took the Queen's hand by my messenger and made the same treaty. I think I have told you all you want to know, and our ears are open again." KAMOOSES--"I want to put it a little light for all my children around me, something more on the top. For my chief thirty dollars, for my four chief head men twenty dollars, and each of my young children fifteen dollars a year." LIEUT.-GOV. MORRIS--"I am afraid you are not talking to us straight; when we went away you asked us to give you the terms given at the Lake of the Woods; you asked to know what they were, and the moment I told you, you ask three times as much for your children as I gave them. That would not be right; and it is well that you should know that we have not power to do so; we can give you no more than we gave them. We hope you are satisfied. I have one word more to say, we are in the last hours of the day you asked us for and we must leave you. The utmost we can do, the furthest we can go or that we ought to go is, to do what you asked, to give you the terms granted last year at the Lake of the Woods. We can do no more, and you have our last words. It is for you to say whether you are satisfied or not." KAMOOSES--"We ask that we may have cattle." LIEUT.-GOV. MORRIS--"We offered you cattle on the first day, we offered your Chief cattle for the use of his band--not for himself, but for the use of his band; we gave the same at the Lake of the Woods. We can give no more here." KAMOOSES--"We want some food to take us home." LIEUT.-GOV. MORRIS--"When you sign the treaty, provisions will be given to take you home. Now I ask you, are you ready to accept the offer, the last offer we can make, you will see we have put you on the same footing as the Indians at the Lake of the Woods, and we think it is more than we ought to give, but rather than not close the matter we have given it, we have talked long enough about this. It is time we did something. Now I would ask, are the Crees and the Saulteaux and the other Indians ready to make the treaty with us. Since we went away we have had the treaty written out, and we are ready to have it signed, and we will leave a copy with any Chief you may select and after we leave we will have a copy written out on skin that cannot be rubbed out and put up in a tin box, so that it cannot be wet, so that you can keep it among yourselves so that when we are dead our children will know what was written." KAMOOSES--"Yes, we want each Chief to have a copy of the treaty, we ask that the Half-breeds may have the right of hunting." LIEUT.-GOV. MORRIS--"We will send a copy to each Chief. As to the Half-breeds, you need not be afraid; the Queen will deal justly, fairly and generously with all her children." The Chiefs then signed the treaty, after having been assured that they would never be made ashamed of what they then did. One of the Chiefs on being asked to do so signed; the second called on said he was promised the money when he signed, and returned to his seat without doing so. The Lieutenant-Governor called him forward--held out his hand to him and said, take my hand; it holds the money. If you can trust us forever you can do so for half an hour; sign the treaty. The Chief took the Governor's hands and touched the pen, and the others followed. As soon as the treaty was signed the Governor expressed the satisfaction of the Commissioners with the Indians, and said that Mr. Christie and Mr. Dickieson, the Private Secretary of the Minister of the Interior, were ready to advance the money presents, but the Indians requested that the payment should be postponed till next morning, which was acceded to. The Chiefs then formally approached the Commissioners and shook hands with them, after which the conference adjourned, the Commissioners leaving the place of meeting under escort of the command of Lieut.-Col. Smith, who had been in daily attendance. Report of the interview at Fort Ellice between the Indian Commissioners and certain Saulteaux Indians not present at Qu'Appelle, and not included in Treaty Number Two, the Chief being Way-wa-se-ca-pow, or "the Man proud of standing upright:" Lieut.-Governor Morris said he had been here before, and since that time he had met the Crees and Saulteaux nations, and had made a treaty with them. The Indians there were from Fort Pelly and as far distant as the Cypress Hills. He wished to know the number of the Saulteaux to be found in this locality. The Chief said there were about thirty tents who were not at Qu'Appelle, and ten who were there. LIEUT.-GOV. MORRIS--"The Commissioners here are representing the Queen. I made a treaty with the Saulteaux last year at the Lake of the Woods. They were not a little handful; but there were 4,000 of them--and now we have made a treaty with the Crees and Saulteaux at Qu'Appelle. There is not much need to say much--it is good for the Indians to make treaties with the Queen--good for them and their wives and children. Game is getting scarce and the Queen is willing to help her children. Now we are ready to give you what we gave the Saulteaux at the Lake of the Woods and the Saulteaux and Crees at Qu'Appelle. It will be for you to say whether you will accept it or not." His Honor then explained the treaty to them. "What we offer will be for your good, as it will help you, and not prevent you from hunting. "We are not traders. I have told you all we can do and all we will do. It is for you to say whether you will accept my hand or not. I cannot wait long. I think you are not wiser than your brothers. Our ears are open, you can speak to us." LONG CLAWS--"My father--I shake hands with you, I shake hands with the Queen." SHAPONETUNG'S FIRST SON--"I find what was done at Qu'Appelle was good, does it take in all my children?" LIEUT.-GOV. MORRIS--"Yes." SHAPONETUNG'S FIRST SON--"I thank you for coming and bringing what is good for our children." LIEUT.-GOV. MORRIS--"I forgot to say that we will be able to give you a small present, some powder and shot, blankets and calicoes. Each band must have a Chief and four headmen, but you are not all here to-day. I want to-day to know the Chief and two headmen. "Now I want to know will you take my hand and what is in it." The Indians came up and shook hands in token of acceptance. LIEUT.-GOV. MORRIS--"I am glad to shake hands with you; the white man and the red man have shaken hands and are friends. You must be good subjects to the Queen and obey her laws." The Indians introduced as their Chief, Way-wa-se-ca-pow; and as their headmen, Ota-ma-koo-euin and Shaponetung's first son. His Honor then explained the memorandum to them, when it was signed. CHAPTER VII THE REVISION OF TREATIES NUMBERS ONE AND TWO When Treaties, Numbers One and Two, were made, certain verbal promises were unfortunately made to the Indians, which were not included in the written text of the treaties, nor recognized or referred to, when these Treaties were ratified by the Privy Council. This, naturally, led to misunderstanding with the Indians, and to widespread dissatisfaction among them. This state of matters was reported to the Council by the successive Lieut.-Governors of Manitoba, and by the Superintendent of Indian Affairs. On examination of the original Treaty Number One, the Minister of the Interior reported that a memorandum was found attached to it signed by Mr. Commissioner Simpson, His Hon. Governor Archibald, Mr. St. John and the Hon. Mr. McKay, purporting to contain their understanding of the terms upon which the Indians concluded the treaty. This memorandum was as follows: Memorandum of things outside of the Treaty which were promised at the Treaty at the Lower Fort, signed the 3rd day of August, A.D. 1871. For each Chief that signed the treaty, a dress distinguishing him as Chief. For braves and for councillors of each Chief, a dress: it being supposed that the braves and councillors will be two for each Chief. For each Chief, except Yellow Quill, a buggy. For the braves and councillors of each Chief, except Yellow Quill, a buggy. In lieu of a yoke of oxen for each reserve, a bull for each, and a cow for each Chief; a boar for each reserve, and a sow for each Chief, and a male and female of each kind of animal raised by farmers; these when the Indians are prepared to receive them. A plow and a harrow for each settler cultivating the ground. These animals and their issue to be Government property, but to be allowed for the use of the Indians, under the superintendence and control of the Indian Commissioner. The buggies to be the property of the Indians to whom they are given. The above contains an inventory of the terms concluded with the Indians. WEMYSS M. SIMPSON, MOLYNEUX ST. JOHN, A. G. ARCHIBALD, JAS. McKAY. The Privy Council, by Order in Council, agreed to consider this memorandum as part of the original treaties, and instructed the Indian Commissioner to carry out the promises therein contained, which had not been implemented. They also agreed to offer to raise the annuities from three to five dollars per head, to pay a further annual sum of twenty dollars to each chief, and to give a suit of clothing every three years to each chief and head man, allowing four head men to each band, upon the distinct understanding however, that any Indian accepting the increased payment, thereby formally abandoned all claims against the Government, in connection with the verbal promises of the Commissioners, other than those recognized by the treaty and the memorandum above referred to. The Government then invited Lieut.-Gov. Morris, in conjunction with the Indian Commissioner, Lieut.-Col. Provencher, to visit the several bands interested in the treaties, with a view to submit to them the new terms, and obtain their acceptance of the proposed revision of the treaties. His Honor accordingly placed his services at the disposal of the Government, and was at his request accompanied by the Hon. Mr. McKay, who had been present at the making of the original treaties, and was well versed in the Indian tongues. In October 1875, these gentlemen entered upon the task confided to them, and first proceeded to meet the large and important band of St. Peters, in the Province of Manitoba. The matter was fully discussed with the Indians, the Order in Council, and memorandum read and explained to them, and their written assent to the new terms obtained. After their return from St. Peters, owing to the advanced season of the year, it was decided to divide the work, the Lieutenant-Governor requesting the Indian Commissioner to proceed to Fort Alexander on Lake Winnipeg, and to the Broken Head and Roseau Rivers, while Messrs. Morris and McKay, would undertake to meet the Indians included in Treaty Number Two at Manitoba House on Lake Manitoba. Colonel Provencher met the Indians at the places above mentioned, and obtained the assent of the Indians of the three bands to the revised treaty. Messrs. Morris and McKay proceeded by carriage to Lake Manitoba, and thence in a sail boat, where they met the Indians of the six bands of Treaty Number Two, and after full discussion, the Indians cordially accepted the new terms, and thus was pleasantly and agreeably closed, with all the bands of Treaties One and Two, except that of the Portage band, who were not summoned to any of the conferences, a fruitful source of dissension and difficulty. The experience derived from this misunderstanding, proved however, of benefit with regard to all the treaties, subsequent to Treaties One and Two, as the greatest care was thereafter taken to have all promises fully set out in the treaties, and to have the treaties thoroughly and fully explained to the Indians, and understood by them to contain the whole agreement between them and the Crown. The arrangement, however, of the matter with the Portage band was one of more difficulty. This band had always been troublesome. In 1870, they had warned off settlers and Governor MacTavish of the Hudson's Bay Company had been obliged to send the Hon. James McKay to make terms for three years with them for the admission of settlers. In 1874, they twice sent messengers with tobacco (the usual Indian credentials for such messengers) to Qu'Appelle to prevent the making of the treaty there. Besides the claims to the outside promises, preferred by the other Indians, they had an additional grievance, which they pressed with much pertinacity. To obtain their adhesion to Treaty Number One, the Commissioners had given them preferential terms in respect to their reserve, and the wording in the treaty of these terms enhanced the difficulty. The language used was as follows: "And for the use of the Indians of whom Oo-za-we-kwun is Chief, so much land on the south and east side of the Assiniboine, as will furnish one hundred and sixty acres for each family of five, or in that proportion for larger or smaller families, reserving also a further tract enclosing said reserve, to contain an equivalent to twenty-five square miles of equal breadth, to be laid out around the reserve." The enclosure around the homestead reserve led to extravagant demands by them. They did not understand its extent, and claimed nearly half of the Province of Manitoba under it. The Indians constantly interviewed the Lieutenant-Governor on the subject, and when the Hon. Mr. Laird, then Minister of the Interior, visited Manitoba, they twice pressed their demands upon him. The Government requested the Hon. Messrs. Morris and McKay to endeavor to settle the long pending dispute, and they proceeded to the Round Plain on the river Assiniboine with that view. They met the Indians, some five hundred in number, but without result. The Indians were divided among themselves. A portion of the band had forsaken Chief Yellow Quill and wished the recognition of the Great Bear, grandson of Pee-qual-kee-quash, a former chief of the band. The Yellow Quill band wanted the reserve assigned in one locality; the adherents of the Bear said that place was unsuited for farming, and they wished it to be placed at the Round Plain, where they had already commenced a settlement. The land to which they were entitled under the treaty was 34,000 acres, but their demands were excessive. The Chief Yellow Quill was apprehensive of his own followers, and besides the danger of collision between the two sections was imminent. The Commissioners finally intimated to the band that they would do nothing with them that year, but would make the customary payment of the annuities under the original treaty and leave them till next year to make up their minds as to accepting the new terms, to which the Indians agreed. In 1876, the Government again requested Mr. Morris to meet these Indians and endeavor to arrange the long pending dispute with them, and in July he travelled to the Long Plain on the Assiniboine with that object in view. He had previously summoned the band to meet there, and had also summoned a portion of the band known as the White Mud River Indians, dwelling on the shores of Lake Manitoba, who were nominally under the chieftainship of Yellow Quill, and were, as such, entitled to a portion of the original reserve, but did not recognize the Chief. Mr. Morris was accompanied by Mr. Graham, of the Indian Department, Secretary and Paymaster. On arrival at his destination, the Lieutenant-Governor found the Indians assembled, but in three camps. Those adhering to Yellow Quill, the Bear, and the White Mud River Indians, being located on different parts of the plains, Mr. Reid, Surveyor, was also present, to explain the extent and exact dimensions of the proposed reserve. The next day the Indians were assembled, and the conference lasted for two days. The Yellow Quill band were still obstructive, but the other two sections were disposed to accept the terms. The question of the reserve was the main difficulty. The Yellow Quill band still desired a reserve for the whole. The others wished to remain, the Bear's party at the Round Plain, and the White Mud River Indians at Lake Manitoba, where they resided and had houses and farms. In the interval from the previous year, the Bear's band had built several houses, and made enclosures for farming. Eventually, the Indians were made to comprehend the extent of land they were really entitled to, but the Governor intimated that the land was for all, and that he would divide the band into three, each with a Chief and councillors, and that he would give each band a portion of the whole number of acres, proportionate to their numbers--the Bear at the Round Plain, the White Mud Indians at their place of residence, and the Yellow Quill band wherever they might select, in unoccupied territory. After long consultations among themselves the Indians accepted the proposal. The Bear was recognized as a Chief, and a Chief selected by the White Mud River band was accepted as such. The Indians also agreed to accept the revised terms of Treaty Number One, and an agreement in accordance with the understanding was prepared and signed by the Lieutenant-Governor, and the Chief and head men. The Indians preferred a request to receive the two dollars, increased amount, which, as they said, "had slipped through their fingers last year," which was granted, and also that the councillors should be paid yearly, as in the other treaties, subsequently made. This the Governor promised to recommend, and it was eventually granted, being made applicable to all the bands in Treaties Numbers One and Two. Thus was so far closed, a controversy which had lasted for some years, and had been fruitful of unpleasant feelings, the negotiations terminating in that result having been from a variety of causes more difficult to bring to a satisfactory solution than the actual making of treaties, for the acquisition of large extents of territory. On the leaving of the Lieutenant-Governor, the morning after the conclusion of the arrangement, the Indians assembled and gave three cheers for the Queen and Governor, and fired a feu de joie. Mr. Reid at once proceeded to set aside the reserves for the Bear and White Mud bands, but the selection of a reserve by the Yellow Quill band was attended with still further further difficulty, although it was eventually pointed out by them, and surveyed by Mr. Reid, it being in a very desirable locality. The despatches of the Lieutenant-Governor to the Minister of the Interior, giving an account in full of the negotiations for the revision of the Treaties Numbers One and Two, will complete this record, and will be found to give a clear narrative of them. These are as follows: GOVERNMENT HOUSE, FORT GARRY, MANITOBA, 5th October, 1875. Sir,--I have the honor to inform you that in pursuance of your request that I should meet the Indians of Treaties Numbers One and Two, with a view to a revision of the terms thereof, and an adjustment of the disputed questions connected therewith, I proceeded to the St. Peter Reserve on the 5th of August and encamped near the Indian tents. On the 6th I met Chief Prince and his band, being accompanied by the Hon. James McKay, who at my request gave me the benefit of his valuable services, and by Mr. Provencher. I explained to the Indians the terms offered to them by the Government, and obtained their written assent thereto, endorsed on a parchment copy of the Order in Council of date the 30th April, 1875. As however there are in the bands of Treaties Numbers One and Two, four councillors, i.e., head men, and two braves, we were under the necessity of agreeing that they should continue at that number, instead of two, as specified in the report of the Privy Council. We then brought before them your request that the portion of the reserve embraced in the proposed new town near the Pacific Railway crossing should be sold for their benefit, to which they agreed, and the formal instrument of surrender will be enclosed to you by the Indian Commissioner. The Indians living at Nettley Creek asked to have a reserve assigned them there, and I promised to bring their request under your notice. I did not bring up the question of the division of the band into two, as my experience with the Portage band, arising from a similar difficulty, led me to fear that complications might arise from the proposal which might prevent the settlement of the more important matter of the disposal of the open questions relating to the treaty. I was therefore of opinion that the division of the band should be postponed to next year, and acted upon that opinion. A party of Norway House Indians were present and asked for a reserve at the Grassy Narrows. I informed them that one could not be granted at that place, and learning from them that the Chief at Norway House was about leaving there with a party of Indians to confer with me, I engaged three of the Indians present to proceed at once to Norway House and inform the Indians that I would meet them there about the middle of September. I have since learned that they met the Chief after he had left Norway House or Fort Garry, and caused him to return. I have the honor to be, etc., ALEXANDER MORRIS, Lieut.-Governor. GOVERNMENT HOUSE, FORT GARRY, MANITOBA, 4th October, 1875. Sir,--I have the honor to inform you that after my return from St. Peters, finding that in view of my contemplated mission to Lake Winnipeg it would be impossible for me to visit all the bands of Indians included in Treaties Numbers One and Two, I requested the Indian Commissioner, Mr. Provencher, to proceed to meet them at Fort Alexander and the Broken Head and Roseau rivers, while I should proceed to Lake Manitoba and meet at Manitoba House the various bands of Indians included in Treaty Number Two. In pursuance of this arrangement, I left here on the 17th of August for Oak Point, on Lake Manitoba, where I was to take a boat for Manitoba Post. I was accompanied by the Hon. James McKay, whose presence enabled me to dispense with an interpreter, and was of importance otherwise, as he had assisted my predecessor in the making of the treaty originally at Manitoba Post. Mr. Graham, of the Indian Department, also accompanied me to make the payments and distribute the pensions. I reached Oak Point on the afternoon of the 18th, and left there on the afternoon of the 20th, arriving at Manitoba House on the evening of the 21st. The next day being Sunday, nothing of course was done relating to my mission, but on Monday morning I met the Indians at ten o'clock on the lake shore. The six bands included in the treaty were all represented by their Chiefs and head men and a large number of their people. I explained to them the object of our mission, my remarks being fully interpreted by Mr. McKay, and obtained their assent in writing to the Order in Council of the 30th April last, the terms of which were accepted with cordiality and good feeling by the Indians. The new medals and uniforms were distributed to the Chiefs and head men, and the payments under the revised treaty were then commenced by Mr. McKay and Mr. Graham, and continued until 12.30 p.m. On the 24th, the payments were resumed and concluded, but owing to heavy rain and high winds, we were unable to leave Manitoba Post until the 25th. The Indians on our departure again firing their guns in token of their respect and good will. Owing to stormy weather, which obliged us to encamp on Bird Island, we did not return to Oak Point until the afternoon of the 27th. On the 28th, the Indians residing in that vicinity, and belonging to Sousanye's band, were paid by Messrs. McKay and Graham. I returned to Fort Garry on the 1st September, in the afternoon, my journey having been protracted by unfavorable weather, and by the fact that owing to the prevalence of shoals, the navigation of Lake Manitoba is difficult in stormy weather. As only a small portion of the Riding House Indians were present, I informed them that Mr. Graham would proceed to the mountains after our return, to make the payments, and that I would send by him a reply to their requests, as to the retention by them of the reserve originally designated in the treaty, and this I have since done affirmatively with your sanction. Mr. Provencher succeeded in obtaining the adhesion of the bands at Fort Alexander, Broken Head and Roseau rivers to the new terms, and has handed me the copies of the Order in Council with their assents endorsed thereon. You will therefore perceive that with the exception of the Portage band with regard to whom I wrote you fully on the 2nd of August last, the assent of all the Indians interested therein to the proposed mode of settlement of the unrecorded promises made at the conclusion of Treaties Numbers One and Two, has been obtained, and I feel that I have reason to congratulate the Privy Council on the removal of a fruitful source of difficulty and discontent. But I would add, that it becomes all the more important that a better system of Indian administration should be devised so as to secure the prompt and rigid carrying out of the new terms in their entirety. You are already in possession of my views on this subject, and I trust that local agents will be appointed to be supervised by the Indian Commissioner and that an Indian Council of advice and control, sitting at Fort Garry, will be entrusted with the direction of the Treaties One, Two, and the upper portion of Three, and the new Treaty Number Five, so as to secure prompt and effective administration of Indian Affairs. Under the system of local agents, the necessity of large gatherings of the Indians will be avoided, and much expense to the Government, and inconvenience to the Indians, avoided. I have further to record my sense of the services rendered to me by Messrs. McKay and Graham. The latter discharged his duties with promptitude and efficiency, and Mr. McKay and he introduced a mode of distribution of the provisions to which I would call your attention. I have the honor to be, etc., ALEXANDER MORRIS, Lieut.-Governor. GOVERNMENT HOUSE, FORT GARRY, MANITOBA, 2nd August, 1875. Sir,--In accordance with your request I have commenced my visits to the Indian bands included in Treaties Numbers One and Two, with a view to settling the matters in dispute. I left here on the 22nd inst., and was accompanied by the Hon. James McKay, whom I had invited to accompany me in consequence of his having been present at the making of the treaties, and by the Indian Commissioner. I reached the Round Plain on the Assiniboine river, where Yellow Quill's band of Saulteaux had assembled on the 26th, and met the Indians next day, explaining to them our mission, and telling them what I was empowered to promise them. This band, as you are aware, has always been dissatisfied, and have been difficult to deal with I found them in an intractable frame of mind, and the difficulty of the position was enhanced by a division amongst themselves. The original Chief of the Portage band was Pee-quah-kee-quah, who was a party to the treaty with Lord Selkirk. On his death he was succeeded by his son, who died some years ago leaving a boy, who has now grown up. Yellow Quill was appointed chief by the Hudson's Bay Company when Pee-quah-kee-quah's son died. The grandson is now grown up and has returned from the plains, where he has been, and claims to be recognized as an hereditary chief, and about half the band have followed his lead. After we had been in conference some time, an Indian rose and told me that when the chief of the Portage died, he charged him to keep the land for his son, and that they wished a reserve at the Portage. Another rose and produced Pee-quah-kee-quah's King George medal, and said the chief had placed it in his keeping and charged him to deliver it to his son, when he was old enough to be a chief, and then placed it round the neck of Kes-kee-maquah, or the Short Bear. They then asked that I should receive him as a chief, in place of Yellow Quill. I told them that could not be done. That Yellow Quill must remain a chief, but that I would report their request on behalf of the young chief to the Government at Ottawa and let them know their decision, but that they could get no reserve at the Portage as only that mentioned in the treaty would be given, and with this they were satisfied. The conference then went on, the two parties sitting apart and holding no intercourse with each other. I spent two days with them making no progress, as they claimed that a reserve thirty miles by twenty was promised them as shewn in the rough sketch enclosed, made at their dictation and marked "A." I produced the plan of the reserve, as proposed to be allotted to them, containing 34,000 acres, but Yellow Quill said it was not in the right place, and was not what was promised, and morever it was not surrounded by the belt of five miles, mentioned in the treaty, but was only partially so and did not cross the river. I told them they could get no more land than was promised in the treaty. They appealed to Mr. McKay whether the Reserve was not promised to be on both sides of the river, and he admitted that it was. I told them it was not so written in the treaty, and that if the Government should allow it to cross the river, the rights of navigation must be conserved, but I would consult the Queen's Councillors. They replied that they would go to the "Grand Father" and get him to intercede for them, meaning the "President of the United States," as I afterwards discovered, an American Indian having persuaded them to take this course. They refused to discuss or accept anything until the Reserve Question was settled, and while I was speaking on the afternoon of the second day, Yellow Quill's Councillors went away, and left him alone, when he followed. I then left the Council tent, leaving word that I would depart in the morning. Yellow Quill came back and said that he would accept the five dollars, but Mr. McKay told him he had not taken my hand, and that it would not be paid, as my offer was conditioned on a settlement of all questions between them and the Government. About six o'clock, Yellow Quill and his Councillors sent me the following message which had been written for them by Mr. Deputy Sheriff Setter from their dictation. "They didn't come to see you. You came to see them, and if you choose to come and speak to them again, you can come if you like." I felt that I must now deal firmly with them, and therefore prepared the following reply: "It is not right, for they came to see me at my request, as their Governor, and I came to meet them. After spending two days with them, their Chief insulted me by rising and going out while I was speaking, and breaking up the Conference. I represent the Queen, and his action was disrespectful to her. I will not go to meet you again. If you are sorry for the way I have been treated you can come and see me." I charged Mr. McKay to deliver it to them in their Council, which he did, when they denied having meant to send the message in the terms in which it was, and disclaimed all intended offence. The message had its desired effect, but their disclaimer was not correct, as Mr. Setter informs me that he had originally written a welcome to me, which they caused him to strike out, and to say that "I could come if I chose." Next morning I struck my tents and loaded my waggons and prepared to leave. Seeing this, Yellow Quill and his Councillors came to Mr. McKay, and asked if I would not see them again, to which I consented. On proceeding to Mr. Provencher's pay tent, I met the Chief, Yellow Quill. His spokesman rose, saying "that they were glad to have met me, that they had found my words good; that they had not desired to offend the Queen or me, and were sorry; that God had watched us during two days, and He was again looking on." I accepted their apology, and then proceeded to practical business, the whole tone and demeanor of the Indians being changed, having become cordial and friendly. I may mention here, that Yellow Quill reproached his Councillors for their conduct. He also informed Mr. McKay privately, that he could not act otherwise as he was in danger of his life from some of his own "braves." He was guarded all the time by a man armed with a bow and steel-pointed arrows. I promised to state their claims as to the reserve, but told them it would not be granted, but that I would change the location of the reserve, as it had been selected without their approval, and would represent their view as to its locality, and as to crossing the river, the navigation of which, however, could not be interfered with. They asked to be paid three dollars per head or one dollar per year for the following transaction: In 1868 a number of Ontario farmers had settled on Rat Creek. Yellow Quill's band drove them off and trouble was impending. Governor McTavish sent Mr. McKay up to arrange the difficulty, in anticipation of the advent of Canadian power. He made a lease for three years of their rights, assuring them that before that time the Canadian Government would make a treaty with them and recognize the temporary arrangement, and in consequence the settlers were unmolested. The question was not raised at the "Stone Fort" Treaty, and I told them I had not known of it before, but supposed the Government would hold that the treaty had covered it, and that the extra two dollars would compensate for it, but that I would represent their news and give them an answer. They complained of the mode of payment, as my predecessor assured them that their children who were absent should be paid when they presented themselves, and that they only got two years payment instead of the full amount. As these were Mr. Provencher's instructions I promised to report it. They expressed themselves quite satisfied with the arrangements as to the outside promises, and would gladly accept of it, if the reserve question was settled, but that they could not receive that as surveyed. I took the opportunity of explaining to them that the "President of the United States" had no power here, and that the Queen and Her Councillors were the only authorities they had to deal with, and that I would state their wishes as fully as they could do themselves. They asked if I would come back, but I said not this year, but next year either I or some other Commissioner would meet them. Eventually they cheerfully agreed to accept the three dollars annuity as usual, and to defer a final adjustment of the question between us until next year, and promised to accompany any one I sent to select the reserve and agree on its locality. They again thanked me for my kindness and patience with them, and I took leave of them. I regard the result as very satisfactory, as I left the band contented, and you are aware of their intimate relation with the "Plain Indians," and the difficulty their message to Qu'Appelle, "that the white man had not kept his promises," caused us then, and it is very important that they should be satisfied. I returned to the Portage, and Mr. Provencher proceeded to Totogan, and paid the White Mud section of the band, numbering one hundred and thirty, who are nominally included in it, but do not recognize Yellow Quill's authority, the usual annuities, which they accepted without demur. I would now make the following recommendations: 1st. That you should write to Yellow Quill declining to entertain his demands for the large reserve but offering to them a reserve including the "Eagle's Nest" on the north side of the river, and laid off in the terms of the treaty, with the land comprised in the one hundred and sixty acres for each family, surrounded by the belt mentioned in the treaty, in the manner suggested in the enclosed rough sketch "B," reserving the rights of navigation and access to the river. The land is of inferior quality to that already offered them. 2nd. I would propose that the young chief should be recognized as head of the section of the band adhering to him. He and his section are ready to accept the terms and the reserve as described in the treaty. They behaved very well and told Mr. McKay that they were glad I had not recognized him then, as it would have led to bloodshed, and they would be content if the recognition came when the reserve was settled. The young chief is an intelligent, well disposed man, aged about twenty-six. 3rd. I would propose that the White Mud Indians, who live there constantly, should be recognized as a distinct band and should elect a Chief. 4th. I would recommend that the arrears due to Indians who have not yet received their annuities, should be paid in full at once, but that a period of two years should be fixed for those bona fide members of the band to come in and be paid, and that after that they should only receive one year's payment. If these steps are taken, I think we shall have no more trouble with these Indians. In conclusion I have to express my obligations to the Hon. Mr. McKay for the valuable services he rendered me. The Indians told me they would not have come into the Stone Fort Treaty but for him, and I know it was the case. I have the honor to be, etc., ALEXANDER MORRIS, Lieut.-Governor. GOVERNMENT HOUSE, FORT GARRY, MANITOBA, 8th July 1876. TO THE HONORABLE THE MINISTER OF THE INTERIOR. Sir,--I have the honor to inform you that, in compliance with your request, I left this on the 14th ult. with the view of proceeding to the Long Plain on the Assiniboine, in order to meet the Indians of the Portage Band, to arrange the dispute with regard to the reserve, and to settle the outside promises. Mr. Graham, of the Indian Department, and Mr. Reid, P.L.S., also went there at my request, the one to act as paymaster, and the other, as you wished, to survey the reserve. Owing to the prevalence of heavy rain the roads were in so bad a condition that I was four days in reaching the Long Plain, while we were also subjected to inconvenience and expense by the detention of the provisions, owing to the same cause. Added to my other discomforts was the presence of mosquitoes in incredible numbers, so that the journey and the sojourn at the Plain were anything but pleasurable. I had taken the precaution to request Mr. Cummings, the interpreter, to summon the White Mud Indians as well as Yellow Quill's band, and those who adhered to the Short Bear. On my arrival at the Long Plains, which I accomplished on the 17th, I found about five hundred Indians assembled, but camped in three separate encampments. On arriving, I was saluted by a feu de joie. At the Portage, Mr. Graham had obtained some provisions, which he had sent forward in carts. On our way we met some carts sent by the Indians to relieve my waggons of the tents and baggage, the Indian trail being almost impracticable; but instead of so using them I sent them on toward the Portage to meet the loaded carts, and was thus enabled to get the temporary supply of provisions to the Plain, which was fortunate, as the Indians were without food. The evening of my arrival the Councillors of Yellow Quill came to talk with me, but I declined to do so, telling them that the Chief had not come, and I would only speak with him. I acted thus, in consequence of the conduct of their head men, last year, when they controlled the Chief and coerced the whole band. In a short time Yellow Quill came with them to see me, and finding that they had come about provisions, I referred them to Mr. Graham, who, I informed them, had charge of the provisions and payments. The incident had a marked effect in giving tone to the following negotiations. On Monday I met the Indians, who ranged themselves in three parties. I explained to them the proposed arrangement of the outside promises very fully, and told them that as they were willing to accept of the settlement last year, I did so for their information only. I then took up the question of the reserve, read the terms in which it was referred to in the Stone Fort Treaty, explained to them that they were getting double the land any other Indians in Treaties Numbers One and Two were doing, but told them the reserve belonged to all of them, and not to Yellow Quill's band alone. I then called on them to speak to me, asking Yellow Quill first. He said he did not understand the extent of the reserve. I then asked Mr. Reid to shew them a diagram of it, and to explain to them its length in ordinary miles, and otherwise, which he did very satisfactorily, and at length they comprehended it. I then called on Short Bear's band to express their views. They said they wanted a reserve at the Long Plain, if it was only a little piece of land; that they liked the place, that they had built houses and planted gardens, had cut oak to build more houses, and wished to farm there. I then called on the White Mud Indians. They said that they were Christians and had always lived at the White Mud River; that they did not wish to join either Yellow Quill's or Short Bear's reserve, but desired a reserve at the Big Point. I told them they could not have it there, as there were settlers, and the Government wished them to join one of the other bands, and explained to them that their holdings would be respected, except where inadvertently sold. I took this course, as I had ascertained that the plan of Yellow Quill's head men was to make no settlement this year, and that they had induced the other Indians to agree to act in that way. I accordingly so shaped my opening speech and my dealings with the Indians as to defeat this project, by securing the support of Short Bear's and the White Mud Indians, which I succeeded in doing, though Yellow Quill's spokesman taunted the others with having broken their agreement. As the conference proceeded, Yellow Quill's councillors said they did not want the band broken up, as they wished all to live together. I told Yellow Quill he would have his reserve on both sides of the river, reserving the navigation, and that if they could agree to go to one reserve, I would be pleased; but if not, that I would settle the matter. Yellow Quill said his councillors were willing that the other Indians should have a separate reserve provided they retained the belt of twenty-five miles, in addition to their proportion of the reserve. I informed them this could not be done; the reserve belonged to all. They then asked for an adjournment, in order that they might meet together and have a smoke over it, to assemble again when I hoisted my flag. After a couple of hours interval I again convened them. The Short Bears and White Mud Indians adhered to what they stated to me, but Yellow Quill's band insisted on one reserve for all, but admitted that the objections of Short Bear's band to the place asked by them were well founded, and that it was sandy and unfit for farming, and that they would like to select a reserve higher up the River Assiniboine. I then adjourned the conference until morning, and asked them to meet together and be prepared for settlement. On Tuesday, the 20th June, the Indians again responded to the hoisting of my flag, and met at 9 o'clock. Yellow Quill told me that his band were now willing to separate from the others, and wished to select a reserve higher up the river. I informed them that I would accede to their request, but that they must do it at once, and on the approval thereof by the Privy Council it would be laid off. Short Bear's band still desired a reserve at the Long Plain, to which I assented. The White Mud River Indians asked for a separate reserve where they could farm, and I informed them that under the discretionary powers I possessed I would have a reserve selected for them, giving them their proportion of the original reserve. The Indians then asked that the two dollars per head, which had, as they said, slipped through their fingers last year, should be paid to them, and I told them that I had been authorized to do so, which gave them much satisfaction. In anticipation of a settlement I had prepared a draft agreement, which was being copied for me by Mr. Graham. I informed them of this, and stated that I would sign it, and that the Chiefs and Councillors must do so likewise, so that there could be no misunderstanding. When the agreement was completed, I asked Mr. Cummings, the Interpreter, to read it to them, which he did. Three Indians, who understood English, and who had at an early period been selected by the Indians to check the interpretation of what was said, standing by, and Mr. Cummings being assisted by Mr. Cook, of St. James, who, at Mr. Cummings' request, I had associated with him, on the Indians choosing their interpreters. I then signed the agreement, and called upon Yellow Quill to do so. He came forward cheerfully and said he would sign it, because he now understood what he never did before, viz., what was agreed to at the Stone Fort. I then called on his Councillors to sign, but they refused, saying they had agreed by the mouth. I then told the Indians that unless the Councillors signed nothing could be done, and that the Councillors who refused would be responsible for the failure of the negotiations. One of them then signed, but the other persistently refused. I repeated my warning, and at length he reluctantly came forward and said he wished to ask me a question, "Would the head men be paid?" I told him I had no authority to do so, but would report his request. He said he did not expect it this year, but hoped for it next. Eventually he signed the agreement. I then said I would recognize Short Bear as a Chief, and asked him to select his Councillors and braves. He did so at once, making a judicious choice, and came forward to touch the pen, saying "I thank you for my people." His Councillors promptly followed, one of them asking for a part of the reserve on the other side of the river, which I refused. I then called on the White Mud River Indians to select a Chief and one Councillor, being under the impression at the time that they were the least numerous band, which, however, has turned out not to be the case, which they did at once, and on their being presented to me they signed the agreement. I then gave a medal to Yellow Quill, and promised to send the other two Chiefs medals when procured from Ottawa, the supply here being exhausted. To the Chiefs and Councillors suits of clothing were then distributed, Yellow Quill and his head men having hitherto refused to accept either medals or coats, but now taking them. Yellow Quill then presented me with a skin coat, and said that he parted with the other Indians as friends, and that there would be no hard feelings. The conference then broke up, and thus terminated a difficulty which has existed for several years, and the influence of which was felt as an obstacle, as you are aware, at Qu'Appelle when the treaty was made there. Mr. Graham at once commenced the payments, and during the evening the three Chiefs and their Councillors called on me, evidently being on the most friendly terms with each other, a state of things which had not existed for a considerable period. In the morning, as I was leaving for the Portage, the Indians assembled near my waggon and gave three cheers for the Queen and three for the Governor, and I then drove off amid a salute of firearms from all sections of the encampment. I left Mr. Graham to complete the payments, and here record my sense of the efficient services he rendered me. He understands the Indian character, and gets on well with them. I requested Mr. Reid to visit the White Mud region and ascertain what persons are entitled to holdings under the terms of your instructions, and also to survey Short Bear's reserve. Yellow Quill is to go without delay to look up a reserve, and as there are no settlers in the region in question, I propose that if Mr. Reid sees no objection to the locality he should at once lay it off, so as to effectually terminate the chronic difficulty with this band. I shall be glad to receive by telegram your approval of his doing so. The interpreters, Mr. Cummings, Mr. Cook, of St. James, a trader, and Kissoway, an Indian trader belonging to the band, rendered me much service; the latter trades in the west, and was passing the Portage on his way to Fort Garry, and as he belonged to Yellow Quill's band, and is a relative of his, being a son of the deceased Pecheto, (another of whose sons was the spokesman at Qu'Appelle, as you will recollect) he came to the Long Plains to advise the band to come to terms. He remained at my request until the negotiations were concluded, and exerted a most beneficial influence over Yellow Quill's band. I call your attention to the request of Yellow Quill's Councillors, that they should be paid. As in Treaties Three, Four and Five, they are paid, and as the expense would not be large, I am of opinion that before the Superintendent of Indian Affairs for the Superintendency of Manitoba proceeds to make the payments in Treaties One and Two, he should be authorized to pay the head men. It will be difficult to explain why the difference is made, and it will secure in every band, men who will feel that they are officers of the Crown and remunerated as such. I returned to Fort Garry on the 23rd inst., encountering on the way a very severe thunder storm, which compelled me to take advantage of the very acceptable shelter of the kindly proffered residence of the Hon. Mr. Breland, at White Horse Plains, instead of a tent on the thoroughly-drenched prairie. I congratulate you that with the successful issue of this negotiation is closed, in Treaties One and Two, the vexed question of the open promises. I forward by this mail a copy of the agreement I have above alluded to, retaining the original for the present, and will be pleased to hear of its speedy approval by the Privy Council. I have the honor to be, etc., ALEXANDER MORRIS, Lieut.-Governor. CHAPTER VIII THE WINNIPEG TREATY, NUMBER FIVE This treaty, covers an area of approximately about 100,000 square miles. The region is inhabited by Chippewas and Swampy Crees. The necessity for it had become urgent. The lake is a large and valuable sheet of water, being some three hundred miles long. The Red River flows into it and the Nelson River flows from it into Hudson's Bay. Steam navigation had been successfully established by the Hudson's Bay Company on Lake Winnipeg. A tramway of five miles in length was being built by them to avoid the Grand Rapids and connect that navigation with steamers on the River Saskatchewan. On the west side of the lake, a settlement of Icelandic immigrants had been founded, and some other localities were admirably adapted for settlement. Moreover, until the construction of the Pacific Railway west of the city of Winnipeg, the lake and Saskatchewan River are destined to become the principal thoroughfare of communication between Manitoba and the fertile prairies in the west. A band of Indians residing at Norway House, who had supported themselves by serving the Hudson's Bay Company as boatmen on the route from Lake Winnipeg to the Hudson Bay, by way of the Nelson River, but whose occupation was gone, owing to supplies being brought in by way of the Red River, desired to migrate to the western shore of Lake Winnipeg, and support themselves there by farming. For these and other reasons, the Minister of the Interior reported "that it was essential that the Indian title to all the territory in the vicinity of the lake should be extinguished so that settlers and traders might have undisturbed access to its waters, shores, islands, inlets and tributary streams." The mouth of the Saskatchewan River especially seemed to be of importance, as presenting an eligible site for a future town. For these reasons the Privy Council of Canada, in the year 1875, appointed Lieut.-Gov. Morris, and the Hon. James McKay, to treat with these Indians. It may be here stated that this remarkable man, the son of an Orkneyman by an Indian mother, has recently died at a comparatively early age. Originally in the service of the Hudson's Bay Company, he became a trader on his own account. Thoroughly understanding the Indian character, he possessed large influence over the Indian tribes, which he always used for the benefit and the advantage of the Government. The Hudson's Bay Company, to resume this narrative, kindly placed their propeller steamer, the Colville, at the service of the Commissioners, and the Board in London, in view of the public service rendered by its use by the Commissioners, eventually declined to make any charge for its employment. A full report of the voyage of the Commissioners, and of the results of their mission, will be found in the despatch of the Lieutenant-Governor, which will be found at the end of this chapter. Suffice it to say, that the Commissioners proceeded first to Berens River, on the east side of the lake, and made a treaty with the Indians of that side of the lake, thence they sailed to the head of Lake Winnipeg, descended the Nelson River to Norway House, where no steamer had ever before been, and concluded a treaty with the Indians there. They also promised the Indians to give those of them who chose to remove, a reserve on the west side of Lake Winnipeg, at Fisher's River, about forty miles from the Icelandic settlement. A considerable number of families have since removed there, and have formed a very promising settlement. From Nelson River the Commissioners proceeded to the mouth of the Great Saskatchewan River, and met the Indians who live there. Their houses were built at the foot of the Grand Rapids, and in the immediate vicinity of the Hudson's Bay, Tramway, some seven miles from the mouth of the river. The river is here deep to the very shore, so that the steamer ran long aside the bank, and was moored by ropes attached to the Chief's house. The Commissioners met the Indians and informed them of the desire of the Government to control the land where they had settled, and to give them a reserve, instead, on the opposite side of the river. They said, they would surrender the locality in question, and go to the south side of the river, if a small sum was given them, to aid them in removing their houses or building others. To this the Commissioners willingly acceded, and promised that the next year a sum of five hundred dollars would be paid them for that purpose. The treaty was then signed, the Commissioners having extended the boundaries of the treaty limits, so as to include the Swampy Cree Indians at the Pas or Wahpahpuha, a settlement on the Saskatchewan River, and recommended that Commissioners should be sent in the ensuing summer to complete the work. The Commissioners then returned to Winnipeg, after a voyage, on and around the lake, of about one thousand miles. The terms of the treaty were identical with those of Treaties Numbers Three and Four, except that a smaller quantity of land was granted to each family, being one hundred and sixty, or in some cases one hundred acres to each family of five, while under Treaties Numbers Three and Four the quantity of land allowed was six hundred and forty acres to each such family. The gratuity paid each Indian in recognition of the treaty was also five dollars per head, instead of twelve dollars the circumstances under which the treaty was made being different. The area covered by these treaties was approximately about 100,000 square miles and has been described as lying north of the territory covered by Treaties Numbers Two and Three, extending west to Cumberland House (on the Saskatchewan River) and including the country east and west of Lake Winnipeg, and of Nelson River as far north as Split Lake. In 1876, Lieut.-Gov. Morris, in accordance with his suggestions to that effect, was requested by the Minister of the Interior, to take steps for completing the treaty, and entrusted the duty to the Hon. Thomas Howard, and J. Lestock Reid, Esq., Dominion Land Surveyor. He gave them formal instructions, and directed them to meet the Indians together at Dog Head Point, on the lake, to treat with the Island Indians there and thence to proceed to Berens River to meet the Indians of the rapids of that river who had not been able to be present the previous year, and thereafter directed Mr. Howard to proceed to the mouth of the Saskatchewan and pay the Indians the five hundred dollars for removal of the houses, and thence to go up the Saskatchewan to the Pas and deal with the Indians there, while Mr. Reid was to proceed from Berens River to Norway House, and arrange with the Indians for the removal of such of them as desired it, to Fisher's River, on Lake Winnipeg. These gentlemen accordingly in July, 1876, proceeded in York boats (large sail boats) to their respective destinations, and were very successful in accomplishing the work confided to them. I now append the official despatch of Lieut.-Gov. Morris, dated 11th October, 1875, giving an account of the making of the treaty and of the journey, and his despatch of the 17th November, 1876, relating to the completion of the treaty, together with extracts from the reports of Messrs. Howard and Reid. FORT GARRY, October 11th, 1875. TO THE HONORABLE THE MINISTER OF THE INTERIOR. Sir,--I have the honor to inform you, that under authority of the Commission of the Privy Council to that effect, I proceeded to Lake Winnipeg for the purpose of making a treaty with the Saulteaux and Swampy Cree Indians, in company with my associate, the Hon. James McKay, leaving Fort Garry for Chief Prince's Landing on the Red River, on the 17th September last, in order to embark on the Hudson's Bay Company's new propeller, the Colville, which Chief Commissioner Graham had kindly placed at our disposal on advantageous terms. We selected this mode of conveyance, as travelling and conveyance of provisions in York boats would, at the advanced period of the season, have occupied at least eight weeks, if at all practicable. The steamer left the landing at five o'clock on the 18th September, but owing to the prevalence of a gale of northerly wind was compelled to be anchored at the three channels of the Red River, inside of the bar which obstructs the entrance of the lake. The wind continued during the 18th and 19th, but on the afternoon of the latter day, Captain Hackland, a sailor of much practical experience on the Northern Seas decided to risk going out, as the water on the bar was running down so fast that he feared that the steamer would be unable to cross over the bar. I may remark that the wind causes the waters of the lake to ebb and flow into the river with great rapidity, and that the bar is so serious an obstruction to an important navigation, that it ought to be examined with a view to ascertain the cost and practicability of its removal. Leaving our anchorage, we crossed the bar at three in the afternoon with difficulty, and proceeded on our voyage; anchored opposite the mouth of the Berens River on Monday, the 20th, at nine a.m., to await the arrival of a pilot, as no steamer had ever before entered the river. Under the pilotage of a Chief and a Councillor, we reached Berens River Post, the Indians greeting us with volleys of firearms, and at once summoned the Indians to meet us in the Wesleyan Mission School House, which the Rev. Mr. Young kindly placed at our disposal. We met the Indians at four o'clock, and explained the object of our visit. The question of reserves was one of some difficulty, but eventually this was arranged, and the Indians agreed to accept our offer, and the indenture of treaty was signed by the Chiefs and head men about eleven p.m. The payment of the present of five dollars per head, provided by the treaty, was immediately commenced by Mr. McKay and the Hon. Thomas Howard, who accompanied me as Secretary and Pay Master, and was continued until one a.m., when the payment was concluded. The steamer left next day, the 21st, for Norway House, but the captain was obliged to anchor at George's Island in the evening, owing to the stormy weather. The Colville remained at anchor all the next day, the 22nd, but left at midnight for Nelson River. We sighted the Mossy and Montreal points, at the mouth of that river, about nine a.m. on the 23rd, and arrived at the old or abandoned Norway House at eleven o'clock, under the guidance of Roderick Rose, Esquire, of the Hudson's Bay Company's Service, at Norway House, who had been engaged for some days in examining the channel, in anticipation of our visit. The Nelson River expands into Play Green Lake, a large stream of water studded with islands, presenting a remarkable resemblance to the Thousand Islands of the St. Lawrence River. The distance from the mouth of the river to Norway House is twenty miles. We arrived at Norway House at three o'clock and were welcomed there by the Indians, who fired a salute. On the 24th we met the Indians in a large store-house of the Hudson's Bay Company, and asked them to present their Chiefs and head men. We found that there were two distinct bands of Indians, the Christian Indians of Norway House, and the Wood or Pagan Indians of Cross Lake. Each elected their Chiefs by popular vote in a most business-like manner, and the Chiefs, after consulting the bands, selected the head men. We then accepted the Chiefs, and I made an explanation of the object of our visit in English, and the Hon. James McKay in the Indian dialect. We severed the questions of terms and reserves, postponing the latter till we had disposed of the former. The Indians gratefully accepted of the offered terms, and we adjourned the conference to enable them to consult as to reserves. On re-assembling, the Christian Chief stated that as they could no longer count on employment in boating for the Hudson's Bay Company, owing to the introduction of steam navigation, he and a portion of his band wished to migrate to Lake Winnipeg, where they could obtain a livelihood by farming and fishing. We explained why we could not grant them a reserve for that purpose at the Grassy Narrows as they wished, owing to the proposed Icelandic settlement there, but offered to allot them a reserve at Fisher River, about forty miles north of the Narrows, and this they accepted. It is supposed that some eighty or ninety families will remove there in spring, and it was arranged that those who remain, instead of receiving a reserve, should retain their present houses and gardens. The Chief of the Pagan band, who has, however, recently been baptized, stated that the Wood Indians wished to remain at Cross Lake, and we agreed that a reserve should be allotted them there. The treaty was then signed and the medals and uniforms presented. The Chiefs, on behalf of their people, thanked Her Majesty and her officers for their kindness to the Indian people, which I suitably acknowledged, and the payment of the presents was commenced by Messrs. McKay and Howard, and completed on the 15th. We left that day at half-past three amidst cheering by the Indians and a salute of fire-arms, and came to anchor in Play Green Lake, at Kettle Island, at half-past five. The steamer left Kettle Island next morning at six o'clock for the Grand Rapids of the Saskatchewan, which we reached at four o'clock. The original post of the Hudson's Bay Company, at the mouth of the river, has been abandoned, and a new one established on their reserve, some six miles higher up the river, at the head of the portage, which the river steamer descends to. The Colville, at our request ran up to the Chiefs house, situated on the shore of a deep bay, and was moored and gangways laid out to the shore. We found an Indian village on the north side, and also the Chief's house, which was built on the only spot where good and inexpensive wharfage can be had, and ascertained afterwards that the Indians claimed the whole north shore for a reserve. On the 27th we met the Indians near the Chief's house in the open air, at a spot where a large fire had been lighted by them, as the weather was cold. We took a similar course as at Norway House in severing the question of terms of the treaty and reserves, and with like satisfactory results. After a lengthy discussion the Indians agreed to accept the terms, and we then entered upon the difficult question of the reserves. They complained of the Hudson's Bay Company's reserve, and wished to have the land covered by it, but we explained whatever had been promised the Company would be given just as promises made to them would be kept. They said the Company's reserve should be at the abandoned post at the mouth of the river, and not at the end of the portage. We informed them that we would inquire as to this. They then claimed a reserve on both sides of the river of large extent, and extending up to the head of the Grand Rapids, but this we declined to accede to. Eventually, as the locality they had hitherto occupied is so important a point, controlling as it does the means of communication between the mouth of the river, and the head of the rapids, and where a "tram-way" will no doubt ere long require to be constructed, presenting also deep-water navigation and excellent wharfage, and evidently being moreover the site where a town will spring up, we offered them reserve on the south side of the river. They objected, that they had their houses and gardens on the north side of the river, but said that as the Queen's Government were treating them so kindly, that they would go to south side of the river, if a small sum was given them to assist in removing their houses, or building others, and this as will be seen by the terms of the treaty, we agreed to do, believing it to be alike in the interests of the Government to have the control of so important a point as the mouth of the great internal river of the Saskatchewan, and yet only just to the Indians, who were making what was to them so large a concession to the wishes of the Commissioners. On our agreeing to the proposal, the treaty was cheerfully signed by the Chief and head men, and the payment of the present was made to them, together with a distribution of some provisions. I enclose a tracing of the mouth of the river, copied from a sketch thereof kindly made for me by Mr. Ross, which will enable you to understand the actual position of the locality in question, and the better appreciate our reasons for our action in the matter. The steamer left the Grand Rapids in the afternoon of the 27th, and the captain took his course for the mouth of the Red River, but anchored, as the night became very dark, between George's Island and Swampy Island. On the 28th, resuming our course at half past five a.m., we sighted Berens River Mission House at eight o'clock, and passed into the channel between Black Bear Island and Dog Head or Wapang Point, at 12.30; then observing a number of Indians on the shore making signals to us by firing guns, we requested the captain to approach the shore. The water being very deep the steamer went close inshore and anchored--the Indians coming off to us in their canoes. We found them to be headed by Thickfoot, a principal Indian of the band inhabiting the islands, and some of those and the Jack Head band of the West Shore, and explained to them the object of our visit. They told us they had heard of it, and had been waiting to see us. Thickfoot said the Island Indians at Big Island, Black Island, Wapang and the other islands in the vicinity had no chief; that they numbered one hundred and twenty-eight, and those at Jack-Fish Head sixty. Thickfoot said he had cattle and would like to have a place assigned to his people on the main shore, where they could live by farming and fishing. We suggested Fisher River to them, which they approved of. Eventually we decided on paying these Indians--took Thickfoot's adhesion to the treaty, of which I enclose a copy, and authorized him to notify the Indians to meet at the Dog Head Point next summer, at a time to be intimated to them, and to request them in the mean time to select a Chief and Councillors. Thickfoot expressed gratitude for the kindness of the Government, and his belief that Indians of the various Islands and of Jack Head Point would cheerfully accept the Queen's benevolence and settle on a reserve. After paying this party, and distributing a small quantity of provisions among them, we resumed our voyage, and, owing to the character of the navigation, again came to anchor in George's Channel at seven o'clock, p.m. On the 29th, we left our anchorage at five o'clock a.m., and entered the mouth of the Red River at twelve o'clock, crossing the bar without difficulty, as the weather was calm. We arrived at the Stone Fort at three o'clock in the afternoon, but had to remain there till next day, awaiting the arrival of conveyances from Winnipeg. Mr. McKay and I left the Stone Fort on the 30th at seven a.m. leaving our baggage and a portion of the provisions which had not been used to be forwarded by the steamer Swallow, and reached Fort Garry at ten o'clock, thus terminating a journey of over one thousand miles, and having satisfactorily closed a treaty with the Saulteaux and Swampy Crees, which will prove of much importance in view of the probable rapid settlement of the west coast of Lake Winnipeg. The journey, moreover, is of interest, as having been the first occasion on which a steam vessel entered the waters of Berens River and of the Nelson River, the waters of which river fall into the Hudson's Bay, and as having demonstrated the practicability of direct steam navigation through a distance of three hundred and sixty miles from the city of Winnipeg to Norway House. I may mention here that the prevalence of timber suitable for fuel and building purposes, of lime and sandstone, of much good soil, and natural hay lands on the west shore of the lake, together with the great abundance of white fish, sturgeon and other fish in the lake, will ensure, ere long, a large settlement. The east coast is much inferior to the west coast, as far as I could learn, but appeared to be thickly wooded, and it is understood that indications of minerals have been found in several places. I now beg to call your attention to the boundaries of the treaty, which, you will observe, vary somewhat from those suggested in your memorandum to the Privy Council. The Commissioners adopted as the southern boundary of the treaty limits, the northern boundary of Treaties Numbers Two and Three. They included in the limits all the territory to which the Indians ceding, claimed hunting and other rights, but they fixed the western boundary as defined in the treaty, for the following reasons: 1st. The extension of the boundary carries the treaty to the western limit of the lands claimed by the Saulteaux and Swampy Cree Tribes of Indians, and creates an eastern base for the treaties to be made with the Plain Crees next year. 2nd. The Swampy Crees at the Pas, on the Saskatchewan, would otherwise have had to be included in the western treaties. 3rd. That the extension of the boundaries will add some six hundred to the number of Indians in the suggested limits, of whom three hundred at Wahpahhuha or the Pas on the Saskatchewan would have had to be treated with owing to the navigation of the Saskatchewan, in any event. 4th. The inclusion of the Norway House Indians in the treaty, and the surrender of their rights, involved a larger area of territory. 5th. That a number of the Norway House Indians came from Moose Lake and the Cumberland region, and possessed rights there which have been included in the boundaries. 6th. Unless the boundaries had been properly defined, in conformity with known geographical points, a portion of the country lying between the territories formerly ceded and those comprised in Treaty Number Five, would have been left with the Indian title unextinguished. For these reasons, the Commissioners defined the boundaries as they are laid down in the treaty, and it will remain with the Government to send a Commissioner to the Pas to obtain the adhesion of the Indians there to the treaty next summer, or not as they shall decide, though the Commissioners strongly urge that step to be taken as a necessity. I forward the original of the treaty to you by the Hon. Mr. Christie, and in order to the better understanding of the treaty area, I enclose a very valuable map copied from one made for me at my request on board of the Colville, by Roderick Ross, Esq., who accompanied me from Norway House to the Stone Fort, and to whom I was indebted for much valuable assistance and co-operation, as we were in fact to the Company's officers generally. This map is prepared from actual observation, and locates many places not indicated on any existing map, and covering as it does an area of over 100,000 square miles, which, exclusive of the great waters, has been included in the treaty, possesses much value. I enclose herewith duplicates of the pay sheets, a statement of the cash expenditure, shewing the balance on hand of the credit which was given me for the purposes of the treaty, and statements of the distribution of the provisions and of the clothing, and medals, as given to the chiefs and head men. These statements will shew that every arrangement was made to secure the utmost economy in effecting the treaty, and yet to give satisfaction to the Indians concerned. I mention here that the Indians were uniformly informed that no back payments of the present would be made to those who did not attend the meetings with the Commissioners, but that next year those not present would receive payment with the others, if they presented themselves. I have to express my sense of the services rendered to the Government by my associate the Hon. James McKay, and the Hon. Thomas Howard, who acted as Secretary and Pay Master to the Commissioners as well as of the many kind services we received from Captain Hackland, and the other officers of the Colville, from the Wesleyan Missionaries, and from the officers of the Hudson's Bay Company. I take this opportunity of suggesting that the supervision of Treaty Number Five, and the carrying out of the treaty obligations with the Indians of the St. Peter's Band, and of those of Fort Alexander and the River Roseau and Broken Head, which fall into Lake Winnipeg, should be entrusted to a local agent, stationed at the Stone Fort or in the vicinity of St. Peter's, and who would thence supervise the whole District. In conclusion, I have only to express the hope that the action of the Commissioners, which in every respect was governed by a desire to promote the public interest, will receive the approval of the Privy Council, and be regarded by them as the satisfactory discharge of an onerous and responsible duty. I have the honor to be, Sir, Your obedient servant, ALEXANDER MORRIS, Lieut.-Gov. N. W. T. GOVERNMENT HOUSE, FORT GARRY 17th November, 1876. TO THE HONORABLE THE MINISTER OF THE INTERIOR. Sir,--I recommended in my despatch of the 7th June, that measures should be adopted to secure the adhesion of the Indians, who had not been met with when Treaty Number Five was concluded, and was requested by you to entrust the duty to Mr. Graham, of the Indian Department here, or to the Hon. Thomas Howard, Mr. Graham was unable to leave the office. I therefore entrusted the matter to Mr. Howard and J. Lestock Reid, D.L.S. I gave these gentleman written instructions, a copy of which will be found appended to the report of Mr. Howard, in which I directed them to meet the Island Indians and those of Berens River together, and then to separate, Mr. Reid proceeding to Norway House and Mr. Howard to the Grand Rapids of the Saskatchewan and the Pas, this course being necessary to enable the work to be accomplished during the season. I have pleasure in informing you that these gentlemen discharged their mission most successfully and satisfactorily, as will be seen from the following reports, which I enclose, viz:-- A. Joint report of Messrs. Howard and Reid as to the Island Indians of Lake Winnipeg and those of Berens River. B. Report of Mr. Howard as to the band at the Grand Rapids, and as to his negotiations with the Indians at the Pas. C. Report of Mr. Reid with regard to the Norway House Indians. D. Report of Mr. Howard, submitting the accounts of the expenditure incurred in carrying out my instructions. 1. It will appear from these reports that the Commissioners obtained the assent of the scattered bands among the islands and shores of Lake Winnipeg, and had them united in a band with one Chief and his Councillors. 2. That the Indians of the Grand Rapids of the Berens River accepted the treaty, being received as part of the band of Jacob Berens, and that the latter band wish their reserves to be allotted them and some hay lands assigned. 3. That the Norway House Indians contemplate removal to Fisher's River, on Lake Winnipeg. 4. That the Indians of Grand Rapids have removed, as they agreed to do last year from the point where they had settled on the Saskatchewan, and which had been set apart as the site of a town. 5. That the Indians of the Pas, Cumberland, and Moose Lake gave their adhesion to the treaty and, subject to the approval of the Privy Council, have agreed upon the localities for their reserves. 6. That the bands at the Grand Rapids, the Pas, and Cumberland are in a sufficiently advanced position to be allowed the grant for their schools. I forward herewith the balance sheet of Mr. Howard for the receipts and disbursements connected with the completion of the treaty and the payments, as also the various vouchers in support thereof. I placed the charge of the financial arrangements in the hands of Mr. Howard, on whom also fell the longest period of service in the work entrusted to the Commissioners. I also forward by parcel post, registered, the original of the assents to the treaty of the various bands. To prevent complications and misunderstandings, it would be desirable that many of the reserves should be surveyed without delay, and, from Mr. Reid's connection with the treaty, and his fitness for the work, I think that he would be a suitable person to be employed in the duty. I would remark in conclusion, that I requested Mr. Provencher to obtain the assent to the treaty of the band at the mouth of the Black River, and that be informs me that he obtained their adhesion and has so reported to you. The having obtained the assent of the whole of the Indians within the region treated for so far, is a most satisfactory feature of the year's operations. I have, &c., ALEXANDER MORRIS, Lieut.-Governor. A. WINNIPEG, October 10th, 1876. TO THE HON. ALEXANDER MORRIS, Lieutenant-Governor, Fort Garry. Sir,--Under instructions received from you, dated 14th July last, we were directed to proceed to the Dog Head Point and Berens River, on Lake Winnipeg, and there obtain the adhesion of certain Indians to the treaty that was made and concluded at Norway House last year, and we have now the honor to report.... With a fair wind and fine weather we reached the Narrows on Monday afternoon, the 24th, at half-past four. Mr. Howard called at the Hudson's Bay Company's post to see about the provisions stored there, where he found Thickfoot and the Jack-Fish Head Indians encamped, about twenty-five families in all, and learned from them that they were desirous to meet and speak to us where they were, and not across the Narrows at the Dog Head; but as the place of meeting was distinctly fixed, Mr. Howard informed them that they would have to move their camps. Mr. Reid having, in the meantime, gone to the Dog Head Point, was received with a salute from the Indians there encamped, viz.: the Blood Vein River, Big Island and Sandy Bar bands, and, almost simultaneously with Mr. Howard's arrival there, the Indians belonging to Thickfoot and the Jack-Fish Head arrived also. We hardly had time to make our camp before being waited upon by a representative from all the bands except Thickfoot's, and they desired to know when we would be prepared to have a conference; and, having told them that the following day, the 25th, was the day appointed, and that we would meet them at eleven o'clock in the morning, we gave them some provisions and they withdrew. Thickfoot subsequently called upon us and stated that he was prepared at any time to meet us and sign the treaty, that he had learned that it was our intention to make only one Chief for all the Indians gathered there; that he had felt when the paper was placed in his hands last year by the Governor, that he was making him the Chief; that he had notified all the Indians that were there as he had agreed, and that they had threatened him with violence for saying he was to be Chief, and that he was afraid now to join them in any way, and that he and his band wished to be spoken to by themselves. Upon hearing this, we informed him that he need not be afraid of violence, that the paper the Governor gave him merely stated that he was a principal Indian, and we would certainly recognize him as such, and if the Indians desired him to be their Chief it would be a great pleasure to us. The following morning the Indians sent word by a representative from each band, except Thickfoot's, that they desired another day to meet in council before having a conference; but, feeling they had sufficient time already, yet not wishing to hurry them too much, we extended the hour of meeting to four o'clock on the same day, which satisfied them, and when they promised to be ready. About three o'clock, we were informed that the Indians had gathered, so we at once proceeded to meet them. The place we had chosen for the conference was on a granite plateau, and at one end our crews had erected a covering with boughs; a more suitable spot for the meeting could not be found. After inquiring if they had all gathered, and, being assured that they had, we began to explain the object of our mission, but immediately saw that the bands were determined to be considered distinct and wished to be treated with separately, when we informed them that only one Chief would be allowed, and that before we could proceed any further we would require them all to meet together in council and there select one Chief and three Councillors, and be prepared to present them to us on the following day. This evidently gave great satisfaction to the Island Band, of which Ka-tuk-e-pin-ais was head man, but they all withdrew; before doing so, agreeing to be ready the next day at noon to meet us. Before the hour appointed for the meeting the next day, another delegation came over and informed us that the Indians were not yet prepared, that they could not come to any decision as to who should be Chief, and again asked to have the hour of meeting extended to three o'clock, which we did upon the understanding that if they were not then prepared we would return and report the facts to you. Shortly after, we noticed Thickfoot and his Indians sitting near our tents, and evidently taking no part in the selection of a Chief, so we called him over and found him still disinclined to join the other Indians. He stated that they would not have him as Chief, and that he would therefore remain away. We then explained that he could be head man of his band by being elected a Councillor to whoever would be appointed Chief, and at last prevailing upon him to go with his Indians to the Council tent, we requested the Rev. Mr. Cochrane to proceed to the Indian encampment and state to them that from each band other than the one from which the chief was chosen, a Councillor would have to be taken. By this means we saw our way to satisfy all the bands, and Mr. Cochrane having notified the Indians accordingly, we felt confident the choice of a chief would soon be made; but in this we were disappointed, as a messenger shortly after arrived and said no choice could be made, as Ka-tuk-e-pin-ais would do nothing unless he was chosen Chief. On hearing this Mr. Cochrane decided to visit the Indians in Council, and, having done so, proposed to them that they should elect a Chief by ballot, and having got them all to agree to this proposition, they proceeded to the election. Several ballots had to be taken, and at last resulted in favor of the chief Indian of the Blood Vein River band, Sa-ha-cha-way-ass, and the Councillors elected were the head men from the Big Island, Doghead and Jack-Fish Head bands. At three o'clock p.m., we were notified that the Indians had again gathered, when we proceeded to the place of meeting, and were presented to the Chief and two of his Councillors. Ka-tuk-e-pin-ais, the third Councillor, coming forward, said his band did not want him to act as Councillor; that he had seen the Governor the other day, and had been told by him that he would be the Chief of the Island Indians. Whereupon we informed him that no such promise had been made by you, and that we could only recognize the choice of the majority. He then desired to withdraw from the negotiations, and wait until he saw you, before signing the treaty; but as we had learned that out of the twenty-two families that were in his band, all, with one or two exceptions, had received the annuity since 1870, with the St. Peter's Band, we made them sit by themselves, and then explained that by receiving the annuity as a large number of them had done, they had really agreed to the treaty and that we were there only to deal with those of the band that had at no time received money from the Queen. Ka-tuk-e-pin-ais then said that there were very few of his Indians that had not received money from the Queen, but that he never had; that he was quite prepared to sign the treaty now, only some of his people did not want him to do so, unless we agreed to give them the Big Island for a reserve. This we at once refused, and at the same time told them that unless he and all his band agreed to the terms we offered them without further delay, they might return to their homes. Hearing this, they all withdrew, but soon returned, when Ka-tuk-e-pin-ais said one or two of his people did not want him to sign any treaty, but most of them did, and that he was going to do so. He then took his seat along with the Chiefs and other Councillors, and we proceeded to explain the terms of the treaty. When we came to the clause referring to the reserves, each band was anxious that the places where they are in the habit of living should be granted them as reserves, and the locations of the same mentioned in the treaty; but as our instructions were positive on this point, we refused but assured them that the names of the places they asked for, we would certainly forward with our report to you, and we stated that with the exception of the location asked for by the Sandy Bar Indians, we felt sure the Government would grant their request, and give them their reserves where they desired. The following were the localities mentioned:-- DOG HEAD BAND.--The point opposite the Dog Head. BLOOD VEIN RIVER BAND.--At mouth of Blood Vein River. BIG ISLAND BAND.--At mouth of Badthroat River. JACK-FISH HEAD BAND.--The north side of Jack Head Point, at the Lobstick, and the SANDY BAR BAND.--White Mud River, west side of Lake Winnipeg. It must be remembered that four bands out of the above named, viz.:--Big Island, Jack-Fish Head, Dog Head and Blood Vein River, are distinct bands, those at Sandy Bar really belonging to the St. Peter's Band of Indians and that they have always lived at the different points upon the lake from which they take their names, and they therefore look upon these points as their homes. We would, therefore, beg to recommend that the request of of all, with the exception of the Sandy Bar Indians, be granted, although in doing so we are aware of the desire of the Government that Indians should not be encouraged to break up into small bands, yet we feel sure in this instance it would be impossible to get them all upon any one reserve. The adhesion we had signed on Wednesday evening, July 26th, and we then arranged to begin the payments of annuities the following morning at nine o'clock, which was done, and the payments completed by four o'clock on the same day. We then distributed the implements, ammunition, twine, and balance of provisions. As already stated, the Indians at Sandy Bar, were formerly paid with the St. Peter's band. They are now included in the limits of Treaty Five, and desire to receive their annuity with the Island band. Having distributed the presents, we immediately moved our camp to an island about a quarter of a mile from the Point, and there remained until Saturday morning, the 29th, when, having a favourable wind, we set sail and arrived off the mouth of Berens River, and camped on Lobstick Island the following morning, Sunday, at half-past nine o'clock. We remained there until Tuesday, and then moved our camp to the Methodist Mission. The next day we went over in one of our boats to the Hudson's Bay Company's post, where we met Mr. Flett, the officer in charge and received from him the provisions that had been previously forwarded and which he had in store, and then returned to our camp. Mr. Flett informed us that the Indians from the Narrows of Berens River, he expected would arrive that evening, and on Thursday, visited us to say that they had arrived and were then holding a council. The same afternoon the Chief and Councillors called upon us and desired to know when we would be prepared to meet them, and though the 5th was the day appointed, we thought it advisable, as all the Indians were then gathered there, and were anxious to return to their homes, to appoint the following day, the 4th August. The next morning the Indians came over from where they were encamped near the Hudson's Bay post, in York boats; and when we learned that they were all in the school-house we proceeded there, and met, in addition to the Berens River band, about thirty Indians from the Grand Rapids of Berens River. We explained the object of our mission, and found the Indians from the Rapids most anxious to accept the Queen's bounty and benevolence, some of them had already accepted the annuity with the Lac Seule Indians we found, so we immediately told them that it was only to those that had not previously received money or presents from the Queen, that the first part of our mission extended, and with whom it was necessary we should first speak. The head man, Num-ak-ow-ah-nuk-wape, then said that he was fully prepared, on behalf of all his Indians, to accept the same terms as given to the Berens River band, only be wanted his reserve where he then lived, at the Grand Rapids; upon which we told him that before we could speak further, we must be assured by the band that he was their head man, and this the band at once did. We then thought it advisable to recommend that they should make the Chief of the Berens River band their Chief, and make their head man a Councillor to him, and although our proposition was not at once received satisfactorily, we ultimately prevailed upon them to accept it, and the Chief was at once elected. By this means we saved the expenses necessarily incurred in maintaining one Chief and two Councillors. We then stated that we were prepared to grant them their reserve where they asked for it; and having explained the treaty to them, clause by clause, and mentioned in the adhesion where the reserve should be, the adhesion was duly signed by the Chief and Councillors. The payment of the annuity was then gone on with and finished that afternoon at four o'clock. We then distributed the implements, ammunition, twine and provisions. When we had finished, the Chief and Councillors came forward, and thanked us for all that had been done for them; they said they were well pleased with what they had received and desired us to inform you of the fact, which we accordingly promised. They then returned in the same boats they had come over in: before leaving the bank, giving three cheers for the Queen and three for the Governor. We are very much pleased to inform you that the best possible feeling appears to exist between the Indians in this region. They all appeared anxious to farm and settle down, and we heard that a number of houses had been built at Poplar River, and considerable clearing done there since the treaty was made with them last year; the implements and tools we brought them were therefore most acceptable. As these bands live at a considerable distance from each other, we would recommend that an extra supply of tools be allowed them. We also feel satisfied that the animals promised by the treaty might be furnished, as we certainly consider them in a position to take care of the same. As you directed, we informed them that their application for hay lands had been forwarded to the Government, and this gave them great satisfaction. The following morning, Saturday, August 5th, Mr. Reid left for Norway House, and during the afternoon of the same day, Mr. Howard sailed for the Stone Fort on the Red River. Having obtained the adhesion of the Indians at the Dog Head, and at Berens River, our duties as Joint Commissioners under your instructions ceased.... We were fortunate enough to secure the services of the Rev. Henry Cochrane, who kindly acted as interpreter. Being in the Province on a visit from his mission at the Pas, and desirous of returning, Mr. Howard gave him a passage in his boat, and he rendered us the most valuable assistance throughout. Having thus referred to the different matters connected with our mission while acting together, and assuring you that our aim and desire was to fulfill it to your entire satisfaction, which we trust we have done, We have the honor to be, Sir, Your obedient servants, THOS. HOWARD, J. LESTOCK REID, Commissioners. B. WINNIPEG, October 10th, 1876. TO THE HONORABLE ALEXANDER MORRIS, Lieutenant-Governor, Fort Garry. Sir,--I have the honor to inform you that in compliance with your instructions, a copy of which I hereunto annex, I proceeded, accompanied by Mr. Reid, to the Dog Head and Berens River on Lake Winnipeg, and there successfully secured the adhesion of the Island and Grand Rapids of Berens River Bands of Indians to Treaty Number Five, and, having paid the annuities to the Berens River Indians, returned to the Stone Fort. As mentioned in the joint report submitted to you by Mr. Reid and myself, I had the greatest difficulty in procuring a boat to take me on my mission, and only through the kindness of Mr. Flett, of the Hudson's Bay Company, at the Stone Fort, was I able to obtain even the loan of one as far as Berens River, from where I had to return it.... I left the Stone Fort for the Grand Rapids, on the morning of the 17th of August, and after a very fast, though rough and dangerous passage, reached the mouth of the Saskatchewan river, early on the morning of the 26th. I found, on entering the river, that the Indians were encamped near its mouth, on the south bank, where I landed, and arranged to meet them at noon that day. As the provisions were stored at the Hudson's Bay Company's post, about a mile and a half up the river, I decided to camp at the foot of the road leading across the four-mile Portage, and having done so, and in the meantime sent the provisions to the Indian camp, I returned there at the time agreed upon. The band having assembled, I stated to them the object of my mission--that I had been directed to pay them the annuity and deliver some of the tools and implements granted them by the treaty, and also to distribute amongst those that formerly had houses and gardens on the north bank of the river, and had moved to where they were then living, as stipulated in the treaty, the sum of five hundred dollars. To my surprise, the Chief at once expressed his astonishment at my saying that the treaty had been made last year, and said he had only a talk then with the Governor preliminary to making the treaty this year, and that they were only then prepared to be treated with. I explained to the band how I had been present myself when it was made, and that I would have it read to them. I accordingly requested Mr. Cochrane to do so, explaining it thoroughly; yet, it was only after a great deal of talking on their part, during which they made most unreasonable demands, and many explanations on my part, that the Indians were satisfied that a treaty had been made, when they requested me to go on with the payments; at the same time a number of them stated that they had been misled by one of the counsellors, Joseph Atkinson by name. I then paid the annuity, distributed the provisions, tools, implements, etc., and gave the Chief a copy of the treaty, and, arranging to meet them again on Monday the 28th, I returned to my camp at midnight. On Monday, I met them as agreed, and at once began and made inquiries as to who had houses and gardens on the north bank and had moved their houses to the south bank, and I found that all those that had formerly lived on the north bank had removed from there. I noticed that great feeling existed amongst them all as to the division of the five hundred dollars granted. All the band congregated round me and the large majority desired that the amount should be divided equally between them all, and claimed that every one belonging to the band was entitled to participate in the division; so I thought it best to leave it to themselves to decide how the amount should be distributed, and they only succeeded in doing so after a great deal of talking, and, I regret to say, quarrelling; but they at last arranged it, and I was requested by the Chief and Councillors to divide it amongst the whole band in such proportions as I thought right, so I proceeded at once to what turned out to be a long and troublesome undertaking; but having as I considered made a fair and equitable distribution of the amount, I paid the same, had the document witnessed by the Chief and Councillors, and only got back to my camp again at midnight. As I before said, all the Indians had removed to the south bank of the river, but had made no preparations to build, and were merely living in tents. Close to the encampment, at the mouth of the river, the Church Missionary Society have put up a large building to answer the purposes of a church and school-house. Care must be taken and strict watch kept over this band. Living as they do on the bank of a navigable river, where people are constantly passing, they can give great trouble and annoyance, and, I am sorry to say, are inclined to do so. Several complaints were made to me while there, and I spoke to the Indians regarding them. They promised me to abide faithfully by the terms of the treaty henceforth and not give any further annoyance. While occupied paying the Indians there, my crew were engaged in taking my boat and supplies across the Portage. They left the camp early on Monday morning, and with the assistance kindly rendered them by Mr. Matheson, of the Hudson's Bay Company, succeeded in reaching the north end of the Portage on Tuesday evening. That same afternoon I walked over the four-mile Portage and found there a number of buildings belonging to the Hudson's Bay Company. To this point the Saskatchewan River steamer Northcote descends and receives the supplies for the different posts belonging to the Company to the West and North-West. On Wednesday morning, the 30th, I left for the Pas. From the Grand Rapids to the Narrows, before entering Cedar Lake, a distance of eighteen or twenty miles, a continuous rapid extends, and it is only by tracking and poling simultaneously that you are at all able to ascend the river. The first day I made only nine miles on my way and camped at the Demi Charge, and it was late in the evening on the second day when I reached Cedar Lake. This lake is about thirty-five miles in length and is very shallow and dangerous in stormy weather. I was fortunate enough to have very calm weather, and, therefore, crossed it without any delay and entered the Saskatchewan again at the Che-ma-wa-win or "Seining place," early on Saturday morning, September 2nd. Noticing a large encampment of Indians there, I landed and found they were part of the Moose Lake band. They desired that I should treat with them where they were, and not bring them to the Pas, but upon my telling them that I could only treat with them at the appointed place of meeting, they readily assented to follow me up, and having given them some provisions to take them there, and secured the services of one of them to act as guide, I again started on my journey. I was then three days and two nights ascending the river, and on Tuesday morning, the 5th September, the day appointed for me to meet the Indians, I arrived at the Pas or Devon Mission, on my way up having been passed by the Indians from the Che-ma-wa-win. On entering the river after leaving Cedar Lake the whole aspect of the country changes, and from there to the Pas, and, I understand, for fully one hundred miles above it, nothing but marsh can be seen; so much so that it was difficult along the bank of the river to find a spot dry enough to camp upon, and I was, consequently, obliged to eat and sleep in my boat. The dreariness of this voyage can hardly be realized, and it was with feelings of delight that I landed at the Mission at the Pas where the Rev. Mr. Cochrane received me. Mr. Cochrane had accompanied me from the Stone Fort and had been in my boat up to the night before I arrived, when, meeting some Indians that were on the look-out for us, he returned with them in their canoe and reached his home shortly before I arrived. The Pas or Devon Mission is situated on the south bank of the Saskatchewan, distant, I should say, one hundred and forty miles from Grand Rapids. The Church Missionary Society have a very nice church, school-house and parsonage there; and the Hudson's Bay Company one of their posts. There are also a large number of houses belonging to the Indians of the place; and on the other bank the firm of Kew, Stobart & Co., have erected a store for trading purposes. There are also several dwelling-houses on the north bank. Altogether, the appearance of the place, on my arrival, was most prepossessing. The banks were covered with Indians with their canoes, and immediately the boat rounded the point below the Mission and came in view a salute was fired, the like of which, I was subsequently told, had never been heard in the "Ratty Country". Having landed at the Mission, Mr. Cochrane informed me that he had, as I requested, summoned the Indians to meet in the school-house at three o'clock that afternoon, and when the hour arrived I proceeded there and found upwards of five hundred Indians gathered. I stated the object of my mission to them, and was at once assured of their desire to accept of, and their gratitude for, the Queen's bounty and benevolence. I found that the Pas and Cumberland bands of Indians had acknowledged Chiefs, but that the Moose Lake band had none, owing to a division amongst them. It appeared that the Indians from the Che-ma-wa-win desired to be a distinct band and have their reserves where I had seen them at the entrance of the river from Cedar Lake; but noticing, on my way up, the unfitness of the locality for a reserve, and having learned that at Moose Lake, where part of the band desired to live, a most suitable locality could be had, I had decided before meeting them upon the course I should take, which was, not to encourage the division in the band, and allow only one Chief; and this I did, and succeeded, without much trouble, in getting the band to unite. I then requested all the Indians to meet in council and select their Chief and head men, and be prepared the following morning to present them to me, when I would be ready to speak to them. The next morning at eleven o'clock I met them and found they had done as I requested, and having been presented to the Chiefs and Councillors I proceeded to explain the terms of the treaty that I desired to receive their adhesion to. The Chiefs immediately stated that they wanted to make a treaty of their own, and it was only after great difficulty that I could make them understand that in reality it was not a new treaty they were about to make. They had heard of the terms granted the Indians at Carlton, and this acted most prejudicially at one time against the successful carrying out of my mission; but I at last made them understand the difference between their position and the Plain Indians, by pointing out that the land they would surrender would be useless to the Queen, while what the Plain Indians gave up would be of value to her for homes for her white children. They then agreed to accept the terms offered if I would agree to give them reserves where they desired; and to their demands I patiently listened, and having at last come to a satisfactory understanding I adjourned the meeting to the following day. Before proceeding further, I would draw your attention to the localities I granted for reserves, subject to the approval of the Government, and beg to inform you that I made every inquiry as to the extent of farming land in each locality mentioned. At the Narrows, at Moose Lake, there is considerable good land, and a suitable place for a reserve can be had for the Moose Lake band. For the Pas and Cumberland Indians I had to mention several localities. At the Pas all the land obtainable is now cultivated, and consists of a vegetable garden and one field attached to the Mission, and a few patches of potatoes here and there. A short distance from the river the marsh begins, and extends to the south for miles; and the same thing occurs to the north. In fact, on both banks of the river at this point, and from the Che-ma-wa-win up to it, one hundred and fifty acres of land fit for cultivation cannot be found; and about Cumberland the country in every respect is similar. The following day, Thursday the 7th, I met the Indians at three p.m., and had the adhesion read to them and signed. I then presented the medals and clothing to the Chiefs and Councillors, with which they were greatly pleased, and having congratulated them upon wearing the Queen's uniform, and having in return been heartily thanked by them for what had been done, I proceeded to pay them, and continued to do so up to seven o'clock, when the funds at my disposal being exhausted, I directed them to meet me again the following morning at nine o'clock, which they did, and I completed the payments the same evening at five o'clock. I then distributed the balance of provisions and the ammunition and twine. The implements and tools I had been unable to bring from Grand Rapids, my boat being very heavily laden; but Mr. Belanger, of the Hudson's Bay Company, kindly promised to have them brought up free of charge in a boat that was going to the Grand Rapids in a few days; I therefore gave the Chief of the Pas band an order for the chest of tools and the implements. The following day, Saturday, having again seen all the Chiefs and Councillors and received their thanks, and after many expressions of gratitude from the Indians gathered, I left the Pas at half-past two o'clock p.m., and with rowing and floating alternately during the afternoon and night, reached the Che-ma-wa-win on Sunday evening; crossed Cedar Lake on Monday, and landed at the head of Grand Rapids on Tuesday morning. I then ran the rapids and hoisted the sail at the mouth of the river at two p.m., having called upon Mr. Matheson and seen the Chief of the Indians there on my way down. I then made all haste to return here, but, owing to contrary winds, only succeeded in reaching the Stone Fort on the 20th September, yet, having made a very quick trip, unprecedented in fact, and in carrying out the mission entrusted to me, travelled in an open boat, thirteen hundred miles. I would now inform you that three out of the four bands of Indians I met on the Saskatchewan, viz., the Grand Rapids, Pas and Cumberland, are in a position to receive at once from the Government the grant allowed for the maintenance of schools of instruction; at the Grand Rapids a huge school-house is by this time entirely completed; and at the Pas and Cumberland, schools, under the charge of the Church Missionary Society, have been in existence some years. The Indians belonging to the bands I have named desired that the assistance promised should be given as soon as possible. I would now mention the very valuable services rendered the Government by the Rev. Mr. Cochrane, who acted as interpreter at the Dog Head, Berens River, Grand Rapids and the Pas, and who was at all times ready to give his advice and assistance; as well as by Mr. A. M. Muckle, who accompanied me and assisted in making the payments; and by Mr. Nursey, who took charge of the boat with supplies for the Pas. To Mr. Matheson, of the Hudson's Bay Company, Grand Rapids, and Mr. Belanger, of Cumberland House, I am deeply indebted, and take this opportunity of tendering these gentlemen my sincere thanks for the assistance rendered me and the many kindnesses I received from them. I enclose herewith the pay-sheet of the different bands I paid, a statement of the cash expenditure, and statements shewing quantities of provisions, implements, etc., received and how distributed, with a statement of clothing, medals, etc., given to the Chiefs and Councillors, and a report I received from Mr. Bedson. And, trusting that the manner in which I have carried out the mission entrusted to my care, may meet with your approval, I have the honor to be, Sir, Your obedient servant, THOMAS HOWARD, Commissioner. FORT GARRY, July 14th, 1876. TO THE HON. THOS. HOWARD AND J. LESTOCK REID, ESQ. Dear sirs,--Under authority from the Minister of the Interior, I have to request you to proceed to Lake Winnipeg for the purpose of--on behalf of the Privy Council of Canada--securing the adhesion to Treaty Number Five of the Indians who have not yet been dealt with, and to make the necessary payments to the others. 1st. You will, if possible, together proceed to or meet at the following places, being there on the days named, viz.: Dog Head Point, 25th July, and Berens River on the 5th August. 2nd. Mr. Howard will then proceed to the mouth of the Saskatchewan, so as to reach there on the 25th of August, and then arrive at the Pas on the 5th of September. 3rd. Mr. Reid will proceed from Berens River to Norway House, to arrive there on or before the 25th of August. 4th. You or either of you will secure the adhesion of the Island Indians to the treaty after the form annexed, and will request them to select a Chief and three Councillors, and will be authorized to promise them a reserve of one hundred and sixty acres to each family of five, or that proportion for larger or smaller families, to be selected for them by the person chosen for that end by the Privy Council with their approval. 5th. You or either of you will obtain the adhesion of the Indians of the Grand Rapids of Berens River to the treaty according to the form annexed. You will ask them to select a Chief and three Councillors. A similar provision will be made as to a reserve, but if necessary you can fix the locality at the Sandy Narrows above the rapids on the Berens River, reserving free navigation and access to the shores to all Her Majesty's subjects. 6th. Mr. Reid will pay the Norway House and Cross Lake Indians, and will ascertain the intentions of the Norway House Indians as to the time of their removal to Fisher River, of which I am unadvised. 7th. Mr. Howard will pay the Indians at the mouth of the Saskatchewan, and if the Indians have removed their houses, as agreed by the treaty, will pay them five hundred dollars, but if not and some have removed, will pay such their proportionate share of the five hundred dollars. 8th. You will distribute the implements, tools, etc. sent among the Indians, as also the ammunition and twine. Cattle cannot be given till the Indians are sufficiently settled on the reserves to make it seem that they will be cared for. You will report any cases where you find this to be the case, for future action. 9th. You will inform the Berens River Indians that their application for a hay reserve has been forwarded to the Privy Council by me, and that they will receive a reply hereafter. 10th. Mr. Howard will secure the adhesion of the Indians at the Pas to the treaty providing that reserves of one hundred and sixty acres to each family of five will be granted at places selected for them by an officer of the Privy Council, with their approval; but it will probably be necessary to give them a reserve at the Pas where they reside, reserving carefully free navigation and access to the shores. As the extent of land there is very narrow, it may be desirable to indicate localities where farming reserves will be granted subject to the approval of the Privy Council. 11th. The Moose Lake Indians are a distinct band, and will probably desire the recognition of two separate Chiefs and the allotment of separate reserves to them. 12th. The Cumberland House Indians are another band, but very much scattered; the question of a reserve will have to be considered, and, in connection with it, as in other cases, respect for actual, bona fide, substantial improvements, and for the rights of settlers. 13th. In all cases the places indicated for reserves to be subject to Her Majesty's approval in Council, and free navigation and access to the shores to be reserved. 14th. In the case of new adhesions to the treaty, which are in fact new treaties, only five dollars is to be paid, but persons belonging to bands treated with last year are to receive last year's payment, if then absent, if necessary. 15th. You will each take with you a suitable person, to be approved of by me, to assist you in the payment. I have the honor to be, Your obedient servant, ALEXANDER MORRIS, Lieut.-Governor. C. WINNIPEG, October 14th 1876. TO THE HON. ALEXANDER MORRIS, Lieut.-Governor. Sir,--Referring to your letter of instructions under date of the 14th of July, relative to the payment of the Norway House and Cross Lake bands of Indians, I have the honor to submit the following report:-- Having, in co-operation with the Hon. Thomas Howard, paid the Indians of Berens River and successfully secured the adhesion of the Island and Upper Berens River bands of Indians to Treaty Number Five, on the morning of Saturday, the 5th of August, I left for Norway House, which place, owing to stormy weather and strong head winds, I did not succeed in reaching until the morning of the 12th. On the way I was met by Indians proceeding to inspect their reserve at Fisher's River, who brought a letter from the Chiefs of Norway House and Cross Lake, stating that the Indians were all assembled, and requesting to be paid at the earliest possible date. On reaching this place, Norway House, after having camp pitched at a short distance from the fort, I dispatched messengers to the several camps and villages, notifying the Indians of my arrival and desiring the Chiefs to meet me on the Monday morning following. On Sunday evening divine service was held within the fort by the Rev. Mr. Ruttan, Wesleyan missionary, at which a large number of Indians were present. On Monday morning, the Chiefs and most of the Indians of both bands having assembled at my camp, the Cross Lake band requested to be paid there, and the Norway House Chief asked that his people might he paid in the school-house in their village about two miles from the fort. On hearing that all the Indians that could come were assembled, I consented to pay them where they desired, and told the Cross Lake Chief to bring his people at noon to receive their gratuities, the payment which was satisfactorily completed the same day. The next day I crossed over to the Indian village and paid the Norway House bands their annuities.... The following morning, Wednesday, August 16th, the Chiefs and Indians of the two bands having assembled at my camp, I distributed the provisions implements, &c., which were received with the greatest degree of gratification and satisfaction. On my inquiring of the Chief of Norway House when his band would be prepared to remove to their reserve at the Fisher River, he informed me that he had sent two of his people to that locality to report on the same, and that he could not say anything definite on the matter until their return. I might here state that, on my way back to Winnipeg I met these men returning from Fisher's River, who expressed themselves as highly pleased with the proposed location, and that the band in all probability would remove there in the spring. Whilst at Norway House I was waited upon by a Chief and four Councillors from the vicinity of Oxford House, who were anxious to know if the same bounties would be extended to them as were being extended to their brethren of Norway House and Cross Lake, and also whether they could obtain a reserve on Lake Winnipeg, as the country in which they were living was totally unfit for cultivation, and that they had the greatest difficulty in procuring a livelihood. I told them that I had no idea what were the intentions of the Government with regard to those Indians living north of the present Treaty, but that I would make known their requests to Your Excellency, and that they would be duly notified of any action the Government might take in the matter. I left Norway House on my return trip, on the morning of the 18th, arriving at Winnipeg on the afternoon of Saturday the 26th, having that morning paid my boat's crew off at Selkirk. I would here mention that previous to my departure from Norway House there was a very hearty and apparently sincere expression of gratitude, on the part of all the Indians present, for the liberality extended to them, and a general and spoken wish that their thanks be conveyed to the Queen's Representative in this Province for his kind interest in their welfare. I cannot conclude without bearing testimony to the kindness of Mr. Ross, Hudson's Bay Company's Factor, and the Rev. Mr. Ruttan, Wesleyan missionary, for services rendered during the few days occupied in my making the payments at Norway House. I enclose herewith statement of expenditure, &c., &c., with vouchers attached. I have the honor to be, Sir, Your obedient servant, J. LESTOCK REID, Commissioner. CHAPTER IX THE TREATIES AT FORTS CARLTON AND PITT The treaties made at Forts Carlton and Pitt in the year 1876, were of a very important character. The great region covered by them, abutting on the areas included in Treaties Numbers Three and Four, embracing an area of approximately 120,000 square miles, contains a vast extent of fertile territory and is the home of the Cree nation. The Crees had, very early after the annexation of the North-West Territories to Canada, desired a treaty of alliance with the Government. So far back as the year 1871, Mr. Simpson, the Indian Commissioner, addressing the Secretary of State in a despatch of date, the 3rd November, 1871, used the following language: "I desire also to call the attention of His Excellency to the state of affairs in the Indian country on the Saskatchewan. The intelligence that Her Majesty is treating with the Chippewa Indians has already reached the ears of the Cree and Blackfeet tribes. In the neighborhood of Fort Edmonton, on the Saskatchewan, there is a rapidly increasing population of miners and other white people, and it is the opinion of Mr. W. J. Christie, the officer in charge of the Saskatchewan District, that a treaty with the Indians of that country, or at least an assurance during the coming year that a treaty will shortly be made, is essential to the peace, if not the actual retention, of the country. I would refer His Excellency, on this subject, to the report of Lieut. Butler, and to the enclosed memoranda of Mr. W. J. Christie, the officer above alluded to." He also enclosed an extract of a letter from Mr. Christie, then Chief Factor of the Hudson's Bay Company, and subsequently one of the Treaty Commissioners, in which, he forwarded the messages of the Cree Chiefs to Lieut.-Gov. Archibald, "our Great Mother's representative at Fort Garry, Red River Settlement." This extract and messages are as follows. EDMONTON HOUSE, 13th April, 1871. On the 13th instant (April) I had a visit from the Cree Chiefs, representing the Plain Crees from this to Carlton, accompanied by a few followers. The object of their visit was to ascertain whether their lands had been sold or not, and what was the intention of the Canadian Government in relation to them. They referred to the epidemic that had raged throughout the past summer, and the subsequent starvation, the poverty of their country, the visible diminution of the buffalo, their sole support, ending by requesting certain presents at once, and that I should lay their case before Her Majesty's representative at Fort Garry. Many stories have reached these Indians through various channels, ever since the transfer of the North-West Territories to the Dominion of Canada, and they were most anxious to hear from myself what had taken place. I told them that the Canadian Government had as yet made no application for their lands or hunting grounds, and when anything was required of them, most likely Commissioners would be sent beforehand to treat with them, and that until then they should remain quiet and live at peace with all men. I further stated that Canada, in her treaties with Indians, heretofore, had dealt most liberally with them, and that they were now in settled houses and well off, and that I had no doubt in settling with them the same liberal policy would be followed. As I was aware that they had heard many exaggerated stories about the troops in Red River, I took the opportunity of telling them why troops had been sent, and if Her Majesty sent troops to the Saskatchewan, it was as much for the protection of the red as the white man, and that they would be for the maintenance of law and order. They were highly satisfied with the explanations offered, and said they would welcome civilization. As their demands were complied with, and presents given to them, their immediate followers, and for the young men left in camp, they departed well pleased for the present tune, with fair promises for the future. At a subsequent interview with the Chiefs alone, they requested that I should write down their words, or messages to their Great Master in Red River. I accordingly did so, and have transmitted the messages as delivered. Copies of the proclamation issued, prohibiting the traffic in spirituous liquors to Indians or others, and the use of strychnine in the destruction of animal life, have been received, and due publicity given to them. But without any power to enforce these laws, it is almost useless to publish them here; and I take this opportunity of most earnestly soliciting, on behalf of the Company's servants, and settlers in this district, that protection be afforded to life and property here as soon as possible, and that Commissioners be sent to speak with the Indians on behalf of the Canadian Government. MEMORANDA: Had I not complied with the demands of the Indians--giving them some little presents--and otherwise satisfied them, I have no doubt that they would have proceeded to acts of violence, and once that had commenced, there would have been the beginning of an Indian war, which it is difficult to say when it would have ended. The buffalo will soon be exterminated, and when starvation comes, these Plain Indian tribes will fall back on the Hudson's Bay Forts and settlements for relief and assistance. If not complied with, or no steps taken to make some provision for them, they will most assuredly help themselves; and there being no force or any law up there to protect the settlers, they must either quietly submit to be pillaged, or lose their lives in the defence of their families and property, against such fearful odds that will leave no hope for their side. Gold may be discovered in paying quantities, any day, on the eastern slope of the Rocky Mountains. We have, in Montana, and in the mining settlements close to our boundary line, a large mixed frontier population, who are now only waiting and watching to hear of gold discoveries to rush into the Saskatchewan, and, without any form of Government or established laws up there, or force to protect whites or Indians, it is very plain what will be the result. I think that the establishment of law and order in the Saskatchewan District, as early as possible, is of most vital importance to the future of the country and the interest of Canada, and also the making of some treaty or settlement with the Indians who inhabit the Saskatchewan District. W. J. CHRISTIE, Chief Factor, In charge of Saskatchewan District, Hudson's Bay Company. Messages from the Cree Chiefs of the Plains, Saskatchewan, to His Excellency Governor Archibald, our Great Mother's representative at Fort Garry, Red River Settlement. 1. The Chief Sweet Grass, The Chief of the country. GREAT FATHER,--I shake hands with you, and bid you welcome. We heard our lands were sold and we did not like it; we don't want to sell our lands; it is our property, and no one has a right to sell them. Our country is getting ruined of fur-bearing animals, hitherto our sole support, and now we are poor and want help--we want you to pity us. We want cattle, tools, agricultural implements, and assistance in everything when we come to settle--our country is no longer able to support us. Make provision for us against years of starvation. We have had great starvation the past winter, and the small-pox took away many of our people, the old, young, and children. We want you to stop the Americans from coming to trade on our lands, and giving firewater, ammunition and arms to our enemies the Blackfeet. We made a peace this winter with the Blackfeet. Our young men are foolish, it may not last long. We invite you to come and see us and to speak with us. If you can't come yourself, send some one in your place. We send these words by our Master, Mr. Christie, in whom we have every confidence.--That is all. 2. Ki-he-win, The Eagle. GREAT FATHER,--Let us be friendly. We never shed any white man's blood, and have always been friendly with the whites, and want workmen, carpenters and farmers to assist us when we settle. I want all my brother, Sweet Grass, asks. That is all. 3. The Little Hunter. You, my brother, the Great Chief in Red River, treat me as a brother, that is, as a Great Chief. 4. Kis-ki-on, or Short Tail. My brother, that is coming close, I look upon you, as if I saw you; I want you to pity me, and I want help to cultivate the ground for myself and descendants. Come and see us. The North-West Council, as already elsewhere stated, had urged the making of treaties with these Indians, and the necessity of doing so, was also impressed upon the Privy Council, by the Lieutenant-Governor of the North-West Territories, and Col. French, then in command of the Mounted Police therein. The Minister of the Interior, the Hon. David Mills, in his Report for the year 1876, thus alluded to this subject: "Official reports received last year from His Honor Governor Morris and Colonel French, the officer then in command of the Mounted Police Force, and from other parties, showed that a feeling of discontent and uneasiness prevailed very generally amongst the Assiniboines and Crees lying in the unceded territory between the Saskatchewan and the Rocky Mountains. This state of feeling, which had prevailed amongst these Indians for some years past, had been increased by the presence, last summer, in their territory of the parties engaged in the construction of the telegraph line, and in the survey of the Pacific Railway line, and also of a party belonging to the Geological Survey. To allay this state of feeling, and to prevent the threatened hostility of the Indian tribes to the parties then employed by the Government, His Honor Governor Morris requested and obtained authority to despatch a messenger to convey to these Indians the assurance that Commissioners would be sent this summer, to negotiate a treaty with them, as had already been done with their brethren further east. "The Rev. George McDougall, who had been resident as a missionary amongst these Indians for upwards of fourteen years, and who possessed great influence over them, was selected by His Honor to convey this intelligence to the Indians, a task which he performed with great fidelity and success: being able to report on his return that although he found the feeling of discontent had been very general among the Indian tribes, he had been enabled entirely to remove it by his assurance of the proposed negotiations during the coming year. "For the purpose of negotiating this treaty with the Indians, Your Excellency availed yourself of the services of His Honor Governor Morris, who had been formerly employed in negotiating Treaties Numbers Three, Four and Five. With him were associated the Hon. James McKay and W. J. Christie, Esq., both of whom had had considerable experience in such work, and possessed moreover an intimate acquaintance with the Indians of the Saskatchewan, their wants, habits and dialects." With reference to the Rev. George McDougall, [Footnote: This faithful missionary came to an untimely death on the plains during the succeeding winter. Having missed his way to his camp, he was found lying dead on the snow, and there in the lonely wilds was closed a most useful career.] I may here state, that when the application was made to him, to visit the Indians of the Plains, in the Sask atchewan Valley, he was on his way, with his family, to his distant mission, among the Assiniboines, near the Rocky Mountains, after a brief sojourn in the Province of Ontario, but on the request being made to him, to explain to the Indians the intentions of the Government, he at once undertook the duty, and leaving his family to follow him, went upon the long journey, which his mission involved, carrying with him a letter missive from the Lieutenant-Governor of the North-West Territories, promising the Indians, that Commissioners would visit them during the ensuing summer, to confer with them as to a treaty. The result of his tour, and of the tidings which he bore was very gratifying, as the Indians were at once tranquilized, and awaited in full confidence, the coming of the Commissioners. The way in which he discharged his important duties and the success which followed his exertions, will be best set forth by giving place to his Report, addressed to the Lieutenant-Governor, of the results of his arduous mission: MORLEYVILLE, BOW RIVER, ROCKY MOUNTAINS, October 23rd, 1875. TO HIS HONOR LIEUTENANT-GOVERNOR MORRIS. Sir,--In accordance with my instructions, I proceeded with as little delay as possible to Carlton, in the neighborhood of which place I met with forty tents of Crees. From these I ascertained that the work I had undertaken would be much more arduous than I had expected, and that the principal camps would be found on the south branch of the Saskatchewan and Red Deer Rivers. I was also informed by these Indians that the Crees and Plain Assiniboines were united on two points: 1st. That they would not receive any presents from Government until a definite time for treaty was stated. 2nd. Though they deplored the necessity of resorting to extreme measures, yet they were unanimous in their determination to oppose the running of lines, or the making of roads through their country, until a settlement between the Government and them had been effected. I was further informed that the danger of a collision with the whites was likely to arise from the officious conduct of minor Chiefs who were anxious to make themselves conspicuous, the principal men of the large camps being much more moderate in their demands. Believing this to be the fact, I revolved to visit every camp and read them your message, and in order that your Honor may form a correct judgment of their disposition towards the Government, I will give you a synopsis of their speeches after the message was read. Mistahwahsis, head Chief of the Carlton Indians, addressing the principal Chief of the Assiniboines and addressing me, said: "That is just it, that is all we wanted." The Assiniboines addressing me, said: "My heart is full of gratitude, foolish men have told us that the Great Chief would send his young men to our country until they outnumbered us, and that then he would laugh at us, but this letter assures us that the Great Chief will act justly toward us." Beardy, or the Hairy Man, Chief of the Willow Indians, said: "If I had heard these words spoken by the Great Queen I could not have believed them with more implicit faith than I do now." The Sweet Grass was absent from camp when I reached the Plain Crees, but his son and the principal men of the tribe requested me to convey to the Great Chief, at Red River, their thanks for the presents received, and they expressed the greatest loyalty to the government. In a word, I found the Crees reasonable in their demands, and anxious to live in peace with the white men. I found the Big Bear, a Saulteaux, trying to take the lead in their council. He formerly lived at Jack Fish Lake, and for years has been regarded as a troublesome fellow. In his speech he said: "We want none of the Queen's presents; when we set a fox-trap we scatter pieces of meat all round, but when the fox gets into the trap we knock him on the head; we want no bait, let your Chiefs come like men and talk to us." These Saulteaux are the mischief-makers through all this western country, and some of them are shrewd men. A few weeks since, a land speculator wished to take a claim at the crossing on Battle River and asked the consent of the Indians, one of my Saulteaux friends sprang to his feet, and pointing to the east, said: "Do you see that great white man (the Government) coming?" "No," said the speculator. "I do," said the Indian, "and I hear the tramp of the multitude behind him, and when he comes you can drop in behind him and take up all the land claims you want; but until then I caution you to put up no stakes in our country." It was very fortunate for me that Big Bear and his party were a very small minority in camp. The Crees said they would have driven them out of camp long ago, but were afraid of their medicines, as they are noted conjurers. The topics generally discussed at their council and which will be brought before the Commissioner are as follows in their own language. "Tell the Great Chief that we are glad the traders are prohibited bringing spirits into our country; when we see it we want to drink it, and it destroys us; when we do not see it we do not think about it. Ask for us a strong law, prohibiting the free use of poison (strychnine). It has almost exterminated the animals of our country, and often makes us bad friends with our white neighbors. We further request, that a law be made, equally applicable to the Half-breed and Indian, punishing all parties who set fire to our forest or plain. Not many years ago we attributed a prairie fire to the malevolence of an enemy, now every one is reckless in the use of fire, and every year large numbers of valuable animals and birds perish in consequence. We would farther ask that our chiefships be established by the Government. Of late years almost every trader sets up his own Chief and the result is we are broken up into little parties, and our best men are no longer respected." I will state in connection with this, some of the false reports I had to combat in passing through this country, all calculated to agitate the native mind. In the neighborhood of Carlton an interested party went to considerable trouble to inform the Willow Indians that I had $3,000 for each band, as a present from the Government, and nothing in my long journey gave me greater satisfaction than the manner in which these Indians received my explanation of the contents of my letter of instructions. At the Buffalo Lake I found both Indians and Half-breeds greatly agitated. A gentlemen passing through their country had told them that the Mounted Police had received orders to prevent all parties killing buffalo or other animals, except during three months in the year, and these are only samples of the false statements made by parties who would rejoice to witness a conflict of races. That your Honor's message was most timely, these are ample proofs. A report will have reached you before this time that parties have been turned back by the Indians, and that a train containing supplies for the telegraph contractors, when west of Fort Pitt, were met by three Indians and ordered to return. Now after carefully investigating the matter and listening to the statements of all parties concerned, my opinion is, that an old traveller amongst Indians would have regarded the whole affair as too trivial to be noticed. I have not met with a Chief who would bear with the responsibility of the act.... Personally I am indebted both to the missionaries, and the Hudson's Bay Company's officials for their assistance at the Indian councils. Believing it would be satisfactory to your Honor and of service to the Commissioners, I have kept the number of all the tents visited and the names of the places where I met the Indians. [Footnote: The number of Indians, as estimated by Mr. McDougall, as being visited by him, was 3,976.] By reckoning eight persons to each tent, we will have a very close approximate to the number of Indians to be treated with at Carlton, and Fort Pitt. There may have been a few tents in the forest, and I have heard there are a few Crees at Lesser Slave Lake and Lac la Biche, but the number cannot exceed twenty tents. All of which is respectfully submitted. G. McDOUGALL. The Commissioners, in the discharge of their task, had to travel through the prairie district in going to their destination and returning to Winnipeg, a distance of over 1,800 miles. They first met the Indians in the vicinity of Fort Carlton, on the Saskatchewan, in the month of August, 1876, and eventually succeeded on the 23rd day of that month, in effecting a treaty with the Plain and Wood Crees, and on the 28th of the same month with the tribe of Willow Crees. The negotiations were difficult and protracted. The Hon. David Mills, then Minister of the Interior, in his Annual Report thus characterizes them:--"In view of the temper of the Indians of the Saskatchewan, during the past year, and of the extravagant demands which they were induced to prefer on certain points, it needed all the temper, tact, judgment and discretion, of which the Commissioners were possessed, to bring the negotiations to a satisfactory issue." The difficulties were encountered chiefly at Carlton: The main body of the Crees were honestly disposed to treat, and their head Chiefs, Mistowasis and Ah-tuk-uh-koop, shewed sound judgment, and an earnest desire to come to an understanding. They were embarrassed, however, by the action of the Willow Crees, who, under the guidance of one of their Chiefs, Beardy, interposed every obstacle to the progress of the treaty, and refused to attend the Council, unless it was held at the top of a hill some miles off, where the Chief pretended it had been revealed to him in a vision that the treaty was to be made. The Willow Crees were, moreover, under the influence of a wandering band of Saulteaux, the chief portion of whom resided within the limits of the other treaties, and who were disposed to be troublesome. Before the arrival of the Commissioners, the Saulteaux conceived the idea of forming a combination of the French Half-breeds, the Crees, and themselves, to prevent the crossing of the Saskatchewan by the Lieutenant-Governor, and his entrance into the Indian territories. They made the proposal first to the French Half-breeds, who declined to undertake it, and then to the Crees, who listened to it in silence. One of them at length arose, and pointing to the River Saskatchewan, said, "Can you stop the flow of that river?" The answer was, "No," and the rejoinder was "No more can you stop the progress of the Queen's Chief." When the Commissioners arrived at the Saskatchewan, a messenger from the Crees met them, proffering a safe convoy, but it was not needed. About a hundred traders' carts were assembled at the crossing, and Kissowayis, a native Indian trader, had the right of passage, which he at once waived, in favor of Messrs. Christie and Morris, the Commissioners. The other Commissioner, Mr. McKay, met them at Duck Lake next day, having proceeded by another route, and there they encountered Chief Beardy, who at once asked the Lieutenant-Governor to make the treaty at the hill, near the lake. On his guard, however, he replied, that he would meet the Cree nation wherever they desired, but must first go on and see them at Carlton, as he had appointed. An escort of Mounted Police also met the Commissioners at Duck Lake, having been sent from Carlton, in consequence of the information given by the Crees of the threatened interference with their progress. After several days' delay the Commissioners were obliged to meet the Crees without the Willow Crees. But after the conference had opened, the Beardy sent a message asking to be informed of the terms the Commissioners intended to offer in advance. The reply was that the messenger could sit with the other Indians, and report to his Chief what he heard, as it was his own fault that the Chief was not there to take part in the proceedings. The negotiations then went on quietly and deliberately, the Commissioners giving the Indians all the time they desired. The Indians were apprehensive of their future. They saw the food supply, the buffalo, passing away, and they were anxious and distressed. They knew the large terms granted to their Indians by the United States, but they had confidence in their Great Mother, the Queen, and her benevolence. They desired to be fed. Small-pox had destroyed them by hundreds a few years before, and they dreaded pestilence and famine. Eventually the Commissioners made them an offer. They asked this to be reduced to writing, which was done, and they asked time to consider it, which was of course granted. When the conference resumed, they presented a written counter-proposal. This the Commissioners considered, and gave full and definite answers of acceptance or refusal to each demand, which replies were carefully interpreted, two of the Commissioners, Messrs. Christie and McKay, being familiar with the Cree tongue, watching how the answers were rendered, and correcting when necessary. The food question, was disposed of by a promise, that in the event of a National famine or pestilence such aid as the Crown saw fit would be extended to them, and that for three years after they settled on their reserves, provisions to the extent of $1,000 per annum would be granted them during seed-time. The other terms were analogous to those of the previous treaties. The Crees accepted the revised proposals. The treaty was interpreted to them carefully, and was then signed, and the payment made in accordance therewith. After the conclusion of the treaty, the Commissioners were unwilling that the Willow Crees should remain out of the treaty, and sent a letter to them by a messenger, Pierre Levailler, that they would meet them half way, at the camp of the Hon. James McKay, and give them the opportunity of accepting the terms of the treaty already concluded. The letter was translated to the Indians by the Rev. Pere Andre, a Catholic missionary, who, as well as M. Levailler, urged the Indians to accede to the proposal made to them, which they agreed to do. The Commissioners met the Indians accordingly, at the place proposed, and received, after a full discussion, the adhesion of the three Chiefs and head men of the Willow Crees to the treaty, and the payments were then made to them. The Commissioners then prepared to leave for Fort Pitt, but having been apprised by the Rev. Mr. Scollan, a Catholic missionary, who had been sent by Bishop Grandin, to be present at the making of the treaty, that Sweet Grass, the principal Chief of the Plain Crees, at Fort Pitt, was unaware of the place and time of meeting, they despatched a messenger to apprise him of them, and request him to be present. The Commissioners crossed the Saskatchewan and journeyed to Fort Pitt. Near it they were met by an escort of Mounted Police, who convoyed them to the fort. There they found a number of Indians assembled, and, during the day, Sweet Grass arrived. In the evening the Chief and head men waited upon the Commissioners. Delay was asked and granted before meeting. Eventually the conference was opened. The ceremonies which attended it were imposing. The national stem or pipe dance was performed, of which a full narrative will be found hereafter. The conference proceeded, and the Indians accepted the terms made at Carlton with the utmost good feeling, and thus the Indian title was extinguished in the whole of the Plain country, except a comparatively small area, inhabited by the Black Feet, comprising about 35,000 square miles, I regret to record, that the Chief Sweet Grass, who took the lead in the proceedings, met with an accidental death a few months afterwards, by the discharge of a pistol. The Indians, in these two treaties, displayed a strong desire for instruction in farming, and appealed for the aid of missionaries and teachers. The latter the Commissioners promised, and for the former they were told they must rely on the churches, representatives of whom were present from the Church of England, the Methodist, the Presbyterian and the Roman Catholic Church. The Bishop (Grandin) of the latter Church travelled from Edmonton to Fort Pitt and Battleford to see the Commissioners and assure them of his good will. After the conclusion of the treaty, the Commissioners commenced their long return journey by way of Battleford, and arrived at Winnipeg on the 6th day of October, with the satisfaction of knowing that they had accomplished a work which, with the efficient carrying out of the treaties, had secured the good will of the Cree Nation, and laid the foundations of law and order in the Saskatchewan Valley. The officers of the Hudson's Bay Company, the missionaries of the various churches, Colonel McLeod of the Mounted Police Force, his officers and men, and the Half-breed population, all lent willing assistance to the commissioners, and were of substantial service. I now submit the despatch of the Lieutenant-Governor, giving an account of the journey and of the negotiations attending the treaty, and I include a narrative of the proceedings taken down, day by day, by A. G. Jackes, Esq., M.D., Secretary to the Commission, which has never before been published, and embraces an accurate account of the speeches of the Commissioners and Indians. It is satisfactory to be able to state, that Lieut.-Gov. Laird, officers of the police force and Mr. Dickieson have since obtained the adhesion to the treaty, of, I believe, all but one of the Chiefs included in the treaty area, viz.: The Big Bear, while the head men even of his band have ranged themselves under the provisions of the treaty. GOVERNMENT HOUSE, FORT GARRY, MANITOBA, 4th. December, 1876. Sir,--I beg to inform you that in compliance with the request of the Privy Council that I should proceed to the west to negotiate the treaties which I had last year, through the agency of the late Rev. George McDougall, promised the Plain Crees, would be undertaken, I left Fort Garry on the afternoon of the 27th of July last, with the view of prosecuting my mission. I was accompanied by one of my associates, the Hon. J. W. Christie, and by A. G. Jackes, Esq., M.D., who was to act as secretary. I selected as my guide Mr. Pierre Levailler. The Hon. James McKay, who had also been associated in the commission, it was arranged, would follow me and meet me at Fort Carlton. On the morning of the 4th of August, I forded the Assiniboine about five miles from Fort Ellice, having accomplished what is usually regarded as the first stage of the journey to Fort Carlton, about two hundred and twenty miles. After crossing the river, I was overtaken by a party of the Sioux who have settled on the reserve assigned to them at Bird Tail Creek, and was detained the greater part of the day. I am sanguine that this settlement will prove a success, as these Sioux are displaying a laudable industry in cutting hay for their own use and for sale, and in breaking up ground for cultivation. I resumed my journey in the afternoon, but a storm coming on, I was obliged to encamp at the Springs, having only travelled eight miles in all during the day. On the 5th I left the Springs, and after traversing much fine country, with excellent prairie, good soil, clumps of wood, lakelets, and hay swamps, in the Little and Great Touchwood Hills and File Mountain region, I arrived at the South Saskatchewan, at Dumont's crossing, twenty miles from Fort Carlton, on the afternoon of the 14th of August. Here I found over one hundred carts of traders and freighters, waiting to be ferried across the river. The scow was occupied in crossing the carts and effects of Kis-so-wais, an enterprising Chippewa trader, belonging to the Portage la Prairie band, who at once came forward and gave up to me his right of crossing. I met, also, a young Cree who had been sent by the Crees to hand me a letter of welcome in the name of their nation. The reason of this step being taken was, that a few wandering Saulteaux or Chippewa, from Quill Lake, in Treaty Number Four, had come to the Crees and proposed to them to unite with them and prevent me from crossing the river and entering the Indian country. The Crees promptly refused to entertain the proposal, and sent a messenger, as above stated, to welcome me. I also received from their messenger a letter from Lawrence Clarke, Esq., Chief Factor of the Hudson's Bay Company at Carlton, offering the Commissioners the hospitalities of the fort. I sent replies in advance, thanking the Crees for their action, and accepting the kind offer of Mr. Clarke, to the extent of the use of rooms in the fort. It was late in the evening before our party crossed the river, so that we encamped on the heights near it. On the morning of the 15th we left for Fort Carlton, Mr. Christie preceding me to announce my approaching arrival at Duck Lake. About twelve miles from Carlton I found the Hon. James McKay awaiting me, having travelled by way of Fort Pelly. Here also a Chief, Beardy of the Willow Crees, came to see me. He said that his people were encamped near the lake, and that as there were fine meadows for their horses they wished the treaty to be made there. I was at once on my guard, and replied to him, that after I reached Carlton, which was the place appointed, I would meet the Indians wherever the great body of them desired it. He then asked me to stop as I passed his encampment, and see his people. This I agreed to do, as I was leaving Duck Lake I met Captain Walker with his troop of mounted police, coming to escort me to Carlton which they did. When I arrived at Beardy's encampment, the men came to my carriage and holding up their right hands to the skies, all joined in an invocation to the deity for a blessing on the bright day which had brought the Queen's messenger to see them, and on the messenger and themselves; one of them shook hands with me for the others. The scene was a very impressive and striking one, but as will be seen hereafter, this band gave me great trouble and were very difficult to deal with. Leaving the Indian encampment I arrived at Fort Carlton, where Mr. Christie, Dr. Jackes and myself were assigned most comfortable rooms, Mr. McKay preferring to encamp about four miles from the fort. In the evening, Mist-ow-as-is and Ah-tuk-uk-koop, the two head Chiefs of the Carlton Crees, called to pay their respects to me, and welcomed me most cordially. On the 16th the Crees sent me word that they wished the day to confer amongst themselves. I acceded to their request, learning that they desired to bring the Duck Lake Indians into the negotiations. I sent a messenger, Mr. Peter Ballenden, to Duck Lake to inform the Indians that I would meet them at the encampment of the Carlton Crees, about two miles from the fort. On the 17th, on his return, he informed me that the Chief said "He had not given me leave to meet the Indians anywhere except at Duck Lake, and that they would only meet me there." The Carlton Indians, however, sent me word, that they would be ready next morning at ten o'clock. On the 18th, as I was leaving for the Indian encampment, a messenger came to me from the Duck Lake Indians, asking for provisions. I replied, that Mr. Christie was in charge of the distribution of provisions, but that I would not give any to the Duck Lake Indians, in consequence of the unreasonableness of their conduct, and that provisions would only be given to the large encampment. I then proceeded to the Indian camp, together with my fellow Commissioners, and was escorted by Captain Walker and his troop. On my arrival I found that the ground had been most judiciously chosen, being elevated, with abundance of trees, hay marshes and small lakes. The spot which the Indians had left for my council tent overlooked the whole. The view was very beautiful: the hills and the trees in the distance, and in the foreground, the meadow land being dotted with clumps of wood, with the Indian tents clustered here and there to the number of two hundred. On my arrival, the Union Jack was hoisted, and the Indians at once began to assemble, beating drums, discharging fire-arms, singing and dancing. In about half an hour they were ready to advance and meet me. This they did in a semicircle, having men on horseback galloping in circles, shouting, singing and discharging fire-arms. They then performed the dance of the "pipe stem," the stem was elevated to the north, south, west and east, a ceremonial dance was then performed by the Chiefs and head men, the Indian men and women shouting the while. They then slowly advanced, the horsemen again preceding them on their approach to my tent. I advanced to meet them, accompanied by Messrs. Christie and McKay, when the pipe was presented to us and stroked by our hands. After the stroking had been completed, the Indians sat down in front of the council tent, satisfied that in accordance with their custom we had accepted the friendship of the Cree nation. I then addressed the Indians in suitable terms, explaining that I had been sent by the Queen, in compliance with their own wishes and the written promise I had given them last year, that a messenger would be sent to them. I had ascertained that the Indian mind was oppressed with vague fears; they dreaded the treaty; they had been made to believe that they would be compelled to live on the reserves wholly, and abandon their hunting and that in time of war, they would be placed in the front and made to fight. I accordingly shaped my address, so as to give them confidence in the intentions of the Government, and to quiet their apprehensions. I impressed strongly on them the necessity of changing their present mode of life, and commencing to make homes and gardens for themselves, so as to be prepared for the diminution of the buffalo and other large animals, which is going on so rapidly. The Indians listened with great attention to my address, and at its close asked an adjournment that they might meet in council to consider my words, which was of course granted. The Rev. C. Scollen, a Roman Catholic Missionary amongst the Blackfeet, arrived soon after from Bow River, and informed me that on the way he had learned that Sweet Grass, the principal Chief of the Plain Crees, was out hunting and would not be at Fort Pitt, and that he was of opinion that his absence would be a great obstruction to a treaty. After consulting with my colleagues, I decided on sending a messenger to him, requesting his presence, and succeeded in obtaining, for the occasion, the services of Mr. John McKay, of Prince Albert, who had accompanied the Rev. George McDougall on his mission last year. In the evening, Lieut.-Col. Jarvis arrived with a reinforcement of the Mounted Police, and an excellent band, which has been established at the private cost of one of the troops. On the 19th, the Commissioners, escorted by the Mounted Police, headed by the band, proceeded to the Indian encampment. The Indians again assembled, following Mist-ow-as-is and Ah-tuk-uk-koop, the recognised leading Chiefs. I asked them to present their Chiefs; they then presented the two head Chiefs, and the minor ones. At this juncture, a messenger arrived from the Duck Lake Indians, asking that I should tell them the terms of the Treaty. I replied that if the Chiefs and people had joined the others they would have heard what I had to say, and that I would not tell the terms in advance, but that the messenger could remain and hear what I had to say. He expressed himself satisfied and took his seat with the others. I then fully explained to them the proposals I had to make, that we did not wish to interfere with their present mode of living, but would assign them reserves and assist them as was being done elsewhere, in commencing to farm, and that what was done would hold good for those that were away. The Indians listened most attentively, and on the close of my remarks Mist-ow-as-is arose, took me by the hand, and said that "when a thing was thought of quietly, it was the best way," and asked "this much, that we go and think of his words." I acquiesced at once, and expressed my hope that the Chiefs would act wisely, and thus closed the second day. The 20th being Sunday, the Rev. Mr. John McKay, of the Church of England, conducted divine service at the fort, which was largely attended; the Rev. Mr. Scollen also conducted service. At noon a messenger came from the Indian camp, asking that there should be a service held at their camp, which Mr. McKay agreed to do; this service was attended by about two hundred adult Crees. On Monday, 21st, the head Chiefs sent word that, as the previous day was Sunday, they had not met in council, and wished to have the day for consultation, and if ready would meet me on Tuesday morning. I cheerfully granted the delay from the reasonableness of the request; but I was also aware that the head Chiefs were in a position of great difficulty. The attitude of the Duck Lake Indians and of the few discontented Saulteaux embarrassed them, while a section of their own people were either averse to make a treaty or desirous of making extravagant demands. The head Chiefs were men of intelligence, and anxious that the people should act unitedly and reasonably. We, therefore, decided to give them all the time they might ask, a policy which they fully appreciated. On the 22nd the Commissioners met the Indians, when I told them that we had not hurried them, but wished now to hear their Chiefs. A spokesman, The Pond Maker, then addressed me, and asked assistance when they settled on the land, and further help as they advanced in civilization. I replied that they had their own means of living, and that we could not feed the Indians, but only assist them to settle down. The Badger, Soh-ah-moos, and several other Indians all asked help when they settled, and also in case of troubles unforeseen in the future. I explained that we could not assume the charge of their every-day life, but in a time of a great national calamity they could trust to the generosity of the Queen. The Honourable James McKay also addressed them, saying that their demands would be understood by a white man as asking for daily food, and could not be granted, and explained our objects, speaking with effect in the Cree tongue. At length the Indians informed me that they did not wish to be fed every day, but to be helped when they commenced to settle, because of their ignorance how to commence, and also in case of general famine; Ah-tuk-uk-koop winding up the debate by stating that they wanted food in the spring when they commenced to farm, and proportionate help as they advanced in civilization, and then asking for a further adjournment to consider our offers. The Commissioners granted this, but I warned them not to be unreasonable, and to be ready next day with their decision, while we on our part would consider what they had said. The whole day was occupied with this discussion on the food question, and it was the turning point with regard to the treaty. The Indians were, as they had been for some time past, full of uneasiness. They saw the buffalo, the only means of their support, passing away. They were anxious to learn to support themselves by agriculture, but felt too ignorant to do so, and they dreaded that during the transition period they would be swept off by disease or famine--already they have suffered terribly from the ravages of measles, scarlet fever and small-pox. It was impossible to listen to them without interest, they were not exacting, but they were very apprehensive of their future, and thankful, as one of them put it, "a new life was dawning upon them." On the 23rd the conference was resumed, an Indian addressed the people, telling them to listen and the interpreter, Peter Erasmus, would read what changes they desired in the terms of our offer. They asked for an ox and a cow each family; an increase in the agricultural implements; provisions for the poor, unfortunate, blind and lame; to be provided with missionaries and school teachers; the exclusion of fire water in the whole Saskatchewan; a further increase in agricultural implements as the band advanced in civilization; freedom to cut timber on Crown lands; liberty to change the site of the reserves before the survey; free passages over Government bridges or scows; other animals, a horse, harness and waggon, and cooking stove for each chief; a free supply of medicines; a hand mill to each band; and lastly, that in case of war they should not be liable to serve. Two spokesmen then addressed us in support of these modifications of the terms of the Treaty. I replied to them that they had asked many things some of which had been promised, and that the Commissioners would consult together about what they had asked that day and the day before, and would reply, but before doing so wished to know if that was the voice of the whole people, to which the Indians all assented. After an interval we again met them, and I replied, going over their demands and reiterating my statements as to our inability to grant food, and again explaining that only in a national famine did the Crown ever intervene, and agreeing to make some additions to the number of cattle and implements, as we felt it would be desirable to encourage their desire to settle. I closed by stating that, after they settled on the reserves, we would give them provisions to aid them while cultivating, to the extent of one thousand dollars per annum, but for three years only, as after that time they should be able to support themselves. I told them that we could not give them missionaries, though I was pleased with their request, but that they must look to the churches, and that they saw Catholic and Protestant missionaries present at the conference. We told them that they must help their own poor, and that if they prospered they could do so. With regard to war, they would not be asked to fight unless they desired to do so, but if the Queen did call on them to protect their wives and children I believed they would not be backward. I then asked if they were willing to accept our modified proposals. Ah-tuk-uk-koop then addressed me, and concluded by calling on the people, if they were in favour of our offers, to say so. This they all did by shouting assent and holding up their hands. The Pond Maker then rose and said he did not differ from his people, but he did not see how they could feed and clothe their children with what was promised. He expected to have received that; he did not know how to build a house nor to cultivate the ground. Joseph Toma, a Saulteaux, said he spoke for the Red Pheasant, Chief of the Battle River Crees, and made demands as follows: Men to build houses for them, increased salaries to the Chiefs and head men, etc. He said what was offered was too little; he wanted enough to cover the skin of the people, guns, and also ten miles of land round the reserves in a belt. I asked the Red Pheasant how it was that he was party to the requests of his people and how, when I asked if that was their unanimous voice he had assented, and yet had now put forward new and large demands. I said it was not good faith, and that I would not accede to the requests now made; that what was offered was a gift as they had still their old mode of living. The principal Chiefs then rose and said that they accepted our offers, and the Red Pheasant repudiated the demands and remarks of Toma, and stated that he had not authorized him to speak for him. Mist-ow-as-is then asked to speak for the Half-breeds, who wish to live on the reserves. I explained the distinction between the Half-breed people and the Indian Half-breeds who lived amongst the Indians as Indians, and said the Commissioners would consider the case of each of these last on its merits. The treaty was then signed by myself, Messrs. Christie and McKay, Mist-ow-as-is and Ah-tuk-uk-koop, the head Chiefs, and by the other Chiefs and Councillors, those signing, though many Indians were absent, yet representing all the bands of any importance in the Carlton regions, except the Willow Indians. On the 24th the Commissioners again met the Indians, when I presented the Head Chiefs with their medals, uniforms and flags, and informed them that Mr. Christie would give the other Chiefs and Councillors the same in the evening. Some half a dozen of Saulteaux then came forward, of whom I found one was from Qu'Appelle, and had been paid there, and the others did not belong to the Carlton region. I told them that I had heard that they had endeavoured to prevent me crossing the river and to prevent a treaty being made, but that they were not wiser than the whole of their nation, who had already been treated with. They did not deny the charge, and their spokesman becoming insolent, I declined to hear them further, and they retired, some stating that they would go to Fort Pitt, which I warned them not to do. Besides these Saulteaux, there were others present who disapproved of their proceedings, amongst them being Kis-so-way-is, already mentioned, and Pecheeto, who was the chief spokesman at Qu'Appelle, but is now a Councillor of the Fort Ellice Band. I may mention here that the larger part of the Band to whom these other Saulteaux belonged, with the Chief Yellow Quill, gave in their adhesion to Treaty Number Four, at Fort Pelly about the time that their comrades were troubling me at Fort Carlton. Mr. Christie then commenced the payments, assisted by Mr. McKay, of Prince Albert, and was engaged in so doing during the 24th and 25th. Amongst those paid were the few resident Saulteaux, who were accepted by the Cree Chiefs as part of their bands. The next morning, the 26th, the whole band, headed by their Chiefs and Councillors, dressed in their uniforms, came to Carlton House to pay their farewell visit to me. The Chiefs came forward in order, each addressing me a few remarks, and I replied briefly. They then gave three cheers for the Queen, the Governor, one for the Mounted Police, and for Mr. Lawrence Clarke, of Carlton House, and then departed, firing guns as they went. Considering it undesirable that so many Indians should be excluded from the treaty, as would be the case if I left the Duck Lake Indians to their own devices, I determined on sending a letter to them. I, therefore, prepared a message, inviting them to meet me at the Hon. Mr. McKay's encampment about three miles from the large Indian encampment about half way to Duck Lake, on Monday, the 28th, if they were prepared then to accept the terms of the treaty I had made with the Carlton Indians. My letter was entrusted to Mr. Levailler, who proceeded to Duck Lake. On entering the Indian Council room, he found they had a letter written to me by the Rev. Mr. Andre, offering to accept the terms of the treaty, if I came to Duck Lake. The Indians sent for Mr. Andre to read my letter to them, which was received with satisfaction; both he and Mr. Levailler urged them to accept my proposal, which they agreed to do, and requested Mr. Levailler to inform me that they would go to the appointed place. Accordingly, on the 28th, the Commissioners met the Willow Indians. After the usual handshaking, and short speeches from two of the Chiefs, I addressed them, telling them I was sorry for the course they had pursued, and that I did not go away without giving them this opportunity to be included in the treaty. Kah-mee-yes-too-waegs, the Beardy, spoke for the people. He said some things were too little. He was anxious about the buffalo. Say-sway-kees wished to tell our mother, the Queen, that they were alarmed about the buffalo. It appeared as if there was only one left. The Beardy again addressed me and said,--"You have told me what you have done with the others you will do with us. I accept the terms; no doubt it will run further, according to our numbers; when I am utterly unable to help myself I want to receive assistance." I replied to them, explaining, with regard to assistance that we could not support or feed the Indians, and all that we would do would be to help them to cultivate the soil. If a general famine came upon the Indians the charity of the Government would come into exercise. I admitted the importance of steps being taken to preserve the buffalo, and assured them that it would be considered by the Governor-General and Council of the North-West Territories, to see if a wise law could be framed such as could be carried out and obeyed. The three Chiefs and their head men then signed the treaty, and the medals and flags were distributed, when Mr. Christie intimated that he was ready to make the payments. They then asked that this should be done at Duck Lake, but Mr. Christie informed them that, as we had to leave for Fort Pitt, this was impossible; and that, moreover their share of the unexpended provisions and the clothing and presents were at the fort, where they would require to go for them. They then agreed to accept the payment, which was at once proceeded with. The persistency with which these Indians clung to their endeavor to compel the Commissioners to proceed to Duck Lake was in part owing to superstition, the Chief Beardy having announced that he had a vision, in which it was made known to him that the treaty would be made there. It was partly, also, owing to hostility to the treaty, as they endeavored to induce the Carlton Indians to make no treaty, and urge them not to sell the land, but to lend it for four years. The good sense and intelligence of the head Chiefs led them to reject their proposals, and the Willow Indians eventually, as I have reported, accepted the treaty. The 29th was occupied by Mr. Christie in settling accounts, taking stock of the clothing, and preparing for our departure. An application was made to me by Toma, the Saulteaux, who took part in the proceedings on the 23rd, to sign the treaty as Chief of the Saulteaux band. As I could not ascertain that there were sufficient families of these Indians resident in the region to be recognized as a distinct band, and as I had no evidence that they desired him to be their Chief, I declined to allow him to sign the treaty, but informed him that next year, if the Saulteaux were numerous enough, and expressed the wish that he should be Chief, he would be recognized. He was satisfied with this, and said that next year they would come to the payments. His daughter, a widow, with her family, was paid, but he preferred to remain until next year, as he did not wish to be paid except as a Chief. On the morning of the 31st, the previous day having been wet, Mr. Christie and I left for Fort Pitt, Mr. McKay having preceded us by the other road--that by way of Battle River. We arrived on the 5th September, the day appointed, having rested, as was our custom throughout the whole journey, on Sunday, the 3rd. About six miles from the fort we were met by Col. Jarvis and the police, with their band, as an escort, and also by Mr. McKay, the Factor of the Hudson's Bay Company, who informed us that he had rooms ready for our occupation. We found over one hundred lodges of Indians already there, and received a message from them, that as their friends were constantly arriving, they wished delay until the 7th. On the morning of the 6th, Sweet Grass, who had come in, in consequence of my message, accompanied by about thirty of the principal men, called to see me and express their gratification at my arrival. Their greeting was cordial, but novel in my experience, as they embraced me in their arms, and kissed me on both cheeks, a reception which they extended also to Mr. Christie and Dr. Jackes. The Hon. James McKay arrived from Battle River in the evening, and reported that he had met there a number of Indians, principally Saulteaux, who had been camped there for some time. There had been about seventy lodges in all, but as the buffalo had come near, the poorer Indians had gone after them. They expressed good feeling, and said they would like to have waited until the 15th, the day named for my arrival there, to see me and accept the treaty, but that the buffalo hunt was of so much consequence to them that they could not wait so long. This band is a mixed one, composed of Crees and Saulteaux from Jack Fish Lake, their Chief being the Yellow Sky. On the 7th the Commissioners proceeded to the council tent, which was pitched on the high plateau above the fort, commanding a very fine view, and facing the Indian encampment. They were accompanied by the escort of the police, with their band. The Indians approached with much pomp and ceremony, following the lead of Sweet Grass. The stem dance was performed as at Fort Carlton, but with much more ceremony, there being four pipes instead of one, and the number of riders, singers and dancers being more numerous. After the pipes were stroked by the Commissioners, they were presented to each of them to be smoked, and then laid upon the table to be covered with calico and cloth, and returned to their bearers. After the conclusion of these proceedings I addressed them, telling them we had come at their own request, and that there was now a trail leading from Lake Superior to Red River, that I saw it stretching on thence to Fort Ellice, and there branching off, the one track going to Qu'Appelle and Cypress Hills, and the other by Fort Pelly to Carlton, and thence I expected to see it extended, by way of Fort Pitt to the Rocky Mountains; on that road I saw all the Chippewas and Crees walking, and I saw along it gardens being planted and houses built. I invited them to join their brother Indians and walk with the white men on this road. I told them what we had done at Carlton, and offered them the same terms, which I would explain fully if they wished it. On closing Sweet Grass rose, and taking me by the hand, asked me to explain the terms of the treaty, after which they would all shake hands with me and then go to meet in council. I complied with this request, and stated the terms fully to them, both addresses having occupied me for three hours. On concluding they expressed satisfaction, and retired to their council. On the 8th the Indians asked for more time to deliberate, which was granted, as we learned that some of them desired to make exorbitant demands, and we wished to let them understand through the avenues by which we had access to them that these would be fruitless. On the 9th, the Commissioners proceeded to the council tent, but the Indians were slow of gathering, being still in council, endeavoring to agree amongst themselves. At length they approached and seated themselves in front of the tent, I then asked them to speak to me. The Eagle addressed the Indians, telling them not to be afraid, and that I was to them as a brother, and what the Queen wished to establish was for their good. After some time had passed, I again called on them to tell me their minds and not to be afraid. Sweet Grass then rose and addressed me in a very sensible manner. He thanked the Queen for sending me; he was glad to have a brother and a friend who would help to lift them up above their present condition. He thanked me for the offer and saw nothing to be afraid of. He therefore accepted gladly, and took my hand to his heart. He said God was looking down on us that day, and had opened a new world to them. Sweet Grass further said, he pitied those who had to live by the buffalo, but that if spared until this time next year, he wanted, this my brother (i.e. the Governor), to commence to act for him in protecting the buffalo; for himself he would commence at once to prepare a small piece of land, and his kinsmen would do the same. Placing one hand over my heart, and the other over his own, he said: "May the white man's blood never be spilt on this earth. I am thankful that the white man and red man can stand together. When I hold your hand and touch your heart, let us be as one; use your utmost to help me and help my children so that they may prosper." The Chief's speech, of which the foregoing gives a brief outline in his own words, was assented to by the people with a peculiar guttural sound which takes with them the place of the British cheer. I replied, expressing my satisfaction that they had so unanimously approved of the arrangement I had made with the nation at Carlton, and promised that I would send them next year, as I had said to the Crees of Carlton, copies of the treaty printed on parchment. I said that I knew that some of the Chiefs were absent, but next year they would receive the present of money as they had done. The Commissioners then signed the treaty, as did Sweet Grass, eight other Chiefs and those of their Councillors who were present, the Chiefs addressing me before signing. James Senum, Chief of the Crees at White Fish Lake, said that he commenced to cultivate the soil some years ago. Mr. Christie, then chief factor of the Hudson's Bay Company, gave him a plough, but it was now broken. He had no cattle when he commenced, but he and his people drew the plough themselves, and made hoes of roots of trees. Mr. Christie also gave him a pit-saw and a grind-stone, and he was still using them. His heart was sore in spring when his children wanted to plough and had no implements. He asked for these as soon as possible, and referring to the Wesleyan mission at that place, he said by following what I have been taught it helps me a great deal. The Little Hunter, a leading Chief of the Plain Crees, said he was glad from his very heart; he felt in taking the Governor's hand as if it was the Queen's. When I hear her words that she is going to put this country to rights, it is the help of God that put it into her heart. He wished an everlasting grasp of her hand; he was thankful for the children who would prosper. All the children who were settling there, hoped that the Great Spirit would look down upon us as one. Other Chiefs expressed themselves similarly. Ken-oo-say-oo, or The Fish, was a Chippewayan or mountaineer, a small band of whom are in this region. They had no Chief, but at my request they had selected a Chief and presented the Fish to me. He said, speaking in Cree, that he thanked the Queen, and shook hands with me, he was glad for what had been done, and if he could have used his own tongue he would have said more. I then presented Sweet Grass his medal, uniform, and flag, the band playing "God Save the Queen" and all the Indians rising to their feet. The rest of the medals, flags, and uniforms, were distributed, as soon as possible, and Mr. Christie commenced to make the payments. On Sunday, the 10th, the Rev. Mr. McKay conducted the service for the police and others, who might attend, and in the afternoon the Rev. Mr. McDougall had a service in Cree; Bishop Grandin and the Rev. Mr. Scollen also had services for the Crees and Chippewayans. On Monday, the 11th, Mr. Christie completed the payments and distribution of provisions. The police commenced crossing the Saskatchewan, with a view to leaving on Tuesday, the 12th, for Battle River. We therefore sent our horses and carts across the river, and had our tents pitched with the view of commencing our return journey, early in the morning. Just as we were about to leave Port Pitt, however, the Great Bear, one of the three Cree Chiefs who were absent, arrived at the fort and asked to see me. The Commissioners met him, when he told me that he had been out on the plains hunting the buffalo, and had not heard the time of the meeting; that on hearing of it he had been sent in by the Crees and by the Stonies or Assiniboines to speak for them. I explained to him what had been done at Carlton and Pitt, he expressed regret that I was going away as he wished to talk to me. I then said we would not remove until the next day, which gratified him much. On the 13th, Sweet Grass and all the other Chiefs and Councillors came down to the fort with the Great Bear to bid me farewell. Sweet Grass told me the object of their visit. The Bear said the Indians on the plains had sent him to speak for them, and those who were away were as a barrier before what he would have to say. Sweet Grass said, addressing him, "You see the representative of the Queen here. I think the Great Spirit put it into their hearts to come to our help. Let there be no barrier, as it is with great difficulty that this was brought about. Say yes and take his hand." The White Fish spoke similarly. The Bear said, "Stop, my friends. I never saw the Governor before; when I heard he was to come, I said I will request him to save me from what I most dread--hanging; it was not given to us to have the rope about our necks." I replied, that God had given it to us to punish murder by death, and explained the protection the police force afforded the Indians. Big Bear still demanded that there should be no hanging, and I informed him that his request would not be granted. He then wished that the buffalo might be protected, and asked why the other Chiefs did not speak. The Fish, the Chippewayan replied, "We do not because Sweet Grass has spoken, and what he says we all say." I then asked the Bear to tell the other two absent Chiefs Short Tail and Sagamat, what had been done; that I had written him and them a letter, and sent it by Sweet Grass, and that next year they could join the treaty; with regard to the buffalo, the North-West Council were considering the question, and I again explained that we would not interfere with the Indian's daily life except to assist them in farming. I then said I never expected to see them again. The land was so large that another Governor was to be sent, whom I hoped they would receive as they had done me, and give him the same confidence they had extended to me. The Chiefs and Councillors, commencing with Sweet Grass, then shook hands with Mr. Christie and myself, each addressing me words of parting. The Bear remained sitting until all had shaken hands, he then took mine and holding it, said, "If he had known he would have met me with all his people. I am not an undutiful child, I do not throw back your hand, but as my people are not here I do not sign. I will tell them what I have heard, and next year I will come." The Indians then left, but shortly afterwards the Bear came to see me again, fearing I had not fully understood him, and assured me that he accepted the treaty as if he had signed it, and would come next year with all his people and accept it. We crossed the river, and left for Battle River in the afternoon, where we arrived on the afternoon of the 15th. We found no Indians there except Red Pheasant and his band, whom we had already met at Carlton. On the 16th, the Red Pheasant saw the Commissioners. He said he was a Battle River Indian; his fathers had lived there before him, but he was glad to see the Government coming there, as it would improve his means of living. He wished the claims of the Half-breeds who had settled there before the Government came to be respected, as for himself he would go away and seek another home, and though it was hard to leave the home of his people, yet he would make way for the white man, and surely, he said, "if the poor Indian acts thus, the Queen, when she hears of this, will help him." He asked, that a little land should be given him to plant potatoes in next spring, and they would remove after digging them, to their reserve, which he thought he would wish to have at the Eagle Hills. I expressed my satisfaction with their conduct and excellent spirit, and obtained the cheerful consent of Mr. Fuller, of the Pacific telegraph line, who is in occupation of a large cultivated field, that the band should use three acres within the fenced enclosure, and which, moreover, Mr. Fuller kindly promised to plough for them gratuitously. The 17th being Sunday we remained at our camp, and on Monday morning, the 18th, we commenced our long return journey, with the incidents of which I will not trouble you further than to state that, on arriving on the 4th of October at an encampment about thirty miles from Portage la Prairie, we found it necessary to leave our tents and carts to follow us leisurely (many of the horses having become completely exhausted with the long journey of sixteen hundred miles) and push on to the Portage; on the 5th we reached the Portage, where Mr. Christie and Dr. Jackes remained, their horses being unable to go farther, and I went on to Poplar Point, forty-five miles from Fort Garry, where I found accommodation for the night from Mr. Chisholm, of the Hudson's Bay Company's Post there. I arrived at Fort Garry on the afternoon of the 6th of October having been absent for over two months and a half. Mr. McKay, having taken another road, had arrived before me; Mr. Christie and Dr. Jackes reached here subsequently. Having thus closed the narrative of our proceedings, I proceed to deal with the results of our mission, and to submit for your consideration some reflections and to make some practical suggestions. 1st. The Indians inhabiting the ceded territory are chiefly Crees, but there are a few Assiniboines on the plains and also at the slope of the mountains. There are also a small number of Saulteaux and one band of Chippewayans. 2nd. I was agreeably surprised to find so great a willingness on the part of the Crees to commence to cultivate the soil, and so great a desire to have their children instructed. I requested Mr. Christie to confer with the Chief while the payments were going on, as to the localities where they would desire to have reserves assigned to them, and with few exceptions they indicated the places, in fact most of them have already commenced to settle. It is, therefore important that the cattle and agricultural implements should be given them without delay. I would, therefore, recommend that provision should be made for forwarding these as soon as the spring opens. I think it probable that cattle and some implements could be purchased at Prince Albert and thus avoid transportation. 3rd. I would further represent that, though I did not grant the request, I thought the desire of the Indians, to be instructed in farming and building, most reasonable, and I would therefore recommend that measures be adopted to provide such instruction for them. Their present mode of living is passing away; the Indians are tractable, docile and willing to learn. I think that advantage should be taken of this disposition to teach them to become self-supporting, which can best be accomplished with the aid of a few practical farmers and carpenters to instruct them in farming and house building. The universal demand for teachers, and by some of the Indians for missionaries, is also encouraging. The former, the Government can supply; for the latter they must rely on the churches, and I trust that these will continue and extend their operations amongst them. The field is wide enough for all, and the cry of the Indian for help is a clamant one. 4th. In connection with the aiding of the Indians to settle, I have to call attention to the necessity of regulations being made for the preservation of the buffalo. These animals are fast decreasing in numbers, but I am satisfied that a few simple regulations would preserve the herds for many years. The subject was constantly pressed on my attention by the Indians, and I promised that the matter would be considered by the North-West Council. The council that has governed the territories for the last four years was engaged in maturing a law for this purpose, and had our regime continued we would have passed a statute for their preservation. I commend the matter to the attention of our successors as one of urgent importance. 5th. There is another class of the population in the North-West whose position I desire to bring under the notice of the Privy Council. I refer to the wandering Half-breeds of the plains, who are chiefly of French descent and live the life of the Indians. There are a few who are identified with the Indians, but there is a large class of Metis who live by the hunt of the buffalo, and have no settled homes. I think that a census of the numbers of these should be procured, and while I would not be disposed to recommend their being brought under the treaties, I would suggest that land should be assigned to them, and that on their settling down, if after an examination into their circumstances, it should be found necessary and expedient, some assistance should be given them to enable them to enter upon agricultural operations. If the measures suggested by me are adopted, viz., effective regulations with regard to the buffalo, the Indians taught to cultivate the soil, and the erratic Half-breeds encouraged to settle down, I believe that the solution of all social questions of any present importance in the North-West Territories will have been arrived at. In conclusion, I have to call your attention to the report made to me by the Hon. Mr. Christie, which I forward herewith; that gentleman took the entire charge of the payments and administration of matters connected with the treaty, and I have to speak in the highest terms of the value of his services. Accompanying his report will be found the pay sheets, statements of distribution of provisions and clothing, memoranda as to the localities of the reserves, suggestions as to the times and places of payment next year, and a general balance sheet. A credit of $60,000 was given to me, and I have placed as a refund to the credit of the Receiver-General, $12,730.55. This arises from the fact that owing to the proximity of the buffalo, many of the Indians did not come into the treaty. I have to acknowledge the benefit I derived from the services of the Hon. James McKay, camping as he did near the Indian encampment. He had the opportunity of meeting them constantly, and learning their views which his familarity with the Indian dialects enabled him to do. Dr. Jackes took a warm interest in the progress of our work, and kept a record of the negotiations, a copy of which I enclose and which I think ought to be published, as it will be of great value to those who will be called on to administer the treaty, showing as it does what was said by the negotiators and by the Indians, and preventing misrepresentations in the future. The Commissioners are under obligations to Lieut.-Colonel McLeod, and the other officers and men of the police force for their escort. The conduct of the men was excellent, and the presence of the force as an emblem and evidence of the establishment of authority in the North-West was of great value. I have to record my appreciation of the kindness of Messrs. Clarke, of Fort Carlton, and McKay of Fort Pitt, and of the other officials of the Hudson's Bay Company, and of the hearty assistance they extended towards the accomplishment of our mission. I have also to mention the interest taken in the negotiations by His Lordship Bishop Grandin, and by the various missionaries, Protestant and Catholic. On this occasion, as on others, I found the Half-breed population whether French or English generally using the influence of their relationship to the Indians in support of our efforts to come to a satisfactory arrangement with them. We also had the advantage of good interpreters, having secured the services of Messrs. Peter Ballendine and John McKay, while the Indians had engaged Mr. Peter Erasmus to discharge the same duty. The latter acted as chief interpreter, being assisted by the others, and is a most efficient interpreter. I transmit herewith a copy of the treaty, and have only in conclusion to express my hope that this further step in the progress of the work of the Dominion amongst the Indian tribes will prove beneficial to them, and of advantage to the realm. I have the honor to be, Sir, Your obedient servant, ALEXANDER MORRIS, Lieut.-Governor. Narrative of the proceedings connected with the effecting of the treaties at Forts Carlton and Pitt, in the year 1876, together with a report of the speeches of the Indians and Commissioners, by A. G. Jackes, Esq., M.D., Secretary to the Commission. The expedition for the proposed Treaty Number Six, reached the South Saskatchewan on the afternoon of August 14th, where they were met by a messenger from the Cree Indians expressing welcome, also a messenger from Mr. L. Clarke, of Carlton House, offering to the Governor and party the hospitality of the Fort. The next morning, when about ten miles from Carlton, the Commissioners were met by a detachment of Mounted Police under Major Walker, who escorted them to the Fort; on the way the Commissioners passed an encampment of Crees whose Chief had previously seen the Governor at Duck Lake and asked him to make the treaty there; he replied that he could not promise, that he would meet the Indians where the greater number wished. These Crees joined in an invocation to the deity for a blessing on the Governor, and deputed one of their number to welcome him by shaking hands. Near the Fort were encamped about two hundred and fifty lodges of Crees, to whom the Commissioners at once served out two days' allowance of provisions. On the 16th the Crees reported that they wanted another day to confer amongst themselves, this was granted and the Governor requested them to meet him and the Commissioners on the 18th at 10 a.m., to commence the business of the treaty. FIRST DAY August 18th. At half-past ten His Honor Lieut.-Gov. Morris, the Hon. W. J. Christie and Hon. Jas. McKay, accompanied by an escort of North-West Mounted Police, left the Fort for the camp of the Cree Indians, who had selected a site about a mile and a half from the Hudson's Bay Fort. There were about two hundred and fifty lodges, containing over two thousand souls. The Governor's tent was pitched on a piece of rising ground about four hundred yards from the Indian camp, and immediately facing it. As soon as the Governor and party arrived, the Indians who were to take part in the treaty, commenced to assemble near the Chief's tents, to the sound of beating drums and the discharge of small arms, singing, dancing and loud speaking, going on at the same time. In about half an hour they were ready to advance and meet the Governor; this they did in a large semi-circle; in their front were about twenty braves on horseback, galloping about in circles, shouting, singing and going through various picturesque performances. The semi-circle steadily advanced until within fifty yards of the Governor's tent, when a halt was made and further peculiar ceremonies commenced, the most remarkable of which was the "dance of the stem." This was commenced by the Chiefs, medicine men, councillors, singers and drum-beaters, coming a little to the front and seating themselves on blankets and robes spread for them. The bearer of the stem, Wah-wee-kah-nich-kah-oh-tah-mah-hote (the man you strike on the back), carrying in his hand a large and gorgeously adorned pipe stem, walked slowly along the semi-circle, and advancing to the front, raised the stem to the heavens, then slowly turned to the north, south, east and west, presenting the stem at each point; returning to the seated group he handed the stem to one of the young men, who commenced a low chant, at the same time performing a ceremonial dance accompanied by the drums and singing of the men and women in the background. This was all repeated by another of the young men, after which the horsemen again commenced galloping in circles, the whole body slowly advancing. As they approached his tent, the Governor, accompanied by the Hon. W. J. Christie and Hon. Jas. McKay, Commissioners, went forward to meet them and to receive the stem carried by its bearer. It was presented first to the Governor, who in accordance with their customs, stroked it several times, then passed it to the Commissioners who repeated the ceremony. The significance of this ceremony is that the Governor and Commissioners accepted the friendship of the tribe. The interpreter then introduced the Chiefs and principal men; the Indians slowly seating themselves in regular order in front of the tent. In a few minutes there was perfect quiet and order, when His Honor the Lieutenant-Governor addressed them as follows: "My Indian brothers, Indians of the plains, I have shaken hands with a few of you, I shake hands with all of you in my heart. God has given us a good day, I trust his eye is upon us, and that what we do will be for the benefit of his children. "What I say and what you say, and what we do, is done openly before the whole people. You are, like me and my friends who are with me, children of the Queen. We are of the same blood, the same God made us and the same Queen rules over us. "I am a Queen's Councillor, I am her Governor of all these territories, and I am here to speak from her to you. I am here now because for many days the Cree nation have been sending word that they wished to see a Queen's messenger face to face. I told the Queen's Councillors your wishes. I sent you word last year by a man who has gone where we will all go by and by, that a Queen's messenger would meet you this year. I named Forts Carlton and Pitt as the places of meeting, I sent a letter to you saying so, and my heart grew warm when I heard how well you received it. "As the Queen's chief servant here, I always keep my promises; the winter came and went but I did not forget my word, and I sent a messenger to tell you that I would meet you at Carlton on the 15th of August, and at Fort Pitt on the 5th of September. "During the winter I went to Ottawa to consult with the other Queen's Councillors about you amongst other matters, and they said to me, 'you promised a Queen's messenger to the Crees, you have been so much with the Indians, that we wish you to go yourself;' I said 'the journey is long and I am not a strong man, but when a duty is laid upon me I will do it, but,' I said, 'you must give with me two friends and councillors whom I can trust, to help me in the duty;' and now I have with me two friends whom you and I have known long; one of them is of your own blood, the other has been many years amongst you. "I will, in a short time, give you a message from the Queen, and my Councillors will tell you that the words are true. Before I do so, there are so many things I want to say to you that I scarcely know where to begin. I have been nearly four years Governor of Manitoba and these territories, and from the day I was sworn, I took the Indian by the hand, and those who took it have never let it go. "Three years ago I went to the north-west angle of Lake of the Woods, and there I met the Chippewa nation, I gave them a message and they talked with me and when they understood they took my hand. Some were away, next year I sent messengers to them and I made a treaty between the Queen and them; there are numbered of those altogether four thousand. I then went to Lake Qu'Appelle the year after, and met the Crees and Chippewas there, gave them my message, and they took my hand. Last summer I went to Lake Winnipeg and gave the Queen's message to the Swampy Crees and they and I, acting for the Queen, came together heart to heart; and now that the Indians of the east understand the Queen and her Councillors, I come to you. And why is all this done? I will tell you; it is because you are the subjects of the Queen as I am. She cares as much for one of you as she does for one of her white subjects. The other day a party of Iroquois Indians were taken to England across the ocean; the Queen heard of it and sent to them, saying, 'I want to see my red children,' took their hands and gave each of them her picture, and sent them away happy with her goodness. "Before I came here I was one of the Queen's Councillors at Ottawa. We have many Indians there as here, but for many years there has been friendship between the British, and the Indians. We respect the Indians as brothers and as men. Let me give you a proof it. Years ago there was war between the British and the Americans; there was a great battle; there were two brave Chief warriors on the British side, one wore the red coat, the other dressed as you do, but they fought side by side as brothers; the one was Brock and the other was Tecumseth whose memory will never die; the blood of both watered the ground; the bones of Tecumseth were hid by his friends; the remains of Brock by his, and now a great pile of stone stands up toward heaven in his memory. And now the white man is searching for the remains of Tecumseth, and when found they will build another monument in honour of the Indian. "I hope the days of fighting are over, but notwithstanding the whites are as much your friends in these days of peace, as in war. "The many Indians in the place that I have left are happy, prosperous, contented and growing in numbers. A meeting of the Grand Council of the Six Nation Indians was held a month ago; they now number six thousand souls. They met to thank the Queen and to say that they were content, and why are they content? Because many years ago the Queen's Councillors saw that the Indians that would come after, must be cared for, they saw that the means of living were passing away from the Indians, they knew that women and children were sometimes without food; they sent men to speak to the Indians, they said your children must be educated, they must be taught to raise food for themselves. The Indians heard them, the Councillors gave them seed, land, food, taught their children and let them feel that they were of one blood with the whites. Now, what we have found to work so well where I came from we want to have here in our territories, and I am happy to say that my heart is gladdened by the way the Indians have met me. "We are not here as traders, I do not come as to buy or sell horses or goods, I come to you, children of the Queen, to try to help you; when I say yes, I mean it, and when I say no, I mean it too. "I want you to think of my words, I want to tell you that what we talk about is very important. What I trust and hope we will do is not for to-day or to-morrow only; what I will promise, and what I believe and hope you will take, is to last as long as that sun shines and yonder river flows. "You have to think of those who will come after you, and it will be a remembrance for me as long as I live, if I can go away feeling that I have done well for you. I believe we can understand each other, if not it will be the first occasion on which the Indians have not done so. If you are as anxious for your own welfare as I am, I am certain of what will happen. "The day is passing. I thank you for the respectful reception you have given me. I will do here as I have done on former occasions. I hope you will speak your minds as fully and as plainly as if I was one of yourselves. "I wish you to think of what I have said. I wish you to present your Chiefs to me to-day if you are ready, if not then we will wait until to-morrow." Here the Indians requested an adjournment until next day in order that they might meet in council; this was granted, and the first day's proceedings terminated. Late in the evening the escort of Mounted Police was reinforced by a detachment, accompanied by their band, under command of Col. Jarvis, making a force of nearly one hundred men and officers. SECOND DAY August 19th. The Lieutenant-Governor and Commissioners, with the Mounted Police escort, headed by their band, proceeded to the camp to meet the Indians at 10:30 a.m. The Indians having assembled in regular order with their two leading Chiefs, Mis-tah-wah-sis and Ah-tuck-ah-coop seated in front, the Governor said: "My friends, we have another bright day before us, and I trust that when it closes our faces will continue as bright as the day before us. I spoke yesterday as a friend to friends, as a brother to brothers, as a father to his children. I did not want to hurry you, I wanted you to think of my words, and now I will be glad if you will do as I asked you then, present your Chiefs to me, and I shall be glad to hear the words of the Indians through the voice of their Chiefs, or whoever they may appoint." The head men then brought forward Mis-tah-wah-sis, of the Carlton Indians, representing seventy-six lodges. Ah-tuck-ah-coop, of the Wood Indians, representing about seventy lodges. These were acknowledged as the leading Chiefs, after them came James Smith, of the Fort-a-la-Corne Indians, fifty lodges. John Smith, of the Prince Albert and South Branch Indians, fifty lodges. The Chip-ee-wayan, of the Plain Indians, sixty lodges. Yah-yah-tah-kus-kin-un, of the Fishing or Sturgeon lake Indians, twenty lodges. Pee-yahan-kah-mihk-oo-sit, thirty lodges. Wah-wee-kah-nich-kah-oh-tah-mah-hote, of the River Indians, fifty lodges. Here a messenger came from the Indians under Chief Beardy, camped at Duck Lake, eight miles from the main camp. He shook hands with the Governor and said, "I am at a loss at this time what to say, for the Indians' mind cannot be all the same, that is why I came to tell the Governor the right of it; with a good heart I plead at this time, it is not my own work, I would like to know his mind just now and hear the terms of the treaty." The Governor said in reply: "If your Chief and his people had been in their places here, they would have heard with the rest what I had to say. You refused to meet me here, yet you sent and asked me to give you provisions, but I refused to do so unless you joined the others; and now I will not tell my message to this messenger until I tell all the rest; he can hear with the rest and take back my words to his chief." The messenger expressed himself satisfied, and took his seat with the others. On the Indians expressing themselves ready to hear the message, the Governor said: "First I wish to talk to you about what I regard as something affecting the lives of yourselves and the lives of your children. Often when I thought of the future of the Indian my heart was sad within me. I saw that the large game was getting scarcer and scarcer, and I feared that the Indians would melt away like snow in spring before the sun. It was my duty as Governor to think of them, and I wondered if the Indians of the plains and lakes could not do as their brothers where I came from did. And now, when I think of it, I see a bright sky before me. I have been nearly four years working among my Indian brothers, and I am glad indeed to find that many of them are seeking to have homes of their own, having gardens and sending their children to school. "Last spring I went to see some of the Chippewas, this year I went again and I was glad to see houses built, gardens planted and wood cut for more houses. Understand me, I do not want to interfere with your hunting and fishing. I want you to pursue it through the country, as you have heretofore done; but I would like your children to be able to find food for themselves and their children that come after them. Sometimes when you go to hunt you can leave your wives and children at home to take care of your gardens. "I am glad to know that some of you have already begun to build and to plant; and I would like on behalf of the Queen to give each band that desires it a home of their own; I want to act in this matter while it is time. The country is wide and you are scattered, other people will come in. Now unless the places where you would like to live are secured soon there might be difficulty. The white man might come and settle on the very place where you would like to be. Now what I and my brother Commissioners would like to do is this: we wish to give each band who will accept of it a place where they may live; we wish to give you as much or more land than you need; we wish to send a man that surveys the land to mark it off, so you will know it is your own, and no one will interfere with you. What I would propose to do is what we have done in other places. For every family of five a reserve to themselves of one square mile. Then, as you may not all have made up your minds where you would like to live, I will tell you how that will be arranged: we would do as has been done with happiest results at the North-West Angle. We would send next year a surveyor to agree with you as to the place you would like. "There is one thing I would say about the reserves. The land I name is much more than you will ever be able to farm, and it may be that you would like to do as your brothers where I came from did. "They, when they found they had too much land, asked the Queen to it sell for them; they kept as much as they could want, and the price for which the remainder was sold was put away to increase for them, and many bands now have a yearly income from the land. "But understand me, once the reserve is set aside, it could not be sold unless with the consent of the Queen and the Indians; as long as the Indians wish, it will stand there for their good; no one can take their homes. "Of course, if when a reserve is chosen, a white man had already settled there, his rights must be respected. The rights and interests of the whites and half-breeds are as dear to the Queen as those of the Indians. She deals justly by all, and I am sure my Indian brothers would like to deal with others as they would have others to deal with them. I think you can now understand the question of homes. "When the Indians settle on a reserve and have a sufficient number of children to be taught, the Queen would maintain a school. Another thing, that affects you all, some of you have temptations as the white men have, and therefore the fire-water which does so much harm will not be allowed to be sold or used in the reserve. Then before I leave the question of reserves I will tell you how we will help you to make your homes there. We would give to every family actually cultivating the soil the following articles, viz., two hoes, one spade, one scythe, one axe, and then to help in breaking the land, one plough and two harrows for every ten families; and to help you to put up houses we give to each Chief for his band, one chest of carpenter's tools, one cross-cut saw, five hand saws, one pit saw and files, five augers and one grindstone. Then if a band settles on its reserves the people will require something to aid them in breaking the soil. They could not draw the ploughs themselves, therefore we will give to each Chief for the use of his band one or two yokes of oxen according to the number in the band. In order to encourage the keeping of cattle we would give each band a bull and four cows; having all these things we would give each band enough potatoes, oats, barley and wheat for seed to plant the land actually broken. This would be done once for all to encourage them to grow for themselves. "Chiefs ought to be respected, they ought to be looked up to by their people; they ought to have good Councillors; the Chiefs and Councillors should consult for the good of the people; the Queen expects Indians and whites to obey her laws; she expects them to live at peace with other Indians and with the white men; the Chiefs and Councillors should teach their people so, and once the Queen approves a Chief or Councillor he cannot be removed unless he behaves badly. "The Chiefs and head men are not to be lightly put aside. When a treaty is made they become servants of the Queen; they are to try and keep order amongst their people. We will try to keep order in the whole country. "A Chief has his braves; you see here the braves of our Queen, and why are they here? To see that no white man does wrong to the Indian. To see that none give liquor to the Indian. To see that the Indians do no harm to each other. Three years ago some Americans killed some Indians; when the Queen's Councillors heard of it they said, we will send men there to protect the Indians, the Queen's subjects shall not be shot down by the Americans; now you understand why the police force is in this country, and you should rejoice. "I have said a Chief was to be respected; I wear a uniform because I am an officer of the Queen, the officers of the police wear uniforms as servants of the Queen. So we give to Chiefs and Councillors good and suitable uniform indicating their office, to wear on these and other great days. "We recognize four head men to each large band and two to each small one. "I have always been much pleased when Indians came to me and showed me medals given to their grandfathers and transmitted to them; now we have with us silver medals that no Chief need be ashamed to wear, and I have no doubt that when the Chiefs are gone, they will be passed on to their children. In addition each Chief will be given a flag to put over his lodge to show that he is a Chief. "I told you yesterday that I and my brother Commissioners were not here as traders. "There is one thing I ought to have mentioned in addition to what I have already named, that is, if a treaty is made here and at Fort Pitt, we will give every year to the Indians included in it, one thousand five hundred dollars' worth of ammunition and twine. "You think only for yourselves, we have to think of the Indians all over the country, we cannot treat one better than another, it would not be just, we will therefore do this, and what I tell you now is the last. "When the treaty is closed, if it be closed, we will make a present to every man, woman and child, of twelve dollars, the money being paid to the head of a family for his wife, and children not married. "To each Chief, instead of twelve, we give twenty-five dollars, and to each head man fifteen dollars, their wives and children getting the same as the others. I told you also that what I was promising was not for to-day or to-morrow only, but should continue as long as the sun shone and the river flowed. My words will pass away and so will yours, so I always write down what I promise, that our children may know what we said and did. Next year I shall send copies of what is written in the treaty, printed on skin, so that it cannot rub out nor be destroyed, and one shall be given to each Chief so that there may be no mistakes. "Then I promise to do as we have done with all before from Cypress Hills to Lake Superior, the Queen will agree to pay yearly five dollars per head for every man, woman and child. I cannot treat you better than the others, but I am ready to treat you as well. "A little thing I had forgotten, and I have done. The Chiefs' and head men's coats will wear out, they are meant to be worn when it is necessary to show that they are officers of the Queen, and every third year they will be replaced by new ones. "And now, Indians of the plains, I thank you for the open ear you have given me; I hold out my hand to you full of the Queen's bounty and I hope you will not put it back. We hate no object but to discharge our duty to the Queen and towards you. Now that my hand is stretched out to you, it is for you to say whether you will take it and do as I think you ought--act for the good of your people. "What I have said has been in the face of the people. These things will hold good next year for those that are now away. I have done. What do you say?" MIS-TAH-WAH-SIS here came forward, shook hands with the Governor, and said:--"We have heard all he has told us, but I want to tell him how it is with us as well; when a thing is thought of quietly, probably that is the best way. I ask this much from him this day that we go and think of his words." The Governor and Commissioners agreed to the request and asked the Indians to meet them Monday morning at ten o'clock with as little delay as possible. Before parting, the Governor said to the Indians, "This is a great day for us all. I have proposed on behalf of the Queen what I believe to be for your good, and not for yours only, but for that of your children's children, and when you go away think of my words. Try to understand what my heart is towards you. I will trust that we may come together hand to hand and heart to heart again. I trust that God will bless this bright day for our good, and give your Chiefs and Councillors wisdom so that you will accept the words of your Governor. I have said." Sunday, August 20th. Divine service, which was largely attended, was held in the square of Fort Carlton, by the Rev. John McKay, at half-past ten a.m. At noon a message came from the encampment of Indians requesting the Rev. Mr. McKay to hold service with them, which he did in the afternoon, preaching in their own tongue to a congregation of over two hundred adult Crees. Monday, August 21st. The principal Chief sent a message that as the Indians had held no Council on Sunday, they wished to have Monday to themselves and would if ready meet the Commissioners on Tuesday morning. THIRD DAY August 22nd. The Governor and Commissioners having proceeded as usual to the camp, the Indians soon assembled in order, when the Lieutenant-Governor said: "Indian children of the Queen, it is now a week to-day since I came here on the day I said I would; I have to go still further after I leave here, and then a long journey home to Red River. "I have not hurried you, you have had two days to think; I have spoken much to you and now I wish to hear you, my ears are open and I wish to hear the voices of your principal Chiefs or of those chosen to speak for them. Now I am waiting." OO-PEE-TOO-KERAH-HAN-AP-EE-WEE-YIN (the Pond-maker) came forward and said:--"We have heard your words that you had to say to us as the representative of the Queen. We were glad to hear what you had to say and have gathered together in council and thought the words over amongst us, we were glad to hear you tell us how we might live by our own work. When I commence to settle on the lands to make a living for myself and my children, I beg of you to assist me in every way possible--when I am at a loss how to proceed I want the advice and assistance of the Government; the children yet unborn, I wish you to treat them in like manner as they advance in civilization like the white man. This is all I have been told to say now, if I have not said anything in a right manner I wish to be excused; this is the voice of the people." GOVERNOR:--"I have heard the voice of the people; I am glad to learn that they are looking forward to having their children civilized, that is the great object of the Government, as is proved by what I have offered. Those that come after us in the Government will think of your children as we think of you. The Queen's Councillors intend to send a man to look after the Indians, to be chief superintendent of Indian affairs, and under him there will be two or three others to live in the country, that the Queen's Councillors may know how the Indians are prospering. "I cannot promise however, that the Government will feed and support all the Indians; you are many, and if we were to try to do it, it would take a great deal of money, and some of you would never do anything for yourselves. What I have offered does not take away your living, you will have it then as you have now, and what I offer now is put on top of it. This I can tell you, the Queen's Government will always take a deep interest in your living." THE BADGER--"We want to think of our children; we do not want to be too greedy; when we commence to settle down on the reserves that we select, it is there we want your aid, when we cannot help ourselves and in case of troubles seen and unforeseen in the future." Sak-ah-moos and several other Indians in order repeated what The Badger had said. GOVERNOR--"I have told you that the money I have offered you would be paid to you and to your children's children. I know that the sympathy of the Queen, and her assistance, would be given you in any unforeseen circumstances. You must trust to her generosity. Last winter when some of the Indians wanted food because the crops had been destroyed by grasshoppers, although it was not promised in the treaty, nevertheless the Government sent money to buy them food, and in the spring when many of them were sick a man was sent to try and help them. We cannot foresee these things, and all I can promise is that you will be treated kindly, and in that extraordinary circumstances you must trust to the generosity of the Queen. My brother Commissioner, Mr. McKay, will speak to you in your own language." MR. McKAY--"My friends, I wish to make you a clear explanation of some things that it appears you do not understand. It has been said to you by your Governor that we did not come here to barter or trade with you for the land. You have made demands on the Governor, and from the way you have put them a white man would understand that you asked for daily provisions, also supplies for your hunt and for your pleasure excursions. Now my reasons for explaining to you are based on my past experience of treaties, for no sooner will the Governor and Commissioners turn their backs on you than some of you will say this thing and that thing was promised and the promise not fulfilled; that you cannot rely on the Queen's representative, that even he will not tell the truth, whilst among yourselves are the falsifiers. Now before we rise from here it must be understood, and it must be in writing, all that you are promised by the Governor and Commissioners, and I hope you will not leave until you have thoroughly understood the meaning of every word that comes from us. We have not come here to deceive you, we have not come here to rob you, we have not come here to take away anything that belongs to you, and we are not here to make peace as we would to hostile Indians, because you are the children of the Great Queen as we are, and there has never been anything but peace between us. What you have not understood clearly we will do our utmost to make perfectly plain to you." GOVERNOR--"I have another word to say to the Indians on this matter: last year an unforeseen calamity came upon the people of Red River, the grasshoppers came and ate all their crops. There is no treaty between the people of Red River and the Queen except that they are her subjects. There was no promise to help them, but I sent down and said that unless help came some of the people would die from want of food, and that they had nothing wherewith to plant. The Queen's Councillors at once gave money to feed the people, and seed that they might plant the ground; but that was something out of and beyond every-day life, and therefore I say that some great sickness or famine stands as a special case. You may rest assured that when you go to your reserves you will be followed by the watchful eye and sympathetic hand of the Queen's Councillors." THE BADGER--"I do not want you to feed me every day; you must not understand that from what I have said. When we commence to settle down on the ground to make there our own living, it is then we want your help, and that is the only way that I can see how the poor can get along." GOVERNOR--"You will remember the promises which I have already made; I said you would get seed; you need not concern yourselves so much about what your grand-children are going to eat; your children will be taught, and then they will be as well able to take care of themselves as the whites around them." MIS-TAH-WAH-SIS (one of the leading Chiefs)--"It is well known that if we had plenty to live on from our gardens we would not still insist on getting more provision, but it is in case of any extremity, and from the ignorance of the Indian in commencing to settle that we thus speak; we are as yet in the dark; this is not a trivial matter for us. "We were glad to hear what the Governor was saying to us and we understood it, but we are not understood, we do not mean to ask for food for every day but only when we commence and in case of famine or calamity. What we speak of and do now will last as long as the sun shines and the river runs, we are looking forward to our children's children, for we are old and have but few days to live." AH-TAHK-AH-COOP (the other leading Chief)--"The things we have been talking about in our councils I believe are for our good. I think of the good Councillors of the Queen and of her Commissioners; I was told the Governor was a good man, and now that I see him I believe he is; in coming to see us, and what he has spoken, he has removed almost all obstacles and misunderstandings, and I hope he may remove them all. I have heard the good things you promise us, you have told us of the white man's way of living and mentioned some of the animals by which he gets his living, others you did not. We want food in the spring when we commence to farm; according as the Indian settles down on his reserves, and in proportion as he advances, his wants will increase." The Indians here asked for the afternoon to hold further council. To this the Governor said, "I grant the request of the Indians but I give them a word of warning, do not listen to every voice in your camp, listen to your wise men who know something of life, and do not come asking what is unreasonable, it pains me to have to say no, and I tell you again I cannot treat you with more favor than the other Indians. To-morrow, when we meet, speak out your minds openly, and I will answer, holding nothing back. Be ready to meet me to-morrow, as soon as my flag is raised, for remember I have a long journey before me and we ought to come to a speedy understanding. I trust the God who made you will give you wisdom in considering what you have to deal with." FOURTH DAY August 23rd. Shortly after the business had commenced, proceedings were interrupted by the loud talking of a Chippewa, who was addressing the Indians gathered in front of the tent. The Governor said, "There was an Indian, a Chippewa, stood and spoke to you, he did not speak to his Governor as he should have done: I am willing to hear what any band has to say, but they must speak to me. I have been talking to the Crees for several days. I wish to go on with the work; if the Chippewas want to talk with me I will hear them afterwards. They are a little handful of strangers from the east, I have treated with their whole nation, they are not wiser than their people. "There are many reasons why business should go on; I hear that the buffalo are near you and you want to be off to your hunt; there are many mouths here to feed and provisions are getting low; now my friends I am ready to hear you." TEE-TEE-QUAY-SAY--"Listen to me, my friends, all you who are sitting around here, and you will soon hear what the interpreter has to say for us." The interpreter then read a list of the things the Indians had agreed in council to ask, viz.:--One ox and cow for each family. Four hoes, two spades, two scythes and a whetstone for each family. Two axes, two hay forks, two reaping hooks, one plough and one harrow for every three families. To each Chief one chest of tools as proposed. Seed of every kind in full to every one actually cultivating the soil. To make some provision for the poor, unfortunate, blind and lame. To supply us with a minister and school teacher of whatever denomination we belong to. To prevent fire-water being sold in the whole Saskatchewan. As the tribe advances in civilization, all agricultural implements to be supplied in proportion. When timber becomes scarcer on the reserves we select for ourselves, we want to be free lo take it anywhere on the common. If our choice of a reserve does not please us before it is surveyed we want to be allowed to select another. We want to be at liberty to hunt on any place as usual. If it should happen that a Government bridge or scow is built on the Saskatchewan at any place, we want passage free. One boar, two sows, one horse, harness and waggon for each Chief. One cooking stove for each Chief. That we be supplied with medicines free of cost. That a hand-mill be given to each band. Lastly in case of war occurring in the country, we do not want to be liable to serve in it. TEE-TEE-QUAY-SAY then continued--"When we look back to the past we do not see where the Cree nation has ever watered the ground with the white man's blood, he has always been our friend and we his; trusting to the Giver of all good, to the generosity of the Queen, and to the Governor and his councillors, we hope you will grant us this request." WAH-WEE-KAH-NIHK-KAH-OO-TAH-MAH-HOTE (the man you strike in the back)--"Pity the voice of the Indian, if you grant what we request the sound will echo through the land; open the way; I speak for the children that they may be glad; the land is wide, there is plenty of room. My mouth is full of milk, I am only as a sucking child; I am glad; have compassion on the manner in which I was brought up; let our children be clothed; let us now stand in the light of day to see our way on this earth; long ago it was good when we first were made, I wish the same were back again. But now the law has come, and in that I wish to walk. What God has said, and our mother here (the earth), and these our brethren, let it be so." To this the Governor replied--"Indians, I made you my offer. You have asked me now for many things, some of which were already promised. You are like other Indians I have met, you can ask very well. You are right in asking, because you are saying what is in your minds. I have had taken down a list of what you have asked, and I will now consult with my brother Commissioners and give you my answer in a little while." After consultation, the Governor again had the Indians assembled, and said--"I am ready now to answer you, but understand well, it is not to be talked backwards and forwards. I am not going to act like a man bargaining for a horse for you. I have considered well what you have asked for, and my answer will be a final one. I cannot grant everything you ask, but as far as I can go I will, and when done I can only say you will be acting to your own interests if you take my hand. "I will speak of what you asked yesterday and to-day. I told you yesterday that if any great sickness or general famine overtook you, that on the Queen being informed of it by her Indian agent, she in her goodness would give such help as she thought the Indians needed. You asked for help when you settled on your reserves during the time you were planting. You asked very broadly at first. I think the request you make now is reasonable to a certain extent; but help should be given after you settle on the reserve for three years only, for after that time you should have food of your own raising, besides all the things that are given to you; this assistance would only be given to those actually cultivating the soil. Therefore, I would agree to give every spring, for three years, the sum of one thousand dollars to assist you in buying provisions while planting the ground. I do this because you seem anxious to make a living for yourselves, it is more than has been done anywhere else; I must do it on my own responsibility, and trust to the other Queen's councillors to ratify it. "I will now answer what you had written down and asked to-day. I expect you to be reasonable, none of us get all our own way. You asked first for four hoes, two spades, two scythes and whetstone, two axes, two hay forks and two reaping hooks for every family. I am willing to give them to every family actually cultivating the soil, for if given to all it would only encourage idleness. You ask a plough and harrow for every three families; I am willing to give them on the same conditions. The carpenters' tools, as well as the seed grain, were already promised. I cannot undertake the responsibility of promising provision for the poor, blind and lame. In all parts of the Queen's dominions we have them; the poor whites have as much reason to be helped as the poor Indian; they must be left to the charity and kind hearts of the people. If you are prosperous yourselves you can help your unfortunate brothers. "You ask for school teachers and ministers. With regard to ministers I cannot interfere. There are large societies formed for the purpose of sending the gospel to the Indians. The Government does not provide ministers anywhere in Canada. I had already promised you that when you settled down, and there were enough children, schools would be maintained. You see missionaries here on the ground, both Roman Catholic and Protestant; they have been in the country for many years. As it has been in the past, so it will be again, you will not be forgotten. "The police force is here to prevent the selling or giving of liquor to the Indians. The Queen has made a strong law against the fire-water; and the councillors of the country have made a law against the use of poison for animals. "You can have no difficulty in choosing your reserves; be sure to take a good place so that there will be no need to change; you would not be held to your choice until it was surveyed. "You want to be at liberty to hunt as before. I told you we did not want to take that means of living from you, you have it the same as before, only this, if a man, whether Indian or Half-breed, had a good field of grain, you would not destroy it with your hunt. In regard to bridges and scows on which you want passage free, I do not think it likely that the Government will build any, they prefer to leave it to private enterprise to provide these things. "In case of war you ask not to be compelled to fight. I trust there will be no war, but if it should occur I think the Queen would leave you to yourselves. I am sure she would not ask her Indian children to fight for her unless they wished, but if she did call for them and their wives and children were in danger they are not the men I think them to be, if they did not come forward to their protection. "A medicine chest will be kept at the house of each Indian agent, in case of sickness amongst you. I now come to two requests which I shall have to change a little, you have to think only of yourselves, we have to think of all the Indians and of the way in which we can procure the money to purchase all these things the Indians require. The Queen's Councillors will have to pay every year to help the Indians a very large sum of money. "I offered you to each band, according to size, two or four oxen, also one bull and four cows, and now you ask for an ox and a cow for each family. I suppose in this treaty there will be six hundred families, so it would take very much money to grant these things, and then all the other Indians would want them, so we cannot do it: but that you may see it that we are anxious to have you raise animals of your own we will give you for each band four oxen, one bull, six cows, one boar and two pigs. After a band has settled on a reserve and commenced to raise grain, we will give them a hand-mill. "At first we heard of only two Chiefs, now they are becoming many. You ask a cooking-stove for each, this we cannot give; he must find a way of cooking for himself. And now, although I fear I am going too far, I will grant the request that each Chief be furnished with a horse, harness, and waggon. "I have answered your requests very fully, and that there may be no mistake as to what we agree upon, it will be written down, and I will leave a copy with the two principal Chiefs, and as soon as it can be properly printed I will send copies to the Chiefs so that they may know what is written, and there can be no mistake. "It now rests with you, my friends, and I ask you without any hesitation to take what I have offered you." AH-TUCK-AH-COOP--"I never sent a letter to the Governor; I was waiting to meet him, and what we have asked we considered would be for the benefit of our children. I am not like some of my friends who have sent their messages down, even stretched out their hands to the Queen asking her to come; I have always said to my people that I would wait to see the Governor arrive, then he would ask what would benefit his children; now I ask my people, those that are in favour of the offer, to say so." They all assented by holding up their hands and shouting. OO-PEE-TOO-KORAH-HAIR-AP-EE-WEE-YIN (The Pond-maker)--"I do not differ from my people, but I want more explanation. I heard what you said yesterday, and I thought that when the law was established in this country it would be for our good. From what I can hear and see now, I cannot understand that I shall be able to clothe my children and feed them as long as sun shines and water runs. With regard to the different Chiefs who are to occupy the reserves, I expected they would receive sufficient for their support, this is why I speak. In the presence of God and the Queen's representative I say this, because I do not know how to build a house for myself, you see how naked I am, and if I tried to do it my naked body would suffer; again, I do not know how to cultivate the ground for myself, at the same time I quite understand what you have offered to assist us in this." JOSEPH THOMA proposed to speak for The Red Pheasant, Chief of Battle River Indians--"This is not my own desire that I speak now, it is very hard we cannot all be of one mind. You know some were not present when the list of articles mentioned was made, there are many things overlooked in it; it is true that what has been done this morning is good. What has been overlooked I will speak about. The one that is next to the Chief (first head man) should have had a horse as well. I want the Governor to give us somebody to build our houses, we cannot manage it ourselves, for my own part you see my crippled hand. It is true the Governor says he takes the responsibility on himself in granting the extra requests of the Indians, but let him consider on the quality of the land he has already treated for. There is no farming land whatever at the north-west angle, and he goes by what he has down there. What I want, as he has said, is twenty-five dollars to each Chief and to his head men twenty dollars. I do not want to keep the lands nor do I give away, but I have set the value. I want to ask as much as will cover the skin of the people, no more nor less. I think what he has offered is too little. When you spoke you mentioned ammunition, I did not hear mention of a gun; we will not be able to kill anything simply by setting fire to powder. I want a gun for each Chief and head man, and I want ten miles around the reserve where I may be settled. I have told the value I have put on my land." GOVERNOR--"I have heard what has been said on behalf of the Red Pheasant. I find fault that when there was handed me a list from the Indians, the Red Pheasant sat still and led me to believe he was a party to it. What I have offered was thought of long before I saw you; it has been accepted by others more in number than you are. I am glad that so many are of our mind. I am surprised you are not all. I hold out a full hand to you, and it will be a bad day for you and your children if I have to return and say that the Indians threw away my hand. I cannot accede to the requests of the Red Pheasant. I have heard and considered the wants of Mist-ow-asis and Ah-tuck-ah-coop, and when the people were spoken to I understood they were pleased. As for the little band who are not of one mind with the great body, I am quite sure that a week will not pass on leaving this before they will regret it. I want the Indians to understand that all that has been offered is a gift, and they still have the same mode of living as before." Here the principal Chiefs intimated the acceptance of the proposal of the Commissioners, the Red Pheasant repudiating the demands and remarks of Joseph Thoma. GOVERNOR--"I am happy at what we have done; I know it has been a good work; I know your hearts will be glad as the days pass. This will be the fourth time that I have done what we are going to do to-day. I thank you for your trust in me. I have had written down what I promised. For the Queen and in her name I will sign it, likewise Mr. McKay and Mr. Christie. Then I will ask the Chiefs and their head men to sign it in the presence of the witnesses, whites and Metis, around us, some of whom I will also ask to sign. What we have done has been done before the Great Spirit and in the face of the people. "I will ask the interpreter to read to you what has been written, and before I go away I will have a copy made to leave with the principal Chiefs. The payments will be made to-morrow, the suits of clothes, medals and flags given also, besides which a present of calicoes, shirts, tobacco, pipes and other articles will be given to the Indians." MIS-TOW-ASIS--"I wish to speak a word for some Half-breeds who wish to live on the reserves with us, they are as poor as we are and need help." GOVERNOR--"How many are there?" MIS-TOW-ASIS--"About twenty." GOVERNOR--"The Queen has been kind to the Half-breeds of Red River and has given them much land; we did not come as messengers to the Half-breeds, but to the Indians. I have heard some Half-breeds want to take lands at Red River and join the Indians here, but they cannot take with both hands. The Half-breeds of the North-West cannot come into the Treaty. The small class of Half-breeds who live as Indians and with the Indians, can be regarded as Indians by the Commissioners, who will judge of each case on its own merits as it comes up, and will report their action to the Queen's Councillors for their approval." The treaty was then signed by the Lieutenant-Governor, Hon. James McKay, Hon. W. J. Christie, Mist-ow-asis, Ah-tuck-ah-coop, and the remainder of the Chiefs and the Councillors. August 24th. Immediately on meeting at ten a.m., the Governor called up Mis-tow-asis and Ah-tuck-ah-coop, the two principal Chiefs, and presented their uniforms, medals and flags; after them the lesser Chiefs, their medals and flags, and told them they and their Councillors would get their uniforms in the evening from the stores. The Governor then told them that Mr. Christie would commence payments as soon as he had finished talking with the few Saulteaux; he expected the Chiefs and Councillors to assist in every way possible; if any of the Chiefs had decided where they would like to have their reserves, they could tell Mr. Christie when they went to be paid. "Now, I have only to say farewell; we have done a good work; we will never all of us meet again face to face, but I go on to my other work, feeling that I have, in the Queen's hands, been instrumental to your good. I pray God's blessing upon you to make you happy and prosperous, and I bid you farewell." The Indians intimated their pleasure by a general shout of approval, and thus broke up the conference which resulted in the Treaty with the Carlton Crees. The Lieutenant-Governor then met the few Chippewas who came forward, and told them that they must be paid at the place where they belonged, that they could not be paid at Fort Pitt, and said, "If what I have heard is true I shall not be well pleased. I am told you are of a bad mind; you proposed to prevent me from crossing the river; [Footnote: South Saskatchewan.] if you did it was very foolish; you could no more stop me than you could the river itself. Then I am told you tried to prevent the other Indians from making the treaty. I tell you this to your faces so if it is not true you can say so; but whether it is or not it makes no difference in my duty. The Queen has made treaties with the whole Chippewa nation except two or three little wandering bands such as you; you have heard all that has been said and done these many days; I would like to see you helped as well as the other Indians; I do not think you are wiser than the Chippewas from Lake Superior to the North-West Angle; I went there with Mr. McKay, and we made a treaty with twenty Chiefs and four thousand Chippewas." NUS-WAS-OO-WAH-TUM--"When we asked the Cree bands what they intended to do with regard to the treaty they would not come to us; it is true we told them 'do not be in a hurry in giving your assent;' you ought to be detained a little while; all along the prices have been to one side, and we have had no say. He that made us provided everything for our mode of living; I have seen this all along, it has brought me up and I am not tired of it, and for you, the white man, everything has been made for your maintenance, and now that you come and stand on this our earth (ground) I do not understand; I see dimly to-day what you are doing, and I find fault with a portion of it; that is why I stand back; I would have been glad if every white man of every denomination were now present to hear what I say; through what you have done you have cheated my kinsmen." GOVERNOR--"I will not sit here and hear such words from the Chippewas. Who are you? You come from my country and you tell me the Queen has cheated you; it is not so. You say we have the best of the bargains; you know it is not so. If you have any requests to make in a respectful manner I am ready to hear." CHIPPEWA--"The God that made us and who alone is our master, I am afraid of Him to deviate from his commandment." The Chippewas, about half a dozen in all, being from Quill Lake chiefly, left, and Mr. Christie proceeded with the payments, which occupied the remainder of the 24th and all the 25th. He paid in all, Chiefs, 13; head men, 44; men, 262; women, 473; boys, 473; girls, 481; from Treaty Number Four, 41; total, 1,787. A large number of the tribe absent at the hunt will be paid next year. Next morning, the 26th, the whole Cree camp, headed by their Chiefs and head men, wearing their uniforms and medals, came to Carlton House and assembled in the square to pay their farewell visit to the Governor; the Chiefs came forward in order and shook hands, each one making a few remarks expressive of their gratitude for the benefits received and promised, and of their good will to the white man. The Governor briefly replied, telling them that he was much gratified with the manner in which they had behaved throughout the treaty; he had never dealt with a quieter, more orderly and respectful body of Indians; he was pleased with the manner in which they had met him and taken his advice; he was glad to hear that they were determined to go to work and help themselves: he hoped their Councils would always be wisely conducted, and that they would do everything in their power to maintain peace amongst themselves and with their neighbors; he hoped the Almighty would give them wisdom and prosper them. They then gave three cheers for the Queen, the Governor, the mounted police and Mr. Lawrence Clarke, of Carlton House. On the 27th a message was received from Duck Lake from the Willow Indians, the band which had hitherto held aloof, in reply to a message sent to them by the Governor, that they would meet the Governor and Commissioners at the place designated by the Governor, the camp of the Hon. James McKay, about five miles from Carlton House. Accordingly, the next morning the Commissioners met them, and after the usual ceremonial hand-shaking, SAY-SWAY-PUS--"God has given us a beautiful day for which I feel very grateful. In grasping your hand I am grasping that of our Mother, the Queen. If it is your intention to honor me with a Chief's clothing, I wish you would give me one that would correspond with the sky above. I hope we will be able to understand each other." CHIN-UN-US-KUT (The Stump)--"I feel very grateful that I am spared by the Great Spirit to see this day of his, may we be blessed in whatever we do this day." GOVERNOR--"Crees, my brother children of the Great Queen, I am glad to meet you here to-day. I say as you said the first day I saw you, 'it is a bright day and I hope God will bless us.' I have been sorry for you for many days. I took you by the hand on the first day, but a wall rose up between us, it seemed as if you were trying to draw away but I would not let your hand go. I talked for many days with the great body of the Indians here but you refused to meet me; the others and I understood each other. I was going away to-day, but I thought pity of you who had not talked with me. I was sent here to make you understand the Queen's will. I received your letter last night and was glad to learn that you wanted to accept the terms I had offered, and which had been accepted by the other Indians. Before I received your letter I had sent you one asking you to meet me here where we are now, and I am glad you have come, as I could not otherwise have met you. "One of you made a request that if he were accepted as a Chief, he should have a blue coat. I do not yet know who the Chiefs are. To be a Chief he must have followers. One man came forward as a Chief and I had to tell him unless you have twenty tents you cannot continue as a Chief. "The color of your Chief's coat is perhaps a little thing; red is the color all the Queen's Chiefs wear. I wear this coat, but it is only worn by those who stand as the Queen's Councillors; her soldiers and her officers wear red, and all the other Chiefs of the Queen wear the coats we have brought, and the good of this is that when the Chief is seen with his uniform and medal every one knows he is an officer of hers. I should be sorry to see you different from the others, and now that you understand you would not wish it." KAH-MEE-YIS-TOO-WAYS (The Beardy)--"I feel grateful for this day, and I hope we will be blessed. I am glad that I see something that will be of use; I wish that we all as a people may be benefitted by this. I want that all these things should be preserved in a manner that they might be useful to us all; it is in the power of man to help each other. We should not act foolishly with the things that are given us to live by. I think some things are too little, they will not be sufficient for our wants. I do not want very much more than what has been promised, only a little thing. I will be glad if you will help me by writing my request down; on account of the buffalo I am getting anxious. I wish that each one should have an equal share, if that could be managed; in this I think we would be doing good. Perhaps this is not the only time that we shall see each other. Now I suppose another can say what he wishes." SAY-SWAY-KUS--"What my brother has said, I say the same, but I want to tell him and our mother the Queen, that although we understand the help they offer us, I am getting alarmed when I look at the buffalo, it appears to me as if there was only one. I trust to the Queen and to the Governor, it is only through their aid we can manage to preserve them. I want to hear from the Governor himself an answer to what I have said, so I may thoroughly understand." THE BEARDY--"Those things which the Almighty has provided for the sustenance of his children may be given us as well; where our Father has placed the truth we wish the same to be carried out here, I do not set up a barrier to any road that my children may live by: I want the payment to exist as long as the sun shines and the river runs: if we exercise all our good, this surely will happen: all of our words upon which we agree, I wish to have a copy written on skin as promised; I want my brother to tell me where I can get this. He has said, 'what I have done with the others I will do with you:' I accept the terms, no doubt it will run further according to our number. When I am utterly unable to help myself I want to receive assistance. I will render all the assistance I can to my brother in taking care of the country. I want from my brother a suit of clothing in color resembling the sky so that he may be able when he sees me to know me; I want these two (sitting by him) to be Chiefs in our place with me and to have six Councillors (two each) in all." GOVERNOR--"I will speak to you in regard to food as I have spoken to the other Indians; we cannot support or feed the Indians every day, further than to help them to find the means of doing it for themselves by cultivating the soil. If you were to be regularly fed some of you would do nothing at all for your own support; in this matter we will do as we have agreed with the other Indians, and no more. You will get your share of the one thousand dollars' worth of provisions when you commence to work on your reserves. "In a national famine or general sickness, not what happens in every day life, but if a great blow comes on the Indians, they would not be allowed to die like dogs. "What occurred in Red River last year from the destruction of crops by the grasshoppers, affected our whole people, and without being bound to do anything, the charity and humanity of the Government sent means to help them. "I cannot give the Chief a blue coat: he must accept the red one and he must not suffer so small a matter as the color of a coat to stand between us. I accept the three Chiefs with two Councillors for each. With regard to the preservation of the buffalo, it is a subject of great importance, it will be considered by the Lieutenant-Governor and Council of the North-West Territories to see if a wise law can be passed, one that will be a living law that can be carried out and obeyed. If such a law be passed it will be printed in Cree as well as in English and French; but what the law will be I cannot tell--you held councils over the treaty, you did not know before the councils closed what you would decide as to the treat--no more can I tell what the North-West Council will decide." A request was then made that the treaty should include the Half-breeds, to which the Governor replied: "I have explained to the other Indians that the Commissioners did not come to the Half-breeds: there were however a certain class of Indian Half-breeds who had always lived in the camp with the Indians and were in fact Indians, would be recognized, but no others." The Chiefs and head men then signed the treaty in the presence of witnesses, the medals and flags were distributed, payments and distribution of clothing proceeded with and finished, and the conference came to an end. The Lieutenant-Governor and party started from Carlton House on the 31st of August at noon, for Fort Pitt, and when within about six miles of that post came up with a detachment of Mounted Police under Inspectors Jarvis and Walker, who escorted them to the fort, arriving on the day appointed (5th September) at an early hour. There were already assembled near the fort and on the banks of the Saskatchewan over one hundred lodges, and as more were immediately expected they requested postponement of negotiations until the 7th September. On the morning of the 6th, Sweet Grass, one of the oldest and most respected of the Cree Chiefs, with about thirty of his chief men, who had left their hunt and come in to Fort Pitt purposely to attend the treaty negotiations, called on the Governor to express their satisfaction at his coming and their pleasure in seeing him; the greeting which was certainly affectionate, consisted in the embrace of both arms about the neck and a fraternal kiss on either cheek; after a short conversation the Governor told them he expected them to be ready to meet him at his tent in the morning; time was rapidly passing and he had a long journey yet before him; he trusted their Councils would be wise and the results would be beneficial to them. The Hon. Jas. McKay arrived from Battle River in the evening, and reported that he had met there a number of Indians, principally Saulteaux, who had been in camp at that place for some time. They said there had been about seventy lodges altogether, but as the buffalo were coming near, the poorer ones had started out to hunt, leaving only about ten lodges there. The remaining ones expressed good feeling and said they would like to have waited until the time appointed (September 15th) to meet the Governor and take the treaty, yet as the buffalo hunt was of so much importance to them they could not afford to lose the time, knowing that the Governor had to go to Fort Pitt and return before they could see him, consequently the whole band went out to the plains. This band was composed, it was afterwards ascertained, of the Saulteaux of Jack Fish Lake and of some Crees under the Yellow Sky Chief, and were favorably disposed though unable to remain. They numbered in all sixty-seven tents. September 7th. At ten in the morning the Governor and Commissioners, escorted by the Mounted Police, proceeded to the treaty tent a short distance from the fort. About eleven o'clock the Indians commenced to gather, as at Carlton, in a large semi-circle. In front were the young men, galloping about on their horses, then the Chiefs and head men, followed by the main body of the band to the number of two or three hundred. As they approached the manoeuvres of the horsemen became more and more excited and daring, racing wildly about so rapidly as to be barely distinguishable; unfortunately, from some mischance, two horses and their riders came into collision with such tremendous force as to throw both horses and men violently to the ground; both horses were severely injured and one of the Indians had his hip put out of joint; fortunately, Dr. Kittson of the police, was near by and speedily gave relief to the poor sufferer. The ceremonies, however, still went on; four pipe-stems were carried about and presented to be stroked in token of good feeling and amity (during this performance the band of the Mounted Police played "God save the Queen"), blessings invoked on the whole gathering, the dances performed by the various bands, and finally the pipes of peace smoked by the Governor and Commissioners in turn. The stems, which were finely decorated, were placed with great solemnity on the table in front of the Governor, to be covered for the bearers with blue cloth. The Chiefs and head men now seated themselves in front of the tent, when the Governor addressed them: "Indians of the plains, Crees, Chippewayans, Assiniboines and Chippewas, my message is to all. I am here to-day as your Governor under the Queen. The Crees for many days have sent word that they wanted to see some one face to face. The Crees are the principal tribe of the plain Indians, and it is for me a pleasant duty to be here to-day and receive the welcome I have from them. I am here because the Queen and her Councillors have the good of the Indian at heart, because you are the Queen's children and we must think of you for to-day and to-morrow; the condition of the Indians and their future has given the Queen's Councillors much anxiety. In the old provinces of Canada from which I came we have many Indians, they are growing in numbers and are as a rule happy and prosperous; for a hundred years red and white hands have been clasped together in peace. The instructions of the Queen are to treat the Indians as brothers, and so we ought to be. The Great Spirit made this earth we are on. He planted the trees and made the rivers flow for the good of all his people, white and red; the country is very wide and there is room for all. It is six years since the Queen took back into her own hands the government of her subjects, red and white, in this country; it was thought her Indian children would be better cared for in her own hand. This is the seventh time in the last five years that her Indian children have been called together for this purpose; this is the fourth time that I have met my Indian brothers, and standing here on this bright day with the sun above us, I cast my eyes to the East down to the great lakes and I see a broad road leading from there to the Red River, I see it stretching on to Ellice, I see it branching there, the one to Qu'Appelle and Cypress Hills, the other by Pelly to Carlton; it is a wide and plain trail. Anyone can see it, and on that road, taking for the Queen, the hand of the Governor and Commissioners I see all the Indians. I see the Queen's Councillors taking the Indian by the hand saying we are brothers, we will lift you up, we will teach you, if you will learn, the cunning of the white man. All along that road I see Indians gathering, I see gardens growing and houses building; I see them receiving money from the Queen's Commissioners to purchase clothing for their children; at the same time I see them enjoying their hunting and fishing as before, I see them retaining their old mode of living with the Queen's gift in addition. "I met the Crees at Carlton, they heard my words there, they read my face, and through that my heart, and said my words were true, and they took my hand on behalf of the Queen. What they did I wish you to do; I wish you to travel on the road I have spoken of, a road I see stretching out broad and plain to the Rocky Mountains. I know you have been told many stories, some of them not true; do not listen to the bad voices of men who have their own ends to serve, listen rather to those who have only your good at heart. I have come a long way to meet you; last year I sent you a message that you would be met this year, and I do not forget my promises. "I went to Ottawa, where the Queen's Councillors have their council chamber, to talk, amongst other things, about you. "I have come seven hundred miles to see you. Why should I take all this trouble? For two reasons, first, the duty was put upon me as one of the Queen's Councillors, to see you with my brother Commissioners, Hon. W. J. Christie and Hon. Jas. McKay. The other reason is a personal one, because since I was a young man my heart was warm to the Indians, and I have taken a great interest in them; for more than twenty-five years I have studied their condition in the present and in the future. I have been many years in public life, but the first words I spoke in public were for the Indians, and in that vision of the day I saw the Queen's white men understanding their duty; I saw them understanding that they had no right to wrap themselves up in a cold mantle of selfishness, that they had no right to turn away and say, 'Am I my brother's keeper?' On the contrary, I saw them saying, the Indians are our brothers, we must try to help them to make a living for themselves and their children. I tell you, you must think of those who will come after you. As I came here I saw tracks leading to the lakes and water-courses, once well beaten, now grown over with grass; I saw bones bleaching by the wayside; I saw the places where the buffalo had been, and I thought what will become of the Indian. I said to myself, we must teach the children to prepare for the future; if we do not, but a few suns will pass and they will melt away like snow before the sun in spring-time. You know my words are true; you see for yourselves and know that your numbers are lessening every year. Now the whole burden of my message from the Queen is that we wish to help you in the days that are to come, we do not want to take away the means of living that you have now, we do not want to tie you down; we want you to have homes of your own where your children can be taught to raise for themselves food from the mother earth. You may not all be ready for that, but some, I have no doubt, are, and in a short time others will follow. I am here to talk plainly, I have nothing to hide; I am here to tell you what we are ready to do. Your tribe is not all here at the present time, some of the principal Chiefs are absent, this cannot be avoided, the country is wide and when the buffalo come near you must follow them; this does not matter, for what I have to give is for the absent as well as for the present. Next year if the treaty is made, a Commissioner will be sent to you, and you will be notified of the times and places of meeting, so that you will not have long journeys; after that, two or three servants of the Queen will be appointed to live in the country to look after the Indians, and see that the terms of the treaty are carried out. "I have not yet given you my message. I know you have heard what your brothers did at Carlton, and I expect you to do the same here, for if you do not you will be the first Indians who refused to take my hand. At Carlton I had a slight difficulty; one of the Chiefs dreamt that instead of making the treaty at the camp of the great body of the Indians, I made it at his, and so his people stood aside. I was sorry for him and his people. I did not wish to go and leave them out. I sent him word after I had made the treaty, and brought him in with the others. When I went to North-West Angle I met the Chippewa nation; they were not all present, but the absent ones were seen the next year. I told them the message from the Queen, and what she wished to do for them; in all four thousand Indians accepted the Treaty, and now, I am glad to say, many of them have homes and gardens of their own. The next year I went to Qu'Appelle and saw the Crees and Chippewas, and there five thousand understood us and took our hands. Last summer I went with Mr. McKay to Lake Winnipeg, and there all the Swampy Crees accepted the Queen's terms. Now I have stroked the pipe with your brothers at Carlton as with you. "Three years ago a party of Assiniboines were shot by American traders; men, women and children were killed; we reported the affair to Ottawa; we said the time has come when you must send the red-coated servants of the Queen to the North-West to protect the Indian from fire-water, from being shot down by men who know no law, to preserve peace between the Indians, to punish all who break the law, to prevent whites from doing wrong to Indians, and they are here to-day to do honor to the office which I hold. Our Indian Chiefs wear red coats, and wherever they meet the police they will know they meet friends. I know that you have been told that if war came you would be put in the front, this is not so. Your brothers at Carlton asked me that they might not be forced to fight, and I tell you, as I assured them, you will never be asked to fight against your will; and I trust the time will never come of war between the Queen and the great country near us. "Again, I say, all we seek is your good; I speak openly, as brother to brother, as a father to his children, and I would give you a last advice, hear my words, come and join the great band of Indians who are walking hand-in-hand with us on the road I spoke of when I began--a road, I believe in my heart, will lead the Indian on to a much more comfortable state than he is in now. My words, when they are accepted, are written down, and they last, as I have said to the others, as long as the sun shines and the river runs. I expect you are prepared for the message I have to deliver, and I will wait to see if any of the Chiefs wish to speak before I go further." Sweet Grass, the principal Cree Chief, rose, and taking the Governor by the hand, said, "We have heard what the Governor has said, and now the Indians want to hear the terms of the treaty, after which they will all shake hands with the Governor and Commissioners, we then want to go to our camp to meet in council." The Governor then very carefully and distinctly explained the terms and promises of the treaty as made at Carlton; this was received by the Indians with loud assenting exclamations. On the 8th the Indians sent a message that they required further time for deliberation, and the meeting was put off until the 9th. On the morning of the 9th the Indians were slow in gathering, as they wished to settle all difficulties and misunderstandings amongst themselves before coming to the treaty tent, this was apparently accomplished about eleven a.m., when the whole body approached and seated themselves in good order, when the Governor said:-- "Indian children of the Great Queen, we meet again on a bright day; you heard many words from me the other day; I delivered you my message from the Queen; I held out my hand in the Queen's name, full of her bounty. You asked time to consult together; I gave it to you very gladly, because I did not come here to surprise you. I trust the Great Spirit has put good thoughts into your hearts, and your wise men have found my words good. I am now ready to hear whether you are prepared to do as the great body of the Indian people have done; it is now for the Indians to speak through those whom they may choose; my heart is warm to you, and my ears are open." Ku-ye-win (The Eagle) addressed the Indians, telling them not to be afraid, that the Governor was to them as a brother; that what the Queen wished to establish through him was for their good, and if any of them wished to speak to do so. After waiting some time the Governor said, "I had hoped the Indians would have taken me at my word, and taken me as a brother and a friend. True, I am the Queen's Governor; that I am here to-day shows me to be your friend. Why can you not open your hearts to me? I have met many Indians before, but this is the first time I have had all the talking to do myself. Now, cast everything behind your backs, and speak to me face to face. I have offered as we have done to the other Indians. Tell me now whether you will take my hand and accept it; there is nothing to be ashamed of, nothing to be afraid of; think of the good of your children and your children's children. Stand up now like wise men and tell me if you will take what I offered. I cannot believe it to be possible that you would throw my hand back. Speak and do not be afraid or ashamed." WEE-KAS-KOO-KEE-SAY-YIN (Sweet Grass)--"I thank you for this day, and also I thank you for what I have seen and heard, I also thank the Queen for sending you to act for our good. I am glad to have a brother and friend in you, which undoubtedly will raise us above our present condition. I am glad for your offers, and thank you from my heart. I speak this in the presence of the Divine Being. It is all for our good, I see nothing to be afraid of, I therefore accept of it gladly and take your hand to my heart, may this continue as long as this earth stands and the river flows. The Great King, our Father, is now looking upon us this day, He regards all the people equal with one another; He has mercy on the whole earth; He has opened a new world to us. I have pity on all those who have to live by the buffalo. If I am spared until this time next year I want this my brother to commence to act for me, thinking thereby that the buffalo may be protected. It is for that reason I give you my hand. If spared, I shall commence at once to clear a small piece of land for myself, and others of my kinsmen will do the same. We will commence hand in hand to protect the buffalo. When I hold your hand I feel as if the Great Father were looking on us both as brothers. I am thankful. May this earth here never see the white man's blood spilt on it. I thank God that we stand together, that you all see us; I am thankful that I can raise up my head, and the white man and red man can stand together as long as the sun shines. When I hold your hands and touch your heart, as I do now (suiting his action to the words), let us be as one. Use your utmost to help me and help my children, so that they may prosper." The Chief's remarks were assented to by the Indians by loud ejaculations. GOVERNOR--"I rise with a glad heart; we have come together and understood each other. I am glad that you have seen the right way. I am glad you have accepted so unanimously the offer made. I will tell the Queen's Councillors what good hearts their Indian children have; I will tell them that they think of the good of their children's children. "I feel that we have done to-day a good work; the years will pass away and we with them, but the work we have done to-day will stand as the hills. What we have said and done has been written down; my promises at Carlton have been written down and cannot be rubbed out, so there can be no mistake about what is agreed upon. I will now have the terms of the treaty fully read and explained to you, and before I go away I will leave a copy with your principal Chief. "After I and the Commissioners, for the Queen, have signed the treaty, I will call upon your Chief and Councillors to do the same; and before the payments are made by Mr. Christie, I will give the Chiefs the medals of the Queen and their flags. "Some of your Chiefs and people are away; next year we will send men near to where their bands live, notice will be given, and those who are away now will receive the present of money we are going to give you, the same as if they had been here, and when you go back to the plains I ask you to tell your brothers what we have done." The Governor and Commissioners then signed the treaty on the part of the Queen, and nine Chiefs and as many of their Councillors as were with them signed on behalf of the Indians. James Seenum, Chief of White Fish Lake Crees, said that when he commenced to cultivate the soil some years ago, Mr. Christie, then chief factor of the Hudson Bay Company, gave him a plough that he had used but it was now broken. When he commenced he and his brothers drew the plough themselves, and they pulled up roots and used them for hoes. Mr. Christie also gave me a pit-saw and a grindstone, and I am using them yet. I feel my heart sore in the spring when my children want to plough--when they have no implements to use, that is why I am asking them now to have them sent as soon as possible. By following what I have been taught I find it helps me a great deal. THE LITTLE HUNTER--"I am here alone just now; if I am spared to see next spring, then I will select my Councillors, those that I think worthy I will choose. I am glad from my very heart. I feel in taking the Governor's hand as if I was taking the Queen's. When I hear her words that she is going to put to rights this country, it is the help of God that has put it in her heart to come to our assistance. In sending her bounty to us I wish an everlasting grasp of her hand, as long as the sun moves and the river flows. I am glad that the truth and all good things have been opened to us. I am thankful for the children for they will prosper. All the children who are sitting here hope that the Great Spirit will look down upon us as one." SEE-KAHS-KOOTCH (The Cut Arm)--"I am glad of the goodness of the great Queen. I recognize now that this that I once dreaded most is coming to my aid and doing for me what I could not do for myself." TUS-TUK-EE-SKUAIS--"I am truly glad that the Queen has made a new country for me. I am glad that all my friends and children will not be in want of food hereafter. I am glad that we have everything which we had before still extended to us." PEE-QUAY-SIS--"I need not say anything; I have been well pleased with all that I have heard, and I need not speak as we are all agreed." KIN-OO-SAY-OO (The Fish), Chief of the Chippewayans--"I shake hands with the Queen, and I am glad for what she is doing and what she is to do for us. If I could have used my own language I would then be able to say more." The Governor then called on Sweet Grass and placed the Queen's medal around his neck, the band of the Police playing "God save the Queen." The rest of the Chiefs' medals, flags and uniforms were given as soon as possible, and Mr. Christie proceeded to make the payments and distribute the presents. September 13th. The Chiefs and head men came to pay their respects to the Commissioners in the morning, at Fort Pitt. SWEET GRASS--"We are all glad to see you here, and we have come to say good-bye before you leave." THE BIG BEAR--"I find it difficult to express myself, because some of the bands are not represented. I have come off to speak for the different bands that are out on the plains. It is no small matter we were to consult about. I expected the Chiefs here would have waited until I arrived. The different bands that are out on the plains told me that I should speak in their stead; the Stony Indians as well. The people who have not come, stand as a barrier before what I would have had to say; my mode of living is hard." SWEET GRASS, to Big Bear--"My friend, you see the representative of the Queen here, who do you suppose is the maker of it. I think the Great Spirit put it into their hearts to come to our help; I feel as if I saw life when I see the representative of the Queen; let nothing be a barrier between you and him; it is through great difficulty this has been brought to us. Think of our children and those to come after, there is life and succor for them, say yes and take his hand." The White Fish Lake Chief said, "We have all taken it, and we think it is for our good." BIG BEAR--"Stop, stop, my friends, I have never seen the Governor before; I have seen Mr. Christie many times. I heard the Governor was to come and I said I shall see him; when I see him I will make a request that he will save me from what I most dread, that is: the rope to be about my neck (hanging), it was not given to us by the Great Spirit that the red man or white man should shed each other's blood." GOVERNOR--"It was given us by the Great Spirit, man should not shed his brother's blood, and it was spoken to us that he who shed his brother's blood, should have his own spilt. "No good Indian has the rope about his neck. If a white man killed an Indian, not in self defence, the rope would be put around his neck. He saw red-coats, they were here to protect Indians and whites. "If a man tried to kill you, you have a right to defend; but no man has a right to kill another in cold blood, and we will do all we can to punish such. The good Indian need never be afraid; their lives will be safer than ever before. Look at the condition of the Blackfeet. Before the red-coats went, the Americans were taking their furs and robes and giving them whiskey--we stopped it, they have been able to buy back two thousand horses--before that, robes would have gone to Americans for whiskey." BIG BEAR--"What we want is that we should hear what will make our hearts glad, and all good peoples' hearts glad. There were plenty things left undone, and it does not look well to leave them so." GOVERNOR--"I do not know what has been left undone!" BIG BEAR said he would like to see his people before he acted. "I have told you what I wish, that there be no hanging." GOVERNOR--"What you ask will not be granted, why are you so anxious about bad men? "The Queen's law punishes murder with death, and your request cannot be granted." BIG BEAR--"Then these Chiefs will help us to protect the buffalo, that there may be enough for all. I have heard what has been said, and I am glad we are to be helped; but why do these men not speak?" The Chief of the Chippewayans said, "We do not speak, because Sweet Grass has spoken for us all. What he says, we all say." GOVERNOR--"I wish the Bear to tell Short Tail and See-yah-kee-maht, the other Chiefs, what has been done, and that it is for them, as if they had been here. Next year they and their people can join the treaty and they will lose nothing. I wish you to understand fully about two questions, and tell the others. The North-West Council is considering the framing of a law to protect the buffaloes, and when they make it, they will expect the Indians to obey it. The Government will not interfere with the Indian's daily life, they will not bind him. They will only help him to make a living on the reserves, by giving him the means of growing from the soil, his food. The only occasion when help would be given, would be if Providence should send a great famine or pestilence upon the whole Indian people included in the treaty. We only looked at something unforseen and not at hard winters or the hardships of single bands, and this, both you and I, fully understood. "And now I have done, I am going away. The country is large, another Governor will be sent in my place; I trust you will receive him as you have done me, and give him your confidence. He will live amongst you. Indians of the plains, I bid you farewell. I never expect to see you again, face to face. I rejoice that you listened to me, and when I go back to my home beyond the great lakes, I will often think of you and will rejoice to hear of your prosperity. I ask God to bless you and your children. Farewell." The Indians responded by loud ejaculations of satisfaction, and the Chiefs and Councillors, commencing with Sweet Grass, each shook hands with the Governor, and addressed him in words of parting, elevating his hand, as they grasped it, to heaven, and invoking the blessings of the Great Spirit. The Bear remained sitting until all had said good-bye to the Governor, and then he rose and taking his hand, said, "I am glad to meet you, I am alone; but if I had known the time, I would have been here with all my people. I am not an undutiful child, I do not throw back your hand; but as my people are not here, I do not sign. I will tell them what I have heard, and next year I will come." About an hour afterwards the Big Bear came to the Fort Pitt House to see the Governor, and again repeated that he accepted the treaty as if he had signed it, and would come next year, with all his people, to meet the Commissioners and accept it. The Governor and party left Fort Pitt for Battle River, on the 13th at one o'clock, and arrived there on the 15th. There were no Indians there, except the Red Pheasant's band, who had been treated with at Battle River. On the 16th the Red Pheasant and his Councillors came to see the Governor and the Commissioners, with the following result: THE RED PHEASANT--"I am a Battle River Indian, and I have chosen this place before, and I am glad to see the Government here too, as I know there is a chance of living. I want the Half-breed claims at Battle River to be respected, and I do not wish to turn out any white man; but I wish to return to my former mode of life. "Ever since my grandfather lived at Battle River, it has been my home. Our houses were swept off by a flood two years ago, and after that we repaired some old houses that were built by outsiders (other Indians), and we had fenced in the buildings; but a short time ago some Canadians arrived, knocked down the fences, and built inside the enclosure." WAH-TAH-NEE--"We had chosen a point about a mile from the spot where we are now speaking, and got out logs for fences and houses, and when we returned from the plains we found they had all been taken away. There are now twenty families, and ten more to come in from the plains. "We wish to be remembered to the Queen, and we are thankful to see the Queen's soldiers coming to make their homes on the land that we have been brought up on. I hope that the Queen will look upon our poverty when she hears that we are poor Indians and have welcomed her people to live amongst us. This is my country where I have lived. I want to make way for the Queen's men, and I ask her in return to keep me from want. Next spring I want to plant here, wherever I can get a piece of ground. By that time I may have selected a spot for my reserve. The reason I want to select my reserve is, that I do not want to be cramped up by settlers. In the meantime I do not want any white men to settle on the Eagle Hills. "When I see that we are numerous, it will be the Eagle Hills I will select as our reserve, although I am very reluctant to leave the place I have been brought up on. If I see that we are not likely to be numerous, I may select some other place across the Saskatchewan River. This man, Peter Ballendine, knows that it is not because settlers are coming here that we speak of this place, Battle River, but because we were here from of old. I wish that the Governor should give us some advice to think over during the winter." GOVERNOR--"I am glad to give you a word of advice. Next summer, Commissioners will come to make payments here, so that you may not have so far to go, and also that other Indians we have not seen, should come here also, to whom it may be convenient, and I hope that then you will be able to talk with them where you want your reserve. I will speak to you frankly, as if I was talking to my own children; the sooner you select a place for your reserve the better, so that you can have the animals and agricultural implements promised to you, and so that you may have the increase from the animals, and the tools to help you build houses, &c. When you are away hunting and fishing, the heat of the sun and the rain is making your crops to grow. I think you are showing wisdom in taking a place away from here, although it has been your home. It is better for the Indian to be away a little piece from the white man. You will be near enough to bring your furs to a good market, and by and by I hope you will have more potatoes than you require, and have some to dispose of. I am very anxious that you should think over this, and be able to tell the Commissioner next year where you want your reserve. "I have asked Mr. Fuller to let you have three acres of land to plant your potatoes next spring, and he has replied that he will be very happy to let you do so, and to plough it for you as well, in the field he has enclosed. "I am much pleased with the conduct of the Battle River Crees, and will report it to the Queen's Councillors. I hope you will be prosperous and happy." This closed the interview. The Commissioners left Battle River on the 19th of September. The Lieutenant-Governor arrived at Fort Garry on the 6th of October. CHAPTER X TREATY NUMBER SEVEN; OR THE BLACKFEET TREATY The making of this treaty, which completed the series of treaties, extending from Lake Superior to the slopes of the Rocky Mountains, was entrusted, by the Privy Council, to the Hon. David Laird (who, after the effecting of the Carlton and Fort Pitt Treaties, had, in 1876, been appointed Lieutenant-Governor of the North-West Territories, subsequently to the erection of these territories into a distinct Government) and Lieut.-Col. McLeod, of the Mounted Police Force. The necessity which had arisen for making the treaty is thus stated by the Hon. the Minister of the Interior, the Hon. David Mills, in his Annual Report for 1877: "The conclusion, in 1876, of the treaty with the Crees, Assiniboine and Saulteaux Indians (being the sixth of the series of treaties up to that time negotiated with the Indians of the North-West) left but a small portion of the territory lying between the boundary line and the 54th parallel of latitude unsurrendered. "The unsurrendered portion of the territory, including about fifty thousand square miles, lies at the south-west angle of the territories, north of the boundary line, east of the Rocky Mountains, south of Red River (Treaty Number Six) and west of the Cypress Hills, or Treaty Number Four. This portion of the North-West is occupied by the Blackfeet, Blood, and Sarcees or Piegan Indians, some of the most warlike and intelligent but intractable bands of the North-West. These bands have for years past been anxiously expecting to be treated with, and have been much disappointed at the delay of negotiations. "In last year's report I stated that His Honor Lieut.-Gov. Morris, very strongly recommended that no further delay should take place in entering into negotiations with these Indians. His Honor reported, in effect, "that there was a general consent of opinion amongst the missionaries settled in that territory, and others who are acquainted with these Indians, as to the desirableness of having such a treaty made at the earliest possible date, with a view to preserving the present friendly disposition of these tribes, which might easily give place to feelings of an unfriendly or hostile nature, should the treaty negotiations be much longer delayed." "In view of these facts, and in order to satisfy these important tribes, and to prevent the difficulties which might hereafter arise through the settlement of whites, who are already flocking into Fort McLeod and other portions of this territory, Your Excellency decided that these Indians should be treated with this year, and the Indians were notified accordingly. "His Honor Mr. Laird, the Lieutenant-Governor of the North-West Territories, and Lieut.-Col. James F. McLeod, C.M.G., were selected by Your Excellency to negotiate the treaty. The former of these gentlemen, had assisted in 1874 in negotiating Treaty Number Four, with the Cree and Saulteaux Indians, and the latter, during his residence for some years past at Fort McLeod, as Commandant of the Mounted Police Force, had acquired the entire confidence and good will of the Indian tribes proposed to be dealt with." Besides all this, the Chiefs of the Blackfeet, in 1876, sent to the Lieutenant-Governor of the North-West Territories, a letter, with regard to a treaty, and also by a messenger, in whom they had confidence, a message, to a similar effect. The Blackfeet Indians are a bold and warlike race. When the Sioux war with the United States was about being initiated, the Sioux invited them to join in the war, but they promptly refused. They are unlikely to become farmers, but as the country they inhabit presents unusual facilities for that industry, they may be induced to adopt a pastoral life. They already possess large herds of horses, and may be taught to raise cattle also. I requested the Rev. C. Scollen, who had for many years been a missionary among the Plain Crees, and latterly, for several years, among the Blackfeet, to make a report to me of the character, habits and condition of this nation, with which request he willingly complied. I now give place to this report, which gives a vivid view of the character of this bold and warlike race, and shews the benefits they had, so far back as 1876, derived from the presence of the Mounted Police, the prohibition of liquor, and the establishment of law and order in the North-West Territories, under Canadian rule. I may here remark, that another great benefit has resulted from the judicious steps taken by the Canadian Government, and that is the cessation of warfare between the various tribes, which was before of constant occurrence. An intelligent Ojibbeway Indian trader told me, that the change was wonderful. "Before," he said, "the Queen's Government came, we were never safe, and now," he said, "I can sleep in my tent anywhere, and have no fear. I can go to the Blackfeet, and Cree camps, and they treat me as a friend." The report of Mr. Scollen is as follows: FORT PITT, September 8th, 1876. TO HIS EXCELLENCY THE GOVERNOR OF MANITOBA. EXCELLENT GOVERNOR,--Having had some years of experience as a missionary amongst the Cree and Blackfeet Indians of the North-West Territory, I humbly undertake to submit to your consideration a few details regarding the latter tribe of Her Majesty's Indian subjects. I do this with all the more confidence as the successful way in which you conducted the treaty with the Carlton Indians (a treaty including no small difficulties), has convinced me of your thorough knowledge of the character of this people. But, although the general character of all the tribes may be nearly the same, yet in their social dispositions they sometimes materially differ, and this, I think, will be found to be the case with the Crees and Blackfeet when compared on that point. The Crees have always looked upon the white man as a friend, or, to use their own language, as a brother. They have never been afraid of him, nor have they given him any cause to be afraid of them. The Blackfeet have acted somewhat differently; they have regarded the white man as a demi-god, far superior to themselves in intelligence, capable of doing them good or evil, according as he might be well or ill disposed towards them, unscrupulous in his dealings with others, and consequently a person to be flattered, feared and shunned, and even injured, whenever this could be done with impunity. I am not now describing the Blackfeet of the present day, but those of fifteen years ago, when I first saw them. They were then a proud, haughty, numerous people (perhaps ten thousand on the British side of the line), having a regular politico-religious organization by which their thirst for blood and their other barbarous passions were constantly fired to the highest pitch of frenzy. Since that time their number has decreased to less than one half, and their systematic organizations have fallen into decay; in fact they have been utterly demoralized as a people. This sudden decadence was brought on by two causes: 1. About ten years ago the Americans crossed the line and established themselves on Pelly River, where they carried on to an extraordinary extent the illicit traffic in intoxicating liquor to the Blackfeet. The fiery water flowed as freely, if I may use the metaphor, as the streams running from the Rocky Mountains, and hundreds of the poor Indians fell victims to the white man's craving for money, some poisoned, some frozen to death whilst in a state of intoxication, and many shot down by American bullets. 2. Then in 1870 came that disease so fatal to Indians, the small-pox which told upon the Blackfeet with terrible effect, destroying between six hundred and eight hundred of them. Surviving relatives went more and more for the use of alcohol; they endeavoured to drown their grief in the poisonous beverage. They sold their robes and their horses by the hundred for it, and now they began killing one another, so that in a short time they were divided into several small parties, afraid to meet. Fortunately for them the Government were aware of the state of affairs in the country and did not remain indifferent to it; and, as I have heard yourself explain to the Indians, Her Gracious Majesty has at heart the welfare of even the most obscure of her subjects. In the summer of 1874, I was travelling amongst the Blackfeet. It was painful to me to see the state of poverty to which they had been reduced. Formerly they had been the most opulent Indians in the country, and now they were clothed in rags, without horses and without guns. But this was the year of their salvation; that very summer the Mounted Police were struggling against the difficulties of a long journey across the barren plains in order to bring them help. This noble corps reached their destination that same fall, and with magic effect put an entire stop to the abominable traffic of whiskey with the Indians. Since that time the Blackfeet Indians are becoming more and more prosperous. They are now well clothed and well furnished with horses and guns. During the last two years I have calculated that they have bought two thousand horses to replace those they had given for whiskey. They are forced to acknowledge that the arrival of the Red Coats has been to them the greatest boon. But, although they are externally so friendly to the Police and other strangers who now inhabit their country, yet underneath this friendship remains hidden some of that dread which they have always had of the white man's intention to cheat them; and here, excellent Governor, I will state my reasons for believing that a treaty should be concluded with them also at the earliest possible date. 1st. The Blackfeet are extremely jealous of what they consider their country, and never allowed any white men, Half-breeds, or Crees to remain in it for any length of time; the only reason that they never drove the Americans off, apart from their love for whiskey, was their dread of the Henri rifle. 2nd. They have an awful dread of the future. They think that the Police are in the country not only to keep out whiskey traders, but also to protect white people against them, and that this country will be gradually taken from them without any ceremony. This I can certify, for although they may not say so to others yet they do not hide it from me. 3rd. Numbers of people are settling around Fort McLeod and Fort Calgary in order to farm, raise stock, etc. This will probably drive the buffalo away through time from the ordinary hunting grounds, and if so, the Blackfeet, being the most helpless Indians in the country, and unaccustomed to anything else but hunting buffalo, would suffer extremely. 4th. The settlers also are anxious that a treaty be made as soon as possible, so that they may know what portions of land they can hold without fear of being molested. 5th. The Blackfeet themselves are expecting to have a mutual understanding with the Government, because they have been told of it by several persons, and namely by Gen. Smythe last year. Such are the principal reasons which occur to my mind for making a treaty with the Blackfeet. It remains for you, excellent Governor, to weigh their value. Of course you would find the same prejudices amongst the Blackfeet that you have found amongst the Crees, but you would have no greater difficulty in dispelling them. You would have four clans to treat with, viz.: the Blackfeet, Bloods, and Piegans, all of the same tribe, and the Sarcees, a branch of the Peace River Indians called Beavers. As to the place of rendezvous there would be no difficulty whatever; the Blackfeet live in large camps under their respective Chiefs, and could go to any point after due notice. It remains for me now, excellent Governor, to beg you to excuse the many defects of this communication, and to accept the assurance of sincere esteem and profound respect of Your most humble servant, CONSTANTINE SCOLLEN, Priest, O.U.I. P.S.--I am also aware that the Sioux Indians, now at war with the Americans, have sent a message to the Blackfeet tribe, asking them to make an alliance offensive and defensive against all white people in the country. C. SCOLLEN. In order to effect a treaty, Lieut.-Gov. Laird, and Lieut.-Col. James F. McLeod, met the Blackfeet, at the Blackfoot crossing, on the Bow River on the 17th day of September, 1877, which day had been selected for the time of meeting. Gov. Laird proceeded from the temporary seat of the Government of the North-West Territories at Swan River, and Col. McLeod from Fort McLeod, the head quarters of the Mounted Police, to the appointed rendezvous. The Commissioners met the Indians on that day, and after five days of tedious negotiations, the treaty was satisfactorily concluded, and signed by the Chiefs and head men present. The total number of the Indians, represented at the making of the treaty, and who were paid the gratuity under it, was four thousand three hundred and ninety-two. The terms of the treaty, were substantially the same as those contained in the North-West Angle and Qu'Appelle treaties, except that as some of the bands were disposed to engage in pastoral pursuits, it was arranged to give them cattle instead of agricultural implements. The Minister of the Interior well observes in his report "that the conclusion of this treaty with these warlike and intractable tribes, at a time when the Indian tribes, immediately across the border, were engaged in open hostilities with the United States troops, is certainly a conclusive proof of the just policy of the Government of Canada toward the aboriginal population," and, I add, of the confidence of the Indians in the promises and just dealing of the servants of the British Crown, in Canada, a confidence that can only be kept up by the strictest observance of the stipulations of the treaties. I now append the interesting despatch of Lieut.-Gov. Laird, giving a detailed account of the negotiation of the treaty, and a report of the speeches of the Commissioners and Indians, extracted from a report in the Globe newspaper, dated October 4th, 1877, which, though not authentic, I believe, gives a general view of what passed during the negotiations. GOVERNMENT HOUSE, BATTLEFORD, NORTH-WEST TERRITORY. Sir,--I have the honor to inform you that on the 4th August I received at Swan River your telegram dated on the first of that month. It notified me that a Commission appointing Lieut.-Col. James F. McLeod, C.M.G., and myself, Commissioners to negotiate a treaty with the Blackfeet and other Indians of the unsurrendered parts of the North-West Territories adjoining the United States boundary, had been forwarded to Fort McLeod. I immediately made preparations for the journey. These occupied me a week, as arrangements had to be made for the removal of furniture and other property to Battle River, where the Government House for the territories, in course of construction, would probably be ready for occupation on my return from the treaty negotiations. On the 11th August I left Swan River for Fort McLeod, via Battleford, proposing to go from the latter place by Cypress Hills to my destination. I took the Quill Lake trail and came to the telegraph line, about four miles from Big Stone Lake. Thence I followed that line until I came to the trail at the elbow of the North Saskatchewan leading to Battle River. Where the telegraph crosses the South Saskatchewan I found an excellent ferry scow, and a ferryman placed there by the Public Works Department. I arrived at the ferry about noon on the 20th, and though a high wind rendered it difficult to manage the scow, the horses, with the vehicles and their contents, were safely ferried before sunset. On the following evening I reached the Elbow, and the morning thereafter before leaving camp, Inspector Walker, of Battleford, drove up, on his way to Carlton, to arrange for the distribution of certain of the articles intended for the Indians of Treaty Number Six, which had not arrived when he paid the annuities at that post in the early part of the month. Some of the Indians had not dispersed since they received their payments, and interested parties were causing dissatisfaction among them by reporting that the provisions intended for them, while assembled to receive their annuities, having now arrived, should be distributed to them, as well as the agricultural implements and other articles promised. I advised Inspector Walker to distribute to those Indians still around Carlton their share of the presents, and to give them a small quantity of provisions from the Government supplies, to enable them to proceed without delay to their hunting grounds. I then continued my journey to Battleford, which I reached on Monday, the 24th, at noon. Here I was happy to meet Major Irvine, who had come straight from Fort McLeod, across the Great Plains, to conduct me on my journey, and to inform me that for satisfactory reasons adduced by Crowfoot, the leading chief of the Blackfeet, Lieut.-Col. McLeod, my associate Commissioner, had consented that the meeting of the treaty should be held at the Blackfoot crossing of the Bow River, instead of at Fort McLeod. Major Irvine had reached Battleford only a few hours before me, and having a Blackfoot Indian as guide, I abandoned my intention of going to Fort McLeod by Cypress Hills, and resolved to take the more direct and much shorter course by which that officer came. On Friday I had interviews with several parties on business, among whom were Red Pheasant, the Chief of the Battle River Crees, and a portion of his band. He desired explanations about the articles promised in the treaty of last year, and the reason they were so late in being forwarded. I explained that the unusually heavy rains in Manitoba and the eastern portion of the territories had made the travelling so bad that the freighters had not been able to overtake the journey in the time which they expected; that the Government were very sorry at the disappointment, as it was their desire to faithfully carry out all their promises. The officers here had done their best to meet the difficulty and satisfy the Indians, though at no little expense to the country. The Chief appeared to be quite satisfied with the explanation, and after some further conversation about the reserve, which he desires to be located at Eagle Hills, he and his companions retired to their lodges, situated for the present close to the south side of Battle River, under the bank in front of Government House. Inspector Walker having kindly given instructions to the non-commissioned officer in charge of the Mounted Police in his absence, that every assistance in his power was to be afforded to me for continuing my journey, I was enabled to leave Battleford for Fort McLeod with Major Irvine, on the 25th August. Besides us two, the party consisted of four police constables, my personal servant and the guide. For the first day we followed a trail leading southward, but afterwards our course was across the trackless plains until we approached near our destination. On the third day out we first sighted buffalo, and every day subsequently that we travelled, except the last, we saw herds of the animals. Most of the herds, however, were small, and we remarked with regret that very few calves of this season were to be seen. We observed portions of many buffalo carcasses on our route, from not a few of which the peltries had not been removed. From this circumstance, as well as from the fact that many of the skins are made into parchments and coverings for lodges, and are used for other purposes, I concluded that the export of buffalo robes from the territories does not indicate even one-half the number of those valuable animals slaughtered annually in our country. Antelope, though not very abundant, are widely scattered over the plains. The numerous lakelets abound with water fowl. Some of the pools contain alkali, but we experienced no inconvenience on the journey from scarcity of fresh water. The grass in many places is short and thin, but in the hollows feed for horses is easily obtained. Altogether, though the plains are perfectly treeless, not even a shrub being visible, a journey across them in fine weather, such as we experienced, when the "buffalo chips" are sufficiently dry to make a good camp fire, is not disagreeable. On the afternoon of the 29th we reached the lowest ford of the Red Deer River, one hundred and sixty-eight miles, by our course, from Battleford. On the north side of the river at this ford there is quicksand. The water too, in mid-stream, was deep enough to flow over the side-boards of our waggons, and at one place the current was dangerously rapid. After repeated trials by some of the men on horseback to find the best footing, we made the attempt, and the whole party got safely across by night-fall. On Saturday evening, the 1st of September, we arrived at the Blackfoot crossing of the Bow River, one hundred and eighteen miles from where we forded the Red Deer River. The Bow River is a noble stream. The current is pretty rapid, but at this "ridge under the water" (which is the literal translation of the Blackfoot name for the ford) the bed of the river is pebbly and the footing consequently good. Though we found the water almost as deep as at the Red Deer River, yet under the guidance of Mr. French, a small trader who lives near the ford, we, without almost any delay, crossed bravely over and camped until Monday morning on the south bank of the river. At this crossing, where the Indians had latterly been notified to assemble for the treaty, there is a beautiful river bottom on the south side of the river. It extended about one mile back from the river, and is some three miles in length. The river, as far as the eye can reach, is skirted close to the water by a narrow belt of cotton-wood and other trees. When I surveyed the clear waters of the stream, the fuel and shelter which the wood afforded, the excellent herbage on hill and dale, and the Indians camped in the vicinity crossing and re-crossing the river on the "ridge" with ease and safety, I was not surprised that the Blackfeet were attached to the locality, and desired that such an important event in their history as concluding a treaty with Her Majesty's Commissioners should take place at this spot. On Saturday evening and Sunday several of the Indians called to shake hands with me, among whom was the Rainy Chief of the North Bloods. Here also I met Monsieur Jean L. Heureux, a French Canadian, who had spent nearly twenty years of his life among the Blackfeet. From him I obtained much valuable information respecting the numbers and wishes of the Indians, together with an elaborate list of the different Chiefs and minor Chiefs of the Blackfeet, Bloods, Piegans, and Sarcees, with the principal families of their respective tribes and clans of divisions. This list the Commissioners found very useful in enabling them to understand the relative influence of the several Chiefs and the strength of their bands. On our journey, while within the limits of Treaty Number Six, we met scarcely any Indians, but after we crossed Red Deer River we met a few Crees and Half-breeds, and several hunting parties of Blackfeet. The former generally use carts in travelling, but the Blackfeet and their associates are always on horseback. The Crees appeared friendly, but were not so demonstrative as the Blackfeet, who always rode up at once with a smile on their countenances and shook hands with us. They knew the uniform of the Mounted Police at a distance, and at once recognized and approached them as their friends. We resumed our journey on Monday and arrived at Fort McLeod on the Old Man's River, on Tuesday the 4th September. The distance between the Blackfoot crossing of the Bow River and the Fort is about seventy-nine miles, thus making the length of our journey from Battleford three hundred and sixty-five miles as measured by Major Irvine's odometer. A few miles from Fort McLeod I was met by the Commissioners of the Mounted Police and a large party of the Force, who escorted me into the Fort, while a salute was fired by the artillery company from one of the hills overlooking the line of march. The men, whose horses were in excellent condition, looked exceedingly well, and the officers performed their duties in a most efficient manner. The villagers presented me with an address of welcome, and altogether my reception at Fort McLeod was such as to satisfy the most fastidious lover of display, and more than enough to satisfy the writer. At Fort McLeod, on my arrival, I received your despatch of first August, covering the Commission relating to the Treaty and a copy of the Order in Council of 12th July, in terms of which the commission was issued. Also your letter of 27th July informing me that it had been thought desirable to place the services of the Rev. Father Lacombe at the disposal of the Commissioners while negotiating the treaty. A few days afterwards I was sorry to learn by telegraph that the reverend gentleman had been taken by illness on the journey and would be unable to be present at the meeting with the Indians. Here, however I was happy to meet Rev. Father Scollen, a Roman Catholic missionary, who has labored for some years among the Crees and Blackfeet in the western portion of the territories. He kindly furnished me such information as he possessed, and afterwards went to the treaty, where his assistance was of some value, particularly in dealing with the Crees present. While at the fort I had interviews with several of the Blood Chiefs, who called upon me to inquire if they could not be treated with there instead of at Bow River. I explained that hereafter the Government would endeavor to pay them their annuities at places most convenient for them, but that on the occasion of making a treaty it was desirable that the several Chiefs and their principal head men should meet together to talk over the matter, so that all might feel that they had been consulted as to the terms of the agreement. They went away satisfied, said they would do as the Great Father advised, and go to Bow River. I cannot speak too highly of the kind manner in which the officers and men of the Mounted Police at Fort McLeod treat their Indian visitors. Though the red man is somewhat intrusive, I never heard a harsh word employed in asking him to retire. The beneficial effects of this treatment, of the exclusion of intoxicants from the country, and of impartially administering justice to whites and Indians alike, were apparent in all my interviews with the Indians. They always spoke of the officers of the Police in the highest terms, and of the Commander of the Force, Lieut.-Col. McLeod, especially as their great benefactor. The leading Chiefs of the Blackfeet and kindred tribes, declared publicly at the treaty that had it not been for the Mounted Police they would have all been dead ere this time. Having rested a week after my tedious journey of over seven hundred miles, I then occupied myself for a few days in viewing the surrounding country. In the village I found some excellent stores, supplied with almost every article of dry goods, hardware and groceries, that any inland community requires. Notably among these were the stores of J. G. Baker & Co. and Messrs. T. C. Power & Bro. There is also a good blacksmith's shop in the village in which coal is used from the Pelly River, at a place some twenty miles distant from Fort McLeod. I was told by the proprietor of the shop that the coal answers tolerably well for blacksmithing purposes, and in the fort it is extensively used for fuel. It burns nearly as well in a stove as some varieties of Pictou coal. The land around the fort, and indeed for almost the whole distance between the Bow and Old Man's Rivers, is well adapted for grazing; and where cultivation has been fairly attempted this season, grain and vegetables have been a success. In short, I have very little doubt that this portion of the territories, before many years, will abound in herds of cattle, and be dotted with not a few comfortable homesteads. Lieut.-Col. McLeod having attended to forwarding the supplies to Bow River, which had been previously delivered at the fort, left for the Blackfoot crossing with some eighty officers and men of the Police Force, on Wednesday, the 12th September. I followed on Friday, and reached Bow River on Sunday morning. The Police having arrived on Saturday, the Commissioners were fully prepared for business on Monday, the 17th, the day which I had from the first appointed for the opening of the treaty negotiations. The Commissioners were visited by Crowfoot, the principal Chief of the Blackfeet, shortly after their arrival. He desired to know when he and his people might meet us. We ascertained that most of the Indians on the ground were Blackfeet and Assiniboines or Stonies, from the upper part of Bow River. But as the 17th was the day named, the Commissioners determined to adhere to the appointment, and sent a messenger early in the morning to invite the Indians camped around to meet them at the council tent at two o'clock, p.m. Half an hour before the time appointed a gun was fired as a signal for the Indians to assemble. The meeting was well attended. The Chiefs came forward first and were introduced to the Commissioners, and their followers, on being invited, sat up close to the tent. I addressed them, stating that the Queen's Government had last year promised that they would this year be visited by Commissioners to invite them to make a treaty. That months ago I had named this very day to meet them, and that in accordance with the promises made, the Commissioners were now here to discuss the terms of a treaty. Yet as we had learned that very few of the Bloods, Sarcees or Piegans had arrived, we would not unduly press forward the negotiations, but wait until Wednesday to give the others time to arrive. The Indians listened attentively to what was said, and several of the Chiefs expressed their satisfaction at not being asked to meet us on the morrow. The Commissioners then told them there were rations provided for them by the Government, and that those who were in need of provisions might apply to certain of the Police officers detailed to see to their proper distribution. The Stonies and one Blood Chief applied for flour, tea, sugar and tobacco, but said they were not then in need of beef. Crowfoot and some other Chiefs under his influence would not accept any rations until they would hear what terms the Commissioners were prepared to offer them. He appeared to be under the impression that if the Indians were fed by the bounty of the Government they would be committed to the proposals of the Commissioners, whatever might be their nature. Though I feared this refusal did not augur well for the final success of the negotiations, yet I could not help wishing that other Indians whom I have seen, had a little of the spirit in regard to dependence upon the Government exhibited on this occasion by the great Chief of the Blackfeet. Among the visitors at the treaty I was pleased to meet the Rev. John McDougall, Wesleyan missionary at Morley Ville, and son of the late lamented Rev. George McDougall, so well and favourably known in connection with Indian affairs in the North-West. Mr. McDougall was present at the first interview the Commissioners held with the Indians, and acted as interpreter for the Stonies, who do not understand the Blackfoot language. He, as well as the Rev. C. Scollen, rendered the Commissioners all the assistance in their power. Traders, with large supplies of goods, were arriving on the ground. They desired to erect buildings of logs to protect their property, but as some of the Indian Chiefs objected to the trees along the river being cut down for such a purpose until after the treaty, the Commissioners deemed it prudent, to prevent complications, to ask the traders to erect only temporary stanchions sufficient to support canvas coverings. They complied with our wishes, and the Indians gave us no further trouble on the subject. On the evening of Monday I also received a message from Bobtail, a Cree Chief, who, with the larger portion of the band, had come to the treaty grounds. He represented that he had not been received into any treaty. He, however, had not attended the meeting that day, because he was uncertain whether the Commissioners would be willing to receive him along with the Blackfeet. I asked him and his band to meet the Commissioners separate from the other Indians on the following day. On Tuesday, at two o'clock, the Cree Chief and his band assembled according to appointment. The Commissioners ascertained from him that he had frequented for some time the Upper Bow River country, and might fairly be taken into the present treaty, but he expressed a wish to have his reserve near Pigeon Lake, within the limits of Treaty Number Six, and from what we could learn of the feelings of the Blackfeet toward the Crees, we considered it advisable to keep them separate as much as possible. We therefore informed the Chief that it would be most expedient for him to give in his adhesion to the treaty of last year, and be paid annually, on the north of Red Deer River, with the other Cree Chiefs. He consented. We then told him that we could not pay him until after the Blackfeet had been dealt with, as it might create jealousy among them, but that in the meantime his band could receive rations. He said it was right that he should wait until we had settled with the Blackfeet, and agreed to come and sign his adhesion to Treaty Number Six at any time I was prepared to receive him. During Tuesday, several parties of Indians came in, but the principal Blood Chiefs had not yet arrived. According to appointment, however, the Commissioners met the Indians at two o'clock on Wednesday. An outline was given of the terms proposed for their acceptance. We also informed them we did not expect an answer that day, but we hoped to hear from them to-morrow. That day we again intimated to the Indians that rations would be delivered to such as applied for them. We told them the provisions were a present, and their acceptance would not be regarded as committing the Chiefs to the terms proposed by the Commissioners. Most of the Chiefs at once applied for flour, tea, sugar and tobacco, and in a day or two they also asked for meat. Even Crowfoot, at last thankfully accepted his share of the rations, and the beef cattle began to decrease rapidly. On Tuesday we met the Indians at the usual hour. We further explained the terms outlined to them yesterday, dwelling especially upon the fact that by the Canadian Law their reserves could not be taken from them, occupied or sold, without their consent. They were also assured that their liberty of hunting over the open prairie would not be interfered with, so long as they did not molest settlers and others in the country. We then invited the Chiefs to express their opinions. One of the minor Blood Chiefs made a long speech. He told us the Mounted Police had been in the country for four years, and had been destroying a quantity of wood. For this wood he asked the Commissioners should make the Indians a present payment of fifty dollars a head to each Chief, and thirty dollars a head to all others. He said the Blackfeet, Bloods, Sarcees and Piegans were all one; but he asked that the Crees and Half-breeds should be sent back to their own country. The Queen, he remarked, had sent the police to protect them; they had made it safe for Indians to sleep at night, and he hoped she would not soon take these men away. Crowfoot said he would not speak until to-morrow. Old Sun, another influential Blackfoot Chief, said the same. Eagle Tail, the head Chief of the Piegans, remarked that he had always followed the advice the officers of the Mounted Police gave him. He hoped the promise which the Commissioners made would be secured to them as long as the sun shone and water ran. The Stony Chiefs unreservedly expressed their willingness to accept the terms offered. Fearing that some of the Indians might regard the demands of the Blood Chief who had spoken, if not promptly refused, as agreed to, I told them he had asked too much. He had admitted the great benefit the Police had been to the Indians, and yet he was so unreasonable as to ask that the Government should pay a large gratuity to each Indian for the little wood their benefactors had used. On the contrary, I said, if there should be any pay in the matter it ought to come from the Indians to the Queen for sending them the Police. Hereupon, Crowfoot and the other Chiefs laughed heartily at the Blood orator of the day. I also said the Commissioners could not agree to exclude the Crees and Half-breeds from the Blackfoot country; that they were the Great Mother's children as much as the Blackfeet and Bloods, and she did not wish to see any of them starve. Of course the Crees and Half-breeds could be prosecuted for trespassing on their reserves. In this the Indian Act secured them. The Local Government had passed a law to protect the buffalo. It would have a tendency to prevent numbers from visiting their country in the close season. But to altogether exclude any class of the Queen's subjects, as long as they obeyed the laws, from coming into any part of the country, was contrary to the freedom which she allowed her people, and the Commissioners would make no promise of the kind. On the following morning there was a rumor that the Indians in their own Councils could not agree, that a small party was opposed to making a treaty. The opposition, however, could not have been very formidable. The principal Chiefs seemed fully to understand the importance of accepting some terms. About noon, Crowfoot, with Mr. L'Heureux, as interpreter, came to my tent and asked for explanations on some points, which I cheerfully gave him. During the forenoon a large party of Bloods came in, among whom was Bad Head, an aged minor Blood Chief, of considerable influence, who attended the meeting in the afternoon. When the Commissioners intimated that they were ready to hear what the Chiefs had to say, Crowfoot was the first to speak. His remarks were few, but he expressed his gratitude for the Mounted Police being sent to them, and signified his intention to accept the treaty. The Blood Chief who made the large demands on the previous day said he would agree with the other Chiefs. Old Sun, head Chief of the North Blackfeet, said Crowfoot spoke well. We are not going to disappoint the Commissioners. He was glad they were all agreed to the same terms. They wanted cattle, guns, ammunition, tobacco, axes and money. Bull's Head, the principal Chief of the Sarcees, said, we are all going to take your advice. Eagle Head, the Piegan head Chief remarked, "I give you my hand. We all agree to what Crowfoot says." Rainy Chief, head of the North Bloods, said he never went against the white man's advice. Some of the minor Chiefs spoke to the same effect. The Commissioners expressed their satisfaction at the unanimity among the Indians, and said they would prepare the treaty and bring it to-morrow for signature. The only difficult matter then to be arranged was the reserves. The Commissioners thought it would take unnecessary time to discuss this question in open meeting, and resolved that one of them should visit the head Chiefs at their camps, and consult them separately as to the localities they might desire to select. Lieut.-Col. McLeod undertook this duty, while I attended to the preparation of the draft treaty. He succeeded so well in his mission that we were able to name the places chosen in the treaty. On Saturday, 22nd September, we met the Indians to conclude the treaty. Mekasto, or Red Crow the great Chief of the South Bloods, had arrived the previous evening, or morning, on the ground, and being present, came forward to be introduced to the Commissioners. The assemblage of Indians was large. All the head Chiefs of the several tribes were now present; only two Blackfeet and two Blood minor Chiefs were absent. The representation was all that could be expected. The Commissioners had previously informed the Indians that they would accept the Chiefs whom they acknowledged, and now close in front of the tent sat those who had been presented to the Commissioners as the recognized Chiefs of the respective bands. The conditions of the treaty having been interpreted to the Indians, some of the Blood Chiefs, who bad said very little on the previous day, owing to Red Crow's absence, now spoke, he himself in a few kind words agreeing to accept the treaty. Crowfoot then came forward and requested his name to be written to the treaty. The Commissioners having first signed it, Mr. L'Heureux, being familiar with the Blackfoot language, attached the Chiefs' names to the document at their request and witnessed to their marks. While the signing was being proceeded with, a salute was fired from the field guns in honor of the successful conclusion of the negotiations. I may mention, in this connection, that on Saturday also I was waited upon by a deputation of Half-breeds, who presented me with a petition, expressing the hope that the buffalo law might not be stringently enforced during the approaching winter, and praying that they might receive some assistance to commence farming. With respect to the buffalo ordinance, I told them that the notice having been short, the law would not be very strictly enforced for the first winter, and in regard to their prayer for assistance to farm, I said I would make it known at Ottawa. On Monday, the 24th, the Commissioners met the Indians at ten a.m. Some minor Chiefs who had not remained until the close of the proceedings on Saturday signed the treaty this morning. The Chiefs were then asked to stand up in a body, their names were read over and the Indians once more asked to say whether they were their recognized Chiefs. Heavy Shield, a brother of Old Sun, at the request of the latter, took the place of head Chief of his band. It was, however, ascertained that this arrangement caused dissatisfaction, and Old Sun was restored to his position, and the band adhering to his brother, was called the "Middle Blackfoot Band." After their names were called over, I gave the head Chiefs of the Blackfeet, Blood, Piegans, and Sarcees their flags and uniforms, and invested them with their medals. While I was shaking hands with them, acknowledging their Chiefs in the name of the Great Mother, the band played "God Save the Queen." The payments were then immediately begun by the officers of the Mounted Police, one party taking the Blackfeet, and another the Bloods, while a third was detailed to pay the Assiniboines, or Stonies, near their encampment some two miles up the river. The Commissioners went in the afternoon with the latter party, and before the payments were commenced, presented the Chiefs with their medals, flags and uniforms. The Stonies received us with quite a demonstration. They are a well-behaved body of Indians. The influence of the Christian missionary in their midst is apparent, polygamy being now almost wholly a thing of the past. On Tuesday I took the adhesion of Bobtail, the Cree Chief, and his band, to Treaty Number Six, and they were paid out of the funds which I had brought with me from Swan River. On the invitation of the Blackfeet, Blood, and kindred Chiefs, the Commissioners went on Wednesday to the Council tent to receive an address of thanks. A large number of Indians were present. Mr. L'Heureux spoke on their behalf, and expressed their gratitude to the Commissioners generally for the kind manner in which they conducted the negotiations, to me personally for having come so far to meet them, and to Lieut.-Col. McLeod for all that he and the Mounted Police had done for them since their arrival in the country. To this address the Commissioners feelingly replied, and expressed their confidence that the Indians before them would not regret having agreed to the treaty. The Cree Chief and his band also waited upon us in the evening at my tent, and through Father Scollen, as interpreter, thanked us for the manner in which we had treated them. The presents sent for the Indians were distributed to each band, after payment. On Wednesday also the Commissioners drove to see the coal seam about five miles east of the Blackfoot crossing. Under the guidance of Mr. French, they found an outcrop of the seam at a coulee some three miles south of the river. The seam there is from three to ten feet in thickness, and the coal, some of which was burned every day in the officers' mess tent at the treaty, is of a very fair quality. About noon on Friday the payments were completed, and the Commissioners proceeded to close the accounts. They found that the number of Indians paid, who had accepted the terms of the new treaty was as follows:-- Head Chiefs 10 at $25 $250 Minor Chiefs and Councillors 40 at 15 600 Men, women and children 4,342 at 12 52,104 ----- ------ Total 4,392 $52,954 The Crees who gave in their adhesion to Treaty Number Six were only paid the gratuity, this year's annuity being still due them. These were paid from the funds of Treaty Number Six as follows:-- Chief 1 at $25 $25 Councillors 2 at 15 30 Men, women and children 429 at 12 5,148 --- ----- Total 432 $5,203 The officers of the Police Force who conducted the payments, discharged this duty in a most efficient manner. Not in regard to the payments alone were the services of the officers most valuable. With respect to the whole arrangements, Lieut.-Col. McLeod, my associate Commissioner, both in that capacity and as Commander of the Police, was indefatigable in his exertions to bring the negotiations to a successful termination. The same laudable efforts were put forth by Major Irvine and the other officers of the Force, and their kindness to me, personally I shall never fail to remember. The volunteer band of the Police at Fort McLeod deserve more than a passing notice, as they did much to enliven the whole proceedings. The Commissioners at first had not a good interpreter of the Blackfoot language, but on Wednesday they secured the services of Mr. Bird, a brother of the late Dr. Bird, of Winnipeg. He has been many years among the Piegans and Blackfeet and is a very intelligent interpreter. Mr. L'Heureux also rendered good service in this respect. The accounts being closed and certified to by the Commissioners, I commenced my return journey on the evening of the 28th September. I came by a crossing of the Red Deer River some fifteen miles east of the Hand Hills, travelled across the prairies further west than my former route, and arrived at Battleford on the evening of Saturday the 6th of October. I transmit herewith the treaty as signed by the Commissioners and Chiefs, and also the adhesion of the Cree Chief to Treaty Number Six. In conclusion I beg to offer a few observations on the treaty, and subjects connected therewith. 1. With respect to the reserves, the Commissioners thought it expedient to settle at once their location subject to the approval of the Privy Council. By this course it is hoped that a great deal of subsequent trouble in selecting reserves will be avoided. The object of the ten years' reserve on the south side of Bow River is to keep hunters from building winter shanties on the river bottom. This practice has a tendency to alarm the buffalo, and keep them from their feeding grounds on the lower part of the river. After ten years it is feared the buffalo will have become nearly extinct, and that further protection will be needless. At any rate by that time the Indians hope to have herds of domestic cattle. The country on the upper part of the Bow River is better adapted for settlement than most of that included in the Blackfeet reserve, consequently the Commissioners deemed it advisable to agree that a belt on the south side of the river should be exempt from general occupation for ten years, particularly as the Indians set great value on the concession. 2. The articles promised in addition to the money payments may to some appear excessive. The Stonies are the only Indians adhering to this treaty who desired agricultural implements and seed. The promises, therefore, respecting these things may be understood as merely applicable to that tribe. The Blackfeet and Bloods asked for nothing of this kind; they preferred cattle, and the Commissioners being fully of opinion that such were likely to be much more serviceable to them than seed and implements, encouraged them in their request. The number of cattle promised may appear large; but when it is considered that cows can be readily purchased at Fort McLeod for twenty or twenty-five dollars per head, and their delivery to the Indians will cost an inconsiderable sum, the total expense of supplying the articles promised by this treaty will, I am convinced, cost less than those under either Treaty number Four or Number Six. 3. I would urge that the officers of the Mounted Police be entrusted to make the annual payments to the Indians under this treaty. The Chiefs themselves requested this, and I said I believed the Government would gladly consent to the arrangement. The Indians have confidence in the Police, and it might be some time before they would acquire the same respect for strangers. 4. The organization of the Blackfeet bands is somewhat different from that of the Saulteaux and Crees. They have large bands with head and minor Chiefs, and as they preferred that this arrangement should remain unchanged, the Commissioners gladly acceded to their desire, as expense would be saved to the Government in clothing, were councillors and head men not named. The Stonies, however asked to be allowed councillors, and their request was granted to the extent of two to each Chief. 5. Copies of the treaty printed on parchment should be forwarded to Fort McLeod in good time to be delivered to each head and minor Chief at next year's payment of annuities. I have the honour to be, Sir, Your obedient servant, DAVID LAIRD, Lieut.-Gov., and Special Indian Commissioner. Report from correspondence in The Globe newspaper, Toronto. FORT McLEOD, October 4, 1877. The treaty with the Blackfeet nation has been concluded satisfactorily, and was signed by the Chiefs of the Blackfeet, Blood, Piegan and Sarcee tribes, in the presence of the Commissioners--Governor Laird and Col. McLeod, C.M.G., and of Major Irvine, Assistant Commissioner, North-West Mounted Police, and officers of the Police Force, at the Council House, near "Ridge under the Water," or "The Blackfoot Crossing" the Great Bow River, on the 22nd September last. On the morning of the 4th of September, Col. McLeod received information from the ubiquitous Indian that the Queen's father (Lieut.-Gov. Laird) was at Little Bow River, thirty miles north from McLeod, and was accompanied by the "Buffalo Bull" (Major Irvine), and that they would arrive before the sun sank below the western horizon. At three p.m. the Commissioner left Fort McLeod, accompanied by a guard of honor of one hundred mounted men, to meet and escort the representative of Vice-Royalty to the first white settlement in the Blackfeet country. The Governor was met three miles north of Willow Creek, and expressed his surprise and pleasure at the splendid appearance of the well-mounted, well-equipped, well-drilled body of men who formed the guard of honour. When the head of the column forming the escort wound round the bend of Willow Creek, and the extensive wooded valley on which McLeod is built appeared in view, the guns, which had been unlimbered and placed in position on the highest of the bluffs which girdle the north side of Old Man's River, fired a salute of thirteen guns. On the arrival of the cortege at the upper or south end of the village, the police band took the lead and welcomed the Governor with its lively music. The whole white, Half-breed and Indian population of McLeod turned out to obtain a view of the great man who had arrived. At the request of the leading inhabitants of McLeod the carriage of the Governor was halted in the centre of the village, and the following neatly worded address was read and presented to His Honor by Mr. John C. Bell: TO THE HONORABLE DAVID LAIRD, Lieutenant-Governor, N.-W. T. We, the citizens of Fort McLeod, beg to welcome you to this little village, one of the pioneer settlements of this great North-West. To have so distinguished a visitor in our midst is an honor we all appreciate, as in that visit we feel an assurance of your interest in our welfare and prosperity, which had its dawn with the advent of the Mounted Police in the North-West, and which, through their vigilance and care, has continued to this time. We trust that your visit here will be as pleasant to you as it will be long remembered by us. CHAS. E. CONRAD, THOMAS J. BOGY, DANIEL SAMPLE, LIONEL E. MANNING, JOHN C. BELL. To which the Governor replied-- GENTLEMEN,--I thank you for your kind address, and for the hearty welcome you have extended to me on my first visit to this pioneer settlement of the Canadian North-West. After roughing it for the last twenty-four days on the broad unsettled prairies, you have surprised me by a reception which betokens all the elements of civilization. It affords me unfeigned pleasure to learn that the advent of the Mounted Police in this country has been fraught with such advantages to you as a community. Permit me to express the conviction that in return for that diligence and care on the part of the Police Force which you so highly and justly value, you will always be found conducting yourselves as becomes worthy subjects of that illustrious Sovereign whom I have the distinguished honour to represent in these territories. In conclusion, I would remark that you have taken me so unexpectedly by your address that I feel unequal to making an appropriate reply; but the agreeableness of the surprise will tend to heighten the pleasure of my visit, as well as to render abiding the interest which I undoubtedly feel in your welfare and prosperity. During his stay at Fort McLeod, which extended to the 14th of the month, the Lieutenant-Governor reviewed the garrison, which consisted of troops C and D, and two divisions of artillery. They deployed past at a walk, trot and gallop, and His Honor expressed his unqualified admiration of the splendid form of the men. He was especially pleased with the artillery, whose horses and equipments were in beautiful condition, and requested Col. McLeod to convey to the officers and men his surprise and pleasure at finding the force at this post so perfectly drilled and acquainted with their duties. On the 12th the two troops and the artillery, accompanied by a baggage train of six light waggons, left Fort McLeod en route for the scene of the treaty. The Commissioner took command of the detachment, and the Assistant Commissioner remained behind to accompany the Governor on the 14th. The force accomplished the march in three days, and pitched the tents on ground previously laid out for the encampment by Inspector Crozier, at the head of a magnificently wooded valley, of about a mile in width and extending for several miles along the Big Bow. It is a lovely spot, this "Ridge under the Water," and has always been a favorite camping ground of the Blackfeet nation. Monday, 17th October. This was the day appointed for the opening of the Treaty, but as a number of the Indian Chiefs, who had a long distance to come, were absent, it was deferred until the following Wednesday. The Governor, however, addressed a number of the Chiefs who were assembled at the Council House. He said, "Last year a message was sent to you by the Councillors of the Great Mother that they would meet you at an early date, and as her Councillors always keep their promises, they have appointed Col. McLeod and myself to meet you here now. We appointed this day, and I have come a very long distance to keep my promise, and have called you together to discover if you all have responded to my summons, and if any Chiefs are now absent, to learn when they shall arrive. You say that some of the Blood Chiefs are absent, and as it is our wish to speak to them as well as to you, and as they have a very long way to come to reach this place, we shall give them until next Wednesday to come in. On that day, I will deliver to you the Queen's message, but if any of the Chiefs would desire to speak now, we will be glad to listen to them. I would tell you now, that while you remain, provisions will be issued for the use of those who wish to accept them." CROWFOOT--"I am glad to see the Queen's Chief and Stamixotokon (Col McLeod), who is a great Chief and our friend. I will wait and hold a council with my own children (the Blackfeet), and be ready on Wednesday to hear the Great Mother's message." PIEGAN CHIEF--"My children (the North Piegans) have looked long for the arrival of the Great Mother's Chief; one day, we did not look for him, and he passed us; we have travelled after him for fourteen nights, and now are glad to see and shake hands with the Great Chief." BEAR'S PAW (Stony Chief)--"We have been watching for you for many moons now, and a long time has gone by since I and my children first heard of your coming. Our hearts are now glad to see the Chief of the Great Mother, and to receive flour and meat and anything you may give us. We are all of one mind, and will say what we think on Wednesday." On Wednesday the Commissioners met the Chiefs at the great Council House. A guard of honor of fifty mounted men accompanied them, commanded by Major Irvine. The Police band received them, and at one o'clock the guns fired a salute as the Governor and Col. McLeod took their seats. There were present at the opening of the treaty, a number of ladies and gentlemen who had come long distances to witness this novel spectacle. Mrs. McLeod, Mrs. Winder, Mrs. Shurtleff, and a number of other ladies from Morleyville and Edmonton, also the Rev. Messrs. Scollen and McDougall, Mr. De L'Hereux, Mr. Conrad, Mr. Bogy, and the whole white population of Fort McLeod. Nearly all of the Chiefs and minor Chiefs of the Blackfeet, Blood, Piegan, Stony, and Sarcee tribes were seated directly in front of the Council House; and forming a semicircle of about one-third of a mile beyond the Chiefs, about four thousand men, women, and children were squatted on the grass, watching with keen interest the commencement of the proceedings. Lieut.-Gov. Laird delivered the following speech: "The Great Spirit has made all things--the sun, the moon, and the stars, the earth, the forests, and the swift running rivers. It is by the Great Spirit that the Queen rules over this great country and other great countries. The Great Spirit has made the white man and the red man brothers, and we should take each other by the hand. The Great Mother loves all her children, white man and red man alike; she wishes to do them all good. The bad white man and the bad Indian she alone does not love, and them she punishes for their wickedness. The good Indian has nothing to fear from the Queen or her officers. You Indians know this to be true. When bad white men brought you whiskey, robbed you, and made you poor, and, through whiskey, quarrel amongst yourselves, she sent the Police to put an end to it. You know how they stopped this and punished the offenders, and how much good this has done. I have to tell you how much pleased the Queen is that you have taken the Police by the hands and helped them, and obeyed her laws since the arrival of the Police. She hopes that you will continue to do so, and you will always find the Police on your side if you keep the Queen's laws. The Great Mother heard that the buffalo were being killed very fast, and to prevent them from being destroyed her Councillors have made a law to protect them. This law is for your good. It says that the calves are not to be killed, so that they may grow up and increase; that the cows are not to be killed in winter or spring, excepting by the Indians when they are in need of them as food. This will save the buffalo, and provide you with food for many years yet, and it shews you that the Queen and her Councillors wish you well. "Many years ago our Great Mother made a treaty with the Indians far away by the great waters in the east. A few years ago she made a treaty with those beyond the Touchwood Hills and the Woody Mountains. Last year a treaty was made with the Crees along the Saskatchewan, and now the Queen has sent Col. McLeod and myself to ask you to make a treaty. But in a very few years the buffalo will probably be all destroyed, and for this reason the Queen wishes to help you to live in the future in some other way. She wishes you to allow her white children to come and live on your land and raise cattle, and should you agree to this she will assist you to raise cattle and grain, and thus give you the means of living when the buffalo are no more. She will also pay you and your children money every year, which you can spend as you please. By being paid in money you cannot be cheated, as with it you can buy what you may think proper. "The Queen wishes us to offer you the same as was accepted by the Crees. I do not mean exactly the same terms, but equivalent terms, that will cost the Queen the same amount of money. Some of the other Indians wanted farming implements, but these you do not require, as your lands are more adapted to raising cattle, and cattle, perhaps, would be better for you. The Commissioners will give you your choice, whether cattle or farming implements. I have already said we will give you money, I will now tell you how much. If you sign the treaty every man, woman and child will get twelve dollars each; the money will be paid to the head of each family for himself, women and children; every year, for ever, you, your women and your children will get five dollars each. This year Chiefs and Councillors will be paid a larger sum than this; Chiefs will get a suit of clothes, a silver medal, and flag, and every third year will get another suit. A reserve of land will be set apart for yourselves and your cattle, upon which none others will be permitted to encroach; for every five persons one square mile will be allotted on this reserve, on which they can cut the trees and brush for firewood and other purposes. The Queen's officers will permit no white man or Half-breed to build or cut the timber on your reserves. If required roads will be cut through them. Cattle will be given to you, and potatoes, the same as are grown at Fort McLeod. The Commissioners would strongly advise the Indians to take cattle, as you understand cattle better than you will farming for some time, at least as long as you continue to move about in lodges. "Ammunition will be issued to you each year, and as soon as you sign the treaty one thousand five hundred dollars' worth will be distributed amongst the tribes, and as soon as you settle, teachers will be sent to you to instruct your children to read books like this one (the Governor referred to a Bible), which is impossible so long as you continue to move from place to place. I have now spoken. I have made you acquainted with the principal terms contained in the treaty which you are asked to sign. "You may wish time to talk it over in your council lodges; you may not know what to do before you speak your thoughts in council. Go, therefore, to your councils, and I hope that you may be able to give me an answer to-morrow. Before you leave I will hear your questions and explain any matter that may not appear clear to you." A few questions by the Chiefs were answered, and the council was closed for the day. Thursday, October 19th. The Governor, on arriving at the Council House, where all the Chiefs were awaiting him, said that he was glad to see them all there, and that he had only a few words to say to them. He said, "I expect to listen to what you have to say to-day, but, first, I would explain that it is your privilege to hunt all over the prairies, and that should you desire to sell any portion of your land, or any coal or timber from off your reserves, the Government will see that you receive just and fair prices, and that you can rely on all the Queen's promises being fulfilled. Your payments will be punctually made. You all know the Police; you know that no promise of theirs to you has ever been broken; they speak and act straight. You have perfect confidence in them, and by the past conduct of the Police towards you, you can judge of the future. I think I have now said all, and will listen to you and explain anything you wish to know; we wish to keep nothing back." BUTTON CHIEF--"The Great Spirit sent the white man across the great waters to carry out His (the Great Spirit's) ends. The Great Spirit, and not the Great Mother, gave us this land, The Great Mother sent Stamixotokon (Col. McLeod) and the Police to put an end to the traffic in fire-water. I can sleep now safely. Before the arrival of the Police, when I laid my head down at night, every sound frightened me; my sleep was broken; now I can sleep sound and am not afraid. The Great Mother sent you to this country, and we hope she will be good to us for many years. I hope and expect to get plenty; we think we will not get so much as the Indians receive from the Americans on the other side; they get large presents of flour, sugar, tea, and blankets. The Americans gave at first large bags of flour, sugar, and many blankets; the next year it was only half the quantity, and the following years it grew less and less, and now they give only a handful of flour. We want to get fifty dollars for the Chiefs and thirty dollars each for all the others, men, women, and children, and we want the same every year for the future. We want to be paid for all the timber that the Police and whites have used since they first came to our country. If it continues to be used as it is, there will soon be no firewood left for the Indians. I hope, Great Father, that you will give us all this that we ask." CROWFOOT--"Great Father, what do you think now, what do you say to that? What I have to say will be spoken to-morrow. My brother Chiefs will speak now." EAGLE TAIL--"Great Father, from our Great Mother, Stamixotokon and officers of the Police, the advice and help I received from the Police I shall never forget as long as the moon brightens the night, as long as water runs and the grass grows in spring, and I expect to get the same from our Great Mother. I hope she will supply us with flour, tea, tobacco and cattle, seed and farming implements. I have done at present." OLD SUN--"Father and sons, I shall speak to-morrow." GOVERNOR--"I fear Button Chief is asking too much. He has told us of the great good the Police have done for him and his tribe and throughout the country by driving away the whiskey traders, and now he wants us to pay the Chiefs fifty dollars and others thirty dollars per head, and to pay him for the timber that has been used. Why, you Indians ought to pay us rather, for sending these traders in fire-water away and giving you security and peace, rather than we pay you for the timber used. (Here the Indians indulged in a general hearty laugh at this proposition.) We cannot do you good and pay you too for our protection. Button Chief wants us to prevent the Crees and Half-breeds from coming in and killing the buffalo. They too are the Queen's children, as well as the Blackfeet and Crees. We have done all we can do in preventing the slaying of the young buffalo, and this law will preserve the buffalo for many years. Button Chief wishes to get the same every year as this year; this we cannot promise. We cannot make a treaty with you every year. We will give you something to eat each year, but not so much as you will receive now. He says the Americans at first gave the Indians many large sacks of flour, and now they only receive a handful. From us you receive money to purchase what you may see fit; and as your children increase yearly, you will get the more money in the future, as you are paid so much per head. "(To the Stony Chiefs)--When your reserves will be allotted to you no wood can be cut or be permitted to be taken away from them without your own consent. The reserve will be given to you without depriving you of the privilege to hunt over the plains until the land be taken up." Bear's Paw said that he was pleased with the treaty, the Police, and the prospect of getting provisions and money, and hoped that the Commissioners would give his tribe (the Stonies) as much as possible, and that as speedily as possible. This Chief appeared by his speech to be of a mercenary bent of mind. Friday, October 20th. On this day the Indians accepted the terms of the treaty, and several of the Chiefs made speeches. The first speaker was Crowfoot. CROWFOOT--"While I speak, be kind and patient. I have to speak for my people, who are numerous, and who rely upon me to follow that course which in the future will tend to their good. The plains are large and wide. We are the children of the plains, it is our home, and the buffalo has been our food always. I hope you look upon the Blackfeet, Blood, and Sarcees as your children now, and that you will be indulgent and charitable to them. They all expect me to speak now for them, and I trust the Great Spirit will put into their breasts to be a good people--into the minds of the men, women and children, and their future generations. The advice given me and my people has proved to be very good. If the Police had not come to the, country, where would we be all now? Bad men and whiskey were killing us so fast that very few, indeed, of us would have been left to-day. The Police have protected us as the feathers of the bird protect it from the frosts of winter. I wish them all good, and trust that all our hearts will increase in goodness from this time forward. I am satisfied. I will sign the treaty." BUTTON CHIEF--"I must say what all the people say, and I agree with what they say. I cannot make new laws. I will sign." RED CROW--"Three years ago, when the Police first came to the country, I met and shook hands with Stamixotokon (Col. McLeod) at Pelly River. Since that time he made me many promises. He kept them all--not one of them was ever broken. Everything that the police have done has been good. I entirely trust Stamixotokon, and will leave everything to him. I will sign with Crowfoot." FATHER OF MANY CHILDREN--"I have come a long way, and far behind the rest of the bands. I have travelled with these traveaux that you now see outside there with my women and children. I cannot speak much now, but I agree with Crowfoot, and will sign." OLD SUN--"Crowfoot speaks well. We were summoned to meet the Great Mother's Chiefs here, and we would not disappoint them; we have come, and will sign the treaty. During the past Crowfoot has been called by us our Great Father. The Great Mother's Chief (Governor Laird) will now be our Great Father. Everything you say appears to me to be very good, and I hope that you will give us all we ask--cattle, money, tobacco, guns, and axes, and that you will not let the white man use poison on the prairies. It kills horses and buffalo as well as wolves, and it may kill men. We can ourselves kill the wolves, and set traps for them. We all agree with Crowfoot." The remainder of the day was consumed by about a dozen other chiefs speaking in favour of the treaty. On the following day all the chiefs and counsellors signed their names under the signatures of the Commissioners, and a salute of thirteen guns announced the final conclusion of the last treaty with the Indians of the North-West. On Sunday afternoon the Indians fought a sham battle on horseback. They only wore the breech-cloths. They fired off their rifles in all directions, and sent the bullets whistling past the spectators in such close proximity as to create most unpleasant feelings. I was heartily glad when they defiled past singly on the way back to their lodges, and the last of their unearthly yells had died away in the distance. Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday were occupied in paying off the different tribes. They were paid by Inspector Winder, Sub-Inspector Denny, and Sub-Inspector Antrobus, each assisted by a constable of the Force. It was hard work to find out the correct number of each family. Many after receiving their money would return to say that they had made a wrong count; one would discover that he had another wife, another two more children, and others that they had blind mothers and lame sisters. In some cases they wanted to be paid for the babies that were expected to come soon. On Wednesday the Chiefs presented an address to the Commissioners, expressing the entire satisfaction of the whole nation with the treaty, and to the way in which the terms had been carried out. They tendered their well wishes to the Queen, the Governor, Col. McLeod, and the Police Force. They spoke in the most flattering and enthusiastic manner of the Commissioner, Assistant-Commissioner, officers, and the Force in general, and said that it was their firm determination to adhere to the terms of the treaty, and abide by the laws of the Great Mother. Potts, the interpreter at Fort McLeod, said he never heard Indians speak out their minds so freely in his life before. In reply, the Lieutenant-Governor said he was much pleased to receive this address from the Chiefs of the great Blackfeet nation, which in fact was to the Great Mother, as the Commissioners were merely acting for her, and carrying out her wishes. He was certain she would be gratified to learn of the approval of the Chiefs and their acceptance of her offers. In return the Great Mother only required of them to abide by her laws. Lieut.-Col. McLeod said in reply:--"The Chiefs all here know what I said to them three years ago, when the Police first came to the country--that nothing would be taken away from them without their own consent. You all see to-day that what I told you then was true. I also told you that the Mounted Police were your friends, and would not wrong you or see you wronged in any way. This also you see is true. The Police will continue to be your friends, and be always glad to see you. On your part you must keep the Queen's laws, and give every information to them in order that they may see the laws obeyed and offenders punished. You may still look to me as your friend, and at any time when I can do anything for your welfare, I shall only be too happy to do so. You say that I have always kept my promises. As surely as my past promises have been kept, so surely shall those made by the Commissioners be carried out in the future. If they were broken I would be ashamed to meet you or look you in the face; but every promise will be solemnly fulfilled as certainly as the sun now shines down upon us from the heavens. I shall always remember the kind manner in which you have to-day spoken of me." After this there was a great shaking of hands, and the Great Council ended. On Thursday afternoon the Lieutenant-Governor departed for Battleford. On leaving the grounds the usual honors were paid to him. The Commissioner left the following day for Fort Walsh to attend the Commission that was to meet the Sitting Bull. The traders were notified that they were to cease trading and move off the reservation not later than the following Tuesday, at ten p.m. By this hour they had all departed, and at noon on the same day the Force commenced its return journey to McLeod, which was accomplished in two days and a half. All were glad to get back to headquarters, as the weather had been for some days intensely cold and the prairies covered with snow. CHAPTER XI THE SIOUX IN THE NORTH-WEST TERRITORIES Much interest has been awakened with regard to this warlike race, owing to recent events; namely, the war between them and the United States, the destruction by them of Captain Custer's command, and their subsequent flight into British territory, and now prolonged sojourn therein. Prior, however, to this irruption, a portion of the Sioux tribe of American Indians, took refuge in the Red River settlement, after the massacre of the whites by the Indians in Minnesota, in the year 1862. Their arrival caused great consternation in the settlement. The main body took up a position at Sturgeon Creek, about six miles from Fort Garry, now the City of Winnipeg, and others, at Poplar Point, and the Turtle Mountain. The Governor and Council of Assiniboia then governed the Province of Assiniboia, under the Hudson's Bay Company, and was composed of representative men. Their deliberations were grave and anxious. In December, 1863, the Governor-in-Chief, Mr. Dallas, reported to the Council, that he had visited the principal camp of the Sioux at Sturgeon Creek, and found there about five hundred men, women and children, and more had since arrived; that he had found them in great destitution and suffering, from want of food and clothing, and that after consultation with Governor Mactavish, of the Province of Assiniboia, he had offered sufficient provisions to enable them to remove to such a distance from the settlement as would place it beyond all danger and apprehension, and also offered to have the provisions conveyed for them, and ammunition supplied them to procure game, but they had positively refused to go away--giving as a reason the inability of the old men, women and children, to travel in the winter. The Governor was in consequence authorized by the Council, to offer them the means of transport, for those who were unable to walk. The Indians then removed to White Horse Plains, a distance of twenty miles only from Fort Garry, and camped there. A supply of food was given them, but no ammunition. The United States military authorities in December, 1863, sent an envoy to see the Governor-in-Chief of Rupert's Land, and the North-West Territories, with a view to ordering the Sioux to return to United States territory. The Governor was assured, that, though the American authorities would punish such of the Sioux as had actually been engaged in the massacre, they would furnish the innocent with all needful supplies of food and clothing for the winter, in the event of giving themselves up peaceably. The Council, on hearing this statement, authorized the granting permission to the American authorities to enter into negotiations with the Sioux in the territories, on condition that they adopted no aggressive measures against them, and that in the event of the Americans accepting the proposed permission, they should protect themselves by a sufficient guard to preclude the danger of attack from the Indians, and to ensure the preservation of peace. In January, 1864, the Council considered a despatch from Major Hatch, in command of the American forces, representing that on the approach of spring, he apprehended a renewal of the barbarous scenes of 1862 and 1863, and asked authority to cross the national boundaries and pursue and capture the murderers, wherever they might be found. The Council accorded the permission asked, but it was never acted on. It is not likely that a permission to cross our borders in pursuit of a flying enemy would ever again be granted. It was conceded in exceptional circumstances by an irresponsible Government, but the growth of the Dominion of Canada has been such, and its relations to the empire have become so intimate, that it would not in my judgment be granted, if at all, except in concert with the Imperal Government. The Governor also reported to the Council, that the main body of the Sioux on the Missouri in the United States had sent him a message asking his advice as to making peace with the Americans, and expressing a desire to visit Red River in spring, and that he had advised the Sioux to make peace with the Americans, as otherwise, the war would be renewed with increased vigor next summer. He had also counselled them not to visit the Red River country. The Council warned the Sioux not to visit the settlement, but in the summer of 1866, the advice was disregarded. A band of Sioux came to Fort Garry and were leaving quietly, with a number of Saulteaux, but when about a mile from the Fort they were attacked by a band of Red Lake Saulteaux Indians, who had just come into the settlement from the United States and five of them were shot. The remainder fled for their lives. The Council apprehended that the Sioux might congregate in force, and a collision take place between the Sioux and the Saulteaux, and therefore authorized the formation of a body of from fifty to one hundred mounted armed men from among the settlers, to prevent the Sioux from coming into the settlement. Fortunately they did not return and a collision was avoided. In 1866, the American authorities again opened up communications with the Governor and Council of Assiniboia, through Colonel Adams, who intimated that he had been authorized by Brevet Major-General Corse, commanding the District of Minnesota, "to use every possible means to induce the hostile Sioux to surrender themselves at Fort Abercrombie, and to grant them protection and entire absolution for all past offences in the event of giving themselves up," and asking the aid of the Council, to endeavor to influence the Sioux to accede to the proposals he made. The Council accordingly authorized Judge Black and Mr. McClure to communicate to the Chiefs of the Sioux, the letter of Colonel Adams, and endeavor to induce them to accept of it, and to supply them with what provisions might be necessary to carry the Sioux to Fort Abercrombie. All efforts having that end in view failed, and the Sioux remained, some in the Province of Assiniboia, and others in the territories beyond. As time went on, in 1870, the country passed under the rule of Canada, and when the Government of Canada was established in the Province of Manitoba, which included the district of Assiniboia, the Sioux were found living quietly in tents, in the parishes of Poplar Point, High Bluff, and Portage la Prairie, in what became the new Province of Manitoba. Immigrants from Ontario, had begun to settle in that section of the Province, and the settlement rapidly increased. The Sioux were found very useful, and were employed as labourers, cutting grain, making fence-rails, and ploughing for the settlers. They also endeavored to gain a subsistence, by killing game and fur-bearing animals, and by fishing. They frequently applied to Lieut.-Gov. Archibald, to be allowed to settle on a reserve, where they might support themselves by farming, a step which that officer favored. In 1873, they renewed the application to his successor, Lieut.-Gov. Morris, who having obtained authority to do so, promised to give them a reserve; upwards of one hundred of these Sioux, resident within Manitoba, having waited upon him, and represented "that they had no homes or means of living," and asked for land and agricultural implements. They were informed, that the case was exceptional, and that what would be done, would be as a matter of grace and not of right, which they admitted. They were also told that the reserve would be for themselves alone, and that the Sioux now in the States must remain there. A reserve was proposed to them on Lake Manitoba, but they were unwilling to go there, being afraid of the Saulteaux, and especially the Red Lake Saulteaux. It is satisfactory to state, that after the treaty at the North-West Angle, the Saulteaux having become bound to live at peace with all people under Canadian authority, sent the aged Chief Kou-croche to see the Lieutenant-Governor at Fort Garry, to acquaint him of their desire to make peace with the Sioux. The Chief said the words he had heard at the Angle were good, he had promised to live at peace with all men, and he now wished to make friends with the Sioux. The distrust between the two tribes had been great, owing to past events. At the Angle, but for the presence of the troops, the Chippewas would have fled, it having been circulated among them, that the Sioux were coming to attack them. Permission was given to the Chief to pay his visit to the Sioux, and messengers were sent to them, in advance, to explain the object of his visit. The result of the interview was satisfactory, and the ancient feud was buried. In 1874, two reserves were allotted the Sioux, one on the Assiniboine River, at Oak River, and another still further west, at Bird Tail Creek. These reserves were surveyed, the former containing eight thousand and the latter seven thousand acres. Settlements, were commenced, on both reserves, and cattle, seed and agricultural implements were supplied to them. In 1875, the Lieutenant-Governor finding that a large number still continued their nomadic life, in the vicinity of Poplar Point and Portage la Prairie, visited them, and obtained their promise to remove to the reserves--which the majority eventually did. Kenneth Mackenzie, Esq., M.P.P., a very successful farmer from Ontario, who had largely employed Sioux laborers, kindly agreed to visit the Assiniboine reserve and direct them from time to time as to the agricultural operations. The Church of England undertook the establishment of a mission and erected buildings there, while the Presbyterians opened a mission at Bird Tail Creek, and obtained the services of a native ordained Sioux minister, from the Presbytery of Dakotah. The number of these Sioux is estimated at about fifteen hundred. Both settlements give promise of becoming self-sustaining, and in view of the rapid settlement of the country, some disposition of them had become necessary. During their sojourn of thirteen years on British territory, these Indians have on the whole, been orderly, and there was only one grave crime committed among them, under peculiar circumstances--the putting to death of one of their number, which was done under their tribal laws. An indictment was laid before the Grand Jury of Manitoba, and a true bill found against those concerned in this affair, but the chief actors in the tragedy fled. Had they been tried, their defence would probably have been that the act was committed in self-defence. The slain man having, as the Chief represented, killed one of the tribe, cruelly assaulted another, and threatened the lives of others. When the war broke out between the Sioux and the American Government, the American Sioux, endeavored to induce those in Canadian territory to join them, but they refused. Precautionary measures were however taken, and messengers sent to them, by the Lieutenant-Governor, to warn them against taking any part. They disclaimed all intention to do so, and said they meant to live peacefully, being grateful for the kindness with which they had been treated. Besides these Manitoban Sioux, there were two other bands in the North-West Territories--one at Turtle Mountains, and another large party in the bounds of the Qu'Appelle Treaty. In 1876 the latter sent their Chiefs to see Lieut.-Gov. Morris and the Hon. Mr. Laird, at Qu'Appelle, and asked to be assigned a home. They were told that their case would be represented to the Canadian authorities. In 1877, the Sioux at the Turtle Mountains, sent two deputations to the Lieutenant-Governor, to ask for a reserve in that region. They said they had lived for fifteen years in British territory, they wanted land to be given them and implements to cultivate the soil, and seed to sow, and scythes and sickles to reap their grain, and some cattle. They were told that they had no claim on the Queen, as they were not British Indians, unless she chose to help them out of her benevolence. This they cheerfully admitted, but hoped that they would be helped. They were further informed, that if a reserve was granted them, it could not be near the boundary line as they wished, and that they must avoid all interference with the American trouble with their nation. This they willingly promised and said "they had already taken care to have nothing to do with the matter." These Sioux were very intelligent and superior Indians, and were well dressed. A reserve was subsequently allotted to them in the year 1876, in the vicinity of Oak Lake, about fifty miles due north of Turtle Mountains, allowing them the same quantity of land, which had been given the Manitoba Sioux, viz., 80 acres to each band of five persons, and they will doubtless follow the example of their brethren on the other two reserves. With regard to the Sioux to whom reserves have been assigned, the then Minister of the Interior, the Hon. David Mills, thus reported in 1877: "The report of the Deputy Superintendent-General in 1877 gives some details respecting the operations of the Manitoba Sioux on their reserves, during the past year. He says: 'Upon the whole, they appear to have made fair progress in cultivating the land, and their prospects for the future, had they the advice and assistance of some good farmers, for a few years, would be encouraging. Indeed, the Sioux generally, who are resident in Canada, appear to be more intelligent, industrious, and self-reliant, than the other Indian bands in the North West.'" While the authorities were thus successfully dealing with the problem of how to provide a future for these wandering Sioux, a grave difficulty presented itself by the incursion into the North-West Territories of a large body of American Sioux (supposed to be under the lead of what is now an historic name, the Sitting Bull), who had fled from the American troops. The Minister of the Interior, the Hon. David Mills, in 1877, thus alluded to this difficult subject: "The presence of Sitting Bull and his warriors in Canada is a source of anxiety both to the Government of Canada and the United States. These Indians harbor feelings of fierce hostility towards, and thorough distrust of, the United States people and Government. These feelings may be traced to two principal causes, the dishonesty of Indian agents and the failure of the Federal authorities to protect the Indian reservations from being taken possession of by an adventurous and somewhat lawless white population. The officers of the North-West Mounted Police have been instructed to impress upon Sitting Bull and his warriors the necessity of keeping the peace towards the people of the United States, and there is no reason for supposing they will not heed the warnings which have been given them. It is not, however, desirable to encourage them to remain on Canadian territory, and Col. McLeod has been accordingly instructed to impress them with their probable future hardships after the failure of the buffalo, should they elect to remain in Canada; that the President of the United States and his Cabinet are upright men, willing and anxious to do justice to the Indians; and should they return peacefully they will be properly cared for, and any treaty made with them will be honestly fulfilled. It is desirable that as wards of the United States they should return to that country, upon the Government of which morally devolves the burden and the responsibility of their civilization." The Sioux have since continued within the borders of Canada, and the Minister of the Interior, Sir John Macdonald, reported in 1878, "That it is only just to them to say, that they have behaved remarkably well ever since they crossed into Canada." Their presence in the North-West Territories has, however, been attended and will be followed, in any event, by serious consequences. The natural food supply of our Canadian Indians, the Crees, Chippewas, Assiniboines and Blackfeet, of the Plain Country, viz., the buffalo, was rapidly diminishing, and the advent of so large a body of foreign Indians has precipitated its diminution, so that the final extinction of the buffalo is fast drawing near. Already the Government of Canada, in the discharge of a national obligation, which has ever been recognized by all civilized authorities, has been obliged to come to the aid of the Blackfeet and other Indians to avert the danger and suffering from famine. The Sioux are already feeling the hardships of their position, and it will tax the skill and energies of the Government of Canada to provide a remedy. Already, at the instance of the Hon. David Mills, then Minister of the Interior (who visited Washington for the purpose), an effort was made by the American Government to induce the Sioux to return to their homes. Envoys were sent to them from the United States, but they declined to accept the overtures made to them. On the previous occasion of the flight into our territories of the Sioux, the American Government, as has been before recited, after an interval of nearly four years, offered them protection on their return journey from British territory to their homes in the United States and "entire absolution for all past offences". This forms a precedent which should be invoked and would doubtless be accepted by the Sioux if they can be induced to believe in the good faith of the American Government towards them. Every effort should be made to bring about so desirable a result, and the subject will doubtless engage in the future, as it has done in the past, the anxious consideration and wise action of the Canadian Government, who have a right to appeal to the President of the United States and his advisers, to relieve them from the incubus of the presence in our territories of so many of the wards of that Government, and who are without the means or opportunities of obtaining a livelihood for themselves. CHAPTER XII THE ADMINISTRATION OF THE TREATIES--THE HALF-BREEDS--THE FUTURE OF THE INDIAN TRIBES Having placed before my readers, a history of the treaties of Canada with the Indian tribes, of Manitoba, the North-West Territories and Kee-wa-tin, I now proceed, in conclusion, to deal with the administration of these treaties and to consider the future of these interesting aboriginal races. I remark in the first place that the provisions of these treaties must be carried out with the utmost good faith and the nicest exactness. The Indians of Canada have, owing to the manner in which they were dealt with for generations by the Hudson's Bay Company, the former rulers of these vast territories, an abiding confidence in the Government of the Queen, or the Great Mother, as they style her. This must not, at all hazards, be shaken. It can be easily and fully maintained. The treaties are all based upon the models of that made at the Stone Fort in 1871 and the one made in 1873 at the north-west angle of the Lake of the Woods with the Chippewa tribes, and these again are based, in many material features, on those made by the Hon. W. B. Robinson with the Chippewas dwelling on the shores of Lakes Huron and Superior in 1860. These may be summarized thus: 1. A relinquishment, in all the great region from Lake Superior to the foot of the Rocky Mountains, of all their right and title to the lands covered by the treaties, saving certain reservations for their own use, and 2. In return for such relinquishment, permission to the Indians to hunt over the ceded territory and to fish in the waters thereof, excepting such portions of the territory as pass from the Crown into the occupation of individuals or otherwise. 3. The perpetual payment of annuities of five dollars per head to each Indian--man, woman and child. The payment of an annual salary of twenty-five dollars to each Chief, and of fifteen dollars to each Councillor, or head man, of a Chief (thus making them in a sense officers of the Crown), and in addition, suits of official clothing for the Chiefs and head men, British flags for the Chiefs, and silver medals. These last are given both in the United States and in Canada, in conformity with an ancient custom, and are much prized and cherished by the Chiefs and their families. Frequently the Indians have exhibited to me with pride, old medals issued, with the likeness of the King before the American war of Independence, and which have passed down as heirlooms of their families. On one occasion a young Chief, who had come of age and aspired to be recognized as a Chief, was decorated in my presence with the old King George silver medal, by one of the band, to whom it had been entrusted for safe keeping by the young man's father, who was a Chief, with the charge that on the boy's coming of age, it would be delivered over to him. The Chieftainships were at first partly hereditary, partly won by deeds of daring and of leadership against the foe. They are now generally elected, though the tendency to hereditary succession still largely exists. The power of the Chiefs has been much broken of late, and I am of opinion that it is of importance to strengthen the hands of the Chiefs and Councillors by a due recognition of their offices and respect being shewn them. They should be strongly impressed with the belief that they are officers of the Crown, and that it is their duty to see that the Indians of their tribes obey the provisions of the treaties. The importance of upholding the Chiefs, may be illustrated by an incident which occurred near Fort Ellice, after the making of the treaty. A party composed of three men and the wife of one of them, were travelling as freighters; two of the men were Half-breeds, the other a Canadian. One night, one of the Half-breeds shot the Canadian, and attempted to kill the other Half-breed, who fled to an Indian camp in the vicinity. The Chief of the band was there, and he at once took his young men with him, proceeded to the scene of the murder, and after making the offender a prisoner, took him to the nearest police station and delivered him to the authorities. The culprit was subsequently tried in Manitoba, convicted of murder and hanged. For this action the Chief received the thanks of His Excellency the Earl of Dufferin, then Governor-General of Canada. This case affords an illustration of the value of the recognition of the Chiefs of the various bands, and shews of how much advantage, it is to the Crown to possess so large a number of Indian officials, duly recognized as such, and who can be inspired with a proper sense of their responsibility to the Government and to their bands, as well as to others. In all the negotiations for treaties, the Chiefs took a controlling part, and generally exhibited great common sense and excellent judgment. It is therefore of the utmost importance to retain their confidence and cause their office to be recognized and respected by both whites and Indians. 4. The allotment of lands to the Indians, to be set aside as reserves for them for homes and agricultural purposes, and which cannot be sold or alienated without their consent, and then only for their benefit; the extent of lands thus set apart being generally one section for each family of five. I regard this system as of great value. It at once secures to the Indian tribes tracts of land, which cannot be interfered with, by the rush of immigration, and affords the means of inducing them to establish homes and learn the arts of agriculture. I regard the Canadian system of allotting reserves to one or more bands together, in the localities in which they have had the habit of living, as far preferable to the American system of placing whole tribes, in large reserves, which eventually become the object of cupidity to the whites, and the breaking up of which, has so often led to Indian wars and great discontent even if warfare did not result. The Indians, have a strong attachment to the localities, in which they and their fathers have been accustomed to dwell, and it is desirable to cultivate this home feeling of attachment to the soil. Moreover, the Canadian system of band reserves has a tendency to diminish the offensive strength of the Indian tribes, should they ever become restless, a remote contingency, if the treaties are carefully observed. Besides, the fact of the reserves being scattered throughout the territories, will enable the Indians to obtain markets among the white settlers, for any surplus produce they may eventually have to dispose of. It will be found desirable, to assign to each family parts of the reserve for their own use, so as to give them a sense of property in it, but all power of sale or alienation of such lands should be rigidly prohibited. Any premature enfranchisement of the Indians, or power given them to part with their lands, would inevitably lead to the speedy breaking up of the reserves, and the return of the Indians to their wandering mode of life, and thereby to the re-creation of a difficulty which the assignment of reserves was calculated to obviate. There is no parallel between the condition of the North-Western Indians, and that of the Indians who have so long been under the fostering care of the Government in the older Provinces of Ontario and Quebec. 5. A very important feature of all the treaties, is the giving to the Indian bands, agricultural implements, oxen, cattle (to form the nuclei of herds), and seed grain. The Indians are fully aware that their old mode of life is passing away. They are not "unconscious of their destiny;" on the contrary, they are harassed with fears as to the future of their children and the hard present of their own lives. They are tractable, docile, and willing to learn. They recognize the fact that they must seek part of their living from "the mother earth," to use their own phraseology. A Chief at Fort Pitt said to me,--"I got a plough from Mr. Christie of the Company twelve years ago. I have no cattle; I put myself and my young men in front of it in the spring, and drag it through the ground. I have no hoes; I make them out of the roots of trees. Surely, when the Great Mother hears of our needs, she will come to our help." [Footnote: This band a year ago raised sufficient farm produce to support themselves without hunting.] Such a disposition as this should be encouraged. Induce the Indians to erect houses on their farms, and plant their "gardens" as they call them, and then while away on their hunts, their wives and children will have houses to dwell in, and will care for their patches of corn and grain and potatoes. Then, too, the cattle given them will expand into herds. It is true that the number assigned to each band is comparatively limited, and the Government are not bound to extend the number. This was done advisedly, by the successive Governments of Canada, and the Commissioners, acting under their instructions; for it was felt, that it was an experiment to entrust them with cattle, owing to their inexperience with regard to housing them and providing fodder for them in winter, and owing, moreover, to the danger of their using them for food, if short of buffalo meat or game. Besides, it was felt, that as the Indian is, and naturally so, always asking, it was better, that if the Government saw their way safely to increase the number of cattle given to any band, it should be, not as a matter of right, but of grace and favor, and as a reward for exertion in the care of them, and as an incentive to industry. Already, the prospect of many of the bands turning their attention to raising food from the soil is very hopeful. In the reserve of St. Peter's, in Manitoba, the Church of England has for many years had a church and mission, and long before the advent of Canada as ruler of the lands, the Indians of the Indian settlement had their houses and gardens, the produce of which, went to supplement the results of fishing and hunting. And so on the shores and islands of the Lake of the Woods and on Rainy Lake, the Indians had their gardens. Since the treaties, the Indians are turning their attention much more to cultivating the soil. The Indian district agent in the Qu'Appelle region, reported in November, 1878, that of the twenty-four bands in this treaty, eleven are gradually turning their attention to farming, and of these Chief Cote, of Swan River, is the most advanced, having harvested that year two hundred and eighty bushels of barley, over three thousand bushels of potatoes, and a large quantity of other vegetables. The increase from the four cows he received two years since is eleven head. This may appear large, but such is the fact. Lieut.-Gov. Laird reported in 1877, "That some of the bands within the limits of Treaties Numbers Four and Six sowed grain and potatoes with good results that year, one band having about one hundred acres under cultivation." He also states that the Indians are very desirous of farming, and that he has hopes that a much larger quantity of seed will be sown next year (1879). He also states that the band at White Fish Lake, raised enough that year to maintain themselves without going to hunt. The Superintendent also reported that in the Manitoba superintendency "a general desire to be taught farming, building and other civilized arts exists, and some of the Indians in Treaty Number Three, living in the vicinity of Fort Francis, are said to evince enterprise and progress in their farming operations." At Lac Seule, also in this treaty, the progress of the Indians is quite marked. They have established two villages in order to have the benefit of schools. The Indian agent in the Lake Manitoba district makes a similar statement. One band has eighteen small farms of one hundred acres in all, on which they raise potatoes, Indian corn and garden vegetables. They have twenty-nine houses, twenty-four horses, and thirty-six head of cattle, of their own. Another built during the year a good school-house, nineteen new houses, and had one hundred and twenty-five acres under cultivation. Another had just begun farming, built six houses, two stables and a barn, and possess seven head of cattle. Still another had twenty-three houses and one hundred and fifty acres under tillage, raising barley, wheat, potatoes and vegetables, and having thirty-six head of cattle. It is unnecessary to multiply instances, of the aptitude, the Indians are exhibiting, within so recent a period after the completion of the treaties, to avail themselves of obtaining their subsistence from the soil. Their desire to do so, should be cultivated to the fullest extent. They are, of course, generally ignorant of the proper mode of farming. In the year 1876, I reported to the Minister of the Interior, the Hon. David Mills, after my return from the negotiation of the treaties at Forts Carlton and Pitt, "that measures ought to be taken to instruct the Indians in farming and building." I said "that their present mode of living is passing away; the Indians are tractable, docile and willing to learn. I think that advantage should be taken of this disposition to teach them to become self-supporting, which can best be accomplished by the aid of a few practical farmers and carpenters to instruct them in farming and house-building." This view was corroborated by my successor, Lieutenant-Governor Laird, who in 1878 reported from Battleford "that if it were possible to employ a few good, practical men to aid and instruct the Indians at seed time, I am of opinion that most of the bands on the Saskatchewan would soon be able to raise sufficient crops to meet their most pressing wants." It is satisfactory to know, that the Government of Canada, decided to act on these suggestions, at least in part, and have during the past summer sent farm instructors into the Plain country. It is to be hoped, that this step may prove as fruitful of good results, as the earnest desire of the Indians to farm would lead us to believe it may be. SCHOOLS 6. The treaties provide for the establishment of schools, on the reserves, for the instruction of the Indian children. This is a very important feature, and is deserving of being pressed with the utmost energy. The new generation can be trained in the habits and ways of civilized life--prepared to encounter the difficulties with which they will be surrounded, by the influx of settlers, and fitted for maintaining themselves as tillers of the soil. The erection of a school-house on a reserve will be attended with slight expense, and the Indians would often give their labour towards its construction. 7. The treaties all provide for the exclusion of the sale of spirits, or "fire-water," on the reserves. The Indians themselves know their weakness. Their wise men say, "If it is there we will use it, give us a strong law against it." A general prohibitory liquor law, originally enacted by the North-West Council and re-enacted by the Parliament of Canada, is in force in the North-West Territories and has been productive of much benefit, but will, in the near future, be difficult of enforcement owing to the vast extent of the territory. Such are the main features of the treaties between Canada and the Indians, and, few as they are, they comprehend the whole future of the Indians and of their relations to the Dominion. MACHINERY OF GOVERNMENT To carry them out, the treaty area has been divided into two Superintendencies, that of Manitoba, including Treaties Numbers One, Two, Three and Four, and that of the North-West Territories, including Treaties Numbers Five, Six and Seven. Mr. Dewdney, late a Member of the House of Commons from British Columbia, has recently been appointed to the latter Superintendency as Chief Superintendent, and has spent the summer among the Indian tribes. He has had large experience among Indians, and will prove, I have no doubt, an efficient and able officer. His residence will be in his Superintendency, and he will be able to meet the Indians and supervise his deputies. Under the Superintendents are agents having charge of particular districts and the bands within them, who reside among them. The Chief Superintendents and agents are officers of the Department of the Interior, and are directed by and report to the Deputy Superintendent of Indian Affairs at Ottawa, Lawrence Vankoughnet, Esq., who has had long experience of Indian management in the older Provinces, and his superior, Col. Dennis, Deputy Minister of the Interior, who had a large practical acquaintance with the North-West, and the head of the Department, now the Premier of the Dominion, the Right Hon. Sir John Macdonald. The system of management is thus a complete one, and doubtless, day by day, its mode of management, will be perfected and adapted to the growing exigencies and wants of the native population. THE HALF-BREEDS Ere passing from the subject, I cannot refrain from alluding to the Half-breed population of the North-West Territories. Those people are mainly of French Canadian descent, though there are a few of Scotch blood in the territories. Their influence with the Indian population is extensive. In Manitoba there is a large population of French Metis and Scotch Half-breeds, and they are proud of their mixed blood. This race is an important factor with regard to all North-West questions. His Excellency the Earl of Dufferin, with his keen appreciation of men and facts, astutely seized the position and thus referred to them in his speech at a banquet in his honor, given by the citizens of the whilome hamlet, and now city of Winnipeg, on the occasion of his visit to the Province of Manitoba in the year 1877. "There is no doubt that a great deal of the good feeling thus subsisting between the red men and ourselves is due to the influence and interposition of that invaluable class of men the Half-breed settlers and pioneers of Manitoba, who, combining as they do the hardihood, the endurance and love of enterprise generated by the strain of Indian blood within their veins, with the civilization, the instruction, and the intellectual power derived from their fathers, have preached the Gospel of peace and good will, and mutual respect, with equally beneficent results to the Indian chieftain in his lodge and to the British settler in the shanty. They have been the ambassadors between the east and the west; the interpreters of civilization and its exigencies to the dwellers on the prairie as well as the exponents to the white men of the consideration justly due to the susceptibilities, the sensitive self-respect, the prejudices, the innate craving for justice, of the Indian race. In fact they have done for the colony what otherwise would have been left unaccomplished and have introduced between the white population and the red man a traditional feeling of amity and friendship which but for them it might have been impossible to establish." For my own part, I can frankly say, that I always had the confidence, support and active co-operation of the Half-breeds of all origins, in my negotiations with the Indian tribes, and I owe them this full acknowledgment thereof. The Half-breeds in the territories are of three classes--1st, those who as at St. Laurent, near Prince Albert, the Qu'Appelle Lakes and Edmonton, have their farms and homes; 2nd, those who are entirely identified with the Indians, living with them, and speaking their language; 3rd, those who do not farm, but live after the habits of the Indians, by the pursuit of the buffalo and the chase. As to the first class, the question is an easy one. They will, of course, be recognized as possessors of the soil, and confirmed by the Government in their holdings, and will continue to make their living by farming and trading. The second class have been recognized as Indians, and have passed into the bands among whom they reside. The position of the third class is more difficult. The loss of the means of livelihood by the destruction of the buffalo, presses upon them, as upon our Indian tribes; and with regard to them I reported in 1876, and I have seen no reason to change my views, as follows: "There is another class of the population in the North-West whose position I desire to bring under the notice of the Privy Council. I refer to the wandering Half-breeds of the plains, who are chiefly of French descent and live the life of the Indians. There are a few who are identified with the Indians, but there is a large class of Metis who live by the hunt of the buffalo, and have no settled homes. I think that a census of the numbers of these should be procured, and while I would not be disposed to recommend their being brought under the treaties, I would suggest that land should be assigned to them, and that on their settling down, if after an examination into their circumstances, it should be found necessary and expedient, some assistance should be given them to enable them to enter upon agricultural operations." FUTURE OF THE INDIANS And now I come, to a very important question, What is to be the future of the Indian population of the North-West? I believe it to be a hopeful one. I have every confidence in the desire and ability of the present administration, as of any succeeding one, to carry out the provisions of the treaties, and to extend a helping hand to this helpless population. That, conceded, with the machinery at their disposal, with a judicious selection of agents and farm instructors, and the additional aid of well-selected carpenters, and efficient school teachers, I look forward to seeing the Indians, faithful allies of the Crown, while they can gradually be made an increasing and self-supporting population. They are wards of Canada, let us do our duty by them, and repeat in the North-west, the success which has attended our dealings with them in old Canada, for the last hundred years. But the Churches too have their duties to fulfil. There is a common ground between the Christian Churches and the Indians, as they all believe as we do, in a Great Spirit. The transition thence to the Christian's God is an easy one. Many of them appeal for missionaries, and utter the Macedonian cry, "come over and help us." The Churches have already done and are doing much. The Church of Rome has its bishops and clergy, who have long been laboring assiduously and actively. The Church of England has its bishops and clergy on the shores of the Hudson's Bay, in the cold region of the Mackenzie and the dioceses of Rupert's Land and Saskatchewan. The Methodist Church has its missions on Lake Winnipeg, in the Saskatchewan Valley, and on the slopes of the Rocky Mountains. The Presbyterians have lately commenced a work among the Chippewas and Sioux. There is room enough and to spare, for all, and the Churches should expand and maintain their work. Already many of the missionaries have made records which will live in history: among those of recent times, Archbishop Tache, Bishop Grandin, Pere Lacombe, and many others of the Catholic Church; Bishops Machray, Bompas, Archdeacons Cochran and Cowley of the Church of England; Revs. Messrs. Macdougall of the Wesleyan and Nisbet of the Presbyterian Churches, have lived and labored, and though some of them have gone to their rest, they have left and will leave behind them a record of self-denial, untiring zeal, and many good results. Let the Churches persevere and prosper. And now I close. Let us have Christianity and civilization to leaven the mass of heathenism and paganism among the Indian tribes; let us have a wise and paternal Government faithfully carrying out the provisions of our treaties, and doing its utmost to help and elevate the Indian population, who have been cast upon our care, and we will have peace, progress, and concord among them in the North-West; and instead of the Indian melting away, as one of them in older Canada, tersely put it, "as snow before the sun," we will see our Indian population, loyal subjects of the Crown, happy, prosperous and self-sustaining, and Canada will be enabled to feel, that in a truly patriotic spirit, our country has done its duty by the red men of the North-West, and thereby to herself. So may it be. [Illustration: NOTE.--The foregoing represents a copy of the signatures of the contracting parties to the Selkirk Treaty, the Indians signing by their own distinctive marks, and also affixing their signs opposite the tracts of country claimed by them.] APPENDIX TEXTS OF TREATIES AND SUPPLEMENTARY ADHESIONS THERETO THE SELKIRK TREATY This indenture, made on the eighteenth day of July, in the fifty-seventh year of the reign of our Sovereign Lord King George the Third, and in the year of our Lord eighteen hundred and seventeen, between the undersigned Chiefs and warriors of the Chippeway or Saulteaux Nation and of the Killistine or Cree Nation, on the one part, and the Right Honorable Thomas Earl of Selkirk, on the other part: Witnesseth, that for and in consideration of the annual present or quit rent hereinafter mentioned, the said Chiefs have given, granted and confirmed, and do, by these presents, give, grant and confirm unto our Sovereign Lord the King all that tract of land adjacent to Red River and Ossiniboyne River, beginning at the mouth of Red River and extending along same as far as Great Forks at the mouth of Red Lake River, and along Ossiniboyne River, otherwise called Riviere des Champignons, and extending to the distance of six miles from Fort Douglas on every side, and likewise from Fort Doer, and also from the Great Forks and in other parts extending in breadth to the distance of two English statute miles back from the banks of the said rivers, on each side, together with all the appurtenances whatsoever of the said tract of land, to have and to hold forever the said tract of land and appurtenances to the use of the said Earl of Selkirk, and of the settlers being established thereon, with the consent and permission of our Sovereign Lord the King, or of the said Earl of Selkirk. Provided always, and these presents are under the express condition that the said Earl, his heirs and successors, or their agents, shall annually pay to the Chiefs and warriors of the Chippeway or Saulteaux Nation, the present or quit rent consisting of one hundred pounds weight of good and merchantable tobacco, to be delivered on or before the tenth day of October at the forks of Ossiniboyne River--and to the Chiefs and warriors of the Killistine or Cree Nation, a like present or quit rent of one hundred pounds of tobacco, to be delivered to them on or before the said tenth day of October, at Portage de la Prairie, on the banks of Ossiniboyne River. Provided always that the traders hitherto established upon any part of the above-mentioned tract of land shall not be molested in the possession of the lands which they have already cultivated and improved, till His Majesty's pleasure shall be known. In witness whereof the Chiefs aforesaid have set their marks, at the Forks of Red River on the day aforesaid. (Signed) SELKIRK. MACHE WHESEAB, His x mark. Le Sonnant. MECHKADDEWIKONAIE, " x " La robe noire. KAYAJIESKEBINOA, " x " L'Homme Noir. PEGOWIS. " x " OUCKIDOAT, " x " Le Premier. Signed in presence of THOMAS THOMAS. JAMES BIRD. F. MATTHEY, Captain. P. D. ORSONNENS, Captain. MILES MACDONELL. J. BTE. CHARLES DE LORIMIER. LOUIS NOLIN, Interpreter. INDENTURE OF SALE FROM THE HUDSON'S BAY COMPANY TO THE EARL OF SELKIRK This indenture, made the twelfth day of June, in the fifty-first year of the reign of Our Sovereign Lord George the Third, by the grace of God, of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland, King, Defender of the Faith, and in the year of our Lord one thousand eight hundred and eleven, between the Governor and Company of Adventurers of England, trading into Hudson's Bay, of the one part, and the Right Honorable Thomas Earl of Selkirk, of the other part: Whereas the said Governor and Company are seized to them and their successors in fee simple, as absolute lords and proprietors of all the lands and territories situate upon the coasts and confines of the seas, streights, bays, lakes, rivers, creeks, and sounds, within the entrance of the streights commonly called Hudson's Streights, in the north-west part of America, and which lands and territories are reputed as one of the plantations or colonies belonging or annexed to the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland, and are called Rupert's Land. And whereas the said Governor and Company have, for divers good and valuable causes and considerations them thereunto moving, agreed to convey and assure a certain tract or parcel of the said lands and territories hereinafter described, unto and to the use of the said Earl of Selkirk, his heirs and assigns, under and subject to certain conditions hereinafter expressed and contained. Now, therefore, this indenture witnesseth, that in pursuance of such agreement, and in consideration of the sum of ten shillings of lawful money of Great Britain to the said Governor and Company, well and truly paid by the said Earl of Selkirk, at or before the execution of these presents (the receipt whereof is hereby acknowledged), and for divers good and other valuable causes and considerations, them, the said Governor and Company hereunto moving, the said Governor and Company have given, granted, aliened, enfeoffed and confirmed, and by these presents do give, grant, alien, enfeoff, and confirm unto the said Earl of Selkirk, his heirs and assigns, all that tract of land or territory, being within and forming part of the aforesaid lands and territories of the said Governor and Company, bounded by an imaginary line running as follows, that is to say: beginning on the western shore of the Lake Winnipie, otherwise Winnipey, at a point in fifty-two degrees, and thirty north latitude, and thence running due west to the Lake Winnipegoos, otherwise called Little Winnipey, then in a southerly direction through the said lake so as to strike its western shore in latitude fifty-two degrees, then due west to the place where the parallel of fifty-two degrees north latitude intersects the western branch of Red River, otherwise called Assiniboyne River, then due south from that point of intersection to the height of land which separates the waters running into Hudson's Bay, from those of the Missouri and Mississippi, then in an easterly direction along the said height of land to the source of the River Winnipie, or Winnipey (meaning by such last named river, the principal branch of the waters which unite in Lake Saginagus), thence along the main stream of these waters and the middle of the several lakes through which they flow to the mouth of the Winnipie River, and thence in a northerly direction through the middle of Lake Winnipie to the place of beginning. In witness whereof the said parties to these presents have hereunto set their hands and seals the day and year first above written. (Signed) SELKIRK. [L. S.] ALEXANDER LEAN, [L. S.] Secretary of the Hudson's Bay Company. Indorsed.--Sealed under the common seal of the within mentioned Governor and Company, and signed and delivered by Alexander Lean, their Secretary, pursuant to their order and appointment, and signed, sealed and delivered by the within mentioned Thomas, Earl of Selkirk (being first duly stamped), in the presence of ALEXANDER MUNDELL, Parliament Street, Westminster. EDWARD ROBERTS, Hudson's Bay House. Suit l'attestation ecrite et assermentie du premier de ces deux temoins, Alex. Mundell, en presence du Maire de Londres. Sworn at the Mansion House, London, this twenty-third day (Signed) ALEXANDER MUNDELL. of April, 1819, before me, JOHN AIKINS, [L. S.] Mayor. Puis, Attestation notariee, in testimonium veritatis. (Signed) WILLIAM DUFF, Notary Public. Be it remembered that on the fourth day of September, in the year 1812, at the Forks of Red River, peaceable possession of the land and hereditaments by the within written indenture, granted and enfeoffed, or otherwise assured or expressed, and intended so to be, was taken, had and delivered, by the within named William Hillier, one of the attorneys for that purpose appointed, unto the within named Miles Macdonell, Esquire, who was duly authorized to receive the same, to and for the use of the within named Earl of Selkirk, his heirs and assigns according to the form and effect of the within written indenture in the presence of (Signed) JOHN McLEOD, RODERICK McKENZIE. THE ROBINSON SUPERIOR TREATY This agreement, made and entered into on the seventh day of September, in the year of Our Lord one thousand eight hundred and fifty, at Sault Ste. Marie, in the Province of Canada, between the Honorable William Benjamin Robinson, of the one part, on behalf of Her Majesty the Queen, and Joseph Peandechat, John Iuinway, Mishe-Muckqua, Totomencie, Chiefs, and Jacob Warpela, Ahmutchiwagabou, Michel Shelageshick, Manitoshainse, and Chiginans, principal men of the Ojibewa Indians inhabiting the Northern Shore of Lake Superior, in the said Province of Canada, from Batchewananng Bay to Pigeon River, at the western extremity of said lake, and inland throughout the extent to the height of land which separates the territory covered by the charter of the Honorable the Hudson's Bay Company from the said tract, and also the islands in the said lake within the boundaries of the British possessions therein, of the other part, witnesseth: That for and in consideration of the sum of two thousand pounds of good and lawful money of Upper Canada, to them in hand paid, and for the further perpetual annuity of five hundred pounds, the same to be paid and delivered to the said Chiefs and their tribes at a convenient season of each summer, not later than the first day of August at the Honorable the Hudson's Bay Company's Posts of Michipicoton and Fort William, they the said Chiefs and principal men do freely, fully and voluntarily surrender, cede, grant and convey unto Her Majesty, Her heirs and successors forever, all their right, title and interest in the whole of the territory above described, save and except the reservations set forth in the schedule hereunto annexed, which reservations shall be held and occupied by the said Chiefs and their tribes in common, for the purposes of residence and cultivation,--and should the said Chiefs and their respective tribes at any time desire to dispose of any mineral or other valuable productions upon the said reservations, the same will be at their request sold by order of the Superintendent-General of the Indian Department for the time being, for their sole use and benefit, and to the best advantage. And the said William Benjamin Robinson of the first part, on behalf of Her Majesty and the Government of this Province, hereby promises and agrees to make the payments as before mentioned; and further to allow the said Chiefs and their tribes the full and free privilege to hunt over the territory now ceded by them, and to fish in the waters thereof as they have heretofore been in the habit of doing, saving and excepting only such portions of the said territory as may from time to time be sold or leased to individuals, or companies of individuals, and occupied by them with the consent of the Provincial Government. The parties of the second part further promise and agree that they will not sell, lease, or otherwise dispose of any portion of their reservations without the consent of the Superintendent-General of Indian Affairs being first had and obtained; nor will they at any time hinder or prevent persons from exploring or searching for minerals or other valuable productions in any part of the territory hereby ceded to Her Majesty as before mentioned. The parties of the second part also agree that in case the Government of this Province should before the date of this agreement have sold, or bargained to sell, any mining locations or other property on the portions of the territory hereby reserved for their use and benefit, then and in that case such sale, or promise of sale, shall be perfected, if the parties interested desire it, by the Government, and the amount accruing therefrom shall be paid to the tribe to whom the reservation belongs. The said William Benjamin Robinson on behalf of Her Majesty, who desires to deal liberally and justly with all her subjects, further promises and agrees that in case the territory hereby ceded by the parties of the second part shall at any future period produce an amount which will enable the Government of this Province without incurring loss to increase the annuity hereby secured to them, then, and in that case, the same shall be augmented from time to time, provided that the amount paid to each individual shall not exceed the sum of one pound provincial currency in any one year, or such further sum as Her Majesty may be graciously pleased to order; and provided further that the number of Indians entitled to the benefit of this treaty shall amount to two-thirds of their present numbers (which is twelve hundred and forty) to entitle them to claim the full benefit thereof, and should their numbers at any future period not amount to two-thirds of twelve hundred and forty, the annuity shall be diminished in proportion to their actual numbers. Schedule of Reservations made by the above named and subscribing Chiefs and principal men. First--Joseph Pean-de-chat and his tribe, the reserve to commence about two miles from Fort William (inland), on the right bank of the River Kiministiquia; thence westerly six miles, parallel to the shores of the lake; thence northerly five miles, thence easterly to the right bank of the said river, so as not to interfere with any acquired rights of the Honorable Hudson's Bay Company. Second--Four miles square at Gros Cap, being a valley near the Honorable Hudson's Bay Company's post of Michipicoton, for Totominai and tribe. Third--Four miles square on Gull River, near Lake Nipigon, on both sides of said river, for the Chief Mishimuckqua and tribe. (Signed) W. B. ROBINSON. JOSEPH PEAN-DE-CHAT. His x mark. [L. S.] JOHN MINWAY. " x " [L. S.] MISHE-MUCKQUA. " x " [L. S.] TOTOMINAI. " x " [L. S.] JACOB WAPELA. " x " [L. S.] AH-MUTCHINAGALON. " x " [L. S.] MICHEL SHELAGESHICK. " x " [L. S.] MANITOU SHAINSE. " x " [L. S.] CHIGINANS. " x " [L. S.] Signed, sealed and delivered at Sault Ste. Marie, the day and year first above written, in presence of-- (Signed) GEORGE IRONSIDE, S. I. Affairs. ASTLEY P. COOPER, Capt. Com. Rifle Brig. H. M. BALFOUR, 2nd Lieut. Rifle Brig. JOHN SWANSTON, C. F. Hon. Hud. Bay Co. GEORGE JOHNSTON, Interpreter. F. W. KEATING. THE ROBINSON HURON TREATY This agreement, made and entered into this ninth day of September, in the year of our Lord one thousand eight hundred and fifty, at Sault Ste. Marie, in the Province of Canada, between the Honorable William Benjamin Robinson, of the one part, on behalf of Her Majesty the Queen, and Shinguacouse Nebenaigoching, Keokouse, Mishequonga, Tagawinini, Shabokishick, Dokis, Ponekeosh, Windawtegowinini, Shawenakeshick, Namassin, Naoquagabo, Wabakekik, Kitchepossigun, by Papasainse, Wagemaki, Pamequonaisheung, Chiefs; and John Bell, Paqwatchinini, Mashekyash, Idowekesis, Waquacomick, Ocheek, Metigomin, Watachewana, Minwawapenasse, Shenaoquom, Oningegun, Panaissy, Papasainse, Ashewasega, Kageshewawetung, Shawonebin; and also Chief Maisquaso (also Chiefs Muckata, Mishoquet, and Mekis), and Mishoquetto and Asa Waswanay and Pawiss, principal men of the Ojibewa Indians, inhabiting and claiming the eastern and northern shores of Lake Huron, from Penetanguishene to Sault Ste. Marie, and thence to Batchewanaung Bay, on the northern shore of Lake Superior, together with the Islands in the said Lakes, opposite to the shores thereof, and inland to the height of land which separates the territory covered by the charter of the Honorable Hudson's Bay Company from Canada; as well as all unconceded lands within the limits of Canada West to which they have any just claim, of the other part, witnesseth: That for and in consideration of the sum of two thousand pounds of good and lawful money of Upper Canada, to them in hand paid, and for the further perpetual annuity of six hundred pounds of like money, the same to be paid and delivered to the said Chiefs and their tribes at a convenient season of each year, of which due notice will be given, at such places as may be appointed for that purpose, they the said Chiefs and principal men, on behalf of their respective tribes or bands, do hereby fully, freely and voluntarily surrender, cede, grant, and convey unto Her Majesty, her heirs and successors forever, all their right, title, and interest to, and in the whole of, the territory above described, save and except the reservations set forth in the schedule hereunto annexed; which reservations shall be held and occupied by the said Chiefs and their tribes in common, for their own use and benefit. And should the said Chiefs and their respective tribes at any time desire to dispose of any such reservations, or of any mineral or other valuable productions thereon, the same will be sold or leased at their request by the Superintendent-General of Indian Affairs for the time being, or other officer having authority so to do, for their sole benefit, and to the best advantage. And the said William Benjamin Robinson of the first part, on behalf of Her Majesty and the Government of this Province, hereby promises and agrees to make, or cause to be made, the payments as before mentioned; and further to allow the said Chiefs and their tribes the full and free privilege to hunt over the territory now ceded by them, and to fish in the waters thereof, as they have heretofore been in the habit of doing; saving and excepting such portions of the said territory as may from time to time be sold or leased to individuals or companies of individuals, and occupied by them with the consent of the Provincial Government. The parties of the second part further promise and agree that they will not sell, lease or otherwise dispose of any portion of their Reservations without the consent of the Superintendent-General of Indian Affairs, or other officer of like authority, being first had and obtained. Nor will they at any time hinder or prevent persons from exploring or searching for minerals, or other valuable productions, in any part of the territory hereby ceded to Her Majesty, as before mentioned. The parties of the second part also agree, that in case the Government of this Province should before the date of this agreement have sold, or bargained to sell, any mining locations, or other property, on the portions of the territory hereby reserved for their use; then and in that case such sale, or promise of sale, shall be perfected by the Government, if the parties claiming it shall have fulfilled all the conditions upon which such locations were made, and the amount accruing therefrom shall be paid to the tribe to whom the Reservation belongs. The said William Benjamin Robinson, on behalf of Her Majesty, who desires to deal liberally and justly with all her subjects, further promises and agrees, that should the territory hereby ceded by the parties of the second part at any future period produce such an amount as will enable the Government of this Province, without incurring loss, to increase the annuity hereby secured to them, then and in that case the same shall be augmented from time to time, provided that the amount paid to each individual shall not exceed the sum of one pound Provincial currency in any one year, or such further sum as Her Majesty may be graciously pleased to order; and provided further that the number of Indians entitled to the benefit of this treaty shall amount to two-thirds of their present number, which is fourteen hundred and twenty-two, to entitle them to claim the full benefit thereof. And should they not at any future period amount to two-thirds of fourteen hundred and twenty-two, then the said annuity shall be diminished in proportion to their actual numbers. The said William Benjamin Robinson of the first part further agrees, on the part of Her Majesty and the Government of this Province, that in consequence of the Indians inhabiting French River and Lake Nipissing having become parties to this treaty, the further sum of one hundred and sixty pounds Provincial currency shall be paid in addition to the two thousand pounds above mentioned. Schedule of Reservations made by the above-named subscribing Chiefs and Principal Men. First--Pamequonaishcung and his band, a tract of land to commence seven miles, from the mouth of the River Maganetawang, and extending six miles east and west by three miles north. Second--Wagemake and his band, a tract of land to commence at a place called Nekickshegeshing, six miles from east to west, by three miles in depth. Third--Kitcheposkissegan (by Papasainse), from Point Grondine westward, six miles inland, by two miles in front, so as to include the small Lake Nessinassung--a tract for themselves and their bands. Fourth--Wabakekik, three miles front, near Shebawenaning, by five miles inland, for himself and band. Fifth--Namassin and Naoquagabo and their bands, a tract of land commencing near Quacloche, at the Hudson Bay Company's boundary; thence westerly to the mouth of the Spanish River; then four miles up the south bank of said river, and across to the place of beginning. Sixth--Shawenakishick and his band, a tract of land now occupied by them, and contained between two rivers, called Whitefish River, and Wanabitaseke, seven miles inland. Seventh--Windawtegawinini and his band, the Peninsula east of Serpent River, and formed by it, now occupied by them. Eighth--Ponekeosh and his band, the land contained between the River Mississaga and the River Penebewabecong, up to the first rapids. Ninth--Dokis and his band, three miles square at Wanabeyakokaun, near Lake Nipissing and the Island near the Fall of Okickandawt. Tenth--Shabokishick and his band, from their present planting grounds on Lake Nipissing to the Hudson Bay Company's post, six miles in depth. Eleventh--Tagawinini and his band, two miles square at Wanabitibing, a place about forty miles inland, near Lake Nipissing. Twelfth--Keokouse and his band, four miles front from Thessalon River eastward, by four miles inland. Thirteenth--Mishequanga and his band, two miles on the lake shore east and west of Ogawaminang, by one mile inland. Fourteenth--For Shinguacouse and his band, a tract of land extending from Maskinonge Bay, inclusive, to Partridge Point, above Garden River on the front, and inland ten miles, throughout the whole distance; and also Squirrel Island. Fifteenth--For Nebenaigoching and his band, a tract of land extending from Wanabekineyunnung west of Gros Cap to the boundary of the lands ceded by the Chiefs of Lake Superior, and inland ten miles throughout the whole distance, including Batchewanaunng Bay; and also the small island at Sault Ste. Marie used by them as a fishing station. Sixteenth--For Chief Mekis and his band, residing at Wasaquesing (Sandy Island), a tract of land at a place on the main shore opposite the Island; being the place now occupied by them for residence and cultivation, four miles square. Seventeenth--For Chief Muckatamishaquet and his band, a tract of land on the east side of the River Naishconteong, near Pointe aux Barils, three miles square; and also a small tract in Washauwenega Bay--now occupied by a part of the band--three miles square. (Signed) W. B. ROBINSON. SHINGUACOUSE. His x mark. [L. S.] NEBENAIGOCHING. " x " [L. S.] KEOKOUSE. " x " [L. S.] MISHEQUONGA. " x " [L. S.] TAGAWININI. " x " [L. S.] SHABOKESHICK. " x " [L. S.] DOKIS. " x " [L. S.] PONEKEOSH. " x " [L. S.] WINDAWTEGOWININI. " x " [L. S.] SHAWENAKESHICK. " x " [L. S.] NAMASSIN. " x " [L. S.] MUCKATA MISHAQUET. " x " [L. S.] MEKIS. " x " [L. S.] MAISQUASO. " x " [L. S.] NAOQUAGABO. " x " [L. S.] WABOKEKICK. " x " [L. S.] KITCHEPOSSEGUN " x " [L. S.] (by Papasainse). WAGEMAKE. " x " [L. S.] PAMEQUONAISHCUNG. " x " [L. S.] JOHN BELL. " x " [L. S.] PAQWATCHININI. " x " [L. S.] MASHEKYASH. " x " [L. S.] IDOWEKESIS. " x " [L. S.] WAQUACOMICK. " x " [L. S.] MISHOQUETTO. " x " [L. S.] ASA WASWANAY. " x " [L. S.] PAWISS. " x " [L. S.] OCHEEK. " x " [L. S.] METIGOMIN. " x " [L. S.] WATACHEWANA. " x " [L. S.] MIMEWAWAPENASSE. " x " [L. S.] SHENAOQUM. " x " [L. S.] ONINGEGUN. " x " [L. S.] PANAISSY. " x " [L. S.] PAPASAINSE. " x " [L. S.] ASHEWASEGA. " x " [L. S.] KAGISHEWAWETUNG " x " [L. S.] (by Baboncung). SHAWONEBIN. " x " [L. S.] Signed, sealed and delivered at Sault Ste. Marie, the day and year first above written, in presence of (Signed) ASTLEY P. COOPER, Capt. Rifle Brig. GEORGE IRONSIDE, S. I. Affairs. F. W. BALFOUR, Lieut. Rifle Brig. ALLAN MACDONELL. GEO. JOHNSON, Interpreter. LOUIS CADOTT. J. B. ASSIKINACK. T. W. KEATING. JOS. WILSON. Witnesses to signatures of Muckata Mishaquet, Mekis, Mishoquetto, Asa Waswanay, and Pawiss-- T. G. ANDERSON, S. I. A. W. B. HAMILTON. W. SIMPSON. ALFRED A. THOMPSON. THE MANITOULIN ISLAND TREATY Articles of agreement and convention made and concluded at Manitowaning, on the Great Manitoulin Island, in the Province of Canada, the sixth day of October, Anno Domini 1862, between the Hon. William McDougall, Superintendent-General of Indian Affairs, and William Spragge, Esquire, Deputy Superintendent of Indian Affairs, on the part of the Crown and Government of said Province, of the first part, and Mai-she-quong-gai, Oke-mah-be-ness, J. B. Assiginock, Benjamin Assiginock, Mai-be-nesse-ma, She-no-tah-gun, George Ah-be-tos-o-wai, Paim-o-quo-waish-gung, Abence, Tai-bose-gai, Ato-wish-cosh, Nai-wan-dai-ge-zhik, Wan-kan-o-say, Keesh-kewan-bik, Chiefs and principal men of the Ottawa, Chippewa, and other Indians occupying the said Island, on behalf of the said Indians, of the second part: Whereas, the Indian title to said Island was surrendered to the Crown on the ninth August, Anno Domini 1836, under and by virtue of a treaty made between Sir Francis Bond Head, then Governor of Upper Canada, and the Chiefs and principal men of the Ottawas and Chippewas then occupying and claiming title thereto, in order that the same might "be made the property (under their Great Father's control) of all Indians whom he should allow to reside thereon;" And whereas, but few Indians from the mainland whom it was intended to transfer to the Island, have ever come to reside thereon; And whereas, it has been deemed expedient (with a view to the improvement of the condition of the Indians, as well as the settlement and improvement of the country), to assign to the Indians now upon the Island certain specified portions thereof, to be held by patent from the Crown, and to sell the other portions thereof fit for cultivation to settlers, and to invest the proceeds thereof, after deducting the expenses of survey and management, for the benefit of the Indians; And whereas, a majority of the Chiefs of certain bands residing on that portion of the Island easterly of Heywood Sound and the Manitoulin Gulf have expressed their unwillingness to accede to this proposal as respects that portion of the Island, but have assented to the same as respects all other portions thereof; and whereas the Chiefs and principal men of the bands residing on the Island westerly of the said Sound and Gulf have agreed to accede to the said proposal: Now this agreement witnesseth that in consideration of the sum of seven hundred dollars now in hand paid (which sum is to be hereafter deducted from the proceeds of lands sold to settlers), the receipt whereof is hereby acknowledged, and in further consideration of such sums as may be realized from time to time as interest upon the purchase money of the lands to be sold for their benefit as aforesaid, the parties hereto of the second part have and hereby do release, surrender and give up to Her Majesty the Queen, all the right, title, interest and claim of the parties of the second part, and of the Ottawa, Chippewa and other Indians in whose behalf they act, of, in and to the Great Manitoulin Island, and also of, in and to the Islands adjacent, which have been deemed or claimed to be appertinent or belonging thereto, to have and to hold the same and every part thereof to Her Majesty, her heirs and successors forever. And it is hereby agreed by and between the parties hereto as follows: Firstly--A survey of the said Manitoulin Island shall be made as soon as conveniently may be, under the authority of the Department of Crown Lands. Secondly--The Crown will, as soon as conveniently may be, grant by deed for the benefit of each Indian being the head of a family and residing on the said Island, one hundred acres of land; to each single person over twenty-one years of age, residing as aforesaid, fifty acres of land; to each family of orphan children under twenty-one years of age, containing two or more persons, one hundred acres of land; and to each single orphan child under twenty-one years of age, fifty acres of land; to be selected and located under the following rules and conditions: Each Indian entitled to land under this agreement may make his own selection of any land on the Great Manitoulin Island: Provided, 1st. That the lots selected shall be contiguous or adjacent to each other, so that Indian settlements on the Island may be as compact as possible. 2nd. That if two or more Indians claim the same lot of land, the matter shall be referred to the Resident Superintendent, who shall examine the case and decide between them. 3rd. That selections for orphan children may be made by their friends, subject to the approval of the Resident Superintendent. 4th. Should any lot or lots, selected as aforesaid, be contiguous to any bay or harbor, or any stream of water, upon which a mill site shall be found, and should the Government be of opinion that such lot or lots ought to be reserved for the use of the public, or for village or park lots, or such mill site be sold with a view to the erection of a mill thereon, and shall signify such its opinion through its proper agent, then the Indian who has selected, or who wishes to select such lot, shall make another selection; but if he has made any improvements thereon, he shall be allowed a fair compensation therefor. 5th. The selections shall all be made within one year after the completion of the survey, and for that purpose plans of the survey shall be deposited with the Resident Superintendent as soon as they are approved by the Department of Crown Lands, and shall be open to the inspection of all Indians entitled to make selections as aforesaid. Thirdly--The interests which may accrue from the investment of the proceeds of sales of lands as aforesaid, shall be payable annually, and shall be apportioned among the Indians now residing westerly of the said Sound and Gulf, and their descendants per capita, but every Chief lawfully appointed shall be entitled to two portions. Fourthly--So soon as one hundred thousand acres of the said land is sold, such portion of the salary of the Resident Superintendent, and of the expenses of his office as the Government may deem equitable, shall become a charge upon the said fund. Fifthly--The deeds or patents for the lands to be selected as aforesaid, shall contain such conditions for the protection of the grantees as the Governor in Council may, under the law, deem requisite. Sixthly--All the rights and privileges in respect to the taking of fish in the lakes, bays, creeks and waters within and adjacent to the said Island, which may be lawfully exercised and enjoyed by the white settlers thereon, may be exercised and enjoyed by the Indians. Seventhly--That portion of the Island easterly of Heywood Sound and Manitoulin Gulf, and the Indians now residing there, are exempted from the operation of this agreement as respects survey, sale of lots, granting deeds to Indians, and payment in respect of moneys derived from sales in other parts of the Island. But the said Indians will remain under the protection of the Government as formerly, and the said easterly part or division of the Island will remain open for the occupation of any Indians entitled to reside upon the Island as formerly, subject, in case of dispute, to the approval of the Government. Eighthly--Whenever a majority of the Chiefs and principal men at a council of the Indians residing easterly of the said Sound and Gulf, to be called and held for the purpose, shall declare their willingness to accede to the present agreement in all respects and portions thereof, and the Indians there shall be entitled to the same privileges in every respect from and after the date of such approval by the Government, as those residing in other parts of the Island. Ninthly--This agreement shall be obligatory and binding on the contracting parties as soon as the same shall be approved by the Governor in Council. In witness whereof the said Superintendent-General of Indian affairs, and Deputy Superintendent, and the undersigned Chiefs and principal men of the Ottawa, Chippewa and other Indians have hereto set their hands and seals at Manitowaning, the sixth day of October, in the year first above written. (Signed) WM. McDOUGALL. [L. S.] WM. SPRAGGE [L. S.] J. B. ASSIGINACK. [L. S.] MAISHEGUONG-PAI. [L. S.] OKEMAHBENESS. [L. S.] BENJAMIN ASSIGINACK. [L. S.] WAIBENESSIENNE. [L. S.] SHEWETOGUN. [L. S.] GEORGE WEBETOOSOWN. [L. S.] PAIMOQUONAISHKING. [L. S.] ABENCE. [L. S.] TAIBOSEGAI. [L. S.] ATOWISHCOSTE. [L. S.] WETCOWSAI. [L. S.] KUSHKEWABIE. [L. S.] BAIBONISAI. [L. S.] KEGHIKGODONESS. [L. S.] PALTAHDOGINSHKING. [L. S.] Executed in the presence of (having been first read, translated and explained): (Signed) GEORGE IRONSIDE, S. I. Affairs. S. PHILLIPS DAY. WM. GIBBARD. DAVID S. LAYTON. JOSEPH WILSON. [L. S.] JOHN H. McDOUGALL. F. ASSICKINACK. PETER JACOBS, Church of England Mission. McGREGOR IRONSIDE. The undersigned is one of the Chiefs of the Wequainorekong band, and appends his signature in testimony of his general approval and his assent as an individual to all the terms of the above agreement. (Signed) SIHKUMMEH. [L. S.] RUNIC SAHLENG. [L. S.] MANITOWANING, October 6th, 1862. Memorandum from Captain Ironside of Indian settlements on the Manitoulin Island: Man-a-to-wan-ning. She-she-gwan-a-sing. She-qui-ain-dand. Min-de-moo-ya-se-be. Y-a-be-je-wong. Che-to-wai-e-gun-ning (West). Me-che-co-wed-e-nong. Weg-wai-me-kong. Mai-mon-a-ke-kong. Weg-wai-me-kos-ing. She-she-gwan-ning. Ohe-to-wai-e-gun-ning (East). TREATIES IN MANITOBA, THE NORTH-WEST TERRITORIES, AND KEE-WA-TIN TREATY NUMBER ONE Articles of a treaty, made and concluded this third day of August, in the year of our Lord, one thousand eight hundred and seventy-one, between Her Most Gracious Majesty the Queen of Great Britain and Ireland, by Her Commissioner Wemyss M. Simpson, Esquire, of the one part, and the Chippewa and Swampy Cree Tribes of Indians, inhabitants of the country within the limits hereinafter defined and described by their Chiefs, chosen and named as hereinafter mentioned, of the other part: Whereas, all the Indians inhabiting the said country have, pursuant to an appointment made by the said Commissioner, been convened at the Stone Fort, otherwise called Lower Fort Garry, to deliberate upon certain matters of interest to Her Most Gracious Majesty of the one part, and to the said Indians of the other; and whereas the said Indians have been notified and informed by Her Majesty's said Commissioner, that it is the desire of Her Majesty to open up to settlement and immigration a tract of country bounded and described as hereinafter mentioned, and to obtain the consent thereto of her Indian subjects inhabiting the said tract and to make a treaty and arrangements with them, so that there may be peace and good will between them and Her Majesty, and that they may know and be assured of what allowance they are to count upon and receive, year by year, from Her Majesty's bounty and benevolence. And whereas the Indians of the said tract, duly convened in Council as aforesaid, and being requested by Her Majesty's said Commissioner to name certain Chiefs and head men, who should be authorized on their behalf to conduct such negotiations, and sign any treaty to be founded thereon, and to become responsible to Her Majesty for the faithful performance, by their respective bands, of such obligations as should be assumed by them the said Indians, have thereupon named the following persons for that purpose, that is to say: Mis-koo-kenew, or Red Eagle, (Henry Prince); Ka-ke-ka-penais, or Bird for ever; Na-sha-ke-penais, or Flying down Bird; Na-na-wa-nana, or Centre of Bird's Tail; Ke-we-tayash, or Flying round; Wa-ko-wash, or Whip-poor-Will; Oo-za-we-kwun, or Yellow Quill; and thereupon, in open Council, the different bands have presented their respective Chiefs to His Excellency the Lieutenant-Governor of the Province of Manitoba, and of the North-West Territory, being present at such Council, and to the said Commissioner, as the Chiefs and head men for the purposes aforesaid, of the respective bands of Indians inhabiting the said District, hereinafter described; and whereas the said Lieutenant-Governor and the said Commissioner, then and there received and acknowledged the persons so presented as Chiefs and head men, for the purpose aforesaid; and whereas the said Commissioner has proceeded to negotiate a treaty with the said Indians, and the same has finally been agreed upon and concluded as follows, that is to say: The Chippewa and Swampy Cree Tribes of Indians, and all other the Indians inhabiting the district hereinafter described and defined, do hereby cede, release, surrender, and yield up to Her Majesty the Queen, and her successors for ever, all the lands included within the following limits, that is to say: Beginning at the International boundary line near its junction with the Lake of the Woods, at a point due north from the centre of Roseau Lake, thence to run due north to the centre of Roseau Lake; thence northward to the centre of White Mouth Lake, otherwise called White Mud Lake; thence by the middle of the lake and the middle of the river issuing therefrom, to the mouth thereof in Winnipeg River; thence by the Winnipeg River to its mouth; thence westwardly, including all the islands near the south end of the lake, across the lake to the mouth of the Drunken River; thence westwardly, to a point on Lake Manitoba, half way between Oak Point and the mouth of Swan Creek; thence across Lake Manitoba, on a line due west to its western shore; thence in a straight line to the crossing of the Rapids on the Assiniboine; thence due south to the International boundary line, and thence easterly by the said line to the place of beginning; to have and to hold the same to Her said Majesty the Queen, and her successors for ever; and Her Majesty the Queen, hereby agrees and undertakes to lay aside and reserve for the sole and exclusive use of the Indians, the following tracts of land, that is to say: For the use of the Indians belonging to the band of which Henry Prince, otherwise called Mis-koo-ke-new, is the Chief, so much of land on both sides of the Red River, beginning at the south line of St. Peter's Parish, as will furnish one hundred and sixty acres for each family of five, or in that proportion for larger or smaller families; and for the use of the Indians of whom Na-sha-ke-penais, Na-na-wa-nanan, Ke-we-tayash, and Wa-ko-wush, are the Chiefs, so much land on the Roseau River, as will furnish one hundred and sixty acres for each family of five, or in that proportion for larger or smaller families, beginning from the mouth of the river; and for the use of the Indians, of which Ka-ke-ka-penais is the Chief, so much land on the Winnipeg River, above Fort Alexander, as will furnish one hundred and sixty acres for each family of five, or in that proportion for larger or smaller families, beginning at a distance of a mile or thereabout above the Fort; and for the use of the Indians, of whom Oo-za-we-Kwun is Chief, so much land on the south and east side of the Assiniboine, about twenty miles above the Portage, as will furnish one hundred and sixty acres for each family of five, or in that proportion for larger or smaller families, reserving also a further tract enclosing said reserve, to comprise an equivalent to twenty-five square miles of equal breadth, to be laid out round the reserve; it being understood, however, that if at the date of the execution of this treaty, there are any settlers within the bounds of any lands reserved by any band, Her Majesty reserves the right to deal with such settlers as she shall deem just, so as not to diminish the extent of land allotted to the Indians. And with a view to show the satisfaction of Her Majesty with the behaviour and good conduct of her Indians, parties to this treaty, she hereby, through her Commissioner, makes them a present of three dollars for each Indian man, woman and child belonging to the bands here represented. And further, Her Majesty agrees to maintain a school on each reserve hereby made, whenever the Indians of the reserve should desire it. Within the boundary of Indian Reserves, until otherwise enacted by the proper legislative authority, no intoxicating liquor shall be allowed to be introduced or sold, and all laws now in force or hereafter to be enacted to preserve Her Majesty's Indian subjects, inhabiting the reserves or living elsewhere, from the evil influence of the use of intoxicating liquors, shall be strictly enforced. Her Majesty's Commissioner shall, as soon as possible after the execution of this treaty, cause to be taken an accurate census of all the Indians inhabiting the district above described, distributing them in families, and shall in every year ensuing the date hereof, at some period during the month of July in each year, to be duly notified to the Indians, and at or near the respective reserves, pay to each Indian family of five persons the sum of fifteen dollars Canadian currency, or in like proportion for a larger or smaller family, such payment to be made in such articles as the Indians shall require of blankets, clothing, prints (assorted colors), twine or traps, at the current cost price in Montreal, or otherwise, if Her Majesty shall deem the same desirable in the interests of Her Indian people, in cash. And the undersigned Chiefs do hereby bind and pledge themselves and their people strictly to observe this treaty, and to maintain perpetual peace between themselves and Her Majesty's white subjects, and not to interfere with the property or in any way molest the persons of Her Majesty's white or other subjects. In witness whereof Her Majesty's said Commissioner and the said Indian Chiefs have hereunto subscribed and set their hand and seal, at the Lower Fort Garry, this day and year herein first above mentioned. (Signed) WEMYSS M. SIMPSON, [L. S.] Indian Commissioner. MIS-KOO-KE-NEW (or Red Eagle) His x mark. (Henry Prince). KA-KE-KA-PENAIS (or Bird Forever) " x " (William Pennefather). NA-SHA-KE-PENAIS (or Flying down Bird). " x " NA-NA-WA-NANAN (or Centre of Bird's Tail). " x " KE-WE-TAY-ASH (or Flying Round). " x " WA-KO-WUSH (or Whip-poor-will). " x " OO-ZA-WE-KWUN (or Yellow Quill). " x " Signed, sealed and delivered in the presence of (the same having been first read and explained)-- (Signed) ADAMS G. ARCHIBALD, Lieut.-Gov. of Manitoba, and the N.-W. Territories. JAMES McKAY, P.L.C. A. G. IRVINE, Major. ABRAHAM COWLEY. DONALD GUNN, M.L.C. THOMAS HOWARD. HENRY COCHRANE. JAMES McARRISTER. HUGH McARRISTER. E. ALICE ARCHIBALD. HENRY BOUTHILLIER. TREATY NUMBER TWO Articles of a treaty made and concluded this twenty-first day of August, in the year of our Lord one thousand eight hundred and seventy-one, between Her Most Gracious Majesty the Queen of Great Britain and Ireland, by Her Commissioner, Wemyss M. Simpson, Esquire, of the one part, and the Chippewa tribe of Indians, inhabitants of the country within the limits hereinafter defined and described by their Chiefs, chosen and named as hereinafter mentioned, of the other part: Whereas, all the Indians inhabiting the said country have, pursuant to an appointment made by the said Commissioner, been convened at a meeting at Manitoba Post, to deliberate upon certain matters of interest to Her Most Gracious Majesty of the one part, and to the said Indians of the other; and whereas the said Indians have been notified and informed by Her Majesty's said Commissioner, that it is the desire of Her Majesty to open up to settlement and immigration a tract of country bounded and described as hereinafter mentioned, and to obtain the consent thereto of her Indian subjects inhabiting the said tract, and to make a treaty and arrangement with them, so that there may be peace and good will between them and Her Majesty, and that they may know and be assured of what allowance they are to count upon and receive from Her Majesty's bounty and benevolence. And whereas the Indians of the said tract, duly convened in Council as aforesaid, and being requested by Her Majesty's said Commissioner to name certain Chiefs and head men who should be authorized on their behalf to conduct such negotiations and sign any treaty to be founded thereon, and to become responsible to Her Majesty for the faithful performance by their respective bands of such obligations as shall be assumed by them, the said Indians have thereupon named the following persons for that purpose, that is to say: For the Swan Creek and Lake Manitoba Indians, Sou-sonse, or Little Long Ears; for the Indians of Fairford and the neighboring localities, Ma-sah-kee-yash, or, He who flies to the bottom, and Richard Woodhouse, whose Indian name is Ke-wee-tah-quun-na-yash, or, He who flies round the feathers; for the Indians of Waterhen River and Crane River and the neighboring localities, Francois, or, Broken Fingers; and for the Indians of Riding Mountains and Dauphin Lake, and the remainder of the territory hereby ceded, Mekis (the Eagle), or, Giroux. And thereupon, in open Council, the different bands have presented their respective Chiefs to His Excellency the Lieutenant-Governor of Manitoba and of the North-West Territory, being present at such Council, and to the said Commissioner, as the Chiefs and head men for the purposes aforesaid of the respective bands of Indians inhabiting the said district hereinafter described; and whereas the said Lieutenant-Governor and the said Commissioner then and there received and acknowledged the persons so presented as Chiefs and head men, for the purpose aforesaid, of the respective bands of Indians inhabiting the said district hereinafter described; and whereas the said Commissioner has proceeded to negotiate a treaty with the said Indians, and the same has finally been agreed upon and concluded as follows, that is to say:-- The Chippewa tribe of Indians, and all other the Indians inhabiting the district hereinafter described and defined, do hereby cede, release, surrender and yield up to Her Majesty the Queen, and her successors forever, all the lands included within the following limits, that is to say:--All that tract of country lying partly to the north and partly to the west of a tract of land ceded to Her Majesty the Queen by the Indians inhabiting the Province of Manitoba, and certain adjoining localities, under the terms of a treaty made at Lower Fort Garry, on the third day of August last past, the land now intended to be ceded and surrendered, being particularly described as follows, that is to say:--Beginning at the mouth of Winnipeg River, on the north line of the lands ceded by said treaty, thence running along the eastern shore of Lake Winnipeg, northwardly as far as the mouth of Berens River; thence across said lake to its western shore at the north bank of the mouth of the Little Saskatchewan or Dauphin River; thence up said stream and along the northern and western shores thereof, and of St. Martin's Lake and along the north bank of the stream flowing into St. Martin's Lake from Lake Manitoba by the general course of such stream to such last mentioned lake; thence by the eastern and northern shores of Lake Manitoba to the mouth of the Waterhen River; thence by the eastern and northern shores of said river up stream to the northernmost extremity of a small lake known as Waterhen Lake; thence in a line due west to and across Lake Winnepegosis; thence in a straight line to the most northerly waters forming the source of the Shell River; thence to a point west of the same, two miles distant from the river, measuring at right angles thereto; thence by a line parallel with the Shell River to its mouth and then crossing the Assiniboine River and running parallel thereto and two miles distant therefrom and to the westward thereof to a point opposite Fort Ellice; thence in a southwesterly course to the northwestern point of the Moose Mountains; thence by a line due south to the United States frontier; thence by the frontier eastwardly to the westward line of said tract ceded by treaty as aforesaid; thence bounded thereby, by the west, north-west and north lines of said tract to the place of beginning at the mouth of Winnipeg River; to have and to hold the same to Her Majesty the Queen and her successors for ever, and Her Majesty the Queen hereby agrees and undertakes to lay aside and reserve, for the sole and exclusive use of the Indians inhabiting the said tract, the following lots of land, that is to say: For the use of the Indians belonging to the band of which Mekis is Chief, so much land between Turtle River and Valley River on the south side of Lake Dauphin as will make one hundred and sixty acres for each family of five persons, or in the same proportion for a greater or smaller number of persons. And for the use of the Indians belonging to the band of which Francois, or Broken Fingers, is Chief, so much land on Crane River running into Lake Manitoba as will make one hundred and sixty acres for each family of five persons, or in the same proportion for a greater or smaller number of persons. And for the use of the band of Indians belonging to the bands of which Ma-sah-kee-yash and Richard Woodhouse are Chiefs, so much land on the river between Lake Manitoba and St. Martin's Lake,--known as "Fairford River," and including the present Indian Mission grounds,--as will make one hundred and sixty acres for each family of five persons, or in the same proportion for a greater or smaller number of persons. And for the use of the Indians of whom Son-sense is Chief, so much land on the east side of Lake Manitoba to be laid off north of the creek near which a fallen elm tree now lies, and about half-way between Oak Point and Manitoba Post, so much land as will make one hundred and sixty acres for each family of five persons, or in the same proportion for a greater or smaller number of persons. Saving, nevertheless, the rights of any white or other settler now in occupation of any land within the lines of any such reserve. And with a view to show the satisfaction of Her Majesty with the behaviour and good conduct of her Indians, parties to this treaty, she hereby, through her Commissioner makes them a present of three dollars for each Indian--man, woman, and child belonging to the bands here represented. And further, Her Majesty agrees to maintain a school in each reserve hereby made, whenever the Indians of the reserve shall desire it. Her Majesty further agrees with her said Indians, that within the boundary of Indian reserves, until otherwise enacted by the proper legislative authority, no intoxicating liquors shall be allowed to be introduced or sold; and all laws now in force or hereafter to be enacted to preserve her Indian subjects inhabiting the reserves or living elsewhere within her North-West Territories, from the evil influence of the use of intoxicating liquors, shall be strictly enforced. And further, that Her Majesty's Commissioner shall, as soon as possible after the execution of this treaty, cause to be taken an accurate census of all the Indians inhabiting the tract above described, distributing them in families, and shall in every year ensuing the date hereof, at some period during the month of August in each year, to be duly notified to the Indians, and at or near the respective reserves, pay to each Indian family of five persons, the sum of fifteen dollars, Canadian currency; or in like proportion for a larger or smaller family; such payment to be made in such articles as the Indians shall require of blankets, clothing, prints (assorted colors), twine or traps, at the current cash price in Montreal, or otherwise, if Her Majesty shall deem the same desirable in the interest of her Indian people, in cash. And the undersigned Chiefs, on their own behalf, and on behalf of all other Indians inhabiting the tract within ceded, do hereby solemnly promise and engage, to strictly observe this treaty, and also to conduct and behave themselves as good and loyal subjects of Her Majesty the Queen. They promise and engage that they will, in all respects, obey and abide by the law; that they will maintain peace and good order between each other and also between themselves and other tribes of Indians, and between themselves and others of Her Majesty's subjects, whether Indians or whites, now inhabiting, or hereafter to inhabit, any part of the said ceded tract; and that they will not molest the person or property of any inhabitants of such ceded tract; or the property of Her Majesty the Queen, or interfere with or trouble any person passing or travelling through the said tract or any part thereof; and that they will aid and assist the officers of Her Majesty in bringing to justice and punishment any Indian offending against the stipulations of this treaty, or infringing the laws in force in the country so ceded. In witness whereof, Her Majesty's said Commissioner and the said Indian Chiefs have hereunto subscribed and set their hands at Manitoba Post, this day and year first above named. (Signed) WEMYSS M. SIMPSON, Indian Commissioner. MEKIS. His x Mark. SON-SENSE. " x " MA-SAH-KEE-YASH. " x " FRANCOIS. " x " RICHARD WOODHOUSE. Signed by the Chiefs within named in presence of the following witnesses (the same having been first read and explained)-- (Signed) ADAMS G. ARCHIBALD, Lieut.-Gov. of Manitoba and the N.-W. Territories. JAMES McKAY, P.C.C. MOLYNEUX ST. JOHN. E. A. ARCHIBALD. LILY ARCHIBALD. HENRI BOUTHILLIER. PAUL DE LARONDE. DONALD McDONALD. ELIZA McDONALD. ALEXANDER MUIR, SR. THE NORTH-WEST ANGLE TREATY, NUMBER THREE Articles of a Treaty made and concluded this third day of October, in the year of our Lord one thousand eight hundred and seventy-three, between Her Most Gracious Majesty the Queen of Great Britain and Ireland, by her Commissioners, the Hon. Alexander Morris, Lieutenant-Governor of the Province of Manitoba and the North West Territories, Joseph Albert Norbert Provencher and Simon James Dawson, of the one part, and the Saulteaux tribe of the Ojibbeway Indians, inhabitants of the country within the limits hereinafter defined and described, by their Chiefs, chosen and named as hereinafter mentioned, of the other part: Whereas the Indians inhabiting the said country have, pursuant to an appointment made by the said Commissioners, been convened at a meeting at the North-West angle of the Lake of the Woods, to deliberate upon certain matters of interest to Her Most Gracious Majesty, of the one part, and the said Indians of the other; And whereas the said Indians have been notified and informed by Her Majesty's said Commissioners, that it is the desire of Her Majesty to open up for settlement, immigration, and such other purposes as to Her Majesty may seem meet, a tract of country bounded and described as hereinafter mentioned, and to obtain the consent thereto of her Indian subjects inhabiting the said tract, and to make a treaty and arrange with them, so that there may be peace and good will between them and Her Majesty, and that they may know and be assured of what allowance they are to count upon and receive from Her Majesty's bounty and benevolence: And whereas, the Indians of the said tract, duly convened in Council, as aforesaid, and being requested by Her Majesty's said Commissioners to name certain Chiefs and head men, who should be authorized on their behalf to conduct such negotiations, and sign any treaty to be founded thereon, and to become responsible to Her Majesty for the faithful performance by their respective bands of such obligations as shall be assumed by them, the said Indians have thereupon named the following persons for that purpose, that is to say:--Kee-tak-pay-pi-nais (Rainy River), Kitihi-gay-lake (Rainy River), Note-na-qua-hung (North-West Angle), Mawe-do-pe-nais (Rainy River), Pow-wa-sang (North-West Angle), Canda-com-igo-wi-ninie (North-West Angle), Pa-pa-ska-gin (Rainy River), May-no-wah-tau-ways-kung (North-West Angle), Kitchi-ne-ka-be-han (Rainy River), Sah-katch-eway (Lake Seul), Muka-day-wah-sin (Kettle Falls), Me-kie-sies (Rainy Lake, Fort Francis), Oos-con-na-geist (Rainy Lake), Wah-shis-kince (Eagle Lake), Rab-kie-y-ash (Flower Lake), Go-bay (Rainy Lake), Ka-me-ti-ash (White Fish Lake), Nee-sho-tal (Rainy River), Kee-gee-go-kay (Rainy River), Sha-sha-gance (Shoal Lake), Shah-win-na-bi-nais (Shoal Lake), Ay-ash-a-wash (Buffalo Point), Pay-ah-be-wash (White Fish Bay), Rah-tay-tay-pa-o-cutch (Lake of the Woods). And thereupon in open council the different bands having presented their Chiefs to the said Commissioners as the Chiefs and head men for the purposes aforesaid of the respective bands of Indians inhabiting the said district hereinafter described. And whereas the said Commissioners then and there received and acknowledged the persons so presented as Chiefs and head men for the purposes aforesaid of the respective bands of Indians inhabiting the said district hereinafter described; And whereas the said Commissioners have proceeded to negotiate a treaty with the said Indians, and the same has been finally agreed upon and concluded as follows, that is to say: The Saulteaux tribe of the Ojibbeway Indians, and all other the Indians inhabiting the district hereinafter described and defined, do hereby cede, release, surrender, and yield up to the Government of the Dominion of Canada, for Her Majesty the Queen and her successors forever, all their rights, titles and privileges whatsoever to the lands included within the following limits, that is to say: Commencing at a point on the Pigeon River route where the international boundary line between the territories of Great Britain and the United States intersects the height of land separating the waters running to Lake Superior from those flowing to Lake Winnipeg thence northerly, westerly and easterly, along the height of land aforesaid, following its sinuosities, whatever their course may be, to the point at which the said height of land meets the summit of the water-shed from which the streams flow to Lake Nepigon, thence northerly and westerly, or whatever may be its course along the ridge separating the waters of the Nepigon and the Winnipeg to the height of land dividing the waters of the Albany and the Winnipeg, thence westerly and north-westerly along the height of land dividing the waters flowing to Hudson's Bay by the Albany or other rivers from those running to English River and the Winnipeg to a point on the said height of land bearing north forty-five degrees east from Fort Alexander at the mouth of the Winnipeg; thence south forty-five degrees west to Fort Alexander at the mouth of the Winnipeg; thence southerly along the eastern bank of the Winnipeg to the mouth of White Mouth River, thence southerly by the line described as in that part forming the eastern boundary of the tract surrendered by the Chippewa and Swampy Cree tribes of Indians to Her Majesty on the third of August, one thousand eight hundred and seventy-one, namely, by White Mouth River to White Mouth Lake and thence on a line having the general bearing of White Mouth River to the forty-ninth parallel of north latitude; thence by the forty-ninth parallel of north latitude to the Lake of the Woods, and from thence by the international boundary line to the place of beginning. The tract comprised within the lines above described embracing an area of fifty-five thousand square miles, be the same more or less. To have and to hold the same to Her Majesty the Queen and her successors forever. And Her Majesty the Queen hereby agrees and undertakes to lay aside reserves for farming lands, due respect being had to lands at present cultivated by the said Indians, and also to lay aside and reserve for the benefit of the said Indians, to be administered and dealt with for them by Her Majesty's Government of the Dominion of Canada, in such a manner as shall seem best, other reserves of land in the said territory hereby ceded, which said reserves shall be selected and set aside where it shall be deemed most convenient and advantageous for each band or bands of Indians, by the officers of the said Government appointed for that purpose, and such selection shall be so made after conference with the Indians: Provided, however, that such reserve whether for farming or other purposes shall in nowise exceed in all one square mile for each family of five, or in that proportion for larger or smaller families, and such selection shall be made if possible during the course of next summer or as soon thereafter as may be found practicable, it being understood, however, that if at the time of any such selection of any reserves as aforesaid, there are any settlers within the bounds of the lands reserved by any band, Her Majesty reserves the right to deal with such settlers as she shall deem just, so as not to diminish the extent of land allotted to Indians; and provided also that the aforesaid reserves of lands or any interest or right therein or appurtenant thereto, may be sold, leased or otherwise disposed of by the said Government for the use and benefit of the said Indians, with the consent of the Indians entitled thereto first had and obtained. And with a view to show the satisfaction of Her Majesty with the behavior and good conduct of her Indians, she hereby, through her Commissioners, makes them a present of twelve dollars for each man, woman and child belonging to the bands here represented, in extinguishment of all claims heretofore preferred. And further, Her Majesty agrees to maintain schools for instruction in such reserves hereby made as to her Government of her Dominion of Canada may seem advisable, whenever the Indians of the reserve shall desire it. Her Majesty further agrees with her said Indians, that within the boundary of Indian reserves, until otherwise determined by the Government of the Dominion of Canada, no intoxicating liquor shall be allowed to be introduced or sold, and all laws now in force, or hereafter to be enacted to preserve her Indian subjects inhabiting the reserves, or living elsewhere within her North-West Territories, from the evil influence of the use of intoxicating liquors shall be strictly enforced. Her Majesty further agrees with her said Indians, that they, the said Indians, shall have right to pursue their avocations of hunting and fishing throughout the tract surrendered as hereinbefore described, subject to such regulations as may from time to time be made by her Government of her Dominion of Canada, and saving and excepting such tracts as may from time to time be required or taken up for settlement, mining, lumbering or other purposes, by her said Government of the Dominion of Canada, or by any of the subjects thereof duly authorized therefor by the said Government. It is further agreed between Her Majesty and her said Indians that such sections of the reserves above indicated as may at any time be required for public works or buildings, of what nature soever, may be appropriated for that purpose by Her Majesty's Government of the Dominion of Canada, due compensation being made for the value of any improvements thereon. And further, that Her Majesty's Commissioners shall, as soon as possible, after the execution of this treaty, cause to be taken an accurate census of all the Indians inhabiting the tract above described, distributing them in families, and shall in every year ensuing the date hereof at some period in each year, to be duly notified to the Indians, and at a place or places to be appointed for that purpose within the territory ceded, pay to each Indian person the sum of five dollars per head yearly. It is further agreed between Her Majesty and the said Indians, that the sum of fifteen hundred dollars per annum shall be yearly and every year expended by Her Majesty in the purchase of ammunition, and twine for nets for the use of the said Indians. It is further agreed between Her Majesty and the said Indians, that the following articles shall be supplied to any band of the said Indians who are now actually cultivating the soil, or who shall hereafter commence to cultivate the land, that is to say--two hoes for every family actually cultivating; also one spade per family as aforesaid; one plough for every ten families as aforesaid; five harrows for every twenty families as aforesaid; one scythe for every family as aforesaid; and also one axe and one cross-cut saw, one hand saw, one pit saw, the necessary files, one grindstone, one auger for each band, and also for each Chief for the use of his band, one chest of ordinary carpenter's tools; also for each band, enough of wheat, barley, potatoes and oats to plant the land actually broken up for cultivation by such band; also for each band, one yoke of oxen, one bull and four cows; all the aforesaid articles to be given once for all for the encouragement of the practice of agriculture among the Indians. It is further agreed between Her Majesty and the said Indians, that each Chief, duly recognized as such, shall receive an annual salary of twenty-five dollars per annum, and each subordinate officer, not exceeding three for each band, shall receive fifteen dollars per annum; and each such Chief and subordinate officer as aforesaid shall also receive, once in every three years, a suitable suit of clothing; and each Chief shall receive, in recognition of the closing of the treaty, a suitable flag and medal. And the undersigned Chiefs, on their own behalf and on behalf of all other Indians inhabiting the tract within ceded, do hereby solemnly promise and engage to strictly observe this treaty, and also to conduct and behave themselves as good and loyal subjects of Her Majesty the Queen. They promise and engage that they will, in all respects obey and abide by the law; that they will maintain peace and good order between each other, and also between themselves and other tribes of Indians, and between themselves and others of Her Majesty's subjects, whether Indians or whites, now inhabiting or hereafter to inhabit any part of the said ceded tract; and that they will not molest the person or property of any inhabitant of such ceded tract, or the property of Her Majesty the Queen, or interfere with or trouble any person passing or travelling through the said tract or any part thereof; and that they will aid and assist the officers of Her Majesty in bringing to justice and punishment any Indian offending against the stipulations of this treaty, or infringing the laws in force in the country so ceded. In witness whereof, Her Majesty's said Commissioners and the said Indian Chiefs have hereunto subscribed and set their hands, at the north-west angle of the Lake of the Woods, this day and year herein first above-named. (Signed) ALEXANDER MORRIS, [L. S.] Lieutenant-Governor. J. A. N. PROVENCHER, Indian Commissioner. S. J. DAWSON, Indian Commissioner. KEE-TA-KAY-PI-NAIS. His x mark. KITIHI-GAY-KAKE. " x " NO-TE-NA-QUA-HUNG. " x " MAWE-DO-PE-NAIS. " x " POW-WA-SANG. " x " CANDA-COM-IGO-WI-NINIE. " x " PA-PA-SKA-GIN. " x " MAY-NO-WAH-TAU-WAYS-KUNG. " x " KITCHI-NE-KA-BE-HAN. " x " SAH-KATCH-EWAY. " x " MUKA-DAY-WAH-SIN. " x " ME-KIE-SIES. " x " OOS-CON-NA-GEIST. " x " WAH-SHIS-KINCE. " x " RAH-KIE-Y-ASH. " x " GO-BAY. " x " KA-ME-TI-ASH. " x " NEE-SHO-TAL. " x " KEE-JEE-GO-KAY. " x " SHA-SHA-GANCE. " x " SHAH-WIN-NA-BI-NAIS. " x " AY-ASH-A-WASH. " x " PAY-AH-BEE-WASH. " x " RAH-TAY-TAY-PA-O-CUTCH. " x " Signed by the Chiefs within named in presence of the following witnesses, the same having been first read and explained by the Honorable James McKay:-- (Signed) JAMES McKAY. MOLYNEUX ST. JOHN. ROBERT PITHER. CHRISTINE V. K. MORRIS. CHARLES NOLIN. A. McDONALD, Captain commanding escort to Lieutenant-Governor. JAMES F. GRAHAM. JOSEPH NOLIN. A. McLEOD. GEORGE McPHERSON, SEN. SEDLEY BLANCHARD. W. FRED. BUCHANAN. FRANK G. BECHER. ALFRED CODD, M.D. GORDON S. CORBAULT. PIERRE LEVIELLER. NICHOLAS CHATELAINE. We hereby certify that the foregoing is a true copy of the original articles of treaty of which it purports to be a copy. (Signed) ALEXANDER MORRIS, Lieutenant-Governor. J. A. N. PROVENCHER, Indian Commissioner. S. J. DAWSON, Indian Commissioner. We having had communication of the treaty, certified copy whereof is hereto annexed, but not having been at the Councils held at the north-west angle of the Lake of the Woods, between Her Majesty's Commissioners, and the several Indian Chiefs and others therein named, at which the articles of the said treaty were agreed upon, hereby, for ourselves and the several bands of Indians which we represent, in consideration of the provisions of the said treaty being extended to us and the said bands which we represent, transfer, surrender and relinquish to Her Majesty the Queen, her heirs and successors, to and for the use of her Dominion of Canada, all our right, title and privilege whatsoever, which we, the said Chiefs, and the said bands which we represent, have held, or enjoy, of, in and to the territory, described and fully set out in the said articles of treaty and every part thereof, to have and to hold the same unto the use of Her said Majesty the Queen, her heirs and successors for ever. And we hereby agree to accept the several provisions, payments and reserves of the said treaty as therein stated, and solemnly promise and engage to abide by, carry out and fulfil all the stipulations, obligations and conditions therein contained, on the part of the said Chiefs and Indians therein named to be observed and performed, and in all things to conform to the articles of the said treaty, as if we our selves, and the bands which we represent had been originally contracting parties thereto, and had been present and attached our signatures to the said treaty. In witness whereof, Her Majesty's said Commissioners and the said Indian Chiefs have hereunto subscribed and set their hands, this thirteenth day of October, in the year of Our Lord one thousand eight hundred and seventy-three. For and on behalf of the Commissioners, the Honorable Alexander Morris, Lieutenant-Governor of Manitoba and the North-West Territories, Joseph Albert Norbert Provencher, Esq., and the undersigned: (Signed) S. J. DAWSON, Commissioner. PAY-BA-MA-CHAS. His x mark. RE-BA-QUIN. " x " ME-TAS-SO-QUE-NE-SKANK. " x " Signed by S. J. Dawson, Esq., one of Her Majesty's said Commissioners, for and on behalf, and with the authority and consent of the Honorable Alexander Morris, Lieutenant-Governor of Manitoba and the North-West Territories, and J. A. N. Provencher, Esq., the remaining two Commissioners, and himself, and by the Chiefs within named on behalf of themselves and the several bands which they represent, the same and the annexed certified copy of articles of treaty having been first read and explained in presence of the following witnesses: (Signed) THOS. A. P. TOWERS. JOHN AITKEN. A. J. McDONALD. UNZZAKI. JAS. LOGANOSH, His x mark, PINLLSISE. REPORT OF COMMISSIONER DAWSON OTTAWA, 26th December, 1873. Sir,--I beg leave to inform you that, after the treaty had been concluded with certain bands of the Saulteaux tribe of the Ojibbeway Indians, at the north-west angle of the Lake of the Woods, by arrangements made with my associate Commissioners, His Honor the Lieutenant-Governor of Manitoba and the North-West Territories, and Mr. Provencher, I came eastward and convened the leading people of the remaining bands at Shebandowan where they also, through their Chiefs, accepted and signed the treaty. I have much satisfaction in saying that these Indians were most friendly in their bearing, and desired me to convey to the Government their cordial expressions of loyalty to their Great Mother, Her Majesty the Queen. They took some time to deliberate over the provisions of the treaty and asked me occasionally to explain certain passages, more especially those in relation to the reserves. Before signing it they comprehended perfectly the nature of the obligations into which they were about to enter, that the surrender of their territorial rights would be irrevocable, and that they were to stand forever afterwards in new relations to the white man. This, the Chiefs themselves stated with great solemnity to their people, in short but impressive speeches, as they each in turn advanced to touch the pen. One cause of delay at the Lake of the Woods arose from the circumstance of there being a number of aspirants to the office of Chief; but at Shebandowan I had no such difficulty, for the whole of the bands east of the narrows of Rainy Lake, are under three principal Chiefs, whose authority is unquestioned. The names of these Chiefs and their respective districts are as follows: Pay-ba-ma-chas, Chief of the country intervening between the narrows of Rainy Lake and Sturgeon Falls, and of the region drained by the River Seine and its tributary streams, between the latter place (Sturgeon Falls) and Lac des Mille Lacs. This is a very extensive district, and in it are many valuable groves of pine. Ke-ba-quin, Chief of the region intervening between the present line of the Red River route and the United States boundary line, east of Rainy Lake and west of the height of land. The gold bearing country is in this Chief's district. Metas-so-que-nes-hauk, Chief of Lac des Mille Lacs and the district to the north, lying along the height of land between that lake and the waters of the Nipegon and Lac Seul. This Chief is a very intelligent man, and has already begun, to make his people clear land and grow crops. Each of these three principal Chiefs will have a staff of Lieutenants or subordinate Chiefs, not exceeding three to their respective bands, as provided for in the treaty but they preferred not to name them at once, saying that the selection was a matter of some delicacy to them, and requiring a little time. In regard to the reserves provided for in the treaty, I shall as soon as possible submit a scheme which I think will meet the circumstances, and at the same time draw attention to some experience gained in negotiating with these Indians, which may be of use in similar negotiations in the future. [Footnote: In 1874 Mr. Dawson and Mr. Pither were appointed to meet the Indians and arrange the position of the reserves, which they did; but subsequently, the Indians claiming that they had not fully understood the exact location or extent of some of the reserves, Colonel Dennis, then Surveyor-General, now Deputy Minister of the Interior, was instructed to visit the Indians comprised in Treaty Number Three, and finally adjust the question of reserves. Colonel Dennis undertook this duty in 1875 and satisfactorily arranged a scheme of reserves for the different bands of the Lake of the Woods. Colonel Dennis submitted a comprehensive report of the results of his mission, and suggested the appointment of sub-agents, the fixing of a specific day for payment to the Indians of their annuities in each agency district, that the necessary funds and the articles for distribution should be provided and in the agents' hands in good time. He advised that the local agents should have some practical knowledge of agriculture, as he believed that the Indians would succeed in raising quantities of stock, though the character of the country prevented their general success as farmers. He suggested further the erection of halls at each agency and the employment of young Indians by the builders entrusted with their construction, "as they are so quick in perception and handy in the use of tools that they would speedily become very expert." The author regrets that he did not obtain communication of this valuable report until this work had advanced too far to admit of its being incorporated with it.] The copy of the treaty signed by these Chiefs is enclosed herewith and to it is attached a document signed by the Lieutenant-Governor of Manitoba and the North-West Territories, and Mr. Provencher, empowering me to act for them in their absence, in their capacity of Indian Commissioners. I have the honor to be, Sir, Your obedient servant, (Signed) S. J. DAWSON. THE HONORABLE THE MINISTER OF THE INTERIOR, Ottawa. ADHESION OF LAC SEUL INDIANS LAC SEUL, 9th June, 1874. We, the Chiefs and Councillors of Lac Seul, Seul, Trout and Sturgeon Lakes, subscribe and set our marks, that we and our followers will abide by the articles of the treaty made and concluded with the Indians at the north-west angle of the Lake of the Woods, on the third day of October, in the year of our Lord one thousand eight hundred and seventy-three, between Her Most Gracious Majesty the Queen of Great Britain and Ireland, by Her Commissioners, Hon. Alexander Morris, Lieutenant-Governor of Manitoba and the North-West Territories, Joseph Albert, N. Provencher and Simon J. Dawson, of the one part, and the Saulteaux tribes of Ojibewa Indians, inhabitants of the country as defined by the Treaty aforesaid. In witness whereof, Her Majesty's Indian Agent and the Chiefs and Councillors have hereto set their hands at Lac Seul, on the 9th day of June, 1874. (Signed) R. J. N. PITHER, Indian Agent. JOHN CROMARTY, His x mark. Chief. ACKEMENCE, " x " MAINEETAINEQUIRE, " x " NAH-KEE-JECKWAHE, " x " Councillors. The whole treaty explained by R. J. N. Pither. Witnesses: (Signed) JAMES McKENZIE. LOUIS KITTSON. NICHOLAS CHATELAN. His x mark. THE QU'APPELLE TREATY, NUMBER FOUR Articles of a treaty made and concluded this fifteenth day of September, in the year of our Lord one thousand eight hundred and seventy-four, between Her Most Gracious Majesty the Queen of Great Britain and Ireland, by Her Commissioners, the Honorable Alexander Morris, Lieutenant-Governor of the Province of Manitoba and the North-West Territories, the Honorable David Laird, Minister of the Interior, and William Joseph Christie Esq., of Brockville, Ontario, of the one part; and the Cree, Saulteaux and other Indians, inhabitants of the territory within the limits hereinafter defined and described, by their Chiefs and head men, chosen and named as hereinafter mentioned, of the other part; Whereas, the Indians inhabiting the said territory have, pursuant to an appointment made by the said Commissioners, been convened at a meeting at Qu'Appelle Lakes, to deliberate upon certain matters of interest to Her Most Gracious Majesty, of the one part and the said Indians of the other: And whereas, the said Indians have been notified and informed, by Her Majesty's said Commissioners, that it is the desire of Her Majesty to open up for settlement, immigration, trade and such other purposes as to Her Majesty may seem meet, a tract of country bounded and described as hereinafter mentioned; and to obtain the consent thereto of her Indian subjects inhabiting the said tract; and to make a treaty and arrange with them so that there may be peace and good-will between them and Her Majesty, and between them and Her Majesty's other subjects; and that her Indian people may know and be assured of what allowance they are to count upon and receive from Her Majesty's bounty and benevolence; And whereas, the Indians of the said tract, duly convened in councils as aforesaid, and being requested by Her Majesty's said Commissioners to name certain Chiefs and head men who should be authorized on their behalf to conduct such negotiations, and sign any treaty to be founded thereon, and to become responsible to Her Majesty for the faithful performance by their respective bands of such obligations as shall be assumed by them, the said Indians have thereupon named the following persons for that purpose, that is to say: Ka-ki-sha-way, or Loud Voice (Qu'Appelle River); Pis-qua, or The Plain (Leech Lake); Kea-wez-auce, or The Little Boy (Leech Lake); Ka-ke-na-wup, or One that sits like an Eagle (Upper Qu'Appelle Lakes); Kus-kee-tew-mus-coo-mus-qua, or Little Black Bear (Cypress Hills); Ka-ne-on-us-ka-tew, or One that walks on four claws (Little Touchwood Hills); Can-ah-ha-cha-pew, or Making ready the Bow (south side of the south branch of the Saskatchewan); Kii-si-can-ah-chuck, or Day Star (south side of the south branch of the Saskatchewan); Ka-wa-ca-toose, or The Poor Man (Touchwood Hills and Qu'Appelle Lakes); Ka-ku-wis-ta-haw, or Him that flies round (towards the Cypress Hills); Cha-ca-chas (Qu'Appelle River); Wah-pii-moose-too-siis, or White Calf, or Pus-coos (Qu'Appelle River); Gabriel Cote, or Mee-may, or The Pigeon (Fort Pelly); And thereupon in open council the different bands having presented the men of their choice to the said Commissioners as the Chiefs and head men for the purpose aforesaid of the respective bands of Indians inhabiting the said district hereinafter described; And whereas, the said Commissioners have proceeded to negotiate a treaty with the said Indians, and the same has been finally agreed upon and concluded as follows, that is to say: The Cree and Saulteaux tribes of Indians, and all other the Indians inhabiting the district hereinafter described and defined, do hereby cede, release, surrender and yield up to the Government of the Dominion of Canada for Her Majesty the Queen and her successors forever, all their rights, titles and privileges whatsoever to the lands included within the following limits, that is to say: Commencing at a point on the United States frontier due south of the north-western point of the Moose Mountains, thence due north to said point of said Mountains, thence in a north-easterly course to a point two miles due west of Fort Ellice, thence in a line parallel with, and two miles westward from, the Assiniboine River to the mouth of the Shell River, thence parallel to the said river, and two miles distant therefrom, to its source; thence in a straight line to a point on the western shore of Lake Winnipegoosis due west from the most northern extremity of Waterhen Lake, thence east to the centre of Lake Winnipegoosis, thence northwardly through the middle of the said lake (including Birch Island) to the mouth of Red Deer River, thence westwardly and south-westwardly along and including the said Red Deer River and its lakes, Red Deer and Etoimami, to the source of its western branch, thence in a straight line to the source of the northern branch of the Qu'Appelle, thence along and including said streams to the forks near Long Lake, thence along and including the valley of the west branch of the Qu'Appelle, thence along and including said river to the mouth of Maple Creek; thence southwardly along said creek to a point opposite the western extremity of the Cypress Hills; thence due south to the international boundary; thence east along said boundary to the place of commencement. Also all their rights, titles and privileges whatsoever to all other lands wheresoever situated within Her Majesty's North-West Territories, or any of them, to have and to hold the same to Her Majesty the Queen and her successors forever. And Her Majesty the Queen hereby agrees, through the said Commissioners, to assign reserves for said Indians, such reserves to be selected by officers of Her Majesty's Government of the Dominion of Canada appointed for that purpose, after conference with each band of the Indians, and to be of sufficient area to allow one square mile for each family of five, or in that proportion for larger or smaller families. Provided, however, that it be understood that if, at the time of the selection of any reserves as aforesaid there are any settlers within the bounds of the lands reserved for any band, Her Majesty retains the right to deal with such settlers as she shall deem just so as not to diminish the extent of lands allotted to the Indians; and provided further that the aforesaid reserves of land, or any part thereof, or any interest or right therein, or appurtenant thereto, may be sold, leased or otherwise disposed of by the said Government for the use and benefit of the said Indians, with the consent of the Indians entitled thereto first had and obtained, but in no wise shall the said Indians, or any of them, be entitled to sell or otherwise alienate any of the lands allotted to them as reserves. In view of the satisfaction with which the Queen views the ready response which Her Majesty's Indian subjects have accorded to the invitation of her said Commissioners to meet them on this occasion; and also in token of their general good conduct and behavior, she hereby, through Her Commissioners, makes the Indians of the bands here represented, a present--For each Chief, of twenty-five dollars in cash, a coat, and a Queen's silver medal for each head man not exceeding four in each band, fifteen dollars in cash, and a coat, and for every other man, woman and child, twelve dollars in cash and for those here assembled some powder, shot, blankets, calicoes and other articles. As soon as possible after the execution of this treaty, Her Majesty shall cause a census to be taken of all the Indians inhabiting the tract hereinbefore described, and shall next year, and annually afterwards, forever, cause to be paid, in cash, at some suitable season to be duly notified to the Indians, and at a place or places to be appointed for that purpose within the territory ceded; each Chief, twenty-five dollars; each head man, not exceeding four to a band, fifteen dollars; and to every other Indian, man, woman and child, five dollars per head; such payment to be made to the heads of families for those belonging thereto, unless for some special reason it be found objectionable. Her Majesty also agrees that each Chief, and each head man, not to exceed four in each band, once in every three years during the term of their office, shall receive a suitable suit of clothing, and that yearly and every year, she will cause to be distributed among the different bands included in the limits of this treaty, powder, shot, ball and twine, in all to the value of seven hundred and fifty dollars, and each Chief shall receive hereafter, in recognition of the closing of the treaty, a suitable flag. It is further agreed between Her Majesty and the said Indians that the following articles shall be supplied to any band thereof who are now actually cultivating the soil, or who shall hereafter settle on these reserves and commence to break up the land, that is to say--two hoes, one spade, one scythe, and one axe for every family so actually cultivating; and enough seed, wheat, barley, oats and potatoes to plant such lands as they have broken up; also one plough and two harrows for every ten families so cultivating as aforesaid; and also to each Chief, for the use of his band as aforesaid, one yoke of oxen, one bull, four cows, a chest of ordinary carpenter's tools, five hand-saws, five augers, one cross-cut saw, one pit saw, the necessary files, and one grindstone; all the aforesaid articles to be given once for all, for the encouragement of the practice of agriculture among the Indians. Further, Her Majesty agrees to maintain a school in the reserve, allotted to each band, as soon as they settle on said reserve, and are prepared for a teacher. Further, Her Majesty agrees that within the boundary of the Indian reserves, until otherwise determined by the Government of the Dominion of Canada, no intoxicating liquors shall be allowed to be introduced or sold; and all laws now in force, or hereafter to be enacted to preserve her Indian subjects inhabiting the reserves, or living elsewhere within the North-West Territories, from the evil effects of intoxication, shall be strictly enforced. And further, Her Majesty agrees that her said Indians shall have right to pursue their avocations of hunting, trapping and fishing throughout the tract surrendered, subject to such regulations as may from time to time be made by the Government of the country acting under the authority of Her Majesty, and saving and excepting such tracts as may be required or taken up from time to time for settlement, mining or other purposes under grant, or other right given by Her Majesty's said Government. It is further agreed between Her Majesty and her said Indian subjects that such sections of the reserves above indicated as may at any time be required for public works or buildings, of whatever nature, may be appropriated for that purpose by Her Majesty's Government of the Dominion of Canada, due compensation being made to the Indians for the value of any improvements thereon, and an equivalent in land or money for the area of the reserve so appropriated. And the undersigned Chiefs and head men on their own behalf, and on behalf of all other Indians inhabiting the tract within ceded, do hereby solemnly promise and engage to strictly observe this treaty, and also to conduct and behave themselves as good and loyal subjects of Her Majesty the Queen. They promise and engage that they will, in all respects, obey and abide by the law: that they will maintain peace and good order between each other, and between themselves and other tribes of Indians, and between themselves and others of Her Majesty's subjects, whether Indians, Half-breeds or whites, now inhabiting, or hereafter to inhabit, any part of the said ceded tract; and that they will not molest the person or property of any inhabitant of such ceded tract, or the property of Her Majesty the Queen, or interfere with or trouble any person passing or travelling through the said tract or any part thereof: and that they will assist the officers of Her Majesty in bringing to justice and punishment any Indian offending against the stipulations of this treaty, or infringing the laws in force in the country so ceded. In witness whereof, Her Majesty's said Commissioners, and the said Indian Chiefs and head men, have hereunto subscribed and set their hands at Qu'Appelle, this day and year herein first-above written. (Signed) ALEXANDER MORRIS, Lieut.-Gov. N.-W. Territories. DAVID LAIRD, Indian Commissioner. WILLIAM J. CHRISTIE. KA-KII-SHI-WAY. His x mark. PIS-QUA. " x " KA-WE-ZAUCE. " x " KA-KEE-NA-WUP. " x " KUS-KEE-TEW-MUS-COO-MUS-QUA. " x " KA-NE-ON-US-KA-TEW. " x " CAN-AH-HA-CHA-PEW. " x " KII-SI-CAW-AH-CHUCK. " x " KA-RA-CA-TOOSE. " x " KA-KII-NIS-TA-HAW. " x " CHA-CA-CHAS. " x " WA-PII-MOOSE-TOO-SUS. " x " GABRIEL COTE, or MEE-MAY. " x " Signed by the Chiefs and head men within named in presence of the following witnesses, the same having been first read and explained by Charles Pratt: (Signed) W. OSBORNE SMITH, C.M.G., Lieut.-Col. D.A.G., Commanding Dominion Forces in North-West. PASCAL BRELAND. EDWARD McKAY. CHARLES PRATT. PIERRE POITRAS. BAPTIST DAVIS. His x mark. PIERRE DENOMME. " x " JOSEPH McKAY. DONALD McDONALD. A. McDONALD, Captain Prov. Batt. Infantry. G. W. W. STREET, Ensign Prov. Batt. Infantry. ALFRED CODD, M.D., Surgeon Prov. Batt. Infantry. W. M. HERCHMER, Captain. C. DE CAZES, Ensign. JOSEPH POITRON. M. G. DICKIESON, Private Secretary of the Minister of the Interior. PETER LAPIERRE. HELEN H. McLEAN. FLORA GARRIOCH. JOHN COTTON, Lieutenant Canadian Artillery. JOHN ALLAN, Lieutenant Prov. Batt. Infantry. ADHESION OF THE FORT ELLICE SAULTEAUX INDIANS We, members of the Saulteaux tribe of Indians, having had communication of the treaty hereto annexed, made on the 15th day of September instant, between Her Majesty the Queen and the Cree and Saulteaux Indians and other Indians at Qu'Appelle Lakes, but not having been present at the councils held at the Qu'Appelle Lakes between Her Majesty's Commissioners and the several Indian Chiefs and others therein named, at which the articles of the said treaty were agreed upon, hereby for ourselves and the band which we represent, in consideration of the provisions of the said treaty being extended to us and the said band which we represent, transfer, surrender and relinquish to Her Majesty the Queen, her heirs and successors, to and for the use of her Government of her Dominion of Canada, all our right, title and privileges whatsoever which we and the said bands which were present have held or enjoy of, in, and to the territory described and fully set out in the said articles of treaty and every part thereof; also all our right, title, and privileges whatsoever to all other lands wherever situated, whether within the limit of any treaty formerly made, or hereafter to be made, with the Saulteaux tribe or any other tribe of Indians inhabiting Her Majesty's North-West territories, or any of them, to have and to hold the same unto and to the use of her said Majesty the Queen, her heirs and successors, forever. And we hereby agree to accept the several provisions, payments and reserves of the said treaty, signed at the Qu'Appelle Lakes as therein stated, and solemnly promise, and engage to abide by, carry out and fulfil all the stipulations, obligations and conditions therein contained, on the part of the said Chiefs and Indians therein named to be observed and performed, and in all things to conform to the articles of the said treaty as if we ourselves and the band which we represent had been originally contracting parties thereto, and had been present and attached our signatures to the said treaty. In witness whereof, Her Majesty's said Commissioners and the said Indian Chief and head man, have hereunto subscribed and set their hands at Fort Ellice this twenty-first day of September, in the year of our Lord one thousand eight hundred and seventy-four. (Signed) ALEXANDER MORRIS, Lieut.-Gov. N.-W. Territories. DAVID LAIRD, Indian Commissioner. W. J. CHRISTIE, Indian Commissioner. WA-WA-SE-CAPOW (or The man proud of standing upright). His x mark. OTA-MA-KOO-EWIN (or Shapous-e-tung's first son--The man who stands on the earth). " x " Signed by the parties hereto in the presence of the undersigned witnesses, the same having been first explained to the Indians by Joseph Robillard: (Signed) ARCH. McDONALD. GEORGE FLETT. A. MAXWELL. DAVID ARMIT. HENRY McKAY. ELLEN McDONALD. MARY ARMIT. ADHESION OF SAULTEAUX AND ASSINIBOINE INDIANS The members of the Saulteaux and Stoney tribes of Indians, having had communication of the treaty hereto annexed, made on the 15th day of September last, between Her Majesty the Queen and the Cree and Saulteaux Indians and other Indians at Qu'Appelle Lakes, but not having been present at the Councils held at the Qu'Appelle Lakes, between Her Majesty's Commissioners and the several Indian Chiefs and others therein named, at which the articles of the said treaty were agreed upon, hereby for ourselves, and the bands which we represent in consideration of the provisions of the said treaty having been extended to us, and the said bands which we represent, transfer, surrender, and relinquish, to Her Majesty the Queen, her heirs and successors, to and for the use of her Government of her Dominion of Canada, all our right, title and privileges whatsoever which we and the said bands which we represent, have, hold or enjoy of, in, and to the territory described and fully set out in the said articles of treaty and every part thereof; also, all our right, title and privileges whatsoever to all other lands wherever situated, whether within the limit of any treaty formerly made or hereafter to be made with the Saulteaux tribe or any other tribe of Indians inhabiting Her Majesty's North-West Territories, or any of them, to have and to hold the same unto and to the use of her said Majesty the Queen, her heirs and successors forever. And we hereby agree to accept the several provisions, payments and reserves of the said treaty, signed at the Qu'Appelle Lakes as therein stated, and solemnly promise and engage to abide by, carry out and fulfil all the stipulations, obligations and conditions therein contained on the part of said Chiefs and Indians therein named to be observed and performed, and in all things to conform to the articles of the said treaty as if we ourselves and the bands which we represent had been originally contracting parties thereto, and had been present and attached our signatures to the said treaty. In witness whereof, Her Majesty's Commissioners and the said Indian Chiefs have hereunto subscribed and set their hands at Qu'Appelle Lakes this eighth day of September, in the year of Our Lord one thousand eight hundred and seventy-five. (Signed) W. J. CHRISTIE, Indian Commissioner. M. G. DICKIESON, Acting Indian Commissioner. W. F. WRIGHT. CHEECUCK. His x mark. Signed by the parties hereto in the presence of the undersigned witnesses, the same having been explained to the Indians by William the Second McKay:-- (Signed) WILLIAM S. McKAY. A. McDONALD. PASCAL BRELAND. WILLIAM WAGNER. ADHESION OF CREE, SAULTEAUX AND ASSINIBOINE INDIANS We, members of the Cree, Saulteaux, and Stonie tribes of Indians, having had communication of the treaty hereto annexed, made on the fifteenth day of September last, between Her Majesty the Queen and the Cree and Saulteaux Indians, and other Indians at Qu'Appelle Lakes, but not having been present at the councils held at the Qu'Appelle Lakes, between Her Majesty's Commissioners, and the several Indian Chiefs and others therein named, at which the articles of the said treaty were agreed upon, hereby for ourselves, and the bands which we represent in consideration of the provisions of the said treaty having been extended to us, and the said bands which we represent, transfer, surrender and relinquish, to Her Majesty the Queen, her heirs and successors, to and for the use of her Government, of her Dominion of Canada, all our right, title, and privileges whatsoever which we and the said bands which we represent, have, hold or enjoy of, in, and to the territory described and fully set out in the said articles of treaty and every part thereof, also, all our right, title and privileges whatsoever to all other lands wherever situated whether within the limit of any treaty formerly made, or hereafter to be made with the Saulteaux tribe or any other tribe of Indians inhabiting Her Majesty's North-West Territories, or any of them. To have and to hold the same, unto and to the use of her said Majesty the Queen, her heirs and successors forever. And we hereby agree to accept the several provisions, payments, and reserves of the said treaty signed at the Qu'Appelle Lakes as therein stated, and solemnly promise and engage to abide by, carry out, and fulfil all the stipulations, obligations, and conditions therein contained on the part of said Chiefs and Indians therein named to be observed and performed, and in all things to conform to the articles of the said treaty as if we ourselves and the bands which we represent had been originally contracting parties thereto, and had been present and attached our signatures to the said treaty. In witness whereof Her Majesty's Commissioners and the said Indian Chiefs have hereunto subscribed and set their hands at Qu'Appelle Lakes, this ninth day of September, in the year of Our Lord one thousand eight hundred and seventy-five. (Signed) W. J. CHRISTIE, Indian Commissioner. M. G. DICKIESON, Acting Indian Commissioner. W. J. WRIGHT. WAH-PEE-MAKWA, His x mark. (The White Bear). O'KANES, " x " PAYEPOT, " x " LE-CROUP-DE-PHEASANT, " x " KITCHI-KAH-ME-WIN, " x " Signed by the parties hereto in the presence of the undersigned witnesses, the same having been first explained to the Indians by Charles Pratt. (Signed) CHARLES PRATT. A. McDONALD. JOS. READER. PASCAL BRELAND. REVISION OF TREATIES NUMBERS ONE AND TWO Copy of a report of a Committee of the Honorable the Privy Council, approved by His Excellency the Governor-General in Council, on the 30th April, 1875. On a memorandum dated 27th April, 1875, from the Honorable the Minister of the Interior, bringing under consideration the very unsatisfactory state of affairs arising out of the so called "outside promises" in connection with the Indian Treaties Numbers One and Two--Manitoba and North-West Territories--concluded, the former on the 3rd August, 1871, and the latter on 21st of the same month, and recommending for the reasons stated: 1st. That the written memorandum attached to Treaty Number One be considered as part of that treaty and of Treaty Number Two, and that the Indian Commissioner be instructed to carry out the promises therein contained in so far as they have not yet been carried out, and that the Commissioner be advised to inform the Indians that he has been authorized so to do. 2nd. That the Indian Commissioner be instructed to inform the Indians, parties to Treaties Numbers One and Two, that, while the Government cannot admit their claim to anything which is not set forth in the treaty and in the memorandum attached thereto, which treaty is binding alike upon the Government and upon the Indians, yet, as there seems to have been some misunderstanding between the Indian Commissioner and the Indians in the matter of Treaties Numbers One and Two, the Government out of good feeling to the Indians and as a matter of benevolence, is willing to raise the annual payment to each Indian under Treaties Numbers One and Two from three dollars to five dollars per annum, and make payment over and above such sum of five dollars, of twenty dollars each and every year to each Chief, and a suit of clothing every three years to each Chief and each head man, allowing two head men to each band; on the express understanding, however, that each Chief or other Indian who shall receive such increased annuity or annual payment shall be held to abandon all claim whatever against the Government in connection with the so called "outside promises" other than those contained in the memorandum attached to the treaty. The committee submit the foregoing recommendation for Your Excellency's approval. (Signed) W. A. HIMSWORTH, Clerk, Privy Council. Certified: W. A. HIMSWORTH, Clerk, Privy Council. ACCEPTANCES THEREOF BY LAKE MANITOBA INDIANS AND THE OTHER BANDS We, the undersigned Chiefs and head men of Indian bands representing bands of Indians who were parties to the Treaties Numbers One and Two mentioned in the report of a Committee of the Queen's Privy Council of Canada above printed, having had communication thereof and fully understanding the same, assent thereto and accept the increase of annuities therein mentioned on the condition therein stated and with the assent and approval of their several bands, it being agreed, however, with the Queen's Commissioners, that the number of braves and councillors for each Chief shall be four as at present, instead of two as printed 1875. (Treaty Number Two, 23rd August, 1875.) Representing East Manitoba or Elm Point: (Signed) SON-SONSE, His x mark. Chief. NA-KA-NA-WA-TANY. " x " PA-PA-WE-GUN-WA-TAK, " x " Councillors. Representing Fairford Prairie: MA-SAH-REE-YASH, His x mark. Chief. DAVID MARSDEN, " x " JOSEPH SUMNER, " x " Councillors. Representing Fairford Mission: RICHARD WOODHOUSE, His x mark. Chief. JOHN ANDERSON, " x " JOHN THOMPSON, " x " Councillors. Representing (formerly Crane River and now) Ebb and Flow Lake: OENAISE, His x mark. Chief. BAPTISTE " x " (son of deceased Broken Finger). KA-NEE-GUA-NASH, " x " Councillors. Representing Waterhen band: KA-TAH-KAK-WA-NA-YAAS, His x mark. Chief. WA-WAH-RON-WEK-AH-PON, " x " Councillor. Representing the Turtle and Valley Rivers, and Riding Mountain: KEE-SICK-KOO-WE-NIN His x mark. (in place of Mekis, dead), Chief. KEE-SAY-KEE-SICK, " x " Councillor. NOS-QUASH, " x " BAPTISTE, Braves. Representing the St. Peter's band: MIS-KOO-KE-NEU His x mark. (or Red Eagle). MA-TWA-KA-KE-TOOH. " x " I-AND-EVAYWAY. " x " MA-KO-ME-WE-KEM. " x " AS-SHO-AH-MEY. " x " In presence of the following: (Signed) ALEX. MORRIS, Lieut.-Governor. JAMES McKAY. JAMES F. GRAHAM. ISAAC COWIE. FRANCIS FIELD. JOHN A. DAVIDSON. CHARLES WOOD. We, the undersigned, Chiefs and head men of Indian bands representing bands of Indians who were parties to the Treaties Numbers One and Two, mentioned in the report of a Committee of the Queen's Privy Council of Canada, "as printed on the other side of this parchment," having had communication thereof, and fully understanding the same, assent thereto and accept the increase of annuities therein mentioned on the condition therein stated, and with the assent and approval of their several bands, it being agreed, however, with the Queen's Commissioners, that the number of braves and councillors for each Chief shall be four, as at present, instead of two as printed, 1875. Signed near Fort Alexander, on the Indian reserve, the twenty-third day of August, in the year of Our Lord one thousand eight hundred and seventy-five. KA-KE-KE-PENOIS His x mark. (William Pennefather). JOSEPH KENT. " x " PETANAQUAQE (Henry Vane). " x " PETER HENDERSON. " x " KAY-PAYAHSINISK. " x " Witnesses: (Signed) J. A. N. PROVENCHER, Indian Commissioner. J. DUBUC. A. DUBUC. JOS. MONKMAN, Interpreter. WILLIAM LEUNT. Signed at Broken Head River, the twenty-eighth day of August, in the year of Our Lord one thousand eight hundred and seventy-five. (Signed) J. A. N. PROVENCHER, Indian Commissioner. NASHA-KE-PE-NOIS. His x mark. AH-KEE-SEEK-WAS-KEMG. " x " NAYWA-BE-BEE-KEE-SIK. " x " MAY-JAH-KEE-GEE-QUAN. " x " PAY-SAUGA. " x " Witnesses: (Signed) J. DUBUC. H. S. REYNOLDS. DANIEL DEVLIN. H. COOK. Signed on the Reserve at Roseau River, eighth day of September, in the year of Our Lord one thousand eight hundred and seventy-five. (Signed) J. A. N. PROVENCHER, Indian Commissioner. NA-NA-WA-NA-NAN His x mark. (or, Centre of Bird's Tail), KE-WE-SAY-ASH " x " (or, Flying Round), WA-KO-WASH (or, Whippoorwill), " x " Chiefs. OSAH-WEE-KA-KAY, " x " OSAYS-KOO-KOON, " x " SHAY-WAY-ASH, " x " SHE-SKE-PENSE, " x " MA-MEH-TAH-CUM-E-CUP, " x " PAH-TE-CU-WEE-NIUN, " x " Councillors. KAK-KA-QUIN-IASH, " x " ANA-WAY-WEE-TIN, " x " TIBIS-QUO-QE-SICK, " x " WE-SHO-TA, " x " NAT-TEE-KEE-GET, " x " Braves. Witness: (Signed) JAMES F. GRAHAM. THE LAKE WINNIPEG TREATY, NUMBER FIVE Articles of a treaty made and concluded at Berens River the twentieth day of September, and at Norway House the twenty-fourth day of September in the year of Our Lord one thousand eight hundred and seventy-five, between Her Most Gracious Majesty the Queen of Great Britain and Ireland, by her Commissioners, the Honorable Alexander Morris, Lieutenant-Governor of the Province of Manitoba and the North-West Territories, and the Honorable James McKay, of the one part, and the Saulteaux and Swampy Cree Tribes of Indians, inhabitants of the country within the limits hereinafter defined and described by their Chiefs, chosen and named as hereinafter mentioned, of the other part: Whereas the Indians inhabiting the said country have, pursuant to an appointment made by the said Commissioners, been convened at meetings at Berens River and Norway House, to deliberate upon certain matters of interest to Her Most Gracious Majesty, of the one part, and the said Indians of the other; And whereas the said Indians have been notified and informed by Her Majesty's said Commissioners, that it is the desire of Her Majesty to open up for settlement, immigration, and such other purposes as to Her Majesty may seem meet, a tract of country bounded and described as hereinafter mentioned, and to obtain the consent thereto of her Indian subjects inhabiting the said tract, and to make a treaty and arrange with them, so that there may be peace and good will between them and Her Majesty, and that they may know and be assured of what allowance they are to count upon and receive from Her Majesty's bounty and benevolence; And whereas, the Indians of the said tract, duly convened in council as aforesaid, and being requested by Her Majesty's said Commissioners to name certain Chiefs and head men, who should be authorized on their behalf to conduct such negotiations and sign any treaty to be founded thereon, and to become responsible to Her Majesty for the faithful performance by their respective bands of such obligations as shall be assumed by them, the said Indians have thereupon named the following persons for that purpose, that is to say:--For the Indians within the Berens River region and their several bands: Nah-wee-kee-sick-quah-yash, Chief; Kah-nah-wah-kee-wee-nin and Nah-kee-quan-nay-yash, Councillors, and Pee-wah-noo-wee-nin, of Poplar River, Councillor; for the Indians within the Norway House region and their several bands, David Rundle, Chief; James Cochrane, Harry Constatag and Charles Pisequinip, Councillors; and Ta-pas-ta-num, or Donald William Sinclair Ross, Chief; James Garriock and Proud McKay, Councillors; And thereupon in open council, the different bands having presented their Chiefs to the said Commissioners as the Chiefs and head men, for the purposes aforesaid, of the respective bands of Indians inhabiting the said district hereinafter described; And whereas, the said Commissioners then and there received and acknowledged the persons so presented as Chiefs and head men, for the purposes aforesaid, of the respective bands of Indians inhabiting the said district hereinafter described; And whereas, the said Commissioners have proceeded to negotiate a treaty with the said Indians and the same has been finally agreed upon and concluded as follows, that is to say: The Saulteaux and Swampy Cree tribes of Indians and all other the Indians inhabiting the district hereinafter described and defined, do hereby cede, release, surrender, and yield up to the Government of the Dominion of Canada, for Her Majesty the Queen and her successors forever, all their rights, titles and privileges whatsoever to the lands included within the following limits, that is to say: Commencing at the north corner or junction of Treaties Numbers One and Three, thence easterly along the boundary of Treaty Number Three to the height of land at the north-east corner of the said treaty limits, a point dividing the waters of the Albany and Winnipeg Rivers, thence due north along the said height of land to a point intersected by the 53 degrees of north latitude and thence north-westerly to Favourable Lake, thence following the east shore of said lake to its northern limit, thence north-westerly to the north end of Lake Winnipegosis, thence westerly to the height of land called "Robinson's Portage," thence north-westerly to the east end of Cross Lake, thence north-westerly crossing Fox's Lake, thence north-westerly to the north end of Split Lake, thence south-westerly to Pipestone Lake, on Burntwood River, thence south-westerly to the western point of John Scott's Lake, thence south-westerly to the north shore of Beaver Lake, thence south-westerly to the west end of Cumberland Lake, thence due south to the Saskatchewan River, thence due south to the north-west corner of the northern limits of Treaty Number Four, including all territory within the said limits, and all islands on all lakes within the said limits as above described, and it being also understood that in all cases where lakes form the treaty limits, ten miles from the shore of the lake should he included in the treaty; And also all their rights, titles and privileges whatsoever to all other lands wherever situated in the North-West Territories, or in any other Province or portion of Her Majesty's Dominions situated and being within the Dominion of Canada; The tract comprised within the lines above described embracing an area of one hundred thousand square miles, be the same, more or less; To have and to hold the same to Her Majesty the Queen and her successors forever. And Her Majesty the Queen hereby agrees and undertakes to lay aside reserves for farming lands, due respect being had to lands at present cultivated by the said Indians, and other reserves for the benefit of the said Indians to be administered and dealt with for them by Her Majesty's Government of the Dominion of Canada; provided all such reserves shall not exceed in all one hundred and sixty acres for each family of five, or in that proportion for larger or smaller families in manner following, that is to say:--For the band of Saulteaux in the Berens River region now settled, or who may within two years settle therein, a reserve commencing at the outlet of Berens River into Lake Winnipeg, and extending along the shores of said lake and up said river and into the interior behind said lake and river, so as to comprehend one hundred and sixty acres for each family of five, a reasonable addition being, however, to be made by Her Majesty to the extent of the said reserve for the inclusion in the tract so reserved of swamps, but reserving the free navigation of the said lake and river, and free access to the shores and waters thereof for Her Majesty and all her subjects, and excepting thereout such land as may have been granted to or stipulated to be held by the Hudson's Bay Company, and also such land as Her Majesty or her successors may in her good pleasure see fit to grant to the mission established at or near Berens River by the Methodist Church of Canada, for a church, school-house, parsonage, burial ground and farm, or other mission purposes; and to the Indians residing at Poplar River, falling into Lake Winnipeg north of Berens River, a reserve not exceeding one hundred and sixty acres to each family of five, respecting as much as possible their present improvements; and inasmuch as a number of the Indians now residing in and about Norway House, of the band of whom David Rundle is Chief, are desirous of removing to a locality where they can cultivate the soil, Her Majesty the Queen hereby agrees to lay aside a reserve on the west side of Lake Winnipeg, in the vicinity of Fisher River, so as to give one hundred acres to each family of five, or in that proportion for larger or smaller families, who shall remove to the said locality within "three years," it being estimated that ninety families or thereabout will remove within the said period, and that a reserve will be laid aside sufficient for that or the actual number; and it is further agreed that those of the band who remain in the vicinity of "Norway House" shall retain for their own use their present gardens, buildings and improvements until the same be departed with by the Queen's Government, with their consent first had and obtained for their individual benefit, if any value can be realized therefor; and with regard to the band of Wood Indians of whom Ta-pas-ta-num or Donald William Sinclair Ross is Chief, a reserve at Otter Island on the west side of Cross Lake of one hundred and sixty acres for each family of five, or in that proportion for smaller families, reserving however to Her Majesty, her successors, and her subjects, the free navigation of all lakes and rivers, and free access to the shores thereof; Provided, however, that Her Majesty reserves the right to deal with any settlers within the bounds of any lands reserved for any band as she shall deem fit, and also that the aforesaid reserves of land, or any interest therein, may be sold or otherwise disposed of by Her Majesty's Government for the use and benefit of the said Indians entitled thereto, with their consent first had and obtained; and with a view to shew the satisfaction of Her Majesty with the behavior and good conduct of her Indians she hereby through her Commissioners makes them a present of five dollars for each man, woman and child belonging to the bands here represented, in extinguishment of all claims heretofore preferred; And further, Her Majesty agrees to maintain schools for instruction in such reserves hereby made as to her Government of the Dominion of Canada may seem advisable, whenever the Indians of the reserve shall desire it; Her Majesty further agrees with her said Indians, that within the boundary of Indian reserves until otherwise determined by her Government of the Dominion of Canada, no intoxicating liquor shall be allowed to be introduced or sold, and all laws now in force, or hereafter to be enacted, to preserve her Indian subjects inhabiting the reserves or living elsewhere within her North-West Territories, from the evil influence of the use of intoxicating liquors, shall be strictly enforced; Her Majesty further agrees with her said Indians that they, the said Indians, shall have right to pursue their avocations of hunting and fishing throughout the tract surrendered as hereinbefore described, subject to such regulations as may from time to time be made by her Government of her Dominion of Canada, and saving and excepting such tracts as may from time to time be required or taken up for settlement, mining, lumbering or other purposes by her said Government of the Dominion of Canada, or by any of the subjects thereof duly authorized therefor by the said Government; It is further agreed between Her Majesty and her said Indians, that such sections of the reserves above indicated as may at any time be required for public works or buildings, of what nature soever, may be appropriated for that purpose by Her Majesty's Government of the Dominion of Canada, due compensation being made for the value of any improvement thereon; And further, that Her Majesty's Commissioners shall, as soon as possible after the execution of this treaty, cause to be taken an accurate census of all the Indians inhabiting the tract above described, distributing them in families, and shall in every year ensuing the date hereof, at some period in each year, to be duly notified to the Indians, and at a place or places to be appointed for that purpose within the territory ceded, pay to each Indian person the sum of five dollars per head yearly; It is further agreed between Her Majesty and the said Indians that the sum of five hundred dollars per annum shall be yearly and every year expended by Her Majesty in the purchase of ammunition and twine for nets for the use of the said Indians in manner following, that is to say:--In the reasonable discretion as regards the distribution thereof among the Indians inhabiting the several reserves or otherwise included herein, of Her Majesty's Indian Agent having the supervision of this treaty; It is further agreed between Her Majesty and the said Indians that the following articles shall be supplied to any band of the said Indians who are now cultivating the soil, or who shall hereafter commence to cultivate the land, that is to say:--Two hoes for every family actually cultivating; also one spade per family as aforesaid; one plough for every ten families as aforesaid; five harrows for every twenty families as aforesaid; one scythe for every family as aforesaid; and also one axe; and also one cross-cut saw; one hand saw, one pit saw, the necessary files, one grindstone, and one auger for each band; and also for each Chief for the use of his band, one chest of ordinary carpenter's tools; also, for each band, enough of wheat, barley, potatoes and oats to plant the land actually broken up for cultivation by such band; also, for each band, one yoke of oxen, one bull, and four cows: all the aforesaid articles to be given once for all for the encouragement of the practice of agriculture among the Indians. It is further agreed between Her Majesty and the said Indians, that each Chief, duly recognized as such, shall receive an annual salary of twenty-five dollars per annum, and each subordinate officer, not exceeding three for each band, shall receive fifteen dollars per annum; and each such Chief and subordinate officer as aforesaid shall also receive, once every three years, a suitable suit of clothing; and each Chief shall receive, in recognition of the closing of the treaty, a suitable flag and medal. And the undersigned Chiefs, on their own behalf, and on behalf of all other Indians inhabiting the tract within ceded, do hereby solemnly promise and engage to strictly observe this treaty, and also to conduct and behave themselves as good and loyal subjects of Her Majesty the Queen. They promise and engage that they will, in all respects, obey and abide by the law, and they will maintain peace and good order between each other, and also between themselves and other tribes of Indians, and between themselves and others of Her Majesty's subjects, whether Indians or whites, now inhabiting or hereafter to inhabit any part of the said ceded tracts; and that they will not molest the person or property of any inhabitant of such ceded tracts, or the property of Her Majesty the Queen, or interfere with or trouble any person passing or travelling through the said tracts or any part thereof: and that they will aid and assist the officers of Her Majesty in bringing to justice and punishment any Indian offending against the stipulations of this treaty, or infringing the laws in force in the country so ceded. In witness whereof, Her Majesty's said Commissioners and the said Indian Chiefs have hereunto subscribed and set their hands at Berens River, this twentieth day of September, A.D. 1875, and at Norway House, on the twenty-fourth day of the month and year herein first above named. (Signed) ALEXANDER MORRIS, [L. S.] Lieut.-Governor. JAMES McKAY, [L. S.] NAH-WEE-KEE-SICK-QUAH-YASH His x mark. (otherwise Jacob Berens), Chief. KAH-WAH-NAH-KEE-WEE-NIN " x " (otherwise Antoine Gouin), NAH-KEE-QUAN-NAY-YAH, " x " PEE-WAH-ROO-WEE-NIN, " x " Councillors. Signed by the Chiefs within named in presence of the following witnesses, the same having been first read and explained by the Honorable James McKay: (Signed) THOMAS HOWARD. A. G. JACKES, M.D. CHRISTINE MORRIS. E. C. MORRIS. ELIZABETH YOUNG. EGERTON RYERSON YOUNG. WILLIAM McKAY. JOHN McKAY. Signed at Norway House by the Chiefs and Councillors hereunto subscribing in the presence of the undersigned witnesses, the same having been first read and explained, by the Honorable James McKay: (Signed) ALEXANDER MORRIS, [L.S.] Lieut.-Governor. JAMES McKAY. [L.S.] DAVID RUNDLE, Chief. JAMES COCHRANE, His x mark. HARRY CONSTATAG, " x " CHARLES PISEQUINIP, " x " Councillors. TA-PAS-TA-NUM " x " (or Donald William Sinclair Ross), Chief. GEORGE GARRIOCK, PROUD McKAY, " x " Councillors. Witnesses: (Signed) RODERICK ROSS. JOHN H. RUTTAN, Methodist Minister. O. GERMAN, Methodist Minister. D. C. McTAVISH. ALEXANDER SINCLAIR. L. C. McTAVISH. CHRISTINE V. K. MORRIS. E. C. MORRIS. A. G. JACKES, M.D. THOMAS HOWARD. ADHESION OF SASKATCHEWAN INDIANS We the band of the Saulteaux tribe of Indians, residing at the mouth of the Saskatchewan River, on both sides thereof, having had communication of the foregoing treaty, hereby, and in consideration of the provisions of the said treaty being extended to us, transfer, surrender, and relinquish to Her Majesty the Queen, her heirs and successors, to and for the use of the Government of Canada, all our right, title and privileges whatsoever, which we have or enjoy in the territory described in the said treaty, and every part thereof, to have and, to bold to the use of Her Majesty the Queen, and her heirs and successors forever. And Her Majesty agrees, through the said Commissioners, to assign a reserve of sufficient area to allow one hundred and sixty acres to each family of five, or in that proportion for larger or smaller families--such reserves to be laid off and surveyed next year, on the south side of the River Saskatchewan. And having regard to the importance of the land where the said Indians are now settled, in respect of the purposes of the navigation of the said river, and transport in connection therewith, and otherwise, and in view of the fact that many of the said Indians have now houses and gardens on the other side of the river, and elsewhere, which they will abandon, Her Majesty agrees, through her said Commissioners, to grant a sum of five hundred dollars to the said band, to be paid in equitable proportions to such of them as have houses, to assist them in removing their houses to the said reserve, or building others. And the said Indians represented herein by their Chief and Councillors, presented as such by the band, do hereby agree to accept the several provisions, payments, and other benefits as stated in the said treaty, and solemnly promise and engage to abide by, carry out and fulfil all the stipulations, obligations and conditions therein contained, on the part of the said Chiefs and Indians therein named, to be observed and performed, and in all things to conform to the articles of the said treaty as if we ourselves had been originally contracting parties thereto. In witness whereof, Her Majesty's said Commissioners and the said Indian Chief and Councillors have hereunto subscribed and set their hands, at the Grand Rapids, this twenty-seventh day of September, in the year of Our Lord one thousand eight hundred and seventy-five. (Signed) ALEXANDER MORRIS, [L.S.] Lieut.-Governor. JAMES McKAY. [L.S.] PETER BEARDY, His x mark. Chief. JOSEPH ATKINSON, " x " ROBERT SANDERSON, " x " Councillors. Signed by the parties in the presence of the undersigned witnesses, the same having been first explained to the Indians by the Honorable James McKay: (Signed) THOMAS HOWARD. RODERICK ROSS. E. C. MORRIS. A. G. JACKES, M.D. ALEXANDER MATHESON. JOSEPH HOUSTON. CHRISTINE V. K. MORRIS. Memorandum. The Queen's Indian Commissioners having met Thickfoot and a portion of the Islands band of Indians at Wapang or Dog Head Island, on the twenty-eighth day of September A.D. 1875, request him to notify the Island Indians and those of Jack Head Point, to meet at Wapang an Indian agent next summer, to receive payments under the treaty, which they have made with the Indians of Norway House, Berens River, Grand Rapids and Lake Winnipeg, and in which they are included, at a time of which they will be notified, and to be prepared then to designate their Chief and two Councillors. The Commissioners have agreed to give some of the Norway House Indians a reserve at Fisher Creek, and they will give land to the Island Indians at the same place. Given at Wapang, this 28th day of September, A.D. 1875, under our hands. ALEXANDER MORRIS, Lieut.-Governor. JAMES McKAY. I accept payments under the treaty for myself and those who may adhere to me, and accept the same and all its provisions, as a principal Indian, and agree to notify the Indians as above written. Wapang, September 28th, 1875. (Signed) THICKFOOT. His x mark. Witness: (Signed) THOMAS HOWARD. RODERICK ROSS. Note--In 1876 Messrs. Howard and Reid obtained the adhesions to the Winnipeg Treaty of the Indians of the Dog Head, Bloodvein River, Big Island, and Jack Fish Head bands on Lake Winnipeg, and of the Island and Grand Rapids of the Berens River band, and of the Pas, Cumberland and Moose Lake bands on the Saskatchewan River, as will be found stated in Chapter VIII. THE TREATIES AT FORTS CARLTON AND PITT, NUMBER SIX Articles of a treaty made and concluded near Carlton, on the twenty-third day of August, and on the twenty-eighth day of said month, respectively, and near Fort Pitt on the ninth day of September, in the year of Our Lord one thousand eight hundred and seventy-six, between Her Most Gracious Majesty the Queen of Great Britain and Ireland, by her Commissioners, the Honorable Alexander Morris, Lieutenant-Governor of the Province of Manitoba and the North-West Territories, and the Honorable James McKay and the Honorable William Joseph Christie, of the one part, and the Plain and the Wood Cree Tribes of Indians, and the other Tribes of Indians, inhabitants of the country within the limits hereinafter defined and described, by their Chiefs, chosen and named as hereinafter mentioned, of the other part. Whereas the Indians inhabiting the said country have, pursuant to an appointment made by the said Commissioners, been convened at meetings at Fort Carlton, Fort Pitt and Battle River, to deliberate upon certain matters of interest to Her Most Gracious Majesty, of the one part, and the said Indians of the other; And whereas the said Indians have been notified and informed by Her Majesty's said Commissioners that it is the desire of Her Majesty to open up for settlement, immigration and such other purposes as to Her Majesty may seem meet, a tract of country, bounded and described as hereinafter mentioned, and to obtain the consent thereto of her Indian subjects inhabiting the said tract, and to make a treaty and arrange with them, so that there may be peace and good will between them and Her Majesty, and that they may know and be assured of what allowance they are to count upon and receive from Her Majesty's bounty and benevolence; And whereas the Indians of the said tract, duly convened in council as aforesaid, and being requested by Her Majesty's Commissioners to name certain Chiefs and head men, who should be authorized, on their behalf, to conduct each negotiations and sign any treaty to be founded thereon, and to become responsible to Her Majesty for the faithful performance by their respective bands of such obligations as shall be assumed by them, the said Indians have thereupon named for that purpose, that is to say:--representing the Indians who make the treaty at Carlton, the several Chiefs and Councillors who have subscribed hereto, and representing the Indians who make the treaty at Fort Pitt, the several Chiefs and Councillors who have subscribed hereto; And thereupon, in open council, the different bands having presented their Chiefs to the said Commissioners as the Chiefs and head men, for the purposes aforesaid, of the respective bands of Indians inhabiting the district hereinafter described; And whereas the said Commissioners then and there received and acknowledged the persons so represented, as Chiefs and head men, for the purposes aforesaid, of the respective bands of Indians inhabiting the said district hereinafter described; And whereas the said Commissioners have proceeded to negotiate a treaty with the said Indians, and the same has been finally agreed upon and concluded as follows, that is to say: The Plain and Wood Cree Tribes of Indians, and all other the Indians inhabiting the district hereinafter described and defined, do hereby cede, release, surrender and yield up to the Government of the Dominion of Canada for Her Majesty the Queen and her successors forever, all their rights titles and privileges whatsoever, to the lands included within the following limits, that is to say: Commencing at the mouth of the river emptying into the north-west angle of Cumberland Lake, thence westerly up the said river to the source, thence on a straight line in a westerly direction to the head of Green Lake, thence northerly to the elbow in the Beaver River, thence down the said river northerly to a point twenty miles from the said elbow; thence in a westerly direction, keeping on a line generally parallel with the said Beaver River (above the elbow), and about twenty miles distance therefrom, to the source of the said river; thence northerly to the north-easterly point of the south shore of Red Deer Lake, continuing westerly along the said shore to the western limit thereof, and thence due west to the Athabaska River, thence up the said river, against the stream to the Jasper House, in the Rocky Mountains; thence on a course south-eastwardly, following the easterly range of the Mountains, to the source of the main branch of the Red Deer River; thence down the said river, with the stream, to the junction therewith of the outlet of the river, being the outlet of the Buffalo Lake; thence due east twenty miles, thence on a straight line south-eastwardly to the mouth of the said Red Deer River on the South Branch of the Saskatchewan River; thence eastwardly and northwardly, following on the boundaries of the tracts conceded by the several Treaties numbered Four and Five, to the place of beginning; And also all their rights, titles and privileges whatsoever, to all other lands, wherever situated, in the North-West Territories, or in any other Province or portion of Her Majesty's Dominions, situated and being within the Dominion of Canada; The tract comprised within the lines above described, embracing an area of one hundred and twenty-one thousand square miles, be the same more or less; To have and to hold the same to Her Majesty the Queen and her successors forever; And Her Majesty the Queen hereby agrees and undertakes to lay aside reserves for farming lands, due respect being had to lands at present cultivated by the said Indians, and other reserves for the benefit of the said Indians, to be administered and dealt with for them by Her Majesty's Government of the Dominion of Canada, provided all such reserves shall not exceed in all one square mile for each family of five, or in that proportion for larger or smaller families, in manner following that is to say:-- That the Chief Superintendent of Indian Affairs shall depute and send a suitable person to determine and set apart the reserves for each band, after consulting with the Indians thereof as to the locality which may be found to be most suitable for them; Provided, however, that Her Majesty reserves the right to deal with any settlers within the bounds of any lands reserved for any band as she shall deem fit, and also that the aforesaid reserves of land or any interest therein may be sold or otherwise disposed of by Her Majesty's Government for the use and benefit of the said Indians entitled thereto, with their consent first had and obtained; and with a view to show the satisfaction of Her Majesty with the behavior and good conduct of her Indians, she hereby, through her Commissioners, makes them a present of twelve dollars for each man, woman and child belonging to the bands here represented, in extinguishment of all claims heretofore preferred; And further, Her Majesty agrees to maintain schools for instruction in such reserves hereby made, as to her Government of the Dominion of Canada may seem advisable, whenever the Indians of the reserve shall desire it; Her Majesty further agrees with her said Indians that within the boundary of Indian reserves, until otherwise determined by her Government of the Dominion of Canada, no intoxicating liquor shall be allowed to be introduced or sold, and all laws now in force or hereafter to be enacted to preserve her Indian subjects inhabiting the reserves or living elsewhere within her North-West Territories from the evil influence of the use of intoxicating liquors, shall be strictly enforced; Her Majesty further agrees with her said Indians that they the said Indians, shall have right to pursue their avocations of hunting and fishing throughout the tract surrendered as hereinbefore described, subject to such regulations as may from time to time be made by her Government of her Dominion of Canada, and saving and excepting such tracts as may from time to time be required or taken up for settlement, mining, lumbering or other purposes by her said Government of the Dominion of Canada, or by any of the subjects thereof, duly authorized therefor, by the said Government; It is further agreed between Her Majesty and her said Indians, that such sections of the reserves above indicated as may at any time be required for public works or buildings of what nature soever, may be appropriated for that purpose by Her Majesty's Government of the Dominion of Canada, due compensation being made for the value of any improvements thereon; And further, that Her Majesty's Commissioners shall, as soon as possible after the execution of this treaty, cause to be taken, an accurate census of all the Indians inhabiting the tract above described, distributing them in families, and shall in every year ensuing the date hereof, at some period in each year, to be duly notified to the Indians, and at a place or places to be appointed for that purpose, within the territories ceded, pay to each Indian person the sum of five dollars per head yearly; It is further agreed between Her Majesty and the said Indians that the sum of fifteen hundred dollars per annum shall be yearly and every year expended by Her Majesty in the purchase of ammunition and twine for nets for the use of the said Indians, in manner following, that is to say:--In the reasonable discretion as regards the distribution thereof, among the Indians inhabiting the several reserves, or otherwise included herein, of Her Majesty's Indian Agent having the supervision of this treaty; It is further agreed between Her Majesty and the said Indians that the following articles shall be supplied to any band of the said Indians who are now cultivating the soil, or who shall hereafter commence to cultivate the land, that is to say--Four hoes for every family actually cultivating, also two spades per family as aforesaid; one plough for every three families, as aforesaid, one harrow for every three families as aforesaid; two scythes, and one whetstone and two hayforks and two reaping-hooks for every family as aforesaid; and also two axes, and also one cross cut saw, and also one hand saw, one pit saw, the necessary files, one grindstone and one auger for each band; and also for each Chief, for the use of his band, one chest of ordinary carpenter's tools; also for each band, enough of wheat, barley, potatoes and oats to plant the land actually broken up for cultivation by such band; also for each band, four oxen, one bull and six cows, also one boar and two sows, and one handmill when any band shall raise sufficient grain therefor; all the aforesaid articles to be given once for all for the encouragement of the practice of agriculture among the Indians; It is further agreed between Her Majesty and the said Indians, that each Chief, duly recognized as such shall receive an annual salary of twenty-five dollars per annum; and each subordinate officer, not exceeding four for each band, shall receive fifteen dollars per annum; and each such Chief and subordinate officer as aforesaid, shall also receive, once every three years, a suitable suit of clothing, and each Chief shall receive, in recognition of the closing of the treaty, a suitable flag and medal, and also, as soon as convenient, one horse, harness and waggon; That in the event hereafter of the Indians comprised within this treaty being overtaken by any pestilence, or by a general famine, the Queen, on being satisfied and certified thereof by her Indian Agent or Agents, will grant to the Indians assistance of such character and to such extent as her Chief Superintendent of Indian Affairs shall deem necessary and sufficient to relieve the Indians from the calamity that shall have befallen them; That during the next three years, after two or more of the reserves hereby agreed to be set apart to the Indians, shall have been agreed upon and surveyed, there shall be granted to the Indians included under the Chiefs adhering to the treaty at Carlton, each spring, the sum of one thousand dollars to be expended for them by Her Majesty's Indian Agents, in the purchase of provisions for the use of such of the band as are actually settled on the reserves and are engaged in cultivating the soil, to assist them in such cultivation; That a medicine chest shall be kept at the house of each Indian Agent for the use and benefit of the Indians, at the discretion of such Agent; That with regard to the Indians included under the Chiefs adhering to the treaty at Fort Pitt, and to those under Chiefs within the treaty limits who may hereafter give their adhesion hereto (exclusively, however, of the Indians of the Carlton Region) there shall, during three years, after two or more reserves shall have been agreed upon and surveyed, be distributed each spring among the bands cultivating the soil on such reserves, by Her Majesty's Chief Indian Agent for this treaty in his discretion, a sum not exceeding one thousand dollars, in the purchase of provisions for the use of such members of the band as are actually settled on the reserves and engaged in the cultivation of the soil, to assist and encourage them in such cultivation; That, in lieu of waggons, if they desire it, and declare their option to that effect, there shall be given to each of the Chiefs adhering hereto, at Fort Pitt or elsewhere hereafter (exclusively of those in the Carlton District) in recognition of this treaty, so soon as the same can be conveniently transported, two carts, with iron bushings and tires; And the undersigned Chiefs, on their behalf, and on behalf of all other Indians inhabiting the tract within ceded, do hereby solemnly promise and engage to strictly observe this treaty, and also to conduct and behave themselves as good and loyal subjects of Her Majesty the Queen; They promise and engage that they will in all respects obey and abide by the law, and they will maintain peace and good order between each other, and also between themselves and other tribes of Indians, and between themselves and others of Her Majesty's subjects, whether Indians or whites, now inhabiting or hereafter to inhabit any part of the said ceded tracts, and that they will not molest the person or property of any inhabitant of such ceded tracts, or the property of Her Majesty the Queen, or interfere with or trouble any person passing or travelling through the said tracts or any part thereof; and that they will aid and assist the officers of Her Majesty in bringing to justice and punishment any Indian offending against the stipulations of this treaty, or infringing the laws in force in the country so ceded. In witness whereof, Her Majesty's said Commissioners and the said Indian Chiefs have hereunto subscribed and set their hands, at or near Fort Carlton, on the day and year aforesaid, and near Fort Pitt on the day above aforesaid. (Signed) ALEXANDER MORRIS, Lieut.-Governor, N.-W.T. JAMES McKAY, W. J. CHRISTIE, Indian Commissioners. MIST-OW-AS-IS, His x mark. AH-TUK-UK-KOOP, " x " Head Chiefs of the Carlton Indians. PEE-YAHN-KAH-NIHK-OO-SIT, " x " AH-YAH-TUS-KUM-IK-IM-UM, " x " KEE-TOO-WA-HAN, " x " CHA-KAS-TA-PAY-SIN, " x " JOHN SMITH, " x " JAMES SMITH, " x " CHIP-EE-WAY-AN, " x " Chiefs. MASSAN, " x " PIERRE CADIEN, " x " OO-YAH-TIK-WAH-PAHN, " x " MAHS-KEE-TE-TIM-UN, " x " Councillors of Mist-ow-as-is. SAH-SAH-KOO-MOOS, " x " BENJAMIN, " x " MEE-NOW-AH-CHAHK-WAY, " x " KEE-SIK-OW-ASIS, " x " Councillors of Ah-tuk-uk-koop. PEE-TOOK-AH-HAN-UP-EE-GIN-EW, " x " PEE-AY-CHEW, " x " TAH-WAH-PISK-EE-KAHP-POW, " x " AHS-KOOS, " x " Councillors of Pee-yahn-kah-nihk-oo-sit. PET-E-QUA-CAY, " x " JEAN BAPTISTE, " x " ISIDORE WOLFE, " x " KEE-KOO-HOOS, " x " Councillors of Kee-too-wa-han. OO-SAHN-ASKU-NUKIP, " x " YAW-YAW-LOO-WAY, " x " SOO-SOU-AIM-EE-LUAHN, " x " NUS-YOH-YAK-EE-NAH-KOOS, " x " Councillors of Ah-yah-tus-kum-ik-im-um. WILLIAM BADGER, BENJAMIN JOYFUL, " x " JOHN BADGER, JAMES BEAR, Councillors of John Smith. KAH-TIP-IS-KOOR-AHT, " x " KAH-KEW-EE-KWAHW-AHS-UM, " x " NAH-PACH, " x " MUS-IN-AH-NE-HIM-AHN, " x " Councillors of Cha-kas-ta-pay-sin. BERNARD CONSTANT, HENRY SMYTH, " x " MAH-TUA-AHS-TIM-OO-WE-GIN, " x " JACOB McLEAN, " x " Councillors of James Smith. NAH-POO-CHEE-CHEES, " x " NAH-WIS, " x " KAH-PAH-PAH-MAH-CHAHK-NAY, " x " KEE-YEW-AH-KAH-PIM-WAHT, " x " Councillors of Chip-ee-way-an. NAH-WEE-KAH-NICK-KAH-OO- TAH-MAH-HOTE " x " (or Neeh-cha-aw-asis), Chief. Signed by the Chiefs within named in the presence of the following witnesses, the same having been first read and explained by Peter Erasmus, Peter Ballendine and the Rev. John McKay: (Signed) A. G. JACKES, M.D. JAMES WALKER, J. H. McILLREE, N.-W.M.P. PIERRE LEVAILLER, His x mark. ISIDORE DUMOND, " x " JEAN DUMOND, " x " PETER HOURIE, FRANCOIS GINGRAS, J. B. MITCHELL, Staff Constable, N.-W.M.P. J. H. PRICE, Hospital Steward, N.-W.M.P. XAVIER LETANGER, His x mark. WILLIAM SINCLAIR, A. R. KENNEDY, R. J. PRITCHARD, L. CLARKE, W. McKAY, W. D. JARVIS, Inspector, N.-W.M.P. Signed by the Chiefs and head men of the Willow Indians near Fort Carlton, this 28th day of August, A.D. 1876, the same having been first read and explained by the Honorable James McKay, and Peter Erasmus, in the presence of the undersigned witnesses: SEE-SEE-QUAM-ISH, His x mark. NEE-TOO-KEE-WEE-KAH-MAN, " x " Councillors. KAH-MEE-YIS-TOO-WAY-SIT, " x " KAH-PAY-YAK-WAHSK-OO-MUM, " x " SEE-SEE-KWAHN-IS, " x " Joint Chiefs of Willow Indians. KAH-NAH-KAH-SKOW-WAHT. " x " KAH-AH-TEE-KOO-NEW. " x " KAH-NAH-MAH-CHEW. " x " MOON-OO-YAHS. " x " PO-MIN-AH-KOW. " x " OO-TUK-KOO-PAH-KAH-MAY- TOU-MAY-YET. " x " (Signed) A. G. JACKES, M.D. JOSEPH GENTON. JOHN A. KERR. PIERRE LEVAILLER. His x mark. W. D. JARVIS, N.-W.M.P. Signed by Her Majesty's Commissioners, and by the Chiefs and head men hereafter subscribing hereto, the same having been first read and explained to the Indians by the Honorable James McKay and Peter Erasmus, near Fort Pitt, this 9th day of September, A.D. 1876, in the presence of the undersigned witnesses: (Signed) ALEXANDER MORRIS, Lieut.-Governor, N.W.T. JAMES McKAY, W. J. CHRISTIE, Indian Commissioners. WEE-KAS-KOO-KEE-PAY-YIN, His x mark. PEE-YAS-EE-WAH-KAH-WE-CHAH-KOOT, " x " JAMES SEENUM, " x " OO-NAH-LAT-MEE-NAH-HOOS, " x " SEE-KAHS-KOOTCH, " x " TUS-TUSK-EE-SKWAIS, " x " PEE-WAY-SIS, " x " KEE-YE-WIN, " x " Cree Chiefs. KIN-OO-SAY-OO, " x " Chippewayan Chief. SEE-WAS-KWAN, " x " WAH-WAY-SEE-HOO-WE-YIN, " x " Councillors to Wee-kas-koo-kee-pay-yin. TIP-EE-SKOW-AH-CHAK, " x " PAY-PAY-SEE-SEE-MOO, " x " Councillors to Pee-yas-ee-wah-kah- we-chah-koot. OO-NOW-UK-EE-PAH-CHAS, " x " MY-OO-WAY-SEES, " x " Councillors to See-kahs-kootch. OOS-PWAH-KHUN-IS, " x " NEE-YE-PEE-TAY-AS-EE-KAY-SE, Councillors to Tus-tusk-ee-skwais. MAH-CHAH-MEE-NIS, " x " ISAAC CARDINAL, " x " Councillors to Pee-way-sis. ANTOINE XAVIER, " x " Councillor to Kin-oo-say-oo. WILLIAM BULL, " x " Councillor to James Seenum. WAH-KEY-SEE-KOOT, " x " Councillor to See-kahs-kootch. CHARLES CARDINAL, " x " PIERRE WAHBISKAW, " x " Councillors to Kee-ye-win. KI-YAS-EE-KUN, " x " KAH-KEE-OO-PAH-TOW, " x " Councillors to Wee-kas koo-kee-pay-yin. CAKE-CAKE, " x " Councillor to Oo-nah-lat-mee-nah-hoos. KAM-OO-NIN, " x " Councillor to James Seenum. AH-SIS, " x " Councillor to See-kahs-kootch. Witnesses: (Signed) A. G. JACKES, M.D. JAMES McLEOD, Com., N.-W.M.P. JAMES WALKER, Inspector, N.-W.M.P. E. DALRYMPLE CLARKE, Adjutant, N.-W.M.P. VITAL J. BISH, Of St. Albert, O.M.J. CONSTANTINE SCOLLEN, Priest, O.M.J. JOHN McDOUGALL, Methodist Missionary. JOHN McKAY. W. E. JONES. PETER C. PAMBRUN. A. K. KENNEDY. PETER ERASMUS. THOMAS McKAY. JAMES SIMPSON. ELIZA HARDISTY. MARY McKAY. ADHESIONS TO TREATY NUMBER SIX We, the undersigned Chiefs and head men of the Cree and other bands of Indians having had communication of the treaty--a copy of which is printed in the Report of the Minister of the Interior, for the year ending 30th June, 1876, concluded at Forts Carlton and Pitt between the Indians inhabiting the country described in said treaty and Her Majesty the Queen of Great Britain and Ireland, by the Commissioners the Honorable Alexander Morris, Lieutenant-Governor of Manitoba and the North-West Territories, the Honorable W. J. Christie, and the Honorable James McKay; but not having been present when the negotiations were being conducted at the above-mentioned places, do hereby, for ourselves and the bands which we represent, agree to all the terms, conditions, covenants, and engagements of whatever kind enumerated in the said treaty, and accept the same as if we had been present, and had consented and agreed to the same when the treaty was first signed and executed. Witness our hands, at Fort Pitt, this ninth day of August, in the year of Our Lord one thousand eight hundred and seventy-seven. (Signed) M. G. DICKIESON, Commissioner. PAY-MO-TAY-AH-SOO His x mark. KAH-SEE-MUT-A-POO " x " NAH-PAY-SIS " x " KE-HI-WINS, Head man. Signed by the Chiefs and head men (having been first read and explained by Peter Erasmus) in the presence of (Signed) PETER ERASMUS. RODERICK CAMPBELL. Signed at Edmonton, this 21st day of August, in the year above-written, by the Chiefs and head men hereto, the whole having been first read and explained by Peter Erasmus, in the presence of the following witnesses. (Signed) ALEXIS KEES-KEE-CHEE-CHI, His x mark. Chief. OO-MUO-IN-AH-SOO-WAW-SIN-EE, " x " Head man. CATSCHIS-TAH-WAY-SKUM, " x " Chief. KOO-SAH-WAN-AS-KAY, " x " Head man. PAHS-PAHS-CHASE. " x " TAH-KOOTCH. " x " Witnesses: (Signed) RIC HARDISTY. H. LEDUC. PETER ERASMUS. W. D. JARVIS, Inspector, N.-W.M.P. We, members of the Cree tribe of Indians, having had explained to us the terms of the treaty, made and concluded near Carlton, on the 23rd day of August and on the 28th day of said month respectively, and near Fort Pitt on the 9th day of September, 1876, between Her Majesty the Queen, by the Commissioners duly appointed to negotiate the said treaty, and the Plain and Wood Cree and other tribes of Indians inhabiting the country within the limits defined in said treaty; but not having been present at the council at which the articles of the said treaty were agreed upon, do now hereby, for ourselves and the band which we represent, in consideration of the provisions of the said treaty being extended to us and the band which we represent, transfer, surrender, and relinquish to Her Majesty the Queen, her heirs and successors, to and for the use of the Government of the Dominion of Canada, all our right, title and interest whatsoever which we and the said band which we represent have held or enjoyed of, in and to the territory described and fully set out in the said treaty, also all our right, title and interest whatsoever to all other lands wherever situated, whether within the limits of any other treaty heretofore made, or hereafter to be made with Indians, or elsewhere in Her Majesty's territories, to have and to hold the same, unto and for the use of Her Majesty the Queen, her heirs and successors forever; And we hereby agree to accept the several benefits, payments, and reserves promised to the Indians under the Chiefs adhering to the said treaty at Fort Pitt, and solemnly engage to abide by, carry out and fulfil, all the stipulations, obligations and conditions therein contained, on the part of the Chiefs and Indians therein named to be observed and performed, and in all things to conform to the articles of the said treaty, as if we ourselves and the band which we represent had been originally contracting parties thereto, and been present at the councils held near Fort Pitt and had there attached our signatures to the said treaty. In witness whereof Her Majesty's Lieutenant-Governor and Indian Superintendent for the North-West Territories, and the Chiefs and Councillors of the band hereby giving their adhesion to the said treaty, have hereunto subscribed and set their hands at the Blackfoot Crossing of the Bow River this twenty-fifth day of September, in the year of Our Lord one thousand eight hundred and seventy-seven. (Signed) DAVID LAIRD, Lieut.-Governor and Indian Superintendent, N.W.T. KIS-KAY-IM His x mark. (or, Bob Tail), Chief. MEM-IN-OROU-TAW " x " (or, Sometimes Glad), TCHO-WEK " x " (or, Passing Sound), Councillors. Signed by the parties hereto in the presence of the undersigned witnesses, the same having been first explained to the Indians by Rev. J. MacDougall. (Signed) JAMES F. McLEOD, Com., N.-W.M.P. CONSTANTINE SCOLLEN. A. S. IRVINE, Assistant Commissioner. J. McDOUGALL, Missionary. The undersigned Chiefs and head men of the Cree Nation having had communication of the treaty concluded between Her Majesty the Queen by her Commissioners and certain Chiefs of the Cree Nation, at Fort Pitt on the 9th day of September 1876, agree to surrender our title to all our lands in the North-West Territories and to abide by all the promises set forth in the said treaty, on condition that all the payments, reserves of land, and promises named therein are secured to us by Her Majesty. And the undersigned Superintendent of Indian Affairs for the North-West Territories on behalf of Her Majesty agrees that all the payments, reserves and promises named in the said treaty to be made to each Cree Chief and his band shall be faithfully made and carried out to the Chiefs who have subscribed to this memorandum and to their people. In witness whereof the undersigned Indian Superintendent, and the undersigned Chiefs and head men have hereto set our hands this nineteenth day of August, one thousand eight hundred and seventy-eight. (Signed) DAVID LAIRD. PUS-KEE-YAH-KAY-WE-YIN. His x mark. MAH-KAYO. " x " PAY-PAHM-US-KUM-ICK-NIUM. " x " ISIDORE. " x " Signed the day and year above written after having been read and interpreted to the Chiefs and head men by Peter Erasmus, in the presence of (Signed) JOHN FRENCH, Sub-Inspector, N.-W.M.P. PETER ERASMUS. We, the undersigned Chiefs and head men of the Wood Cree tribe of Indians, having had communication of the treaty made and concluded near Carlton, on the twenty-third and twenty-eighth days of August respectively, and near Fort Pitt on the ninth day of September, one thousand eight hundred and seventy-six, between Her Majesty the Queen, by her Commissioners and the Plain and Wood Cree and other tribes of Indians inhabitants of the country named therein, hereby for ourselves and the bands which we represent, in consideration of the provisions of the said treaty being extended to our bands, cede, transfer, surrender and relinquish to Her Majesty the Queen, her heirs and successors to and for the use of her Government of the Dominion of Canada, all our right, title and privileges whatsoever to all lands in the North-West Territories or elsewhere in Her Majesty's Dominions, to have and to hold the same unto and to the use of Her said Majesty the Queen, her heirs and successors forever. And we hereby agree to accept the several provisions, payments and reserves of the said treaty as therein stated, and solemnly promise and engage to abide by and carry out all the stipulations and obligations therein contained, on the part of said Chiefs and Indians therein named to be observed and performed, and in all things to conform to the articles of the said treaty, as if we ourselves and our band had originally been contracting parties thereto. And Her Majesty the Queen by her representative, the Honorable David Laird, Indian Superintendent of the North-West Territories, agrees that all the payments and provisions named in the said treaty to be made to each Chief and his band shall be faithfully made and fulfilled to the aforesaid Chiefs and their bands. In witness whereof we, the said Indian Superintendent of the North-West Territories, and the said Chief and head men of the Stony tribe of Indians have hereto set our hands, at Battleford, this twenty-ninth day of August, one thousand eight hundred and seventy-eight. (Signed) DAVID LAIRD, Indian Superintendent. SW-KE-MAW His x mark. (or, Misketo). ETA-WE-PE-TON " x " (or, Uses both Arms). NESS-AU-ASIS " x " (or, Two Child). KA-WA-SU-SKO-HO-PAT-ISK " x " (or, Lightning). Signed by the parties hereto in the presence of the undersigned witnesses, the same having been first explained to the Indians by Peter Ballendine. (Signed) JAMES WALKER, Inspector N.-W.M.P. P. BALLENDINE. HAYTER REED. We the undersigned Chief and head men of the Plain Stony tribe of Indians, having had communication of the treaty made and concluded near Carlton on the twenty-third and twenty-eighth days of August respectively, and near Fort Pitt on the ninth of September, one thousand eight hundred and seventy-six, between Her Majesty the Queen by her Commissioners, and the Plain and Wood Crees and other tribes of Indians, inhabitants of the country named therein, hereby for ourselves and the band which we represent, in consideration of the provisions of the said treaty being extended to our band, cede, transfer, surrender and relinquish to Her Majesty the Queen, her heirs and successors, to and for the use of the Government of the Dominion of Canada, all our right, title and privileges whatsoever to all lands in the North-West Territories, or elsewhere in Her Majesty's Dominions, to have and to hold the same unto and to the use of Her said Majesty the Queen, her heirs and successors forever. And we hereby agree to accept the several provisions, payments and reserves of the said treaty as therein stated, and solemnly promise and agree to abide by and carry out all the stipulations and obligations therein contained, on the part of said Chiefs and Indians therein named to be observed and performed, and in all things to conform to the articles of the said treaty, as if we ourselves and our band had originally been contracting parties thereto. And Her Majesty the Queen by her Representative the Honorable David Laird, Indian Superintendent of the North-West Territories, agrees that all the payments and provisions named in the said treaty to be made to each Chief and his band, shall be faithfully made and fulfilled to the aforesaid Chiefs and their bands. In witness whereof, we, the said Indian Superintendent of the North-West Territories, and the said Chiefs and head men of the Wood Cree tribe of Indians, have hereto set our hands at Carlton this third day of September, one thousand eight hundred and seventy-eight. (Signed) DAVID LAIRD, Indian Superintendent. KO-PAT-A-WA-KE-NUM, His x mark. Chief. BANJIEL MARISTZE, " x " JAMES (Chief's son), " x " Councillors. SA-SE-WA-HUM. " x " KENE-MO-LAY. " x " MAS-E-WAS-CHASE. " x " Signed by the Chiefs and Councillors within named in presence of the following witnesses, the same having first been explained by Peter Ballendine: (Signed) L. CLARKE. A. E. FORGET. P. BALLENDINE. We, the undersigned Indian Chief and head men, having had communication of the treaty made and concluded at Forts Carlton and Pitt, in the summer of 1876, but not having been present at the conferences at which said treaty was negotiated, hereby agree to accept the terms and conditions of the said treaty, and to abide thereby in the same manner as if we had been present at the time the said treaty was first signed. As witness our hands this eighteenth day of September, one thousand eight hundred and seventy-eight. (Signed) MICHAEL CALISTROIS. His x mark. LOUIS PAY-FAHN-AH-WAYO. " x " AC-OO-SEE. " x " Signed by the Chief and head men, after having been read and explained by Peter Erasmus. FORT WALSH, CYPRESS HILLS, 4th July, 1879. Sir,--I have the honor to enclose an agreement made with two Cree head men, who expressed to me a desire to join the treaty made at Fort Carlton and Fort Pitt on the 9th September, 1876. Little Pine is a Cree Chief who has for some time expressed his willingness to take the treaty. Lucky Man is a head man lately made by the Indians who have been followers of Big Bear but who have now left him. Big Bear himself was present when both Little Pine and Lucky Man signed, and, I think would have taken the treaty himself, had he not felt ashamed at so many of his lodges leaving him. He is now almost alone, only three or four followers having remained with him. He states that he will take the treaty at Sounding Lake at the time of the payments. Both Little Pine and Lucky Man have requested that they may be paid at Fort Walsh, as it is impossible for them to reach the more northern agencies, and I have agreed to it. It will therefore be necessary that enough money be forwarded to pay these Indians here. Little Pine states he will have thirty-four lodges, and Lucky Man twenty-five. Taking the average of a lodge at eight, which I understand is a fair estimate, it will make four hundred and seventy-two extra Indians to be paid. I have, &c., (Signed) EDGAR DEWDNEY, Indian Commissioner. L. VANKOUGHNET, Esq., Deputy Supt. General of Indian Affairs, Ottawa. Whereas Little Pine, or Min-a-he-quo-sis, a Cree Chief on behalf of his band and certain other Cree Indians comprising twenty lodges, inhabitants of the country covered by the treaty commonly known as Treaty Number Six made between Her Majesty the Queen by her Commissioners, the Honorable Alexander Morris, the Honorable James McKay and the Honorable William Joseph Christie, of the one part, and the Plain and Wood Cree tribes of Indians of the other part, at Carlton on the twenty-third and twenty-eighth days of August, and near Fort Pitt on the ninth day of September in the year of our Lord one thousand eight hundred and seventy-six, who have not yet given in their adhesion to the said treaty, have presented themselves to Edgar Dewdney Esq., Indian Commissioner for the North-West Territories, and expressed a desire to join in the said treaty. And whereas, the said Commissioner has recognized the said Little Pine as the head man of his band, and the said band of twenty lodges have selected and appointed Pap-a-way the Lucky Man, one of their number, as the head man of their band, and have presented him as such to the said Commissioner, who has recognized and accepted him as such head man. Now this instrument witnesseth that the said Little Pine and Pap-a-way, or the Lucky Man, for themselves and on behalf of the bands which they represent, do transfer, surrender and relinquish to her Majesty the Queen, her heirs and successors to and for the use of her Government of the Dominion of Canada, all their right, title and interest whatsoever, which they have held or enjoyed, of, in and to the territory described and fully set out in the said treaty; also all their right, title and interest whatsoever to all other lands wherever situated, whether within their limits of any other treaty heretofore made or hereafter to be made with Indians or elsewhere in Her Majesty's territories, to have and to hold the same unto and for the use of Her Majesty the Queen, her heirs and successors forever. And do hereby agree to accept the several benefits, payments and reserves promised to the Indians adhering to the said treaty at Carlton and Fort Pitt on the dates above mentioned; and further, do solemnly engage to abide by, carry out and fulfil all the stipulations, obligations and conditions contained on the part of the Indians therein named, to be observed and performed, and in all things to conform to the articles of the said treaty, as if the said Little Pine and Pap-a-way or the Lucky Man and the bands whom they represent had been originally contracting parties thereto, and had been present at the treaty at Carlton and Fort Pitt, and had there attached their signatures to the said treaty. In witness whereof Edgar Dewdney, Indian Commissioner for the North-West Territories, and the said Little Pine and Pap-a-way or the Lucky Man, head men of the said bands, hereby giving their adhesion to the said treaty, have hereunto subscribed and set their hands at Fort Walsh, in the said North-West Territories this second day of July in the year of our Lord one thousand eight hundred and seventy-nine. (Signed) EDGAR DEWDNEY, Indian Commissioner. LITTLE PINE. His x mark. THE LUCKY MAN. " x " Signed by the parties hereto, in the presence of the undersigned witnesses, the same having been explained to the Indians by the said Edgar Dewdney, Esq., Indian Commissioner, through the interpreters Edward McKay and P. Leveiller. (Signed) JAMES F. McLEOD, Com. N.-W.M.P. A. G. IRVINE, Assistant Com. N.-W.M.P. FRANK NORMAN, Staff Constable N.-W.M.P. THE TREATY WITH THE BLACKFEET, NUMBER SEVEN Articles of a treaty made and concluded this twenty-second day of September, in the year of our Lord one thousand eight hundred and seventy-seven, between Her Most Gracious Majesty the Queen of Great Britain and Ireland, by her Commissioners, the Honorable David Laird, Lieutenant-Governor and Indian Superintendent of the North-West Territories, and James Farquharson McLeod, C.M.G., Commissioner of the North-West Mounted Police, of the one part, and the Blackfeet, Blood, Piegan, Sarcee, Stony, and other Indians, inhabitants of the territory north of the United States boundary line, east of the central range of the Rocky Mountains, and south and west of Treaties Numbers Six and Four, by their head Chiefs and minor Chiefs or Councillors, chosen as hereinafter mentioned, of the other part: Whereas the Indians inhabiting the said territory, have pursuant to an appointment made by the said Commissioners, been convened at a meeting at the "Blackfoot crossing" of the Bow River, to deliberate upon certain matters of interest to Her Most Gracious Majesty, of the one part, and the said Indians of the other; And whereas the said Indians have been informed by Her Majesty's Commissioners that it is the desire of Her Majesty to open up for settlement, and such other purposes as to Her Majesty may seem meet, a tract of country, bounded and described as hereinafter mentioned, and to obtain the consent thereto of her Indian subjects inhabiting the said tract, and to make a treaty, and arrange with them, so that there may be peace and good will between them and Her Majesty, and between them and Her Majesty's other subjects; and that her Indian people may know and feel assured of what allowance they are to count upon and receive from Her Majesty's bounty and benevolence; And whereas the Indians of the said tract, duly convened in council, and being requested by her Majesty's Commissioners to present their head Chiefs and minor Chiefs, or Councillors, who shall be authorized, on their behalf, to conduct such negotiations and sign any treaty to be founded thereon, and to become responsible to Her Majesty for the faithful performance by their respective bands of such obligations as should be assumed by them, the said Blackfeet, Blood, Piegan and Sarcee Indians have therefore acknowledged for that purpose, the several head and minor Chiefs, and the said Stony Indians, the Chiefs and Councillors who have subscribed hereto, that thereupon in open council the said Commissioners received and acknowledged the head and minor Chiefs and the Chiefs and Councillors presented for the purpose aforesaid; And whereas the said Commissioners have proceeded to negotiate a treaty with the said Indians; and the same has been finally agreed upon and concluded as follows, that is to say: the Blackfeet, Blood, Piegan, Sarcee, Stony and other Indians inhabiting the district hereinafter more fully described and defined, do hereby cede, release, surrender, and yield up to the Government of Canada for Her Majesty the Queen and her successors forever, all their rights, titles and privileges whatsoever to the lands included within the following limits, that is to say: Commencing at a point on the international boundary due south of the western extremity of the Cypress Hills; thence west along the said boundary to the central range of the Rocky Mountains, or to the boundary of the Province of British Columbia; thence north-westerly along the said boundary to a point due west of the source of the main branch of the Red Deer River; thence south-westerly and southerly following on the boundaries of the tracts ceded by the Treaties Numbered Six and Four to the place of commencement; and also all their rights, titles and privileges whatsoever, to all other lands wherever situated in the North-West Territories, or in any other portion of the Dominion of Canada: To have and to hold the same to Her Majesty the Queen and her successors forever: And Her Majesty the Queen hereby agrees with her said Indians, that they shall have right to pursue their vocations of hunting throughout the tract surrendered as heretofore described, subject to such regulations as may, from time to time, be made by the Government of the country, acting under the authority of Her Majesty; and saving and excepting such tracts as may be required or taken up from time to time for settlement, mining, trading or other purposes by her Government of Canada, or by any of her Majesty's subjects duly authorized therefor by the said Government. It is also agreed between Her Majesty and her said Indians that reserves shall be assigned them of sufficient area to allow one square mile for each family of five persons, or in that proportion for larger and smaller families, and that said reserves shall be located as follows, that is to say: First--The reserves of the Blackfeet, Blood and Sarcee bands of Indians, shall consist of a belt of land on the north side of the Bow and South Saskatchewan Rivers, of an average width of four miles along said rivers, down stream, commencing at a point on the Bow River twenty miles north-westerly of the "Blackfoot crossing" thereof, and extending to the Red Deer River at its junction with the South Saskatchewan, also for the term of ten years, and no longer, from the date of the concluding of this treaty, when it shall cease to be a portion of said Indian reserves, as fully to all intents and purposes as if it had not at any time been included therein, and without any compensation to individual Indians for improvements, of a similar belt of land on the south side of the Bow and Saskatchewan Rivers of an average width of one mile along said rivers, down stream; commencing at the aforesaid point on the Bow River, and extending to a point one mile west of the coal seam on said river, about five miles below the said "Blackfoot crossing;" beginning again one mile east of the said coal seam and extending to the mouth of Maple Creek at its junction with the South Saskatchewan; and beginning again at the junction of the Bow River with the latter river, and extending on both sides of the South Saskatchewan in an average width on each side thereof of one mile, along said river against the stream, to the junction of the Little Bow River with the latter river, reserving to Her Majesty, as may now or hereafter be required by her for the use of her Indian and other subjects, from all the reserves hereinbefore described, the right to navigate the above mentioned rivers, to land and receive fuel and cargoes on the shores and banks thereof, to build bridges and establish ferries thereon, to use the fords thereof and all the trails leading thereto, and to open such other roads through the said reserves as may appear to Her Majesty's Government of Canada, necessary for the ordinary travel of her Indian and other subjects, due compensation being paid to individual Indians for improvements, when the same may be in any manner encroached upon by such roads. Secondly--That the reserve of the Piegan band of Indians shall be on the Old Man's River, near the foot of the Porcupine Hills, at a place called "Crow's Creek." And thirdly--The reserve of the Stony band of Indians shall be in the vicinity of Morleyville. In view of the satisfaction of Her Majesty with the recent general good conduct of her said Indians, and in extinguishment of all their past claims, she hereby, through her Commissioners, agrees to make them a present payment of twelve dollars each in cash to each man, woman, and child of the families here represented. Her Majesty also agrees that next year, and annually afterwards forever, she will cause to be paid to the said Indians, in cash, at suitable places and dates, of which the said Indians shall be duly notified, to each Chief, twenty-five dollars, each minor Chief or Councillor (not exceeding fifteen minor Chiefs to the Blackfeet and Blood Indians, and four to the Piegan and Sarcee bands, and five Councillors to the Stony Indian Bands) fifteen dollars, and to every other Indian of whatever age, five dollars; the same, unless there be some exceptional reason, to be paid to the heads of families for those belonging thereto. Further, Her Majesty agrees that the sum of two thousand dollars shall hereafter every year be expended in the purchase of ammunition for distribution among the said Indians; provided that if at any future time ammunition became comparatively unnecessary for said Indians, her Government, with the consent of said Indians, or any of the bands thereof, may expend the proportion due to such band otherwise for their benefit. Further, Her Majesty agrees that each head Chief and minor Chief, and each Chief and Councillor duly recognized as such, shall, once in every three years, during the term of their office, receive a suitable suit of clothing, and each head Chief and Stony Chief, in recognition of the closing of the treaty, a suitable medal and flag, and next year, or as soon as convenient, each head Chief, and minor Chief, and Stony Chief shall receive a Winchester rifle. Further, Her Majesty agrees to pay the salary of such teachers to instruct the children of said Indians as to her Government of Canada may seem advisable, when said Indians are settled on their reserves and shall desire teachers. Further, Her Majesty agrees to supply each head and minor Chief, and each Stony Chief, for the use of their bands, ten axes, five handsaws, five augers, one grindstone, and the necessary files and whetstones. And further, Her Majesty agrees that the said Indians shall be supplied as soon as convenient, after any band shall make due application therefor, with the following cattle for raising stock, that is to say: for every family of five persons, and under, two cows; for every family of more than five persons, and less than ten persons, three cows; for every family of over ten persons, four cows; and every head and minor Chief, and every Stony Chief, for the use of their bands, one bull; but if any band desire to cultivate the soil as well as raise stock, each family of such band shall receive one cow less than the above mentioned number, and in lieu thereof, when settled on their reserves and prepared to break up the soil, two hoes, one spade, one scythe, and two hay forks, and for every three families, one plough and one harrow, and for each band, enough potatoes, barley, oats, and wheat (if such seeds be suited for the locality of their reserves) to plant the land actually broken up. All the aforesaid articles to be given, once for all, for the encouragement of the practice of agriculture among the Indians. And the undersigned Blackfeet, Blood, Piegan and Sarcee head Chiefs and minor Chiefs, and Stony Chiefs and Councillors, on their own behalf and on behalf of all other Indians inhabiting the tract within ceded do hereby solemnly promise and engage to strictly observe this treaty, and also to conduct and behave themselves as good and loyal subjects of Her Majesty the Queen. They promise and engage that they will, in all respects, obey and abide by the law, that they will maintain peace and good order between each other and between themselves and other tribes of Indians, and between themselves and others of Her Majesty's subjects, whether Indians, Half-breeds or whites, now inhabiting, or hereafter to inhabit, any part of the said ceded tract; and that they will not molest the person or property of any inhabitant of such ceded tract, or the property of Her Majesty the Queen, or interfere with or trouble any person, passing or travelling through the said tract or any part thereof, and that they will assist the officers of Her Majesty in bringing to justice and punishment any Indian offending against the stipulations of this treaty, or infringing the laws in force in the country so ceded. In witness whereof Her Majesty's said Commissioners, and the said Indian head and minor Chiefs, and Stony Chiefs and Councillors, have hereunto subscribed and set their hands, at the "Blackfoot crossing" of the Bow River, the day and year herein first above written. (Signed) DAVID LAIRD, Gov. of N.-W.T., and Special Indian Commissioner. JAMES F. McLEOD, Lieut.-Colonel, Com. N.-W.M.P., and Special Indian Commissioner. CHAPO-MEXICO (or Crowfoot), His x mark. Head Chief of the South Blackfeet. MATOSE-APIW (or Old Sun), " x " Head Chief of the North Blackfeet. STAMISCOTOCAR (or Bull Head), " x " Head Chief of the Sarcees. MEKASTO (or Red Crow), " x " Head Chief of the South Bloods. NATOSE-ONISTORS (or Medicine Calf). " x " POKAPIW-OTOIAN (or Bad Head). " x " SOTENAH (or Rainy Chief), " x " Head Chief of the North Bloods. TAKOYE-STAMIX (or Fiend Bull). " x " AKKA-KITCIPIMIW-OTAS (or Many " x " Spotted Horses). ATTTISTAH-MACAN (or Running Rabit). " x " PITAH-PEKIS (or Eagle Rib). " x " SAKOYE-AOTAN (or Heavy Shield), " x " Head Chief of the Middle Blackfeet. ZOATZE-TAPITAPIW (or Setting on an " x " Eagle Tail). Head Chief of the North Piegans. AKKA-MAKKOYE (or Many Swans). " x " APENAKO-SAPOP, (or Morning Flume). " x " *MAS-GWA-AH-SID (or Bear's Paw). " x " *CHE-NE-KA (or John). " x " *KI-CHI-PWOT (or Jacob). " x " STAMIX-OSOK (or Bull Bacfat). " x " EMITAH-APIAKINNE (or White Striped Dog). " x " MATAPI-KOMOTZIW (or the Captive or " x " Stolen Person). APAWAWAKOSOW (or White Antelope). " x " MAKOYE-KIN (or Wolf Collar). " x " AYE-STIPIS-SIMAT (or Heavily Whipped). " x " KISSOUM (or Day Light). " x " PITAH-OTOCAN (or Eagle Head). " x " APAW-STAMIX (or Weasel Bull). " x " ONISTAH-POKAH (or White Calf). " x " NETAH-KITEI-PI-MEW (or Only Spot). " x " AKAK-OTOS (or Many Horses). " x " STOKIMATIS (or The Drum). " x " PITAH-ANNES (or Eagle Robe). " x " PITAH-OTSIKIN (or Eagle Shoe). " x " STAMIX-OTA-KA-PIW (or Bull Turn Round). " x " MASTE-PITAH (or Crow Eagle). " x " #JAMES DIXON. " x " #ABRAHAM KECHEPWOT. " x " #PATRICK KECHEPWOT. " x " #GEORGE MOY-ANY-MEN. " x " #GEORGE CRAWLOR. " x " EKAS-KINE (or Low Horn). " x " KATO-OKOSIS (or Bear Shield). " x " PONOKAH-STAMIX (or Bull Elk). " x " OMAKSI SAPOP (or Big Plume). " x " ONISTAH (or Calf Robe). " x " PITAH-SIKSINUM (or White Eagle). " x " APAW-ONISTAW (or Weasel Calf). " x " ATTISTA-HAES (or Rabbit Carrier). " x " PITAH (or Eagle). " x " PITAH-ONISTAH (or Eagle White Calf). " x " KAYE-TAPO (or Going to Bear). " x " [* Stony Chiefs. # Stony Councillors.] Signed by the Chiefs and Councillors within named in presence of the following witnesses, the same having been first explained by James Bird, Interpreter. (Signed) A. G. IRVINE, Ass't Com., N.-W.M.P. J. McDougall, Missionary. JEAN L'HEUREUX, W. WINDER, T. N. F. CROZIER, Inspectors. E. DALRYMPLE CLARK, Lieut. and Adjutant. N.-W.M.P. A. SHURTLIFF, C. E. DENING, W. D. ANTROBUS, Sub-Inspectors. FRANK NORMAN, Staff Constable. MARY J. MACLEOD. JULIA WINDER. JULIA SHURTLIFF. E. HARDISTY. A. McDOUGALL. E. A. BARRETT. CONSTANTINE SCOLLEN, Priest, Witness to signatures of Stonixosak and those following. CHARLES E. CONRAD. THOS. J. BOGG. ADHESION TO TREATY NUMBER SEVEN We, the members of the Blackfoot tribe of Indians, having had explained to us the terms of the treaty made and concluded at the Blackfoot crossing of the Bow River, on the twenty-second day of September, in the year of our Lord one thousand eight hundred and seventy-seven; Between Her Majesty the Queen, by her Commissioners duly appointed to negotiate the said treaty and the Blackfeet, Blood, Piegan, Sarcee, Stony and other Indian inhabitants of the country within the limits defined in the said treaty, but not having been present at the Councils at which the articles of the said treaty were agreed upon, do now hereby, for ourselves and the bands which we represent, in consideration of the provisions of the said treaty being extended to us and the bands which we represent, transfer, surrender and relinquish to Her Majesty the Queen, her heirs and successors, to and for the use of her Government of the Dominion of Canada, all our right, title, and interest whatsoever, which we and the said bands which we represent have held or enjoyed, of in and to the territory described and fully set out in the said treaty; also, all our right, title, and interest whatsoever to all other lands wherever situated, whether within the limits of any other treaty heretofore made or hereafter to be made with Indians, or elsewhere in Her Majesty's territories, to have and to hold the same unto and for the use of Her Majesty the Queen, her heirs and successors forever; And we hereby agree to accept the several benefits, payments, and reserves promised to the Indians under the Chiefs adhering to the said treaty at the Blackfoot crossing of the Bow River, and we solemnly engage to abide by, carry out and fulfil all the stipulations, obligations and conditions therein contained on the part of the Chiefs and Indians therein named, to be observed and performed and in all things to conform to the articles of the said treaty, as if we ourselves and the bands which we represent had been originally contracting parties thereto and had been present at the Councils held at the Blackfoot crossing of the Bow River, and had there attached our signatures to the said treaty. In witness whereof James Farquharson McLeod, C.M.G., one of Her Majesty's Commissioners appointed to negotiate the said treaty, and the Chief of the band, hereby giving their adhesion to the said treaty, have hereunto subscribed and set their hands at Fort McLeod, this fourth day of December, in the year of our Lord one thousand eight hundred and seventy-seven. (Signed) JAMES F. McLEOD, Lieut.-Col., Special Indian Commissioner. MEANXKISTOMACH His x mark. (or Three Bulls). Signed by the parties hereto in the presence of the undersigned witnesses, the same having been explained to the Indians by the said James Farquharson McLeod, one of the Commissioners appointed to negotiate the said treaty, through the interpreter, Jerry Potts, in the presence of (Signed) A. G. IRVINE, Assistant Commissioner. E. DALRMYMLE CLARK, Lieutenant and Adjutant N.-W.M.P. CHARLES E. CONRAD, W. WINDER, Inspector.